#whats grammar anyway

[undercover-stories]

Was trying to just write this in the tags but it got too long so ignore me or suffer me.

Cause you don't understand! OK you probably do but imma say it anyway cause this fluff needs to be fluffier.

Cause adults usually do the whole 'ask kids obvious questions' thing to help them open up to someone. Someone new that they want to show to the child. Someone they want the child to know they can trust and feel safe with. And the thought that is gripping me is that a-Yuan is probably still a few days into his new home, and it still looks strange to him because the ceiling is so high and the rooms are so large and the walls are so........ clean. That's not how it was like in the orphanages. You weren't supposed to scribble or write on the wall, but of course, it happens anyway because pens roll off of tall tables and crayons are a dime a dozen in the charity bin.

Maybe that's why the first thing Wei Ying did with a-Yuan after they settled him in was to introduce him to his gallery. Wei Ying doesn't even hesitate to give a-Yuan his own apron. Telling him to pick the colours he liked best and to start from there and they spend the whole day having fun splattering wet rainbows on plain canvases that in hindsight weren't very different from the white walls they were laid on. So A-Yuan doesn't realize he might have done something wrong when his paint splattered hands actually touch a surface that was not in fact within the frame of their contained art piece. Until he hears a gasp from behind him. Immediately he pulls back, eyes already watery, thinking he'd made a mistake when instead of a raised voice he's met by loud, joyful peal of laughter before he's hoisted off the floor by his new guardian.

"You're a natural talen a-Yuan! Why didn't I think of that! Let me help you!"

So Wei Ying holds him up so he could reach every surface his little hands could touch. Laughing as he stamps the imprint of his palms all over the room. High and low till his little heart was spent.

But then Lan Zhan comes in and that same little heart stutters and he hides and Wei Ying understands so when Lan Zhans asks, Wei Yings asks him to.

"He's safe. You can trust him. He's one of us!"

So a-Yuan shows him his little hands and that spent, stuttering heart sputters again when Lan Zhan smiles back. Holding out his own hands to be painted.

My words are not wording and I have rewritten this too many times. So please take this away before I add even more to it than I should.

Fluffy, Wangxian fic idea. (For Once)

So, this was inspired by the text post I made yesterday for the Wangxian family—one, I'm pretty sure someone already did, but unashamedly did anyway; you can never have too much Wangxian, after all, as the saying goes—and it was sitting in the well-worn (and sometimes, loved) backseat of my mind for a while and then I was watching Bluey before bed, and it set the ember aglow. 

I wanted to cocoon Wangxian in warmth, for once. Something soft and tender, this time around. And I was like, hey, can I turn this text post into something of a mini fic? Can this be something more? So I shot a text to @xiaokuer-schmetterlingand just like that, the idea took flight.  @xiaokuer-schmetterling, enabler of dreams (and unhinged ideas), king among mortals, fueled the fire with unwavering encouragement, and now, here it is—no longer a fleeting thought but something tangible, something that breathes.

Modern Wangxian AU which starts Lan Wangji being tackle-hugged by his family, laughing and golden in the sunlight. Feeling so impossibly grateful like the sappy man he is, where the gods feel close and love is as simple as reaching out a hand and finding one reaching back. Content. Loved. Happy. And he stumbles through the door and finds the walls - gleaming and shining - decorated with tiny little handprints all in different colors, a chaotic mural of sorts. 

“Why are there little handprints on the walls?” Lan Wangji asks, because, with Wei Wuxian, it could be anything. And it usually, is how trouble — though, a far more fonder, softer version of the word — begins.

His Wei Ying shrugs, before kneeling down to a-Yuan, who looks terribly shy and so unfathomably adorable in his little light-up sneakers and white, bunny jacket (with floppy bunny ears on the hood) and wringing his little hands together. He is so small, so precious, Lan Zhan wishes he could carry him around in his pocket always. There is a reason two pockets were invented for coat jackets, after all — one for his husband and one for his son. 

a-Yuan nervously wrings his hands tighter,  but Wei Ying’s voice is gentle and pretty, unbearably so, even as he whispers, “Why are there tiny handprints on the walls?”

