#can't believe i may be about to circle back around to 13 year old me again

[awfydreich]

Had been thinking I'd be back here all adrift and fandomless, as I haven't been watching a whole lot of stuff lately and nothing that I've really latched onto. However I am currently catching up with season 2 of IWTV on iplayer and this new season has me slightly but increasingly flaily? So am preparing to be entirely consumed by the time I'm done and having a new fandom to land in

[pyjamaart]

A looming presence... (A piece of fan art for Episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis)

Read more for an essay on all the memes and references ;)

So here it is. Finally. Only one month too late: This piece of CCC fan art I've worked on since the episode came out.

Sorry for the delay, but I just started at my new job this week and it's been a little stressful, so I didn't have much time to work on this. But now it's finally here!!! I gotta say, the hardest part by far was the background, lol. I didn't mean for it to escalate that much. At the end I was honestly running out of memes to draw.

I bet we can all agree that episode 11 of the Christmas Comeback Crisis was so worth the wait, right???? My god. Peak entertainment. I still can't believe I'm getting all this awesome lore and music for free, feels kinda criminal.

I'm so invested in this story, it's unreal. I can't wait to see how it will end. I can already tell it's gonna be pretty emotional. (And not to alarm anyone, but I have a slight feeling that the Voice is not gonna make it out of this story arc alive. I mean, after everything he's done, it's safe to say that he kinda deserves it. Of course I really don't want him to die, cause that would mean…….. Woodman would also have to die??? Otherwise the Voice will just keep coming back again and again because Woodman is keeping his memory alive…….. Oh man wait a moment….. I don't even want to think about that. Forget I said anything about this.)

Anyway, let's talk about this piece of art for a moment.

In the foreground, we have our brave protagonists. I really really like how Nozomi turned out, so I decided to make her my new icon from now on. Don't get me wrong, I love my old icon, but it's kinda zoomed out and you can't really make out any details when it's really small. So Nozomi it is. Meta Knights sword was shockingly difficult to draw, especially because I had to figure out how to draw it when he's holding it at an angle like that. Otherwise, drawing him was actually one of the easiest things about this whole thing. His design is really just two circles with some arms and armor. Figuring out how the circle tool in Gimp works has never felt this good. (Kinda crazy I can just draw him like this now, considering how obsessed with him I was when I was about 12-13 years old. Back then you had to download official renders of your favorite characters onto your computer, then print them out and hang them on your walls all around your room. Yeah I've always been like this.) Drawing Santa was really fun too, just his right hand was a little difficult. But that's just because I still can't draw hands in general. Maybe I should practice drawing hands more. (Naaaaaah I'm just kidding, I'll never do that.) Now that I'm looking at him again, he's also longingly staring at President Haltmann in the background. Doomed yaoi fr.

Speaking of the background, let's talk about that next. There's obviously the title-giving "looming presence" the Voice. I had his hands completely in the background at first, but I thought it looked cooler when they were hanging threateningly around Santa's shoulders. (You may ask yourself, 'man these hands look kinda alright for my usual hand drawing standards', and that is because I traced over pictures of my own hands. I love "cheating" at art.) I also gave him his stupid little bow tie and the colored buttons on his suit sleeves. Not only is that kinda my trademark for drawing him at this point, it's also supposed to show, that under all the threats and the evil villain persona, he's just kind of a loser. A real (male equivalent of a) girlfailure. That's why I made sure that half of the things shown in the background are there to make fun of him a little. I love the Voice dearly, but that's just what felt right.

And now let's get to the actual main course of this essay. I probably spent half the time working on this on the freaking background. I'm just gonna start in the top left corner and then go down each column and explain what each of these mean or what they reference. (Since there are some quite obscure ones in there.)

Let's start with the two ponies in the very top left. They're actually ponysonas of Nozomi Tojo (left) and Takane Shijou (right). Nozomi is an earth pony and has a tarot card as her cutie mark, specifically the ace of cups. Takane on the other hand is a unicorn and has some musical notes as her cutie mark, which you can't really see. I don't know enough about the Idolmaster to think of something more meaningful for her, sorry. ;)

Under that are Susie Haltmann and her father, President Haltmann. They were (after Woodman) the first characters I wanted to draw into the background. Susie has this black bar covering her face, since she was never really there to begin with. The whole story line with her father wanting to bring her back was actually so freaking sad. And when the Voice killed him in episode 11 and that image of Susie flashed on screen as the last thing he saw before he died….. Oof……… That's also why I drew that cursor looming next to her "window" about to click on the closing button. Haltmann himself is also the only character in the background to actually leave his little window, wanting to reach his daughter. He's also glaring at the Voice for causing him all of this grief and anger in the first place with his false promises.

Then there's…. ahem, "Hot robots in your area". With drawings of a random unnamed robot and Mettaton from Undertale. Which the Voice has apparently bookmarked. This is just a head canon, but I like to think he has a thing for robots, lol. ;)

Oh and on the left next to that on the very first column is Simpleflips' logo. Shoutouts to Simpleflips indeed.

Onto the next column. At the very top is Haruka Amami (also from the Idolmaster), who played a pretty huge role in the CCC, especially in the latest episode. That moment at the very end where she saved Grand Dad from certain death was just fantastic. Absolutely goated scene. She's kinda pressing her face against the window she's trapped in. I hope you can even see that from far away, haha.

Under that is one of the more obscure references. It's from a King for Another Day video, specifically one titled "The Hobart Hootenanny - SiIvaGunner: King for Another Day". It's a slideshow made of beautiful Hobart pictures. One that struck me personally the most was a little family picture of Hobart and the rapper Eminem, who was also a contestant in the KfAD tournament, looking lovingly over their son sitting in a cradle. Eminem is seen saying "Our son is beutiful". A truly touching photograph indeed. In that same slideshow is also another scene of Hobart together with the Voice, but we'll talk about that one later.

The next one is a reference to the CCC side story "I wanna thank me" and shows a pie chart with the election results that were discussed in that episode. Under the pie chart itself is a little box containing all the different parties and showing their respective percentages. On the left is a poster for the "Poké Poké Literature Party", showing Monika's head with the words "Just vote Monika" at the top of the poster. The words (and Misha.) are scribbled on the bottom, lest we forget that she's not running this party alone. This side story was first featured in the Christmas Comeback Crisis Watchalong in 2020, which was actually the first time I watched the CCC in its entirety. It all went downhill from there. ;)

Then there's the Voice's… thing? Object? Weird apparatus where no one really knows what it does or what its purpose is? Every time we see the Voice sitting in his office, this thing is sitting on his desk right next to him. There's been loads of jokes about its purpose. They've all been made before. I'm not going to repeat them. Only the Voice himself truly knows what this thing does. Probably. Could just be a decorative piece of art.

Then we have something veeeery self indulgent on the next column. It's Aquaman from Megaman 8 (With a not so subtle skull right next to him). You should all know by now that I'm the founding father of the Aquawood ship. And I also have the head canon that Woodman and the Voice are very divorced. Interpret into this whatever you want.

Next to Aquaman is the internets' favorite panel from the web comic Tails Gets Trolled. I fucking love that comic. If you haven't read it in its entirety, I highly recommend doing it. (Though be warned that it contains some pretty heavy topics, many many slurs and a plethora of gore.) Okay, maybe I don't recommend reading it. (Just read it with all of that in mind.)

