#i still post about MOST prior fixations though.

[skiddlecat]

mortifying ordeal of being Known going on rn

[unlimitedgolden]

@heropartnerweek - Day Seven: Free Day

With hero + partner week coming to a close I wanted to just share the stuff that I had made in preparation for most of the posts!! So here’s the original reference sheet I had sketched up featuring the Shinx, Iferous (Riolu) and Aegis (Eevee), the day prior to its start! I used this mostly for colours, though. Now, onto the sketches!

And that last one is actually a scrapped thing! Yes, originally the Shinx (who I still havent named) was gonna run a lil shop. Now if you’ve made it this far you might be wondering: Golden, what the hell is the story behind all this? And I might as well spill the beans in a big heartfelt post.

Last year, hero + partner week was just. Amazing. I loved it so much and it brought me such joy to be fixating on PMD years. I was introduced to an amazing community, amazing people. and seeing peoples comments on my work really would bring a tear to my eye. seriously. I was so emotional.

And thought I’m not fixated on it much as now, I still love the characters I made. Anyway, I wanted to make a story sorta based on an old myth about you having the face of your previous lover. Or at least the face of the person you loved most. This brought me to the idea of “What if Golding (My Shinx from last year) was just,, forever stuck in a loop of saving the world. But their partners never remembered” 

and that’s how we got here. Golding reincarnated into Iferous, a riolu just like their partner before them. And no doubt it’ll happen again, but then they’ll be an Eevee. And so on, and so forth. BUT YEAH!! THATS EVERYTHING !! THANK YOU FOR AN AMAZING WEEK !! 

[honkytonk-hangman]

Afterburn – Crosswinds

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x OC/Reader

Masterlist

OC/Reader's name is Teddy/callsign 'Kodiak'

Summary: You liked him when he was like this. You liked him all the time, but especially when he gave up on trying to get the upper hand in the conversation, and just let things be. When he was a little less Hangman and a little more Jake.

Warnings: mentions of aviation crash, mostly just hangman being a simp. smoking?

Notes: Dagger Squad took one look at Teddy and Phoenix was already printing out the adoption papers lmao. this is set post TGM, and Mav has taken up an instructing position.

Masterlist

A loud burst of buoyant laughter greets your ears, the noise out of place in the otherwise quiet administrative corridor, but not totally unwelcome. You have to suppress a smile and a roll of your eyes as you tuck a stack of papers under your arm and push open the door to what you imagine is the only currently occupied room in this part of campus.

Your arrival into your own office barely grants a pause in the ongoing conversations, though several out of the seven aviators lounging about throw you a wave or a quick greeting.

Hangman, who doesn’t appear to acknowledge your presence at all, sits in the visitor chair directly opposite your workstation, with his feet nonchalantly kicked up on your desk, one of your little model jets turning in his hands. You shove his feet off as you pass and pointedly ignore the tiny twitch of his lips that threatens to break into a full-on smirk any moment. Instead, you lean in and snatch back your model F-22 Raptor, before rounding the side of the tabletop, and falling into your chair.

Hangman’s hands stay suspended in place for a few moments, but he drops them a beat later, his eyes fixated on you in taunting amusement as you return your prized desk bauble to its proper position.

This time, you ignore him, tapping your login credentials into your computer, and shuffling the papers from under your arm to the surface in front of you. Out of the corner of your eye you spot Hangman’s fingers reaching out for something else, a pen or another of your model jets most likely, and the flash of surprise that flickers across his face when you sharply slap his knuckles away is almost enough for you to mirror the self-satisfied smirk he’d been wearing only moments prior.

“I know you’re capable of looking with your eyes, Hangman, considering you like to stare so much,” you tease, using the same voice that you might with a naughty child. The man across from you relents with suspiciously little bitching, and leans back in his seat, fingers laced together.

“You know Teddy Bear, I’ve been told that women like eye contact,” Hangman’s smile only grows when you fix him with an unamused look.

“And just like everything else, Hangman, you take that too far,” Phoenix scoffs from the scant seating area right behind him, where she sits facing you with Rooster and Bob.

The green eyes still boring into yours suddenly gain a challenging glint, and he opens his mouth, turning in his seat to respond, but you cut him off.

“Now, now, children…” you say scoldingly, earning an annoyed frown from Hangman, and a shrug from Phoenix.

You go back to updating your records, and for a while the tapping of your keyboard undercuts the soft conversation that fills your office, and you happily listen to the aviators discussing today’s training. It was pleasant to have the company, as much as you pretended to be exasperated with certain people, not-so-deep down you were more than alright with the Civilian Instructors’ Staff Room becoming the new hangout for the group.

It had started several weeks back now, with Phoenix and Bob visiting you on your lunch hour. The next day they brought Fanboy and Payback, who the day after that, had convinced Rooster to come along, and naturally there was no way that Rooster would be invited to any social gathering that Hangman was excluded from, so he and Coyote had tagged along too.

Now it wasn’t just your lunch breaks that had your office full of pilots, since it was plainly obvious that you were the only current civilian instructor on base, they had started using the office as their own lay-room in place of the one used by the rest of the pilots. Coyote had made up the excuse last week that the usual rec room had too many younger aviators in it, and this week it was because you were apparently closer to the hangar. With every new excuse, you’d simply let out a huff and roll your eyes with a knowing smile.

The first time you’d actually been forced to interrogate the how’s or whys had been a week ago, after Maverick had spent the best part of an hour searching for his group and had eventually come looking for you to ask if you’d seen them. He’d found your office filled with his rowdy squad of aviators having an intense argument, split down the middle over Kong vs Godzilla. After declaring Godzilla would be the winner hands down, Mav had ordered them all out.

A bemused smile plays on Maverick’s lips, and he shakes his head. One of his hands holds open your office door, and the other ushers out his squad of aviators, all wearing matching looks of sheepishness at having been discovered.

Once the last pilot has filtered out, the older man turns to look back at you, his handsome features pulled into a concerned, almost fatherly grimace. It was an expression that you’d become rather used to since you’d begun working together.

“Teddy…” Mav begins, and he almost sounds exasperated, before he pauses, and softens his tone. “I should tell them not to bother you,” he says, but you can hear the subtle question beneath the statement. He sounds sympathetic and gentle in just about the only manner that doesn’t automatically make you retch these days.

Your eyes dip down to your hands on your desk, and you spin your pen skilfully around your pointer, ring, and third fingers. It was a trick you had picked up several years ago, confined to a hospital bed and with nothing else to occupy your mind.

When you look back up, you see Mav eying your movements, his lips pulling down in the corners. He knew as well as you did by now that it was an anxious habit.

“I don’t mind. Really, having them around is nice… everyone around here treats me like I’m made of glass, it’s nice to just… have friends,” you purse your lips and drop your pen, before reaching out and straightening the model jet that a certain pilot had been playing with earlier. Another nervous tick that doesn’t go unnoticed.

You didn’t talk about this subject with many people, if anyone, but since being introduced to Captain Pete ‘Maverick’ Mitchell, you’d discovered the man’s earnest, ironically down-to-earth kindness was good at weeding the truth out of those around him.

“I think…” Mav starts but trails off, looking out into the hall quickly, and then stepping further into your office, letting the door close behind him before he continues. “I think they know that if things were different, you would have been recalled alongside them. They respect you for that,” he tells you softly.

You were never one for bragging, but you can’t deny that he was probably right. Still, you scoff out a small laugh and cross your arms over your chest.

“I think they’re just teacher’s pets,” you try to brush off his praise.

Maverick only shoves his hands in his pockets with a fond smile and shrugs.

“I’m just saying, they treat you like one of their own for a reason,” his face turns more serious then, and he drops his chin slightly. “But I understand if having them around all the time brings up some difficult feelings. Just say the word and…” he trails off again, just as someone calls for him out in the corridor.

You shake your head definitively then and smile softly, but genuinely. You were thankful that he’d even thought about that angle at all. To be honest, you were thankful in general for the oddball friendship the two of you had struck up while working together.

“Really, Mav, it’s fine. They won’t be able to sit around here forever, so it’s nice to have them back for as long as I can,” you pick up your pen again, and spin it mindlessly in your fingers. Neither of you point out that you didn’t even know half of the detachment before they’d been recalled to Miramar for their most recent assignment. You couldn’t really describe it as ‘having them back’, but you know he gets what you mean.

Maverick watches you closely for several more seconds, his eyes dropping to your spinning pen, then back to your face.

“Do me a favour while you’re up there, Cap?” you ask, leaning forward on your desk. Mav straightens up some and cocks his head.

“Shoot down everyone who argued for Kong,” you tease with a grin, and receive a laugh and a lazy salute in reply before you’re left completely alone once more.

You brush the memory aside, another train of thought crossing your mind.

You flick your eyes to Hangman’s neatly pressed tan uniform, and then to your watch for the time. Doing your best to sound nonchalant, you clear your throat, but don’t look away from your work.

“What are you guys still doing here?” you ask, referring to the late afternoon time, and the fact they’d clearly already run simulations this morning. Their duties for the day would have been finished at least an hour ago, giving them time to shower and change into their khakis.

“We’re headed to the Hard Deck after clock-off,” Coyote says, picking up an abandoned stress ball left behind on one of the desks and tosses it across the room where Phoenix easily catches it with one hand, before quickly offloading it to Rooster, who pitches it to Payback.

“You should’ve already clocked off by my count,” you say quietly, trying to sound more than only half-focused on your work.

“You’ve still got an hour,” Rooster tells you unnecessarily. You were aware now of what they were waiting for, and despite yourself, your heart grows warm.

“You know I can always just meet you there,” you say after clearing your throat once more.

“And give you the chance to skip out on shots again, Teddy Bear?” Hangman cuts in, somehow managing the feat of smirking and pouting at the same time.

“You know I don’t drink, right?” you cock your head at him with a squint, but he only shrugs.

For a moment your eyes linger on his mouth as he flicks a toothpick between his lips and tongue, having produced it from somewhere when you weren’t looking. When you lift your gaze again, he lets you know he’d spotted your shift in focus with a taunting lift of his brows, his smirk growing to near Cheshire proportions. You can only shake your head good-naturedly at his antics.

“Well, we figured we’d all just head on over together when you got done,” Coyote says, drawing your attention. You open your mouth to protest once more, not wanting them to feel obligated to stick around just for you, but you’re cut off by Phoenix.

“You get to dunk on any greens today?” she asks, a smile playing on her lips. Her question successfully distracts you and you drag your eyes away from Coyote with a matching smile and a scoff.

“There’s always one or two in a new class,” you roll your eyes.

“Do they not get that you have a pretty big say in whether or not they get their certification?” Phoenix asks rhetorically. You just shrug and absently start spinning your pen between your fingers.

“Well, if they don’t, they learn quickly or they learn the hard way,” you reply. It wasn’t in your nature to grandstand or call people out, especially in front of their peers, but you also weren’t going to allow some snot-nosed pilot to walk all over you. They tended to straighten up and shut their mouths once Warlock or Cyclone himself had a word or two with them.

The conversation easily flows on after that, and you occupy the rest of your afternoon finishing up a few tasks you needed to get done for Monday, chipping in with a comment here or there.

Your F-22 somehow finds its way back into Hangman’s clutches while you’re distracted, but this time there’s an almost child-like curiosity to him as he inspects the model exhaustively, and you find that you don’t have the heart to take it off him again.

When five o’clock ticks around at last, you pack up your desk and note with fond amusement that your model is promptly returned to the exact position you liked. Once you’ve grabbed your coat and bag, you allow yourself to be whisked away.

***

It never seemed to matter what day of the week it was, the Hard Deck was consistently busy. You suppose it helps to have the Naval base so close by, which was like having built-in regulars, as well as a stream of constant new faces.

