#all this worldbuilding and still no name for anything LOL

[cuppajj]

Guy who can't draw environments does their best to describe what the colony and cities look like

So I can't draw landscapes for the life of me (yet) so it would be back breakingly hard to draw what this place looks like, but I'll do my best to explain and also compile a set of pictures that gives you a good idea!

TL;DR: the planet the colony is in is lifeless, rocky, and dry, but deep underneath are caverns filled with plant life where the civilization lies. Towns and cities are a fusion of traditional cybertronian and fantasy elements, with the capital being the fanciest and most fantastical.

There's little to no life on the surface of the planet. It's dry, dusty, and almost entirely flat, save for a few mountain ranges. You'd be forgiven for trusting your radar and believing that there's nothing of interest on this planet at all, but if you were to ignore it and take a closer look, land your ship and explore, then you'd find that situated among the sparse hills and ravines are entrances into deep and intricate cave systems, some marked by a ring of stones.

The caves stretch down and out for miles, and they look how they typically do on a place like Earth. Dark rocks, tight spaces, stalagmites and stalagtites. It's almost enough to deter a regular cave explorer from venturing further. However, The further down you go, the more you begin to see streams, glowing rocks, and eventually, plant life. Moss, ivy, mushrooms, and curiously pretty flowers. Soon the caves are filled with flora, thick trees and fresh air, luminescent rocks placed along the ceiling to illuminate like sunlight through the leaves. There are no longer cramped and tight rooms and tunnels as everything opens up, and when you reach different clearings, you can sometimes hardly tell you're underground at all. You've officially entered the colony; and from there on, the lush caverns will only increase in pure spectacle and beauty. It's like stepping into another world.

Here are ideas of what the lush caves look like:

The towns and cities themselves vary, some fancier, some simpler, some horizontal and some vertical. The colony's architecture resembles cybertronian design, but is also uniquely fantasy-like. Homes can be modeled after flowers, mushrooms, and rocks, and some inhabitants even carve their homes into the cavern walls themselves. Cities similarly have a fantasy-sci-fi fusion, with architecture that blends cybertronian and fantastical elements. Their plans are like the plans of any normal city, divided into districts, with certain sectors having a common category for their businesses. There's an arts district, a textiles and jewelry district, and a science district in the capital, for example. Interspersed are residential buildings and homes, and streets paved with stone in a leaf or floral pattern. Markets and small businesses are everywhere. The main forms of transportation are monorails that run through (and/or up) the city, and canals of groundwater that eventually lead out of cities and into large lakes, which are popular places for residents to visit.

The capital is the largest and fanciest. While its more outer sections have traditional colonial architecture, the closer you get to the heart of the city, the titan herself, the more ornate the buildings become. Colored windows, fancy lampposts, homes and businesses constructed from smooth light stone, covered roof to base in flora. Titan's Guard patrol the corner of every street, and it's here where you'll see the aristocratic class strutting about in fancy silks and ununtrium jewelry. Venture far into this district, and you'll eventually reach a giant, heavily guarded gate that no one is allowed to pass through; because through there are the Sacred Grounds, home to the Titan and her cityspeaker.

Lastly, it’s advised you don’t try to squeeze into any dark or suspicious-looking cracks, though; they’re just out of your sight as you traverse the lush outskirts of the cities, but they’re there. Those ever-changing entrances lead you into what’s known as the Darklands, where the shady, criminal, and deplorable fester in secret, waiting to strike any unfortunate passerby who didn’t stick to the main path.

(some of these aren't underground but imagine that they are)

Cities/Towns: x x x x x

#all this worldbuilding and still no name for anything LOL #unnamed colony world #cjj sayeth #maccadam #transformers #transformers oc #sorry if this doesn’t give you an idea of what this place looks like lol

[acaciapines]

every day im like “once i get through arc one of the owl house daemon au editing is going to be so easy.” and then i remember the countless small things that add up and up and up. yall i need to make the bat queen relevant.

#chatter #TO BE FAIR STILL EASIER THAN ARC ONE LOL #she should show up in 6 and 12? if I remember right? #and her role is more worldbuilding than anything else. but still SO MANY THINGS LIKE THIS…. #and even big things like. mari having settled as a pug. flapjack officially transing his gender in 16.5 #instead of it being implied he would’ve gone that way at the end of 21 #palistrom tree seed lore. how human-daemon vs witch-palismen names work #WORTH IT IN THE LONG RUN BUT. so much work….. #in other news he hasn’t shown up yet but I AM thinking about a final post epilogue sraf fic <3 #yes i like where the story ends w luz and Mari. but consider sending my second favorite ten year old to witch school #SRAF FIREFLY CLAWTHRONE’S GUIDE TO BEING THE BEST OWL YOU EXIST. TO ME #here’s hoping for a June release! I thiiiiiink it’s still possible lol depends on how hard all those smaller edits r #when im not basically fully rewriting and adding in new scenes it should go way faster

[artbyblastweave]

A couple of years ago, when The Magnus Archives was at the height of its popularity, somebody on here made what I thought at the time was a very cogent observation; namely, that Jurgen Leitner, and our collective undying hatred of him, is what you get if you take Welcome to Night Vale’s running gag about Cecil’s interns constantly dying on the job, and then actually took the horrific moral implications of that dynamic seriously and really held the Cecil figure accountable in the narrative lens. Everyone, in-universe and out, rightfully hates and despises Leitner for a pattern of behavior that, in the context of Night Vale, would have come across as a kooky quirk, no worse than anything else in that town. We know this because Cecil is the beneficiary of exactly this.

This isn’t really intended as a criticism of Night Vale, which has to be graded on a different curve because the intent, first and foremost, is to make people laugh, and to occasionally to express heartfelt sentiments. It’s not a pointed worldbuilding project working towards a definitive, thematically resonant end. But one of my big friction points with it, as a long-time fan, is that I do have to elide like 4/5ths of what the town is objectively stated to be like from my mental model in order for a lot of those heartfelt sentiments to land.

I personally can’t take arcs about the community coming together in the face of a larger threat seriously if I’m simultaneously entertaining all the one-off jokes about how everyone in Night Vale is a craven amoral maniac who would sell everyone else up the river for a corn chip. I’d be rolling my eyes at the situations where the narrative does decide to take human loss of life seriously if I were also giving any sort of weight to the fact that the town is described as having like eight different Shirley-Jackson style death lotteries. And, in the same way that it’s generally agreed that all SCP articles can’t be set in the same continuity because the world would be immediately annihilated, all the one-off gags about Stuff That Kills You can’t be granted equal weight or there’d be nobody left alive in the town at all.

I recognize when I’m expected to elide these things, or weigh them selectively, and meet the story where it’s at; the problem is that since I’ve migrated out of my teenaged JK-Lol-so-random phase of my sense of humor, I’ve gotten progressively worse at extending that good will and doing that selective weighing, at least when there’s stuff in the story that I’m also supposed to take seriously. I still can, but it’s less of an organic process. This shift on my end has happened hand in hand with the narrative of Night Vale starting to revisit and unpack some of its old one-off gags; examples of this include the Frank Chen resurrection subplot, and the entirety of The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home Novel, which recontextualized her bit as actually always having been something deeply fucked up, and not in a way they’ll ever be able to successfully make a joke about again. But there is still this tension that, structurally, it won’t ever be able to shake, because it’s still out to be funny.

So. Taking this full circle. I’ve got my gripes with The Magnus Archives. In aggregate I’d probably say that I enjoyed it less than I enjoyed (continue to enjoy!) Night Vale. But it never suffered from that tension. Other tensions, sure, but I never felt like it was annoyingly cavalier with the prospect of a loss of human life. Some of the ways people died are ridiculous on the face of it, sure, like that pig eating that clown, but there’s weight to the fact that they died. It’s allowed to reflect on the person or persons involved, to stick to their character like a burr as they trudge towards the tragic vortex of MAG200. There is a point. There is an ending. And rather than being comically passive reporters, the viewpoint characters are always, always, shown to be personally living with the consequences of how their world is shown to work for the people they observe.

#thoughts #meta #not tagging this TMA or Night Vale #half-baked assessment

[kafus]

ok i've decided i want to infodump about vee and nova a little after all! because uhh not only am i impatient because autism but i also. want to dip my toes into talking about this. just days ago i was still terrified but now i am Tentatively Brave... if i can talk about it here casually like this then i should be able to write a more formal summary later some other time

i've tagged this post appropriately (at least i think i have, feel free to suggest if i should add more) but also a heads up here too before i keep talking that while i'm not going into graphic detail on anything there are STRONG themes of organized sexual abuse of a child, sexual abuse of animals, and grooming! (there are no disturbing visuals in this post, just text)

IF YOU CAN'T READ THIS POST THAT'S OKAY I STILL LOVE U

takes a deep breath alright so the deal with these two. back all the way in 2021, i decided i wanted to make "vent ocs" as in i just wanted some concrete/consistent designs i could use in vent art drawings that weren't a direct reflection of what i envision myself to look like or whatever. i was going through a lot in 2021, in december 2020 i had just gotten my first big repressed memory back and my life was in a whirlwind of change and heavily increased PTSD and DID symptoms, so i was using art a lot as an outlet. in the end i settled on this drawing, based on the design taste i would have had as a young person (god the quality is so old now LOL i've improved a lot but anyway)

i was intending for these two to be just visual designs and nothing more than that but i got attached and actually ended up giving them a whole storyline and everything, which is something i admittedly hadn't done in a long time up to that point so that's cool.

the reason i preface explaining the premise of the storyline with this is because i think it's important to acknowledge that these two are intrinsically tied with my real life and the feelings i experience as a CSA/OA survivor. not because i think someone has to go through awful things to write or draw about them necessarily, but because i am passionate about expressing myself. it's important for me to be seen in some way, to be heard after years of silence. it is not safe for me mentally to share the exact details of my abuse online rn (and please don't ask for them!) but i also don't want these two to be removed from the message that i survived something and this is me making art about that in an abstracted and magical way with a fictional universe that brings me a lot of comfort. i hope this makes sense lol

oh and also with that in mind if you think for even a second any of this is a weird sex thing for me or some shit please stop reading this post and go do something else with your time. this is my trauma expression and i don't need to be compared to the people i was abused by when i was a literal toddler thank you!

AANYWAY so! premise! gonna be point blank with it! vee (not her original name but shh) is born as a normal 100% human girl, aka without the eevee ears and tail. she is groomed from a very young age (like, toddler age) and eventually abducted by her groomers which happen to be members of... well right now it's team rocket because i haven't spent the time to worldbuild a new villainous pokemon organization yet. roll with me here. she is taken to a remote facility out in the middle of fucking nowhere and is never returned to her previous life or family.

Why? well i'm glad you asked! the org is running a bunch of different experiments in this facility and one of them happens to be trying to enable humans reproducing with pokemon. this doubles as both a money thing and a power thing. they seek out a child as the victim of these horrible experiments because children are easily malleable. way easier to control a child than an adult who already has a firm identity/self.

vee is the child they chose. surgery is forcibly done on her to give her working eevee ears and tail, and also like, fuck with her body chemistry and stuff. she's biologically part eevee now. yes this is bullshit pokemon magic science LMAO but she is kept in this facility and chronically sexually abused for a few years by pairing her with various mons and trying to get eggs to happen.

the experiment isn't working though so they hypothesize that giving her a dedicated partner, especially of the same evolutionary line, would help, and they raise nova from birth as an eevee to take on that role. eventually the two of them are paired together. despite the acts they are forced to commit on each other and the abuse they endure, they actually become inseparable very quickly cause like. they don't have anyone else. and also they just genuinely care about each other. additionally at this point nova has evolved into an espeon and has telepathic powers, so him and vee can communicate linguistically with each other, so you know that helps

generally my current focus of this story is in the early years, when vee is 12 and younger, before they start realizing that shit is fucked up and they need to escape (up until that hypothetical point they have been successfully groomed into believing everything happening to them was not abuse/was normal). i have left out a metric fuckton of detail here just to get across the basic premise. i am constantly exploring vee's psyche, nova's psyche, it's like an in depth exploration of the mind of an abused child in horrific circumstances and god it's cathartic. i love these two so fucking much

btw i guess this art has more context now huh haha after i infodumped off the plot to my sister they looked at this art again and was like. OHHH THIS IS EVEN MORE OMINOUS AND HARD TO LOOK AT WITH CONTEXT. AND I WAS LIKE YEAH!!!! YOU SEE THE VISION!!! THE SYMBOLISM!! ETC!!!!

