#the rare instance I draw things properly

[nothing-impt]

could you draw Leto in your style?

Best mom :D

(Have baby Artemis and baby Apollo too)

[shiningqueen]

unexpected burdens / mihawk x afab!oc / sfw

I am back with another 2nd person experimental piece that is literally just Fay but kept nameless because why not?

notes: established friendship, pining if you squint, hurt/comfort vibes. rating: sfw / e for everyone

Mihawk finds you in a crowded bar on Water 7, shoulder to shoulder with locals and sailors of all types. This was one of those rare instances where he went seeking you on purpose, as typically he left you to wander where-ever you pleased on the Grand Line. Yet he does not approach you right away, watching the crowd shift and reveal you were otherwise occupied with someone else.

So occupied that you did not even notice him enter in the first place.

He settles himself at the far side of the taproom to observe, paying no mind to how the other patrons stutter at his presence when he passes. Even from a distance he can easily read the tension in your narrow shoulders, your posture too rigid as if you were coiled to spring into action at any second. The individual that is the cause of such obvious discontent is another woman.

She matches you in height but with a curvier build and shorter hair; he does not recognize her from any other of your associates he'd become acquainted with over the years. Yet the sense of hostile familarity between you both tells him that regardless of whoever she is, you are clearly unhappy to see each other. The drone of the tavern's crowd ebbs into white noise as he attempts to listen in on the exchange - and realizes quickly you are speaking your native language and doing so too rapidly for him to properly follow.

So the Warlord waits and watches, curious and perhaps a little concerned for how you flush with indignation and for the tremor in your arms as you restrain some outpouring of emotion. Your voice never rises above the cacophony to draw too much attention from others but he can tell the argument is of interest to a few.

Mihawk has known you for just under two years at this point and he'd never seen you so incensed before. He knew you to be reserved and level headed and those traits are only partially why he enjoyed your company so much. Your docile demeanor complemented his own aloof tendencies but this encounter is so unlike what he is accustomed to seeing from you. The tension is prime to snap at any moment and he sees the course of action you take seconds before you commit to it. A swift movement of your hand gripping the tumbler nearby and it gets launched behind the bar in an explosion of shattering glass and your voice lifting to a broken octave.

Stillness ripples throughout the bar at the outburst, Mihawk feels the crackle of tension and the electric tingle of your haki skitter over his skin. There are tears flowing freely down your face and your shoulders are shivering from the force of the anguish that had overtaken you. He didnt like it. An uncomfortable twist somewhere in his gut at the sight of you so clearly distraught, such a sharp contrast to the witty, gentle natured person he had gotten to know over time.

It made him realize that in the grander scheme of things, he really did not know much about you.

You shove through the crowd and leave the tavern without looking at anyone else. He lingers long enough for the noise level to return to normal before rising to stand and following your trail out into the streets.

-x-

A cocktail of embarassment, anguish, anger and betrayal burned all the way down your throat as you left the bar. This was not how you imagined the day ending. Infact, you hadnt spared a single thought about seeing her again after you left your home island two years ago. Then she had suddenly appeared like a fucking living nightmare when you had only come to Water 7 for a leisurely trip away from Kuraigana. She had no right showing up here! Absolutely no goddamn right to haunt one of your favorite hang outs and drink with your acquaintances so casually as if she hadnt ruined your fucking life.

It was hard to see, even harder to think beyond the feeling of an old wound you thought had scarred over, ripping open and bleeding anew. Your eyes blurry from tears and your throat tight with the crushing blend of anxiety, fury and despair.

You wanted to scream, you wanted to break anything you could get your hands on, you wanted to drown yourself in the sea if it meant relief from having to process the grief all over again. For just a few seconds, you grasped the hilt of your double-edged blade and considered wreaking hapless destruction in the abandoned portions of Water 7. Yet none of that happened. You half ran all the way back to the docks on sheer instinct.

The tears hadnt stopped flowing even as you reach the waterfront beneath the deepening twilight, stumbling and then dropping down to sit at the edge of a platform and let the crushing weight of that wretched encounter bow your shoulders low. Even two years after the fact and she wanted to pretend she did nothing wrong. It wasnt fair.

"[Name]", the cool tenor of a familiar voice jerks you out of your painful reverie, shoulders pulling back and head twisting to peer up at the shadowed visage of Mihawk standing over you. His eyes glint beneath the dark halo cast from his cavalier hat.

You turn away hastily and shudder through several strained sobs, feeling ashamed that he would see you like this. You had somehow managed to befriend the reticient greatest swordsman but there was an ever present barrier between you - something self imposed because of your own insecurity around being remotely worthy to even warrant his attention. Would he think lesser of you for this? Had he been in the tavern to witness that disaster?

"[Name]," Mihawk says again in a marginally gentler tone and you feel the slight pressure of his hand wrapping around your bicep, his body heat now considerably closer as he reached down into your space. "We have somewhere to be, let us not tarry here." His voice lacks its typical brusque edge and you think he almost sounds concerned, even coaxing. You nod and let him help haul you to stand, still pointedly avoiding looking at his face.

Why delay the inevitable any further?

"You saw, didnt you?" You ask, hating how raspy you sounded from crying.

A few heartbeats of silence and then, "I saw enough." His touch goes from your arm to resting on your shoulder, "I wont pry but I will listen, if you deign to share."

It's an unexpected offer but ultimately not unwelcome, though the idea of spilling out your heartbreak does lodge a knot in your throat. You rarely volunteered information about your past to Mihawk and he inquired very little of you in the first place - whether out of disinterest or pragmatic acceptance you had never been certain. The silence stretched on as you mulled over the offer and what it meant for your friendship with him.

"I'll explain later," you decide quietly, tentatively brushing your hand against his that lingered on you.

Mihawk hums in acceptance and keeping his hand in place, prompts you to walk further onto the creaking docks with him. His quiet, unfaltering confidence was a balm to the aching in your chest. Part of you still felt so undeserving of him that it only compounded the hurt.

As if sensing your turmoil, the swordsman cleared his throat and recited calmly, "The calm before the storm, we need to mollify, our inner tempest."

The haiku is soothing and it tempts a muted, pleased huff from you.

"Great heroes need great sorrows," you recite in response, wiping the lessening tears from your eyes as you peek at him shyly from beneath your lashes.

"Sorrow need not be carried alone," Mihawk retorts languidly and you choke on another soft cry, this one a tangle of gratitude and pain.

You really did not deserve him.

[ad-ciu]

Hello! I hope the following question makes sense and doesn't cause too much head-scratching:

Are the currently publicly-available translations of medieval Irish texts a decent enough approximation of the "cadence" and style of the originals? Such that if I were to write a story to the rhythm of those, it could reasonably be said to be "right"? Would I have written something "like" the TBC, or Tochmarc Emire or whatever--or would I just be writing in the cadence that a late 19th/early 20th century translator thought they ought to have?

(The context is that a friend of mine is writing essentially a mech anime in epic verse with heavy inspiration from middle English Arthurian literature, a project I enjoy hugely. I've occasionally harboured ambitions of doing something similar for the Ulster cycle but always get stuck on where on the scale of medieval to modern language-style to even begin)

& I guess the other part of that is, is it even possible to be "authentic" in English, when you're not writing in a version of the language of the Irish texts? (I'm aware of fun things like that "Tattooine Cycle" article, but that's presenting itself as a translated manuscript, so using the style of older translations makes sense there)

Oh, what a fascinating question!

It depends I suppose on what you take 'cadence' to mean. If you mean the actual rhythm of speaking these stories aloud, unfortunately all modern editions and translations of medieval Irish texts will broadly fail to capture this with any degree of accuracy due to a lack of punctuation in the original medieval texts. Punctuation is something we impose as editors to try to make the material clearer, but if our choices of where sentences start, stop, where commas go, what should and should not be a run on sentence, all of those are modern impositions on the texts.

However, this is also just sort of normal, because modern punctuation styles are commonly imposed on earlier texts in the editing / translating department. So, my gut instinct is that this isn't what you mean.

If, by cadence you mean something more like 'how these stories were read', not considering punctuation, unfortunately that's also entirely unknown. As it so happens, I was just yesterday considering how the character Cuscraid the Stammerer does not stammer in any of his dialogue in the texts, which makes me wonder if this was intended to be something someone reading these tales aloud would incorporate or not. Similarly, if certain lines are intended to be delivered or interpreted as sarcastic or not is not left to us.

However, this is also a problem with written English, where tone, inflection, other important elements of communication are not actually encoded in standard text which requires some slight innovations like emojis or the idea of '/s'.

So, I'm guessing you might mean something along the lines of the basic style of the text? Like, if you have over-extended descriptions, heavy use of epithets, long-sub tales, poetic interjections, and the basic vibes of the sentences? If that is the case, then the early translators were doing, broadly speaking, a rather reasonable job. There are some which are just absolute garbage (essentially any that are trying to translate poetry into poetry, something they lacked the knowledge of medieval Irish metrics to do properly, but those are -extremely rare-), but broadly speaking you'll be fine to draw inspiration from those.

The big warning I'll give you, however, is how stories are written is changing a lot in the medieval Irish period. For instance, if you read the 8th-10th century text Longes mac nUislenn and compare it to the 15th(?) century text Oidheadh Cloinne hUisneach, which is ultimately the same story but being told with different words, you'll see massive differences.

Broadly speaking, the earlier a text is the more clipped and short it will be. With the super-early material seeming almost more like a point-form summary of a tale. The later into the tradition a tale is, the longer, more exaggerated, and detailed tales become. Some of the late Early Modern Ulster Cycle tales for instance will have multiple pages discussing what clothes people are wearing. Similarly, the later a text becomes the more obsessed they seem to be with incorporating elements of earlier tales, but we should note that this may be an illusion. We do not know if our earliest texts are doing this because they could be borrowing heavily from lost materials.

So, what I would suggest is that you pick a specific time period you want to emulate, read a few texts from then to model your story off of (if you have issues, just drop me a message or whatever, let me know the period you want and I can give you texts, or you can give me a text you like and I can give you other contemporary ones).

The broader question of it you can be 'authentic' to these stories in English is... more complex. If I was being extremely academic and pedantic I would say 'absolutely not, every translation itself is a re-imagining of a text'. But, even if you were somehow able to write an entire story in Old Irish with perfect fluency, it still wouldn't be perfectly authentic because you aren't living in 8th century Ireland, so you'll be understanding things differently. And, that's fine. If I am not being extremely academic and pedantic, I'd say 'You can be as good as it matters, if you do a bit of legwork and consideration of things'.

EDIT: I should actually give examples of what I'm talking about. Here are three different versions of Tochmarc Emire, the Old Irish version (fragmentary), the Middle Irish version, and the Early Modern Irish version (called Foglaim Con Culainn, only interested in the later half of the tale).

If you read those, you'll see super clearly how storytelling is changing in these periods.

I hope that helps! And if you need any further assistance, please do not hesitate to toss a rock at me!

[thegildedbee]

Hero: May 29 Prompt from @calaisreno

This latest chapter and the previous ones are here at ao3. (I had hoped to finish with everyone else on the 31st of May, but alas, it looks like it will be May 32nd or 33rd for me . . . ) ...............................................................................................

In Vienna, his search and destroy mission retained its danger; it was as exhausting, and as nerve-wracking as any other part of his journeys to date. It was, however, undoubtedly a much more elegant and luxurious phase. His cover was as an art dealer, an international concierge of sorts, assisting in obtaining the exact object to be placed in exactly the right hands. That this was rarely an above-board legal transaction was, of course, the point. One might say that his current activities fell under the umbrella of the art of money laundering.

