#Under the cut because it's a little long

[front-facing-pokemon]

[bubbieboy]

bliss redesign based off one I made in my teens

thought process + various other bits and bobs under the cut

I was 15 and annoyed by everything that moved when this character first came out, so in my own head I was very much making a Point with this redesign. Hence, I made very minimal changes. I wanted to work with what was already there and basically just make the existing design more thought-through. Little breakdown ahead (keeping in mind i myself am very much An Amateur who doesn’t know shit and am just ranting about my opinions and i also haven’t seen a single second of the 2016 reboot so i don’t know much about Bliss to begin with)

1. one of my Biggest pet peeves with Bliss is that the powerpuff girls each have bangs that are simple, memorable, and iconic while also being unique from each other and being reminiscent of irl little girls hairstyles. It’s very neat and clever and I like it a lot

and then Bliss has this confusing jumble of shapes that looks like it changes in style halfway across her forehead

i have absolutely no idea what the intent is here. My only guess is maybe it’s meant to look weird on purpose like she was trying to cut it herself or something (I suspect it’s something like that since she seems to have normal looking bangs as a little kid from what I can see) but it doesn’t really come off that way if that’s the case. It just looks like baby’s first PPG OC where you Understand that it’s meant to be hair and that it is made out of shapes but have 0 understanding of hairstyle or character design in general. Heck I might have put this exact hairline on a character in the past at the age of like 8

So in my redesign she’s got 5 even notches across her bangs, not thee most exciting change but it does the job I think. It is pretty reminiscent of Blossom but they look different enough from each other that I wasn’t too worried about it

2. low-hanging fruit time, Bliss’s hair color is horrible on the eyes. I’m bewildered at the decision to do this, especially since there is just so much of it, I struggle to think of how she could exist in any scene without hogging all the viewer’s attention constantly. That said, I understand they wanted her to have an unnatural hair color to really signal that she is a Fresh new Teen character from the late 2010’s, which is. Whatever, that’s fine, so she gets purple hair now. I kept the streak for the same reason, especially since she’s got a lot of hair, so no harm in a little extra interest in there.

I also learned recently that her hair glows sometimes? which i did Not know when first drawing her but well i think the darker color helps anyway. It adds some contrast for when she’s normal vs when she’s glowing and makes the latter appear more,, idk threatening or powerful or whatever the mood generally is when she’s doing that.

I did re-add that toothpaste blue to her eyelids though. I like to think it’s also the color of her lasers. It’s a cute color, just not as like 70% of this character’s palette

3. real talk I was drawing this from memory and didn’t mean to change the way her hair flares out from her head. realistically I think the original is fine, maybe just a little boring but fine, so that part of the redesign was an accident. Only thing is, it’s in the exact same position in every screenshot I’ve seen? It doesn’t seem to whip around when she’s flying or anything which looks weird and probably looks weirder in motion, especially since it takes up so much space onscreen. Idk it’s a strange decision, esp since the original show liked to use the ppg’s hair to emphasize their movement, so I’d just bring more movement into her hair. I mean if nothing else it’d make her look cooler.

very very rough little visual of what I mean

I also ended up making it shorter in my redesign—again, not really intentional, but I think it’s better that it eats up a little less of her silhouette

4. Her headband is largely the same, I didn’t hate the idea of her having an accessory, so I just toned down the colors. I’m not personally a fan of the powder blue and that pink heart is very bright and just doesn’t go with the rest of her (once again the color of her hair is doing it no favors). I also moved the heart over. Not necessarily needed I think, but I feel like it reads quicker as a headband and not a weird crown that way+introduces some asymmetry into her design that I think is nice.

5. my biggest gripe other than her bangs are her hips. I’m not against adding anatomy to this character design to make her read visually as older than the girls, but it’s so awkwardly done and distracting. I feel like it even interferes with her line of action more often than not (which is not helped by her unmoving hair).

Part of the issue is she still has the teeny tiny torso, just… with those square-ish hips slapped on, which makes her legs look all gangly and stretched out. I tried to balance out the proportions more in my redesign, as well as change the hips to a flared skirt. I think it helps differentiate her from the girls and still implies hips underneath, it just also functions as a less clunky transition from her torso to her legs.

Lengthening her torso also allows the stripe to look more like a belt above the skirt, which I think helps to sell her as “similar, but not the same” from the ppg

6. Her leggings(? Idk Im not a fashion person) aren’t a bad idea I think. like a more mature version of the girls’ stockings, but I think the white makes them look really distracting. It would help to make them a darker color I think, but since I wanted to keep them reminiscent of the girls’ socks I kept them white and just shortened them.

7. Not really sure what Bliss is wearing on her feet. I think they’re Mary Janes, but they’re drawn a bit different from the girls’ and I honestly think it’s too babyish a shoe for her to wear. I’m not sure what she’s actually wearing in my redesign either honestly, but the goal was just to make them look like the girls’ Mary Janes while clearly being something different.

8. Uh her signature color is something I’ve contemplated changing a lot but to be real I think it’s fine. I feel it was a very bad idea from a marketing standpoint because people were hype about Bunny and would obviously be mad they didn’t get her once the character actually dropped (and in the long-run she would just end up being overshadowed by the character everyone has already assigned that color to) but I’m personally not bugged by her being purple beyond that. If I were to draw them together though I think Bunny would have a more pinky shade of purple and Bliss leans more blue.

Loosely on the same topic, because of Bliss I’ve had a running headcanon that “only child” types of powerpuffs tend to come out purple. Kind of like how trios tend to have a red, blue, and green. It’s a fun little piece of fake lore to rotate around in my brain

Anyway with all that out of the way, here’s some redesigns I decided to have some fun with. Wasn’t being too precious about recognizability or simplicity or anything like that, but I did run out of steam partway through. There’s also one based off Whoopass Bell bc idk, why not

Finally, here’s some OCs I only ever drew once before out of a desire to give Bliss her own teen girl archetypes to form a team with. This is Bee and Beetle, who I’ll probably definitely forget about again immediately after posting this

[vargaslovinghours]

Fandom: Johnny the Homicidal Maniac (But really Vargas lol) Rating: Teen and up Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

What, exactly, did Scriabin take from Edgar when they separated?

My first multichapter fic for Vargas! :D Yay!

(Pls read Ch. 1 first - Ch. 2 is also recommended, but as long as you're caught up on the first, you're good to go!)

-----

Side B

What the fuck.

"It's, it's possible that if, maybe whatever happened earlier, whatever caused all that blood and for us to be knocked unconscious-"

What the fuck.

"-and if I suffered a head injury, then maybe-"

No. That's enough.

Scriabin pushed away from the closet door he'd defensively pressed himself up against and put his hands on Edgar's shoulders, which quieted him. He looked at him expectantly, with eyes that Scriabin somehow only just now realized were casually guarded, curious, uncertain in a way that denoted inexperience. That was so messed up, that was completely wrong. Edgar should've been on guard, absolutely, but only because he knew exactly what Scriabin was capable of. He really didn't want to look at him right now if this was what he was going to be seeing instead.

He spun him quickly and pushed him out the door before he could protest. He got one last look at those wide, confused eyes before he slammed the door behind him, bracing it shut with both hands for good measure.

What. The fuck. His head came forward, making a dull thud as his forehead connected with the door. He doesn't remember me? His fingers curled on the door. What does he mean he doesn't remember me?! How could he not know me?! One hand pushed through his hair; his scalp tingled and that was so weird, he felt it and it was so weird- We literally just- He literally just-! As if pulling him screaming into life wasn't bad enough, now he had decided to play some sick prank!

This can't be true. It's just like him to try and make jokes at the worst possible time, he has no tact.

There was a timid knock on the other side of the door. Scriabin jumped as it resonated through his skull, his elbow, pressed to the door with his hand buried in his hair, set his jaw. Then silence.

If he was really trying to get back in, clear things up, say he was only kidding, he'd actually try.

Nothing.

Scriabin's blood was ice as he went over it again. The way he'd said his name. The vacant look in his eyes as he said it, like his mouth knew its shape but none of the meaning. No fear, no realization, nothing that really felt like Edgar, just sound, just noise.

