#Unrelated but those backgrounds??? pain

[bluehattedapprentice]

What if before he went to America, Luke somehow travels back in time 3 years, the day before he meets his mentor Professor Layton with all the memories of what happens after?

Introducing my timeloop au! where Luke is stuck going back in time 3 years the day he was to go over to America several times and promptly tries to "fix" things that had gone wrong originally. Unfortunately for him fixing one problem leads to others being formed and after a mistake gone wrong on his 5th loop- Luke decides it's time to put an end to it once and for all.

[agustdiv1ne]

𖤐⋆°·.3:13 a.m. (m) — choi beomgyu

genre: smսt (mdni! ageless blogs dni!!), vampire boyfriend!beomgyu, fem!human!reader, mc gets her period, oral (f receiving), bloodplay (ig), i would say i'm sorry but i'm not <3

wc: 3.2k

beomgyu awakes to the smell of blood flooding his nostrils.

bleary eyes snap open as he shakes himself from his suspended state of consciousness, only for him to squint at the glaring crimson numbers of the alarm clock sitting upon the nightstand. it's terribly early. early enough that the stars still glitter against the sable background of the sky outside, early enough that this particular bedroom of his manor remains bathed in darkness. the dimness of the room, however, proves to be no issue for beomgyu's enhanced sight; he watches as your chest rises and falls in steady succession, your sleeping form blissfully unaware of his current predicament. 

oh god, it's you. the blood is yours. the sweet, saliva-inducing perfume of the crimson ichor overwhelms your typically clean, subtle scent; and yet according to his keen senses, the aroma is richer this time, somehow. more potent — he has not smelt anything as addicting in decades. it makes it all the easier for him to want to give into the primal urge to absolutely devour you, to feed and feed and fucking feed from your pretty little neck until he’s sated and you’re halfway brainless. with a jerky shake of his head, he pushes those instincts swirling in his chest into a dark corner of his mind. he’d never feed from you without your permission. he’s not like that; no, he’s not like his former coven that would hunt defenseless humans like you for sport, taking turns drinking from the victim’s body until their veins ran dry. no, he is far from being like them. he loves you, and he’d never do anything that could hurt you.

another wave of sweet iron wafts into his nose, and he exhales sharply, sitting up against the headboard. shit, he really should leave. he should run far away until he can no longer smell you, but he remains frozen in place. sitting there, he takes in how you begin to curl in on yourself, your brows furrowing as if you're in pain. the sight snaps him out of his bloodlust-induced daze, blinking hard when you groan and turn away from him on the bed, your arms wrapped around your midsection — cramps. you’re cramping.

blood, cramping…oh, beomgyu realizes, your period must have started.

the two of you are typically more careful than this, tracking your cycle and ensuring that he is far, far away when it inevitably does hit you. perhaps you’ve both become too complacent in your safety measures after being together so long. it’s easy to forget that he could pose a threat to you when he’s never given you a reason to fear him. he is considered a monster by many, yes, but not by you — and that’s all that really matters to him. besides, beomgyu likes to think he could control himself no matter what, especially when it comes to you and your safety; but when he looks down to his hands, he finds that the fabric of the comforter has been torn open due to his unrelenting grip. his eyes squeeze shut. he needs to leave. he needs to leave right now. you’re too tempting, too testing for his natural instincts. run. run far away before he loses control.

rolling over, your head lands on his lap, arms curling around his left leg as you nuzzle your nose into the smooth skin of his thigh. it’s stronger now, that overwhelming scent. he feels like there’s a frog stuck in his throat, ice in his veins — he needs to get out of here. right fucking now. gently, he tries to peel your body from his, but your arms have become vines, curled tightly around his leg, the side of his knee pressed into the valley between your breasts. they curl tighter as he tries to slip his hands beneath them, but he refuses to use the full extent of his strength on you. 

“baby,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder only to receive no response. he grits his teeth together, he gulps, he tries again. “baby, wake up. you need to let go.”

you let out a sleepy mumble of his name, hooded eyes just beginning to focus as you look up at him. slowly, you take in the stiffness in his posture, his fleeting gaze illuminated by the moonlight. frowning, you set your chin on his thigh, eyes fluttering to a close once again. “what’s going on?”

“i need to leave, darling,” he grits out — he wants to bite you. he can’t bite you. he can’t. he fucking won’t. 

any fatigue remaining in your body drains from your system the moment he utters those words, worry flooding your veins in its wake. you sit up, arms curling around yourself as you lean closer to him, barely registering the pain in your abdomen. his eyes squeeze shut, dark brows furrowing as he shifts away. “why? did something happen? are you in danger—”

how are you so selfless? why, of all things, is the first thing that comes to your mind is his safety? you’re the one that may be in danger here, and he is the reason why you might be. 

you’re on his lap now, hands sliding over the planes of his face and down to cup his jaw. “gyu, c’mon. why do you need to leave?”

his eyes glint red before returning back to normal, razor-sharp fangs elongating before retracting again. his hands remain by his side while he shakes his head, gripping the sheets so cruelly that the threads are on the verge of tearing. now that your legs are parted, he can barely think straight. he needs to taste you, he has to—

“your period just started.”

his voice has lowered to a snarl, resounding from deep within his chest and straight into the pit that has opened up in your stomach. restraint pulls his words taut, hungry, feral — he needs something. he needs blood. you know he’s been depriving himself lately, though you’re unsure why, but now…now feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you with this divine timing. at the sound of another feral groan passing from his lips, you freeze. the fingers brushing over his jaw tense up, pressing into his skin ever so slightly, your voice whisper-quiet. breathy, shock coating each word, “oh. oh shit, um. i’m so sorry, i didn’t. i thought i had another week until—”

your attempt at climbing off of his lap proves to worsen the situation. in the blink of an eye, he’s grabbed ahold of your hips, halting your movements. crimson tinges the edges of his irises, fangs poking out from his upper lip as he pants. “don’t move. please don’t move. i don’t want—fuck, i don’t want to hurt you, baby, please.” 

you sit there for a moment, taking in his pained grimace. he’s fighting himself, he’s fighting every single primal instinct within him telling him to pounce, yet his terribly gentle fingers pressing into your hips indicates that he is still in full control. it’s okay, you think. you’d be okay if he fed.

fingers sliding down to his shoulders, you squeeze. “gyu, you need blood. i know you’re hungry, and it’s okay. i don’t mind.” 

in response, he shakes his head. “no, i can’t. i might hurt you, i can’t.”

your lips purse. what could you do? you’re stuck here, in the precarious position, with no clear way out. figure something out, come on. deep breath. in, out. in, out.

suddenly, an idea unearths itself within the walls of your mind, blooms like the moonflowers that so easily captures your attention when you go on walks with your lover. he doesn’t have to feed in the typical way. he could…oh, he could…

“you don’t have to feed from me, baby,” you coo, watching as his eyes flutter open and meet yours. vermillion now, not one speck of brown in sight. with a gentle, encouraging smile, a hand comes up to swipe through his hair. he shivers at the contact, but you can tell he’s still there. he’s still your gyu, hungry or not. in silence, you take the hand that still holds your left hip and guide it down to the apex of your thighs, allowing his fingers to brush over your panty-clad core. “just…taste me from here.”

he inhales sharply at the contact, at your words, wrenching his arm away. his other hand leaves you completely, palms dragging over his face as he attempts to compose himself. every fiber of his being is screaming at him to take the offer, just take the offer and eat you out — you want it, he really wants it… 

“i can’t,” he chokes out from behind his hands. with a sigh, you shift your face closer to his, grabbing his wrists to remove his hands. he lets you, he always lets you. his eyes remain closed this time, but you work with it; you know he can hear your heartbeat and the rustling of your shirt, smell your sweetness, feel the warmth radiating off of your face as you press a peck to his cheek.

“i trust you,” you whisper against the corner of his lips. he whispers out a weak refusal, and you shift against him, just a tiny motion of your hips that causes him to hiss. lower lip wobbling, his hands find your hips once more, eyes silently pleading with you to quit moving before he loses it. as you cup his cheeks, you tilt your head. “i know, baby. i know you don’t want to hurt me — and you won’t, i know you won’t. but don’t you want a taste? it smells good, doesn’t it? there’s nothing stopping you from taking what you need.”

his resolve crumbles before your very eyes as you continue to encourage him. he doesn’t even need to bite you, it’ll be okay, you’ll be safe. it’ll feel good for you too, rid you of your cramps in the process — doesn’t he want to help you feel better? you’ll both feel better if he does this. 

that’s enough for his composure to splinter, cracks forming and spreading like the roots of a tree until it shatters. there’s little holding him back as he flips you onto your back, him towering over you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. pausing, he stares down at you, voice barely louder than a whisper. “tell me to stop.” 

“i don’t want you to,” you murmur back. “take what you need.”

that’s all he needs to hear.

his fangs glint under the moonlight as he swoops in to capture your lips, aggressive, tongue slinking its way past your lips to curl with your own. the kiss itself doesn’t last long, not when one of his fangs slices into your lip, pulling a squeal from you. easily, he tongue locates the wound, laves over it as blood bubbles up to the surface of the flesh. he moans against your mouth at the taste. the sting subsides as the wound closes, and he pulls away. 