uh yeah if you read this far thank you and i just wanna say i've been building up the courage to talk about these two for GENUINELY two years, it has been over 2 full years since that initial drawing, and i am nervous and jittery posting this but i do not want to die without having shared my work with the world and i'm willing to take the risks to get my voice out there. so you reading it is very much appreciated ur like my first step into being more confident as a survivor lol

oh and fwiw despite these guys being so correlated with my trauma it's not offensive to make headcanons or ask me questions about them or compliment darker art of them however you want, in fact i love that shit!! please i've been holding these guys back for two years i have so much to say that hasn't been said. as much as i am nervous i am EXCITED

#sa tw #mind control tw #csa tw #oa tw #abuse tw #this post is a bit of a mess sorry! #this is why im sort of “drafting” my summary as a stream of consciousness infodump #i need to tackle having the confidence talking about this first #just get it out no matter how messy #and THEN i can clean it up and present it in an artistically pleasing way #kiki was here #kiki.txt #vee & nova

[imasradiantasthesun]

District 12 Family Trees

Here are some family trees I made for my thg fic holding bright! I include a good amount of worldbuilding and fleshing out of some side characters (aka Bristel, Thom, Leevy, and Delly) in it, so I thought hey might as well draw some trees to help clarify my thinking. First, some notes on the structure:

The numbers in brackets are the characters' ages at the time of the Reaping for the 74th Hunger Games. I didn't feel like assigning specific birthdays for everyone, hence just the ages lol. Some characters' ages differ from canon in my fic: Katniss, Peeta, Delly, and Madge are all 18, Prim is 13, and Rory is 12

My use of "clan" here is super arbitrary, it doesn't actually mean anything lol

Names in quotation marks are nicknames/what they go by

Plenty of people in the older generations are dead, again I just didn't feel like specifying it unless it's relevant

Some notes on my decision-making in general:

I accidentally made Katniss and Peeta's maternal grandmothers have the same maiden names please ignore that lmao they are NOT related closely At All, it's a normal amount of distance lol

Some of the names chosen for some Seam characters are Indian names, because I headcanon that people from the Seam can be a mix of a ton of different stuff, including South Asian

The idea that Mrs Everdeen's first name is Alyssum (Alys for short) comes from Mejhiren's fic When the Moon Fell in Love with the Sun

I continued the bread theme for Mellark names lol. Mr Mellark's first name is Nick, from pumpernickel. I also once read a fic where Peeta is of Jewish descent, which I really liked, so some of the breads are of Jewish origin: Hal is from challah (which can also be written as hallah), and Bab is from babka

In Holding Bright (which is an au, hence the variety of small changes I have made to canon lol) the Reaping takes place on June 1st (instead of the canonical July 4th), and it's also canon that the Games start exactly one week after the Reaping, so therefore in HB they always start on June 8th. Therefore, the teenaged deaths set after June 1st -- Glory Salsbury, Maysilee Donner, and Ridge Littlefield -- were all in the Games.

As explained in chapter 9 of Holding Bright, Ezra and Petunia Rainwater started a tradition of giving their kids long ass floral names lol. Their first child was relatively spared, with the name Foxglove, though he still went by Fox; their second child, Devil-in-a-Bush (or just Dev) fell in love with a woman who also just so happened to have a super long floral name, Queen Anne's Lace (though she went by Lace). All of Fox's descendants were spared from this naming tradition, to the point where his daughter, Hazelle, gave all of her children only four-letter names. Meanwhile, Dev's descendants got the longest names ever lmao: Chrysanthemum had five children: Morning Glory, Lily-of-the-Valley (aka Leevy), Stairway to Heaven, May Night Salvia, and Forget-Me-Not.

I have a headcanon that in Town they tend to give their children middle names, while in the Seam they don't (why? I don't know <3). In Town middle names came into use because they wanted to honor loved ones who have passed away, but because of the Games and all that it's considered bad luck to give your child the same first name as a deceased loved one

However, because I'm lazy I only wrote out the middle names for the youngest generation because I didn't want to come up with middle names for every single Merchant character lol

Katniss and Prim have middle names because their mother is from Town. Madge's middle name comes from Maysilee, just like Katniss's

I'm going with the popular headcanon that Katniss is indirectly related to Lucy Gray through Maude Ivory. Katniss's father's name follows the same conventions as those of the Covey (name from a ballad + a color). I had originally planned for people to only really know Mr Everdeen as Jet, hence why the family tree says Gordon Jet "Jet" Everdeen, but I have decided against that!! he went by Gordon Jet!!!

The first part of Mr Everdeen's name comes from the Scottish ballad Lord Saltoun and Auchanachie, in which the protagonist, Jeannie, is in love with a poor man named Auchanachie Gordon. However, despite Jeannie's resistance, she is married off by her parents to the wealthy Lord Salton/Saltoun; Jeannie then dies of a broken heart before Auchanachie Gordon returns and also dies. I thought Gordon is a fitting name, considering that Mrs Everdeen left her life in Town, where the wealthier Mr Mellark was in love with her, to marry the poorer Mr Everdeen

The second part of Mr Everdeen's name, Jet, comes from the color jet black; jet is also a type of coal

Some allusions to another canon character + my minor OCs:

Rooba is the name of the butcher in canon, so here she is Delly's aunt

Madge's maternal grandmother, Magnolia, has the maiden name Blackwell. She is distantly related to Maggie Blackwell, the carpenter's daughter who went missing about a decade ago

Thom’s maternal grandmother, Nomi Goodwin, was originally from Town

Bristel's mother, Juniper, passed away from complications at childbirth

Gale's maternal grandmother, Anika, has the maiden name Reeves. Gale is second cousins with Sparrow Reeves, the female tribute from 12 in the 68th Games who made a lasting impact on her district due to the brutality of her death

River & Rylee Ludlow are the 17-year-old twins who tend to pick on Madge a bit. No wonder they're related to Mrs Mellark...

Mrs Mellark's brother, Noah, died in the Games. Her other brother, Elijah, took over the apothecary shop from the Stewards after Alys ran away to be with Gordon Jet

Ivy Fairweather is the Undersees' housekeeper, usually referred to in HB as Mrs Fairweather. She and her husband probably have a ton of kids, but I just didn't feel like writing them all out lol. Ivy's maiden name is Claymore, which is also the last name of another OC, Hetty Claymore, who mysteriously died; Ivy is Hetty's like second cousin whatever-times-removed or something (aka practically a distant aunt)

#the hunger games #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #lucy gray baird #gale hawthorne #thg #madge undersee #maude ivory baird #delly cartwright #bristel thg #thom thg #leevy thg #fics #holding bright #bristel littlefield #thom littlefield #leevy salsbury #meta #tbosas #hc #ocs #long post. #my thg/hb meta #morning glory salsbury

[misc-obeyme]

Imagine after finishing the Obey me nightbringer storyline, Solmare brings out a new game called "Lightbringer," in which the storyline involves all around the celestial realm.

((knowing they earned a lot of profits from the franchise.))

And honestly? I would continue playing it. I refuse to part with the "Obey me fandom" and knowing that one day, the game is going to end breaks my heart.

Anon, please, I am in denial about the future end of anything.

As far as I'm concerned, this is the purpose of fandom. To continue to enjoy our favorite characters and medias even after they're over! I really thought I'd have lost interest in Obey Me by now, but here I still am! At this rate, I may be writing Barbatos fanfiction when I'm 90.

And yo, I would totally play a game set in the Celestial Realm! I would have some complaints about the choice of "Lightbringer" for a name, but I'd still play it!!

Give us some angels, I wanna know more about the CR anyway! Then again it isn't like we can fully trust these guys to give us a decent worldbuilding ever lol.

Maybe one day, things will end. But nothing is meant to last forever. If I personally have lost my love of the game and its characters, I will mourn the loss of it. Being part of this community has brought so much light into my life. And so it will always have a special place in my heart, no matter what happens in the future. And for that I will always be grateful!

ANYWAY let's not get sad yet! Nothing is ending now and I don't know if there's even a predictable ending in sight, so I'm just gonna continue being in denial about that potential future~

#we just need Barbatos to come around and reset the timeline #maybe he already has #maybe we willed him into being and now that's what's happening #this is our fiftieth time through this #playing Obey Me for the rest of eternity #leave me in my daydreams thanks #I like it here #obey me #obey me nightbringer #anon asks #misc answers

[chimielie]

there are many benefits to being a marine biologist

summary: Goshiki x F!Reader. Ponyo!AU. one part fairytale, one part growing up, one part love language exploration. you fall in love with a human boy and then move mountains to find him again.

word count: 8.7k

cw: nothing. gets better as it progresses imo

a/n: i started writing this maybe two years ago for a contest held by two users who are now both inactive i think? the outline for this planned for like two more acts, but i thought it should stop rotting in the drafts and i like it as is now. i do have quite a lot of worldbuilding not in the fic (mostly regarding goshiki's family, who i named after the original ponyo characters lol) so please, if you happen to read this and have questions about this little story that's been living in my head, feel free to ask :)

The day before he finds you, it storms like the world is going to end.

Seawater washes into the road as the sea swells in thick knots, rising and never quite falling as far as it should. Blooms of white—foam and algae and debris, and drowned souls if folklore was to be believed—swirl on the surface, which waits to break against the cliffs until the wave inflates to grotesque proportions, as though it’s a fist hammering against a wall. The wind tries to match the hysteric sea’s beat, and comes screaming in from the horizon, wrapping around whatever it finds in its path if it cannot blow through it and squeezing like a python. With it blows in the fog, until the atmosphere brings a river of milk, writhing over the pine islands so they become black spikes against which the ocean hammers.

Tsutomu stands against the back door of his home on the cliff, hands pressed to the glass, careful not to let his breath obscure his vision any further than the mist already was. Even inside the house—where the air is still warm, where the wind can’t creep in—he can hear the crash of waves and the shriek of the typhoon, even if they’re reduced to a low-crooning song punctuated by the steady rhythm of his mother’s voice.

“Transmitting from JA4LL. JA4LL. Come in, Koichi. This is Risa and Tsutomu.”

She’s been speaking steadily into the microphone for a few minutes already, and Tsutomu pads over to press his cheek into her side, fists his hands into her shirt while she pats him on the head. When the headset crackles to life, he jumps and she doesn’t. His parents’ voices wash over him warmly, and he relaxes, hoping the weather will calm soon so they can all go to Tashirojima together.

Sound asleep in a bubble deep beneath the sea, you don’t even know that there’s a storm on the surface.

“Wake up, girls.” You wake when your father speaks to you, swim eagerly to the border of filmy water and press your nose to it in a sort of nuzzling good morning kiss. “I—yes, good morning, hello—I said I’d take you all to work with me today, if you’d like—stop pressing on the bubble, you’ll pop it!”

You do happy flips when you’re let out of the little aquarium, linger at the back of the school of your sisters as your father quickly becomes engrossed in his work. He’s often distracted and always scatterbrained, but centuries of experience have made him an expert at marine wizardry. There’s little he loves more than his work, except perhaps your family, but he’s unfamiliar with the care and keeping of young goldfish and your mother is away right now.

This is how you slip away: with discretion from your sisters, distraction from your father, and a rush of excitement you’ve felt almost never in your entire life. It’s not that you don’t love your family, that you want to run away; it’s just that your sisters are all still babies, freshly hatched, and you get bored in the little bubble, always having to watch your father work and never getting to do anything. There’s no room for anxiety in your fish-body as you swim towards the surface, wriggling your fins frantically and buoying yourself with upward currents whenever possible. 

The first sight of sunlight streaming through the aqua is mesmerizing, and you kick doubly hard for the remainder of the journey. 

The surface is the most incredible thing you’ve ever seen. Exhausted from the swim, you flop onto your back on top of a passing jellyfish and stare in wonder at the coastline. There’s a road, and little metal vehicles crossing it, and houses tucked into every crevice in the hills. There are jagged cliffs that look like they were hewn in half by some godly hand (one of your uncles, maybe). And on top of the tallest cliff, there’s a little house, so small you can hardly see it, yellow and red and white, and you find yourself fascinated by it.

When he wakes, Tsutomu finds himself in bed, his eyes stuck together with leftover sleep. He remembers, just barely, being carried by his mother’s strong arms to his room, the press of her lips to his forehead. It’s not an unusual occurrence, so he starts his day as usual. Breakfast is leftovers from the fridge, his mother is still half-asleep sipping coffee at the breakfast table (she’s always groggier after a late night up speaking to his father), and he walks down the path to the beach, carefully balancing his favorite toy—a beach ball light enough for him to carry and shaped like a volleyball—in his arms. 

It’s clear today, almost like there was never a storm at all. The sky is a cheerful blue dotted with puffy white clouds, the temperature warm enough to only require a t-shirt, not cold enough to make him uncomfortable. The sun shines down on the beach with a smile, the morning light nearly shining a spotlight on the red lump just above the waterline.