Maybe he really had-

Oh god. His knees gave out, and his arms had no practice at holding him upright, not yet. His hand slid down the door, his other hand guarding his head as his hair fluffed against the grain.

How could he do this

This is all his fault

Stupid, idiotic

He can't do this to me

I can't believe him

I can't believe this

How dare he leave me alone like this

Thoughts spiralling, and all he could do was hold himself down, press his fingers into the back of his neck, force his chest to his knees and maybe he wouldn't immolate under it all. He was shaking, from tension or fear he couldn't tell, his mind too hazardous and loud to cut through it all. He was shaking, dizzy, and if he moved, letting go would surely kill him.

He can't do this to me.

He breathed. And breathed. And swallowed. Eyes closed, heart pounding, sure. Confusion and dismay, whatever. Pain. Fine. So be it.

This isn't like me. A hand untethered from his vice grip in his hair, and he stayed attached to the floor. It connected with the carpet below him and became a new lifeline. He pushed up and away into a limp sit, arms already burning slightly from holding himself up after all that. He shook his head mildly. This isn't who I'm going to be in life. His body, this fear response be damned, he was in control now.

Regroup. Let's- a mental pause, barely a quarter of a second long as he turned the word in his head. Let's pretend it's all true- what does that mean?

He flopped over, leaned upright with his back against the door, heels of his fists pushed down into the carpet to scootch closer. Moving was so awkward still, very unfitting.

He was acting normal. Well, Edgar's baseline for "normal" had changed considerably, so maybe put an asterisk on that. Not that he was ever normal to begin with, but normal-for-Edgar, -ish. That means he has to have some memory.

Scriabin held out a hand, arm slung over his knee, one finger held out. He had recognized his glasses. One. The apartment. Two. Which key to use. Three. He had said Todd's name. Four.

His stuff can be discounted, he's had all that for a while. Back down to one. The kid is a new fixture. Which means he remembers the last couple months at least. He shook his head and brought his hand up to comb through his hair. Well...it's fuzzy for me, so it probably is for him, too. Scriabin remembered everything in as much clarity as the last couple months allowed, there was no way Edgar would know more even if he had all his memories.

Speaking of which, Scriabin could remember everything. He flipped through; the last two months and bringing Todd in, Edgar's parting words to Johnny, his and Devi's conversation - he grit his teeth - and further back, everything along the way, all the way back. False dreams, shared childhoods, everything that was once Edgar's alone, he still remembered it. Nothing was out of place which made it all the more strange!

This is so fucking weird, if I remember everything, then why would he-

He stopped short. His purported purpose had been to replace Edgar. Take him over completely. If he bought into the conceit for a moment, just to play in the space... He was alive now. That was not as intended; it shouldn't even have been possible.

Did he...give me his memories? Like, all the way? Not just to borrow, to shape him, give him legitimacy - he was alive now. His own person. Separate, embodied, and whole. Was this the price of life?

That's stupid. But possible, he couldn't discount. If this - he brought his hands up and looked down at them, watched himself touch his own chest and felt it beneath his coat, shirt, the nerves firing as his slid his fingers up himself - if this was possible, then...

He continued for a moment, curious and reverant, all of him new and privately exciting, to exist and to touch, to feel, smell, see, all of it clear and fresh and penetrated deeply into his mind, as if a layer of film had been lifted from his senses. The moment passed as the memories, unbidden but important, cluttered in around him again.

There were still a lot of questions, and most of them couldn't be answered without Edgar, ugh. If getting anything out of him before had been like pulling teeth, he was very sobered to think about how it might be now. Depending on how much Edgar remembered, maybe he could start piecing things together.

Did he do it on purpose? Did he know this would happen? There's no way he would have been willing to if he had- But he couldn't ask him things like that. Even if he did remember, admitting something like that...

He was just spinning his wheels at this point. Better to gather what he could from the man himself. He looked up, preparing to stand.

Ah-

The room was still in something of a state.

Edgar would be annoying, or at least distracted by trying to pick up the clothes and uncarefully unpacked items strewn about the floor from Scriabin's very successful excavation of his old glasses. The clutter would have to go if he wanted his full attention.

He grumbled as he pushed off the door to pick up the first few things. First day of life and I'm already his maid. Figures. He's always needed me to clean up after him.

Silence.

Somehow it only just hit him. Thinking alone in the late hours, planning things behind Edgar's back, it was nothing new. But a barb unsunk into his mental flesh was left out in the wide emptiness, poised to stab whoever happened upon it next, and he was the only one here.

He felt very small all of a sudden, and he didn't like it at all.

His eyes blankly scanned the room, looking for nothing, until they settled on the toy at Edgar's bedside. His toy.

He dropped the items he'd bundled into his arms and made his way over. He picked up the small simulacrum, turned it over in his hands once, and stared at it.

He wouldn't know this. Not really. He brushed a thumb up and over the little mouth, the contours of its small face. Retroactively, I've never been this at all.

I'm no one to him.

Does this mean we can start over? The thought struck him like lightning, freezing his heart in his chest. He was fixed solid, staring down at the small figure in his hands.

Before he could even think, he'd already thrown it through the open closet door, landing noisily in the box he'd dug through with a clatter. He grabbed up the fallen clothes and items and stuffed them back in the box, burying the toy in mundane detritus, then closed the cardboard flaps and slammed the door of the closet for good measure.

His breath was laboured and he glared, like wishing it gone would make the closet itself disappear.

Answers. He needed answers, more than anything.

He ripped the door open, and there was Edgar who looked up, staring dumbly back at him and carrying the clothes he'd shed earlier over his arm. Something in his mind clicked over, and he didn't think about it.

"Alright," he caught his breath for half a second, "what do you remember?"

Edgar just kept on staring, mouth open, eyes unconfident behind weak glasses. Scriabin huffed irritably, I don't have time for this, and moved towards him, arm outstretched.

"Come on." Edgar gave a small startled sound behind him as he grabbed his collar and dragged him through the doorway. He threw him across the room, not bothering to watch his arc as he closed the door behind him. The bed was that way, he'd be fine.

When he turned back, Edgar had managed to catch himself, though already halfway on the bed. Scriabin stood with his back to the door, feet planted and he crossed his arms. No more speculating around impossibilities, tangible and present as they might be, it was time for a proper interrogation. It was at least preferable to-

Edgar made a face at him and scooted back, offering a seat next to him on the bed. Equal footing briefly flashed through his mind and while he wouldn't consider it ideal, nothing today was really going his way. He sighed, then made his way over and sat across from Edgar, who was eyeing him with a certain degree of caution. At least the feeling was mutual.

"Spill." He re-crossed his arms and leaned towards Edgar. "What do you know?"

Edgar hesitated, apparently thinking, his hands laced and fingers agitatedly if quietly rubbing the backs of his hands.

"I want to verify some things first."

Scriabin snorted dismissively. Where had Edgar's overly-trusting nature gone? A serial killer, well he's an honoured guest, but Scriabin? He didn't even distrust him for the right reasons.

He gestured with an open hand, Go ahead, then tucked his arm back in.

"Todd's last name?"

Pfsh. At least it was proof enough that anything Edgar knew, Scriabin did as well. As expected.

"Casil. His stupid bear's called Shmee in case you forgot that too." Edgar shook his head. No he hadn't? If only he could just check!

"Do you know our phone number?" Obviously he did, so he rattled it off quickly, Edgar nodding in turn. He flipped his hair in time with the last digit, careful to keep his eyes covered. It was a bit of a timid attempt, being the first in this body, which was a minor blessing he supposed.

Edgar mulled over what he'd given him for a moment, then a moment longer, then a moment even longer. His eyes searched absently, gazing down into his own hand, his other on his chin, lightly thumbing his goatee. He was focused on names and numbers, but those were child's play compared to everything, everything Scriabin still wanted to know. It was frustrating on a visceral level, watching him struggle with such simple innocuous nothings while the most important person in his life was sitting right in front of him.

He was supposed to be the most important.

It was frustrating.

