#i was writing it like 😡���

[usercelestial]

okay but literally what if buck and tommy end up together? like what if we get to see them moving in together or saying i love you for the first time or getting engaged or getting married? what if we get to see buck having a husband? literally what then...

[cuubism]

as a certified horse obsessed freak i'm obliged to have an equestrian au so here's an equestrian au. make it olympics flavored for relevance. but there will be no sex in hay!! EVER!!!

it is smutty though.

--

Dream Endleas’s reputation for being difficult preceded him. His critical eye, his adherence to perfection, his crisp turnout and refusal to ever appear the slightest bit disheveled even after competing in the summer heat; his family, his money, his luxury-brand sponsorships—Hob had seen enough videos of Dream’s Grand Prix tests to be prepared for all of it. But he wasn’t prepared for the force of seeing it in person.

Dream in person was somehow even more perfect and posh than he appeared on video. Hob hadn’t actually spoken to him yet, had only communicated through his groom, Matthew, while getting the horses settled in—but God, he looked like such a prat. He looked like the type of snotty kid Hob had seen around the yard growing up, the type who thought they could ride because their parents had bought them a fifty-thousand pound pony. The type that persisted into adulthood, rolling up in a Range Rover to get on an already tacked horse, later handing their fancy horse back to the groom before stalking back out of the stable in pristine white breeches, leaving all the care to others.

Hob might have had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about that sort of thing.

It would have been easy to hate Dream, except that, fancy horse or not, he actually could ride, exceedingly well at that, and—and Hob was feeling very betrayed by his dick on this one—he was also blisteringly hot.

Dressage competition wear was, by and large, not one’s first choice of clothes that would be considered “sexy.” The combination of “business formal” and “cavalry officer on parade” wasn’t exactly giving come hither, but Hob took one look at Dream stalking down the center aisle of the barn in his clean white breeches and his high boots and his black coat with its little fucking Union Jack embroidery and he wanted. It was a good thing thoughts were an internal situation because it was embarrassing how quickly he went to I want those skinny little thighs wrapped around my head. Mortifying, really.

He was thinking about it so hard he didn’t immediately realize Dream was coming for him.

“You,” Dream said, stopping before him. “You are the stable manager.”

“That’s me,” Hob agreed. Regretting it more every minute, too. Managing the horses for the Olympic team had sounded like a good gig in theory…

“Why have the horses not been turned out?” Dream demanded.

“Aren’t you competing in—” Hob checked his watch— “an hour? Why are you asking me this now?”

“Because it came to my attention that things were mismanaged,” Dream said, unrepentant, then stood, waiting for his answer.

Hob sighed. “They didn’t provide us any turnout space.”

“They did not provide—” Dream started, then stopped, apparently flummoxed. “That is unacceptable.”

Hob had to grudgingly admit that it was to his credit that he cared. Not everyone did. “Tell me about it. But if you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a several hundred year old stable and they weren’t about to revamp the entire situation for us.”

“As per usual, horse welfare comes last,” Dream said, narrowing his eyes. Jesus Christ, Hob thought, he’s wearing eyeliner. “Be advised that I will be paying close attention going forward—” he looked at Hob’s name badge— “Hob Gadling.”

And with that ominous statement, he turned and stalked off.

“Good luck with your test,” Hob offered, half-heartedly, to Dream’s retreating back. Then, to himself, “Really? That prick’s the one you want?”

He could hardly be angry with Dream for being upset about it, though. Hob certainly had a bone to pick with the organizers about the horses being stalled 24/7. But he doubted that the people who managed The Palace of Versailles gave a fuck what he thought.

It did mean less for Hob to do, though. So once he’d done another round of their team’s wing of the stables he headed out to the arena to watch Dream’s test. There was no way Hob was going to miss watching him ride after a performance like that. If you were going to live up to your reputation of being rude and difficult you had damn well better live up to your reputation for skill as well.

Unfortunately for Hob, Dream did in fact live up to that reputation. He and Jessamy were gorgeous together. She was a smaller and lighter horse than many of the others and seemed to practically float across the ring. Dream made it look so easy when Hob knew damn well it was not. Hob could have watched him for hours, though of course the test was only a few minutes long.

In addition to watching Dream’s test, he was keeping an eye on the horses going in and out of the stable, keeping up to date on any injuries or soreness, though each had its own groom who was responsible for the horse’s immediate care. At the conclusion of Dream’s test, Hob expected him to hand Jessamy off to Matthew, but instead Dream just dropped his stirrups, letting Jessamy steer on a long rein as he wandered off towards the grassy area past the border of the dressage arena.

“Oi!” Hob called, catching up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am going for a hack,” Dream said, hardly sparing him a passing glance.

Hob followed the direction he was headed. “On the cross-country course?”

“They aren’t using it,” Dream said, uncaring. “We”—presumably he meant himself and the horse—“are sick of being in the stable.”

So saying, he started off again, Jessamy’s ears pricked forward in interest as she picked her way across the grass.

Hob doubted he could stop him. And he had to admit it was probably more entertaining for the horse to go for a walk than to sit in her stall. It seemed a strange thing for Dream to do, though, wander off across the grass, legs swinging free out of the stirrups, instead of maintaining a strict training regimen in the arena.

Dream stopped before he was too far away, turning over his shoulder to call out: “I will be back before the final test is complete. If scheduling concerns you.”

So there was some recognition of the fact that it would be Hob’s neck if the horses weren’t where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a hand. “Though given your score, I’d imagine you want to be back before they announce the medals.”

He got a half-smile from Dream for this, and then he was wandering off again, sitting comfortably in the saddle with the reins long, Jessamy’s tail swishing away the summer flies.

Hob watched his retreating back for a long moment, then turned back to the ring to keep an eye on the rest of the horses.