“need more,” beomgyu rasps. he’s wide-eyed, on the verge of absolute ruin, but you love seeing him like this. you crave to see him lose control. you are not the glass doll he’s made you out to be. you can take it, you can take him, and he needs to realize that sooner or later — preferably now. 

so you open your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips, watch as his eyes roll back into his head, and say, “then have more.”

your panties are torn away from your center with ease, and while he can’t technically die, beomgyu thinks that this might just be the nail in his metaphorical coffin. with the barrier of clothes now eliminated, your scent is no longer obstructed, and you smell absolutely fucking divine. his head spins, nose filled with base notes of iron and sugar and a richness that he’s never experienced before. oh. oh fuck, he’s done for. 

sliding down your body until he’s settled between your legs, he holds you open and takes in how blood drips from your fluttering hole. you’re aroused, that much he can tell, and it excites that untamed side of him that he constantly tries to tuck away. it’s out in full force right now, and he doesn’t have it in him to hide it anymore, not when you smell like this, not when your blood is right there for the taking, especially not when you’re inviting him to taste with that sweet little voice of yours, breathy and needy and wanton, pleading for him to touch you. 

and fuck, he can’t take it anymore.

he doesn’t buy time with teasing your thighs like he usually does whenever he eats you out — no, he goes in straight for the kill, tongue licking a strip up your pussy, his groans reverberating against your clit as your saccharine blood hits his taste buds. he doesn’t pull away to comment, but you know just by the way his tongue slips into your hole that he likes what he finds. sometimes, you forget that your lover is no longer human — until these moments in which you are brutally reminded, his tongue extending far into your walls as he gives in to his basest desires. you cry out as the muscle curls up against the spongy spot inside you, thighs closing around his head, but not for long; fingers curl under your thighs, spreading you open for him as he removes his tongue from your entrance, beginning to lick your folds, your inner thighs, cleaning up the blood that has found its way there. his tongue does not slowly savor your skin. rather, he laps at you like a starved man, pulling you closer and closer to his face. if he were human, you’d be worried if he could breathe. 

this must be heaven, he thinks, as he returns back to your folds, tongue swirling around your entrance, his nose bumping against your weeping pearl while his tongue explores your walls as deep as his fingers could go. the sensation is far different from fingers, however — hotter, wetter, you can feel his desperation with every lick and drag, the roughness stimulating every single nerve ending it touches. his hands hold your hips up, holding you as close as possible as he shoves his tongue deeper, the tip of his nose now grinding against your clit. 

“g-gyu! fuck, oh my god, gyuuu!” you repeat over and over again, feeling your high approach. the knot in your stomach pulls tighter, and you reach down to rub your clit with sloppy circles. beomgyu growls at this. he knows you’re close, he knows so well, and he wants to get you there. he needs you to experience the nirvana he has reached right now — he needs you right here with him. 

his tongue leaves your hole again, but the aching emptiness is quickly remedied with three fingers filling you to the brim. back arching, you plead for mercy, for him to let you cum, for anything. please, god, you’ll take anything. he finds your bud, suckling it between his lips, moans muffled against your core and the knot pulls tighter and tighter and the fire rushing through your veins grows white hot—

the knot snaps.

“fu-uckkk!” you scream, voice cracking as your vision spots white, pleasure rushing through every crevice of your body, thighs quaking and back arching and hands finding hair and yanking. your body feels like it’s floating, the waves of pure bliss unending as he continues his ministrations, removing his fingers so he can revel in the taste of your sweet, sweet blood that gushes from your hole. unable to come down, you remain in the throes of pleasure even as he flips the both of you over, your thighs now cushioning his head as you sit atop his face.

you gasp at the position, his eyes now glowing a bright scarlet in the darkness as he looks up at you. you’ve never seen such a shade on him, and arousal sparks in your stomach once again. “gyu, what—”

“more, need more,” he grunts out, now tracing your folds with his tongue. your gyu is still there, just…hungrier, frantic for more. 

if he could taste this for the rest of his life, he would never tire.

“gyu, i don’t— ohhh, shit!” your voice pitches up as he begins to lap at your core, little in his mind other than taking and taking until he’s sated and full. your clit aches with overstimulation, your walls quivering with each pass of his eager tongue as he holds you against him. soon enough, your torso collapses into the mattress, sheets curled between your fingers while you whimper, sweat beading across your heated skin. you can’t. you can’t cum again, and you tell him this again and again, yet he doesn’t heed your cries, building you up and making you cum on his tongue again and again until you can’t even think. your words are incoherent, garbled and tearful against the sheets, begging for him to let up.

“baby, baby i can’t,” you sob as you reach what you think is your fifth orgasm. “gyu!”

finally — fucking finally — he lets up, helps you ride out your high before slipping out from between your thighs. helping you onto your back, he holds your face between his palms, a small trace of blood from his fingers staining your cheek. your blood covers the majority of his lower face, smeared across his chin and lips and even a little on the tip of his nose. if you had enough energy to, you would laugh at the sight. 

“gonna go clean up real quick, okay? i’ll be right back,” he murmurs, squeezing your cheeks when you nod. he’s back within mere seconds, irises now back their normal umber and fangs retracted, no longer more animal than human, no traces of your blood on his face anymore.

“you okay?” he asks softly, smiling when you offer a lethargic nod. he climbs over you, sliding his lips over yours, wet, languid kisses exchanged as he slides his hands up and down your sides. “y’did so well for me, darling. thank you for trusting me.”

“told you it would be worth it,” you shoot back, tiredly giggling when his eyes narrow. 

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, eyes softening around the edges as he drinks you in, every curve and edge — perfect. you are perfect to him. hands slides up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “you wanna take a bath, love?”

leaning up, you give him a small peck. “that sounds wonderful.”

as beomgyu gathers you in his arm, commenting how he should just burn these sheets since they’re basically ruined, you find yourself thinking that there’s no one else that you would rather spend the rest of your life with — the rest of eternity with, if he’ll allow it. for now, however, you’ll let him tend to you in the bath, pressing butterfly kisses to your neck from behind as you bask in each other’s presence, the sky outside fading from a deep black into a muted azure. 

for now, this is enough.

masterlist

© to agustdiv1ne. do not copy, repost, steal, and/or translate.

[juliaia]

Rainy Nights in Hell's Kitchen

—————————————————————

Summary: You’ve been dating Matt for about a year—you always sleep better when you’re with him.

Pairing: Matt Murdock x gn!reader

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, fluff, overuse of em-dashes.

A/N: This is super short and sweet, but I wanted to try writing for Matty. Totally feel free to request stuff if you enjoy, but I post fics at random whenever the urge strikes, so I’m not like an “official tumblr fanfic person” or whatever—but I sure am here!

—————————————————————

It was a dark and stormy night—and usually you wouldn’t mind that. The rain is pretty peaceful, and with the windows open you can catch the cool night air and the smell of petrichor on the breeze.

But today has been long and tiring, and lately you’ve been having really vivid, unpleasant nightmares.

You’ve kept them mostly to yourself, tying them to the general stress of day-to-day life and maybe a dash of unresolved trauma—but they’re just nightmares. They’re silly, and you are definitely not afraid to go to bed tonight in your own room in the dark, with the occasional, startling boom of loud thunder in the background.

The fact that you immediately answer a much too eager, “yes”, when Matt asks if you want to stay over at his apartment is totally unrelated.

So now, you’re sitting in the bathroom with Matt, getting ready for bed.

He looks so damn pretty in the slightly dim lighting. His face is cast in a soft glow, his bare chest is looking like a very warm, very comfortable pillow, his sweats are fitting him very nicely and making his butt look exceptionally cute—but to be fair, he always looks sinfully good. You’re pretty sure you could watch him just exist for hours on end.

You see a grin creep onto his face as he feels your eyes on him.

“You’re staring, sweetheart.” He says, pushing his hand through his hair as he turns towards you and holds out a hand. You take it, and he leans in to kiss your forehead.

“Just watching you. You’re pretty.” You say. His grin softens to something less mischievous and more fond and sweet, and he leans in again, this time planting a soft kiss on your lips.

“You’re prettier.” He murmurs—he’s got this shamelessly lovesick look on his face. You chuckle and roll your eyes.

“Says the blind man.” He gives your hand a playful squeeze.

“I can still tell you’re pretty—ready for bed?” He asks. You hesitantly nod.

“Uh, yeah, alright.” He raises an eyebrow.

“…You’re usually more enthusiastic about sleeping.” You sigh, the two of you walking over to settle into bed on top of the cool silk sheets.

“I’ve just been having weird, bad dreams.” You explain. Matt’s face goes all soft and sympathetic.

If there is one thing Matt is, it’s protective. Which is usually sweet, but occasionally overdramatic to the point of hilarity. For example—two weeks ago, you got a papercut while opening a package (one of those awful cardboard-paper-cuts), and the moment Matt heard you let out that little hiss of frustration and pain, he came rushing over to fuss over you, face painted with concern as he took your hand and frantically examined the wound. It’s especially funny considering how he insists you don’t need to worry about him when he shows up at 3 in the morning after patrol, bleeding from a stab wound in his side, or on the verge of passing out from a concussion.

So, you mention the nightmares, and Matt goes all soft, pulling you against his chest, holding you close, kissing the top of your head.

“Oh, angel, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?” He asks. You shrug.

“Eh, you’ve got other stuff on your plate—they’re just nightmares.” Matt shakes his head, nuzzling his face into your hair and inhaling deeply.

“They’re upsetting you, and ruining your sleep.” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head.

“Matty, babydoll—“ He cuts you off by pulling back and pressing his forehead against yours, his warm eyes unfocused and unseeing but somehow still so damn emotional.

“Sweetheart,” He says. “You always take care of me. Let me take care of you, please?”

Dammit—Matt and his stupid puppy dog eyes. That sweet soft sad look he gives you, the pleading, pouty face, his pretty pink lips and big dumb wet eyes. You relent, sighing in defeat, and he grins, pulling you into his arms, kissing your cheek, and dragging you to bed, laying down with you.

