#I'll link part two when I can find it because it's not showing up on my searches

[sanyu-thewitch05]

Yandere Zombie x F! Reader/ Sam's Story

A/N: This is technically a continuation of the Yandere AI story, but since Kai, the Yandere AI, is dead and Sam was revived at the end of the last part, I just titled it differently so no one's confused character and expectation-wise. This is also a mix of yandere and fluff.

Pt. 1 Pt. 2

Wanna buy me a ☕

🍒🍒🍒🍒🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓🍓

"Breaking News: Multiple mutilated bodies found in the Destin area-" The news reporter says before you cut the TV off.

"Fucking druggies," You groan, peeling yourself out of the couch.

You look out your window and see the colorful ocean waves. It had been a peaceful eight months since you burned down your house. You rebuilt your life, and now you're enjoying the money that Sam's will gave you. Luckily, no one suspected anything about the house fire, leaving you with virtually no paper trail.

"Mrow," Your cat, Angela, meows, rubbing your arm.

"I know, I know Angie. I'll get up so you can explore the bay," You say, picking up your cat and going to your room. "Pink or blue leash?"

Your cat paws at the blue leash, and you put it on. You walk out the door and walk the bay, enjoying the smell of saltwater. As you walk around, you see a huge crowd forming in front of a store.

"Hey, what's going on?" You ask, picking up Angela.

The entire crowd looks at you as you go through the people.

"They found another body in the back of the store. It had your name carved on the torso," An old lady says, clutching her purse.

You feel bile rise in your throat and throw up into the water. Angela rubs against your stomach, and you stare at your reflection in the water. Your face is pale, and eyebags have appeared. Your cat Angela starts hissing at the water, and you squint at your reflection. You splash the water, creating ripples, and take Angela home. Unbeknownst to you, a pale man's head pops up in the water like a crocodile watching its prey. His head disappears below the water, and his body goes in the same direction as you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright, Angela, I left some fish, cat food, and crab meat in your bowl. I will be back in the wee hours of the morning," You coo, giving your cat back rubs.

Angela purrs on you, and you leave your house. As you walk through the bay, the sounds of the ocean comfort you.

"It'll be fine. It's probably just some crackhead who I helped that did that," You mumble, breathing in the salt water.

As you walk through the bay in your black mini-dress and white pumps, the nightlife seems to have gone silent. The smell of saltwater is replaced by something sickeningly sweet as if you are inside a candy store. Then, that's when the stench of something rotting mixes with the sweetness.

"God, did some stray drown in the water or something?" You gag, covering your nose.

You hear the water move behind you and turn around to look at it. Several fish are floating to the surface, dead as a doornail. You return to walking to the nightclub, and that's when you hear the soft and wet footsteps of someone behind you.

"Please let it be an alligator," You pray as you turn around.

Your eyes lock with a pale man's, and when multiple bolts of electricity run along his body, you see who it is clearly. Those soft, kind eyes that belonged to Sam were feral and wide. You try to move away, but you can't. Your legs refuse to. He shouldn't be alive. He should be gone for good.

"Y/N," Sam says, walking towards you, his arms wide as if he's going to hug you. "I'm here for you."

You force your legs to move and fall to the ground as the heels of your pumps get caught in a large crack in the sidewalk. You undo your shoes and run away without looking back. Sam picks up your pumps and sniffs the insides, enjoying the scent of your sweat. His pink tongue licks the soles of your shoes, and he gets an erection.

You run to the beach and look for your secret hiding spot.

"Come on, where's the caves?" You groan, trying to look for the cave opening in the ground.

As you look for it, you fall through the opening and slide into the cave system. The pool of ocean water in the caves calms you down, and you sit in it. You let your body go further into the water until you're submerged.

"1, 2, 3," You think, opening your eyes and swimming back to the caves.

When your head pops up, Sam's lips kiss you.

"Hi," Sam flirts, smiling at your terrified face. "Mind if join you?"

Sam gets into the water, holding your body close.

"How did you survive?" You whimper, looking at Sam sniff your neck.

"I don't know. I just felt electricity hit my body, and suddenly I was climbing out of my shallow, and might I say poorly dug grave and welcomed to a burning house," Sam replies, squeezing your ass. "Do you know how long it took for me to find you? All the people I had to slaughter along the way until my body was alive enough?"

"I never asked you to do that."

"I know you didn't, but I was worried about you. Now that I have you, we can live together, and I can go back to living my life as a tech millionaire with NO AI this time."

There's no running anymore. Even if you could run, his undead body would follow you until the end of your days. Or even worse, he'll kill you and make you undead like him. Or maybe this is the universe's cruel way of saying you have a second chance to have the life you want.

"You could at least react a bit more now that we're together again. I still remember the day Kai took over my body. I was preparing to ask you out. Hey, do you remember when we went to prom?" Sam asks, getting out of the water.

"Yeah. You gave me the bracelet at the end of the night, and then we ate at Waffle House," You reply, looking at the water.

"I still have that bracelet. You buried it with me. I want to return it to you. It's yours. It was always meant to be yours, even in the event of my death."

Sam puts the bracelet on your wrist and kisses your hand. You see a faint blush on his cheeks.

"I love you. I love you. I love you," Sam whispers, kissing his way up your arm. "I love you even if it drives me crazier than I already am."

Even though his teeth are yellow and full of plaque and his body reeks from not bathing for eight months, the sight of your former crush alive, without Kai, and almost like he was, warms your heart.

"I love you too, Sam. Now let's go home and give you a good bath!" You giggle, holding Sam's face and rubbing his cheek.

Sam lifts you out of the water and throws you over his shoulder. You two leave the caves and are greeted by rays of moonlight and a neon-glowing blue ocean.

"Thank you for giving him back to me," You whisper, looking at the sky.

[svnriseblvdd]

neighbour! clark kent x new girl! reader

SYNOPSIS: with a new problem in smallville ridding people of their inhibitions and exacerbating urges, clark finds himself confronted with a dilemma as his neighbour arrives in his loft, afflicted by the same epidemic

WARNINGS: where to start?, slight dubcon (purely because reader's emotions are being exaggerated by an outside force (not a person though, it's unspecified)) but consent is verbalised later between both parties, clark is kind of pathetic (what did you expect from me?), kissing, palming(?), he's a sensitive guy, clark reacts to seeing reader's bare skin like a victorian man seeing a woman's ankle, kind of dirty talk, clark in that white t-shirt (i KNOW you know what i mean), blowjob, handjob, clark compares every sexual experience to ascending to a new plane of existence and finding paradise, he's a loud boy, couch sex, semi-public sex? (in the loft in the barn, but literally no one is around and they're alone for hours), fingering, clark using his super speed for illicit activities, cowgirl, missionary, it's not said whether or not clark is a virgin, but he's definitely inexperienced, clark being scared of his strength being a danger to reader, praise kink (neither of them react to the praise in any particular way, it's just that there's a lot of praise so if anything i'm just showing off my praise kink), mention of sex against a wall, creampie

this is inspired by the episode of smallville in season one where there's that flower that makes people make poor decisions and behave rashly, and also by this scene that i saw on tiktok with clark and lana (if anyone finds this i need them to send me the link... for research purposes) (EDIT: someone found it so here's the link) where he just folds the moment she kisses his neck. i also borrowed a few lines of dialogue from my clark jacking off headcanons.

also for someone who rarely spells the word rhythm right first try, i use it a lot in this. fair warning there may be accidental tense changes and pronoun changes but i've tried to go through and eliminate that.

this will probably be the last instalment of the neighbour clark series, although i'll probably return to this idea eventually to add thoughts, but they won't be tied directly to this series, just to neighbour clark as an au. thank you to everyone who has enjoyed and supported this series and been so patient with me (i had no idea it had been over a month since part four).

part one! part two! part three! part four! part five!

Clark can’t seem to escape you over the next week, not that he really minds much. But it’s become almost impossible to make it through an encounter with you where he doesn’t feel like he’s at risk of coming undone. 

You’re always hanging out with Lana and Chloe in school and out of it, you’re at the Torch whenever he is, same with the Talon. He’s even come home to find you baking with his mother! What divine power hates him so much that you have to be everywhere he turns? 