"You really don't remember anything, do you?" He didn't hide the sneer as it shaped his voice - odd the way his body just did that now, did things without him actively thinking them into being. Even things like the little waver that made its way in that he pushed back down and under. He was frustrated, angry, tired - any emotionality could be attributed to those, nothing else.

Edgar didn't answer, just kept his gaze locked to his face. That was almost worse. Watching him fumble through things, it wasn't fun, but at least he wasn't trying to pry. He could see him try to look past his bangs, and the fact that he didn't know better...

Scriabin looked away for a moment, then thought better of it. Best defense is a good offense.

He reached for Edgar's face, for those damn scars, ever-present reminders. Edgar shied away, not wanting to be touched suddenly by someone he didn't know. As if Scriabin had ever cared about that.

Well, things were different now. Maybe he didn't really want to touch him anyway. Not yet.

"Do you remember these...?" Instead he framed his face with his hands less than an inch from his skin, and even there he could feel the heat coming off him. Edgar reached for his face, looking away from Scriabin as he touched the angry red marks. He winced minutely, then glanced back at Scriabin, searching him, his expression guarded again. Scriabin could hear his own pulse in his ears.

"...Johnny?"

"Fuck." Fuck! "Of course you'd remember him but not me." God damn it! It wasn't right, it wasn't fair, just because Johnny came first by a hair's breadth, just because he wasn't in Edgar's head, with Edgar's fucked up little obsession with the murderous stick figure- It limited what he could get away with too, if he remembered that far back. Absolutely nothing was going in his favour.

"I'm sorry..." He sounded genuinely remorseful, and it stuck in his throat. Disgusting. "So you know Johnny, too."

"Unfortunately." Scriabin tucked his chin to his chest, arms crossed again in close proximity. This sucks. Edgar just kept rambling, unaware as ever. His excuses held this time at least, one point in his favour, no points for bringing his annoying habits with him despite everything.

"I don't think I've seen him for a couple months now? Everything's awfully..." He gave a vague gesture and Scriabin uncurled slightly. He was giving him room to contribute. He shook his head.

"You haven't."

"Have you?"

He returned to his tight coil of sulking. Not like he was keen to meet up and chat, but he couldn't explain why he hadn't had the opportunity to either.

"I remember he called, too."

"Ugh," barely above breath. Enough about Johnny! Again, Edgar continued obliviously.

"Although I don't really recall what we talked about, not for a while..."

Of course not. I took over for half of those.

He perked a bit, and Edgar focused more on him, patiently setting his hands in his lap.

"You know."

He could play this to his advantage. Give Johnny some well-deserved karmic justice for fucking him over so many times. It was almost better that Edgar didn't know - Scriabin had been trying to get him away from Johnny all this time, and if he really had forgotten everything, not just the moments when Scriabin took over but every moment they had shared, then that meant it coincided almost perfectly with his first meeting with Johnny. Blank spot after blank spot after blank spot, all lined up immediately after getting his face slashed.

He could work with that.

"It's probably trauma." Edgar startled and his hand shot to his temple, lightly touching his hair.

"Like, head trauma?" Scriabing almost laughed. Yeah, probably that too. But that wouldn't help his case.

"No." He leaned in, taking a more intimate, secretive tone. "Think about it. When did things start getting fuzzy?" If he was right on this - which of course he was, but not being able to verify, not being able to see that he was right, it was disconcerting - but if he was, Edgar's memories of Scriabin should start with that first fateful encounter, give or take. A bit of reframing here, a touch of implication there... It probably wasn't even an outright lie; if Edgar's memory were perfect after experiencing everything Johnny had put them through, that would be some kind of twisted miracle.

His only real concern was their "childhood" - how much had Scriabin pulled with him? Would that throw off his story? But that was so far back, there was no way Scriabin or Johnny could be implicated in that. As long as Edgar didn't bring it up before he thought his way around it...

Edgar stayed quiet for a long while. His eyes raced behind closed eyelids, searching, scanning, retracing - Scriabin could almost see the moments where he hesitated, stopped and went back, then starting recollecting again. He wished he could see it for real, watch him unfold himself, touch those memories again, hold up his own in contrast. Even just hear Edgar's thoughts as they went by, feel the emotions he felt. But he couldn't, so he just stared as unblinkingly as this new body would allow, just watched as Edgar went over everything on his own.

He finally opened his eyes, staring back into Scriabin's though he was sure they were still hidden. He felt naked and awkward and Edgar still hadn't said anything. If he could just see like he was supposed to, or if Edgar would just tell him, he wouldn't have to ask. I have to do everything around here.

"It was after you met him, wasn't it?"

"You think it's...mental trauma?" An unspoken 'yes.' Relief flooded him, and he pushed ahead.

"Edgar. He stabbed you." Edgar gripped his shoulder, his eyes closing again and he looked to be in pain. That was a very effective reminder at least. "Do you even know why?" He shook his head and spoke throught half-grit teeth.

"I must have made him mad, but I don't remember-" Of course not, I did that.

"Your mind is trying to protect you." Not. But one of us has to with your inexhaustable deathwish. Scriabin reached out to touch him properly, but Edgar pulled away. He didn't follow, still not yet. Play up the pity. "He messed you up so bad," with a curl in his tone, an I told you so that barely made it to words even privately; how long had he been holding that in? "Surely you must've felt like you wanted, you needed to get away from him, that he wasn't good for you, that you-" He'd told him so many times, some it must have stuck, some of it had to have-

"Then-!" Edgar's eyes shot open, wide and desperate with an edge of disbelief. A strangled gasp escaped him, half-choking him as he tried to speak. "Then why can't I remember you?!"

He almost began rolling off the cuff, but really, he still didn't know for sure. And it definitely wasn't like he could tell the truth even if he wanted to; who, who hadn't lived it, would believe him? Edgar certainly wouldn't, not with his lack of imagination. He had to dress this up, weave a narrative that was plausible, had the perfect mix of truth and falsehood to stand up to scrutiny.

Huh. Ironic.

"I..." No. Some of this was Edgar's fault too. "We...argued."

"Argued?"

"I... Mng." He wanted to aim for some kind of levity, but his throat had tightened on him. He just wanted to tell this stupid inside joke and not have it affect him, not have it mean anything, and here he was getting emotional? He'd say it and fucking mean it. "It's not like I'm in your head, so-" spat out in a rush, there, he'd said it. Haha, isn't that so funny. He swallowed harshly, pushing down everything he felt into his stomach acid. He was in control. He was fine. This didn't shake him. "I can't know for sure," another humourless laugh inside, "but I was against your relationship with Johnny. Maybe you shut me out so you could keep seeing him with no pushback."

It certainly wasn't outside the realm of possibilities of what Edgar would do to avoid taking Scriabin's extremely basic advice about fraternizing with serial killers. How many times had he been ignored up to this point, only to culminate in the ultimate 'I don't know what you're talking about.' Pfeh. I bet he wishes he'd thought of this sooner. It did nothing for his painfully stuttered pulse.

"You know, I've been trying to convince you to stop going back to him for a while, but, well..." He waved his hand at Edgar's hand still death gripped into his shoulder, and Edgar averted his eyes guiltily. At least he showed some remorse. Better than his nigh constant apologia.

He stayed quiet a moment longer, and just before Scriabin made to fill the silence again, Edgar struck him with an intense look.

"What are you to me?" Ugh. Of course. There was not a single good answer for that. Even if he told him everything- no, especially if he told him everything, there was no way Edgar would believe him. But coming up with a convincing lie on the spot, when they were so clearly something to each other - even he needed time to come up with something workable. How could he have ever prepared for a situation like this? It was never meant to happen, so many things were never meant to happen!

He continued at Scriabin's silence. "You know Nny," Ugh! Even his awful nickname. "And Todd. And...me." He couldn't refute it, so he nodded tightly. "Do you live here?"

Technically he had, and technically he hadn't. Still, going forward, it would be easier to let Edgar assume that he did. It wasn't like he had anywhere else to go at the moment anyway.

"Yes."

