#i wrote it all in like 2 hours

[stevebabey]

have sum steddie! maybe modern!au, no upside down!au & a meet cute <3 | ao3

Steve sits in the booth, his foot tapping away mindlessly under the table, with half a mind to abandon the table entirely.

In fact, the only reason he hadn’t yet was because of the $20 he was hanging out for at the end. And the bragging rights, of course.

Robin had set him up on this blind date, plied him with all the promises in the world that he would enjoy it — said she’d spent a decent amount of time hunting for the right first gay date for Steve.

She also conceded that if he, for whatever reason, didn’t enjoy it, she would cough up 20 whole bucks for his wasted time. But he had to actually see the date through for the prize to be claimed.

And the bragging rights were so that Robin — with her uppity, healthy, and happy relationship that Steve was only a little bit envious of — could ease onto the breaks when it came to Steve’s love life.

So it was looking a little bleak at the moment, so what? Every stallion or… lion or whatever had their moments, right? Moments where their mane is a little uncouth and food is low and…. Where was he going with this?

The point was, that Robin got into one relationship and suddenly decided she was fit to become a high and mighty matchmaker. Never mind that Steve had reminded her numerous times that he had dated a lot more than she had.

So, for 20 bucks and the right to stick his tongue out at his best friend when she tried to meddle, Steve could stick one night out.

Besides, she was right about one thing. They weren’t in Hawkins anymore — and San Francisco had a hell of a larger dating pool than his hometown.

Still, that didn’t make people anymore for prompt for dates though, apparently. Steve’s foot taps incessantly under the table, his knee bouncing up and down in his nerves. He runs a hand through his hair and checks his watch again.

7 o’clock, Harvey’s Diner, a cute little Italian place that Steve had begun to frequent since they moved to the city, and a date with a dude called Daniel whom Steve had no idea what he looked like.

This was his Friday night plans.

His watch reads 7:12pm and Steve sighs, his fingers beginning to fiddle with the strap of his watch just for something to do. Great. He had gotten all dressed up for this? To be stood up? How was this any better than his usual Friday night plans that Robin claimed were so pathe—

“Hi.”

Someone sits down in the booth across from Steve, landing with a thump loud enough to give him a fright.

Steve’s head whips up from its focus on fiddling with his watch and— woah. Steve blinks once, twice, and feels his jaw unhinge a little, his lips parting an inch as he gazes at the stranger across from him.

Holy shit, this dude was hot.

He’s got curls for days, dark chocolate ringlets all messy and unkept spilling over his shoulders— long and probably perfect for burying your hands into. Steve flushes a little at the unexpected thought.

He has beautiful brown eyes, widened with a smudge of eyeliner and framed with long lashes. Steve thinks he can spy a smattering of freckles across his forehead. His nose is long and his lips are plush and pink and holy shit, this dude was pretty.

“Oh— hi.” Steve manages to remember his manners. Only after he fully checked this dude out, of course.

God, couldn’t Robin have given him a better warning than just ‘he’s probably your type’? Couldn’t she have warned him that this dude was ‘do-a-double-take-on-the-street type hot?’ What the fuck Robin?

The man across from him grins, wicked and alluring all at once, and shucks off his heavy leather jacket. His eyes do a once-over on Steve, taking his time to check him out— which is great because Steve is stuck on all the glorious tattoos that have just been revealed. So much skin shown in his roughly chopped muscle-tee, swirling ink all down his arms. This dude is hot.

Silently, Steve curses Robin and the 20 dollars that is totally slipping away from him. Why did she have to be right all the time?

“Been waiting long?” The man, Daniel, asks as he makes himself comfortable across the table. He pushes his hair back with both hands, using one hand to gather it into a ponytail, holding it up to air out his neck and Steve now realises he is slightly puffed.

He must’ve run part of the way here, to avoid being later than he was. Steve can’t help but be slightly endeared by that fact.

The man grins again, “Promise I was trying to be on time but, you know how the subway is.”

Steve huffs out a laugh, any annoyance at being kept waiting melting away at his date’s sincerity.

“Not too long,” Steve admits, smiling to ease Daniel’s apparent concern. Across the table, Daniel slumps a little and releases his hair, his curls pooling back around his shoulders. Steve watches, entranced.

“Well, that’s good,” Daniel smiles, eyes bright like he really means it, and his hand darts out to steal the drinks menu from the edge of the table. He looks back over to Steve, a furrow in his brows. “You didn’t order anything?”

“I thought I should wait,” Steve says with a shrug. No point paying for food if your date never shows up.

Daniel looks up from the menu through his lashes and smiles, placing his elbow on the table and dropping his chin in the palm of his hand. “Aw, you’re sweet.”

Steve is a little embarrassed by how easily the compliment makes him blush, feeling his cheeks glow lightly. Across the table, Daniel seems to revel in it, drinking in the way Steve’s face filled with colour with a cheeky smile. His eyes flick back down to the menu.

“You know,” Daniel begins, keeping his eyes on the menu, scanning it with a hum. “Chrissy said you were good looking but I think she seriously undersold you.”

He takes his eyes off the menu to trail up Steve’s body, his gaze heavy. Steve feels a delighted zing go up his spine, feels the way he preens at Daniel’s attraction. Steve opens his mouth to respond, more than ready to return the flirt when—

“Can I get you two started with anything?”

The waitress interrupts. She’s poised with her notepad, standing at the edge of the booth. Daniel perks up and nods.

“Can I get a chocolate milkshake please?” He asks with a polite smile. Steve laughs lightly at his selection and Daniel’s gaze cuts from the waitress to Steve.

“What? Not a milkshake man?”

Steve tries to contain his grin, all too endeared by the man before him. He shakes his head and raises his hand in defense. “Nothing against milkshakes just… for dinner?”

Daniel gasps theatrically and his head snaps back to the waitress. “This man has never had the delight of a Harvey’s milkshake with his dinner. Please bring us two chocolate milkshakes!”

Steve watches as the waitress dutifully writes down the order and turns on her heel, heading for the kitchen. He turns back to his date and gapes, taken aback by the forwardness.

“Did you just order for me?”

“Did you just diss milkshakes?”

Steve scoffs, but even then he can’t stop his lips from curling up into a smile. He can’t believe it but he’s genuinely glad he waited this date out. It's not at all like he was expecting. Even Robin's short description of this dude pales in comparison to the real thing. Steve nudges his foot forward into Daniel’s shin lightly.

“I did not diss milkshakes,” Steve argues, his smile widening at how Daniel’s eyes dart to the table before back up at Steve with a grin.

“Uh huh,” Daniel nods, his voice sarcastic and 100% unbelieving of Steve’s insistence. “Just wait, okay? You’ll be changing your tune soon enough. Harvey’s milkshakes are class. I’ve had a thousand of my best ideas in here, sipping on a chocolate milkshake.”

Steve grins and leans back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. Under the table, he feels Daniel’s boot nudge against his leg gently— and he laughs to himself. This has gotta be the most teenage way of flirting and he’s fucking loving it.

“You know,” Steve begins hesitantly, letting his forearms lean up against the table. “You’re not quite what I expected, Daniel.”

Across the table, Daniel scrunches up his face, his expression one of pure befuddlement. He puts his hands flat on the table and leans forward.

“Wait, you think my name is Daniel?”

Steve splutters for a moment because even though the answer is duh, yes, it’s become increasingly apparent that the man across from him is not who he was expecting. But if he’s not Daniel, who is he?

Suddenly, the door chimes and someone else is entering the diner. It’s a man dressed like Steve — on the preppy side with hair that must’ve taken at least an hour. He scans the booth and spots Steve’s booth, wandering over, his eyes fixed on the man across from Steve.

“Hey, are you Eddie?” He asks confidently, ignoring Steve’s presence on the other side of the booth.

The man — Eddie — freezes as he glances up at the newcomer and then back down to Steve ahead of him. Steve deflates a little inside as he realises abruptly what’s happened— a mix-up of wrong dates that was completely warranted because this dude dresses exactly like Steve. Steve doesn't stare too long to see if he's any hotter.

Instead, he tries to give Eddie the all-clear with his eyes. He smiles polite as he can and gives a little nod to let him know it was alright to abandon him for the date he was supposed to go on. Not to get stuck with Steve.

Eddie clears his throat and smiles, not cheeky like he had with Steve, but stiff and polite. “Ah sorry man, I think you’ve got the wrong guy. My name's Daniel.”

Huh? Steve takes his eyes off the table to steal a glimpse at Eddie (is his name even Eddie?) and something inside him burns hotly when the man glances across at Steve and winks.

The man standing by the booth wavers for a moment, glancing between them in the booth as Steve schools his expression to neutral. After a moment of silence, there's a half-assed apology as the man retreats, heading back out the door he had just come through. The door chimes again on his way out.

Steve straightens up and peers over his shoulder, watching the door slowly swing shut. He turns back to the man across the booth and squints at him. The waitress returns briefly, dropping two large chocolate shakes onto the table, topped with a mountain of cream. She murmurs something about coming back to take their order in a moment.

"Wait, so who are you?" Steve asks, gently sliding his shake closer to him. "Daniel or Eddie?"

His date —well, his new date— has already begun taking a big long sip from his own milkshake, so enamored with it that when he pulls away there's a dot of cream on the end of his nose. He swallows with a satisfied ah and grins across the table at Steve, not noticing the dairy on his face.

"I'm whoever gets me talking with you a little bit longer."

Steve grins, an endeared roll of his eye at the blatant flirting but he can't deny how it makes his chest warm. He grabs one of the napkins and reaches forward, adoring how Eddie goes cross-eyed as he watches Steve smudge away the cream on his nose. He laughs sheepishly, giving his nose a little wipe with his own hand.

"I'm Eddie." He says, finally introducing himself. He doesn't offer his hand, just gives Steve a little nudge under the table and a grin over his milkshake. "And I think you just saved me from a terrible date."

Steve laughs, giving a little shake of his head. He finally goes in for a sip of his own milkshake— and it's just as heavenly as Eddie had promised, glorious chocolate dancing over his taste buds.

Steve groans quietly, eyes bright when he glances at the other man over his glass, entirely amused by how wide-eyed Eddie has become. He releases the straw and sits back, more invested in this date than he has been in... years. Stallion's got its mojo back. Or lion. Whatever.

"I'm Steve," He responds, giving a little nudge back under the table and a grin of his own. "And I think you saved me from being stood up."

[djotime-allthetime]

Freaky Redheads

synopsis: interactions between you and fred hechinger at a red carpet event for gladiator ii.

wc: 2.5k+

rpf!!! don't like, don't read!!!

a/n: i love that soft, sweet, adorable man with all of my heart. my inspiration is how fred talks about sherry. the monkey. i'm down bad bro.

italics are supposed to be comments under tiktok clips of these interviews. i definitely have more in mind for these two, but we'll see how this goes. feedback is writer's fuel!

cross posted on AO3

next part>>

The flashing cameras and yelling reporters have started to become the new normal, which was so not normal for you. You couldn't believe how far you'd come.

Granted, your role in the movie was definitely more in the supporting cast territory, but you couldn't deny how massive the production was. But even as a supporting actress, you still had quite a bit of screen time as the unnamed favorite concubine to Emperor Caracalla.

The fans who knew you called out your name from behind the velvet ropes and you smiled and waved as you walked by.

"y/n! y/n! Over here!" A reporter called out. You nodded and smiled as you approached, indicating your acceptance of the carpet-side interview. Your agent had warned you that not every journalist might want to speak with you and that you should accept any interview you came by. Thankfully, as the start of your night would show, that wasn't the case.

"Hello!" You beamed, coming to a stop in front of the camera. The reporter greeted you back and handed you a microphone glued to a mini Romanesque column. "Oh, wow. I love the microphone!"

"Thank you," She smiled. With a quick glance at her blouse, you saw a name tag that said 'MTV UK: Claire'. "It was my idea, actually."

"Incredibly creative! They should give you a raise, Claire."

"If you wouldn't mind saying that directly into the camera..." Claire trailed off with a chuckle and a mischievous glint to her eye.

You shot the camera as serious a look as you could muster. "MTV, if you do not give this woman a raise, I will riot in the streets."

"Alright alright, enough of that." Claire laughed out loud with a few shakes of her head. "You look absolutely stunning!"

"Oh, this old thing?" You smiled bashfully, grabbing at your skirt to twirl it around. The styling department had made sure that all the gowns worn during press had some Roman inspiration behind them. The piece you were wearing was off white in color, representing your character's position in society. Even with your character in mind, your dress was still breathtaking. The gown was composed of yards and yards of fabric, giving it this dreamy, flowy silhouette. The neckline was so beautiful, in the cowl style and draped ever so slightly off your shoulders. To say that you loved it would be an understatement. "Thank you very much, you look amazing yourself."

"But you are on a different level!" Claire gasped, no doubt to return the topic to you. Just like you were media trained, the reporters were too. "What was the thought process behind your look tonight?"

Your eyes lit up as this was something you had wanted to talk about. "Well, the styling department and I actually workshopped this look together. Of course we wanted it to be glamorous, this is the red carpet after all. But we also wanted to show the character through the outfits, you know?" She nodded along.

"Right, your character was quite impactful even with the few lines you had." Claire added, and you smiled in thanks.

"Yeah, thank you." You felt your face heat up at the compliment. "We wanted to still be true to her, under all the glitz and glamour. So that's why we went with the understated color, to not only show her position in society but also her demeanor throughout the film."

