#also i said i was going to start image IDs this year and i KEEP FORGETTING

[wolfiesmoon]

Lockscreen background

Malleus x gn!reader

i seem to have a thing for characters who are clueless abt technology hahaha, this takes place before we actually find out his real name btw

(also i apologise if malleus is ooc in any way i'm still in the early books of the game😭)

"Hello." You heard a voice behind you as you exited the classroom. You turned around to find... uh, Hornton, was it? You still can't get over the stupid nickname that Grim picked, but he seems completely okay with you calling him that, so you keep doing it.

What could he possibly want with you?

"Uhh, hi...!" you greeted him back awkwardly.

"I have a somewhat trivial yet important matter I need help with." He opened and you tilted your head slightly. Now your interest is piqued.

"Let's go somewhere more... private." he suggested at your confused expression. You nodded slowly. Though this whole conversation is strange so far, he looks anything but malicious. And knowing him, he never is.

The two of you went to a more secluded part of the school and as soon as you got there, he pulled something out from his pocket, handing it to you. It looked to be a brand new phone.

"Could you help me with this object? I have no idea how to use it and you are the only one I can approach about this." he looked a little worried.

"Sure, what do you need help with?" you offered and his expression softened slightly.

"Turning it on, for starters."

A silence fills the room.

"Ahahahaha, oh jeez... I'm- I'm sorry- hahahaha...!" You couldn't help but laugh. He didn't even know how to turn it on?

Needless to say, he was not amused by your laughter. "If you will laugh at me, I will not be needing your help anymore." He crossed his arms.

"No- No- I'm sorry, I really am." You had to hold back a few giggles. "I'll help- I'll help you, you just shocked me with how little you know about a.. p-phone." He suddenly seemed like a 90 year old grandpa who bought a phone to talk to his grandkids and didn't know the first thing about it. What a funny mental image.

"You're talking strangely." He commented, and you quickly turned the phone in his direction before he could question your attempts at stifling a laugh.

"Here, see this button? You press it and the phone turns on, like this." You demonstrated, and his face lit up.

"I see. But, the salesperson informed me that this phone is unlockable by something called 'Face ID' as well. Do you know what that is by any chance?" The genuine interest in his voice was actually kind of cute.

"Don't worry about all that. Actually, why are you buying a phone only now?" You thought it was strange. If he was this clueless about technology, why buy a modern cellphone all of a sudden?

"During class, some of my classmates were discussing about these so called phones. They talked about something called a 'magicam'. And I... became curious." the little pause at the third sentence made you think that might just not be the full truth. But you have no reason to be suspicious or question him on it, so you just told yourself to forget about it.

"Magicam might be a little too... advanced for you right now. Here, let's start by exchanging contacts." You showed him the 'contacts' app, opening it and inputting your number and your name.

You handed the phone back to him. "Here, now press this green button on the bottom left and you'll call me." he did as you instructed and your phone started vibrating in your pocket. You pulled it out, answering the call.

"Hello!" you said cheerfully.

"I can... hear you twice. Is there magic imbued within a phone?" his eyes were widened slightly, even more so when he heard his own voice from your phone.

"You silly goose, we only hear eachother twice because we're standing right next to eachother. Stay here and place the phone next to your ear, okay?" you smiled at him, walking away.

"I am not silly and I am certainly not a goose. I thought it was obvious enough by taking once glance at me."

"It's not an insult, Hornton. It's like a silly little thing you say to someone when they say something, well, silly." you smile, now completely out of his line of sight and standing in a different room.

After a few moments of silence, he spoke again "I can still hear your voice."

"Yup, that's what a phone is, in essence. Nowadays we use it for a lot of things, but basically, you can call people on it and you'll hear their voice and talk to them, no matter how far away from you they are. Isn't that cool?"

"How very fascinating." you could hear his amusement through the phone.

"Oh, I just have one more thing to do! I'll come back in a moment!" you ended the call, running back to where you were before.

"I got suprised for a moment. The phone made a strange noise and I couldn't hear you anymore." he cleared his throat. He must have panicked a bit when you hung up. How cute. "Calling someone is definitely much more convenient than sending them a letter."

You just realised that he's probably been sending physical, handwritten letters to everyone up until this point which makes him even more charmingly old-timey in your eyes. How funny is that?

"Give the phone here for a moment." you requested and when he did so, you opened the camera app and turned it towards the two of you to take a selfie. You could see him inspect himself through the phone.

"I see, so it functions as a mirror, too. What a marvel."

"Well, do I have news for you. This is the camera app, and we're going to take a photo together. Now smile!" you nudged him slightly and he smiled very awkwardly and unnaturally. Oh well, you'll take it.

You snapped the photo, setting it as his lockscreen.

"Here, now you have a photo of me and you as your background!" he took the phone back, staring at your face on the screen.

"I actually have something I have to be doing right now, so I'll continue teaching you about phones later! Call me if you need anything! Oh, and I'll save your number too, don't worry!" You waved to him, running down the hallway.

"Goodbye." he said back, immediately looking back down at your picture with him. Your face is truly precious in it. He is very glad to be in possession of a photo of you.

He knew you were the right person to ask.

.

The reason he decided to buy a phone was that he felt sad because he couldn't talk to anyone without a disconnect. Ignoring the fact that most of his classmates are afraid of him, they wouldn't be able to find common ground in hobbies and conversation topics regardless.

So he thought that maybe he could start by getting a phone upon hearing students discuss phone cases and the like. Surely, understanding what the masses currently enjoy would make him more approachable.

He is eternally thankful to you for helping him out.

You're very welcoming to him and that makes him indescribably happy. One day he'll repay you with all the things you could ever want. He has the abilities to do that, after all.

Maybe he should give you something as a thank you next time you meet, actually. What did you say you enjoyed again?

That's what he thought about as he looked at his lockscreen on his bed that night. If only you saw the way he smiled at your photo.

[femmespoiled]

Missed Her by Ivan Coyote

ID under read more

ID - images show a piece by Ivan Coyote from their book Missed Her.

Text in image 1 reads:

"Throwing in the Towel

Sometimes you say things without really thinking. Sometimes you write things on Facebook without really thinking about the nine hundred people who will read them.

It all started with the towels. Not just any towels, mind you. These were brand new, fresh out of the laundry, white, pristine, and über-fluffy. I had just stepped out of my clawfoot bathtub in my new-to-me bathroom in my recently painted apartment and into the softest, most absorbent and slightly lemony scented towel this forty- year-old ass has ever felt. That towel wicked the moisture away from my butt like a dream. It felt better than my mother's towels. Better than a fancy hotel towel, even, mostly because it was mine and I knew for a fact mine was the first ass it had ever wicked water from.

It's the little things, right? I sat my luxurious towel-wrapped ass down at my desk in front of my computer and wrote, "My new towels are so fluffy and absorbent. I feel like a queen. A queen, I tell you." And then I hit "share."

Within minutes, the comments started to roll in. My lady friends all concurred. Some of my butch friends, well, some butch bonding time. A small debate ensued. A femme friend of mine suggested we all conceptualize fine linens as a high quality tool, used to entice fine ladies into your bathtub. We riffed some"

Text in image 2 reads:

"about stereotypes. I thought it was over.

The next day, I hung the freshly hemmed and pressed, sand-coloured velvet draperies in my living room, and stood back to appreciate how well they complemented the dark olive accent wall and the bone-white window trim. What can I say? It has pretty much been five years since I have had a stable, solo, sexy roof over my head. I am nesting. I sat at my desk and wrote: "Enjoying my new draperies like I do does not make me any less butch."

And again with the stream of comments. One of my friends responded that butches were supposed to keep thoughts like that to ourselves. Someone said that draperies could be butch as long as there were no pink bows on them. Someone else suggested that we needed a word for a butch metrosexual. This began a longer discussion on the various types of butch: soft butch, stone butch, old school, fag butch, gentlebutch, dandy.

I should say that all of this was fairly good- natured, and everyone's feathers went for the most part unruffled, at least on the page. But something about the whole discussion bugged me, and it got me to thinking about it all.

My first question was for myself. Why did I care if my butchness was called into question anyway? In my whole entire life I have never felt anything but butch, even before I knew the word. That is certainly the way the world views me (going mostly on what rednecks call me from passing truck windows) and how my lovers place me on the fuckability spectrum. So why did someone I barely knew"

Text in image 3 reads:

"calling me a girl and suggesting I needed some butch bonding time chap my tender ass so much? Perhaps it was all those soft towels making me more thin-skinned than usual? And what was up with my butch brothers and sisters? I re-read the comments. Most of the femmes who responded maintained that the word butch didn't need adjectives or qualifiers: just butch would do the trick. It was mostly butches who were uncomfortable with my love of fluffy towels and draperies, and mostly butches who felt the need to further categorize ourselves.

One of the femmes who responded posed the following: "There's also an element of internalized homophobia in all of this. Maybe it's a conceptual leap but it seems to me that the notion that a 'real' butch can't like a fluffy towel or use words coded as feminine to describe her-/him-/hir-self isn't that far from the idea that it's not okay for boys to play with dolls. Are queer masculinities (or whatever you want to call them) so fragile? Their beauty, diversity, and resilience over the generations prove otherwise."

I thought about it all some more. Thought back to being eight years old, and frozen in the girl's dressing room at the ladies' wear store on Main Street in Whitehorse. My aunt was getting married and my mom was insisting that wearing anything but a dress to the wedding would be rude and she wasn't going to tolerate any more arguments from me about how dressy my brown corduroy suit could really be with the right blouse. I was being forced to try on this yellow and grey dress. My mom and the shop lady were"

Text in the last image reads:

"looming outside the dressing room door, taking turns cajoling and threatening me to come out and show them how I looked. My guts were in my throat and all the moisture in my mouth was now collecting in my eyes. I was seriously too humiliated to open the door and come out. I was afraid of the wrath of my mother, and scared of the scorn of the saleswoman, but I was even more terrified of how vulnerable and wrong I felt in my body, in my skin, in my life in that dress. It wasn't just that I didn't want to be a girl. And it wasn't as easy as just wishing that I was a boy. It was the horrible realization that I was facing a world where there were no clothes for me because I didn't fit the world.

So I don't think that butch fear of our own femininity is all that simple to unravel. It is not just our own misogyny that makes us see anything less than manly as weak or less than. Our fear of our own inner girl is so much more complicated than that. Most of us grew up uncomfortable not only in our clothes, but in our pink bedrooms, our gender roles, our families' expectations, and even our own skins. We had to fight to find ourselves in all of that. And sometimes that makes it hard to drop all that armor and just sit back and enjoy the fucking draperies."

End ID

[luminalunii97]

Civil disobedience, act 5: Kindness!

The regime started their murdering and brutal crackdowns early on the protests. In retribution people started to share free hugs and fist bumps on the streets. Soon free hug became a revolution act why? Because men and women touching or even sitting next to each other was a taboo culturally and religiously, and the regime likes to keep that taboo in place. Hugging strangers regardless of gender is a taboo breaking act and the regime started to call girls and women who participated in this "whores"!

Among protesters it's a strong tool. Coming out to the streets can be really scary but receiving a hug in solidarity empowers you. Hearing death news everyday can take a toll on you, getting a hug from a stranger you know has heard the news and is mourning with you can be comforting.

For the giver It's a stressful thing to do though. You have to be ready to run if you see a policeman. Sometimes people whisper in your ear "please be careful and stay safe" with good intentions but a haunting tone and it just makes you want to bolt specially if you have anxiety! But anyway it's fun and it brings us unity.

The first and third video are from Kermanshah and Mahabad, two Kurd cities. The last one is from Tehran.

Another kindness act is fist bumping and getting chocolate but make it revolution style. Each chocolate or candy is wrapped in a note. The note is either a slogan (like woman life freedom) or a sentence of encouragement. It can also be a call for demonstration. This started as a tool to encourage civil disobedience. So women who risked their arrest and took off their hijab in the streets were the first group of people who received chocolate. Then men and women, and hijabi and nonhijabi women started to give these to each other. So it turned into a solidarity gift giving ceremony. The day after Kian Pirfalak, the 10 year old boy murder, all over Tehran people handed out chocolates in paper boats with notes that said "in the name of the god of the rainbow".

[images id: 8 pictures taken of notes that accompanied chocolate or candy. The notes are written in Persian.

Pic 1 notes translations: "24, 25, 26 of Aban, freedom." "Accompany us. We will take Iran back with you." "You're not alone buddy."

Pic 2 notes: one is a drawing of Hossein Ronaghi, a political prisoner and social activist who was released from prison 2 months later. Underneath the drawing it says "Hossein Ronaghi said I'm afraid too, I want to have a peaceful life too, I don't want to hear the news of death and torture and execution and poverty and misery, I like to sleep peacefully at night, but I can't be indifferent... " The second note is a drawing of a small woman standing on a mullah's head and putting her headscarf on fire.

Pic 3 notes translations: "woman life freedom" "your hair is so beautiful" "keep doing what you're doing" "#for_you" "thank you for making the city beautiful" "you're a fist and you have a lot of fans" "after the revolution you will be part of our history book"

Pic 4 notes translations: "#women_life_freedom" "be safe daughter of iran" "for your beautiful hair" "for #woman_life_freedom" "fight fight until victory is the anthem of attack" "you are the beauty of my city" "we need hugs to live"

Pic 5 note translation: "for woman life freedom #MahsaAmini"

Pic 6 notes translations: "for dancing in the alley... Hope we will laugh wholeheartedly one day" "we're going to celebrate freedom together, so promise to be safe"

Pic 7 note translation: "women life freedom"

Pic 8 note translation: "if I rise, if you rise, we will all rise. #Women_life_freedom"]

These days we're living in an almost Martial law situation. They're shooting at everyone they see. A man, Alireza Khoshkar Bayati, was talking on the phone in his car. They thought he's filming them and broke his car windows. He got scared and tried to flee, they thought he might be guilty of something so they started shooting at his car. That's how another innocent life was taken. When things like this happen we get more convinced that our only option is the regime change. When you're not even safe in your car talking on the phone, it's impossible to live. After Mohsen Shekari execution for a couple of days, people gathered in the street he closed and was executed for. The anti riot forces attacked silent protesters with tear gas and batons and shotguns. A group of people walking down the street silently. The astonishing part was that many people didn't run. They continued their walk. We have nothing to lose, nothing to live for. The regime change is the silver of hope keeping us all alive. That's why they're afraid of people walking silently. There are still demonstrations happening. In universities. In streets, mostly at night. There are strikes and boycotts. People are getting killed or abducted. And finding chocolates and hugs is no more comforting. The only comfort my people can find is the regime change.

[squealing-santa]

Event FAQ

Regarding TFB

What does TFB stand for?

TFB originally stood for Tickle Fic Bloggers, as a tag some tickle Tumblr vets used in the early community days. It evolved to Tickle Fandom Bloggers as the community grew to include more than just fanfic writers.

Regarding Giftee Assignment

Do we get to choose which prompts/pairings we write for after we choose fandoms or is it just assigned randomly?

