#there are easier version you can play

[sleepylink]

I saw people not liking how the Hero of Hyrule has a Blood Curse-

But like, there are literally 2 main plot points in Zelda 2! 1) To awaken the sleeping Princess Zelda, Link needs to obtain the Triforce of Courage.

And 2) Ganons minions are hunting Link for his blood, so they can revive Ganon.

For those who haven't played Zelda 2, In NORMAL RPG's when there are random encounters, you can just stand in one place, and you'll be fine. BUT IN ZELDA 2, They will STILL Appear and Attack you! There is a built in pause EVERYTHING button (Not a menu button, it literally freezes the game until you press it again, even the music) because the enemies NEVER Stop hunting you throughout the game.

ITS THE REASON THE GAME IS SO HARD.

Another little thing about Zelda 2 is the fact theres no money system. The Villagers give Link whatever he needs, because they know him (From helping them previously (It's in the game plot, he's been rebuilding the Kingdom with Zelda)) THEY LOVE HIM!

[theevilcactus]

i miss poptropica so much

[kinokoshoujoart]

cora’s bad time hell simulation steps or how to play “sprite station for girl” “harvest moon ds cute” the wrong way

(all ways are wrong this game is Accursed)

ok so here’s what my disorganized “guide” to myself for harvest moon ds for girl (aka indecipherable notes i wrote to myself as i played and revised as i tested various things and restarted due to mistakes) looks like. at some point when i become a real gamer i will write a legible guide meant for eyes to look at but uhhh this is how i play this accursed game personally

i’m not sure if anything i wrote will make any sense since i wrote it as notes to myself so probably definitely use fogu and fc2 jonason wiki (may not work but some pages should be archived) instead

ALSO if you’ve never played or barely played the game it won’t make sense at all! hmds was my first harvest moon so i am used to various horrors!

my play style is probably not fun in general HOWEVER if you are a grinding hell goblin like me then it’s GREAT!!!! if not you may still find it amusing that the game gives you permission to play like this

(it’s a great background task game while doing like productive stuff but otherwise playing this way would probably be unbearable)

(image limit)

anyway after that the days go a lot faster, you’ll get the island on summer 1, so on spring 30 i put all my money into million G tickets and sell 200 of em, do the 5x money thing, and save the rest. so when thomas comes the next day to sell you the 900 million G island you can just sell 180 tickets and do the 5x money thing again with like ~600 million G tickets left over. it takes up inventory but you’ll get the shelf in a few days. basically you just need to remember to order from the TV shopping every saturday and place orders with gotz and gray whenever they finish stuff.

random tips

after unlocking the fuckass hot spring sprites (the ones that require you to spend a total of 700 1 hour sessions in the hot springs) i usually grind grazing points— if you put your animals outside for 5 hours you get a “Love Point”, but if you interact with them after they earn that LP then the timer switches over and you can get another LP after 5 more hours. if you wear the time ring the whole time it’s 2.5 hours. i’m not very good at explaining this but basically if you’re super efficient you can get way more animal LP than you realistically should, which is great because the touch glove petting minigame is Bad!!!!

i usually wait on getting the rest of the purple sprites (the ones that require you to hire the purple team and ask for healing) until i’m totally done with the indigo team, cuz i wanna get HG’s purple heart event asap, but you can switch the order if you want

by summer y1 you’ll basically have a feel for everything. aside from Skye, Leia, HG and WP everyone can be married early-mid autumn if you want

if you want to Gay (in the japanese version only) keira is the quickest to marry. leia is the quickest to max affection but it’s impossible to get leia year 1 because the bottle you need to fish up can only be caught in spring. you have to wait until at least year 5 for WP and iirc year 6 for HG.

