#i want clay so badly

[homelessnerd]

I made a few bubbles while doing dishes and then got distracted and made a thing

[hatmiracle]

i've been trying to rationalize why clay terran's death hits me more than pretty much any other victim, even though the exact intricacies of his character are not the most plot relevant, and i think i finally got it. some of it's that he's the series' first new science freak in a while, yeah, but i think above that it's the emphasis on his ambition.

ace attorney does not like to kill real characters. it doesn't. referring to the main series for the rest of this post, we very rarely get to see a character for one section of one case before they die, with a few notable exceptions. as a result, because we don't get to know the characters very well, we as players are left to pick up the remnants based on the reactions of those still alive. ace attorney creates tragedy and emotional impact through the emotions of those who knew the victims. the victims' personas, therefore, are shaped by others' experiences with them: were they nice or mean, compassionate or abusive, nurturing or strict? while their relationships to others are crucial to their selves, they aren't everything about them.

clay is an astronaut. and unlike pretty much every victim in this series, that's not just his job, it's his life's purpose. the majority of clay's character is shaped through apollo's perception of him, sure, but what's also emphasized is his dream of being an astronaut. he wanted to be an astronaut since he was a child. he went to cosmos, became acquaintances and friends with the employees, surrounded himself with space. and he got the job. i know ace attorney ages can be taken with a grain of salt, but he was going to go into space at twenty-three, where the youngest astronaut in real life was twenty-five. any sizable gap in age below the norm tends to get lawyers deemed prodigies, excluding most themis students, so clay could probably be considered one as well. he was brilliant and remarkably hardworking and dedicated his entire life to reaching this goal, and he... didn't. he died with his dream ten steps in front of him.

when a character is an exception in one way, they tend to be in many, and they also tend to be defense attorneys, for some reason. the two victims with the most ambition at time of death, from my perspective, also have the most pre-death screen time: mia fey and dhurke sahdmadhi. their ambition may be on different scales, but they both died with tasks unfinished. mia had yet to reveal the corruption of redd white and the truth to dl-6, and dhurke had yet to restore stability to his country's legal system. they were both incredibly committed to fulfilling these goals and died while actively pursuing them.

the contrast between these two and clay is the individualism factor. dhurke wanted to see his revolution through, but he wanted a better future regardless of whether he was its leader or not. mia's connection was due to her familial involvement, but she also just wanted to uncover the truth behind redd white's obscurations and reduce corruption in the legal system. these goals are personal, but they aren't limited to them. they are goals that these two aspire to achieve, but they themselves don't need to be the ones to achieve them; in fact, they aren't. phoenix apprehends white, exposes manfred von karma, and discovers misty fey's disappearance for mia, while nahyuta and apollo work to reform khura'in's courts for dhurke. clay wanted to go to space. while a less noble goal than those i'm comparing him to, it's also more intrinsic to himself. he was supposed to be the one in space. there's no one to take over his dream because it's his alone. when he dies, that's it. it'll never be done. while his compassion definitely implies that he would be proud as long as sol starbuck touched the stars again, that isn't his dream. it's not the same as him doing it himself.

another similarity between mia and dhurke is that they are also the victims with the most post-death screen time. mia is channeled constantly through the first trilogy, to the point where she's almost as constant as any living character. dhurke lives for days, concealing his death while being channeled and not revealing the secret until almost the end of 6-5. as a result, these two get front row seats to their goals being fulfilled by their successors. mia's there to help phoenix take down white in 1-2, is certainly made aware of the results in 1-4, and even reunites with diego and re-defeats dahlia in 3-5. dhurke assists apollo leading up to the final court case, and his presence sticks with apollo as he develops his defense office.

clay does not get post-death screen time. he's only mentioned, like any other victim, after his death, and the large bulk of it is regarding the minutes before he's killed. not only is his dream unable to be fulfilled, but he wouldn't get the chance to see anything come of it, if that was even possible. he's not aura, staring out of a prison cell as part of her life's work flies off without her input. he's dead. no seeing the future, no willing on a successor to continue for him, no closure. dead and gone.

i'm not going to go crazy in depth right now, but, considering all major victims, the final truth of clay's death is done pretty poorly. as the successor to investigations, a duology that deals with international affairs in incredible detail, dual destinies is notably lacking. the organization behind the phantom isn't explored in the slightest; what was the point in making them a part of something bigger in the first place? there's no inciting event, no motive, not even a name, and from my point of view it just makes dual destinies feel unfinished, like there were plans that couldn't be made reality. there aren't any hints towards what the organization is doing, no legs to theorize on besides real life events, and it's not portrayed in a way that leaves it as a clever mystery. some international organization wants to sabotage the rocket launches for an unknown reason, so people die. that's all. clay dies due to reasons completely unknown to players, which is just so unsatisfying. not only does he not get closure, but we don't either. it makes me desperate for any new information to justify his death, to make his murder mean something, just like others who are integral to plot. this isn't entirely the point i was trying to make, but i think it's significant enough to mention. or maybe i just wanted to talk about it. not too sure.

clay terran suffers the awful fate of too much ambition and too little closure. this alone made his death have the greatest lasting impact on me. i'm not sure how it is for others, but the sadness of those left behind didn't usually trigger a large emotional reaction in me. however, the way clay's extraordinary dedication, implied intelligence, and nigh inevitable success were ripped from him right at the very end, with no possibility of a successor due to his own personal stake in the goal, made his death hit me through the heart like no other ace attorney victim. and also, just a little bit, because he's a new science freak.

