#i yam. not a writer

[canayams-art]

Consider, if you will, Achilles Come Down (Gang of Youths) Ivan-PoV Ivantill—

Anyway—

I feel normal and hinged

[the-apocrypha]

Hiii 💖 @embroiderling here! Can I ask for 7 and 36 for the writing ask? Thank youuu ❤️

7. Your favorite AO3 tag

“podfic available” :D 

I love love love having podfics to listen to while I run!

36. How do you come up with fic titles? What’s the one you’re most proud of? Fic titles are definitely a combination of puns, song lyrics, and just… things I come up with.

My favorite titles are ones that have double meanings. Like illuminated manuscripts, which is about both an actual illuminated manuscript, and Hob learning to read, therefore becoming illuminated about manuscripts. Or my Captain America behemouth, the shape i’m in, because it’s a fic that deals with Steve having bodily dysmorphia about his change of body shape (you see you see), and also his depression and PTSD, and it’s also from The Avett Brothers' I and Love and You which has a refrain of “Brooklyn, Brooklyn take me in” and it is a Stucky fic that set partly IN BROOKLYN. Like. Come on. That might actually still be my favorite, actually.

(for the writer's ask meme)

[yamujiburo]

You said you like sharing Team Rocket facts, sooo, what are some of your favourite facts that you don't get to share often or think not many people know? :D

Yam's Top 10 Team Rocket Fun Facts!

Jessie and James are both 25 years old

Jessie and James are NOT siblings (you'd be surprised how many people think they are). They have almost polar opposite backstories from each other.

James grew up rich but ran away from home at a young age because of all the pressure as well as his arranged marriage with Jessebelle (who looks exactly like Jessie funnily enough)

Jessie's mother, referred to as Miyamoto, was also a Team Rocket operative who worked directly under Giovanni's mother Madame Boss. However Miyamoto went MIA while on a mission looking for Mew and never came back, leaving Jessie to grow up in foster care

Jessie and James in English are named after the outlaw Jesse James which most people seem to know about. Buuut in Japanese, they're called Musashi and Kojiro, named after the famous swordsmen Miyamoto Musashi and Sasaki Kojiro. Musashi kills Kojiro so do with that what you will. Sub fun fact: Musashi and Kojiro's duel is referenced in Sun and Moon with Jessie battling Ash and using the sun to temporarily blind him and Pikachu before striking.

The Team Rocket trio are based off of the Time Skeletons from Time Bokan, who are probably the earliest version of the very specific trope "san-aku" (literally translated to three evil). The trope usually depicts one female leader and two bumbling men, one short and one tall. They also regularly build mechs/robots and beef with kids. In Sun in Moon, they DIRECTLY reference the Time Skeletons!

When the Johto series came to an end a decision had to be made on whether Misty or Team Rocket would leave the series. Head writer Takeshi Shudo fought really hard to keep Team Rocket (I think it's safe to say that they were his favorite characters). Seeing how Team Rocket stayed in the series till the very end, I think it's obvious to see what the end result of that decision was

The reason Jessie, in later seasons of Pokémon doesn't smack around James and Meowth as much/at all is because her voice actress, Megumi Hayashibara personally requested that the writers make her less violent. She felt it went against the "good natured villain" concept Takeshi Shudo originally had for them. On Hayashibara, Jessie's "failed nurse" backstory is based on Hayashibara's experience in trying to become a nurse.

James' love for sports and racing is often depicted in the show and is a reference to his VA, Shinichiro Miki's, love for cars and racing.

The reason Team Rocket crossdresses is literally just because the artists thought James looked better in a dress than Jessie did and ran with it

[orbitariums]

warmth | patrick zweig, art donaldson + black fem reader (pt. 1)

you guys really liked the snippet i posted so it's finally here! this will probably have a second part <3 (let me know if you'd like to be tagged for that!)

content: smut (oral f. receiving, fingering, handjob), childhood best friends trope, patrick and art are acting like high schoolers again, reader is rich bougie conniving hippie writer hybrid ...

reader, patrick and art are childhood best friends who conveniently were all in love with each other, or at least had enough sexual tension to make it feel that way. fast forward almost a decade later, and reader has made it onto the red carpet with her fantastic pen, and patrick and art have gone pro. when she invites them to her house for a star-studded friendsgiving, tensions rise and old doors open, springing forth new possibilities. this is only the beginning.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

warmth

“We should just turn around now, save ourselves the embarrassment.”

Patrick paid Art no mind, rolling down the window and leaning out of it, pressing the buzzer as you had dutifully instructed them in your email invite. 

“Too late now. Already threw away about a gallon of gas just coming up the hill to this place,” he replied, the sense of ease in his voice only egging Art on even more. 

“Exactly why we should leave. I mean, fuck. Does she have to live on a hill?”

“Residence of [last name], to whom am I speaking?” a male voice rings on the other end. 

“Uh…” Patrick starts, Art reaching up over him, 

“Patrick Zweig and Art Donaldson?”

A silence filled the air. Patrick swatted at Art, forcing him back in his seat. 

“Why’d you say it like a question, dumbass?”

Art stammered,  already starting to get red in the face,

“I was --”

The gate swung open and both the boys let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you!” Patrick chimed, smirking over at Art, who seemed to be sinking in his seat. 

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Meanwhile, you were inside the mansion that you call home, flowing around the kitchen like there weren’t about fifty people milling about and mingling amongst one another. It smelled like something out of Hansel and Gretel -- from the fragrant brown roasted turkey sitting in the oven, to the gourmand scent of perfectly caramelized candied yams, to the vanilla musk perfume you dotted on your wrists. A black mini Schnauzer nipped excitedly at your feet as you added half a cherry tomato to the giant bowl of salad you’ve been prepping for the last twenty minutes. You look like a pro, like a party of this magnitude is no big deal to you.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“Do we ring the doorbell? Or maybe… should we knock?” Art questioned, hands tied behind his back as he glanced up at Patrick for answers. 

“It’s open,” Patrick retorted, but he too stood stupefied at the door like a weary traveler wavering in horrific awe before the mouth of some epic beast. 

“On three?” Art suggested, and when he didn’t hear a response, he started to count, “one… two…”

Patrick stepped in before Art could get to three. Art scoffed, but followed behind him anyway. 

The both of them stood there silently, taking the grandiosity of it all in — the sky high dome ceiling, two grand wooden staircases directly opposite one another, the shiny verdant porcelain flooring, the Basquiat painting hanging above the wide bookcase directly in front of them. Mouths open, they looked like they were ready to catch flies. 

“Fuuuck me,” Patrick breathed out heavily. Art’s head was stuck staring up at the ceiling, so high he thought it’d never end. 

“You made it.”

Both Art and Patrick seemed to stand straight at the sound of your voice, like soldiers at attention. You almost laughed, but instead, you stood there coolly, smiling at them both with your lips and your eyes— in them, a look that was almost knowing, wise beyond your years. It seemed like a lifetime before either of them would speak. They spent half of that lifetime practically gawking at you, drinking you in. And how could they not, when you were practically draped in that baby blue silk dress, the flowy bottom dancing above your ankles. You looked more beautiful than they remembered you, calmer, secure — of course, they hadn’t seen you since they were teenagers. Now there was this air of timelessness about you that was only just poking at the surface when you were in high school, now it surrounded you. Something mystic encompassed your entire spirit, dripping from your head to your feet. They’d spent years seeing you from behind a screen, being interviewed on live TV, attending red carpets for award shows, blending in with the Hollywood mecca — another beautiful twentysomething industry talent. But the glow of the television that seemed to give everyone a perfectly filtered sheen was nothing compared to your beauty here. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Patrick broke the silence first, practically lurching forward with open arms to embrace you. His beard scratched against your cheek. You could smell the cologne that was beginning to wear off, mixed with a hint of cigarette smoke. His arms nearly sucked you in. 

When he pulled away, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the way he smiled at you so fervently. 

“Good to see you too, Patrick…” you glanced over at the mousy boy who didn’t seem to have changed much since high school. “C’mere, Artie.”

Art chuckled: a nervous huff of relief, inching forward into your open arms and nuzzling his chin into your shoulder, closing his arms around your midwaist. You could smell the aftershave that clung to his jaw, and the detergent still fresh on his clothes. 

You pulled away, but took one of each of their hands, squeezing. 

“My two boys. Man, how long has it been?”

“Oh, just a while—”

“Seven years,” Art interjected. 

“Who’s counting, right?” Patrick grinned, making all of you laugh. 

You looked at them almost expectantly, eyes wide like a doe, the slightest smile playing at your lips. They looked back with bated breaths. Always, you were in charge, always. It had been like this since the scabby-kneed days of childhood. If you wanted to play on the swings, they were there on either side of you. You were the queen of the sandbox. In middle school, they snuck extra cookies for you from the lunchroom, and they fought over who got to surprise you with the treat every day. Senior year of high school, in the hotel room in London, when you had them perched on either side of you like baby birds waiting for mother’s return— when you had both your hands on each of their thighs inching further and further up, their lips ghosting against your soft skin, had them panting like puppy dogs, only to leave the minute you heard “lights out.” 

It had been seven years since then and still, it was the same. Only this time, you were stupidly rich, thanks to the soaring success of your two psychological thriller books turned TV series. It wasn’t that you’d forgotten about them, or didn’t care about them now that you were rich and famous. You’d gotten accepted to study creative writing at Brown, Art went to play at Stanford, and Patrick went on his path to go pro. It was just the process of growing up. You were delighted to see that they were only a click away thanks to the internet, just one click away from reintegrating into your life. Your childhood best friends. 

“C’mon, lunch is almost ready.”

Friendsgiving. Who didn’t love the concept? It was a readily welcomed, wholesome idea — friends of all ages and backgrounds coming together to rehash their Thanksgiving with leftovers, stories from the year, and maybe a game of cards. Except your friendsgiving was attended by A-list actresses, Cannes festival attending screenwriters, and the odd Grammy nominated artist. And your friendsgiving was not at all an intimate affair — it may as well have been a club party. Most people were outside, dancing, shrieking with laughter, drinking, and skipping their way to their seats. Your backyard was vast and verdant green, with a pool in the center, the perimeter lined with lemon and peach trees, and miles to explore. 

“This is fucking insane, is that Dakota Johnson?” Patrick scoffed. He and Patrick had been left to their own devices yet again, while you flitted around being the hostess with the mostest, easing and gliding about. A laugh here, a clink of glasses there, and a coolness to you that stood in striking comparison with the warmth that stirred deep down inside you. A warmth that could be served with a ladle into goblets, like some elixir with magical properties only you possessed. 

“No, you idiot, that’s— oh shit. That might be Dakota Johnson.” 

Clink clink clink. 

“Everybody, hi, hi! Thank you for coming, please, sit down,” you called out, clinking your glass to get the attention of your guests. Patrick and Art scrambled to find seats, ending up at a table with people who might have been minor celebrities or art critiques or designers -- at least one of those options. 

“I wanna thank you all so much for coming, this really means a lot to me. I know these sorts of things can be really hectic, but you guys make this house feel like a home. I’m glad that some of you will be staying with me for the next few days, there’s always room for more,” you glanced over at Art and Patrick. “Some of you are new friends, some of you I’ve known for far too long. But I think it’s incredibly fucking cool that we’re all here together now in this moment, just enjoying each other’s presence. I do this every year, and every year I meet even more amazing, talented, fascinating people and you all are so dear to my heart. And now, what we’re all waiting for… lunch is served!”