[nexus-nebulae]

just realised that the first media we consumed that made us REALLY sympathetic for the monster was that fucking point and click Mystery Case Files Ravenhearst game. bc that entire game i was legitimately fucking TERRIFIED of the ghost lady in that game but the second i found out her husband was abusive i doubled down on trying to help her escape. and the ending of that game Did make me cry out of fear but hey at least i did in fact help her escape

[bmpmp3]

holy FUCK IA's voisona 2.0 is OUT

[maddymoreau]

[sesamenom]

someone has probably asked this before or you've said that before but what instrument do you play??

just casually, but violin and piano (mostly piano right now)! seitz is one of my favorites to play on violin (i also love vivaldi music but sixteenth note scales are. not very relaxing) right now i'm playing around with changing the chords and tempo on a modified version of Canon in D for piano to convert it to what I call Canon in Dragon :)

[killjoy-prince]

Project Diva X's way of getting outfits via rhythm game gacha makes me wanna run it over with a truck

[piss-bong]

rlly want other ppl involved in my creative process but don’t have anyone irl atm so if anyone wants to write shitty emo music w me uhhh messages are open

[bf-rally]

Progress on the interaction page!

[1tsjusty0u]

honestly. as much as i do like the remaster (new puzzles and bgs!)… i think the ds version as A Game is better (ghost trick)

[the-acid-pear]

damn just remembered the joe teaser in DT. AROOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

[ahqkas]

Can you please write dumb/subtle/random/cute things batboys will do while they are crushing on reader?

♯ FEEL YOUR LIPS CRUSH . . .

— gn!reader, fluff

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

BRUCE WAYNE

becomes overly observant but awkwardly obvious

bruce wayne is a master of observation—trained to notice the smallest details in a room, a person, or a crime scene. but when it comes to you, this skill becomes more of a curse than a blessing. his crush transforms his usual precision into something downright awkward as he hyper-focuses on the tiniest parts of your life.

it starts innocently enough. you’ll be in the middle of a casual conversation when bruce interrupts, his deep voice breaking through your train of thought.

“you’ve switched your coffee order recently,” he says matter-of-factly, his piercing blue eyes locking on yours.

you blink, momentarily confused. “uh, yeah. i wanted to try something different.”

“it’s good,” he replies, his tone completely serious, as if your new preference for caramel flavored coffee over vanilla is a critical observation.

sometimes his comments catch you so off guard that you don’t even know how to respond. like the time you came into the room wearing a pair of old sneakers. bruce, who was leaning against the kitchen counter sipping his coffee, glanced down and said, “those laces are frayed. you should replace them.”

you laughed nervously, unsure if he was joking. “uh, thanks for the tip?”

but bruce wasn’t joking. “i’ll send alfred to pick up new ones. you don’t want them snapping mid-step.”

he tries to play it cool, he really does, but his constant streak of seemingly random observations only makes his feelings more obvious. one afternoon, you find him glancing at your notebook while you jot something down. without even looking at you, he says, “you press harder with the pen when you’re tired. your handwriting’s smaller today.”

you set your pen down, giving him a skeptical look. “do you . . . keep track of my handwriting, bruce?”

his face doesn’t change, though you swear his ears flush the faintest shade of pink. “no,” he says smoothly, taking a sip of his coffee. “it’s just. . . noticeable.”

it’s the way he says it—quiet and genuine—that sends your heart fluttering. he doesn’t realize how much he’s revealing, but his small, awkward comments and laser focus on the details of your life make it abundantly clear.

the funny thing is, you’re not the only one noticing. alfred, who’s known bruce wayne longer than anyone, often raises an eyebrow or hides a knowing smirk whenever bruce starts one of his “random” observations.

( “perhaps master wayne should focus on his own handwriting.” bruce glares at alfred, but his lack of a comment only makes the butler’s smirk grow wider. )

finds excuses to be helpful

bruce’s wealth is something he wields with the subtlety of a battering ram when he’s crushing on someone. his intentions are good—he genuinely wants to help—but it often comes off as over-the-top or hilariously unnecessary. for someone as logical and composed as the bat, using his money to make your life easier feels like a no-brainer, but he doesn’t realize just how obvious it makes his feelings.

it starts small at first. you might casually mention needing to replace something—your laptop is acting up or your phone is outdated. the next day, without fail, a box will mysteriously appear at your doorstep. inside, you’ll find not just a replacement but the absolute best version of the device, meticulously selected and clearly expensive.

