#I didn't have super long to write this

[link7057]

SHARE YOUR HEADCANNONS ABOUT CHRISTINAAAAA 🫶🫶

First, I'm so sorry for the late answer months later 😭😭🙏 Please forgive me and second!! Actually I hadn't thought of many headcanons for her... yet... but she's one of my favorite characters so ofc I thought of some!! I might say silly ones or ones more about her personal life (and definitely not projecting some parts!) I love Christina Posabule 🙏♥️

Music wise I think Christina would like 60s music, rock, and/or synth-pop or idk genres are hard to actually get right nowadays. If it's specfic, "The Daughters of Eve" and Mitski would be part of her favorites fjjdbrbnd (then I think she'd like The Killers especially "When You Were Young" when she was in her teens :)) Speaking of Christina in her teens, she'd want to learn piano or some sort of instrument but her parents probably got annoyed by how much she played so she wouldn't have as many chances. She's definitely a bookworm or just loves reading and also writes in her freetime like little stories or poems. And when Block ended up staying with Orel's family, she was kind of the only one who missed him as her parents didn't really mind/express their emotions about it.

Andddd talking about her parents, they're both VERY controlling and kept watch on what she'd do, the polar opposite with Orel, which his parents didn't gaf where he was 💔💔 Especially Poppit, and I think with Christina's story it'd be a toxic mother-daughter relationship (mommy issues!) rather than her and her dad, and that Poppit rather likes taking charge but to be in "a woman's place" y'know sexism and even tells Art what to do but makes sure that he does what a "man has to." And she'd be veryyy persistent on Christina with how she presents herself and make sure that she was a nice church girl at all times. And Poppit would very much have breakdowns in front of her and vent to her about her own issues... yeah... And whenever Christina was getting yelled at or being told what to do the only thing she could do is not say anything back to not upset them. She was also grabbed a lot like by her wrists or something similar how they showed in the show. When she moved to Moralton, she was bummed out bc yeah she just moved to a new place where she knows no one. Then when she met Orel something about him intrigued her and she's like Oooh y'know what I like this place already... then BOOM! Having to move again :( Also I don't know if it's just me but she's probably homeschooled or she's just attending another school jfjfnntnf and about her past town she'd be doing so many shenanigans during the same time as Orel probably. Another silly thing she might be more confident than him like I think he'd be more shy when he got older fjjdjnfbfn

Also yes Christina was sadistic I had to say it bc... we remember Orel's masochist era... And same thing with her being emo/goth when Orel was and at least for a while when they were teens👍👍 It's canon bc I said so

About when she's an adult, once Orel and her got married and had their kids, she'd be really worried about repeating anything her own mother used to do to her (along with Orel who'd try to be the best dad to his kids and would ask Christina if he was doing a good job if he was too worried about becoming anything similar to Clay or just anything otherwise) and I'm not quite sure about if whether she kept contact with her parents but she probably would but obviously has a strained relationship with them along with Orel's parents... But she would give her own family all her love :D also she's definitely working in a type of job I forgot which one but something that helps people bc she's sweet like that <3 so yeah girlboss !!

I might've forgotten some things to mention or other things I had in mind for her but yeah!! Or it was badly/worded weird perdón. Thanks for reading 💕

[shannonsketches]

Every time I talk to a DB fan who doesn't know or doesn't agree that the whole franchise is an adventure comedy first and an action series second I feel insane but then I find an old Toriyama interview,

You made some comedic scenes where you have minor villains Pilaf & co. appear; how did you come up with a balance between laughs and fierce battles? Do you pay attention to the difference between comedy and battle in making a work “entertaining”?

I believe that, when you combine comedy and serious battles, both of them might come alive even more. As for me personally, though, I much prefer drawing dumb jokes to battle scenes.

as a bonus, every time I'm like 'idk I didn't really like most of the DBZ movies prior to Yo Son Goku and Friends Return and BotG,' and get the 'whAAaaT they're so gOOD' (from my brother, tbh askdjs) but they all seemed really Action-Drama and About the Fight Scenes and I'm like 'meh kinda boring tbh' I get to gaze upon,

In the latest movie, Toriyama-san, you participated in the production from the scriptwriting stage for the first time. What is the reason for that? Was there anything you noticed in coming face-to-face with the work after so long?

I was told about a project for Dragon Ball in its first animated film in a long while, and I read the story outline; while the beings “Beerus, God of Destruction” and “Super Saiyan God” (which goes above Super Saiyan) were interesting, the themes were heavy, and I felt that the world was a bit different from Dragon Ball. Rather than telling them about this or that problematic spot, I thought it would be faster if I just wrote it out concretely, and while I had intended just to give them a model―”for example”―my hand wouldn’t stop, and ultimately, I ended up writing almost everything, including the dialogue. I am reflecting on the fact that I did something terribly rude to the scriptwriter.

Akira "It was bad so I fixed it, oops" Toriyama, Absolute Legend

[syubub]

hello? what year is it?

[real-reulbbr-band]

Since I can never get enough of them, would you happen to have any more spare Demeter/Alonzo thoughts? Anything really - angst or fluff or anything in between ^_^

OH my god thank you for this, perfectly good I'm always thinking about them to!!

Fluff:

For Alonzo, Demeter is like a siren in the Jellicle Choir; he can hear her singing voice so clearly in each melody and note without having to listen out for it. Her voice was distinctive; it was honeyed, silky, and soothing to the ears. He feels content whenever he hears it; it fills him with so many emotions: comfort, nostalgia, and a longing to bring her closer, hold her tighter, and treasure her. 

A particular moment of significance for him was hearing her sing lullabies to Jemima. Her voice was softer and quieter. As if she herself was still afraid, afraid Macavity might hear, like he was still there, but she remained so focused and dedicated that he couldn't help but admire her more. 

Despite that, he never requested for her to sing. He thought that would ruin the authenticity of it all. It felt stupid to ask; remembering titles was out of the question, and the lyrics seemed to blur together for him. He did remember the melodies; however, Demeter seemed to never sing the same song twice. He did wonder how she knew so many, or if she would make them all up on the spot. 

The one-time Alonzo did remember the lyrics clearly was the morning after the ball. They were alone again in the emptiness of their den while Demeter examined him for any serious damages after his fight with Macavity. He was still indignant but was just trying to force himself to sleep. It wouldn't have worked; he would've stared at the cloth that made up their roof all day and thought of what more he could've done, and Demeter knew that. Funnily enough, when she laid by his side and sang, it was the first time he'd ever heard a lullaby directed towards him.

Angst:

Alonzo told Demeter his third name, only her, and generally that’s seen as extremely  taboo in the tribe. Not in an ostracized way, but more cursing yourself for misfortunes; that’s why it needs to remain secret between a jellicle and the everlasting cat. By telling it to another, you placed them above the everlasting cat in your heart and mind.

But Demeter made the same mistake before; she told Macavity and lived to regret it. To be fair to her, she was pushed to show her commitment to him and to him alone. Macavity was possessive like that; he needed to be the one she held above all else; it was the only way he felt secure that she wouldn’t ever leave or love another. 

She told him hers, but he couldn’t bring himself to share his own. He just held her, and that was enough in the moment. Looking back, she wished she had confronted him or said anything about it. She figured he would, in time, but he never did. It felt as if she were beneath him.

It was a pain and a choice she’s only ever confessed to having done with Alonzo; she didn’t want to relive that moment or that awful memory beyond that. But when Alonzo told her his own after, she informed him he shouldn’t have—it felt wrong to know, she didn’t want to know—he upset her when that was far from his intention and he hated himself for it. 

His love for Demeter was his strength and his undoing in that way- he was always so reckless when it came to her.

Demeter did tell him hers after she calmed down again: she wanted them to be equals; she didn’t want to be above someone she had learned to love again for.

shorter one:

Demeter is quite literally an ice cube when it comes to weather reacting with her fur; she doesn’t get cold easily, but when she does, Alonzo is typically the first to notice. With him being a longhair cat, he’s almost always warm, so when winter comes, Demeter is more often cuddled up with Alonzo. She doesn’t say anything, though; she doesn’t need to. She normally just leans into him; Alonzo won’t admit it, but the chill does shock him sometimes, but it’s also so soothing

Honestly ever since I saw your post of sillabub being their kitten that has been my canon for them, so I do have some head canons based on that: (All Baby!bub btw)

Alonzo’s never been around newborn kittens often enough before joining the junkyard to be aware of their habits, so whenever Sillabub would waddle around and suddenly fall on her back, he’d panic and sometimes scoop her up to make sure she wasn’t hurt, only to discover she was completely fine. He saw her as almost “too fragile,” which wasn’t completely irrational; she was born earlier than expected and needed additional attention compared to the average kit. But to Alonzo, it was like she was made of glass.

