#so... maybe i should take my own advice? but that would be silly.

[theboardwalkbody]

First Enbrel injection tonight.

Why couldn't insurance just let me do Taltz 😭

I'm going to try and distract myself from the anxiety of worrying about if it will work or not or if I'll get hit with side effects since it's a new med for me by trying to just think about Roman Roy and watch my boyfriend play Kingdom Hearts. lol

[medicinemane]

The world is set on prescriptivism and... it doesn't jive with me

[hiddenbeks]

so many thoughts abt how schewpid the jedi council is in kotor but also not sure if i should write abt any of them before i finish the game because it's entirely possible that i'm still missing some critical information,

[idontknowreallyidontcare]

Can I get more horndog Nikto pls? Like Nikto legit wanting the reader every way emotionally and physically, becoming territorial of them, and the reader doesn't take him seriously because they don't wanna be another conquest. Sad horny boi lol

HORNDOG!NIKTO FOR MY NIKTO GIRLS.

- He is jealous, it’s pretty much in his Slavic dna to be, so once you show him a bit of affection without strings attached, he gets territorial. Nikto does a lot of questionable things to ensure the recruits know you’re off limits. From standing really close to you no matter what you’re doing at that moment, to literally pressing himself against your body like a horny dog. The creepiest thing he’s done was probably standing in a corner, intensively watching you read from afar. Recruits would get scared about coming to you for advice because he was there, awkwardly staring and they would get chills (he’s just so silly!).

- The first time Nikto got to know your sweet side was when you made biscuits for the barracks and decided to bring some to him too. He was not the type to hang around the base, so having such sweet little thing like you come and knock on his door with a bag of biscuits was very surprising and suspecting on his side. He found you hot, there was no denying, so having many other instances where you would do something for him without asking anything in exchange was starting to grow onto him. You always brushed it off, how possessive he began to be about you, thinking he was just an awkward adult that didn’t get to learn proper socialization, and well part of that was true. You kept brushing his affections off, he was like that and nothing could change him. You knew he liked women, too much for your own good, and part of you did not want to end up as another conquest.

- Many times he grew frustrated of you, because no matter how many signs he gave, you always seemed to not understand, or maybe not care at all. He would touch you, press himself into you, sweet talk to you, yet all you would do is pat his head and crack a joke, continuing with your duties and leaving him there, by himself, contemplating weather he should just give up and leave you be. And truth is he was close to leave you be many times.

- What he didn’t know was that you kinda felt the same, you always found in Nikto a safe place, from the instance you joined KorTac he was always there, sure he was as hard as a rock at the beginning, but you made your way into the small remains of his cold, broken heart. It started strangely, you’ve seen him alone once, back laid on the side of a small balcony, while his gaze was lost into nothingness. It hit you, how he was never around, he was never with the boys, never made attempts to make friends, and part of you knew he was afraid, afraid of scaring anyone. Truth is recruits always feared him, even if he never gave them a reason to. The only person he would get along with was König, and occasionally you’d see him in Horangi’s or Kreuger’s company. His mask was most of the times on, and you started to pity him. Such a poor, lonely man. God knows the last time he felt the warm touch of a woman, and not the touch you feel when the only thing you do is fuck, because he did not lack intercourse in his life, but the loving touch of a woman genuinely caring about him? That’s a whole different story.

- You started small, afraid of coming off too clingy. You brought him biscuits, you always made sure to carry a bottle of water at practice, knowing he would always drink a lot and would remain without one lot of times. You’d pass him your bottle and he’d thank you, almost shyly if you squint. You’d bring his clothes to his room from the drier, your excuse being that you were already there so why not, you’d cook for him sometimes too, well not really, it was just that you accidentally poured too much of this or too much of that and being alone on the base you didn’t want it to go to waste, excuses on excuses that were always working. You always thought he was a bit too silly to understand what you were actually doing, and you were right. He just thought you were constantly friend zoning him.

- It was difficult once he actually accepted what you were giving to him and he wanted more. Ignoring him when he got too needy, when he was too close, when he made advances and all you could do was joke or excuse yourself to another room. Truth is you were scared too because what has started as a small act of kindness towards a lonely teammate, became a lot more, and you didn’t know how to handle it.

- One particular night brought out all the hidden emotions. Coming from a mission was always the best time of the year, week, month, it was just the best time, not only because you were alive, but because you could finally rest and turn your brain off. Well for Nikto it was a yes no situation, he was happy to be alive but coming at the base where he would be ‘confined’ again due to his loneliness, was not something he was dreadful about. This time was just too much, and after what felt like hours of contemplation he just went for it. A soft knock on your door late into the night awakened you, not that you were particularly deep into sleep, since the arrival time from the mission was not long ago, but it woke you up, and you opened, for some reason finding yourself in front of who you actually expected to come. Nikto stayed still, admiring you for a bit, just for you to grab his hand and pull him into the room. You didn’t care anymore, after almost loosing him this many times of the battlefield the only thing you wanted to do was hug him. And you did, he dreamed about this moment for months, and it came so unexpected yet so sweet. The night was spent between kisses and hugs, late talks between two people that were too afraid to fall asleep because of the fear of this all being a dream.

- Actually labeling your relationship with Nikto changes many dynamics. He gets bolder definitely, he’s more secure and shows off more. Being in a relationship with him is giving him access to your privacy also, and he makes sure he takes advantage of it. He shamelessly ravages your panty drawer, sneaks up on you in the common showers, after gym becomes a gig where you’re trying to run and shower and he’s after you saying how hot you look right now and how you should let him bring you to his room first. Sex is something utterly surprising for you, you would’ve not given him half the credits he actually deserved, because he does know how to please you, and he’s avid with it. He’ll be a dog for you, waiting and begging and pleading until you give it to him.

- Ride his face he LOVES it, just use him as your personal seat and he’s cumming in his pants no lie. He’s a sucker for your pleasure, also a big voyeur, he tried to fuck you many times in the main hall, or in the showers, he once succeeded in the kitchen, and oh boy you could not look into the eyes of some of your female colleagues for a week straight. Nikto is always eager to try something new, that’s because he finally has you, his woman, and prefers to do with you all the things he never got to experience. He always told himself that he’d prefer waiting to do certain things only with the woman of his dreams, and there you were finally, ready to let him fuck you up, or the other way around.

- When I call Nikto a dog is because I mean it. The utter loyalty this man has for you is something straight out some romance movie. You’ll start to notice how his eyes are always on you, no matter the surroundings, no matter the circumstances, and the utterly look of an enamored man he gives you always succeeds to make you weak in the knees. He is avid, lustful, borderline possessive about you, like a feral dog that’s protecting the only thing that he ever got to call ��his’. And don’t get off the birth control, because he brings to the bedroom each and every ounce of possessiveness he shows outside.

[parisoonic]

How the hell do you manage to superimpose the hilariously exagerated proportions of the tf2 mercs into a cohesive 2d style? I always struggle SO much with like, the way the mercs' models have huge hands, the way they have relatively low-poly definition on things like arms, shoulders, and legs... and Especially the way like, the models are kinda janky when you pose them for art purposes- when using movement tools, things like armpits and seams between body parts get all deformed... Which makes the study of form and silhouette rather difficult.

I assume that a lot of your ability to translate the concept of the mercs from their original mediums into your own works of art comes to you quite naturally- through experience you have with drawing and art style stuff, as well as through intuition. I was simply wondering if I could poke at your mind and get some insight into your process, any thoughts you have about the proportions and silhouettes of the mercs, any quirks you've found while drawing the mercs, or simply what you enjoy drawing about them. Like, don't be afraid to infodump about something just because you think people wouldn't find it interesting- I am here, I am sitting, and I am listening- if you so choose to speak.

I am utterly fascinated and enraptured by the more behind-the-scenes aspect of art. The mundane things that come second nature to great artists yet seem so revolutionary to less experienced artists.

I love your work, I look forward to seeing more of it, and I hope you have a nice day :]

Sorry for the late reply! I've been a little…stuck on how to answer this but that's mainly because to me, drawing is composed of SO many different little skills - you have form, anatomy, shape language, silhouette, appeal, rhythm, acting and posing…not to mention everything AFTER your raw draughtmanship like line style, rendering and colour theory. Trying to distill a multiude of small skills into some pithy advice is overwhelming to my brain. So I'll take the invitation to ramble instead :))

I don't think I have any new or revolutionary insight into the tf2 guys specifically - more I'm using them as work horses to excercise general silhouette/posing/shape-language and further my skills when it comes to drawing characters!

I do agree though the proportions are rather silly when you stop and think about them realistically…they can be kinda tricky if you follow their 'actual' proportions. what looks great individually was maybe never meant to be directly compared (ie: Heavy's hand size against Spy's lol). It would've been funny if the TV show exsisted and we had more content to review…would the animators have had rules like Spy and Heavy can never shake hands? Would they cheated the proportions for shots? Or would they have said WHATVER it's gonna look weird and embraced it? (Like Kingpin in Spiderverse lol)

Paul Lasaine for 'Into the Spiderverse' This is AWESOME. But it's also one of the silliest designs I've ever seen comitted to screen. The varied scales of the characters work because of the unifying treatment (lighting, rendering, consistant hand anatomy, consistant clothing fold treatment etc) and because they are sort of proportional within themselves. A common mantra is that hands should be about as large as a characters face....which they all are here!

Human brains are very flexible and forgiving though. It's totally fine for you to put a character with huge hands and head next to a teeny tiny character! Vanellope and Ralph from Wreck-It Ralph look grand next to each other! And in that film you even have varying levels of stylisation sitting against each other (unified by the look dev treatment of the shaders and lighting). I think as long as the chracter is proportional within themselves it sort of works out. IE: a general rule is that a hand should be as large as the face so…you can have some large arse hands as long as their placed on a body with a big arse head. Unifying characters with the same treatment (ie: lineart brush, colouring style will also help them look cohesive next to each other :) )

I don't actually reference the 3D models/animations very much at all and instead draw their proportions based on my tastes for stylisation following their general vibes/silhouette profiles. I don't stick THAT close to their in-game looks and there are artists who do that are so so so much better than me (Creedei and Flapjack come to mind). I'm not amazing at body-type differentation and TBH they're all wearing chunky clothes all the time so I usually draw the guys as one-of-three body shapes: Heavy is the uniquely wide guy; Sniper/Scout/Spy are all tall and slim and Demo/Soldier/Medic/Engie have a little more of the generic 'hero' bodytype with varying tallness and broadness of the shoulders

Something like this! You can vary all these individual elements in terms of size, thickness, taper amount etc to create different characters. If you ARE going to reference the 3d works though you'll need to apply some anatomy knowledge to overcome the weird shoulders, armpits and knees which desperately need blendshapes to correct the 3D volumes and approach it a little more like an animation supervisor. There's a reason why you see in making-ofs and art-ofs character designers, character leads or animation supes doing drawovers of the models. These are character models that have had great effort put into their 'base' silhouette but it still needs to be reinforced in every frame for maximum appeal.

Shiyoon Kim for 'Raya' This sort of thing will occur at multiple stages during the animation process. Shiyoon Kim's notes are post final model but pre-animation. Most likely for internal rig tests, exploring what blend shapes and alt shapes are needed for the rigs etc. If your production has time, this will continue all the way to final anim. IF! But it's interesting to see how he emphasises the shapes and enhances the character acting of the 3d model.

