#Sort of. Their old man yaoi era

[angevinyaoiz]

Did some doodles of Richard in his later years as described by the accounts Jean Flori references in his book, which all in all seems to add up to him being "solidly built", similar to Henry in his energetic temperament and manner, weirdly tall, weirdly pale, and who put on more weight in the latter half of his life.

Most of the later period was spent feuding with Philip over territories, wherein he built Chateau Gaillard and met his end with an infected wound from an arrow shot at Châlus.

[hexhomos]

HI! hope your day is treating you well, i’ve been interested in doomreed for some time but cape comics are sort of daunting to me just because there’s so much content and i really don���t know where to begin. what do you suggest? thank you!

STRAIGHT OUT THE GATE ill say, read [ "My Dinner With Doom" ] (this is a rly high-qual upload, open it up on desktop!)

It's a key issue oneshot with a lil bit of backstory retelling, featuring a private dinner that happens in the 00's - a good entrance point if you're curious about doomreed in summarization + generally speaking a Real Good Comic overall.

LONG POST INCOMING THIS IS A LONG POST / click readmore

the fantastic four are one of marvel's darling old founding teams so there is pretty much... endless archival, ongoing, multimedia and games content popping up all the time.

They are also kinda one of the rare teams where the growth of the characters is consistent? The kids are allowed to grow older and events from every major run are carried/referenced by the next author so if you want to do chronological there's a lot of incentive and fun stuff.

If you wanna dip your toes into the F4 as a concept, check out:

*the #1 issue of Fantastic Four By Waid & Wieringo (1997) *Mythos: Fantastic Four (2007) [ *The FF (1994) movie that is up for free on youtube!! ] *Fantastic Four (2022) by Ryan North as the current ongoing!

(Some) Singles centered on Doom/Doomreed:

*Fantastic Four (1961) Annual 2 is Doom's original backstory issue *Marvel Two-in-One (2017) by Zdarsky issue #11 & Annual #1 are both crazy good but they spoil big events/conclusions from previous runs if u care abt that!!! (My current fav fic came from these issues.) *Doomgate (novel) by Jeffrey Lang is a good option if you want something that is mostly prose, instead of a comic or movie

NOW BEFORE YOU JUMP AHEAD WITH ANYTHING I *am* following [ this reading guide ] which breaks down specific issues relevant to their relationship as a line through all the different authors over the years.

[ There's also this 2021 guide w/ a few other story/AU highlights! The author said u can send the blog questions and theyll answer too ]

The 'Modern era' (late 90s/00s/10s/Now) Starts with Waid and McDuffie's stuff. The latter wrote My Dinner with Doom!

If you're scared by all the names, don't be - when searching for the issues, just pay attention to the year, # number & author/artist creds.

What I'm reading/liveblogging rn is Hickman's Secret wars era, generally regarded as yaoi ketamine; It's a good epic narrative entrance point if you want to jump into it, and it eventually led into this huge marvel event that changed the multiverse and even brought miles morales into the main timeline, so its BIG and it happened in multiple books - the best way to go about it is;

Pre-hickman:

Fantastic Four (1961) #551 #552 #553 ➡️ (these introduce main ideas we will touch again in secret wars)

Fantastic Four (1961) #558 to #562 ➡️

Doom appears in these too, first/last issues more heavily. Stuff here will be ref'd during the next era.

If you're having fun and want to keep reading you can! Just know that the next storyarc has gathered a largely mixed response bc..... its Millar going hammywammy....... not that necessary.......

anyway when you see hickmans name in the cover STOP and

Jump to actual Hickman secret wars era:

Fantastic Four by Jonathan Hickman: The complete collection➡️

(optional, side plot) If you like Val + Doom, read specifically; *Fantastic Four (2014) #3 & #5 + Fantastic Four Annual (2014) #1 *Agent of Asgard #6 & #7 *Avengers World (2014) #15 & #16

New Avengers (2013) ➡️ check issues on picture, or, if you're a completionist, look for 'Avengers by Jonathan Hickman; complete collection' and skim for the doom/reed relevant bits. There's a lot of characters here but this is a buildup to the big secret wars. Secret Wars (2015) ➡️ (All issues!) Infamous Iron Man (2016) ➡️bendis' doom writing is not very good but hang in there because right after him: Marvel 2-In-One (2017) ➡️ (All issues!) is a banger. Yaoi btw.

You can basically read all the future/past ones as listed, or starting from the beginning of that author's period without worrying, bc they aren't as indebted to each other storywise.

You can also start somewhere else if you want or check out other single issues on the reading guides; It's not a crime! There's a lot of stuff with different takes and genres, I'm slowly chipping away at the secret wars era bc its just very thick and like a serious television drama attempt, except its also insanely funny sometimes.

(I'm still making my way through it so that's what I have at the moment!)

[averysmolkirbo]

BABE WAKE UP NEW ✨️BAD FIC IDEA✨️ JUST DROPPED

Fic idea i might ACTUALLY be able to do, even though its probably super generic and has already been done 20 different ways before

Text under cut because the img quality is kind of shit for some reason

Anyway this is one of my less unhinged fic ideas (its probably too generic tbh) so let me know if this is any good/ if you'd read it/ thoughts/suggestions

Text because the img quality is bad lol

Fic idea for an hcom/ love/enemy triangle

narumitsu/kirinaru

similar idea to other fic but different and less fluff more drama. in the aj era.

Since its canon (i think??) phoenix refused to get any help from edgeworth when he got disbarred, i wanna expand on that idea in a relationship/love triangle way.

When phoenix gets disbarred he's intially offered support from edgeworth (even though he's still in europe) but he denies it out of pride. Even though phoenix says he doesnt need help, edgeworth has a feeling he's lying to get him to leave phoenix alone and decides to preemptively go back and see him in person. In a plot-twist-twist, phoenix is tipped off to edgeworth's suprise visit, and leaves the office before he gets there (still out of pride and believing somehow if edgeworth saw him he'd hate him for some reason) and somehow ends up staying with kristoph. Edgeworth finds the office empty and since he's persistent (in a yaoi way) he continues to look for phoenix.

Meanwhile phoenix is hiding from him at kris's house and they sort of have a thing but its kind of like a toxic old man yaoi type thing (they are terrible for each other). Kristoph is really nice to phoenix but really he's just manipulating him

and eventually Edgeworth finds out where phoenix is and goes there knowing it's kristoph but never having seen him in person before and when he gets there kris refuses to let him in like "yea no he's mine now he doesnt want to see you" with a smug little bitch attitude and while edgeworth gets the vibe he's totally lying, he's still hurt at the thought of it. He tells phoenix about it and tries to gaslight him into thinking he actually hates edgeworth (for real) and that he is WAY better for phoenix anyway. Edgeworth keeps thinking maybe phoenix really DOES hate him and that maybe he should move on since phoenix has seemingly moved on already.

Little do they both know theyre both completely incorrect about eachothers' assumptions because phoenix thinks edgeworth is chasing him to humiliate him and edgeworth thinks phoenix is running away because he hates him (for some reason) but really theyre both doing what theyre doing because they love each other. Phoenix trying to spare Edgeworth's feelings by not tarnishing his image of him by seeing him disbarred and Edgeworth not caring about that at all and just genuinely wanting to help/take care of him.

Eventually and after talking to someone else about it (maybe maya/franziska/gumshoe) edgeworth finds phoenix out somewhere and before he can run away he stops him to explain everything and they realize they love each other ❤️

[helloescapist]

Request: Yushiro x male ENTP Reader

Format: I'd like a mix of headcanons and short fic, if possible

Lady Tamayo gets a new demon assistant (y/n); a grinning trickster who seldom takes anything seriously and often uses his blood demon art to mess around. This infuriates Yushiro, who doesn't understand why Tamayo even keeps y/n around. And why on earth does he have to complete tasks and go on errands with him?! Yushiro was doing fine on his own, thank you very much.