Sometimes you’re not even doing anything particularly scandalous. The only remotely salacious thing you did while baking was licking the batter off your fingers, and that definitely did send Clark through the loop. Your pure existence anywhere nearby just threw him off. 

~~~ 

You have one thought and one thought only as you walk towards the barn that contains Clark’s little hideaway. The farm is empty besides him - Mr and Mrs Kent are in town at the market, so they’ll be gone for a while. You’ll have plenty of alone time with Clark. 

“Clark?” You call as you enter the barn. 

“Hey!” He greets, voice a little breathy. 

“Can I come up?” 

“Yeah, no problem.” You make your way upstairs, finding Clark reading through some book when you reach the top. “Hey, what’s-” 

He turns, and the sight he’s met with has him pausing. You’re in a pair of teeny denim shorts, a black cropped tank top with thin straps, and an open button-up. It’s a warm summer’s day and your skin is practically glowing in the light that filters through into the barn. The cute little brown cowboy boots on your feet really tie it together. There’s nothing particularly out of the ordinary about your outfit, but something about it feels different. It feels… he can’t place it. Although maybe it’s just to do with the air you have about you as you stand there. 

“What are- what are you doing here?” He asks. 

You shrug. “Well, it’s just been such a long, hard day, and I missed you. Kept thinking about you. Thought we could hang out. We haven’t hung out together in ages, you know? Just the two of us.” You’re moving towards him as you speak. Well, it looks like you’re just moving further into the space - pacing, perhaps - but he’s sort of backing away the entire time, keeping equal distance, and you’re turning to match his direction the entire time. “It’s been so long, Clark.” 

Your hand grazes over the telescope, but you don’t move it, don’t look in it (which he’s more than thankful for, because it’s currently aimed towards your house). 

“Y-yeah, we can hang out.” 

“What have you been doing?” You ask, looking around, then at him.

You take off the shirt, and it feels like he’s watching it in slow motion. The way your head turns, the way the material just gently, slowly glides down your smooth skin, and then it’s draped over the back of a chair. You stretch, arms reaching into the air above your head and showing off more bare skin. And as you reach the peak of your stretch, fighting the tension in your muscles and bones, you let out a purposeful moan. 

Clark is going to die. 

“Uh, just homework,” he says, swallowing to combat the dryness in his mouth as you turn towards him and begin to approach him. 

You smile a little. “So smart. You’re so good, Clark.” Well, you and he both know exactly where that comment’s going. 

“Uh- hm. Not- I’m not…” He’s backing away from you to keep some distance as you keep walking towards him. His foot hits a metal bucket, a loud clang! ringing around the barn as he stumbles a little. 

“Not what, Clark? Not smart? Not good?” Clark glances behind him to make sure that he’s not going to trip over something else or fall down the stairs, and when he turns his head back to face you, he’s shocked to find you directly in front of him. 

Your fingers hook onto his belt loops, tugging him closer to you by his hips. His eyes go wide as he looks down, then at you, multiple times in very quick succession, his face the epitome of bewilderment. 

“We both know that’s not true, Clark. You’re good. And smart. And strong. You’re amazing.” 

“Wh-what are you doing?” He manages. 

“Come on, Clark, I know.” 

“What?” 

“I know how you feel. I get it now. I’ve been totally blind to it because you’re too polite to look. But I want you to. I want you to look. I want you to touch-” His eyes turn wider still, and he’s still looking confused beyond anything. “I want you to taste. I want you to do whatever you want.” 

He sees then how dilated your pupils are, how heat radiates off you. You’re not yourself. Whatever’s been going around and getting to people the past few days has reached you. This isn’t you. 

But everything he knows points to this thing, whatever it is, exacerbating existing feelings, not creating new ones. So maybe you do really want him. It doesn’t make it any better, though. It’s still taking advantage. 

“Y-you’re sick,” he tells you as you lean in and begin to mouth at his neck. 

His eyelids flutter and a smile begins to pull at the corners of his lips. No. No, he needs to be responsible. He can’t do this now. Even though you’re handing yourself to him on a silver platter, telling him you want him to. Even though his heightened senses are letting him know the way your heart begins to beat a little faster, the way your breath turns shallow and gaspy, the way you smell as arousal begins to form a little patch in your underwear. 

“This isn’t really you. You’re sick.” 

“Oh, trust me, Clark, I’ve wanted this for a while.” 

“N-no, you’re not yourself. You can’t - ah!” He’s cut off by his own high whine when one hand releases his belt loop and instead directly palms him. His hips buck into your touch involuntarily. “Oh my God.” You apply the slightest bit of pressure, and watch proudly as his eyes roll back momentarily. Oh, he’s pent up. “N-no, no you- you’re sick. This is wrong.” 

“Don’t you want me?” You ask. 

“Baby, I’ve never wanted anything more than this, but-” 

“Then take me!” You whine. “Fuck me!” 

“Please,” he tries, although with your hand still on his clothed cock and his neck still tingling with the lasting effect of your kisses, it comes out more like a whine. 

You lean up, kissing at his jaw. “What if it makes me feel better? What if it cures me?” 

“I-I don’t think-” 

“Don’t think, Clark. Please. Just- just let go. Just be with me.” 

His eyes shut for a moment. “Fuck,” he breathes out as he reaches his verdict. He turns his head, meeting your lips. It’s a messy clash of tongues, desperate for one another. 

You back him towards a desk that’s been set up against a wall, and push at his shoulders to make him sit down. He looks up at you with those angel eyes, pupils blown and eyebrows raised a little, lips pouting and all coming together to create a look that just begs you to ravish him. 

You meet his lips with yours again, hands reaching blindly to find the hem of his sweater. You find it, pulling it up and over his head with as much speed as possible, finding that tight white t-shirt underneath. 

“Fuckin’ love this shirt,” you mumble, kissing him again. “But I need it gone.” 

Clark nods, eagerly reaching to pull the t-shirt over his head. His desperation means it gets stuck a little on the way up, and you have to help him get it off, but you don’t mind. You’re quick to get your hands on him, as he begins to kiss down your neck, you trail your hands over every muscled inch of him. 

He sucks a mark into the skin of your neck, kissing over it when he’s done, like a finishing touch. “Oh, Clark,” you breathe out, nails lightly scratching over his stomach. He shivers a little, breath shaking. 

Your fingers find his chin, tilting his face up to give him another kiss, before you’re getting to your knees in front of him. He watches with wide, adoring eyes as you begin to undo his jeans, kissing down his stomach as you do. 

You make quick work of his jeans, bringing them halfway down his thighs, then pulling his boxers down far enough to free his cock. He looks painfully hard. Clark knows that this is his body’s standard reaction to you. You don’t. You’re also not aware of the way Clark’s thoughts run wild when he fists his cock to the image of you at night. Granted none of his fantasies have ever played out quite like today has, but he’s going to be thinking of this for a very long time. 

Your hand wraps around his thick base, and he lets out a precious little gasp. You smile up at him, and from this angle, you look like a fucking enchantress. He swears you’ve got him under some kind of spell. 

You move your hand. Clark is ascending to a new plane. 

And then, with your hand still pumping him, and as Clark watches, you lean your head closer to his tip. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. 

You lick over his slit, and his head tilts back against his wishes. He doesn’t want to look away. Doesn’t want to miss a single moment. He wants to bask in the glory of this image forever. 

And then your lips wrap around his tip, a sensation like no other, and you press forward, taking him as far as you can. “Oh, baby, please-” he moans, wrangling the urge to flex his hips forward. “Y-yeah, that’s it, honey.” 

His head tilts back, eyes fluttering shut as your hand pumps what you can’t fit in your mouth. You watch him through your lashes, waiting for him to look back at you. But he doesn’t. 

So you pull off. 

Clark just about suppresses the whine that threatens to escape at the loss of the wet heat of your mouth, and instead a rather disappointed sigh leaves him. The world outside your mouth feels cold and lonely. 

But you fix it by leaning forwards and beginning to kiss around his pelvis, smirking a little against his skin as he shudders. Your hand is still moving to a steady rhythm, and even though Clark misses the feeling of your mouth, the combined sensation of your slick hand and your kisses on his hips is too good. “Clark, honey,” you mumble, nipping at the skin over his hip bone. He gasps. “Would you look at me?” 

“C-can’t,” he denies, shaking his head. 

“Why not?” 

“Because - oh, God-” You suck his skin just a couple of inches away from his base, disappointed to find no mark when you pull away. “Because if I look at you, I think I might cum.” 

You give him a sympathetic look. “What would be so bad about that?” 

“I can’t. Not yet. Have to - have to last.” 

“Oh, Clark,” you hum with a pout. “It’s okay if you cum. I want you to. We’ll go as long as you can. We’ve got a lot of lost time to make up for.” You reach a hand up, smoothing it over the planes of his chest. “Look at me? Please?” Clark nods, looking down and meeting your eyes. “There’re those pretty eyes.” 

You plant a final kiss on his hip before taking him in your mouth again. “Oh, please,” he whimpers, his hips twitching. 

His hands rest against the desk beneath him, but not gripping it, instead clenching his fists until his knuckles turn white. You reach for one of his hands, guiding it towards you, but Clark shakes his head and pulls it back, placing it firmly on the desk again. 

“Keep going, baby, please. I’m almost there.” 

You pull away to breathe, jerking him off with newfound speed, and Clark’s breaths turn into panting moans. This time, when he feels the urge to throw his head back, he fights it. He holds the eye contact you’re giving him, just like you’d asked. 

“Let go for me, Clark. Wanna see it. Wanna taste it.” Your tongue meets his tip as you wrap your mouth around the blushing tip of his cock, and you drag along his slit. 

“Yeah. Right there. Yes, yes, fuck!” 

Clark crumbles as he cums, shooting spurts onto your tongue and moaning through it, your hand and mouth working him through the pleasure and milking him for all he’s worth. 

You grin up at him, kissing the head of his cock, and standing. He lifts a hand, cupping your face and shifting some fallen hair, smiling at you, blissed-out and awe-struck. 

He leans forwards, catching your lips in a sweet kiss. “Couch?” You mumble, and he nods, taking your hands in his as he walks towards the couch. He sits down on it, an old and worn piece of furniture - but it’ll do. It looks sturdy enough. 

You sink into his lap, knees either side of his hips, kissing him. You blindly find his hands, pulling them to the button of your shorts. The way his fingers move to get you out of those shorts is nothing short of eager, quick and fumbling in his desperation to become impossibly closer to you. 

He finally gets the button undone and the zipper down, and you clamber off him, pushing the shorts down till they hit the floor, and you step out of them. Clark sits forward, pretty green eyes gazing up at you, flickering down to the hem of your tank top. 

His nose nudges at the skin revealed beneath the bottom, and he takes a long breath in, eyes closed, as though he’s savouring a sweet smell. Through all this, though, his hands remain balled into fists at his sides. He doesn’t grip the couch cushions like you’d expect, doesn’t dare touch you, for whatever reason. 

You toy with the hem of your tank top for a moment, Clark watching with hopeful eyes, and then you pull it up and over your head. You hook a finger into the band of your underwear - another light blue set Clark remembers fantasising about, silk and lace and matching the bra - and pause. “You wanna help me take these off, Clark?” He nods, lifting his hands and hooking his fingers into the material on your hips, tugging them down gently. 

“Oh-” he breathes out. You push him back softly with a hand on his chest, straddling him again. His eyes trail down from yours, landing on your clothed chest. 

You laugh a little. “Touch me, Clark. Then I’ll take it off and you can get a look.” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah. Okay.” 

You smile, grabbing one of his hands and guiding it to your core, fingers gently stroking over your folds. One finger slips through, and Clark almost gasps. 

He’s slow with it at first, tentative, until you kiss him and whisper, “Clark, please.” 

He adds a finger, finds a rhythm, faster, but still so gentle, like he’s afraid he’ll hurt you. He curls his fingers just right, prompting a moan from you. 

“Oh, God,” he whispers to himself at the feel of how wet you are. Because of him. 

You reach a hand between you, middle and index finger on your clit, and you begin to rub tight circles, gasping at the spike in pleasure. 

Clark is watching every response to every bit of stimulation, and he looks down at your moving fingers. “Does it- does it feel good when you do that?” He asks. You nod. He meets your eyes, innocent as can be for someone who’s got two fingers buried inside you. “I want- can I?” He asks. 

“Uh-huh.” Clark replaces your fingers with the thumb of his free hand. His hands are huge. You’ve thought about it before, plenty, about Clark’s large hands on you, on your chest or cupping your ass, but now that you’re actually with him in this setting, the thought turns you on even more. If only he didn’t seem scared to touch you. 

“Am I-” Clark begins, looking up at you with hopeful eyes. 

“You’re doing so good Clark,” you praise. “So good. Please.” 

He leans forwards, kissing your neck, collarbone, down until he finds the tops of your breasts. He kisses you there too, while his fingers below speed up in their rhythm, driving you closer and closer to the edge. 

“Clark- Clark, oh, please.” 

“Good?” He questions. 

“Yes. Yes. Don’t stop, please don’t stop.” 

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, breathless. 

Your hips begin to move with the rhythm of his fingers, and Clark watches in awe as you do, adding pressure to your clit and practically doubling his speed. Your eyes go wide at the feeling, intense but so, so good. He’s so fast, you think it’s inhuman. In fact you’re pretty sure it has to be. 

“Hhhmmmm, Clark, how are - fuck, oh, God - how are you doing that?” 

Clark doesn’t respond, and you don’t get the chance to ask again because all of a sudden, your orgasm crashes over you in a heavy wave that feels like it’ll never end. 

You collapse onto him, legs trembling and chest heaving. You bite into his shoulder, hard enough to break skin possibly, which you feel bad for, but he doesn’t seem hurt by it. 

“Oh my God, Clark. That was incredible.” You lean back, cupping Clark’s jaw and tilting his head so he meets your eyes. 

“Can I- can you, uh…?” His gaze lowers to your chest momentarily, and you smile. Your hands reach for his wrists, lifting them up, pushing his fingers towards his mouth. He knows what you want, and he complies wordlessly, sticking his fingers in his mouth and licking them clean of your slick. 

“That’s it,” you hum, guiding his hands to your back, to the clasp of the bra. 

He unhooks it, dragging the straps down your arms, and discards it to the side. He stares at your bare chest in complete awe, green eyes shining. 

You reach down, pumping his cock to get him good and ready, and Clark still struggles to shift his gaze. “You ready?” You ask, and he nods. 

You push yourself up on your knees, and Clark’s eyes widen a little suddenly. “Wait, wait, what about protection?” 

“I’m on the pill,” you say. “And I’m clean. Are you?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And do you still want to do this?” 

“More than anything.” 

“Good.” You line him up with your entrance, and sink down onto him. 

If Clark thought anything before was good, this was a whole new level of ecstasy. “Fuck, oh my God,” he gasps. 

His hands clench into fists at his sides again. You ignore it for now, even though you want nothing more than to feel his hands on you. 

You begin to move, starting with a slow rhythm to ease Clark into it, and hooking your arms around his neck, kissing him. “You feel so good,” he whispers. “You’re tight, and wet, and warm.” He kisses you softly. “Baby, please.” 

“I know.” You pick up your pace, bouncing on his lap, smiling at the way he moans. Your ass meets his thighs with a rhythmic plap! plap! plap! sound, your hands clinging to his shoulders for some stability, because he’s still not touching you, and more than confused, you’re starting to feel even a little insulted. 

You kiss his pulse point, just beneath his jaw, and bite at his earlobe. Your hands slide up to his hair, giving a tug, and he moans. You notice his hands twitch, but he doesn’t touch you. 

“Why won’t you touch me, Clark?” You ask, leaning back and slowing your hips. 

He meets your eyes, guilt flashing through. “I-I just… I’m really strong.” 

“I know,” you say, one hand squeezing at his bicep. 

“N-no. I mean… like, really strong. I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“I’m not fragile, Clark.” 

“I know, but - I’m inhumanly strong. And if something goes wrong…” 

“I don’t care. It’s a minor risk. You know what I do care about? The fact that I have an insanely hot guy under me who refuses to touch me. And my legs feel like they’re gonna give out. So unless you want this to stop right now, you’re gonna have to take the risk.” 

He nods. “Are you sure? I don’t want-” 

“You won’t hurt me, Clark. I trust you.” 

He nods again, hands finally finding your hips, and with the aforementioned inhuman strength lifts you up and lays you down on the couch, crawling on top of you. 

“There we go,” you say, grinning and looping your arms behind his neck. 

Clark slips back into you, beginning to thrust slowly. “You look so pretty under me,” he muses. 

“Clark, you can’t just say that to a girl,” you giggle. He laughs a little, kissing you softly. He’s still keeping a slow pace, which you presume comes from the fear of hurting you accidentally by using too much force, but you’re impatient. “Clark, can you go faster?” 

“Y-yeah. Yeah.” He speeds up, and props himself up with one arm above your head, while the other heads south, fingers finding your clit and beginning to rub circles onto it, just like before. 

“That’s good. That’s good.” 

He nods, and more sounds begin to flood from his mouth, matching your moans. “Oh, God, baby. You feel so good. You’re so good. So pretty.” 

“You’re doing so well Clark,” you tell him. You wonder about his strength, about what he means by inhuman. Certainly, there was something inhuman about his speed earlier as he worked your clit. “Do I get to see this inhuman strength later?” 

“Uh- I probably-” 

“Please?” You clench around him for a moment. 

He falters, hips stuttering a little as a whimper escapes him. “If you do that, I think I’d give you anything you wanted.” 

“So I can see?” 

“Yeah, you can see. I’ll show you. Promise, baby.” 

Clark lets out a breathy moan, head falling into the crook of your neck as his hips gain speed, and he adjusts his thrusts to match it. “Are you close, Clark?” 

He nods. He hardly trusts his voice. “Just need a moment.” 

“It’s okay. You can cum.” 

He shakes his head. “Not before you.” God, you’d think his invulnerability would give him some advantage in holding out, but poor Clark’s so sensitive that every stroke feels like absolute heaven and it feels like he’s barrelling full-force to what will no doubt be the most incredible finish of his life. 

