#its easier. i guess.

[wyndford-dekarios-majima]

uhoh. i think ive had a low reading comprehension moment

[heartorbit]

heartbeat

[dontfindmeimscared]

i wasn't lying, these two are stuck in my damn head.

redraw of this from like a year ago

[yuwuta]

HOW DID YOU GET USED TO THE HAUNTING, THE WILLING, THE MISSING, THE WANTING — YUUTA OKKOTSU

content, warnings. more of the knight yuuta universe yippee. i got an ask about telling him he’d make a good prince and flustering him, and that struck something in me, though this interpretation of that ask is probably a bit darker/more serious than envisioned... i will publish the ask w the other version of this scenario too. unfortunately for everybody involved i was a theater kid and i did listen to cell block tango and the first half of hamilton before i had this idea </3 i’m sorry if you can tell

more notes. set in the same universe as this drabble, which are all set in the same universe as a full fic draft i have and would love to finish some day lol. anyway, say hello to the gojo of this au 

You are not ready to be queen. As much as you resent your mother, your father, the elders in the cabinet, the system you were raised in—as much as you wish to be a ruler that creates change and peace in your court and kingdom, you know that you are not ready to hold that position. 

It shows now more than ever, with your parents being escorted to a neighboring kingdom for a meeting, and you in charge of the harvest ball. There is china to be chosen, silverware to be polished, candlesticks to be blessed, gowns to be sewn, a menu to be curated, a ballroom to be prepared—and you are sorely behind on all of your duties. 

A lackluster princess does not make for a promising queen. And distractions do not help you become anything of yourself. 

“I do not have time to discuss the lilies Sir Gojo. I am aware they are drooping and that they are your favorite, but I do not control the weather,” you sigh, handing back a scroll to a maid before turning to your head knight.

“That sounded very queenly, my little lady! You’ve been practicing,” he towers above you, with a growing smile and little care for your position. He bends forward to press the tip of his gloved pointer finger to your nose, “I too mourn the lilies, but I am afraid I agree: we have much more pressing matters to discuss. Come along, shall we?” 

You’ve learned to be wary of Sir Gojo’s words over the years. He often leads with a false timbre, or makes otherwise simple conversation into a riddle for his own amusement. Even as you’ve learned when to ignore his games, you’ve also grown appreciative of his light demeanor, and his insistence on speaking to you directly, rather than shielding you away. 

You take his arm, looping yours through his, and allow him to lead you down the courtyard steps and into the grand garden. You put your trust in him, allowing your feet to follow the path he sets, and letting your mind wander. You wonder whether you should set the gold or bronze-trimmed plates for the ball, if the curtains should remain closed or open, if the embossed or embellished silverware would leave a better impression on your guests. 

“Princess?” your knight calls for you. You focus your attention back to him, apologizing for your lapse in attention. 

You expect a smile, perhaps another press to your nose and a light scolding, but Gojo’s expression is much more neutral. “Sir?”

“I said that Lord Hajime is dead. His court will send a representative to the harvest ball, but how would you like to proceed?” 

“Dead?” your breath hitches momentarily, “Was he unwell?” 

“I do not know. The letter gave no detail. I believe the court sent an apology for not being able to deliver a suitor as promised. The family wishes to keep this private until after the harvest.” 

When you look up to him, you see no mischief in his expression. He’s serious, and you feel lightheaded, warm, and icy all at once. “I see,” you say, and pull away from Gojo’s arm, “Excuse me. I—I need a moment to myself.”

“You are sick? So suddenly?” Gojo asks, turning with your body so that his back is never to you.

“No—I… I… I need to be alone,” you confess, wrapping your arms around themselves, curling into your own body. Gojo stands firm, a short nod in understanding. He raises his hand to make a signal; an order for the knights on the periphery who can see but not hear. 

You smile, small, grateful for him. “Please, arrange our finest favors, and ask Ieiri for her favorite elixir.” 

Gojo’s smile reflects yours, albeit stained with more sympathy. “Of course.” 

“And tell the maids that I shall postpone the table placements until tomorrow morning. Should you find yourself with time to spare, let me know if you prefer the bronze to gold trim.” 

Gojo nods, taking a half-step to stand in front of you. In times like these, you feel like the little princess under his watch and care from when you were younger. His presence is frightening, overwhelming, and yet, more comforting and welcoming than your own parents. 

Carefully, he leans down to whisper, “Yuuta and his fleet have not yet returned, he will not be in the knight’s chambers. I will send him to you when he arrives.” You blink in sudden awe, and Gojo smiles, reaches for your hand and raises it to his lips to press a chaste kiss, “Do not regret too long, princess.” 

You hear him before you see him. It’s a bad habit for a knight, you think; you can always hear or feel where Yuuta is, even if you can’t see him. You think he ought to be more stealthy, more secretive, quieter; but then again, you don’t. He reserves plenty of stealth for his motives, stores plenty of secrets in his mind, keeps his words quiet or has a way of keeping other people’s quiet. 

