#cringe is dead. i killed it. its my blog so i get to draw myself having fun at the beach with dante and no one can stop me!!!!!!!!!!!11

[tianhai03]

i went to the beach with my family today and i brought dante bean along!!! so have the dumb doodles i did last night before going + pics i took today with regular sized dante(?) drawn over them :D

[wolfieworld]

4/6 Diary: Dead Projects

it's hard to acknowledge why something isn't working when you're in the middle of it, sometimes it's hard to even know why. There's a few plots that have been in my brain for years that I've rewritten and rewritten and rewritten with little success. I think a big part of failed projects is actually over-estimating ones own capabilities, for example I plan out mechanics that I don't have the experience to achieve, or characterization too far from my own experience that its not fun to write. I often plan out stories that require a lot of research and I feel like I can't write until I know everything-therefore most writing doesn't get done and what does is full of holes. It's kind of embarrassing to look back at stuff and just think "I didn't know what I was talking about at all."

Sometimes shit just doesn't work out. In the words of Pretty Boy Detective Club giving up on a dream can be more beautiful than achieving the dream itself.

Probably 90% of everything I try doesn't work out and it's been on my mind lately that that's a good thing. Of course in an ideal world we learn from finished works bc there are things from those you can only learn by sharing with others and by wrapping up a story and by saying goodbye to your characters but there isn't such a thing as an ideal world and everything we do we learn from whether other people see it or not. There is something special you learn from unfinished projects, the types you choose to put down forever, which is you are forced to acknowledge precisely why it could not get done.

These are all images from 2 retired vn/comic projects.

These projects are prisons for some of my best and worst writing, full of ideas with no through-line or real objective, and no real thorough understanding of these characters who I loved just collections of feelings and images and facts I thought were cool.

What is improvement? I'm not a person who looks at my old art and feels like I've gotten better at drawing, and when I look back at old writing I only really get the sense that I've become less cringe but not become a better writer. I think improvement is more esoteric than becoming better at the skills you use to express, maybe it's just knowing yourself better and playing to your strengths, and crystalizing what you want to say (or finding it in the first place). Aesthetics form naturally from writing and drawings that plainly express what they need too and they are drawn like blood from stone from work that is trying its hardest to be clever.

Personally I find these digital pages from 2020(21?) to be better drawings than anything I've done in the last two years in a technical way but it doesn't matter, I couldn't finish it, and I didn't know the characters. It's just portfolio work, it took me months to do five of them. They're just "cool shots" even though I didn't know it at the time.

As I get further into working on Youth Who Was Killed I'm noticing that cutting corners produces better results, there's more emotion in sketches so why finish a drawing, why design a logo which I'm not good at when I can use a font, why color grade the images myself when limiting the palette to one or two or three colors provides an unmuddied result? This is the kind of laziness you would think would harm 'improvement' but I've found that too much brute force is a highway to burn out, and then you're not learning anything at all.

Making art is a war against human nature I think, cavemen definitely weren't built too instinctually develop a five year plan every new years. However it becomes like less of a war when you work with your nature rather than against it. Maybe. I don't know. I really hope I don't make a blog post two years from now about why I couldn't finish YWWK. If that happens blame ren'py.

i drew my ocs in funny t shirts for the first time in my life so maybe all that stuff i said about improvement being that you become less cringe is untrue, maybe you get more cringe. thats ok with me i guess.

[botwstoriesandsuch]

[Image ID: A screenshot of an anon asking saying “I just wanna say that your tags whenever you rb art and fics are so cute 🥺 you reblogged something of mine the other day and the tags were just so nice and innocent??? It’s like watching a little kid at an aquarium 😝so as an artist I thank you, hope you don’t take it as cringy” End ID]

- - - - - 

Cringey?? nonononono I may be a young kid watching the pretty fish swim aimlessly in the aquarium but I will

recklessly enjoy other people’s content don’t test me

I try to keep it in the tags cause I don’t wanna take away from the op’s original work, plus it makes it easier for other people to rb it from me, but I will amp up the love and appreciation when the situation calls for it. You could straight up come into my inbox or messages and just ask me to give you a reblog and I will do it, I do not care I love you, content creators.