"Are we..." He searched him, looked him over as much as he could and he wasn't subtle about it. If only Scriabin had his proper glasses, he'd let him look as much he wanted, behold his spectacle! As it was, he just felt self-conscious and it was very unbefitting. "...family?"

The baggage on that. He did not feel like opening that particular can of worms in either of their current states. He turned his head and flipped through any number of halfway decent ways to phrase it until he hit on something Edgar would remember. Better not to contradict for now.

"You told Johnny you have no family when you met."

"That's true..." Edgar blinked, processing. "Wait, did I tell you that?" Scriabin startled. Even after he'd accounted for his memory! Of course he had to pick his story apart now, he never knew when to leave well enough alone.

"When you-" No, he had to be involved. "When we bandaged your face."

Edgar mulled on that for a few seconds, taking on a thoughtful pose. "I only remember being alone."

"You don't remember me at all. What do you want from me?" He huffed.

"No, sorry, you're right."

"Thank you." He was right!

Where had Edgar expected him to be? There was something weird about how he'd said it. He filed the thought away for later.

"So, if you've been living here, where..." Edgar looked around the room, then back to Scriabin. "Where have you been sleeping? Todd's already on the couch..."

Scriabin couldn't help as a smile sprung to his face. If he was going to present him with such a perfect opportunity, well, he'd better take it. He even had the decency to look nervous in response! This was too good.

"Would you believe me if I said right here, in bed?" He again tucked his chin, playfully this time, his hair falling further in his eyes. Even through the dark tangles he could make out Edgar's face immediately bristling with heat.

Ooh. That's such a fetching shade on you, my dear.

"But-! I, I haven't been sleeping on the floor!" He was visibly sweating!

"Correct." His smile grew. This was too easy, and he needed an easy win right about now.

"W-" He leaned forward on his legs, though refused to get any closer. When he spoke it was a harsh whisper. "Why...?"

Scriabin shrugged easily, not bothering to reign in his smile in the least. "I mean, where else, right?" He leaned in since Edgar refused to, and oh. He was blushing all the way up to his scalp. Hilarious. "You certainly didn't seem to mind." He couldn't hold back the slightly musical tone or his eyebrows inclination to move on their own. His body knew what he was getting at, and he could see it only increased Edgar's fluster. All the better.

"Well I do now!" Edgar darted up and away, stumbling in his hasty retreat. "If you'll excuse me!" though he was already practically in the hallway by the time he said it. What a display, and Scriabin's laugh was loud and natural.

Finally, something positive. He'd managed to fumble his way through, not his best work in lying or manipulation, but he'd set some important groundwork. He'd gotten some answers, and he could start to shape some more believable stories around them.

The biggest hurdles were Johnny and Devi. As long as Edgar didn't meet with them too soon - or well, at all would be preferable, but he doubted he could just keep him locked up, as much as the idea appealed to him. There were so many things that were possible now, things that he had the ability to do, given the right circumstances... All of that in due time. For now he had a yarn to spin.

He listened as Edgar fumbled in the hall, the sheer sound of cloth being pulled and folded over an arm barely perceptable. Was he really going to try to sleep on what little was left over? Maybe he'd give up once he realized the pickings were thin and beg Scriabin to let him sleep with him. Hah.

While he was out, Scriabin made his way over to the pajamas drawer. They were all old and soft, even just to his hand. They'd do for now, until he could get his own. It wasn't like he hadn't worn all this before anyway.

By the time he'd finished dressing, his clothes discarded on the opposite side of the bed to where Edgar had set up his little nest, Edgar had finally gotten himself a set of pajamas. He wondered for a moment if he'd dress with Scriabin in the room again, though maybe his intense stare drove him off. Who could say. He patted the bed with a wide grin when he returned and was dutifully ignored. He settled down to the side, and Scriabin laid on his arms to look down at him.

"Ugh, lame."

"I don't-"

"Yeah, whatever." He'd heard it all before. At least he could literally look down on him like this. He folded his hands and leaned just a bit further, looking him over. A desire he hadn't realized he had surfaced in the dark and quiet. "Give me your hand."

"Sorry?" Scriabin held out his hand expectantly.

"I used to hear your heart beat every day." Edgar looked at him incredulously, but Scriabin was unperturbed. "Let me hear it again."

He hesitated but eventually slowly offered his arm. "...Okay."

He pulled his arm up and placed his thumb against his wrist. He felt a strange mismatch - where he'd been expecting one heartbeat, there were two. He covered his surprise, near shock at the realization that of course he had his own body now, by pulling harder on Edgar's arm, directing him up to his ear.

"Wh-"

"Shh." Quietly. He had wanted this, wanted this body, this separation, this freedom for so long, and now... He spoke quietly, his voice betraying nothing. "I'm listening."

Edgar's pulse was erratic, but he hardly paid attention to it. His own fingers on Edgar's skin, warm and pliant, and Edgar's fingers twitching in his hair, he could feel it, he was trying not to touch him- This hesitation was killing him, every jerky movement away not from fear of what Scriabin could do to him, just uncertainty, like he was still a stranger- He pressed him harder to his head, and he could feel goosebumps under his fingers. He wanted to just hold him there until all the memories they'd shared poured back through him, into his blood, into his breath.

Where are you?

But he replied in that same uncertain, guarded tone that indicated he didn't know, not really.

"C...can I have my arm back now?"

He pushed him away. "Fine." Edgar curled his hand protectively against his chest, and he noticed he rubbed it slightly, he probably hadn't even realized.

He mumbled out a harried "Good night," and it was almost enough to make Scriabin smile. Almost. He could still affect him but this wasn't enough, it wasn't right.

He laid his head on the pillow, not bothering to pull his arm up over the side of the bed. If he twitched in the night and touched Edgar, well, that could mean anything. Maybe he was dreaming. Maybe he did it on purpose. Plausible deniability was one of his greatest assets.

As it was, he was just tired. Maybe he didn't pull it back because he hated the thought of sleeping alone, pushed out and forgotten, and hated it more that he was even thinking something like that. How pathetic. He didn't need anyone, especially not Edgar.

But he was tired. Not in his right mind.

Does this mean we can start over...?

The thought echoed and died, and he slept.

[beeduoo]

originnssssss who remembers origins i Loved origins

Lowkey i ate with rhis actually no i didn't i ate wirh rhat ENDER EYE Why is it so rendered Hello

IGNORW RHEIR UGLY UGLY DESIGNS This was before they switched to their iconic Skins past e didn't know......

[gemkun]

@defiedlife said : The drinksmith watches from behind the bar counter, her eyes falling on one of the few humans to have passed by the Dreamjolt Hostelry in the last day or so—time blurring as it can in the dreamscape. From her pocket, she withdraws a folded letter, sealed with a bit of scrap wax borrowed from a recently opened bottle; remelted and stamped by a certain gambler’s ring. “Hey Doc,” she calls out, then lowers her voice upon drawing closer. “Your friend left this here for you. Said to give it to you after… Well, he said I’d know, and dreamscape gossip always finds its way to a drinksmith. If you want anything, it’s on the house.” With a faint sympathetic smile, she places the letter before Veritas and returns to her usual post, giving him ample space and privacy. Should the good doctor choose to read the letter, it is penned in a familiar curling, sloping, and artfully messy yet legible scrawl:

First of all, if you're reading this, thank Siobhan for me. I had a feeling she'd come through. As I write this, you're probably talking to that Family head on my behalf right about now. If you've really gone through with what we discussed…know that I forgive you, no matter what happens as a result. Don't worry; I'm used to it! In fact, I owe you my thanks for taking this gamble right along with me. I couldn't have trusted anyone else to do the same. I won't bore you with with some long-winded emotional spiel, but…it's been fun, Veritas. It's an honor and a pleasure to work alongside the great Veritas Ratio. If things go badly for me in the end and I lose this gamble, try not to miss me too much, okay? Ha… I bet you're rolling your eyes right about now after reading that. No matter what the final outcome is, I'm ready for it. I knew how things might end the moment I accepted this mission. It's a risk I have to take. I've always lived that way, y'know? This is no different than any other gamble I've ever made. Win or lose, I'm probably still not back in reality yet. If "Death" hasn't taken my body from the real world… Keep an eye on it for me, would you? Maybe I'll surprise you soon. If not, if I lose and don't come back at all... Say that prayer I taught you over what's left of me, if you wouldn't mind, and send me back home to Sigonia-IV if you can keep The Family and the IPC from disposing of me elsewhere. I'd appreciate it. Of course, you could also choose to burn this letter and forget about me entirely. I wouldn't blame you. Whatever you decide to do from here on... Thanks for everything you've already done, Veritas. I'll always love you. — Kakavasha

