#which i don't think i've written before?

[eqt-95]

untitled supercorp excerpt

It was a clever plan. It was so clever Lena was about to pat herself on the back.

Until the cursed wheelie chair whirred across the grated floor and brought the last thing she wanted to see on this or any other depraved planet back into view.

“What are you doing?” Kara asked.

“Going out,” she replied stiffly, adjusting her bag and checking that her scarf was tucked securely into her neckline. She’d only finally extracted the last grains from her last sand-ezvous, and she was not keen to revisit that experience.

“Uh, no you aren’t,” Kara said flatly. It put Lena’s teeth on edge.

“Funny,” Lena began, rounding on the blonde now towering over her by four annoying inches, “I don’t take orders from Supergirl.” “They weren’t orders,” Kara huffed, her arms crossed and stepping between Lena and freedom. Well, sort-of-freedom.

“Then get out of my way.”

“I wouldn’t expect someone so good at holding grudges to be so forgetful,” Kara replied far too smugly.

“I'm fully functioning in that department, thanks.”

“Oh, so then you didn’t forget the Goobs lurking around every corner.”

“Hardly. Now please-”

“We should wait until the next cycle. Until I can go out-”

“That’s eight days away, and in case you bothered to notice, we’ve got just enough amorphous gray goop to last two.”

“Then I’ll go" Kara said, all cheeto-puffed out chest and heroic vibrato. "Solo.”

Lena scowled. “You are incompetent and powerless.”

“Not if you radio the instructions to me.”

“How do you expect me to instruct you to do something I haven’t even seen?”

“I’ll… I can describe it to you.”

“You may have won a Pulitzer, but don’t be so misguided to think it had anything to do with your vivid imagery, Supergirl.”

Kara flinched, her chest deflated, and Lena felt emboldened.

“I’ll take my chances,” Lena said, pushing past Kara. “I’m not risking another setback.”

“Lena-”

“What?” Lena snarled, fingers gripping her sunglasses with a threatening creak.

“Let me.”

“Why?” Lena asked, swinging to face Kara.

“B-because,” Kara stammered.

“Because? That’s why?” Lena scoffed haughtily. “Because, because, because,” she continued, a mocking tone, “Ambiguity is no different than deceit, Supergirl. What is it this time, hm? Can’t trust a Luthor? Can’t risk me sabotaging your heroic return? Can’t-

A chair flying, glass shattering, and a symphony of clanging metal-on-metal interrupted her.

“What the fuck Ka-”

“Because I can’t fix you!” Kara shouted.

Lena blinked, her corporate demeanor stunned by the shards of glass glittering the floor and the seething anger coming from the powerless Kryptonian in front of her. The wheelie chair spun uselessly as a final stack of scrolls tumbled to the ground and spilled across the floor.

“Excuse me?”

“I can’t… You’re not,” Kara began, looking perplexed, disoriented - scared? It did nothing but feed the inferno of loathing Lena felt. “You’re not a gadget or some gizmo or… you’re not me. You can’t be fixed with a sun or a-a lamp. If you get hurt - you could get hurt.”

"You'd get your wish then," Lena replied icily before pushing open the door and stepping into swirling winds of dust and red haze.

[the-way-astray]

alright everybody can we please stop tagging me/talking about me in the notes of pro keefe/sokeefe posts. i know strieefe has made it so that it's really funny to talk about how much i love him and how much i'm in denial when i say negative things about him under those posts (and that's all in good fun and not the problem), but we have to think about the fact that the ops are just trying to make a positive post and probably don't want a keefe hater in their notes /srs

[rosenfey]

things that are hard to find: writing advice that isn't condescending.

[thetomorrowshow]

Whumptober 24 - Radiation Posioning

title: all days come down to one clear pane

fandom: hermitcraft

cw: hospital setting, possibly terminal illness

~

“Well, hey there, Bdubs,” Beef greets cheerfully, tightening the ties on his apron. “Here for another round of TCG?”