“Eh?” Tsutomu says to himself, walking closer and struggling to peer past the bulge of his volleyball. He sets it down carefully, stopping it from rolling away with his foot, and bends at the waist to look closely at you.

You stare, eyes bulging, back up at him. A little boy, the likes of which you’ve never seen before, fringe falling into his face, is the most magical thing you’ve ever seen.

“A goldfish!” He declares triumphantly as he identifies you. “Hello, Miss Goldfish.”

You flap a fin at him as best you can. He giggles and scoops you up in both hands, wading into the water and holding you just beneath the surface so you won’t dry out. You spin in his hands, and nuzzle his chubby palm. 

“Tsutomu!” Someone calls from above. “Time to go!”

“That’s my mom,” Tsutomu says to you. “We’re going to work at the senior center. Well, she’s going to work, and I get to go to school right next to there, ‘cause I’m five years old.” He adopts a wise expression. Five is the oldest he’s ever been, and it feels very big. You splash. Me too! Me too! “It was nice to meet you, Miss Fish. My name is Tsutomu. I hope I see you again. Bye bye!”

He lets go of you gently, and turns to find that his ball has rolled into the water, a little too deep for him to reach without soaking his clothes. You, still watching the curious human boy, see the frown on his face, the tremble of his lips and watery eyes, and dart off quickly. When he looks down, you’re gone. He stands on the sand in front of the ball, watching it float further away, listening to his mother’s increasingly aggravated shouting for him to come up from the beach, and feels stuck with the tide of unhappiness rising in him. He reaches up with one fist to wipe at his watering eyes.

Shock overwhelms him when a stream of water hits the ball, pushing it against the current, intermittent splash carrying it all the way back to shore. His eyes stop watering from the pure amazement of it all as he watches a little red spark flash with every spurt of water, and he has to shake himself before wading back in to grab it.

“Thank you, Miss Goldfish,” he cheers when he finally lifts the ball clear of the surf. “You’re amazing!”

There’s nothing but pure childish admiration in the words, which makes you as happy as he is. You like this boy! He thinks you’re amazing!

You flip in the air, coming down with a splash that sends droplets of saltwater all the way to Tsutomu, who shields his face and twists his whole torso away with shrieking laughter. 

“Tsutomu!” You say happily. He untwists to look at you, bobbing in the water. 

“You said my name! You really are amazing!”

“Tsutomu!” You cheer, and then again for good measure.

“Tsutomu!” His mother roars, coming into view on the beach, and her ferocious tone hardly seems to dent his mood. 

“I have to go now. Thank you a lot, Miss Goldfish,” he waves at you and begins walking back to his mother, who’s standing with her hands on her hips and her lips set in a scowl.

“Tsutomu!” You say in farewell, and begin the swim back home.

“Mom, I made a friend! I saw a goldfish, and she talks, too. She said my name! Isn’t that so cool?” Tsutomu bounces up to his mother with his fists clenched and raised in the air, as though he’s declaring victory, and her irritation dissipates almost immediately. She laughs and swings him up onto her shoulders.

“That is cool, but we’re going to be late. Think I can drive over before they open the drawbridge?”

You’re lucky your father doesn’t notice and you know it. For the rest of the month, you listen attentively as he explains, half-mumbled and face pressed up against a blackboard, the things he believes children ought to know: potionmaking, mostly, the way that those potions affect the environment, and the filthiness of humans. You try your best to be good, but you file as much information about magic away as you can and know in the deepest depths of your heart that it’s so you can see Tsutomu again.

You sneak away again, maybe every month, and rarely have to wait longer than a few hours for Tsutomu to come rushing down the path from his house, huge smile on his face, shedding his backpack and shoes. During low tide, he can reach what becomes a tide pool, and often he shows you things from his day-to-day life. You love hearing him talk, sometimes practicing human speech by following along with his words. He gives you a name, better than the one your father calls you, you think, shaping it in your mouth. While you watch with great interest, you never bring him anything.

You are a fish, after all.

As the years pass, your visits to the surface become more infrequent. You worry about your human-hating father catching you, and your education has intensified as you age. Your little sisters are starting to grow up and, though they’re still captivated by stories of your Tsutomu, you worry about fostering jealousy of the dry world in them. One daughter your father may not notice missing for a day, but where one of your sisters go, almost all the rest will follow. 

“What does Y/N mean?” You ask innocently one day, when the two of you are eight years old. You bob in the water, and he sits on a rock, the surf spraying up around him but never reaching high enough to soak him.

“Mm,” he says, looking down and kicking at a pebble. “Beloved.”

“Really?”

“I don’t know,” his grin is childish, and the effect is only lightly diminished by the way he’s clearly struggling to maintain eye contact with you. You splash him, and he shrieks and falls into the water. Both of you come up giggling. Whatever the true meaning of his name for you, you know that whenever he says it, that’s what he means; and that is all that matters.

Although he waits patiently for you for many years, Tsutomu tells you one day with a serious face that he’s going to be going to school further away, in Sendai, and will have less time to spend watching out for you. You have a year left before this happens, he says, so your visits resume a near monthly routine. Sometimes, you simply spend hours after he’s left staring at the house on the cliff and imagining living there with Tsutomu and loving him the way he tells you his mom and dad love each other.

When he leaves for school, crying a little while you blink up at him, you absorb yourself in your studies. When you really, really miss him, you swim up to the surface and remind yourself that someday, you’ll be old and strong enough to live up there with Tsutomu. The next time he sees you, he’s twelve years old. People call him Goshiki-kun, not Tsutomu-chan, and his voice cracks when he speaks. On the train ride home from school, he worries that you’ll laugh at him, like his peers do, that the way he’ll surely tear up upon seeing you is unmanly.

It’s July, the month of salt-making rituals, and this becomes the marker of your visits to Tsutomu. To his immense relief, you still call him by his first name, you don’t laugh when his voice breaks, you throw your whole body at him to smack his cheek like you’re trying to hug him with your fins. You missed him as much as he missed you, he can tell, and the both of you spend hours catching up.  You get two more years before disaster strikes.

The day you’re due to visit the surface, it storms again. You know what lightning is, now, know the acrid scent of sky-fire splitting the air, the brutal strength of riptides and currents. When you break into the air, you find that a gray mist lingers over the bay and the mood of the few people you see appears dismal. When you look up to Tsutomu’s house and see that it shines as cheerfully yellow as always, that yellow and red seems to creep into your bones until you feel sure that everything is alright. This is a kind of magic your father has not yet taught you.

This has always been your secret, safe harbor. You don’t expect anything to go wrong here—not when you’re accustomed to submarine chemical vents and shining anglerfish in the deep blue depths. Here it has always seemed safe, calm, kind.

You learn today why your father despises his former kin so much.

There’s silt in the water, probably stirred up by the storm that took away the cheeriness of the sky. One fish swims by you, its eyes bulging frantically. Then another, and another. It’s only when an entire school passes in the same direction that you hear the ship coming closer and realize that you should probably be heading that way yourself.

You’re too late, and so are the rest of them—something huge, bigger than the mouth of a whale, you think it must be, traps you, pressing you together with sifting mud and other scales and glass, like your father’s bottles. You try to move your tail and push yourself out, but you’re packed so tightly in with a million others doing the same that the action is impossible. 

You’re starting to panic.

Then, the boat attached to the net you’re in swings around, taking you and everyone else with it, and you find yourself face to face with a glass jar. Worse, you find yourself slowly being pushed into it by the sheer unluckiness of your position and the crush of animals trying to escape the churning mud and human garbage.

You push more frantically than before, thrashing your entire body violently.

“No, no, no, no!” You wail, the words bubbling in the water. Then you fall through a gap in the net.

Unable to right yourself in time, you find yourself stuck halfway into the jar, and your wriggling only makes it worse.

You can’t—you can’t breathe. This was a mistake. You’re so scared.

You have to take the last resort. You send up a prayer to your mother—please, don’t let him be too angry—and send out a spell with the last bit of energy you have. A signal that will ripple all the way to your father.

You run out of oxygen, and everything goes black.

Tsutomu has been waiting a long time by the beach. He got up early to watch the sunrise, carrying a thermos of hot tea with him as he sat by the water and wondered what your life was like through the months you don’t see him. As he wakes more fully and the air starts to warm (though not by much) he walks alongside the waterline, testing how far he could go in without getting the hem of his pants wet, how long his toes could stand immersion in the cold seawater. He ponders why you keep visiting him, year after year, bringing him good luck and sunny skies.

You’re more to him than a symbol, though; you’re amazing.

As he settles himself, he starts to walk back to the tidepools, hoping you’ll be there. He knows it’s a little early for your visit, but you’re unpredictable; besides, he’s sure you care about your weird human friend as much as he cares about his fishy one.

Near the stairs, something rolls on the sand, flashing gold. Tsutomu squints at it, then picks up his pace. Shit, shit, is that—

It is. He picks up the jar, lips pressing into a pout when he sees that you’re unmoving. He runs up the steps to his home, taking them two at a time, all the while talking to you like you can hear him through the glass barrier.

He collects a bucket and stands next to the garden hose, trying to shake you out of your jar. He thinks that it would require too much force than would be safe to get you out, but you’re clearly suffocating in there. He squats on his heels, turning the jar over in his hands and wracking his brain for a solution.

“Tsutomu, you’re gonna be late for practice!” His mom rounds the corner, startling him, and he drops you. “Tsutomu—what was that?”

You’re out of the jar, but now you’re lying in pieces of shattered glass. Eyes round in distress, Tsutomu snatches you up and plops you into the full bucket of water.

“Nothing,” he says, voice suspiciously shaky.

“Okay, well, we’ve gotta go, so get in the car now.” She jerks her thumb towards the vehicle. He nods and peeks into your bucket. You stare up at him, as alert as ever, and he breathes a sigh of relief. 

In the car, you swim happily in circles, raising your head out of the bucket to peer out the window.

“What’s in the bucket?” His mom says with interest, and he presses a hand over the opening of the bucket, trying not to giggle as you nuzzle his palm. 

“It’s for a group science project—Mom, watch out, you’re gonna make it spill!” She side-eyes him, knowing her son has never been so conscientious of a school project or of his own messes before, but lets it slide. There’s no point in prying when there are only so many options to be found on the beach. The worst that can happen is that he lightly traumatizes some sea creature, and she doubts that Tsutomu’s conscience and childhood obsession with marine life could let him do that. Besides, she smiles to herself. The sea is basically in his blood.

Tsutomu rushes out of the car, managing only a “Thanks-Mom-love-you-goodbye!” before he’s dashing to the gym, gaze bouncing between your bucket and the ground to avoid tripping so fast watching his eyes makes you dizzy.

He sets you down on the bench closest to the court.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” He whispers, picking you up to make sure there’s no glass embedded in your skin. 

“I’m okay!” You beam up at him. “Tsutomu rescued me!” 

He smiles at that, blushing faintly, pretty eyes squinting, and you pop out of the water to splash him lightly.

“Hey, I have to practice in this,” he frowns.

“Sorry,” you say, abashed, but he shoots you a small smile and you know it’s alright.

Listening to Tsutomu explain volleyball is entirely different from watching him play it. You didn’t really understand it when he spoke, before, but now you understand the difference between a fishing net and a volleyball one, as well as other crucial aspects of the game. There’s a lot of yelling, and squeaking, and it’s a little hard to see from inside your bucket, but you don’t mind. You bob up every so often, trying to find Tsutomu on the court, though it’s hard when he moves around so much.

At one point, he jumps up and slams down the ball in what’s clearly a perfect line even to the untrained eye. Around him, his teammates burst into cheers (“Nice going, bowlcut!) and you get so excited you mimic them, whooping and doing a flip in the air.

“Eh? What was that?” Someone you can’t see says, and then Tsutomu is there, grinning widely at you from above, eyes watering slightly.

“Oi, Goshiki,” a boy with hair as red as your scales slides an arm around him. “What’s this you’ve got?”

Tsutomu opens his mouth, but you beat him to it, using the name he gave you without a second thought.

“Huh? Wow, you have a smart goldfish! Reon, come check out Goshiki’s goldfish!”

Reon simply looks at you and says, “Cool.”

“Be nicer!” The redhead says, smacking him lightly on the shoulder. “She can talk!”

“I can talk!” You echo. Reon repeats cool, unfazed.

“What are we looking at, Tendō?” A boy whose shirt reads Yamagata slows his jogging to a stop, one hand running through his hair as he looks at the red bucket.

“This is Y/N,” Tsutomu says. “I found her on the beach.”

“Are you going to eat that?” A voice deeper than the others makes you poke your head further out of the water than before. It’s a boy like the others, with greenish hair and a huge stature. He reminds you, oddly, of your mother. Big and bea-uti-ful!

