#and the more reserved characters as well!

[smilesrobotlover]

Some miphlink kiddos but colored! I honestly think I failed at the colors, at least for the clothes but I’m too tired to care rn.

So this is based on mm kiddos, and I believe that zoras lay eggs, so Mipha had many eggs, but only two really survived. The prince- River, and the princess- Maren.

For River i wanted his fins and stuff to be very small. He’s a bit more Hylian and takes after his dad. He can’t breathe underwater unlike other zora (I suppose his gills don’t work well) and is a good runner for a zora. He has big ol eyes and is a hyper kiddo

Maren on the other hand has very big fins and the tail thing. She’s great at swimming, maybe even better than other zora, but she can’t hear very well due to small ears compared to her brother. She’s a bit more reserved and I knooooow the heart shaped on her are tacky but I just… I really wanted a pink and frilly character just let me have this 😞

I feel like the colors themselves are good, but the clothes and jewelry are bad, so pretend that they picked out the jewelry themselves and that’s why the colors suck 😅

River hates jewelry and clothes in general but Maren loves them, so she’s a little bit more decked out than he.

[urdreamydoodles]

hello, i hope you’re doing well! i’ve been following your blog for some time and i just wanna say i love your work! you’re such a talented writer and honestly you are the answer to my prayers!

i’d like to ask (and feel free to decline), could you write some gambit x reader x rogue (poly) headcanons? they’re both so hot and such good characters! again feel free to decline if you’re not interested! thank you so much <3

Remy LeBeau x Reader x Rogue (Poly) Headcanons

How is your relationship with Remy and Rogue

In your polyamorous relationship with Remy LeBeau and Rogue, the three of you share a dynamic that balances playful banter, deep affection, and mutual respect.

My favorite X-Men couple. I hope you like it <3

- Being in a relationship with both Remy and Rogue is as exhilarating as it is heartwarming. Remy, with his flirtatious charm, makes every day feel like an adventure, while Rogue’s protective, nurturing side grounds you all. Together, the three of you form a beautifully balanced dynamic where love, laughter, and passion intertwine in ways you could have never anticipated.

- Remy is always the instigator of spontaneous plans. Whether it's whisking you and Rogue off to a hidden bayou in Louisiana or planning a late-night rooftop picnic, he brings his sense of thrill and romance to the relationship. Rogue often goes along with his plans begrudgingly, but her eyes light up with anticipation the moment she sees you’re just as excited.

- Rogue is fiercely protective of both you and Remy. Her powers may make physical touch tricky, but she makes up for it with words and gestures, constantly reminding you both of how much you mean to her. She’ll wrap her arms around you two whenever she can, and though her touch is careful, you feel the warmth of her love as deeply as if there were no boundaries.

- Remy is a natural flirt, and it’s a game for him to see how he can make both you and Rogue blush. He’s full of playful winks and whispered compliments, his smooth, honeyed accent rolling off words that make your cheeks warm. Rogue, meanwhile, gives him a knowing eye-roll, but there’s no hiding her smile when he directs his charming words at you both.

- Even though Rogue has her reservations about her powers, she’s learned to be comfortable with you and Remy. The three of you have crafted a language of subtle touches, gestures, and careful embraces that express your affection without needing full physical contact. A gentle squeeze on her gloved hand, a quick brush against her shoulder—these small moments mean the world to her.

- When it comes to nights together, the tension between the three of you is palpable, building up slowly and leaving you breathless. Remy, ever the passionate one, finds ways to make you feel adored, drawing out every moment. He loves watching the way you and Rogue react, knowing that his attentions are making both of you melt in a shared moment of intimacy.

- Rogue takes her time when she lets her guard down with you and Remy in private moments. Her confidence in these shared moments is something she’s grown into, and she finds joy in showering you both with kisses through the fabric of her gloves. She may not be able to touch directly, but her affection is no less fierce, and her love radiates through every careful caress.

- Remy, being the gentleman he is, often takes the lead in romantic settings. He has a knack for knowing when both you and Rogue need comfort, desire, or simply a listening ear. When things get steamy, he’s attentive to every movement and reaction, taking his time to ensure that both you and Rogue are completely immersed in the moment, feeling loved and appreciated.

- On nights when Rogue feels more daring, she’ll let herself get a bit closer, her kisses lingering a little longer, the intensity deepening between the three of you. There’s an unspoken understanding that each touch is significant, each moment of closeness a testament to the trust and love you’ve built. For Rogue, these nights mean everything, a rare chance to express her passion without reservation.

- The three of you love cuddling together after a long day, though it’s a delicate process with Rogue’s powers. Remy’s arms around both of you, with Rogue carefully nestled against you, create a cozy tangle of warmth and comfort. These evenings are full of gentle laughter and soft whispers, all three of you sharing dreams and plans, feeling the deep connection that binds you together.

- Remy has a soft spot for surprising you and Rogue with little gifts. He’ll bring you a single wildflower he found or an antique trinket he picked up on a mission, his expression soft as he hands it over with a charming grin. Rogue, though embarrassed at first, often finds herself touched by his gestures, storing each token away with fondness—and with a growing collection of keepsakes that you both treasure.

- Rogue can be a bit of a tease, though it’s not as obvious as Remy’s flirting. She’ll make sarcastic remarks or playful jabs, only to flash you a knowing smile that makes your heart skip a beat. These moments reveal the lighter side of Rogue, her guard lowered as she relaxes into the relationship. You and Remy love seeing this side of her, knowing that her happiness comes from a place of deep trust.

- The three of you share a deep, emotional bond that goes beyond physical affection. Remy and Rogue each bring something unique to the relationship, creating a space of unconditional support and love. Whether it’s Remy’s boundless charm or Rogue’s quiet strength, you know that the three of you are stronger together, each of you lifting the others up, sharing joy and laughter, and creating a love that is truly extraordinary.

[hoonieyun]

collecting tears

a four part short anthology series following heartbreak, jealousy, yearning, and woe 🗝₊˚⊹♡

heeseung ⊹ jongseong ⊹ jaeyun ⊹ sunghoon

more under the cut

lee heeseung ⭒˚｡⋆

We were goin' right, then you took a left Left me with a lot of shit to second-guess Guess I'll waste another year on wonderin' if If that was casual, then I'm an idiot sabrina carpenter - sharpest tool

angst - heartbreak - unrequited love - situationship

would you have continued to waste more years of your life pining after the boy who only saw you as a phone number to call when he felt alone?

read here ₊˚⊹♡

park jongseong ⭒˚｡⋆

I hope you're happy But not like how you were with me I'm selfish, I know, I can't let you go So find someone great, but don't find no one better I hope you're happy, but don't be happier olivia rodrigo - happier

angst - breakup - the one that got away - ex boyfriend

does seeing him happy make you happy, knowing he's happy with someone else?

