#hope it's not too ugh lol

[palabraasinnecesarias]

comfort

ao3 | ff.net

ship: ranma/akane words: 1,221

They had been back from Jusenkyo, safe and sound, it should have been enough.

It was the middle of the night, the entire city asleep it seemed, and Akane couldn’t help but lift her heavy eyelids due to being awaken by a light shake. She moaned hesitantly, gently lifting her body as she fixed her gaze once it landed on her fiancé. She could hardly make his figure in the dark bedroom, but she knew it was him.  

She sat up completely and reached over to click her desk lamp on, noticing Ranma wincing apologetically at her. And then it dawned on her, he was waking her again, for the second night in a row. 

The young girl adjusted herself firmly as quickly as she could, her hands reaching forward until latching themselves on his as she asked, “Ranma, are you alright?” She could feel his large hands easily clutch their hold onto hers, clammy and warm. He was trembling, not horribly, but enough to make her worry.  

He nodded once, and then seemingly retracted with a mild shake to his head, whispering a horsed, “Sorry.”  

“Hey,” she called to him, shifting closer to him with a weary smile, wobbly and faint, “it’s okay. I promise,” she insisted with a soft voice of her own, her cool composure soothing his mind if only for a mere moment. He was looking at her, his thick eyebrows furrowing, taking a moment to clear his mind.  

And then he winced again, taking his eyes off her, crouching forward to inhaled deeply before releasing.  

One of her palms pushed upwards onto his arm, squeezing tenderly before dragging it back down, finding herself reminding him that everything was alright, he just needed to continue breathing.  

After some time, noting he was appearing to compose himself compared to just moments ago, she heard Ranma clear his throat. “I, uh,” he said, appearing embarrassed as he couldn’t seem to face her, “sorry, ‘Kane.”  

“Ranma,” she sighed, her eyebrows knitting together as her hands reached to touch his face, each palm warmly cupping his cheeks and gently forcing him to look at her, “don’t apologize. You have nothing to say sorry for.” And she meant every word. The corners of her eyes squinted lightly, her brown eyes drawing him in, feeling his heart squeeze at the way she was looking at him. She was beyond beautiful, and he felt himself fight the intense desperation to pull her close.  

Her dark wispy hairs framed her round face perfectly, with her naturally flushed cheeks glowing upon her fair skin as her long eyelashes batted so slowly at him. She offered an essence of innocence, angelic almost, and it hurt somehow. She was alive, and breathing, calming him.  

They had been back from Jusenkyo, safe and sound, it should have been enough. But the mere memory of then, just days ago, dragged a ferocious nature within him concerning her. He let his cheek press onto her palm, melting at the way her still-worried face smiled faintly at him. Remembering those heinous moments, unable to ignore the grimace of pain stinging about his chest, piercing through his lungs, causing some sort of physical pain throughout his body.  

Ranma pulled her to him and held her tight, the urges to feel her breathing against him a lot stronger than he’d thought.  

Akane’s face pressed against his chest, gasping softly as his arms wrapped themselves around her, feeling his nose pin itself at the top of her hair. She could feel his beating heart, the heat of his skin sticking onto hers, his light scent of sandalwood emitting from his muscle tank. And she knew why he had sought her out in the middle of the night, having admitted it to her just yesterday.  

Ranma dreams pertaining her had begun twisting into unpleasant ones, apparently very realistic he found himself rushing to her. He needed to know that she was alive, that she was breathing, and not...dead. 

At first, he felt foolish knowing very well that she was fine; she’d been the one to announce them home when they had first arrived back to Nerima, seemingly returning to normal around the Tendo household. But there was an urge itching at the back of her mind to follow her each time she’d leave his sight to go elsewhere, like her bedroom, or to bathe. He just needed to know, finding himself casually knocking at her door, or waiting outside the bathroom just in case.  

Last night, Akane had walked in on him just as he was about to go searching for her, noticing he wasn’t well. She sat with him, easing his tension until he could breathe again. “We’re home, we’re safe.”  

“I just...” he swallowed a lump gnawing at his throat, and she could hear it so clearly, so crisp, at her ear, feeling the way his fingertips firmly dug into her flesh, “I gotta’ make sure you’re...”  

“I’m okay,” she whispered, encouragingly, and she’d known he heard her by the way his arms tighten. There was comfort in the way he held her.  

She hadn’t known for how long they’ve stayed sitting, embraced within his hold, but she could feel him begin to doze off as his cheek slipped from the top of her head. She shook herself gently, softly calling his name a few times until he responded back with muffled groan.  

“You should go to bed,” she said, smiling wider at the way he squeezed her again.  

“Not...yet,” he sighed, adjusting his chin on her shoulder.  

She pulled away, slow enough to make sure he didn’t go stumbling down on her bed, angling herself to search his gaze, grinning once she’d found his drowsy stare. He was sleepy, and very adorable. “Hey,” she called again, her smile still large and vibrant, “wanna’ spend the night?”  