As for 'mundane things' - I wouldn't say they're second nature! (If that makes you feel better!) I have to actively really persue certain advice and try to figure out how to best apply it. This can sometimes involve redrawing and redrawing an element of the drawing until I've grasped the nettle of whatever I'm after or…..until I get frustrated and either delete the drawing or just call it done lol

Here, I'm looking for a really specific flow of the head that sells both the acting and a subtle head tilt. I'm also trying to apply the general mantra regarding faces that converging lines (set by the eyebrows and mouth) are more appealing than parallel. It's tough! I also tend to use a drawing I've already done as a template/reference on the page too. Oh! This page is an amazing example of why I'm not an animator or storyboarder…consistancy? Who is she? 💅

Converging lines (that form tapered shapes) are always more appealing than parallel. Using this logic you can loft the facial features across converging lines to create dynamic appealing espressions. Combining this with anatomy, perspective and rotation is the tough part though. I'm still learning o7

The things I probably think about MOST are always flats vs curves, simple vs complex and general line of action/flow...and then eliminting tangents. Each of these can be a dedicated visual-essay on their own - hence my stumbling as to answer your question. Anyhow, not sure if it's ever come up on this blog but I looove dinosaurs :)) so i'm using a wee piece to demostrate these ideas! (but also to demostrate these concepts apply to everything from humans characters to animals, props and background design)

Okay, I'm getting self-aware that this is getting really long :') I have a wee tutorial tag for my blog if anyone wants to comb through my garbled art-thoughts. Learning, studying, repetition and practice will always be the greatest teachers! I'm glad you like my art- thank you so much for the lovely comments - I feel like such a noob still and not qualified to give people advice but we're in it together learning! High-five! 🙌

[cryptidghostgirl]

Are your requests still open? I was hoping for a request for a Lucifer x sinner reader where she was once in love with someone when she was alive but they betrayed her leading to her death causing her to be afraid of letting others in. She's been a resident of the hotel since the pilot, but doesn't really talk much about her feelings or past life but is convinced by Charlie who says singing helps her when she needs to get out her own emotions. So when she thinks everyone is gone for the day on one of Charlie's bonding field trips, she uses the piano in the main area to sing her heart out, not realizing Lucifer decided to stay. The song I'm thinking of is "Perfect Doesn't Last" by Beth Crowley. So when she sings it and he overhears listening and watching her he's reminded of Lilith and feels for the reader understanding her more than when they first met during his first visit to the hotel (ep 5). I'm not sure of how to end it, so if you want to add anything to it I'm totally up for it. I just thought this song would match him so well.

A/N this is my first time writing for this man. Also,, i think it’s so funny that everyone is just like “short king” even tho alastor is canonically at least seven feet tall and charlie is at least like six feet tall. that’s so silly of us.

Encore (Lucifer x Reader)

Paring: Lucifer x Reader

Warnings: Domestic abuse briefly mentioned.

Word Count: 2,169

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Lucifer had just wanted to visit Charlie. With their relationship on the up and up, he was eager to not give up his chance to fix things with his favorite and only daughter. However, when he arrived at the hotel, throwing the doors open in unadulterated excitement, it was to find the normally busy lobby area empty.

The door fell shut behind him and his smile slipped from his face. Carefully, he ran his eyes over every inch of the room. There really was no one to be found.

"Maybe they're just all in their rooms, yeah." he said aloud to himself, "Charlie is probably... in her office! It must take a lot of work to run a place like this. Yeah, that's what it is."

Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor had asked her to come with them to the movies. It was supposed to be a reward, for how hard they had all been working. They had really tried their best to convince Y/n to join them but, as always was the case when activities that took them out of the hotel were not required, Y/n had declined the offer.

Y/n was still getting used to Hell in all its big scary wonder, she still hurt. Everything was so complicated and while spending time with her thoughts didn't make her feel good per-say, spending time with others had been making her feel even worse. Besides, Charlie had given her some advice a few days ago she wanted to test out and she didn't exactly feel comfortable doing that while the hotel was crawling with people.

Y/n trusted Charlie. She was the first person to have extended a kind hand in her direction since her arrival in Hell. When Charlie had found out Y/n had been a concert pianist in the living world, she was elated.

"That's perfect!" she had said, leaning across the desk towards her, "We have a piano in the Hotel's auditorium!"

"I... I don't know if I really can... perform, right now. If that's alright." Y/n had replied, wringing her hands and unable to keep eyecontact.

"What? Oh no! That's not what I meant at all. It just seems... well if you did it for a living, you must have loved it. And it seems like you always have a lot on your mind, lots of stuff to process, and I know you don't like talking to people about it and, well, music always makes me feel better. It feels freeing, like I'm getting everything bottled up inside me out when I sing."

"I... I don't think I've ever really thought about it that way." she had admitted in response, "It was just something I had always done. I started lessons when I was three."

"Well, you should try it some time." Charlie had smiled back, "Maybe it will help."

Once she was sure everyone was gone and the hotel was hers alone, Y/n had slipped quietly from the confinement of her room. It had taken her a bit to find the auditorium. When she finally did and saw the piano it held, her breath caught in her throat.

It was a beautiful old baby grand made out of a warm cherry wood that matched the hotel's theming well. The lid had creaked when she had opened it, the keys had been dusty to the touch.

It had been a long time since she'd played. With mild joy, she let her fingers run the usual scales and arpeggios, finding a comfort in the familiarity of it all. Once satisfied her fingers were all warmed up and ready to play something real, she posed them over the keys.

Lucifer had lost himself in the depths of the labyrinthine hotel. The twists and turns of the hallways were unfamiliar to him despite the tour Charlie, Vaggie, and Alastor had lead him on. His hope at finding his daughter and spending some time with her had long since flickered out. He was on the verge of going home, his hand half raised to open a portal, when he heard it.

A faint echo of music flooded the hallway and Lucifer froze. It was haunting and distant, it drew him in. His sights set on a new sort of entertainment for the afternoon, he listened carefully and began to follow the sound.

As he got closer to its source, Lucifer realized that who ever was making the music was not just playing the piano but singing. Their voice was soft and lovely, nearly ethereal in its sheer humanity and anguish.

I would have bet on us

We were untouchable, you and I

I couldn't get enough

It was a fairytale come to life

Lucifer at last reached the half open door to the room the music appeared to be coming from. Not wanting to disturb the artist just yet, he transformed into a snake and slithered his way silently into the room. There, sitting at the piano on the stage, was Y/n.

I had your heart

At least that's what I thought

Now I'm second guessing every moment

Wondering where we went so wrong

He didn't really know much about Y/n except that she was new to Hell. Charlie had mentioned off hand that she had died in an incident of domestic abuse. Lucifer had no idea why she had ended up in Hell or what she was really like. When he had visited the hotel the first time, Y/n had been quiet and reserved. She had stood to the side and watched, barley even introducing herself to him.

At first, he had thought it to be disrespect. Not every demon in Hell was his biggest fan after all and while he was used to it, it still stung that even one of his daughters would be reformed sinners would be blatantly rude to him. He had quickly realized however from her flittering eyes and the way she clutched at herself that it wasn't disrespect at all. Y/n had been nervous.

Of course, Lucifer had made an attempt to make her feel more comfortable but, when he had extended his metaphorical hand, Y/n had just closed herself off even further. According to Charlie and Angel Dust, that was just what the demoness was like. She was shy.

You got inside my head

Taking up every inch of space

'Til there was no room left

Her hands flew across the keys with a practiced grace. Lucifer felt she knew he was there, watching. He felt that she just might be performing for him.

So many parts of me erased

You had my heart

And tossed it in the dirt

As he listened to the words she sung, they resonated with him. For a split second, he could have sworn it was Lilith sitting there at the piano, not Y/n. He shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly. He was oddly grateful when he opened them again to find it had just been his imagination.

Now that was a first. Since Lilith had disappeared seven years ago, Lucifer had been a mess. Lucifer was always a mess but, Lilith leaving like that really did him in. She had been his rock, his guiding light, his everything. He had risked everything for her and he had lost. At least, back in the old days, he had gained something out of the chaos. A daughter, a wife, a world to try and shape. One after another, they were all taken from him. Even now, even with their relationship improving the way it was, he felt Charlie slipping away again.

Now I'm second guessing every moment

Wondering where we went so wrong

I just keep asking

Would this have been worth it if I knew the ending all along.

Without really thinking about it, Lucifer retook his normal form and sat down in one of the auditorium's front row seats. Thankfully, Y/n was too wrapped up in her own world to notice and she just continued to play.

What started so perfect was over too fast

I should have seen the warning signs

'Cause perfect doesn't last

Perfect doesn't last

Light shined off her face, that was how Lucifer had realized she was crying. Despite the tears, her voice never wavered. A performer at her core, just like him.

I would have bet on us

We were untouchable, you and I

As the last lingering notes echoed through the room, he began to clap. Y/n jumped at the noise, turning to face him with wide eyes and cheeks flushed red with embarrassment. Lucifer was undeterred and, getting to his feet, gave her a standing ovation. After a few moments, he ceased in his applause.

"That was beautiful." he said, breaking the new silence that had fallen between them.

"Um, I'm sorry." Y/n's gaze fell back to the piano.

"No! No no no!" Lucifer exclaimed, jumping up onto the stage.

He kneeled before her, lifting her hands from her lap and taking them in his own. She turned to him, surprise drawing out the features of her face once again.

"Don't apologize for taking up space."

"I... I just didn't mean to disturb you is all. If you're looking for Charlie, she's out at the movies with everyone else."

"I was but, I can talk to her later, when she gets back. You didn't disturb me at all, Y/n. As I said, it was beautiful. It was..."

He trailed off, the smile slipping from his face.

"Oh fuck!" Y/n exclaimed, "I didn't mean to upset you! I'm really sorry, what can I do to make it better?"

"You didn't upset me." Lucifer shook his head, "You just... somehow managed to put words to the very things I've been struggling with the past couple years."

A smaller, much kinder and more genuine smile made its way onto his face.

"If you'd like to play more, I'd love to hear it."

Y/n's cheeks flushed red again.

"Theres no pressure." Lucifer shrugged, "Just giving you the option."

"An audience of one... well, it's a little intimidating." she admitted bashfully, "I'm used to the faceless mob of the crowd."

"I can see why. You have an undeniable gift."

"I guess... I don't know. Charlie just said it might help me process stuff. To play again, I mean."

"Was she right?"

Y/n paused in thought for a moment before nodding slowly.

"I think she might have been. My chest does feel a little lighter now."

"Then play."

"Um, mister... king of Hell? Sir?"

Lucifer laughed.

"You can just call me by my name. No formalities necessary. 'Mister king of Hell sir' was my fathers name."

Y/n laughed lightly at his terrible joke. The sound sparked a sudden joy in Lucifer's chest, one he hadn't felt in quite a long time.

"Well, Lucifer." she began again, stumbling a bit over his name.

"Yes?"

"I'll... um, I'll need my hands back. If I'm to keep playing."

"Wh..."

He looked down and his eyes widened. Lucifer hadn't realized he had still held her hands in his. Immediately he dropped them, getting to his feet and looking away in mild embarrassment.

"Sorry, about that."

"Don't apologize for existing." Y/n parroted his earlier words.

