#ARC Insulation

[fellhellion]

crazy how hans’ dialogue abt the castellan thing opens up directly after the engagement. like hey buddy, ol pal, do we want to think some more about why impending marriage has immediately kickstarted you into imagining a life that henry remains inherently a part of? that you’d shaped in such a way as to take care of him?

[red-eclipse]

It's late... yet murmurs of two girls talking start coming from Blossom's room…

⋆⭒˚☾⋆.˚— “So… it's time. You've made up your mind, haven't you?”

  .☘︎ ݁˖— “Yeah… I hate keeping things from him. Things didn't look good when they came back, they looked haunted… Skyros was injured. Tensions are high right now, but I have no idea when else I can talk about this with him. If I want my dad to trust me again, I have to tell him the truth…”

  ⋆⭒˚☾⋆.˚— “… Do you really think your old man will be okay with this…? What if he wants me gone, too?”

  .☘︎ ݁˖— “I don't know Evie, but we won't know until I tell him—He won't hurt you, that's not who he is. I promise, okay?” 

 ⋆⭒˚☾⋆.˚— “Okay Blossy…”

[koalas-koalas-everywhere]

Nami watching the final fight between Luffy and Enel:

[junglefurytrash]

" All the arrows that you've stolen, Split in half, now bum and broken, Like your heart that was so eager to be hid.. You can't keep them all caged, They will fight and run away! Mother, tell me so I say.. "

Made a little teaser image. ;)

Can you tell I'm excited to get to this story arc? I hope when I get to it you're all really gonna enjoy it.

[prabhaelectronics]

Sulphur Hexafluoride (SF6)

Introduction

In the realm of high-voltage electrical systems, Sulphur Hexafluoride (SF6) is a cornerstone. Renowned for its exceptional insulating properties, SF6 is a gas that has become essential for the safety and efficiency of various electrical applications. At Prabha Electronics, we understand the importance of high-quality SF6 in maintaining reliable and secure electrical infrastructure. In this blog, we will explore the unique properties of SF6, its diverse applications, and the environmental considerations that come with its use.

What Makes SF6 So Special?

SF6 is a synthetic gas composed of one sulfur atom and six fluorine atoms, giving it remarkable stability and dielectric strength. Its ability to resist electrical discharges and withstand high temperatures makes it an ideal insulating medium for high-voltage equipment. Additionally, SF6 is non-toxic, non-flammable, and chemically inert, ensuring safe usage in critical environments.

Key Applications of SF6 in the Electrical Industry

Gas-Insulated Switchgear (GIS): SF6 is extensively used in GIS, where it serves as an insulator and arc quencher. Its high dielectric strength allows for compact equipment designs, which are crucial in urban areas where space is limited.

Circuit Breakers: In high-voltage circuit breakers, SF6 is used to extinguish arcs that form during the interruption of electric currents. This ensures that the circuit can be safely broken without causing damage to the equipment or posing a risk to personnel.

Transformers: SF6 is also utilized in transformers, providing insulation that allows for efficient energy transfer and enhanced system reliability. The gas's thermal stability ensures that transformers operate safely even under high loads.

Transmission Lines: SF6 is employed in the insulation of high-voltage transmission lines, helping to maintain the integrity and efficiency of power distribution networks.

Advantages of SF6

The widespread use of SF6 is due to its numerous advantages:

High Dielectric Strength: SF6’s dielectric strength is significantly higher than that of air, making it an excellent insulator for high-voltage applications.

Thermal Stability: SF6 remains stable even at high temperatures, ensuring consistent performance in demanding environments.

Compact Design: The superior insulating properties of SF6 allow for the design of smaller, more efficient electrical equipment.

Safety: Being non-toxic and non-flammable, SF6 is a safe choice for various electrical applications when used correctly.

Environmental Considerations

While SF6 offers unparalleled benefits in the electrical industry, it is also a potent greenhouse gas with a long atmospheric lifetime. As such, the industry is actively exploring ways to reduce SF6 emissions through improved handling practices, gas recycling, and the development of alternative insulating gases. At Prabha Electronics, we are committed to supporting these efforts by providing high-quality SF6 that is responsibly sourced and managed.

Conclusion

Sulphur Hexafluoride (SF6) continues to play a vital role in ensuring the reliability and safety of modern electrical infrastructure. Its exceptional insulating properties make it indispensable in a wide range of high-voltage applications. As the industry moves toward more sustainable practices, the responsible use of SF6 will remain a key focus. For more information about SF6 and its applications, visit Prabha Electronics, where we offer top-quality SF6 to meet your electrical needs.

[denizenhardwick]

i'm writing explanations for their arcana assignments, too, because i felt the need to justify dogeon as the lovers and just decided to do that for all of them.

[inct9473]

What is Arc Tracking of Kapton Insulated F-16 Wire?

Arc tracking is an event where two or more wires experience an arcing event such that a fierce fire (like an explosion) burns along the outer insulation of the wires. If two or more wires have breaches in their insulation (see InterConnect’s blog about breaches in wire insulation) then an electrical arc (or a short circuit) can occur. Learn more about it here:https://www.interconnect-wiring.com/blog/arc-tracking-kapton-insulated-f-16-wire/.

[deadsetobsessions]

Snart Jr.

Lovely prompt by @stealingyourbones in her long prompts list, in which Danny Phantom meets the Rogues of Central City! This will have multiple parts, I just haven't written them yet.

Disclaimer: I know very little about Captain Cold and Mirror Master despite having watched some of the Flash. The general vibe I get from Flash is that Flash just really cares about his rogues as evidenced by how he talks to them and doesn't immediately one-shot them like I'm pretty sure he could do. And that Captain Cold is a snarky asshole that just wants to steal things and follow his plans as planned? Tbh, the whole mini-arc/episode with him just felt like Snart was trying to coordinate the world's riskiest group project. He was so done by the end lmao

"Huh. That's new."

Danny hovered an inch off of the ground, having just been spat out by swirling green portal. He was going to have to get back to the Zone later to hot potato Skulker through a couple of portals in revenge. He had a math exam he had to study for, dammit.

Danny sighed. Might as well see what's happening. The portals rarely lead somewhere boring, and Danny was bored. He floated further in, form going intangible and invisible as he passed through thick but insulated marble walls. See, Jazz? He could totally plan ahead. He's also learning that he could probably rob a bank easily, but Danny would never.

"Never been spat out in a bank before," he hummed, eyes flickering on the numerous forms of cowering people in the lobby. The goons scattered about don't see him, but it would take another ghost to even detect his presence so it was to be expected. He moved further in with little hindrance and soon touched down onto polished floor behind two incredibly suspicious individuals.

"What-cha do-ing?"

The two figures, currently and obviously robbing a bank, whirled around in surprise. Their respective weapons whirred to a start before they stopped, baffled by the meta teen standing there with his white hair waving about and innocent look pasted all over his face.

Leonard Snart knew instinctively that the kid was so full of shit. He'd bet his entire plan on the fact that the kid knew exactly what kind of shit he was stirring. Still, Snart was guilty of a lot of things but direct child-endangerment wasn't ever one of them.

"How'd you get in here, kid?" Mirror Master raised his laser pistol, ready to distract and divert the kid with threats of violence- which Snart glared at him for- or with his hall of mirrors that he'd run to.

