#mentioned briefly but its there!

[sapphire-monkey]

I saw your tags on my post. Why do you think the Jedi are ‘over hated’ by the SW fandom? It doesn’t seem to me like a lot of people realize just how badly the Jedi and political elites like Organa failed in the PT. If you’re a big fan of Wukong, you’d know that child of the Force (what else are you supposed to call the spiritual energy of the Sky and Earth? Lol) would’ve gone rogue and cut all ties with the Jedi by TPM. Or….the Jedi would dub Wukong a Sith and hunt him down. Tell me about these mixed feelings of yours on the Jedi.

By the way, have you read the other novels in the four great classics? Namely the ones featuring generals and martial artists. Three Kingdoms and All Men are Brothers (水浒传)?

Sorry for the late reply, i was on vacation and i wanted to give this question proper thought. I'm flattered you wanted to hear my thoughts though! Bare with me because i'm not the best with words, but the Jedi are a mixed bag of an organization that suffers from author intent and execution. George Lucas is an orientalist white man, you'll hear no argument from me on that score. Like its clear he wants them to be Buddhist monks/samurai warriors not realizing that the two are kind of incompatible. And its clear that his white christian upbringing influences his idea of how the force works. like again if he wanted the force to be Buddhist/Daoist, why is there no reincarnation in star wars? why is the dark side a thing??? On the other hand though, I find some people hate the jedi because they really don't like how star wars morality works or they like anakin. Which is fine! I get that! but still gray jedi are not a thing, you can have them be fanfic but they're still not canon (not referring to you specifically, general you). So it feels more like a rage against the author then the jedi themselves. Then there are the fans who its not that they hate the jedi so much as they really really like the sith. Those fans especially are the ones who seem to hate the jedi in a sort of edge lord fashion. (i hope this makes sense T-T) Honestly i couldn't see sun wukong being a jedi if he was in star wars. But it'd be fun seeing him just demolish everyone there if they tried anything. The thing is the star wars universe has a moral code if you are a force user. and you don't have to like it, heaven knows i get that that's why fanfics exists. And i love those fanfics. Have you ever played SWTOR? I had a jedi consular and i loved her. She gave me yamato nadeshiko vibes. Her inner strength, devotion to duty, and a desire to help people gave me an appreciation for what the jedi could be with proper storytelling execution.

As for your great classics question, i want to read dream of the red chamber (or watch an adaption) I've been so busy though so everything is on a backlog. T-T

I hope I was able to answer well, again i'm not the best writer. ^-^

[simplyender]

Can you tell I've leveled up my game?

[mcytegg]

im ngl i feel like clowns current relationship w ros in realms is the type of relationship ls kab expected/wanted from clown. like they wanted clown to be someone they could rely on to always protect them and to stick by their side always, but i dont think this type was ever possible for the two of them, even if kab had succeeded in "proving" themself like clown said he wanted them to.

like even if we ignore that it was already incredibly unlikely given the nature of lifesteal and how clown could never trust anyone on ls wholly and completely knowing they COULD betray him and try to kill him at any moment, i actually think who kab is as a person is Why they never wouldve been able team w clown like they wanted to

not bc kab has specifically done anything wrong or done anything to make clown be against teaming w them, but bc kab lacks the distinct, very specific type of open and unashamed vulnerability people like branzy and ros exhibit both in general and w clown specifically that he seems drawn to. kab is too guarded and too tricky as a person to ever be vulnerable and openly reliant on clown in a way that makes him feel the Need to take care of nd protect them.

its not as if ros and branzy are incapable in the slightest; branzy is a cunning and surprisingly revenge driven guy and ros is incredibly smart and clearly WANTS to come out of her shell to fight for herself and for the people she holds dear, but w clown specifically they are so openly and easily vulnerable w him. they will go to him for protection and if they want to explore their own bloodlust, and they make clown feel needed and valued in an incredibly specific way. like theyre basically people he can save and protect in a way nobody else can bc he IS just the strongest, and nobody else can take care of them in the way he can bc of his strengeth and bc of the softness they show w him.