However, as he gets to know y/n better through work, Yushiro realizes the two actually have a lot in common. Y/n lived a normal life with a family who loved him until he fell terminally ill. Tamayo offered to turn him into a demon, an offer y/n accepted. However, his family didn't accept the change and attempted to murder y/n, no longer seeing him as a member of their family. With nobody to turn to, y/n attached himself to Tamayo.

Yushiro and y/n grow closer, and after Tamayo's death, retire to live a peaceful life together.

Hello, hello,

I want to express a genuine thank you for your requestion, and initiate a sincere, sincere apology. Your request, well, it became a little derailed from what you asked for. It just screamed, Cheshire Cat, and I sort of... made an OC of you/your request. One that I do intend to visit in future shorts for Yushiro, but none the less, I sincerely hope you can forgive this. I am sincerely sorry Anon, I hope you are still able to enjoy this, and it isn't too far removed from your request.

The Secret Life of Chachamaru

Word Count: 6062

Setting: Yushiro x male!reader

Content Warning(s): malexmale, yaoi, Chachamaru AU (possibly a little out of character for the beloved feline character), character is actually Chachamaru, a little rushed, SFW, mentions of gore, small spoilers for Yushiro + Tamayo in the Infinity Castle/Sunrise Countdown Arc. mentions of sickness, depictions of lead poisoning

Summary: following the fall of the infinity castle, and the triumph of slayers over demons, Yushiro is left to face the loss of Lady Tamayo. Muddled, smeared with blood and gore, it is only through the comfort of his old friend Chachamaru that can ease his burdens, and allow him to look to the future.

A/N: I placed the reader to be born towards the end of the Edo Era, but just younger than Yushiro as I wanted for Yushiro and Tamayo to have an established bond.

You could feel the touch of his calloused fingers. Cracked, and broken skin that remained gentle and warm despite the number of fine lines and abrasions that lined his palms. The dried flecks of onyx blacks and oxidized browns clung to his fingertips, blood buried beneath his nails. The faint scent of sandalwood laced in the gore that littered his clothing.

Horror touched upon the flesh of his hands; brain matter strewn to the linens of his clothing. Draped across the lines of an unfamiliar uniform, a sad attempt at masking his nature. The heaviness of his eyelashes burdened, as the small touches of devastation touched the edge of his eyelashes. Drawn downwards as delicate lavender eyes trembled as his fingertips gently traced the orange patch across your forehead. In all the ways you preferred, years of training petting techniques into the demon before you evident in the way his body submitted to autopilot. Delicately allowed his fingers to trail along the pink of your nose at the quiver of his bottom lip and the hitch of his lower lashes. Naturally evaluating the care of his beloved companion. Pained by the state of his beloved Chachamaru held between his hands, mangled, and marred. The devastation of your state, a righteous blow to your pride though the smallest part of you enjoyed the obvious concern it elicited from the stoic man.  He had worried for you, of course he had. Faintly responding to the blink of your golden eyes as you peered into his moonlight kissed features. The touch of pink of his own nose, rubbed raw in his state of misery. The bags that had accumulated beneath elegant orchid eyes, aware of the rattle of his shoulders, and the tightness of his breath hitched at the ache of his breast. Yushiro’s snivel caught, choked back as he forced the corner of his lips to curl. Delicate, and soft as he regarded the touch of your fur, luscious despite the circumstances of your body. Far too engrossed in the gesture to acknowledge the way your large ambered eyes followed the smallest of his movements. Committing this moment to memory, his movements detailed, and evaluated. The way your heart ached as his fingers tipped strolled through the high of your right cheek, delicately traced the orange patch tenderly allowing his finger to trace from your tear duct danced across the top lashes of your left eye.

              Faint in this touch, careful to remove the debris that had gathered across your features. The rubble that clung to your whiskers dragged across your sensitive sinus. Snapped at your buccal cavity through your nostrils. Throbbing drenched in blood, sweat, and gray matter. The dirt that had clutched to the ends of your fur, muddied the whites of your pelt, an infringement of the beauty of your coat. Bits of gravel snagged into your ear tufts, agitating the pinna. The delicate way his fingers ticked across your features, sensitive of the abrasions that littered your state proof of your valor. Though the sentiment did not seem an act of brilliance to the man who stroked your cheek sweetly. The ache of his heart danced upon his fingers, eliciting the faintest of purrs from your soul. Warm, he was always so warm. Rubble between your eyes, traced upon your nose. A favored place in the last two decades often sought by Yushiro to nuzzle against “Chachamaru” during times of stress such as the mid of day hidden amongst the shadows when his sprawled talisman had grown slappy. When exhaustion would cling to his features, akin to a security blanket. Though in this moment there was no usual sign of the clip of his brow. Nor were his eyebrows drawn, and his lips did not pucker into a scowl. Rather, a tremble stimulated his expression, strangled. Twisted from the tight expression a vague recollection of the times in which he had to entertain the public at the clinic. Yet, this was… different. Mournful. An… expected display vulnerable despite the wandering eyes of kakushi at his side. The rare expression without fear of exposure as his smile faltered, and the tears begin to gather at the corner of his sharp eyes. Chocked back the bitter vile upon his expression that pained your heart in its silence. The tender regard as his hands caressed your heart, allowing extra attention to tracing circles at the corners at your large feline ears. Such intimate care is usually offered in the silence of night, at the flip of a page as his warm voice echoes in your ears. Enticed you to take advantage of circumstances, beckoned you to curl into his lap. “C-C-Chach,” his voice cracked. Ached as it struggled and rumbled beneath his breath as he fought for the words pressed between the sobs that threatened to spill through the cracks in his pride. Anguished to hold his composure through the rattle of his bones with each tight breath as his fingers relentlessly traced circles to the edges of your right ear. The familiar gesture, comforting and poignant, “a-amaru, L-Lady,”.

              You knew.

              The rattle of your own bones, the clutch upon your skull at the moment of her death, rattled as though claws had dug into the pits of your temples, wracked and harvested the essence of thought. Sunk to the pit of your stomach, you knew, and yet, yet in his consideration, Yushiro pressed as though a shattered being that endeavored to consoling a child. To hear him this way. Broken, and battered amongst the wreckage of the Infinity Castle. Topsoil exposed to the surface; bedrock shattered across the carnage. The scent of death that clung to the air, crumbled beams, and exposed wood. Sundered from its security, secrets exposed at the loss of their beams, craftsman, and paper shattered and torn from the layers of sediment. A testament to Yushiro’s will, to his rage. A testimony of his love for the mistress of his strength. The escape of rodents, and the fleeing of insects that sought suffrage. The lull of their security robbed and devastated as the demon who was renowned for his lethal tongue’s armor disintegrated before your eyes. The sharp of his canine devouring his bottom lip as he fought for the words that could not rise in his throat. Salt that poured from his cheeks and choked to his shoulders. Yet, yet he continued to allow the delicacy of his fingers to work their nostalgic comforts at the edge of your ear. The hollow of your breast touched upon the kindness Yushiro expressed despite the shattered emblems of the life he had known littered his features. The medically trained illusionist before you delicate as he worked to assist your regeneration. The crack of your four paws beneath the attachment of your severed head. The blood that trickled from your fur ached across the curve of your spine. The tingle of nerves realigned, and splintered bones that formed callous. Joints that caught to the clip of your skull as you regarded the roll of his tears.

              The comfort of his fingers, and the delicate scent of saffron. Nostalgic, and vulnerable so alike and yet unfamiliar. A shattered husk of, and yet, he continued to rub his fingers. Mask the horrors of loss and devastation. Ached at the touch of his fingers as they danced across your patterned fur. Delicate as the day you had met him.

              The comfort of his fingers, and the delicate scent of saffron. Nostalgic, and vulnerable, so alike and yet unfamiliar to the man. A shattered husk, and yet, the rub of his fingers masked the horrors of loss and devastation. Ached at the touch of his fingers as they danced across your pattered fur. Delicate as the day you had met him.