Under that is a personal favorite joke of mine. It's supposed to be Spotify, with a playlist open that I created some time ago. I called it "Die Pizza Playlist" (Remember that die in German is just "the") which I always listen to when I'm baking my own pizza. Highlights include "Pizza" by Antilopen Gang, "Pizza Heroes" by Lemon Demon (You can actually see the album art for Spirit Phone on the left of the playlist.), "Pizza Pizza Pizza" from the Ratatouille musical and so on and so on. The first song in the playlist is obviously "We like pizza" by the Pizza kids, which is even playing in the image. On the side are two more music artists, at the bottom is the image for the Veggie Tales soundtrack, which also featured a song called "Pizza Angel". And over that is Mitski. I just feel like the Voice would listen to her music. Do not question me on this.

The audience laughs at the funny 7.

On the Voice's left shoulder sits a single green bean. It's flashing you a cheeky grin and a peace sign. While I didn't intend for this to happen, I accidentally referenced my own Woodman birthday gallery art from two years ago, where the bean also sits atop the Voice's shoulder. I know that next to "Yankin'", the bean is one of the most hated memes on SiIva, but I think he's just a silly little guy! :D

Let's head on over to the next column. Seems like the Voice has an incoming call from one of his guards, but he's ignoring it as he has more important things to do, like hovering intimidatingly over Santa Claus.

Next to that window on the right are the Voice's messages. I almost wrote "messanges". That would have been embarrassing, thank god I caught that in time. This is also (yet again) a little self indulgent, since the Voice apparently has the last message he sent Woodman pinned to the very top of his messenger app. His big triangular head is blocking most of it, but since I'm the artist, I can tell you exactly what it says: "Please call me back", which was sent on February 1st 2023, the day "The Disappearance of Woodman" was released. Yeah, I'm still very upset, how could you tell? :( Under that is a message to his trusty pizza guy asking for a pizza with extra cheese.

Next we have two of my favorite memes on the SiIvagunner channel (My absolute favorite being "Funny budots", since I never wrote that down anywhere.), one being Frisk Undertale becoming uncanny and the other one being the goat. I don't really know how to describe the goat, but apparently it was crafted by the same artist who made the stoned fox that's also very popular online?? I may just be stupid, but I didn't know about that until I looked up a reference for the goat. Since it often appears alongside Undertale and Deltarune, many have made the assumption that this is what Asriel would look like in real life. That's why Flowey is there next to it with an equal sign. Whoever drew up that calculation wasn't really sure of their work, which is why they drew a question mark right next to it. Between Frisk and the goat is a little Soul, also from Undertale/Deltarune.

Onto the next column, where I'm dropping very subtle hints that a specific character in this image might like pizza. Or might even be a little obsessed with it. On the left is a list with the contact details of three well known pizza chains, on the very top is Sonic the Hedgehog who just recently became a brand ambassador for Totino's and on the bottom right of this section is a flyer for some kind of pizza sale.

The next window contains my favorite joke of any rip on the entire SiIvaGunner Youtube Channel. "Peepoona 5. Let us shart the pants." Just typing this out is making me die of laughter yet again. (The rip in question is "Our Beginning - Persona 5".) But as you all know, I am very into toilet humor. That's why Aquaman is one of my favorite robot masters. And why I'm such a big fan of Youtube Poop. And why I watch Minion fart gun religiously. But enough of that, you get what I'm trying to say. I love funny poop jokes. That's why this is here.

Oh man. This next one is why I wanted to write this very detailed essay in the first place. A reference so obscure, even I can't find its origin anymore. And believe me, I tried. Thankfully, I took a screenshot of the original comment thread this was based on. A user called "The New Guy" commented on a SiIvaGunner rip, something along the lines about how much they enjoyed this specific rip. At the time, the comment had 920 likes, so I'm guessing it must have been a pretty popular video. (The comment should also be about 4 years old now?) Anyway, under that comment, someone asks them what their profile picture was from. They simply answered "wagon", since that was exactly what their profile picture showed. Someone on the SiIvaGunner team must have found this exchange so funny that they commented "wagon" as well. And that's the origin of this joke. If anyone knows which rip this is from pleeeeaaaase tell me. I need to know.

I don't think I need to explain who the next guy is. Just the love of my life. I specifically drew Woodman in his getup from the Nuclear Winter Festival, since that was the last time he appeared on the channel. He's looking kinda concerned in the general direction of the viewer, for obvious reasons. And right under him is his trademarked >:] emoji.

And last but certainly not least, the final column! Now I finally get to talk about this other scene from the Hobart Hootenanny. It shows Hobart and the Voice having a romantic stroll at a beautiful beach, while the sun is slowly setting in the background, making the water shimmer with its breathtaking colors. Okay, the last thing didn't really happen, since it's a shitty MS Paint drawing, but I like to imagine it did. Maybe I should draw a remake of this image one day. Now I'd like to quote the video in question: "A man and Hobart were walking together on the beach. He looked back and saw that in his times of sadness and need, there was only one set of footprints. He asked Hobart why he would leave him in his time of most need. Hobart simply turned to the man and said, VVVVVRRRRR SRRRRR RRRRGGGHHHH--" (Thank you SiIva Wiki for the transcription.) Now I don't think I need to explain why I drew Hobart in a bikini top and fishnets. The question answers itself.

The next image is actually quite easy to explain. It's mm5charge and smol Maki. In another universe, Chargeman and Maki might have been integral to the SiIvaGunner lore. This specific image is just stolen from my piece of fan art called "Megaman 5 Brainrot (featuring Acidman)", which I posted in 2022. I still head canon that Megaman and Love Live take place in the same universe. Just because I think it's funny. And because I want to see funny robot masters interact with the girlies from Love Live. How do I explain this? It's like…. balancing out the world? The robot masters are almost all male (with a few exceptions) and the characters shown in Love Live are all female. How would Thanos say? "Perfectly balanced, as all things should be." Don't question my cool head canons, okay?

After that we have a poster featuring the Jazz Cats! I really really love the little animations that showed their backstory when KfAD2 first came out. I don't know if it's okay for me to say this, but I also really really enjoy the song "But Not You" written (in universe) by Doge and Naxx. The text is veeeeeeery questionable, but man, does it sound good regardless… And shoutouts to wolfman1405 for the heavenly vocals.

On the right of that is a missing poster for Wade L.D.. Nothing much to explain here I guess.

Left of that is the Voices shopping list, which lists flour, oil, yeast… Wait a minute…. All of these are ingredients for pizza dough! Guys, I'm beginning to think that this guy might like pizza.

On the very bottom of this column is Mario 7 Grand Dad himself, who has his hostile gaze directed at the Voice. I would be pissed off too if someone kept me locked in a glass tube for 7 years.

The last little window just shows the Vineshroom with the words "fecal funny" written under it.

And with that, it is done. The entire background thoroughly explained. (I may have gone a little overboard this time.)

It's been a while since I posted new art, huh? In the meantime, a lot has happened. As I said before, I started a new job, got a tattoo of Woodman on my leg (best idea I've ever had btw) and I also started watching MLP, which explains the Love Live / Idolmaster ponysonas, lol.