As Hob had predicted, Dream did win gold. He showed up just in time for it, finally giving Jessamy back to Matthew to take inside. She’d picked up some grass stains on her white socks, though Dream’s clothes were as pristine as ever. He seemed immune to dishevelment. He accepted his medal with predictable stoicism and bore the obligatory photos with grace and poise but what seemed to Hob like resignation rather than enjoyment of the attention.

Hob didn’t see where he ended up next. He had horses to feed and water and tack to be sure was in order for tomorrow’s events. In fact, he doubted he’d see Dream again at all. It should have been a good thing, for all Dream was a source of frustration for him. Instead, he found himself feeling disappointed. 

Hob was always the last one in the barn at night. Partly out of obsessiveness, partly due to the fact that unlike the riders, his lodgings were actually on the stable grounds. So he did his final round looking in on the horses at around 9 p.m. Not that there was much to do—check water, throw a little hay, make sure none of the horses had managed to keel over in the last two hours since he’d seen them—but it was a soothing ritual, making sure everything was shut up tight before going to bed himself.

Or it would have been soothing, if there wasn’t somebody else there.

The distant sound of a stall door sliding open had Hob immediately on edge. No one else had cause to be here this late, and at such a high profile event, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of ill intentions—or just of a horse getting out past an improperly latched door. He walked quickly towards that wing of the stable, though there had been no more sounds since—

Oh. It was Jessamy’s stall. Hopefully that meant it was Dream, or at least Matthew, because otherwise Dream would be royally fucking pissed.

Hob peered around the door where it was cracked open. And then just stood there, frozen, because it was Dream, crouched down in the shavings cleaning the grass stains from Jessamy’s leg—but not Dream like Hob had ever seen him.

For one, he was wearing shorts. Actual jean shorts that fell to mid-thigh, legs bare down to his paddock boots. Legs which were just as wiry and pale as Hob had imagined under his breeches, but covered in dust, with a streak of mud across one knee and a small bruise on the other thigh of the type you inevitably get when you spend enough time in the barn. Instead of his crisp white shirt and black jacket of earlier, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt spotted with water across the chest—watching the way Jessamy was sloshing about in her water bucket, now full of hydrating additives, Hob could just about guess how that had occurred. Dream even had a piece of hay stuck in his hair.

It was all so shocking Hob didn’t realize Dream was calling his name until he’d said it a second time.

“Hob Gadling. Do you require something, or can I be left in peace for the first time today?”

“You’re wearing shorts,” Hob said, dumbfounded.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “It is very hot out, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just— I can’t imagine you in shorts.” Or covered in dirt, for that matter. Dream was so pristine, so refined. Except for now, when he was at least fifty percent dust.

“Do you imagine me frequently?” Dream asked, and Hob was grateful that the low lighting disguised the way his cheeks flushed.

“No, I—” he did, though. He’d imagined Dream constantly since first seeing him. Since first learning they’d be crossing paths at the Olympics, really. “Maybe.”

Dream smirked, and stood, stepping out of the stall and perching instead on his tack trunk in the aisle, latching the door behind him. “What about me makes you think I do not own shorts?”

Hob was definitely blushing now. “You just. Always look so put together. And now you’re…” he gestured to the various bits of grime sticking to Dream.

“Of course I am put together at a show, Hob,” Dream said, rolling his eyes. “You could hardly expect me to show up to the Olympic final with mud smeared across my face.”

This was a good point, actually.

“I did not intend to be seen like this at all,” Dream added, giving him a pointed look.

Hob found it charming, though. The fact that Dream’s relative familiarity in being sticky with sweat and hay dust meant he did at least some of his own horse care regularly. The fact he didn’t just show up to get on and off.

“Why are you here so late?” Hob asked, glancing over at Jessamy. “I think she’ll survive with some grass stains until tomorrow. You’re done competing anyway.”

Dream’s brow pinched. “The amount of socializing at this event is stressful. And there is no reprieve in my rooms.”

This made Hob grin. “Not having fun in the Olympic Village?”

Dream wrinkled his nose. “I do not like having a roommate,” he said, and Hob had to laugh at the disgust in his tone. “I considered booking my own hotel room, but was informed this was not demonstrative of team spirit.”

“Oh no, you had to be part of a team at a team event, that’s terrible,” Hob said, still grinning. “Poor Dream.”

Dream’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it did reach his eyes, Hob saw it. “Terrible,” he agreed. “Hence, I am hiding in the barn.”

“And you wanted to check on your horse,” Hob guessed, softening. He had finally reached the conclusion that he had been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was likely to be. And shouldn’t have assumed it in the first place.

“I worry about them overheating,” Dream said. “This barn has poor airflow.”

“You’ve got better at your place back home?”

“My horses live outside,” Dream said.

Hob had really been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was.

“Now you will tell me they will break themselves in the field,” Dream sighed, apparently well-used to the argument.

“Nope,” said Hob. “So do mine.”

Then, Dream looked at him in surprise and, if Hob wasn’t mistaken, a new hint of grudging respect.

“Mine aren’t as expensive as yours, of course,” Hob teased. He could only guess at the price tag on Dream’s Grand Prix dressage horses.

“They are insured,” Dream said, dismissively. “I care little for how much they cost me. They are happier out of their stalls.”

Hob smiled, and felt the softness of it on his own face. Goddammit. Now he wasn’t only finding Dream hot, which he could maybe have coped with, but going soft on him, too. “I really am sorry about the turnout situation here. There’s just not much we can do about it. I did ask.”

“It’s no matter.” He’d apparently decided to give up on his annoyance with Hob about it. “I may bring her home early. Though I doubt they will let me leave until the end.”

