#i didn't proofread this at all

[senipsenipsenip]

Using childhood memories as Gravity Falls headcanons again but -

Mabel has decided that whenever Grunkle Stan falls asleep in his chair, he gets a visit from the "zhuzh fairy". Aka, Mabel paints his nails in his sleep. It had started as a dare from Dipper: If she could manage to paint Stan's nails without him waking up, she'd get a dollar. After much haggling, it was decided that for every nail she could successfully paint, Dipper owed her a quarter. Luckily for her, Stan was a pretty heavy sleeper, so she could usually get at least $1.50 out of it. Unfortunately for Dipper and Stan, Dipper didn't put an end date on the bet. So Dipper spent most of the summer shilling out quarters, and Stan spent most of the summer scrubbing lighter fluid over his fingers trying to remove various neon and glitter-filled polishes.

Stan usually doesn't notice for a while after waking up. It's not like the guy's got great vision, and he's not really looking at his hands that often unless he's doing precision work. Which means he usually doesn't notice until he's down in the basement working on the portal. He gives Mabel grief about it in the morning, but while he's alone in the basement he appreciates the little reminder of the family that he still has on this side of the portal. It spurs him on all the more, thinking about how much Ford is gonna love these kids once he finally gets the chance to meet them.

When Ford does come back, Mabel doesn't catch him asleep in the open until long after Weirdmageddon. After all, Ford tends to lock his door at night, or he falls asleep over his desk in the lab. When Mabel finally finds him at the kitchen table, slumped over his latest notes, she decides it's only fair for him to be included in "family bonding activities". She doesn't expect how fast he jerks out of sleep the second she brushes his hand, or the wild look in his eyes when he slaps his hand on his hip where his holster used to be. He's extremely apologetic, and promises to replace the pink sparkly bottle of nail polish spilling over the floor where Mabel dropped it in shock. Mabel forgives him of course, and privately decides not to bother Ford in his sleep again.

Then the kids go back home, the Pines brothers go out to sea, and the Earth goes around the Sun once again. When the twins visit the next Summer, both of their grunkles seem a little more relaxed. Ford has a healthier weight to him, Stan gets those sad, distant looks far less than he used to, and though the two of them argue often, it's only ever about little things.

Except the argument about whether or not to put bread in the fridge. Dipper and Mabel were a little worried they were going to have to get the wax Larry King head down from the vents to mediate.

But a few weeks into summer, Mabel finds Stan and Ford both passed out in front of the television. Soos had sprung for a couch for the living room thank goodness. As fun as sitting on a dinosaur skull was, it was not great on the lower back. Mabel runs to grab her nail polish, pulling Stan's limp hand out of his bowl of popcorn to put bright red polish on his greasy fingers. Sure, there's a lot more crumbs in the polish than she would usually allow, but she had to work quickly. She'd have to thank Great Uncle Ford for tiring him out on their fishing trip today. She just made $2.50.

Speaking of Ford. She turned to watch him closely. Ford was fast asleep, his head resting on Stan's shoulder. His mouth had fallen open in his sleep and, oh man that's embarrassing, he was definitely drooling on Stan's shirt.

Well, red would match his sweater.

When Stan and Ford wake up the next morning, it's to find both of their nails painted the same bright red. Stan starts grumbling about lighter fluid and popcorn crumbs and "c'mon, I should at least be getting a cut of the money Dipper's giving Mabel, I'm the victim here". Ford holds up his hands to the light, grabbing Stan's to make a quick comparison. The food all over Stan's fingers doesn't help, but Ford can't help but notice how much neater his are. Like Mabel had the chance to take her time.

Stan hefts himself up from the couch, muttering that Ford had just made Mabel three dollars and that Dipper should add a clause about extra fingers to his agreement. Mabel trots in the room a moment later, smiling widely and asking how the two of them liked their manicures. Stan yells something about "back in his day", but Mabel ignores him to turn to Ford.

"I was able to make yours look extra nice," she explained. "You were really asleep. Like super relaxed."

Ford looks at his nails. "I suppose I was."

Mabel's smile widens. "Just letting you know, this is gonna be a thing for you now too. You're gonna get visited by the zhuzh fairy allllllll summer."

And Ford will remember the summer Mabel had frightened him out of his sleep. He'll remember restless nights on the boat and Stan coaxing him into bed or out of a nightmare. And he'll think about how well rested he feels, and a promise of a summer of sleep that feels so safe, his niece can hold his hands without fear.

And he'll turn to Mabel and smile. "I'm looking forward to it."

[zvahlne]

headcanon: shadow knights can't cry.

it takes him a long while to notice. he had never considered himself much of a crier. it wasn't that he thought there was anything wrong with crying. he was just one to keep moving, keep doing, show the people around him and under his care that it would be alright, no matter what had happened. some might accuse him of bottling for this, though whether it was selfless for others (so they wouldn't worry; so they could cry while he carried it) or selfish (so he wouldn't have to think about it, wouldn't have to feel it), up for debate. either way, he would disagree, and had whenever someone close enough to him to notice the pattern mentioned it (usually cadenza).

...the last time he remembers crying was with cadenza. it was about joh.

he didn't cry in the nether (no water can last long there; how could he? your eyes could never get wet enough. every blink in the nether is stinging).

he didn't cry when he was brought back, not for his sight, not for ungrth (more surprising, but he was in shock. nothing felt real in those days, and after, he had things to do, people to care for).

it's when he loses 15 years and he comes back to his father's death and can't shed a single tear that he finally thinks he really ought to be crying. but he isn't. he can't?

he goes to ungrth's grave and he thinks of ungrth and he thinks of hayden and he thinks of joh and he thinks of garroth and he grits his teeth, he digs his nails into his palms, he gets a headache from how tight his brows furrow, he feels an ache so intense in his chest he's gasping for breath, but his eyes are as dry as they've since the day he died (he wants to cry, he should be crying, why isn't he crying?).

his life is taken from him, replaced with facsimile. the man he trusted more than himself betrayed him, and is now lost a dimension away. he's lost fifteen years, his father passed without him present, his friend's grave has been desecrated, the places he lived in and loved and protected fallen and rebuilt, all in his absence, all to be discovered all at once. he loses nearly everything, he watches helplessly as he loses even himself. and yet...

laurance can't cry.

[agalychnisspranneusroseus]

Sasha going from thin popular cheerleader popular pretty girl before Amphibia and coming back taller and with muscle and covered in scars and maybe missing an eye and with hair short like a boy and she's no longer considered as pretty as she was before, to the point her mother takes hoursssss doing her daughter's makeup to cover her face scar or getting her an uncomfortable but hyperrealistic eye prosthetic (when she wanted one custom-made to look like Grime's eye) and trying to put her on some weird diet to make her lose muscle?? Which just made her feel tired and sick because she got it from shady internet articles. Getting kicked out of the cheerleading team despite being 10 times better than she was before with her amazing strength and agility because she has too many scars and looks scary to her old teammates instead of attractive now (why her coach is concerned about how attractive a middle-schoolers are is never questioned though). She's still popular and has a lot of cool made up stories about being missing in the woods and having to fight mountain lions with her bare hands or something, but it's different now. The new friendships she makes are more genuine, maybe she gets into some other team sport and while she can never tell anyone everything, she's a lot more emotionally honest now. Marcy designs her a beautiful prosthetic that looks exactly how she wanted and is a lot more comfortable and wears it despite her mother's complains. Now she almost kinda looks like the man (toad?) she actually wishes were her parent! How cool is that? Ugh, she just knows he would help her cope with the headaches and poor vision far better than her parents do. Her dad doesn't really care. He just looks at her weird when she does anything that requires even the littlest bit of strength, like helping him change a tire or carrying big boxes lmao. She's not even that butchy! Just a lil bit sometimes, she does like her sports and short hair, and picking up her girlfriends like they weight nothing (oh it gives her such a power rush!) but she still loves her skirts and dresses too! And she still thinks she looks great in them! She tells herself this must be how Captain Beatrix looked like during military galas, if she ever took off that uniform of her. It's certainly how Braddock would look. Somehow seeing herself through toad beauty standards helps a lot. Reminds her of how Anne would come back home dirty and sweaty and covered in mud after her parents took her on some day-long family trip to the mountains to look for frogs, happy and smiling so brightly, because "Hop Pop used to say 'if it ain't a little bit muddy, it ain't honest work'". And she knows Marcy feels a little bit better about her cane and crutches and wheelchair thinking about Andrias, and how much he changed his body to stay alive and look strong and healthy. Her body may not work the way it used to, but at least it doesn't have anything weird in it, at least she doesn't have robot parts - they got rid of the ports in her arms and legs just fine - at least it's all hers again. Plus, the weakness in her legs gives her a great excuse to ask for piggyback rides from her strong, beautiful girlfriend.

