#but ive abandoned three sketches

[crowfonder]

.

[todayisafridaynight]

cozy

[goomyloid]

What was your process for making the Noelle amv, if you don't mind sharing?

hii! im not sure how eloquently or clearly ill be able to explain it but i definitely have some pictures you can look at!

(the video)

i actually got the idea while i was away on a trip with very limited wifi -- it wasn't Trust Me that i got an AMV idea for first, but instead it was one of 4syu's other songs, There's Nobody. for such a happy sounding song it really made me so sad, to the point where if i tried to sing it to myself id get choked up by the chorus LMAO. it was baddd

but basically i was rapidly trying to find both songs on spotify so i could listen to them offline, and it only took me a few loops of Trust Me and thinking about the original MV to make me go "ohhhh. how can i make this about noelle." And so i did .

i was thinking about doing a storyboard, but in the past, i've found that doing storyboards for animations/AMVs lowkey... kills my motivation altogether... SAD... but i saw the whole video so clearly in my head, and i didnt want to make the same mistake i made before... so i went right to doing quick sketches (while still on my trip...) just so i could get the ideas out of my head

i was torn on what to do with my style at the time, whether i wanted to make it more similar to the original video, or to her canon appearance, or to MY style and how i draw her. i think it kind of ended up as an amalgamation of all three...? at the very least, her light world color palette definitely was more bland and desaturated, like i purposefully wasn't trying to do anything special with her colors.

after that point, and getting maybe a few of the actual drawings done, my motivation crashed again, and i left it all to marinate for nearly a week. it was baking, guys, it wasn't abandoned, listen to me, why are you throwing tomatoes at me,

i had up to about the "I dreamed about that again" animation done and stopped, and it wasn't until i decided to sit down and start editing it anyway that i really got in my groove again. i got all my little assets into a workable state so i could really try to sit down and make the video come to life and all

the really fun part was honestly working on the desktop backgrounds. i really wanted to limit colorpicking from the original video as much as possible, but i decided that making look as similar as possible to the original could help with the contrast i wanted to add later.

i drew these two backgrounds first. i was hoping i could somehow fit the bunker into the second one, but decided to do something different anyway. the second one's ui didn't actually change until later in the editing process.

drawing THESE were fun especially, and im happy with how they came out. i think the dark world icons are really cute still. one thing i really did know i wanted to do from the beginning was to turn the soul/undertale icon into the deltarune one.

i was worried if the shift from the Windows Field Background to the dark world would be too sudden, like you would just blink and suddenly it was all different, but i think it ended up all right...?

the not so fun part was drawing all the different boxes, lmao. it go really tedious by the end, so i tried to reuse as many of the same ones as i could.

a lot of copy-pasting and tracing rectangles for sure.

i also had to make sure the animations didnt Suck. i brute forced those things and used every last braincell i had in order to make those pictures move bros

fun fact. ive never animated hair like this before. or in any complex manner really. i had to use sooo much brain here... heres how it started vs. how it ended up

had my animator gf hype me up thru the whole thing... i was having a great time based on the filenames alone

aaaand then ummmm i edited it. i learned after effects like 1 month ago. never touched it before. i learned it for internship purposes and then used my newfound powers for evil it seems

i split the whole thing up into multiple compositions of course, but i probably could have split things up more... im sorry for having 84 layers on comp 3 its not my fault

editing a video in 12 fps was a fun change though -- very easy for my brain to go frame-by-frame, and yet still some of the timing ended up being off... tis the goomy way

like i said before, i started editing when i barely had half the drawings done, but seeing it all start to be in motion really pushed me to finish it up. and i mean Really. like i finished the whole thing maybe 48 hours after i first started editing.

and...i think that's it? i do a lot of discord art streaming to friends lately but i kinda kept this one more under wraps compared to usual, i think i just wanted to surprise everyone... look guys i remembered how to make a video! and it's three minutes! waow

sorry if this is way more than you asked for LMAO

also, the AMV hit 5k views on youtube today! ive never had a video do well like that so quickly! thank you!!

[kaeyapilled]

I’m pretty new to kaeya ships and I want to know how Kaebedo appeals to you!! /This isn't a sarcastic question I promise 😭

So far, the only ship I get is Rosakae because haha bi couple/girl that says bruhh x guy that says hiii

Do you have any recommended kaebedo fanfics? Thank you <33

i think the biggest appeal of kaebedo to me is the parallels between them. both are from khaenri'ah and were abandoned by a parent figure with an unclear mission on their shoulders and ended up finding a home in a place they fear they will have to betray one day. even without a romantic lens there is SO much potential here!!! they must know of each other's secret to some degree, there's no way they don't. they could form such a deep connection based on these shared origins. let them bond hoyoverse!!!!

its insane to me that kaeya and albedo have never exchanged more than five words in game when theres so much material to work with here.. especially because they DO know each other! the game tells us that! kaeya has an "about albedo" voiceline (Albedo, eh? Calm, collected, and incredibly talented. He's the type everybody likes, some even more so than others. What, you into him as well?), albedo doesnt have an "about kaeya" voiceline but he does mention him in one of his "more about albedo" ones (The time required to sketch portraits closely correlates with one's mood. I could spend half a day sketching Huffman, while I might only need three strokes of the pencil to sketch Kaeya — one for the face, one for the eyepatch string... and one for the eyepatch.) and, actually, pairing that with this

from a past event i think we can say it's implied that albedo draws kaeya fairly often. kaeya seems to babysit klee frequently, which is all the more chance for them to get to know each other more..... they live in the same region and have so many themes in common LET THEM TALK! LET THEM TALK!! kaebedo as a ship is kind of built from the ground up with just minimal canon content and our wild imaginations but hey. the potential is right there. also i think they look cute together. anyway, fanfic recs, you say? i have some<3

Calcium, Carbonate, and Other Things That Run Bone-Deep by Princeliest

Albedo comes knocking at Kaeya's office door, and asks Kaeya to kill him. All in all, it's the worst falling-in-love experience that Kaeya has ever had. (Albedo fears a lot of things. He's never reached out for help with any of them, but he's also never had anyone see him and reach out first.)

this is genuinely one of the best fics ive ever read in my life it's SO good. i kept rotating it inside my mind for days afterwards. and the kaebedo dynamic here is one of my favorite renditions of it too!!!!! like they cannot live through a normal love story it has to be weird when they are both involved. and this fic executes the brand of weirdness i expect from kaebedo perfectly. the characterization for both of them was really good. warning for some body horror but if you're okay with that it's part of the charm in this fic i really enjoyed reading those parts

this wordless dance, in the night by untunedviola

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Kaeya mutters into Albedo’s chest. Albedo pulls him closer. Gentle fingers thread through his hair. “You don’t have to.” He sighs. “I know.” Kaeya’s relationship with his mother tongue, his family, and Albedo develops in fits in starts.

i just reread this while searching through recs on my bookmarks and!!!!!!!!! this is THE kaebedo relationship study EVER. it's so good. its more focused on kaeya since it's from his point of view but albedo is a central crucial part of it. it explores their connection to khaenri'ah and the connection they could have with each other because of it SO well it's really amazing! the angst is delightful i love this one.

and you should check out this author's other works!! seriously the way they write kaebedo is like the best ever. i havent read all of them but the ones i have read were immediate favorites. untunedviola if youre out there

The Curious Investigation on the Investigation Captain by evesbeve

“This is not an invitation to spoil me,” Albedo says through a bite, a hand over his mouth. “As you have with Klee.” “I have no idea what you are talking about," Kaeya laughs. “Although… would it really be that bad, if I wanted to take care of you?” (Or: When Sucrose mentions that she's been worried about Albedo and his constant cases of zoning out, Kaeya takes it upon himself to investigate the situation.)

a lighter, fluffier work to make up for the angst of the previous recs. so sweet youll get cavities honestly. works to read while giggling about how much you love these silly little characters. bonus ragbros and other mond characters. really nice read!!!!

i wish i had more recs but i really dont. i need to read more about them honestly.

im deeply sorry for taking like three months to answer!! many such cases im afraid. i hope my kaebedo propaganda has worked on you or anyone else reading this

[eggle]

Sketch of a cover for a pmd rp i plotted for my friend :D an old story ive recently revived and been prepping! ive been thinking about reviving another old project, a comic :P its been three years since i abandoned both this and that comic, whoops…

and yes you see that correctly, theres humans in this :P

[likeprongstostars]

vi it's been three hours and every time i close my eyes i see fem james....... changed lives fr

ahahha miil you are so real for that bc me too... most of those were abandoned sketches but ive been waking up at 3am in cold sweat seeing regulus in a mini skirt and just grabbing my tablet to finish them

[idiot-mushroom]

i find it funny how many layers you use compared to mine, i have on average 3 layers, sketch, color snd shading but that’s probably cause ive abandoned lineart

everyone has their own style, cool that u can have only three layers 👍

[katpowers]

So far, I think May has been my favorite month of 2023, and this stained glass commission was a big part of that. A friend of a friend of a friend who is also connected in several other roundabout ways, Liz, emailed me on the 18th of April to ask if I had any mosaic pieces for sale. A woman she worked with would soon be retiring, and they were trying to find her a gift. We went on to talk via zoom with a couple of her other colleagues, wherein I floated the idea of working in stained glass. We also found that several of them, including the woman retiring, had been at a series the mosaic workshops I led a few years ago, commemorating the life of a woman very dear to them. What a special connection.