"But your jewellery is anything but understated." She laughed.

"Yeah, I couldn't help myself." You laughed with her.

"Give us a quick tour."

You were almost dripping in gold, from your head to your toes. "We've got the hair piece." You brought a hand up to show the gold pins connected with chains littering your up-do. "Earrings upon earrings, all hoops." You pulled a strand back to show off your right ear clearly. Some were clip on earrings as you didn't have quite enough piercings to get them all. "The necklaces, of course. Some bracelets, some rings. But I think this cuff on my upper arm is my favorite."

"And these are all borrowed pieces from different brands?"

"Most of them are, yes." You confirmed with a nod. "But some are from my private collection. And some I might steal." You joked, getting a laugh out of Claire.

"Well, you really knocked it out of the park." Claire smiled, a tone of finality in her voice that showed you the interview was coming to a close. "And before we let you go, we've got one question we're asking everyone tonight. I think we can all agree that the cast of this movie is full of beautiful men." You giggled, a bit surprised at the turn in topic. "But people on the internet have separated them into two categories."

"Oh, have they now?" You asked, unaware of what she was talking about.

"Yes, they have. Gen Z has divided them into the brooding brunets and the freaky redheads." She explained, pulling up two little hand held signs. One with Paul Mescal and Pedro Pascal, the brooding brunets, and the other with Joseph Quinn and Fred Hechinger, the freaky redheads.

You couldn't contain the surprised laugh that escaped you at the sight of their little printed faces. "Oh my goodness!"

"So, as the resident Gen Z-er on the cast, who is your pick?"

"Well, I wouldn't say I'm the only representation of Gen Z here." You mused as you grabbed both the signs from Claire. You lifted up the 'freaky redheads' sign and pointed to Fred. "My friend is right there with me in the Gen Z territory."

"Alright, as the representation of Gen Z women, which team is more your style?" Claire asked as you studied the signs. "People are saying they went into the movie for the brunets and came out converted to team redheads."

"That's actually really funny," You chuckled as you looked down at both signs. "This is hard." You mumbled. A small smirk found itself on your lips as you thought of Fred seeing this clip later. Someone no doubt showing it to him, as he wouldn't find it on his own. "I feel like- yeah." You nodded with determination. "I'm gonna have to go with Fred- I'm going with team freaky redheads." You nodded. "I think it would be treacherous otherwise."

"Good choice. You'd break Emperor Caracalla's heart."

"And then he'd have my head." You laughed, stepping back. "Thank you for your great questions."

"Thank you for your time." Claire waved as you walked away. "We're gonna have a tally going throughout the night, and we'll see who wins. Team brooding brunets, or team freaky redheads." You heard her say to the camera as you moved further down the carpet.

'She looks so pretty!!'

'i love the thought process behind the outfit, you can tell she really loved her character'

'the reporter asked y/n if she prefers lucius and acacius or geta and caracalla and this girl really said FRED 💀'

'i love seeing new faces in hollywood, give young new actors a chance!!' ↳ 'right?? im so sick of them recycling the same actors for every big budget movie'

'she mentioned fred, not caracalla, twice, unprompted. i see you, y/n. you're just like us.' ↳ 'have you seen his interviews? he's literally the cutest i cant blame her 🥺'

A few steps down, another reporter flagged you down. This time, the questions were more centered around the acting itself.

"And was it difficult? In a previous interview, you've said that your character's growth was significant, but she had almost no lines in the movie."

"Yeah, I think in the final cut she only has... three lines?" You winced, looking upwards as you tried to recall what was and wasn't cut. "Though I'm not sure."

"So there were scenes where she could've said more?"

"Oh yeah, for sure! There was a lot of experimentation with my character throughout filming. Ridley's a genius and he was kind enough to truly take in my suggestions. There were times where I felt like she would actually stay quiet during a scene, whereas other times I felt like she would speak up. But yeah," You breathed in and furrowed your brows in thought as you tried to focus your answer back to the original question. "It was definitely a challenge. I had to really work on my micro-expressions. Lots of research, lots of practice. And lots of trust, too. With a character like mine, I really relied on Fr- on my fellow actors in those scenes. So yeah, definitely challenging. But who doesn’t love a good challenge?"

"And did you take any inspiration from other people's work? Any source material that helped you out as you built your character?"

"Of course!" You smiled, a hint of humor in your tone as you thought of your response. "Yeah, I did. Actually, one of the biggest inspirations for my role, believe it or not, was Ferb. From 'Phineas and Ferb'."

"The- The children's show?" The interviewer questioned with a grin.

"Yeah, Ridley thought it was brilliant!" You laughed. "We watched compilations of Ferb scenes on youtube together. And I know that Fred- Fred Hechinger, who plays Emperor Caracalla-, he also brought up Sid Vicious with Ridley, as well as other sources like that. Sir Ridley Scott has great taste, there's no denying that."

'ferb as inspiration for a movie like this,,, gen z in the film industry really are the gift that keeps on giving'

'im just imagining y/n and ridley scott curled up on the couch watching phineas and ferb reruns. that man is 86 years old. this is brilliant.'

'bro didn't even have to say anything and y/n still brought up fred 💀'

'the gen z cast members making ridley scott watch cartoons is sending me'

'not her pretending she didn't mean to say fred when she talked about trust, we all heard you y/n'

Unbeknownst to you, Fred's interviews were going much like yours, only a few feet behind you on the carpet.

"You look amazing today!" Claire, the same reporter you spoke to, told Fred during his first interview on the carpet.

"Thank you, thank you." He replied bashfully as he tried to subtly look around for you, but he couldn't see you just yet. "Everyone looks so great, everyone."

She asked him a few questions and then came time for her ending segment.

"Alright, to close off, we've got a little game here."

"A game?" Fred smiled with raised brows. "I love games." He said softly, not realizing that the microphone would pick it up.

"Yes, a quick one. You just have to choose between team brooding brunets and team freaky redheads. We've asking everyone to join."

"Woah!" Fred exclaimed as he received the signs. "That's me." He pointed out his own face in the picture of him and Joseph. "What are we basing our choice on here?"

"Well, the internet is battling on who is more attractive."

"Oh my god." Fred chortled, not expecting that answer. "Who's played the game?" He asked, still examining the hand held signs.

"As of now, we've spoken to Joseph Quinn, Connie Nielsen, and y/n l/n." Claire recounted.

Fred's eyes lit up and his cheeks reddened at the mention of your name. "And what's the- what's the consensus so far?"

"It's two to one. Can you guess who's in the lead?" Claire asked.

"Let me think... Well, Joseph -my brother-, he definitely voted for us." He pondered aloud as he counted the votes off on his fingers. "Connie... I think Connie went for team brunets. I mean, it's her husband. She's gotta." He grinned when it came to you. "y/n chose me, right? We're in the lead?"

"Yeah, you're right on all counts! You really know your cast members." Claire laughed. "y/n didn't want to anger Emperor Caracalla."

"Oh, she couldn't. I’ve got too much of a soft spot for her." Fred shook his head emphatically.

"So, are you keeping team redheads in the lead? Or will you give us a tie?"

"No, I'm going team redheads!" Fred exclaimed. "I'm not helping out my competition, no way!"

'this man has bewitched me with his beautiful eyes and calming demeanor'

'he always calls joe his brother im CRYINGGG'

'did you see his face when they mention y/n, this man can't hide his crush for the life of him 🥺' ↳ 'neither can she lol'

'what do yall know about fred hechinger 🗣️🗣️🗣️'

'fred immediately knowing that y/n chose him, kill me right now.' ↳ 'mind you the choice was caracalla. she still said 'fred' and he said 'me'. can they be more obvious?'

'the way this man said 'i love games' protect him at all costs'

‘he said ‘i’ve got a soft spot for her’ is this the year of men yearning?’ ↳ ‘it’s just the paul mescal effect’

It was during his next interview that he saw you. He was talking about his experience building the character of Emperor Caracalla with Sir Ridley Scott as well as Joseph Quinn when he finally caught sight of you. You had spent a bit longer with a specific reporter down the carpet, causing Fred to catch up to you. 

“Of course, y/n was a great help as well.” He smiled, reaching over to brush against your elbow to catch your attention. At the perfect time, too, because you had just finished talking to the reporter in front of you.

“Oh, Fred!” You beamed, coming over to give him a hug. 

“Look at you.” Fred spoke against your shoulder. He pulled away from the hug and brought you into his side in front of the camera, almost like he was showing you off. “Look at her, isn’t she stunning.”

“Stop it,” you rolled your eyes as you tried your best not to show how his compliment affected you. “I’m sorry for interrupting, I just had to say hello.”

“No worries,” the reporter reassured you. “Fred was actually saying how you helped with the building of his character.”

“Yeah, we worked really closely during pre-production actually.” You nodded, acutely aware of Fred’s hands on you. He had one hand casually tucked into his pocket while his other arm draped across your waist, his hand resting against your hip. “My character was almost like Caracalla’s sidekick, so the motives for all her actions are really based around him.”

“I’d argue that she was more of a mirror, actually.” You turned to look at Fred, never passing up an opportunity to hear his view on these things. “She’s the complete opposite of Caracalla, but in a way she represents who he truly is under all the pressure of being in Geta’s shadow.”

“And under all the syphilis, of course.” You added, causing Fred to giggle.

“Yeah, and under the syphilis.”

‘he seems like such a sweet guy 🥺’

‘did you see his face when he saw her???  😫😫😫 theyre in love, your honor’

‘him showing her off like that is peak soft boyfriend behavior’

‘they just called me single in seven different languages’

‘his laugh is actually so cute, who is this man and why am i in love with him? 😍’ ↳ 'get in line' ↳'behind y/n, you mean?'

‘the way he’s touching her???? im just gonna go take a nap in front of an oncoming train’

‘im calling it, new hollywood it couple’

‘look at how he looks at her!!! may this love find me 🙏’

[babacontainsmultitudes]

OUGH call me Big Shane Silva the way that episode had me falling over and torn into pieces fuuuuuuuuuck oh the Trudy and Francis heart-to-heart... The group hug... The gunkata... The middle-aged witch yuri... The hole in the stars... MAN.

[sophiethewitch1]

congrats on the milestone sophie! i'm so excited to read what you have to share with us! For your 1k celbration, if it's not too much, I'd like to ask for ABXS for Jason and Dick uwu And if ur feeling particularly sharing I'd also love an L from all of them owo

Strei!!! Thank you for the kind words, here's what you asked for. I even did the L's as well for my dearest most beloved mutual <3

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, gen yandere behaviour, murder, stalking, worshipping/weirdly religious undertones for Dick, um pet play sort of?? Jason would bark if you asked him to is all I'm saying.

A = Affection (Is Their Love All-consuming, Expressed Through Possessive Gestures and Overwhelming Intensity With No Bounds?):

Jason: Spreading my Jason Todd Loyal Dog Agenda here but he’s so unbelievably loyal. Way, way too loyal. It doesn’t matter if he personally agrees with whatever your decisions are, he’s listening like the loyal hound he is. Will push and prod at you, but at the end of the day, he’s devoted. While he’d always prefer to be as close to you as possible, he’s willing to stay away if that’s what you really want. Simple guy, aware of himself, and mostly in control of his more fervent tendencies. He refuses to lose control of you, to take too much, so he doesn’t take any. Just giving, giving, giving. He only hopes you’ll take him.

Dick: Dick is probably one of the most clingy yanderes out there. While others might stalk you, or protect you from afar, that’s not Dick’s methodology. He wants to be with you all the time, and make you happy all the time, and he spends his afternoons daydreaming about sitting between your thighs for hours at a time. All the time, if it was possible. While he’s trying not to overwhelm you, he’ll stay as calm and charming as possible. But eventually, he’s going to have to start confessing his love to you because he feels like he’ll explode with it. Along with acts of service, physical affection, and verbal affection, he also really likes buying you things. He’s an all-rounder. Still, he prefers buying you experiences rather than items, like holidays or trips to the fair. He decides against buying you a private island to visit for the summer, but only after staring at the property page online for three hours straight. Like I said, he really is trying!

B = Blood (How Messy Are They Willing to Get in Pursuit of Their Darling? Would They Embrace Chaos and Revel in the Crimson Tableau Painted by Their Actions?):

Dick: I’ve mentioned before that he’s pretty hesitant to kill. He’s gotten over his wild younger years, and is now more mature and in control of emotions. Now, all of that is one huge lie he tells himself that only lasts as long nobody ever tries to hurt you. Dick wears his heart on his sleeve, and then it gets even worse when you come around because his heart is just walking around outside his chest, with no aknowledgement for the dangers of the world. He does try, he really does, but when he snaps, he snaps hard. He’s not too bad of a sadist (also a lie) but when he easily catches whoever has been bothering you, he… well, he might play with them. Just a little bit. He doesn’t kill, he’s very careful of that, but honestly if I was that poor soul, I’d rather be dead. And then the next day, he goes back to being the cheerful sweetheart we all know and love!

Jason: I’ve also mentioned that Jason, unlike Dick, is very, very eager to get bloody. In canon, he enjoys punishing sinners and whatnot, and when he’s fallen for you, uh… So, basically, Jason would rather die than admit it, but he thinks of himself as your protector, your knight in shining leather armour. And along with that previously mentioned possessiveness, he totally lets it get out of hand. He’s aware you probably don’t want him slaughtering everyone who has ever harmed a single hair on your head, but unless you specifically tell him not to, he’s not going to stop. But if you do, he will. He’s loyal, he’s fervent in that loyalty. He wants to destroy anything that could ever hurt you. But he’d never go against your ruling, your will. He might complain about it, though. Loudly, very loudly. However, if you do want everyone who has ever annoyed you dead, he’s totally up for it no questions asked. Would probably consider it a date night of sorts.