You can still remember vividly the first time you stepped foot inside the bar, almost eight years ago now, still fresh-faced, a little wet behind the ears, and filled with the sort of energy only a twenty-two-year-old hot-shot Naval Aviator can possess. Back then you hadn’t really spent all that much time off North Island, but ever since Dagger squad had been around, you’d found yourself happy to be regularly crammed into one of the many small booths.

The sound of pool balls bouncing off one another cracks sharply and draws you back into the present. You throw a cursory glance toward the ongoing pool game, your lip quirking at the intensely competitive expressions on everyone’s faces. At this point in the night, they were all taking the game seriously still, but you know that later it would descend into thinly veiled duels over who could sink the coolest trick shot– or more entertainingly– making up some weird ‘dogfight’ version of the rules that would have generally have onlookers baffled.

Bob steps into sight then, briefly blocking your view of the game as he places two sodas down on the table between you, before somehow folding his not insignificant height into the booth opposite you. You watch fondly as he ducks forward to sweep back some hair that had uncharacteristically fallen into his eyes, looking almost like someone had ruffled it.

“Thanks!” you pull your drink towards you and take a sip, relishing in the ice-cold fizz that almost burns on its way down your throat.

“Penny said they’re on her,” he tells you, his mussed-up hair making sense now. You turn quickly to find Penny in her usual spot behind the bar, and even as she busily works to serve orders, you catch her eye, and send her a thankful wave. You hadn’t fully figured out why Penny never seemed to charge you or Bob for your drinks, but you were grateful regardless.

“So… opinions on the Spitfire and the Mustang?” you ask, watching the way Bob’s eyes light up behind his oversized glasses.

“The fuel capabilities and combat range of the Mustang outclass Spitfires by a mile,” Bob tells you, leaning forward and clasping his hands together on the table in front of him.

“But I’d be lying if I said that the Spitfire wasn’t my favourite,” he tells you almost giddily, and his smile is contagious.

“I mean, it just looks so cool!” you exclaim in agreement, glad that you were on the same page. Bob’s nose scrunches sweetly as he takes a drink from his glass, nodding all the while.

“I’m going to work on the Mk 24 this weekend,” you tell him a moment later. “The curator at the museum of Naval Aviation is letting me backstage this weekend, so I can take some reference photos of the paintjob,” you had to admit you were rather excited about the whole thing, but even still, you speak somewhat quietly, making sure you won’t be overheard.

It was silly, and you don’t really know where it comes from, but you felt shy about your weekend pass time. Maybe it was because it felt like the hobby of an elderly man, but regardless, you’d found a friend in Bob, who had expressed his fondness for miniature model building upon spying the F-22 Raptor you kept on your desk.

Phoenix had blinked between the two of you that first lunchtime they’d spent in your office, as you’d both discussed at length the model series you liked most, as well as preferred painting techniques. Bob didn’t actively build anything himself; he was too convinced he’d become completely obsessed, and in his own words he ‘didn’t need any more obstacles to getting a date’, but he’d let himself get invested in the online community back during his first deployment.

You’re about to ask if he (and likely by extension, Phoenix) would like to come along with you, but a nearby conversation makes you pause.

“Richter told me it’s cause she waited too long to pull her chute, wasn’t enough time for a clear landing,” a male voice says.

“If she was so good, how’d she mess that up?” another voice asks, scoffing back their disbelief.

“Apparently she refused to eject without WSO, but he got knocked out on first impact,” a third voice fills in, sounding far less derisive.

“I heard that she was lucky she even survived long enough for the medics to find them,” the first voice first voice returns, sounding somewhat awed.

“Guess it’s kind of fortunate she saved her WSO then, huh?” the second voice replies.

“’Fortunate’?! You’re joking, right? Kodiak has to be the unluckiest pilot the Navy has ever had!” the third speaker exclaims, a little louder this time, mirth filling his voice now.

“She got shot down right outta TOPGUN, pulled her chute so late she hit the ground hard enough to puncture both her lungs, and then she contracts some infection or whatever the hell else, wrecking her lungs to the point she’s now got goddamn lung disease!” A pause follows his frantic sounding rant, followed by the sound of an emptied beer bottle being fisted down.

“Honestly, I think I’d just have preferred to die in the crash,” the second person says, his tablemates voicing their quick agreement.

You blink at the frank coldness of the statement, and even though you try, you can’t stop yourself from taking a quick look over your shoulder in the direction of where the voices were coming from. You spy a table with three of your current students, which quickly makes you flick your head back around again before they see you.

Their discussion of your accident doesn’t bother you; you’d come to expect it these days. Whenever a new class came through it was all but inevitable that they would gossip to each other about their civilian instructor, more specifically about your unique situation. You couldn’t blame them really; it wasn’t as though they were wrong about you being incredibly unlucky. Frankly, your fragile health condition felt like an utterly sarcastic response from the universe for having the nerve to be young, driven, and extremely promising in your chosen career. Like the outcome of some Wishmaster bargain.

Back when you’d still been able to fly, you had gotten familiar with being the best. You were a damn good pilot, and it was clear to everyone around you from the moment you got in a cockpit. You never let it go to your head though, after all, it wasn’t just pure natural talent. You had worked incredibly hard to make sure you were outdoing yourself every time you got in the air, to make sure that you were constantly punching up, challenging yourself.

You certainly weren’t the youngest pilot to be invited to go to Miramar to get your TOPGUN certification, not by a long shot, but you were the youngest in over thirty years to graduate top of the class.

Putting yourself in your students’ shoes, knowing all of that, coupled with the fact that you would never again be able to fly… Well, it added up to be a perfect kind of tragedy, really. It was a cautionary tale to some, a dramatic fable to others.

As far as you were concerned, you’d made your peace with your conditions a long time ago. There was no point in dwelling on something you had no control over and couldn’t change. You chose instead to focus on what you could have control over, so you took all your potential, all of that raw talent, and channelled it down a new path.

At the end of the day, you were alive, relatively unharmed, and able to work in a field you adored. You couldn’t complain about that.

“Do you… do you want me to say something?” Bob’s voice cuts through your reverie, and you find yourself blinking back at him with wide, puzzled eyes.

“What?” you ask dopily, unsure of what exactly he meant. Your confusion is cleared up a moment later however, when he dips his chin toward the table of your students, his eyes flickering nervously between you and them. Clearly, he had overheard the conversation too.

Your face softens at that, and you shake your head gently.

“No, it’s alright. They aren’t doing anything wrong,” you wave him off, but deep down, you feel touched that Bob, who seemed to despise any kind of one-on-one confrontation, was willing to step in on your behalf. You see him purse his lips uncertainly.

“What happened to me isn’t exactly usual,” you remind him, trying to sound light and airy. “There’s always some talk surrounding it when I get a new class. They’ll get it out of their systems and move on soon enough,” you assure him, and you mean it, however it takes several more seconds of your companion studying your features before his face and posture relax, and he gives you an almost nervous little nod.

You take a sip of your drink and look away to check the current status of the ongoing pool game. A glance tells you that predictably Hangman was in the lead, but not because of the number of balls he’d sunk, but more due to his peacock-like display from the sidelines. You watch as he turns and cocks his head at Phoenix, saying something clearly taunting, his signature infuriating smirk pulled across his features.

You struggle to keep a straight face when behind Hangman’s back, Payback reaches into the nearest basket and retrieves one of the insufferable blonde’s balls and places it back on the table. You make eye contact as he steps innocently away, and you share a look of sworn secrecy. You wonder briefly how long this has been going on for already, but more than that, you wonder how long it’ll take before Hangman notices.

“How’d you save your WSO?” Bob’s question makes you snap your gaze sharply back to his, and you realise he hadn’t looked away from you yet. You stutter for a moment, before blinking away your surprise.

“I… I released the yoke and shook him awake…” you mutter. Sure, you weren’t bothered when others spoke about your accident, but you never discussed it yourself. Bob considers your words carefully, before he lifts his chin slightly, his eyes flickering between yours.

“That’s why your altitude was so low when you ejected,” it isn’t a question, it’s a missing piece of the puzzle, to him at least, and for the first time in your (admittedly short) friendship, you find yourself forced to look away.

In your efforts to look anywhere but at Bob, you accidentally make eye contact with Hangman. He’s bent over the pool table, facing directly towards you, and with no small amount of amusement behind his look, he holds your gaze and blindly takes his shot, expertly sinking the ball without even looking.

You can picture him performing the trick to impress one of the many women that often fawn over him at the Hard Deck, how the display alone would get them hook, line, and sinker.

You, on the other hand, find yourself practically staring through him as you try to banish all further thoughts of your accident from your mind. Unfortunately, your expression mustn’t be as blank as you’d thought it was, because as Hangman straightens once more to his full height, his eyebrows crease together, and his gaze abruptly flickers down, quickly taking note of how stiff and uncomfortable you are.

When he meets your eyes again, his frown has only deepened, and you watch dumbly as he cocks his head questioningly. It occurs to you then, that you don’t think you’ve ever seen him tip his head like that without a hefty helping of mockery to go alongside it. Concern isn’t exactly an emotion you’re used to from Hangman, and you aren’t really sure of how to process it properly. Instead, you tear your eyes away from him entirely, and face Bob again.

You suddenly can’t remember why this conversation had felt so daunting a moment ago.

“Hey, can we talk about something else?” you ask lightly, thankful when your booth buddy nods happily, looking up as you’re joined by Halo, who deposits a bowl of chips on the table, before squeezing in next to Bob.

You ignore looking in Hangman’s direction for the next hour or so. Normally you had all the patience in the world for Hangman’s button pushing, but right now you��re not sure you can muster up the energy to take any of it.

To be honest you found him amusing, though you were well aware that you’d never been on the receiving end of his more overtly malicious jabs, which he seemed to make less of these days anyway. Unlike most of the people around you, especially aviators, Hangman didn’t treat you as though you would break with the lightest of touches. His blatantly flippant and laissez-faire approach to your generally sensitive circumstances was more than welcome.

Still, even you had bad days, and after your questioning earlier, you didn’t really feel like joking right now. If he was really concerned, he could ask you about it later, but you’re almost certain he’ll have forgotten by tomorrow morning.

***

Just like a reflection of the Hard Deck itself, as the night wanes on, your already cramped booth steadily fills up with aviators. The scarred wooden table at the centre is scattered with empty glasses and beer bottles, and the bowl of fries Halo had brought over earlier was long devoured. The pool game had ended some time ago, the polished edges of the table now being used as extra seating, which you know Penny would hate.

You’d found it thankfully easy to put aside the heaviest aspects of your earlier tailspin, checking into the rowdy conversation happily. A few of the younger pilots, not your students, had approached the table earlier, and after they’d left again, to fill another round most likely, you’d found yourself bashfully rolling your eyes and shaking your head as the squad had heckled you over the mooning of the younger men.

It had to be nearing midnight when you at last extract yourself from the sticky seating. The air had become hot and heady now, not just within the space of your booth, but throughout the bar as a whole. It wasn’t too bad, but it did feel thick in your lungs, and you knew it could quickly grow into a large problem for you, may as well refresh yourself now.

Stepping through the door to the empty back deck of the venue, you’re amazed at how much noise the simple wood and glass doors can muffle. The night was dark, but in front of you somewhere, you can hear the lapping of the waves, and you step out closer to the railing, breathing in deeply the sea salt air.

You’re a little ashamed to say you jump at the sound of the back door opening again, the roar inside drowning out the ocean for a few seconds, and you turn back to see Hangman gently closing the door behind him.

He wears an easy expression as his eyes fall on you, and you look away to lean back against the railings as he approaches.

