#my very important opinions

[fumifooms]

Chilchuck analysis speedrun: As a hardworking half-foot who grew up poor and discriminated against and had his gullibility taken advantage of multiple times in his early adventuring days, Chilchuck thinks optimism is a dangerous flaw. He’s stressed and strict all the time because his job is noticing details like traps that could get everyone killed before anyone knows it, he takes the lives of everyone to be on his shoulders, and with the way he speaks about it that probably partly reflects how he felt about taking it upon himself to provide for his family too. His life’s always been pretty centered around work and has become even moreso now that his wife left and everyone is independent, and due to past events he’s very iffy with bonding with coworkers. He thinks feelings and job are a disaster mix. Like with his wife or with parties hiring him as sacrifice, being open or having good faith is vulnerability which can get you hurt, so he processes and shows all his stress as anger instead of worry. Doing strict dieting probably isn’t helping the irritability what with hunger, and on top of being a hunger suppressant alcohol might be the main stress reliever he has.

His grey hairs are so earned

[osamusriceballs]

Kinktober Day 31 <3

Kageyama's & Hinata's special day!

Warnings: NSFW, fem reader

Words: ~ 2,4 k

A/n: That's it for this year's Kinktober! I hope you enjoyed it, thank you so much for reading all/some of it! <3

Kinktober Masterlist

"Y/n, I got us-"

He stops in his tracks, the handles of two brown paper bags with steaming hot food clutched hard into his fingers as he watches the scene in front of him. The door behind him falls shut, a soft "click" signaling that it automatically locked. His dark blue eyes focus on the pair on the couch, who quickly separate when they notice his glare.

"Tobio! You're already- Shoyo just helped me with... with... that thing, right?" The orange-haired spiker still has his hands on your hips, his lips pink and swollen from all the kisses you shared, his cheeks reddened as his chest rises heavily under the red Olympics uniform. "Hmm, yes, that- uh... that thing. In your mouth. We totally weren't celebrating already. Absolutely not."

A pout appears on the setter's face when he wordlessly places the bags on the small couch table and plants himself next to you on the couch, still keeping so much distance that neither of you could touch him.

"Tobio? Come here, please?" You lift your hand from Hinata's shoulder and reach for Kageyama, but he simply crosses his arms over his equally red uniform and shakes his head silently.

"Come on, Kageyama. No silent treatment, please." Hinata pouts too now, a sight so adorable that you press one last kiss against his puckered lips before you climb out of his lap and crawl to Kageyama. Hinata reluctantly lets you go, one of his hands rubbing his face while he watches how you settle on Kageyama's lap, not caring that he turns his head to the side and ignores you.

"Tobio," you call his name, your hands roaming from his shoulders to his broad chest, feeling the smooth fabric of his shirt under your fingers while you repeat that movement in a soothing way. "Tobio, look at me, please." You bring one hand to his cheek and gently turn his face, and he surprisingly quickly gives in and allows you to move his face. He leans into the warmth of your hand, his cold blue eyes turning warmer the longer he looks at you. "We would never forget about you. We love you, you know that." You both keep eye contact for a few moments, and after a while he unfolds his arms to place his hands on your hips, effectively allowing you to reduce the distance between the two of you.

"I want what he had. Every kiss, every touch. Or else I'll leave with the food," he demands, his firm tone sending shivers down your spine and making your cheeks heat up.

Hinata protests on your left, but you already hum approvingly, happy that he's finally talking to you, and you don't even hesitate before you lean forward and connect your lips softly. His lips move slowly against yours, savoring every taste, probably even tasting Hinata on your lips as you deepen the kiss. You rest your hands on his shoulders, similar to the way you sat on Hinata's lap before, and you reposition yourself until you press your core against his crotch, grinding slowly on him while you keep your lips connected.

You feel the couch dip next to you and a hand on your bare thigh suddenly that sends tingles through your body. A groan leaves Kageyama's lips and you feel soft hair tickling your neck, realizing that Hinata has started to kiss down Kageyama's throat, probably leaving a few possessive marks on him, like he often does.

"Stop it, dumbass," you feel Kageyama weakly whisper against your lips, the words clearly directed to Hinata, but he stays unbothered by his words. You feel Kageyama getting hard under you, the bulge pressing against your core and making you feel even more excited. You grind against him just a tad bit faster, your tongue now grazing against his lips to invite him to reciprocate the action and he quickly opens his mouth while his hands tighten their grip around your hips. His initial stiffness has faded into longing breathless kisses as he focuses on tasting you thoroughly. "All good again, Kageyama?

Hinata pulls away from Kageyama, who simply groans as response, now settling himself behind you, effectively sandwiching you between the two of them. You moan against Kageyama's lips when Hinata's hands roam under your red Olympics fanshirt, the special customized version that you bought for this game with Hinata's number on the front and Kageyama's on the back. Hinata quickly tugs on the material until Kageyama loosens his grip enough for the material to ride up on our body. Kageyama's hands are warm against your skin, but not as warm as Hinata's. Hinata feels like an furnace behind you, and your body jolts when his fingertips caress your exposed stomach, sending tingles all over your body.

Your thighs cage Kageyama's hips, your legs trying to close when your arousal keeps growing with every stroke of Kageyama's tongue and every single caress of Hinata's hands. You moan loudly when Hinata's hands cup your breasts, his hands squeezing the bare flesh while his thumbs rub over your hardened nipples.

Kageyama pulls back when he notices how you barely manage to kiss him back, too distracted by the way Hinata eagerly plays with your tits and sucks on your neck. "You- Y/n, you didn't wear underwear during the game?" The dark-haired's breath stocks for a second and without any warning, he brings his hand under your skirt only to feel your bare ass under his fingers. "Y/n!" his jaw drops and you feel heat raise to your cheeks at the way his blue eyes seem to look into your soul. "I though we wanted to celebrate after the game anyways," you try to argue, and he takes a deep breath through his nose.

"I think it's hot," Hinata's lips curl into a grin and you feel your pussy throb at the way Hinata moans against your skin and pinches your nipples. Kageyama's eyes shoot towards the spiker at his words, clearly focused on the way he kisses you with need in his eyes. "Tobio," you rock your body on his cock, eager to get more friction when your body grows more sensitive with every passing moment that you're squeezed between the two attractive men.

"Hmm? What is it, love?" He rips his gaze off Hinata who seemingly can't stop himself from sucking a trail of hickeys on your neck similar to the one on Kageyama's neck. "Can you... pull down your shorts a bit?" you have a hard time bringing out the words when Hinata bites down on your shoulder, the fabric of the shirt thankfully stretchy enough to withstand the way the orange-haired man uses to bend it to his liking.

"Already? Hell, what has that idiot been been doing to you to get you so worked up?" Hinata chuckles at Kageyama's words, finally raising his face to kiss your cheek before he turns your face to kiss your lips too. He is quick to insert his tongue into your mouth, a soft caress against your own while his hands now fully wrap around you and hold you close.

You get lost in Hinata's kiss, your hands tightly wrapping into Kageyama's shirt while you hump against him, every bit of friction feeling so damn good against your clit. "Just let me-" Kageyama grabs your thighs now, slightly lifting your body and urging you to stay like this while he quickly pulls down his shorts and boxers until his cock springs free. He guides you back onto his lap, his cock now pressed against your stomach, making you clench around nothing while you needily whine against Hinata's lips.