It is a stage whisper. Lan Wangji hears it as clear as a crisp, summer day, but Lan Wangji is used to the (endearing) antics of his husband, and so he plays along, as he always does. Fondly. 

a-Yuan, who only months ago had been a trembling thing, skittish and afraid, peeks up at Wei Ying, solemn as the moon. “Because I have little hands.” And he lifts them, as if in proof. 

Wei Ying nods at them, equally grave. He rises, and a-Yuan immediately rushes to cling to his pant leg. Wei Ying ruffles his hair, soft from yesterday’s bath, still carrying the faint scent of calendula. Then, his voice still as grave as it was before, he turns to Lan Wangji. “Because he has little hands.”

a-Yuan raises them again, this time, to show Lan Wangji. 

Lan Wangji looks at them, serious, thoughtful. “Mn,” he says at last. A slow smile unfurls across his lips. He nods his head at the handprints. “Well. They look lonely.”

And so they add their own. Hands dipped in paint, pressed against the walls, an unspoken promise sealed in color. This is not just play—this is permanence, a claim, a declaration. A home built not of bricks and beams, but of belonging.

And later, when the night quiets, when A-Yuan sleeps safe and small beneath the covers, his hands no longer trembling, Wei Ying will turn to him, eyes too bright, too full, and Lan Wangji will understand, as he always does.

This is it. This is the moment.

For a-Yuan, who once flinched at raised voices and curled in on himself when the world seemed too big, who now paints walls with fearless little hands and tugs at Lan Wangji’s sleeve with the easy, thoughtless trust of a child who knows they will be caught. For a boy who had known only instability, who had been shuffled from house to house with no roots to anchor him—this is proof that he is wanted. That he can take up space without fear. That his existence does not come with conditions.

For Wei Wuxian, who had taken one look at a bright-eyed boy chasing a bunny plush across a too-crowded orphanage and felt something crack wide open in his chest, an instinct, something older than words—this is devastation of the best kind. This is undoing and remaking. This is ensuring that no other child suffers a hollowed-out boyhood the way he did. This is his heart, raw and aching, spilling over with love too vast to contain. With so many people to give it to. 

For Lan Wangji, who will be there, always. Who will feed the ducks because Wei Ying asks him to, who will wear hideous sweaters because Wei Ying knits them, who will stare down anyone who dares to scoff at Wei Ying’s art—and make sure they never do it again. To Lan Wangji, this is everything. He had known, from that fateful day in the park, when Wei Ying knelt and reached out a hand, that their guest room would never be a guest room again. That his uncle would be a great-uncle. That he would love this child as his own, with all that he is, with all that he will ever be.

If fate was a loom, perhaps a younger Lan Wangji would have woven himself a quieter life. A simple, unobtrusive thread, neat and pale. But this thread was spun golden, and it glittered in the sun, bright and unashamed. And Lan Wangji—

Lan Wangji has always reached for the light.

I feel like I get more incoherent with every post I make, for some reason. Lemme know what you think!

@xiaokuer-schmetterling, @undercover-stories, @sun-ashes, I am suffering. This is my 117th W.I.P. Grace me with some of your holy wisdom. Have mercy on the child. :((((

[syrupbitee]

free my boy from his own show he did nothing wrong

[toximblee]

todoroki signs at bakugou during class just to see him turn away and scowl, his cheeks tinted pinker. bakugou can still hear, but its faint and oftentimes in battle scenarios he wont hear his teammates yelling to him, so aizawa forced him into sign language classes with present mic. the people close to him decided to join in, but todoroki spent the most time learning. aizawa would yell at them for talking in class anyway, so whenever todoroki would catch bakugou looking ( often ) hed sign a little 'i love you' and watch as the spikey blondes crimson eyes would widen and hed growl at him to try and feign annoyance before signing a tiny 'i love you too' back and turning away to glare at the meadow outside.

[yorufi]

i should get used to posting sketches here, so here are kaalaa and fairy in suits <:

oh and a little portrait of the prettiest, most kissable face (´ ε ` )♡

[spookygibberish]

I've sort of developed a strange relationship with the concept of "realism" in the things I make.

