#i did the longer posts for me really

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

[chiquilines]

In honour of mha ending, have some old (and i mean OLD) miryumi scribbles i never got around to posting. They were the main characters in my heart

[secretsimpleness]

Sometimes I want to bring Morrigan but then I remember I play as a face-tanking rogue and I bring Wynne. Warden Cousland, Morrigan, Wynne / Dragon Age Origins (c) Bioware

[boarloved-art]

Wei Wuxian should be able to get drunk for once. I think he'd either be singing bawdy drinking songs on the roof of the Jingshi or he'd be getting irrevocably lost no matter where he is. He's found in the bushes behind the mountains like a cryptid, and then he's like "I can't believe you all got lost" (extremely slurred) as if he didn't get embarrassed by something Lan Wangji had said and just somehow disappeared when everyone looked back at him

oh ABSOLUTELY im walking with u and nodding and agreeing, i can see him becoming an absolute menace to keep track of at his drunkest.

anyway heres wonderwall The Gang (Wangxian & their fave group of ducklings) in a city known for its STRONG wine and wuxian being like well. ur all grown now, youre technically not juniors anymore. we have to see whos lasting the longest against this stuff!, smash cut to a suspiciously wei ying-less group of the worlds drunkest cultivators being wrangled through the woods by designated driver hanguang-jun, with at least 2 of them clinging to his robes at all times.

[kettlefire]

Bullets & Babies. (Dpxdc)

This was not what Dan had planned for the rest of his life. When the old stopwatch released him from his prison, Dan had a specific idea in mind.

He wanted to go out into the world. Visit every place he never had the chance to before he had decimated it in his own timeline.

Honestly, what's so wrong with just wanting to sip mai tais on a beach?

And Clockwork, for the vagueness he could muster, barely told Dan anything about what was happening. Being told he needed to take Danny and Ellie somewhere safe and protect them until the time was right wasn't exactly much information.

That also didn't explain why two babies were shoved into his arms. It didn't take a genius to figure out who was who.

The little dipsticks still make it easy to tell, even in their less than helpful age. Dan was going to argue. He really was. Barely holding the infant Danny and Ellie by their legs. Almost like a gross piece of meat.

Except, before Dan would utter a single complaint, he wasn't in the Clocktower anymore. Instead, he found himself in a fully furnished two bedroom apartment.

An annoying green sticky note lay on the coffee table. A note that Dan had immediately burned up in his hand. It only added fuel to the boiling anger Dan felt.

"Good Luck :) - CW"

Dan made a vow that the next time he saw the snakey little bastard, he was going to clock him straight on the nose. Screw if it got him tossed back into that thermos.

He wasn't a goddamn babysitter. He didn't have a clue how to handle babies, let alone take care of them for an undetermined time period.

Dan was still seething with anger when baby Ellie had started to cry. The wailing only grated on his nerves more. Of course, baby Danny had to chime in with his wails.

It took annoyingly long for Dan to figure out what was wrong. Ellie needed a diaper change, and Danny was just crying because she was crying.

Dan still muttered curses on Clockwork's name as he did the job. Listen, he might be a monster. He might have destroyed a whole world in a different timeline. He might not have had any qualms in killing children back then.

But that was forever ago, okay? And there was one thing killing a child quick and moving on. It was a completely different thing to let a child sit in their own filth and suffer.

That's how Dan found himself building a life in Gotham City. He tried to set Danny and Ellie up in a daycare, but the two squirts just had to still have their powers.

Living in a shady place like Crime Alley made it easy for Dan to locate a shady babysitter. Now, of course, he didn't hire some random off the street. He did his due diligence and made sure that the two would be in relatively safe hands.

And really, the tiny squirt of a drug runner was nothing against Dan. The kid just needed cash, and Dan had plenty of it. Even if he didn't obtain the cash in the best way possible.

It didn't take long before Dan made a name for himself on the streets. Nothing too crazy, mostly muscle for higher. He tried to keep a low profile, he really did.

