#idk about using it frequently

[diobrando]

Remember that I made a naruto blog so I wouldn't post that shit on here? I failed and I'm sorry to everyone

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).

He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.

And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.

No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.

Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)

He needs to be quick.

Efficient.

Perfect.

And so he comes and goes like the wind.

Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.

Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.

He'd rather he never be late ever again.

It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...

.

.

.

" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.

"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.

Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.

He imagines hearing a clock ticking.

Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?

Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.

[multiversal-pudding]

I still wonder…

Like. Seb’s document said he broke out while he was being transported

where was he being transported *to?*

Were they just changing where he was contained in the Blacksite? Doubtful given he was still given free enough reign to work on equipment during that time- he probably could’ve just moved himself, maybe with guards

Was he going to another site entirely? It’s implied Urbanshade has multiple sites even if Hadal is one of the main ones-

Were they going to sell him off? I mean- Urbanshade has a history of putting anomalies up for auction, both the Limited Time Imaginary Friend document and the Abstract Art files mention them selling off anomalies they don’t have a use for that aren’t something worth Neutralizing (or the other way around, too useless to sell), we know there’s other companies out there who’d probably have Use for a giant mutant- likely things that wouldn’t be good for him either like some kind of military use/Rich Weirdo Collector type stuff also

Did he even know? He waited 10 years to enact his plan- was it just the first chance he got, or did something happen?

[sucresanguine]

not to be throwing stones but the way people talk about having a "female" childhood as a default good thing in queer spaces is bonkers. Like the amount of abuse I and many others experienced that was directly tied to that shouldn't have to be minimized as some kind of learning experience. I don't actually think suffering in one way makes you a better person for it. I'm not out here saying No One Ever Had A Happy Girlhood but for many people that shit was traumatizing and doesn't need to be put on a pretty little pedestal nor held up as something that made you necessarily more empathetic/feminist/radicalized because imo that really does carry the connotation that all those things were potentially good for you. Being someone who went through that didn't distinctly or directly make me a better feminist or ally, it made me a very very hurt person.

[thetomorrowshow]

a stuffed deer

empires superpowers au masterlist (currently out of date)

this story takes place about one year after the end of ‘poisoned rats’.

cw: past abuse, religious trauma, referenced past death, deadnaming/misgendering of a character (but the person isn’t really doing it out of mailce, and said character is dead)

~

The closer they get, the more anxious Scott becomes. His hands grip tighter on the steering wheel, he checks his mirrors more often, he glances over at Jimmy every couple of seconds.

This is fine. This is normal, even. He knows what he’s doing. He’s done far more terrifying things than this. He’s nearly died several times, he’s graduated college, he’s been a superhero for years.

He can face his birth parents.

He’s been talking to Nora about it for several months, and he’s come to the conclusion that he needs closure. Not about himself—he fully understands their feelings for him, and made peace with them long ago. No, he’s here for closure on Xornoth.

In the last minutes before their death, Xornoth had declared themself to be Scott’s sibling. As far as he knows, he’d been an only child. If what Xornoth said was true, that puts Scott in charge of any and all of their possessions currently being held by the city. Not that he wants them, but the mayor had asked him to pursue any leads he found on Xornoth’s next of kin and, even though it had taken him an entire year and a half, he finally feels ready to pursue the only one he’s ever had.

Jimmy’s fiddling with the radio next to him, switching between gospel and country. There’s not much else that comes through out here, and they’re going through a dead zone for their data plan, so Jimmy eventually just turns it off and sits back, not-so-subtly watching Scott. Scott resolutely keeps his eyes on the road.

They pass the exit for Milford. If Jimmy’s feeling all right after the visit, maybe they can stop by there, visit the library and community college and homeless shelter.

Half an hour until Briarsville. Scott shifts in his seat, taps the steering wheel lightly.

“What did you think of that motel breakfast?” Jimmy breaks the silence. “I thought it was decent—waffles are always good, at least. But I wouldn’t have touched those sausages with a ten foot pole.”

Scott had only eaten a slice of toast with some watery coffee, too nervous already to have any faith in his stomach. “Not the worst I’ve ever had,” he offers. Jimmy’s just trying to help him relax. He can humor his attempts.