“Everything alright?” The lightness in his voice is easily discernible as put on, but frankly, you’re too surprised by the question to figure out why.

“Huh?” you blink up at him with a frown as he comes to lean against the rail besides you, his back toward the ocean and his arms crossed over his chest. The pose, and his proximity make him seem even larger.

“Earlier, you, uh, you looked all…” he doesn’t finish his sentence, and you note that he also doesn’t mockingly demonstrate however he thought you’d looked. You straight up a little, your frown smoothing out.

“Oh, everything is fine. Bob just… he just asked me something about my crash,” you only decide halfway through your sentence to tell him the truth, and you can tell by the ensuing pause, and the way he flicks his eyes carefully over your face that he hadn’t really been expecting you to tell him.

As if he realises his surprise has been visible, he clears his throat and looks away from you, back toward the doors.

“Huh. Wouldn’ta thought Bobby-Boy had it in him,” he says shifting his stance slightly, still not looking back at you. You can practically hear him thinking.

“Hm, you clearly don’t know him very well,” you say wryly, your smile only growing when his face whips back to yours, an almost mortified look of alarm painted over his features.

“Oh Jesus, Jake, not like that,” you reach out and shove his arm roughly, giving a scoff at his stupid man-brain.

Predictably, your shove doesn’t do too much to dislodge him, but you can at least enjoy the feeling of his hard muscle under your hand for a moment. His alarm is replaced with a derisive sort of disgust, but you can tell it's playful more than anything else.

“Good,” he says flatly, and this time doesn’t look away from you, resuming his regular routine of using his stare as some kind of powerplay. You shake your head even as you glance back to squint out at the ocean, your smile still pulling at your lips involuntarily.

“You’re so insecure,” you tease him, earning a scoff.

“Excuse me?!”

You can see his chest puffing out of the corner of your gaze.

“I take my attention off of you for one second and you’re going nutter-butter and getting all pouty about it,” you chortle, glancing briefly back up at him. Even in the dim outdoor lighting you can see the light pink wash that has coloured his ears.

He’s seemingly only able to glower down at you in response, clearly unimpressed at just how aware you were that you had him wrapped around your finger. He scoffs again, looking away, but doesn’t speak, and your grin widens.

You liked him when he was like this. You liked him all the time, but especially when he gave up on trying to get the upper hand in the conversation, and just let things be. When he was a little less Hangman and a little more Jake. It strikes you, however, that he doesn’t even attempt to argue back, the silence stretching on between you saying more than enough.

You look away and nudge him once more, using your whole shoulder this time, which seems to take him off guard, and he sways lightly at your touch.

“Besides, I only have eyes for one aviator,” you say lightly. Hangman’s shoulders square, and his lips begin to form a familiar Cheshire grin as straightens up to his full height, looking down at you almost haughtily.

“Damn straight,”

“I was talking about Rooster,” you tease, and you’re glad the playfulness has returned, his hand covering his heart as his face twists in faux pain.

“You’re cruel, you know that darlin’?”

You let out a laugh as Hangman stares down at you, the fond look in his eyes only turning sharp and annoyed when the back door opens again, and you both look up to spy an unfamiliar man stepping out of the bar.

He seems oblivious to the moment he’s interrupted, sending you both a quick nod before he moves to stand a couple of metres away from you at the railing, his hands fiddling with something. You watch as he tucks a cigarette between his lips, and lifts his lighter to the ends, cupping his free hand around the flame so the cool breeze won’t blow it out.

Before you get a chance to say anything, besides you your companion has stiffened, straightening to his full height once again and stepping away from the rail.

“You can’t smoke here,” he says loudly, catching the guy’s attention as he blows out his first puff, and shoves his lighter away. He looks around at the decking, before his eyes land back on Hangman.

“I don’t see a sign,” he says evenly.

Hangman has stepped around you completely now, almost blocking your view of the other man, who you must note, wouldn’t stand a chance against the aviator if he decided to get physical.

“Listen buddy, my friend’s got a pretty sensitive lung problem, if she breathes in any of that, she’ll get real sick, so I’m asking if you can go stand somewhere else?”

You’re surprised by his words, and despite the patient sound of them, his tone is nowhere near as restrained. You gently reach out for the arm that he’d used to gesture back at you, even as the other man blows out another smokey breath.

“Jake, it’s fine, we can go,” you say, a pit building in your stomach when he doesn’t even look back down at you, the muscle of his jaw beginning to tick.

“Yeah. You can go,” the other man smirks, and somehow, it’s even more infuriating and smug than any of Hangman’s has ever been.

Your grip on your friend’s arm tightens too late as he pulls away from you, reaching the other man in only two strides as you call out for him to stop. Ignoring you, Hangman rips the cigarette from the other man’s mouth and tosses it into the sand, where it blows out.

“Jake!” you shout, a little louder as he gets in the other guy’s face, and you realise your voice is echoed by another.

Phoenix stands in the open doorway, and behind her you can see Coyote by the booth, throwing a curious glance your way. You shake your head at him, just as Phoenix repeats her stern call. Hangman snaps out of it, and steps back from the man. By the time he’s turned back to you, his face reads nothing of the anger he’d just displayed.

“Come on, it’s getting cold, anyway,” he says flippantly. You’re only able to frown at him, but he seems to ignore it, carefully pushing past Phoenix who still stands in the doorway, fixing Jake with a firm look he subsequently brushes off.

“Guy was an asshole,” he mutters by way of explanation. She moves aside for you to follow, and you can only give her a shrug in response to the eyebrow she raises at you.

You find yourself following Jake as he leads you back towards the bar, instead of the booth, and when your senses finally come back to you, you smack his arm sharply.

“You didn’t need to do that! The last thing you need is to get cited for fighting. They’d ground you!” you scold, even as he guides you into one of the stools.

“Nah, you love it, s’why you keep me around,” he rebuffs, flagging down a bartender and relaying your drinks order. You frown at him again as he leans casually against the wooden surface and looks down at you.

“No… I keep you around because you’re my friend,” you tell him, still annoyed, though it lessens when his smirk morphs into something more like surprise.

Your drinks are pushed toward you with nary another word, and Jake taps his card without even breaking your eye contact.

“How’d you even know I can get sick from smoke?” you change the subject quickly, but his face only turns even more bashful, and he looks down at his beer and shrugs.

“Mav told us,” he says, making you blanch.

“He what?” you demand, almost angry for a moment. You didn’t like being treated like glass, you didn’t like when people worried over you unnecessarily–

“He just said we should always wash up before going to your office, the jet fumes were enough to irritate your lungs.”

Your anger subsides, and you feel a little foolish. Of course, Mav hadn’t told them out of pity. He was right, the harsh fumes lingering on their flight suits could be enough to make your respiratory system inflamed. You’d learnt the hard way after you’d started teaching.

“Just figured if traces on us were enough to make you sick, then second-hand smoke definitely would,” Jake follows up, cutting his eyes back towards you, and you can’t help but smile softly. You lean forwards, chin resting in your palm, making him cock his head down at you.

“For someone who takes pride in pissing off his friends, you really do care a lot, don’t you?” Your question makes him bluster, and he tries his best to look nonchalant and annoyed, but his quirking lips give him away.

He leans in toward you too, close enough that you almost pull back, but you steal yourself instead as he gets a hold of his face, and fixes you with an infuriating, yet fond smirk.

“Only for you, Teddy Bear.”

[faejilly]

i absolutely love your sh meta so i was wondering what are your thoughts on Alec’d relationship with his sexuality bc i always sort of read it as him knowing that he was gay but absolutely not saying it out loud

absofuckinglutely nonny

There's an excellent post by amorverus that I cannot find the original of so have my reblog HERE that articulates it really well

I even wrote a fic about it! #shameless self promotion [tumblr / ao3] (That is, in fact, one of my favorite things I've ever written.)

I do strongly believe that Alec knew that he was gay, and felt no shame about that in and of itself. He is not offended by Magnus flirting with him, would not, I think, be offended by anyone else flirting with him, regardless of gender. (Tho prior to Magnus I also think he just... wasn't interested, but that's a separate conversation.) He knew, however, that it was not allowed in his culture and it would hurt his family and not just him if it came out.

(This is why Izzy makes me so uncomfortable in s1 regarding Alec, tbqh, because she lives there too, but refuses to see the danger to herself and, more egregiously in Alec's mind, because obviously she can chose to risk herself for him if she wants, for all he doesn't like it, but she's causing risk for their little brother if Alec is outed, and that's unacceptable. Even if I'm quite sure Max would agree with her priorities.)

I do, however, think Alec felt a lot of shame regarding his attraction to Jace. Jace was hurting and was supposed to be his brother and yet... Alec felt an attraction that he knew Jace wouldn't return. So he's got all the societal pressure on him not to be gay, and all this personal pressure not to manipulate or abuse someone in a vulnerable situation (because Jace was, even if he wouldn't admit it), PLUS all the normal human issues with feeling attraction for someone who is important enough to you that you can't lose them, and you can legitimately be terrified that if you can't get it under control you MIGHT... (Even more so for him than a mundane romantic vs platonic situation, obviously, because there's questions of command and exile and punishment, not just ruining an interpersonal dynamic in a way it never quite recovers from.)

Plus Alec's kind of also Jace's commanding officer which is yet ANOTHER unequal power dynamic, and he's supposed to be protecting an entire Institute, not just this one person, but he can't stop thinking about it because it's fucked up and he knows he should stop and he can't.

(Because, he realizes with the benefit of hindsight after he meets Magnus, by fixating on Jace he was safe, he was never going to fall in love for real with someone he might have a chance with, would never have to actually choose between his culture and his personal desires, while still telling himself that he already had, that he'd chosen his family and it was fine, he was FINE.

(He was so not fine.))

And so, even though he truly believes there's nothing wrong with being gay in general, he does believes there is something Very Wrong with him specifically being gay.

But he still never has any doubt about it. He never tries to project heterosexual interest in anyone, is very up front with Lydia about the terms of their engagement. (It seems clear, even if we never see that conversation, that they're both aware that their marriage would never be romantic or sexual unless they mutually decided to go the so-called traditional route for children.) And she agreed to it! She, unlike Jace & Izzy, had zero illusions about her relationship with Alec, and I ADORE HER FOR THAT.

And I've totally lost the thread of this rambling, I'm not sure I have a conclusion for you? 😅😅😅

Alec is, imo, refreshingly self-aware about most things, and many of his issues are legitimately external stupidity punishing him into a life of self-recrimination rather than him having internal bigotry or biases against his own sexuality in and of itself.

[venomlion3]

Wahoo I've been working on this dude on-and-off since June 2023 when I saw ATSV in theaters!! I'll probably find more things to tweak right after I submit this but I'm tired of looking at him and I wanted him up in time for Art Fight so I'm releasing him from containment 🏃 More info about him under the cut!

Introducing Steven "Seth" McLilliard Stryker, or the Spider-Man of Earth-40712! Also known as the Peacock-Spider or Spider-Lily, he's been his city's "Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man" since he was 15 y/o. As of now he's been the host to two separate symbiotes--his first being Scourge/Calamity (Scourge is what it went by when bonded to Seth, Calamity is what it currently goes by) and his second/current being Malignant/Goliath. Seth is kinda both Spider-Man and Eddie Brock/Venom in his world--moreso the Sonyverse trilogy Eddie/Venom than anything. Anyways, he's in a polycule with Malakai “MJ” Jeriah-Watson (eventually known as Jackpot), Harvey “Harry” Edwin Leeds-Osborn (still debating on if he becomes New Goblin/Hobgoblin/whatever), Feliciano “Felicia” Hardy (also known as Black Cat), and Malignant/Goliath of course. Prior to them he did date a few other people, notably Gavyn “Gwen” Stacy in high school and Dr. Oliver “Liv” Osnick Octavius (later known as Doctor Octopus and eventually [REDACTED]) in his early college years. Still workshopping names but we're getting somewhere! Also still figuring out his villains--Calamity is meant to be his version of Carnage (although I might still make canonical expies of Peter/Venom/Carnage/etc in this verse, not sure yet), and outside of Doc Ock I've got ideas for Green Goblin and the Kingpin (the latter of which is actually his uncle 🫢). But you can expect most of Spider-Man's regular rogues gallery to show up at some point!

