#every time i get a little better at drawing his shoes i'm happy LMAO i dunno

[l4tchk3y]

Just some warm up drawings of Silver and Espio standing around doing nothing in particular. *crosses arms*

[pilmik]

No better way to start a writing blog than by writing something completely self indulgent lmao college students this might hit too close to home but in my defense the new sem started and I'm. Mess

Gen: angst ig???some fluff? hurt/comfort? Quite literally just me writing what I want to hear

CW: insecurities, negative thoughts

Wakatoshi loves volleyball

Everyone knows this

Ever since he was little, he's lived and breathed for the sport

There's nothing better to him than the feeling of the ball hitting his hand, the adrenaline rush of a scored point, the satisfaction of a game well won

He didn't get this far on enjoyment alone though

As his s/o, you know this better than anyone, save for his coaches and teammates of course

You know the effort he's put in, you know that for every second he shines on the court in front he's spent hours practicing alone or with his teammates

And he shines on the court

Watching him play will never fail to make your heart stutter and your lungs feel like they're not getting enough air

After being with him as long as you have, you know enough about volleyball to know that Wakatoshi is something special

His speed, his strength, his reliability

No matter how many times you see that spike, the sound of the ball hitting the floor stays deafening

Wakatoshi was made to play Volleyball. It's an objective fact. Sometimes you think that the sport loves him just as much as he loves it

Sometimes, you get so jealous you could scream

one of the perks of being the volleyball captain's s/o is that you always get the best seats

You watch front row as your boyfriend leads his team to victory, and he always leads them to victory.

You watch, time and time again, as he scores the match point, that sharp wham of the ball hitting the court that sings triumph

Wakatoshi isn't the most expressive person. When his team wins a game, most people would write off his impassive face as nonchalance or as vanity, thinking maybe he's won so many times it doesn't feel like anything for him anymore

But you know him. You know that if you look hard enough at the end of a game, you can see a gleam in his eyes. A gleam that somehow means both satisfaction and hunger

Because while at the end of every game means victory, the end of every game also means the start of a new one, a new challenge, a new opportunity to be on the court. He loves every second of it

You know you're probably the worst person on the world for feeling this way about someone you love, but every time you see that gleam in his eyes, any pride and happiness you feel on his behalf is stained with resentment and an envy so bitter it stays on your tongue for days

You've never had that gleam in your eyes. You've never loved something so entirely, so completely as Wakatoshi loves volleyball

You honestly doubt you ever will

It's not like you're talentless or you don't have hobbies, you have the things you're good at and you have the things you like to do but it's not the same

You want so desperately to know what he feels like, to be doing something and to think, I could do this for the rest of my life and die happy

on your worst days, you wonder why he stays by your side at all

You watch him play, surrounded by his court and his team (no the court or the team, his.) And you wonder what he could get from you that he couldn't get from the sting of the ball on his palm, or the squeak of his shoes on hardwood

He's brilliant, wherever he goes be burns so brightly you swear he leaves scorch marks. What could a forest fire possibly want from a candle?

You watch them play a game against some college team, they win straight sets and Wakatoshi dominated the court, scoring a majority of the points. you're quiet on your way home, and he asks if you were bored by the game

You immediately tell him no, because on most days you love seeing him play, and you try and explain how you feel

He doesn't understand what you're talking about, obviously

Contrary to what most people think, your boyfriend isn't stupid or dense. He has trouble understanding different social cues and conceptualizing some of the more complicated emotions other people feel, but he's not an idiot

But these specific insecurities are something he's never had to face. For him, it's been volleyball since the start. His earliest memories are of his father in the yard, tossing a blue and yellow ball into the air while he sits on the engawa, chubby hands holding tight to a pink vabo-chan plush

It doesn't make sense to him, if you don't have anything like that, then all you need to do is find something you're good at, correct? Then you'll be happy

He tells you this, in his usual matter-of-fact way. (you can imagine how that went)