Something I was very into as like, an eleven year old (im not implying this was immature to be into, just that it was formative for me), was speculative biology specifically for dragons, and now, specifically in the case of dragons I find a lot of attempts to make them biologically plausible fully missing the appeal of dragons at all.

Thinking specifically about the supernatural elements of JoM and where the line is drawn. The dagnyds are made from the remains of godlike entities, and are not entirely earthly animals. They have a supernatural origin. It would be fully justified in giving them magic abilities or making magic an aspect of the setting, but have absolutely zero interest in doing so. It doesn't interest me. I think about shit like healing powers or glowy energy attacks and my reaction is just "what does this even add? Why do I need this? Does this make things more interesting?" And it simply doesn't. Healing is more interesting as a prolonged process, combat is more interesting with teeth and claws and metal and blood. These are options which are more realistic, closer to real life, but the realism isn't what makes them interesting: it's physicality.

When I design a creature for this world, I am not thinking about making it biologically plausible, and yet, I try to design things which look like they could 'move under their own power'. There is a sense of heft and mechanical "soundness" which I value more than realism, but often also aligns with looking 'realistic'.

I would say that it's better to serve a narrative than strive for absolute realism, but I don't actually write stories, although I do have ideas for them occasionally. I guess a version of this which is more relevant and applicable is that i prefer to strive for a particular vibe.

[bobosbillionsknives]

(not shipping content)

It's one of my biggest headcanons ever that Vash does NOOOT like his birthday dude I just can't believe it...Knives however. Biggest birthday enjoyer ever. He is the special birthday boy. 🤗🤗🤗

Knives usually leaves Vash alone but Vash KNOWS Knives is going to make an effort to show up on their birthday and it stresses him out so bad. Especially if the July incident was on their birthday...that would leave horrible memories for him. 😭 Not to mention how painful remembering his first birthday with Rem would be. Plus Knives would act so bitchy about it like wooow dont even want to see your own brother on your birthday wow. I get it I'm just the worst ever ..🥀 Vash would be so over it.

I feel so strongly that Vash is the introvert while Knives is the extrovert. Knives self isolates out of fear and disgust of humans but he secretly thrives while talking to others. Especially if they have strong opinions he can argue against (definitely a debate bro). If Knives had a normal childhood he would've loved big crowds, he has absolutely no social awareness or shame . Or filter. He'd talk to anyone who'd listen. Knives drives himself absolutely insane with his own isolation. All he really wants is social connection, something he's convinced himself is impossible with humans. That's why he's so fixated on getting Vash to stay, he feels Vash is the only person he can actually talk to. Vash on the other hand, would do anything for 5 minutes alone. He is constantly pushing away Milly, Meryl, and even Wolfwood. He cannot let anyone know him beyond his silly guy persona. He especially doesn't like being celebrated (doesn't think he deserves it. 😂😂😂) He is constantly trying to skip out on the parties towns people throw for him, leaving without saying goodbye. (He does like getting drunk tho...makes talking easier) He'd never EVER share his birthday with anyone. Especially not Wolfwood or the girls. Knives however, would tell EVERYONE !!! (like how the entire Gung Ho Gun knew Knives had a brother, but Meryl had no idea Vash did. I think Knives loves talking about himself and his tragic past, painting himself as the forever victim to absolutely anyone who'd listen. To Vashes absolute horror 😭.) Vash is constantly drained from forcing himself to perform socially. He loves people and talking to them but he just needs like. 8 hours of alone time to properly function. That's why he gets so bitchy with everyone sometimes lol. She just needs a naaaaap omg 🤦‍♂️. But he feels guilty for being snippy and tired so he'll force himself to be social anyway. Which makes it worse. Love hiiim !!!! 😍 Either way they're both hurting themselves when they behave like this.

Knives is definitely the yapper while Vash just listens. I feel like Vash would appreciate not having that pressure to constantly respond. Even if Knives can be overbearing, I do think they enjoy each other's company. When they aren't... trying to murder each other. Nobody knows him like Knives does, it would almost be relieving not having to pretend to be happy all the time. He can perfectly morally justify being as mean to Knives as he wants to be !! And he wouldn't admit it, but he does enjoy listening to Knives complain about nothing. He thinks it's funny. Knives is just happy to be with someone he's deemed worthy of his time. He views Vash as his equal, someone he actually trusts to confide in. They are the opposite and also the same in every way life is so beautiful I love these guys.