“I’m here, okay?” He murmurs, kissing the top of your head. You grumble, folding yourself into his arms, smushing up against his chest. He rubs your back, holding you close. “Nothing gets to ruin your sleep except for me.” He says. You snort, giving his bicep a squeeze–oh those wonderful thick arms of his.

“Dork.” He pulls you over, tucking you against his chest for a cuddle. He nuzzles his face against the top of your head.

“I’m here. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. No nightmares.” He says. You smile, hand finding his, fingers lacing through his own.

“I don’t know if you have any control over what I dream about, but I appreciate it anyway.” You say. Matt yawns softly, kissing your temple.

“I’m just gonna hold you so tight the nightmares won’t be able to get you.” He loves having you so close, loves being able to protect you and cuddle up with you to sleep. He presses his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, letting out a happy growl. You reach back to ruffle his hair.

“Thanks, Matty.” You murmur. He nods, kissing your cheek.

Curled up in his arms, you fall asleep easier. The rain falls outside, soft pitter patters on the window panes as Matt’s steady breathing lulls you to sleep.

When you wake up at two in the morning, hands gripping the sheets, Matt wakes up with you, pulling you closer and kissing your temple, hands coming up to rub your shoulders.

“Hey angel, you’re okay. I’m here.” You push yourself further into his arms, body shaking slightly as you wrap your arms around his arm, holding it against your chest. “I’m here.” He rubs your chest, hand drawing soothing circles against you. “What can I do to help, hm?”

You just push yourself closer to him, and he settles you into his lap, shushing you gently and kissing the top of your head. He holds you tightly, hand gently rubbing over your racing heart in a gesture he hopes is grounding and comforting.

You tuck your face against his warm neck, inhaling the scent of him, pressing a soft kiss to his skin. He chuckles, hand coming to cup your cheek, his face tilting down and his nose nudging against yours. You wrap your arms around him, too tired and shaken up to be embarrassed about seeking him out for comfort. He cuddles you against him, laying back with you against his chest.

You’re quickly lulled back to sleep by the soothing sounds of his breathing and heartbeat, and after that, you sleep solidly through the night without any issues. Matt’s warm arms wrapped around you, blankets cozy and soft, the rain and thunder outside becoming gentle background noise.

In the morning, Matt wakes you up with a few soft kisses on the temple, stirring you to consciousness, drawing a little grumble from you. He chuckles, rubbing your back gently.

“Sorry sweetheart, I couldn’t resist.” He pecks you on the lips. You hide your face against his chest, trying to block out the light from the window. He kisses the top of your head, throwing his leg over your hip to pull you closer. He’s so warm, and he smells so good, and he’s cuddling you close like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “Did you sleep okay? Aside from the bad dreams?” He asks, hand resting on your back. You nuzzle your face against the crook of his arm. You did sleep okay, you felt safe and warm in his arms, held close in his arms.

“Mhm. Slept better with you.” You say. Matt grins, face flushing as he snuggles you closer, squishing you against him.

“You should stay over more often. Move in with me, so I can keep you safe from all the nightmares.” He says, fingers brushing through your hair. You smile softly.

“…Shit, are you asking me to move in with you?” You ask. Matt kisses your forehead.

“Depends…would you say yes if I was?” You chuckle.

“Yes, yes I would.” Matt smiles, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

“Then yes, yes I am asking you to move in with me.”

“And I’m saying yes.”

[cartoonistcoop]

ShortBox Comics Member Interview: Otava Heikkilä

Throughout the month of October, the Cartoonist Cooperative will be sharing interviews with members of the Co-op who have a new comic available at the ShortBox Comics Fair 2024! 

NOTE: The Cartoonist Cooperative is not affiliated, associated, authorized, endorsed by, or in any way formally connected with ShortBox.  

Today’s spotlight is Otava Heikkilä and their new comic for ShortBox, Home by the Rotting Sea 

We’d love it if you could introduce yourself and tell us about your background in comics.

Otava Heikkilä: Hey, I’m Otava, a thirty-something comic artist from Finland whose work focuses on narrative, usually historically inspired, usually dark fiction, for queer adults. I’ve been self-publishing comics online since 2010, and my works have been published by indie publishers like Iron Circus Comics and Quindrie Press from 2016 onwards. My piece for ShortBox Comics Fair 2024 will be my 14th comic to see a release. I don’t really know why I make comics, but it’s the primary driving compulsion I have in life. Sad, or awesome, or both!

Tell us more about your new comic?

OH: Home by the Rotting Sea is about two former playthings from the Human King’s harem. This world has ended after a climate event, and the ice caps have melted, and everything that’s left is this hot, rotting world without trees. The usual things still thrive there: Kings with big enough armies to confiscate land for themselves. But after the ice caps melted, humans have gotten in contact with another humanoid species who used to live behind the glaciers: the Väki, who the humans call giants, because they’re bigger than us. The territories are under dispute, and to smooth over the latest injury, the Human King sends those two former playthings, Ilta and Laulu, and a cart full of jewelry and furs, to the Väki as an appeasement. The comic itself starts here, and we see Ilta and Laulu learning to live among the Väki. It’s an existential slice of life.

Tell us about your creative process; how did you develop this comic and what are the steps you took to bring it to the final stage?

OH: While developing a new comic, I usually have a few interests that compel me, and a few more that bother me, and I end up alchemizing those together. In recent years I’ve been interested in prehistory and the other humanoid species that lived alongside us in the past. Everybody wants to make a story about how we might’ve felt about the Neanderthals, and I think I’d like to make it too. This is kind of a go at that story, but I wanted to make it fictional and unrelated to our real world relatives. Chasing historical accuracy with a story about prehistory is inherently kind of an impossible, funny thing anyway, and I’ve understood I’m not well-read enough for it (If you are, and would like me to illustrate it for you, hit me up).

So the speculative anthropology was the compelling part. The bothering part was/is the genocide in Palestine that broke into a hell on earth while I was developing the comic. I want to make it clear that my comic doesn’t matter in any meaningful way under this terrible light, but the events are inside all of us and making us sick; my comic is about the death of a people and a land because somebody at the top can’t stop eating the world until there’s nothing left. It’s impossible to make it and have it be unaffected by what’s happening. This was the hardest story to make for me because I’ve bagged so much grief inside it, and hope too.

I’ve also been through chronic pain this year, and I made a lot of the backgrounds of the comic with my left hand, which is in somewhat less pain than my right one. It’s kind of stupid to suffer for pictures, and I will try not to do it going forward, but probably I will.

Does a sense of audience, even if it’s just an audience of one, enter into your creative process? If yes, how so?

OH: Yeah, of course. It’s the need to make a connection to somebody and to feel and see the same thing with brief but great precision. It’s a kind of truth-sharing, because I find it hard to share my real self in my personal life. Or maybe those two things aren’t connected, I don’t know. I’m always thinking about the individual on the other side.

Can you talk about your visual style? How did you develop it?

OH: I think art comes to me easily and because of that I’m lazy about it. I don’t use as much reference as I should, and there’s a general ground floor chaos to everything; my work is worse for it. I’ve tried to tighten the ship and learn better fundamentals as I’ve gotten older, and the result is, I guess, interesting. I do big compositional color blocks first, then lines and detail. I went to art school for my Bachelor’s degree and retained nothing from there except a general superiority complex about having an art degree and some painting fundamentals, which make my workflow slower than it should be for digital comics. Sense of dimensions and scale, color, and clarity of the reading experience are important to me.

Read the rest of the interview HERE! And dont forget to check out the Shortbox Comics Fair to support these lovely creators!!

[kaeyachi]

So...I finished the Arlecchino story quest...

Spoilers below!

TW: Mentions of Suicide, Child Experimentation, Child Abuse, and Murder/Death

This is, by far, the best story quest I have ever done!

First of all, CHILDE?! CHILDE ESCAPING HIS PERSONAL AMBULANCE TO SNEZHNAYA JUST TO COME BACK TO FONTAINE TO ASK SKIRK A QUESTION? Bro is so funny, please-

please save him.

Wait, actually, yeah please do save him. Pulcinella and Pantalone are both plotting in the background, and they got Childe involved...

I also loved the children! Look at how terrifying they are! They're my absolute faves!!

Lyney cementing the reason as to why Arlecchino chose him as the next King is wonderful to see as well. For some time, I thought Freminet and Lynette had a shot, even with reading their lore. What I have failed to realize is that Lyney really is the inspiration for all of the people in the House of the Hearth. His frustrated and disappointed spiel about Freminet not trusting him with Clervie struck me to the heart. This is an older brother at work here people!

Also if I had a nickel every time a cryo younger brother hid a dangerous secret from his pyro older brother which got them into an argument once the truth came out, I'd have 2 nickels ✌️ (somehow gave me war flashbacks to a scene that doesn't even exist lmao)

LYNETTE IS THE FUNNIEST SIBLING BTW. SHE'S MY QUEEN FOR THIS.

Clervie! Our dearest! I'm not fully sure what part in her design did it, but she barely looks like an NPC somehow. Like, yes, this is still an NPC base model, but... is it perhaps the hair? And the extra lashes??

Also, her calling Arlecchino "Perrie" made me sob. I wasn't ready to hear nicknames!!

The mention of Snezhnayan auroras also made me sob again as well. You know what? This entire thing made me sob.

Clervie's dread and horror at the thought of her own mother, her unrelenting spirit that kept her going in her fight for her fellow peers freedom despite the abuse that she will receive, and her unfulfilled dreams repeatedly being mentioned throughout this quest was heartbreaking.

I do have to say- the animations they released for Arlecchino helped a lot with the emotions we are supposed to feel for this quest. Not only was that good Advertising and promotion for the Arlecchino banner, it also set up the plot that would have not been well presented ingame had they chose to do that instead.

