#and the fanfics are incredibly sparse

[transgenderdoctorwhomst]

What if 11 had to get fobwatched. I don't think Amy and Rory would know how the fuck to handle Extremely Autistic Human Man!Doctor at all. He's still climbing everything and taking things apart for fun except now if he falls off their roof he actually breaks something. And because this is the Doctor any of his instructions on how to keep an eye on him are completely utterly useless to them

[sotwk]

According to the lay known as “The Fall of Gil-Galad”, upon this elven-king’s death, he was “the last whose realm was fair and free, between the Mountains and the Sea”.

…say what now? Excuse me, dear Middle-earth minstrels, but you seem to have forgotten about THIS GUY:

King Thranduil Oropherion is the Sindarin counterpart of the “High King of the Noldor”, and therefore comparable to the renowned High King Gil-Galad, but is sadly not given the same amount of recognition in stories and songs.

Allow me the honor of “singing” the ways Thranduil is very similar to Gil-Galad:

(1) Both were born in the First Age, and as young elves witnessed the destruction of the cities they lived in: Thranduil in Doriath and Gil-Galad in the Havens of the Falas. They were exposed to war and bloodshed at an early age and experienced living as refugees.

(2) Both survived and possibly participated in the War of Wrath. (You know, that really terrible, bloody, decades-long war that literally broke the world--that war.) According to certain interpretations of the film “The Hobbit: Desolation of Smaug”, Thranduil likely did fight in the War of Wrath, where he “faced the great serpents of the north”. Elven warriors of the First Age were incredibly fierce warriors out of necessity, and if Thranduil survived those great battles when he was about 150 years old, that makes him extra badass. 

(3) Both inherited their kingships from their forefathers. Gil-Galad’s claim to the Noldor throne (like his canon parentage) is a little murky, but he is related to Fingolfin whose line was pretty much wiped out, so only Elrond or Galadriel could have challenged his claim (which they didn’t). Thranduil’s claim is far more direct as the son of the first King of the Woodland Realm and ruler of the Silvan people.

(4) Both were warrior kings. Because canon stories of Thranduil are very sparse, we don’t know for sure which wars he did or didn’t participate in during the Second Age. What DID he do those 2,000+ years while his father was establishing and ruling the realm? Honing his warrior skills seems to be a fair hypothesis. How else would he have developed the deadly skills he exhibited at the Battle of Five Armies? How else would he have kept the foul creatures of Dol Goldur at bay without a magic ring? It’s very possible he’s seen more time on the battlefield than official historical accounts say. 

(5) Both fought at the Battle of Dagorlad, during the War of the Last Alliance. Gil-Galad fought hard and valiantly to the end at Mordor, slaying Sauron by his own spear. Because Oropher died at the first onslaught, it was likely that Thranduil had to exit the war early, either to bury his father and their slain soldiers, or because he himself was injured. There may have been enough time for him to rejoin the Alliance at the Siege of Barad-dûr, to avenge his father and salvage his family’s honor and pride. But Thranduil, whom people mistakenly dismiss as arrogant or proud, was a king who valued his people and the soldiers under his command. It would have been easy glory to join the Siege since by then the war had been all but won (and won by the blood of his people, might I add). Thranduil chose to stay with his kin and help them through the loss of their king and many loved ones, and to reassure them that they were in good hands with him as their new ruler. 

It’s a big, sad shame that Tolkien was not able to write more stories about Thranduil, his family, and the Mirkwood elves. Based on the theories we, his fans, are able to formulate about him, it seems he may have been the most successful, even most benevolent, Elven ruler of them all. He will just have to get his glory and renown in the “songs” and “lays” of our headcanons and fanfics. 

Looking for more Thranduil content?

Introduction to SotWK

My Headcanon Masterlist 

My Fanfiction Masterlist

Thank you for your support and interest!

[sheepgirl3]

I’m falling deeper and deeper down the CoD rabbit hole and I’ve noticed something that has driven me bonkers.

TW: talk of canonical SA

+++

So I’ve read the Ghost comics, which for one thing show how incredibly fucked up basically every area of Simon’s life is and was. He never had a chance and honestly, it’s amazing he’s not more off the rails.

But before I read the Ghost comics, I had extensively studied the wikis for Simon and you know what they never mention?

The sexual assault he’s routinely put through.

Even the wiki for the comic where Pilar is named doesn’t put a name to it or mention the horror around her presence. Nor does it touch on the man who we see buttoning up his pants in the cell with Simon beyond the fact that he licked his (Simon’s) lips.

I barely see it mentioned anywhere and it’s sparsely mentioned by the fandom, from what I can tell. I’ve seen it in fanfics before, but sometimes I’m decently sure writers don’t know that it’s actually a canonical event.

And I feel so bad for Simon, ya know? But I also hate the general lack of acknowledgement of that area of his trauma.

There’s very little point to this post other than expressing frustration. I also wonder if others in the fandom feel the same way and how widely Simon’s canonical trauma is known. I wouldn’t be surprised if it was not super widely; I’ve not been able to find the physical copies of the Ghost comics anywhere and only read them online.

Anyhow, yes, this has in fact prompted me to start writing another Ghost fic. Nevermind that I have like three in the works already.

[zairas-realm-gateway]

You know, maybe it's just me, maybe I'm just not looking in the right places...

But I have to say, for a ship that's practically almost canon, LuSan (Luffy x Sanji) content is very sparse. What there is is either hilarious or incredibly heartfelt, and I appreciate it all. I just think it's so surprising there's so little of it compared to other ships.

I see more SanUso posts than I do LuSan posts (I mean, good for the SanUso shippers, they deserve it). Hell, I've seen several SanUso doujinshi and fanfics when checking sites but I have never seen one LuSan doujinshi. And the fanfics are usually quick one shots. There's a fair amount of ZoSanLu but never just Luffy and Sanji.

And I think that's sad.

There's so much emotions and trauma and tender feelings to be explored with these two. Between the Baratie arc and Whole Cake Island, that's almost two full arcs devoted entirely to Luffy and Sanji's connection and relationship.

Meh, maybe I should start writing posts and plot scenarios and AUs to fill the gap...

[pikapeppa]

Hello again! I've got a question for you and I don't think this one will require a full tutorial like the last writing question I asked you 🤣 I know you often juggle multiple fanfics. I'm curious about how you juggle them! Do you focus on one chapter for one fic at a time, do you hop back and forth between fics whenever inspirations strikes, do you alternate or otherwise have any kind of structure you impose on yourself with multiple longfics in progress? I'm currently juggling two longfics, a sequel to my first longfic (Thanks again for all your tutorials that helped me complete that one!!!) plus some pwp oneshots along with the series, and an AU featuring the same pairing.

I'm writing my sequel and the oneshots in past tense and the AU present tense (Don't ask me why I did that to myself 🤣) so when I try to hop back and forth I often get my tenses mixed up. So I've been only focusing on one at a time and alternating them. But I feel like my updates are sparse because of it! I might be updating every 2 weeks, but that means each fic is only getting an update once a month.

I realize I don't owe anyone updates more frequent than I can manage, but I'm all about working smart, not hard. I'd love to hear what works for you in juggling multiple fics!

As always, you're a hero, an inspiration, etc, etc. Thanks for putting your incredible writing into the world and for sharing your methods with the rest of us to make writing seem less overwhelming!!!

Hahahaha so you’re asking this excellent question at a strange time in my writing life where I’m starting to get a little burnt out by my current fic series, and I’m considering whether I need to shift my own writing practices/habits… so this might end up being a longer and more rambly/less helpful answer than you were hoping for. 🤣 And I’ll put it beneath a cut to save everyone’s dashes!

When I’m juggling more than one fic, which is most of the time, my decisions for which one(s) get prioritized basically comes down to this: I work on whichever fic(s) has me the most jazzed at any given time. If I’m equally fired up about more than one fic, I’ll focus on both of them pretty equally, and if there are any additional fics, they’ll get attention when the mood strikes. Sometimes, like when I was juggling Lovers In A Dangerous Time and Where The Winds Of Fortune Take Me, this ended up meaning that each fic got a chapter (or more) every week, because I was equally excited about both fics. But when I was writing for Horizon Forbidden West last year, the fic that got attention fluctuated more depending on where my libido mood lay: I started with my favourite boy Drakka, then got sucked into fleshing out my Kotallo fic while the Drakka fic took second-fiddle for a bit, so I was only adding to it whenever the mood struck. When my Kotallo fic was done, I hyperfocused on the Drakka fic again until I got the idea for my post-Burning Shores Kotallo/Aloy AU, and then for a solid 4-6 weeks, that fic was the only thing I was writing while my beloved Drakka patiently awaited my attention again. 🤣 So there’s no single formula I stick to when it comes to juggling fics; what it really comes down to is that I’ll focus on whichever fic(s) I’m the most jazzed and excited to write. 

Now here’s the thing. At first blush, this might sound obvious; of course I’m working on the fic(s) that I’m the most fired up and excited about. That’s what we fic writers do, right? We’re doing this for the love of the story, in our own time, for free, and we don’t owe anyone anything, so of course we write whatever we personally are most excited about, right?

Not always. For me personally, I’ve gotten into a habit over the years of holding myself to personal deadlines. If I don’t publish at least one chapter of something every week, I feel like a failure or a slacker, or like I'm disappointing my readers. And if I’m working on more than one fic equally, like I’m doing right now with Astarion and Halsin, I feel like a failure if I haven’t put out a chapter for both fics each week. 

This is not a good habit. It’s not a nice way to think about my own writing, and it’s not nice to myself to hold myself to this kind of standard. The reason I mention this is that you mentioned concerns that your updates are getting sparse because of the alternating, so I can see that you’re starting to get into the holding-yourself-to-deadlines habit — and I can speak now from experience that this is a mindset that you don’t want to get entrenched in, if you can avoid it, because it’s starting to make me feel bad about myself as a writer for literally no good reason. 

I get the idea of wanting to work smarter, not harder. But when it comes to fic writing, I worry that the smarter-not-harder attitude is a symptom of hustle culture, of trying to get more done in less time -- and I can’t lie, that worries me a little, because fic writing is a labour of love in the truest sense of the word. It is work, hard work sometimes, and it takes time and passion, and I worry that aiming to hit update deadlines will take away from the reasons that you started doing this in the first place. I genuinely think that the best and healthiest way to think about this is that you — and I! — should focus on the story/stories that you are the most excited about. If you’re loving all three of your fics equally, then alternate between them! Don’t beat yourself up for mixing the tenses (it happens, it’s a whole ass mood 🤣) or for the updates being sparse! Just work on what sparks joy, and enjoy the creative journey! Importantly, importantly, you do not owe updates to anyone, including to yourself, so the joy of the writing really should be the focus. 

I hope this doesn’t come off as being too preachy; if it is, just chalk it up to me telling these things to myself as much as I am to you. 🥰🙏 

I honestly have no idea if this is helpful, but maybe it’ll be a little insightful? And if anything, maybe you can be encouraged by the fact that your heroes are flawed and fallible too! Or maybe it’ll be a disappointing ‘don’t meet your heroes’ thing hahahaha. But I hope not. 🤣💀

— all the love and support from your friendly neighbourhood Pika! xoxo

[boxdstars]

The Tally

In which Sebastian isn’t subtle

Word count: 1.1k

Sebastian Sallow x Gn!MC

Ft. OC content (not romantic)

MC is chilling in the background, good for them

A/N: fuck it Mara content. Basically, I want more Sebastian & oc antics, but without any romantic strings attached. Also i'm rusty with fanfic, please forgive me LOL

Sebastian wasn’t paying attention. He’s trying to, he really is. But his mind drifts back to… them. And well, how could it not? He fondly recalled their recent trip to the Forbidden Forest before a familiar voice brought him back to reality.

“Eleven..” Mara marks down with a flick of her quill then resumes back to her potions assignment. 

Sebastian frowns. For the past week, his friend has been making a tally. It’s been absolutely unbearable. One moment they’ll be in the midst of a lesson and the next moment she’s muttering a ‘thirteen’ or ‘twenty-seven’ under her breath before jotting it down in the margins of her schoolwork.

It’s insufferable.

And what’s worse - she won’t tell him what she’s counting.

He attempted to look, but Professor Sharp came to their side of the room, so Sebastian returned to his own (notably sparse) notes. It was difficult to pay attention when he was so insatiably curious. The rest of the class was a blur.

It kept on happening. In Herbology, in Defense against the Dark arts, in Charms, even History of Magic. She’d be half awake, face almost plummeting into the desk, and yet Mara would still have the audacity to add to her ever-growing list. 

Fine, whatever. She was jotting down numbers in class. Why did he care? Sure, it was incredibly annoying, and sure, nothing irked him more than her hiding it from him, but still. It’s not as if he was entitled to know.

But then that infernal list came out during dinner. He couldn’t take it anymore.

Mara elbowed Imelda and whispered, “I think it’s at 64 today alone.” To which the other girl snorted, cupping her mouth behind her hands.