So much so that while she was still small, he preferred holding her by the scruff or in his arms rather than letting her follow along.

Ironically, this birthed a rather cheeky habit in Sillabub; she would often bap her dad's spots whenever he was holding her for a longer period of time. The spots weren't completely noticeable from a distance, but they were there—small black spots throughout a bronze and brown coat. Even when she woke up in his arms, she’d often bang him awake. 

Alonzo didn’t understand how or why this became a habit, but at most he didn’t mind; he’d pretend her soft little paw would make any impact on him, often with a louder gasp of indignation that would make Sillabub giggle (and bap him again). 

Demeter would use this to her advantage; whenever Alonzo was particularly reluctant to get up in the morning (he always would get up; it was just slow progress), she’d often set Sillabub on his back or his stomach and let her bap away until he was wide awake again and could pick her up.

In the rare cases where Sillabub got too excited and wouldn't stop bapping her father, Demeter would make the claim that if she didn't, all his spots would fall out. Normally, Sillabub would say sorry right after, and of course she's immediately forgiven.  (Silly HC, but she thinks that's why Victoria's white.)

Sillabub, like her sister, started talking later than the typical kitten. Most of her communication was just mewing and coos. Whenever she didn’t want something, she’d show it through her actions. Like whenever her mom or dad offers her another piece of food after she’s already full. She’d often try to feed it to them instead by holding the piece in her mouth and trying to approach her parents’ muzzles. She’d normally end up tapping the food next to their mouths instead of actually feeding them. Demeter always politely declines, while Alonzo tries to encourage her to have one last piece. But Sillabub shakes her head and keeps trying; if she could talk at that stage, she’d insist her parents needed food too; they did eat; she was just too busy munching to see. 

[jichanxo]

how different is your creative process between writing and drawing (and in which areas)? do you have a different approach in each artform? if you have an idea, you first think how you'd write it or draw it?

This is definitely going to be long so. Cut.

Just to preface, obviously both writing and drawing are a form of art, but I tend to use the word “art” when I mean illustration or drawing, so that’s what I’m going to do here. And of course a disclaimer that I’m only speaking to my subjective experience.

Tbh I don’t think my approach to both is that different from each other, which is odd, because I’m used to thinking of them as very different processes. Probably because the mediums themselves are so different. But like with my writing, I tend to improvise. Feel it out, see how things go, throw ideas at the wall. I would probably say that I’m more willing to experiment with/scrap my art than my writing. Probably because I’m more confident with my art than my writing, so I find it easier to make judgments like that, or because I’ve made so much that throwing stuff away when it isn’t working is very easy. I get a bit more precious about my writing. I always want to keep it or at least try to adapt it into something less bad, lmao. I’m also just not as confident in my ability to judge what writing is worth keeping or worth permanently deleting. I just haven’t polished that skill for writing as much as I have for art.

With regards to planning my art – I definitely do sometimes, because I consider art my Serious Hobby, which means I do like to have a go at more serious projects as opposed to just improvising all the time (a contrast to my writing where my only “serious project” is senseific, and I fell into that by accident). The things I plan out are the idea/s I want to convey, and what imagery would express that. (like this IW art, and the second one in this umineko post) Or sometimes the imagery gets stuck in my head and I work from that. (yagami’s hair clinging to his neck here)

I actually find that planning too much can be detrimental to my art process. That is to say, not in terms of figuring out ideas/themes, but doing too much drafting. I find it very difficult to do things like clean lineart unless I’m having a Weirdly Good Art Moment, so I just don’t. Hence a lot of my art is very sketchy. I’m just not good at capturing the same looseness with “proper” lineart than with my sketches, so I keep them. Not worth fussing over. This is what works for me.

(even in this, and the first image here, you can see a lot of breaks and incomplete looking lines. not to say necessarily that this is a bad thing of course, but you can see that even in what I consider my “polished” work, I won’t use “proper” linework, but instead a high quality/detailed sketch. I imagine some other artists would have their proper linework stage after these sketches, but i choose to stop here)

this probably reads like I’m talking myself down, but that’s not really what I’m meaning to say – my point is that I don’t figure out details even for my bigger pieces, and that with drawn art I have a better time judging where my time is best spent. I don’t think I have a strong understanding of my writing by comparison, so I can’t decide how to play to my strengths or anything like that, I just have to see how i go.

For writing, either it’s “i’m in the mood for it” or “i’m not in the mood for it”. For art, it’s “today is a good day/bad day”, “today’s a painting day”, “today feels like masking”, “today I just want to sketch”, “today I’m too loose for what I want to work on”, “today I’m too stiff”. You can see the difference in my ability to judge, yeah? So a big difference is to do with just my own (relative) inexperience with writing as opposed to drawing.

I think the other major factor is the differences in the mediums themselves. A fanfic is sequential. There’s a change in time. Illustrations are by nature a single moment in time. Big difference there. Of course, there are comics and animatics and other art that’s both drawn and sequential, but since I don’t do a lot of that, just count that as exceptions for now (and in a way, those are kind of like a combination of writing and illustration, aren’t they?) I find there are some ideas that are conveyed easier or better through writing, and others where the better option is art.

So to answer your last question, often ideas come to me pre-packaged as a “writing idea” or an “art idea”, rather than having to decide that separately. In the case that a sequence is better conveyed with a visual element, that’s when it’s comic time. The gorillashipping comic is a great example of this. The punchline is at its best when it’s not explained in words, and the expression of the final panel does all the heavy lifting. I pitched this idea initially in words (as a joke on discord), but the comic version has more punch.

Comics are also great for when you want to avoid explaining context, and for when you want to force the reader to take a specific pace. Here’s the example I’m thinking of.

The visual space dedicated to the fighting forces you to take time to process, and that time is important for the buildup to the punchline. This wouldn’t work as well if we cut this down to, say, the four panels of the last example. So yeah, timing. And then my other point – context – why are these two fighting? I don’t know. Where are they? I don’t know. It’s not necessary for the joke. The same is true of the gorillashipping joke. How did the relationship between kiryu and kaito happen to make this even remotely possible? I don’t know. But I don’t need to explain it in a joke comic. With writing I find that it feels more necessary to make context clear to the reader so they understand what’s happening, but with illustrations, it’s a lot easier to skip over that. Obviously this isn’t impossible in a written format, but that’s just my personal opinion.

Admittedly I think this second example is doable with just pure writing (replace all the panels with descriptions of the fight that take long enough to simulate the time it takes for the reader to digest the build up, then make the punchline a wham line, yknow), but it varies on a case to case basis. Also I would not want to write fighting. Lmao. I’m not… any good at that. So I guess it is also just in part about playing to strengths.

Anyway, enough comic side tangent. I’ve already started talking about it there, but was going to do a comparison between writing and art as mediums. The main thing, I find, is that they have different strengths. More than strengths/weaknesses though, the mediums themselves convey some things with ambiguity, and other things with detail.

Like I first mentioned, time: it’s easier to convey the passage of time with writing than with illustration. And like I said before with comics – conveying context – because an illustration captures a single moment in time, it’s a lot easier to avoid context entirely, while it’s harder to avoid in writing. I’ve drawn kuwagami cuddles before, and there’s no background, nothing discernable as to the lead up or any other detail. And that’s great! I don’t want to have to invent a plausible reason for them to end up hugging. I can just do it, right? But sometimes it’s the context that makes things significant, so you do want it there. A better job for writing. Writing allows you to be detailed with your context, while illustration leaves it ambiguous. Different strengths. You just pick which best fits the situation.

It’s a similar case for a lot of different factors – they're conveyed differently through both mediums, and depending on your idea, some results are more desirable than others. Rather than explaining, it’s probably better to do a direct comparison. (If it makes any difference to your curiosity, I did the drawing first then the writing. You’ve caught me on a good art day, what a nice sketch…)

I’ll try not to talk too much because I think the comparison and table say enough, but you can see how, despite depicting basically the same thing, these two things feel pretty different from each other. The mediums do different things. The mood of both is similar, but not quite the same. It’s these differences that inform the choice of mediums instinctually. (but again. points at disclaimer. as is true with all “rules” about art, none of these are absolute. you can make an illustration that conveys a strong context. you can write fic that favours describing facial expressions and leaves the intended emotion ambiguous. i’m generalising to make a point here.)