Danny shrugged. "I walked. If you guys didn't want me here, you should have guarded the place better."

"They were supposed to," Snart drawled. He cased the kid. Teen. The kid had a weird halo effect, that seemed to draw the eyes to the stylized letter on his hazmat suit. The kid was young. Meta. Non-hostile. "You trying to stop us?"

Danny shook his head. "Nah. Came from the Ghost Zone so 's really non'a my business. I was just being nosy."

Snart gave a curt nod and nudged Mirror Master back into cracking the security measures.

Mirror Master scoffed. "What the hell is a ghost zone?"

"I mean, it's pretty self explanatory, right? It's a zone where ghosts live. Hence, you know, Ghost Zone." Danny did a little jazz hands (oh, yeah, he was definitely gonna get Jazz to make that joke sooner or later) for emphasis.

Snart paused for the slightest bit before continuing with his task. Did ghosts exist?

"...Did the Flash send you here, kid?"

"I'm not a kid," Danny scowled, walking right up to them. He got enough of that from his own Rogues, thank you. "And what's a Flash?"

"The Flash, kid." Mirror Master corrected, shoving monitors and PC's and expensive looking office chairs into... a mirror dimension? Danny shrugged and rolled with it.

"Who's that? Your boss?"

"Local superhero, not our boss. You're not from here," Snart quickly deduced as a small smile wormed onto his face from successfully cracking the security without setting off an alarm. They'd have ten minutes before the system cycles the access codes again and flags the fraudulent ones. That should be enough time.

"Superhero? Are they fast? Actually, where is here?" Danny glanced around at the now bare security office like the Flash would show up.

The guy in green and yellow took everything not nailed down to the ground. Danny respected that, even if he kind of wanted to stop the robbery. But he's not really supposed to interfere. That would be uber rude, since it looked like the guy in the fur jacket seemed like he had planned everything precisely.

"You're in Central City, kid. Did you take a wrong turn trying to get to Keystone or something?" Green-yellow guy snorted.

"Gonna be real honest with you, I've got no idea where that is. What state are we in?" Danny followed as the pair rushed to the safe doors. He could offer to phase them through but no matter how flexible Danny's morals have become over the years, he was going to draw a line at actively helping a person commit crime.

"Kansas. Do you teleport? Are you a teleporting meta?" Snart asked, eyes intense as he both glared at Danny and pressed an ear to the safe door.

"Nah, I wish I could teleport. Getting to school would be so much faster. Kansas? Huh, I've never been."

"How lost are you, kid?" Mirror Master incredulously paused from robbing the packages that were delivered to the bank.

Danny shrugged. "Oh, I'm Danny. Who are you guys?"

"Captain Cold. That's Mirror Master."

Danny shifted as the safe clicks open. "So, uh, are you guys the villains here?"

Captain Cold shot him a weird look. "We're actively robbing a bank, kid. That should be obvious."

"Also, you're acting real calm for a kid speaking to two of Fawcett's best super-villains." Mirror Master chimed in, laser-ing off locks on deposit boxes and shoving cash and stuff into his mirror dimension.

Danny padded in after them. "Eh, you haven't shot at me- not even on sight- yet, which is more than I can say for law enforcement, so you're pretty chill in my book."

Captain Cold snorted, pointedly taking his freeze gun and breaking off a large manual lock. "I believe it's my job to be the chill one. Plus, we don't kill. The Flash would be up our... business if we did. It's not worth the trouble."

"You can say ass. I've heard worse."

"Not from me, kid."

Danny hadn't had that kind of consideration from anyone in a long time. Even if it's a bit... mother-hennish, the halfa couldn't find it in him to be annoyed. "Ah, okay. Well, you also haven't kidnapped me or tried to stop me from following you, so..."

Mirror Master shoved a giant painting into his dimension. "You haven't tried to stop us; it'd be weird trying to stop you."

"Makes sense."

"Heh. You're alright, kid. Though... who's kidnapping you?"

"My fruit loop of a godfather. It's a thing," Danny avoided the searching gaze like a pro.

"Hold this." Captain Cold said suddenly, giving Danny a massive dufflebag.

"Wait, what?"

Captain Cold began stuffing the bag with cash and once the money in the vicinity (not that much) went in, he said "Go look around. Having another person in here is a risk so you might as well make up for it."

Danny's calling it. Captain Cold was full of shit. The guy's a big softie. Danny smiled sheepishly and agreed. Danny circled the place, pointing out expensive looking stuff- "for fun" and not because they were nice to him- when he felt the tell-tale zaps of an anomaly in Clockwork's domain.

"Move!" He shouted at the two villains, both of whom dove out of the way. Instinctively, Danny threw out his gloved hands and iced the floors, instincts bristling at the incoming danger. His jaw dropped as a blur encountered the ice and went ass over tea kettle onto the floor, unable to stop its own momentum.

"Oh shit!" Danny uttered, eyes wide as the blur slammed into the opposite- reinforced- wall with a pained shout. The stopped person was wearing red, with a lighting bolt motif all over their uniforms. That implied speed. Speed implied "The Flash." Danny knew a hero when he saw one and he just iced him. Shit.

"What-" The Flash groaned. Mirror Master and Captain Cold gaped.

"OhmyancientsI'msosorrygottagobye!" Danny shouted.

"Hey, wait, kid-!" Captain Cold shouted. Danny ignored him, going invisible in a panic and sank into the ground, mortified. After thirty seconds of self-hatred, he zoomed out and away. Danny held his head in his hands as he flew back to where Amity was...

Only to stare down at the empty plots of land where his city was supposed to be. Danny shoved a hand into his chest and pulled out his phone.

[No results for Amity Park. Did you mean "Amity Arkham"?]

"What."

Any research he did after that only turned up a Jasmine Fellona, a budding neurobiologist in her field, and other people that were adjacent to the people Danny knew. But nothing, nothing from Amity Park.

"Oh, yeah, we're definitely not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy."

---

As the Flash stood around to keep an eye on the hand-cuffed villains, he couldn't help but ask.

"So, uh, Snart. Did you... get a kid?"

"What." Snart asked, incredibly done with this shit.

"You know. Snart junior? With the ice and everything?" Flash gestured at the un-melting ice that covered the floor leading into the safe. "I mean, I'm not thrilled you're pulling your kid into a life of crime..."

"No."

"Wait, you had a kid and didn't tell me?" Mirror Master asked, mildly offended. "That was your kid? No wonder no one shot at him!"

"He's not my kid." Snart gave Flash the stink-eye. "And don't you have a couple of baby sidekicks running around?"

"C'mon dude, you're so obviously fond of him. It's okay, you don't have to hide it." Flash avoided the topic... in a flash.

"Can someone arrest me right now so these idiots can be removed from my vicinity?" Snart snarked to the approaching officer, jerking his head to point at the beaming Flash.

"You and me both, buddy," Officer West sighed.

---

One trip to the zone and a stressful conversation with Clockwork later, Danny was found in his keep, smacking his ghost head into the ghost wall of his ghost keep. Danny would unleash a Wail if it didn't have the nasty habit of bringing everything around him.

Apparently, he got "Amity'd," a process which meant Amity spat him out like an over chewed dog bone and refused to take him back.

