#weekly paper

[thedragonspaper]

Edition #2

[southernroach]

i love roach’s rock paper scissors animation so much, i hope he keeps track of how many wins and losses each hand has.

i wonder how the scores started out, if maybe his dominant hand won more simply because it’s his dominant hand, or if it started out even and eventually started favoring one side subconsciously, or maybe even now it’s still even.

i wonder if he’s ever accidentally fallen into a pattern and that’s what caused an uneven score.

on days where he’s visibly more stressed, i wonder if anyone has ever tried to play with him (i hope he sucks when he plays against someone)

maybe it’s a way of keeping his mind blank. because if he’s playing against himself then he’d obviously have to choose a winner. but maybe he does it specifically so that his mind kinda runs from him and he just allows the muscle memory to take over.

or maybe he just likes the repetition of the game, like a self soothing technique

idk i just love that animation <3

[sentienttoastah]

Oh I can’t buy a whale model okay I’ll just

Paper moby. Paper dick. Aw yeah.

Alright he’s kinda silly looking but he’s trying his best okay? Look at him next to that toy boat. My boyo.

Made this out of pure spite and boredom using the powers of leftover A4 paper, scissors, tape, two popsicle sticks and listening to “Dream sweet in sea major” for hours on loop occasionally switched with Mili’s “Compass” cause y’know, to fit the whole Moby Mood.

I think we should all make paper whales they’re so much fun.

[pianokantzart]

Page 1 // ...... // Page 83 // Page 84 // Page 85 // Page 86 //…

[anony-geist]

Melville himself apparently thought of Moby-Dick as a man's book and wrote to one of his female friends, Sara Moorehead, to dissuade her from reading it for fear of offending her feminine sensibilities: "Dont you buy it—dont even read it, when it does come out, because it is by no means the sort of book for you. It is not a piece of fine, feminine, Spitalfield silk—but is of the horrible texture of a fabric that should be woven of ship's cables and hausers.[2]" When Sophia Hawthorne wrote to Melville praising the book, his response was one of astonishment: "I have hunted up the finest Bath I could find, gilt-edged and stamped, whereon to inscribe my humble acknowledgment of your highly flattering letter of the 29th of Dec:—It really amazed me that you should find any satisfaction in that book. It is true that some men have said they were pleased with it but you are the only woman—for as a general thing, women have small taste for the sea.[3]" "Next time," Melville tells Sophia, he shall not send her a "bowl of salt water. . . . The next chalice I shall commend, will be a rural bowl of milk." He then inquires politely about the state of her "domestic affairs."[4] Melville's remarks to these women suggest that he was working under certain gender-determined notions of genre.

Content warning: This book contains the horrible texture of a fabric that should be woven of ship's cables and hausers.

I don't think it's just something period-typical because it implies it now isn't, gender-determined notions of genre are still a thing around the world.

I do feel that in Moorehead's place, I'd have gone WELL NOW I'M GONNA. It's funny to me that in general the boys in my American Literature class would comment things like how it's mostly boring or about how this is about the national identity of a young country, meanwhile girls would pipe in about multiple facets.

Amerilit girlies: I have so much to say about Moby Dick!

Herman: absolutely flabbergasted

[taylor-titmouse]

Coming in late on this one, but if you're saying you're not planning on your work being piblished... but isnt there a graphic novel coming out soon? There was a link to pre-order it at least via bookshop or barnes and noble (can't remember which off the top of my head). Were you able to get your blook distributed to them as a self-piblished creator? Or was the graphic novel trad-pub and you're just saying you can't see your prose writing/books getting published?

what a funny thing to gotcha me on

yes, i do have a traditionally published graphic novel coming out. under a different name. in a different genre. for a different audience. it's not relevant for me to bring it up every time somebody asks me here if my work will ever be physically printed because it's not the work they're asking about.

so yeah. the last thing you said.