And that's all I wanted to say. I hope that the next piece of art isn't that far off. Jenny out. (I think this might have been the longest essay I've ever written here. I'm so sorry. By which I mean, I'm not sorry at all. I'm not forcing anyone to read this.)

[feeling-grubby]

I see you have a puppet child. I am curious to know more about them. Spill the beans :gun emoji:

Oh, you dumb motherfucker I am bout to info dump on your ass. Fucking had me redraw this wriggler just so I can show you some half decent art of what they used to look like. Cause there was no way in hell I was gonna show you my initial drawing of him from when I was still in middle school. You better buckle in bucko this is a long one.

The character you are referring to is Rakker Dolika. The name "Rakker" means "a rascal, a tomboy, a scamp," which points to his mischievous nature. I also chose the name because it sounds close to "wrecker," which I think fits a destructive clown boy. "Dolika" means "doll," which correlates with how he does his makeup and how he dresses up.

Rakker was created when I was working on a stupid project. The idea was to take Wonderland characters and turn them into trolls. These trolls would be part of a circus/carnival that would buy low-blood slaves and make them perform. They would try to sway the public's opinion about the church by using the supposedly not-enslaved performers as an example. They would claim that the low bloods had seen the light of the mirthful messiahs and converted to believers.

I ultimately scrapped the idea, but I enjoyed Rakker a lot and ended up keeping him. I can't tell you what character in Alice in Wonderland he was supposed to embody, because it was a very obscure one.

(The art is bad I know. it's just to help you visualize em. I did not spend a whole lot of time on it. wasn't gonna go all out when I plan to revamp the design later to something I like more. would've been a waste of time really.) Originally, Rakker was supposed to follow the Alice in Wonderland theme and look like a character from the book. However, I strayed away from that theme and instead made him look like a ventriloquist dummy. I thought the face paint design was interesting, and I never really had an idea for his horns, so I didn't draw them in the image above. Because ya know I had nothing to go off of. So this is close to how Rakker originally looked without having to show you my horrible old art work.

For the revamp version of Rakker, I have some things figured out. Some of those things include his sign and horns. His horns are designed after his sign. I took the weird circle thing on the left side of the sign and rotated it upside down. That ended up being his horn design.

As for what his future revamp design will be, I'm currently on the fence about that. I thought about changing him from a ventriloquist dummy to a Harlequin. I will eventually get around to drawing him and figuring him out fully.

Story wise, with this revamped version since the carnival doesn't exist anymore, I've been fussing around with some ideas. I was thinking he was kind of like an internet troll. He plays pranks on the elders at the church and starts really stupid online debates. He acts like those 14-year-olds you see on the internet who think being obnoxious is a charming personality. He is only 13 though.

That age there actually has me a little worried about adding him to my blog. So, he has a personality, but I may more so only show art I make of him and will refrain from using him in rps. He will also most likely not be included in the narrative I might build up for my blog.

Rakker is a character that I created specifically for my own enjoyment. He isn't complex with some insane backstory. His only real story is his relationship with his best friend, Angora, who is the same age as him. He is supposed to simply be a character that brings me back childhood nostalgia. I could go into more detail about Angora, but since you only asked about Rakker, I will spare you. Need to show you some mercy after this if you even read it all lol.

(Thank you for the ask and sorry for taking so long.)

[minutiaeoflife]

Take Me Home, Country Roads

* Before you proceed on reading this blog, I suggest you listen to this song as you go on reading every bit of this blog. You may decline this suggestion though, no pressure 😊 *

As we grow older every year, we can't deny the fact that we missed being a child. Being a child feels like we're problem free. Although, before we consider running away from our parents or guardians when they're about to get us to sleep as one of our main problems just because we want to play outside with our friends.

Our featured kid for this blog is a very adorable little girl. We will call her by her nickname, Luna.

Our little Luna is now a healthy 3 year old kid. She can now walk steadily as she was able to learn balancing when she was still 1 year old. She can run aggressively as well, and can climb on chairs expertly, without any help. Although there are certain actions or things where she still needs a little bit of guidance from her mother like wearing, and changing her clothes and taking a bath, in which I find relatable as well since I was also like that to my Mom when I was still young. But with the rest like brushing her teeth and drinking water from glasses, are one of the things that she can do all by herself.

In terms of Luna's growth, according to her Mom, her weight hasn't drastically changed yet, she's not malnourished or obese as well, so far her weight has been consistently 13 kilos. As they have observed, she hasn't grown taller as well. Although those are the factors that other people or parents might be worried about, but for them, it's normal, probably it's because Luna might be experiencing slow growth, like that, and besides that, seeing Luna personally, she's doing fine and well for her age. She's also actively playing with her friends, running around the field, going back to their house to either rest for a while or talk to her Mom or his brother, then go back to her friends again.

Riding a bicycle is currently Luna's favorite pastime, every time she comes home from school, or after she takes a nap, she always goes to her friends then they'll ride the bicycle together. Aside from that, Luna can take commands or errands now, whenever her mother tells her to buy something, she immediately obeys her then goes out to buy it. She already knows how to buy such products at a very young age, and I'm quite shocked about that information. I just couldn't believe that kids like her can do those things because it's all new to me. I didn't experience being told to buy things at the sari-sari store, and take note, Luna's just a 3 year old kid, while me, the first time I was able to buy at a sari-sari store was when I was 10 years old, imagine the gap between us, it's quite crazy how she could do that but oh well, we grew up in a different place and generation so I think that's one thing that separates us.

Luna could now actually talk in complete sentences. I was able to have an opportunity to chitchat with her as she goes near to us when his brother was showcasing his artworks to me (in which you will read later on ;⁠-⁠), in the next blog). She talked to me about how she could do this and that just like what his brother has been doing, drawing and coloring to be exact. One thing that I've noticed is that she always holds my hand to attract my attention and then proceeds on talking to me, she doesn't like it whenever I don't listen to her lol ^⁠_⁠^.

Luna cannot yet distinguish colors but she can already recognize shapes. When I asked her “What color is this?”, she just looked at me and smiled 😅 then proceeds on telling me “It's color red!” but it's a color blue 😭. When I asked her “What shape is this?” (I'm actually pertaining to the shape of the Sun in his brother's homework), she successfully answered, “Circle!”. She was so happy to see me clapped for her, then I went on to another set of asking and teaching her what color is this one and the shapes. She can remember things clearly as well, when she was asked by their teacher where a fish can be usually seen, she answered, in a creek. But when their teacher corrected them that a fish can also be seen in the ocean, she immediately understood that concept and was able to remember it when she was asked by her Tita Aya about it. She cannot yet write, her attention span is quite sensitive as to whenever she sees a bike, she immediately goes to it and plays. So whenever her Mom teaches her to write, she finds it difficult to make her focus, as she's easily distracted by the things around her.

Luna sleeps from 8pm then wakes up at 6am. It's a constant routine of her together with his younger brother. She goes to school from 8am to 10:30am. She immediately takes a nap after coming home from school. After she wakes up from an afternoon nap, she immediately goes outside to play with her friends. There are instances where Luna tends to be shy at new people, or approaching them, but easily warms up after sometime.