I guess the other thing is that it’s pretty easy to do writing in bed on my phone compared to my art setup, lmao. Convenience and timing also play into it probably.

[natasha-in-space]

Hello there! This is my first time coming into your inbox and I want to say how much your writing inspire me and makes me feel so safe especially the ones with Saeran in it.

If it's not too much to ask for, can I request a comfort fic with GE Saeran? Lately I've been struggling with my abandonment issues. It's telling me that people around me will soon get tired of me and leave me behind once they saw how miserable I am in the head.

It doesn't help the fact that I've seen several people that I deemed close to me were beginning to do things without asking or including me. I feel like I'm so easy to replace and forgotten... or maybe it's because I'm the one who's been struggling with this kind of thinking.

I know Saeran wouldn't judge me for this but sometimes I couldn't help but feel like I'm asking for reassurance too many times, or get scared of being left behind out of nowhere. It can be overwhelming whenever I feel like this.

Ah, I'm so sorry for the sudden trauma dumping. It's just that I've been dealing with the issues along with physical fatigue at the moment. Makes me easy to forget myself. Feel free to delete this ask if you're not taking any request at the moment! I guess I really need to let this out of my system. Have a good day and I hope you take care <3

Don't you worry dear anon, you're fine! I've been there, more times than I'd like to admit. It's exhausting and it's stressful as hell to deal with. I'm sorry to hear that you have to struggle so much. Even if things are hard for you right now, I hope only good comes to you soon. Please, take care of yourself and treat yourself with the same kindness and love Saeran would want you to experience. Now, onto the fic! <3

"Y/N?"

Saeran knew something was bothering you for a while now, but he didn't want to push you into telling him anything when you simply weren't ready for that yet. It hurt him to see that distant look in your eyes as you tried to keep up with your daily schedule, forcing a cheery smile onto your face that didn't quite reach your eyes, and pretending that everything was fine, almost as if you were too scared of showing anyone that you weren't doing so well on the inside. He did try to gently nudge you into opening up to him at breakfast, but you were quick to shut him down and change the subject with a clumsy joke and a kiss to his cheek. He saw that wordless plea in your eyes for him not to press the issue any further. So, he didn't pry.

Yet.

That is, until he got woken up in the middle of the night by insistent tossing and turning coming from your side of the bed, your short shaky breaths soon reaching his ears, once he was awake enough to think. You were being pretty quiet, but Saeran never slept too deeply. It was practically impossible for you to sneak out of bed without him waking up to see what you were up to. This time, however, he was grateful for his ability to not sleep through much of anything. He would hate to think of you suffering right by his side without him even knowing it. He was quick to push up onto his elbows, looking over at where you laid, curled up into a small ball, the sight of which made his brows furrow in deep worry.

He anxiously whispered your name a couple of times to try and gain your attention, a sick feeling of great concern twisting at his insides with an iron grip, once you didn't reply or even turn to look at him. Despite everything, you heard him. He could see that by the tiniest hitch of your breath and the way your body has stilled it's trembling. This wasn't like you at all...

It reminded him of the way he would get whenever his fears and doubts would leave him too overwhelmed and scared to even try and ask for help. The thought of you going through the same thing, or even something remotely similar to it, made his heart bleed for you. So, he scooted himself just a tad bit closer to you, a result of his natural desire to be near you in the moment of crisis. He couldn't help it. Even if he didn't want to touch you without you saying that it was okay for him to do so, his soul longed for him to embrace you and hold you tight until all of your fears and doubts would leave you be.

"My love, what's wrong...?" He asked, carefully tilting his head down in such a way that would allow him to take a look at your face. Or, what surface of it wasn't obscured by your hair or pillows. Your eyes were open, but you were avoiding looking at him. A single tear slipped down your cheek. It took him all of his self-control not to embrace you right then and there. His heart was aching for you. But, he didn't want to overwhelm you. He would be patient. He would try. For you.

For you.

"Nothing. I'm... I'm fine." You sniffed, your voice sounding hoarse and so very sad. The uncharacteristic rasp in your voice was a sign that you had been crying for a while now, and it broke his heart to discover. Why didn't you just wake him up? He would be there for you. He wanted to be there for you. Why were you closing yourself off from him? This wasn't like you, and it worried him greatly.

He just couldn't take it anymore. Saeran's hand rested gently on your shoulder as he slowly rolled you over to face him fully, before moving his palm down to press it against your chest. You didn't resist him, which made him breathe a small sigh of relief. He could feel the hard pounding of your heart underneath his hand, almost as if you had just come back from an intense workout. Oh, how he wished that was the reason behind your racing heart. That, or maybe you are feeling too smitten by him to handle it. But... no, the reason behind your heart working so hard to pump blood through your system was that you were in distress. You were in distress, and your body was doing all it could to keep you safe. Even if it only left you feeling even more anxious and shaky in the end. He knew that feeling all too well.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He coaxed you softly, moving his hand up from your chest to caress some of the messy strands of your hair away from your forehead, his fingers lingering on your skin for just a bit longer than necessary. Touch was a crucial way for him to express his feelings towards you, and he couldn't help it. A way for you two to feel connected. A promise of safety. For him as much as you. He always wanted to feel you close in one way or another.

You bit onto your bottom lip harshly, swallowing the lump in your throat, before giving him a brief nod. Saeran's heart was breaking at the sight of you, but at least you were no longer concealing your pain from him. That was a good sign. Some part of him wanted to praise you and kiss you on the forehead, but he resisted that temptation for now. Instead, he moved himself farther up the bed, resting on the soft pillows and plushies your shared bed was adorned by, and nudged you to lay on your side close to him, now starting to comb his fingers through your hair. Without saying a word, he tilted his head down to kiss your temple, nuzzling into your hair just a little bit to let you know he was there. He felt you slowly wrapping your arms around his waist and pressing your face into his chest, burying it into his shirt, like what a frightened child would do. He rested his forehead on the top of your head, stroking your hair and back tenderly, trying to keep his breathing even as he felt your tears soak onto his shirt.

"You're alright, my flower." He whispered into your hair, feeling the tremor that vibrated down your spine as you cried into his shirt silently. He had to battle the urge to start tearing up himself. He hated seeing you cry. It's almost like he could feel the same pain you're feeling, his heart desperate to ease your woes. But, he had to be strong right now. For your sake. "I'm here. I'm right here. Whatever it was, it was just a dream. We're safe. You're safe."

You never told him what your nightmares were about whenever you ended up having them, and he'd never push you to tell him anything: he didn't want to force you into talking with him about these things, figuring that, if you wanted to tell him about it one day, you'd tell him on your own time and terms. He was content with that. As long as you let him be there for you when you were too scared to bear your burdens on your own. That was enough for him.

Saeran laid there with you in his arms for about twenty or so minutes, without even realizing that he had eventually fallen back asleep. Your shaky breaths hitting his skin in small puffs of air and your weak and tired voice hitting his ears quickly awakened him to the reality, though. He opened his eyes, looking down at you worriedly as his hand rubbed your back gently.

You were trembling, your arms tightening their hold on his torso in a way that wasn't natural to you. He didn't have any problem with it, just keeping you close and providing the least amount of support he could. It's the least he could do for you in such a difficult moment. He could handle a tight hug just fine. Especially coming from you.

Saeran hushed you, brushing your hair out of your face to take a proper look at you, only to see your expression pained and stricken with anxiety. Despite that, your eyes were closed. Were you asleep, perhaps? He didn't like to think that you were having yet another nightmare. Something must be seriously troubling you if you're having such a hard time... He only wished you weren't so afraid of telling him.

"I'm never going to let you go, my love." He breathed softly against your hairline. He was aware from his own experience that it could be a very stressful thing to forcefully wake someone from a nightmare, so he made an effort to calm you while you were still asleep asleep. You did the same for him many times, after all.