The candles flickered, casting shadows across papered doors. Danced and dwindled, captives of the stagnant. Their flame stifled to the close quarters and clutched its luminosity. Threatened to snub its light from existence. Shadows that appeared hollow against the shoji, robbed of their salvo. Their once joyful illumination forced them into small rooms. Stuffy and stripped of ventilation coerced into silence by doctors and white cloths.   Ghosts of laughter, and shadow puppets lost against the grain of the exposed beams. Incenses to mask the sickness, that dripped into the fabric of your linens stripped from silk. Stale and clothed in antiseptic that burned the senses. The air dripped amongst medical sutras, tainted with intentions. Stark against your sensitive, rubbed raw and denied of familiar comforts, friendly attendants, and the sheltered security of your former quarters. Loneliness bathed in the confines of an inner sanctum of your family estate.

              Memories of a former life haunted the ebbs of fraying ends of your recollections. A time when you were playful, age had little meaning. One so free to explore, unbound by poverty, and bathed in riches. A family title for you alone to claim for the future, a wash in the confines of your quarters now. Back then, it was the movement of your name, the purpose of your birth. The benefactor of your freedom, petals of a camellia to frolic amongst abandoned lessons. The shadows of trees conceal your midday naps of deserted duties. Grand heists of robbed pastries, and angry chefs. Scandalized maids at attempts to parachute from the rooftops past the security of the castle walls, an adventure elicited from the tales of western men in ridiculous outfits and dipped in foreign language. Dolls crafted from the finest of silks intended dull the boredom of instructor, the one such time tucked into your bedding to take your place in the dead of night when your heart desired to gaze upon the stars at the festival of commoners past the trenches of your home. Pieces of sword play that decorated the callous of your palms, the rage of retainers that struggled to navigate your natural pension for footwork, and the expiration of your lazy swings. An insult upon their pride, the bellow of laughter it would draw from your father, languid strokes that were reminiscent of kabuki performances your nursemaid Haya had accompanied you to many times. Days spent wreaking havoc upon her mundane days, the only woman who dared to accompany your antics with a lecture of manners and etiquette. The only confidant who dared to share the confines of the innermost sanctum. Subjecting herself to the risk of infection or the curse that threatened to diminish the household.

 The memories of the caretaker she had been so many years ago dipped into the linens of a basin. The distinct drips of water that echoed amongst the stifling hush of the space. Her long fingers posed, the tales of age in her movements. Fine lines that had begun to wave to faint colors as the fingers wrangled the linen. The faintest of white marred flesh caught the back of her left hand, a scar she had received so many years ago. When you were playful, when you roamed rooms heedless of the décor. A physical a testament to the loyalties she bore for you though you were far too young to understand the significance of a woman disfiguring herself on your behalf.

              Fought the confusion of the phantom that slipped into her place. Recollections of a woman with chestnut hair who had yet to be claimed by time. Her features that dared to coincide with the older woman before you now. The touch of a lavish hair pin that bound grayed hair unlike the one the younger illusion bore. Far more detailed, delicate, and weaved. Far more cared for than the ghost of the past’s simplistic design that reflected war of abuse. Muddled, and tugged on the lines of memories you struggled to place together. The hazy reflection is a mere mockery of your current state. Joy robbed from your lungs and sank to the pit of your stomach. Ached and dower, the nausea pooled at the strong odors that fanned every corner of the room. Gargled sickness that met the coolness of the cloth at your back.  An old figure of Haya, who’s mouth did not budge from its sedative state attempted to rub the fatigue from your form. A cusp of who you had once been, no longer capable of bearing your own weight, let alone a blade.  A mere rasp of breath that trembled your form as her fingers now well practiced at bearing your weight and the task at hand.  Haya’s eyes as poised as they had always been despite the white lines that had touched at the corner of your eyes. The draw of your brow as you struggled to understand when the woman had grayed. The touches of frustration that caught your consciousness. Only growing more present as she tended to the shell of a child incapable of tending to itself. Robbed of life, hostage by an unknown illness. Far more victimized than you dared to admit, more than Haya would dare to coddle.

              Days of illness that claimed the weight of your muscles. Husked your consciousness and rattled your gastric. How quickly the symptoms had claimed your entire being. How quickly you had succumbed to the loss of appetite, how quickly your body yielded its abilities, and gave way. Days that had succumbed to weeks, weeks that drew your conscious, and slipped into months that robbed you of prior capabilities, before giving way to years that locked you deep into the center of your home. A plague locked away from fear of exposure, oblivious to how long it had been since Haya had sworn herself to your service. Of the dangers she exposed herself to time and time again to care for you. That remained dedicated to your education despite the unfamiliar touch of tomes between her fingers. Wielded a paintbrush when the weight became far too much for your fingers to bare, delivered notes from child to mother in the dead of night even when the responses had begun to fade. Continued to show though the remainder of the castle had since grown silent and bid reasoning when your mother’s presence slipped between your fingers. Continued to share news of the state of affairs at your request, even when it decimated her heart to share the news of a child when all hopes of an heir had passed with your confinement.

              A topic Haya had not approached with the same enthusiasm as you, much to your disapproval. The fade of her hair appearing even more faded from her features. Soured at the line that drew to her lips as your voice trembled despite itself. The condition of welcoming a child having claimed what remained of her own health, and naturally the return of your letters. Quickly seize the moment to her dismay, the traces of the child she had cared for throughout the years reflected in your timing, “How is mother?”

              “Young master, please save your voice,” she hummed. The touch of dryness and hesitation posed on her tongue.

              “H-haya,” you weakly mewed, “h-has she been unbale to eat?”

              Silence pressed between the knot of cloth rolled in circles that cusped at your rigid shoulder blades. “It is to be expected. Childbearing claims a toll, all is well.” Clueless of the twitch of her right nostril, or the way your large eyes caught the tale of her fib pressed into her cheek.

              “Mushrooms, s-send” you rasped with each breath. Unmet with a response to your words just as stern of the bath cloth that rubbed at your sweated state weak against her hold. “send, the merchant. T-Taka? Tama? H-he knows how to find mushrooms. I-in the mountains.” Struggled pieces of memories, touched upon years of stark air at the wiggle of your eyebrow. “D-dango. Mother is fond of the dango sold by the stationer. W-we could go—”

              “YOU will do no such thing,” stern and frigid. Quick to catch the threads of your strategy. The shatter of glass that touched upon the cool of winter, and the howl of the estate’s roof tarnished against your will. Haya always had a talent for detecting the touch of defiance, and in your fragile state, she had become especially gifted in sniffing out antics. Far harsher in her reprimands than she had been so many years ago, quick to anchor you to this sorry state of existence. Shacked to the confines of your room, her eyes as sharp as any blade you had ever been capable of drawing as she depicted the fine lines of your imprisonment. Her steady hands making quick work of the fresh linens, secured the corrupt discards into the folds of a basket. The faintest of tremble in her routine eager to leave your side. The realization drawing bitter contempt in the pit of your stomach and a scowl upon your brow. The grit of your teeth as the handmaid’s expression mirrored your own. Firm, and unyielding as the winter night save for the break of a soft sigh as she drew herself to her feet. The hem of her faded kimono barely in sight. An oddity form her usual cared for state. The small touches of rayed ends, perhaps the result of her old age as her thin frame leaned forward just enough to cusp the thick of your bangs. Her hand far smaller than you could recall, gently rustled through the strands. A pressed smile in her tone, “Lord [YN], sweet child, your mother… requires rest. As do you, please. Understand.” Her fingers drew the softest of circler motions from the arch of your nose to your forehead before falling to your ear. Just as she had done in your toddling years, how she would sooth the tears from your eyes so long ago. Though the gesture was delicate, you could not fight the sense of abandonment. The wound of pride that refused to settle upon your brow, rejecting her gaze. The track of the door sliding behind her, and signaling that once again.

              You were alone.