Cringe Culture is dead it’s time to gush plus if I do this often enough people might do it more for me so it’s a win win hehe

Legit, I got a super sweet comment on one of my fics quoting something I wrote and it made me so happy so I was like “huh, guess I’ll do that more often then” and now I’m doing that, that’s how impressionable I am asdfghjk

Also hello?? specifically *my* tags helped you out?? I am a nobody, CLEARLY not enough people are doing this smh, allow me to teach the masses for a sec here

How To Make A Content Creator Happy: the world’s simplest guide to spreading serotonin through a keyboard

Step fucking one) You reblog it. I mean, that’s a given. You’ve all seen those “reblogs help creators out and likes do nothing” posts so I won’t rant too much. Likes are good, but reblogs are like handing someone a stack of a hundred dollars and all it takes is one click! 

(PRO TIP: Hold down the button and swipe for mobile, and hold the left alt button and click once for computer [though it will only rb to your main blog. if you want it for a side-blog then you’re stuck with two clicks but HEY two clicks to help out a creator you like is nothing!])

You share it! Just share stuff. Share the ao3 like, please do it. Don’t repost, don’t just mention it, give the links especially when you’re just in conversation or talking about it around plz I swear it does wonders

Ok moving on to the super simple stuff for commenting and putting stuff in the tags because I guarantee that the op will read them

write A N Y T H I N G and I literally mean anything just fucking:

!!!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

sdjflksdjfkjh

?!?!?!?!!?

hhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhghghhhhhhhhh

:OOOOOOOOO

prettyyy

<33333333333333333

just fucking go ham, go nuts, it doesn’t need to be coherent it just needs to EXIST the very existence of someone enjoying someone’s content gives so much serotonin so stop being silent cowards and give us a smiley face from time to time

uh what else what else....hmm [golden rule is treat others the way you want to be treated, so if you’re a creator yourself, just give whatever you would want seen in the comments of your stuff! I mean that’s how I came up with all this...]

Point out the details! I mentioned earlier about quoting stuff from fics (that stuff is just 👌👌👌 so delicious) but I’m pretty sure (I’m not an artist myself don’t quote me) that the exact same effect is present when you talk about details in art or something. So talk about that pretty snowflake in the background! Or that piece of dialogue that made you laugh. Just a simple nod to the details is a big difference between saying “I like this” versus “I like this thing that you took the time to make the effort you put into the details did not go unnoticed”

just ALL the feedback please and thank you

this might vary from person to person, though personally I love when people are like “The way you write imagery is so good please do more!!” so just give a little nod to someone like “The way you draw this character is amazing please do more” or something like that

I wouldn’t go as far as to give criticism (although personally I’m the type of person that loves the occasionally critique for future reference, cause it means that you care as much as I do about the quality of my work) 

But along the same lines as the details thing, a nice nod to a creator about what they’re doing right is sooooo good! makes the butterflies flutter

                ~~~~~~Did that post give you emotions?~~~~~~

   G   O   O   D

 ~~FUCKING TELL US~~

THE ACT OF SOMEONE WRITING A SET OF LETTERS, OR SOMEONE SKETCHING A BLOB MADE ANOTHER DISTANT HUMAN BEING DEVELOP CHEMICALS IN THEIR BRAIN?? SURE WOULD LOVE TO KNOW THAT BECAUSE WOW THAT’S AMAZING!?!??

just go “I’m so happy” or “I’m so sad” just “TT__TT” just fucking “:OO” or just “I hate this” [HUMOURISTICALLY] and “I can’t believe you’ve done” just give it yes tell us the emotion that you have felt we love it

I don’t think enough people understand how amazing that is???? You were once in a normal, neutral state, and then a piece of content that I created just made you smile or laugh or cry like WHAT that’s amazing omg

Ok so that’s pretty much the simple stuff right, that’s your elementary classwork right there

Just give something, literally anything and just go “I love this so much!!!!!” bam done, you just murdered the op with your love, great job

So yeah, that’s that. Pretty simple stuff, no?

...but you wanna graduate to master class?

You wanna fucking go ape shit

you wanna just

g o    t o    town?