[claitea]

do you all wanna hear random pokemon worldbuilding headcanons i've had written down for a while but never really had an excuse to talk about. of course you do here you go

you know how pikachu in the anime says "pikapi" when it refers to ash bc it sounds like satoshi? a lot of pokemon do that. the only ones i've thought of so far are volo's togepi calling him "toto" and emmet's archeops calling him "che-ar-che" (kudari)

my in-game explanation for dex cuts only starting to happen in swsh is that more regulations were put in place to prevent invasive species, after alola's current problem with alolan rattata. you Can have cross-region pokemon still, but you can't release them outside a region they're not native to, you cant breed them, no freeroaming. protag characters arent traveling out of their region so they only use the pokemon available to them

pokemon journeys are a very integral part of the society! its seen as a coming of age thing by most, However, it's never mandatory, and you can go on one at any point in your life. it can be as long or short as you want, you can have a goal from the start or you can just wing it. its not even always about battling, some people do it for contests or just making friends and seeing sights. its not a strongly defined thing

since its such an important part of the world theres immense support for it! its why pokemon centers are free and you can even stay at them overnight in little hotel rooms attached to them specially made for travelers. the gym circuit's purpose is a good progression tracker for people who want to go that route, an easy way to sequentially explore the entire region while battling its best trainers

the poke balls found in the overworld with items in them are specifically left by other people as treats and aid for traveling trainers. its also why people just give you free stuff just for talking to them

"sinnohan form" is technically an acceptable term for hisuian pokemon, but people are so used to calling them hisuian pokemon bc thats how it was written in early dexes and carried over, that not a lot of people call them sinnohan actually

speaking of. sinnoh nowadays has a much higher population of dark type unovan zorua :)

the way rotom work is that they slot their sparkplug body into something in order to possess it. newer appliances make it harder for them to do so. thats why the rotom catalog is a thing now - people have made rotom specific appliances that are easy to possess and are battle resistant

zoroark have photographic memory to produce realistic illusions with. hisuian zoroark mostly do not retain this - most ghost-types born from the death of something else have memory issues especially about their past life - but what they Can do is pull memories directly from their victim's minds and construct more tailored illusions out of that

meloetta also never forgets a song or dance that it hears. when it performs, it can transmit its memories of instrumentals played for it to its listeners. so when you hear guitar play when encountering it in the terarium, thats completely diegetic

when testing a trainer to see if they're worthy of catching it, or when its already captured, legendary pokemon actively hold back in battle. its simply a game mechanic that every legendaries' stats arent like 10000 in every stat. a genuine no holds barred precipice blades would reduce your garchomp to dust. in battles where the pokemon is Actively trying to kill you like eternamax eternatus, your pokemon should be trying their best to dodge every single attack and the huge damage they do sustain is from being Grazed. its extremely rare for anyone to see a legendary pokemon's true power

battling and the use of poke balls simply never caught on in fiore, almia and oblivia. they've historically always been extremely close with pokemon, unlike regions like hisui where people started off scared of them. so, proving yourself with a battle and using poke balls to befriend a pokemon was never necessary

^ the lack of poke balls in those regions did once cause a major issue, where people from abroad realized befriended pokemon counted as "wild" still, so they could easily steal them. this is part of why the ranger union was established, and also why pokemon can let themselves out of poke balls when they wish. its a safety measure. ranger bases can manually tag a pokemon to prevent others poke balls from working on them

the ranger union of fiore, almia and oblivia is completely different to the rangers of the mainline regions, but they find merit in their different ways of handling pokemon so they sometimes swap members

i have several thoughts about the different pros and cons of battling and poke balls vs capture stylers:

poke balls need to constantly be replaced, but a styler is a one-time purchase that a ranger can use for years

mainline region rangers do battles, but that wouldn't work if, for example, the pokemon was already injured and weakening it further to get it to stay in a poke ball would cause it unecessary stress or be dangerous. union rangers calm pokemon by getting them to trust them via styler, but this just becomes dangerous if the pokemon is particularly aggressive.

poke balls are great for transporting a pokemon, keeping it isolated if, say, they have to take an aggressive pokemon through a busy city. but, they wont work on pokemon that have already been captured with a ball. stylers cannot undo a capture, but they can encourage a pokemon to leave a dangerous person and come with the ranger

[thisisaheist]

My two favorite Strictly couples, guys.... 🤣

[chiropteracupola]

the thing is that I will never be satisfied with the number of dollhouses I have. a dollhouse for every situation. when I die they will turn my house into a small museum and let the children come and look at my dollhouses.