“Well, yeah. I can remember a time when I would’ve killed for a motel breakfast—literally.” Jimmy chuckles nervously, tugs on his seatbelt. “Um—how much longer?”

“Half an hour,” says Scott too quickly. He checks the radio clock, then his rearview mirror. They’re almost there. His heart is really beginning to jump now.

The car is quiet again until they reach exit 42. Briarsville.

Jimmy straightens up, looks between Scott and the town that they’re pulling into. It looks like any run-of-the-mill midwest town, Scott knows. Even the Order of Heaven private school isn’t much of an indicator of anything abnormal.

“We can turn around, you know,” Jimmy says softly. Of course he’d noticed the nerves. Scott’s knuckles have turned white around the wheel, his back is ramrod straight, he’s barely spoken all morning. Jimmy’s not an idiot, and he’s more observant than most people know.

Scott forces himself to relax. “No. I need to do this.”

Jimmy nods and doesn’t argue him any further. That’s something that Scott will always love about Jimmy: he understands. He sees that this is important for Scott and would never try to keep him from it.

And then he’s turning onto Bloomfield Avenue, and he thinks that maybe Jimmy’s right. Maybe he ought to turn back now and cut his losses.

It’s still his last name printed above the door of the house three houses down. The welcome mat is that ugly, waterlogged brown thing that it had been before he’d left. His parents still live here.

Scott pulls into the driveway, then freezes.

“What if we just went home?” he says, voice pitched an octave higher than normal. “We can stop by the country music museum. Or the Appalachian one, I heard it’s—”

“Scott,” interrupts Jimmy. “Normally I would be fine with that, but you just told me you have to do this.” He takes one of Scott’s hands, runs his thumb over his knuckles. “This is important to you. I don’t want you to be kicking yourself for the rest of your life because you got all the way here only to turn back.”

Scott takes in a deep breath, holds it, and lets it out. Then again. Jimmy’s right. Jimmy’s absolutely right. “Yeah,” he whispers.

“And,” Jimmy continues, “if they try to hurt you in any way, I will kill them.”

“You’ve got to stop saying that about everyone we talk to.”

“Hey, I’m just really good at making things look like an accident. Some might even say it’s a superpower.”

“Jimmy.”

“Just saying.”

Scott laughs, kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. He’s ready now. He can go in.

He pulls the key out of the ignition and hops out, then circles round to offer his hand to Jimmy and help him up. Jimmy stops to grab his cane out of the backseat, then gestures encouragingly for Scott to lead the way.

Right. He has to actually go up to the door.

It’s the longest walk of his life, Scott thinks. Even the walk across the stage at graduation hadn’t been this long. But seconds yet seemingly hours later, he’s in front of the door, hand poised to knock.

He swallows, then bites the bullet.

Rat-tat-tat-tat.

It’s only a couple of moments before the door swings open, and his mother is standing before him.

She looks much the same, but changed. Her hair, once grey at the temples, is nearly completely grey with only a few streaks of its former blond. There are a few new lines in her face, only serving to add to the sallowness, the laugh lines he’d once known long-faded. Her hairstyle is the same as ever, her classic Christian mom fashion sense not any different. He takes in all of this, then properly meets her eyes.

“Hello, Mother,” he says, a shiver running up his spine.

She doesn’t say anything at first, eyes passing over Scott to examine Jimmy briefly, sizing him up like a bird of prey. Then she steps aside, pulling the door open wider.

“You’d better come in, hadn’t you,” she says, and the resignation lacing her tone is somehow so much better than the anger he’d expected yet so much worse.

The living room is different. There’s a new couch, pushed up against the wall opposite where it used to be. The easy chair is the same, but also tilted weird and there’s a coffee table for some reason when all it does is take up space. But Scott keeps his complaints to himself and steadies Jimmy as he lowers himself onto the couch, propping his cane up against the coffee table, then sits beside him.

His mother looks at the two of them with something unreadable in her expression, before leaving the room. She returns moments later with two glasses of water.

It’s a test, and Scott doesn’t know if she’s set it up like this or if he set it up for himself, but he takes the water from her hand and sends a little burst of freezing air to chill it, eyes trained on hers the entire time. She doesn’t react.