coming soon ₊˚⊹♡

sim jaeyun ⭒˚｡⋆

I'm in the corner Watchin' you kiss her I'm right over here Why can't you see me? I'm giving it my all But I'm not the girl you're takin' home I keep dancing on my own I keep dancing on my own robyn - dancing on my own

angst - loneliness - one sided love - best friends

how does it feel knowing you spent so much time being by his side but you were never the one he chose?

coming soon ₊˚⊹♡

park sunghoon ⭒˚｡⋆

I know I said I’d wish you well But I did not mean with someone else I don't wanna ask too much But don't fall in love without me Been through hell Waiting if the time could tell I don't wanna press my luck But don't fall in love without me pia mia - wish you well

angst - rejection - right boy wrong time - failed relationship

did you really need all that time? now that you see where and who he's with... did you really need all that time?

coming soon ₊˚⊹♡

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

✮⋆˙ reply or send message to my inbox to be added to the taglist

[irisintheafterglow]

Hello, I have a request. So I have these lyrics brain rotting me and I just know you, with amazing writer skills, will be able to bring it to life. So, from The Prophecy, "Don't want money, just someone who wants my company" and like reader being lonely for a long time before meeting katsuki. I see reader as a very important part of the society, like not a hero, but more as a spy that can also fight (the Hero version of a fantasy assassin) And she is paired with Katsuki for a mission and he sees her in her true colours. Maybe a series? It's up to you, or course, but thank you for writing and being so talented and considering this request <33 Hope you have a great day!!

lowkey this request broke me in all the right ways omg...i love the prophecy so so so much it's so heartbreaking and definitely one of my favorites off ttpd <3 ty for your ask and all the love, hope you like this :)) so sorry that it took so long to get to and ty for your patience, i haven't had much time to write lately

cw: explicit language, implied fem!reader but no she/her pronouns (reader does wear heels), angst/fluff with happy ending, angry forced coworkers to lovers, bkg being lowkey mean but he's just psychoanalyzing you

you liked the sparkle, to a certain extent.

it was nice to pad around in designer satin, your name embroidered in gold thread on the back tag. you could appreciate the crushed velvet sofas in the living room of your high-rise penthouse, the walls covered in abstract art gifted to you by painters whose names you don't remember. your closet was larger than your university dorm and lined with enough expensive fabrics to start a hospital. everything about your lifestyle screamed luxury, yet even a marble bathtub couldn't provide much comfort when you came home at two in the morning to a cold, lifeless apartment. tragic.

bound by contract, you weren't allowed to live with civilian roommates, and pro heroes looking for places to rent were as scarce as dust left behind by your cleaning crew. you figured it was better that way, not needing to explain to your roommate why you're gone for weeks at a time on assignments and coming back with several broken ribs and a staggering sum of money. instead of friends, you had your job, however dangerous it became sometimes. you were good at playing a character (it's why you had your current job in the first place) and made it look like you weren't lonely, but you'd be lying if there weren't times you were just begging the sky to send you...who? who do you even want? love was a foreign word, a privilege reserved for those not in your profession. so you withstand whatever life throws at you like a statue made to wait, constantly on the brink of crumbling.

it's mid-january when you receive the call informing you that you'd be working with a partner on your next assignment. you wrack your brain for the few people trustworthy enough to join you, only for the words to catch in your throat when your agent says they're assigning someone for you.

if you were bad at working with others, bakugo was unapologetically worse.

"could you walk any louder?" you hiss into his ear as you stroll through the lobby of the most luxurious hotel in the city. his bicep flexes under your fingers, something you can only perceive as him stiffening in annoyance. "your big-ass feet are gonna get us compromised before we even make it past the perimeter."

"i'm not trained for stealth, genius," he argues, adjusting his suit jacket with free arm for the fifth time in twelve seconds. "i usually go in, blast the shit out of people, and call it a day."

"well, your thundering steps are doing the opposite of helping us blend in," you reply bluntly with a pretty smile toward the concierge desk. "we're doing recon, not infil." you take an abrupt step to the right, simultaneously bumping bakugo in the hip and making him stumble. with the way you start to sway and lean into him, your perfume makes his brain go fuzzy and his ears pinker.

"what the fuck are you doing?"

"you are literally the funniest person i've ever met. i can't believe i fell in love with you, sweetie," you drawl, fluttering your eyelashes.

"what the hell is wrong with you?" he cringes away as you beam at him with a lovesick smile, one hand keeping him flush against your body while the other brushes the pant leg of a passing security guard.

"just play along, darling," you seethe through a fake smile. without taking your eyes off your partner's face, your prize finds itself between your fingers and you unbutton the keycard without blinking, bringing it to his chest and smoothly slipping it into bakugo's jacket pocket with the guard none the wiser. once you catch the guard round a corner behind you via the reflection of a gilded mirror, you drop your act and detach yourself from a very flushed bakugo. "yikes, you're worse at this than i thought you'd be," you deadpan.

"you-you just used me to get that guy's card," he sputters in pure disbelief while you continue to walk down the side hall in the direction of the bar and banquet room. "the hell is wrong with you?"

"i work alone, bakugo," you say boredly. your heels click against the glistening marble and you roll your eyes as his loud steps catch up to you.

"yeah, that much is obvious," he glowers. "we're supposed to be working together on this shit-"

"you are not my partner in this job. you are a tool." you have half the mind to think that your coldness was too harsh, but remember that working alone is what you're best at, for better or for worse. "look, i'll get the job done; you just sit there and watch so our agencies can get off our asses about this being done through 'official means.' got it?"

"you think you're good at being alone, but it's actually killing you," he states in a tone that barely echoes off the sparkling walls. "you think you're good at being alone, but what you think is the farthest thing from reality." if you weren't running four minutes behind schedule, you'd whirl on him and slap his pretty face. you settle for stamping his foot with your heel and he lets you, an ungratifying fuck you all you get as a reward.

"i should have told my agent that i'd quit if she made me work with someone else," you snap with your arms crossed as he fishes out the keycard from his jacket pocket. he gives you a look that enrages you further, something between loathing and sympathy.

"take my arm, for fuck's sake. let's get this over with so i don't have to deal with you and your self pity ever again," he snarls and, for the first time, he catches you off guard. you obey without a word, eyeing him warily while he swipes the keycard and guides you into the crime boss' exclusive campaign gala.

"you know nothing about me, so don't try to analyze me since i know it's not your strong suit," you mutter under the sound of blaring jazz trumpets, sidling past investor after investor as they chatter excitedly about the your target's recently announced run for mayor. "i've seen the leaks about you heroes' IQ scores."

"yeah, they were faked by some extra in the todoroki agency that wanted to undermine him. wanted to imply that he was a nepo baby or some shit like that," bakugo replies without missing a beat and you're barely able to detect any malice in his answer. it confuses you. shouldn't he be pissed that you just insulted his intelligence? "icy-hot's one of the smartest guys i've met, so don't you fucking dare discredit him for one second." he's angry that you insulted...a different hero?

