#among my motivation to make this side-blog

[hellishjoel]

new year’s day

3.7k / pairing: francisco “frankie” “catfish” morales x f!reader

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist | hellishjoel masterlist | notifications blog

summary: You’ve found fulfillment in every aspect of life alongside your husband, Frankie. In the early hours of New Year’s Day, you and Frankie discuss your aspirations for the coming year. Among these, the possibility of embarking on the journey to parenthood, starting a family, and conceiving a child may be at the forefront.

warnings/information: MA 18+ (minors DNI), established marriage, discussion of alcohol consumption, cursing, discussions about starting a family/being pregnant/having a baby, a few pov switches, mommy issues go brrr, use of pet names (princess, momma (x3)), frankie’s hot dad bod, mix of sub!frankie and dom!frankie, pinch of daddy kink, unprotected PiV, breeding kink go hard, dirty talk, overstimulation, hickies, titty play, creampie

A/N: thank you for celebrating 12 Days of Pedro! come back to the masterlist every day from Dec. 11 - Dec. 22 to open a new present from the most amazing authors! special thanks to the breeding kink queen herself @thetriumphantpanda for beta reading this work! banners, per usual, from @saradika-graphics. enjoy!

There’s glitter on the floor after the party. Not to mention streamers, spare party hats, and dribbles of wine on the hardwood floor. Spare polaroids with goofy grins and blurry kisses at midnight. You hold one of you and Frankie to your chest, your heart swarming with a warm buzz caused by too much liquor and a lot of love. 

Your eyes lift to Frankie, his lopsided party hat holding on for dear life as he tosses empty beer bottles into a large black trash bag. 

Everyone’s left now, catching cabs or a ride home from their sober counterparts.  An annual Morales tradition; countdown to the New Year with your closest friends, the ones you’d consider family. 

You hope to remember these memories forever and that the memories hold on to you. The good and the bad. The friends you made, the friends you lost, remembering that people come into your life for a reason, a season, or a lifetime. 

Cheers, kisses, and giggles at midnight. 

“You ready, my lady?” Frankie asks as he hands you your journal, his own leatherbound one in his hand as he settles down beside you on the floor, your backs against the front of the couch. 

Another Morales tradition; New Year’s Goals. It all started a few years ago, your and Frankie’s first New Year’s together. Both drunk and rolling around on the floor, you decided to write your goals for the New Year. You thought they had a lot of power, and it was good to have motivations, even if they didn’t last all year. 

The fire crackled as Frankie nudged a log with the poker, his face illuminated in a brilliant orange light. He was so handsome. You were so in love. You couldn’t think of anything else you needed, everything you wanted was right here in front of you. Well, almost everything. 

Frankie lifted a Pabst beer bottle to his lips, tilting his head back to finish it off. A wet smack leaves his lips. You smirk as you feel his eyes on your list, curiously leaning his head to the side to sneak a peek at what your pen was etching into blank paper. 

“Do you mind?” You tease, nudging your elbow playfully into his ribs. “You know we’re not supposed to share until we’re both done.” You whisper as you pen in another thought. You both agreed to list three to five goals every year, things you wanted to make happen, things you want to change. Whatever it took to better yourself and the small life you’ve created with your husband. 

Frankie radiates warmth beside you, he’s always been like that. Even in just a dark pair of jeans and a black Carhartt t-shirt, he was as warm as the fireplace wavers heat in front of you. You lay your head gently on his broad shoulder, humming softly as you close your eyes, the exhaustion of prepping and then celebrating your New Year’s party finally taking its toll. But you couldn’t help but be so full of joy, considering yourself lucky to be surrounded by so much love. 

Your eyes open just as you feel Frankie smack a period at the end of one of his goals making his arm lurch before he tips his head down to you. “M’ready. You wanna go first?” Frankie asks, reaching his hand up to pull the small party hat off his head, watching as he sits it down beside him very delicately. So precious. Your heart swells thinking about your list, slowly nodding and sitting up straight as you re-open your journal to review your goals list. 

“Okay, I only have three,” 

“Me too,” Frankie interjects. 

“Perfect, okay, so number one, I want to dedicate more time to be creative. Whether it’s writing, or painting, or… I don’t know, picking up crocheting, I want to set aside more time for that sort of stuff instead of brainlessly watching shows.” 

Frankie’s smile tilts, slowly nodding in understanding. “I’d love to hang up more of your paintings around the house. The walls could use a little color.” 

Your sweet boy. He was always so supportive. You sweetly cupped the underside of his chin and pecked his lips. Frankie playfully cleared his throat and states his first goal. 

“Number one. I want to eat out less.” He pauses as he assesses your pouting face. “Don’t look at me like that. We’ll still go out sometimes, I just feel like we should cook at home more.” 

You couldn’t blame him. All the takeaway Chinese and pizza deliveries were really tugging at the precious strings that was your joint bank account. 

“Fine. But I won’t be happy about it. And this sort of ruins my second goal, which is to try more restaurants.” 

You and Frankie both take a moment to throw back your heads in laughter, rolling closer to one another as he shakes his head at you slowly. “We’ll figure it out, we always do. And that’s my second goal, more communication whenever I feel like I’m stuck. I know I’m not always…” he pauses and fiddles with his hands, nervous ticks causing him to pop his knuckles, “M’not always the best with talking things out. So I wanna work on that.” 

Heat catches along your neck and chest, the way he looks at you with a twinkle in his eyes, as if you put the moon and stars in the sky. Your sweet boy. He’s not perfect, you both had worked so hard to get where you were, but it took a lot of time and trust. You built a solid foundation for your relationship, and now it felt like there wasn’t anything you couldn’t tackle together. 

“What’s your last goal for the new year?” 

Frankie watches as you purse your lips, eye contact straying as you stare down at your handwriting. Something hung in the air. Uncertainty? He reaches out and gently clasps your free hand in his, deep brown eyes searching your beautiful orbs in reassurance. There was that feeling again, of promise and future. More birthdays, more holidays, more anniversaries, and more New Year’s Days. 

After a moment, Frankie’s lips part as you set aside your journal, taking a deep breath. God what was it? 

“A baby,” you say in less than a whisper. 

A surprised little smile slowly crosses Frankie’s face, a glint of fondness and curiosity in his eyes. 

This wasn’t your first conversation about starting a family. 

It began in small places, like seeing children in line at the grocery store. All chubby-cheeked with big toothy grins, tugging on their parent's sleeve and asking them for a sweet from the checkout. 

Then, your mutual friends had their first baby. You were able to see them at the hospital. New momma laid back in bed. New dad sitting in the chair beside her. Tiredness in their eyes but their excitement overshadowed any doubt. You held their daughter, Elise, in your arms. So beautiful. And sleepy. 

But what really pulled at your heartstrings, and perhaps your womb, was when Frankie held his baby nephew for the first time. You both were in the hospital waiting room for hours, nervous but excited, hoping the delivery went well for his sister and for the new baby. 

“Come here, Frankie, hold him. Just don’t drop him.” She teased. 

Frankie took a step forward, then a step back. He had never held something so small, so precious, untouched by the outside world. What if he held him wrong? What if he cried and fussed? 

The warmth of your hand touched his shoulder, your small smile and nod encouraging him to be brave, to love the new addition to their family. With your vote of confidence, Frankie remembered to carefully support the baby’s head as his sister handed him over. Because, of course, she could trust Frankie. Uncle Frankie, now. 

His warm amber eyes glistened as he stared lovingly down at the bundle in his arms. He was beautiful, with dashing dark hair just like his sister had. A tiny little nose and sweet pouted lips. Frankie couldn’t understand why his eyes welled up with tears. He was just so proud to be an uncle, to see his younger sister now in charge of a tiny little newborn. He just couldn’t believe that such a beautiful life was born out of the love his sister and his brother-in-law shared. 

Then he looked at you. And he knew his heart was certain. He wanted this, and he wanted it with you. 

In all truthfulness, you weren’t as sure as Frankie was. You excused his excitement for baby fever. It was your job to remind him that you were still saving up for a new home, that your financials were a bit of a wreck, and that babies weren’t always soundly sleeping. There would be sleepless nights, messy food on their faces, and very full diapers. A big responsibility. 

You also didn’t come from a wonderful family like Frankie was raised in. You often wondered if you were to start a family, could you be different from your parents? Or would you fall into the same habits as they did? 

How would you be as a mother? 

You tried to remember that it was your mother’s first time on this Earth, too. And that she had it worse when she was little. But you were little too. What if you inherited your mother’s fleshy crimson anger? Or her blue-warped vision of sadness? 

What if something ever happened to Frankie, and you were left alone to care for your baby?  Could you do it alone? Could you even do it together? What ifs after what ifs. 

You cried out your insecurities to Frankie that night. Shaking and sobbing in his arms as he tried to calm your breathing. You had bared your soul to him, remarking about the childhood you wished you could have had. He kissed the top of your head and held you tight like a boa constrictor, promising that you didn’t have to figure it all out tonight. That he would drop the topic of family until you were truly ready. 

That was over two years ago now. Frankie still had that gleaming light in his eyes when he saw his nephew over holidays, birthdays, or little occasions of visiting with his sister. Soon, you started to have that gleam too. Because you realized it wasn’t only Frankie’s dream to have a family, but was yours too. Because Frankie would be the father of your children. And a brilliant one at that. 

The nerves had faded away with your husband’s endless love. And you were ready this New Year’s Day. 

“Say something,” you urged anxiously, but Frankie was just staring at you with so much love and hope. 

Finally, it hit him. 

He cups your cheeks, thumbing his way up your cheekbone and gently cupping your jawline. “You mean it? You’re ready? Don’t- please don’t do this for me, I could wait a lifetime for you, you hear me?”

You let out a wet little laugh and nod eagerly, holding your hands around his wrists as he came to rest his forehead against yours. “I don’t want to wait anymore, Frankie. I’m ready. We’re ready.” You assured, watching a large smile crash on his face. 

There’s an eagerness when he leans in to kiss you, lips crashing and his hold on you tightening as if you were going to slip out of his embrace. 

“Oh,” you whimper against his mouth, feeling him glide his tongue across your lower lip before he fully envelopes you. It’s needy, it’s desperate, and damn, is it overdue. 

Your fingers wind up into his messy curls, tugging him on top of you as you fell back onto the floor. The heat of the fireplace tickled warmth on your temple, and a certain heat in your belly set in. 

“Can we start now?” He muttered against your mouth, his strong hands palming at your hips as his center matched with your own. 

“Fuck, yes,” you gasp before pulling him in once more, your needy hands grappling at the hem of his shirt and tugging it upwards. 

Unable to help but glance in awe as Frankie sits up on his knees and tosses off his shirt. Holy mother of god, you didn’t realize how much of a perfect dad bod he already possessed. Jesus. 

“I-I don’t even know if I’m ovulating,” you stutter out as your hands messily reach forward, tugging his belt loose and popping the button on his jeans. 

“Don’t care,” Frankie mutters, voice drenched in deep lust as his hungry mouth found yours again. You couldn’t help but melt into his touch and his dirty mouth. 

The man was feral. It was like he was possessed. 

Something in Frankie had flipped. You had just confessed you wanted to start a family and allow him the opportunity to be a father to your children. You’d be their beautiful mother, kind, thoughtful, sweet, and smart. Fuck, he wanted to put this baby in you right now. 

He felt like he was burning for you, worshiping at the altar between your thighs. Saying you were ready with full confidence was something indescribable. And he was ready to show you he was taking this opportunity seriously. 

Frankie wastes no time in stripping you of your clothes, nearly tossing your top into the fireplace with how eager he is. He melts into your body, his half-hard cock sloppily bucking against your thigh in neediness. 

“Lemme put a baby in you, princess, wanna see you carry our child in your perfect body. Fuck,” he muttered as his hand slipped down between your thighs, watching your lips part and make an oh shape. 

Your slick coats his fingers, your thighs already shaking with desperation. 

“Frankie, don’t make me wait, want you to fill me up so fucking bad,” your wavering voice begs as you sit up on your elbows and begin to stoke over his cock. He easily swells in your grasp, growing heavier and heavier. His face clenches as his hips buck into your tight, squeezing hand once more. 

“Goddamit, you’re so fucking perfect,” he rasps as his own hand takes over pumping his cock, gathering it in your slick he had collected and letting out a heavenly moan at the feeling. Pre-cum leaks at his fleshy red tip, jaw tight as he holds his base, beginning to guide the head of his cock up and down your wet center. 

Frankie watches you flinch with a small smirk every time he flicks off your clit. He’s drunk off watching you be ready, watching you take this leap with him, putting your trust in him that he will be the best father to your children. And honestly, he can’t fucking wait any longer. 

Your sharp gasp fills the room, Frankie piercing your walls and filling you to the brim in one heavy thrust. Both of you swallow the other’s moans and groans, eyes tightly closed and mouths agape. 

“That’s it, momma, take me so well,” he hums, a new fantasy forming behind his eyes. 

He wants to see you dripping in his cum, just so he can gently push it all back in with his fingers. His eyes were gold with fire and greed, wanting you to be his in the best way imaginable. 