That had been enough to slap him awake. The pigtail-wearing martial artist blinked a few times, thinking he was a lot sleepier that he’d imagine. But Akane chuckled silently, her hands finding themselves on his cheeks again, her cheeky grin playful and lively as she said, “Get your head out of the gutter.”  

“I wasn’t- I didn’t- I-”  

“I just meant,” she pushed strands of short hairs behind her ear as she glanced away momentarily, feeling herself get flustered at her own invitation, “if you wanna’. You don’t have to-”  

“I do.”  

She looked back at him, her meek smile small, and she nodded. “Okay.”  

Settling into her bed hadn’t been weird like she’d imagine it’d be. They both laid underneath her covers after clicking the lamp off, making it harder to see each other in the darkness.  

“Thank you, ‘Kane,” he said lowly, and she felt the strings of her heart get tugged, understanding his need of comfort.  

“Night, Ranma.”  

[whirliko]

🧸 ilo set 🧸

there's just not enough clothes for infants so i decided to take matters into my own hands and recolored a bunch of items in fun colors and patterns - 15 items and 31 files in total 🌞

everything is base game compatible

custom cas and swatch thumbnails

most items come in both solids and patterns, some even have fun colorblock swatches 🧃

i used a few patterns from this set by @pluto-sims and a graphic from @woosteru's graphics folder

some ea infant bottoms have an overlapping texture issue on the waistband - therefore my recolors do also. you won't be able to see it if you put a top on your infant, as that will go over the waistband

thanks to my beloved @cookiesandcrumbs for fixing an issue with one of the meshes 💕

DOWNLOAD INDEX (sfs)

for those having issues with the download links in the index: here is a direct link to the zip file of all 31 items 🧡

[bushmonsterr]

soft spoken 🧡💚

[zuiz41]

Bday comic special!

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*hides*

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Happy birthday boyo. Your weird family is celebrating about as normally as can be expected.

[mymarifae]

really dreading mizu5 tbh. yes the writing around mizuki has generally been really well done and it feels thoughtful and intentional, but it'd be a very easy and very instantaneous thing. to just throw four years worth of build-up in the fucking garbage. or maybe nothing of substance will get confirmed at all because they decided they like making money. maybe it'll just be bad and this is all a waste of time and no one's going to be happy. maybe i should obtain a grenade launcher and play with it

[makingshortstorieslong]

Merry Christmas!

Have a very silly Christmas-y short story!

Last year, I was inspired by this post to write a story for @milk-lover. This year I finally went back and edited out some typos, and I wanted to share it with everyone for the holidays.

Heads up that due to it being written as a gift there will be some references in here that aren't going to be meaningful or make sense to a general audience, but I don't think they detract from the overall story (which isn't honestly intended to make much sense even without the references.) (Also if you know me you very possibly also know @milk-lover and will get the references!)

And so without further ado, I present to you, in a little over 3,000 words:

The Daring Adventures of Milk-Lover in

The Dairy Dystopia

Three days out from Christmas, Leslie ran out of milk.

“For fuck’s sake.” They half-slammed the empty carton on the counter, beside the mug it had failed to fill.

Any other day of the year, if they went to pour from the half-gallon carton in the fridge and discovered it yielded less than a quarter cup – not enough for cereal, not enough for hot chocolate, not even enough to charge their phone – they would have simply shrugged and added ‘milk’ to the grocery list, and done without until the next shopping trip.

But it was almost Christmas, and Santa Claus was on its way.

They had to have enough milk.

They groaned at themself. They should have been more careful. They’d set up the cookies yesterday. But when it came to the milk, they had just glanced into the fridge and seen that there was still a carton in there, and one not due to expire until the 27th. They hadn’t touched it in days – of course they didn’t remember how much was in it.

They downed the minimal layer of liquid in the mug in one gulp. It was pointless to save it. That amount didn’t even come halfway to meeting Santa’s requirement.

They’d have to go back out for milk.

Leslie bundled up in both their coats, a hat, and a face mask. The sun had gone down in the time between their return from work and their disappointing dairy-free discovery, so they needed to dress to face the cold and snow.

Of course, snow didn’t really fall here anymore. After New Year’s Day, the weather would get back to the regularly scheduled 60 degree Fahrenheit winter. But the town had splashed out for a couple weeks of WinterWonderland™ climate control system. It was kind of nice by light of day - the snow in the sunlight made everything look bright and clean. But to maintain it, they had to turn on the snow-makers and turn down the temp every night.

Leslie walked with their head bent against the manufactured wind, unsure if they more-so regretted that they didn’t possess gloves or that they did possess fingers as the chill stole all feeling from their extremities in the hour-long walk. They passed a dozen other corner stores and supermarkets in that time, all of which certainly sold milk, but none of which met Leslie’s needs. There was only one place for Leslie to buy dairy products. They considered themselves highly fortunate it wasn’t even more difficult to get to.

At last, with their hands jammed up under their arms for warmth, they came to the last turn in their journey. They imagined the moment they would step gratefully into the heated interior of the store. Maybe they’d even buy a hot chocolate along with the milk, and take a minute to savor the warmth before once again facing the artificial outdoor cold.

They turned the corner, and their dreams evaporated.