Afterwards I sent them three sketches plus the book border idea, based on Virginia Woolf, books, and the English countryside. Our mutual friend Carla suggested that I look into some quotes by Virginia Woolf (who I have really yet to read, though I’ve just started The Lighthouse), as many are visually suggestive. Liz’s colleagues found the following: “And all the lives we ever lived and all the lives to be are full of trees.”-from The Lighthouse, and “Arrange whatever pieces come your way.” from A Writer’s Diary. I will keep an eye out in future readings of Woolf to pull these elements together, to perhaps glean a title.

Below are some of the pictures of the process, including my ‘learning edges.’ After grinding down the sharp edges of each piece of glass guided by its affixed pattern, I found the pieces did not fit together perfectly. Instead of cutting them down to fit, as the patterns are cut to take the diameter of the copper foil into account, I continued on, cleaning and then soldering them together- only to find that they indeed still didn’t fit as expected. At this point I had the impulse to abandon this attempt and begin again. I spent a good chunk of time on Monday and Tuesday re-designing, tracing and cutting out the pattern (twice) before looking at the first version again, and sitting down with it a little longer. It ended up being so much more workable than I had anticipated. I heated up the solder at each book-end joint and removed the sad thin came border, and copper along the pages of the book, and then re-soldered fresh came with a deeper well that more closely resembled the width of seams between the glass. I filled in the gaps in the design with newly cut and foiled pieces. I learned how to have a bit of a conversation with it.

After handing this project off to Liz last night, I realized that, though Ive been doing site-specific work for a few years, somehow this piece confirmed how thoroughly I enjoy the process of designing specific pieces for specific people or places. I love the conversation I get to have with the person who wants the piece, and that later on, the potential conversation I imagine someone can have with or about each piece wherever it is in the world.

I think one of the drawbacks to this experimental methodology is that things take time, often creative ideas are slower to arrive, and sometimes the same goes for ideas about materials or technique. I am thinking here of a friend’s entryway, promised tentatively over last winter, which I’m still working through in my mind. Just thought that the peacock feathers she wants don’t have to be made from a homogenous material, but instead could be a representation of the time we have lived, and carry a history of their own, so that there will be a story that goes along with it. What is a story? My answer now is different than when I studied fiction writing twenty years ago. I find glints and threads in objects passed through space, given and received. They are both enormous and insignificant, encountered and remembered. Thinking thought-fully about future projects.

Thanks to my friend Judy for showing me her foiling techniques, as well as all the YouTubers whose videos I continue to devour; and thanks to Mr. Jardine for holding the stained glass in the photo above. Thanks to Liz, Liz, Donny, Carla, Mike, Dale, and all others who connected us. I am truly in love with this Chicago community of makers, and am glad to be part of it (albeit one in her recluse/hermit phase).

[ak03art]

FASHION

(Colour Version)

[aquelllla]

Sketching around with @artistcosmic’s DnD character, Verra!

I didn’t think I’ve talked about how much I love DnD on this blog~

[twists-and-things-betwixt]

Of Nightingales and Night Ravens: Chapter 4 - Ramshackle Renovations

Chapter: I, II, III, IV, V, VI, VII

Read on AO3

Summary: In which the cult gets more screen time, debts are paid through cleaning services, Yuu is a Disney Princess for real this time, there are too many animals in one room, and a first meeting occurs in the woods behind Ramshackle, but not the one you're thinking of. (or, Whistle While You Work)

Yuura is referred to as They and He.

Despite however long the Headmage claimed the building to be abandoned, Ramshackle itself is still in fair condition.

Now that the dormitory houses more than three mischievous ghosts, the water and electricity have been turned back on. The hardwood floors are scuffed and carpeted in a thick layer of dust, but they seem to be properly treated and stained; jumping up and down on one of the upper landings didn’t result in Yuura crashing into the floor below. Where the wallpaper is peeling, it's at the corners of individual sheets that could be easily glued back down. The broken furniture could be shoved into an empty storage room to be tended to at a later date.

And in spite of Ramshackle’s rundown appearance, the foundation is solid, the walls could repel the wind, and the roof could keep out the rain and sun. It's nothing more than a large clean up job.

Stains in the wallpaper? Nothing some warm, soapy water can’t fix. The staggering number of cobwebs dangling from the ceilings and sticking to the hard-to-reach corners? There was a broom conveniently abandoned in the entry hall, and a ladder in the back shed. The copious amounts of dust everywhere? In the attic, Yuura found a box of old but clean rags alongside a feather duster that still had all its plumes and a sturdy racket that was perfect for beating carpets and mattresses. The laundry room they stumbled upon was still stocked with cartons and boxes of powdered soap and cleaning detergents. There's even a full set of mops and buckets, and a large metal tub with its own old-fashioned steel washboard.

This, Yuura cataloged with a notepad and pencil, spending the free hours of their day exploring the building. There was no map they could find, so they drew up their own crude copy, counting the rooms and learning of their old designations from the resident ghosts (kitchen, supply closet, parlor, bedroom, study, bedroom, bedroom, bedroom…). Counting windows and determining which ones got top priority (bottom floor to top, front-facing, kitchen and master bedroom). Stacking scattered books and fallen paintings. Remembering which carpet belonged to which room after cleaning. Fixing the clocks and frames they found askew on the walls.

"What do you think, Mr. Giddens?” Yuura asks, hopping off the last step of the stairs connecting the first and second floors. They’d been testing the boards for levels of squeakiness rather than overall sturdiness (a little creaky towards the middle, but muffled by the carpet, and silent if you used the edges instead).

The Chubby Ghost of Ramshackle Dorm floats lazily to their side, taking a peek at the notes in their hand. It was a scribbled mix of Barren script, Common, and neat sketches of the building’s layout littered with numbers, arrows, and doodles of dancing mops and brooms.

"I think this seems like a tall order for one person to handle,” Mr. Giddens drawls.

"Especially for someone as small as you!” pipes in Mr. Weylin, dropping in from the ceiling alongside Mr. Melrose.

The Tiny Ghost nods in agreement. "Your arms will fall off before you finish sweeping the lounge." He shakes one of Yuura’s arms for emphasis.

"I’m sturdier than I look," Yuura insists, already making their way to the supply closet, pencil tucked behind their ear. "I helped my Uncle Sandro clean all the time, and our house was a little bigger than this.

"Besides, I won’t be alone." They turn on their heel, their smile rather cheery for someone who was about to spend the next several hours walking into spider webs. "I’ve got Grim with me, haven’t I?"

----

Among the Heartslabyul students who were present during the Housewarden’s Overblot and witnessed the aftermath, having fled into the Rose Maze before the destruction and missed the Headmaster’s call for evacuation, there was a vote—who to send as pseudo-emissaries to the Prefect who may or may not be a long-lost god of healing.

That’s how one freshman, two sophomores, and one junior find themselves standing on the creaky front porch of Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning, two weeks after the first Incident, less than a week after the second Incident when the Prefect was found singing All in the Golden Afternoon in the maze. As if that song isn’t highly restricted in use by the Queendom’s Royal Botanic Society.

"...so who’s gonna knock?"

"Not me! Make Quentin do it."

"What? What did I do?"

"Are you that much of a coward that you can’t even knock a door?"

"You wanna say that to my face, Poncy?"

"Bring it on, Angie."

"Oh, for fuck’s sake—look, there’s a doorbell. Let’s just ring the doorbell, and get this over with."

The doorbell does not work—properly. Rather than a chime or a tinkling tune, their ears are assaulted by a grating screech that lasts long enough for someone to answer the door.

"Hohoho, what do we have here?"

"Visitors? Visitors here?"

"Visitors, or intruders? What do you think, Mr. Giddens?"

"Heartslabyul, I think. And I see nary a red heart or a black spade among them."

"Intruders, then. Heheheh, do you know what that means, Mr. Giddens?"

"I think I do, Mr. Weylin."

Well, we don’t! the four hapless Heartslabyul students cry, huddling together despite their earlier animosity. Is this how it ended, joining the ranks of the ghosts who haunted Ramshackle? There's a reason why everyone avoided the building for decades!

"Oy! What did Yuu say about harassing visitors?”

The quartet would have sighed in relief, were it not for the fact that their savior came in the form of that fiery cat-monster that nearly burned down the Mirror Chamber during the Entrance Ceremony. It’s a little hard not to gawk when the creature comes waddling in with tiny rubber gloves over its front paws and its fiery ears tucked under a checkered kerchief.

(Huh. You’d think that’d be a safety hazard or something).

Bright blue eyes narrow on sight. "Hey, you ain’t Ace or Deuce. What’s a buncha Heartslabyul prisses doin’ here?"

One of the sophomores—the one referred to as Poncy—leans through the open door to shake his fist. “What’s that supposed to mean, ya cúl tóna beag?”

Someone hisses, "Pontius!" and tries to drag him back inside when the ghosts start leering again.

The monster bristles, nose scrunched up and forked tail flicking in agitation. "You wanna fight? I'll show you what the Great Lord Grim can do!"

"Gri—i—im!" Students, ghosts, and cat-monster alike all jump at the call. The voice comes closer, from the slightly ajar doors at the end of the entry hall. "Grim, are you alright? I heard the doorbell ringing. Oh! visitors."