A cacophony of cheers rang out as staff rushed about to place plates in front of everyone. You stood giggling, basking in all of it. 

The rest of the afternoon Patrick and Art spent attempting to blend in as best they could. They were pro tennis players, but this was another level of stardom that they couldn’t quite fathom yet. They watched you ruthlessly the entire night, unable to squash those rising feelings of attraction and yearning for you that had never quite simmered to begin with. You’d always been cooler than them, but watching you now there was a certain air to you that belonged to a grown woman, someone comfortable and confident and in their element. You were positively swimming in the sunlight the entire afternoon. It was like you had this sort of magnetic pull to all things good, rich, and warm. People wanted to be around you. And god, did this prove that. 

By night time, people were finally starting to leave. The sun hung low in the darkening sky, making the fairy lights glow stronger now. The few people that were staying with you for the rest of Thanksgiving weekend had disappeared to their rooms. Besides the waitstaff still milling about, it was just you, Patrick, and Art. The two of them hadn’t meant to stay so long, really. It wasn’t like they were forcing themselves to stick around and be acknowledged by you in a way that felt meaningful. Sure, you’d had your small talk and cracked a few inside jokes, but as much as neither of them wanted to admit it, they needed more. If it was hard to get your attention before, it was nearly impossible now. They were surrounded by so many people who all wanted to network and talk and introduce themselves, they found themselves mingling with your friends, some of them people who they’d seen on screen in the past year,  more than you. They’d been dragged onto the dance floor multiple times by multiple acquaintances, only to gawk at you swaying your hips rather than actually dance themselves. It became overwhelmingly clear, in the midst of their increasingly present desperation, that they should’ve accepted your offer to stay in this castle of a house for the weekend. Neither of them had packed a bag. 

“This is awkward, we’re the only ones left,” Art sighed, still sitting at their table. 

“Let’s just… wait, okay? She might come back out."

"And give us a little speech?"

"Yeah, asshole, maybe she will."

At that very moment, you appeared again, this time clad in a two piece linen pajama set. You didn’t miss the way both their eyes trailed up your legs as you stood in front of them, arms crossed, smiling expectantly. 

“I was hoping you two would still be here,” you said. You glanced between the two of them, that awkward silence filling the air once again. “C’mon. Let’s talk.”

You turned and walked back inside, the two of them trailing behind you.   

"Your house is fucking sick by the way. I mean holy shit," Art blurted once you got to the main entrance hall.

"Feel like I just walked into a page of Architectural Digest," Patrick added on.

You led them up the stairs. Both their eyes dropped to your ass, which poked out just a bit from under the pair of shorts you wore. Silently watching the way your body curved as you walked.

"Ha, thanks. I think I did pretty okay for myself," you replied. 

You led them to the den on the second floor and sat criss cross apple sauce on the lush green couch. Art sat on your left, Patrick on your right. Patrick spread his legs and Art had one foot up on the couch, bouncing against his knee. 

“Sorry we didn’t get to talk much. I was so busy being the host of the year that I didn’t pay enough attention to you two. My favorites.”

Art chuckled,

“Favorites? You’re just saying that.”

“No, I’m serious! D’you know how much I missed you guys?”

Patrick scoffed playfully,

“All those TV interviews I watched of you? I wouldn’t even be thinking about us.”

You couldn’t help but grin, that warmth coming through once again. It nearly made the two men melt. 

“Well I was. I always think about you guys.”

Now came Patrick’s voice again, a heaviness to it that almost made you jump,

“Do you think about anything specific?”

Although it had been nearly a decade since you’d last seen each other, you didn’t miss a single thing about either of them. Patrick didn’t mince words, and he never shied away from not just hinting at, but blaring his salacious intentions every time he spoke. You tilted your head towards him, a cool smile tugging at your lips. 

“Just what good times we had.”

A silence, accented with a flood of nostalgia and a pointed reference to those “good times” permeated the air. You took a moment to gaze at the two of them ever so softly — enough for them to feel it, but not enough to make them squirm (though, they were easy to make squirm)— before you decimated the silence by slapping your hands down on either of their thighs and squeezing endearingly. 

“So tell me, where’ve you two been? I’m not the only one on TV these days.”

“Ahh, you don’t wanna hear about boring tennis,” Art waved a hand of dismissal. 

You chortled, a trademark of yours that Art and Patrick had always poked fun at in school,

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“You still laugh the same,” Patrick said, grinning like he was trying not to but was unable.

You chuckled, this time low in your throat, and turned your head to face him again. You and Patrick were similar in the sense that you were always pushing the boundaries, tiptoeing closer and closer to the line — but the three of you had never quite established where that was. At some point, you were all just too close to even think about “the line” or “boundaries” — all of you appeared clueless to societal expectations of friendship, spurting a sort of cultlike relationship where everyone else was an outsider. 

“Do I?” smiling at him like you were warning him not to tease. 

“Yeah, that little snort you do,” Patrick replied, unshaken. 

“You do do a little snort,” Art chimed in, always chirping like he spoke from a less nefarious place. 

“And if I get started on you guys’ little tennis grunts?” you grinned fully now, showing teeth, looking between the two of them and leaning back a bit.

They followed, leaning back against the couch and keeping their heads in line with yours so you were never too far away from them, each of them turning their heads to look at you. 

“No way you actually watch us,” Art replied.

“I do!” you insisted. “Seriously, if you’d asked anybody here you would know.”

“Sure, let me just strike up conversation with George Clooney,” Art shot back.

“Ha-ha,” you bleated sarcastically. “I don’t even know him… but I have walked past him once on the carpet.”

“Look at you,” Patrick smirked. “Little Miss Superstar.”

He punctuated his sentence with a hand on your knee. Your eyes flickered over to him and you caught the way his Adam's apple bobbed in his throat when he swallowed, felt the way he gazed up at you. You didn’t miss the desire twinkling in his eyes. 

Then Art, always second but not necessarily last, 

“She’s our little superstar, you know that, right?” 

His hand just gently grazing your shoulder.

You let them revel in the moment for as long as you felt appropriate, then huffed.

“You know you guys can stay for the weekend, right? I mean, you should.”

“Oh… no, we wouldn’t wanna impose,” Patrick said, his hand slinking away from your knee.

Another chortle from you,

“You wouldn’t be. This is a five-bedroom house. It’s fine. Besides, don’t you guys wanna actually catch up? I’ll let you torture me with tennis talk.”

Art started to stammer,

“I-I mean… we didn’t bring anything.”

“Just our idiot selves,” Patrick added.

“Don’t worry. I’ll get Charles to get you guys all set up.”

“Charles?”

“Oh, he’s my assistant,” you said nonchalantly as if it were nothing. “You’re not fighting me on this. I want to spend some quality time with my boys. Don’t make me have to beg for it.”

“We could never make you beg for anything,” Art replied, just a little too quickly. 

“I know, Art, that’s why I love you,” you grinned over at him. “So, are we all in agreement? Stay with me. Just this weekend.”

“Yes,” they both replied a little too quickly this time. 

You bit your lip, suppressing a smile. 

“You know… I really, really missed you guys. And those good times we had.”

You let the memory of that night of almosts in London resurge, let their minds run amuck with whatever teenage fantasy was still left over from that night. A moment so brief it could almost be forgotten, could even be flagged as incidental, accidental. Still, the three of you knew, even as grown adults (especially as grown adults), that it would always stick and remain unresolved, unless someone ran to the rescue with some sort of solution. Once again they held their breaths. You stood up, glanced between the two of them like you were sizing them up, and then smiled as if nothing had happened at all — you let them breath. 

“Your bedroom’s the second on the right when you leave here. Charles will help you get set up— I’ll see you guys in the morning for breakfast.”

And just like that, you were gone. The air in the room seemed to clear. Your presence was like a thousand tons of pressure weighing on their bodies and their minds. Finally, they could breathe.

They glanced at each other with the same longing, almost nervous expression — they were just two pubescent boys all over again.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

“I think we should just go for it.”

Patrick lay on his back, looking up at the ceiling with his hand on his stomach, speaking aloud as if into the clouds. Art, who had been gazing into the distance, sitting up against the wall on his side of the room, shook his head at Patrick’s words.

“What are you talking about Patrick?”

The two of them sat in the room that you had put together. They had showered and dressed in the pajamas that were waiting for them, just as you said they would be. The house was practically silent, it was the dead of night. Though you’d left hours ago, that same heaviness in the air seemed to remain in their chests. 

“You know… I mean, she invited us here for a reason, don’t you think?”

Art glared over at Patrick, his brows furrowed and his mouth twisted in a frown,

“Don’t be a creep. We’re her friends.”

“Who want to fuck her, and she knows it. Pretty sure she wants to, too.”

“That was high school, Pat. Get over yourself.”

“Like you weren’t getting your dick wet just from looking at her. C’mon.”

Art throws a pillow at Patrick. It lands square at his feet.

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“I’m just saying, she’s not innocent. She knows what she’s doing. She’s just as perverted as the both of us.”

“Yeah? So what are you gonna do about it?”

“Fucking — I don’t know, something. We should just both go over there and knock on her door.”

Art couldn’t help but sigh heavily — Patrick was always creating some elaborate plot or scheme, but rarely did he ever actually go through with something unless Art was onboard. 

“Patrick, she’s not trying to have a threesome with us. I’m not interested in your porn addict fantasies. Plus it’s the middle of the night, she’s probably asleep. Think she’s gonna wanna sleep with two idiots who fucked up her nighttime routine?”

“So then why are you still here?” Patrick retorted. 

“What? What do you mean?” Art tried to sound normal, but his defenses were up, and they both knew exactly why. 

Patrick turned so he was on his side, facing Art, making sure his words hit just right. 

“You know what I mean. You could’ve just gone home. Could’ve told her that we’ll catch her some other time. But look at you, sitting here, feigning innocence. She’ll think we’re cowards, you know. Seven years later and we still can’t come out and say what is that we want.”

Art swallowed, staring blankly into the distance like Patrick’s words didn’t sting his side. He was right. He almost always was, even if his wording wasn’t the most politically correct or precise. It was just how they were — one too careful, the other one so not. Most of the time, they came together to balance each other out: like fire and ice. But sometimes, like this time, they just threw each other out of whack – an oil spill in a pristine lake. 

“I want a friendship. If you want a fuck, go and tell her that. Goodnight, Patrick,” Art spat, rolling onto his side and turning his light off. 

Patrick sighed heavily like a petulant little boy who’d just been denied a cookie. Maybe in college or high school, Art would have been all ears, and they would have risen from their beds like triumphant kings, and gone on the hunt for their king. But maybe he was right — that was high school. They were too old now, and it was embarrassing. At least if Art had agreed, even if he didn’t fully believe in Patrick, they would’ve gone in together. And so, swallowing his disappointment, Patrick stared up at the ceiling, ruminated for just a bit, and then turned off his light, forcing his eyes shut so he’d fall asleep faster. 

1:10 AM. 

That was the time on the clock when Art opened his eyes next. He woke with a start, like there was something he was meaning to do. Then immediately, he was a bit disoriented. This room was far too big. It wasn’t his. He remembered where he was, and just what he had to do. He rose like an automaton and found his feet swinging to the floor. He threw on the Calvin Klein shorts and shirt your assistant had given him (his pair was white, Patrick’s was black), and slid easily into his slippers. 

