#now that's a tag I haven't used in a while

[captain-acab]

Yep. And even the suggestion to just shop at Target is flawed. I walked through the clothing section when I was there recently for unrelated disappointments* and it's all plastic too! I remember in past years I've gotten a few cotton shirts and sweaters at Target, still pretty thin and cheap, but at least comfy. Now every single item has a tag like "Made with at least 30% recycled material :)" or something and when you look at the label it's majority polyester.

Frankly I just haven't bought any new clothes in a while. I don't know where to get them. And I live in a big US city.

I'm so pissed right now. I know that fabric has been declining in quality for a while but I just bought new pajamas from kmart and they are literally see through. Not just through one layer of fabric either; I can see through the leg, that is, through 2 layers of fabric. These aren't clothes. I am not exaggerating when I say that I have strained soup through cheesecloth thicker than these pants. These are men's flannel pajamas, the kind people wear in winter, and they are made if shittier thinner fabric than even the most bargain bin bullshit halloween costumes. This "flannel" feels like plastic and is thinner than a chux wipe. Why is this even for sale.

[runninriot]

Four Stockings make a Pair

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles day 24

prompt: Stocking | rated: G | wc: 998 | tags: Eddie & Wayne Munson, single dad Steve, feelings realisation

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4

   "Wayne, I'm back! Brought a little surprise for you!" Eddie calls out, feeling just a bit guilty when his uncle happily pokes his head into the hallway only to stop dead in his tracks.

   "How was- Oh. Hey, Robbie!"

Wayne hobbles towards them and, despite leaning heavy on one crutch, opens his free arm for the little girl that runs straight at him.

   "Grandpa Wayne! Why didn't you tell us you hurt your foot? We would've visited you a lot sooner, right dad?"

Something about their interaction makes Eddie's chest feel tight, hits him with a hint of jealousy but also makes his heart grow three sizes because it's nice to know that his uncle has people here that care for him when he's not around.

   "Hey, Wayne. Sorry to barge in like that. We, uh, we met Eddie at the community centre and-"

Watching Steve fumble for his words, awkwardly standing in the doorway like he's feeling caught, is almost too much to handle. But as endearing as it is to watch his pretty face turn pink, Eddie has mercy on him.

   "Robbie and I were craving your famous hot chocolate, so I invited them over."

Wayne shoots him a look that feels like a silent agreement to 'talk about this later' before he turns back to the girl with one of those rare smiles he doesn't give out freely.

   "Is that so? Well, we better make some then. Why don't you two get set in the living room while Robbie and I get on with it. You wanna help me, sweety?"

   "Yesss! Can I, dad?"

When Steve agrees, she takes Wayne's free hand and carefully leads him in the direction of the kitchen while telling him all about her afternoon.

   "We saw Santa today! He was so nice. And we took a picture with him and I told him what I want for Christmas!"

When Eddie and Steve enter the living room, Eddie's eyes immediately fall on the Christmas tree Wayne must've put up while he was gone - so much for resting his leg. Next to the tree, over the fire place, he notices four instead of only two stockings hanging from the mantelpiece and it makes him wonder if maybe Wayne was planning on sharing his little secret, had Eddie not already found out about it today.

It's hard to realise what he missed out on while being too focused on his own life. He could've visited sooner, more often - Wayne keeps telling him it's fine but Eddie still feels bad about only making his way back home twice a year.

   "I'm sorry, Eddie,” Steve starts after a moment of awkward silence, “This must be so weird for you."

   "Nah, you're good. I guess I was just surprised Wayne hasn't told me about it."

   "Maybe he thought you wouldn't approve? I told him we haven't exactly been friends back then, because I was kind of a dick," Steve says bashfully and that startles a laugh out of Eddie.

   "What? No, Harrington. You were fine. Your friends, they were assholes but your only fault was that you were too cool to hang out with someone like me."

Now it's Steve's turn to laugh and it's a beautiful sound Eddie wants to hear more of.

   "Oh, shut up. You were waaay cooler than me!"

This goes back and forth for a while, with them bantering and play fighting with each other like friends, like it's never been any different between them. How it could’ve been all those years ago.

   "So, uh, you and Robbie. Why did you move back to Hawkins? I always imagined you'd make it into the big city, somewhere far away from here."

It's an instant mood killer, Eddie can tell by the way Steve's smile falters and his shoulders drop. But it's too late to take it back and he really wants to know.

   "Uh, you know. Sometimes life doesn’t turn out to be what you wanted it to be. Hawkins seemed like a good idea to get away from... everything. Until I realised that I had no one left here."

There's a sadness in Steve's voice that breaks Eddie's heart. He has to fight the urge to pull him into his arms, doesn’t know if he’s allowed to.

   "Then Wayne kinda... found me. I had just moved back and everything felt wrong. I was ready to just give up but then this stranger came into my life out of nowhere, asked if I needed help and- that's how we ended up becoming fam- friends."

His little slip-up doesn't go unnoticed and it makes Eddie feel all warm inside.

   "Wayne's always had a weak spot for strays,” he jokes, “Took me in when my life was falling apart, too. He's the best. I'm glad he found you."

Eddie reaches out for Steve’s hand, takes it in his. It’s not a hug but he hopes it still offers some comfort.

It should feel strange, to have Steve and his daughter invading in his home, fitting right in where it had always just been Wayne and him. Somehow making it feel... complete.

Making it hard for Eddie not to drown in the flood of emotions resurfacing from where they've been buried for a long time.

He thinks about Robbie's wish and wonders, if there's a universe in which he could be that person.

They let go of their hands when they hear Robbie and Wayne enter.

   "Eddie, look! I made mine with whipped cream. Like yours!"

And, yeah. He's already too deep, he can feel it.

The rest of the day goes by in a haze and when it's time for Steve and Robbie to leave, Eddie isn't ready to let them go.

   "Wanna spend Christmas with us?"

The question is out before he can think it through.

   "If- if that's okay? I don't-" Steve looks at Eddie, seems unsure.

Again, it's Wayne who saves them both.

   "We'd love to have you here."

[twig-tea]

2024 Tumblr Top 10

tagged by @lurkingshan here and @neuroticbookworm here, thank you both! This really reminds me that I need to do a real pinned post at some point.

If you want to generate your own, you can use this link! I used the link to find the posts but wrote this below because I thought reflecting on the posts would be fun.

My GL rec list (covering everything through to Feb 2024), which I'm very happy about taking first place. If you want GL recs, check that out first, and then feel free to browse my #GL recs tag.

The admittedly shady post from October calling out the director of the Addicted Heroin Thailand adaptation for (a)making weird choices and (b)defending them as artistic. But I stand by my anger about this. Censorship is not an aesthetic!

The non-novel-spoilery reaction post to episodes 1 & 2 of Love In The Big City which was also from October, but which honestly stands up for my reaction to the whole series. What a gift of a show.