I'm really happy with how he came out! I'm still not super confident drawing humans but fixating on this guy's ref really forced me to push through any anxiety I had! His costume went through a few designs before I got it where I wanted it (a bunch of WIP shots will be shown in his TH gallery), but I think I did ok for my first ever fanmade Spidey design :] In regards to his canon event it's gonna suck so much for him, but I'm going to keep details regarding that a secret for now ;3c All I can say is that post-canon-event he's almost exactly like MCU!Peter after Aunt May's death. Think when he's fighting Green Goblin and he goes to stab him with his own glider, only Raimi!Peter isn't there to stop him,,,

ANYWAYS I could yap for hours about this guy but so take these instead:

-Here's a link to his Toyhouse page! I spent a good chunk of time making it all pretty and even though it isn't done yet I wanna share it with y'all 🤠

-And here is a link to his playlist! It's got songs mixed in that fit with other Earth-40712 characters, but 98% of the songs in there are related to him!

[zhiroaesthetics]

Mid-Summer Writing Updates

Was told that giving updates about non-major works is also valid to prove that this page is alive so...teehee!

Mental Check

To say that I've been slacking this year is a grave understatement. It frustrates me because posting in December 2023 (Kaveh) then January 2024 (Haruaki) truly made me believe that I had found my groove, then I saw my stats and gave up, yay! It's just hard writing when I already don't have the healthiest approach towards writing (it's really bad, like I cried so much writing both of those drafts), and that level of effort goes unnoticed by both the audience and myself. But I've slowly been accepting the fact that I can't gain the audience I want if I don't prove that I exist. After all, posting since 2021(?) but not even having ten entries is silly. With that being said, I have been writing consistently over the summer, but have been slowed down because I've been active, like this is the first week that I've been in my room this entire month.

Goals for Pre-Fall 2024

I'm definitely going to have at least three posts before the end of the year. I always try to have more than the year prior, and considering how little I have to my name, it's been pretty doable.

I've been going back and forth between Bowman (Granblue Fantasy) and Kyo (King of Fighters) for the past two months, and I know for the latter that his second draft is going to be posted before fall, though I'm not sure about the former. My writer's block on his draft isn't the worst despite the fact that I have to rewrite the first half of what I currently have, but I struggle trying to prioritize that draft over Kyo's given that I don't know how well a NSFW Bowman entry would be perceived. Regardless, if I post twice before Late August, expect for it to be these two bums.

Goals for Fall 2024

This is tricky, as it HIGHLY DEPENDS on what I end up fixating on, but definitely expect Tai Gong Wang (Fate/Grand Order). I've been wanting to write him since the beginning of time, but lack of knowledge on his character thanks to me exclusively playing FGO on the global server and things implied under mental check made it hard for me to prioritize writing the idea that was practically given to me. But what was initially supposed to be a collector's item ended up being NP3 and LVL 100, so I'm taking it as a sign to - at some point - lock in, and I think doing so right after clearing out my current drafts would be perfect timing.

Do, however, look out for these people:

Blade (Honkai: Star Rail)

Diluc (Genshin Impact)

Charlemagne (Fate)

Goals for Winter 2024/5

Yae Miko. Despite her being a December 2024 goal, she's one of my more ambitious projects due to research and it not being a one chapter entry. Even as I'm currently working on Kyo and Bowman, I'm immersing myself within The Pillow Book, as Sei's story is what most of Yae Miko's story will be in reference to. Also Haruaki, again, hopefully January 1st.

Do, however, look out for these people:

Kaveh (Genshin Impact)

Saichi Sugimoto (Golden Kamuy)

Miscellaneous

Girl if you saw how far I made it into my Senji draft, when I started, and when I stopped, you'd be wondering why my #1 isn't in any of my defined goals. And I'd say shit happens! Senji's draft had a very extensive outline, and I lost that very extensive outline, so I lost my motivation yay! Nevertheless, I still want to get it out there because I think it's a really funny one chapter entry.

Also Toji. Very much an outlier, but I've been putting him on the backburner because his draft is also one of my more ambitious projects, but one that challenges my writing skills in a duller way because of the amount of mundane scenes present. Also not a one chapter entry.

Anyways uh, thanks for peeping the yap session, meow!

[t4tozier]

First and Before the Beginning for any WIPS you wish, and - if you want - POV for any part of IKIT so far posted that you wanna do!

okay so the way i've started to write things is in chunks and connecting the scenes later, not necessarily in order, so the first line from pool boy porter rn isn't going to be the first line of the work overall :)

“Damnit!” Jace hits the steering wheel in frustration and turns on his hazards as he pulls over to the side of the road. “Perfect. Just perfect,” he mutters.

i think i'll do both of these for ikit, actually :)

before the beginning:

"Iljasi, meet your new knight."

Jace stares up at the armored goliath in front of him. He's massive; he's surprised they even had plate for him. He's also incredibly handsome. His lips part, lashes fluttering as he racks his brain for anything to say.

"Well, don't just stand there, Iljasi!" The queen's voice shocks him back to reality. He jumps, and without any prior warning, he feels his body morphing.

The knight reaches out, grabbing the potted violet before it can fall to the ground. "I see what you mean, now, Your Majesty," he says with amusement.

"He'll...turn back eventually," King Riandor tells him, thinly veiled disgust on his face. "I do apologize, Sir Cliffbreaker. You see why we prefer to keep him sheltered."

The knight shakes his head, grinning down at the violet. "'s'alright, Sire. I'll keep him safe."

i haven't written any scenes that i've specifically thought of from porter's pov yet, so let's switch things up and write from miriel's pov instead :)

Jasi's tower is far, but Maegie had sounded quite fearful. That doesn't often happen anymore. So she rushes up the many winding steps to the tower and bursts through the door.

Immediately, she is greeted with a scene from her worst nightmares. There's blood, so much blood--though she is a cleric, she has never truly seen blood like this. Maeglin is down on her knees next to the bleeding paladin, and Iljasi is sobbing. She hates that most of her memories of him involve tears. Still, years of conditioning from their mother and father kick in--there's so much blood--and she can't help herself from crying out, "Oh, Jasi, what did you do?"

She sees her brother jerk back, but she's fixated on the bloody giant on the ground, who lets out a groan of pain as lightning sparks along his armor. He can't control himself. As much as it pains her to think it, she can't help but be relieved when Iljasi removes himself. It'll be easier to heal Cliffbreaker this way, and she doesn't need to worry about becoming the accidental target of one of her brother's episodes.

[revoevokukil]

There’s something that’s been on my mind lately; maybe you can help clarify it for me. I can’t remember if the books really answer this. I will reread LOTL, but in the meantime, when Ciri is first brought through the portal to the world of the Aen Elle, does Avallac’h fully know the extent of her innate abilities? Or does this later surprise him? I would think he does know this and is hiding the knowledge from her, but he is still so fixated on her hypothetical offspring as though the child will provide further development of the magical abilities that they tried to genetically manipulate. Do they believe the child that they want will serve their needs in a way that Ciri either will not or can not? Was there an element of surprise once it becomes apparent that Ciri in fact already possesses the full abilities they had attempted to influence centuries prior? Also, I’m not sure I fully understand why the conjunction caused them to lose this ability to travel more freely through time/space.

We don't really know what caused the Aen Elle (& Aen Seidhe) to lose their ability to travel more freely, and it is never explained.

Avallac'h knows about Ciri's potential because, as carriers of Elder Blood, her abilities & his abilities are similar; i.e. they both can cross the threshold of Time & move through different times & places, as individuals.

The books answer this in different bits:

Avallac'h is not surprised - rather, he is annoyed & irritated - when Eredin mentions Ciri's "wild talent" to her, as they arrive in the palace.

In conversation with Auberon, Ciri finds out that "special individuals" retained their ability to move through time & space even after moving en masse post-Conjunction became impossible for the elves. Among Elder Blood carriers, this entails the Aen Saevherne & Ciri herself, naturally. (Eredin's situation is not clarified, as he is not an elven sorcerer nor involved in the genetic programme. Perhaps a mutation of the Gene? Perhaps an experiment? Perhaps amulets/enhancers of some ability that elves seem to have had long before the Conjunction (otherwise the beginnings of a genetic programme are not possible)? These are all HCs.)

During the boat ride, Avallac'h says outright: "...the gene that was specially constructed by us, may save the denizens of that world. We have reason to believe that the descendant of Lara–and of you, naturally–will possess abilities a thousandfold more powerful than that which we, the Knowing Ones, possess. And which you possess in rudimentary form. You know what this is about, don’t you? “In short, it concerns the possibility of transferring between worlds not only oneself, one’s own–indeed–insignificant person. It concerns the opening of Ard Gaeth, the great and permanent Gateway, through which everyone would pass. We managed to do it before the Conjunction, and we want to achieve it now.” - Avallac'h

It's then quite clear Avallac'h knows about Ciri's potential. Does he know the full extent? Possibly in some ways much better than Ciri & in other ways not at all - as Ciri herself does not know the extent of her powers either, and neither does the reader.

For that reason alone, Ciri is not seen as "the Chosen One" & rather as - again - "the Chosen One's" mother. Which, of course, is the subversion of a trope & a conscious choice on Sapkowski's part. History repeats itself (Ciri parallels Lara) being also one of the themes of the story and, sadly, a hallmark of women's role in history.

On the Aen Elle's behalf I can see several alternative motivators:

Even if Ciri could - through some extraordinary feat of power - open the Doors, she would still need to have the child as the elves hardly wish for the strongest branch of the Gene to be lost. A backup & continuation of the experiment is required.

Ciri opening the Doors herself would require extensive magical training, most likely; would her lifetime be enough? Is she "trainable"? Would she choose it/submit to it? Is this training more dangerous than having a child?

Pride. Could the Saviour really be a human mutant of dubious pedigree?

Pragmatism. As you noted: the child would be infinitely more controllable than Ciri herself & also, perhaps & sadly, easier to love should this still not be enough & another generation would be needed.

Purifying the Gene & making it stronger seems sensible by default if mutations of Hen Ichaer exist (& they certainly should even among only elves themselves) & can behave erratically.

Though we don't learn for certain that Ciri herself can open the Gate, we learn at the end of the Saga that Aen Seidhe did leave the Continent & that means, in the absence of deus ex machinas, that Ciri or Ciri's descendant must have opened the Doors (most likely, since a second Conjunction is not mentioned). What led up to it? Did Avallac'h foresee this (as well as Ciri's escape (he predicts Geralt will get her back, after all)), as well as some untold story that happens between the end of the books & the Aen Seidhe leaving the Witcher Continent?

Perhaps.

(It certainly creates a lot of interesting questions about his having, very likely, foreseen Auberon's death as well. A necessary evil needed at the time?)