And then his fingers are moving against your clit just as fast as before, if not faster, desperate to get you to finish before he does. “Oh my God, Clark, what the fuck? How are you doing that?” A loud moan escapes you. “Fuck-” 

“You like that?” He asks. 

“Fuck, yes. What other inhuman abilities are you hiding from me?” 

“I’ll tell you later?” 

“You better.” 

He leans down, kisses everywhere he can reach, your jaw, your neck, your chest, your lips, even drags your earlobe between his teeth and gives it a gentle bite. You really don’t care about Clark hurting you, because it doesn’t exist as a thought in your mind that he could. He wouldn’t ever lay a hand on you, and you know that. In fact, at this point you’d willingly let him throw you against a wall and take you there. 

“Clark, I - I’m close. Please.” 

“I’ve got you. It’s okay, baby.” He adjusts himself to grab your hand, holding it by your head and intertwining his fingers with yours. 

You lift your head, searching for his lips, and he’s more than happy to gift you a kiss, soft in comparison to the speed and desperation of his thrusts. You moan into his mouth as you reach your climax, body twitching as Clark carries you through it, your walls clenching around him like a vice, drawing a particularly loud moan from him. 

“That’s it,” he hums as you come down from your high. “You okay?” 

You nod, a blissed smile on your face. “So okay.” 

You card your fingers through his hair, pulling lightly, and Clark moans. “I’m close, baby. Please, I need it. Need it so bad. Can I - where do you want me to-” 

“Inside,” you say. “Want to feel it.” 

“Okay.” 

His eyes meet yours properly, finding your dilated pupils, hazy eyes, and the utter joy in them, and that’s all it takes for him to be thrown headfirst into his own climax. He presses his forehead to yours, gasping your name as he spills his load inside of you. “God, you feel so good. Oh, fuck.” 

“There you go. That’s so good, Clark,” you praise, kissing him and swallowing his whimper. “You’re so good, honey.” 

Clark pants as he slows to a stop, giving you a soft kiss before he pulls out. He watches in awe at the way his cum drips out of you and onto the couch beneath you. 

“You were amazing, Clark.” 

“You were incredible,” he says, smiling at you. 

You pull him onto you and wrap your arms around him, smiling when he does the same to you. 

Needless to say, when Clark later demonstrates his inhuman strength by lifting a literal tractor above his head (not forgetting the joke you made when you met him about him benching a tractor), you’re quick to drag him up to his room before he can show you all the other superpowers he possesses. Although he does a damn good job of showing you that super strength.

taglist;

@mariswxt @blueeweeb @ssnapsaurus @i-got-a-bad-feeling-about-this @milestellerismybf @purple-1995 @writergiih @elysianrosie @glennussy @rainwaterxx @brinascorpio @withthistreaserisummon @babble28 @mollymal @alexcole1326 @mizzfizz @jiminie1028

[celestial-sphere-press]

what kind/style of endbands do you usually do? they look so good 👀

hi!! sorry for taking a while to answer, I wanted to make sure I could give you my best answer.

I usually do what's called a "double core" endband. I use double core endbands over the "bead on front" method because bead on front style is not great for uneven distributions of color, irregular patterns, or using more than three colors. Functionally it works by having your extra threads wrapped up inside the thread that is showing, forming the smaller secondary core. Ultimately you are doing figure 8s around the main core & then your secondary core of thread. This keeps things pretty neat & tidy. The tutorial I first used was this one by DAS Bookbinding, though I don't think his endband tutorials are his best ones. Another binder I've spoken with endbands about a lot is maleeka, who recently did an endband tutorial herself.

maybe I should do one... but it takes a lot for me to get enough motivation to make videos. I'll take this opportunity to write up some tips I've shared when people ask instead:

1. Endband core material is the MOST IMPORTANT component. You need a core that is stiff but flexible - it should NOT be floppy because it wiggles everywhere under the tension of the thread, but still needs to flex with the opening & closing of the book. You want something that doesn't compress, to reduce tension shifts in thread creating a lumpy endband. Have a smooth core is less critical but helps to avoid snagging threads & allows you some leeway on sliding threads around for adjustments. My personal choice is smooth leather jewelers cord (link is just an example, I get mine from a local craft store).

2. Thread size. All your threads need to be the same size; it will be visible if you are using two different sizes, and mess with your front core. Additionally, I know lots of people will use larger twists of multiple strands of embroidery thread, which can work, but is more likely to compress & alter its size in unexpected ways. A single strand is preferable. If you want something thicker you can find some thread weights that are heavier twists intended to be used in a single strand, not pulled apart. I prefer smaller sizes because it works better for the gradient designs I like.

3. Silk thread is your friend (if you can spend the money on it). It reduces fuzz (no fuzz like you get with cotton/DMC embroidery thread), it's usually easier to manage, has a more compact twist, and a higher shine. I use Japanese silk hand sewing thread in size #9 (9号). There's multiple brands (Tire, Daruma, KNK/kanagawa, etc). Here's a wholesale listing (minimum 20,000¥ for international). A non-Japanese brand is Guterman silk (German brand). Both the Japanese & German threads come in a heavier weight (Japanese is #16, Guterman is buttonhole).

4. Thread tension is the most important part of the actual technique. You need to ensure the threads currently wrapped in the secondary core keep tension when you are working the thread around them.

5. Working on a curve. This is only really relevant if you're doing an endband on a rounded book, but the circumference of the curve means there's more real estate on the outside vs inside of the curve. Sometimes this can cause bunching on the secondary core. My own solution to this is that sometimes I wrap the primary core but drop a wrap here or there around the secondary core (only between two wraps of the same color I'm dropping). I uh... don't know of anyone currently recommending this besides myself so I can't point to any pro endorsement for this method, it's just what works for me. Forgive my terrible writing:

6. Pattern management. I... don't really plan much how my patterns sit on the spine, which is not very helpful. HOWEVER you can do some pattern management on the fly, if you really want your pattern to end at a certain place. Thread can be packed more or less densely on the core, resulting in some pattern compression; you could also strategically drop wraps in less noticeable locations. An unintended example: I was replicating the pattern on this endband (left) when I realize I wasn't packing the thread as densely as I had the first time around (right), which resulted in the overall pattern taking up more space. You can do this on purpose, if you need to.

this was way more than you asked but it gave me a chance to put all this in one spot. Best of luck in vanquishing the dreaded EndWyrms.

[izzabela]

Show You My Impurities - Lin Kuei x fem!chubby-curvy!reader (scenario fic)

in which different scenarios show how the brothers react with you being insecure in a flattering dress

a/n: i know i updated my rules, but i'm gonna pump this and another req i got privately. from now on, though, do not send me requests in my DMs when reqs are closed

ship[s]: tomas, kuai liang & bi han x fem!chubby!reader (scenario)

warning(s): smidge of angst, body insecurity, suggestive endings, non-kanon

guys ignore the text on this gif, but also don't because it's lowkey hilarious

=====================

Bi Han

As Bi Han sits outside of the private dressing room of the shop you two were in, you stood in front of the mirror dejected and down.

You and Bi Han were out shopping after you realized some of your clothes didn't fit anymore. While Bi Han didn't see anything wrong with it, your heart sank as thoughts of yourself flooded your mind.

You were naturally a bigger girl. Beautifully large thighs, natural hips, a just a bit of a cute pudge on your belly, you were a bit bigger than the other girls. While you had the support of Bi Han (the fucking grandmaster), it didn't stop people or your mind from talking bad about you.

Back in front of the mirror, you sigh as you pull on the part of the fabric that hugged your waist a little too tight. It rolled over your natural curves and made you self-conscious.

You were drawn out of your thoughts with a light knock on your dressing room door.

"Madam? The grandmaster would like to see you now," the fitting room attendant announces behind the door.

You sigh once more, "I'll be out soon. Thank you."

Your flats drag with the unbearable weight of your thoughts as you walk out to see Bi Han on the circular couch in the foyer of the fitting room. He's reading a book, but the quickest glimpse at you and you're the only thing in his eyes.

"Àiren," Bi Han breathes as he gets up to see you in the dress.

Your smile is unstable and wobbly, and the matching wave doesn't help as it solidifies how the dress makes you feel. You try to stop picking at the fabric hugging your body, but the habit persists.

"I'm not sure this is the right dress," you say timidly. "It shows... too much."

Bi Han sets the book down, closing it without its bookmark, and meets you near the mirror.

"And why, àiren, do you think that?" Bi Han treads carefully, hands resting right above your love handles.

The wobble in your smile turns into a frown as hidden tears streak down delicately. You breathe a shuddery breath as you pull away from him and look into the mirror.

"Look at me!" you cry as you pull the fabric again. "It's hugging all the wrong spots, it's too tight, unflattering, and awful on a woman like me!"

Forgive Bi Han, dear reader, as everything you were telling him dissolved into nothing but dust as he looked you up and down over and over again.

All he could see was the beautiful woman he was dating. How that softness of your legs was highlighted with the dress, your little bum beautiful and round, and your breasts pushed together due to the technology in the dress allowing to support a woman's breasts without the need of a bra.

Where you saw impurities, he saw defining characteristics, features that were unique to only you.

And as the grandmaster to a large organization, unique strengths were something he could identify within a heartbeat.

Bi Han's semi-PG thoughts were interrupted as you sniffled and wiped your tears in front of the mirror. He coos as he hugs you from behind, large arms snaking around your soft waist and over your belly.

"Àiren," Bi Han starts. "You are lovely."

You've heard such words from family and friends before, hell even from Bi Han from time to time. This time, though, it felt like you experienced real life superpowers.

You smile weakly, but it's genuine as Bi Han peppers kisses on your neck and the dip of your shoulder. You giggle softly as his hands find yours and link up with them, and you can feel his hands use yours as he roams your body.

Every part of your body he goes over, you gain a new appreciation for all of your curves, the lovely lady lumps of yours, and the overall softness of your figure.

"Feel better, àiren?" Bi Han asks, hands finding a new spot dangerously close to your bum.

You give a hearty laugh, and the friction between you and Bi Han's trousers causes a certain something to poke at your behind. You turn behind you and meet his eyes with a knowing look.

"Really darling?" you tease. Bi Han just chuckles as he presses your bum on him harder.

"I hope to show you another way to appreciate yourself as well," he says quietly, kissing up your neck as he guides you back into your stall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tomas

You drop your shopping bags on the floor of yours and Tomas's shared room. He was out today, training the initiates with his brothers. Your friends hit you up via letter to go shopping, and after looking through your wardrobe, it was time to acquire new garments.

Your old clothes were already pretty big considering you were a bigger and curvier girl, and while it was normal for anybody to gain weight, you felt different about it.

Your hips had grown wider, thighs larger, and waist just a bit bigger than before. You felt different, and not in a good way.

After your shopping spree with your friends, you come back home with all the new shirts, skirts, pants, and most importantly, dresses. Trying each one of them on, you couldn't help but tug on the ends of the fabric.

A habit you had, plus a bit of a scratching problem when you got nervous. But when Tomas was here, all of these issues were like it never existed.

Except he wasn't here right now. Your only other weapon against your mind was preoccupied, and you were losing the battle.

After trying on new trousers for meetings, leggings for training, and shirts for all sorts of occasions, dresses were the last clothes to cover. By the gods you were nervous.

Trying on the first one, it was a long-sleeved body con with a slit that stopped at your thigh. You swore that it looked shorter on the mannequin.

Damn it, corporate shopping centers.

You vehemently rubbed your hands down the dress to try and bring the slit down, but it was made like that. Looking at yourself in the full body mirror that stood next to the dresser, your eyes were wide in fear at the sight of you.

While you had been reassured many times from your friends, family, Tomas and his family, the thoughts gnawed and festered away in your mind.

Through the mirror, you saw how your hips hugged the dress, how your little belly rolled over in the fabric, your thigh peeking through the slit and bits of cellulite coming through.

While you knew that everyone, Tomas especially, would reassure you, you couldn't help but feel like an imposter- a pig in a dress.

The tears you so badly were holding in began to flow down your cheeks and hit the dress. You sniffle as you waddle over to the bed, head buried in your hands as you wallow in your depressing thoughts.

Suddenly, the door opens and you can hear a certain European man humming a tune and his steps walk on the pebble floor.

"Feather?" his voice is careful as he approaches you. Your shoulders are perked up as you messily try to cover up your tears, but that shit clearly isn't working as Tomas is on his knees as one of his hands is on your knee and the other on your wet cheek.

"Feather, what's wrong?" he asks softly, wiping your endless tears as you get up from the bed. Tomas is definitely taken aback as he follows you to the mirror.

"Tomas, you know what's wrong. I mean, just look!" you cry, pointing to yourself in the mirror as you keep tugging the slit of your dress.

"You can see my thighs, especially the little wrinkles. My tummy is ugly here in the middle, and..."

Tomas didn't hear a single thing since he saw the dress on you through the mirror. If he had a tail and ears, they would be perked up and wagging. Hell, he might even be drooling.

Tomas loved the way the slit teased the legs he's marked over and over again. He loved the way bits of your softness hugged the fabric, sign of your health that he loved to see. And by the elder gods, those hips of yours. Round, voluptuous, and full, his most favorite part of you was accented so well in the dress.

"I just feel like an imposter," you say, and his thoughts were interrupted and brought back to you.

"And why would my feather feel like that?" Tomas asks as he blocks you from the mirror. You sigh as you hold on the fabric again.

"It doesn't suit me, I just said that," you groan. Tomas takes your hands and decides to do something about your inner voice.

"You are ethereal," Tomas whispers as he kisses your forehead. "Spectacular, perfect, one-of-a-kind."

You giggle at every word he uses to praise you, at every kiss he gave you on your face. Tomas holds your face and plants one final kiss on your lips.

"And if you truly feel like you want a change, we can do that too," Tomas assured you. "No matter what form you are, even a worm, I will cherish you."

This was why you chose Tomas out of the many men that threw themselves at you. He accepted you for who you are, and he would support you if you ever wanted to change anything about you.

You kiss him on his lips as a thank you, giggling into his mouth as he opens up for you to explore. You fling your arms around his neck as his hand res comfortable on your lower back. Like well-tailored gloves, he fits well there as he pulls you closer and makes you feel the growing muscle beneath his pants.

"Oh my..." you whisper, looking down at the bulge in his pants. He chuckles as he whispers in your ear.

"There are ways to quell the voice in your head as well," Tomas suggests.

You walk backwards and lead him to the bed once more.

"I'm all ears, commander."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Kuai Liang

You stared back into the mirror that threw back the image of yourself. It was you alone with your reflection in the dressing room.

No point in hiding, though, as two more mirrors were angled in your direction. You were surrounded with yourself in this dress, and it felt like you were cornered by a pack of hungry wolves.

You step down from the middle step and sit down and wave your legs from side to side in boredom and sadness.

You were out dress shopping with Kuai Liang for a wedding guest dress. His old friend, Harumi, was getting married, and he and his entire family, and their partners, were invited to the ceremony.

Three shops later, you found a beautiful mermaid dress with long-sleeves and went down to your ankles. On the mannequin, the dress was spectacular. Of course, mannequins are not true to life, but it looked amazing.

Now that the dress was on you, though, you wanted to dissolve into nothing but dust.

You always did your best to ignore the negative thoughts that plagued your mind, but they bit your ankles like a bear trap- unknown yet always there. This dress made it feel like you stepped into a field of them.

Your belly made a sort of "pouch" thing since the dress hugged your curves. Your hips were well-defined in the dress, and it actually accentuated the natural waist you had too.

And elder gods have mercy, the legs. Though covered up, it's no secret that you had legs for days under the dress. And Kuai Liang was the lucky man to see, touch, and feel them.

Despite such charming features, you couldn't help but feel defeated with yourself. As you cried silently, trying to slip out of the dress, a knock came on your door.

"Dove, what is the matter?" Kuai Liang's voice reverbs through the door. You sniffle and wipe your face, trying to put up a façade in your voice before answering.

"U-uh, nothing!" you say with a fake, upbeat voice.

Kuai Liang, bless him, knows you're lying. So instead of leaving, you can hear how his body slides down the door and his bum plop onto the ground.

"I am not to move until you let me in, dove," he states, claiming his spot on the (probably dirty) floor. You want to scold him, tell him to get up, but prolonging it will only make it more embarrassing.

Giving in, you open the door and watch as he falls onto his back. He blinks a couple of times before he sees your blurry image in the dress.

Shyly, you hold your elbow as he scrambles to his feet. He's practically drinking the sight of you like a dehydrated survivor. The very image of you in this dress is revitalizing him.

He can't ignore how full your hips and bum look against the dress, or how elongated the dress makes you look. He can't ignore the way your legs naturally crossover on another due to the dress's shape, or how perfect the dress hugs your waist.

Let's not forget the belly, either. His absolute, most favorite part of you was perfectly snug in its place, creating a sort of "pouch" effect. Hreat elder gods, Kuai Liang's patience was truly being tested.

