#caper pen

[maripapercat]

the more I try to escape the more I get absorbed in the fandom, so last night I started looking on pinterest for all error and ink fanchilds I could find, I tried to find the credits of all but I couldn't, I'll probably draw them all at some point as I want to draw them (and many others that I found and didn't fit on the canvas) in more detail

credits ☟︎

inspired by this

Paper Jam - @7goodangel

Gradient - @askcomboclub

Drop - uyuni-piyo ?

Den - @thenerdartkid ?

Design - @pepper-mint

Cinnamon - @thesmallsoul ?

Spilled ink - @edythilusion

Bonbon - @sosozsofieia

Sketch - @winterbreh20 ?

Stylus - @romandraconics

White ink- @sapphirescarletta123

Pandora - @zsofieia

Caper Pen - @lostorigin

Glim - not found

Errin - @verinel2

Despair/spectrum- andrewture (toyhouse)

Guffe - seaseelie (twitter)

Adobe - 80sneoncowboy (twitter)

Spatter and splatter - nutella kuu ?

Rain - @xxxxsrtaluna

Monochrome - @kamigarin

Graphite - petra (amino)

Wrongink and overlay - not found

Acrylic - @drawsomeshet

hey, here are more errorink fanchilds in case you are interested :]

[moonthay]

M!Icoa: foto em família!/family photo! *Abraça M!Caff/Hug M!Caff*

M!Caff: boa ideia, vem Guffe!/Good idea, come Guffe!

M!Guffe: o que? Não isso é uma foto em família, eu não sou da família-/What? No, this is a family photo, I'm not family-

M!Ccino: você trabalha aqui a tanto tempo que é como se fosse, bobinho!/You’ve worked here for so long that it’s like you’re part of the family, silly! *M!Ccino tira a foto/M!Ccino take a picture*

MoonFanchild Tale: cafeteria

Eles com o uniforme da cafeteria na foto que M!Ccino tirou, esse é um post pra falar e mostrar mais da cafeteria(que eu já fiz post, animação e Comic), M!Guffe já tem um desenho aqui sem o uniforme da cafeteria os outros dois eu ainda vou fazer um post com a roupa normal deles e mais sobre os irmãos FluffyNight

Uniforme da cafeteria do M!Ccino

M!Guffe trabalha na cozinha então usa o avental longo e ele usa a calça normal dele por ser social, mas a do uniforme é preta/cinza. M!Caff sua função é no balcão e ajuda a servir as mesas com seus tentáculos então ela usa avental menor já que não cozinha. M!Icoa é um faz-tudo porém fica mais na sala dos gatinhos auxiliando os clientes na visitação e também atende mesas enquanto M!Ccino gerência tudo

Sala dos gatinhos, planta da cafeteria e casa do M!Ccino:

Os gatos machos que normalmente ficam como atração da loja, já as gatas fêmeas e os filhotes ficam na sala do M!Ccino no andar de cima da casa e os clientes só podem visitá-los com horário marcado pra as gatas fêmeas não ficarem bravas com gente perto dos filhotes

Sala do M!Ccino no segundo andar:

MoonFanchild Tale By me

Ccino Sans and FluffyTale By @black-nyanko

Caff Sans By @curly-panro

Icoa Sans By @pepper-mint

Guffe Sans By @lunnar-chan

[luveline]

HI!!! so i am obsessed with your reader x coworker james first kiss fic. can we maybe get something about what came after? like how were the interactions the day or week after, how did they behave around each other, did james tell the boys or was he too nervous?

—you and James maintain a facade that Remus sees through

James wheels his chair to be as far from you as possible. He leans back, turns his monitor. Through the gap, he has a perfect window of your face without it being obvious that he’s staring. Well, sort of. 

Stop staring. 

James reads Remus’ slack message in surprise. He glances at you, finds you still snacking on chocolate covered somethings less covertly than you mean to be, and decides to grace his friend with a message back. 

Nope 

James, Remus messages. 

I’m not really staring 

You’re staring. She can definitely tell 

James looks back to you, hoping to prove Remus wrong, but you’re staring straight at him. He has the instinct to look away and the sense not to, charmed into grinning when you squint at him, your mock suspiciousness adorable. 

“James,” Remus says, clearing his throat. 

James pulls his gaze away reluctantly. “What?” 

“Can you answer my email?” 

The email isn’t an email, but another slack message. Are you serious right now? You couldn’t be more obvious if you tried 

James flicks a pen lid at him. “Obvious about what?” he mouths. 

You get up and stretch, tactically failing to meet anyone’s eyes as you pick up your empty glass of water and leave. 

“James, what’s going on?” 

“What ever could you mean, my love?” 

Remus rolls his chair toward. “Don’t flirt with me. I’m serious, what the hell is going on with you? You’re supposed to hate the girl.” 

“Hate is such a strong word.”

“Well, you’re being a bit much no matter what.” 

James bites his cheek in a hurry to straighten up. “You think so?” 

Remus just stares at him.

James has done a fantastic job at keeping your kiss a secret. He doesn’t know how, mind you —you kissed him, you kissed him, you asked if you could and you kissed him like a sweetheart with the softest mouth he’s ever had the fortune to feel pressed against his own. 

Since your kiss, he’s been feeling weirdly poetic. He totally gets all those Carol Ann Duffy poems they made him read at school now. 

One day without telling anybody is impressive, at least to his own standards. “I know what I’m doing,” he says. 

Remus frowns. “I’d love to be informed on what exactly that is.” 

“Certain events have transpired and convinced me that I was quite wrong to have judged our girl so harshly.”

“Certain events?” 

“I’m allowed some mystery,” James says, before smiling so hard it makes him squint and his cheeks apple. He rubs at his face roughly in an attempt to move forward, but he remembers the way your kiss had melded from soft and shy to hungry. Fuck, he loved it. He needs another one. He has no idea how to get it. “Ugh, I’m gonna go get my lunch from the fridge.” 

“Sure you are. Alright, well, I’m gonna find Sirius and maybe he can convince you to start acting normal again.”

James goes to the kitchen first but abandons his charade when you aren’t there. He grabs his lunch, tucking it under his arm as he makes his way through to the break room. You’re thankfully, blissfully, sitting by the open window with a shop-bought salad. 

He nods at the chair across from you. “Can I sit?” 

“Yes.” 

“That’s all you're eating?” he asks. A little tray of salad is hardly enough to keep you going until the end of the day. “I have gyoza chilli noodle soup, it’s amazing.” 

“You’re gonna eat it cold?” you ask. 

He leans forward, elbows on the table, holding your gaze. “No, but I’m busy right now.” He needs time to look you over. Every time he realises how pretty you are is like another beat of his capering pulse. 

“Don’t harass me.” 

“I’m not harassing you.” 

“What would you call this?” You stab a few pieces of lettuce onto your fork. “I can’t have much more for dinner, I just had half a packet of chocolate covered strawberries.” 

“Don’t say that, like some snacks and a salad are more than you’re allowed. Here, I'll warm this up and you can share. You’ll really like it, the gyoza are amazing.” 

“So what, you’re gonna take care of me now?” you ask. You’re teasing, but there’s a slight edge of bitterness to it like you believe what you’re saying. James is swift to set that right, though he stays speaking in tongues with you.

“I’ve been trying to.” James can hear footsteps at the doorway, and besides, you’re right, he’s being too nice. He sucks in an unbothered breath. “Whatever, loser, stick to your sad salad.” 

Your eyes widen. “I don’t want your cold soup, you idiot.” 

Sirius and Remus filter in with one of your coworkers just behind them. “I thought you said he was being weird?” Sirius asks. “He seems pretty normal to me.” 

Remus sighs forlornly, prompting a side hug from his boyfriend as he shepherds him to the table where you and James are sitting.

“He’s always being weird,” you say. 

James kicks your foot gently. You pick through your salad with a poorly concealed smile. 

[foundnthestars]

!!!! Hi mootie!!!! I have A Thing

SO. I'm a firm believer in Dipper "make a list or plan for absolutely everything" Pines leaves notes for himself around the house CONSTANTLY

Do you think Ford would stumble across them? When he least expects it, opens a cabinet, lifts a cup, and there's a little folded scrap of paper with "Stan's favorite cup, always put back top side down!" Underneath? Do you think he opens a drawer looking for a pen and finds a little "Out of double A batteries, ask Soos to get more!" Perched on the top? Do you think he learns about his nephew this way. Do you think he feels bad

(Hi Sky I hope ur having a good weekend!! :] Awful weather up here, hoping yours has been a little nicer!!)

hi there!!! as always, i loveee your contributions to this au, and this whole Thing in particular will be something so important to ford's arc in ttwl!

i think similarly to how ford haunted dipper's narrative over the summer, dipper will haunt much of ford's waking and sleeping life over the next couple years. i mentioned in the last post the idea that ford will stumble upon some of dipper's old "who is the author?" notes all over the place, and these would definitely be among the most impactful artifacts left behind for ford. like, he's heard from mabel and everyone else just how much dipper revered him, but to see the proof left behind is another thing completely. he reads dipper's scrawl in the journal, the entry after he'd successfully captured a gremloblin, and feels sick to his stomach at the words "I wonder if the Author would be impressed."

and then there's the other stuff too, the evidence of dipper's life that is separate from ford and dipper's summer-long curiosity over him. there are the banal things — the things that anyone else might just overlook. these are the lists and notes. the "i am pretending to write something down" clipboard ditched in the deep recesses of a drawer somewhere, the paper crinkled and forgotten. a note left behind for wendy taped to the cash register, "stan's orthopedic back pillow: living room cabinet, top shelf to the right." or, "mabel+grenda+candy sleepover tomorrow, buy earplugs" left somewhere in the living room. a four-pack of pitt cola forgotten back in the fridge, labeled "DIPPER'S! DON'T TOUCH, MABEL!"

he grows an inexplicable fondness for dipper in this quiet, recordable existence he's left behind.

but why stop at notes and lists? here are some other ways dipper haunts the mystery shack and ford's life!

there's a slight indentation in the wall with another one just a millimeter higher up on the wall, right around mabel's height. next to the marks are some hastily scribbled measurements and the kids' initials, written in his brother's famously indecipherable script

a copy of The Case of the Caper-Case Caper, one of Ford's old personal favorites when he and Stan used to read the Sibling Brothers as kids

a waste bucket full of broken, bleeding blue ballpoint pens

there are scratch marks over the eye of his stained glass triangular window, crafted with his old muse in mind, up in the attic, as if someone had frantically tried to scrape it off with a sharp object of some sort

(hi copper!! my weekend's great, hope you're having a good one too!! it's been rainy here off and on, but we definitely need it!! hope the weather gets better where you're at!!)