[ingreibusa]

Okay, so I've been gone for a long time and here's what had brewed in my exhausted brain:

We all know and love tall and gothic dom girlies, but how about dom short girls with a cute pink aesthetic?

Imagine a short girl with light pink jacket with a matching color tight skirt. The hem of her skirt and the sleeves of her jacket has these fluffy white fuzz. A white shirt that reveals a little bit of her cleavage. Long cat thigh highs with pink platform heels. She also has cleanly done make up, glossy pink lips and a sharp but short eyeliner

Now now you might say that I'm just describing a generic barbie girl wirh a poodle but get this: Instead of a poodle, she has a cute boy to drag around by his hand (or leash~)

This little cutie is always tidy and proper for his short owner. His nails are always manicured and spotless, hair always smooth and brushed, skin always soft and smells like vanilla, clothes carefully chosen by his sweet owner to fit him. He's just like a poodle, he's there to sit still and look pretty for his girlfriend! ˗ˏˋ꒰♡꒱ˎˊ˗

And whenever his girlfriend is feeling down, she can just snap her fingers or call out to him by his nickname and he'll immediately kneel in front of her, eagerly waiting for her order. Whatever her order is, he'll do it without hesitation, he just wants to be a good boy for her 🥺

He loves it when she collars him with a silk leash tied to it. When she gently tugs it while whispering praises into his ear, telling how much of a good boy he is and that he deserves a special treat because of it; Poor thing immediately melts into her hands.

In bed, he's miraculously even more obedient. Whining and pouting just like a puppy while looking into his gilrfriends' eyes. And almost everytime, he averts hiz gaze from shyness only for his sweet girlfriend to tilt his chin to face her

"Puppy, why do you keep looking away from me? Aren't I pretty?" she says as she gently tugs on his leash, pouting her pink lips with a playful gesture

"N-no miss, I'm sorry I-I didn't I... Miss pleaseee~" he'll cry out as little tears start welling in his eyes, overwhelmed by his girlfriend's teasing and toying. But can she blamed? He looks oh so cute when he's needy and desperate like this

But our little Barbie dom girl is also a softie, after a while she won't be able to resist her pup's pleas and reward him for being such a good boy. If she's feeling like in a punishing or teasing mode, she'll gag him up with her fingers by them down his pretty mouth so she won't hear his whines and pleas

His favorite way of being rewarded is of course getting to touch and taste his miss! If he behaves so well (in which, almost everytime); she'll reward him by sitting on her plush bed, letting her skirt roll up as she opens her legs and pulling him close to her heat by his collar. And he'll almost immediately set his cute tounge to work to please his girlfriend, holding her thighs apart as he swirls his tounge on her cunt, kneading the flesh of her thighs as he slowly grinds on her leg.

His girlfriend's moans of pleasure would only rile him up more, whimpering against her folds as his tounge works even faster with his hip movements growing more fervent. "Miss... A-ahh~ please miss mmhm!♡♡ Come on my tounge miss pl-pleaseee... *sob* I wanna taste you hahh~"

*sighhh* A girl can dream ⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

[laurenttheninth]

Eyes meeting from across the room and buddie (or buddietommy) from the prompt list 👀👀👀

pick a prompt any prompt

[buddietommy - an alternate version of the bachelor party, ~2000 words, rated E]

Tommy had been officially released from standby at midnight, and half an hour later, the bachelor party was shaping up to be the best night of Buck's life.

Now that his boyfriend - his boyfriend! - was matching him and Eddie drink-for-drink, Buck's burning-in-the-background anxieties about planning the perfect party had melted away. Sure, Chimney wasn't there, but Tommy was, and Eddie was, and all these random strangers were, and no one was mad at him. No one was disappointed in him. No one was saying he Bucked it up. In fact, no one was calling him 'Buck' at all - Eddie had been calling him Tubbs all night (excluding the third round of shots, when he'd called him 'cowboy' with a dopey grin), and Tommy was, as always, calling him -

"Evan," Tommy groaned, his breath hot on Buck's neck. "You're killing me, kid."

Buck grinned. They were in the middle of the dance floor, being bumped into on all sides, and Buck had his arms wrapped around Tommy's neck, his suit jacket lost somewhere between drinks six and ten. Buck had dragged Tommy through the crowd, pulled him close, slipped his thigh between Tommy's, and danced the way Buck 1.0 danced. Slowly, purposefully grinding his hips to the baseline, letting his chest brush against Tommy's teasingly, refusing to break eye contact while letting every lascivious thought show plainly on his face.

It felt weirdly good, surprisingly easy, to slip back into this - but it was better now, because he was older, and knew so much more about who he was and what he wanted, and because it was Tommy. Tommy, who wasn't a petite woman interested in Buck's bulk and little else - it was Tommy, who was even bigger, who could haul Buck into his arms without a sign of exertion; Tommy, who had been interested even when Buck was a babbling, awkward idiot who made a fool of himself on their first date. Tommy, who was attracted to him before he even knew Buck was practically a sex god.

And now, he got to remind his super hot pilot boyfriend that Buck was, in fact, something of a sex god.

Buck leaned in, letting his whole front plaster against Tommy's, running one hand through his hair and licking a long stripe up the side of his neck; he could feel more than hear the low hum of pleasure deep in Tommy's chest.

"I'm killing you, huh?" Buck murmured into his ear. "I'm not even doing anything. I'm just dancing." And as the chorus hit, Buck ground into the crease of Tommy's hip, making no effort to muffle a breathy gasp of pleasure at the delicious friction.

This was fun - this was what Buck was used to, in some ways. He was used to being the one to drive someone else crazy, to take control, to set the pace - but at the same time, this was all new.

Because Tommy loved to let Buck take the reins, but he also loved to take them back.

His hands tightened on Buck's hips, and he spun him around without letting him pull away - Buck's arms slipped from Tommy's shoulders, and suddenly his ass was pressed against Tommy's hips, and Tommy's mouth was on his neck, and Buck felt very exposed.

"Just dancing?" Tommy growled. "You're practically humping my leg, baby. You're showing off. Putting on a little show..."

Buck bit his lip, tilting his head, silently begging Tommy to go to town on his neck the way they did when they were alone. Tommy, never one to miss a cue, immediately pressed wet, open-mouthed kisses over his pulse point, which got Buck from mostly-hard to diamond-hard in the span of five seconds. The Buck 1.0 reflexes had him still grinding to the beat, his hands resting on top of Tommy's, and he could feel the hard line of Tommy's cock through all the layers of fabric.

"Show off," Tommy breathed, dragging his nose along the shell of Buck's ear. "Come on, baby, let's show them how pretty you are." And then his hands were slipping off Buck's hips to grab his wrists, and then Tommy was lifting his arms up, bringing his hands up to tangle in Tommy's hair.