Luna can now feel emotions too, whenever she feels like people made her feel like she's not included, she tends to get upset about it. Whenever she gets upset, it's just shallow, she easily gets over it. Not like us, adults, we tend to plant grudge or resentment onto the things/people that made us upset. She cannot yet distinguish her feelings or emotions, like what's the difference between happiness and sadness.

Luna recently shows signs of independence, like when she tells her Mom that she can do this, and that on her own, although she still needs guidance, yet she's firm with her decision that she's capable of doing it on her own. I like the way her Mom gently explains it to her that she still needs help or guidance as her Mom knows better than her, and Luna seems to understand it and was able to grasp the situation.

As I was observing Luna, I suddenly missed the times when I was still a kid. Writing this makes me feel emotional as the feelings of wanting to go back to the past is going stronger than ever. It's like a sudden hit of nostalgia.

Take Me Home, Country Roads is a song that holds a special place to my heart, as this song was always played by my grandfather at their house. This song is a heartfelt ode to West Virginia, painting a vivid picture of its landscapes and evoking a deep sense of nostalgia and belonging. This timeless classic speaks to the yearning for home and the comfort it brings, in which I could relate to childhood. Whenever you see your childhood photos, it's like reminiscing about the old times which can be comparable to the song in which the song was inspired by their drive along Interstate 81, which runs primarily through West Virginia. The nostalgia that you feel whenever you see your younger self through a picture can make yourself emotional. For me, I always want to go back as a kid, as this journey of becoming an adult is quite overwhelming. It's like I'm yearning for a home that I always want to go back to, and the comfort that I'm always seeking for when I became an adult.

Here's a favorite quote of mine from Robert Brault, which is a reflection of what I'm trying to insinuate in the last paragraph.

"In childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking out. In memories of childhood, we press our nose to the pane, looking in." – Robert Brault

Love,

Irish & Jairine <3

Here's a bit of a sneak peek to our lil bubbly Luna 💚✨

photo ops; 🫶🏻

[honey-0tu]

@artidoesthings @sintheyokai ask and ye shall receive

ok he says this one aloud but i cannot get it out of my head:

I held out my teacup to Jeremy and said, perhaps a little nastily, "Surely it's just your imagination. There's no way a thief would harass someone who also looks like a thief."

back to the ones in his head hes so mean about jeremy like its hilarious:

My mouth dropped open as I listened to Professor Layton's words. A genius? This shaggy-headed drifter with his round, dark glasses. It was hard enough to believe that he was a physicist, let alone one of the best geniuses in the university. I have always been told by Professor Layton that we should not judge people only by their appearance, but Jeremy may be the perfect example to prove that people can be very different on the inside from the outside. / I watched him with trepidation, worrying that he might spill his cup of tea on my favourite sofa.

again he says this one aloud because he just cannot help himself from being rude to jeremy:

"Layton's a lucky man to have such a brilliant assistant. Oh, I wish I had an enthusiastic and loyal assistant like you." I said to Jeremy with a serious look. "I think you should look a bit more presentable before you get an apprentice, Jeremy. You'll be mistaken for a kidnapper if you don't." Jeremy replied indignantly. "That's terrible. I'm decent enough." "No, you're not. You look very strange. You should at least replace that dented hat. After all, I can't imagine that look is very popular with the ladies."

also luke REALLY doesnt like not-scotland:

It suddenly occurred to me that this felt like a land ruled by the devil. / It was a Celtic cross, a combination of a circle and a cross. Its strange shape recalls the horrors of ancient beliefs such as sacrifices and curses. My heart was filled with a dark anxiety.

various non-jeremy related rude comments:

Suddenly, I remembered a story about an ominous red-haired woman. I hastily dismissed the idea. It would be rude, even dangerous, to think ill of such a beautiful woman.

in regards to hearing Chelmey's voice:

I was shocked to find that I hated that voice so much that I was having auditory hallucinations.

about jeremys aunt:

Aunt Harriet, who was probably no more than seventy years old, wore her hair in a dark purple bun and stared straight ahead with her pale purple eyes. They were sort of dream-like eyes that were likely to penetrate the depths of the soul. / If a crystal ball had been placed in front of her, it would not look out of place. Also behind her, a witch's broom was made from a gorse plant. From this association, Aunt Harriet looked like a witch.

This is only up to page 69 out of 173 and skipping a lot of the times Luke says aloud his rude comments!!

Also @jey-ra i cant believe u left out the line around it (jk there are so many rude lines about jeremy that you'd be here all day if you tried to include all of them)

His dusty trench coat was worn at the hem and cuffs. His clothes were fine, but they looked very shabby and worn out. If you met him on the street, you might have thought he was a vagrant. / The man's name was Jeremy Campbell. He was a friend of Professor Layton's and had a PhD in physics. It didn't make sense to me that a man like this was a physicist. He certainly seemed very unique. I just hoped he wasn't working on something weird, like bringing a corpse back to life with electric shocks.

this boy is SO MEAN i know hes 13 but STILL...kid you are so far from becoming a gentleman i swear. i say this with over a decade of love.

Link to translation

if u saw me repost this just now bc i reblogged on the wrong wandering castle post, no u didnt /j

Reading the fan translations of the Layton novels is so funny bc like we already knew Luke was one of the meanest children to grace this world but reading his internal dialogue rlly shows that he does, in fact, have a filter and he's even ruder than we previously thought

[tilltheendwilliwrite]

Star-Crossed: Bound by Blood

Chapter Three

Master List / Read on AO3

Previous Chapter

Warnings: Canon divergent during Chapter 13 of The Mandalorian, serious pining

A/N: I make this stuff up as I go along, if I screw something Star Wars-y up, apologies in advance, I didn’t do it on purpose, but I’m new to this Fandom. I will be cross posting this story between AO3 and Tumblr except the smutty bits. Those chapters will only be available to registered users on AO3. (I’m trying something new for people who want to read here on Tumblr, but to also avoid the smut for minors controversy. We’ll see how it goes.)

*I do not have a tag list* Please follow the story on AO3 if you want email updates, or follow @tilltheendwilliwrite-library where I post the new/latest chapters of all my stories.

***

The trip to Nevarro was hell. 

The Razor Crest now smelled like Baast, and after using his soap, their two scents had blended, and Din was going out of his kriffing mind. He'd taken to sleeping in the cockpit, having given up his cot, but it did little good. 

It was like the essence of her had invaded every part of his home.

He'd started having dreams. Dreams of a world with sand dunes and plains of long grass, where towering forests of old wood grew and swayed in gentle, fragrant breezes. He dreamed of walking the rock and sand trails of jagged mountains, of climbing steep cliffs to drink from sweet falls that appeared out of the clouds.

And when he reached his destination, a rocky outcropping high above the world, a cat leapt over the rocks to land before him. She was sleek lines and dense muscle, her coat tawny, darkening to black over her muzzle and legs. Long tufts of fur drifted in the wind from the tips of her ears, and green eyes watched him with a thousand years of ancient wisdom.

He knelt before the regal creature and pulled off his helmet. She padded closer, circled him once, sniffed him curiously, and began to purr. The rumble soothed his soul, and Din closed his eyes as her sleek, furry cheek rubbed against his.

"Mine," he whispered as he reached for her, waking himself from the dream every time.