He kicks Mara underneath the table, and she nearly skyrockets out of her seat. “So you told Reyes and not me?”

“What are you talking about?” 

His eyes narrow. “You know.”

“Do I?”

“Let me see it.”

She leans back, as if contemplating if she should or not. Eventually Mara relents and pulls out the tiny piece of parchment she’d been furiously scribbling in. She slid it over to him in one fluid motion.

Desperately, he snatched it from her, his brows still furrowed. But she’d given it to him at the very least, which had to count for something.

He opens it up and the short slab of paper unfurls into a long, grandiose scroll that rolls right into his lap. As expected, there’s a lot of numbers written down the middle, but to his horror, right there at the top in bold fancy lettering, read the following:

'How Many Times Sebastian has talked about (and/or looked at)…'

And there it was, their name. In equally fancy lettering: the former new fifth year, current Hero of Hogwarts. The list was long, half as long as it was comprehensive. No, it wasn’t just a string of tally marks, each was grouped into a specific class, on a specific date. With each being totaled at the end of the day. She had put more effort into this than her schoolwork, which was a minor consolation, all things considered.

“It started as a joke, but we just kept going.”

“We?!”

Then he saw, below the title, began the tally. Mara’s chicken-scratch handwriting was prominent, but to his chagrin he noticed several other familiar letterings. Notably, Ominis’ skilled hand had jotted down additional notes in the far left margin. 

“I told you, you have a problem.” She shrugs, and Sebastian has to bite his tongue to argue that this is far more of a problem than his infatuation could ever be.

But then, Sebastian’s eyes skim the very bottom and there it is. It’s a small animated, yet crude drawing of him. The drawing of miniature Sebastian had comically oversized hearts instead of eyes. 

He gapes, “You can’t be serious.”

“Deadly.”

“I admit, she has far too much time on her hands.” Ominis quips from his side, but Sebastian doesn’t need to look at his friend to hear the smirk in his voice.

“Don’t start.” He frowns. “You’ve been in on this too!”

“You’re not particularly subtle, Sebastian.” The boy reminds him.

“The list can’t be this long.” He pushes the parchment away and points a finger accusingly at the girls seated across from him. “You snuck some in here, I know it.” 

Imelda and Mara both give him an incredulous look, as if wrackspurts were growing out of his ears. Had he been that obvious? Clearly.

“I don’t fancy them.” Is all he can sputter out.

Her eyes narrowed. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’m sure you’ll have no qualms about them going on a date with Andrew Larson tomorrow.” She grins deviously.

She couldn’t be serious. This was all just another ploy. Mara got a kick out of his suffering. It was the quirk of their friendship. There’s no way someone like them would go out with Andrew Larson. Right? But now he couldn’t be sure.

He craned his neck over to look at them, ignoring how that only meant Mara would add her another tally to the list.. and there they were. They wore a bright smile as they combed stray hairs out of their face, laughing alongside the rest of their housemates. Thankfully, no sign of Andrew Larson. 

Still… no - he had to make sure. Surely he could find an excuse to steal them away for an afternoon. Perhaps some sparring practice in the Undercroft, or another hairbrained scheme to sneak into the restricted section. 

But just as Sebastian is ruminating over what exactly he plans on saying, their eyes meet his. Warm and inviting with cheeks slightly flushed from the prolonged eye contact, it takes everything in him not to run over there immediately. Out from under the table, he feels someone kick him. Half expecting it to be Mara, he’s quick to retort but looks over to see it’s Imelda instead.

“Go on, Sallow, make my day.” Her voice couldn’t be more sarcastic even if she tried.

He grumbled but stood up. He had to. What if that infernal list made its way to them, of all people? Not that his three friends would be so malicious as to do that - but the castle walls themselves are ripe with gossip. No, he’ll tell them right now if he has to. If Sebastian played his cards right, this would all be but a distant memory.

It’s only when he’s out of earshot that the three Slytherins fall into their usual gossip, the list of tally marks soon to be foregone entirely. 

[theladyragnell]

End of year wrap-ups

I have written my usual Dreamwidth end-of-year posts, AND @dollsome-does-tumblr tagged me to list my top nine new-to-me movie watches of 2023, so I thought I'd put that all in one post!

To start, my movie situation this year was DIRE. I think, in total, I watched maybe 12 movies that were new to me? And enjoyed far fewer of them than that. So I'm going to do a top five.

Dungeons & Dragons: Honor Among Thieves

Mr. Malcolm's List

Nimona

Rosaline

Once Upon a Crime

I'm not going to tag anyone in particular because I'm kind of tagging EVERYONE here, please tell me what's good recently, I've been incredibly picky about movies lately and I want to hear what's good out there.

And, if you want to know about other things I was up to this year, you can find:

The last few books I read in 2023, my top ten reads of the year, and some statistics on the 165 books I read.

The last three months of my media consumption (if you look in the "media post" tag you can check out the whole year), where in between my very sparse ability to watch things right now you can find updates on the D&D game I'm running.

A wrap-up on my creative projects for the year (crafting, fanfic, and original work), along with plans for what I optimistically hope to do in 2024.

[nenilein]

since it's pride month, do you have any lgbtq+ headcanons/interpretations for the puyo cast?

I got this one before pride month, so I was waiting till it's actually June to answer it.

Let me preempt this by saying that I don't really like making "headcanons" that would create contradiction in how I read the text as presented by the writers, because something that doesn't gel with the source material in a way that enhances my experience with it isn't a "headcanon" to me but an AU.

(I infamously once made a post on here where I was yelling about how people need to stop calling their AUs "headcanons" that went kinda viral... oops.)

(Don't look for it, that was YEARS ago)

So, while I love reading, for example, Arle x Rulue fanfics, lesbian Rulue would be an AU to me, not a headcanon, because Rulue being into Satan is just an undeniable reality of the source material.

(That said, bisexual or pan Rulue WOULD be a headcanon)

Likewise, due to how extremely proud Raffina is of being a "lady", trans girl Raffina would be a headcanon, but trans boy Raffina would be an AU... Anyway, I am rambling. This is just how I define those terms for myself.

So, let's move on to the queer readings I have for the Puyo characters (it's a lot).

Arle is asexual and aromantic. Schezo is asexual.

This one is obvious, I even drew art for that a couple days ago. It's not just a case of me projecting my own sexuality onto "my favorite characters" either; Schezo and Arle aren't even close to my favorites, I'm more partial to the Primp characters. However, in most of the games, with some sparse exceptions from the Compile era (where characterization was generally inconsistent and spotty), Arle and Schezo are written in a way that I can only describe as "arch-asexual".

Whenever Arle is written as she is currently understood (spunky, freedom loving, adventurous), she never shows interest in relationships of any kind. She outright calls Schezo and Rulue "sexy" multiple times in both, the Compile era and the Sega era, but that doesn't seem to make her feel anything, she uses the terms as blunt descriptors that don't have much meaning to her personally. As an asexual, I do find that very relatable. In general, Arle's only one true love seems to be the concept of adventure (especially dungeon crawling) itself. In the novel "Everyone's Dreams Come True", the projection the dream mist tries to entice her with when its sleep curse fails to grip onto her is a projection of the entrance to an underground dungeon. In the Web Original Manzai Shorts, when she tries to explain the concept of a "wedding" to Amitie, she is incredibly awkward about it, like she's never even considered it herself before. She really doesn't show any interest in "partnering" up with anyone (other than Carbuncle) for life.

Meanwhile, Schezo's entire running gag simply doesn't work if he's not asexual. His slip ups are funny because he does NOT mean it that way, but is really only interested in three things: Power, cute stuff and food (in that order). The two times in the Compile era where he's not written as "asexual" infamously are hated by fans because they ruin his entire characterization: Saturn Madou's portrayal of Schezo is a black sheep for the entire franchise, both in the Japanese and English fandoms, and the one line he has in Nazo Puyo Tsuu that contradicts his otherwise asexual portrayal (I won't even repeat what he says...) makes absolutely no damn sense, even in context. A Schezo who portrays actual genuine interest in sexual matters in canon materials is a badly written Schezo. We have empirical proof of that.

That said, unlike with Arle, I don't feel comfortable also calling Schezo aromantic, because... I feel like he just hasn't had the room to explore whether he wants someone in his life or not yet. He had the Dark Mage business forced upon him at a very young age. He's isolated himself from people in a way that made it hard for him to start connecting again once people actually did come back into his life. When he thinks someone (I think it was Draco, but I forget) is flirting with him in Waku Puyo Dungeon, he seems genuinely flustered, not because he's interested, but because he's never thought anyone ever would act like that towards him (and unlike with Arle, that moment doesn't disrupt his characterization at all), and when he thinks Ms. Accord is flirting with him in Puyo Puyo 15th he has a minor meltdown, because he's not even sure if he wants to turn her down, but also thinks he just shouldn't have a romantic partner as the dark mage... So yeah, I think Schezo still needs time to figure stuff out for himself.

Satan is bigender or genderfluid

While he's portraying a super-masculine image whenever he's on screen, he's also shown zero qualms about slipping into more feminine roles, and openly and happily admits that he wanted to LARP as a princess in distress for Arle to save in Chronicle. His "Satan Saturn" alt in Quest is also really girlish, with the bow and the ponytail and the cherry blossoms, and he seems to be enjoying himself... As an ancient, possibly primordial demon lord, I think it would be weirder if he didn't have a rather lax approach to gender, tbh.

Oh, fun fact, in Madou Monogatari 2, the first time Satan ever appeared, his description of the person he wants to marry does not mention gender at any point. His only condition is that they're powerful, beautiful, wise and intelligent enough to make it to the bottom level of his dungeon in the Layla ruins...

Klug is a baby gay.

His babysitter-crush on Lemres is so palpable, it's downright painful. :'D Even Feli sees him as a romantic rival! The way swoons about Lemres during Tet 2 was quite telling as well.

There are a couple of moments in 15th where Klug portrays interest in women (specifically, older women...) but those just stink of comphet to me and are genuinely just extremely awkward moments that I am glad have never been addressed again since. 15th was only the second time Klug was more than a minor side character and I feel his characterization wasn't quite settled yet back then, so even aside from this, there is a lot of stuff in there that generally "feels wrong" in comparison to how the character has been consistently written in all materials since then. Even in his White Day alt in Quest, he only talks about how being popular by giving girls chocolate gifts will give him a sense of authority AND bring him closer to Lemres, so yeah. In retrospect, I absolutely read those awkward moments in 15th as comphet. He's a baby gay with a babysitter crush on Lemres and will hopefully find himself a nice guy his own age as he grows up.

Amitie will grow up to be poly and pan

In the drama CDs and novels its shown that Amitie absolutely doesn't understand why anyone would want to have only one romantic partner, and when she first hears about the concept of a "wedding" (which she apparently has never been confronted with directly before then??) she immediately wants to have one with her entire class.

Rulue attributes this to Amitie being "still a child", but I don't see it that way, given this behavior persists for two novels in succession. Even when Amitie shows signs of a specific crush on Sig, it always comes with the caveat on "I want to get others in on it too!"

So yeah. No way this girl won't have amassed a "harem" of boy- girl- and other-friends by the time she's off age and certified as a sorceress...

Raffina and Lidelle give off trans girl vibes, and Raffina is probably a lesbian

Raffina's determination to prove herself as a "lady" and Lidelle's fear of having certain of her physical features be "seen" seem to connect really strongly to a lot of my trans friends as analogue to their own experiences and I can totally see it. Portrayals like that would just blend in perfectly with their characterization.

As for lesbian Raffina, it's just a vibe I get from her. The few times she mentions handsome men, it seems more like she wants them as a status symbol, but has no actual interest in being with them. Even when she thinks the prince Otomo is looking for is "handsome", she has 0 interest in helping the man search for the prince until Otomo offers her a reward. Then, "Everyone's Dreams Come True" showcasts it even more clearly when the dream she is trapped in includes her "keeping" an army of young bodybuilders as "servants", and enjoying the fact that they want to be with her soooo badly, while she has no intention of ever giving them the time of day, holding the fact that they are "not worthy of her" over their heads. Meanwhile, when she's with other girls (like Rulue or Lidelle post Fever 2) she seems far more appreciative.

Either Maguro or Risukuma is a trans boy. Either one of them.

I don't think about this one too often, but it would make sense. Maguro was bullied as a kid for "looking like a girl", and a friend of mine has this amazing headcanon that the experiment that turned Risukuma into a squirrelbear was actually homebrew instant HRT. Amazing, 10/10.

I'll admit, this is partially just me having fun with the fact that Maguro and Ris were originally written as girls before plans for Puyo Puyo 7 changed, but, hey! It doesn't contradict with anything, so why not?

Ecolo is Ecolo

'Nuff said. There is no gender that can contain the absolute glitch in spacetime that is Ecolo.

The fact that Ecolonosuke (one of Team Ecolo, who all represent aspects of Ecolo's personality) is canonically nonbinary helps, too!