Bdubs doesn’t respond right away. He stares at Beef for a long moment, standing several feet away, hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Hey, Beef?” he says eventually.

There’s something . . . something not quite right about the look in Bdubs’s big eyes. A dull, unfocused quality, like he isn’t all there.

“Yeah?”

“Did we eat something funny, last night?” asks Bdubs. “Because I’ve been feeling . . . not good.”

The NHO had grabbed dinner together the night before, and while it had been fairly cheap, greasy food, Beef’s been feeling all right. Out of all of them, Bdubs has one of the strongest stomachs. It would be weird for him to have a reaction, out of all of them.

“How so?”

Bdubs’s dull eyes dart from right to left. “I threw up,” he says. “Twice.”

Beef hums. “Well, I’ve been feeling fine. Did you ask Etho and Doc?”

“No.”

“Are you feeling sick any other way?”

Bdubs considers that question, his head tilting slightly to the side. “I’m . . . my body hurts,” he says, after a moment of consideration. “Like, aches. Is that normal?”

“It sounds like it could be a flu,” Beef says, taking a subtle step back. “Maybe you should go lie down.”

“I just had the flu a couple weeks ago,” Bdubs argues. “I feel . . . I dunno. I haven’t been feeling great all day, I’ve been kind of sick, but I was okay last night—”

His words speed up, voice louder and louder as he speaks, and one hand snakes out of his pocket and up to his hair, where it starts pulling. Beef grimaces—they’ve been trying to break Bdubs of his hair-pulling habit for years, but it always creeps back. Before he can mention it, though, his hand comes away.

With a tuft of hair.

Bdubs—

He wasn’t pulling too hard, was he? He just kind of pulled a little bit. He shouldn’t have been able to pull out a whole tuft of his own hair, like a dog blowing out its coat.

Bdubs doesn’t seem to notice. He lets the hair fall to the ground, runs his hand over his head. There’s some other thin patches, Beef notices, and that worries him just as much as the bandage wrapped around Bdubs’s hand.

Why is it bandaged?

“—been weird,” Bdubs says, “and I don’t like it.”

“Why don’t you lie down,” Beef suggests again. He forces his voice to be as calm as possible. He doesn’t want to freak out Bdubs, as strangely as he’s acting. “You can use my bed. I’ll bring you something to drink, okay?”

Bdubs frowns, but nods his agreement. He heads off in the direction of Beef’s bed, his bandaged hand still buried in his hair.

Beef watches him go for a moment, then pulls out his communicator.

There’s something very, very wrong about Bdubs. He’s going to need some help.

-

“When did this start?” Doc asks, examining Bdubs’s hand.

It looks bad. It looks really bad, from Beef’s point of view.

His left hand, now bereft of wrappings, doesn’t quite look like a hand. Well, it’s the right shape and everything, but his skin is just . . . wrong. Peeled-away and reddened, the fresh skin under the peeled back of his hand bubbly with blisters. The skin around the patch is discolored, several shades lighter than Bdubs’s usual pigment.

Bdubs shrugs. “I dunno. Um, it’s been kinda getting worse all week.”

“And you didn’t say something?” Doc says, shocked.

“I thought it would get better!”

“Goodness, Bdubs,” Xisuma says. “You can’t dig into a radiation site and expect to just get better.”

“When did you first enter the site, again?”

Bdubs’s face scrunches up; his eyes still hold that glassy look to them. “Um . . . two weeks ago? I haven’t been back since, promise.”

Two weeks ago.

Beef doesn’t know much about radiation poisoning, but if Bdubs made contact with it two weeks ago, how is it that only now he’s realized something’s wrong?

“We’ll have to take him off-world,” Xisuma’s murmuring. “Get him a proper doctor.”

Doc, usually quite defensive of his doctorate, doesn’t argue. He just drags a suitcase out from under Bdubs’s bed and cracks it open, dumping out whatever he finds within. Then he takes it over to Bdubs’s wardrobe, starts throwing random articles of clothing into it.

“I’ll come with,” Beef volunteers, and Xisuma nods gratefully toward him.