As the event host, I have a super fun albeit chaotic puzzle to unravel between all of the participants requests and what they feel comfortable creating for. Once I have received all of the Fandom Registrations (Due Nov 12th by midnight PST), I will go through the lists and begin pairing folks off by fandom. This isn't to say your Giftee is also making your gift, though that does occasionally happen. In an effort to create as much diversity within the pieces being made, I tend to assign from most to least niche, but there will always be plenty of more popular fandoms produced naturally.

Once you've recieve your assignment, you then have the freedom to choose within the options provided by your Giftee. For example:

Fandom One ~ Character A x B* ~ Character B* x C ~ Character A & D Fandom Two ~ Character A x B ~ Character B x C ~ Character A* x B x C Prompts ~ Scenario 1 ~ Scenario 2 ~ Scenario 3

As the Magic Maker, you then just have to choose the pairing and prompt that resonates with you the most! Such as:

Fandom 2, Pairing 3, Scenario 1

Regarding Posting Timeframe

Once the assignments are given out, are they do by December 31 or on December 31? Or just any time during that month?

Posting for the event is during the entire month of December to keep with the holiday spirit. That said, you’re more than welcome to queue it up for Dec 1st at 12:01am your time to be one of the first ones if you finish early 😁 Also, try your very hardest to have your art or fic completed and posted by December 31st as this is a holiday exchange!

We totally get that this is a super busy time of the year. If you have any problems, including needing an extension or needing to drop from the event, please please please reach out. I am here to help!

Regarding "The Featherflake" Warm-Up

What's this whole Featherflake thing about? Are we posting and tagging it?

The Featheflake is just the lil symbol in the banner and pfp for this event. Last year I had a buncha folks chomping at the bit to get started before I had the opportunity yo divvy up assignments, so thought it might be a fun idea to give y'all a warm-up activity for anyone who wanted to participate 😊

The non-flowery version of the prompt is to come up with your own interpretation of what a tickly-snowflake (hence Featherflake) would be!

For artists, you guys can design your own versions of a Featherflake.

For writers, that can either be describing it, how it differs from snow, or the lore/story behind it.

...or you can just show what happens when your fave character's interact with the Featherflakes 😏

That being said, 100% optional! Should you opt in to participate, you are absolutely encouraged to post your warm-ups on Tumblr. Please be sure to @ the event blog and use the tag [#ss2k23 warm up] so we can reblog n archive your wonderful works!

Regarding Image ID's

Regarding Submission Guidelines

[dallonwrites]

[image description: a photograph of a wave crashing against the ocean. to the right, in a bold serif font, reads “2023 writing update” /end id]

dallon’s 2022 year in review + 2023 plans 🧍

Hehe so. I went back and forth on whether or not I’d make a “year in review” writing update because whilst I’m proud of what I achieved, this year SUCKED for my personal life and I had to sacrifice a lot of writing goals because of that (which also like, doesn’t matter in the grand scheme of things. But it still bummed me out lol). Writing did help me cope though. It’s funny because on paper this would be one of my more “successful” writing years, but really all my writing had to do this year was help keep me going lol, the rest feels like a bonus. I did want to honour what I did achieve though, because writing is one of the few positives of this year and I’m trying to be positive!

Learnt to prioritise my personal projects. Finding joy in WIPs that I write  that nobody will see, or WIPs that I’ll never publish but find joy in sharing my journey with it, has really been the most valuable part of this year. Made dealing with submissions and rejections and self doubt much easier and reminded me why I write in the first place

Got my first publication! I had two short stories and one flash piece published. Getting to walk into a store and pick up a magazine that had my work in was so surreal and cool. I also got my first writing grant (love The White Pube x) and my first award nomination (the Pushcart??), two things I did not expect to happen in my first year of submitting lol! And, more importantly, I put myself out there in the first place, and let myself be rejected 

I won NaNoWriMo, something I thought was totally inaccessible to me before. I’ll probably never write 50k in a month again, but it was a super fun experience and I learnt a lot from it! 

I think 2020-21 was my “growing pains era” with writing and in 2022 I finally solidified what I want to write, figured out how to fix WIPs I was struggling with. 

If you’re curious about the projects I’m working on in 2023, there’s a very long ramble about all of them under the cut!

[image description: a shot of two hands against a dull purple background, reaching for one another from either ends of the image. their index fingers are almost touching. in the top left corner, in a bold serif font, reads “revelations, revelations” /end id]

SHE’S BACKKKKKKK

Love of my life, bane of my existence for so long, I spent basically all of 2021 fighting with this project. In 2022 all I did was brainstorm and oh, oh I brainstormed. 

The most important parts of saving this project was realising that 1) I will never publish any RR novel (That being said I did publish two short stories inspired by the RR verse LOL. But that’s all the world is getting unless I write a secret Beaulix or Dorothy/Jolie short story) and 2) This is not one novel, this is just a whole universe that lives in my head rent free and sometimes I feel less like the author and more like I am merely observing it like a medieval scribe. I call it the RR Verse because RR is still what started it all, but I’ve had so much fun writing stories beyond this novel. I have like, five novel ideas within this universe LOL! Help! This is intentional because, for now, I can’t imagine ever being done with this world 

I really do think that RR and the RR verse is like My Special Project. It’s my baby even though it caused me so, so much trouble for so long lol. I just can’t let go of it and whilst I love all my projects, I have a special love for this one. Like it just enamours me in a certain way and the characters and world feel so real to me. Love having your own work be part of your special interest! I can hyperfixate on all my projects and feel that deep, probably-autism-fuelled loved for them, but I need have projects that purely exist to indulge in that, which for me is the RR Verse and Winter’s Slaughter. This is not a project I’m trying to finish any time quickly or get “perfect”. In fact, I’d happily start the novel over and over again, I love Felix and Dorothy LOL 

I also think writing The Rabbit Knows How To Bury Itself, a short story about Felix and Dorothy, helped with RR because that short story is very much the darker pushed-to-their-limits imagining of both of them. Felix at his lowest, doing drugs in the bathtub, and Dorothy wanting to be the only one capable of hurting him but only hurting herself when she realises she can’t not love him. I almost feel like that short story is like, Dorothy’s worst nightmare scenario of what would happen to her brother so writing it was like a psychoanalysis project which I seriously recommend! I don’t think you have to push a character to their deepest, darkest limits for their arc to be compelling, but knowing how far you could push a character, how dark their story could get and what it could look like, imo informs how you write them in their actual story. 

2023 plan for RR the novel is to just. Write it! See what I get out of it! I’m in my RR hyperfixation era so this is what I’ll start the year with, especially since my priority right now is writing short fiction to submit, so it’d be nice to have a fun little hyperfixation moment on the side. And I’ll definitely share a lot about it! It’s so fun now! Dorothy and Felix are more weird and off-putting than ever!  Dorothy likes to break into rich people’s houses just to look around! Felix ruins her vibe by actually stealing shit! Normal sibling behaviour. NGL I still don’t know how to explain what this story is “about” plot wise, but this is part of a basic summary I wrote:

About trying to process and heal from trauma but being terrified of it because you don’t know who you are without your trauma and coping mechanisms. About realising that you can’t truly detach yourself from those things. About being terrified of the theoretical violence you perceive yourself to be capable of. About re-understanding what love can look like. Also about the moon, space travel, cold coffee, parties, blue hour, piano music, blurry film photos and birthday cake.

I love these two. Their love for each other endures everything, even the times they want to kill one another. Nobody is doing it like them. Also their birthday is on Jan 11th so happy early birthday <3

[image description: a cropped image of two arcade machines. in the top right corner, in a bold serif font, reads “lover boy” /end id]

AND WE ARE NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THE RR VERSE! Lover Boy is technically Book #2 if you consider Revelations, Revelations Book #1. It’s set just under a year later and is technically the Beaulix Novel (who break up at the end of RR, surprise! But it’s because they both are like “I’ve realised I love you and that is terrifying me because I don’t think I’m in a place where I can love like this”), but sometimes it just feels like the Beau Novel! Beau is like a best friend to me and I love him so much, I had so much fun writing in his POV in Winter’s Slaughter that it just solidified my need to let him have His Moment. He’s sweet, funny, stubborn, emotional, confused, anxious, sleepy, he’s everything to me. I’m so obsessed with his narrative that I have barely figured out how he and Felix actually get back together LOL. We do get Felix’s POV too, but I won’t know exactly how that’ll look like until I’ve written more of RR. All I can say is he’s a bit more Normal in this one lol! He’s experienced growth <3 He finds himself <3

A big part of Beau’s narrative is reconciling with his need and yearning for romantic love. That yes, he doesn’t need romance, he can find love and fulfilment in other parts of his life, and he does! But that doesn’t take away from his yearning for this specific type of love. And it’s important to remember that Beau is a character who grew up gay in the 60s-80s. For him to yearn for, to reach out for romantic love in spite of everything is super important! He’s the type of person whose biggest dream as a kid was being prom king and his first heartbreak was realising that he couldn’t be prom king in the way he truly wants to be. Personally I think he deserves the world and more. He also has a little brother with a 15 year age gap, and their relationship warms my heart and tears it in two at the same time. 

Revelations, Revelations feels like a night time novel and Lover Boy feels like a daytime novel. This novel feels like a hug, but like a hug after crying. Part of the summary:

1987-1988. Follows Beau and Felix when they decide to rekindle their friendship after time away, and the ways they’re too scared to rekindle the relationship part. Also follows Beau as he tries to navigate moving away from home, tries understand why sometimes colours are too loud and sounds are too bright, tries to get some sleep and get better at breathing techniques, tries to spend as much time with his little brother, and tries to maintain his Donkey Kong high score. Also Felix has a “mild” gender crisis. About healing but we jump right into the middle of it. About how it feels to reach out for romantic love when it’s almost always felt unreachable. Also about karaoke, arcade games, bowling alleys, home videos, golden hour, glitter, the ocean and blue raspberry slushies.

My 2023 plan for this one is that I am not waiting to finish Revelations, Revelations to start Lover Boy. I wanna work both on them at the same time depending on which one compels me the most in that moment. Will I finish either of them? No! Am I gonna have fun? Hell yeah 

[image description: shot of a clear, starry night sky, with silhouettes of trees on either side. on the left hand side, in a bold serif font, reads “winter’s slaughter” /end id]

AND WE ARE NOT DONE TALKING ABOUT THE RR CHARACTERS, JUST IN A DIFFERENT UNIVERSE THIS TIME! 

Not gonna lie I still haven’t read most of the 50k I wrote in November and I’m undecided on if I want to return to it via editing first or just pushing through with the draft. I’m conflicted! But I have lots of fun plot ideas and oh, this book is gonna be a giant and there’ll probably be a book #2 oops! The 2023 plan for this one is just “whenever the apocalypse hyperfixation hits”. Which I don’t know when that’ll happen, but it more than likely will! Once I actually look at the manuscript again I’ll do a proper update because oh there is plot to update on! Mainly using this section to highlight what is one of my favourite passages I wrote not just in Nano, but the whole year? 

When Valentine found the collection of half-empty perfume bottles he had to take them. He likes to look at the empty space in the glass and wonder what stories could fill it up, maybe dinner dates or graduations or weddings or funerals or high-effort grocery store trips. What drew him to the train station were the ticket stubs scattered under the benches, on the ground of the decayed platform. He tried to explain this to Klaus, once, who looked at him, that glint of childhood wonder in his eye. Well, he’d said, nobody got rid of dinosaur bones just because there were no dinosaurs left to grieve them. And for Valentine, exploring the skeleton buildings that dot the world, specifically for what was left behind, is an act of deviance against the Devouring. This is how he remembers people, even if he never knew them. He once found the rib cage of a girl in the violet roller skates she left under her bed. Found the lungs of her mother in the attic, the box of forgotten goggles and swim meet trophies from 1986. So many people want to forget what the Devouring left behind; too many people want to forget the parts of themselves they let be devoured.

Also going to take the chance to soft launch one of my favourite characters I created this year: Cal, my emotionally volatile, traumatised, slutty transmasc king. He is everything to me to the point where I had planned for him to die and now I don’t know if I can bring myself to do it. He also has a ~messy emotionally intimate friends with benefits thing~ with Felix (this does not conflict Beaulix at all. We are not about that over here!), which is unsurprising considering their first meeting is literally them fighting in a Church but then it gets kinda homoerotic? And then kinda tender? Like look at this shit

“Felix.”

“Sorry about the cheek, Felix.” It doesn’t sound genuine. Cal says sorry like it’s a stalemate. But they also reach out, wipe the blood off with their thumb. And the scariest part is how gentle it feels, against all his sharpness.

[image description: a photo of ocean waves against a cliffside. in the bottom left corner, in a bold serif font, reads “ammonites for eyes” /end id]

OKAY WE ARE DONE TALKING ABOUT RR! 

Ammonites For Eyes is a novel I introduced on here earlier in the year under the title I Am Made Of Indigo, about a trans man who moves back to his coastal hometown and has to reckon with his closeted identity when he becomes a new maternal figure for his younger sister. I actually started it in the summer and was super excited by it! But you see, this is where all we can do is laugh, because this novel is about the protagonists grief after the death of his mother, and guess what happened to me three months after starting this book! I had planned my whole second half of the year around writing this and had to immediately stop because, oh my god is this novel Apollo’s curse of prophecy?? I considered shelving it for a while which was a massive bummer because I am enamoured with the story, the world, the characters, and want this to be my debut. But I’ve gotten to a point where writing this feels like a necessity and I can’t see anything else being my debut. This is absolutely going to be the one project where I let myself claw out the deepest parts of grief and yeah, absolutely wish I wasn’t able to do that but I know that the final project that comes from it is gonna be something special. This will probably be my main project for most of the year, but also the one I talk least about because 1) planning to publish it and 2) those writing updates would not be fun to read lmaooooo. But super excited to write this! Definitely won’t be able to write it for long periods of time, but I hope to get a good chunk of it drafted, and if I end up doing my MA this year I’d like to work on this for it. 

I don’t have a lot to say about the story itself, but my favourite little detail is that the protagonist works at a fossil shop that has a T-Rex skull displayed in the window who ends up becoming? A whole character? The protagonist talks to the skull and low key treats it like his therapist. So maybe this book IS about the horrors, but it’s also about the T-Rex skull. There’s a balance here 

[image description: a close up image of the top of a persons back, with their hand holding their left shoulder. the image is tinted blue and green. in the left corner, in a bold serif font, reads “eulogy for the burnings” /end id]

What’s this!! I’ve only talked about this novel once, on my old blog, at the end of a writing update, but this is an idea that’s been slowly marinating in my brain for a while and in 2023 I’d like for it to marinate more, maybe even write some of it. This follows a man who tracks down his distant half-brother and becomes obsessed with him, whilst said brother is a pyromaniac who “hires” him to photograph the buildings and things he burns. Messy! Definitely one of my darker projects. It’s compelling me.