Seo and Accord are lesbians and they will get married in this essay I will-

I AM SORRY, BUT SEO CANONICALLY NEEDS ACCORD TO REMIND HER TO EAT FOOD OR SHE WILL DIE.

THEY ARE THE GASLIGHT AND THE GIRLBOSS, THEY BELONG TOGETHER (Popoi is the gatekeep)

Eight = GAY

I'm sorry, Quest is not even SUBTLE about this one!

The day Eight shuts up about how badly he wants to get closer to Zero and his genius is the day he finally forgets to breathe between his words and perishes.

Okay, so these are all the big ones. If I forgot anything, it's because I don't think about it often or because it's canon anyway (cough, cough, dapper bones...)

[cozza-frenzy]

Fanfic: A La Carte (Part 1: Appetizer)

It’s a big part of what makes us human; believing we have a soul that needs to be fed, too. So this one has been in the works for a little longer than the others! Not only has my Discord “job” been keeping me VERY busy, but I also wasn’t sure where to go with this, exactly... but after seeing a certain art post yesterday, I know now... and I also know it needs to be a 2-parter. Yep, this one’s LONG, folks. And it’s about food! I’d like to give my thanks once again to @chronicsheepdrawing​ for their wonderful designs and autistic character headcanons. This is going to be less angst, more fluff this time, so content warnings are a little more sparse! May we all experience moments of Autistic Joy like those found in this story. Happy Autism Acceptance Month! Part 3 of a series: Anything Not Saved A Perfect Moment

CONTENT WARNINGS: Body Dysphoria (Not Gender Related), Messy Eating, References to Sensory Deprivation, Mild Sensory Overload

So whose birthday do you think it is this time? Ah, yes, I suppose it DOES say “Happy Celebration To Whomever”, doesn’t it? It might not even BE a birthday. It might even be celebrating all of the incredibly productive work we’ve been doing! Gosh, imagine that! FINALLY some recognition for all those years of- …And you’re gone. Of course. No doubt you have more important things to do than talk to the likes of me. Honestly, I don’t even know WHY I bother - I swear, it’s almost like some sort of COMPULSION! Just rambling on, and on, and on, and… oh dear, and I’m even doing it when there’s nobody to listen… …Hm. Actually, come to think of it… I wonder if he got the memo… ? 427? Ah, Employee 427? Hello? …Stanley, it’s ME - open the door! Oh, there you are Stanley! I do hope I wasn’t interrupting anything; oh, you were waiting for-? Well you… you didn’t HAVE to, you do realize that, right?? You were really just going to sit in your office, pushing your buttons, until I just HAPPENED to call out to you? I mean for heaven’s sake, Stanley! Don’t you want to take the initiative for even ONCE in your career? It could result in you getting promoted! Or possibly- well, probably more than likely, fired. But aren’t some things worth the- …What do you MEAN you already got one?? I just BROUGHT you a- Oh. Oh Stanley, you-you didn’t! You didn’t… heeheehee, really!? Well come onl, come on, get inside, quick! Shh! SHH!! Hahahahaaa, I can’t believe it!! I can’t BELIEVE you-what? NO, I’m not going to TELL! Gosh, what do you take me for, Stanley?? I mean you’re one of our most valuable employees; who ELSE could push buttons like you can, I ask you?? No-one, that’s who! Though I must say, haha, I never would have pegged YOU as the secret Bad Boy of the office! Mister Employee Four-Twenty-Seven, pilfering an extra slice of cake from under everyone’s collective nose! They’ll never suspect a thing! Hahaha…! …Oh come now, stop that, we’re not going to get CAUGHT. And even if we did, it’s probably my fault, anyway. Ugh, I must be a truly terrible influence on you, Stanley, I really must… it’s that horrid little rebellious streak in me. Probably why I never seem to get anywhere in this bloody office… Ah? Oh thank you Stanley, I’d love some coffee. Little more sugar if you could- yes, and- oh, you remembered! Ah yes, that’s lovely, I… oh, um, are you sure? I know how much everyone looks forward to our scheduled Standard Issue Office Sheet Cake, but you took that fair and - oh GO ON then, you absolute rascal! Since you’ve already cut it and everything… heh. Happy Whatever-It-Is, Stanley… —————————————————————————————————- This is a story about a man named Stanley. Today - if there even is such a thing as a ‘day’ any more - Stanley is in the Employee Break Room. A place he’d stopped by countless times previously, just to admire; the gray walls and dark blue carpet as comforting and familiar as they ever were. The couch; just as soft, yet firm enough to encourage the good sitting posture that was vital for employees. The whole place still smelling vaguely of printer ink, paper, and coffee. It was quiet now, given that all of Stanley’s coworkers had mysteriously vanished, leaving him alone in the office. Or, well… not quite alone. Not any more. Next to Stanley, on the couch, sat his Narrator. Some time ago, they’d had a fateful - and completely intentional, absolutely no mistakes were made - encounter in The Memory Zone. And since then, he’d decided to stick around. It just felt far more comfortable than unloading his model; it gave him something to anchor himself to, something that reminded him he was real. And all things considered, it wasn’t that bad. Even if he was still slowly learning to tolerate his… eh… he twisted the words around in his head, tossing aside epithets like “silly-looking” and “bizarre”, completely ignoring “ugly” and “monstrous” for a change, before finally settling on something. Unusual form. Yes, that will do for now… Ahem. Anyway; overall, The Narrator was, at least, willing to tolerate the unusual situation he’d found himself in. Since then, he’d found there was one thing more important to him than how he felt… and that was how Stanley, his protagonist, felt. After all; without him and without his co-operation, there was no story. There was no Stanley Parable without Stanley. So of course, as his Narrator, he couldn’t have him become lonely or depressed. Especially since the last time the Parable ended, The Narrator could have sworn they’d finally found freedom… They’d finally stepped outside; onto real grass and real dirt! Surrounded by real trees, under a real sky! On his very life, he could have sworn that they had... and yet… like a dream, or perhaps a burning memory, curling up in the flames like a discarded photograph, they’d found themselves back here. In the office. Right where they’d started. Perhaps they’d made a mistake somewhere… Stanley moved his hands, and the Narrator glanced downward. No, wait, he wasn’t saying anything; he was just fidgeting. And, he noticed, Stanley’s head had been resting against his shoulder - but it seemed from his half-laying, half-sprawled position on the couch, he’d slid down until his ear now rested against the Narrator’s stomach. Something that - the Narrator now realized - had probably been intentional. It was a comfort thing for him, apparently. Something about the liquid sloshing around in there helped him calm down. And perhaps it was the weight of Stanley’s head, or the soft sound of his breathing, or the gentle touch of his button-calloused fingers, but the Narrator couldn’t help but feel calmer too. It made things seem more… alright. Not entirely alright; not just after what they’d both been through, but more alright in himself. Like maybe he didn’t hate this body quite as much as he had previously. It certainly seemed to help keep his thoughts from going to much darker places... Stanley moved his hands again. The Narrator heaved a huge sigh. “Stanley, if you’re going to say something, just say it. I know you were disappointed with how our story ended, but we can’t try again if we just sit here and stew in our own failure… slow-cooking in regret… a crock-pot of misery and hopelessness, with a side dish of pointlessness, and a bitter-sweet ‘we’re never going to get out but at least we’re still here’ sauce… ” The Narrator’s words caught in his throat, and he stopped himself before he choked on them. No, no, he wasn’t going to let this get to him! This was his story! Nobody could tell him how to feel about it except him! He wasn’t about to backslide into utterly crushing despair… No, not him… definitely not… <Do you miss being human?> “W-what??” The Narrator boggled - he’d retired, undefeated, from Professional Boggling, but still boggled casually when the mood called for it - and looked down at Stanley. “You… “ He wondered for a moment how Stanley had remembered, but… of course he had. Back in the Memory Zone, they’d talked for hours, perhaps even longer, and of course sooner or later, everything had to come out. The fact that The Narrator still had memories of being human, once. Memories of having a real face, with makeup he’d painstakingly applied with real hands, that in turn had real nails, painted in office-appropriate colors. And how he couldn’t remember what he looked like, or what his name had been, but- “...You already know how I feel about that, Stanley. I can’t go back.” Somehow, the thought of returning to that time terrified him. Slowly, something had been coming together, at the core of the shattered funhouse mirror that made up his memories. Something that stared into his soul with a white-hot, searing sense of wrongness. Something that gave him no choice but to look away. I can’t go back to what I was before. I can’t. <I know that.> Stanley signed; taking a moment to sit up, he paused to think about what he was going to sign, as he often did. <But you really don’t miss anything?> “Stanley-” The Narrator started with a warning tone. Stanley certainly liked to push buttons; and apparently not only did he not know when to quit, but his obsession with button-pushing also applied to pushing other people’s buttons. But The Narrator couldn’t deny; the look on Stanley’s face held no malice. It was the same way he looked at The Narrator’s hands, when he ran his thumb over the line of stitches. The same way he watched the liquid inside his transparent globe of a belly slosh back and forth, and the way the light reflected off his plastic eyes. He remembered when Stanley had noticed his tie resembled The Stanley Parable Adventure Line™, and the biggest smile had crossed his face as his fingers traced its shape and felt its silky texture, wide eyes drinking in its bright color. Then they’d both just sat for a while, and reminisced about how they’d teamed up for the mis-adventure dubbed The Confusion Ending... It was pure, simple curiosity on Stanley’s face. The Narrator felt his cheeks flush involuntarily; it seemed he was still inexplicably fascinated by everything about him. And that, apparently, included what was inside his head. <I was just asking because…> Stanley hesitated again, looking away nervously. <Because you were talking about food. Do you miss it?> “Talking about-? Wait, was I - oh! Oh, Stanley… ” The Narrator laughed a little; “That was a metaphor! I wasn’t literally talking about those things, I was simply describing-” Stanley shook his head vigorously; waving his hands. Oh no. He wanted him to stop talking. The Narrator’s words had apparently got him thinking, and now he was practically buzzing with questions, a torrent of them starting to spill out like angry hornets from a disturbed nest. <Do you ever get hungry?> “I, ah… ” Did he feel hungry? He’d never really thought about it, but come to think of it… no. He’d never felt hungry; not once since he’d woken up like this. No urge to eat meant he’d never even tried to, though he had no reason to believe he couldn’t… and what was equally strange was he’d had no urge to drink, either. Or sleep! Or - well, this one was convenient, at least - use the facilities. And yet somehow it had never crossed his mind that this was unusual at all-? The Narrator wondered for a moment if it was simply the way his body was now; transformed from a mere human into some kind of immortal and ever-moving construct, perhaps by a Higher Power with a twisted sense of humor. But then… that couldn’t be true, could it? Because now that he thought about it; not only had he never felt hungry or thirsty since The Parable began, but neither had Stanley. But Stanley - dear, simple Stanley - seemingly hadn’t noticed anything was amiss. And he was still persisting in asking questions. <Do you still eat?> “I don’t have to.” The Narrator said curtly, prickling with defensiveness. “Why is this so important to you, exactly?” Dodging the Narrator’s question like a protagonist from a much more exciting genre would dodge bullets, Stanley was already tilting his head quizzically, locking and loading  yet another question. He squinted, like he was trying to make sense of something. The Narrator squinted back. The questions were already annoying him, but there was very little that irritated him more than being ignored, and he was about to launch into a lengthy rant when Stanley pointed to his face and asked... <Where is your mouth?> “What!?” The Narrator huffed, immediately caught off-guard by such a ridiculous question. “I mean, really?? Goodness, Stanley, I can’t believe you have to ask that! Obviously it’s right here!” He pointed to his mouth. Stanley just looked hopelessly confused. “Ugh, don’t look at me like that... you look like a puppy with a headache.” The Narrator sighed, rolling his eyes a little as he relented. Evidently, this wasn’t going to stop unless he did something to stop it. “Alright, just give me a moment. This should put an end to all these bloody questions… ” He reached into his memories. No, not all of them were smashed, broken, piled up in ways that only sort-of made sense like some kind of junk yard - oh no, not at all! Events, people, faces, things that had happened when he’d used to be human, anything that was complicated was a mess… but memories of things? Ah yes, things! Things were simple. He could handle things; hell, he’d even fabricated an entire Memory Zone out of things! Things were great! In fact, things were fantastic. There was no way things could possibly end badly. So of course, taking a memory of a simple chocolate chip cookie and manifesting it was hardly any effort at all; Stanley jumped a little as it appeared in The Narrator’s hand with a small ‘pop’. “Since you’re so utterly fixated on this for some reason, Stanley - allow me to demonstrate.” He took a bite. ————————————————————————————————— Meanwhile; a man named Stanley wasn’t entirely sure what he’d just seen happen. Nor was he entirely sure what he was still seeing, right in front of him, right now, as the Narrator took a second bite of the cookie he’d just created out of seemingly nothing, with the mouth he didn’t seem to have. But he was chewing all the same, complete with crunching sounds as if he had teeth… and there was a distant look crossing his face for a moment, as if he was taking a moment to taste it… “Mm, that is… my, that is actually rather good… ” said The Narrator, his voice slightly muffled from a mouthful of cookie. “In fact it's very good - I think perhaps I’ve outdone myself!” He brought the dessert level with his face, and - again! - a big bite suddenly disappeared. Stanley couldn’t help but stare. Not just because of how unreal it looked, but because The Narrator looked… happy. Very happy. His whole body seemed to have relaxed; and as he took another bite he actually made small, happy sounds, one of his glove-hands touching his own cheek as he rocked back and forth on his heels. “Mm… mm! Oh, I wasn’t expecting… Stanley, I know I made this, but this really tastes home-made! It’s simply del-i-cious!“ - munch, crunch - “So crisp! And chewy in the center… dark chocolate chips, a little sprinkle of salt… my gosh, it’s divine!” Stanley watched as The Narrator… licked the chocolate off his fingers? Somehow he knew that was what he was doing, even though he didn’t see a tongue. Trying to make sense of it, as the man pulled a napkin from his pocket and cleaned himself off, was starting to make his head feel weird… “Oh, Stanley! You simply must try one!” The Narrator said eagerly, offering a cookie with his other hand - he actually laughed a little, the experience having made him almost giddy. “Go ahead, it’s not going to bite you!” Stanley hadn’t even heard a ‘pop’ this time and yet here it was - another cookie, being held between glove-fingers, right under his nose. He looked at it for a moment; just like the other cookie, it had come from seemingly nowhere. But the smell of vanilla and brown sugar was real enough to make his mouth water, and the chocolate chips almost seemed to glisten under the office lights, like they were just slightly melted… “Oh come on, Stanley! I make an entire Memory Zone for you to walk through, and a bloody cookie is what makes you stand there, mouth agape??” The Narrator snapped, irritated by Stanley’s continued hesitation. “This is quite the treat, I’ll have you know!” Stanley carefully reached out his hand. “Don’t make me change my mind, because I will scoff the entire thing if you don’t.” Stanley snatched the cookie like it might run away from him and took a big bite. Immediately, Stanley exhaled through his nose; yes, now he understood. Now he felt that tingling from his very core; that rapidly rising tide of joy! The cookie was warm, and sweet, and its perfectly crispy edge practically melted on his tongue like buttery cotton candy. The crunchy exterior and soft, chewy interior were a symphony of textures. The chunky, bittersweet dark chocolate was a rich, heavy bass. And popping here and there to balance out all that sugar were little crystalline flakes of sea salt, that came in a flash and vanished like falling stars… He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a cookie this good. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a cookie. And now he desperately wanted a glass of milk to go with it. Stanley gestured frantically at the Narrator, hardly able to form a coherent sign. “A glass of-? Oh of course, what was I thinking!” Another pop, and there was suddenly a glass of milk in his hand. Suppressing his excitement for just a moment, Stanley steeled his nerves and sipped, letting the ice-cold drink contrast the gentle heat... and sighed. It tasted like how a warm blanket felt in the night air; his whole body wrapped in a comforting, nostalgic hug, made all the sweeter from the chill that lurked just on the edge. “Stanley, are you alright? You’re not allergic to something, are you?” The Narrator asked, squinting at him. “You’ve got a funny look on your face… ” Stanley couldn’t answer. Stanley was frozen in place. Stanley felt like he might cry. Stanley was unbelievably, overwhelmingly happy. Stanley desperately wanted to stim; to flap his hands out of sheer, overwhelming excitement, wrap his arms around himself and rock back and forth as his heart fluttered in his chest… but obviously he couldn’t, not with a cookie in one hand and a drink in the other. Then a particularly mischievous thought crept its way into his head, very softly, on tiptoe… and Stanley bit his lip. He shouldn’t. He really, really shouldn’t. He did. Stanley tore into the cookie like he was starving to the point of near-death; alternating between it and the milk in desperate gulps, crumbs falling between his fingers. He devoured the snack without any regard for table manners, office etiquette, or anything vaguely resembling human dignity - and he relished every single precious, visceral second of it, ending his frenzy with an utterly contented sigh. He stimmed gently, touching the backs of his own hands, enjoying the moment... “You, ah, must have been… hungry.” Then Stanley turned towards The Narrator. The smile fell from his face. And it may as well have shattered into pieces on the floor, from what he saw. The Narrator looked… pale. Almost like he was about to faint. Almost like he was expecting to get the worst news he’d ever heard in his life; news which would break his heart in such a way it would never heal right, and he’d carry this moment’s phantom pain for a lifetime. And Stanley, somehow, could tell clear as day what he was thinking… much like The Narrator seemed able to read his thoughts sometimes… In his obsessive quest to get his perfect ending, had he let his protagonist starve? <NO, NO!> Stanley shook his head, waving his hands in protest. He hadn’t been hungry, not at all! He knew he hadn’t been hungry in a long time and that had never really bothered him! After all, as The Narrator’s very important and heroic Protagonist, he’d had no shortage of very important and heroic things to do! But… Looking at the remaining chocolate stains on his shaking hands, he couldn’t deny, something else inside him had been absolutely ravenous. Something that had been so, so hungry, and was so, so thankful to be finally fed. With that hunger finally sated, there was a warm feeling curled up cozily inside him, like a purring cat on his chest. …It was almost like… “Like when you put your hand on me for the first time.” mused The Narrator, distantly. “You’re not hungry, but you haven’t tasted anything in hell knows how long… ” <And you haven’t, either!>, signed Stanley, a desperate, sympathetic look on his face. <Didn’t you ever make anything for yourself??> “I suppose the thought just never really occurred to me…” The Narrator sighed dejectedly, his face still a picture of regret. “I mean, I’m honestly surprised I even remembered how food tasted at all, but… knowing you were deprived of that joy… ?” Uh-oh. Stanley knew that look on The Narrator’s face; he only got that look when he was about to have another ‘crisis’, remembering or realizing something awful that sent him into a spiral of self-loathing and hopelessness. Sometimes he’d even ‘unload his model’ and disappear for what felt like hours, leaving nothing but the distant sound of sobbing; or worse, a horrible, yawning chasm of silence. Stanley reached out, gently taking the Narrator’s glove-hand, rubbing the back of it with his thumb; just like The Narrator did for him, when he felt overwhelmed. He just wanted him to be alright, please just be alright, but those big plastic eyes still looked so sad... “Oh, Stanley… you didn’t deserve that… ” The Narrator closed his eyes. He wasn’t crying, but Stanley listened to the sound and speed of his breathing, trying to gauge his mood, his emotions, trying to somehow figure this out and make him be alright again. Somehow, he had to try to take The Narrator’s focus off the idea that he’d hurt him… he needed to… he needed to sign something to snap him out of it, maybe? It was worth trying, if it meant even a slim chance of breaking the terrible, slowly rising tension. <Can you make more?> Not to mention the anxiety he himself was struggling to keep at bay; that maybe this time would be the time The Narrator wouldn’t come back. That he’d be alone again. And that it would be his fault somehow. “I… wait, what was that? Didn’t quite catch-” Stanley smiled excitedly; The Narrator had his eyes open again - and what was more, the stars had somehow aligned and fate had weaved its threads to grant him an idea! <You can make anything! You made the Memory Zone! You made the Baby Game! You even made me fly through space! So different kinds of food should be easy, right?> A cheeky little smirk crossed his face. <...Or is it too hard for you?> “WHAT?? Too HARD?!” The Narrator huffed, getting so riled up it almost looked like the liquid in his stomach was bubbling, boiling like a kettle. “Too hard indeed! What, do you think a vast, sprawling imagination like mine is restricted to mere snacks? That the depths of my wildest dreams contain no more than simple, infantile finger foods!?” Stanley relaxed his shoulders. Ah, much better; all he’d had to do was push the right buttons, and there was no more cringing, shrinking, or apologizing! The loud, proud, pompous voice that he adored was back! Though he’d have hardly called a chocolate chip cookie like that one ‘infantile’... “I mean after all, this is my story! And even if it is irrelevant to our ultimate goal, well, isn’t the journey just as important as the end? Is it not important to let our heroes breathe? To let them laugh, and love, and feast??” Stanley watched excitedly; The Narrator was gesturing energetically, pointing his finger in the air. He’d learned from their time together - that is, actually together, now that he could actually see him - that meant he was on a roll. And that always led somewhere interesting. “Well we shall feast! In fact, we shall have a veritable buffet!” Stanley snorted and bit his lip as he tried to keep a straight face; he’d pronounced it ‘boo-fay’, with a great amount of dramatic flair, which tickled him terribly. But he allowed him to continue… “Yes, a collection of culinary concoctions and creative cuisine! I see it now… there’ll be appetizers that delight and entrance! Entrees and side dishes, rivaling the banquets of kings! Desserts and patisserie to make you weep sugary tears of joy! Cocktails! A cheese course! Little things on sticks! Yes, yes, it’ll be fantastic! Stupendous, even! In fact, it’ll be-” …Until Stanley bravely put one hand on The Narrator’s shoulder, his gaze suddenly steely and determined. This could be his only chance he’d ever get for The Narrator to go along with an idea of his in its entirety. If he was going to do this, he was going to do it now - and he did, signing with his free hand. “A picnic in the Memory Zone… ?”