“No!” Tsutomu yelps. “No, we won’t! Ushijima-senpai, sir,” he adds, voice calming to a lower pitch as he does.

“Are you sure?” Asks Tendō, a sly expression crossing his face. Tsutomu pushes him away hastily and steps protectively in front of you. 

“Yes! I mean no! I mean—”

“Alright,” Ushijima-senpai says slowly. “Welcome to our practice, then. I hope you enjoy watching volleyball.”

“Enjoy!” You do another flip. “Watching Ushijima-senpai!”

“Okay—” Tsutomu says, picking up your bucket, looking around as he tries to find his way out of the circle of boys.

“What’s wrong with your fish?” A boy with long bangs and pointy features grabs the bucket and peers at you. You don’t like this pointy human. “Why is it talking?”

You say nothing, hollowing your cheeks in preparation to spit at him.

“Give her back,” Tsutomu narrows his eyes. “Careful, Shirabu.”

“Is no one else concerned about the talking goldfish?” Shirabu looks around at his upperclassmen. “What the fuck, Goshiki?”

“He’s right,” Ushijima says thoughtfully. “The fish could be a spy. For Karasuno, perhaps.”

“What?” Shirabu’s outraged yell is shortly cut off by Tsutomu’s fearful-yet-determined denial that you would ever do such a thing to him or to Shiratorizawa.

A deep sigh, sounding somewhat like it’s exhaling the speaker’s entire soul, interrupts them both.

“Can we please stop staring at Goshiki’s pet and get back to practice?” A boy with ash blond hair says, and immediately, a few of the others nod and disperse.

“She’s not a pet,” Ushijima says, while Tsutomu splutters incoherently. “Or sushi. She’s a friend of Goshiki. But you’re right, we should be practicing.”

“T-thank you, Ushijima,” Tsutomu says haltingly, eyes shining in admiration. “I really appreciate it!” The captain only needs to look back at him, his face unsmiling but not at all unfriendly, for him to continue. “And I apologize for distracting everyone, I’ll get back to work now! Thank you!”

The rest of practice goes smoothly, although you get a few lingering stares and an odd few minutes of interrogation from Shirabu while they’re on their break. He tries to explain that you can talk, and this is bad, and it’s a demon, to an old man with white hair, who merely hums when he looks at you and tells him to do an extra fifteen laps as a punishment for talking nonsense about magical goldfish.

Once the games have all finished and Goshiki’s changed into street clothing, though, something horrible happens. He’s picking you up, ready to transport you to his mother’s workplace so you can drive home, but then someone taps him on the shoulder. He startles, water sloshing over the sides of the bucket, and lifts up the bucket to his chest to prevent any further instability.

“Goshiki-kun,” a girl human says. “Could I speak to you outside?”

“Ouuuu,” you hear Tendō’s voice from across the gym. “Little bowl cut is receiving a confession?”

“Uh, um, yes, you can,” he says, and when you turn his cheeks are scarlet. “Let me just pack up the rest of my things, and I’ll m-meet you out there.”

“Sounds good!” She says, and you don’t like the cheery note of her voice or the way she brushes her hand against his bicep. You make a face up at Tsutomu, but he doesn’t seem to notice, lost in his own head.

You swim all the way to the bottom of the bucket, only to feel him poking you not a minute later.

“Don’t be grumpy,” he says. “Please? It’ll be just a second.”

You flap a fin at him and make an enthusiastic noise.

It is not, in fact, a second. You wait for an eternity (and you know about eternities) for the girl to stop stuttering her way through telling Tsutomu that she thinks he’s really smart, and she likes his bowl cut, and you can just see the word amazing forming on her lips before she says it. Her hand is stretching out, dropping something shiny into his hand, and you hate it, you hate it, you hate it.

You act before you think. Your cheeks puff up and you take a big breath in and then there’s water, all over her pretty pink cardigan. She shrieks and then starts to cry a little, and you stick out your tongue and blow a raspberry at her before diving back down, flipping your tail with sass as you go.

“I’m really sorry,” Tsutomu says frantically, offering her a wrinkled handkerchief. “It was an accident, I swear. I-I really appreciate your confession and, um, I’m glad you were comfortable enough soo that you could come to me, but, oh! My mom’s here, I have to go! Bye!”

You swivel and watch as he picks you up and bolts away; her tears seem to have dried a bit as she stares after him in bewilderment. Not for the first time, you wish you had two legs and hands to hold onto Tsutomu. You wish that you could stay on shore with him, and keep away all the girls like her forever.

You know it’s childish, but you don’t care. Does it matter that it’s an immature thought when it’s completely impossible?

In the car, Tsutomu is quiet. Even his mother seems to notice his pensive aura, and frames her questions about his day carefully to avoid sounding like she’s prying.

“What’s that?” She asks, and he unclenches his hand, looking as mystified by the object in his palm as you feel. It’s a pin, gold and pink and shaped like a heart. “Oh, my gosh, is that from your girlfriend, Tsutomu?”

“No,” he says immediately. “Maybe. I don’t know.”

You frown, bumping the red walls of the bucket, and he trails his fingers through the water. Something coppery floods your senses, and you dart over to nuzzle his hand instinctively. In his palm, there’s an angry red mark, oozing little droplets of blood. When you poke it, he winces. 

It tastes weird when you lick it.

“Hey!” He jerks his hand out of the water. “Whoa.”

Where Tsutomu knew he had been pricked by the pin a few minutes ago, there’s no sign of injury, even though the water surrounding you still has a faint tint in places. You watch him with round eyes, and he offers you a smile and a pat on the head. Amazing.

“What did you think, Y/N?” You stick out your tongue.

“Girlfriends suck,” is your opinion. “Pbbbt.”

The wind blows the longer strands of Tsutomu’s straight hair to the side as he stands next to the garden hose, refilling your bucket with fresh water. Above you, the sky is a weak blue, it’s brighter shades concealed by layers of white mist. A lush, slightly overgrown garden is what hides behind the picket fence you can see from the seashore, full of plants that look so familiar to the kelp forests you’re used to, yet so different. The upper lands are so strange. You’re glad Tsutomu’s mom doesn’t keep her garden dry and cut into shrubbery, like some of the houses you saw on the way to his school.

“Who are you?” Tsutomu’s voice is stiff, like his form as he drops you into the now-full bucket of fresh water while you crane your neck to see past his legs.

“Where is she?” Booms a voice you know all too well. It cuts off when he sees you, lips pursed while you try to look as inconspicuous as possible. “Captured by a human boy? Bad, that’s very bad. Give her here—“

“No!” Your friend yelps. “You want to take her? Y/N, I’ll protect you.”

“Protection?” Your father sneers, his hair puffing up threateningly. “I felt her signal for help—very good, by the way, your spellwork is coming along nicely. Give her here, now, I’ll be drying out soon.”

“I don’t care! Y/N wouldn’t do that, we’re friends,” Tsutomu says, casting a glance down at you. You nod, your tongue feeling stuck.

“My daughter would not befriend a human—“

“Y/N loves Tsutomu!” You cry. A light blazes in his eyes at the words, and his posture straightens.

“And I love her!”

“Eh?” Your father looks between the two of you. “That’s nonsense, Brunhilda, you know what humans are like, and what’s a Y/N, anyway?”

“It’s me!” You flip in the air, surging with defiant energy. “It’s my name.”

You choke midsentence as a hand closes around you; the world goes up in bubbles, and all you can hear is Tsutomu screaming your name, over and over.

Over.

And over.

And over.



“Again!” You sigh and twitch your fins lazily, watching with hooded eyes as lines only you can see race across the model mountain, glowing faintly before they settle into the material. The warding spell is clean and simple, requiring no complicated incantations or strange ingredients. However, it needs time to sink in, and when a hermit crab scuttles over the map and right onto your now-invisible lines, the whole thing goes up in a puff of smoke.

“Y/N,” your father says sternly, having given up on Brunhilda some time ago, when you refused to answer to it. “This is meant to be a demonstration for your sisters. These spells require layering, you know, one spell to ward and a secondary spell to, in a way, ward that ward. This creates an effect…”

You say nothing, merely letting a current of water roll you onto your side, your eyes rolling up to stare at the ceiling. You can feel the sympathetic gaze of your father—you know that he didn’t intend for this to happen. He only wanted to save you; he couldn’t have known that Tsutomu wasn’t the threat. You know he worries about you when he thinks you can’t hear him. You hear his every prayer for your mother to come back, to make things right, to help you see things his way. It’s only on the third point that he loses you. You didn’t want things to be this way either.

When you lost Tsutomu, something inside you boiled up and nearly steamed over. You can only remember wanting to go back, to go home to him, desperately trying to rejoin him on land. You love your father, and you only want his understanding. He left behind his humanity for your mother; why can’t you gain it yourself for Tsutomu?

The lid had clamped down on that furiously bubbling emotion, and in response it had gone to sleep, simmering but never fully boiling away. At first, you had been unmotivated even to eat or wake when your sisters did. Four years later, you still miss him: you go about your day to day life just fine, but you lack your childhood verve.

Even now, you can feel yourself slipping into slumber, exhausted by just a few minutes of magic. Your father’s voice and the clamor of your sisters meld into a comforting hum, lulling you further. You barely register the feeling of your father carrying you to your aquarium, the whisper of his goodnight lost on your drowsing mind.

When he was fourteen, Tsutomu’s mother found him in the garden. There was a wet trail leading right off the bluffs, a red bucket lying on its side, and her son, sitting with his knees under his chin and crying his heart out. The garden hose was still on.

She didn’t ask what happened, just turned off the hose and crouched next to him, arm over his shoulders, until he looked up at her with puffy eyes and wordlessly followed her into the house.

Risa had always known that she could be a little sharp with her words, and so she used food to express herself more often when she wanted it to be soft and soothing. She mixed her son some tea, the way she had every time he’d gotten sick when he was little, slid two slices of bread into the toaster, and hoped that the warmth of what she gave him would travel into his heart and help it heal a bit. Tsutomu cried into the toast a little, once it had been lavished with butter and honey, but it was just sniffling and not silent sobs, so she didn’t mind much. Then they sat on the couch and she rubbed his back while old tapes of his very first volleyball games played on the TV.

Tsutomu never told her what had happened that day. He could tell that she was curious, but unwilling to pressure him, and he wasn’t sure how to explain it. She’d always spoken about you in the same manner most adults used to describe the imaginary friends of children, and correcting that assumption seemed beyond the dignity of the man he wanted her to see him as. He knew that she guessed that he’d knocked over the bucket and sent his fish back down into the sea, and it wasn’t an unreasonable explanation. Fourteen year old boys weren’t the most rational creatures, and he could very easily have been sent into a similar kind of spiral had the fish just been a regular goldfish. It wasn’t, though, and he’d never cried so hard over any girl since.

He misses you. Though it doesn’t ache as sharply as it did when the fear of facing off against your father was fresh in his mind, he still thinks of you with a pang of sadness. There had been a sense of belonging with you he knows was more than a fleeting feeling. He hopes you’re happy in the ocean, learning new magic and spending time with your sisters, and once you’re queen of the sea, maybe you’ll come visit him. He’ll show you his cross spike.

“Again!” Shirabu barks, and Tsutomu has no trouble complying. He empties himself of every concern outside of the game and slams down a serve, just outside of the zone he wants it to land in. Without prompting, he picks up another ball and does it again.

Over and over and over.

Electricity was already crackling in the air when he woke up.

Everything felt uncomfortable, like the pressure in the atmosphere would pop and the sky would fall down in flaming pieces around them. It’s gray, like it was the day you went home. You’ve been lingering even longer on his mind than usual, and he just hopes that the knot in his throat will go away if he hits enough perfect shots. It would probably help if his partner for the day weren’t allergic to acknowledging when he does something right.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Shirabu says. Tsutomu makes a face at him and serves one more ball, the sound of it hitting the ground echoing obnoxiously. These days, he and Shirabu are good friends, though they’re still hiding behind the thin veneer of antagonism they’d held for each other in their first years. Being teammates at Shiratorizawa means being bonded for life, after all. There’s no sense in fighting it. The powers that be (also known as Coach Washijō) are as inexorable as fate, after all.

During the school year, Tsutomu lived in the dorms, like most other academy students, but living a mere half hour ride away meant he often visited the school over summers, too. It’s a little bittersweet now to know that each day spent practicing in this gym could be his last; though he has some time before university begins, he’s not sure when graduates are supposed to lose access.

“I drove with my mom,” Tsutomu says, “so I’ll be meeting her at the senior center. You’re coming over to watch the Rockets game later, right?”

