#IMPOSIBLE GUESS

[ringdabel]

He’s just like a dream

He’s too perfect to even exist :’]

[esdeaths]

Are you telling me that the "legendary battle" gloreth waged against the monsters was just a child raising a play sword against their shapeshifting best friend because her village was scared of them and now an entire civilization is built on the ideaolgy of a glorious knight fighting a great evil thats only based on the fear of a very small group of people 1000 years ago

[crystalpallette]

little red riding hood but there's no hood and the big bad wolf is a cat and I don't think there's anything to ride in the forest and ringo could be littler so really it's just. red.

[nicorobinphd]

yamato misunderstanders, broke: yamato literally thinks he is momo’s father. he genuinely & wholeheartedly believes that is his son.

me, bespoke: yamato is shown to be a character that is deeply concerned with the concepts of narrative, legacy, freedom, family, community, & responsibility. all of these things are contextualized to him through his understanding of kozuki oden- a man he saw executed by his abusive & tyrannical father. kozuki oden spent years making a mockery of himself on behalf of and as a means of taking responsibility for the people of wano, who let himself be boiled as he held up his people to save them and his family. yamato witnessed all of this, and saw his father shoot the man in a show of so-called respect, then go after his family & nearly kill oden’s son regardless. when examining the influence kozuki oden’s legacy on yamato’s sense of morality and responsibility, as well as yamato’s concern with narrative resultant of knowing oden most through his journal, it becomes clear that this experience influenced yamato to feel a personal sense of responsibility for the loss of momo’s father and the impact that this would have on momo. it was at the hands of yamato’s father that kozuki oden’s life was stolen, it was at the hands of yamato’s father that momo himself nearly died, and it is as a result of momo’s father that yamato found the desire to go on at all. momo is oden’s true heir in the conventional sense, but narratively he is more representative of the desperation of the wano people, their disempowerment, and their desire to fight in spite of that. as explicitly lampshaded by his devil fruit, yamato is narratively positioned as the protector of wano, kept underfoot and unable to act by the force of kaido’s violence. their character arcs are, in this regard, two sides of a coin- which is beautifully tied off with their pair up towards the end of onigishima, with the power momo himself is able to muster because of yamato’s steady encouragement. the narrative protector of wano empowers and supports the narrative representative of it’s suffering people.* the man who’s father killed the father he wished he had takes responsibility for the orphaned son the latter left behind. yamato says he’s momo’s father.

*this is also why i adore the cover stories setting up yamato working with tama.

[furiousgoldfish]

I know scientifically, and reasonably, that isolation is a form of torture, but it's so hard to conceptualize it when it's so familiar and I've reached for it over and over again as a form of relief from the torture. Why am I longing for what others consider intolerable.

[kaurwreck]

I think it’s funny that Dazai is usually so cat coded but when he’s with Chuuya he becomes an over excited puppy and Chuuya is a grumpy cat who hisses a lot

I'd be interested to know how you're defining cat-coded and dog-coded because I wildly disagree.

Dazai is very feline in how he conflates negative and positive attention with regard to Chuuya, and the individualistic way he delays communicating or looping Chuuya into what he's doing (although he immensely improves on coordinating with others between the ages of 16-22; Stormbringer and Meursault are night/day re: Dazai's approach to trust and coordination).

And I think Chuuya's grumpiness is less dispositive than how well he falls into the prescribed role Dazai's given him, the loyalty with which he protects and expresses concern for Dazai in the field, and the way he responds to cues in Dazai's moods.

Cats can be loyal and responsive, too, of course. But it's the way Chuuya immediately turns from Lovecraft to chase after Dazai when Lovecraft threw Dazai; and the way Chuuya is calm and attentive while maintaining space from Dazai while Dazai processes in Meursault. There's an emotional intelligence, responsiveness to cues, and support/anchor role that Chuuya takes towards Dazai (in the field/where it matters) that always reminds me of a service dog.

When I think of characters as animal coded, it's less about their moods (any animal can be excitable or grumpy), and more about their behavior, how they respond (substantively, not just superficially), and to what they respond.

[qsmpbutwithsignlanguage]

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair. It wasn't something he was taught, his father a captain with hair cropped eternally close and his sibling never one to be keen to touch. He can't make intricate cornrows, nor is he any good at doing up his daughter's edges. He can't get the volume that Ironmouse with nothing more than a bottle of hairspray and prayers to the underworld. He can't even use a straightener the right way (as a permanent second degree burn scar on his left hand displays). But the one thing Tubbo has always remembered is how to braid hair

He isn't sure of much from before the island. Nothing more than the vague tunes of a song whose notes have been long forgotten, the smell of burgers on the wind when nothing else is near, a ringing in his ears that has him tilting his head for that much more volume. The irrational fear of explosions (because Sunny hasn't ever seen a fireworks show on her time on the island and Tubbo isn't going to be the one to change that). Those types of things.