"That doesn't even make sense! I left there a bunch of times! And came back!"

"The city has decided that it was your time to leave, Danny." Clockwork spared a wane smile for the curled up boy-king.

"I have people to protect there! My entire life! My haunt!" Danny yelled, breaths that he didn't technically need coming shorter and shorter. The neon green of the Zone whirled in and out of his vision in a dizzying shudder of anxiety and incoming panic.

"It wasn't your haunt, I'm afraid. The city nurtured you as a young spirit- thus shared her haunt- and has decided that it was time for you to... leave the nest, so to speak."

That stopped Danny's panic in its tracks. "Are you telling me she NightVale-d me? Some kind of involuntary coming-of-age bs?"

If he weren't on the edge of hysterical laughter, Danny would take a moment and proudly say to Mr. Lancer that he had paid attention in class.

"...Yes."

"Fuck." Danny dropped his head down in despair. His head made a loud thunk. The bag of cash he'd accidently made away with sat innocently at his feet. Further proof that it wasn't some nightmare he'd wake up from anytime soon.

---

Danny slumped over the desk, exhausted. Technus had lent him a ghostly hand and hacked into government data bases to re-establish his social security number and all the other dumb bits and bobs that he needed to establish his identity because Amity was an actual ghost town. Ghost to reality, ghost to real life. Ancients, Amity even had their own data network, which he couldn't access outside of Amity itself. This meant that Danny couldn't even call anyone. Ugh.

"I gotta find a place to live," he mumbled to himself. Danny, despite knowing that he needed to do things, did not move for another ten minutes.

Then, as his phone alarm went off, buzzing on the table. Like... Clockwork... Danny sat up straight and wiped all traces of wallowing self pity off his face. The people in the library- students- gave him solemn nods of solidarity. Danny nodded back and left the library.

He wandered around Fawcett City, somewhere Clockwork had recommended he stayed. With Clockwork, recommendations tended to be life-important (plot-important?) orders. Danny liked the place, really. It gave off the weird and settled "what-the-fuck,-Box-Ghost-did-you-have-to-destroy-the-mall?" vibes Amity constantly gave off after the ghosts started coming through. He thought he even saw a talking tiger! Awesome.

"Hey, are you new here?"

Danny looked down. His reflection stared back at him.

Did he have another kid? Did someone clone him again? Ancients curse you, Vlad!

"Uh- yeah."

"Oh. Do you need help getting around? I was born and raised here all my life, so I can totally do that!"

Oh thank the Ancients, this wasn't another Dani. Just a weirdly similar looking kid.

"You know I'm a stranger, right?"

"I don't think anyone helping Nanny Mae pick up her oranges would hurt kids," the kid said archly, but with a grin so like Dani, it made Danny miss his younger sister.

"Okay, you got me there. But still."

The kid sighed. "I know how to be safe, thanks. I'm Billy!"

"Danny. Nice to meet you."

"Okay, Danny, where you off to?"

"I'm actually trying to find a place that'll be cheap to rent." He's sixteen, but Danny could totally pass as eighteen. "I'm thinking about moving to Fawcett. It's nice here, with all the ambient magic and stuff."

This got him a wide-eyed look. "Do you use magic?"

"Something like that."

"Cool."

Danny took in the considering glint in Billy's eyes and decided that it was future!Danny's problem. Present!Danny was currently occupied with trying to stay off the streets. That giant bag of cash he'd accidently absconded with would be helpful and Danny felt kind of bad... but his growling stomach had chased that away quickly.

"This way!"

Danny shrugged his wavering morality off and followed the kid, shouldering his new and stolen duffle bag. If anything happened, he could just go ghost. It wouldn't be the weirdest thing that's happened in this city, Danny made sure to check.

"Have you been by the zoo?" Billy began to rattle off his favorite details about the Fawcett city zoo as he wove around the city.

Danny didn't think he'd actually have to go ghost.

"Not yet, actually. Is it true that there's a talking tiger there?"

"Yeah! Tawky Tawny! He's my friend!"

"Awesome."

[fellhellion]

honestly do not understand people that want to infantilise hans or diminish the agency of his own behaviour as a grown man like. it’s BECAUSE he sucks so bad (misogyny crimes, cowardice crimes, relinquishing agency despite his own misgivings crimes, poetry crimes, noble prick crimes, immature understanding of love crimes) that his symbolic transition into manhood - his emotional maturation & acceptance of responsibility he once would’ve discarded in favour of the privileges and insulations owed to his class - even hits as well as it does.

[admiringlove]

part one || part two || part three tw: mentions of death, suicide ideation, severe injury, slightly suggestive towards the end, etc. post shibuya arc au. a/n. here is the last part (can be read as a standalone). i'm so grateful to everyone who's read this <3

[10:46] . . .

malaysia is so much hotter than you thought it would be.

the heat clings to your skin like a second layer, oppressively wet, never letting up—not even at night, when the ceiling fan whirs uselessly above the bed. in the beginning, it made you irritable. the air felt heavy in your lungs, the water from the tap never cold, and everything—every corner of your new home—smelled like salt and heat and city dust. the first few months were awful.

you had to run the air-conditioning almost constantly, kept the curtains drawn just to keep the light from boiling the room alive. you’d panicked the first time kento had started sweating in his sleep, terrified it would irritate his skin, that the damp cotton would rub too hard against healing burns. you spent those nights wide awake, turning the air-conditioning on, carefully peeling the sheets away from his body, dabbing at the worst of the sweat with cool cloths, whispering apologies he never asked for.

and kento, sweet, maddening nanami kento, never once complained. not when the electricity bills climbed sky-high because you insisted on climate control, not when you micromanaged every step he took out of the house—checking three times for his meds, his sunscreen, his hat, the stupid scarf he never wanted to wear but let you wind around his neck anyway.

he endured it.

he endured everything with the kind of quiet patience that used to feel like strength to you. but lately—lately, it feels like something else. like self-punishment. like he’s trying to make up for something that isn’t his fault.

he nods whenever you say, “ken, did you take the skin cream?” even if you’ve asked him twice already, even if you’re halfway through preparing his pills. he lets your fingers skim over his jaw, checking for signs of sunburn or irritation. he lets you mother him.

and sometimes—sometimes, it makes you so angry you could cry. because he shouldn't have to put up with you.

it’s ten-something in the morning now. the sunlight outside is already too much, and you’re at the small kitchen table, legs curled under you, a mug of hot tea pressed to your lips even though it makes no sense to drink something hot in weather like this. the tiles are slightly chilled beneath your feet. your shirt sticks to the small of your back.

six months.

it’s been six months since you arrived here. six months since you left behind the cold, grey halls of jujutsu tech. six months since you said goodbye to the only life you’d ever known. six months since you packed up every shard of your broken world and carried it with you across oceans, just to follow him.

you sip your tea. you stare at the slow whir of the ceiling fan. outside, somewhere, kento is probably checking the mailbox or watering the balcony plants, moving slow in the heat, bones still aching from old injuries. you wonder if he took the skin cream. you wonder if he’s still pretending not to hurt. you wonder how long he’ll keep letting you love him like this—like he’s something fragile.

like he might disappear if you stop.

