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littlelightfish · 21 days

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I've been thinking about Mickbell since last chapter came out.

Have you noticed how everyone refers to him as Mick? He's a hafling, they shouldn't call him that since its his first name.

But here's the thing.

We know Mickbell didn't have something to call a family the majority of his life. He was all alone against the word for quite some time. He, as I said before, didn't have a proper family, didn't have any friends. He was alone. No one to care about him, no one to love even in a friendly way.

He can seem to be quite unfair towards Kuro, but truth is he doesn't know any better. He does what he can the best he can, the best he knows, because he loves Kuro so much, he doesn't want to loose his first friend, his first glimpse of a family, the only one that cared for him after so long the first one to recognize him as someone rather than something.

Kuro doesn't understand common language well, we know for a fact that he struggles with it and that he's still learning to communicate. When Mickbell found him, it was his sense of "I'm in great debt to him because he saved me" what made him attack the one that attacked Mick. "How dares he tuch my savior?" Kind of behaviour. And also revenge I guess. But, hear me out. He hears Mickbell telling something to him in a language he doesn't understand, but he sticks to his side from then on, because he saw a savior in him. Because he feels in debt with him, because he sees that this guy enjoys his company and also feeds him. He is like a stray dog after being adopted, loyal. He loves and cares for Mickbell, he wants to be able to truly understand him and to make himself known to him by talking. He's learning how to speak common, not because it might be useful, but because he wants to be able to fully communicate with his dearest friend, with the one he considers family.

Going back to Mickbell, he saw someone caring for him enough to take revenge and protect him. This aren't little things to do for someone you just met. He knows this, because he probably wouldn't have done that, he 100% would've runned away because he has sense of self-preservation and knows damn well he doesn't stand a chance and he wants to continue living. He makes sure to keep this kobold to himself, at first because of his "if it can be made use of, then use it" principle.

He freed the kobold, not because he was a good person, but because he wanted to take revenge in his own terms. He wanted this man to suffer, he can't pick a fight because he doesn't stand a chance, so he steels his merch, or in this case, frees it. He freed Kuro because he wanted the man to suffer the loss of his merch. Not because he feels sorry for a kobold that could easily chomp his head off (they're usually agressive). Now, after freeing him, he noticed that this kobold would die if he didn't take off the thing he had in his mouth, so he helped him a bit there. This seems a bit out of character. Why did he freed the starved kobold from what could've saved him of being eaten himself? Because he is a good person. He doesn't want this creature to starve to death after freeing him, it would be cruel, and he isn't cruel. He doesn't want nothing to do with the kobold at first, he just doesnt want him to die because he didnt properly freed him, but after seeing how far is this someone willing to go for him? He has no room for doubt, he makes himself his boss.

As I said, Mickbell didn't had a real family before. He lacks of proper social interactions and bonds due to his past. But he loves so deeply. He doesn't want to loose Kuro. He sees him as the closest thing he'll ever have to a family, but he doesn't know how to treat him properly. He tries his best. He feeds him, and cares about him a lot, but he doesn't know how to talk to him. He wants to have him close at all times, he wants to pet him, to be carried around by him and only him, to tease him, to help him. He's always worrying about his well-being. And above all, he doesn't want to be alone. Never again. This is why he does everything he can think of to hold Kuro closer to him. This is why he's saving money, why he pays Kuro so poorly for his job. This is why he doesn't spent much money on himself either. He wants to live a life with kuro by his side because he loves him. He loves him deeply, and cares about him deeply too. He's his family. And he is terrified of the sole thought of Kuro leaving his side. Because that wouldn't just mean being alone again. It would mean Kuro left.

Now, this is what the party sees. A hafling that treats his kobold employee quite unfairly. He doesn't pay him almost anything, he leaves him alone as soon as battle starts, he is possessive about him, and he's terrified of someone snatching him away. The kobold doesn't seem to either mind or notice how unfair his owner is being towards him, and doesn't seem to understand him very well either. They see that they both care for each other more than they first thought as time passes by, but the unfairness of it all is still there. They don't get it. Why would the hafling, if he cares so much, reward him so badly? Why is he taking advantage of the kobold he loves so much? Why wouldn't he let him express himself in his mother language? They don't fully get it.

Time passes and they become closer to each other, just as Laios's party does. They start opening up, bonding, and before they knew it, they're something like a small family, rather than just a group of friends adventuring together. It's clear as day something in Mickbell wasn't quite right just by the way he behaves. He is childish, but it doesn't seem to be intentional. He behaves like a kid, but he is quite mature at the same time. He is like this because he didn't had a proper childhood? He only now can allow himself to behave lightly as he does? To cry at minor inconveniences? To want to be hold on someone's arms? They don't know, but they don't prey about it either.