When he turned back to her, it was to find she was smiling slightly.

"How bad would it be if I said sorry again right now?"

"You'd be sounding like me."

"Lets make a deal then: no sorries unless something is actually wrong."

"What if I can't tell if your mad at me or not?"

Lucifer looked down at the seated demon. In not one of his wildest dreams could he ever imagine being mad at her but, that wasn't exactly something he could say.

"Then you can always ask."

"And you promise you wont lie to me?"

"I promise."

"Promise promise?"

"Yes!"

She eyed him suspiciously for a moment before nodding her head. Turning back to the piano, her hands found their place on the keys once again. She hesitated.

"I..." Y/n shot Lucifer a look over her shoulder, "Thank you."

"Thank you. There is some solace in knowing someone else out there feels the same way I do, if for different reasons."

"Yeah. There is, isn't there? Maybe part of our deal can be helping each other figure that all out too."

The suggestion had been half thought out. Y/n hadn't really meant to give it a voice, it had escaped her locked lips. She quickly turned back to the piano.

"Sorry. That was dumb."

"What did we just say about sorries!" Lucifer exclaimed, "No apologizing for existing. I think that suggestion sounds rather nice."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Okay. I... I'm actually going to play now. Is that okay?"

With a snap of his fingers, Lucifer reappeared in the seat he had previously inhabited. He crossed his legs, resting his hands on his knee.

"Whenever your ready."

----

Song is Perfect Doesn't Last by Beth Crowley as requested :)

[leandra-kinard]

The Spy who Loved Me

Inspired by the unhinged spy!Tommy theory and all the amazing fandom responses, here's a little something I just wrote.

~*~

“Maybe they should hire you to play the next Bond,” Buck says and looks up from where he’s snuggled against Tommy’s side.

“Me?”

There’s that now quite familiar look of amused disbelief on Tommy’s face that Buck’s come to adore; if he’s perfectly honest, he’s said the one or other surprising and outrageous thing just to trigger it.

He bites his bottom lip, but feels the grin stretch on his lips nevertheless. “Uh-huh. I think you’d look amazing in a tux.”

Tommy huffs out a small chuckle and trains his eyes back onto the TV where Daniel Craig is wearing said tux. He looks great in it, too, but Buck is convinced Tommy would look at least ten times hotter in the same outfit.

“Too bad they don’t hire Americans for the role,” Tommy says with a soft sigh. “Although, I have been informed I can do a smashing Bri’ish accent.”

Buck snorts out a laugh. “That was terrible.”

“Hey!” Tommy retorts with fake indignation.

“It was— uh. Pretty bad. Not nearly as convincing as your fake mouth static.”

There’s a gleam of amusement in Tommy’s eyes for a second before his expression goes nearly blank. He turns his head a bit more closely towards Buck and says, “Why is it that people who can’t take advice always insist on giving it?”

For a split-second, Buck is taken aback, but just as he sees the hint of a smirk tug at one corner of Tommy’s mouth, he remembers just having heard that line in the movie a few minutes ago. He lets out another soft chuckle and rests his head back on Tommy’s shoulder.

“Okay, that was— uh— a little better.”

“Just a little? Let’s hear yours then.”

“Uh, no. I— uhm, couldn’t do a convincing ‘Bri’ish’ accent if my life depended on it.”

“Well then,” Tommy says, no longer trying to imitate an English pronunciation, “I suppose this Bond is gonna have an American ‘Bond Boy’ then.”

Buck feels another chuckle bubble up his throat, paired with a small tingling deeper in his belly — a playful excitement as he lifts his head once more. “Mr. Bond, you’re really good at faking an American accent, you know that?”

There’s just the hint of a huffed-out chuckle coming from Tommy before his face and tone turn serious again. “All part of my training. You should hear my Austrian accent,” he says in what sounds like a somewhat convincing impersonation of Arnold Schwarzenegger.

Buck can’t help but laugh at that but tries to play along. “Yeah, that— uh— that was pretty convincing. Hm. Maybe you are a spy.”

“Yeah?” Tommy asks, brows raised. “You have any valid reasons to suspect me?”

Buck pretends to think and shrugs. “Well. You showing up that closely to when Captain Jackass did? Maybe… uhm. Maybe he planted you long before to prepare his hostile takeover?”

Tommy responds with a shocked expression of mock outrage, but then sighs. “Okay. You blew my cover. I am a spy. In fact, I’ve been studying you for months.”

“Really?” Buck asks, that silly excitement once more bubbling up in his belly and chest. “So you— uh— being friends with Eddie first was part of that?”

“All just a ploy. It started earlier than that. In fact, we’ve got our own mad scientist on our side who caused the freak hurricane that capsized the cruise ship.”

“Wow. I knew it,” Buck replies, trying to swallow the giggle of amusement that wants to escape him.

“Yeah. There’s just one problem with the whole scenario,” Tommy says with another sigh.

“What’s this?” Buck asks and watches Tommy’s gaze turn softer, whatever playful pretense in it almost entirely gone now as he looks directly into Buck’s eyes.

“I’ve fallen in love with my target.”

A breath leaves Buck on its own accord, pushed out of his lungs with the swell of emotion that makes his heartbeat pick up. “Y— yeah?”

“Mhm,” Tommy nods solemnly, one hand reaching out to Buck’s neck, his thumb gently brushing along the line of his jaw as his face moves closer. “Guess I have no choice but to turn double agent now.”

Before Buck can respond, he feels Tommy’s lips on his. It’s a soft, gentle contact at first, but it takes his breath away nevertheless. Despite the little ‘roleplay’, the emotion, the affection he feels in the kiss is more real than he ever remembers it feeling with anyone before.

And then it deepens. Tommy’s stealing the breath from Buck’s lips as he licks into his mouth. There’s a huffed, trembling sound following it that Buck equally seeks to devour, and the tingling in his stomach shoots lower and runs all the way up his spine with a yearning hunger.

Holding onto Tommy’s lips for a moment longer, memorizing the taste and sensation as if he can’t get a dozen more just minutes after, Buck finally draws away. He’s shifted on the couch, half kneeling on the surface now next to Tommy, and one hand on his shoulder. A smirk forms on his lips as he lets his hand drift slowly, deliberately, down Tommy’s front to his belt buckle.

“Maybe I should blow more than just your cover?”

Tommy lets out a tiny chuckle, his brows going up a fraction with a subtle, suggestive glance.

“I knew being a spy would really pay off one day,” he says as his hand drifts to the back of Buck’s head, gently pushing him downwards.

On the TV, the Bond movie remains entirely forgotten.

[olderthannetfic]

Writing about my favorite characters as transgender has opened my eyes to how many people in fandom are able to get away with actual transphobia without other people judging them for it, and after one particularly bad experience I feel like I can't participate in fandom without constantly having to check people's profiles and social media to see whether or not they might secretly hate trans people. The fandom I currently write for is relatively small compared to others, but somehow I still manage to catch a lot of casual transphobia, especially on my higher-kudos'd works. This didn't really bother me at first since most of the comments were misinformed but rather harmless otherwise, with most asking me to write a fic where the MC medically transitions to become their "real gender" as a sequel. Those comments were written politely, but the sentiment that a person's body designates their gender bothered me a lot. I specifically present the trans characters in my fics as pre-op or non-op without dysphoria in order to feel more comfortable about my own body, and I'm really tired of reiterating the reasons why I personally won’t create a fic where the MC undergoes a full medical transition. I would be thrilled if someone else wrote that, but it’s not a concept I have any interest in executing myself.

Usually the casual transmedicalism in my comments is my only real gripe about the attitudes towards transness in my fandom, but recently I joined a major fandom discord server and found out that they had a dedicated thread for bashing my work. (Well, to be more accurate they had a bunch of threads for bashing people's works, but mine had the most messages at the time.) I should have just left at that point, but I was curious to see if there was any valid criticism because honestly I don’t get a lot of constructive feedback on my newer stuff and I wanted to see if there was anywhere I could improve. Unfortunately, it was almost entirely just really hurtful comments, with many people making assumptions about my body and offline identity, calling me a fake trans person and a chaser for the things I've written. They kept going on about how I'm fetishizing transness, how I probably just wanted an excuse to write het smut with an M/M tag on it, how I'm probably not actually a trans man but an obsessed and misguided teenage girl instead. I've been on T for over two years now, but even if I wasn’t, their belief that all bodies like mine are basically "female" was really upsetting. Maybe I just happened to stumble upon a bad crowd, but at that moment I just really felt alone. I never expected to receive that kind of vitriol in such a small fandom - I have maybe like five or so people who follow my work closely, so it's not like I'm hitting super big numbers compared to others. I understand that my work might be dysphoria-inducing for other people, but I include warnings for language at the beginning of all my fics and I'm extremely thorough about tagging all the sex acts that take place. It's easy to filter out my work via additional tags if you don’t want to see it. But no matter how many measures I take to make others feel more comfortable, they still feel like I'm taking up too much space and mucking up the tags with my fanfiction.

Part of me feels like quitting after this experience, but I'm also a spiteful bastard and I think it would haunt me forever if I stopped now lol. I'm curious to know if you or any of your followers has ever dealt with a similar situation (as in, finding out there's a bunch of people who hate your work for shitty reasons), and if you have advice on how to continue interacting with others in fandom without constantly wondering if they hate me behind closed doors. I left the server already but I'm sure there's other things I can do that I'm forgetting. Thanks for reading!!

--

There will always be people who dislike you for silly reasons, and if your fic is popular, there will be a lot of them. The only way to deal with it is to just accept that this is normal and not think about them.

[gluion]

familiarity (it’s all sticky) ➵ lee seokmin

peter parker!lee seokmin x spiderman!reader

you’re not sure why you decide to show up at your ex’s place all wounded up from tonight’s battle.

genre/warnings ➵ exes (to sort of lovers?), angst, touch of fluff, afab reader (no gendered terms), hurt/comfort (both physical and emotional), discussions of wounds and depictions of blood, lowercase intended, ghost-spider au (though please don’t expect it to be accurate!), reader is obviously spiderman while dokyeom is peter parker i mean HELLO?? i am right, dokyeom is a lil a slob here, reader’s hair is long enough to be tucked behind their ear, based everything on google when it comes to patching up wounds omg, kissing fingertips, mentions of non-sexual stripping and showering (let him take care of you)

word count ➵ 4k words

playlist ➵ nonviolent communication by metro boomin, james blake, a$ap rocky, & 21 savage // hummingbird by metro boomin & james blake

a/n ➵ my svt writing debut <3 i thought this fic would also work really well for my silly dk and i wanted caratblr to have a chance to read this lil baby of mine <3 here's the original work if you're interested! and ofc, thank you to my cat @wuahae for betareading the original :’) you know how much i love you! don't forget to reblog and leave feedback!

want to be part of my taglist? send me an ask! want to request? check out my guidelines! masterlist

new york city never falls silent. the bustle of every new yorker can be heard through their footsteps,  the wheels that glide against the train tracks along with the beeps of taxis sound throughout the city. the metropolis stays alive in every street, every alleyway, every corner. no matter what hour it may be, each pavement is wide awake.

but the lights seem hazy tonight; the luminescence pours out of every building, the led boards are only blurs of silhouettes and illegible words. normally, you would warn against going out if someone could barely make sense of what these signs say, but you never seem to follow your own advice.