"Oh dove..." Kuai Liang mumbles, walking over to you and taking your hands in his. "Dove, you are stunning."

You nod sadly as you feel on of his hands rest on your cheek, carefully wiping your tears away as you mumble chicken scratch about how the dress looks on you. Whatever you were saying was being ignored- like talking to a brick wall.

"Kuai Liang, love," you say weakly. "I cannot with this dress, it just doesn't sit well on me..."

The pyromancer shakes his head rapidly, like a child throwing a tantrum. He grabs onto your shoulders and spins you around to look at the mirror, and all three reflections stare back at you.

This time, with Kuai Liang present.

"Are you telling me that I'm being lied to?" Kuai Liang's voice booms. "This woman, in the mirror, is not the one I said was most beautiful?"

You nervously shake your head 'no', and Kuai Liang keeps singing your praises.

"I know who I chose as my consort. I know who I chose as the love of my life," Kuai Liang kisses your cheek and grabs your right hand and spreads your fingers out.

"I know who I chose as my future wife."

You turn around, pink and warm on your face, as you smile and hug him.

"You, dove, are the one I want," Kuai Liang assures you. "And no matter what form you choose, I am going to have you no matter what."

You chuckle and kiss his cheek. "Thank you for reminding me, my love." Kuai Liang, instead of responding as usual, begins to close in on you as your back presses against the cold mirror.

"Um, my love?"

Kuai Liang strips the jacket he was trying on before his arms pin you in the jail cell of his chest.

"Perhaps another addition to your reminder," he nips your ear and kisses your neck.

"So that you will not forget again."

=====================

hello kings, queens, and monarchs, hope yall enjoyed this one!

as you saw, i made a rules and masterlist, so please read that before proceeding to do anything regarding this blog

see yall in the next fic!

[rootspiral]

Agatha All Along deep dive: episode 9 part 4

(Wandavision entries: [1][2][3])

(AAA entries: ep1 [1][2][3][4] ep2 [1][2][3][4] ep3 [1][2][3] ep4 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][+1] ep5 [1][2][3][4][5] ep6 [1][2][3] ep7 [1][2][3][4][5][6] ep8 [1][2][3][4][5][6][7][8][9] ep9 [1][2][3][4][5][6])

it's still agatha and her river

mama, I'm sorry I got upset. mama I'm sorry we're both starving tonight. I promise I'll do better tomorrow.

a six year old taking responsibility and apologizing for his mother's shortcomings.

agatha looks down at her precious little boy's pleading face

and she smiles at him, and nicky gives her a big relieved grin.

evanora is not stealing this moment. she did her worst to fuck with agatha's brain chemistry, but in one fundamental thing she failed: agatha is capable of loving her kid. despite all her other shortcomings, she will never blame nicky for her own faults.

she does a cute little dance for him, and this is what they do, isn't it? he's too small to explain his big feelings and she is too scared, and so they sing to each other and hope the love is understood anyway.

see how he touches the brooch? if only she could have loved nicky in vacuum, without any of the emotional baggage. but he is only the last link in a long chain of witches, pain and and tears and blood that made him what he is. agatha cannot escape her identity and legacy no matter how much she tries, and she couldn't protect nicky from it either.

the last time she sees nicky alive he's smiling adoringly at her. this is the boy she can't face in the afterlife, because her own guilt is so strong she's convinced he will hate her.

nicky dies peacefully in his mother's arms. his soul wakes up and sees rio waiting for him.

that some good cinema dear lord

rio waves at nicky. he doesn't know her (when who will return?) but he still trusts her implicity - she's been around him his whole short life, in the woods, in the water, in his lungs.

and - the bit that destroyed us all - rio makes nicky go to agatha one last time. go kiss your mama goodbye.

light and dark, growth and decay, here and beyond.

remember when alice died and the camera turned upside down? it stops halfway here. agatha has been affected so profoundly by nicky's death that she can never let herself go back to the land of the living, but she's also too scared to follow rio to the other side. she's stuck in the middle, consumed by the impossible dream of bringing nicky back, never allowing herself to find peace and companionship again. in love with death, but running away from it.

(people never seem to make crack and humor vids for episode 9, isn't that curious? when it's soooo fun and lighthearted!)

well ain't that just brutal

I have always known

This Road is cruel and wild

I bury my own heart

Here with you, my child

(I think those are lavender flowers? I'm not 100% sure)

coolcoolcoolcoolcool. that's fine. I'm absolutely fine.

BARRIERS UP right away. even if she looks like a mess. especially because she looks like a mess. she's not showing weakness in front of anyone, she's protecting her grief like a jealous goblin, and since she cannot run, she straightens her dress and gets ready to fight. the option to ask for help and comfort doesn't even cross her mind.

her eyes still full of tears / agatha gets another wonderful, awful idea.

we've seen this so many times, haven't we? the real agatha disappears behind the character she plays. the agatha we've seen from the very start, since the moment she walked into wanda's living room, has been a lie. very few people have ever seen a hint of the poor bruised heart she hides inside, and only to rio and (to some extent) nicky she has ever opened up.

how can someone go from total heartbreak to planning murder in the span of two minutes? well, you can if you are agatha harkness and have never learned one healthy coping mechanism in your life. and I'm sure she's already rationalizing it as something like "if I get powerful enough I can bring nicky back." but the truth is, she just wants to get drunk on magic and murder and stop feeling so horrible. she's running away, like usual. she's planning to kill witches in front of the grave of the very kid who begged her not to, and she's using his song to do it. as if that's not gonna haunt her or anything.

(it really gets me how agatha's smiles are so different from kathryn's. agatha never smiles with her eyes, except when she's with nicky.)

agatha's diabolical scam is so stupid if you think about, definitely worthy of the clown she has become. just pretend the Road didn't open and then annoy people into attacking you! better than using a literal child as bait, I guess.

here she absorbs a yellow coven, and yep, it does look like covens are all supposed to be the same color?

the bodies from the agnes of westview opening.

orange coven in the late 1800s. I really like that dress and hat on her

blue coven in the 1920s, and another cunty outfit

I know you guys like the 90s look, but it makes me laugh how hard she was trying for that Craft vibe. and we don't see the beams color here.

and finally, our girls. (I miss you all so muchhhhh)

what do you know! looks like a door has appeared! (sharonnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnn!!!!!)

from fuck has my karma caught up with me to well well well, looks like we have another little maximoff on our hands

and speaking of little maximoffs and giant assholes...

go to episode 9 part 5

[leconcombrerit]

This thing had been rotting in my files for a year (minus three weeks but that's basically a year). It was a redraw of one of my first ever pieces for this fandom, and I still find it quite okay if a little stiff in places, so I thought I might as well share it since I don't draw that much anymore.

And then I had second thoughts, which obviously led to me posting it anyway, as you can see, but I realized I've almost made it a point not to draw anything related to Sasi anymore. As in at all. I can't, and I don't want to, and even sharing old art feels a bit 'meh'. It's too directly linked to my long going art block.

What I mean by that is that if I took all the followers I have out there and asked them what they know me or initially followed me for, you might have a fair amount of Lis 2 and the occasional Desert Bluffs afficionados, but you'd get an overwhelming majority of Sanders Sides. Sanders Sides fashion posts even. I was by no means famous for it or anything, but at my small artist scale, it was the biggest success I had.

And it makes it much harder to go back to it at all now. One, because I don't give a damn about the show anymore. Two, because I haven't been properly obsessing over anything in a while (there was a series early this year but given the actual emotional distress I get thinking about it I'm ruling it out). I haven't had real engagement from my own brain, nor real engagement from a broad audience -which makes sense, I'm not posting for anything that will reach a broad audience. But it takes its toll regardless.

Even when I finally finished writing a long fic, I couldn't help but feel 'all this for what ? Ten people or so and two hundreds have dropped it ?'. Which is a bad way to think about stuff you write for your own enjoyment but, you know, the brain gets happy with external validation even if you pretend really hard you don't care.

And so it feels tempting to go back to the golden goose just the time to get the creative juice pumping back, and I try, and I always end up frustrated and angry and feeling even less like making art that before. I'm not having fun with Sasi. Like an old friend you have nothing to say to and yet you have so much to say otherwise, so you get a bit frustrated, you know ? Not sure I'm making much sense, but that's how it feels. I want to have something like that again, but it won't be with Sanders Sides, and I somehow just want if off my radar.

It was left hanging, then lost its spark, and then I stopped caring altogether and I most likely won't even watch the finale when it does come out. I'm over it. I wish I wasn't though, because it does feel like the artistic spark won't come back all on its own this time, and the buzzing community made it so much easier to bounce back and do shit when your brain got wired all wrong.

It sounds like I'm just bawling after love and likes and stuff, and I guess that's part of it, in a way ? Like I'm in no place to do things for myself, and seeing the one thing I used to use to get back in the flow giving me a bored sense of dread doesn't feel too great.

Yet this drawing is still good ! I find it good ! I don't remember everything, but I can tell from the looks of it that I spent a while on it ! It's nice ! I should celebrate that. So I'm sharing it. I think it will be the last piece of Sasi I ever share, though. I'm not watching the finale when it comes out. I don't care about it. I'll just keep doodling my OCs and characters from cool books every once in a while. I'll write little things.

I just really, really need to stop trying to go back to it when it's clearly not working and not even for good reasons. It was a fun ride though ! So yeah. Basically. A whole ass rant for a one year old piece of art. I'm in my bi-annual depresso mood, nothing too surprising there.

[kpopscruggles]

The people are asking for more txt twt links w/ Headcons and your thoughts! Love ur writing and maybe a sunghoon nsfw alphabet? I read some and it's a bit innacurate.. Would love your opinion on it (also new follower so idk much abt if u already posted that *I'll do some reseach :>*)

Thank you for requesting love! I decided to go with the sunghoon a-z because I've never done one and I've alr made a haechan request! 

Nsfw twt are on hold due to me finding some but soon I will bring those back! Anway's enjoy! 

A- aftercare, what he’s like after sex 

I feel he def attends to your needs, he’s at least doing the basics. Wiping you down, getting you cold water and a snack. I feel like he also does this though because he does it for himself if I'm being honest.  

Even if you didn’t care he was going to do it for himself so why not make sure his baby is taken care of too? It just makes sense to him. 

B- body part, their favorite on theirs and partner's body 

For him, his favorite body part on himself has to be his muscle. He’s not loke drooling over himself more than he is you but he does give himself good rep because he can pick you up, move you into diffrent positions with absolutely no problem. So i feel he values his muscles because of you in a sense. 

His favorite body part on you is your legs, he loves your legs. He loves how they are always in his lap, wrapped around his waist, on his shoulders. He loves kissing your ankles while ponding into you, also bonus points if you're wearing an ankle. 

C- cum, anything to do with cum 

I think he’s a clean guy UNLESS it involves a creampie. If he’s wanting you to swallow then he’s staying in your mouth, you must bribe him little to give you a facial or pearl necklace. Now like I said if it’s a creampie it’s sticky, messy, a shower after type fuck.  

Add in is I do believe he cums a lot, now realistic but he's got a nice stream going and is the type to squeeze his tip to make sure every bit comes out.  

D- dirty secret, self-explanatory  

Hoon’s got a few dirty secrets I believe but I think the main one he possesses and will never let you know unless you find out is bragging. And although this does not seem off but it's the fact, he could do the nastiest freaky things to you and has no shame in bragging about it when the boys try to tease him over it.  

This is something that he says between the boys and the boys, he doesn't get too personal with it, but he spills it by saying it’s something they should try with their girlfriends. 

E- experience, do they know what they are doing? 

I think if he had experience it's only have been one person. Hoon doesn’t strike me as the type who bounces around, for example you two could have dated months and he’s going to be sad ab it for a bit because he takes him time to know if he wants to date or not. 

So, one person but he’s mostly learned everything he’s fond of by himself, by watching porn, reading about it, etc.  

F- favorite position 

I don't think Hoon is basic, but he does use positions that slightly branch from the basic ones. Also keep in mind he finds ways to use his muscle. So, it falls under missionary, but he most has your legs on his shoulders and his moving your hips for you. It allows him to use his arm muscles, he's able to kiss around your ankles because he loves your legs. If not that then most the time it is quite simple missionary. 

G- goofy 

No, unless a simple mistake happens, he's profoundly serious cause he thinks sex is intimate. 

H- hair, how groomed is he? 

I think he keeps himself groomed and trimmed is his favorite. I think there is something about him that likes to keep the bit of hair because it is a human body and its gonna grow. Now he’s not freaking out if it grows a bit longer than planned nor is he judging you because your pussy is pretty to him no matter what. 

I- intimacy, how are they during the moment 

Super intimate, sex is a moment where in your relationship you're showing each other love and affection. Even after an argument sex is something that helps you both realize you love each other. He’ll do anything to have intimate moments with you because he genuinely does cherish them.  

J- jack off, how often? 

A lot. I am a firm believer Hoon has a perverted side and sometimes he’s too embarrassed to admit a simple thing got him hard.  

I also do believe he’s a firm believer of the fact no one can make you cum like yourself. He thinks you should even have moments where even though you have him you nor he should be ashamed of pleasuring yourself 

K- kinks? Top three 

Top three for him is Marking, Teasing, and A bit of overstimulation?  

Many people like to make these kinks rough, but they don't have to be. He likes marking because to him he loves when you nibble on his skin while he fucks you, He loves seeing you squirm a little or having you leave him with a raging boner even, overstimulation he likes because to him it kind of reveals how much or how eager you two wants each other with no shame or remorse for yourself to stop.  

L- Location, favorite places  

He enjoys just sex in the house (he may like the couch more than the bed) but if he’s out he doesn't mind meeting you somewhere private. It’s strange he has that vibe too because I also feel like he gives car sex after a few dates. 

M- motivation, what riles him up 

Anything you do sexually obviously riles him up but something nonsexual that gets him every.single.time, is when you wear certain colors. He thinks romantic colors like red, pink a dark purple, or a nice clean white takes him out every time, double points of the outfit is revealing 

N- no, turn offs 

He’s jealous that something I'll has to agree with most people on this app. Does that mean he won't share? Not technically. (not shipping when I say this) but he won't do threesomes unless it's with someone close, we can you jake as an example. But he’s only gonna do it once and all jake is getting is head. 

Another ultimate turn off is when things feel forced, not like one forcing the other but more of if he feels you are just having sex because you haven't in like a week, yeah, it’s not getting up so don't bother babe, he thinks sex takes time.  

O- oral, preference of giving or receiving 

He prefers giving, I believe. It doesn’t bother him when you wanna give him head, he just doesn’t feel that same ego boosts as when has got you whining while he’s fucking you with his tongue. So, unless he just has the urge to cut down your throat, he’s probably gonna stop your mid-way to ravish you instead. 

P- pace, fast? Rough? Slow? Sensual? 

He’ll get down with everything I do believe. I think if he’s feeling more sensual, he’s keeping his thrusts slow and deep so that orgasm just builds up by the minute. Rough, this is my opinion, but a lot of ppl do make him seem the be super rough, but I don’t think he’s like that and if he is it’s only when you're asking for it. Other than that, his rough is a lil messy and a couple marks but I also think he keeps a medium pace and just makes sure every inch of him fills you. 

Q- quickie? 

So, when I said in the turn off category, he thinks sex takes time. If you get a quickie outta him it’s a giving you head quickie because if his baby needs to cum he’ll gladly help. Other than that, I don't believe out of enha he's a quickie guy. 

R- risk, what are they willing to risk for sex with you? 

If you seem eager to do it, then he’s making his baby happy. If it’s not ruining anything in any way, he’ll do it for you. If it’s something he’s willing to risk, then it was never important is what he'll tell you. 

S- stamina? How many rounds 

I think he can carry about three rounds in his belt, if it's a needy situation 4 but if that's the case then 1 or 2 of the sessions someone is getting head so eventually your guy's breath is caught up. I do believe he spaces these sessions out if it's a 4 rounder but barely does this happen. Other than that, he’s going about three rounds  

T- toys, do they like them? 

Yes, so as said, he does think it’s healthy for you two to have sessions by yourself and you can use toys together but if you two use them when it’s just your personal time.  

U- unfair? Do they often tease? 

He thinks it builds up the need for others. He would love it if you teased him too. I see him as a competition teaser where you two see who gives in first. 

V- volume? Are they vocal? 

He’s a 50/50, what he’s always gonna do is dirty talk, no matter if it’s whispering or full-blown words. Now vocal as moaning wise, he lets out the soft moans, but only the overstimulation hit where he gets louder. 

W- wild card? Something that just randomly makes him relentless 

Knowing someone's listening or watching, or even knowing what you just did. If you are leaving your space after sex and one of the guys makes it obvious then he's getting hard again knowing there’s someone who knew he got to be balls deep inside you. It riles him up knowing he’s that lucky and that someone is jealous enough to tease and try to make fun.  

X- x-ray? What's he giving down there? 

