#(its still grey ToT)

[bugprinz]

911 lady gaga playing in the distance

[awbublie]

chat im i reverting back to my childhood and drawing block people?

i am, ofc i am.

she just like me, she just like me fr😭😭😭

im still trying to figure out her design but so far i really like the sleeves on the right. im trying to make it not a mush of grey n blue but its looking like slush ToT

[ninjagecko72]

Happy TMNT Day once more!

Guess who finally figured out Isabella's spots and got her a reference? I did it! Me! YEAH!

Anyways, here’s the most simplified, a better updated profile I got for her.

I think I got this profile template from @ilovebeinaturtle (I gotta check hold on. Edit: so it’s something similar. Eh, I’ll still tag her.)

Name: Isabella Splintersdottir (Hamato, later on)

Nickname: “Isa” (Her Brothers), “Bella” (Not often), “Ella” (for a gag), “Lil sis” (her brothers as well), “Little Lizard Sister/Lil’ Liz’ Sis” (by Mikey), “Banana lady” (Mikey thinks it’s funny) & “Honorary Member of the Serpentine Rebellion” (Hinting at a crossover that'll happen in the Ultimate Drako arc)

Sex/Gender: Female

Pronouns: She/Her

Race: Mutant Leopard Gecko

Age: 15 (at the start of the series/2003), 21 (in Turtles Forever)

Sexuality: Demiromantic

Year Hatched: 1988

Year Mutated: 1988, though she was already mutated before she hatched

Eye Color: Blue-Gray marble eyes. Aka Sectoral Heterochromia

Height: 5’1” (154.94 cm, roughly estimated) (She’ll be stuck there for a while)

Weight: 137 lbs. (62.1422 kg, rough estimate again)

Mask/Bandana/Headband Color: Very dark grayish blue (hex code: 696b6e)

Significant Other: None (She’s literally a teen lizard. Let her figure things out first.)

(Personality, Bio, SAINW, Other Info below)

Personality: She arrived to Splinter and the Turtles as a skittish, quiet little lizard. She was still shy for a while and the boys, Mikey especially (since he’s the most sociable out of them), helped her break out of her shell. (Figuratively speaking, of course). She’s kind, much more energetic than she once was, intelligent, imaginative, witty, adaptable/flexible, passionate, relentless, and has a strong will and a sense of justice much like her brothers. She is confident most of the time, but there are still times when she feels she’s not enough.

Backstory/Info: On June 18, 1988, she was hatched in an underground laboratory sometime after her older siblings hatched too. For most of her infant years, she was handed off to other staff like caretakers, nurses, etc. One of these staff members would become sympathetic to her.

When she was finally of age, she was sent off to testing. Testing the mind, hoping to use her age to begin absorbing more information. Testing her body and its limits, and her reflexes. What did these tests entail and what was the main goal of the program? Who really knows. She didn’t.

Whatever it all was for, she figured she must’ve upset them cause they were getting frustrated over her not showing much prowess by their standards, hearing things like, “Maybe the next one won’t be such a disappointment.”

And even later she heard, “perhaps when it matures, we can use it for.. other uses.. Find a suitable match…. Combining one with a capable mind and body with a friendlier stature would be more… beneficial.”

Essentially she was seen as nothing more than an unwilling pawn in a game she had no idea she was in.

Later on, a former resident of the laboratory had returned. An older, fawn-colored rat who was seeking her pups, releasing plenty of subjects to do so and one of them was the little gecko. The rat woman picked her up and kept her has a companion for a long while after they escaped the laboratory.

However it was only for a small time and they began catching on. The rat mutant would leave the lizard in the borrow and begin causing a panic with the armed men, tearing through them and leading them far away from the little one.

The lizard girl would be found by four turtle tots and a dark grey rat, who would not only keep her out of sight from the returning forces, but also take her in and name her Isabella after looking through a book on Italian Renaissance history.

And the rest of her story follows the series. However Isabella wouldn’t see the rat woman for a long time.. Not until they all encounter Bishop, but that’s for another day.

SAINW: During a Foot lab infiltration, Isabella would be found by the guys (who’re reunited with Donny and working together to find a way to put Shredder down for good). Tubes and machines were hooked up on her.

She looked so exhausted from all they put her through. She had lost so much, first Donny disappeared, Splinter died, Casey was gone, her brothers fought then separated, and Zephaniah and his group would be lost sometime after a fight with Shredder’s space fleet. Isabella was only captured because of a mission that went awry and she forced April to get out before she could get captured too, insisting the rebels needed a headstrong person in charge. When she failed to do her part in providing a decent service to Shredder's forces, she was kept alive to suffer for causing so much trouble for him back her youth.

There’s a mix of disbelief and shock when she saw the guys together after she gained consciousness. She believed her will to fight died after all the loss but Don pointed out one thing. (“Isa, sis… if your will was really gone then you would’ve been long gone too. I think you know that… And I know underneath all that’s happened, you’re still the same person as I knew years ago.”) It might not have had her up and running but it did reignite something in her and she helped all she could.

When the final fight with Shredder would take place, Isabella would take it upon herself to go through the human forces with April. She would find the lead scientist of that laboratory (who had arrived with a report for Shredder) and attacked him before he could get away. There was only one thing she said to him. (“You took them from me…. My sons… I won’t let you take anyone else..”) She had snapped that man’s neck with her tail and left him to rot while her brothers were handling Shredder and the Karai bots.

She did find the other three dead and watched Don disappeared, but she had a new goal in mind. Find out just where exactly her sons were sent and what did the Foot tech find in a message they intercepted from space?

Other Notable Stuff:

Isabella is named after Isabella d'Este, a Marchioness of Mantua and one of the leading women of the Italian Renaissance as a major cultural and political figure.

Her MBTI personality type would be ISFJ (aka the Defender) along with an enneagram of 6w5. (I put myself into Isabella’s point of view while going through the tests. I will get a much more accurate version of personality tests at a later date).

She received some scars across her chest from the first fight with Shredder.

Just like her brothers, she is a practitioner of Qi Gong, something that is shown in the Space arc. (Raph does it the best though).

Raph will never let her live down the fact that she had a childhood crush on Gex the Gecko. Of course, she'll never let him live down the fact that he crocheted a teddy bear for her.

Later in life when she’s an adult, she’d live in an old lighthouse that’s renovated and would eventually have Inizio (aka baby Drako) in her care.

[blueaprondelight]

Wait the idea of Carmy having a picky daughter is too funny. Like he would do his best to try and get her to eat new things and she's just like, "spaghetti again please". like so polite and smiley and innocent about it.

And Carmy is just defeated like "okay baby😔"

i've thought about this a lot and i needed a name for her and addie has lived in my mind thanks to greys lmfao so here we go, its another segment of mae thoughts!

okay this is how i imagine this going:

carm sits across from addie in her highchair, trying to feed her tiny spoonfuls of the food he'd made earlier. the same routine every night. same chairs, same pink plate and pink kids fork. different meals - it ranges from mac and cheese to small servings of a tater tot casserole that you seemed to enjoy during pregnancy - but the same pickiness.

"come on, addie, don't you wanna try it? it looks yummy. don't you agree, mommy, doesn't it look yummy?" he holds up a forkful of mac and cheese towards you, giving you a pointed look. you smile as addie looks over at you as well. "it does look really good, baby girl. don't you want to at least try it?" you question.

"nuh. spaghetti, please!" she requests, a smile on her face. the one he cant say no to. carm drops his head, sliding the spare plate over to her, letting her go at it. "i'll be right back, baby."

she nods, trying to eat with her fork, still learning with it as you and carmy watch. "i don't get it." he stands, walking over to you, setting the pink plate down on the counter. "what am i doing wrong?"

you smile a bit, running a hand over his cheek. "hey, it isn't anything we're doing. kids go through this sometimes, they just wanna eat what they're used to, my love. besides, she's eating. plus she seems to like your spaghetti at least."