“No one’s ever been less excited to be at the Olympics than you, Dream,” Hob said, laughing, and Dream cracked another smile. He was very pretty when he smiled. He was pretty when he was stern and focused, too. Really, all of him was doing it for Hob.

“I am not very good at dealing with people,” Dream admitted.

Hob felt abruptly bad for him and the reputation he’d developed. Not that Dream hadn’t done anything to justify it. But it couldn’t make it any easier to make friends. He looked so much smaller, too, sitting on the tack trunk in his shorts and t-shirt, covered in dust and hay. Far from the stern and unapproachable Dream Hob had seen earlier.

“Come take a walk with me,” he suggested. “We’ll finish checking in on the horses and then, I don’t know. Get a drink or something.”

It felt too bold a suggestion as soon as Hob suggested it, but Dream sighed and stood, dusting off his shorts. “I suppose I should try not to sequester myself.”

“That’s the enthusiasm I like to see,” Hob said, and got another smile out of Dream. He was quickly becoming addicted to getting those smiles.

Dream followed as Hob checked in on the remaining horses, helping him top off waters and throw hay. By the end Hob was just as covered in dust as Dream, t-shirt drenched in sweat, and had tied up his hair in a bun to get it off the back of his neck, not that it helped much. Dream had been right, the barn was poorly ventilated, and they were both suffering the results of that.

When he turned from tying up his hair, he found Dream watching him, gaze tracking the movement of Hob’s hands, the fall of his hair, then back to his face.

“What?” Hob asked.

“I—” Dream swallowed, throat catching. “Was I. Wrong. To think I caught you looking before?”

Somehow Hob knew exactly what he meant. He probably should have felt embarrassed about it—but it was hard to when Dream was looking at him like that now. Dust sticking to his hair, sweat gleaming along his neck, and he was looking at Hob like he’d suddenly found something very compelling to cut through the weariness of the day.

“No,” Hob said. “Did it bother you?”

Dream shook his head. “No one looks at me like that.”

“Seriously? But you’re gorgeous.”

Dream’s mouth popped open, and even in the semi-dark Hob thought he saw his eyes dilate. “Am I?”

“Maybe they’re all just too intimidated by you to show it,” Hob said, taking a step closer to him.

“And are you?” Dream asked. “Am I so terrifying?”

“I think I can handle it,” Hob said, and closed the remaining distance between them, sparing one moment to think I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this before he took Dream’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Dream whimpered into the kiss, clutching at Hob’s wrists. He opened his mouth to Hob, head tipping back. Dream had such a strong presence that Hob hadn’t realized there was a slight height difference between them, but he took full advantage of it now, pressing him back, letting go of his face to catch him around the waist.

Dream pulled away long enough to take a breath, then dove back immediately into the kiss, sucking on Hob’s lower lip, digging his fingers into Hob’s hair. Hob steered him back, half-blind for kissing, until they stumbled into one of the empty stalls being used to store extra tack, where he pushed Dream down to sit on one of the tack trunks.

Dream’s breath caught, his pulse hammering where Hob set his lips and teeth to it, sucking a mark into his throat on his way to kneeling between Dream’s spread thighs. “I was thinking about you as well,” Dream admitted, once Hob had detached from his neck and dropped fully to kneel on the floor, grinding dirt into his knees. “Seeing you. Carrying bags of feed over your shoulder like they weighed nothing. Mmm. Your shoulders.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was heady to think about, Dream watching him like that. Hob undid the button on his shorts, skimming them and his underwear down and off over his paddock boots. This revealed Dream’s pretty pink cock, already plumping up as he leaned back on his hands on the tack trunk. Hob nosed at the base, taking in the sweat and musk of him, hearing Dream’s breath hitch. “You know what I was thinking about?”

“What?”

“Doing this.” Hob took the head of Dream’s cock in his mouth, pulling a wrenching cry from Dream as he twitched where he sat, thighs trembling. Hob bobbed his head, sucked up the length of him, pulling off with a pop and saying, “This is exactly where I wanted you.”

“Indeed?” The word was shaky. Dream’s fingers twitched on the wood of the trunk.

“Go on,” Hob told him, and Dream’s hands went to his hair, pulling it from its bun, directing Hob back down onto his cock. Hob took him deep, pressing his nose into the hair at the base of Dream’s pelvis. The weight of Dream in his mouth was addicting, and then Dream’s legs shifted and he tucked them up and over Hob’s shoulders, thighs pressing in against his head—yes, perfect.

Dream pulled him close, thrust his hips up into Hob’s mouth, hesitant at first then bolder when Hob hummed in encouragement. Dream’s fingers combed through his hair, not quite pulling but tugging and tangling in little pinpricks of delicious pain, and Hob closed his eyes, surrendering to the experience of satisfying him, so hard in his own jeans but ignoring it for now—it only made everything feel more vivid, anyway.

“Hob,” Dream cried, cock twitching, pre-come spilling over Hob’s tongue. Hob didn't let up, only took him deeper, Dream bumping against the back of his throat as he swallowed.

Dream cried out as he came, hands clenching to the point of pain in Hob’s hair, legs tightening around Hob’s head. Hob nearly came himself at the feeling. Instead he swallowed again, sucking on Dream’s cock as it softened until Dream whimpered from overstimulation, and then Hob carefully let him go, finally able to take a full breath as Dream curled around his head, thighs trembling against Hob’s cheeks.

Hob turned his head to kiss his thigh, grazing his teeth over the small bruise he’d seen earlier, making Dream gasp. He uncurled himself from Hob, letting go of his death grip on Hob’s hair to instead caress his cheeks, run his thumb over Hob’s wet lower lip. Hob looked up, met his gaze, nearly perished at the look of blown-out pleasure there. He could live on that look, he thought, feed himself on it every day.