I said this was gonna be a simple guide so don’t worry, I’m not gonna tell you that you have to write a full length essay on every post that you come across

[BUT IF YOU WANT TO DON’T LET ME STOP YOU THAT WOULD ACTUALLY BE AMAZING?? HELL WRITING OUT A PARAGRAPH OF A COMMENT IS ALREADY JUST *CHEFS KISS* MASTERCLASS OF MURDERING THE OP WITH LOVE JUST ANALYZING THE SHIT OUT OF THE COLORS AND SHADING AND FRAMING OR JUST POINTING OUT THE THEMES AND SUBTEXT AND CHARACTERIZATION --part of the reason I love betaing stuff so much because I can analyze shit and shower it with premature love while also helping fics to be even better than they were originally ugh so cleansing for my literature heart-- SO YEAH GIVE CREATORS A PARAGRAPH, DARE I DREAM OF PARAGRAPHS, BECAUSE WOW YES PLEASE YES]

...ahem anyway

the way to graduate from good to great as a receiver of content is

to do all this

any of this

any of this simple stupid amazing shit

and just

put it in an ask or message

that’s literally it

Let me tell you why that’s so amazing, it pumps up the already amazing dopamine dosage of these actions alone, and multiplies it by a hundred, let me tell you why

Let’s say you read a drabble. You loved it, you reblogged it, you gave it hearts and emojis and ranted for a few tags about how it made you drop your muffin on the ground. Fantastic work, you just made the op pass out.

Then you go about your day and that’s the end of that.

BUT

if you do all that

and then put it in an ASK

dare you even a direct message?? (probably not most of us on here are cowards I get that)

but an ASK, anon or otherwise?

The message you just sent to the op was “I interacted with the post you made, and I loved it so much that I went the extra mile of going to your blog to make extra extra sure you understand how much I liked your thing”

There’s a wordless wall with every post! You like and reblog the thing and move on with your day. 

But the fact that YOU sent a HEART a SINGLE sentence about how you liked a thing? the fact that you BREACHED that wall and just fucking keyboard smashed in the inbox? the fact that you did that is the most amazing thing in the world

you just ambush the op with good vibes. we were expecting the bare minimum in the comments and tags, but the fact you when out of your way to make it a message or ask???? superb, outstanding, the sheer SHOCK of it will shift tectonic plates

you’re my fucking hero if you do this. you’re a godsend. I would kill for you,👏people👏would👏kill👏for👏you.

AT LEAST THEY WOULD KILL FOR YOU IF THIS ACTION DIDN’T ALREADY MURDER THEM

BE A MURDERER, NAY, A SERIAL KILLER. MURDER CONTENT CREATORS WITH LOVE

BE RECKLESSLY KIND AND LOVING YOU PIECE OF SHIT, ITS IMPOSSIBLE TO BE CRINGY TO STARVING AND DYING WRITERS AND ARTISTS WE WILL TAKE IT ALL GOD DAMMIT

YOU ARE A CHILD STARING UP AT AN AQUARIUM IN WONDER.

MAKE YOUR HAPPINESS STIR THE TIDES, LET YOUR PRESCENCE BE KNOWN PAST THE REFLECTION OF THE GLASS.

THE FISH ARE LOOKING FOR YOUR SMILE. 

[minidigidestined]

Fatal Mistake

CW: One shot sfw vore story with implied fatal and digestion. Sadistic pred and mostly unwilling prey, fearplay. Very whump-y. N/S/F/W blogs do not interact.

A quick little "AU" babble of two of my Digimon OCs from the POV of my digidestined OC featuring one of her friend digimon, Voltboutamon, as the pred. When the human servant to the illustrious digimon lord makes a messy mistake in front of her master's guests during a dinner party, he becomes enraged and has finally had enough of her ineptitude. Not so fun hijinks ensue.

I made sure to smooth out the creases in my apron and dress, my breath short and strained. I knew that for something like this, my lord needed me to look perfectly presentable--I was as much a part of the setting as the crystal wineglasses or gilded chairs, after all.

I adjusted the bloom of curls atop my head and steadied myself the best I could. I knew he could detect my fear and discomfort miles away and while it was usually a delight to him, tonight the smallest sign of irritation could be fatal.

I pushed open the heavy doors to the dining room, exhaling anxiety as another servant bustled past me with empty trays.

"Good luck," She mouthed as I emerged, the expensive scent of the guests' cuisine wreathing around me. I clutched the bottle of wine tightly in my hands, speedwalking out into the elegantly decorated chamber, the diamond chandelier casting ominous candlelight out over the decadent scene.