"yeah, mikey's spaghetti more like it." he mumbles. you laugh, placing a kiss on his cheek. "she'll grow out of it." you remind, walking over to addie to help wipe the pasta sauce off her face.

he just cant say no:( i think he'd find it really hard and a bit ironic at first because of how he's a chef / his daughter is so picky. its just a fighting battle at that point lmao, but he'll keep trying

[ellioteatspotat0es]

Today we learn about how angel are born and grow up!

Yes this is another long post.

.

.

So, angels are born by a high concentration of celestial energy. This concentration can happen at every moment. Angels are given a vessel, they're body. Angels can die only if killed by another entity. Once this happen, their energy exits the vessel and mixes with God's energy, returning to its source.

For the first three centuries, little angels are assigned to a caretaker, usually a healer (yes they are very important), that will teach the basics and follow their growth until they enter the "intermediate stage", corresponding to teenagers years for humans.

This phase lasts for another three centuries before they become a fully developed adult.

From now on, not much changes about their appearence, except for some wrinkles every tot of time.

Angel can get grey hair, both from age or even stress (I'm surprised Moriel is still completely blonde...).

For now this is it! If you have any question PLEASE ASK, I love yapping about this topic😭

[im-goofball]

☀️hello☀️in your elder planets Au who are the ten other gods? And what are they the gods of ?😁

In the lore me and my co-creator @genri-o made up, there are 10 gods of One Piece universe (the Elder planets are excluded in our canon lore for obvious reasons.)

—————

The Immortals

-the name of the group of the 10 gods of One Piece universe.

-All of them have shrines and statues dedicated to them throughout the whole All Blue

-However, 3000+ before the WG creation, 4 of the 10 were no longer considered gods

-They are divided into three categories/ranks/classes (idk what to call them)

—————

The Primordials

-These three gods were before the Existence and Universe itself was even a thing. The Primordials created the other 7 gods (and Universe) through their thoughts and desires

Life—Debated to be the first of the Primordials, although it still isn't clear if they or Death are older

-Also reffered to as All Mother, King of Creation, Holy Spirit and Yang (In good there is evil)

-Creator of Existence and giver of all life in the whole Universe. Through their thoughts, they have created their only daughter, the Sea Goddess Umi

-Omnipresent and Omnipotent, life cannot be destroyed by anyone, for they, Death and Chaos are the symbol of balance that keeps the Universe together (yin and yang symbolisms goes brrr)

Death—There are still some debates on who's older, them or Life. Not even those two don't truly know who existed first, nor they are too bothered to truly know

-Also reffered to as Peace Bringer, the Ferryman, the Queen of Dead and Grey Guardian (the sinuous line between Yin and Yang, the balance)

-Just as Life wills their thoughts into Existence, Death takes all creations, be it great or small, into the Land of Dreams with their scythe, collecting the Souls of all living creatures when their time comes

-Helpes Tsumara with taking the dead people's souls into the Land of Dreams (the afterlife). Also the creator and leader of the Four Horsemen of Apocalypse, but they aren't considered gods

-Omnipresent and Omnipotent (kind of), just like Life, Death cannot be killed or destroyed because Universe itself would collapse and not even the Immortals would survive that

Chaos—The creator of Void and discord. Many religious texts refer to them as the "youngest" of the Primordials, which they (Death and Life) think is quite appropriate

-Also reffered to as Liege of Discord, Father of Void, the Great Swindler and Yin (in evil there is good)

-Through their thoughts and desires, Chaos has created their three children: Enma, Tot Musica and Ashura who are no longer considered to be gods, but are reffered to as The Great Three or the Demon Kings

-Omnipresent and Omnipotent, unlike their older siblings Chaos can be destroyed but no one, not even Life and Death know how. Chaos keeps this secret to themselves for a reason

—————

The Firstborn

-These four gods gave the Existence and the Universe it ls shape, matter, time and space for all the planets, stars and other celestial bodies that were later created

Umi—The Goddess of Sea, the only child of Life and Mother of Mu, Nika and Tsumara

-Creator and first ruler of All Blue (only during its early centuries), Umi helped Life with gifting stars and planets with their very own Souls, their very own existence and life. Also gave the Universe its very own shape, but that was her minor role

-Also reffered to as The Great Mother, Queen of All Blue and Guardian of Tailendir, (TAI-LEN-DIR; in the Tongue of Seas, the original language of Fishman race, tailendir was a word for celestials)

-She was betrayed and killed in Yāwa Yorllin (YAVA-YOR-LIN, the literal translation would be Star's Death, but it was also known as The War of Gods) But it is said that a piece of Soul that survived, managed to cling onto a living avatar of sea

Enma—The King of Hell, the eldest of the Great Three and the first child of Chaos

-Resides within the largest domain of Hell called The Garden and rules over it after they and their other two siblings were sealed away due to their enomorous defeat in Yāwa Yorllin

-Before The War of Gods, Enma helped Life and Chaos in creation of Universe by filling it with matter (could be compared to stuffing a pillow with goose feathers/wool/whatever you stuff your pillows with), thus giving the Universe its desired shape

-Also reffered to as The Dealmaker, Duke of Void, (former), World Eater and Queen of Damnation

Tot Musica—the Demon King of Music, the second/middle child of Chaos and ruler of domain in Hell called The Sing-Sing World

-With their musical voice and knowledge of time, they gave the Universe a time line that starst at the moment of its creation and is still going to this day. Of course out of the Original Time Line come out hundreds of thousands other time lines but that's Tot Musica's thing to play with

-After Yāwa Yorllin, they grew extremely spiteful and petty towards Tsumara, their niece, because it was her who took their left eye during the war

-Also known as The Deceiver, The Voice of Chaos, The Nightingale and Lord of Music

Ashura—The Demon Conqueror, youngest and third child of Chaos, and younger sibling of Enma and Tot Musica

-Ruler of a dain calleld The Underword, where he tortures damned Souls for all eternity (the "real" Hell). The only Immortal to have ever married anyone, and is still happily in love.

-They command enomorous armies of Hell that from all three domains: The Garden, The Sing-Sing World and The Underworld

-In religious texts, Ashura is also called The Three-Headed Beast, King of Nine-Swords, The Duke of Damnation and Prince of Qonquest

—————

The Celestials

-Are three gods representing three celestial bodies; sun, moon and stars. These gods are also the the three children of Sea Goddess Umi

Mu—The God of Stars, the eldest child of Umi and older sibling of Nika and Tsumara

-After losing the War of Gods, Mu was sealed into the sea floor of All Blue by Nika and Tsumara with Chains of Moon's End that were practically indestructable (almost)

-Before Mu Fell, in religious texts they were reffered to as The Voyager of Stars, Prince of Costellations, The Precious One and Guardian of Dusk.

-Now they are reffered to as The Great Beast, The God Slayer, Duke of Void and The Devil of Seas

Nika—The Sun God, the second born/middle child of Umi, younger sibling of Mu and older sibling of Tsumara

-After Yāwa Yorllin, Nika was the only one who even wanted to visit Mu during their 3000 years of imprisonment. However, after finding out that Mu escaped through certain means, Nika confronted their older sibling in hopes of victory.

-But Nika couldn't perceive just how strong Mu has become after losing in War of Gods. Nika was defeated and sealed away in a prison of Mu's creation called a Devil Fruit

-In religious texts, Nika is also reffered to as The Warrior of Liberation, The Dawnbringer, Child of Sun and Sovereign of Sea

Tsumara—The Moon Goddess, the youngest child of Umi and younger sibling of Mu and Nika

-Much isn't known about her, or her purpouse after Yāwa Yorllin has ended, but it is said that she rules over The Land of Dreams where all good Souls go rest after their time comes and that she can travel through all living beings' dreams

-Reffered to in religious texts as The Moon Princess, Sovereign of Souls, Guardian of Dreams and Midnight's Child

[blackberrywars]

I just realised I wasn't following you yet? Which is honestly a crime. For your Witcher ficlets, I'd love to see some grandpa Vesemir bonding time with Ciri as a child. Just a lot of fluff, preferably modern where Vesemir gets to spend an afternoon alone with her

Hi hello sorry for the delay and thank you for this prompt!! It's very cute, and the fluff was a nice treat.

