#the only thing i need to figure out

[finitevoid]

vv roleswap

Vanitas sits cross-legged on his bed, holding Terra’s old practice Keyblade and contemplating the exam’s results. You failed to keep the darkness inside of you in-check. Terra, hesitantly, as if despite himself, had looked at Vanitas, when their master said that. 

Vanitas rubs his gloved hand over his mouth, relishing in the scratchy feeling of leather against his soft skin. His thumb brushes the wood grain of the Keyblade, idly. 

Vanitas ponders the ways of the light and the dark. Terra and Vanitas have always been close; and what is Vanitas, if not ineffably tainted by the dark?

He chokes on the thought, attempting to swallow it and the emotions it conjures. He cannot allow himself to make an Unversed. Vanitas is being foolish; foolhardy, as his Master would say. He has to keep better control of his wandering thoughts; a focused mind leads to a focused heart, and only with focus can Vanitas overcome the darkness inside of him. 

And then there’s a wooden knock on his doorway. Expecting Aqua, or maybe the Master, Vanitas tosses the practice Keyblade onto his bedspread with more force than it probably requires, raising his head somewhat miserably, to look at—

Vanitas goes very, very still.

A boy stands in the open doorway, standing prim and tall. He’s dressed in… some kind of armor, Vanitas decides. It doesn’t look like metal, but it doesn’t look like cloth either. Not quite flesh, though something about it feels… organic. Bright, gleaming white, it hugs the boy’s torso, covering him from the tips of his fingers to the spiked, jagged helmet that covers his face.

He’s standing with one hand behind his back, and he raises the other in a jaunty wave. He bobs excitedly in place, leaning his weight on his heels. 

It sort of reminds Vanitas of when he… no, that can’t be right. But there’s something about this boy, something that has him freezing still like a rabbit standing before a predator. An Unversed tugs itself from his chest, bubbling up from the pooling darkness at Vanitas’ feet. 

A Hareraiser rises from the ground, formless purple turning into a rabbit, red eyes crying, holding onto its own ears. Vanitas feels his fear ebb, halfway to being calm. Swallowing the immediate rush of guilt and regret that tastes like bile, he fixes his gaze on the stranger.

He stands from his bed, falling into a combat position. The masked boy pays this no mind, though. Instead, he bends a little at the waist and coos. “Oh my,” he gasps, reaching out for the Unversed. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing!” It flinches away from his outstretched fingers, skittering across the wooden floor. It hides behind Vanitas’ shins, making tiny noises.

“Who are you?” Vanitas snaps, making his voice as authoritative as he doesn’t feel.

The mask tilts, until it's faceless visage is looking at Vanitas, and not the Hareraiser. “So that’s seriously your Negativity? That’s so cool,” he sighs, forlorn and breathless, like he’s genuinely jealous of Vanitas’ Unversed. “Oh, sorry!” He chirps, straightening up suddenly. “Where’re my manners?” He hooks his hands underneath his helmet and pulls it off, revealing—

—something about his face is making Vanitas’ head spin. Spin and spin, like someone’s attached a rope to his heart and is tugging on it, incessantly. Something is making Vanitas’ chest feel hot and his fingers twitch. Viciously, he pushes it down. Shoves it back down and stomps on it, pulling on his memories of his Master’s advice for strength.

“You have to be in control, Vanitas,” Master Eraqus had said, three years ago now, eyes stony with seriousness. “You can never, ever let your heart run wild.”

It helps, a little. It makes him feel more grounded, present in his body. He is the master of his emotions, and one day, he will be free of his darkness. He just has to remember that.

Unbeknownst to Vanitas’ disparate emotions, the boy beams wide. His cheeks are ruddy with a youthful vigor that Vanitas lacks, and his green eyes sparkle like gems. There’s something bright, about his eyes, about his teeth. Like they’re backlit by the setting sun, just enough to make them gleam.

Blonde hair bounces as he sticks his hand out to shake. “I’m Ventus!”

He doesn’t want to touch this boy; something is telling him not to touch him. Something in the heart-pounding fear rattling his chest. Except for— something in him wants nothing more than to touch him. To feel— skin unlike Vanitas’ own. Unperturbed, Ventus drops his hand, grinning wide.