as you swing through the city, web clinging onto every building, blood continues to seep through the white spandex that covers you from head to toe. your body feels heavy, the pain in your lower abdomen continuing to spike with every movement—every swing—you make.

you bite on your lip, holding back the whimpers. your eyes dart through every street sign you pass. with every swing, you realize you’re nowhere close to where you should be. instead… 

you don’t allow yourself to think it over. maybe the loss of blood has you moving out of impulse, but for now, you can only think of getting rid of the pain.

you swing around the corner before landing down at the familiar fire escape, paint-chipped and rusted just like you remember. a hiss leaves your mouth as your hand reaches out to the spot where the blood continues to seep through, holding it down to keep pressure on the wound.

you’re face-to-face with the window; the reflection of you all suited up in some persona is a sight you’re accustomed to—but not on the glass of his window. you’re not sure why you came back here, injured in an identity he only knew of through word of mouth.

but the throbbing in your abdomen doesn’t give you enough time to think more about it. pushing the window up, you throw one leg over the edge into the apartment. your eyes quickly scan through the familiar space—a room you once treated as yours.

pillows scattered and bedsheets wrinkled, the walls are littered with the same posters of anime he swears to be the best of all time (which you agreed with), along with his desk, littered with trinkets you haven’t seen since the day you left him—ones that he talked about to you back then with so much joy.

as you attempt to get your other leg over the edge of the window, you yelp at the sharp pain that strikes. “fuck,” you whimper, gasping out a breath. another groan rips out from your throat as you force your leg over, head resting on the frame with closed eyes, bracing yourself through the wave of pain that follows.

as pants continue to leave your mouth, your senses tingle as your ears catch the sound of footsteps on the other side of the room. you attempt to stand up only for another groan to leave your lips, and you realize it’s too late—the door creaks open, revealing the man you haven’t been face-to-face with since you said your farewell months ago.

dressed in an oversized white tee and a pair of black shorts, dokyeom stands with a bag of chips in his hand and disheveled hair, eyes wide and gaping. you can only assume he was fresh from bed.  

“s-spiderman?!” he looks around, noticing the mess that you’re being exposed to. before you can register it, he rushes in, dropping the bag of chips somewhere near the doorway, and tries to tidy his bed. “w-what are you doing here? i think you might’ve entered the wrong room,” he stutters as he attempts to fix his pillows and bedsheets (poorly, if you may say). 

somehow, the sight of dokyeom all frazzled makes you smile behind your mask. the idea of your—no, you mean, this guy all worried about you seeing how untidy he lives makes you chuckle.

but as you laugh, pain shoots through your lower abdomen once more. you cough out before hissing, pressing onto the wound. it takes everything in you to keep your body upright until you feel a pair of hands rest on your shoulders. you look up only to be met with his worried expression.

and you spot the way his eyes trail down to where your hand rests. you’re thankful that the mask could hide the heat that rises to your cheeks.

“oh god, you need that treated,” dokyeom’s eyes snap back up to you, and your breath hitches. even after all these months, he still holds stars in his eyes.

it’s been a while since you last saw him up close. the bags on his under eyes have turned a few shades darker, and you notice an eyelash that rests on his cheek. you don’t think about what you do next, your free hand reaching out to his face, and his breath hitches. once you pick it out, you flick the strand off of your fingers, and that’s when you realize the mistake you committed.

“s-sorry,” you choke out. although you try to keep your voice as low and gruntled as possible, he frowns. he bites the inside of his cheek as his eyes flicker between your masked face and the wound.

“i-i don’t know how to help. i can call for an ambulan—”

you grab onto his arm before he can leave. as you shake your head, he gulps. “i can’t really help you,” he says, but your grip doesn’t falter. with that, he lets out a sigh before kneeling in front of you. his hands find themselves on the ledge, his arms now caging your frail figure. “do you have someone in mind who can help you?”

dokyeom’s question is innocent. you’re sure the last thing he meant was to mock your situation—showing up in a “stranger’s” room unannounced—but it strikes a chord in you.

you haven’t spoken to him since you broke up a few months back. when you’re outside of your suit, you avoid him like the plague. in the hallways of campus, you take any possible route to not cross his. but when you’re covered in your second skin, you find yourself on top of buildings watching him from far away. with the distance, you allow yourself to learn about what he’s been up to since you two last spoke. 

so you don’t know why you sit in front of him all injured and dressed up in white, black, and pink spandex, because you haven’t spoken to him since that day. shame bubbles within you all while reality slowly slips from your fingertips. and the way your body gets heavier with every second that passes has him mumbling profanities.

his hands hold onto you as he makes you lean your weight on the frame of the window. “wait,” he says as he stands up and walks into his bathroom. before you know it, he comes out with a box.

dokyeom finds his spot back in front of you and he opens what he retrieved. as he looks through the supplies of bandages, alcohol, gauze, and more, he says as his eyes flicker up towards you, “i don’t know how much this will help but it’ll do for now.”

and you should be thankful that someone is willing to bandage you up after the rough night you’ve had, but it feels like a lie to have dokyeom be the one to do it, especially when you haven’t told him the truth.

so when he grabs onto the supplies he needs to treat your wound, your free hand reaches for the underside of your mask. his eyes follow where it rests, and he freezes in his tracks. your fingertips curl on the fabric as you take a deep breath.

“you don’t—”

you shake your head, cutting him off, and you close your eyes before pulling off the mask.

you’re afraid to look at the boy kneeling in front of you, for you can only imagine the annoyance—the disgust—that will paint his features. it’s not like you had a choice to show up at his fire escape this one night, but it was your choice to reveal who spiderman really is behind the mask.

a beat passes.

you’re not sure what to do at this moment. what are you supposed to do after a vigilante reveals who they are?

but when you open your eyes, dokyeom looks back at you with an emotion you can’t pinpoint. he averts his eyes, trailing down to your wound. “let me see it,” he whispers.

you gulp, an attempt to clear your throat and thoughts, before letting your hand move away from the puncture. your hand grips the hem of the top of your suit, peeling it upwards to reveal a bloody wound. from the sight, it looks like you were stabbed, but it’s only a deep cut.

he pulls out a piece of cloth, reaching out and pressing it to your wound. you yelp, eyes squeezing shut at the contact.  “i’m sorry, but we need to stop the bleeding a bit more.” it takes everything in you to open your eyes. you’re met with the sight of dokyeom whose face holds a thousand emotions—you can’t identify any of them.

���can you keep pressure on it?” you only nod before you remove your gloves, afraid to touch the wound with fabric covered in grime. you dump your mask and gloves on the space beside you before letting your hand reach to where the cloth is held against. your hand brushes against his for a split second—you retract your hand immediately at the contact with his skin.

at the sudden motion, the cloth against your stomach drops with nothing left to hold it. dokyeom curses in a panic, hand shooting out in an attempt to save it, but you react faster. snatching it mid-fall, you grasp it tightly, placing the cloth back onto your wound. his eyes dart between where your hand rests and your face, a twinge of worry cast on his features, but he doesn’t give you an opportunity to say anything as he stands up quickly and walks back to his bathroom.

you hear the water run for a moment. the noises of the street fill your ears. the lights from outside cascade the floor, hues of yellow and purple filling the room. and then thunder rumbles; it shakes the floorboards. the sounds of raindrops follow, and you feel your back start to get wet from the storm that has entered new york city.

you try to push yourself off the ledge, a groan ripping out of your throat once more. and you’re finally on your feet. but at any moment, it feels like you may collapse.

“wait, wait! what are you doing?” dokyeom exclaims as he rushes out of the bathroom. he quickly grabs hold of you in an attempt to keep you steady. “don’t stand up or that wound might get worse.”

“i-it’s just the rain. i don’t want to leave the window open.” as you turn your torso, another spike strikes where your wound is. the yelp that leaves your mouth has dokyeom grip onto your arm tighter.

“no, just sit. i’ll take care of it,” he says as he brings you to his chair, his hand never leaves your arm. you let out a hiss until your bottom meets the cushion. as soon as your back rests on the chair, you close your eyes for a moment from the pain.

his hand leaves you. you hear the window shut; the car horns and barks from stray animals are now muffled.

when your eyes flutter open, dokyeom crouches in front of you with a wet towel in his hand. “i need to clean it.” you only nod before removing the cloth on your wound. he grabs it from you and places it on his lap.

as he raises the wet towel to your wound, you flinch at the contact. he quickly retracts it and asks, “does it hurt?”

“no, it’s just cold,” you mumble back. he only nods before attempting to clean the area around your wound. while he keeps his eyes on the puncture, your eyes remain on his face; hues of yellow cast upon him.

his skin glows under the city lights—did anyone know about the stars you once carved on it?

“is this why we broke up?” his eyes snap toward yours as he asks that question.

you cannot help but bite the inside of your cheek. “y-yeah,” you choke out.

he hums before his eyes go back down to your injury. “i’m guessing this is why you were distant then, right?”

you don’t bother to speak, letting the silence speak for itself.

he removes the wet towel; the white cloth is covered in patches of red. as he crumples it into a ball, you spot that his white shirt holds splotches of blood as well.

dokyeom stands up to drop the pieces of fabric on the table behind you. “your dad obviously doesn’t know,” he mutters to himself.

it’s a rhetorical question. of course, your father has no clue of your late-night rendezvous. you’re sure he could never look at you the same if he found out because to him, he would never understand what you do. he would see you only as a low-life criminal in the same way the nypd does. 

dokyeom then dabs a cotton ball soaked in betadine on your abdomen. you bite on your lip as a hiss leaves your mouth. “fuck,” you curse, and he only continues to clean up your wound.

silence takes over you two. as he bandages you up, you allow yourself to close your eyes. you were thankful to find rest in these small moments. but you don’t miss the warmth of his fingertips on your skin; they feel just like last time.

“why did you come here?” his question has your eyes snapping open, and you are met with a frown resting on his face.

you bite the inside of your cheek. “i-i don’t know.” it’s a lie—one you both know. you had every chance to change the route you were taking. instead, you chose to go to his place—even if it may be on the other side of where you live.

he lets out a sigh. it’s clear that he’s disappointed by your words, but all he says is “okay,” as he gets up. “you can stay here for the night.” he stands in front of you in a shirt covered in patches of blood—it’s proof that his heart still holds a spot for you.

despite the venom that was laced in your words the night you cut ties with him, he leaves you a space for you to fill. it’s another choice you can make, but one you’re not sure if you should take.

dokyeom walks to the desk behind you and flips the lamp on. you swivel the chair so that you’re face-to-face with his slouched figure. you would’ve scolded him, but you’re not in the place to do so—not after what you two had.

but a part of you wishes to chide those words—hey, keep slouching and your back will get worse—for old time’s sake. it takes everything in you to hold back from saying the reminder, but it takes nothing to let your hand grip the back of his shirt. his movements halt.

as you sit up, you let your face bury into the arch of his back. the scent of his laundry detergent (it’s still the same smell of lavender) fills your nose, and you let your hands trail around his torso until they find their home on his waist. even after all these months, your hands knew where to rest—your spidey senses knew who to go to.

you feel his hands rest on your arms, his thumb drawing circles on your forearm. you breathe at the same pace as him. whenever his shoulders move up, yours follow. and you allow yourself to cherish just this once the familiar warmth of dokyeom. you let your soul mesh with his once more.

with closed eyes, you whisper, “i still look for you.” his thumb stops moving, and a shaky breath leaves your mouth. “i’m here because all i know is you.”

it’s half of a lie, but still a lie nevertheless. you shake your head against his shirt. “no,” you rescind. “i know i shouldn’t be here, and i had every chance to go back home, but,” you take a deep breath. “would you let me, just this once, be honest with you?”

your question hangs in the air—it’s not for him but for you. all the choices you took led to this moment, from embracing the persona you were handed through a single spider bite all the way to removing the mask in front of him.

dokyeom spins to face you. he stands in front of you with the remnants of you covering him, his shirt coated in hues of red and your blood dried up on his hands. the light behind him causes a shadow to paint his face.

but when he kneels once more in front of you, you get a good look at his features. he still looks like the same boy you first met—the same one you fell in love with—but you wonder if he was still the one you knew?

that is until his hand reaches toward your face. you hold your breath as it finds its spot on your cheek. but as his thumb grazes your cheekbone, a trembling breath leaves you. you gulp everything down—your fears and anxieties—so that you can finally be honest with dokyeom.