[sizeofyoursoul]

I didn’t fear for Lestat, not really. I had no hopes for his adventure, except that he would appear sooner or later and tell us some fantastical yarn. It would be regular Lestat talk, for nobody aggrandizes as he does his preposterous adventures. This is not to say that he hasn’t switched bodies with a human. I know that he has. This is not to say that he didn’t wake our fearsome goddess Mother, Akasha; I know that he did. This is not to say that he didn’t smash my old superstitious Coven to bits and pieces in the garish years before the French Revolution. I’ve already told you so. But it’s the way he describes things that happen to him that maddens me, the way that he connects one incident to another as though all these random and grisly occurrences were in fact links in some significant chain. They are not. They are capers. And he knows it. But he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe. The James Bond of the Vampires, the Sam Spade of his own pages! A rock singer wailing on a mortal stage for all of two hours and, on the strength of that, retiring with a slew of recordings that feed him filthy lucre still from human agencies to this very night. He has a knack for making tragedy of tribulation, and forgiving himself for anything and everything in every confessional paragraph he pens.

Armand on Lestat, The Vampire Armand by Anne Rice

[book--brackets]

Summaries under the cut

Smile by Raina Telgemeier

Raina just wants to be a normal sixth grader. But one night after Girl Scouts she trips and falls, severely injuring her two front teeth, and what follows is a long and frustrating journey with on-again, off-again braces, surgery, embarrassing headgear, and even a retainer with fake teeth attached. And on top of all that, there’s still more to deal with: a major earthquake, boy confusion, and friends who turn out to be not so friendly. This coming-of-age true story is sure to resonate with anyone who has ever been in middle school, and especially those who have ever had a bit of their own dental drama.

Arc of a Scythe by Neal Shusterman

Thou shalt kill.

A world with no hunger, no disease, no war, no misery. Humanity has conquered all those things, and has even conquered death. Now scythes are the only ones who can end life—and they are commanded to do so, in order to keep the size of the population under control.

Citra and Rowan are chosen to apprentice to a scythe—a role that neither wants. These teens must master the “art” of taking life, knowing that the consequence of failure could mean losing their own.

Maximum Ride by James Patterson

Six unforgettable kids — with no families, no homes — are running for their lives. Max Ride and her best friends have the ability to fly. And that's just the beginning of their amazing powers. But they don't know where they come from, who's hunting them, why they are different from all other humans... and if they're meant to save mankind — or destroy it.

From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler by E. L. Konigsburg

When Claudia decided to run away, she planned very carefully. She would be gone just long enough to teach her parents a lesson in Claudia appreciation. And she would go in comfort - she would live at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. She saved her money, and she invited her brother Jamie to go, mostly because he was a miser and would have money.

Claudia was a good organizer and Jamie had some ideas, too; so the two took up residence at the museum right on schedule. But once the fun of settling in was over, Claudia had two unexpected problems: She felt just the same, and she wanted to feel different; and she found a statue at the Museum so beautiful she could not go home until she had discovered its maker, a question that baffled the experts, too.

The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Grahame

For more than a century, The Wind in the Willows and its endearing protagonists—Mole, Water Rat, Badger, and, of course, the incorrigible Toad—have enchanted children of all ages. Whether the four friends are setting forth on an exciting adventure, engaging in a comic caper, or simply relaxing by the River Thames, their stories will surprise and captivate you.

Hailed as one of the most enduringly popular works of the twentieth century, this story is a classic of magical fancy and enchanting wit. Penned in lyrical prose, the adventures and misadventures of the book’s intrepid quartet of heroes raise fantasy to the level of myth. Reflecting the freshness of childhood wonder, it still offers adults endless sophistication, substance, and depth.

Abhorsen by Garth Nix

Sent to a boarding school in Ancelstierre as a young child, Sabriel has had little experience with the random power of Free Magic or the Dead who refuse to stay dead in the Old Kingdom. But during her final semester, her father, the Abhorsen, goes missing, and Sabriel knows she must enter the Old Kingdom to find him.

The Westing Game by Ellen Raskin

A bizarre chain of events begins when sixteen unlikely people gather for the reading of Samuel W. Westing's will. And though no one knows why the eccentric, game-loving millionaire has chosen a virtual stranger—and a possible murderer—to inherit his vast fortune, one thing's for sure: Sam Westing may be dead ... but that won't stop him from playing one last game!

Gone by Michael Grant

In the blink of an eye, everyone disappears. Gone. Except for the young.

There are teens, but not one single adult. Just as suddenly, there are no phones, no internet, no television. No way to get help. And no way to figure out what's happened.

Hunger threatens. Bullies rule. A sinister creature lurks. Animals are mutating. And the teens themselves are changing, developing new talents—unimaginable, dangerous, deadly powers—that grow stronger by the day. It's a terrifying new world. Sides are being chosen, a fight is shaping up. Townies against rich kids. Bullies against the weak. Powerful against powerless. And time is running out: On your 15th birthday, you disappear just like everyone else...

Heidi by Johanna Spyri

Little orphan Heidi goes to live high in the Alps with her gruff grandfather and brings happiness to all who know her on the mountain. When Heidi goes to Frankfurt to work in a wealthy household, she dreams of returning to the mountains and meadows, her friend Peter, and her beloved grandfather.

The Neverending Story by Michael Ende

The story begins with a lonely boy named Bastian and the strange book that draws him into the beautiful but doomed world of Fantastica. Only a human can save this enchanted place by giving its ruler, the Childlike Empress, a new name. But the journey to her tower leads through lands of dragons, giants, monsters, and magic, and once Bastian begins his quest, he may never return. As he is drawn deeper into Fantastica, he must find the courage to face unspeakable foes and the mysteries of his own heart.

[adamnablelittledevil]

"There is Lestat, first and foremost, the author of four books of his life and his adventures comprising everything you could ever possibly want to know about him and some of us. Lestat, ever the maverick and the laughing trickster. Six feet tall, a young man of twenty when made, with huge warm blue eyes and thick flashy blond hair, square of jaw, with a generous beautifully shaped mouth and skin darkened by a sojourn in the sun which would have killed a weaker vampire, a ladies' man, an Oscar Wildean fantasy, the glass of fashion, the most bold and disregarding dusty vagabond on occasion, loner, wanderer, heart-breaker and wise guy, dubbed the "Brat Prince" by my old Master - yes, imagine it, my Marius, yes, my Marius, who did indeed survive the torches of the Roman Coven-dubbed by Marius the 'Brat Prince,' though in whose Court and by whose Divine Right and whose Royal Blood I should like to know. Lestat, stuffed with the blood of the most ancient of our kind, indeed the very blood of the Eve of our species, some five to seven thousand years the survivor of her Eden, a perfect horror who, emerging from the deceptive poetical title of Queen Akasha of Those Who Must Be Kept, almost destroyed the world. Lestat, not a bad friend to have, and one for whom I would lay down my immortal life, one for whose love and companionship I have ofttimes begged, one whom I find maddening and fascinating and intolerably annoying, one without whom I cannot exist.

[...]

But Lestat was calling. Lestat was, or so he claimed, afraid. I had to go. The last time he'd been in trouble, I hadn't been free to rush to his rescue. There is a story to that, but nothing as important as this one which I tell now. Now I knew that my hard-won peace of mind might be shattered by the mere contact with him, but he wanted me to come, so I went.

[...]

Of course I knew the very moment that he left this world. I felt it. I was in New York already, very near to him and aware that you were there as well. Neither of us meant to let him out of our sight if at all possible. Then came the moment when he vanished in the blizzard, when he was sucked out of the earthly atmosphere as if he'd never been there. Being his fledgling you couldn't hear the perfect silence that descended when he vanished. You couldn't know how completely he'd been withdrawn from all things minuscule yet material which had once echoed with the beating of his heart. I knew.

[...]