He doesn't understand why your eyes go glassy, or why you tell him you'll be fine walking by yourself for the rest of the way

But he does understand that he's made you upset, and he knows that he never wants to look into your eyes and see tears that he's put there

As he walks back to his dorm, he's wracking his brain trying to make sense of how you told him you felt, and what he said in response

He's still thinking as he enters the doorway, ignoring Tendou's greeting as he neatly removes his runners and puts them away

This, of course, alerts his redheaded friend, knowing Wakatoshi was taught to mind his manners

He leaves whatever he was doing to see him at the entrance, taking in his pinched expression. He knows that Wakatoshi walks you home after every game, and it doesn't take a genius to connect the dots

He quickly presses the pad of his thumb between Wakatoshi's furrowed eyebrows, smoothing the lines there

"trouble in paradise, Wakatoshi-kun? You can't keep frowning like that you know, you'll get wrinkles! Everyone already thinks you're an old man"

Wakatoshi trusts his best friend, even if he teases him constantly. Besides you, Tendou is his main confidant

He explains what happened much like someone would explain a mission report, in perfect unbiased detail. He tell him what you said, how he thought and responded and your reaction. Tendou is always patient with him, giving him his full attention.

After he finishes his story, his friend sits on his haunches in the middle of the hallway for a few minutes, pointer finger to his chin, head cocked and eyes to the ceiling, hmmmmmming thoughtfully

Wakatoshi waits at the entrance of their dorm room until Tendou snaps his eyes away from the ceiling and onto him

"Wakatoshi kun, I'm going to need you to imagine something for me"

His eyebrows pinch together again, but he nods

"Imagine you never played volleyball, you're exactly the same in every way, except your dad never showed you so you never learned how to play. Try and imagine who you'd be"

Wakatoshi tries his best to imagine, he replaces the blue and yellow ball in his memory with a red one, the bouncy kind they sell in bins at the grocery store. He replaces vabo-chan with some kind of stuffed animal wearing a bow

He thinks about school, about going straight home after class is over, and going to the gym only on weekends

He finds he's skipping parts of his life in large gaps, empty spaces he doesn't know what to do with, his future completely blank. It's terrifying.

Tendou must see the dawning horror on his face because he jumps up quickly with a flourish, clapping his hands together once to draw Wakatoshi out of his daydream

Tendou looks at him, smiling and says "y/n-chan doesn't have their volleyball. Most people aren't as lucky as you, finding your volleyball so early Wakatoshi-kun. Some people never find their's at all"

He stands at the entrance quietly for awhile after Tendou returns to his room, thinking about how scary it felt to imagine, even for a few minutes, his life full of the blanks that his sport filled

He wonders how it would be like to have those blanks empty all the time, with not even a clue how to complete them

Swallowing his pride, Wakatoshi realizes he wouldn't be able to live like that. Wouldn't be able to go forward into such unknowable territory, under such impossible odds

He thinks about you waking up every day, seeing your life full of blanks, and still pushing forwards despite it

He doesn't get much sleep that night.

You wake up in the morning to Wakatoshi's text ringtone

7:10am Toshi <3: Call in sick for first period.

7:10am Toshi <3: I am going to pick you up at 8.

7:13am Toshi <3: I will bring you breakfast.

7:27am Toshi <3: Wear a light jacket, it's chilly.

The half of you that's still hurt over yesterday wants to tell him to shove breakfast up his ass, but then you realise something

You stare at your phone, deeply confused

Doesn't he have volleyball practice before school?

You get ready quickly, and sure enough, when you walk out of your door at exactly 8:00, Wakatoshi is there.

He's wearing his tracksuit and runners, and he hands you a paper bag from the conbini. There's an apple, a bag of grapes and onigiri. In his other hand he's holding a warm drink, written on the lid is your favourite, exactly how you like it

"I am taking you to the park."

You tilt your head up at him, confused

"don't you have volleyball practice?"

"I'm skipping. We are going to feed the ducks."