It couldn’t be… the corner store… the little semi-independent corner store, that still employed a human cashier out of some sense of retro charm… where you could still buy a half gallon of milk and a dozen eggs and whatever horrible new flavor the sick fucks at Oreo had dreamed up last without once consenting to share your biometric data with the corporations that had produced them all. The shop that had even taken cash up until two years ago. The only shop in town that would sell Leslie open-source dairy…

It was gone.

It had been there the last time they bought milk. But now, in its place, stood a Walmart Mini™.

Too cold to do otherwise, Leslie moved through their frustration and dismay down the street and into the store.

If nothing else, at least it was warm in there. They unzipped their jackets, and took stock of the situation.

They were alone. No other shoppers stood in the aisles. The cashier was gone, replaced by motion-sensitive cameras that followed Leslie through the store, and a self-scan checkout.

The bones of the shop were still there. The store had had the same layout as long as Leslie had known it. It wouldn’t last much longer now; WalMinis™ were contractually obligated to rearrange every so often, in a bid to confront consumers with new goods and perhaps coax them into buying something new, something extra, more than what they came in for.

But for now, Leslie walked straight-forwardly to the refrigerator at the back, the place they had come routinely the past three years for every milk run.

Maybe it would be okay. Maybe they still had to sell out of the old shop’s stock before switching fully to WalProducts™. Sure, Leslie would have to find a new source for accessible dairy moving forward, but at least they’d be able to get their Christmas deliveries tonight.

The refrigerator itself looked the same as ever. The products within it, however, had changed.

It was here.

Two-factor authentication enabled milk.

Leslie pulled a face at the words on the label. “Enabled”. Yeah, right. Two-factor authentication mandated milk was more like it. There was no way to opt-out.

Since dairy had become so valuable with the invention of lactose-based electricity, it only made sense to the people selling it that the people buying it should prove they had paid for what they used. It wouldn’t do to let people run around wildly, stealing each other’s milk. So two-factor authentication was the simple solution. You buy the milk; then, any time you want to open it to use it, you simply use your smartphone to prove that you’re the one who bought it.

For most people, it wasn’t a problem. Everyone had the Google Account they’d made in kindergarten. It was easy as pie to follow the link on the milk carton, log in to your Google Account with ID, password, thumbprint, and retina scan, click the button to send the One Time Password, miss the text notification with the One Time Password because your phone’s messages were muted, send a new One Time Password, check your messages and see the first one, enter the first one, be confronted by a blaring alert accusing you of stealing your own identity for entering the wrong number, do the CAPTCHA in which you identified which pictures showed men who’d never in their lives stopped to look at the moon, re-log in, get a new One Time Password, and finally, verify your identity with the milk’s receipt-of-purchase to send a wireless signal from your phone to the Bluetooth enabled milk carton cap so that it would open up.1

(1 If this sounds more complicated than implied by ‘easy as pie’, it’s possible you’re interpreting that analogy in terms of eating pie. There are a lot of steps in most pie recipes!)

The point is, as long as your phone was charged so you could use it, it was easy to access the TFA required to open your carton of milk to charge your phone. People around the world used TFA every day, usually several times.

Leslie, however, was locked out of Google two-factor authentication.

The thing was, they had liked their little old iPhone 34. It fit in their hand and in their pocket. The camera was good enough for what they needed. Sure, the holographics looked more like something out of Star Wars than modern technology, but it was a vibe.

So when the iPhone 35 came out, they hadn’t upgraded. Nor had they upgraded for the iPhones 36, 37, 38, or 38Ultra.

After the release of the iPhone 39, they’d received a warning. The software on their iPhone 34 would soon cease to be supported, and they would be unable to update it. They had expected that. They had done some research. Once new hardware was in wide circulation, it was only natural for software support for older models to fizzle out. It was something like having a technological disability – not always easy to live with, but manageable with the proper considerations. They were willing to take on that challenge. They would update one day, but not yet.

The part they hadn’t anticipated was that they would lose the ability to update the Google software on their phone as well. Eventually, they couldn’t use it at all. And when Google was disabled on their phone, and they went more than a month without using their Google Account, they found that they were locked out of it, no matter what device they attempted to access it from. Reactivating the account would take more time, effort, and money to fully prove their identity to reclaim their data than they had to spare.

So Leslie lived the life of the technologically disabled, with an outdated iPhone and no Google Account. Some things, they did the old-fashioned way, forgoing whatever apps would make it slightly more convenient. Other things, though alarmingly few, offered their own proprietary takes on TFA as an option in addition to the usual Google Account based one. Leslie had a whole folder on that same iPhone 34 devoted to TFA apps for various services.

But dairy TFA all went through Google.

They sighed.

If they couldn’t leave milk and cookies out for Amazon Santa Claus™, none of the gifts they had ordered would be delivered. As a condition of the premium delivery service, users had to provide cookies on the local server with the information the automated delivery drone needed to complete its delivery, and milk to recharge it enough to move on to the next delivery. Without them, it would quickly skip over Leslie’s house, holding the presents they’d already paid for hostage.