I didn't fear for Lestat, not really. I had no hopes for his adventure, except that he would appear sooner or later and tell us some fantastical yarn. It would be regular Lestat talk, for nobody aggrandizes as he does his preposterous adventures. This is not to say that he hasn't switched bodies with a human. I know that he has. This is not to say that he didn't wake our fearsome goddess Mother, Akasha; I know that he did. This is not to say that he didn't smash my old superstitious Coven to bits and pieces in the garish years before the French Revolution. I've already told you so. But it's the way he describes things that happen to him that maddens me, the way that he connects one incident to another as though all these random and grisly occurrences were in fact links in some significant chain. They are not. They are capers. And he knows it. But he must make a gutter theatrical out of stubbing his toe. The James Bond of the Vampires, the Sam Spade of his own pages! A rock singer wailing on a mortal stage for all of two hours and, on the strength of that, retiring with a slew of recordings that feed him filthy lucre still from human agencies to this very night. He has a knack for making tragedy of tribulation, and forgiving himself for anything and everything in every confessional paragraph he pens. I can't fault him, really. I cannot help but hate it that he lies now in a coma on the floor of his chapel here, staring into a self-contained silence, despite the fledglings that circle him for precisely the same reason as I did, to see for themselves if the blood of Christ has transformed him somehow and he does not represent some magnificent manifestation of the miracle of the Transubstantiation. But I'll come to that soon enough. I've ranted myself into a little corner. I know why I resent him so, and find it so soothing to hammer at his reputation, to beat upon his immensity with both my fists. He has taught me too much. He has brought me to this very moment, here, where I stand dictating to you my past with a coherence and calm that would have been impossible before I came to his assistance with his precious Memnoch the Devil and his vulnerable little Dora. Two hundred years ago he stripped me of illusions, lies, excuses, and thrust me on the Paris pavements naked to find my way back to a glory in the starlight that I had once known and too painfully lost. But as we waited finally in the handsome high-rise apartment above St. Patrick's Cathedral, I had no idea how much more he could strip from me, and I hate him only because I cannot imagine my soul without him now, and, owing him all that I am and know, I can do nothing to make him wake from his frigid sleep. But let me take things one at a time. What good is it to go back down now to the chapel here and lay my hands on him again and beg him to listen to me, when he lies as though all sense has truly left him and will never return. I can't accept this. I won't. I've lost all patience; I've lost the numbness that was my consolation. I find this moment intolerable."

THIS CHAPTER ISN'T OVER YET AND IT'S ALREADY PEAK INSANITY OMG

[gundamthey17]

Day 7 of Payneland Promptfest 2024

Read on AO3

Holy crap, I finished it. Only 2 months late, and only.... 15 days after my initial goal. Look, it's good to set goals for yourself, and it's also good to be gentle with yourself when you don't reach those goals. Also, this one got away from me a bit and is more than twice as long as any other I've written for this series. So there's that.

Thanks to everyone who participated in this prompt fest, and who continues to participate in the fandom! It's seriously been one of the few bright points in a pretty dark world recently.

Day 7: Gift giving

Title: The Best Gift Of All (Is You)

Summary: In which Edwin and Charles both search for the perfect gift for each other.

Day 7: solstice | “It’s tradition” | gift giving

Edwin hadn't been this frustrated since the Disappearing Spellbook Caper of '16. He had visited four shops in the greater London area, all of which had proved successful in the past, and not one of them had what he was looking for. This particular quarry was becoming harder and harder to find. It was, Edwin guessed, a sign of the times, but all the same, it filled him with a sense of sadness. And, at moments like these, frustration.

It was one of the major downsides of being a ghost; the world of the living continued to progress, but ghosts had a tendency to stay put. Edwin had always theorized that regular contact with the living could mitigate some of those effects, but of course had never sought to test the theory himself. However, now that Crystal was an official part of the Agency, this theory was already proving true, in some ways. Edwin did not understand the internet, not by half, but Crystal's ability to use it had already proven useful on a number of cases. But most ghosts did not have the luxury of interacting with the living on a regular basis (at least, not in a constructive way), and so they were left behind, clinging to whatever scraps of their life they could remember.

Edwin's case was unique, obviously. He had emerged from hell after 73 years into a world that was nearly unrecognizable from his own, and on the cusp of a technological revolution besides. His experience was not one of nostalgia so much as bewilderment, as technology, fashion, customs, and even language had changed drastically since he was alive. One of the things he sometimes took for granted about Charles was Charles' ability to navigate this world that was so utterly alien to Edwin. There had been plenty of awkward moments where the meaning of a word or action had changed since Edwin's time, leading to him unknowingly committing some social faux pas. Charles always handled them with patience and good humor, and never seemed to tire of explaining new things, for which Edwin was infinitely grateful. But Charles was having the far more common ghostly experience of watching the world he knew change, slowly and steadily, before his eyes. The world he had known was slipping away, faster and faster every year. Charles never said anything about it, of course, but there were times when Edwin caught glimpses of the nostalgia and loss that he was experiencing. When a restaurant Charles had frequented went out of business, or a singer he had liked died, or when he realized people no longer used VHS tapes to watch movies. Things that had been commonplace when Charles was alive were becoming rare. Hence Edwin's current predicament.

He tapped his pen on his notebook, trying to decide what to do next. He could ask Crystal for help, but he was hesitant to do so for a number of reasons. Not the least of which was that she was terrible at keeping secrets. But perhaps there was another person he could ask... Nodding to himself and tucking his notebook safely away in his pocket, he ducked into a store in search of a mirror.

"Hello, Jenny."

Jenny started violently. "Jesus!" she cried, looking up from her cutting board to see one of Crystal's ghost friends standing in the middle of her shop. "Can't you make some noise when you walk?"

The boy - Edwin, she recalled belatedly - frowned at her, tilting his head slightly. "No, I cannot." He sounded thoroughly confused by the question.

"Okay, fine, that tracks. But I know you can touch stuff. There's a bell on the door - you know, so I can hear people come in. You could use that."

Edwin turned toward the door, glancing up at the bell mounted to the top of the frame. With a look of concentration, he suddenly floated off the ground, hovered about a foot in the air, reached up, and rang the bell. Then he gently lowered himself back down to the floor. Jenny watched the whole thing, unable to tear her eyes away. When he was standing on the ground again, he turned back to face her. "Is that better?"

"No. That was so much worse. Never do that again."

"My apologies," Edwin said politely. "I did not mean to startle you."

"Not that it's not good to see you again, but what do you want?" Realizing that Edwin was alone, her frown deepened. "Are Crystal and Charles alright? Do you need help with something? It's not Esther Finch again, is it?"

Edwin held up a hand placatingly. "Charles and Crystal are fine, and no, we have not had any further run-ins with Esther Finch. I would like to ask for your help, but it is more of a... personal matter."

"Um." Jenny blinked. She had no clue what sort of personal matter an Edwardian ghost might want her help with, but it seemed rude to turn him away. "Yeah, okay. What's up?"

"While I was counting cats here in Port Townsend, I noticed a number of eclectic shops. I was wondering if you knew whether any of them might sell cassette tapes."

Jenny had no idea what he meant by counting cats, but decided she didn't want to know. "Cassette tapes?"

"Yes. They are a medium for listening to music –"

"I know what cassette tapes are," she interrupted. "Are you looking for blank ones, or ones with music on them?"

"With music. Compact discs would also do, but cassettes are preferable."

Jenny thought for a moment. "I'm not sure. People don't use cassettes much anymore. Would a record work? Those are making a comeback."

"No, cassettes were the preferred medium in Charles' day."

"Oh, it's for Charles?" His request suddenly made much more sense.

Edwin shifted uncomfortably and stood a little straighter. "Yes, it is a gift. A... tradition, you might say."

"That's sweet. So are you two...?" She cut herself off before Edwin could answer. "You know what, that's none of my business. Cassette tapes, huh? Any particular band or genre?" 

Edwin pulled a notebook from an inside pocket of his jacket and flipped through it as he spoke. “Charles is partial to ska music, although he enjoys other genres as well.” Once he found what he was looking for, he paused, running his finger down the page. “He has recently expressed interest in a band called… Skankin’ Pickle,” he said, enunciating the words carefully. “They were popular in the 1990s.”

Jenny coughed in an attempt not to laugh at the sound of those words in Edwin’s particular accent. “I haven't heard of them, but I was never really into ska.” She paused, considering. "Honestly, you'd probably have more luck on eBay."

Edwin retrieved a pen from his jacket as well, and flipped to another page in his notebook. "And where is this E Bay?"

"Oh. Um, it's a website. On the internet."

"Ah." Edwin's face fell. "Well, thank you anyway." He turned to leave, disappointment evident on his face.

"Hang on! Actually, there is a store. It's called Mojo's, it's got all kinds of weird old electronics and stuff. I don't know for sure if they have cassettes, but it's worth a shot."

Edwin actually smiled. "Thank you. And where is Mojo's?"

"It's on the corner of Washington and Main. I can give you directions."

"No need." Edwin made a strange gesture, turning his wrist and pressing two fingers to his temple. "Washington and Main," he murmured to himself. "Yes, I remember where that is."

"You remember a random intersection in a town you haven't been to in over a year?"

Edwin’s voice took on a measured quality. “I am… very good with directions,” he said crisply.

There was a story there for sure, one Edwin did not want to tell, and Jenny had zero interest in prying. This world of ghosts and demons and witches had invaded her home and quite literally blown up her life. She liked Edwin and Charles well enough, and was glad that Crystal kept her updated on how they were all doing, but their presence tended to bring… if not trouble, definitely a certain amount of chaos.

“Gotcha,” she murmured. “So, do you need anything else, or…?”

“No, that is all. I appreciate your help.”

“No problem. And hey –” Jenny hesitated, knowing full well she might regret what she was about to say. “If you can't find what you're looking for, or if you wanna learn how to use eBay… you can come back and I'll show you.”

“Thank you,” Edwin replied. He turned and walked through the shop’s door without opening it.

“Fucking ghosts,” Jenny sighed.

Edwin’s luck had changed for the better. Mojo’s, it turned out, boasted a large collection of cassettes, compact discs, and records. There were a number of electronic items that Charles had identified for him on previous occasions: victrolas (which looked similar enough to the ones from his day that he'd been able to guess at their function), handheld Walkmans, and boom boxes. There were also some unfamiliar items, which Edwin suspected had come after Charles' time - small devices with screens, some of which were flat, others more boxy, like squatter versions of Crystal’s mobile phone. Edwin assumed they must also play music, but he couldn't fathom how. He pulled out his notebook and jotted down a reminder to ask Crystal about them sometime.