Only once he stood did he really catch his breath, and seemingly also his determination. It was like he knew what he was doing, and he was completely okay with it. He even peered over just slightly, to see if Patrick was still asleep. And by the slow rise and fall of his body on his side, he could tell that he was. He was stuck in this dream state between idiocy and confidence, making for mindless determination as he sauntered out of the room and down the hall. He had intent, his head was screwed on straight. He knew where your room was, and he practically marched down the end of the hall. 

As soon as he reached your door, he realized what he was doing, truly realized. He stood there stock still, like a rabbit that had just gotten caught eating a carrot from someone’s garden. He was suddenly confronted by the fact that he was completely alone; your room was at the very end of the hall and completely cut off from the other rooms. Now the heartbeat in his chest was loud and clear, and the slight shifting sound of the fabric of his shorts rubbing against his inner thigh sounded like nails on a chalkboard. Nervous tics settled in, and he felt a rattle go down his spine at the recognition of what he was doing— the sheer arrogance, the assumption he was making. He thought of Patrick, and the betrayal this would be, considering he had just shut him down so profusely earlier. He thought of the fact that it was so easy for him to be so double-sided, to just get up and attempt it on his own, even making sure that Patrick couldn’t possibly be involved. How easy it was for him to be so unfair. He thought of himself, standing there with suddenly sweaty palms and a dry throat. Like a high school boy with blue balls. 

What are you doing?

He thought to himself. He almost turned around, but he heard humming from the other side of the door. No doubt your voice, and no doubt you were very much awake. He could hear music, albeit muffled. He swallowed, closing his eyes like he was bracing for impact, and sighed. If he could remember the words to recite Hail Mary, he would have. Eyes still closed, he knocked. He heard the slight pause on the other side and imagined you perking up slightly and looking around the room to make sure you weren’t just hearing things. Despite his embarrassment, the knock was firm. It was clear it was someone else on the other side of the door. And so, a few seconds later, you swung the door open. 

“Art,” you said, a hint of both surprise and relief in your voice.

“YN,” he replied, saying your name like it was a period to a sentence. 

You were clad in a cream-colored silk slip with a lace trim. A dainty gold necklace adorned your neck, flush against your collarbone. You’d changed again since the last time he saw you, and this outfit did not make it any easier for him to tear his eyes off of you, starting from the necklace, to your breasts, to your legs. The slip was short and nearly see through, revealing your thighs which looked so soft and plush. The pucker of your nipples sheened underneath the thin fabric. The way it clung to your body was almost maddening. You looked fresh as a daisy — like you’d spent hours in the bath, rubbing countless creams and gels against your skin. Art felt suddenly embarrassed like he had interrupted your girl time with his boyish, base desires. You pulled him out of it though, with a slight smile and kind eyes looking up at him.

“You doing okay?” you asked almost playfully, still grinning slightly.

“Yeah, I just uh… wanted to… talk to you,” Art said, not even making eye contact with you and instead very obviously peering inside of your room. You looked over your shoulder like you were trying to see what Art was looking at, then looked back at him. Finally, he was making eye contact with you. He felt like you were scrutinizing him, searching for something to validate this interaction, to validate him. Your warm smile didn’t look all that different from a smirk anymore. 

“Well. I am the host. Who’d I be if I didn’t indulge a late night chat?”

You stepped aside, pushing the door wide open with your back. You nodded at him like a coach, beckoning him,

“Come in.”

And so he stepped inside, and you closed the door behind you. Your room was how he’d expected it to be — reflective of your personality as long as he’d known you, but a hint more sophisticated. Everything rested on a plush chenille carpet. Your mattress, adorned with plush, deep red and green linens, sat on a large wooden bedframe, above which posters of your favorite bands and writers hung — Audre Lorde, Led Zeppelin, James Baldwin, Khruangbin. Across from your bed, there was an almost bulky yet fitting antique dresser. On top of it sat a 1935 Remington typewriter. In the corner, a leather armchair sitting beneath a scallop shade floor lamp, accented by a magnificent bookshelf behind it that was positively full. A desk, scattered with papers and pens and a pair of glasses, yet still tidy. And a vanity, where Art imagined you’d been just a moment before he came in.  And dim, yet comforting lighting. 

“Wow,” Art couldn’t help himself — he truly was an admirer of the details, the little things. And clearly, so were you. It had gotten you this far. He sauntered over to the typewriter on your desk, fiddling with the keys just a bit and tapping the top. You giggled at his nerdy lopsided smile. “This is sick.”

You smiled, placing two hands on your hips, beaming like a proud parent,

“She doesn’t work, but she’s beautiful. That’s honestly my most prized possession.”

Art grinned, truly touched. He turned to face you straight on, feet away from where you stood at the bed. 

“I’m so proud of you, you know.”

The veritas in his voice rendered you bashful for just a moment, looking down and huffing an almost dismissive laugh,

“C’mon, Art, don’t go all soft on me now.” 

Art rose to his own defense,

“I’m serious, YN! Look what you’ve done for yourself… I mean, I couldn’t expect any less, though.”

You waved your hand with a cheeky eye roll, and he started walking towards you, his footsteps causing the floor beneath to creak slightly. It was almost suspenseful, but you weren’t intimidated or in danger, just deeply intrigued and honestly, excited. You watched him, positively ensnared, as he closed the distance between the two of you.  

He took two of your hands in his own like he was putting his life into your hands. That charming smile of his reared its head, accompanied by his blue-brown eyes, sparkling and wet and smiling too,

“We both are, you know. Proud of you.”

You smiled, genuinely at first. Then, it flickered. By the way he faltered momentarily, losing grip of the power trip that he dove into headfirst, you could tell he noticed. Your genuine smile turned slightly smug. 

“Both of you? Why is Patrick not here, then, telling me how proud he is?”

Art did his best to keep smiling smoothly, cocking his head to the side slightly as if to say what can you do? 

“He’s asleep.”

“Right… it is like, one AM. I’m surprised you’re even up, or that you assumed I would be," you kept on prodding.

“Hmm,” he smirked. He shrugged all too casually, so much so that it was cocky. “Guess I’m not that tired.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, nodding sympathetically. 

The both of you relished in this little game you were playing, a game of so few words but oh so much meaning. You held his gaze for just a moment longer, watching as his flickered from your eyes to your lips and back up. Then you sat down wordlessly onto your bed, never tearing your eyes away from his. You patted the spot next to you, and he followed, taking a deep breath that never seemed to exhale. You were sealing his fate in this one moment. 

“I spend a lot of my time holed up in here. That’s why I make it as peaceful as I possibly can. Beautiful too, but not too beautiful. Otherwise, I’d just be distracted and a bit disgusted,” you chuckled at the end.

“Beautiful. Right,” Art replied, his gaze burning a hole into you.

A beat. 

“So what’d you wanna talk about, Art?” 

He knew he couldn’t be imagining the dulcet innocence in your voice that suggested anything but innocence all the same, nor the flicker of desire in your inquiring, wide eyes. All of it, combined with the slight pout on your lips, seemed to come together to create a face that was almost begging. His entire body softened. His eyes went heavy with the confession that was his utter, depraved need to have you. He slowly pulled his bottom lip into his mouth with his tongue and blinked slowly, seemingly unaware of the fact that he was leaning in more and more with every passing millisecond. You stayed put where you were, wanting him to chase you through and through. You kept that poker face, like you didn’t feel your heart racing too. As his face inched closer to yours, his hands started to roam as well, and you stifled a whimpery breath at the touch of those hands against your bare skin. For some reason, you’d always thought he’d have such baby-soft hands, but they were rough and calloused from the weight of the tennis racket that was forever stationed between them. It only made the touch that much better, made you realize how long you’d been waiting for this, his rough hands seeping into your skin like a scar of age. 

“I don’t wanna talk,” he finally said, his voice lilted with need, and his lips nearly flush against yours. 

Finally, he closed the gap between your lips. The kiss was slow and languid, but not for lack of passion. Years of distance would do that, would amplify the mutual pining. You thought, in this interaction that you knew would happen with one or the two of them, that you might be more calm and collected, still wearing that disguise of cool nonchalance, but you were on fire. Your hands were quick to wander as well, up to his face, gripping his jaw, one traveling up to his hair and finding itself tucked beneath the tufts of slight curls. And then his hands were traveling up from your knees to your thighs, to your waist, practically glued to the expensive fabric. The room was silent bar for the sound of the two of you panting like crazed virgins, and the wet sounds of your kissing. 

You needed to gain control back, and quickly. So you pulled away, putting on your best smirk. Deep down, you felt like Art knew it was an act, like he was looking right through you. But at the same time, you knew he was far too ecstatic and anticipatory to call it out or really even notice it in full. And besides, you didn’t care. It was you who held all the glory, both back then and especially now. 

“You two place a bet or something? That was quick.”

Art was still breathing heavily, gazing at you like you were the solution to all his problems. His hands were still roaming widely, like your body was an expanse of wild land, his hands gripping your shoulders and caressing your arms up and down. The confidence boost in him was visible and almost amusing. 

“No bets… but Patrick was saying…”

“What was he saying, hmm?” you placed a hand on his chest and caressed the warmth there. “Why’d you come here, Art? Thought you should close the gap, huh? Answer the age-old question? Wanting to prove yourself?”

You slipped your hand between his legs, grasping the meat of his inner thigh and glaring into his eyes. You felt how he stilled, how his confidence stuttered. Both because he’d been called out, and because if he wasn’t hard before, he was raging now. 

“No…” you squeezed his thigh, your hand ghosting over the erection that sat directly above it, forcing the truth out of him with your touch. He shuddered. “Maybe. Yeah, fuck. Yes. I-I wanted to prove myself.”

“Yeah?” you murmured, slinking towards him like a black cat. You placed one leg over his lap, straddling him. Positioning yourself so your clothed cunt was directly over his erection, which dared to rip through both his boxers and his shorts. You rolled your hips over his cock gently, just once. “This helping you prove yourself?”

You pushed him back, back, back, until his head rested firm on the pillow and you were directly above him, the shape of your entire body clear to him as you straddled him on your bed. He couldn’t speak, only stare up at you in awe, his heavy breaths loud and desperate. You only stayed like this on top of him for a minute before you shimmied down until you were at face level with his crotch. You let your hands explore the expanse of his chest and stomach over his white t-shirt, and then took the bottom of it in your mouth, pulling it up with your teeth in a motion so effortless and tigress-like that Art nearly came on the spot.

“Hmm?” you probed him to answer the question with a demanding hum, the soft fabric of his t-shirt still in between your teeth, gazing up at him from beneath wispy lashes. You let go once he was decently exposed, his tight stomach rising and falling frantically. 

“Fuck, yes,” he rattled, his hips bucking up involuntarily. 

You pushed his hips back down immediately and like a reflex, he started to apologize,

“Sorry, I’m sorry.” 

You ignored him and instead, you practically ripped the shorts off of him and started to palm him through his boxers, admiring the way his cock twitched and jumped beneath the small of your hand. You were attentive, watching as precum started to leak from his tip onto his boxers. You tsked.

“We’ll have to get someone to wash those.”

He squirmed and swallowed a wild grunt in his throat. His head was fully thrown back like he was in the most immense pleasure of his life, and you hadn’t even really started yet. You ground the part of your hand just above your wrist over his erection before peeling his boxers off. You watched as his cock sprung up in the air, thick and red and leaking. A tuft of strawberry blonde hair sat at his mound, but he was still put together. You sat up just a bit so you could place your hand on his cheek lovingly. 

“Look at me, Artie.”

