#off pedalo

[pikansanok]

And now, the most advanced OFF technology; Ground Pedalos! They traverse the ground faster than a human being!

[mothscotch]

Day three: Pedalo race

<3

[ggenggar-draws]

OFFTOBER - day 3 Pedalo Race

[spicedhotchoco]

PEDALO TIME!!!

LET'S GOOOO

[friendshapedplant]

[ID: Digital drawing of Dedan and an Elsen from the video game OFF. Dedan sits on air, arms folded as he looks up at the Elsen. There is dialogue between them that reads as follows:

Dedan: Put a pedalo boat ride in Alma.

Elsen: B-but sir, what use would that serve? We need to conserve funding as much possible…

Dedan, covering part of the Elsen's text: Put a pedalo boat ride in Alma.

Elsen: But what- Dedan: Put a fucking pedalo boat ride in Alma.

The background is a bright salmon. /End ID.]

dedan's orders

[midnight-mourning]

Mistletoe Mishaps

❄️❄️Midnight's DCA December Day 1❄️❄️

Hello!

Sorry to post our starting point so late today, had some family things come up that needed taken care of, but all good now! Hope you all enjoy, had a good bit of fun with this ^_^

Prompt: OFF DCA AU Moon finds holiday related items (cough cough mistletoe) and is trying to get the player alone for smooches but UH OH! Sun is not happy. Hijinks ensue

Word Count: 2200 (i know i said 1000-2000 but it be like that sometimes chat what can i say >_<

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

You watch as Sun falls the last spectre, turning to you for what to do next.

"Good work, that should be the last few in this area." You check your inventory, and toss him a few luck tickets. 

He nods. "Thank you, Friend. Shall we move on to the next then?"

Sun's words have an edge of excitement to them, and while you hate to put a damper on his good mood, you feel exhaustion setting in.

"Let's take a break, all this walking has tired me out,"—you pull out the zone map you'd scribbled out, since even that was beyond your abilities as the Player to see—"Is there anywhere to rest nearby? Like, a hotel or something?"

You know your Batter didn't need sleep. Whatever he was, it was beyond the needs for the task. You however, despite being pulled into this world, were still limited to your basic human needs. That included sleep, and food. Though, you weren't particularly fond of your options regarding that second one so far, but you've made do. 

You realize Sun's just staring at you. "A... hotel?"

Right. You forgot that he would have no idea what such a thing was. Your usual method of getting rest was finding a comfortable looking section on the metal ground and laying down. Though, you'd usually wake up and be laying on Sun in some way. He never said anything, and would ignore your thanks when you gave it, but you still said it regardless.

"You know what? We'll just figure it out along the way, come on," you start walking in a random direction, knowing he won't be far behind.

He nods, falling in step with you quickly. "Of course, I'll always follow your lead, Sunshine."

As you're walking, a rare breeze passes by, causing you to shiver and clutch your arms. You'd noticed that the weather here was relatively unclimactic. Neither warm nor cool, save for this very moment.

"Are you alright?"

Glancing up, you see Sun is watching you intently. 

You smile, but another breeze passes by and cringe. "I'm alright, just, surprisingly cold,"—you laugh—"It's funny, if I still understand time correctly, this would be around when the weather gets colder and snowy where I'm from."

Your Batter tilts his head, but says nothing. 

"Like, you know, snow. White, cold, falls from the sky—okay I can see that I'm losing you here, never mind." You sigh. Sometimes, Sun's lack of knowledge about things was endearing, cute even. A being as powerful and—admittedly—terrifying as him being absolutely clueless to what swan rides were and why you loved the Pedalos so much was a bit hilarious. 

As you feel his confused stare stay with you as you continue your journey through Zone 2 however, you could argue that sometimes, sometimes it was not.

You turn the corner and are surprised to see a crudely painted stand set up. It's usual masked owner is standing behind it, head propped up in one hand, unchanging lazy grin ever present. 

You smile, "Hi Moon, fancy seeing you here."

"Hello dear, Player. Might I interest you in my wares today? I think they might pique your interest greatly." He chuckles. 

Before you can speak up, Sun interrupts, "We don't have time for you. My Player is tired and needs to rest in a,"—he pauses—"Hotle?"

"Good try, bud, but not quite." You turn back to Moon, nodding, "Let's take a quick look."

Moon claps, "Excellent!"

Sun makes a noise beside you but you ignore it, instead stepping closer to take a look. 

You're surprised to find Moon's usual supplies missing. Instead replaced by a hat, a scarf, and—

"Mistletoe?" You ask. 

Moon tilts his head, "Hm? Oh, it that what it is? I wasn't too sure myself."

Sun scoffs, but you're focused on the fact that Moon just has, copious amounts of mistletoe. No new upgrades, no luck tickets or silver flesh, not even a speck of meat. Which, that last one you're fine with.

"Where did you find all this?" You ask, picking up a bundle and holding it high to examine it further.

"Oh... around."

At this you look up, but Moon's expression obviously gives nothing away. Still, you chuckle lightly at the idea of the shopkeeper stumbling upon a mistletoe bush here of all places. 

You twist the small plant in your hands, still very fresh. "Really? That's interesting. I take it you have no clue what it stands for?" 

You'd assume that much like Sun, Moon had no knowledge of the world beyond his. Though, he and The Judge had hinted at knowing more in the past, but nothing past that. 

"Of course I do, who wouldn't know such a piece of treasured, holiday symbolism?"

Had you been paying attention, you would have noticed the shared glare between your item vendor and your Batter. 

"Treasured is a bit of a stretch." You laugh, looking back to him now.

Moon leans in closer, only a few mere inches apart "So, anything catch your eye, my friend? Anything in particular?"

"Well—" Before you can give a proper response, Sun is in front of you, arm up protectively. 

His eyes are narrowed, smile strained as he speaks, "We really must be going now, right, Starshine?"

If he's trying to tell you something, you're not sure what it is. This was just Moon after all. Furthermore, your previous talk about the holidays, and the random cold front, were making you eager to remedy your discomfort. 

"We'll take the hat and scarf, Moon." You reach into your pocket for your credits, "The mistletoe is pretty, but don't really have a use for it that I can think of. Hopefully you'll find someone that does though!"

Moon eagerly accepts your credits, providing you the scarf and hat moments later. "Yes, perhaps."

The conversation ends there, Sun ushering you away without even a goodbye to the vendor. 

You only realize what's happened after the fact, and shoot a look up to your Batter, slightly annoyed, "It's rude to not say anything before leaving, you know." 

Sun doesn't respond, gaze forward and face stern. He mutters something you don't quite catch. 