A quick pitch for Akaya is in Love with Hiroko from July. This one hurts! I was so ready to cheerlead for this show and did several times, but the penultimate episode made me wary and the finale really upset me, to the point where I didn't end up writing about the finale, so I'll take the chance here: Don't make a show about two self-aware lesbians, one who has been comfortably sexually active for years and one who is super horny for her, and have them get together as adults and yet be celibate for a year out of "respect". Is the message that sex between consenting and enthusiastic adults is not respectful?! GTFO. For the record I can be respected with orgasms, thank you.

The episode celebrating the messaging in the finale of Let Free the Curse of Taekwondo from November. Glad that this is here between the previous entry and the next two, because this is a good balm for the pain. LFtCoT landed the ending and gave us all a giant hug while doing it!

The list of things I was thinking about at the end of Wandee Goodday ep3 from May. Another disappointment for me. The things this post shouts out are still things I like about this show, and reading it again is a reminder of where the back half let the first half down (not taking seriously some of the things we were told to take seriously in the first few episodes).

An early post about Love Is Better the Second Time Around from March. Another show that did not land everything, in this case because it felt like it tried to shove in a complicated conflict in the last two episodes that they didn't have time to handle. But I still love those early episodes and all of the interplay between Miyata, Iwanaga, and Shiraishi.

My clown theory for Every You, Every Me also from October, which ended up being correct! I've never been more happy to be right, I liked this reveal for the show so much.

In February I wrote this thesis about the state of Thai BL looking at data from 2022 and 2023, which I have been meaning to go back and update since I think Shan as usual was feeling the start of the wave and we needed more data to see the change actually play out in 2024. I now no longer feel (as I did in this post) that things haven't changed, I do think they have this year. But I need to crunch the numbers again to prove it to myself (and everyone else) though. Stay tuned!

In July I did a round-up post about the various theories surrounding Century of Love, and whether Vee and Vad were the same person. Turns out San did wrestle with this as I'd hoped but the show itself felt like it lost steam and copped out around this, unfortunately. At least we'll always have fox demon Offroad and grumpy old man Daou's collarbones thanks to this show.

Special shout-out to @lurkingshan because two of the posts above are answers to asks she put in my inbox that spawned project posts. Shan knows what the people want to hear!

Tagging @italianpersonwithashippersheart @benkaben @ellsieee @colourme-feral @pigglepiephi @impala124 no pressure tags and apologies if you've been tagged already!

[lunarmothim]

shadowbound- john price x reader

part ii: soon - the truth comes out.

word count: 4.5k tags/warnings: language, abduction, canon typical violence.

It's quiet. Too quiet- all you can really hear is the creak of footsteps against the flooring downstairs, a small indication of your captors moving about. If they speak they don't do it at a volume you can hear no matter how hard you strain your ears. 

It's fine. This is fine. You've gotten out of worse situations, haven't you? You were supposed to die in Al Mazrah, a bullet in your head while the Russians made off with your cargo. You didn't. You were supposed to die back in Texas, locked in a cell deep underground with no hope of escape. You didn't.

You can make it out of this. 

Your options are limited, though. Breaking out of your zip cuffs would require an injury, something that would require medical attention and slow you down, and that's not even considering your chances of making it past the four men downstairs. Talking your way out of it is even less likely especially now that they know you're a former Shadow, something they don't seem to like all that much. So what's left?

You don't know. You've been in survival mode the last few months, no time to plan or prepare- not that you have that luxury now, but it's still a situation that requires some thought, and that alone gives you pause. What do I do? Figure a way out of here, obviously, but you can't quite figure out where to start, not when every thought you have has a counter-plan staring right back at you.

Well, when in doubt do what you know.

It's awkward, the shift to shimmy your wrists down to your ankles, bringing your bound hands in front of you, and for a second you worry your hips won't allow you to move your arms the way you need to. You make it somehow, immediately reaching up to yank the bag from your head. 

Which brings you to the next step you're not a hundred percent sure of. You have your sight back but limited use of your hands- do you run? You're fast enough you could make it, but your mobility could present a problem until you're able to get the cuffs off. The city would be easy enough to disappear into until you could get new documents, but how hard would it be for them to find you? The military has resources, a lot more than you do at this point, and you imagine it would take them no time at all to locate and apprehend you again.

So what the fuck do you do?

You have no fucking clue, and you're not given a lot of time to think about it. The door slams open and you're looking up at the captain again. He doesn't look entirely surprised by the state you definitely hadn't been left in.

"We're moving," is all he says, stalking forward to yank you up out of your chair. Think. Think. Formulating plans on the go is your specialty, but everything you'd ever been taught is a vague memory on the edges of your subconscious, just out of reach, as he leads you through the house, down the stairs and out the front door. He doesn't bother with a blindfold when he throws you into the back of the van again, at least, nor does he change your cuffs to rebind you behind your back. 

You're not sure if you should find that comforting or not.

You decide on not when it's Ghost that climbs into the back after you, his dark eyes boring into your soul.

"So," he says, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, lurching slightly when the van starts moving. Your patch is in his hand, the worn edge peeking between his fingers. "Wanna tell us what you did to Graves?"

Oh, you're not fucking ready for that. The silence between Ghost leaving you and you being dragged out to the van clearly hadn't been empty- they'd dug, found something you weren't entirely prepared to address if they know about Graves. 

"Dunno what you mean," you croak out, voice breaking slightly on the syllables. He doesn't look like he believes it. 

"Try again." His hand catches you by the jaw again, refusing to let you look away, refusing to give you even a second to gather your racing thoughts. They know you're a Shadow, they know about Graves. What else do they know? Do they have your file? His fingers tighten when he says your name- your full name, not just the first name you'd given the captain at the train station. They have your file. 

Graves burned the files of anyone he lost. He clearly hadn't burned yours.

There's no use pretending anymore.

"You're taking me back to him, aren't you?" you whisper, staring up at him. If he's going to lie to you, you're going to make him look you in the eyes while he does it. You think of your last interaction with the commander, the barely healed scars scattered across your body. The days spent in a cell before he'd released you with the false promise of safety.

"It's just how we have to do things, doll," he drawled, dragging his palm over the deep cut on your shoulder even when you flinched away. "Gotta make sure you know how not to talk, no matter the circumstance."

You knew how not to talk. He knew that you knew how not to talk. He chose to torture you anyway.

So if this group is taking you back to Graves, you'll find a way to make them kill you along the way. 

And if they won't? You'll just do it yourself.

You lunge before Ghost can react. The knife strapped to his thigh is in your hands, slicing through your cuffs in one fluid motion. In the same breath you have the back door of the van open, tucking in on yourself as you roll out onto the street- you can hear the screech of the tires, the van jerking to a halt, but you pay it no mind, leaping to your feet and sprinting back down the road. It's lined with sparse trees on either side and not much else, not a lot of options to hide.