Ragged pants fill the distance between you both as he steadily rocks his hips into yours. Frankie watches as your hands scrabble for something to hold onto before you finally tug him down and wind your fingers into his dark chocolate curls. 

Sweet whimpers ring into his ear as his thrusts grow in power, caging you protectively in his arms. You weren’t going anywhere. 

“Fuck, Frankie, you’re filling me up,” you cry out, feeling Frankie hit the spot only he can reach, the one that tickles at your cervix and pushes you into another dimension of pleasure. The place where you’re breathless and cloudy, lost in how good he feels. 

Frankie digs his forehead into your temple, looking down at you as his hips repeatedly snap into you. He’s gone wild, a weak little smirk on his face as he thinks about you swollen with his babe inside you a few months down the road. 

“Keep sayin’ that,” Frankie mutters, feeling a rush course through his body like a new high he’s never encountered. He shifts his weight onto his forearm nestled beside your head, his opposite hand snaking delicately between your bodies and starting to create sweet circles around your throbbing clit. You’re soaking wet, feeling your slick splash against his balls every time you both fully connect. 

You’re unsure what he means at first, what to keep saying, your head in the stars as Frankie’s hips nail you to the floor with each heavy thrust. Plus, his finger on your clit is sending you to high heavens. Then it clicks. 

You gulp and refocus, needing to get him there because God, after years of waiting, you want to give him this so badly. 

“Frankie, baby,” you gather your breath and cradle his face, his desperate eyes meeting yours. “I want you t-to use me, fill me with your seed, I wanna feel it. Fuck, want you to be so deep inside me, your cum goes s-straight into my uterus,” you beg.  

Frankie’s thrusts snap methodically faster, a few loose bucks from his hips at first, but now he trying to control himself strategically. 

“Fuck, daddy,” you cry out, digging your head back into the floor as your chin tilts to the ceiling. “Use me as your little breeding whore, dump your cum inside me, want all of it, want all of it so fucking bad!” You whimper as Frankie’s sweet kisses on your jawline turn into nasty nips at your neck, the kind that will flush with dark pigments by tomorrow morning. 

Your hips ache, your body is trembling before him, but he looks so fucking sexy worked up like this. He’s promising with his body that he’s going to make you the mother of his children. 

“Want you so bad momma, m’gonna watch your tits get so fuckin’ big,” he murmurs before his mouth latches onto one of your nipples, slathering it with his spit and swirling around your nub with his perfect tongue. The oversensitivity is so much, you’re so full, he’s going to make you cum before he can even finish off his own load. 

“Fuck,” he moans lowly, a deep grunt releasing from the depths of his throat. “Gonna make such a perfect momma, gonna knock you up so hard, baby,” Frankie groans as he tugs gently at your nipple between his teeth. 

The spark in your stomach suddenly explodes, pushing you over the edge. You wrap your arms around his neck and press his forehead against your own. “Come with me,” you beg, just above a whisper as each thrust he makes is punching the air from your lungs. 

You pace yourself just for him. The faster he moves his fingers around your clit, the closer he is. Overstimulated tears well up in your eyes, your jaw dropping wide as you look at him like he is a God. Frankie’s thrusts were growing sloppy with need, losing their rhythm, your man was so close. Finally, like a dangerous volcano, he erupts inside of you as your walls pulse around him. Both of you come in unison, blasting you with a hot heat across your body. 

You cry out, and Frankie moans loudly into the living room, hearing your name echo along the walls as his hips still momentarily inside you. His warm cum spurts and paints your walls, shooting off multiple times. It’s the hardest he’s ever finished, he’s so deep and filling you to the brim with his white hot seed. 

Lost in a cloud of lust, you think you melt into the floor. His arms shake as he holds himself up by the forearms placed on either side of your head, your sweaty foreheads glistening. Your bodies feel like one. 

With a shaky hand, you reach up and gently brush the hair out of his eyes. Frankie weakly smiles and leans down to press a messy kiss on your lips. You hum softly and keep him there, whimpering as his hips twitch a few final times before he completely stills. You were seeing stars behind your vision as Frankie soothingly brought you back down to Earth. You were so happy. 

“I love you.” He whispers as he presses one last kiss to your mouth, watching your hazy eyes fill with love as he slowly sits up. 

Both of your sweaty bodies peel off of one another, and you hum lowly as he starts to pull himself out. 

Frankie watches in lust-filled amazement as your hole leaks dribbles of his cum. 

He shakes his head with a disapproving hum, parting your legs once more to see his mess, gently using his fingers to push his cum back into your hole. 

You nip at your lower lip, watching as Frankie stares at you like he’s hypnotized, making sure every little drop stays inside of you. 

“Such a good girl for me, momma, keepin’ all my good cum inside you, that’s it,” he hums, finally letting your legs go as he tumbles onto his back beside you on the floor. 

His hand holds yours as you stare at the ceiling in bliss. 

“We’re trying for a baby.” He whispers with an indescribable amount of happiness. 

You nod as you snuggle into his side, feeling his strong arm wrap around your shoulders to keep you close to him. “We’re trying for a baby.” You repeat back to him, your fingers gently weaving through his dense dark chest hair. 

“I have a name for the baby.” He murmurs, fantasizing about your future together already. 

“Yeah, what’s that?” 

“Frankie Jr.”

“No.” You quickly cut off. 

Both of your heads fall back in laughter, feeling so secure next to your best friend who has promised you a family and a future, all laced with love. And for that, you were hopeful for the New Year. 

#12 Days of Pedro #frankie morales #frankie morales x you #frankie morales fanfiction #frankie morales smut #frankie morales x reader #fuck yeah frankie #francisco morales #catfish morales #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #frankie catfish morales #francisco catfish morales #pedro pascal

[geopsych]

re: the tumblr ai stuff, please don’t wipe your blog!! your blog has been so important to me and many others as a place of authentic light and beauty and i would hate to lose it forever 💕

there is a way to download the contents of a tumblr blog (it’s in settings, i don’t remember rn, but i’ll find it if you need it) maybe you could upload to another site or a personal site?

i know this is very serious, and i hate how we are unwillingly contributing to synthetic art, but the world would be poorer for me without your pictures <3

Thank you. Your words mean a lot to me.

This is a dilemma for me. I have loved doing this blog and going out to look for pictures and interesting things to bring here has given me motivation and meaning through years of struggle with depression and several kinds of grief. Going out to look for pictures has put me in situations where I have seen incredible beauty, much of which I never really managed to capture. Also, the many warm and kind messages I've received from people all over the world have given me heart and made me feel less meaningless as a person and more connected. Sometimes I've been criticized for buying the checkmarks and giving money to Tumblr but I wanted to do what I could because Tumblr has been my one happy and safe place online. But now this. To me AI in relation to creativity is just a way for well-to-do but untalented people, the proverbial tech bros, to profit from other people's hard work and creativity. It has no redeeming value in relation to creativity and is actively harmful to artists of all kinds. <trying to figure out how to put a read more link here> I don't even count myself among the real creatives, artists and writers and others who have worked hard and put years into honing their crafts, into learning to translate their hearts and unique spirits into their creative expression. I just see beautiful things and take pictures of them. But it would still make me sick to see AI works based on my pictures, on these times and places that have meant so much to me. Recently I saw a set of cat 'photos' on here that everyone was reblogging and exclaiming over but that to me seemed to just be AI art that was more convincing than most. As time goes on more and more output of AI is going to be almost indistinguishable from real works and unscrupulous people will pass them off as real, getting credit for what was actually created by others. Whether they profit from them becomes almost irrelevant at that point because what's worse is that we will have less and less sense of what is real. And as some have pointed out AI will now also be scraping from AI, muddying the waters further from here on in. This is an apocalypse of sorts, an apocalypse of creativity, ultimately likely to kill the joy of artistic endeavor for many who would otherwise produced brilliant, beautiful, funny, and/or shockingly original things. I'm still parsing and dissecting my thoughts and feelings about what Tumblr has done and how to react. Staying and leaving my blog up feels like consent. I am not confident in the integrity of anyone connected with scraping sites for AI. I'm not convinced that a little toggle in settings is going to make much of a difference in the long run. On the other hand I like posting here and I have received enough messages over the years to know that my blog is a positive influence on some lives. I was looking forward to May and June and posting pictures of the incredible beauty of eastern Pennsylvania in those months. And I was planning on making a side blog for posting some poetry I've been working on. It will break my heart to leave.

I haven't decided yet. Believe it or not this whole thing has given me awful physical symptoms. I'll let you know when I decide. Thank you again for your kind and lovely note!

#ask #ai #tumblr #thank you #sigh #the whole you’ve already been assaulted so you may as well stay and be assaulted more isn’t the great argument you think it is

[liyawritesss]

Hey! If you're requests are open I'd love to read how a meeting between the reader and 1610 Miles at a party would go. Love your writing!

ᴍᴇᴇᴛɪɴɢ ʜɪᴍ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ᴘᴀʀᴛʏ

Characters: Spiderverse!1610!Miles Morales x Black!GN!Reader

Genre: Headcanons

Synopsis: At another one of Rio’s rooftop parties, there’s a new face among the crowd. How would Miles take to meeting a new friend at a party?

Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff we all deserve !!

A/N: Still slowly but surely getting back into the swing of things! A lot has been going on recently that has affected my motivation and ability to write, but I’m still here and still very present in all the fandoms i’m in, so don’t be shy to send in those requests!

Tags: @6-noir @babyboiboyega @badass-dora-milaje @jacuzziwaters @mbakuetshurisprincess @shuriszn @verachii @writingintheshadowsforever @cafehyunji @niyahwrites @marsfunzon22 @briology @honeybleed @romiantic @onlyperc @starsoirees @yasminisbroke @asensitivecookie @kdyance @sussybaka10 @famedrs-blog @milesismyhubby @foreclosure--of--a--dream @ykimobessed @soilmayo @edgyficuselastica @coffeeandtealol @moon-bo-young @imtoofineforthisworld

Sign Up For My Taglist Here!

I often imagine in these kind of situations, because Miles doesn’t have many friends, he’s often either off to the side somewhere just jamming to the music on his own, or the little cousins are absolutely hounding him for some form of entertainment. There is no in between lol. But for this, lets refer to the formerly mentioned, and say this also takes place after the trilogy fiasco.

Like said previously, he doesn’t have many friends. The friends he does- or, did have, he can’t ever really see again. Maybe he’s got his cousins the talk to, and he of course has Ganke on speed dial, but other than that, Miles definitely feels more alone than ever at these parties.

A new face coming around would be met with a bit of apprehension. He doesn’t know how he should approach you. Should he introduce himself first? Wait til your parent(s) do? Should he offer you something from the food table? Start the conversation about the mix the DJ is playing? You definitely see the thoughts flashing across his face, and it’s only when you’re in front of him that his mind completely halts he lets a strained ‘hi’ come from his lips, a sheepish smile on his face and his heart racing because he probably looks like an idiot right now-

Turns out, you’re the kid of yet another family friend - can never have too many of those am i right? - who’s just as lost as he is, just as nervous and out of touch as he is. Maybe you don’t want to be here, maybe you aren’t sure why you had to come in the first place. But Miles’ first act of kindness to break the awkward silence is to awkwardly shuffle his feet, reach into his pocket to pull out his earbud case, and offer one up to you with a sheepish “do you like rap music?’

You both sit for a minute as you shuffle through his music playlists - he’s kind of nervous cuz he hopes you’re not judging his music taste, but when he sees you bobbing your head to the beat, it gives him some relief. After some time with this, one (or both) of your stomach rumbles and the food table is suddenly calling your name. Miles leads you to it so that he can tell you all that’s laid out. He himself eagerly grabs a small plateful of alcapurrias de Yuca (stuffed Yuca fritters) and tostones (double-fried plantains). He makes a point to point out some foods you may like - there’s a wide array of them, no thanks to his mom and aunties who always make sure the party table is always filled with foods from home.

Remember that scaffolding under the water tower for that building that was shown in the movies? Yeah, he takes you up there. Partially because the music is too loud to hear his own thoughts now, but also because he now sees you as someone cool and potential friend, and wants to get to know you better. Maybe it’s also the looming eyes of his mom that seemingly tell him to at least try and make friends with (especially someone they know, all things considered). And that’s where you guys chill out for the remainder of the party. You share socials, send each other titktoks or instagram reels, and make sure to exchange contact info to keep in touch. I think that throughout all of this, despite the anxiety that always comes with meeting someone new, Miles is forever grateful that he’s gained a new friend, and he definitely can’t wait to hang out with you more!

If you enjoyed, please leave a like, comment, and reblog for others to see! And don’t be shy to send in a request! Reminder, if you aren't tag, Tumblr may not be letting me tag you :c womp womp.

#black reader #black tumblr #black marvel #marvel x reader #marvel x black!reader #spiderman marvel #marvel spiderman #spiderman #spiderman miles morales #miles morales spider man #miles morales 1610 #1610!miles morales #miles morales x reader #miles morales x black!reader #1610!miles morales x reader #1610!miles x reader #1610!miles morales x black!reader #1610 miles x reader

[the-thursday]

Hello everyone, this post was long overdue, and finally, prompted by our beloved Howls also leaving, it's time for me to rip off the bandaid as well.