S = Stigma (Can the Roots of Their Obsession Be Traced to a Dark Past, a Blend of Childhood Trauma, Twisted Curiosity, and a Skewed Perception of Love?):

Dick: Oh boy, this guy… He’s the poster child for childhood trauma affecting your perception of love. When his parents were murdered, he latched onto Bruce. And when Bruce kicked him out, he latched onto Bludhaven. And now when even Bludhaven can’t bring him any semblance of comfort, of home, you’re fucking heaven-sent. He latches onto you like a benign growth, and god help anyone who tries to tear the two of you apart.

Jason: Oh boy times two. Not the best childhood, raised on the streets. Taken in by Bruce, things are looking better and then- Well, we all know what happens then. After the trauma of literally digging himself out of his own grave, he feels a bit… disconnected from the world? He feels like a ghost, like he’s still dead, like his death never even mattered and the world kept going after he’d been gone. And that’d fuck up anybody, but someone personally trained by the Batman? Woof. We see in Under The Red Hood that Jason really does think vengeance is proof of love, at least in his case. To him, love is bloody and ruthless. It’s cannibalistic. A give and take. But since he doesn’t want to take from you, he’ll just give himself over wholly.

X = Xoanon (Does Their Reverence for Their Darling Border on Worship, Reaching Extreme Lengths to Prove Their Devotion and Ensure Unwavering Loyalty?):

Dick: He sees you like the sun. Powerful, brilliant, beautiful. And you’ll probably burn him to cinders as he loves you, but he doesn’t care. He probably enjoys the idea a little. Wouldn’t it be nice, to die in your arms? To close his eyes and disappear into you, where he’d never be apart from you again? He realises that sort of thinking is a bit creepy, but it’s one of the few things he simply can’t fight against. Not even the littlest bit. He’s self-aware to know he’s putting you on a pedestal, that you’re not some god or something, you’re just like him. Human. Maybe that makes him worship you even more. He can’t tell, it’s too blurry these days. He just knows you’re important, more so than he is. More so than anything is, really. Also, gotta mention body worship kink. Like, he’s really way too into it honestly. He’ll service you for however long you can last, and then place a hundred kisses against your exhausted body telling you how good you did, how perfect you are. When you look at him after a session like that, you can always see something a little too intense, too crazed to be called love. He knows he’s trying to hide it. He’ll do better next time, okay?

Jason: You’re his master. The hand around the leash. He’s angry at the world, so fucking angry. He wants to destroy it all. Assuming here, you probably don’t want the entire world blown to smithereens, so you’re his… conscience. Whatever you say goes. If you say Joker dies today, then he dies. If you say he can never kill another soul, then he won’t. He’s sassy about all of it, but it’s painfully obvious to literally everyone that he will follow every single order you give. And of course, he wants it that way. Maybe he really should get a collar for himself. He thinks it’d be cute, with your name on it in brilliant gold letters. He certainly thinks that the reaction his goons would give would be worth the effort, never mind your own reaction. Call him your good boy and you will get railed so hard you break the bed, lmfao

L = Love Letters (Is Courting an Intricate Dance Marked by Obsessive Letters and Gestures That Blur the Line Between Devotion and Insanity?):

Dick: I can’t see Dick ever actually sending you the letters he writes, but my god, he writes them. At first, it’s just little doodles in the corners of his very important paperwork, and then he’s scribbling on sticky notes, and eventually, he just gives in and buys a fucking notebook. They’re long winded and silly and he’d absolutely rather die than share them with you. But they make it just the slightest bit easier to choke down his devotion to you, so it doesn’t strangle him right then and there. He almost finds it as addicting as you are, almost being the keyword here. It’s genuinely pretty embarrassing, from an outsider’s standpoint. It’s like what a middle schooler would write in their diary, just lots of your name and hearts and very ridiculous poetry. He’d be good at it if it wasn’t about you, okay?

Jason: Jason, in direct contrast to Dick, writes very good poetry. Especially when it’s about you. It’s the sort of stuff they’ll put in museums, that future historians will write about. Of course they won’t know half of his more demented metaphors are just… straight up things he’s done for you. It’s flowing and beautiful and it’d make you tear up if you ever read it. You probably won’t just because Jason doesn’t really care if you read it, so he won’t share it with you on purpose. However if you find him one day in the library, and you ask to see whatever it is he’s made, you’ll be so very, very lucky. And Jason will turn tomato red, so that’s another plus.

Tim: Everybody knows that when Tim starts a list again, his mental health is on the decline. The list about you is concerningly long. And I’m really not saying that lightly, for Mr ‘I stalk literally everyone at least a little bit’. It’s something at four hundred thousand words by now, he’s not sure exactly. The little note app on his phone has had to suffer through hundreds or even thousands of hours of Tim writing down the most minute details of you and your life. How do you like to sit best? Is your posture okay, or should he worry about it? When you’re hungry, what food do you go for first? What about when you’re sick? If he’s ever around, tapping away on his phone, and you think he’s not paying you any attention, you’d be very, very wrong. Would probably share it with you just to laugh at your horrified face.

Damian: Damian was raised to perfect every form of art, from martial to dance, to even the more traditional ones. He’s always had a fondness for painting, and you’re most certainly his muse. Instead of letters, he paints you. For every memory he has of you, he has at least a sketch. He doesn’t care for almost all of them, as he doesn’t think they capture your beauty properly, so he doesn’t really care what happens with said drawings. Your first meeting has been drawn at least twenty times, and your sleeping face probably double that. Yes, he does draw you in more passionate poses as well. Your face all fucked out, drool leaking from your lips, is a personal favourite of his. He’ll probably share those ones with you, enjoying seeing you squirm. Asking if you want to help him find some extra inspiration because he’s all irritatingly smooth like that. Will laugh if you crush the lewd drawing up, agreeing it doesn’t do you justice. He’ll just have to try again.

[snzydarling]

Fall onto me

fandom: My Hero Academia

characters: Shouta Aizawa, Hizashi Yamada

cw: sneeze kink !!! mentions of coughing + brief mess

notes: ummmmmm I'm so nervous to post this !!! but it's for @waterfallofspace who is just the sweetest and always lights up my day + my dash every time we interact !!! Shes always making stuff for others and feeding my middle aged man obsession and I'm so thankful !!!!! I wish this. Was better. But um i tried my best and I hope you enjoy !!!!!

     After over 20 years of knowing each other, living with one another in both the dorms at UA and their apartment, Hizashi can confidently say that he knows his husband like the back of his hand. He knows Shouta’s food preferences, the temperature he likes his showers, and his preferred brand of eye drops 

-And what all of his different sneezes sound like.

So when Shouta walks through the door of their apartment, shuddering into his elbow with a muffled, heavy “hHD’SHHh-yu!”, Hizashi’s mind instantly darts to the Benydral kept in the bathroom cabinet, because Hizashi knows his husband, and knows the sound of his allergies all too well. 

But Shouta tends to get prickly when coddled, and everything Hizashi knows about his husband indicates irritation of more than one kind, so he keeps quiet. Instead, he smiles up at Shouta, who’s still sniffling in the entrance way as he drags himself out of the house and into his slippers, and greets him with a cherry “Bless you! Hello to you, too,” and revels in the well-natured eye roll he gets in acknowledgement. 

“hH’dTSHHh-yu! Damn. Sorry,” Is what his husband actually greets him with as he shuffles into the kitchen, rubbing his pinkened nose against his wrist. “I’ve been doing that all day.” He huffs like an old, burly dog as he sits at the table, and Hizashi can see an irritated wetness in his eyes as he hums down at his vegetables. 

“Not catching something, are ya? I’ve told you that you’ve gotta stop fussing over every student with the sniffles.” At that, Shouta shakes his lead a little too roughly, like he’s trying to shake off the tickle with it. “No, I feel fine. Jus’hiHt-! Just itchy.” He punctuates the sentence with a tickly cough, almost like he has to prove it. Hizashi can't empathize much, always prone to letting everything out as soon as it irritates him, but can sympathize, so he stands and stretches while his back gives a satisfying pop! and gives Shouta a small peck on the bridge of his nose that he knows will do the trick on his way to the stove. 

He hears his success as he lights the burner, first a quick snag in Shouta’s breath, then another, and then the creak of the chair as he shifts his weight suddenly “ hIH’dTSHh-yu! e’TCHhih! eHd’tCHh-iewh! ‘tCHHh-iew!  ” Hizashi listens, feigning an interest in the stove as his husband grumbles. “Bless you! That was cute.” He chirped. “No, it was gross.” Shouta corrects, and he can hear the congestion in his throat now. Poor thing. 

“Do you know what's setting you off? Can’t be pollen, it’s winter, and-” he leans over to press the back of his hand to Shouta’s cheek, mostly for show “- You’re cool as a clam, so it's not a cold.” Shouta opens his mouth to respond, but gets quickly interrupted with a quick gasp that sends him into his elbow once again. 

“hiD'TCHhi’yu! e'tTCHh- eD'SHH-iewh! hiH- hH'ESSHh-oo! ed'TCHHh-oo! ” Hizashi is face-front at the show this time, watching the crease in Shouta’s brow and the twitch of his nose from where it peaks above his sleeve. He dutifully passes along the tissues when his husband stays still for a beat too long, sniffling desperately, and starts to fill the quiet with enthusiasm blessing and talk of a new segment he's planning. He’s barely two sentences in, turned towards the stove again, when he hears Shouta take in a trembling gasp and muffle a tickly sounding “hihH”ndXT-iew!”, restrained and wholly unsatisfying-sounding. 

Hizashi whirls around to face him with his hands on his hips, playing the mother hen well as he scolds/ “Don’t do that, Sho! You’ll hurt yourself!” Then, in a softer tone, “Why don’t you go take a shower and wash whatever this is off.” He gives him a few hearty smacks on the back when he evolves into a fit of tickly, barking coughs that crescendo with a needy “e'hHDTSHh-yu!” that Hizashi thinks is all too cute. It must have cleared something out, because he stops sneezing for long enough to stand with cracking joints of his own (Christ, when did they get so old?) and disappear into the bathroom, pressing a hand to the small of Hizashi’s back as he passes. 

Besides a throat scraping fit that leaves Hizashi wincing in sympathy, responding with his own set of ‘Bless you!’ that probably gets muffled in the walls, everything seems to return to normal. When Shouta returns from the shower, hair wet and in a new set of clothes, nothing besides the occasional sniffle indicates much of anything was wrong, until they’re in the bedroom after dinner. Shouta sits on the bed, hunched over as he grades papers, while Hizashi stands in front of him and prepares for a late-night patrol. 

More specifically, the reprise occurs when Hizashi sprays a bit of cologne on himself, a gift from a fan he got on his patrol last night. It was a small bottle, labeled all in English, with a spiced scent he was fond of. But apparently, his husband wasn't. The moment he sprays it, Shouta gasps and starts to cough, leaving Hizashi laughing as he thumps him on the back for the second time that day. “That bad, huh? I like it.” “NohH - no, it’hHT-!.. It’s not that, ihHt-” He’s not able to finish explaining before he takes another stuttering breath, nostrils flaring and teeth peaking out from where his lips curl back, and buries himself in his sleeve. 

“e'TCHHhi- et’TSHHh-iewh! hiD'TCH!  hH’RSHHh-! ‘tSHHh-iewh! eH’NGKT-hH’NGT- e'SHHhi-yu! ” Hizashi is a bit awestruck, not accustomed to watching such an unprompted loss of control, spurred only when Shouta manages to hiss out “the perfume’hHTSHHh-iew!” before being thrown back into his elbow with another fit as Hizashi takes a wide step back, then a couple more as his husband starts to cough again. 

“hiDt'TSHhi-! hiD'TCH’yu! ‘tSHHhi-yu! hiH- ugh… snf” And, nose apparently satisfied, Shputa flops against the headboard, panting as a stray tear tracks down his face, carving out the slope of his cheekbones. He looks up at Hizashi with teasing and expectant eyes, eyebrows raised, and he can’t help but get lost for a second in how hot that is before remembering himself. 

“Bless you lots, sho! I lost count! Guess we found the culprit, huh?” He remembers, just barely, to keep his distance, plucking the bottle up from the nightstand with a stretch. “hiDt’sHHhi-! Ugh, yeah.” The congestion is back in his voice, leaving it thick and a bit crackly. “How was it on me this morning, though?” Hizashi has to think about that for a minute, leaning back on his heels, then remembers with a sheepish smile. 

“When I got back from patrol, I sprayed it in here, just to try it, y’know? It must’ve gotten in your hair. Oh, you poor thing, Sho!!” He says with drama, trying to make up for his lack of physical contact with words. 

“hiDT’CHh-yu!” Shouta snaps forward again, then sniffs as he straightens out. “Just remember to wash off before you come to bed.” He grumbles as Hizashi starts to back out of the room. He gives a mock salute, calling out a “Yes, Sir!” As he closes the bedroom door. While he toes on his shoes, he hears another muffled sneeze through the wall, and sticks around just long enough to hear a “thank you” for his blessing. 

[left-side-up]

Mars

One hour, thirty-seven minutes, and sixteen seconds left.