The idea of Ushijima Wakatoshi skipping volleyball practice stuns you into silence, and you simply follow his lead to the direction of the park, you walking and him doing some sort of ridiculous exercise thing that looks like it'd make you puke

When you get there, you're happy to find that your usual bench is empty.

Wakatoshi pulls a water bottle out of his ridiculously-deep men's tracksuit pockets while you take the bunch of grapes out of the bag, neatly dividing it in half. You decide to take the big half of the grape bunch for once, because he was being a jerk yesterday and you deserve to feed the ducks more than he does. You give him his half and you both start feeding the ducks in silence

After awhile, he decides to speak

"Tendou made me imagine something yesterday"

You turn to face him, but he's still looking at the ducks

"he told me to imagine my life if I'd never played volleyball"

He frowns

"he said to imagine everything about me was the same, except I never started playing. I found that it was difficult"

"there were many things I found I couldn't fill in, both in my life and in myself"

"but the worst part was imagining the future. I couldn't imagine a single thing to put in it"

"I wouldn't be able to live like that. To live every day and see blank spaces and uncertainties. It sounds terrible"

He pauses for a moment and you're like :/ wow king thanks for the pep talk

But he takes a deep breath and he continues

"I think, for a person to face that uncertainty and keep pushing forward, they would have to be exceptional"

Your head snaps to look at him so fast you almost get whiplash

Exceptional

There's a word that you've never used to describe yourself

"I think, that if I knew someone like that, I would tell them that they are strong in a way that I doubt I will ever be"

He finally turns to look at you, and you try your best to see him through the tears distorting your vision

"after awhile of thinking, I finally thought of something that I could put in that blank future. Would you like to know what it was?"

You just nod, not trusting your words. His big hands gently engulf your own and for a moment you're absolutely certain Ushijima Wakatoshi will be the death of you

"if I didn't have Volleyball, if I didn't have a single clue of what I could do with my future, if I still had you by my side, I think I would be alright"

One hit K.O.

He keeps going though, as if he didn't just kill you

"if you would have me, I'd like to be in your blank future. For as long as it takes for you to find your volleyball, I'll be there. If it's months or years or decades,"

"if decades pass and you never find your volleyball, I would still like to stay by your side. Maybe your volleyball is looking for volleyball?"

His face contorts in consideration of the idea, and you can't help but laugh wetly, your tears soaking into his jacket as you bury your face into his arm

He presses a soft kiss to your head

"I apologize for what I said last night. I didn't understand"

You only shake your head

You two sit in companionable silence for a little longer so you can eat your breakfast, then you both walk to second period hand in hand

It's only in the boredom of your math class that you realize the gravity of what your boyfriend had said to you in the park

11:08 you: Tendou

11:08 you: was I tripping

11:08 you: or did Wakatoshi /propose/ to me in the park today

Tendou is typing......

A/N: I've never posted this kind of stuff before so comments would really be appreciated! Like if there's something I could do to make my stuff easier to read or whatever I wanna hear it! Even if it's mean I promise I'll only cry a little

[cakepopple]

Hi! Can I please request a drabble of Klance vs Victuuri where they argue over who has the better husband? I also wanted to say that I adore your work and I'm waiting for your TCWAHKOAH sequel story to be completed so I can read the whole thing in one go and feel all the feels all at once. I will make sure to comment when I do read the story! Your work is just so fluffy and cute that I'm legit melting from the cuteness. Thank you so much for your work!

First of all, thank you

Stupidity in the Name of Love (Klance Request - 3... ft. Viktuuri)

— (word count: 2887) —

“So, what brings you to the mall?” Lance draws out the first word, an awkward beginning to a conversation with the man in front of him in line. Really, he wouldn’t have gotten into a chat at all, if only the lines weren’t so damn long and stagnant, or if Keith had decided to come with him instead of saving a table. Worse is how his phone is with Keith, because he’s the one with the mobile charger in his bag. Poor planning at its finest. 