But when you take a bullet for a client, word gets around. Apparently, dedicated bodyguards were far and few between. No one needed to know that Dan only took the bullet because he really wanted the second half of the money.

Or that a bullet was nothing for someone like him. He was healed up and back to work the next day. It really was easy money, and Dan would not trade it for a cashier job. He'd rather still be in the thermos.

It took a few months before Dan finally felt like he was killing this. He had a good system. The teen drug runner (now ex drug runner, Dan really out here turning around lives) would watch the kids whenever Dan needed to go out.

Dan had a good flow of jobs and cash coming his was. Danny and Ellie were both healthy and happy. Dan had even caught Danny's first assisted steps on camera, not that he was proud of the little twerp or anything.

Ellie was more of a mess. Her powers kept acting up whenever she got emotional. Not that it was that hard to just ghost baby proof the apartment.

Dan was absolutely killing it at this whole single father of two thing. His days started becoming more routine. He made sure to put effort into making sure the two kids hit the milestones they needed to.

The library and the internet became his best friend. His home bookshelf was just filled with parenting books. Dan might not care about the little parasites, but he wasn't going to half-ass the job either.

Because that's what this was. Just a job. And Dan always completes a job.

Things were going great until they weren't. It was supposed to be a simple job, Dan was just escorting a massive shipment of drugs. His job was to just make sure the supply landed safely, that's all.

Except, his babysitter had to call off for the first time ever. Leaving Dan with a job he needed to do, he already got his first payment. And two babies with no one to watch after.

It probably would have been smart for Dan to have a backup sitter. But this is his first time, okay, sue him for not planning ahead.

So yea, maybe it's not smart to bring along two babies on a rather dangerous escort job. Maybe it is a little weird seeing a massive tank of a man with two babies strapped on his back, and a semi-automatic in hand.

But Dan had made a name for himself. Despite the strange glances, no one said a word about it. Things went smooth from there.

No hiccups. No attempted jacking. Nothing. Which was a little strange for something like this. Keeping Dan on high alert. Despite that, the few guys that were along for the job all seemed relaxed.

The drop-off went just as smoothly. Unloading and reloading the boxes into a new truck. Dan was getting close to being done, he just needed to watch the truck leave unbothered for him to get his second payment.

The two twerps were surprisingly calm throughout it all. Barely so much as sneezing, still dead asleep in the holders. The calmness only put Dan even more on edge.

When the sound of squealing tires broke the calm night air, Dan had moved fast. Dislodging Danny and Ellie, tucking them away inside on empty shipping container.

It might not have been ideal, but Dan figured that was better than getting into a gunfight with the two still on him.

Even if Dan had managed not to get hit, and the truck drove off in his view seemingly safe. That's all that mattered. If this helmeted freak wanted to go after it, that's fine.

Dan did his job. He was getting paid regardless if the shipment made it to its secondary location. They only hired him for the first half. It's on those idiots if they lose it.

He was certain that Red Hood would take off after the truck once Dan stopped giving cover fire. He was just muscle for hire, there was no reason for Red Hood to stick around.

So when Dan made his way back to the shipping container. He was determined to pick up his kids and head back home for a much needed shower. Maybe take a week off work and just relax.

He was not prepared to find that annoying helmeted freak standing over a sleeping Danny. Or, even worse, holding a giggling Ellie. The girl's hands running over the smooth surface of the man's helmet.

Dan didn't even need to think about it. He reacted instinctively, gun raised and aimed directly at Red Hood's chest.

"Put the twerp down. Now."

Maybe Dan's tone comes out a little more protective and angry than he intended. Again, it's not like he really cared for the useless babies. His reaction was solely because it's his job to take care of the two.

That anger and need to protect had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that he had been moonlighting as their father. He was not feeling fatherly feelings, he was not.

Red Hood had moved just as quickly as Dan had. Even before the words left Dan, he was staring down the barrel of a gun. Unlike Hood, Dan didn't have protection against getting his brains blown away.