Martyn wipes the blood from his face, still panting heavily. He won. As the red haze fades from his mind, so does the ecstasy of victory.

He's the last one standing. It's over. So why is his clock still ticking?

For the first time since becoming red, he's... numb. His eyes land on Scott's body.

"Come on," he whispers, as if breaking the silence would wake his teammate, as if anything could wake Scott now. "Time to go home."

One hour, six minutes, and ten seconds left.

It takes Martyn a while to carry Scott's body back to the Coral Isles and begin digging. He furrows his brow as he pushes the shovel into the earth, hoping the minimal enchantments will save him some time. He has to get this done. Has to make up for what he did, even if it's just a small gesture like this.

(Has to keep his mind off of the memories that have been slipping into his head since he killed Impulse. Soulmates, spyglasses, snow. Things that were stolen from him long ago.)

He groans as the shovel hits stone, then pulls out his pickaxe. This is going to take longer than he'd hoped.

Thirty-eight minutes and thirty-two seconds left.

Martyn almost sheds a tear of relief when the grave is finally deep enough. Instead, he spends those precious seconds setting down the shovel and going to pick up Scott.

He's badly burned from the lava, and the stab wound has left his shirt covered in blood. He'd hate that Martyn is leaving him in such a filthy set of clothes, but he'd also hate the idea of Martyn swapping his shirt out for him. It probably doesn't matter all that much- he's going to be covered in dirt either way.

"Alright, Smajor," Martyn tells him. "Time to rest."

He lowers his teammate into the grave.

(A fellow soldier of Dogwarts. A canary. And now, his Mean Gill. Though he didn't know it when he began digging, he's done this before.)

Once Scott is settled, Martyn picks the shovel back up. His work isn't finished yet.

Eleven minutes and fifty-one seconds left.

At last, Scott is put to rest, and Martyn is free to lie down and breathe.

The ocean breeze pushes his hair out of his face. He's acutely aware of the dried blood and sweat on his skin, but he can't be bothered with it. He's not spending his last ten minutes alive taking a bath.

Besides, he knows the feeling won't go away no matter how hard he scrubs at the grime.

With nothing to keep him busy, the swarm of memories attacks him with renewed fervor. A lonely bastion. A group of towers. A castle, drained of its warmth. A resentful soulbound, a traitorous group of four, a unified army. Everything bleeds together and pulls him in every direction he's ever been in. Each path leads to one thing.

Guilt.

Guilt for leaving the one person who was supposed to be by his side until the end. For letting each and every one of his friends die before him. For failing to protect his king.

And now, for killing his only friend in the world.

He lets himself drown in it.

One minute and forty-seven seconds left.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

The grave doesn't respond. Graves don't tend to respond to apologies.

"I think I'm only capable of being truly loyal to one person. And he's found his way out of this hell, so... yeah."

The waves crash against the beach. The sand in the hourglass trickles down.

One minute and nineteen seconds left.

"I didn't know that I was going to betray you. If this happens again- if this cursed game keeps going, I need you to find better allies, yeah? Don't trust me. I don't want to backstab you again."

He opens his eyes to find the sky clear and blue for the first time in a while. It's been filled with smoke and ash for the past few days, but it seems to have finally cleared up.

Thirty-six seconds left.

Martyn grabs the banner from his belt. He didn't know what it meant when he made it. He just knew that it felt right.

Now, he stares at the red flag of Dogwarts again, and he misses someone.

"I hope you found your way out this game for good. Not because I don't miss you. I just... want you to be happy."

Twenty seconds left.

"I wish I'd had time to apologize to you too. I wish we'd met somewhere nicer."

Thirteen seconds left.

"But there's no point in wishing here, is there?"

Eight seconds left.

Martyn holds the banner to his chest. Looks at the grave beside him. Closes his eyes again.

Four seconds left.

"Goodbye, Scott. Bye, Ren."

Three.

Two.

One.

[yea-baiyi]

translation of the “true form” conversation is as if hua cheng gave xie lian a fake name when they first met, so when xie lian asks “so what’s your real name” and hua cheng panics it’s bc he thinks xie lian is asking for his dead name but actually xie lian was just asking for his real chosen name because he wants to fuck him

[simcardiac-arrested]

never volunteer for anything university related man. also go listen to this

[the-star-and-the-smols]

Sean McCool

Chapter 1: A Big Day For The Irish

Next

Word count: like 3600

Rating: Teen

Warnings: fearplay, injury

Arthur is startled awake by the most unusual of sounds in the night. Thunderous booms, the deafening sound of shuffling against grass and dirt, the horses crying. His first thought is a strong storm, but opening his eyes to a starry morning sky peppered with small white clouds dismisses this possibility. As he forces himself awake, a number of awful scenarios run through his mind: bounty hunters, Pinkertons, O'Driscolls, common thieves. He draws his pistol as he blinks, scanning through the blur of his sleep.

"Who goes there?"

Not a word or sound save from the panic of the horses hitched on a nearby tree. However, something else immediately captures his interest. Something very large, taller than he is, and spanning an impressive distance, like a long wall. Different colors, too, as it goes along. Browns, a deep blue, a light patterned blue, some soft reds and greens, softly glowing in the moonlight.

"Arthur?"

From behind him, Hosea rises to his feet and comes to stand beside him.

"Hosea.... Do you know what the hell I'm lookin' at here? I can't make heads or tails o’ this thing right now."

"Might've been what spooked the horses.... I don't know. Give me a minute, will you?"

Hosea makes his way toward the wall, studying it with an intense curiosity. "Looks... strangely familiar, though I can't put my finger on why."

"All I see is a wall. ���Course, that don't make much sense. Got an interestin’ shape to it, that's for sure."

Hosea backs up cautiously as the wall seems to move upward and downward with a sound that can only be described as a low, deep sigh.

"I don't think this is a wall, son," he croaks deeply, his gaze shifting back and forth between different ends of the so-called wall.

"Then what the hell do you think it is?"

"I-I think it's a giant!" Hosea wheezes.

"A giant?! Hosea, you must'a drank more than you thought you did. Giants ain't real, now I know you of all people got sense enough to know that," he barks at the older man with a confused look.

"Shh, not so loud," he whispers, "You'll wake it. And-and it don't make a lick of sense to me either, but-but look." He points shakily to a light-colored, oddly shaped section of the wall that seems to jut out from a strange tunnel of cloth. "That's a hand."

Arthur's brow furrows curiously as he takes a few steps toward the appendage, holstering his gun but keeping his hand on it.

"Don't touch it, Arthur."

Arthur nods as he continues to inspect the thing, looking down at his hand then back up again at the towering object, curled up and still taller than himself. Up, down, up, down again. He stumbles back, his mouth becoming an entry point for any flying insect that dares to become breakfast.

"What. The. Hell?!"

"See, I told you. What else could it be?"

"I see yer point," Arthur surrenders, continuing to back away until he's behind Hosea. With the realization, the wall seems to morph into something a lot less wall-like and a lot more human-like. It rises and falls rhythmically with a low gust of air. Arthur watches as Hosea makes his way to the other end of the giant, the part with red and green.

"We need to wake Sean and get the hell outta here!!!!" Arthur scans the environment for any sign of his friend. "Hey, where is that little Irish weasel anyway? He was right-"

Arthur freezes in place, an icy chill running through his veins as his mind starts putting two and two together.

"There.... OH MY-"

"-I'm afraid we're looking at him," Hosea interjects, his voice wavering with emotion. "His head is up this way." He motions for Arthur to come closer.

Arthur doesn't believe it. He doesn't want to believe it; it all seems so absurd. He has to prove it for himself, as gut-wrenching as that may be, if only to convince himself he hasn't gone completely nuts, or had too much to drink, so he walks toward Hosea's position, his light step on the dirt feeling like a trudge through mud. He approaches the patch of soft orangey reds that starts to make a lot more sense, running the strands through his fingers like long, thin cables. He recognizes Sean's ear, what must easily be the height of his own body. Maybe even more.

"Goddamn..." He mutters in utter disbelief. Blue eyes widen, his chest tightening uncomfortably.

Just then, a deep, loud, Sean-like grumble is heard and felt in the ground. The curtain of hair begins to shift, moving toward the two at an alarming pace.

"We gotta MOVE!" Arthur bleats, turning tail toward the woods. Hosea follows him as quickly as he can, soon falling into a coughing fit and forced to stop in his tracks. Arthur sees this, but before he has the chance to run and assist him, his father figure is halfway pinned underneath Sean's massive cheek, his legs almost completely buried. The giant grumbles in his sleep as he settles on his side, completely unaware of the mess unfolding before him.

"Hosea!" Arthur runs to his aid. Sean's breath washes over his whole body in warm, damp gusts as his face is now turned toward the pair, yet it chills the surface of his skin. It's an eerie, disturbing feeling he tries his best to disregard; there are more pressing matters at the moment.

Shit, that’s still pretty hard to ignore.

"Well, at least he was considerate enough to spare my head and torso," Hosea croaks, trying to make light of the situation. He pulls at his legs with his hands to free them, but they only barely budge.

"You alright, Hosea?" Arthur kneels down next to him, searching his features for any trace of discomfort.

"Not too bad right now," he grunts in a pained voice, "but I need to get the pressure off these legs, quick. Give me a hand here."

"Mhm." Arthur pulls at one of Hosea's thighs with the weight of his arms and upper body. It budges a little, but still remains wedged under Sean's cheek.

"Shoot. No luck," Hosea mutters, eyes welling with tears.

"Lemme try somethin' else here." Arthur gets down in a seated position next to Hosea, pressing his boots against the cheek. He tugs the skin and fat of Sean's cheek upward with his boots, the friction with his stubble emitting a sound akin to a shave, then once again using the force of his upper body strength to pry Hosea's leg free. This time, the limb easily slides outward, giving Hosea a bit of relief.

"Great, now the other one."

Arthur moves to Hosea's other side, doing the same for his right leg. The prodding of Sean's cheek makes his nose and mouth twitch, drawing the pair's attention to it briefly before focusing back on the task at hand. "Alright, this one's in there pretty deep, so, try and pull with me, okay?"

Hosea nods as the two pull, heaving and grunting before finally freeing his foot of their friend's face, as well as his boot.

"You okay?" Arthur asks, inspecting the leg and foot for any sign of injury.

"Somewhat." He flexes the limb, wincing and groaning with pain. "I think it got pretty banged up. Still, I don't think it's broken."

"Sorry to hear. You don't look so good. Hopefully it ain't broken, at least. " Arthur sighs, taking in the sight of his gang brother's massive head. He chuckles at the sight, then turns back to the older man. "Good lord, he's enormous... Can't even imagine what kinda shit he'd get into when he wakes up. His ego was already big enough before." The thought gives Arthur a headache.

Hosea's eyes are still set on the giant's features in front of them, concerned. "Looks like we're about to find out."

Sean's eyelids peel open only very slightly, and he rubs his eyes with massive fingers. He grumbles, vibrating the ground underneath him in a pained voice.

"Oh, me head... Feels like… egh, shite…"

Sean's voice is startlingly loud and deep, and the two back away to give him some space, with Hosea forced to shuffle back on his rear due to his injured leg.

"Ugh..."

Sean sits up, casting the two in shadow. His hat remains on the ground, his eyes opening further.

"Where the hell am I?"

He scans the environment, the rays of the morning sun creeping over the trees and blinding him. Holding his hand in front of him, he turns his gaze downward to avoid the sun's glare, trying to make sense of the two little blobs he notices on the ground. He blinks.

"What's this now?"

He picks one of them up, Arthur, who is unpleasantly surprised by the fingers that effortlessly wrap around him almost painfully, pinning his arms to his sides and restricting his mobility. As he's whisked dozens of feet in the air in seconds, his stomach seems to want to linger on the ground for a few moments, and Sean certainly doesn't give it the opportunity to catch up. His surroundings are a blur until the movement slows and halts at his friend's face. He knows it's Sean, he's known him for years. The young redhead's always been like an annoying little brother to him, but that closeness and friendship was left at the ground below. As he’s enveloped in the massive hand of a familiar stranger, a frigid heat crawls over his skin, up his spine. He can hear nothing but the throb of his own heartbeat in his ears, his head thick.

Little brother? Not so little now.

Now, Arthur is constricted by an enormous hand, and his entire field of vision is filled with nothing but Sean. Green irises like serving plates pierce through Arthur's invisible armor, making him feel unusually vulnerable under his gaze. Here he was, at the complete mercy of a powerful fool. If it had been a total stranger, he manages to think, it would be less scary right now. He knows this behemoth, impulsive and reckless, and it leaves Arthur petrified, hardly able to breathe.

The brow furrows, eyes and pupils expanding, and as he speaks, Arthur can feel a gentle buzz through his fingers.

"..Arthur?!?"

Sean’s expression becomes warmer as he recognizes his friend, so teeny in his hand. Creases form around his eyes, a sign that he's smiling; there's just so much of Sean to take in that Arthur is really only able to focus on those massive jade irises, burning so intensely with curiosity it becomes impossible to tear his gaze away, no matter how desperately he wants to.

And Arthur knows better than most, there's a lot you can tell about what a feller is thinking through eyes and eyes alone. The sense of wonder and amusement in the younger man's gaze is palpable, and although familiar, is so much bigger and brighter than he’s ever witnessed. He can feel Sean's pulse through his fingers, and the grip finally loosens enough to not be uncomfortable, allowing for Arthur to move his arms finally. Not that that's much help, since he really only has Sean's thumb to grab onto.