Buck thought he felt exposed before, but it was nothing compared to this. Tommy dragged his hands down Buck's triceps, skimming along his armpits, and Buck gasped, half-ticklish, half turned-on.

"I'm so sweaty right now," Buck said, not yet drunk enough to forget that he was wearing a white t-shirt and had been drinking and dancing for hours and a quick glance down at himself showed that the sweat was soaking through in a line between his pecs - he could only imagine what his underarms looked like.

"You are," Tommy agreed, his hands splayed high on Buck's ribs, his hips driving them along as one song morphed into the next. "And you look so fucking pretty like this... Hard and sweating and desperate..."

Buck bit back a moan, eyes rolling back as he let his head fall back onto Tommy's shoulder.

"I'm not the only one who thinks so," Tommy said, skimming his teeth along the corner of Buck's jaw. "Look at him, baby. Look at the way he's watching you."

Buck forced his eyes open, blinking in confusion, scanning the dance floor -

And then he saw Eddie.

Eddie, across the room, leaning on the bar, his beautiful brown eyes locked on Buck's. And the look on his face...

He looked like he wanted to eat him alive.

"Oh fuck," Buck gasped, his legs going weak.

"Mhm," Tommy hummed. "He's been staring at you this whole time, baby. I don't think he could look away if he tried."

"That's - " Buck swallowed. "That's not - Eddie doesn't - "

"Doesn't what?" Tommy asked innocently, and one of his hands slid down, down Buck's side and came to rest on the front of his hip, drawing the eye to where Buck's cock was straining against his zipper, and fuck, Eddie's eyes dropped down to follow the hand, obvious even across the room. "Doesn't want you like that? Oh, Evan. Baby. Don't be silly. Of course he does."

"He's - " But Buck couldn't get the words out, because Tommy's other hand was dragging across his chest, palm and fingers dragging along his nipple, and he was twitching under Tommy's hand, losing the rhythm of the music, and he couldn't look away from Eddie, from the way Eddie was biting on the inside of his cheek, clenching and unclenching his fists, gaze fixed on Buck's hips and Tommy's hand - "He's straight," Buck said automatically, because Eddie had to be straight.

It turned Buck's whole world upside down if he wasn't.

Tommy took Buck's earlobe between his teeth and pinched his nipple through his shirt at the same time, and Buck jackknifed in his arms, fists tightening in Tommy's hair, back arching, driving his ass back towards the pressure of Tommy's hips, and Eddie -

Eddie's mouth fell open, and his chest heaved, and holy shit. Holy shit.

"Hm," Tommy hummed, all faux-innocence, too composed, far too composed for what a mess he was making of Buck. "I'm not too sure. But hey, why don't we find out? Why don't you go over there, and you ask him to join us."

"I - " Buck's brain was offline. "What?"

Tommy nuzzled his neck, the hand on his hip drifting below his navel, the hand on his chest coming up to hang, loosely, around the base of his throat. "You're going to walk over to him. And you're going to lean in close, so he can hear you. And you're going to say Eddie, do you want to join us?, and when he says yes, you're going to bring him over here to me, and then I'm going to let him take you apart."

"Oh my god, Tommy - "

"Go on, baby," Tommy said, slipping his hands off of him and untangling his hands from his hair. "Go get him." And he gave Buck a gentle but firm push.

The Buck 1.0 swagger was gone. This Buck - 4.0? - was dripping with sweat, hard enough to cut glass, and could barely hear the thundering beat of the music over his own pulse ringing in his ears. His legs felt weak beneath him, and he all but stumbled over to Eddie, who was watching him the whole time, not moving.

Buck stopped less than a foot away.

God, Eddie was beautiful.

Even like this, even drunk and probably exhausted, he was the most beautiful person Buck had ever seen. That realization had struck Buck the moment he laid eyes on Eddie, half-dressed in the 118 locker room, and had struck him again and again and again over the last six years. Buck had seen this beautiful man clean-cut and well-polished, he'd seen him covered in soot and mud and blood, he'd seen him asleep and drooling, bruised and battered, dressed to the nines - Buck had seen it all.

He'd never seen Eddie look like this.

Eddie Diaz was staring at Buck like a wolf stared at a lamb. His pupils were blown wide, making his bright brown eyes look dark and bottomless, and his lips were softly parted, a gentle expression that was in direct contradiction to the way his fists were clenched so tight Buck could see the veins popping on the backs of his hands. He was still leaning on the bar, but every line of his body was tense, ready. Waiting.

Buck couldn't do this. He couldn't cross this line. This was Eddie, his Eddie - he couldn't risk this. Couldn't handle it if he made this offer, and Eddie turned it down, turned him down.

But the way he was looking at him...

Buck just stood there, pulse racing, mouth dry, making no effort to hide what he was feeling. He knew Eddie could read him like a book anyway.

After what felt like an eternity, Eddie closed his mouth, and swallowed. "Hey, Buck," he said simply.

"Hey, Eddie," Buck managed.

"Do you need something?"

And Eddie was asking so much when he asked that question.

And Buck just - answered him. "Yes," he said, barely audible over the music. "I - I need you."

Eddie took in a deep breath - Buck could see his chest rise with it. "You have me," he answered.

And then Buck was leaning in, taking another step forward, and he could smell Eddie's sweat and deodorant and traces of the cologne he only wore on special occasions, and when Buck put his mouth next to his ear he could smell Eddie's skin and his shampoo, and it was so easy, standing that close, to say "Do you want to join us?"

And standing that close, it was impossible not to get closer - it was like a magnet in his chest, pulling him in, and he was bracing his hands on the bar on either side of Eddie and he was pressing their chests together, and when Eddie nodded, Buck couldn't see it, but he could feel his chin against his shoulder, could feel Eddie's ear against his cheek, and then Eddie was gently, tentatively putting his hands on Buck's waist.

"Are you sure?" Buck asked, because he had to know, because he needed this to be real, not just the tequila or -

"God, yes," Eddie said, so earnestly that it shattered every last wall Buck had built around his heart, and god, he loved him. He loved him so fucking much, and he'd loved him for so fucking long -

"Can I - ?" And Buck turned his head, and it was magnets again, and he was kissing Eddie Diaz.

And he was home.

Even with tequila and beer on their breath, even in this noisy bar under neon lights, even though the bachelor never showed up to his bachelor party, even dressed in their cheesy pastel suits - it was perfect. They fit together the way Buck's bones fit under his skin. Eddie's mouth was hot and soft and his hands were gentle and sure and Buck clacked their teeth together because he couldn't stop smiling because it was Eddie, and he loved him.

Eddie pulled away first, breathless, dragging his mouth away but trying to press his body even closer, but Buck had him pressed tight up against the bar and was not about to let him go anywhere. Eddie mouthed along Buck's jaw, panting against him, and Buck was just about to tilt his head, to offer up that sensitive spot under his ear, when Eddie froze, and his already-hard cock twitched against Buck's hip.

Buck leaned away, slightly, and saw Eddie staring, wide-eyed and flushed, at something over his shoulder.

He turned, twisting in the circle of Eddie's arms, and saw Tommy.

Tommy, leaning against the second bar, drink in hand.

Tommy, sweat plastering a single little curl onto his forehead, smirking that same knowing smirk that he brought out when he pinned Buck down and made him beg.

Tommy, his boyfriend, who was so beautiful and kind and patient and sexy and confident and honest and -

Tommy, who had locked eyes with Eddie, and slowly, clearly, lifted one hand to beckon him over.