It would also just be such a cute subversion of audience expectation if Knives, the self proclaimed people hater, was a people person. I think that's sooo interesting and makes so much sense with the context of his desperation for the approval of humans when he was a child. I think kid Knives would've tried to argue that celebrating something everyone goes through is pointless, but would love all the attention anyway. Even be a bit resentful that it was Vashes birthday too if he didn't seem to appreciate the attention as much. As he got older hed mellow out and warm up to the idea of having a birthday and sharing it. Mostly as an excuse to talk to Vash and make everything about himself again. Lol. Plus I think he likes organizing parties. His dream is to have that sweet 16 fantasy the humans in the old world used to have. He actually wants to be normal is the thing. They both do.

[variksel]

matthew arnold has mastered the game of tumblr ship teasing and He Knows It

[dudeimintomonsterprom]

Hey guys! I know it's a weird post to be making out of the blue but something about the new year made me want to clean up and finally post the mod I started to create in either 2019 or 2020.

Five years later and I for one cannot believe it's finally here, an Oz centric storyline. It takes place over four events, with a new ending. I'll post an event guide if anyone wants it :p

[hopinglylost3214]

Tickling you, but every time you try to cover your spot, saying "Nuh uh", grabbing your hand, slowing moving them away before going back to tickling you.

[nmoroder]

Meursault askblog post #3: what do you feel when you think about your Mother?

Askblog tag: #nmoroder meursault ask Please see pinned blog post before asking questions!

Ooh boy here we go. i've had several thoughts abt Meur's mother just off the top of my head when i was new to the characters and overall lore, but time passed and my knowledge grew and now those theories suck and im excited to know what its really all about. Nevertheless i feel like its something not so pleasant to think about for him, and since we've got like endless time before his canto comes up, i am free to do whatever i please. sorry man!

[nat-without-a-g]

Already trying to figure out how to draw the NPCs— starting with a handful of the children I expect we’re going to be seeing again. I’m excited to see how much my designs for them change as we go along!

[just-a-little-unionoid]

In which Stone sort of has a daughter and Ivo and her are not getting along

so I've talked about this fic I started writing back when the first movie came out and since a few people seem interested I decided to post what I wrote back then to test the water

on the base concept this fic is supposed to be stobotnik but this first part doesn't even has Stone in it, as it is only the first encounter between Robotnik and the kid

it's also not supposed to be the first chapter and it's short but that's all I got the motivation to write back then and it's been 4 years so I'm just, I'm gonna post it now cuz that's long enough okay, we will see how it goes later 😭

for context this takes place after the first movie and will only be canon-compliant up to that point

also uh cw r slur??? idk I don't condone the characters' language but it's there

tagging @thebadevil @alexcole1326 and @nosebleedy99 'cause you commented on the other post

- Meanwhile a few months latter on the mushroom planet -

The Doctor was looking for a way on a tricky path, a collapsing old mushroom cap he needed to step on in order to reach a better point of view, when his appliances went insane: there was some dimensional shit going on. He heard a big crack, like thunderbolt, then the dimentional fluctuation faded away.

Maybe two hours latter he heard something again, but something small, something he hadn't heard in a long time. It was not the wind, not the mushrooms growing, not his own breath, not Agent Stone rolling away. It was something that moved by itself, something alive, something animal. It was footsteps.

He was prepared for anything, really, he was prepared for humans, talking blue hedgehogs, other feaking rainbow animals, dinosaurs that would try to eat him... He was ready, and ready to fight for his life if necessary! What he wasn't really expecting though was a child in some kind of safety suit shaped like a dress? With a lot of shiny technological device attached here and there. He didn't get to see their face a lot but based on its proportions and the way it was standing it was obviously a human child, or a weirdly humanoid shaped alien, because as far as Robotnik knew the probability of an alien species to evolve in the exact same way as human, if statistically possible, was very low, and the probability to encounter it even lower.