[wtfforged]

i was supposed to post these ummm. whenever i did that poll eons ago. but then i didnt because i was ❤️ shy ❤️. so im dumping them all now

[capitainressentiment]

Part 34

[vladdyissues]

[ratatatastic]

"you wanna cherish every single moment until they kick me out of florida for the summer" sweetheart this place is never gonna kick you out im afraid lmao theyll drag you kicking and screaming back here whether you want them to or not

this place has fallen such in love with you people out of town arrived at the canes from 6am, hotels near the parade area are fully booked out and some people are planning to camp for barricade the night before the parade... yeah...

CBS Sports | 6.27.24 (x)

[vaccariia]

Rosawatts flavored doodles are on the menu today

[thedragonspaper]

Edition #7

[paperstarwriters]

Billowing Fabrics

ouagh. I wouldn't typically post a fic like this lmao I feel like it's kinda underbaked so to say? but deadline is coming in and I don't have the leisure to leave the fic to just bake in my WIP file like I do with other fics 🥲 Not a bad thing neccicarily but if the fic isn't as perfectly polished that's why lol.

anyways,

Pairing: Muriel x reader (romantic)

Warnings: N/a

Summary: You've accidentally made one of your sweaters a little too big when you were trying to make it bigger and slouchier for yourself. Muriel finds your work and takes it upon himself to fix the worn down sweater. Not for any particular reason no, no... he just found a sweater that seemed to fit him....

Vesuvia Weekly Prompt | Masterlists | The Arcana Masterlist

Word count: 1,426

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The objective is a complicated one, but it was supposed to be simple with the aid of magic.

The spell is a simple one, but the objective you want to achieve has made it overly complicated.

You wanted a longer sweater for the upcoming months something long on the lower end with equally long sleeves to tuck your hands and legs into when it got particularly cold, turning yourself into a ball of soft fabrics—a sponge of soft fabrics when you inevitably leaned against Muriel.

There were a handful of well failed attempts that you've since set aside to mess around with later with the help of some borrowed yarn from Portia , or attempts that near destroyed the sweater you were working on. Thankfully the bunch you've targeted using, were either sweaters that have already been worn to bits and a handful of cheaply bought sweaters for more experimentation.  

From the various failed attempts you have one sweater that ended up with sleeves so long you could use it for a scarf. Another attempt stole fabric from the sleeves to lengthen the torso portion, and one of the attempts had simply made the woolen material far, far, far too thick to work with. Each were an interesting discovery in their own right of course, with the latter one in particular being added as a possible adjustment you would like to make to your end result. Not as thick as the material at hand of course, but something akin to that amount.

Beneath your fingers the well worn fabric of one of your more damaged sweaters stretches and expands. Fabric spills over your lap, as threads twist and turn growing thicker or longer depending on your desires, and as the light finally dims from it's passage through your fingertips and into the very fibers of the sweater you find yourself with a substantially larger and thicker sweater, fluffy and soft, though a little too big around the collar, and the sleeves seemed a pinch too loose. Practically perfect though! You promptly turn your attention to the target sweater you're intent on changing setting aside the successful practice to join the other attempts and work at slowly expanding the sweater. It doesn't take long before your sweater is now larger and comfier and fluffier around you, and very eagerly, you dash out of the hut intent on showing off your new creation.

——————————

Muriel returns, to the pleasantly warm confines of the hut. You're still outside, having gone on a quick trip to the marketplace, to go grab some groceries intent on getting the most important goods before the worst of an upcoming snowstorm hit. Snow wasn't exactly common in Vesuvia but on the odd occasion a wash of cold weather sweeps through, sometimes bringing snow, sometimes only bringing ice. While Muriel felt far more comfortable than most in the cold chilly temperatures, he knew full well he wasn't exactly a good example of an average citizen and though he knew how to manage his way through frost and snow, getting extra groceries was always a good help.

Extra cuddly items like sweaters and blankets couldn't hurt either.

Noticing the pile of thick fabric materials Muriel pokes his way through your failed attempts. You very eagerly showed off your brand new sweater, or well, old-ish sweater with brand new measurements. Made to protect even better against the cold beneath a water and wind proof cape. While you had tried to explain your process to him, bouncing around with glee at your success, Muriel found it difficult to imagine how you had been able to change the fabric to somehow create more of itself.