And without realizing it, they call him just "Mick". Some of them, if not them all, know what it means to call a hafling by his first name. They maybe did it to tease him, maybe because they wanted him to know they consider him family, but he didn't even noticed. He hadn't a proper social interaction with haflings that ever got to the personal level of teaching him something he should already know. Haflings call him Mickbell, he doesn't mind, it's his name. His party calls him Mick, he doesn't mind, it's his name. He doesn't even know hee should care. The party picks up he doesn't mind being called that and gets surprised. Is he letting them know he sees them aa family too? They at first are really surprised, but it losses importance over time. They just use it as a nickname now, but they started using it because they wanted Mickbell to know they're family too, that they don't want to hurt him nor Kuro.

Mickbell it's just a good hearted guy who doesn't know how to do good. He saves up money so he can, one day, live with Kuro. So he doesn't pays him well even if he works hard. So he starves himself (he is underweight too, but it could be for the same reason Chilchuck is, he is 5 cms taller than the common hafling after all). So he allows himself to steal from corpses. He needs money. He has a dream. He wants to have a family.

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ayilings · 2 years

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welcome to the ouran host club

based on this article

#ohshc #ouran #ouran hshc #ouran fanart #kyoya ootori #tamaki suoh #haruhi fujioka #hikaru hitachiin #kaoru hitachiin #takashi morinozuka #mitsukuni haninozuka #renge houshakuji #i was inspired to doodle this by the many illustrated iterations of this article in the prsk fandom i love u #this is just jokes ive been an ouran fan since 2014 i dont think they would actually say these lol #mostly #this is an open discussion #i assigned the dialogue to each character during my graduate school lecture about the lower limb today im so mature #anyway ive decided to use this account for silly anime doodles instead of my twitter! idk what i ever end up drawing but #ouran has been a fav of mine for so long u may see more of these kids from me lol #i project onto kyoya <3 #also renge lesbian bc i am too and . i just wanna see it hAHA #hskmeows

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millenniummmbop · 2 years

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patron saints of being mad at ur dad

#stress relief doodles from the past week =3=;;#not gonna clean these up sorry >_>;;#the composition on ed's page gave me sooooo much trouble it's unreal #anyways these two are the same guy to me #no i will not elaborate #shoutout to these guys for being the only characters i have ever projected onto a normal amount #a very VERY NORMAL AMOUNT #< <;;#> >;;#seto kaiba #edward elric #yugioh #fullmetal alchemist #sketchbook #eye strain #???#probably #my palettes usually get more saturated the more stressed i am lmao #ANYWAAAYYYS

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mrfisherot · 6 months

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ghostbite0 · 8 days

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thinking about the obanai & muichiro brother figures headcanon tonight. im devastated

#aka me just projecting onto my two favorite characters #demon slayer #kny #muichiro tokito #obanai iguro #i often think about how obanai will check in on muichiro #and obanais reaction when he realized muichiro AND mitsuri’s fates #and how muichiro thought to check in on obanai #because he knew obanai was in love with mitsuri #and he didnt want obanai to be sad #i couldnt find my photo but its a canon interaction muichiro has with gyomei in one of the written novels and it makes me lose my mind #im normal. im so normal #they are brothers ur honor #brothers #found family #also u guys ever think about how obanai probably reminded muichiro of yuichiro to some extent

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hardly-an-escape · 3 months

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Stormy Weather, or: Outside, the Wind (Inside, the Light) | Dream/Hob | 1600 words | Rated T

tags: I recently spent an evening without power therefore I must put the blorbos in a Situation, love confessions, first kiss, getting together, power outages, Hob Gadling throughout history, gratuitious use of mildly accurate Middle English

The wind tears around London like a living thing, a wild animal, a predator, intent on the hunt. It chases birds into their nests and people into their homes, moans around corners and rattles shutters, sending piles of leaves whirling into miniature hurricanes and whipping branches into a frenzy, sharpening its claws on roof tiles and telephone poles.

Except in Hob Gadling’s flat.

The New Inn, and the cozy home above it, is in one of those old buildings that’s actually been loved and maintained – thanks in no small part to Hob’s own care and attention. The walls are thick and strong, the roof is solid. The shutters may rattle, but the windows are double-pane; the curtains and carpets are warm and soft, and no drafts encroach on the sanctity of his living room, where Hob and Lord Morpheus, King of Dreams, are having a movie night.

It’s part of Hob’s concerted effort to introduce the Prince of Stories to the stories he’d missed during his imprisonment. Tonight it’s Blade Runner – the final cut, of course – which isn’t necessarily one of Hob’s personal favorites, but seemed to fit the stormy, rainy vibes of the weather. They’re installed on the couch, with hot chocolate and wine and snacks, which Dream has deigned to pick at. Harrison Ford is eating noodles and wandering through wet, moodily-lit streets. The wind is howling outside, but they’re safe and warm and surrounded by soft things and life is about as good, Hob thinks, as it ever gets these days.