              Left only with the company of gossip that seeped through the cracks. Rumored that passed from maid to maid in the depths of the sanctum. Dipped from view and believed from ear shot. How long had it been that you had been confined to such an existence, that not even the help did not remember your presence? All evidence of their praise, of their longing for approval washed from the estate, and identified by loose tongues. Fearless of reprimand the bitter understanding of how far you had fallen from esteem. Forced reclusion, holding little more cards than a fallen daimyo.  Uttered whispers of an early arrival, uttered about a frail creature. The tolls of labor that had taken far more than expected by the physician, the lady of the estate in duress. Utterances of the shame of the fall of the young master, accusations of a curse that had befallen the Head of the Household. Damned to lose those he cared for, and the tug of your fingers at the collar of your nemaki.

Your lungs burned I the dead of the night, struggled to heave in the frigid air. Muscles strained from unfamiliar exhaustion. Unaccustomed to roaming as it once had freely, the heave of your shoulders pressed against the mon. The structure lavishes, and commanding. Far more than enough to conceal your state of fatigue. The rare state of peace drawing lazy shuffles of guards, unbothered by the dark corners of the estate in which you begged for air. The dark of the night, and the faint touches of the moonlight as you struggled to manage on your feet.  The pads of your feet ached against the stone walkway. The tips of your toes screaming in agony as you forced your skeleton forward. Winter rattled against your bones, the hakama you had worn so many years before the fateful day you had been confined to forgotten quarters. Snug against your hips, the difference in your height inevitable, the cut of the fabric no longer bearing resemblance of a proper hakama attire befitting of a firstborn son of the samurai class. Rather, resembling a jinbei of the lower classes hiked just above your knee exposing you to the crushing winds of winter. The snow beneath your feet crunched painfully with each step you forced at the rasp of your lungs. Exhaustion threatening to crush your resolve as your grasp on memories begun to dwindle. Having exhausted recollections through your navigation of former escape attempts had faded into the present of the day, distorted and confused at the shift of buildings. Taller than you remembered, new? No, maybe? The turn of your head struggled and rasped slow to comprehend the shift of your surroundings as your form folded into the snow. The light slipping from your eyelashes.

He had found you back then. Face dug into the snow, practically frozen, and struggling for air. Younger back then than he was now, and unaccustomed to medical practices. Left only with the uncertainty of bearing your weight upon his back to seek assistance from his mistress. Why, you had never thought to ask. Though when you had come to grasp the scent of calendula. Sweet and floral notes that clung to the fingers that adjusted the cloth upon your brow. The unusual scent, and the warmth of youthful fingers. How long had it been? The joy of company, of one your age drawing you to clasp his hand in the dwindle of candlelight. Forgoing practiced manners as you cupped his hand to your cheek, to savor it for just a moment, clueless to the grin you bore, or the horror the response had elicited in your savior. Brought only to realization to the way he howled to his lady’s aid though it prevented very little of your own complaint as you attempted to lean upon his retreat. Beckon for just a moment longer pressing further even though he had anchored his padded sock to your cheek to ensure distance between the two of you. The slew of insults he had yowled to the beams, to the floorboards as you had attempted to pursue his company.

              You, you had been so naïve back then. Youthful, and naïve, or perhaps, it was your optimism that had led you a stray. The desperate attempt to cling to mortality though Lady Tamayo’s diagnosis had confirmed the worst. Her offer to extend your life through her own force was enticing. The opportunity to live once more amongst the household. To greet your father in practice swordsmanship, to earn his praise once more at the dip of your quick toes. Her vitality uttered in the dark out of Yushiro’s ears, quick to wash his hands of you after such close contact, had brought back more energy than you could have dreamed. Ensure the return of the son. Of playfulness, of laughter, and of joy. Of mischief that danced upon the gardens. To deliver the sweet treasures from town for your mother, to bright up her existence once more. TO return her appetite to her side, to meet the child she had born. To know its name, to greet its first smile, and to witness its wandering amongst the corridors as you had once done. It was all so… wistful than what had happened. Your return, a phantom of what you had once been—Lady Tamayo had warned you. She had expressed your life was tied with her own. A mere figment of the child you had been, The consequences of your return marred as possession. A baneneko amongst the gardens a manifestation of the curse that had claimed the first-born child. A mocker of his form, adorned with cat ears, and flickered hair that had been dyed orange in the candlelight when you had accepted Lady Tamayo’s grace. The crass of your once black hair, bordered into the paleness of phantoms, struggling to comprehend why your mother had screamed upon the sight of feline features born upon her child. How she had clutched an infant to her breast, mournful rattle of curses for the child she had lost.

              The explanation had died upon your lips, the shatter of priceless vases shattered amongst the pillage of her room. Desperately seeking to defend the child at her breast. The maids that had elicited hushed horrors. Shattered the waters of your return and stripped away the illusion you had fed yourself after so many years. The scuffle of retainers, bound by ropes and akin to the blade of your father.  Haya’s scream, All of it, was a blur. A faint figment of a past you had fled in the night hours, scrapped from the approach of dawn,  your exhaustion or perhaps, the trauma had resorted you to the state Tamayo had warned. Submitted to four paws once more, and collapsed into the snow. Found only by your mistress, and her attendant. The careful hold he had met you with back then. So tender, and considerate. How bitterly he had sworn curses at those who would leave scars upon such a beautiful creature, and the lower of Tamayo’s eyes. Her silence regretful, and to bear the responsibility for your loss. For your life, the slips she had allowed. Offered to tend to you, regain your form, and carry the weight of your burdens. Though, you did not hold her to such a claim. Rather, you submitted to her side. Accompanied the duties amongst the sunlight as her familiar that she could not bear. Delighted in Yushiro’s care when your words could not emerge. Days confined from daylight to be spoiled in his care,

              When your form had greeted you once more, you hadn’t the forethought to consider how it would impact your relationship. Rather upon your return to his side, you had been quick to fall into old habits despite the way his horrified reaction had met your ears. Confused at the grabby, death bound boy he had met so many years ago defying the odds at he flicker of a cat’s ear as he dared to force yourself upon him once more. Some part of you enjoyed the touch of horror in the pitch of his voice and sought to keep what he knew as Chachamaru separate than your state. Rummaged havoc upon a clinic, free to go as you pleased, held together by Lady Tamayo’s silence, and the adorable way the scowl drew upon the spell weaver’s face at your antics. Misplaced bottles, touches of flipped books, targeted customers that dared to press further than they should. Seized upon the opportunity to test a younger man’s will, utilizing abilities to slip from view.  Free to shatter the peace of the night clinic, delighted to shoo away ungrateful inquiries.  Delighted in the uttered antics that Yushiro would confine in Chachamaru of the wanderer who drew his ire, oblivious way his lips would betray the ghost of a smile.

Yes, long ago, you had made the choice to keep the two separate. To delight in the joys of your life as you once had, to return upon mission in the dead of night at his side. To ensure his comfort, to ensure his warmth, and when Lady Tamayo had offered a more… permanent arrangement, all too aware of what fate awaited her. You had accepted without much consideration. The chance to remain at his side. To stay within his touch. You told yourself that if it was Yushiro’s desires, you would live the remainder of existence as Chachamaru To submit yourself to a life upon all fours, to relinquish the freedom of your form. To chain yourself to an existence as a mere condolence of his loss, of Lady Tamayo’s care. You had accepted the terms, though she had never damned you to such a fate. Take care of each other, she had whispered leaving no implications of what such destiny entailed.

              It had been so much easier to bound yourself to such conditions.

              Until the tears slipped from his eyelashes. As the snot caught upon the top of his lip,  and his eyebrows quacked as though he were a small child that desperately missed the comfort of his mother’s sleeves. The rattle of his bones that robbed you of your own breath. The witness of his stat, mournful and destroyed. Confined to a fate he had not agreed to. Alone. Confined to the light of the moon, kept locked away from the presence of day. From people. From warmth, from comfort. From the touch of another, no such creature to remain at his time to catch the tears that spilled from his cheeks as Yushiro’s forehead met your own.