Other projects that I have less to say about but hope to work on in some way: 

I have a novel reimagining of my short story How Does An Orca Pray, which I’m obsessed with conceptually but have no idea what to actually do with it as a narrative. I call it a reimagining because it’s conceptually the same but the details are different, like the characters are much older in the novel than they are in the short story. But fun fact! The novel is in the RR Verse! The religious commune in HDAOP is the same on in RR and in the RR Verse, the narrator and Josiah running away is a massive #scandal in Felix and Dorothy’s childhood. So I think it’d be fun to write that scandal from their POV and have it be like a little prequel. It’s fun! It has summer road trip vibes with dark undertones and the playlist is full of 70s bangers 

I really would like my novel Life Cycle of Massive Stars to have a similar reboot to RR. I love that novel and it’s like a love letter to transness, autism, and my University city. Also a contender for what I write during my MA, so I’d like to start both this and Ammonites For Eyes and if I do my MA, I can present both of them and be like “help” 

Also continuously going to be working on short stories. I’d like to grow my collection since I have a title that I love now, Swimming Pool Prayers, but also I don’t want to force myself to only write stories I think could fit into the collection. I struggle with collections because the minute I write a story I don’t think fits the collection or develops the collection, I’m like oh well that was a waste! So trying to unlearn that. Also want to write more flash fiction and more poetry. I don’t consider myself a great poet, but I’m attracted to the abstractness I find in it atm. Also I keep impulse submitting messy first drafts of poems to litmags OOPS! 

[mikimeiko]

Day 3 - Ljubljana>Rijeka

Had a minor heart attack on my way to the station when I thought I forgotten at the hotel/lost my id but luckily I had just misplaced it so all is well.

The train is very pretty (I love the cyan/teal-ish blue of Slovenian railways) and it has compartments! (Is this the right word? I have no idea, but Google says it is the translation of scompartimenti so...)

I haven't traveled in a train with compartments in years, the seats are very spacious and comfy <3 also the train is not very busy and I got a 6 seats compartment all to myself :D

The weather is looking promising when I leave Ljubljana but gets greyer and greyer along the way. It's still a very pretty journey though.

(that's a picture of the sea. If you squint and look at the lightest part of the image you can kind of guess a reflection of the cloud in the water XD)

I love that many of the station we're passing through have a steam locomotive on the premise (this is actually something I also noticed in Italy this summer and I have to say I love this trend, put those locomotives on display!)

They checked my id twice on the train, once in the last station in Slovenia and once in the first in Croatia (now that I think about it this also happened when I was travelling in the other direction five years ago, the only border crossing where they checked our passports twice instead of just once - at least I think it was this one, I might be wrong).

I did not get the best start in Rijeka. My hotel never answered my question about leaving luggage early, so I decided to go grab a coffee and then maybe lunch waiting for check in time. Only the currency here is kuna and every ATM I check seems out of order? D: then it starts raining and for a bit everything seems very bleak. But then of course I did find an ATM, and a way to change the big bills the ATM gave me, and a nice coffee place where I can finally have a coffee and relax a bit (I've been in Rijeka for more than an hour. As I said, not the best start) (later I found out that the problem with the ATMs is that Croatia is actually switching to the euro on January 1st... Good job Maddalena for choosing the actual worst time for coming here XD)

Also I really wish I was one of those people that are not particularly affected by the weather, but I am! All this grey and white and fog and rain is really bumming me out. I can see that Rijeka is a pretty place, I can, but I can't feel it right now. Let's hope the sky will open up just a tiny bit, just to see some sun!

I ate lunch sitting outside because they didn't have seats inside and the temperature seemed bearable but I don't know if it got colder or if it was just sitting/digestion but by the end of the meal I was freezing XD

My new room is quite cute, it also has a small kitchen inside! But it's pretty cold D: luckily there a kettle in the hall and I can make tea! (also it's not that cold, I was just really frozen from lunch)

I take a walk along the harbour around sunset. The light is quite magical, but the sky is so cloudy you cannot really tell it's sunset XD

I also go back to the centre and especially the old town, but it keeps raining, then stopping, then raining... And every bench is wet, and it's stupidly warm, and my feet hurt because the two pair of shoes I brought with me (my two pairs of very warm shoes) are not the comfiest, and also I got my period today and I keep trying to make it work, to turn this feeling around, but maybe tonight is just not the right night.*

So I grab some yummy looking things at the supermarket, plus a tea I never tried before, and head back to my room.

**I wasn't sure about adding this part, I never am. On one hand this is like... personal and maybe not that interesting for others. On the other, I distinctly remember the relief I felt on my first solo trip when, after days of rollercoasting from sheer delight to abject bleakness, another traveller told me "these past days, before my friends got here, were really hard on me, I was crying at least once a day". That moment of "oh, this is normal, this doesn't mean that I'm not meant to be doing this, I can cry and then keep going anyway if I like it enough!". And so I'd rather share the hard parts too, just in case someone reads this before they try it or while they're doing it.

[divorcingjimmatthews]

fresh thoughts / reactions on the new episode (S2E4)

(warning: its LONG but separated in chapters by character so it's like you're reading game of thrones)

on Kenny

KENNY???? kenny???? when ??? Are they going to stop beating my boy??? when is he going to catch a break???? Hes so hurt already stop!!! my sweet boy youre breaking him!!

(*takes a deep breath*)

okay im normal now. i just want to wrap kenny in a warm blanket and give him some hot chocolate. this was devastating. let me start by saying that i really liked that kenny wanted to put sara in the box, it goes to show how even "sweet cinammon roll" characters have their limits and imo his reaction is entirely reasonable. i think he might change his mind after he's had some time to process his feelings but even if he doesn't i still think his stance is understandable.

also... kenny just wants kristi to be happy :') my sweet boy

on Boyd

i think boyd was really interesting this episode, the flashback was great (also—kenny in a hoodie! i manifested it /jk) and what boyd said about himself, that he's just trying to be someone people can look to and think he's got things together and under control even though he doesn't, really helped me put his actions with sara and lying to kenny into perspective. if not for that scene i probably wouldve watched the episode and thought "what the hell boyd?" but the flashback made me realise that i was kinda seeing the character through the filter of "guy who's supposed to know what he's doing". he's put so much effort into building this image of himself that shattering it by acting like just some guy who's under a hell of a lot of stress had catastrophic consequences. he fucked up huge w kenny but i also feel like its unfair that one person has to carry so much weight on his shoulders if that makes sense

on Jade

i want to kill him but also kiss him softly and tell him everything is going to be okay what can i say. he actually smiled this episode :) i loved watching him be nice in his own way. but also damn he's definitely doing worse by the day. the friendship with the bus driver???? superb. a perfect writing choice. i just love the way hes trying to push everyone away but also just starved for human comfort and connection. i was really happy to see him just be with someone so they could at least drown their sorrows together instead of alone. am i shipping them? yes. my ideal jade ship was trudy but they cruelly took her from us so ill have to keep looking for options. anyone around his age is game

also him being just pissed that the matthews were living there now was so funny. "at least you had a house" actual 5 year old behavior. love to see it. you'll warm up to them jade

on Jim

jim you're going to break all your remaining bones can you PLEASE follow the doctors orders and stick to the bed for a while?? he put the experiment theory canonically on the table and i think that's great, i think it's a pretty sound theory though i think there's going to be more to it, not just an experiment to gather data but for some specific purpose that we're yet to know.

on Sara

oh babygirl you really fucked up big time back in season one didnt you. personally i dont blame sara but id be worried that what happened to her could happen again. everything about her was heartbreaking this episode but when she casually said that the boy in white may also be trapped in this place??? dammit. that's a game changer for all of my theories if true. was he ever a normal human boy? do people get supernatural abilities from continued survival / progress in this place or something like that? like martin giving boyd his blood was super deliberate and we've still got to see if it's really gonna be a curse or if it could be a blessing after the initial adjustment period. it stopped his tremors at least and who knows maybe it comes with some extra bonuses like the monsters not seeing you as prey idk. im totally rambling rn.

on Julie

soooo julie and edgin huh. im digging it. theyre cute. i really like julie and i want good things for her. i hurt so much for her when fatima rejected her advances she was so nervous and excited poor sweet bean

on Victor

saving my strongest feelings for last i love victor so much and it hurt me so much to see him hurt and mad at ethan :''') jade look at what you've done. i need this to get fixed. i need them to be friends again. can i just say how well victor has kept it together under the circumstances of well, his whole life? it's like he's nice even when he's mad. there's just something about his character and i love him so much. but i got so sad watching this like ethan tried to stop jade he doesn't deserve the hate !!! but its understandable that victor needs time to get things back to normal. ethan bringing him the drawing supplies also... :') they're so sweet

on Randall (was that his name?)

im literally terrified for him like he wasn't listening to donna's instructions and being on the bus without anything to cover the windows he's prime candidate for the monsters tricking him into pretending to be someone he knows dammitttt its making me so nervous just to think about it. they set him up a lot to just kill him now so i dont think hes realistically gonna die on his first night alone but uhhhhh maybe he will. maybe he will and im worried.

[drifting-pieces-blog-blog]

What We See - Part 4

Summary: Marc and Steven have returned to their flat in London shortly after everything in Cairo. But there's just something Steven can't get out of his head. What really happened when they both blacked out?

Steven and Marc discuss the possibility of a third. How can they cope with being three when they still need to learn to be two?

Warnings: I don't know. You watched the show. All of that.

Pairing: Layla saves the day. 

Word count:  1982

Part one here. Part two here. Part three here.

PART FOUR: Investigative efforts lead to surprises. Also Marc gets to find out what it felt like for poor Steven. He's having a bad day.

-------------

“What if it’s booby trapped?” Steven stared at the car, hand worrying at the key he was clutching tightly. 

“Why would it be booby trapped?” Marc’s expert eyes looked the car over carefully, despite himself. No signs of a car bomb. No wires or hair triggers. It was an older model car, probably second hand. Hopefully bought and not stolen. Manual stick. Parked carefully in a reserved spot. 

Marc made a mental note to try to keep better tabs on his money. It was obvious the Jake fellow was getting money from somewhere. He was no good with financial stuff. Most of his earnings were in cash stuffed into various duffle bags. Maybe Steven knew a financial guy they could trust… Hell, maybe Steven would be good with it. 

“Marc?” Steven held up the key. 

“Right.” He forced himself to focus. “You said his stuff was in the trunk?” 

“Looked like it.” Layla was peering into the driver side window. 

Marc moved to the back of the car and slid the key in. There was a moment of hesitation before he unlocked it. 

His heart pounded as worries started to rise up. What would they find? His irrational worries supplied images of dead bodies, a mess of guns and ammo, body parts, maybe even someone zip tied and stashed in the back. 

Was it so irrational? These were things he had seen. Things he had done. Memories came up of hot lands and the smell of gunfire. 

“Marc!” Steven’s voice was so close. He snapped back to the present and shook his head to clear away the past. “Marc, are you alright? Do you want me to do this?” 

There was no way Marc was going to let Steven have control. This was dangerous. He had to be on the ready. “It’s fine. I can handle this.” 

“Don’t know what’s to handle. We’re just looking for clues. Maybe I should be the one looking. I’m good at clues. Looking for them I mean.” Steven smiled from the dusty back window. 

“I said no!” Marc’s voice was louder than he meant it, making Layla look back at him in concern. 

He ignored the look Steven gave him and threw open the trunk. 

A nice leather jacket was neatly folded with a flat cap sitting on top. A pair of driving gloves were neatly set next to the jacket. 

Marc picked up the cap and a wallet fell out. It was black leather, old but well tended to. He stared at the wallet for a moment, knowing that answers could be tucked away inside. 

He reached out for it, and noticed his fingers were trembling. He took a slow breath and steadied himself. “Alright, buddy. Who are you?” 

Layla appeared at his side and leaned in, eager to see what he found. Was this how Steven felt when he found the storage locker? Looking into a life that wasn’t his filled with secrets that he might not want to know? 

He opened the wallet and stared down at the ID card. Down into a face that was and wasn’t his. Hair slicked back, eyes dark, lips tight, and a focus that scared him. 

“Jake Lockley.” Layla read off. “I’ve met him. Briefly. Maybe a year back? You just got back from a mission and I caught you sneaking off. Thought you were going drinking or something. I wonder how many other times I’ve seen him.” 

“Why does everyone get a license but me?” Steven squinted at the ID skeptically. “I know I can’t drive but this hardly seems fair. I’ve driven. I should have a license.” 

Layla smiled and put a hand on their shoulder. “We can go see the forger later. Alright?” 

“I’d like that.” Steven flipped through the wallet, pulling out various cards. “He’s got a punch card for that diner down the street. One more punch and he’ll get a free pie slice!” 

Layla raised an eyebrow. “There’s a cup of coffee in the center holder. Considering what hours I saw him leaving your flat, I’m not surprised if he lives on the stuff. You both really need to work on your sleep schedules. I’m a little worried about how much sleep you all operate on.” 

“My old library card!” Steven held up a card. “I thought I’d lost it! He’s nicked my card! You never nicked anything from me, did you Marc?” 

Marc frowned. “Why would I? I’m the one that bought you the flat.” 

“Wait, what’s this?” Layla pulled a different ID out from behind the first one. “This is a cab driver license from Chicago.” 

“He’s a cabbie?” Steven took the license. “Well at least he’s making his own income. I kind of respect that actually.” 

“Great. I’ll make him pay half the rent.” Marc put everything back in the wallet and tossed it back into the trunk. “What now? How do we get rid of him?” 

“You can’t just get rid of him.” Steven looked appalled. “He has a right to be here. Who knows how long he’s been here. Could have grown up with us for all we know!” 

“He didn’t grow up with us.” Marc snapped. “I’d remember something like that.” 

“I certainly don’t remember you.” Steven pointed to Layla. “I didn’t even know you had a wife! And it sounds like this Jake fellow has met her! He seems to know more about it all than either of us do. Who knows what memories he has. Maybe he could help us. Maybe he knows more about…you know… All that.” 

Marc glanced at Layla. He still hated having these moments in front of her. Was she judging him? Did she think it was strange? Maybe she had second thoughts about the whole situation. Maybe… 

“I don’t want to have this conversation right now, Steven.” Marc shut the trunk and moved to unlock the driver’s side door. 

“Steven has a point, Marc.” Layla leaned against the car, arms crossed. “You can’t just dismiss him without knowing him. He’s built a life, even if it was in secret.” 

“We don’t know what he’s doing! Leaving at all hours of the night? Sneaking off and doing…I don’t know! That’s the whole thing isn’t it? We don’t know what he’s doing!” Marc opened the door and was met by the faint smell of old coffee and car air freshener. 

“He’s a cabbie.” Steven leaned in and looked around the inside of the car curiously. “How bad can he be? He’s driving people around and hoping for good tips! Kinda growing on me now, the more I think about it. Neat cap too. He’s got a look, Marc. Very sleek sense of style.” 

Marc took a slow deep breath and looked at Layla. “Can I have a moment? Please. I need to… To have a chat with Steven.” He gave her a very forced smile. 