[chainsawcorazon]

20 Questions for Writers

i was tagged by cousin @radioactive-earthshine

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

175 published works! I do not count any WIPs, outlines, notes scratched longhand, or random shitposts I make on the tunglr because that's another 1700+ 😂😂😂

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

According to my stats page.... 1,218,398. So 1.2 million+ words published since maybe 2010. Everything prior to 2010 was deleted because I was super embarrassed of what I used to write 😭

3. What fandoms do you write for?

I follow my heart so my AO3 is basically my fixation chart in real-time. Way too many specific fandoms to count, but in terms of medium: I write for a lot of manga fandoms, used to write kpop fanfiction as a kid, still write kdrama fanfiction whenever something catches my eye, and of course comic books and wrestling. I also have a handful of fanfics for books.

4. What are your top five fics by kudos?

Shadow Dance (Captain America/Avengers movies) Sometimes Love Starts in the Bed [Or that One Week Kamui Tried His Parents' Approach at Romance] (Gintama manga) To the Rhythm of His Love (Black Clover manga) Tere Liye, Hum Hain Jiye (Black Clover manga) Red Bangles, Black Anklets (Naruto manga)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I love responding to comments!! It makes me feel special lmao 😂

6. What’s the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Ephemeral (Hunter x Hunter manga). I basically wrote the ending for the Dark Continent arc (since it's unlikely it'll ever get finished), and sank the boat and all its passengers while making my OTP end up together in heaven after they both died 😂😂😂

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Leoht Unfæger (Beyond Evil kdrama). Basically wrote a novella repairing my ship's relationship that the kdrama had done serious damage to. They got married in the end even though one half went to jail for contributing to the other half's sister's demise. Oh, and the same guy who went to jail also used to bang the sister 😂😂😂

8. Do you get hate on your fic?

Regularly! I'm pretty vocal about my likes and dislikes, and many times, by behavior has invited demons into me house. During my Black Clover fandumbing days, a crackhead used to make it their mission to leave hateful comments on my fics. I don't delete them however. Most of the time it makes me laugh bc you can figure out the speech patterns and tag exactly who it is that wrote it. I like to think ten years down the line, they'll look back on their clownery and let the shame eat them alive.

9. Do you write smut?

Yes!

10. Do you write crossovers?

It depends! During my kpoppie days, I did a crossover of my favorite band and one of my favorite kdramas, and never finished it (even though I have the ending outlined on paper). It really depends on the fandoms and if I find synergy between them.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Probably lol, but not that I know of. I grew up during the asianfanfics days, and used to post fanfiction on other sites before I got an AO3 account. It was not uncommon to see fanfiction stolen from LJ and other sites that were then posted to asianfanfics, which had a notorious plagiarism issue.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have three in circulation in the Russian language, and one that was translated into Chinese!

13. Have you ever co-written a fic?

Nope, unless RPing during the third grade on Naruto forums counts as collaborating on fanfic 😂😂😂

14. What‘s your all-time favourite ship?

It changes every day bc I am dynamic and go with me heart. But also note, for some of my favorite ships, I've either never written fanfiction for, or it's no longer available cuz I done deleted it, so I'll just note my CURRENT haunts (which may or may not be decades old... sad 😂).

Comic books: Jon Kent/Jay Nakamura, Bart Allen/Kon El

Manga: Asta/Liebe, Jack the Ripper/Yami Sukehiro

Who knows what I will like tomorrow.... I certainly don't 🤪

15. What’s the WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

I have a Smallville Earth 2 post-canon fic outline I've had sitting in my drafts for over ten years....... Inshallah one of these days, but I sincerely doubt it 😂😂😂

16. What’s your writing strengths?

Building dread, purple prosing, and writing the saddest sadz before giving folks the happy ending. I'm also a slowburn maestro. Love horror, but usually end up writing more romance than plain horror LOL 👽

17. What’s your writing weaknesses?

I be overthinking shit, or I be outlining something and saying I'm finna write it but then I don't because I end up getting distracted by something else. I have a Prison Playbook kdrama fic outline that's nineteen pages long that I will never write out bc I got distracted by ANOTHER kdrama. I have OCD but that shit apparently has no impact on my publication goals 😭

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

Love it! I'm fluent in multiple languages, so I love peppering in different languages in my fanfics, and regularly borrow from Hindi and Arabic language songs, poems, and other media to title fics. Maybe 30% of my fanfiction is inspired by Rahat Fateh Ali Khan songs. It do be like that sometimes djhfgdfgdf

19. First fandom you wrote for?

I genuinely don't remember anymore, it has been SO long. All I DO know is that I deleted it all because I was an embarrassed baby and really wish I hadn't. It can be anything between the following fandoms: Yugioh, X-Men comics, Bleach, Smallville, some variant of old teen movies, etc. I seriously don't remember which one, but ONE of them. lol.

20. Favourite fic you’ve ever written?

All of them. I bleed words. I be rereading my own fanfiction like they're the hottest novels on the stands. I try to read other fanfiction when the mood strikes, but I myself am my target audience, so I be writing things that I know I'm gonna reread years down the line. For example, my HxH fanfics are still my favorite fanfics from the fandom cuz nobody else was writing Hisoka/true!form!Bisky, and few people were dedicated to Melody/Kurapika. I'm a narcissist 👽👽👽

[slayerfruit]

(DISCLAIMER: Cott’s personality has not been heavily documented! Writer interpretation is IN PLAY and is TERRIBLY INDULGENT AND I’M MAKING YOU SEE IT. THIS ANON POST INCLUDES FAIL[GENDER NEUTRAL] POV. And like. Body hair. transGirl-dick (epic). HONKERS (little bit). Minor Anal sex. (excessive?) Burping. Weight Gain too. A bizarre combination of the first and last thing. I’m so sorry. Your candy duo is my current hyper-fixation. I will not bear it in silence.)

----------------

There’s a pass underneath your seat.

This is not the first time you’ve come to one of these shows, nor have you shown up to every one. The signal for a show being almost ready is pretty subtle, given the show-runners less than legal activities, and so you often miss the performance days. Still, you try to come every chance you get. The duo is genuinely pretty funny. And uh... Quite good looking too, even when they aren’t actively emphasizing it by doing more sensual acts.

This isn’t one of those acts. This one’s straight comedy, all clean and natural as can be in this OSHA-defying carnival, and you’ve got a pass underneath your seat. Your seat is the important part. This place, as obscurity is a necessity in the now, isn’t really… packed. Anyone is free to sit anywhere, and there are a good number of seats to pick from, most in pretty good condition. You sit on the third row, middle column, 3 seats to the left. Every. Time. And there’s a pass underneath your seat.

You pick it up. You are the only one in this particular row of seats, and so you see no issue in taking a closer look at it, putting the actual show aside for a moment. A red/pink gradient card, VIP BACKSTAGE on it’s front in bright, yellow letters. You turn it over and feel your face flush crimson as you are faced with a surprisingly well made portrait of Cottol.ine giving a thumbs up as several thoughts cycle:

She’s naked.

She doesn’t even fit in the card frame.

You are almost certain she drew this herself. It’s also got your name on it.

You quickly stuff the card into a jacket pocket so to hide it. You… HAD heard about these prior, although none of the people who got them ever gave anything but a smile and an unwavering front to anyone who wanted to know about what they were about, or why they showed up late to their apartments with sugar coating their lips. It might be a sex thing. Maybe not. Again, only people who have received them before know and they won’t say anything.

The show continues, and you do try to actually watch the show you came here to see. The pass feels like red coals in your pocket though, burning with your curiosity as you wonder what you are in for after the show concludes. What could it be? Why you?

The show doesn’t take too much longer to conclude, and with a little flourish Cand.yman slides back and swishs the curtains shut with a twist of his wrist. The spotlights flicker and dim as the functioning walkway LEDs light the way out of the main stage.

The first act has closed.

(/Cheeky) > Y/N: Begin Act 2.

You are! You’ve just got to manifest the courage to actually. Step through the Backstage doors? There’s nobody else around right now, the end of the show prompting an easy exit from everyone else. You are alone.

...But probably not for long. You psych yourself up the best you can and push open the doors, noting that these have actually been oiled as to remain silent. You gently lead the doors shut, now standing on the other side. You’ve got a choice now between two doors. Two nameplates. Cand.yman or Cottol.ine? …..You would feel like an asshole if you opened Cand.y’s door first while having a pass with Cottol.ine on it, so this is a really easy decision. You grab the door handle- and fall flat on your face as the door swings open, having never been closed. You hear a slight gasp from overhead as your body meets wood and proceeds to commune in the language of mild pain.

“Oh my goodness! Are you okay?” A soft yet chipper voice somewhat tinted with worry says, one that you could not possible put to anyone except the sugar lady herself. You flick a thumbs up in the direction the voice came from and shake out a general reassurance before pushing yourself up on your knees- and freezing at the sight that awaits you.

You… okay. Everyone has some theories on how it is that the candy performers can adjust size, body type, parts… you were not quite prepared to see Cottol.ine just. Lying on a cushion. Swallowing from a tube. A tube connected to a tank simply labeled “Sugar”. A few grains slip from her lips and onto her sleeves as her cheeks bulge before she gulps it down, still looking at you as it seems to go down her throat- and then, soon as it would have hit the stomach, Cottol.ine’s thin show-body starts to lose that thinness.

You watch her, amazed as takes another full mouthful of sugar.

Gulp. Gulp. Gulp…

And swallows again, causing her whole body to plump up. The blueish-yellow leggings she is wearing push down as her legs and thighs as to emulate the example being set by her ass, which is taking a nice swig of fresh air out from under her current polka-dot dress. Her stomach, still covered, begins to show itself in a curve under the dress as her breasts push out themselves, nipples visible through the bra as they make themselves very apparent.

Another. Another. Another. She reaches down to briefly remove her shoes before tugging her leggings off, putting them aside just as her legs thicken out again. Her dress decides that attempting to hide this ladies gut is a lost cause, and simply elevates itself to reveal a now pudgy midriff, adorned with a multitude of soft white hairs. Having given up covering her lower half too, you can now catch a clear glimpse of solid, heavy girl-bulge as her underwear is pulled tight from her widening backside. Her breasts, until now still a suggestion, burst from under the hidden bra with a SnnnnRCK as they flop freely against the now barely worn dress.

She holds up a finger, silencing the nonexistent things you had to say about this situation as she goes through just a little more.

GULP. GULP. GULP…

One more decisive swallow, a flick of a nearby switch to “off”, and Cottol.ine quickly reaches down and yanks the dress up fully over her boobs- just as they flop down and smack against her gut, surpassing “head” and making their way confidently towards proper “melon” size. Said gut takes a jaunt over her thickening thighs, and threatens (but could never succeed) at obscuring her thickening girlcock, forming a delicious fuzzy overhang over her thighs. If you had any mental ram left, you might comment on her ass wobbling back there too. As it stands, you are currently soft rebooting instead. She takes the opportunity to remove the hose from her mouth, hooking it onto a nearby- well. Hook, before refocusing on your dumbfounded expression that you are sure makes you look sufficiently foolish. She opens her mouth and says “Welcome to the-” before her cheeks bulge out and she lets out a HwOOooooooourp. “Oops! Sorry. Welcome to the VIP Treatment!”

> Y/N: For your own sanity (and the reader’s frustration), take an Intermission.

In an effort to dislodge some of the awkward tension that you don’t think anyone other than you is currently experiencing, you open your mouth and blurt the first reasonable question that comes to mind: “Do you spend a lot of time back here chugging raw sugar by yourself?”

...You quickly fight an extremely strong urge to walk out of the room and obliterate yourself at a nearby alien obelisk. She doesn’t seem to be offended though. “It’s not preferred, but it works! The fun way is to just indulge yourself in sweets and well crafted food and laze about for weeks- but for shows that takes a little too much- HwwWooourp -time. Sugar accomplishes the same thing for us candy-made entities that lard would do for you! ...Without the awful taste, of course.”