and kab is just...not that type of person. they could never be someone who leaves themself as openly vulnerable and reliant on clown in the way he needs to be needed for the relationship kab wanted w him. like kab is too scared and way too paranoid abt everything that could go wrong to put themself in a position like that. they lack the open softness and sorta "damsel" vibes that clown is drawn to in branzy and ros. the thing that makes him feel so strongly abt protecting them and taking care of them.

bc ultimately, kab is someone will fight and stop at nothing survive. there will never be a situation where theyd rely on clown to help or save them without any sort of other plan, so the fact that they would never need him in the way that makes him feel the most cared for and wanted means their relationship was never going to be what kab wanted it to be. and kab seems to have realized this, at least!!! that its smt they dont have w clown, but they can get something like what they need in mane bc he WILL protect them in the way they need but theres no rose tinted glasses for kab to view mane through so their relationship is, funnily enough, much more equal than kabs relationship w clown ever was due to the way they idolized him

[baskipps]

Roni (roh-nee) the mouse

a creature of simple wants

[little-candy-store-of-horrors]

And at the rate things are going, I fear I am not any way inclined at all! *Laugh track*

[crushedsweets]

does Connie know it’s Toby leaving the flowers?? What does she think of him now? I’m in tears

connie believes its toby, but has no evidence! smth abt a mothers intuition. she's left letters filled with money on the front porch around the holidays he visits. he doesnt come consistently, so she often has to bring the letter back inside. he also never, ever takes the card, even if he sees it. she'd eventually put his name on it, and that would freak him out. he'd wouldn't come for the next year cuz of it scaring him off. she wouldnt do it again, but that would be her confirmation that it was toby. she wouldnt put up cameras or try to catch him, she's not ready to confront him either - nor does she want to scare him off for good.

in the same way toby blames himself, connie blames herself. smth abt "i never shouldve married him, i shouldve divorced him early, i shouldve fought more, i shouldve been there for toby, i shouldve picked toby up from that appointment, not lyra, i shouldve made sure toby was taking his meds, i shouldve-" and it eats her alive. she could never hate toby, thats her baby.

she watched him get beat, watched him come home bawling from bullying, watched him suffer from hallucinations/delusions, suffer through days in the hospital all his childhood, mourn his sisters death, be bleeding from franks abuse and tell her not to worry cuz at least he cant feel it. she knows objectively what toby did was wrong and part of her is scared of him for it. she knows that the cops associate his name with some murders that happened in colorado after his disappearance, but she doesn't believe it in the slightest. "my toby would never hurt an innocent soul. he's a good boy, you should've seen him with his sister. whatever happened with his father was not the same. he'd never do that." even though he did

[sunnibits]

just remembered men’s chest hair exists. peace and love on planet earth.

[lovelizards]

Abigail clasped her hands in front of her. She gave the judge as brave a stare as she could muster, and said, "Yes. I am a witch."

A wave of shocked whispers and gasps fell like a fog over the crowd that had gathered to see justice done.

"Witch!" The man to the judge's left, Hopkins, snarled, like he'd known the whole time and had been proven right.

He was a man whom no woman could excite except for the witches he hunted, probably annoyed with her for denying it this whole time.

Abigail shifted on sore, bare feet. The metal bridle hung heavy on her head and greatly pained her neck where the leather straps chafed. The chains on her wrists clattered, and the men at either side of her shifted nervously a few paces away.

"So, thou wouldst admit now," the judge said darkly, "that you are witch, and have borne false witness besides."

"It - it was fear that bid me speak falsely," Abigail said, doing her very best to make a scene of letting her eyes wander nervously across the hall, to force a tremble in her shoulders, until she came eye-to-eye with...him.

The man who was meant to be her husband. The man who had caused all of this. Rugged and blond, with a sneer on his dry, thin lips.