The throne room is cold. It’s your least favorite room in the castle, but tonight, you hope it inspires you.

You don’t sit on your throne, you don’t sit on your mother’s or your father’s; you don’t sit at all. You stand, at the top of the stairs, staring at the seats and the tapestry and the paintings of your forefathers that decorate the backdrop. Behind you, at the base of the stairs, Yuuta kneels. You don’t need to see him to know; you can feel it on your palms with your hands behind your back; you can see it in the eyes of your grandfather’s portrait, you can hear it in the way his knee hits the carpet. 

“You may stand.” 

“I shouldn’t, my lady,” Yuuta replies, “Not here.” 

“You do many things you shouldn’t,” you sigh, steady, “Stand, Yuuta.” 

You hear the metal of his armor rustle against itself. You can feel when he stands; it feels like he’s right behind you, even though you know he’s ten steps below you. 

You inhale, slowly; exhale, slowly. Clench your hands behind your back, and then relax your shoulders the way you’ve seen your grandfather do. Then, you speak. “Lord Hajime is dead.” 

You turn, slowly, and wait until your cape has finished its turn, has settled behind you again before you speak again; a tactic your grandmother was fond of. “Lord Hajime is dead,” you repeat, “He is dead, and I asked you not to kill him.” 

Yuuta looks up to you. Neck craned, hands neatly behind his back, his helmet on the carpeted floor to his left. He does not look small. 

You take a step downwards. “I said this is not how I wanted matters to be resolved.” Another step down, a pause, then repeat, “I said that I do not wish to resort to violence.” Another step down, a pause, “To resort to murder.” Another step down, hurried, “I stood under my balcony,” another step, “and I told you not to murder Lord Hajime. I told you not to kill him,” another step; a pause, hysterical, “And yet Lord Hajime is dead. He is dead because—”

“I did not kill him.”

You pause your descent, four steps above Yuuta. You are only half a head taller than him like this. At this distance you can see the gray of his irises, wide and speckled with brown, without a shred of remorse pooling within them. It makes you sneer. 

“You expect me to believe that it is a coincidence that a fortnight after I catch you on your way to murder Lord Hajime, that he dies?” you question, rhetorical, “I am naive, but I am not a fool, Yuuta.” 

“You are no fool, my princess, and Lord Hajime was no saint,” Yuuta shakes his head, “He was a tyrant. He took three wives prior and treated them all as whores. He alone was responsible for the destruction of the crops in the north. He had only himself to blame.” Yuuta pauses, and you see something melt behind steely eyes. “It was a murder, yes, but not a crime.”

Yuuta’s lips wobble slightly, but the rest of him remains upright. It always goes like this: first his head, then his heart, then his body following—in everything he does. You blink, slowly, and take another step down; eye-level with Yuuta at this height. 

“You did not kill him,” you repeat, leveled with revelation, “You just gave the order.” 

Yuuta’s eyelids fall slowly, then his head follows in a shallow nod. He keeps his neck bent, keeps his head hung in front of you. You sigh. 

“Who was it this time,” you ask. He does not raise his head; you do not wait for him to speak, you dip your head so that your lips are level with his ears. “Megumi? Surely he would have hated the way Lord Hajime treated his livestock. Maybe Yuuji—he has been impatient to prove himself since recovering from his last injury. Or perhaps Toge, he would’ve done it swiftly in his sleep, without a sound.”

Yuuta keeps his gaze on the floor, keeps his words quiet. “Nobara.” 

“Dame Nobara, who strives to replace you as my first blade?” you question, “What, as some kind of test of loyalty to you?” 

Yuuta raises his head, eyes stern, brows drawn. “No, princess. To you.” 

You freeze. Your anger flares, and then subsides to only weak embers as you understand Yuuta’s motives, and Sir Gojo’s final words to you. You’re careful when you reach forward to brush your knuckle against Yuuta’s cold cheek, only the kiss of a touch between your finger and his face; even, still, he shudders, and you watch him melt from head to toe; from his eyebrows to his eyes to his lips to his shoulders to his knees. 

“You are disobedient, and indignant, and ruthless,” you list, voice soft, touch softer as you allow your fingers to graze the top of his ears, adoring the flush that follows, “And kind, and careful, and charming.”

You watch the color stain Yuuta’s cheeks and his ears, you revel in the pout on his lips, and the effort of his breathing. You only wish he were this easy to tame all the time. 

Still, he precious to you, so you are careful when you raise your opposite hand to his face, taking advantage of the difference in your status and stature to tilt his head upwards, lean down and press your words against his cheek, “You would make for a lovely prince,” you tell him, “The people would love you. Our enemies would fear you. The soldiers would respect you.” The kisses between your sentences are featherweight, trailed from the high point of his cheekbone to the corner of his lips.

You can feel him quiver when you pull back, moving a palm back to his cheek to pinch his skin between your thumb and forefinger, “If only you knew how to listen.” 