I would also like to announce a sort of departure from Ranger's apprentice fandom.

I do not know how many from RA fandom era from few years back are still here but I assume mostly newer blogs keep up with this account.

Take a lil history walk with me, if you will. I joined this fandom around 2017-18. I was very active around here, posting all kinds of stuff, fics, takes, incorrect quotes, art and whatnot. I made many friends with whom I had a great time and I am happy and honoured that I am friends with some of them till this day. Fandom became the second home to me as things hadn't been exactly easy irl and maybe I fixated on it too much, but gods know I loved this place so much. And I wish for everyone to experience this happiness and just as I made friends who became a significant part of my life, I wish that for you as well. Being surrounded by amazing and wonderful people and sharing similar interests is one of the most pure joyous feelings in this world.

As 2020-2021 rolled around, some of you know that things in my life picked up a harsh pace and I started to drift away. In 2021 I left the fandom because of that and unpleasant things with one of the people here. It was one of the most gut wrenching decisions I had made.

In 2022, I started gradually getting worse, but also had the courage to come back at the end of the year. I felt happy and welcomed and I am so grateful to everyone who made it happen, who supported me and gave me another breath. My mental health kept getting worse but I wasn't alone and that has been everything to me.

Now it's about a little more than a year since I've been back and again, I've met wonderful amazing people who I am happy and honoured to call friends. I don't regret coming back and I am happy I did, however I think it's time for me to go again. And below, I hope to explain why.

Like I said, I've been getting worse. Last autumn and this winter have been very difficult for me and I had to rethink some priorities, as life is going on the time left for me to invest in fandoms is getting thinner and thinner. Unfortunately, among them, isn't keeping up with this fandom. With my next words I hope not to insult anyone. The truth is, I don't find enjoyment in the fandom and content itself anymore, or more like, as much as I used to. I don't exactly vibe with posts for roughly the past half a year and I don't mean this in negative way, I just think it's for me to move on. All of the new people that I've seen have wonderful content and while I don't exactly vibe like I used to, I can see that you're having fun and that's important! People come and go and I do wish all the newcomers and seniors who are still here to have a great time, but I don't think I have energy, capacity and vibes to be part of it anymore. As you know, my blog has been very much inactive for a long time, aside from dumping my dumb sketches or reblogging something here and there. And rather than letting it rot, I'd like to cleanly move on. Anyhow, on self deprecating note, since really it's not like I've been someone prominent I don't think this is a loss to the fandom and this makes it easier for me.

So to summarise, my leaving is about personal things, my life moving and the fact I don't have the mental capacity or motivation to actively keep up.

So what does this mean? I won't be posting RA related stuff on this blog anymore. This blog will turn into a neutral main blog and I'll create one side blog for art that I hope to continue to make and maybe one blog dedicated to the work of Brandon Sanderson.

However, it doesn't mean that I am not up to goof around about RA anymore, however this will be done in DMs. If I sometimes get to draw and post RA related art, it shall be posted on my new art blog with RA tag. However, I don't think there's a high probability of public RA art from me anymore, because 1) need to move on and 2) I have a very strong and maybe confrontational opinion about art in this fandom that has given me a bad taste and discouraged me from enjoying making it and posting it. I won't go into details because I don't want to sour this post for myself and for y'all with it.

I want to thank this fandom for everything it has been for me and for everyone and I wish y'all some happy fandoming!

Yours only,

The Ranger Thursday 11

#rangers apprentice #final goodbye

[zoeykallus]

Hi!!

Just found your blog and I love it!!

Could I get some headcanons of the 501st standing up for/protecting their ftm trans jedi?

Aloha!

I'm late, I know 😅 Sorry! Better later than never, I guess 😬 (I actually hate that phrase)

You should know, I have no experience whatsoever about this topic, at all, but I'll try my best to not be an ignorant idiot 😅 Please let me know if I failed 🙈

Let me see what I can do for you 😊

Rex/Fives/Hardcase/Echo/Jesse/Heavy/Kix x FTM Trans Jedi!Reader HCs - Who You Really Are

Warnings: Bullying/Hurt/Comfort

________________

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

________________

>Master List<

Rex

He has never questioned who you are or how you identify yourself. You are his general, and that takes precedence over everything else for Rex. He doesn't allow himself an opinion on the subject, he's far too disciplined and loyal for that. Apart from that, he thinks it's none of his business, it's nobody's business but your own. However, that doesn't mean he doesn't have an opinion about other people's behavior towards you. On the contrary. Rex has a strong sense of justice and decency. You are sitting at dinner when you hear someone muttering. Rex is sitting across from you at the cantina. Every now and then you eat together there, among other things, to discuss missions and the like. "Is the general a woman or a man now?" one of the clones mumbles to his colleagues. "Was a woman, is now a man or wants to be one," says another. The murmuring continues, and you sigh softly, your shoulders tensing, but you decided not to let on. Rex looks up from his plate, glances at you, then past you to the more or less whispering clones. His gaze meets with one of the soldiers. "How about you shut up and worry about things that really concern you?" he growls, his voice rough and impatient.

"Sorry Captain!" Another says, "We can talk about whatever we want here." Rex clutches his spoon, so tightly it bends in his grip. "But not about our general. Show some respect, soldiers! Eat now and shut up, or I'll make you eat your own feet." You take a deep breath and have to grin as it suddenly gets quiet behind you. Rex threats are never taken lightly. Rex changes the subject to the upcoming mission and talks to you as if nothing has happened. You are grateful for his calm, decency and respect.

Echo

If you ask him, he would prefer to stay out of it completely. It's none of his business, Echo thinks to himself. And he keeps to it. He doesn't ask prying questions, he doesn't question his general, not at all. Echo is as disciplined, loyal and dutiful as ever. For him, basically nothing has changed, and he likes to say that to other soldiers who comment or discuss your transformation behind your back. "Nothing has changed, this is still our general, just as capable and righteous as before. Just as reliable as before. So I don't see any point in why we should discuss any motives or question our general." You can rely on Echo. He is a good advisor, an excellent soldier, very decent and dutiful. With him by your side, you don't have to worry about your back. Echo respects you because he knows how reliable you are. Everything else on the surface may be whatever. The only thing that matters to him is that you are still a good general, Echo doesn't have much patience with soldiers or people who question that because of your transformation, because one has nothing to do with the other.

Fives

You'll have to forgive his curiosity, but he asks you a lot of questions when he first finds out. Fives is as respectful as possible, though. As curious as he is, he doesn't forget who you are, his general. Fives is curious, lively, even impulsive at times. But he's also smart and a disciplined soldier; he didn't become an ARC soldier for nothing. Of course, he notices that not all of his brothers have the same respect or understanding, to behave decently enough towards you. In front of these brothers, he very publicly stands up for you, speaks highly of you as a general.

And now and then he secretly plays a trick on one or the other brother, he doesn't want to publicly fight and act like a wildling, but he thinks there has to be punishment. So he does it the most fun way he knows, with pranks. Salted caf, pink dye in shampoo, shrunk blacks and glued helmets are just a few things his not so respectful brothers have to endure. He also doesn't mince words in front of strangers or even other Jedi, should he have the feeling that they behave inappropriately towards you. He is fascinated by you, by your courage, your determination. Fives admires what you do, your transformation requires a lot of strength, courage and stamina, judging by how outsiders often deal with it.

"You're probably the bravest general the 501st has ever had". You raise your eyebrows and ask, "Braver than Skywalker?" Fives grins, "Skywalker is daring, sure, but this is a much deeper kind of courage and determination. This is more than just superficial courage." "High praise," you say with a small smirk. "Well deserved praise, General"

Hardcase

"Can't blame you, much more fun being a man," Hardcase says with a shrug. He smiles wryly. A little joke on the side. Basically, he doesn't care. You earned his respect as the person you are, not by your gender. Someone who questions that should prepare themselves. Hardcase may be a wild joker sometimes, but he can't take a joke when people disrespect you. By now, word has gotten around that he's looking out for you, in a way. Sometimes a sharp look from him is enough to silence whispering, gossiping voices immediately. He also enlists some of his other brothers to join the "Respect the General" movement. It's nothing official, but word spreads like wildfire. Soon you're the talk of the town because you have the deep, devoted respect of the men of the 501st. Hardcase has a hard shell, he's often wild and impetuous, likes to run headlong into the wall. But he is anything but stupid, and he has his heart in the right place. You can rely on him.

Jesse

He's a joker and you know it. You've joked with each other from time to time, supervisor or not. You are not too strict with him, you know all the men by now, some of them have their peculiarities, Jesse is no exception. You know you can always rely on him, that's why you let him get away with a lot. "I knew you were jealous of me. Do you really have to copy everything I do?" is his first reaction. But he smirks, clears his throat and apologizes shortly after. Jesse means absolutely no disrespect. In fact, he's happy for you, he's aware that the whole thing isn't easy for you, he admires your courage and determination, and he tells you that in private. "I'm happy for you, General." Anyone who treats you disrespectfully or questions you has quickly fucked up with Jesse. As goofy as he can be at times, he can also get serious. It's not that easy to earn Jesse's respect. "You better watch what you say, that's our general you're talking about." There have been some fights in the cafeteria, but Jesse denies it every time someone asks if it had to do with you. But you know that he likes to swing his fists or a food tray when someone says something cheeky about you.

Heavy

"Welcome to the boys club," he says dryly. Not much has changed for Heavy. You're the general, still. He trusted your judgment before, and he will now. Why shouldn't he? He sees it quite rationally. He can't really understand the people who whisper or even openly question your competence. "How can we trust a general who has changed themselves so much, someone who has changed their basic persona?" Heavy hears this sentence from a conversation between a couple of shinies and rolls his eyes. "What does it matter? It's a personal decision, a personal change, and it has nothing to do with qualifications. Our general has been carrying this around for a long time; it doesn't suddenly happen overnight. Nevertheless, the leadership has never suffered from it, we have always been able to trust the general. Nothing has changed in that regard. You better take care of your training, Shinies." It's not uncommon for Heavy to speak up for you. He believes in you, he trusts your leadership. Heavy's loyalty does not waver, ever. As long as he feels his trust is in good hands with you, he will always have your back.

Kix

From a medical point of view, he is quite curious and also fascinated. But he would never go so far as to ask you personal questions, he has too much respect for you, and he knows that is not appropriate in your professional relationship. "Hey Kix. What's the deal with our general, anyway?" Kix turns around and raises an eyebrow. He's heard many a dumb question regarding you and is prepared to hear another. Somehow, many of his brothers seem to think that just because he's a Medic, he should know everything about you and your transformation. "What exactly do you mean?" The soldier throws his arms in the air as if Kix should have already guessed the question. "Well, is the general male or female now?" "Male," Kix says curtly. "But not really, right?" Kix grumbles, "The General identifies as a male, so he's a male. What's so complicated about that?"

"What about anatomy?" "That's something that's none of your business. I don't think it's something you should worry about," Kix says reprovingly, "This is about your general, not an acquaintance from a bar, even if they were, it wouldn't necessarily concern you." There have indeed been stupider and even more inappropriate questions than this, but Kix always meets these questions with rigor and decorum. Whether you are present or being talked about in your absence, Kix does not hold back when it comes to taking sides. You are still his general, and not without reason. You are capable and a good leader. Kix, as well as many others, are always behind you, and will never allow you to be disrespected.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

#star wars #clones #ftm #trans #star wars headcanons #headcanon #fives #kix #echo #rex #captain rex #jesse #clone #hardcase #heavy #star wars clone wars #star wars clone troopers #clone trooper #clone wars #the clone wars #clone captain rex #clone medic kix #clone trooper echo #clone trooper fives #clone trooper hardcase #clone trooper kix #clone x reader #star wars the clone wars #the clones #clone troopers

[sophieinwonderland]

circ is such 4 hypocrite. they cl4im to be pro endo 4nd then keep being friends with bigots (they're besties with J4S 4nd other people who've h4r4ssed you so its not surprising). even more recently they c4me out 4nd reve4led themselves to be one of the mods of the 4nti endo 4nd bigoted sysbox tumblr blog 4nd its so fucking dis4ppointed. i never re4lly liked them bec4use of how much they h4r4ss tulp4s but their recent post on th4t blog is such 4 new low. THEY H4VE SUCH PICK ME ENERGY. they're liter4lly joking 4bout being better 4nd more 'civil' th4n most pro endos 4nd endos (you know the people they SUPPOSEDLY support so much), which re-enforces stereotypes 4bout endo systems. they literally do not give 4 shit 4bout us or our rights 4nd i wish more plur4l collectives fucking stopped supporting them just bec4use they make 're4lly nice and friendly sysmed cdd system' their whole br4nd. they're like those people who 4spire to be 4 model minority. they dont c4re. they h4ve never c4red. they only c4re about their own 4cceptance and getting popul4rity but dont c4re 4bout the rest of the community. im so 4ngry. my littles who used to find their blog comforting 4re fucking he4rtbroken. i knew they were shit but im so 4ngry 4t myself for not being 4ble to protect my system. im so 4ngry on beh4lf of my system and on beh4lf of the whole plur4l community. we deserve better

https://www.tumblr.com/sysboxes/745040882164760576/which-mod-is-circular-bircular-arent-they-pro?source=share

i hope this is ok4y to send. im just re4lly angry and your blog h4s 4lw4ys been 4 s4fe sp4ce for us. th4nk you for everything you do btw. despite the h4te, you 4lw4ys keep posting 4nd fighting for our rights. my system 4dmires you [ ^-^] <3

I'm sorry you feel hurt and betrayed.