Title: Grampa's House

Rating: G Words: 1,945 Relationships: Vesemir & Ciri, Background Vesemir/Guxart, Background Yennefer/Geralt Additional Tags: Family Bonding, Fluff, Young Ciri, Grandparents & Grandchildren, The Magic of Your Grandparents' House

Summary: Vesemir struggles to figure out what to do while watching his five year-old granddaughter for the weekend because he’s an old-ass man with old-ass man hobbies, like bird-watching, whittling, gardening, and making coffee on the stove because who needs a fancy machine anyway? Turns out, she’s happy to do all those things with her grampa.

AO3 LINK

——————————————————————————————

When his idiot son drops his squealing granddaughter onto his porch, not even Yennefer can hide a sheepish grin. “Business trip,” his bony ass. He can smell a swinger’s party from here. Still, their hesitation doesn’t stop Ciri from running toward him and wrapping her skinny, freckled arms around his thighs.

“GRAMPA!!”

She hits him with the force of a gale wind, and Vesemir can’t help but run a hand through her hair. Whiter than his, but not quite so pale as Geralt’s. Before that thought overwhelms him, he takes both a deep breath and her little, inexplicably sticky hand. She proudly shows him her missing incisor as she yells hello, and she’s so much bigger now, but even still, the straps of her tiny backpack barely fit over his elbow. Her wolf plush toy has a dark stain that might just explain the state of her fingers, but he holds them anyway for the goodbye kisses and hugs. Yennefer gives him a less-stiff hug than usual, and Geralt shoots him a wry smile over her shoulder, nodding in what he probably thinks is encouragement. Vesemir just shakes his head. The pair of them slide back into the ever-beloved shitbox, Roach. Which leaves him with a five year-old granddaughter.

He’s raised several boys over the years in the Wolfe home, all of them hellions in their own special ways. Half of his grey hairs have nothing to do with his age.

That was nearly twenty years and two knee surgeries ago.

Guxart had told him in the morning that he’d do just fine, but that was just before the bastard had blown him a kiss from the driveway and sped off, off to his own weekend away. It was right about then that he realized he has no idea what little girls like to do. Ciri has only been with his son for two years, and they’d got along well, but he’s never watched her for more than a few hours. She’d been littler then. What can he offer her, now that he is old and his own boys are grown, most of their favorite toys destroyed, given away, or lost? When he was younger, this might have been easier. He had more energy then, enough to chase and tumble after a tot without fearing his worse knee would give out.

Cleaning her up is probably a good place to start.

That decided, Vesemir finds an old stepstool and guides her onto it, making sure she washes her hands. He takes some dish soap to Mr. Wolf, who is much fluffier, but just about as gray and scruffy as himself. All the while, Ciri tells him about her life.

“At recess, we play Lions and Ant-lopes! I run really fast! I like taking my shoes off, but Mama gets mad when that happens.”

“Oh? And why is that, lass?”

“It gets my socks dirty. An’ stinky. And —kitty!”

She points to the edge of his windowsill, just behind where the dish soap had been, to a tiny wooden cat figurine. The chubby little creature had been yesterday’s work, hidden in its little nook where his partner would never find it, because the bastard hates washing plates more than anything else. Vesemir chuckles.

“Hm? Oh, yes, for Guxart. It needs some work, but it’s almost done now.”

“You made that?” she asks, eyes wide as dinner plates, “How?”

“Well, if you’re interested…… I suppose I can show you.”

“YES!” she balks a bit, smiling sheepishly, “…please?”

Vesemir spends the next two hours answering that please. He gives Ciri a full tour of the garage-turned-woodworking-shed. Explains to her the difference between his chisels —paring, mortise, tang, that fancy one Eskel bought him that he still doesn’t know the name of— and almost starts in on the mallets before he stops, with no small amount of trepidation. The poor lass must be bored to tears. He braves a look down at her face and finds wide blue eyes and pursed lips. One of his larger chisels is polished enough to show her reflection, shining with curiosity. As deftly as he can, he pulls the little cat out of his pocket, holding it out to her.

“As for this little beast… are you listening?” Vesemir tweaks a pale curl, just to hear her giggle (and to distract from the chisels because she probably shouldn’t touch those until she’s at least eight or so), “What he needs is to be sanded down and polished so he’s shiny.”

“Howdja do that?”

“Sandpaper. The grains smooth out the rough bits. Here. Feel it.”

He fans out his collection, arranged from 40 to 180 grit, and lets her pet each one. He doesn’t worry for her soft skin even though she winces at the roughness because she quickly reaches for the next one. She picks out the 120 grit sandpaper —a bit too fine for this, but he allows it— and lets him show her how to gently smooth out the figurine. Her fingers are still small and clumsy, but she dutifully keeps to the direction of the grain, and the cat feels even softer than her little hands once they’re through. She paints it with a sponge brush and his own polish, a mixture of olive oil and lemon juice, gasping as the red bubinga wood reveals all its colorful stripes. Again, it receives pride of place on the windowsill.

“So…” Ciri asks, somehow even more excited than before, “whad’we do now?”

She’d liked his workshop, dusty and turpentine-smelling though it is.

“Hmm. Why don’t we go outside? I have some birdhouses I made there.”

— — — — —

Ciri squeals over the birdhouses, especially the dark purple one that “looks like Mama!” but the real noise comes when the painted bunting couple —unusually late in the season, spirits bless them— pops out of it. The little husband’s rainbow coat is vibrant as always, and while Vesemir scolds Ciri for trying to chase him, he can’t blame her for wanting to pet his colorful feathers. She agrees, thankfully, apologizing to the ruffled pair. Vesemir settles into the rocking chair he made, and once she finishes cooing at the green little wife, Ciri leaves Guxart’s alone in favor of his lap, and they sit to watch the birds until his hips start creaking.

His garden provokes similar wonder. Vesemir points out each plant and all the weeds that had sprung up in between the rows, which she happily plucks. Ciri categorizes his herbs by smell and taste, ranks sage as her favorite, and eats a little bit of dirt as a control group. He nods approvingly, because little immune systems need help, and then offers some dandelion roots instead, since they still have dirt on them and are more nutritionally useful. Maybe tomorrow they can take a walk and he’ll teach her how to forage properly. It’s good knowledge, especially for a tot. If her stomach is anything like the bottomless pit that was Lambert’s, she should know what will be delicious and what could make her sick, spirits forbid.

By the end of the afternoon, his knees are dirty and sore, and he desperately needs a coffee. Sunshine and sweat have tired Ciri out, but she’ll be up again before long, which he’d need more than a little artificial energy to survive. Quickly, he herds Ciri back inside and into the bath with as little contamination as possible. Once his sleeves are soaked to the armpits, he sets her into a chair with two pillows stacked atop it and heads over to his wood stove. The greca is an old, battered thing now, but it still makes his brew as sweet and strong as it did the day Guxart brought it home. As soon as it’s full, he pours himself a mug and turns back to the table.

“Do you want some?”

Ciri wrinkles her nose, “Coffee tastes icky.”

“That is why your abuelo uses lots of milk and sugar.”

He adds both into her sippy cup to fix what Guxart calls a tetero and puts a suspirito on the plate beside it. Then gives her another three because he’s a grandfather, and it’s his job. They eat in mostly-silence, aside from the gummy sound of her chewing the cookies through her first missing tooth, and the clink of his own mug on the table. Ciri finishes her cup with an exaggerated ah! and he can’t help but smile.

“You liked it, lass?”

“Mmhm! I din’t even taste the coffee.”

Which is usually exactly what Vesemir says to Guxart when he’s making fun of him, but it’s hard to argue with this kind of sincerity. Especially not when she tips her mostly empty cup back again, trying to get the last few drops between the gap in her teeth.

“Grampa, can we watch a movie now? Do yours have color in them?”