"Need it," you bring your hands to Kageyama's face, feeling his smooth, clean shaved cheeks under your fingers, and he is quick to move your body again until you hover over his cock. You feel his tip prodding at your entrance and the next thing you realize is that his cock is slowly sinking into you, stretching you out and filling you up. One of your hands comes to Hinata's hair and grabs his strands, a groan leaving his lips when you slightly pull on them. It takes Kageyama just a few moments until he's buried fully inside of you, and you have to pull away from the kiss when you get overwhelmed by the sensation.

"Oy, Kageyama, that's not fair." Hinata whines at the lack of attention and Kageyama takes a deep breath to focus again before he leans forward to connect his lips with the orange haired's. You clench around Kageyama's cock inside of you, the messy sound of their kiss making your body grow even hotter while your bare nipples brush against Kageyama's shirt.

"You know that she can take us both, idiot." Kageyama pulls back with a groan and leans back on the couch, his hands loosely resting on your hips while you hear Hinata rustling with his clothes behind you, with no doubt freeing himself of his clothes. It only takes him a few moments to position himself behind you again, and then you suddenly feel his cock between your legs. "Shoyo-" you gasp when he presses against Kagyama's cock and prods at your entrance. "Oh, baby, we'll make you feel good. You're gonna feel so full." Hinata nuzzles his nose against your neck and grips his cock with his hand, sweetly cooing when you whine against at the sudden intrusion.

"Slow down, we haven't properly prepped her," Kageyama groans, the feeling of Hinata's fat cock pressing against the base of his cock surely driving him almost insane. "I can take it- please, please fuck me," you gasp and then Hinata finally starts to push inside. The stretch is almost too much for you to take, but the pleasure of having them both inside makes you forget about everything else.

Your head falls back to Hinata's shoulder and you moan loudly when you feel half of him inside of you, your body so sensitive at this point. "Fuck," Kageyama groans, feeling Hinata's cock rub against his own, and he closes his eyes for a few second to calm down. It only takes a few more moments until Hinata is fully buried inside of you, and all three of you remain still for a while, adjusting to the unusual position and the feeling. "Can we move, love?" Kageyama deeply exhales and leans forward to press his face against your neck, a strained breath leaving his lips when you clench around both of them. Hinata is no better, always being the most vocal out of the three of you, and his noises echo loudly through the room.

"Yes- yes, please-" you nod frantically, your arousal making it easy for them to thrust in and out of you again. They both support your body, basically moving you up and down like a doll, making you take them again and again. "Fuck-" "Baby-" they both groan, and you moan loudly as a response, both their names leaving your lips ever so lewdly.

They start with a slow and steady rhythm, their years of training together and learning each other's habits showing while you allow them to fuck you into ecstasy. When they feel you repeatedly clench and hear you beg for more, that's when they pick up their pace, their cocks twitching inside of you adding to your sensitivity.

"Can't- hold it much longer-" you hear Hinata whine next to your ear, knowing that he is ever so sensitive, but you're also close, so so close. "Wait until she cums, you know that she always comes first." Kageyama's fingers dig almost painfully in your waist while he bounces your body on their cocks, a clear sign that he is not far from finishing too.

"I know, I know," Hinata groans through gritted teeth, and one of his hands suddenly leaves your hip, leaving it to Kageyama to set the rhythm while his fingers move down to your clit. His fingers rub against the sensitive nub, and you almost scream as a response, too overwhelmed by all the feelings. "Gonna-" you gasp, your eyes falling shut when your whole body shakes, succumbing into the pleasure that both men bring to you.

"It's okay, cum for us, make a mess, show us how good we make you feel." Hinata's words and Kageyama's desperate thrusts make you see stars, and you hold onto him when you cum, when your pussy clenches around their cocks while Hinata presses down on your clit, relentless in his urge to make you cum. You barely realize that they both follow you suit, not even a few moments after your pleasure overwhelms you. Hinata moans your name loudly and Kageyama groans a few curses when his head falls back and his hands hold you so close to his body as if he was never going to let you go.

They cum a lot. You felt full before, but now, your pussy is overflowing with their white and creamy cum, your walls fluttering while your legs try to close. You all try to catch your breath, your body limply laying on Kaygama's now, while Hinata presses his forehead against your back. Hinata deeply inhales your scent, his eyes closing while he is ever so sensitive to every single touch. "Slowly," you mumble when you feel Hinata pulling out first, a groan leaving your lips when he slides out, his cock now soft and warm. Kageyama takes a deep breath before he lifts you just enough until you're not sitting on his cock anymore, their cum instantly starting to drip down, but none of you cares about that.

Hinata gently guides you to lay down on the couch, Kageyama following suit until you all three rest on it, your limbs entangled while you share kisses and sweet words. "Taking us so good always. Such a pretty doll for us," Kegayama mumbles and kisses the shell of your ear, eliciting a content hum from you while his hands start to work on your sore thighs, kneading the tense muscles until they feel soft again. "Hmm, that's my baby, the prettiest, sexiest, most perfect girl," Hinata smiles while his lips connect with yours in a slow and sensual kiss, and you smile back happily, feeling content and satisfied between the both of them.

The rumble of a stomach interrupts the post-orgasm haze though, and Hinata is quick to mumble an apology with reddened ears when you both look at him. Kageyama just sighs and shakes his head, a content grin still evident on his face.

"Come on. Let's eat something and then we'll properly celebrate."

[fantomette22]

Pretty accurate Bloodborne fandom discourse experience on Tumblr lmao

[muchmossymess]

uh oh guys, hot take alert:

i think revali may have invented hand held aerial archery HEAR ME OUT- (this is a long one boys)

okay. evidence one: why the fuck would a rito shoot like that. like, it makes nearly zero sense, it would be such a hindrance to their flight and their main stake is that they can be higher than you can shoot whilst still pinging you... which revali has overcome with his gale

evidence two: tulin and the concept arts. obviously rito style archery would be held in their talons. before totk came out idk if anyone had really thought about it too much, but the developers had, as you can see in concept art (from the creating a champion book). and like, its logical, powerful, and allows for peak maneuverability. also, when in flight revali (and teba) holds his bow in his talons before switching to his wings. surely its easier to keep it in your wing (obvi ignoring the effects to flight but hes doing that anyway firing the damn thing) rather than switch back and forth- unless you were taught that way, because why would you hold it elsewhere, you need it in your talons to shoot.

evidence three: we dont see any other rito do it (...kind of). throughout botw and totk, we never see another rito flying with a bow in their hands. in totk, its mostly tulin, who holds it in his talons, but in botw the big one is teba. during the medoh quest, he actually gives *link* his bow, and therefore does no shooting in the sky. teba and harth had both tried to take on medoh before, but we never see this, and while they holds their bows in their hands *on the ground,* we dont see it.