You groaned and pressed your face deeper into his chest, almost like you were trying to hide yourself away from the world around you. And while he appreciated you instinctively viewing him as your source of safety and comfort, he would be lying if he said it wasn't absolutely destroying him to see you like this. He didn't care if he was being too sentimental right now, he just hated the idea of you being this sad or hurt at all. It reminded him of the inner agony he had to fight against back when he chose to sacrifice himself to save you and Saeyoung, back in the Jihyun's house. The way that his heart would ache and bleed with every tear your eyes would shed and every shaky breath that left your lips as a consequence of his decision. He truly wished he would never see that same look on your face ever again.

But, life wasn't so generous, was it?

"I'm right here, Y/N." He told you gently, knowing you were still asleep, but wanting to let you know he was there regardless. "Oh... my angel, what are you dreaming about...?"

He frowned, holding your head close to his chest and nuzzling your hair as he muttered his inner thoughts softly to you. If only he could have a glimpse inside of your head right now. Maybe he would be the knight in shining armor he read about in fairytales, and chase all those bad thoughts of yours away with a whip of his sword. How nice would that be?

"No-!" You suddenly jolted out of his arms, making him flinch and move away, as you sat up and panted hard, your tear-filled eyes fixating on something in particular, yet also nothing at all, your entire body shuddering in complete panic. You were in a state that he had never seen you in before. And, while usually, he loved discovering new things about you... it couldn't be applied when you were actively suffering.

Sitting up next to you, Saeran wrapped his arms around your waist from behind and gently rested his chin on your shoulder. Slowly, he rocked you back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt you shake in his arms and heard you sniffle. Your nightmares had never been this bad before. Sighing, he was at a loss for what to do to comfort you. He couldn't do much when he didn't even know the source of all this pain. But, he also didn't want to push you when you were this hurt and vulnerable. He honestly felt stuck on what would be the right thing to do for you here.

"I'm- I'm sorry..." You finally whimpered, your voice raspy and borderline unrecognizable.

"It's okay." He whispered back, turning his face into your neck and pressing his lips to your jaw lightly, not minding the salty taste as his lips brushed against your damp skin. “I just want you to be alright. That's all."

After a few more minutes of quiet, broken only by the sounds of your shaky breathing and occasional sniffling, you eventually calmed down, leaning back against his chest and closing your eyes. Your fingers wriggled together anxiously as you let out a sigh. Finally, you spoke up. "I'm sorry, I'm just- I'm just... so, so afraid..."

"I know." Saeran informed you quietly, rubbing a hand up and down your tummy. Despite his desire to express more, he felt that he should allow you to handle this at your own pace for now. You obviously had a lot of things bottled up.

"I'm so afraid..." You repeated, quieter this time, your shoulders slumping in defeat. You had never spoken about your nightmares before. Saeran wanted to hang onto your every word. "I'm so... so afraid of feeling abandoned, again. It's- It's debilitating and exhausting, and- and-"

"Y/N, I will never abandon you." He cut you off as you started to choke on your own words again, his stomach twisting at just the thought of you feeling abandoned. Saeran was familiar with that terrible feeling all too well, after all. He squeezed you a little bit tighter. "Even if I die, my soul would be right here next to you. Every moment of your life. Watching over you. Guarding you. Loving you. Forever."

"I know that, Saeran." You sighed with a small chuckle slipping through your tears, probably as a response to how incredibly cheesy he sounded. He didn't find that bothersome. He had a lot of love in that heart of his. He had to express it. But, he fell silent now, waiting for you to continue as he traced invisible patterns on your abdomen with his finger. "But, I've... I've actually struggled with feeling abandoned for a while. I'm sorry I didn't say anything, I just... I know it's stupid and irrational, but I just can't help but feel like I am nothing but a nuisance to everyone. That once you all find someone better, you will... you will leave me. And, recently, some of my friends seemed to do some stuff without telling me or inviting me, and... and, I don't know. I just feel bad. And then I feel even worse for feeling bad in the first place. Does any of this even make any sense?"

Saeran pressed his forehead against your shoulder, fighting back his own tears at hearing you talk of how you were so afraid of being left behind by the people you so wholeheartedly loved. It brought back memories of his own pain, which caused him great distress. Because he knew exactly how you felt. Then again, maybe that's why Ray felt so drawn to you back when it all started.

You knew his pain, and he knew yours.

"It is not stupid. It's okay to feel afraid. I am afraid, too. So often, and of so little. But... We'll be together, Y/N." He uttered, hugging you tighter and pressing back flush against his chest. "Fate lead us to meet one another. Just like fate lead you to meet everyone in the RFA and all of your other friends and loved ones. My heart and soul are yours. They will be yours until the end of time."

Your eyes were red and puffy from all the crying, your face flushed and wet with tears as you looked at him over your shoulder. He had to resist the urge to kiss you right then and there.

“You promise...?” You whimpered quietly, making his heart melt for you all over again.

"With all of my four seasons." He reassured you by kissing your cheek.

"You are one of the kind, Y/N. A wonderful, loving soul with an experience unique to you and you alone. No one in this world could possibly replace you. And, when you feel like it all becomes too much: think of me. Think of me and the love I have for you. Even when we're far apart, even when I'm not there to hold you tight and whisper these words into your ears myself, remember our promise of happiness. Remember that I love you, with all that I am. And remember that you are deserving of such love and care. I know it can be scary to open your heart up to others... but, let them know of your fears. Don't close your heart off. Seek out those who are willing to treasure your heart, and trust them to do so when you know you can't handle it on your own. And, remember that my heart is there for you through it all."

[fleetsonourgecentral]

A request: Ebony celebrates Fleetway Super birthday along with the freedom Fighthers celebrathing Sonic's birthday (so Super and Sonic share a birthday celebration :D) but Scourge IS jealous because he doesn't get any gifts