“i wanted to tell you who i really am.” a flicker of confusion flashes through his eyes. “and i know i’m not doing it in the best state,” a chuckle leaves your mouth. “but with every day that passes, and every injury i need to endure, i didn’t know when i would be able to tell you what went wrong with us.” a beat passes. “what went wrong with me.”

he shakes his head. “nothing’s wrong with you. what are you talking about?” a frown takes over his face. “i mean, you’re spiderman, for god’s sake.” you weren’t able to hold back the giggle that slipped from your lips.

but it wouldn’t be fair to just accept his words as is, not after the damage you’ve caused.

you let a hand rest on his, the one that rests on your cheek, and you curl your fingers so that you hold it. “i’m sorry that this is me.” the whisper is loud enough to fill the silence of his room. “i’m sorry that i crashed here all injured and left you to deal with the mess,” your eyes flicker to his bed. “especially on a night when you were resting.”

as soon as your eyes go back to dokyeom, you notice that he’s biting the inside of his cheek. “why are you telling me this?” it’s an honest question, one he couldn’t figure out the answer to. “we haven’t seen each other since you broke up with me.”

and he has every right to be confused with your sudden appearance. after all the months spent avoiding him in the halls while still seeking him on top of buildings, dokyeom was left with no clue as to why you come to him first in such a dire situation. why is it that you chose to reveal such an intimate part of yourself months after you two have drifted?

“do i have to say it?” you ask.

and he looks back into your eyes before saying, “it’s the least you can do.”

so you grab onto his hand, moving it so that it rests in yours. the sight of his fingers and palms covered in splotches of you fills your heart with warmth. it’s proof of the time he spent to patch you up. no matter who you may be—spiderman or not—you will forever be at his mercy.

“we can’t be together. it will only be another cycle of pain.” for both of you. as your eyes land back on his face, you spot sorrow coating his features.

“but i still do.” it’s an unfinished thought on his end. despite the frown you show, all he does is flash you a bitter smile. “i always have and always will.”

and it clicks.

“n-no, dokyeom,” you shake your head. “you can’t.”

he brings your hand close to his lips, letting it linger for a moment. “but you do,” he whispers into your fingertips. “right?”

even after revealing who spiderman truly is behind the mask, you expect dokyeom to rethink everything he knows. the months spent away from you should be enough reason to reconsider how much he knows of you now. but even if you two were to spend years apart, he would still read you as well as he does now. 

“i can’t,” you choke out. “i can only offer so much, and you deserve so much more.”

he smiles at you—the same one you used to see every day, no matter what time of the day it may be—as his free hand reaches for your hair, tucking it behind your ear.

“i couldn’t care any less.”

you shake your head. it’s clear he doesn’t understand the gravity of it all; to be with you means to remain in constant danger. “no, dokyeom. you don’t understand. i broke up with you because i’m batshit scared of what will happen to you.”

because it seems to always occur��anyone you come close to becomes another target for your enemies. it’s already hard enough to handle the responsibility of being a masked hero, but you don’t think you could handle a possibility where dokyeom’s death would be on your hands.

but all he does is shake his head and says, “i don’t care. i still love you.”

you haven’t heard him say that to you in months. such a simple phrase causes warmth to fill your limbs and heat to rise to your cheeks. he still has the same effect on you after so long.

there are consequences that this conversation bears. you should have stood up and left as soon as he patched you up. it should’ve been obvious that the longer you stayed, the more you would pour out sentiments that you tried to keep under wraps—under the mask—and it seemed that dokyeom knew how to undo them even better than he did then.

and hearing dokyeom say those words has you falling into a perpetual cycle of torment, one that makes every day intolerable for you can only watch him from afar. but aren’t you already living it the more you deny what’s in front of you two?

so you only nod, and bring his hand close so you can feel his fingertips on your lips. with closed eyes, you whisper, “okay.”

it’s a testament to everything—one to his offer to let you sleep in this very room you once treated as yours, one to his confession that tilted your world’s axis, one to the very situation you’re in—and you’re sure he knows it, too.

he smiles as soon as your eyes flutter open. “let’s go to sleep.”

you know that sleep meant to be wrapped in his arms all while he would leave kisses on your temple. you don’t remember the last time you got enough rest, but you remember that the last time you slept in dokyeom’s arms was the last one you were able to fall into slumber at ease.

so you nod, allowing him to help you out of the chair. and he helps you through it all—shedding the suit off of you, cleaning you of all the grime from tonight’s adventure, and getting dressed in fresh clothes—until you two find your place on his bed.

nothing is said for the rest of the night. for once, you drift into slumber without any secrets stashed away.

taglist ➵ @kflixnet @blankjournal

[brisquad-unit-4402]

Hey! If possible, could you write doppio dropscythe x reader dating headcanons? Maybe the reader is also a vtuber in nijisanji rn, but it’s a secret from the internet?

i had this draft since the cheftective era and haven’t touched it in a few months, i’m not so sure why, especially since it was almost done... if it seems dated then that's why. thank you for your patience anon, i loved writing for doppio! he's very difficult but very fun!

tags: established relationship, fluff, gender neutral reader, lore compliant, reader is a vtuber, reader is an xsoleil student, secret relationship/getting caught, pet names

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

🐣 Doppio Dropscythe

It's funny, because at a first glance, Doppio seems like the type of guy that takes what he wants. He's never shied away from who he is and wears his heart on his sleeve; one of the many reasons you fell for him.

But he doesn't. You collab often with him and you can tell there's something unsaid between you two, or something more underneath the surface-level entertainment. Something that goes beyond the audience's heads.

It's not quite a certainty but you're convinced you need to do something. It's just that as streamers, especially streamers that work under a corporation, you want to know exactly what to do.

You end up talking to Ver for advice. As the President of Xsoleil, he's a good listener, especially since you know how close he and Doppio are. He wouldn't dare judge you when his friend's own feelings are on the line as well as yours.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You enter the Xsoleil student council office. As expected, Ver swivels around in a big leather office chair that makes him look more imposing than his dorky-sweet-tooth personality ever could. "Reader, it's good to see you. I liked your stream last Friday. How can I help you?"

"Nothing business. I'm here to ask about Doppio."

At the mention of his name Ver leans back in his chair, and you tense. You explain yourself: how lucky you are to work with him, how wonderful of a man he is, and how much you care about him. It spills out of you like water in a strainer. You've kept your feelings bottled up for so long, and Ver has such an accepting energy that makes you want to uncover everything you've been hiding. After all, if anyone could give you approval and advice on your feelings about Doppio, it would be the president himself.

By the time you finish, however, he seems far less surprised than you expected. "You should tell him."

"But what if-"

"Just do it." He presses his fingers between his eyes like he's alleviating a headache. "Trust me on this one. Please. Hopefully if you do so within the next week, Meloco's earnings from the betting pool will go back into our funding."

Somehow, that doesn't surprise you, and you're too happy they approve to get frustrated. You request Ver's blessing. He obliges. "Not that you need it. We're just happy there's someone out there for him." Ver's eyes glint. "Treat him right. If you don't, I'll be very disappointed. And Kotoka will start a smear campaign on Instagram."

"Duly noted, Kaichou."

"And he'd be sad."

"Can you trust me too?" You ask. Ver nods. "That's the last thing I want to do. If we're going to do this, I want to make sure I give him everything he deserves."

"Good answer." He smiles, like everything's fallen into place. "I meant what I said, you didn't need my blessing, but you definitely have it now."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

When you finally muster up the courage to ask Doppio out, it's like he forgets to talk. In fact, he does. He sputters out happy noises that don't even make up sentences for a solid minute before he remembers how to say "yes."

Doppio makes a lot of noises even when he does know how to talk, and it might be one of the most endearing things about him. You've lovingly started calling them Doppi-noises simply because no one reacts quite like how Doppi reacts. He’s so silly and there isn’t a single word in the English language to describe how silly he is.

He even talks to inanimate objects sometimes when he's alone. It's not much different from how he talks in front of others, but his voice is lower and gentler, and when he realizes you could hear him thank his oven for preheating and the mixing bowls for not spilling ingredients, he spouts out a flustered Doppi-noise with averted eyes and red along his face.

Hanging out with your boyfriend is never boring. He brings so much energy wherever he goes that anything becomes a story, including seemingly mundane things like studying.

Whenever you go grocery shopping he somehow always remembers that one thing you mentioned a few days ago that you wanted to buy but didn't put on the list, and buys it with his own money to give to you, but he doesn't remember to get his own stuff sometimes??

The amount of times Doppio bought you a snack or found a good deal on a candy you've been craving, but forgot to buy hand soap... he usually runs by himself to the store, grabs whatever he forgot, and then comes back to your door nearly out of breath.

Doppio always makes you laugh. He's so goofy when he tries to be, and so earnest when he's serious that his charm is never lost on you. He likes to make you smile.

On the days when your lives as Xsoleil students and streamers get too busy to pay attention to one another, you tend to watch his VODs while you work, and you can pretend like it's just another domestic day where you both tend to your own chores while still enjoying shared company.

You take a fifteen-minute break to reset your brain from working so hard, and you hear Doppio on stream offhandedly mention something with a giggle, and you cackle when you realize it's an inside joke you both share. Then you notice no one in chat even pays attention to what he just said, and you laugh out loud even more. Even when you're apart, he's still thinking about you. He's loyal to a fault.

To this day Doppio still tweets his nonsensical ramblings. But sometimes you reply to them like you understand exactly what he's trying to say! You roll with his humor so well and so quickly after he tweets sometimes, that not only are your fans totally surprised you can comprehend him, but some of your other coworkers in Nijisanji have to ask you to translate what he's saying.

Confession incoming: most of the time you don't understand entirely. But when he checks Twitter and notices the reply from you, his face lights up, and rolling with it makes him bright as a sunbeam. To be fair, you get a lot of his jokes that no one else does. You know how to quip with him and he appreciates it a lot.

Doppio's energy is always infectious, but only so intense when he wants to be. He's always uniquely himself, but he can chill out, and he appreciates when he can. The D in Doppio Dropscythe stands for Downtime!