His knees cheer for joy even as his eyebrows quirk of their own will, which might just prove her point, along with the fact that he barely had any movies at all. Thank the spirits Geralt had given him a DVD along with her overnight bag. He remembers the fat, seal-like creature on the cover.

“Yes, we can watch a movie. How do you feel about Neighbor Toto?”

“Grampa!!” Ciri bursts out laughing, knocking over her sippy cup, “Nooooo, it’s My Neighbor Totoro!”

“My Neighbor Tot-ro, then.”

“Noooooooo! To-to-ro!”

He smiles and takes their dishes to the sink, letting her pester him until he finally says it right. She nods imperiously, and he can’t help but ruffle her white-blonde hair. She’s more or less a quiet presence beside him as he cleans the greca, right until he pulls out his jar of popcorn kernels. Apparently, those are supposed to come in a brown paper bag, and they get cooked in a microwave. Vesemir owns neither.

“Well, lass. This way is more fun —watch, now.”

For once, he’s glad for the new glass lids Guxart bought, since they let Ciri ooh and ahh and the popcorn exploding with butter (and a little bit of brown sugar). It’s easy enough work to herd her onto his admittedly-ancient couch. Less so when he has to remember how to play movies.

“Spirits, how does this damn thing work again?” he grumbles, unsuccessfully starting to put the brick through the slot, and then pivots back to Ciri, with her wide blue eyes and perked up ears, “Don’t repeat that.”

“Why not? Papa says bad words all the time.”

“Yes, well I tried my best with him. You’ll have to be better.”

“Aw damn.”

He barely restrains a laugh, settling for a cough as he retrieves the ever-so-slightly burnt popcorn. The movie is made slightly grainy by the TV he hasn’t changed in twenty years, but it plays nonetheless, and he can understand Ciri’s defense of it. She’s utterly enraptured, practically bouncing in her seat before she settles in beside him. He wonders if he could carve a Totoro before Ciri has to leave. By the time he hears Ciri go quiet beside him, he’s fully planned out the size and polish he’s going to use, but should he paint it? It’s never been his strength, but he should try, at least. A gentle snore interrupts his thoughts, and the weight against his side grows heavier. Ciri is fast asleep against his arm, drooling ever so slightly from the gap in her teeth. He’ll have to wake her for dinner and clean the (yet again) sticky child, but he can let her sleep until the credits roll. He yawns.

She can help him paint the Totoro on her next visit.

——————————————————————————————

Well that was some tooth-rotting fluff, and I enjoyed every second of it. I tried my best to keep the story in line with Vesemir's gruff disposition, but softened for the modern era and prompt. Ciri gets to be baby, and an utterly curious delight.

greca: a stovetop mokapot, popular throughout Latin America abuelo: grandfather tetero: baby bottle/Venezuelan term for coffee made with lots of milk and sugar, usually given to children or used to mock people who drink coffee this way suspirito: a small, bite-sized meringue cookie

Taglist: @karolincki, @hellinglasses, @girls-and-honey, @halehathnofury, @the-butch-of-blaviken, @keirametzbrassknuckles, @t4tlambert, @alllthequeenshorses, @round--robin, @on-a-lucky-tide (if anyone wants to be added/removed, pm me and I'll have it done no problem)

[sillypinkboy]

Talking about the second annual set for The Question: Losing Face and it's second part/tie in Saving Face.

The story we follow is of Twaine using the Binary gas that Q uses to create zombie like people. His reasoning behind doing so is to stop people from suffering. Vic agrees with this idea and is willing to compare notes about it but Ollie is not. Ollie wants to catch the bad guy and move forward.

Now this is really important because Ollie spends the set being *annoyed* with vic. To start off , he's trying to figure out why Q was in Seattle. His trust is already thin. Then he keeps watching Vic hesitant. He's frustrated, but he shows his concern. Even wishing vic luck when he disappeared.

Now it's just... interesting. Timeline wise bc Vic hasn't fully calmed down yet. He's still calmer then he has been. He's more open to thinking things over, but it's not a priority yet. Anger is still leading. Vic is in a point where he's ready for it to be all over. Maybe that's the best way to do this. So of course he's a bit like "yeah actually? The zombie idea sounds great. No more suffering or evil. I can finally rest" it really shows how much grey area he sticks to. There's no good or bad guy here

Ofc the gas being used like this is bad in its own but — vic is just. Tired. He's so tired and feels helpless. He'll jump at anything. I mean he wouldn't have even done anything if tot wasn't involved. I just find it neat.

I love when vic is partnered with heroes. Because you start to see his flaws. In Fables he was with batman and green arrow and that set dealt with him realizing 2 things:

1) he's most comfortable as the Question. He works best behind the mask

And

2) his skills are limited. The fact that bruce is there means his brains aren't needed and Ollie being the muscle practically leaves him useless.

I enjoyed Fables, really. There's a point where vic practically begs for Bruce to fuck off so he can be useful. Then he messes up. And there's a guilt to it. Not that he messes up , mind you. It's the guilt of not solving the mystery.

The losing face/saving face set deals with vic's Morals. What he sees more wrong or righy. We explore how his anger is a weakness when he leads by it. How much he can struggle to see people as people — possibly why the use of him being unable to shed his mask was used. He couldn't be vic anymore, he hasn't been vic in so long. It took an old enemy for his to realize what was wrong. This man could have killed him! He didn't! He took care of Vic. Reminded him of compassion. Reminded vuc what he had forgotten through this all – his compassion

Losing Face had a beautiful moment too. There was a comparison between vic when he first started at KBEL and him currently. We've seen his growth, but it also helps point out how that old anger still burns.

[bubble-masquerade]

Pt. 2!! of the oc project with my sister @bogwatertrash

Sylvie

Name Meaning: From the forest

Turtle Species: Southern Painted Turtle

Southern Painted turtle Average adult size ranges from 4 to 6 inches with a lifespan of 30 to 40 years 

It is an subspecies of the painted turtle, and is the smallest of the painted turtle sub species 

Semi aquatic and can be found close to swamps, marshes, ponds, lakes, and rivers. 

They also prefer slow moving waters They can also be found basking on partially submerged logs on water bodies

Red middorsal line on carapace

Omnivorous. Various invertebrates, aquatic vegetation

Plants, small animals, such as fish, crustaceans, aquatic insects, and some carrion.

Young painted turtles are mainly carnivorous, acquiring a taste for plants later in life

Southern Painted turtles generally enjoy being left alone, whether that means they are in the wild or in a tank at home.

 It is possible to handle a Southern Painted turtle, and the more you do so the more likely your new friend will become used to being held

Because of their size and instincts, Southern Painted turtles tend not to like it when other animals or creatures get too close to their head. 

If you make quick movements near their head, you can expect them to flinch away or even try to bite you

Personality/Other Info 

Pronouns: She/Her/Hers

Gender: Cisgender Female

Sexuality: Bisexual

Introvert

How she was found: In a bag as a tot in an alley way 

Some Knowledge of basic magic. Craft specialty is Plant magic 

Support swapper 

Has a cute tooth gap 

Prefers to be with her siblings/parental unit, especially when it comes to going out to places where large groups of people will be attending

Terrified of Jurassic park. Got traumatized from the t-rex scene as a tot and hasn’t watched it since

Gets in to chaotic messes with Klee (in which Klee is leading)

Loves quality time with her siblings when they aren’t all together doing something/getting in to trouble. Also enjoys parallel play

A sweetheart and a savage. Head in the clouds and she sometimes gets distracted 

When she hyperfocuses it can be hard to get her attention 

Favorite movie/show genres are dramedy/disaster films. However she cannot stand horror 

She ADORES her plants. From her flowers to her shrubs, and has even grown stuff for Pedro and Caly to work with in the kitchen. Has a terrarium that absolutely nobody is allowed to touch tho. She will cry. Also, expect small houseplants everywhere

Enjoys warm weather and the fall. Doesn't like it when it gets hot 

Wears a stim bracelet on each wrist, beaded and colorful, almost never takes them off 

More of a follower than a leader in the shenanigans with Klee. is the one to say “it was almost a great idea” knowing everything usually goes wrong

Does swear, surprisingly. But its mostly softly under her breath 

Has a habit of taking naps in the greenhouse. So there's now a large beanbag, pillows, and blankets in there 

Is okay with affectionate touches as long as she’s not overwhelmed/over stimulated 

☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️☠️

Klee 

Name Meaning: Clover

Turtle Species: Bog Turtle

Orange/Yellow/Red Spots behind/above ears

Shell- Usually brown, grey, mahogany. Sometimes has Amber/Dark colored lines

Plastron- Usually pale yellow with irregular black blotches

Diurnal and secretive, it spends most of its time buried in mud and – during the winter months – in hibernation.