you sigh, your fingers brushing against the edge of the countertop, lingering for a moment before you push yourself upright. the december air is bearable today—softer, quieter, tinged with salt and the kind of stillness that only arrives in the morning. the breeze carries in the breath of the sea, faint but unmistakable, and you can hear the low rush of the waves from the end of your street. from your house—this house that you bought with the very last of your savings, a house with too many windows and not enough insulation, perched just shy of the shore where the sand begins to give way to tide—you can hear everything.

it’s a sound that reminds you why you did it. why you left. why you dragged your tired body and your broken heart across countries just to come here.

to the place kento had once called peaceful. to the place he'd only ever mentioned once, in a passing conversation years ago. something about how mundane life could be beautiful. about how he didn’t want to die in the middle of a fight.

and you—fool that you are—you remembered.

so here you are. in this sun-warmed house with its peeling paint and its thankfully fast ceiling fans and its cracked tile on the upstairs bathroom floor. here, where you cook your own food and sweep your own porch and hang your laundry on a line strung across the kitchen window. here, where kento waters the plants and you learn the quiet names of herbs.

you rinse your teacup slowly, watching the water run from warm to cool to finally cold. it surprises you every time—when the cold sets in. this is the first winter you've had here, and it isn't like home. it isn’t biting or sharp. it doesn’t come with snow or breath that clouds in the air. but it’s cool enough for your hands to ache a little under the tap. cool enough to make you think maybe, just maybe, this season will be kinder to you than the last.

you turn off the tap, letting the silence settle again. and then you turn toward the staircase—and there he is.

kento.

he’s just reached the top of the stairs, the watering can hanging loosely from one bandaged hand. his shirt clings slightly to his back, damp from the exertion, and his shoulders are tired in a way that makes something twist behind your ribs. you watch him place the watering can on the shelf, slowly, deliberately, as if he's afraid he might drop it.

and something in you softens. something in you cracks.

“when’d you come downstairs?” you ask, quiet, the words almost carried away by the sea breeze curling in through the open windows.

“just now,” he murmurs, not turning around. “i watered the plants. the lemongrass was getting too big, so i cut some. basil’s looking good.”

you nod. even though he can’t see you, you nod, because you don’t know what else to do.

there’s a pit in your stomach now. familiar. ugly.

you don’t know why it’s growing. you don’t know why, even here—even in this house with all its salt-soaked peace and sleepy afternoons—there’s still a voice in your head whispering that you’re not doing enough.

that you're too much. that you fuss too much. that your love is heavy in ways it was never meant to be.

you’re here. beside him. you’ve given up everything. you’ve done everything. so why does it still feel like you’re failing?

"do you wanna go into town for dinner today?" kento asks, voice light and gentle, like he's been rehearsing the question all morning in his head. he's fluffing the collar of his old cotton button-up—the off-white one you’d once jokingly called a dad shirt, the one that has a faint yellow stain near the hem because neither of you ever figured out what it was. his fingers move slow and measured, smoothing it down before he reaches up and switches on the ceiling fan in the living room. the blades creak softly as they begin to turn, stirring the warm, salty air.

you nod, absentmindedly. your hand finds the glass and pours the water out of muscle memory. it’s not until he’s settling on the couch, shoulders sinking into the cushions, that you realize you’ve been holding your breath. you exhale as you hand him the glass, your fingers brushing against his for a fleeting second.

"we can do that," you say, and your voice comes out too flat. too practiced.

he doesn’t say anything. of course he doesn’t.

you know he knows. knows that your mind is fighting itself again. that there's something lodged in your chest like a stone, too stubborn to cough up, too painful to swallow down. kento always knows. he doesn’t pry. he never has. he watches you the way someone watches the sea during a storm—knowing that there’s no use in stopping the waves, but hoping anyway that they don’t crash too hard.

he tilts his head toward you.

that same tilt. the one he’s always done. the one he did the night you first kissed him, when he looked at you like you were a puzzle that he didn’t want to solve—just admire. his slightly overgrown hair falls into his eyes, soft and mussed. his lips are pursed, not in disapproval, but in something closer to concern disguised as patience.

and you—you look down.

because if you keep looking at him, you're going to break.

because you want nothing more than to climb into his lap and bury yourself in him. to press kisses along his jaw and into the crook of his neck, to feel his arms around you again like they used to be. to cry a little, maybe, and tell him that you’re scared. that every time you wake up and see the bands still wrapped around his arms, the scarred skin, your heart twists with something too sharp to name.

but would that be too much? would you be too much?

you’ve asked yourself this every day since he came home to you. since you washed his wounds for the first time, hands trembling as he winced through the pain but never pulled away.

is your love too loud? too heavy? too wrapped in routine and fuss and rules about when to apply which cream, which hat he should wear if the sun is too high, how long to stay out before the heat irritates the grafted skin?

you don't know. you only know this: you would do it all again. a thousand times. a thousand more. because he's here. because he came back.

and you love him. you love him so much it terrifies you. but you wonder—do you overlove him? is that a thing? is there such a thing as being too tender with the person who saved you just by staying alive?

and finally, finally, kento says, so softly it’s like the sea breeze carries it over to you: "you know. i think i'm going to change myself a little."

the words don’t register at first. they settle like dust in the air, floating around you until your mind finally catches up. you blink, snap out of your spiralling thoughts, all the self-deprecating noise quieting for just a second as you turn to him.

"what do you mean?" you ask, brows drawn together.

and kento, with those weathered, gentle hands that still tremble when he holds a fork for too long, reaches for you. he tugs at your wrist first, feather-light, and when you don’t resist—because when have you ever resisted him?—he pulls you closer. so close his breath kisses your stomach, so close your knees bump the sides of his thighs. and then, with that same infinite patience he’s always shown you, he pulls you onto his lap.

you're straddling him now, breath caught in your throat, and the panic kicks in like clockwork.

"wait—" you start, heart thudding hard against your ribs, "ken, your skin—your legs—what if—"

your voice fizzles out. you were going to say something about his scars. about his healing. about the pressure on his wounds. about hurting him.

but none of it matters, really. because you worry too much. you always have. and he’s always let you.

but right now, kento is looking at you like he wants to memorize every inch of your face. the light cuts through the curtains and lands across his cheekbones, outlining the tired lines of his face in soft gold. he cups your face, and his thumbs graze your cheek like you’re something delicate. like you’ve given too much of yourself and he’s only just realizing how much.

"i mean," he continues, voice low, slow, careful, "that i should stop staying quiet when i can clearly see that something is bothering you."

you feel your throat tighten again.

"i should ask," he says. "the way you always do."

his eyes soften. they always soften when he looks at you. even now, even when the scars have made him feel like less of a man, even when the mirror still makes him flinch on some mornings, he looks at you like you are the one who saved him.