“I can’t believe myself! My master would have my head for being so rude!” He laughs, cheerful and bubbly, shaking his head. He thumps the heel of his hand to his forehead, expression sheepish. “That’s no way to introduce myself, is it? Especially not to someone who could become a friend.”

He drops his hand, and something about his entire cadence changes. His expression sharpens, though it doesn’t change; his smile goes from sheepish to wicked between one blink and the next. “Because we are going to become friends, aren’t we…” there’s something leading in his tone, halfway sweet and halfway… something else. “…Vanitas?”

Vanitas’ fingers go cold, and before he can swallow the feeling, another Hareraiser is rising from an inky puddle at his feet. Then two more, rising into existence as if formed from the shuddering in his chest, the pounding of his heartbeat. 

“How do you know that?” Vanitas asks, sharply. Another Hareraiser, and only then does the fear fade. “Tell me how you know my name.”

Ventus’ eyebrows climb to his hairline, a smile frozen to his face. “I know a lot,” he says, shrugging like this is… like this is nothing, a casual discussion, a joke. He smiles like Vanitas is an idiot, fluttering a hand. “‘Cause, the thing is… I’m not from here.”

Vanitas stares at him, blankly.

Grinning, Ventus extends a finger towards Vanitas’ window. Not just his window; at the sky. The stars. Other worlds. He’s from… he’s from away. He’s from outside. 

Vanitas wasn’t born on the Land of Departure. Nobody is; the Master welcomes those with the aptitude to wield a Keyblade, or he gifts them with the aptitude. Aqua and Terra don’t ever talk much about their life before coming here, but he knows there’s nowhere for them to return to. Why would there be? Their home is here.

Except, Vanitas wasn’t born here. His memory is— infamously— spotty, but he remembers… not a desert so much as just dirt, dirt devoid of life. Scraping against his soft, bare palms; hard dusty rock that spat clouds that made him choke. Flashes of sheer brown cliffaces, and the taste of his own blood.

“You’re from outside…” Vanitas says.

Ventus laughs like that’s just so funny, shoulders shaking and chest shuddering. He laughs like nobody Vanitas has ever met, like his laughter buoys him, elevates him, makes him better. And something burns in Vanitas— something between this boy’s face, and his laugh, and his name. 

Wait. 

The only other Keyblade Master— the man Master Eraqus had called his good friend— who’d come to oversee Aqua and Terra’s exam… he was from outside, too. This boy had joked about a master, maybe even a Master.

Vanitas says, “Master Eraqus said Master Xehanort didn’t have an apprentice.”

Ventus’ expression snaps to Vanitas, and for the first time, something truly ugly flashes across his face. And then it’s smoothed out, turned into something gentle and soft and a little mocking. “Well… if you spend all your time locked up here,” he shrugs a shoulder, giving a gentle smile. “What’dyou know?”

Vanitas doesn’t look down to see whatever Unversed that statement spawns; he just stands there, almost stutters out of his combat stance, and then forces himself to summon his Keyblade. Void Gear is heavy in his hand, and he holds it in front of himself defensively.

Ventus’ eyes fall onto the Keyblade, and then flick back to Vanitas’ face. “Funny,” he says, a wry tilt to his mouth. “Can I give you some advice? Since we’re friends?”

“Since when have we been friends?” Vanitas snaps.

Ventus laughs again. “Since always, silly,” he mimes wiping a tear from his eye. “But, hey. Since you don’t believe me, I’ll tell you anyway! Call it a sign of good faith.” He beams, clasping his hands in front of himself. “You might…” He taps a hand to his cheek, looking up at nothing, theatrical, “…want to check on Terra.”

“What?” Whatever Vanitas was expecting, it wasn’t that.

“I don’t think he’s gonna be feeling like himself,” Ventus says, the sides of his smile curled up sharp. “Not for much longer, anyway.”

Vanitas’ mind is racing, even as more Unversed rise from his feet. The Master will be so disappointed in him… but he can’t think about that. Instead, he thinks about Ventus. About his words, and his mocking smile, and the fact that he knows Vanitas’ name.

“What’s gonna happen to Terra?” Vanitas’ voice is foreign to his ears, a cruel scrape against the otherwise quiet. “What are you going to do to Terra?”

He feels the Unversed looming around the dark corners of the room.

“Me?” Ventus says, pointing to himself. “Nothing.”

“What is your master going to do, then?”