Your voice was so enchanting and soft that he almost forgot you were fucking his entire mind up, and he opened his eyes and looked down at you with the shaft of his cock enclosed in your hand. 

“Fuck,” he huffed, resisting the urge to throw his head back again. 

You maintained eye contact with him as you circled your finger over his wet, pleading tip, spreading the leaking precum around the head of his dick. He glanced away from you and looked at what you were doing, causing his eyes to roll back in his head. It was taking everything in him not to give in completely, and not to cum. 

“No- no - I… I wanna make you feel good first. Please.”

Something in Art’s voice nearly made your heart drop — the wholehearted desperation and earnestness in it. It also made your pussy throb around nothing. The whole night Patrick and Art had been desperate, but now it was like you were finally seeing the extent of it. It was somehow endearing, a reminder of the love between all three of you. Art had always been a giver, and he sought out praise any place he could get it. It came as no surprise to you that he was the same now, but still, it made you indescribably horny. 

You hardly realized you hadn’t responded. That wasn’t supposed to be part of your act, but Art was still pleading all the same,

“Can I? Can I just… taste you or — f-feel you, I-”

You kept your wrist moving in slow and controlled motions up and down his shaft, studying his face as you did: the way his eyes fluttered open and closed with a pleasured squeeze, his mouth perpetually open in gratification.

“It’s so fun watching you fall apart, though,” you replied, but you found yourself working your way up anyway, sneaking your legs up his body like a snake, one on either side of him. 

He grasped onto your hips immediately, groaning at just the sight of you. The moonlight shone through the windows and brightened up the darkness of your room, illuminating your features and painting you under something like a spotlight. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathed, looking at you with hooded eyes. You steadied yourself, your hand reaching out to grab the bedframe and one of his hands gripped the fleshy underside of your thigh to help you. The more you inched up, the more he could see up the slip, catching a glimpse of your cotton panties, cream-colored with a tiny black bow in the middle. The print of your cunt through them was like an outline, a map to promised land. He sucked in a breath, almost like he was in pain. Your necklace dangled just inches away from your neck, like it was teasing him too.

 “Wanna taste me?” you asked teasingly, lifting your hips above his face and hovering there, forcing him to tilt his head back and look up directly at your cunt, still hidden beneath your panties. You rolled your hips, letting your clit brush against the tip of his nose. He was enamored by the scent, had to physically stop himself from taking a deep sniff. “Hmm?”

“Yes, please, fuck,” he groaned, slightly arching his back up off the mattress just to get closer to you. “Please.”

He pressed a closed-mouth kiss to your clothed cunt, his eyes closed. It was such a gentle, delicate touch that you almost wouldn’t have believed how desperate he was if it weren’t for the longwinded moan that involuntarily escaped his lips when he made contact with your core. You bit down on your lip, breathing out from your nose, and started to grind your hips against his face. He kept kissing at your cunt over and over until it was almost indiscernible what was fabric and what was flesh— your panties had gotten so wet from his mouth and your slick. The wet trace made the friction unbearable, and your pussy throbbed through the fabric onto his face. 

Through a mouthful, Art mewled,

“You taste so good. Please let me eat this pussy.”

This time, his lips peppered kisses around your inner thighs, soft but quick touches, taking in your musk. You decided to stop torturing him, that enough was enough. You lifted yourself up just a bit, and pushed up your slip. You were about to reach your hand down when you stopped and cocked your head with a smirk. 

“Go on, then,” you said. Softly, like it was a suggestion more than it was a command. And Art took it in perfect stride. 

He practically ripped your underwear off, pushing them to the side with a brute swipe of his hand that contrasted wildly with the gentle kisses he had given you before. Literally pushing your panties to the side. He looked for a second, eyes glazed over at the sight in front of him, taking in the sight of your dripping pussy. It looked so warm and wet and inviting, if he weren’t a better man he would’ve had to force himself not to bury his dick inside of you. When he felt he’d gotten a good look of it, savored the moment just enough, he wrapped his arms around your waist, smashing your cunt against his face. His mouth connected with your folds and you felt him sucking vehemently, before slipping his tongue in between your slit, pressing the tip of it against you. You cried out as he collected all the slick from your weeping center, keeping a hand on your stomach to stabilize himself, the other against your asscheek, squeezing every now and then. 

“Oh,” you moaned, immediately starting to grind your pussy against his tongue, your clit once again nudging his nose each time you moved up. Art kept up, positioning the tip of his tongue just right so you rode it each time you wound up, applying just the right amount of pressure. “Yes, Art, just like that.”

“Mm-hm,” he hummed, the vibrations causing you to clench over his face and around the tip of his tongue. Then he flattened his tongue so he could capture the entire surface of your cunt. This time the grip on your ass grew stronger, and soon enough both his hands were squeezing your ass, supplementing your movements. You kept the time you wanted, Art just assisted you in rolling up. You honestly needed it, the way your thighs were starting to shake. 

Art hummed satisfactorily again, enclosing his lips around your clit and suctioning, keeping his tongue out just enough so you could feel both sensations. You nearly squealed, your hand flinging down to push your panties out the way even more. Your back arched in pleasure, creating a whole new angle for Art to lick at and please. His fingers pressed deep into the flesh of your ass, like he was leaving some imprint. Now it was you writhing and moaning, but Art never forgot who was in control. That is, until he took firm grasp of your hips and used that to flip you over so that you were on your back. It was like he never lost contact with your pussy, diving right back down before you could even register what had happened. He yanked your panties all the way down and threw them over his shoulder. 

“Take your shirt off, baby,” you panted. 

He obliged, throwing his shirt off too, and then leaning back in so he could get to work. His arms wrapped around the inside part of your thighs, spreading you apart for him. Before you even felt his mouth, you moaned at the sight of his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he worked. He placed sloppy kisses against your inner thighs and kissed closer and closer to your mound until finally, he was wrapping his lips around your clit once again, using what he could of his tongue to lap up your juices at the same time. You were nearly trembling in pleasure, your hand flying to the back of his head to keep him secure where he belonged. He moaned in response, and you squeezed tufts of his strawberry-blond hair. 

“That’s it, I want you to feel good. Make yourself feel good for me,” he murmured, his nose buried in your cunt, eyes closed in satisfaction and concentration. You glanced down to see that he was grinding his hips ever so subtly into the bed — getting off by getting you off, and you threw your head back. 

“Mhmm. So good, Art, you’re so good.”

This seemed to set him off into a frenzy as he placed open-mouth kisses against your pussy, kissing it like it was a mouth. His tongue lapped you up and sucked you in, making precise, timed movements with the close of his lips around your clitoris. He used his hands to gently push your legs back so they were angled slightly in the air, the new angle causing you to whine. He angled his neck ever so slightly so he was licking the lips, a slender finger prodding at your wet, tight entrance.

“This okay?” he asked, just dipping the pad of his finger in and opening his eyes to look up at you, as if you weren’t lost in your own world of pleasure, eyes shut tight. You opened them momentarily, looking down at what he was doing, the sight of his face engulfed in your pussy and his finger slipping up and down your slit now. You could only manage a moan along with a strangled nod, and he obliged, sliding a slender finger inside of you. Your pussy stretched and then collapsed around his finger, suctioning in like a glove, and now he used his tongue and lips to go from your lips to your clit, all spit and drool and your arousal as he worked his finger inside of you. 

“Fuck,” a strangled grunt left your throat, your pussy tightening around his finger, which made him moan in response. “Art, fuck. I’m getting close.”

“Yeah?” he replied, muffled as it was. He slipped another finger inside of you with ease, wishing he could watch as he felt your pussy sucking him in greedily. Now the slow thrusts of his fingers became more forceful, pushing deep inside of your walls. You nearly screamed at the addition of his finger and the way he curled them inside each time they came to a stop inside of you. 

“Y-yes, fuck, just like that, Art, don’t stop.”

He moaned something incomprehensible, or maybe it was a groan mixed with a sigh, as he continued the expert deft movement of his fingers inside of you and mouth against you, bringing you to rock your hips against his face. You were muttering to yourself now: “so close”, “gonna come” until his fingers finally hit that sacred spot, his lips closed just right around your clit, spit drooling from his mouth, and you fell apart. That devastating feeling peaked in your stomach as Art brought you to your high and you gushed around his fingers and into his mouth. Your moans were girlish and deliciously sweet, momentarily wiping away that facade you’d been playing so good at all night. 

“Fuck, I’m coming!” it was like you were announcing it to yourself, squeezing your legs around his head and practically clamping down on his hair with your hand as you released. He helped you ride out that high, not stopping, but slowing his fingers and easing his lips against your pussy to keep you grounded. 

When you’d finally caught your breath, Art pulled back, his chin and cheeks absolutely soaked.  

“You taste so fucking good, YN,” he said it like it was a fact of life, as simple as “the sky is blue,” trying to ignore the fact that his load was prone to explode any second now. 

“C’mere, I wanna taste,” you implored. Shakily, he pulled himself up and above you, letting you cradle him in your arms, one around his back and the other cupping the nape of his neck, as you captured him in an open-mouthed, sloppy, slow kiss. You could feel his cock sticking out of his boxers and poking your leg and in one swift movement you slipped your hand between the two of you and pulled him out, your hand wrapping around him. He couldn’t help but take notice of how your hand fit him perfectly, like a glove. 

His hips started to stutter, quite literally, he nearly fell on top of you, gasping desperately.

“Fuck,” he drawled slowly, lips still brushed against yours, pinching his eyes closed. “T-this is s-so—”

He spoke between full-body twitches and spasms of his cock. You pouted slightly, running your fingers through his hair,

“Use your words, Artie. Whatsa matter?”

He chuckled, hanging his head low and shaking it slowly,

“It’s just I’m so — fuck,” his words morphed into a whine when you used your finger to circle around his tip, which was positively leaking with precum. “I… I’m so sensitive right now. I’ve been trying not to come for like thirty minutes.”

You both laughed, genuinely amused. 

“You wanna come?” you entreated, gazing at him with a look that almost resembled concern. 

His smile dropped as his face morphed into that of desperation, that of need, and he nodded earnestly,

“Yes, please. Please make me come, YN. Make me come h-however you want me to.”

“Yeah?” you implored, the palm of your hand closing over his tip to gather slick and then spreading it all down his shaft. “Want you to look at me while you come. Can you do that for me?”

Art felt pressure building in his chest as his breaths grew more and more erratic and he forced himself to look you in the eyes, responding with an affirmative albeit strangled whimper that was supposed to resemble the word “yes.” You rewarded him by stroking him faster now, your hand a tight grip around his shaft, the sound of his wet skin and your open hand slapping against his balls overwhelmingly lewd. His eyes fluttered closed for just a minute, and his head cocked to the right, his mouth opening while no sound came out. His eyes rolled back in his head, and his hips started to buck up into your hand, supplementing your strokes. 

“F-fuck, YN, that’s– fucking incredible, Jesus Christ. Please, I’m gonna–” he stammered, looking up at you like he was pleading with you. You simply returned his gaze and smiled, that warm, all-knowing smile of yours, and he fell apart. His entire body, hot to the touch, seemed to shake uncontrollably as he burst, thick ropes of cum spilling out of him and splashing onto your hands and your thighs. 

“Fuck!” he whined almost pathetically, his hips faltering to an unsteady stop as he released.

You kept your hand there, slowing to languid, gentle strokes as he rode out his high until you were sure he’d emptied the last of his cum in the crease between your thigh and hip. He tried his best not to collapse on top of you, but you knew he was weak. 