“bruce,” you say, holding up the latest model of a WE laptop you can’t imagine ever affording on your own. “did you do this?”

he looks up from his work, his expression calm and unbothered. “it’s practical,” he says, as if that’s a reasonable excuse for gifting you a piece of technology worth more than your rent. “your old one was slow. it’s inefficient to struggle with outdated equipment.”

when you try to protest, he waves it off, as though spending thousands of dollars on you is no more different than buying a cup of coffee.

but it doesn’t stop there. one morning, you’re sitting in the kitchen with him, absently complaining about how your car keeps breaking down. it’s an offhanded comment, something you don’t think twice about, but bruce takes it as a challenge. by the time you’ve finished your coffee, he’s already pulled out his phone to make arrangements.

“wait,” you interrupt him, narrowing your eyes as you catch him murmuring something to alfred over the phone. “what are you doing?”

“nothing,” he replies too quickly, but later that day, you’re startled to find a sleek new car parked outside your home, the keys and a handwritten note from the butler sitting on your counter.

“bruce!” you exclaim, storming into the study to confront him.

he doesn’t even look up from his computer. “your old car was unreliable. this one is safer.”

“that’s not the point!”

“it’s just a car,” he says with a small shrug, though there’s a hint of amusement tugging at the corner of his mouth.

despite his attitude, it’s clear he’s putting an incredible amount of thought into everything he does for you. his gestures are less about showing off his wealth and more about making sure you never have to struggle, even in the smallest ways. because to him, it’s just logical—he has the resources, so why wouldn’t he use them to make your life easier?

DICK GRAYSON

finds excuses to touch you

for someone as physically expressive as dick grayson, touch comes as naturally as breathing—but when he’s crushing on you, it’s a whole new level. he’s not even aware of how much he does it at first, but the moments start to add up. it’s little things at first: the way he always seems to find a reason to brush his hand against yours, the casual way his shoulder bumps into you when you’re walking side by side, or the way he’ll lean close when he’s explaining something, his hand ghosting over yours as he gestures.

but then, it becomes less about the accidental and more about the intentional. when you’re sitting on the couch together, he’ll sling an arm over the back of it, his fingers close enough to brush against your shoulder. he’ll offer his hand when you’re stepping out of a car or climbing over something, even if you don’t need it, the contact lingers just a second longer than necessary.

“careful,” he’ll say, his voice soft and teasing, even though the step you’re taking isn’t remotely precarious.

“you know i can walk, right?”

he grins, squeezing your hand briefly before letting it go. “just being chivalrous.”

and then, there are the moments when he gets so wrapped up in the conversation or your presence that he doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. like the time you were sitting together, and he absentmindedly started playing with the hem of your sleeve. it wasn’t until you cleared your throat that he looked down, startled, his ears turning pink as he quickly let go.

“sorry,” he mumbled, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “didn’t realize i was doing that.”

but the blush on his cheeks told you everything you needed to know.

for dick, touch is a way of expressing what words sometimes fail to say. every hand on your shoulder, every playful nudge, and every lingering hug is his way of saying, i like being near you. i like you. even if he hasn’t quite found the courage to say it out loud, his actions make it impossible to miss.

teases you relentlessly (but gets flustered when you tease him back)

teasing is how dick shows affection, how he keeps things light, and, more than anything, how he tries to get your attention. when he’s crushing on you, though, his teasing takes on a new level. every little thing you do seems to give him material to poke fun at, not in a mean way, but in a way that makes it clear he’s paying attention to everything about you.

if you trip over a word while talking, he’ll immediately smirk. “careful there, shakespeare,” he’ll quip. “do we need to enroll you in a public speaking class?” or if you drop something, he’s ready with a dramatic gasp. “wow, butterfingers, do you need me to carry everything for you? i could be your personal assistant, but i charge by the hour.”

it’s playful, yes, but it’s also consistent. he’s always looking for ways to make you laugh, even if it’s at your own expense. like the time you were struggling to open a stubborn jar of jam, and he swooped in, popping the lid off with ease.