Jimmy takes his water with a muttered thank you, then she sits down in the easy chair across from them, crossing one leg over the other as she waits for Scott to break the silence.

He takes a sip of his now-cool water (Jimmy passes his own over and Scott forms some of the water into an ice cube before handing it back), takes a deep breath, and speaks.

“Is Dad home? Because—”

“He’s dead,” his mother interrupts. Scott blinks.

Two for two, his mind unhelpfully supplies. 

Is he supposed to mourn an unloved parent? Is he supposed to mourn someone he used to care very deeply about, but proved that they didn’t care for him?

He’s not sure how to feel.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jimmy says beside him. “That must be terrible.”

“How long?” is all Scott can manage.

“Nearly two years, now,” she replies. “Heart attack while at work.” She clicks her tongue. “I was always telling him to lay off the salt, stop working so hard. Guess he suffered the consequences.”

Scott’s really not sure how to feel. The last memory of his birth father he has is of his face closing off, declaring himself to have no son, and banishing Scott from the house. Would he have liked to reconcile? Is parting easier with his last words being unforgivable?

“I’m so sorry, Mrs—”

“Heidi,” his mother corrects Jimmy, and Jimmy amends his words.

“I’m so sorry, Heidi. I can only imagine the pain.”

That’s the first thing to incite emotion in Scott, because Jimmy can’t only imagine that sort of pain. Jimmy’s lived through the death of loved ones without a house to live in afterwards or a community to support him. Jimmy’s had it worse off. Jimmy shouldn’t have to be placating his terrible excuse for a mother.

He must be getting tense, because Jimmy’s hand runs comfortingly along his knee, and Scott can almost feel the love and support that Jimmy imbues the touch with.

Heidi’s eyes follow the movement, and after a moment, she says gruffly, “Are you going to introduce me to your friend?”

Right. This could go very badly.

“Mother, this is Jimmy, my boyfriend,” Scott says stiffly, before adding, “as in, romantic partner. We kiss. Each other.”

Her nose wrinkles in disgust. “Are you a gay now, then?”

Scott stares her down. “And if I am?” he challenges. “What are you going to do, kick me out again?”

She stares back for a long moment, a moment during which Scott’s certain she is going to kick them out—then she chuckles, shakes her head.

“You always were a bit sassy,” she says. “I ought to have known, really. But that can be said for a lot of things.”

“Speaking of things that ought to have been known. . . .” Jimmy hints, nudging at Scott. Scott nods, takes a deep breath, and forces out the question that’s been on his mind for so long.

“Did I . . . did you have any children before me?”

Heidi looks away suddenly, toward the TV. Her expression gives away absolutely nothing. “I thought that was Noah,” she says eventually. “His voice was already starting to change when he left.”

“Sorry—Noah?”

She looks back at him. “Your brother. He was fourteen when we noticed he was one of them. You were so young, I’m not surprised you don’t remember.”

Right, because it’s such a normal thing to destroy every trace of your child’s existence and raise the other to believe he never had a sibling.

But that means—

“I’ve seen the two of you on the news,” his mother continues. “Your father, too. He regretted what he did, Scott, after he saw how good your heart was.”

“So he just wanted to send me to conversion therapy instead, huh,” Scott mutters. “And that’s so much better.”

Heidi sighs. “We did what we thought we had to do, for both of you. We always hoped you would repent and come back.”

Scott wants to scream. He wants to scream and yell and freeze the entire house, because that may be the most insensitive thing he’s ever heard and his own mother is supposed to love him unconditionally, not act like this!

His hands are shaking. He doesn’t even notice until Jimmy eases the glass from his grip and rubs his arm. He needs to calm down.

But he can’t bear to look at the woman’s face for a moment longer.

“I think we’ll be going,” Scott says icily, moving to stand. Heidi stands as well, taking their glasses, then pauses on her way back to the kitchen.

“We donated your things,” she says, “but not all of it. Do you want any of what’s left?”

And as much as Scott wants to get out of here, he knows he needs to see whatever it is his mother decided to keep. So, after an encouraging squeeze from Jimmy, Scott follows her into the attic.

There’s only two things in the attic—two small trash bags, leaning against a wall to the side. With a nod from Heidi, Scott opens one of them up.