Crucabena and Clervie part of this quest were not the only ones mentioned in this quest, but also that damn dude that she killed with her heels! I personally like the way they released all those animations because the quest feels more emotional and alive now, and we could follow with the story better than before (and it effectively increased the hype)

Speaking of more alive, the facial expressions have definitely improved! This quest had them utilizing various expressions well, specifically for the playable characters, so, again, this really helped with the feel of the quest.

Additionally, adding a picture to scenes also set the tone really well. It's not that pictures have never been included in quests before, but the way these were framed(?) made it look way better than the ones before.

By the way...is it just me? Or did Paimon's voice somewhat mellow out for this quest? I had recently played some other story and world quests, and Paimon's EN voice is admittedly high-pitched and painful to hear in those, but for this quest, it's as if her voice was toned down (like Mondstadt Paimon, but with current Paimon energy). I'm hoping this was them taking the criticism from past and adjusting their instructions to Paimon's VA accordingly, because I loved Paimon's voice in this quest (that or I'm delulu)

Quick lore tidbits before I go back to gushing about this quest:

1. Arlecchino confirmed not from Fontaine (like I legit thought she may be Khaenri'ahn due to the blood moon thing she has going for her, but it's nice to confirm her non-Fontainian status)

2. Crucabena was the one who had a deal with Dottore on sending members of the HotH to him for experimentation. Anyone who was physically impaired or left alive after a duel to death are automatically sent to him. Clervie has described this as a fate worse than death... Peruere rejected Dottore's partnership offer once she became the next knave. Also, Crucabena used Clervie as an "example" for those who wish to escape, meaning Clervie received the most abuse (which apparently worsened as the years went by). Clervie lost hope sometime along the way and was basically suicidal as well by the time she and Arlecchino had their duel... Her mindset by that time is that the only hope for freedom to her is death. The popular theory of Clervie letting Arlecchino kill her is proven in a horrifying way with this discovery... (yes, she wanted Arlecchino to be the king, but at the same time, she took this situation as a chance to hit 2 birds with 1 stone)

3. Project Stuzha is apparently something highly dangerous, and Pulcinella and Pantalone are trying to get Childe and Arlecchino involved (Childe was told to aide the project by Pulcinella, while Arlecchino says she doesnt want the HotH to be involved in it)

4. Here is me reannouncing that I am in fact taking the L on the Freminet and Crucabena situation. Basically, the timeline is that at age 16, Clervie dies, and we are left with a 1 year time period for a 6 year old Freminet to enter under Crucabena (I'm guessing this is either a retcon or a means to hide the Arlecchino plot by not having them directly say mother in Freminet's character story 4). After that said 1 year, Peruere kills Crucabena and has spent several months in Snezhnaya before reviving the House of the Hearth and adopting Lyney and Lynette (perhaps the children of Crucabena's HotH simply stuck together during that time)

Basically, yes, Arlecchino is in her mid-20s. Not my personal cup of tea, but hey, genshin ages are confusing most days (Ayato is older than her, and Ayaka may actually be older than her as well... ugh I need a moment please... I MAY BE THE SAME AGE AS HER. NO-)

5. Freminet used to also call Lyney "brother". What changed that, I'm not sure (and if I had a nickel...), but the thought of baby Freminet following around big bro Lyney and big sis Lynette makes my heart melt. Freminet actually cried after Lyney basically told him how important Fremi is to him, so whoever made Freminet think otherwise... 😡 they better square up because we ride at dawn

ok back to me gushing

THE BOSS FIGHT? IT WAS SO COOL! It was beautifully animated, and the fact that they added this at the end?

The fear on the traveler's eyes upon realization of what true power Arlecchino held was amazing imo. We canonically cannot defeat Arlecchino in her boss fight! She will be a weekly boss that we can defeat, but in actuality, we really cannot beat the number 4 of the Fatui Harbringers.

We now have actual proof that harbringers 1-4 are not within our capabilities to challenge, and to add to that horror, this is us fighting Arlecchino with Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet. This is also actual proof that we, the traveler, cannot defeat a ton of other characters as well! (were cooked if we never get a power boost and plot armor✌️)

Also let me sneak in this picture:

Cunty as fck. Powerpuff girls energy. They're the Heathers, and we, the traveler, are Veronica.

And finally, the last part of my commentary that cemented this quest as my top 1:

Everything Arlecchino has done for the House of the Hearth, it was all thanks to Clervie and her dreams.

Arlecchino has shaped the HotH into a more honest relationship between her as the father and them as her children. Everything Clervie hated about the old HotH is now nonexistent in this version.

The children could be set free.

Duels are not to death.

They will not be sent to their doom if they lose.

This is everything that Clervie dreamed of, and this is everything Clervie tragically never got to see and experience because she lost all hope.

Clervie's story ended in tragedy, but Peruere lived and breathed Clervie's dreams for her anyway. Seeing the aurora was the start of Peruere finding the goal of living Clervie's dream, and now, Arlecchino strives to do her best to see those dreams come to fruition.

And the qualities that Peruere admired in Clervie are the same qualities that made her want Lyney to become the next king. Hopeful, caring, protective, passionate, and full of conviction. Lyney will take the mantle and live and breathe for Clervie's and Peruere's dreams someday.

Honestly, I have more to say, but I think this is a good place to stop for now. The dynamics of all these characters have made this experience worthwhile, and I hope that genshin continues with this sort of style in the future. Here's to more amazing stories from genshin!

Bonus screenshot while we are still here:

[gremlinmodetweeker]

Oh my God, your latest Cat AU prompt had me in a chokehold. Please keep writing them (of course when or if you want to, frfr) 🙏 Love em!!

I love your art and stories, I always have my eye out for you on my feed. Thank you for your time and gifting us your art.

Have you thought of mashing this all together into one big story/continuous chapters? Do you like getting ask prompts? Do you own cats? What's your favorite candy? (Haha ok maybe those last questions are unrelated, but I lost my childhood girlboss kitty who would steal pizza slices off the stove and fight coyotes reminds me of cat!Horangi and I'm a slut for sweets)

Thanks again for your time and hope all is well!

Okay, so, this is a long ask so forgive me for rambling a bit.

Most imortantly, thank you so so much for your support! As an up-and-coming writer on tumblr, this means the world to me. I cannot stress how thankful I am for all the messages, comments, reblogs and likes. Everything means so so much to me. I know I'm not the best artist/writer out there, but anythign you guys give me makes me smile, laugh and feel like I actually finally have a place in fandom. I finally feel like I'm not just observing, but actually adding to a community (Sideplug here's a konig tumblr community I started: https://www.tumblr.com/join/IsfMVrTZ). I cannot thank you all enough for giving me a place here at the table.

Now, as for CatHybrid!CoD, it's weird. I have a lot of thoughts of what's going on in the background (namely Shadow Company, TF141, and the rest of KorTac and what they're up to) but I really like to focus on König and Horangi because, ya know, they're my favs. I love those two goofballs. I think they're great and I love love love writing for them. Unfortunately, I'm really bad at coming up with random prompts on my own, so yes, I rely on asks to make Cat Hybrid!CoD a thing. I absolutely need asks. I love the asks because they inspire me to flesh out this world all the time. I cannot stress how much I appreciate them.

I would like to make a longer story, but I know the story ends with König and Horangi revealing their true hybrid status to reader and thus revealing the secret. Part of the joy of this story is keeping the secret, right? So it's hard because on one hand, I want to keep the secret forever, but I know the truth has to come out eventually. I don't know how to make the story yet because of that. I just get so conflicted. I could try it out though if you'd like? It's something to consider. I'm going up north to my parents for Christmas, so I might not have anything before then. Forgive me for that.

Finally, I do have a cat! Part of the big reason I'm going up north is to bring my senior cat back home with me. I feel bad moving an older cat, but Clovis is bonded to me. He gets miserable when I leave. I had to leave him behind when I moved out to college, but now I found a place where I can keep him with me. I love him so so much and he loves me, so I'm bringing him home where I can give him all the care he needs.

Since I have a cat, I know how painful it is to lose your best friend. It's heart wrenching beyond belief. I hope you're feeling okay now, and I hope your little girl is somewhere better now. I cannot stress how haunting the grief is. You learn to live, but in the beginning? I am still a bit shaken honestly. I hope Cat!Horangi can continue to inspire joy for you and make you smile.

Favourite candy? Candy corn, lindor's milk/peppermint/white chocolate, cadbury/lindt milk/white chocolate and the like. I don't like darrk chocolate so much (I got an 11lb bar of dark chocolate years ago and it was too much).

But yeah! Please send asks, they make this whole au real. I love them dearly. I'm not always the most timely in answering them (one in my inbox hasn't been answered because I'm still setting up the software to be able to ask it) but yeah, I do love asks. They always make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

[crooked-wasteland]

" We have no obligation to make history. We have no obligation to make art. We have no obligation to make a statement. To make money is our only objective." – Michael Eisner

(And Vivienne Medrano, apparently)

This image was circulating for a brief time here on Tumblr with the explanation of it possibly being a leak of Oops' script. I didn't want to touch on it at the time because it was of dubious origin. At this point, obviously, we know this is not that script. I've seen some comments about it possibly being a rough draft or otherwise somehow legitimate.

The reason I say this is because, regardless of the authenticity, it does feel like the quality of storytelling found in the show. If a scene like this did appear, I don't think it would feel all that out of place within the context of the show. One cannot fault those who did perpetuate the idea, because the concept of it is believable.

However, I have a feeling this is actually the product of ChatGPT.