The whole chuuni thing isn't an act—that's just how he is—but sometimes it's nice when he doesn't need to constantly proclaim his position as the Duke of Discipline. Sometimes it's nice to know he can come home to his Devoted that already knows he's the greatest cheftective out there no matter what he does.

By the way, when you're alone by yourselves, he calls you his Devoted. You think it's so dramatic for the little moments and he thinks it's a bit embarrassing, but neither of you have figured out another word for "lover" that starts with a D, so, Devoted it is.

(Meanwhile you call him Doppippi. Not so chuuni, and you don’t call him that regularly—too mushy—but you swear his face gets a little more colorful whenever you call him by that name.)

It nearly drives you insane how cute Doppio can be. Here he is, one of the tallest and fittest people you know, with piercings and eyeliner and messy hair, and pointed eyes that scream punk rock energy—but he coos at any animal he sees and sticks out his tongue a little whenever he's concentrating on a game, and he turns pink as your hand brushes against the inside of his wrist.

But at the same time, he's still such a badass that you can't resist him. He likes to mess around and tease you, and he knows how to use his appeal to his advantage. It’s no secret he has a sadistic streak, either.

It’s the best of both worlds. He’s so hardcore that it makes the gap moe even more effective when he decides to be cute, and when he's soft and silly it just serves as even harder whiplash when he acts cool.

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

You entered Doppio's streaming room with a glass of water and a light snack, and exchanged a few words while Doppio was typing out a before-stream message on his waiting screen.

So how did you get here, a finger wired under his collar to bring him closer, his hands eager as they clutch around the shirt on your back?

You kiss him, hungry and stupid, drawn to his magnetism. His teeth are pointed. They leave imprints on your tempted mouth, dragging magma over your thoughts, the blind come-ons that dusted over what makes sense. The stream should be starting soon but you can’t find it in yourself to resist.

Steam rises where Doppio hangs his tongue along yours, and so do his hands, large palms rubbing up your back and fingers on your shoulders. You’ve learned that he purrs when pleased; a soft, soothed groan pours from the corners of curved lips. Like an engine muffled by your connection.

You readjust, parting just enough to speak, though your words bounce back into his mouth. “You should prepare for the stream.”

“Done.” He holds you along your neck next, ready to go another round.

“Your Scythekicks are going to get lonely.”

“But I don’t wanna stop kissing you.”

“I don’t want to either,” you say. “I mean, you can always delay by fifteen.”

“I’ll send the message in chat, ‘kay?”

Even though the keyboard is just inches away, Doppio still brings you in with a loose arm around your shoulder and neck. Your forehead presses up to his cheek, not quite a hug but just as casually intimate. He removes his arm when he places a quick smooch to your temple.

By now all of Xsoleil’s vtuber talents are pros at sending delay messages and Doppio is no exception. The keys clack along in a steady cadence, until the tapping patters out, slowly and surely, with gaps of space between every keystroke.

It’s comedic like everything Doppio does whether he knows it or not. One final key sounds out before your boyfriend folds his hands over his mouth, and lets out a tiny “Huh?”

He stares at the screen. It’s strange to see him this motionless. You’re not too concerned, until you watch his head sink into his hands. “Er, Doppippi? You alright?”

Doppio buries his head a little bit further. It muffles him as he softly chants. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no.”

“What’s the matter?”

“No no no no no no no no noooo.”

"Did something happen?" You pat his head comfortingly, before looking back up at the screen, where he was typing into chat. "It usually isn't this difficult for you to send a message..."

Metamrph: HELLO??

sola: TSKR

🐣 AikosVoid: READER AND DOPPIO

AKENJIV: no way taht jsut happened imgcrying

eurelin mystic: SHIP CONFIRMED 💖💖💖

rin: WHAT DID I MISS IM LATE

~tiaramiisu~: should i give u kids some privacy lol

in-d4krness: READER HAS MAIDENS

"...Ah."

Doppio groans. You wish you could groan too, but your throat goes too dry to make a sound. The floor can't swallow you up fast enough.

"Um, I, uhhh," you say eloquently. "S-surprise?"

You've never seen the chat go this fast for so long. You can barely read individual messages before they speed away to make room for new ones.

messXed-up!: CLIPPERS GET YOUR CAMERAS

kierri: doppippi is such a cute pet name help

AKENJIV: this is crazy

sola: AAAAAAA

lunasmortas: CONGRATS 💜💜💜

A normal broom: are reader and pio dating???

You nearly choke on your spit despite the moisture leaving your mouth. "Dating?"

By now, Doppio flopped down in his chair so much that he's flat against the desk. Even though embarrassment crawls down your back, your hand rubs his head and shoulders as reassurance while you continue. "Maybe we should've announced that we were dating sooner."

At that Doppio launches straight up in his seat like a bamboo shoot. "Yeah, but I wanted to do a special stream for it, and take viewers' questions and give bad love advice and have a column name like Doppi's Dreamy Passionland and then announce that we're together at the end!" His eyes squeeze shut as he spits out his thoughts, pink washing over his cheeks the more he talks. "But-but-but what's the point of the Scythekicks knowing I have rizz if they can tell I'm not a whiz?"

You know the blood is rushing to your head too, but even now, your shoulders raise as you giggle. "You know our fans would be supportive whether you had a stream or not."

"But the contenttttt," he whines. He blinks to life with a pout and puppyish eyes, a sign that he's being dramatic for the sake of being dramatic. There's no hiding the fact that you're both mortified, but at least you know just as well as he does that he'll bounce back.

"Content later, whatever this is, now." You sheepishly look back at the screen. "Um, thanks for coming, everyone. How about, uh, Doppio and I take a thirty minute delay and we'll get back to you if the stream is still on the agenda."

You don't wait for any answers before you finish Doppio's half-written delay message, pin it to chat, and make triple-sure that the mic is muted this time.

Doppio rests his cheek on his palm, squishing his blush. "I could've done the stream, you know."

"Okay, but do you really want to after that fiasco?"

He averts his eyes, then relinquishes. "...Touché."

"Thought so," you say. "So what do you want to do now?"

"Nothing." Doppio slumps over and places his head on your shoulder, too exhausted to wrap his arms around you even though he leans into the fabric of your shirt and the body heat underneath it. "Let's just not do nothing."

So you take the initiative instead, and hold him properly, letting him sink like a weighted blanket. "You know, that was embarrassing, but if I can say? I'm glad they know we're an item."

He rests in the crook of your neck, letting you envelop him while tired hands lay on your back. "About time they figure out I'm yours." Your scent fills his nose and warms his blush, and even though he thought he was at his weakest on stream, he still finds his reservations breaking down as you let him be vulnerable, just for this moment. "But can't you be mine? Just for now."

You hug him tighter. "Always."

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ masterpost ✧. ┊ kofi

[drchucktingle]

mr. dr. chuck, i'm a few months ago i told a doc of mine that i believe i'm on the spectrum (after yeeeears of considering all the reasons why i thought so) and she agreed with me. then i came to some conclusions about members of my family. then i started melting down and haven't really recovered.

i'm in my 30's, but my life feels like it's been the mistake-addled 24th year for over a decade. people, choices, wants, they feel like things that were silly blips and not of much substance. i'm tired and my body hurts, so it feels harder to get to things i need. doctors don't seem like they can be trusted because of all the other ways i show up in the world.

i'm worried about my life and my future, and it feels like my magic is gone (or that i can't touch it right now). do you have any words of wisdom for someone who found out this really big thing about themselves kind of late?

thank you.

hello buckaroo thank you for writing. first of all i will say MOST IMPORTANT thing to remember is that it is okay and valid to FEEL the way that you feel. your reaction to this news or any news really is not wrong. that does not mean you cant wish for another reaction or WORK TOWARDS another reaction, but in grand cosmic sense this is just your way. YOUR TROT IS VALID and we all have our own unique way. sometimes that path is an easy path with sunny days and smiles and a glorious view, and sometimes it is through the darkness of shadows or crawling through the old bog. we can PREFER one path over the other, but neither is WRONG.

when giving advice old chuck tries to not PROJECT what i think YOU should do because that is not really the point. this is your trot to trot and i do not think it is my place to act like some authority of your way. what chuck can do is tell you MY story of diagnosis and how it made ME feel and maybe you can take little pieces of that for yourself.

chuck learned of way on autism spectrum when i was in early twenties by doctor who said 'yes this is your way'. when i learned of my spectrum way my reaction was: wow this is very very cool i am so lucky because all of my heroes are autistic and now i am in this RADICAL CLUB. we are special and unique and DANG what a treat wish i could have a membership card in my wallet to show all my buds.

now obviously this is not everyones reaction, but as starting off point i wonder what it would have meant to my future if the news would have HIT ME IN A BAD WAY. if i would have felt let a dang robot alien who didnt belong. maybe id be swimmin through the bog ever since.

thing is I LIKE ROBOT ALIENS they are very cool. doctor did not MAKE me different, i was different already, our talks just popped a nice little name on it for me to take or leave. i took the name proudly because DATA from stars trek (certified robot alien) is exactly how i already felt and dang what a cool character and dang what a great life. so was DAVID BYRNE. so was every cool buckaroo artist that i liked. cowboys are OUTSIDER HEROES and that is how my autism makes me feel.

so like i said, i do not know about YOUR way, but MY WAY of hearing this news was heaps of joy and excitement. i will also say that it is very DIFFICULT to find this reaction later if your first leap is feeling in a sad way about it. so maybe if you want to trot back in your mind to those first few steps it would be helpful. maybe mentally trot to where you were pushed off a dang cliff and think "well was i pushed off a cliff or was i just told 'hey bud youve been floating this whole time?"'

because if youve been floating then DANG thats a lot of power. thats not falling. you can float up, you can float down, you can float side to side.

the next thing i will say AS AND ARTIST is that years of toiling and feeling aimless are NEVER actually aimless when it comes to creation. and to LIVE in a human body is to be an artist, because you are CONSTANTLY CREATING the future. when i am writing and i dont have an idea for my next book that can be frustrating, but it is also PART of the process. if i walk to the store to rustle up my mind, or wander around the park, or spend a whole WEEK feeling weird because of writers block THAT IS ALL PART OF MAKING GREAT ART. that is not wasted time. in other words, your years of toiling are not wasted time, that is just the process we all have when we are creating a future masterpiece.

[homunculus-argument]

hey there! this sounds like a bit of a silly question, but as a trans guy, you’re one of the few trans people i’ve been following almost since i joined tumblr, so based on your other anon ask and answer i figured i’d pop in and ask if you have any advice? if you want to answer, ofc :) — i foresee this being a bit long, so i totally get if not

so i’m also a trans guy, but i haven’t been able to take any steps toward medical transitioning before since i live with my parents. but i’ll move out soon, and i still can’t decide if i should take any of these steps even once i do. i’ve never felt like i particularly wanted to medically transition (i don’t really care about how my body looks + i’ve never really cared about changing any of it), but i would like to be seen a guy — i don’t mind if not so by strangers, but maybe so by like, my friends. but i can’t help but feel like i’d be laughed at for wanting that — i’m not naturally androgynous or masculine looking to others and i have never been mistaken for a guy, because i have really long hair, d cups, and curves. and without medically transitioning, i also kinda feel like i’m… betraying the trans community, since i’m not really putting the effort into my transition and so i’m just ‘pretending’, even though i do know i’m not.

so my question would be: as a trans person who has transitioned, socially and medically, do you think people are more understanding than i think they are currently? do you know of any trans people who don’t want to medically transition, and do you think it’s possible to live fulfilled that way? or even: do you think it would be easier for someone like me to just live a lie? i usually tell people i’m a lesbian, because they definitely would not look at me and assume ‘straight guy’, but also, as a trans person who doesn’t want to medically transition, i’m just always worried that i won’t be taken seriously. i feel like your experience of being trans and probably interacting with the community is much more than mine, which is why i ask this last one — i would try being open myself, but again, i’m still living with my parents unfortunately.