Dan totally did not notice the way Hood had shifted his position. Ellie was out of any direct line of a gun, shielded slightly behind Red Hood's own bulk. The still sleeping Danny now behind Hood's legs.

Dan absolutely did not notice it. He had no thoughts or feelings about seeing the vigilante instinctively protect the two babies. His babies.

The two men stood there for a moment, guns aimed and tension in the air. A brief stalemate that felt longer than it was. Dan had no intentions of lowering his weapon until those two twerps were by his side again. And it was clear Red Hood had a similar thought.

That was until Ellie decided now was the time to start wailing like a banshee. Her tiny fists knocking against Hood's helmet. And she didn't stop there. No, that would be too simple.

Ellie chooses then to suddenly float out of Hood's grasp, heading straight for Dan. Because that's what Dan needed right now. Not just Red Hood knowing about the two kids. But now also knowing that at least one of them was a possible meta.

Dan was going to kill Clockwork.

[pheyphem]

the sequel to phan made out of phan: here is dan made out of dan and phil made out of phil

[reksink]

Shelter

[fountainpenguin]

So in love with the Bdubs narrative...

"I stopped trusting Impulse, my secret girlfriend, ages ago because he's flirting with everyone, so it makes sense to side with the guy who's offering me a truce in the form of a clock."

"You can't kick me out of the base just because I'm on my red life. I built this place and I will simply not leave."

/neglects to mention he's still boogeyman when Tango brings him back. Like. why didn't you ride out the boogey curse until next episode and THEN ask to come back, you dummy (affectionate)

"It's fine to kill a teammate because he just set his spawn point in this room and all his stuff will be right here <3"

"Yeah I'll kill my fellow red ally because you promised me a life."

"Impulse, you would never kill me, right?" "... We're soulmates. We share hearts this season... Same team, Bdubs."

"When it was my turn to murder, I targeted the only guy who'd already died (a few minutes ago) because he was already on the way down emotionally; anyone else would have experienced an emotional roller coaster."

"It's okay that I stole from you a while back because NOW I'm coming with useful information. My morality is in the clear."

"I would turn on both my Day 1 allies so fast."

/crying over getting backstabbed, "What have I EVER done to SWEET IMPULSE??"

The entire rest of the episode snarking about how it's no fun to be backstabbed and Tango just "🙃 Thoughts and prayers, that must really suck. it must be the worst to get betrayed by someone you trusted. oh wow. oh man. who would do that? that's awful."

"I'm shooting my mom but it's just a prank."

"I won't defend you from Dad but I might try to stop you two from fighting."

All his allies like "I've just accepted the fact that I can't trust you while Etho's around because you'll betray me for him." / "Yeah, that's fair." They continue to let Bdubs stay in their base. He brags about how Etho lets him play pool in his basement and eat ice cream for breakfast. He would die for this man.

The fact that it's considered predictable that "of course Impulse gave you a clock again" so Cleo just sighs and asks to see it. Yeah of course Impulse clonked Bdubs on the head with that thing for another season, driving home I have not forgotten with every part of his being...

Nobody can trust this greasy little man and yet they adore him. He's just a sweetheart. Cinnamon roll. Everybody's angel. Haha he'll slam a sword through your stomach, loot your body, and walk off. He's never done anything wrong in his life btw.

I love the way Bdubs plays.

[icewindandboringhorror]

I know this is just a silly bad quality random screencap of a screencap that I found on facebook lol, BUT it's a succinct enough image to easily describe the concept in a quick/accessible way hopefully :

-

(and of course, feel free to elaborate in tags, etc.! (especially elaborating about other senses as well.. can you "hear" in your mind just as well as you can "see"? taste? etc.) It's an interesting topic to me, as someone who's like a 4.5 at MOST lol. I'm curious what option will be the most common :0c )

[shizunitis]

Luo Binghe & Tianlang-Jun: Origins. And a Bit of Projection.

Disclaimer: This is basically just a collection of quotes from The Scum Villain's Self-Saving System, Volume 3, accompanied by (adjective) thoughts, and then even more relevant quotes listed at the end. If I could, I’d paste the entirety of Chapter 18.