Maybe they could just��� break the milk open. Sure, they’d get fined, and maybe get banned from the WalMini™, but it was a distant branch on the mega-corporation family tree that connected it to Amazon Santa Claus Delivers. Even if breaking the milk open eventually had repercussions for their Amazon usage, it would take some time for those consequences to come into effect.

Still. There would be consequences, sooner or later. It was impossible for Leslie, unversed in corporate rule-dodging as they were, to predict what they would be exactly.

Physically breaking open the milk would have to be the last resort. There had to be another option.

They weren’t the tech savviest guy on the planet. Sure, they used Firefox with a host of extensions to browse the web, and had installed a DreamCatcher by their bed to block most of the D wave ads and avoid subscribing to Microsoft Sleep Premium™, but they’d followed directions online for both of those. And both of those were legal, for now, and technically freely available even if the corporations did their best to bury the info online deep in a mess of AI-genned search results.

But by-passing two-factor authentication…

They imagined they’d need to go to the DarkNet to even get an idea of who to ask to help with that.

Well. Desperate times.

Leslie bought a gallon of TFA-enabled milk. Usually they went for a half-gallon, but they figured they may as well make it worth their effort. After they got it open once, they could pour it into analog water bottles and dispose of the milk jug.

The walk home was even colder and more desperate. Leslie managed it in forty-five minutes, hugging the milk to their chest, their mind racing even faster than their legs.

Alone in their apartment, they hurled the milk into the fridge and slammed the door.

Then they slammed themself down into their chair, turned on their computer, and opened a private window.

An hour into their search, they found a forum: Posts that Say Milk dot com. A banner across the top of the web page read: We Are All Citizens of Milk.

There was an array of different pages available with posts about different topics: recipes involving milk, debates about different kinds of milk, milk memes… At the end of the list was a tab labeled ‘milk help’. It sounded promising.

Leslie clicked it.

A long list of posts appeared, each with a title in large letters, saying attention grabbing things like: Help! Drank One Month Expired Milk! and Brother Keeps Drinking All the Milk Before I Can Charge My Headphones, How to Stop Him?

None of the problems sounded like theirs.

Then they noticed the sidebar. The site hosted a few voice-only chatrooms, where nothing was recorded and voices were automatically disguised for privacy. The text on the sidebar suggested, “If you have any problems that are too *much* to put in writing, bring them here to talk to one of our dedicated mods!”

They put on their headphones and entered the Milk Tech Help chatroom.

It was quiet when Leslie arrived. There were two mods present, but that was the only information the screen showed. There was nothing else to see or hear.

“Hello?”

A picture appeared – an avatar of a black and white rat. “Hello. What brings you here?”

“I have a bit of a milk problem.”

“You want the addictions chatroom,” said the other mod, represented as they spoke by the avatar of a purple dog.

“No, not that kind of problem. It’s – I bought milk tonight. But I don’t have access to my Google Account anymore. So I can’t open it.”

The purple dog avatar made a knowing sound. “You want unauthenticated milk access.”

Leslie hesitated. It sounded so blunt put that way. But it was the truth. “Yes.”

“You know of course that that violates Google’s terms of service.”

“I know.”

“Well. If you know the risk you’re running, I do know someone who might be able to help.”

“You do?” asked the rat avatar.

“Well. Not personally. But I know someone who knows someone.” There was the faint sound of typing on a keyboard. “Just wait a moment.”

They waited.

Then there was a soft chime as a fourth person entered the voice-chat. “So you have a problem for my contact, hmm?” asked a low, grizzled voice.

“I guess so,” Leslie said.

“Who is your contact, anyway?” asked the rat avatar.

“They call her The Milk Lover,” the enigmatic newcomer said.

“No way,” breathed the rat avatar.

“Yes way,” said the purple dog. “I thought you might have heard of her.”

“I sure have. I heard she used to be –“ the rat avatar’s voice dropped so low that Leslie had to strain to hear – “a streamer.”

Leslie shuddered. Streaming had been outlawed for twenty years. “Can I ask – I mean, um… do you know what she streamed?”

“Old video games,” said the purple dog. “You know Minecraft?”

“No?”

“No, you’re probably too young. It was a classic. Anyway. Yes, she was a streamer. She used to blog, too. She’s seen things on the internet you and I can only imagine.”

The latecomer laughed. “She and I both. I’d say if anyone can crack open your corporate-controlled carton, it’ll be her. But I should warn you – you may find her a little… odd.”

“O- odd?”

The purple dog sighed. “You’re scaring the kid, Chad.”

Leslie found their voice. “I’m not a kid,” they said. “I’m – well. I’m a milk lover, too. How can I talk to her?”

Chad chuckled. “You’ve heard of Tumblr?”

“The old microblogging platform?” the rat avatar asked. “It’s dead.”

“I’ve never heard of it,” Leslie said.

“Yes, you have. You might not know it, but you have. Traces of its meme culture are laced through the entire structure of the internet. And I wouldn’t call it dead, exactly. I’d call it undead.”