After a short rest in a hotel you manage to find, you're back to work. Or well, Sun is. You're just along for the ride really. But still, after every battle, he's always looking to you for your approval. 

Usually, you were very good about providing it. However, you've lately been finding yourself to be rather distracted. 

Someone, and you could take a guess as to who, had been putting mistletoe up everywhere you went. 

Usually in the typical spots you'd find the herb, hung up in doorways or archways all throughout the zone. Other times it was just, around. 

Hanging on the sides of buildings, lampposts, littering benches, tables, and so on. It seemed there was no escaping the sea of green and white you'd found yourself in. Which, you were fine with. You found the whole ordeal incredibly amusing to be honest. It also made Zone 2 feel just a little more like home, more alive, for that matter. 

One of the other members or your party however, was very, very displeased. You'd find him glaring at the plant, and occasionally snatching it up and tossing it away in some cases. 

Your Batter was also not happy about the lack of attention you'd been giving him, sometimes too busy trying to find all the hidden locations of the herb. 

What didn't help the matter was the bearer of the decorations was usually close by when you discovered more.

Typically, you would be mid-battle, and since Sun was more than capable on his own without you, your focus would wander. And sure enough, either scouring a doorway or peeking down alleys, there would be Moon. 

He would never outright say it was his doing, that would be too easy. Though he certainly enjoyed teasing you about it. Bending down low to your height, voice sly as he declared you "Something of a detective now, aren't you, Dear?"

You would do your best to tease him back, booping his mask when in range, calling this little game of his, "Silly, but fun."

"Game?" He would ask, hand on where you'd touch his face, "I've not a clue what you mean, Friend."

You laugh, "Sure. Whatever you say."

"Though, if this were a game, I'm sure there would be an easy way for you to win."

You still haven't figured out what he meant by that, try as you might. Sun usually would appear in your peripheral, battle over and gaze stern, before you could ask any further questions.

It all came to a head one time when Moon took it a step further. 

You'd once again, guilty as charged, been on the hunt for any new secret spots, and came across Moon in a side alley, leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Expecting you, likely. 

He waves to you as you approach, pointing out the mistletoe hanging on a clothesline above his head, "You didn't even try with that one."

He shrugs, then leans down to your height. 

"Trying would imply this is my doing, and you know me, dear Player. Trying is above my paygrade." You're now eye to eye, inches apart. "And here, I thought we were friends."

Your face heats up then, for reasons you can't explain, "W-we're friends,"—you cough—"We're friends. But I'm also not a fool, do you take me for one, Moon?"

He holds your gaze, eyes flicking down momentarily at something, then back to you. Then, he shakes his head slightly, chuckling quietly. 

He stands upright again, "You should stop by my shop again soon. I have fresh wares I think you'd be keenly interested in."

You scoff, along with the mistletoe, there had been mysteriously placed signs, all advertising 'Holiday Wares' in almost as many locations.

"I just might."

And after the battle, you did. Only to find that, his stand, completely and entirely, was just mistletoe. And you don't mean he was just selling it, you mean the stand itself was decorated top to bottom in the stuff. 

The ridiculousness of it made you laugh, hand to your mouth as you tried to contain your giggles. 

However, before you can even open your mouth, Sun is leading you away, over to a secluded spot. 

Cornered in a doorway, you have no choice but to meet his gaze as he stares down at you, smile twitching. 

"Now friend, I think this has gotten a bit out of hand, don't you think?" He tilts his head. 

You shrink a little further into the doorway, "What um, what do you mean?"

His eyes narrow, "I think you know exactly what I mean."

"The mistletoe?" You ask, shrinking a little further down with an awkward laugh. "It's just a silly game Moon's playing, that's all. No harm in it."

"No harm?" Sun bends down, fully encapsulating your field of view, "He is actively trying to pursue you and distract from our mission! how is that not doing harm?"

It clicks for you then, all at once. All the closeness, the brief touches, the murmured jests and soft laughs. Moon wasn't just trying to mess with you, he'd been trying to—

"Oh." Your face grows warm then. "I see."

Something else occurs to you then. Specifically, why Sun is so vehemently protesting such a notion. Peeking up, you see there is indeed a piece of mistletoe above the two of you. You know what to do. 

"Sun, all you had to do was ask,"—you stand a little on your tiptoes, then press a quick kiss to his cheek—"I'm always happy to show my affection for you, my Batter."

He's frozen, eyes wide under the shadow of his cap. 

You laugh, "After all, what's a quick kiss among friends, right?"

He's still in a daze as you duck under him, marching over to Moon and his stand with newfound purpose. 

His head rests in both hands as he watches you approach. 

"Your little game is over, I'm afraid," You say when you arrive. 

The masked vendor tsks, "What a shame, and I was doing so well, too."

You roll your eyes, and lean in, "Uh huh, now hold still."

Moon snickers, but obeys. Just as you're about to kiss his cheek, however, he shifts, and you find yourself kissing the mouth of his mask instead. 

Unlike the kiss you gave Sun, you find that it's warm. Like, static from a tv, or something. 

He pulls away first, chucking at your gaping look. 

Before you can react, Sun's hand is on your shoulder, moving you out of the way. You expect him to start leading you somewhere else, color you surprised when he takes a swing at Moon, who quickly dodges the attack. 

You can only watch, still shocked, as your Batter chases your vendor around the area, sharing all sorts of threats about what will happen once he catches the other, who merely laughs at his attempts.

Honestly, not the worst possible outcome for this ordeal.

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Thank you to @monsteractialuna for the request! I've been going feral about your OFF au for days and this only fed further into my obession lol

If you'd like to request, you have until 12/13 OR until all slots are filled, currently 7 of 31 are taken! See here for more details, thanks for reading!

Tag list (if you would like added, see this post for more info):

@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8

@luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @amarynthian-chronicles

@robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva

@juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml

[keikoyume]

OFF x The Boy and the Heron

I had this concept since November and I had to draw it!!

Here some explanations and more ideas about the crossover:

Hugo is the protagonist (Mahito, in the movie), he travels through the ‘OFF world’ discovering a land of wonders. Perhaps his presence will have an impact on it…

I thought the Queen could be Mahito’s great uncle until I changed my mind for Enoch instead (I really wanted to put the three guardians). Vader Eloha would be Natsuko (Mahito/Hugo’s new mom).

Weirdly, Japhet is wearing Valérie’s corpse but also has his cat corpse in his mouth (it’s for the aesthetic✨), he's the heron the best character in the movie.

Pablo has the role of Himi, in the crossover, he’s the cat of Hugo’s deceased mom.