And then his lights flicker. Once, twice; there is the impression of a sort of electrical last gasp, and the room is plunged into darkness.

The wind whips and the shutters rattle. A volley of rain spits itself against the windows.

“Bugger,” says Hob.

Dream says nothing, merely brings his wineglass – which had already been cradled in one elegant hand – to his lips.

“Hang on,” says Hob. “I’ve got some candles around here somewhere.”

He gropes his way to the kitchen. In one drawer he unearths some beeswax tapers and several tea lights, which he arranges on a plate. He rummages in one of the deeper cabinets and makes a triumphant noise as he discovers his prize behind disused mugs and a fondue set from the 1980s: a pair of old-fashioned brass candlesticks equipped with round reflectors, highly polished to catch the light and bounce it back out into the darkness.

“You are remarkably well-prepared for an event such as this,” says Dream, as Hob lights his various prizes and returns to the living room with his hands full of flickering flames.

“Well, you know,” Hob demurs. “When it comes down to it, I’ve lived a lot more of my life without electricity than with it.” He arranges the tea lights on the coffee table and sets the brass candlesticks on a nearby bookshelf. “You never really get out of the habit of preparing for the worst. Although I will say, these beeswax ones beat the hell out of the old tallow jobbies we had when I was young. Got ‘em from a local bloke who keeps bees not half a mile away, isn’t that cool? A beekeeper in the middle of London. There, now,” he says, and having arranged the lights to his satisfaction he plops himself back down on the sofa.

Outside, the wind wails. The lack of lamps on the empty street below and the gentle candlelight within make the night seem even darker, and turn Hob’s living room into something even softer and cozier than it already is.

Dream’s face, in the flickering candles, seems even more otherworldly than usual; and Hob, for his part, truly looks as though he belongs in another century. The very shape of his face has changed, somehow, into something older; taking on a new appearance in the candlelight the way a man’s tongue might curl differently around the syllables of another language.

“I miss it, sometimes,” he says lowly. “This kind of world. Before the wires and the phones and the cars. It was… quieter.”

“You speak often of your delight in change and progress. Do you truly long for your past lives?” asks Dream.

“Yes and no,” answers Hob. “Some things are better now, no question. Antibiotics, wouldn’t want to live without those again. Vaccines and X-rays and chemotherapy and antidepressants – almost all the medical stuff. Mass transportation. Cars and planes have never been safer. Honestly, I’ve never understood the people who moan about the olden days and oh, life was simpler back then. Don’t they know how many people died? How many kids? Because they caught a cold or fell out of a tree or had a case of the runs that lasted a little too long?”

He leans forward to adjust one of the candles, which is dripping unevenly, and when he sags back into the couch there is just the hint of a frown between his strong brows.

“And yet…” he says, staring into the flames, voice quiet. “Nights like this. I do sometimes think…”

Hob trails off for a long moment.

“There was a rhythm to life, back then,” he says finally. “You counted hours by the church bells and days by the tasks that needed done. And there was so much that needed to be done… cows milked and fields planted and clothes knitted or mended. And it was all so important, so… necessary. Regimented. But in the in between time – Christ! your time wast thine.” As he speaks, his voice has slipped into an older register: his Rs grown rounder, his vowels longer, curling from his mouth to mingle with the candlesmoke hovering over his coffee table. “I remember fair hours as a lad, even into my manhood, of which I spent lyende in th’ fields, watching ants in th’ grass. And later, too, we’d hie us to bed with the sonne, the fire banked in the hearth. An’ it happen that if we awakened before dawn, ’twas a simple thing to pass the time in simple ways, be it in prayer or in pleasure…”

The innuendo in his words is clear, but Hob is not looking at Dream; his eyes are unfocused as he stares into the middle distance, revisiting the past via candlelight. Until one of the wicks lets out a small pop, and flares, and he shakes himself, coming back to the present.

“God, sorry,” he says, voice back in the 21st century. “Woolgathering. I’ll go on for an age, me. More wine?”

But Dream’s eyes have also gone unfocused, his lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling with unnecessary breaths as he stares – no, gazes – at Hob. He, too, must shake himself into the present moment at Hob’s offer of more wine. He silently holds out his glass.

“May I ask you a personal question?” Dream says.

“Anything. You know that.”

Dream pauses. Sips. Outside, the sound of the wind has not abated; has grown, if anything, even more dramatic. There is the muffled sound of branches scraping against the side of the building.

“Why,” asks Dream finally, “do you pretend to yourself that you do not want me?”

Hob chokes. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Why do you pretend thus to me?” Dream pursues. “Who has known you longer than any being on this planet or any other; who can know your innermost dreams?”

“What do you mean, other planets?” Hob demands. And then: “Have you been peeking at my dreams?”

