#but they're rough estimates

[transholmes]

I was browsing through the index of the original Sherlock Holmes story, as one does, when a thought struck me. While Holmes' personal life was utterly devoid of women, his professional one was positively overflowing with them.

I think something like half the stories have a woman as his client. Additionally I'd estimate a solid 3/4 of the stories have a woman or several women, appear in a pivotal role, whether as victim, villain, or heroes.

And quite aside from the sheer number of women in Doyle's stories, there's also the range of them. We're presented with almost every type of woman imaginable. We have clever and competent women, craven women, women driven by ambition and devoid of empathy and compassion. We have warm women, cold women, women caught in circumstances beyond their control and those who take charge of those circumstances.

While I think it would be a reach to call Doyle's writing feminist, the fact remains that in the original Sherlock Holmes stories women are allowed a full range of humanity. Which quite frankly make the fact that adaptions too often fail abysmally on this account, though I think some interesting conclusions can be drawn between an adaptions insistence upon thrusting women into Holmes' personal life while simultaneously removing them from the prominence they held in his professional work.

[schrodingersinteraction]

i have cutted my hairs

[rgbwings]

Who would've thought that running by 400-800 calories on average would harm my body.

[schadenfreudich]

Who decided stairs like that were okay? You can't do a normal step on them. Either you do little tiny steps or huge fucking uncomfortable steps. And going down is somehow worse than going up.

[radiance1]

"Okay, so." Danny began slowly, very, very slowly. Testing the rope that bound his arms behind his back. "This is new... Ish."

"Sorry, sorry." The kid Danny had, unfortunately (but also fortunately), saved from multiple kidnappings from cultists. Said, hands raised in his direction but also not going any further and instead fidgeting in place. "Are they too tight? Do you want me to loosen them?"

"No, no. They're fine." Danny shrugged, silently hoping the Infinite Realms isn't going to smite the unfortunate boy across from him for, you know, kidnapping Danny and all that. "I would say this is one of the more comfortable kidnappings, to be honest."

"Oh, okay. That's good." The kid nodded slowly, though a bit hesitant before deciding not to follow that line of conversation. "Alright, so, my name's Billy." Billy introduced him, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand as he gave an awkward smile. "Y'know, the guy you saved from multiple kidnappings and, uh, kidnapped you too."

"Cool, cool." Danny hummed lightly, leaning back against the wall. "Name's Danny, nice to meet you Billy."

"I thought your name was Phantom?" Billy asked, understandably confused.

"It is." Danny confirmed.

"But your name is also, Danny?" Billy tilted his head a bit.

"Yes." Danny said, unhelpfully.

"Is Danny your secret identity?" Billy asked.

"Nope."

"Is Phantom your secret identity?"

"Yes but no."

A beat.

"That makes no sense." Billy said flatly.

"What can I say," Danny shrugged. "Not a lot of things in my life make sense."

"Right, yea." Billy nodded politely, drumming his fingers against his leg. "Interdimensional prince and stuff."

"Yea."

A moment of silence.

"So-" Billy began.

"No, the Ghost King isn't going to hunt you down. No, every other ghost in existence isn't going to hunt you down either and, no. This isn't going to start a war."

Billy blinked.

"Not what I was going to ask, but okay. That's nice to know." He nodded, a certain amount of relief unknotting unknown pressure in his chest he only knew till now.

"Oh." Danny blinked, then tilted his head. "Soooo, what did you want to ask then?"

"Do you want to be my boyfriend-"

"Yes."

===

"Let's fucking GOOOOOO!" Zeus roared, throwing his fists into the air. "Haha! Take that Solomon! I told you it would work!"

Solomon pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed in exasperation, reaching into his robe and pulling out 5 gold coins.

"Thank-a you!" Mercury swiped the money right out of his hands then hid them... Somewhere, on his body. Then gave Solomon a wink. "Pleasure doing business with ya!"

===

"Oh, it finally happened." Clockwork remarked calmly, barely pausing as he continued to run the comb through hair.

"The Realms seem out of sorts." Pariah Dark said slowly, twisting his head to try to look back at Clockwork only to turn it right back from the gentle whack of Clockwork's staff. "Should I be concerned?"

"No," Clockwork said casually, running the comb through his king's hair. Honestly, it amazed him that Eons of Eternal Slumber, yet his hair wasn't a rat's nest. "Let it sort itself out, it shall be done in the next century, or the next two millennium, either or."

"You're unsure?" Pariah tilted his head forwards the slightest amount, doing so very carefully as to not disturb the Master of Time's work.

"A rough estimate, though I can give a more accurate statement," Clockwork hummed lightly as he combed through the few knots left. "It is unimportant."

"Ah," Pariah Dark, both trusting and not knowing enough about said subject seeing as he does not have dominion over time, nodded slightly. "I see."

===

The Infinite Realms was very, very happy to see one of its blorbos gain a lover.

It knew interrupting various kidnappings and marking the boy as a good Realms token so they could meet would work out eventually!

[chewytoothmeats]

Commissions! OCs, Fanart, and Real People Alike Welcome

It's been a rough couple months, following my (necessary and wonderful, but not simple) move across country, so I'm opening commissions to keep myself afloat and sane! Prices are pretty simple.

Headshots/Portraits: $38

I wish I had something clever to say, but we're not reinventing the wheel here, folks. A bust commission with or without some limited background elements. I can also easily plan the format, background, or aspect ratio so that these portraits can work as custom video game portraits for CRPGs.

Waist Up: $55

They're remarkably like headshots, only with more posing and hands and clothes!

A Whole, Like, Scene: $65

We can talk about how you want your figure to be interacting with the environment! Casting magic, walking around on the street, playing pinball, eating a hoagie - imagine the possibilities!

I check in with clients throughout the process during commissions and provide regular updates! You can expect a turnaround of two to three days! If this estimate changes based on number of orders received, you will be notified before any money changes hands.

Please direct any and all inquiries to nickkrugillustration@gmail.com!

[pricegouge]

cellar door

cw: f!reader, implied skinny/fit, sorry. had to go through a window :( horror elements. you've got a live-in.

fucking tuesdays. nothing good ever happens on a tuesday.

hit snooze too many times, found the eggs had gone off only as you were making breakfast, burnt the coffee. you throw in the towel a whole twenty minutes after waking up and dump all your progress, deciding you'll risk being late for work just so you can stop by some place quick and get a breakfast that isn't actively trying to eat you back. you're checking your balance as you walk out the door, distracted by the forgotten subscription renewal that had gone through the night before. fuck, maybe you should skip breakfast after all -?

and then the car door doesn't give when you try the handle.

"oh, get bent," you hiss through gritted teeth as you try it again, futilely. head tilted back to stare up at the cold, dark sky, pulling at the handle in frustration. once for each of the pale white winter morning stars still glinting away.

it's too damn early for this.

you know yourself too well to even bother checking your coat pockets for your keys, but you do anyway out of desperation. as expected, you come out empty and for a moment you just stand there with your forehead thumped against the door frame while you picture yourself walking out the back door, nose stuck in your phone as you bypass the key holder without so much as a parting glance. you locked the door behind yourself - you know you did, but you try it anyway just to be sure. wouldn't do to pull your landlord out of bed just to have him show up and try the knob, call you an idiot before the sun's even out.

of all the stupid shit you've already pulled this morning, you wouldn't put it past yourself, honestly, but of course securing your house was the one thing you'd managed to complete successfully.

your boss is understanding when you text her. 'take your time. and stay warm!' a point you hadn't considered until she said it, the chill seeping in through the seams of your coat as you stand on your back porch, debating. if you could at least get into your car, you'd have options. potential tools you could maybe use to break in. but as it stands, you've nothing, and a call to your vaguely lecherous landlord is seeming more and more imminent. snow crunches under boot as you round the house, desperate. you'd be proud of how diligent you've been in locking windows, if not for the fact that you could really use an open one right about now. giving in, you pull your phone from your pocket again and grumble when you drop it, fingers gone numb with the chill. crouching low, you dig it out of the snow and check for pavement marks in the low light from the streetlamp across the road. except, your screen isn't the only glass the light catches - a dull glaze reflecting in the basement window before you, rickety casing looking quite promising.