His hands stop at the sight of one sweater, well worn, and almost tearing at the seams. There's a little hole around the chest, and the sleeves seem to be moth-bitten, and he wonders how long you've had this. It's a much bigger size, clearly a victim of your testing for your sweater, and as he holds it up into the air to inspect it more, he finds it to almost fit his own size.

Tugging the fabric over his head, Muriel is greeted by a wash of scent. You've worn this sweater a lot surely. Perhaps as casual wear at some point of time. He recalls dimly seeing you wear it around the hut on the odd occasion, and though he feels slightly bad, he takes a moment to appreciate the feeling of being wrapped in something that smells so strongly of you.

When he finally pulls the sweater down, he finds the fabric fits him like a glove. No slouchiness or poofiness that you seemed so fond of in your own sweater, but it fits him, and it fits him well, even if there are a few odd holes amidst the seams.

Muriel takes off the sweater, setting it aside atop of your shared bed before he goes digging in the shelves of your stuff. Portia had lent the both of you some yarn at some point, if he recalled, perhaps he could patch a hole in this.

————————

Muriel returns home a little later than you, and though you're curious to see what he's done while you were out helping Asra and hauling groceries, the question escapes you when you actually see him. Patched with little hearts Muriel wears your old and tattered sweater, the one you made a little too large for you, but perfectly fits him.

And when he walks in the door, he stops, stares, and drops the knitting tools he's likely borrowed from Portia.

And in typical fashion, his face grows pink

"Is that my...?" you barely finish your question before Muriel sputters his reply.

"Oh, I'm sorry I didn't.... There were a bunch of holes in it and...." Though you try to hide it, try to bite your lips and cover your mouth to hide your grin, there's no mistaking the delight and glee that fills your cheeks, as you grin. Just seeing it Muriel seems to grow worse, face growing redder and redder. "I... Uh.... I didn't ........... It was just there.........and I just thought..........."

You don't say anything, no longer finding any need to hide and instead unabashedly grinning from ear to ear, pleased as punch at the sight of Muriel wearing your clothes. It fits him so nicely, you're almost upset you hadn't thought of doing so yourself.

He goes quiet in reply, staring down at the floor as smoke seems to puff from his ears, while Inanna rolls her eyes behind him and starts headbutting him in through the door. He scrambles to pick up his things at the gesture closing the door and keeping the chill from filling your little home.

Still he tries not to look at you. And yet you can't help but poke and prod.

"Is it comfy?"

He almost jumps at the question. "I.... Yeah. It's really soft and....." His mouth snaps shut with a faint click of his teeth, as he returns to busying himself with putting away the tools Portia let him borrow.

It's just a few tools, in any other scenario, he'd just set them on the shelf and sort it out later, there was no need for him to hem or haw over any container to put them into.

He just doesn't want to look at you right now, doesn't want to see the grin you have at seeing him in your clothes or at what he almost—

"and what?"

He doesn't have to reply, but you both know he will anyways.

With a soft and tepid voice, Muriel turns to just glance at you from the corner of his eye. "It..... It smells nice."

He doesn't say "it smells like you," but you both know that's what he means, and though you can't quite manage a pout around your grin you still lift up the sleeves of your sweater, and open your arms up to him.

"Aww, could you help me make mine smell nice as well?"

And though red faced, and still blushing, Muriel finally turns to you with a smile. How could he not? The prospect of a hug far too enticing, though he still tries to look away to hide it.

Curling up into your arms as his own come up to wrap around you, the both of you find the overwhelming warmth... Pleasant.

Outside it's frigid, icy and cold.

Inside, it's toasty and warm beneath your blanket like sweaters, and the feeling of being totally engulfed the presence of each other.

[jesters-in-wonderland]

Inside you there are two dims

Aka hes giving me an artstyle crisis

[dollofdeath]

catching up on whale weekly

[quick-catton]

thinking about felix getting a paper cut or scrape and oliver reflexively darting his tongue out to lick up the blood when he goes to help him put a band–aid on it, like it's second nature

maybe not even realizing he's done it until he finishes with the band–aid and looks up at felix and felix looks like he's just been flashbanged

the collective oh shit moment they both have for different reasons