"so," he says, and he tilts his head just slightly, the way he always does when he’s being serious, "tell me."

and just like that—just like always—he gives you a place to land. a soft, sturdy place to fall.

you stay quiet.

his hands are still on your face—steady, grounding, reverent, sacred—and his hazel eyes are still searching yours like he’s afraid to miss a single flicker of emotion. like this moment, this breath between you two, is something sacred. something he doesn’t want to rush. something he would wait lifetimes for.

he looks at you like that. like your silence is a gift, not a burden. like your stillness is something holy.

and then, finally, your voice emerges, small and cracked and unsure: “am i too much?”

it’s so soft it barely makes it across the short space between your mouths, but it does. and you see it—feel it—the way his expression shifts in real time. the slow inhale. the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. and then, he smiles.

he smiles.

and you frown instantly. your heart twists. your voice sharpens. “why are you smiling?”

and then, kento laughs. soft at first. small and breathy. like something long-lost and unfamiliar breaking its way out of him.

you stare. you can’t breathe. because it’s that laugh—the one you used to hear before the war. the one he’d let out when you burnt dinner by accident or when gojo said something dumb, or when you tripped in the hallway and tried to style it out.

it’s that laugh. the one you would’ve given anything to hear again. and here it is—after months of ointments and bloodstains, of careful bandaging and sleepless nights, of biting down on your own sobs and holding him while he couldn’t move. here it is.

a return. a sound that feels like the sun rising inside your chest. he chuckles again, thumb tracing the edge of your cheekbone like he’s trying to memorize you all over again.

"it's just..." he begins, voice full of something like wonder, "you can never be too much."

your brow furrows deeper. “huh? what do you mean?”

and now he’s tugging you in—arm curling around your back, palm pressing to the base of your neck—and your foreheads are touching. your noses brush. you can feel the warmth of his breath against your lips.

"everything you do," he murmurs, as if the truth should be said slowly, carefully, the way you would unwrap something fragile, "is for me. every morning, every night. you check my meds. you chase the sun out of the bedroom when i’m hurting. you fuss. and you fuss so much."

his voice drops, tender and low. “but it's never too much.”

you open your mouth, ready to argue. to insist, “but that’s literally my job,” because it is. you signed up for this. if it had been you in that hospital bed, you know he would’ve burned the whole world down just to ease your pain. you mumble it anyway, soft as a sigh, “we’re married. this is how it works. you would've done the same.”

and kento—sweet, careful, ruined kento—shakes his head. his thumb brushes under your eye, as if you’d cried even though you haven’t. not yet.

"you didn’t have to stay,” he says. “you could’ve left, and i would’ve understood. it’s been hell, i know. watching me like this. taking care of me like i’m made of glass.”

you shake your head. you want to tell him he’s wrong. that he’s not fragile. not to you.

but he keeps going. his voice is thick now, but steady. “you put your life on hold for me. you left the country for me. you gave everything up, just to live in this stupid humid town by the sea because—because i said once, once, that i wanted to retire here. you remembered. you remembered that.”

you’re crying now. you don’t even notice when the tears start. but his fingers are already catching them.

“you’re practically the dream,” he says, and it sounds like a vow. you swallow. your voice is a broken hush. “i’m just me.”

“exactly,” he says, smiling. “and that’s all i’ve ever needed.”

and god—god—you kiss him.

you kiss him because there’s nothing else left to say. you kiss him because his hands are warm on your waist and his scars are healing and his love is infinite and patient and here. you kiss him like you mean it, because you do.

because kento is yours. and you are his. too much and just enough. forever.

his grip tightens just a little around your waist—stronger than you remember, steadier than it's been in months. his hands are big and warm and trembling slightly, but they're there, and they’re holding you. one anchors itself at the small of your back, the other pressing gently to your hip as if to make sure you don’t float away.

“stay like this,” he says again, voice low, hoarse with something aching and holy. “stay on top of me. until i can lift you like i used to. until i can carry you to the bed just to hear you squeal. until i’m strong enough to have you pinned beneath me without worrying about the pressure. until i’m me again.”

he pauses, breathing heavily. “just… stay.”

and you do. you do. you’re already melting into him before he finishes speaking. you lean down, your hands on his chest, fingers curled into the soft cotton of his button-up. you press your lips to his again—slowly, deeply, almost desperately—and it’s like inhaling sunlight.

his mouth parts beneath yours, and his breath hitches when you deepen the kiss, arms tightening around your waist. it’s messy and aching and utterly, utterly tender. you can feel the way his body responds to you, how he sighs softly into your mouth, how his thumbs stroke your waist like he’s trying to memorize every curve again.

and when you pull back for just a second to look at him, he’s watching you with a softness that threatens to undo you entirely.

“i could never leave,” you whisper, breathless and trembling and everything in between, your forehead pressed against his. “i would never go anywhere where you aren’t there.”

his eyes flutter shut for a moment. you feel his breath catch in his throat, and then he’s whispering back, “then you’re everything.”

the words are a confession. a promise. a vow.

“i hope that answers your question,” he murmurs, brushing your hair behind your ear with a touch so careful it makes your heart squeeze.

you blink, still breathless, and your smile is shaky and aching and filled with something that could only be love. “it does,” you say.

but you don’t stop.

you lean down again, lips brushing his cheek first, then his jaw, then the spot just under his ear that always made him shiver. he lets out a soft noise—almost a groan, almost a sigh—and tilts his head to give you more access.

“i missed this,” you murmur, lips ghosting over his pulse. “i missed you.”

“i’ve always been here,” he says, and the way he says it makes you want to cry again, “even when i wasn’t all the way… me. even when you weren't you.”

you hum against his throat, then kiss him again, firmer this time. your hands slide up his chest, feeling the way his muscles shift beneath your palms, the faint hitch in his breath as you grind down just slightly on his lap. not enough to hurt him—never that—but enough to remind you both that he’s alive. that he’s here. that he’s yours.

he groans, hands sliding up your sides, slipping under the hem of your shirt just to feel your skin. his fingers are warm and rough and reverent, tracing the familiar dips and curves of your body like he’s rediscovering home. like you are the one piece of earth he can still stand on without falling apart.

your lips part again, and his tongue meets yours with slow, languid purpose. it’s not hurried. it’s not frantic. it’s deep. intimate. kento's kiss says things neither of you have dared to put into words. his kiss says thank you, and don’t go, and i love you so much i don’t know where to put it all.

your hips roll again, involuntarily this time, and he groans into your mouth, the sound low and helpless. you smile, breaking the kiss just long enough to breathe against his lips.

“you okay?” you murmur.

he nods, chest rising and falling quickly. “never better,” he whispers, eyes glazed, smile lazy. “god, i missed kissing you like this.”

you press your forehead to his again, cheeks flushed, lips swollen. “well, i’m not going anywhere.”

“good,” he breathes. “because i think i’m gonna need you to stay right here. at least until i figure out how to stand up with you in my arms again.”

you grin, letting your fingers thread through his hair, tugging gently until he groans again.

“i’m not heavy, nanami.”

“you’re everything,” he repeats, voice rough with emotion. “and i’m never letting you go.”

and then he’s kissing you again, and again, and again—like he’s relearning how to live. and you kiss him back like it’s the easiest thing you’ve ever done.

because it is.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[darkrooklobby]

🫧Dive🌊 - a short comic for Link Click (Yingdu/Bridon arc)

Domestic cats will go to great lengths to avoid water. They do not like being wet, and prefer to not get close to bigger bodies of water, like lakes and oceans.

Domesticated cats stay mostly indoors, away from deep waters, which can cause significant fear and shock for the cat.

Cats dislike getting their whiskers wet, since it might disrupt how they perceive their environment.

Cats are used to staying dry. They clean themselves without water, and despite drinking water sometimes, they get enough of it from food.