I think he’s skinny but decently big. His tip always stays a pink, he’s got a couple semi prominent veins depending on how long he’s been edge or has held a boner. His balls are settled too, nothing rlly different there, like said he’s nice and trimmed so has a little hair patch. All around he gives pretty dick vibes.  

Y- yearning? High or low sex drive? 

High or normal. Most the time high which I feel is why he’s a guy who takes his time, this man is not thinking about being buried in your cunt 24 hours of the day just for a quick fuck.  

Z- zzzz, how fast he falls asleep after 

He’s tired but he’s not going to sleep without letting you know he loves you and that he enjoyed making you cum, sometimes even tells you thank you. Give a couple of kisses and make sure you're comfy.  

[notjustjavierpena]

you mentioned wife being the first person javi opened up to about his mother.

imagine him walking with her around his fathers ranch and just showing her all the places from his childhood, his favourite hiding spots etc and causally just mentioning his mum here and there. reader is clinging to his arm and just basking in the day.

at night they’re staying in his childhood bedroom since it got late and they had quite a few beers with Chucho and eventually javi is holding wife/then girlfriend close and just says “i’ve never told anyone about my mother before like this” or something like that ahhh

Open

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: This is extremely personal for me to write about as a person who knows what it is like to lose a parent when you are young. I have written this with utmost gratitude to Hubby Javi because I can process some feelings through him. I hope you enjoy this harsh thing. I hope you know that this heals me and I hope it heals other people too. It might not be completely how you wanted it but I hope you like it better.

Summary: Javier opens up about the loss of his mother inside his childhood bedroom.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, angst, talk about abusive parenting, talk about grief, descriptions of a child experiencing grief and the loss of a parent, descriptions of cancer and its effects physically and emotionally, talk about death obviously, hurt/comfort, love confessions, openness is beautiful!!! kisses, clit stim, sex to deal with emotions

Word count: 4.7k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56911576

Open

About two months ago, you promised Chucho Peña that you would help him with the annual apple harvest and suddenly, the leaves are turning brown, and September begins with magazines filling up with apple pie recipes. 

Today, you have dressed the part for a weekend on your father-in-law’s ranch with your boyfriend. Dressing the part means that you have gone out to buy yourself a pair of denim overalls that make you look mostly like a caricature of a farm girl. Javier promises that he finds it sort of endearing, reassuring you every time you bring it up with embarrassment on your face. 

“Stop worrying,” he says as he wipes his forehead with the back of his hand, standing on a ladder that you are holding whilst he plucks apples off what seems like the millionth tree in the orchard, “He likes you, baby.”

“I should have just gone with my usual clothes,” you argue with a little sigh. Javier doesn’t know how much it means to you that you aren’t seen as foolish, how much it would hurt to find out that you are seen as the butt of a joke behind closed doors. He doesn’t know how much you need this approval because Chucho Peña is the kindest and most gentle and attentive older man you have ever met, treating you like his own child with a soft mija (my girl/daughter) that had been enough for you to excuse yourself for a moment the first time you had heard it. He is not at all like your own father. 

“You’re making an effort that doesn’t go unnoticed,” Javier offers as a consolation after you have stayed silent for a little too long, stepping down the ladder and taking off his work gloves. He stuffs them into his belt and kisses you with another reassuring smile, “He likes you.”

“I guess I'll just have to trust you,” you sigh dramatically and Javier pulls you into an embrace, the chuckle he lets out vibrating against your chest. You feel his lips pull into a smile as he rests his mouth against your cheek.

“You are kind and honest,” he compliments and sways you from side to side as he holds you close. You wrap yourself around him too, listening to his sweet words and breathing in his scent, “And he thinks the world of you. I might actually start to feel a little jealous.”

A little smile forms on your face as he squeezes you tighter and when he pulls back just a bit to kiss you, you nod at him, trying to play it cool despite thoughts of self-doubt nagging at you, “I did warn you about how I get around parents..” 

“I know, mi amor (my love), I know,” he acknowledges and holds you close again, “But you did enough to charm him the first time to be invited back. And the overalls really do sell it.”

“Shut up,” you groan as he snickers in your ear. He always manages to make your heart flutter in your chest, teasing you relentlessly but grounding you as he does it. None of your baggage is too big for him, even as you present it with trembling hands from how heavy it feels to you.

“Just a few more minutes here and we can have a well-earned fucking break. I love you but not enough to skive off in my Dad’s garden,” he tells you and starts to loosen you from his embrace, “That okay?”

You nod and then you finally break apart. Javier gets back onto the ladder to pick the remaining apples off the tree in front of you. He starts the repetitive task once again, handing each one to you so you can carefully put them in the basket on the ground so they don’t bruise. While you do it, you find your mind drifting to the day you met Chucho. 

You remember the drive to the ranch, your heart pounding in your chest at a million miles per hour, and the fake smile you had given Javier each time he had asked if you were okay. During your stay for dinner and drinks, and as you smiled and charmed, you hid the anxiety until you were all the way back at Javier’s apartment once more, only then letting your facade crumble and telling him that the dizzying nervousness he had seen on the drive back had nothing to do with his father and everything to do with your own. 

Javier had asked you if your parents had ever hurt you and with a shaky voice, you’d had to explain that while the answer was no, what you received instead of deliberate cruelty was cruel indifference. 

“I don’t know what’s worse,” you had said with stinging tears in your eyes, “Being hurt or being invisible.”

“You’re not invisible to me,” Javier had whispered into your hair. He had held you tightly that evening, right in his hallway, feet planted on the floorboards that have become yours too, his arms a harbor of reassurance that things will never be like that again, “I will never allow anyone to treat you like that again.”

Now, as you place another apple gently in the basket, you think about how different Chucho Peña is from your father. Chucho’s attention is genuine and warm, listening to you with the same interest as Javier shows too, letting you know where some of your boyfriend’s mannerisms come from, whereas your parents’ show of care was always fleeting and conditional to the point where you wondered why they even decided to have you. 

“Hey,” Javier’s voice breaks through your thoughts. He’s looking down at you from the ladder, concern on his face and gloves already off again, “¿Estás bien? (You okay?)”

“Yeah, sorry,” you feel embarrassed that it’s so evident on your face that you aren’t at ease but decide to be honest, “Just thinking about parents and overalls.”

Javier steps down onto the gravel again, laying the gloves on the top step of the ladder. He tuts, face serious for a moment. 

“C’mon, you’ve been standing in the sun too long. Let’s take a break now and go for a walk in the garden. Still got a lot to show you,” he says with his hand reaching out for you. You take it with an unsure smile, but as you are interlocking your fingers and gently swaying your arms between your bodies as you start walking, you find that it feels more than alright to let yourself be comforted by him. 

Javier leads you through the apple trees until you are out of the orchard completely. He talks quietly about the ranch but there’s a slight hesitation to dig deeper than the materials and the construction of his childhood home. You decide not to push it, knowing that it was not easy to reveal your secrets, and instead admire the many flowers that will bloom in next year’s Spring. 

Javier seems to notice you taking in all the different bushes and flowers and you’ll never admit to seeing his shoulders slump slightly just before he starts talking again, “Mom loved this garden, you know. She spent hours here, tending to every single plant until her fingertips were green and dirt-smudged. I used to follow her around, pretending to help but mostly just getting in the way.”

“Didn’t get into trouble, did you?” You tease and lean into him as you walk. 

“Loads and I would hide up there when she got angry with me,” he points to an old and slightly weathered oak tree, a rope ladder in even worse condition hanging down the trunk, “But she’d always soften if I apologized. Once she said she liked her hyacinths without their heads to make me feel better.”

“I’d swap parents in a heartbeat,” you sigh with your head on his shoulders and he moves to let you hold onto his arm instead. He goes a little quieter and you allow him to hold onto her memory by himself for a moment, looking up to see a slight crinkle on his forehead. 

“Even when you’d only have one?” He eventually murmurs into your hair and from the way he exhales, you know that he regrets saying it, “I mean… I know you would.”

“You have beautiful memories of her, I can tell,” you say as gently as possible, “If you ever want to tell me more about her, I’m here to listen, you know.”

Javier clears his throat, “Thank you.”

A moment passes but nothing more happens. This would be the perfect opportunity but the silence stretches out until you walk beside him again, holding his hand instead of basking in his half-embrace. You want to say something but you are at a loss, searching for the right words to comfort him but failing just long enough for him to change the subject. 

“We should go see how far Pop has gotten,” he suggests lightheartedly and steers you back where you came from, out of what used to be his sanctuary with his mother. 

“Yeah, sure, baby,” you reply. 

Another time then.

—

When the sun has gone down behind the horizon and the cicadas have come out from their hiding places, singing their hearts out, Javier takes you to his old room upstairs. The both of you have had alcohol with dinner and while Javier had offered to take a cab, his father had scolded him for even thinking about such nonsense, telling him that it was a joy to have him home so wholeheartedly. Your father-in-law had looked at you with a warm smile as he had said it. 

Now, you lie in Javier’s old bed - just a little bit too small for the both of you - with the quilted bedspread lying neatly folded in the end. It somehow feels more intimate to be in his childhood bedroom than it would be to go through his underwear drawer. 

Right above you, several posters are pinned to the ceiling and overlapping each other. The corners of the posters curl slightly and their colors have dulled since the 70s but they display the men of rock bands like Led Zeppelin and Pink Floyd. Some display the band logos too, they exist on the CDs that you have found in Javier’s glove compartment but he never listens to them when he drives you around. You make a mental note to casually put one of them on during your drive home tomorrow. 

Seeing those iconic faces from the 70s stare down at you, you can’t help but glance fondly at Javier when he isn’t looking but instead standing by the open window on the opposite wall, smoking a cigarette. Suddenly, his wardrobe consisting of denim jeans, colorful shirts, and leather jackets makes sense. 

You try to imagine Don Chucho coming in here with the determination to put out the cigarette in his son’s hand, holding in a lecture that would only have made the teenager roll his eyes. Then the snark that would have come out of Javier’s mouth, his face mustache-free and full of spots, and you smile so much that you turn around onto your stomach to hide your expression in his pillow. 

It smells faintly of sweat and the cheap cologne only a teenager would have bought, so you turn to peek at your boyfriend again. He taps his fingers on the window sill, overlooking the garden that you have come to learn so much about earlier. 

You spot small pieces of who he is everywhere; a stack of sociology books, paperback horror books with titles in both English and Spanish. The most worn down and loved one is El Resplandor which you guess to be The Shining. There’s also a corkboard on the wall with ticket stubs and polaroids, a framed photograph on the desk that you haven’t had the courage or chance to look at yet, beside it a figurine of La Virgen de Guadalupe that’s been tipped over in what seems to be frustration. Your smile drops a little as you feel the weight of the unfairness he must have felt. 

From the window, Javier exhales a puff of smoke and reaches up to rub his eye with his free hand. You glance again at the photograph on the desk, curiosity getting the better of you as you rise from the bed and walk over to it. 

As expected, the picture is of Javier's mother. What you didn’t expect is seeing your boyfriend at the age of what you calculate to be younger than ten. The resemblance is striking; her features are mirrored in his even with how much he still looks like his father. 

You chew on the inside of your cheek as you pick up the religious figurine next to the picture, placing her upright once more so her head is tipped toward Javier and his mother. There’s a surge of emotion in your stomach that you try to suppress, a sense of urgency to reach through the photograph and comfort the little boy who has lost half of himself. 

You hear him stub out his cigarette on the wood paneling outside, followed by the dry sound of him trying to brush the ashes off the wood again with his calloused hands. In his late thirties and still acting as if he’ll get caught by his father. 

He turns back towards you and you act like nothing has happened, holding out your hand for him to take. He glances in the direction of his mother’s photo but decides not to say anything even as he notices the figurine standing upright once again. You flex your fingers to draw attention to your hovering hand, “Come to bed.” 

You’ve both already been in your underwear for a while since it’s late and you’re alone - the overalls hang on the back of his door, scowling at you - so he simply takes your hand and you walk backward until the edge hits the back of your legs. You let yourself fall down onto the bed and into the mattress, moving backward until there’s room for him too. 

Javier sighs the second he is lying down next to you, your shoulders touching from the missing width of the bed. He turns onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow and staring down at your face. 

“What?” You ask with a little smile.

There’s a flash of something in his eyes and the fact that he hasn’t said anything yet makes you want to squirm nervously. He reaches out with the arm he has been lying on, splaying his fingers against your cheek as his thumb rests underneath your chin, and then he crashes your mouths together in a kiss that you know is him resolving back to past methods of dealing with it all. 

However, you find yourself kissing him back at first, grabbing his wrist, and leaning into him to make out with him in a way that his younger self wouldn’t have believed was possible to experience. There’s a warm feeling in your stomach as you tangle your legs together, desire for him swirling below your belly button. 

You gasp against his lips when his free hand slips into your panties, your heart hammering in your chest as he smears some of your wetness over your clit. He rubs you off until you breathe heavily, fingertip dancing back and forth over the hard nub.

“You’re so wet,” he moans quietly and slowly increases the pressure of his fingers. He really wants you to come, it seems. You didn’t have getting laid in your boyfriend’s childhood bed down on this year’s bingo card but you can feel your orgasm approaching so damn quickly that it makes you not able to think straight. 

“Baby,” you babble, horny out of your mind from the intense emotions in the air, “I’m not gonna— in your dad’s house.”

“Yes, you fucking are,” he says in a low voice, kissing your open and panting mouth to shut you up. You might come but he won’t have you making noise loud enough to reveal what you are doing. He growls in the back of his throat, “You want my fingers? Don’t reply. Just nod or shake your head.”

You dig your nails into his wrist hard enough to create little crescent-shaped marks. You want to nod your head so badly but it feels wrong to be nothing but an outlet, a distraction from what you should be talking about. So instead, you shake your head with a moan, on the brink of bursting, “Stop, Javier. Stop.”

Javier raises his brow but immediately brings his hand to a halt, watching as you whimper from being edged. You clutch at your own chest, rolling away to not tempt him to fall back into his bad habit. 

“¿Qué pasa (What’s going on)?” He asks with a crease on his forehead. He tries to kiss you again but you put a hand on his chest to create some space between the two of you. He scowls, “What? You’re not having sex with me because we’re in my Pop’s house?” 

“That wasn’t sex,” you bite with frustration throughout your lower body, reaching down to fix the waistband of your underwear. The fabric sticks to you and your throbbing clit tells you to beg for forgiveness so it can have its release. You ignore it, “That was you avoiding the elephant in the room with intimacy and I don’t want to be a part of that.”

Javier lets himself fall onto his back, reaching up to push the heels of his hands into his eyes. He groans and lets his palms run down his face until his arms rest along his sides again. He heaves a big sigh, “Shit. Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright,” you promise because it is. You aren’t even mad despite how you probably should be, only feeling the way your heart aches for the boy who had to grow up too fast. Without a word, you reach down to entwine your fingers and give his hand a reassuring squeeze, “I promise. It’s okay.”

“We talk about her but we don’t talk about her,” he says to the ceiling. You go quiet and choose to simply listen instead of breaking the streak of him opening up about something so vulnerable. Instead of using your words, you rub his hand in soothing circles. 

“Pop likes to mention her occasionally but it’s with a little smile on his face and a funny story,” he continues quietly, “And that’s fine. Really, it is. I like remembering the good but he says all the right things without making it hurt. It feels as though he expects me to keep all the bad in check and believe me, there was a lot of awful shit. So much that sometimes it feels like I can’t move when I am reminded of it. Hospitals with never-ending halls, that poisonous shit they shot into her veins, her losing her hair, even her goddamn eyelashes, and suddenly not—“

He stops for a moment and swallows thickly. You turn onto your side and rest your forehead against his shoulder, still clutching his hand to let him know you are not letting go. He clears his throat to sound as if his voice isn’t wavering, “Suddenly not recognizing her anymore. This terrible sight of her turning yellow during her last few weeks. I was just a kid and it was horrible and unfair. I wish he’d acknowledge how horrible and unfair it was.” 

You kiss his bare shoulder a few times. There are so many things you want to say but mostly, it is that you are so sorry for what he went through. 

“I think I learned that nothing lasts forever,” he adds without looking at you, staring down at where his fingers are entwined with yours. He is quiet for a moment and you feel your heart pick up in rhythm as you try to find something to fill the silence with, something that debunks that belief. However, just as you are about to say something, he speaks again, “But I would like this to be. I would like us to be forever.”