"that doesn't change the fact that you don't know shit about what i do," you dodge, spotting your target at a table near the banner-flanked main stage. he's surrounded by a dozen women who fawn on him like moths to a fire, caressing whatever body part they can get their hands on. it's exactly the scenario you need to bypass his defenses. "there, 3 o'clock. he's got his harem with him."

"so what's your play, lone wolf?"

"dance me toward him and then get out of my way," you order, dragging him onto the dance floor while the jazz band in the corner eases into a mellower tune. "what, got two left feet?"

"no, i'm just trying to figure out why you are the way you are," he questions, slipping one arm around your waist while his hand intertwines with yours.

"don't go hurting that handsome head of yours," you reply coldly without thinking, suddenly feeling your ears go hot when he smirks. "what?"

"nothing. 's just funny when you actually act human rather than the killing machine you were made to be," he admits and your jaw clenches.

"again, you know absolutely nothing about me." you subtly try to move your dancing bodies toward the crime boss' table, but meet bakugo's eyes with a glare when he actively spins you in the opposite direction. "we should be going that way, idiot."

"what if i wanna keep dancing with you, idiot," he retorts. "now," he takes a deep inhale, "i'm gonna tell you exactly what i think you are so maybe your next partner doesn't have to dig into your ass and get your head out of it."

"you are putting this whole operation in jeopardy--"

"don't care, especially if i'm being told by a self-pitying, pathetic excuse for a public servant who hides themselves away because they're too scared to make human connections," he rants, looking you directly in the eyes so you could see just how molten they were.

"stop," you warn, looking for any excuse to go in on your target so you could get out of the spotlight that bakugo was putting on you. he doesn't let you, though, effortlessly dipping you in a way that outsiders could consider flirtatious. it's an unfamiliar sensation, your spine curved under his steady hands, but all you can register is the intensity of his expression inches away from yours.

"you hide behind your callousness and say you don't need anyone fucking else because you've never had anyone else. and then, one day, when someone comes along who actually wants to know you for you, you're gonna be too much of a little bitch to realize that there are people who care about you. even if you are the most irritating being to call themselves human." he abruptly stands you both up and steps back, both of you burning and withstanding each other's wrath. your voice is smaller than you want it to be when you finally manage to speak.

"how would you know any of that?"

"because i was that." his attention flicks to behind you, toward the boss' table. "now would be your best chance. i'll sit at the bar and you finish the job, alone."

"...alone?"

"that's what you want, isn't it?"

no. i don't want it.

you don't catch him in time, some shackle like pride chaining you to the floor. it doesn't feel like relief, you realize when he turns to leave and disappears into the crowd. it feels like a punishment, an unbreakable curse that you'd put on yourself. you were a fool in a fable and it was sinking in, even as you worm the information you need out of your target and slip out of a back window, alone.

always alone.

---

it's not until ten months after your initial mission with bakugo that you finally work up the courage to tell off your agent.

"you have no place to be making such demands!" you lean away unbothered while your agent screams, her anger distorted by your phone speaker. "you have no idea how to--"

"don't care. i'm done working alone in the shadows," you interrupt with the callousness that once benefited you in your job. now, you realize, it was only impeding you and making it harder to find people who saw you as a human, not a tool. "put me in the infil mission or i'm quitting. for good."

"you don't know anything about infil. they'll eat you for breakfast if you join the op now," she hisses. "you need me."

"you made me think i needed you. you and the sparkle, and the fancy pajamas, and the smelly bath salts. you made me think that, to keep all the nice shit, i needed to be alone. but now i know i don't need to be."

"how would you know anything--"

"i know that you've purposefully delayed the infil operation so that you can cover up your ties to the boss' campaign, and that you sent me in with bakugo that night thinking i'd take the fall for your corruption. too bad he caught on and helped me investigate the todoroki IQ files you gave me and said they were official leaks."

"you're making a big mistake."

"and you should have learned sooner that i don't want the money. i never did."

"bullshit. money is all we have in this hero-run society, the only way we can be equal to them. what else would you want?"

"company." your agent falls silent at the same moment you hear a faint knocking on her line. "speaking of, looks like you have some." the tell-tale beep beep beep! of the call being ended echoes off the walls of the apartment and you sink further into the plush couch cushions, counting down leisurely on your fingers.

five,

four,

three,

two,

one.

"got her, babe!" you hear from down the hall. "and we got her good," katsuki says as he appears from your shared bedroom and grins at you. he leans against the door frame, waiting patiently as you delete your ex-agent's number from your contact list and show him the phone. "i ever tell you you're a natural at getting confessions out of people?" you giggle and let him pad over to you on the couch, sliding down so that he could lie his entire body on top of yours. even after all the time he'd been with you, the skin to skin contact still made your stomach burst into uncontrollable butterflies.

"i guess it comes with being a spy for so long," you suppose with a shrug. "but i'm not one anymore." your fingers absentmindedly trace the creases of back muscle through his shirt and he hums like a cat purring contentedly.

"yep, and now you're stuck with me until one of us dies in combat." you click your tongue with a tsk and lightly pinch his side, feeling him snort in triumph against your sternum.

"why can't you just say you love me like a normal person?"

"because neither of us are normal, genius," he explains, his eyes shut against your chest. "how normal is it to be so lonely that when you're around another lonely person, your shit cancels out?"

"i guess not that normal," you concede. "but still...what do i do now?"

"as much as i wanna say it, i don't think 'me' is the correct answer," katsuki proposes and you burst out laughing. "but really? anything you wanna do, baby. your hand's off the throttle, so now you're just cruising."

"since when did you use so many metaphors?" you ask with a teasing smile. "last week you said 'lightning in a bottle' and 'cursed like eve.'"

"since i met your dramatic ass."

"you know you love me."

"mmm, now you're finally starting to get it."

if you enjoy my writing and would like to support me, you can buy me a coffee on my ko-fi! commissions and nsfw requests can be sent through my fiverr! you can also check out my full masterlist here :)

[2demondogs]

With Chrismas around the corner (not really but basically), i would love an Arthur x GN!reader where Arthur proposes to reader for Chrismas and they obviously say yes because, well, it's Arthur, who wouldn't?

Anon did you read my mind. I was just thinking about proposal fics when you sent this ask because I have yet to stumble on one somehow... I'm sorry this took forever btw T-T

Shoutout to my platonic boyfriend for helping me with ideas because I got writer's block <3

Words: 3k oh my good lord Tags: canon divergence (it's just people leaving the gang a chapter early), Arthur does not have tuberculosis, INSTANT spoilers for character death, cheesy shit

It's been too long, you're realizing, since holidays like Christmas felt like special things. There is a double-edged feel to this one — it is the first since Hosea's death, since leaving the gang — but it is the first, in a very long time, that you've spent in the so-called right way: in a warm house with four solid walls and someone you love, how those fanciful books Mary-Beth used to talk your ear off about always wrote.