Warawaras are young Elsens floating with (Sucre’s) balloons, parrots are Burnts (and pelicans would be specters).

Dedan is Kiriko, he fishes meat in… the meat actually. I was thinking about the idea he’d fish cows, I felt it’d be cute and absurd. I was also thinking he’d be doing that on a big pedalo✨

Finally, I think the Batter would be the parrot king, I felt it was fitting for the character and his rough behavior in the movie.

[gello-strands]

HELLO AWESOME OFF MUTUAL!!!! I would like to request the batter riding a pedalo except the pedalo is shaped like a jerboa (the most epic animal ever)... thank you very much :-)

This is a TRUE REAL NOT CLICKBAIT JERBOA..

I love this little critter

(ty for the request!)

[vanesahoj]

OFFtober 2022 day 25 – Duckies

I mean,,, you gotta agree the Deltarune swans look a lot like the pedalos from OFF

the text: Susie: GOD FUCKING dammit KRIS where the FUCK are we!?

BONUS: Time traveler: *Moves a chair* The timeline: The judge: "Batter, purify the banana"

[assortedseaglass]

The Seamstress & The Sailor - Chapter Twenty Two

Tom Bennett x Bess Vaughn (OFC)

[Masterlist]

Volume II Summary: Tom escapes occupied Europe to find home irreversibly changed. How will Tom and Bess cope when what was once familiar has changed forever?

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Smut, Violence (fairly mild), Depictions of War, Mentions of Death, Depictions of PTSD, Injury Detail, Era typical Sexism, Era typical Homophobia, Mentions of Sexual Assault, Mentions of Domestic Abuse (very brief), Depictions of Reproductive Health, Suicidal Thoughts, World on Fire Spoilers.

A/N: Characters we haven’t seen for a while? Trauma from way back in volume one? You betcha. Posted in haste, will fix mistakes later.

Fucking war.

Tom ripped open the cardboard packet of his Marlboro’s just in case. Nothing. No Rita Hayworth. No Betty Grable. Not even Vera fucking Lynn. He lit a cigarette and sighed.

A pint of pale was put on the table before him. Through a haze of cigarette fog and beer-blurred eyes he looked at the barkeeper.

“We’ve had men in here trading their old cigarette cards. Anything for something new,” he scoffed and picked up Tom’s three empty glasses. “’Waste of resources’, ‘s’what they say on the wireless. You’d think a bit of leg would do everyone good. Keep morale high.”

Tom took a long gulp of the beer and wiped his mouth on the back of his jacket sleeve. “Well, if you ever run for office, you’ve got my vote. Bring back the tart card.” He raised the half-drunk glass but the man had already walked away. “To Winston fucking Churchill!”

From their position at the bar, a few patrons looked over their shoulders at him. None could have been younger than fifty. “What?” Tom said to them, his volume a touch too loud, eyes dark over the rim of the glass. They ignored him.

“Dunkierka!”

Tom screwed his eyes shut. It had been hours, but still Grzegroz’s voice rattled around his mind.

“Dunkierka!”

How strange, incredible really, that he could be transported so quickly to the battlefield once more. One moment he was playing football with Jan in Mrs Chase’s garden, the next he was watching the man with the terrified eyes screaming at him on the beach.

“Shoot me!”

“Fuck.” Tom downed the rest of the beer. Eight o’clock. The pub was busying now. He’d arrived not an hour before, having walked from Mrs Chase’s back into town. Now, the shift’s had changed at the dockyard and the factory, and the weekend was free for these men to take.

The table wobbled as Tom used all of his weight to stand. He blinked hard. A rush of blood drained from his head and he faltered. A lifetime’s worth of bad memories did not mix with four pints and an empty stomach.

Tom wasn’t drunk. Not by his standards at least. Instead, he was balanced on a precipice. A precipice that could turn the night into one of infinite wonder or have him fear the world by 8 o’clock next morning. Would it send him down the Palais with Bess? Hadn’t she said there was a dance on? Or would it be a night in the pub, taking on any Tom, Dick or Harry that dared, and sleeping under a bench? Tom found he didn’t care which. One drink more would do him right. Let Lady Luck decide.

Tom wasn’t drunk. However, he did not slide onto the bar stool with as much grace as he would’ve liked and a few men tittered. “Another pint please.”

“Right you are, Tom.” The barkeep gave him a wary look but poured the pint all the same. He’d seen enough soldiers and marines to know that if they weren’t drinking in his pub, they were out drinking and making a nuisance. God knows he remembered the last war well enough.

Another pint appeared before him, and Tom watched the foam settle. He leant forward, caressing the cool glass, and took a long, pleasured sip.

“How’s the navy treating you anyway, Tom?”

“The navy? The bloody navy? Can’t even steer a pedalo.”

Tom jolted and looked over his shoulder. It had happened the night before too, and that morning. Drifting off, he’d heard his father’s voice. “My brave, brave boy.” Only to wake up and have reality hit him hard, all air leaving his chest before he’d taken his first waking breath. His dad was gone.

A glass smashed in the corner of the pub and a roar of laughter rang up.

“Watch it! You lot break anymore, and you’ll be paying.” The barkeeper sighed. “Tom?”

“You what?”

The barkeeper watched him. “Ah, don’t worry about it, son.” He patted Tom’s arm and made his way to the end of the bar. Tom’s eyes followed as the man collected a sweeping brush and gathered the broken shards into a pile. One of the men in the party was gesturing wildly around, trying in vain to help. It was Fergal Vaughn.

“Sit down, man,” the barkeep said good-naturedly. “You’re a hindrance, not a help.” 

Fergal flopped into his seat, the beer he held spraying everywhere. The friends surrounding him laughed. Sweat gleamed on the old man’s brow, his face red and shining. When he spoke, flecks of spittle flew from his mouth, and he laughed so hard Tom feared he might keel over for lack of breath. 

“Jesus Christ,” Tom muttered into his pint. Well, at least the old bastard isn’t at home, bothering the girls.

There was a great commotion and Tom looked back to the party. Fergal had stood abruptly, his round belly pushing the table and knocking yet more glasses. He raised his near empty pint of Guinness in the air. “To my Cora, and to her Roger!”

The men cheered, raising their glasses and swigging their beers. “To her roger!” The two men nearest Tom cried and fell about laughing. Fergal swiped at them pathetically but giggled at their joke.

Tom should have laughed too. Should have joined in their merriment. But sat there, five pints deep, listening to Fergal Vaughn’s witterings while the ghost of his own father lingered just beyond reach, Tom felt his blood curdle. On the step of the stool, his leg began to bounce. The din of the pub’s patrons gave way to the swirling of blood and breath in his ears. 