Adfjdasfjds Scourge being jealous for petty reasons my beloved

~~~

"This doesn't seem fair," Scourge grumbled, folding his arms and glaring at his surroundings like he could set the decorations alight with his eyes alone. Unfortunately, getting zapped by the Master Emerald didn't seem to grant him those powers, but hey, it was always worth double checking.

"Life isn't fair," Sonic said, smug smirk fully plastered on his face as he lounged on his throne for the day. The throne in question was nothing more than an old armchair fished out of the dump, and was covered in rips and clearly falling apart, but it was clean (thanks to Tekno's efforts) and it was the nicest chair the Freedom Fighters owned, so they made do.

Scourge was surprised they were putting in the effort at all. Sonic's ego was so big it was a wonder his head didn't swell and become too heavy for his body to carry; there was really no need to stroke his ego by giving him a throne.

For some reason, though, the Freedom Fighters, despite usually being extremely enthusiastic about keeping Sonic's ego in check, had decided today was an exception. It was his birthday, after all.

"How did you even get all this?" Scourge said. Thankfully, none of the cheesy "happy birthday" banners had been strung up on the wall - those were dumped on Ebony's doorstep - but in their place were custom-made banners proudly congratulating the Hero of Mobius on another year of victory over Robotnik. Over the top and unnecessary, considering the victory in question was mostly just his continued survival, and thus his continued ability to be a future pain in the ass.

Not that Robotnik didn't have it coming, but still.

"We made them!" Tails chirped from where he was stringing up another banner, this one declaring today as Sonic Day. "Tekno designed most of the banner so it would look cool enough that Sonic won't complain, and then Amy and I helped decide what they should say, and then we all painted them together!"

"And you didn't invite me?"

"We both know you would've told us all to fuck off if we asked you to help," Amy said, although the teasing smile on her face showed her comment was light-hearted instead of irritated. Gross.

"These aren't new, anyway," Tekno said. "We made these before you arrived, so you couldn't have helped. Unless you found a way to time travel. If you find an easy way to time travel, let me know?"

"Sure, whatever."

And now that Scourge was looking, the banners did seem a little worn. Small rips on the edges, colors dulled, the paper crinkled; obviously reused over the years. He nudged one of the banners crumpled on the floor with his foot, then picked it up to inspect it, holding it with his thumb and forefinger. Sonic's painted winking face greeted him, and Scourge sneered at it. On the back of the banner, he could see a cluster of signatures. Some he recognised - Tails and Amy - while some he'd never heard of - who in the world was Shortfuse? - and some... well, some were just initials, none of which he recognised. He certainly didn't remember any friends of Sonic's who went by J.L.

"Are you going to stand there, or are you going to help?" Amy said, lightly elbowing him as she passed, snatching the banner from his hands.

"What's it look like? I'm gonna stand here."

"No you're not. Help Tekno bring the gifts in."

"I'm not participating in this. You do shit like this then wonder why he's an arrogant dickhead."

"Is it arrogance if it's justified?" Sonic said.

"Justify my foot up your ass," Scourge said, just as Tekno dragged him away.

The pile of presents was bigger than it had any right to be. The Freedom Fighters didn't have much money - apparently fighting for the safety of the entire fucking planet doesn't pay well, or at all, which is bullshit and all the more reason for Scourge to find the whole thing stupid - so none of them could really afford to go all-out with the presents, but the bulk of the pile came from local civilians who had caught wind of the celebration and wanted to express their gratitude. Over the past week during their travels, civilians would stop them, shyly handing over presents and telling them they were for Sonic's birthday, a token of their appreciation for constantly saving their asses, because they couldn't be bothered to do it themselves.

No one said that last bit out loud, but Scourge always made sure to mentally add it.

Why they couldn't express their gratitude with some fucking cash, he did not know.

"Grab the presents by the table?" Tekno said, scooping presents into her arms. For what it was worth, although the pile was bigger than one would expect, at least most of the presents were small.

Groaning with all the contempt he could muster, Scourge shuffled over to the table and started tucking presents under his arms.

"Did you drop off everything at Ebony's?" Tekno said. Her voice was low, hidden by the rustle of the presents, only loud enough for Scourge to hear. Not that he thought Sonic could hear them when they were out here, but better safe than sorry.

"Whaddya take me for? Of course I did," Scourge said, voice equally low, although that was more for Tekno's peace of mind than his own. She'd shush him if she thought he was being too loud, but she was also really bad at shushing people quietly, and ended up attracting attention with her shushes more often than not. It was really counterproductive. Scourge didn't know why Sonic had let it slide for this long.

"Just making sure."

Scourge grunted, but he did give the rest of the presents an obligatory once-over, just to be sure there weren't any that shouldn't be there.

Super's birthday fell on the same day as Sonic's. It was why all the cheesy banners had been dumped on Ebony instead of in the trash where they belonged. The Freedom Fighters - okay, mostly Tekno - thought it was a good idea to send a few presents over from all of them, as a gesture of goodwill and minor bribery to please not turn evil and try to kill them all again. It was a plan Sonic had been conveniently left out of; even with their less strained relationship (although that really wasn't saying much) it was blatantly obvious he still wasn't fond of Super. He wouldn't stop them from giving him birthday presents, or wanting to wish him a happy birthday, but he would wrinkle his nose and mutter a comment under his breath, which was apparently a problem, although Scourge hadn't figured out why.

Ebony had asked if they wanted to stop by, even tentatively offered a joint birthday celebration if that would make things easier, but she was swiftly turned down. Presents were a safe bet, the Freedom Fighters had agreed, because they could be dropped off at any time, and Sonic would never have to know, and they could wish Super a happy birthday without ever leaving Sonic's side on the actual day. And they could send Scourge to be their little delivery boy so none of them would have to do it; despite the olive branch, Tails and Amy were still wary of Super. Apparently Scourge and (somehow) Tekno were the only ones who weren't little bitches about him.

Well, Sonic wasn't a little bitch exactly, but he wasn't as cool and casual about Super as he wanted to be. So he didn't count.

"I'm just saying," Scourge said, hefting as many presents into his arms as he could, "if you're going to make the decorations look like a 'congrats on kicking ass without dying' celebration, we should all be getting presents."

"It's not your birthday, though."

"I'm his boyfriend, though. Shouldn't I get, like, a solidarity present?"

"No, because it isn't your birthday."

Scourge bit back a comment about how if Super got to have a birthday just because he was another Sonic, then logically, so should he. Because, well, it wasn't his birthday, even though all the celebration really made it feel like it should be. He thought birthdays for Sonics were the same across all dimensions - he was pretty sure he shared a birthday with Prime, eugh - but apparently not.

With another exaggerated groan, he shuffled back into the living room with the presents towering high above him, because second trips were for chumps, and dumped them at Sonic's feet. His own gift wasn't in there, but only because he'd already given it to Sonic this morning. The moment he woke up, in fact. Scourge wasn't about to be beaten by anyone in anything, including being the first person to give Sonic a gift.

Not that it was anything special. Scourge wasn't exactly rolling in money either, and Sonic was a pain in the ass to shop for. Humiliation had nipped at his heels when he handed the gift over, ready to burn him, but Sonic seemed to really like it - underneath the obligatory layer of snark - so it was fine.

Probably.

He eyed the pile of presents again, and tried not to gnaw on his lip.

Some of the civilians who gave them presents looked... well, not well-off, but comfortable. Not rich, not even close to rich, but able to at least afford something nice for the Hero of Mobius. More than Scourge could afford.

More than any of the Freedom Fighters could afford, though, and Sonic didn't really give a shit about his fans outside of the inherent bragging rights that come with having fans in the first place. None of those civilians knew what Sonic liked. The Freedom Fighters did. Scourge did.

He doubted any civilian signatures were on the back of the banner he picked up.

A party thrown by civilians probably wouldn't look like this at all. That would be far more elaborate, with more people pitching in to help, even more vomit-worthy banners and decorations hung from every wall and banister, singing the praises of Sonic the Hedgehog. Over the top, and licking his ass, and making a huge deal out of him. Exactly the kind of celebration Sonic would like; he always loved it when people lavished him with praise for his efforts in saving the world, the arrogant bastard.

Sonic didn't have any of that, this year. Oh, sure, the party would stroke his ego, but it wasn't lavish. Compared to what he could have, it was almost humble.

But. He didn't look upset by it. Didn't even feign annoyance that it wasn't as big as it could be.

Scourge couldn't remember any of his own birthdays looking like this growing up. No friends surrounding him, bickering as they hung birthday banners or fetched presents or argued over the cake. No shitty birthday chair fished out of the dump. No lavish party to sing his praises. His birthdays weren't humble like this one, but they weren't extravagant, either.

They were... cold. Empty. There was no soul in the presents, no warmth in the candle of the cake. No signatures on the back of a hand-made birthday banner.

Scourge swallowed down the ugly feeling in his stomach.

Whatever. He didn't need any of that shit. He was Scourge the fucking Hedgehog, he knew exactly how great he was. Who needed a giant party? Not him. He wasn't that fragile.

"Scowl any harder and your face will get stuck."

Scourge flipped Sonic off without even looking. "Eat shit, birthday boy."