“Sure,” Shirabu says, slinging on his backpack. “I have to bring some homework, though, I have too much preliminary coursework already.”

“You asked for it, smartass,” teases his friend.

“That’s gonna be Doctor smartass to you.”

Despite the short walk between the academy and the senior center, Tsutomu is soaked by the time he walks inside. He’s careful when taking off his raincoat and shaking out his umbrella, placing it into the designated stand, stamping his boots on the absorbent mat a few times to be safe. Just past the welcome desk, he can see his mother, pushing rambunctious Mrs. Suzuki down the hall, probably to her daily bingo game, where she’ll fleece the other players just like she’s done every day for years. Mrs. Fukuyo is sitting near the terrace doors, gazing out of the big window at the wet world outside.

“Hello, Tsutomu-chan,” she says, beckoning him to sit down, taking his hand in both of hers. “Or should I say Goshiki? You’re an adult, now, aren’t you?”

“Basically,” he says, lifting his chin. “One more week.”

“Oh, yes, you’re very grown up,” she says. “I remember when you were just starting secondary school. You were a bit skinnier then, and you wouldn’t eat fish.”

Tsutomu flushes.

“A lot can happen in a week,” says Miss Itoh, who often plays Mrs. Suzuki’s partner in crime when she deigns to attend bingo, as she passes by. “You be careful, Tsutomu, with all this weather. It’s bad luck.”

“There’s always weather,” sniffs Mrs. Fukuyo. “And we need the rain.”

“I’ll take care, don’t worry,” Tsutomu says politely. “You do the same, please.”

“Good, good,” Miss Itoh sounds distracted. “Happy birthday. Keep out of the rain, you’ll get sick. And don’t go sailing.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he stands to bow as she leaves the room.

“She’s crazy,” Mrs. Fukuyo sighs, half-joking. “But even a broken clock is right twice a day. You’re a good kid.”

“Thank you,” he says, stiff and awkward, cheeks glowing red.

“Tsutomu, there you are. Sorry to keep you waiting, I’m done now,” his mother lands a hand lightly on his shoulder. “Hello there, Mrs. Fukuyo. Doing well?”

“I am, thank you,” says the elderly woman. “Just telling your son what a strong man he’s grown up to be. He’ll take good care of his mother.”

“I will,” Tsutomu says with conviction. His mother’s pride beams down on him like the sun splitting the clouds.

“Thank you,” his mother says. “The storm rages on; we should probably go.”

“The roads aren’t safe,” says the the woman at the check-in desk as they prepare their rain gear to leave. “You should stay here for the night, Risa.”

Her jaw tightens. “I need to be there if Koichi radios in. We’ll make it just fine, don't you worry.”

On a nondescript day in August, you wake up.

Something tastes different on the current, and you feel almost like you’re regarding the world with new eyes again. You remember, with fierce and reckless abandon, what it is to love.

“Good morning,” you greet your sisters cheerily.

“Good morning!” They echo back, beaming at you. They feel it too, you can tell.

You eat your breakfast with gusto, examine your scales and scrub each until they shine. You kiss every sister you see on top of her red-gold head.

“I want to see Goshiki,” you tell your father, watching as his hair stands on end at the name, bracing yourself so the surprised jolt of power he emits doesn’t knock you down.

“No,” is all he can muster for a moment. “The human world isn’t safe. Look at what happened to you the last time you went up there.”

“I would have been fine because of Tsutomu,” you say, “And I’m even more powerful now than I was.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he snaps back. “They taint everything they touch. You’d have to-to literally, actually become a human to return to the surface. I don’t want them taking you. I don’t want you to get hurt.” You take a deep breath.

“Fine,” you say. “Then I’ll do it myself.”

You exhale with controlled force, closing your eyes and concentrating on the slow beat of cold blood in your veins.

“What are you doing?” Starts your father, nervously, but you don’t hear as you focus intently on the warmth spreading through you.

Pop!

You open your eyes, magic still swirling around you, and beam.

“Feet!” You chirp. “I have feet!” A little more pushing, and—

“Are those legs?” Your father shrieks. “Stop this right now!”

“No,” you say fiercely, and release an explosion of power so potent it rocks you backward. Seconds later, you realize that you’ve blasted a hole in the wall and the barrier ward; seawater rich with plankton rushes through, followed by barracuda with bulging eyes and squirming eels. You have hands, now, and something odd is happening to your scalp. You use one of the new extremities to reach tentatively up and pat your head.

“Hair!” Your sisters, freed from their own bubbles by the commotion, float around you. A shock of hair has sprouted from your scalp like a crop of coral. It tickles your forehead.

“I did it,” you say quietly, breathless. “I’m human.”

You look around for your father, but only see the tail end of him dashing into one of his back rooms, his nervous muttering echoing around the room.

Perhaps if you were human from the beginning, your mother would have taken you to the sea, held your hand as you beheld the glittering waves for the first time, and warned you never to turn your back on the ocean. Alas, you weren’t and she didn’t, so you fall with no resistance forward when a rush of water slams into your back, grinding your face into the floor and sweeping you away while you flail your little hands helplessly.

You’ve only felt so powerless in the water once before. Scrabbling for purchase as you freewheel through the halls of your home, you catch your fingers—there’s still a little rush of joy from it, you made them, you have fingers—on the spokes of a great wheel and cling for dear life. It creaks and turns, and you yelp, your words turning to bubbles that rise and pop against the ceiling, against which the water now reaches. The wheel turns again, and you try to hold your breath (something you’ve never done before) as something in the door clicks. There’s a moment where you think it’ll hold, and then you rock forward a little more, and it swings open. The ocean, eager to fill everything and make it its own, changes its course, and you tumble into the room, eyes widening when you see the enormous cauldron filled with something richly luminous and golden. Even submerged, the scent of the potion is strong, reminiscent of plant rot and blooming flowers, the same perfume that your mother exudes. For a moment, you gain breath, lungs and gills morphed and confused, and then you’re pulled back beneath the surface and pushed right into the pot.

You shut your eyes, the golden glow permeating even through your eyelids, and oddly enough, you can breathe like it’s pure oxygen. You can feel your spell being taken away from you, your limbs becoming fins, and you open your eyes.

I want to be human, you cry. I want to see my love.

The cauldron erupts, pushing you out of it on the top of a geyser. You hear popping noises and try to stand, looking down to see several of your sisters caught up in the fount of bubbling-over magic, thrashing joyfully as they try to wave at you with suddenly huge fins. 

You wave back, and gasp involuntarily when you see your own hand. Five fingers, covered with soft skin, veins carrying warm blood and strong bones beneath it. Your sisters may have grown far more in the span of the last few seconds, but you’ve reached an entirely unfamiliar size and shape yourself. You stretch your legs, examining your toes, the way your dress—the same color as your scales and a little iridescent, just like they were—flows around you, and beam at your sisters.

Thank you, Mother. You bow your head quickly in short prayer.

“Let’s go see Tsutomu!” You call out, and your sisters leap in answer. The surface world is so different through the eyes of a human. Your head is turned constantly to the shore as you race on the bubbling foam towards the highest hill you can see, a speck of yellow and red on top of it growing closer with every step. Lights turn on and off in the windows of homes, a thousand little fireflies glowing smaller in the distance. Trees, shivering and shaking in the wind, make up the landscape, shaping it into something that looks almost soft from so far above.

The broad panorama isn’t without more minor detail, though: with some fascination, you see two glowing eyes staring at you from along the road. Their owner steps out of the shadows—a furry creature with pointy ears and a tail and a sleek white coat of fur. Another cat follows him into the light, this one black and her eyes shiny green, unlike the first’s calm blue. The white cat rubs his cheek along the other’s, winding around her while she stands stock-still. Quick as a minnow, the black cat swipes at him, but the white cat darts away, checking over its shoulder to see if she’ll follow. You beam broadly and speed up, eager to situate yourself in this strange and exciting new world Tsutomu comes from.

Tsutomu can’t remember a time his mother’s spent the night away from home. Every night, without fail, if she knows that his dad will be in the harbor, she sits at home and waits for him, beaming their signal in start-stop patterns, having whole conversations with him in flashes when the radio reception isn’t to be used. It’s not often he’s away from home, either; it makes him uneasy to be away from the open sea. A closed horizon is a strange sight to him, like being a bug trapped in a bowl.

His parents’ commitment to each other has shaped him, something he’s always known. In sickness and in health, they swore to each other, and they kept it. For better or for worse.

His mother certainly seems intent on plowing through the worst to get to his father, now, the rain hitting their windshield in sheets and the water sloshing around their tires. Tsutomu doesn’t protest at all, just hangs on to the grab handle and stares out at the behemoth waves.

A flash of red shines in the corner of his eye. He sucks in a sharp breath, twisting fully around. He squints, trying to make out shapes through the rain.

“Get back in your seat,” his mother blindly swats at him with one hand, eyes focused on the road. “You’re throwing off the weight distribution.”

Tsutomu ignores her, white knuckling the cushions of the car as he watches you, dancing in the rain, running with the waves. You duck and weave, your dress red against the cold, gray sea.

“There’s a girl in the water!”

“What? Where?”

His mouth lies, but his heart knows the truth, knew it as soon as he saw you.

“There,” he points, but you pull ahead of them, and then there’s nothing but lightning flashing in the distance. “Never mind. Never mind. We just—we just need to go home, sorry.”

“Right you are,” his mother says, and drives the gas pedal into the floor.

Tsutomu is a shipwreck. Tossed around on the waves of his thoughts, he finds himself cresting and falling, one emotion followed immediately by another. It can’t be you. It is you. Tsutomu doesn’t care what you are, just that he can see you again. He wonders if this is what drowning feels like.

Their wipers battle to slough off the buckets pouring from the sky, and Tsutomu’s heart drops to his soles when a smudge of red reveals itself just to be his old bucket, hanging off the fence. His mom parks and he tries to regulate his breathing, unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out of the car on shaky legs.

“Is that…” His mother says, trailing off, and his head snaps up, the car blocking him from whatever she sees.

He walks around, trying desperately not to break into a run, trying not to get his hopes up.

Barely audible over the sound of storming, the pat-pat-pat of rapid footsteps is his only warning before—

You crash into Tsutomu, both faces scrunching up from the impact, both losing your footing on the wet pavement and falling further into each other. He knows it’s you even with his eyes closed. He would know you in every world and the next; he would know you from the beat of your heart and the touch of your skin and the way he loves you, loves you, loves you.

For a moment, before you hit the ground, you feel like you’re flying with him.

You spill together onto the driveway like an egg cracked into a pan, still holding each other in a bone-crushing embrace. You inhale his scent deeply and nuzzle into his wet-rain-jacket shoulder, and he cracks his eyes open, afraid you’ll disappear when he comes back to reality.

Tsutomu says your name quietly, on tenterhooks, almost all the breath in his body taken out of him.

You lift your head and say his louder, eyes wide and bright and wet. He can’t stop his tears from welling up, but he can blame them on the rain.

You kiss his cheeks where the salt might dry, one then the other, soft as the breeze. Tsutomu can still feel your smile, unfading. The sky turns gold around you.

#sorry that u are a fish for most of this. if i had written the rest of it u would not be a fish the whole time #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!! x reader #hq x reader #hq!! x reader #goshiki x reader fluff #goshiki x reader angst #goshiki x reader #goshiki tsutomu x reader #goshiki tsutomu x reader fluff #goshiki tsutomu x reader angst #haikyuu!! angst #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #haikyuu angst #hq angst #hq fluff #hq!! angst #hq!! fluff

[fluffytheocelot]

Carmen Week Day 5: AU

AWW YE HERE WE GO BOIS I HAVE BEEN SO HYPED FOR THIS ONE! Sorry its a bit late lol

Anyways--

Last Wolf is very near and dear to me, it was the first fic I actually had the confidence to write, but Thief's Guide is almost completely my own. It's not based off of another series, pretty much all the worldbuilding and plot is mine. Last Wolf still follows the timeline and plot of the original show (changed and added to of course, but the original show is the backbone.

A Thief's Guide to the Zombie Apocalypse is exactly what it sounds like lol. Carmen and her friends surviving in an apocalypse while on the run from VILE and ACME, complete with a dope soundtrack.

And Julethief of course :) because i love them

This is definitely an AU I wanna write down, I promise. Uhh maybe when I get this chapter of Last Wolf out I'll start??? Maybe. We'll see lol.

Feel free to drop me an ask about it! or last wolf too lol.

Dope soundtrack:

if the song came out during or before 1986ish, then its probably something the characters would listen to (namely Carmen, jamming to cassettes she scavenges on her Walkman). anything after that would just be soundtrack/credits music if it was a show.

uhhh story info under the cut lol

Around the mid 1980s, Dr. Bellum's unnamed predecessor was experimenting with a virus that, well, turned people into zombies. The test run soon got out of hand, however, and the virus quickly spread to the entire world.