They are very timid and like to stay hidden

The bog turtle is one of the smallest living turtles.

Personality/Other Info

Pronouns: Any she/he/they 

Gender: Agender

Sexuality: Pansexual 

Ambivert

How they were found: Climbed on the back of a mexi-boys food truck as a tot and made their way to New York. Found kung fu panda style. Scared the shit outta the poor truck driver/worker unfortunately 

Still Learning about the magic system. Craft Specialty is Necromancy

She can be blunt, childish, forgetful, secretive, and pretty impatient at times

Whenever given the chance, will only wear odd socks (One longer than the other / Two different colors). A sock gremlin if you will

Very adventurous and bold. Very active and energetic at times. Unfriendly to certain people they come across

They get pretty careless when it comes to chores and basic at home duties. Baby sibling attitude

Is constantly fidgeting with something. HATES eye contact

Favorite movie genres are horror/thriller. Knows Sylvie doesn’t enjoy those kinds of movies so during family movie nights he doesn’t suggest them. Waits till they know Sylvie is busy to watch them with the others or warns her ahead of time if they want to watch the movies in the living room

Should seriously not be allowed to handle any money

Loves clowns. Don't know why, but they do. Every Halloween they go as a clown. As a tot, it was very cutesy stuff. But the older they get the more unhinged they look 

Loves rainy, foggy weather. Silent Hill vibe type stuff

Collects bones. Cleans them as a hobby and is also getting in to making jewelry out of them 

Sleeps with a plushie still. Needs it to fall asleep

Tries to get away with everything. Hates being grounded

Isn’t really the touchy type. As a tot though you’d find her napping with Sylvie

[actualbird]

Congratulations on the second volume of The Behavioural Studies of NXX!!!!! I adored having all your analyses in a compilation to read through, and I've been having a blast rereading them and remembering what my state of mind when they were released was. Your analyses of these characters have influenced and shaped my understanding of them and in turn gotten me to interpret them more critically in a way no other fandom, let alone single writer, has and I think that's an incredible accomplishment.

So far, I've only reached the Rosa playlist analysis, but that actually got me thinking a bit about her, particularly the bit about her wanting to be the main character and the bit you quoted from 5-3. Admittedly the reason why I thought about her desure to be the protagonist stems from slightly comedic reasons because uhhh //glances at the water tank she and Artem got trapped in, Luke personal story 3, Sauna,,,,,

Yeah I wonder if she'd wish quite as hard to be the main character had she known these things were in her future. Something else that was wild to me about this is that the case that set the wheels in motion for all this to happen, for mc becoming the main character, was a case about water poisoning. It's not as simple as that of course and showed ToT's brand of evil that's always grey and not black or white even all the way back then, but ultinately the case was still about water poisoning, which is So Mundane compared to all the dangerous drugs and murder and black market auctions that are going around now. I don't think mc regrets her actions. She's shown that more than enough in the main story, you've even quoted her own thoughts that indicate she's firm in her resolve. But when I think back to main story 1 mc, I don't quite think she feels the same way.

One thing that stuck out to me while going through main story 1 again is the choice you need to make in the trial section, to present the incriminating footage or not, where she can hesitates to present the necessary evidence for justice to be served, and can continue to hesitate if the player chooses not to present it, where she needs to be encouraged by Vernon Green himself to present it and ensure justice is served.

Yes, this was a choice and ultinately she was thinking more about how it would impact Vernon Green than the perpetrator, but it still shows a bit of uncertainty regarding delivering justice in these difficult situations. I think the fact that this is even a Choice matters a lot, actually, because in cases with arguably more at stake like Main Story 3 where an entire child whose development has been stunted due to taking illegal medicine's mother is about to be convicted for murdering the person responsible for said child's condition, it's not even a choice to waver in pursuing justice.

I wonder if Main Story 1 mc would've been able to do the same thing, and think about Main Story 6 where what Irene Burke went through was so horrible people from all corners of the fandom were debating, sometimes even fighting, over whether she should've been allowed to get away with her murders. I really, really doubt main story 1 mc would've been able to remain firm in her convictions.

I think reading through your analysis and in turn Main Story 1 made me realise that mc's developed a lot too, even if it doesn't really seem like it at first. I used to think that mc, while she definitely has developed a little, didn't really grow as much as the NXX boys due to her status as an intended self insert, but I see her in Main Story 1 and her in the current story multiple years later and I'm a little floored at how her conviction has grown. She still lets herself feel and empathise with the culprits and the people close to them, but she's never wavered in the same way she did in Main Story 1,

Xgjxiyfiyf Sorry for overtaking this praise ask about the journal with my own thoughts!!!! To bring this back around to its intended point I guess it shows how much your analyses have impacted the way I view these characters that I can even write this out. It's enriched my experience with ToT in a way I never thought possible. I think the Rosa playlist analysis isn't one that I actually read before because back then I wasn't super into mc as a character or character playlists, but getting to read it now really shows how much I was missing out on. Another thing I have to thank you and the journal for, I suppose.

🌌

WAHHHH oh my gosh, hi milkyway anon!! long time no see, and hhhHH thank you SO MUCH for reading “The Journal of NXX Investigation Team Behavioral Studies: Vol 2” and for your kind words about it ;w;

on your thoughts about mc gOSH i dont think i have anything to add because i so much agree!!! main story 1 mc and main story 10 mc are very different people because of how much she had developed. i love your use of the word "conviction" because thats exactly it. mc started with a simple case, she started with doubts and hesitation, but as the cases got messier and worse like....hesitation was not an option, not if she wanted to continue bringing the justice she so stalwartly believes in. as the cases got worse, she stepped up to the challenge, for the lack of better wording. i think main story 1!mc would be so proud and amazed at how independent and capable main story!10 mc is

i also think she'd be scared

because YEAH, HOO BOY, A LOT HAS HAPPENED TO MC BECAUSE SHE IS THE MC.

i agree that earlier!mc wouldnt have been as firm but thats another reason narratively i guess why the cases were upped and upped in stakes. both for the mounting tension of the overarching story, but to get mc to grow. and grow she did, as the circumstances of the cases got heavier and heavier.

it's kinda like that metaphor about slowly boiling a crab, yknow. we went from mc in main story 1 who hesitated in presenting key evidence, to mc in main story 10 who [main story 10 spoilers] in The Sauna, upon thinking she was Gonna Die, immediately started thinking of how to Leave Evidence On Her Body for other to find by using a Branding Iron On Herself

main story 1!mc: WHO ARE YOU?!?!???

main story 10!mc, trembling a bit from the Trauma: im you but suuuuuper metal 🤘

HVSJFHSVKDJFHDS JOKES ASIDE, it's a Whole Ride remembering how far mc has come because she has! even if this game is more focused on the boys' development, it is unmistakeable that shes grown along with them, and for that, im so proud of her. i dont think she'd ever regret where her life took her, she just doesnt seem like the type, and for all her doubts in the beginning and even the new doubts she gets later on, mc still holds strong to her conviction and dedication.

in conclusion: gosh dang i love miss mc rosa qiangwei <3

thank you again for reading!!! and for this lovely ask :DDD

[undistortedworld]

ok hi!! sorry for slipping in here but I posted that mikage and natori thingie because I love tyem both with all my soul and you ARE SO RIGHT THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON they’re so dorky and weird yet they’re such important little guys and I love them sm! they both also have flower and butterfly auras along with their own music so it fits 😂