"Are you sulking because Pixel Brain jumped on you this morning when he came to wish me a happy birthday?"

"He crushed my fucking ribs," Scourge complained, glad for something to focus on. The interruption had been rude, and Tails was fortunate they were already awake; had he done that shit while Scourge was still asleep, he would've gotten an ass full of quills.

"Right. And you're definitely not sulking because you wanted to cuddle."

"I don't cuddle."

"Bullshit you don't."

"I don't. You have no proof."

"Then you're gonna start."

Before Scourge could say a word of protest, Sonic grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him onto his lap.

"Fuck off and let me go," Scourge snapped, shifting to get comfortable.

"It's my birthday," Sonic said, smirking his stupid, smug, victorious grin. "That means you have to do what I say."

"I'm not doing shit, you can't tell me what to do, birthday or not," Scourge said, leaning further into Sonic when he wrapped an arm around his waist to pull him closer.

"You'll get the chair when it's your birthday, if it's any consolation."

"Fuck the chair! What about my presents?"

"We'll see."

"Asshole," Scourge grumbled, biting Sonic lightly on the shoulder to emphasize his point, but he only got an amused chuckle in return.

"You're getting off when the cake gets here," Sonic said.

Huffing, Scourge snuggled further into Sonic. They'd see about that.

[sparky-is-spiders]

for the ask game: 15 & 28 👀

This... actually got a bit long lmao. Putting it under a cut.

(Send me deep/fun questions!)

15: No except yes. But also no. So like. I don't believe in jinxing. But also I sort of believe that if I say that something is/isn't going to happen (or even believe it), this will influence it to happen. Like if I say "I'm going to win this pvp fight in my shitty mobile game of the month" I will then lose the pvp fight in my shitty mobile game of the month. Unless I knock on wood (hit/tap it with my fist twice. And it CAN'T be three times because I don't like that number). If no wood is available I can also do the "touch red touch blue touch the bottom of your shoe" rhyme for jinxing from elementary school that I've almost certainly remembered wrong. I think I initially picked it up as like. A haha funnyquirky habit, but then NOT doing it made me genuinely anxious and I was like "oh maybe I should stop this now." I do still sort of do that tho. Like I'll think "I'm going to win this pvp fight in my shitty mobile game of the month" and then I'll go "no don't say/think that you don't know that for sure thinking/saying that is inviting the universe to sabotage you." And I know it's bullshit but that has yet to stop me. And that's my superstition.

28: Oh god. Tossup between Jon//elias and jon//sasha (I don't want this ask showing up in their tags so I'm censoring it lol. JE is what I'm currently hyperfixated on. My brain sunk its teeth into those two and Will Not let go. They're so fascinating and interesting but at the same time there's so much potential for Drama and above all else I Love Drama. It helps that I can project my Jon Obsession onto Elias because he IS straight up So Fucking Weird about Jon!!!!! And Jon is also sooooo fixated on him. They drive me crazy.

I don't (currently) have the same hyperfixation obsession on JS but I think they work so well like genuinely. Ok so there is a Sasha that exists in my head and I think she and Jon are soulmates in a "deeply similar" way and a "tied by the strings of fate" way and a "turning into the same monster" way. The idea of two people just slowly merging into one monster... like ok. They are the Same because they would both forget to drink their tea and then reheat it in the microwave. They are the Same because they are so curious and so driven to Know. They are the Same because they are both Perfect for the role of Archivist. Gonna be real I cannot take 90% of archivist Sasha AUs seriously for exactly this reason. It's literally always Sasha being boring and making all the "correct" decisions and also trying to set up J//mart because Of Course. You're telling me Sasha "I'm staying in my objectively dangerous job because I Need To Know" James, Sasha "seeks out other people's personal info for fun" James, Sasha "got two marks within thirty seconds of each other" James would save the world? No. Sasha would be just as "reckless" (read: desperate for info about the real terrifying and credible danger she is in) as Jon, maybe more so. She WOULD like being able to compel. She WOULD like getting invasive info about other people dumped in her brain. And she should have those things! She deserves them <3. Anyway I think the vibes of Jon and Sasha becoming the same monster (not them both becoming Archivists, but becoming THE Archivist), of them defending each other, covering up for each other, promising everyone else to do better, to keep the other in check, and then spiraling down the same path together, are IMMACULATE. There is also just a general appeal in someone who instantly Gets You. Who fully understands you. Actually this applies to both so New Paragraph <3.

Ok so my favorite shipping dynamic ever in general is "they know each other too well." It is having two (or more, but not many more) people who know each other on a deep, fundamental level. Who see the dark hidden crevices, the real face beneath every mask. Who understand each other better than they understand themselves. Who knows that their partner understands them just as well too. And it's messy, and sometimes unpleasant, and nobody else gets it. But when you observe them when it's only them, interacting when they think they're utterly alone, you learn things that crack your understanding of them apart. Seeing them interact and getting new insight into both of them, vulnerabilities they'd never reveal even in private. Which is probably why I'm so obsessed with outsider PoVs.

[casual-eumetazoa]

The job search is sucking the soul out of me. I've started looking into various online gigs/work from home opportunities and it is a sea of slop that I'm drowning in. It pisses me off so much because like, I know I have valuable skills, I have two degrees, I speak three languages, and even after burnout I still have a decently functioning brain. I just have no idea how to apply any of it to a paid job -_-

I literally need like. 500$ a month to survive. That's it. I'd be fine doing 20 hours a week at minimum wage of my country. I just cannot find anything suitable for myself. I still have time to find something but jesus christ, it is exhausting.

[phantomtorched]

When Ayaka smiles at Tatsu, the uncertainty that had been there until a second ago seems to have drained out of her a little more.

"Thank you for listening!" she exclaims, and truth be told, her heart is beating faster after her performance - but it's not a bad kind of feeling at all. If anything, the thrill of knowing he's heard her song is exciting, even if she's not quite sure she'd have the same reaction if it were anyone else listening.

"What did you think? I know I need to practice more, but... I'm pretty happy with it right now."

@kidwcnder ( starter! )

[t-u-i-t-c]

i do think that the episode blog is beneficial to read for behind the scenes info mainly, like how they chose to include parallels or going over art direction. i don't think it's necessary for viewing but i do think it adds something to read about the care that goes into creating and the thought processes. the show itself is targeted to younger viewers than previous sentai so some things are going to be more subtle than they would be in some other sentai, not in a way in which you wouldn't pick up on them but you might want confirmation. something like this would be them saying that taiya's teacher went away in the show, but the episode blog explains that this is for the sake of not making things too heavy for younger viewers and keeping it vague to allow children in different circumstances to perhaps relate to losing someone outside of death, death however is what was what was conveyed in that instance.

[britneyshakespeare]

Isn't he handsome

[etheravie]

The Light Catcher's Eulogy

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

The similarities were uncanny. She was in Eden, but she wasn't at home—where the wind howled a mourning song to remember all those she and her sister had encased within stone for future generations to see. Red shards pelted the crying land in an eternal hail and pierced the soles of all who trekked forward to make a willing sacrifice. Where Borealis stood, there was nothing. Her breaths were an echo in the quiet. There was no wind nor red shards. The rocks, stone and debris were distributed just as awkwardly as she remembered, but nothing felt right. The King's princess felt estranged in her own land.

"You lied to me," said a young, echoing voice. It was familiar, but Borealis didn't recognize who it belonged to. She couldn't connect the voice to a name. She didn't want to. The haunting realization of her situation froze her heart mid-beat, which now pulsed pure ice and electricity through her veins.

Oblivious to her peril, the voice continued, "Please look at me. It's been so long, Borealis. Or is that a lie, too?"

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Borealis woke up with a gasp. Her hand flew up to her chest and tightly gripped her vest. It was difficult for her to find a grip due to the material and her panicked breathing, which made her fingers shake. She continued until she found purchase. There were dark spots in her vision that followed her wherever she looked and the feeling of adrenaline coursing through her veins caused the edenkid to tremble. Borealis couldn't focus on anything amidst the panic that arose from rising out of slumber, so she tightly shut her eyes.

She never fell asleep. Even after her sister left her side, Borealis' nights remained restless; she would toss and turn uselessly. The comfort of unconsciousness' embrace had never been the same since that first night—when she and her sister closed their eyes only to awaken away from home and in a world they weren't yet prepared to face.

Borealis breathed deeply and continued to lie on the ground with closed eyes, looking for thought within the fog of fear that muddled her mind. Soon she began to feel the invisible but phantom presence of her twin resting by her side. Her expression was peaceful in contrast to last night's nightmare. Their mother's hands combed through Borealis' long hair and lightly scolded her for neglecting to brush it. An overwhelming tranquility overcame the edenkid when she heard a familiar melody, hummed by none other than her father. At the foot of the bed was Rocky, who slept contentedly. He barely managed to squeeze into the room. His light had finally darkened into nothingness. The dark dragon's gentle rumbles reminded Borealis of passing thunder, leaving glorious sun rays in its wake.