Then, because Beef is not just going to come with for the day, he leaves as well, donning a pair of elytra and flying back to his own base.

By the way Doc was packing, he thought that this was going to be a long stay.

Beef will stay with him. And then he’ll bring Bdubs home, and everything will be okay.

-

Bdubs gets sick on day two of his hospital stay.

The staff hadn’t quite known what to do with him—they’d never had a patient with ARS, and they’d had to call in a specialist from another world. That specialist had taken one look at the hospital room—Bdubs on the bed, Beef sitting beside him, Doc pressed against the window and Xisuma taking the forefront—and had immediately ushered them all out.

“His immune system is destroyed right now,” she’d scolded, sending them to the room next door to don protective gowns and masks and gloves. “We can’t risk him getting sick.”

Bdubs had watched them go, uncharacteristically quiet.

The doctor was right. His immune system was destroyed. He wakes up with a chest cough on the second day, and by that afternoon his temperature has climbed to feverish heights.

Beef doesn’t know what to do. He isn’t sick—he quarantined for twenty-four hours and tested negative for every illness in the book, just to be able to sit with Bdubs. He’d expected it to be pretty chill—maybe he could get some drawing done, talk with his friend about any remaining plans for what was left of the season.

Now he sits further away than he would have liked, over in the seat by the window, watching as Bdubs’s chest rises and falls weakly under his hospital gown.

They’re going to intubate him soon if he doesn’t start getting more oxygen. Whatever this bug is has ravaged his lungs in the brief time he’s been ill with it, making his body even weaker and more susceptible to the radiation devastating his cells from the inside.

He doesn’t even look like himself. Bdubs’s hair is more patchy than before, what remains limp and unbrushed. His face is scruffy, bags under his eyes oily, his closed eyes fluttering now and then. The hospital gown fits loosely around him, his entire collarbone showing in an unwelcome display of vulnerability. His right arm is hooked up to a pouch of fluids and pain medication, the occasional click from the IV stand breaking the silence.

He doesn’t look a thing like how Bdubs is supposed to look. It’s like the life has been drained out of him as steadily as the IV drips into his bloodstream.

“Zedaph’s going to be jealous,” Beef says after a long moment, trying anything to make the scene less wrong.

The only sign that Bdubs has heard him is a tiny cough.

“I think he was, like, looking for radiation. And you found it on accident. He’ll probably do a Zedvancement on you when you get back.”

That gets a huff of a laugh. Bdubs doesn’t open his eyes.

Beef bites his lip. “Doing any better than this morning?”

Bdubs’s throat works. “A bit,” he rasps, voice barely there. This triggers a couple more coughs, his frame shaking.

They’re probably going to intubate him. They don’t want to, afraid that he’ll struggle to get off oxygen if they put him on it, but this is only the first day of illness and they’re already discussing it. Unless he gets better overnight, Bdubs is going to end up with a tube down his throat.

He looks so weak.

They’ve determined that he came in contact with the radioactive material about twenty-five days ago. He’s moving out of what they called the ‘latent period’, and the loss of hair means that he’s had higher exposure than they would have liked.

They said that his chance of survival is around 50%.

That is way, way too low. Probably lower with the illness that he’s caught. Beef sat in the window seat for about an hour as Bdubs napped and calculated possible percentages—with a mean of 50, if one assumed that each illness was one standard deviation below the mean, and say the standard deviation was 12—maybe even bigger—

Well, with that model, Bdubs’s chance of survival is 38%.

And with each passing hour, Beef can’t help but think that Bdubs’s score gets lower and lower.

-

They do end up intubating him. It helps him get through the cold that’s ravaging his system, but he’s too weak to get off supplemental oxygen afterwards. Beef is the only Hermit allowed to visit, and only dressed to the nines in PPE.

“You’ll be back in business in no time,” Scar says over a video call. Scar in particular is banned from visiting, even just to drop something off. “You’ve been lotioning your nose? That cannula will give you nosebleeds like nothing before!”