AAA DONT APOLOGISE I LOVE TO TALK ABOUT THEM THANKYOU FOR SENDING THIS!!!!! <3 sorry it took a while to respond, I suck sooo bad at making my words work snd trying to explain what I mean but I hope you get what I'm trying to say still ToT

youre so right with all of those comparisons!!!! another thing that stands out to me about them both is how they sort of villainise themselves?? like in the process of trying to protect those they care about (tomoe/natsume) they end up doing things that are a bit morally grey and not what would be helpful or what the person they are trying to protect would want (eg mikage leaving without explanation and natori going behind natsumes back about the book of friends and stuff). and like they are both sort of self sacrificing and also self degrading when they don't need to be!!!! basically im sure if mikage had an unloved poster hed also stand underneath it lol. They both like to be sneaky and give off suspicious vibes too lol, I love them both they're both such a mess lol

Me being awful with my words means I am butchering their characters in my explanation but hopefully the point im trying to make is sort of there still :')

Also thankyou for making that post its caused me to start rewatching kamisama kiss and be happy hehe

[rissararity]

Chapter 23:

Word count: 1,408

The bathroom door slowly opened, silence of the room broken by the thud of a stubbed toe, and a whispered string of curse words.

Already more exhausted than she'd admit, Prism lay still beside the beta who curled around the extra pillow, facing away from her.

Deadpool's covered eyes scanned the room, taking in the sleeping toddler in the crib on one wall and the pair in the master bed not too far from it. Dressers, wardrobes, some tables and a desk were bolted to the floor and walls and adorned with chic, nautical themed décor.

"Nice digs!" he whispered to himself, narrowly holding back a whistle.

He covered his mouth in panic as Mer tossed and turned for a moment before falling back asleep. Her red hair now a little rat's nest atop her head.

Light sleeper.

Prism sat up in bed, immediately locking eyes with him in his costume. She tried to alert her boys but found both of them unreachable.

She watched the whites of his suit focus on her a little before he reached into a zippered pocket and pulled out his wallet. He opened it and retrieved a thoughtfully folded photo of the whole Avengers team.

Notably, someone had drawn a heart around her face.

After a dramatic few looks back and forth, he turned the photo toward her, pointed to it then her.

She shook her head but he already confirmed his suspicion. His gloved hands fanned his face before he shyly waved.

Brows knit in confusion, she waved back then pointed to the door for him to leave.

"No can do, Moon-Shoes." He whispered, hands clamping over his mouth when the tot stirred again.

Prism glared, putting her finger over her lips and jutting out her chin in a way Omegas only did when scolding alphas around children.

It was a reflex, but an effective one.

The alpha shrank slightly under her gaze and glanced down for a second in silent apology.

They both held their breath until Mer settled again.

Priz slowly stood up, hoping she had enough juice in the tank for this.

Wade peaked through his fingers as she straightened her PJs then took a fighting stance.

Leaving his swords stashed on his back, he did the same.

As long as she fights fair, he'll fight fair.

Wade will tell you this rule doesn't apply to all his targets. He is an Alpha, after all.

Modified to look like shit, and kick the shit outta bad guys.

Made for this shit.

Luckily, he was running a long-standing special only available to Avengers, Cher, and Celine; cross me and live to tell about it.

Her silver eyes flicked to the floor that had been left strewn with toys, his whited out ones followed.

"No can do, Moon-Shoes." She recalled, smiling as it gave her an idea. Steeling herself, she let her magic gather in her hands and flicked it at Wade's feet before he could react.

A holographic glow of her colors danced around his boots, making him pose and admire his legs for a moment before looking at her questioningly.

Shifting her magic from her hands to her legs, she leaped up onto the side table and pointed to the top of the dresser.

When Wade cautiously jumped, he almost giggled with glee as he felt himself floating slightly; gravity having a reduced effect on him.

He held his breath to keep in an actual squeal of excitement. She gave me actual fricken Moon Shoes! The marred man smiled and silently clapped while approving alpha pheromones came off him for a few seconds.

Her creative solution wouldn't hold for long, so she needed to get him out quickly.

Already, she was feeling her magic being pushed to its limits; draining her as a consequence.

Prism's head began to feel tight, grey spots entering her vision every few seconds. She shook it, clenching her jaw as she pushed through.

The alpha watched all of this, tilting his head first with confusion, then , further with concern.

The only sounds in the room were the breathing of Garret and Meredith, both blissfully unaware of the situation.

Once again, Prism hoped to keep it that way.

She tried to call for her boys but was met with only more silence. Doing her best to drag herself back into her beta persona, she simply refused to be afraid.

Failure is not an option.

Even if she's on her own.

Wade watched her disassociate, eyes becoming distant as she took as best a fighting pose as she could while standing on an end table.

In surprisingly good sync, they leapt toward each other. Once they met at the middle, over a minefield of toys, they'd exchange a hit or two before landing silently on another piece of furniture.

Well-Prism tried to get a hit or two in but for the most part, Wade simply blocked her attempts and enjoyed the feeling of floating in a calm current from one landing spot to the next.

It was very clear that she was in no condition to fight, or be on guard duty. He decided early on, minimum effort.

The alpha knew a touch starved omega when he saw one. He respected her -fangirled over her, is more like it - enough to let her make her effort and return another time for his target.

He'll fight fair.

After all, Garret Pike is far from the worst person he'd been paid to turn into a fucking kabob.

While he was lost in his own head, she actually managed to hit him. Unfortunately, it triggered a reflex of his that sent her flying backwards through the air and onto the dining room table.

Prism barely managed to land in a kneeling position, one foot planted on the otherwise glossy wood.

When she tried to stand, her legs only shook in response.

Wade covered his mouth dramatically in horror and made grabby hands to her from atop the coffee table.

Not thinking twice, he cleared the distance in one big leap-feeling her moon shoes spell break as he landed beside her.

The hit man sat criss-cross on the table and dragged the mostly limp woman into his lap. He even turned her head to his neck to get the most of his pheromones through his suit.

"That's enough for tonight, tough girl. You did your best but this isn't a fair fight..." he whispered, rubbing her forearms. "I just feel bad, you know?"

Ouch.

"I'll give you another round in a few days. I don't want to be responsible for killing any Avengers...especially if no one is paying me for it..." his whispers continued in her ear.

"There's still a few more days till arrival and I have until then so...I'll let you all have a couple of days to...you know..." he squeezed her a little, "Get your shit together, like....collectively." He began to ramble, his words hit her ear in a way that felt like a brain massage.

The more off topic he got, the more she realized he was trying to spend as much time there as he could to help her.

Prism was responding well to friendly alpha pheromones, body and mind now going lax from the stress and exhaustion.

Her headache was gone, nausea as well, but now she felt as if all her limbs were made of lead. Her little omega body was officially giving up for the evening.

"...And I told him, look here Buddy, if the candy bar is broken it's no longer a bar, and should be half off. Well," he licked his lips, ignoring the fabric, "He disagreed in a way that was less than respectful."

Wade noticed her nodding off right about then, "Anyway, yeah, I'll give you and the guys a couple of days to sort yourselves out. You won't hear a peep from me, scout's honor. Get some rest, Sweetheart."

Prism felt the warm, larger body beneath her slide her to lay on the table. His grip was gentle but firm, treating her as delicately as he could. She fell asleep immediately.

Wade looked down at her angelic features completely at rest, then across the room where Garret still lay snoring, then back to her.

With a silent, exaggerated, exasperated sigh, Wade returned to the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Not long after, the toilet flushed and he scrambled back out the window.