By the time they landed on Nevarro, he was desperate for air that didn't smell like Baast. A few more parsecs, he may have done something stupid.

He met her at the gangway with a heavy cloak. "Put this on, draw the hood, and try to remain inconspicuous."

She arched a brow before handing over Grogu. The kid stuck to her like glue, eager to be at her side whenever he was awake. It was a relief to know someone else was watching him, but at the same time, he missed the kid's continual company.

Baast shrugged into the cloak and pulled the hood over her hair before laying her hand on his arm. "Are you well?"

"I'm fine."

"Are you sure? You have been distant."

"Just busy." He held out a silver bar roughly three inches long. "Extendable staff, at least until the Alor can get you those sabres."

She smiled at him, the light just catching her fangs. "Thank you, Mando."

He tilted his head but tugged the hood farther forward. "Let's go."

They'd landed well after dusk, assuring a quiet, uninterrupted trip through the streets. Those that lingered paid them no mind used to seeing the silver beskar of an unpainted Mandalorian.

The bar was fairing better after the fight with Moff Gideon. Walls had been repaired, and the damage painted over. 

He walked in and headed straight for the back booth, ignoring the eyes that followed. They knew better than to mess with him, and the music stayed lively.

Karga, however, wasn't alone.

"Karga. Dune," he stated, tossing three pucks on the table. 

"Only three, Mando? I sent you out with four," Karga teased. "Did a quarry finally escape the famed Mandalorian?"

"She's dead; body recovery was impossible."

He watched Cara's eyes flick to Baast and down to Grogu, a smile growing as she pushed from the table. "There's the little womp rat!"

Grogu squealed his happiness, but Baast growled.

The low sound set his hair on end, causing Din to step back, between the woman and his clan. "Cara, not now," he said, no explanation, not sure he had one to give. 

Baast placed her hand on the back of his neck, a place without beskar but covered by his cowl. Still, he felt it like a live wire jolt.

"Usenye!" Baast growled.

"Udesii," Din murmured, turning just enough to know he meant Baast.

"Whoa, someone's touchy," Cara muttered.

Mando didn't need this right now. The longer he stayed here, the more twitchy he felt, like something beneath his skin was itching to claw its way free. "Karga. If they ask, you tell them she's dead."

The man stared at him a long moment, assessing, processing before he gave a short nod. "I will log the information myself." He reached into his pocket and pulled out an ingot of beskar. "For your trouble and the three on your ship."

"Where did you get that?" Din asked, picking up the ingot.

"Took it off some Imps after that last clean up." A second pile of credits, smaller than it should be, landed next. "Consider us even."

"Done," he agreed, hyper-aware of Baast's hand still light against his neck.

"And congratulations, Mando. It isn't every day a Mandalorian takes a riduur."

He felt Baast's fingers twitch but didn't correct Karga's assumption.

"You got married!" Cara gasped, loud enough to cause the bar to pause and look their way. 

One long stare over his shoulder had them minding their business again. 

"Baast'mal. Cara Dune, former shock trooper, now Marshal for the New Republic. Greef Karga, head of the Bounty Hunters Guild, and Magistrate of Nevarro."

"A pleasure," Karga grinned. "Is it true wives put off their armour when they decide to have little warriors?"

Baast snorted. "Di'kutla. Anade knows gar ke barjurir gar'ade, jagyc'ade kot'la a dalyc'ade kotla'shya."

Din couldn't help but chuckle. "She says, foolish. Everyone knows you train your sons to be strong, but your daughters to be stronger. My woman is all warrior."

The words slipped out, and he couldn't bite them back. Baast's hand dropped from his nape, but only to lower and slide in at his waist, sneak past layers of beskar and again find flesh barely covered. She pressed closer, a low rumble vibrating between them, and Din felt approval wash from her like a wave.

"Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil," she murmured, low enough only Din heard, informing him she didn't like it there.

He looked down at her, into the deep shadows of her hood as she clutched Grogu to her and found her eyes. This place had her on edge. With her Force sensitivity, he believed her, but he wanted to know why. "Tion'jor?"

"Too many bad feelings," she whispered. "There are hunters, many of them."

He gave a small tilt of his head. "Vaabir val olaror par gar?" he asked, wondering if they came for her.

A slight negative shake. "For news of the child."

Din was instantly enraged and leaned over the table toward Karga. "You're taking a bounty on the kid again?"

"What? No! Of course not!" the man cried in outrage.

"Mando." Cara laid her hand over his. "He hasn't, I swear."

Baast growled, causing Din to move his hand out from under Cara’s and block Baast in the same action. "There are hunters here for news of the kid. Get your cargo off my ship so we can leave." He swiped the credits off the table and turned to go, Karga already barking orders.

Din wasn't surprised when Baast's fingers snuck to the crook of his elbow. Or, he wasn't as surprised as he should be. A riduur walked where her mate could protect them and any children they might have. Her position kept her secure against him while hiding them behind a wall of beskar and weapons, handled by a highly dangerous predator.

"Mando, wait," Cara said, blocking their path. "Come to my place. You can rest, eat, and I can see the kid. I missed him."

Baast's fingers twitched. 

"Cara," he hesitated.

"Please. We're friends. Let a friend toast your good fortune."

Another low warning growl rippled from Baast when Cara touched his arm.

"She has nayc staabi!" Baast snarled.

Din looked down at her. "Technically, neither do you."

Her hand snapped off his arm like he'd burned her, shock and disappointment so profound it hurt, hit him like a rampaging mudhorn. 

She took a step in retreat, Grogu clinging to her, the kid looking just as devastated. 

What had he done? Kriff! Why would he say that?

"Baast!" he shouted but was too late as she spun on her heel and raced from the cantina. "Kriff!" he bellowed and gave chase, Cara hot on his heels.

"What the hell was that, Mando?" Dune demanded as they slammed through the doors only to find a deserted street. 

"Not your concern."

"Mando!" She grabbed him by the vambrace. She had no way of knowing how close he came to putting her through the wall. "What's really going on? Who is she?"

"You wouldn't understand. It's a Mandalorian thing." He shook her off and looked for Baast's tracks. 

It didn't surprise him at all when they went up a wall and over the roof.

Din took off after her, climbing as if his armour weighed nothing, leaving Cara behind to curse and swear. He followed long strides for some distance as she ran across roofs, finally leaving the residential district to head into a more industrial area. 

Again her tracks went up, and he followed, climbing the narrow ladder to the top of a tower that looked out over Nevarro. He found her there; knees pulled to her chest, the hood thrown back, clinging to Grogu as the kid did his best to stroke the tears from her face.

"Baast." 

She jerked but didn't move. "Go away, Mandalorian."

"I can't." He went to her and knelt, intent on taking her in his arms, only to have deadly claws close around his throat. 

"You have not the right," she snarled, her eyes piercing him through the beskar.

Grogu huffed and sighed, appearing at once both annoyed and exasperated.

"Nayc staabi. No right, that's what you said about Cara."

Baast snarled. "If you want the shock trooper so badly, have her!" she snapped, pushing him back with strength, causing him to rock on his heels.

"I don't, and she doesn't want me. She would be more inclined to go for you," he chuckled.

She blinked big green eyes. "Oh…" Her hand slowly relaxed until it lay on his chest.