The writing and dialogue lack depth and nuance. The emotions are shallow while attempting to portray immense pain. It fails to tap into any semblance of humanity. When individuals discuss the hypothetical threat of AI taking over the artistic space and removing the need for human creativity, it comes from a place of lacking that same humanity. Social media and, unfortunately, Fandom have boiled down art to a content farm.

Algorithms mixed with huge communities seeking immediate gratification have dumbed down art into an appealing image one would admire for a few seconds. They press some buttons and immediately keep scrolling, forgetting what they just saw.

Additionally, character illustrations are the easiest image for AI to recreate. The value of fanwork is not about the emotional depth it portrays but how aesthetically appealing the image is and how identifiable the characters are to Canon. Not to say that fanworks can not showcase depth or meaning in their pieces. Only that the piece will overwhelmingly not be appraised for its cultural or metaphysical value. Instead, it will be immediately replaced.

There is an intentionality to what we call "art." How every element of an artwork was specifically designed to portray something. From the minute background details to the colors and the use of value. How the modern home of philosophy is the theater.

And that's the issue with much of the writing of Helluva Boss: The lack of intentionality as the story (or lack thereof) stumbles along. The crew does not make artistic decisions with an eye to how these events affect the future. They cycle through an unending series of unrelated ideas that are not intended to say anything of the characters or world. It is there to simply be funny, make the audience sad, token representation, etc. The idea mirroring J.J.Abrams and his mystery box mentality of monopolizing the attention-based economy through the emotional investment of the moment.

The idea that something that feels straight out of ChatGPT could just as easily be pictured as a scene in an episode shows the utter lack of connectivity to the project and the basic act of being human.

Medrano and her team are not interested in making art. They are prioritizing the consumption of their content over the quality of the artistic work itself. Given the support and platform to say whatever it was she wished to do so, she has chosen to go nowhere and do nothing with these resources. It's one of the keystone reasons I feel the series has lost as much support as it has. When given the option to make history. It isn't about the art, but rather she seeks to make it about herself. Medrano doesn't want to tell a story or make a statement. She just wanted a show.

[cherryrainn]

Hiii could you do a Onceler x femreader with PTSD from abuse + rape <333 I really love your writing and I think you’re super talented!!

━━ ✧ 𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆

─ ✩ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ; onceler x reader

─ ✩ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ; thank you so much! hope all is well. this is longer than my other oneshots just because it hits really close to home and i was actually planning a fic that kinda goes like this.

─ ✩ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ; reader has ptsd from rape and abuse, ptsd flashbacks, anxiety and distress, touch sensitivity, mention of self-harm!!!!!

you and onceler were comfortably sprawled out on the couch, surfing through countless tv channels, trying to find something to watch. it was one of those lazy afternoons where neither of you had anything pressing to do, and you figured watching a movie would be a nice way to spend the time.

as onceler fiddled with the remote, his expression grew increasingly exasperated. "i swear, there's never anything good on tv anymore. it's all just commercials and reality shows."

you chuckled, understanding his frustration. "tell me about it."

onceler finally settled on a channel, leaving it to play a random show. he slouched back on the couch and tossed the remote aside. "you know what? let's leave it on this channel for now. we can watch a movie after i grab some marshmallows. sound good?"

you nodded and smiled, appreciating the simple pleasure of his company.

as the channel continued with its ads and programming, you were lost in thought, waiting for onceler to return with the marshmallows. but then, without warning, something on the screen triggered a painful memory from your past.

the images and sounds on the tv became distorted and morphed into something that sent shockwaves of fear and distress through your body. your breathing quickened, and your heart raced as you relived a horrifying moment from your past. the room seemed to close in on you, and the world blurred into a painful, nightmarish haze.

you clutched your chest and tried to fight back the overwhelming emotions. But the memories were relentless, gripping you in their unrelenting grasp. your hands trembled as the room around you faded into the background, and all that remained were the haunting echoes of the past.

onceler returned with a bowl of popcorn in hand, wearing a grin as he announced, "lorax and the bar-ba-loots devoured all the marshmallows. but i've got a bunch of cho...."

his cheerful words faded into stunned silence as he looked at you. your eyes were wide, as if they were about to pop out of your head, and your entire body trembled. you were breathing heavily, your chest rising and falling rapidly. your hands clutched at your chest, and you seemed trapped in a nightmarish reverie, lost in the haunting memories that had been triggered.

onceler's carefree demeanor disappeared in an instant. he knelt in front of you, his eyes filled with concern and compassion. "hey, are you okay?" he asked, his voice filled with genuine worry.

you couldn't answer.

onceler's attempt to comfort you took an unexpected turn. he reached out to touch your shoulder, thinking it would offer reassurance, but you reacted as though his touch were a threat. your eyes grew wide with horror as you watched something that he couldn't see. it was a memory, a phantom from the past, and it filled you with terror.

you shook your head vigorously, your voice trembling as you tried to make him understand. "no, i don't want this. stop!"

onceler's confusion deepened as he continued to touch your shoulder gently. "hey, it's okay. it's me, onceler."

but you couldn't hear his words or feel his touch. in your mind, you were trapped in a nightmare, reliving a moment of excruciating pain, fear, and helplessness. you scratched at your ribcage, trying to escape the torment that felt so real, even though it was nothing but a memory.

onceler's growing realization hit him like a ton of bricks. without hesitation, he lunged for the remote control and turned off the tv, plunging the room into sudden silence.

onceler continued to offer his support, his voice gentle and reassuring. "can you feel your pants, shorts, or whatever you're wearing? they're real. you're safe here, in our home."

you were still trembling, but you nodded, trying to ground yourself in the present moment.

onceler's next question was cautious, "is it okay if i... hold your hand? or do you not wanna have any physical contact right now?"

you didn't hesitate. with an outstretched hand, you silently begged for the comfort of his touch. onceler gently took your hand in his, and you clung to it as if it were your lifeline.

he guided you through deep breaths, counting with you, "inhale… 1, 2, 3, 4. exhale… 1, 2, 3, 4."

slowly but surely, your breathing began to steady. you finally made eye contact with onceler, and it was as if his presence was the anchor you desperately needed.

onceler offered a little piece of chocolate, asking if you could feel it. you took it between your trembling fingers and fiddled with it. it was real. you nodded, your eyes filled with relief.

"it's chocolate, try it."

you put it in your mouth, and as you tasted its familiar flavor, it was a reassuring reminder that you were back in the present, in the safety of your home.

he asked gently, "do you wanna talk about it, or do you need some time?" you immediately shook your head, indicating that you weren't ready to share the painful memories that had resurfaced.

onceler continued to hold your hand, offering a supportive presence as you struggled to reorient yourself in the aftermath of the distressing memories. the room had returned to a comforting silence, with only the faint sounds of your deep breaths breaking through.

as you took a moment to collect yourself, a barrage of negative thoughts flooded your mind. you couldn't shake the feeling that those memories had somehow tainted you, that the darkness from your past had seeped into the present, leaving you feeling rotten and gross.

onceler could sense the shift in your demeanor. his eyes searched yours, filled with concern and empathy. "hey," he whispered, breaking the silence, "you're not alone in this."

the weight of self-doubt pressed down on you, making it difficult to believe his words. you looked away, unable to meet his gaze, as if the shame you felt was etched across your face.

"i... must be disgusting, onceler," you muttered, your voice barely audible. "i'm rotten to the core. how could you even stand to be around me?"

onceler's expression shifted from concern to determination. he gently lifted your chin, making you meet his gaze. "listen to me, y/n. those memories don't define you. whatever you've been through doesn't make you rotten or gross. you're a person, and people are complex. we all carry scars, but that doesn't define your worth."

you shook your head, a tear escaping the corner of your eye. "i don't deserve your kindness. i'm tainted. i don't know how you can even stand to touch me."

onceler's grip on your hand tightened, his eyes unwavering. "don't you ever say that. you're not tainted. and i can touch you because you're a human being who deserves love and support."

he wiped away the tear gently, his touch comforting. "you're not alone in this. we'll face whatever comes together. and i'll keep reminding you of your strength, even when you forget it yourself."

[missin-you-already]

10, 11, and 12 ?

Thank you for the ask <33

10. Favorite & least favorite character in Apocalypse?

Favorite? Jill Valentine. I am also a huge Jill fangirl when it comes to the games and love both versions of 3 to death, so not really a surprise there. Sienna Guillory was the perfect choice for her. She kicks ass but also has that moment of emotional vulnerability with Peyton's death. If you've ever listened to the commentary, Sienna goes on about how important that moment was for her character. Love when she walks up to Alice until the barrel of her pistol is pressed into her neck to protect Peyton, zero shits given. The line "Those were some pretty slick moves back there. I'm good, but I'm not that good," is burned into my brain.

And on a vaguely unrelated note, the fact that Alice shields Angie with the fire blanket but lets Jill go flying into a table is really funny to me.

For the sake of not repeating my easy answer to part of the next question, I'll say Major Cain is my least favorite. I do like the added stuff about how he knew One from the novels, and how many characters we see in the security division wouldn't have been hired if not for him, but we don't get that in Apocalypse so he's the most boring villain we get to see Imo.

I would've loved if those characters reacted to Cain's face if they learned that he decided the quarantine efforts were to be abandoned.

11. Favorite & least favorite character in Extinction?

Favorite? K-Mart! That kid is queer-coded as hell. The scene where she gives Alice one of her rainbow bracelets is pretty adorable. Claire says everyone was freaked out by Alice's crazy mind powers, but K-Mart is just waiting in the room for her to wake up like "Hi :D" lol. The part where she cries and hugs Carlos goodbye always gets me too.