“Come here,” Dream ordered. Hob was helpless but to obey. He let Dream draw him up, disentangle them so Dream’s legs were around his waist instead of over his shoulders, and Dream plucked open the button on Hob’s jeans, pushed his underwear down far enough to take him out. Dream took him in hand, humming in appreciation.

“Like what you see?” Hob teased, but it came out far breathier than he intended, all of him going taut with Dream's hand on him. Dream only smiled slowly, stroking Hob, slow but firm.

“I do,” he said, and drew Hob in with his other hand wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, sticking in the new sweat that had beaded along his skin, letting Hob rut into his fist. Hob kissed up the side of his neck, leaving marks, breath catching when Dream hooked a leg around the back of his thigh to pull him even closer.

“So perfect for me,” Dream praised, hand sliding up to curl in his hair while his other kept expertly working Hob’s cock. “Mmm. Later, I want you to fuck me properly. I want that gorgeous cock inside me. I know you will fill me so well. I want to feel you.”

All it really took was Dream’s sweet words to send Hob’s arousal boiling over. He gasped into Dream’s throat as he came, hips stuttering into Dream’s fist. Dream pet his hair as he came down from the high, wiping his hand off on his shirt. Hob kissed the side of his neck once more for good measure, tasting the sweat there, before finally pulling away.

“You really want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You going to—”

Dream laid a finger over his lips. “If you make a joke about me riding you I will walk out of this stable and never return.”

Hob broke down laughing, pressing his forehead against Dream’s shoulder. “You get that one a lot?”

“Constantly.”

“I’ll bet.”

Dream was chuckling, too, chest rumbling against Hob’s body. Hob liked the sound of it.

“Cross my heart, I swear I won’t make any jokes,” Hob promised.

He liked this. Leaning against Dream. Touching him. Sharing a soft moment. He liked it a lot.

Dream tipped his face back up with a fingertip under his chin. “I do still want you to fuck me,” he said, watching Hob with dark eyes. Hob swallowed hard. “Will you take me back to your rooms? For we are certainly not going back to mine.”

“Don’t want to involve your roommate?” Hob teased, and Dream sighed.

“Don’t make fun of my indignities,” he complained, and Hob laughed.

“I’m sorry, darling. You suffer so much. Your life is terribly difficult.”

“And you are making it worse by making me wait,” Dream complained.

Hob certainly didn’t want that. So he stood, tucking himself away again, and rearranged Dream in his shorts, helping him up. He paused then, wondering just how far this burgeoning thing between them went, before deciding, fuck it, and pulled Dream in for a soft kiss, hands light on his lower back. Hob was feeling very fond of him right then. He might as well show it.

Dream hummed into the kiss, sinking into him. When they separated, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Perhaps you might make me breakfast in the morning, too,” he said, taking Hob’s hand.

“If you’re willing to wake up at six,” Hob said. “Because that’s when the horses get breakfast.”

Dream groaned dramatically, but didn’t let go of Hob’s hand, and as Hob tugged him out past the stall door and towards his lodgings at the far end of the stable, he was smiling, eyes bright. And Hob thought waking up to him before sunrise might be very beautiful indeed.

[your-ne1ghbor]

Now Introducing...

the one

the only

QUEEN AGATHA

(OR AMAYA BASICALLY)

(ALSO THANK YOU @signed-sapphire @sewerpalette @pennysucks FOR YOUR THOUGHTS ON THE DESIGN. IT WAS A MASSIVE HELP AND JUST THANK YOU IN GENERAL. IDK HOW TO THANK YOU GUYS BUT I'M FOREVER AND EVER GRATEFUL TYTYTYYTYTY)

ok...

Lets talk about her now shall we?? 😘

(FW: MINOR GORE)

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Before we begin, Agatha is by no account, Amaya's replacement. Now here is the thing. Amaya is really cool...in drafts. But in cannon, Amaya is nothing more than a plot device to get the teens in the castle and only exists to be Magnifico's replacement in the cannon film once the whole kingdom goes down so Asha doesn't take up the reins of being Queen. Not only that she didn't have a lot of personality or any character in the film. In all honesty, although she is inspired from the drafts of Amaya, her character conflict is very much different and not on par with the drafts. She also has more to her backstory that was not seen in the original drafts or even thought of. I just wanted to get that out of the way before I go in depth to her character. But lets get to the outfit, cause I think it was a pretty interesting thought processes ;)

Plus have you seen the jokes about Amaya or why I barely talk about her?? ITS BECAUSE SHE IS NOTHING. ZERO. EGG SHAPED. Why should I care about her when I barely know anything about her like bro, giving her a moral delehmia of staying with Magnifico or joining the resistance would have been so much more interesting and gives more substance. Probably why I dont like Amaya at all. She lacks substance.

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Agatha has Greek/European inspirations to her design! I had a ton of problems when getting the design together, merely the fact that I didn't like the outfit given in film or didn't find any that really fit her for what I was going for. Even though I didn't know what I was going for, I just didn't like that style given in the films, or hell, even in the drafts (the dull colors didn't even help since there was so much vibrancy in medeivel times)

Thats when I had the most randomest idea and just said: "Fuck it" and then I decided to combind Greek and European outfits into one.

My inspirations were from these images I found on google and pinterest:

So this is how the dress works or merely my thought process on how it came out this way!

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Numro Uno

As ideas was setting into place, I noticed a trend among both sets of the outfits. I'm mainly refuring to the top shape to the outfit.

When taking a look at the European Outfits, that have what I would say, a more triangle shape, which the same can be applied to Amaya's outfit as well.

Meant to put curves down, but you get the point.

For Greek outfits, there was more of a square shape doing on at the top of the outfits.