The house is warm enough, anyways.

There's work that needs done on the cabin. Some of the wood is rotting out and chipped at the corners, forming into sharp splinters that you've brushed against one too many times, but it is a house. You haven't had this pleasure since before joining the gang.

Sometimes, with how content Arthur seems at baseline, you wonder if he's had this pleasure since early childhood. On quieter evenings, ones less reserved for happiness than this one, there has been clipped discussion about how Arthur has never had domesticity like this. Silently, it was an admission of how good it is to share this freshness with you.

During a ride into town, he'd admitted that he had never picked up painting because it was the sort of thing only steady folks got to enjoy. You'd gotten him a set of oil paints when no one was looking — he's worth much more than a few measly dollars, but that means little if you haven't got them to begin with. Some habits die hard; he was happy you remembered what he'd said only a few hours before.

Come the new year, Arthur plans to find work that will pay. New things are a luxury neither of you care much to indulge in, but the repairs will take lumber and maybe a few extra hands. Ones with more expertise, at least, because Arthur's houses usually have not had foundations.

You could simply move now that time has passed, yes. You could find somewhere much farther away, maybe even New York, and pack yourselves in alongside the other sardines bustling about a city, undetectable in uniformity. Shave beards, got jobs, change clothes, cut hair and color it, too, if paranoia strikes— but keeping low to the ground has worked itself out so far, and there is no more of that deathlike stagnation in the air of this place.

Sentimentally, you think this Christmas will seal off whatever makes this cabin yours. Shadows linger, there's been a few odd creaks that've spooked the horses, and maybe it's going to shit a lot quicker than either of you want to admit, but it's your shit-house and the shared stubbornness between you has always brought you nothing but closer to one another.

Arthur is tired of running, and so are you. Last week, he talked about writing to Mary-Beth and Simon, maybe checking if Kieran — the utterance of the man's proper name was a confirmation of the last of that stockholmlike regret having worked out of his system — had broken and followed his little girlfriend. It wasn't said with malice, just some amusement.

"Why do you think he would?" You'd asked.

"Dutch only saves people who don't ask for it," he'd said, and that wistful look in his eyes vanished before you could ask what it meant.

Maybe it's the hard work that makes it feel like a real, true holiday. Pearson and Grimshaw stopped working everyone harder in the winter over the years, once the familial glamour faded with each new addition to the gang. It was no longer a tight-knit group, but a posse, more or less, of runaways and strays all against a big, evil thing like the rest of the world, or whatever it was that Dutch grew to fear.

Since November, Arthur has been saving the best catches to be salted and stored for Christmas dinner. Each addition is cleaner skinned and cut than the last, and the newfound worst of them ended up being ate upon his return from hunting. You've both been saving back herbs since summer, dried and ready to be crumbled into the heated up pot come time for a real feast. Cornbread was made by hand for the first time since you settled down here, drizzled with honey from the general store a ways out.

The latter was Arthur's only specific request for a fancy dinner. If you hadn't gotten him a single gift save for making it, he'd still be happy as a clam.

He's been putting that goddamned honey on everything. You're glad he seems to be enjoying things again, not as tightstrung as he was before you'd made off with him. That's how it feels, anyways, after the long and struggling conversations that were had before the decision was made. Family or life? It's a hard question for someone who has such little concept of either.

Now, the grey hair in his beard is catching the light from the fireplace where he's sat himself on a chair before it. They'd sprouted through the sun-bleached blond atop his head has been looking lighter and lighter in recent months, grey finally catching up to the discoloration and giving him some malcolored sort of tabby look. It's a good one on him, as much as he complains about looking old as dirt and that it's all formed by stress.

For all the lacking color, it adds a ruddy warmth to his face. Daydreams of growing old together find you when you focus on it, or on his wheezing laugh that's gotten worse with the cold weather. Despite the woolen vest he's been sporting, his fingers are as chilled as yours whenever they've brushed. Idly, you wonder if he's gotten whatever Hosea grew into, then remember they were never by blood.

Arthur hadn't wanted you to get him any gifts. When you asked if he would get you something, he'd flushed and changed his mind, apparently already having done it.

Whatever it is, it's good-sized, wrapped in one of the dustcloths you'd gotten him alongside the paints. He's been spending more time painting, lately, tucked in the treeline and looking over the cabin or deeper into the woods, studying something plein air the way those professionals do. He'd propped it against the wall this morning, and once you've settled on the floor before the fireplace — too cold outside not to crowd close to it — after dinner, he looks between you and the cloth like he isn't sure what to do.

"D'you wanna do the honors?" He asks, and grins although the twitch of his eye tells you he's covering timidity with faux cockiness.

"You go ahead," you say, half because he's closer. Tormenting him in small ways must be part of any good gift.

The painting is an image you recognize. A photo that one of the girls took for you months before things went down the hole, using the camera Arthur was loaned by some feller in town who wanted photos taken for a book. He never returned it, and it more or less became something he tucked beneath his cot and let the elements beat around. You can't remember, now, who it was or where he went to get it developed.

The little inkling of pride you felt knowing he kept putting off getting the negatives developed — not enough money, not enough time — yet was gone the next morning to have yours developed returns, now.

It's a much nicer rendition of it, your clothes not dirty and his arm around your waist, the other holding his hat to his chest. It's clear he preferred to give your portrait more detail, his own lagging somewhere behind in clarity and looking closer to the photo. You suppose it's easier to look at someone besides himself, but there's a clearer enjoyment in the lines of you, more care taken in the color mixes.

Ignoring the dense joy of the implications of that, of how obvious it is, proves difficult. Your cheeks twinge some from the wide smile before you realize you're even reacting.

"You'll be a big name someday," you say, and he may as well shrink in on himself beneath the praise, although he's heard it plenty of times before.

"Naw," he waves a hand. "Quit that."

"Really, Arthur." Scooting closer, laying your hands over his knee. He's moving his jaw when your eyes meet his, lays a hand over one of yours, heavy and warm. "It's beautiful. I love it."

"Good," he says. His jaw clicks. "I— uh, I love you."

The hunting knife you got for him seems small, though relatively equal. Arthur looks as pleased as ever studying it, half-mumbling appraisals of yeah, nice and sharp, sturdy to himself that likely would've stayed inside his head, if it weren't for wanting to show you he liked it.

A bone handle, which he feels over with his fingers before noticing it's engraved, fits easy in his palm. You were afraid you push your luck with maintaining its quality too far adding the tiny, vague bear shape next to the deeper cut of his name. Already impressive was the fact that you hadn't ruined it with the letters, being one of your first expeditions into anything of the sort.

"I would've gotten you one of those folding knives," you explain. "But they don't hold up as well, and I know you have one."

The army knife was Hosea's.

"Needed me a new huntin' knife," Arthur says. You know, because he's complained about his current one being close to snapping with all the skinning he does anymore. He squints at the handle, turns it over in the light from the fire. "Did you engrave the handle?"