your phone works well enough to use the flashlight, at least. you frown in distaste at the mess of cobwebs on the other side of the window, but between a creepy unfinished basement and an asshole landlord who spends just as much time leering at you as he does belittling your concerns, you'll try your luck with the slumbering spiders.

the panes hang crookedly. two panels, side by side. there's some concern about whether or not you'll even be able to fit through it if you can manage to get it open, but you give it a rough estimate and decide to try anyway - jimmying the first panel until it rocks forward in its soggy frame, enough so that you can squirm a stick between the two where they're latched together, loosely.

probably, you should be concerned how easy it is to knock the lock. you add it to the list of things your landlord will never fix for you.

while the soggy casing had made for an easy in, it's much harder to actually slide the window open. you grunt in effort, cold fingers cramping when you finally get enough space to slip them around the frame. the wood creaks. you worry for a moment that the pane will shatter before it gives an inch, and then nearly topple over when it opens all at once. the cobwebs beyond stretch and warp. snap, brittle with age. snow gives way before you, a small avalanche that collects on the dirt floor below. you're not overly familiar with the basement - have tried all your tenancy to avoid venturing into it - but you remember from the house tour that the north half, up near where the trap door in the front porch opens, at least boasts a cement slab. no such luck here, it seems. the frame digs into your belly when you shimmy through, feet first. there's a small moment of vertigo as you free fall and you can't help squirming in disgust when your hands trail down the slimy blocks that make up the walls. you wipe them off on your jeans as best you can before retrieving your phone from your pocket and throwing the hood of your coat up for an added layer of protection from the general grime.

your flashlight casts a tight circle, a problem seeing as you're slightly disoriented and unsure where the door to the stairway is. you aim it at the ceiling and cringe further into the protection of your coat when it reveals nothing more than a good few decade's worth of cobwebs built up between the beams.

concentrate. somewhere, there's a bare bulb with a pull chain. if you could just -

adrenaline piqued with the stress of your situation, you nearly jump out of your skin when your phone begins to vibrate with an incoming call. irrational anger mounting, you don't even spare a glance at the contact before snapping into the receiver, "Yeah?"

your frustration only builds when you're greeted by the gruff voice of your landlord, made all the more gravelly by the fact that he'd clearly just woken up. "you leave for work yet?"

"john…" the question catches you off guard, gives you pause as you stumble in your efforts to simultaneously use the flash light while also speaking with him. "pardon?"

"have you left for work yet?"

you'd take a deep, calming breath if the thought of inhaling this dank air didn't make you want to hurl, just a little. instead you take a moment to switch the call to speaker phone, move a little further into the room. "can't say i have. why do you ask?"

he grunts, sounding a little perturbed when he continues. "well. might recommend you do."

despite yourself, his presence on the line calms you down enough to brave the cobwebs and you slink forward, trying hard as you can to not process your surroundings even as you search for the door. "why's that?"

"neighbor called, love. said they just watched someone crawl through the basement window."

he gives it all the levity it deserves, but you can't help scoffing at him, nervous humor only building when you hear his jaw clenching on the other end of the line. "sorry. i don't mean to laugh." you pause to collect yourself, take a look around and find your route out. "but i wouldn't worry too much. i locked myself out and decided to try the window instead of bothering you first thing in the morning." a fairly diplomatic way of saying you'd rather navigate the saw bathroom that is your own cellar than deal with him. not too bad, all things considered.

"oh, darl', it's no trouble. climb on back outta that creepy basement and i'll be right over."

for a moment you picture him the way he must see himself: riding up in his battered yet dependable pick up just to save you from the cold. hard telling what makes your stomach turn more, him or the mud which gives under your boot, soft belly of your house. you step up onto the cement slab just as a series of thuds overhead draw your attention - heavy enough to rain dust from the rafters. panda, you imagine, her wide haunches bunching as she thunders through the house, far too heavy for a cat. you should probably put her on a diet. "your house is haunted," you accuse instead by way of reply, eager to steer the conversation away from him coming to save you and rendering your whole excursion null.

"might be," he muses. "but don't fret, love. ghost likes pretty things like you."

"right." you'd roll your eyes if you weren't so busy focusing on your footsteps, picking your way carefully lest you step on a mouse carcass or something equally heinous.

"anyway, what's your plan? the inner door on the porch will be locked too, won't it?"

the one into the dining room, he means. the one you're definitely guilty of never locking because panda likes to spend her evenings in the entry and you don't see the harm when there's a perfectly functional locked door on the enclosed porch. "it's not," you hedge, unsure if you want to be telling your landlord this considering it's his property you're putting in danger.

"darl'," john drawls, and you cut him off before he can add a good reprimand to the list of things you've had to endure this morning.

"yes, it will be locked after this, i promise. i just didn't realize how easy it would be to come in through the basement window."

"always the easiest ones to go through," he grumbles, and you think you hear his car door slam in the background of his call.

"i told you not to bother coming," you groan, kicking over a stack of old paint cans in your haste to make it to the door. like it's a race, like if you make it into the house before he can get there then he won't make you even more late for work, loitering around to check for damages to his basement window and jawing at you about home security.

the door's an old thing. thick wood gone warped and wilted with the damp. it's swollen in its frame, fights you when you try to pull it from the jamb. you grunt loud enough that you don't quite catch your landlord's response, and then zone him out altogether as the door finally yanks free and light spills in from above, the trapdoor at the top of the stairs wide open, overhead porch light glowing cheerily - unawares of the omen it brings. you shuffle back a step, another, try to hide among the shadows of the cellar even as your landlord's deep voice carries on. your fingers scrabble over the screen, smother the unit in your coat - anything to keep his commanding voice from carrying because you know. you know you didn't leave the light on, much less the trap door open.

nonsensically, your thoughts scatter, imagine panda investigating the porch, the staircase below. your head swivels behind as if to check for her even as you keep slinking sideways, skirting the ring of light until your back presses against the grit of the wall - instinctual, easily defensible.

"john," you hiss, risking the light of your phone enough to take it back out, turn off the flashlight, take him off speaker phone, call for help. keep at it even as he carries on, much too loud to hear you.

"- and who would i be if i didn't come to help, hm? can't have you -."

"john! fuck -! listen to me!" you're not even sure he hears you, quiet as you're being. he certainly doesn't stop droning on, though he stops when he hears you squeak, foot catching on something low and soft which pillows your fall when you collapse onto it, cold blankets enveloping you, damp and sweaty.

you gag as you roll, stop dead when another series of thuds echo over head. other direction now, back the way they'd come. your eyes track the path, land on the halo of light spilling through the door just as the intruder's shadow cuts across, impossibly big with the exaggerated angle. without the added light from your phone, you're plunged into relative darkness, the small circle of thin amber light ringing the door scattered by the severe contour of the man upstairs. there's nowhere to hide, really, and your only option is to keep slinking back into the recesses of the basement, too afraid to try scurrying back out the window lest he sees your legs kicking as you try to heave yourself out.

boots lumber into view first, heavy and mud-caked. instinctively, your eyes fall to the dirt you're treading over and seek out the treads. broad, huge. deep scores indicating how heavy he is, how many times he's worn a path into the ground. among them you spot tiny paw prints, almost as disturbing. panda follows after, bobbing into view as she weaves between his legs with a silent cry for attention until she detects you, golden eyes glinting ominously as she scans the basement before leading him in, making a beeline for you the moment she alights on the landing.

traitor.

he's not far behind, ducking through the door while you try to shoo your own car. you force your limbs to move and slide further along the wall, folding under the empty, built-in shelf your shoulder bumps into as you go. it's filthy, cobwebs clinging to the skin of your face as you settle, but you clamp a hand over your mouth and stifle the whimper that builds, ears strained for any movement in the darkness laid out before you.

john's still in your ear, quieter now. as if he knows something isn't right. "sweetheart?" he prompts, and you feel a tear slip down your face when you realize that despite taking him off speaker phone, you'd never turned the volume down. your thumb finds the side buttons now, clicks until john's breathing is no more than a comforting whisper, no louder than your own.

no louder than the response you risk, voice hollow, only really audible on the plosives. "john, there's someone here."