Not only that, but the Greek clothing does not have the dress open up unlike some European outfits I saw. (not all of the European outfits I saw opened up near the bottom of the dress, only most of them did)

Either way, what I am trying to say is:

Greek Outfits = Square

European Outfits = Triangle

So when combinding them, I simply thougt of it being like this

Top: Square Shaped

Bottom: Triangle Shaped

ofc this is the final design...

What you guys want was my drafts!

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In my sketches, at first since I didn't like how outfit wise, dresses didn't seem too work, so I wondered what she would look like if she wore pants 🤯

(You will notice that I kept the transparent cloak the entire time)

Although she looked BADASS (fucking hot oml) it felt more like smth she would wear during travels. That's the main ick, it just worked for something else, but not for what I am going for. However, Agatha does wear pants, but mainly when she is getting materials for her potions that are acessed outside the kingdom. And yes, I even thought about giving her a tail coat, but it wouldn't work for the time frame 💀💀💀

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For these 2, I started playing with the top to get ideas and see if I wanted the transparent cloak at all (I did ofc she looks so badass (hot) in it)

I also drew her comforting Asha! (Which I will talk about her in the backstory section since I had to change it)

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Hmmm this one does seem familiar now does it 🤨🤨

For this one in particular, although this was one I chose as a main base for the final draft, her top was more triangle shaped than square, which is what I was going for in the final design.

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Thats when I started worrying about mobility. How much room would that dress have when she is moving quickly?

This one was to see what it would look like if she had more mobility in her outfit. Although she would...it didn't sit right with me. It just felt off. It could be the more triangle top I went for in this one, it just didn't work and didn't look good.

The one in the corner was me playing with "WHAT if Asha inspired outfit" lmao.

Nah didn't work.

So between those 3, a friend from my ASL 2 class saw my drawings, and I asked for his opinions on it. He said to go with the one I chose for the base. Although I don't necessarily remember much of what he said, he explained why this one was more appealing soooo thanks Z. 🔥🔥

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This one was more of ofc using the drafts, but if she had sleeves. I intentionally removed them because it clashed with the cloak and didn't look good or work with what I was going for.

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Now let's talk about color pallet! (Ik I'm going so much in depth than what I did for Asha, but imma be honest the whole process in on my tumblr. The amount of times I changed that girl's outfit is unfathomable 😭😭😭😭)

I'll be short, but the frills on her dress (the gold part) is supposed to signify a yellow rose. Cause...ROSE-AS ROSAS 😜😜😜

I did see if blue worked for the outfit, but for the warm toned color pallet I did for her, it really clashed. Soooooo GOLD FOR THE WIN BABYYYY

She also wears this gold leafy crown and it was between green and gold, and I'm still stuck between that, but this was the crown ykyk

Yes it is a Greek one, I just REFUSE to give her a ugly ass crown like I did for Maggy. (IM SO SORRY MAGGY I SWEAR ILL MAKE YOU A BETTER ONE)

Ahem....

Can we talk about her face?

Yes?

HELL YEAH.

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(TW MINOR GORE)

So there is a stark difference between her past self and her current self when it comes to certain features.

For example, in her past, or "I am not at the brink of insanity" saga, her hair is braided, telling us she is in a good mental state at that point of time before her eye was scratched out (a dagger like cut through her face through her eye, literally popping it 💀). In the one I show you above in the "My eye is missing" stage, is what she would look like in her "Im not at the brink of insanity" saga minus the overlapping hair strands and the obvious missing eye. Also in that image, she has ash stuck in her hair from...THE INCIDENT (cough cough).

In her current self, her hair is obviously not braided actually showing us her current mental state. She is literally a huge mess, and her trauma has a huge effect on her mental health. She literally is not doing to well...until she met Asha (I'LL GET TO THAT I SWEAR). Agatha also has a white streak in her hair from a experiment gone wrong type of scenerio, where the potion she was brewing exploded something and landed on her forehead, hense the burn mark underneath the hair. Which is what gives it's unnatural hair color.

I was going for a beserk evil scientist vibe with her design, because she does go a bit crazy later in the story obv

Some other features I added was just adding a overall added sharpness to her, to actually resemble something like thorns in a way and to she perhaps she was EVILHSJkDLMNJHK 😜

The only features I sorta kept was her overall color pallet from Amaya for her hair, skin, eyes and her mole below her eye cause I thought it looked really cute.

And lastly, he is the character sheet for Agatha <3

Now that is out of the way, I'll get into the backstory portion...kinda...

I still wanna save some things for her for the story, but here are some notes/things you SHOULD ABSOUTLY KNOW about her

°•◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇•°

NUMERO DOS

Agatha is the oldest sibling out of her 3 siblings. Her sister is really a few years younger than her and is in her young adult/late teens age wise. Her younger brother is in her pre-teens.

Her parents cut her off from all forms of contact after...yk...so she knows things about abandoment and how she felt, especially at the worse time in her life.

She and Magnus did NOT kill Asha's parents. IN FACT, they were very close friends, and met during their travels with Magnus! (I am firmly debating if Magnus ever founded a kingdom or he is royalty but I am not entirely sure yet but it would fix some weird things I found in the story)

She is a more organized person than her husband lol

Potion making is what she excels at ( one of the potions she made can blast lightning (inspired from hogwarts legacy))

She deeply cares for both Asha and Magnus with all her heart <3

Thats really it. I am ofc holding things close to my chest for backstory reasons and for story reasons since we will learn more about her from that point.

This is the part where for what I need to talk about, which is the Hamlet.

The Hamlet idea is so cool, I will admit it, but for how the story is progressing or my thought process of it, it creates plot holes. Not small ones, but GAINT plot holes.