 “Dunkierka!”

Tom slammed his fists into his eyes and tried to rub away the sound. Fergal guffawed behind him. 

“You don’t think I’m genuine?” 

“Are you, son?”

Bess’ voice joined the fray.

“You’ve never committed to anything or anyone. It’s not because you’re a womaniser, or because you don’t believe in the war. It’s because you’re a coward.”

“Just fuck off!” Tom shouted. He didn’t hear the way the pub stilled. Didn’t notice the way the man beside him got off his stool and shuffled away. Slowly, the noise around him picked up as everyone ignored the screwball at the bar. 

He tried to calm himself and, naturally, thought of Bess. Almost half-past eight. She’d be at the dance by now. Hair rollered for once, a brush of lipstick. Tom’s body hummed with a warmth that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Who would she dance with, without himself or Albie there? Roger? From Fergal’s exclamations, it sounded like a night for celebration. Would Lois be there, singing with Connie? He hadn’t thought to ask Lois about her shift on the ambulance. 

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

The last words Lois hissed at him before he crumpled and made his way back to Bess. She’d spat them at him like a weapon. She’d meant to hurt him, and hurt him it did. The moment she’d uttered them Tom saw every disheartened, disapproving and disappointed look that had shadowed his father’s prematurely aged face. Each one, directed at him. 

Yet another glass was placed next to him. An amber tot of whisky. “From Fergal,” said the barkeeper. Tom glanced over his shoulder to where Fergal had another pint raised in his direction.

“To Tom,” he slurred. “No doubt he’ll be stealing another of my girls away from me.” Fergal smiled at him and the other men silently raised their glasses.

Tom pushed the whisky away. “No thanks.” 

“Right you are,” The barkeeper said after a moment, taking the glass away while eyeing something over Tom’s shoulder. With a hard smack, a meaty hand landed on Tom’s back and he didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. The heavy breath and stench of ale told him everything. 

“Rude to refuse a drink from your father-in-law-” 

“You’re not my father-in-law.” Tom continued to stare straight ahead at the optics behind the bar.  

“I’m as good as!” Fergal chortled. “And don’t you tell me I won’t be one day,” he tried to lean on the bar beside Tom but stumbled. Despite himself, Tom reached out a hand to steady him. “With Cora engaged, everyone will be looking to you and Bess.” 

“Let them look.” 

Fergal wobbled, leaning forward slightly to observe Tom. Fed up, Tom stared back at him, watching the man struggle to stand straight. 

“God, you look like your Dad.” Fergal said after an unnaturally long pause. Tom snorted. 

“You made his life hell when he was alive and now you can never make it up to him.”

“We all miss him terribly, me and Bess especially,” Fergal continued. Did Tom miss him? He supposed he did not. He hadn’t been given enough time to comprehend the fact he was dead, let alone miss him. “My favourite drinking partner.” Fergal finally found the bar and leant upon it. 

“You’re doing alright, to me.” Tom watched the men in the corner watching him.

“Ah, but none were like your Da-A drink!” Fergal cut himself off. “Another whisky for me and Tom.” They appeared before them in an instant. Seemingly, the barkeeper hadn’t thrown them away. Fucking rationing. 

“I don’t want it,” Tom pushed it back and Fergal made to sip his own. 

“To Douglas!” The Irishman roared. 

“Stop!” Tom grabbed Fergal’s hand before the drink could reach his lips. “Stop.” 

“What’s gotten into you, boy? Used to love a drink with me and Albie and your Da-”

Tom stood from the bar and Fergal staggered backwards. “I’ll not share a drink with you, you fat old bastard. Not in my dad’s memory. Not when you’re like this.” 

“Now just a minu-”

“You’re a drunk!” Tom spat in Fergal’s face. He was towering over the man now, and for a flicker of time, Fergal looked like a scared child. “I’ll not drink to my dad’s memory, when it should have been you in his place.” 

Fergal looked like he had been struck. Tom didn’t care. A year’s worth of war, the immediacy of his grief, the way it awoke the longing he held for his mother, years of watching Fergal ruin his daughters. Tom felt every bruising blow life had dealt him, and was presented with the perfect outlet for his rage. The man before him. 

“My dad fought for what he believed in. Did I agree with him? No, but I damn well do now!” Tom was shouting and the barkeeper laid a hand on his arm. He wrenched it from his grip but lowered his voice to a menacing hiss. “He didn’t have much, but he did enough to make himself proud. To make me proud. Gave everyone the time of day. Grafted. Put up with me,” his voice wobbled. “And then there’s you. What have you ever done?”

Fergal opened his mouth but Tom cut him off. “Who do you think’s gonna look after you now Cora’s engaged? Do you know what?” He grabbed the whisky and raised it in the air. “Here’s to Roger. If it weren’t for him, Cora would be left to a life looking after you with not one bit of thanks.” He downed the drink with a wince. “And Dot! You’ve spoiled her beyond reason. Five minutes in the real world will ruin her, Fergal! Don’t you remember the last time!? All them battered men coming back, what they did to the women waiting for them at home? And Bess!” Tom’s voice cracked and he jabbed a finger into Fergal’s fleshy shoulder. “Do you know how many nights she’s spent crying because you said she wasn’t woman enough, like Cora and Dot? Or how you never stood up for her at school? It was Etta marching down there every day to set Frank Smith and Walter Watson right. Etta giving the teachers a bollocking because you didn’t have the guts. What did you do? Fucking nothing. Only thing you’re good for is fucking fertiliser-”

It happened quick as a flash. Fergal grabbed Tom by the scruff of his collar and hoisted him over the bar. Glasses clattered around them and the murmuring of the pub crescendoed to an excited clamour. The edge of the bar was rammed into Tom’s ribs as Fergal held him there, leaning over and growling in his face. Any trace of drunkenness was gone. 

“You’re one to talk, my boy.” He shoved Tom again, and Tom felt his head hit one of the pumps. “Fucking off to join the navy was the best thing you ever did. Brought nothing but shame to your father, and now you’re doing the same to my Bess.” At the mention of her name Tom struggled to get up. “You’re only courting my daughter because I see how happy you make her, God knows why, but when you get yourself blown up, well, it’ll be all the better.”

“ENOUGH!” The barkeeper bellowed, reaching between the two of them. Two of Fergal’s friends pulled him backwards off Tom, and he slid off the bar. “ENOUGH!” 