...except for aoc (uh, spoilers?). there are two times we see a rito other than revali hold their bow in their hand for aerial archery. but it is not with any rito soldiers, either during cutscenes (the bows are only on their backs) or gameplay (they swoop down, and then hand hold bows on ground. they arent seen flying at all but thats prolly for the same reasons as botw: its very hard to code that (and so they write the lore around that fact)). the first time we actually see another rito do this, we dont see it. Its teba, as he comes thru the portal, but all we see is the arrow shot, and then him freeze frame with the bow in one wing. we dont see the bow in his hand for the rest of the fight. the second time we actually see him fighting like this, it *is* in the air, but its noticeably different to revali.

hes a lot slower, it clearly takes a LOT more effort to shoot the bow, and he only pulls off one arrow at a time. its canon that revalis bow is heavier/harder to draw, and he manages to effortlessly stream arrows whilst fucking floating midair. i think teba, forever a revali fanboy, heard of how the champion mastered his own style of archery and sought to teach himself, but lacked one key thing: revalis mastery of wind.

evidence three point five: revali could easily use his powers to hold him in the air longer/slow his descent long enough for him to fire his shots. it makes sense, really. if he can use his gale to propel him, he can sit on the updraft for a hot sec, or even curve the path to carry him along while he lines up the shot. this would mean he wouldnt need to flap as much as other rito, who would obviously need to keep flying

evidence four: revalis fighting style and his needs. revali works with non rito, obviously. he needs to be able to communicate with them on the battlefield, and they wont understand the muffled chirps if he holds his string in his beak, so he needs his mouth free to speak hylian. also, revalis main tactic is fly up with gale, shoot, fall, either shoot more or use velocity and weight to knock around opponents, and then fly back up. he often needs both feet planted firmly on the ground to get a good hold of his gale, something that is harder to do if you have a bow in the way.

also, take for example the kick he delivers link in their fight (aoc). that would possibly damage the bow, or give the opponent a chance to grab his weapon, if he held it in his talons. and to switch from feet to back is a risky maneuver during freefall, and could lose precious seconds, and then when you get back in the air you need to get it off your back again. its much easier to keep the bow loosely in your wing the whole time, meaning your free to attack melee, land and rise all while not wasting a single moment getting your next shot lined up.

so yeah, i think the rito used the talon grip for aerial archery, and would often use the hand held method on the ground for a variety of reasons (more powerful shots?, easier in some situations like hunting), but revali was perhaps the first to use hand held aerial, another reason he was one of the greatest archers ever.

[theoryofwhatnow]

me and the devil

[zwoftt]

am i tweaking out or do i actually see vaxleth parallels with dorym. and it’s making me very unwell somebody help me

[coquelicoq]

I KEEP FORGETTING TO SAY THIS but my ideal au is always, ALWAYS a three men and a baby au. doesn't have to be men just yknow three adults and a baby. i know i have said this before but it was only the one time and it bears repeating, it bears so much repeating because i need it so bad for everything forever.

[ducklooney]

Unpopular opinion, but I kind of wish Disney would focus a little more on other characters from the classic Disney universe (Mouseverse, Duckverse, Dogverse) and not just the Sensational Six characters (Mickey, Minnie, Donald, Daisy, Pluto and Goofy) plus Chip and Dale and Pete. By this I mean Scrooge, Horace, Clarabelle, Oswald, Huey, Dewey and Louie, Gyro, Ludwig, Grandma Duck, Fethry, Gus, Gladstone, Ortensia, Mad Doctor, Beagle Boys, Magica, Glomgold, Rockerduck, Sylvester Shyster, Phantom Blot, Darkwing Duck, Jose Carioca, Panchito Pistoles, Aracuan Bird, April, May and June, Gosalyn, Morty and Ferdie Fieldmouse, Chief O'Hara, Detective Casey, Scuttle, Mortimer, Figaro the Cat, Max Goof, Neighbor Jones, Brigitta MacBridge and others characters.

By this I mean with regards to the latest Disney animation shows "A Whole New Sound", Hot Ones and these What If Marvel comics. Like you can't make superheroes and super villains out of these characters I mentioned?! Scrooge as Professor X, Glomgold as Magneto or Magica as Red Widow? It seems to me that Disney (I mean the American official one, not the European one for sure) ignores these characters and thinks they don't exist. Really disappointing in my opinion.

Feel free to reblog this and comment if you agree or disagree with this.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

’Cause You Cut Through All the Noise

Happy Painland Week! Day one is LOVE LANGUAGES! I could've picked touch or gifts or quality time or whatever as my love language but you know what? No. Life-affirming therapeutic domination. Edwin's love language is ordering Charles around. Fight me. Anyway, no smut here, but some steaminess/flirtation/allusions to sex. Some light angst bc Charles starts off in a bit of a spiral, bless his heart. Don't worry, Edwin'll put him right <3 (Quick translation note for any Americans reading: I'm referring to Charles' suspenders in British English, i.e. as braces rather than suspenders. Suspenders for us are generally the little sexy straps for stockings and would instantly up the kinkiness of the scene at least 70% (which I am in favour of, it's just not the fic I'm writing right now lmao)) 5.3k, M-rated, also available on Ao3. Thank you @painlandweek for putting this all together! Enjoy! 💛

Sometimes it seemed that the more Edwin learned, the less he knew. Or rather the more he thought he knew, the more he had left to learn.

Acquiring knowledge on any particular topic, it seemed, was only building the groundwork to question it further. Perhaps that's what an expert was, in the end: not a vast repository of facts, but one skilled in the art of digging for more. Not a pursuer of answers, but a pursuer of more interesting questions. Edwin had found it to be much the same across fields, across all his broad areas of interest and study.

Charles Rowland was one such area of interest.

It was quite astonishing; but thirty years into their partnership, Charles still managed to elude Edwin's understanding. Frequently. He was a lively, complex butterfly who simply would not be pinned (metaphorically, that is. In the more literal sense, he was most certainly not opposed to being pinned by Edwin. But he digressed.) They must have exhausted every conversational avenue two dead boys could traverse by now. How, then, could they persist in finding new things to say to one another? How, despite a mere sixteen years apiece of life before death, could they still find anecdotes unshared, secrets unspoken? Despite knowing Charles better than Edwin knew himself there was always, always more to learn.

And a great deal of learning had been done over the last eighteen months or so, indeed. Since the chaotic inciting incident: the now infamous milestone Case of Crystal Palace. Crystal, in all her messy human glory, had taken a battering ram to their comfortable routine. She'd rather shaken things up in the process — and thus, shaken a fresh slew of secrets from Charles and Edwin both.

Edwin's biggest secret was no longer a secret, of course. It was now common knowledge — though Charles, loyal to the last, hadn't shared it with another soul. He hadn't told anyone of Edwin's confession, nor had any official announcements been made by either of them as the 'situation' developed. But develop it had, in ways difficult to overlook. In touches, in kisses, in soft words and flagrant flirtations. Edwin imagined their friends and colleagues must have put two and two together by now, vis-a-vis Edwin and his feelings for Charles. And if they hadn't... well, it would certainly raise some concerns about the quality of their detective work.

Charles, likewise, had revealed a secret or two. Far less pleasant ones. Secrets that, in his more cynical moments, Edwin wondered if Charles would ever have told him without external pressure. Without Crystal's well-meaning badgering, or the Night Nurse's former villainy. Secrets about his family, his father, himself — or at least his own perception of himself. Harrowing they may be, but Edwin had filed each secret away carefully. Each bitter truth was a new supporting fact, a new data point. A fresh insight that peeled away Charles' brave face, and shone an interrogating light upon decades of behaviour.

Edwin had always known, of course, that Charles was not merely the plucky optimist he purported himself to be. Glimpses under the mask were rare, but inevitable. He'd have been foolish not to notice. But Edwin was not inclined to go picking at scabs. So what if Charles wished to maintain an image of himself? Image was everything; or so Edwin had been raised to believe. How a man chose to present himself to the world spoke volumes. Charles wished to be seen as a positive force, and Edwin had always respected him for that. Loved him, even, though he hadn't known it at the time. Charles' insistence on being a stubborn idealist had awed, amused and frustrated Edwin in almost equal measure. He wouldn't have changed it for the world.