This time when he gathered her close, she didn't resist. "Forgive me. I said something stupid."

"But true," she sighed. "You did not dispute the claim of riduur. I knew it meant nothing but got caught up in my role. You are free to do what you wish with whomever you wish," she sighed.

Din didn't think. He didn't plan his next move. It was like instinct demanded he act, and so he did.

"Baast. Close your eyes."

She did so without hesitation or question as Din stripped off his gloves. The helmet hissed when he released it, causing her brow to twitch. Before he took it off, he wrapped his arm around her and covered her eyes with his hand.

"Din?" she whispered, her uncertainty clear. 

"Trust me," he murmured, lifting his helmet free with his other hand. They were too high up for anyone to see, and the moons had yet to rise, leaving them bathed in shadows. 

Grogu cooed and sat down a few feet away, apparently content to let the adults sort this out on their own.

Din gave him a last look before setting his helmet down and raising that hand to lightly, tenderly, stroke her face. "I don't want just anyone," he whispered, unable to deny what was written in his heart. "Just you," he sighed and lightly brushed their mouths together. 

He'd never kissed anyone before, but he wanted to kiss Baast. 

***

Din woke with a jolt and a clang of beskar as he fell out of the pilot's chair and onto the floor. 

He lay there confused and disoriented until he realized the entire thing had been a dream. 

He groaned softly enough that it didn't leave the safety of his helmet and pushed to his hands and knees before sitting back on his thighs. This trip was going to kill him. The dream had been far too real.

He picked himself off the floor and looked up to find Grogu smirking at him. "Don't start."

The kid gurgled a noise that shouldn't in any way have been cute but somehow still was.

"Hungry?" Din asked.

Grogu waddled closer, arms up.

"Of course you are. When are you not hungry?" he chuckled, picking up the kid and heading for the ladder down into the belly of his ship. 

He was just getting Grogu situated when the door to the fresher opened, revealing Baast in nothing but a towel. 

She jolted in surprise. "I did not expect… you… I…" A bright blush bloomed darkly across her cheeks. Then, she straightened, lifting her chin like a royal, firming her composure. "You have not joined us for meals as of late. I did not expect you and have washed my clothing."

His mouth was desert dry when he attempted to speak, but no words emerged, and Din was grateful for the helmet that hid his gaping mouth. He stared for too long before stepping away from Grogu and his gruel toward Baast. She stiffened, hand flexing where she clutched the cloth closed, but the Zentari didn't back down.

Din moved with cautious steps to the crates piled against the wall and shoved two over before picking up the third and setting it down on top of the others. From within, he pulled out blue silks. "I have this if you want it."

A regal brow arched, her wet hair sleek and sticking to her now brushed the tops of her thighs. "Why does a Mandalorian have a courtesan's dress in his belongings?"

He flinched, having hoped she wouldn't recognize it. "Because an assassin dressed as a courtesan attempted to kill me, but not until after she'd taken her clothes off."

Baast eyed the cloth a moment longer before gliding forward to pluck it from his fingers. "Did she succeed in the seduction?"

"No. That's why she was naked. She made a poor courtesan."

"Hmm," purred from her as she walked back into the fresher, and the door closed behind her. "And you have simply kept it lying around?" she called through the door.

Did she sound jealous, or was he still dreaming? "It's not something a Mandalorian can walk into the market and sell without garnering a second look."

"You were not, perhaps, keeping it for your riduur?"

The door opened, and Din forgot how to speak. Blue silk fell in sleek lines from the golden band that bared the under curve of her breasts. She swept out and headed for Grogu, sailing past him, her damp hair leaving a dark stain on the skirt. 

"I haven't thought much about a riduur." Before now. 

He followed her like a Bantha would a Tuskin Raider, and when she sat to help Grogu with his food, Din came to a stop behind her. 

She looked up, but he knew the beskar made it hard for her to read him. "Is it that terrible? Do I not make a passable courtesan?"

"More than passable," escaped his mouth, his brain still malfunctioning. "But your hair is dripping."

"Wet hair does that," she teased him with a smile.

"May I?"

She blinked as he began to strip off his gloves. "Din?"

"Let me," he murmured, running his fingers like a comb through her thick locks. He sat on a crate and worked free what few tangles had formed before splitting the mass in half. He began the plait high, working it smooth against her scalp and down behind her ear. When his fingers brushed the pointed tip, a shudder raced through her, but a low, happy purr followed. He made it to the end and used a scrap piece of leather to bind the long braid. 

"How is it that a Mandalorian knows how to do a woman's hair with the skill of a maid?"

He froze, fingers full of sand-coloured silk. "My mother," he murmured. "I once did it for my mother."

Her hand closed gently on his knee, Baast reaching back, otherwise staying still for him. "A good memory, I hope."

"One of my only good memories," he murmured, finishing the section close to her skull and swiftly plaiting the rest. Once he tied the end, she turned to look up at him and left him breathless. 

He'd never seen a more mesh'la creature. Men would spend their entire fortune for one night with her. But Din looked at her and saw her dressed in the ornaments of a riduur. Beskar bands for her braids, the cuff that would circle her upper arm and proudly display the mark of the mudhorn, proclaiming her part of his clan. The beskar breastplate that would be hers the moment their first child was born.

"Then, I am pleased to help you remember it." She stroked one of the thick plaits. "I am happy to offer myself to your ministrations in the future, should you so desire to assist me again."

Vital portions of his anatomy tightened, causing him to rise swiftly and step away from her tempting allure. "We'll be in Nevarro soon. I'll see about more suitable clothing when we get there."

He climbed the ladder back to the cockpit, knowing damn well he was running away.

***

riduur -  spouse

Usenye! - Go away!

Udesii - Calm down.

Ibic taap, Ni cuy' bat Kyr'nakil - This place, I am on edge

Tion'jor - why

Vaabir val olaror par gar - do they come for you

 nayc staabi - no right

 ***

Next Chapter

[swanlake1998]

Article: What Makes It So Difficult to Diversify Ballet Faculties?

Date: February 17, 2021

By: Theresa Ruth Howard

The lack of Black ballet teachers in professional training programs has long been known to be a weakness holding the field back from true inclusivity. The common refrain of "We can't find them" might have been plausible before, given the scarcity of professional Black ballet dancers. Yet suddenly, qualified candidates are springing up. (Perhaps the world being on fire smoked them out?) To quote choreographer William Isaac, "There seems to be an arms race to hire Black ballet teachers."

Last fall, the schools of Boston Ballet, Pacific Northwest Ballet and San Francisco Ballet, as well as the School of American Ballet, all welcomed new, full-time Black ballet teachers. To be fair, some of these hires had been in the works for a few years. But what's kept ballet faculties so white for so long?

With a culture akin to country clubs and Ivy League schools, ballet acts like an old boys' network; it's about who you know, and to know the right people, you have to occupy certain spaces. It is cyclic: Access and opportunity creates access and opportunity. That has historically kept the circle quite tight, and white. The common requirement of a certain pedigree and artistic lineage among faculty members has perpetuated a deficit of Black ballet teachers. These additions to the top ballet training programs are a step in the right direction.