Wet fur might leave a cat prone to the cold, because it destroys the insulative later of it. Wet fur is also heavy, which slows down the cat, and makes it vulnerable in the face of danger.

🫧🫧(I should quit overthinking🥲so anyway...)🫧🫧

Yingdu Kitty Guang agenda! 👀🫶✨ + a dialogue exchange from episode 1 that had an impact on how I perceive the show. I decided to interpret it in my own way, and here we are! Hope it looks nice?✌️✨

(Artist notes: This comic took wayyyy too long to make! 🥲 My idea stemmed from the ironic fact that 'diving' is an actual thing that people do, and that cats hate water, with Lu Guang often being depicted as a white cat... Additionally, the 12 hour limit on this risky act of 'diving' kinda made me think that if you stayed longer, you can drown.

"It's a nice metaphor!" - I thought, naive, a week ago. Since then I've been fighting for my life academically and also with my PC which was prone to exploding while I worked 😭😭😭 All in all, this project was fun and allowed me to discover a linear workflow, but on the other hand, it drained me. Additionally, covering my art in watermarks was painful, since I didn't want to mess the picture up, but alas, as an online artist, I have to watch out... 😔)

[sashayed]

ok now it is time to air my grievances with severance s2, a season of television i thoroughly enjoyed and looked forward to every week. s2 is mr milchick putting on a spectacular drumline Just For Me and what do they get for it. trapped behind a vending machine (readmore cut) while i batter them with a trombone. classic ingratitude.

my umbrella gripe btw is that showrunner dan erickson's figurative innie is actually Ricken and he won't admit it and until he does we are never going to see the show that severance Could Be. like ricken is a pretentious nightmare who is insulated from the consequences of his own actions. he's also got a fascinating way with words (fond, derogatory) and a heart that yearns for love and he is really trying to Say Something. ok well that's what this show is. accept this and reconcile with yourself Dan Erickson (or should I say DAN: SO RICKEN??? boom anagrammed!!) or keep displacing all your sins onto that one character and doom this show to eternal alienation from its own core themes.

i think we can all admit that pacing in this season sucks and they had enough time to do it better. and the thing is imo if you were really committed to storytelling you would have to cut some of the most fun/fanservicey individual scenes of the season. i can see why you might choose not to do that! like for instance the baby goats thing. i get it. it looked soooo fun to film with the baby goats. visually the pasture room is great. gwendoline christie is a gift. it's fun! but it doesn't actually uhhh serve the story to spend all that time on it. it doesn't shed any new light. "they are sacrificing the goats because lumon is a creepy cult." we KNOW they are a creepy cult. "lumon thinks innies are non-people who don't experience love and care, but they DO experience love and care and that motivates them." brother we know that too!! "ok but wasn't it all worth it for that heavyweight christie/olafsson finale fight scene." i will concede this point. that ruled.

pacing problems never worse than in "sweet vitriol," an episode i actually enjoyed more than everyone else, but it didn't need to be a standalone and in fact was badly served by the format!! many in your audience have forgotten to give a shit about ms cobel so the revelation that she invented severance doesn't hit for them. splitting her storyline up and dividing it among episodes starting earlier would have kept her more consistently in play and opened up space for underserved character arcs, like dylan aND IRVING—

—because as much fun as burving demon threesome is it is so underbaked and wastes one of the show's coolest characters. WHO IS IRVING. WHY IS HE SLEEPERAGENTING LUMON. you're gonna put him on a train to the farm for old dogs and be like "all was well because love is more important than revenge :)" ??? like sure but again it DOESN'T HIT because it doesn't require the viewer to struggle with WHAT IRVING'S DRIVING FORCE ACTUALLY WAS. and he doesn't even get to kiss. let him kiss!!!!

I actually think having reintegration move at an unpredictable pace and having its side effects be unclear is not the worst idea, and in fact as an allegory for like, real life healing and becoming a Whole Person i maybe even prefer it. but the pacing problems move it beyond "this process is unfolding gradually and erratically" into "we have forgotten this is happening" and it just didn't have to be that way, man. side note there is something fascinating going on with helly's uncomfortable, unwilling quasi-reintegration from the innie side! from the moment she finds herself in front of that gala to hearing jame say he doesn't love his daughter, she is accepting the fact that SHE IS HELENA. she is thinking about how She as a first-person experiencer of the world could find herself in helena's position (which helena—who is less of a grownup than her innie—is still unable/unwilling to do). i've read some criticism of that final scene (which i loved btw) that was like "helly's goal has always been to dismantle lumon, why would she give that up for A Man? wouldn't she push mark s. out the door and be like BURN THIS PLACE TO THE GROUND?" sure, but i think that doesn't engage with helly's arc either—which is not about revolutionary conviction OR about A Man but about about discovering that SHE wants to live, she doesn't want to hang herself in the elevator out of spite, she wants her half-a-life even if it means a degree of complicity with her evil outie. on the other hand, does the WRITING actually engage with helly's arc? or am i getting all that from britt lower??

speaking of making actors do all the work: we as a show are going to grapple with corporate racism and the Black experience :) no we're not :) or are we? ;) you're welcome :)))

i don't love gemma's backstory boiling down to Woman Want Baby. "Greatest Agony for Woman Is Want Baby and Can't Have Baby" is a storyline that makes me personally grimace. but i accept that that's a personal preference and honestly dichen lachman sells her character/s so beautifully that i didn't even remember to bitch about it when i originally wrote this. i just remembered it and had to edit this post because god forbid i don't complain about something. (although. now that i AM complaining about it: putting someone through three years of torture and then being like "we'll prove this fresh consciousness is unaffected by suffering by going all the way back to the baby thing, because 'no baby,' not years of torture and isolation, is the fundamental pain at the root of this woman's being," is...........a choice!!!!! it's a choice. and if it were a deliberate narrative choice, like if it were about how the lumon ideology fundamentally conceives of women, that would be one thing! but i just don't think it is.)

did i mention i really liked this season and had a great time. i did. i am bitching about it because i have a fun time rotating it in my mind. maybe it's actually very brave and artistic to make a show that is not as well-crafted as it could be because then you are opening up intellectual/creative space for your viewers. what about that. if you think about it maybe a slightly less good show is better than a great show. in a way. checkmate haters

[neversetyoufree]

Since we'll hopefully be getting out of the VnC hiatus soon, and this new arc seems to finally be turning the spotlight back to Noé and calling out some of his more troubling traits for the first time, I've been thinking a lot about him recently.

I've talked before on this blog about Noé's inability to recognize or process bad things when they happen to him alone. He bounces back from and idealizes almost any experience as soon as it's over, even when he absolutely shouldn't. It's one of my favorite traits of his, and it's been lampshaded a couple of times in-manga. Louis calls out how weird his attitude toward his kidnapping is during the mémoire 9 flashback, and the "be a little bothered" from Vanitas and co in mémoire 57 has the same effect.

We also recently got a whole extended sequence of Vanitas and Domi complaining about how Noé also never anticipates harm before it might come to him. He waltzes into dangerous situations like it's nothing, almost as if he thinks he's unkillable. Combined with the above, this is just more of his strange brand of optimistic denial. Everything is fine in Noéland! It can't possibly not be fine! He always trusts and thinks the best of people and situations by default, never wanting to expect they may do wrong, and so long as a given event doesn't involve harm to external innocents and/or Noé's loved ones that he can't rationalize away, he compartmentalizes and denies harm once it's done. Thus he carries on in blissful ignorance, his past suffering having no effect on the blithe trust with which he treats the world.