      ⸻       system   hours   ago   it   seems   ,   they   were   just   here.   present   in   the   vicinity   ,   where   he   had   observed   a   slumbering   individual   ,   tuckered   out   from   slamming   down   a   few   too   many   servings   of   soulglad.   though   ,   despite   his   practice   ,   it   wasn’t   necessarily   uncalled   for   —   considering   the   cascade   of   events   about   to   unfold   ,   catalysed   upon   their   departure.

  gaze   drifts   ,   casting   along   the   crevices   of   wooden   panels   ,   constructing   the   bench   of   the   rather   deserted   establishment.   an   element   that   is   beneficial   in   his   case.   for   he   desires   to   be   by   his   lonesome   ,   in   preparation   for   countless   ruminations   already   beset   in   an   unsettled   mind.

  attention   spears   suddenly   ,   exhibiting   from   the   outset   —   an   emergence   of   hostility   ,   purposed   to   dissuade   company.   until   it   softens   ,   dissipating   from   the   premise   of   her   mission.   for   the   sake   of   appearances   ,   he   brushes   his   disposition   aside   ,   luring   siobhan   to   account   it   to   his   weary   state.

  evident   ,   by   the   mere   nod   he   elects   for   ,   in   acknowledgement   of   her   relayed   message.   ❝   thank   you   ,   but   that   won’t   be   necessary.   ❞   it   is   a   simple   platitude   ,   but   one   he   utters   nevertheless   ,   despite   bearing   lacklustre   vocals.   fortunately   ,   the   role   of   a   bartender   prepares   the   envoy   for   a   myriad   of   characters    —   one   ,   being   the   detached   and   worn   scholar.

  time   ,   a   variable   that   had   been   in   limited   supply   ,   is   on   his   side   now   ,   as   he   regards   the   slovenly   missive.   there   are   plenty   of   details   veritas   notes   that   the   stoneheart   had   proceeded   to   accomplish   with   haste   —   from   the   misaligned   press   to   the   creases   in   stationery   ,   and   the   stark   composition   of   choice   ,   alongside   the   tucked   paper   in   its   interior.

  it   is   all   so   .   .   .   him.

  the   doctor   sighs   ,   with   an   air   of   displeasure   ,   and   perhaps   a   glimpse   of   relief.

  before   his   artful   portrait   reverts   to   its   former   expression   ,   in   its   neutral   structure.

  reined   in   ,   his   thumb   traces   the   envelope   and   its   length   ,   dipping   slightly   to   tear   at   fragile   material.   whether   or   not   he   carves   a   perfect   line   ,   is   not   his   concern   presently   ,   for   there   is   only   one   fate   after   his   eyes   gauge   the   contents   of   terrible   scrawls.   his   index   then   ,   unfolds   the   written   piece   ,   unveiling   recognisable   script.

  he   begins   to   read.

  .   .   .

  tch.

  were   he   present   ,   a   storm   was   awaiting   ,   circling   the   lectures   he   had   in   store   for   such   impetuous   exchange   of   information.   what   if   someone   had   managed   to   intercept   this   ?   ❝   even   when   you   are   absent   ,   you   manage   to   be   as   careless   as   ever.   damned   gambler   ,   when   will   you   learn   ?   ❞   he   mutters   under   his   breath   ,   with   a   lick   of   frustration.   luckily   ,   audibility   is   caught   before   it   can   disperse   ,   by   the   page   in   his   firm   grasp.

  tightened   ,   his   throat   becomes   suddenly.   for   the   validity   of   his   question   requires   a   factor   he   possesses   no   control   over.

  a   fact   veritas   doesn’t   want   to   dwell   on   ,   nor   consider   currently.

  so   ,   he   does   not.

  what   he   does   linger   on   ,   is   the   request.   a   noble   and   respectable   ask.   one   ,   the   mundanite   will   perform   without   question.   but   this   is   not   his   struggle   —   for   a   delegate   is   familiar   with   conducting   duties   expected   of   him   ,   and   carrying   out   associated   tasks.   he   is   not   ,   however   ,   acquainted   with   the   subject   ,   attached   to   its   conclusion.

  ❛    veritas.   i'll   always   love   you.

  —   kakavasha   ❜

  it   is   enough   to   elicit   a   sour   response   ,   indeed.   with   a   derisive   laugh   —   and   one   ,   not   alien   to   him.   perhaps   it   is   the   comical   aspect   of   this   farce   ,   or   perhaps   it   is   the   cruelty   leashed   to   the   occurrences   that   led   up   to   this   unprecedented   confession   ,   or   perhaps   it   is   the   fact   he   had   known.

  deep   down   ,   beyond   those   carefully   ,   cultivated   barricades   ,   past   his   security   measures.

  he   had   always   known.

  paper   crumples   ,   breaching   the   persisting   silence   for   an   instance   before   he   alights   from   his   stool   and   meanders   to   the   exit   of   the   dreamjolt   hostelry.   still   ,   crinkling   the   letter   as   he   braves   penacony   ,   with   an   inkling   of   animosity.

  it   is   out   of   safety   ,   that   he   sources   a   fire   in   the   land   of   dreams.   an   easy   feat   he   accomplishes   ,   inciting   flames   to   eat   the   tarnished   profession   ,   whereupon   the   dawn   feeds   it   ,   igniting   sparks   to   consume.   until   there   is   only   embers.   until   there   is   only   ash.

  until   there   is   nothing.

  but   in   the   wake   of   particulates   ,   whisked   by   the   wind   ,   there   is   only   one   thought   ,   prevalent   in   his   mind   as   he   examines   the   inferno.

  come   back   to   me   ,   gambler.

  don’t   you   know   ?

  .   .   .

  ah   ,   there   is   work   to   be   done.

[greyias]

On @thievinghippo's recommendation for a Stardew Valley-like game with more plot, I picked up "My Time at Portia" like... months ago. Put off playing it for a while, launched it once and enjoyed it... then I made the mistake of deciding to launch it this weekend because "the ruin diving is fun and relaxing"

Several lost nights of sleep later, and a long weekend/vaction days I had planned on using to write... I'm in deep. I've been regaling @grumpyhedgehog with the tales of how between awkward timing on my part, randomized in-game events how one NPC who is probably supposed to be dashing and competent is coming off as the biggest damn dork and it's incredibly hilarious and endearing.

Poor Arlo here keeps trying to be this suave and competent savior, promising to save my builder from conmen trying to shake her down, and track down thieves, to arrive to every situation fifteen minutes late with Starbucks as my character is dusting her hands off, having already handled everything. And then he gets frustrated and starts telling me how he's supposed to be the one beating people up and saving the town. Which of course means he brings her along on a stakeout, I guess so he can keep an eye on her since she's getting into trouble anyway?

A Running List of Possibly Accidental In-Game Arlo Shenanigans:

He was the only person to remember my character's birthday -- including ME. I was so intent on fixing the town's water supply I forgot until he comes sneaking by at 7am to drop a gift off without even waving hello

The gift has battle stats -- so I put it on, and ironically get stuck in the hardest little dungeon crawl of the game with no healing items brought along (because I had no clue), and only his gift (and another NPC) to keep me alive

I finally get through the plot and stagger out to him and he's like "Oh hey thanks for fixing the water problem" and proceeded to pretend like he hadn't snuck a gift on my doorstep before the ass crack of dawn

He wanted me to make him a bag, with a time sensitive delivery that if I missed, I'd lose relationship points and reputation. So I rush to finish it. Then the game decides to lock him in eternal battle day and night, because of plot, and he refuses to talk to me to take his gd bag that I worked really hard on, and just shouts at me to go get supplies to fix the hole because enemies keep spawning every five seconds.