"Yessir."

He smiles. "It's real nice," he says, pats his palm with the blade softly. It makes a dull noise, sturdy metal on skin. "Why a bear?"

"They remind me of you," you admit. Really, you'd spent a long time considering what else to add, because only his name seemed so plain; although he wouldn't be opposed to flowers or vines, they are a little more intricate than a simplified bear head. "Big and strong. Hairy, too. I'd like to hug one."

He snorts a laugh, but it seems thin. His eyes are fond enough on you that it couldn't be any rejection of your words, and so you brush it off. "You wanna hug a bear?" He asks.

"In a perfect world," you amend. "Don't they look warm?"

"You'd better stick to me," he says, smooths a palm over the thigh of his jeans. The nicest pair he owns, he promised you, because he feels ridiculous in slacks and seems to think you care what he wears.

Beyond thinking everything looks well on him, at least. You often find yourself concerned with that thought.

"I got you somethin' else," Arthur starts, running a finger over the bunched inseam at his own knee. "Well, uh— it's f'both of us, really."

Isn't that intriguing, you think, but your silent, undivided attention seems to make him outright nervous, so you say: "Oh?"

Some conflict happens over his face as he pulls his vest collar away and reaches into the inner pocket, takes out a stack of thin papers that he glances over before apparently relenting to something. Confusion finds you, until he takes a deep breath and holds them towards you.

"Read these," is all he says, and he sounds like it's almost painful.

He's written much, much more than that. Your stomach turns, once or twice, realizing they are pages from his journal. Uncertain why, until the first entries which are skittering on affectionate fade into ones much more flowery. They are all about you, days you'd spent together or times you hadn't, the things you've given him over the years and the things he wished he could've given you.

Each page makes your chest feel tight with a panicked joy, as if his hands were not fiddling with the new knife to occupy — distract? — himself but clenching hard at your heart.

One, near the beginning, says he thought of pickin' a pretty lil' flower, God bless it, I feel ridiculous; on the back of the next is pressed a variegated tulip, crumbling with age but holding firm to whatever adhesive glues it to the paper. Again, that creeping smile, like thyme. Another entry is entirely about your hair, because it had brushed his arm. Only a few sentences made up that page, below the cursive a choppy sketch of your horse.

Certainly, Arthur stays busy in his head. You've always known as much, but never figured any of it was about you. Not like this, anyways, though the dates spread from the week before Blackwater and you can only wonder what laid in that journal he lost before.

"Oh, Arthur," you start, looking up from a third-way through, feeling giddy but not wanting him to watch you so intently while you finish them. No wonder he was shy. It's his heart. "You're so sweet."

"Finish readin' 'em," Arthur says, doesn't meet your eyes at first. When he does, they're gentle. "They get sweeter, y'know, better finish 'em. 'Cause of that."

He is nervous. Hardly moving, besides the tongue running over his teeth beneath his lips, and the rambling every time he opens his mouth. You don't mind, never have. He's endearing like this.

Outings you'd went on infrequently, the dates of his favorites underlined, you're noticing, based on the tone of his words in them; his worries and fears about courting you, and some of what you mean to him though, with its succinctness, you have a feeling he wouldn't dare put all of his genuine love to findable paper; things he likes about you, and one page where he admits that he cannot keep himself from documenting you in every other entry, which tells you this small collection is hardly everything. The previous entries turn over in your mind again, and you are struck on a random page for a moment as their meanings take hold, realizing they were especially sliced from his journal to show you.

The entries leading to the last are what set your mind and pulse ablaze. From the first appearance of the word marriage, you swallowed your idea of what may be coming — Arthur's breathing changing beside you doesn't help any, and it certainly does not help that he leans down once you've reached the last page, plucking it from your hands. Before he does, you notice quite a few crossed out lines, scribbles as if he were frustrated with not being able to find the right words.

"Think I've got the balls on me to read this one aloud, at the very least," he says, voice laced with a chuckle. Breath comes uneasy, but you collect yourself enough to gather the pages back into a neat, ordered stack in your lap. "Unless you'd rather spare me," he adds, nudges your knee with the toe of his shoe.

"No." Your voice sounds strange, even to you. "Do me the honors."

Arthur bites his cheek, nods and lets it fall as he smiles. Still, his hand finds the back of his neck, the page held between two fingers that remain surprisingly steady. The knife lingers in his hand beneath it, and isn't it just like him to propose holding a weapon.

Propose. It takes its first toll on you, rolls over your back in shards of tingling.

"December twenty-fifth, eighteen ninety-nine," he starts, eyes flicking to your face every other word until the intensity of your gaze must make him too anxious. "It's a nice little life, livin' with the one I love," — rubbing his mouth, sighing some — "Jesus, I always gotta be sappy." You laugh, though it comes out more forceful than you intended, and relax some until he continues. "The thought of another day where anythin' could happen 'n' we ain't bound is somethin' I hate."

Arthur pauses, stands up and places the journal entry on his chair. You take his hands when he holds them out to where you sit, grunting when he hauls you off the ground with more force than you expected, feet shuffling into place to stick all-too-close to his. His hands are burning, skin feverish when you grab his wrists, as if you'd ever want to stop him as he eases onto a knee before you.

And his eyes throw you off balance, too, catching the light just enough that you can tell they are stinging. So are your own, now that you think about it, but intelligent thoughts go out the window once you sense him about to speak.

"I wanna be 'til death do us part," Arthur confesses, fumbles to catch both of your hands in his in an awkward, squeezing hug of a hold.

The way your bones catch on one another, well— it's not a sensation you'll forget, like the first time he kissed you and you felt it still a week later, warm pressure on your mouth if you got too lost in the memory. He looks as good, looks so nice, and you know your fingers would be shaking if he weren't crowding them together, steady.

When he says your name, the blood is rushing through your ears too loud to hear it clearly; you almost want to ask him to do it again. "Will you marry me?"

Nodding, face slack before it spreads in a grin. "Yes," you say. "Of course I will."

His is hidden by how he lets go of your hands, catching them before they fall in stupid, limp joy back to your sides. He lays kisses along the knuckles, all three rows of them. It's so awfully saccharine and yet you could never tell him to quit being sweet— not now, not as he stumbles to his feet after you pull him up and shake off his hold to grab his face, tugging him into a kiss.

Arms come around your waist, squeeze tight enough to hurt, or to hold in place. Arthur runs a hand over your back, breaks the kiss to slide a hand into your hair and press your face to his chest, caging you in his arms. He smells warm, like good cologne, and you know he's been planning this.