In all honesty, Edwin likely could have spent a long time perusing the store and its modern (to him, anyway) wares. He thought he might come back, and perhaps even bring Charles along sometime. But for now, he had a task to complete. The only other person in the store was an employee, seated behind a counter, engrossed in their mobile phone. They had not looked up when Edwin walked in. This was not surprising; in Edwin’s experience, the majority of the living could not see ghosts. Just to be sure, he walked up to the counter and cleared his throat loudly. The employee did not stir.

Edwin and Charles had plenty of experience with standard, living shops, as various needs for the Agency had arisen over the years. There were occasional clients who paid with regular currency, and they tried to save it for these instances. If they did not have enough money, they chose items from their collection that they thought would be most useful for a living person, and left them in place of whatever they wanted to purchase. Edwin currently had some money left over from a case involving the removal of a possessed squirrel from their client’s property. The client had living relatives who still resided on the property, and was somehow able to negotiate payment for the detectives. So money would not be an issue.

The actual act of purchasing the cassette would be a bit trickier. Certainly, a proprietor’s ability to see ghosts (and willingness to do business with them) made such things much easier. When that was not an option, Edwin usually preferred to go into the shops when they were closed, take whatever he needed, and leave the money or trade item in its place. There would be mild confusion when the store reopened, but in Edwin’s experience, it had never provoked true alarm. Taking a cassette unnoticed, while the store was both open and completely empty, would likely be difficult, but it could not be helped. Charles and Crystal were tracking down a lead for their current case. Edwin had taken advantage of their absence to go on this little quest, but they would likely be returning to the office soon. He wanted to make it back before they did, so as not to arouse suspicion.

Right. To work, then. Edwin scanned the many stacks of cassette tapes. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason to the stacks; they were not alphabetical by album or band name, and did not appear to be organized by genre either. Edwin was a fast reader, but he was impeded somewhat by the many odd lettering styles, which could be difficult to decipher. Finally, after several minutes of careful searching, he found what he was looking for: a cassette titled Skafunkrastapunk, by the band Skankin’ Pickle. He pulled out his notebook and double checked to make sure it was not on his list of cassettes Charles already owned. Satisfied, he replaced his notebook, pulled out his money, and set it on the shelf next to the cassettes. Then he glanced up at the shop employee. They still had not moved. There were two rows of shelves between him and the counter, all at shoulder height, so anything he did should be safely concealed from view. All he had to do was slip the cassette out of the stack and into his pocket. He just needed a quick and steady hand. Simple.

He took a short breath, reached out, and – CRASH!

“What the fuck?!” cried the employee, jolting upright so abruptly that they dropped their phone.

Edwin winced as an entire stack of cassettes clattered to the floor. Moving quickly, before the employee could make their way over, he put the Skankin’ Pickle cassette in his pocket and walked out through the wall.

—-

“What is today’s date?” Edwin asked. He was seated at the desk, pen in hand, the file for their most recent case open in front of him.

Charles, who was attempting to break his own personal record for keeping a football in the air with his knees, didn’t look up as he replied, “You’re asking the wrong person, mate.”

Edwin sighed dramatically. “My apologies, I thought we were partners in this detective agency. I was unaware that I needed to do everything myself.” He got to his feet and walked over to consult the calendar on the wall.

“You love me anyway,” Charles grinned, knowing from Edwin’s voice alone that he was teasing. 

“You are incorrigible. And it is December the twenty-second, if you want to know.”

The football hit the outside of Charles’ leg and bounced across the office. “Already?”

Edwin eyed him curiously. “Yes. Is that a problem?”

“No! No, I’m just surprised. Time flies.”

“Indeed it does.”

Charles retrieved the football. Trying to keep his tone casual, he said, “I’m gonna pop out for a bit.”

“I’m nearly finished with this case report,” Edwin said, returning to his seat. “If you give me a few minutes, I’ll join you.”

“That’s okay. I’ll just be a tick.”

Edwin’s face fell, though he did his best to hide it. “Very well. I’ll see you when you return.”

“Cheers, mate.” Charles put his hand on the mirror, closed his eyes for a moment, and stepped through.

Charles emerged in the bathroom of an independent bookstore that he and Edwin frequented. He knew Edwin had been disappointed to not be invited along, and he felt bad about that. But upon hearing the date and realizing he still had not found a Christmas present for Edwin, he had, quite frankly, panicked a little.

The bookstore was an eclectic place, with new and used books covering topics ranging from astrophysics to zoomancy. The clientele came from all walks of life (and death and unlife), and the proprietor was a woman named Kaelie, who could see ghosts and who had apparently not aged a day in the 20-something years the detectives had known her. Charles had always suspected her of being part fae, but she had never confirmed or denied this.

Kaelie, who was nearly hidden behind a stack of books as tall as she was, looked up as Charles emerged from the bathroom. “Hello, Charles!” she greeted him warmly. “No Edwin today?”

“Not today. He’s actually the reason I’m here.”

“Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, he’s fine. I just realized that it’s nearly Christmas, and I haven’t got him a present yet.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place. I’m sure you can find something for him.”

“I was rather hoping you’d be able to help me with that.”

“Of course, dear.” She shuffled to the counter and pulled out a massive ledger. “What kind of book are you looking for? Business or pleasure?”

“Uhh… pleasure?”

“Okay. Your Edwin likes detective stories, doesn’t he?”

If Charles were capable of blushing, he would have done so at the sound of the phrase ‘your Edwin’. “Right. Yeah.”

“Hm… Ah, here’s one. Follow me.” She shuffled off, leading Charles around stacks of books to a section labelled Mystery. “Here we are.” She pulled a book off the shelf and handed it to Charles. “Look familiar?”

“Don’t think so. What’s it about?”

“It’s about a wizard who is also a private detective. He lives in Chicago, in the United States.”

“That sounds brills! Edwin will love it!”

“Well, if he does, there are sixteen more in the series!”

“Great! Ah, let me see…” Charles suddenly realized that he hadn’t figured out a form of payment. The whole trip had been rather impromptu. He slung his backpack off his back and fished around inside for something that he could trade. Kaelie usually preferred to trade one book for another, but as Edwin had a tendency to hoard books like a dragon hoards gold, she often made exceptions for the detectives. Charles had several books in his backpack, but he didn't dare trade any of them without consulting Edwin first. His fingers brushed over his jar of bees, but he doubted Kaelie would have a use for that. He reached deeper into the bag, until his entire arm was inside and the bag’s opening was at his shoulder. Since the bag was infinite, and Charles navigated it with his mind, he wasn't sure that plunging his arm deeper into the bag actually did anything, but it felt right. Kaelie watched him with mild interest. Finally, he found something that might work.

With a flourish, Charles pulled out a wooden box, only slightly bigger than the detective novel Kaelie was holding. It was meant to hold jewelry or trinkets, and played music when it was opened. It had also, until quite recently, been cursed, subjecting anyone in its vicinity to reliving their worst moments when it was opened. That had been a rather rough case, and despite the fact that Edwin had successfully broken the curse, the mere sight of the musical box freaked him out badly enough that he had asked Charles to keep it in his backpack indefinitely. Charles doubted Edwin would be disappointed if he disposed of such an object; in fact, he might even be relieved to be rid of it.

“How's this? It's a musical box. Got it from a recent case.”

Kaelie opened the musical box, and Charles couldn't help but flinch ever so slightly, despite knowing it was no longer dangerous. (Truth be told, Charles was rather nervous around the musical box too. Not that he'd said anything to Edwin about it. Didn't want Edwin worrying about him, did he?) A tinny little tune issued forth from some hidden mechanism within the box. Kaelie held it up to the light, examining it closely. She sniffed the velvet-lined interior of the box, ran one finger along the seam, and touched the tip of her finger to her tongue. Charles wrinkled his nose in confusion and disgust.

“Residual magic,” Kaelie murmured. Charles wasn't sure if she was talking to herself or to him. She looked at him shrewdly. “Was this cursed?”

“It was,” Charles replied, knowing better than to lie to her. “Not cursed anymore though, is it?”

Kaelie hummed noncommittally. She continued her examination, taking note of the key on the bottom. She wound the key several times, confirming that it worked, then shut the box with a snap. “Yes, I think this is sufficient.”

“Brills,” said Charles, happy to have found Edwin a Christmas present and gotten rid of a troublesome object at the same time. But a sudden thought occurred to him that chased the smile off his face. “What do you think you'll do with it?” he asked quickly.

Kaelie, who had started walking toward the front of the shop, turned around. “How do you mean?”

“I mean, you're not gonna keep it here in the bookshop, are you?” The last thing he wanted was for Edwin to be startled by it the next time he came to get a book.

“Goodness, no. Where would I put it? There's no room.”

Charles sighed in relief.

“I think this would look quite fetching on my wardrobe. Or perhaps I will give it as a gift. As you said, the holidays are upon us, and this box seems uniquely receptive to enchantments…” She trailed off as she continued toward the front of the shop.

Charles decided he didn't want to know what sort of ‘enchantments’ Kaelie might want to put on a once-cursed musical box. He hoped they were nothing nefarious. He and Edwin didn't really know anything about Kaelie. She was a bit odd, to be sure, but they'd never suspected her of having bad intentions. Still, there was nothing for it now. What was done was done. Charles would just have to hope that Kaelie wouldn't do anything bad to the box. And if she did, well, the Dead Boy Detectives had already un-cursed it once. Charles was sure they could do it again.