[cinderflower]

💖 🛠🛒 for the fanfic meme <3

💖 What made you start writing?

I was one of Those Kids growing up that would read a book a day, so that instantly set me up to be interested in learning how to write. Avid reader plus excelling in my literature classes effortlessly plus being surrounded by a group of friends who were also interested in writing as an interest so we all wrote and passed around our stories! Also I just love playing with both existing narratives (through fic) as well as building my own worlds from the ground up.

🛠 What tools/programs/apps do you use to write?

I pretty much exclusively use Google Docs these days to write unless I'm formatting for a print, then for prints I do use Word to fix all the formatting. The convenience of being able to edit my works on any device, anywhere, at any time is just too convenient. I wrote I think at least 25% of RM on my phone during my lunch breaks and then I wrote at least half of Defiling the Divine on my phone at a wedding last year lol.

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Ooh I'm usually sparse on imagery so not too much in common there, but thematically I'm always drawn towards focusing the narratives on duo characters (usually siblings) who have a dynamic of protector/protected, strength/cunning, that have complementary traits. Self-acceptance is usually another pretty big theme I like to write alongside tender, heartfelt emotional moments between the characters as they do everything except outright declare their love for one another. And then lastly there is always the devil on my shoulder telling me that no matter the ship, no matter the characters, no matter the setting, that I should cave and write an incredibly intimate bathing scene/fic.

[pelgraine]

a small Wednesday Wenclair fanfic

In lieu of Ao3 being currently available, here's the first chapter of new fic I started writing late last night along with a cover I enjoyed making (while procrastinating more important things) today :)

Summary:

“No! Don't!”

Enid has cried out the words before her mind has had time to process the impulse to speak. The sound of her voice is enough to halt the path of her father's harpoon before it pierces the flesh of the creature that lies tangled in their fishing net, its belly so clearly full of the fish the Sinclair's had thought they were hauling in.

The day has been long and the sun’s rays have left their mark, but Enid knows she's not hallucinating from heatstroke. The salty tang of sea-spray on her tongue, the rope-burn across her hands and the stink of half-consumed fish remains are vibrant enough to tell her this is real. That's really a mermaid caught in her net; and that it might just be the ugliest thing Enid has ever laid eyes on.

Two enormous, opalescent black eyes blink back at her, pale nictitating membranes flickering. They remind Enid of the wings of scarab-beetles, in both color and skittering movement. The creature lies still otherwise, seemingly unconcerned about its current position, now stuck half-tangled and hanging in the net swinging back and forth in the air beside the boat. It has not even glanced at the harpoon her father wields. He has shuffled a fraction closer to Enid’s side, the weapon ready to end the creature’s life. Enid could hazard a guess that if she had equally incredible claws of such awesome length, with limbs and tail all protected by innumerable vicious-looking black spikes, and a jaw full of multilayered razor-teeth that an anglerfish would be jealous of, she might seem unconcerned too. Possibly. She's not sure if the thing can breathe for very long out of water.

Enid also isn't sure why she told her father to stop. The creature has eaten what appears to be almost their entire catch.

Their trawler is tiny, and this net was the last good one they had left to use before her father would have to make the long trip back into town for the pile of repairs they could barely afford. Things have been so tight lately that this evening’s haul was needed to feed the family for the rest of the week.

The boat and what bounty they could trawl from the sea is about the sum total of the Sinclair’s wealth these days. They cannot pay Enid’s school fees for the the new high school she was meant to start at just yet, and every day she prays to the moonlit sky that her mother and brothers will find a solution during their days of piling into their one car and driving from town to town to try and find work or make some kind of business arrangement with one of her mother’s contacts. And every night they sit at a dinner table with fare that gets more and more sparse with each passing day.