“I need not peek, as you put it, to see the truth of the matter. It is writ plain on your face and in your every word and deed. I merely wonder why this truth has hovered before us for over six hundred years and you have yet to press your suit. Do you doubt, after all this time, my affection for you? Do you find me – unworthy?”

Dream sounds, impossibly, almost uncertain. Even vulnerable. Hob sighs heavily and leans forward, elbows on his knees and face in his hands.

“I – God. Dream,” he stammers. “Yes, Christ, I am full of doubts. You stormed away from me when I implied you might be lonely, I… I have never, once, thought I had a suit to press at all. What on earth has brought this on? Now, of all times?”

“I do not know,” Dream murmurs. “Perhaps… this darkness is working on me, as well. Perhaps I am as susceptible to candlelight and nostalgia as the next anthropomorphic personification.”

He smiles, a little quirk of the mouth that contains worlds, and Hob leans over, listing helplessly into Dream’s space as the tapers flicker.

“Fuck,” he whispers, pressing their foreheads together, turning his head to butt his cheekbone against the sharp line of Dream’s nose. “Art thou rēal? Speak you treue?”

“Aye, my Hob,” answers Dream. “Min herte is treue and bilongeth to you.”

A sob catches in the back of Hob’s throat at the words. “Fuck,” he whispers again, “Dream, I’m yours. I am. I always have been. My Dream, min sweven, my leof. Alwei, allesweis…”

Their mouths find each other, then, finally, lip against lip and breath against breath. They kiss for a long, long moment, desperate and hungry and soft all at once, as outside the wind howls coldly around the corners of the New Inn, and inside the light cast by Hob’s candles bathes their whole little world in a cozy glow.

“Take me to bed,” murmurs Dream against Hob’s mouth. “Make me your lover. Show me how you pass the time by candlelight, and in darkness.”

“Oh, darling. Dearheart,” Hob answers. “Nothing in this world or any world past could make me happier.”

And he suits his actions to his words.

#my writing #the sandman #dreamling #dream of the endless #hob gadling #a needlessly complicated title for a truly simple little fic #I've already written this basic premise so many times AND I'LL DO IT AGAIN #the archaic English Hob uses in this fic is based on the most cursory googling #just tell yourself it's all over the place because historically English is.... all over the place #my unpopular opinion is that I think Blade Runner is overrated and yes I will project my opinions onto fictional characters #as usual this started in one place and went in another direction entirely #may post on AO3 tomorrow if the spirit so moves me

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shadeops21 · 2 months

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Rules/Recommendations for writing an Australian character/OC

(The following is just a list of things I personally feel should be included or considered if one makes a character of Australian nationality, descent or heritage. It by no means is a hard and fast ruleset, but just things that can be done to enhance a character’s flavour or add a little authenticity)

Shortened nicknames for fellow characters that follow Australian Shortening Conventions: multi-syllablic names are condensed down to one, and an -a/ah, -o, -zza, -y, or -sy is added, eg: McKenzie (or and Mc name) > Macca, Damien > Damo (Day-mo), Jeremy > Jezza.

Swearing. This is actually a common trap I’ve seen, with some Australian characters being less reserved in their language than others. This will depend on the specific background of your Aussie, as vulgarity is moreso a commonality in smaller cities and rural spaces, and less so in larger built-up cities. That said, we do tend to through the more vulgar words around with greater frequency than other cultures, with f### and c### being thrown around more freely.

Slang. Again another trap, especially with older “stereotypical” Australian slang that I personally hear more from my grandparents and older uncles and aunts and less so my own peers + 10 years. That said, some terms are still used very frequently and have no generational boundaries, including but not limited to: ute (pickup truck), bottle-o (liquor store), servo-o (service/petrol station), “the shops” (any centralised marketplace from your general stores to large malls), booze bus (roadside randomised breath testing/DUI checkpoints, some which do both alcohol and drug testing), hoon (reckless driver, typically young males in cars too powerful to handle at their skill level).

Weather tolerances. This varies based on a character’s geographical background, but you’ll find that most Australians have higher than normal levels of tolerance to extreme heat. However, those that live around the Brisbane latitude and north have decreased tolerances to cooler temperatures, decreasing the further north you go. (Personally I find myself pulling on long sleeves and hoodies after it hits 20 or cooler.)

There’s probably more here, but it’s approaching 10pm for me at time of writing, so for my Aussie followers/mutuals, please feel free to expand upon or add your own tips or recommendations to writing Australian characters in a believable fashion. Curious to see what they are!

#ramblings #australia #australian characters #definitely not trying to project my own personal feelings onto others #but the number of stereotypes i read in fiction and fan fiction is starting to aggravate me #like some of y’all have never actually spoke to an Australian person and it shows #even if i am guilty of employing some of these tropes and stereotypes to an extent in my own writing

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