But it was one thing to know that the chipper, animated, relentlessly positive Charles he'd come to know was a crafted image. Finding what lay behind the mask was another. It was a new level of understanding, of intimacy, to finally know the bedrock that lay beneath every too-bright word or action.

Charles Rowland was an inveterate people-pleaser.

In retrospect, of course, it made perfect sense. Edwin had sat with it, applied his new knowledge to a thousand interactions, and found it fitting. It had been a relatively easy fact to accept into his broader understanding of Charles.

The bitterer pill to swallow had been in realising just how often Edwin was, himself, a person Charles felt the need to please at all costs.

Edwin liked to think that their relationship had improved since those various revelations. It had certainly changed in notable ways. Especially since last November. Bonfire night. The night Charles had kissed him under the fireworks and thanked him, sheepishly, for 'waiting for him to get his head out of his arse'.

But the kissing and... other activities weren't the only new additions to their relationship. Moreso than ever before, there were repeat and regular attempts to open the lines of communication. They did not always succeed in those attempts. Charles' fear of rocking the boat and Edwin's discomfort with emotional outpourings were at odds with one another, and often left them at an impasse.

Nevertheless, Edwin was determined to try. Charles deserved nothing less; there had never been a person, alive or dead, more deserving of Edwin's trust. And it was the dearest wish of Edwin's afterlife that he could be the same for Charles. That he could be a person Charles need not perform for, or hide from. That he could be allowed to know Charles, to learn him, inside and out.

And while there was still, undeniably, work to be done, Edwin truly believed progress had been made. Through trial and a considerable amount of error, they had come to... understand certain things about one another. About what they each wanted, what they needed. Edwin was making leaps and bounds in the highly specialised field of Charles Studies.

So when Crystal stormed out of the office after another of her and Edwin's (admittedly rather petty) spats, he knew Charles needed attention before her footsteps had even faded.

"Charles?" Edwin prompted, with caution. He was not always an expert at 'reading the room', but in reading Charles he was growing more fluent by the day.

His dear friend's eyes snapped to him with a hunted look. Just as Edwin had thought they might.

Edwin cleared his throat. "Are you... alright?" he asked.

Charles, in that practised manner of his, plastered on a smile. "Yeah. Yeah, mate." He couldn't seem to look Edwin in the eye. "I'm brills."

Hm. A likely story.

He should have suspected this might happen, in the wake of such a heated disagreement. The very air in the office still seemed to ring with the reverberating slam of the door. An overreaction, really. Even mere minutes later, the whole altercation seemed rather silly. But such things were bound to happen on occasion. Edwin had certain opinions, and no qualms about arguing in their favour — and in Crystal Palace, he'd met his match. The two of them often wound up in the unfortunate scenario of a minor dispute devolving into a full-blown tiff. Such squabbles generally didn't end until someone (Charles) laughed and broke the tension, or someone else stormed off.

Edwin didn't doubt that all would be well shortly enough. If their pattern held, Crystal would come slinking back in a few hours. She and Edwin would exchange either sincere regrets or stilted half-apologies (depending on the severity of the argument). Then they would smooth over any remaining awkwardness by finding something minor to agree on (usually something Charles-related), and go swiftly back to normal.

But that resolution was some time away, yet. And in the meantime the air hung heavy; saturated with ire and discontent. Charles, emotional sponge that he was, was clearly bearing the brunt of it — and, as usual, trying his utmost to 'laugh it off'.

Edwin responded to the blatant fib with a single raised, questioning eyebrow.

Charles flinched as if struck.

Oh, dear. The situation was more dire than Edwin had thought.

“Charles,” said Edwin again, softer this time. It was important not to go on the offensive; in his current condition, Charles was liable to take any careless word as keenly as a knife in the back. “Please tell me what’s on your mind.” After a moment’s consideration, he added: “I promise I won’t be angry.”

It felt like utter nonsense to say out loud, a patronising placation as one might give to a child. But Charles, in Edwin’s experience, responded well to directness. His panic thrived in the mires of ambiguity.

Releasing a ragged breath, Charles rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Just… dunno what to do sometimes. When you two go off at each other.” He peered at Edwin with his uncovered eye, and tried for a smirk. It fell short of the carefree, playful expression it was aiming for. “Dunno what side to pick, do I?”

He voiced it like a joke; but Edwin was listening well, and he knew an incomplete sentence when he heard it. He stepped closer and, slowly, giving him time to retreat, took Charles’ free hand and squeezed it.

Charles closed his eyes, dragging his hand down his face. “Can’t keep you both happy,” he admitted on a low mumble, like it was a shameful secret.

Guilt curdled sour and heavy in Edwin’s stomach, but he kept it from his face. Any indication that Charles had made him feel bad was bound to make him shut down further. “It should not be your duty to keep the peace,” he said, choosing his words with care. “I will speak to Crystal later, clear the air.”

Charles nodded, but remained hunched unhappily in on himself. Propped against the edge of the desk as if he needed the support. Edwin could see his brain turning itself over and over in miserable little spirals; wondering if he should have stepped in earlier, said something else. Wondering what he could have done differently to make everything better. To make everyone happy.

Edwin swallowed tightly, and placed his hand upon Charles’ shoulder. “Charles. Look at me, please.”

He did so, without question or hesitation. Responding with ease to the polite command as if it had come from his own subconscious. Quick, and keen. Already Edwin had a strong suspicion of what was needed to calm him; but it was always important to test the waters, first.

Edwin, with great care, hooked a finger through the gold chain around Charles’ neck, and tugged.

The effect was instantaneous. Charles’ wide, fraught eyes softened, slackened, his lined eyelids drooping. His lips parted around a quiet sigh, smoother than his last ragged exhalation. His shoulders slumped as if a great weight had been released from them.

Charles may be an ever-unfolding and expanding area of study. But to Edwin’s expert eye, on occasion, his needs were remarkably simple to interpret.

Meeting his now somewhat unfocused gaze, Edwin leaned in. “Put Crystal out of your mind for now,” he said, a quiet command. “In fact, put everything out of your mind.”

“She’s upset,” Charles mumbled in half-hearted protest.

“Yes — and she will continue to be so for a while longer, regardless of what you or I might say.” Edwin smoothed the collar of Charles’ polo shirt. “When the dust has settled, I will find her and smooth things over. I promise. For the time being, you’ll do none of us any good with your overthinking.”

Charles snorted. “Overthinking? Me?” he joked.

With another gentle, but recriminating tug of the chain, Charles gasped and quieted. Already, his bright eyes were taking on a dreamlike haze.

Edwin sighed and leaned close, ‘til his nose grazed across Charles’ cheekbone. “Granted, your tendency to underthink before making dangerous choices borders on the pathological,” he teased. “But I suspect you’re thinking a lot of very unkind thoughts about yourself right now, and I’d like for you to stop. Please.”

Breath shuddering, Charles’ hands lifted, fisting in the front of Edwin’s waistcoat.

“That what you want?” He asked, his voice a small and broken thing. For all his strength of body and character, he felt as vulnerable in Edwin’s hands as a baby bird.