The child glanced at him for a second and didn't even look up from the touchscreen tablet in their hands when they addressed him:

"I am looking for a human man who was known on his home planet, Earth, as Dr. Ivo Robotnik. Would you appear to 1) know English and 2) have seen a human looking quite like you, in that the human male standard shape and size are similar to yours. He should have a pale skin and dark hairs, and apparently a 'glorious mustache'?"

For once he didn't really know what to say, it only took half a second for him to remember how to register English words but the kid was faster and after a jaded sigh they resumed: "Nǐ huì shuō pǔtōnghuà ma? Kya aap hindee bolate hain? ¿Hablas español? Hal tatahadath alearabiatu? Tumi ki bān-"

"YES I do speak English, and other language stoo, thank you very much. Who are you and what are you doing here anyway?"

"I am here to find the Dr. Ivo Robotnik, I have already said that. Are you retarded or something? If you are don't worry I can explain things again, more slowly, I am trained for that."

"I AM, Dr. Ivo Robotnik," he said, trying very hard not to break the child's neck. "I know you're looking for me, what I'm asking is why? Who are you and who sent you here? No. You know what in fact I don't care who you are. I just want to know who sent you. Which government or secret agency, that sort of thing."

The mildly disgusted and doubtful facial expression they made as they were double-checking his appearance was speaking volumes about their internal thoughts.

"I have no more time to dedicate to you. I'm a very busy person and searching for you already wasted far more of my precious time than you deserve. All you need to know is that a very important person want you and you will follow me now if you don't want me to make use of force."

And on that, the child turned their back to him and disappeared behind a mushroom.

Great. One of those child genius who thought they were above everyone else just because they worked for a random government. He should know, he was one of them. But that kid would learn soon enough what their real place was: down below.

He still followed them though, because they looked like they knew a way back and, well, even if he was smart enough to find a way by himself, thank you very much, the sooner he could beat that hedgehog the better it was. Also, he could just kill them after learning whatever device brought them here and no one would know.

–––

Soon they arrived to a more open area. The child seemingly took measurements, they walked around taking notes on their pad for a few minutes then stopped.

"Come here," they said while pointing the ground. "Don't move."

They took a device from their bag, some kind of tripod filled with wires and LEDs, and placed it on the ground. They stepped back and typed on their screen some more.

The tripod beeped and light beams came out of it, scaning the mushroom cap they where standing on. A dozen of flat devices escaped from the bag and and went to place themselves on strategic points marked by the beams.

The child then placed what looked like a power cell in the tripod. That blue glow emanating from it, could it be... But he had no time to think about it, lights amplificated by stimulated emission of radiation came out of the tripode and to the discs, reflecting into the others, and soon the whole place was illuminated. Reality torn open for the second time this day in a deafening din.

When he oppened his eyes again a ring, looking almost exactly like the one that brought him here, was now open on the ground before him. Almost, because it looked like it opened on a room specifically equipped for that purpose, and with the whole procedure to activate it, it could only mean it was a more primitive technology.

The Doctor looked up at the child, who was scrutinizing him for his reaction.

"I bet you didn't do that yourself, it looks just like this creature's gold rings portals," he said with a smirk.

"Yeah of course," responded the child with spite, "it's reverse engineering."

"Lame."

"Well at least I'm not stupidly stuck on a damn mushroom planet like an idiot. I favour efficiency upon ego, that's why I am here saving your ass and you are pathetically crawling over there covered in mushroom goo. Now, you will have to excuse me..."

They pressed some hiden button in their gloves and Robotnik felt something stinging his neck.

"...but I don't trust you."

The last thing he thought while falling to the ground and through the ring was: "But... That's my tech..."

[leupagus]

I firmly believe Stannis is the Westerosi equivalent of the dad who hates cats, doesn't want to get a cat, makes a big deal about not liking the cat, and ends up being the cat's absolute favorite (except instead of a cat it's a huge fuckoff direwolf with boundary issues)

x

The door to the workroom opened and Ghost bounded inside, snuffling at Stannis's hands. Lady Stark, following behind, narrowed her eyes at him as she closed the door.

"You fed him something recently, didn't you?" she said. Ghost, finding nothing, gave a disapproving huff and flopped down by the fireplace.

He had, but that was besides the point. "What are the Knights of the Vale doing here?"