But in addition to all that, Noé is also very notably divorced from the consequences of his own actions. It's not that he's *incapable* of considering his own effect on people, and he certainly tries to be kind and decent, but much of the time, it just doesn't seem to occur to him that people will have reactions to the things he does. He does as he sees fit, and when his deeds impact the people around him, especially if they produce a reaction that could upset him, it bounces off his mind in the same way that potential traumas do.

On the more lighthearted end of the spectrum, this leads to things like Noé never noticing when people are attracted to him. It may also have something to do with his airheaded messiness—the way he's always thoughtlessly making a mess of the hotel room and incurring Vanitas's wrath in bonus materials. On the heavier end of the spectrum, this causes a lot of genuine problems for the people around him. He's largely oblivious to the depth of Dominique's mental health problems until she's pushed to her breaking point at the amusement park, despite the fact that he's inextricably entangled in the cause of them. He also completely loses sight of Vanitas's reactions to him when he gets caught up in his protective rage at the start of the vanoé fight, and it takes an outside reminder from Jeanne and a literal mirror to make him realize that his own actions are part of why Vanitas has devolved to such a state.

This lack of self-perception on Noé's part feeds back into the other problems I laid out at the top of this post, his obliviousness toward his interactions with the rest of the world helping to facilitate his denial. It's part of the happy little insulating bubble that he interacts with the world through. And as the other side of that coin, his automatic, unthinking denial of things that could hurt him is part of what enables him to ignore his own impacts on the people around him. You can't reckon with or worry about harming other people when you live in Noéland where everything must be fine. I think the fact that he wants to be a good person that doesn't harm others actually makes it harder for him to confront the truth of how he impacts the world, because him hurting others is a Bad Thing that would cause him mental harm.

We've seen Noé mess up, understand his mistake, and apologize for it before. He apologizes to Vanitas for making assumptions about him after the bal masqué, he apologizes to Vanitas again at the end of the amusement park fight, and he apologizes to Riche for speaking with ignorance about dhampirs. However, I think the bigger a mistake of his is, the more harm it causes other people (and the more understanding would hurt him as a result), the harder it is for Noé to comprehend his wrongs. He's clearly trying to make things right with Domi, and he's told her that he values her, but I don't know if it's yet occurred to him to conceive of their mess as a situation where he's done her active wrong. He also literally passes out on her mid-conversation, leaving Domi and Vanitas to carry him back to bed when he was supposed to be comforting her.

But I think the most fascinating example, the moment where all this comes together into Noé's most feeble and blatant act of denial yet, is the first time he sees Misha after clawing up his face. The anime actually changes this detail, which is its own can of worms to get into, but in the manga, when Noé sees Misha's injuries in the light of day after attacking him, he immediately fucking turns around.

At the end of his wits at the amusement park, Noé claws a child across the face in a fit of anger and protectiveness. I'm not interested in condemning Noé for this, especially given that the child in question was actively trying to stab Vanitas at the time, but I will say that his actions are quite extreme. Given Vanitas's response and the way Misha's injuries are portrayed, I think it's clear that the manga wants us to see how Noé hurts Mikhail as something troubling and extreme. He gives that kid a pretty horrible injury, and Misha will likely have scars on his face for the rest of his life.

And regardless of how justified he may or may not have been in hurting Misha in defense of Vanitas, it's clear that Noé himself is upset by the true extent of what he does to Mikhail's face. When he looks at him in the light of day, when he sees a numb-looking child with his face wrapped in still-bloody bandages, though we only get to see a small segment of his face in that moment, he looks sick. He knows that he's done something troubling, and I'm sure he feels all kinds of heavy and unpleasant emotions.

This is one genuinely bad thing he's done that Noé cannot deny. He can't rationalize this one away and make it all copacetic. He can't conveniently forget the emotional reality of suffering and harm, because that reality is standing ten yards away from him. And he can't just apologize for things either, because apologies cannot undo physical harm, and frankly, I'm not sure he'd be able to give an honest apology for his one. Sickness at the results of his actions doesn't mean he fully regrets hurting Misha, at least not at this moment when emotions are still raw.

But Noé, confronted with this undeniable source of guilt and pain, is still ultimately unable to look the pain he's caused in the eye. A problem piercing through the happy veil of Noéland and forcing him to acknowledge it doesn't mean he's capable of reckoning with that problem. Instead he just. turns away from it.

Noé, forced to acknowledge a harm he's done and unable to employ all the many layers of automatic insulation that usually protect him, physically turns around because he cannot bear to look at the person, the child, that he's hurt. He employs the very last possible form of avoidance available to him, even though it's useless in the ways that matter. Not looking at Misha doesn't mean he gets to un-know the fact that he maimed him, but he simply cannot bring himself to look.

Noé is extremely good at playing "I do not see it" with things that hurt him. He's good enough that I think he has genuinely no idea he's doing it a vast majority of the time. Whatever mental shield he has that's protecting him is automatic enough that the badness that could hurt him doesn't ever even seem to cross his conscious mind. But no matter how automatic and subconscious, this tendency of his is still, and the end of the day, nothing more than an unhealthy coping mechanism, and this moment helps to put that to our attention.

What's the difference, really, between him cheerfully acting like Jean-Jacques and Chloé's assaults never upset him and him turning around so he doesn't have to look at the wounds he gave Mikhail? Noé can't look at pain, can't acknowledge the things he finds upsetting (at least not things that cause him alone pain, as others' pain often triggers his savior complex and spurs action). This scene with Misha throws that into the light, forcing Noé to desperately cling to his avoidance in an obvious and physical way.

Even when there's no way to deny the harsh reality of having done something he finds horrific, Noé Archiviste cannot make himself look directly at a painful truth, be it others wronging him or his own wrongdoing. It takes an external hand to step in and force him to turn his head and acknowledge/reckon with a problem. And even then, who knows if intervention can always be successful.

The start of the dham arc so far has drawn a lot of attention to this pattern of behavior, with Vanitas having to sit Noé down and explain to him in detail why his words said in well-meaning ignorance make Dante so upset. This is Noé being forced to look at a harm he caused because he couldn't or wouldn't look at and comprehend the problem (his fellow vampires' racism) in the situation he was in. But upsetting Dante is ultimately a low stakes problem for Noé. He put his foot in his mouth and offended a peer; he didn't shred Vanitas's little brother. He's able to accept his wrongs and feel his discomfort without resorting to physically turning around and avoiding the issue.

I want to know what Noé will do if/when this arc forces him to confront a source of pain he can't handle in a context that's more high stakes than a social faux pas. I want to see what he'll do when something really forces him beyond his ability to believe that everything is fine. How badly would he have to be hurt to lose his ability to filter an event/events through rose colored glasses? How badly would he have to hurt someone else? Or is his instinctive shield good enough that he'll never get out of it on his own? And if so, who else might step in to make Noé own up to reality?