“guess i’m just the stronger one here,” he said, flexing his biceps with an exaggerated grin. “it’s okay; not everyone can have these guns.”

but if you so much as raise an eyebrow or fire back with your own jab, the tables turn in an instant. one day, after he’d spent a full five minutes teasing you about your choice of coffee ( “a triple-shot vanilla latte with almond milk? fancy. are you sure you don’t need a royal escort to carry it for you?” ), you finally snapped back.

“oh, and i suppose you’re the coffee expert, mr. regular black coffee? real creative. i bet the baristas have your order memorized.”

the grin on his face faltered for a split second, his eyes widening just slightly. then came the blush—the faint pink hue creeping up his cheeks as he tried to recover, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“hey, black coffee is . . . classic,” he mumbled, suddenly unable to meet your gaze.

and that’s the thing about dick grayson: as much as he loves dishing it out, he can’t always handle it when it’s directed at him. the moment you tease him back, especially if it’s about something he’s sensitive about (like his perfectly styled hair or his need to one-up everyone), he turns into an awkward, flustered mess.

“you spend how long on your hair every morning?” you asked him once, teasingly ruffling his carefully combed locks after he made fun of the mismatched socks you were wearing.

he froze, his hand shooting up to fix the damage. “it’s not that long,” he protested, his voice defensive but light.

“oh, come on! i bet you use at least three different products. don’t tell me you don’t have a favorite brand of gel.”

his cheeks flushed crimson as he stammered, “i—you know, it’s just . . . maintenance! can’t all of us roll out of bed looking flawless, okay?”

you laughed, and he groaned, muttering something under his breath about how you were “way too good at this.”

JASON TODD

acts nonchalant but is always nearby

jason todd is many things—brash, sarcastic, sometimes even reckless—but when it comes to feelings he doesn’t fully understand, he defaults to keeping his distance . . . or at least pretending he’s keeping his distance. the truth is, when he’s crushing on you, he’s drawn to you like a moth to a flame, always finding an excuse to be wherever you are without making it obvious. or so he thinks.

take your quiet sunday afternoons, for instance. maybe you’ve settled on the couch with a book, enjoying the rare peace. jason walks in, all nonchalant, like he’s just passing through. he glances at you—just a quick flick of his eyes, like he’s making sure you’re still there—and then he settles in the chair across from you, a spot he never uses otherwise.

“what are you doing?” you ask, watching as he pulls out a book of his own, the same one he’s been pretending to read for weeks.

he doesn’t even look up. “reading.”

you roll your eyes but say nothing, knowing full well he’s barely getting through a page. you can feel his gaze on you every few minutes, like he’s trying to memorize the way your brow furrows in concentration or how you chew on the corner of your lip when you’re focused. and if you catch him? he quickly snaps his attention back to his book, pretending obliviousness.

“didn’t know you liked this spot so much,” you tease, gesturing to the chair.

a smirk plays on the edge of his lips, though there’s a flicker of defensiveness in his eyes. “what, i can’t sit here now? thought it was a free country.”

it’s always like that—his attempts to mask how much he cares come with a side of sarcasm. but the truth slips through in the little details. like how he never actually leaves the room until you do. or how, even when you’re sitting in silence, he finds a reason to linger. maybe he’s scrolling through his phone, flipping through a magazine, or staring at the ceiling like he’s deep in thought. but really, he’s just soaking in your presence.

and then there are the times when he doesn’t even bother pretending. like when you’re sitting in the kitchen, finishing up some work, and he wordlessly sits down across from you, arms crossed and chin propped in his hand.