It's terrible to put your trust in someone and find out they aren't who you thought they were. But for what it's worth, I don't think you let your system down.

Life is about making mistakes and learning. You can't refuse to trust anyone just because you get burned in the past. Maybe it hurts now, but I don't think any lasting damage was done.

Personally, learning this... I find myself largely indifferent. I'm not at all surprised at this, knowing them. They've modded anti-endo discord servers, so why not an anti-endo sysbox blog?

My own feelings on Circ are complicated. I do not consider Circ safe for endogenic systems given their reblogs and support of anti-endos, and frequent parroting of anti-endo talking points.

At the same time, I actually do think their presence in anti-endo spaces has been a net positive for our goals in those communities. Circ has bragged a few times about making their anti-endo friends more pro-endo. And while I wouldn't say those friends became allies to the pro-endo community, many did switch to more neutral stances which I do think helped reduce hate against endogenic and pro endo systems in those spaces, and that seems like a good thing for me.

So I guess, while I don't care much for Circ as a person due to history there, I can acknowledge that their influence in anti-endo spaces ultimately serves my goals.

Besides, it's really upsetting some anti-endos so that's fun to watch! 😁

And you know, they have a point.

Like, if I was following a pro-endo blog and learned that one of the mods was anti-endo... and an anti-endo who bragged about making pro-endos more anti-leaning, I would be very suspicious of not just that one anti-endo but all the mods on that blog they were friends with.

How can you trust that your anti-endo sysbox mods haven't already been converted to the other side and aren't just lying to you about their syscourse stance???

Now you might think I'm just intentionally trying to spread mistrust and division among anti-endos by saying this... get them to turn on each other and tear themselves apart from the inside. And you'd be absolutely right! But that doesn't mean I'm wrong, and it doesn't mean me stating my motives aloud will make it any less likely to work!

And I would even like to say that I do appreciate the mod team on that blog being able to look past an alleged pro-endo's syscourse stance. Even if it's only for this one kind-of-hypocritical exception since they still refuse to interact with any other pro-endos.

Yes, I SophieInWonderland, endogenic tulpa, support sysboxes for having a pro-endo-identifying mod!

And since antiendovents crossposted in the inclusive plural tag, this is going straight into the anti-endo tags so the entire anti-endo community can see me expressing this support that I'm sure won't create any waves at all. 😈

#syscourse #pro endogenic #pro endo #anti endogenic #anti endo #Just me... casually sewing division among our enemies... #Anti-endos really should have stayed out of our tags. #I wonder how many people remember that time Circ argued with me for retaliatory crosstagging. #Did they send profanities at me that time? I can't remember. Maybe I'm getting it confused with another time. #Either way... add the tagging to the list of reasons they're going to hate this post. #It goes without saying... please don't harass anyone mentioned in this post. #Don't send them angry messages. Definitely don't send threats. #Sending hate is what anti-endos do. We HAVE to be better than them.

[trentcrimminallybeautiful]

20 Questions For Fic Writers

Tagged by @rngaredead :)

For simplicity's sake I'm going to go with just my biDEMONium/trentcrimminallybeautiful ao3 and not try to combine it with my thesorrowoflizards one (why do i have more than one? because i was, among other things, an idiot who didn't know how pseuds worked next question) even though that would probably double some of these numbers lkfjgh

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

Again, just on this account? 171 (some of those are oneshot compilations though)

2. What's your total AO3 word count?

661,851 for now

3. What fandoms do you write for?

Ted Lasso, The Mysterious Benedict Society, The House on the Cerulean Sea, House MD, Death by Dying, Instinct, King Falls AM. Also, sort of Gravity Falls. Mostly those first two though, tbh. This one I think I will include other fandoms I've written and posted for on other accounts because it's fun and less about math. So also Shadowhunters, The Librarians, The Mentalist, The Dresden Files (TV), Roswell New Mexico, The Sandman, Star Trek, Professor Layton, Sanders Sides, Miraculous Ladybug, and sort of The Legend of Zelda. Also see, for unposted or posted a very long time ago and no longer something I would willingly share, Supernatural, Dirk Gently (both 2016 and 2010), Doctor Who, Warehouse 13, SurrealEstate, Person of Interest, Haven, Leverage, Bones. Psych, and probably more

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

Ted Lasso Kisses Trent Crimm On The Mouth (Trent/Ted - 1,157 kudos)

semaphore (Trent/Ted; Trent & Colin - 997 kudos)

off the handle (Trent/Ted - 736 kudos)

linger (Trent/Ted - 709 kudos)

a preacher, a bikini, and a kiss or two (Trent/Ted; Diamond Dogs - 673 kudos)

5. Do you respond to comments?

I try to but I always get really busy/tired and then it's been so long it feels like it would be weird if I did. Plus, sometimes my answers by nature of the comments can get repetitive and then even though I'm being sincere I feel insincere which sucks. However, if a comment has a direct question or something I actually have like, something unique to say about, I'm much more likely to respond sooner rather than later/never. I appreciate every single comment soooo much though literally my motivation to get through the day like 80 percent of the time

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I'm going to stick with Ted Lasso fics here since I have so many fics posted and this is my Ted Lasso sideblog and say... well, most of the time I have a bittersweet ending and then some sort of hopeful epilogue (such as with ink sunset and make a mess of you) but I guess betrayal's sting / absolution's balm or something to get off my chest may qualify?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Uhhh, honestly, most of them are happy endings. I think trick & treat and matters of the heart end on particularly high notes?

8. Do you get hate on fics?

Not in this fandom! Yet

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Oh, yeah, baby. So much. Not sure what "kind" means in this context. It sure is explicit smut. I have tended almost exclusively towards hot transgender sex the last few years because. yknow. hi. but somehow I don't think that's the intention in the question.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

I do, but I haven't posted a lot. Only one on this account (a Gravity Falls x The Mysterious Benedict Society crossover that started as a joke because of a shared actress) although I had an interesting Shadowhunters x The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess fusion on my other account. I've written some pretty weird WIPs, though. And I've got some posts about Ted Lasso crossover/AUs, like a Sarah Jane Adventures AU, a Pushing Daisies AU, a Stardust AU... You can find that kind of thing in this tag on my blog.

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes. Not in this fandom, though, as far as I'm aware.

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! Again, not in this fandom, though.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

Not really.

14. What’s your all time favorite ship?

Oh, man, I don't know if I can decide. Magnus/Alec (TV version only I'll die on this hill) will always hold a special place in my heart, but I've got other "obsessed with this when I was a kid" ships and also recency bias/current hyperfixation means Trent/Ted screams as an immediate answer, and so on and so forth. I'm bad at picking favorites. Overall, I'd probably say one of those two, or both.

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

Sticking to Ted Lasso again (I have. so many MBS WIPs. god.) I'd say lost sight of (who you are) (lost motivation, want to finish, fuck!!) or sweeter than heaven (hotter than hell) (got mad at it), or!! oh!!! ink sunset (stuck) and possibly the next installment of matters of the heart. Yeah, I have a problem

16. What are your writing strengths?

I think I'm pretty good at being funny and also at eloquent but perhaps a little too verbose metaphors. I love me an elaborate metaphor

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

It's hard for me to focus and get what I have in my head out sometimes, even when I really want to. Whether it's being unable to organize or just my brain flat-out refusing to cooperate and do anything. Also, I'm way too like. easily discouraged with lack of feedback, and even a little negative feedback can kind of ruin my week and make me never wanna go back to that story ever again.

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I just realized. The questions seemed familiar but I wasn't sure why and now I know, now that I've gotten to this question. I have done this game before and I remember bc of this question. I was confused bc it was under a different name, I think the questions were in a different order, and it was sometimes slightly differently worded but nope! This is the same one! Weird Anyway, just for this particular question, I'm going to copy-paste my old answer because I'm lazy. I’m extremely bad at linguistics in general, so if I must include someone talking in another language in my fic, I think I’d tend to cheat and do italics or some other indication that this is ‘in another language’ (ie “Where are you going?” she asked in Russian), but that’s admittedly a lazy approach. But I also think it’s probably better than butchering it with an auto-translator? Also, when people just include the translation in the end notes, even with a link (although that makes it marginally better) it breaks the flow of the story and makes it hard to read. Making an effort to at least match grammar is good (which I would do if it was for longer than a single scene, probably) but I think the best solution is when people know what they’re doing and like, have an actual translation with a little html code so you can click on it and it reveals what it means? Or if you’re clever, revealing what it means using context around it, but that has its own limitations. So that both like, uses the actual language and doesn’t break up the flow. It balances accessibility, flow, and respect for the other language in question well. But you’ve got to both know what you’re doing with the language (either asking someone/hiring someone/knowing the language yourself) and the html (although there are guides for that you’d have to spend time figuring it out + know it exists in the first place to look). And this is fanfiction, something we ultimately do for free in our spare time, so the lazy approach, I think, can be understandable. Maybe not in every context, but it’s not worth stressing a lot over in a few random lines or anything, you know? It is really cool when people do know a language well enough to include it properly in a fic, though, it can say a lot about a character or dynamic; and their background(s) and like. it’s neat :)

19. First fandom you wrote for?

Ever? Doctor Who. And I don't remember the order, but after that I know I wrote some stuff about Star Trek (mostly TNG but I believe also TOS), Supernatural, A:LTA, Marvel, WTNV, and the Stanley Parable? I think I first posted either Supernatural or WTNV

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

I have no idea. Some of my top ones (for Ted Lasso again) would be matters of the heart and trick & treat I suppose?

Tagging: whoever wants to do this man, I probably tagged everyone I'd normally tag last time so if you see this and you wanna do it, go ahead and tag me and do it!

#tag games #tag game #gertspeak

[purpleajisai]

"Promise"

Chapter 1: The Promise

A brief, lighthearted fanfic about Madara Uchiha making a silly promise to a childhood friend. Huge thanks to @petra-kopanja, my very first mutual and the one who motivated me to actually write this. Also @belit0 and @al-hekima-madara-blog for inspiring me to create content on a very important yet ignored character.

Notes: This fanfic includes an original character, Fuyumi Uchiha. Both her and Madara are 15 years old in this fanfic. Picture him as he was in that battle with Hashirama during the flashbacks to their childhood. Izuna is 12 years old.

There are two mentions of Japanese cultural customs. The arrow shot before a battle that makes a whistling sound is an ancient samurai practice (search "kabura-ya"), and when someone turns 20 ("hatachi") years of age, they are considered mature adults.

It was about to become night time when a squadron of shinobi was getting ready to go into battle. In the back of their blue robes was embroidery of a white fan surrounded by a red circle symbolising a flame. Among all of the experienced and war weary adults, there were three teenagers hanging out. One of them, a boy unusually serious for his age and with short, jet black hair spoke up in an annoyed voice.

"Quit it, Fuyumi! I don't need a damn chestplate to be safe! I already have three tomoe and you have two!", he yelled.

The girl frowned and scoffed at him, giving him a disapproving look.

"Madara, I don't know what's bigger: your ego or your stupidity! Even your father wears a chestplate!", she clapped back while tying her hair firmly into a bun.

"Pfft, stop acting as if I needed your protection. You sound like an old mother trying to get her kids to behave!"

The girl, now fuming at the insult, threw a towel at his face and yelled.

"Old mothers are married and that means someone would like me enough to marry me! You have no hope in that regard, you half-eaten fish fillet!"

"You called me what?! What kind of insult is that?!"

Another boy besides them erupted into laughter as he tied his sword to his sash.

"BWAHAHA, you two bicker like an old and married couple!"

Both the older boy and the girl quickly turned their heads and fulminated the younger boy with their piercing gazes. Madara got into a defensive stance and activated his sharingan to try and intimidate his brother for his jokes, pointing an accusing finger at him before yelling.

"Shut up, Izuna! As if you had a single clue about how old people argue!", Madara scowled at his younger brother.

"Hehe, will I be invited to the wedding of my dear older brother and Fuyumi?", Izuna said in a mocking voice while giggling.

"As if any man would ever stand this woman's atrocious character! Hmph!"

Fuyumi dramatically put a hand on her chest and gasped, faking a deeply offended gesture. Then, she laughed gleefully and put both hands over her belt.

"Madara, you speak as if any woman besides me was able to stand your proud and smug ass!", she recoiled to her friend.

Izuna burst out in laughter once more while Madara's face scrunched into a very annoyed frown and his mouth opened as he had no comeback. Fuyumi was right: she was his only childhood friend who had been by his side even before they learned how to walk, and after Madara's mother passed, she technically was the only woman who could stand him.