"what's that, darl'?"

your breath hitches before you can respond, the low click and hum of a bare bulb flickering to life leeching your words. it floods the room in fits and starts, turns the man's movements jagged and inhuman as he lowers his arm back to his side until finally it settles into a constant, thin and yellow. he stands directly below the bulb, the shadows of his face severe and gaunt, an odd contrast to his broad stature. for a long moment, he just lingers there, dark gaze shifting slowly around the room. you follow it, try to see what he sees, figure out if there's anything that could give you away.

you don't make it that far, eyes catching on all the accoutrement that lines the walls. bed, stool. small pile of familiar books.

a cat litter box.

disinterested in you when you're not giving her treats or pets, the moment shatters as panda returns to him, headbutting his boots cheerily and begging for pets. he crouches to pick her up and she climbs onto his shoulder with a familiarity that unsettles you further, speaks to how long he's been spending his days with her. she doesn't move when he does, enjoys her high vantage as he cuts across the room, boots squelching in the dirt. he passes by you on his way to the window and shuts it easily, warped wood barely giving him any trouble. in the muted light from the window, you see the odd shadows of his face which you'd noted before are simply the hollows of a skull motif on the balaclava he wears.

"darlin', you still there?"

but you're not, boots tearing up the mud as you scramble out from your hiding place. panda follows you, the familiar heavy thud of her paws when she jumps from her perch a comfort. she passes you on the stairs even as you take them two at a time, chest puffing with the steep incline. at the top you turn and slam the trapdoor down, the white of his mask all you can see peering up at you from the darkness before the door falls into place. there's nothing on the porch heavy enough to brace it, but you try anyway, pulling the cheap patio set closer and shepherding panda through the inner door in the same move, the little shit apparently more afraid of you and your erratic movements than she was the basement dweller with the skull mask.

you lock the inner door after you fall through it, watch in horror through the transom as the furniture heaves, a powerful quake that tosses them to the side before the door creeps open, hollow eyes checking for a trap before heavy, gloved fingers wrap around it properly, push it wide.

impossibly, he seems even bigger here, above ground, where you have a better gauge of normalcy. he eclipses the whole room, blots out the overhead light when he looms closer to the door, dark eye pressed against the pane so he can peer through a fractal in the glass, same as you'd just been. you back further into the dining room, bump against the table just as you feel his gaze on you. it distracts you from the sound of the key in the lock, the creak of the hinges what finally compels you to fucking run.

keys in hand this time, you book it out the back door and slam head first into a sturdy chest, legs flailing under you until john helps right you, fingers bruising hard on your arms as he tries to shush you into submission. he won't let you go no matter how much you shriek, just pulls you to his chest and smothers your cries there, orders you to tell him what's wrong even as he walks you back up the stairs.

somehow, between your shouting and your panting and your sobbing, he gets it: man down there; living there.

"oh, honey, that's just your ghost," he soothes, wrangling you through the screen door with a grip on your jaw which he uses to tilt your head the intruder's way, makes you watch as he lumbers closer, john's voice a low scratch of whiskers against your ear. "told you he liked you."

[badsopen]

You Can run, But You Can't Hide...

Yandere!Mark Grayson x Superpowered!Reader

A/N : The reader in this has a teleportation power, not interdimensional teleportation but like regular teleportation, and they can phase through walls, obviously in this dimension Mark joined his dad and he doesn't want to kill you either

Hiding with Robot and Adam Eve's group wasn't ideal. Resources were scarce. People scared and paranoid whether they got to live another day or not; but going back and forth from one part of the planet to another wasn't sustainable either, especially since with how fast the both of them can travel; it'd only be a few minutes of resting time before you had to teleport again. So, after narrowly escaping Nolan's death grip in Honduras, you made the decision to move back up north even to settle down in the sewers to have more than thirty minutes to cool down.

But you had spotted one of the freedom fighters and followed him back to the underground base, he was clumsy and loud. It wouldn't be long until they found this place. Finding Adam and Robot telling them was the best you could do for them; they were surprised to say the least. After all a hand straight through your chest should've killed you; but with the combination of teleporting and phasing an escape was granted to you. However, not without a cost, your heart was weak, Nolan had grazed the front of your heart and thinned the muscle there. Normally that wouldn't be an issue, just pop on down to Cecil and he'd have you fixed up in no time. So, your life was on a schedule, it was a rough estimate…maybe a year? Two if you were able to properly rest without the teleporting at all.

Adam convinced you to say, sweetly said it was to treat your injuries, but Robot had made it clear it was for you to help out gathering resources and getting as many people as possible out of here in case this place was found. No matter, it was nice of them to give you a place to recover after Robot had fixed up your heart. The scar was a thin long line, from the top of your throat to the underside of your belly button. It was overkill you were sure of it, but even after waking up after the pain of being ripped open, you still were in better health, than teleporting in fear of being caught and killed.

You were inside of a subway car, practicing teleporting instantly from one side of the room to the other side, it was going to take a couple of days of practicing to build up to longer distances again. It was nicer not having a time frame of when you were going to die, or having hope for the future that wasn't under the Viltrum Empire.

It was short lived however..

There was rumbling coming from the roof of the underground train station, at first it was dismissible-just buildings crumbling to the ground, but after the screaming started to pick up and then people rushing by the car it was obvious. They had found this place, and they were going to kill everyone in this place.

Rushing out of the car, you saw that they had split themselves up, Nolan was fighting Robot and Adam Eve was fighting Mark. Omni Man had made quick work of Robot and the other people who were unlucky enough to behind him after he was rushed. Teleporting to Robot after Omni Man had delivered his last words to Robot, you had told him that you would 'take care of it and not to worry'. His voice was rasped and hard to make out with the screaming, but the message was delivered a simple Don't fail.

Looking around for the both of them wasn't hard, just follow the fear induced screams was more than enough to be pointed in the right direction.

Mark had his hand around Eve's neck, they were talking to each other. Her hands are on his wrist... and then a snap...he broke her neck. Omni man is up there now he's saying something, Mark is shaking his head not as he puts Eves' body down. They're still talking to each other.

Both of their heads snap in your direction, FUCK they saw you! Before you can think of a place to teleport to Nolan rushes you bursting the people in-between you both like bloody pimples. He lifts you in the air by your neck. Mark slowly floats his way down to you and his father.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here" Nolan grimaces slightly "especially with how keen you were to get away from the city."

His voice was monotone and short. It was hard to see where this conversation would go. You try and keep yourself levelheaded knowing that one wrong move will get you killed or captured by the of them.

"I can't stay away from home for to long."

A nervous smile came across your cracked lips, hurting but not bleeding. The grip Omni Man had on your throat was tight, keeping you suspended in the air by your throat was starting to expose the scar. A flush of air meant that Invincible had come up to interrogate you with Omni Man.

Marks soft voice rang through the silence of his and his fathers animalistic brutality just minutes ago.

"Why are you here?"

His tone had remained soft and understanding like he was talking to a child; it made would always make you wonder if Mark was choosing to do these horrible things, or he was going along with his father trying save thousands from his father.

Nolans eyes started to wonder down the slightly red line and a deep frown began to set on his mustache.

"Ah, Mark, that's a really st-"

Nolans grip had tightened suddenly as he dropped lower to the ground making sure your feet could barely scrape the rubble ridden concrete. A stern look strikes his face as he turns to Mark. A short look is shared between them before turning back to you, their eyes drift down your face and towards your pulsing scar. Nolan's thumb presses in deep enough to make Mark suck in air harshly and Nolan giving a somewhat disappointed grumble from some deep crevasse of feeling that you quite aren't sure is there.