Lance always knew he hated food courts on Saturdays, but the thought pounds on the front of his skull when he hears a woman who’s a few customers up, berating the poor worker at the register. Almost feels like giving her a piece of his own mind because he’s been in the employee’s shoes before. And the mall is packed to the brim, so under her shrill voice, he can hear nothing but muddled conversations and the belting of orders and running footsteps and crying children— 

His heart pumps so fast his fingers tremble; he wants to scream.

Contrary to popular belief, he doesn’t love the thrill and flow of every crowd. Days like this remind him of as much. Irritation is a headache between his eyes and a lump at the top of his throat, and he’s constantly finding himself on the brink of a meltdown. He doesn’t know why the frustration is there, but he definitely feels it, thick and burning, at every turn. Since he and Keith arrived this morning, he’s been quick to veto every outfit he’s put on in dressing rooms. He’s been snappy with anyone who isn’t Keith or an innocent employee. At least four times, he’s stopped shopping to steady his breathing in an attempt to keep himself from crying. When he’s not distracted, he feels awful about himself; he’s hardly smiled all day.

Lance hopes it’s only the hunger. 

Deep down, he suspects that’s not all it is.

But he’s been attempting friendly conversation with other customers in the food court, with the hopes they’ll snap him out of his irritable mood. A few positive interactions, and maybe the tense and heavy stress in his shoulders will ease away. And thus he’d started a chat with another person in line.

In response to Lance’s question, the man in front of him looks up from his phone and smiles weakly over his shoulder. Discomfort makes his fingers twitch as he pushes his glasses up his nose, then makes his dark hair stick to his forehead when he tries to push it off. “Ah,” he starts, “my fiancé. Expensive tastes. No shopping at Target with that one.” He laughs, and it sounds only a little fake, as he pockets his phone in compliance with the idle chit-chat. His laughter draws a beat or two of joy out of Lance. “What about you?” Lance observes him a second, eyes catching on the small rainbow sticker that’s worn and faded on the side of his glasses. A smile unfolds on his lips as he decides he’s safe not changing Keith’s pronouns this time around. 

“Same here.” He shrugs. “My husband and I got invited to his brother’s wedding; we’re clothes shopping. I’m the picky one, though.” He squeezes a look of mock guilt between his brows, but unwinds it a moment later. The stranger’s face had lit up the moment Lance said Keith was his husband. At the word husband alone, he had gone from passively interested out of boredom, to wide-grinned and attentive. Lance thinks he looked the same when Shiro first mentioned a boyfriend, too. There’s just something about finding someone like you in a person you wouldn’t expect. “I’m Lance,” he greets, extending a hand.

The stranger eagerly takes it. “Yuuri.” Then the lady at the counter shouts for the next customer and his face contorts with distress. Though he’s at the front of the line, he looks as though he doesn’t want the newfound conversation to end. Like he has more to say. He yelps under his breath as the woman calls for him again. Reluctantly, he turns and scuttles to the counter to make his order, but he lingers after he’s gotten his food. Once Lance also gets his meals and finds a way to balance both his and Keith’s trays, he makes his way over. Yuuri swiftly knocks his glasses up with his wrist—his two trays wobble where he has them teetering on his forearm. “I know this is awkward, but I don’t have many friends here in the U.S., so would you and your husband want to eat with my fiancé and I?” 

Makes sense, there is an accent in his voice, though it’s not thick. 

Shuffling his trays, Lance nods; Yuuri seems kind, and Lance could use the reassurance that someone other than Keith enjoys his company. Yuuri’s face bunches happily, proudly, and he nods in the direction of his table. Lance follows leisurely, but his mind is elsewhere, as he glances around the dining area in hopes of finding Keith. That’s the trouble with separating from his husband and not having his phone on him. Well, he assumes it will be trouble, except, as he and Yuuri reach the table in question, it seems finding the hothead won’t be much trouble at all.