His eyes glow. He seems to gleam. His face… looking at it, Vanitas feels hot. Like claws raking against his heart, rending open his chest from the inside out. Looking at his face makes him feel like Vanitas is oozing something.

“Who are you?” 

“Who cares?" He says, easy as breathing. "Anyway, my master'll be expecting me back. Nice meeting you!” Ventus waves a hand, wiggling his fingers. And then there’s a pop, so loud Vanitas’ ears hurt. A bright, white light flashes, like lightning crashing against the cold ground. Vanitas flinches away, flinging Void Gear in front of his chest protectively.

When he blinks, Ventus is gone. Vanitas is alone.

Well, Vanitas and a horde of Unversed. He rubs at his nose, blowing out a frustrated breath. Another Unversed forms as he does; a Blue Sea Salt hovers in the air next to his head, and it gently headbutts him. 

Vanitas shoves it away, still trying to calm the racing of his heart. A Bruiser noses underneath Vanitas’ arm, and he allows himself to lean against it, lightheaded. He doesn’t know what’s going on— not yet. 

But he needs to find out. He needs to warn the Master, about this boy, and—

Maybe… Maybe he better check on Terra, first. That’s all. It’ll all make sense. Vanitas will make it make sense. With his bare hands and determination clutched in both fists, he’ll make it make sense.

And if he locks the Unversed in his bedroom, trapping them inside… well, nobody needs to know. He has to take precautions. He has to hide the evidence. He has to figure this out.

He needs to focus.

[oopey-doopey]

*Spidey and the Sinister Six having their usual fight*

Doc Ock, landing a hit: You’re getting slow Spider-Man! Age finally catching up to you?

Spider-Man: You wish! I haven’t even hit my 30s! From those costumes I can already tell I failed to save you guys from those midlife crises! Sorry by the way.

Vulture: Watch it wallcr- wait… Did you just say your not in your thirties yet?

Spider-Man: Surprised that this spiders so young and spry? Well-

Electro: Dude I’ve been fighting you for at least 5 fucking years! How old even are you?

Shocker, joking cause he’s the only one who picked up no grown adult acts likes Spidey: Don’t swear in-front of the boy you don’t want him to pick it up.

Rhino: Christ! You’re tellin me I almost crushed some 12-year-olds skull all those years ago?

Spider-Man, regretting his quipping: I was not that young! Like just starting freshman year but-

Sandman, horrified as he’s the only one with a kid and dad instincts(as of my iteration): I could’ve killed a kid…

Shocker, genuinely curious: Are you even old enough to drink? Cruel to kill a man who ain’t had his first drink yet.

Electro: Please tell us you’re at least over 25 as of this fight. Hell, I’ll take over 21!

Spider-Man:….

Sandman, realizing just how young he really is: Oh my god.

Spider-Man: My birthday’s coming up soon so I guess it counts?

Doc Ock, exacerbated: It. Does. Not!

Vulture: What would your mother think if she knew her son was out here risking his life telling poorly constructed jokes?

Spider-Man, offended cause it quips slap: 1. My jokes are great 2. She and my dad are dead so-

Sandman, hysterical cause holy shit he almost killed a kid orphan: OH MY GOD!

[aroaceleovaldez]

i have suddenly become obsessed with a theme that HoO established but never proceeded to extrapolate on, which is:

You are Percy Jackson, and you have been swapped with a boy who was allegedly everyone's favorite person, but they have decided to replace him with you. They just met you. You stand next to his best friend and the people he's known his entire life. In his home. In his cloak. In his place. They stopped looking for him.

You are Jason Grace, and you have just found out you have a long lost sister who completely replaced you in her life with this girl you just met. Your lives and personalities are mirrors. She is you, living the life you were robbed of.

You are Annabeth Chase, and you have just become starkly aware that you have been inhabiting the void left behind by your best friend's long lost brother. You and Luke were just replacements for him. Now you have to look him in the eyes when he has nothing and know you took that life from him.

You are Piper McLean, and you have just found out your relationship is fake and built entirely on the memories of Annabeth Chase. You have been given a boyfriend when hers has been taken away. You have no idea how much of it is real or not but regardless you feel like if your relationship isn't exactly in their image that you have failed.