Don't hide, your brain chides you, urging you on. Keep running.

You'd run track in school, a sprinter through and through. Always the fastest, taking first every time. It's been a while since you've needed it, but it's easy to fall back into old habits, keeping your elbows close to your body and your frame tilted slightly forward, your center of gravity kept low. Keep it close, keep it tight. Sprint like your life fucking depends on it.

The tree you pass catches the bullet shot after you. You hear it thud into the wood seconds after you duck around it, inches from your head. Too close. Keep running. There's a wheat field in the distance, tall golden stalks swaying in the breeze. Make it there and you can disappear into them, hide until they pass. Find your way back to the city, find your way out.

If only things were that simple.

A heavy weight strikes the center of your back, driving the air out of you as you crash into the ground. Your stolen knife tilts up, digging into flesh that doesn't even get a reaction beyond the hot spurt of blood across your knuckles before your arms are wrestled behind your back again. You feel the scratch of his balaclava against your cheek, his weight pinning you to the ground with ease.

"Makin' my job fun," he pants low in your ear, a hint of amusement in his tone. You struggle against his hold when he stands, hauling you up to your feet, but his grip is unrelenting. "C'mon then. Let's go."

The van is waiting in the same spot you'd left it. This time, after zip-cuffing your hands behind your back again, Ghost keeps hold of you.

"Slippery little minx, isn't she?" The captain's voice as you're shoved into the back of the van again has you bristling, wanting to rip free and strangle him with your bare hands. "You good?"

"M'solid," Ghost grunts, and you hiss when he brackets your shoulders between his knees. "Sit fuckin' still."

"Fuck you," you can't help but growl, wrenching forward until your shoulders ache. "Let me fucking go-"

"Not a chance." His tone brooks no argument, and you almost howl when he grabs you by the back of the neck, fingers digging into the sides of your throat. "Sit. Still."

What else can you do but obey? You don't relax against him, body tense against his calf and ready to run again- not that his hold on you would let you. 

"Talk." It's the captain that speaks, and when you look up at him he's twisted in his seat, staring back at you.

"Eat shit, captain," you spit back, and his eyes narrow in response. "I'm not goin' back. Just fuckin' kill me."

That, it seems, gives him pause. Narrowed eyes widen slightly, really taking you in for the first time. The defiant set of your shoulders, the way you're ready to spit acid despite your captivity. He sees you, sees the way you're ready to run again, how you're ready to die. His voice drops.

"What happened." It's no longer a question, his hand twitching toward his gun. You're out of chances.

What can you do but tell him the truth?

DELIVERY ROUTE AL MAZRAH 12 AUGUST 2022, 0300

The road is dark, quiet. Not uncommon in the deserts of Al Mazrah this time of night, but still unnerving as you navigate toward the drop off point. The SUV follows a large cargo truck with a blue shipping container on the back, two more with similar cargo in front of them in the convoy. You don't know what you're transporting, but a nagging feeling in your gut tells you it's big. Important. Behind the wheel, Erikson seems to think the same.

"What are we carrying this time, Graves?" he asks, glancing at you in the rearview when you make a small noise of agreement, slightly narrowed eyes telling you to keep quiet. One curious team member asking questions is one thing, two becomes an irritation. No one likes it when Graves gets irritated.

The radio crackles with static, followed by that smooth southern drawl that to some is probably charming, but to you just feels slimy. "If I told ya, I'd have to kill ya."

"I bet he'd do it, too," Vance mutters, and you hum in agreement as you flick your gaze between the two men in the front seat and the truck in front of you. Of the members of your team Vance is the one you're closest to, the one who shares your whispered concerns about what the hell it is you're even doing these days and why you seem to be so far up Shepherd's ass you know what meal he's currently digesting. Concerns he'd only brought up to you over a stolen bottle of whiskey on the HQ rooftop, the haze of a shared cigarette hanging between you. 

He's a good man, a little softer around the edges than the rest of the hardened soldiers that make up the Shadow Company. He'd told you once that he'd wanted to be a teacher, before a terrorist attack had taken down planes in New York. That he'd enlisted the next week and before long his hands were so bloody he could barely look anyone in the eye. To this day, he refuses to tell you why he decided to go private, how he'd ended up on this dark desert road transporting who the hell knows what to who the hell knows who. 

Classified, Graves had told you all at the meeting before you'd shipped out, with some vague story about delivering some aid to your allies in the area. The rest is need to know. 

Need to know always raises interest, makes you speculate when there's little else to focus on but making sure you aren't being followed. You can't speak for the dozens of Shadows that make up the convoy, but you know for sure that you and the other three in this SUV are all wondering what's so important that you have to transport it in the dead of night through hostile territory.

"This's nothing but a milk run, boys," Graves answers after a moment, sounding a little too smug as always. He enjoys having the upper hand, knowing things that others don't. He does throw you a bone though, edged with warning - "Guns for the good guys - you'll be back at HQ for breakfast. Don't shit the bed and there'll be bonuses all around. Find me when you're back."

While the other three answer in the affirmative, Vance and Erikson bumping fists, you stare out the window at the black windows of the abandoned buildings you're driving past, eyes scanning for anything out of place. Something about this just isn't sitting right with you, even more so when the radio crackles again and Graves informs you that Shepherd's waiting for a sitrep.

"Three containers..." Vance muses, and when your eyes shift to him, his own gaze is fixed on the shipping container in front of you, contemplative. His face is obscured by his balaclava and shadows, but you can see the corner of his jaw working behind the black fabric, slowly clenching and unclenching. He's on edge, too.

"That's a lotta fuckin' milk," Dipaolo agrees from where he's sitting next to you, and you can see his wry grin bunching up the balaclava at the corners of his mouth.

"Thirsty friends," Erikson responds with a slight shrug, radioing in to Shepherd with the sitrep, who warns them much like Graves had not to fail. That alone rings alarm bells in your head, but before you can voice them Vance beats you to the punch.

"Do not fail...? Told you this shit was important," he says, and when his green eyes meet yours in the rearview, you can see the worry buried in the furrow of his brows. You're sure his mouth is pressed into a tight line beneath the balaclava.

The cargo truck in front of you comes to a sudden stop, drawing all of your attention forward. You weren't supposed to stop, had been ordered to keep moving no matter what. Doesn't matter if there's a civvy, just drive through them, Graves had said. Fucking sick, you'd muttered under your breath in response.

"What's this?" Dipaolo asks, his grip tightening on his rifle as he glances between the stopped truck and Erikson, white-knuckled on the wheel.

"Three, this is Erikson, what's up?" the driver demands into the radio, fingers of one hand loosening to twitch toward the sidearm strapped to his thigh. Nothing but a crackle of static for two very long seconds, before 3-1's voice comes back.