I'll be honest I don't actually really know much "community" save for former art school classmates. I've only known one trans person irl who chose not to medically transition - at the time, Finland's trans law was still shitty and required sterilisation for legal sex change, and all that. She didn't want kids or anything, but refused to engage in the process as her own little personal civilian protest. I don't want to paint some caricature picture of some Sharp Dommy Tall Scary Goth Trans Anarchist, but I was deeply impressed by the way she didn't do a single thing to try to seem smaller, softer, or in any way submissive or docile to be ~feminine~ the right, socially accepted way.

She wasn't just taller than most men but usually the tallest person in the room, and she stood out in a crowd of cis women like a crane in a chicken coop - a bird just as much as they are, but a different kind of bird. And I remember thinking that I could never do that, being so unflinching and unhesitant about standing out in the crowd because assimilating and muting yourself is beneath your dignity.

Honestly, I don't know what to tell you about being openly trans without transitioning medically, save for that it takes more guts than being able to just go stealth. I had physical dysphoria about the way my body was, and was desperate to get top surgery just for the sake of my own physical comfort, and I like the convenient anonymity of being able to just be Just Some Guy who doesn't attract anyone's interest or curiosity.

It's a smart move to not come out to your parents before you're out of their house and not relying on them for anything - this is something everyone should use their own judgement for, but I stress it to every queer kid to not take the risk if there's any chance that they'll react poorly while they still have power over you. But living your whole life in the closet - "living a lie" is a good way to put it - will corrode you from the inside.

It's better to live in peace with yourself and against the world, than in peace with the world against yourself. There is absolutely nothing in your power that you could do to change the minds of people who have already decided that they don't respect you, and if they try telling you that they would, if you only met their approved criteria, they are lying. That's bait they're dangling in front of you, and there's no "earning" the respect of such people.

Stay true to yourself and be good to people, and you'll have the respect of people who are capable of respecting you. Don't waste your time and energy on people who won't respect you, every thought and effort you spare them is wasted on them.

[iraprince]

do u have any advice for those that want to run a quest?

it feels a LEETLE silly answering this when all my own are currently on hiatus bc i got busy (SORRY TO CALLIST0 READERS LOL) BUT!!! yes i do. i have only ever run quests/interactive comics on the site questden, so i guess as a baseline this will kind of all be geared towards that, but i think most of this should translate to any hosting situation

you have to be cool with your plots branching and mutating in unexpected ways, and you have to be willing to play ball with your readers. quests are a collaboration between the author and the audience. it often feels a lot like gming a tabletop campaign (and that's the origin!! questden, specifically, was originally an offshoot of /tg/.) -- we've all had or heard about bad GMs who view their position as that of a narrative dictator who exists to punish and prod a captive group of players thru their own personal novel, but a good GM is interested in telling stories as a group. u have final say and have to stay true to the important stuff abt ur story, but if u get mad or frustrated when ur readers want to explore something "off topic" or aren't following the threads of ur narrative the way u expected them to, u don't actually want to run a quest, u just want to make a webcomic w mandatory comments. (the flip side of this is: consider if the story u want to make is the right one for an interactive quest. if it is REALLY important to u that the plot beats of a story go a certain way, maybe save it for a medium where u have more control!)

keep it loose and fast. the art does not matter. i am rly guilty of not following this one, but i still think it's really important! one of the things i like best about quests is the barrier to entry is very low and you SHOULD be able to start and maintain one very quickly. if i were better at keeping my art scrabbly and sketchy and loose, my stuff would not go on hiatus as often as it does. draw fast! it's NICE if the art is gorgeous to look at and definitely will draw readers, but it's way better if the art is simple enough that you can update frequently and without much stress. the quality of ur writing + character building, and whether u are telling a story that's engaging and that ur readers feel meaningfully involved in, is 100000x more important than the art.

on the more nitty gritty side: try to have a hook in each update. one of the most common reasons suggestions die off is readers being unsure of what they're supposed to do next. sure, too much spoonfeeding could end up feeling like railroading, and you don't have to end every single update by getting right in their faces and yelling "WHAT DO YOU DO NEXT??", but when you finish an update try to take a second to put yourself in a reader's shoes and see if there's an obvious next step. is there a course of action to decide on/debate, are there clear questions they can ask an npc, etc -- i can't think of a great way to describe it, but you want to avoid ending an update on a note where the player character and readers are basically sitting there looking at each other like "um... okay. that's that, then." some ppl even just end all their updates w multiple choice options, which is a super simple way to keep things moving if it fits the style of what ur doing. if you don't want it to be that overt but you still can't think of a way for there to be a clear hook, you can at least try to leave a little nudge in the narration that invites the readers to try to tie whatever they've just done/learned back into the pc's main goals/motivations or current tasks. (on this subject, VERY useful for your main character to have a very specific goal or end destination that everyone is on the same page abt. it's harder for your plot to lose momentum if you can always point at what your readers are supposed to be moving toward!)

finally: KEEP UPDATING EVEN IF YOU GET VERY FEW/NO SUGGESTIONS. it's a niche genre. questden is a small website. it's hard to get people to read something new, especially if it's in a new and unfamiliar format (and especially especially when it's on a website that looks like a chanboard lmao). picking up readers takes a long time, and a lot of people lurk without suggesting (ESPECIALLY if it's a difficult/plot-important decision, and also especially in the opposite, if it's a very obvious next step and someone else has already commented what most ppl would say). it's very tempting to want to wait for more suggestions bc u "only" have one or two, and then that wait becomes stagnation, and then you're frustrated and u end up dropping the quest bc "nobody cares." instead u just have to push thru!!!! u only have two suggestions and u wish u had more? maybe next update u'll get more. u have NO suggestions and u feel like that means ur quest is dead in the water? NOPE! the solution is to update again, bc maybe ppl with latch on more and have something to say in the next scene. the more u update ur quest, the more u'll be able to talk abt it (and maybe get more readers), and specifically in the case of questden the more ur thread will be bumped to the front page. think abt how many times you've seen ppl talking abt a webcomic or a book and thought "i need to check that out eventually...." but it takes months for you to actually do it. 99.9999% of the time, ppl need to see something MULTIPLE TIMES before they check it out!! most readers do not come from clicking something the very first time they see it!! i know it can feel lonely and discouraging, but u owe it to ur art and the stories u want to tell to keep trying, even if engagement is very low at first, otherwise you're killing it before it's even had a chance. like, get shameless about it. ask your buddies to comment on your quest. but give that horse a few really good whacks before you decide it's dead!! i think that's my main thoughts. if you have any more specific questions i'm happy to help if i can! but also i think you'll learn the most by just jumping in and fucking around. quests are easy to pick up and easy to drop, and imo do really well as a playground where u test different ways to draw and tell stories, so might as well just get messy.

[marimbles]

Forgot to post my piece for Residents of the Wild, a zine focused on NPCs from BotW! This is basically my silly version of the sand boots side quest from BotW. (Shoutout to @botwdialogue for documenting all the dialogue for the entire quest—that was such a helpful reference! X)

Word count: 2k

These Boots Are Made for Jogging (in the Sand)

What’s the best way for a strapping single guy to show off his lady-catching sand boots?

Jog around on the sand. Duh.

So that’s what Bozai did, day after day, circling Gerudo Town like a fashionable, sporty hawk. Sure, it was exhausting. And sweet Hylia, it was hot—even when he downed chilly elixirs around the clock. But eventually, it would all be worth it, when he caught the eye of the perfect woman.

… Right?

Bozai slowed to a stop by the southern entrance of the town, where a pair of gorgeous yet imposing Gerudo guards flanked the doorway.

“Hey,” he panted. “Nice day, isn’t it, ladies?”

The guards glared down at him.

“Move along, voe,” one of them said gruffly. “If you loiter, we’ll assume ill intent.”

Bozai laughed. “Hey, I’m not trying to sneak in—I promise! I just want to chat. Care to join me on a jog?”

“We have no interest in chatting,” the other guard said, voice cold. “We must remain at our post. Besides, we would easily outpace you. Your legs are short and stumpy.”

“Come on, ladies, that’s not very—”

But then two sharp spears were pointed right at his chest, so he had no choice but to drop it.

Bozai sighed and jogged away, trying to ignore how sore he was. He had to keep jogging. His dream girl was waiting for him! (Probably.)

He rounded the corner, and someone nearly ran into him. Someone a full head shorter than him, with long, blonde hair and big, blue eyes, and—

“Oh.” Bozai blinked. “It’s just a guy.”

A Hylian guy, with a weirdly pretty face and a slew of weapons strapped to his back. He gazed silently up at Bozai, expressionless.

“Saw me running around, huh?” Bozai shifted his backpack. “See, I heard Gerudo women liked a guy in sand boots …”

(Of course, it was the shoe salesman who told him that, but that guy had a hot wife, so Bozai would have to be an idiot not to take his advice about women.)

The stranger looked down at Bozai’s feet. “Sand boots?”

“Yeah! They let you walk normally on sand,” Bozai said proudly. “What do you think? Jealous, right?”

Blondie’s face stayed blank, like he wasn’t even impressed with Bozai’s amazing, manly, one-of-a-kind sand boots. Did he somehow miss what Bozai said? Or was he just stupid?

“Gimme those boots,” the stranger demanded.

Bozai took a step back. Okay, apparently he impressed this weirdo too much.

“Not cool!” Bozai said. “Look, these are super rare. Mayyybe I’d consider giving them to you if you were a girl, but a guy? NO.”

Blondie did not look at all deterred by Bozai’s devastating rejection. In fact, he looked kind of determined. Or maybe … amused? It was hard to tell, with that weird, stoic face of his. He was starting to creep Bozai out.

Bozai cleared his throat. “I’m busy here. Get lost!”

He pushed past the guy and resumed his jog. Man, why did he have to run into a weirdo like that? Why was it never a cute girl waiting for him around the corner?

Bozai’s eyes locked on the approaching corner of the city wall. Maybe there would be a cute girl waiting for him. What would he say to her? He should plan it out, just in case.

’Sup, girl? Name’s Bozai. But you can just call me Dream Guy. Heh.

At that point, he would run his fingers through his dark, silky locks (which were not that silky, to be honest, since his bangs were perpetually plastered to his forehead).

Ugh. That wouldn’t work. He couldn’t be suave and sexy when he was all sweaty. But where was a guy supposed to take a bath in the middle of the desert?

Bozai turned the corner and stumbled to a stop. A figure stood in his path.

A female figure.

There was no mistaking it this time. She was Hylian, but she wore the delicate silk of the Gerudo, her stomach and shoulders bare. Even with a veil covering her lower face, Bozai could tell she was beautiful.

“Sa-sa-sa … sa’votta!” he stammered. (Was that the right word? Or should it have been sav’saaba?)