You are Leo Valdez, and you have just learned that you are the echo of your great-grandfather. You are not your own person. You just exist to be a mirror of him. A doppelganger. An actor and stunt double facing all the danger he never had to but wearing his face. To be there for his best friend decades later simply because he couldn't. You are playing a role. A seventh wheel and a pawn for a goddess who carefully sculpted your entire life for her own purposes.

You are Hazel Levesque, and the only reason you are alive is because your brother couldn't save your his sister. You are a consolation prize. An apology. Your existence here is misplaced in every way but you inhabit it anyways.

You are Frank Zhang, and you are a shapeshifter. Inhabiting your own body feels strange and clumsy when you could be literally anything at any time. You are anything and everything and live your life with the simple certainty of knowing exactly how you will die.

[crayonurchin]

First art of the new year is all about re-structuring your internal monologue.

In my early 20s I was working full time in London with many social commitments and a variety of hustles and side projects.

In my later mid 20s I cater to many sensory and social drain needs I have and indulge in special interests while respecting my lower energy reserves and celebrating my different way of processing the world.

Did I get more autistic? Nah. I got less fake.

-

[Art description: Three panels showing figures on a black background. Long descriptions follow.

1. A drawing of OP as a person with hip-length hair and a dress standing sadly with her hands clapsed together in front of her. She is coloured a muted rainbow gradient. Behind her, two pairs of nondescript figures chat while smiling. White text says, ‘I’m getting more and more autistic the older I get.’ 2. OP’s colours are brighter, and her expression looks happier. Crayon-like scribbles have crossed out the text from the previous panel. 3. OP’s colours are vibrant, and she balances on one leg and throws her arms out as she dances. The text above has changed to say, ‘I’m becoming more and more myself the older I get.’ \End descriptions]

[katabay]

earlier this year I started writing a comic about the siege perilous-grail quest situation after finally finishing the didot perceval, and it started circling around kay and perceval. kay as gatekeeper, taboo anxiety vs chivalry, and perceval not doing things "correctly," arthur's enduring affection for kay. that general area. also the horror of the grail quest itself.

this is comic is part of that narrative arc, so with THAT in mind: this is an abridged scene of a longer arc revolving around kay associating camelot with a cage, perceval's associations with jewelry and knighthood and the color red, and arthur's relationship with kay.

[some other scene context: perceval has injured his hand and can't participate in the tournaments, so he's craving some kind of fight. kay is disinterested in replying to this challenge, but he's not above reminding perceval of their first meeting. it's just mean enough in a weird-intimate kind of way that perceval's like, ok so we're doing the antagonistic version of court romance rituals. he picks up hunting because kay can't leave the castle.]

on the subtext of jewelry:

Clothes Make the Man: Parzival Dressed and Undressed, M.D. Amey

on the topic of kay, gatekeeping, and taboo anxiety:

Cei and the Arthurian Legend, Linda Gowans

the whole Red Knight/Perceval Shows Up In A Dead Man's Suit Of Armor transgression-situation (which kay references through red jewelry) mentioned is told in both de Troye's and Wolfram's Perceval narratives :)

anyway! to close out all this out: the transgressions. incredible! what is camelot but a bunch of transgressions stacked on top of each other tbh.

[corvidus-fr]

anyway i'm going to buck the trend here and say i specifically love these guys way more because of their teeny little arms and feet. ten out of ten design choice, very dainty and endearing

[marc--chilton]

how many former patients do you think think back to that weird, crude, insane doctor that finally got them the right diagnosis after being told "nothing's wrong" or "i don't know" and think of him fondly? people who were put under house's bizarre care and come out deciding he's good and kind even if his methods are strange. i think more than one might imagine

[odeu-m]

tf:one came out and made tf popular again so im outing myself as a ss fan

[marsh-snail]

Good touch

Pose was base on this image down below. Made by @mellon-soup

[hickeygender]

reblog for a bigger sample size of former angry, creative, and/or highly dramatic children

[trappedinafantasy37]

Minthara reading everyone to filth upon recruitment is funny, but it also highlights just how paranoid she is. Realistically, it probably takes her a few days to figure everyone out rather than the instant she is recruited. When talking about all the companions, a common theme in all her responses relates to their combat capabilities and survivability, and points out their strengths and their weaknesses. She's not throwing shade or stirring the tea. Minthara is conducting a threat assessment. Minthara having very realistic and accurate readings of everyone is a trauma response, because she needs to know who they are and very quickly.