"Got a vehicle in the road," he reports, followed by voices calling out loudly in Arabic.

"Stand by, comin' to ya." Erikson spins the wheel and carefully pulls around the cargo truck, and if the alarm bells weren't sounding before, they're practically screaming now - it's only you and the SUV behind you bringing up the rear of the convoy, and all of this feels like a trap. But Erikson is the superior in this car, it's his call. Still...

"Is this the best idea?" you ask quietly, shifting your rifle in your lap as you creep up alongside the stopped convoy toward the commotion at the front. "Weakening the rear like this?"

"Not your call," Vance warns, a flash of green in the rearview again. You can see the same unease you feel reflected in what little you can see of his face as he picks up the radio. "Graves, Vance - be advised, we're held up, sortin' it out now."

"Handle it - keep the line movin'." The look Vance gives as he acknowledges Graves' response says see? We're solid. You don't feel solid. You feel like the earth is about to open up beneath your feet, even more so when you reach the front and see the brake lights of 3-1's armored truck, doors open as he stands in the road trying to coax the driver of the heavy cargo truck blocking the road at an angle out of the way in broken Arabic.

"I don't like this," Erikson says quietly, glancing back at you. For the first time since the convoy had stopped, you can see a hint of unease in his brown eyes. 

"Something's wrong," you murmur in agreement, fingers tightening on your rifle as your wary eyes stare ahead at the vehicle blocking the road, the lone Shadow trying and failing to convey the urgency with which he needs them to move. His Arabic is atrocious, an obvious fact that probably isn't helping matters, but even his bastardized accent and butchered words are clear - the person in the vehicle needs to move, and move now. But he doesn't, and that alone has the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. 

"Dipaolo, Harbinger, lean out and cover him," Erikson orders, and without hesitation Dipaolo hauls himself up into the open window, leaning out to raise his M4 at the situation in front of them. You mirror him on the opposite side, staring down your sights as the people blocking the road continue to refuse to move.

"We need a 'terp out here, what's the call sir?" 3-1 asks, sounding frustrated as another yelled order goes ignored. Your finger shifts off the trigger guard, wary eyes taking in everything - from the lone man standing near the tailgate of the truck, his two friends peering casually over the back to the man in the road... wrong. Something's wrong. Your instincts are screaming at you, but you tamp them down as you wait for orders.

"Vance, Dipaolo, go help him out," Erikson orders, gesturing to 3-1, who's yelling again. "Harbinger, cover from here."

"Aye sir," you answer, tensing as the door starts to open - and then gunfire erupts. You can barely tell up from down as you return fire, zeroing in on a man who's emerged from a hatch on the top of the body of the truck. 3-1 goes down in the mayhem, and several more enemies pour out of the surrounding shadows.

You barely hear your teammates yelling around you over the rush of blood in your ears, the explosive sound of gunfire echoing off the nearby buildings. The muzzle flash has a strobe-like effect, making you nauseous as you duck back down into the SUV to reload.

"Back up, back up!" Vance is yelling. His voice distant, like it's coming from the far end of a long tunnel. You can't focus on it, can't focus on anything but slamming the magazine into your rifle and leaning out the window again to cover your retreat from the truck that had driven into the road in front of you, full of enemy reinforcements. 

Above it all, two voices stand out - Graves ordering you to eliminate the threat, and Shepherd... prioritizing the cargo. Something is wrong.

And then everything explodes in a spray of metal, fire and blood and body parts. Ears ringing, you throw yourself back into the vehicle as Erikson tries to maneuver you out of there. You can see the muzzle flash, your team's mouths moving, but all you hear is the ringing. When you reach up to touch your ear, your gloved fingers come away bloody.

Your eyes meet Vance's when your escape route is blocked off, the car jolting as Erikson throws it in reverse, and the last thing you see is Vance's masked face as the flare of the RPG lights the interior of the car, sending it end over end.

141 TRANSPORT PRAGUE, CZECH REPUBLIC 06 DECEMBER 2024, 1830

"I was the only survivor," you tell the Captain quietly. The van had been silent as you told your story. You hadn't wanted to share it at all, but now that you had, it feels almost... cathartic. An outlet for the trauma of what had happened then and what had come after. "I woke up at a field hospital in Urzikstan two, three weeks later? Still not sure, it's all pretty fuzzy. Graves was there, which seemed pretty normal at first. He's a smarmy asshole but no one can say he doesn't care about his team. He was livid with Shepherd for not sending backup. We lost a lot of good men that day.

It wasn't until we were back on base that things started to change. He got quiet, even more secretive than before. Had a lot of closed door meetings with Shepherd, and one fine Thursday morning, he called me into his office. Wanted to hear again what I remembered about the attack. About the cargo. I, like an idiot, voiced my suspicions. Earned myself a one way trip to a cell for it. He did fight Shepherd about killing me, but in the end Shepherd won. In his words, I knew too much.

While the rest of Shadow Company headed out for a mission in Mexico, a dozen of them stayed behind to deal with me. I killed them and dragged their bodies into his office before I escaped. Little message for him. If I had to guess, he decided to just kill me in retaliation. Knew he'd never be able to find me, so he sent someone else to do his dirty work." 

Wringing your hands, you stare out one of the two small windows set in the back doors of the van, watching a middle-aged woman in the sedan behind you yelling into her phone, swerving slightly in her anger. It seems so... normal. So mundane. You wonder what has the woman so pissed.

"Why give us so much attitude then?" It's the Captain that speaks. You glance over at him again, note the way his brow furrows as he studies you from beneath the brim of his boonie hat. You can't read his expression fully, but he looks conflicted. 

"Don't know you, don't trust you," you answer simply, holding his gaze steadily. Your fear from the train station is long gone, and now you're just tired.

His expression flashes with understanding before smoothing into something unreadable again. "I see."

"Yeah." You study him for a moment, watching the corner of his jaw twitch, the way he rubs at his beard. "I'm not your enemy, you know."

"Do I?" His eyes are exhausted, deep blue staring into yours.

"You should." You want to go home. You want to sleep for a week, take a second to gather your thoughts before you have to move again. You can't help the way it bleeds into your words. "I'm fuckin' tired, Captain. I miss home."

"Where is home?" It's an innocent question, innocuous. It's a window into your soul.

"I don't know anymore." It comes out a whisper, a quiet breath. You haven't had anything to call yours beyond a small room on base in a very long time, the Shadows the only home you'd cared about. You rip your gaze back, staring out the window again. "Born in Minnesota, moved around a lot growing up. Had an apartment in Texas, near Dallas. Didn't much care for it, if m'honest."

"That why you joined the military?"