“How about I tell you exactly what I want for a while,” Edwin offered. “And then all you have to do is listen.“

He delivered a swift, dry kiss to Charles’ cheekbone. "No detective work required.”

It was a very simple solution, albeit one Edwin tried not to employ too often. He and Crystal had a sort of pact in place to discourage Charles' need to please others, rather than lean into it. Within reason, of course — Edwin had no wish to change Charles fundamentally as a person (or to discourage him from doing what felt good to him in intimate settings. If it made Charles feel good to make others feel good, who was Edwin to begrudge him the pleasure?). But they'd agreed that it was probably the healthier option, in the long term. To steer Charles away from hingeing his self-worth on what he could do for others.

But sometimes, the damage was already done. Sometimes Charles was simply too vulnerable to rejection, too stuck in his own head. And on those occasions, Edwin had learned the kindest thing to do was to take him by the hand, and take the guesswork out of the equation.

Charles sniffed. His soft curls tickled Edwin's forehead as he nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, alright."

"Good." Edwin gave him another kiss, pressing this one to his temple. Charles melted under his touch, leaning into him, his hands tight and hot on Edwin's chest. "Thank you, dearheart," said Edwin.

Charles shivered. "Fuck me..." he swore, a dazed mumble.

"Hmmm... No, not tonight, I don't think," Edwin quipped — gratified when Charles managed a snort of mirth. Edwin thumbed up under Charles' jaw, finding where the tension still lingered and soothing it out with firm strokes. "I have something better in mind," he said. He released his hold on Charles to roll up in his own shirtsleeves in brisk, meticulous folds.

Charles watched his every motion with a hungry gaze. "Yeah?" he breathed, somewhat stunned; eyes devouring each newly exposed inch of Edwin's skin up to the elbow. He did have a fascination with Edwin's arms; it was a tried and true method of holding his attention.

"Yes." Edwin glanced over Charles' shoulder with a hum, and settled his hands upon Charles' slender waist. "First things first; let's get you sitting comfortably, shall we?"

He braced himself and, with careful exertion, lifted Charles to deposit him in his usual spot on the desk. Charles went without struggle, and with a gasp that morphed swiftly into a groan. His legs flopped open at once, one ankle hooking around Edwin's thigh in invitation. He tugged on Edwin's waistcoat with a soft whine of his name.

Edwin, maintaining his composure admirably, shushed him. He removed Charles' hands from his own chest — though he pressed quick, apologetic kisses to the heels of each. "Later, my love. Now. Where did I put it..."

He patted down his trouser pockets. When that yielded nothing, he sifted through the stationary cup on the desk. He suspected the object he desired might still be in his coat pocket, but he was loathe to step too far from Charles. Luck, however, was on his side. He recovered the coil of string from a box of spellcasting odds and ends with a small sound of triumph.

Charles watched Edwin's hands unwind the string; rapt despite the slight glaze of his eyes. "You gonna tie me up, then?"

Edwin tsk'd. "What a one-track mind you have this evening," he teased. It wasn't a scold. Having Charles focused and fixated on trying to get Edwin into bed was vastly preferable to the jumble of insecurity. "Hold out your hands."

"Sure you're not tying me up?" said Charles, brow furrowing as he lifted his hands — palms up, beautifully willing.

"I suppose that depends on your definition," said Edwin, as he tied the ends of the string together to form a wide loop. He nudged Charles' hands into place, about a foot apart with palms turned inwards, and draped the loop over them.

Charles, through the haze, finally twigged. "Cat's cradle?" he said, with a slight chuckle.

"Do you object?" asked Edwin.

"Why'd you wanna do this?"

"Because I like playing games with you." Edwin directed Charles to rotate his wrists, winding the string into loops around his hands. He indulged in a gentle touch as he did so, tracing his thumbs along the creases of Charles' skin. The smooth stretch where once a 'life line' would have resided. Edwin had not set much stock by the art of palmistry, until he'd discovered that little commonality between he and Charles. "Again, please. One more loop."

Charles didn't argue — of course he didn't. Edwin doubted he currently had the capacity to argue; so deep had he already descended into that quiet space in his head. The one he occupied only in their moments of deepest intimacy, when Edwin took charge, took him in hand. His eyes, such quick and clever things, now gazed down at Edwin hooded and glassy. Perfect, still pools of pleasantly addled warmth. He'd sunk so readily, so splendidly, all but curled up in the palm of Edwin's hand.

Edwin watched him a moment before proceeding, soothing the ragged edges of his own Hell-torn soul. Whatever he'd done in life to earn the trust Charles placed in him, it must have be something very good indeed.

In next to no time, they had the string pulled taut between Charles' hands, forming the neat double cross of the eponymous Cat's Cradle. Edwin hummed in approval. "Well done," he praised, as he pinched the crossed strands and pulled them outwards. "And now to me. Soldier's Bed, please."

Though Charles appeared to be away with the fairies, he was attuned to Edwin's voice and acquiesced to his command with ease. This was a game they had played many times, on long and quiet nights. When they'd had nothing to hand but an old bootlace, and nothing they wished to do but keep each other's company. Charles didn't need to strain to recall how to release the strings into Edwin's hold. Or how to begin forming the next shape after that, his confident fingers pinching and tugging the relevant strands.

Peaceful and methodical, they worked together, shape by shape, hand to hand. When Charles was pulling the strings for Edwin he was focused, intent, a little wrinkle in his brow. Once or twice his tongue darted out, bitten between his teeth in concentration, and Edwin resisted the impulse to distract him with a kiss. When Charles was merely holding the strings he subsided into utter relaxation. Breathing slow, eyes closed or halfway there, watching Edwin's face and hands with hazy satisfaction. Occasionally he dropped a thread, but it was never a serious blunder, and Edwin got them back on track with a polite command to pick it up. In a customary game they'd have to restart, but this was no customary game. Now was not the time to dwell upon harmless mistakes.

The game served as Edwin had hoped it would. After a few rounds of he and Charles working in perfect tandem, he could feel the air had settled and Charles with it. The grounding touches of their fingers and the face-to-face contact couldn't have hurt. Edwin had fallen into a rhythm, politely requesting each new shape by name and praising the end result. Charles had likewise fallen into a rhythm of mellow compliance. As the rounds wore on he even offered the odd cheeky verbal acknowledgement of Edwin's commands. A 'comin' right up' here, an 'on it, boss' there. His voice was thick and sweet, his tongue succumbing to the same submissive, slumberous spell as his mind. But a little of his bright, energetic spark was creeping back beneath the haze.

By the time they'd worked through the established shapes, and exhausted their own catalogue of invented ones, Edwin was satisfied. He felt they'd left the storm behind and sailed into calmer waters.

"Good game, Charles," he said, as he took their last custom shape — the aptly named Nail in the Coffin — into his own hands, and unraveled it. "Thank you."

Charles hummed, drowsy, swaying a little where he sat. "What'chu wanna do now?" he asked, dark, glassy eyes intent on Edwin's face. Like it was the most important question in the world.

He looked so lovely like this. Of course he always looked lovely, as handsome a boy as Edwin had ever seen. But like this especially, so far gone in his peace and pleasure, there was nothing to compare. Warm and golden, soft and tousled; his eyes black and bottomless and only for Edwin. Gazing at him as if he'd hung the moon and the stars.