“what?” you ask, glancing up at him.

“nothing,” he replies, though the slight curve of his lips gives him away.

it’s not that jason is afraid to admit he likes you ( although there is a possibility he is but we don’t talk about that )—it’s just that he doesn’t know how. so instead, he hovers. he sticks close enough to feel like he’s part of your world but not so close that he risks giving himself away. so while he might act nonchalant, the truth is, he’s anything but. every glance, every lingering moment, every excuse to be near you is jason’s way of saying he cares—he just hasn’t found the words yet.

fixes things you didn’t even know were broken

jason’s way of showing he cares is a little unconventional, but it’s always in the small, unspoken ways. he’s the type to notice things that no one else would—things that have been lingering for ages in the background of your life, just waiting for someone to fix them. but because it’s jason, he’ll never bring it up. he’ll just do it, no questions asked, and then act like it never happened.

it starts with the little things. your chair in the living room? it’s been squeaking for months now, but it’s not something you’ve gotten around to fixing. it’s one of those annoyances you’ve learned to ignore, a piece of background noise that doesn’t really bother you enough to take action.

until one day, it suddenly stops.

you sit down in the chair, and for the first time in ages, it’s silent. your eyes narrow. you didn’t fix this—so who did?

“jason?” you ask, glancing toward him as he lounges on the couch, pretending to be deep in whatever he’s doing.

he doesn’t even look up. “what?”

“the chair. it’s. . . quiet now.”

he pauses for just a moment, but it’s enough to catch the shift in his demeanor. he shrugs, barely concealing the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “must’ve gotten lucky. or maybe it fixed itself.”

you know it didn’t. but before you can press him on it, he’s already back to whatever he was doing, like the whole thing is no big deal. it’s almost as if he’s trying to play it off, hoping you won’t notice that he’s been quietly fixing things in your life, one at a time.

the next thing happens a few days later. you walk into the kitchen, only to find that the light above the sink, the one that flickers every time you try to use it, is now working. perfectly.

you stop, standing in the doorway and just staring at it. there’s no way you fixed it. and it certainly wasn’t broken enough to need replacing. so once again, you turn your gaze to jason, who’s now sitting at the kitchen table, eating a snack and acting entirely uninterested in your investigation.

“jason, did you—?”

“no,” he interrupts and continues watching the video essay he turns on every time he eats.

“uh-huh,” you say, narrowing your eyes, walking toward the light and testing the switch again just to make sure you’re not imagining things. it stays steady, glowing without hesitation.

he’ll never say it out loud, but each fix—each thoughtful act—speaks louder than any words could. the broken things don’t matter, because jason is here, fixing them in his own way, piece by piece.

TIM DRAKE

gets shy when you’re too close

tim drake is usually the picture of composure. he’s calm, collected, and can handle himself in just about any situation, but when you’re too close, all that confidence seems to slip away. it starts small. you’re sitting beside him, maybe sharing a space while working on something, and without thinking, you slide just a little bit closer to him. maybe your arm brushes against his, or your knee nudges his under the table.

it’s enough to throw him off, just for a second. his heart rate picks up slightly, and he tries to hide it behind the screen of his laptop, pretending to focus harder than he really is. but he knows, deep down, that he’s hyperaware of you now—of the way you’re sitting, of the way your presence seems to fill the space between the two of you.

his eyes flicker toward you, but quickly dart away, like he’s afraid you caught him staring. it’s an involuntary reaction, the nervous little shift in his posture as he tries to seem as casual as possible. he clears his throat, his voice slightly quieter than usual. “uh, sorry, was just—just making sure the laptop was charging.”

it’s obvious to you that he’s not really talking about the laptop. he’s trying to act like it’s no big deal, but every time you’re too close to him, tim’s body betrays him. the way his leg shifts a little away from yours under the table, or how he tries to subtly angle his body so there’s just a little more space between you and him, even if he doesn’t want there to be.