So I have to work day and night to get the items to fix the plot thing, so he doesn't hate me because he WON'T TAKE HIS BAG THAT I'M WAVING MADLY AT HIS FACE and then once the plot is advanced he's like "Oh hey thanks bag looks great, sure we can go on a platonic buddy date" and walks off

Shows up five hours early during a festival at the platonic buddy date spot to ask me to make him a training dummy, runs off

Comes back for the platonic buddy date, happily takes the spicy spaghetti I learned how to make just for him because he wouldn't stop talking about how much he wanted spicy spaghetti. Then he's like "I have stuff to do" five minutes into our buddy date and just leaves

I get fed up and challenge him to combat in the street. Despite being several levels lower than him, somehow manage to kick his ass in front of the entire town

This apparently is an extremely attractive thing to do. He shows up on my doorstep at 7am the next morning to ask ME on a platonic buddy date. I guess we'll see if this lasts a whole ten minutes this time.

Anyway, this game is now sucking up every last braincell, in the exact same way Stardew Valley did until I got my fill. So I guess this is just what I'm doing until something distracts me (probably the swtor 7.3 update, whenever that happens, because that usually derails my brain for a solid week)

[devilsskettle]

inspired by @taikacohen ’s boy posting 

[game-weaver]

What if: A Princeling and a Pharaoh

The world was a fascinating thing, especially when it was young and its shifting was still sluggish and sleepy. In a time when the veil between was only starting to close like curtains being drawn for the night. When those of magic still walked the earth with elegance and power. The dragons of the East ruled their mountains and skies, the many animal shifters of the west ran the forests, and the fae kept careful watch of the shifting times. 

They could see the impending dangers that laid ahead as they watched humanity grow. Threats that were barely seeds now that would one day grow to be greater than any weed in a garden, overtaking the fresh greenery, choking out the magic and burning it to ash. The Royals could see the path that would be taken and, even though it was many, many years away, were already preparing their lands. Slowly they separated their world and created doors for others to come and go easily so when the time came to seal the path, it would be quick and painless. 

But it was so long away...

And a little Prince couldn't help thinking it foolish for now, the human world was vast and fun, and to him, why not enjoy it for the time being? Sure there was the inevitability of needing to close off their own lands but for now, why expend the effort and energy for something hundreds if not a couple thousand years down the line? 

It was something for his father to worry about anyway, and he scoffed at Oberon trying to keep him near the palace. So here he was, exploring places he had never been, far from the greenery of the hills and forests and instead following a grand river and sands that stretched as far as the eye could see and grand cities with stone walls and a palace that caught his eye. 

Guards meant little to him, a simple glamour to mask himself as he fluttered over the wall and blinked his wide violet and gold eyes. If there was one thing Yugi loved, it was watching people and from his perch it was a great view to observe. There were of course those armed milling around, servants and maids coming and going, some with arms full with baskets of food, others with linens for washing, fancy tall men with robes and hats discussing important matters with gold items that glinted in the sun. 

The Prince hummed to himself. It seemed like something was going on, a gathering perhaps? A feast of sorts? He kept hearing the term 'pharaoh', spoken in such reverence that he assumed it had to be a god or a ruler. He wanted to see more, know more, if it was a party they were throwing, perhaps this little mischievous fae could crash it. 

With a flick of his wings he descended the wall and slipped silently through a window. For a moment he marveled at the architecture, it was so vastly different from what he knew in his own home with arching marble and elegant woven branches, but it was no less grand in its own way. He paused at the depictions on the walls, artful pictures and writings adorned them, but he was more thrown off by the depiction of a man with unusual hair and he couldn't help but touch his own wild, spiky mess. Well now he was even more interested.

His footsteps were light as he followed the sound of chatter and music, wings tucked down against his back. The easiest thing to do, and could already hear his father scolding him, would be to make himself invisible with a glamour and simply observe.

But what would be the fun in that? 

Yeah he could watch and sate his curiosity by simply knowing what was going on, but he wanted to be in the moment. Time was so fleeting with humans, they changed so quickly and their lives were so short. This celebration, whatever it was for, might end and then the next time Yugi was here might be hundreds of years later and there might not be a celebration at all. 

Sneaking into another room nearby, he found clothing to change into. It wasn't too unlike his own, light and airy, if rather sheer. It worked out perfectly, keeping his back open for his wings, even if they were hidden to the naked eye they were still there, and he decorated himself with gold jewelry that matched his fae markings. Once changed he once again followed the music, carefully avoiding anyone's gaze until he finally found the grand hall.

"Wow," he breathed, it was a feast to rival any of the festivals his own people had. The table full of food, music in the air, the room was filled with people drinking, chatting, laughing. And dancers-Oh, now he saw why the clothes he found were so light. He smirked, how perfect to slide right on into the party.

He took a moment to watch the dancers, get a feel for their movements and the beat of the music, before he spun himself into the mix. The Prince grinned as he twisted and arched, there were a few whispers, some questioning who he was but there were enough people to not dig too deep at the sudden, paler skinned dancer. Perhaps he was a newbie, or someone recently brought in. 

The Prince didn't care, he was having fun and that was all that mattered to him. He loved music and he loved to dance so he could hardly help himself from letting himself fully enjoy it. Fae, when glamoured, could very easily pass as human but some things shown through even the best of actors. Their movements just slightly more ethereal, their eyes seeming to hold just a little more glint, their air of mischief that hung like a mist around them. Yugi was no different as he danced, even as he matched the dance moves, he stood out just enough. He didn't miss the way some eyes stayed on him, one in particular a crimson gaze from up on the golden throne.

In fact, he welcomed it. And he toyed with it, keeping those eyes on him as he moved his hands and arms like he was weaving a tapestry, keeping him entranced. Only to slip out of the group of dancers every time he saw someone starting to approach with an intent to talk to him. It was easy to slink into the crowds, play it off as going to indulge in food and drink, and as soon as he was seen again, disappear back to the middle of the dancers and once again dance just out of reach. 

It was a game, like cat and mouse. Though the hunter only thought he in control and the mouse was unsuspecting prey. 

The night continued like this, Yugi dancing to his heart's content and every time a priest or guard approached on Pharaoh's orders, he'd disappear for a moment and appear elsewhere out of reach. But never completely, he was enjoying the party far too much to simply leave, and besides this king of theirs was quite interesting. A living vessel of a god, hm? That was what he had gathered from listening to those around him whisper about their ruler. Fascinating indeed...Made him all the more fun to play with, as he went to slide once more into the shadows of a doorway...

But a hand closed around his wrist this time and when he was spun around, back to the wall, he was actually surprised to come face to face with those wine red eyes. The Prince did something no other had probably dared do when facing the pharaoh, he grinned. 

"I didn't even see you leave the dais." He hummed.

"You are a slippery thing, aren't you." The kings voice was a low rumble, gaze raking over the man before him. There was something...Unusual about him and he couldn't place what.

"And yet, you caught me in the end." Yugi heaved out a sigh, as if it were the last of his intentions. 

"That I did. How could I not when you simply commanded a whole room in an instant when you suddenly appeared." 

"But I have been in here the whole time." The fae blinked, feigning wide eyed innocence. 

"You and I both know that is a lie." 

"Oh but I never lie." Yugi grinned again. Lie, no. Twist the truth? Absolutely.

"Uh huh." Fingers traced one of his swirling gold markings on his arm. "I think we should go elsewhere and chat."

"Hmm tempting." Yugi purred, pretended to think about it, leaning up against the king before him. "But no," and with a fluid motion, he ducked the Pharaoh's arm and spun into the next room.

For a split second, Atem was dumbstruck at someone having absolutely no fear in front of the king, let alone telling him no. Quickly he followed after, only to catch the faint sound of a flutter leaving the window, and the room empty.

Yugi laughed as he flew away. He'd have to visit again, if anything, to see that wide eyed look of shock on the pharaoh's face at least once more.