Most of the time, Esther Sinclair and Enid’s four brothers make it back in time for a late dinner. The days Enid hates most are the ones when her family can’t make it home in time and there’s a brief phone call of apology; those days are the ones when her father doesn’t have the energy to hide the way his expression grows more and more despairing and hopeless. She tries to get him to eat more then, when it’s just the two of them, but he’ll do the same thing right back and insist Enid take a second serving. Tries to scrape his too-small meal onto Enid's plate. Sometimes, Enid stays longer at the table and talks about nothing and everything just to pass the time, just long enough to be sure her father has eaten anything at all.

Things were getting rather dicey already and now there’s a sea monster with an air of contentment and a full belly taking up space in their net.

There's a couple of twitching fish remaining in the far the corner of the rigging closest to them; those last few that the creature hadn't inhaled prior to the net being pulled up to the surface. What is left isn't anything approaching enough to feed their family of 7 for a week. The few crab pots they had checked that morning had also been empty, and Enid begins to wonder if maybe the monster in their net has eaten those too.

Murray Sinclair hasn't lowered his arm, harpoon still poised to strike. Enid lets him hover because what she’s about to do could be the worst idea she's ever had, letting this hideous monster of the deep live. She can't explain the instinct driving her - this sense of pity, an almost-concern for the thieving creature that might be the cause of their family all ending up desperately hungry. It's inexplicable, this inclination towards mercy and forgiveness for the thing. But there's no doubt in her mind that there's some degree of sentience in those scarab-beetle eyes, and Enid can't let her father kill it.

The creature resembles more black sea urchin than sea siren, despite the recognisable shape of the torso and long, powerful tail. There’s a hint of lionfish there in the spotted frills behind it’s ears and between the webbing on its clawed hands, but black sea urchin is what the creature resembles most. Positively rippling with painfully sharp spikes. More monster than mythical enchantress. And yet, there's something about the curve of its ribs and the surprisingly delicate length of its arms and hands, along with its overall smaller size, that makes Enid suspect this is indeed some kind of mermaid caught up in their net. Perhaps it’s a  female of whatever strange species they've hauled in. Or maybe they don’t even have genders. Enid doesn’t want to go assigning one before she knows more.

Enid edges closer across the deck, shifting ever-so-slightly in front of her father’s path in order to give him a split-second pause for consideration before he might swing the harpoon. The creature - mermaid, whatever the hell it is - the giant sea urchin in their net just watches her for a long moment, before it snuffles delicately. Enid hadn’t picked up on a recognizable nose amongst the shape of its head earlier, but there - the wrinkling between the brows and ridge between them makes the resemblance of the skull to that of a human that much more apparent. Enid doesn’t know whether the expression is displaying disgruntlement or amusement, or if it’s struggling to breath, or if the creature is trying to warn her away; but then that tilt of the head at an angle that comes afterwards suggests to Enid that maybe the monster currently tangled in her netting is trying just as hard to decipher Enid for itself.

“It’s okay, I’m not going to hurt you,” Enid soothes, keeping her tone low and raising her palms up and out slowly to where they can be seen easily. It’s the voice she uses for skittish horses and for the feral dogs in the town market; the ones that watch all the passers-by from dark corners of the market stalls and alleyways, wary and ready to snap. Enid murmurs repetitions of the same soothing words of reassurance, shuffling forward in tiny half-steps until she’s leaning, very carefully and excruciatingly slowly, over the edge of the outrigger that is keeping the net suspended in place on the side of their little trawler. The creature has entirely frozen in place, watching Enid warily as she gets closer, its previous subtle movements and signs of life now replaced with eerie, utter stillness. No longer blinking its outer eyelids, leaving only the white membranes to flicker across every second heartbeat. She stares back at it, leery of its ability to lurch up and slash her with those claws and spiked forearms. Enid stops there for a moment, wondering if this really is the worst idea she’s ever had - prays it won’t be her last - and then chooses to do it anyway.

Enid unsheathes her claws in preparation to cut the tangled ropes and the creature trills a noise in response that is somehow both a hiss of warning and a chiming note of impossibly high-pitched inquiry all at once.

Both Murray and Enid yelp, instantly slapping hands to their ears, stumbling backward and groaning at the pain the sound causes. Enid feels instantly dizzy and woozy, as though her head has been rung like a bell and its echoes continue to vibrate back and forth within the confines of her brain.

Then, a much lower note, longer and impossibly louder, the noise causing a vibration that Enid feels with the spaces in her lungs, with the shudder of her boots on the deck. How on earth can something that size create such incredible sound?

Having werewolf hearing probably doesn’t help matters much, but judging by the way the sound carries vibrations across the entire boat and back and forth across her skull until Enid feels seasick with it, the fact that she’s a werewolf may not matter at all. Whether it’s the creature trying to communicate or defend itself does not matter either; Enid needs it to stop so she can stop seeing double and try and help to set it free.

“Hey! Hey!” she shouts over the ringing in her ears.

It stops. ”Thank god,” Murray says behind her in a coughing grumble. He rubs the knotted scars across his ribcage that she knows sit beneath his red flannelette shirt, his throat clearing out what is no doubt a bad lung made irritated by the creature’s vibrations.

“Hey,” Enid repeats, more softly this time, and waits a moment until her vision lines up properly again.

“Please don’t do that again. We’re not really equipped for it. I don’t know if you can understand me, but the noise hurts us.”

She waits, but there’s nothing to indicate the creature has grasped anything Enid has said. Enid moves forward again anyway, claws still unsheathed. It feels as if she’s moving in minuscule fractions,;feeling as though time has become a syrupy thing, made achingly slow by Enid’s reluctance to make any sudden movements. Thankfully - blessedly - the creature does not move or make any of those sounds again, merely watches Enid get closer to the tail twisted up in the space between them, caught in the tangled ropes.

Enid notices the way the black scales on the mermaid’s powerful tail are as opalescent as the creature’s eyes; more so, for the way they catch the last rays of the setting sun, glittering as Enid leans closer to get to the right rope. She might have to revise her earlier assessment; the creature is not as hideous as she’d first thought. Some things about it are remarkably pretty, and Enid has to consciously remind herself not to get distracted thinking about how she’d never appreciated just how many flecks of other colors could be found within black before now.

“Please stay still,” she implores the mermaid. “I won’t hurt you. I want to set you free, but you need to stay as still as possible.”

Enid stares at the creature’s enormous dark eyes for a long, tense moment, her hands hovering infinitesimally closer to the rope she’ll need to pull out and slice. She doesn’t know why she’s stopped; it’s not as if they can understand each other.

Enid has to disregard that opinion almost immediately as well. The creature does that crinkle-expression that suggests amusement or indifference or some entirely alien emotion first, but then comes a vibration so low and quiet Enid can hardly hear it. But she feels it, and she thinks that might have been a noise of assent.

It takes seconds to snip and slice at key points until there’s a hole large enough in the net for the creature to slip through. Weirdly, it stays, shifting to the edge of the rigging so it doesn’t fall.

“What are you doing?” Enid asks it, baffled. “Go! Be free!”

The same near-silent, humming vibration that Enid feels rumbling through the spaces in her lungs comes again, longer this time. More trilling, in a way, as though it carried layers of silent notes. Enid’s not sure how she could explain that one; there’s essentially no sound to it that she’s able to identify, but she knows it’s there by the way the silent acoustics seem to ripple through her. As though all the water in the cells in her body have oscillated with its impact.

Enid shakes her head again to clear the double vision. The mermaid gestures towards her direction, tapping its forehead with one hand as though in farewell, then pushes off the edge to drop like a stone to the depths below.

Enid does not rush to the side of the boat to try and follow the mermaid’s path out into the deeper water, even though the impulse is strong. There’s no point. It’s too dark now and she’d see nothing anyway.

Then it hits her. Her brain had been subconsciously turning the memory of the mermaid’s movements over in her mind, and the gesture it had made has abruptly become recognisable.

“Wait a second. Wait one damned second.” Enid turns back to face her father, whose arm has relaxed now, the harpoon held loosely by his side. His expression looks about as astounded as Enid is currently feeling. Murray nods to answer the question she has not yet phrased.

“You saw it! That was a salute!” Enid declares, elated, triumphant, and entirely baffled by the experience.

“It was,” her father agrees, and she watches him drift to the side of the boat to stare at the giant hole in their net. “A mermaid ate all of our haul and then saluted us.”

Enid felt the reality of the situation come crashing back in. “I’m sorry, pa. I just - I just couldn’t…” she begins, trying to find a way to explain why she wouldn’t have been able to let him kill it.

“I know,” her father says, eminently understanding. He looks back at Enid and she can see the understanding tone in his voice is written clearly on his face. “I know, lass. Don’t worry. We’ll figure something out. I don’t think I’d have been able to kill it anyway,” he reassures, before turning to look at the darkening ocean and the first traces of stars in the sky.

“Huh,” Murray says. “Saluted by a mermaid.”

Enid joins her father at the side of the boat, looking past the ruined net and outrigging to the vast ocean beyond. “Yep,” she agrees. “Didn’t expect that one when I woke up this morning.”

“Might be worth making a wish,” her father says.

“A wish?”

He turns to her, before wrapping one arm around her shoulder. Enid leans in to his side to just enjoy this brief moment before they have to return to work.

She feels the press of a kiss against her head and smiles at his affection. The best thing about working on the fishing trawler was that her father never hesitated to show how much he loved her, nor how much he appreciated her help with the work. All of it was worth it for that. Enid hardly dares to think of how she’ll manage when she has to move on from the work and leave her father behind so she can attend school.

“A wish,” her father confirms. She can’t see his face without twisting to look up at him, but Enid can feel the gentle smile in his voice.

“I thought wishes were only for shooting stars,” Enid queries. There’s been no shooting stars that she’s seen, not in a night this young.

“Well, it’s not every day you end up with a rare magical creature in your fishing net who then salutes you for the privilege of making your acquaintance,” her father replied dryly.

Enid giggles a little at that, because it’s both ridiculous and true.

“Okay,” she agrees.

Enid has to think for a moment, because there are so many things she could wish for. So very many things that seem wholly impossible and entirely out of her reach. But then, something like an echo of sense-memory of the mermaid’s trilling vibration rumbles through her ribcage, and she has an idea.

Enid smiles out at the beautiful sight of the dark ocean made softer by the glow of a rising moon, and makes her wish.

[decepti-thots]

Curious, but why do you think CV wasn’t as popular among the fan base as animated/prime? I haven’t been in the fandom long enough, but have a general understanding that there’s G1 elitism but CV wasn’t terrible. Also, this could be skewed since I don’t know peoples responses to animated or tfp at the time (or RiD2015).

There are a couple things to consider here.

One: target demographic. Cyberverse is generally understood to be skewed a little younger than most mainline TF cartoons. Generally, mainline TF cartoons are assumed to be aimed at around the 6-14 demographic, I'd say. (With the Rescue Bots stuff filling the pre-school niche and the comics being for adults.) But there's a very big difference between the average 6 year old's taste and a 14 year old's taste. Some shows, like TFP, lean more towards the older tween/teen demo; some, like Cyberverse, more towards the under-10s. A lot of adults who like kids' cartoons prefer the stuff aimed at slightly older audiences. So the younger a cartoon is pitched, the less it's likely to engage lots of the "adult nerd" secondary demographic. (And of course, some dumbasses are straight up like WAHHH IT'S KIDDY AND THAT'S BAD, HATE because they do not want to admit they are in a franchise that is overwhelmingly made up of cartoons made for children, like losers.)

Two: format. Cyberverse is not a 'full' show like most TF cartoons. Each episode is ~10 minutes long, not ~22, and it's nowhere near as heavily serialised as a some recent takes on that format (Steven Universe is probably the preeminent example). This means a lot of the episodes earlier on especially are standalone and have just a single one-and-done A-plot going on. This does change in later series, especially series three, but for a while there the tone is much more 'goofy and fun shorts' than 'overarching narrative', which tends not to gain the same kind of teen or adult fandom engagement. It tends not to lead to a lot of speculation, or fanfic, stuff like that which builds momentum and engagement.

Three: budget. To put it bluntly, Cyberverse was a budget cartoon compared to stuff like TFP. (My personal assumption is that this was likely deliberate, what with TFP having infamously become one of the most absurd money leaks of a cartoon I have ever heard of.) It was more or less designed to be a web-first streaming series rather than like, the next big flagship cartoon on TV. (It aired on CN's app first and many countries only had it on various random apps; it now lives on Youtube mostly.) They had very little money, and while the team made that money go really far on the show itself, it shows in some regards. First up, it got next to no promo. Like. This show had almost no advertising. It was not treated as 'the next big Transformers franchise' by Hasbro tbh: it's often referred to as being something of a 'stopgap' series. Also, the toyline is incredibly sparse and cheaply done, with weird gaps and terrible distribution and a huge amount of under-engineered toys. Given that the shows exist to sell the toys, and toys drive interest in the shows... yeah. Anyway, the fact it wasn't treated like the Next Big Transformers Thing meant a lot of people straight up skipped it.