[pictureofdoriaaaaaangay]

chaotic book ramble so I can stop spiraling into the abyss: dark academia books you've heard of and probably already read edition

I need to talk about books I love to stay sane please stand by <3

Bunny by Mona Awad. I love this book SO MUCH. it's beautifully written, the characters are all unhinged women, there's murder, there's creation, there's a creative writing class. it drips with insanity and eroticism. reading it is like living a fever dream. you can picture the events of the book perfectly, but could never hope to explain it to anyone.

The Secret History by Donna Tartt. this book is the entire world to me. I love the characters [they're all terrible and irredeemable people], I love the story [they kill a man then they kill their friend and also worship Dionysus], and I absolutely want a friend group just like the Greek class [to reiterate: they are all walking red flags]. it's a book you have to read once, then again, and again, just to notice more and more so you can analyze it and make deductions. at the end of the day, it goes beyond the age-old "moral implications of murder" and delves into "moral implications of love". don't ask me how many times I've read it. that's my red flag.

If We Were Villains by ML Rio. it was only recently that I read this over the course of twenty four hours, and I honesty have yet to recover. I'm not a Shakespeare girlie, but I still loved the way his work was so inherently and intricately woven into the story of the iwwv characters. it was transcendent. it was a tragedy, it was a love story, it was a comedy. it depends on your perception of it, I suppose. but I digress - it's a really good bloody book. expect the ending to make you cry.

The Picture of Dorian Gray, by our lord and savior Oscar Wilde. this, technically, can't really be classified under the textbook definition of "dark academia" since there's not exactly any academia (can Harry even read let's be honest here), but it goes in this list because VIBES. this is one of my favorite novels of all time, and another one I've read one too many times for it to not be a red flag. I mean, the name of my damn blog is my red flag. I love it so much. it's got everything, from art to obsession to murder to gay people to the most heartachingly profound lines you've ever read. I mean, why wouldn't you read it if you haven't already?

These Violent Delights by Micah Nemerever. this one snuck up on me. towards the beginning, I wasn't sure if I'd like it, but by the middle, I was hooked. by the ending, I was shooketh. reading the author note, I was sitting silently in abject horror. more gay people, more obsession, more murder - what else do I have to say?

this has been a chaotic book ramble. thank you for being here <3

[transtranslations]

Ryulock Collection by E缶 (E Can)

Translated Artist's Note: I feel like I've accrued a good amount of these, so I decided to make a collection. Ryulock is precious. The Great Ace Attorney was so good...

(P. S.) Thank you for all your comments, they encourage me so much～～

(I think the "theme" at the end may be this song?)

Anyway, please go check out the link up top! This is just the only comic in it - there are loads of really cute Ryulock pictures that the artist deserves a like for!

[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.

[mangobug]

Alenoah is so goddamn appealing to me for the same reason i like aleheather: they're both enemies/rivals with a tension. However, what makes alenoah so much more interesting to me is the fact that Noah just would not visibly care about, or outwardly acknowledge, Alejandro's advancements. When Alejandro flirts with the other contestants, he easily throws them off or (in Heather's case) pisses them off, turning them into putty in his two hands. When he attempts to throw Noah off, though, it doesn't (visibly) have an effect on him, and it bothers Alejandro because Alejandro always has the upper-hand, around both women and men. It makes Alejandro feel almost humiliated when Noah brushes him off or shoots back sarcastic comments in response to his flirting. Noah barely even bats an eye. But Alejandro can't bring himself to stop when he finds Noah as a person so interesting. Alejandro loves debating with Noah and adores his snark and intelligence, and this adoration drives him. He makes it a goal of his to somehow really fluster Noah or throw him off his game like he does with the other contestants, which has proven to be quite a difficult task. But Alejandro isn't a quitter.

In reality, Noah enjoys the playful and teasing banter just as much as Alejandro, even if he seems uninterested, because it's entertaining to be debating with someone of similar intelligence. Alejandro's flirting, though, does actually throw him off, just not in the same way it does to other people. Noah is entirely (and rightfully) convinced that Alejandro's flirting with him is just a part of his slimy, slippery, eel-y personality, and a sad attempt to rid of Noah in order to further himself in the competition. And Noah is nothing if not stubborn, so even if he feels his stomach twisting into a knot every time Alejandro compliments his brown eyes or his hooked nose or his impressive intelligence or his interesting personality or even the peaceful, curled position he sleeps in—Noah will always just nod his head and respond with a doubtful "sure" or a sarcastic "thanks, honey."

And if Alejandro were to hear about how Noah views his persistent advances, then he wouldn't deny it, because in the beginning that was about half of the truth. He did want to use this new challenge to knock a few opponents out, and if reaching his goal would not only prove to Alejandro that the cold-presenting bookworm had a heart that could be tamed but would also get him out of the way and push Alejandro one step closer to his imminent victory, then, well, that's a win-win for Alejandro. That isn't all the reason though because, against all of Alejandro's big ego, he does actually quite like Noah. This "like" didn't mean the same in the beginning as it did in the end. Because it didn't start with Alejandro wondering if Noah had had anything to eat that day or if Noah had any pets or what Noah's favorite book was, or even if Alejandro could borrow that book Noah was reading once he was done.

Against all of Alejandro's wishes and expectations, he finds that between the two of them, he is the one who has been getting flustered. And it is downright embarrassing, because Noah doesn't even do anything. Well, except for all of the things he usually does. He makes his sarcastic comments and argues with Alejandro just as he did before, but now the details are so much clearer. It's like every feature of Noah's has been enhanced, including his features that previously Alejandro would have considered flaws. His forehead was rather larger than average, but Alejandro has decided that it fit his face and personality and that it was only natural for a head to be big enough to store all the fascinating knowledge and wit that Noah had proven to have. And that pimple just below his right cheekbone, well, that is just time's beauty mark, a proof of growth and maturity that was one feature of many on his face that showed that he was very alive. He found an adorableness in the way Noah uncurled from his sleep and rubbed his eyes first thing after a long night of rest, and he felt a burning discomfort in the unmistakable image of Noah curling into Owen's nap for a makeshift pillow later that day. Alejandro felt electricity course throw his veins and his hands become shakey and clammy at every short lock between ivy and coffee irises. He felt his heart beat a thousand miles a minute each time he stood next to the other, and he would feel it speed up ten times fast at every sarcastic comment the other would make.

Alejandro found himself staring.

Alejandro finds himself studying his face, gauging his face for reactions whenever he makes a joke, and he finds himself way too excited when Noah cracks a smile at it. One time, Alejandro had made Noah laugh. Belly laugh. Gasping for breath laugh. A laugh so full of joy that Alejandro found himself smiling. Not from the contagiousness of Noah's laugh nor from the humor of the comment he had made about Duncan, which, truth be told, he couldn't recite on the spot even if he needed to because his memory had been wiped and replaced with this. Rather, he was satisfied that of all people, he could make Noah laugh like this (and Owen.. he supposes.) That night held for him some distasteful news, because how could Alejandro be the one melted into somebody else's palms?

Noah had noticed the sudden change in Alejandro's behavior, but it'd be a lie if he said he knew why it happened. And if anyone were to tell him why, he would deny it, because not only was it obviously not true, but he also didn't want it to be. The idea of someone as slimy, slippery, and eel-y as Alejandro even daring to approach him was for one, unfortunate, for two, terrible, and for three, impossible. But he couldn't help but ponder why this change had happened. Just why was Alejandro so... fidgety? He was running his hand through his hair what felt like every five minutes (Noah heard him curse under his breath once in spanish, likely at the realization of the inevitable accumulation of grease by the end of the day due to the excessive hand-to-root action), he kept unbuttoning and buttoning the top button of his shirt (Noah heard him mutter once, "is it too scandalous undone?"), and he wouldn't stop playing with his fingers, cracking and popping them, pulling and intertwining them—not that Noah was always watching his hands or anything, because he wasn't, but it was just such a drastic change to Alejandro's usually confident demeanor that you must be a fool to not notice it.