Charles stowed his new book in his backpack and made for the bathroom. “Cheers, Kaelie!” he called over his shoulder.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Charles,” she replied. “Tell your Edwin I said hi.”

Charles grinned as he stepped through the mirror.

–

Two days later, the office was fully decked out with Christmas decor. Fairy lights glowed in the window, providing a warm contrast to the darkness outside. In one corner of the office stood a small but stately pine tree, lovingly decorated with lights, tinsel, and baubles. Below it were two neatly wrapped packages, one in red and tied with a ribbon, one in blue with a shiny bow. 

Edwin sat at the desk, finishing up some case notes, as Charles flitted about the office putting the final touches on the decorations.

“Charles,” Edwin said without looking up, “do we really need that much mistletoe?”

Charles, who was standing on a chair, froze in the act of putting up what was in fact his fifth sprig of mistletoe. He hadn’t thought Edwin was paying attention. He’d placed the mistletoe in several strategic spots: over the desk, the sofa, the bookshelf, inside the closet, and now, over the front door. “I dunno,” he said with a grin. “The more opportunities to kiss you, the better, I think.”

“If you want to kiss me, you can simply do so. You do not need to use a plant as an excuse.” Edwin still wasn’t looking at him, but there was a coy smile on his lips that he was trying (and failing) to hide.

“That so?” Charles hopped down off the chair, abandoning the mistletoe for the time being. He walked over and sat on the desk, facing Edwin, leaned down, and gave him a quick peck on the lips.

Edwin finally took his eyes off his notes. He set down his pen, reached up to grasp Charles’ collar, and pulled him down for a proper snog.

When they finally parted, Charles smiled fondly. “I’m the luckiest bloke in the world.”

“Impossible.”

“Is it?” Charles folded his arms, unsure where this was going.

“Yes. Because I am the luckiest bloke in the world. You are, at most, the second luckiest.” Edwin raised one eyebrow (a trick Charles had never been able to master), daring Charles to disagree. Then he stood, neatly gathered up his notes, and walked them over to their wall of case folders. He put the notes into the file labelled Christmas Caroling Ceffyl Dŵr, and placed it on the Closed side of the board. “Right. Case closed.”

“Job officially jobbed.”

 “And well done, I might add. Your quick thinking with the fire alarm kept a lot of people out of harm’s way.”

“It was nothin’,” Charles murmured, but he was smiling broadly.

“It was not nothing,” Edwin countered, enunciating the word in that infuriatingly charming way of his.

Charles found himself wishing he’d thought to put mistletoe over their case board.

Distantly, Big Ben began to toll, striking midnight. Charles was vaguely surprised to realize how late it was, but it was quite common for them to lose track of time, particularly at night when most of the living were asleep. He stepped forward, into Edwin’s space, pausing for a tick to allow Edwin to choose whether to close the distance or move away. Edwin reached up and put his arms around Charles’ neck, pulling him close. Charles wrapped his arms around Edwin’s waist.

“Happy Christmas, love.”

“Happy Christmas, darling.”

They kissed again, but Charles pulled back after only a moment. “Let’s do presents!”

“Now? Surely we’re meant to wait for Christmas morning.”

“Why? You expecting Father Christmas to stop by? We haven’t even got a chimney.”

“MAIL CALL!” shouted the postman, arriving in their office with a pop and drowning out whatever Edwin had been about to say.

Both boys startled violently. Edwin fairly jumped away from Charles, his hands clenching into fists. He was still not entirely comfortable showing affection around other people, particularly strangers. Charles wasn’t bothered by that. He was, however, extremely annoyed with the postman.

“Don’t you ever, like, take a holiday?” he asked as he took the letters from the man’s outstretched hand.

“Not when there’s letters to be delivered,” the postman replied, sounding as though that should be obvious. He tipped his hat in a way Charles was sure was meant to be mocking, and disappeared.

Edwin, having recovered more slowly from the surprise than Charles, cleared his throat. “Anything of interest?” he asked mildly.

Charles shook his head. “Looks like a couple potential cases. And…” he frowned. “A Christmas card?”

Edwin frowned too. He took the card from Charles and turned it over. There was no return address. “Who would send us a Christmas card?”

Charles shrugged. Edwin retrieved a letter opener from the desk and opened the card. Charles looked over his shoulder.

It was a formulaic greeting card, with a picture of a wintery scene on the front. The inside read simply: 

Happy holidays and best wishes in the new year. 

From, 

The Lost and Found Dept.

There was no signature or personalization of any kind. Charles snorted. “Charlie sent us a Christmas card?” He tried to contain his laughter and failed. “Well, now I feel like we ought to get her something.”

“Oh yes, let’s,” Edwin said sarcastically. “I’m sure she would greatly appreciate that.”

“What do you even get an eternal trans-dimensional being?”

“Never mind that.” Edwin brusquely tossed the letters onto the desk. “We were interrupted.”

“That’s right.” Charles took Edwin’s hand and grinned cheekily. “We were about to open presents.”

Edwin gave him a look that was equal parts bemused and annoyed. He tugged on Charles’ hand, pulling him in for another quick kiss. “Fine.” He didn’t let go of Charles’ hand as he walked over to the Christmas tree and sat down on the floor, legs crossed and back ramrod straight.

Charles sat down next to him, his posture far more relaxed, and handed him the blue-wrapped present. Edwin, as was his custom, opened it very carefully, tearing the paper as little as possible. When he finished, he set the paper aside and held the book almost reverently. “Storm Front,” he read aloud. “The first Dresden Files novel.”

“You haven’t read that one before, have you?”

“No, I have not.” He carefully turned the book over to read the description on the back.

“It sounded like something you’d like. It’s like, a bit of fantasy and mystery. The main character is a wizard private detective. I mean, he’s a private detective and also a wizard. I dunno if he’s wizard at being a private detective, he probably is, if he’s got a whole series of books.”

“Charles,” Edwin said fondly, “you’re rambling.”

Charles gave an embarrassed smile. “Yeah, well, you know how I get.”

“I do. And I think this book sounds excellent.” He picked up the other wrapped package and gently placed it in Charles’ hands.

Charles had to fiddle with the ribbon for a moment, but once that came undone, he made short work of the wrapping paper. “No way!” he cried, his face lighting up as he read the name on the cassette. “Where did you even find this?”

“Port Townsend.”

A number of emotions flickered across Charles’ face. “You went to Port Townsend?”

“Only briefly. You were busy with Crystal,” Edwin added, misunderstanding Charles’ concern.

“Why though?”

“I was looking all over London for a cassette tape for you and coming up empty. I remembered seeing some odd-looking shops in Port Townsend, so I went to the butcher shop to ask Jenny if any of them might have some. She was able to point me to one that did.”

“You talked to Jenny. How is she?”

“Quite well. The butcher shop looks as good as new.”

“Right. Did you run into anyone else while you were there?” He attempted to keep his tone casual, and failed miserably.

Edwin caught his gaze and held it. “No one,” he assured him.

Charles let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Well then. Sounds like I’m gonna have to check out this shop.”

“Yes, I would love to show it to you. It has lots of cassette tapes and compact discs. Records too. And there are some electronic items that I did not recognize. Perhaps you will know what they are.”

“Maybe. Think I’ve shown you all the electronics from my time, haven’t I. We might have to ask Crystal about them.”

“Speaking of which, Jenny also mentioned something called the E Bay. It is a website on the Internet. Apparently one can purchase cassette tapes there, though I have no idea how that is possible. She offered to show me. Perhaps you can find some of the tapes you’ve been looking for there.”

Charles nodded. “I think Crystal has mentioned eBay. Didn’t know what she was talking about. Sounds brills.”

Edwin looked down at the book in his lap. “And I suppose this is where you hopped off to the other day?” he asked knowingly.

“Yeah. Sort of forgot it was nearly Christmas, didn’t I. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

“Not at all.” Edwin got to his feet and reached down to pull Charles up as well. “Do you want to listen to your tape now?”

“Skankin’ Pickle’s not really a midnight type of band. I was actually thinkin’... you might want to read? Out loud?” he asked shyly.

“Absolutely. As long as you promise to let me hear Skankin’ Pickle in the morning.” Edwin suddenly frowned. “What does that mean, by the way?”

Charles laughed. “It’s a dance. I’ll show you later.”

The boys made their way over to sit on the couch. Edwin rested one arm across the back of the couch, allowing Charles to curl up into his side. He opened the book, cleared his throat, and began to read. “I heard the mailman approach my office door, half an hour earlier than usual.”

“Wait,” Charles interrupted, “this Dresden’s bloke’s American. You’ve gotta do an American accent.”

“I most certainly do not,” Edwin said flatly.

“Come on, it can’t be that hard. Just talk like Crystal.”

“You do not want me to talk like Crystal.”

“Come on, give it a go. Unless you think you can’t.”

Edwin sighed. “Fine, Char-les,” he said, giving his voice an extremely nasal quality and hitting the ‘r’ in Charles’ name with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer. “Where are you going, Char-les? Can I come with you Char-les?”

“Okay! Okay, you’re right. Never do that again.”

“Thought so.”

“She does not say my name like that.”

“She does. I think you’ve just become immune to it.”

“Oi. Just read, would you?”

“I would love to, if you are quite done interrupting.”

Charles mimed zipping his lips.

Edwin began again. “I heard the mailman approach my office door, half an hour earlier than usual. He didn’t sound right. His footsteps fell more heavily, jauntily, and he whistled. A new guy.”

As the hours slowly passed, Edwin and Charles found themselves quite distracted by the mistletoe above them, eventually doing more kissing than reading. By the time dawn broke, the book was on the floor, temporarily forgotten. Charles was lying on top of Edwin, his head on his chest, their legs entangled. Edwin’s hand moved lazily through Charles’ hair. They didn’t need to breathe, but they did so anyway.