“Yeah,” Bdubs manages. “And then they don’t stop bleeding.”

His blood isn’t clotting very well. He’s had three nosebleeds so far, and every one of them has been an emergency.

The specialist doesn’t say it, but if he keeps bleeding, Bdubs’s chances of survival will keep dropping.

“When are you coming back?” asks Scar. Bdubs shrugs. His arm is getting tired of holding up the communicator, Beef can tell.

“Dunno. When the radiation runs out. And then I have to do . . . more things.”

“Bone marrow transfusions, blood transfusions,” Beef calls. He hears Scar make a humming sound.

“Sounds fun.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, if you need anything, let us know, okay? I’ve still got some cookies around somewhere—”

“Not Elven Surprise—”

“Oh, no, no, no, that probably wouldn’t be very nice at all! But I’ll see what I can do.”

Bdubs nods, clearly worn out, and Beef stands, taking the communicator from him and leaving the room.

He glances back into the room as he closes the door. Bdubs’s eyes are already closed, his head slumped on his shoulder.

Once he’s in the hall, Beef looks down at the screen. Scar’s face is staring up at him, naked concern painted all over it.

“He doesn’t look so good,” Scar says.

Beef shrugs. “He’s right on track for recovery.”

It’s what he’s told everybody who tried to come visit, or called. He told Ren that the doctor said it’ll be a long time, but he should be okay. He told Etho that they put him on oxygen as a caution, not a necesity. He told Doc that Bdubs spent all afternoon chattering about his next build.

He smiled and lied through his teeth to everyone, and he can and will do it again.

But Scar sighs. “I can take the truth, Beef.”

And Beef breaks down.

“He couldn’t afford to get sick,” he chokes out, his throat suddenly thick, tears already spilling from his eyes. “I—sorry, man, I don’t usually—but—before he got sick, he only had, like, a fifty percent chance—and now it’s worse—”

“Hey, hey. It’s okay.”

“He might not make it,” Beef says, ugly and raw and heartbreaking. “I don’t know what—I don’t know what to tell everyone, it shouldn’t be me here, it should be Etho or Pungence or—”

“Nobody could do it better than you,” Scar tells him. “You’ve got this, dude. We’re all here for you.”

Logically, Beef knows that’s true.

But he’s the only one here. He only sees the others briefly, when they stop by to drop off food or clothes—and even then, he doesn’t talk to them. He sees them from the opposite end of the hallway (he sometimes helps Bdubs into a wheelchair and pushes him to the door of his room just to wave at their friends, at Ren and Pearl and Xisuma or whoever else stopped by) or waves to them from the window, and that’s it.

“What do I do?” he whispers after a long moment. He grabs a tissue from the nearby nurse’s station (and the nurse gives him a sympathetic half-smile), uses it to dab at his eyes.

“Just keep trying, man. I know Bdubs appreciates it. We all do.” Scar sighs, an edge of laughter to the sound. “If I could hug you right now, I would.”

Beef chuckles wetly. “Then I’d have to put on all new plastic. Thanks, but no thanks.”

Scar smiles. “Yeah. An imaginary one, then.”

Even imaginary, Beef supposes, Scar hugs are the best.

-

“You’ll pull through,” Beef whispers, Bdubs’s limp hand held in his own.

He doesn’t know if he’s talking to his friend or to himself.

Bdubs has barely been conscious for the past three days. Beef has ignored every buzz of his communicator since he first took a turn for the worse, ever since he came down with another fever.

“We’ve already done two months. We can’t just give up now.”

He’s been awake for going on forty-eight hours now, but he can’t sleep.

He can’t leave Bdubs.

He doesn’t get that choice, though, as just a half hour later, Bdubs’s heart monitor starts beeping incessantly, and then there’s people flooding the room and Beef is escorted out.

Then he sits on the tile floor of the hallway and sobs into his knees.

-

Intubation doesn’t look good on Bdubs a second time.

-

Every single day is a fight.