“As expected, I can’t bring myself to hate humans.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 21: Always Together

I will always be conflicted on the topic of Tianlang-jun, and it annoys me. There is so much I could say about him, and so little I can successfully articulate. He is, to me, more confounding, complex and tragic than Shen Jiu.

He’s pitiful and awe-inspiring, wicked and affable, cunning and wide-eyed in his curiousity. He is a compelling, heartbreaking character. He alternates between emotionless wisdom and mournful apathy. I admire how his knees don’t buckle under the weight of his grief, but how he crumbles at the barest hint of hope. How rage claws at him and, still, he can’t figure out how to make it stick.

I empathise with him. I understand him.

But then, in the distance, Luo Binghe's indifferent voice disturbs the silence, causing me to drop my drink onto the floor and this post onto your screen:

“He’s not my father.”

It’s an interesting exercise, exploring their relationship in reconciliation fics. To see them interact (semi-)honestly, watch them take turns filling up the chasm between them. It’s wonderful. Every fic I’ve read centred around them was a delightful read that I still think about.

However. I cannot see Tianlang-Jun, as I understand him, as Luo Binghe’s father. And not just because of the 3rd Novel’s events.

But because Binghe had hoped for something; he did have that wide-eyed wonder. He did hold one last window open, for the sake of an improbability he couldn’t quite, just yet, dismiss.

It’s what (most) orphaned and/or adopted childred do.

Though Luo Binghe had never said a word about it before, Shen Qingqiu knew that he harbored some fantasies about his birth parents. […] In fact, he’d always secretly fantasized about whether his parents might still be alive, and how well they’d treat him, and how they’d never let him suffer the mildest slight. — Vol. 3, Chapter 17: Tianlang

It is the most human thing; to want to be helped, accepted, invited by those given to you. A family is given to you. Whether you believe it an act of the divine, of nature, of coincidence, it isn’t something you fight for. It’s the first and, arguably, only thing you don’t have to fight for in life.

Depending on a multitude of factors, that can be a blessing or a curse; but where there is room for interpretation, questions left unanswered, most childred—Binghe included—will turn to their imagination, and try to make sense of it. Usually, to comfort themselves, to reassure themselves that surely, if their family could, they would have.

And, yeah. Most likely, if the Palace Master had gotten punted into the Sun like he fucking deserved, they would have. But does it matter?

In the face of a bleak reality, what comfort is a could-have-been?

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. […] Luo Binghe was in fact…someone who was unloved by even his own parents. — Vol. 3, Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

What use are good intentions to an abandoned child? What consolation is it, to say, They gave birth to you, when that child has seen no evidence of their care? Does it dry their tears, that their mother can’t be here, but she surely would have wished to be? That their father would protect them, if only he knew of them?

(And don’t make me tell you about the visceral horror I felt reading the Origins chapter. I’ve yet to make my peace with it. MXTX, Airplane, whoever: you’ve ruined me.)

The washerwoman was and continues to be, to Binghe, his only mother. And I would argue, that’s healthy. Even independent of his other traumas (Abyss, Shizun’s betrayal, Xin Mo’s influence, living on the streets, etc, holy shit Binghe) Luo Binghe will not accept anyone else as his mother.

“Who is this Su Xiyan?” Luo Binghe asked coldly. “My mother was a mere washerwoman.” — Vol. 3, Chapter 18: Origins.

It may seem callous. It probably even is! But it is a healthy line he’d drawn by his own initiative. It’s what helps him, what he feels he needs to do in order to do right by his mother, and his own heart.

And! Tianlang-Jun doesn’t seem to give much of a shit, either!

Won’t, probably, even in the future, once the dust will have settled. He is exhausted, weary with carrying the corpse of his love, the loss of his nephew. Whatever goodwill he shows, it’s a perfunctory sort, because he can’t afford more.

So. Uhh.

Tianlang-Jun is not a character I can love, nor one I can hate. Usually, I can’t help but be inclined to love complex characters. Like them, too—though that’s more of an action-based thing rather than just said character’s personality.