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, and he fell on top of you with a limp thud, groaning as he buried his face in your chest. 

The two of you lay there catching your breaths, sweaty and hot to the touch. When Art finally got up, he laid next to you on his side. His face was red, and not just because of the exertion. 

“Fuck. I’m so sorry, I-I don’t know what came over me, probably crushed you,” he laughed apologetically.

You replied by using two fingers to gather what you could of his cum, smiling writhely as you licked them clean. He watched intently, absolutely enraptured. You did it again, reaching down to your thigh and gathering up his cum. This time, your fingers prodded at his lips. He nearly rattled with arousal. Easily, he obliged, opening ever so slightly, and wrapping his lips around your fingers, sucking the taste of himself clean off. You smiled at him admiringly. He couldn't help but laugh around your fingers,

"Fuck, that's so hot. I'm so sorry."

“Don’t apologize. You did so well.”

Suddenly, Art sat up. 

“Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

You giggled, your eyes twinkling as you looked up at him, amused by this sudden display of responsibility. 

“Do I seem that fragile?” you teased.

“Oh, on the contrary. I just, I don’t know. Aftercare is important.”

So you spend the next half hour being doted on by Art as he soaped down your body in the tub. It’s the most intimate you had been the entire night, and he realized now that this was the most detailed he’d seen your body. He wanted you like this forever, being carefully pampered under his adoration, gazed upon by his eyes only. For a moment, you worried that this was somehow crossing a line, but you swallowed those thoughts just as quickly as they surfaced. The line had already been crossed when you reached out to them. Sure, you wanted to see how your two favorite white boys were doing, and you were excited to rekindle the friendship that had molded your life for so long. 

But like Art walking to your door, you knew what it was that you wanted, and you knew that you were opening up a can of worms. Besides, you really did love Art, and you loved Patrick too. It was the sort of platonic love that could only be understood by people who had been friends as long as the three of you had. The kind of love that was still there for the taking years later. It didn’t need constant stoking to keep the flame. So, neither of you made this routine— this gentle touch in the water, loofah running across your back and Art’s fingers digging into your shoulders to loosen you up — a big deal. 

By the time the water drained, you were absolutely zonked. You didn’t realize how late it was and just how much energy the whole ordeal had taken out of you. Your orgasm was so strong you were surpised you didn’t fall asleep then and there. Art used a towel to dry you off and had to practically carry you to your bed. He was lucky you didn’t see the shit eating, self-satisfied grin on his face — he liked being a caregiver, and throughout all the years that you had been friends, it was rare that you ever let him take care of you like this. 

You threw the sheets over yourself, lashes batting as you looked over at Art, who was kneeling on the floor next to you, at face level with you. He was smiling so wholesomely that you couldn’t help but reach your hand out and stroke his face, your thumb resting on his sharp jaw.

“You’re good to me, Art. You both are. I really did miss you two. I keep saying it but I want you to know it’s true. Didn’t just invite you guys here to live out some old fantasy.”

“I missed you so much,” Art could melt from the touch of your hand on his cheek. He tilted his head slightly to kiss your fingers gently, cupping your hand over his. “I know you, YN. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

You yawned,

“I’ve been a rotten friend, though. Don’t know what took me so long to invite you guys to one of these. I thought about it every year, but decided against it every ime.”

Art waved his hand, shaking his head in dismissal of your comments,

“You’re a perfect friend. We’re the rotten ones.”

“See? You’re just the sweetest,” you grinned, your eyes sparkling. “I’d let you sleep with me, but—”

“Patrick,” he concluded.

“Don’t want him to be mad you didn’t tuck him in,” you giggled. 

In the back of Art’s mind, he wondered if it would’ve gone the same way if Patrick had been the one to knock on your door. He knew it would, but it was nice to pretend that it was something he had to think about. He wondered what you would’ve done if they’d both shown up. Almost laughed to himself at how little self-control he had, while you were like a rock. 

“He’s asleep anyway, but I should be there in the morning so things aren’t weird… things won’t be weird, will they?”

You shook your head, though some part of you knew that Patrick would even out the scorecard soon enough. He always did, competitor that he was. He was so hard to resist, and it’s not like you were resisting him very much in the first place — you’d invited the both of them, it was just a quirk that Art had been the one to do it first. You’d half expected Patrick to show up by himself, if it wasn’t the two of them. But one thing about Art was that he wasn’t some stick in the mud — he could be a wild card, and if he was anything like that ball of energy he was back in high school, you knew he could get shit done. 

“It could never be weird. It’s us,” you replied with certainty. 

Art leaned in, pressing his lips against yours in a soft kiss. 

“Go back to bed, Artie. I’ll see you at breakfast,” you grinned. 

“Goodnight,” he crooned. 

“Goodnight,” you replied. 

He stood up and walked out the room, though part of him was longing to stay there for just a bit longer, if not the whole night. But he knew this was just a one-time thing, just a way to let out that pent-up tension. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t already thinking about showing up to your door tonight, and the next night, spending each warm summer night here buried inside of you, pulling his name from your mouth in pleasured sobs, making you come undone with his fingers once again. But, dutiful as he was, he walked back to their room, careful not to make a sound as he pulled off his shirt and stepped back into bed— staring up at the ceiling while he replayed moments over again in his mind. Like high school all over again. 

[quillsandblades]

What could be the reasons for Hange's death?

I’m not best at doing these analysis posts, but I’ve had this in my mind for a while now and it needs to get out.

As a sort-of writer, I know there’s always reasons to kill off a character, especially if they're well-developed and play a crucial part in the story. So what could’ve gone through Isayama’s mind when he decided to kill our precious Hange? Here’s what I think.

First of all, reading the manga I really felt like her death was forced, staged. It didn't seem right, didn't seem to fit. Now I don’t know if the rest of you felt this way but I sure did. And that's why I'm gonna talk about why I think Isayama killed her.

There are four points in this post and each explains a potential reason:

1. To make the readers cry

Many characters are killed just to give a truck load of emotional damage to the readers. And sometimes authors enjoy it — don’t get me wrong, we love the characters, it’s just what even is a good story if devastated readers aren’t sending you death threats for killing their fav fictional pookie? Such characters often possess some or all of these qualities: Lovable, witty, humorous, determined, has big goals/dreams, you get attached to them easily and if they have a love interest that you’re invested in, and they both got plans to *ahem* live peacefully once a certain war is out of the list of duties, it’s over for you (IFKK 😭).

And who do we know that holds nearly all these characteristics, and died?

Maybe Yams was in killer mood the day he wrote chapter 132. I wonder if he’s doing the evil laugh somewhere, thinking how we’re suffering every day.

2. It’s crucial to the plot

These kinds of deaths aren’t in the author’s hand, and they really hurt us sometimes. I have a few characters very close to my heart and I hope I never have to put them to death cuz I may not have the willpower to write ahead if I do. It happens when you get dead-ends (yes you can get dead-ends even in fiction as well, at least that’s what I think because the setting or world you create has to have some limits), when the rules you have set up to make that world start to cage you in. And sometimes there’s no option but to kill them. Their death is important, it’s a key point, or maybe it’s part of what their personality demands. It’s needed, and it hurts.

But coming to Hange, I can safely say that’s not the case. Her death could’ve been avoided. In the manga she barely managed to get much time. Yes the plane made it, but it’s Hange we’re talking about and she has a big brain. She could’ve made a less harmful plan to stop the Colossal titans right there, I don’t doubt her intelligence at all. Or someone could’ve helped. The part about titan shifters saving their strength was a flimsy excuse Isayama, cuz taking out a Colossal isn't such a back-breaking task for the Shifters - they’ve had worse and done better.

3. Some other character needs to take the spotlight

This happens when our character is in the way of someone else’s glory. They need to be taken off the stage so the next one comes up.

For Hange I’d say, that was Armin. I think Isayama might have wanted to give the stuttering blonde kid a glow-up, and I gotta say it worked well. I’ve seen countless posts where Armin back then and as commander is compared and people are like, ha! Y’all used to laugh at him cuz he was a timid, scared little thing but look at him now, Commander of the scouts and such.

I’ve seen him get a lot of hate for not being strong enough, not being confident and such things. So what does Isayama do? He takes that character and upgrades him to Commander. I think he’s wanted to do this for a long time, to show just how much potential the kid has, and take it as a character development. He was chosen over Erwin and then Hange. He couldn’t be Commander after Shiganshina cuz Hange was named successor. He got his chance in ch 132 and took it. The only way to make Armin Commander was to kill Hange and so we had to part with the crazy genius we loved. (I don't hate Armin though, it's Isayama's fault not Armin's)

But here’s the thing, she could’ve still come back. Battered and bruised, and Armin would still be Commander as the title was already handed over. Then why go all the way and kill her? Here’s why.

4. External reasons

This and the 3rd point, In my opinion, are the main reasons for Hange’s death.

The external factors here include her relationship with Levi. The man has a HUGE fanbase and he’s shipped (and shippable) with so many characters it’s concerning. And the most popular ships are Ereri (this one doesn’t even make sense) and Eruri. As a character that’s so popular among fans, I don’t think Isayama wanted to confirm anything related to his love life as that would only create rifts among fans or even drop his popularity. By keeping it vague he kept the fanbase up. But what has Hange living got to do with it?

Well, we all heard her ‘Let’s live here together’ confession. It’s probably the most romantic thing anybody said to Levi canonically and no one can deny it gives hints. Then comes Levi's double meaning statement of ‘Unrequited titan love’ and I’d say that pretty much sealed the deal. ‘Devote your heart’ was the cherry on top and now if Hange returned they both would be so canon.

But for the sake of argument, let’s say all of that meant nothing romantic. But if Hange’s still alive we all know she’d never leave Levi alone in his impaired state after the war. She’d be the one pushing his wheelchair around and since they’re already veterans and very close friends, Levi would only tolerate having her around him at all times. So if someone’s gonna say that all of those ‘confessions’ meant nothing, then these facts are proof enough that after the war Levihan had all the chance of being canon. So if Hange had lived these two would have been a sealed deal - but that isn’t possible in reality due to Levi’s popularity.

So, Hange dies and Isayama avoids a ton of mess for himself.

All of this is entirely my take on breaking down my fav character’s death, not saying it’s 100% legit. Just a harmless analysis.

[nuri148]

My Take on Levi's Age

I originally wrote this as a rb addition to another post. I've been meaning to make it a stand alone post since then, and with all the talk about Levi's age since the publication of bad boy, here it is, finally.

If you ask me, Levi could not have been more that 4-5 years old at the time Kenny found him around 829.

Why?

He's severely malnourished, probably spent several days cloistered in the room with Kuchel with nothing to eat. So my guess is that, though he was old enough to speak and understand Kuchel was dead (even if he could not quite grasp the bigger concept of Death), he was too young to go out and procure himself and his mum some food, be it by stealing or begging. And for that, he's need to be very young.

I lived in Greater Buenos Aires more than half of my life (the infamous "conurbano"), and I've seen lots of very small kids, 4-5 years old, begging like pros for either change or food. It's unfortunately very common in impoverished areas. And I wasn't even in the bad ones. So, in that aspect, the Underground wouldn't be different from our villas or Brazil's favelas.

Kuchel was a prostitute. She wouldn't want Levi to witness her at work. It is fair to think that as soon as he was old enough to cross the street she'd let him roam and go play with other kids while mummy's busy. There, he'd quickly learn how to come by a piece of moldy bread to stave hunger.