"Oh, you two are a match made in heaven! A girl who's overbearing and a boy with the world's biggest superiority complex! Hah, you better get me a good place to sit at your wedding party!"

"Oh please, Izuna. She's surely overbearing but not in a good sense. Fuyumi always acts like she's on her period and has many more angry outbursts than I do!", Madara's accusing finger was now pointing to the girl, whose offended gesture was now real and not an act of mockery. And this time it was her turn to be the one left with no comeback.

"Yeah, you're right, elder brother!", Izuna agreed and Fuyumi's frown got more intense as she also activated her sharingan to indicate that she was done with his jokes.

"You two don't know how to treat a lady!"

"And with that temper, you'll never get yourself a man!", Madara said in a more daring tone.

"Alright, alright! Let's make a truce. If both of you are still single by 30, you will marry each other. And if any of you gets married before 30, the other one will get wasted at the wedding party and act as embarrassing as possible! That way we'll see who's the biggest hard-ass!", Izuna said in a firm and convincing tone, not scared at all by having two older shinobi about to jump him with their sharingan activated for being a prankster.

"Deal. I will surely win because I'm pretty and Madara isn't."

"Hah, you bet! I will have dozens of ladies begging to marry me once I turn 20! Who wouldn't want a powerful shinobi who's also next in line for the position of clan leader?", Madara said with a smug look, glancing at Fuyumi competitively.

The two teens shook hands and interlaced their pinky fingers to sign their deal. Izuna laughed as he didn't expect his joke to go so far. He was only trying to mess with his brother and his friend, but he accidentally ended up proposing the weirdest matchmaking scheme in the history of the Uchiha clan.

"Game's on! Only time will tell, hehe! I said it as a joke but you two always find any sort of excuse to fight with each other", Izuna said.

Madara was about to say something when a tall figure approached the trio. A tall man, to whom both boys bore a striking resemblance to, spoke in a firm and authoritative voice.

"You three, quit the bickering. Madara, put on your chestplate. Izuna, your sash is too loose. Fuyumi is the only one careful enough to be ready for battle in advance."

As both boys hastily obeyed the orders, Fuyumi smiled at the man and spoke again.

"Thanks for the compliment, Tajima-san!"

"Don't thank me, it's what shinobi are meant to do. Always prepared for anything. You three may be teenagers but the battlefield is no place to be immature. Now hurry up and go to your positions."

The three youngsters began to walk to their position in the battalion and the man went to the frontlines to command his soldiers. They were about to face a double attack, a joint offence from the Senju and the Utatane. It was a difficult panorama, even for the Uchiha. A high pitched whistle from an arrow in the air marked the beginning of the battle, which made the Uchiha battalion start their advance.

In the heat of the confrontation, the young boy known as Hashirama Senju was facing Madara. The Uchiha prodigy was nearly cut in half by a sudden blade stroke from another shinobi who tried to help Hashirama. The only thing that saved his life was that chestplate he had protested against. After a millisecond of contemplating his luck, the teenager swiftly knocked out the two ninja attacking him and fled to change his damaged armour in case he wasn't so fortunate later on.

Despite having many odds against them, the Uchiha won the battle. As the battalion rested and counted their dead and wounded in the aftermath of the strife, Madara sat down as his bruises got taken care of by his little brother.

"Maybe her overbearing ass isn't that bad to have around after all… and she's been my friend since we crawled around in diapers…", he mumbled, deep in thought.

Izuna acted as if he hadn't heard that little mumbling, but he grinned knowing that his elder brother and Fuyumi could definitely hit it off. A promise was made that day, after all.

#madara #madara uchiha #uchiha madara #izuna #izuna uchiha #uchiha izuna #tajima uchiha #oc: fuyumi uchiha #fanfic #yay my first ever fic

[szampers]

very nice to see an active szpd-focused blog that is not...for lack of a better term...Edgy. many schizoid blogs i've come across really play up the whole "void" aesthetic+while i'm sure it's true+meaningful for them, i don't relate to it+am not interested in the theatrics of it at all. you're doing good work by creating a space dedicated to exploring+discussing szpd+related concepts without the pervasive nihilistic trappings that have turned me off from most others. i want to discuss living with szpd, not surrendering to it! salute o7

(feel free not to answer this publicly/at all if it comes off as needlessly dismissive to that genre of blog. i can't tell if i'm being "mean," and i can't not mention it, because not mentioning it would entirely miss what i appreciate so much about this blog)

Hi I'll use this ask as an opportunity to tell a bit more about this blog and other stuff !!

I run this blog partly for the sake of others. Anything I share here is not only done as a way to voice my thoughts, but also in hopes that someone would find something they can relate to, or even comfort as i have after discovering there are people dealing with Very Similar Situations which i know as The Szpd. for the longest time i never had any points of comparison for myself while knowing the average person likely wouldn’t impose total isolation and a chronic vow of silence on themselves among other average person things. It was a state of knowing something was off but never being able to put a finger on what exactly. I felt szpd was already as hidden as it is so I figured someone has to try and keep the awareness going. This way I'm also putting all these thoughts to good use.

Your ask pretty much validates the reason why I created this blog!! thank you it means a lot to read this.

And whether someone chooses to focus more negatively or positively on szpd, they’re all valid! Since szpd isn’t known for its pretty sides as with all other pd’s and conditions, that does make it very easy to be fixated on the nasty parts, especially if all it does is making your life miserable. if this has brought me any kind of joy then I wouldn't notice. I'd say the main danger is the risk of being consumed by the misery and getting trapped in a vicious circle.

But yeah. it would be very, very strange if you were to think positively of things like this. I suppose it's one way to tell if you're somehow faking it. The realistic thing to do is to come to good terms with it. Hard, but possible enough.

I have seen another post calling out the focus mainly placed on negativity which I've yet to reblog. They phrased it really well in a blunt way, it's arguably one of the most motivating szpd post I've read. Being trapped in narrow sighted ways of thinking isn't something I want even though nothing about this is easy. This is why I consciously try not to let my writing become full blown complaints or be saturated with pain and misery, while it's very easy to indulge myself into such things. I keep in mind to make my writing productive in some way or another. I'm pretty awful at this in my own journal but it works much better if people could be reading!! being held accountable this way which is pretty cool.

#if anything sticks out weirdly that is because I've written most of this at the most stressful place on earth #i didn't really expect the blog to take off this fast but i won't complain!! #schizoid #szpd #schizoud personality disorder #actuallyschizoid #asks #rambling

[see-arcane]

Meward

Summary: Within the mad and macabre months caught in Dracula's fangs, we have seen wolves and bats and rats forced to work toward evil results.

Now let's see the difference a cat can make.

For a proper visual for the eponymous Meward, head to Tumblr user @myroomismytardis' amazing blog and take a look at all the cat-ified characters from classic literature on display. Jack Meward, the little black cat with the gigantic eyes, is just one of many fine furry friends in The League of Extraordinary Kittyfolk. Thank you for making such an inspiring design, friend.

Ao3 link here

“Intolerable, unacceptable, and utterly, irrevocably insufferable. That’s you, you pretender. Yes, I said it! Pretender! Fraud! The most insidiously false example of your kind there ever was or will be! No, don’t you dare deny it. These last few weeks have been more than proof enough that you are entirely unsuited to the task required, to say nothing of your whole line. Nay, your full genus. And look at you there gloating! As if you were as proud to disappoint your bloodline as much as me! You little cad!”

Dr. John Seward had been standing outside the door with two attendants for the past five minutes listening to this and similar diatribes concerning some unknown traitor to a joint cause. There had been insults flung their way and apparent insults implied in silence as the man scoffed and gasped over his affronted sensibilities, stalking the room as he did. So far there had been rants and rancor and richest ire thrown about in such a way as to make the most churlish heirs pale before their fathers. Indeed, there was such a lilt to Renfield’s aggravation that it spoke of an almost paternal disappointment. He had worked and he had slaved and reared this unknown other up with his own two hands, and for what? Disobedience! Abuse! Mockery!

And so the ramble would circle around again.

John passed a glance to the men bookending the other side of the doorframe as if he might read an explanation on their faces. But no, his own confusion was reflected there. It was a strange twist in a madman already so full of sporadic facets, but this one doubly so for its seeming divergence from the major habits of his illness. Whether he was plying John for bait and animals to feast on for power’s sake or hailing the sudden religious apparition he had crowned with the imagined ability to bestow nameless gifts, there appeared to be a central focus on acquiring new strength for himself as constant motive. An impetus that always involved turning his gaze upward to cozen or coax for boons.

Now here he was inventing some entity to berate; an accomplice responsible for deceiving him or spoiling some goal outright. It wouldn’t be an entirely shocking result in other patients. Even ordinary prisoners of long sentences were known to either seek out or manifest some subordinate other to exercise authority over. But Renfield, he of the legion of flies, spiders, and birds, oh my, was already a veritable Cronus lording over a throng of tiny lives at his mercy. Perhaps he’d assigned some personification to one them..?

But no. That way laid the issue of many a new farmer or butcher who found themselves abruptly unable to take the blade to whatever livestock they’d made the mistake of naming and petting as they fattened.

“Look at this!” Renfield suddenly barked, stomping his way to another corner of the room. “Just look how simple I made it for you! Sitting there, whole and ready, and still you go for only a sip and nibble of what’s brought in the other way! Disgraceful. Wholly disgraceful. What? Oh, don’t you pretend it’s a matter of inability. You’re well past drinking alone. Yet even with what you’ve gained, still, still you are a mere mote. A speck. A crumb among the veritable giants that slink and prowl so efficiently on their lonesome. I could flick you right back out, do you know that? I could! You are that laughable a specimen!”

Renfield stalked and stomped and huffed. Then, in a conspiring tone:

“In fact, I will. I will flick you out. But not by the way you slunk in, oh no. You’ll not break in again, you cheat, you burglar of time and effort. There are authorities about who can deal with you in expert fashion. You are evicted as of today. Oh? Think I’m bluffing?” There was a sudden pounding against Renfield’s side of the door, so quick and heavy it rattled the thing in its frame. “Doctor! Get Dr. Seward here at once! There is an intruder in my room! Doctor!”

The attendants looked to him. John nodded. When they unlocked the door, Renfield was in his usual safe distance from the threshold, his arms crossed in a manner that seemed more fitting for a landlord smug at the sight of the police coming to remove an itinerant tenant.

“Well, what fair timing that you were passing by.”

“So it was. I heard you have someone here you want to be rid of?”

“Most expediently. I have tried, Dr. Seward. Most earnestly and most fruitlessly I have tried to wring the results and compliance I’d hoped for from this lost cause of a fellow inmate, but I can try no more. The cause with him is hopeless because he is hopeless. Mad I may be, but at least before him I did not suffer the madness of one trying to grow a tree from a beansprout or, more aptly, trying to yield a full harvest from a field of salt. If ever there was an entity made on this Earth who could order their very anatomy to be an instrument of sabotage, it is the preening villain who has imposed on my hospitality and patience.

“Weeks! Nearly an entire month I have tried to make progress with the thing, and I’ve barely an ounce of proof to show for it on him! And his stubbornness! His stubbornness, or else sheer weak-willed cowardice in the face of instinct, has frustrated me as I never thought possible for so insignificant a creature to inflict! I cannot tolerate his presence any longer and I plead, no, demand you excise the lout before I am forced to take my own measures.”

John nodded cautiously at this. Inwardly he was ticking over the possible responses he might have to make to appease the man without sparking some new fury. Did he expect them to pantomime carrying out an invisible intruder? If so, where were they meant to grapple the air? It was as John was pondering this that his eye happened to fall upon two glints of color shining under Renfield’s bed. A pair of emeralds twinkling in shadow.

“Renfield—,”

But his patient had followed his gaze already. With a mix of triumph and irritation, the man darted down and swiped at the dark. Then plucked a piece of the dark away as if scooping up a ball of cinders. The cinders mewed thinly.

“Ah, thought you could hide from your ousting, did you? Think again. This is the criminal himself, Dr. Seward. A thief of potential and promise and, as you can see, a clear failure as a cat. Look!”

With his other hand he gestured to the corner of the cell nearest to the door. A freshly dead bird laid there. As did a small saucer that looked to be of the kind used for the patients’ meals, with some bits of nibbled food still present.

“Again and again, he chooses the plate over the prey! I tried only giving him birds, but he refused anything more than a sniff before he went sulking and starving away. I had no choice but to suffer his spoiled wants and feed him from my own meals or else lose the opportunity entirely. An opportunity that was itself a lie. He is too small, Dr. Seward, and he seems determined to remain so despite my best efforts. Even if he were a veritable rugby ball of a cat it would not matter, for he has no lives in him but his own useless nine! Oh, I know, I know, you will say, ‘But he is only a kitten, Renfield, growth takes time, Renfield, even stray cats will turn to scraps before they deign to hunt, Renfield!’ I tell you, he is an exception. He conspires, Dr. Seward. With his own body, he conspires. I shall suffer him no more.” Then, in a voice so small John almost did not catch the addendum that seemed almost to choke him, “I cannot risk it.”