Tom straightened his jacket, stared down at Fergal and laughed bitterly. By some miracle, Fergal’s whiskey still sat unbothered amongst the debris of their argument. Tom downed it in one and, with his hands in his pockets, swaggered from the pub and into the night.

“-our Florence tailored her mam’s old dress. I suppose Bess could help you with that. And Roger will have a mourning suit, won’t he? Or will he get married in uniform? Oh, that would be best I think, that beautiful air force blue. It’ll look excellent in your wedding photograph-”

On discovering Cora Vaughn’s engagement to Roger, Queenie Warren had not drawn breath. Her curls bouncing animatedly as she spoke, Queenie quizzed Cora on everything from the colour of her bridesmaids’ dresses to whether the cake would be fruit or Victoria sponge.

Bess had tuned Queenie out ten minutes ago. Instead, she leant against the bar, glass in her hand, cigarette between her lips, and watched couples spin around the dancefloor. She wondered if the Palais would ever be as full as it was before the war.

The red lights of the room hid a multitude of sins. The floor was becoming sticky under foot, and wallpaper was starting to peel from the high ceiling. The darkness did well to hide the few couples, and the fewer men. Indeed, it was mostly full of women from the factories. There were some fellas that Bess recognised from about town, and other uniformed men she did not recognise, no doubt visiting women they had met on the front, or nurses from the infirmary.

Dancing at the centre of circle were Roberta and the teacher from the primary. With so many of the men off fighting, it was the first time Bobby had been able to step into the light with the woman, under the rouse of needing a dance partner. Hiding in plain sight, Bess had never seen her happier. Indeed, when they turned so that Bobby could look upon the bar, she caught Bess’ eye. Bess winked, and Bobby giggled. Tough, feisty Roberta actually giggled.

“-you’ll have your hands full soon I expect, Bess.”

“Pardon?”

Queenie was watching her eagerly. “A wedding dress and bridesmaids’ clothes for yourself and Dot. That’s an awful lot to be doing.”

“She’ll have to ask me first,” with a smile Bess nudged Cora, who looked up from gazing at the modest ring on her finger.

Her betrothed was not far away, sharing a drink with Frank Smith and a few other lads from the air force. He was bright and merry, and though the others congratulated him, Bess noticed the glances they cast the bride-to-be and her sisters. Namely, herself.

Bess knew what she was doing when she’d stepped out that night. Bedecked in a pinstriped suit, she wanted people to look at her. She felt deflated after Tom’s flit from Mrs Chase’s and his inability to confide in her. This did just the job to make her feel powerful again. She’d seen Marlene Dietrich where something similar in a copy of Vogue she’d read years ago at the atelier. It just so happened that they had a pattern there too.

A man cut across Bess’ vision of Bobby on the dancefloor. “Fucking dyke,” he muttered as he passed. Bess stood straight, prepared to defend her friend from the man, when she faltered. As he passed, the man looked over his shoulder at her, eyeing her suit from sharp collar to perfectly-ironed trouser.

“Don’t be jealous she’s a better dresser than you!” Dot piped up, just as Cora took her glass.

“That’s enough sherry, Dot.”

Before Dot could so much as take a breath to retort, the Palais’ double doors burst open. Even over the playing of the band, the noise caused the sisters to jump and cast their eyes towards the doors.

Bess knew that silhouette.

Against the streetlamps outside, the figure staggered sideways before moving forward towards the bar. With his hands in his pockets, he nearly fell over, and a few people rushed to help him. He brushed them off and, ascending the steps to the bar, smirked lopsidedly at the group.

“Bobby,”

“Tom.”

The enmity that lingered between Bobby and Tom had dwindled of late, and Bess tensed at the renewed hostility.

“How’s your friend?” Tom wobbled as he glanced around the old ballroom, his words dripping with intentional sarcasm. Roberta said nothing. “Suits you well, doesn’t it? No men about.” He swaggered towards her, his body a millisecond behind the movement of his feet. Bess prickled with mortification. All evening she’d been worried about him, what he was thinking, what he was doing, and it turned out he was the same as any other man; leaving their problems at the door of the first pub they came to.

He staggered a step towards Roger and Frank. Frank, having experienced Tom’s devastating right-hook in childhood, edged backwards.

“Watch yourselves, lads, she’ll be giving your girls ideas.”

He can embarrass himself all he likes, but leave Bobby out of it. In three high-heeled strides, Bess placed herself between Tom and the others. “Enough,” she said warningly. Tom eyed her. There was a hint of pride in the dark blue of his eyes. Then he glanced at her suit.

“If I didn’t know you better,” Bess could smell the beer on him. The stale cigarettes. “I’d say you were going the same way as your Roberta.” He looked her up and down, amusement evident on his features.

At this closeness, Bess’ worry returned. When he’d returned, the first thing she noticed about him was the hollowness of his cheeks. The way the skin clung his cheekbones like wax. In the red light of the Palais, his pale skin looked near translucent, and his eyes…

His brow bone jutted forward, casting them into shadow. Below, the soft skin beneath his lower lashes sagged, as though gravity was working harder to root him in one place. She’d seen this dogged look before. On her father. What a sinister concoction; grief and grain.

Gently, as though calming a wounded animal, Bess whispered in Tom’s ear. “Go home, my love-”

“I haven’t got one,” Tom slurred, blinking slowly, that ridiculous smile still plastered on his face.

“Albie’s bed is always made up, just sle-”

“In a dead man’s bed?” The sisters and their companions each took a sharp breath. “I’ll not be tempting fate, ‘my love’,” Tom tapped Bess on the nose. “Besides, I’m here for a dance.” He held out a hand, the other still firmly in his pocket as he swayed on the spot. “Come on,”

“No,”

There it was. That wrinkled brow and jutted jaw. He knew he was pushing it. Still, as he always did, he carried on.

“Why do you have to go around winding the rest of us up? That’s what you do.” Vic’s voice joined the chorus of ghosts in Tom’s mind. He shook his head.

“Come on,” he waggled the hand he held out to Bess. “Gotta dance with my best girl while I’m back.”

“I said no.”

With speed unexpected of a drunk, Tom made a beeline for Bess. Just as his arms made to grip her close to his body, someone blocked his path.

“Go away, Tom.”

His held jolted backwards before his body, and he stumbled. “Fuck,” he said. In this light, in this state, the Vaughn girls all looked the same. Steely, dark eyes were boring into his. It was only the smaller stature of the girl before him that gave it away.