Charles was the first to break the comfortable silence. “I could do this forever,” he murmured contentedly.

Edwin hummed. “As could I, my love. As could I.”

[utau-fanchildren-combos]

Error x Ink (part 1)

Acrylic by @drawingerror

Acrylic by @drawsomeshet

Acrylic by @rats-inyourtrashbin

Adobe by ?

Aelis by @ari-cuno

Axel by @ari-cuno

Airbrush by @adorablemew

Amarant by @kotikaleo

Amour by @melody69dark-thelostboy-blog

Anti by @redcas121

Āto by ?

Binary by @azulsundertaleblog

Blank Canvas, or Black Page, by @help-im-a-gay-fish adopted by @ari-cuno

Blank Page by ?

Blur Color @arkangel-vidraws

Blurry Color by @bealdash12

Bonbon by @sosozsofieia

Book by @glitchy-post

Broomie by @pulpitava

Brushy by @uv_ruru

Caper Pen by @lostorigin

Captcha by @bobateaboo

Canvas by @myta

Cartridge by @officialwretcheddarkness

Checkmate by @radio-y3n / @0zmodeus

Chroma by @autoartist

Clause by @nota-01

Color Code by 0tterLucy

Contrast by @kurolini909

Copic Marker by @maple-and-pie

Copic by @bobateaboo

Crystal by @artybone (not a fanchildren anymore)

Cyclone by @nova-blues

Cyral by @nova-blues

Cytrait by @nova-blues

Dawning by @star-gamerxox

Defectum by @defectiveask

Delete File by @glitchy-post

Delette by @gvaries

Design by @pepper-mint

Despair by ?

Dexterity by @ginganinja

Digit by @llwandehll

Drop by @mini-shrimp14

Drop by @uyuni-poyo

Easel by @clearlyclueless

Ei by @pocketbonesstuff

Ekon by @ooyoichioo

Embree by @edinchik

Erin by @premiumsans

Erin by @supermidnightqueen

Errin by @verinel2

All Parts / Next Part

[thepodcasthoard]

Writers! Start a Story Podcast. Please! - video

This is a video from Pen & Caper, and it's all about the reasons writers who are interested in the hobby should start a fiction podcast, also known as an audio drama.

A fiction podcast is a great medium for writers for a few reasons.

The feedback loop is pretty short.

Instead of having years between publishing and reviews/even reaching an audience, you can write and finish a story and produce it, and it will be in the public within a few days. Now, maybe your audience will be tiny at first, but if you keep going it will most likely keep growing.

2. There's no one who has to green light your story, like a publisher.

One of the best things about podcasting in general to me is that there are pretty much no gatekeepers. Anyone with an idea, a story, a microphone, and a way to upload can get that story out there for other people to enjoy.

I've talked before about how so many stories that seem weird or out-there or otherwise not mainstream (whatever that means) can reach an audience because there's no one telling the creator 'no, that won't work, there's no audience for that.' There's an audience for just about everything, and if you don't make it you'll never find them.

3. It will make you a better writer

As you do a thing a lot, you will inevitably get better at the thing. When you regularly upload, you'll have to regularly write. You can't publish something that doesn't exist, and to make it exist you have to write it. And as you write, you'll explore and experiment and overall improve because you're putting practice in. Yeah, maybe some will be worse than others because not everything will be good, but the point is that you'll learn from mistakes. Mistakes are the best way you learn, not so much from success.

4. You'll build a platform for your work

As you build an audience, you'll build relationships within the community and be able to get other stuff you do out there. Plus, when you have a decent following it's easier to approach someone- or even be approached!- and say 'hey, I have this amount of backing behind me, I'd love to do a collaboration/guest spot/whatever with you!' For me personally, it also helps because that Imposter Syndrome can lessen a bit, or at least you can tell it to shut up more often. When you know people follow and like your work, you feel good about your skills. And when you feel good about your skills, it makes it more motivating to keep going because it doesn't feel like you're shouting into the void.

I encourage you to watch the video in its entirety! It's only about five and a half minutes long, so it's brief and entertaining.

[st4rbenx3]

Pets.

Oiii estrelinhas

Eu tinha dado um tempo nos meus desenhos, mas eu decidi fazer alguns desenhos das crianças

Mas estarei preparando algo especial mais pra frente, por enquanto só desenhos pra mostrar os pets das crianças de Inkerror que eu decidi fazer.

Bem, até logo estrelinhas

Paper Jam by @7goodangel

Gradient by @askcomboclub

Caper pen by @lostorigin

Delette by @gvaries

[moonthay]

MoonFanchild Tale EP 3: "returning home"

M!Gradient: You know, you just made a deal with the son of death, right?

M!Delette: Wow, it really is-

M!Gradient: We arrived.

M!Palette: Where were you commoner?

M!Delette: Looking for the stuffed bunny outside, huh?

M!Palette: hmm...

M!Palette: All good! You won this plebeian, but as soon as I find out something you did wrong I'm going to tell dad everything!

M!Delette: I know it seems like he's bad, but it's not true!

M!Delette: He just seems like a spoiled, arrogant little prince and he kind of is -

M!Delette: but that's because he wants to hide his gentle and sensitive side for fear of being weak.

M!Delette: There are people who act with evil out of fear, it's survival that's why roses have thorns

M!Delette: But let's talk about good things, Glim's first day of school is coming!

M!Glim: I'm really excited to find out what a school is like!

[I kept talking to that "ghost boy" and he has an idea to advance the investigation]

Fim/End

The next EP will be the 5th since EP 4 is the video "Look Up(1,2)" that is available on my channel, my classes start again on Monday so I will reduce the frequency of episodes, but I will try my best post videos and post a kiss and thank you for reading this far!

O próximo EP já vai ser o 5 já que o EP 4 é o vídeo "Look Up(1,2)" que tem disponível no meu canal, minhas aulas voltam segunda feira então vou diminuir a frequência de episódios, mas irei tentar o máximo postar vídeos e post um beijo e obrigada por ter lido até aqui!

Gradient Sans By @askcomboclub Palette By @angeutblogo Delette Sans By @gvaries Caper Pen By @lostorigin Glim -not found- Drop By @uyuni-piyo Goth Sans By @nekophy

[justforbooks]

Paul Auster

Author of The New York Trilogy who conjured up a world of wonder and happenstance, miracle and catastrophe

The American writer Paul Auster, who has died aged 77 from complications of lung cancer, once described the novel as “the only place in the world where two strangers can meet on terms of absolute intimacy”. His own 18 works of fiction, along with a shelf of poems, translations, memoirs, essays and screenplays written over 50 years, often evoke eerie states of solitude and isolation. Yet they won him not just admirers but distant friends who felt that his peculiar domain of chance and mystery, wonder and happenstance, spoke to them alone. Frequently bizarre or uncanny, the world of Auster’s work aimed to present “things as they really happen, not as they’re supposed to happen”.

To the readers who loved it, his writing felt not like avant-garde experimentalism but truth-telling with a mesmerising force. He liked to quote the philosopher Pascal, who said that “it is not possible to have a reasonable belief against miracles”. Auster restored the realm of miracles – and its flip-side of fateful catastrophe – to American literature. Meanwhile, the “postmodern” sorcerer who conjured alternate or multiple selves in chiselled prose led (aptly enough) a double life as sociable pillar of the New York literary scene, a warm raconteur whose agile wit belied the brooding raptor-like image of his photoshoots. For four decades he lived in Brooklyn with his second wife, the writer Siri Hustvedt.

The fortune that drives his stories played a part in his own career. City of Glass (1985), the philosophical mystery that launched his New York Trilogy and his ascent to fame, appeared from a small imprint after 17 rejections. Though the novel helped build his misleading reputation as a cool cult author, a moody Parisian existentialist marooned in noir New York, it had a pseudonymous forerunner that shows another Auster face.

Squeeze Play, published under the pen-name “Paul Benjamin” in 1982, is a baseball-based crime caper. Its disconsolate gumshoe, Max Klein, muses that “I had come to the limit of myself, and there was nothing left.” If that plight sounds typically Auster-ish, then even more so was the baseball setting. Auster adored the sport and played it well: “I had quick reflexes and a strong arm – but my throws were often wild.” In a much-repeated tale, he failed aged eight to get an autograph from his idol Willie Mays, of the New York Giants, because he had not brought a pencil. Auster “cried all the way home”.

Auster’s work is more deeply embedded in the mid-century national culture that fuelled the novels of his elders, such as Philip Roth and John Updike, than some advocates appreciated. His fables of identity-loss and alienation have emotional roots in the mean, lonely city streets he knew when young. He once insisted, to fans and scoffers who labelled him an esoteric “French” or European coterie author, that “all of my books have been about America”.

He was born in Newark, New Jersey (also Roth’s hometown). His parents, Queenie (nee Bogat) and Samuel Auster, children of Jewish immigrants from eastern Europe, set him on a classic American path of upward mobility through education while remaining, to their son, opaque. The Invention of Solitude (1982) was Auster’s haunting attempt to imagine the life of his impenetrable father. Ghostly fathers would pervade his work. As would sudden calamity. When, aged 14, he witnessed a fellow summer-camper struck dead by lightning, the event became a paradigm for the savage contingency of life, “the bewildering instability of things”. His later novel 4321 (2017), which revisits this formative trauma, cites the composer John Cage: “The world is teeming: anything can happen.” In Auster’s work, it does.