Least favorite? Dr. J. Isaacs. I am his number 1 hater, I'm pretty sure. I dislike him more than Alexander Isaacs or his other weird clone with the same name. It feels like he directly put Alice through more pain and bs than either of them. He was also obsessed with her in a way they weren't, going so far as to clone her over a hundred times to try and replicate her, filling a ditch with their dead bodies when they weren't good enough. It wasn't just about the Super Undead and altering how the T-virus affected people, man. And he only went to kill the real Alice when it became apparent he couldn't keep her leashed.

12. Favorite & least favorite character in Afterlife?

Favorite? Luther West. Luther is just a cool dude. Incredibly friend-shaped. Good heart. "Resident superstar".

We're talking about Afterlife here, but I do wanna bring up how I love him being a part of Wesker's strike team in Retribution. Leon and Barry have military/law enforcement backgrounds, Sergei is the tech guy, Tony is probably military or some shit, and Luther is simply a dude who used to play basketball. He's here because he heard his friend Alice is here. Wesker probably picked him because his presence would make her agree quicker.

Least favorite? Bennett Sinclair. He's one of those weasely, pathetic bad guys and I'm generally not crazy about those types of characters. Shocked Wesker didn't kill him or shove him in a tube with the others when he arrived on the Arcadia. He isn't the type to be like "Hm... yes... I need help handling Project Alice, whom I slammed around easily in Tokyo and rendered essentially human after neutralizing her T-virus abilities, and Chris and Claire Redfield, two humans. More specifically, I need the help of this snivelly loser." I mean, Wesker did lose in the end, but he sees himself as too superior to have foreseen an outcome like that, and I don't see what benefit he got out of allowing Bennett to help him. Not having to move from his cool bad guy pose in his chair and lift a gun at Alice himself?

[thoughtfullyrainynightmare]

I know you've said you don't have many thoughts about Revchi but I just wanted someone to rant to since that's apparently what we're doing now and your takes are indeed excellent (shout-out to Neige anon)

I genuinely think he must carry a lot sadness and trauma, that he closed his heart so much. When Gueldre said that all the other Purple Orcas hated him and that's why no one took his side when he got set up, he didn't even deny it or even react. For some reason he won't allow himself to open up to others even when he had the opportunity to make friends. That's totally unhealthy (honestly, the other Purple Orcas probably couldn't be counted on anyway since from what little we see of them, they're the BC equivalent of dirty cops).

I don't know how to word it but there's something so sad about him. He reminds me a bit of Zora in a way, like they both hide their inner pain with cynicism and snark. How he calls himself "just a wretched thief" in the first chapter, the way he somewhat hides his scar with his hair, even the way his speech bubbles are drawn all wobbly??? Someone get that man into therapy asap please

On an unrelated sidenote you've actually made me appreciate Fuegoleon, believe it or not. I used to not care about him at all but now I like him a lot lol

I mean "not having a lot of thoughts" is always relative too. Like, I ended up writing quite a lot for Revchi in that one ask game, which surprised even me. So it seems I had more thoughts than what I thought, but I still don't think it's comparatively a lot if we take into account other characters.

Plus, now that my exams, and this semester are finally over, I have the next three weeks time to do nothing and sleep. Instead of having my braincells running study stuff in the background on an pinned tab, which might affect how many thoughts I have to spare for the fandom. Also, I like having interactions, even if they might be people feeling frustrated over how unloved their borbo is. (Again, as long as it's like constructive; a mandatory side note, because it's a public blog) I know that everyone doesn't want to interact in the comment section or via reblogs, because they don't want to draw that attention to their blogs, which is fine. But these interactions make me feels less like I'm shouting to the wind, and are evoking my love for the fandom again. And I think that the best way to learn to appreciate and get insight of a character is to talk to someone who likes said character (as long as they haven't like... made the character into pretty much just an oc with the same name, y'know the type and issue generally speaking; it happens in every fandom)

ANYWAYS, back on track and to Revchi

I think there are a lot of characters in BC that do that. Close their emotions because showing emotions isn't... allowed in a lot of circles in BC. Just today in our BC dnd campaign we basically concluded "the Magic Parliament, where justice is scrapped and public image is all that matters; welcome to the heart of Clover Kingdom".

Who knows what happened that caused Revchi to get hated like that, but I'd say that when someone is staged for a crime, there is a good chance that they stood in the way of those who ended up setting said person up. So, it's perfectly possible that Revchi was a "good cop among bad ones" and ended up getting hated and isolated by that, probably along with a lot of other things, that essentially just broke his spirit, and caused him to spiral into a "...if being a wretched thief is what's right in this kingdom, I guess that's what I'll be then" or even "they call me as a wretched thief, so I'll show them one". Which is a kind of a call for help, in a way. The man was spiralling. And when he starts to live up to the rumours, and the reason why he was dismissed, he's not doing any favours for himself, but by then he was beyond caring about it.

Why he won't open up, could be a case of being stabbed in the back, figuratively. So, maybe he trusted someone in that squad, maybe even went to Gueldre, thinking that he could trust a Captain of Clover Kingdom, and Gueldre just threw him to the wolves. I mean... if that doesn't shake your belief into the justice system of Clover, what would?

There is a tragedy in there. He's just a guy who tried to do good (as a headcanon, because all of this is purely speculation ofc), and ended up thrown into the mud.

He doesn't believe in goodness of the world anymore. Or that there can be such a thing as "justice" in Clover. Which is very similar as to what Zora feels. Actually. For Zora it's just about what happened to his dad, and for Revchi it's about what happened to him.

I imagine the wobbly speech bubbles to be a kind of a voice cracking up. Because, deep down, he didn't want to do what he did. But he was in too deep in his own head, the cynicism. Because no one would care. It wasn't the kind of a world where people would care, in his mind. The line between a hardened criminal and a knight was a line drawn in sand on a beach.

Who knows, maybe he even thought that stealing a couple of grimoires and selling them in the black market might earn him the trust of the Orcas again. Revchi just might be yet another character that Clover Kingdom failed.

[granulesofsand]

Hi! Do you think you could speak on the symptoms a programmed system may experience when learning / figuring out about RAMCOA?

We've been doing research recently and each time we do, we find ourselves slowly slipping into religious psychosis and delusions we have to actively fight to keep internal... we aren't too sure if it's a symptom of research because we experienced RAMCOA or something unrelated.

Thank you!

Symptoms of Research

Everyone has different reactions while learning about RAMCOA. Even people who don’t have that trauma sometimes exceed their window of tolerance and have to deal with side effects.

I’ll talk about our experience first, then some things we’ve heard from other survivors.

For Us

We had programs running long before we knew about RAMCOA. I wasn’t personally there for this, but I know there were suicide programs active then, plus a good few constantly running in the background.

When we were first poking around, looking up definitions and just starting to read in depth, it went pretty similarly to plain DID. Information would slip away, then there would be flashbacks and body pains.

As we started to notice similarities, alters none of us knew would show up and complete a singleminded objective, usually related to the flashbacks and pain. We had a lot of new psychotic symptoms projected from those alters, plus some mood disorder and learning disability lookalikes.

In General

Denial is usually a first response, especially if the fronters are unaware that the body lived through whatever they’re looking at. Alters who have been programmed to keep the knowledge locked away will do their task, which can include hallucinations from drug memories or training to mess with sensory intake. Delusions could be beliefs forced onto alters or a manifestation of PTSD.

Common pains are head, throat, and eyes or ears. Some abusers target those areas while enforcing amnesia or don’t talk/don’t tell programming.

Some symptoms do belong to unrelated distress management, because reading about people in pain is not a good time on most folks’ brains. Those that aren’t come from programming, which can be as wild as the programmer can imagine.

Except

Not everyone had the same symptoms. There is no correct way for RAMCOA systems to react to discovering this history. Your psychosis could be part of that, or it could be something else.

Treatment will focus on how your experiences effect you, regardless of whether any of it is unequivocally true. Stabilization is almost always the first step in therapy for survivors, and it’s easier to work on healing while feeling calm and secure.

Give yourselves breaks and check-ins. Unless you have concerns of immediate danger, it doesn’t matter how long it takes to sort things out. Prioritize your well-being.

[transthadymacdermot]

how did you get the idea of rrl / flesh it out? i've always wanted to dabble in historical fiction but i never feel that i can come up with a solid plot & complex characters (speaking of, i am so intrigued i cant wait for the day i can read rrl)

In terms of where I got the idea of setting a story during those particular events it was mostly a consequence of the fact that that is the period I've been studying for the past several years, and therefore it's been on my mind a lot + I already had a good amount of background knowledge that definitely made the research for the story less daunting. When it comes to writing historical fiction I would definitely recommend setting it during a period you're already interested in, it makes the research a lot more fun + can make it easier depending on how much you already know about the period.

In terms of where I got the idea for the story... bizarrely enough it can almost entirely be blamed on this AWFUL pulp novel about the PIRA I read in like... may or june. It had a subplot about 2 guys trying to kill each other over a promotion in the IRA hierarchy and it was such an interesting concept but so poorly executed it was physically painful and I had an "I can fix him" moment that combined with the fact that I already wanted to write a story set in 1790s belfast + that I wanted to write something where Rearden and Whittaker, 2 side characters from something I'd written previously, were the main characters and I just went from there. Most of the other characters and subplots developed slowly and came MUCH later. For example, Seamy didn't even exist apart from being the unseen son of 1 of Rearden's United Irish comrades until I was several months into writing it + I created him mostly because I read an interesting History Ireland article about hedge schools that made me want to explore the lives of children at the time more in the story.

Most of the fleshing out of the idea happened in similar ways -- I read something, sometimes something completely unrelated, which got stuck in my head long enough that an idea grew around it and I felt like I needed to use it for something. It was unpredictable and often deeply inexplicable but that's what happened

[theoriginalbylergod]

Okay so, I'm thinking about Will and Henry, and I kinda wanna know what other people think about this.