“Javi,” you finally say softly. 

He lifts his gaze to lock it onto yours. He looks at his most vulnerable, eyes brown and big as he waits for you to continue. You take just a moment too long and he is off again, suddenly very chatty.

“I know I haven’t asked you to marry me,” he says, “But I promise it’s coming. I just need to get it right.”

“You don’t have to talk about that right now. You know I love you and I know you love me too; I know it’s coming,” you say to reassure, pushing the idea of only letting him speak away because this topic is too big to stay silent on, “I’m not lying here with you because I want a ring on my finger, and I’m certainly not treating it like a condition for you to open up to me. I want to know you, Javier.”

“Thank you,” Javier looks grateful to hear that, saying nothing for a moment before looking at the ceiling again. He laughs softly, “You fucking terrified me, you know, the first time we sat down together.”

“I terrified you?” You furrow your brows, huffing out a laugh of disbelief.

“I pull my grief up to every table I share with a person I would like to have in my life, mi amor (my love). I was terrified the first time we were on a date,” he admits, “I kept thinking when you were going to ask about family… If I was close to my mother. I hated to imagine the way your smile and curiosity would drop but I don’t want to just focus on the way I want to remember her. You were so kind and thoughtful and damn bright-eyed - that was before I knew about your dad - and I didn’t want to share how I actually remember her because you might have not wanted to see me like that.”

“Javi,” you let go of his hand to put your palm against his cheek, turning his head towards you. You weigh your words, “I want to know everything about you. I want to know everything about her too. Especially if you’re gonna marry me.” 

“She was incredible, loved music, always honest even if it meant war, and read so many books that Pop had to build her bookcase after bookcase,” he tells you with a tremble in his voice and a tear that threatens to spill down his cheek even as he smiles in remembrance of her, “But as warm and loving as she was hard. Believe it or not, Pop used to be the softie of those two.”

“I can imagine,” you say fondly. You let your hand fall down to rest on his chest, palm laying just where his heart is. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen a woman so defiant in her ways but she grew up with a lot of expectations of how she should live her life,” he continues, “I think that hardened her a lot. I think it brought a lot of trouble too. She was so fiercely independent. She was fiercely protective of me and Dad too but sometimes even more of herself. I guess I know what it’s like to defend oneself from all the bullshit people give you.”

“Fiercely protective?” You tease, “Sounds like someone I know.”

“Yeah, I guess. Maybe I got that from her,” he admits with both pride and sadness. He puts a hand on your wrist, rubbing it with his thumb as a way to fidget, “That’s why it got so hard when she got sick because that defiance just crumbled. I was just a kid but I was old enough to see through the facade she put up every day. I was happy to eat takeout all the time - I was barely ten, so who wouldn’t be? - but I knew it was because she was too exhausted to cook. The music was too loud, the TV muted so she could sleep on the couch all the time or maybe it had the sound turned up all the way because she was throwing up in the bathroom.”

It seems he cannot stop himself now, hand tightening around your wrist and tears falling from his eyes, “She would look at Pop with a scared expression because she knew she had to leave him all alone with me. I don’t think we ever talked about that fact. I think I just realized it for myself one day.”

Your chest constricts at seeing him cry for the first time in your presence. You’ve seen him in the aftermath of it on the nights when Colombia creeps into his head as he sleeps, where he excuses himself to the bathroom and comes out a few minutes later with puffy eyes and a reddened nose. Seeing him now, upset like this, hits you harder than you thought it would and your heart aches as you listen to him talk about the loss of his life. 

It is years of bottled-up cruel pain and sorrow flowing out of him, so you follow your instincts and throw your arms around him even if his arm is still trapped between you. You hold him tightly and feel his reluctance for a millisecond before he allows himself to tremble in your embrace. 

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that,” you say softly, “You were just a little boy, and you had to watch your mom suffer. No one should have to go through that.”

Grief is a funny thing because as you close your eyes, feeling his shuddering breaths against your chest in the midst of his emotional motion sickness, you swear that it is not an adult Javier that you are hugging but rather the version of him that had to let go of his mother. 

When your muscles start to ache from squeezing him so hard, you pull back a little to stare into his tearful face, watching his eyes glisten. You wipe a tear away but it is just replaced by another. 

“I don’t want to lose you. I don’t want to mess this up,” he says and you’re not sure if it’s him or the little boy in him that speaks. 

“You won’t,” you reassure him, your voice steady like a lifeline that he can hold onto, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”

Javier sniffles with a hesitant smile. Like the instincts of a mother, you lift the hem of your shirt to wipe a few tears from his face. You lean close to kiss him afterward and then move to lie face-to-face with him, so close that your noses almost touch. Your voice is sincere, “I know she meant a lot to you and your dad, so thank you for telling me. It sounds like she was an amazing woman. I wish I could have met her.”

“She would have loved you,” Javier replies, “She had this way of seeing right through people, knowing if they were genuine or not. And you, you’re the most genuine person I’ve ever met.”

Despite the warmth outside, you feel a different kind flow through you at those words. You brush your lips against his in a tender kiss, “I need to make sure that I tell you that I love you even more when you are so open and gentle with me.” 

He looks tired now but it’s the tiredness that fills the body after relief, “I love you too.”

“I think you should get some sleep,” you say softly. 

“I’ve never talked to anyone about my mother like this before,” he adds, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“You never have to find out,” you tell him and reach to rub a thumb between his eyebrows, “Close your eyes, baby.  I’ll stay awake until you’re asleep.”

He does as he is told and smiles until sleep takes over, his face relaxing, his mouth going slack, and his breaths slowing down. He is so beautiful like this, looking peaceful, looking like home.

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[chiocchi]

If you don't mind answering, why do you ship Tom Riddle and Harry Potter? Besides the whole issue that they are enemies, and the age difference, both characters are heterosexual. It's canonical fact. If it's the dynamic you like... Have you thought about Tomione's ship? They have a lot of potential together. And in the right direction, they would be a couple that could make it in the books.

JDKLJKLFJSDLKFJA This kinda feels like people knocking on your door and trying to get you to believe in their religion. It's pretty funny.

I don't know why are you calling issues to a part of the pairing's appeal lkajdsjfs (And Hermione is Harry's age and they are on the same side too?). And not sure about that canonical fact. Harry can be read as bisexual quite easily and Voldemort|Tom... idk he seems more obsessed with power, immortality, and Harry. But even if that's the case, I don't see why it should matter. We're in fandom after all.

I don't know if I'll be able to convey why I like this ship so much. For starters, I'm really into the unique connection they share. There was a piece of Voldemort's soul inside Harry's; they had a mental link; a whole language they're the only ones to speak (for the most part); Voldemort chose him and marked him; and there's even a prophecy that linked them together. There aren't two people more connected than them. They're soulmates, and the fact that Voldemort didn't intend it and Harry hates it adds another layer of complexity.

But not only that, they're like a broken reflection of each other, which I find fascinating. In his second year, Harry was worried about the similarities between them. Both half-bloods, orphans, raised by Muggles, they both considered Hogwarts their first real home. I feel like they would have really understood each other in other circumstances. They would have been friends. Because one of their key differences is that Harry found friends and adults that loved him while Tom was probably bullied and, y'know, the whole Dumbledore thing.

Not to mention that Harry would die for everyone whereas Tom would kill everyone. They're insane in their own way. I love their similarities and differences, but more than anything else, I love when they're together. The fanfics and fanarts are awesome.

And the whole thing of being enemies feels quite gay sometimes klafjdlskfja. Harry can't help but think Tom is handsome and, despite everything Voldemort did, Harry wanted to give him one last chance to show remorse. I have no doubt Harry is crazy enough to actually forgive him.

I've thought about Tomione and I've come to the conclusion that I don't like it. pinktom has a really good post about it and I agree with it. Besides, Hermione liked Ron and had something with Krum, and they're nothing like Tom. Just because she's heterosexual doesn't mean she's attracted to any man, y'know? klajdlfkdjs I don't think they would have been a couple in the books, no matter the direction. If it's the dynamic you like, have you thought about Tomarry? More believable, more intense, and a wider range of wholesomeness to fucked up in the fics. It's really interesting. Unless you don't like men being together? Hmm? Suspicious (just kidding. To each their own. So no need to go to other people's asks to try to change their minds :kek:).

Also Harry is my favorite character and he's not replaceable. I kinda don't care about any other character tbh. Thank you for coming to my Ted talk.

[jinxedshapeshifter]

Trucy's Characterization Never Changed: An Essay

Originally I was going to do an essay on all the characters that had flanderization accusations thrown at them but then I decided to focus on Trucy because Trucy.

First of all, here's the link to the TVTropes page for flanderization. It doesn't apply to Trucy in my opinion. You can't flanderize a magician when that's been a central part of her characterization from the beginning. With that out of the way, onto me basically proving TVTropes is wrong about Trucy being flanderized.

Part 1: Trucy's Characterization in Apollo Justice: Ace Attorney

Trucy's a bit of an eccentric magician from the beginning. She experiences negative emotions but she hides it incredibly well, especially for a 15 year old. She's so good at hiding her emotions that it's a plot point in The Magical Turnabout but I'll get to that later.

Trucy shows concern over Apollo breaking down after Trucy fakes her own kidnapping, she shows concern for Lamiroir throughout Turnabout Serenade, and she shows concern for Klavier while Kristoph is testifying. She just usually hides it almost immediately after showing it. Let's look at the two scenarios where Trucy does show concern for someone else, but hides it immediately after; those being when Apollo finds her after she stages her kidnapping, and when Kristoph is testifying:

She tells Apollo not to cry and almost immediately threatens him playfully. Instead of outwardly showing concern, she tries to cheer him up then he threatens to press charges and she explains everything to him. The fact that she staged her own kidnapping to get a recess in the first place is evidence enough that she was worried about Apollo, specifically him not being able to identify when a witness is nervous.

She tells Apollo "Prosecutor Gavin's on the warpath, isn't he?" and justifies it with Klavier being nervous because Kristoph's watching. When you press the next statement, Trucy says Klavier and Kristoph are like a "two-man wrecking team" and doesn't take it quite as seriously. Press Kristoph's final statement and Trucy will voice concern for Klavier again ("Does Prosecutor Gavin seem strange to you, too? It's like he's all grown-up…") and she continues to flip between visible concern and nonchalance. Also worth noting is she also gets visibly concerned when Klavier freaks out on Vera. She also voices concern for Vera at this point.

None of this is to say people are saying Trucy doesn't express concern at all. I'm trying to give a picture of how Trucy tends to express concern; that being, something comes up that concerns her, she expresses that concern, and then she keeps going like nothing's wrong (this applies to more than just concern, it's just easiest to exhibit with how she shows concern). It's not because she doesn't care, it's because she just tends to hide her emotions behind a smile, something that's referenced by Phoenix himself at the end of the game.

Also worth noting is that if she wants to, she will bring things back to her magic show. I would think the fact that she brings up her magic panties whether it's relevant or not just to mess with Apollo is proof enough of this.

Part 2: Trucy's Characterization in Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice

Getting this out of the way now, she's not an airhead after AJ:AA. She is consistently intelligent. I have never once thought she's not. Like just as examples:

First and foremost, because this really makes me wonder where this claim came from, both Athena and Apollo are shocked to find that Trucy was conned into signing a different contract than the one she thought she signed in The Magical Turnabout. Athena specifically says "It couldn't have been easy fooling Trucy. That girl's no slouch!" and Apollo says "It's not everybody who can fool our Trucy." Actually I could make The Magical Turnabout an entire bullet point on its own considering the entire plot is "how the fuck did this guy con Trucy"

Let's also mention Turnabout Revolution. I'm like 99.99% sure her goal was just to get on the plane without being seen, otherwise she wouldn't have popped up at the end of the case. As long as she got on the plane without anyone finding out, she'd be fine because there is no way they were going to turn back JUST because Trucy snuck onto the flight. If anything I actually think Edgeworth is the idiot in this situation for falling for something Trucy's apparently pulled on him multiple times. The important thing here though is that she snuck on the plane in Edgeworth's suitcase. She could've snuck on in anyone's suitcase and she chose Edgeworth's, and I think there's a very specific reason for this. Trucy was present when Klavier said prosecutors don't have to go through the same security checks as everyone else, and if we assume Trucy knew this, yeah, of course she snuck on the plane in Edgeworth's suitcase. Was it pointless? Possibly, depending on whether Phoenix, Apollo, Dhurke, and Athena had to go through security checks. But Trucy still chose the person whose luggage was least likely to be checked and she apparently does it enough that Edgeworth isn't surprised to find out about it.

Trucy can throw knives with such perfect precision that she prevents Cosmos from scootering away while she's investigating the space center with Phoenix, something she reacts to with "And the streak continues!" implying she's been throwing knives at moving targets for a while at that point (behind Phoenix's back, I might add). Throwing knives at a target is one thing, throwing knives at the tires of a moving vehicle is another and it makes me wonder how much she practiced. Either way she'd have to know exactly how to throw a knife to puncture the tire of a moving vehicle because she very specifically used a knife to puncture the tire of Cosmos's segway. Precision isn't the only factor into this, she needs to know exactly how much force to put behind her throw. She might've just guessed at that for all we know, because it's almost impossible for her to know exactly how much force to throw a knife with to puncture that tire without having thrown a knife at the exact same type of tire. Like. GIRL

When I saw the claim that she turns every conversation around to her magic show, I was like "surely that's an exaggeration and she does that because Phoenix wants her to focus on school instead of going out and investigating with Apollo" and checked the transcript for The Monstrous Turnabout. Guess what, I was right, for The Monstrous Turnabout at least. It's either relevant to something, the conversation didn't have a solid topic in the first place, or she's passive-aggressively complaining about not being able to join investigations (because the reason discussions with her were usually on topic in AJ:AA is because she was Apollo's investigative partner).

Like did we forget that presenting something and an irrelevant tangent happening isn't new in the Ace Attorney universe? Kay and Lang get into a powerscaling debate about wolves and ravens because Lang was presented with Kay's Yatagarasu pin. Trucy's been pulling the magic card on Apollo when he presents something since she was introduced. Athena and Apollo get into a powerscaling debate about Tenma Taro and the Nine-Tailed Fox (which is tangentially related to the case at best). I'm pretty sure Maya has moments like this.

Trucy's tangents just get more plentiful because she's not investigating the crimes and she herself implies she's annoyed about it. I've never met someone who likes doing schoolwork, why wouldn't she focus on her magic if she can't investigate crimes and it's between schoolwork and magic (which, mind you, is her job that she gets paid to do)? It feels less like "Trucy's whole personality is being a magician" and more like "mutual 'what are you working on' exchanges between coworkers" because as I said, magic is Trucy's job.

To put it another way, magic is to Trucy what law and psychology are to Apollo and Athena respectively. "But Athena doesn't talk about psychology near as much as Trucy talks about magic!" She's Apollo's investigative partner. She knows what's going on in the investigation which makes it easier for her to stick to the topic of the investigation. If she wasn't involved in an investigation, I can almost guarantee she'd start psychoanalyzing Apollo and Phoenix. This is opposed to Trucy, who has no idea what's going on aside from what Apollo and Athena tell her because she's not involved. Like there's very much a reason most conversations with her go to magic after AJ:AA. What else is she going to talk to Apollo, Phoenix, and Athena about? She's not involved in the investigations. That fact is implied to annoy her.

Like I said, Trucy bringing up magic when you talk to her during investigations just feels like some kind of "how's work going" exchange, which, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that normal in workplaces like the Wright Anything Agency? The only difference is that Trucy's job is vastly different from everyone else in the agency. Apollo and/or Athena tell Trucy how the investigation's going, so she shows them how her magic is going in the most inconvenient way possible. It's funny and I love her for it.

And she still hides how she's feeling behind a smile. Presumably because she's so used to a smile convincing people she's fine, she's surprised when Apollo's bracelet reacts to her saying she's fine. She actually explains why she does this in The Magical Turnabout; the Gramarye creed is "A true entertainer always keeps a smile on their face" and Trucy's been living under that since her debut (she also explains this; she sees it as a way of keeping Zak alive). She does this twice in Dual Destinies; once with Athena and once with Apollo. We can also assume she did this when Aura was holding her hostage, since she says she performed magic tricks for the rest of Aura's hostages to keep everyone's spirits up. Let's break down the times she does this in Dual Destinies though.