              The quiver of his brow struggling to comprehend the shift in form. The weight upon his lap, and the arms that enveloped him within their hold. Caught upon the back of his head. Attempting to sooth the ends of his hair as though consoling a small child. The flutter of his eyelashes, caught between his tears. The wordless acceptance of a troublemaker’s presence drifted from Chachamaru’s place that regarded his loss with delicate understanding. The unsure flip of your ears to pinion against your head as your gold eyes gazed upon his. The bit of his lip, fumbled into his heart. Grasped at the situation, smart as he has always been. The relief that followed at the ache of his breast that trembled within your hold. Relinquishing his weight into your arms as the depths of his despair became your own, the soft way he whispered your name into your neck as the tears met your skin, allowing you to embrace hm as you had attempted so many times throughout the year. His breath to become your own in the dwindling of the night, drifted into eternity.

A few Yushiro+ SFW Relationship Headcanons with a ENTP Male!Reader

An unexpected relationship that one would struggle to understand. Though with patience and time I mean you have more than enough of that. It’s a relationship that can bear wonderful results.

Where Yushiro hesitates, you are bod. Where he is practical, you are adventurous.  

In a mutual relationship where respect and trust has properly been cultivated, communication will never be a problem between the two of you.

You will find that in many ways, you think alike.

And while Yushiro is more often than not detailed oriented, he finds your ability to adjust to the big picture a comfort that can help him to release his clutches on your existence.

In doing so, you are the answer to a happy future for Yushiro, one in which he is less bound than he would otherwise have suspected. One in which his paintings of the late Lady Tamayo are not held in anguish, but in faint recollections in the clip of your large eyes.

Reminiscent of her own. The way small little bit s of herself have been adorned into your existence both as Chachamaru and bled into your own habits. The way you hold your chopsticks as you ponder something he had whispered over dinner. Thoughtful at the way you gnaw at the tip of the utensils. A small pout as you do so.

Little traces of her slipped into your existence the result of your lives having once been bond together.

You help him to remember her, to touch upon her existence, but at the same time, you are not her, and as such, it can come up from time to time how he regards you. Often times more stiffly than he should, far too willing to offer a hand in walking as a means to assist your navigation of paths. Just as he used to for his lady. The immediate abrasion of those who would dare to greet you pushed back at a bitter tongue, just as he used to do for her.

Oblivious to how you desire engagement. The opportunity to socialize amongst the night streets with curious passerby who are intrigued by your “cosplay”.

The realization often sends a bitter wave through your core, and results in a level of push back. It is an unintentional source of conflict in your relationship.

Though you may wish to snap at him from time to time, irritability can at times be a part of your personality, it is not something that should be approached harshly. Yushiro’s own temper can get the better of him more than not, and you will end up in quite the lover’s spat if you allow your tongue to lash out.

Rather, the issues of your connection with the deceased bleeding into your relationship should be addressed with appropriate discussions. A level approach in which you lean upon his logical thinking will land far better than asking him to consider your perspective. You are not Tamayo hurts, but it’s impactful.

Though Yushiro is a meticulous individual, you may also find yourself frustrated from time to time at the speed in which his brain works, and how quick he is to dive onto topics at hand—I mean you’re already fighting, now seems like a reasonable time to draw up all grievances and air them out.

Though I know it can be difficult in the light of day, be sure to allow each other as much space as you possibly can. It will certainly be easier in the depths of night. He will not fight your escape through the window to the roof, nor to the neighborhood night market to banter with grocers or enjoy visiting a noisy bar. So long as you understand that during your escape, he has claimed your home to give himself time to proceed with the fight.

The reality is that you two are in many ways different than one another in terms of how you process information, feelings, and your environment, and it will require a bit of patient to fine iron each other’s quirks. It WILL require give and take.

Yushiro is dedicated to preserving his relationship, but he also has a tendency to believe he is right, and often unbudging. He will not yield easily, and the bright side is that you do not have the tendency to take things to heart.

You would have to learn to savor moments huddled into one another on a night in, and other times, Yushiro will have to swallow his pride, and allow you to parade him through a night festival and delight in where you will lead him. Which, he is far more willing to follow where you lead if you allow his trust to properly bloom.

He requires consistency and reliability.

If you allow yourself to be as flighty as your heart often claims, you will find the progression of your relationship not only rocky, but incapable of submerging.  Though understand, he has no desire to change the manners in which you approach life—he is adjusted to the usual antics you depict, and your habits to be carried away with the wind.

He wouldn’t change it by any means.

Yushiro secretly delights in the comfort of time alone from time to time, but finds reassurance that some things never changes.

There is no need for excuse, nor a verbal sparring match.

Just. Leave. A. Note.

It’s really that simple.

I can imagine you utilizing the ability to shift into your Chachamaru form more often than you should-- especially when you realize that it is a near instant win in arguments. shame on you.

More so, I can imagine that this revert form is often a great way for you to save energy, and so I can imagine that you find yourself in this form when you are feeling fatigued, or sick.

Imagine Yushiro taking care of your little fever and whiskers.

He takes satisfaction in rubbing your ears just as he used to. More so, he can see the way you still lean into his touch when his fingers graze by your right ear. Putty in his hands, and it's the familiarity of the gesture that has him petting you (cat form or not) more than he is willing to ever confess.

He melts when you take him to a night cat cafe. Though he will never openly admit how happy he is. Such inquiries are sure to elicit a dower mouth pucker, but you are far aware that the kittens in his arm, clung to his pants, and resting upon his head are proof that he is enjoying himself.

Though part of you is jealous that others are cuddled up against him.

Don't be. Yushiro is a dedicated man, not that you need to be told. He takes his commitments very seriously, and with Lady Tamayo's approval of him to remain at your side, as the last piece of her that roams this earth, he is bound to you. His heart will never stray.

The worst you will have to prepare for is the doting I mentioned earlier.

Life in the modern future with you will make his existence far brighter. There is comfort in your willingness to adventure. On his own, Yushiro is willing to confine himself to a small apartment on the edge of existence.

With your free-spirited warmth and curiosity, he is likely to discover that there are few who would suspect his circumstances than there were so long ago. More so, you will find that there is a kindness in the wanderers of the night.

You’re accompanying him is comforting, and if you have given him time, given him the space to come to you as you know to do��you will find that Yushiro will very happily take your hand. Allow you to lead him into the adventures of the night.

[mickmeasley]

I had this idea for a Human Bill Cipher design in my head for a while so this morning I decided to get around to doodling it (all I usually have the energy to do is mspaint doodles, I'm not really much of a typical artist type) and honestly I'm pretty proud of it.

Hot take of the day is I don't think "human Bill Cipher" being a reasonably attractive skinny white guy was ever an inherently bad concept, it works for him honestly. People just fumbled on the execution and did it in the least imaginative/appropriate way (aka the generic "hazbin hotel" twink way) because the "palette" for sexymen wasnt as broad back when Gravity Falls was airing*. (The recent hubbub about "old man yaoi" and people posting about 61-year-old Bob Odenkirks smoochers would probably be unthinkable to the tumblr of that era if I've got my facts straight).

But yeah I think this design really works, he's not conventionally attractive but not unattractive either, like, on the cusp of twinkdeath, it's believable that he'd be charming and a bit silly, but also twisted, skeevy, and manipulative.

The kinda guy who buys expensive clothes but doesn't take great care of them, or himself for that matter, a little out-of-shape from a life of decadence and debauchery, neck a little fat from eating carelessly but still thin from constantly moving around and neglecting to eat the rest of the time because god dammit this man has severely unmedicated AuADHD or something along those lines.

His hairdos inspired by the dude from Eraserhead, on theme with gravity being inspired by twin peaks, another work by David Lynch

cannot be fucked rn to draw his full outfit but his full pose is something like this and he's wearing a frock coat, black flared pants, black boots, and white spats.