"Wh- what the fuck? How-how'd ya get so- uh... little?!"

He stammers in disbelief.

Sean's breath rustles Arthur's hair as he speaks, the scent of whiskey and cigarettes. His rough voice is painfully loud and detailed in his ear, and slightly deeper than he's used to. Arthur can't help but chuckle awkwardly at the unusual situation; it's really the only response he can muster other than the scream lingering in his throat.

"I-I ain't little, Sean. Just.. take a look around ya!"

Arthur is momentarily relieved of the intensity of his gaze as Sean looks around, noticing the ends of his hair brushing against his blazer like an enormous broom. It's easier for Arthur to take everything in when he's not being stared down by a pair of humongous eyes. A breath of fresh air.

The Irishman looks upon the landscape surrounding him, noticing how he easily dwarfs the trees, even from his seated position.

"Jeeeeesus..."

He lets out a low, piercing whistle, then turns back to Arthur, a smug grin stretching out further than Arthur is tall.

"Y'know, Arthur Morgan, you aren't nearly as ugly from this point of view. Dare I say it, yer almost adorable."

"Oh, please-" Arthur can feel the wall of fingers constricting his limbs once more, and Sean becomes giddier than ever as he seems to get further away, moving Arthur back a bit to inspect him with better focus. The sensation is dizzying.

"I mean it! Yer like a tiny little doll in my hand. A grumpy one at that~!!! It's endearing! Y'know, I've always liked the idea of bein' bigger and stronger, but this is somethin' else! A right fantasy, this is!!! A dream!!! Am I dreamin'?!"

"SEAN!" A voice barks from below them.

Sean’s gaze turns downward toward Hosea, who sits with his legs stretched out on the grass.

"Put him down, son! Right now! You're hurting him!" Hosea commands.

He looks back at Arthur, who seems quite a bit more purple than usual at the moment. The younger man's features immediately soften with concern, and he loosens his grip on the outlaw as he lowers him to the ground, much more slowly than his startling ascent moments ago.

"O-of course, Mr. Matthews!"

A disoriented Arthur slides off of Sean's fingers and onto the ground, landing in a heap with a soft "oof."

"Sorry, English. Y'okay?"

Arthur lets out a muffled "yep" from his crumpled position before righting himself, sitting with his legs sprawled out like Hosea.

A small smile tugs at the corner of Sean's mouth from the affirmation. There is a moment of stunned silence between the three of them, the gangster-turned-giant running his fingers through the grass, his eyes glued to the two on the ground as he orients himself to this reality. His fingers suddenly brush up against a solid object, which he lifts up to eye level. A boot. Realizing Hosea's sock is exposed, he lowers the boot pinched between two fingers to Hosea, receiving a soft "thank you."

"No problem."

He yawns, rubbing his temple.

"Could surely use a cup of coffee right now, though. What a way to wake up."

"I don't think they make coffee cups that big," Arthur laughs. "I'm afraid you're outta luck."

"What the hell happened anyways?! Last thing I remember, I was celebratin', havin' a few drinks with the pair o' yous. Now this!"

"I don't know," Arthur replies. "Maybe it was that special shine you got all excited about. 'Course, moonshine can do a lot, but I ain't ever heard about it makin' men grow into giants.”

Hosea chimes in. "No, you got a point, Arthur. Don't make sense to me that it happened in the first place, strange as it is, but, as you said, so was that vendor."

Arthur groans. "I never shoulda bought that shit for him. Why couldn't I have just got him a new shirt, or a holster, or somethin' for Ennis-"

"-You serious, Morgan? My birthday, and you're giftin' a horse-"

"-or a muzzle, for that goddamn mouth of his!!"

"Well, as they say, never look a gift horse in the mouth! Hahahahaha!"

Sean retorts playfully.

"Shut up," Arthur growls. "This ain't no joke!"

"You just findin’ that out, Englishman?! This is bloody remarkable! Just look at me!"

He gestures to himself, his arm span the length of a baseball field, eyes wide beyond belief.

"I gotta test somethin' for meself here!"

The pair watch as Sean reaches for the trunk of a nearby cedar, the length of half his arm. He wraps a hand around it near the bottom, and twists it free almost effortlessly, shaking the dirt from the roots.

"HAHAHAHA! Look at this, boys! I'm the strongest man on Earth!"

He brags, his tone livelier than ever, booming and echoing in the mountains with a bassy tone. He lifts his arms above his head in a strongman pose, fist still clenched around the tree he so easily uprooted.

"Just wait 'til them girls see me! I'll be havin’ to fight ‘em off me-"

"Will you quit mouthin' for ten goddamn seconds and LISTEN?!" Arthur barks up at Sean, clenching his fists. When Sean lowers his arms, he continues. "We gotta get Hosea to a doctor."

Sean's smile fades.

"..Doctor? What for? You alright, Hosea?"

He leans in closer, inspecting the older man.

Hosea hums, pain apparent in his speech. "Not particularly. Leg got busted up pretty bad. But I'll make it."

"... How'd that happen?"

Arthur and Hosea exchange glances, unsure of how to respond.

"D-did I..?"

Sean points to his chest with tightening fingers.

Hosea purses his lips, sighing. "I'm afraid so, Sean."

The redhead shuffles back slightly, sending slight shockwaves through the earth below him.

"Shit, I-I-I'm sorry!"

"Accidents happen, Sean," Hosea assures him. "It's okay. It could have happened with anyone."

"Could it, really?" Arthur remarks skeptically.

Hosea pulls out a mortar and pestle from his bag, beginning to grind some herbs. "Let's just get ready. We've got a long journey ahead of us. Would you mind brewing us some coffee, Arthur?"

"Sure." Arthur takes the pot and grounds from his bag.

"Anything I can help with?"

Sean asks, his eyes darting between the two as he sets the tree down near the forest with a crash.

"Now you mention it," Hosea responds, "the horses seem awful spooked. Maybe now's a good time to get 'em used to ya. Wouldn't want 'em,” he grunts, “runnin' away soon as they got untethered."

"Will do. Though I don't suppose I'll be ridin' Ennis back to camp,"

he chuckles half-heartedly, getting down on his belly, the tremors in the earth from his movements making the horses whinny and cry.

"Shh, it's okay, now, it's only me."

He reaches his hand out toward the horses, uncertain.

"I won't hurt ya..."

No luck. The horses buck, trying to break free.

“Woah, easy there!”

He pulls his hand back slowly to avoid startling them further.

"Y'know, Sean, I've been thinking," Hosea adds, "Somehow it seems whatever you were wearing when you slept grew with you overnight-"

"Thank God for that," Arthur mutters, getting a scoop of coffee grounds.

"-So, what did you have in your bag? Edible, I mean?"

Sean looks to his satchel, still draped over his shoulder from the night before. He shuffles through it.

"Tin o' crackers, peaches, a carrot-"

"Perfect! Feed that to the horses!" Hosea yells out excitedly.

Sean grins, finally catching on.

"Ohoho, they're gonna love this one!"

He pulls out a fresh carrot, the height of a two-story building.

"Damn," Arthur remarks, "Sure don't see that every day." The two smaller men share a chuckle.

"Hey beauties, ya like carrots? Well I've got a real whopper for ya!"

Sean experimentally holds the carrot out, wiggling it slightly to entice the horses, which still buck and neigh at Sean's movements, but less so.

"C'mon, horses. Sean's got a real treat for ya!"

The first horse to seem interested is Ennis, who nudges his snout in Sean's direction hungrily.

"That's it! That's my boy!"

Sean pinches a small piece off the end of the carrot with his finger, very slowly reaching out toward Ennis, the bit of carrot pinched between his fingers. Ennis whinnies, and Sean shushes him, speaking in an almost whisper.

"It's okay! You know me!"

Ennis seems calmer, eager to bite the carrot. Sean opens his fingers, the chunk of enormous vegetable sitting on the tip of his middle digit. The horse approaches him warily, finally taking a bite.

"Yes, that's it! Good boy! Tasty, innit? Hehehe."

Seeing Ennis enjoying the carrot piques the other horses' interests, and they begin to point their snouts toward him.

Arthur pours Hosea’s coffee, handing it to him and receiving a quiet ‘thanks.’ The two watch Sean with a mixture of awe and disbelief.

"Hosea, what in the hell are we gonna do about this?" Arthur whispers, trying to maintain enough volume to be heard over Sean’s re-taming of the horses.

"I don't rightly know myself. I’ve seen a lot in my day, but this sure as shit beats all!"

“Well the way I see it, it looks like we got a mighty big problem on our hands.”

“The biggest yet.” Hosea empties the ground herbs into his coffee cup, swirling it around. “We’ll find a way to get him back to normal. Sean's a good kid, got a lotta heart. He just needs some direction, and discipline.”

“I ain't so sure discipline is gonna cut it now, Hosea. He could overpower all of us, easy! Hell, he don’t listen to me half the time at normal size; I can only imagine he'll laugh in my face now if I so much as disagree with him on how we should go about things.”

Hosea lets out a light chuckle. “Let's… hope not.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “He may be young and foolish, but he cares about this gang. And if he cares, he’ll listen.”

“Maybe. I just hope you're right. I guess we’ll just… take it as it comes.” Arthur shrugs.

“That’s seemed to work for us so far.” Hosea smiles a little as he watches the horses, now all happily eating chunks of carrot out of Sean’s palm.

[moregraceful]

Anyway for my last post of the night before I go to bed and attempt bore and/or etc myself to sleep, I want to say I shelved Mx. Tanger until I am motivated to finish her which is admittedly setting a very dangerous precedent given I also shelved the Connor Bedard Reclamation Project until I know what to do with him. But ALSO bc I have these two fantastic pieces that I have more of an idea of what to do with:

Pickles 1300 games poster and some deeply stupid art I picked up at Ikea for $2 in the as-is section!! Pickles is getting the Bryce Harper treatment, we are going sparkles and I think sea creatures...I have been wanting to try some paper crafts due to the somewhat explosive blue card stock situation and I think the frame shop person, who approval I crave, would be delighted. The $2 as-is art I am CONTEMPLATING a 22-23 Cuda collage but I also fear that may harm me greatly in the process or at least in the offseason, so I am not sure.

My problem is, the Pickles 1300 game poster would go hard af with some of the really precision papercrafts, but I have trying to hold off on buying a Cricut bc if I had a Cricut I think I would never leave the house again and absolutely no one would ever hear from me ever again either. Like I would just disappear and you would find me two months later dead, half-eaten by my dog, and surrounded by paper crafts.

[dvasva]

Tbh? I think the radiant emperor duology deserves more critique than it gets in its tag, so after stewing it over for a couple weeks and also discussing it with my friend, I have decided to do it myself.

So. Spoilers for She Who Became the Sun and He Who Drowned The World ahead.

First off, so nobody accuses me of hating the series, I liked the series. I'd say I'd give the first book a 4.5/5, I thoroughly enjoyed it, and I like both books. I truthfully skipped the fisting scene, it triggered some dysphoria that I wasn't comfortable with personally but I don't have problem with it existing in the book, it's good where it is, no changes.

No, my critiques come mostly from the second book, hwdts. Which sucks because I absolutely loved Baoxiang in it, it's a well known fact that my ideal type is pretty, really mean, characters. ('What about Madam Zhang?!!!???!? Shes mean and pretty!!' I hear you ask. Give it a second cause i will get to my beloved madam zhang) So, my critiques are mostly organized as 'The first part I didn't like in Hwdtw that signals the thing that became my biggest issue, the bits in the middle that i did like along with the bits that I felt didn't really work well, and Act 3 which is where my issues really were exacerbated.'

By the end of book one, I had a general annoyance but acceptance that Ma Xiuying was a bit of a weak character, and not weak as in 'dang shes a woman and cant fight' or any other sexist way you may interpret that, but weak as in structurally, she didn't really have as much depth as other characters. I thought she didn't have as much time put into her character as others. And yeah you could have a million character analysis essays over Ma and her place in the story and etc, but for me, her setup for the next book as potentially having conflict with Zhu or her own morals was the most interesting part of Ma. In general I think a lot of people tend to overlook this flaw partly because Ma is a cis lesbian character and the main 'love interest' in a book that is usually marketed to people as sapphic, which yeah there is certainly a sapphic relationship in the book but I think saying it's a major part of the book is really giving the relationship a load bearing wall ot isn't strong enough to carry. The Radiant Emperor Duology is not a romance, first and foremost. To describe it as a wlw romance is gonna leave people who read ot specifically for that reason kinda dissappointed by the end of book 2.

My big critiques didn't start until book two, and a particular scene, though. Ma, at the start of book two, was generally filling the niche of 'nagging wife' to zhu, which yknow, is a fine place to start from. I was a little disappointed there was no further discussion of Ma's disapproval of the morality of Zhu's actions, and in fact the dead child was pretty much entirely forgotten by Ma in favor of being Zhu's wife. Which, yknow, sure.

The Scene I had issue with happened (Spoilers once again) after Zhu finally captures Ouyang and imprisons him at her base of operations. Ma, dressed in her empressly regalia enters his room with the intention of being the bigger person. She walks in, looks at the stripped down and humiliated general who killed her father and famously is also really a women hater, and tells him she forgives him for killing her father. And then she gets upset and cries when the prideful general who hates women gives her a dressing down and taunts her and is like 'I'm glad I killed your father'? She nearly cries because Ouyang was mean to her (notably only cause he was mean to her and didn't gracefully accept her forgiveness, not because he killed ehr father) and runs off to Zhu. And Zhu responds with 'Wow, he's just a weirdo, everyone likes you and everyone in existance immediately knows you're a good person and you change people.' Which, my friend suggested before she finished the book, was a case of Zhu placating Ma and dismissing her feelings which would be an interesting dynamic.