"Just don't give him chicken, we had a terrible problem with the henhouses when they were puppies," she said absently, and circled round to sit at her chair on the far side of the work table. "I brought them here for you."

Stannis, still standing, paused. "For me?"

"Yes, for you. I can't bend the knee, Your Grace. Not yet. But I'm not entirely useless."

"Of all the adjectives I've thought to describe you with, 'useless' has never been one of them."

She smiled at that and looked down at the papers strewn across the table. "Littlefinger — Lord Baelish," she corrected, "had plans for the North. Marrying my Aunt Lysa and becoming Lord Protector of the Vale wasn't enough for him; he wanted more."

"How much more?" Stannis asked as he took his seat again. He was already well able to guess the answer.

"Everything," she answered, a distant look in her eye that Stannis did not like. "He wanted to marry me off to the Boltons. I think the plan was for you you to come sweeping down from the Wall and either take Winterfell or kill out enough of the Bolton forces to weaken them. At which point Littlefinger could come riding to my rescue with the Knights of the Vale. He'd have a ward at the Vale who looked to him for approval, and a new Lady of Winterfell who'd be grateful to him for saving her from monsters twice over." She nodded at his moue of distaste. "Yes, well, he always did consider me one of his cyvasse pieces, to be moved around the board as needed."

Stannis had avoided Baelish at King's Landing, insofar as he could while both of them served on Robert's Small Council. But he well remembered how Baelish spoke of women, how effortlessly he used them and used them up. What damage had he inflicted on a young, friendless girl while he'd had her in his custody? No wonder Lady Stark had fled from him at the first chance of escape.

If that's what had truly happened. The story from the Riverlands was that Baelish had been killed by his own men, and there was no reason to doubt it — such a treacherous man would have succumbed to treachery sooner or later. But Lady Stark had proven herself capable of surprising things, these past months.

It didn't bear thinking of too closely. He cleared his throat. "The Vale, the North — if Baelish wanted the Iron Throne, he'd have needed more than two kingdoms at his command."

"The Riverlands probably would have been next," said Lady Stark with a frown. She pawed through the papers and pulled out a book. "I've been going through the maester accounts, such as they are, from the time my father left Winterfell until now," she said, flipping through it. "There are gaps, obviously, but Maester Wolkan's been keeping remarkably faithful records. Including copies of every raven scroll." She passed the book over to him, tapping at a particular passage. "This was sent to Roose Bolton from the Twins, only a few days before we began the siege."

"'The Blackfish traitor has stolen Riverrun from us. In the name of fellowship among the new Lord Paramounts and the victors over House Stark, we ask for your aid in catching this damned fish and roasting him on a spit.'" Stannis set the book back on the table with the peculiar urge to wipe his hands clean. "Walder Frey was always a craven. Wanting everyone else to fight his battles for him."

"He didn't even have the courage to murder my brother himself," said Lady Stark, taking back the book and closing it with a snap. "Though I've been told it was his son who murdered my mother. A great warrior family, clearly. Plus he doesn't know it's 'Lords Paramount' and not 'Lord Paramounts.'"

Stannis had seen flares of temper from Lady Stark before (on any number of occasions), but the icy rage in her voice gave him pause. Not for the first time, he considered how very merciful she had been with him, in the end. A man responsible for his own brother's murder, when she herself had lost her brother to the very basest of treachery — what might she have done to him, if he'd been anyone other than the rightful king?

Even as he wondered, he knew that his titles had not been what had stayed her hand in judgement. The Starks had never been particularly pragmatic, mostly to disastrous ends, and for all her intelligence Sansa seemed to have inherited a fair helping of the Tully pig-headedness on top of the Stark romanticism. King Stannis would have had no better luck against her judgement than Lord Stannis or Ser Stannis or even Goodman Stannis; it had been for some other reason she had spared him. He wondered when the bill would come due, and if it would ever be in his capacity to pay it.

Lady Stark had continued on. "I haven't found any record of a message sent back to the Twins, but I doubt the Boltons sent one. Lord Bolton were never much for rousing himself for anyone else's interests, even before he betrayed my family. I sent a raven to House Mallister of Seaguard; he sided with Robb during the war, and the Mallisters have always been loyal to House Tully." This time she handed over a scroll, flattened out but still curling slightly at each end.