She reaches down and grips a bit of gut in her hands, shaking it and wobbling her entire fuzzy gut. “This body proportion is just a little bit more… comfortable for me right now. Normally I’d ask if you want something else- But.” She looks you dead in the eyes (as well as someone who’s eyes are theoretical can). “I really think I know the answer to that one already.” You feel like a tomato. It’s probably written everywhere what your answer is. She isn’t quite smug, but there is a self-assurance and calm there that leads you close the door behind you and ask your other question:

“Why me?”

Cottol.ine smiles a little. “It’s really not that complicated. You are cute!” She pauses for a moment and adds “If you are talking about how we choose generally, we just fill a hat with the name of every person who showed up to the show who is our respective types and isn’t transphobic and pull one out.”

Honestly, so valid.

> Y/N: Please just get to the horny. This is going to be such a long post. WE ARE REACHING 4 ACTS IN A ANON ASK. P L E A S E

Fine. You steel yourself. You are going to ask for something enjoyable and not weird. Sex would be good. A typical request. Yeah. Alright. You open your mouth-

“Can I lick your belly fuzz?” FUCK DAMN IT WHY ARE YOU SO BAD AT THIS

“Sure!” She answers easily, cutting your mental chatter into silence. “Would you like a certain flavor? I’ve got a variety of options for this kind of thing.” She brings herself to her feet and thuds herself over to a wall-mounted cabinet, pulling it open to reveal a variety of flavored syrups. You feel a little dumbfounded. This is not unusual. You point out an orange cream-sickle flavor to her and she takes it into one hand and makes her way over to you- before tripping over her leftmost-left foot and planting her gut navel-first on your face. Your are now submerged in belly blubber.

BwoOOOOooooouurp. “Whoops! You alright down there?” You mumble something that sounds affirmative and probably reflects too much of your personal feelings. “Good! Well. Don’t see any reason to get up then!~” You hear a cap being faintly unscrewed before gulping follows, the slight movements of even swallowing causing her gut to shake around your head. Before long, something tickles against your cheeks, and then the other, and then everywhere. She pulls back just enough from the wall to let you see: Her belly is quickly growing orange, fuzzy hair, framing the white hairs from before in a hairy circle as she finishes the syrup and tosses it at a wall (it bounces into a trashcan), letting another BwhooOOoourp-HwooORRP!! directly out at your face in a citrus, sugary cloud. You blink a little. This will never leave your mind.

“SoOooooooOOOurp. Have a taste! It’s all yours!” She wobbles it enticingly at you. At this point, what’s the point in even pretending you do not want to do this? You collide tongue to gut, trying for an area less fuzzy. It tastes… well. Like sugar. You swish your tongue around in the same spot, and realize you can just. Kinda lick anywhere and taste sugar? Exploring, you lick a strip upwards from the navel and meet the white hairs head on.

...Vanilla! You lap all around the navel with this info in mind. This stuff is actually really good. The way the flavor melts in your mouth is so pleasant, you can almost forget you are flicking your tongue out at somebodies gut! Actually, speaking about somebody, you pull back to ask if this is alright- and receive a hand planted on your head immediately. “Shh.” She tells you. “Don’t woOooourprry about it. This is fun.” She’s smiling. Her fingers brush against the back of your head.

...You move your head back down and continue. You drift out from the white section and into the jungle of orange beyond. You make contact- and moan into her fatty middle. That’s so good. This is everything you hoped this would taste like. You flick your tongue around madly, smushing your face into her gut. She giggles overhead, hand brushing over your head as you clear slowly regening hair as if possessed. “Are you having fun there?” She asks you, reaching another hand past her gut and grabbing yours.

...Yours? Her hand on your head incentives you to continue, but you were flat as a board everywhere an hour ago. She traces a finger over a navel of your own (your own!?) and pushes her finger in. As you collide with a new bit of hair to your left, you feel it: Her finger, unmoving, is enveloped. She says in a tone that makes it obvious she’s smiling wide: “I don’t think many people realize what being ‘made of candy’ really means. Would you like to hear a hint?” You murmur a yes into her body.

“You are going to get fat. You are going to lick until yoOOOoouurrpu either retract consent, are too tired to continue, are too big to continue, or I run out of syrup to keep this up. BWOourp.” She pinches your sideflab a little, making you jolt as her words sink in. This is not where you thought this was going, but. But.

...You start licking again, faster in lieu of giving an actual response. Now that you’ve been made aware, you can feel the way your body is padding out as sugary hair dissolves against your tongue. The hand on your head trails down and brushes against your cheek, taking a fingerful of newly acquired fat. You feel your own belly push out, pushing out over your clothes and colliding against her own, still much larger belly. You feel your ass press against the wall behind you, and then spread along it slowly as you swipe across the vast pastures of her hairy fields.

She presses her hand lower hand firmly against your gut, and you note with a tinge of delight that it takes almost no time at all for her hand to be forced backwards, the distance you have to lean forward to get at her gut with your tongue unfortunately not going backwards. You feel your head collide with the beginnings of another chin (how novel!) as you try to lean forwards- but find the task to be too difficult. You try to vocalize, but only let out a desperate whine instead. Cottol.ine takes pity on you, pushing herself to her feet and leaning her gut directly into you and allowing you to continue.

Swish. Flick. You can’t see with her middle coating your vision, but you can certainly feel. You feel your ass pushing you a little out from the wall now, maybe around the range of beach balls if you tried to guess. Your gut flows, and then flows further over itself. It makes impact with something- something that you are almost certain is her dick, fully ready and pressed idly against you. You are too ravenous to care too much- up until something terrible occurs:

Your tongue meets nothing. You’ve exhausted the syrup. As your motions cease, she pulls away from the wall and shows that your assumption is correct, there isn’t a single remaining hair on her entire gut. She turns around and checks it herself in the back mirror before swinging back around and crouching in front of you, almost starry eyed as she exclaims “You did it! Look at you!”, grabbing two chubby cheeks and continuing with “That was a hell of a show! You were a wreck when you came in- and now look at you! This work is allll yours!” She looks you over, and a little slyly adds “Although, you might need some help if you wanna work it off.”

By this point though, you are far away from the future where you have to work all of this off. Right now you are in the present- the present where you are now very optimistic that you can get her dick in your ass. You muscle up all your strength and, shockingly, push your wobbling, sugar-flab body to a stand, step forward towards the bed- and comically trip, falling directly on your gut and eliciting a BwooOOoooooourp! of your own as your belly is squished against the ground. Now faced with the knowledge that you probably can’t get up again, you shake your ass at her and hope that works as substitute for talking.

Apparently it does, because you hear the sound of cloth being moved aside as her freed dick smacks against your thigh. She remains still for a moment though. “I wasn’t kidding when I said ALL of me is candy. Are you sure you want me to do this?” She asks, sounding a little worried for you even as her dick pushes into your legs. You think about it. Really think about it.

You shakily force your chonky arm into a thumbs up.

She grips hold of your ass, pulls herself up- and thrusts in. It takes a moment for it to enter you proper, even at her current size your ass makes for a hefty distance to travel, but once it does you huff as the sensation hits you- and then fails to go any further.

...You aren’t sure why you thought she would be able to properly penetrate you like that. Even still, as her body claps against yours, your buried [SEXUAL OBJECT OF CHOICE] begins to quiver. Even without proper penetration your body is being stimulated by the wobbling of your own lard. Your body flushes as you orgasm. She’s isn’t too far behind- pushing in one more time and

FLOODING

Your insides with a squeak. You feel something enter your backdoor, but much like the very beginning of this whole situation, you realize it’s being converted almost instantly! You feel her dick, still pulsing into your ass, get further and further away as your ass flows outward and taps the ceiling. She bounces onto your gut as it balloons out in all directions before pancaking back down onto the floor, putting you halfway from the ceiling with your gut pushing against all the walls.

...There is a mild possibility you won’t be leaving this room for a while without some serious antics.

[Curtains close on the scene, a hand coming out to grab them before they can finish. Cand.yman himself comes forward. Slips a sign on the curtain, and lets them shut proper. The sign reads:

“2/10, didn’t get enough screen-time over my SIDEKICK.”]

i. gdxfhbmklghndgvxhbdgmklcvxhbmkl oh my God. im at a loss for words here!!! this is extremely generous of you and i thank you so much for this,, im Completely in love with this and is Absolutely one for the books

[some-creep]

So about those xeno biology headcanons 🙃

-flips u rightside up-

i mentioned some of this 2 my friend BUT

IRL squids / octopuses can drastically change the color/texture of their bodies so I think a similar situation would apply to splatoonlings... gender is entirely seen as a fashion statement and doesn't generally hold any real weight outside of what the individual wants it to (some find comfort in a rigidity while others simply do not care and make alternations to themselves by the outfit)

because of this i think everyone can have a little tentacle dick as a treat that any individual could either be pregnant or get someone else pregnant (we're still deciding on the eggs idea... i know some people go with eggs but. hmm not currently in the worldview). Functionally I think when aroused most of these appendages would be capable of independent movement, though some are more drastically... wiggly than others (cough callie cough).

NOW ive said this before but. in the past i think inklings would have chosen mates for life. like in a pre-civilization but post-regular-squid-as-we-know-them-now world: now it exists as a genetic holdover in some individuals where their body still wants to function like this. Typically this is no longer an issue and everyone just goes about their business like normal because it's mostly been bred out of the population. However Inkling society never used to be so cohesive and there was more species distinction prior, so some groups of inklings are more prone to issues like this than others. testing of newborns is recommended in certain, more isolated areas to catch it early.

untreated it can cause early development, though this isn't a dead giveaway as other factors can contribute to an inkling being able to control their transformation far sooner than normal. early treatment is recommended for healthy physical, emotional, and social development, and later on after reaching adulthood, it usually doesn't work at all or causes other more serious side effects. inklings who grow up like this can form unhealthy fixations on other people, are known to show increased aggression in competitive situations, and seem to be stuck following an archaic breeding season which causes massive amounts of discomfort at certain times of the year (well... if they're single)

in the rare instance someone grows up like this, it is possible to manage symptoms in other ways (less serious medications, therapy, support groups, etc). it's possible to appear completely "normal", though it's crucial to self-evaluate for your own mental well being

[34goingon9]

Who Hurt Her Before She Knew She Was Hurt?

I talked about my childhood panic attacks before, and this post is an extension of that.

Moreover than the panic, I also had an embarrassing and uncontrollable tic as a child that would manifest as a result of a high emotional state- be it anxiety or even excitement. I would give myself an aggressive hug and use every ounce of strength my tiny arms could squeeze into my body..all while digging my teeth into the skin of my right arm and/or forcing my fist into my cheek. I would try my best to hide the extreme look of release of tension overtaking my face behind my limbs and turning my head while diverting my gaze (I imagine this to be the equivalent of a childhood the “Kim Kardashian ugly crying face” meme). Humiliated by this outburst that I could not stop, I would try to pretend I was just performing a giant stretch. Shockingly, my classmates and peers were much more astute than a neurodivergent kid would hope and based on the looks of that photo, it doesn’t appear I was as good of an actress or yoga instructor as I thought, either.

I do not know when this behavior began, or why this overwhelming need to self soothe would take over my tiny body like an exorcism. I do know it existed prior to my mom’s death, as not only evidenced by the date of this photo but also because of her frustration at how I would destroy my clothing when I would suppress the urge by chewing on the sleeves and drawstrings of all of my shirts and sweaters- the wet fabric chafing my chin and wrist, dehydrating the cotton, and putting holes in everything like an infestation of anxious, hungry moths after hours of feasting on end.