[maddy-ferguson]

i am not anti jncy but i see no point in bringing stncy back in s4 and showing that nancy still feels some sort of attraction towards him if stncy is not gonna be a thing again? like why bring that plotline back in s4 for no reason in the same season jncy still are having relationship problems?

also nancy obviously is shown to feel something for steve whether or not ppl dismiss it or not. you could say that s1 was just not that deep sort of attraction, but then how u explain s4? there is no point in showing nancy's confusion and attraction towards steve in this season (and it doesnt make sense to bring the stncy tension back either).

this was sent to me before i talked about being a jncy endgame doubter yesterday and so for a minute there i was like oh my god single nancy truther ask? they know? but it wasn't that actually.

i don't know why you sent this to me specifically but you came to the right person as i am neither a jncy lover nor a jncy hater. i loved them in 2016 but season 2 kind of made me...stop caring. don't ask me why. i do however hate stncy so i'm not 100% impartial but it's not like i'd bend over backwards to make sense of jncy ending up together. i agree that it's really funny that people (on this side of the fandom especially!) don't seem to find jncy fighting and talking about "not understanding each other anymore" in season 3 and then lying to each other in season 4 at all worrying

as much as i despise the stncy comeback, i see a couple reasons as to why they would bring it back in season 4 when everyone thought the love triangle was behind us and assumed jonathan and nancy were endgame.

it makes us go "oh? this couple i've been used to for four seasons might not end up together after all?" which applies to the Other love triangle as well. and it could be for a myriad of reasons, maybe it's just for the drama, maybe it's because nancy is gonna end up with steve after all, maybe it's only meant to be applied to the other love triangle, but i think it's because jonathan and nancy are gonna break up. i expect them to break up. i think nancy's gonna end up single.

the only reason i'm confident stncy isn't gonna happen isn't because i'm sure jncy is endgame because as i just said i'm not, it's because it makes no sense thematically. and i know that doesn't sound like much when you get scenes of nancy staring at a shirtless steve, but i really just still don't see her checking him out as a deep (meaningful) attraction. if they'd shown us steve and nancy having deep personal talks maybe but what do we get all season really? sexual tension? nancy checking him out? an act of "unambiguous true love" that's just nancy trying not to let someone close to her die on her watch again?

and sure that's not nothing but nancy ending up with steve just doesn't make sense for her arc that's about not repeating her parents' mistake, not settling down with someone just because they're a good enough prospect (from a good family, rich, jock, wants a family) and just because you like them fine and aren't in love with them. non-conformity etc. steve's her el, to a lesser extent. this has been said a lot and i can see why you don't feel like that's a compelling argument, especially after s4 stncy, but to me season 4 really doesn't change the essence of the love triangle! it makes more noticeable even, especially when you compare it to mike's love triangle. also see my addendum at the end of this ask. maybe i'm overthinking it but that's the way i see it and all that added up makes me, i'm proud to say, 100% sure that steve and nancy are NOT ending up together

i'm sorry this was just me rehashing stuff that's been going around for months i'm having a hard time explaining what i mean even though it's all very clear in my head <3

now onto our jncy doubt agenda and my personal single nancy agenda.

stranger things likes to subvert tropes right? how in the hell is "the self-insert underdog weirdo freak gets the girl" a subversion of tropes? it's like THE sci-fi trope, it's more prevalent than born sexy yesterday! nancy and jonathan are the perfect example of the trope come to life, though since it's a 2010s show nancy has more agency than the regular 80s sci-fi love interest and doesn't exist just as The Woman and The Love Interest. but they still very much fit that trope. by not ending up with steve, nancy breaks the cycle and doesn't repeat her parents' marriage. that's great. jncy itself still isn't groundbreaking at all. and maybe they don't have to be, right, in terms of archetypes, jopper isn't groundbreaking either, i know, but it took them four seasons to get together and they haven't spent the last two seasons not working that great as a couple so i'll leave them be.

you know what is subverting a trope? the girl not ending up with the self-insert underdog weirdo freak. and not ending up in a relationship at all. it's 2023 so it isn't THAT crazy anymore and the idea of her not ending up with either of them has been floating around and i don't see anyone loving the fact that nancy's been in a love triangle for three seasons out of the four we have but i feel like ending the show with nancy being single would still make waves. especially because it's The love triangle, it's the one everyone in the cast has an opinion on, i just think her not ending up with anyone is fun.

i think nancy not ending up with either makes sense for jonathan and steve's arcs too (even though the concept of steve having a series-long arc is...debatable. but let's say he does) and i really just think it works on every level. this was mostly me talking about nancy because she's in the middle of the love triangle and because she's like a sister to me.

in the end maybe jonathan and nancy will end up together. you can say they have their goal of going to college together binding them together for instance, she wants to be a journalist and he wants to be i don't remember what exactly but a photograph and work in journalism too, and there's other things i'm sure, i just really don't expect them to. 60/40 maybe. or 70/30.

[blueyedgrass]

said i would not talk about cwilbur death yet here i am collecting things so i can draw a the best (worst) place he couldve been stabbed.

[drkineildwicks]

So happy Scarvi day!

May you all enjoy that new Pokemon smell while it lasts, I know that’s probably one of the big draws whenever a new Pokemon game comes out

Me, the honeymoon ended a while back and while I was debating, I’ll be sticking with the rom hack over purchasing the games I’ve got bills

This of course hasn’t stopped me from looking at the leaks and...general negativity under the cut and BOY HOWDY do I have some Thoughts:

Look we all rag on Pokemon for rushing the games but this is ridiculous

The friend I got the rom from told me that there were some stability issues and general jank in the rom and we both chalked it up to it being the rom but no the jank and crash is in the base game

Apparently the game plays like a just-turned-on alpha build and that is...not a good look for a multi-billion dollar company

“But Kineil game freak is a small company!”  Pokemon as a franchise makes Elon Musk look poor game freak can definitely hire more people or at LEAST hire optimizers and bug hunters at this point one person who can do that job would make a world of difference

Pokemon as a franchise can afford to hand the reins to someone else game freak has made it clear they’re no longer interested in putting in the effort

Plus we’ve seen plenty of other indie games that make a fraction of the money yet still put out good games so...no excuse

Seeing a screenshot of one of the cutscenes where everyone is still in the T-pose they’re loaded in as is...not good these games needed more time for polish but gotta have that yearly release don’tcha know

Legends could have been delayed until this Christmas and Scarvi could have been pushed to next year to give both games more time in the oven and I sincerely doubt that anyone would have complained about it

Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that and the diehard fans will still wait eagerly for a few extra months

I mean LOOK at the Zelda games look how many people are excitedly waiting for BotW 2 yes it got delayed but we’re still all waiting for it and will buy it no one looked at the delay and said well I’m not buying it NOW I’m so mad they delayed it that I’ll never buy another one

Look at how many people are still holding a candle for Metroid Prime 4 and Pikmin 4

I’m savoring the Legends experience but it still has jank and seeing how Scarvi is I can’t blame that on the emulator

One of Pokemon’s higher-ups insists that people don’t have time for games anymore and would rather have the mobile game experience--sir, when we buy a mobile game we’re paying at most five bucks we know it’s going to be a shallow experience but when you’re asking us to shell out sixty bucks minimum for a game on a console that costs several hundred dollars we’re wanting an effin’ EXPERIENCE

Nexomon is a mobile game that costs a fraction of what a Pokemon game does and I had more fun on the Steam port of it than I have had with the past several gens of Pokemon mobile game does not necessarily equate shallow experience this man is just a fool

Also what I’m hearing is again no post-game so that sucks

“Kineil you’re holding them to too high a standard just consume product”--I’m holding them to their own standards Pokemon games used to be an experience that was worth returning to

My gen III games have a minimum of 500 hours per game with Emerald clocking out somewhere around 1K hours that was an experience dangit

“Well you were younger then you’re blinded by nostalgia”--if I were blinded by nostalgia I would keep buying the games and would have liked ORAS rather than rip it up one side and down the other from ORAS to Sun/Moon all my Pokemon games were DNFs

We gotta stop normalizing underperformance guys game freak has done better and we should hold them to the standards they’ve set in the past

Let’s see, what other beef do I got...