Yuuta winces, but he does not pull away. He parts his lips to steady his breath, and then to speak, strained, “Please, princess. Have mercy.” 

And for the first time in a fortnight you smile, watching splotched skin stain your knight’s cheeks when you soften your hold on him. You pull Yuuta’s head up further, lean yours down for a careful kiss; short, chaste, the kind you know he hates the most. 

“Oh, Yuuta,” you coo, grazing your thumb against his face, endeared by his wide eyes and quiet whimpers, “This is mercy.”

[cubbihue]

Would the Hazel puppet we see in a few of the shows episodes be a kind of very basic changeling? Its obviously made out of way less unwishes than Chimmy but the similarities are too striking to be ignored.

YES! YES IT ISS.

Hazel's puppet is a very basic changeling. So basic, that it's only purpose is to complete one specific set of actions. When those actions are done, it disappears! It's quite literally and physically a sock puppet.

The differences between Hazel's changeling and Timmy's changeling is that their lifespans and construction is different. They serve different purposes.

Bitties Series: [Start] > [Previous] > [Next]

More information about changelings that's ultimately just world building ramblings. Lotsa paragraphs.

Hazel's changeling is short lived, low on unwishes, and more specific to the job.

Her changeling is a one-and-done tool. It only has to do one thing. "Distract the Teacher." "Distract the Mother." So it doesn't need a lot of unwishes, it just needs enough to do its job! As a result, it is made of low quality cloth, it can't verbalize, and it doesn't make its own actions.

Hazel's changeling favors Perceptional Magic. This is why Mr. Guzman doesn't recognize that Hazel's changeling isn't Hazel. He can't see that it's made of felt and sticks. It's constantly pooling out perception magic to warp how its being viewed.

For this reason, the changeling doesn't actually need as much connections as Timmy's does. It can exist by itself, or with Hazel, so long as it has just enough Unwishes to keep it alive. Maybe not stable, but, alive.

By contrast, Timmy' changeling is on the opposite end of this spectrum.

Timmy's changeling is a continuous tool. It must persist and adapt and grow. "Go to school" "Get a job" "Find a partner". It needs many unwishes to face many situations and scenarios. So the changeling has a more difficult build.

The magic it favors is different. Timmy's changeling requires Environmental Magic. People see it for how it looks. It has human skin and can speak the human tongue. But what it requires is a suitable environment. Otherwise, people will know it for what it is. Wooden and hollow.

The more developed and high-tech the Changeling is, the less it's recommended for it to see it's real counterpart. The bigger the amount of Unwishes, the more you want it to be stable and calm. Especially when that changeling's job is "Be Human".

[luhman16]

Saw a post earlier about software and hardware (slightly edited)

[theoldkyokodied]

Watched Re-Animator. Think these two should get to kiss

Edit: DISCLAIMER: Before you decide to watch Re-Animator, make sure to check for content warnings, there is a scene that a lot of people choose to skip!

[half1spin]

meowww meow meow

[crystalpallette]

little red riding hood but there's no hood and the big bad wolf is a cat and I don't think there's anything to ride in the forest and ringo could be littler so really it's just. red.

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 324

gonna be another jacket patch once i figure out what i wanna do with the border

[puppyeared]

adhd is when you shoot for the moon but you forgot the rocket fuel and by the time you realize it everyones already on the moon and then you panic and crash into the sun and it explodes

[itty-bitty-sunshine]

Love slowly but surely becoming the odd one out in my circle for not using chat gpt even though it would "make my life so much easier and i could spend less time revising stuff" /neg

[ganondoodle]

totk made me feel like i got scammed so badly i dont think i want to get any new zelda on release and instead wait until i know its worth it

im afraid zelda will turn into half baked games with flashy imagery to distract you from its shitty writing and superficial references to older games to catch your nostalgia, that the name alone will sell anyway so why try

[solargeist]

noise cancelling headphones actually changed the game its so easy to clean when u can't Hear anything

[bananonbinary]

somewhat kicking a bees nest here, but hear me out-

"homemade and handcrafted goods should cost hundreds and even thousands of dollars" is why attaching a monetary value to esoteric concepts like "time" and "skill" (and, you know, "a human being") is a bad system.

now, before the pitchforks come out, i am not bitching because i want a handcrafted quilt for $20. i do recognize that it would be unbelievably unfair to the quilter. but like...doesn't that sound obscene? that we live in a system where things that used to be pretty mundane are now only available to the upper class, or the creator just fucking dies? where in order for someone to make anything artistic, they need to be independently wealthy or ONLY cater to wealthy people?

again, i am not suggesting that artists should sell me their shit at a horrific loss. im not really suggesting any solution at all here, we're between a bit of a rock and a hard place. but it feels really inherently fucked up to me that the only options are "Artists taken advantage of" and "only rich people get art."

anyways, UBI huh

[unexpectedbrickattack]

experimentin w shit heehee