“Are you serious?” Layla looked around then back at him. 

“Excuse me.” Marc got into the driver seat and shut the door then locked it. He then grabbed the rearview mirror and yanked it to get a better look at himself. A deep exhale and Steven was pushed to the back. 

“Oh, are we back to this?” Steven stared at him from the mirror. “Are you cross with me?” 

Marc didn’t answer. He didn’t know what he was. Was he angry? If so, why? 

Steven looked out the window at Layla. “You’re scared. I understand. I really do. I was you just a bit ago. I didn’t know what you were. Where you were coming from. I was angry. I thought, ‘How dare this person take away my life’. I wanted to get rid of you.” 

Marc gripped the steering wheel tightly, running his fingers across the worn leather. Did it feel familiar? Would it trigger any memories of the other? Maybe this was all just some bad dream. It was just him and Steven. Always had been. He didn’t need anyone else. No one else threatening the peace they had found. 

Why was Steven so eager to let someone else mess that up? 

Steven moved to the side mirror. “I’m glad you didn’t go away. You know that, right? I’m glad to know you. We’re a team, Marc. You and I.” 

“There’s a lot you don’t know.” Marc clenched his jaw. “About me. About…You know. Things I’ve done. You don’t become a mercenary because you hate violence. I was good at violence. Before Khonshu. Khonshu chose me because of what I could do.” 

Steven sighed and looked down. “I don’t care about all that. It’s in the past, right? I mean, don’t like thinking about people getting hurt, but I can’t go back in time and tell you to stop. You did things that you felt you had to do at the time to survive. You don’t do that anymore.” 

“What if he does?” Marc started to shuffle around, looking for anything hidden. “He was there. He was there when I was in the military. It had to be him. Which means he was there when I was a mercenary too. He knows how to fight. We’ve seen what he does there.” 

“Doesn’t mean he liked it.” Steven shrugged. “You were there when I studied ancient Egyptian. You barely knew who Khonshu was.” 

Marc reached under his seat and his hand found something far too familiar. He undid the strap and slowly pulled up the gun. 

“Okay, Marc? That doesn’t mean anything. He’s a cabbie. Maybe that comes standard so you don’t get robbed.” Steven leaned in. 

Marc held up the gun and stared at it for a moment. Distantly he could hear Steven trying to make sense of it. He could hear a gentle tapping on the window next to him and Layla calling to him. 

Marc pushed hard and grabbed the mirror. “You in there? Huh? You watching this? Getting nervous I hope? That we’re here touching your stuff?” He held up the gun. “This yours? Jake is it? I’m talking to you! What do you do all the time, huh? Hunting down the bad guys? Leaving a trail of bodies for me to find later? I’m keeping this! You hear me? I’m going to stash this away and…And set fire to your stupid car! You got that? I’m going to burn you and your stupid car to the ground! FUEGO!” 

Marc slammed open the door. “I’m going to do it. He thinks I won’t.” He got out and walked around the car, trying to come up with a way to set fire to it. “I’ve done more with less.” 

“Marc!” Layla followed behind him. “Marc listen to me. You are overreacting. You need to calm down.” 

“I’m not going to let this stand, Layla!” The stress was barely contained as he moved to pop the hood. “I’m not a killer. I don’t do that anymore.” 

“Marc let’s talk about this. You can’t just destroy his car! Marc!” She grabbed his hand and pulled him away just as he was about to start ripping things out. 

“I am going to destroy everything of his if I have to.” Marc pointed at the car with the gun. “I don’t want him. I don’t want this.” 

Steven’s voice full of concern floated through his head. “Come on Marc, put the gun down. Just let him alone.” 

“Marc you are making a scene.” Layla looked around and lowered his arm. “Someone is going to call the police if you don’t stop waving that gun around!” 

A memory floated up. His dad’s face, concerned, troubled, disappointed. “Marc you have to stop this. You’re making a scene. If you just calm down we’ll take care of this.”

His chest tightened. His vision blurred. Somewhere he heard a voice with a thick accent and full of controlled rage. 

“Fuego, ¿eh? ¿Quieres jugar con fuego?” 

The world blacked out. 

[thorntopieces]

Attempt at explaining the LoZ timeline soup

Every time I look at the Loz time-crossword-puzzle (credit to this video by Chase Kip for the term) I just get more and more confused. ToTK did not help on that front.

But I had a thought - and I haven't watched many theory videos on the timeline after ToTK came out, so it is very possible someone has already discussed this exact idea. In that case, please ignore this post lmao.

Second disclaimer: I haven't played a lot of ToTK yet simply because I haven't had the time. I know a bit of the lore from watching others play it, but uhhh ... don't expect perfect accuracy.

I'll put this under a read more, because who knows how long it's going to be and how many shitty illustrations I might have to add in. I also have like,,, no proof of my idea except what popped into my brain.

Update: 750 words and two images under the "keep reading". Image IDs are provided. No grammar checking has been done.

Basically, my thought is that the entire timeline as we know it, y'know, this one:

[Image ID: picture of the Legend of Zelda Timeline depicted on page 69 of The Hyrule Historia. It shows the typical timeline split after Ocarina of Time into the Downfall, Adult and Child timelines. End Image ID] Source

Yeah, I think this timeline still checks out. Obviously, the version I'm showing here ignores some games (most importantly, my favourite: A Link Between Worlds) but that's alright.

Basically, my thought was that if we take all the fun new games that just ruin whatever remnants of timeline we had left (read: BoTW, AoC, ToTK and Hyrule Warriors) and uhh. Let's create a semi-pocket dimension with them. All of those exist together in their own fun little loop now. Imagine the original timeline as a bed and we just drape my fun BoTW-AoC-ToTk-HW blanket over the bed. Let it lay on top.

At the top of the bed, by the pillow is Skyward Sword. We let Skyward Sword play out and BAM! They're working on establishing the Kingdom of Hyrule on the Surface. At the same time we can have Rauru (the King, not the Sage) and Sonia establish the Kingdom of Hyrule on ... well, the Surface. But since BoTW-AoC-ToTk-HW is a blanket laying on top of the bed, these two Kingdoms of Hyrule don't really interact.

And so the established timeline moves as normal, like we have the Minish Cap and Four Swords and everything is going great. But Ah! Actually Everything Isn't That Great because now we've got Hyrule Warriors happening on the blanket. A big war requires big help, yeah? Well, so what I failed to tell you is that this blanket is ... kind of in need of repair. It's got some thinner areas in the weave here and there and a couple of actual holes. Time kind of doesn't really progress during this war, so let's say that the Hyrule Warriors war lasts ... from around ish around the start of Ocarina of Time through the bottom of the conventional timeline (after Spirit Tracks, Four Swords Adventures and Whatever Is At The Bottom of Downfall).

The holes in the blanket are where we get the interdimensional travel through. Young Link? Yeah he was just temporarily dragged through a hole in the blanket from OoT/MM to aid in this war. Twili Midna? Same thing, just snatched out of the Twili Realm. Ravio? Sure! Snatch him up too. During the time where they're fighting in the war, time doesn't really pass in the normal timeline, and they probably don't remember much of the war afterwards once they've been returned to their original time and place. Think of it like a full body, skill and personality scan of them being done and that copy being dumped into Hyrule Warriors.

And then peaceful times happen and an indeterminate amount of time happens after Hyrule Warriors. Maybe because time passed so slowly during it (a couple of years at most, I think someone said 7 once?) while the normal timeline progressed by thousands of years, it's now catching up and a lot of time passes. Then we get AoC.

Well, you see, this blanket is actually quite fucked. We're getting closer to the bottom of the bed and this blanket has been mauled. There are now two strips of blanket, not just one cohesive blanket. On one side, AoC happens and everything is great, and on the other, BoTW Link falls in battle and takes a long feckin nap. Then he goes and does Breath of the Wild, gets a moment of peace. Then, ToTK.

And bam, we're back at the top of the bed with Skyward Sword and ToTK and it starts all over again.

Makes sense? Eh, probably not so much.

How about a (shitty) visual depiction:

[Image ID: a low-opacity image of the IGN Legend of Zelda timeline. There is handwritten text on top of the image. Between Skyward Sword and Ocarina of Time is written "Tears Of The Kingdom + Peace Era" in dark blue. All the other games are encircled in a dark-blue outlined square. Inside this square is written "This Is All Just Hyrule Warriors". At the bottom of the square is a cutout, where a mini timeline has been drawn. The timeline splits into two. The left side says "AoC" and the right side says "BoTW" and then "ToTK". End Image ID] Original Image Source

Anyways, those are my silly little thoughts.

[kaiba-fangirl]

Even when YGO was first airing in the US, once I got internet like a year into it, I remember "Puppyshipping" being THE most popular ship. Certainly was at least one of the biggest.

The discourse was about whether it was abusive, but it was all incoherent nonsense on both sides, with varying degrees of seriousness. I might've posted 1 time on the kaiba corporation forum my own opinion: in-world, yes abusive. in-fics, usually abusive. does this mean ppl shouldn't do it? nah, whatever. I understand why the dynamic interests people. Ship and let ship. Not my ship, though. Could never be.

...cuz...

See, my brother & I -unused to anime aside from Pokemon- thought we should root for only Main Character TM, but soon after jumped on our faves. Mai & Kaiba for me. He stuck with Yugi more to annoy me, & Joey as the blonde underdog in green (like himself; & this smelly green soccer jersey he never changed or washed cuz it was his "Joey shirt" 🤮).

So for me, it personally always felt skeevy to ship my faves with my brother's faves.

I started getting over it once Joey became obsessed with Mai in Waking the Dragons, but the little-brother-protector thing id with Kaiba was still stronger. Plus my brother spent the season annoyed with Joey's pining & hating Mai for her betrayal, so that helped disconnect them there.

I didn't really get into it the slightest bit til I came to tumblr, & I was part of the convo to rename it "violetshipping" to address the unwelcome default feeling of an abuse undertone & instead focusing on their complementary parallels & contrasts (which we all casually agreed was ok, canon, ic, but shouldn't be assumed within the very ship name), around the same time my relationship with my brother began deteriorating. So even though I got him into one last hurrah with DSOD, he's basically been lost to the right.

Tumblr's format also makes it a lot easier to stumble upon lots of things that just go by on your dash. I don't even remember seeing any puppyshipping fanart in the old forums & webrings of geocities & DeviantArt & AOL image searches, cuz I never searched for it. Read a couple fics trying to give it a chance, but they always ended up grossing me out with characterizations alone.

.

But ya know what I never did? Never actually called it incest, even though that's what it felt like to me in my own unique experience. & I never said *anything* to people online who shipped it. I did talk about it with friends in school, where you would've seen my full body language reaction for "I don't wanna be rude - I'm just reeeally not into it - cuz my brother - so I don't wanna talk about it." Which was perfectly fine & accepted!

Who *did* I ship Kaiba with? Well, most in-character? No one. As in he would actively choose no one. As sexy as he was, I didn't see him being interested in pursuing any kind of relationship or sex. (It would take another several years before I ever saw the term "asexual," to which my first reaction was, Oh! Like Kaiba!

I've used the joke of shipping him with money.

But once I found Silentshipping, I was hooked. They had interacted ONCE when Serenity yelled at him, & he was just like "Uhh..." where if it were a Disney movie, that'd be where he fell in love but hadn't realized it yet. Then they NEVER interacted again. Serenity hardly had much of a personality beyond "nice." It was a perfect blank slate to make anything up! & she was perfectly generic for girls to project onto, without fear of being called a self-insert or Mary Sue -the biggest worries of the time.

But I also loved how it connected Joey & Kaiba as, usually, either eventually or at least effectively, brothers-in-law, still pitted against each other. To me, it was sooo much better than actually putting them together.

.

It is sooo easy to not call everything "incest" that merely feels like brothers to you. It is sooo easy to not harass others for what they create, especially when they purposely help keep away anything you may not wanna see.

[macrotiis]

Meowdy!

I'm Blitz!

28 years old aries (23rd march)

Neutrois Transmasc TME

xe/xem/xyrs, he/him, she/her

@rainbowmancer-gwen is my fox gf 💙

Aus/NZ Pākehā (white)

I don't do DNI's, I just block. I usually block proshippers, ppl who are heavily into discourse, bigots & rude ppl. I'm here to have a chill time, I dont go looking for things to be mad at & dont appriciate ppl trying to start shit (letting me know if I'm rbing from a bigot in PMs tho is appriciated 💖).

That said 18+ only please! This blog is not NSFW orientated, but may sometimes post NSFW things coz I'm a big boy.

There will be NSFW in my likes, I'm sorry Tumblr decided that's what ppl want on their dash now, not much I can do about it boss.

I'm not a huge fandom person, but I rly love Crash Bandicoot (bold coz this is my primary special interest lol), Spyro the Dragon, Digimon, The Elder Scrolls, Fallout, Jojo's Bizarre Adventure, Invader Zim, Star Trek (currently watching TNG), Furries & Table Top Roleplaying (Dungeons & Dragons, Pathfinder and Gaslands).

I have a deep love for science fiction, fantasy & horror themes.

I like a pretty wide range of music; metal, punk, ska, new wave, drum n bass & some other EDM.

My favourite colour is blue, I love hairless cats & Australian wildlife.

I like to draw a lot, my art blog is @staticblitz :) I also have a Crash Bandicoot side-blog @n-trance which is strictly sfw.

I'm very politically active with strong Anarchist leanings, I heavily criticize capitalism, liberalism, nationalism & imperialism. I align myself with marginalized people & workers above all. Anti-fascist.

I'm sexpositive & an on-n-off sexworker, sexworker liberation is very important to me.

I'm also a cult survivor, I was raised as a Jehovah's Witness & have a lotta weird trauma surrounding that lol

Part of a system of some kind. I tend to keep it to myself coz I'm still figuring it out, but I can't rly pretend it's not a thing for me anymore lol. You probably won't see the others on here much, we're pretty anxious about it all still.

I tag image & video posts with #no id for those who rely on alt text & image descriptions. Posts with descriptions won't be tagged with this & I regularly trawl through notes to find image descriptions. This is not a judgement against you, I just want to make my blog friendly to visually impaired folks :)

I also tag potentially triggering content with just what the trigger is, you may ask me to tag things for you if you need me to. (I will not tag reclaimed slurs tho, those are important to ppls identity & should be treated as such)

NOTE; I will not respond to messages asking me to reblog crowd-funds.

[deathsmallcaps]

@boopboopboopbadoop if you’d like to see the rest of them :)

June 2022’s 38th Win A Commission story is Wildwood Dancing, by Juliet Marillier! I’ve adored this story since I was nine, ever since I ‘accidentally’ wandered into the teen section at the library lol. If you’d like to see the first chapter, see the rest of my art, and my notes, please

Wildwood Dancing will take you to another time and indeed another world. For proper pronunciation of names and for details about select Romanian terms, please read this first section. (End of original note by the author)

It is not the full version, as I’ve only included terms that appear in this chapter. Also, to those using screen readers, it is unlikely your readers will pronounce everything as it should be - sorry. There is also a character who speaks without quotation marks or words like ‘said, replied, shouted,’ etc etc. Visually, I’ve made his speech different, but I’m unsure of how to audibly apply this difference without changing the text. If you have any ideas or think it would ultimately be better to post a screen reader friendly option, please let me know.