School of American Ballet: Aesha Ash

Over a shared history of more than seven decades, New York City Ballet and SAB have maintained the purity of their bloodline with the company hiring almost exclusively from its school, and the school from NYCB alums. That makes diversification of the SAB faculty difficult, since the company has welcomed a total of 32 Black dancers, including 13 current members. Aesha Ash, who joins fellow Black NYCB alum Craig Hall on faculty this year, fits the criteria: "She's a spectacular teacher, she's an SAB alum, a City Ballet alum and understands Mr. Balanchine's aesthetic," says SAB chairman of faculty Kay Mazzo.

For Ash, this is an opportunity to be something she needed when she was a student at the school. "I think about the loneliness and isolation I felt," she says. "If my presence makes one little girl feel validated, my job is done."

There now seems to be a realization that hiring solely from NYCB's ranks inhibits the possibility of true diversification. "We have two visiting faculty chairs this year, Leyland Simmons and Alicia Holloway, both SAB alums, but they didn't dance in City Ballet, so this is a first," says Mazzo. The school also plans to engage participants from SAB's National Visiting Fellows Program, which invites ballet teachers with diverse student populations to teach and observe classes, discuss SAB's curriculum, and engage in dialogue around pedagogy techniques, school management and other topics twice a year. Since 2015 the program has accepted numerous Black teachers. "With our national visiting fellows as guest teachers in the future, we will be opening doors," says Mazzo. "It's no longer the model that Mr. Balanchine and Lincoln Kirstein started."

Boston Ballet School: Andrea Long-Naidu

Boston Ballet School's hiring of Andrea Long-Naidu has a similar thread of lineage. Director Margaret Tracey is a former NYCB principal, and danced there alongside Long-Naidu. "Andrea was a really intelligent dancer in her technical approach. She was incredibly musical and really fast, could learn choreography really quickly," Tracey recalls. She could see those elements in some of Long-Naidu's students who had been accepted into BBS.

Long-Naidu is highly pedigreed: A one-time student of Lupe Serrano (the former American Ballet Theatre star who directed Pennsylvania Ballet's school), she studied at SAB, and is an NYCB alum and former Dance Theatre of Harlem principal. Tracey told her, "Look, you are going to fit in professionally with your expertise automatically. You're going to come into a circle, and a team of people who have a shared background with you."

For Long-Naidu, who comes to BBS from Central Pennsylvania Youth Ballet, this is a dream. She will be teaching a wide range of levels, from children to the second company. "To be in a school where you know that you can directly affect the look of that company is amazing," she says. "For me, as a teacher, to get them from point A to point Z when they go into the company...what an incredible opportunity."

Pacific Northwest Ballet School: Ikolo Griffin

After Kiyon Ross became director of company operations at Pacific Northwest Ballet in 2019, it left a void in the school faculty. He'd been a beloved Black male teacher in the men's division and professional program, so when looking to replace him, there were conversations about the importance of both gender and racial representation. Then Ikolo Griffin's resumé landed on artistic director Peter Boal's desk. Denise Bolstad, PNB School's managing director, was familiar with him—he was a former PNB summer intensive student—and had followed his career: Originally introduced to dance through San Francisco Ballet's Dance in Schools and Communities program, he became SFB's first outreach student to join that company, and he also danced professionally with DTH (as a principal) and The Joffrey Ballet.

"You knew he would teach in a way that would be complementary to what PNB was looking for in a faculty member," Boal says. But, he adds, "You can always question whether or not you should be looking for someone who teaches like you or whether you should expand the way that you're teaching, and that is something that we are thinking about now."

San Francisco Ballet School: Jason Ambrose

When San Francisco Ballet School faculty member Anne-Sophie Rodriguez and Edward Ellison recommended their former Ellison Ballet student Jason Ambrose to SFB school director Patrick Armand, he was struck by his CV. "It was a totally different ball game," says Armand.

Ambrose started late, at 17, in his native Virginia Beach under Cuban Ana Maria Martinez; two years later he was in Pittsburgh Ballet Theatre's graduate program. After attending the Bolshoi Ballet Academy New York summer intensive, he trained at Ellison Ballet for three years and began to choreograph competition solos for his classmates. Just as he was ready to transition to professional, a medical setback derailed him.

"I had a lot of opportunities waiting for me, and then I got really sick and had to go home and have an operation on my stomach related to my Crohn's disease," he says. In 2015, Oleg Vinogradov, director of the Ballet Theatre of St. Petersburg Conservatoire in Russia, saw Ambrose's choreography and invited him to study in the ballet masters and choreographers program, and dance with the program's company.

It was Ambrose's mastery of the Vaganova training that sold Armand. "He is really young to have that quality in his teaching," Armand says. "He has an innate talent; his classes are very sound. He studied Vaganova, so there is a real school behind the process. It is what we needed."

The Power of Representation

For too long, Black ballet teachers were siloed to outreach and community programs because "the kids needed to see themselves." When we talk about representation, most frequently we are referring to marginalized people seeing themselves; however, it is almost more important that white students, parents and patrons see and experience expertise from people of other colors. The truth of the matter is that, though systemic racism may stymie access and opportunity, most non-white people are already aware of their capability.

Building a strong and effective faculty is alchemy. Relying on pedigree takes some of the guesswork out of finding the right fit. However, if schools are looking for diverse representation sooner rather than later, they will have to step outside of their elitist comfort zone and acknowledge the implicit bias that believes only those who have had the prescribed trajectory are capable, and that ballet teachers should look, sound and instruct in a particular way. Schools will have to actively recruit and cultivate teachers with diverse backgrounds the same way they have with students. If we are going to shift the art form, ballet will have to abandon the traditional prescriptive, and embrace unorthodox. We cannot change and stay the same.

Theresa Ruth Howard, founder of MoBBallet, has worked as a consultant at Pacific Northwest Ballet, San Francisco Ballet and Boston Ballet. This piece is a companion to her essay "Tokenism vs. Representation: How Can We Tell Them Apart?"

[countesspetofi]

I thought I'd like to share with you this little story that my family used to read aloud every Christmas. It's got all the mid-century holiday anxieties: fear of overconsumerism, distrust/dislike of the younger generation, distrust of technology, war toys, "I am a human being: do not fold, spindle, or mutilate," fear of loss of individuality, and a general fondness for complaining. I've tried to preserve all the old-timey formatting choices.

But we always got a lot of laughs out of it, and certain lines have become stock phrases in our family jargon. Plus, it flashes me back to two of my former jobs, assembling furniture and technical writing. Consider it our gift to you this holiday season, and you don't even have to assemble it yourself.

MERRY CHRISTMAS IN TEN PIECES

by Robert Yoder

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus, and he has a home near the North Pole, where it is colder than a bathroom floor. But don't believe that story about his having a lot of little dwarfs who put toys together for him, singing as they hammer. Nobody puts toys together, until Christmas Eve. Toys come in sixteen pieces, with one missing, and are put together by a large band of Involuntary Elves who call ourselves Santa's Press-Gang Helpers. We don't exactly sing, either, although a certain low, ominous murmur can be heard rising from a million homes on Christmas Eve. Put it this way, kid: that ain't no dwarf; that's your old man, beaten down. The luckless peon bought the toys; now he is learning that he has to finish manufacturing them, too, and by one A.M. his mood will make Scrooge seem like Sunny Ebenezer.