She lowered her gaze to the floor and clasped her hands together. The judge sighed.

"Aye, a witch hath great reason for dread -"

"'Twas not for that!" Abigail insisted, raising pleading eyes up to the judge and raising her voice to a panicked pitch. "It - it was - "

Abigail hesitated, making a show of shying away from the part of the crowd where that blonde bastard sat.

She continued: "I - I was coerced! I was seized by the hand, compelled by a dark specter bearing the visage of a man, to inscribe mine own name in the Devil's book!"

"Thou wouldst dare bring these falsehoods before the court?!" Hopkins roared, standing in rage.

"It is truth!" Abigail cried, willing tears into her eyes, "Never have these hands encountered such chill touch, nor eyes beheld such a shadow as did emerge from the dark - approaching me, menacing, whilst I lay abed!"

The crowd's whispers had raised in volume, there was a tense feeling in the courtroom. It was easy enough to prey on their fear of folk tales and superstition. After all, that's why she was there in the first place.

"Have care," Hopkins warned with a scowl to the judge, who sat in stony silence, "a witch honeys her words with spells to blind the unprepared."

"I will hear her," the judge said after a brief pause, "Speak, thou witch, if indeed a shadow bade you barter thy soul, tell of it."

Abigail pressed her closed fists to her dirty bodice, as if she were about to pray, and lowered her head demurely.

"I wouldst beg thee not make me speak of that night..." she whispered, then flinched as Hopkins smacked his hand on the surface of his table.

"Damned witch! Speak! Or speak not, and be judged all the same!"

The judge gestured for him to calm himself, and he sat back with crossed arms. Abigail fidgeted her fingers together, her shoulders hunched.

"The terrible deeds that shadow wrought upon my body, no matter how I begged..." she said, so quietly that every man in the room had to lean in to hear her, then she raised her voice to a scream: "'No! Touch me not! Stay back! I beg thee, foul demon! I am only for my husband and not yet wed!'"

The room went cold and silent. The whispers had stopped short. Colour had drained from the judge's face, and even Hopkins had his brows raised.

Abigail raised her hands towards her face, rattling the metal of the cage on her head; "The shame of it!" She sobbed. "When he was done, it was then that he did grasp mine hand and lead me - blinded by anguish - to sign my name! He bid me to sign, else he would pay his visits anew, every night and again, until -!"

"Enough."

The judge's voice boomed in the hall, echoing eerily in the silence. No one in the crowd spoke, nor did they move.

Abigail glanced around the room. She saw the horrified looks of some men, and some women with handkerchiefs raised to their teary eyes.

It was enough to make her laugh, if she wasn't so tense from nerves.

She'd always hated how small she was, and how young and innocent her looks were. They didn't match her at all.

But in this moment, she was glad she seemed like a pitiful young girl, dirty and tired, and a victim. Her hair fell into her face as she looked up at the judge.

"The name," the judge said solemnly, "speak the name whose face thou didst see in this shadow of man."

Finally. Finally, the story came to its end.

Abigail took in a deep, shaking breath, glad that her tears were finally falling freely, and choked out:

"It - it was -"

"Speak, woman!" Hopkins shouted impatiently.

Abigail flinched away from the crowd, and threw out an accusatory finger to point to the rugged blond man whom she hated, maybe more than anyone else in the world.

"It was Lord James Taverly!"

The crowd erupted in cries of outrage, gasps of shock, and one woman even fainted into the arms of her husband. The men sitting near James leapt up and grabbed at him. And he, of course, fought furiously.

She wished she could see his idiot face. He must have been so shocked. His own act of spite in reporting Abigail as a witch had backfired on him.

He'd warned her she would regret rejecting him. But now...

Now, at least, if she still had to die - he would die, too.

The men who had been guarding her went to the crowd and pulled James bodily up into the pit, holding him tightly and turning him - disheveled and red-faced - towards the judge.

"Your Grace!" James cried in outrage, "I have no covenant with the Devil! I am falsely accused!"