[kuratm]

clearly, the human girl was far too focused on each nook and cranny of briar valley's iridescent, lush beauty to take notice of the fae's gaze almost burning her back. many would be terrified at sheer thought of being whisked away into a deep forest, but not sayu ... if anything, she was thrilled by the thought of exploring such a magical area! maybe it's why others found it unexpectedly out of character for someone as quiet and reserved as sayu to have an adrenaline, but alas ... always catch others by surprise. 'twas the motto she's come to be associated with, given her life prior coming in this world.

as her fae companion explained the valley's intricacies, sayu finally looked over shoulder only for their gazes to meet. then and there, she finally took notice of his words meaning, for he seemed much more...ethereal than ever. was it the shadows? no, the light green sparks flying around them? whatever it was, sayu finds herself almost frozen in spot... enchanted by his presence.

his warning snapped her out the trance, finding herself yelp quietly and shake her head - as if trying to get those thoughts out her head. what on earth was she thinking!? ❛ o-oh, um, right... i'll stick close... ❜ she hurriedly replies, moving closer to him as they walk down a narrow but well lit path. where is he taking them, she couldn't help wondering. after a moment of recollecting some of her rationality, sayu looks up at the fae with a curious glint in her eyes. ❛ um...earlier, you said that fae "don't take kindly to humans". does it mean...people don't visit your homeland often? ❜ it's a shame, if you ask her...it truly was a sight to behold.

Ah, yes, Sayu was still but a mere human. Only the most powerful of human mages could teleport, and she didn't even have any magic of her own. Of course she would be a little disoriented at first. Even so, Malleus wasn't worried about her. He knew there were no lasting negative effects of teleportation, even for a magicless human like herself.

"Indeed, it is," Malleus replied as he approached behind Sayu, although his gaze was not on the forest. It was a view he had seen plenty of times before; he was far more interested in her reaction to it. "Briar Valley is a land that contains all sorts of magical entities, but it is ruled by the nocturnal. As such...its beauty becomes even more stunning as night falls."

"Keep close to me. The fae creatures that inhabit this forest do not take kindly to humans," Malleus warned calmly. At least the beings in this area were more used to humans than other sections of Briar Valley, mostly because of one particular human boy who lived around here. "Come. There is more to see."

[solomiracle]

ok but this post got me thinking... their demon forms can come out when they get extremely happy as well? that's so cute!! imagine coming back to the house of lamentation after some time (nightbringer, a few weeks, going to the store for 10 minutes, etc) and once your demon boys see you they get all excited and go into their demon forms as they get up to hug you

[dizzybizz]

i haven't introduced tumbly to my drawtectives oc!!! this is my guy nick nack, he runs a shop where he sells antiques and well... knick knacks.. he loves trinkets n bits n bobs n he is oh so short.

[stellerssong]

ok sorry the OTHER thing about lucienne is like. as previously stated she is dream's handpicked emissary from the waking world to the dreaming she's the diplomat in chief she's the translator she's the bridge. because the dreaming is, in a very real way, dream's own psyche, this is tantamount to giving lucienne a tremendous degree of access to his interiority and by transitive property also tantamount to entering into a deeply emotionally intimate relationship with her (unimportant for the purposes of this post whether that relationship is platonic or romantic).

now, in general, looking at the pattern of dream's close emotional relationships—dream doesn't share himself with people as a rule (beyond the access that all things that live have to the dreaming; but i'm talking about his self here, the one he doesn't like to acknowledge he even has), but when he does share with people, it's with people who have some shadow on the soul, so to speak. just looking at attested relationships in show canon, his deepest emotional connection seems to be with death, who embodies the duality of light and dark even better than he does himself. calliope is the muse of epic poetry—heroism and tragedy—and also bears the sort of divine pride that led her to cut dream off for hundreds or thousands of years when he wronged her. the less said about that other guy, the better, but he's no sunshine-rainbows-unicorns type—he's a soldier of fortune, a bandit and a killer, a man who profits from the sale of human life. even best bird matthew, in comix canon, had a sordid past that will maybe be partially retconned for the show but has still been gestured at.

dream likes the complicated ones. he's drawn to them. they speak to something in him that he won't acknowledge in himself (he has to be Whole, fully integrated, without reservation, because he is the king and he is the dreaming and if the dreaming ain't whole then the universe is in trouble—but he feels that ache nonetheless).

all that is to say: when people try to portray lucienne as dream's Designated Well-Adjusted Neurotypical Friend, i begin to harm and maim.

[devilsskettle]

okay! so i actually think the relation between mouthwashing and the musical oklahoma! is most relevant wrt jimmy and his social status and his sexual violence towards anya. for some background: oklahoma! “tells the story of farm girl Laurey Williams and her courtship by two rival suitors, cowboy Curly McLain and the sinister and frightening farmhand Jud Fry” (source: wikipedia) — curly being a well-liked and respected member of the community, jud being an antisocial pariah who is bitter about his place in the community and feels entitled to laurey’s affections and more respect in general. in the end, laurey marries curly, and at their wedding, jud shows up, tries to kill curly, and is killed himself in the ensuing fight when he falls on his own knife. in traditional productions of the musical, curly is the clear cut hero of the story and jud the villain, but contemporary productions (notably the 2019 broadway revival, aka “sexy oklahoma,” or “woke-lahoma” to the haters) emphasize the troubling gender and class politics inherent to the story (while also changing nothing about the script, only the framing and tone of the production). the story is also importantly set in the territory which becomes, if you can believe it, oklahoma in 1906 — the characters are on the cutting edge of the american frontier. which of course is also a fraught premise because of american treatment of indigenous people and the theft of their land. the revival emphasizes that an in-group of american society is established at the expense of the “other” on the axis of class, race, cultural assimilation, and gender. the frontier attracts people who are looking for opportunity and freedom — and people who have no other options, or who don’t care if their success is at others’ expense

so the characters of mouthwashing are also drawn to a frontier — space, the final frontier. or whatever. their mission is solely a capitalist one. most of them are there because they have few alternatives. jimmy specifically has had challenges in other settings, apparently, and he considers his position to be the lowest rung on the ladder. he deeply resents captain curly who he thinks looks down on him and doesn’t deserve the success that he feels entitled to, despite the fact that they’ve been friends for a long time. this perspective clearly parallels jud’s resentment towards curly in oklahoma! his sexual predation of anya also parallels jud’s entitlement towards and harassment of laurey throughout the show. and of course his violence and eventual death at his own hand.

so, of course, captain curly’s role in this story also parallels curly’s role in oklahoma! though somewhat less directly than jimmy’s similarities with jud. however, both characters at first seem to be heroic, likable, morally upright figures who the female character in distress should be able to turn to for help. however, curly in oklahoma! participates in the same objectifying behaviors towards women as the rest of their community and while his affections towards laurey are reciprocated, she has some real reservations about accepting his proposal. he acts just as entitled to her as jud does which motivates him to instigate an antagonistic relationship with jud, at laurey’s expense. everyone to whom she expresses her fear towards jud dismisses her concerns, including curly, who sees him more as a romantic rival than a possible danger to laurey if she rejects him. i think that this is reflected in mouthwashing in the way that curly enables jimmy’s behavior consistently and overlooks anya’s real fear of the violence she has already experienced at his hands as well as the violence she anticipates. also, when he takes it upon himself to have a conversation with jimmy about anya, he only escalates things more, though much less intentionally and with much more dire results than oklahoma!’s curly

so i feel that given these narrative and thematic parallels, it would absolutely make sense for the name “curly” to be a reference to oklahoma! to intentionally invoke these ideas about male entitlement, male violence, and male complicity in gendered experiences of violence. i also am aware that it might be a bizarre connection to make! or might be a total coincidence! it’s an interesting way to think about the story though imo! anyway that’s my conspiracy theory!