"S'pose." You don't want to answer the captain's questions but his voice makes it hard, deep and gravelly and demanding answers. "Family's more likely, maybe. Dad was a Marine, made me want to be one too. Went through MARSOC training with Graves. Fuckin' asshole, if m'honest-"

"We know." The Scot is the one to reply, surprisingly, and you glance up to find icy blue eyes staring back. "Nearly killed us."   "Bit of a habit of his, isn't it?" you muse, glancing back down again. You hadn't been expecting to find a kindred spirit in this, spewing as much vitriol as you already felt toward Graves. You almost wonder what they'd say if you told them what Graves had threatened to do to you. "Heard he went a bit nuts after Mexico."

"My doin'," the Scot murmurs proudly, and your eyes track over to him once more. Up close like this you can see a scar on his head, the starburst of a gunshot wound. "Blew 'im up."

"Shame it didn't stick," you reply quietly, and his grin drops. They obviously have some kind of connection with Graves too, just as contentious as yours. You won't question it, but you're glad for that little bit of camaraderie. "Next time."

"Next time," Mohawk agrees, and you can't help the tiny smile that splits across your lips at the promise, vague as it is. 

It's a flicker of hope. You can't help but latch onto it.

"Can't keep callin' you Mohawk," you murmur out loud, glancing between him and the black man sitting next to him opposite you, your shoulder still pressed into Ghost's knee. "You know my name, sems fair I know yours."

"Soap," he answers after a moment. You don't miss the way his eyes flick between Ghost and Mutton Chops up in the driver's seat. "Captain Price, Gaz, Ghost." You catalogue the names with the men- it's easy with what you know already. Price. The captain's eyes meet yours in the mirror, stormy blue.

"Harbinger," you reply quietly, drawing your legs in. They know it already, if they have your file. It still makes you feel at least a little better, makes you feel like you have even the smallest iota of control.

You keep your hold on the captain long after he's looked back at the road. He looks like he's in charge, turbulent eyes and tense shoulders. If you have even a chance at freedom he's probably the one that will decide, the one that will either order his men to kill you or let you go. You're not holding your breath either way.

"I'm not goin' back." You don't mean it to be rude, but it's true. "Graves can eat a bag of dicks."

"Not takin' you to Graves," Soap tells you, and you almost believe it. Almost.

"Then where?" They won't keep you in Prague. You know that, know the playbook they're working with. Their base is the most likely option, or some kind of middle ground with the agencies that wanted you in the first place. So where? Their accents scream UK.

The van stops. Ghost confirms it, his hand tightening on the back of your neck several minutes before he hauls you out of the vehicle and on to the tarmac. You see the plane you've been brought to, small and private, and it brings you back to the thought of who'd brought you here- you're a hot commodity and you know it, but the question is which three letter agency wants you the most? 

They don't tell you. You're given no idea of your destination, no clue who blocks your path. All you know is the firm hold on the back of your neck, Ghost keeping you close. You want to throttle him for it.

Soon.

part one - masterlist - part two

please like/reblog if you enjoyed! :) top/bottom divider by: me line divider by: @/saradika-graphics

[thaltro]

Hey there, I saw your recent post and just have to say that once upon a time when I was bored I decided to check out the tumblr tag for ut au's even though I'm not as interested in it anymore as I was before just to see what's been happening in the fandom then found out about your account and fell in love with your art!

I haven't been into UT AU's in a while but I still stalk your account just because I love love love your character designs and the concept of nightwatch (I'm checking your profile every now and then just to check if there's any announcements on it like a madman) and the way you draw and color. If it wasn't for the fact that I need to be stingy with my money these days I'd genuinely commission you 😭‼️

Idk how I'm supposed to end this note but I just rly wanted to show the appreciation I have for ur art you genuinely inspire me to create <33

(PS Atrophy's design is so cool where'd you get the inspo for it I have to know)

This is genuinely really sweet

I’ve been working on commissions, just checked my inbox and I have a lot of sweet messages like this one- I’ll answer as many as I can soon it is 2- almost 3 am (time zone reveal) so I’ll sleep soon.

I’m really surprised people genuinely like my au, even though I’m not getting as many interactions (for some reason TikTok is pretty consistent- just not here?) I’m most confused at people actually caring 😭

Besides my beta readers and the few people I’ve spilled all my nightwatch lore too for no good reason, there’s a good handful of sweet people who like my posts without even knowing the full story. That means alot to me, like alot alot.

It’s nice hearing from people who used to be in the fandom and somehow came across my stuff. I kinda want to attract that crowd, I really don’t understand the newer fandom as i was introduced to the utmv when I was like 11 and the old fandom holds a special place in my heart.

Oh and to answer your question- Atrophy’s design is based off of men’s clothing from the 40-80s, his main outfit is 70s talk show hosty but he has a lot of different outfits. I’m a history nerd so I just go through old fashion books haha. His design is supposed to embody wealth and “manliness”. His tie is supposed to be an arrow which is a reference to his past, his red gloves are worn because he’s proud of being “red handed” and isn’t ashamed of the blood he’s spilt. He wears a moon mask that covers up any of his expressive facial features because he thinks it’s funny when his victims can’t read his expression. Atrophy purposely dresses like a villain, that’s what he sees his role as after all- might as well have a good costume.

Thank you for the ask, it cheered me up

[coldsaturn]

Fic Announcement

Literally no one asked for this but here I am, with a RarePair, Problematic ff for our beloved IP All For The Game. Are problematique rarepairs still a thing in this fandom, or have they been burned to the ground? Well, no matter. This one is a bit of a miracle because I literally started writing it in 2018, reached almost half of it, and then promptly got stuck and left it there. It wasn't until I was watching a movie a couple months ago that I saw the good ol' young Dane Dehaan, and my brain immediately went "This is the face. You go and finish that story now." So I did. Which brings to you a forbidden twinyard omegaverse "canon compliant" (if you squint) 12 chaptered fic! My idea is to post one chapter per week, so I have the time to edit things if I need to, but it would undoubtedly be way easier if there was someone willing to beta as we move along. I understand that the theme of the fic doesn't make it necessarily simple, but I'll leave the ad anyway: Looking for a beta reader willing to help double check that things make sense chapter by chapter, checking grammar, date references, possible inconsistencies etc. Obviously prior experience in betareading is appreciated, but it's more than enough if they're a careful reader. Considering the subject matter and the explicit content, the beta needs to be 21+ please and thanks

If someone is interested, drop me a chat message and you will have my eternal gratitude. If no one wants to touch this with a 10-foot pole, understandable, have a nice day, I'll edit it on my own and post it on ao3 as per usual ✌️

[peridots-pixiwolf]

[Start ID. A redraw of the official icons of the ten named slugcats from Rain World, arranged in two rows: Survivor, Monk, Hunter, Nightcat, and Gourmand in the first, Artificer, Rivulet, Spearmaster, Saint and Enot/Inv in the second. Each is drawn in roughly the same pose as in the original art and fitted with speculative interpretations of their biology, and the second image is a “dead” version of this. For example, all ten have slug-like rhinophores in place of ears, cuttlefish-like colorful eyes with strangely-shaped pupils, cephalopod-like beak "teeth", expressive barbels or oral tentacles at the corners of mouths, spiny radulas, and the frilly mantle fringes of sea slugs, though otherwise their faces are squishy, simple and mammalian-shaped.