*EDIT: with all due respect the doctor who or any other live-action tv fandoms were ahead of the curve on this, but thats sort of a matter of course

[ambreiiigns]

PLS discuss rick's love w birdperson

GOD the call of old man yaoi innit. easy website. ok let's just go over every birdperson moment in the show to Explain the Story

we first meet birdperson in the s1 finale. morty's parents go on a trip and rick has to babysit the kids and by that i mean rick and summer throw a fuckass party and rick invites all kind of fookin creatures including birdperson (the crowd goes wild) at said party pers meets summer's best friend tammy and they. hook up and start dating. tragedy. but what also happens is we have our first hashtag emotional plot twist when it's revealed that rick's stupid fucking wubba lubba dub dub I HATE IT catchphrase is actually a normal phrase in pers' language! that very simply means "i am in great pain please help me". i have so many thoughts and prayers about rick choosing to express something so vulnerable in pers' language. (we will later see him choose to be vulnerable to/for pers so that's just a Thing. ig.) he travels the entire universe he could have easily chosen a language No One of the Few People be keeps around understands but he chose pers' language. some might say he trusts pers enough. batshit already.

anyway both the first and iirc second time we see pers morty's mad w rick and pers has his back and defends him and convinces morty to stick around which is. so polite of him. but something i Also wanna mention early on is that pers and rick met sometime in rick's idk young adulthood while he's out there killing other ricks. they meet at some kind of festival and rick's carrying like alien vape in a backpack and pers takes a hit and they pick up squanchy somewhere too (they're the Main Dudes In The Gang) they have a band. briefly. lmao. but also they're rebels fighting The Federation. rick calls it his star wars phase or smth. ok we'll get back to this era later

now. s2 finale. one of the Best Episodes. pers and tammy are getting married!!!!! [cursed emoji] and rick is SO GRUMPY abt it. he doesn't wanna go but they drag him along and once he's at the ceremony he gets so drunk he's like. almost passed out. rick is Always some level of drunk so for him to be like. going limp fnajfnjat it has to be Astronomical levels right. yet he picks himself back up enough to give a little speech proclaiming birdperson as his best friend and that he'll go along w whatever makes him happy so if pers loves tammy then rick loves tammy too!! and calls it his greatest adventure - opening himself up to others! and immediately after tammy reveals she's an undercover agent of the federation and Shoots Birdperson Dead. and rick cries out his name and goes nooooo. horrid

the federation then pieces pers back together w robot bits and sends him off to kill rick, rick knocks him out but doesn't kill him he just takes him home to fix him up as close to Before as he can but pers has sort of. put himself in a coma bc he Did care abt tammy. and not only did she betray him but now rick has also Killed her so he kinda just wants to rot and die. so. this is also one of my fave episodes. rick has to go in pers' mind and memories and convince him to basically come back to life. this is where we get their whole backstory !! as said they met at a festival and fucked around until rick joined the rebellion. it started as pers helping rick w "his stuff" and rick helping pers w "his stuff" in exchange. i'm realizing i'm making it sound like they were taking turns jerking each other off but what i mean is yea rick helps pers w the federation but pers helps rick w killing other ricks. so basially rick joins the rebellion for pers?? 🤨

culminates in blood ridge which is this big ass battle between federation and rebels and it ends WELL. they WIN. but rick talks abt blood ridge like it was a 9/11 type event so you're like WHY is he sad abt blood ridge. and then we see it. at the end of the battle rick is once again emotionally vulnerable w pers and he shares his Big Secret w him. his portal gun that can take him anywhere in any universe. he asks pers to go w him wherever he wants. i'm reminded of rick initially turning down rick prime's offer bc "it sounds lonely" and. i guess it fucking is. he wanted his best friend w him. he reveals a fundamental part of his mindset he always brings up - that there's countless versions of reality and therefore nothing matters, so pers asks him. if nothing matters why did you help me? and rick tells him. because you matter to me. pers reads this as the Fucking Love Confession That It Fucking Is, and Awkwardly Turns Rick Down As Such. fucking friendzones the fucker. he goes "our relationship,,," and rick doesn't deny nor correct him!! he just goes like OH MY GODDDD DON'T DRAG IT OUT JUST SAY NOOOO

anyway. this trip in pers' mind. rick has teamed up w a younger rick from pers' memories and after seeing blood ridge he's like ok i get why you were so bitter. it wasn't the battle that went bad. why do you wanna save pers then? and our rick goes because you love him. and memory rick goes I don't YOU love him maybe. and our rick is like yea bet are you gonna help or not. and he's so serious and focused bc this is SERIOUS. so once they finally do get to pers and rick tries to convince him to come back to life basically lmao pers is like i'm SORRY i'm not over tammy unfort we can't choose the ones we love HE SAYS THAT TO RICK'S FACE??? and in fact rick gets pissy and goes YEAH NO SHIT WHY DO YOU THINK I'M STILL IN HERE. he reveals pers has a fuckin daughter out there and pers decides to come back to take care of her he thanks rick for not giving up on him but quickly fucks off without his usual politeness bc he's a bit mad at rick anyway. fair

when we see him again in s7 he's having a hard time parenting his rebellious birddaughter but agrees to hanging out w rick and their friends and they seem chill. i hope to see him more next season i genuinely adore him so much. the only people rick is THIS weak for are like. morty obviously summer on some level and his fuckin Daughter. Y Birdperson. the only time he admits to someone that they're special is to beth and pers. not even morty gets to hear it ‼️ we also have like them kissing w tongue in the comics once and a faggy little musical number but those are just Barely canon. what Is canon is that rick is queer which is forever really funny to me. and he goes and has a one sided unrequited situationship w some bird dilf like. who's doing it like him. the you need a high iq to understand rick and morty crowd ain't ready for this

[aprofessionalwithoutstandards]

It's a bit odd to me how Medic got so twinkified? Like we love all body types here, but there's a ton of images with him skinny and dainty and (for lack of a better word) feminized, when in all of the source material he's...not even close to that? Like it's just his silly voice. Scout gets similar treatment, but he's rather slim so I sort of get it? (Even though I don't really think he'd bottom)

The point is, Medic can be baby girl but why don't they keep his chest and shit

That's all pretty old so like, it's a real remnant of an older Tumblr fandom culture where different kinds of bodies WEREN'T recognized. Most fanartists could draw two body types, "the boy one" and "the girl one" lmaooo. This was also like peak, for lack of a better term, Yaoi Era, during which a weird heteronormative standard was applied to gay relationships, yknow "so which one of you is the man and which is the woman", and Medic tf2, by virtue of being shorter than Heavy and also The Gay One, has to be "the woman." It's a shitty, homophobic, sexist idea but it's very prominent socially and definitely was in fandom for a while back in the day. However I do see a push nowadays to make Medic tf2 Super Masculine And Manly to refute this which I don't think is the answer either LMAO - yes, keep his body type, keep his chest and his shoulders and his giant jaw and his body hair and graying receding old man hair, but like literally none of that means he has to be masc lmaoooo. Everyone at home should know by now that I think Medic tf2 is kind of a pussy cunt cunt camp femme queen who is ALSO huge and buff and old. So more people should do THAT, in my opinion

[baltimorebullets]

this fucking podcast p episode goddamn i just wanted to look at some beautiful men and instead i am IMMEDIATELY DEEPLY UPSET, i know, shocking, i am usually SO CALM--

just so deeply deeply deeply fucked up that like. shit. it's no secret that ~traditional media has done plenty to earn its distrust, especially when it comes to its relationships with black athletes. and crying "but access :'(" when you've got people talking about sexual harassment is so. jesus christ. jesus fucking christ.

but that access, the potential for relationships, narratives outside the squeakiness of pr is important. there's the perspective of The Media as only being capable of tearing you down, but there's also the potential for honesty, complexity, thoroughness, outside of what sells A Product--

and then it's still, like, hey, let me stab you every once in awhile, because i love and respect you, promise <3

but that's not how it works, anyway, because it's all business end to end to end

so if we cede that the distrust is earned, and that The Honesty Product is not always so dedicated or so capable of honesty, does New Media, without the gatekeeping that decides who gets to tell what stories, not become a logical, perhaps even necessary evolution?