His monogrammed bible is on top. He has no interest in that. His Boy Scout pins and kerchief are here as well, more stuff he doesn’t care about. His birth certificate, which he does set aside (he already has a copy of it that he’d requested from the government, but it can never hurt to have the original), and a small photo album, which he sets aside as well. At the very bottom of the bag is his plush turtle, scruffy and old.

That he pulls to his chest, burying his nose into it. It smells pretty musty, which makes sense. It probably hasn’t been out of this attic in a decade.

It brings back feelings, looking at it. Not memories, not exactly, but feelings of a simpler time. Feelings from some vague past, where he had no troubles and his only concern was getting to school on time.

And more feelings. Feelings of deception, of hate, of guilt. The feeling of his world being flipped upside down and this plushie not being near enough to anchor it.

He wants to set it with his birth certificate and the photos, but it holds so much of this place that he’s not so sure.

He sets the turtle to the side and looks in the other bag.

Much the same stuff, and at first he inexplicably thinks this is an exact replica for some odd reason—but the name monogrammed onto this bible is not his.

Scott weighs it in his hands for a moment, then sets that aside.

There’s no photo album, but the same boy scout items and a birth certificate. There’s a plushie here too, though, a floppy deer, one of the antlers torn off and the hole it left carefully sewn shut. The fur is wearing thin in places, the beads for eyes have lost their shine.

It’s well-loved, as loved as Scott’s turtle, and for some reason, that makes him want to cry.

He’s not sure what to do with it. He still hasn’t really processed what his mother confirmed downstairs.

This stuffed deer belonged to the sibling he never met.

This stuffed deer belonged to Xornoth.

Can he take it?

Does he want to take it?

He sets it aside next to his turtle. At the bottom of the bag, there’s one last thing—a photograph, bent at the corner.

It’s older than any in the photo album, and Scott knows instantly that the child in the photo isn’t him. It’s a small child with a mop of dark blond hair, maybe three years old, wearing little red overalls and a white sweater, sitting on a push-bike and smiling up at the camera.

He can’t quite force his brain to make the connection. This child, so happy and young, grew up to be Xornoth. This toddler tried to take over the world.

He can process it later, he supposes, and he upends one of the bags to make sure there’s nothing else (there isn’t, so few of what once were his possessions leftover), then stuffs both his turtle and the deer in it, along with his birth certificate. He hikes the bag over his shoulder and picks up the photo of—of the child—and the photo album, before holding both out to his mother.

“Do you want any of these?” he asks brusquely. She takes the loose photo, then waves off the album.

“I’ve kept some of yours downstairs,” she says dismissively. “This is my only picture of Noah, though.”

Scott leaves the attic without another word, photo album chucked into the bag over his shoulder. He meets back up with Jimmy in the living room, who looks up from his phone with a questioning glance.

Scott sets down the bag, pulls out the turtle plushie. “This was mine growing up,” he says. Jimmy’s face immediately softens and he coos, reaching out for it. Scott hands it over, then removes the second stuffed animal.

This one he holds farther from Jimmy, because he’s still not sure if he wants to take it with him, despite the strange sense that he owes it to his lost sibling. “This,” he says carefully, “belonged to Xornoth.”

Jimmy’s face goes carefully neutral, and his hands still. “Oh,” he manages, and Scott can hear the change in his exhales as he immediately kicks into breathing exercises.

“We don’t have to take it if you aren’t okay with that,” Scott is quick to reassure. “We can leave it here, that’s fine. I’m sure my mother would appreciate it.”

“Why—why do you want it?”

That’s harder to answer, because Scott hasn’t figured out why yet. He’ll know when he comes across the answer, he’s certain, but it hasn’t made itself known to him in the five minutes that he’s known of his sibling’s existence.

“I don’t know,” he says eventually. He stares at the deer, at the faded pattern of its coat. “There’s some reason I want it, but I’m not sure what that is, yet.”

A little color has already returned to Jimmy’s face, and he doesn’t stutter when he speaks. “Is it part of your closure?”

He doesn’t know how, but Jimmy’s right. He nods. This is, in some way and fashion, a very important part of making peace with his sibling’s identity in his head.

“Then take it,” says Jimmy, handing back the turtle. He stands, slowly, supporting himself with his cane.