Edwin faltered, a small gasp catching in his throat. He remained adamant that he wouldn't take more than Charles should give, at this moment. But... perhaps a small indulgence.

"Kiss me," he said, tucking a finger beneath Charles' chin. "Please."

Charles nodded — a hasty gesture compared to his otherwise lethargic motions — and swayed forward. He crashed his lips against Edwin's in an artless kiss, his hands finding Edwin's waist and gripping tight. Like he couldn't get him close enough.

Edwin sighed into it, stepping into Charles. Into the comfortable vee of his sprawled legs, where he'd come to spend many a peaceful night of late. He tilted his head, guiding Charles into a gentler kiss. Leading him as he would in a dance and letting him fall, gratefully, into step. Edwin explored the curve of Charles' jaw with his fingers, the charmingly pointed shell of his ear. He thumbed across his sparkly earring, and Charles huffed a little laugh into his mouth.

"Magpie," he mumbled.

Edwin chuckled as well, a natural release of the warmth suffusing him. He broke the kiss to dust smaller, feather-light ones across Charles' cheeks. "Well," he said, a thumb pressed to Charles' plush lower lip. "I do seem to collect the most beautiful things..."

Breath hitching, Charles wrapped his arms around Edwin's shoulders and squeezed. Edwin returned the embrace without hesitation. Never before Charles had he felt at ease with this sort of thing — this effusive, uncurbed physical affection. With anyone else it was still a struggle. He had little desire to touch, or be touched. But inviting Charles into his embrace was never a hardship; it was simply his proper place. It was a fact of the universe: Charles belonged with Edwin. In his arms, on his desk, in his bed, on his nerves.

Charles belonged with Edwin, as Edwin belonged with Charles; holding his hand, steering him true. And, where necessary, using a firm word and a firmer hold to put those wretched doubts in his head to rest.

Edwin pulled away with a parting kiss to Charles' temple. Charles felt warm, in that strange, prickly way. Ghostly body heat wasn't so much a thrum of blood as an excitation of atoms. To Edwin's mind, he felt warmer than usual at present. "Are you hot?" he asked.

"Dunno," said Charles with a lax, flirtatious smile. "Am I?"

Edwin rolled his eyes. "In the non-figurative sense, please, Charles."

"Mm. Yeah, bit hot." The smile widened into an impish grin. "Or maybe that's just you."

"You're incorrigible," Edwin muttered — but there was a smile in his voice and likely on his face, as well. His own cheeks were beginning to feel rather warm. He cleared his throat and tugged, meaningfully, on one of Charles' braces. There was a tantalising give and take to the elastic as his fingers slipped behind it. He was half tempted to release it, let it ping back, see what sound Charles made at the slight shock. But now wasn't the time for that sort of play.

"You may remove a layer, if you like," Edwin offered magnanimously — no ulterior motive whatsoever. "I wouldn't want you to be uncomfortable."

Charles didn't need telling twice. He slid the braces off his shoulders and grabbed his polo shirt at the back of the neck, dragging it off over his head. It was altogether a clumsier attempt than his usual so-called 'strip teases', but his hooded eyes burned on Edwin's face throughout. Afterwards he was left in just his sinfully tight white vest — and, of course, the enticing glimmer of his golden chain on top. But he remained pleasantly flushed and glowing, with not a hint of cold or discomfort. Charles was prone to chills in times of stress; a morbid sense memory of his last night alive. But he always seemed to warm in Edwin's presence.

Edwin, with an exhale that was just a tad on the ragged side, bowed his head and grazed a kiss across Charles' exposed collarbone. "Better?"

He could feel Charles' soft groan ruffling his hair. "Yeah. Yeah, feels good." He pulled on the hem of Edwin's waistcoat. "Bet you're hot too, yeah?"

Increasingly so, yes. Edwin was clinging to his composure by a thread. "It is a touch close in here," he agreed. He could feel Charles' restless fingers tugging, so he took them in his own hands, and guided them to the top button of the waistcoat. It was only fair he restore the balance. "Would you be so kind?"

Charles groaned again, this time so close to Edwin's ear it sent a ripple down his spine, and obeyed. His hands, as was often the case when disrobing Edwin, tripped over the buttons, rendered all fingers and thumbs in his eagerness. But they were in no hurry. Edwin closed his eyes and waited, tucked into the crook of Charles' neck and perfectly satisfied to be so.

When the final button surrendered the fight, Charles made haste to shove the garment off Edwin's shoulders. Edwin corrected him with a polite "Gently, please," and Charles took it in more careful hands, mindful of causing wrinkles. It made no difference, of course — Edwin could will his clothes to look as pristine or rumpled as he pleased. But Charles shuddered sweetly at the direction, and Edwin so enjoyed directing him. Besides, there was never any harm in promoting good habits.

"Fold it, please," said Edwin — stepping back to give Charles space. He watched Charles take the waistcoat in hand and, inexpertly, fold it in half twice. Lengthwise first, then the opposite. Hardly proper protocol, but Edwin didn't much care. He just took the haphazardly folded garment with gratitude and set it aside on the desk. "Thank you."

"Anything else?" Charles mumbled — his fingers teasing Edwin's shirt, itching to tug it free of his waistband.

Edwin sighed, and stilled Charles' hands. Perhaps he was letting the situation get away from them a bit. Charles was quite the difficult temptation to resist. "Perhaps later," he said. At Charles' disappointed pout, he made an amendment. "Definitely later."

Charles snorted, and let his head flop against Edwin's chest. "Alright," he mumbled. He sounded tired. Overwhelmed. It was a lot for him, this complete surrender, and Edwin well knew it. "Whatever you say, love."

"I say it's time for a rest." Edwin took Charles' face in both his hands, holding him still as he bestowed one more kiss upon his forehead. "Go and sit down, please. Comfortably, on the sofa. I'll join you momentarily."

Charles grumbled, but nevertheless did as he was told. He hopped off the desk, hand trailing across Edwin's chest as he passed him by. Edwin caught it for the barest second, just to give his fingers a parting squeeze. An altogether impossible urge to resist; and the loving way Charles' eyes found him over his shoulder affirmed his decision.

Tearing his attention from Charles and his smiles and his soft, trusting eyes, he turned it to the bookcase instead. He knew exactly what he wished to do with Charles, now. Something they'd had neither the space nor quiet for in quite some time. He scanned the shelves, deep in thought.

"Charles," he called out, careful not to cut too sharply through the peace of the room. "Douglas Adams, or Sir Arthur?"

It was a gentle prompt, and a simple choice. The stakes couldn't be lower. He waited to see if Charles would hand it back to him, anyway — still unwilling and unable to bear the thought of making an incorrect decision.

"Mmm... Doug," Charles mumbled.

Edwin smiled to himself. On the mend, then. "Excellent choice," he said; sliding their well-loved second edition of Dirk Gently's Holistic Detective Agency from the shelf.

He turned on his heel to find Charles, folded onto the sofa in a loose tangle of limbs, chin on his fist. He bore sleepy, squinting eyes and a dopey smile, both directed at Edwin and warming him through like late afternoon sunlight.

"Like how it sounds in your voice," said Charles, nestling in further. The very picture of contentment. Seemed he could scarcely keep his eyes open; but he must not have wanted to look away from Edwin just yet.

Edwin could sympathise entirely; he rarely wished to look away from Charles, either.