I noticed this back when I was writing out the Magnifico Angst, which was why I put a hold on it to think about it. This was also when I was also concidering the duration of time taking place in my AU (which I am still having trouble with). I think past me did a pretty good job of explaining the way I felt about the Hamlet overall in my AU (this is from my 20+ drafts help):

It boils down to my dilemma with Asha's character right now. It's when she meets Maggy and Amaya and going off topic to talk about Asha too, is how she can become a better person after learning everything she knew is a lie.

Plus noticing some other plot holes like "how does maggy know dark magic kills stars?" Cause if he knows that dark magic kills stars, that would mean he had done it before so it is like 🤨

And it is very important to when Amaya takes in Asha. If Asha was one of the citizens that was there when the kingdom was destroyed, that is just...tragic overall and breaks some things 😭

I'll explain. If Asha saw everything that happened to Mag or basically was there to witness said event, she would have seen her parents basically evaporate into thin air as they shielded her. It makes some good trauma, and it does justify her reasons for not liking stars, I just don't like how it would play out in the story personally. It's good, but wouldn't it ruin the relationship between Star and Asha? PLUS, why would she wish on a star for things to change...oh wait that would make for a really good villain au fuck-

ANYWAYS, if it isn't...well then why was the hamlet there? I mean I could say that after decades of the kingdom going to shit, the citizens fled to the forest to hide in, but that brings up: why did Mag and Amaya destroy it in the first place? I entirely know why Amaya took in Asha, (it breaks me everytime help) but the whole hamlet thing in my au just kinda breaks. It also begs the question: why didn't they do anything to change what is going on in the kingdom, how did maggy and Amaya find out about it? And if they murdered some people, why not Asha (even though i know why Amaya took her in, doesnt it sound hypocritical? Like why spare her? Maybe they spared the children...idk) And going back to why Mag and Amaya destroyed the hamlet, if they did, it would be because they dont want any heretics, or a revolt. But if it is a revolt, it slids into why didnt they do anything to change...UNTIL THAT TIME IT TAKES PLACE?? And just the overall why of it all. And how it impacts Asha overall. I mean sure, she might remember some parts of her early childhood being in the hamlet, but she was six. She might not even remember all of it. So wouldn't ruin the pacing? Plus her character doesnt really resolve around the hamlet much if I'll be honest. I mean yeah, that can change ofc, and if it ends up her having to remember stuff from there, would it be significant to the overall plot??? For her character? (Idk her age, but) if she ends up being 18 in my au (its going from 18-19 rn lol), she has basically been living at the castle for 12 years 💀. Why would she want to remember things she wouldn't want to remember?? I guess maybe for wanting to learn the truth 💀💀

Lots of why's lmao.

Which is why I have to remove it. For pacing reasons, character reasons, and story reasons.

Agatha took Asha in for reasons. Not stating it here since I would like to make a animatic for that...but...man... :(

Kinda hurts for Agatha and Magnus since they KNOW HER PARENTS.

Massive womp womp

°•◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇◆◇•°

CONCLUDING THOUGHTS

Yikes sorry for making you read through that, I also felt like I was on the brink of insanity just talking about her.

But yeah what do you guys think about Agatha? Personally, she is my pookie wookie

Im finally going to draw her more since honestly I dont draw Amaya a lot, but with Agatha

hell yeah

@oh-shtars @rascalentertainments @spectator-zee @annymation @tumblingdownthefoxden @chillwildwave

[skitskatdacat63]

For @sansebastinae and @boisinnot, my fellow saint seb truthers :)

+ the usual

Yayyyy finished a drawing! Haha only took me...2 weeks. I kept going back and forth on whether I could finish it tonight, and I really wasn't going to. But then I looked at the unfinished version on a different screen and was like oh? Not too bad actually?? So I finished it :) First of all, ofc, here is the process. Kinda weird seeing it for smth like this, it makes me feel like I'm the painter in rennaisance au, not Mark dhjfkf

Ah I was gonna draw a silly renaissance au comic to accompany this(read: lighten the mood), but it's 5 am and I've still not really drafted it well, so! I'd like to finish it at some point bcs I wanna draw more chibi comics, but when I finish smth, I can't help but immediately want to post it, so part 2 will have to wait. I'll show you the outline though so you can at least imagine 😭

^ So many renaissance and beyond paintings of Saint Sebastian are always the most horny thing ever. Like pre/early rennaisance, yeah he was naked and all that, but they were pretty chaste, and uhhhhh suffering?? Well the newer paintings are suffering, but in a different way, if you know what I mean.

So I feel like Mark's the type to be overly pedantic about it, and refuses to make borderline porn of a saint, I mean, god forbid, Seb!!! But then he just. Does anyways. Because he can't control his lust for Seb even when drawing him half dead. I just imagine him holding the paintbrush in a death grip like "must not be horny. Must not draw him sexy. Must make him chaste." And then he ends up with the one seen above. Seb is all smug about it. "Wow you'd wanna fuck me even while I'm all bloody and dying? 🥺"

Mark: "oh I'll make you bloody, alright."

But god so funny to imagine Seb doing all these different slutty poses, like arching his back as much as possible, the cloth nearly falling off at all times, etc etc. And Mark finally lands on this pose bcs he hopes the suffering will outweigh the horny. It doesn't. Also Seb is genuinely serious once he actually gets into the pose, focus mode on. And honestly that's even worse for Mark, bcs it's so much more arousing to see Seb in his element, focused. Tbf I think Seb could be drinking water, and Mark would still find some way to sexualize it. Don't look at his sketches!! They're just filled with Seb doing all kinds of random activities.