Although there had been recent flurries on the part of policing agencies to upend the illicit trafficking of art and antiquities, the Moriarty organization, like many other criminal enterprises, had been delighted to add participation in the circulation of fake and stolen artworks to their already robust departments of fraudulent real estate deals, as vehicles for making illegal monetary gains appear to be legitimate. Auction houses and the like were under no obligation to report large cash transactions to governing authorities -- unlike banks, life insurance companies, casinos, currency exchangers, and precious metal dealers. They could even keep the names of buyers and sellers anonymous. It was like stealing candy from a baby.

His activities had him bouncing from the unsavory world of back-street feloniusness, to the elite world of the over-monied and the over-gullible. Personally, he himself believed that, in a properly-run world, it would be perfectly acceptable if being a billionaire was illegal, but no one had asked him, as such, to draw up plans toward that end. At the very least, he could kill two birds with one stone, by draining the coffers of the obscenely-wealthy as expertly as possible, while also bleeding dry the Order of Moriartyites.

There was a completely legal print gallery next door to the famous Opera House, and he had come to enjoy dropping by on occasion when he wanted to simply enjoy art for recreational reasons, rather than pecuniary ones. The gallery possessed one of the largest collections of original Japanese woodblock prints in Europe, and he had become particularly captivated by their collection of pieces by the nineteenth-century master of ukiyo-e ("pictures of the floating world"), Tsukioka Yoshitoshi. There were many mesmerizing items from two of his series -- 100 Aspects of the Moon and New Forms of 36 Ghosts -- but the images that he especially craved to return to and study, were from his 50 renditions of Handsome and Brave Heroes of the Suikoden, fantastical images of spirits, monsters, and magical creatures, drawn from legendary histories and myths.

On his last day in Vienna, he indulged himself by buying a copy of "Toraomaru Riding a Tiger," an image that encapsulated the feeling that was his constant companion, of living out a life reflecting the aphorism, "He who rides the tiger, dare never dismount." It was a reckless thing to do -- he had no fixed location, no place to store anything important, and whatever he "owned" was only on loan to him as a temporary matter, as it might have to be jettisoned or abandoned at a moment's notice. Nevertheless, he stubbornly refused to submit to practicality in this one instance.

A month later, after many different instances of meditating upon his Yoshitoshi print, the reason the universe had wanted him to own it became clear. While running down new leads on the west coast of the States, he had passed a tattoo shop one day in San Francisco, and impulsively stopped in to see if he could make arrangements soon, in the time before he would have to leave, to have one of the artists interpret the Toraomaru on his left arm. Two days later, he had the art piece vibrantly reproduced, and healing, on his body (and, not so incidentally, allowing the marks from his drug injection days to disappear). His intimate acquisition was a defiant, sentimental, and minutely optimistic act of voicing the unvoiced center of his existence, even if visually, rather than aurally.

And, as someone dear to him from his past might have said: quite apropos for a drama queen.

........................................................

@calaisreno @totallysilvergirl @friday411 @peanitbear @original-welovethebeekeeper

@helloliriels @a-victorian-girl @keirgreeneyes @starrla89 @naefelldaurk

@topsyturvy-turtely @lisbeth-kk @raina-at @jobooksncoffee @meetinginsamarra

@solarmama-plantsareneat @bluebellofbakerstreet @dragonnan @safedistancefrombeingsmart @jolieblack

@msladysmith @ninasnakie @riversong912 @dapetty

.............................................................................

[adobe-outdesign]

Skrelp line review please!

Seadragons are vastly underrated animals, considering how insane looking they are—I actually think this line might be one of the few instances of a Pokemon being more subdued that its real-life counterpart.

The line also has a neat little concept wherein they specifically mimic rotting kelp (which can be poisonous), so the line is part poison-type. It's nothing crazy, but the haggard look of these guys is pretty unique and not an aesthetic Pokemon often touches upon.

Skrelp, in particular, has a delightfully gloomy expression ala Murkrow—a single visible eye partially covered by the fins on its head and no visible mouth, just a proboscis-like structure. The black around the eye and the red color helps draw attention to the face, while the body has this jagged look to it that I really like.

The only thing I don't really like here are the colors. The purple works well for a poison-type and goes well with the brown, giving it a subdued and murky appearance. However, the blue fins are a bit distracting and feel brighter than everything else; a simple white might've worked better. Another option would've been to rock a simple monotone brown palette on the body, something Pokemon seems to rarely do after Gen 1:

Regardless, this is a very distinctive little guy with a great personality.

I gotta say, I really love the direction they went with Dragalge. They kept the haggard appearance and amplified it by adding more leafy seadragon-esq fins and dropping the blue from the palette, and gave it a really unique body shape that I can't get enough of. The end result is both beautiful but eerie, flowing but dull at the same time. The only loss is that a bit of the personality of Skrelp was lost, but that's an acceptable sacrifice, especially because the eye still looks fairly similar.

My sole nitpick is once again the colors; there's now three colors in a palette that needed two at max. The green on the head could've been brown to simplify things, or you could once again go for a monotone brown on the body to draw attention to the head (though I like the purples, as they do help convey the poison-typing). It's a minor thing, but the amount of color combined with it trying to be muted and subtle always throws me just a little. That's it, though; everything else is beautiful.

Anyway, overall: Skrelp has a fun personality and a lot of charm to it, and looks distinctive but connected to its evo. Dragalge is properly eerie, and has a wonderful body shape and leaf accents that are absolutely gorgeous. The poison-typing and rotting kelp theme are also clear. Aside from a few minor quibbles about the colors, this is a near-perfect line for me.

[breadandblankets]

Pls pls pls hate on the Tim Cass twins thing more, it's so weird.

oh my goooooodness nonny you are enabling me so bad lmao, gd i love hating

putting this under a cut cause it got a lil long and i don't want people to see hate that don't want to! ^.^

Cass can really Never be given a break from DC and DC fans making her whole life and personhood be about white men huh, and in the Rare cases that the whole "twin" thing has Any substance outside of just calling them twins or drawing them with their faces smushed together it is never as interesting (to me) as the almost brush we had with Jason and Cass Actually Being Siblings

i know that last bit isn't canon but it has More canon basis than the tim cass twin thing, but regardless

it abuts the "tim is east asian" headcanon that as we are aware, is racist lmao, so you run the gamut of white washing cass or uncomfortably race bending tim to make this work and it is, at the end of the day deeply uncomfortable and weird, i have No idea why or how people have latched onto this but Okay

even if you don't do all of that and are just like "oh they just look similar" they All Look Similar, why do you think we keep joking about identical looking robins, you could do this with Any of them why is it Only Ever Tim

Cass is, to me, a character deeply Deeply defined by her relationship to other women, yes she has male characters that are extremely important to her and her story but to me they pale in comparison with the women in her life. You can't bring up a single batboy that will ever Ever hold a candle to the impact of Babs, Shiva, Steph, the BOP, etc

(its almost refreshing seeing as how steph is in many ways the opposite, she is defined by the men in her life, and she's jerked around by them, they make the big impacts etc)

Cass is not a toy to prop up white bat boys. You are manufacturing a false connection and then making her nothing but that connection. There are more characters there are Better characters to make Cass friends with, i am very glad to be a Duke fan whenever i try to dip my toe into the Harper tag for instance.

I think at this point that Tim is a Better character when he's not with the bats outside of like Dick and Bruce lmao. But thats just going to make the superfam fans mad at me for foisting tim fans on them XD.

Please, genuinely engage with the characters as they are, as they exist, theyre better than fanon gives them credit for, Tim is a better character than fanon would lead you to believe and this is Me saying this, No 9 Tim Drake Hater. Cass is more than this and deserves better from fandom that what some have done to her.

ugh im such an optimist i cant even hate properly fuck

[mcchipisfried]

do you have a note taking system somehow? i want to start annotating my books but i never know what to mark down

oh Oh OH OHH OHHH you do not know how long I have been waiting, longing, for SOMEONE to ask this. You are now my favorite person ever and we are now besties :D

Okay so I do and don't have a system but tl;dr Do whatever you want and mark what comes to YOUR mind and what you WANT to recall if you decide to re-read a book!

Long info dumping on how I do my notes under the cut!

So lets get one thing straight, I have not a single clue as to how to "properly" annotate a book in any sense of the word. So fuck it we're doing shit MY way.

So I started by noting that I wanted to mark quotes in my book without writing in it or highlighting [this is personal preference you do whatever you want its your books and they're for YOUR enjoyment] so I got these really cheap side tabs from Amazon

As you can see they're all sticking out because I actually like the whole "messy but organized" look but you could take some scissors and trim them up a bit.

Okay so what do my side tabs mean? Well, I originally didn't know what I wanted to see. I had done Dracula Daily before with the emails but I wanted to make this experience much more enjoyable for myself so I thought of marking quotes or scenes I liked which turned into:

The only time I actually wrote on my copy (this was before I got my sticky notes) I know. I am a genius and my wordplay is unparalleled. So the multicolored tabs mean I ran out of that color and needed a new one. You can see that some of them are different lengths and that's because I cut them so they can properly fit in my book (and it doubles the amount I have) Also here are the "meanings" of each tab:

Ayo that's kinda sus: Each and every time someone (Dracula) does something that reveals their true nature or that something weird is going on. Works well if you're reading mystery and coming back to see all the clues you had since the beginning!

*Women*: Every time a woman does something that surprises me, intrigues me, or makes me smile. I often find these instances can be rare in some books so I decided to mark these in Dracula. I was pleasantly surprised to see how often I was using this tab (when the woman gives Jonathan her crucifix even though she's probably terrified of Dracula, Mina being the devoted wife and woman of my dreams that she is, Lucy being Lucy, etc.)

Ayo that's fucked up: Every time something that breaks my heart or is needlessly cruel happens. The first scene with the baby saw a lot of use from this tab.

Ayo that's gay: C'mon. We're on tumblr. We all know what characters I'm using this tab for.

Quotes I like + Food: I have a soft spot for when characters info dump about historical places or things they like. Stoker has a way of describing certain settings and scenes that honestly makes me smile so I want to mark them. Also I like food. Yeah

When I found my sticky notes I realized I also wanted to write down things (but not on the book) and draw things. I had a lot of fun looking up the recipes that Jonathan mentioned in the beginning of the book as well as drawing them. (I have the preparation instructions on the back) (you can also see the side tab for food on that page)

I also think in memes or at least I process information as jokes a lot

Sometimes I get more detailed with my drawings or even write theories I may have about what is happening in the book. Trying to capture my emotions and thoughts in small blips (even though I have read the book before and know exactly how it ends)

At the end of the day you can take everything I just said and defenestrate it and do you own thing. Which honestly, I would do because this is just a mess. But I hope I have at least provided a small base from which to build upon. My own advice would be to take into consideration how committed you are because I do think just tabbing you book is sufficient enough but who knows maybe you're more of the power point presentation about the books you read kinda person.

Either way, a good time zone to you, and hope you found this at the very least amusing!

[alterchaos]

Hi everyone! I’m back with another update!

After watching the poll this past week, I am happy to officially announce that Alter Chaos will be continuing in writing as a full and complete story!

I’m honestly so excited to put my attention and effort into making sure this story is written with proper love and care. I feel like a novelist! ♡ Since I no longer have to put equal focus on the art and visuals, I plan to really take my time plotting everything out, closely revising my pieces, and sharing a wider range of stories to help build the world and central lore better. With that in mind, there are a few specific things I want to point out:

1. I would like to go back to the drawing board on most elements concerning Seven Rings and the Moonbeast Saga. I won’t be altering the central plots but I was never fully satisfied rushing through these stories given the limitations the technical/art focus placed on my imagination. Seven Rings especially needs more attention, as I originally planned to go through every boss and adventure with Sinbad and Ali Baba, but rushed it for the sake of continuing the following saga. I even want to rewrite the saga’s ending to be more in line with this structure and to be a proper build up for what follows, so only expect the original pieces to be posted after I get to that more as a bit of behind the scenes than anything.