Edwin smiled as he stepped in close, a hand on Charles' knee; a smiling kiss dropped to his head of rampant curls. "Quiet, now, darling boy," he softly commanded, tugging on Charles' knee to make room. "And enjoy yourself."

~

“How long did the Monk believe these things? Well, as far as the Monk was concerned, forever,” Edwin read, his thumb tracing circles on Charles’ wrist. “The faith which moves mountains, or at least believes them against all the available evidence to be pink, was a solid and abiding faith, a great rock against which the world could hurl whatever it would, yet it would not be shaken. In practice, the horse knew, twenty-four hours was usually about its lot.”

They were a scant few pages into the book, and yet Edwin suspected that Charles had drifted into a doze. It was hard to tell without facing him. They'd settled on the sofa with Charles tucked up against the arm and back, and Edwin reclining between his sprawled legs. Edwin's back pillowed on Charles' torso; Charles' arms wrapped around Edwin, like a large teddy bear. Edwin could feel Charles' chin propped atop his head. On occasion, he nuzzled into Edwin's hair with soft hums as he listened to the story. But the hums and nuzzles both had grown less frequent already, subsiding to near silence.

Edwin read on regardless. Charles, like all ghosts, rarely if ever actually slept, and was likely still listening. Even if his mind was wondering elsewhere for the time being, he'd find his way back. He always did. And Edwin would be waiting for him.

A few chapters later, as Edwin recounted the thrilling mystery of the horse in the water closet, he felt Charles stirring. Soon, Charles' wrist was slipping free from Edwin's grasp, the hand coming to rest instead atop Edwin's hand in a gentle hold.

"Thank you," Charles mumbled, nuzzling into Edwin's hair.

Edwin smiled. "There's no need to thank me for reading to you," he said. "I enjoy it."

"I meant, like..." Charles sighed, squeezing Edwin's hand. "Thanks for, y'know. Bossing me around a bit," he said, sincerity threaded through the lighthearted tease. "Seriously. It proper helps."

Edwin laced their fingers, and brought Charles' hand to his lips. "Charles," he said, simple and serious. He kissed him on the knuckles. "I shall always be here to boss you around when needed."

Charles laughed. Quiet, unobtrusive. It seemed neither one of them was quite ready to break the spell just yet. "Love you," he murmured.

Marking his page with a finger, Edwin leaned back onto Charles' shoulder. He tilted his head back, all the better to look his beloved in the eye. "I love you, too."

He only had to lift his lips, a silent prompt.

Charles needed no further instructions.

~~

Thanks for reading! Consider dropping us a comment/reblog, they do so make my day/week/month 💛 Might not manage every day of this week but I will defo see you tomorrow for a fic/collab I'm SUPER excited about!!! Painland Week Prompt List

[flight-of-icarus]

Me spreading propaganda for everyone to read Absolute Superman 🌀🌀🌀

(There is something about this version of superman that really struck me and had such a big impact on my brain)

[charmac]

Genuine question. Do you like or dislike Rob? Your posts tend to imply both feelings hahaha

Do I like Rob?

[imeriayapping]

He doesn't know when it starts or even how.

Well if Logan tried to go back to see all the steps that lead him here he should probably start around 2021 when he first opened MotoGP race when there was nothing else to watch.

He was always hungry for more, watching as much different racing as he could, it's just motorcycles are a bit out of his comfort zone so he never gravitated towards opening a stream somewhere to watch.

Of course logan knew about it, about people in it and thought about Rossi the same way he did about Gordon and Hamilton if not for his own experience of watching than at least for how much lando was talking about him. As the Greatest of all.

It takes him a bit to learn all teams, how everything works and some major events but he gets there, fully emerged at that point.

Logan still doesn't watch all that much content of riders bc he's not interested in their personalities besides what they say about bikes but he catches glimpse of how insane it all is anyway and it fascinates him when he compares it to formula scenery where it's so political and everyone is second away from clawing at your throat.

Guys there are wild and don't have pr crafted personalities that they need just to survive. Next season starts, he gets into f2 and watching gets a bit more challenging on some weekends but manageable on most. And nothing would change if not for one bike that his eyes keep going back to and the guy on it that Logan starts watching press conferences forBc firstly bez is amazing and it's interesting to watch him on track. And secondly he's just so..... different, so open and always smiley.

It's fascinating to Logan because it's almost diametrally different from what he himself is. He loves a good hug don't get him wrong but living mostly alone on another continent from your family and all friends doesn't make for a lot of opportunities to express emotions through touches. Sometimes it feels like he can go weeks without meaningful contact. Also Logan can only watch how outgoing and extrovert marco is never even being close to that, sticking with few people that he knew the best.

It somehow transformed into following him on multiple platforms and watching whatever content motogp or his team would put out. It became kinda embarrassing at the point where he could understand a few Italian words from sheer amount of them that he heard before. It was a bit annoying not being able to understand a lot of stuff but he wouldn't prove "dumb American" stereotype by wishing for guy to speak only in English. Plus the way his voice sounded when he actually did talk in English was very cute, so nothing to be sad about.

Logan started wondering if this what admiration for drivers felt like because he never experienced it before always only motivated by his own desire to win not by those he saw on screens. It was pretty tough to rationalize by himself so he went to the most rational person he could think of (and totally not because it was his only friend on the grid,no) - oscar.

It was usual hangout for them only stained by somewhat awkward logan who didn't know how to approach subject until oscar points out his weird behaviour and makes him talk it all out while listening intently. In the end oscar just answered with short but straightforward "sounds more like you catching an internet crush that anything else" which made Logan spat out million protesters a second only stopped by solid hand on his forearm

"Look you should think it all over and if you still not sure I'll go to MotoGP race next month for promo so you can tag along and actually speak to the guy to see how you feel"It took him a while to evaluate everything and actually come to some form of conclusion but looking back oscar wasn't wrong, it's just Logan never catched feelings in similar way so it was confusing. But looking at it now it wasn't even surprising with how mesmerising marco was, resembling the sun whenever he went with his blinding smile and warm attitude. And Logan wanted to reach out to that shine too

But even ignoring all that he asepted Oscar's offer mostly to watch race itself because in person it would be way cooler than through small screen in shitty hotel room. Logan didn't plan on even going close to bez there because mortifying ordeal of confronting a crush that doesn't know you exist is a bit too much for him but it's not like anything ever goes according to his plan.

So this time what gone wrong was bez himself that catched a cute blonde guy laughing with sun rays in corners of his eyes while talking to someone but standing completely on his own otherwise looking a bit uncomfortable in unfamiliar space. And of course marco went to introduce himself because why waste such chance? Especially when his outstretched hand ready for handshake is met with blush and shuttering before he even managed to say anything besides "hi, I'm bez"

[prince-liest]

I’m a sex-repulsed ace, and reading the latest chapter of 666 (as well as your analysis here on Tumblr) made me realize that I have been subconsciously thinking about MY OWN sexuality from an allo perspective? And that it has kinda been messing me up?? Like, ever since I learned that sexual attraction was actually a Thing and that it’s Important To People, I had been carrying around a fear of being deficient in some way and not being able to love to the same extent as allos. (1)