“Oh, boy,” he hisses, as he sees Keith in a quarrel with a light haired man. That’s bad enough, but when the stranger points aggressively at Keith, Lance notices he has a golden ring that looks strikingly like Yuuri’s. And Yuuri has a wrinkle in his nose like he’s as embarrassed as Lance, like his partner is acting shameful, too. 

Of course, just when Lance is trying to make friends with someone, Keith has to go and get in a fight with his fiancé. 

Panic seizes Yuuri, and he freezes maybe a foot away from the table. Pinching his nose, Lance huffs. The sour taste of frustration is fresh on his tongue; he wants to cry. Stepping forward, he groans, “Keith, what the hell are you on about?” His husband turns from the fight, the angry wrinkles of his scowl instantly smoothing into a smile, as recognition flits along his lips. Leaning forward to peck Lance’s nose, he takes both trays from Lance. 

“Thanks, babe,” he says, and then turns back to Yuuri’s fiancé. “Look, I was here first, so just let me have the table. If it weren’t so crowded, I’d be happy to let you have it, but it is crowded, so buzz off.” Unceremoniously, he drops the trays onto the polished wood. He’s staked his claim. Huffing and dragging out a chair, he tosses himself down to claim that, too. The other man doesn’t back off, though, and he plops into the booth on the other end of the table, eyes narrowing. 

“Aw, c’mon,” he says, leaning his elbows on the table to cover as much of the surface of it as possible. Agitation prickles Lance’s nape when Keith scoots a tray forward to push him off. He’s not usually so petty, and Lance can’t begin to piece together what bothered him enough that he decided to pick this fight. “My fiancé just won a skating competition, can’t you cut us some slack? We’re celebrating!” The man turns his head to Yuuri, smiling something forced as he pushes his resistance against Keith’s tray. Also petty. Great combo, Lance wants to mutter sarcastically, and he hates how easily he’s being pushed to breaking down. 

Keith grits his teeth, rolls his eyes, looks to Lance, and then nods to Yuuri’s fiancé, as if to say, can you believe this guy? As though Lance will back him up in his unfounded pettiness. Lance will not. He slants his eyebrows downward and juts his bottom lip out in disappointment. Honestly, Keith can’t compromise worth shit.

Lance notices the way Yuuri’s fiancé shifts his face into an instigating expression, like he’s expecting a backlash. Lance finds the calculatedness of it suspicious, but doesn’t say anything before the stranger’s words are matching the provocation in his expression. “What’s your husband done that’s so impressive?”

Oh no. 

Lance puts a hand on Keith’s shoulder, as the man immediately riles up. He winces as his husband’s hands clap against the table, and though the dining hall is far too vast and noisy to pick the singular slap out over the clutter of other sounds, Lance can’t help feeling like everyone in the room is suddenly staring at them. A kid walks past, stops to gawk, before his mother drags him away. Apologetically, Lance waves with his free hand, and then he hides his face under his palm; he swears he can’t breathe from the embarrassment. His other hand squeezes Keith’s bicep, requesting, begging him to let the argument go. It’s just a table, for the love of— 

Obviously, no one lets anything go. Keith leans over where he’s stationed his arm, looming as much as he can over the light-haired man. “Excuse me? You have no idea what he’s done. He’s fucking amazing, you damn—”

Exasperated, Lance hisses, “Keith.” His husband looks at him briefly, and for a moment, Lance believes he sees Keith smirk through the gaps between his fingers. He clears his throat. “Let it go.” Keith’s line of sight hooks on Lance intensely—the pensiveness in his gaze is impossible to swallow—and he holds it there. Swipes it over the humiliated tears in Lance’s eyes. He sighs, falls back into his seat, and his arms lock across his chest. 