So in order to just sit starving by his mother instead of going out looking for help, Levi must have been young enough that his mum could still keep him under wraps; too young to know his way about the Underground's streets, too much of a rookie in terms of using his charm or his cunning to get a bit of food.

Uri Reiss inherited the Founding Titan in 829. BUT, nowhere does it say that Kenny's encounter with Uri happens right after the latter became a titan. So Kenny might have joined Uri up to a couple of years after 829 (not many, as Rod Reiss still looks young in that flashback).

So Kenny finds Levi between 829 and 831; And Levi is 4-5 then, meaning he was born, at earliest, in 823 (considering his b-day is only one week before the year's end, that'd make him 5 in for most of 829) and latest in 825 (same if Kenny found him in 831). That makes him 10-12 years older than Eren and company. , ~20 when he joins the SC, ~26 during seasons 1-3, ~30 after the time skip, and ~33 in the epilogue.

"But Yams said he was thirty-somethiiiing!"

TLDR: I wouldn't consider canon some spur-of-the-moment answer given by Yams in a panel where he's probably tired, nervous, and doesn't have his timeline handy.

Allow me to speak here as a writer: the whims of your imagination often don't align with the logic of what needs to go on the page. So it is perfectly possible to imagine your character in a way that is inconsistent with your timeline. You see them with short hair and summer clothes fixing lunch in their sunny kitchen in a scene and, when they move to the dining room you see them with hair 4 inches longer and serving supper as a snowstorm rages outside. When you write it, you're going to have to pick up one, and go back to your notes often for continuity after, bc your brain keeps forever placing the kitchen in sunny summer and the living room in a winter night. Oh, and they're both simultaneously on the ground and the second floor. Escher pictures make more sense.

The story of AoT spans many years, so we don't know which year Levi is the default Levi in Yams' brain. It could even be the Levi from the time skip, or from a future after the last chapter that only exists in his imagination. Also, Yams has bungled up numbers before so, personally, I don't trust him much in that department.

In any case, Math is a hard science, so if Kenny found Levi with 4-5 years in 829, he can't be 30+ in 850. 5+21=26. No matter what Yams says.

Additional notes:

The original post. With additions. I recommend reading the quoted twitter thread.

Another, recent twitter thread on Levi's age

A lengthy post by an actual psychologist providing scientific foundation for Levi's age when Kenny finds him.

I saw yet another post on Levi's age recently, but I can't find the link rn and I have to make lunch. if/when I find it, I'll add it (and others I may come across)

[kamisama1kiss]

Hey! I hope you are well ♡

Here's my suggestion: Some characters in Haikyu have a foreign reader (like an exchange student), and they kind of end up falling in love with this fascinating "characteristic" of the reader

I can't elaborate further on this, and sorry if there are spelling mistakes (English is not my mother tongue). AND I LOVE YOUR WRITING, the world needs more writers like you 🎀

This is definitely an interesting idea! 🤔 hmm, I look forward to writing this one!! Thank you 🧡 To start off, easy i did first years of Karasuno, for this one. If people are interested, I could make for the other characteds too!^^

~~~

{Haikyuu Headcanons} Admiration comes in all forms

~Hinata Shoyo~

° Having never seen someone like yourself only caught his eye even more, practically having shiny eyes when you made eye contact.

° Looking at you between lessons, the first few days. Finding it hard to focus, but he already did have troubles focusing in class.

° Eventually coming up to you for some small questions for class or trying to get to know you.

° He easily communicated, and a friendship quickly blossomed between the two.

° The next few months could be very easily him slowly falling in love with you and your admiring features.

~Kageyama Tobio~

° His focus wouldn't be on you to begin with as he was more focused on other things.

° After a few small exchanges in the hallway, a more intrigued feeling grew with him.

° Doing minimum effort to try to reach out but eventually would come to full sentences of conversations.

° He found the characteristics of you to be more and more loveable as time flew past, as if he would ever tell you.

° There would definitely have to take years for him to confess, maybe in 3rd year? Close to graduation when he felt the most comfortable.

~Tsukishima Kei~

° Wouldn't bat an eye to your direction, mostly seeing you as someone else who could potentially annoy him.

° Bickering back and forth was the only sort of communication between the two, nothing too major.

° He has an eye for details, so he definitely would find you stricking to the eye in the best way possible, he'd never admit it.

° Would occasionally have his gaze roll back to you in class. If he was caught in the act, simply tell you that you're in the way. Even if you sat next to him.

° His bickering or mocking would go down to minimal has his interest as you in a person, individual only grew.

~Yamaguchi Tadashi~

° Sweet little yams didn't know what hit him. It was love at first sight for him, his eyes would constantly wonder off to you I'm different classes or the school hallways.

° Would come up to talk to you if he ever saw you struggle in class. He didn't have the best grades in class, but he did well off enough to surpass a handful of others.

° Smiling nervously with a small wave whenever he saw you around, not even sure of his own feelings yet so low profile it was.

° Once he had gotten to know you over, maybe a few months later, he could recognise the feeling called a crush. When it was noticed, gosh, his face would often be dusted with a pastel pink.

° Asking you out definitely took him until 2nd year, he was nervous but got a lot of encouragement from others around him.

~~~

Hope you enjoyed!!♡

[lostcauses-noregrets]

Why is the answer always "Levi said this Levi did this" whenever one asks about the signs of Eruri in canon? Levi's side is pretty clear, but every time I talk to an Eruri and I ask "but why do you think Erwin loved Levi" the answer is very long but it's mostly empty and just "I am sure he did" or "but Levi loved him so Eruri is canon". Sorry this isn't a "hehehe your ship is one sided it's not canon" type of question. It's more of a writing-wise question, since you are a writer yourself I thought you'd give the best answer to this.

I am wondering, is this because of lack of Erwin's pov in aot manga or anime? I know Erwin is important and plays an important role and story revolves around him in s3 p2 and all that but when you look at the bigger picture he's mostly just there. He's in the story but you don't see his pov. We don't get to see the inside of his head until the end. Is this why "does Erwin love Levi" question is a hot topic in aot fandom always? Or are there any side stories like smartpass aus that suggest Erwin had feelings for Levi? I'm sorry I don't know those very well I only know the manga and the anime.

Lastly, I am sure you answered this before but my question is very specific, do you actually believe it was mutual? After all it's fiction and you don't need their love to be mutual to ship them. People ship characters who barely interact. It's what fandom is and that's totally normal and valid. I guess I am wondering if you ever doubted, th ship or even yourself which I do a lot (in a "oh I love this so much and I read so much fics I made myself believe" way) Thanks I hope this doesn't sound rude or offensive, my English isn't very good so if I sound rude that must be it it's not my intention :)

Ooof there’s  a lot of different questions here but I think they boil down to the following: 

Are Erwin and Levi’s feelings for each other mutual? / Does Erwin reciprocate Levi’s feelings?

Why do people question Erwin’s relationship to Levi? 

Do I personally believe their relationship was mutual, and have ever “doubted the ship”?

I’ve answered the first question many, many times over the years. You can read all my various answers here.  In short I do think that Erwin reciprocated Levi’s feelings and I think the evidence is there in the manga, the official guidebooks, the Smartpass stories, and the side content for anyone who cares to see it. I’m not going to list all the side content here, but there’s a very old post by @erbeansandravioli that links to a lot of it: Eruri receipts.

As to why people question Erwin’s relationship to Levi, well that’s an interesting one.  Some people clearly just don’t get Erwin’s character (see the previous ask I just answered), they don’t understand his role in the plot or the significance of his relationship to Levi.  For example I’ve seen people arguing passionately that Levi’s vow had nothing to do with Erwin, which is just mind boggling to me. It’s certainly true that Erwin is a much harder character to read than Levi who very much wears his heart on his sleeve.  Erwin is more reserved, and holds his cards closer to his chest.  However the fact that Levi is the only one who he reveals his true self to is significant. Daisuke Ono put it beautifully when he said in an interview that the amplitude of Erwin’s feelings is so great that it can be hard to see.  

It could also be that some, perhaps younger, readers just don’t recognise their relationship for what it is. It’s certainly not a typical shounen romance, but it is a deeply believable adult relationship; one that is based on mutual trust, respect and understanding. This is from a previous ask I answered on the subject:

It frustrates me enormously when people deny their canon relationship, despite Yams being at paints to explain it repeatedly in the guidebooks. I want to shake them and ask what the hell they think a relationship looks like when you’re an exhausted 30 + year old war veteran who has spent their entire life fighting for survival.  It looks like this; finding someone who you can trust with your life. If you were to ask me what characterizes a successful adult relationship I would say it’s exactly this; mutual trust, respect and understanding, and when push comes to shove, the willingness to do everything in your power to help the person you hold most dear, even if that means letting them go. 

And as to whether I’ve ever doubted the ship, the answer to that would be no, never.  Sure we’ve never seen them swear undying love in canon (though some would argue with that and point to Erwin’s "Arigatō Levi".) I wrote this in response to an ask about Eruri canonicity: 

Do you mean that you don’t believe they’re canon because we never see them kiss? Because they never marry?  Because the main focus of the story isn’t romance?  All those things are true, but in my opinion, they’re also not the only things that make a relationship canon.  Particularly when that relationship is between two war-weary 30 year old men who have been fighting for survival almost their entire lives. The irony is that, in some ways, Erwin and Levi’s relationship is actually quite conventional. They really do behave a bit like an old married couple.  They have a long standing relationship that has matured over many years, they have their own weird sense of humour, they’re not afraid to challenge each other, but they care about one another deeply, and they also trust each other unconditionally.  That’s all the canon evidence I need tbh.

Having said that, you are absolutely right that you don’t need any canon evidence to ship a couple.  Hell, I’ve had great fun written Hanji and Petra as a side ship and I don’t think they ever even interacted in canon.  In Erwin and Levi’s case though there is more than enough evidence in canon to attest to the significance of their relationship. 

Hope this answers your questions.

[traumaticemphaticfantastic]

The Dybbuk! A fan art/poster I made in 2023 out of appreciation for S. Ansky’s magnum opus Yiddish theatre play. I must say though, that many of Ansky’s other works are sadly overshadowed by this one-time breakout success (That the poor man didn’t even live to see a production of). If I could recommend two of my other favourite works by Ansky, I would say try and find a copy of his story “The Tower of Rome” of which the English translation can be found in a compilation of his works “The Dybbuk and Other Writings” though my personal copy came from a book called “Yenne Velt, The Great Works of Jewish Fantasy and Occult” I have been doubting the accuracy of some of the translations in that book, my second recommendation is the song “In Zaltsikn Yam” which Ansky wrote for the Jewish Worker’s Bund (Yiddisher Arbeiter Bund), the song paints a tremendous picture of the struggle of the Jewish working class in Eastern Europe in the 19th and early 20th centuries and a wonderful English-Yiddish cover of the song by Daniel Kahn can be found on YouTube as well as music streaming platforms.

That will be all for today, I hope you may find value in learning more about S. Ansky, a truly magnificent Yiddish writer, activist, and folklorist!

[sadly-in-active]

Greetings! I am a slightly new Cookie Run writer, here to totally not dive into my rarepair…

I cannot organize things for shit (sorry btw)

Here’s what I will do!