Peeking into the hallway, a great pair of owlish, hazel-brown eyes, framed between an off-white kerchief around the mouth and over the nose, and a blue plaid kerchief around the head, pushing back a tousled mass of dark curls.

"Welcome to Ramshackle!" The Prefect steps into full view, revealing a full-length apron atop faded gym clothes that look several years out of date, bright yellow rubber gloves, and a broom in hand that looks like it's been through the wringer. "Pardon the mess, but today's a cleaning day and we weren't expecting visitors." Once he's close enough, the Prefect extends his free hand, retracts it upon realizing how grimy it is, and settles for a polite yet welcoming nod. Even with the mask in the way, his smile is visible in the corners of his eyes and the lift of his cheeks.

He doesn’t look much like an immortal in hiding or—as some of the guys suggested—a forgotten god of healing. Not with the secondhand clothes, or the messy hair, or the broom.

But they had seen the Prefect fend off that Blot monster’s attack when it came straight for Trappola; if it had been any of them, it would have been every man for himself and Trappola would be mulch. They’d seen him sing a Lost Song that made Diamond lose some of his composure and brought Rosehearts back from the brink of death. Those who were close enough to the spectacle had felt the lingering effects of the Prefect’s spell—warmth like a kind touch, like a sunbeam in the darkness, soothing their aches and pains. And then there were others who were convinced that he was the god of something more, because when they found him singing to those flowers, they not only moved in response, they sang back, unfurling their petals and leaves to reveal uncanny faces, singing with the Prefect in perfect harmony as they swayed like they were dancing in the breeze.

Which brings us back to why they were here in the first place.

Any persisting pride the four Heartslabyul students might have had is dwarfed in comparison to the awe and gratitude that they have towards the Prefect.

“Prefect!” The junior steps up first and bows almost parallel to the floor. The Prefect lets out an inelegant squeak. “My name is Octavian Kendrick, third-year, and on behalf of the other guys in Heartslabyul, we wanted to thank you for what you did for us.”

The Prefect blinks, lowers his mask, opens his mouth, closes it, then blinks some more. “Thank me for what, exactly?”

The other students look at each other incredulously while Octavian shoots up straight in disbelief. “For what?”

“For taking the ruler out of Rosehearts’ ass and making him chill out, obviously—ow!”

“Angus!”

“What Angus means,” the junior continues, blocking his bickering underclassmen from the Prefect’s line of sight, “is that ever since the Housewarden’s, er, Incident, he’s been… mellower. Less… severe when it comes to enforcing the Queen of Hearts’ rules.”

“Less anal retentive, you mean—ow!”

“Angus!”

Octavian sighs.

The Prefect rolls his broom between his hands, humming. "I don’t understand why you would be offering me thanks. Senior Riddle has been doing remarkably well improving himself with Senior Trey and Senior Cater’s guidance, and I didn’t help during his... Predicament as much as Ace and Deuce did. If anything, you should be thanking them."

How is this guy a student at Night Raven?

The sophomore with a club over his left eye and rubbing his ribs—Angus—snorts. "Didn’t help? All of us saw the way you threw yourself in front of Trappola—"

"Like some sort of self-sacrificing idiot—"

"Pontius!"

"And then there’s the part where you used a Lost Song to bring the Housewarden back from the dead!" the freshman with a blue heart on his face exclaims, stars in his eyes. "In Black Tongue, too. I’m from the Shaftlands, and even I don’t know any of the words besides the first line in Pyroxisch. And you need to be really, really good at magic to use a spell that powerful, and you used it to bring the Housewarden back from the dead."

"Quentin," the sophomore with a diamond—Pontius—cuts in sharply, while the Prefect corrects, "He wasn’t dead."

"But he was dying," Angus says, "Like, on Death’s doorstep, and then you started singing in a dead language, and it was like nothing happened to him! We all thought you were supposed to be Magicless."

"Basically Magicless," Pontius clarifies.

"You saw all of that?" is what the Prefect takes away from All of That.

Octavian nods. "About a dozen of us or so. We were in the Rose Maze when it happened."

"A bunch of guys ran in there after the whole Egg Thing and the Housewarden started going on a rampage," Quentin helpfully explains. "We saw everything."

"Ah," the Prefect says thoughtfully, as if he hadn’t been witnessed performing something akin to a miracle; something that would definitely make global news if word ever got out. "To be perfectly honest, I wasn’t entirely certain if that would work."

"What."

"Mm-hm." The Prefect starts sweeping idly at the dirt the boys had tracked in. "Let’s just say… It’s been a long time since I last sang, and I couldn’t be sure if the Song would work or not. But I needed to try, for Senior Riddle’s sake. You understand, of course?"

No, they did not understand. Where did this kid come from? Why is he even here? Everyone in the area had fled or hidden during Rosehearts’ Overblot, besides the Suits and the Prefect (who all appear to be of the same breed of freaking crazy). And then when the tiny, red tyrant was only a pint away from bleeding to death, the Prefect whipped out a Lost Song like it was nothing! Like the ones with surviving lyrics or melodies aren’t guarded as national secrets. Like the only people who remember all the words in their original Barren Tongue aren’t all dead.

…except for one, it seems.

Octavian bows to the Prefect again, and this time, his underclassmen follow suit. "You saved the Housewarden’s life, and because of whatever else you did to make him calm down and not decapitate people left and right, Heartslabyul Dorm is in your debt."

At the word debt, the Prefect’s eyes widen. "Debt?" he echoes. "Oh no, oh no, oh no! You don’t owe me anything, least of all the entirety of your dorm. I only wanted to help—Senior Riddle, and my friends, and..." He trails off, sheepish. "I suppose the rest of you as well."

"And that’s why we’re indebted to you, id—" Pontius falters at the several pairs of glaring eyes that lock onto him—from his senior, his junior, the cat-monster standing at the Prefect’s side, and the trio of ghosts still lingering nearby. "Ahem—Prefect. You helped us all out, so now we have to pay you back."

"That’s the rules here," Angus shrugs, leaning onto a protesting Pontius’ shoulder. "Trust us, no one here wants to remain indebted to anyone. Have seen Octavinelle? Have you seen their Dorm Leader?"

"Actually, I am familiar with Senior Ashengro—"

"Anyway," Octavian interrupts, because he did not like where that sentence was going, "you get what we’re saying. You helped us deal with Rosehearts; we help you out in any way we can."

"Within reason," Quentin adds. "That’s what the others back at the dorm said."

Again, the Prefect appears lost in contemplation, rolling the handle of his broom back and forth.

"Myah, Yuura." They all look down to see the weasel-cat—Grim—yanking on the Prefect’s pant leg. "It’s cleaning day, 'member?"

The big ghost starts chuckling, deep and booming. "Hohoho, I see!"

"It would be nice to have a spare set of human hands helping you out," says the skinny ghost, floating over the Prefect’s shoulder. "Or four, or twelve."

The Prefect glances back at the open door at the end of the hall, and for the first time since they arrived, the Heartslabyul students finally notice the sounds of shuffling and… clacking? coming from that direction.

The Prefect offers them a shy, hopeful smile when he turns back. "You wouldn’t happen to be free later today, would you?"

----

"What, exactly, is going on here?"

"Hou—Housewarden Rosehearts, sir!"

"Nothing’s going on, sir!"

"Nothing? Then enlighten me—why would nothing require a dozen students disappearing together on a Friday afternoon?"

"Uh, well, you see, clubs—and other such after-school activities—"

"Oh, for the love of—"

"Ramshackle, sir! Everyone’s leaving for Ramshackle Dorm!"

"Finnian!"

"I’m sorry! I panic under pressure."

"...Ramshackle?"

----

"Senior Ruggie! Horrible news!"

"So you know how the Housewarden’s tryna to—"

"—heard it from the Hearts guys in my club—"

"I didn’t know the Prefect was accepting offerings—"

"—going on for weeks, apparently—"

"—they don’t even have a washing machine—"

"EH? What d'ya mean Heartslabyul’s—!"

----

Anyone passing by Ramshackle Dorm one Saturday morning in early November would have doubletake'd at the assembly of characters standing at the dilapidated building’s front porch. Certainly, the poor Heartslabyul freshman who volunteered to answer the door swears his heart seized in that moment as he struggles to not immediately slam the door in their faces.

"Housewarden Rosehearts!" he salutes, forgetting the feather duster in hand that sends a cloud of dust flying. "Er, and Housewarden Kingscholar!"

(Nearby, a Savanaclaw student almost drops the wall sconce he was screwing back into place. Turning the corner from the larger storage room, a Heartslabyul pair stumbles and knocks the newly repaired sideboard they were carrying into a wall.)

"...and entourage," the freshman tacks on, rather pathetically.

("Why are we ‘entourage’?" mutters Ace from where he stands by Deuce, narrowed eyes trained on the Savanaclaw trio beside them.)

The Heartslabyul Housewarden studies his dorm member with a critical eye, noting the feather duster, the lack of his uniform blazer, the kerchief in his hair. With the door open, the hubbub of many people moving around inside is obvious. So is the distant sound of singing. "...Quentin Herzfeld, I believe."

"Yes, sir!"

Even out of dorm uniform and carrying what looks to be a covered basket with a bright red bow, Riddle Rosehearts cuts an imposing figure. "Well?" he snaps. "Are you not going to invite us in?"

"Yes, sir! Right this way, sir! Please excuse the mess!"