But he remembers locks of pink hair in his hands as the person sitting in front of him talked briefly about one thing or another. And he remembers curls of blond, short enough that he couldn't braid their whole head, long enough that tiny golden braids could be tucked into the mess of frizz and growth. Straight blond hair as they hid beneath a nation they worked so hard to build, and cropped black strands of a person that he shouldn't have cared for, a person that only cared for themselves, but a person that Tubbo called a brother nonetheless.

White-black hair, a protruding horn with a single golden ring (a wedding band, Tubbo's mind inexplicably whispered), and the pink fuzz of the one Tubbo knew had to be his son.

Tubbo doesn't know how to do hair, but Chayanne is complementing the plaits in Sunny's hair and Philza mentions that Tubbo actually did a good job for once and Leonardo begrudgingly offers her approval and-

Tubbo can still half remember his sibling with a head crowned by braids, adorned by flowers. His own handiwork.

He doesn't know how to do hair, but he remembers how to braid. That's enough for Sunny. And that's enough for him

[vaguely-concerned]

the info that lucanis is a short king (god bless!!!) is a delight to me and also poses some further questions that also delight me. in 'the wake' it's established that illario is bigger/taller than viago (who almost buckles completely under the weight when illario can't keep to his feet anymore). is this a situation where there's a significant height difference between lucanis and illario, and illario is actually decently tall/average height? (very funny to consider. the mario and luigi of premeditated murder 4 pay.) or is this a case of viago being a properly teeny-tiny noodle armed poison specialist. (also very funny to consider. teia come get your purse dog of a man.) many things to ponder

[quartergremlin]

Dude I love your art but you make my baby fever get so much worse (;_;)

thank you! Unfortunately we are in the same boat.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | aloy 136/?

[barbieaemond]

Hello! Just a little heads up. Since I’ve been making gifs not related to asoiaf on my sideblog, I’ve changed my tracking; so if you need my gifs for your posts I am now tracking #tuserlivia. If you’re looking for Aemond gifs in particular, just type ‘tuserlivia Aemond’

And, in case you also love toxic blood suckers come say hello here <3

Thank you 💓

[tasty-littl-snack]

the way shane hugged so long and didnt stop hugging til ryan let go... shane wants to cuddle him like ryan is his little stuffed animal

Everything about the hug just makes me gnaw at the bars of my enclosure.

(this turned out more as a recap of the solos so sorry for that but I think it's needed for understanding of the emotional impact this had on me lmao).

Like, you know the whole thing about it, the whole thing of Ryan noticing that they can't hear Shane because he challenged him to scream as loud as possible and still didn't hear him because the place is so enormous. The way this was not like their last ghost hunt (In a little house compared to this location where you could hear Ryan screaming and Shane laughing about it because *Ryan screams of fright, Shane laughs* is their whole dynamic.). This ghost hunt was the opposite of that, where maybe Ryan challenged him to scream so he can keep in touch somehow, to know what Shane's doing on his solo but he gets nothing. It concerns him, so much he says that to Shane when he's back and Shane's like *oh that's worrying in case you die we wouldn't know it*. and that exchange is followed by Ryan trying to make it more light hearted by joking about dying in a scary way, but you can see that there is a tension of "what the fuck are we getting ourselves into".

Now the thing about Ryan is that he's in full on investigation "I'm making a show" mode, when he has the gear on. He is doing great and even is more concerned with the fact that his heart rate monitor died and the quality of the show, while still being scared. But he's still on the "oh the challenge didn't work for sure" and talking about the technicalities of the solo while Shane just waits until he's finished talking, gets up from the bench and goes in for a hug, wordlessly. And Ryan gives in because yeah that is truly a scary situation. It's the not asking that gets me, it's the holding close and for a good second before Ryan is okay with letting go. It's truly one of those moments that's for them more than for the viewers I think. And Shane saying that it was a good hunt as if remembering that yes they are still on camera and recording a show but it was more about "I was worried about you not returning but you're here I'm not letting you go anytime soon" that's what I interpret this as. So yeah he's going to hold him as close and hug a lot because this was an unprecedented situation. I also like that they texted Ryan after his time was up, so that they wouldn't sit in that uncertainty of where he is or what he's doing.

I also like that the entrance to the stairs was in the area where they were waiting. That gave them the possibility to interact and see that the other is okay and still there. Idk I liked the unexpected interaction especially now that they don't have many ways to contact each other on the solos.

[grmpgm]

actually. would you guys forgive me if i FURTHER postponed the magnum bullets piece for a ghoul grumps halloween special …

[ripadolin]

reading books where half the main characters are suffering horribly because of their addiction to drugs is really putting me off my drugs

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.

[cultivating-wildflowers]

the biography I'm reading: he was an attractive man

me opening up google: we'll see about that