“Why the hell should I?” He grabs a fry from the tray, and as he grinds it under his teeth, he wrinkles his nose at Yuuri’s fiancé. “He ought to know how great a shot you are, how compassionate you can be, how strategically you think, how helpful you are, just inherently.” And now Keith is watching Lance intently again, with all that foggy passion. Keith’s eyes are smitten, glazed with love; he snatches Lance’s hand away from his face, so he can swirl his thumb over its knuckles with the same emotion. It makes Lance’s head throb with sweltering heat. His breath is coming out short and choppy, his throat constricts so tight he squeaks. At least, he thinks optimistically (for the first time all day), his swarming irritation isn’t at the forefront of his mind anymore. “You’re handsome and smarter than you give yourself credit for. Oh, and you can win people over so easy! Everyone adores you, like, I mean everyone, and—“

“Okay!” Lance can’t meet his eyes. “Stop, stop, stop! Oh, my God, Keith,” he says, batting his hand around until Keith releases it. “You are just—ohh, you are just so bad. Anarchy. Absolutely, absolutely cruel.” Yuuri snorts into his palm at Lance’s reaction, but Lance doesn’t have the peace of mind to say something bitter to him for it. He’s wholly flushed; Yuuri probably has every right to crack up over him, the pleased panic on his face, the crack in his voice. Yuuri’s fiancé is laughing, too, which makes it indescribably worse. “You’re a menace, Kogane. I’m so angry I could—”

Ever hopeful, Keith leans closer, finishing Lance’s sentence with, “Kiss me?” 

“Oh, you wish, Kogane!” There’s a dramatic pout playing on Keith’s face as he falls against the back of his seat once more. 

Yuuri’s fiancé pipes up, and Lance cools some when the attention is off of him. “That’s fair, but Yuuri’s still better. He manages to do so much, even when he gets so anxious so easily! Seeing him overcome his self-doubt is so inspiring.” Lance looks at Yuuri, who’s losing his hold on his trays. They teeter, and Lance watches them warily. His gaze flickers from them to the fog on Yuuri’s glasses. Hastily, Yuuri passes the wobbling trays to his fiancé, so he can rub his glasses clean on the collar of his shirt. “He’s won medals; he’s a celebrity. And a cute one, too. He’s got squishy, little cheeks, and a round, little nose—”

“Viktor,” he squeaks, the name dragged long and mortified on his tongue. “Viktor, stop! You’re both awful!” Viktor squints and tilts his head to one side, as though he’s about to argue. Or compliment Yuuri more. “Nope! Stop! We’re all just gonna share the table. No more of this. Say hello to Lance and his husband, our new friends, who we are not going to argue with anymore.” 

Placing one palm on the dwindling open table space for balance, Lance throws his other hand as far over the table as he can reach while still pressed close to his sitting husband. Viktor extends his own, expression far more amiable than it had been with Keith. “Nice to meet you,” Lance says, “I heard you’re just as picky with clothes as I am.” Pleasantly, Viktor laughs at the statement, not at all offended. 

And then Lance finds two empty chairs at an otherwise full table, asks the people there if he can have them, and drags them back for Yuuri and himself. Viktor gives his booth spot up to his fiancé, though, so Lance and Yuuri end up huddled together to chat at one corner of the table. They mindlessly babble back and forth and exchange funny images in their camera rolls for a bit, while Keith and Viktor are virtually silent on the other end of the table. There’s an understanding in their silence, however, and once the conversation between Yuuri and Lance gets going, they face each other with an unspoken scheme deep in their chests.

Keith and Viktor meet eyes and highfive, low and quiet, under the table, where their partners can’t see. “Pleasure conspiring with you. Sorry I approached you out of the blue like that. And to ask for such a weird favor, too,” Viktor says, tone jovial, as he pretends to listen to the other two men prattle comfortably. “No one would buy it if I told them a fake argument was all it took to make Yuuri feel better about himself.” He places his chin on his palm and he stares fondly at his fiancé. There’s a moment in which Keith only watches him do it, a sort of companionship and friendly fondness warming against his lungs. It’s familiar. The glow on Viktor’s face reminds him of the ache of his own persistent smile, stretching his face whenever he sees Lance. In his head, he sees the way Lance looks at him when he’s listening to Keith tell a story. That’s the look Viktor has. Love is a universal expression, the same soft gaze and curled lips. Keith thinks he likes that. The uniformity of it. The simplicity.