Fic masterlist:

[wellbehavedsuit]

I thought I saw a Pussycat

Book (2023)

A collection of pictures of missing cats on signs. Rephotographed by Maarten Dings

Me and a friend ran into a kitten on the pavement once. Enchantingly, it kept following us to my doorstep, so I decided to take it in. A few minutes later I found out that it probably wasn’t really potty-trained as it jumped on the bed and shat all over my duvet. The next day I put up signs in the neighbourhood that read: ‘Gevonden: klein grijs poesje’ (‘Found: little gray pussy’). I received prank calls all day, until owners called later that evening and came to pick up the adorable yet unruly feline. Although there was no room for a cat at that time in my life, I felt downhearted when it left…

Years later, there was a leaflet in our mailbox about a grey cat that snuck out a few blocks down the road a couple of days before. My girlfriend and I saw an unfamiliar cat roaming the neighbouring rooftops from our garden and figured this could very well be the cute little critter that ran away. We texted the owners , and afterwards we received a bouquet of flowers and a thank-you card for helping to bring the cat back home, where it was safely recovering from its adventures. The cat’s name was Findus, so I guess it was always destined to be found anyway…

Some time later, out of the blue, there was a grey cat residing in our cosy city garden. It was probably drawn to the food we leave outside for our housecat when we are out for the weekend, and now it was somehow determined to stick around indefinitely. The meows were dismal and terribly out-of-tune. Because of its nagging we jokingly named it after my boss. After a few days it became less cautious and allowed us to pet it, firmly putting its ridiculously sharp nails into our legs as a token of approval. We half-heartedly tried to adopt it, but in the end it didn't really work out,mostly because our own cat hated the newcomer, and we felt bad for both of them. The man at the animal shelter told me the cat seemed young and healthy , and he said he was sure it would find a new home in no time. I was sure that by abandoning it, I had signed its death sentence…

…I have been casually photographing these missing cat signs for a couple of years now, mostly using my phone’s camera every time I accidentally stumble upon one. Unsurprisingly, I’m especially attracted to the worn-off and rained-down ones. Some of them seem to be hanging there for months; owners waiting in vain for their furry loved ones to return. With the owners in limbo, the images depict the animal in (hopefully) happier times, a bygone age of innocence in which any sense of impending doom was still absent. Though one can never fully grasp the stares of a cat.

(Nederlandse tekst onderaan)

For sale/Te koop 'Print on Demand' (€37):

Text in Dutch / Nederlandse vertaling (voor de tentoonstelling 'Een Vogel Voor De Kat'):

Onderweg naar huis kwamen een vriend en ik een kitten tegen. Het draaide snoezig rond mijn enkels en volgde ons tot aan de voordeur. Ik besloot het in huis te nemen. Twee minuten later bleek het helaas niet zindelijk te zijn; het sprong op bed en scheet mijn dekbed onder. De volgende dag hing ik briefjes op in de buurt met de tekst: 'Gevonden: klein grijs poesje'. Na een dag vol telefoontjes van jolige studenten belden later die avond de baasjes en werd het schattige, maar iets te onstuimige poesje opgehaald. Er was op dat moment geen plaats voor een kat in mijn leven, maar ik werd weemoedig nadat het de deur uit was…

In de brievenbus zat een briefje over een grijze kat die een paar dagen eerder ergens bij ons in de buurt was weggelopen. Vanuit onze tuin zagen mijn vriendin en ik diezelfde dag een onbekende kat op het dak van onze buren. De kans was groot dat dit de kat in kwestie was, dus stuurden we de vermeende eigenaars een berichtje. Na de goede afloop kregen we een bos bloemen en een bedankingskaartje voor ons aandeel in de hereniging met hun huisdier dat nu aan het bekomen was van zijn avonturen. De kat heette Findus en was dus voorbestemd om teruggevonden te worden...

Er was een grijze kat op bezoek in onze knusse stadstuin. Waarschijnlijk werd hij aangetrokken door het eten dat we buiten laten staan voor onze eigen kat als we een weekend weg zijn en nu had hij besloten hier voor onbepaalde tijd te blijven rondhangen. Zijn gemiauw klonk vals en armoedig en vanwege het aanhoudende gezeur noemden we hem gekscherend naar mijn baas. Na een paar dagen werd hij minder schuchter en sprong op schoot om geaaid te worden; als teken van liefde zette hij zijn belachelijk scherpe nagels stevig vast in ons vel. Halfslachtig probeerden we hem te adopteren, maar dat draaide uit op niets uit. Onze eigen kat haatte de nieuwkomer en wij hadden met hen allebei te doen. De man in het dierenasiel zei dat de kat er jong en gezond uitzag en was ervan overtuigd dat hij snel een nieuw thuis zou vinden. Ik was ervan overtuigd dat ik zijn doodvonnis had getekend door hem in het asiel achter te laten…

…Op 1 mei van dit jaar lieten we Muis, onze kat, inslapen. Tien jaar lang leefde ik samen met haar in hetzelfde huis. Ooit, toen dat nog niet het geval was, kroop ze tijdens een mooie zomeravond in de tuin op mijn schoot. Omdat Muis doorgaans nogal eenkennig en mensenschuw was, zag mijn vriendin daarin een akkoordverklaring met haar voornemen een nieuw iemand tot de huiselijkheid toe te laten. Het was het begin van een relatie. We zagen hoe Muis geplaagd werd door de merels in de tuin, hoe ze zich uit de voeten maakte bij het horen van kinderstemmen, hoe ze onvermoeibaar klagerig de aandacht vestigde op de lege etensbak en hoe ze verder altijd en overal met jaloersmakende ledigheid kon liggen te soezen terwijl rondom haar twee mensen rumoerig uit elkaar groeiden. Op 1 mei verloor het huis haar ziel. Het bleek het begin van een einde. Iemand stuurde een foto van een negentiende-eeuwse grafzerk waarop staat: “‘Hij was maar een kat' maar hij was menselijk genoeg om een grote troost te zijn in uren van eenzaamheid en pijn". Ik zou willen dat Muis er nu was, maar ze ligt, omringd door schelpen, begraven naast de varen waarin ze zich zo graag schuilhield. Ik mijd de tuin en de vogels die daar nu het rijk voor zich alleen hebben.

[harrison-abbott]

If you closed your eyes

And couldn’t look at the greenness

Of the trees

You’d think you were in Autumn

Or early Spring, with the cold,

The wind and rain.

And the wind toys monstrously

With said foliage on the trees,

In thrashing brushstrokes as

You head up behind the supermarket.

Then onto the main road which

Veers upwards. One of the main

Hills of the city, at the cusp of the

South side.

From here you can see out across

Edinburgh. Way out – the stark

Erratic shapes of the volcano

In the East. All purple now in

The rain clogged skies.

On you go, up to the library.

Which is by the crossroads.

Which is always ferocious

With traffic. Across the road

There are a few small

Supermarkets and a betting

Shop. There’s also a tiny chapel.

You can’t tell whether it’s

Still in use anymore. Directly

Ahead of you is the Superbowl

Fish and Chip shop. With its

Tacky sign and greasy windows

And the metal stools inside,

The whole thing brimming with

A sense of oil and fat,

Even though it’s closed now.

It’s been here as long as you

Can remember, ever since

You were a boy.

And, if the chapel is discontinued

These days (which it probably

Is), it will be the longest-serving

Shop in this cluster of civilisation.

This really is the last stop in

Edinburgh’s south:

Walk five minutes beyond the

Superbowl

And you’re technically out of

The city.

But, you’re not going that way;

When you hop across the road

You turn right and then go into

The local library.

It’s a small place with a

Respectable sense of bravery.

There’s nobody in it aside from

A mother playing with her tot,

And the two librarians manning

The desk. You hand a book back in.

Then head over to the poetry

Section and get out this new

Book you’ve never heard of before,

And leave,

Back into the blustery street.

There is a Miner’s Club the other

Side of the road. With a big red

T hanging by the wall. The kind

Of joint you would never, ever

Go into.

You walk the other side of the hill

And descend that way.

It’s changed since you were

Last here.

There used to be an estate here,

With these brown crumbly

Flats. And, there are new flats

Here these days which only look

Different in that they’re slightly

Newer. The grass in their lower

Gardens is thick up to kneelength.

You pass a Polish shop.