Listen gen VIII designs had to grow on me but Gen IX...you know how everyone got big into making AI Pokemon?  Game freak apparently jumped on that bandwagon the majority of these guys look like they got spit out by a generator

I like maybe a handful of these designs and I’m not sure if the rest will grow on me game freak really front-loaded all the good designs in the promos

Legit I thought a lot of the designs were from Palworld you know you done goofed when your designs are indistinguishable from your competitors

Also I was once again ruined by much better fan designs for the final starter evos my boi Quaxly they did you so dirty

Are they just appealing to cosplayers now because I really can’t stand the whole humanoid Pokemon trend I don’t even like humanoid Digimon

We shouldn’t go “birb --> bigger birb --> Elton John” those feet legit look like slippers wtf it’s just a guy in a costume

So yeah sorry Quaxly but Fuecoco’s the new starter at least that one stays monstrous

Just doing away with trainer gender altogether reads like 1) cheap pandering and 2) lowering effort even MORE

Temtem, the game that fully released recently and was touted around Sword and Shield as the new Pokemon-killer (more on that later), had the option for boy/girl/other like...three years ago are y’all really going to reward nintendo for bare minimum pandering?

If you’re being truly inclusive, then you have options

Like, for example, I have the option to play:

Temtem

Nexomon

Coromon

Monster Hunter

DokeV

Palworld

Kindred Fates

Older Pokemon games

Pokemon emulators

Pokemon fan games

Plenty of others

People talk about other games in the monster-capture genre being the Pokemon-killer but real talk the real Pokemon-killer is...Pokemon.  They’re constantly shilling out the least effort at this point and eventually people will hit that trust thermocline and jump ship because Pokemon isn’t putting the effort out anymore.  It’s already happened once with Sword and Shield and while I know I’m not going to be the one who breaks them, that’s still several hundred dollars since Sun/Moon that I have not spent on Pokemon.  Instead I spend it on other games and while my experiences have been all over the place, it’s been with the knowledge that I’m not paying for the hope of recapturing an old experience and instead being sold fumes.

I’m sure there’s more to say on the matter but this is already going long so any further beef will be in reblogs I guess

But I guess my main point is that we have to be responsible on this end too, we don’t have to just mindlessly consume, we can vote with our wallets and tell these companies that we don’t want to pay an arm and a leg for Sonic 06-level quality made by people worked to the bone for pittances so higher-ups can have fatter bankrolls

Speak the language they speak and hit them in their wallets

Alternatively, write to Nintendo or the Pokemon Company and tell them your thoughts

I know they bury it under all the corporate rigamarole but these places still have brick-and-mortar locations take the sixty bucks and spend it on stamps

But don’t bother sending letters to game freak they’ve already said decades ago that any suggestions sent to them are read aloud to their coworkers and laughed at

Again, consume responsibly, they don’t have to laugh all the way to the bank with your money

Now if you’ll excuse me, I have pirating to do and better games to spend my money on

[rusalkaandtheshepherdgirl]

had a cosplay event at school and did Amity (obvs) and forgot my little cape-y thing there incident, 10 dead 17 injured

[pangolen]

.

[meowthiroth]

been feeling a little bad about my lack of drawing/making anything lately, but like… tbh I probably shouldn’t be so worried because it definitely hasn’t been without reason.

the main issue’s been my living situation. since the pandemic kind of killed my ability to go back to art school (well, that and I was constantly under so much stress/so much horrible shit kept happening while I was a student there that I seriously think i might’ve developed some ptsd from it >_> but that’s a LONG-ass story so I won’t be unpacking all of that here), i’ve been going back and forth between staying at both of my parents’ places.

Dad’s I don’t mind as much since I get along with him and my grandma a lot better, but it’s also basically impossible for me to focus on my artwork there. The whole house is like open concept and I don’t have my own room— I sleep out in this open extension by the dining room where there’s a foldout bed on the wall. So yeah, too much noise and not enough privacy. So I pretty much just go over there during the weekends so I won’t have to drive like 40 minutes just to get to my workplace.

The rest of the week I’m at my mom’s house, since it’s usually quiet there and I have my own room, so in theory I should be able to focus on my art better. But aside from the perk of extra privacy, living there for the past couple years has been a fucking nightmare.

I’ve never really gotten along that well with my mom, even when I was a kid, because she was always super distant with me & treated me more like a personal assistant or a showpiece than her own kid. I was basically only there to either do work for her (including jobs SHE was hired to do but I was usually unpaid for my help, until I got older and kinda put my foot down about it because like… hey yknow I DO need to save for college and stuff…), or so she could show me off and parade me around to make herself look good. Aside from those things, she RARELY ever made an effort to connect with me or even show that she cared about me on an emotional level. She acted like she knew everything and I knew nothing, like I didn’t deserve privacy or autonomy, like I couldn’t be trusted to take care of myself or make my own decisions or even do basic household chores without instructions, even when I was CONSTANTLY proving otherwise. Even when the decisions she made on my behalf & forced me to go along with were actively harmful to me. I’d get ignored or snapped at whenever I tried to ask a question, brushed off & talked over whenever I tried to raise my own concerns about something, and belittled, guilt-tripped and gaslit into submission whenever I tried to stand my ground against her or call her out on her shit. I felt like I had no control over my own life, no autonomy. I was stuck marching by the tick of her clock. And it drove me fucking nuts.

And surprise-surprise, all of that never really went away, not even after I got back from college. If anything, it’s been getting progressively WORSE since I got back from college. Like, it’s actually been kind of ridiculous lately because she just. does all this bullshit CONSTANTLY and then tries to act like I’M the asshole when I even get so much as mildly annoyed by it. She’s fully aware that I’m creative, driven, and talented as hell, and that I could EASILY strike it out on my own if given the opportunity. She’s seen numerous examples of my skill, she hears from everyone else all the time how talented and hardworking I am. She’s seen me literally wearing costume pieces and official merch I designed around the house, and she asked to take pictures of it to send to her friends.

And yet she barely even treats me like a human being. She pulls the “you don’t pay rent or any bills around here, I do” card to guilt-trip me a lot, as if I should have to PAY her to get her to stop making me feel guilty just for existing. And yet she’s never actually ASKED me to pay rent or given me a bill to pay, even though I’ve literally OFFERED to pay for stuff and she just ignores it. I guess she just likes being able to hold it over my head and keep acting like her basically keeping me trapped out here in the middle of bumfuck nowhere so she can use me as her personal housekeeper/employee is somehow an act of charity.

So yeah, all that shit considered, home’s been a super toxic environment for me for a LONG time now, and I’m done putting up with it. I’m moving out. Wanted to wait on it until after I got my driver’s license, but i realized it’s gonna be REALLY tough to make that happen since we’re so far away from the closest DMV, and quite frankly, I don’t think I can wait any longer. I’ve had a place lined up for a while now, a house closer to town with a few of my close friends. I’ll be sharing a room, but the rent’s fairly cheap and I already get along great with everyone there, so that ain’t a big deal to me.

But yeah I dunno, sorry about the ramble. I kind of just wanted to dump what was on my mind, sorry if any of this hit anyone too close to home. It’s been going smoothly so far, I’m almost done getting all my stuff over to my friends’ place, and once that’s done with I’ll just have to pick up whatever essentials I’m still missing, plus some furniture/storage type stuff. I’m excited about this! It’s gonna be a lot better for me in the long run, and hopefully I’ll start to get my art motivation back once I’m all settled in there!

[siglai]

hello little cat people i come bearing newss uh

so my brothers dating a trans girl he met online right. thats cool good for them!! and he wants to go hang out with her for a few days even though its a really long drive

but my parents are very very transphobic and homophobic as you can probably guess and my father kind of blew up at him

so my parents are probably going to be suspicious of me and my sibling to make sure were not talking with queer people and check my phone and shit so im gonna have to stay off tumblr for a bit ;;

[sysig]

Deeply considering going feral about Grammostola pulchra any day now