Someone further back has already run ahead into the lounge, shouting something that sounds like, "—ner Circ—!"

Those still present in the entry hall watch Rosehearts and Kingscholar try to enter the building at the same time, only to knock shoulders and start glaring at each other.

And they just finished gluing down the wallpaper after the last scuffle, too…

----

"So, friends, even though you’re vermin, we’re a happy working throng—oh! Senior Riddle, Senior Leona. I didn’t expect to see you two here. Welcome!"

"Prefect." Riddle sounds close to having a conniption. "There’s vermin in your dormitory."

"Senior Riddle, they’re not vermin," the Prefect chides the Heartslabyul Housewarden, stepping around the line of rats scurrying across the floor. "They're friends." They set their heavy tray down on the coffee table, already crowded with similar trays laden with stacks of painted glasses, old metal pitchers and crystal jugs, and porcelain plates of finger foods. Almost immediately, several students scattered around the lounge drop whatever’s in hand and swarm the Prefect, laughing their thanks and sighing in relief.

The Prefect laughs with them before turning to address their visitors. It’s quite a sight for them, seeing the young men they consider their friends standing together (even if Riddle is steadily turning red; and Leona is looking distinctly vexed; and Jack bewildered; and Ruggie and Trey plainly amused; and Ace and Deuce particularly annoyed; Cater is just taking pictures again). "It’s been a while since I’ve seen some of you together. How are you?"

"Prefect, the rats."

"Yuurachen, love what you’ve done with the place! Smile for the camera!"

"Hey, Yuu-kun, are those sandwiches for everyone?"

"I’m just here to make sure the guys I sent were actually doing their jobs and not slacking off."

"As if you’re one to talk about slacking off…"

"Oy, Yuura! Since when were you inviting other guys into Ramshackle?"

"What about the rats! Yuu, did you replace us with rats?"

"Have you just been cleaning your dorm in your free time for the past two months? Prefect, no."

"We brought you a goodie basket."

Unbelievably, that's what the Prefect zeroes in on, extracting themself from Diamond’s hold to retrieve the covered basket from Clover. "Really? Oh, you didn't have to, thank you!" Removing the gingham cloth fills the air with the yeasty, spicy, sweet aromas of fresh baked breads and pastries. "You wouldn’t mind if I shared these, would you?"

"Well, actually—"

"Hey, don’t ignore us!" Ace whirls them around by the shoulders. "Why's this the first we’ve heard of you bringing a buncha Savanaclaw meatheads and our own dorm-mates into Ramshackle—hrmph!"

Yuura withdraws another cinnamon palmier from the basket and holds it out to the hyena beastman. "Of course, help yourself. I'm making more sandwiches in the kitchen, and there are brownies in the oven, if you want any."

"Score!" Ruggie knocks Ace aside, the redhead's yells muffled by the arlette in his mouth. Half of the pastry in their hand disappears in one bite. "You're the bes', kidege."

"Ati, Ruggie—who're you calling kidege?" Ace is further knocked aside—this time into Deuce, nearly choking on flaky crumbs—as Leona inserts himself between the pair. Somehow, he looks even more irritated than usual, though that could easily be attributed to the presence of not only the Heartslabyul prigs, but also their damn Dorm Leader and his Suits. If he’d known the Little Red Queen had the same plans as him, he wouldn’t have bothered stopping by Ramshackle in the first place.

("You didn’t have to stay, y’know," Ruggie will later point out about an hour later, when Yuura bids everyone goodbye and sends Savanaclaw off with leftover boxes and promises to visit on Sunday.

(To which Leona will answer with a "Tsk," and proceed to avoid the question.)

"Shishishi! Why, jealous?" Ruggie slings an arm over the Prefect’s shoulders, already reaching into the basket for a square of caramel shortbread. "Maybe you shoulda been nicer to Yuu-kun here if you wanted them to love you as much as they love me. Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani. Anipendaye, nami nampenda."

Several Savana residents choke on their drinks as their Housewarden scowls and retorts, "Ihsani iandame imani." He sweeps his arm around the lounge, more polished and spruced up compared to the beginning of the school term. A few of his dorm members are still hard at work caulking squeaky floorboards in the upper landing, reinstalling fallen light fixtures, and replacing heavy curtain rods over the windows. "What do you call this, then?"

"Compensation, I should think, for the injuries the Prefect incurred trying to clean up your messes." Riddle appears to have recovered from his rat-induced shock, because now he’s stepping in between Leona and the Prefect, eyeing both beastmen with obvious displeasure. "Uninspired, as well, seeing as Heartslabyul already had renovations well underway by the time Savanaclaw decided to stick their muzzles where they don’t belong."

"Eh?" Leona stalks forward, towering over his fellow Dorm Leader. "Word travels fast, Riddle. We all know what happened between you and the Prefect in September. Your hands are as red as mine."

Everyone in the room (and in the adjacent kitchen, entry hall, and dining room, because all the doors are open and sound travels far in Ramshackle) stiffens, the tension palpable between two powerful Housewardens who are still recovering from the aftermath of Overblotting and nearly dying.

Everyone except for the Prefect, of course.

"Excuse me, please." The Savanaclaw trio and Heartslabyul quintet jump back as the Prefect draw circles in the air with their broom handle. "Mostro Lounge rules apply here, gentlemen—no fighting between dorms. And no soliciting, as well, I suppose." They lower their broom and plant a hand on their hip, their mild disappointment evident and more devastating than any anger or upset.

("Why bring up the Mostro Lounge rules, anyway?"

("Dude, they work at the Mostro Lounge."

("They what?")

"Really, Senior Riddle, Senior Leona—your students are present. As their Housewardens, shouldn’t you set better precedents for them when it comes to fostering interdorm relations?" It took many promises and placations to calm everyone down that first day, when both Savanaclaw and Heartslabyul appeared on Ramshackle’s doorstep the previous week and immediately clashed. Yuura would not tolerate all their hard work being undone, not even by Riddle or Leona.

To the astonishment of all those watching, both Housewardens actually look ashamed—they look away from the Prefect and each other, Riddle flushed with embarrassment, Leona clicking his tongue, contrite.

Riddle coughs into his fist and smooths down the front of his waistcoat. "I… apologize, Prefect. You’re absolutely correct. It would be disrespectful of us to engage in altercations while we are guests under your care."

There are too many people in the room for Leona to properly avoid any eye contact. Eventually, he closes his eyes, sighs, and says, "Fine. Whatever. As long as you don’t insist I act all buddy-buddy with Mister Queen over there."

"It never hurts to dream." Disregarding Rosehearts' indignant sputtering, the smile the Prefect gives is like a reward in and of itself—kind, and lighthearted, and encouraging in its genuinity.

("By the Seven…" a Savanaclaw junior murmurs in awe. Like many of his dorm-mates, he's wearing his uniform bandana around his head and an old apron the Prefect found in a box filled with equally old aprons.

("I know, right?" his Heartslabyul year-mate whispers back excitedly, passing a plate full of tea sandwiches.

("Is this what they mean by beast-taming…?" another Heartslabyul student mumbles in a daze. His expression is reflected in several other faces.

(Someone else from Savanaclaw mimics a whip cracking, and is immediately shushed.)

The Prefect smacks the top of their head. "Oh, but where are my manners? Sit down, sit down, please!" They usher their guests around the lounge, mindful of the recently shampooed carpet and the various animal tails lying around, both beastfolk and rattus. "The Cards helped me clean the cushioned furniture a few weeks ago, and the Savana boys helped finish up the rest of the lounge." They turn to the dusty, grungy students delegated to sitting on the floors. "Again, thank you for the assistance. I don't know what I would have done without all of you."

They're answered by an overlapping chorus of "It's no problem," and "You can count on us!", and "Anything for you, Mx. Prefect!"

(On separate couches, Leona and Riddle share the same expression of vague betrayal—from their own dorm members, or from the Prefect, or perhaps both. Seated with Riddle, Trey and Cater share a meaningful, silent Look. On the third couch, Deuce cracks his knuckles and Ace throws a menacing glance at his fellow Card Soldiers. Leaning against the staircase banister, Jack is frowning even more so than usual. And Ruggie? Ruggie is snickering to himself where he's sat on the carpet, cradling the goodie basket the Prefect kindly entrusted to him like a treasure chest.)

Ace takes the glass of lemonade the Prefect pours out for him with a petulant air, grumbling rather loudly, "I don't see why you had to ask these cretini e scrocconi for help, anyway."

"You're one to talk, Trappola!" someone who sounds like one of his dorm-mates says. "Vai a vendere il culo!"

"Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di—mrph!" He yanks the sandwich triangle out of his mouth. "Yuu, I'm not Grim, stop doing that!" The Prefect tugs lightly at an unruly lock of red hair. "Yuu."

"Stop antagonizing my guests." They pass the plate in their other hand to their blue-haired friend. "Have a sandwich, Ducky; there's egg salad and tamago sando."

"O—Oh, thank you." That mollifies Deuce for the time being, if the slight fluster means anything. Yuura grants him a pleased smile and a pat on the head.

"Tsk. This is blatant favoritism."

"I don't play favorites so obviously, Pip, you know this." Just in case, they pat his head too. Ace groans some more, but doesn't move away from their hand.