“Dotty-”

“Go away-”

“Oh shut up, Dot. You’ll never get a fella with a mouth like that,” Roger and Cora straightened at the bar. Bess came to stand at her sister’s side. Frank gripped Queenie by the arm and steered her away. This was it. The showdown. The two cockiest kids in Longsight. Dot Vaughn and Tom Bennett.  “Shut up and use your mouth for something useful-”

SMACK

The force with which Dot walloped Tom near gave him whiplash. Like a felled tree, he hit the ground hard. No sooner was he looking up at the three red-headed furies, was someone dragging him along the ground. For the second time that night, someone had Tom by the scruff of his collar. His feet struggled to find footing as whoever had hold of him pulled him towards the door. He looked up.

“Fuck me. Didn’t think you had it in you Rog.”

The pilot said nothing, only continued to drag Tom from the Palais. The clacking of high heels followed the pair, and as Roger hurled Tom onto the damp road outside the dancehall, Cora came into view.

Tom lay there for a few seconds, looking up at the dark sky as drizzle speckled his face.

“Get up.”

“You gonna fight me, Rog?” He received no reply and, with great difficulty, stood up. His head was beginning to pound, as though his brain was fight to break free from his skull.

Roger’s arms were folded against his chest. Tom had never realised, despite Roger’s lanky height, how imposing he was. In his uniform, he looked like the perfect poster boy for the British military. Beside him, Cora glared.

“Where the hell have you been?” Her voice was quiet, challenging him to dare to fight back. Tom rolled his shoulders and squared his jaw.

“Pub.”

Cora tutted. “I might have guessed.”

“Saw your dad there,”

“I’m sure.” Cora’s eyes hadn’t left Tom’s. Her feet hadn’t faltered. All that distinguished her from a statue were the few strands of hair waving in the cold night air.

“Gave him a piece of my mind-”

“A very small piece then.”

Tom snorted. “Was there celebrating your happy news. Congratulations, by the way.” He added as an aside. “Never seen him at the pub so happy, usually there to forget his own fuck ups. Wouldn’t catch me in that state-”

“You’ve got a nerve.” Cora snapped. “Dadda’s got his faults but don’t think for a second that you don’t have your own, Thomas Bennett.”

Cora walked towards him, her steps so slow and purpose that for the first time in his life, Tom was scared of her. She folded her arms and looked at him with disgust.

“You’re not the only one that’s suffered-”

“Tell you about this afternoon, did she?” Tom shouted. Cora raised her eyebrows and he silenced like a petulant child.

“No, Bess didn’t,” Behind her, Roger watched on. He didn’t move, flanking her like a sentinel solider. “But I’ve known you long enough to know you’re a jumped-up little shit who never put much store by other people’s feelings, BE QUIET!” she shoutedwhen Tom opened his mouth to argue. “You’re not the only one that’s fighting. That’s lost someone. Roger flies over Germany every other night, looking at the destruction we’re wreaking. Coming home to discover who he lost along the way. You know Vernon was the last to go down? Disappeared over the Channel. I don’t suppose you’ve thought for one second that Lois lost her father and her fiancé?”

Tom shifted uncomfortably.

“That we loved your father too? That we lost our Albie?” Cora’s voiced wobbled and a few tears fell from her eyes. Her gaze, however, did not waver. “I can’t imagine what horrors you’ve seen, Tom, but it isn’t plain sailing here. The fear of getting bombed every night, worrying if we’ll ever see you all again? Pretending it’s all smiles when you come home in case you see the cracks and crumble. Because what’s the point of fighting for a world that doesn’t exist anymore?”

Finally, she brushed her tears from her eyes. With a shaky breath, as if to set herself right, Cora straightened.

“It’s not the world against Tom Bennett. I know it feels like it-”

“No you don’t.” Tom said bitterly. “You don’t have a fucking clue.” And with the little pride he had left, he turned on weak legs, stumbled down the nearest ginnel, and vanished from sight.

Next morning, Bess rose as the sun crept over the brick red houses of Longsight.

Beside her, Dot and Cora were sleeping soundly, their arms cast over each other’s waists. Slowly, so as not to wake them, Bess drew back the quilt and crept onto the landing. The floorboards creaked and she stilled. No-one stirred.

Tentatively, she opened the door to her father’s bedroom.

He was slumped, half sat against the cold wall, atop his bed. Albie’ remained empty, his folded jumper and photograph sat neatly on top of the covers.

A swell of dread rushed over Bess and she felt sick. So it had been dadda stumbling around the house, not Tom.

Fergal’s misuse of alcohol was no secret about the street, and every neighbour knew his routine. His daughters knew it better. Six o’clock. If Fergal wasn’t working as an air raid warden, he would arrive home from the dockyard, ready for his supper. After reading the newspaper and listening to the girls talk about their days, he would depart for the pub at approximately twenty past seven. If drinking at The Crown, he would be allowed room under one of the tables and arrive home next morning with the milk float or the postman. If The Red Lion took his fancy, Old Arthur, for that was what the girls had always called the publican, gave him board in the small flat he kept above the pub. Only if Fergal drank at The Swan did he stagger home, for Mrs Mallory always cast him out at eleven o’clock.

On tiptoe, Bess hurried down the stairs. The hammering of her heart doubled. Tom was not slumped on the piano stool, nor was he at the table or in Fergal’s armchair.

This was it. His years of aggravating, pestering, hiding, skiving and shirking had finally caught up with him. Or, someone had caught up with him.

Terrified, worried and entirely unsure of what to do, Bess busied her hands by rummaging through the Welsh dresser drawers. Flicking through dressmaker’s patterns, ones belonging to herself, her mother and her sisters too, she pulled out a set for women’s slacks.

For Kasia¸ she thought. Well, that was that job done.

Curled up in her father’s armchair, Bess watched the world beyond the window wake up. Mrs Mason collected the milk bottles from her front step. Dennis Warley, the miserable postman, began his rounds. A few men Fergal’s age cycled to work. She looked at the clock. Half past six. At seven, she would wake Cora, and together they would hunt from Tom. What good was it now, when most of the city was still sleeping? Who could help?

A sudden wailing caused Bess to startle. She jumped up from the armchair, clutching the trouser pattern to her chest. Dot looked lazily up from the table. Cora placed a plate of bacon and eggs upon it, and hurried to the window where baby Vera, in her Moses basket, continued to cry.  

“Got used to living alone and don’t want to share the bed?” Dot poured herself a cup of tea.

“Probably fed up of your snoring,” said Cora good-naturedly, the delight of Roger’s proposal radiating from her. “But Bess, love, why were you sleeping in the armchair?”

“I must have just drifted off,” Bess brushed the frizzy hair from her face. “Went to check in on dadda’s room. Tom didn’t stay last night, Cora.” Much to her surprise, Cora did not seem worried. Instead, she raised her eyebrows and pursed her lips. Bess felt the temper she inherited from their mother spark into life. “Cora?”