Really my hangups with this scene come from multiple parts.

1. Ma' few character traits including being observant and reading people really well (a thing she's praised for in book 1) and having good social intuition are completely thrown out by her thinking being alone with ouyang and forgiving him would be a good idea and then her being shocked and upset when he spat on her forgiveness. And

2. Zhu's response is never once treated by the text as her dismissing Ma and placating her, and Zhu's statement despite never being shown to be true before and that moment being the first time it's ever mentioned, ends up becoming Chekov's moral purity by the end of the book, where the plot hinges on Ma being able to magically heal a damaged character's mind enough for Zhu to win in the end. Which I will get back to. There's a lot of other stuff happening between here and the end.

So, before I get back to Ma and her role in the story, I'll address some other bits from after this scene. Both problems and things I enjoyed generally.

Madam Zhang and her parallels to Baoxiang and her being the absolute queen of dissociating really was interesting (before act 3). She was a very compelling character who I completely understood and felt positively about. She had a way more interesting relationship with gender imo than Ma did, especially in book 2. I didn't really like that she was overwhelmingly shown having sexual villence done to her, that felt weirdly like a punishment. But, I did like her a whole bunch, and I liked the look we got into her head. She was probably my second, maybe third, favorite character in the whole book until Act 3.

I really, really liked Ouyangs dynamic and relationship with Zhu. The weird sexual tension between them, their weird kinda nonsexual but also kinda very sexual S&M relationship. It was somehow the most sensual, sexual part of a book that featured Madam Zhang having sex with multiple people, and Zhu going down on Ma, and a lot of other mentions of sex or scenes involving sex. Tbh I feel like, in a way, Ma was left to the sidelines for most of the book because Ouyang became the primary 'love' interest for a hot second there and the only reason Ma could get her spot back was Ouyang and Zbu's separation. Also, from what I've seen when people talk about this book, they always kinda try to express Zhu and Ouyang's dynamic as very nonsexual and nonromantic, as platonic mostly. And there is no inherent superiority of romantic over platonic, but I think to insist that it is only platonic, and not a strange swirl of romantic, platonic, sexual, frustration and relief, and a swirl of familiarity and vulnerability all wrapped into one, is doing the dynamic a bit of a disservice. And ther is, imo, very clearly a subtle hint of romantic intent and interest on Ouyang's part before he realizes Zhu has a body he hates.

Which is also another point I didn't like. Ouyang and Zhu's relationship end felt off. The entire bit with the pirates felt off, but especially how Ouyang found out about Zbu's body, and how Zhu reacted. I think Ouyang finding out second hand, from a combination of being suspicious and from Jiang saying it, was a poor way for that to be revealed. I think there was a better way for that to happen that woyld have felt more like a betrayl to zhu than this did. The fact that Zhu and Ouyang were so in tune and could see each other perfectly, but this one thing was a blind spot for both of them because of how unaffected by gender Zhu was compared to how overaffected by gender Ouyang was is a really interesting thing to explore, an interesting disconnect between two character's whose entire basis for their relationship is 'like recognizes like'. I think Zhu seeing it as a betrayl would have been more impactful if she had presented this informatuon to Ouyang herself and been rejected than how it went down. And, I think her not realizing Ouyang would be disgusted that he felt connected and felt a sameness to someone with a body he found grotesque and that he feared would have been more interesting for zhu, who views herself outside of womanhood and didnt really think that other people would not see her outside of womanhood, if she was the one who told ouyang herself.

Also, less importantly, think going into Ouyangs annoyance that zhu kept moving his target further away was a good move but it wasn't expanded on as much for my taste. I also really liked it when (spoiler) Xu Da dies, and that entire part despite some minir bits, was extremely good in that Zhu finally has tasted loss. She had, up until that point, been riding a wave of positivity, she was the underdog who won over and over again despite all the odds and despite her own reckless choices. So I did appreciate that everything went wrong for her at least once. that would have been, imo if other things were changed, a good place to end a book two in a three book series. Which will make sense as to why I mention it im a bit.

I also didn't like how Ma was nonexistant unless the plot was like 'ok we need to remind people that Ma exists.'

And there's of course other stuff but those are the main points of acts 1 and 2 that i wasn't fond of or that i liked.

Act 3 is a wholely different behemoth which can be encapsulated with 'I wish it was longer but also different' (courtesy of the convo my friend and I had).

My friend and I both agreed that we liked this kind of courtly drama game it was playing. My friend doesn't tend to like the structure or writing style of a lot of the chinese wuxia, danmei, or courtly drama translated books i read, so it was nice to know that the genre content isn't the issue for her there.

The biggest problems I had with the ending though was 1. I think Baoxiang and Ma had an interesting dynamic despite it being really rushed and how distasteful I found the entire concept of Ma being such a good wholesome goody good good person that she could change Baoxiang, quiet his demons and fix him in some way. That was annoying in an otherwise interesting dynamic. And 2. I think Madam Zhang's character traits and cleverness and all that were wiped away to make her inexplicably jealous of Ma in a way that I don't think fit her character and just served to fit a trope of jealous empress who hates the favored concubine.

So, here's my major proposed changes.

1. Ma gets sent to Khanbaliq extremely early on. Like, act one maybe after ouyang is captured early. This serves three purposes. A. Ma has something to do and is more present in the story. this could be a good xhance to let her actually feel frustrated or upset at Zhu in some tangible way that needs to be resolved or talked thru eventually. B. she gets more time to build a relationship with Baoxiang, whose entire defeat hinges on him having a strong connection with her. and C. Her absence in the other parts of the book feel less like she's being ignored or forgotten. It makes Zhu's lack of haste more than just a way to annoy Ouyang, and turns it into an interesting moral choice. Should she rush to Khanbaliq to save Ma or trust that Ma will be ok in favor of gaining power? Her lack of haste means Ouyang leaves, depressed, and she loses Xu Da, all while she doesn't even have the assurance that Ma is ok, she is truly at her lowest point with nobody with her. If Ma is in Khanbaliq and that's explored, then Zhu and Ouyang can also explore their dynamic without Ma feeling a bit like she is battling for Zhu's attention.

2. Madam Zhang is suspicious of Ma, or feels actually tangibly threatened by Ma. In act 3, Madam Zhang's anger towards Ma feels really out of place. She got exactly what she wants, she is empress, her emperor isn't interested in removing her from her position and her position isn't threatened by anyone. Baoxiang won't get rid of her, he won't demote her, he has shown zero sign of ever even considering it. So, why is Madam Zhang jealous of Ma? Imo, especially since she very clearly has dissociated into oblivion and has no love or affection for anyone anymore, and no real desire or motivation to secure her position further aside from maybe producing an heir to make sure shes taken care of after Baoxiang dies, there's no reason for her to be inextricably jealous of Ma. It kinda just erases all of Madam Zhang's political savvy and cunning into jealous, petty woman, and that sucks. If she was suspicious of Ma's intention, or Baoxiang genuinely expressed spmething that actively threatened her position, her hatred of Ma would make sense, but instead she hates Ma cause Ma is ugly and spends every night with Baoxiang. She hated rice buckets concubine cause that concubine used a lot of funds and competition genuinely made her position less stable. She needs better motivation for hating Ma.

3. As I mentioned earlier, Zhu needs to be the one to tell Ouyang that she does not have a dick. That's just all around better, it feels more like a betrayl to bare your secrets and be rejected, etc etc.

4. The duology should have been a trilogy, with book 3 starting when Zhu is at her lowest, ouyang is dead, ma is in khanbaliq, Xu Da is dead, a new guy is the emperor. This is where a book three should have started. in a series that has so many important characters, i feel like it needs more space. she's in a 10 gallon tank when really she needs a 30 gallon tank. Lots of it, especially towards the end of book 2, felt rushed and the extra book will absolutely push that back a bit and make it less rushed.

Anyways that's my critique of The Radiant emperor duology. Once Again, I liked the series, its one of my favorites i've read all year. I don't dislike it, and having a critique or opinion about something doesnt mean I didn't like the book or understand the book (because obviously if i understood it i would understand why its flawless). I liked it, there are things I wish were different, that's it.

[ares-protector]

OMG WAIT! I have another similarity between The Underland Chronicles and Alice in Wonderland! I had completely forgotten about it, but Return to Regalia's reblog of please-help-this-little-lesbian post about Underland sounding like Wonderland reminded me of it! So credits to @please-help-this-little-lesbian for the inspiration and @returntoregalia for reminding me of it!

So, last semester in my critical thinking class I learned about the Katabasis model. The Katabasis model has 3 things to it. It begins with the protagonist having a crisis and falling into an underworld-like place. Then, they must pass through the underworld to reach their goal. Finally, they leave the underworld, having fulfilled their quest or goal, and often leave the underworld transformed.

First I am briefly going to go through Alice's story, and then compare it to Gregor's. This is Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll, the book. As the story goes, Alice "falls" into Wonderland. Alice repeatedly runs into the issue that the Wonderland does not have the same set of rules/logic/public agreements that the real world does, and has multiple mental breakdowns about it.

(This is where things get a little weird and a bit hard for me to explain, so bear with me.) What I learned in Critical Thinking is that you can't find the world's set of rules/logic/public agreements within yourself also known as Semantic Internalism. In other words, Semantic Internalism is finding meaning with out external sources and only using your memories (Which is bad). The opposite of that is Semantic Externalism, which is means that meaning requires an external anchor and is not in the head. So Alice doesn't have external anchors anymore in Wonderland because everything is different. And I believe in Chapter 2 she has her first crisis where she realizes that if everything has changed, how does she know she hasn't changed. She starts trying to remember herself through memories(forced into Semantic Internalism) which is bad because memories can't self certify. She has another crisis later talking to the Caterpillar. In short, they asked her to recite a poem. She does, and the caterpillar says it's wrong. She can't use her memories to confirm the poem. Then she has a crisis of identy where if the poem is not the poem, then how can she be sure she is still Alice. Unfortunately, in the class that is as far we went into the book and we didn't talk about how Alice was changed by the end. On to The Underland Chronicles! Which I find this absolutely cool because I realized that TUC is 4-5 Katabasis models in one giant series long Katabasis model. Gregor falls into the Underland, and just like Alice he's in a whole new world. There's some overlap between the Overland and the Underland "rules" so he isn't forced into Semantic Internalism like Alice is, but he has his moments and is met with new rules and ways of speaking and slowly figures it all out. Gregor also experiences crisis and mental breakdowns multiple times because of this new world throughout the series leaving him completely changed by the end. He also helps fulfill a quest/prophecy every book, and fulfills his roll as The Warrior for the series at the end.

Book 1: The intial crisis of this book and the entire series happens before the book even starts. When Gregor's father falls into the Underland is the initial crisis. Gregor then falls with Boots into the Underland. Is sent on a quest, faces mental and physical challenges, fulfills the prophecy, and returns for the first time back to the Overland, changed.

Book 2: This time the initial crisis is losing Boots in Central Park leading him to "fall" back into the Underland a second time. Another quest, even harder mental and physical challenges, fulfills the prophecy, and returns to the Overland a second time, changed.

Book 3: The intial crisis is the plague starting, and Gregor finding out that Ares has it. Once again, he "falls" into the Underland where there is another initial crisis of his mother getting the plague as well (I consider it a second initial crisis even if he has already "fallen"). Another quest and more physical challenges. But now the mental challenge is completely different from before. Sure, he had mental challenges with being the Warrior, but now he has to deal with being a rager, a natural born killer. Thus, having to control an aspect of himself he hates. He helps fulfill the prophecy, and he goes back to the Overland a third time, changed.

Book 4 & 5: I believe that book 4 and 5 are one Katabasis because the books themselves are like a part 1 and a part 2 to a large story. There is a question mark on the model because there might be another Katabasis of the questers going deeper into the earth through Hades Hall, but that might be a stretch. So, I think the initial crisis of books 4 and 5 is the first 3 books because they set up to this final story, or it is Gregor's mom getting the plague since that the reason he keeps visiting the Underland after book 3. I don't know what to consider the fall in book 4 since he's regularly in the Underland at this point and isn't forced. It could also be that the initial crisis is the return of Luxa's crown, making the "fall" them looking for the nibblers.

Then he experiences extreme physical challenges, and extreme mental challenges. One mental challenge leading him to develope and entire new sense(echolocation) he can use to navigate the Underland. He fulfills the last prophecy, and returns to the Overlanda final time, transformed. No longer the boy when he initially fell into the Underland, but a traumatized, mourning child soldier that fulfilled his role as The Warrior.

TL:DR TUC and Alice in Wonderland are both Katabasis model stories where a protaganist falls into the Underworld, completes a quest, and return to the Overworld transformed. TUC also has 4 Katabasis models in 1 larger Katabasis.

[coffinsister]

It is officially tcoaal's birthday today

This game has actually become so important to me it came out at a time where I was deeply miserable and lonely all the time

And now I get to look back and see how much my situation has actually improved and a lot of it can be traced back to the friends and the art I made thanks to this game

Good incest game go vroom

Maybe I will try to finish colouring something or upload a fic to celebrate the occasion

[whatudottu]

Hello Ben 10 fans, it's been a hot second hasn't it, it's time for another round of Whatudottu Rambles and it's been a long time coming! Not just because of the gaps between posts but because this original idea comes straight from 2023 notes yay!