"Silence, James Taverly." The judge said, his gavel sounding out loudly above the noise in the hall, until it lowered to a murmur again.

Then the judge turned to Hopkins, and gave him a look - a look that asked his opinions on the matter.

Abigail's heart sank like a rock.

If it was Hopkins, he would never take her side over that of a man. Especially a man who was a lord! All of her hard work! How could it end like this?!

Hopkins stared deeply into her eyes, so deep that she felt pinned in place. Her desperation must have looked as real as it felt, because he then turned to the judge and said:

"It is not without precedent that a man may partake in the dark arts of witchcraft. All are weak to the ways of the Devil. There is no way to know the truth of it until he is interrogated."

"Lord Hopkins!" James shouted, fury and fear mixing in his stupid face, "I - I am no witch!"

Then, he turned to Abigail, and looked at her with pleading angry eyes, "You must have - have been mistaken! Surely it could not be my own face you saw! I pray you, speak, Abbie!"

She wanted to slap him right there! How dare he use a nickname for her after what he'd done.

Abigail wailed in fright, backing away from him and stumbling over her feet to the ground. She held her hands up to protect herself from him, shaking her head.

"Torment me no longer!" She cried. "Stay back!"

Through her tangled curtain of red hair, Abigail saw his expression shift between anger and horror, until eventually it landed on anger.

"Bitch!" He screamed, "Lying bitch -!"

The judge's lips curled in disgust. He waved a hand, and the bailiffs carried James away shouting profanities. Hopefully, Abigail thought, to be mercilessly tortured and interrogated, and then executed soon after.

"Stand thee, Abigail Cooper."

She did, pulling herself up and reaching awkwardly into her bridle to wipe her eyes on the backs of her hands - probably only smearing more dirt on her cheeks.

"The truth of it will out in the end, I shall bid Master Hopkins undertake the charge. Yet, the truth doth abide that thou didst inscribe thy name in the book. Thou art witch, and must needs be purged of dark magics."

Purged? Abigail's brows furrowed, nervous. She hadn't heard anything about there being a way to fix a witch or 'purge the devil' out of them. Hopkins didn't look too pleased, maybe he hadn't mentioned it on purpose.

Did he hope she would be executed?

How sad for him.

"Y - yes, your Grace -" Abigail agreed, "if thou wouldst but speak the way..."

"I charge you as a witch," the judge said, "and if thy tale be true, then the Witch Breaker shall cast forth the devil from within thee. Take her." This last part was to another group of bailiffs, who tugged on the chain connected to the metal hoop around her hips.

Abigail frowned. The Witch Breaker?

Hopkins sighed loudly, annoyed, and threw his hands up.

Whoever the Witch Breaker was, they were no friend of his. Could that be good news for her?

"I - I thank thee, your Grace!" Abigail called as she was pulled out of the courtroom, but the judge must not have heard her. He was talking with Hopkins, and didn't even look her way.

Well, it wasn't a death sentence.

It was ominous, at best. And fear still danced in her stomach.

But it wasn't death.

She supposed she would have to keep living, if only out of spite.

『 Next 』

[chaocollective]

thinking about the trans apollo justice tag on a03

theres really not enough going enough on it. most of it is just porn. which is cool and all, but I'm tired of sorting through the tags down to what I want to read and getting about 20 results; and almost all of them being oneshots or being almost completely irrelevant to the fact apollo is trans in the story.

I get it that sometimes transness doesnt have to be the main point of a story. but like... it affects so many facets of your life at the time and I wanna see that explored in my favorite media.

so I'm thinking im gonna just do it myself, like a story that's relatively canon compliant, following the events of aa4 and maybe aa5/6. I dont know about those though since I havent played aa5/6 yet and I'm currently stuck on turnabout corner in aa4. either way I'm thinking I'm gonna write a sfw trans apollo justice fic. autism blast go go go!!!