After a few minutes, the Eden twin finally found peace. Borealis' fingers loosened so her hand gently rested atop her chest. The gaping, cracked hole beneath her clothes allowed her to better hear and feel the thrum of each heartbeat, the source of which was protected by the crystals that surrounded it. The memory of the jewels' formation made Borealis shudder. The pain of a heart struggling to beat around a cage of crystals was one that no skykid should ever be able to experience. It had been enough to make the edenkid want to tear out her heart to make it stop.

Soft, glowing yellow eyes opened slowly. The sight of a red sky greeted Borealis in a lovely shade of scarlet. Not a cloud was in sight nor was there a hint of a breeze to be felt. The world was still and only moved when Borealis sat up. She took off her mask and rubbed her eyes, internally covering her ears to ignore the sweet whispers of sleep that beckoned her back into its loving embrace, unwilling to part ways so soon when they had her in their grasp for so pleasantly long. They were intermixed with the sound of idle water as Borealis fixed her mask back into place after she drew in a deep, final breath to steady herself. The aftermath of a waterfall within a river; not a ripple to be seen as it lie slumbering in wait for something to awake it into motion again.

Borealis suddenly jumped to her feet and quickly waved her arms and kicked her legs. The water clung to her clothes in a tight hug she never wanted and stained the hem of her pants and the tips of her white finger-loop sleeves. She nearly wrung the soaking fabric out, but hastily removed her hands with a hiss. She was repulsed by the idea of getting any more of her skin wet.

The water around the platform was shallow yet ever present. Each ripple threatened to submerge her ankles and drag her down into the opaque abyss if she dared to take one step forward. Borealis was safe for the moment, but the proximity of the liquid poison made her anxiety race as fast as her heart.

What stole her breath away was what lie above the waters, in the distance, and all around. She finally ripped her eyes away from the puddles to drink in the sea. In front of the light catcher were the ruined remains of her home. Bits of pillars stuck out of the water, left to forever plead for a higher hand to fix what was irreparable. The stone platform that had been so intricately built with love and precision was shattered and strewn about all throughout the realm. Borealis was thankful for the stones' sturdiness while she numbly walked forward, the water lapping at her feet now left forgotten.

Large rocks filled the majority of the expanse. They jutted out like a defective pit of spikes, stretching as high as they could only to fall short of a dream all those who had a light wanted to see. Most of the towering carnage rose in steep, tiny makeshift mountains to offer skykids of all kinds protection from the elements that poured down in an unending hail. Where soft raindrops would once occasionally sprinkle down on a paradise were now unending shards that lacerated skin and drained the light of any poor soul that dared to brave what Eden had to offer. Luckily for Borealis, she had torn hers out years ago.

She walked forward with awe in her eyes. Her breath was just as stilled as the air around her. It was almost suffocating. Borealis felt as though the crystals around her heart had finally developed the strength needed to infiltrate her lungs and choke her from the inside out.

The similarities were uncanny. She was in Eden, but she wasn't at home—where the wind howled a mourning song to remember all those she and her sister had encased within stone for future generations to see. Red shards pelted the crying land in an eternal hail and pierced the soles of all who trekked forward to make a willing sacrifice. Where Borealis stood, there was nothing. Her breaths were an echo in the quiet. There was no wind nor red shards. The rocks, stone and debris were distributed just as awkwardly as she remembered, but nothing felt right. The King's princess felt estranged in her own land.

"You lied to me," said a young, echoing voice. It was familiar, but Borealis didn't recognize who it belonged to. She couldn't connect the voice to a name. She didn't want to. The haunting realization of her situation froze her heart mid-beat, which now pulsed pure ice and electricity through her veins.

Oblivious to her peril, the voice continued, "Please look at me. It's been so long, Borealis. Or is that a lie, too?"

Borealis tried to cover her ears but a cold, hard hand gripped her wrist to stop her. A scream ripped from the edenkid's throat. She whirled around and tried to pull her arm away, but the statue held her hand with a vice grip. She hadn't noticed how close she had been to them before she slowed to a stop. Through the contact, she could neither feel nor hear a heartbeat.

The statue stared at Borealis with her eyes. Light seeped through the cracks within their body like sun rays struggling to part the clouds not unlike the roots of a plant. When she looked at the statue's chest, she saw no light. When she looked beyond it, all of the statues she had previously passed were now watching her with a hatred far beyond that of what her twin once held. Her despair had been enough to destroy their home, but the animosity of the statues' lights within their frozen bodies may as well have been enough to destroy every star in the sky. Their feet dragged against the earth and water while they walked, slowly but surely, steady on their feet. The sound was akin to that of shattering glass. Only this glass was inside of Borealis, clawing at her insides until she was nothing but a husk of the girl she used to be. She had no doubt that the fellow children in front of her would continue to break her body into nothing but dust once she shattered. Borealis knew that she wouldn't be missed. So she ran.

The princess wrenched her arm away from the skykid that attempted holding her back from an inevitable fate. A snap was a thunder strike in the quiet and the following thud was drowned out by the thunder of her footsteps against rubble and water. There was nowhere to go, yet her feet took her to an endless direction. She jumped up and over rubble and the remains of towering pillars that once stood proud and tall like the elders that ruled the realms. The thought made her blood boil and her heartbeat pulse in her ears like a war drum. It wasn't enough to block out the scraping sound that followed her. Every new statue that she passed moved with a newfound breath of life that the wind she stirred up instilled into them. It was easy for her to create distance, but the symphony of the broken and abandoned was a horrific wail. When she first turned around, there were little more than three. Now, there were almost fifteen. Borealis lost count of how many she and her sister had trapped there.

The wind was too strong. Borealis continued on as far as possible until water met sand; up the dune and down until the land flattened into something more stable. The breeze stirred from her parents' prison was wild, tossing her hair and the fabric of her loose clothes. Each step was slowing her enough to match her pursuers', for even the wind wanted to condemn her and push her to a fate worse than being shattered.

Soon, she was knocked down and to her knees. The edenkid was left grasping at the sand to stop herself from being pushed too far back. Never before did Borealis want nothing more than to break through the eye and reach her parents; to beg for forgiveness and be held within the safety of her family's arms. Never before had she ever been more terrified.

The fear she once held towards the elders wasn't fear at all, Borealis realized. That was hatred. This was fear in its purest form.

"Mother! Father!" Borealis cried, reaching out again as though her parents' prison was within reach. Playing pretend was her specialty, but that was impossible now. Not here. "Sister! Help me, please! I need you!"

"We needed you."

Borealis turned around and shouted in fear. When she tried to back away impossibly further, the unseen wall of wind shoved her twice as much toward the army. It looked as though every skykid in the realms had ventured to this strange Eden and turned to stone just to get the opportunity to watch her cower before them. Their faces were stoic despite the cracks and fractures in their bodies. It would kill any skykid within seconds, yet the ones in front of the Eden twin remained held together by something Borealis didn't understand. The word vengeance came to mind much more often than she would like.

The commander was the same soul that had tried to sentence her to an early fate. Borealis wasn't thankful. She was horrified to see that there was a lack of blood that poured out of the shoulder where there was once an arm. Their other lifted to point at her. It felt like a death sentence, so Borealis waited with bated breath. Behind her mask, tears ran down her cheeks and stung her eyes with pins and needles. "You trapped us," said the general. "You killed us when we needed you most."

Borealis exclaimed, "I didn't kill you! Eden did; my sister created the storm! You all chose to accept the offer. You all chose to follow me!"

Her words marked the rise of the conductor's baton, and so began the encore. It first began at piano, then crescendoed into a roar. Borealis covered her ears and shut her eyes but still she could hear the truth as clear as she could her own broken sobs that she didn't deserve to heave. For a terrifying moment, she thought they were in her mind, whispering pleas that would forever go unanswered.

"I trusted you!"

"You said it was safe!"

"You lied to us!"

"You took my light!"

"How can you blame your sister for what you did!?"

"Help me!" Borealis screamed into the sky when she felt a hand graze her shoulder. This time she was faster. She gripped the hard, icy skin and pulled as hard as she could. The short figure didn't budge. So was to the twin's surprise when they let her go. The wind pushed her onwards and made her stumble, struggling to get a grip and find purchase. The crowd's cries of laughter cut at her skin and the pointed fingers at her tall figure while she ran again dug into her wounds. When Borealis passed them they all prodded and pulled until the horrors of all she had done were exposed for the ancestors to see. Blood poured out of every pore. They tore out her crystals one by one, snapping them off into glittering shards that lie scattered with the sand like pixie dust. It would be the only beauty that she would ever be able to leave behind.

Her body was becoming dust and stone just like the rest. Each step was becoming more and more weighted until the tips of her feet dragged against the floor with a scraping sound sharp enough split the estranged realm in two. It didn't rise enough to silence the shouts that continued to chase after her like ghosts. The hundreds of thundering footsteps were a rainstorm, but it had since become nothing but white noise. It failed to flood the land and deliver her a faster relief. If she was going to die, she wasn't going to be slain by the hands she had once so easily guided. The tsunami of a guilty conscience flooded her heart quickly after the thought.