Furthermore, I talk about this arm biting -which is something reminiscent of The Lion King with Ed the Hyena savagely gnawing himself- like it’s past tense, yet it still exists in present day. And I still am dominated by this pervasive need for oral fixation via other outlets which I have unfortunately found in vapes over the years. Nonetheless, after countless attempts, I finally managed to kick that habit which was hellish and a feat to overcome considering it was often told to me how I would still incessantly use it even while sleeping. I am glad Freud is not my therapist to give me an interpretation on this one, though.

The decades of abuse on my wrist has literally left me with what has been adoringly referred to by my friends as my ‘werewolf patch.’ The skin is ever-dry and comparable to the hyde of an elephant in a famine in which the only thing that grows in this climate is a thick, discolored, brown dry grass much like a stubborn tumbleweed that forced its way through the arid terrain.

I still harbor my childhood insecurities to date whenever this tic takes over. It’s weird, I don’t even realize always when I’m doing it, the action is noticeable, it inflicts obvious injury, and most of all.. I have no idea why I started doing it in the first place-among various other peculiarities I have not all nearly mentioned, as many of which are difficult areas to revisit and discuss. I do know from not just my education but my own intuition that these behaviors -both individually and cumulative- are demonstrative of something larger that happened. An unknown traumatic event(s) that occurred before the onslaught of known traumas that began at age nine.

Until I am able to explore my inner psyche enough to answer that question, and if I choose to even try to ever access that part of my deep past or subconscious, I can choose to look at that photo in a way that reframes things to: “I love the similarities in mannerisms between me and my mom,” even if hers is an intentional and well controlled pose.

[doubleca5t]

One of the things I love most about RWBY is that the experience of introducing the show to someone and watching it with them for the first time is tremendously satisfying in a way that I feel is truly unique.

Like, obviously different people have different reactions to RWBY. Some people are hooked straight away, some people never get into it. But one of the most common trajectories for people watching RWBY for the first time is to think Volume 1 is trash, Volume 2 is slightly better but still trash, and Volume 3 is actually pretty good. This doesn’t sound that unique when I lay it out like this, but let me frame this in a more narrative fashion.

You are a RWBY fan. You post about the show constantly. You’ve watched the show multiple times and know it inside and out. You have at least one ship that occupies permanent real estate in your brain. This alone is not satisfying, it does not fully scratch the itch in your brain. You need someone to share your passion with, you need a friend who’s as deep into it as you are.

You tell your friends that they should watch it. They laugh at you. You swear it gets way better after season one and takes a bunch of twists they never expect. No one believes you. The animation looks like someone strung together all the cutscenes from an old Tales Of game. The voice acting and sound mixing is almost unlistenable. The writing is agonizing. It’s just trying so, so hard to be anime and falling so flat. Also there’s catgirl racism. There is no way this show can ever get good.

Not only do they think the show is bad, but you now look like a crazy person for liking it. What does this say about your taste? About what you prioritize in a piece of media. You feel like you’re going insane.

Not only does no one believe you, but no one will ever believe you.

But then, one of your friends decides to give it a shot. Maybe they’re willing to watch it drunk for a laugh, like how people watch The Room or Birdemic. You’ll take what you can get. The two of you struggle your way through Vol 1. They mock the show at every turn. They alternate between hysterical laughter and stunned disbelief. “How could they possible publish this?” “How could ANYONE think this was good?” You think about defending the early Volumes on the basis of low budgets and a rushed production schedule. You decide to hold your tongue. It will only make you look worse.

Volume 2 goes a little easier. They’re halfway between laughing at the show and laughing with it. The lack of shadow people is a welcome sight. The fight with the Atlesian Paladin is actually pretty cool. Burning the Candle is... surprisingly well executed. But they’re still not sold. The show is still trash, it’s just slightly less trash than before. They’re still watching for a laugh. You rub your hands together like Birdman knowing what comes next.

You watch Volume 3. At first it’s more of the same. Maybe they notice the lighting improvements. Maybe they comment on how the dialogue feels a bit more natural now. Still, they struggle to see how anyone could make this a fundamental aspect of their personality. What could posses someone to become fixated on a show which is, at its best, decidedly meh?

You watch Beginning of the End.

“huh, this is weirdly dark for this show.” You sense their mood begin to shift. You brim with anticipation.

You watch PvP.

“Holy shit” they say. “No fucking way.” You are practically vibrating with excitement.

You watch Battle of Beacon, then Heroes and Monsters, then End of the Beginning.

“What the fuck.... what the fuck....”

You are filled with glee.

“But she’s not like..... dead dead, right?”

Oh, but she is.

“WHAT THE FUCK??”

Now they’re hooked. They actually care about these characters that just a few hours worth of content ago they saw only as shallow thrice-copied caricatures of anime archetypes. They are feeling real emotions about Yang and Penny and Pyrrha. They need to know what happens to RNJR. They need to know why Blake ran away. They need to know who the evil milf at the end of the episode is. “Fuck you” they say “fuck you for making me like this show.”

You have not just introduced them to RWBY you have inflicted it upon them. They now wear the shameful badge of being a fan of this show that the majority of the internet thinks is nothing but raw cringe. They have Opinions on ships they would have made fun of people for caring about just a few weeks prior. And they desperately, desperately, want to share this with someone else.

But they can’t.

Because even though they know it gets good, there’s no way to communicate that without making someone experience it for themselves.

They feel like a crazy person for liking this show. They know it gets good.

But no one will ever believe them

[miss-kittyy]

Rewriting Briarlight and Longtail’s Deaths

So I am disabled, like very disabled, I am %50 of the teenagers ever diagnosed with my special combination of pain disorders, and I also unfortunately hyper fixated on warrior cats, which is bad news for me because warrior cats is super ableist, and to add insult to injury, the fandom can also be pretty ableist.

My biggest problem with the majority of “anti-ableist” AUs is that they “fix” the ableism stemming from the narrative and able bodied characters by making the disabled character less disabled, this so bad for many reasons. I’ve talked more about in other posts. The justification that real life disabled cats are less doesn’t make it not ableist, since when was warrior cats meant to be realistic? If you’re making an au where the disabled cats function like actual disabled cats you also have to make all the cats genetically accurate, and retcon Lionblaze lifting a tree.

My problem with warrior cats is not that the disabled characters cannot become full conventional warriors, I’d like it if they got to choose what duties the perform instead of being crammed into the medicine den, but I don’t care about Cinderpelt not being able to complete a marathon. Most of the fandom seems to think the issue is that the disabled character are not useful enough, instead of the way that able bodied characters deny of them agency and make remarks like “you wouldn’t want to return to a life like her’s would you?”. Disabled people do not need to be “useful” to be worthy and empowering.

It’s very obvious that most of the fandom just wants the disabled cats to be more palatable to abled bodied people, so I’ve decided to make my own rewrite instead to hopefully make myself feel better. A lot of these things are inspired by my own experiences and not every disabled person is looking for the same things in representation, this is totally self indulgent.

The goal of this AU is to highlight the many unique and valuable aspects disability and how being disabled does not infringe upon anyone’s worth, ever.

- Longtail doesn’t die in the storm, Briarpaw is still injured, but he’s found besides her, trying his best to help her cling to life.

- after Briarpaw begins to recover he stands up to Millie and other cats insulting her quality of life, he says her journey will be hard, but it is one worth taking.

- She asks him why he’s an elder, and he decides to request to have his warrior ship restored as Briarpaw is dreading the life of an elder.

- On his first patrol the cats accompanying him insist on speaking to him in an incredibly infantilism tone, and whispering amongst themselves over what he can or can’t do, without consulting him,

- He initially gives up on patrolling after that insufferable experience.

- Briarlight begins to create marks and blobs on the wall of the medicine den using crushed up dead herbs she asks him to retrieve some berries for her, and he complies.

- Jayfeather shows him how he navigates the territory with the help of some of the sighted cats, and Mousefur is quick to volunteer as his guide. He finds her company surprisingly empowering. He realizes that it was not his blindness which was limiting his abilities, but the other cats attitudes.

- Mousefur and Longtail return with mouthful of berries and herbs, Briarlight describes to him what she’s drawing on the side of the den and he helps he mound the materials into paint.

- The cats begin to pop into the medicine den to see Briarlights painting and soon Jayfeather has to kick her out occasionally so they’d stop crowding him, she’s given the walls of camp to decorate instead.

- She begins to illustrate Longtails stories of the old territory and Bloodclan, and this new form of storytelling becomes a tradition amongst Thunderclan.

- because more young cats are aware of the clans history it becomes harder for the dark forest to recruit them, unfortunately, Blossomfall’s resentment towards her sister means she never cared to listen.

- Ivypool is still recruited and trained like in canon, given her relationship with the dark forest was much more emotionally charged and manipulative than just plain lies.

- at a gathering Longtail meets Grasspelt who inquires about Briarlight, Longtail is surprised about how little he knows as the she-cat had mentioned how well they got along as apprentices. Despite Millie nagging him not to tell him the truth about her daughter he does anyways, but puts much more emphasis on how well she’s doing than Millie expected. Grasspelt thinks this sounds really cool and decides that he is going to see her and her paintings, and that nobody can stop him. Longtail makes sure to put any opposing cat in their place, but Briarlight is a very respected Clanmate, so most warriors don’t say anything.

- Briarlight is nervous and doesn’t want to come out of the medicine den at first, but when Grassheart darts into the den holding berries and flowers for her to paint with she quickly warms up to her visitor.

- Grassheart is happy to tell Briarlight that he’s never been able to be a “functioning” warrior, and that he has always imagined that his spirit is shaped different, the medicine cat says his body is normal, but he’s never been able to keep focus in a fight or react as quickly as he should be able to while hunting. (He’s autistic because I say so)

- As dusk nears he’s visually hesitant to return to Riverclan and when Longtail inquires on why he says that he hasn’t felt so “here” for a long time. On the way back he wanders off and comes back with a chipmunk, when returning to Riverclan territory his father, Mintfur, is shocked to see his catch. After talking with his family a bit he realizes that it was the noise from the river that was making him so tense and dissociated, Brackenfur, who was escorting him, notices that he keeps rubbing himself on the ground and wincing.

- For the next couple moons Grasspelt returned to Thunderclan to bring Briarlight plants that only grow in Riverclan territory, he begins trying to fish from the quite lazy stream in their territory and soon both him and Briarlight have got it down.

- Longtail notices the sadness present whenever Grasspelt left and exclaims that it’s rather stupid that he’s living somewhere so unsuited for him just because of words long repeated.

- Grasspelt confesses that he feels the same, but knew he wasn’t supposed to say anything. Briarlight tells Longtail that her and the Riverclan warrior had been thinking of each other as mates for moons.

- Longtail accompanies Jayfeather to the next half moon meeting where he proposes his addition to the warrior code, “no cat should be confined to laws which harm them due to an inherent physical or spiritual difference.” (Cats don’t really know how brains work, so they see mental disabilities as a difference within a cats spirit)

- A moon later the leaders meet to discuss this proposition, it is accepted and Grasspelt makes the journey to Thunderclan for the final time.

- Grasspelt is renamed Grassspirit when becoming a Thunderclan warrior, unlike prior renaming of disabled cats this is a celebration.

- Grassspirit spends most of his time taking care of the elders and kits, he’s incredibly compassionate especially with kits and is able to solve many problems within the nursery.

- When twigkit and Violetkit arrive in Thunderclan Briarlight and Grassspirit help raise them, after Violetkit is taken Briarlight and Twigkit paint her on the side of Thunderclan camp.

- Briarlight still gets sick and her illness progresses without any treatment, Grassspirit notices her trying to hide it and when Longtail finds out he’s very upset. Jayfeather frantically treats her, expressing his frustration that she didn’t tell them sooner, the second Millie steps out she breaks down and explains that she just wanted to deal with it herself, and perhaps if she were successful Millie would finally treat her like an adult.