My lord sat at the head of the head of the table, perfectly poised in regal silence among the chatter. He cut an imposing figure, all sharp edges, straight lines and the finest silks. His red eyes burned like twin hot coals, his clawed fingers wrapped around the stem of his empty goblet. He impatiently tapped the stone floor with the toe of his boot, almost looking bored even though it was his affair.

His crimson eyes found me near instantly, locking onto my own earthy gaze and sending a chill up my spine. I bypassed his guests with shaky steps, robotically greeting and inquiring as to their pleasure. The stern line of his mouth relaxed into a self-satisfied smirk as I approached, his food still steaming and untouched.

I approached his side, his figure looming over me a good seven feet even while sitting. He leaned back luxuriously, his long legs crossed at the ankle.

"Human. You kept me waiting. I hope you brought the good wine." He said languorously.

"Yes, Lord Voltaboutamon. Only the best for you and your patrons." I heard the tremble in my voice and felt dread curl in my chest like a frightened child.

"Good." His tone was almost indulgent, his smirk all dark edges. "Get on with it then, woman."

I swallowed, my throat thick as he lowered his goblet, as royal as everything else in his gothic noir estate. I hastily uncorked the bottle, feeling more than one pair of eyes on me. With shaking hands, I lifted the wine to pour, praying to anyone willing to listen and--

My mind blanked into white hot panic when my wrist twitched, a product of anxiety and damaged motor skills. The wash of shame and fear froze me in place as the wine, dark as blood, spilled over me, my digimon lord and the floor.

I saw the moment rage blossomed in his breast, as dark as the splashed wine as his easy posture and icy smirk twisted into unadulterated anger. His eyes narrowed to thin slits--blazing hellfire--mouth curling into a snarl, his edges sharpening instantaneously.

"You stupid little brat," He hissed between his teeth, fangs gleaming dangerously. "Can you ever do a damn thing right?"

At his scathing tone I flashed back to his effortless grace in the art of killing. Back to blood and marrow and incomprehensible danger. Back to fear and insecurity and nightmares.

He's not like that...not with me, not anymore. He’s just playing it up in front of the guests. I repeat it to myself like a mantra, my entire sense of self on white-hot fire. No matter what I told myself, I knew the truth though. I knew how important tonight was and of course I fumbled it, like always. 

Stupid.

He rose to his full height, his second pair of arms unfolding behind him like a reaper's scythes, tail uncoiling from his waist and twisting about in a hypnotic dance, like a snake ready to strike.

Yes, my master is as beautiful and deadly as a serpent, quick as a whip and more clever than most...if not all. Despite his lanky build, he seemed to encompass the entire room with his presence alone, his brilliance demanding absolute attention. I saw a certain hunger twist his features, the lust for violence in that moment carving out a hole in his very heart.

I watched his face, unable to look away as that hole began to fill.

"I have had enough of your fumbling and bumbling, maid," He sneered, his voice righteous and cruel. "I've given you chance after chance, and still you remain a thorn in my side, a leftover piece of a puzzle with no place to go. Nowhere you fit in."

"Please sir," I begin to beg, black tinting the edges of my vision in sheer panic. I thought of his blades, of his guns, even of the strength in his spidery limbs and whip-like tail.

"I gave you a chance because I pitied you, but now you're out of chances and out of time." He gripped my chin, taloned fingers digging into my doughy face. I looked up at him with tear filled eyes and found not a single shred of mercy there.

"Please."

"No," He growled, and if looks could kill, I'd be in hell. "I'm going to make an example of you. I know you neglect your job to sit and eat and read, lazing about like a useless stain. Even knowing that I won't settle for less than perfection. Even knowing that I see everything. But you'll be perfect for one thing..."

I stared blankly, shaking and not daring to move. 

He smiled softly, his voice growing syrupy and taunting. He let one hand glide mockingly over his midriff, "I see how you stare at me and the annoying things you say to the other servants--I always thought your desires the most foolish thing I had ever heard. What better way to end you than by showing you how that particular brand of idiocy has made a bumbling fool of you and distracted you from your job? What its reality leads to?” 

I felt myself flush, immediately trying to twist out of his iron grip. "I'm sorry, Voltaboutamon, please no--"

"Too late " He crooned, a lullaby and a death sentence all in one. "And this way, your end won't lead to the other servants having to clean up after you. Again."