“Connie said she saw him last night, on her way to her shift on the ambulance. Was with Frank and some other lads.” Dot said through a mouthful of food. Cora tutted.

“He-oh. Ok,” Bess deflated, relief Tom was alright and embarrassment at her assumptions fighting for pitiable dominance. “Connie was here?” She moved forward to take the now whinging Vera from Cora.

“Mhmm,”

“Dorothy Vaughn. Don’t eat with your mouthful.”

Dot swallowed pointedly at Cora and turned back to Bess. “She brought Vera over.”

“Why?”

Dot faced her sister fully and grasped her cup of tea eagerly in her hands. After new dresses, Dot’s favourite thing was gossip. “Lois had to go to the infirmary. Was helping a family out of a house that got hit in the raids last night over in Fallowfield, and the house came down around her. She’s fine,” Bess had gasped. “Cut her head but just fine. That’s why Connie brought Cora. Lois is resting.” Dot punctuated her news with a long slurp of tea.

Bess sat at the table beside her sister, Vera now settled back to sleep. “Tom won’t know, about Lois, he’ll have no idea-”

“Doubt she wants him to know.” Dot said matter-of-factly. Again, Cora tutted.

“Dot, stop being cryptic and-”

“Well,” Dot launched herself into hurried speech. “Connie told us that Lois told her that her and Tom had an argument the day he got back-something about Douglas dying and him not knowing-anyway he got all angry with Lois saying that if she’d been there then he-Douglas that is-might not have died-”

“Breathe, Dot.”

“-and of course Lois didn’t like that and gave him a piece of her mind about working on the ambulance and doing her bit for the war effort, and then Tom-get this Bess-Tom turned round and said her job was to look after Douglas and Vera!” She took a deep breath and another sip of tea.

The anger caused by Cora’s apathy was nothing compared to the flame roaring into life now. Bess’ cheeks reddened, her eyes darkened, and a rigidity settled in her bones that God himself could not have shaken.

“Oh he did, did he?”

Three miles away, in a terraced house that edged Cringle Park, Tom Bennett woke. The bedsprings beneath his back were hard, a few pressing into his bony side, and the frame wobbled as he struggled to get up.

Bile rose to his throat and he lay down again. Above him, the ceiling spun. At its centre, the ceiling light had been draped in a rose silk scarf. Turning his head slowly so that it lolled on the pillow, Tom looked over the vanity table. Make up covered its counter, and few dresses in reds, pinks and purples were crumpled on the stool.

Beside him, the clock read just after eight o’clock. Its ticking was so loud inside his head it sounded like machine gun fire, and he groaned. The knock that came at the door was thunderous and Tom thought the sound alone would make him vomit.

“Morning, pet,” A high voice said. “Brought you a cuppa. Poor thing,” a soft hand touched his forehead, as though testing his temperature, and brushed the hair from his eyes. “You know you’re always welcome here.”

Tom rubbed his bleary eyes and took the tea from the person above him. Perfectly manicured nails, ringlets, red lipstick and the overpowering smell of lavender.

“Cheers, Queenie.”

Notes: Cigarette cards (sometimes called tart cards, if they had women on) were banned in Britain at the start of 1940 because the government indeed declared them a “waste of raw material”. I don’t know about elsewhere, but in Britain “to roger” someone is to have sex, usually in a bit of a rough manner. In research, I also read a study about the increase in domestic violence post-WWI, in households with soldiers returning to civilian life. Fuck war and fuck the men that start them. 

Thank you to @arcielee, who helped me unfuck this chapter more than she realises! There’s a line direct for one of our chats in here. And thanks again to @theoneeyedprince for help with the Polish. Below is the inspo for Bess’ outfit. Saw it and knew she’d wear it.

Tags: @aemonds-wifey@multiple-fandoms-girl @jessssica1234@babyblue711 @heimtathurs @exitpursuedbyavulcan @myfandompromptsside @allthefandomtherapy @reblogedworks @valerie977 @bookwyrmsblog @phantomontheinternet @chainsawsangel @greenowlfactif @thelittleswanao3 @yentroucnagol@beiigegalx@skikikikiikhhjuuh @just-emmaaaa @mefools@aquakaris @its-actually-minicika @whoknows333 @arcielee @honeymaltgelato @girlwith-thepearlearring @fangirlninja67 @evita-shelby @cherievictore @shmexie @ewanmitchellcrumbs @blairfox04

[pikansanok]

Homestar OFF-Tober! Day 12 - Pedalo Ride - Homestar Runner as the Batter

[sage3m5]

who wants to theorize with me about how much theyre gonna change in the OFF remake 👻

cause look, we already know they're changing the battle system. and we know its getting a switch release, which means they're gonna HAVE to change the puzzle where you have to open the readme file, the switch doesn't have those. Do you think they're gonna change any of the other puzzles while they're at it? Not like, fully put in new puzzles, I'm thinking like. Tweaking them to not require pulling up a wiki.

Some puzzles I could see them adjusting, off the top of my head: the post office puzzle, or more likely, just The Judge's hint for it. The map navigation puzzle in the Zone 3 cafeteria. I've seen a lot of letsplayers just brute force the maze area in Alma, which is more an issue with gamers not knowing classic Lost Woods antics, but maybe something could be changed there? The pedalo maze in the park?

Any other obvious ones I'm forgetting?

[camthecatchameleon]

OFFtober week one! …except i missed a couple of days (this will likely be a trend). In order to make the challenge easier on myself I decided that I don’t need to put a lot of effort into the drawings and they can be small, so I’ll probably post them each week, if I remember to.

The prompts are from @echothefreak's 2023 list

I missed Day 1 because i forgot that it was October, so we start with Day 2: Wings. For this one I pulled from my Guardian!Zacharie AU because if I’m honest I’m not. a huge fan of people drawing Zacharie with the wings and crown normally? Which is why in the AU they’re AddOns. But at the time I didn’t feel like drawing Japhet so. shrug

Day 3: Pedalo Race. I had in mind a more complex composition with Sucre, Batter, and Zacharie racing (and Batter being attacked by a random encounter), but I decided it would have taken WAY too long so I scrapped it and stuck with just the aftermath of the race.

Day 4: Favorite Place. My personal favorite spot is the rooftop where the Japhet boss battle takes place, mostly because Japhet is one of my favorite characters, but also because I love zone 2 in general and the whales are funny. Also I once saw a post about how Zacharie and Japhet probably were business partners or friends and it changed my brain chemistry.