Moonbeast, thankfully, just needs some tweaks and rewrites to the script apart from the arc that was already posted (Roses - Tears). The central plot for this saga in particular has gone through MANY changes and variations since the beginning of this series. For instance, I ditched the Chip/memory plot in favor of a more unique storyline concerning the mysteries of the world known as Gaia (I’m especially excited to reveal more details on that). I need to go back with these ideas and properly lay them out, every detail, to ensure this saga maintains structure and a more natural sense of progression.

2. Since I will be reworking these sagas, I would like to pick up all the way back at the start, following Tale of Two Brothers and work from there. I had already written the immediate next episode/chapter and plan to post that alongside a drawn one following Party Hardly. From there, I may not write a full chapter for EVERY episode of Sonic X, but most, including some brand-new tales to add to the mix.

As we work through these stories, I also plan to write smaller side chapters called Mobius Adventures. These will revolve around side games such as Sonic Rush and Sonic Riders, or even little unique stories such as Silver eating a chilidog for the first time or Chaotix detective/band shenanigans or Eve helping out in the town etc. I want these stories to flesh out Mobius as a world not too far removed from our own despite the crazy adventures. It will also help more pivotal and central plot elements hit that much harder (muehehehee♡).

3. I can’t promise a weekly schedule, so I will be posting when I feel like it from now on. One week I may be free and want to write 3 chapters and another week I may be offline. Who knows. What matters is enjoying the adventure and having fun! ♡

4. Just because this path won the poll doesn’t mean I will never draw or post things such as random pages or character art. They will just be rare. I at least plan to share what I already sketched out when I post their respective chapters and will also be finishing a certain chapter (coming soon) in comic format since I was almost done, it’s my favorite episode in the show, and the physical comedy would be lost in writing.

5. I will release a couple posts/documents in the future laying out a proper timeline for the series as well as important lore elements to help readers keep track of the world and plot at large. I’m also learning more about how Tumblr functions as a site and may be experimenting with extra blogs/sites to create pages or “tabs” to help organize everything. If any major changes are made to my blog, I will be sure to send updates to help you all locate where things have moved. My goal is to make chapters as easily accessible as possible rather than being forced to scroll through months of posts.

That’s all I have for now. Thank you all for reading and supporting this series and I will see you all in the next post! ♡

[incomingalbatross]

Ranger's Apprentice AU where the banishment wasn't just for a year and this changes surprisingly little about the third and fourth books until very near the end (apart from Horace having more stress and Halt having more internal angst).

Halt literally does not tell Will until they're on the ship back to Araluen; even then, an increasingly worried Horace needs to push him into it

Halt A) refuses to explain it properly, meaning Will is just baffled by the idea of Halt committing treason, and B) moves straight into discussing how this will or won't affect Will's life. He can still go back, and is definitely still part of the Corps, and Halt is 95% sure Crowley will approve Gilan as his new mentor if they ask...

Will has a rare instance of completely losing his temper at Halt in a teenage explosion, ending in a shouted "DO YOU EVEN WANT ME??" as he stomps away

(Yes, at least half the ship heard this. It's fine, it's fine. There are no secrets aboard longships anyway, there isn't room for them)

Will unloads the whole thing to Horace and Cassandra, about how Halt is just planning on passing him off to somebody else now he's rescued and he didn't even tell him and why?? why is any of this happening???

Genuinely, the boy is Very Upset

Horace is not experienced in personal mediation but he is qualified to point out "Um, Halt really hates being banished, he probably doesn't want to inflict it on you too because it's a bad thing"

He also explains the actual story behind Halt getting himself banished, which helps a bit

Cassandra has to process the banishment bit but is more taken aback by the second revelation that Will wants to follow Halt into banishment and Leave Araluen Forever

It's like a domino effect of abandonment issues!!

But because she's shocked, she actually says what she's thinking, which means the boys are able to explain that well yeah, Will doesn't want to leave Halt, would you want to be separated from your dad forever right after getting him back?

She's like "...oh"

The process of drawing that parallel is helpful for everyone concerned, actually

Anyway, Will calms down and goes off to have another talk with Halt (who is ALSO not happy because now he might have to say goodbye to Will forever WHILE Will is MAD AT HIM). Halt explains he wants Will by his side but more he wants what's best for him, and wandering the face of the earth is Not It. Will counters that he'd lose more by losing Halt than by leaving the Corps, which... is a lot for Halt to process, but was also almost exactly Halt's train of thought last book, so it's not like he can just shut it down.

They go back and forth some more but ultimately agree Will is going to stay with Halt. I don't know if Familial Words are actually used but honestly I think they are, because "you're my DAD" is the only context in which this decision makes total sense and they both know that.

Of course, Cassandra has been setting up a counter-scheme with Erak's collusion this whole time, so when they dock in Araluen Erak immediately asks Duncan for the lifting of Halt's banishment as a Formal Diplomatic Boon.

Emergency over, return to your homes, eucatastrophe all round! Will and Halt are just left with the established fact that they would have gone into banishment together if circumstances required it.

Also Cassandra and Will separate on somewhat better terms because she knows how much he wants to go home to his cabin. (Although Will's class issues are definitely still a thing.)

[onecantsimply]

Hello, would it be possible to request a Crowmother/Crowfather/Crowperson XD sorcerer reader? Able to command crows and or ravens with ease. See what they see, hear what they hear, even send messages through them as they are quite intelligent. They in return present her with gifts and trinkets, some shinyvand some useful. Mayhaps they can turn into one, I have a drawing if neccessary.

Dealer's choice of interaction(s). Please and thank you~!

Unique- I like it- Good drawing btw-

-

ℂ𝕣𝕠𝕤𝕤 𝔼𝕪𝕖𝕤:

• That ability would be quite useful for them actually.

- You could literally be a taxi, a tracker, a guard, a messenger, and a tea spiller-

- But unfortunately, Cross Eyes are broke asf and can only give you gifts to protect yourself, or can only give you the things they could get with what they could.

- Dokuga is broke asf and definitely cannot get anything. But he is also not the best to hang out with, but as long as he doesn’t talk, bro is fine with giving a small cuddle to you. Sometimes he talks, expressing small grateful emotion to you. Your mother / father-like personality happens to get to him, especially when he’s in his worst emotions. He’s really fucking grateful that you’re there.

- Saji gets minimum money, but he knows how he can’t just spend it all. The best he can do is sew something up for you and give it to you. Take it or leave it, but Saji will make sure to give you more gifts related to it just to make you happy. Just like you made him enlightened, as well as the other Cross eyes in his group.

- Tetsujo would gladly cuddle you for a bit, especially to express his gratitude, in which he does not get much opportunity to do. But yet, he would cuddle you for as long as needed, even until he’s needed for business. The man may even help you with your business if he can’t cuddle with you in the moment.

- Ton is a huge cuddler, man- He may also teach you how to aim with knives properly if you need the training- But if you’re not looking for that, Ton would appreciate some quality time with you. He knows how many times you’ve saved his ass with the limitless amount of crows in the area.

- Ushishimada, Hell- He’s going to teach you how to get stronger in case you can’t fucking flee- He’s not one for cuddles, and will rarely give it to you- But when he does he’s a small tsundere about it- And if you can’t flee while you don’t have any crows in the area, with no one there to help, what the hell will you do? Nothing, that’s right. So Ushishimada is gonna teach you how to kick some ass.

- Kai is not a cuddler. He is not one to very much express gratitude either. His silence disturbs you instead of making you comfortable- But the instance of where you do happen to get a gift that he fucking stole, you’re the grateful one. No matter if Kai stole it from beheading someone or just stole it naturally. It’s a gift from your Boss, and you shall forever treasure it-

- Natsuki is a huge cuddler, fuck yes- You and her may have the best time of your lives ranting or doing something out of the house- Just make sure you’re careful, you don’t want Natsuki slipping off a cliff and her getting traumatized again lmfao-

[thefanficmonster]

Oblivious

Valkyrae (Rae) x Reader (Gender Neutral) ft. Corpse Husband

Warnings: None

Genre: FLUFF, Humor, RPF (Real Person Fic)

Summary: In the most desperate of times, we may or may not be used to hearing the phrase ‘Beggers can’t be choosers’ which is exactly why Y/N’s found themself asking the most hopeless of cases when it comes to love and romance - Corpse, for help.

Requested by Xara. Hi darling! Thank you so much for this wonderful request you’ve sent me - I love writing for Rae (excuse my bi excitement, I’m just a HUGE simp) and I can’t thank you enough for giving me the opportunity to do so. Sorry it’s been two months since you requested this but here it finally is and I hope it makes up for the wait. Love, Vy ❤

“Corpse, I’m in desperate need for help.“ I don’t even bother with a friendly or even polite greeting. Being best friends for as long as we have, Corpse and I excluded the politeness that comes with phone calls a long time ago, especially when calling with an emergency. Though, let’s be honest, if I’m calling him on the phone and not on video chat like I usually do, it is an emergency.

“Given that you’re asking me, I can imagine how desperate you are.“ He has the audacity to laugh in response, causing me to roll my eyes. 

Now, don’t get the wrong idea - I love Corpse with all my heart. Him and I have been through A LOT together considering we know each other since we were teenagers. However, there are some instances in life when he simply doesn’t get me. Not that he doesn’t try to, he does and does so very hard, but he rarely succeeds. Trying is what matters, of course. Given that he is my only close friend, I can only ever turn to him with my problems though I try my best not to bother him too much, but when things get REALLY tough, I can’t help but go and vent to him. Luckily, he’s always been very understanding, but it may be because he feels like he owes me for all the times he has turned to me with his problems. I’ve tried to explain that he shouldn’t feel such a way, but that’s rather hypocritical of me cause I feel the same way.

Alright, enough digressing, back on track!

“Desperate doesn’t even begin to summarize how I feel.“ I sigh, plopping down on the couch in my living room, kicking my feet up on the coffee table as I cover my eyes with my hand. “Brutally miserable is, I think, the correct term to use here.“

I hear Corpse let out a quiet ‘oof’, one I think he hoped I wouldn’t hear. “And what led you to finally give in and ask for help, not that I can offer you much?”

I can’t help but snort at that, a snort that serves as a replacement to slapping myself across the face. “Rae texted me yesterday asking if I’d like to play Minecraft with her and I took THREE HOURS to respond! Not on purpose, I just couldn’t think of something good to say!” I know I sound like a whiney kid, but I think I’ve passed that threshold LONG ago. Of course, this whiney kid version of me only surfaces around Corpse and Corpse only. No one else is allowed to see me like this or that would legit be the end of any sort of pride I may have left in me.

“You mean you couldn’t choose between ‘Sure, I’d like that!’ and ‘Of course, I’d love to!’? Please say yes.“ Corpse already sounds disappointed and he hasn’t even heard the worst of it yet.

“No and sit tight, it gets worse. I...“

He cuts me off, “Wait, no, don’t say it. Let me guess - you turned her down? Keep in mind if you say yes I’m hanging up on you.”

I remain silent, pinching the bridge of me nose and cringing as hard as my facial muscles are willing to allow. I can’t say yes, not cause he’ll hang up but because admitting it makes it more real, and the more real it is the more depressed it’ll make me and I will go back to being a self-deprecating mess that refuses to be productive or properly functioning - aka ‘Whiney Kid Maximum’.

“I’m hanging up.“ Corpse says after waiting five seconds for my response that only comes in the form of dead silence which is more than enough of an answer in and of itself.

“No, please don’t!“ I squeak out despite my agony, “I’ll never break the cycle if you don’t help me, Corpse! I’m a hopeless case!“

“You’re a hopeless case with or without me, Y/N.“ He states, angering me ever so slightly. “Not only cause you really are, but because I have nothing useful to offer you. Not even a single advice. Even if I did, giving it to you would by hypocritical when considered how bad I am on this field myself. Hell, the very person you’re head over heels for is my personal matchmaker. If anything, you should be asking her how to swoon her...“ He pauses.