“This is why I had to contact Chad,” the purple dog avatar said. “I can’t get in touch with the Milk Lover directly because I don’t go on that site, and its the only site she uses.”

The rat avatar asked exactly the question on Leslie’s mind. “How can a website be undead?”

“Simple. When staff finally called it quits on the sinking ship their site had become, some of the users stepped in. Not many of them, and not uniformly. It’s a loose network of a website, riddled with potholes, individually configured to each user’s specifications on their own little domain. But the connection is still there. The community for those determined souls who remained is still alive. It’ll die one day, when we do. There’s no way to find the site through any search engine. No new blood starting new blogs. But we persist.”

“Then how am I supposed to get on this tumblr to talk to the Milk Lover?”

“It’s simple,” Chad said. “All you need - “ there was the sound of typing - “is this invite link.”

Leslie watched the screen, waiting for a notification that something had been sent in the Posts About Milk website’s chat.

Instead, their phone chimed.

They picked it up, shaking slightly.

They had a message from an unidentifiable number. It was just a blue hyperlink that read milk here.

When Leslie looked back up to the screen, Chad was gone, and the purple dog avatar had gone off-line.

“Man,” the rat avatar breathed. “This is actually exactly what I signed up for when I started modding, but I still didn’t think it would really be like this. You good?”

“I think so? I guess – I’m gonna go talk to the Milk Lover.”

“Best of luck. Stay safe. Use up your milk before it goes bad.”

“You, too.” Leslie disconnected from the voice-chat and closed out of Posts That Say Milk.

They moved the hyperlink over from their phone to their monitor and opened it.

The screen filled instantly with a blur of black fur and sharp white teeth and red mouth. On edge as they already were, the sight of it set Leslie’s heart pounding. It took a few cycles of the images to realize it was a rotating set of photos of a black cat, always in motion, always mid-bite.

Scrolling down from that header image revealed a series of white rectangles covered in black text. It appeared to be encrypted somehow, scrambled to the sight of anyone who wasn’t a logged-in Tumblr user. Tumlrite? Tumblerina? Leslie didn’t know what word the denizens of this impossible undead website would use to describe themselves. Or possibly the text wasn’t encrypted digitally, but rather written in a particular code or dialect intelligible only to the die-hard Tumblroo.

There was no indication that any other user was viewing the page, or that there was any kind of communication ability on this page at all, but suddenly, the voice of the Milk Lover was in Leslie’s headphones, cutting right to the chase. “So you want to bypass two-factor authentication.”

“Yes.”

“Right. Send me a scan of your milk.”

Leslie fetched the jug from the fridge. Using the 3D scanner on their phone, they captured the milk jug’s image from all angles. Then they moved the files over to their computer and sent them.

“Hmm.” On the screen, the milk jug spun around as the Milk Lover clicked it and observed it. “Send me the receipt.”

Leslie did so.

“Hmm,” she said again. “Not the easiest nut to crack. You’ll have to give me a minute.”

Leslie waited. Minutes passed. The only sounds were from the Milk Lover’s end of the line, and they were all mysteries to Leslie. The clacking sound was certainly a keyboard, but the squishing, squeaking, and, once, quiet shrieking, were all unidentifiable. They thought they heard, at a distance, as though the headset with the microphone had been removed from the wearer’s mouth “Marcy! Stop that!” but they had no idea what that meant or how it related to opening up their milk.

There was a shuffling kind of noise, and then a sigh into the mic. Leslie guessed the Milk Lover had put her headphones back on.

They cleared their throat. “You, uh.” They didn’t know exactly where this sentence was going, but in the silence, they felt they had to say something. They could only hope it would be a good idea. “You really like milk, huh?”

A hush fell over the line.

Leslie was seized with the sudden soul-shattering conviction that they’d blown it.

“Read my url out to me.”

“Uh. It says ‘milk lover’.”

“Right. I think that answers your question.” The typing sounds resumed.

Leslie resumed their silent, anxious waiting.

Their phoned chimed.

It was a message from Santa Claus. Their delivery was now scheduled for 3:28 am.

The milk had to be out and ready by that time. They twisted their hands nervously in their lap, wishing there was anything more they could do.

At last, the Milk Lover made a satisfied noise, making Leslie sit up right.

“Hold your phone up to the milk cap,” she ordered.

Leslie did so.

With a twist and a hiss, the milk jug unsealed.

Leslie smiled, the kind of pure, unintentional smile of relief that you can’t stop if you want to. “It’s open,” they breathed. “It worked!”

The voice on the other end remained calm and business-like, but Leslie thought it maybe sounded a little proud, too. “Glad to hear it.”

“Thank you,” Leslie said, sincere gratitude evident in their voice. “This means so much to me.”

“It was my pleasure.”

“Can I ask one question?”

“You just did. You can ask one more, though, if you want.”

“Why did you do this? Why help me?”

The answer came immediately and unreservedly: “Because everyone deserves milk.”

Without another word, the connection dropped.

Leslie was alone again, with their now opened jug of milk.

They checked the time. 3:25 am.