She is trying to figure out who is the most likely to kill her and why they would kill her. But also how they would go about it and is weighing her odds against them. She has to know their weaknesses in case she needs to exploit them, and she has to know their strengths so she can defend against them. And Minthara doesn't just consider their combat capabilities, but their psyche as well, using it as a factor to determine the likelihood of them ever coming after her specifically and how she can disarm them psychologically if need be. But you know who she doesn't provide her assessment for? You.

You are a conundrum. The moment you saved her, she has been curious of you, but wary. Although grateful you saved her, she doesn't understand why you saved her when she believes you had far more reason to either kill her or leave her behind. She wants to trust you, but her trust has always gotten her stabbed. She wants to have faith that her savior won't turn against her, but she has no reason to believe you won't. She spends the entirety of Act 2, watching you, analyzing you, trying to figure you out because she doesn't know what to do with you. She asks you some questions because she is still trying to figure out what motivates you. "Why come to Moonrise? Why raid the grove? Why knock me out?" In two of these questions, she is determining how likely you are to harbor any violent intent. And one of these questions is born of your history of bringing her harm. (Oh the irony of Minthara trusting you less if you knocked her out)

You're a potential enemy whose weakness she doesn't want to exploit, a potential enemy she doesn't want to have to defend herself against. And all this time she spends watching you, she finds things about you that she likes. Really likes. And while conducting her assessment of you, she falls in love with you, and it terrifies her because she still does not know if she is safe with you. So she asks you to share your mind and just tell her if you're safe and can be trusted. She doesn't want to guess anymore, and she doesn't want to come to a potential conclusion she doesn't like. She doesn't want to do the analysis, she doesn't want to be paranoid, she wants to trust you and feel safe with you. She needs to know that you are a safe person for her to love.

[blenselche]

you can't punch the bug in your brain so you'll have to settle with shooting through him as he attempts to well meaning-ly haunt your ass ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

[annasofthe11thdimension]

Truly the worst Vaugardian plays are the ones where nothing happens, as the characters spend the whole 2 hours sitting about as they talk at each other, all while the audience hasn't the slightest doubt they can be nowhere but hell.

But while hell is definitely other people...in your experience, a hell you're suck in alone, left the only wise one surrounded by fools, is not a better hell. Not better at all.

---------

Loop's wish has different wording, and this makes a few things a little different. Mostly it means the Researcher of the group is now looping, while Stardust remains blissfully ignorant. This is certainly the main difference noticed by Loop, who looks at the evidence before then before assuming they're to play stagehand to the Researcher solving of the mystery in record time.

But roles are tricky. Very nearly tricky as wishes.

Sponsor, stagehand, lead actor, audience, critic, fool, traveler, ex-scissor wizard turned star - how absurd for a human to contort themselves to fit a single 'role'! How cruel to for a person to find that no role left they can Change themselves enough to fit!

Ah, but there's no time to wallowing, not when you've one more wish to make - one more desperate GRAB at hope for the play ending, now the greatest ever cosmic joke has been replaced by a smarter actor then you could become even after a million loops.

One, two, THREE - breath in…and out, take a bow to the audience and ready yourself.

The show has once again begun ~ !

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Izutsumi character study

[s0fter-sin]

one of my favourite aspects of supernatural that you very rarely see in paranormal shows is that sam and dean are already versed in the world they live in. there’s no sudden discovery of ghosts and demons and now they have to learn about them along with the audience; they are born into it and already know all about it. it allows the audience to follow their personal story instead of also trying to figure out this new world and its rules

the first season is full of knowledge we never see them learn; “w*ndigoes are in the minnesota woods or- or northern michigan. i’ve never even heard of one this far west.” […] “great. well then this [his gun] is useless.” (1x02), “you don’t break a curse. you get the hell out of its way.” (1x08), d: “it’s a god. a pagan god, anyway.” […] “the annual cycle of its killings? and the fact that the victims are always a man and a woman. like some kind of fertility right.” […] s: “the last meal. given to sacrificial victims. d: “yeah, i’m thinking a ritual sacrifice to appease some pagan god.” (1x11)