@concordewillfly thanks for enabling me haha

important question that i haven’t seen answered yet regarding mouthwashing — is the name curly an oklahoma reference

[askbensolo]

Journal Entry #44: one stayed, one swayed, one strayed

So I may have made a mistake. Amalia and I had planned a holocall to catch up (because I suck at replying to messages), and...I asked if she wanted to see Fannie, too. Since she’s here and everything.

I knew Amalia hadn’t spoken to Fannie or Luke for a long time. But they always ask me how she’s doing, since I’m the only one she still talks to. They clearly still care about her, even if she doesn’t think so. I don’t know—I just figured I’d ask.

And much to my surprise…she agreed. As long as I was going to be there, she said.

And you know what? It actually started out okay. Like I said…Amalia’s a lot more mellow now. She’s still herself, in the same way that I’m still me despite not being an emo boi anymore—but she does seem to care about people more, and there’s just more light in her eyes when she engages with you.

There was some chit-chat between me and Fannie and Amalia about what we’ve all been up to. I was feeling really proud of Mal. I know she’s got some issues with the Jedi and everything, and it must have taken a lot for her to be willing to talk to Fannie again.

What I don’t understand, is that Fannie must have known that too. So...I was shocked when Fannie just...went for the throat, and asked Amalia if she still didn't want to be a Jedi.

I think I mentioned to you how Amalia has developed some different beliefs on the Force. She thinks the Force must be a person rather than a thing. Like…some sort of divine spiritual being, I guess. And again, I say: don’t ask me about that stuff—not my lane, buddy. I just live here.

All I know is, she seems happier this way, thinking of the Force as someone who cares about her, and I thought Fannie would be happy for her, too. I mean…I am. But...she wasn't.

“Amalia…the Force isn’t a person,” Fannie said, sounding confused. “The Jedi have never believed the Force is a person.”

“Well, that’s why I’m not a Jedi,” said Amalia.

“The Jedi have passed down their ancient knowledge and wisdom for centuries. Do you really think they were all incorrect?”

“The Jedi have also passed down many mistakes and corrupt practices,” Amalia countered. “They were incorrect in that. Who’s to say there weren’t other things they got wrong? Or things that got twisted along the way? The Jedi were mortal. The Force is not. I follow the Force now, Fannie. Not the Jedi.”

“The Jedi do follow the Force,” Fannie argued. “The Jedi Order, despite its failings, has been a firm foundation for many years for all who would follow the Force—”

“All? Or just those with a high enough Force sensitivity?” Amalia asked.

“Well, yes, I suppose the life of a Jedi is specifically for those with a special ability to sense the Force, like you and I,” Fannie conceded, “but isn’t that all the more reason why you should have stayed? You were given a gift. It seems a shame to waste it."

"You just said someone gave me a gift," pressed Amalia. "Who did, if not a person?"

You know me. I’m all for debating the esoteric. But I was starting to get a little stressed about them fighting. One of them was a good friend because she shared my darker sense of humor and the feeling of being kind of an outcast. And one of them I was kinda hoping would be my girlfriend soon.

"Okay, ladies, break it up," I said. "I mean, come on. Who can really know anything about the Force for sure?"

"Every one of us can, if we seek to know the Force," said Amalia, with the urgency of one sharing a profound revelation.

"The Jedi know the Force," said Fannie, with the zeal of one defending a sacred institution. "They have studied it for generations."

"Why don't you guys just accept that you, you know, each see things a little differently, and move on?" I suggested, with the pragmatism of one who’d given up trying to understand the galaxy a long time ago. "It seems to be working out great for each of you, even if you guys believe different things. And who knows, maybe both of you are kind of right."

Amazingly enough, then they both turned on me.

"We can't both be right, Solo," Amalia said. "Our beliefs about the Force are pretty mutually exclusive."

"There is only one truth," agreed Fannie. "Your eyes couldn't be brown and blue at the same time."

"Well, what if I had one eye that was brown, and one eye that was blue, and each of you were sitting on either side of me—" I started to say, but as clever as I thought this little parable was, it did not go over well with the girls.

"Oh please. Not that 'blind men and the bantha' crap," Amalia groaned.

"There would still be only one truth—that you had a brown eye and a blue eye, rather than fully brown or fully blue—and both of us would be wrong," Fannie said.

"Okaaay," I said, "but you'd still both be half right—"

"Which would still make us both wrong," Amalia said.

"Look, is it really that important what the Force is or isn't like?" I asked impatiently.

"Yes!" Fannie and Amalia said at the same time.

"The Force is the giver of all life, watching over us, working all events toward our good, loving us despite our darkness, giving us the will and the strength to do what's right," said Amalia. "I didn't know how to have hope or joy or love for myself or anyone else, until I discovered that the Force made me on purpose and gives a damn about me."

"The Force is the energy that flows through each of us and every living creature, and in the influence we wield over the world, whether for good or evil," said Fannie. “If you are not in tune with it, you are not in tune with yourself or others or the rest of nature.”

"The Force is out there, sure, but I don't see why it's so worth bothering about," I said. “Seems like it kinda just does what it wants. I mean, it doesn’t seem to want anything to do with me. And if I’m honest? I don’t really want anything to do with it, either.”

Fannie and Amalia both stared at me, frustrated. I didn't understand why they thought I was so wrong. I was the only one here not trying to get everyone else to change their mind. I was totally okay with Amalia believing what she wanted to and Fannie believing what she wanted to as long as I could believe what I wanted to and somehow that made me the bad guy?

We were all quiet for a bit, until Fannie broke the silence.

“I don’t understand,” she said, shaking her head. “We all learned the same things from Master Luke. All three of us.”

Amalia and I exchanged glances.

“Well...I just don’t think that what Luke taught was true,” Amalia said, her words brusque, but her tone uncharacteristically gentle. “Not because he’s a liar. Because he’s misguided. I think he learned and taught an incorrect understanding of the Force.”

“I just don’t really care what’s true because my life is just work and rent and whatever little time I get to myself to have fun, and the last time I was interested in the Force I got super abused and manipulated,” I said.

“But we used to all accept the same things as truth,” said Fannie. "I just...don't know what's different."

“We were younger then. People change as they grow up. Not everyone believes the same things at twenty-five that they did at fifteen,” Amalia said.

“I’ve sure changed a lot. Not just regarding the Force, but all over,” I said.