So does my brain.

For a second we’re both quiet, the silence on the line suggesting big plans are being developed - well, not on my end but still.

“Now there’s an idea...“ He mutters more to himself than to me.

“No!“ I shriek fearfully, “Please, if you love me even the tiniest bit, Corpse, don��t put me in a situation where I have to be alone with Rae! Not IRL not in a Discord call - not in ANYTHING. I close up and end up seeming unfriendly and rude because of my inability to talk to her like a normal human being! I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I just can’t do it! So please don’t make me.“

I maybe can’t read minds, but hell if I can’t at least have a rough guess of what’s on my best friend’s mind - I know he’s already scheming and coming up with odd solutions to my problem - some of which will cause me more problems but let’s not even mention those. That being said, I need to prevent him from actually carrying out any of his absurd schemes, otherwise it’s game over for me.

“Hmm, ok fine, but only cause I wanna spare you your own awkwardness. Consider it charity.“ He sighs, the disappointment even more evident now.

I sigh too, but I do so in defeated relief. It’s bittersweet, to be honest. “Thank you.”

“Don’t.“ He says sharply, “Don’t thank me. It’ll make me feel like I’m encouraging your behavior.“

Well, screw my feelings, I guess. I’m left on this battlefield alone, aren’t I?

Corpse hanging up the call confirms that I am, indeed, alone.

                                                             *  *  *

“Hello?“

“Are you still in bed, for the love of God? It’s noon!“ Not only did he have the audacity to wake me up with his phone call, but now he has the audacity to judge me on my sleeping habits as well. Some darn nerve he has.

“What do you want, Corpse?“ I grumble out, groggy and now grumpy too. The last thing I need is the only person I can turn to turning on me. Especially not now. I don’t need his or anybody else’s judgement of me or my life, it’ll hurt too much.

“I want to know how long you haven’t showered, Y/N.“ He barks back, causing me to roll my eyes. “And when’s the last time you actually ate something healthy and nutritious and not just greasy takeout?”

“I showered last night!“ I straighten up and frown, feeling offended despite his questions being justifiable. I think that’s exactly why I’m pissed off, to be honest - he knows me and my habits too well. “And you’re just being hypocritical on the eating part!“

“Whatever.“ He mutters, allowing me to feel at least a tiny sense of victory for having proven him wrong, “Get your ass up and come play Minecraft with me, you need to be cheered up asap.“ He continues, much to my dismay. “And don’t even think about saying ‘no’. If you do, just remember, I have your address and a strong will to kick your ass into shape.“

“Into shape? We’re going to the gym or something?“ I’m honestly confused and intrigued now. Maybe the gym isn’t such a bad idea, I’m sure I could become really good friends with the punching bag.

Corpse sighs exasperatedly in a way I can basically hear him roll his eyes as well, “Not that kind of shape, Y/N. Just get on Discord, seriously, I’m worried about you.“ 

That sentence strikes a nerve. Something about that genuine concern in his voice reminds me that I still need to move on from focusing so strongly on just my failures, no matter how big or small, and keep pushing forward, if not for myself then for the people who care about me. For Corpse especially, seeing as how he’s sort of been my babysitter ever since my feelings towards Rae started to consume me whole and suffocate me. I don’t know how or when it happened, in fact I can best describe it as the Titanic: I was doing ok and then instead of hitting an iceberg the iceberg of feelings hit me and I started sinking. Corpse was there to offer me a hand to help me keep at least my head above the surface. He can’t pull me out of the water but he’s not willing to let go either. I’m afraid holding on like that will tire him out to the point of letting go of me completely, but I’m afraid of sinking too. You see my dilemma here, no?

“Ok, give me twenty minutes.“

I would have probably continued sleeping or just chilled on social media, refusing to get out of bed for at least another hour, but the debt I feel towards Corpse is stronger than the desire to be a slob so I motivate myself with every power my fragile mind can fish out of the void and push the covers off me, shivering at the drastic change in temperature around my body now that I’m exposed to the rather cool air in my room, my pajamas hopeless at providing me with any warmth.

Twenty minutes later sharp, I’m seated at my desk, in front of my computer with my headphones on, taking one last encouraging breath before entering the call where Corpse is waiting for me.

“Yo.“ I greet him half-heartedly, drawing invisible abstract patterns on my desk with my finger as if I’m avoiding eye contact with him IRL.

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your sense of punctuality at least.“ He chuckles, sounding a lot more pleasant and a lot more like my friend Corpse and less like sergeant Corpse Husband who was speaking with me on the phone earlier.

“Very funny.“ I murmur in my now common brooding manner, “Anyway, enough about me, how are you doing? Anything interesting happen since we last spoke?“

“You mean in the past ten hours? No, nothing interesting apart from that I managed to catch a few z’s.“ He replies as I join the Minecraft server, managing to get a smile out of me.

“Hey, that’s nice to hear! Good for you, Corpsie.“ I say, honestly proud and happy for him.

“Yeah, and just so you’re not calling me hypocritical on the topic of eating, I’m currently cooking myself lunch.“ He points out, now just straight up peacocking, “On that note, I got a pot on the stove so you’ll have to excuse me for a sec.“

“Please go. Don’t set your apartment on fire the first time you cook” I snicker, leaning back in my chair and fetch my phone to kill the time while he’s gone to tend to whatever attempt at a meal he has prepping in his kitchen. I feel bad for his stomach, and his kitchen, already.

“Corpse? Hi!“

Oh no. No, no, no, no, no - tell me that was an auditory hallucination and I didn’t actually hear that just now! TELL ME!

“Rae?“ I blurt out, almost falling backwards out of my chair, eyes wide, jaw hanging slightly.

Just then I get a text from Corpse:

Consider me dead and carry the convo. I know you’ve got this, Y/N

Oh that prick is gonna get it!

“Y/N? Hi! Sorry, Corpse didn’t mention you’d be playing with us, but it’s so nice to be hearing from you! It feels like it’s been forever.“ Rae replies, cheery and enthusiastic as ever, just like the absolute sweetheart she is.

With Corpse absent from his position, without his metaphorical hand holding mine, I’m metaphorically sinking and drowning. Maybe the drowning part isn’t so metaphorical after all, considering I actually am drowning in all the thoughts produced by my mind at the moment. A mind that’s going completely haywire, might I add.

“Hehe, well, funny thing, he didn’t tell me you’d be playing with us either.“ I chuckle anxiously, already breaking out in a nervous sweat. I solemnly promise to kill Corpse first chance I get, that way he’ll at least be dead for real.

“He set us up, huh? What’s his game, where even is he?“ Rae asks, properly confused as she should be.

All on-point questions, hun. And I can’t answer any of them logically.

“Um, you know, he’s off doing...something.“ And there go my conversational skills out the window, I hope they send me a postcard one day.

“Whatever, enough about Mr. Ominous. Tell me, what’s been keeping you busy?“ Oh crap, this is the question I’ve been fearing. Mostly cause I’m not prepared for it. “Actually no, let me rephrase: Why have you been avoiding me recently?“

‘Oh crap’ squared. Tripled.

“Whaaat? Avoiding you? Where’d you get that idea?“ I’m aware of my high pitched voice, but it’s not like I can do much to tone it down. Every part of me is in critical panic mode and rationality has accompanied my aforementioned conversational skills out the window.

“I don’t know, Y/N. Ignoring my texts, leaving me on ‘Seen’ and then declining my offer just to accept the same one coming from Corpse - can’t really blame me for finding it shady.“ She replies, her words making me wince and hide my face in the palms of my hands as though it’ll shield me from Rae’s brutal honesty and forthrightness. 

“I’ve been...bad at replying to everyone lately, nothing personal, I swear.“ Yeah, that sounded convincing, good gosh-darn job, Y/N!

“Why’s that?“ Something about her tone suggest she knows I’m lying and is just humoring me and my agony. I don’t know if to thank her for it or wish she’d just rip off the band-aid and confront me head-on. In that case I’d have only one of two options: freeze up or spill my guts. Honestly, I don’t know which is worse. “I thought you’d reach out to me, given you’ve found yourself in a pickle.”

I frown, confused and wary like I’m walking on thin ice over a pool of sharks, “Pickle? What pickle?“

“Corpse mentioned you needed dating advice.“ She replies simply as though it should’ve been obvious and as if it’s the most casual, regular and normal thing. Little does she know...

“Um, yeah, I guess you can call it that.“ I murmur sheepishly, my cheeks reddening.

“Who’s the lucky girl?“ She asks, the excitement now replacing the previous suspicion she was fronting, making me nervous as hell.

My heart skips a beat, “How’d you know I’m crushing on a girl?“

“Uh...“ She stumbles over her words, pausing to collect her thoughts and formulate a response, “Corpse told me!“ When the reply finally arrives it’s as high pitched as mine was earlier, suggesting something ain’t right.

I stay quiet, my mind and heart racing which is quicker. My leg is bouncing, my fingers are tapping the keyboard rhythmically as I rack my brain, pushing it to put the pieces of this enigmatic puzzle together, connect the dots.

When it finally does, I’m left with a horrific end-result, a realization that makes me go pale as a ghost, “He told you who said girl is too, didn’t he?” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. I keep the tone low so she doesn’t notice how shaky it is.

It takes her a few seconds to reply, but when she does I kinda wish she hadn’t, “Maybe...”

My first instinct is to excuse myself from the call, pack all my kitchen knives and drive to Corpse’s house but with my limbs having lost any and all feeling in them that is practically impossible. So, I settle for my second instinct which is hiding my face in the palms of my hands as though they can shield me from the immense embarrassment Corpse has set me up for.

“Listen...“ I start, not sure where I wanna go with this, “You don’t have to say anything, I get the hint. No need to bother with a gentle reje-“

“I like you too, Y/N!“ Rae cuts off my rambling with a melodic laugh, “I’m sorry, but you can be very oblivious sometimes, and I just wanted to give you a taste of your own medicine for a bit. Sorry if I freaked you out.“ Judging by her tone, she’s not sorry at all. In fact, she’s one step away from bursting out into laughter.

“Trust me, ‘freaked out’ doesn’t even begin to describe it.“ I sigh, exasperatedly, sinking into my chair alike a deflated balloon. “You and Corpse are gonna pay for that heart attack you led me to the brink of!”

This time, she doesn’t hold back, letting out the laughter she’s been holding back this whole time, “I don’t know how Corpse will do that, but could I pay my dues with a brunch on Friday?”

My eyebrows shoot up, “Miss Valkyrae, is this you asking me out on a date?“ I ask teasingly - aka with more confidence than I feel.

Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’. Please say ‘yes’.

“I don’t know, what do you think, Y/N?“ She asks, tone just as teasing as mine.

“Hey, I’m not as oblivious as you claim I am!“ I argue light-heartedly, “Does 2PM work for you?“

“Any time works for me.“ Rae replies, a smile blatantly evident in her voice. A smile that unleashes a flock of butterflies in my stomach.

And just like that, I have a date with the girl I’ve had a crush on for the longest time. It happened so fast it’s practically a blurred part in my mind, but one thing I’m sure will be crystal-clearly imbedded in my mind forever is that brunch on Friday. Just then, I get yet another text from Mr. Schemer himself.

That wasn’t so hard now, was it?

Some nerve he has, I swear to God.

[freeced]

How did Pat, the best non-binary apatosaurus come into existence?