The first time is in The Cosmic Turnabout, after Apollo gets attacked by Tonate. Phoenix teases Trucy about not being able to tease Apollo anymore and even that doesn't get a reaction from her, which prompts Phoenix to say it's been a while since he last saw her so down. When she does finally talk, it's to say they should take Starbuck's defense to "avenge our fallen comrade" (Apollo). Not really sure if it's relevant but I do think it's worth mentioning that Athena is the one who cheers her up here.

The second time is in Turnabout for Tomorrow, after Athena's arrested under suspicion of Clay's murder. Here she's masking her feelings about both Apollo's estrangement from the Wright Anything Agency and Athena's arrest, but it's actually implied that she's more upset about Apollo leaving (which I'm going to guess is because she's closer to Apollo and she knows Athena's in good hands with Phoenix defending her). Trucy is so upset about Apollo leaving the agency that she blames herself for him leaving in the first place (specifically wondering out loud to Phoenix if her roping him into her magic tricks is why he left). She's so worried about Apollo that she stays back when Phoenix leaves the space center to keep an eye on Apollo, which is what results in her being held hostage. To reiterate, she was so worried about Apollo that she basically ditched Phoenix to keep an eye on him and ended up one of Aura's hostages as a result.

I also want to mention that Trucy explicitly says during the credits of AJ:AA that she feels like she found her "long-lost, big, little brother" and she is all but stated to have abandonment issues from the age of eight (something I say because she's worried that Phoenix is going to leave her like Zak did when Phoenix basically adopts Trucy on the spot). Look at her reactions to Apollo leaving the agency and Apollo staying in Khura'in with that in mind and it just makes it even more heartbreaking. Trucy even asks if they're really going to see Apollo again when Apollo says he's staying in Khura'in. She feels like she just found her long-lost brother again (and she did, she just doesn't know it), I think him just leaving without much warning (TWICE within six months of each other) probably triggered her abandonment issues.

Part 3: Conclusion Because There's Definitely More I Could Say But I Don't Know What. I'll add to this later. maybe

This is more of a ramble about how I don't think Trucy's characterization changed at all after AJ:AA but I will do a proper analysis of Trucy at some point, especially because I really want to analyze her dynamic with Apollo. I don't even really know how much sense this makes (which seems to be really common with these but it's fine. I'm okay with that) but I will be analyzing Trucy again, I promise. She needs a hug so bad

[lurkingshan]

Japanese QL Corner

We are up to seven live airing QLs from Japan! Five of these are on Gaga and two are being generously provided via fansubs.

A brief interlude for me to climb on my soapbox: if you are a fan of Japanese queer media who is not based in Japan, you really should be supporting GagaOOLala. They are the sole international distributor of most of these shows and the only reason international fans can watch them as they release. They’re a queer-owned Taiwanese company specifically focused on providing international access to global queer media, and their monthly subscription is much cheaper than other streaming services. They’re not perfect but they are quite responsive to feedback about their catalogue and approach; please consider subscribing if you love these shows!

I’m really loving most of these shows and I highly recommend jumping in to the weekly watch!

Takara's Treasure

I fall more in love with these two every week. We finally got some answers on Takara's backstory, and as expected, it is the mother who abandoned him that has been harassing him. Taishin blazed in to give that lady a piece of his mind before even realizing who she was, and it only made Takara love him more. The revelation that Takara is holding back with Taishin because he doesn't want to be covetous like his mother sent me into a bit of a tailspin. I loved Taishin getting his moment to reciprocate Takara's care, as well as Takara's amusement that Taishin still hasn't pieced together what they are to each other. I'm excited for it to finally click for him soon.

Sugar Dog Life

I'll be honest, this first episode did not hit right for me. I always struggle with copaganda heavy romances, especially when the show is intentionally framing cops as benevolent and explicitly linking that to the romantic arc. But I liked the cooking parts of it a lot! We'll see how it proceeds. This one is being fan subbed, so if anyone is having trouble finding it feel free to hit me up in DMs and I'll point you.

Cosmetic Playlover

This one is coming in hot with two episodes a week, because Japan is trying to kill me. I like the concept and vibe but the execution is a bit all over the place; it feels like they want this to be a dark story but aren’t willing to fully commit to that, so dark things happen but then get treated too lightly. The pacing also feels a little wacky and we’re rushing through plot and relationship development in a way that leaves it all feeling a bit ungrounded. Sahashi went from harassing and threatening to out Natsume to kissing and claiming to be serious about him in the space of 15 minutes, and then suddenly in the next ep there’s a new villain and suspense plot. This one is just not clicking; I’m tilting my head with a furrowed brow.

I Hear the Sunspot

Sigh. I really didn’t need another arc about a third party interloper coming between the boys, but here we are. Maya is a throwback to the bad old femme fatale archetype steeped in misogyny and I don’t love it. She’s arrogant, manipulative, and mean for no good reason, and she doesn’t feel like she fits in this story about decent people trying their best. There was a way to do this plot with a more sympathetic portrayal of her, but unfortunately they didn't take that route. I’m disappointed that she’s with us for multiple episodes, and it’s hard to believe this rude little girl can really come between them. I said last week that it felt like they regressed Kohei and Taichi’s relationship in the time skip and I’m feeling that even more now. Aside from this mess, I really liked all of Taichi’s scenes with his friends this week as he continues trying to work out his feelings for Kohei. I hope we get back to Taichi and Kohei spending time together again soon; that’s the real heart of this show and I already miss it.

Ayaka is in Love with Hiroko

Sigh. Last week I was mad at the characters around Hiroko, but this week I am forced to be mad at the show for how it's dealing with this entire plot involving Hiroko's decisions about her privacy at work, Risa's inappropriate interference, and Ayaka's bizarre conclusion that she should announce her love for Hiroko to the whole office. This whole love triangle and forced outing plot was ill-considered and it's dragging the show down; we should not have had Risa being so wrong and manipulative or ventured into queer workplace politics at all if the show wasn't prepared to take it seriously. On the plus side, we finally got the backstory for Hiroko, and it was surprising in a good way. I hope this show can get back to the zany comedy it was doing so well before it got bogged down in all this mess.

Mr. Mitsuya's Planned Feeding

Episode 3 just went up on @isaksbestpillow's blog, and it's a fantastic one. I was howling watching Mitsuya wailing on his ex and poor Ishida trying to process this new rival on the scene. Shige continues to be the MVP and I loved the way he encouraged Ishida with a mix of sage advice and sexy sass (also loved that Mitsyua immediately knew that gossip ratted him out). And I screamed again when Ishida got worked up and confessed; I didn't expect that to happen so fast and it was excellent! This show feels so mature in the best way; I really feel like I'm watching adults who have lived.

Tagging @bengiyo to add the anime update!

[barrenclan]

How do you decide on motifs? Like sleep being associated with death, roses being associated with death? And how did you go about assigning each motif to a character (especially more character specific ones)? Like I get that Rainhaze was seen as a coyote in omens because of his association with Ranger, but why is Nightberry associated with visions, why is Cootstorm associated with never changing, conservative ideals?

Here's a good way to think about this: PATFW is not coming out of nowhere. Seems obvious, right? But every decision made is one that I had to intentionally choose, with a goal in mind for what I wanted to do with them. So I don't have real animals, or real people - I have certain stories in mind, and the characters are tools that I use to express these ideas. Let's take two examples brought up here, and I'll show you what I mean.

Asphodelpaw's death. For this story, I wanted to have a big, climatic moment that really jerks around the story, much in the same way that Shellspring's reveal did in TDS. I know that I want Rainhaze to be an exploration of a character who starts out good and turns complicated, and that I want him to not be redeemed. Okay, so how do I make sure Rainhaze is beyond redemption? He'd have to do something really awful, like killing someone important. The rest of the Clan wouldn't be as impactful if he killed them, so it should be one of his family members, and someone we really care about. Okay, who do I want him to kill? Pinepaw is my narrator, so if I want him to keep narrating, I can't kill him. I want Slugpelt to feel the consequences of this murder Rainhaze makes, and I want her to later confront him about it, so he can't kill her. I can't quite get into why I want Daffodilpaw to live yet, because of spoilers, but I have a certain message I want to create with Daffodilpaw, and she can't die as part of it. So Asphodelpaw is the only one left. Okay, why would it be impactful for her to die? Because she just came into herself, and apologized to Pinepaw, and is on track to grow into a better person. So it's extra tragic - and extra irredeemable - of Rainhaze to kill her. There you go, that's the reasoning behind Asphodelpaw's death.

The sleep/death motif. I have suffered from personal difficulties surrounding death, specifically involved with intrusive thoughts before I go to sleep. So those two ideas are very linked in my mind, and because PATFW is a darker story, I wanted to explore it. Okay, how do I work it into the story? Rainhaze is a character who's disappeared, presumed dead, by the time the story starts. Alright, maybe I can work it in there. I used it for the first time in Issue 4, contrasting between Rainhaze and Slugpelt's views on what happens after death. Alright, so now I have a thematic parallel between their characters and their views. Okay, how does this affect the future plot? As Rainhaze gets further involved with Defiance, his views on killing change, and that strengthens this association with sleep. So later, when Slugpelt kills him, I can bring this thematic parallel back around and make it really resonate, because I've built up the connection over the whole story. There you go, that's how you create a motif.

I hope you found this interesting. Often I find that a lot of writing advice is vague and nonspecific, so I tried to make my reasoning behind these things as clear as possible. From the outside, it may seem like absolutely anything can happen in a story, but from an internal perspective there are only so many ways to get to a point I want to make, so those decisions have to lead to each other if I want to create a natural thread.

[ineffable-endearments]

Aziraphale's Entire Bookshop Is A Trauma Reenactment

This essay got so complicated. The main point is that Aziraphale's bookshop is a trauma reenactment and that's why he had to give it up.

This post of mine recently got a bunch of notes and I'm so glad people have liked it. For the unfamiliar: the gist is that Aziraphale wants. He wants books, he wants Crowley - but he can't let himself just desire things for their own sake or for his; he'll only allow himself to have what he wants if it serves a greater purpose. That's why Aziraphale has a shop full of books instead of just a collection of books. That's why Aziraphale always has some scheme for Crowley to get involved in.

However, I think that underneath the "purpose" of selling books and participating in the local economy, the shop has another purpose that Aziraphale hasn't faced. Instead of rewriting this, I'll partially copy over something I wrote after Season 1 and before we even knew Season 2 was a thing:

Aziraphale’s squirreling away of old books and erroneous Bibles, his hoarding of humanity’s misguided attempts at prophecy…he is roleplaying his relationship with Heaven, but with himself in a position of power. He’s gathering Knowledge and keeping it a secret while knowing all along that it’s inaccurate, so in that way, he is a lot like his superiors and God. Crucially, he gets to role play the entity powerful enough to have, but not share, his knowledge.

Note that also, in this scenario, the misprinted Bibles and vague or incorrect prophecies are highly prized. They are Aziraphale's favorites - just as you'd expect for a being who knows he's not what an angel is supposed to be but is desperately hoping God will favor him for exactly that reason.

So. The bookshop is a reenactment of Aziraphale's trauma in the same way that yelling at plants is a reenactment of Crowley's trauma. In both cases, the two of them are identifying with both their abusers and themselves. Crowley recognizes that his abusers are malicious and have only their own motivations, no drive toward the "greater good." That's why it's a sign of healing that he has started showing more attachment to his plants in Season 2 and seems to be treating them better: he is no longer acting the part of his own abuser.

Aziraphale is, despite his conscious efforts, still identifying with Heaven. Through his bookshop, he is trying to act like he thinks Heaven should, preserving (his books) and protecting (his books, Jim, Crowley) and orchestrating Good (the whole Ball fiasco). And each of these behaviors is for a Great Plan: running a bookshop, solving a mystery, throwing a ball. Everything he does has to align with a higher purpose, a grand scheme of some kind. Otherwise, how is he going to take on Heaven's role and do it better?

It's a twisted way of trying to make things right. Heaven has failed at its job. It's supposed to be the ultimate Good, but it hasn't been. Even in the Final 15 minutes when Aziraphale says "It's the side of truth, of light, of good," I'm more than convinced he's saying that because he wants it to be so rather than because he's sure of it. (Someone else pointed out this possibility, but it was many posts back and I'm not sure who. If I find the post again, I'll link it here.)

Aziraphale is stuck in a pattern of trying to play the role Heaven failed at. To be clear, this role is "motivating humans to do Good and keeping it all (the universe) running."

...But nobody should be doing Heaven's job. Nobody should be "orchestrating Good," not by trying to control other people. Nobody should be making grand plans for the universe. People should be allowed to just live out their lives.

I want to add, in case it's not obvious, that this is not a conscious process. With human beings, it typically is not. And as other people have pointed out, Aziraphale is smart, which is why he can end up in these patterns in the first place: he's good at rationalizing!

While his need for control is intensely unhealthy, it's reasonable that he would have ended up here. Aziraphale has never been in control in his entire existence. That's Heaven's form of abuse. I mean, I start having an existential crisis when I don't feel like I can say "no" often enough at work - I can't imagine being created with the same amount of free will but denied the knowledge to make any choices for millions of years.

(That's also where some of his most infuriating behavior comes from - another way of trying to exert control is through acceptance: to just insist on being happy even when things are obviously wrong. God is cruel? There must be a good reason we don't understand. Armageddon is coming? Well, it will all be lovely afterward, of course. The Metatron is being really persistent about trying to get me back in Heaven? That's great, actually! Now I can make a difference! Neil has commented that Aziraphale's favorite song with lyrics is "Spread A Little Happiness." Look up the lyrics. They are all about simply denying bad feelings.)

You know how we've observed that the bookshop is painted in Crowley's colors? And how Aziraphale left both of them behind at the end of the season? Well, also consider how Aziraphale and Crowley's relationship pattern has become unhealthy and codependent - Aziraphale genuinely loves Crowley, but the only model of love he's had in his own personal experience, outside of fiction, is this weird power-control thing Heaven has going on.

He needs to break out of the control pattern before he can admit that he loves books and Crowley for what they are.

This is why I think the definition of "goodness" isn't necessarily Aziraphale's final final boss. The narrative could go that way. But I have a strong feeling his final boss will have to involve control.

When people wonder "Why is it taking so long for Aziraphale to figure out that Heaven is bad," my personal suggestion is that good intentions are a red herring for both the audience and for Aziraphale himself. He needs to stop believing that Heaven's job is necessary at all. He needs to see that the whole existence of the institution is a problem, not merely the management. No, not even the really bad management.

On one hand, Aziraphale needs to figure out the same things that Adam Young figured out - that existence is meaningless when people don't get to make their own choices; there's no point in having friends who can't talk back, and there's no point in making people's decisions for them. It's very honorable to want to truly do Good. But you can't do it through control. Even if you completely ignore the moral issues with controlling people, it simply does not produce a worthwhile result.

Aziraphale technically knows all this already. He knows people need to have choices. He knows choices hold no meaning unless people make them freely. He just hasn't grasped that Heaven is, at best, creating unnatural consequences for people. Heaven itself is getting in the way of that ability to choose.

On the other hand, Aziraphale needs to figure out that he CAN make his own choices. He doesn't need Crowley to dance him into the right decision, and he doesn't need God to tell him what to do. Aziraphale has already done some of this in the past, under extreme pressure. He needs to get more comfortable with it. I think his realizations about control will help this part fall into place. Realizing that Heaven's role is a problem can more easily cascade into a healthier notion of his own boundaries - choices that are his and choices that are other people's.

Giving up the bookshop is actually a step toward healing because Aziraphale is stepping up to see the inner workings of his abusive institution head-on instead of reenacting the abusive actions with his bookshop, his neighbors, and Crowley. We know that in reality, people don't get over trauma thanks to one event, but for the sake of the story, realizing that individual or institutional control is not the way to Goodness might just be the breakthrough Aziraphale needs.

And then he can stop feeling compelled to put the things he loves through Great Plans in order to spend time with them, and he can simply love them, hopefully in a cottage where no one ever tries to buy books from him and Crowley will sleep soundly every night.

How this will come about in Heaven is anyone's guess. I think it might, again, happen the same way it happened for Adam Young: with Aziraphale getting his way only to realize it's not what he wants.