But it’ll hurt you, Scott wants to say. It’s clear that Jimmy doesn’t like the idea of taking this deer plushie home, doesn’t like the idea of it being in their house.

“Don’t worry about me, yeah?” Jimmy says, as if he can hear Scott’s thoughts. He smiles weakly, squeezes Scott’s arm. “I’ll be fine. This is about you.”

They leave with a quick goodbye, no attempts on either side to set up further contact. Scott just throws his things into the backseat with Jimmy’s cane, then drives away.

-

It’s just a week later when Scott drives out of the city to a park.

It’s a quiet park, just some trails and benches through the trees, and Scott stops at one of these trees and digs with the shovel he’d brought from home.

He digs alone, in the quiet shade of the trees, a light breeze rustling through them. And when he’s finished the job, a small pile of dirt beside him, he lays a shoebox containing a small stuffed deer in the little hole he’s dug.

He scrapes the dirt back over it with his shovel, pats it down a bit, and stands there. Just . . . stares.

Then, silently, Scott turns away and heads home.

[mothbeasts]

i miss posting and making and engaging with ieytd content but I will be honest sometimes it feels alienating. as a lesbian.

[brinnanza]

yesterday at work, one of the older kids (ish; five) saw my water bottle (it's like 64 oz I'm a thirsty bitch) on the counter, and said, "is that your big water bottle?" and I was like yeah so he was like "why is it so big' and I said "well I'm a big boy I need a big bottle" and he said "you're not a boy you're a girl!!" because while I'm out with the adults I don't tell every kid my pronouns yknow most of em don't even really speak yet. my coworker refers to me as them in front of the kids but like they're kids, right? and if you've got no context for my whole thing or gender Stuff in general, sure I look like a girl and that's not a like, offensive guess, ykwim?

anyway, I said, "that's just your opinion, man," and turned to help another kid. it did not come up again.

[vani-ash]

we've all heard of chay - kim body swap au, now introducing:

Kim - Porsche bodyswap au (This is entirely inspired by me remembering Apo as Jeff during the KP WTF concert)

Porsche One day Porsche wakes up in some fancy hotel room and doesn't question it just yet, he's woken up in weirder places with no memory, this was nothing new, the lack of a splitting headache was nice though. Going to the bathroom and looking in the mirror is when Porsche does start to question some things. That is NOT his face staring back in the mirror. The face looks vaguely familiar but Porsche can't quite place where from. There's a sudden insistent knocking at the door. Porsche does not want to open it as knocking that frantic is never good, but it's not like there's anywhere else for him to go and they don't seem to be willing to leave if he just ignores it.

Opening it Porsche it greeted with an exasperated man,"Wik! You're going to be late! You've just woken up haven't you? Nevermind we'll get you fixed up at the venue, just come!" The man grabs Porsches arm and drags him into an elevator, out of an elevator, and then into a car.

Porsche keeps trying to tell the man that he is not whoever this 'Wik' guy is but the man just looks at him more annoyed.

It's when Porsche is once again being dragged around and forced into a Chair and a woman is putting make up on his face as he watches in a mirror does he figure out who he looks like.

He can't believe he didn't recognize it sooner, but theres a picture tapped to the mirror that Porsche had seen before in Chays room.

He was in the body of Chay's idol. The man who had brought him here is pulling him out of the chair and leading him somewhere else. He was saying something but Porsche only catches the last part of,"We changed the set list, Highway is the opening song now, okay?" Before he is being shoved on to a stage, the loud cheering startles him. There is music being blasted all around him, it's familiar, something he had heard Chay playing around the house.

In his ear he hears,"Verse in 3 2 1.." Looking down he sees a screen with lyrics on it.

Well.

Porsche opens his mouth. Kim Kim wakes up in a room not his own. It's messy. He's instantly suspicious of where he is. He didn't drink and he didn't do drugs, the most he does is a cigarette when he felt particularly stressed but he tried not to smoke too often as it would damage his voice.

Kim investigates the room, but theres nothing to note. It seemed like an average teenage boys room with the clothes being left strewn about everywhere, an assortment of band posters stuck up on the walls. Then he finds a little hidden part behind a bookcase.