Cream-colored Survivor and yellow Monk both share triangular, bicolored spots matching their eyes (which are tan and brown, and two shades of blue, respectively), small, bumpy fringes, and relatively neutral looks on their faces. Defensive-looking Hunter is mostly a dull orange-pink, though their blobby fringe is a more violent red and their back is purple and marred with lumps. Nightcat is navy blue and flecked with dots of yellow and teal, their rolled rhinophores are a lighter blue, and their shading fractures into stars in some places. Gourmand is almost uniformly tan, their wide, very ruffly white mantle fringe bordered by a spray of white spots, and their beak sticks out from either corner of their smile. Primarily red Artificer, snarling, has yellow markings of multiple sorts, a prominent yellow dewlap and their characteristic dark scar taking out a chunk of its face. Rivulet is a darker blue than usual, with long barbels, red gills and rings, countershading, and a cheerful expression, sticking out their radula. Spearmaster is purple with orange accents, eyes and spots, a large fringe and spines down their back. Saint’s green caryophyllidia are marked by small, yellow diamonds, and their long, thin radula extends far below them. Enot is decorated with mottled red stripes, blue patches, yellow stars, and an uneven and almost cartoonish imitation of blush, though generally the same deep blue as Nightcat, a passive or almost slightly smug look on their face and their rolled rhinophores out to either side.

In the second image, nine of the slugcats’ eyes are crossed out, indicating that these are death icons. They look fairly the same, with mostly expression differences. Survivor is caught in the beginning of a threat display, a karma flower sprouts from Monk’s side, Hunter is burdened with overgrowing, purple and blue rot, Nightcat’s rhinophores are pinned back, and Gourmand looks mildly disheartened. For the final row, Artificer bites its radula between small plumes of smoke, Rivulet drops their expression, Spearmaster looks very startled, Saint looks almost entirely the same besides half-open eyes and their markings greater in number, and Enot grins confusedly. End ID]

If you'll excuse the unusually lengthy ID: the arena meme introduced by @pansear-doodles at long last after a nearly year-long wip status (or, rather, finished a month ago today to honor my own first time playing it!)

Design notes and shout-outs under cut! :]

The following people are some of those who’ve inspired my designs most since I started this eight months ago (or just inspired me to get a little weirder with slugcat biology), among many others for sure, and I thank them for it–but this is simply to bring attention to artists I find cool, and in no way an obligation to interact or anything :]

> @saturncoyote , @carpsoup , @charseraph , @gallusgalluss , @bitsbug , @dopscratch , and @0hmanit (and a special mention to dddeerbo and hunterlonglegs, who’ve since deactivated)!

Survivor: Surprisingly the hardest to pin down the colors for, since nothing with its sibling's palette seemed to match up right (I did have to add in a little blue somewhere for Monk, the beginning of making it clear how much I’m simply going based off of vibes for the colors of scug innards). I consider them, Monk and Gourmand to be part of the same gene pool of slugcats, and even possibly the same colony even if the latter isn't really related, so took a bit of Gourmand's coloring and fit them in with their inspiration: Goniobranchus verrieri. They serve as a bit of an introduction to my ideas of scug traits (i find it really fun how many people have thought to add so many silly sluglike fixtures of biology completely independent of me, buuut here I’m mostly talking about species variation), and like in-game they’re pretty average! They, Monk and Hunter have a couple scars sourced from a piece of Joar's concept art that I'm failing to find, those across the bridge of the nose, under the eyes, and across the rhinophores, respectively, and my Survivor interpretation features many on the back of the neck, as a result of survived lizard bites.

Monk: Their coloring is primarily based off the fact that I associate them with blue fruits, honestly, a bit because I was compelled to establish a familiarity with Rivulet, and lastly inspired by the spots of Goniobranchus kuniei (and geminus, less important to me as one of my characters is a kuniei instead, but more fitting). Between the yellow + blue and the circular marking in the center of their face, they’re meant to bear a little resemblance to an iterator that shares similarities with the characterization I’ve given them, and similar coding of her sibling can be seen on Survivor’s markings around the eyes. As both a “default” slugcat and one whose campaign I haven’t played, though, I can’t say I have much more to point out about em.

Hunter: The whole rot thing made for a really fun time drawing them, and while the color change on their back is a result of this, it’s also an excuse to relate them to Babakina festiva, arguably my favorite sea slug (mostly for sentimental purposes). And to Spearmaster, a fellow messenger slugcat, and it serves as a gradient between Hunter’s pink and the “traditional” color of Rot seen in the DLLs. Aside from their affliction, they’d actually be the plainest in terms of design, as they don’t have any patterns or quirks of body type, just the red + purple and strange lumps + possible malnutrition. I can’t remember if NSH had created them in particular or just...caught + released or something, but it probably wouldn’t be strange for a lab-grown slugcat to be simple like that.

Gourmand: Like the two above, they’re rather plain in terms of coloring and adaptation, and like the two above, I find that fun. I decided it would be nice to avert the “all slugcats being of the same body type, and Gourmand’s out of place as the exception” thing by just...adding more fat to all of them, really. I did want to emphasize their sheer bulk even so, both fat and muscular (not like I couldn’t have still gone further with it, of course, but slugcat anatomy can be a little obfuscating sometimes, and they were intended to look rather plush considering personal size headcanons and therefore the lack of proper gravity), and the thick and flounced mantle looked like a good addition, as per their sea slug Glossodoris hikuerensis. Unlike Survivor and Monk, I didn’t attempt to hold their resemblance to any particular other character (which means a little less to balance out the “default gene pool” thing), so those are all the design notes I have for em.

Artificer: The second slugcat I’ve ever played, or finished the campaign of, my favorite for at least a long time, and the first thing I did was give them yellow accents, the shape of which have troubled me slightly (not quite like the spots or stripes of the others). They’re both a little more appealing and more explosive-looking to me, and considering how early on I played Arti, actually present in some of my older art. It does give them a little resemblance to Saint (completely intentional, two slugcats with strange relations to karma), as well as the fact that its radula is green for familiarity with one of its children (at some point it was going to have all-green markings, even!). I’m generous with their scars, partly because it was fun to overemphasize the one on their face and partly because it does seem like a reckless slugcat, on top of the dangers of its explosive abilities–I’ll probably just keep adding more forever. Mostly-red sea slugs aren’t too common, but Hexabranchus sanguineus works for sure. The ridged, yellow dewlap can expand for combustion purposes, or something along those lines. Arti’s where I began experimenting with a lot of the mildly-offkilter features seen in my interpretation of slugcats, as they’ve once again been a favorite from the start.