Today, we'll be talking about vulpimancers, but specifically their history and the politics of Vulpin! Because! For some reason! Whenever I think about vulpimancers, Vulpin, and vulpinic tortugans I think about their relation to the rest of the universe at large and frankly I want to elaborate what has been years of note taking!

God it's gonna be LONG!

So! One of the caveats when dealing with societal structure and the politics therein with significantly more animalistic appearing species, especially vulpimancers who do not have the actual physical structure to speak Earth languages, is that trying to base them off of a real human culture is a SIGNIFICANT FAUX PAS let alone taking inspiration from more traditional and indigenous cultures from around the world. It's part of the reason my obviously-armadillo ant bio talpaedans have their cultural influence taken from historial Europe more specifically during the time of their royal blood swapping since that's the basis of the tradie marriages.

What this means for vulpimancers is that I won't be taking from any modern world culture and hopefully harkening their lives and otherwise timeline to be kind of the present day equivalent of early human communities. Vulpimancers don't exactly have hard borders on territory beyond their stable hunting grounds and are nomadic, sticking together in communities, working within packs, then bundling for rest with families. This will persist until the 'modern era' which consists of a lot more than just the last 25 so years 'today' means, and that territory ends up becoming a whole country, a few communities per country with their relevant amount of working packs and individual families within.

Communities are 'run' by family elders and pack leaders, being a combination of 'the eldest takes care of the youth' parent style but also of those in charge of resource gathering being the... I suppose statistical analysts of the community who take stock of the resources they have, the mouths they need to feed, the seasons of their country, and how well one resource is actually growing (in the case of plants) or breeding (in the case of animals). It's not completely flawless sure, but it's certainly a system that works in a deadly pitch black environment filled with predators galore. Each country has a basic sense of politics even without a so called 'government head' or unified governing body, and historically their international politics extend to the access foreign vulpimancers have to the lands and resources of their country. Often smelling like a region none of the communities have traveled through (and countrymancers would have had interactions with the other communities and familiarised themselves with their scents), the allowance of foreign travel are limited in small numbers to only a few members of a family and only one or two members of a worker pack just outside (never within) the border; a whole community is expected to remain well away from the border unless the border happens to be at the centre of a river or by a dense cave system.

This system would have gone uninterrupted were it not for the fact that early tortugan settlers, an old species already at space fairing technology well beyond many of the civilisations we know were what they are today, landed on Vulpin during their mission to colonise their star system. One argues that the tortugan got to their level of technology from having a lack of predators and thus more proposed 'free time' to dedicate to advanced sciences, another says that they were simply haughty and underprepared for an environment that they had no ability to even understand beyond the atmosphere let alone the conditions on the ground. What inarguably happened though was in some way the settlers were stranded, their ships corroding and decaying from the harsh chemicals of the air, fighting for their damn lives in the pitch black of Vulpin. Forced to adapt or die, the settlers faced the wild threats of Vulpin fighting tooth and nail to live, running into what would and will continue to be the apex predator vulpimancers reacting in fear to their initial 'foreigners in our territory' related hostilities. It was a reluctant few vulpimancers who saw the fear of the settlers and tried to, realising they both shared the same sapience (or at least an intelligence that was not well adapted to the daily stress of Vulpin), allowing their kindness to inform the tortugans of their own intelligence in turn.

However over time, evolving not only themselves but the environment around them in small yet incredibly noticeable ways, the nations of vulpimancers (particularly near the original region/s of the settler landing zones) were quick to notice and many quick to anger in reaction to the distortion of THEIR land - their COUNTRY - some even quick to forgo what kindness they had extended to the quivering death fodder. Hodgepodging together shelter from their ship scraps, warped metal and corroded rust making for an ironic newly created collection of beaten up shanty towns, the torugans (on their way to becoming the vulpinic tortugans of the modern era) were either left to fend for themselves as communities of vulpimancers dropped their support or had to rebuild again and again as some ran them out, furious at the junk obstructing their riverways, digging up their plants, and diverting the natural and long studied hunting grounds of their prey. The very rare few communities - or rather, specific individuals - leave the attempts at expansion to run it's course and to meet it's maker at the hands of the weather and wilds seeking to erase the settlers' old technology, truly predating on anything the tortugans have build up whether it be the walls of their home or the flesh beneath their skin.

Unlike the nomadic vulpimancers, the tortugans are sedentary in their housing and are densely packed into small Minitowns so to say, their population never particularly comparable to the large number of vulpimancers. Minitowns are only ever really found in countries that have notable 'places of evil' that the communities of the region avoid like the literal plague, especially areas that not a lot of wildlife disturb, which technically makes for shit city planning since it means prey species and plants aren't nearby in the area, but the tortugans would take anything to get predators off their backs even if it means they need to have their own versions of worker packs. Some Minitowns have actually consulted with a few communities about where best to place a sedentary 'camp' so to speak, which varies given the relationship a specific group or nation of vulpimancers have towards the settlers whether they'd rather hide them away near a cave system that could provide good shelter and cave-dwelling prey, or in specific colder locations where the tortugan-vulpimancer relationship is actually neutral to positive, they might suggest a Minitown to be built adjacent to a winter site to help during what might usually be a deadly chill.

Tortugans however can still be 'on the run' however if they've wondered into regions where vulpimancers hate them, but unfortunately the early settlers who have not yet adapted to the conditions of the planet are run off to die instead. This and the former paragraph would be referred to in modern times as the New Settler policy, more of a general reaction the general vulpimancer had to the tortugans rather than an official decree, but a generalised trend that can all be connected under a retroactive title.

With a somewhat stable environment, the remaining survivors and the descendants of the settlers would have adapted and become the vulpinic tortugans, now able to sustain themselves and not be as entirely reliant on their historical Minitowns; they still aren't an apex predator by any means, nor too far removed from being a prey species, but their poison spines and defense curl allows them not to be completely food. Due to the inherent limitations of even the recommended locations of Minitowns, a fair many tortugans become nomadic out of necessity, the growing number of mouth unable to be filled with the lack of resources. Tortugan and vulpimancer relations are still heavily varied between regions, but with the new nomadic tortugan groups - tending towards groups of friends or small families - there may yet be more opportunity for the two species to bond in the best case scenario. In a neutral but positive case, some countries that had been very hostile to the tortugans may view the up-and-coming nomads to not be as much of a threat to their land and allow them transit, though nothing more and in the most untrusting of cases they'll be escorted to the next border with haste or even only allowing passage if the path to an adjacent nation is otherwise hard to cross over.

Throughout their entire time trying to survive Vulpin, the tortugans previously didn't have enough time to consider anything as formal as politics. With their physical adaptations, now they can enter the world of more unspoken politics that the vulpimancers were already scent deep into, splitting into the primary two demographics of settler and nomad tortugans. Settler tortugans typically stay within the country, even if some may have nomadic tendencies to travel between known Minitowns of the region, often having a specialised class of the worker pack to rely on food and materials; they still cling onto every scrap that their ancestor came with, though they have long forgotten a lot of what they specifically meant to them. Nomadic tortugans can but often don't travel exclusively within their country - a contrast to their neighbouring communities - needing to avoid countries that actively hate them and only occasionally daring to step within countries that tolerate them at BEST but would rather not have to interact with them; they often sympathise with the original vulpimancer communities affected by their coloniser ancestors, those who ultimately failed in their goal regardless, travelling around the world that they know would have had attempts made to terraform it into something unrecognisable should the colonists have had 'better' circumstances to do so.

It was sometime in the modern era that Vulpin began to become an intergalactic dumping ground fueled by the tortugan colonies, or rather the United Tortugan Market - a trade colony built up of several planets within the same system, except for Vulpin - who are filling up with excess waste, recalled that one of their ancestral colony ships failed to produce any results on Vuplin and thus considered it the trash they they dumped onto it. Ignorant not only because the settlers failed to report back about a sapient species, they also wholeheartedly believe that the passengers sent to the planet on that initial voyage died before they could populate, they emptied out their waste bins and tossed them down onto the planet at ranges that would not allow corrosion to interfere with their ships flight. And now, where both the vulpimancer communities - disgruntled about repeated history - and the newly adapted vulpinic tortugans - newly afraid to taste their own ancestors' medicine - have to deal with their lands and homes being ruined and overrun by scraps and busted machines, the UTM begins selling a service to local customers for their new planet sized dump, dubbing it Vulpin: the Market Junkyard.

With the intergalactic trash piling up, destroying the ecosystem, damaging ancient lands and displacing many communities and even whole fucking countries of vulpimancers, new political ideologies start to form. There are the 'fuck aliens' crowds who - despite reluctance - allow for vulpimancer refugees of neighbouring countries, beginning to revert to (or worsing their already bad relationship to the tortugans) xenophobia towards both settler tortugans and nomadic tortugans, some countries turning to the ones cohabiting with them to 'go back to where [they] came from' and leave their planet alone. Others have put their foot down and - essentially - form the political ideology of 'learn to fucking cope' where communities specifically refuse to share their unmarred land to even their fellow countrymancers, splitting off into the 'okay LET'S fucking cope' ideology where the otherwise displaced community in reaction would essentially sever that community's nomadic path from the rest of the country by actively posturing against any movement into what is now deemed their own new country.

The last two ideologies, loosely titled 'maybe we need help' and 'there's too much shit to ignore', mirror the initial settler/nomad tortugan political split that spawned initially from vulpimancer influence. The first ideology works in stark contrast to the 'fuck aliens' ideology where displaced communities find refugee within tortugan settlements, between small families making homes in Minitowns or whole communities and even countries depending helping tortugans with Junkyard Cities - cities that are still only technically about the equivalent for maybe suburbs at most, Vulpin countries aren't particularly large but they are numerous - making use of the intergalactic trash to build homes and (unfortunately) having a steady supply able to repair and maintain them; it is however more common to have Minitowns with a partial nomadic life, even if it's only for the purpose of resources which still stem from their initial hurdles in town construction. The 'too much shit to ignore' ideology mirrors the international tortugan nomads where an entire country's worth of land is filled with rubbish that not even the native wildlife can make use of it's resources buried beneath the scrap, making the region an undeniable dead zone that may bring many species into extinction, if not simply endanger them; international travel would probably only be for family sized groups, probably only families given that, and only if they have experienced enough worker pack members.

Vulpinic tortugans, in contrast to the disgusted and resentful opinions that the vulpimancers hold for the trash piles, generally speaking simultaneously view the growing junkyards as horrendous yet rife with opportunity as the lands they were forced to call home fill with materials they can use to build their homes and potentially enter the stars their ancestors had dreams of one day returning to. Nomadic tortugans are revolted as though this may not have been the terraforming they feared their ancestors could have fallen into doing, they are still affecting the planet as if they were dominating the land with technology and greed, and settler tortugans specifically in areas not yet prone to junkfall do not much benefit from the opportunity they'd provide in order for their opinion to differ from the nomads, unless their worker packs reach further into the the junkyards for 'treasures'. As mentioned in the afforementioned 'we need help' vulpimancer ideology, settler tortugans in junkfall regions would gather around junkyards and build cities from the scraps, using the fact that the wildlife would steer clear of the cluttered regions as a deterrent to the risks of expansion to make larger settlements than they could have otherwise on an untainted Vulpin, especially with the wealth of materials able to maintain the structures of the city. But even the Junkyard Cities require an ample source of food and other resources not found in the trash, so overrun countries and the deep centre of the junkyards forming around the planet cannot support a city of needy people, displaced or otherwise, and thus even the settler tortugans of Junkyard Nations must leave to find greener-but-not-literally pastures; depending on the population of the displaced settler town, they may resettle at the edge of the junkyard to create a city, move even further away to recreate a Minitown just for them, or even become nomads and set a course away from their ruined homes.

With all these broadstroke political ideologies, there is the fundamental truth that within these junkyards houses 'useless garbage' from societies with much higher tech levels sitting in scraps of themselves, the levels ranging from interplanetary to even intergalactic levels of technology that may be broken to the point of being garbage, but their structure still exists and the stray opportunist to take the time to reverse engineer the scraps can do so with lots of trial and error. The tortugans have to learn by this exact trial and error having long forgotten the sciences their ancestors used to strand themselves on Vulpin, and ever watchful the vulpimancers (especially those displaced, especially those cohabiting with the tortugans) keep an open ear (gill?) to the goings on in the junkyards, enough so that a handful of individuals take the same route as their junkyard neighbours to trial and error their own tech.

Leaving a planet and it's inhabitants to rot under the piles of trash and metal you litter it with leaves for bitter peoples who scrap themselves their own frankensteinian machines of your and all your customers' technologies, influencing a rising tide of Vulpin spacefarers that offer no fealty or kindness to the United Tortugan Market your own peoples find respect in. Junker Pirates, you call them, rising from the pitch black of the corrosive atmosphere you first lost a colony fleet to, and how interesting. The settlers DID survive. And they've made pets- or so the tortugans and the rest of the intergalactic community believe.