A soft sigh came from Mark as a frown sets deep on his skin.

"What happened to you? What's with the scar? Is because of what happened in Honduras? You know if you'd just stayed still nothing would've happened. You pushed dad's buttons..., I'm not saying you deserved that, but still."

A shrug passed through him, he moved closer, Nolan's grip was starting to get harsher. Mark puts his hand on top of your head, he doesn't take heed of it. He begins to it upward slowly as you struggled to look up, a chuckle came from Nolan.

"He won't kill you, just make sure you won't be able to see straight. I've seen him practice works well enough."

You weren't able to at least get a sarcastic rebuttal out before his hand came down on, your head. It was an odd experience a slight pain, a sharp realization of being able to see in opposite directions, burning in of bile, and then not having sight in front of yourself.

[homunculus-argument]

The thing about perfect pitch is that it's a combination of having an inherent knack for it, and having that skill honed with a musical education. Someone who could recognise a specific note by the ear but was never taught notes cannot do it, and someone who simply wasn't born with the potential for it can't learn it no matter how thorough of a musical education they have.

I think the same thing applies to what I've come to refer to as "a few raisins is five raisins" type of instruction-giving. The ability to instinctively assess how much information and detail somebody wants or needs when they're asking for instructions. People who cannot do this are enraged by the idea that someone thinks they can, btw. How dare somebody arbitrarily decide to withdraw information and take away someone's agency concerning choices that they don't want to make and whose outcome doesn't matter much.

I'd consider that I have a pretty good knack for it, myself. It's been honed by working both with people who refuse to give exact instructions, my own difficulties in asking for sufficiently exact instructions when I've needed them, and working with people with varying preferences towards instruction-exactness.

People who refuse to give clarifications to their instructions and guidelines in things that they are familiar with leave you no other choice than to demonstrate just how wrong their vague answers can be interprated before they're willing to clarify. If you ask someone "how long does this usually roughly take?" and they just go "I cannot answer that, it varies so much from person to person, every single individual case is different" on and on, refusing to give the roughest of rough estimates, all you can do is say "okay so it can take anything between 20 minutes and 20 years." And only then will they say "oh no, it's more like 3-6 years on average", which was the exact answer you wanted in the first place.

It's not really a comprehension thing, but a moral code to them. I don't believe in having ethical principles that serve no other role than inconvenience absolutely everyone including myself, so I have no qualms about giving simplified instructions. If someone who needs exact instructions is trying to follow a recipe that tells them to add "a few raisins" freezes at the vagueness and asks "how much is 'a few' raisins?" they want an exact number.

Someone who isn't comfortable trusting their own assessment of how much is 'a few' won't be helped by being told to follow their heart and make their own choices. They specifically want somebody to just give some sort of a guideline about this. And being the type that's more comfortable just eyeballing things, I can assess that in this context "a few" means roughly half of a small handful of raisins, and quickly estimate that one half of a small handful is roughly 4-6 individual raisins.

And instead of getting needlessly difficult about refusing to say it, I can just say "oh, that's about five raisins", and everyone can carry on with their day.

[fabricated-misslieness]

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: tyler owens x gn reader

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.39k | part 2

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: not communicating and not talking about your feelings (not miscommunication since you don't even communicate)

☾⋆��⋆☽

There's too many beds.

The one night where you guys don't manage to make it to a motel, there's too many damn beds.

The camper van can fit pretty much all of you at once, not that the seven of you will do that anyway. Dani and Dexter have claim on it, as the drivers, and will probably accept two more comfortably.

In Lilly's van there's the backseat and the floor, but if we're counting, for how many beds there are by technicality, the two front seats as well.

You always have tents and sleeping bags around too, just in case you guys can't drive everyone from any recently unfortunate communities to the nearest hotel (although you'd certainly try). To give a rough estimate, about a dozen tents?

Then there's Tyler's truck, the two front seats and the back seat, and the truck bed. It's a bit short, but it can fit plenty people curled up.

So what to choose?

You should probably stay in a car. Much more heat that way, but who's gonna take you in? The designated drivers obviously prefer their own cars, so... Dexter's campervan is pretty spacious? Then again, so's Lilly's, and to be honest she's more of a vibe than the other two, but also why would you need vibes if you're just sleeping?

Maybe you should start a fire, huddle around that? No, that's a hazard, nevermind the fact you only know how to start a fire in theory.

Let's stick to a car, then. Lilly or Dex & Dan for space... Lilly, sure, why not?

As you start heading over to Lilly's van, you hear a sharp whistle. You don't have time to wonder who it's from, as Tyler spins you around.

"You're coming with me." He proclaims, taking you by the shoulders, and you can only laugh.

"Why me?"

Tyler grins, walking you unceremoniously towards his truck bed. "Because you're you, dove." That alone sounds rather intimate, so he fixes his mistake quickly. You're just friends, after all. "And Boone kicks people in his sleep, Lilly's hair gets everywhere, Dani steals the blankets, Dexter snores, and Ben...it's pitiful how he squeezes himself into the corner whenever he's sleeping next to someone, so we always give him his own space."

Right, all good points you'd forgotten.

"So why exactly am I better?" You tease, stopping in your tracks so Tyler bumps into your back and stay close.

"You're warm." And at first it seems like that's the only thing he'll say, your only benefit, as he pauses; but then the rest comes spilling out like a toad strangler. "You're also soft, you don't steal the blanket, you don't complain when I suddenly start talking and you don't snore."

Tyler doesn't mention that the two of you cuddle when you bunk together, and that you bunk together often. He doesn't mention how tonight he'll let you cuddle up on his chest, or perhaps how he'll press his nose against yours and let you play with his hair, because simply mentioning it will mean you'll have to talk about it.

You don't want to talk about, you think; and neither does he. You don't want to talk about how there's something different with the way he slings his arm around your shoulder, or the way you knock your head against his, or how he always gives out your share of whatever (pizza, cookies, etc.) before anyone else, or how you always offer your help to him no matter what.

They're always easy things to ignore, his skinship is not conditional and neither is your kindness, but there's something about the way you look into his eyes when you say thank you, and something about the way his touch lingers.

You don't want to put your finger on it, at least not this season. You'll say it again the next season, and the next, but you ignore that.

"So then I'm your favorite person?" You turn around and bonk your fist against his chest.

He whistles again, drawn-out like he does in awkward moments, but you know it's only playful. "Don't push your luck, dove. You're like... top 5!"

"Top 5? Aww," You feign offense, plopping your hand over your own chest now, "I didn't make it to top 3?"

He splays out his hand and begins to count on his fingers. "There's my mom, then my dad, then the family dog, Liam from the rodeo, and then you."

"The family dog?" Your eyebrows furrow, and the acting seems a bit too real until the look on your face gives away to a memory of his dog giving you kisses. "Oh, yeah, okay. I get it."

"See? You get it." Tyler chuckles, spins you back around and keeps on walking.

The spot you guys picked today is drier than the last, which is something you're thankful for. It's quite far from any town, but the streetlights that adorn the far off road make you feel a bit safer that civilization is just around the corner. There's a light breeze, not too cold and not too fast, and the stars! Oh, the stars.

They're damn nice out here cause they're actually visible tonight, a little less light pollution, you think. It's certainly a lot brighter than, say, NYC or Washington.

"Ain't they pretty today?" Tyler comments, his hands on your shoulders squeezing.

"Yeah. Sparkly too. You know any constellations?"

"No," He hums, his voice holding a bit of lament. "I tried, once. I tried taking a class in college. Astrology."

"How'd that go?" You ask offhandedly, hopping onto the bed of the truck.

"Ended up being too stressed with my main curriculum and dropped the class before it got too far." He fixes a tarp over the top of the truck bed, over the exoskeleton, so not much light will shine over your eyes when you try to sleep.

"The smart Tyler Owens got too stressed?" You ask as you help him up.