But with Tianlang-Jun, I’m stuck whichever way I turn. If I want to love/like him, I’m drawn back by Binghe’s pain and disappointment. If I try to hate/dislike him, I’m drawn back by his own history and grief.

In conclusion:

I don't know! I'm not really trying to, like, prove anything. I still love the aforementioned TLJ & LBH fics, I still love their dynamic. I started walking and ended up exactly in the same space. This, perhaps, could be considered a Heavenly Demon Family Mobius Strip!

I'm not really trying to say anything. It just… makes me feel conflicted, and angry, and whenever I allow myself to think about it a bit more, sad.

But.

However!

Alas.

Nonetheless, even.

As a reader and—on my better days—a writer, all I can say is:

As promised/threatened: some selected passages, for your reading pleasure:

So, it looked like neither the father nor the cousin had any intention of acknowledging Luo Binghe. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

He liked to call Luo Binghe “that son of mine,” but he didn’t seem to possess any concept of fatherly affection. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

Tianlang-Jun lifted his hand, took a look at Luo Binghe’s snow-pale face, and commented indifferently, “He looks like his mother.” “His eyes look like yours,” came a chill voice from the side. — Chapter 15: Holy Mausoleum

The faint hopes and dreams Luo Binghe had held in his heart for many years had been mercilessly pulverized into so much dust. […] [Tianlang-Jun] refused to speak a single word of their relationship and had been utterly ruthless back in the Holy Mausoleum. […] To his parents, Luo Binghe was an unwanted child. — Chapter 18: Origins

“If he was my father, why didn’t he bring it up earlier? Why not tell me?” The most Tianlang-Jun had said was that single line he offered while beating up Luo Binghe, devoid of either praise or criticism: “He looks like his mother.” He looks like his mother. What of it? But that was all. There was nothing more. — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe was indifferent. “He’s not my father.” […] Luo Binghe shook his head. It was unclear what he was stubbornly clinging to, but he repeated, “He’s not my father.” — Chapter 18: Origins

Luo Binghe raised his smiling face, his eyes shining brightly. “Mother was the kindest person in all the world to me.” — Chapter 19: Shen Jiu

[old-skyguy]

Look.

Ace Attorney fandom.

I know why people don't like Turnabout Bigtop. I am among the people who dislike Turnabout Bigtop.

But I GET why people like the case. I'm not going to be one of those annoying people who just blindly dump on it because I hate those mfs too.

Thing about Bigtop isn't that it sucks. Thing isn't the weird grooming stuff (though that is a huge part of it). It's not that it could've been good.

It's that - in my personal OPINION - it could have been *great*.

I think it had the potential to be one of the best third cases in the trilogy. It had everything; a fun and goofy setting fit for a pretty dang goofy lawyer game - where the environment itself had jokes and quips and one-liners and mishaps and tomfoolery written all over it, it had the previous case introducing a very interesting and important plotline that gave background for one of the more well-loved characters while also introducing an equally fucked up and lovable new one who was a child forced into a shit childhood of naivete in a CIRCUS with another character who was very naive and childish - whose interactions could have been funny and cute and reflective of said shit from the previous case (seriously she becomes such an important character in the 4th case, WHY would they not include her in this one for some character development? How did they fuck up letting a CHILD explore a CIRCUS?? That would have made the interactions flow MUCH better).

They had a pretty good, sympathetic killer imo, a morally dubious victim, an asshole of a client (who was pretty flat admittedly in-game, but I like his weird, topsy-turvy reasoning for it in the anime. Also, I think Max being kinda a dick would have bode well for the themes of Farewell since most of his clients up to this point have been like...nice? Not nice, but sympathetic, but him having to defend someone who's innocent but a prick would have shown him that just because someone is an asshole, doesn't mean they deserve to suffer for it and that they have the potential to grow as people, which is almost a complete foil to what Matt was. Ultimately, I would have loved the contrast of them as clients and I think it would have also served as character development for Phoenix, especially with his low-empathy tendencies).