Rivulet: I've obviously given other slugcats spots, deeply enjoy the bubbly-soda markings of other peoples' slugcats, and thought seal riv would be cute. Despite not too closely resembling it, they've been government-assigned Hypselodoris bennetti, for color reasons and for a couple sentimental ones. Originally, the colors of every scug were meant to match up with the custom colors I gave them at the beginning of their campaigns, (though Arti, Gourm and Spearmy are the only three who actually apply here, since I've only played through half the slugcats: I gave arti the yellow as mentioned above, gourm brown eyes and spearmy light pink spears, furthered by the outskirts pearl accompanying me and that palette all the way to moon. Tolerance training for eternity in hell cause I already knew about the maroon pearl quest). I initially gave them the colors of the bi flag for fun... but with the limited palette of this image, I was left without pink for a while and decided to see how they'd look in red. I then realized how they now wonderfully matched Moon, and besides, red's a sort of camouflage in deep water! As a side-note, the difference between their eyes and those of others always bothered me a little for anatomical purposes, and the cephalopod eyes were probably influenced by this!

Spearmaster: Inspired as much as possible by @notyourfunnyman ’s wonderful spearmy: designed in a way that helps it fit in with scavengers, at least between the long sensory tentacles, big ruff, back spines and slightly thin/distended anatomy, a form of defensive mimicry. I always had annulate rhinophores in mind, for a little diversity sure, but mostly because the shape reminds me of radio antennae and communication towers (seems fitting for the comms array and being a messenger slugcat)! I started searching for a real-life slug to give them just by looking up their rhinophore shape...and was met immediately and coincidentally with annulate-topped nudibranchs that fit them more perfectly than I could've imagined: Flabellina and surrounding clades, I think Paraflabellina ischitana works very nicely. The orange was completely unplanned, but there wasn’t a place for light pink among the other slugcats’ palettes, and importantly it likens them to both Hunter and Seven Red Suns a little more.

Saint: I am very much a non-furred slugcat enjoyer, with respect to those who aren’t, so figuring out the only visibly furred slugcat was an interesting challenge. I’ve decided that they likely have other, milder adaptations for help in the cold, mainly just more efficient fat storage, and what looks vaguely like fur is instead a bunch of tubercles (called caryophillia, for the second reminder out of three). Their inspiration doesn’t have these, however, Miamira sinuata’s numerous yellow and blue spots (not to mention...whatever’s going on with that shape) and general effect of being the only really green nudibranch I could find were probably perfect for a strange green echo. Not pictured, but their beak-teeth are tiny and flat to make a surface for grinding soft food against with the lack of a functioning radula, which is tipped with a specialized spiny “grapple-hook” for better traction/grip (not to mention the numerous little teeth running down the whole thing).

(Best part of hiding this under a readmore means edits will be seen by all reblogs, I'm mostly sure, because I completely forgot to mention! The spots on their forehead are simple eyes. Their camera eyes appear closed in-game, I like to believe their complex eyesight is rather poor anyways or otherwise reason that they aren't seeing out of those, and while this was far from her REASON for attunement with the world, it does help compensate for mainly viewing it through a canvas of simple light and dark. This, and the fact that their swapped-out "fur" is not only to commit to a lack of hairs but contributes to sensory input!)

Nightcat/Enot: I guess you could say I found the “these two are technically the same person” compelling. (E.g. similar colors, both very strange and enigmatic, and Enot/Inv/Sofanthiel’s remark during the dating sim about getting removed from Arena Mode.) I doubt they’re the only two slugcats in their body, considering humans with DID tend to have more than a few (and I find it very funny that a slugcat bearing resemblance to Nightcat appears in Gourmand’s ending. They’re allowed in the colony and Enot isn’t </3), and I have to credit @faelingdraws ’s art for being what convinced me on it! Their design inspirations come down to trying to balance a few different ideas: making the patterns and palettes of both look oddly similar (special mention to the stars, since those are fun to draw), basing them off of Felimare sechurana and juliae respectively, using blocks of color with the same placement as in Enot’s official art, and specifically making Enot look...biologically reasonable and imperfect, whilst also clearly trying to imitate human displays of emotion (what with...the eyes and blush on that one piece of official art).

Lastly, here’s just a lineup with notes on body shape and size. Most of the nicknames (existing to give a little more space, that’s all) are obvious, and while I can’t remember why I shortened Nightcat to Nox, it is in honor of my friend by the same nickname :]

[humming-fly]

Happy to report I have finally started listening to Malevolent and to no one's surprise I am already obsessed (I'm almost done with s2 atm please don't send me spoilers yet sdlkfj)

I'll skip over my usual formality of having one normal art post before diving into shitposts let's not waste anyone's time here

[anoant-haikyuu-dump]

Assigning Cat Pokémon to the Nekoma Players

Kuroo - Meowscarada Saw it's official art and instantly thought of this scene from Summer of Evolution, take one look at that dramatic mf and tell me Kuroo wouldn't want one instantly. They're both tricky guys who bait their opponents into attacking before pulling the rug out from under them. The smug aura is off the charts.

Kai - Delcatty Calm and nonconfrontational but reliable, both of these guys are relatively normal compared to everyone else but well loved by those around them. Delcatty's pokedex entry in sapphire says it just moves away instead of fighting, much like how Kai leaves Yaku and Kuroo to do their thing when their fights get heated

Yaku - Zeraora Quick, nimble, powerful— these two are both incredibly strong despite their size. You can always count on them to get there in time. I wasn't gonna give anyone mythicals or legendaries but if anyone deserves it it's Yaku.

Tora - Incineroar Obviously Tora gets the Litten line, its mid evolution is literally called Torracat. Can you name a pokemon with more guts than the big manly WWE tiger?? I didn't think so. They're both shouting constantly and hyping themselves up while also being supportive towards the people around them. Loudest mfs in the room but you love them nonetheless.

Kenma - Meowstic Knew I wanted to give Kenma a psychic type since he's all about mind games and Meowstic was the perfect canidate. The both play more of a supporting role on the team but can be super agressive, all with a blank face. Also they have similar vibes visually.

Fukunaga - Meowth The natural choice since both are based on maneki-neko, look at the joy and whimsey!! Silly little guys who's eyes sparkle when they get excited.

Inuoka - Boltund The sole dog among a sea of cats, bros just happy to be included. Decided on Boltund because of it's boundless energy, they can keep going for days without loosing a sweat. Also look at it's little smile!! Very Inuoka indeed.

Lev - Luxio (?) I'm conflicted on this one but I don't know what else to go with (curse you Lev for being an enigma). It's abilities are rivalry and intimidate, much like how Lev picks a fight with like half his team + hinata and how his height intimidates most people he comes across. I went with Luxio over Luxray since he still has a lot of room to grow but he's a determind guy with big aspirations (again, this one is a strech lol).