Before he could register it, John found Renfield had cut the distance between them and thrust the tiny handful into his custody. The attendants tensed to act behind him, but Renfield shot just as quickly away to make a show of glowering out the window with his back to the lot of them. His arms were crossed again and his hands gripped his elbows so tightly they shook.

“Take him away, Doctor. Foist him on some pampering lady or other with room in her reticule for the ridiculous little thing. I wash my hands of him.”

“…Of course. I’ll see what I can do. Thank you for bringing this to our attention, Renfield.” The kitten gawped up at him. Then tried to turn and wriggle to face Renfield. Another half-mute mew escaped. Renfield bristled at the sound.

“Get it away, Doctor. Please.” John gestured to the attendants. They all retreated into the hall, locking the door after them. Almost the instant the bolt slid home, there was another shout, “Dr. Seward! Doctor, are you still there? There is one thing more! It’s important!”

“Yes, I’m still here,” he called through the door. “What is it?”

Then, quite clearly, so that the attendants could hear it too and only half-succeed in stifling their grins when they caught it: “His name is Meward.”

“…Pardon?”

“Meward. Doctor Meward in full, but we know each other well enough to dispense with titles.” John would swear he heard a smile in the man’s voice. “That’s all, Doctor.”

This was, naturally, not all.

Not when word of ‘Dr. Meward’ had circulated first through the staff, then the patients, and even to the occasional visitor to the asylum before the week was out. For reasons that defied logic, Dr. Seward found he did not have the heart—or, more pressingly, the appropriate opportunity—to donate the creature to another caretaker. He had thought perhaps there was a chance that Lucy might take him on. It really was a spectacularly pitiful animal and so was prone to pulling heartstrings with the power of his massive evergreen stare.

In fact, he had expected himself fully in the clear when he made a somewhat red-faced return to the Westenra estate in tow with Arthur and Quincey. Lucy, at first showing a slight pale strain under the ruddy vigor she had shown on their last encounter, had bloomed anew with delight on seeing the scanty mound of fur in his palm. Her jubilation doubled on hearing the creature’s regrettably unchanged name.

“Oh, that is a perfect choice, absolutely perfect!” she cooed as she cradled the bundle now purring in her hands. “He’s got much the same eyes as you, John.” But as soon as the compliment dared to light a blaze in his cheeks, her next words doused it: “I do wish I could keep him all to myself, but my mother always falls into hacking fits around cats. I’m afraid I can’t have him here.” She looked plaintively from Meward to John to Arthur. “Maybe..?”

“The dogs are amiable enough,” Arthur admitted, if sheepishly. “Though they’d need to get acclimated. They have a habit of chasing after any little thing that moves. But I’m sure once they got used to each other it would work out well enough.” An unspoken, ‘Maybe,’ hovered at the end of his words and glowed doubtfully in his face.

It was much the same as Quincey’s expression had been when he admitted, “Well, sure, I had a few old mouser cats as a boy. Only, I don’t claim to know anything about raising a kitten. I wouldn’t trust myself not to botch it, Jack.”

Regardless of these snags, Lucy spent the visit thoroughly enraptured with Meward to the point that she took one of her own hair ribbons off her head for him to play with. Once he’d tired of it, he allowed her to fasten the thing about him as a collar.

“You can’t have him going around bare, John. Otherwise they won’t know he’s anything but a stray. You must get him a proper collar soon.”

John had promised to look into it.

Some short and endless months later, the ribbon would remain. Meward would be too fond of it to let it go. Likewise for John.

But that was for later.

For now, John had to reconcile with his tiny shadow. More, with the unignorable fact that his presence seemed to have a positive effect upon the atmosphere of the asylum. Almost irritatingly so. What had begun as him simply running out of friends to trust with the animal, combined with his not having any personal home staff to entrust with the minding of him on top of household duties, was now a matter of ‘improving morale.’ So he languishingly informed his phonograph. Whether in his office or in the hall, Meward’s perching on a shoulder or chasing his feet seemed at once to quell anything from ire to melancholy to simple boredom in onlookers.

Often with shouted cries of, ‘Afternoon, Dr. Meward. And associate.’ Or else just, ‘Hello, Doctors,’ always nodding first to the kitten. Renfield appeared to be in much repaired spirits upon catching wind of this, now demanding to speak with ‘his’ doctor before offering any word to John.

“Ah, see?” he hummed to Meward as the animal stared at him. “Is it not wise that I shooed you from your lacking status as a failed catalyst for my purposes? Clearly your chicanery has endeared you to the medical profession.” Renfield gestured broadly at John. “You even have your own nurse.”

The obvious jab did not land as well as it might have on an earlier date. He had too much of curiosity and worry for the man to feel any real brunt of insult now. From the increasingly wild swings in his mood to the lapses of haunted lucidness, R.M. Renfield now stood nearly even with John’s distress for Lucy’s condition. Though if even a fraction of Arthur’s worry proved as true as his latest message implied, his own worry was due to triple. Laconic though Quincey may be, it was Arthur who was the fellow of infinitely fewer words in their trio. Whenever he deigned to offer a phrase in speech or text, it mattered. For the moment, he shelved such thinking in favor of his patient who sought to agitate to hide agitation.

“And have you anything you wished to share with doctor or nurse tonight, Renfield? You seemed upset over something from what the attendants implied—,”

“No!” Renfield gnawed his tongue so hard that it bled. He sucked at it, his face convulsing between exultation and concern. “No. I was mistaken. Or, no, I cannot say. And I cannot say why I cannot say. Never mind.” He gnawed, sucked, paced. Meward turned his owlish gaze up to John. A small paw swung gingerly at his mouth while his tongue flicked out and tapped his black nose. As he did, a whiff of briny breath puffed out on the air. Memory prickled. John cleared his throat.

“I’ve discovered something he likes to hunt. Other than bootlaces and pens.”

Renfield slowed in his pacing.

“Oh? What is that?” He cast a sidelong glance at Meward, who paused in his assault on John’s lapel to gape back. “He certainly doesn’t look much bigger. Though I suppose his coat is better.”

“As it should be. He’s taken a liking to fish.” He coaxed Meward’s claws out of his shirt collar and moved him to another hand. “It’s only an occasional treat, but he seems to be aware enough of where it comes from that I have caught him trying to prey on market displays of seafood when we’re out. Which I believe shows a clever choice on his part. Marine life is consistently healthier for the plate than any cattle or pork. And,” he was careful not to look directly at Renfield, but in a nigh scheming way into Meward’s eye, “they are almost always bloated with the nutrition of animals they’ve eaten prior to finding themselves in the fisherman’s net.”

Renfield’s pacing slowed to a stop.

“Is that a fact?”

“It is. I don’t often go poking beyond the edges of medical sciences, but recent reading from a French naturalist, Professor Pierre Aronnax, has been most illuminating. While hardly all of the ocean’s livestock are carnivorous, the bulk of sea life we collect for our own dinner is redolent with underwater hunters of little lives versus the farmland’s bevy of coddled cows, pigs, and hens.” He still did not look up any higher than Renfield’s frozen feet or Meward’s glistening stare. “Which is all without mentioning the miracle a man devours whole every time he treats himself to a crustacean. Lobsters especially. Not only are they fellow omnivores, but this Aronnax fellow theorizes that they may have properties suggesting an extraordinary longevity. It is only a hypothesis, he writes, but he believes that if the creatures are left to their devices without a fatal attack by a predator, they can live well over a hundred years.”

“Do you take me for a child?” Renfield snorted. “I am well grown out of such fairy tales as immortal beasts. Especially supposed immortals one can boil and set on a platter with a side of butter sauce.”

“Not immortal, simply endowed with an anatomy that lasts longer than the expected norm. I found it a strange supposition myself, but he makes a fair case, especially in tandem with the examples he’s put forth in the article—,”

“What article would that be? Some journal of quackery? You must not believe everything you read, Doctor.”

“I don’t. I only thought it an interesting concept, and one with impressive enough evidences that it was worth wondering about. Imagine tucking into a bit of shellfish only for taste’s sake, not realizing you were eating an animal who might have had more than a man’s whole lifetime ahead of it before you swallowed it all down. It is almost sad to picture.”

“Yes. Terribly.” Renfield fidgeted another moment. From the corner of his eye, John saw he was eyeing the window suspiciously. Perhaps searching. Apparently satisfied, the man donned one of his more familiar sycophant performances, sidling near enough that the attendants stood up straighter. Then, “Again, Dr. Seward, what article might you refer to? I am certain it will at least be good for a laugh and it would be such a welcome diversion from the usual softcover twaddle I flip through…”

John provided a copy of Aronnax’s piece a quarter of an hour later. That morning, he heard that Renfield’s latest crop of spiders had disappeared—flung out the window in a skittering spray that nearly scared a pedestrian out of their wits when a harvestman landed on his shoe. Not long after, Renfield had started wheedling the attendants to ask the kitchen if there wasn’t any seafood to come on the menu. Summer’s seasonable window was well past, he knew, but he had just now been struck with a terrible craving for seaside cuisine. He would trade every spider in the world for a crabcake and every bird for a lobster tail.

Hearing this, John had looked to Meward. The kitten had his own paperwork to ponder on the desk now; quite blank, but he refused to leave John, his forms, his pen, or his beleaguered hand alone until he had his own work to attend to. His unblinking eyes lifted up to find John’s.

“My thanks for the consultation, Doctor.” He set down his pen. Taking the sign, Meward trotted across the desk and bunched himself up under his palm. “A brilliant idea.” Meward purred his agreement.

A note was made to make inquiries as to budget and ability in getting the kitchen a stock of fresh seafood. He would see to it once this trouble with Lucy was taken care of.

Lucy’s trouble was taken care of. Twice.

R.M. Renfield’s only once.

It was not until after the Harkers’ trouble was seen to—this time finally, finally by seeing to the end of the one seeding trouble all along—not until after Quincey Morris went into the ground as a last miserable toll, that John could bring himself to visit any of the graves alone. Lucy’s. Quincey’s. Renfield’s.

On visiting the last’s simple plot, John brought along Meward in his coat. No longer quite a kitten, but still petite enough to fit in an inner pocket. The cat stared wonderingly at the marker for a time. He then paced away, seeming to search for something among the other graves. He returned on dainty steps with that something in his mouth. A dead bird. He laid it on Renfield’s plot and then curled himself around John’s leg, staring up.  

If asked, even by Van Helsing, he could not have explained why this was the moment that burst the dam anew.

Nor why this eruption was so horridly raw compared to his past collapses. He had wept whole oceans since the loss of Lucy, it seemed. For twice dead Lucy, for Mina and her damned undying, for Quincey bleeding his life out on the snow, and now, here, last and so criminally considered least until it was too late, Renfield. Renfield who had died as a man neither comprehended nor heeded in his last desperate throes. Renfield who had died to shield a young woman he had befriended for all of an hour over simple kindness and equal regard. Renfield who Dr. John Seward had never healed, only housed or hindered or harkened to for study’s sake.

He crumpled to his knees there among the dead who’d died ill and insane for lack of understanding. Face in his hands, all the horror and hate of self folded back on itself a hundred times over. Arthur did not need his shoulder. Van Helsing did not need his confidante. The Harkers did not need his brave face. His staff and his patients did not need his professional posture or imposture. Nothing was needed here, for no one was alive to need anything.

So out it came. All those deepest acidic tides of unshared grief that could never be dared in the audience of friend or phonograph or the fierce eyes of those who saw and judged the faintest failure of mind as failure of soul, because that was what he was, a failure of psyche and ability who was nothing, who could do nothing but look on, be a warm body, a recorder of others’ misery while he sat and stared and failed and failed and failed them—

A warm ball of fur was worming its way onto his lap. Then up under his jaw, trying to squeeze itself between his hands and his tears.

John looked down. Meward looked up. Blinked once, slow. Then resumed trying to grate himself against John’s face and hands and neck and anywhere else he could reach, purring like thunder as he did. John snuffled and swallowed back another hoarse noise. He laid both hands on the cat to stroke him. Minutes passed on and on until they became an hour. John picked himself up, cat in hand.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he breathed, pausing to tidy the skewed ribbon. “You have a true talent.”

Meward mewed. It was a purely affected sound. The kind he made either to win another round of petting or a treat or a dash of catnip. John supposed he could pay for his services with a medley of all three at home.

A year later, with the asylum behind and the future ahead, the private psychiatric practice of Dr. John Seward was making elated waves through the medical grapevine. It was recommended by most anyone in the Purfleet area—likewise for even the most distant neighbors—that Dr. Seward was the man to go to before anyone started throwing around panicked thoughts of sanitorium stays or the druggist or a mesmeric cure. Go to Seward first, comes the suggestion from all walks.

Talk to him. Talk until you’re blue. Let him hear it all, however strange, however haunted or haunting, and he will neither balk nor sentence you to a straitjacket. Dr. Seward actually listens. More, he keeps confidences. He lays out alternatives the patient themselves might take before being flung headlong to the pharmacy or a locked room. Talk. Be heard. Be helped.