[3-2-whump]

The Scent of Jasmine

<prev next>

Who's in the mood for some carewhumping after the emotional rollercoaster of almost dying? I know I am!

Thank you @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz for being awesome beta readers

TW/CW: aftermath of mock execution, trauma aftermath, extremely dubious consent, nonverbal whumpee, whumper turned carewhumper, dubiously consensual nudity, death threats, chastity devices (yes, it’s back), forced domesticity, food whump (sort of) (tagging it anyway to cover my bases), intimate whumper

The boss noticed Khaled’s grateful enthusiasm slowly fade into a catatonic silence on the drive home. He didn’t think much of it, though. Poor boy is just shocked is all, he told himself, we can work on that. He parked, got out of the car and led Khaled out of the garage and to the elevator.

His first order of business was to strip Khaled when they got home. The poor thing was soaked in melted snow and cooled piss. He was barely responsive as Thomas pulled him into the laundry room and slowly peeled each layer of clothing off his shivering body. “You need a bath, Khaled.”

Khaled didn’t reply, instead opting to stare at his bare feet with empty, starless eyes. I can’t blame him for being quiet. Anyone would be a little messed up after a mock execution, he figured. He sighed, gently taking the slave’s hand in his and leading him to the master bathroom.

Once inside, Thomas deposited him at the entrance and turned on the lights and the fan. Khaled stood silently watching him by the door as he knelt by the large, deep bath tub. “Come on in,” he beckoned. Khaled inched closer to the bath tub as Thomas poured a generous glug of bubble bath solution into the marble expanse and cranked the water full-blast, making micro-adjustments to make sure the temperature wasn’t too hot. As a finishing touch, he uncapped a tiny bottle of jasmine oil and dripped a few drops into the tub. The floral scent rose on the plumes of steam coming from the frothing tub.

Once the tub was full enough, Thomas turned off the tap and pulled Khaled closer to the tub. He effortlessly scooped the young man’s cold body into his arms, settling him on the edge of the bath tub before gently lowering him in. “I’m going to help you wash your hair and body. Nod if you understand me.”

Khaled faintly nodded, eyes fully closing as he slumped into the soapy water. “Good boy.” Nothing but a small, contented sounding whimper answered him. At least he’s becoming verbal again.

Thomas methodically washed the young man’s body and hair, being mindful of not getting any soap in his eyes as he massaged his scalp with the shampoo. He noticed the newly forming chafe marks on Khaled’s wrists as he scrubbed his body. All the while he whispered sweet nothings into his ear, like “good boy, you’re being so good right now, we’re almost done, I gotta rinse you off and drain the tub next.”

The awareness in Khaled’s eyes was flickering back on once Thomas helped him out of the bath tub and began towel-drying him. “Back with me, beautiful?” he teased.

“Mmm.” Inky dark eyes glittered up at him from dark lashes and damp strands of black hair as Thomas wrapped a soft fluffy towel around his shoulders.

“Yeah, good. Very good.” He procured something small and metallic from behind his back.

Khaled instinctively backed away as soon as he saw what it was. “Khaled,” he warned. It was all he needed to say for the boy to stay rooted on the spot. “I haven’t forgotten about you running around and getting an STD,” he explained as he wrapped the cock cage around Khaled’s privates. “And I’m still mad about it. But maybe I will let you out once we’re both all better.” He padlocked it in place and held the small caged appendage in his hand. “Or once I put that dumpster lover of yours under, like the horndog he is. Whichever comes sooner.” He marveled at how it was but a microcosm of Khaled’s greater captivity. As he craned his gaze upwards, he saw Khaled pout. “Oh, don’t give me that look –I’m doing this for your own good!” The boy smoothed his frown back into a neutral expression of apathy as he hid his eyes behind his lashes.

“That’s more like it. Now, can you change into your pajamas and wait in the living room until Master is done in here?” He measured out his words slowly and carefully, explaining it as if Khaled was a child again. Another quiet hum answered him. “Good boy. When I’m done, we can eat, and then we’ll watch whatever you’d like.” He gestured him out with a small wave of the hand, then hopped into the shower for a quick rinse off himself.