Alejandro did not notice—how could he be such a fool? Developing a crush on an opponent with a million dollars on the line? Pathetic.

The night following Noah's laughing fit, Alejandro found himself staring at Noah's sleeping form. Alejandro had noticed the way he usually sleeps, which would be creepy if Noah didn't have such a noticeable way of sleeping. He curled up to sleep, upright or on his side, and it was pretty cute. His eyes observed the way Noah was curled up against Owen's side, face resting into the other's fat. Ah, right. Owen. Alejandro felt a scowl creep up on his face when his eyes shifted to the blond's face—only to immediately divert his eyes, because Owen was already looking at him. He heard Owen laugh, which made his embarrassment double—embarrassment? I don't get embarrassed.

"Don't worry, Al." Gross. Al. "Noah doesn't know, so your secret is safe with me."

Alejandro blinked. He looked back at Owen, although reluctantly. "...Secret?"

Owen laughed again, and Alejandro was getting worried that he would wake Noah as he watched the smallest of them bounce against Owen. "You know, Al. Your cute little crush on Noah! He's smart and all, but he kind of sucks with love. You can take as much time as you want before you tell him. But between you and me, I think he likes you, too."

Alejandro's mind blanked. Crush? "Uh. My what."

Owen's face turned confused as well. "Oh... Do you not? Oops. Forget I said that about Noah."

Alejandro wished he could think of a decent response, but, what?

"Uh... No, I wouldn't say you're wrong. I just... didn't know myself."

"You—" Owen laughed again, this time making Noah groan in his sleep.

"Ugh... Owen. Stop, 'm trying to sleep." He said, not even opening his eyes.

"Sorry, buddy." Owen giggled, "Al's just pretty funny."

Alejandro glared at Owen, and the other shrugged.

"Sure." Noah groaned, adjusting his position before quickly falling back to sleep.

"Wow! How could you not know, Al? You're always looking at him and talking to him, 'n stuff. It's like Tyler and I aren't even there! And you're so nervous around him. I didn't know someone as cool and confident as you could get nervous around anyone. It makes me proud to know my little buddy could do that."

Alejandro nodded. "Hmm. You're right... Maybe that is the case."

It was a silent agreement between the two that it was their business and no one else's, an agreement that Alejandro wasn't too confident that Owen wouldn't break, but it was enough. Alejandro couldn't decide what was more shocking, an agreement between him and Owen, or the fact that he actually liked Noah in a more than just curious way. Looking back on what Owen said though, he thinks an Owen and Alejandro alliance is much more surprising.

[senipsenipsenip]

Eventually, the scrapbook ended. The sun had fallen beneath the horizon hours ago, and some nagging part of Stan's brain was telling him kids shouldn't be up this late. Unless they're breaking into a mini golf course. He jerked his head back, furrowing his brow. That was...oddly specific.

"Grunkle Stan?" a little voice - Mabel - questioned. He looked down at his knee to see where his great-niece was sitting, eyeing him with no small degree of concern. "Are you okay?"

He ruffled her hair. "'Course, Pumpkin. Just trying to shake some of those memories back in the right place, huh?" He gave an exaggerated shake of his head, smacking the side like he was trying to get water out his ears. "Got a straggler! Hup! There we go," he grinned, lowering his hand. "Good as new!"

Whatever he said must have been the right thing, because Mabel's eyes had lit up like he'd told her he was turning the Mystery Shack into a cotton candy emporium and Dipper had a sudden death grip on his other leg.

"Geez kid, you're clawing through my pants here," he grumbled, making no move to take away his nephew's hand. "Haven't you chewed your nails off by now? How're they so sharp?"

"You called me Pumpkin," Mabel whispered.

"You remembered I chew my nails," Dipper said in awe. Then he frowned. "Hey, how come Mabel gets a nice one and I get a gross one."

Stan shrugged. "'Cause she's nice, and you're gross."

"Ha! Zoom!" Mabel pumped a fist in the air before collapsing back into Stan's lap in a fit of giggles. Dipper rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he settled back against Stan's other side. Ford stayed perched on the arm of the chair, smiling fondly, but eyebrows still drawn together.

"What's the matter, Sixer?" Stan frowned as Ford grimaced at the nickname. "What?"

Ford waved off Stan's concern. "It's nothing. It's..." Ford sighed. "I'm sorry. It's not nothing. I just don't want to..." He pursed his lips.

"Don't leave us hanging." There was a shake in Stan's voice, and Mabel shifted closer to her Grunkle.

"I'm glad this has been helpful to you," Ford muttered. "But...you don't remember everything. Not really."

"Whaddya mean?" Stan asked. "I remember you, the kids, Soos. The freeloading jerk who steals my sandwiches." Stan glared at Waddles who simply oinked and started trying to eat his shoelace. Whatever. Free pass for jump starting his memories. He better not get used to it.

Dipper sat up. "Yeah, what do you mean, Great Uncle Ford?"

Ford frowned. "I just... Hm." He seemed to be weighing something in his mind before turning to Stan with some resolve.

"Stanley," he began slowly. "I hope you appreciate what I'm about to do for you."

"That's not terrifyingly ominous," Stan muttered, glancing around at the available exits.

"Do you remember my - " Ford cleared his throat. "My first kiss?"

Stan froze. "What?"

"My first kiss, do you remember it?"

"I was there?"

"Yes. Unfortunately a lot of people were."

Mabel squealed beside Stan. "Ooo! Romance memories! How old were you? Was it high school? Was it a high school romance? Was it star-crossed love between the nerd and the cheerleader?"

"Mabel, I think Grunkle Stan is supposed to figure that stuff out."

Mabel sat up and stared at Stan expectantly. "Come on Grunkle Stan! I need details!"

Stan shook his head, nose wrinkling like he'd smelled something rotting. "How should I know? Who asks their brother that sort of thing?"

"Precisely." Ford spoke with the same air of professionalism he adopted when explaining his theories, despite the alarming shade of red his face was becoming. "So far it seems that your memories are returning based on external stimuli, whether that be Mabel's scrapbook or our own prompting."

"So, wait, you're saying I won't get all my memories back?"

"No! No that's not what I'm saying," Ford held up his hands. "What I'm saying is we can't expect them all to come back at once. And at the risk of turning the Shack into the set of the Johnny Carson show, we'll keep asking you questions."

Stan frowned. "What if I don't wanna remember my brother smooching some babe?"

Ford turned redder. "You do."

"I do? Geez, I was a perv."

"In the meantime," Ford pressed. "It's important to take note of any stimulus you experience that makes you remember something. Even if it doesn't paint the whole picture for you, we can fill in the blanks. Or prompt you to remember more details."

Dipper grinned. "And then we get to learn more about the secrets you've been hiding, old man."

Stan lifted his hand to give Dipper a well-earned noogie, but paused before he could make contact. "Old man...did you...did you tell me to shut up one time and then punched me?"

Dipper balked. "What? No I - "

"YEAH no WAY that'd be CRAZY!" Mabel interjected a bit too loudly. "Anyway let's get back to that kissing story, huh?"

"Actually Mabel, I don't know if I want to hear about Great Uncle Ford kissing anybody either."

"Oh come on, Dipper. Are you jealous that The Author got someone to kiss him and you didn't?"

"What? No!"

"Some girls like nerds."

"Mabel I don't want to think about anybody in this room kissing anybody."

"You could learn from him Dipper! Figure out how to wield your nerdish charms. Soon you'll be like a kissing machine!"

"MABEL -"

The twins were silenced by a sudden gasp from Stan. His eyes were wide and unfocused, his jaw hanging open as if someone had knocked the wind out of him.