I know a lot of people say that Will and Henry are foils. But I was reading about foils and mirrors, and I realized that Henry is a foil as well as a mirror for Will.

I'm gonna quote a few articles, and then explain what I think

"almost certainly share personality traits, values, similar skill sets, and possibly even goals and likely a narrative arc. They may have the same or similar background... If they have none of the same backstory at all, their similarities will be significant for coming about regardless of their environment."

"the similarities serve to highlight something important about the characters and their story"

"While a Mirror is seen as the literary opposite of a Foil, in truth the tropes often overlap and a character's Foil and Mirror can be the same character."

"The characters in each pair reflect one another’s similarities while contrasting their differences in approaching those similarities. "

"In the classic story of Good vs. Evil, the hero and villain play the other's foil, in that each acts to show how the other behaves in certain situations. But virtually any story with multiple characters can use contrast to show greater depths to them; two persons do not have to be on opposite ends of the moral spectrum to be foils."

"On the darker side, this trope can also be used to lampshade the fact that our hero is really just a hair's breadth away from villainy. In these specific cases, it's almost always the villain who is the first to notice"

"Closely related to Foil, which is a literary term that describes a character who highlights and accentuates the traits of another character by contrast, and Mirror Character, which describes characters highlighted by similarities. However, in these cases, lampshading isn't required."

My thoughts:

I think that Henry is both. And I'm sure I'm not the only person that thinks that, but this is my first time really truly thinking about it.

I think that in s4 he acts as more of a mirror than a foil. If mirrors are characters highlighted by similarities, s4 Will and Henry are mirrors. I mean, in s4, they were shoving Henry's similarities to Will in our faces. So much so that a lot of people walked away from s4 thinking that it foreshadowed Will's villain arc. And while I never believed that, I couldn't necessarily blame people for thinking it. Because they were screaming at us that these characters are extremely similar. And a lot of people think that must mean Will is destined to make the same choices Henry made. But that's not the purpose of a mirror. From what I understand, the purpose of a mirror is to show that these characters may be similar, but those similarities don't mean they have to make the same choices. Henry was angry at the world when he was a kid, so he killed his mother and his sister (because that'll fix things!!). Will is angry at the world (he's severely traumatized and gay in the 80s, of course he's angry at the world) but he doesn't take that out on anyone. In fact he is incredibly loving and caring and kind and gentle. He chooses love because it makes coping with the pain and anger easier.

I think in s5 we'll get to see more of Henry acting as Will's foil, while Will perceives him as a mirror, because of his distorted view of himself (when you're different, sometimes you feel like a mistake") until someone else (likely Mike considering "you make [me] feel like [I'm] not a mistake at all") calls bullshit on that. I think Will's arc in s5 will require him to identify their differences and develop a better understanding of himself.

I know Will would never choose evil. But does Will know that? I know Henry and Will are not truly the same. But does Will know that?

So, yeah I think Henry is a mirror foil, but I think s4 focused more on the mirror part, and s5 Will focus more on the foil part.

Does that make sense?

[kiwiana-writes]

3, 8, and 18 for the meta writer asks! And I hope the rest of your day goes better than the too-early morning. 💕

[Fun meta asks for writers]

Ugh, sadly it did not. Zooms that could have been emails, and all of that. ❤️

3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)

Ooooh this is an interesting question because I write so much short slice of life stuff that I do often just throw that stuff out there as little, like, mini ficlets! I have been sitting on a great joke my spouse made while watching the film where I was like "god I need to write that into a fic" but I just recently figured out what I was doing with that one, so now it's in the WIPs.

8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?

Yes, but there's also stuff I like to read that I don't like to write (looking at you, anything that requires serious world-building.)

18. Do any of your stories have alternative versions? (plotlines that you abandoned, AUs of your own work, different characterisations?) Tell us about them.

At some point after it's finished publishing we should talk about the outline @ships-to-sail wrote for the Actor AU, because it was really good and when I decided the structure of the fic needed to match Much Ado About Nothing I ended up gutting a ton of it. Luckily she loves me (allegedly)

But for now let's talk about something totally unrelated: the Schitt's Creek 50 First Dates AU and the plotline I lowkey accidentally abandoned (that shit had no outline and no plan other than, like, the film and the show) and always meant to come back to in one of the alternate POV one-shots but never quite got around to. Totally set it up and then ditched it, whoops. But basically, Ronnie was part of the volunteer rescue team that found David and Alexis after the car accident, so she was WILDLY protective of David and deeply fucking suspicious of Patrick.

I went and looked because I was sure I'd scribbled a bit of this down and I'd actually written like 500 words of Alexis' POV! So have those below the cut:

Alexis’ head hurts.

That, in and of itself, isn’t weird. Between hangovers and jet lag and being knocked on the back of the head while being kidnapped — a totally amateur move, and a sign that her kidnappers really weren’t investing properly in their henchmen — she’s more than used to waking up with a throbbing pain in her temple. What is weird is that those days are behind her. No more taking the jet to Europe because she’s bored, no more trips to the embassy to pick up a new passport and a disguise so she can get across the border. So she doesn’t know—

“Alexis?”

The voice is vaguely familiar, but she doesn’t want to open her eyes yet, sure that when she does the full ache is going to turn into something much more immediately uncomfortable. 

There’s a sharp rapping sound, far too close to her ear, and she winces. 

“Shit, I think she’s waking up. Alexis? Come on, open those eyes for me. You can do it.”

In the distant background, she can hear sirens, and her eyes fly open in shock. 

“There you are, princess.” Despite the usual sarcastic drawl, when Alexis turns to face the window, Ronnie’s expression is full of concern. “Ambulance is nearly here. Think if we get this door open, you’re up for getting out, or do you want to wait for them?”

“David.” It’s all coming back now — the trip to Elmdale, fighting over the music, the cow. “Where’s David?” She turns to the passenger seat, ignoring the way it makes her ears ring, ignoring the pain radiating up her left arm. Her brother is slumped motionless in his seat, the window on his side of the car shattered and half the door crumpled in. There’s a huge gash across his forehead and wildly, irrationally, Alexis’ first thought is: He’s going to be so mad he can’t do his skincare routine. 

“Alexis, listen to me.” She doesn’t realise until Ronnie’s voice cuts through the fog that she’s sobbing his name, and she sucks in a shuddering breath. “We don’t wanna move him until the ambulance gets here, in case he’s injured his neck or his spine. What about you? What hurts?”

“Um.” She closes her eyes, trying to concentrate on anything other than the panic clawing its way up her throat. David is so still. “Just my wrist, I think. And a headache.”

“I think you might have whacked it on the steering wheel.” Ronnie’s eyes flick up to her forehead for a moment. “You’ve got a bit of a shiner, but I think we’re okay to get you out.”

It takes Ronnie and a man she doesn’t recognise — Elm County volunteer firefighters, they tell her cheerfully — to get the driver side door of the Lincoln open. By the time Alexis is standing on the side of the road, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and her now throbbing wrist tucked carefully against her body, she can see the ambulance tearing down the road towards them. 

She won’t let any of them look at her until David is safely out of the car. Ronnie stands next to her the first hole time, her hand on Alexis’ shoulder far more gentle than Alexis could have guessed it would be, while they cut open the car door and strap up his neck before manoeuvring him onto a stretcher. 

[chequerootlurks]

Let’s talk about reboots for a moment. Let’s not look at background for the reboots, or their creators. I’m going to point out a good, and a bad.

This show deserves more recognition:

There were a variety of ethnicities, body types, sexual orientations (including asexual!), neurodivergence, and gender identities.

Those were all secondary to the plot! The biggest thing was the characters were PEOPLE!, not vessels for “wokeness.”

Meanwhile, this show (“Velma”) that I watched three episodes of tonight — “bad TV night” is a thing in our house — is as painful as everyone says.

[article and a 12ft ladder to get past the paywall]

“Velma” feels like “Family Guy,” only if “Family Guy” tried to be over-the-top woke instead of offensive.

It has the same, unrelenting brash humour that prefers to browbeat the audience, rather than understate. As such, it’s not funny, nor clever. The characters’ pointed political speeches would be funny if they were done on rare occasion. Instead, almost every other discussion is something overdone. Wayyy to try hard.

In terms of ‘wokeness’ “Sonic Boom” did it better.

“Velma” ironically pushes the division between gender, race, and sexual orientation.

In episode three, we see the women fight to be “The Least Weak,” or a phase summat like that. Physical brawling. The show -could!- have raised up and pointed out how women should support each other rather than fight each other… but I guess we’re not ready for “women fight -for!- other women” speech here.

I guess “wokeness” for this show is limited to meta humour, PSA type monologues, and eye-rolling diatribes. It limited its wokeness to convenience and already heavily discussed issues.

I might also add Velma is an unlikeable character. She’s mean spirited, really quite a bully in her own right. Proof that you don’t need to be “popular” to be a selfish jerk.

She reminds me of Rick Sanchez, or Bojack Horseman.

Granted, I love those shows, but the supporting cast was always ready to call Rick and Bojack out on their toxic and destructive behaviors.

The show seems to ignore the importance of having balancing support. People who call out Velma for being as much the villain as anyone else encountered this far.

Norville (Shaggy) is hopelessly in love with Velma, he lets her abuse his friendship.

At the end of Episode 3, Daphne calls Velma out on a few things, but I have a feeling that won’t cause an overall change in Velma’s behavior. At least not for a while. Maybe there’s a “growth” arc planned.

If not? Ouch.

Also, I’m kinda tired of the “white male as the jerk” trope.