[cedarsen]

need her (excuse my horrific japanese writing)

scene redraw 🔥🔥

[demonslayedher]

You know, I went into the anime adaptation of the Swordsmith Village Arc knowing it just wasn't going to have the same punch as previous arcs due to the pacing (primarily being a vehicle for flashbacks as opposed to slowly building tension), lack of impactful villains (Hantengu's back story simply does not have the impact or emotional draw of Rui or the Shabana siblings, and Gyokko is... he's just Gyokko), and incomplete-feeling character arcs (this is all set-up for pay-off on Mitsuri, Muichiro, and Genya, whereas Uzui & Rengoku had more satisfying arcs contained within single story arcs).

I knew this, and despite not totally sticking the landing with filler, I think Ufotable did a fine job with the material they had to work with.

I do have one criticism, though.

IT NEEDED MORE SWORDS.

Swords!!! Are!!!!! Beautiful!!!!! And!!!!!! The craftsmen!!!!!!! Are!!!! Amazing!!!!!!!!!! And!! Nichirinto!!! Are!!! So!!!! Special!!!!!!

GIVE US MORE SWORD LORE, GOTOUGE!!!!!! GIVE ME ALL YOUR TAISHO SECRETS!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[fandominstability]

Clay, you are on my shit list

How dare you make Gemma cry

[miallurk]

Damn. One thing going wrong and I'm going full mental breakdown huh.

[premamelody]

tldr: specific criteria mostly. sort of a plot device.

more in tags

I don't like the fact that Tsunami and Glory are princesses by blood. When I started reading this series of books, I thought that they were all not of royal blood. It was surprising to me that Tsunami dreamed of being a princess, and this, surprise, turned out to be true. Why did Webs even take such a big risk by stealing the royal egg (like Hvitur. He stole the egg from the palace, sort of.). That is, do the books seriously want to tell me that among millions of dragons, ONLY DoD were born on the brightest night? Was it necessary to take eggs from such dangerous places? Why didn't Talons of peace just...conceive eggs at the right time? I'm sure that among the 50 dragons there will be two skywings that can mate at the right time.

[cr0wc0rpse]

I think I will make an art doll

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hm… Have you ever think about Aventurine, Sunday and Dan heng with fem reader that has chubby cheeks?

When you’re eating, they can’t stop looking at your cheeks that keep puff and being squishy. You remind them of small hamster, really cute.

Give your cheek a playful bite, squish your cheeks like a stressball for him, or nuzzle his cheek against your?

I love chubby cheeks… and my hsr husband and waifu;)

Aventurine would absolutely adore the fuck out of your chubby cheeks, especially when they’re being squished and tugged between his fingers.

It was his favourite pastime that he’d gladly trade everything else for if he ever were to choose to do one thing for the rest of his life.

He’d prod your cheek if you weren’t giving him enough attention for his liking and find himself fascinated at the way they recoiled.

If Aventurine were a cat, you’d be the laser of the laser pointer that he’s trying his hardest to catch because that’s how invested in your cheeks he was.

Now would Aventurine nibble your cheeks? Yes and he would act indifferent about it too as he shrugs his shoulders as a mischievous smile graced his lips. ‘I must’ve mistook your chubby cheeks as a sweet treat, oops.’ He’d say and you knew he wasn’t in any regard remorseful of his actions.

He’d do it again in a heartbeat but he really does love your cheeks and won’t let you or anyone say anything bad about them, ever.

Sunday

Find your chubby cheeks endearing and cute.

He gives your cheeks the most affection, whether it’s kissing them, caressing them with his fingertips or even giving them a playful nibble as he laughs when you squeal.

‘I cannot help it my sweet, your cute plush cheeks were left unguarded to my attack.’ He chuckles as he kisses your cheeks again, loving how they felt under his lips that he couldn’t help but take another nibble.

When he’s stressed, he would sit himself in front of you, hold your face and begins playing with your chubby cheeks with the most focused look on his face. It would’ve been cute if he wasn’t playing with your cheeks as though they were mouldable as clay.

You: hard day sweetie?

Sunday, pinching and prodding your cheeks: what gave that away my beloved.

You: just a guess.

Your cheeks would be aching for days afterwards but at least Sunday makes up for it by massaging them and smothering them in affection.

Dan Heng has found himself developing cuteness aggression because of your cute fucking cheeks! How dare you!

He tries to act nonchalant when staring at you when eating, his eyes focusing in on how your cheeks would puff up, much like a chipmunks would when stuffing their cheeks with food for the winter. However he must’ve not been subtle enough for the lenses of march’s camera with the amount of pictures taken that day.

He just wanted to squish your cheeks really, really badly and maybe even chomp on them a little, a thought brought about thanks to his dragon noodle side, but he restrained himself from doing so out of respect for you and your boundaries.