Beef starts being honest with Xisuma, trusting him to spread the word around Hermitcraft. Bdubs isn’t doing well, but the doctors are hopeful. He got sick again. They have to take treatment slower. He’s off oxygen during the day. He’s back on it. He can’t keep food down. He was able to take a short walk today. He loves the potted plant. His scans aren’t looking good. They’re adjusting the treatment plan. He wants pictures of everyone’s builds. He slept all day. He still can’t keep food down. They’re bringing in a therapist to talk to them both.

It’s after the last message that Xisuma again suggests they take turns staying with Bdubs. Beef is resistant to the idea at first, but Bdubs’s doctor says it would be fine with proper PPE, so he relents.

He doesn’t really sleep, the nights he spends away. It isn’t right to be on Hermitcraft, his bedroom devoid of the clicking of the IV and the clunking of the heart monitor.

“We’ve got it,” Xisuma reassures him. “Rest.”

But Beef can’t do anything without thinking of Bdubs and how he isn’t here, so he continues to assume the main responsibility of being there for him, through the ups and downs and fights that follow.

Right up to the end.

-

“That’s the last one?”

Those are the first words out of Bdubs’s mouth when he wakes up, mumbled and half-formed, his eyes not even quite open.

“The last round of conditioning,” Beef reassures him, squeezing his arm. “Then you have the transplant next week.”

“Then we go home.”

“Then we stay a couple more weeks to make sure it works.”

“And then.” “And then we go home, yep.”

A smile quirks Bdubs’s lips. “I miss it.”

“I know, bud.”

It’s been eight months.

Eight of the most touch-and-go, harrowing months that Beef has ever endured.

“You can keep sleeping,” Beef says, releasing his grip to just pat Bdubs’s arm. “Etho’s not taking my place for another couple hours.”

It’s almost over. Just the bone marrow transplant, then an observation period, then home. Six months of recovery from the radiation poisoning, then two months of conditioning to prepare his body to receive the bone marrow transplant.

Then now.

Then home.

The doctor had been nothing short of jubilant when it became clear that Bdubs was going to pull through. She had repeatedly told Bdubs how proud she was, how he withstood the odds and came out on the other side.

It was a 25% chance of survival, in the most dire moments. Despite a couple of scares early on, everything went as well as could be hoped for—the medication, the skin graft, the conditioning. It was terrifying, and still is (there are still far too many things that can go wrong), but Beef doesn’t shoulder the weight of it alone anymore. Over the past months, every other Hermit (bar Scar) has sat with Bdubs for at least a day. When no one could take his place, they brought him food and games and called to share stories.

Beef just sat with his friend whenever he could, as he had from day one.

Just as he is now, his hand still resting on Bdubs’s arm.

Beef smiles.

Bdubs, already asleep, snores.

Just a few more weeks. Then home.

[lunar-years]

it started out with a kiss [fun family fluff and ot3 at the eras tour goofiness] how did it end up like this [5k words about the complicated nature of Roy Kent's relationship to fame]

[fictionadventurer]

Guide to PBS Kids writers:

This is an early episode of a quality animated show and is one of the most hysterical things I've ever seen on children's television = Joe Fallon

This is an early episode of a quality animated show and is very funny = Ken Scarborough

This episode has strong, vivid and realistic female characters = Kathy Waugh

This is an episode of an animated show that has undergone a notable quality drop where the characters get lessons preached at them and seem to exist only in a very narrow urban upper-middle-class worldview = Peter K. Hirsch

This is an episode of that show that has undergone a notable quality drop but the characters are believable and I'm actually laughing at several really good jokes = Ken Scarborough

[joyfuladorable]

< Prev Doodles | First Set of Doodles

Surprise, @redstringraven!! Guess who watched a playthrough of Horizon Forbidden West AND the DLC Burning Shores and Then proceeded to reread Pretend that I Never Left and draw Four More DOODLE PAGES!!!! To all the 2k3 Mikey fans out there, this is the fic for you!