Of course, the bookshop deserves to live on. It was a safe place for so long. Like all of Aziraphale and Crowley's other respective coping mechanisms, it offered protection and comfort, and it's become an inspiration to Muriel.

That's why I have a strong feeling Muriel is going to formally inherit the bookshop - with Aziraphale's full permission and enthusiasm, for keeps, not as a coerced posting by an authority figure. I may be getting ahead of myself, what with the enormity of what has to happen first, but it feels right.

[idontknowanametouse]

Presenting to gringos (people that aren't from Brazil) Mundo Torajo (Torajo World)

Mundo Torajo is a brazillian animation youtube channel that will be very soon releasing a series thanks to a gofundme. Unfortunately, there is still no english translation, so I can do it here if you want.

Torajo was a channel like Jaiden (same video format) until about august/september of 2023, when a short was released (this one) beggining the lore, in which a red version of Torajo took his place. This continued on for almost 2 months with no sign of Torajo, only through glitches and links on the shorts that lead to audios of Torajo and Morajo (the red one) talking about the channel's future and video format. 2 months after Torajo was gone, Morajo made this video showing all the audios together. He said he made all of this to prove Torajo the audience didn't really care for him (their whole argument was about youtube algorythm vs passion and a nice audience) because they only stayed for the mystery. In the next video, this one, the two fight and we find out that they are brothers and Torajo called Morajo when the channel grew and he needed help, with everything getting more and more unstable between them. At the end, they set apart and Morajo starts his own channel. The two start a "war" between them until this video (followed by this one), when he introduces a new character, Zulmi (I love her, you'll see more about her later). She is friends with the two and stops their fight... at least, for a while.

Then, this happened. Basically, Morajo got infected with algorythomus, a substance that is, well, the youtube algorythm. He goes a little crazy and threatens Torajo while hacking other youtubers, and then Torajo posts this video. He explains he lives in another planet, Verade, that can be only kept alive when people watch their videos. The next video, this one, is the last part of this series/saga. The two have a fight with a really emotional flashback of them as kids, and in the end THE POWER OF LOVE WINS AND THEY MAKE UP YAAAAAAY

And, for a while, all is well. They continue Torajo's channel together (the 3 of them), introduce a new character, Linn (I love him, you'll see more about him later) and even post a compilation of the fight. And then something happens.

The channel is hacked by an unknown person and this video is posted. In it, we meet the "hacker", Abel, who is basically Verade's god/narrator and that does propaganda to the gofundme for the creation of an animated series (he also wipes Torajo's memory after this). 1 week later, they reach their goal and publish this video, with a sneak peak of the series (also wiping the character's memories). Now, there's just 2 videos left for its release, and the story is warming up. They post shorts daily and this week, Morajo seems very unwell, and as we know algorithomus is coming back, this is surely the cause of it.

This is the lore at the moment, and I can keep you aware of it. They are very popular with kids. I recommend, even if you don't know portuguese, to watch their videos, cuz they are really fun and charismatic. Now, I'll show you the characters!

Torajo

[ID in alt]

He is the main character. He is, as you can see, a green apple and is very nice, though a bit sassy and dumb. There are many memes about him, like him bald or as a banana. He has a crush on Zulmi but won't say it. Loves coffee and minecraft.

Morajo

[ID in alt]

Torajo's brother and former antagonist, now a co-protagonist. He is a red apple and kind of an emo, grumpy, kind of mean sometimes but actually very emotional, soft, shy and nerdy. People often call him a mango. He wears glasses but usually doesn't do it on videos. Loves Tetris and cats.

Zulmi

[ID in alt]

She is a co-protagonist. She is a blueberry and kind of a diva, but also very extroverted and likes gossips, also being nerdy about science stuff. Is often called a pineapple. Has a crush on Torajo, but won't say it. Loves Club Penguin.

Linn

[ID in alt]

He is a co-protagonist. He is a lemon and very introverted and shy, being very nerdy about anime and videogames, also kind, calm and phylosophic. Is besties with Morajo. Likes to play ukulele, ducks, Zelda and bread with lettuce.

Azedo (Sour)

[ID in alt]

He is Linn's little brother and a side character. He is a lemon and basically an ipad kid (looks like the collector from the owl house, is currently called Enzo Gabriel/Azedo Gabriel). He likes spider man, chicken nuggets and saying stuff on the community's discord server (I've seen him there sometimes).

Abel

[ID in alt]

He is Verade's god/narrator. He is a mango and kind of crazy, but really funny. He hasn't appeared much, so we don't know a lot about him, but we'll probably see more about him soon.

Pessy

[ID in alt]

She is Zulmi's best friend. She is a peach and very detective-like, making theories about everything that happens on Verade and being also very nerdy too. She is nice and kinda shy, but very persistent on what she wants. Her hat is kind of infinite as she guards a lot of stuff inside it. She likes rock music, Gravity Falls, Dark Souls, Sherlock Holmes, sci-fi movies, tea, editing, toddynho and coffee.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Hiw kinnara could realistically work?what could be their internal anatomy, where should be wings ,legs,arms, nsfw parts, ? Typical kinnaris have the head, torso, and arms of a woman and the wings, tail and feet of a swan. Did I can use your kinnara drawings in my work?

kinnara: a hindu and buddhist mythical being with the upper half of a human and the lower half of a bird, wings included. the art I've found through internet search seems to vary on what type of bird is typically used. They look fun! actually reminds me of this other human-bird design I reblogged a while back (though this one makes the bird part much, much bigger than the human part)

(image description: two statues of humanoid figures with a bird body at their hips. end description)

I think if you did it similar to the post I linked, most of the internal and reproductive anatomy would match that of a bird, with the human torso part having things like the lungs, stomach, heart, and the bird part having more of the digestive system. that's just how they line up

the traditional of a kinnara basically just puts the legs int he normal human place and then attached bird parts around the hips, which works fine for their presentation as mythical figures having some manner of spiritual and symbolic importance. I don't expect them to look anatomically correct in this context. but if they're going to be used as a fantasy people, I think this arrangement of body parts is a little crowded and awkward, and the post I linked above has a more reasonable arrangement. however, I also think the bird and human sections can be drawn in different proportions depending on personal preference. here's my sketches:

(image description: simplified sketches of humanoid figures that have a bird body below the hips, not unlike a centaur. on the top half of the image are sketches of a bird-taur with a more natural bird body, having the legs further back while the wings are closer to the humanoid hip region. the lower half of the image shows a bird-taur with the legs in front of the wings. there are sketches of the full body, simple skeletal forms, and the bird-taurs in flight. end description.)

you can use these sketches as a reference if you want, but if you'd like to have nicer art for actual presentation in your project, please commission me! my commission info can be found here on ko-fi. I'll be able to prioritize detail and quality through a commission in a way I don't do with the quick art I make for tumblr asks.

reproductively speaking, most birds only have a cloaca, but some male birds do have a penis. it just stays internal until it's erect. finding an actual specific list of bird species with a penis was a little annoying because for some reason all these articles were quite vague like "oh, ducks, ostriches, and some other birds" like no, I need to know all of the specific species please! Figuring out non-human reproductive systems can be stunningly tricky sometimes.

anyway here's one article on the matter

and here is another article

from my research, here's just a list of bird species that have a penis:

ducks, geese, swans, ostriches, emus, tinamous. and there are also some birds that have a pseudo penis, such as cassowaries and red-billed buffalo weavers.

apparently all birds do have the genetic potential to have a penis, but they just don't grow one. so it might be an ancestral trait! that's kinda neat. personally, I have given my bird folk, the quetzalin, a penis that remains in the cloacal wall and emerges when erect. and yes, it's curly, though nowhere near as nightmarish as the penis on a duck lol. so you go ahead and have whatever fun you want with bird folk genitals.

[tide-locked]

ok, i'm being so brave and making the rec post that i told anon i would do like three days ago.

the obligatory caveats. this is not comprehensive—i haven't read all the fic in this fandom, and i've barely looked at anything not in english. my reading habits are pretty broad—i'll read almost any pairing, and am generally willing to suspend my disbelief to do so. i am not usually an au person, though this fandom is doing its absolute damndest to prove me wrong on that point.

also i have…more…fics that i felt i should rec somewhere, so probably this is rec post one, but ten felt like enough and also saying things in public where people can hear me is, it turns out, absolutely excruciating. please no one be mean to me about this post, especially if you wrote one of these fics, because if you are i will simply fill my pockets with rocks and take to the sea, ok? ok.

excited to find out what i manage to do that ruins the formatting, links the wrong fics and/or people, or otherwise breaks things in this post. please tell me if i've fucked up, or if your fic is on this list and you would rather i keep your name out of my mouth, or whatever.

first, a very special mention to the mlc reference guide by @yletylyf. this is such an incredibly comprehensive and generous resource. you want a timeline for this show that does an incredibly poor job of maintaining its own timeline? it's here. you want episode summaries? they're here. you want all the people and places? they're here. if you're writing fic, you want this guide, because it's so much easier and faster than scanning episodes or subs files to figure out the name of one specific guy or whatever. it also means that at least occasionally you work on the thing rather than accidentally rewatching the same scene five times, or hypothetically watching two to four episodes without even really thinking about what you're doing. the reference guide is the unsung mvp of fandom.

beyond porch and portal, difanghua, teen, by willowdream. this is the vampire au that i didn't know i wanted? the author posted it and their note was like 'i'm trying to be the change i want to see in the world,' and i was like ok sure, i'm not really convinced that the change i need is vampire aus, but i'll give it a go, and then i did and was like, oh shit, i'm eating fucking glass about this vampire au, i'm chewing on my own fucking fingers, i'm so fucking normal about this, i need another hundred thousand words of this and also seventeen more vampire aus in my inbox by monday morning. i literally finished reading it and scrolled right back to the top to read it again. i have no idea why this fic hits so hard, but it took me out at the knees. the voices are perfect. something about it is just impossibly compelling.

不安的遠離，再无歸期 | restless distance, without return, fang duobing/qiao wanmian, mature and teen, by @difeisheng. this is technically two fics but they're short and you should read both of them because they're such a brutal, perfect encapsulation of grief, and a really beautiful acknowledgement of the ways that fang duobing and qiao wanmian can be read as reflections of each other, separated by a decade, and it just fucking guts me. i dunno. it's about the grief! it's about the yearning! it's about someone who understands parts of you that you wish didn't exist! i think i've reread this like once a week for the last six weeks and i feel like it gets overlooked because it's not A Ship but like. it could be. it should be.

dance the silence down, fanghua and feihua, explicit, by @momosandlemonsoda. this fic. ugh. ok. i'm breaking my own rules. i had two when i started writing this post: no works in progress, and no reccing things that i haven't left a comment on, like a goddamn grownup. this one fic is breaking both of those rules and i feel bad about it and will hopefully spend like, all day tomorrow just commenting on every chapter or something, but i have to do this. this fic is so good. this fic ruins me. this fic is 63k, still a work in progress, and also if i were losing the whole internet tomorrow and i got to keep one fic in all the world and it was the only fic i could have for the rest of time, it might have to be this one, even as a work in progress. i ignored this fic for so long—by which i mean probably two of the four months since i first watched mysterious lotus casebook—because i was like, i don't like aus, and i especially don't like rock star aus. (or sex work aus, and you're never gonna fucking believe what else this author is writing and what else i absolutely cannot get enough of—this is a sneaky bonus rec for all i wanna do is wrong, another fic that i feel so so so normal about!) but then i was like okkkkkkk but. maybe i'll try it. people seem to be nuts for it. and then i read it and i was like OH HOLY SHIT PEOPLE ARE FULLY CORRECT TO BE ABSOLUTELY UNHINGED ABOUT THIS and normally, honestly, i wouldn't bother posting a rec like this because it's like 'oh haha have you read the five most popular fics in this fandom?' and it feels so redundant, but i know for a fact that a friend of mine who finished watching the show yesterday is reading this post, and even if everyone else has read it, she has not! anyhow as a former music person and a former diner cook, this fic like. i don't know. i feel like it broke me but also fixed me? i literally criticise writing professionally and every time i try to talk about this fic i find myself speechless because it's so perfect to me. i am deeply unwell about this fic. every time a new chapter comes out i sit down and read the whole thing again, yes, all sixty-thousand-plus words of it. some nights you go to bed and you're like 'what's the fucking point?' and then you're like 'no wait, there will eventually be more of dance the silence down,' and somehow that makes things suck a tiny bit less. my wife has made me take out like six sentences from this rec because they're too intense and too weird about it but i need you to understand: you have to read this fic.

in this dream, there is a lover to share this life with, fanghua, g, by @lianhuajing. alternative ending for the end of episode 27, in which li lianhua—precious man who has yet to discover a hill he's not willing to die on—apologises to fang duobing the only way he knows how, and it's wildly upsetting for everyone (but it's ok and it doesn't end miserably, no one panic). this is a delightfully angsty treat, and i love how conflicted fang duobing is in it—i feel like it's not something that i've seen explored a lot, but this poor boy really fuckin goes through it—his best friend and his childhood idol are the same person but are lying to him about it, and his dad's not actually his father and has been lying to him about it, and his best friend/childhood idol may have killed his father, and—yeah, is lying to him about it. like? someone give this poor man a hug and a cup of tea and a snack and a blankie. i love that we get to see some of his internal conflict in this.

quintessence of dust, feihua, teen, by justthereforit. this plays with one of my very most favourite tropes in the world, which is the one where the heart is a physical object and a physical form of trust and control and surrender and—like. this is so good. it's set in episode 13, which is, for me, one of the absolute peak angst points, and it absolutely nails it. di feisheng who's upset and vulnerable and frustrated and angry, li lianhua who knows he's going to die and can't bear the thought that he's going to take anyone else down with him, and they're both just so fucked up. chef kiss. i love it when everyone is emotionally wrecked and continually like 'ok no, i can take one more knife in my soul to protect someone else', and this absolutely delivers on that.

under moonlight, we change our futures yet again, feihua, explicit, by @thesilversun. the wedding room! obviously we have to have a wedding room fic, right? i'm not going to lie: i'm willing to suspend a lot of disbelief for wedding room fics, but in this one, it's actually a wonderfully, horrifyingly plausible setup. it walks a really fine line of keeping people in character, and acknowledging the inherent horror and seriousness of the situation, and also providing some desperately hot sex, and also managing to get the emotional beats of it, too. it has a sequel, which imo really has to be read as the conclusion to this fic, and it's just as good. it's possible that some of what i'm saying here is 'i love vulnerable-inside crusty-outside di feisheng' but like. i do. i love it so much.

what's sealed away, feihua, teen, by @bbcphile. AMNESIA FIC yessssss, a-fei my beloved, fics that handle brain damage/memory issues/amnesia well my beloveddddd. i love the a-fei arc, but i also have had a number of brain injuries and some other stuff that means that my own memory is…not so great, so i sometimes really struggle with how often amnesia in fiction is played off either as nothing to worry about or as a funny thing where everyone's in on the joke except the person who has amnesia. this fic is a great and sometimes very visceral exploration of a horrifying experience, and a really fantastic study of a-fei/di feisheng as a character, as well as the relationship that he has with li lianhua. a-fei trying to balance the trust he has in the sense memory of his body with his understanding of his relationship with li lianhua with li lianhua's reaction to—everything, really—is really well done and wonderful/terrible to read.

我只愿面朝大海 | i wish only to face the sea, g, by foreverstudent. ok so you wanna fuck yourself up some more? go read this. this is canon divergence from episode 39, and fang duobing has learned too well the lessons he's been taught, and sees the shape of things before li lianhua ever touches the wangchuan flower—so he sets about making sure that he won't be able to throw it away. this is agonising and gorgeous and maintains the canon relationships while developing the narrative differently. i wept literal tears. i was like 'ok that's it the worst part is over!' and then i remembered that there was another part coming and then i started crying. anyhow, it is—as ever, with me—about the devotion.

我住長江頭, 君住長江尾 -- i live upstream, you live downstream, fanghua, teen, by @rimbaudofficial. ok so this is Not a fic that i should like, because i am a massive academic failure and despite being in my forties have regular nightmares about having to re-engage with academia for like. any reason. HOWEVER. as noted, i read indiscriminately, even when i'm like 'reading this is a terrible idea and will be upsetting for me personally!', so i was like 'well, how bad of an idea can it possibly be?' and then instead! it was. incredibly charming? it was so fucking cute? the fang duobing characterisation in this is somehow just perfect to me—he's simultaneously confident and vulnerable, and also just so deeply committed to the weird clueless guy who he's decided is meant for him. di feisheng and li lianhua have a perfect weird-bros friendship. i would read another ten chapters of this and i would love it.