(Blatant favoritism, is the thought on many people's minds as the Prefect fusses over their best friends. Then they move across the room to hand Howl a full glass and to pat his arm. He accepts both gestures with a neutral face, a nod, and a conspicuously hidden tail. Howl, you too?!)

"And your dorm-mates offered to help me, as well as Savanaclaw," they call over their shoulder as they bustle to the open kitchen door. "I couldn’t very well refuse them when they were so willing to help, and kind enough to offer it. What was I supposed to do, turn them away from my door?"

"Yes."

"Ace."

"Wait, wait, hold on a minute." Jack waits for the Prefect to pull their head back in from the kitchen—"Could someone put a kettle on, please?"—"I’ve got it, Mx. Yuu!"—before nudging them back into the room’s focus. "If Ace and Deuce weren’t helping you, and you only started getting help at the end of September…" He shoots them his own disappointed stare. "Don’t tell me you were cleaning your dorm by yourself for a whole month."

"It wasn’t a whole month," the Prefect insists, reaching higher to pat his shoulder. His frown doesn't abate. "I swear it! I had Grim to help me, as well—"

"Grim can barely hold a pen."

"—and, well…" They fiddle with the chain of their necklace, actually hesitant for once. Hazel eyes flicker around the room between their latest guests. "I had a little help on the side, I suppose you could say."

"Oh! Oh, Prefect!" A Savanaclaw freshman with blond hair and the dark ears of a hyrax—the one who was shushed earlier—starts bouncing on his knees. "Prefect, you have to show them that Song you used!"

"Emmanuel!" someone hisses.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Heartslabyul friends echo, curious and intrigued.

"Song?" the Prefect’s Savanaclaw friends echo, ears pulling back almost flat against their hair.

(And who can blame them for being on guard? Everyone who witnessed Leona Kingscholar’s Overblot was also privy to the Prefect at their most destructive and ruthless. Heartslabyul had seen the Prefect protect their friend and heal their enemy; and saw a god of healing, forgiveness, compassion. Savanaclaw had seen the Prefect split the earth in two and summon columns of green flame and geysers of boiling steam; and saw a god of retribution and mercy that came in the form of a swift, humbling defeat.)

The Prefect flaps their hand in a vaguely reassuring manner. "Nothing so drastic or damaging, you needn't worry about that. But… it is a little overwhelming, in its own way."

"Overwhelming how?" Riddle asks with a scrutinizing gaze. By the way he's shifting his feet, he seems to have remembered the numerous rats dotting the lounge floor. Probably because one skirted a little too close to his shoe and nearly sent him flying off the couch.

...is that one wearing a bow?

"Well…"

"Oh, c'mon, Prefect—!" That sets off a clamoring from all directions of the lounge, over a dozen young men begging and pleading with the Prefect, with a comfortable informality and ease born from spending many hours working alongside the suspected immortal (possible god), who so far has displayed a greater preference for goodwill and charity than vengeance and retaliation.

(Which is all well and good for those who initially derided the Prefect for being so small, and weak, and supposedly Magicless, or close to it. Especially Savanaclaw; none of them will be forgetting anytime soon just how easily the Prefect could have ended their Housewarden right then and there. Instead, they healed him completely at the expense of their own health. Truly a merciful being.)

Riddle appears close to beheading people, and Leona to nursing a migraine, before the Prefect throws up their hands and laughs, "Alright, alright, settle down, please!" Then, with a tentatively eager grin, "Well, I suppose it wouldn't hurt, just this once." And that’s enough reassurance for their friends to settle down. If there’s one thing they’ve learned about Yuura Miyajima, it’s that they hate harming others, necessarily or otherwise. Even being left bedridden in the infirmary didn’t prevent them from making sure both Riddle and Leona were fully recovered from their Episodes.

Whatever this Song is, it can’t be anymore dangerous than Der Zauberspruch or All in the Golden Afternoon.

Cheering, the lounge bursts into action as people leap off the floor and scatter around the room, tossing dirty rags, kerchiefs, and aprons, and tools and supplies onto the ground, throwing open the curtains and windows, and the back door in the kitchen—all under the Prefect’s direction.

"Could someone get the windows, please?"

"We got ‘em, Prefect!

"Everyone grab what’s left on the plates, if you will!"

"Way ahead of you!"

"Now where did I put my broom…? Oh! Thank you, Khari."

"’S nothing, Mx. Prefect."

Slipping away to find a good angle to film from, Cater finds one of his fellow Cards and asks, "Hey, so what’s this super mysterious song everyone’s so hyped about?"

The sophomore—his last name might’ve been Pfenning or Farthing, or something like that—flinches. "Oh, Senior Diamond, it’s just you. Uh… you’re from Pyroxene too, right? You remember that clean-up song kids used to sing? Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?"

"Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift?" two voices exclaim. Cater startles and turns to the direction of the other voice. Little Jack Howl stares back at him, first with mild surprise that he had heard him from across the room, then with shared bafflement. Wait, you heard that? Wait, you know Pyroxisch? Wait, did you hear what I heard correctly?

In the center of the room, lit up by the midday sunlight pouring through the open windows, the Prefect readjusts the kerchief in their hair before crouching and knocking the floor, steadying themself with their broom. “Gustav, Yasha, Marusya, come here, everyone.”

Everyone not accustomed to the Prefect’s Little Friends—mostly Riddle, he still hasn’t moved out of that stiff stance—jumps back and retracts their feet as well over a dozen rats scamper across the floor to congregate around the Prefect, who smiles and pets them like one would a cat or a dog, and not a mischief of grubby, possibly diseased rodents (again, mostly Riddle’s words).

(Never mind that all of them have sleek, fluffy coats and seem to be wearing some sort of miniature clothing item or accessory. When did the Prefect have the time to knit that fat one a sweater?)

"I’ll have to ask for your help again today, but you’ll get to see your friends. Aren’t you excited?"

It feels like foreshadowing, how responsive the rats are to the Prefect speaking in Common as they bob their heads and chitter in agreement.

Then the Prefect stands up and whistles a painfully nostalgic tune that reminds the native Shaftlanders of clean-up time and overly enthusiastic kindergarten teachers—and something from the woods outside whistles back.

"Please don’t be alarmed," the Prefect says, before a fluttering, flocking shadow descends.

----

"So were you expecting a crap-ton of birds and forest animals?" Ace whispers, his voice a little weak even in his own ears. The rabbit on his lap continues to paw at his waistcoat.

Careful not to disturb the birds that decided his shoulders and head were adequate perches, Deuce leans over and replies, "I’m more surprised there were deer in the woods."

"Honestly, same."

Said deer—a doe—and its fawn seem to have taken a liking to their green-haired senior and Housewarden, with Trey struggling not to laugh in the face of Riddle’s bewilderment as the mother-child pair nudge their legs and the fawn attempts to clamber onto Riddle’s lap. "No, wait, don’t do that. No, stop—"

Leona isn’t faring any better—no matter how many times he growls or lashes out his hand, far too many chipmunks and squirrels return, circling the Savanaclaw Housewarden in hopes that he’ll let them climb on his person. "Herbivore," he says through gritted teeth. "What is this?"

The Prefect’s shoulders shake with stifled laughter, the birds resting on them undisturbed by the movement. "It means they like you, Senior Leona," they say, oddly calm for someone whose lounge is now crowded with an excess of squirrels, chipmunks, and rats, a herd of rabbits, a pair of large turtles, a family of deer, an entire nursery of raccoons, and too many birds to count.

"Totes adorable," Cater declares, taking pics of the rabbits gathering around him for Magicam.

"Hey. Hey, no, not there." Jack waves at the bird that’s made its nest in his hair. It jumps and flutters in the air for a moment before settling down again. "What did I just say? Not there."

"Shoo. Go away." Ruggie kicks a foot out towards the raccoons that keep approaching him. He’s still got the basket in his arms, plus a couple plates he managed to snatch from the coffee table. "These ain’t for you, now beat it!"

(Inner Circle, their dorm-mates think with envious sighs, their persons woefully bereft of any curious or cozy forest creature. Even the animals can tell who the Prefect favors over others. Lucky bastards.)

The Prefect claps their hands. It’s a little unnerving how that instantly catches the attention of every animal in the vicinity. "Alright, everyone," they start in a chipper voice, slightly more pitched than usual. They point to various parts of the room, and in the smoothest transition into Barren any of them have heard, says, "Now you wash the dishes. You tidy up the room. You clean the fireplace—"

They hold their broom aloft. "And I’ll use the broom!"

They whistle again, and then the birds whistle back, and then…

"Just whistle while you work!"

"Off the couch, off the couch, off the couch—" Their dorm-mates probably had the right idea, retreating to the stairs and the upper landing overlooking the lounge. The moment every bird takes off into the air and the animals start moving, Ace and Deuce bolt, ducking their heads and nearly tripping over various rabbits and rodents as they stumble up the stairs. Close behind them are Ruggie and Jack, the former expertly dodging every animal underfoot and the latter nearly getting his ears clipped by a pair of birds lifting a plate.

"How are they carrying those?"

"I dunno, freaky Prefect magic crap?! Where’s the music coming from!"

Their seniors are not so quick in their escapes.

"And cheerfully together, we can tidy up the place." As they sweep around the carpet, the Prefect passes by Riddle and Trey. Riddle has given up all sense of decorum to kneel on the couch, very much dismayed by the number of animals dusting with their tails and carrying very delicate dishes and glassware.