They jolted to their feet, and flew to the counter, where the Amazon Deliveries glass sat waiting. Hands shaking faintly with adrenaline, they hastily poured the milk, bringing it level with the pre-measured line. They gripped the glass in both hands and, leaving the milk jug open on the counter behind them, carried it out to their apartment building’s doorstep, where they’d designated the landing zone.

As they set the milk down, they thought they heard a quiet noise. Their breath caught. They leapt for the door, and slammed it behind them. They sank to the floor and listened.

Yes – it was the unmistakable sound of sleigh-bells and drone rotors.

Santa Claus had arrived.

Leslie waited with bated breath. They heard faintly the ‘ding!’ of the drone connecting to the local network and downloading the cookies they had left out for it. Then more whirring, more jingling as it flew as directed to the landing zone. The thump of the package settling on the floor was followed by the sipping sounds of milk through the drone’s straw and into the charger. It sucked until it drew air. Then the rotors’ whirring resumed, and Santa jingled off to the next delivery.

When all was quiet, Leslie slipped outside. There on the doorstep was a bag, containing all the gifts they had chosen for their family and friends this year.

Beside it was the empty glass of milk.

Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. Christmas was saved, thanks to the Milk Lover.

- The End -

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, everyone! Thanks for reading <3 Go drink some milk

[hello-there]

Communities are a new way to connect with the people on Tumblr who care about the things you care about! Browse Communities to find the perfect one for your interests or create a new one and invite your friends and mutuals!

[screwpinecaprice]

She woke up. 🐑🥀

I rewatched Bunnyfarm, and her screams is still so terrifying ajhsjskjabajwbdjjdb Ugh so good 😭🥰🥰

---

Brush used for the bloodstains!

I have made a couple of adjustments to this old work, it now looks a bit more readable? I realized I don't do well with dark backgrounds because I could not tell how dark it is, if it's to the point I could not see anything. 😅😅😅 Which sucks, there are so much ideas to work with dark scenes. 😓 I hope to improve on this faster, figuring out a technique so I don't have to make it a habit of going back on a supposed finished drawing just to make it clearer.

[girlivealwaysbean]

mann im going to get my blood reports tomorrow and im lwk scared

[scatterbrainedbot]

THROWING THIS DOODLE AT YOU WITH AGGRESSIVE AFFECTION!!

Wanted to render it but ran out of time :') BUT PLEASE KNOW!! Your Rat son au is my Roman empire. I think about it at LEAST once a week, like the designs and concepts and characterization and UGH EVERYTHING!! ITS ALL SO GOOD!! AND UR STYLE?? IM FOREVER CONSUMING IT!!! Literally peek nostalgia, comfort, even thru the angst its just so perfect im-

and- and splinter just bring me so much joy. Hes so goofy and soft and I sob every time I see him, imagine getting like the most gentle and affirming hug- I would cry immediately.

AHHHH!! ANYWAY STAY AMAZING ZACH!! :D <33333

TRIONA

TRIONA. TRIONA I AM SHAKING.

OH MY GOD???? LIKE OH???? MY GOD??????? THOSE ARE MY BABY SONS OH MY GOD THEY ARE GORGEOUS AND COZY PERFECT AMAZING I AM FULLY EMOTIONAL

LOOK AT THEM LOOK AT THEMMMMM AHHHHHHHHHH I CANT STOP STARING AT THEM BUT ALSO HAVE TO LOOK AWAY BECAUSE I AM LITERALLY TEARING UP?????

I LOVE THAT U CAN TELL A STORY FROM JUST THEIR POSES AND POSITIONS LIKE MIKEY DEF CAME OVER TO PESTER DONNIE AND FELL ASLEEP ON HIS LAP SO DONNIE HAD NO CHOICE BUT TO STAY AND NAP TOO (cause its illegal to disrupt little brothers sleeping in ur laps of course, same rule as cats) AND THEN LEO WANDERED IN AND PROBABLY SMILED THAT AFFECTIONATE BIG BROTHER SMILE BEFORE CURLING UP BESIDE THEM THEN RAPH CAME A LIL BIT LATER WONDERING WHERE EVERYONE WAS AND AFFECTIONATELY CALLED THEM A BUNCH OF BOZOS BEFORE TAKING A SEAT WITH THEM (in a semi blind spot too the protective little baby) AND HE DIDNT MEAN TO FALL ASLEEP BUT IT WAS JUST TOO COZY AND AHHH

UGH AND THEN OLD MAN SPLINTER COMES TO CHECK ON THEM AND THOSE ARE HIS BABIES HIS LITTLE BOYS I AM SOBBING TRIONA I LOVE IT SO SO SO MUCH I AM BEYOND WORDS

[skyloftian-nutcase]

Speaking of prompts, lofty if u have any doodle or ficlet prompts for today that u can think of I'd love something distracting/to do. It has been A Weird Day lmao

Hmmmm

Healthcare doodle? Of whatever healthcare scene you like the most, or make one up?

Draw your favorite blorbo knitting?

Writing prompt: one of the boys gets a freaking break.