However don’t be surprised when he goes and nuzzles his cheek against your own in his sleep and purring a little also. He may even lightly bite your cheek in the process while you were unaware, so when you bring up the teeth marks on your cheek, Dan Heng felt his face flush with heat as he looks away from you and scratched his nose.

You knew it was him but found his expressions of getting caught too adorable to scold him for the fact that you now had to spend the day with people asking if you been bitten by a cat or something in your sleep.

‘Yeah…sure.’ You’d trail off as you side glance Dan Heng, who kept his back to you, knowing damn well you were staring at him as his movements came off as more stiff than normal.

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Between A Rock And A Hard Place

Male Yandere Human-like Golem x Gender Neutral Human Reader (CW: Noncon, huge dick, golem man, magic, fatal violence towards bandits, spit used as lube, general yandere behavior) Word Count: 1.8k (Sorry this took forever, was originally going to be a drabble and then kinda got away from me, hope you all enjoy huge dick golem man.)

The small town that you lived in, Somnheim, had been victim to a swathe of horrible luck. Raided by bandits, packs of beasts killing livestock, and enemy soldiers scavenging what they could. Finally the town had enough and sent for a practitioner of the magic arts to aid them in the defense of their village.

This was you.

They didn’t have much but they offered a home and food for your services. You figured you could help them and have a quiet place to conduct your research away from the prying eyes of the council, who liked to hold newer mages under their thumb. It would also just be something nice you could do for your fellow humans, and these folks clearly needed the help.

You didn’t want to stay in this place forever though, so your solution would have to be one that would last long after you were gone.

Given your expertise in summoning and animating the logical choice was a good, old fashioned, golem. A pentagram, some select incense, clay flesh molded to a slate skeleton and imbued with an amethyst heart carrying an artificial soul, some runes carved in, and a scroll inserted that would have him follow his purpose and give him personality.

Then just add in a spell that turned the humanoid clay man into something more human so as not to frighten the villagers too badly and make him able to experience a near human existence.

The ritual was a complete success. Of course it was. You were you after all, young but talented and more importantly utterly dedicated to your craft.

Somnheim now had a mighty protector. An artificial man over 9 feet tall, with huge bulging muscles, shaggy brown hair, stoic brown eyes that gave nothing away, and glowing green runes on his arms and legs. The spell that made him human-like was more than just visual, it gave him nearly all the functions of a human male, he’d be as durable and strong as the hardest metal, never age, and of course he was certainly infertile.

Not one for creative names, you named him Slate.

Eventually bandits came by and decided they would stock up in Somnheim before going on to bigger and better loot.

They did not live to regret that decision.

Slate simply rolled a massive boulder down the hill they approached from and flattened all but a couple. Those he took care of quickly with magically precise throws of average sized stones.

Over the months any threat he couldn’t flatten with a boulder or smack with a stone he would pop open with his mighty fists.

By the end of his first year as the village’s guardian he was beloved by every single townsperson. Even the tiny children, who would climb on him and put flowers in his shaggy hair as he smiled and watched, had no fear of him.

You had enjoyed your time there, but eventually it was time for a change of scenery. You wanted to do more field research and you had saved enough money up with side projects to be able to fund a trip to the other side of the country near The Great Forest.

The villagers were grateful and sad to see you go, but they were much more interested in Slate than you.

But when you packed your bags to leave behind your wattle and daub dwelling once and for all you found yourself blocked by Slate.

He uttered one word in that deep, almost monotone, voice of his.

“No.”

“What do you mean no? I have to leave.” You tried to squeeze past him but he was not having it.

“I must protect the village… Your presence here makes the village safer… I might need repairs… or reinforcements… And you also tasked me with keeping you safe…”

You fudged the wording. You, breather of life into stone, weaver of clay, and creator of souls, messed up the wording.

He picked you up like a box of luggage and sat you on a chair in your makeshift study before going over to the heaviest bookshelf, picking it up, and placing it in front of the only door so you couldn’t escape.

“I’ll move it when I need to leave… then I will put a rock outside to keep you here…”

And that became your life. A literal prisoner in your own home.

Your magical abilities were useless in this situation, you were not a battlemage that could explode a wall, you couldn’t teleport, you bent earth.

Of course you tried to tunnel your way out by making a hole under your bed, but Slate had walked in and caught you red handed. He had confiscated and locked away all your magical supplies and texts unless you needed them to repair him you were not getting them back.

Slate was tentative enough of your physical needs, bringing you food and water and taking you outside like some sort of pet for sunlight, fresh air, and exercise. You had tried to run away but of course he had inhuman speed. And the villagers refused to help. What if Slate refused to save them if they did that?

It was a fair concern, he was made to protect the village and not villagers, he may even see them as a threat if they assisted you. You were on your own.

Though you were healthy enough physically your mental condition was deteriorating rapidly. How could you not be? Being trapped in the same building, even with trips outside, was awful. The villagers only looked at you with pity if they looked at you at all, and no one would even talk to you anymore.

It got to the point where you barely eat, refused to go outside, and spent all your time laying in bed.