And he lets the same tender smile unfold on his cheeks, turning to his own husband. “Happy to help,” he whispers, curt and simple. He’s unfathomably proud of the shift in Lance’s mood, how much cheerier he looks. The way Lance rolls his head back as he laughs, the skylights drawing a shadow on the table and a ring of white on Lance’s scalp. His vast and blue eyes, crinkled at the corners as Yuuri amuses him with something silly on his phone. His cute, sharp nose, that points upward at the sun while he giggles to himself, like he’s a part of the warmth of the room. Like he’s pointing at his reflection, since his newly found grin is brighter and more pleasant than the sunshine could ever be. Keith knows he’s staring, unashamed and easy to spot, but no embarrassment surfaces in his gut. No, he just sighs at the confident smile on Lance’s face as he shows Yuuri something in his camera roll. Yuuri sputters over the drink he’d been swallowing, wheezing with laughter—Viktor laughs along with—and Lance says something Keith’s too lovestruck to hear. Knowing Lance, it’s probably a meme, though. “I think,” he whispers, and Viktor reluctantly tears his eyes from the duo to watch Keith. “I think Lance needed a boost, too. Look at him.” He’s laughing harder now, eyes twinkling with overjoyed tears. It’s unfair how easily he can clutch the heart in Keith’s chest, steal the coordination in his thoughts, seize the steadiness of his breath. “God.” He shakes and ducks his head, pulse quick. 

Viktor seems to understand what Keith’s getting at, seems able to recognize the same shade of love painted over all of Keith’s presence. “To helping the insecure men in our lives,” he whispers, and he holds his paper cup out to Keith. Lifting his head, Keith grabs his own soda and swishes it, so the fizz crackles. He knocks it once against Viktor’s cup, then takes a mouthful through the straw.

He flicks his eyes back to Lance, keeping them there. Keeping them against the delighted wrinkle in his husband’s nose. The rosy tint of a laugh on the tips of his ears. Keith’s heart gets warm when he focuses, when he makes the clamor of the room fade out of his consciousness, so all he can hear is Lance’s uninhibited, radiant sounds as he chuckles. He’s dazzling. 

Slowly, with the definition of lovestruck seeping from his every breath, Keith murmurs, “Yeah. To helping the insecure men we love.”

[acosmic]

thots on dolls, i'm curious abt how u got into them/what u like abt them

dolls are neat! sometimes you’re a fourteen-year-old kid with unrestricted internet access living in a town without art and a best friend who you hate as much as you hate yourself -- but this friend has good taste sometimes and oh no

they show you, or you find, this, and it’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. (taste is an acquired thing, i don’t know what i was thinking). and then there’s her (it’s been eight years and i’d still sell my soul for her) and her and these and these and even this hideous fucker has amazing detailed construction and tiny intricate details if you look closely even though he’s ugly as all hell (his owner and i are no longer friends, he was not a factor but i’m so glad i get to trash him because jesus christ what IS that). and you look into it a bit further and holy shit you can customize them, they come in one colour and sometimes in pieces and when you’re doing their makeup you’re actually pretty much adding their skin since they don’t have blood vessels or freckles or anything. and you can make their clothes and wigs and shoes (it’s way cheaper that way) and there are wildly different sizes and styles and levels of poseability and they only really became a thing in the late 90s so the older ones look simplistic and awkward but they still look sweet. some of them have intense expressions, or stylized ones, but most of them only come with one face and photographing them is like making postmortem pictures look lifelike.