"Holy - " he choked out softly.

"Grunkle Stan?" Dipper sat up fully. "Are you okay?"

Stan didn't acknowledge him, eyes darting around minutely.

"Grunkle Stan?" Mabel asked softly. "Did you remember something?" Moisture had begun to gather in the corners of Stan's eyes, one of his hands covering his mouth as he began to shake.

"Great Uncle Ford?" Dipper turned to Ford, worry stitching his brows together. But Ford didn't look worried. If anything, he looked like he wanted to disappear through the floor. His face was an alarming shade of red, nearly identical to his sweater. Stan let out another choked sound.

"Are you..." Mabel trailed off. "Grunkle Stan are you laughing?" He was quaking now, his hand falling from his mouth to reveal a wide, open-mouthed smile. He began slapping the arm rest with his free hand, eyes squeezed shut and tears rolling down his cheeks. Dipper and Mabel shared a look. Sure, they'd seen Stan laugh before, but it was usually a loud guffawing thing. They'd never seen him like this. They shared a tentative smile. Either this was the hardest they'd seen him laugh, or he had really snapped.

Ford seemed to pick up on their worry. "He's fine," Ford offered. "He's just...remembering my first kiss." At Ford's words, Stan let out a loud cackle, burying his face in his hands.

Mabel cocked her head. "But what's so funny about -"

"You children must be exhausted," Ford blurted out, standing abruptly. "Come now, go wash up then head to bed!"

"Oh no you don't!" Stan shouted. He wiped tears from his eyes, still smiling. "You're not getting out of this one, pal!"

"Stanley, this conversation is hardly appropriate for children -"

"You brought it up!"

"And now I'm putting a stop to it."

Stan grabbed his head. "Ooooo ow," he gave an exaggerated groan. "My poor head. The mean man won't let me share my memories so they're all going away!"

"Stanley, please don't joke about that."

"I'm fading away - "

"Stanley."

Stan crossed his arms. "You know, you really know how to take the fun out of amnesia."

"Yeah! Come on Grunkle Ford," Mabel pouted. "You can't just leave us hanging!"

"Yeah!" Dipper joined in. "If it's a funny story I want to hear it."

Ford spluttered, pulling at the sleeves of his sweater and looking around for an exit.

"Come on, Sixer," Stan chimed in. His eyes had gone soft around the edges. "I think the kids deserve a funny story."

After today went unspoken. Ford met Stanley's gaze, already feeling his resolve melting before he even turned to his grand-niece and nephew's inquisitive smiles.

"Alright," Ford conceded. "But to maintain the integrity of the exercise, Stanley will be the one to tell it. Whatever he doesn't remember, I can fill in."

Stan rubbed his hands together. "Oh boy, this'll be good."

"I regret this already."

"It's alright Great Uncle Ford," Dipper patted his shoulder. "We have a whole summer's worth of stuff we get to make fun of Grunkle Stan for. This just gives us stuff to use against you now. Levels the playing field."

Ford frowned. "Is that meant to be comforting?"

Dipper shrugged.

"Alright you two, enough yapping." Stan grinned, leaning forward in his seat and spreading his hands out in front of him. It was the same way he started his campfire tales. Mabel and Dipper met each other's eyes and smiled.

"Once upon a time, there was a beautiful girl named Kiss-Bot..."

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

literally shaking, convulsing, after reading your work, oh my goodness. my favourite is your metal arm drabble, your miiiiiiind—literally blacking out as we speak, send help, immediately. now, i had a thought:

bucky with a pillow princess, but like, kind of laying her down as a pillow princess, he just wants to make her feel good, because i know this man eats pussy like his life depends on it, like it’s so vital, he’s totally addicted.

i hope you’re doing well, please take care of yourself. and i hope this ask isn’t obnoxiously long; i did get carried away here. only because you’re the bestest!

I loved writing that drabble so much and I'm so happy you liked it!! I'm sorry for being gone and taking my time to answer your asks, but I do have a lot to say about this...

You felt a certain pressure to service Bucky. Not because of anything he did, he never made you feel pressured with anything. But after everything he’s been through and being so emotionally and intimately neglected, you wanted to show him the other side of it. You wanted him to lie back and go cross-eyed with pleasure. You wanted him hissing and groaning and whining for more. You just love it when his face contorts and relaxes violently as if unable to choose between pleasure and relaxation. Selfishly, you fucking love that.

But Bucky doesn’t really understand how you think pleasuring you doesn’t give him nearly as much pleasure, if not more. When he pulls at his own cock, he imagines you coming around it and squeezing his come from him, he imagines grinding into the mattress with his face buried between your thighs, he imagines his other hand knuckle deep inside of you until you drool. Bucky’s fantasy is always of your pleasure. Specifically, the pleasure induced by him.

He likes that you put up a fight, however. Bashfully slapping or shoving him away, writhing in the sheets as he positions you in a way that he knows is comfortable for you. He’ll be firm and gentle, pretending like it isn’t the easiest thing in the world to manhandle you. He likes spreading a wide hand over your belly to keep you down and then… tease.

Kissing, biting, tracing, nudging everywhere but where you need him. With knuckles and lips and fingertips and the tip of his nose. Nipping with his teeth as he watches you clench around nothing and until slick drips down between your legs. That is when you become pliant like he wants you.

Oh, he loves eating pussy, but he enjoys it so much when you just… take him.

“That’s it,” he’ll murmur and nudge his nose over your clit, making you shudder. “Just how I like it. Let me have my way with you for a little while…”

You can only whimper, knowing the only way to get what you want – what he made you want – is to take everything he gives you. Allow him to enjoy eating your pussy more than you enjoy having your pussy eaten. And then, you feel his tongue. Sliding through your slick and curling around your clit, before the small nub gets sucked between his perfect lips until the nerve endings swell with need.

Oh shit–

“Good girl,” he whispers and wraps his entire mouth around you, groaning into your folds as his arms wrap around your thighs and pull you up to his mouth further.

He once had you like this under a table at a deserted restaurant, where you tried to push his head away and fought for your life to keep some modesty about you. He enjoyed that too, but–

The low moan that leaves you on a sigh has Bucky pressing his hips into the mattress with a choked grunt. His ministrations sound so wet and filthy, it spurs him on even more. His tongue slips and his lips tingle with something like adrenaline to push you further. Your flesh dips where his fingers grip you and he groans at that, too.

He’s not sure if the heavy breaths he hears are yours or his, doesn’t know if your hands in his hair pull him closer or push him away. He chooses to believe you pull him closer– and he doubles his efforts, making you gasp with a high-pitched whine. Oh, you are heaven on his tongue…

And then, you say something that has Bucky smirk wolfishly.

“More.”

He peers up, marvelling at your heaving chest, your swollen lips and glowing skin. He makes an inquisitive noise and knows you’re fully in tune with him when you repeat yourself on the last of your oxygen.

So his finger breaches your entrance and you sigh in delight, clenching around the digit gratefully. You sink down into him and Bucky’s heart swells, his brain shutting off. He’s not going to feel sated with just one orgasm. He needs all of them. He wants you begging for more, yet unable to do so. He wants to burst with all the things he wants from you.

His eyes flick towards the clock on the nightstand and he smiles at himself. 7am. That is plenty of time. Plenty of time to make you soak the sheets, move you to the couch, eat you there while he washes the sheets, and then move you back to the bed where he will worship you until you’ve lost a day to laying in the pillows and taking him.

Your moans raise in pitch, breaths coming to you with more difficulty. He slides another finger in to add to his first, skating over that spongey spot and causing your thighs to tremble.