When he got out of the shower, towel-dried himself, and changed into a fresh pair of flannel pants and a wife-beater tank top, Thomas made his way to the living room, where Khaled sat on the floor, at the foot of the couch, gazing down at the carpet with desolate eyes. He was still wrapped in the bath towel. Seeing him there brought back memories of when Khaled was younger, when he would lean against his shins and let him brush his thick black hair. The memory brought back fond feelings in Thomas’ chest. He turned around and went back to the bathroom for a hairbrush.

Once he was done brushing his slave’s hair, they ended up sitting opposite each other at the dining room table, each with a plate of reheated takeout from a new Indian restaurant Tom had wanted to try. While the boss himself ravenously devoured the bhuna ghost, Khaled kept tearing the same corner of buttered naan between his fingers while staring apathetically at the murgh cholay.

“Are you sure you don’t want any more food?” he asked again. “You hardly touched your portion.”

The boy merely shook his head.

“Come on, at least two more bites, Khaled,” he coaxed. “Give me at least two more bites before I put it away.”

Khaled cast him an empty, weary stare, not breaking eye contact as he tore off the weathered chunk of bread, dipped it into the curry, and ate exactly two more bites.

They ended up cuddling onto the couch together after dinner, a rarity in their household. Thomas man-spread on the couch and rested his arms outstretched along the back. Khaled, still wearing nothing but a damp bath towel around his shoulders, leaned against his side with his head resting on his chest. His hands curled around a steaming mug of chai, which he occasionally sipped as they watched a rerun of the AFC World Cup. Khaled didn’t cheer, or groan, or offer any commentary of any kind throughout the whole match. It was unusual for Khaled to remain this quiet and glum during a game. Thomas gently took the mug from his hands and set it on the table. “What’s wrong? Why are you so quiet this evening? Is it –oh, is it because of that little scare off the side of the road?” he guessed. Khaled pushed his weight up against him, just short of burrowing into the man’s side.

“I guess I scared you pretty badly, didn’t I? Look, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know now it wasn’t you, but I had to be sure. I promise I will never fake you out like that again.”

The young man remained silent as he leaned against his chest.

“If anything, you should be blaming that boyfriend of yours,” he continued. “I bet he never would’ve attempted that hit if he knew what I was about to do to you tonight. But, what’s done is done, and now you’ll never see him again.”

Khaled did not respond.

It took about an hour more of mind-numbing soccer footage for him to realize the boy had fallen asleep on him.

Oh. He softly smiled as he turned off the TV. He carefully got up and lowered Khaled onto the couch, disentangling the towel from his unconscious, nude form. He propped a throw pillow behind his head, then unfurled a fleece blanket and draped it over him, making sure his feet were covered and he was properly tucked in for the night. “Goodnight, Khaled,” he whispered, leaning in to plant a soft kiss on the side of the boy’s parted lips. “I… love you...”

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire

[blueskittlesart]

i saw something about two incest reveals? What on earth have i missed??

detective conan <3

[rambunctioustoons]

The celestial bot thrumming so intently, convinced anymore strain he'd pop a metal joint. Eyes fixated down to the shaking movements of his palms.

Today had been a terrible day, but nothing out of the ordinary. Fussy kids eating up the time needed for the other kids. Sun stretched out further than his fingertips could reach and wrangle the troublemakers out of harm's way in time. All it takes is one booming shrill of a voice advocating for chaos for all hell to break loose.

Every attempt to heed the storm and aid him met with a snappy strained pleasantry. He's got this, he's made for this! You've only got one fleshy squishy body, don't push it now. Some kid puts a little too much strain on his wrist joint, that's just show biz! And these crazy kids demand an encore!