you might not notice the subtle movements, but tim does. and every time you get close to him, whether it’s by accident or on purpose, he feels a flutter of nerves that he can’t quite explain. it’s not that he doesn’t want you near him—far from it—but the proximity messes with him in ways he doesn’t understand. his thoughts get jumbled, and his usual calmness slips, replaced by the flustered feeling he’s not used to.

if you ever catch him looking at you, his gaze quickly drops, and a soft blush creeps up his neck. “i—i didn’t mean to—uh, just making sure you’re not too cramped.” he mutters, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his laptop, anything to distract himself from the fact that he’s suddenly very aware of you being so close.

sometimes, when you get too near, tim will just freeze for a moment. it’s like his body can’t process the closeness, and the little awkward silence stretches between you two. it’s not uncomfortable—far from it—but it’s a vulnerable thing for tim, this closeness he doesn’t know how to handle.

but if you keep talking, or even just touch his arm gently when you lean over to look at something, tim’s composure slips even more. he shifts in his seat, trying to act like he’s calm, but his hand might twitch toward yours for just a second before he pulls it away like he’s afraid you’ll notice how he’s reacting.

follows you around during patrol

it’s late at night, the moon casting faint silver light across the streets, and the only sounds are the hum of city life and the occasional rustle of leaves in the wind. you’re out on a walk, maybe trying to clear your head or just enjoy the quiet, unaware that someone is watching you from the shadows. tim, clad in his suit, has been tailing you for a while now. it’s not that he’s trying to be creepy or intrusive, but rather, he’s just . . . concerned.

tim is the kind of person who can’t turn off his instincts, and tonight, for whatever reason, they’re telling him to stay close. he’s perched high above you on a rooftop, watching you walk along the street below, trying to remain unseen. his red robin suit blends into the darkness of the night, the shadows making him nearly invisible to anyone who might be looking.

he’s not sure why he’s doing it—it’s not like you’ve asked him to keep an eye on you—but there’s something about the quiet stillness of the night that has him on edge. maybe it’s because you’ve been a little distant lately, or maybe he’s just worried something might happen to you in the dark. either way, he’s got his eyes on you, and he won’t stop until you’re safely back where you belong.

he’s quick, agile, moving like a shadow himself. you might hear a faint creak of a fire escape ladder or the flurry of footsteps just out of your line of sight, but when you look, there’s nothing there—just the empty street, the soft glow of streetlights, and the ever-present hum of the city.

it’s when you stop for a moment, distracted by something—maybe you’re checking your phone or admiring a nearby storefront—that he’s closest. in that moment, tim takes a chance, moving closer to you, just a few feet away in the darkened alley. he’s not trying to startle you, but there’s something in his gut that tells him he can’t let you out of his sight, especially when it’s this late, and the streets feel a little emptier than usual.

he’ll hover just out of view, giving you space but never quite leaving you alone. if you keep walking, he follows, keeping his distance but staying close enough to ensure you’re safe. when you stop at a crosswalk or glance around, he’s already a few rooftops away, peering down at you from above, making sure you’re not being followed.

the closer you get to home, the more relaxed tim feels, but he never lets his guard down entirely. even when you reach the safety of your doorstep, he lingers just out of sight, making sure you get inside without any issues. he’ll remain in the shadows for a moment longer, watching as you lock the door behind you, ensuring you’re safe before finally letting out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

only then does he disappear into the night, his heart still racing, his mind replaying the images of your walk. he’ll retreat to his hidden vantage point, slipping into the dark corners of gotham once more, but the small weight of relief that you’re safe settles deep in his chest. even though he doesn’t want to admit it, there’s a part of him that feels content knowing you’re okay—even if you’ll never know how closely he’s watched over you.