Pirates are treated like pirates, of course; arrested like the criminals they are. Unfortunately this is one of the first instances of not recognising vulpimancers for the sapient beings that they are, where the vulpinic tortugans - revealed to be the closest cousin species hereditarily to the arburian pelarota, and thus obviously capable of sapience even if 'more feral' 'more savage' 'more undeveloped' - are sentenced to whatever punishment suits the declaration that they are indeed guilty of piracy, the vulpimancer crew on the other hand are treated like trained dogs and sent into the null void where a large population begins to form and a new brand of hostility begins to brew. Given that the vulpimancers with tortugan crew have to actually tolerate the tortugan enough to be isolated on a ship with them, the null void pirates do not generally resent the vulpinic tortugans of the crew, rather they may despise specifically the tortugan cousins or even the UTM, if they do not generalise and grow to hate everyone not from Vulpin. If the tortugan pirate are sent back to their planet - deported so to speak to Vulpin - and carry back the news that the vulpimancer members of their crew were sent to the null void without due processing, new hostilities spark on homeground. Communities that grow to despise the pirates for giving Vulpin and it's newly discovered people an even worse reputation that it already has, those that once again circle back into hating the tortugans - now their reasoning being that they 'keep getting away' from karma and still hurting their vulpimancer kin - and then there are those that grow to hate the intergalactive governments for stealing their family away and locking them between the folds of the dimensions. The pirates are still going to pirate, regardless of if they are breaking their terms by leaving the planet again, and those who have lost crew to the null void seek to find (and steal if necessary) null void technology and in a worst-case scenario memorise the construction of the projectors so they may smuggle back those illegitimately 'processed' back on Vulpin.

Other pirates that are either set free or are bound to fulfill the conditions of community service (which if word ever got back to Vulpin, the returning pirates being the key here, those that resent the intergalactic governments would resent the community service in turn) more often than not find themselves in the long term not returning to Vulpin. The pirate whom were set free may return full force into piracy once again, though this time without their vulpimancer crew - at least those that do not follow through with finding null void tech - and may begin to accrue members of other species into their Junker Ship, if they were open to such ideas. Those that were given community service may learn more about the intergalactic governments and try to find a way to fix their perceptions of vulpinic tortugans, vulpimancers, and Vulpin in it's entirety by eventually settling somewhere where they can begin getting into the far more structured and far more... loophole ridden poiltics of written law and relations. Those in the political field will begin to realise that Vulpin is legally speaking a part of the United Tortugan Market, that it's official name in the colony is Vulpin: the Market Junkyard, and that very distinctly is NOT UNDER THE 'OWNERSHIP' VULPIN'S OWN PEOPLES. The ex-pirates that happen to return home, learning a little of the politics if they are not politicians themselves, spread the news back home inciting others (including the very fucking understandably furious vulpimancers) to potentially engage in interplanetary and intergalactic politics of their own, especially vulpimancers who are tired of others - which includes the vulpinic tortugans who have been the most vocal not necessarily by choice, mind - speaking over them.

The introduction of interplanetary and intergalactic communications, even if it is limited to visitations as the environment in Vulpin (especially with Junkfalls now present as an element worry about) makes setting up a communications array for the height required to transmit and receive signals rather difficult on a good day, let alone a day shared with very... opinionated communities, has allowed for the ability to access foreign language and common symbols that can help with interspecies relations. Or hinder them, if you teach a very well used universal 'fuck you' sign to a very understandably pissed vulpimancer forced to be treated like an animal deaf to all the words being spoken around them. The access to language also helps form the first technologies allowing for Vulpin languages to be added to translators. However, with a lot of the languages in the intergalactic community having their own writing system (with Vulpin languages not needing a writing system for the longest time), the previously unwritten Vulpin languages are given one by the vulpinic tortugans who use a carved variety of and Old Tortugan writing system and transliterate many of the sounds, especially vulpimancer languages as unlike Vulpin tortugan languages, the sounds did not already have close equivalents. Writing it planetside is often done with sheets of metal rather than wasting plant material, but intergalactically with sighted individuals it is written on the average data screen.

With it's basis in Old Tortugan, modern tortugan languages with the same root language such as Arburian languages, not only can tortugans begin to read Vulpin languages, but anyone who has knowledge on tortugan languages can engage with Vulpin languages more thoroughly than they were able to previously. Which considering they considered the vulpinic tortugans as the 'most' sapient of the Vulpin species despite them both speaking in what essentially amounts to growls and yamper, is quite significant of a development, even as it is functionally once again removing the voice of vulpimancers in favour of the tortugan voice. Sometimes vulpimancer politicians are willing to let that slide in favour of being understood, walking around with tortugan liasons who have the mouth structure in other to reciprocate more common intergalactic languages. Other vulpimancer politicians refuse to rely on their fellow Vulpin national to speak for them and instead insist on using some newly created translators fitted with their relevant Vulpinic language pack, speaking for themselves with a voice technically not theirs but one that they can assuredly say voices their own personal experiences.

On Vulpin, there is a growing community of junkers, a variety of members not exactly connected like the communities of vulpimancers and their own ideologies made up of tortugans and vulpimancers (often called weirdos mostly because of their more nontraditional tortugan-like behaviour and interests), who spend most of their time in the junkyards scrapping together all the tech tossed homeward bound into their lands to develop distinctly Vulpinic technology. Unlike the pirates - which if questioned, they'll say they 'heeded the warnings' from the pirates and elect not to fall into the same trap - Junkers often remain on ground zero and don't actively seek out revenge, not like they are suddenly so much kinder than the Junker Pirates, but rather they use their pretty fucking justified anger to fuel their projects and scavenger hunts; it's also not like they're push overs with hearts of gold either, especially since some a working on building pretty powerful machines that could be considered weapons, they WILL defend themselves and they have quite a bit of faith in their abilities. And remaining on the planet is quite the majority of the vulpimancer communities, and not just the xenophobic ones, as they have unlike the politically motivated interplanetary travelers they choose to remain in their home territories (or as close as they can if they are one of the displaced communities). They are the communities and countries that try to maintain the general political interactions between each other that had been present for a long time within their evolutionary history, which does mean they do not explicitly care about the interplanetary affairs beyond hoping that the Vulpin politicians can get them to stop using the planet as a dumping ground. They - unless otherwise stated in their individual political ideologies - do not care to pay much attention to the weirdo vulpimancers and the alien tortugan who are a very clear example of how no other alien is likely to decide to live on Vulpin willingly ever.

One of the first interplanetary organisations that Vulpin and it's peoples were introduced to were the Plumbers, and given that their first interaction was with the Junker Pirates and their very severe sentences, Vulpin and Vulpin officials stationed even in government bodies are rather typically ACAB (or I suppose APAB, All Plumbers are Bastards), and many of the politicians are moving to get legally defined rights not just for the recently reintroduced vulpinic tortugans but also the very hard to fight for, very tooth and nail political clambering, establishment of rights for vulpimancers as well. Regardless of how well the pirates are breaking out the members of their crew from the null void, getting the official rights to trial and thus the ability to call the illegitimate processing of vulpimancer pirates as a violation of a vulpimancer's sapient rights and thus hopeful (doubtfully) garner some consequences for the hasty arrest of the early pirates. Politicians were also attempting to get the rights for Vulpin into the legal 'ownership' of the people of Vulpin, specifically recognising the vulpimancers as the original custodians of the land and respecting the national land of the vulpinic totugans that have evolved to live on Vulpin, but in order to do so they would need to actively find the current root owner of Vulpin within the United Tortugan Market. As much as the pirates and all those resentful of the intergalactic governments and the UTM would have liked to tear at the throats of the trade colony, the Vulpin representatives are in a tentative situation trying to prove not only the species' sapience, securing the rights in which that is allotted with, but also that the peoples are of... sound sociability in order to gain any semblance of recognition of being even a national people.

It is with the arrival of the tick on Arburia that presented an... ample opportunity to try and... convince the United Tortugan Market of that 'sound sociability' and potentially... a bargaining chip to their own planet's ownership. As much as the potential of damning an entire planet to suffer in ways similar to how they have suffered was very appealing, it would have been significantly detrimental to the work the politicians and the future of Vulpin against the tide of Junkfalls if they left the innocents of Arburia to die or to in fact use them as hostages to outweigh the biases to give them their legal ownership. Instead, at the begging of Vulpin representatives - with the help of the onboard communications of Junker Ships and the pirates that drove them - the members and species of Vulpin gambled on kindness and sought to rescue and save the arburian pelarota and their families like the early vulpimancers once did with the early tortugan settlers, ships lined full of fleeing families even as the government heads of the UTM began to panic upon seeing the pirate ships, especially when infamous crews and ships began to be sighted. Arburian pelarota's, being exposed in their time of need to the act of kindness from both vulpinic tortugans (which they believed to be more violent cousins) AND vulpimancers (where they had been wrongly informed where simple trained animals) had allowed them to understand their mutual sapience, regardless of the roughened and angry exterior of the peoples of Vulpin in addition to their nature as pirates. Fully willing to deliver the inhabitants of Arburia (which, they were not the only ship fleet, but they were the ones willing to keep searching even as the planet was in it's death marches) onto solid ground within the UTM colonies, they seek to enter the atmosphere of any of the requested planets. Hesitantly, not willing to let pirates into their planets, it was at the behest of their Aburian inhabitants that they allow the Junker Ships entry. It is with the evacuation of Arburia that Vulpin gained it's first ally.

It does not mean they suddenly have all the goals they have set out to do, but it means there is someone who is not themselves who have a ball in their court.

[lesbianralzarek]

sometimes when you work in medicine your boss will tell you "bad news, someone from some other place fucked up real bad and now we gotta fix it" and then hand you a task thats completely impossible. and then what? you say "fuck sick and disabled people"??? no. you just threaten to kill yourself and slam another adderall. as is professional workplace behavior

[deoidesign]

Hello I stumbled across your profile and I just say I love your art style! I've gotta ask, how'd your develop it? And do you have any advice for someone who can't decide what they want their art to look like?

Thank you so much!

To be entirely honest, I don't feel like I truly "developed" my style. I feel a lot more like I finally let myself draw it! But I am incredibly deliberate with my work, and I do have clear tendencies and preferences... So I'll do my best to explain how I got to where I am now as an artist.

It's important to remember that "style" is something of a nebulous concept. It changes with you as you grow as a person, and most artists can work in and emulate many art styles! Art really is a form of communication with yourself, and your "style" is a reflection of the tendencies and preferences you have. My art does not look how it looked 5 years ago, and my art will look different 5 years from now too. I've changed, and my art reflects that!

(2012, 2018, 2023; two pieces I remember being incredibly proud of and considered my best work up til that point, and then my most recent piece)

What you need to do, as everyone will tell you, is study the fundamentals (anatomy, perspective, form and structure, lighting and shadow, color, and composition) so you have the proper tools to make the most informed decisions possible about your art, and so you can deliberately break or follow rules as you please for your desired effect. I know it sounds silly to learn rules if you're not gonna be following them anyways, but they help you be much more consistent and intentional! More knowledge is NEVER a bad thing to have!

However, I know it's a bit demoralizing to just be told to study fundamentals. Everyone knows you're supposed to do that, but it takes YEARS to learn, and people want their art to feel how they want it to now (which is very very very normal to want!)

So on that front, I have 2 follow up suggestions that I personally find helpful (of course, everyone is different, so it's not like this is the only way to learn! But, if it resonates with you, it might mean it will work for you too.)

1: Separate study from application

I believe this is beneficial for a few reasons:

If the goal of every piece is learning, it can become frustrating, overwhelming, and boring

It's harder to self critique when there are multiple variables to investigate. I like to study one fundamental at a time

Study (usually) works best with a large quantity of output, whereas application of knowledge (finished pieces) is often more satisfying and effective when you get to take your time

Deliberate practical application of what you've learned in a finished piece helps cement the learning in your mind, and also lets you get satisfying finished pieces with noticeable improvement after a good study session!

I've found that keeping these things separate helps me improve faster and more deliberately, and it takes a lot of the pressure off of both aspects! I'm not worried about my studies looking beautiful, they're just to learn! And I don't feel pressured to critique my finished pieces, cause they're just for fun and to make something pretty. I personally find this helps me have a much healthier relationship with my art.

When studying, copy! Copy things as best as you can, all the time. It gives you something to compare to for self critique (and of course, if you're copying someone else's work and you share the study, ALWAYS give credit, share the original, and say it was for study.) In application, don't copy: reference. Make it yours!

2: Let yourself do the things that feel "easy" or like "cheating"

This one is simpler: nothing in art is easy.

If something feels easy to you, most of the time it's not because it's actually any easier... It's because it's part of your natural tendencies and preferences! This took me forever to realize, but as long as you're actually doing some study, then you're learning. You don't need to learn All The Time. When you're doing the "application" portion, you should let yourself do whatever is actually the most fun and feels easiest! This is where your style will start to come through, and where you get to learn about yourself. Take the pressure off, and have fun!!!

The only cheating in art is theft. If you're not stealing, then it's allowed!

My whole life (and yes, still!) I'd get regular criticism about both my style and my subject matter. You will too. You'll see a thousand different styles, and a hundred different things to admire in each. Your heart will ache that you don't draw like others do.

But art is a form of communication with yourself. It's like your voice, or your accent; just something that's a part of you! It can be fun to mimic others', but when you sit to have a conversation you speak naturally. (I know some people want to and do change their voice, but this is a metaphor and metaphors aren't perfect)

Don't stress so much about what you want your art to look like, especially if you're not sure. There's a lot of value to be had in constant experimentation, I think it'd be rather boring to only draw one style the rest of my life. What I draw is what I want to see, right now, for who I am now! It's a part of me and comes naturally, if I let it!

I hope this helps!