they have this weird sense of personality to them, even the serene-looking ones. when i bought ada (third link above), it was kind of terrifying? she was tiny and fragile and the seller didn’t put her head on and she came in a pink child-size shoebox with all these tiny tiny clothes and accessories with her face painted on (here she is) and she was literally seventeen centimetres tall. i hate kids, i’m not a fan at all, but it was like seeing a new baby. and then she was a brat! she doesn’t like holding poses, her limbs snap around, her head lolls around on its socket, and she goes cross-eyed if you bump her slightly. she can’t decide on a hairstyle or eye colour, she hated her original face and she hates how i redid it, and she’s too tiny and delicate to take anywhere. i love her so fucking much. i’ve had her since i turned sixteen, and i’m twenty-two now. the reason i like lola so much isn’t just that hesitant alien is a kickass album, it’s because there’s this weird little creature and it’s you and it’s also not you and it’s your best friend and a strong critic of your every move and it’s cute and it’s fuzzy and it’s not real like a person but it’s kind of more real than that?

other dolls are cool too. i’ve spent more time with this $40 impulse purchase than i have with all $200 USD of ada, and i love her a lot too, but in a different way. some people use dolls to “shell” their characters, but mine tend to just happen, and ada’s character is more important than emi’s, no matter how cooperative emi is. one of my other oldest dolls is a pair of legs (because she’s the type you can buy as separate parts) and i keep putting off assembling her entire body because she feels like art and she’s kind of my favourite weird sculpture now. even the ones that don’t work out are really neat to have around -- most doll hobbyists sell members of their collection that don’t work, some are like revolving doors, others keep everything, so there’s always a secondhand market going that you can add to or pull from, or just look at for inspiration.

the customization aspect is really fun, too. some of them you have to reinvent from the ground up (i finally got a blythe and that’s what i’ll be doing with her as soon as my WIP list is at a better point), others you have weirder tasks on, like dyeing or repainting a body to revitalize it/suit a character (doing that to a unoa kit like the one pictured above) or modifying it to improve poseability or visuals (i’ve been hacking at a barbie body so she can bend her legs to fit in her wheelchair). sculpting your own dolls is a super-involved process, but i’ll do that eventually too (reading books about it is really meditative, especially since they tend to be in other languages so you have to inspect the pictures super closely. it’s like targeted dreaming). making doll clothing was a really strong draw for me for a while -- i wasn’t happy with how i exist in a body and it’s never the way i want, so i used dolls as kind of clothing horses for styles or designs i wouldn’t or couldn’t wear myself. now that i feel better about that, the dolls just kind of get what they want (and i’ve been neglecting them to sew for myself lmao but they don’t mind).

my phases run in weird cycles, so i’m really out of the loop on new developments relating to anything other than mattel inc. (the fashion doll community on tumblr is great), but it seems like the hobby is getting a lot more creative and a lot less stale than it was the first couple of times i was really into it. it’s this fluid, ever-changing thing that makes jumping back in really interesting (and a lot of work), but there’s still this comforting base to it that stays the same (use respiratory protection and high-quality materials when doing faceups, don’t buy recasts, volks/fairyland/alchemic labo are popular and cute). and if you swap doll types, there’s months/years more of entertainment. (i have big gay autism, or, like, adhd-autism crux/combination, and research is so fun)

dolls are great! they’re like muses, photography subjects, OCs, clothes horses, mascots, art projects, and (sometimes) investments all at once. whatever kind of phase i’m in, there’s something i can do with them. and they’re good company, and great for decoration and indulging your goth sensibilities and freaking out your visitors if you feel like it

random bag of onions to finish off: creepy and cute are accidental and if you deliberately aim for them you’ll get boring off-base results, what kayla said about s*x dolls applies to other types of doll too (if you try to put too many conventionally attractive features together you’ll just end up with something uncanny and grotesque instead of something really beautiful), toyetic design is for babies, doll hobbyists esp. forum communities still have a lot of unconscious biases esp. racism and homophobia to unpack, recasting is art theft and is killing the community via its artists but barbie/blythe/integrity knockoffs are basically a moral responsibility, and art dolls with huge hips are the new minifee chloes