- Longtail gives Millie a stern talking to, he tells her that Briarlight is a warrior of Thunderclan and as her clanmate she should show her some respect.

- Millie is inherently very reactionary, as she had not realized the full extent of her suffocation, but eventually after a couple moons her and Briarlight begin to rekindle their relationship, like adults.

- Blossomfall sees how Brairlight wasn’t basking in their mother’s attention like she imagined, and feels the urge to seek out an actual sisterhood after ignoring Briarlight for moons and moons.

- Briarlight isn’t really mad at her sister, and understands why she felt the way she did. Jayfeather suggests that Blossomfall help Briarlight with her painting, Blossomfall seems put off with the suggestion of being her sister’s assistant.

- The interactions that follow are less than ideal, Blossomfall commends Briarlight’s able friends (Thornclaw, Poppyfrost, Alderheart, etc) for being so nice to her, as if that’s not what friends do. She seems very sad the entire time, sighing when her sister dragged her legs around with her mouth to sit more comfortably, even though she was completely fine. When watching her paint she comments that it’s good she has “something to keep her busy”, and finally she expresses her view, of Briarlight’s injury and her (Blossomfall’s) suffering being all worth it because of her talents, as if her life was not worth living to begin with.

- Briarlight tells her that if that’s truly what she wants she’s going to have to put more effort into understanding and respecting her way of life, and that she won’t apologize for their mother’s actions.

- When Blossomfall has her kits they take a liking to Auntie Briarlight, and Blossomfall seems to have reflected on their past interactions, trusting her sister to watch her kits. Briarlight teases a bit, a subtle way of telling her not to rush things, but they do begin to feel like something close to sisters.

- Right before Briarlight’s Nieces and Nephews are made warriors Longtail dies of Greencough. Throughout the entirety of his sickness he kept his sense of humour, his mean streak, and his immense love for what he had made of his clan.

- At his vigil Grassspirit began whaling like a bird in new-leaf, he insists that the vigil is too sad, and that Longtail wouldn’t want everyone moping around, for Starclan’s sake, his life was good. Standing amongst them, Longtail’s spirit can feel every cat in Thunderclan standing around him, singing the song of a life well lived.

[outofangband]

Some random headcanons about Morwen because I love her very much and I love Atani world building though I didn’t get as much here as I wanted so feel free to suggest topics

More on my various masterlists and the character tag

As always please feel free to ask more

Morwen spent more of her childhood wearing a hat or kerchief than not as is common for Bëorian children

Not strictly about Morwen but also related to Bëorian children. Even prior to Dagor Bragollach, small wildfires occurred occasionally in the high summer of Ladros due to the dry air, flammable potential of grass and pine, and winds. Bëorian children were tasked with collecting pine cones as they were especially flammable if struck, strict rules were enforced that no fires could be left unmonitored and could not burn for too long.

She had a habit as a toddler of following random members of the household around, chewing on her sleeve and silently watching them.

Morwen has been described as almost unnaturally still.

Her father used to take her birdwatching on early mornings when he was home.

However known she is for her cutting remarks and rebuttals, I don’t think Morwen particularly enjoys arguing, if only because she views it as pointless

Morwen has some weaknesses on her right side due to nerve damage and other injuries she suffered during Dagor Bragollach

I don’t think it’s acknowledged enough that Tolkien said she was as stern with herself as with others. Indeed as stern as she is with others, I think she’s more than capable of being unfairly harsh on herself and has more than a healthy amount of self blame for things that are absolutely not her fault. Bonus points because Morwen is very good at justifying this self blame on the rare occasions she acknowledges if, often inadvertently

She vastly prefers Bëorian Taliska and It’s not unheard of for a particularly tense conversation with Húrin to be carried out in two different dialects

This is not a headcanon but Morwen is very very very very stubborn 💙

She has closed the door in the faces of several members of Noldorin nobility as well as plenty of people who have annoyed her or who weren’t clear enough about what their business was

Morwen is extremely sharp and observant but is also rather reserved. Most people are unaware of just how much she sees and hears and if she doesn’t find her observations relevant or important, she’ll dismiss them

Aerin is one of the only people outside her family she considers herself close with. Their bond is a quiet and fierce one and though it becomes something else after the Nírnaeth, they were friends of some sort since they were teenagers

(Recent headcanon about them I’m linking here because I think about it a lot and also for my own organization)

In spite of her later reputation as a witch, Morwen has never had much patience for magical phenomena, elven or otherwise. Morwen prefers what she can understand or at least observe

She holds her beliefs on such things close and dislikes discussing them even with those close to her.

There are traditions and superstitions she brings from Dorthonion but they are private things.

(I say “despite” but of course these rumors and accusations about Morwen are not the result of known magical prowess but rather a blend of genuine fear of the other and xenophobia*, misogyny, and a strategic leveling of those things to further isolate and divide, more here and the linked related posts, etc)

(Still fixated on that for the record)

*I think this is especially true and especially interesting in the BoLT version where Brodda and co were of Húrin’s own people originally

Morwen suffered from hyper vigilance occasionally bordering on paranoia after Dagor Bragollach. Even in the safest moments of her life, when Túrin and Lalaith were young and when Húrin was safely home and they had enough to eat and were comfortable, she was always acutely aware that this could fall apart.

Unfortunately of course her fears were realized.

(This was not as good of a post as I’d want but I just have way too many thoughts about her :/)

As always please ask more, requests are open

[thefanficmonster]

Beyond Death

Alcina Dimitrescu x Reader (Gender Neutral)

Warnings: Death, Loss, Grief, Spoilers for RE8:Village, Swearing

Genre: Angst, Heavy Angst

Summary: After fighting triumph over Lady Dimitrescu in her dragon/monster form, Ethan thinks he’ll have to face one last threat before leaving the castle but said threat happens to be nothing but a hollow ghost carrying a broken heart.

Requested by Anon. Hi hun! Thank you so much for your wonderful and extremely heartbreaking request! So sorry that it’s taken me so long to write and post it but I still hope you’ll come across it and give it a read. If so I hope you enjoy it! Love, Vy ❤

It’s over. It’s finally fucking over.

Ethan Winters lets out a heavy but shaky sigh of relief that practically deflates him as though he had been holding it in - was holding it in during the entire duel against Lady Dimitrescu who is now nothing my an ashy corpse on the floor, leaving behind only a crystal sculpture to her name - the nine foot tall vampire lady that reigned over the village with a reputation stronger than the village’s actual ruler - Mother Miranda.

And now her and her daughters remain a memory - quite an unpleasant one - for the villagers, leaving one less Lord for them to fear yet remaining a figure they cower in fear just by thinking about her.

Pushing past the cloud of confusion, relief and disbelief, a soft sound that appears to be footsteps approaching reaches Ethan’s brain, kicking his heartbeat up and forcing him back into a fight-or-flight mindset. Of course he’s gonna choose fight, of course this fool is gonna see this all till the end.

But what if it’s not a fight the person approaching wants?

What if all they want is to have made it there a few minutes earlier?

What if they are no threat now and they never have been? What if that’s why the Dimitrescus kept them safe in the hidden chambers and quarters of their castle, places not even Alcina’s dear Miranda knew nothing about.

Y/N L/N Dimitrescu, Alcina’s one true love.

They were a neighbor of Alcina’s prior to the experimentation process. The two got along nicely - well, more than nicely. Pleasantly enough for Alcina to develop feelings for them along the way. Feelings that the pain and suffering of the experiments never managed to wipe away, ones that still resided with Alica even years later and only flared up stronger when Y/N recognized her on one of their ventures into the outskirts, near the Dimitrescu Castle.

“Alcina?“ They had said, their wide and confused eyes meeting the vampire’s terrified ones.

The typically fearless Lady Dimitrescu found herself at a loss of words, her throat dry, her stomach aching and her chest tight at the sight of the one last connection she has to humanity - her feelings for Y/N. But she was left on the fence, suffocated by the suspense of how Y/N would continue onward with the interaction. How they’d react to her drastic change? How they’d address her?

“Y/N...“ Their name was barely a shaky whisper on the tall woman’s lips, trembling hands clenched in tight fists to prevent from letting her emotions show.

“I missed you.“

That was what hit Alcina the strongest. That one single sentence had her assuming her true form - a pile of shard of the past, present and the many possible futures ahead. A pile of shards glued together with a weak glue threatening to give at any moment, collapsing the tough, graceful and untouchable façade of Alcina Dimitrescu. That’s how the woman knew she still had something human in her. Or rather with her as long as she had Y/N.

And so she kept them like a precious pearl in the palm of her hand and they never once neglected showing their gratitude for all she did for them. They never once hesitated to show their love and appreciation in return to all they received from her. But, the most important gift Alcina was keen on giving was the presence of her true self around Y/N. She never bothered with an act around them. Never lied, never put on a show. She was more human than ever around them. She was fragile, vulnerable, honest and bare before them. And they never made her feel any less than the feverous Lord she was despite her human side.

“It only makes you stronger.“ Y/N would say, referring to Alcina’s human side, “As a human myself, I can confirm we humans aren’t that bad and incompetent. Not all of us, at least. I remember you aren’t, that’s for sure.“

“Who are you?!“ Gun pointed at the pale figure moving barefoot across the room to crouch down next to the ashy corpse of Alcina Dimtrescu, Ethan can feel his blood starting to boil again. It’s not real fear but it’s most definitely a feeling of hostility fueled by massive adrenaline that seems to have taken complete control of him and has him in a death grip, leading him to do and say crap he normally wouldn’t. This behavior of his would be enough to get even Chris Redfield to take a step back but this person doesn’t seem to even acknowledge his presence let alone be intimidated by him.

Focusing their complete attention on the mess of crystals before them, they gently run their fingertips over the creature’s wing but sadly even their light touch manages to crumble a small bit of ash from it, the dust falling to the floor along with Y/N’s heart.

“Hey, answer me! Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here? Are you...are you like them? One of them?“ His voice becomes more and more uncertain, decreasing from an angry shout to a shaky whisper.

“You killed her. You took her from me.“ Is the response he eventually gets, spoken by a monotone flat voice that doesn’t go with Y/N’s appearance at all. Their eyes remain fixated on the tiny spot on the wing they touched seconds ago as if their gaze will bring it back to live.

Bring her back to them.

That on its own is enough to get Ethan to keep his mouth shut, gaining a vague idea of what’s going on here and who this person might be. What the deceased means to them. In his eyes, she was nothing but a monster, but in theirs, it’s obvious she was a lot more.

And so, when he approaches them and and tries to communicate with them one last time, he says and does the only thing he sees as even moderately right in this situation: he sets the crystal remains of Alcins Dimitrescu by their side. “Have this, I believe she’d want you to. It’s all that’s left of her that you can keep.“ He knows their face is emotionless and still but something about that stillness is the exact reason why he doesn’t want to look at them while he says those words. He can’t find it in himself to apologize, not that an apology would help him much in this situation anyway, so all he can attempt is pointless. All that matters to them is gone - that’s the price of him gaining a stronger chance at getting his daughter back before it’s too late. 

And just like that, without another word, the blonde man walks out of the castle, leaving the broken heart and soul that used to be a complete human being behind him. A complete human being in love with someone extraordinary. Their love for her knew no bounds, and not even death as they sit there by their lover’s remains, refusing to leave their side even when they are not both present in this world.

A lover’s true love and devotion is shown when tested - unfortunately, Y/N and Alcina’s love was faced with the ultimate test: death. And it hasn’t faltered, nor will it ever as it seems.