And these dark memories of

Alcoholism go through your

Mind, when you used to drink

Those strong Polski piwo cans

Up in Aberdeen. They tasted

Awful and they were hardcore

Percentage wise … and you were

Sure glad those days were long

In the past. You come upon

Another building which looks

Like it might be another pub …

But when you near it, discover

An ice cream parlour, looking

About as out of place as anything

In the gnarly weather and

Surroundings.

Dotted either side of this main

Road are the semi-attached houses

Of the neighbourhood, in greys

And terracotta, with their hedges

Brimming in wet emerald, their

Streets narrow and secretive.

You get to the middle part of the hill,

Where the bridge goes over the valley

With its white paint rusting off,

And you take the gate off the

Road and into the valley park,

Where so many drivers have,

In the past, lobbed their cans and

Plastic or whatever off the bridge,

That the floor under the trees is

All filled with said junk.

As you head down the path the

Noise of the traffic wanders away.

You figure you’ll do some reading

As you walk – so take out that book

Of poetry from your bag, and

Open the pages, to see what’s up.

[curiositymeanings]

W h a l e S h a r k

Whether it could be called a ‘beach’ was up for debate; erosion had long ago tightened its grip on the narrow inlet and worn away at the low sand banks so that harried parents struggling to watch their various children, flailing like tentacles in all directions, and easy lean sinuous sunbathers alike came to resent the theft of their precious sanctuaries and had resolved to deal with the problem decades earlier. The clumsy solution was two long grey slabs which tried their best to do a convincing impression of sand banks. Visually they were not successful, but the groups that gathered on the north and south sides seemed happy enough, and if the ground was a little harsh and unyielding, it was at least sand free and predictable in all weather conditions. The water too offered predictability, rarely rousing itself to a full swell but instead bobbing the swimmers gently while providing ample depths for environmentally conscious amateur snorkelers hoping to catch a glimpse of a blue groper, stringaree or elusive goatfish.

Standing on one of the slate banks at midday, the gently undulating lid of the water revealed and also concealed things within it, seeming utterly transparent and yet allowing things to carry on their silent,  solitary lives until a few inches from below the surface at which point it would be too late to do anything but gape in awe at the oncoming assault. Smaller children edged gingerly towards the sheer sides of the bank to ogle at the ocean and consider these possibilities.

✳ ✳ ✳ 

Day broke grey and still that day, hazy but sunlit, save for the slight menace of dark clouds remote and distant on the horizon. It was warm enough, and plenty of beachgoers thronged either side of the slice of water, darker and more ominous than usual in the clutch of its concrete arms. If it were a clearer day, the runes of the whale shark might have been noticed earlier, an exquisite dot painting gliding towards the bay, a messenger bearing correspondence no witness could have deciphered. In the harsh low overcast light though, the beast, no more than a shadow on the tide, was able to slip by eyes trained on its position, shielded by a bright glare that bounced off the gently bobbing peaks. It arrived in the corridor without any fanfare whatsoever, and by the time anyone had noticed the manmade banks enclosed him completely, providing awkward context for his size which now appeared ridiculous and overwhelming away from the vastness of the ocean proper.

The giant (for it was a giant) seemed so serene, carried as if by some inexorable momentum — but purposefully — through the water. Surely it couldn't be as calm as the sleek movement suggested though.  A thin and yet unfathomably deep barrier of cold blue water contained or deadened any effort on the giant’s part,  but still seemed ready at any moment to break and give way to the behemoth, revealing what would surely be its terrible, powerful true nature. Even the kinder members of its audience, gathered to the lip of the concrete, felt a strange tugging at the peripheries of their perception. It was at once sacred and profane to behold the creature, sacred in the open ocean but now framed like a horrible relief by their plinths, its beauty rendering their incursions into the headland all the more grotesque. It was an unwelcome, unsettling presence that everyone felt, from the leathery grandfathers in their speedos to the tots bedraggled by their wetsuits of armour. It didn’t seem likely to stop anytime soon. 

Suddenly, with the smooth swiftness that all underwater things seem to have over their land locked counterparts, the head of the giant feinted an ascent towards the surface. It’s aura displaced the liquid around it, the surface tension of the water flexing and bending with the shape of it but not yet breaking forth and allowing the shark to pierce the air. Indigo clouds surged forward from the horizon, the sun dimmed or hid itself altogether and for a moment both sides of the banks formed a bridge over the enemy like a furrowed scowling brow, gripped with a sudden and singular purpose. 

As the whale shark drifted finally into the sandy shallows at the end of its corridor procession, the north and south banks descended upon the beach. Spear fishers, fathers armed with plastic pails and spades, young women with parasols, elderly figures with orthopedic sandals fell upon the creature, bringing down as hammers of doom their full strength upon its back. Bird squawks carried on the wind, though what creature made them now no one could rightly say. Only when the frenzy had subsided did the shrieking seem to also die down into still silence. 

✳ ✳ ✳ 

The sky, now darkened completely, allowed the depths of the whale shark’s eyes to perform their mirror trick to perfection. Each attacker, winded by the departure of the vehemence that had gripped them so abruptly, saw themselves reflected in those dark pools in the creature’s head. The seething pattern of its back was now a tawdry canvas, ripped and torn in long shredding motions down its length, its harmonious colour scheme punctuated by dark red hues of sagging wounds. Soon the sun would climb above the clouds once more, and a reeking stench would begin to rise up in wafting waves above the giant’s form. The harsh bright light beamed down upon the throng of the sand, piercing them all with its gaze, and they all averted their eyes from the deep reflecting pools, unable to face what they saw in there.

✳ ✳ ✳ 

These things cannot be allowed to fester 

✳ ✳ ✳ 

[hunting-songs]

"I am sorry-" alone listening to the echo of his words made a worried frown cut between her hairless eyebrows as deep as a injury and Senritsu did not wanted to think about what had been done to the other that he thought he needed to change himself for her just because there happned to be other people after her attention. The bells hanging round her ankles whispered lightly like a distant singsang when she climbed on the chair with Kurapika, straddling his lap and laying her arms gently around his neck to fold her hands in his nape with her thumbs tapping a soft song against the sensetive skin at the back of his neck:"-am I not praising and complimenting you often enough that you affannato think, that you have to change for me?" There was a soft smile curling around the young womans dark lips: "That is not good, I am sorry. I better mhmmmm... insistendo correct that mistake." Leaning back with her arms outstretched but her hands still folded in the back of Kurapikas back Senritsu tilted her head from one side to another like a thoughtful bird: "Everytime you look at me your heartbeat grows in tempo and sings me the most dolce song to listen to. Your eyes have the most beautiful colour, be hey hazel or reddish brown or red. Your voice skips up a octave in he most sweetest enthusiasm when you tell me about something you had just read and I find myself seeking out books to give you just so you could talk to me with that voice. You are warm, even if I torture you with me" Senritsu giggled, a mischievous shimmer in her dark grey eyes: "with horrible cold feet. I adore your hands and every single dolce callouse on it." And you touching me with that hands, she did no said that out loud but there was a pause, just a second where she looked at him with her head titled tot he side and a teasing grin tickling at the corner of her lips: "I adore he sound of your clangarb rustling around you like silk, its a melody I could dance to. You are kind and patient and gentle so how could I ever ask for anything else if Everything you do-you talking, you breathing, you walking, is a song. There is no beard needed. There are no muscles needed. You are mhmmmm.... perfect the way you are," and she hummed his name like others would humm a lowepoem: "the oh so great waka-gashira of the Nostradefamily Kurapika." [ @skarletchains ]

Letting out a sigh that was too fake to be real, Kurapika made a slight gesture with his hand to ask her to sit on his lap. “I’m glad to know that there are other people who appreciate a good piece of art.” His tone was honest, calm, and there was a hint of amusement in his voice for his next words. “So, I have competition… mhm… what should I do? Maybe grow a beard? Make my body more prominent? Maybe a sensual dance? Or should I try to get their attention and maybe we should all succumb to the clutches of desire?” It was only a few seconds where Kurapika could hold back his laughter before letting it out lightly at his terrible words.

{ @hunting-songs }