[memento-morri-writes]

It's been well over a week now (maybe two??) but I'm still plugging away (ever-so-slowly) at this vignette about Zara and Rook. Zara's POV is a lot of fun to write, now that I have a better sense of her character. Writing this has really solidified in my mind the kind of person she is and how she acted when she was Rook's captain and mentor. She's very calm and collected in comparison to Rook, even when under a lot of stress.

Anyways, have a little snippet that I'm proud of from today, featuring the origins of the coin trick!

Pacing back and forth across her cabin floor, she rolled the coin back and forth over her knuckles again and again. The motion was easy, almost mindless, more muscle memory than real intent. The coin trick had been her favorite way to soothe her nerves for years now. She’d picked it up out of idle curiosity after watching a street performer dining in a tavern in Bon Largo, who had chatted with her for over an hour as she fretted about something mundane, never once dropping the coin from their fingers. The same performer had later tried to steal her coin purse and ended up with nothing but a new scar for their trouble, but Zara had learned two important things from the encounter: Not to trust a warm smile and a pretty face, and that keeping her hands moving kept her mind from dwelling too much on worrisome things.

one-time tagging @space-writes because they commented on my tags about Rook learning the coin trick from Zara in one of my other snippets from this piece.

[sciencecourt]

how do you feel about the show of o’grady? it was made for “The N” by the same company

oh where do I start with o'grady...It's a HUGE inside joke between me and a few friends, for what I have to assume is around 4 years now. Somebody in a wordgirl server offhandedly mentioned it to me one time and it was all downhill from there.

I...am divisive on it? I think, since it's soup2nuts, it has the potential to be really funny and (dare i say it) good, but it's genre tends to really bog it down. Soup2Nuts isn't all that good at 'conventional' love stories, much less Teen Drama love stories, so whatever it tries to pull for a while with Kevin and Abby (and Phillip and Pete) just comes off as a big uninteresting, sometimes creepy slog. I think it wrapped up in a somewhat sweet way in the season 1 finale but it doesn't really make up for those few bad eggs.

I think it really picks up in the second season, but sadly, that was it's last. Soup2Nuts shows really need time to breath and O'Grady just wasn't able to have that grace. Shame!

As is my brand, my favorite characters are Harold and Lipschitz. Harold didn't deserve to be in that show and I love S2N characters voiced by Larry Murphy.

[lem-argentum]

it took me until dt to change rudy's hairstyle, but i ACTUALLY think he would've cut it back in post-stb when he became a reaper. the trope of "character cuts hair to feel more in control of their life" is cliché but REAL. and also the visual of him cutting it with his scythe is fun

[moongothic]

There's like a part of me that realizes that I've written so much Crocodad Meta that at this point I should probably just compile and condence it all into like a giant Propaganda Post

'Cause like. Sure it's all still on my blog, but few people are going to go digging through all the crap I've posted in the past few months for all the Crocodad Evidence, so just showing it all into a single post would make for like. IDK something I could use to make a compelling argument for why Crocodad could be real

(Also it would be more like, Crocodad evidence you might find on a more meta/narrative level, like on-going themes and Oda's story telling tropes/habits etc. Other people have already made posts that breakdown and analyze Marineford and compile all the subtle details+easter eggs etc so I wouldn't even go into any of that. I mean SURE I could regurgitate all that info too but it'd be easier to just link to someone else's post instead and save myself some time lol)

But also.

Do I really want to spend an obscene amount of time making that post. Do I really want to do that.

[venusiancarbondioxide]

good news: i was able to finish two whole points on my nine-point outline

bad news: each bullet point took approximately 2k words. at this rate, i might have an 18k word fic.