At Columbia University in New York, he studied literature, and took part in the student protests of 1968, before moving to Paris to scrape a living as a translator of French poetry (a surrealist anthology was his first published work). He lived – literally in a garret – with the writer Lydia Davis, and returned in 1974 with nine dollars to his name. Back in New York, they married, but were divorced in 1978, a year after the birth of their son, Daniel. Poetry collections followed, but Auster’s thwarted efforts to secure a decent livelihood meant that he gave his ruefully funny 1997 memoir Hand to Mouth the subtitle “a chronicle of early failure”.

In 1982, he married the novelist and essayist Hustvedt (who recalled their courtship as “a really fast bit of business”). She became his first reader and trusted guide; they had a daughter, Sophie. Husband and wife would work during the day on different floors of their Park Slope brownstone, and watch classic movies together in the evening. Auster wrote first in longhand, then edited on his cherished Olympia typewriter.

The New York Trilogy (Ghosts and The Locked Room followed a year after City of Glass) made his stock soar, and attracted both celebrity and opportunity.

Auster wrote gnomic screenplays for arthouse films (Smoke, Blue in the Face, both 1995), even directed one (The Inner Life of Martin Frost, 2007). But it was the enigmatic, hallucinatory aura of his fiction – in 1990s novels such as The Music of Chance, Leviathan and Mr Vertigo – that defined his sensibility. Sometimes this trademark style could veer into whimsy or self-parody (as in Timbuktu, 1999, with its canine hero) although stronger novels – such as The Brooklyn Follies (2005) – always pay heed to the pulse, and voice, of contemporary America. Keenly engaged in current affairs, Auster held office in the writers’ body PEN, deplored the rise of Donald Trump, and spoke of his country’s core schism between ruthless individualism and “people who believe we’re responsible for one another”.

Auster the exacting aesthete was also a yarn-hungry storyteller. If he edited a centenary edition of Samuel Beckett – a literary touchstone, along with Hawthorne, Proust, Kafka and Joyce – he also compiled a selection of unlikely true tales submitted by National Public Radio listeners. They revealed the strange “unknowable forces” at work in everyday life. In his epic novel 4321, the formal spellbinder and social chronicler meet. It sends a boy born in New Jersey in 1947 down four separate paths in life: an Auster encyclopedia, ingenious but heartfelt too. Bulk and heart also characterised his mammoth 2021 biography of the Newark-born literary prodigy Stephen Crane, Burning Boy.

The ferocity of fate that scars his work gouged wounds into Auster’s life as well. Daniel succumbed to addiction, accidentally killed his infant daughter with drugs, and died of an overdose in 2022. Auster’s cancer diagnosis came in 2023. Prolific and versatile as ever, in that year he still published both an impassioned essay on America’s firearms fixation (Bloodbath Nation) and his farewell novel, Baumgartner. Its narrative hi-jinks dance smartly over a bass chord of grief.

Auster populated a literary planet all his own, where the strange music, and magic, of chance and contingency coexist with love, dream and wonder. In Burning Boy, he wonders why Crane’s output now goes largely unread, although “the prose still crackles, the eye still cuts, the work still stings”. After 34 books, so does his own.

Auster is survived by his wife and daughter, and a grandson, and by his sister, Janet.

🔔 Paul Benjamin Auster, writer, born 3 February 1947; died 30 April 2024

Daily inspiration. Discover more photos at Just for Books…?

[el-dritchknight]

Love, Emerald [Rom-Com Mystery]

Fandom: My Time At Sandrock (Video Game)

Characters | Ships: (Male/NB) Builder/Multi (including but not limited to: Pen, Owen, Ernest, Unsuur, Qi, etc.)

Summary:

When a mysterious letter from a secret admirer shows up at Emman "Emerald" Batumbakal's doorstep, the Fleeting High Tea Society to commission the builder to “investi-date” some of Sandrock's eligible bachelors. Will Emerald find true love in the dusty desert town? Or will the case of the crushing caper go unsolved? Or: An alternative universe loosely based off the movie: Love, Simon.

“...And inside the mailbox, there was a pretty opal sitting there.” Emerald fiddled with it between gloved fingers. The shiny gleam of the stone was eye-catching under the lights of the Blue Moon, but four pairs of eyes stared intently at the note on the wooden table, as if trying to divine the answers from the neat, printed writing or the ordinary, yellowed paper the message was written on.

“Who do you think it’s from?” Amirah asked, squinting at the letter from where she sat on Emerald’s right.

Emerald shrugged. “No idea. Honestly, I thought I was dreaming so I went back to bed. But when I woke up, it was still in the mail.”

Sitting across the builder, Heidi picked the letter up. “And Jasmine doesn’t know who it is?” 

“No. She said didn’t deliver this one.” Emerald chewed on his bottom lip. “You guys, um, don’t think this was another mix-up like the thing with Elsie and Mi-an, do you? I mean, I’m not the only one who worked on that stage?”

Next to Heidi, Pablo let out a long-suffering sigh. “Darling, face it—you are a catch . I didn’t dye those gorgeous locks of yours purple just because you paid me. Well, I did , but mostly because I knew it’d compliment your pretty face.”

read the rest on ao3

[k00289929a]

’Movement; Articulated Paper Dolls Cont.’

Moving directly on from the puppets I had created of Alastair, I decided to refocus my attempts, as I was at the same time developing the design of the dream spirit, and wanted to use this an opportunity to help explore and solidify the design. The spontaneity in putting together this puppet meant I was first only working from exploratory sketches, and had composed no plan for myself in terms of assembling the actual puppet, which, if I were to approach this method again, is likely something I’d compose before approaching the actual caper creation and assembly process. Despite this, I do feel the explorative way in which I approached this puppet did really aid in realising the final product, and finalising my ideas.

The final puppet, from my count, consists of twenty-seven points of articulation, made from circular paper tabs with two paper legs that I passed through the parts and fastened in the back with tape.

In the name of reusing materials, I took the red thread from my ‘assemble’ display piece, and used it to create the drapes, and the rose pieces. The rose pieces were embroidered on separate, grey fabric with the woven wheel stitch, and then individually cut from the fabric. I then painted the bottom layer of fabric with a watered down acrylic paint, as it was more visible when laid onto the puppet than I would have liked, and was an approach that wouldn’t risk undoing the stitching. I then cut holes through the puppet to feed the string through, taping a loop to the behind at every point, and dangling one end through once more to form the subtle tassels, then feeding another bit of string through to continue the drape to the next rose point.

The roses were initially fixed using folded strips of tape as I wanted to use hot glue but was afraid the glue would create mass and cause the roses to settle and rise in odd ways. Using the glue gun again on other projects, such as the 3D mask, I revisited this approach, as I found with the way this gun heated up, the glue would get caught in the nozzle and preemptively dry before the gun was put to use, accidentally creating unwanted mass, something that was solved by allowing a bit of glue to be pressed out before properly using the gun.

As for the colour, I knew if I wanted to reuse the thread, I’d need to account for that in the colour scheme, but beyond that, I largely just took my colouring pencils and allowed myself to apply the colours as I worked, to however I felt they fit, as I was not overly familiar with colouring pencils, and I felt this would be a good opportunity to learn how to layer them. This lead to me developing the light blue, to cyan, to purple, to magenta gradient seen. I then translated this to digital, and elected to add small gold star patterns to the whole body, and parts of the accessories, using a golden metallic gel pen.

The creation of this puppet also helped open my eyes to the problem with the silhouette that I discussed more in depth with the design itself, and allowed me to physically tinker with adding the fur element by creating sketches and leaving them beneath the puppet without securing them to evaluate the visuals before committing. This helped immensely for me to settle on the neck-long fluff element.

I did consider creating another shot for the animation, and developed a front-facing puppet to this end, but ultimately scrapped the idea, though I had more foresight this time around to create a prototype before committing in any way to the full puppet.

[nixariel]

Timelines and Carmen Sandiego: To Steal Or Not To Steal

...or, can I make the interactive special play nicely with canon? Meant as a companion to my previous timeline; please note that this is centred around the 'perfect' route where Carmen manages to save both her ground crew and the stolen items. For an overview of how to access all eight endings, I would highly recommend this excellent schematic.

Shanghai (stated in dialogue as approx 1 year after Carmen started stealing from V.I.L.E.; "which part of the last year")

·        "Notorious V.I.L.E. stronghold" is in Lujiazui district of Shanghai; location roughly corresponds to the Jin Mao Tower based on position relative to the Shanghai Tower and the Shanghai World Financial Center ·        Carmen can enter from the air by ziplining across from the Shanghai Tower or from the ground via the elevator shaft ·        Walks into conspicuously-open vault to learn her ground crew has been kidnapped; if she does not cooperate, the faculty will use Dr. Bellum's mindwiping device to turn Ivy and Zack into V.I.L.E. operatives        ◦ As per bad ending 1, Coach Brunt had bet Professor Maelstrom a steak dinner that Carmen would refuse V.I.L.E.'s deal point-blank ·        Curiously, a 10-19 licence plate is visible on a passing car during Player's intro of the target; in the main series, this number seems to be used exclusively for A.C.M.E. vehicles

Xi'an (roughly 2h direct flight time from Shanghai to Xi'an)

·        First task is the theft of a terracotta warrior for Brunt; Carmen goes to a "fresh dig site" where more statues have recently been found ·        Exact date unknown but apparently a Tuesday; "it's either dress-up Tuesday for the security staff or..." ·        Tigress has been sent as V.I.L.E.'s handler-slash-back-up for Carmen; leaving her in the pit reveals she has a fear of insects but helping her enables the later 'imperfect good' ending of saving Zack and Ivy while V.I.L.E. keeps the statue ·        Carmen gets her first check-in with the siblings, then is offered the choice of going to either Hell Creek, Montana, to retrieve a T. rex bone for Dr. Bellum or Monte Carlo, Monaco, to steal one hundred tins of Beluga caviar for Countess Cleo

·        If trying to establish a 'canon' narrative for the special, Cleo's caper would make the most sense as the next theft; Carmen has managed one heist for V.I.L.E. but now struggles with the implications of needing to do it again, and to a charity no less. Mime Bomb is also present more to monitor Carmen than to help, much like Tigress, and Julia does not mention a stolen dinosaur bone despite bringing up the missing terracotta warrior during her brief conversation with Carmen. Going from one plainclothes agent in Monte Carlo (or presumably only one; no recognizably-A.C.M.E. faces in the crowd and Julia reaches for her pen rather than an earpiece if tricked into going to the roof) to three officially-dressed agents in Montana also seems like a more appropriate escalation of A.C.M.E.'s efforts to catch Carmen than the reverse.