There's a wall covered in his face, but hes quick to notice it's only photos of Wik.

Kim didn't know what was happening and wasn't sure what to feel.

The door to the room swings open and Kim jumps slightly, having not heard anything that should've tipped him off to someone approaching.

"Hia?" Kim turns around to see a teenage boy staring at him confused but with no signs of wanting to hurt him, he's cute, but still Kim keeps his guard up.

"What do you want?"

"Did I wake you? Go back to sleep Hia, I just came to get my phone, P'Wiks event it starting now."

P'Wik?

The boy seemed harmless as he grabbed his phone off a table, so Kim followed him down stairs.

"What are you going to watch with me Hia?"

Kim didn't know why the boy kept calling him Hia but he just nodded.

The boy had a live stream up and already playing, he turned the volume up just in time for Kim to hear the MC announce,"Please welcome to the stage, P'Wik!"

Seeing himself walk onto the stage was something.

It looked both exactly like and nothing like what he looked like. The Wik on the screen looked perfectly like him, but everything else was wrong, the walk, the way he held himself, how he seemed hesitant and unsure of what to do.

Whoevers body Kim was in, they were in Kims.

The backing track to Kims new song started playing.

"Hia, do you think P'Wik looks nervous? He's acting strange, I hope his management isn't overworking him."

Kim watches as fake him looks around before settling on looking at the ground, presumably where the lyrics would be.

Kim holds his breath. This guy wasn't going to sing as Kim... was he?

"Peung ja ru kwam songjam ti mi-"

It's painful, not a single note is on Key, and just barely in time as well.

"Hia he sounds awful! You don't think he's sick do you? God his management suck making him preform even while he's sick."

The next 3 minutes are excruciatingly painful for Kim.

[gayabeilles]

listening to hozier while I prepare dinner ☺️☺️☺️

[hayaku14]

hello why is kaishin more popular than shinkai or what i mean is why bottom shinichi is like the most widely believed one? lol not really in the fandom just vaguely familiar with the anime from childhood it's just my mutuals likes this ship. i'd thought shinichi being the top would be more popular given his personality.

anon sorry for the late answer!!

imma be real honest with you, anon, i've loved the kidco dynamic since i was conan-sized but i only realized kaishin should be making out around 2021 so i don't know if i'm the best person to answer this question LOL BUT, i'll give you an answer!

tbh, i think for fandom shipping in general, the main character more often than not is the chosen bottom and whoever else is the other party is topping them. in japanese media especially, the ship names are mostly born from putting the kanji of their names together wherein the order of which indicates the seme and uke. since this happens early on, we kinda get stuck with that as the popular ship name whether you prefer the other way later on.

perhaps kaishin is more popular but not entirely by a lot compared to other ships where it's completely skewed to one side. i see a lot of shinkai too. ofc there are people who prefer one way over the other exclusively and that's completely fine!

personally, i think confining them into seme and uke or top and bottom does a great disservice to the kaishin dynamic because to me we should be looking at their sub-dom dynamic more and why they're actually peak switch sub and dom!!!!

that's fucking right kaishin is actually peak switch and i will die on this fucking hill!!!!!!!!!!

when you say shinichi would be the "obvious top," i'd like to assume in your heart you actually meant "the obvious dom" (LOL) but i think that could also apply to kaito.

i think the appeal of kaishin is the push and pull between them. the give and take. they're always trying to one-up each other. sometimes one pushes and the other gives way, sometimes it's the other way around.

i will be honest, perhaps switch pairings might just be my preference but I have never encountered a pairing that felt this completely equal in the switch department more than kaishin. like for other ships i'd sometimes be like, "yeah they switch but A is 70% more dom than B." But for kaishin I'm like, "oKAY THEY'RE 50/50 THEY'RE EQUALS THEY'RE PERFECT HALVES RAAAAAHHHH"

now how does this answer your question? well, i have no proof and im going off of vibes and like i said im no veteran in this ship fandom but, i think a lot of people do enjoy the other way around as you think it would've been. it's just that...it's something that can just be filed under the kaishin tag too. because it's basically the same sometimes. the only different thing is who's topping and bottoming. like sometimes i'm scrolling through twitter and i'd see art that's giving shinkai but it's tagged as kaishin and vice versa lol.

also personally i prefer calling them kaishin because i love the letter k and i associate the name shinkai more with makoto shinkai so every time i see people refer to kaishin as shinkai, my mind just conjures up an image of kaito, shinichi, and makoto shinkai together and i know that's fucking hilariously weird but it sometimes happens!!!! LMAO so even if i'm thinking about shinkai stuff, i still prefer using the name kaishin lol.