“Right there, huh?” he mumbles and presses soft kisses to your clit as his fingers explore inside of you. “You going to come for me? I want you on my tongue, okay? I want you to come right on my tongue so I can lick you up. Let me lick you up, baby. Let me taste your come.”

He doesn’t know where the filthy words come from, but the contortion in your face tells him you’re exactly on the same wavelength as him, and it drives him insane to know how much you love the idea of him drinking you up as you come for him.

His nose circles your clit as his tongue settles right along his fingers. “Good job, sweetheart. Come. Right now.”

[fisheito]

They turned my boy into Gary...

tbh it was kind of liberating because if the devs themselves can fall to the ol' gary keytrap, then i, too, can sometimes let my mortal follicles flow downward, and allow myself to lettersmash about gary and/or kary in my accidental overenthusiasm

[mewkwota]

Kid Ica- sorry, Pit.

Oh neat. Finally we end this long session with this sweet boy. :>

Send Me a Character

And I will tell you my:

First impression I am one of the millions of people who only knew Pit from Smash. When Brawl's reveal trailer showed its face on Youtube, I recognized every single character. Every single one. Including Snake, especially Snake. But when I saw this kid I thought he was Roy for a second because of the sunset lighting on the Halberd. It took me a couple of seconds to register the name that popped up as someone I briefly saw in Melee. I think Mr. Sakurai knew what he was doing here.

Pit is, like, one of my most favorite characters. His design and character hit about all the right spots for me on my mental checklist. I had a huge thing for angels has a cringy tween, plus he had brown hair in this look which I preferred more, and the outfit certainly does say "this one can kick butt". Also ooh that weapon, how versatile!

But yeah, it was bad. I had an OC who I paired with Pit. And also who wouldn't wanna try on that look (I never did, but the wings would do, and the many times I'd spin sticks like he did his bow, bwaghh).

Even with all that, there was so little to him. I'd scrape around the Internet looking for whatever I could about the kid. And that's where I learned what Captain N was. So you can thank/blame Pit for getting me into Castlevania and (even more into Classic) Mega Man.

With whatever I could gather, along with Uprising's release, I had a reasonable idea as to who Pit was. He's cheery, adorable, and selfless. And I feel some of the other layers to his character that I've picked up also stem from his background as an overlooked retro character. I've discussed this aspect in a comic between him and Sora's addition to Smash. I can tell Mr. Sakurai wanted to give Pit something he didn't quite have, and I chose to translate this as the kiddo having quite the journey in making himself known. Very little by little, until that point in Smash where we know him now.

I'm not surprised if people also saw this like an "ugly swan" path.

Impression now I may be focusing more on his friends now, but Pit holds a very-very special place in my heart. Especially now that Uprising is a thing, and I have actually grown a li~ttle sour towards it.

I know some of the humor in that game can be itty witty silly banter, but sometimes the jokes at Pit's expense can get a little, uhh, old. I get it, he's a brainless chicken who only thinks about food whatever.

It isn't like he can't be a competent character and still be silly, but sometimes the general fanbase can conflate one side. A lot. Because it's funny, sure I understand. Even I like to give Pit his silly moments, but I'd hope it's seen as him being allowed to let loose with his friends, who don't see him as someone lesser-- despite being very prolific representatives in their homelands.

This part of Pit is such an interesting thing to explore. Pit is the captain of a goddess' army. I don't think it matters the size of the army themselves, as everything is dependent on the decisions of their leader. And he's quite skilled with a variety of weapons now that Uprising has implemented that to his person.

There are so many impressive little things that Pit can call his own, but then why would he still feel inferior. Maybe it's because that's how he grew up. I can see it in the context of his place as a random retro character, but also as "that tiny angel who can't fly". (And maybe also the near-constant belittling he gets from the ones above). So as much as he's shown to be so positive, there are definitely moments where those weaknesses are seen or implied.

Long story short, it's the little things here-n-there that I like about him. It also makes for interesting prompts to write about.

Favorite moment Am I able to pick one? Uhh, Pit randomly singing at the start of that one chapter is always gonna be cute. He does a lot of cute things. ^^;

Idea for a story Something about Pit and Rock's relationship in Captain N clicks with me. On the outside it doesn't seem like much aside from "the two little kids hanging around each other", but perhaps that's just me picking at the words they say while mixing in the biases I already have. As a result, I see it that Rock follows after Pit in everything, but Pit also views Rock highly. They both found something in each other.

See this super ancient comic about it here.

One comic I had simmering for decades was looking at the between the two's connection after the events of Captain N and reuniting in Smash 4. It would have been in Pit's perspective and done through several letters-- that he needed help writing.

Unpopular opinion I don't know what is unpopular.

I'm not a part of the KI fandom. I am a part of the Pit fandom, wah.

Favorite relationship *Shoves Captain N in your face once again*

Favorite headcanon Pit is concerningly humble. He has a lot of little talents up his sleeve, a lot of which were picked up with the various part-time things he'd volunteer to do, but he doesn't really make a big deal of them. Some were simply picked up from the duties he was expected to do, or of course, they're just things he can do (so why is that really important).

[baneonono]

aziracrowifying from eden by hozier: the master post

I know that everyone azirocrows from eden because duh but stay with me okay. because I think there's a cool interpretation that isn't so much about crowley longing for aza(there's still plenty of longing) it's more about crowley seeing himself and his situation in aza/aza's situation and reflecting on his fall/situation and how that is reflected in aza's. basically cool parrallels and crowley hating the system and loving aziraphale. let's go lyric by lyric shall we

Babe There's something tragic about you Something so magic about you Don't you agree?

pretty basic stuff here. I think crowley see aziraphale as uniquely moral, just the epitome of everything right and good. now crowley has magic for all intents and purposes, but aziraphale he is true magic, the strength of aza's morals is something he can barely comprehend to the extent that it becomes magical. especially in the context of heaven, a heaven that doesn't share aziraphale's moral fiber. and even in the context of that aziraphale manages to be so good. he thinks it's so magical. and he equally thinks it's tragic because aziraphale should be the standard for good, aziraphale is the only real good thing and he has to exist in heaven. and the don't you agree, in the plot of the song, I like to imagine this being the early stages of crowley appealing to aziraphale to be friends. he asks aza if they can be agreed on his assessment of aziraphale's relationship with heaven.

Babe There's something lonesome about you Something so wholesome about you Get closer to me

as time goes marching forward and aziraphale finds that he does agree with crowley, crowley gets to discover so much more about aza. he discovers how lonely aziraphale is in heaven and he discovers how obscenely adorable aza is(just crowley falling in love with aziraphale and his magic and his books and his food and and and). Crowley finds himself urging aziraphale closer. for a few moments even he can't tell what his intentions are. does he just want aza to be less lonely? does he want to tempt aza toward evil? does he want to purify himself? does he just want to be less lonely? does he just want to be closer to aziraphale? perhaps it's a little bit of all of them. regardless his surprise when aziraphale does get closer to him and he gets to discover even more about him is pleasant but still strong

No tired sighs, no rolling eyes, no irony No 'who cares', no vacant stares, no time for me

crowley has seen so many tired sighs, rolling eyes, and examples of irony from heaven. but the closer he gets to aza, the more he discovers that aziraphale distinctly lacks them. those gabriel qualities that are holy in heaven, aza entirely rejects. but that doesn't mean he has qualities of the other side. the 'who care' nature of demons, the vacant stares he gets constantly down below, the time that beelzebub will make for crowley's nonsense. all of these things, aziraphale doesn't have. he cares so much, he only ever looks at things intently, and crowley has to be on his best behaviour around aziraphale or he gets really disappointed. crowley is falling so far in love with this angel. because aziraphale isn't a side, aziraphale defies sides and is so good. crowley can't stay away.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

what crowley finds truly remarkable about this angel that the more he knows, the more his life becomes better. because the angel is so familiar, a version of himself that he had once wanted to be, a view in the mirror thousands of years prior. crowley isn't that person anymore. his idealism is now imprisoned in this demon body where it can't be expressed. the chivalry he wants to act upon for aziraphale, it's fallen, fallen on it's own sword. his innocence died screaming all the way down to the basement. but this angel that can express the idealism, that can be chivalrous, that maintains innocence in the face of everything, he feels familiar to crowley because at some point thats where crowley thought he would be, that's the reflection he had hoped to see in the mirror. so now he slithers all the way from Eden, just to sit outside aza's door and pretend that the window he peeks through is a mirror.