[clownkiwi]

hiiii, kinda woke up from a horrible nightmare

[alertarchitect]

The other part of it is that you have to keep in mind the majority of people who are on TikTok. Most of them likely don't have much experience with this sort of narrative-based meme outside of a few Goncharov posts that made their way onto other platforms, and because of that they're treating it how people new to collaborative storytelling would - by saying something, asserting that it is what is happening / is what happened, and hoping it doesn't either get shot down or overwritten by some other person's take being more popular.

The best way I can put it is like bringing people who are used to doing roleplay stuff on forums or Discord servers into a TTRPG game and expecting immediate adjustment to something they're unfamiliar with. Except the people on TikTok don't even have the rulebook, they just saw it happen from the outside and are trying to emulate it without necessarily knowing what made Goncharov work in the first place or the value of building off of other posts instead of just making your own version. Instead, each of them has their own idea, and they're fighting to be at the top of the pile to have their idea be seen as the best one - and so, everything comes off as disjointed and it doesn't trick people as well as Goncharov did, which was part of the fun for a lot of people.

But you know what? At least they're trying. YouTube couldn't do this, even with YouTube shorts being a thing, because someone would try to make it real and ruin the joke. Xitter (pronounced shitter, picked it up from some friends lol) sure as HELL wouldn't do this, even before it was owned by Musk they would just get mad at anyone trying to do something like this and try to ruin their reputation for "decieving the public" or some shit like that, and now you'd deal with a bunch of fascists trying to take it over, assuming you could even do much with the post size limits. Reddit could maybe do it, but it has the same, if not a worse version of the fascist fuckhead issue that Xitter does. Mastadon and BlueSky aren't popular enough for this kind of meme to gain the traction it needs. And yeah, as mentioned, the format of TikTok's posts is not the best for this kind of thing to take off in the first place - but at least they're trying, and while it's kind of a mess, it's more of a "first time doing this kind of thing" mess than a "ruining the joke" kind of mess like you'd see elsewhere.

listen i didn’t even participate in goncharov but how is tiktok’s fake movie already so much worse. there’s like eighty named characters and no discernible plot. despite being an 80s horror movie it is het. no analysis just “guys that one scene got me fucked up” or “i think (new character i made up) deserved better”. personally i think they’re not committing hard enough

[its-not-a-pen]

--Written Chinese vs English--

[ID: A comic titled "Evolution of Written Chinese vs English". On the left, emperor Qin Shi Huang holds up a scroll and angrily points an ink brush at the viewer and shouts, "There should not be seven different ways to write 'horse'. Starting today everyone will use the same characters-- or else!" On the right, William Shakespeare laughs gleefully while holding a skull and quill and exclaims, "The first rule of English is to have fun and to thine own self be true!" Every word uses a non-standard spelling. Below the cut are full versions of the the panels and a blank version of the Chinese one. End ID]

I'm fascinated by the evolution of chinese and english "spelling." I grew up on hard-to-read Ye Olde English, and assumed all languages were like that. Imagine my shock when I discovered the chinese language had been standardised since 221BC, and I can read words written in the Han Dynasty.

full versions:

notes under the cut

For much of it's history, the English language played it fast and loose with spelling. (No one can spell things wrong if no one can spell things right!) Standardisation only began in the late 15th century as the use of the printing press spread across Europe.

I thought the best person to show this carefree attitude was the Bard himself; Willy Shakes. We have six surviving examples of Shakespeare's signature, and none of them are spelled the same way twice.

In comparison, Qin Shi Huang, the first emperor of China, standardised the writing system as early as 221 BC. He had conquered the six warring states and decided to do away with their writing systems. This made the administration of a centralised government easier, and it served as a demonstration of his absolute authority. The writing on the book* is "horse", and "torn apart by carriage".

**That scroll he's holding is actually called a book in Chinese, it is made up of bamboo slips, like a big sushi mat!

All designs are available on redbubble: I thought it would be fun to include a blank version of qin shi huang, so you can write stuff on him.