Four: the first series was easily the weakest. Like, I love Cyberverse, but s1 is eminently skippable. The low budget there hit them hard I think. Very few characters ever show up, all the settings are the blandest, flattest wastelands they can manage a lot of the time. The whole thing is basically designed from the ground up so they can justify only having to have two actual regular main characters! Series one did not grab most of us who did start watching when it began airing. When it got a lot better in series two and three, a lot of the audience had unfortunately already dismissed it.

All the above combined to mean that Cyberverse is a little bit of a black sheep of the continuities, with Earthspark being seen as the 'proper' return of TF by a lot of folks. Which! Is a real shame! Because Cyberverse fucking RULED. Okay. The uptick in how good it was once series two ditched the 'only two characters' thing and brought on a full cast of Bots and Cons was ridiculous. It's funny and goofy and incessantly charming and it uses its format to its advantage to tell fun little stories you just wouldn't get in a show like Prime. The continuity picks up while still allowing episodic stories, the writers bring in fun ideas from other continuities, Starscream starts a cult and eats people's souls, it's wonderful. They got really creative, and the fact they didn't necessarily have that overwhelming need to appeal to a nostalgic audience 24/7 meant they could get a bit weird and silly with it. Kids' cartoons that are for kids and strive to be entertaining in that way are good, actually!

Series three notably has a whole mini-arc that follows characters and their development episode to episode and reintroduces and reinvents the Quintessons in a big way, and it's one of my fave TF cartoon arcs ever. A lot of folks find themselves surprised by how much they wind up enjoying Cyberverse once they give it a shot. But there was that really rocky start combined with it being a very atypical format for the series that just limited how many people did give it a shot.

Cyberverse has its contingent of dudebros who hate it for being a kids' show, but mostly? It's just kind of overlooked.

[scereplop]

portrait of a lady of fire (yay movies)

The reason why I decided to watch ‘The Portrait of a Lady on Fire’, or even found out about it in the first place, is because of a citation in the footnote of a fanfic. The movie had been rotting away in my ‘to watch’ tab group for months, and when I’d finally gotten around to actually give it a go, I wasn’t as interested in that particular fanfic as I was at first. I feel that a huge reason for this is that I actually quite dislike the very ship it is about, however I liked it a lot back then, and with every morsel I got I was bursting at the seams. It doesn’t change the fact that it is still fairly well written, but upon rereading it, the spark in me failed to burst into flames. I blame the characters, not the writer nor the idea. The important thing, however, was for me to be as impartial as possible when watching the movie (I can never be fully unbiased but I can try my best to. I’m also far from a trained film critic of any sort, so feel free to take any of this with a pinch of salt. But I’ll really try my best.) and so I didn’t read any reviews of any sort before watching the movie or writing this, and I had no clue what I was in for. I also had completely forgotten which scene from the movie that part of the fanfic had been based off of, so I really was going in helpless. And honestly, I was and am glad of it. It’s always best that way. (Warning: spoilers ahead)

Of course- the cinematography. I don’t think I have to say much because the gorgeous shots throughout the entire movie speak for themselves. I’m sure that there’s some deeper meaning to the placement of the characters in each frame and an art to the delicacy of the lighting that I am sorrowfully unfamiliar with, but to me it was simple, it was plain and there for me to see. And there was a charm to that simplicity. It felt like I was watching it through the eyes of the very characters in the movie. I was never bored, each pause was purposeful. It felt like life. It felt real. When I wake up on holiday, I have no backing track as I brush my teeth or walk along the seashore. I have no special effects or superhuman powers as I play in the sea. I have the the sounds and things I and the people around me make. The movie never really was silent, just like life never is. There was the sound of the sea cushioning sparse dialogue, and with the sparsity of dialogue I treasured every word, I mulled on them and I understood them like they were spoken to me. There’s always the risk of me getting incredibly bored when I watch these kinds of movies, but I am so glad that I wasn’t with this one. Not once.

Then there was the fire. There was the portrait itself on fire, there was her dress on fire, the very image of Héloïse that Marianne had remembered, and not just remembered but held so dear to hear that she had to see it again, had to paint out and stow away, there was the bonfire that boomed with song and the art done by candlelight. It felt like an ever pressing, omnipotent presence throughout the film, but despite its destructive nature, never once did it feel threatening. Just like fire, I don’t think it ever stood for a specific, concrete definition, never bloomed for specific purpose but served one nonetheless. A means of communication, of warning, of foreshadowing. To share a pipe, it must be lit first before two pairs of lips can touch the same mouthpiece. To see faces (or the lack of one) in the dark passion of night, we must play with fire to keep those impassioned stares held no matter the destruction it may bring. Because fire is bright and burns with a hope that demands attention, it was a perfect constant because it never felt constant- it grew, like their love with time, and longing too.

Even though I’m not a huge fan of the horror genre in films (mostly because most of the time all it composes of are jump scares and no substance that disconcerts me at my core), when included in subtle amounts in films that you’d think have no reason to have it really is the cherry on top. I don’t know if these scenes would even be considered horror per se, but it really did give me fucking chills because of how unexpected it was, even though I wasn’t scared out of my skin. The white garbed vision of Héloïse that appeared before Marianne twice in the film before the actual scene from which it was from (before she left for good), felt like some sort of warning. It always appeared right before a key moment between the two of them like some ghost of futures past and was genius. Whatever it was meant to do, I think it did perfectly.

______________________________________________________________

from here on out i kind of went a little mad and and completely ditched paragraphing and sentence structure and grammar laws and any sense at all. i don't know what happened because i wrote this like ages ago and left it to wither and die for some reason that has now escaped me, and i'm way too lazy to figure out what on earth i was trying to say. hopefully it makes sense for someone out there!

______________________________________________________________

their relationship. the secrets. the fights. the PIANO i mean harpsichord scene. the OTHER FIGHT. the whole dynamic in relation to the rest of the film. ever moving never stationary

THE STORY. the looks back. that was so genius and the new take on it n stuff DAWG

(i suspect i was talking about the story of Orpheus and Eurydice. i do remember that there were so many overlapping themes in the film itself, and every time i managed to pick the likeness of one of them out, it was so satisfying. and especially for this theme in particular. i had only vaguely heard of the myth before but after watching it i think that story has been seared into my mind for good. and i agree with past me- it was such a genius move to have the story be a reflection of their life. the shots of their last goodbye were STRAIGHT OUT OF THAT STORY. fight me. and the uncertainty of it all. LITERAL GOOSEBUMPS.)

the ending and teh conceert! is it a sad ending it s not happy but typica l sad ending - someone dies boo hoo but no theyre alive and they seem well but the thought of what couldnve been if if if

it just lies dormant and with these kinds of things you cant really forget (LIKE THE MOVIE NUOVO OLIMPO - where no one dies and theres no tragedy but instead this slow descent into, not madness, but like sadness and stuff and like you can do somethig but you cant at the same time and like UGUGUGUGUH)

[the-eclectic-wonderer]

Tag someone you want to know AND/OR some of your besties.

I was tagged by @valentinaonthemoon, my sweetest mutual! Thank you!

Favourite colour: warm shades of yellow (think gold yellow or sunglow yellow).

Last song: Dreams by The Cranberries (thank you, Derry Girls!)

Last movie: Anastasia (1997). My brother mentioned he'd never seen it, and I simply had to show it to him. It's as magical as i remember. The last new movie (as in, not a rewatch) I watched was Asteroid City by Wes Anderson, which left such an impression on me I still rant about it regularly with the friend I saw it with. It was an incredible experience!

Currently watching: The Golden Girls! I'm having such a blast - it's hilarious, the girls have amazing chemistry and interactions, and its treatment of 'charged' themes (regarding eg sexuality, gender identity, poverty, race, having/not having children etc) holds up surprisingly well for a show that was made between 1985 and 1992. It's easy to see why it's so well-liked. I'm also watching season 2 of Loki, and enjoying it very much! I haven't really posted anything about it yet because I'm watching with family, and we're quite behind schedule. So no spoilers, please!

Other stuff I watched this year: Oh, dear. I don't remember all of them, but let's see... I rewatched Steven Universe, Steven Universe Future and Brooklyn Nine-Nine in the first few months of the year, but I don't remember watching anything new in particular (although I remember playing a lot of videogames - that's probably why). I caught up with the new season of the lovely Only Murders In The Building just in time to theorize about the last four episodes or so (and this season was so so so good, I think it's become my favourite!), and I watched S2 of Our Flag Means Death as it aired (I still haven't recovered from the ending of Ep. 3, good heavens). A dear friend recommended Derry Girls to me a couple of weeks back; I finished it just a few days ago and loved it to bits. It completely broke my heart and put it back together in such a gentle, caring way - instant favourite. And then, of course, although I haven't talked about it all that much, I've also watched Good Omens, season 2. And then rewatched Season 1. And then rewatched both in Italian, to check out the translation. And then rewatched them both in English, because I missed the original voices. I might have a bit of a problem.

Shows I dropped this year/didn’t finish: I don't recall anything specific this year, but the last season and a half of The Marvelous Mrs Maisel has been hanging above my head for a while. I reached a point in the story where the second-hand embarrassment was so intense I couldn't bear to keep watching, and it's been haunting me ever since. I'd love to get back into it, eventually, when I find the courage.

Currently reading: The Blackwater series, by Michael McDowell. I'm not usually a fan of horror, but the cover art captured my attention, and before I knew it the story had captivated me completely. I'm also re-reading and annotating A Girl's Story (which is a horrible translation of the original title, Mémoire de fille) by Annie Ernaux for my book club. It's a poignant, thought-provoking work, and a truly deserved Nobel prize winner.

Currently listening to: Mr. Hozier decided to drop his new album at precisely the right time to twist the knife into my Good Omens heartbreak, and so it was inevitable I'd end up listening to his stuff a whole lot. Jokes aside, Unreal Unearth is phenomenal and has made me cry a lot of tears so far. Then we have some sparse stuff (Glenn Miller, Queen, Kate Bush) and some rock - mostly Greta van Fleet (Starcatcher) and Voyager (Colours in the Sun and Fearless in Love). The most recent addition to the roster is the new album by Rebecca Sugar, Spiral Bound (Good Morning Afternoon has quickly become a new favourite of mine).

Currently working on: a couple of WIP fanfics, planning for Christmas gifts.

Current obsession: Listen. Listen. If you follow me, you know. You know what my current obsession is. Good Omens has filled my every waking thought since July 28th, 2023 and I have made it everyone's problem for months. (I'm not sorry about it, by the way. i did warn you all.) At this point, I'm guessing this new obsession will sustain me at least until season 3 drops.

This was really fun, thank you @valentinaonthemoon! I honestly can't choose someone to tag, so - if you got this far and would like to tell the world about your interests, please consider this your official invite. And tag me if you do it! Enjoy!

[agentqv]

“We Will Speak Again After”

A Binx/Andhera Fanfic

Part I: Moth and Flame

The Mortal Realm wasn’t everything Andhera had expected. It was far less chaotic than Lord Airavis had wrote to be. It smelled weird, but apparently it’s a good smell? When he woke up that morning, it had not occurred to the Unseelie Prince that Binx Choppley would want to begin their journey so swiftly… But he was a sworn knight of the Court of Craft.

And they could never say no to their Dear Binx.

So the two spent their first hours in a forest, wandering in the direction of civilization. Their aimless path was picturesque, autumnal leaves drifting in the air. Countless bundles of leaves were sorted together and laid unguarded.

It was incredibly easy for Binx to push a confused Andhera into a pile of orange leaves. Their dark brooding complexion became messier in the rumpus. Binx couldn’t help but giggle at the disheveled look upon his dark face mixed with autumnal reds and oranges. The laughter was hard enough that she hadn’t clocked the rake left beside the pile and tripped forward, onto Andhera (who lost his breath in the surprise).

As Binx reoriented to this sudden reality, she tried pushing up, but discovered their hands on her knight’s chest and felt a strain in his breathing from her contact pressure, she froze. The two found themselves to be close in a way some would consider uncomfortable, her violet eyes looked into his scarlet ones, a redness painted her cheeks.

A thin rosy mist formed above them, lightly raining them with dew.

“Is this okay?” Binx whispered with concern. They had their first kiss before departing the Fey Realm. The two now found themselves in the middle of a saccharine high, excitedly exploring this new dynamic (so boundary setting was important).

“More than okay.” Andhera whispered with a touch starved hand reaching for her face. Binx enjoyed the feel of him, as he cupped her sun-kissed cheek.

The Prince initiated the kiss, gently pressing his mouth into hers. Binx grinned into it, hands grasping the nape of their neck, tendrils of dark scorched hair caught between her fingers.  To Andhera they tasted like a living black apple, feelings and memories swept through his mind, clouding the senses.

The kiss ended in them sharing the sweetest of looks, Andhera felt like saying something suave, but found his brain stammering. They had gone through so much in the past weeks, now they were confronted with boundless freedom. It was overwhelming and perfect. A storybook ending.