The girl did not reply. She just watched him over her veil, her eyes bright and piercing. Bozai’s heart did a strange little flip.

“The name’s Bozai,” he said quickly. “I’m thirty-five, single, and I love jogging. Especially on sand.”

Not the best intro in the world, but not bad either. It was nothing that couldn’t be saved by the power of The Boots. Bozai shuffled his feet for good measure, so the beautiful stranger would be sure to look down at them.

“Nice sand-jogging!” she said.

Gotcha.

“Ah, you noticed these old things?” Bozai attempted to sweep his bangs back in a cool, carefree way, but they just clumped together awkwardly instead. He launched into a description of The Boots before the girl could decide he was lame and walk away.

“So, anyway, if you want to check them out, we could grab a quiet corner and—”

“Gimme those boots,” the girl ordered.

Bozai blinked. He must have had sand in his ears, because for a moment, she sounded almost like that weirdo from before.

The girl stared him down. She even sort of looked like him now, with those intense blue eyes and that golden-blonde hair. But Bozai was surely coming down with some sort of heat sickness—because surely this desert goddess had nothing in common with that sulky creep! (Not to mention, she was a girl.)

Bozai squinted at her against the sunlight.

“Um … well … here’s the thing …” he began.

Wait. This is a golden chance to woo her!

“I mean—sure!” he said hastily. “I’d love to give them to you, you hungry little boot monster!”

It was a cute nickname, right? Maybe that’s what he’d call her when they were married, holding hands while they jogged across all kinds of surfaces—sand, snow, grass, rock. Maybe they’d even jog over water together. Or lava! That would be extra romantic. Someone had to invent lava boots, right?

Focus, Bozai!

He straightened, standing as tall as he could in his sand boots (which, unfortunately, was not very tall. The guards were right about his legs being short and stumpy).

“But first, a favor.” He paused for dramatic effect. “Ever heard of the legend of the eighth heroine?”

Immediately, the girl was captivated.

Gotcha again, Bozai thought.

A few minutes later, he’d handed over his trusty snow boots—which he hated to do, really, but it was all in the name of love. The girl would be back in a few days, anyway, because even in snow boots, the Gerudo Highlands were treacherous. No sane person would actually scale those cliffs and hike through all that snow just to see an old statue no one was sure even existed. Pretty soon, she’d realize that she’d much rather hang out with the handsome guy in the sand boots than freeze to death.

Bozai settled under the shade of the tent at the front of the town to wait.

“See you soon, Goldie,” he whispered to himself, and then he drifted off to sleep, dreaming of blue eyes and lava boots.

Goldie was not back in a few days.

A whole week went by, and there was no sign of her. Bozai fretted and frowned and fussed, and the nerves made him even sweatier than usual. But there was nothing he could do. Had Goldie fallen off a cliff? Or turned into a beautiful, tragic ice sculpture?

Or maybe she’d just taken his boots and run off, laughing at how stupid he was for thinking he ever had a chance with her. (That one made him so depressed that he tried flirting with the guards again, if only to give him a different rejection to brood over for an hour.)

Just when he’d almost lost hope completely, a familiar pair of eyes was blinking up at him.

Bozai gasped. “Oh, thank goodness! You made it back safely!”

He was so relieved that he couldn’t even think about acting cool. Instead, he found himself confessing the lie of the eighth heroine, apologizing, blabbing about his feelings—basically, rambling like an idiot. He was on the verge of getting on his knees and swearing his allegiance as her eternal protector when she held up a hand.

“Found it.”

She was trying to make him feel better. Which was sweet, but Bozai didn’t deserve that. He tried to tell her so, but she shoved a small, rectangular something in his face.

“Look at this!”

Bozai stared. There, on the rectangle, was an impossibly realistic image of what could only be the real eighth heroine.

“That—that’s amazing!” he spluttered. And then he was rambling again, nerding out about archaeology (his secret passion, other than boots). He had almost managed to bring the subject around to the subject of eternal love—in a subtle way, of course—but Goldie had a remarkably one-track mind.

“Sand boots, please!”

Bozai’s heart sank. But he was nothing if not a man of his word, so he dutifully took off the boots and relinquished them into her waiting hands.

“Could you be a lamb and return my snow boots?” he asked. “Otherwise ol’ Bozai’s going to be barefoot!”

She looked equally reluctant to hand them over, but she did, watching wistfully as he slipped them on. Or maybe that sad look was her way of telling him that she didn’t want to say goodbye either. Well, Bozai could take that hint.

“I’m pretty tired from my jogging regimen,” he said casually. “I think I’ll take five under the tent at the front of town. Care to join me?”

She didn’t. Bozai jogged dejectedly back to the shade, feet heavy in the wrong kind of boots.

The rest of the day crawled by. Bozai didn’t feel like jogging anymore. Not when he had to do it in snow boots, which were even clunkier in the sand than regular boots. Instead, he watched for Goldie under his tent. She had to come back, right? They were practically soulmates! (Or sole-mates. Heh.)

But alas, she was nowhere to be seen. The only golden hair he spotted belonged to the blank-faced weirdo—this time, practically shirtless, with a stupid-looking ponytail on top of his head. Bozai scoffed. What kind of outfit was that? Was he trying to invent some kind of Gerudo men’s wear? As if that was gonna get him into town. Idiot.

Blondie jogged toward a stray sand seal. It darted away before he could get close.

He jogged toward another one. He looked strangely light on his feet, like the sand wasn’t slowing him down at all. Almost like …

Bozai’s eyes widened. Blondie was wearing The Boots—the amazing, manly, one-of-a-kind sand boots he had just gifted to his true love.

Bozai jumped to his feet. “Hey! You!”

Blondie froze, panic on his normally stony face. Behind him, another seal dove beneath the sand.

“Those are my boots!” Bozai shouted, trudging clumsily toward him. “Or, I mean, they were! Where did you get them?”

Quickly, Blondie pulled something out of his pocket.

And then he started glowing.

Bozai stopped short, gaping. Blondie was glowing like a blue nightshade at midnight. And soon he was also floating, the toes of his stolen boots dangling above the sand. His body dissolved away in gleaming ribbons of light. And then he was gone.

Bozai stared at the spot where Blondie had disappeared, footprints still fresh in the sand.

“Did you see that too?” he asked a nearby sand seal.

“Arf!” said the seal.

Bozai shook his head. There was only one thing to do when your almost-girlfriend was robbed by a dead-eyed, weapon-loving freak who was apparently some kind of sorcerer.

He marched back to his tent and took a nap.

[octuscle]

Senior year

Hey there!

I’m a Brown guy in my senior year. I go to the gym semi-regularly but am still skinny-fat. I was wondering if you could turn me into a hunk- and a bonus if my twunk bestfriend gets on his knees for me this winter break.

Buddy, maybe you’re just at the wrong gym. Working out with all your snobby Ivy League friends isn’t going to make you one of the big boys.

That new gym you googled is far from even remotely hip or stylish. An unadorned box in an industrial estate. There are mostly pick-ups and vans parked in front of the building. Your Porsche looks a little out of place. Even in the entrance area, it smells of iron, testosterone and sweat. The Neanderthal at the counter takes your details. Surprisingly, all on a tablet. You would have expected everything here to still work on paper. Your login details are your thumbprint and an iris scan. You are impressed. The Neanderthal welcomes you to the club, gives you a fist bump and returns to his cell phone. You’re still wondering whether you should ask him about the house rules or for instructions on the equipment… But you just take a deep breath, go through the security gate and dive into the world of the big boys.

The first few days of training were difficult. There are basically only free weights. And the smallest weights tend to be at the upper limit of what you were moving in your old gym. You never see a trainer or anything that you can ask for advice. And the sweat-smelling musclemen around you only seem to be able to moan and grunt. Nobody talks here.

Shit, somehow you were hoping that this would all work within seconds. Poof! Muscle man! But that didn’t work, you’re still a weakling… Everyone else here is so big… You tried your best to fit in. You cut your own hair with long hair clippers. But you no longer shave your body hair. And your beard maybe every four to ten days. It just takes up unnecessary time. Just like thinking too much about clothes. You wear compression shorts to the gym like everyone else here, and sweatshorts over them. And a tank top on top. Or a T-shirt. As long as it’s sleeveless. Shoulders and armpits must be exposed. Because of the freedom of movement. And because the musky smell from your armpits is pure motivation to sweat even more. Outside the gym, you then wear a tracksuit over your gym clothes. Showering and changing is silly. You train for two to three hours each morning and evening. And if your job as a courier driver allows it, even during your lunch break. One of your bros got you the job. He also got you a good price for your Porsche. The Dodge RAM suits you much better.

Shit, you know the guy who’s making the delivery you have to make from somewhere. The name means something to you. You ring the bell. “Fourth floor left” comes out of the intercom. Damn, of course the elevator doesn’t work. You’re not the cardio type, you start to sweat. There’s a young, student-looking guy standing in the doorway. Over-groomed. Not badly built, but could do with a few more muscles. He looks at you almost lustfully. You grin and say that you have at least one delivery for him.

Hehehe, this isn’t the first time someone has sucked your cheesy boner. But this twunk is one of the better ones. He reminds you of someone. But it must have been a long time ago.

Pic found @stargazerguy​

[some-thrilling-heroics]

this might be a weird take but you know how astarion spends most of the game trying to figure out who and what he can be outside of what cazador made him? i kinda feel a lot of that with shadowheart too. except with her it's much less of an active effort until we come to the end of the gauntlet and stuff is revealed.

astarion has a lot of anger and bitterness, and for shart that's where i see her need to conform to what shar wants of her? astarion has this front of 'im so seductive' and her front is 'fuck off, respect my privacy' imo, you can hide so much behind that - or in her case, hide how little there is.

im aiming to have her be very contradictory and self-cenzoring in speech and thought patterns to show the cult influence on her. how she hopes the hand pain has meaning (not what sharran doctrine says) but then other times she just recites sharran doctrine as if to show see? i know my stuff, i'm a good sharran (she's so not). i want her to be overcompensating for her slip ups and while she's having doubts to double down on the shitty things.

but also i worry that my way of showing her trying to get / keep shar's favor and be a good sharran come off as just her being an ass when she's giving sharran style advice😩

i get shart is pragmatic and likes animals and has a favorite flower but i'm now trying to think abt the intersection of personality and memory bc she is pretty much a blank with very few memories and idk, that feels like it should be relevant when the sense of self is concerned.

like, bad or good or neutral memories, they all reflect something abt a person and if you don't have much of that how do you think of yourself as a person? it would be cool i guess to not feel the random burst of guilt at that silly comment you made 20 years ago, but also knowing what you did in the past (and what has been done to you) is how you know what you want from the future. at least a little?

astarion has his 200 years of pure shit and i bet he would love to forget some of it if not all, but i feel like it fuels him a lot too. or maybe it's just me. so many things i wish that have not happened in my life but every single one informs how i act now and what i strive for. and shadowheart doesn't have that. all she has is 'shar wants this from you' and that's it. when offered a shroom to see some of her past she doesn't feel she's allowed to know it. she doesn't feel she has a right to her own past. she's only just learning how to be herself outside of 'lady shar this and lady shar that' and im getting a lot more wary anxiety abt it from her as opposed to astarion's fury. idk i feel like they mirror each other so well.