Slate was failing the magical directives that governed his personality and behavior. You were clearly not safe, he was convinced that you would die if this continued, and honestly you likely would… eventually…

But the golem was not incapable of learning. He observed the other humans to find out what he could add to your life to bring you back to your usual self.

One night, when he was sitting in front of the house watching the humans passing by and holding hands, he came to the conclusion that humans had families, they lived together in their dwellings and they loved each other. They coupled together and mated.

Up until this point Slate had only been directed by simple emotion and the unyielding parchment that had imbued him with his goals. But now his task demanded something more of him, it demanded a much more complex emotion. The magic in him allowed this evolution, and now he was much more dangerous because he loved you. But it wasn’t just love he felt for the first time, it was lust.

Slate’s expression became one of someone thinking about the one who they adored infinitely, an expression of a man thinking about the person he wanted to have writhing in pleasure beneath him, even his normally green runes and brown eyes took on an amorous pink glow.

When you heard the boulder blocking the door shift and then heard the bookshelf take its place as what was blocking your way out as Slate came lumbering in with his heavy steps you didn’t even glance up.

Not until he stood in front of you and you noticed his strange pink glow replacing his green one did you stir.

You sat up in bed and when you saw the strange way his normally near emotionless eyes were staring at you, and glowing, you scooted away.

“I know what you need now! I am so sorry for not realizing sooner…” He said in a surprisingly soothing tone, a stark departure from his normally deep monotone.

“What do yo-”

Your words were forgotten as he took off his shirt and pants revealing a sweaty body and a frighteningly large cock.

“You need a partner to be happy, like the other humans, and you need to mate!”

He sounded very eager.

“No! Uh… I don’t need to… mate. I need to lea-” he put a large finger over your lips and shushed you before gripping your pants and peeling them and your underwear away from you carefully.

There was no dissuading him from his chosen course of action, he would make you happy and keep you safe no matter what!

It’s what you needed.

Slate leaned forward and spit all over your hole, thoroughly lubing it with his spit, before pressing his big cock into your hole.

It was so large that you let out a whimper of pain at first, but he was somehow knowledgeable enough about sex to know he needed to let you adjust to the size rather than just ramming himself in.

You gasped and writhed but he held you still with his massive hands running up and down your sides as he slowly pulled you down on his prick.

Slate was in complete heaven, he had never really known much pleasure of any kind, let alone the type that came with burying his cock in someone he was now completely obsessed with.

He had no idea his dick could be used for this at all, but now that he did he would certainly be doing this everyday, maybe even a couple times a day! The perfect blend of heat and softness was amazing.

As he began to thrust slowly, with a blissed out expression as he stared up at nothing with drool coming out of his mouth, you couldn’t help but moan in pleasure as his cock caressed your depths perfectly.

Hearing your breathy moans snapped him back to reality. You were finally happy again~

The treatment was working! That settled it, he would do this every single day no matter what!

Carefully gripping your sides a bit more firmly he moved your entire body back and forth on his cock. You couldn’t help it, your whole body twitched with the force of a massive orgasm. The sensation of your body spasming around his previously virgin dick caused him to slam in deep and cum hard.

He pulled you close, holding your head into his muscular chest as he panted, his dick still firmly impaling your limp body. You hadn’t been eating much and this serious fucking had taken a lot out of you.

Slate cleaned the two of you up, bathing you gently before taking advantage of your compliant state by spoon feeding you some dinner he had brought from a town person.

Mating with you made you so pleasured and too tired to resist him when he took care of you, he almost couldn’t wait until you had enough energy to do it again, his cock strained in his pants with anticipation.

[claitea]

i am SO glad i didnt pull for anni lillie bc are you all seeing these pmex datamines. i am in SHAMBLES

[peterm4rker]

(𐙚⋆.˚) wondering why

🕸🕷✮⋆ [mark x reader] ...୨♡୧... wc. 2.5k w. none, lmk if you find any! fluff ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ

hey siri! play "wondering why" by the red clay strays

she comes from silver spoon, golden rule, private school

never missed sunday church

mark watched you from his place next to his father.

the way you focused on whatever you seemed to be embroidering, eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking out of your lips slightly. he couldn’t help himself, his eyes refused to move away from the astonishing beauty of your smooth skin and pretty eyes. his heart began to race as you looked up at him, catching his stare. he thought you were going to be weirded out at his dirty figure, but he was met with the prettiest smile he had ever seen. he smiled back instantly, his eyes lighting up with wonder before he was obliged to head back to earth by the voice of his father.

“mark, the scissors.” his voice was serious, a warning hidden in his tone. the boy muttered a small “sorry” as he hurried along to get the tool to his father. when he looked back at you, your eyes had long moved from him, and you didn’t meet them again until your own father’s voice rang.