Also, should I start doing image IDs for my illustrations within the stories? I rarely change a scene described in the story, and I often go into artistic choices within the notes. Is that too inaccessible? Thanks for any feedback! (End of note by me, the following is the pronunciation dictionary for the Romanian terms.)

Braşov A merchant town in central Transylvania. Pronounced Brah-shove

Ciorbǎ Traditional Romanian broth. Pronounced chor-buh

Constanta A trading port on the Black Sea coast. Pronounced Kahn-stahn-tsah

Piscul Dracului Devil’s Peak. Pronounced Pis-kul Drah -koo-looy

Tara Romǎneascǎ A region south of Transylvania, also known as Wallachia. Pronounced Tsah-rah Roh-muh-neeyes-kuh

Taul Ielelor Lake of the Iele. Iele are female spirits who lure folk to their doom. Pronounced Tah-ool YeHeh-lor

Tuicǎ Plum brandy. Pronounce tswee-kuh

Vǎrful cu Negurǎ Storm Heights. Pronounced Vur-fool koo Neh-goo-ruh

Voivode The head of a Transylvanian territory; princeling. Pronounced voh-yeah-vode

Anatolie Ah-nah-toh-yeeah

Bogdana Bohg-dah-nah

Cezar Cheh-zahr

Costi, Costin Koh-tee, Kohs-teen

Dräguta Druh-goo-tsah

Florica Flo-ree-kah

Gogu Goh-goo

Grigori Gree-gohrree

Ileana Eel-leh-ah-nah

Iulia Yoolee-ah

Jena, Jenica Jeh-nah, Jeh-nee-kah (J pronounced like g in mirage)

Marin Mah-reen

Nicolae Nee-koh-lie-eh (lie & sky rhyme)

Paula PowHah

Petru Peh-troo

Salem bin Afazi Sah-lem bin Ah-fah-zee

Sandu Sahn-doo

Stela Stel-ah

Tati, Tatiana Tah-tee, Tah-tee-ahrnah

Teodor The-oh-dor

I’ve heard it said that girls can’t keep secrets. That’s wrong: we’d proved it. We’d kept ours for years and years, ever since we came to live at Piscul Dracului and stumbled on the way into the Other Kingdom. Nobody knew about it—not Father, not our housekeeper, Florica, or her husband, Petru, not Uncle Nicolae or Aunt Bogdana or their son, Cezar. We found the portal when Tati was seven and I was six, and we’d been going out and coming in nearly every month since then: nine whole years of Full Moons. We had plenty of ways to cover our absences, including a bolt on our bedchamber door and the excuse that my sister Paula sometimes walked in her sleep.

I suppose the secret was not completely ours; Gogu knew. But even if frogs could talk, Gogu would never have told. Ever since I’d found him long ago, crouched all by himself in the forest, dazed and hurt, I had known I could trust him more than anyone else in the world.

It was the day of Full Moon. In the bedchamber our gowns and shoes were laid out ready; combs, bags, and hair ornaments were set beside them. Nothing would be touched now, until the household was safely in bed. Fortunately, it was rare for Florica to come up to our room, because it was at the top of a flight of stairs, and stairs made her knees hurt. I did wonder how much Florica knew or guessed. She must have noticed how quiet we always were on the night of Full Moon, and how exhausted we were when we stumbled down to breakfast the next morning. But if she knew, Florica didn’t say a thing.

During the day we kept up our normal activities, trying not to arouse suspicion. Paula helped Florica cook fish ciorbă, while Iulia went out to lend a hand to Petru, who was storing away sacks of grain to last us over the winter. Iulia did not enjoy the hard work of the farm, but at least, she said, it made the time go more quickly. Tati was teaching Stela to read: I had seen the two of them ensconced in a warm corner of the kitchen, making letters in a tray of wet sand.

I sat in the workroom with Father, reconciling a set of orders with a record of payments. I was good with figures and helped him regularly with such tasks. The merchant business in which he was a partner with his cousin, whom we called Uncle Nicolae, kept the two of them much occupied. Gogu sat on the desk, keeping himself to himself, though once or twice I caught his silent voice—the one only I could hear.

You’re upset, Jena.

“Mmm,” I murmured, not wanting to get into a real conversation with him while both Father and his secretary, Gabriel, were in the room. My family didn’t truly believe that I sometimes knew what Gogu was thinking. Even my sisters, who had long ago accepted that this was no ordinary frog, thought that I was deluding myself—putting my own words into the frog’s mouth, perhaps. I knew that was wrong. I’d had Gogu since I was a small girl, and the things he told me definitely didn’t come from my own head.

Don’t be sad. Tonight is Full Moon.

“I can’t help it, Gogu. I’m worried. Now hush, or Father will hear me.”

Father was trying to write a letter. He kept coughing, and in between bouts he struggled to catch his breath. Tomorrow he would be leaving on a journey to the port of Constanţa, in the milder climate of the Black Sea coast. His doctor had told him, sternly, that if he tried to get through another winter at Piscul Dracului in his present ill health, he would be dead before the first buds opened on the oaks. We five sisters would be looking after the place on our own, right through the winter. Of course, Uncle Nicolae would help with the business, and Florica and Petru with the house and farm. It was not so much the extra responsibility that troubled me. Father was away often enough on business and we had coped before, though not for so long. What chilled me was the thought that when we said goodbye in the morning, it might be forever.

At supper we were all quiet. I was thinking about what Father had confided to Tati and me earlier. Up till then, none of us had mentioned the possibility that Father might die of this illness, for to say that aloud would be to put the unthinkable into words. But Father had wanted his eldest daughters to be prepared for whatever might happen. Should he die before any of us girls married and bore a son, he’d explained, both Piscul Dracului and Father’s share of the business would go to Uncle Nicolae, as the closest male relative. We were not to worry. If the worst should occur, Uncle Nicolae would see we were provided for.

Uncle Nicolae’s family home was called Vǎrful cu Negurǎ: Storm Heights. His house was quite grand, set on a hillside and surrounded by birch and pine forest. He ran a prosperous farm and a timber business, as well as the trading ventures that had made him wealthy. When we were little, we had lived in the merchant town of Braşov, and Vǎrful cu Negurǎ had been a place we visited as a special treat. It was hard to say what I had loved best about it: the dark forest, the forbidden lake, or the excitement of playing with our big cousins, who were both boys.

But there was no doubt at all what Father had loved. Next door to Vǎrful cu Negurǎ was Piscul Dracului, Devil’s Peak. Father had first seen the empty, crumbling castle, set on a high spur of rock, when he was only a boy. Our father was an unusual kind of person, and as soon as he clapped eyes on Piscul Dracului he wanted to live there. There’d been nobody to inherit the ruin and the tract of wildwood that went with it; perhaps the many strange tales attached to the place had frightened people away. The owner had died long ago. Florica and Petru had been custodians of the place for years, looking after the empty chambers and eking out a living from the small farm, for they were hardworking, thrifty folk.

Father had waited a long time to achieve his dream. He had worked hard, married, and fathered daughters, bought and sold, scrimped and saved. When he’d set enough silver aside from his merchant ventures, trading in silk carpets and bear skins, spices and fine porcelain, he’d quietly paid a large sum to an influential voivode, gone into partnership with Uncle Nicolae, and moved our family into Piscul Dracului.

I think Mother would have preferred to stay in Braşov, for she feared the tales folk told about the old castle. It looked as if it had grown up out of the forest, with an assortment of bits and pieces sprouting from every corner: tiny turrets, long covered walkways, squat round towers, arches, and flagpoles. The eccentric nobleman who had built it had probably been someone just like Father. People seldom ventured into the forest around Piscul Dracului. There was a lake deep within the wildwood, a place unofficially known as the Deadwash, though its real name was prettier: Tǎul Ielelor, Lake of the Nymphs. Every family had a dark story about the Deadwash. We got ours soon after we moved into the castle. When I was five years old, my cousin Costi—Uncle Nicolae’s eldest son—drowned in Tǎul Ielelor. I was there when it happened. The things folk said about the lake were true.

Before Father became so ill, Tati and I had scarcely given a thought to such weighty matters as what might happen to Piscul Dracului, with no son to inherit our father’s property. My elder sister was a dreamer, and I had a different kind of future in mind for myself: one in which I would work alongside my father, traveling and trading and seeing the world. Marriage and children were secondary in my scheme of things. Now—with Father’s cough ringing in our ears, and his white face regarding us across the supper table—they had become a frightening reality. I remembered Aunt Bogdana saying that sixteen was the ideal age for a young woman to wed. Tati was already in her seventeenth year; I was only one year younger.

Father went off to bed as soon as the meal was over; he’d hardly touched his food. The others disappeared to our bedchamber, but I waited for Florica to bank up the fire in the big stove and for Petru to bolt the front door, and for the two of them to retire to their sleeping quarters. Then it was safe, and I ran up the stairs to our chamber, my worries set aside for now, my heart beating fast with an anticipation that was part joy, part fear. At last it was time.

The long room we sisters shared had four round windows of colored glass: soft violet, blood-red, midnight-blue, beech-green. Beyond them the full moon was sailing up into the night sky. I put Gogu on a shelf to watch as I took off my working dress and put on my dancing gown, a green one that my frog was particularly fond of. Paula was calmly lighting our small lanterns, to be ready for the journey.

With five girls, even the biggest bedchamber can get crowded. As Tati fastened the hooks on my gown, I watched Iulia twirling in front of the mirror. She was thirteen now, and developing the kind of curvaceous figure our mother had had. Her gown was of cobalt silk and she had swept her dark curls up into a circlet of ribbon butterflies. We had become clever, over the years, in our use of the leftovers from Father’s shipments. He was good at what he did, but buying Piscul Dracului had eaten up a lot of his funds and, even in partnership with his wealthy cousin, he was still making up for lost ground. I saw the books every day—he had been unable to conceal from me that finances remained very tight. We sisters had to improvise. We made one new dancing gown anytime a cargo contained a little more of a certain fabric than the buyer had requested. I wore Tati’s hand-me-downs; Paula wore mine. Iulia, with her fuller figure, did rather better, because she could not fit into either Tati’s clothes or mine. All the same, she complained; she would have liked a whole wardrobe of finery. Tati was clever with her needle, and adjusted old things of Mother’s to fit her. Mother was gone. We had lost her when our youngest sister was born. Stela was only five—easy to dress.

Paula had finished lighting the lamps. Now she crouched to bank up the fire in our little stove and ensure its door was safely shut. One year Iulia’s junior, Paula was our scholar. While I was good at figures, she shone in all branches of learning. Our village priest, Father Sandu, came up to Piscul Dracului once a month to provide Paula with private tutoring—I shared in the mathematical part of these lessons—and went home with a bottle of Petru’s finest ţuicǎ in his coat pocket. Most folk believed education of that kind was wasted on girls. But Father had never cared what people thought. Follow your heart was one of his favorite sayings.

“What is it, Jena?” Paula had noticed me staring at her. The heat from the stove had flushed her cheeks pink. Her dark eyes were fixed on me with an assessing look. Tonight she was wearing dove-gray, with her spectacles on a chain around her neck, and her brown curls disciplined into a neat plait.

“You look pretty tonight,” I said. “So do you, Stela.” Stela, our baby, was rosy-cheeked and small, like a little bird, maybe a robin. Her hair, the same ebony as Tati’s, was wispy and soft, and tonight it was tied back with rose-pink ribbons to match the gown Tati had made for her. She was standing by the oak chest, jiggling up and down in excitement.

“What about your hair, Jena?” asked Tati, doing up my last hook. “It’s all over the place.”

“Never mind,” I told her, knowing nobody would be looking at me while she was anywhere near. My elder sister’s gown was a simple one of violet-blue that matched her eyes. Her hair rippled down her back like black silk. Tati didn’t need jewelry or ribbons or any sort of finery. She was as lovely as a perfect wildflower. It always seemed to me a generous fairy must have presided over her christening, for Tati was blessed with the kind of beauty that draws folk’s eyes and opens their minds to dreams.

I didn’t make a big effort with my appearance. When people commented on our family of sisters, Tati was always the beautiful one. If they noticed me at all, they called me sensible or practical. I had bushy hair, brown like Paula’s, which refused to do what I wanted it to, and eyes of a color somewhere between mud and leaf. My figure was a lot more straight-up-and-down than Iulia’s, even though I was two years her elder. The one special thing about my green gown was the pocket I had sewn into it for Gogu, since he needed a safe retreat if he got tired or upset. Tonight the only ornament I carried was the frog himself, sitting on my shoulder. You look lovely, Jena. Like a forest pool on a summer’s day.

Tati darted across to make sure our door was bolted. Then, by the shifting light of the lanterns, we moved to the most shadowy corner of the chamber: the place where we had once sat playing games by candlelight and made the most astonishing discovery of our lives.

We dragged out the heavy oak chest from against the wall and set our lanterns on it so their light was cast into the little alcove where the chest had been, an indentation that wasn’t even big enough to store a folded blanket in.

“Come on,” Iulia urged. “My feet are itching for a dance.”

The first time we had done this, in our earliest days at Piscul Dracului—when I was only six, and Stela was not yet born—Tati and I had been amusing the younger ones by making shadow creatures on the wall: rabbits, dogs, bats. At the moment when all our hands had been raised at once to throw a particular image on the stones, we had found our forest’s hidden world. Whether it had been chance or a gift, we had never been sure.

It made no difference that we had done this over and over. The sense of thrilling strangeness had never gone away. Every Full Moon, our bodies tingled with the magic of it. The lamp shone on the blank wall. One by one, we stretched out our hands, and the lantern light threw the silhouettes onto the stones. One by one, we spoke our names in a breathless whisper:

“Tatiana.”

“Jenica.”

“Iulia.”

“Paula.”

“Stela.”

Between the shadows of our outstretched fingers, a five-pointed star appeared. The portal opened. Instead of a shallow alcove, there was a little archway and a flight of stone steps snaking down, down into the depths of the castle. It was dark, shadow-dark.… The first time it ever happened, back when there were only four of us, we had clutched one another’s hands tightly and crept down, trembling with excitement and terror. For the others the fear had dissipated over the years; I could see no trace of misgiving in any of them now, only shining eyes and eager faces.

I was different. The magic drew me despite myself; I passed through the portal because it seemed to me I must. There were eldritch forces all around, and the only thing sure was that the powers of the wildwood were unpredictable. It was curious: from the first I had felt that without me, my sisters would not be safe in the Other Kingdom.

Lanterns in hand, we made our way down the winding stairway, holding up our long skirts as our shadows danced beside us on the ancient stone walls. It was so deep, it was like going to the bottom of a well. Gogu rode on my shoulder down the twists and turns of the stair, until we came to the long, arched passage at the bottom.