Even though I know logically that’s complete garbage and totally untrue, I felt left out of the loop because people seemed to care strongly about this thing I couldn’t even imagine. Whenever it looked like a relationship might happen I panicked for a reason that I couldn’t understand. But now I’m starting to realize that it’s because I was subconsciously terrified of an ‘ulterior motive’ behind the other person’s reasons for wanting to be with me. (2) That part of the reason they even cared was because of something I don’t experience. So thank you, because this realization just clicked into place while reading your work. The thing is, this way of thinking was just internalized in such a way that I didn’t even realize it was there until literally this week. And I think you’re right; one of the main reasons behind that is because I’ve always consumed media written from an allo perspective. (3) If ace/aros are shown at all, they’re depicted as “lacking” and their character development usually revolves around being “fixed” by the story. When I was ~10 years old my mom sometimes let me watch the Big Bang Theory with her (looking back, maybe not the best decision). Anyways, there was one episode deep into the series where Sheldon (who for the past nineish seasons was probably the closest thing to mainstream ace rep) has sex with his girlfriend for the first time. (4) Afterwards, he says something along the lines of “that was better than I thought it would be”, and it’s presented as a Very Good Thing and a big step in their relationship. I think a lifetime of stuff like that makes it very easy to internalize aphobia and feel like the lesser part of the relationship. Or to feel like the other partner is making a huge sacrifice to be with you. That got wayy too long, sorry. All that was just a lot of words to say that I appreciate you. Take care of yourself!(5)

The portrayal of asexuality that you see in media being almost exclusively as you described is very tedious to me because it presumes that something is inherently lacking in aro/aceness rather than that feeling of "lacking" being something that is induced by societal norms. Actually, one of the things that I find additionally alienating is that fandom spaces specifically have been getting better and better about ace characters - but got damn does fandom not jive with aromanticism. Like, a character doesn't want to fuck? That's becoming a liiiittle more fine, it's 2024, we stan consent. But not shipping someone romantically?? Not so easy, now.

I'm glad that my work has been something that resonated with you in this respect! Alastor cares a lot about his reputation as a demon but is pretty blatantly a person who could not possibly give less of a shit about being "wrong" for not being experiencing romantic or sexual attraction. The explanation Viv gave at one point for his own understanding of himself (that he thinks he's just "waiting for the right woman") actually stuck out to me a lot because it's a very "well, nothing is wrong with me for not feeling anything, it's the world that's failed to produce a suitable person" perspective.

But having that kind of confident perspective of your own rightness in the world is really not often portrayed in media, or even in fandom, which even ten years ago was still in the throes of standardizing "Oh, no! Me, gay? These feelings are so wrong!" style m/m content and is honestly not that far off from essentially that for aro/ace characters.

Anyway, all of that is to say that there's not yet much out there that doesn't frame allo/amatonormative values as the default that "even aro/ace people can (and should want to) achieve," and that it's really fun to write a fic that is unequivocally from the perspective of a character who is aroace and doesn't see it as even remotely a fault in himself. Does he have moments where he's a little confused and trying to process how things fit for him? Absolutely. But he just doesn't strike me as the kind of guy who thinks he owes romance to Vox of all people, hahaha. I've written him trying to conform to allo/amatonormativity more with Mimzy, because I think the social standards of their time could push him into it, but Vox? Absolutely not, he does not respect Vox enough for it to even enter his mind.

And then, on the other hand, writing it from an aroace perspective centers the way that romantic and sexual interest can feel like a betrayal of a good thing. With a character like Alastor, it frames romantic and sexual attraction the same alien way that we usually see aromanticism and asexuality framed as.

In the end, this is just one of a plethora of different experiences that aro/ace people can have, but it's one that I really wanted to see represented more, so I'm very happy to write it. I'm glad that you're enjoying it!

[neonbuck]

i stayed up all night trying to learn a cuter way of drawing paws. i was apparently doing this for an entire ten hours. but will i sleep? no. i've got commissions to work on too rip

[pianokantzart]

I posted something somewhere about Papa Mario’s “these are boys” line being wholesome (and made more so because of who voices the character!) and I got some comments from people who hated the line because it was clear Pio “didn’t give a shit” about either of his sons and only accepted them once they gave him something he could brag about. In other words, he only “cares” about them when they make him look good. I don’t think this is the case, and I get the feeling you don’t either. Can you do a brief analysis on the character given what little we’ve seen of him? :)

Yep, I 100% agree with you. Mario and Luigi's dad may have his flaws, but he definitely cares about his kids.

The thing about Pio is that he strikes me as the family patriarch? At least for as long as the grandpa has been in his twilight years. Not only does Pio appear a lot more emotionally restrained than Uncle Tony and Uncle Arthur, but he's bulkier and moves with a lot less pep. Either he's a good number of years older than either of them, works a far more physically demanding job, or both. Whatever the case, he takes matters with a lot more gravity, and his lapse of judgement at the dinner table seemed to be out of genuine worry rather than disdain or apathy. At first he did his best to talk about anything other than Mario's failing plumbing business, keeping his head down and eating his pasta while everyone else was either defending or teasing Mario and Luigi.

It's only when Mario directly asks his dad for his opinion that he gets right to the heart of the matter:

"I think you're nuts. You don't leave a steady job for some crazy dream. And the worst part? You're bringing your brother down with you."

It's harsh, but you can tell he means well. This is not the face of a man who "doesn't give a sh*t." This may be a big joke to Arthur and Tony, but to Pio it's dead serious. Mario's taking a huge gamble with his and his brother's financial stability. Yes, this is Mario AND Luigi's dream, and Luigi is perfectly capable of making his own decisions... but it's clear who's leading the charge and making a lot of questionable choices along the way. If Pio has a place of headship in the family like I suspect, then this statement has a lot more weight to it– he knows what it is to have other people's wellbeing rely on you. It's important Mario understands that if this longshot fails, he won't be going down alone.

Did Mario already know this? Yep. Was telling him he was bringing his brother down a step too far? Absolutely, but Pio was not trying to emotionally gut his son the way he did.

When Mario storms off, he looks blindsided by the reaction.

When everyone stares at him in surprise he asks "what did I say?" in a tone of genuine confusion. This was meant to be a wakeup call for Mario, not a slap in the face. Apparently, Luigi's inability to read a room is hereditary.

But Pio's not a man of pure stoicism, he's still a hot-blooded Italian at his core, so of course he gets so excited when his kids appear out of nowhere to decimate a giant turtle dragon and his invading army??? (Please note the way he's leaning way too far out of that window in his excitement. It's lucky he's got good core strength or he'd be falling right out of the third story into what is still an active war zone.)

When the smoke clears both Mia and Pio are climbing over wreckage to get to Mario and Luigi, well before a crowd has gathered to cheer. The "these are my boys!" was a continuation of the pride Mario's dad had already expressed before he realized anyone else was watching. He has absolutely no idea what just happened, but anyone with eyes can see that Mario and Luigi just did something fantastic! And as much as Pio sees Mario in the leading role– responsible for his and his brother's failures– he also sees him as responsible for their victories.

So yeah. Conclusion: Mario's Dad is a flawed guy who makes big mistakes, but there's no doubt in my mind that he cares a lot about his kids.

[gretahayes]

obsessed w/ how in rr we didn’t get tim’s reason for thinking bruce was alive until issue twelve. they had readers going “maybe this kid is crazy, his loved ones wouldn’t say it for no reason” until literally the end of the issue where everything he did while looking for bruce caught up to him (for the first time, it catches up to him several times after that). like that was genuinely insane of them. they had 2009 tim fans fighting for their LIVES defending their boy when they had no fucking idea whether he was operating on logic or desperation (it’s both).