"Being smart doesn't mean I have good time management." Tyler says as he sits next to you, and you shrug. Suppose he's right.

"Still pretty though." You hum, leaning your head against his shoulder as you look up.

"Yeah." He agrees. His arm comes to wrap around you naturally, running up and down your side. "Have you ever tried to come up with constellations with... I don't know, whoever you were looking at the sky with?"

"You know what? I don't think so." You raise a finger, tracing a path in the stars for a moment, trying to find something interesting.

He finds one before you, pointing at a group of stars in a weird glob shape. "There, a cloud!"

That alone gets you to let out an ugly, surprised laugh; despite how ugly you might've thought it to be, he thinks it's cute. "You trynna cloudgaze with stars, cowboy?"

"Shut up." He laughs, knocking his head against yours. "You try, genius."

After a couple seconds, you point out a distinct...cone shape in the sky. "Unicorn horn."

"Unicorn horn?"

"What am I supposed to say, cone?"

"You could've said ice cream cone, a little more age appropriate, you know?" He holds out his hand, holding out a small gap between his index and thumb fingers to accentuate little.

"Yeah, well it has no ice cream, dumbass."

"Woah," Tyler withdraws, raising his hands in surrender. "no need to get so defensive, dove."

You slap his hands only to draw them back around you. He has no complaints about that. "Clearly we both suck at this. Let's just admire the stars normally."

He huffs out a laugh but turns his gaze back to the night sky without complaint. It's rather peaceful, this moment, and so nice. Maybe it's not rare that you get comfortably quiet moments with him, nor is it ever rare for Tyler to hold you close like this, but it doesn't make it any less endearing.

"Look!" Tyler breaks the silence suddenly, finger tracing a path in the stars. "A heart."

"You're kidding." You huff out. He's just playing with you, he has to be, especially after your miserable attempts at finding shapes in the sky.

Despite yourself, your eyes will the stars above you into the shape of a heart. Goddamnit, you think, because it's definitely a sign.

"I'm going to sleep." You tear yourself away from his grip and he laughs and tries to steal you back to him, but you fight briefly and end up winning. It's a nice victory, especially because you won over him, but it's not on par with actually finding something in the sky (and you're avoiding the sign).

Tyler chases after you, flopping down beside you. The tarp above casts darkness over the back of the truck bed, but a soft glow still shines through.

You sigh and tuck a hair of Tyler's behind his ear, to which he only laughs. "Jealous, much?"

"Oh, totally." You'd roll your eyes, but they're stuck on his.

"I won." He's triumphant, but you can only focus on how pretty his smile looks.

"You did." You reply, not fighting him on it, and slowly his amusement fades away with the deflation of his body.

"You're not making this fun." Tyler steals your hand, presses the back of it to his lips and notably does not pucker up and kiss. It might be payback, or it might be avoiding the obvious intimacy that kissing you is.

"It wasn't a competition, anyway." You remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

His attitude eventually exudes out of him with a sigh, and he lets go of your hand to push closer. His head rests below your chin, his nose against your neck, and it's not new, but it's not old either.

"I'm sick n' tired of you." He huffs against your neck as you take the opportunity to tuck the both of you in.

You hold back a laugh. "Oh, yeah? Tell me why."

His voice is muffled against your neck, and maybe the vibrations tickle, but you don't dare move away. "I won! We should be celebrating that."

"Celebrate it in your dreams." Despite it being practically the same thing as in your dreams, it actually sounds quite genuine.

"Don't be like that," Tyler whines. "let me stay up for a little while."

You put your hand in his hair, then, twirling strands around your fingers and scratching his scalp, and Tyler hates you and also loves you, because it feels so good that it pulls a groan out of him, but it's lulling him to sleep.

"You're cheating." He whines again. He's being rather childish, huh?

"It's way past your bedtime." You say in a sing-songy way. Curiosity takes over, and you pull his head away from you gently to look into his eyes.

They open once you pull him off you, just barely. Half-lidded, not by lust, but by sleep. "I just wanna hold you for a little while longer." He says, and you don't know how he does it, but his eyes have turned pleading.

"That's on you to try, cowboy." You huddle close again, allowing him to take up the same position as before.

Despite himself, Tyler sighs contently, wrapping his arms around your midriff. One of your hands is on his back, rubbing slow circles, and the other is back on his hair.

He's definitely not going to last long now.

"When's the last time you've ridden a horse?" Tyler babbles on to try to keep awake, but you can hear the sleepy lilt in his voice. "I think my last time was when I last visited home, before the season started."

"One sheep over the fence, two sheep over the fence–"

"Shuddup."

You laugh, hands smoothing over his hair again. You're not sure how you're not very sleepy right now, tucked under the blankets, in his warm hold. Maybe it's the subconscious thought of not accidentally hitting your head on the spare wheel above you, or the faraway feel of the ridges of the truck bed below you.

Or maybe it's wanting to tease him.

"Kiss me."

"What?"

You've kissed before, little playful things: cheek kisses for the camera, neck kisses to either scare you or tickle you, forehead kisses after particularly dangerous scares, hand kisses when he's trying to act all gentlemanly, temple kisses after hugs. You've never kissed him on the lips before, and actually, neither of you have ever explicitly asked for a kiss. They've always been given without question.

"Please?" He asks again, pulling back so that his forehead is off your neck.

Oh, he only wanted a forehead kiss.

You oblige happily, press your lips against his forehead and let out and exaggerated muah!

"No, not there." He pulls away almost entirely, scooting up to be face to face.

You'd laugh, if what he was asking you for wasn't a kiss on the lips. You can't lie, you've thought about it before, when the sun shines a particular way over his face at sunset, or when he's considerably too hot to ignore.

...you're going to have to talk about this tomorrow.

Except tomorrow is not today yet, and so you cup his cheek. You debate it for a moment, a yes or a no, but there's one answer clear in your mind, a yes.

You press your lips against his, and it's more subtle than that forehead kiss, and it feels so much more tangible, in a way. His lips move against yours, a languid thing, a soft thing.

You wonder if he's going to remember this tomorrow, if being as sleepy as this is equivalent to being drunk.

"Thank you." Tyler says as you part, and he settles back where he was, head against your neck. He seems satisfied now, willing to nod off.

"Don't mention it." You say automatically.

Okay you're definitely going to have to talk about this tomorrow. For now, though, you'll just hold him. It's a strange thing to say, but he's always been rather nice to hold, a big man to fill your entire hug, even if he does make your heartbeat spike.

"Goodnight." He says.

"Sweet dreams." You reply.

There's nothing else to think about but the feeling of him in your arms and the warmth of his body as your eyes draw closed.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hello, I have been following you for a while now, and I just want to ask you if you know how many people who follow you are in the US. I love your blog. I don't always understand some things, but you write so wonderfully, I love reading your posts

My favorite Phil story is the Oreos and a skunk . Thank you for sharing your life with us. Cheers to you and your family.

Hello! Yes, I see your username in my notes sometimes, I think. I am pleased to hear that my silly tales of my weird friend Phil bring you such delight! Apologies for the times I am Impenetrably Welsh.

As for how many American followers I have, I have no idea! A lot, I know. I have many thousands of followers overall these days (it all started with a walrus and got rapidly out of control), and I think a sizeable chunk are American, another chunk from the UK, and then... Well, I know I have some from Aotearoa, some Portuguese, some Lithuanian. I'm trying to think where people have told me they're from. Ooh, Nigeria, I remember Nigeria.

Actually, let's see if we can get a rough estimate!

This will not give accurate data, but it may give an Idea.

[tyrantisterror]

A Flight of Dragons, I Command It! A FLIGHT! OF! DRAGONS!

doom DOOM DOOM

Hey fuckers, it's February and my Seasonal Affective Disorder is at its fucking PEAK, so it's gonna get REAL weird around here for a while. Luckily, my old ass has spent the last thirty-some years figuring out how to deal with this particular recurring problem, and one of the many tools and tricks I've learned is an age old classic:

I gotta treat myself.