“Hurry up!” urged Iulia, who was at the front of the line.

Our slippers whispered on the stone floor as we glided along under the carved extravagance of the roof. Here, there were enough gargoyles and dragons and strange beasts to decorate the grandest building in all Transylvania. They clung to the corners and crept around the pillars and dripped from the arches, watching us with bright, unwavering eyes. Subterranean mosses crawled over their heads and shoulders, softening their angular forms with little capes of green and gray and brown. The first time we saw this Gallery of Beasts, Tati had whispered, “They’re not real, are they?” and I had whispered back, “Just nod your head to them, and keep on walking.” I had sensed, even then, that respect and courtesy could go a long way to keeping a person safe in a place such as this.

As we passed now, I felt something jump onto my shoulder—the one not occupied by Gogu—and cling there, its needle claws pricking my skin through the soft fabric of the green gown. It was doing its best to look like a frog, rolling up its long tail and bulging its eyes, while casting surreptitious glances at Gogu.

The frog tensed. Interloper.

The little creature poked out a forked tongue, hissing.

“Lights out!” ordered Iulia, and we each covered our lanterns in turn. As our eyes adjusted to the sudden darkness, a pale expanse came into view ahead of us: the mist-wreathed waters of a broad lake, illuminated by the moon. Through the vaporous cloud we could see the bobbing torches of those who were waiting to escort us on the last part of our journey.

“Ooo-oo!” Iulia called in a falling cadence. “Ooo-oo!”

The little boats came, one by one, out of the tendrils of mist—high-prowed and graceful, each shaped in the form of a creature: swan, wyvern, phoenix, wood duck, and salamander. In each stood a figure, propelling the craft by means of a slender pole: push and lift, push and lift. The response to Iulia’s call came in five voices, each different, each as uncanny as the others. Our guides were what they were; the only human creatures in this midnight realm were ourselves.

The boats pulled in to the shore. The boatmen stepped out to help us board. The next part, my frog didn’t like. He began to quiver in fright, a rapid trembling that went right through his body. I was used to this; he did it every time. I held him against my breast and, as I climbed into the boat, I murmured, “It’s all right, Gogu, I’ve got you. We’ll be there soon.”

Tǎul Ielelor: the Deadwash. This was the place where Costi had drowned. Our mother had warned us about it, over and over: we should never go there, for to do so was to risk harm at the hands of the vengeful fairy folk who had robbed us of our cousin. And yet, since the very first time the portal had opened for us, the realm that lay beyond had shown us warmth and kindness, open arms, and welcoming smiles. I was still cautious; I did not have it in me to trust unconditionally. All the same, it was impossible to believe that the person who had drowned our cousin was one of those greeting us on our nocturnal journeys.

The folk of the Other Kingdom had their own name for this expanse of shining water—at Full Moon, they called it the Bright Between. The lake waters spanned the distance between their world and ours. Once we set foot in their boats, we were caught in the magic of their realm.

Time and distance were not what they seemed in the Other Kingdom. It was a long walk from Piscul Dracului to the Deadwash in our world—an expedition. Gogu and I had made that forbidden trip often, for the lake drew us despite ourselves. At Full Moon, the walk to Tǎul Ielelor was far shorter. At Full Moon, everything was different, everything was upside down and back to front. Doors opened that were closed on other days, and those whom the human world feared became friends. The Bright Between was a gateway: not a threat, but a promise.

It was all too easy to lose track of time in the Other Kingdom—to forget where you were and where you had come from. This might be the familiar forest, the same one in which Petru farmed our smallholding, and Uncle Nicolae harvested pines to sell for timber, and Cousin Cezar went out hunting in autumn. It was the same and not the same. When we crossed the Bright Between, we entered a realm that existed at the same time and place as ours, with the same trees and hillsides and rocks. But it was not open to humankind, except for those lucky few who found a portal and its key. And the folk who lived there lived by their own laws, laws not at all like those of the human world. Any aged man or woman with stories to tell knew that. There were tales about men who’d gone through a portal and spent a night among the forest folk, and when they’d come back again, a hundred years had passed, and their wives and children were dead and buried. There were stories about people who had visited the fairy revels and been driven right out of their minds. When they returned to the human world, all they did was wander around the forest in a daze, until they perished from cold or hunger or thirst. There were still more accounts of folk who had gone into the forest and simply disappeared.

So, although we believed such misfortunes would never befall us—for we were constantly assured by the folk of the Other Kingdom that they loved and welcomed us—we had made a set of rules to keep us safe. If anything went wrong, the others were to come to Tati or me immediately: they were to do as we told them, without question. There was no eating or drinking while we were in the Other Kingdom, except sips from the water bottle one of us always brought from home. There was no leaving the glade where the dancing took place, however tempted we might be to wander off down beguiling pathways into the moonlit forest. We must keep an eye on one another, keep one another safe. And when Tati or I said it was time to go home, everyone must go without argument. Those rules had protected us through nine years of Full Moons. They had become second nature.

The boats swept across the Bright Between. As we passed a certain point, the air filled with a sweet, whispering music. Swarms of small bright creatures that were not quite birds or insects or fairy folk swooped and rose, hovered and dived around us, making a living banner to salute our arrival. Underwater beings swam beside our craft, creatures with large, luminous eyes, long hands, fronded tails, and glowing green-blue skin. Many dwelled in or on Tǎul Ielelor: ragged swimmers resembling weedy plants, their gaze turned always up, up to the surface; the beguiling pale figures of the Iele, from whom the lake got its name, reaching out graceful white arms from bank or islet or overhanging willow. Should an unwary man from our world be passing, they would seek to entice him from his path forever. As we neared the opposite shore, an assortment of tiny folk rowed out from the miniature islands to join us, in a bobbing flotilla of boats made from nutshells and dried leaves and the discarded carapaces of beetles. We reached the far shore, and my escort—who was three feet high and almost as wide, with a scarlet beard down to his boot tops—handed me out. He made a low bow.

“Thank you,” I said as the gargoyle made a flying leap from my shoulder, then scampered off into the undergrowth.

“Delighted to be of service, Mistress Jenica. I’ll expect you to return the favor, mind.”

“You shall have the first dance, of course, Master Anatolie,” I told him.

The dwarf grinned, revealing a set of jeweled studs in his front teeth. “I’ll match you step for step, young lady. You’ll find me a more satisfactory partner than that slippery green friend of yours. He’s shaking like a jelly—wouldn’t know a jig if it jumped up and bit him.”

Gogu stopped shivering instantly. I could feel bunched-up irritation in every part of him.

“You’ve upset him,” I said. “Frogs have feelings, too, you know.”

The dwarf bowed again. “No offense,” he said, his eyes on Gogu. “It should be an interesting night. We’ve got visitors. Night People from the forests of the east.”

A bolt of horror shot through me and I stopped walking. Ahead of us, my sisters and their assorted escorts were disappearing along the broad, leaf-carpeted track that led away under tall trees, following the sweet call of a flute. The branches were festooned with colored lights shaped like birds and beetles and flowers. “Night People?” I echoed, and heard the tremor in my voice. Fragments of dark stories crept into my mind: tales of blood and violence, of evil deeds and terrible retribution.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Anatolie offhand.

“Yes, it is!” I protested. “Florica, who works for us, says they come at night and bite people in their beds. She says the only thing they drink is human blood.” My sisters were too far ahead to be called back.

“This would be the same Florica who said all dwarves were liars and thieves?” Anatolie asked, feet planted apart and hands on hips. His cloak was ankle length and lined with what appeared to be bear skin.

“Well, yes,” I said.

“The same Florica who told you not to go too close to the Deadwash or you’d be scooped up in the magic fishing net of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood?”

“Yes, but … but Night People, everyone says—” I stopped myself. Anatolie was right. If I had never met one, it was unfair to judge on the basis of stories.

“You and your sisters are quite safe here,” the dwarf said as we started walking again. “Hasn’t the forest queen herself allowed you to visit her revels these nine years of Full Moons? Believe me, if her protection did not stretch out over the five of you, you would not be here now.”

“I don’t like the sound of that at all,” I said, wondering whether he meant we would have met the same fate as the foolish folk in the stories: dead, mad, or vanished.

“The Night People will not touch you while Ileana is queen of the wildwood,” Anatolie said. “You have my word.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I was full of doubt. I could not remember hearing a single good thing about the Night People, and I had no wish to meet even one of them. They’d never been to Dancing Glade before; at least, not when we were there. I thought about garlic, and silver crosses, and everything else folk used to keep such dangerous forces at bay. I hadn’t brought a thing to protect myself or my sisters.

When we reached the glade, the festivities were in full swing. A circle of autumn-clad trees sheltered the grassy sward, their branches hung with still more lanterns. These cast a warm light over the brightly clad revelers, whose gowns and masks, robes and jewels filled the open space with a swirling mass of color. Above them, creatures performed aerial dances of their own, some borne on delicate, diaphanous wings, some on leathery, creaking membranes. Some of the guests were tall enough to bump their heads on the lanterns; some were so tiny, one had to take care not to step on them. I saw my gargoyle perched on the branch of a holly bush, waving its paws in time with the music and beaming beatifically.

The musicians sat on a raised platform at the far end, under the biggest oak. The instruments were the same as the ones in the village band—flute, drum, goat-pipes, fiddle—and yet they were not quite the same. Each possessed a strangeness that set it apart. What ordinary drum cries out poetry when beaten? What flute plays three tunes at once, each blending perfectly with the others? As for the goat-pipes, they had something of the voice of the creature whose skin had provided their air bag, plaintive and piercing. The fiddle soared like a lark.

The sound of this band was intoxicating to the ears, the kind of felicitous blend a village musician aspires to and may achieve once in a lifetime. It made feet move faster, pulses race, faces flush. It set hearts thumping and coaxed smiles from the most somber mouths. It was a music we would keep on hearing in our dreams, days after Full Moon was over and we were gone from the Other Kingdom.

Iulia was already out there, dark hair flying, her face wreathed in smiles. Tati danced more sedately, her hand in that of tall Grigori, an imposing figure with long, twisted dark hair. It was said he was a kinsman of Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood.

Paula was not dancing, but had gone straight to her usual group of friends, a clutch of witches, astronomers, and soothsayers clad in long, raggedy robes and swathing, vaporous cloaks. All wore hats—I saw tall pointed structures decorated with stars, and scholarly felt caps, and here and there a mysterious shadowy hood. They were gathered around a table under the trees, deep in debate as always, their arguments fueled by a continuous supply of ţuicǎ. Paula was seated among them, waving her hands about as she expounded some theory.

Stela was with the smallest folk, down near the musicians. There was a double ring of them, weaving in and out and around about in a dance of their own. Some had wings, some horns, some feathers, and some shining, jewel-bright scales. They were chattering like a mob of little birds as they pranced to and fro, and still managing to get every step perfect. We’d all started here; as we grew older, we had been welcomed by different folk, collected by different ferrymen, and permitted to mix more widely. Dancing Glade had its own set of rules.

“Hello, Jena!” my little sister called, waving wildly. Then she plunged back into the circle.

The pattern of the night was always the same. The revels would begin with chain dances, circle dances, devised so everyone could join in, the big and small, the clumsy and dainty, side by side. We sisters had been part of this since the first time we came across to the Other Kingdom, when kindly folk of all shapes used to take our small hands and guide us through the steps. We needed no guidance now, for we were skilled in all the dances. The first was always done with our boatmen by our sides—it was their privilege to lead us onto the sward. At some point in the evening the queen of the forest would hold formal court; this was the opportunity for newcomers to be greeted, petitions made, questions asked. Later on, the music would change, and with it the mood of the crowd. That was the time for couples to dance slow measures in each other’s arms, floating in their own small worlds. By then my youngest sisters would be getting tired, and we would all sit under the trees and watch until it was time for the last dance—a grand gathering of the entire crowd, in celebration of Full Moon. Then we would pass across the Bright Between once more, and go home to another month of hard work and dreaming.

The music was making my feet move even before I trod on the sward. I took the dwarf’s hand and we threw ourselves into a jig. The drumbeat made my heart race; the goat-pipes seemed to speak to something deep inside me, saying, Faster, faster! You’re alive! Anatolie gripped my hand tightly as we ran and jumped, as we turned, and swayed, and pointed our toes. Gogu had retreated to the pocket, where he was safe from falling and being trampled by the multitude of stamping, hopping, kicking feet. When the dance was over, I fished him out and set him on my shoulder once more.

“All right?” I whispered.

If you could call being shaken about like a feather duster “all right,” I suppose so.

I was looking around the glade as my heartbeat slowly returned to normal. “Where are the Night People?” I asked Anatolie.

“They will come. Wait until the moon moves higher; wait until you see her between the branches of the tallest oaks. Then you’ll catch a glimpse of them, around the edges.”

“Don’t they dance?”

Anatolie grinned. “I’ll bet you a silver piece to a lump of coal that you can’t get one of them to step up and partner you,” he said. “They stick to their own kind, those black-cloaked streaks of melancholy. They don’t come to enjoy themselves, but to observe—to take stock.”

Out of long habit, because I was the sensible sister, I checked on the others, one by one, to make sure they were safe. Over at the far side of the sward I saw Stela, now playing a chasing game with her bevy of small companions. Those that could fly had a distinct advantage. Iulia was with a circle of young forest men and women. When I had first seen such folk, I had thought of them as fairies—though they were far taller and more elegant than the tiny figures of my childhood imagination—with their garments constructed of leaves and cobwebs, vines, bark, and feathers, and their features unsettlingly not quite human. There was no sign of Paula, but she would still be at the scholars’ table.

There was a ripple of movement. A fanfare rang out and the crowd parted before an imposing figure clad in a gown that seemed fashioned of iridescent gossamer. It was Ileana, the hostess of these celebrations and queen of the forest people, sweeping across Dancing Glade. Folk said every bird of the wildwood had given one feather to make up her crown, which rose from her head in an exuberant crest. Her golden-haired consort, Marin, was a step behind her. This grand entrance was a feature of every Full Moon’s revels. Walking behind the queen and her partner tonight was a group of folk I had never seen before.

“That’s them,” Anatolie hissed. “Sour-faced individuals, aren’t they?”

I did not think the Night People were sour-faced, just rather sad-looking. They were extremely pale, their skin almost waxen in appearance, their eyes deep set, dark, and intense. All were clad in jet-black. The pair who led them was especially striking. The woman’s lips were narrow and bright crimson in color, whether by nature or artifice I could not tell. Her fingernails had been dyed to match. Both she and the man had bony, aristocratic features: well-defined cheeks and jaws; jutting, arrogant noses; and dark, winged brows. They made a handsome couple—he in billowing shirt, tight trousers, and high boots, she in a formfitting gown whose plunging neckline left little to the imagination.