"I—what? No, wait—" Riddle grips Trey’s arm, his expression somewhat (very) panicked. “Trey. Trey, there are squirrels dusting the mantle.”

"Let it go, Riddle." His face is somber and resigned. He only steps aside when a turtle waddles past carrying a stack of overturned glasses on its shell.

"But—"

"This is Ramshackle Dorm. Only the Prefect’s rules apply here."

"So hum a merry tune—hm-mm-mm-mm, hm-mm-mm..." When the Prefect passes by the other occupied couch in the room, they find a certain lion lying face-down, a decorative pillow thrown over his head. They’d worry more about his ability to breathe if it weren’t for the exposed tail snapping back and forth. Instead, they laugh again and kick a dirty rag on the floor up into the air. It’s swiftly caught by a diving sparrow. "It won’t take long when there’s a song to help you set the pace.

"And as you sweep the room…" They start twirling with the broom, moving with remarkable ease around the rats with dusters in their tails, and chipmunks with dishes in their paws, and raccoons with aprons and kerchiefs on their backs. "Imagine that the broom is someone that you love, and soon—"

"You'll find you’re dancing to the tune!" "Du fängst mit ihm zu tanzen an!"

"Oh!" Before their forehead can collide with someone else’s chin, someone’s there to catch them. And when they raise their head, they find green eyes glinting playfully down at them, one hand on their arm and the other still recording with his phone. "Senior Cater!" They beam, positively delighted that another person knows this song that was a part of their childhood.

(Unbeknownst to them, they share this trait with every Shaftlander in the room, and in fact, the entire school. It’s pervasiveness is on par with that Yahoo! nursery rhyme.)

"Drum sei gescheit—"

"—the time will fly—"

"So whistle while you work!" "Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift!"

Oh, you smooth bastard, is the bitter sentiment shared by those watching from up above as Diamond takes the Prefect’s hand and gives them a twirl, eliciting giddy laughter from the Prefect and disbelieving looks from even his Housewarden and the other Suits.

("What’s he doing?"

("Not on my watch—"

("Whoa, Deuce, chill! Get back here!")

The Prefect wasn’t exaggerating when they said the effects of the song would be… overwhelming. But there’s also something so fascinating, almost whimsical about it, too.

For an army of forest creatures, they set about their given tasks with great efficiency. Squirrels swipe their bushy tails over railings, the mantle, and the blackened bricks before beating the dust out of them on the window sills. Rats and turtles carry abandoned tools and empty plates into the kitchen. Dirty rags and aprons are draped over a buck that bumbles after them on its way to the backyard. A few of the braver students make their way downstairs and follow the deer, only to find more squirrels and rabbits washing dishes in the overflowing sinks with startling dexterity.

("They shouldn’t have the motor skills to do this!")

Back in the lounge, a succession of songbirds fly in and out with yellow and white autumn flowers in their beaks, dropping them one by one into a water pitcher that had been left on the table (did they coordinate that?). From the back door in the kitchen and through the open windows in the lounge, there’s a clear view of the laundry set up in the backyard, where the buck sheds its load and the raccoons and chipmunks take over, half-submerged in white suds as they scrub dust cloths and kerchiefs. More little birds fly by, depositing more laundry into the water before plucking clean pieces from the wash tubs. Those are sprawled across the grass and hung on the nearby clothesline to dry.

All the while, the Prefect continues their Song, humming along with the disembodied music and vocalizing in a register many didn’t believe they could reach until now.

("This shouldn’t be possible. At least Der Zauberspruch is an established spell. This is supposed to be a children’s song."

("Wait, so you’re saying…?"

("Whatever’s going on right now, it’s the Prefect affecting the Song, not the other way around."

("The Prefect’s manipulating a children’s song like a Lost Song?"

(What a terrifying thought.)

"So, whistle while you work!"

But perhaps not so terrifying, when the Prefect pauses in their sweeping to offer their finger as a perch to an approaching passerine.

It lands and warbles back, and the Prefect sings, and it’s like something from a fairy tale.

----

"Bye! Bye, Mx. Prefect!"

"Drop by Savana tomorrow! You promised!"

"Hey, come by Heartslabyul later!"

"See ya later, Mx. Prefect!"

"We’ll talk on Monday!"

"Goodbye, everyone! Take care!"

----

"What a bother. Should’ve just stayed in and slept."

"You didn’t have to stay, y’know."

"Tsk. Gotta make sure the herbivore doesn’t do something incredibly stupid. Kid’s too naïve for their own good."

"Ridiculously trusting and naïve, maybe, Senior, but not defenseless."

"Ch. No, not defenseless."

----

"What did we say about trusting people so easily, eh? Don’t play innocent with us, Yuura Miyajima."

"I don’t think they’re playing; they're always this foolish, remember?"

"Aww, Deuce, not you as well."

"Hey, we’re not done with this conversation!"

"Of course not. Will you two be stopping by Ramshackle after class next week? With Senior Riddle’s permission, we could have a sleepover. It’ll be like old times."

"Pfft. I know your tricks, Yuu. Don’t think you can avoid the topic that easily."

"I’m not! I swear it on my mother’s ashes. If Riddle agrees, I’ll even make breakfast for you both. I just went grocery shopping. Those omelets I made before? The fluffy ones with milk and sautéed vegetables? I even got a tin of hot cocoa."

"Hot cocoa? What do you think we are, little kids?"

"Ace, c’mon…"

"I’ll make cherry turnovers."

"...Fine."

At the very least, they could say they got to Yuura first and had them the longest.

(Unless you asked Grim, of course. That's a whole 'nother story.)

----

"I think it goes without saying, that no footage of the Prefect Singing should be released, especially considering what happened the last time it happened."

"What do you take me for, ay? Hey, we all learned a lesson last time! See? No video, I just uploaded some of the pics I took."

@OkayCayCay: @iseeyuu hard at work making the rest of us look bad #CayToday #NRC #RamshackleRenovations #shabbychic #broomdancing #mädchenfromamärchen

@SuziQChuChu: is that the new nrc prefect? cute! <3

@enamel_eclipse: That's the brown eyed kid from last time, right?

@mamamiya: hey, its the person from the nightingale video

@cecilily: what's the nightingale video?

"...Cater—what is the nightingale video?"

"...You're gonna find this hilarious."

"Cater."

----

It’s a little blue songbird that leads them away, alighting on Yuura’s offered hand as they clean up the tubs and washboards outside. "Hello there, ptichka,” they giggle, recalling one of the many endearments their uncles used to address them by. “What are you doing here, all on your lonesome?"

The bluebird chirps, shaking its head and ruffling its feathers. It hops up and down on their finger before flying off and landing in the grass some distance away. It turns around and hops some more. Well? What are you waiting for?

Now, having been partially raised on the many, many tomes and texts that made up their family’s library, Yuura is well-read enough to know that even following a tiny bird into the woods could spell trouble. Why, it could just as easily lead Yuura to imminent peril or their disastrous doom as it could be guiding them to some great treasure, or perhaps even the love of their life! Wouldn't that be a tale to tell? Still, what harm could there be in following? They didn’t get to where they are now without taking a few (read: several) risks here and there. "Lead the way."

The woods behind campus have become quite familiar to Yuura. There are always apples and berries and flowers to be found there, the strong boughs and knotted bark of the trees are perfect for climbing, and it's where their animal friends reside. There’s always a lovely atmosphere, even at night, but especially now in the late afternoon—golden-amber sunlight dappling the soft green grass underfoot, filtered by the lush, fruit-laden branches above. The mildest of autumn breezes that whispers through the leaves and stirs the mess of curls about their face. It’s a gentle, sleepy atmosphere, dreamy and suspended in time.

The little bird flits about up ahead and Yuura obediently follows. In the hazy afternoon light, the figure cradled in the twisted roots of a tree becomes apparent. The birds and squirrels surrounding the figure turn to look at Yuura, but do not flee as they approach, slowing their steps with barely a rustle in the grass.

A standard NRC uniform with a striped tie and the vibrant green waistcoat of Diasomnia House—maybe he knows Yuura’s midnight visitor? A peculiar baton of green and black hanging from the belt. From the relaxed position he’s in, his gloved hands folded atop his stomach and the steady rise and fall of his chest, this person must’ve fallen asleep here, rather than having passed out. How odd. How curious.

"Oh!" Yuura gasps, moving to kneel by his side, "I remember him!"

It's the boy from the Spelldrive Tournament, the quiet, aloof one who had accompanied Sebek Zigvolt and Senior Lilia.

Yuura recalls his hair being gray, but up close, it shines like spun silver in the shaded light, distinct from Jack's grayish-white, or Senior Kalim's pearly white. Up close, Yuura discovers a lovely, well-shaped face; it reminds them of Tsunotaro's unearthly allure and noble mien—charming and enchanting, something straight from a storybook. He’s beautiful.

"Like Sleeping Beauty in the Woods," Yuura whispers. "Do you think he's a prince? Or maybe a knight?" The little bird only chirps in response.

As loathed as they are to disturb such a peaceful slumber (speaking from experience), the hour is growing late, and they'd rather not abandon this man in the woods.

"Hello?" He's sturdier than he looks, barely budging when Yuura shakes his shoulder.

"...Hmm?"

They shake him some more. "Hello—o—o. I'm sorry to disturb you, but it's getting late, and it'll be dark soon—ah!" He lurches upright, nearly knocking foreheads with Yuura.