almost every episode in the first season is a monster they’ve faced before that they then explain to the audience in a way that should feel patronising; like it’s the same speech given over and over again but instead, the audience almost feels included in the knowledge. it’s stated with such an innate confidence and comfort in said knowledge that it feels like we already knew it too; “spirits and demons don't have to unlock doors. if they want inside, they just go through the walls.” […] “the claws, the speed that it moves; could be a skinwalker, maybe a black dog.” (1x02), “it's biblical numerology. you know noah's ark, it rained for forty days. the number means death.” (1x04), “no no no, not the reaper, a reaper. there's reaper lore in pretty much every culture on earth, it goes by 100 different names.” […] “you said it yourself that the clock stopped, right? reapers stop time. and you can only see 'em when they're coming at you which is why i could see it and you couldn't.” (1x12)

they already know and, at least in the first season, already have what they need to kill whatever they’re hunting; already know to salt and burn bones for spirits, fire for a w*ndigo, exorcisms for demons, a silver bullet to the heart for shapeshifters. there’s only three times in the entire first season that they run into something new to them; 1x14 when sam gets his first vision that leads him to another psychic, 1x16 when dean calls caleb for help on the sigil he put together and he tells him about daevas, and 1x20 when they find out vampires are real- and they only don’t know that bc john thought they were hunted to extinction and not worth mentioning

(there’s also technically two half instances if you count one of them knowing something the other doesn’t - sam figuring out the tulpa in 1x17 and dean already knowing about the shtriga in 1x18 - but those still rely on sam and dean having prior knowledge)

even when they’re uncertain about facing something, it’s not bc they don’t know what it is; it’s precisely bc they know what it is and acknowledge that it’ll be a difficult hunt (“i don't know, man. this isn't our normal gig. i mean, demons, they don't want anything, just death and destruction for its own sake. this is big. and i wish dad was here.” 1x04)

so much of the tension in paranormal shows typically comes from the main character(s) not knowing what is happening to them/the people around them and having to find out how to resolve it. supernatural is unique in that it operates more like a police procedural. the tension comes from solving the clues and identifying patterns to figure out who (what) the killer is and intercepting before they can take another victim

it’s such a different tone to go for when compared to other shows that came both before, during, and after its run. it sets sam and dean on even footing with each other since they both have the same knowledge going in, and it puts them in a place of authority usually reserved for an outside character

the shows i compare spn to most is charmed, buffy and teen wolf; every main character in those shows are brought into the paranormal world knowing nothing, putting them on the same level as the audience, and they have their mc interact with others already knowledgeable about that world in order to overcome their problem/monster of the week. the audience organically learns about this new world as the characters learn about it. it’s a sound writing strategy that prevents “as we already know”-style exposition but something that complicates it is if your world building isn’t unique or intriguing enough, this slow introduction can become boring

we’ve seen shows like these before; sitting through the same tropes of characters learning to use their powers, struggling with no longer feeling normal/relating to the regular world around them, and not knowing how much they can trust the people already involved in this new world gets repetitive. all three shows eventually reach the same level of comfort with their new world that spn starts with but if the characters aren’t enough to draw you in, you can end up dropping it before they reach that point (and often, before the overarching plot can really kick in and evolve the show beyond the villain of the week format)

it’s the superhero origin movie in tv format; dragged out and overplayed. dropping the audience into an established world of course comes with its own problems but you also have the benefit of pre-existing established character dynamics that let the audience slot in like they’ve always been there instead of just getting to know all the characters while the characters also get to know each other

sam and dean already knowing about the supernatural lets the audience immediately get to the core of the story; the conflict between sam and dean, the search for their father, and the mystery of what killed their mother

[mochindayo]

🧧新年快乐🧧！

!!!Qiuniu and Guilin!!!

MY DAY ISNT OVER SO ITS STILL LNY AND NOW IM POSTING IT YAY - today was just coloring it, drawing was done over the weekend for the most part :’)

Other art obligations required attention first~ and also y’know, my 8-4/9-5 😔 (just writing my silly little code that I don’t actually know how to write on my own or test on my own yet because I don’t know how all of our microservices work …yet… I swear I’m learning, it just takes me awhile to process and learn)

​oH also the last panel!!!! Guilin is short compared to Qiuniu. He has to stand on a chair to be tall enough to reach like that hahahaha. Qiuniu is 7ft. Guilin is 5’6ft.

But anyways, Happy Lunar New Years Everyone~

새해 복 많이 받으십시오~

新年快乐～