So, ok, I work at a daycare, and one of the things that's very popular with the kids these days are 3-D printed dragons. They're inexpensive, customizable, and pretty easy to transport and store, so it's no wonder kids like them. But, you know, I'm something of a child at heart myself, and I love dragons, so when I saw my kids bringing all these 3-D printed dragons to the center... well, I got a bit envious. And, well... when you're an adult with disposable income... there's no one STOPPING you from buying a 3-D printed dragon for yourself.

Or two.

Or three.

Or... lots. Lots and lots. Because you're an adult and they don't cost much money and you've always loved having swarms/herds/big families of creatures ever since you were a kid, and because it was January when this idea struck you and looking at the estimated time of arrival on etsy for these things you realized most of them would arrive by February, when you might NEED the serotonin provided by having a big ol' flight of dragons.

So let's go on a journey, fuckers. A journey of excess, a journey into imagination, a journey through the marvelous world of people with 3-D printers making a quick buck on etsy. Let's look at some fucking dragons.

I'm going to go ahead and link the store pages for each dragon I purchased, in case you too are deranged and need some dragons in your life, and because I want to give some form of credit to the artists who made these. Granted, that won't always be possible - while a few of these seemed to be unique to the shops I bought them from, many of them could be found from NUMEROUS sellers, which makes it difficult if not impossible to figure out who originally programmed the project files for them to be 3-D printed from.

Case in point is The Crystal Dragon here, which can be found in SO MANY etsy stores. Most of the 3-D printed dragons my students at the daycare had were of this variety, in fact, so it seems to be a very popular pattern for 3-D printing. It's definitely a cute and pretty little thing, and sort of sets the standard bar for a 3-D printed dragon. I wish the face was a bit more detailed, but the rough, angular nature of it does help convey the idea that this thing is made of crystals.

The second most common design, as far as I can tell anyway, is this Chinese Dragon/Loong (oh hey, they used my favorite English spelling!). I really like the face of this guy, and it seems like an excellent rendition of the standard East Asian dragon design - there's even tiny holes under its nostrils where you could insert a wire or thread to serve as its barbells, though most sellers (including the one I bought from) don't make use of it.

While most of the dragons I bought are "realistic," there were some cartoony/more stylized ones for sale that I decided to partake in. This little guy is one such dragon, and I think he's probably the best one to get if you're buying for a kid - the smoother body and smaller, nubbier horns makes it less likely to break, and just a bit more fun to play with in your hands. These things are often marketed as fidgets, after all, so the tactile feel of them is something to take into account.

While on the surface just a variation of the fidgets we've seen so far, this dragon has one particularly clever feat of engineering: because of the way the spikes on its neck are set up, you can get its head in a nice "snake rearing up to strike" position, which, combined with its distinctive short-snouted face, goes a long way to giving it an extra bit of character among the 3-D printed dragons.

While most of the dragons I found seemed to have the same simple color options to choose from, a few sellers seemed to have their own custom ones that were unique to their shop. This mix of bronze and olive greens was unique to this particular dragon, which, along with its painted eyes, really helps its stand out! I will note that the joints of this dragon tend to stick a bit more than my other dragons - perhaps a result of using different plastic colors than is standard? - but if you let gravity do its work they'll sort themselves out, and it's worth it to have such a striking little fellow.

Since this particular style of toy really suits serpentine creatures better than all else, I decided to look for some explicitly marine dragons to add to the group. I really like this sea serpent I found, which comes is very basic crayola-ish plain colors, but has just enough personality in its sculpt (and eyes and teeth in different colors) to stand out.

If you're looking for sea dragons on etsy, though, you're much more likely to encounter this fellow, which almost every store selling it calls Jormungandr and/or the Midgard Serpent. It's got these vaguely Nordic runes carved into it, as well as grooves in its tail designed to fit its prominent fangs so it can make an ouroboros, which makes the Jormungandr connection feel pretty intentional. It's a really distinct design, but I do think it's a little funny that it's far from the beefiest of my dragons. I wonder if there's a shop that sells an upsized model...

While not notable in terms of engineering, paint work, or plastic color options, this dragon IS notable in having heads based on a statue of Quetzalcoatl, who is in turn one of my favorite mythological figures, so I had to get it.

Of course, I also wanted a Quetzalcoatl-style feathered serpent that had the classic "winged snake" look, and this one fit the bill well enough. It originally came with little hair clips attached to its underside, allowing it to cling to your head and/or clothes, which I thought was really clever... but I also didn't like the clips sticking out from under the little thing so I took them off. A lovely little dragon either way, though.

So, ok, I'd been going relatively cheap at this point, but as I shopped I was struck with a sort of passing fancy, an idle thought... what was the most elaborate, fanciest 3-D printed dragon I could get? It's not this one, mind you, but this was very much the start of that rabbit hole. While mechanically it's not significantly different than the dragons we've seen till now, the amount of colors it's printed in immediately make it stand out as a higher quality dragon.

The same store that sold the dragon above also sold this fellow, which may well be my favorite of the many East Asian dragons I found on this little quest. Just look at that wonderfully monstrous face! And he's got a pearl, the little devil!

While the color of the plastic and the engineering of this sea dragon may not seem particularly notable, what has to be taken into account here is the sheer SIZE of this lass. This is one of the biggest dragons of my lot, not only in length but in sheer girth and weight of its joints. The Midgar Serpent needs to move over, this is the REAL leviathan of my 3-D printed dragon collection.

Of course, if you know me, you know I'm a basic bitch who loves the European "four legs and two wings" style of dragon the most of all, so my search for fancy 3-D printed dragons started to focus on finding some that fit this description. I can't actually find the store page for this guy anymore (it's not in my past purchases on etsy for some reason), but it's a pretty solid low budget take on the concept. But we can do better - and we will...

But first, a detour to some wyverns! This little guy is really cute, with a head based on the Peter Jackson Herbit movie's design for Smaug, and a feathery little body that makes it looks like a fantastical archeopteryx.

The same shop makes a more reptile-ish dragon, with leathery wings and scaly skin, which I got in a larger size because, well, you know my preferences. It's like the perfect size to perch on your shoulder, though I'd want something to hold it in place because I'm pretty sure falling off from that height onto a hardwood floor would be the end of it.

There's no shop link for this one or the next because it was a freebie - which is to say I didn't actually order this dragon, but found it in one of my packages as a free gift from the seller. That's the nice thing about shopping on places like etsy and ebay - sometimes the people on the other side of the screen are really solid and decide to give you an extra little treat. This is clearly a Games of Throne-style wyvern specifically, based on the proportions and the shape of the head, and that's pretty cool. The dragons are one of the only things that made it out of that show still looking cool.

The second freebie dragons I got were these little toys of Toothless and Girl Toothless from How to Train Your Dragon. Look at them, they're so cute!

But now... now it's time for the answer to the question:

What

Is the most Deluxe 3-D Printed Dragon

I can get?

The Bronze Medal goes to this marvelous dragon here, which feels like it flew right off of some medieval coat of arms and into my own flesh and blood ones. It's solid, beautifully sculpted, and full of articulation points. However, the method in which it's articulated makes it a bit frustrating to pose, as some of these joints end up bending and twisting in ways you don't want them too. Still an excellent dragon, mind you, but outdone by the next two...

The Silver Medal goes to this marvelous wyvern, which has much tighter joints that are a lot less frustrating to pose. Its wings are a mixture of cloth and plastic, allowing them to flex and bend into a variety of poses (though admittedly the weight of the wings keeps them from holding most of those poses very well). Also, look at that regal face, that sleek sculpt, and those elegant proportions! It's almost a perfect dragon for me. Almost.

My one and only gripe with the previous dragon is that, well, I'm a basic bitch who likes dragons with four legs and two wings the best! And what do you know, they made one of those too! And god, does this dragon look magnificent in person, sporting all of the elegance of the dragon above but with magnificent grasping hands! HANDS! Hands that you'll have to be careful with because the joints are a little loose and like to pop off when you play with them, but still, HANDS!