(The above images are my own art, a spectacularly rare instance of me trying very hard to draw something properly and taking far too long to do it.) Two years and some change ago, I wanted to start streaming on Twitch and needed some emotes, while at the same time I was thinking about merch ideas, especially something to represent the podcast I was hosting at the time. In addition to those reasons, I was inspired by channel mascots like Shwabadi's ghost bear and wanted a little character of my own that could represent my work sometimes. I also knew I wanted them to be non-binary: Pat the Non-Dinary Apatosaurus (non-dinary=non-binary dino), and use they/them pronouns exclusively. This was before I came out as non-binary myself, so it's funny looking back on the moment now and wondering why I didn't think it was odd how sure I was of that decision for a character who would represent my entire brand. But we move. I drew a little doodle of a sauropod with their teeth sticking out, colored it in very simply, and sent it off to an artist I'd found on Reddit to see if they could turn it into the image in my head of a cozy little cartoon apatosaurus wearing a snug winter hat and beaming at the viewer. The artist (currently @/fizzipunk on Instagram) realized my vision perfectly, and the original set of three Pat drawings became my first Twitch emotes when I started streaming. When I commissioned them, I also asked the artist about merch/commercial rights and made sure it was okay to use the design on the things in my shop (it was!) and hoped that people would enjoy having little mugs with Pat's face on them (they did!). The original mugs left the shop when the podcast ended, and now the Pat art in the shop is done by the LEAST qualified person I know (me!) but I still think it's very cute and I'm grateful for having help in bringing the character to life. Speaking of bringing the character to life, one of the fun things about Pat is that they have a canon voice that you'll hear in my stream alerts. That's my friend ellie (mokoellie) who's also non-binary! So if you ever wonder what Pat sounds like...they sound like that! I adore Pat and I'm so glad that they've become such a familiar and friendly presence around the things I do. I absolutely love the fanart and interpretations other people have done of Pat (and I love sharing them whenever I see them! preferably by boosting the artist's original post rather than posting it myself!), and if I ever get to a level where I have opportunities like "manufacture a custom plushie," it's a pretty easy bet what that plushie will be.

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Victor’s Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an event which has not been released in English servers! 🍒

Victor’s 2021 birthday collection:

🐼 r&s ♡ l belonging date l video call l moments and texts l asmr

[ Released on 8 January 2021 ]

[ CHAPTER ONE - Special Present ]

Victor is about to welcome his 15th birthday.

This year, the first birthday present he receives is, as usual, from Little Vick’s zoo. Standing in his room and seeing the box filled with animal plush toys, Victor frowns in slight resignation. When he was young, his parents asked him which was his favourite animal. Without putting much thought into it, he gave the panda as an answer. Since then, he’s been constantly receiving all sorts of presents featuring pictures of pandas from his parents. When he was 9 years old, he even “owned” an actual panda.

As what his father says, since it’s rare for Victor to express that he likes something, there’s definitely a need to fulfil his wish.

Even though he doesn’t dislike this gift, he finds it a little difficult to handle when the zoo sends him a huge box of souvenir plush toys since he shares the same birthday as Little Vick. Other than these, the box would also contain photographs of Little Vick’s everyday life, taken by the rearing staff. Victor would keep them, and send the plush toys to the children of relatives.

[Note] In CN, the panda’s name is 言言 (Yan Yan). But MC used the name “Little Vick” in an EN Moment post, so I’m using it too!

This year, he plans to follow the same routine. Just as he tidies up the items in the box, a knock comes at the door.

“Please come in.”

He turns his head, watching as his father walks in and leans next to the door, a coat draped over his arm. It looks like he just returned from work.

“Are you done with work?”

“Mm. Dad freed up his weekend. Since your birthday is coming, why don’t we head out together?”

Victor looks at his father’s slightly fatigued expression, and contemplates for a while.

“Okay, as long as it isn’t too noisy.”

The man casts a fleeting glance at the cardboard box in front of his son, then offers a suggestion.

“Want to see Little Vick?”

“There are a lot of people in the zoo during the weekend.”

Victor answers very quickly. As such, the man recollects the places he’s taken Victor to in the past, attempting to find a location his son would like.

“What about the countryside park?”

“Okay.” Victor agrees, then raises his head to look at him. “Dad, has Aunt been at home recently? I’m thinking of sending these plush toys to her.”

Seeing the man nod, Victor takes up the adhesive tape and re-seals the box. Watching his actions, the man sighs in his heart.

Trying to figure out what this kid likes - it’s truly a difficult question.

-

[ CHAPTER TWO - Growing Up Problems ]

It’s a pretty long journey to the countryside park. Victor stuffs this year’s pictures of Little Vick into his backpack, preparing to flip through them along the way.

Actually, ever since adopting it, he’s never visited the zoo to see Little Vick.

He doesn’t really know how to define the relationship between himself and that panda. His neighbours call their three dogs “Boss”, “Second Boss” and “Third Boss”. The moment they’re called, they would rush to the owner, and are as close as family. But Little Vick needs to be meticulously raised by professional staff. Even if it’s given a name, it doesn’t mean it has become someone’s pet, much less a “family member”.

Moreover, everyone knows that a little kid can’t afford to rear a panda. Even if the adoption certificate has Victor’s name on it, he hasn’t offered anything personally. This makes him feel that his connection to Little Vick is even more indiscernible.

Precisely because of this, Victor is always a little surprised whenever he flips through the album featuring its growth. In just a year, Little Vick has grown by quite a lot, and looks like an “adult” - but it’s only 6 years old this year.

The car halts before the traffic light. The man leans over to look at the photographs in Victor’s hands.

“It’s grown quite a lot again. Animals always grow up more quickly than humans.”

“Mm.”

After a short silence between the two, Victor mutters softly.

“...I also wish to grow up quickly.”

Hearing Victor say this suddenly, the man is a little shocked, turning his head to look at him.

“Why?”

“Because there are many things I can’t do right now.”

The man deliberates on his choice of words. “The reason why Little Vick can grow up so quickly is because its lifespan is relatively short. But you're different - you have sufficient time to live out every stage properly.”

After the man finishes speaking, he doesn’t get a reaction from Victor for a long time. From the rearview mirror, he discovers that Victor seems to have sunk into a deep contemplation.

Could talking about such things be too heavy for his son’s birthday? The man lifts his hand to loosen his tie, planning to change the topic.

"But there’s still a chance for you to do things yourself if you want to.”

“For instance, you could try paying for Little Vic’s adoption fees.”

Seeing Victor raising his head, he continues.

“The adoption fees for Little Vick are in yearly instalments. Once you have the ability to do so, Dad won’t help you pay for them.”

Victor hesitates for a moment. “Doesn’t that still require me to wait till I’m older?”

“As long as you're able to earn money from me, it doesn’t matter how old you are. Didn’t you learn about the stock market simulator from Dad recently? I’ll let you use the profit in exchange for an equivalent value.”

Victor straightens up slightly in his seat, and asks in slight anticipation. “How much is it every year?”

"A hundred thousand yuan.”

[Note] Approximately USD$15,500

Victor lapses into silence for a while. To a kid, a hundred thousand yuan is indeed not a small number. Seeing his expression, the man prepares some words of comfort. However, he suddenly speaks.

“Okay, I’ll give it a try.”

-

[ CHAPTER THREE - The Moment of Meeting ]

The car stops at the entrance of the park. Within it, father-and-son look at each other in dismay.

Five minutes earlier, the two of them were notified by the carpark staff that the park has temporarily ceased operations due to some internal revisions. As such, they have no choice but to head to another place.

“Looks like we should have given them a call to check first.”

Seeing the rare expression of vexation on his father’s face, Victor retrieves a map from the storage compartment. The both of them stare at it together, and it seems that the Loveland City zoo, which is only dozens of kilometres away, is the most suitable replacement.

“Shall we take a look?”

Sensing that his father is waiting for his answer, Victor hesitates for a moment before nodding in agreement.

After registering the adoption certification, the staff of the panda area enthusiastically receives the father and son.

“Little Vick’s birthday is coming soon. It’d definitely be very happy to see the two of you.”

Walking into the warm venue, there are excited visitors everywhere. With such an atmosphere, Victor starts feeling slightly expectant too.

“The one at the front is Little Vick.”

The staff brings the two of them before a glass room. At the front is a panda which is hugging a ball and amusing itself. Victor leans closer to the glass, giving it a detailed look. Little Vick seems to have been taken cared of very well. Its fur is fluffy, it looks sturdy, and refuses to let go of its favourite toy.

The man laughs inwardly as he watches his son subconsciously draw nearer to the glass. He even thought Victor didn’t like such adorable animals - it turns out he just refused to admit it. The phone in his pocket vibrates unceremoniously, and he signals to Victor, turning around to answer the call in a corner.

When it’s time for the pandas to eat, the rearer brings a large bundle of bamboo into the glass room. Seeing the look of anticipation on Victor’s face, the rearer specially brings a small bamboo leaf close to the glass. As expected, Little Vick sets down its toy and paces over. After circling the bamboo leaf twice, it suddenly lifts up his front paws and plops onto the glass. Victor is stunned, subconsciously bending down, reaching out to attract its attention.

The staff smiles as he looks at the boy and panda. “Looks like Little Vick really likes you!”

“...”

Saying that he wasn’t pleasantly surprised would be a lie. Victor looks at its slightly curved lips, and smiles along with it.

Should he greet it, or should he just stay like this quietly?

While he’s struggling internally to come to a decision, Little Vick slides off the glass, plopping its bottom onto the ground. Finding a comfortable position, its back faces Victor as it starts gnawing on the bamboo.

...as expected, eating is more important.

Victor hurriedly retracts his smile, straightening up to look at the back of its head. In order to alleviate the embarrassment from earlier, he broaches a new conversation topic.

“May I know,” he turns to the staff member at the side. “If it’s considered an adult now?”

“Yes, it’s already at an age where it’s seeking a spouse.”

“In that case, will it live together with its family in the future?”

“Pandas are very solitary, and Little Vick’s a boy. Even if it has children, it’d still lead a solitary life.”

As though in deep thought, Victor nods. Although these animals look charmingly naive, they aren’t as weak as imagined, and don’t need to rely fully on those around them.

As compared to them, perhaps he truly hasn’t grown up yet.

-

[ CHAPTER FOUR - Repaying Love ]

Returning from the call, the man sees Victor staring at the back profile of Little Vick. Even after leaving the panda area, he doesn’t speak.

“Why aren’t you talking?”

After a while, Victor responds.

“It doesn’t seem like it’d remember us.”

The man recollects the image he saw earlier. With some understanding, he nods.

“If we visit it a few more times in the future, it might remember.”

“But... so many people visit the pandas every day. I’m just one of them.”

“Victor, let Dad ask you something.” The man pauses in his footsteps and looks at him. “Without considering other factors, do you like Little Vick?”

Victor nods very quickly. The man continues with another question.

“After knowing it wouldn’t respond to you, do you still like it?”

After thinking about it for a while, Victor nods again. The man laughs slightly, bringing him towards the resting spot near the lakeside.

“Not being able to return the same emotions yet not affecting your liking towards it - isn’t this very good?”

“But it’s usually living in the zoo. We can't rear it personally. This kind of liking can’t establish any connections.” Victor seems to hesitate. “I remember you mentioning that the reason for “liking” is to establish connections with other people.”

The man pauses in his steps, turning his head to meet his son’s puzzled gaze. He sighs softly.

“What Dad tells you is not necessarily always true. You need to learn how to assess the appropriate occasion and target. You and Little Vick aren’t able to understand each other. Protecting it from afar like this isn’t a bad choice.”

Victor frowns slightly. These words are slightly confusing, and seem to contain things he has yet to understand.

“In that case, what if there’s mutual understanding?

A cool breeze brushes past. He watches as his father blinks, concealing a very small emotion in his eyes.

“A person who is willing to understand you is someone who is wiling to walk down the same path as you. If you meet that person someday, you must definitely cherish them.”

Because their original plan was to visit the countryside park, the man also brought the cake along. Since the scenery by the lakeside isn’t bad, the both of them select a bench and sit down. The man hands the cake box to Victor.