It was only a bit longer than Walder Frey's, and about as useful. Blackfish holds fast; they have supplies within to last two years or more, and the siege set by the Freys will not last half a season. Brynden has not called the banners of the Riverlands, for Lord Tully is still hostage to the Freys. But if Lady Stark should call, Mallister will answer.

"'If Lady Stark should call,'" he repeated wryly.

"Lord Mallister bounced my mother on his knee when she was a babe, Your Grace," she said, equally wry. "All the oaths of fealty in the world can't replace the bonds of family and friendship between the northern Houses, even those not in the North itself."

"So I am beginning to understand," he said, handing the scroll back. "So the Twins are undefended at present."

"Most likely — Lord Frey is still there, but the bulk of his army will be at Riverrun." She leaned forward. "I've spoken with Lord Royce; he swears to me that Lord Arryn will bend the knee if you lead the Knights of the Vale and your own army and take the Twins. From there, you'll be able to break the Frey's siege at Riverrun — you'll have both the Vale and the Riverlands in a matter of months."

It was a fine strategy, but Stannis couldn't help but feel vaguely offended by it. "Do you mean to tell me that because you refuse to bend the knee, or promise any of your own army to my cause, you've delivered the Knights of the Vale and a promise of House Arryn's fealty as a...consolation prize?"

Lady Stark shrugged. "I suppose so," she admitted. "But a prize, nonetheless. I've only known Lord Royce since I was a guest at the Eyrie, but he seems an honorable man."

"He's an able commander, which is more to the point," Stannis contradicted absently, frowning down at the desk as he mulled it over. Two thousand men was no very great sum — but the Knights of the Vale were one of the best cavalry forces in the kingdoms, for all that they rarely strayed outside their mountains. With the Knights, Stannis's army could divide and take each half of the Twins in a pincer. It would be over nearly before it began.

"Of course, how foolish of me to consider such petty things as honor," grumbled Lady Stark.

Stannis ignored that. "Which leaves the Iron Islands to deal with. Has Lord Greyjoy sent any word?" Even the honorific stuck in his craw. Balon Greyjoy, the only other "king" to survive the war. Stannis had regretted the man's existence ever since the Greyjoy Rebellion.

Lady Stark shook her head. "Nothing. We've beaten back the last of the Ironborn holdouts, but I doubt they'll begrudge us that. My father always said the iron price never spent well. And they rightly blame the Boltons for whatever might have happened to Theon."

Which was still a mystery, so far as Stannis could tell. Theon Greyjoy had not been found among the dead at Winterfell, nor at the Dreadfort. If he'd escaped, there'd been no sightings reported. "No doubt you'll wish to execute him yourself, if he's found, but it would be better—"

"Execute Theon?" she said, her brow furrowing. "I — no. I don't wish that."

He leaned back in his seat. "You surprise me, my lady. I wouldn't have thought you squeamish after all this time." Perhaps that was his answer: she'd spared himself and Lady Brienne not out of principle but cowardice. In a way, it might be a relief: or at least it would be easier to understand.

She looked away. "Father did always say that whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"That's not an answer. Your kindness does you credit, my lady, but if you show too much your people won't fear you. Which means they won't follow you, when the time comes." He'd said the same thing to her brother, more than a year ago when they'd argued over the fate of the wildlings and the drawbacks of mercy. The Lord Commander hadn't heeded the advice; was it a Stark family failing?

It must be, for Lady Stark sighed in frustration and said, "I don't want to be feared, Your Grace. And though you've failed to notice, I'm in no need of anyone following me anywhere. I'm staying—" She broke off and shook her head. "This always happens," she muttered, an odd smile tugging at her mouth.

He frowned. "What always happens?"

"This," she said, gesturing vaguely at the distance between them. "We can't go five minutes without arguing about something."

"That's not true." She sighed again and he reconsidered. "Perhaps if you didn't contradict everything I said."

"Perhaps if you had sisters, growing up," she countered. "My mother always said Arya and I were more trouble than all five of the boys put together." Her expression darkened and Stannis followed her thoughts — Theon had been one of those five boys. Raised alongside the rest of them, within these very walls.