And don’t mind the cat staring in the corner.

He is a colleague and he’s there to help too.

#taking a break from tormenting Jonathan Harker for fluffy kitty fic time :3c #Now Back to the Horrors #really though little bitty Jack Meward's design is ridiculously charming #I made my own plushie of the little guy I loved him so much #and now he's got his own fanfic #fanwork turducken #jack meward #meward #jack seward #john seward #r.m. renfield #dracula #my writing

[ruleofbirds]

𝚍𝚎𝚟𝚕𝚘𝚐_𝟶𝟷.𝟷

Kia Ora, Te Ao!

Hello, World! It's official - Robbie has a tumblr now. Absolutely unfathomable. Honestly, it's mostly because it was this or Wordpress (or a more obscure indie dev forum) and this seemed the most accessible and quirky. I'm sure this won't lead to another awful endless scrolling habit. Any advice for the visual side of things is warmly received! I want this blog to be a fun part of the week, because a lot of fun will be had developing RoB. Just realised that acronym happens to be my name. Could be worse.

Okay! Now that the initial ramble into the void is out of the way, it's time to get into the c o n c e p t.

This tumblr is a devlog for my NZ ecosystem simulator currently titled "rule of birds", which I will be working on for the next 8 weeks as part of Blackbird Foundation's "Protostars" program. This means a weekly check-in with the other creatives in the program, the organizers at Blackbird, and a post for all of you here.

I'm breaking this week's post into 3 sections just to cover the bases;

01.1 -a bit about my creative practice and how it led to this project

01.2 -a discussion of "flocking" in programming (using p5.js)

01.3 -a discussion of NZ natural history

So here's the intro post, where I ramble about myself for a sec.

So! basically, I specialize in spatial design, I love working with anything nature-related, and I want to make a video game.

Lately I've been on a tangent based around art in NZ's cultural context - the design principles behind whakairo (Maori woodcarving) and how their composition conveys meaning, how histories of spirituality, tribal and colonial relations affected design, and my own art interpreting my natural surroundings with photography and charcoal drawing. I can neither confirm nor deny whether there will be an art zine compiling a wee bit of this work on the community table at the Whanganui Zinefest this Saturday.

That tangent branched off into a focus on natural history that's the keystone of rule of birds. My motivation for focusing on an ecosystem simulator is to articulate a basis for the sort of games I want to come out of Aotearoa. The sim will be the proof of concept - and I suppose this blog will be the manifesto.

I feel like there's a massive demand for games exploring NZ history - like, imagine a big-budget maori-led release set in pre-colonial time, with all the unique aspects of survival, resource management and day to day activity that involved - or an assassin's creed type action game based during the time of Te Kooti. It goes unsaid that Kupe is one of the best parts of Sid Meier's Civilization VI - iykyk.

What I think separates a good game from a great one is how alive the virtual world feels - rather than being led through an a-to-b progression of events presented in the same visual style I've seen countless times before, if the world can react in a dynamic way, and the details in the background are crafted to feel organic and immersive, I'm going to want to stop and wander off the beaten track that an objective marker may be pointing me towards.

The last game that caught my attention in this way - and coincidentally the one that made me want to put my coding knowledge to the test with gamedev - was, of course, Rain World. To everyone who knows me, I'm sure you're surprised I've made it three paragraphs without bringing this game up. I'm not going to go into too much detail here, because there is *a lot*, but key points are you are one creature among many scavenging for food in a brutal biomechanical ecosystem, hibernating between cycles of cataclysmic rain, and the game plays like basically nothing else due to how the coded behaviour of every entity in the world follows its own logic that has much more to do with its own survival than the experience of you as a player.

Here's a nice little illustration of the physics behind a movement-sensing tentacle monster, to give a sort of discrete example - but the creatures that act according to behavioural karma systems and the dynamics of how the different lizards scuffle and coordinate with each other is worth looking into too, if this is your thing.

(Source: GDC, Curious Archive)

Now, I really want to jump into some of this behavioural coding stuff, so I'm just going to move on to collecting things for the next post - hope this has been an interesting read! if you somehow found this page in your tumblr algorithm, welcome! I'll also be posting bits on the instagram page @robbiek_devlogs and you can check out my other work on my main insta @robbiek_art

Hei kōnā mai,

Robbie K

Next up: simulation in coding, natural history research post #1

Next week: Adventures in Godot Engine!

#natural history #programming #indiedev #birds #gamedev #devlog #Youtube

[depravitycentral]

i love that you don't shy away from yandere themes that are considered gross! Period blood for example and invading reader's privacy in the bathroom. (Thankfully there's no sc*t 😅) A lot of your posts are 10k+ so I was wondering about your writing process

Do you write it all in one sitting? How long does it take you? If you get a block in the middle, do you just give up on it or force yourself to finish it? What's your favorite thing you've written?

Aww thank you for the reassurance! I'm never totally sure how things like that will be received - my goal when I write yandere works is to tap into the more creepy and gross side of the yandere, and I think that can turn a lot of people off from reading my stuff. Thank you for being a trooper and dealing with it, though; you have my heart <3

(Also please don't worry, scat will NEVER make an appearance on my blog. Other icky, nasty body fluids? Sure, but I have to draw the line somewhere and that's where I've chosen.)

As far as my writing process goes, I kind of go in spurts! This weekend I've been feeling weirdly productive and I had a lot of free time (a rare commodity), so I was able to sit down and pound out some of those profiles. I tend to get inspiration for a character and write like 60-75% of their profile in one sitting, then suddenly lose all motivation and want to stop to take like a snack break or do something else for a while. A lot of times when I'm that close to being done I just force myself to finish it, which sometimes has better results than others. (The Nobunaga nsfw profile, for example, was completed about 65% of the way done when I suddenly crashed on it, but I banged it out from start to finish in one sitting, so if there are lulls in the writing that's probably why.) If I leave something halfway done, there's all kinds of little notes and bullet points written down on the document with ideas I was working with, but sometimes I wait so long to return back to that specific work that I totally forget/don't understand what the bullet points are saying, which sucks.

For time, I would say it takes me somewhere around 3-4 hours to write each profile if I'm really focused, but the total time (including brainstorming) is probably averaged more around 5-6 hours. The nsfw ones have less content so they take less time, but the general ones are the ones I have to really think about and analyze, which often tends to require watching a few more episodes with that character in it just to get a good feel for them as I head into writing. (Unfortunately, haikyuu has become virtually impossible to find for free nowadays, so for all my haikyuu works I'm mostly just working off memory. I'm a little worried they aren't super accurate to the characters, but the show must go on.)

I don't really have a favorite thing I've written! Occasionally I'll look through my blog and see something I posted and go oh really? Was that me? Did I post that? I don't remember most of the details of things I post, so it's actually kind of a treat for me to go back and reread my work because it's like I'm reading a brand new fic. (Aside from all the grammar errors I suddenly find. Ugh.) I will say that all the Feitan stuff came much easier than I thought it would - I was kind of dreading writing for him because he's so popular among the fans and is kind of difficult for me to grasp, but once I started it just kind of kept coming. So if I had to choose, maybe his profiles!

Thank you for all the questions - self reflection is always a good thing! And thank you for sending in this ask - the little rush of serotonin I get whenever I see a notification that something new is in my inbox is crazy.

#if you read this long ass ramble about my personal habits/writing style #then you are wonderful and i love you #have a nice night/day #and please remember to take care of yourself #drink water!! #go to sleep earlier!! #take breaks from technology!!

[mint-yooxgi]

You are welcome to publish this or not as you see fit but please understand my point is about detaching your criticism of my recommendation style which you are welcome to make from the list of authors. Their names do not deserve to be dragged around on a post where you are in a completely one-sided beef with me.

I removed the link to your masterlist because I no longer felt comfortable sending readers your way. While the quality of your stories has not changed, I take the whole presence of an author into consideration. You asked me to see you as a person not a product and this is me doing that. Reading over your asks about the "cringe anon" (even once corrected that it was not about me) still left me saddened to see you joining the askers in making fun of someone's assumed talents, spelling, and denigrating "hoes" when here we are reading stories celebrating people who sleep around. These are not attitudes I wish to expose my readers to in the service of sending them to a story they might like.

From the very beginning of my reaching out to you as a consideration once I was aware you would like to know you have been spoken of positively, you have been wrong about my motives every single time. I will not go into the multiple reasons why I actively choose not to ping writers because you have not seemed open to listening that there could be a reason for my decision equally grounded in being respectful to writers.

I really liked the stories of yours that I had read but will now never be returning to. You lost a reblogging fics with multiple paragraphs reader enthusiastic about your writing over the aggressive way you have spoken to and about me. Please know that despite this I still sincerely wish you well although I am no longer among your followers.

Elizabeth

I still feel like we're missing the point here. I asked for basic respect for all authors on that post regarding properly tagging us beside links showcasing our own writing. At this point, NONE of those authors have yet to be tagged, so I doubt they're being "dragged around" as you've so put it here. My bet is three quarters on the list don't even have a clue about what's going on, and I bet most of them would agree with me about appreciating a tag beside their hard work.

Taking the whole presence of the author is completely valid. I understand that. Like I said before, I asked to be seen as a person through a proper tag, and explained my reasonings why on your post. I'll reiterate them here. Oh wait, I explicitly stated being seen as a person vs. a product on this post: Why You Should Tag Authors in Your Fic Rec Posts. A general post, not aimed at you, but as a general callout to people who don't tag authors in their fic rec posts. I'm sorry you believed that was directed at you, but honestly, at this point... if the shoe fits, don't wear it.

Additionally, I never once thought, implied, or suggested you were being the 'cringe anon'. You were the first person to bring that up, to which I replied to immediately both to your original comment, and with a post. Here's a link to the post, where you can also find the original comments which I provided as screenshots.

I feel like it's also important to mention that this is my blog. If I get a rude anon telling me that my writing is "cringe" and then another anon following it up by calling ME a "dumbass hoe", I have every right to reply to it in a manner that I see fit. Whether it's by making a meme out of it, because honestly, it was utterly ridiculous, or by replying with something else, that's entirely up to me. You definitely don't have to agree with how I handle it, but you also have to recognize that if someone comes onto my blog and shits all over me, I'm not going to take that lightly. My friends won't, either. Whether you agree or not... okay, sure. Good to know you believe I should let people who send hate anons walk all over me and my writing without sticking up for myself.

Never once has a conversation been opened by either or us, and I do take accountability for myself for not reaching out, to discuss why you won't give the basic curtesy of tagging authors in your fic rec post. I just assumed it was such a basic thing, that I didn't think such an issue would arise from it. To me, it takes the same amount of time to add a comment tagging me to a post my own writing is linked on, as it does to actually tag me properly in said post. Then again, I actually think making a comment is more time consuming, especially when the post already exists and is already formatted.

I truly don't understand what's so difficult about adding an @ in front of an author's username. Yet, here we are. All this says to me is, "I don't want to tell writers I'm sharing their work, fuck letting them have this sort of feedback." It's even stranger when I know you had no issues previously reblogging my fics and adding beautiful paragraphs of feedback to them. I guess tagging on a fic rec post is too difficult. Oh, well.

Was I aggressive in my tone. Probably. I did my best not to be, and I do apologize if it came across that way. At the end of the day, I know I'm not the only author upset by this whole ordeal, and honestly, since it's turning into such a big deal to offer authors basic respect, you have my regards.

#ask

[steve0discusses]

S5 Ep 42 Pt 1: It’s All In Your Head

Every week with long covid is like a new batch of symptoms. Last month’s symptom, among other things, was “words no work no good,” and so we just uh...didn’t do an update. I probably needed to chill and nap anyway. Not that I’m fully better yet, today I did laundry and pulled out a blue shirt that I clearly own and bought with my own money--but I have no memory of it. Zilch.

The brain is amazing, that with this brain fog, I can’t remember my blue t-shirt, but I can remember Yugioh. Weird, right? So anyway, thanks for your patience in this weird time of my life, glad to have a blog to write about anime in that is so chill with our very long breaks.

Also, I finally went through my old caps to toss old pictures so that way I can make new stuff, and guess what I just realized?

Kisara is not a dragon!

Seto’s girlfriend isn’t a dragon! She’s just on top of the dragon, I can’t...I just can’t believe this.

Truly a crime that this season, the final ultimate season of Yugioh, is what I’m doing while on Long Covid fruitloops, so I can miss every damn point that this show fires at me. But, at least, I hope it’s funny to read. It is like every single update where I realize I was wrong about the obvious, and don’t worry, it’s gonna happen again in like 4 seconds. My borked brain.

Anyway, Yugi and Co have walked all the way to the palace. Because we’re still on S4 time and space conventions where Death Valley, the Grand Canyon, and San Fransisco are all next to each other. Like Yami fell in the Nile in a fight that was just outside of the city--but I assumed he got pulled way out there. Either way, it’s a kid’s show, never think about geography.

(read more under the cut)

Yugi can conveniently walk through doors now, and after a quick shoutout to his homie Yami, they phase through.

Including Tristan who is...

Well,

APPARENTLY TRISTAN WAS POSSESSED.