Day 5: Panic! and Day 6: Resolved Panic. These two kinda go hand in hand tbh. I don’t have a whole lot to say about day 5, but for day 6 I kinda struggled with Batter’s pose for a while. This is what I get for putting so little effort into a drawing that I straight up don’t draw guidelines.

Day 7: Buy Something and Leave, I did actually end up getting really distracted and missed it, which I’m kind of sad about because I actually had the most ideas for it. Instead of the prompt though I ended up doodling a shitton of OFF in a notebook (might post those eventually)

Day 8: Watching. Don’t have a whole lot to say about it. It’s late I’m tired and I almost forgot

week 1 / week 2 / week 3 / week 4 / week 5

[beardedmrbean]

1. Rue de la Loi, Wetstraat, Law Street? English may become Brussels' third official language

English should become an official administrative language in Brussels, in addition to French and Dutch, said Brussels Minister for Multilingualism, Sven Gatz – advocating a big promotion for the Capital Region's non-official third language. Read more.

2. 'Nothing ever happens': EU not doing enough to tackle corruption, poll shows

Half a year after the Qatargate corruption scandal made headlines across the world, 60% of European citizens are not satisfied with the EU's efforts to fight corruption – up 12 percentage points since July 2019, a new poll by the European Parliament has revealed. Read more.

3. Belgium's next wage indexation delayed a month due to falling inflation

Belgium's next automatic wage indexation is set to be delayed by a month as the country's declining inflation rate continues to ease pressure on Belgian consumers. Read more.

4. Belgian Pedalo World Championships returns to Brussels this weekend

The Belgian Pedalo World Championships is set to return to Brussels on Sunday, pitting pedalo racers in a four-hour endurance race around the lake of the Bois de la Cambre. Read more.

5. Le Chou News: AI Should Come From Châtbot Region, Says EU

Le Chou is Europe's most dedicated source of news. Catch up weekly on the biggest headlines with our roundup, all with an intentionally inaccurate and satirical streak. Follow live updates on Twitter and watch Le Chou TV on Instagram. Read more.

6. 'Don't Mow May' campaign boosts garden biodiversity

More bees, more plants, as well as endangered plant and flower species, have started to emerge in the gardens of people who participated in the campaign against mowing last month. Read more.

7. Hidden Belgium: The Vintage

It’s sometimes hard in Bruges to find a quiet cafe terrace to sit out in the sun. But you might try The Vintage at Westmeers 13. Read more.

[scarlet-heartstrings]

Entry 25

Amusement Park 1/?

The pedalo was to get to the amusement park that was separated from the rest of the zone by a body of plastic. Now that the pedalo was there, others besides Batter and I could get across, but it seemed like they just continued to state that the park was closed off for a good reason. It’s become heavily apparent that these Elsen are different than the ones I met back in zone 1. The elsen here just seem so much more terrified of environmental threats and stimuli, like the air itself is torture to them. Their fear spreads into the world of paranoia and bordering delusions, as one said at the park he was afraid of leaving the room in case the room he wanted to go in simply ceased to exist and he’ll fall into the void by trying to enter it.

I don’t know how to help them and I desperately want to. I think I know how I could. If I get rid of the spectors, will it ease their fears? This may be the route of their behaviors, I would sure act a fool if I was constantly bombarded with terror like they were, poor things.

The park consisted of a balloon game, a pedalo ride, and a roller coaster.

I went on the pedalo ride first, the machinations under the water that would steer the vessel were particularly annoying since I didn’t always go where I wanted to go. I ended up finding a switch that apparently kept the barrier to the roller coaster up. I find it funny that they made a roller coaster for some reason and never seemed to have used it.

I went to the balloon game next, it was ran by one of the resident elsens. It was a turn based game and the goal was to have your opponent be stuck with the last balloon. Things went sour when I lost as it seems the elsen was cheating. He became a burnt, a very bizarre looking one might I add, it seems burnts have variations to them. As a burnt, he had to be purified, he had no last words to give, but we did win a necktie. After exiting the game we found the nearby elsens in a frenzy, I swear we didn’t mean to cause this chaos. They all seem to be so fragile even an audible sigh would be too much for them.

The roller coaster was as expected, there was a nearby statue I discovered I could actually move about. As to why the statue looked like Zacharie of all people, I have no idea. The roller coaster itself was initially blocked off since it was considered “dangerous”, they also said it was unfinished but I didn’t see anything that actually looked like it was left uncompleted. They replaced the real roller coaster with a few rows of chairs, one elsen in particular was on the verge of vomiting from just sitting down in one of the rows. I knew there was something up about this attraction, there was just no way they would actually partake in something like that. I don’t think even the hardier zone 1 elsens would have done something like that.

I just don’t understand the purpose of this place. They don’t enjoy it, why do they have it? Who thought this was a good thing to bestow upon them? It just doesn’t make sense.

Note: It seems Zacharie is the owner of this park. I have to say, this was a terrible idea on your part, Merchant. You ought to judge your demographic better.

[cleansingwrath]

"Are you the chief of the specters?", the Batter said. The Add-Ons behind him hovered.

No, you duck, I'm your Puppeteer.

"The stories change a lot given time. It is best to make sure you are still pure." he replied, grip on his bat steady. The Add-Ons watched.

Nope, I propitiate them, but I'm no floating bedsheet.

In 2014, at the height of OFF hype, I begun an ask blog for Zacharie @possiblyinsanemerchant. Three years later, I was possessed by the spirit of the Batter and started this blog as well. OFF hype has died out since then, but I occasionally revisit, mostly through Zacharie (contact me there! I'm not always able to check DMs here).

But the death of OFF's fanbase means that in effect, the Batter has become as unmoored as Zacharie. What this means for the Puppet and Puppeteer is that the mission (and writing) has become a bit...free-flow.

I've no idea how to use pinned posts - last I used tumblr was 2019 and that was brief; my style of writing has evolved quite a bit as well, so there might be some disconnect. It certainly has become more pedantic and sarcastic, blame higher academia for that. [1]

Anyway:

Rules

Links

About

Verses

Relations

[1] It has led me developing a fetish for footnotes. Behold, the next Terry Pratchett and the resurgence of the unnecessary footnote era.

"Prepare to be purified." Without warning, Epsilon glowed, sending patterns twisting across the party. Strings erupted from Alpha, attempting to reach the bedsheet-wearing Puppeteer figure which yelped and leaped back. Space twisted as Omega executed a Competence, and the Batter leapt, bat raised.

Oh my god you multiomnicidal pedalo-loving bastard!