[lpsotd]

i'm honestly at a loss for words. i was expecting a straightforward "thank you for your email! i support israel and blahblahblah" not "thank you for supporting israel!" because i said no such thing ??? i sent a long detailed email expressing my disgust towards israel and saying i support palestine — the crazy part is that this response was sent twice, word for word

[the-somwthing]

Sick of BigB ruining the wonderful relationship that is Scarian. Where is BigB saving Grian from the horrible relationship that is Scarian.

[glowingsand]

pls ignore that this is a week late but happy bday to my queen kazuki <3

[smilesrobotlover]

Whumptober day 13- infection

Idk if any of you remember the post about me asking about how to write signing, but that post was for this fic. This is about Moon, my beloved Link oc and he is deaf, so I needed to write a way for him to be signing. I was originally going just use apostrophes but most of the deaf people who responded to that post said how I should use normal quotation marks, so that’s what I did. I hope it won’t get confusing, I tried to make it clear that Moon and Groose were signing, so just know that when they’re talking to each other, they’re signing. Thanks again to the deaf people who responded to that post ☺️

Anyways if you wanna know more about Moon, you can just go on the “moon” tag or “the hand of Farore” tag. There’s A LOT to Moon. You can even go to @thehandoffarorecomic if you want, but there’s no comic just yet. Rn I’m playing with the story.

Warning for an infection. It’s pretty mild lol.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link had been distant from the others for a while now, and Groose was starting to get worried about him. Link wasn’t a very social person, so him keeping to himself wasn't at all strange, especially after what happened in Groose’s own home. But the way he walked away from Groose everytime he approached him was odd, it was almost as if he was avoiding him. Farore noticed his behavior as well, and though she tried to talk to him about it, it seemed to have been in vain.

“He won’t talk to me,” she said, her little bunny nose twitching, “I know that he’s still new at signing, but I figured that he’d at least tell me something.”

Groose shrugged. “Link isn’t that new to sign language. He’s actually quite a chatterbox whenever we talk.”

Farore frowned. “So he’s good at sign language, why isn’t he telling me anything?”

“You’re a goddess aren’t you? Shouldn’t you know everything?”

“Knowing everything is Nayru’s job, not mine!”

Groose rolled his eyes. “Isn’t that just convenient.”

“Watch it Groosie, I’m still a goddess.”

Groose snorted. “Sure sure, don’t call me Groosie. So what should we do?”

Farore hopped closer to him and rested against his legs. “Have you tried talking to him?”

“I have. He just walks away from me. I’m worried.”

“Well, you should try harder.”

Groose was taken aback. Of course he would’ve tried harder, but after what happened, he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries. “W-why me? He’s with you all the time!”

“Yes, but… I think you’re the first friend he’s ever had. Plus, you’re both the same age, I think you’ll have an easier time connecting with him.”

“Farore, I’ve tried to talk to him. It’s not gonna work now.”

“Then try harder.”

“Oh my Din, why do you want me to try harder? You’re around him more, you know him more, I… my mom tried to get him killed, why would he— why would he want to talk to me?”

“Groose, please,” Farore pleaded, giving him a serious look. “Just try one more time.”

Groose groaned “Fine! Fine, I’ll ‘try harder’!”

“Thank you.”

Groose glared at Farore and stomped away. He didn’t care that she was a goddess and that he was sassing her, she was annoying, and it wasn’t like she was Din anyways. It took him a moment to find Link, but Groose finally found him under a tree by a pond. His eyes were closed, and he was holding his leg with a strained expression on his face. Groose frowned and knelt down in front of him, lightly tapping him on the knee. Link flinched and his eyes opened wide as he stared at Groose in shock, but he calmed down when he realized he was in no danger.

“Are you ok?” Groose signed, titling his head in concern. Link was pale, and his eyes had bags underneath them.

“I’m good,” Link quickly signed back, and Groose figured that he would say that. It’s all he told him since he started acting strange.

“Just try one more time.”

Farore’s words echoed through Groose’s mind and he rolled his eyes. He should obey the goddess, or at least put some effort in. But he couldn’t shake the feeling that Link was still upset over what happened with his mother… he didn’t want to overstep his boundaries.

Link’s eyes closed and Groose tapped his leg again, being met with annoyed blue eyes.

“You’re not good. You look sick.”

Link looked away, and Groose moved so he was in his vision.

“Are you sick?”

Link pursed his lips and looked down at his leg. “It won’t slow me down. Don’t worry,” he finally answered. Groose frowned. That was a weird thing to say.

“I don’t care that it won’t slow you down, I care that it will hurt you, or worse.”

Link stared at him, his grip around his leg tightening. Groose noticed and reached for his hand, but stopped.

“May I?” He asked, and Link didn’t respond. Groose slowly reached for his hand again, and Link didn’t fight back, instead, he let his hand be taken off his leg. Groose didn’t know what he expected, but he realized that with Link wearing pants, it would be difficult to see anything wrong. Groose sighed, at least there was no visible blood. “Does it hurt there?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“I got a cut. It’s been there for a while.”

Groose felt his blood run cold. Was there an infection?