Fannie sighed, and started to look a little sad. And then...I felt an impression brush up against the outside of my mind—it was the three of us, at Luke's school: Amalia and I a little smaller than we were right now and Fannie exactly the same size, hair and lekku and montrals all a little shorter—the three of us, dressed in Jedi robes, Fannie's with the ruffles she'd sewn on, mine plain and rough and ugly, Amalia's with the sleeves cut short—sitting in the grass and comparing notes scrawled from lessons with Uncle Luke—discussing the light side of the Force and the dark, meditating together—Amalia and I goofing off while Fannie tried in vain to reel us back in—Fannie and I teaming up to talk Amalia away from the deep end when she was losing her mind—me watching in absolute jealousy while Fannie and Amalia sparred—Fannie's saber against the saber that was once Amalia's but now sat sadly on a special shelf in my uncle's office—Amalia had no idea how often I'd caught Luke gazing wistfully at it, back when I used to still meet with him for counseling—

All that in a flash, and then I turned and looked and saw it all in Fannie’s eyes, and my heart felt heavy for her. And I realized that...letting Amalia and I go our own way was a sort of bitter loss for Fan, a source of grief that I couldn’t really understand—but I could feel it—an anchor dragging her below the surface—my friend, the girl I loved, the girl with the great big heart like an open wound, the girl who yearned for the galaxy to make sense.

I put my arm around her shoulder without really thinking about it, and brushed the backs of my fingers against her cheek to comfort her. And gave her a little nudge like, hey, things are okay, I’m still here, right?

“Oh my frick,” said Amalia, who I’d temporarily forgotten about, in a tone of voice like she was witnessing the eighth wonder of the galaxy. “I had to see it to believe it. But I just saw it, and I still don’t know if I believe it.”

Fannie and I looked at each other uncomfortably. We hadn’t been planning to tell her. Or anyone, really. Not for a while. But acting close with each other had just become sort of natural to us. I withdrew my arm and Fannie scooted ever-so-slightly further away from me.

Amalia shook her head. “I mean. Look. Sure. You guys are kind of cute, not gonna lie. But I’m just gonna say it: you two shouldn’t be together.”

I was stunned. That was really so not her business.

“Okay. Cool. Who asked you?” I replied, more than a little annoyed.

“Nobody, but you know that I always say what I think, just like you do, Ben,” she said. “Think about the whole conversation we’ve just had. I mean. Do you guys not see how incompatible your worldviews are? Do you not think you’re gonna have issues down the line trying to reconcile your values?”

I looked at Fannie, almost afraid she’d agree. But she looked upset, and not agreeable in the least, and I felt better. I turned back to Amalia's hologram.

“We have a lot of differences, yeah. But we’re willing to work through them and accept each other as we are, and that’s that,” I said stiffly.

“Ben’s been through a lot,” said Fannie. “I can forgive that he has trouble connecting with the Force.”

“Hey, I’ve been through a lot, too!” said Amalia. “But I still believe in something. I believe in something, Fannie—he doesn’t believe in anything. And he doesn’t have trouble connecting with the Force—that man is sprinting in the opposite direction as fast as he freaking can.”

“Hey, I said I believe in the Force,” I said defensively. “It’s pretty hard not to, when people can use it to make things float and stuff.”

“And he’s Luke’s own nephew, for goodness’ sake!” Fannie said.

“He's also the grandson of one of the biggest Sith Lords who ever lived. But I don’t think it really matters who he’s related to, or if he believes the Force exists, if he doesn’t care,” said Amalia. “Be honest with yourself, Fannie. Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with someone who doesn’t have a purpose and doesn’t know why he’s alive, except to make money and have fun?”

“Listen, Mal,” I said. “Not all of us are cut out for seeing the grand scope of some cosmic order and imagining we have a part in it. Some of us just wanna live our lives—”

But Fannie interrupted me.

“You’re jealous, Amalia,” she said, unusually nasty, unusually venomous. We both stared at her. “You’re jealous. You’re jealous! You liked him, too. I know you did. And you’re jealous that he chose me.”

That seemed to hit kind of a nerve with Amalia. I’m not sure why. Either it was true��or it was so untrue that it pissed her off to even hear the idea suggested. She raised her brow and sucked in her cheeks and blinked a little, as if to say…well, damn, alrighty then.

“…Okay,” she said, sounding less-than-friendly, but less-than-frigid. “Weeell. That sounds like a great place to call it quits. Nice talking with you both, and I wish y’all the best. Talk to you later, Ben. And, Fannie…good luck.” And then she signed off, before I could even say anything.

I looked at Fan desperately, hoping we could have some kind of debrief, but…she stood up with a huff and stormed off too.

Geez. Three things that are complicated: 1) religion, 2) growing up, and 3) girls.

[aromanticasterisms]

my god okay when jing yuan gave us the abacus i thought that would see use in like an endgame sort of nanook fight situation not THE NEXT ARC. are you kidding me. okay post canceled i finished penacony

[giantkillerjack]

ur post about queerbaiting and the dismissal of people in fandom to critical analysis is so incredibly true thank you. i feel like marcille's writing in the anime has been super misogynistic a lot of the time and every time i bring this up all anyone wants to say is "well maybe this isn't for you! and you shouldn't watch the show!" like. i don't think this is about taste lmao, i am analyzing the text in front of me and coming to conclusions about the craft of it.

[This is in reference to this post]

YES!!! THANK YOU!!!!!

It is so so frustrating!!!!

It's like being at a restaurant and being served a bunch of delicious appetizers, but then one of the bread appetizers is literally just a plate of crumbs; and then when you're like, "Hey, uhh, why are we being served literal crumbs?", a bunch of the other folks eating at the restaurant are like,

"WELL HOW ABOUT YOU JUST DON'T EAT HERE THEN??!? YOU MUST NOT BE THAT HUNGRY, SO JUST FIND ANOTHER RESTAURANT AND DON'T EAT WITH US!!"

And maybe they say it politely, but "Aw, sorry, maybe this restaurant just isn't for you 💖" is just trading out an aggressive dismissive tone for a patronizing dismissive tone. It's the same message.

And it's like! I was honestly happy to move on from the crumbs once my complaint was acknowledged because the meal overall is still delicious, but then all these folks got SUPER WEIRD AND DEFENSIVE ABOUT IT, so now I find myself double-checking all the other dishes -- and, actually, you know what those eggs DO look a Iittle misogynistic undercooked!!!!

[neomachine]

shots of carter and leo i wish were in trakkena's revenge

[beanmaster-pika]

A sizeable chunk of the fanbase (especially those who read the webtoon) seeing Collei in 3.0: aw thank goodness she’s doing well and even has two dads who are in love :)

Hoyoverse half a year later, writing Cyno and Tighnari into an event that in-game half of Mondstadt considers a lovers’ festival: shit shit shit shit shit we have to no-homo this

[kiss2012]

rewatched the first three episodes of s3 and im never going to recover