Headcanons

Cookie x Reader

Platonic works

The Dragons x Reader (OvenBreak and Kingdom)

Canon x Canon (depends on what character)

one-shots (iffy but ig)

Yandere (also depends what character)

Angst! Yum yum

Npcs (Like the other elders or whatever)

What I will NOT do :D

Nsfw (Not used to writing smut, but this might change in the future! Iffy on smut alphabets, but that may be more of a possibility then any list of hcs or oneshots)

Self-aware (it gets confusing sometimes…)

Very vague request (I get confused easily 😢)

Beast x Ancient (I’m so sorry I see the Beasts like ancestors to the Ancients…)

Oc x Cookie (I don’t want it to seem more ooc then it is-)

Most OvenBreak Cookies (Because I don’t play OvenBreak often and I haven’t really analyzed the other characters as much as I have the Dragons or Snake Fruit and Hydrangea)

Child x Adult or any proship like that (Pretty please DNI if you do support this, and I’ll stay in my own lane as well!)

Purple Yam Cookie. Idk why I just fucking hate him- I’m sorry Purple Yam simps…he’s just too loud.

Ships I will/won’t write

[infinitify]

this is my first time really making a post that isn't an update about chapter progression for my fic, so it feels a little strange to get so personal, but y'all have to let me fangirl for a minute

seeing the aot school castes get even ONE (1) scene animated has altered my brain chemistry as someone who saw the potential for it back when i started to conceive my fic. not to be a sappy little loser pants, but it just means SO MUCH to me seeing characters i absolutely adore in a setting i've always wanted to see them in (and be happy!!). i don't know if this is delusional to say but in the two years that my fic has been going on, aot bascially ended and in my experience in other fandoms, when the source material ends, a majority of the fanbase basically dissolves - as a writer/reader of fics, the sense of community dissolves with it.

despite how much i loved and still do love to write my story (next chapter is coming i promise), i always had this fear in the back of my mind that the audience for it would cease at some point even if i was still updating. the good thing is that my story has gained a lot of traction, garnering me amazing and dedicated readers, and even more reception since the first year i was posting chapters, so it's safe to say that fear has been minimised.

BUT!!

NOTHING has filled me with such a sense of security than having something that my story was directly inspired from be animated, as well as seeing the fandom OBSSESS over it like i did too (not to say that i was the only one of course, but i'm not in any aot online circles and i haven't really seen the school castes be as widely appreciated by general aot fans like it's becoming to be now).

i know it's still very much up in the air and the likelihood of it happening is slim considering yams has been writing for the aot universe for 15 years, but a dedicated school castes manga/anime would probably send me right to my deathbed from the excitement - even if a third party writes it with his oversight. i'd feel very vindicated in loving the school caste universe as much as i do if money and effort was put into giving it the spotlight it deserves.

because seriously, how could you not?

[recentadultburnout]

Info for writer in Thai series fandom: Random food

I added some pictures on AO3 but not here, but I tried searching in English, and it did show the correct item, so if you want to know what it looks like, you can look it up.

Breakfast

Actually, anything can be breakfast, but this is some of what is frequently viewed as breakfast.

Khao Tom (Boiled rice/Rice porridge)

Joke (Rice porridge/Congee)

Tom lueatmu (Pork Blood Soup)

Khaoniao mu ping (Grilled Pork Sticky Rice)

Khaoniao mufoi (Glutinous Rice with Shredded Pork)

Khai kratha (Pan egg)

Namtaohu songkhrueang (soy milk with topping)

Sandwich boran (thai style sandwich)

and everything westerners consider breakfast.

Northern food

Namphriknum (young chili paste)

Namphrik-Ong (Ong Chili Paste)

Khaepmu (Crispy Fried Pork Rinds)

Sai-Ua (a type of sausages)

Kaengho

Kaenghangle (Hung Lay Curry)

Khanomchinnamngiao

Khaosoi 

Central food

Nam phrik long ruea

Nam phrik kapi

Homok (steamed fish with curry paste)

Thotman (a type of fish ball)

Pucha (deep-fried crab meat and minced pork in crab shell )

Kaengchuet

Kaengphet

Kaengsom

Khaophat (Fried rice)

Yam

Northeastern food (E-san food)

Soup nomai (bamboo shoot soup)

Tomsom (fish soup with ginger)

Kaeng Om

Kaeng Proe (Bamboo Shoot and Yanang Soup)

Kaeng Het (Mushroom Soup)

Kaeng Khai Motdaeng (Red ant egg soup)

Somtam 

Southern food

Kaeng Taipla

Kaengsom

*Kaengsom in the central and southern regions have some differences. Recently, there was even a debate online about whose Kaengsom is superior.

Kaenglueang

Kai Tom Khamin

Khua Kling

Phatsato

Phat Phet Kop

Yam Nam Budu 

Nowadays, every part of Thailand eats everything I mention here, but its origin is still very obvious, and the origin can give some impression about what it will taste like for people who try it for the first time.

Popular Foreign food

Chinese food (some kinda Thai-Chinese more than actual Chinese)

Japanese food

Korean food

Mexican food

Indian food

Vietnamese food

Westerner food (Farang food)

Drink

Green Tea

Iced Tea/Thai Tea

Lemon Tea

Cocoa

Nom yen/Nom chomphu (Pink milk)

Oliang

Yok lor

Coffee boran

Butterfly pea juice

Lemongrass and Pandan Juice

Nam daeng (Red drink) (Hale's blue boy sala flavor)

Nam khiao (Green drink) (Hale's blue boy cream soda flavor)

Bubble tea

Chain Restaurants  

Sizzler

KFC

McDonald’s

Burger King

Starbucks

Subway

Taco Bell 

MK Suki

S&P

Barbecue Plaza

Yum Saap

Fuji restaurants 

Katsuya

Yayoi

Ootoya

Chester’s Grill

Pizza Hut

Pizza Company

Narai pizzeria

Hachiban

Mos Burger

Dairy Queen

Swensen

Easy to find dish

There a type of restuarant call ran-ahan tam sang (ร้านอาหารตามสั่ง) (Cooked to order resturant?) which is basically everywhere and this is a basic almost every those restuarant will have.  

Rice top with fried basil

Fried rice

Stir Fried Vegetables with Rice

Garlic Pork with Rice

Stir Fried Chili Paste

Suki->Thai Styled Sukiyaki (water/dry)  

You can select the type of meat yourself, even if the name includes the word "pork," (it's just a place holder) and you can add extra meat (more of the one you select or something else) or eggs if desired.

Eating utensils

The most common choice are just a spoon and fork. In places like noodle shops, it usually has chopsticks as well. and for steak, a knife.

List of online supermarket site

Index

[yamujiburo]

hiya again yam! i can't think of any hanamusa stuff to ask/talk about currently, so i've decided to ask about one of the shows you work on! i have a few (extended) family members who like the show, and by extension, i've caught much more than a few episodes (i always think of hanamusa when i hear the theme LOL)! (it's big city greens)

my question is... 1) who's your favorite character if you have one? (the dad is very goofy imho he is fun)

and 2) (idk if this is NDA-able or not so if it is please feel free to disregard LOL) did the scriptwriters consult you for gloria's parents speaking jp in the episode where she was like, showing off her 偽物の life to her parents? i'm always interested in hearing about the processes writers go through in including different languages in shows, especially kids' ones... *especially* in confirming that it's accurate enough which is why i ask. bc tbh i feel like it's pretty rare to have that in the end? we bare bears had lots of korean speaking characters in it iirc but that's one of the only shows that comes to mind.

thanks!!! o/ (ps: i think it'd be really funny if lisia pokemon met tr james and talked about fashion or something!with him just as a fun lil friendship rarepair, this may be a Bad Idea but in a fun crackfic-y way??? maybe i need to write this .)

I have a few! I love Tilly, Nancy and Tracy hehe (i won't say bella bc that's cheating

Early on, we didn't have scripts because we were a board driven show haha. There's been a few times in my own episodes where I'd throw in Japanese. Then for Rent Control (the episode you're talking about) my friend Raj, who boarded on that episode just came to me for some line suggestions! There's a whole language department though so everything goes through them when the final script for records is generated!

[icrypop]

Yam sbg gang + parents with a reader that enjoys being in the phantom realm because they like killing the phantoms, I can just imagine reader being a duel machete wielding ninja, that slices through phantoms like their butter, the only thing you hear from reader is crazed laughing as phantom body parts drop and roll on the ground, but then in the real world reader is just like hella chill like I mean cool kid chill, they don't talk to much but not too little and their just constantly tired no matter what before and during the plot.

Sorry if this long, ur like my sbg content supplier

<3

Yandere SBG Gang + Parents Reactions to Phantom-Slaying Reader:

Ashlynn, Taylor, Tyler, Aiden, Logan, Ben +Parents

⚠️Warning: Yandere tendencies, violence, slight disturbance.

Okay sooo this was a cool ass idea and I like to think about Aiden and how he was when he was a crazy murder machine lmao

I'm sorry that requests are coming out so slow...I always start writing the beginning of every request and then slowly work on everything all at once and then put it out all at once....So I Apologize-

Anywayyy, enjoy!!

-Writer Icy♡

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ashlynn:

-Phantom Realm Reaction: Ashlynn is both impressed and a little scared of the reader’s sheer efficiency and wildness in the Phantom Realm. She’s fiercely protective of them, but seeing the reader tear through phantoms like a seasoned warrior makes her both awe-struck and desperate to keep up.

-Real World Reaction: In the real world, Ashlynn is always worried about the reader’s exhaustion, constantly asking if they’re okay or if they need rest. Despite her concerns, she loves the reader’s chill and laid-back vibe, often seeking their company just to relax in silence.

- Yandere Tendencies: Ashlynn is obsessed with keeping the reader safe, despite knowing how capable they are. She admires their skill in the Phantom Realm but wants to protect them in the real world where she feels more in control.

---

Tyler:

-Phantom Realm Reaction: Tyler is more amused than angry/nervous whenever he gets to watch the reader in action. Their crazed laughter, the way they slice through phantoms with wild abandon—Tyler feeds off their chao and it only strengthens his obsession with them. He’s mesmerized by their raw power and skill.

- Real World Reaction: In the real world, Tyler is always trying to relax the reader, constantly dragging them into quieter areas to "Make them rest.” He’s also extremely protective and possessive, especially when others notice how cool and calm the reader is. To Tyler, their chill attitude is part of what makes them so irresistible.

-Yandere Tendencies: Tyler thrives on the thrill of the Phantom Realm, often wanting to fight alongside the reader, but also to make sure they don't get hurt He’s fiercely possessive, seeing the reader as his equal and his partner in chaos, but in the real world, he becomes overprotective, feeling the need to guard them when they’re vulnerable or tired.

---

Taylor:

- Phantom Realm Reaction: Taylor is terrified yet captivated by the reader’s bloodlust in the Phantom Realm. She clings to them, desperate to feel protected by their strength. Her yandere tendencies spike whenever she witnesses their raw power, making her obsessive desire to be by their side more intense.

-Real World Reaction: In the real world, Taylor’s concern is more about making sure the reader doesn’t push themselves too hard. She likes the reader’s calm, tired demeanor because it makes them seem more approachable and less dangerous—but she’s always there to hover and “help” them even when they don’t need it.

-Yandere Tendencies: Taylor is clingy and desperate to keep the reader close, both in and out of the Phantom Realm. While she’s terrified of their ruthless side, it also fuels her obsession, making her want to protect them in the real world where they seem more vulnerable and “normal.”

---

Aiden:

Phantom Realm Reaction: Aiden is both excited and a little hyped up by the reader’s behavior in the Phantom Realm. While he loves the thrill of battle, seeing the reader go full ninja-mode on the phantoms both impresses and excites him. He’s always nearby, ready to jump in if needed, though he knows they don’t need him.