“I need to see it. Now,” Groose signed rather quickly, and Link looked at him confused. He brought his fingers together in one hand and pointed them all to his palm, then dragged a finger up his arm slowly. Groose sighed and signed a little slower and more clearly. “I need to see your injury. This could be serious.”

“I’ve turned out fine before.”

“Have you had cuts like this before?”

“I have. And I’ve walked them off before.”

“Link, you can’t just walk injuries off.”

“I had to,” Link’s face had nothing but anger written on it, and he stared straight into Groose’s eyes that it made him squirm. “If I couldn’t, then I would’ve been left for dead!” Link’s arms flailed slightly as his hands flip-flopped at the end of his sentence.

Groose backed away a little as Link’s breathing grew heavy, tears beginning to appear in his eyes. Guilt gripped Groose’s heart as he thought about everything that happened before. His mother trying to kill Link, the slavers tormenting Link with their very existence, and Groose didn’t do enough to stop it. He sighed and stared at Link’s shaking hands. He looked up and waved at Link to make sure he was watching.

“You won’t be left for dead. Not with me. I promise,” he signed slowly and clearly, making sure that Link understood that Groose would never do such a thing. “You’re my friend,” Groose’s pointer fingers hooked together, and he kept them there for a while while Link just stared, looking more exhausted than before, and Groose tried again. “Let me help you. Please.”

Link finally nodded and let Groose check his leg. He rolled up his pants and inspected his shin, which was where the injury was. Groose was not a medic by any means, but he could tell that with the way the cut was inflamed that it was infected. He decided to go to Farore to help, figuring that she would know what to do more than himself. Groose’s worry grew when Link limped painfully to Farore, and he knew that the infection was severe, he just didn’t know how bad it was.

Thankfully, Farore knew ingredients for a healing potion, which Groose was able to make right away. As soon as Link drank it, he started to act more like himself. His color returned to him, his fever went down, and his eyes were lit up again. Groose was relieved that the healing potion worked, and he stuck by Link’s side while it went through his system. It didn’t take long for Link to finally fall asleep, and Groose was left alone with Farore, who was curled up on his chest for comfort.

“I knew you could do it,” she said after a moment of silence.

“Do what?” Groose asked.

“Get through to him.”

Groose rolled his eyes, but he smiled slightly.

“Why were you so intent on me getting through to him though? He likes you more, you—“ Groose paused, feeling guilty again, “you aren’t responsible for his pain.”

Farore tilted her head. “You’re not responsible for his pain either.”

“No, not for all of it, but… if I had stood up to my mother more, or had spoken up against the slavers that she worked with or—or anything to stop my mother’s involvement with slavery I— Link wouldn’t had suffered like he did!”

Farore frowned. “That’s not fair to you Groose. You are not responsible for your mother’s actions. You were manipulated by her. You didn’t understand the extent of what was happening with slavery.” Farore got close to Groose’s face. “You didn’t know any better.”

“I should’ve known. I’m going to be the king of the Gerudo, I should’ve known better.”

Farore made a sad face and backed away. “You’re only sixteen. You’re still a child.”

Groose didn’t say anything and instead held onto Link’s hand. Farore rested her paw on their clasped hands and they all stayed there for a moment, until Farore spoke up again.

“I’m not gonna be with him forever.”

Groose looked at her confused. “What do you mean?”

“When this is all over, me and my sisters will return to the sacred realm, we will leave Hylia to protect Hyrule again, and… I’ll have to leave Link behind.”

Groose stared at her. She was going to leave everything behind?

“I won’t be gone gone,” she quickly clarified, “I’ll be here in spirit, and I’ll listen and answer your prayers. But physically I won’t be here anymore. I just want…. I just want Link to have support when I’m away. That’s why I pushed you to talk to him.”

“O-oh,” was all that Groose was able to say. Though he knew she was a goddess, it was easy to forget. Farore gave Groose a smile and hopped away. But before she jumped off the bed, she turned to Groose.

“Link doesn’t blame you for anything. I hope you know that.”

Groose’s hand tightened around Link’s. He didn’t believe her, even though he knew she was right, it wasn’t ok for Groose to believe her. Farore hummed at his reaction.

“You should talk to Link about it.”

Groose pursed his lips and stared at his unconscious friend. “I’ll do it when he’s better.”

Farore smiled slightly. “Ok, fair enough. Do it when he’s better.” Groose smiled at Farore before she jumped off the bed, leaving him alone with Link.

[running-in-the-dark]

my niece is staying with us for the whole weekend for the first time. until now it's always been one night only, not two.

it's the second night now and I have already decided this is not happening again anytime soon. I'm so fucking exhausted. it'd be less exhausting if it was my nephew, I think - he's older and also doesn't need as much help (even when he was her age).

I love my niece but she just asks so many questions. like when we're watching a show or a movie, even if it's one she has seen before (even multiple times), she doesn't understand what's going on and constantly asks me to explain everything. I don't mind it, really, but it does take a lot of energy. plus tonight it took over two hours for her to fall asleep because she was scared by the noises of the house and the nearby road. I get it, but damn I'm so fucking tired, I just want to sleep 😭

[hello-there]

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