“Do you mind eating the cake a few days in advance?”

“I don’t mind.”

Victor takes apart the ribbon. Inside is a very exquisite cake, a small brand logo printed on the bottom right side of the chocolate sign. Perhaps noticing his slight pause, he quickly hears his father’s voice.

“...this year’s cake was bought.”

“It looks very nice. Thanks, Dad.”

“The zoo doesn't allow for the lighting up of candles. So we’ll blow out the candles and make a wish at home.”

“Okay, it’s all right.”

Victor carefully cuts out two slices of cake, handing one to his father. The two of them sit next to each other, eating cake while staring at the lake, neither of them speaking.

-

[ CHAPTER FIVE - Important Person ]

After returning home and having a bath, Victor walks towards his room with relaxed steps. While passing by his father’s bedroom, he vaguely hears him talking to someone over the phone.

It’s so late. Is he still working? Victor is about to continue walking, but his ears suddenly catch a few special words.

Weather, zoo, birthday... His father doesn’t seem to be talking about work, but about very trivial topics to someone. Just as he’s about to step away from the door quietly, his father calls out to him.

“Victor, come in.”

“It’s late and you aren’t asleep yet.”

His father sets down the phone, not giving him a reply. Victor glances at the screen which has yet to dim, and it displays that he isn’t currently in a call. His father doesn’t seem to know how to explain that “phone call”. After a moment of silence, he suddenly broaches another topic.

“Dad didn’t give you a present this year. You’re going to be 15 soon. Do you want something different?”

“You’re referring to...”

“For example, a present belonging to an adult.”

“Anything is fine?”

“Tell me what it is first.”

After giving it some thought, Victor scans his father’s room. Most of the items are either things he already owns, or things he doesn’t need in the far future. After taking a look around, his eyes fall back onto his father - to be more precise, the dark coloured tie he’s wearing.

“I want to buy a tie.” Victor pauses, then adds on. “One with a darker colour.”

Actually, there have been many occasions when he’s needed to wear a tie, and he doesn’t lack them. But most of them cater to his age, or are for school performances, and he doesn’t have one which is formal. Also, considering his mother’s preferences, the colours and patterns of the ties in the closet are very outlandish. One of them even has panda badges on it.

Perhaps thinking about the same image, his father suddenly laughs.

“Okay, you’ll pick one yourself tomorrow. But I have a condition.”

“Go ahead.”

“The reason why we didn’t light candles or make a wish this year is in hopes that you’ll say it directly when you want anything in the future. Especially when it comes to important wishes - you need to tell them to important people as soon as you can.”

“However, if it’s something I can do, I don't want to trouble someone else.”

“To some people, it isn’t troublesome.”

After saying this, he tousles Victor’s hair. Victor seems to comprehend it vaguely. In the past, he used to teach Victor how to be independent, so why is he suddenly changing his attitude?

Could it be that someone like his father has moments when he wishes to rely on someone else too?

-

Returning home the next day after buying the tie, Victor is once again called into his father’s bedroom. The two of them stand properly before the full-length mirror.

“The pattern of a tie is very critical, but tying a suitable knot is also very important.”

He watches as his father retrieves a tie from the closet, turning around to face him.

“Today, I’ll teach you how to tie a formal knot.”

“Okay.”

Before being taught, Victor never expected that such a complicated knot existed. Even though he follows his father step-by-step, the final knot ends up being crooked. Refusing to give up, he removes the tie, giving it another try.

“Does this knot have a name?”

“Eldredge Knot.”

“What occasion requires such a knot?”

His father doesn’t give him a direct answer. “The more complicated the knot, the more important the occasion. Even if you were to only use it once, it’s worth preparing for it.”

Victor watches his father in the mirror. He doesn’t say more, and simply tells him to practise by himself before turning around and leaving. Victor spends an incredibly long time in front of the mirror before he finally ties it into shape.

When he turns around, wanting his father to check it, he sees the wedding photograph of his parents out of the corner of his eye. This photograph isn’t foreign to him, but he still takes a curious, careful look at it.

With this, he finally understands what his father meant by “occasion”. In the photograph, the knot the father tied is the exact same one.

-

[ CHAPTER SIX- A flowing love ]

One more photograph of Little Vick nibbling on bamboo appears on Victor’s desk. Even though there’s a huge “generation gap” between him and Little Vick, the way it eats seriously without being picky is worthy of acknowledgement. Victor thinks - if he can fork out the adoption fees and enable it to lead a healthy and happy life, it counts as a one-sided, reasonable expression of liking it.

Aside from studying, Victor spends a lot of time over the following days researching stocks intensively. After a couple of transactions, he manages to recoup more than his original investment. This sale enables him to accumulate enough to cover the adoption fees. With the success of the stock market simulation, his father, as agreed, deposits the money into Victor’s savings account.

“Next year, you can see Little Vick with pride.”

“It’s fine as long as I can continue providing it with a good life.”

The man sighs in his heart when he looks at Victor’s small, deliberately stern face. It appears that he’s still troubled by Little Vick not remembering him.

"However, I heard that it could have its own children soon. Could I continue adopting its children?”

The man is a little surprised, but responds seriously.

“It’s your own decision. You have to ensure that you have the ability to do so in the future.”

“I’ve done some calculations. Before I turn 25, I can repay you for all the adoption fees over the years.”

“Does this count as your wish?”

“No, it’s a plan.”

The man chokes up for a moment. Even though Victor is at an age where nothing daunts him, he rarely boasts. If he can truly walk down the path he has planned, it’s truly worthy of admiration.

There may still be much his son has to learn, but he’s wiling to believe in him. But before that, he still has to return to the previous question.

“So what's your wish?”

The self-assured mini adult suddenly grows uneasy after hearing this question.

“I wish... that you’ll see me as an adult next time.”

“Hm?” The man displays an amused expression.

“If there are certain things I can do, you can let me shoulder them for you.”

At the sight of Victor’s resolute expression, the man can’t help but laugh.

"I could consider it, but you have to first learn how to not wear your tie crookedly.”

He looks down. Without realising it, his tie has become loose, and hangs on him crookedly. He hurries to the mirror to straighten it, but still looks in the direction of his father out of the corner of his eye.

The call which didn't get through in the bedroom earlier - Victor knows who it was made to. A proper calculation of the time differences , and the gentle tone used to talk about trivial matters - he’s already heard it for many years.

Certain things can’t be re-lived. But at least, they can continue through other means.

As a person who is about to become an adult, he believes he can do it.

Fun fact: Victor tied the Eldredge knot in his Deep Love Date T^T

-

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[mylordshesacactus]

A Writer’s Guide To Hurricanes, I Guess

I realized with a bit of chagrin that, while I’ve spent years bitching about how it drives me up the wall that nobody (in fandom or, in fact, mainstream media) has a goddamn clue how hurricanes work and yet insists on portraying them anyway...I’ve never actually tried to help by explaining what they’re actually like.

So, here’s a genuine, non-sarcastic, good-faith attempt by a Floridian to help you guys who might want to write this stuff at some point understand it, just a little.

So here we go, chronologically in terms of the storm’s progress.

The storm itself is the least of it.

This is the thing non-hurricane places don’t....get.

You can see a hurricane coming. You can watch it. You have, in fact, no choice. I need to reiterate this.

You have no choice but to sit there and watch a hurricane coming.

I’ve actually talked a lot in another post about what that feels like, and why hurricane parties are a thing. But try to imagine what that feels. Just...try. You have to sit there, for about a week, watching the wrath of God bear down on you.

You watch it come and you hope the path changes. You hope it veers off back into the Atlantic, of course, but you also--you hope it hits somewhere else. You know wherever it goes people will die and you hope it goes somewhere else. And you feel kinda bad about it; but you also don't because these are just facts, this is a fact of hurricanes, they will go somewhere and people will die in that place and all of us hope it goes Somewhere Else and if it does, we know that the people Somewhere Else are praying frantically that it gets back on course and hits us instead and we understand.

(And when it does change course, when it doesn’t hit you, you almost feel....cheated? Because you spent so much time and energy preparing and fearing and coming to terms and accepting and bracing and then it--doesn’t happen.

And the guilt of praying it would go Somewhere Else is nothing compared to being disgusted with yourself for actually feeling disappointed that you were spared the apocalypse this time.)

The wind is different.

If you listen to weather reports on hurricanes you’ve absolutely heard the phrasing “sustained winds of X miles per hour with gusts up to Y” without really thinking about what that means.

Now, of course everyone’s been in windy conditions. It’s hard to put a finger on exactly how the hurricane is....different, so I’m just going to describe what it’s like.

The wind always comes from one direction. There’s no being “knocked this way and that” or whatever; the wind comes from the direction the wind is coming from. Always.

(If you’re near where the center of the storm passes, this direction will slowly change as your position relative to the eye changes. But it changes over a matter of hours--like the angle of the sun.)

The wind is a constant, unrelenting force. There’s no....there’s no dips in the wind. It never lessens, it only spikes and then returns to baseline. In a normal windstorm, no, it’s not that the wind ever stops blowing, but...there’s an ebb and a flow. A hurricane is a wind tunnel in which every so often someone revs the engine and there’s a few seconds of higher wind, but it never drops below where it’s set.

(The wind will snake under plywood and storm shutters; it will rip them clean off, if you haven’t screwed them in properly. Screws, not nails. The wind makes deadly projectiles of anything not fastened down. Plywood and storm shutters can be broken, by anything travelling fast enough. It is standard procedure, if you have lawn furniture or anything else not secured that doesn’t float, to carefully lower that furniture into a pool--if you have one. It will stay untouched, and won’t be flung through your neighbors’ plywood.)

This is why hurricanes take down so many trees, why they do so much structural damage. Buildings in hurricane zones are built to withstand high wind, and most trees in these areas can survive high wind too or they wouldn’t have survived so long. But there’s only so much that nature and engineering can do about sustained high winds, without a moment’s rest, for hours, unending, no respite...

In landfall footage--ie, the stuff you see on the news--you likely see this effect in the palm trees-watch how instead of tossing, they’re just bent. It never lets up. In the instances where a bent tree violent bounces back before bending again, trust me--that’s not a letup in the wind speed. That’s the tree having been bent too far, and springing back from the sheer pressure on its internal structure. That’s the tree being stronger than the wind--for now

It’s mostly not like the TV reports.

There’s a reason I referred to “landfall footage” above. News broadcasts, for a lot of reasons, focus on the storm at its worst. The highest storm surge, the highest winds, the most brutal damage, occurs where the eye wall first crosses from being over water to being over land.

(Remember--by the time a storm “makes landfall,” everything for miles around has been experiencing the storm for hours already. “Landfall” is when the EYE of the storm first hits land, not when the storm “arrives”.)

But hurricanes are...vast. Look up satellite footage of hurricanes. Really look at it. Look at how much sheer area they cover.

Most places do not experience landfall-level disaster. That’s why, when people evacuate--well, when residents evacuate, the tourists and recent transplants tend to panic harder--you’re basically always evacuating to someplace that will still have vanished under that mass of swirling clouds. Evacuation sites are still inside the hurricane, but wind speed, storm surge, etc--everything drops dramatically even a few miles from the eye.

On a related note, the eye itself rapidly starts shedding power the moment it’s no longer over open water. Generally, the simple act of making landfall instantly drops a hurricane at least one category in severity. Hurricanes are eldritch gods; they rise from the sea and from the sea they take their power. Cut off from it, they starve.

Do not think for a moment that just because you’re “only” experiencing Cat 1 winds that this storm can’t kill your ass dead. Do not underestimate what the death throes of a dying god can do.

Storm surge isn’t high waves, and it isn’t rain.

Storm surge is the actual sea level rising. The entire ocean being dragged onto land by the power of the storm.