I spotted Tati, standing in the crowd close by Ileana, her dark hair shining under the colored lights of the glade. The forest queen beckoned; my sister stepped forward and dropped into a low, graceful curtsy. A moment later Tati was being introduced to the new arrivals. I felt a sudden chill. If Ileana singled out anyone for this kind of attention, it was not the little human girls from Piscul Dracului but the most formidable of her own folk, such as the tall Grigori or the most powerful of the soothsayers. I saw the black-booted stranger lift Tati’s hand and kiss it in a cool gesture of greeting. Then the Night People seemed to drift away into the shadows under the trees.

Ileana and Marin were not the real power in the Other Kingdom. They presided over the revels and sorted out minor disputes between the forest folk. They made sure the daily life of the wildwood went on in its usual pattern. The folk of the Other Kingdom were often less than forthcoming when questioned about their realm and its rules, but Paula had picked up a great deal at the scholars’ table. We knew that the one who was the heart of it all—the one who held the ancient secrets and wove the powerful magic—was Drǎguţa, the witch of the wood. Drǎguţa had been in the forest since before the castle of Piscul Dracului sprang to life in the imagination of the eccentric voivode who built it. She had dwelt in the depths of the woods since these great oaks were mere sprouting acorns. Drǎguţa did not come to Full Moon dancing. She stayed in her lair, somewhere out in the wildest and least accessible part of the woods. If folk needed to ask her something, they had to go and find her, for she wouldn’t come to them.

Once, I had questioned whether Drǎguţa really existed at all. Only once. A chorus of horrified gasps and hisses had greeted my doubt—“Don’t say that!” “Shh.”—as if the witch were everywhere, watching and listening. Drǎguţa was real, all right, and folk’s fear of her was real fear. In our world, Florica spoke her name in a trembling whisper, and Petru crossed himself every time he heard it. For every boy or girl from our valley who had perished in the forest or drowned in the lake, there was a story about Drǎguţa and her minions, about hands coming up out of the water to drag the hapless under. For every crucifix the villagers had erected on the outskirts of the Piscul Dracului forest to keep evil spirits at bay, there was a tale about someone who had ventured too far and walked into the witch’s net. Perhaps it was not surprising that our castle had stood empty for so long.

The forest queen had finished introducing folk to her black-clad guests. Calling for the music to start up again, she moved out onto the sward with her hand in Marin’s. I danced with Grigori, whose alarming appearance tended to mask the fact that he was a model of courtesy. I danced with a forest man who had ivy twists for hair, and another clad all in cobwebs. The music wove its way into my blood and made my feet agile and my limbs supple. My head was full of colors and lights: I smiled at nothing in particular and felt that I was beautiful. Only when the earlier dances came to an end and folk stood about the edges of the sward while the band had a rest did I remember that Father was leaving in the morning. Once my mind escaped the lure of the dancing, once my body stopped bending and turning and swaying to the music’s enchantment, I found that I was thinking only of the long winter ahead, and how we would cope without him.

Something of my worry must have shown on my face. Grigori came over to ask what was troubling me. Anatolie offered the opinion that I must be unwell. Gogu showed his own awareness of my unease, snuggling up to my neck, under my hair. It’s all right, Jena. I’m here. It helped that he was close, for I felt suddenly cold and, surrounded as I was by folk making merry, curiously alone.

While we waited for the band to commence the slower, more beguiling music that signaled the start of the couple dances, platters of delicacies appeared: tiny, gaudily hued cakes; creatures fashioned of spun sugar; strange vegetables carved into castles and trees and giants; and mounds of gleaming fruits that in the real world would not appear until next summer. Flasks of ţuicǎ and elderberry wine made the rounds. Little glittering goblets were borne on trays that floated conveniently at waist height.

There was no need to keep watch over my sisters. Tati and I had drummed our rules into the younger ones time after time over the years, and they abided by them without question, even when the music had them in its thrall. The rules helped us remember who we were and where we belonged. Dancing Glade was our sanctuary, our joy, our bright adventure. But we did not belong in the Other Kingdom. We were here as guests, through luck, not entitlement. Besides, as Tati had once pointed out, if you had a party every day, parties would soon become a lot less exciting. We were mortal girls, and every one of us would want a mortal life. For most of us that would mean a husband and children.

I frowned, remembering what Father had told us. To be pushed into marrying early in order to provide an heir for Piscul Dracului would be horrible. It would mean not being able to choose properly. It could mean spending the rest of your life with someone you hated. Our father had married for love; he had made his choice with no regard for what folk expected. I did not think we would have that luxury, not until one of us had produced the required son. I shivered as I gazed out over Dancing Glade. We had been lucky so far. We had had the best of both worlds. I hoped it wasn’t time for our luck to change.

The music struck up again, and the folk of the Other Kingdom began, languidly, to form couples and move out onto the sward. Gogu nudged me with his cold nose and I felt my skin prickle.

Look. Over there, under the oaks.

I looked over to the spot where the Night People had retreated into the shade of the trees some time before. I did not see the dashing, black-booted man or his crimson-lipped partner. But there was somebody else there. His eyes were as dark and deep as theirs. His face was as pale—though this was an ashen pallor, white rather than waxy—but the somber lips were more generous in shape. He was young, perhaps our cousin Cezar’s age. He wore a black coat—high-collared, long-sleeved, and buttoned in front, sweeping down to his ankles. What struck me was his intense stillness. He hardly seemed to blink, he barely seemed to breathe, and yet the eyes were intent, keenly focused as he stared out into the moving throng. I followed his gaze, and there was Tati, moving across the sward to join the dancers.

Now that my sister had turned sixteen, it seemed that Ileana had granted her permission to participate in these far more grown-up dances. Tati was hand in hand with a big, blunt-faced figure: the troll, Sten. Her cheeks were flushed with delicate rose. Her hair, stirred by the dancing, spilled over her shoulders like a dark silken cloak. Her gown was modest in design, yet under the lights of Dancing Glade, its plain cut emphasized her perfect figure. Many eyes were on her.

But these eyes were different. The person in the black coat was looking at my sister as if he were starving. He didn’t need to move a muscle for me to read the hunger on his face, and it chilled me.

As I watched my sister dancing—first with Sten, then with Grigori, then with a young man clad in what looked like butterfly wings—my unease grew stronger. I made a decision. We would need to be up soon after dawn to see Father off. We must bid him farewell with looks of cheerful confidence on our faces. That would be impossible if we were exhausted from a night with no sleep.

“Gogu,” I murmured, “we’re going home early.”

He shifted on my shoulder, bunching up his body. I’m ready to go. Don’t worry, Jena. We’ll look after things, you and I.

I gathered up my sisters and we made our formal farewells to Ileana and Marin, thanking them for their hospitality. I cast an eye around, seeking the Night People, but could see none of them, only a group of solemn-looking owls, perched on a branch of the nearest oak.

Ileana said, “Our guests were impressed. Human girls are not bold enough to visit such revels in their part of the world. They asked for your names and commented on your beauty.” Her gaze wandered over all five of us as she spoke, which was unusually polite of her. Almost certainly the compliment referred to Tati, or possibly Iulia. Stela was too young to be called a beauty. As for Paula and me—whichever fairies had offered blessings over our cradles, they had clearly valued brains before looks. We were, in a word, ordinary.

We made our way back to the boats, accompanied by a bevy of folk jostling to hold our lanterns for us. But only the designated boatmen took us across the water, through the mist, back to our own world. In my hands Gogu trembled with terror, and I soothed him with gentle fingers. As my feet touched the home shore, I felt the surge of relief that always filled me at this point. We’re back again. I’ve kept them all safe.

Then it was along the Gallery of Beasts—the gargoyle’s scuttering feet could be heard behind us until he reached his own archway—and up the long, long, winding staircase to the portal.

No shadow play here, just a simple laying of hands on the stone wall. I was last. As my fingers touched the rough surface, the portal swung open, admitting us to the warmth of our bedchamber.

The younger ones were asleep the moment they laid their heads on the pillow. Tati gathered up the gowns they had shed and laid them over the oak chest, while I helped Iulia take the pins out of her hair. By the time I had scrambled wearily into my night robe, she was no more than a gently breathing form under her mounded quilt.

“Jena?” Tati’s voice was quiet as she sat up in bed, brushing out her dark locks.

“Mmm?” I was filling Gogu’s water bowl from the jug, making sure he would be comfortable for what remained of the night. He sat, watching solemnly—a shadowy green form on the little table next to the bed that Tati and I shared.

“Did you see that strange young man?” my sister asked. “The one in the black coat?”

“Mmm-hm. I thought you hadn’t noticed.”

“I wonder who he was,” Tati mused, yawning.

Once the water dish was ordered to Gogu’s liking, I got into bed. The warmth of the goose-feather quilt was bliss over my tired legs. In the quiet of the chamber I could hear little splashing sounds.

“One of them,” I said, my eyelids drooping with tiredness. “Night People. You know what people say about them. They’re dangerous—evil. Dead and alive at the same time, somehow. They can only come out after dark, and they need human blood to survive. I hope Ileana doesn’t let them stay. Did you speak to one of them? I saw Ileana introducing you. What were they like?”

“Cold,” Tati said. “Terribly cold.”

There was a silence, and I thought she had fallen asleep. Then her voice came, a whisper in the shadowy chamber. “I thought the young man looked sad. Sad and … interesting.”

“If you asked Florica,” I said, “she’d tell you that the only thing Night People find ‘interesting’ is sinking their teeth into your neck.”

But my sister was asleep. As the light brightened and birds began a chirping chorus outside, I lay awake, thinking about the winter to come and whether I had been foolish to assure Father that we could cope. After a while, Gogu hopped out of his bath and came to nestle on the pillow by my face, making a big wet patch on the linen. I’m here. Your friend is here. I was still awake when the sun pierced the horizon, somewhere beyond the forest, and down in the kitchen Florica began clattering pots and pans in preparation for breakfast.

Wildwood Dancing Explanation

Isn’t this story so full of imagery? Don’t you feel like you, too, are a part of swirling wonder? I was almost literally enchanted when I read this book. All of Juliet Marillier’s books I’ve read so far (she has a marvelous name) contain such splendor, but this was my first, you know? Also, to be honest, I think this one is aimed at a slightly younger audience, because it has less ‘mature’ themes than her adaptations of the Six Swans fairy tale, Sevenwaters. It also has a cool sequel (different tonally but still enjoyable) called Cybele’s Secret, so let me know what you think if you read them!

The book cover, which I love immensely (it’s very pretty and rich in detail) is unfortunately inaccurate in fashion, for both the area and the time period (medieval). Besides the embroidery patterns, and the hijabs on Tati through Paula, my drawings are actually more accurate! I should've drawn at least one with a vest on over their shirt (that style is called an ie), though - we can just say that the girls didn’t wear any so they wouldn’t hinder movement. The aprons (fotǎs) stay on because they look pretty while twirling. Also, the cover makes it seem as though the book takes place in spring or summer, not autumn.

As the religion of the family is never discussed, and yet they’re considered outsiders who value education, I headcanon that their Dad is Romanian (hence his outfit in the second picture) but their mom was Turkish Muslim. There was a lot of trade between the two countries, and as such their populations swapped a bunch. However, most of the Muslim minority was found in cities/by the coast, so in order to avoid feeling alone, it makes sense the Mom wanted to stay in their old home. But they didn’t, so the girls embroider their clothes with Turkish patterns and wear hijabs, in honor of their religion and their Mom. Stela is a bit too young, to take that aspect of the religion seriously, so she wears a maramǎ, traditional Romanian headwrap, like Florica instead. It’s supposed to only be worn by married women, but do you think a little girl who is surrounded by head-wrapped women will want to be left out? Heck no! So she has a cute little fabric flower on hers, instead of any patterns. Also, frogs are not haram except when it comes to eating them, so it wouldn’t be too weird for Jena to have a pet frog.

Each girl has a different font for her name, when they chant them to open up the portal. I was just goofing off and trying to find ones that fit their personalities and that were still legible XD. Also, for posterity’s sake, each name used to be on a different line, but it was easier and nicer looking to format them in a line, side to side.

Well, I don’t have much else to say in prelude, so let’s talk about the art!

I totally phoned it in for this title picture too. Frankly by the time the other pictures were done I knew this present was going to come to you late, and as I sat down to start on it, I felt like crying. I was very tired and pulled mostly all-nighters that week. So, I just found a font that was similar to my vision, and excused myself. I considered drawing leaves on it digitally, but it looked bad. And that was that. It’s kind of odd that I do titles last, but they’re supposed to be breathers, shrug.

Alrighty, the second picture: I actually did this second to last, lol. Wowed by my success with the Last Unicorn’s scenery picture, I decided to try something similar with the Piscul Dracului. You see, what I put out on paper isn’t often the image or vibes I imagine, partly because of my artistic limitations and because I don’t have any set characteristics in mind. It’s all very annoying. So yeah, to be honest, the castle came out bigger, less craggy and less on the edge of a mountain than in my original vague vision. But I’m satisfied with my work; it has character, perspective, and a mysterious little fox and small woman off to the side ;). I’m hoping to explore this interest in creating scenes and background in later books - I’ve often struggled with scenery and I’m tired of blank spaces.

The third picture was ridiculous, figuring out their positions, clothing patterns, and how to show their personalities. I’m not sure this is what the author imagined when she said they did a five-pointed star together. But I like the result! I wasn’t sure how to draw the portal however lol. Going from left to right, let me describe the sisters and Gogu.

Iulia - it’s clear that she has new clothes (because of her different body shape) and likes to stand out. She has a fan and different type lacework on her fotǎ, instead of a fringe, and a sardonic sort of excitement on her face.

Gogu - he’s an Agile Frog, a species native to much of Southern Europe. He’s just chilling on Jena’s shoulder. I wish I had a chance to draw him larger but I am also tired of drawing frogs.

Jena - I’d like to say her position, as sort of short and behind everybody, showcases her outer personality. She doesn’t mind tooooo much being in the shadows, watching and supporting others, being quiet and dutiful. And yet, she has a septum piercing. As the book goes on, you’ll find that there’s so much more to her ;). I put a brooch on her hijab because I saw one when I looked up Turkish hijab designs and thought it looked cool. She has the most obviously-a-flower-designs because she has the deepest connection with the forest ;). Find out for yourself, I dare you.

Stela - she’s just happy to be doing fun stuff with her big sisters. I’m sure you would know nothing about that ;). Like I said, Stela is wearing a marumǎ, not a hijab, but is otherwise dressed very similarly to her sisters. I adore the little tassels on her sleeves.

Tati - She ended up a bit tall, whoops. And when I started inking, her nose changed :(. But I love her all the same (it helps that she has such a simple pattern all over her outfit lol). She’s looking over everyone, but she isn’t really watching; you can kind of tell her head is already up in the clouds.

Paula - It feels kind of mean but we don’t ever get a good look at her. Maybe you should check out Cybele’s Secret, where she is the main character. Hint hint. Anywho, she's watching the portal open - Paula loves to study and Know things. You can’t tell me that even as a young girl, Paula wouldn’t have been questioning the phenomena.