A cool breeze punctured the air, lifting leaves and tousling Binx’s chestnut hair, wings jittering. The love in their knight’s eyes was disrupted as he watched the leaves flowing. As concern overtook his gaze, Binx sat up.

“Andhera, is something wrong?” Their question plucked Andhera from his introspection. His gaze returned to her. Nothing was wrong when it was just the two of them.

Nothing can happen to you

Moments later they were brushing off leaves and continuing their trek. Despite their best efforts,  the romantic atmosphere had drifted away with the wind.

Over the course of hours, the landscape rolled away and a course of action was being decided upon.

They would to reconnect with Binx’s warlock Scratch and meet with the true Lady Gwyndolin Thistle-hop. From there an actual plan to rebuild the true Court of Craft could be… well, crafted.

That was what Binx said when they reached a break in the forest in the form of a country road. Sparse buildings and farms rose up in the landscape. The Court of Craft’s leader seemingly froze, and Andhera detected an instance of her soul fleeing their body.

Across the road from them, something had seemingly materialized out of nowhere, a thing of horrors. It was a five foot tall yeth hound, a dog with the face of an uncomfortable old man, waiting for them. Tapping his claws humorlessly into the dirt.

“How did-” Binx whispered, “We didn’t even know we were going to end up here.” A shrill terror concerned their voice. “I thought you left him at the Bloom!”

“My Dear Binx,” Andhera smiled, “As a boy, I tried to leave Grandpa Dog behind so many times, Advisor said this behavior was the truest mark of loyalty. Or maybe it was scorn.” Andhera crossed the road to embrace the indifferent dog. Stroking the weird folds of its throaty neck “My nightmares wouldn’t be complete without you, old boy!” It drooled uncomfortably onto his violet robes, watching Binx the entire time with an uncompromising gaze. The Weaver of Fate wanted to cry.

Night eventually came, and they made camp around an old firepit. Andhera had somehow scraped together a fire, excited by the prospect of camping. Binx could have reminded him that they could stay inside her liminal space, it was much safer (and glamping was very nice). But by that time night had encompassed the clearing, her resolve waned when Andhera saw the stars of the mortal realm, eyes wide like scarlet saucers.

A gentle smile road up her face watching Andhera experience this world (or really most normal things). To them it was all childlike and new. And like with their dalliance on the leaf pile, Binx felt a possessiveness that they hadn’t felt in a long time. It was like a sense of belonging. She promised there was so much for them to experience together… but knowing Andhera would experience much of what Binx had already seen brought a fresh new excitement to it all.

Binx wondered if perhaps this was why the mortals of this plane watched reaction videos.

It was an excitement that even Grandpa Dog couldn’t ruin. And he certainly tried, sitting across from the two, staring up at Binx with a cold and diffused stare. Every once in a while his gaze shifted to stare at a hooting owl draped in moonlight.

“Oh don’t mind him, it means he likes you, probably.” Andhera droned, sitting with her towards the fire, “Do you think Scratch and the good Lady Thistle-hop will like him?” As soon as Binx looked at Andhera to answer that question, they turned back and recognized that the yeth hound was closer. His ragged breathing grew more strained and uncomfortable.

The topic found itself changing. Andhera was concerned for Delloso de la Rue and Major Hob (or just Hob now) who had remained at the Bloom while they left. He wondered if they should have been invited on this excursion. Binx felt that concern, but recognized it was unnecessary.

“I think they need space, like we do. Time to explore. Figure out where they stand.” Binx felt a redness creep up their cheek at the simple thought of discussing their own relationship. They currently lacked a formal labeling, and while it was still early, Binx felt that odd tinge of uncertainty and decidedly stopped looking inwards.

“Rue and Hob need time to uh be private, you know?” Binx uttered, awkwardly. Their knight shrugged in firelight.

“Right. Rue may need to provide some uh… sexy healing, for the condition they left the Major’s heart in before we attended that show.” Binx paused at their suggestion, turning. Her lips pulled in tightly and cracked into laughter. Andhera joined her in this endeavor.

With the talk of healing, they both recalled the secret fliers the Lords of the Wing had been handing out earlier that day. The “party” at their estate (it was an orgy) was being privately touted as the “True Final Event of the Bloom” and Binx reached a potential conclusion.

“Perhaps Rue and the Major are attending the orgy!” They suggested.

“Wouldn’t that be a story!” Andhera snickered. “I bet Advisor is also in attendance.”

“Is he normally like that?”

“WHO KNOWS!?” The Unseelie Prince grew animated. “That man has his own thing going on. I don’t even know his name!” The laughter continued for another couple seconds, evaporating heartily in the air. An odd melancholic sadness took to Andhera speaking of his mentor. Binx found their hand softly touching his.

“You know… it’s okay if you miss him or the Unseelie.”

“I don’t.” Andhera replied abruptly, unconsciously pulling his hand away.

“But if you did… I’d understand.” She pivoted, gently grasping the Prince’s hand once more. Her finger followed the bends and creases of his clammy palm. “This isn’t me saying you need to or even should ever forgive them. What your sister made them do to you was unforgiveable.” Binx noticed how Andhera watched the fire, sparks flickered in their eyes, how his hand tensed at the mention of Suntar. “But I’m sure it wasn’t all bad. You said you had sparks of happiness, like from your advisor and… whoever else was there.” The yeth hound squinted hard at Binx’s snub.

“Binx, where are you going with this?” Andhera asked, finding their patience waning. Binx took a measured breath and finished her piece.

“Look, I am grateful that you joined my court and came with me. I am. And I’m grateful for this.” Binx squeezed Andhera’s hand. “I’ve been alone for so long.” She released it, turning away, pulling their knees up into chest and facing the fire. “I guess I’m just wondering… what happens when it’s time for you to return to the Unseelie? What happens when you’re needed at home?”

Andhera turned, watching Binx’s body language,  he saw how difficult it was for them to maintain eye contact with him in this talk… like she had been preparing for rejection at every step of their relationship.

She still thought he’d leave her like everyone else did. To someone who spent so long with nothing, everything became temporary.

“Binx, I am needed at home.” He took her hand into his. “This, is my home. You are my home.”

As Andhera swore, a coursing of arcane magic flowed between them, from their hands apparated a softly glowing brown string linking them. A redness crept up Binx’s face as she recognized the magic.

“I wasn’t born into the Court of Craft… but I chose it, I chose you.” Andhera reaffirmed. “And I want to be here, through thick and thin.” He saw that flickering glimmer in their eyes, that uncertainty. So Andhera spoke as plainly as he could.

“Is it really that hard to believe I want to be with you?”

And Binx heaved.

Despite everything, that insecurity seemed nearly impossible to dispel from her heart.

More could have been said, but the fire waned from a cold breeze passing through. Binx shivered, their wings shook. Without question, Andhera pressed closer, hands pushing up and down her upper arms. He created friction to warm them both as the fire regained its health. Binx accepted it, laying into his chest, tucked under the crook of his slim neck.

The prince swore himself to her, he was hers. So why couldn’t Binx accept it and be happy?

The earlier conversation’s momentum had been vanquished. So Binx presented two patchwork sleeping bags, and they laid side by side near the fire. While the prince was less covered (didn’t need the warmth as much) Binx became a caterpillar. Brown tousled hair peeked out at Andhera in the firelight. They laid in silence, looking at each other.

Binx’s violet eyes watched his, her face was painted in a soft orange glow.

“It was hard to believe.” Binx whispered earnestly, “Thanks for reassuring me.” Andhera felt their promise tingle in the acknowledgement.

“Always.” He smiled.

                                                      Author’s Notes: 

Hey everyone, with your kind words I’ve decided to start posting my story. So I hope you like this, I just want to take a moment to acknowledge Binx’s writing.

I’ve always viewed Binx Choppley as someone struggling with survivor’s guilt and imposter syndrome, and so I found it interesting in the show that even though Andhera committed and swore themself to Binx, she seemed very insecure in their relationship, telling Hob “There’s no reason for him to like me” despite all the grand (some would say romantic) gestures Andhera made for Binx. 

So despite the spike removal and the kiss, I felt obligated to pay Binx’s anxiety forward to its natural conclusion, they believe Andhera will inevitably leave them one day for something more important (his people). And I really connected with the concept of Binx almost reflexively preparing for this inevitability because of deep seated personal trauma. I don’t know if Omar and Surena would have pursued such a shift, but it felt right for what I was writing. 

It also felt important to use as a vehicle to acknowledge the “Elephant in the room” with Andhera pursuing a dual citizenship to both of their courts and how Binx may figure into that future, but you’ll hear more about that in Part II.

[animanganerd]

Everything Annoys Me And I’m (Too) Hot - Chapter 3

The Untamed / Mo Dao Zu Shi Fanfic

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47881336/chapters/121120009

Special Thanks to @a-force-dyad-in-space for beta reading ✨

All chapters: here x

Chapter 3 ❖ Part of the family (Part 2)

A-Li seemed to have never seen a donkey before, as he marvelled at its existence, his curious hands touching the spotted donkey all over. Thankfully, Lil’ Apple knew better than to kick a child; instead it glowered at Wei Wuxian who pointed at himself in shock. “Why me?!”

Lan Wangji lifted A-Li onto the donkey, took the reins and led the way, followed by Wei Wuxian who shook his head in disbelief. When the donkey started moving, A-Li squealed with glee. Lan Wangji had placed a hand on A-Li’s back to make sure he wouldn’t fall.

After the shock of the donkey’s accusation had settled, Wei Wuxian excitedly skipped next to Lan Wangji to discuss the names he’d come up with for the boy.

“Of course, he will adopt your surname! As for his courtesy name… we only have ‘Li’ to work with. I definitely want to keep it because it’s the only thing he remembers. I thought about adding… ‘Xiao’. What do you think?” Wei Wuxian said with an expectant smile.

Lan Wangji nodded.

Wei Wuxian clapped his hands together in delight. “As for the characters, ‘Li’ will be written with the one for ‘reasoning’. And ‘Xiao’ will be…”

“Written with the character for ‘laughter’?”

Wei Wuxian stared at Lan Wangji in astonishment before he suddenly erupted in laughter, bending over as he held his stomach from laughing too hard.

“I… I’m almost ashamed to say I had the character for ‘small’ in mind,” he said as he wiped tears from his eyes. He thought he’d been very smart and clever, making it easy for himself. “But you’re right. You’re so much better with names!”

“What about his personal name?” Lan Wangji asked.

Wei Wuxian smirked at him. He pretended to think about it really hard for a moment before he suggested, “Wu. Ji.”

It was meant as a teasing nod to the name of the song Lan Wangji had composed, but the corners of Lan Wangji’s lips slightly lifted and he unexpectedly agreed, “Yes. I like it.”

Although stunned once more, Wei Wuxian couldn’t help but smile. “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, how do you keep surprising me like this?” he said with a shake of his head.

Two weeks later, the trio finally reached Gusu’s Cloud Recesses.

The other members of the Lan clan had received Lan Wangji’s message of their arrival, and the sect’s disciples had already lined up at the entrance like fledglings, thrilled to welcome the little boy – though they had to restrain their excitement as the sect’s strict precepts prohibited clamour. Among the swarm of white robes were Lan Sizhui and Lan Jingyi.

Wei Wuxian lifted Lan Xiaoli into his arms and gave Lan Sizhui a firm pat on his shoulder.

“This is your big brother!” Wei Wuxian announced proudly.

Lan Sizhui responded with a friendly smile towards A-Li.

A-Li, on the other hand, only glanced at the older boy before he buried his head in Wei Wuxian’s shoulder. Throughout their travels, Wei Wuxian had noticed that Lan Xiaoli was incredibly wary of other people. Even with someone who had a kind and gentle face such as Lan Sizhui, he couldn’t seem to overcome his shyness.

“Hey, I’m also his big brother!” Lan Jingyi protested, but Wei Wuxian ignored him and turned to Lan Wangji with a slightly concerned expression.

“I think this is all a bit too much for him. You introduce him to your brother and uncle. I will catch up with the kids.”

Lan Wangji nodded. He took A-Li from Wei Wuxian and placed the boy on the ground, so that he could walk on his own.

As A-Li was led through the Cloud Recesses, he kept on hiding behind Lan Wangji, whom he strongly admired. Though he’d been scared of him at first, something about this man’s graceful demeanour and sparse use of words made A-Li feel oddly calm around him.

Their first visit was to A-Li’s new uncle, Lan Xichen, who awaited them in the Elegance Room.

He had specifically come out of his secluded meditation to greet the little one. When they arrived, he put down the book he’d been reading and welcomed them with a serene smile. His demeanour exuded such a graceful elegance that even the simple act of setting aside a book gave the impression of an artistic performance.

At the sight of this handsome stranger who seemed to be beyond reproach, A-Li’s nerves began to flutter and his heart pounded wildly in his chest.

Since Lan Xichen’s countenance was more expressive than that of Lan Wangji, others found his company generally more pleasant and enjoyable. Yet, when he tried to talk to A-Li, the boy swiftly disappeared behind Lan Wangji’s leg, tightly clutching onto his robes and avoiding eye contact as if his life depended on it.