Particularly wet and slow hurricanes might--rarely--drop enough rain to cause flooding. However, that’s unusual; most places here can handle heavy rain. The rain isn’t the problem.

(Slow hurricanes are killers on another level. It’s everything I’ve already said about the unrelenting brutality of the wind, coupled with the fact that--as, again, the vast majority of the storm has been raging for hours by the time it “makes landfall”, and hurricanes draw power from the Eye being over the water--it now has hours upon hours of fully-fuelled destruction before it begins to weaken by being cut off from warm water. It doesn’t weaken, it just....keeps going. And the storm surge is present that entire time.)

I’m just gonna direct you to this NOAA diagram on how storm surge works.

The northeast quadrant is the strongest.

This isn’t a proper subheading it’s just something I rarely see people not from Florida acknowledge. 

No matter where the storm is coming from or what angle it hits at--the northeast quadrant is the killer. You do everything in your power to avoid being caught northeast of the storm.

In hurricane-prone areas, the threat is felt year-round.

All the major intersections? Our stoplights aren’t hung on wires from wooden poles--those blow down too easily. They’re bolted to thick metal pipes, “hurricane-proof”. Major roadways that are above floodlines are labelled as evacuation routes.

Things like that.

Hurricanes make their presence known long before the disaster begins.

You start to get “hurricane weather” days--days--before it hits. The sun is out, the weather is fine except for a...

Well, a constant, low-level breeze, with much less variation in angle and direction than usual, fewer gusts, but still primarily a natural breeze. And then you go outside and you look up at that cheerful blue sky and it’s already there.

They’re called cloud bands. You look up and the entire sky is just fluffy white clouds, racing at speed in one direction...

(The breeze, in those early few days, is light. Present, but light. The clouds are always, always racing as if before a gale. There’s a pervasive, eerie wrongness about this, looking up--the clouds moving much, much faster than the wind that should be driving them.)

A hurricane is not a thunderstorm.

This is the cardinal sin and the clearest, most common misconception. Hurricanes are not thunderstorms. In fact it’s actually very rare to have lightning or hear any thunder at all during a hurricane, compared to an average summer storm in hurricane-prone areas.

People often portray hurricanes as basically....the worst storm they can remember, but bigger, and badder, and worse. Hurricanes aren’t just big and intense, they’re....different. They’re something different.

Hurricanes are...quiet.

Except that they’re not.

You know when people talk about the wind howling? Think of the most intense storm you’ve ever sat through. Think about the sound of the wind.The way it whistles through leaves. Hold that experience in your head.

Now forget it. This is different.

Hurricanes don’t sound like that. Hurricanes are....

The sound a hurricane makes is a howl, yes. It makes palm fronds and grass steps and leaves whistle like a rapier scraped against a sheathe, yes. But you barely notice those shallow details, because the sound a hurricane makes is below that, stronger, more powerful.

Hurricanes moan.

Hurricanes are the entire world around you slowly and steadily fraying at the seams, and it moans, low and deep, agonized and hungry, and it never stops. Never. Not until it’s over.

Hurricanes are a world ending.

The storm passes, and the hurricane has only begun.

Do you think people stock up as heavily as they do, with generators and nonperishables and such, for--what, for a few hours of wind and rain, however alive?

No.

Because once the tempest is past, now you have to...exist.

You will not have power. If you were in a very, very lightly-affected area, you might have cell service. Most of your neighbors have evacuated. Many roads can’t be used because they’re washed out, or there are trees or power lines down across them.

It’s very common to lose water pressure. Common practice in hurricane-prone areas is to fill your bathtub with water before the storm--so that, when you lose water pressure, you can use a bucket to flush your toilet. Because those conditions, assuming you’re in an area that can be repaired and not rebuilt, can take weeks.

Weeks without running water, a flushable toilet. That gets grim fast. You brace for the storm. You prepare for what follows.

A hurricane is an eldritch abomination.

Hurricanes are alive.

Hurricanes are Old Gods.

Sitting through a hurricane is not like sitting through a bad storm or like sitting through a tornado, which is fast and unstoppable but then it’s over like it never existed save for the destruction left behind.

In order to get a clearer understanding of just how much the universe is vast, how much it does not, cannot, even notice you enough to want you dead because you are so small it would not comprehend you as possessing an existence if it tried--you would have to go to space.

And while the world moans around you and something out there, alive, growls at a frequency you can’t hear but you feel--you don’t cuddle for warmth during a hurricane. You just don’t.

You keep the generator running outside in the lee of the house where it won’t kill you all with gas fumes, connected via wires that snake around through a cracked door somewhere it won’t get blown open. You make sure it doesn’t run out of fuel, that it doesn’t get water blown into anything important. You use it to power a TV first--to keep the weather report on. You power lights second, if it’s a decent one. You can’t afford one powerful enough to run your refrigerator; you ate the ice cream before this started.

You play games. We’re human; it’s what we do. We play games in the face of our own helplessness. But while you play, you listen. You can’t not.

It’s always there. The world creaks on its hinges. You feel the edges threatening to dissolve. If you sit for a moment and are quiet, that ever-present moan is there, something ancient and powerful on a scale outside your comprehension. There is no cozy comfort of being bunkered down safe against the storm, not here.

There is no “safe” against this. You sit still and quiet and bear witness.

And when the sun rises in the aftermath, you’re surprised to find the world--even a wrecked and altered world--still exists. It shouldn’t. You were there when it ended.

And--and I cannot emphasize this enough--there’s no fucking thunder.

[triangularprismdude]

Mia's World Theory

Because I have other things to do but would rather over-analyze webcomics. Under the cut because long and Spoilers up to page 85.

One of the really interesting things about Mia's World, I've always thought, is that a majority of people come in knowing what the climax of the story is. I was first introduced to Mia's World through the Mind Electric Animatic, only finding the actual comic a few months later. As such, I, and pretty much everyone else I've seen, know that the comic is building up to World/Michael (likely under the influence of Lyer/John?) killing Mia, as both the Mind Electric animatic and Turn Off the Lights MAP deal with the direct fallout of that. But the thing that makes the comic so interesting is not only seeing what their world looks like and who the characters are, but also the buildup leading up to Mia's murder. One of the first hints that there seems to be something more going on is that, while for much of the comic it seems like Lyer/John might just be a figment of World/Michael's imagination or perhaps an entity that only he can see/interact with, we have at least two other instances of characters aside from World/Micheal noticing/seeing Lyer/John. The more minor of which is when King/Gillian comes to see World/Micheal at his apartment and is also able to hear when Lyer/John is singing in the shower.

The much more significant instances of this are the several occasions where Mia is able to see Lyer/John.

And, probably most concerning about this, is how concerned Mia is about this, and how afraid she is of Lyer, as well as how antagonistic Lyer seems to be towards Mia in return.

Including the fact that Mia seemed subconsciously aware of Lyer, before she was consciously aware of him, as shown in her concern over the number of drawings she has with Lyer in the background (seemingly drawn in without her being directly conscious of it, though I could be mistaken about that).

The thing that I think this all really builds up to is the fact that Mia's World is, quite literally Mia's World, in that it is a world that she controls or was/is responsible for creating to some degree. Part of a hint for this could be that she is the only character who is only known by her actual name, Mia. World and Enemie have had their actual names mentioned in the comic (also Lyer, but more on him later). King and 44, while they have had their names revealed out of comic, they have only been referred to by these nicknames in the comic proper

One interesting thing about Mia's World is the difference between the art style when the page is centered around Mia and her POV, and the art style when the page is centered around World/Michael and his point of view. With Mia, the art style is significantly more simplistic: the characters all have stick limbs with the occasional hand, there is little to no shading, undetailed or entirely absent backgrounds, and the pages are often only four panels, more reminiscent of a newspaper or otherwise serialized comedy/slice of life comic that rarely has much in the way of a serious or overarching plot. With World/Michael, the style is much more painterly and artistic, with more complex coloring and shading, as well as backgrounds with equal or even higher complexity, more realistic figures (in that they have actual limbs more often rather than just sticks), and usually six or so panels per page, more reminiscent of comics that tend to have longer overarching plots, rather than just one-off jokes. This partly serves to create this pretty strict dichotomy between "Mia's World" and "Michael's World" (this could also be part of the reason that World's name is, well, World: he is [currently] the other main character/POV character of this comic and is the character shown to have the most awareness of some of the strangeness of the world that they all live in currently).

The thing that I think this all really builds up to is the fact that Mia's World is, quite literally Mia's World, in that it is a world that she controls or was/is responsible for creating to some degree. Part of a hint for this could be that she is the only character who is only known by her actual name, Mia. World and Enemie have had their actual names mentioned in the comic (also Lyer, but more on him later). King has only had his name referred to out of comic and never in comic. And to my knowledge, 44/Maria has only ever been referred to as "big sister" by Mia, and not by 44 or Maria in comic. This partially seems to really emphasize that these characters are, well, characters. King and World and Enemie and 44 aren't real person names, but it's how they're known in this comic, it's their character.

And finally, that brings us to the most recent page.

World/Micheal falls out of the world. He takes a step and punches through the ground like (it looks to me) paper. Then we get a silhouette of a very human-looking version of him. A commenter on this page notes that, in the Turn Off the Lights MAP, there was a specific section where all the characters should appear as human.

To bring this all together, Lyer is a chaotic character, who manipulates and messes with and taunts World/Michael seemingly just for the fun of it. But I think Lyer also serves as a catalyst, of a sort, to get World/Michael to break out of Mia's world, ultimately (attempting to?) accomplish this by having World/Michael murder Mia, potentially breaking her hold over this world. I don't know what Lyer is or where he might have come from, or what his motivation might be, but it seems to me that his purpose in murdering Mia is to break her (godlike?) hold on this world, potentially freeing World/Michael, maybe also Lyer and the rest of the characters.

There are certainly other plot elements that may play into the mystery behind Mia's World that we don't have enough information to properly analyze yet, like World/Michael and King/Gillian's strained (but healing?) relationship, 44/Maria's intense dislike for World/Michael (potentially related to the previous point), King/Gillian and 44/Maria going through a rough patch in their relationship, Enemie/Ivan dealing with an abusive parent, etc. But I'm not going to theorize on how these could tie in now since we don't have much information on them yet.

[ididntneedanewfandom]

BakuDeku Winter Week 1 - Reparations

"I'm home."

There's no reply to Katsuki's words. Granted, they were quiet enough that they might have gotten lost under the music playing softly in the living room. It's been a long day and he's too tired to even speak at his usual volume. The 'heroing' part of the day went fine; it's filling out forms afterward that completely fries his brain. He thought he was done with useless paperwork when he graduated from U.A.. No such luck. And to top it all, the unseasonable spring heat has been horrendous. It's helpful for his quirk, sure, but after a point it's just oppressive.

He's late enough that he'd have expected dinner to be waiting for him, or to have received a request from his nerd to pick up takeout on the way home. But there are no yummy smells to greet him--not even burnt ones as sometimes happen--and it looks like if he wants food he'll have to work on that himself. Any other night it'd be fine, but he's tired enough that the prospect isn't all that appealing.

Although...

That deep-seated tiredness seems to melt away when he walks into the living room to find Deku reclining on the couch with his back to the armrest and one of his notebooks propped up on his raised knees. He's wearing that too big, slightly misshapen wool sweater in All Might's costume colors, the one Katsuki always teases him about. How he can bear to wear that warm thing in this weather, Katsuki has no idea.

"Used to be, you'd be all over me when I walked in the door," Katsuki says with a mock-wounded look as he approaches the couch. "I guess the honeymoon phase is over, huh?"

Deku blinks those big eyes up at him a couple of times.

"Oh, hi Kacchan," he says with a small smile. "I didn't hear you come in."

Katsuki snorts. That much was obvious. Climbing over the end of the couch, he crawls up to Deku, pushing his knees apart to settle between them, unceremoniously dropping the notebook and pen he takes from Deku to the floor.