(but having the kaishin/shinkai distinction is definitely still useful especially for people who want to filter through one way or the other so fuck yeah to the ship name shinkai you're here to stay!!!)

anyway in conclusion, top shinichi is popular too dw lol, or maybe i should say bottom kaito is popular too lol i see yalls

also sorry that this answer is not only late but also a whole essay that doesn't even straightforwardly answer your question lol my bad anon

[moe-broey]

Meanwhile, Book ??? and a half, in the far off floating islands of........ uh............ I wasn't paying attention. Sorry. There's a Yggdrasil here, too, though. Unrelated to the one in Zenith. Yeah, apparently these things are fucking everywhere.

Our Heroes, The Order of Heroes, no wait, uh. The Goat Grabbers -- no, still not right. The Dandelion Guild. They're here. On a mission. What mission? Fuck if I know.

Their leader seems to be this very serious young man. But is he the leader, actually...? He may just be the most responsible one. His name is Alfonse. Kind at heart, happy to help others, but tends to keep to himself (...... mostly.)

Joined at the hip, always at his heels, is his younger sister, Sharena! Vibrant and upbeat, she's such a joy to talk to! She's only a little bit odd. But she's so utterly charming, so fun and friendly, you pay it no mind. She truly is the life of the party!

Going from upbeat to offbeat, we have this fucking guy. It seems friendly enough... it's just. Weird. And has an attitude problem. A bit crude, too. That troublesome little creature is named Moe -- and the sheep is Kuro. It's always trailing behind either of the siblings, like a shadow.

Now, who will be our f2p girlie our guide, for this unspecified Book? It's Elanorre! A forest spirit of sorts, a practitioner of arcane earth magic, and an aspiring scholar of The Labyrinth... she has a bit of trouble expressing herself, but don't let that fool you. She's extremely passionate about her work. Just. In a very monotone voice.

(plus a little illust of her!!!)

And for our final team member, to properly fill out a party of five... we're gonna need all the help we can get, after all... what's this? It's Veronica WITH A GUN (WHO GAVE HER THAT?????)

That said, party members of the Dandelion Guild seem to come and go. It's just those three (Alfonse, Sharena, and Moe), who are always together.

Regardless! Onward! Into the Labyrinth!!!

[magpigment]

life can still be better, dragon child; you are loved by all and you have music in your soul. remember to listen to it, and you’ll know how precious you are.

anyway tallulah amirite

[termagax]

re: "good girl" i think they say it once randomly as a joke and its just one of those things that gets him wayyy more than they expected it would. so now its their secret weapon and they use it very sparingly and every single time he gets super embarrassed about it but it works ill tell you what.

[skitskatdacat63]

Can someone assure me it's okay that I haven't finished any drawings in over a week 😭😭

[jonathanbyersphd]

Stranger Things AU - Jancy as Paranormal Investigators Moodboard

Jonathan Byers was 13 the first time he saw a ghost, he screamed so loud he nearly woke the neighbors. Seven years and one brief stint in Pennhurst later, he's crisscrossing the country with his girlfriend, dispelling rumors, exorcising poltergeists, and trying to bring families closure. Nancy Wheeler is first and foremost a skeptic, so naturally, it's her boyfriend who can see spirits. And if it weren't for her own personal experience with a haunting she wouldn't believe him. She doesn't trust half the stories they hear, but she's not about to let him go investigate the paranormal on his own.

[itspileofgoodthings]

I say that you don’t need to know the Taylor lore to appreciate her music and I MEAN it and yet I’m not sure Taylor saying “now I’m down bad crying at the gym” hits quite as hard if you didn’t spend all of 2014 watching her coming out of gyms in NYC wearing her perfect little model ‘fits with her short 1989 bob perfectly coiffed only to learn later all the heartbreak happening behind the scenes then TOO.