"Oh! my goodness, are you alright?" Yuura leans away, resting a hand on his shoulder as he sways. "I didn't mean to startle you."

Blue-violet eyes stare at them, cloudy with sleep, blinking with a syrupy slowness. "...This is strange," he murmurs, "You seem... familiar. Have we met somewhere before?"

What a mysterious thing to say. Yuura grins, unable to help themself. "Once upon a dream, perhaps," they say with a wave of their hand.

(They do not notice the sudden alertness in those lethargic eyes. Why would they?)

"I suppose you know where you are? I'm the the Prefect of Ramshackle Dorm, Yuura Miyajima. Class A, freshman year." Shifting into a proper seiza, they bow their head to him. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"...I have heard of you. Silver. Diasomnia, Class A, sophomore year. Likewise."

----

Translations Central Rosen (Irish Gaelic) - cúl tóna beag = "little asshole" Lugha ya Machweo (Kiswahili) - ati = "hey" - kidege = "little bird" - Jaza ya ihsani ni ihsani = "The reward of kindness is kindness" - Anipendaye, nami nampenda = "The person who loves me, I love too" - Ihsani iandame imani = "A loving relationship should follow acts of kindness" Coastal Rosen (Italian) - cretini e scrocconi = "jerks and freeloaders" - Vai a vendere il culo! = "Fuck off!" lit. "Go and sell your ass!" - Cazzo si, Campana! Bacha ma culo, tu brutto figlio di...! = "Fuck you, Campana! Kiss my ass, you ugly son of...!" Pyroxisch (German) - Yuurachen = approx. "Little Yuura" - Wer bei der Arbeit pfeift = "(He) who whistles at work"

[nialltlynch]

i got to ask about the niall mor v's but also...jordan blue??? can we get a morsel of jordan blue??

i posted what i have of the jordan blue thing here BUT i know i posted the bullet point version of this fic somewhere on my blog ?? i just??? cant find it??? it is so silly of me to have the whole thing outlined but like not written SORRY EVERYONE maybe ill try to bust this one out..

oooOHH okay so ive given Niall and mórs whole Thing some thought since cdth over the years (lmaooooo. sad). all of them were fleshed out and written way before greywaren so they have the added bonus of being non canon compliant too!!!

v1 was a strange half epistolary, half found footage type thing which was fun to do as a format but ultimately i decided to not use since i had no idea what i really though of niall and mór. v2 was an extended imagining of one of their later meetings in life and it's where i got a feel for the type of dynamic i felt they had (still super janky). and v3 looks A LOT like (current and active wip) v4 which is a brief (re: 17k words and counting) overview of their entire relationship in a way that is very cool to me personally and also has nothing whatsoever to do with greywaren SO. yeah. ive cannibalized and restructured quite a bit from the earlier versions so it's hard to pick out stuff that probably hasn't been reused but i tried !!!

the wip fridge: the post

v1

This appears to be the final letter.

The question of who is of most interest to us.  A bit of digging reveals that there once lived a Niall Lynch in Washington DC who was murdered in the Singer's Falls area around the time when we believe this final letter to have been written.  Furthermore, his body was found near to the place where the original burned house is located.  There are no photos of Niall as he appeared to live a life generally under the radar.

The house itself sits on a relatively hidden plot of land that had been assumed abandoned.  Legal records show that it had changed a few hands back in the 1800s but those families either did not survive this long or they appear to have moved out of the area.  Legally, it has been without owner or resident since at least the 1930s.  

The few details we have been able to cobble together make for a strangely compelling case that perhaps Niall Lynch is the same Niall who penned half of these letters.  Per immigration reports, Niall came to the United States in the early-mid 1990s from Ireland which lines up with the proposed timeline in the letters.  Niall struggled to raise three sons in Washington DC.  The family appeared to sustain themselves completely on odd jobs done under the table.  It is assumed the boys' mother died early in life and not much is known besides the indication of an "A. Lynch" in reference to the mother on the boys' birth records.

We interviewed a few of the folks in Singer's Falls and the only knowledge they had of Niall Lynch was that he had been murdered there.  No one knew him before then.  Local police records show a thin investigation for his murder, which unfortunately is not uncommon for the area.  What then was Niall doing in western Virginia when it seemed most of his life revolved around Washington DC?

Records show that the three Lynch Brothers (Declan, Ronan, and Matthew) were attending Aglionby Academy, a prestigious all-boys preparatory academy in Henrietta, Virginia, which is just a hop, skip, and a jump from Singer's Falls.  When reached for comment, Declan Lynch summarized that he had been born and raised in Washington DC and his only brief stint in western Virginia was when he attended Aglionby Academy.  He described his high school experience as "easily some of the years of [his] youth."  When questioned about the burned house and if he or his father knew anyone in Singer's Falls, Declan came up with nothing.  We showed Declan some of the letters and sketches and he seemed genuinely very surprised.  He guessed that whatever had happened was something that happened to far more interesting people.

"I do love a good mystery," he told us.

For the past couple years, Declan has lived and worked in Boston as a notable art critic and curator.  He and longtime girlfriend Jordan Hennessy are celebrating the opening of their first gallery in the summer.

Ronan and Matthew Lynch were unable to be reached for comment.

If the evidence for Niall Lynch is anemic at best, any clue to the identity of Mór Ó Corra is like chasing a ghost.  It's clear from the letter that Mór Ó Corra, is a chosen name and no references or mentions of her legal name are ever made in the letters.  Scouring historical records and those noted to be in contact with Niall Lynch turn up no mention or indication of any such character.  The references made in her letters to the supposed society she joined here in the United States do not lead to anywhere of note.  Select portion of her letters and available sketches have been sent to databases ranging from criminal to amateur to art historians alike.  To our knowledge, no hits have been made yet.  We had hoped that perhaps being knowledgeable about art, Declan Lynch would have been able to shed some light on her identity.  However, when he viewed the sketches he came up with nothing.  He did praise her technique and warm use of gesturing.

v2

Niall Lynch spits blood and bourbon on the stoop of the bar as he's so kindly escorted out.  He curses them, too, but the words splash against the door and dissipate in the humidity, thick and hungry and alive.  Even the sky up above is rolling and nauseated as though it feels as tipsy as Niall.  There's grace in good company, Niall thinks.  At least there are no witnesses to this low point.

What a mess this all is.

They had made him say her name.  Mór Ó Corra.  He rasped it and the consonants cut a line from the soft places in his gut and all up his throat.  Vowels seeped from his saliva like poison.  There was a pause on the other end, long enough for Niall to rethink things a thousand times over, and then simply the name of a bar and the line going dead.  

He came here to find her.  He came here to forget.

In the end, it doesn't matter anyway because she didn't show up.

There's a row of measly potted flowers hugging the weathered stone exterior of the bar.  They're a little dry, barely enthused to be alive, cracks all along their pots.  But the sound, oh how delightful it is when they crash and shatter on the concrete.  Petal flatten under his boots, fluttering to the dirt as he draws his foot up to stomp someplace else.  There's a window smudged with years and too old, too timid now to reflect anything.  He should break it.

"Yes, I can see you've definitely matured."

Niall blinks, the world tilts just so, and where there had been nothing now there is Mór.  The years between the Mór he had last beheld, both with his eyes and his hands, and this Mór now in front of him are distinct, jarring.  She is lovely.

"Cunt," he calls her.  His instincts flinch in muscle memory but the wave of regret never follows.

What does follow is a moment of silence.  Niall is afraid to look away, to possibly lose her as though she is only here because he longs for her to be here.  The sick clouds above rumble and spark in the distance.  A smattering of rain tentatively falls and it's the wet spots budding on her skin, on the fabric of her shirt, that makes Niall believe this moment is real.

"You used to write me sonnets.  Is that all?" she asks, already exasperated with him.  He can feel the joy already beginning to turn his stomach.

"I'm all out of words for you, woman."

"Good to know you've stopped lying to my face.  The other side of the leaf is greener and you, my steadfast and true beloved, are proof of that.  What have you done with him?"

"He doesn't know," he says truthfully.  Mór makes a face like she doesn't believe him.  Niall has missed that little pout in her lip.  Her eyes rove  the ground but they don't find anything and Niall laughs, gesturing at eye level.  "He's about here now."

"Disgusting.  Why would you let that happen?"

aaaaaaaand i actually have nothing to post for v3 since it's essentially draft 1 for the current iteration. hopefully (HOPEFULLY) ill be posting the fic soon !!! goal is before the end of the year lmao

[matrose]

4, 10, and (if you have one) 7 :]

thank you janet!!!!! 🫂💙💎🧵🐟

10. how many different sketches do you usually have until your piece is finished

IT DEPENDS...sometimes when my hand is right and when its something ive drawn a lot a sketch is all i need!! sometimes it takes two or three...usually for more complicated stuff >_<

7. show us a WIP

I HAVE WAY TOO MANY....i abandon stuff too easily as well so i have so many unfinished things sitting around everywhere!! i pick them up again most of the time but aah... here take 6

[askthedreemurr-fontfamily]

Name : The Vessel Prefered name : Vessel, Jordan, Toby Gender : Male Bio. Sex : Male Age : possibly 11 or 12 B-day : - Jordan 15th April -Toby 27th May Grade : 6 Species : Amalgamate Weight : unknown, would say pretty light Height : may change anytime they want Soul traits : molten bravery and hybrid soul Magic : can do all types of magic owned by every traits, except Hatred and dark magic Dream career : unsure with current condition Fav. Subject : Sport Clubs : none

Family : The Vessel is currently being raised by the two original families, Jordan’s family and Toby’s family. Jordan’s family consists of his dad, Alexsey that works as a lawyer, his mother, Viola, is a yoga instructor, his little brother, Michael with his talents in robotics, and his dog, named Snow Fox. Toby’s family consists of his dad, Hadley the bird monster that works as a archaeologist, his mom, Estelle that secretly also working with the scientists, and his little sister, Cheryl which is a bird hybrid.