"Hey, wait, I was--"

Katsuki silences what was coming next by pressing his mouth to Deku's. He suddenly feels a lot better, but there's still room for improvement.

He lifts his mouth and body off Deku's just enough that he has room to tug at the sweater to get to the delicious, warm skin beneath.

"Kacchan, please be careful," Deku mumbles.

"Careful about what? You're not as breakable as you used to be."

Even with Deku helpfully lifting his hips to free the bit of sweater stuck under his ass, Katsuki has to work hard to get it off him. It's caught underneath him, but one last tug--

"What... What was that?”

Deku sits up properly now, dislodging Katsuki from his lap even as he reclaims the sweater from him with shaky hands, a steady stream of "No, no, please no" rising from his lips.

"What's gotten into you?" Katsuki asks, frowning.

"It felt like..."

He falls silent as his fingers find the large rip on the back, longer than Katsuki's hand, multiple strands of frayed wool hanging loose. His expression is one of pure grief; Katsuki's stomach twists unpleasantly.

"I asked you to be careful," Deku murmurs, and Katsuki knows that tone of voice. Years ago, it'd have been accompanied by tears. Deku doesn't cry so much anymore... But it doesn't make things any better when he's really upset. He just clams up, and fuck knows what Katsuki can do to fix it when it happens.

"It's just a cheesy old sweater, " he mutters. "I'll get you one from my merch line. Better quality and better colors."

His pointed look dares Deku to protest that--they once spent a very pleasant night arguing about costume colors in between rounds of fucking, and Katsuki wouldn't mind a repeat. But when he crawls back up Deku's body again, when he slides a hand over Deku's ridiculously tight abs, Deku slaps his hand away and shimmies out from under Katsuki until he can stand, still clutching the mangled sweater.

"It was Toshinori's," he says in a cold voice, glaring at Katsuki.

It's so rare to see Deku direct actual anger toward him that Katsuki's old defenses go back up instantly. Stinging words fall from his lips before he even knows he's speaking.

"Stealing from other people's closets? And here I thought you only stole my clothes. I guess I'm not that special, huh?"

Deku's gaze hardens just a little more, and Katsuki almost expects lightning to start coursing over his body. His voice is cold enough that it could put IcyHot's quirk to shame.

"He gave it to me. It was sample merch that never got mass produced because it was handmade and too complicated to bring to market. He kept it because he said it fit him in both his forms. He thought I'd get a kick out of having it in my collection, so when he was cleaning up his things before ... He gave it to me. And you just ruined it when I asked you to be careful. But it's not like you've ever cared about my stuff anyway, is it?"

It hurts.

It hurts because it's true--or was true. Watching Deku walk away, listening to his heavy feet and the banging of their bedroom door, Katsuki can't help but remember other instances when he broke or destroyed Deku's things just because he could. The fact that today it was an accident doesn't make it any less his fault.

Katsuki groans and runs a hand over his face. He really fucked up.

He'd like nothing more than to follow Deku and not let him walk away from him--how things have changed… But then what? 'Sorry' doesn't feel like it'd be nearly enough, and Katsuki doesn't know what else he's supposed to say.

Tired steps take him to the kitchen. He stands in front of the open fridge for a while before pulling out the ingredients for katsudon. He's really not in the mood to cook, but he doesn't know what else to do.

He's just about done frying the pork and already filling up two bowls when slow steps come up behind him. He glances back at Deku, who stands there in a t-shirt inscribed with the words 'boyfriend shirt', his hands in his pockets.

"I'm so--" he starts, but Katsuki doesn't let him finish.

"Swear to god, Deku, if you try to apologize I'm shoving my foot up your ass."

Deku frowns at him.

"That's what grow-ups do, Kacchan. When they say something ugly or something they don't mean, or when they do something they shouldn't, they apologize."

"And what good does that do?" Katsuki mutters as he tops the bowls of food with the pork cutlets and places both on their small kitchen table. "Words won't knit your sweater back together. Sit down."

Taking his own advice, he draws a chair and sits. He fiddles with his chopsticks until Deku sighs and sits across from him.

"Itadakimasu," he says quietly, his eyes on his food.

Katsuki grunts in reply and watches him take a couple of bites before he asks, his voice tight and low, "Can it be repaired?"

Deku shrugs a little, and briefly looks up.

"I doubt it. It's a big rip. It's my fault, I noticed a loose bit of wool before and I didn't do anything about it. I should have fixed it then."

And it's just so completely <i>Deku</i> to take the blame for something that wasn't his fault that Katsuki doesn't know whether he wants to kick him or kiss him. In the end, he lightly kicks his shin under the table, and when Deku glares up at him, he mumbles, not quite meeting Deku's eyes even as his cheeks heat up, "'M sorry. For ripping your sweater and for what I said."

Deku's foot finds his again for something that feels more like a caress than a kick.

"The food's delicious," he says softly. "Thank you."

And Katsuki knows he's forgiven--just as well as he knows he doesn't deserve to be. Not yet.

*

Seven months later

This year again, they set up a Christmas tree.

All right, so Izuku sets up a Christmas tree while Kacchan sits there and watches. At least this time he doesn't say it's a silly tradition, though he did insist that Izuku only set it up the night before Christmas. Seeing how busy they've both been lately, Izuku doesn't think he'd have found the time to set it up sooner regardless.

And besides, Kacchan never said when it's got to come down...

Izuku just likes the lights twinkling when the room is dark at night. And he likes finding hero-themed ornaments to hang from the branches. He has four All Might ones on there, each in a different costume. He doesn't despair of finding one for EraserHead someday. He has a Froppy one and a Uravity one--they're not licensed merch, just handmade figures created by a fan he found online. He's got an official Shouto ornament--well, really it's a collectible figure meant to sit on a shelf, Izuku just looped a bit of string around Shouto's outstretched hand... and he makes sure to hang it way in the back, so Kacchan won't roll his eyes and pout every time he looks at the tree.

There's also a licensed Dynamight ornament on there, and Izuku makes sure to put it front and center. Kacchan absolutely loathes it, because whoever sculpted it gave him a smile--a nice, soft smile, the kind of smile Izuku is the only one lucky enough to receive. Which is why Izuku loves it. And why he bought seven of them, the replacements stashed in a secure place just in case this one 'mysteriously' disappears.

After hanging up another handful of ornaments--they're minor heroes, but Izuku has had the chance to work with each of them--he stands back to admire his work. A little behind him, Kacchan grabs a fistful of his t-shirt and pulls until Izuku, laughing, stumbles back and into his lap. Kacchan's arms immediately wrap around him, holding him where he is--not that Izuku has any other place to be.

"What do you think?" he asks happily, watching the multicolor lights blink on and off randomly.

Kacchan grunts. "Don't think I didn't notice you hiding Candycane in the back. You should put a real candy cane on there, it'd look nicer."

Clucking his tongue, Izuku taps the thigh underneath his own.

"Be nice," he admonishes. "Or I'll put two of yours on there."

A huff against the base of his neck sends shivers down Izuku's spine.

"It doesn't need another one of me on there," Kacchan mutters. "But it could use one of you."

Izuku wouldn't mind, but his agency isn't like Kacchan's. They don't really do merch there--which Izuku is fine with, he agrees with his boss that the important part is to be a hero, not to sell stuff, and he's about to remind Kacchan of that when something small and green dangles in his peripheral vision. With some difficulty, he lifts his eyes from the tree and looks at...

Himself.

Or, well, a version of himself.

The figure dangling from Kacchan's fingers on a silver string is just three or four inches tall, but the details on it, from the costume to the pose to the expression on the face, are all exquisite. Whoever sculpted this--is it clay? It looks like glazed clay--did an awesome job.

And gave Izuku an absolutely feral expression.

Izuku doesn't know whether to laugh or squeal or just turn around and kiss Kacchan.

"It's a little Deku!" he exclaims, then laughs as he takes the figure in his hands. "A really angry little Deku!"

"Bet he's angry because Dynamight has been hanging in that tree with all these extras without him. You should put him up there."

Izuku is happy to do so, but not before turning In Kacchan's lap and stealing a kiss... or maybe even two.

Then he practically bounces to the tree and carefully hangs up his figure next to Kacchan's. They're the same size and fit perfectly together. It makes Izuku wish they'd get to fight side by side more often. Maybe some day, he thinks wistfully, they'll open an agency together. They've talked about it a few times, but they're still rookies, barely out of school, and while they technically <i>could</i>, they both agreed it was too soon.

"I love my present, Kacchan," Izuku says as he turns back to his boyfriend. "Thank you."

"You're welcome," Kacchan says, "but it's not your present. This is."

His fingers drum on the top of the plain white box that definitely wasn't next to him on the couch just a second ago. Izuku tilts his head, wishing one of his quirk was X-ray vision or something. His fingers itch and he doesn't dare take a step forward.

"Do you want to put it under the tree with yours?" he says softly.

Kacchan shakes his head.

"Come here," he says. "Open it."

Izuku doesn't move.

"But Christmas is only tomorrow," he protests, his voice sounding weak even to his own ears.

Kacchan's lips stretch on a wicked grin. "Have it your way. I'll open it, then, and keep it for my--"

Before he can finish or slide his fingers under the edge of the box, Izuku plops himself back down on his lap and draws the box onto his knees. Laughing, Kacchan encircles his waist with his arms again and rests his chin on Izuku's shoulder, watching as he lifts the top of the box and reveals a familiar pattern and colors: All Might's costume.

It takes a good two or three seconds before Izuku recognizes the equally familiar ridges of knitted wool. His breath catches in his throat and he very slowly, very carefully lifts what he knows is a sweater out of the box.

It's his sweater. He knows it is, because there's a small, black spot of indelible ink near the collar; it was already there when Izuku got it.

It's the sweater he's kept in the bottom drawer of his dresser for the past few months, unable to wear it anymore without aggravating the rip but unwilling to put it away for good.

But when he turns it around, the rip is gone. And if Izuku didn't know exactly where to look, he probably wouldn't notice the repaired area. Everything matches, from the color of the wool to the pattern of the knitting. The only thing is that the wool seems a little newer in that area, less fuzzy than the rest, but that's only because Izuku knows what he's looking at.

"Kacchan," he breathes, but doesn't know what else to say.

"Is that all right?" Kacchan asks, his voice tight. "I mean, I know I should have asked first before touching your stuff, but then it'd have ruined the surprise."

"It's..." Izuku's throat feels too tight. He clutches the sweater to his chest. "It's perfect. Thank you."

After Kacchan kisses the back of his head, he manages to ask, "But... how? I looked for shops that repair knitted things but I didn't find anything."

Kacchan mumbles something; Izuku isn't quite sure he hears right. "You... what?"

"I learned to knit," Kacchan repeats a little louder, sounding embarrassed of all things. "My parents work with this old woman sometimes, she knits samples of their designs for them and then they have factories recreate the stuff. I asked her if it was fixable, and when she said yes I asked if she'd teach me how. I wanted to have it ready for your birthday but that shit took longer than I expected. I just finished last week."

Izuku understands all the words individually but he struggles to make sense of them all together. Shifting on Kacchan's lap, he turns to look at him, and is surprised to find him red-faced.

"You learned to knit?" he asks, unable to keep an edge of awe from his voice.

"I messed up your sweater," Kacchan mutters. "Wanted to fix the damn thing." Rather than looking at Izuku, he rests his forehead against Izuku's collarbone and talks against his t-shirt. "There's a lot of stuff I can't fix, but that, at least--"

Izuku has heard enough. Holding the sweater close with one hand, he cups Kacchan's face with the other and kisses him within an inch of his life. Soon, Izuku is wearing his sweater again. The lights of the tree keep twinkling, but Izuku only has eyes for Kacchan.