“yn, come over here for a second” he spoke, his demanding tone almost sending a shiver down mark’s spine. you hurried over without a word, eyes connecting with mark’s for only a few seconds. “i need a dress made for her, she will be presented to society now that she is finally of age… the young man should start taking her measurements, the dress cannot be anything short of perfect for my princess.” 

your eyes were glued to the floor, as if you were ashamed of your father’s words. mark stared for a couple more seconds until his father nudged his side, urging him to follow the man’s orders. he moved quickly to grab the measuring tape and approach you. you raised your arms to give him the liberty to do his job, your lips chewing on your bottom lip out of nervousness. 

“i’m sorry you have to do this” you whispered, only for him to hear. your voice was sweet like honey, and it made mark’s insides twist in knots.

“i don’t mind” he muttered back, a small smile on his lips as he hid his desire for closeness behind the excuse of doing his job.

at eighteen years old, mark knew he wanted to marry you someday.

…

and i come from blue collar, low dollar

out here where concrete meets old red dirt

“you better be finding inspiration and not getting more of those impossible ideas of yours” mark’s father spoke as his reflection walked by mark’s on the glass. the young boy’s eyes were fixated on the suit that stood behind it, mind imagining himself wearing it while waiting for you at the bottom of the stairs of your house.

“are they really that impossible?” he asked, his tone breathless as he forced himself to tear his eyes away and jog to catch up with the man. he knew the answer he would receive, but he wanted oh so badly for it to change.

“dreams are dangerous for people like us, son” there was a hint of defeat in his father’s voice as they walked up the stairs that lead to your home. “we make the dress, not marry the bride.”

and those words stuck with him for days on end as he moved around you, sharing tender and oh so loving gazes as he pinned fabric around your body for a day he knew he would not be there to witness.

“you have soft hands” your voice rang in his ears, interrupting the peaceful silence that surrounded you in the empty room. “compared to your father’s”

“less years of hard work, he would say,” he mumbled as he stood behind you, fixing what would be the corset of your debutante dress.

“where is he, anyway? i’m sure my father had demanded his work for my big night” the last two words rang with sarcasm.

you felt his hands go more rigid than usual after the question “he has fallen ill, that’s why it's only me today” shit.

“i'm terribly sorry, i shouldn’t have asked” you voiced with regret, and you watched his reflection shake his head in the mirror.

“there is no way you could’ve known” mark reassured, attention still fixated on his job.

“i’m glad he has you to continue his labor” you spoke again, voice more tender this time.

mark’s eyes rose to find yours in the reflection, an eyebrow slightly raised. “do you, miss ln?”

his voice had sounded deeper than it usually did, and the way his breath hit the skin of your shoulder made a shiver run down your spine.

“i do.”

...

and i don't know what happened

but it sure don't add up on paper

the day had finally come. where you would walk down a flight of stairs wearing the dress that he made, a soft melody in the background that he wouldn’t get to hear while you held a hand that wasn’t his.

mark sat in the sand of the beach near your house, watching the ocean reach and recoil from his touch as you had done so many times in the past months. his eyes felt dry at the lack of the tears they had grown used to now that his father was gone, but there weren’t any left to relieve the itchiness. 

his hands played with the sand on his side, enjoying the warmth that contrasted how cold the skin of the last hand he held was. mark felt guilty, really, that he couldn’t keep his mind off of you even when his father had died. but he had spent months yearning for the moment he could tell you how gut wrenchingly in love he was with you, with the way you spoke, with the way you looked at him. and now he was too late, because he knew that if he had any chance with you before that stupid, rich people, ridiculous ball you had to attend, it was gone now. there wasn’t a single chance that you were going out of there without having been introduced to all the respectable, equally rich young men that your mother would just love to set you up with.

that’s what he thought, of course, before he heard your voice calling him from the distance. he snapped his head towards the sound, knowing that it was probably just his mind playing tricks on him. but it wasn’t, you were there, running up to him with your long white gown and your chest heaving as you tried to regain your breath.

he didn’t waste any more time before running in your direction, arms flying to support your tired body. “yn? what are you doing here?” he asked once he was finally at your side.

“i got in a fight with my father and ran away. i can't do it, mark” he noticed the way your face was wet with tears and guided you to sit down, hoping you could catch your breath before you passed out.

“what can’t you do?” he questioned further, his heart racing with possibility.

“i can’t be paraded like that when i know i’ve already met the man i want to spend my life with” your voice sounded more stable now and your eyes bored into his.

mark felt his breath hitch at your words “you have?”

“of course, why else did you think i ran all the way here? i was hoping to find you” your eyes didn’t leave his for a second, and he could see the honesty through them.

he didn’t answer your indirect confession, he didn’t have the words. the only thing he could do was press his lips to yours in a tender but passionate kiss, hoping that was enough to tell you he felt the same.

...

but when i close my eyes late at night

you can bet i thank my maker

“i’m sorry, i know it's not much but, uhm, you can take the bed and i’ll take the couch” mark spoke nervously as you entered his small house. you had stopped on your tracks, eyes wandering around the space.

“it's perfect” your voice made his eyebrows furrowed. he knew his house was far from perfect, even more in the eyes of someone like you.