well. because it's fucking bullshit. it sells bullshit. people buy fucking bullshit, and that's how you end up with shit like The Verstappen Narrative. and that's just sports misinformation and narrative creation. jesus fucking christ.

well, traditional media sells bullshit, too, and for what? if i we're going to talk about access, i am just going to keep talking about vietnam. old school journalists love to talk war coverage in that era as a true break from the establishment as authority, speaking truth to power to great effect, breaking down barriers of what is acceptable to talk about. the reality, retroactively, as morbid zoo talks about in her video "let me shoot you," is that, whatever you put in front of people, they're going to use it to confirm their own biases. dear god, you see so many dead and desecrated vietnamese people in j school. and for what? for what? for it to be another lever to push once the war is already unpopular? what are we as in our work and our physical presence DOING? ... to be fair, that is the question we're supposed to to have some sort of answer before we're let loose on the world

man i am for real not built for being casual. thank god i have yaois to sublimate my overinvestment into. i guess. feels great.

which is also to say i do think there's a real freedom in fiction to access a sort of honesty that might not be possible if you (and everyone you're working with) are claiming to be honest and telling the whole truth and nothing but the whole truth

but oh my god

[darkrpfinders]

Well, I’m back on my GTA V bullshit. 🚗

I’m 30+, looking for anyone 25+, to craft a story in the Grand Theft Auto V universe. I’m specifically looking to write as Michael De Santa opposite a Trevor Philips mun for some toxic old-man yaoi plots. (However, if you have a stronger Michael muse, I wouldn’t mind giving Trevor a try.) I’d also be interested in writing opposite a Franklin Clinton for some mentor/father figure plots!

Alternatively – if I can somehow find two other people, it would be amazing to get Michael, Trevor, and Franklin all together! And we all can pick up the other characters to flesh out the world!

I usually write on Discord in private servers. However, I’m willing to write on Tumblr, if my partner prefers. I’m looking for this to involve both NSFW as well as dark themes, including things that would fall into the dead dove category. If we are doing NSFW, I ask we both play them as switches.

I’m a limitless, literate, and detailed writer. I’m cool with a variety of writing lengths – I’ve written everything from a paragraph to 1.5k words per post. Typically, I can get out 2-4 replies per week depending on the reply length, however, my evenings and weekends are completely shot, so I need to have a partner who is cool with this taking a little time.

If you’re still reading, here are some thoughts on Trikey plots!

I would love, love, LOVE to write a plot during the North Yankton era. Anything pre-game where we can play around with Michael and Trevor’s relationship prior to the failed cash depot robbery would be great. We get to hear very few anecdotes about their relationship and the quick decline of it during the canon of the game, so this would be our time to shine. I want to play around with why they got so twisted up with one another/how they became best friends/everything leading up to the incident.

If not pre-game stuff, we could either force a few plots inside the game’s canon and/or come up with a completely new idea for the post-game. I’m open to all sorts of plots when it comes to this, but mainly us being able to play with their dynamics and their hot and cold relationship is what I’m looking for!

Feel free to like this and I’ll reach out!

.

[strawbebehmod]

Is there an FMA equivalent of My Immortal? Any fic that's infamously bad in this fandom?

Warning, I’m not going to be able to talk about this topic without talking about obscure, out-there kinks. If you are a minor, you have been warned. Please turn back now. Side note: a lot of what i’m gonna say is about how personally I feel about the content, not the people and for some of it, im just gonna speak in an unbiased way. for a lot of this stuff I’m remaining unbiased cause a lot of this stuff was products of young teens exploring fandom and anime communities for the first time, not necessarily thinking too much about implications of what they were writing, and this stuff is very very very old. Like possibly older than some of you if there’s a minor that is still hanging around reading what i’m writing right now. (You really should stop) Anyways, my point is, I’m not here to pass judgement character wise on the creators of this stuff cause I don’t know them now and didn’t then.

Hmmmm….Ok so this is a tough one.

1.My taste in fanfiction is usually mostly crossovers and really niche aus. Even for my otps I rarely go looking for fanfiction because I know I won’t often find something that interests me. 2. Because the FMA fandom is INCREDIBLY old fandom-wise and has gone through several huge shifts in fan content and perspectives on certain matters, and in some cases, sections of this fandom’s history are just gone. 3. I have not been in the fandom for most of its life time. I started getting into it in highschool, which was after brotherhood first aired, so my knowledge on stuff happening before I got in, is gonna be limited, which is bad cause honestly, 2003-2010 was when the FMA fandom was at its height, from what I’ve been told.

And the thing about fandoms during that time, particularly anime fandoms, is that they were CRAZY man. That was the age of the weeb and where most of the crazy fandom con stories you hear about from old fandoms come from. And the fanfiction community was not much different. This was the time when we had real crack fiction. Not just out of the ordinary stuff, but stories about two guys getting high on helium, riding on a rainbow and marrying an apple together crack fics. There were all sorts of just out there trends, like the “how to care for your so-and-so” which read like instruction manuals if you received a life sized robot of your favs, which looking back at the content of these instruction manuals, some would seem really fucked up given the fandom perception today vs then (some of them have most likely unintended rape jokes, lots of casual mentions of ships that were hella popular then but are considered extremely problematic now, ect), the Kink Memes which would range from vanilla rarepair stuff to “what has been seen can’t be unseen”, Edgelord and poorly written first time fics that inspired troll fics, lots of very poorly written m!preg, vore, and ABO(if you don’t know what that stuff is just use urban dictionary but don’t look up pictures) stuff with extreme oocness to fill the Seme/Uke yaoi tropes; and a..hm…very interesting trend called “zoofic” that did not involve actual animals in any way. Or furries for that matter….but it was definitely…..ya know what, for those who don’t know what it is I think this gif is a good summary of how I feel:

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=HeOY8QO-COc

Anyways my point is, there is a lot of stuff within the fanfic sphere of FMA that was crazy and out-there that was just accepted for what it was during its time, that there really wasn’t any way for things to rise above the rest as so infamous that it would be remember forever. It doesn’t help that a lot of the archive of fma fiction was completely lost due to nsfw bans on fanfiction and strikethrough on livejournal. And even though fma was a big fandom, it wasn’t one of the big three shonens nor was it sailor moon, so crazy stuff from it didn’t get nearly as much exposure. If there was one at one point, its either been forgotten during the dips and then buried by other content during the revivals or lost all together.

My friend remembers a bad one from the fma 2003 era about a girl dating wrath who becomes a homunculus and god like but she can’t remember the title and given the fact it was on livejournal, it’s probably gone.

As for me the one really bad one I remember reading part was one that was supposed to be parental royed,….but for some inexplicable reason ed was pregnant (m!preg pregnant) and everyone but roy thought he was cursed for it and beat the crap out of him…it was. Something. I can’t remember what its called nor did I get very far into it before noping out, but I remember it was on fanfiction.net if you feel the need to go looking for it.

[cookinguptales]

okay, so late ‘90s, early ‘00s badfic 101

A lot of fic was either on fanfiction.net or private archives. People would also post things to fic communities or private journals on LJ. (Which was a whole...thing, with some people friends-locking their work because they were afraid of sporking/flames or they were just pretentious.) ff.net had a whole HOST of problems, like a variety of terrible ways your formatting could get borked (like you couldn’t use repeating characters, which made line breaks hard; that’s why you’d get increasingly “arty” line breaks that could be...cringey), policies against allowing any fic of media created by people who didn’t like fic (see: Anne McCaffery, Anne Rice, other crazy Annes, etc.), puritan anti-smut policies which often got applied to slash fic more than het fic, and just...in general, terrible fic. Private archives were often manually curated by their owners, which could be fine or it could lead to cliques and circlejerks. The Harry Potter archives seemed to get especially crazy with this and some truly epic wanks came out of that. You’d also see people hosting fic on their own sites (usually angelfire or something) with big slash warnings and IF YOU’RE UNDER 18 GET OUT warnings. A lot of fic archives wouldn’t host slash or porn, and you were liable to get in trouble in fandom or otherwise if you didn’t strongly label LGBT/18+ themes. Especially if the fic in question contained both. Like. I don’t like the OTW for many reasons, but I have to admit that AO3 is basically a godsend. We lost a lot of fic to purged LJs/deleted websites.