Every attempt so far in the early evening air to talk to him met with a question about your well being. A comment about that funny thing you were both there to witness but not actually all that funny! How many minutes he had left before Moon would take the reins, and did you really really wanna spend the next half hour talking about how he feels? Silly, feeble, kind friend. He's just fine.

But he's not. Sure if there had been a way to see Moon flickering in those bright vacant eyes, you'd be giving each other the look.

No more chores left to do, none that he'd let you do anyway. Too high strung. Things snatched from your hands as he forcibly twists fate on the limits of his abilities. Trembling himself apart.

Little you could do to evade the inevitable parts & service visit if he kept pushing like this, so you've hatched a plan.

“Laundry-”

“Done and done! Done twice!”

“Folded sheets-”

“Pristine and crisply folded. Would you really need to check that?”

“Books-”

“All put away and alphabetical like they should be!”

You grin. “... Fairy lights?”

“Put away insideee theee closeet-....” Words dragged out in a dwindling song-songy tune, his faceplate whipping around to face you. “-why are you asking that? They're out of season, Friend.”

“I'll put ‘em to good use then!” You chirp, hands placed on your hips. “Closet?”

Sun squints skeptically. “Yes. Closet.” Eyes fixated on you, suspiciously. You ignore this, of course. Waltzing your way over to the Daycare storage closet. Gathering up the supplies in your arms. Awkwardly leaning down in the naptime nook as you pass by, nabbing a book at random. Using your foot to toss a few throw pillows atop of the pile.

Sun squints at you. “Whateeeever it is you think you're doing, just know, it won't. Work!”

“I’m taking a reading break, don't care what you do. ” You chime. An offended gasp piping up behind you. You duck into one of the corners on the ground level of the play structure. Tying the flat sheet to the gridded bars inside the small space. Weaving the corded battery powered lights inside, flicking them on. Flickering flimsy bulbs of light, shimmering a yellow hue on the play structure bars still visible. It wasn't perfect, but. Cozy enough to hopefully lure a creature right into the trap.

All you had to do was wait. Plopping yourself down in the makeshift blanket fort. Carefully cracking open the book, nesting the hardcover against your thighs. Not actually reading the words of course. Too focused on the shuffling outside the play place, jiggly footsteps alluding playing a game of who cracks first, and you intend to win.

Every fiber of your being trying not to beam with a grin, when Sun eventually ducks his head into the space, craned down to observe the hurried fruits of labour.

“There's still a lot to do, y’know.” He says. Tone wobbly, uncertain.

“I know,” You say, turning the page. “And there's even more to do tomorrow.”

“Sooooo,” He drags on, one hand gripping the caged siding. “We should keep going.”

“Sure.” You hum. “Five minutes.”

A disgruntled sound reverberates from your friend. Shoot. He's on to you. All or nothing now. You cheekily pat the remaining space on your legs. Worth a try, but not at all expecting him to take you up on it. A gesture of sincerity of course, glancing up at him. Pulling you into his lap aplenty times in moments of distress, or sorrow. Or to impishly move you aside because whatever you had been doing, was taking much too long.

Difficult as always to follow his eye line. Making a guess his gaze is fixated on your torso. Hands folding to his chest, restlessly squeezing his intertwined palms. Faceplate trained slightly down, you recognize this. A conversation you're not part of, and very little business pondering on. Turning back to the book, rolling your shoulders.

Sun, careful and hesitantly steps into the space with you. Kneeling down in front of you, paying him little mind. He's exhausted sure, but one wrong jeering word from your mouth and he'll scamper right back out away from you. Quiet whirring and rhythmic tapping atop of one bell. Words a blurry haze along the page to read at all, terribly distracted by the striped pants lingering above the peripheral. Sure if he made any sudden movements, you'd equally skitter out of the play structure too.

Sun reaches hesitantly for the book. Index and thumb pinching the pages on either side of the hardcover book. You let him, smiling up at him gently. He never really indulged in much book reading, much more of a collaborative storyteller. Eagerly adopting any silly, outlandish detail a guest would pipe up with during play time.