Backstory : Before The Vessel was created, both of them were named Jordan and Toby. Jordan is a 12 years old athletic male, while Toby is a three-eyed hybrid with bird wings and humanoid face and body. They both were kidnapped by scientist and tested with many souls. The tests seem have gone wrong and instead created an amalgamate instead of what they wanted. Both families are devastated and swear that they will help and taking care of them, including Toby’s mother that will find a way to bring them back and stop those scientists. The Vessel managed to escaped before being terminated and currently living in an abandoned RV, where they hide away from the scientists that are still looking for them. Personality : Jordan’s personality: Friendly, talkative, always determined to meet their parents again, although the fact that his appearance may cause problems. Toby’s personality : Pessimist, calm, yet mysterious. He knew that their parents wont recognized them, but still try to keep up Jordan’s hope Other fact : - They always melting and unstable. The only way for them to actually being in a stable form is either remaining in one place, or holding their body parts with magic - Jordan likes slushy, but Toby always overreacted with how cold the drinks are. - Currently, their visible form is just a melting human being with three eyes and melting right hand. However while The Vessel is controlled by Toby’s conciousness, their form will actually had wings. - Always disguising themselves and hiding their form, so they wont be caught easily, although they really have to get their disguise improved…

Appearance :

(How his color will be, because its sketched) - Black eyes, with yellow iris - White skin and grey hair, if you could say it as part of hair - Melting right arm, only retain its shape if magic were used - Actual mouth at the stomach, the mouth of his face acts as a pseudo-mouth (the word doesnt exist, but i would say that the mouth on his face isnt working, it just there, like a makeup) - Red and yellow sport jacket, yellow gloves, blue sweatpants, and brown shoes - When disguised, also wears sunglasses and black mask with a red cross on it

(Sketch)

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1Elz3hK6F9aAbdGwBVFpL0hfMMoN_G7mR/view?usp=sharing

https://drive.google.com/file/d/1En9pSyl9NCfjljRlG8gv8TOAEYklmWfg/view?usp=sharing

—————————————————————————————-

Alright, this is the final one… The final student, except if you decided to add more. Im sorry that ive tortured you enough. Yet, i hope nothing goes wrong with your blog again.

-Lost, over and out

____________________________________________________

This… Should be an interesting one. Thank you for submitting lost. This is your last slot. 8/8

-Petra

[steven-cubed-au]

How come the comic is drawn on paper but other stuff is drawn digital? No offense!! Your art is amazing either way, I was just sort of curious.

(Thank you!! And none taken, theres three reasons for that actually!)

(S3 started cuz i was very bored at school and wanted something fun to do that i could work on anytime and anywhere yknow,,,before we got stuck in quarantine,,,,)

(ive started stories before -both digitally and traditionally, and i even inked and coloured the traditional one- but the time it took to do just one page is so long and frustrating that i usually just end up just abandoning the story)

(the ipad that i use to draw isnt mine, its my brother’s. so i cant exactly draw on it whenever i want, especially since school just started again)

(So with all of these in mind,,, a sketchbook that i can make simple pencil sketches with seemed like the best choice haha)

[goatpaste]

So I'm pretty new to your fan clans and Im confused by the way they work. Is there any chance that you could help me understand how the clans themselves formed? I know at least one clan lives in a twolegplace (partially at least) but otherwise Im very confused

ah im p new to my own fan clans lol, like just made them up three days ago lolbut iv been working as i go to make them!

heres a good starting point

a sketched map of their OG territories. three slabs of land split in three by a river.the dock in the middle was their gathering place( iv drawn it a bit small im bad with ‘maps’ but its a tall dock that the cats will gather under, the leaders sitting on a few large boulders near the shoreline. 

and then their current territory where Honorclan forest has been mostly cut down and replaced by twoleg territory 

another thing to note before i get too into it, these clans believe in starclan but a little differently.they do believe it to be the place clan cats go in death, but instead of listening and being guided by all of starclan, they in a sense worship select cats. typically past leaders who in their eyes after being leader and dying for their clan become that of gods in starclan, and using their ancient wisdom of the clan they once ruled and their new cosmic identity to guide them forward even after death. 

but this gonna be a whole thing more some more under the cut it goes!

Loyalclan (heart emblem) lives in a vast field of tall grass that has a few trees before hitting a wall of trees a the edge of the field.they are known for being on the smaller side, hidden by the tall grass. their good diggers even using old tunnels dug up by larger animals as passage ways to their camp. their camp is located at the edge of their territory where a cluster of trees lines the end of the field. the camp is in a dip in the ground, what would appear to be the dig out of what could have been past human digging. The pit is nearly 8 feet deep. they make dens out of holes in the walls. their center of the camp tends to be full of leaves that have fallen from the trees above and its a chore for apprentices to clear out old leaves before they get nasty. the leaders den and the medicine cat den is sat on their side of their exit, a tunnel that leads nearly 15 ft out.opposite side sits the nursery, apprentice den, warrior den, elders den and a tunnel out to a dirtplace.

again to state their cats are typically on the small side, their short enough to be unseen in the grass, very light on their feet.

their primary prey tends to be mice and voles that live in the fields and sometimes birds and pheasants  are a nice treat.the biggest part of their bodies tend to be their large wide front paws built for digging up the homes of prey. trivia wise their first leader was a stray named Foxie who in her youth was abandoned with no recollection of her past. her only companion was that of a dog who was her only family. when leaf bare came, Her dog companion passed away. Foxie stayed by her dead companions side for days until she was found by local cats who helped her. they fixed up his funeral and welcomed foxie into their home. when the clans were established and she was made leader she was renamed Loyalstar, in sake of her devotion to her late friend and to her future clan. the clans are currently on their third leader Mutestar who successed FlaxstarHonorclan (shield emblem) once living in a heavily dense forest known for their tracking abilities and strength. they hunted on feast of many small animals and were known for being able to hunt and kill foxes in packs.their forest was large and prey plenty.their only concern ever was a small logging facility that worked in their forest twice a year. they would come in and take down some trees before the winter started. to them never a huge concern and plenty of forest to go around. but it only got worseunknown to the cats, the logging facility was sold off to a big company that quickly and efficiently over the course of a few years developed the land and made it a small city town. theres only a strip of territory left that is still woodlands covering the edge of the bank of the river. unlike the other clans that shoved over when the humans arrive, Honorclan didnt move a muscle. the only thing that moved was their camp. they chose to make the best of their situation.their camp was relocated to a small cove like area a little bit further down the stream. 

its a rocky little space with the river at their front door. its mostly hidden by rocks with cozy spaces in the area for cats to hole up in. 

the part of the territory to focus on now a days is the part the humans made and the cats rule.  the twolegs homes closest to the river and small cafes and stores where its usually much quieter and the loudest thing around are twoleg children who come down to play at the water. further in is shopping centers and tall buildings lined with bright colorful light and windows. Honorclan takes vantage of the space, hunting for rats and taking garbage or even excepting food from twolegs from time to time. 

a beloved spot when cats arnt hunting is alleys behind dry cleaners where hot air comes out holes in the sides of the buildings. 

the cats a more typical cat build, agile bodies built for climbing to the top of buildings and furry bodys for keeping warm at night.

these cats are a mostly nocturnal clan working from late evenings to somewhere past midnight out of the eyes of most humans.they also seem to possess a decently language skill being able to understand some human words, talking to dogs or pigeons.and much like skyclan, they have rather unconventional names. having names based on human things, or having kittypets and ally cats joining their clan and keeping their names or making them warrior names. 

They were founded by Aseer a leader of a traveling group of cats who met the cats that would become Loyalclan a group of welcoming and kind felines.the two groups chose to share the land splitting it between the two of them.

Aseer was a kind tom who honored their promises and kept to their land, and in time the clans began to form and rules came into place.after the first months settled in the river flooded and ruined the land that the soon to be cats of loyalclan called home. much prey had drowned and died in their homes, the grassland like a marsh. Foxie and her group were in great need of help.

Their code spoke of keeping to their own lands and no taking of prey from each others territories no matter what (a rule now changed after this experience). However in this time Aseer chose to set aside their laws, and his honor to help his neighbors by bringing them in and feeding them in his lands.starclan chose him as leader, naming his Honorstar. a cat who while showing great honor and pride for his clan knew when to set aside and help others in need. 

The current leader is Greasestar, he is currently the 4th leader of Honorclan. he preceded Strikestar.As for our last clan i cant tell you a whole lot yet >:3c

but their name is

Gloryclan

they live in the last third of the territories that is like marsh land, land that never dried up moons after the flooding on the fields happened.  its full of large rocks and plants that seem to only grow on their marshy banks.

they were founded by Hero later named Glorystar due to her epic tale of heroics.