Also! Here is the painting I referenced this off of, must give credit where credit is due ofc

The Dying St. Sebastian by François Fabre

Also this isn't really relevant in the context of this drawing specifically. But I looked thru a bunch of Saint Sebastian paintings while trying to find one I could reference, and I came across this middle ages one that actually looks so much like boy king seb 😭 I guess it really is meant to be!

St Sebastian between St Roch and St Peter by Pietro Perugino

Lmao but do you see the difference between early rennaisance and later work???

[dollsome-does-tumblr]

today is one of those days where i'm really grumpy at writing. like, for reals?? i'm wasting my one wild and precious life trying and failing to do THIS dumb activity for NO DISCERNIBLE REASON???

[starlooove]

The whole made up “tim is seen/treated as an employee by everyone’” thing is funny vs just how much Steph and spoiler as an identity got disrespected by literally everybody. Like not even hated just the casual disrespect for her is soooo

[throwmethroughawindow]

anyways what’s stopping me rn from writing a fanfic where ProHero!Bakugou stumbles across fanfictions about him and he jokingly starts reading them to the rest of the heroes but he starts to get a little annoyed at how the writer portrays him so he goes out of his way to make an account (blackandorangeexplosionking) to comment on the fics like

“Dynamite wouldn’t do this”

“He can definitely lift more than 800 hundred pounds”

“He doesn’t smell sweet, he smells really manly and not like caramel”

“Dynamite doesn’t live in a fuckin’ penthouse, he has a nice house in the suburbs away from all these extras. He’s not like fuckin’ IcyHot”

And the writers like ???? Shut up these are my headcanons about him and you can’t change how I see him??? If you wanna write what you think he can / can’t do, what he does / doesn’t like, write your own stories???

And he gets upset and comments “I know him personally and he thinks these are dumb stories”

And writers like 🙄🙄✋🏽lol ok whatever loser

And Bakugou gets so riled up he stops commenting on writers stories and just starts sending them messages on every platform they have; telling them that they have false information and they have no idea who dynamite really is and writing him how they do is stupid and writer finally gets fed up and is like ok let’s meet up and fckn talk at a coffee shop or something since you feel so passionate about these fictional headcanons / stories about a prohero who won’t ever see them

Bakugou’s foaming at the mouth ready to rip into the writer so he drops the name of a hole in the wall coffee shop and says they have 30 minutes, he’ll be sitting in the back and so he shows up 20 minutes early to sit and rehearse what he’s going to say and tell them to take down their stories because theyre not accurate but then the cutest cutie pie (writer🤍) walks in with an annoyed look on their face and he’s lost for words (wow for once) and doesn’t know what to say to them.

Bakugous wearing a mask and a hat pulled over his ash blonde hair but his carmine eyes are sharp as ever as he assesses the writer; their eyes widening in recognition of the pro hero Dynamite sitting in front of them. It had been Dynamite all along reading the silly head canons and stories about himself, no wonder he made comments like that. And oh my god the fucking smut Jesus Christ. Embarrassment was evident on writers face but they sit down across from him and patiently wait for him to tell them everything they got wrong.

[eebie]

i cant keep it hidden any longer

[syrupsyche]

I JUST HAD A THOUGHT

Enjolsette siblings au, when they're running from Javert and end up in the convent.

How does Valjean manage to get two kids over the wall? He struggles enough in the brick with just Cosette, and barely makes it, but now he's got Enjolras too. :O

I doubt there's enough time for him to pull one up and lower the rope to do the same with the second, so does he tie them together? Or have one cling to his back while he climbs? (Probably dangerous af, but if you're in a pinch it could probably work)

Idk this could be really fun to explore the possibilities :0

I LOVE YOUR ENJOLSETTE SIBLINGS THOUGHTS!!!! Thank u for sharing them 😭

Okay so this was one of the parts of canon that, when I first started jotting down my AU, I decided to pointedly ignore because the logistics of figuring it out was CRAZY. Your ask got me thinking about it again though, and after rereading the chapter I decided to write a drabble on what I would think might happen. Is it realistic? Probably not, but this is my sandbox and I shall play with it however I want :3

Drabble under the cut below! Parts in italics are from the original text.

P.S. for those confused as to who Eugène is; that is Enjolras' real name in my enjolsette siblings AU, from the OFEAverse! 😎

—

“Eugène,” said Jean Valjean in barely a murmur. He was untying his cravat. “Reply softly. Have you learned to tie a knot?”

“Yes sir.” The young boy said quietly. He had not yet begun calling the man father. “I tie the horses to their stables.”

“Take your cravat off. Tie the end of it to mine.”

As the boy set about his task, Jean Valjean’s despairing glance fell on the street lantern-post of the blind alley Genrot.

Jean Valjean, with the energy of a supreme struggle, crossed the street at one bound, entered the blind alley, broke the latch of the little box with the point of his knife, and an instant later he was beside the children once more. He had a rope.

When he returned to the dark corner, Eugène had the long strip of fabric in his hands, staring up at Jean Valjean.

“Father,” Cosette said, her small hands clutching the back of her brother’s coat. “I am afraid. Who is coming?”

“Hush!” replied the unhappy man; “it is Madame Thénardier.”

Cosette shuddered. He added:—

“Say nothing. Don’t interfere with me. If you cry out, if you weep, the Thénardier is lying in wait for you. She is coming to take you back.”

Thoroughly frightened, the little girl threw her arms around her brother, her face buried in his shoulder. Eugène looked just as alarmed but kept still, an arm around his sister while his other still held the cravats out.

“Lift your arms,” Jean Valjean instructed quietly, taking the tied cravats away from the boy.

The children complied. Jean Valjean wrapped the cravats around their bodies under the armpits, and fastened it to one end of the rope. He took the other end in his teeth, pulled off his shoes and stockings, which he threw over the wall, stepped upon the mass of masonry, and began to raise himself in the angle of the wall and the gable with as much solidity and certainty as though he had the rounds of a ladder under his feet and elbows. Half a minute had not elapsed when he was resting on his knees on the wall.