- Real World Reaction: Aiden loves the reader’s laid-back attitude in the real world. He often tries to make them laugh or engage in light-hearted activities to keep their energy up. At the same time, he becomes incredibly protective when they’re visibly tired, making sure no one else disturbs them.

-Yandere Tendencies: Aiden’s yandere tendencies surface when he sees the reader tired and vulnerable in the real world. He wants to be the one to care for them and bring some light into their life, but he also gets jealous when others take notice of their cool demeanor.

---

Ben:

Phantom Realm Reaction: Ben watches the reader with quiet admiration in the Phantom Realm. He’s fascinated by their efficiency and ruthless skill but also unnerved by their crazed laughter. He’s more calculating, always observing the reader’s actions closely, and his obsession grows with every phantom they take down.

- Real World Reaction: Ben is more concerned with understanding why the reader is crazed like they are in the Phantom Realm. He likes their calm, almost distant personality, as it gives him more control in their interactions. He’ll often stay close by, not saying much, but always watching over them like a silent guardian.

- Yandere Tendencies: Ben’s yandere tendencies revolve around his need for control. He prefers the reader’s quiet, tired demeanor in the real world because it makes them seem more manageable. However, he is secretly obsessed with the power they display in the Phantom Realm and wants to ensure no one else can share that connection with them.

---

Logan:

- Phantom Realm Reaction: Logan is silently in awe of the reader’s prowess in the Phantom Realm. He watches them with quiet fascination as they cut down phantoms, their crazed laughter both disturbing and impressive. Logan sees their strength as something to admire, though it fuels his desire to shield them when they’re not in battle.

- Real World Reaction: In the real world, Logan often tries to get the reader to rest, offering quiet moments together where they can simply chill. He enjoys their calm and tired demeanor, finding it soothing to be around someone who isn’t constantly demanding his energy.

- Yandere Tendencies: Logan's protectiveness manifests more in the real world, where he worries about the reader’s fatigue. He craves the idea of being their rock, the one they can rely on when they’re tired, and his obsession grows from wanting to be the one who takes care of them when they’re not in “warrior mode.”

---

Parents’ Reactions:

- Ashlynn’s parents: Ashlynn’s parents respect the reader’s strength in the Phantom Realm, seeing them as a warrior. In the real world, they keep a close eye on them, often pulling them aside to make sure they’re okay, especially since Ashlynn is so obsessed with them. The dad focusing on helping them with any fighting they want to practice while the mom checks on them and their health.

- Twins Dad: The twin’s dad is more fearful of the reader’s behavior in the Phantom Realm. He constantly expresses concern and tries to dissuade them from returning to such a dangerous place. In the real world, he’s more at ease with their laid-back attitude, preferring this side of the reader.

- Aiden’s + Bens 'parents': Their dad silently admires the reader’s abilities in the Phantom Realm, though he finds their love for killing phantoms disturbing. In the real world, he tries to help Aiden care for the reader, often offering advice or support to ensure they’re well-rested.

Their mom is more focused on keeping the reader safe. She is deeply concerned about the risks the reader takes in the Phantom Realm and prefer the calm, chill version of them in the real world. She will try to encourage healthier ways of dealing with their exhaustion.

Logan’s Parents: Logan’s parents are wary of the reader, seeing their Phantom Realm behavior as too extreme. In the real world, they notice Logan’s obsession with them and try to subtly distance him from the reader, fearing their influence on him.

---

The reader gripped their machetes tightly, their body moving with precision and speed as they tore through the wave of phantoms like a machine. Each strike was calculated, yet the crazed grin on their face and the eerie laughter that bubbled from their lips showed a side of them that no one in the real world ever saw. Phantom limbs scattered across the ground as their laughter echoed through the dark, twisted landscape.

"Another one down," they muttered, breathless but exhilarated.

Back in the real world, the reader slumped against the wall of the school, their eyes heavy with exhaustion. Aiden sat beside them, handing them a bottle of water.

"You really should take it easy in there," Aiden said softly, watching as the reader took a slow sip, their eyes half-lidded with fatigue.

"Too fun," they replied with a small smirk, though their voice was quiet, almost bored.

[dermiej]

Merry Christmas and Happy Birthday Levi 🎂🎉

A little costest I did some weeks back. My phone might've washed out part of the stitches OTL also plucked out 90% of my eyebrows for this mf. Gotta say the obscured vision in one eye is pretty draining too 🥲

Happy 10th anniversary AoT and congrats on the finale! 🎊 Never expected to stick around any anime for this long tbh. I recall watching the very first trailer and the immediate interest from Kaji Yuki casting and Sawano's OST, and of course, we all witnessed the hype that came as quickly as it went.

It felt like any hype in my local community had long been extinguished by the time S2 rolled around, but I was hooked way more and quickly found myself lurking Reddit subs for content. Side characters became so interesting I forgot Levi was absent that season, though in the first place I never actually was a Levi stan. I love that the story doesn’t ride on “humanity’s strongest” or any popular simp-able character to be engaging, rather the opposite at how much it values the flawed and ordinary. I love how dishonest, contradictory and irrational so many of them are, how you gotta pay attention and measure up what they do vs what they say vs what they think. No surprise that voice acting sessions often spill into overtime (sometimes seiyuu themselves opt for do-overs even after their takes were approved) because slight changes in the delivery of certain lines can convey potentially opposite meanings. Took me years later revisiting S1 to notice recurring themes and foreshadowing to even real-world developments, e.g. jabs at moralism before it became a hot topic, and today with wars and reactions to them. It has in no small amount influenced how I look at people and the world; not what I signed up for when I started out but wouldn’t have it any other way.

idk how else to put it other than Yams is a terrifying writer for his age. I've lately picked up Breaking Bad because of him (still on S4 no spoilers pls). Already drawing several thematic parallels between the two; notably addiction and self-deception.

Thank you WIT and MAPPA for delivering such a baller production from start to finish, and conveying Yams’ vision even with its inherent limitations 🥹 Drink all my tears

[weirdthoughtsandideas]

How DCLA characters read + write fanfictions

Won’t do everyone but will do many.

Violetta can read all kinds of fics, although she knows her limits and if she gets uncomfortable, she stops reading. But, if she finishes a fic, she leaves the most heartwarming comment known to man. When she writes herself, she plans it out beforehand and basically writes the wholeass fic before posting the first chapter. Every title and author’s note has a song lyrics.

Ludmila refuses to read anything over 5000 words (unless it’s multichapter, but in that case she wants every chapter to be around 2000 words max). HOWEVER, she writes the LONGEST fics known to man. Her longest fic is currently 140+ chapters, the original plot disappeared LONG ago and now it’s simply characters doing slice of life things. But she has a dedicated reader fanbase that sometimes have rereads and they make memes and quote stuff daily.

Luna never checks how long fics are and have accidentally ended up reading a 100k fic in one night. She does read all kinds, but that’s because she doesn’t check the tags or ratings either, so poor girl has seen things… She also writes long comments that are just filled with emojis and exclamation points. She does post fics, but it’s very spread out and it’s rare that a fic gets updated. She posts new fics the second she got a new idea and then never update them. Her longest running fic got up to 5 chapters and that was only because she was very hyperfocused on that very fic. All fics are very slice of life and G-rated. She also very rarely writes any romance. If there’s romance then that’s not the main focus at all.

Ámbar only reads angsty stuff. She needs to FEEL something. She has read the most heavy, gory and graphic fics with a straight face. She never leaves comments but she’s there… reading it all… She also is not capable to write any fic herself without it being angsty. She has tried to cut it down, but every fic eventually has to change the rating to M or E. And… yes, she has 100% written smut.

Bia does not write fics herself, but she does like to read some others and often draws fanart of their fics. She’s known in her fandoms to be ”the fanfic artist” and everyone secretly hopes she’s gonna draw scenes from their fics.

Camila reads anything and everything, but instead of stopping when she doesn’t like a fic, she finishes it and then leaves a comment telling them she didn’t like it. In her words, they should KNOW she didn’t like it and why. She has BEEF with fic writers because of this. She also found Ludmila’s fanfic account and she LOVES to leave cryptid comments hinting that she knows her irl. With her own fics, she loves to create shock for the readers. She often kills of a random character, make people cheat, make people break up… and she loves confusing people, especially if they point out they are confused - then she’ll confuse them even more!

Pixie doesn’t read others fics because she is extremely picky with what she likes. So, that’s why she only writes them herself. It’s often VERY self-insertive, you notice she often writes about specific characters and it feels like she’s projecting whatever is going on in her life on them. Her readers often feel pretty touched by her fics though, thinking she just makes them feel so ”real”, and she only gets nice comments

Yam primarily reads and writes anything gay, ofc. She’s in a mix of fandoms, so the bigger fandoms are usually the ones she reads more in, and then she writes fics herself for the smaller fandoms, who would need some fics. She says she can read anything, but the second a fic gets a bit steamy she gets awkward about it and kinda has a hard time continuing to read.

Nina reads the most stuff, but she prefers reading romantic fics, especially about ships she likes. She has no problems reading smut, although writing it herself? No, she gets a bit more self-aware and can’t really do it. Since we’re on an agreement Nina is an author later, I think a lot of her fics are kind of ”first drafts” of her later published books (where she ofc has changed the names of everyone).

Francesca loves reading romance fics a lot, especially the fluffy ones. She also writes primarily romantic fics herself, although she often takes them down because she didn’t like how they turned out. So people often ask ”why did you remove your fic?”, especially because people generally like her stuff. But, if she doesn’t like it, she takes it down. She’s also known for uploading the same fic like 4 times and then removing it again from the website.

Helena was an active fic reader and writer when she was younger, and then sort of fell out of it. But then, sometime in her adulthood, she got back into it again. She often spends time looking for old fics she either remembered reading when she was younger or find some new fics she missed out on while she stopped reading. She also found an old fic she posted in like 2007 and then decided to update it with a new chapter all these years later, and literally started her author’s note with ”hi so I lost my memory for a solid 10 years and built my life back up again here I am! Hope you enjoy the new chapter!”

Maxi often reads his own friends fics because he’s supportive. He also really much likes to read crackfics simply because he thinks they are funny. He himself often writes chatfics because he thinks it’s a good flow in them. Also because he’s more into dialouge than description.

Simón is a person that likes to read fanfictions out loud. He’s the only one in the roller band who’s into fics, and he often finds the most odd ones to read out loud to his friends. He has read them as bedtime stories to Nico and Pedro, and sometimes him and Luna read a fic together out loud, taking turns doing voices for the characters. The only fanfictions he has written himself are self-inserts about himself and his friends.

Benicio never writes fics, and only reads some to mock them, only to drop comments like this

Diego only reads Ludmila’s fics and she does not know that he knows she has a fanfiction account. But he figured out it was her right away. He does not write fics himself.

Naty does not read a lot of fics, only occasionally her friends’ ones. She and Camila conspire that Ludmila has put OCs in her fics that are supposed to be parodies of them, but they can’t be sure yet. Naty has written probably the best fanfiction ever, but she does not post it because she’s not confident enough about it. So, it just sits on a document on her computer, unaware of the power it would have if it was posted.

Celeste read a lot of gay fics when she was younger and was like ”haha I don’t know why I’m doing this… why do I feel like this…” And then she kinda started to work on a gay fic herself, about a character Celeste personally felt connected to, figuring out her sexuality. And as Celeste wrote, she kinda projected her own feelings on it and realised her own sexuality while writing it.