Babe There's something wretched about this Something so precious about this Where to begin?

this relationship their forging, that they each fight for everyday in tiny ways, they see it in different ways. aziraphale views it as something so precious, something that he would rearrange the cosmos for. and while crowley also loves and values the relationship, he would firstly describe it as wretched. he's a demon after all, he's down with the wretched. aziraphale doesn't see it that way and trying to explain it to him is always a struggle. when crowley attempts he doesn't even know where to even begin (((author brainrot interjection: IT BEGINS AS IT WILL END IN A GARDEN anyways back to out regularly scheduled programming)))

Babe There's something broken about this But I might be hoping about this Oh, what a sin

he begins before his fall, back when he still had idealism and chivalry and innocence. he knew even then that something was broken with this system, he had questions about it, he had suggestions. and more importantly, he had hope. he had hope that people would answer his questions, they would listen to his suggestions, they would understand where he was coming from, they would want the same thing that he did for the system, to make it better. but to suggest or ask a question that said the system is broken, that was a sin.

To the strand a picnic plan for you and me A rope in hand for your other man to hang from a tree

for the angels who didn't have questions, god would have picnics and all good things. but for god's other men like crowley who had questions, god handed them the rope to hang themselves and make their way downstairs.

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to sit outside your door

so yes, aziraphale is familiar, aziraphale feels like that angel that crowley almost was. and as he sees this idealism imprisoned in heaven, as he watches the other angels pushing aziraphale onto his own sword like a vampire on a stake, and bears witness to this pure good being ostracized by the people who are supposed to be the good ones, he kills the last bits of innocence in his soul, he loses any hope he had for the system, he burns it all to the ground, he leaves eden, he just slithers to aziraphale's door and sits there

Honey, you're familiar like my mirror years ago Idealism sits in prison, chivalry fell on its sword Innocence died screaming, honey, ask me I should know I slithered here from Eden just to hide outside your door

bonus aziraphale pov: as stupid as it sounds, aziraphale also sees himself in crowley. crowley is idealistic and chivalrous and though crowley never sees it, aziraphale loves the innocent parts of crowley. the way crowley takes care of his plants, the way his car is so important to him, the way his appearance takes up a significant part of his brain. aziraphale has lost care for the system as time went on. the innocent urge to make sure people are seeing what they wish to see, he left that behind a while ago. now all he has is the selfish want to do good. because aziraphale doesn't do good for other people, he does it singularly for himself because he makes him feel good. when he sees crowley, who cares so deeply about right and wrong as ideals, he sees a part of him in the past. the part of him that had tried so hard to be the angel god wanted him to be. so aziraphale sees crowley's idealism imprisoned in this demonic form because the system didn't let him express it. he sees a system that pushed crowley onto his own sword. he looks at crowley and he still sees that childlike innocence in his faith in objective good that's separate from god. that innocence that aza once had died screaming a long time ago. when aziraphale goes to see crowley, he feels a little bit like he's slithering, that he's really the snake coming from eden to tempt crowley so he hides outside crowley's door.

[laugtherhyena]

Happy "-2+2 chapter 25 drops today" day! Since i proofread this one so suddently i don't actually have any chapter art to go with it, so have some ooc spoilers for some upcoming moments in no particular order :]

[ghnosis]

*rips bong* (this is my bong in case you're curious)

so some of you have asked me, over the course of the 80-someodd interviews I have so far conducted, why I am doing my PhD on Ghost.

tonight a participant asked me in a manner that sort of finally clicked for me - because I assume all of you live inside my head with me and know why I do everything.

Rose, why are you doing your PhD on Ghost fandom?

when I was 12, American Idiot by Green Day came out. I lost my mind immediately. Green Day were my first hyperfixation. I promise if you ask about "Green Day Girl" to people I went to high school with, they would remember me. not only did Green Day teach me about the Iraq War, and American progressive politics in general, they also taught me, a bullied and weird child, what it meant not to give a shit. someone thinks I'm wrong/bad/inferior? cool! I don't fucking care. "now everybody do the propaganda," etc.

if I kept talking about everything I learned from Green Day, we'd be here all night. but. Green Day *also* taught me that music didn't have to sound like pop, or like country. that music could be written because someone felt something. that music could be used to express rage, a thing I felt in spades.

so from Green Day, my door is blown wide the fuck open and I get to learn about Dead Kennedys, about David Bowie, about Nirvana.

the other thing I know I love, back then in 2004, is learning. and teaching.

fast forward 15ish years, give or take (or pack me a second bowl and I'll tell you the middle), and I'm looking, halfheartedly and in a bummed-out manner, for a PhD program. I have my master's, I didn't like the experience, but I want that Dr. I've been presenting at conferences and doing some piddly academic writing on video games and the use of games in education, and I'm on a listserv for other people writing about games. I get an email from someone at Falmouth University about a PhD program there in "Dark Economies." who's listed on the email? none other than Tanya Fucking Krzywinska, my number one academic girl crush (in my subject area. my actual number one is a historian)!!!!!!

so I read this email and it's talking about the intersection of the occult, video games, and heavy metal. as I said, I've been writing about video games. one of the things I'd been writing about was a certain thing that happened in that industry ooooh, 14 years ago now. something in my brain slots into place.

the occult: I know what that is. occult rock, certainly. I maybe could squeeze in some punk or pop punk. the goffik. we got some MCR.

heavy metal. well, I'm a punk girl through and through, but I used to date that guy in the metal band and have seen Slayer et al multiple times live. sure. I can occupy that world. wait a minute. Ghost.

video games. the thing I'd been writing about, specifically the mistreatment of anyone who wasn't a cis guy. you know what that sounds a lot like? sounds a lot like going to metal shows with my ex. WAIT A FUCKING MINUTE. GHOST??? on TUNGLE DOT HELL???

so I log my ass back on to this website and I look at you, at all of you beautiful people I'd been reblogging ass wobbling gifs with for years, and I said "oh my god. are they me? is whatever is going on in there just a bunch of me's, except it's Ghost not Green Day?

are all of you finding the most beautiful thing there is to find, namely, empowerment and freedom, in the goofy Satan band music band? was it the heaviest thing you had heretofore encountered? did it crack open a yawning chasm in your soul? were you hurting in ways you didn't know how to articulate? are you learning what it means to take up space, to demand rights for yourself and for others, to truly let your fucking freak flags fly? are you feeling the stirring in your heart that only comes from religion (read: witchcraft) or from seeing the most important band in the fucking world live, in the flesh, singing TO YOU, sweating FOR YOU? if you are, I think we are fucking important and vital. I think that we can tell our stories and make a bunch of other weird little girls realise that they, too, have rights - including to transition.

cos immediately in doing this research I found out - you're also NOT me, in some really important and specific ways. maybe being AFAB in the US isn't part of it. maybe it's bigger than that. and I feel so lucky, so truly fucking blessed and lucky, to have gotten to speak to over eighty of you beautiful people, to have been trusted with your stories. to learn what makes YOU ache in your soul and how it is different to but also the same as mine. I have to stop now I'm gonna cry!!!!