This is a high enough point to end off on, but there's one more 3-D printed gift I'd like to cover here. My favorite one.

Well, ones I guess. This all started with my students, and well, some of them noted my interest in the 3-D printed dragons they were bringing to school. And a couple of them actually ended up getting 3-D printers of their own (well, their parents' own, ayway) and decided to print off a dragon and a crocodile for me - smaller than all the other dragons here (except the Toothless keycains), but no less dear for it. I guess one of the pros about taking an active interest in the things your students like and letting them gush about it is that they might give you a 3-D printed dragon or crocodile out of the kindness in their little hearts.

[yuurei20]

Hiya!!! Love your info dives, they're amazing.

I apologize in advance if this has been asked already but I wasn't sure. But, are there specific ages that classify a Fae's stage in life. Like, when are they considered a child, a teenager, or an adult? I was curious if there was any information on it.

Anyways, thank you for your deep dives, keep up the amazing work!

Hello hello! Thank you for this question! 🧚 You are too kind!

We learn a lot about fae during the Fairy Gala events such as how there are many kinds, with smaller faeries being fearful of larger faeries and many requiring translators to communicate with one another!

Lilia explains that the Draconia family are especially long-lived, even for fae, so it seems that life stages might vary according to what subset of fae we are talking about.

Maybe there cannot be a blanket explanation of, "at this age all faeries reach the human equivalent of teenagers," for example--there might be a lot that varies depending on if we mean nocturnal/diurnal fae, small/large fae, dragon/bat fae, etc.!

Malleus is 178 years old and I have seen discussions sometimes that this particular number may have been selected in order to make him the faerie-equivalent of 17.8 years old in human years, which would make sense given when it was that he was invited to NRC, but this clashes with additional information we receive from Lilia:

He explains that, due to their particularly long lifespans, members of the Draconia family are "children at 200 and still youthful at 500...only around the age of 1,000 do they fully mature."

If we were following the "move the decimal" calculation that turned 178 into 17.8, that would be the equivalent of Lilia saying that they are not full mature until they reach the human-equivalent age of 100!

On the subject of JP-side discussions, here is a translation from Malleus' Pixiv profile!

It is mentioned in the story by Lilia that "1,000 years old is considered an adult" for dragons. If we consider "adult" as equivalent to coming of age, and we assume that the age of adulthood in Twisted Wonderland is unclear but is 20 years old by human standards, then 1,000 ÷ 20 = 50. This would mean that for Malleus, 1,000 years would be equivalent to 50 human years. Given that he is currently 177 years old, this would roughly translate to being around 3 to 4 years old in human age (which helps explain the immaturity of his actions thus far).

And here is a Twstsoku thread on this same topic, for the curious ^^

Based on Lilia’s example, I think the entrance permission might be given around the equivalent of 15 human years (since Lilia’s mention of "hundreds of years" is likely a rough estimate). It’s confirmed that the Draconia species matures much slower than humans, so even if they start at the same age as everyone else, their maturation speed would naturally be slower as well. So, I think he might still be around 15 years old. If it’s because of his high abilities and he's being treated as a special case, there might even be a possibility that he's still quite young.

If Malleus is about 5 in human years, the reason for his overblot seems kinda cute to me...

I don't think he's really a pre-teen, though. However, since it takes quite a while to go from 16 to 18 in human years, it’s possible that the acceptance letter came at the time he would be considered 16, and if he entered straight after, he might be roughly the same age as the first-year students now.

When Trey-senpai was introducing the dorms in Chapter 1, he mentioned the possibility of skipping grades when discussing Diasomnia, so there might be a chance that Malleus is younger in human years. Now that I think about it, that could have been foreshadowing...?

If we consider 1,000 years as the equivalent of adulthood at 20 human years, then if Malleus is 200 years old (hypothetically), simple calculations would make him about 4 in human years. That would make him younger than Cheka. While it's true that he’s lived for several hundred years, his maturity level is likely quite different from a human who lived the same number of years.

Lilia himself seems close to the "move the decimal" calculation pattern, as that would make him the human-age equivalent of 70 years old now, receiving his NRC acceptance letter at the equivalent of age 20 and losing Maleanor at the equivalent age of 30, after proposing to her when they were children around the age of 10.

But this is all speculation and entirely unofficial 🥳

[moonsaver]

Yan!Alhaitham wears you to work.

It was easy. Finding your shampoo, soaps, scents.. practically any daily use items that you usually bought from the bazaar. He stalks you almost casually – nodding at you familiarly when you do spot him, as if seeing him for the 5th time in the same day wasn't creepy. You seem uncomfortable, but don't bother confronting him about it. Mainly either due to the fact you don't want a confrontation, or you simply aren't sure if he's stalking you in the first place.

In the shower, your scent fills the entire bathroom. He considers any free time now dedicated to thinking about you. The fabrics you wore yesterday seemed to have a few loose threads. According to the bottle of perfume he bought at the same time as yours, yours is running out. A visit to the old lady tucked away in the corner of the bustling street is probably on your weekly schedule, now. The scent of your soap clings to his skin comfortably, emanating gently in a still space. If he stood for long enough, your acquaintances might actually realise they're smelling you on him. Whether or not it's a good thing.. who knows. He doesn't care.

The tap stops, and he steps out. The droplets of water follow his feet as he walks. Your towel – or rather, a duplicate he bought. Your scented oils. Your hand cream. Your preferred ink, pens, even the bookmark you'd recently bought. All of them are assorted neatly into his drawer. All duplicates, of course. His diligent hand picks up the perfume bottle, the liquid ebbing on the glass surface as he tilts it in the sunlight. Your birthday's coming up soon. He's also recently caught wind of your favorite flowers – this time by accident. His prickly ears manage to pick up the particularly interesting conversation you had approximately 16 days ago, when you mentioned the recent Sumeru Rose body lotion you'd just bought. Although, he's not blind. He's observed the twitching of your hands towards the Lumidouce Bell scented bottle that was recently imported. You had to draw your hand back by force due to the price. Your birthday's coming up. He managed to get a look at the price after you left dejectedly with the one you were talking about.

His fingers press and spritz the perfume over his clothes. The fabric must have practically shaped themselves to the drops of the perfume from how often he's sprayed it in the same place, but now his closet smells like you. Perfumes last longer than lotion, he thinks. He should just get you a different perfume, instead. The merchant sold Lumidouce perfumes, too. Your birthday's coming up. The fact repeats in his mind. Should he get you a card? No, that's not enough. He saw you recently pick up a romance book. Unfortunately for you, it's a series, and the last he's heard about it – is it has deadly cliffhangers. He'll probably gift you the next volume.

He feels a slight tug of a smile on the corner of his lips, his fingers sliding over the vast collection of books, landing on the stiff spine of a book. He's already bought it in advance. Should he sneak in a small card in there? That would be better. If he remembers correctly (which he always does); you should have half the day off on your birthday, and you plan on spending it with your friends and family. He'll give it to you before you clock out. Maybe, he thinks, if his words sift through well enough, he'll manage to squeeze himself into your guest list. So, for the time being, he thinks up certain conversation topics for today, and the next day, and so on until your birthday. By rough estimates, you'll be familiar enough with him to invite him just shy of a day or two before. The door of his room clicks as he leaves.

The Akasha had not much use to Alhaitham until he realized the significant potential it had after that Cyno-prediction system those sages crafted up. He manages to tinker in his own study enough to make a special version of you. And so far, it's 100% accurate. He can already visualise you on your way to work, and the conversation he has in mind. Your responses are crafted skillfully by the device in his head, before you even think about uttering them.

[stellas-and-tonitruses]

these last 3 chapters more than ever have left me wondering about the timeline of spy x family and in particular,

donovan's age.

i'm not going to go too deep into the full timeline because i simply don't think we have enough info to make a real robust timeline, BUT i do think we can very feasibly approximate donovan's age with our current info.