“i don’t think the word “perfect” is the one you're looking for” he muttered, finally catching your eyes as you looked his way.

“i love it, mark” you smiled as you approached him, your hand shyly moving to his blushing cheeks. “i’m serious”

he couldn’t help but smile, kissing the palm of your hand in affection. “we should get you out of that dress before you ruin my masterpiece any further”

“already trying to undress me? have some decorum would you” you joked, eliciting a laugh to fall from his lips as he rolled his eyes.

“do you want to sleep with a corset on, then?” he raised his eyebrow. “although i do have to say, you look insanely beautiful” his words made your heart race as you watched his eyes look you up and down slower than he usually would.

“if you ever make me a dress with a corset again i will end your bloodline.” you said, face stoic. mark couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“come on, i’ll give you some clothes and we can go to sleep” he looked at you one last time before guiding you to his room.

he waited outside while you changed, the white gown folded and discarded to the side as you walked towards the door. mark’s breath hitched once again as he saw how beautiful you looked, swallowed by the fabric of his clothes.

“like what you see?” your tone was teasing, but it flew right over his head as he took his time to go back into reality.

“you’re free to take the bed” he stammered as he quickly looked away as he realized how much he had been looking.

“would it be a lot to ask you to stay? i really don’t feel like being alone.” you asked as you looked down, a little nervous at his answer.

“if you’re sure, i would be more than happy to do so” the boy answered, his voice gone soft at the sight of you.

that’s how you ended up under mark’s covers, your head rested on his chest as he caressed your hair softly. you had fallen asleep the moment your body relaxed on his, and mark stayed awake just a few more moments to take everything in and mutter a quick “thank you” to the sky.

...

she keeps on loving me

loves me the way i am

“love, dinner is ready” mark heard your soft voice, seconds before he felt the warmth of your hand on his back.

“thank you, i’ll be right there” he turned his head to give you a tired smile, the eye bags under his eyes making you feel heavy at heart.

it wasn’t long until he sat in front of you on the dinner table, two plates served with hot food. 

“what’s on your mind, markie?” you asked as you noticed the way his eyes were fixated on the table, his fork barely playing with his food.

“this isn’t the life i promised i could give you” he spoke, his voice heavy as his eyes finally met yours.

“isn’t it? last time i checked you promised me a happy life, and i hadn’t known happiness like this until i ran away from that wretched house.” you smiled, reaching to hold his hand in yours. “i know you want to give me a life of glamour and expensive mansions, but we’ll get there eventually. and if we don’t, i don’t care, because you’re here and that’s all that's ever mattered to me.”

mark squeezed your hand as he listened to you, feeling his heart pound with love for you. you never failed to remind him why he had fallen in love with you, nor all the reasons you had fallen in love with him.

…

she's not just along for the ride

she's my biggest fan

“mark!” he heard your voice call out to him as you ran into the house, startling him with the high volume. he looked at you with confusion written all over his face as you shook the newspaper around excitedly. “look at this!”

said newspaper was planted in front of him, a picture of one of his clients wearing one of the dresses he had designed on the front cover. his eyes widened at the sight, his smile following right behind. “one of my dresses is on the front cover?” he asked, astonished.

“not only that! she mentioned you, look!” you pointed at a specific paragraph you had marked on the paper. he read the woman’s praising words toward his work, still not believing his eyes.

“this is insane, i don’t even know what to say…” mark’s eyes moved to yours, a smile overtaking his surprised face as he watched the way your eyes lit up with joy and slowly filled with tears.

your hands slowly made their way to his cheeks, caressing the skin with the pads of your thumbs ever so lovingly “i’m so proud of you, my love”

and right then and there, mark knew there was nothing he could ever do without you cheering for him in every step.

…

lord, it's a little old piece of heaven

when we lay down at night

mark climbed into your new bed in your new house, a slightly bigger one with a more comfortable mattress. it didn’t take long after he settled for you to cuddle up to his chest, looking for his warmth even in your sleep.

his arms surrounded your body and pulled you closer as he left a kiss on your forehead, allowing himself to admire your sleepy face. he remembered the moment you moved into the house, how your unwavering smile faltered at the sight of the bed.

“is there something wrong?” mark asked, his smile falling as he watched your eyebrows furrow.

“the bed is massive,” you answered. his confusion only grew further. what was wrong with a massive bed?

“did you want me to keep the older one, love? it was borderline a twin mattress” he questioned again, looking into your eyes.

“how on earth am i supposed to find you when we sleep?” you answered his question with one of his own. he watched you and waited for your signature laugh to fall from your lips and tell him you were just joking, but it never came.

“baby” the boy couldn’t help but chuckle, moving towards you to place his hands on your hips and bring you closer to leave a cast kiss on your lips. “we’ll be just as close, i will find you even if i have to wake up, i promise.”

his answer seemed to calm your troubled mind as you smiled and pulled him in for another kiss.”