SUPER purple prose. Older fic in general tended to be a bit more “literary” and purple and it sometimes read like J.R.R. Tolkein was having a stroke. By the time the ‘90s/’00s rolled around, you’d just get this sort of halfway point where people would have generally unornamented text except for things being thrown in like this character’s cerulean/azure/periwinkle eyes. The shade would change by scene, and you’d always know because there’d be a lot of stuff like “the cerulean-eyed man shook his head”. EVERY CHARACTER IN THIS SCENE KNOWS HIS NAME, USE HIS NAME. Or they’d refer to a character’s glimmering green orbs or something. It was painful.

In anime fandom especially, you’d get a lot of these epithets that referred to their abnormal hair colors. People saw “brunette” and were like “shit, I can adapt that” so you get ravenette and bluenette and silverette and pinkette and kill me now. Some people got pissy about like -et/-ette endings re: gender, but after you’ve gone to the bluenette place, it doesn’t even fucking matter anymore. Grammar is dead.

Anime fic also tended to have a lot of so-called “fangirl Japanese”. Writers would just sprinkle in any Japanese words they knew for no goddamn reason, which would usually end in glossaries at the end like *kakkoi means cool! *aoi means blue! and goddamn guys, these are all words than have legit English translations.

Script fic. Just... script fic. More on that at the bottom bc I had to use some special formatting.

“Crack” fic. This would be fic that was purposefully OOC (out of character) for comedic effect. Tended to utilize “omg so random!!” humor. It usually was pretty much only comedic to caffeinated 13-year-olds. This was literally all Invader Zim’s fault and you know I’m right.

The “disposal” of female love interests in slash fic. Used to be much more of a problem than it is now. Now, I’m not talking about fics that just don’t talk about female characters or retcon a relationship or are like “they broke up!!! moving on!” I’m talking about fics that turn all female characters into shrieking homophobic harpies that would probably rather their canon love interests be dead than fuck a dude. This was applied even to like the nicest characters in the world, or even to characters who weren’t in canon romances with the male characters but were deemed to be threats. They often got smacked around or died or whatever. Things were a lot more sexist in fandom back then. There was a yenta trope that kind of arose as backlash to this but was really just as annoying in a different way. That usually involved a canon love interest going full yaoi fangirl (for some reason) and shipping her love interest with another guy, then involving herself in their love lives to a truly creepy extent so she could hook her boyfriend up with another guy. These were also sexist. Both situations tended to make the female characters incredibly OOC and prevented them from having any real human reactions/emotions.

Mary Sues. Now, the term has lost a lot of its effect in recent years. Mary Sues (or Gary Stus) used to have a really specific meaning. They were OCs (original characters) that were the prettiest, smartest, most powerful, popular characters in the whole world that had glittering orbs for eyes and usually had some kind of special magical power that made them better than all the canon characters. These were self-insert characters -- in other words, even if they didn’t have the same name as the author, they were wish-fulfillment characters wherein the character was used as a stand-in for the author, who could then write all the canon characters loving them. Now people just use the term for any female character that’s powerful and central to the plot, so...it’s not a useful word anymore. As for the old school Sues, well... I don’t necessarily think they were bad, but I will say it’s a hell of a lot more fun to write a Suefic than to read one. That really goes for most fanfics with OCs that have been elevated to a prominent status. People generally read fanfic because they want to read about the canon characters they love, not shallowly-written OCs that take over the fic. I don’t think OC-driven fic is bad to write... But again, yeah, it’s usually much more fun to write than to read. I think it’s helpful to be cognizant of that.

Reviewer participation fic. Mostly an issue on ff.net. It used to be that there was no way to reply to comments on ff.net, and as I’ve said before, there was a strong comment culture back then. Just not replying to reviews could be interpreted as very rude. (It would be unfathomably rude on LJ, which was more community-driven.) So to get around this, people would include a section to reply to reviewers at the beginning of the next chapter or their next one-shot or whatever. So you’d get long interminably long fics on ff.net with like 40 chapters in which nothing happened, and to get ideas, they’d ask reviewers. Worse, sometimes people would try to incentivize readers to review by offering to put their loyal reviewers in the fic. So you’d have this long section at the top of the chapter which might have a conversation that’s been going on between them and a reviewer for the past 8 chapters (and hell, they might’ve made a new chapter just to reply to them) except multiplied by however many reviewers there are, and then the reviewers worm their way into the fics, too! Oh my god.

Passive-aggressive fic. This was especially an issue on LJ as a personal response, but would show up on ff.net as response to wider fandom tropes. These would be fics where a character is like “WOW I WOULD NEVER DO X, THAT WOULD BE SOMETHING I’D NEVER EVEN CONSIDER DOING. WHAT KIND OF IDIOT WOULD THINK I’D DO THAT?” And X is usually (a.) something a reviewer told them would be more IC than what was in their previous fic, (b.) something another writer just put in their fic, or (c.) a ship they don’t like. (This would also extend to fics where characters would be like I’M NOT GAY, I’D NEVER FUCK A DUDE, EWWW!! as anti-slasher rhetoric.) Back then, you could reasonably expect that people in your fandom would at least see, if not read, your new fic. On LJ, you saw basically all the fics because they were posted in wider communities, and fandom was, as a whole, more community-driven back then. If you insulted another member of the community via fic, they’d know in about ten minutes. It was throwing down a gauntlet. lol

The crack fic genre also extended to crack pairings. It wasn’t unusual for people to dare each other to write weird pairings (often characters who’d never met), the more bizarre the better. This was the era of Hogwarts/Lake Squid. These fics were often sporked, but in a more delighted way than usual. There really was more of a sense that people could and would write anything. Some people came to actually ship these pairings like legit and ship wars would ensue. And sometimes some cracky pairings just became really popular for assorted reasons and that made other fans really mad. This still happens, honestly.

Ship wars now are often dressed up in social justice terms, which is a trend that I find frustrating bc I feel like it denigrates important issues. Ship wars in the ‘90s/’00s, on the other hand, were just balls to the wall insane. I still refuse to engage in ship wars because damn, man, the shit I’ve seen. People were much more open about the fact that they hated people who shipped other pairings because they just shipped something else or were squicked by the pairing or whatever. The Harry Potter shipwars got particularly fucking weird. So it wasn’t generally a slash vs. het thing, like some people will have you think. Some of the worst ship wars I have ever seen were het shippers at war. Never again the harmonian times.

Frankly a lot of other things that my mind is rebelling against remembering.

Script fic (often with author interludes) was eventually banned from FF.net, which kind of killed it in fic because that was the main posting venue back then (unless you wrote slash or porn, which could be taken off if people reported it; technically slash wasn’t against the rules unless it was explicit, but they didn’t often check the reports carefully). What I mean by script fic is like

Karamatsu: wow I sure like these sparkly pants Chibita: I don’t (A/N: I do!!!!111 I have a pair like them at home!) Karamatsu: let’s fuck now Chibita: but offscreen because we want to preserve our soft M rating!

The A/Ns (author’s notes) could get really in-depth sometimes, with an author often RPing the characters OOC or using them as their “muses”. So sometimes you’d get a mess like

Karamatsu: gosh it sure does suck that everyone treats me like dog shit Chibita: true (A/N: serenaxkittyx755: That’s not true, Karaboy! Choromatsu: Yeah, we like you less than dog shit. Ichimatsu: Way less.)

Except my example was honestly more IC than most of these tended to be. You’d often get “muses” saying “ewww” or “that’s hot” during romance scenes, even when this made no sense whatsover. Or offering commentary on some random non-karamatsu character’s fashion choices or something. Purposeful “crack” was considered not just okay but in fact desirable back then.

basically, badfic was hell.