"I thought you would want him dead," he admitted. "More than anyone else in the North."

She got to her feet and went over to the window, resting her arms on the sill as she looked out onto the courtyard. Stannis rose and joined her: down below were a dozen carts piled high with hay. All around them men and women were busy unloading the bales and stacking them up in a corner, where more workers took them away in a brisk line deeper into the Keep. Each cart was in the courtyard only a few minutes; when it was empty, the driver mounted up again and drove slowly out through the great gates, replaced by another cart yet more heavily laden. Supplies from the Northern Houses, to lay in for the oncoming winter.

"I don't want Theon dead," said Lady Stark after a long while observing in silence. He glanced over to her, but she was still looking down at the carts. "I don't want anyone dead, Stannis — there's been so much death. And more coming, if what Jon told you about the White Walkers is true."

She'd never called him by his name before; indeed she didn't seem aware she'd done it. "I believed him," he replied. "I still do. Your brother didn't seem the sort to make up stories."

"He always was honest to a fault," she said, turning to look at him at last. Her blue eyes were bright — tears, unshed. "I wish he'd come with you."

So did he, he realized. Not for his skill in battle or his perception or bravery: but only so his sister would not look so devastated at his loss. "He took an oath to the Night's Watch," he said, cursing at himself for his clumsy words even as he did so.

"I know that," she huffed. "Five minutes without arguing, is that really so difficult?"

"Evidently," he conceded, and she laughed. A watery sound, and she pressed the heels of her hand to her eyes quickly as she turned back toward the table, but laughter nonetheless.

[itspileofgoodthings]

I am legitimately so proud of all I have done in teaching this week.

[bluebunnysart]

I did some Papercraft today 'cuz I saw someone else's Papercraft Miku and Teto and immediately wanted my own Negidrill to have on my desk at all times.

Link for Miku template

Link for Teto template

I didn't know a Neru one existed until AFTER I left the library (printed them out there 'cuz my at-home printer sucks) so I think I'll try to make Neru sometime to complete Triple Baka.

Link for Neru template (and many others)

THIS tutorial was super helpful for making Miku but Teto didn't have one. Therefore I messed up her drills a little at first but I'm just glad that she's complete and not a disaster, hahaha. xD

This is my first time making Papercraft characters and it's fun. Unfortunately Miku and Teto's heads easily fall off so there's no way I can do stop motion animation with them or anything or move them around too much, but I enjoyed this. They're cute. ^^

Their arms being outstretched like that was a total accident and how the paper itself wanted to bend, so I took the opportunity to make them touch hands lmao. They probably can't get any closer than that without dying (their heads falling off) though LOL. Idk what else to pose them doing but they'll definitely chill on my desk full-time I think.

Btw Mesmerizer Papercraft definitely exists and I even saw "Who Knows" Teto, and someone also made SV Teto. So if I'm motivated I might print those out and build them too. ^^ (You should try it. It takes like an hour or more per character and after the first time, it's straightforward to do.)

[mantisgodsdomain]

More notes for Roach conlanging. Roach has grammatical gender, in which only Male, Female, and Object are grammatical genders, whereas Worker uses feminine grammar, Queen and King use a slight variant on feminine grammar, and Drone, and Queen-Alate use masculine grammar. This is because King is derived from Queen, due to their similar positions in a colony, and Queen-Alate is derived from Drone, as both are forms of alate.

Queen is an alteration of feminine grammar that functionally just adds a handful of extra syllables to it, and King is an offsprout of Queen that uses the same grammar with different pronouns. Queen-Alate, despite the name, is derived from Drone, as they are both for referring to different types of alate ant.

Most Roach dialects are intelligible to speakers of Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach, but Snakemouth Den Cordyceps Roach is not entirely intelligable to speakers of Roach dialects due to a mix of the excessively specialized vocabulary caused by the specific needs of its speakers, the fact that its speakers do not necessarily have Roach mouthparts and thus may not pronounce syllables in a similar way, and due to the fact that Inanimate Object is a full grammatical gender that does not exist in any other dialect of roach and replaces a decent chunk of terminology for things that previously had Other Words For Them.