They just didn't think that far ahead. They just didn't execute it well enough. They just decided to make three of the adult characters fight for the hand in marriage of a teenage girl. (Bat's part of the story was actually kinda good if he was just YOUNGER, I think him doing that for Regina would have been a stupid thing someone in the circus would do to impress their crush. Damn you Ace Attorney and your weird treatment of underage girls!!)

It just flopped and that's ok.

Even though it kinda sucked, it can still mean something to me.

Also I'm a Moe Curls apologist. I liked him, shut up.

[addicted-to-the-knife]

I think it's very important that we bring back this inherent understanding that actors are also just some fucking guys (gender neutral)

[a-most-beloved-fool]

For the writing prompts;

19. For luck - Rom and Leeta

"And then," Bashir was saying - though in truth, Rom was paying only half attention, far too busy thinking about Leeta - "she came right up to me, and kissed me on the lips!"

"Oh, she did, did she?" Chief O'Brien said, scoffing good-naturedly.

"It's true!" Bashir insisted, though he didn't look insulted by the Chief's doubt. He was smiling into his glass, seeming quite delighted by the disbelieving frown on O'Brien's face.

Rom didn't quite understand what was supposed to be so 'unbelievable' about the story. In fact - "It seems pretty believable to me," he said. "Doctor Bashir's always kissing beautiful women." (Including, at one point, Leeta - though not anymore, Rom thought with some pleasure.)

"Yes, but this one was out of his league," the Chief said, batting his hand playfully across the table.

Bashir just smiled bashfully, ignoring the swipe. "Ah, well. You're right about that. She wasn't really interested in me after all. Turns out, she'd just misconstrued the human concept of a 'good luck kiss'".

"Ohh! A 'good luck kiss'!" Rom said eagerly. Then, after a pause, "Uh, what's a 'good luck kiss'?"

The Chief sat back, idly crossing his arms. "Well, it's pretty much exactly what it sounds like. It's a kiss that you give someone to wish them luck."

"Oh," Rom said, considering that. Luck was always a good thing to have. Perhaps... "Oh! Leeta!" He stood, sending his chair clattering backwards. "I'll be back!" he shouted, then raced from Quark's bar, ignoring his brother's parting shout out dismay.

He needed to find Leeta.

--

"Leeta! Waaaait!" Rom hollered, shuffling through the crowded promenade as quickly as he could manage, chasing after her familiar voice. "Leeta! I need to give you something!"

This would be easier, he thought, if Bajorans could hear as well as Ferengi could.

But, at last, Leeta stopped, turning to find him. "Rom? Rom, what's the matt-"

The rest of her sentence trailed off into a hum as Rom reached up, pulling her down to plant a kiss square on her lips. One of her hands cupped Rom's cheek, soft. Rom didn't really know how long a 'good luck kiss' was supposed to last for - he really should have gotten more details before running off (for example, does it need tongue? Bashir never specified.) - but he thought that this should satisfy it.

He pulled away, grinning toothily up at his wife. "Hi, Leeta," he said.

She smiled down at him, cheeks flushed and lovely as always. "Hi, Rom. What was that for?" she asked, looking bemused and delighted.

"It's a kiss," Rom said, perhaps unnecessarily. "For luck," he added. "It's a hoo-man tradition!"

"For luck? Rom," she asked, laughing, "what are you wishing me luck for?"

Rom blinked. "Uhhh... For your day?"

Leeta beamed at him, and then leaned down, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Well, I think it worked. I do feel pretty lucky now."

Rom grinned. "Me, too."

--

(also if anyone else wants to make a request, the ask game is here. i can't promise they'll get done as quick or be as long as this one is, though!)

[toxintouch]

Kinktober speedrun time! Used the Mirror prompt on this list. Thank you for the inspo! Further details below the cut so that the above the cut stays safe for anyone who is just scrolling through!