Luckily, Lan Xichen was very understanding, even more so after Lan Wangji gave a concise summary of A-Li’s circumstances.

Together, the brothers gave A-Li a brief tour of the Cloud Recesses.

First, they showed him the Orchid Room, where the students were taught. A-Li, however, would not be taught here, as the presence of Wei Wuxian (and consequently Lan Wangji) was still not welcomed. But this didn’t pose a problem. Even if A-Li wouldn’t grow up at the Cloud Recesses, as a member of the Lan clan it was essential that he’d receive the sect’s education, and Lan Wangji would make sure of that.

On their way to the Tranquility Room, where A-Li and his dads would sleep during their stay, they passed the Library Pavilion, with its magnificent magnolia tree adding to the tranquil atmosphere.

As they strolled on the white-stoned paths and along the windowed walls, neither of the brothers said much, save for a few anecdotes from Lan Xichen’s side. When Lan Xichen returned to his meditation, it was time for Lan Wangji to face his uncle, Lan Qiren.

Before that, however, he took a small detour to the back of the mountain to introduce A-Li to his armada of rabbits.

At first, Lan Qiren refused to look at either the child or Lan Wangji. How many more children did his formerly precious student want to produce with that devilish ingrate Wei Wuxian?

However, he’d also heard of the child’s terrible misfortune, and when he saw how quiet and coy he was – the exact opposite of Wei Wuxian – he realised that not all hope was lost.

To test the boy’s potential, he gave him several tasks to solve the very next morning. Since A-Li had no background in cultivation, Lan Qiren didn’t expect much from him in the first place. Yet, A-Li proved to be extremely obedient, properly carrying out all instructions he was given. This prompted Lan Qiren, who was initially disinclined, to approve the adoption.

Much to Wei Wuxian’s dismay and horror, the Lan family held one of their tedious banquets in the evening to celebrate the new clan member. Interestingly enough, A-Li didn’t seem to mind the bland food at all, as he ate it without complaint or so much as a grimace. Wei Wuxian wondered if he’d never eaten anything good in his life, or if he’d lost his taste buds along with his memory. Whatever the case, he couldn’t help but admire A-Li for his aptitude, watching him with a tender smile.

As soon as all formalities were completed and A-Li had received his own set of white robes – including a forehead ribbon sewn with clouds – his courtesy name, Lan Xiaoli, was publicly revealed.

With the conclusion of the welcoming ceremony, Lan Xiaoli and his dads embarked on their journey once again, this time as a family of three.

Now that Lan Xiaoli was officially part of their family and had met the members of the Lan clan, Wei Wuxian wanted to try his luck with his own brother, Jiang Cheng. He really wished to introduce A-Li to his side of the family and to show him the place where he’d grown up.

There had been no improvement in the relationship of the two brothers since the Guanyin Temple incident. They hadn’t exchanged so much as a word ever since, so Wei Wuxian held little hope when he contacted Jiang Cheng. Yet, he eagerly awaited a response nonetheless.

Against all expectations, Jiang Cheng granted them permission to visit, but neither Lan Wangji nor Wei Wuxian were allowed to enter Lotus Pier. Instead, Jin Ling was to guide Lan Xiaoli. Excited to visit his old home, Wei Wuxian thoroughly wrote down a detailed tour with very precise instructions on their way to Yunmeng. Even Lan Wangji couldn’t help but feel a bit surprised. He had never seen Wei Wuxian write this much of his own accord.

When they arrived at sunny Lotus Pier, they were welcomed by a stern gaze from Jiang Cheng, who had personally taken on the role of the gatekeeper. He didn’t say a single word. Instead, he just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest and glowered at the couple.

To protect Wei Wuxian from the disdainful glare, Lan Wangji stared back at Jiang Cheng to take on all the contempt.

Wei Wuxian, on the other hand, tried his best to ignore Jiang Cheng’s icy demeanour, and focused on going through the instructions with Jin Ling.

Jin Ling hadn’t agreed to be the tour guide right away – or at all, for that matter, but just like with everything else it was hard for him to defy his uncle. In the end, he really had no choice.

While Wei Wuxian explained, A-Li grasped his hand, absentmindedly nibbling on one of his own sleeves. The whole situation made him uncomfortable and Jiang Cheng’s cold sneer didn’t help at all.

Wei Wuxian had told him on their way that he would meet another new uncle and cousin, but standing in front of them now, Lan Xiaoli wished back the kind people from Gusu – he even preferred the grumpy-looking Lan Qiren.

It felt like they’d gone from a cold place with warm people to a warm place with cold people.

Oblivious to Lan Xiaoli’s inner turmoil, Wei Wuxian kept on explaining, “The tree is important, it can’t just be any tree! It’s where I…” His voice trailed off as his eyes drifted over to Lan Wangji, and his lips curled into a cheeky grin.

Lan Wangji didn’t notice it, for he and Jiang Cheng were engaged in a staring contest.

Jin Ling followed Wei Wuxian’s gaze. He was unfortunate enough to guess what was going on in Wei Wuxian’s mind, which made him want to throw up. To bring Wei Wuxian back to reality, he asked, “Where you what?”

After a short pause Wei Wuxian continued, “None of your business. Just make sure to show him the right tree.” 

He then shoved the paper with the instructions into Jin Ling’s hands and bent down to face Lan Xiaoli. “Make sure to memorise all these places so I can tell you the stories of them later, okay?”

Lan Xiaoli nodded, but wasn’t too enthusiastic. He was very reluctant to leave with someone he didn’t know.

Jin Ling raised a sceptical eyebrow at the boy who wouldn’t make eye contact.

Wei Wuxian passed Lan Xiaoli’s hand onto Jin Ling’s. Lan Xiaoli held onto it, but when Jin Ling wanted to start the tour, he didn’t budge, no matter how hard he was pulled, almost as if his feet were glued to the ground. It needed a little push from Wei Wuxian to get him to take one heavy step after another, all the while still nibbling on his sleeve with a pout.

While showing the boy around, Jin Ling desperately tried to make conversation to relieve the awkward tension he felt, but Lan Xiaoli only replied to all topics with single-word answers, if at all. Lan Xiaoli kept his gaze fixed on the ground, rendering it difficult for Jin Ling to see any reaction from him in the first place. Irritated, Jin Ling decided to let it go after several attempts and thought it best to just get the tour over with.

Just as Wei Wuxian had instructed, he led – or rather, dragged – Lan Xiaoli to the street vendors on the docks and bought two pancakes, one of which he held out to Lan Xiaoli. Lan Xiaoli accepted it only reluctantly.

Jin Ling rolled his eyes. He was too impatient for this, but since it was Hanguang-jun’s son as well, he didn’t dare snap at him. Instead, he got down on one knee and bit into the other pancake.

“See, it’s all fine,” he spoke with a mouthful of pancake, causing his words to come out muffled. “Wei Wuxian wanted you to try this one, you can trust his taste.”

This was the first time Lan Xiaoli looked him into the eyes. Finally getting a reaction out of the small boy, it felt like Jin Ling had unlocked a great achievement and he was filled with an overwhelming delight. His eyes lit up and he hurriedly nodded to reassure Lan Xiaoli.

Lan Xiaoli took a small bite out of the pancake and after a few munches, his eyes curved up in a smile.

Jin Ling beamed at him in return. In a surge of exhilaration he asked, “Do you want more?” 

Lan Xiaoli nodded, so Jin Ling immediately bought him one, no two more pancakes!

However, Jin Ling’s euphoria didn’t last long. As they continued their tour, Lan Xiaoli remained quiet, he just changed from nibbling his sleeve to nibbling on the pancakes. After a short stroll in silence they reached the place with the “special” tree Wei Wuxian had spoken of. Jin Ling scanned the trees and quickly realised he couldn’t tell any of them apart.

He huffed. “We’ve seen the trees, I’m sure it’s fine. What does it matter which tree we look at…,” he mumbled under his breath, more to himself than to Lan Xiaoli, but the boy heard him just fine.

“...but daddy said it has to be the right one,” Lan Xiaoli quietly argued, pancake still stuck in his mouth.

Jin Ling looked at Lan Xiaoli with wide eyes, surprised to hear him say a full sentence. He paused for a moment, then heaved an unnerved sigh.

“Fine…,” he said and continued his search. While Jin Ling compared the trees to the description he’d received from Wei Wuxian, Lan Xiaoli stood to the side, contentedly munching on his pancakes.

Jin Ling grew more and more agitated with each tree that didn’t fit the description. After almost half an hour he finally found the correct one. All his frustration evaporated into victorious joy that filled him to the core and almost made him cry happy tears.

At this point Jin Ling didn’t even mind the dirt on his face nor the twigs and leaves stuck in his hair. He waved with big movements at Lan Xiaoli who promptly walked over. Hands on his hips, Jin Ling showed him the tree with a wide, proud grin.

Lan Xiaoli… briefly nodded in response.

Jin Ling’s smile and hands dropped. They may not be related by blood, but he sure takes after Hanguang-jun, he thought with a frown.

He was truly at a loss. For some reason, this boy just wouldn’t come out of his shell. Afraid he might get punished if Lan Xiaoli returned unenthused, Jin Ling started to rack his brain. What would help him relax if he was in the boy’s situation? While he was mulling over this, it suddenly hit him.

As they headed toward the Yunmeng Jiang sect’s ancestral hall, he carefully probed “…Do you like dogs?”

Jin Ling was pinning all his hopes on his last resort: Fairy. He would’ve called Fairy right away, but then he remembered that people like Wei Wuxian existed. The thought of having to deal with a crying child let him shiver, so he wanted to make sure Lan Xiaoli wasn’t scared of dogs lest he accidentally worsen the situation.

Lan Xiaoli slowly looked at him with his big, round eyes and nodded.

“Great!”

Jin Ling instantly summoned Fairy, and lo and behold, it worked! Once Lan Xiaoli saw the black-haired spiritual dog, his face brightened, and he slowly began to open up, giggling as he ruffled the spiritual dog’s fluffy fur without restraint.

It felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from Jin Ling’s heart. He let out a deep sigh of relief and continued the tour.

Meanwhile, the three adults were waiting at the entrance of Lotus Pier.

Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji stood outside, while Jiang Cheng stayed close by to keep a watchful eye on them.

Growing impatient, Wei Wuxian started fidgeting around. He sometimes got on his tippy toes and craned his neck in hopes of seeing further into the distance. 

“It’s taking them quite long,” Wei Wuxian said with a nervous laugh.

Jiang Cheng side-eyed him. “Well, you’ve given quite a long instruction.”

This shut Wei Wuxian up. The atmosphere between the men was tense and awkward, but not hostile. They spent the rest of the time in silence.

When Wei Wuxian finally spotted the two boys on the training field of Lotus Pier after a while, his face lit up in delight. At the same time, he was a little surprised to see Lan Xiaoli laughing so unbridledly. It was nice to see that he’d left scared and returned visibly comfortable. Wei Wuxian was about to praise Jin Ling, but then he saw something that made his heart drop.

On the training field, Lan Xiaoli romped around with Fairy. They chased each other as if they were playing tag. The spiritual dog was ruthless, yet careful. It jumped around while playfully snapping at the boy.

“Wait – is that dog attacking him?!” Wei Wuxian exclaimed.

At this moment, he wished for nothing more than to save Lan Xiaoli from that ferocious beast, but he knew Jiang Cheng wouldn’t let him enter, no matter what. So he could only clasp Lan Wangji’s shoulders instead, digging his fingers into the white robes.

Lan Wangji patted the back of Wei Wuxian’s hand to comfort him. “Spiritual dogs only attack evil spirits. There is nothing to fear,” he gently reminded Wei Wuxian.

Wei Wuxian knew that, of course, yet he couldn’t help but worry. Whenever he saw these flesh-tearing teeth close to his boy, his heart skipped a beat and he sucked in a sharp breath, his fingers digging deeper into Lan Wangji’s shoulders.

Lan Xiaoli, oblivious to his dad’s concerns, was having the time of his life, joyfully squealing as he stumbled to the ground, while Fairy took the opportunity to lick all over his face.

It almost seemed like Lan Xiaoli was more fond of the spiritual dog than the place.

And, unlike Wei Wuxian, he very much loved dogs.

Jiang Cheng, who had overheard the conversation between the other two men, showed some mercy and went to get Lan Xiaoli. For one, he wanted to end Wei Wuxian’s suffering, and for another, he wanted them to just leave already.

Lan Xiaoli’s good mood plummeted when he was interrupted by Jiang Cheng, but the man looked too intimidating to be defied. His scowl was much scarier than Lan Wangji’s expressionless face could ever be, so Lan Xiaoli had no choice but to obediently follow him back to his dads with a drooping head.

Wei Wuxian lavished his gratitude on Jiang Cheng for rescuing Lan Xiaoli, and for letting them come over in the first place, but Jiang Cheng didn’t want to hear any of it and shooed them away.

After a proper farewell, the small family departed.