[lesbianwords]

i NEED to get back into writing but it's so hard and im being so brave about it😭

[nostalgia-tblr]

started another fic D: didn't mean to, but i went to bed and then had to get up and write 1000 words (!!) of a sylki alternate s2 fic. i shall put the plot/idea below to ENTICE and so I don't forget it myself.

it's not a fix-it as such i just kept the S2 look and locations and characters (OB!!!) and there is a different stupid scifi thing that needs fixed (and also no sad ending because fuck that).

instead of time-slipping loki was sent back the TVA at the right time and he's trying to fit in there and thinks sylvie will be mad at him and besides how would he even find her in such a huge expanding multiverse? oh no! he daydreams a lot and has some odd moments like forgetting how he takes his coffee, and seems to in some be mentally connected to sylvie in a weird scifi way.

obviously he doesn't do anything sensible like tell mobius, so he sneaks off to ask OB who knows all about Variant Entanglement, which is like quantum entanglement but with less science and more selfcest. OB explains that ALAS loki and sylvie are currently entangled variants, which is rare and OB is very excited to get to see it happen but also he's annoyed that apparently nobody told loki not to touch himself if he met himself. (...not in a euphemistic way, this time, just you shouldn't touch your own variants or this might happen.)

it's gone a bit comedy which i think would be a nice change from writing ANGST all the time (and i need to switch modes for the Con Artists AU anyway), though there is a bit of angst (Sylvie does not like the TVA, of course, and some kind of shipping angst will happen as well) and i think i will add some weird pornographic shared sex dream thing just for the hell of it. not sure how that will work, probably involves what i like to refer to as "a confusion of pronouns."

i think OB fancies Casey in this, so there's a 'subplot' for you i suppose. i don't know how long this fic would be but the roughly 1200 words i somehow have so far (this includes some dialogues that need to be not just dialogue though) have not yet got to the point of sylvie showing up aside from in the opening scene which is a flash-forward because... eh, it is just is. but it won't be that long, surely? (this is what i said about the 8800 word sifki fic too.)

ANYWAY LOOK, here is a snippet for some idea of the general tone, in which Loki meets OB but in a different way from in S2 (ooh!):

“Ouroboros.” The man on the other side of the desk looks up from his work. “Oh hey, a visitor!” “I’m told you’re the man to see if I have a technical problem,” says Loki. “Who told you that?” “Casey.” Ouroboros looks pleased. “Casey remembers me?”  “Apparently so.” Loki drops the document he brought with him onto the desk. “You wrote ‘Towards a New Theory of Variant Entanglement’, considered by many to be the seminal work on the phenomenon.” When Ouroboros opens his mouth to ask the obvious question, Loki cuts him off by answering; “According to Casey.” “Wow, he really does remember me!“ “Why wouldn’t he?” asks Loki.  “That’s what I always ask myself!” Determined not to be put off by the oddness of his potential saviour, Loki tries to push the conversation in his desired direction. “I need to ask you some questions about this paper,” he says. “Sure! Ask away!” After an awkward pause, Loki admits, “I didn’t understand a word of it.” Ouroboros’s excitement deflates a little. “Oh.”  “But Casey - yes, he does remember you, I think he might be a bit of a fan, actually -” “Oh, wow! That’s -” “- says that the answer I need is in here.” Loki taps his fingers on the work in question. “So I was hoping you could translate this for an interested but woefully underqualified layman. Please.”

[criscura]

I wish I wasn't so exhausted and I could make more art.... I even planned out a whole prompt-a-day month for Saigenos/Genosai, TWICE, but the first time no one seemed like they could participate when I asked about it, and the second time I friggin lost the damned plan. I could remake it a third time, but I just....I don't know.

I've been really struggling to get along for a while, and I think if it didn't hit it off--or even if I just got really productive and it seemed like I was reaching crickets--I'd be so incredibly discouraged that it would bring me down even further. It usually takes my stuff a few months to a year to get reach, and that really doesn't do anything for me when I need the support immediately.

It's not that I don't have a billion ideas for so many different things, but my battery has been taking longer and longer to charge up and it's been running out faster and faster, and it's been like this for....a year?? Ish?? Maybe longer, I don't know.

I wish I could just stop needing so much fucking time to bounce back.....

[sumeragi-hokuto]

Set 4 of chapter 3, volume 4 of the Tokyo Babylon manga. 9th chapter overall.

Cleaning/typesetting done by me, official Dark Horse translation used.

Select/open the images to view in higher quality.

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