"Return to us, light catcher!" they began to call.

Another voice chimed, "Let's take her light!"

Within the cacophony of taunts and jeers, a third, distinct voice slashed through her throat and spilled a garden of blood and glass onto the grounds of Eden.

"She ripped hers out. Take what's left."

"Sister!" Borealis cried and turned back. A hand flew up to her mouth in horror. Her twin was standing front and center, with a legion of the lost and lonely. Their bodies were battered and bruised beyond belief, yet they all stood proud and tall with the confidence of an elder accepting their position. Every eye stared holes into the one within Borealis' chest, as though they could tear out her crystals by just sight alone. The other Eden twin, with her intact arm, slowly lifted it to point where Borealis' light once lie. When the battalion began to march on once more, Borealis tripped over her feet in her haste to escape. Her body was crystallizing, slowing her movement impossibly further. There was no light to break through the openings that tore through her skin. She screamed to the wind and never dared to look over her shoulder. "No! Please! Please, sister! You don't have to do this!"

The riot raged behind Borealis in a wildfire. The flames of anger were licking her heels and driving her forward, lest she be swept into the hands of the forsaken, eager to rip her to shreds and take what she had taken. There was no way to run or hide. She would inevitably tire out if she continued to flee, and if she hid, they would always find her. There was no way to escape.

But it was the only way. Borealis pressed forward. Her heart was spilling out of the cracks of her body, slowly being replaced by the shallow waters that beckoned her towards its cold, unrelenting grip. Terror was reflected in the water's surface when she practically fell next to a deeper divot of water, but the sound of hundreds of heavy footsteps reminded her that it needed to be done.

The edenkid didn't take a breath before she plugged her head into the water. The force was enough to crack her mask. She felt the need to gasp for air almost instantly. Every nerve, thrumming with adrenaline, ran on instinct and demanded her to thrash around to escape and take a deep breath. Borealis forced her body as still as she could to stay under for as long as possible. Her tears intermixed with the pooling water into something indistinguishable. Not even the tears shed from Eden's princess would be remembered.

When she could stand it no more, Borealis took a deep breath. The water flooded every inch of her body from the inside out, smothering her crystals and blocking out any light. Her screams were a lonely, distorted melody. The infiltration of any cracked crystals were the most painful. It was the same as fire being injected into her veins. Still she gulped the liquid like a dying man in a desert, wholly believing the water would spare him. It was too good to be true, because it was only a mirage.

Minutes passed and her body continued to let out muffled shouts for air, yet the corners of her vision never darkened. Her thoughts were jumbled puzzle pieces and the anticipated lightheadedness never swept her fright away. When she realized this, Borealis jerked her head back with a gasp. She heaved on her hands and knees, coughing and sputtering until she gagged. There was nothing but water. Everything was clear and quiet except for the gentle splashing of water. There was no death here. There was no freedom.

And then she heard the laughter. Borealis clutched at her torso. feeling as though she could cough for the rest of her life and it still wouldn't be enough to expel all of the water she tried to drown herself with. The statues surrounded and pointed at her with accosting fingers. Their laughter never ceased. Everyone's eyes were bright, which only brought more tears to Borealis'. Finally, they were merry again. They were being given the peace they deserved.

Borealis screamed and dunked her head back under a second time, then a third, and finally a fourth. The laughter persisted and so did her screams from under the water. When she resurfaced for the fifth time, her sister stepped forward. Borealis scrambled back until she bumped into the legs of one of the statues. She didn't dare take any step closer to Eden's elder.

The light catcher pleaded, "Please, sister! I beg you; I beg of you all! Please don't kill me! I'm sorry. I'm so sorry!"

"You're only sorry because you're finally getting karma," said someone from the crowd. A wave of mutters swept through the statues, whispering their agreement. Their giggles were grating to Borealis' ears.

The shorter twin hushed the crowd with only her voice. "You are already dead," she explained. "You removed your light years ago."

"Where am I!?" Borealis demanded. "What are you going to do to me? Why aren't you helping me!?"

Her words elicited another ripple of giggles from the crowd. The elder answered, "You are home, Borealis. We are home."

"Then what are they all doing here? If I'm dead, then where is mother and father? They should be—"

The realization must have been evident on her face, because from behind her twin's mask, Borealis could see her eyes squint with her unseen smile. The light catcher shook her head in disbelief. "No... no, no, no! Please, no!"

She stumbled to her feet and roughly grabbed her sister's shoulders. Her grip was so tight that there was an audible crack. Shortly afterwards, a few pebbles slipped down her sleeves and onto the ground below. The fabric was ripped where her right arm once was, now broken at the elbow. "Who sent you here?" Borealis demanded. "Elisia! Who shattered you!?"

Elisia smiled softly. "You did, Borealis."

The world was crumbling. Borealis shrieked when the statues dove forward and pulled her down, fighting over her wildly like she was the last ray of sunlight in existence. Glass and crystals littered the ground in a monochrome spectra; a glittering, stained glass window rippled as it was broken. Her own life was sharpened into knives. Each shard deemed thick enough was stabbed back into her body, leaving Borealis pinned like a moth on display. Between her screams, she coughed up what was left in a spritz of blood like a breath of mist after the morning rain. None of the statues ever flinched. They took delight in her misery. The light catcher screamed for freedom and forgiveness, but she received none. She shouted for her sister until her throat bled, but no red tinted light could be seen among the carnage. When she was dragged towards her parents' prison, Borealis fought with what little was left of her strength. Not to flee, but to find her sister. To scream apologies not to be understood, but to let her twin know that she truly was sorry for abandoning her when she needed her most. For not turning back to be there for her. For trapping sixty three skykids in the remains of their home to draw the attention of those who had banished her family and herself.

"Elisia! Elisia!"

She didn't need to look for long. Elisia had escaped near to the eye just as Borealis had. The elder opened her arm wide, as though she were about to receive or deliver a hug. Her cape was spread wide and majestic but there was no wind nor light to truly reflect the beauty their elder had blessed her with. Borealis was left wondering once again why they were ever created as twins. Why she was the oldest when Elisia had the weight of the realms on her shoulders. It wasn't fair. None of it was fair.

When Elisia spoke, her voice was not of her own. It was Borealis'. She said, "We have caught the light catcher. Welcome home, sister. I've missed you so, so much."

When Borealis blinked, a krill spike was now in Elisia's hand. The tip was dripping with blood. Around it, shards of a shattered light floated around, frozen in time. Borealis couldn't scream when it was stabbed through her chest, because as the weapon whistled through the air, it carried Elisia's scream with it.

[daz4i]

i'm normal and can be trusted around analysis of my favorite character (lying)

[friendofthecrows]

I went through this phase where all of my main character sets had a structure similar to the following: two besties living their consensually codependent dreams, the world's most awful bastard (affectionate but also derogatory), and an irresponsible adult who sort of accidentally adopted these teenagers and now has to try to be the responsible adult.

And honestly? That was banger.

[bogkeep]

i think. that if My Trauma™ has taught me anything, is that a lot of the time, what makes something Malicious Manipulation is the context.

like, of course we want to be able to tell when someone is trying to decieve us, and there are plenty of phrases to raise red flags and linguistic tricks designed to rope us along, to be sure... but someone saying the truth in a kind way and someone lying with ill intent can say the exact same thing. the difference is that one does not match up with reality. and yeah, that's scary! that's the whole thing about trust!! every time i see an analysis of someone's behaviour on social media with a framing of that person being SUSPICIOUS and MANIPULATIVE, it honestly really fucks with my head because ANYTHING can be posited as Suspicious and Manipulative. blocked people? didn't reply to every message from strangers? didn't publicly adress a topic or a controversy? took a break from the internet? said literally anything at all??? sounds like normal and healthy social media behaviour to ME, but what do i know! anyone who has the misfortune of finding themself the target of a smear campaign will quickly find that there's Nothing you can say or do that doesn't look Suspicious. if even a genuine effort to rectify a mistake or explain what happened can be seen as MANIPULATING THE MASSES, what chance do you have if you react in a normal, human way to being bullied? or, on the flip side, if you hold on to bad faith and read it in everything, if even generic niceness creeps you out, if there is no way for anyone to prove their innocence or humanity to you - that doesn't seem like a pleasant way to live, either. nor is constantly worrying if anything you say will come off as Malicious or Manipulative.

like, yeah. there's shitty people out there. i don't have any good advice on avoiding them. i trust easy, i often forget people can Just Go On The Internet And Tell Lies - yes i am quite autistic thank you - and my main two defenses are "i don't like the thing you're saying, either because the contents are bad or because the contents don't make any sense" and "the things you're saying and the things you're doing don't match up". those only really work if i trust myself enough, and sometimes that's hard, too.

anyway those are another two cents nobody asked for but you're getting anyway