Pulled from your musing as he closes the book, setting it aside.

Careful movements as he closes the space between the two of you. Contorting himself down with much less graceful ease than you'd ever seen, and flops right in your lap. Faceplate pressed flat against your tummy, gangly arms quick to encircle your torso. Slumping his weight down as he lets out a shaky faux breath. Full heartedly admitting defeat, solidified as he speaks up.

“Today was bad.” Words lightly muffled, for effect of course. His speaker box didn't reside in the mouth rested against you.

“It was.” You affirm gently. Resting your arms along the backs of his shoulders, met with a small twitch underneath you. His arms squeezing you tighter after a good few moments.

“How much longer?” He inquires hesitantly, tilting his head up to see you.

“Lost count.” You tease softly.

His rays twirl once, in place of an eye roll. Plopping his face to rest back against you once more.

“Five more minutes then.”

“Five more it is.”

[aquapolis]

can we talk the fact that when fujiko lost her memory her first observation about lupin was how he looked like a nice person and he reacted like that was the most painful, horrible thing he'd ever been told by a woman who's literally held him at gunpoint multiple times I'M DYING TO TALK ABOUT THE FACT TH

[anistarrae]

I've had a Kirby hyperfixation since my childhood and your art and super good animations bring back even more of the joy the games gave me. The lighting captures such a sweet mood in all your stuff also as someone who tried animation briefly... Chefs kiss to all of your animations anyway if just thought I'd join in on thoughts about u and ur stuff <3

HI HI im so sorry for not responding to this for a month :sob:

this is EXACTLY how i want my work to feel to others! a brief feeling of joy, something to make you think, something to make you feel something. anything can be artwork, but my favorite kinds are ones that makes you think or feel something, anything. to be able to convey that through artwork and have it work, it feels so special everytime :') i really appreciate your words, i kept replaying this message in my mind, thinking id respond then forget😭.. you get a small part of a bg in an animation im working on as an apology............

[neonhellscape]

new rt everyone shes a freak whos pretty sure shes been been given the role of rogue trader as an act of divine intervention to eventually replace the godemperor and bring new glory to the imperium which she thinks is dull and stagnant. dont worry about why she keeps marazhai caged in her trophy room like he's bait its not important and completely irrelevant to the fact ive joke nicknamed her simon thresh. has anyone noticed a lot of slaaneshi demons during warp jumps lately

[rainofthetwilight]

honestly, when i first saw sora's backstory, i didnt react much, but now im noticing everything and its just really sad to think about

see this little kid who was full of hope? see this girl, that was just an innocent kid full of life, having that one role model that every kid had in some point of their lives?

this girl was then stripped away from everything she loved the moment she realized the truth, that this "role model" of hers was abusing poor innocent creatures, that their people have been brainwashed by this so-called emperess she actually used to follow, having your own parents shun you and take away everything you had and isolate you just because you knew the truth, and said truth wasnt just something bad, no, it was a fucking nightmare to think about, imagine taking that all in at 10

if the merge never happend, she would've been stuck in that sucker of a realm her whole life. she wouldve never been able to continue her childhood, her love for tech, nothing just absolutely nothing. she wouldve been locked away and alone forever, she wouldnt even have her own family by her side

the fact she didnt even hesitate to leave when the merge happend is heartbreaking, she was so fucking young, and was treated so poorly by everyone. imagine staying like that for probably months. she even named herself after that freaking dragon to respect her.

and as someone who actually experienced what sora had to endure when i was a kid, being shunned by my family for nearly a year during that time, i just have to point out that:

ana and sora are two completely different charcters.

when ana left, she became sora. a completely new person that was an ending with a new beginning, seeds that became remenants.

I know alot of people will disagree with me and say that lloyd had a tougher backstory, or maybe harumi, etc, but every charcter experienced something the other wouldnt handle, making no tragedy rougher than the other

i have nothing else to say but..damn