The first thing your frightened eye lights on, in the store, is a nice little red wagon, and you think, in your fatuous adult way, that this is just the thing to brighten the young heart. If you weren't partially paralyzed by the fear that you were shopping too late, you would realize that if the kid wants a wagon at all, it isn't this chaste little model. He would want one twice the size, with demountable tires, a ram-jet engine, electric lights, an overdrive and a windshield wiper, at $79.75. The kid next door has had one like that for two years and uses it only to haul his good toys in. Then you see the rocket-firing antiaircraft gun and realize that this is the answer. While it will not do bodily harm, and is therefore a partial bust to start with, it is a realistic-looking little number, and you buy it, at an exceedingly realistic price.

About the hour on Christmas Eve when you are in mild shock for fear the thing won't arrive, the delivery man stumbles in with a large package that can't be anything else. Will you put it under the tree that way? Or will you have it out in the open, so the child may see this splendid sight first thing in the morning? Full of Christmas sentiment, you decide to expose the gun to full, gladsome view. So you tear off the wrapping. Here is a dial, here is a leg, here is a muzzle. You thought it would look like the model in the store, did you? Well, Santa has a little surprise for you. It's in pieces, and you are going to have to put it together. Merry Christmas, in at least ten pieces.

There is a sheet or folder of directions which could not get under your skin worse if they were in Spanish. They are written in the special language of directions, a mechanical gobbledegook achieved by writing the directions first in Ruthenian and then allowing the translation to curdle. A stop sign from the same mumbling pen would take 200 words. In the language of directions, "Close the door" would read like this: "Grasp door-opening device with right knob grasper and exert pressure outward until Panel A fills Aperture B. If scream is heard, other hand may be caught in opening." Along with being as turgid as possible, the directions are printed in a miniature type face known as Myopia Old Style, which is two sizes smaller than pearl and is otherwise used only to print the Declaration of Independence on souvenir pennies. Well, lying there in pieces, the gun looks like nothing at all; it's got to be assembled. The first line you encounter in the directions says: "Using ring grasper from Assembly Kit, grasp collector ring near tube spar tightening guide rod"... but, thank heaven, that goes with some other toy. Your own directions start out more simply: "Connect round opening at end of Feeder Spring A with hooked end of trigger lock restraining bar by placing round opening over hook and pressing." What'd he think you'd do - spot-weld it? (The answer, unfortunately, is that he expects more than that, but not just yet.) Now the guy begins getting esoteric.

"If retaining mechanism fails to admit trigger, horizontal opening of drum impeding stopper should be widened horizontally." He means if the damned trigger won't go into the guard, you got to cut more room, and sure enough, it won't. This is going to be the only gun in the neighborhood with a demountable (falling out) trigger, unless you fix it. If retaining mechanism fails to admit what it's supposed to retain, then it should never have left the factory, but it's too late for that kind of recrimination now. Getting a hammer from the basement, a good paring knife and a screwdriver, you manage to make the trigger go where it should, with one very bad moment when you think you've split the thing.

Well, the barrel, H, slides into place nicely; maybe things are beginning to go your way. The next step is to fit Firing Platform Z on Tripod, the Tripod being made by inserting Metal-tipped Ends of Legs into Sockets, which is child's play. Now all it takes is two bolts, L and M, which you slip into place with great efficiency. They must be firmly in place, the directions say, or gun will not swivel on Platform Z; you might say, it won't swivel on any platform. A neat little bag contained the bolts, and in it you find the nut for bolt L But half an hour later you are still rummaging through wrapping paper in a grim search for the other nut, the crucial nut, the nut without which, as the Latins say, nothing. You may have 128 nuts of assorted sizes in a jar in the basement, but you will not have one that fits Bolt M. That is a freak size used nowhere else in the whole panoply of American industry. It is part of a shipment the toy manufacturer bought up from the Uruguayan War Assets Administration.

it is 11:45 by the time you manage to make the bolt hold with a piece of wire wrapped around it, and if the kid looks at that part, he will feel sure this toy is something the firemen repainted for the poor. Meanwhile the house is grown cold, three of the Christmas-tree lights have winked at you by burning out, and your cigarette has fallen out of the ash tray and burned a six-dollar hole in the carpet. But the gun is starting to look like a weapon, and there can't be much more - only a couple of odd-looking metal pieces are left and a cardboard circle marked "Cosmic Ray Computer Dial."

One of the pieces of metal is easy enough to use. It's the missing plug, for lack of which the barrel has had that tendency to point to the floor like the tail of a whipped hound. The other is the crank with which the young gunner moves the barrel to keep on his target. You tackle the easiest job first - the computer is nothing more than two sections of light cardboard. "Bending tabs A, C, E and G," the directions say, "fit them into Slots B, D, F and H." The cardboard is a special kind which is a stiff as metal for a minute and then relaxes completely as you push, so that in twenty minutes you have four dog-eared tabs holding one crumpled dial marked with a little blood from the finger you cut trying to enlarge the slots.

Now you reach the part of the directions that tell you to fix on the telescopic sight. The diagram shows a handsome metal gadget coming to a square end, fitted into a ring fastened neatly around the end of the barrel. The only piece of metal you have left, outside of the crank, is a cotter pin. Even if you had missing part R, you would have nothing like missing part Q which fits into it. You ransack the wrapping paper again, in what the novelists call cold fury, but with no luck. Finally, with great self-control you smooth the wrinkled directions and read that jargon over again out loud. It is then that you come across Step 2. "In assembling Model A-200 Junior, our second-rate cheaper model for pikers, Step 2 may be disregarded," the directions say. "No sight comes with this model. There is, however, a cotter pin. You can stick it on the barrel with adhesive tape and play like it's a sight. It ain't much, but neither are you."

There is one final step - mounting the crank. "Slip Directional Crank 16 through Arm Y into Slot EE," the directions say. "When in position, give crank one quarter turn counterclockwise. Trigger should then fall sharply back into firing position." This is simplicity itself, and the only trouble is that if the crank goes through Arm Y, it misses Slot EE by a good quarter of an inch. The bitter thoughts that arise on Christmas Eve about the sleepwalker who bored that slot must visibly affect the temperature.

But the direction writer thought about this impasse, forehanded soul that he is. "It may be necessary, for best results - meaning, to make the thing work at all - to enlarge aperture in Arm Y. This can be done quickly and easily by using a 16.3 metal file without tang, a 13-oz. dinging hammer, and some Australian canoe-builders' flux." This is equipment the ordinary household would be just as likely to have as a Javanese blow gun and a guroo bird, and you know, as your thoughts profane the early Christmas air, that the only 16.3 file in the world is one resting in the manufacturers plant 850.3 miles away across the snowy landscape. So you gouge out a new Slot EE four times the proper size, the crank falls into place, wobbling foolishly, and the task is done. If it holds together until Christmas afternoon you will be agreeably surprised, and a glance at the clock tells you that won't be long.

Yes, Virginia, there is a Santa Claus. If there weren't, ugly mobs of maddened parents would rove the streets Christmas Day armed with bolts, pins, wheels and axles, and some toy manufacturer would end up assembled on Movable Rail A wearing Tar B and Feathers C, after a slight going-over with No. 16 emery paper and a common hydraulic half-knurled center punch.