Teacher and the Archivistes are becoming plot-relevant now, and our attention is being drawn to Noé's issues. I think there might be something coming soon that even Noé can't turn away from and cheerfully pretend isn't hurting him. Teacher even ends his appearance at the amusement park with a little speech about having to "wake and face reality," which makes me even more certain that a wake-up call for Noé is imminent.

Either that, or Noé's going to mess up and hurt somebody even worse than he hurt Misha later this arc, and in that case, we might get to see a feat of denial even worse than him literally turning around to avoid looking at the wounds he caused.

[flawseer]

hmmm. what are your thoughts on dragon size. tribe-wise, as compared to each other, and your headcanons on the main characters of each arc?

Before I move on to finalizing yesterday's and today's Smaugust submissions, lets change pace and grab a question to answer. I need a change of scenery for a bit.

Let's talk about dragon sizes and body shapes/types.

General tribe overview

My general thoughts on the size relations between different tribes would be something like this. This is based on average; you're going to have outliers in either direction based on the individual (i.e. Princess Burn is very large for a Sandwing, while Sunny is very small).

Mudwings are the largest of the Pyrrhian tribes by sheer body mass. They aren't always the tallest because their bodies are kind of squat and compact, but in terms of body weight they reign supreme at the top.

Skywings are the tallest, especially when sitting down, due to their long necks. They aren't particularly massive, in fact a lot of Skywings are very slender with long limbs and necks. But if you sit one down and constructed a cube around them, they would take up a lot of space, moreso than any other tribe.

Seawings come in a variety of shapes and sizes, but they tend to be a bit heavier than you would think. In a way they are like a less extreme expression of Mudwings, not AS massive as them, as well as less compact. Kind of like a middle-ground between Mudwings and Skywings. What makes them a bit heavier is that their skin has a layer of blubber that insulates them from the cold of the ocean depths. The thickness of this layer is different between individuals.

Nightwings and Icewings lie somewhere in the middle of the size chart. In terms of mass they are roughly equal, but Icewings tend to have more elongated bodies and limbs while Nightwings are more broad and a little squat.

Sandwings are springy little bundles of wiry muscle. They like to keep their bodies close to the ground (making them look a little smaller than they actually are) and have powerful limbs for leaping on, around, and over opponents. If they were in D&D, their attacks would have the Finesse tag, allowing them to attack with Dexterity instead of Strength.

And lastly, Rainwings are usually small and light. This allows them to climb trees and sit on the topmost branches without their weight making them snap off. Their wings are also a bit smaller than those of other tribes; they're meant for short bursts of flight to help getting up on trees, while travelling long distances in the jungle is accomplished via use of wings AND tail in tandem. Their slight stature is part of the reason why so many other tribes dismiss them as weak and useless.

The Dragonets of Destiny

Clay is unquestionably the largest of his peers. He is enormous, even among Mudwings. I think he might have been the most massive thing in that cave under the mountain (weight-wise), and in a way Kestrel was lucky he was such a gentle spirit, because if Clay had decided to sit on her, there would have been very little she could have done. It's a bit silly they threatened Tsunami with hanging Clay from a stalactite, because the visual of Kestrel and Webs trying to carry him up there would have been comical.

Tsunami is, perhaps equally as unmistakably, the second largest after Clay. She clearly takes after her mother in terms of size and thus towers over a lot of other Seawings. While not as tall as Clay, her body is a bit longer and she has a very powerful tail. Most of her bulk is muscle, compared to Clay's roughly equal mixture of muscle and fat. I think she might actually be physically stronger than Clay, but is less durable than him.

Starflight might either be the third-largest, or fourth after Glory, depending on whether you measure by tallness or body mass. He might be the very definition of big-boned, appearing kind of plump but not actually being that fat. He didn't get a lot of exercise outside of Kestrel's mandatory drills, and he's not really in a rush to change that after escaping, so overall, he is quite out of shape.

Glory is what you could consider tall for a Rainwing, but she started out rather noticably underweight. This is because sunlight is a vital component to a Rainwing's metabolism, so her body couldn't get the amount of energy it needed while she was forced to live underground. This gradually got better as she went outside and got more sun time. She is still kind of thin now, but in a much healthier way.

And then Sunny is the smallest. She is just kind of petite, nobody knows why and it's not a health issue, it's just how she is wired. Maybe Stonemover's dad was really short and it skipped a generation.

The Jade Winglet + Peril

Carnelian is large and tough, being proud of her physique and aiming to be a career soldier, thus keeping herself in shape. Within the Skywing military I imagine there are two pervasive ideas of what "being in shape" means. Some train their entire body evenly, to fight strongly in the air, but also to remain formidable if they end up grounded (via wing injury, or having to defend a ground position). Others believe this is planning for failure and thus mainly train their wings while keeping the rest of their bodies light and easy to maneuver during flight. Carnelian is in the former camp.

Peril is very tall, lanky, and lean, with barely any defined muscle or body fat. This is because her fire scales affliction causes her body to consume vast amounts of calories to sustain itself, and thus she has trouble to build up any significant muscle mass or fat reserves. She would have to ingest two-to-three times the amount of food a regular dragon does to offset this, which she usually doesn't.

Winter is very toned and muscular compared to his peers (sans Carnelian), as is befitting for a royal Icewing. His tribe proudly identifies as a caste of elite warriors, so the idea of being physically frail is considered shameful and dishonorable. As a result most royals will exercise rigorously in their spare time to keep themselves in peak physical condition. Most Icewings pull this off while still looking refined and elegant. Winter looks a little broad and awkward compared to, say, his sister.

Moonwatcher is about average in terms of size. She has a bit of a curve to her due to growing up in an environment with abundant food, but underneath conceals a surprising amount of strength and stamina, owed to having to survive in the jungle on her own from a young age. She looks out of shape at a glance, but is anything but.

Umber's body type is a little atypical for a Mudwing. While still a bit broad, his frame is more wiry and light compared to his kin. He is also kind of short. His siblings can pick him up and carry him around easily.

Qibli is a bit taller than Umber and Moonwatcher, but much thinner and a bit scrawny. His frame is mostly wiry muscle with little body fat. He consciously keeps himself in shape to not be a burden to his queen, but not with the same intensity as Winter or Carnelian. He also doesn't eat enough to pack on a large amount of muscle. This suits him fine though, he is satisfied with where his body is.

Turtle was not graced with the same genes as Tsunami; he takes more after his father who was a bit on the average-to-small side. He also hates physically exerting himself and has a magical trinket that lets him double his food rations, so he is somewhat on the chubby side. Not quite obese, but noticeably plump.

Kinkajou is the smallest of her winglet, but manages to be barely taller than Turtle when she arches her back and stands on her toes (and Turtle intentionally hunches because he sees what she's doing and wants to please her). She is very slender and slight but has a surprising amount of stamina just because she is so full of energy and always runs around everywhere.

Whew... This took a lot longer than I anticipated, so I think I'm going to have to cut it here. Forgive me. I hope this is still entertaining and/or informative.

They are roughly in order from biggest to smallest, but it's very difficult to say in some cases. Like, comparing someone who is technically taller by height to someone who is shorter but has twice the body mass, where does one draw the line? I'm sure I've managed to find a middle ground here that pleases neither side.

If I wasn't so artistically drained and exhausted right now, I would draw a size chart or something.

[inct9473]

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