The fourth picture was kind of a stinker to ink, but it was fun to draw! I meant to make it look more crowded, and to have a blank space around Jena (I absent-mindedly traced it ugh), but this time I tried to be respectful of my time, lol. I drew the werewolf first, in Adam’s outfit from Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, in homage to my original vision for my Beast (look in your sister’s second volume). Then, I drew a big orc lady, because I thought she looked cool (she has a crush on the werewolf but he hasn’t a clue), then the dwarf (she’s what I think Cheery Littlebottom from Discworld would look like), and so on and on. I goofed off and drew the head of Garnet (from Steven Universe) at the bottom center, a couple characters described in the actual story (like Mr. Leafhair), and then the Animorphs in Andalite and bird form on the bottom right (Please check Animorphs out).

I really thought I would enjoy drawing this Jena more, but it was actually a pretty neutral experience. I added her design to this picture first, because it was big and I could reference it. I also decided to give her hooded eyes and the septum piercing while adding details, because I need practice for the first and just thought it was a cool quirk for the second. Gogu is again chilling on her shoulder. I originally meant to have his whole body sit comfortably upon her shoulder, but I wanted to draw him big. Also, while all Muslims are traditionally not supposed to show hair to mahram (non-family members), the average Muslim person would not shame another if person 2 had been dancing or doing a lot of physical activity and some hair came loose. So I did that to show that my girl has been MOVING, and showed some escaped bits of hair on the other sisters in the following picture. Also, it allowed me to show Jena’s beautifully curly hair. (Below is my initial sketch)

The last picture was the most fun, actually. The perspective for the steps was annoying, and I don’t think it’s perfect, but all the same I like how it turned out, especially since my original plan was to draw a straight one. I’m glad I challenged myself and drew a spiral one instead :D. Now, let’s go down the staircase.

Iulia is in the lead - she’s tired and self-important. So, I only show her fotǎ and foot XD.

The little winged creature and its porch - literally a last minute addition. I thought the space looked too empty.

Tati is carrying a sleeping Stela - while I think it would make more sense for Jena to carry Stela most times, I needed Jena to be free, and maybe they take turns. I really like how Tati’s face turned out in this one, also, you know if Stela’s leg was swinging free like that, she would keep accidentally kicking the back of poor Tati’s thigh, lol. I like how the clothes' wrinkles turned out in this picture. I just really hope it’s clear who is who, what with how Stela is entwined with Tati’s right arm.

Next half, Jena and Gogu: I wasn't sure what to do with her right arm but it turned out alright. Gogu is limp and tired from a long night of Being Jostled. I adore Jena’s face - it’s concerned-but-also- -amused. She’s just checking to see if Paula is there, hence the ‘OK?’ hand signal. Don’t come at me about the historical inaccuracy, at least I corrected the fashion XD.

The little gargoyle going up his own stairs; I drew him in the moist detail first. He’s the little guy who hitched a ride on Jena’s other shoulder. I originally wanted to draw him more similar

Lastly, poor Paula. I could totally see her being the last to leave, asking people a kajillion questions and observing each aspect of the night for just one last clue, some little detail that answers her queries. ANd as such, she has to run up the stairs to catch up with her sisters! That’s why shes so dramatically behind Jena and has to hold up a thumb to indicate that she’s alright. Also, that part is historically accurate :p - Roman emperors did it to indicate approval or to say ‘good’ a thousand or so years before this book is set.

Below are links to my takes on the 12 Dancing Princesses and the Frog Princess, which are more or less partial inspirations for the book :).

(The Twelve Dancing Princesses) (The Frog Princess)

[coltyahya457]

How to Make Christmas Shirts With Cricut? [Full Guide]

Can you believe that Christmas is just around the corner? Now, are you thinking what I am thinking? Ever since I got my Cricut EasyPress 2 machine, I have become a fan of creating custom T-shirts with Cricut as well as Heat Press. I got into the world of crafting less than a year ago and have completed various projects.

It not only hones my artistic skills but also helps my business grow huge. Being a pro at making DIY projects, I’ll teach you how to make Christmas shirts with Cricut in this tutorial. Of course, before you can proceed with the design process, you will need to have all the supplies with you. If you are new and don’t have a clue, I am here to solve all your doubts and make your crafting journey much easier.

What Supplies Are Required to Create Custom Christmas Shirts?

To keep up with the holiday spirit and create Cricut Christmas shirts, I need to buy some crucial supplies. Each supply will help me create how to make Christmas shirts with Cricut more manageable. Have a look at the list of mandatory supplies below:

As an expert, it’s my advice to all the crafters to ensure that they use all the above-said supplies very carefully.

How to Create a Cricut Christmas Shirt?

After coming up with the crucial supplies, go through the details given in the following section. Here, I’ve got to learn all the details regarding how to make Christmas shirts with Cricut simply and crisply.

Step 1: Cricut App Login & Create Your Text Design

I will start the process by opening the Cricut app and logging in with the Cricut ID and password at the sign-in window.

After doing that, press the New Project icon and I land on the Design Space canvas. Now, I am going to choose the Text toolbar and start typing the text inside the box. Next, I will change the text fonts, size, and color from the Menu bar given at the top of the screen.

Following this, I will press the Ungroup tool or Letter Space tool to bring each letter close to the other. On the other hand, I also got the option of choosing the Weld tool to delete the overlapping cutlines.

Next, I will upload the image by clicking the Image icon and start searching for the image inside the Search field.

Further designing your Cricut Christmas shirts on the Cricut app, make progress by stepping towards the next step.

Step 2: Open the Cricut Heat Guide, Cut & Weed Out Your Design

To start with the second step of making customized Xmas shirts out of Cricut, I will press the Make It option. Afterward, I will open the Heat Guide app available on my mobile device or computer. Now, I am going to tap EasyPress 2 and choose the Heat-Transfer Material and Base Material from the drop-box. Next, I will tap the Apply button and follow the on-screen instructions.

Following this, I will place my shiny side down on the Cricut cutting mat. After doing that, I will hit the Go button, and my machine will start cutting the material with perfection.

Step 3: Preheat Your Cricut EasyPress Machine

Now, I will preheat my EasyPress 2 temperature & timing depending on the material I am using for the project. Afterward, I will use my Heat Press and move it across the shirt to remove the extra wrinkles. As a piece of advice, you are suggested not to put too much pressure on your press while eliminating the wrinkles; otherwise, it will burn your shirt blank.

Step 4: Pressing the Design on Your Shirt

Following the completion of the preheat process, I am going to put the design on the shirt in a proper alignment. Next, you will see that I have placed my Cricut Heat Press on top of your design and set the timer from the Heat Guide app.

Completing the how to make Christmas shirts with Cricut process, I will slowly remove the liner. In case you aren’t able to remove the liner, then reapply the heat with the exact timing and temperature. After the pressing process comes to an end, I will get to see my personalized shirt for this Christmas.

As a result of this blog, all your concepts about designing personalized shirts for this Xmas must have gotten clear. Apart from shirts, you can also make various projects from a Cricut machine as well as a Heat Press for various festivals or occasions.

Visit: Install cricut design space app

Source: https://criccricut.com/how-to-make-christmas-shirts-with-cricut-full-guide/

[frontproofmedia]

HANEY VS. PROGRAIS LAUNCH PRESS CONFERENCE IMAGES AND QUOTES

(adsbygoogle = window.adsbygoogle || []).push({});

Follow @Frontproofmedia!function(d,s,id){var js,fjs=d.getElementsByTagName(s)[0],p=/^http:/.test(d.location)?'http':'https';if(!d.getElementById(id))(document, 'script', 'twitter-wjs');

Published: October 19, 2023

WBC World Super-Lightweight title on the line on Dec 9 at Chase Center in San Francisco

 TICKETS ARE ON SALE AT CHASECENTER.COM

DEVIN HANEY:   “I’m going to beat the s*** out of him. I’m thankful to be in this position and it’s a dream come true. This is a huge fight for boxing and it's a big opportunity for me because I have always dreamed of becoming a two-weight division World champion. I’m happy that I can hold on to my titles but also happy that I can challenge Regis, who is the best at 140. But I will show that I’m on a different level and that I am the best. I’m excited for it, and I think the fight is going to fireworks. I’m far above him. "If you look at the receipts, I called you [Regis Prograis] out before the [Danielito Zorilla] fight. This was the fight I always wanted at 140 if I couldn’t get one of the massive fights at 135 and so Regis Prograis was the guy who was next in line. Whether he was to look good or not, it didn’t matter to me. It’s the first fight at Chase Center and the fight big fight here in the Bay Area for some time. I’m just happy to be that guy because I always said I was going to come back here and bring big time boxing back here."   REGIS PROGRAIS:   “We can go back-and-forth but I don’t try to get underneath anyone’s skin. That’s not what I do. Maybe he doesn’t get the respect he deserves. He could have had it the easy way and I heard that they bought their losses away. I heard that from a bunch of people. But that s*** don't matter for me. For me, I’m going to fight him, and I don’t care what you got. It’s about me and you now. I look at who he is now because that’s who I’m fighting. I don’t care about all his past s***. I care about fighting him now and that’s what I’m looking forward to. I believe I have the power to take anyone out. "I don’t want to say too much but I think he’s going to be surprised at my skill. I’ve been working my ass off. I’ve been in LA training and sparring and in Texas doing the same s*** for a long time. It’s not going to be no ’skill versus power’ it’s going to be ’skill versus skill and then I still have power too. I want to show people in this fight my skill. Thank you Zorilla if he’s watching this. If I would have blasted Zorilla out in two rounds, then I don't think he [Haney] would have fought me. I really don’t. I had an off night. But it happened and we’re here now, so let’s go on December 9. I’m going to keep my belt. I’m not giving it up and I’m going to keep it, for sure. I feel like I’m going to stop him.”

EDDIE HEARN:   “I’m looking forward to this. It is one of the fights of the year coming to the Bay Area. We’ve sold nearly 9000 tickets at the Chase Center in the first week, which is just incredible. There hasn’t been big-time boxing here for over a decade here in San Francisco, and with Devin Haney coming home, the World champion Regis Prograis will be looking to spoil the party. "People may talk about a clash of styles and Haney’s skill and precision. But he likes to stand and fight as well – Regis Prograis is technically gifted, as well as being a huge puncher. This is one of the top fights in boxing, and both guys believe they are the favorite going into this fight. Devin Haney always promised me he would be back [with Matchroom], and he is a man of his word. We have him signed for one of the biggest fights in boxing, and, moving forward, we have matching rights and options on him – but I don’t think we’ll need it. This is the start of a new relationship with him, but it’s like he never left. "We also have Regis Prograis, who we represent, and our job was to deliver the biggest fights for him. We did that. We’ve brought Devin back to DAZN. He wants to win this fight and go on to fight Ryan Garcia and Teofimo Lopez. We can make all those fights happen on DAZN. But for Regis, he wants the same thing. So, this is really about the best facing the best. The undisputed World lightweight champion against the reigning WBC champion at 140 – it’s just a tremendous match-up, and we’re looking forward to seven great weeks of build-up. I think both fighters love the big occasions and the big nights. These are big-time fighters, and they are the guys who perform at their very best when they perform under pressure when everything matters. "This is a mega-fight. You know, on December 9, you are going to get the best out of Devin and the best out of Regis Prograis. Regis feels like he has never quite got the respect for his performances and for his resume that he perhaps deserves – and this is a fight that catapults Regis Prograis into the big time and into the band of Gervonta Davis, Devin himself, Teofimo Lopez, Ryan Garcia and all those mega names in boxing. He’s the champion, and he’s determined to do so. "There are some great fights on the undercard too. We have Liam Paro, one of our big Australian charges, up against Montana Love, which is a fantastic 140 match-up. Both fighters will have their eyes set on fighting the winner of Haney-Prograis and it is a real 50-50 fight. We’ve got Andy Cruz against Hector Tanajara in what is only Andy Cruz’s second professional fight for the Olympic champion facing a very tough and aggressive Tanajara. And the women’s IBF bantamweight World champion Ebanie Bridges putting her title on the line against Avril Mathie – and plenty more to look forward to on December 9."

(Featured Photo: Ed Mulholland/Matchroom)

[multitrackdrifting]

gacha game anon - you have my full encouragement on going back to fgo! for some of the faults with it, the writing in Camelot (chapter 6) and onwards is amazing, and from what I know it just keeps getting better from then on. im on anastasia at the moment and it hasn't dipped in quality for me so far! it's a bit of a slog until it gets good but when it gets good it gets REALLY good. and good luck on your protoarthur rolls! i don't remember when he's on gacha but if you've got $15 to spare the guaranteed SSR is going on right now and im 80% sure he's on one of the banners that's up right now.

i haven't played granblue yet but with that endorsement i want to check it out! im always on the lookout for new gacha games, I started nikke myself recently but nothing else has much caught my eye. i completely agree though localization being trash is the number one reason I usually quit on games I think I otherwise would have loved. but I've generally heard great things about granblue and would love to try it out. if you like I will keep you updated on that!

and totally take your time on mahoyaku, when you get to it I recommend watching a video of the game, or playing it alongside if you can get your hands on it as it's jp only at the moment. i went in with no visuals and it took me a lot longer to put names to faces and stop getting everyone confused with each other haha.

enstars is a very good game but the lack of access to translations and the subpar level of quality for the English version has been really hurting it. the rhythm aspect is fun, actually, but my heart will always be with enstars basic. which has no rhythm elements, but mirrors the original idea for the game, which was an idol game where people who can't play rhythm games could still participate. unfortunately they didn't even try to give that version an english release, probably because they would have to translate a good five years worth of event stories from the previous game that are hosted on that version. which is really unfortunate because id love to read the official translations for those. and thank you for that image lol im definitely going to be saving that for future use!

I didn't mind the first few arcs in FGO, but I've read a lot of manga in my time including a lot of bad shounen and romcoms so my pain tolerance is pretty high. My brain is just like oh man time to read more fgo *burns all my AP on farming mats* . I will probably make a liveblog tag at some pt though I probably need a theme so I can just put a page up with different threads im running through since I use my pinned for my videos rn

Granblue is honestly very dear to my heart but the like "end game" cycle is very unappealing bc its super grindy - that said the story stuff [the main attraction imo] is not power-gated so you're not forced to engage with the worst aspects of the game (i.e. multiplayer/ranking called "unite and fight" or guild wars, kind of similar to how idol game card farming works). The event stories & main story are for everyone, so that's fun :' ). Also they do fun character themes, which I love - I think most people got hooked once they did What Makes The Sky Blue Parts 1-3 (it's like an epic about fighting for the fate of the world but in a more direct sense than most of the early conflicts in the story) which you can do in the event archive nowadays once you pass a certain chapter I believe. The art style might seem somewhat familiar bc the art director used to work for Square Enix

Granblue is kind of funny because just, one day they decided "yeah we will support eng" but the login stuff & lack of a localised app. It's just a web-game so they never released it in other regions, it just has full english language support - thankfully it's just like a g-mail signup process not as annoying as like doing lottery for an account like kancolle was

Mahoyaku I'll have to just login to my jp itunes acc dl it and play along or st so I know what people look like