Freakin, my brain is a bunch of salad dressing, lmaoooo even last episode I was like “wow Tristan is drawn kinda evil and I don’t really get why” and it was RIGHT THERE. He’s been possessed probably since Bakura grabbed him by the neck right in front of me. I somehow missed this!

And like, I figure, if I try and wait out long covid it may take a whole other year, so like this is just me now. I started this blog as like a competent analysis (ish), and now I get to the end of S5 giving you just an incoherent rorschach. It’s kind of fitting for this show really, everyone has to end up at least a little bit of a mess. Keeps you humble. Even me. I also have to become the mess.

Anyway, speaking of becoming a babbling incoherent mess, we go back to Bakura, who has fully lost his game in Battle Basement of a 7 vs 1 game.

Only in Yugioh would they make a 7 vs 1 game feel evenly sided.

And as I wonder if I’ve already made that joke four months back and have forgotten, they all watch Bakura do a mad dash to screw them over one last time.

And while they stood there and just allowed Bakura to fumble around with the doom rocks made of human souls, from no where, Aknadin stumbles through the door all day drunk like freakin Kramer.

And no, in the show he did not reveal here that he was Seto’s dad, but he does in like 2 minutes so I didn’t really care about where I put it. The big thing is that Aknadin’s gone full-tilt cray and not even he can fully explain his motive anymore.

That’s when they realize Aknadin’s babysitter, Shada, has been punk’d on the bottom of skull tablet basement. Which like, Imagine the day that Shada’s been having. I guess Aknadin just left him at the base of like 10000 human skulls then, hahaha.

I have checked my notes and I decided that 2000 people died in Kul Elna a few months back but eh I don’t feel like changing this cap. Overall, I have no freakin idea how many people lived in this freakin town and they can’t tell us because 4Kids would never allow it.

Which is when Bakura decided to teleport his bean into another bean because this bean is broke.

Which is when we met this guy, a guy we’ve only met for like 4 seconds of the show so far. Hello there, Original Bakura.

Straight up, he wasn’t on screen long enough for me to over-analyze his accent before he was a small mound of dust on the floor.

Ah the death count! Oh damn it, I write these notes on the caps sometimes, expecting I’ll put an actual number there later but lets be real, I just need to publish this episode, so let me open the Google doc...

7,805,847,572

Yeah that’s how many people have died in this kids show so far. We’re right on track. Thanks Bakura, for another death, but no you have not caught up with Dartz. Although I will hand it to him, Dartz didn’t end up killing himself nearly as many times as Bakura has.

Speaking of dying and being dead on a kid’s show, in enters Shada.

So lets go see what Yugi’s up to hm? The four have decided to separate in this Egyptian palace to each find Yami’s name. Mind you...there’s some flaws with this plan.

The flaw being that none of them have graduated high school or know freakin anything about Egypt, other than they hang out with an Ex patriot Egyptian. (2 ex-patriots if you count Yugi’s Grandfather. Although honestly, are you an ex-pat if you are reborn in a kid’s body on the other side of the world? You are, right? You are). But, whether or not Yami can or can’t read Egyptian in Canonical Yugioh, we know that Yugi apparently super can’t when Yami isn’t in his bean.

And Joey just can’t focus for the life of him, which, damn, relatable. But, he did find a room full of women.

He also went to the only room with like lots of water. Real pissed focused mind here, and no the piss plotline will not be resolved.

Tea, still GOAT.

This castle, man. I love the complete disregard for interiors that this animation team has. Like...what even is the purpose of this weird maze room with masssssive stone tiles, Yugioh? Like...what is this even supposed to be? Why are the tiles so SHINY?

Anyway, lets go back to Shada and hear his excuse for what the hell happened last episode.

Which is when Aknadin decided to just start cursing everyone, which he would have done earlier if he wasn’t constantly in a sick bed this season.

This very well might be a yugioh card effect that turns you into a rainbow filter, but it also looks like a complete mess of artistic directions on the screen.

Which like, after that cutesy filter, lets pull our eyes out.

Which is when Yami makes the biggest logical leap known to man.

That’s right! Yami has figured out that this entire time, this entire arc, he’s been sleeping at this RPG table that Bakura’s built in his mom’s basement Yami’s Puzzle Necklace.

In fact, when Yami wakes up to all of this, wearing his normal ass school clothes, and Bakura sitting across from him in his popped collar duster jacket, Bakura says something on the line of “bout time you woke up.”

the fic shippers must have had a FIELD DAY with one.

Anyway, everything is a lie, Bakura is controlling people like puzzle pieces, which not only explains why Aknadin’s motives went a 180, but can lead us to believe that Yami also COULD control everyone else, but just chooses not to. Just like he does in real life.

I think, overall, you just have to go with it. We’re playing D+D, except it’s about your embarrassing past. Like if you made D+D about your middle school experience and you can’t remember your first name.

What a way to die, really. What a weird ass way for Yami to almost die.

Anyway, here’s a link for those new here to read these from the beginning. I have the 2nd part already drafted up, should be up in a few days and not an entire month, haha. Hope your 2023 is looking up!

https://steve0discusses.tumblr.com/tagged/yugioh/chrono

#yugioh #Yu-Gi-Oh #Yami Yugi #S5 #ep 42 #Bakura #Yugi Muto #Joey Wheeler #recap #photo recap #tea gardner #tristan taylor #seto kaiba

[fatuispolaris]

headcanon time! i posted this on my old blog but it was a little bit outdated so i'll fix that right up. this post delves into how i picture childe's relationship with the fatui, with a particular focus placed on the other harbingers. i'll cover the tsaritsa and how he views subordinates as well. word isn't law with these as they can develop or we can plot different threads if you write one of these muses, but this is sort of a default that i'll approach unless we decide upon otherwise. as always, under the cut for length.

the tsaritsa - after feeling rejected by most of his family and village, childe views her as the one person that doesn't reject him. she welcomed him among the harbingers with open arms and kind words, and it's why he's so fiercely loyal. he truly believes that her heart is good and wishes to help her achieve her goals. he feels a kinship with her, and strives to do well in his role because of that. he's often been called the tsaritsa's dog because of his loyalty.

the jester - childe recognizes him as the leader but honestly doesn't think of him too much. he has enough sense to be respectful and obviously follows orders, but he doesn't feel any loyalty to him. he is a bit wary of him, because part of him believes pierro's ideals may not necessarily align with the tsaritsa's (as most of the harbingers don't). he would like to challenge him to a fight, though.

the captain - childe admires him greatly. he knows a warrior when he sees one, and he'd love to cross blades with him, even if it'll be certain defeat on his own end. he simply wants the honor of learning from a battle with someone like him. as a new recruit when he'd first joined the fatui, capitano was a bit of a hero to him. he views him a bit like a goal to overcome one day, despite his admiration. he wants to best him in his quest to become stronger.

the doctor - of all of his coworkers, dottore is among the ones that childe likes the least. he keeps his distance as much as he can, because the guy gives him the creeps. he doesn't know all of the details, but he's heard stories about all the different sorts of experiments the doctor and his segments (rip) get up to, and he wants no part in that.

the damselette - one of his comrades that he knows the least, he keeps his distance from her too as something just feels incredibly off about her. he's curious, of course, because he'd like to fight her too (he wants to fight all of his comrades), but there's a hidden darkness about her that gives even him pause. he mostly just doesn't understand columbina. a lot of his coworkers he believes he's gotten a pretty good read on, but he can't quite grasp what her deal is. he's not sure he wants to find out.

the knave - like most of the rest of his comrades, she's cold and committed to her own goals. more than the rest of them, she doesn't bother to hide that she has ulterior motives, and wouldn't hesitate to betray any of them. she seems to regard him with indifference.

the rooster - perhaps it is naïve of him, but childe truly believes that aside from the tsaritsa, pulcinella is the only other one among the harbingers that feels an ounce of care for him. he's one of the only ones that regularly makes conversation with childe, and since pulcinella himself spends most of his time in snezhnaya, childe often looks to him for updates on his family. pulcinella has never given him a reason to distrust him. he seems just as loyal to the tsaritsa as childe is, and has been nothing but encouraging from the start. pulcinella was the one that noticed him among the new recruits and helped him climb the ranks so fast, so childe is grateful to him.*

the balladeer - oddly enough, childe always felt a sense of one-sided kinship with him. although scaramouche and he often spared antagonizing words for each other (especially scaramouche, childe usually just responded to his scathing words), he knew that the other was a bit of an oddball among the harbingers, like himself, which is a funny way of putting it considering that all of the harbingers are odd already. he never knew too much, because it wasn't like they were friends, but he was aware that the two of them were seen more like assets/weapons. when he first was promoted to the rank of harbinger, childe tried approaching him and becoming friends because he thought the balladeer was young like himself. naturally, that went horribly...**

the marionette - she seems a bit similar to the doctor in his eyes, the mad scientist type that places their research above all morals and reason. they haven't crossed paths much, but he can tell the disdain is mutual. he figures sandrone, like most of the other harbingers, sees him as some idiotic and incompetent kid.

the fair lady - from the start, signora was always rude to him. she seemed to take joy in undermining him when she could, treating him like he was lesser—more than the others, even. he never knew much about her, as signora seemed to always present herself as some cold-hearted witch. given her place among the harbingers, he knows she has to have some sort of past too. he feels a bit of sympathy, despite everything.

the regrator - his feelings regarding pantalone are mostly neutral. childe tries to maintain a good relationship because he knows pantalone is in charge of the fatui's coffers. he likes to think they're on friendly enough terms since pantalone's entrusted him to oversee the northland bank from time to time, but he knows better than to actually trust a guy like him.

subordinates (skirmishers, mages, named/unnamed npcs/etc.) - childe doesn't exactly try to become buddy-buddy with his underlings (despite silently and unwittingly yearning for friendship/acceptance), but he does respect them. he doesn't actively try to harm them out of a sick sense of joy, nor is he the type to abandon them should a mission go awry. he listens to their opinions and often likes spoiling those that work directly under him. he likes hearing them talk about their families and will often share about his with them. just because he's a good boss to them doesn't mean he's a push over, though. he might not kill them like some of his comrades do, but he doesn't shy away from striking fear in them either, should he need to. because of his respect for them, they respect him, too.

* this is hinted at in scaramouche's voicelines about pulcinella, but childe is absolutely misguided in his view of him. i think pulcinella's closeness to childe's family/childe himself is a means of insurance. by maintaining contact with childe's loved ones pulcinella essentially has childe in the palm of his hands. i hc that pulci does this as a means of ensuring childe will work for him whenever he needs him to. childe's treated a bit like an attack dog, and pulcinella thinks it wise to have someone like that on his side.

** this depends on whether a thread takes place before or after the events of 3.3. if it takes places after, then childe does not remember scaramouche. also, i've inferred that scaramouche and childe might've talked quite a bit because of scara's familiarity with childe's family situation, as well as what he had to say about childe (calling him weak and dumb, lmfao). this coupled with his line to signora about her and childe always complicating things... he seems to, in his own roundabout way, express concern for childe (and signora) so... i won't say they were friends, but i think they definitely talked.

anyway like i said this is all sort of a baseline to how i approach interactions but i'm definitely open to plotting different stuff and absolutely 100% wanna write with other harbingers so! i want childe to have work enemies, work buddies, etc etc. if you write a harbinger/fatui let's ball c:

#( headcanons. ) #honestly this is almost entirely the same just... moved some stuff around lol

[fayelinart]

Pinned post / My bio, continued

Are Twitter-style pinned posts a thing here too? Anyway, here's some more about me so I don't flood my bio:

FIND ME ON OTHER SITES ON MY LINKTREE!!

This blog focuses on art about Nintendo properties, TRG (The Runaway Guys and their friends), Touhou, and VTubers. Same blog for everything, but I may make a side blog for reblogs and stream updates later.

I'm beginning to post here and Bsky instead of Twitter, but some exceptions apply.

I like drawing girls posing with musical instruments... so get used to that ;3c

The un-TL;DR version:

The art I post mainly come from Nintendo properties, but I will also reference TRG (The Runaway Guys), Touhou, and many VTubers (I'm a DD but mostly follow a mix of Hololive, Nijisanji, VShojo, big and small indies, among others.) I don't plan on making side blogs for any of these interests since my drawing pace is variable (unless it's as I described above).

I (re)post art that I'll also put on Bluesky and Twitter, but I will prioritize this blog and Bsky going forward for reasons I hope are very obvious. As I transition off of Twitter, some art pieces may only show up here or get posted here, but some communities I participate in still rely on Twitter so there'll be some cases where I will prioritize Twitter instead.

I myself am also a VTuber as of 2021 (because I said so one day)! I use a PNG from a commission I got from sonoci/sonocomics as my avatar. Despite my low motivation to stream, I've been learning how to make my own Live2D model just to see for myself how hard it is. (Spoilers: it's hard and I respect the craft greatly. I donxt expect to finish for a long time.)

Faye Internet Rule 8822: All characters drawn on this blog may be drawn with an instrument and it may or may not be a tuba. Because why not :v

#maybe not all the time but a lot of the time I do #pinned post