Technology pretty much stays the same. Radios, paper maps, Walkmans, stuff like that. Music and TV obviously aren't getting widespread release anymore, so anything that came out past like, 1986 doesn't exist.

(Wow Fluffy that's so unrealistic there's no way people wouldn't quarantine themselves to stop it-- *looks at 2020* nevermind)

VILE uses it as a power grab, offering people shelter, food, etc. in exchange for joining. Fun.

There's incredible amounts of chaos and violence for the first decade or so, until late 1999 when VILE faculty member Dexter Wolfe is assumed to have been caught and killed.

Two things happen: ACME arises as a direct rival to VILE, and VILE acquires a certain Black Sheep.

ACME wants to find a cure. VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going so they stay in power. VILE and ACME are both much more well known.

Black Sheep grows up in a VILE compound, learning all her important thief skills of course, as well as the skills needed to survive the apocalypse: Firearms, bows, blades, living in the wilderness, etc etc. Pretty much anything you can think of needing to know in the apocalypse, Carmen learned when she was like six lol.

She officially enrolls at about 15, and escapes at 16.

Eventually she figures out VILE wants the apocalypse to keep going and escapes into the night on horseback, with Cookie Booker's stolen hat and coat.

She's on the run for a while and eventually winds up in Ontario, where she meets a recently orphaned 12 yr old Player. The two become fast friends and pretty much grow up together over the next few years. Carmen is very protective of Player and teaches him how to survive in case anything happens to her.

They make their way to Boston, pick up Zack and Ivy, and Team Red is complete! (for now)

Along the way they eventually acquire our favorite grumpy ninja, Carmen's favorite ACME agent, an aussie electrician and a couple more surprise people ;)

Carmen also discovers she may be the key to ending the apocalypse, but is ACME really what they say they are?

#fluffytheocelot #fluffy’s art #carmenweek #carmen sandeigo 2019 #drawing #digitalart #procreate #carmen sandiego #art #zombie apocolypse au #a thief's guide to the zombie apocalypse au #julethief

[randomnameless]

Fates unironically did the "muhritocracy" schtick better than 3H lol; the vast majority of the playable Nohrian characters are commoners who got into high-ranking positions in the Nohrian army due to being exceptional soldiers and getting rewarded as such, whereas the only commoners on Adrestia's side that aren't turncoats (or fodder soldiers that are stated to exist only in throwaway dialogue from faceless NPCs) are Ladislava (non-character with no screentime, personality or even feats to support that she did anything to help the Adrestian army in any significant way), Fleche (slightly more of a character, still does nothing to help Adrestia), Randolph (does nothing to help and isn't even particularly well-recognized or rewarded for his skills, if him being jealous of his superiors is any indication), and Dorothea (only got to a high-ranking position due to prostituting herself in order to get into Garreg Mach, befriending the crown princess of the Empire, and being made into a general of the Adrestian army due to nepotism from that same crown princess).

What makes it even worse is that Nohr rewarding merit for anyone and everyone, regardless of social class or status, is an irrelevant bit of background worldbuilding, whereas Edelgard wanting to reward commoners' merits is one of her most consistently-repeated ideals, but the only non-nobleborn CF playable character only got so far in life due to (literal) peepee-sucking and nepotism, and even the NPCs are either featless non-characters (Fleche and Ladislava) or complain about not being recognized enough despite his skill/is recognized enough and Edelgard just decided a power-hungry, immoral dumbass was meritant enough to be made into a general in her army (Randolph); shouldn't the order have been reversed? Like, the game where one of the main characters' principle ideals is to recognize and reward anyone who's skilled should be the one to have most of her allies be commoners, whereas the one where the concept of merit is completely irrelevant to the story, themes and characters could have just had the characters be mostly nobles instead of consistently making them commoners just for subtle worldbuilding? It's weird.

Want to see an upstanding posterchild of Nohrian muhritocracy?

Chaos will always topple the ones who don't earn their status. It's folks like you and me who rise to the top. And the way we do that is by cutting down all our enemies.

I won't stop at captain. I will keep on climbing!

I'll be a king someday. I'll make it happen—you wait and see.

More seriously -

It's all about the what is actually rewarded.

I've already joked a bit about it, but basically Randolph and Nopes!Caspar want to demonstrate their muhrit by... invading countries, killing refugees or randoms who returned in their home after being ousted by the Imperial army.

Much muhrit, very uwu.

Take Whodislava, as you mentioned, bar being a named NPC who as less screentime than Kronya and is supposed to be a sad casualty for war, while being the posterchild of Supreme Leader's muhritocracy, we don't a thing about her. What has she done to be granted the rank of general? What are her achievements?

At times I'm pretty sure TS was partly written to laugh and mock FE16, but Avlora is basically in the same situation, save that Avlora has more plot relevance and exists bar being a sign the devs hold that's written "please feel bad about this character you've never interacted with and only has 5 lines of dialogue and is only here to garner sympathy when she dies I mean even Fates!Candace had more presence than her".

Avlora was an orphan, trained under Groma - a famous general - who continued to train even when Groma retired, became Adre- Aesfrost's top general and defeated Maxwell in a duel. We have her story - she came from nothing - her feats - she defeated the strongest warrior in Glenbrook - and the entire meritocracy angle sticks : Avlora was a nobody made general because she kicked asses.

The meritocratic Adrestia NPCs?

Randolph... tries to get muhrit, but fails as we protect people and only laments about his status in his House (as he is fucking killing people to gain more status, like dude, priorities?) - so in way, both Randy and Flèche are imo, counterexemples of Supreme Leader's muhritocracy : Randolph kills peons and invades an orphanage to demonstrate his "muhrit" because, otherwise, without any muhrit, iirc it's implied he and his sister will be demoted to randoms in House Bergliez (even if Flèche is supposed to be younger than Cyril iirc? Like how the frick do you want a kid of 12 to demonstrate her muhrit, else she'll be kicked out of her house?).

Whodislava... dies heroically, at least that's what we're supposed to get from her very "please cry" cutscene when she dies in front of Supreme Leader in Tru Piss - as Rhea and her family + knights tried to retake their ancestral home and she prevented them from doing so - or it's the same nonsense as "we killed Ferdie professor :(", we are supposed to feel bad about people who were fighting alongside a demonic beast when, in FE16, we fucking know what they are.

Since the FE5 banner released earlier this week, FE5 paints "honorable" Reinhardt as a pitiful man, because no matter how honorable or kickass or kind Reinhardt was, when it came to defect to protect children from being kidnapped or stop the general nonsense the Empire was pulling in Thracia... Reinhardt refused to do so, pretexting remaining by Ishtar's side, and when that became impossible, he choose death over rescuing toddlers. His situation is supposed to be compared to his sister's Olwen, who, when she discovers the truth of what is happening in Thracia, ditches the Empire to help Leif rescue the children - and, imo, Amalda (who's not in FEH yet!) who is also, basically, a commander who plays a larger Camus role as in, she tries to appeal to her Lord to stop the child hunts, her Lord tells her to eat shit, and when asked why she still fights and why she doesn't defect, Amalda says if she does so, her knights will be killed + Amalda appears as a NPC allied unit in a map to hunt bandits to save a village.

So, compared to those ladies who defect or try to protect whoever they can protect - their soldiers AND civilians who are being trampled by their own army - Reinhardt who doesn't do a thing and picks "death" is, as Olwen's ending puts it "pitiful".

Back to your ask anon, even if I disgress from the meritocracy angle - Flèche, Whodislava and Randy are such non-entities compared to characters with 6 lines from FE5 that even if they try to pull the "I have to do this for my family" or the "I came from nothing and still help my emperor because I am thankful to her for having raised me from being a commoner to a general", our Adrestians NPC feel very, very flat.

Are we supposed to cry for Hans's failed dreams of becoming a king when we kill him? No, but Randy and Whodislava's deaths are overplayed with so much pathos that the game is basically telling you "and here you should feel bad because they died" but... what is more important, the fact they tried to unlock a lot of achievments to demonstrate their "muhrit", or what the hell they were ready to do to unlock said achievments?

As for Doro needing to befriend people to enter Garreg Mach, remember that Doro, being touted as another example of the muhritocracy Supreme Leader's Adrestia aims to be, had to engage in sex work from a young age, to reach the diva status - which has very disturbing implications, that are glossed over because that's FE16 for you. Are we supposed to believe Doro "worked hard" to be able to catch the eye of some deranged fucks when she was a pre-teen to become a diva - or, as Manu puts it in a support that cannot be achieved in Tru Piss, muhrit alone doesn't work to become a diva, and it's actually a pretty font to hide the "dark" deeds young singers in Mittelfrank have to do to reach the "diva" status?

Minor tidbit though, Doro is famous enough for being Supreme Leader's dearest friend but she isn't promoted to "general" in Tru Piss, she's only BESF who's not, at least in her bio, a general Post TS.

Imo the question you raise is actually relevant to how empty Supreme Leader's muhritocracy's ideal is - in both game Ferdie has to remind her that to build "muhrit" or for commoners to be able to gather "muhrit" as nobles do, they have to start at the same lever, and receive education as nobles do.

IIRC, in Supreme Bullshit, despite their feats, Hubert tells Barney they're only a commoner - not even a worthy commoner like Doro - but a fucking random - when muhrit wise, Barney should at least be named general!

In both games, Linhardt is a general... but we don't see anything from him, bar his tropey "i want to study crests and nap and i dgaf about anything else" traits - if that's all there is to him, how and why the crap was he made general??

Why, it's almost as if "muhrit" is a smokescreen to hide the fact that the one who chooses/picks who gets to be important from who isn't does it on their own terms just like irl

What is merit, really? Who gets to decide what is merit from what isn't? Or who is the "best" at doing things, from another?

It's another instance of, imo, Fodlan's artificial feel, the game raises a question/issue, and starts some smoke about it, but without tackling said issues seriously we're left with "I agree and think starvation shouldn't exist anymore" milquetoast and cliché opinions that give the illusion this game is "very deep" when it's just, a puff of smoke.

#anon #replies #fodlan nonsense #those games are so ridiculous tbh trying to 'tackle' this issue with a spoon #and then people buy the 'see this game tackles this issue' #you won't drill a hole in a wall of concrete with a plastic spoon #Hans represents muhrit as in ok he can kill things dead yay #but morality wise? No matter how many people he can kill in one day he was arrested because there are more important things than #this 'he's the best at killing' muhritocratic angle #Amalda and Olwen defect when they are given the occasion and learn abotu the Empire's nonsense #but when Whodislava and Ferdie (and the BESF in general) side with Baldo'n'Waldi they don't? #And we're supposed to cry about their deaths when they fucking use mutated humans as fodder? #like I'm not following jjk that well #but i'm pretty sure Doro's not supposed to go full sad uwus “we've killed mahito professor :'( ” #FE5 #FE5 bestest game ever #they made me merciless on the Camus archetype lol #I really love Amalda and hope she'll eventually be added in FE heroes #FE16 #Avlora kicked ass in TS and even she has the realisation that the fuck she was doing was horrible #and faces consequences for demosntrating her 'muhrit' by slaughtering people

[spicyraeman]

I usually don't send two asks in a row because I don't want to overwhelm you. But you just posted about phonology and I was curious and then bam hyperfocus. I found a pretty cool table of gith sounds :

https://conworkshop.com/view_language.php?l=GITH

It looks like there are a few main differences to english:

No W

-Like in french from France. She probably would say "Oo-il" for Wyll. They usually replace the W by a Oo or a V, depending on the sound after it. A "wagon" -> a vagon, but "when" -> ooän. In German you would have the W as a V, because it's already pronounced like that.

There is a type of Th, like in "thin", but not "this".

- I kinda hear the difference but I can't do it. The first one is closer to an s or an f and the second one to a z , I guess? A native english speaker may understand the nuance better.

There is a Zh

- It's the same as the French "j", like in the name Jacques (which could be your frenchsona btw. It's the equivalent of James). In English you add some kind of "d" in your "j". As an example, we visualise Djordan for Jordan. You take that D off, you got the sound. (Insert respectful trans joke here)

The Tl like in Nahuatl

- I can explain this one in english because I can't find the right translation, but you can find how it's pronounced on Wikipedia.

Gh is not silent

- Kind of a guttural G, like in dutch or the scottish gh.

The glottal stop '

- It marks a pause between syllables, while still linking them. Uh'Oh in English, "bu'er" for butter in cockney. It depends of the dialects/accent/language.

Everything is my understanding of this, obv, linguists please don't hate me. I'm just an audhd girly with a multi-lingual environnement and too much time.