Yes, white males have a leg up in society, especially if they’re cishet… but there ARE! cishet white men who are decent people.

The only positive white male character this mud far is biracial Norville’s dad… and he’s not even a main character.

Making one skin-type/gender the bad guy doesn’t make a show “woke.”

All in all, “Velma” misses the mark.

I don’t know what it’s trying to do, but it’s bad at it.

I am curious about the mystery, but I’ll just read the end online. I don’t care enough to watch it.

[unhonestlymirror]

***

Had a dream about being a Cinderella or something, and I had two goth sisters and a goth stepmother who hated me for... some reason (there was no dad). We had to leave our home because we didn't have enough money, we quarreled a lot, there were murders on a railway station happening, and my real mom's friends eventually left me alone... Eventually, we've moved into a small two-story house, the stepmom invited a lot of guests (although I didn't like to meet new people), and she bragged about how she enrolled her girls in some cool college, and how she cherishes her real daughters (but not me), obviously waiting for me to get angry.

I said, "Yes, you're a good mother", really meaning it. "You've never said it to your real mom when you had a chance", a devil whispered in my ear.

The dark witch looked lost for a moment, and then she smiled as brightly as a child and exclaimed: "Yes! I'm a good mother! :D" and winged came back to the kitchen. The fact, that a person who hated me that much looked so happy when receiving an approval from my lips, caused me pain.

I ruffled my younger step-sister's hair and said "I saw how you put those annoying guests on their place. Well done." - and for the first time, Kitty didn't curse at me, but tried to hide under her bangs like a little crab, as if hearing something like this was completely new and embarrassing for her.

There was no Prince Charming to take me to the white palace, and there were no villanous step-family - there were just a bunch of unloved people in a small town, without much money, united with an unrelated to them girl under life circumstances. If I didn't succeed to make them feel happy and safe around me, I decided, I didn't deserve to live in a better place.

Time-skip. Me and my step-sisters were already grown adults, each with good education, our financial situation was pretty good. A detective found traces of my godmother in another country, which was hard to reach due to civil war. But I was gonna find her anyway. Too much effort and money has already been spent. "Are you gonna go in that dangerous place without me?!" - Catherine exclaimed. My older step-sister still has been wearing all black, including the over-knee high-heels. She also liked curling her thick black hair, which really made her look like a Dominatrix. In my flower dresses, office jackets and a hair bun, I looked ridiculous against her background.

"That's okay, - I smiled. - Someone needs to protect the house and take care of the business, and you are the best at this." It wasn't a lie, but I chose to remain silent about the fact that in a country with an unstable situation, the safest thing to do is to look like a provincial silly girl. Still, older step-sister wanted to protect me in her own way, and it made my heart warm. "Don't worry, we're gonna be okay. After all, Kitty is gonna be with me, too." Catherine didn't approve of this decision but she didn't protest either.

We've reached the final railway station eventually, the same one on which, many years ago, a lot of murders happened. It was sunny and peaceful outside, and although I allowed myself to enjoy this feeling for a second, I didn't let the weather deceive me. We walked around the whole city, every nook and cranny, and towards the end of the day, when hope had already begun to fade, I noticed a familiar gait.

The Godmother changed a lot from the last time I saw her. After all, decades passed. She had shrunk in height, hunched over, her hair had turned snow-white, and the lenses in her round glasses were so strong they made her look like Nana Grandma from the "Madagascar" cartoon. After all the people whom I used to know died, she was the only remaining thread to my older, happier life. The spark hit my heart and ricocheted into my eyes, face, whole body posture. "Godmother! - I shouted. - Wait, stop for a second!"

She quickened her pace. Me and Kitty exchanged glances. "Let's catch up with her." It would be harder to do if I was alone, I thought when we eventually succeed to "squeeze" Godmother. She still looked like an innocent old woman who didn't understand what was going on, but she had the aura of a hunted animal. I didn't like that.

"Godmother! It's me! Don't you recognise me? - I looked at her face more closely."

She did recognised me. Fear was reflected on her face, as if a long-buried nightmare had come to life before her. "I don't know!!! - she yelled. - I don't know who you are!!! Leave me alone, you satanists!" - she pointed at my sister.

"You're just a coward who's afraid of responsibility! - my sister went berserk suddenly, and her dark long bangs flew up, opening her fierce eyes. - I am aware you don't really like our family, but you could visit your goddaughter at least once, for her's sake! However, you've never come for dinner, not a single time! You were so afraid that your money "magic wand" would fall into our evil hands that you simply left Cinderella to her fate, left her alone, occasionally sending anonymous trinkets, like that shoe!"

Yeah, and that shoe had the fingerprints that got us here, so it's not exactly a "trinket", a memory flashed through my mind.

"If you cared so much, why haven't you taken Cinderella to your own home in the first place?"

"Leave me alone! - Godmother cried out tearfully and grabbed the sleeve of a man passing by. - Mr. Oculist! It's so nice to meet you! My lenses got a bit scratched, could you please look at them?"

"You old bitch!-"

"Language, Kitty, - I grabbed her hand. - Let's go."

"But!.. After all these years, you're just gonna let her go?! We've just received the confirmation that she stole your family's whole fortune! You should sue her!"

In a country with the civil war, as foreigners? You must be joking, Kitty.

We have never been short of money since we started our fashion business. And yet, I've never heard Kitty yelling in such a despair before. "I made your new glasses to order, as you requested." "Oh, they look lovely!" I froze in place and couldn't move a single finger.

"I've recorded everything! We must find her again and demand justice!-"

"Kitty, let's go home. I want to go home."

Kitty abruptly fell silent, her hands dropped. Her bangs covered half of her face again, making her look like a Hellenic statue in emo clothes.

For several minutes we stood there, unable to utter a word. Godmother left. Suddenly, Kitty lunged forward and wrapped her arms a bit awkwardly around me.

I haven't shed a single tear (publicly) since that day I've lost everything. Every day I greeted and saw off with a smile because That day forever deprived me of my parents, my home and the unconditional faith in the future. No matter how much I was being scoffed, wasting time on sadness felt like a sin. I could never be sure how much time I still had.

Kitty used to love breaking my colour pencils in half to piss me off. Right now, I felt like such colour pencil in her arms. My whole body was permeated with pain that I could not contain. My face was burning, and it felt like lava was flowing from the eyes. I expected Kitty to mock me as usual but she hadn’t said anything.

***

"I still can't believe that old hag tried to marry you on her another godson! What kind of shady business she does? What for would she even do that?"

"She needed to get rid of the competition, - I explained wearily, the throat was still a bit hoarse. - And I would not have been able to claim the inheritance if I had gotten rid of my surname and had trapped under control of Mr. Prince and his family."

I remembered how step-mom tore up my invitation to the ball right in front of me. It was one of those rare moments when I wanted to rebel and let go of control over my emotions. I was selfish enough to assume that she would waste her time to hurt the feelings of an alien girl. She turned her back on me when I started screaming at her, but when I came closer, I saw her face - furious and crying. Something happened, something which I didn't know about. There was a bigger picture I couldn’t saw yet, and I wasn't sure if I wanted to.

Eventually, she calmed down, but the invitation could not be restored. Well, I've got there anyway when I've reached 18, and learnt the truth.

"I'm sorry I called you a whore back then."

I stared at Kitty in surprise.

"Kitty, you were twelve."

"I- I was angry at you. You were intelligent, educated, elegant, literally from another world - and I thought you were gonna steal all mom's love and attention to yourself. I felt like it was so easy to become your shadow, and I was already unseen, and I hated you for that."

"Kitty-"

"At first, I hated you for your presence in our house, but later, I was afraid you were gonna leave us like my and Catherine's dad. It was easier to live with you, and I hated you for that. I hated that I needed you. That's why I cut all your dresses that day. It never fully come to my mind, how much you must have suffered. I'm truly sorry."

Right now she looked like that little crab in a shell again.

"It must have been bothering you for a long time, and I'm glad you've told me this, Kitty. I was never really angry at you, at all of you, though. And you will never be my shadow, because you are you, and you have so much light in yourself."

"We've made you work 24/7 as a housekeeper!"

"I didn't mind that. Doing something all the time was a good distraction from the pain."

"We've mocked you a lot."

"Maybe we all didn't get along well at first, but we've gone through all the difficulties together, and I'm really happy that I'm here with you now, and I'm not gonna run away. I will never run away anymore... Kitty, if you start sobbing, I'm gonna start crying, too, you know that?" - I finished a little grumpily, to hide the treacherous tremor in the voice. Alright, it was my time to hug her back.

Few hours passed, the landscape was monotonously calming. A white spot floated past and only a second later it dawned on me.

"There was my first home."

"WHAT?! Where?!"

"We've already passed it."

"What was it like?"

Before the war, before That day, it was a brownish brick multi-storey building, in the shape of the letter C.

Now, they plastered the walls, painted it all white, added a bunch of pompous statues made of dark metal... I didn't have time to examine the details, but it looked like a brand new glossy magazine. This Ghost of the Past bore little resemblance to the home of my childhood. There was nothing left to hold on to.

"It's different... Shit!"

"What?!"

"We forgot to buy souvenirs to Catherine and mom!"

"You think they would care??" - laughed Kitty.

"It's not like people can come to this country every time they want to!"

"Lucky for you... I've bought a couple of local fashion magazines!"

"You're my saviour."

I was leaving my old life behind for forever, and I didn't have a single regret about that. I was able to built a better life on the ruins of the old, in a foreign place, and "the hostile villains" turned to be my only family whom I loved deeply and wouldn't exchange for any palace, any cristal shoe in the world. And it was mutual! Isn't it magic?