18+ Content MDNI || Dom!Reader x Leander

PROMPT/KINK(S): Dom!Reader, Mirror Use. Edging/Orgasm Denial + Light Degradation & Name calling (Leander being referred to as a dog but he’s really into it, promise) + Power Exchange & Sub/Dom Dynamics

OTHER INFO: Leander has a dick, anatomy of Reader/POV Character remains unspecified; "they" pronouns used.

Leander has the straight backed posture of a man who was given etiquette lessons.  His mannerisms speak of wealth and class, yet they can’t help but observe that he looks completely comfortable while down on his knees.

His back muscles flex as he works himself, sweat slipping down his spine, pooling in the dimples just above his ass.  He’s strung tight, the veins in his arms straining as he strokes a quick, even rhythm.  His dick is flushed a painful red, copious amounts of pre-cum dripping down his wrist and splattering onto his thick thighs, some of it even dirtying the floor below when his strokes become too enthusiastic.

(They wonder how best to make him clean it later–he does so love to be ordered to lick up his own mess–but this floor is probably just as filthy as anywhere else in the Wick, despite appearances–and they don’t think they can find it in themself to make use of his mouth again after watching that.)

The full length mirror hanging in front of Leander is a new addition to the room. Something they’d wheedled out of him with nothing but an easy promise, whispered into his ear down at the bar.  It was theirs not a full day later: a polished brass antique with a priceless clear finish.

His back is to them, but they can see everything they need to by gazing at his reflection.

His strokes stutter, faltering, and they watch as his abdominals jump rapidly. His hand makes a few more shaky attempts before he stops himself with a shudder, breathing hard and squeezing his cock at the base to cut off his own orgasm. They give a little hum of approval, waiting.

“Count.”  They prompt, when he fails to remember on his own.  

They watch his throat bob with effort as he swallows, his jaw trembling around his answer.  “Five.”

“Good boy,” they say, their voice flat and unrewarding.  Dismissive. "Guess that Hightown education really paid off for you, huh?" He whines at that, his palms slicking along his thighs, awaiting their instruction.  He glances at them in the mirror, eyes hopeful. “Again,” they prompt, “and keep your eyes on yourself until I tell you.  During, too. You were closing them a lot. It's just you and the mirror until you've earned otherwise.”

Bites his lip, beginning to stroke himself again.

The next edge comes more quickly.

His eyebrows draw up, mouth falling open, back arching.  His cock jumps and this time he falls back onto his hands to keep from giving into temptation.  His eyes travel the length of the mirror, his neck taught with tension as he pants.  They notice his gaze darting along their form for a moment, greedily stealing along their silhouette in the looking glass. A quick glance of the place where their legs are splayed open as they lounge on the bed behind him, toying with themself idly.

He’s back to form so seamlessly, he probably thinks they didn’t even notice. The next number falls out of his mouth without prompting, as if to cover for his earlier sleight.

"..."

“Baby,” he whines, fidgeting without further instruction. His fingers return to his dick when they don't reply, ghosting over his wet, swollen cockhead.  He knows they hate the way that epithet sounds in his voice, the condescending lilt he manages to wrap around the syllables. “Sweetheart. Please, may I–”

“Bad dog,” they admonish.  They don't elaborate–let him figure out for himself which breach of protocol they're scolding him for.

“Again. And if you can’t behave, I’ll have to put you outside.”

18+ Master List | SFW Master List ✦Kinktober Speedrun on Ao3

Consider: this type of power play with yandere!Leander...you watching him when he's usually the one watching you...

[cowchickenbeefpork]

It is fascinating to me that Edward nygma is the only man who has someone in love with them kill their lover and justify it. Every time this happens to a character besides from Ed it happens to a female character. The fact his own desperation to not face responsibility for doing that action toward a woman makes this more tragic

[daily-odile]

Saw this blog on my dash and IMMEDIATELY followed and subscribed. I love Odile and I love your art style! Thank you for blessing us with your art, and I hope you have a lovely day!

Aaaa right back at you!! Thank you for checking my silly little blog where I draw the same old woman 20 times. The tags fuel me throughout the entire day

Here's a few bonus (ooc) sketches for today