Sooooooo Frog'zel is not completely off the table, but I'm sad the R's not an uvular one. It would make it a more "brutal" language. I think she would have some difficulties we see in frenglish. Especially when a letter has several ways to be pronounced, like cat / face or breath/breathe because it's straightforward in gith.

Ergo, she wouldn't have a stroke trying to say "library" like I do. But she would struggle with "throughout", I guess.

I couldn't find anything on tones and accentuations stuff though. I still want her to fight for her life like I do. I shouldn't be the only one suffering here.

I guess it can still change with context and stuff. Like the s in german becomes a sh when it's in front of a t.

I hope I was clear enough. Sorry for any spelling or formatting mistakes, cat fell asleep on my arms in the middle of this. But she's cute so forgive her please.

🫀🚑

You are always allowed to overwhelm me with worldbuilding shit like conlangs (even if this isn’t really a conlang) I live and breathe this stuff and I'm constantly rotating it around in the back of my brain

I cannot express the sheer joy I felt looking at these charts and comparing them to my own and seeing that I've got pretty much the same result! The only strange thing I found was the addition of a b sound, maybe I missed it but I haven’t found a single word that uses that sound (despite Lae’zel’s “bah’s”) Their chart is also missing a p sound but I believe that's due to when the charts were made bc there's only one Gith word that uses it and it was in bg3. Honestly tho, it makes a lot more sense for Gith to have a b sound and no p sound instead of the other way around, there are wayyyy more examples of languages with no p instead of no b (although a language with neither would be fun lol)

The lack of a W was the first thing that I noticed! But there's a fuck ton of languages without it so it makes sense, It doesn’t really fit the feel of the Gith language either. Also, I know in my heart that you’re probably very much right on the Wyll pronunciation but I was joking around with my friends while I was looking through all this stuff and one of them made a German comparison and the thought of the fascist space frogs having a german accent was just too funny to me to pass up

I personally find the Gith language having θ but not ð very fun for their accent! It's kind of a subtle difference but also not? I went through and pronounced a bunch of words with a ð sound with a θ instead and they sound harsher? I guess? It really did give them a more Gith feel honestly

(a little aside but the thought of a “frenchsona” is so fucking funny to me and you’re respectful trans joke got a legit laugh outta me lmao)

Fun fact! English does have a ʒ (zh) sound it's just not associated with a specific letter, it just kinda.. happens in words. All in all, it seems that Gith is relatively comparable in terms of sounds with English. The lack of a w and p/b (debatable) seems like they’d be the biggest ones to come up in everyday speech as far as phonetics goes

Also can I let you in on a little pet peeve of mine? I usually hate when “fantasy languages” use ‘ in their words bc most of the time it's just a cheap way to make it look more fantasy-esc or alien. BUT in Gith, it honestly works? Mostly because it actually is a glottal stop and not just a random “make this word look fantasy” addition

I'm also nowhere near a linguist, just insane about worldbuilding stuff (i have notebooks full of phonetic charts and mathematics on creating solar systems) It's really insightful and interesting to see the perspective of someone with a multi-lingual background tho as someone who only speaks English

I've always seen the Gith language as less brutal and more.. Sharp? I dunno how to describe it really, kinda harsh and pointed rather than guttural or brutal if that makes sense. But yeah if common is English then all the long and short sounds and strange exceptions would be supremely rough especially if you only ever really read it and never truly spoke it

I couldn’t even blame Lae’zel for not being able to pronounce throughout correctly cuz I can’t say that shit right either unless I'm really trying

If you want tones and accentuations you’re just gonna have to have fun and make em up, cuz sadly most fantasy “languages” are just a bunch of made up words with no real rhyme or reason. If I had the brain power to spare it’d be fun to flesh out a real Gith conlang

At least with a full phonetic chart, you can see what sounds the Gith wouldn’t be used to using and find out what words would cause trouble

Also I can forgive any and all misspelling or weird formatting, cute cats aside, cuz I have no clue how anyone could read this jumbled rambling mess lol gratz if you got this far and understood any of this

#asks #long post #christ this really is a mess soso sorry #my sleep schedule is wreaked to hell and back so im running on nothin lol #but conlangs used to be biiiig fixation for me a few years back #so ive got a big mess of knowledge that I haven't thought of in years #but im clutching a straws trying to shake out all that I remember about it

[vanillahub]

GET TO KNOW THE MUN.

respond to the prompts out of character!

what made you pick up the current muse(s) you have? Obviously, I'm heavily influenced by a set list of characters I personally love, which means I come up with a take/portrayal as I delve deeper into the lore. I tend to have a preference for side characters, rather than protags or lore heavy ones, bc of the freedom I get... BUT at the same time I've had numerous muses that carry a lot of weight in their respective franchises (see: Seto Kaiba, Captain Rex, rival Barry, Richter Belmont and Sea Dragon Kanon just to name a few).

I mainly write as canon characters, I genuinely have little to no interest in making or RPing as an OC. At most, I have 1 OC in two out of the RPCs I'm currently part of. Which explains this huge disparity.

is there anything you don’t like to write? My hard nos are Incest, Adult/minor types of relationships. Bodily fluids/toilet stuff and fetish focused RPs. One-liners and really short replies aren't fun for me, sure, they can be fun for crack/joke interactions. But they won't last long. I really love working and expanding on the source material, so RPs for me really need to have that good plotting to back it up. While I'm totally open for exploring darker/taboo subjects (e.g.: adultery, toxic relationships, etc.), they MUST carry weight on the characters and be handled accordingly.

is there anything you really enjoy writing? GIMME ALL THE WEIRD COMBOS TO INTERACT WITH!!! Characters that never met or barely interacted with one another in canon but, they can interact in our RPs!!! My jam is doing worldbuilding and expanding on the source material!!! I also enjoy writing comedy, fluff, romance, slice-of-life, over-arching stories that connect/get refferenced in other threads.

how do you come up with headcanons? I look for plotholes or anything that was barely touched upon, in the source material, and I go off from it. I try establishing connections or make them clearer, to serve as future reference for me and my RP partners. I also love taking influence from other medias I'm into.

do you write in silence or do you play music? I used to be able to multitask a lot easier in the past. Now, I mainly prefer writing in silence. Only in very rare cases, I may play some kind of lo-fi beat or lounge music.

do you plan your replies or wing them? It depends on the thread in specific! Most of them have been plotted out, so I go off what we have laid out. Only in a few cases I try to wing it.

do you enjoy shipping? YES YES. GIMME. However, due to some bad experiences in the past, I'm really picky with platonic and familial stuff (popular fanons my beloathed).

what’s your alias/name? Vani

age?  27

birthday? 19th of July

favorite color?  Purple, blue, white, red-

favorite song?  Tô de pé - Maneva

last movie you watched?  I genuinely can't remember it LOL. It must have been Saint Seiya: Legend of Sanctuary.

last show you watched?  Saint Seiya Omega

last song you listened to? Discoholic - Disco Soul (Mr. Hoosteen's "Disco's Revenge

favorite food?  Pesto Pasta

favorite season?  Summer

do you have a tumblr best friend? Check these fellas out <3

These ppl know me for the longest time Gen ( @gems-of-lirema ), Simone (@unchcsen ) , Shiba ( @celestiialnotes ), Retto ( @245s ), Bobo ( @roleplayersoul ) and Smeargle ( @ofpokemon ) !! Really special mentions to @radi0activesmile, Val and @mxlik you guys will forever hold a v special place in my heart!!

Then I'm always chatting with Ama ( @gwiazdowe ), who genuinely is one of the best ppl I've met!! Honestly, I couldn't feel anymore happier to have met you! Can't forget urs truly Mica, who lives rent-free in my walls LOL. Lea ( @todefendlife ) and Mars own my house smfh.

And also special shout out to folks I've met more recently, but still deserve a place here: @shouxryuuxha / @wayfaringstrangxr / @eternalstarlights / @triko-the-fluffy-artist <3 Love u guys!

TAGGED BY: @mayxthexforce TYSM <3333

TAGGING: Anyone wanting to do this!! Just say I tagged you <3 !

#[ rambles ] #going down memory lane with this omg...

[absolutewritingfreak]

WIP Tag List Game (￢‿￢ )

I was tagged by @kyuponstories and it's my first time doing one of these in years. Thank you so much!!!

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them, and then post a little snippet or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

I have a few main ones I've been either working on/reworking on recently. They mean a lot to me but I've been too lazy to post any of the worldbuilding. Though at least I'm out for summer ( ‾́ ◡ ‾́ ). I really wanna crack down on them.

Airborne

Beg

Sun

Pulse

Royalty Free

I'm not sure if it's obvious how bad I am with titles but we win some we lose some.

Anyways ask about anything if you're curious.

And to the people I end up tagging, if you're interested have fun but if you're not still have fun lol @corktheauthor @coffeewritesfiction @raevenlywrites @leahnardo-da-veggie @shadedsaint

#writing #writeblr

[ectogeo-rebubbles]

I have kind of a niche Garashir fic idea I want to write but I’ve never posted anything publicly before, so I am nervous. But I can’t seem to get over the idea? You’re one of my favorite fic writers, any advice? 💕🥺

Ooooh, you gotta try to write it!!! I always love to indulge my new ideas that are driving me insane as soon as I can hehe (because part of writing often has to be done after the initial idea no longer excites you quite the same way).

I like that you said it’s a niche idea, too! I do enjoy most of the common fanon tropes and worldbuilding, but it’s always so refreshing when people add something brand new to the Garashir body of literature. And the nicher and stranger the better, in my opinion!! One thing about writing something niche is that maybe it won’t get the same amount of attention as quickly as something that has broader appeal, HOWEVER... I can tell you from experience that when your niche stuff does find its audience (which may take patience and persistence) that audience will likely go absolutely WILD for it. And I always find that very rewarding <3

Is the reason you haven't started yet because you don't quite know how to start? If that's the case, I would recommend writing an outline first. I even sometimes will outline really short oneshots lol, not because I think I really need to, but because that way i at least have a good record of my idea and ALSO because sometimes I can trick myself into just starting to write by taking notes on in outline format until I get to the part I'm REALLY excited about, at which point I realize I'm just writing full sentences instead of notes and I just let it flow from there and go back to fix the beginning later. XD You could also just try to summarize the plot for a friend, that often reveals to me where any structural issues are tripping me up, and identifies what I need to think about more before I set words down on the page.

Idk if you haven't written before or if you just haven't posted any of it, but I want you to know that a few years ago, when I was easing myself back into writing, I worked on writing like 3 or 4 different garashir fic ideas privately before I actually figured out which idea I wanted to write all the way to the end and actually post. Most of those first wips never got posted (and my wip graveyard is still massive and always growing lol) and that's for the best bc I either got bored of the idea or could not yet achieve the story in the way I wanted to. Which is NOT to tell you that this is inevitable or that you should let your inner editor shut you down, but I just want you to know that it's perfectly okay and normal to, like, have to noodle around a bit before you've written something you're happy with.

Speaking of your inner editor, you gotta tune them out while writing a first draft. Don't even worry if the sentence makes sense, just get the words out, and then get the next words out, and then the next... If there is something stopping you from writing the next sentence (a name you need to make up, or something you need to research, or uncertainty about what a character would be doing, or even if you are just blanking on a word) and you are trying to maintain a flow of writing, then write a note for yourself (e.g, "[insert title of a Cardassian novel here]" or "[Julian makes some kind of expression. Surprise? Anger? idk]" or "[synonym for sinister, bc I've used sinister three times this fic already]") and then MOVE ON. You can go back in and fill in those blanks later.

Also, I really really really really like the writing advice of thinking of your first draft as your worst draft or stupidest draft. It's so true and it helps take the pressure off. One related amazing thing about writing star trek fanfic is that if ever you begin to doubt yourself, you can just fondly think about a beloved episode of Star Trek where something very silly or buckwild happens in a very contrived way, and then remind yourself that people LOVE that episode anyway. This is a genuine way that I have reminded myself not to be so harsh on my own writing lmao.

I really working with beta readers, but I know that's not something everyone enjoys and it's def not required. Still, a beta reader can give feedback on your writing to make it clearer, and they'll likely become invested in your fic and will cheer you on, and if it’s longer than a oneshot you can have someone to talk it through with during the writing process. But it might be hard to find someone you work well with and everyone’s beta reading style is a lil different, so I recommend always being very clear about what kind of feedback you want from them (grammar/typos, plot structure, clarity, brainstorming ideas for how to fix this plothole, does this one specific line of dialogue work, etc! whatever aspects you are uncertain about and want help with for that specific fic). And you should know that it’s okay to not take someone's recommendations too, it’s ultimately your fic, so anyone giving you feedback should just be trying to help you achieve your own vision. Still, even in those cases where you don't go along exactly with their idea for what to change, knowing what parts confused them can help you figure out how to get your vision across more clearly.