I also won’t be using any precise years like 1964 or whatever bc at this moment in time I find that to be kind of useless, bc the only years we have happen very early in the story in background details and for a lot of those ones, I noticed endo had a tendency to just carelessly put whatever so long as it looked fine from afar, which includes news that were happening around the time of that chapter's release. SO unless he decides to explicitly highlight actual years, I’m not gonna be like “this happened in 1964 and that happened in 1953” and anything of the sort.

now, i shall partake in my least favorite activity.

✨math.✨

so uh buckle up my fellas and feel free to correct me anywhere where i might be wrong bc i am more than aware that math is NOT my strong suit!

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTERS 97, 98 AND 99!

gonna start with the facts!

according to the spy x family EYES ONLY fanbook, henry henderson is 66 years old at the time of the current events of spy x family! in the past three chapters we have learned that there is a 3 year age gap between him and martha, so that would make her 63 years old currently.

as of the events of chapter 99, he is 22 years old (and martha is 19), assuming there wasn't any years-long time gap that was not mentioned within the chapter! which, it doesn’t seem like there were any MASSIVE time gaps, so I’ll be using those ages for calculating.

so, what all this means is that we are (roughly) 44 years into the past at the moment! previous info about the war of loid and yor's childhoods puts it at around 20 years old, so from where we are in the backstory, we still have roughly 20 more years before Luwen is attacked — clearly, because this first war has already ended with donovan still in school.

while we don't have loid's age, we do have yor's, who is 27 years old — meaning she was born around the time of henry being 39 years old, aka clearly neither loid nor yor have been born yet as of the events of chapter 99. too into the past for now!

now, how am i gonna get donovan's age out of all this?

simple! henry's his teacher and has a talk with him after his jail time.

like I mentioned previously, I shall be sticking to 22 for henry’s age here. it may not be fully correct, it may be a year or two off because we aren’t given concrete details on exactly how long he was in jail, so just take it with a grain of salt! it's only going to remain as a rough estimate until we get a definitive answer on donovan's age.

so! henry has a talk with donovan, but the conversation itself, while very important for the plot and especially for our understanding of donovan’s character, is irrelevant for this conversation. no, what's crucial here is what henry is holding. endo even highlights it by focusing an entire larger panel on it!

it's a history textbook for year 7 students!

it being a history textbook is very poignant for the conversation they're having, but the reason this is important to me is because it's very clearly a year 7 textbook.

now, i don't know how much of eden academy's curriculum is based on the uk! but because pretty much all of the architecture of it is based on eton college and endo has literally just returned from a london trip where he showed us he visited a kindergarten, so i think that's grounds enough for me to assume eden academy's year 7 is generally populated by children between 11 and 12 years old. luckily for me, that seems to be the general age for germany's secondary school year 7 too, so even if it's not the british one, it's still close enough!

with all that being said, if donovan is, say, 12 in that moment and henry is 22, that means there is a 10 year difference between the two of them, which, drum roll please, means donovan desmond is 56 years old when our story's events take place! assuming the war of loid's and yor's childhoods took place exactly 20 years ago (when yor was 7 and henry was 46), this would make him around 36 years old when he became ostania's prime minister! it would also mean he had damian at 50 years old, and if demetrius is 12 right now, that would mean he was born when donovan was 44 years old (and his birth would’ve been in the last years of the war).

so, rough events timeline based on all that, focusing on ages!

66 years ago: Henry Henderson is born.

63 years ago: Martha Marriott is born.

~56 years ago: Donovan Desmond is born.

49 years ago: Martha (14) transfers to Eden and meets Henry (17)

47 years ago: Henry (19) graduates Eden.

44 years ago: Henry (22) joins Eden as a teacher, in the same year becomes Donovan Desmond’s (~12) history teacher. Martha (19) graduates Eden and joins the Women’s Defense Auxiliary.

~44 years ago: Martha (~19) is presumed dead. Henry (~22) faces jail time. The war ends, and he marries.

27 years ago: Yor is born. At that time, Henry is 39, Martha is 36, and Donovan is 29.

~27 years ago. [REDACTED] is also born. Same as above, just approximate this time!

~20 years ago: Second war begins. Yor and [REDACTED] are ~7, Henry is ~46, Martha is ~43, Donovan is ~36. Yuri is born.

~12 years ago: Demetrius is born. Donovan is ~44, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~15, Henry is ~54, Martha is ~51, Yuri is ~8.

~10 years ago: Second war ends. Demetrius is ~2, Donovan is ~46, Yor and [REDACTED] are ~17, Henry is ~56, Martha is ~53, Yuri is ~10.

6 years ago: Damian is born (and most other kids in his and Anya’s grade). Demetrius is ~6, Donovan is ~50, Henry is 60, Martha is 57, Yor is 21, Twilight is ~21, Yuri is 14.

5-4 years ago: Anya is born. Damian (etc.) are 1-2, Demetrius is 7-8, Donovan is ~51-52, Henry is 61-62, Martha is 58-59, Yor is 22-23, Twilight is ~22-23, Yuri is 15-16.

1 year ago: Yuri (19) becomes part of the SSS. Anya is 3-4, Damian (etc.) is 5, Demetrius is 10-11, Donovan is ~55, Henry is 65, Martha is 62, Yor is 26, Twilight is ~26.

I HOPE THAT HELPS PUT THINGS INTO PERSPECTIVE?? melinda is not included bc we have nothing to go off of for her age outside of purely subjective things like her appearance.

super glad endo included the year 7 thing JAKLSDFKLSD

anyway thank you for reading!!! :DD

[danieyells]

do we have canon ages for the TD boys? or like rough estimates? curious lolol

Nope! No canon ages or estimates, but we do know they're probably at least 19(if not 20.)

For starters an academy is a specialized teritary education facility--a college--and that's exactly what Darkwick is. An elite college that's secretly for the study of anomalies. In their fourth year they go on a sort of internship before they can graduate, which is unlikely to be done for high schoolers. I believe at least one ghoul has referred to himself as an adult. Many of them run businesses, which you need to be 18+ to do in Japan. If Yuri is actually legally a full on doctor he'd have to be like. . .26 at least? But he's probably not a full on doctor. Probably.

The first years are probably around 20 because Ritsu, someone who would surely not break the law, throws back a martini with little to no problem in Episode 8.

The legal drinking age in Japan is 20, so Ritsu, as a first year is likely at least that old. Of course he could have done it for dramatic effect/to make a point/keep Taiga's attention/play the part of someone who belongs at the auction, but regardless they're all at least 18 for certain as it's unlikely that they would have them be 20 and in high school.

If he's 20 then this is definitely a college, which means everyone is at least 18 as universities in Japan require you to be at least 18 to attend I believe.

With Alan having gone from juvie to basically being adopted by Darkwick two or more years prior he's also definitely above 20. On top of that we know he can drive which means he's probably got a driver's license which he has to be 18+ for. Other Vagastrom students drive around campus so the general students are also at least 18 unless they're driving without licences.

Tohma and Haku both seem to like cars, if we presume they have licenses they're at least 18.

Haku also said the PC seems to be around his age--while the game is 12+ or teen depending on what app store and language you're looking at I believe it is marketed more at a young adult audience, which means Haku--and presumably other third years--would likely be considered in their early or mid 20's.

Jin can drive a speedboat apparently according to one of his summer home screen lines, based on that he mentioned wanting to hear the waves i assume it's a first class small vehicle license that lets him go far enough in the eater to do that so 18+

Bonnie is described as being a large motorcycle. Assuming that makes her a heavy motorcycle by Japanese law, Sho needs to be at least 18 to drive her as he said he refuses to drive without a licence in episode 11. Licenses in Japan differ based on vehicle and its size and heavy motorcycle licenses(which don't cover cars, hence his refusal to drive a police car) are for people 18 and older.

. . .tl;dr, no age confirmations or estimations really, but we know they're at least 18~20 and older adults treat them like young adults so I'd say they're unlikely to be older than 35(but it's college so no age after 18 is impossible!)