Shibayama - Litleo Like Lev I chose the preevolution because Shibayama has a lot to live up to, what with Yaku being the current libero. Small, cute, and reliant on his teammates for now but one day he'll step out from of the shadow of his predecessor and become his own player

Teshiro - Espurr I know this is technically a repeat since I gave Kenma Meowstic but c'mon, just look at that cold, dead stare. Blank-faced dudes with more internal struggles than meets the eye.

[sloppygoaty]

dw he's not actually sad, just being dramatic

i've had this specific idea stuck in my mind for months so it was about time i drew it lol AND IF U SAW A TYPO NO YOU DIDN'T

+a few other extras under the cut

small cozy doodle i did for funsies

And a deleted version of the last panel bc the first one looked waaay too serious and not silly like i intended, my man looks like he just saw someone die asdfghj

[tmae3114]

So there's this theory I've had bouncing around in my head for *checks notes* about three years now and, well, it does not have nearly the level of evidence I tend to prefer before I make a theory post - it is, in fact, Predominantly Vibes Based - but it has, again, been bouncing around in my head for three years and I refuse to be alone with it any longer

(...also, if I'm right, I wanna be able to go "I KNEW IT" and have a timestamp to point to XD)

OKAY. So. Basically.

I think Alinua might be a twice-born.

Hear me out:

Firstly:

We know that Cloud Elves live pretty much exclusively on the Archipelago Nimbus and are isolationist (Extra Lore: The Three Elder Races - "The Islands have minimal contact or trade with the outside world, [...]" & "These Cloud Elves are unique in many ways, most notably their isolationism [...]" and Page 1.6.12 "I suppose a cloud elf outside of the Archipelago Nimbus is fairly unusual-") but Alinua has been down on the surface since before she can remember

That suggests unusual circumstances. Isolationist people who have minimal contact with the outside world don't just lose a baby in said outside world

Alinua's theory for this is that her birth parents "probably reasonably assumed [she] had the Chimeric Plague and dropped [her] over the edge" (Page 1.6.13) but, crucially, there is no actual evidence of this. It's what she assumes probably happened but she has no memory of the actual events (Page 1.6.23 "I don't even remember it. I've never met my birth parents […]")

Therefore, it is entirely possible that Alinua is wrong about how she ended up not on the Archipelago Nimbus. And I, personally, think it's pretty likely that she's wrong because we know that the Archipelago Nimbus can sometimes be even higher up than the peak of the Throne of the World (this post) and even with it usually being lower down than that, I find it... somewhat doubtful that an infant (toddler, at best) would survive that fall. Not impossible in a fantasy setting but... doubtful.

Secondly:

We know that the Chimeric Plague was Life attempting to connect with a vessel who could be her eyes and give her perspective (Pages 1.20.20 - 1.20.23)

Even before Life finally broke through, Alinua was incredibly unusual for a carrier of the Chimeric Plague. She didn't even find out she was one until she was about ten (Page 1.6.13 "I had a normal life and family for ten years- and then I learned I was a chimera bomb [...]") when most die before they turn five (Page 1.2.10 "I shouldn't have made it past five years old" and Extra Lore: The Chimeric Plague "[...] it is inevitable in every case that the child will lose total control of their magic within the first few years of their life [...]"). She was twice the expected age of a carrier when she found out.

We don't know why Alinua is the successful attempt that finally worked. Not only do we not know, Alinua herself brings it up while talking to Life (Page 1.20.23 "I… don't know if there's anything special about me that kept you from overwhelming me like the others, or if I'm just the lucky one you finally got right."). The question is open: is there something special/unique about Alinua that allowed her to survive where none of the other children did? And if so, what is it?

Thirdly:

So. Carrion crawlers.

We have not actually met any in the story itself yet, only heard Caliban bring them up in the context of an insult (Page 1.12.10 "Twice-born son of a carrion crawler! You had a plan this whole time?!") but fortunately! the Aurora tumblr exists! so we have additional information!

Carrion crawlers eat dead things and sometimes give birth to baby clones of one of their recent meals, which are called twice-born. A twice-born is a healthy infant, identical in every way to how the original would've been as an infant, and age normally for the species they were produced from. Additionally, they have no memories from their source material (so to speak) and develop their own, unique soul, though if they came from a mage, their soul will develop the same channels (this post and this post)

...now, I mentioned at the start that this theory does not have as much evidence as I would like and is mostly Vibes Based, and we have now hit the point where I run out of evidence and switch to vibes. I do not have any evidence which actually points to a connection between any of this.

However, I do still Have Thoughts

We know that Alinua was adopted had a happy (or, at least, "normal") childhood prior to figuring out she was a chimeric carrier (1.6.13, see above) and seemingly doesn't think about her birth family very often. It's entirely possible that she didn't ask questions about where she came from as a child. It's not been brought up yet how her adoptive family found her but, given that she assumes she was thrown off the edge of the Archipelago Nimbus, the possibility that they found a seemingly-abandoned baby just lying around doesn't seem too out there. And if Alinua is a twice-born, yet clearly doesn't know that herself, her family may also not have known that... or may have known and opted to keep it hidden, even from her, given that twice-born are generally considered "deeply unnerving and grotesque" (this post).

As for how Alinua came to be in this theorised scenario, there's two possibilities I've considered.

The first is that an adult life mage cloud elf was outside the Archipelago Nimbus for Some Reason, died somewhere where there are carrion crawlers, and things went from there.

The second, much sadder, possibility is that the "Chimeric Plague carrier baby thrown off the edge of the flying islands" possibility did happen... the baby in question just wasn't Alinua because the fall was, in fact, not a survivable one. And then, just as a twice-born will inherit being-a-mage, Alinua inherited having the Chimeric Plague.

And, in either of these cases, something about being twice-born subsequently protected Alinua from being overwhelmed by Life.

[kori-senpai]

Day 1 of putting characters in my clothes because I really suck at drawing cool clothing and want to be better at it

[bluebird-ascended]

Rainbow dragon

my first art post of 2024! the time is just past midnight

[shalom-iamcominghome]

My thoughts on jewish politics are nuanced and convoluted in many ways, but if somebody comes at me with the idea of categorizing my thoughts as being in line with the "good jews" or the "bad jews," you've just got to assume I'm not One Of The Good Ones.

[averlym]

wow wow wow wow i came here to say it’s jane seymour’s deathday and saw that you have done so much improvement it’s crazy everything looks so lovely and amazing you’re doing great

~ holiday anon

quick portrait i did a while back. lovely reminder to see you again ily holiday anon

[shadowofaghost5]

They say that he sent you, but what does that mean?

“Um… Whatcha got there?”

Me, who’s spent the last 3 months drawing nothing but cows: “…A smoothie?”