If you think concrit might actually be demotivational and intimidating (totally get that, back in high school I actually solicited concrit on my fics publicly, as was the custom back then, and received some critiques from some truly well-meaning friends, and the experience STILL rattled me so bad that it turned me off writing for awhile), or if the process of finding someone to beta read sounds overwhelming, I’d recommend that you instead just find a trusted friend who is willing to read over the completed draft, with the understanding that they must simply give you a sanity check and then tell you yep that’s good! Cannot stress enough the power of encouragement and support and having someone hype you up. ^_^

If you are too nervous to post it under your own name, you can post it to the Anonymous collection on ao3. This is a reversible process, so if you want to reattach your username to your fic later then you can!

Anyway, feel free to send follow up questions about any of this or let me know if there's an aspect of writing I didn't mention that is what you're actually stuck on. I hope this helps and good luck and HAVE FUN! Have fun is actually the most important writing advice haha.

(P.S., anon, if you want me to beta read a draft of a oneshot or at least look over a chapter or two if it's multichapter, I am down to do so, just DM me. If not that's fine too, I'm just so so flattered that you reached out to me and I want to encourage you in any way I can! <3)

#asks

[maple-writes]

My attempt to introduce Bristlecone:

Details subject to change without notice as I think of better ideas lol

Tagging @concealeddarkness13 since they said they were curious!

Text version under the cut:

Slide one: Bristlecone!

I am trying yet again to edit this story

Slide two: ... Bristlecone?

An older wip (finished last draft back in 2018)

Not sure if I’ll keep the title Bristlecone but I don’t have any better ideas either

I’m finally getting back to it (hopefully)

It’s editing/revising time now

Setting – fantasy with wild west inspiration (simply because I thought it would be neat)

Kind of a murder mystery, kind of a general mystery, kind of an adventure

Which means one of these characters could be the culprit… Or not… It’s a mystery…

Slide three: Viper (one of the POV characters)

That’s not her real name

Deputy of the Aristata and unofficially Winter’s girlfriend (They act as more than just working partners but neither has said anything to each other to acknowledge this)

Observant but tends to ignore her gut feelings

Loves horses, and is in charge of training them

Is unable to speak to people she doesn't know, and then can only manage a whisper

Has had a rough decade or so before joining the Aristata to say the least

Slide four: Honey Davis (the other POV character)

That’s not his real name

Was training to take Cecil’s place as a Mortician Mage until recent events stopped that

Newly recruited as a mercenary to the Aristata

He has some… Secrets (some of which he himself doesn’t even know)

Orphaned as a child when his parents were executed (for good reason)

Something off about him. Eyes shine at night like a cat.

Kind, gentle, and would have made a very good Mortician Mage

Slide five: Winter Balfouriana

This is her real name!

Leader and founder of the Aristata

Viper’s girlfriend

Last surviving member of fairly powerful/noble family of demon slayers

Prior to the “disaster” which killed her family, her mother had trained her in enchanted metalsmithing

Tenacious and strategic, and genuinely cares for her mercenaries

Respectful and fair

Slide six: Stark Jiang

Sees the best in people and tends to treat people as friends unless proven otherwise

Tbh to the point where it’s easy to forget he’s just as deadly as Viper

The first person to join Winter as a mercenary, before their little group even had a name

Pretty hard to rattle him and most of the time he’s just vibing

Very reliable and very trustworthy

Slide seven: Other people

Cecil Davis – Wayton’s Mortician Mage and the man   who took in Honey after he was orphaned 

Taiga – Cecil’s weird dog

Lady Alabaster – Countess of Vindale. She hired   the Aristata to settle a conflict with a   neighbouring Lord

Ren Alabaster – Lady Alabaster’s son (he’s gone   missing)

Annie and Theo – The other two members of the   Aristata

Slide eight: Stuff that's going on

Basically, Lady Alabaster’s son goes missing in the middle of the night

That same night Winter finds Honey alone in desert

 The Aristata agree to stay under Lady Alabaster’s employment to try and find her son

So what happened to Ren Alabaster?

Is he even still alive?

What’s the deal with this Honey kid?

Could it perhaps be an issue that Viper doesn’t like to accept what she knows to be true and instead deny to avoid recognizing uncomfortable truths?

Who knows, could be anything!

Slide nine: ~worldbuilding~

It’s fantasy loosely based on wild west aesthetic

There are demons, there are gods and there are fae (technically all three are the same thing but it’s complicated)

Most of the story comes out of a place called Vindale, governed by Lady Alabaster

#wip intro #bristlecone #viper (character) #honey (character) #Winter (character) #stark (character) #trying to add character to the tags as to not get mixed up with actual snake posts or honey etc...

[the-moth-from-elsewhere]

mmmmm

rant about Lemon

*deep breath* OKAY SO

To understand Lemonade and where a lot of his tropes come from, you have to understand the context in which I wrote him and antiquity as a whole. I had a fairy childhood, like HARDCORE. So I’ve grown up with a lot of the major fae tropes like the whole “messing with people” and “not lying” and blah blah blah. This also goes for mermaids, by the way, see: Yelena. Anyways, I also happen to have hit “YA age” about the same time as booktok and ACOTAR got really popular, so i’m also minorly influenced by the impact of those and ESPECIALLY the gripes I have with the YA fantasy genre as a whole. You can actually see this criticism in a lot of my writing, especially how I write romance in the context of magical power imbalances. But that’s a ramble for another time!

Lemon’s starting inspirations are random and multiple, including:

This very specific hairstyle from this specific Sky COTL picrew, the idea of sweet and sour candy, and my silly little dare to myself to make a character you had to investigate to figure out all the traits of.

At the start, Lemn had no real backstory, and was supposed to be more themed after summer than spring. But it was spring when I made him, and the rain and calmness fit his personality more. Lemonade is the reason Fae-Antiquity has the Seasons system of leadership at all. His backstory is very influenced by the song “Viva La Vida”. VLV is why he has a bell tower and is named Lewis, after the king of France during the French Revolution.

Now, onto the tropes!

Most of my characters are written to be very approachable and open about themselves, either from not having anything to hide, being naive, or just because I want them to be sympathetic. But Lemonade had to come off as more cold and distant while still being a likeable character. I decided on giving him a deadly curious streak and a sense of humor as ways to get him into trouble and back out again. He’s meant to have well-polished manners and be kind and genuine despite his weird paranoia and reserved personality. He’s not cold, just very in control of himself.

Most of the above paragraph is a subversion of/reference to/slight criticism of a specific YA character archetype: the fae prince character. Ever since ACOTAR, this guy keeps freaking showing up as either a love interest or the main character. You know the trope. Cold, inhuman, blue-and-orange morality, has some humor, sometimes abuses the power imbalance, stereotypically attractive, pretty much fae Edward lol. This is an archetype that GRATES ON ME TO NO END, so some of Lemon’s traits are meant to show that you can make a mysterious, reserved, tragic-backstory-ridden fae prince without making him the worst person imaginable and/or extremely unlikeable and bordering on uncomfortable to think about for too long. Lemon treats his companions as equals and isn’t full of himself. He doesn’t let his anger get the best of him, and his major flaw is being insecure and paranoid that someone will hurt him or especially those he loves. He’s intelligent and calculating but uses it to protect people.

Trope 2: oh hello Elsie’s childhood

Has anyone here watched the 3d animated Tinkerbell movies? No? Just me?? WELL GET READY BECAUSE THOSE THINGS WERE MY CHILDHOOD.

Antiquity is sort of inspired by Neverland’s messy jigsaw puzzle of folklore, although the idea of mashing as much folklore together in one spot as possible is pretty popular these days, so I’ll attribute it to the trope as a whole. When writing lemn and his friends, I didn’t have any specific part of the Tinkerbell cast or worldbuilding in mind, minus the seasons gimmick (once again, commonly used trope). I was moreso just going for the same vibes. They’re a bunch of kids lost in a world they don’t understand but have been given control of, at the end of the day, who have to grow up here with nothing but each other. Thems some Peter Pan vibes right there, lol.

Oh and also Lemn’s passion for inventing and messing with magic is inspired by freaking Da Vinci because I had to do a paper on that guy while I was developing him. Lol.

…

oh geez it’s been an hour

#taocc

[not-poignant]

For the meme!!! 21 - 22 - 23

We love a sequential number sequence :D

21. Could you ever quit writing? Do you ever wish you could? Why or why not?

I mean, yeah, maybe one day! I don't want to quit writing, I certainly don't wish I could. I love this job! It's been my favourite ever job! It's also been the hardest fucking job I've ever done!!! But I still love it :'D

I don't want to say 'I'm never going to quit' - I don't know what the future might bring. The arthritis in my hands is pretty bad, maybe one day I'll be in too much agony to justify it. Maybe one day I'll just stop enjoying it. I don't believe in sticking something out forever based on how I feel about it now!

I can say with all confidence that I don't want to quit. The biggest flaw in this version of my job is that it doesn't pay super great for the amount of work that goes into it. BUT, it definitely pays better than working as a professional artist did, and there is growth, and amazing people do support the Patreon, so it's like...that flaw becomes less of a flaw over time.

I love this job. It wasn't one I would have picked for myself, but it's introduced me to the best people, it's something I feel I'm actually pretty good at (maybe I'm not, but this is a nice feeling to have), and it's kind of unique. I get to be my own boss (I'm a mean boss, but I'm getting better), and I get to work from home, and I can accommodate my chronic illnesses. I get to spend time in amazing worlds, with amazing characters, and then I get to reply to amazing comments and asks made by amazing people.

Like, when this job is going well, I feel like one of the luckiest people. When this job is hard I just groan a lot and take painkillers for editing headaches. But like, the good parts of this job are very good!!

22. How organized are you with your writing? Describe to me your organization method, if it exists. What tools do you use? Notebooks? Binders? Apps? The Cloud?

I'm pretty organised.

So, all of my chapters are written in Microsoft Word and saved directly into Dropbox (with offline storage as well). All of my folders are also very well organised. I have a naming system for each chapter, and everything is chained together pretty well.

On top of that I now use Obsidian for worldbuilding (it's free! Though you can pay and they deserve money for their awesome service). I used to use World Anvil but found it too clunky for my personal needs. I have about 4 Obsidian vaults now (i.e. different worlds) and they look like this:

You can see a chained folder system on the left, and the graph view on the right.

And the information in the individual files is set up like a Wiki page:

Not all of my worlds get this treatment, but Underline the Rainbow, Vexteria, Mallory & Mount and something else I've forgotten about all have vaults. Fae Tales doesn't, because I didn't know Obsidian existed when I started worldbuilding for that, lol, so all of that is in Word.

And then I will on occasion just write in notepads and in Paperblanks journals when I need to brainstorm stuff. This part of the process is especially useful when plotting, brainstorming names or titles, or figuring out the end of a story.

I don't use Google Docs (don't actually like it), Scrivener (hate it, sorry Scrivener fans), or anything else. Word has its issues, but it does well enough for me. I actually formatted Perth Shifters in Word.

23. Describe the physical environment in which you write. Be as detailed as possible. Tell me what’s around you as you work. Paint me a picture.

I write in a study dedicated to art/writing, because those have been my jobs for over 15 years. I sit at a large desk, and have a desktop computer with one monitor (I've wanted two monitors for such a long time), a decent speaker system, and a good RGB hard-drive.

It's a mess, lol.

Hang on let me show you:

I have stickers on the desktop by the immaculate WhiskeyRabbit. I have a bunch of art supplies, and art in various stages of completion (the raven is finished, Augus behind the raven is not). There's meds and supplements everywhere. I have my Metformin (diabetes meds) in front of me because I often eat where I work, lol. I have some Sank collectible toys on the subwoofer because I find Sank very inspiring. And lots of art behind me like I'm some 18 year old instead of the 41 year old I actually am.

Oh and like, some half-finished chocolate blocks, lmao. And some fingerless gloves, a tea-towel, notepads for my writing, a calculator for my wordcount, a little spiky massage ball for the muscle/fascia issues in my wrists from writing so much, and much, much more.

It's a very ADHD desk. I do not notice the mess, lmao.

To my left is my writing whiteboard which tracks my writing and the chapters I've completed for the year, and my yearly wordcount to date. It also has some pinned up fanart and gifts from readers to keep me going when things get hard! :D

--

From the Weird Writing Questions meme!

#asks and answers #memey goodness #pia on writing #going through a chocolate phase at the moment #usually the only food on my desk is the almonds you can see under my monitor #my work desk is like #my home #i spend more time here than i think i actually spend in bed lmao