Monte Carlo (roughly 11h direct flight time from Xi'an to Monte Carlo)

·        Exterior of the hotel hosting the charity dinner appears somewhat similar to the Hotel Metropole Monte-Carlo ·        Debut of 'Scarlett Santarosa' as an alias; Player's startled "who??" upon hearing it suggests that this may not have been entirely planned ·        Declining the diplomat's offer to dance leads to Carmen expressing a preference for tango over the waltz; accepting it shows her losing focus/drifting into a daydream partway through, which may be a sign that having to rush through back-to-back capers is starting to wear on her ·        Evidently A.C.M.E. has received intel that V.I.L.E. may be targeting the caviar, Julia assigned to investigate and/or thwart; she seems much more comfortable blending in with upper-class society than pretending to be a fashion model in Milan ·        Julia also much more overt with her willingness to extend Carmen the benefit of the doubt; that she's carrying around a champagne glass full of some unspecified sparkling liquid is probably pure coincidence ;)

·        Carmen acknowledges having "joined forces with Jules before"—a phrasing that suggests something more like their collaboration in Milan than simply leaving the recovered Magna Cartas on a train seat; trusting Julia is necessary to achieve the 'perfect' route ending ·        The successful grab 'n' dash route leads to Carmen landing on a bridge-like structure with some similarities to the Fontvieille Shopping Centre; the unsuccessful stash 'n' sneak option has her walking down what is almost certainly the Rue de Millo in La Condamine

Terminal 5 of Heathrow Airport (roughly 2h direct flight time from Monte Carlo to Heathrow)

·        Before continuing on to the third heist, Carmen demands another check-in with Ivy and Zack; comparing the amount of light coming through their cell window at different times of day allows her to deduce that they are being held somewhere with 24/7 sunlight ·        Player confirms that this would currently be the North rather than South Pole; midnight sun in the Arctic goes from late March to late September

·        Choosing to attempt a rescue instead of continuing with the third heist reveals that Tigress has been stationed at the Arctic facility, presumably to oversee the guarding of Carmen's ground crew; unclear how/if she is involved in their transfer to Île d'Oléron for the ending of the 'perfect' route        ◦ The diner from the post-Arctic bad ending is located in none other than San Diego, suggesting that this is after Team Red purchases the Carmen Brand Outerwear warehouse (and is quite possibly the Best Sneaky Detail in this entire special asdfghj XDD)

Hell Creek (roughly 9.5h direct flight time plus 3.5h drive time from Heathrow to Hell Creek State Park)

·        Carmen more resigned than upset at the thought of stealing the T. rex bone for Bellum; would be in keeping with having managed to get through two heists for V.I.L.E. already ·        Archaeologist from Morocco can be seen entering one of the tents at the excavation site (a.k.a. the OTHER contender for Best Sneaky Detail XD)

·        Even considering something as risky as trying to catch and break into a plane while it's taking off may be another sign of strain/fatigue affecting Carmen; this would also fit with Montana being her third caper in a row ·        Research lab is approximately 200 miles away (and is attached to an amusement park like the discount version of a Michael Crichton novel, there's even a Tyrannosaurus head over the main entrance, this is ABSOLUTELY intentional XDD) ·        Bellum expected her to have snagged the bone within mere hours of landing in Montana ("been in Montana for an entire afternoon"); pushing Carmen to complete the thefts as quickly as possible is likely part of keeping her too busy to out-think V.I.L.E.'s trap ·        Carmen is offered the choice of El Topo or Le Chevre for assistance; El Topo will show up having helpfully researched potential exit routes while Le Chevre drops a pinecone on her head and calls her "the bossy one in [their] class" ·        Compared to El Topo, Le Chevre also distinctly under-impressed by the quality of A.C.M.E.'s suits ·        El Topo's knowledge of the tunnels underneath the combo museum/amusement park leads to a quick and A.C.M.E.-baffling disappearance after nabbing the bone; picking Le Chevre, on the other hand, leads to the very serious A.C.M.E. agents very seriously commandeering a dinosaur-themed roller coaster train in order to chase Carmen along said roller coaster's track until she manages a daringly acrobatic escape that ends with her hang-gliding off into the night (yes I have a favourite operative how can you tell)

·        As an alternative to a straight reconciliation with show-canon, might I suggest that riding a literal roller coaster in order to chase Carmen Sandiego through an amusement park in the middle of the night sounds suspiciously like someone trying to prank a newly-reinstated Devineaux? ;)

Terminal 5 of Heathrow Airport (unknown drive time plus roughly 9.5h direct flight time from Montana to Heathrow)

·        After she returns to the airport, the faculty sends Carmen an e-ticket for a ferry to the Île d'Oléron; she is to bring the dinosaur bone and caviar tins there to exchange for her ground crew ·        Somehow Julia has managed to track Carmen to Heathrow, unclear if A.C.M.E. aware; her attempt to tail the thief is quickly noticed and Carmen uses the opportunity to ask for her help

Île d'Oléron (roughly 75 min direct flight time from Heathrow to La Rochelle; ferry to the island takes another hour)

·        Paperstar watching from the Phare de Chassiron; as per the final bad ending, V.I.L.E. plans to have Lady Dokuso and the Cleaners ambush Carmen after she disembarks

·        All real-world ferries to Île d'Oléron look to be from La Rochelle; closest actual stop would be Saint-Denis-d'Oléron, approximately 4 km away, as the coastline near the lighthouse is too shallow to permit a commercial dock ·        Carmen has Julia take her place on the ferry and swims to the island instead, finds Zack and Ivy in the V.I.L.E. aircraft hangar there ·        Paperstar notices Julia's glasses and alerts the guards, interrupting their escape ·        Zack figures out how to fly a helicopter in a hurry and Carmen references Casablanca ("here's looking at you, crew"); terracotta warrior conveniently found to be already stowed/never unloaded in back

Julia's apartment, presumably still in Poitiers

·        All stolen items deposited neatly outside Julia's door, complete with a bouquet of roses; we do not see who rings the doorbell ·        One possible explanation for the opening and closing scenes of Ivy and Zack during the post-ending bonus music video is that they indeed managed to break out of their cell at least once while Carmen was busy with V.I.L.E.'s capers, even if they were then recaptured before they could find a way off the Arctic base; certainly their parts of the song are referenced in-episode during both the post-Xi'an check-in and the post-Arctic bad ending

Special vs. Canon

In terms of trying to fit the special with the rest of the show, both Carmen's dialogue ("which part of the last year", see estimated date for Boston caper in previous timeline) and the Arctic midnight sun reference suggest a late spring/early summer time frame, meaning roughly April to June-ish depending on how strict we want to be with the definition of a year. Shadow-san's absence from the faculty and from the special in general, plus the fact that the remaining members appear to be in some transitional location—as per the industrial metal-panel backgrounds during most of their calls to Carmen, rather than anything resembling either the Canary Islands school or the Outer Hebrides castle—isn't as definitive, but would at least be in keeping with a post-explosion (March-ish) pre-move-to-Scotland (October) placement.

There is also Julia's readiness to trust Carmen's intentions in Monte Carlo, combined with Carmen's "joined forces with Jules before" line, which would suggest that this is before Player Trojan-horses the A.C.M.E. database but after the Milan caper. Given the notable absence of any reference to Stockholm, this might further suggest a point after both that mishap and the failed Botswana collaboration because Carmen's willingness to reach out for A.C.M.E.'s help with the diamond mine could be seen as forgiveness for chasing her off a tower in Sweden—and with that attitude of letting bygones be bygones, Julia might consider doubling down on her faith in Carmen to be a more convincing apology than dragging up bad history.

With how quickly things go from Brunt dropping the Wolfebomb to Carmen salvaging the mainframe hard drive to her demanding answers from Shadow-san, it would be very difficult for the special to take place then regardless of how conveniently it would excuse the ninja's absence. However, there is an unspecified amount of time between that confrontation and Carmen showing up at Chief's usual coffee shop in Seattle—and since Carmen wouldn't have confirmed Shadow-san's truthfulness yet, he'd most likely still be benched in San Diego (nor would the faculty expect to see him with her given their belief in having driven a wedge between the two). Chase, at this point, would also have been retrieved from the island and fired by Interpol but not yet reactivated as an A.C.M.E. agent.

Although not a perfect reconciliation—that Carmen would be willing to put a hold on finding answers about her father's death in order to raid a random V.I.L.E. vault in Shanghai is... questionable, to say the least—the most plausible canon setting for the special would therefore seem to be after the reveal of how Shadow-san became a faculty member but before Team Red comes up with a plan for how to hack A.C.M.E.'s database.

As always, this is the work of only one person. If there's something missing or incorrect, let me know and I'm happy to update. Otherwise, I have a CS 2019 trivia tag for the things that didn't quite fit in either timeline, as well as the odd headcanon that does a little more reading-between-the-lines. ;) Have fun.

END