…

she keeps on loving me

and i keep on wondering why

“hey mark?” your voice pierced the comfortable silence as you laid on a blanket on your balcony, staring up at the starry sky like you used to do on the terrace of your old apartment. the boy hummed, moving his head to stare at your side profile. “my mother reached out to me today” your words were said barely above a whisper.

mark felt his heart race, his disdain for those you called your family still present. “and what did she say?”

“she told me she saw you in the newspaper” your eyes were still fixated on the sky above “that shes pleasantly surprised about your success and that father wants us to have dinner over at the villa sometime”

mark had to suppress the urge to roll his eyes. a family that had never treated him or you as anything but a disgrace were now suddenly eager to enjoy a meal with him. he knew he would rather eat his own chopped liver than spend a minute inside that household, but he would do it if you wanted to. it wasn’t his family nor his place to decide. 

“and what did you say?” he asked and you finally turned your head towards him. mark felt as breathless as he had when he saw you for the first time. your eyes still looked like they held the entire universe.

“i told her to fuck herself” you erupted in a giggle as your words left your lips, and mark couldn’t help but laugh along side you.

he had always wondered why you loved him as much as you did, but god was he grateful you did.

★ blue's corner ;; i love love love this song and i watched the greatest showman yesterday, so i had to write this for my mental sanity. i hope you guys like it ! a special thank you to my beta reader and the cutest person alive @morkiee ★ taglist ;; @neozon3nha @winwintea @spacejip @dudekiss3r @yizhrt @lyvhie ★ back to the masterlist. ★ please do not copy, adapt or steal any of the content !!! ★ divider by @soulari

© peterm4rker, 2024

[elfwreck]

I have a friend who isn't anti-porn but it makes her sad that fanfic has a reputation for being porny and usually not very good. I'm fine with both those things and my views mostly align with that of AO3. I disagree with the idea that porn and badness are treated as equivalent, but for most people that's just how they think. But I was wondering if youve ever written something about this?

There is a lot of smut at AO3.

There is a lot of bad writing at AO3.

There's a lot of badly written smut at AO3.

...None of those are problems except for the people who think there is something wrong with those existing, or that there needs to be some external value that "balances" those that make those acceptable to exist as unwanted side-effects of "the good stuff."

The badly-written smut is also "the good stuff."

It's part of the reason AO3 exists. It's not intended to be an archive for "the high-quality fanfic that could be published if it weren't about characters that someone else wrote first"; it's an archive for "what fanfic writers want to write." That makes the terrible writing and the tacky porn and the badly-written tacky porn part of the reason the archive exists.

Tangent 1 (I'll connect these points later): Theodore Sturgeon said "90% of everything is crud." He was more-or-less referring to the science fiction field in the 50s, but it definitely extended to politics, business, and writing outside of science fiction.

...He was talking about published books in the 50s. Turns out, a lot more than 90% of writing is crud when there aren't any gatekeepers between it and the readers. But also:

Tangent 2, from the book "Art and Fear":

[A] ceramics teacher announced on opening day that he was dividing the class into two groups. All those on the left side of the studio, he said, would be graded solely on the quantity of work they produced, all those on the right solely on its quality. His procedure was simple: on the final day of class he would bring in his bathroom scales and weigh the work of the “quantity” group: fifty pound of pots rated an “A”, forty pounds a “B”, and so on. Those being graded on “quality”, however, needed to produce only one pot — albeit a perfect one — to get an “A”. Well, came grading time and a curious fact emerged: the works of highest quality were all produced by the group being graded for quantity. It seems that while the “quantity” group was busily churning out piles of work – and learning from their mistakes — the “quality” group had sat theorizing about perfection, and in the end had little more to show for their efforts than grandiose theories and a pile of dead clay.

You don't get to "quality writing" without going through a lot of crappy writing.

That doesn't mean the crappy writing is garbage to be thrown out. If you make 50 pots or bowls or vases, and only one of them is The Good One... most of the rest are okay. Maybe not sale-quality good, but your-kitchen-table quality good. Maybe some aren't that good and are kids-toy-in-the-sandbox level good.

Bad writing has a purpose for the writer: they can use it as practice to get better. It has a purpose for the reader: It can serve as inspiration ("I can do better than that") or grammatical instruction ("that...does not work; why doesn't that work?") or just as entertainment ("eh, so it's missing a few commas; I can still understand it").

Smut and porn writing works the same way. It's of some value to the writer, and some to the readers.

It's not of value to everyone. That's what tags and filters are for, and why there's a summary and list of stats (like word counts)--so you can figure out if you're one of the readers for whom this piece of writing is useful or interesting.

But AO3, like any library, is not there to take the top 5% of Excellent Writing and provide it a showcase. It is absolutely for all 50 lbs of pots.

If your friend wants to read the good stuff, there are rec lists and collections to help her find it.

If she already manages that, and is just annoyed at how much of the not-good stuff (however she defines that) exists... she's picked the wrong battle. She's arguing with the ocean that it has too many kinds of fish and some are poisonous a lot of them are ugly.