Cosette and Eugène gazed at him in stupid amazement. Cosette’s arms had returned to hugging her brother closely, the name Thénardier having chilled her blood.

“Eugène,” called Jean Valjean in a very low tone. “Put your back against the wall.”

The little boy did so at once.

“Are you holding onto your sister?”

“Yes sir.”

“Hold onto her for your life. You must never let her go or you shall lose her forever, do you understand?”

Fear clutched the poor boy’s heart. Still, he nodded bravely and tightly embraced his sister.

“Yes sir.”

And the children felt themselves being lifted from the ground.

Before either could scream or cry, they were on the top of the wall.

At once, Jean Valjean grabbed the children and pulled them next to him. With his knife he slashed the cravats around their bodies, pulling Cosette onto his back and holding her two tiny hands in his large left hand.

“Lie low,” he said quietly, pressing his right hand down on Eugène’s back til he was flat on his stomach. “Crawl to the slope and stop. Move carefully. Do not speak.”

Eugène nodded dumbly and began crawling with the swift agility all young boys possess. Behind him, Jean Valjean crawled towards the cant as well, Cosette clinging to his back.

As he had guessed, there stood a building whose roof started from the top of the wooden barricade and descended to within a very short distance of the ground, with a gentle slope which grazed the linden-tree. A lucky circumstance, for the wall was much higher on this side than on the street side. Jean Valjean could only see the ground at a great depth below him.

He had just reached the slope of the roof, and had not yet left the crest of the wall, when a violent uproar announced the arrival of the patrol. The thundering voice of Javert was audible:—

“Search the blind alley! The Rue Droit-Mur is guarded! so is the Rue Petit-Picpus. I’ll answer for it that he is in the blind alley.”

The soldiers rushed into the Genrot alley.

Jean Valjean pressed a finger to his lips, staring at the wide-eyed boy next to him. Moving in front of Eugène, Jean Valjean allowed himself to slide down the roof, still holding fast to Cosette, reached the linden-tree, and leaped to the ground.

He placed the young girl down the moment they landed, who curled up at his feet clutching his trousers. Whether it was from terror or courage, Cosette had not breathed a word.

Jean Valjean then looked up at the boy still atop the wall. Erasing all traces of fear from his face, he smiled gently up at him and held out his hands, his palms facing up.

Eugène, understanding what he meant, immediately turned onto his back and slid down the roof, stopping himself at the linden tree with his feet. Wrapping his arms around the tree, he quickly scampered down, where Jean Valjean scooped him into his arms at once. Bravado finally leaving that tiny body, the boy pressed his face into Jean Valjean’s shoulder and released his shuddering breaths that came close to tears.

“Hush now, child,” Jean Valjean murmured into his ear, shifting his weight so that he sat on his right arm. Bending down, he slipped his shoes back on and picked Cosette up with his left.

With both children now back in his arms, Jean Valjean turned around to find himself at the beginning of an enigma.

[goneinthemourning]

how in the world is mobile compatibility akin to accessibility? a big swath of neocities users are there BECAUSE they hate the way smartphones have become so widespread that many people have them instead of a computer. it's a pretty important part of the movement. "accessibility" is important because disabled netizens deserve to be able to view websites as much as everyone else, not because it can cater to more users. not having a computer is so far from being a disability that it's almost insulting to imply that the two are related in any way.

not everyone has access to devices with bigger screens. devices cost money. some people do not have enough money to purchase device with bigger screen. intentionally excluding people who cannot purchase bigger screen device is classist. (also some ppl just don’t want to have another device, or could buy another but aren’t for which reason.) denying access to someone who cannot afford a device is in my mind pretty similar to things like not providing image descriptions or being wary of eyestrain during creation. PLUS. is there potentially a link between someone being disabled and not having the money for another device? That would be crazy to think about wouldn’t it /sar

mobile support on the small web doesn’t have to be perfect, but how is not trying—or worse yet just being an ass—any better than not having image descriptions? if someone needs yet another several hundred dollar device to engage, what is the point of the “movement”? A web movement that does not try to be accessible is not free. Classism and ableism (just like every other social issue) are linked. What’s insulting is to imply that they aren’t. And if you can’t find some way to make your site more accessible, you aren’t a good webmaster.

[paul-ster]

Hiatus status:

@gay-poet-gabriel 😓😓😓

[loveshotzz]

I have like three and a half smut scenes planned for this one shot.

[gifti3]

Im thinking of asmo and mc being in a horror movie situation and fufiling the couple having sex trope but somehow still surviving

And the killer is so so mad about it

[bonerot19]

honestly fucked that I have to write a fic in order to post a fic. I crave the interaction. I crave the ritual of posting weekly. I crave the conversations.

but I've gotta get through the wip gauntlet first? fucked

[ofmermaidstories]

if i had the spoons for the research, i’d absolutely love to write a pre-meji era samurai AU. 😩 or maybe just like, on the verge of their abolition?? former samurai bakugou and deku struggling with life beyond service. 🥺 maybe becoming farmers with some of the others, something practical to keep them busy and in money. 🥺 shouto’s kind of protected by the sense of loss by family duty, maybe. 🧐 idk. what could we be??? 🧐🧐🧐 child of some kind of merchant maybe??? poor farmer’s kid????? could we add magic to give everyone their Quirks??? 🧐🧐 anyways. just some rando thoughts tonight. 📝

[mukuharakazui]

bg3 is crazy for being a massive $70 larian + wotc collab game whose accessibility menu features subtitles that are present for less than half of all idle character dialogue and almost zero battle dialogue