My head began to swim, my chest tightening as his hand encompassed my entire head. My vision completely blacked out, and the sensation of becoming less overtook me, my mind, and even the humiliation.

Before I knew it, I sat on Voltaboutamon's hand, dizzy and still burning with the echoing pain of shrinking. I gazed up at him, his massive visage a blood moon hanging over my earth. Despite myself I panicked with a

 eripping the wrinkled, wine-stained hem of my dress with utterly frayed nerves and tried to look anywhere else but the line of his rage-twisted lips.

It really was happening. Just not the way I'd dreamed. Not with the ending I hoped for. But still...his scowling mouth was mere inches away from me, to the point where I could hear the irritated breath flaring from his nostrils like wind.

Without anymore ceremony, he plucked me from his palm two claws pinching the back of my dress. I swung upwards--unable to even inhale one last breath before the finale--until I was impossibly high up, dangling up above the proud arch of his hat and the menacing sculpt of his mask.

I covered my face with my hands, a low moan of despair escaping me despite my near daily voracious daydreams. I felt as heavy as lead, as good as gone, as dead as--

He let go.

I dropped like a stone, his mouth snapping me up near instantaneously. I felt him struggle a bit to accommodate me in his narrow maw, the pinpricks of his teeth scraping against me and drawing blood. I cried out in fear, pummeling the muscle of his tongue with my slippered feet and desperately tried to scramble for an escape.

A low sound rumbled in his chest, whether it was one of pleasure or annoyance, I couldn't place--perhaps both. He seemed to enjoy the taste of the wine on my skin, but in a matter of seconds he was already bored and done, tilting his head back and gulping me back with a throaty swallow.

I whimpered when I felt his throat hitch, unaccustomed to such a sizable and girthy morsel of food, but he swallowed thickly once more and I was sent down without fuss.

Covered head to toe in his saliva, the muscles of his elegant throat crushed against me, sending me down toward the prison of his gut. I felt his slim fingers press inquisitively against the bulge I created during my descent, cursing my eternal foolishness as my cheeks set aflame.

As I was pulled downward, I heard the laughter and excitement of his guests--I'm sure they enjoyed both his melodramatics and his near playful display of cruelty. Classic Voltboutamon! Soon though, all I could hear was the rush of his breath and the steady tempo of his heart, my head popping into a slightly more open cavern and the rest of my body toppling down seconds later.

I struggled to right myself, slipping in chyme and stomach juices and struggling to breathe in my lord's unrelenting body heat. I pushed my hands against his stomach walls in desperation, trying to wipe the itchy fluids from my eyes.

I imagined the little bulge I'd make in his skinny midsection, considering the fact that I was locked in his belly for the rest of my short life and cringed when I felt my panicking heart betray itself even when there was no way out. It was as if flowers blossomed between my ribs, and even though I was nothing but a punished servant turned snack, I felt as though he had finally seen me.

He had noticed me and my lingering stares--and now I got to be part of him. Perhaps forever, if he truly was without mercy. That meant something, right?

I yelped, jerked out of my thoughts when something dropped onto my head. With a start I realized it was a bit of chewed up meat. So...he was still hungry. Delicately picking at his food while his stomach growled around me, the little human he hungrily gulped down mere moments away from digestion.

The feelings of insignificance and delight battled within me.

More and more food dropped over me, bits of the finest and most decadent the manor's kitchens had to offer, and soon the stomach began to churn away at its meal. The walls pulsed and pressed against me, flipping me all around and nearly drowning me in the stomach fluids and masticated food. I was tossed about like nothing, completely at the mercy of my vicious lord's equally vicious stomach.

I screamed, pressing harder against the stomach walls as my new home seemed to grow hotter and burn with the acrid stench of stomach acid. I struggled for air and tried to push back against the slick muscles, but found myself growing weaker and weaker... Wine soon flooded over me, making me sputter and flail even more, the smell of grapes sickly bitter in the pit of his gut.

I thought I felt his hand pressing against his middle, and found the thought of him stuffing himself into a bellyache to further punish and disgust me made me giddy--I wondered if I was making a bulge in his perfect diamond-cut figure and smiled. Oh, how the blush on my cheeks would spite and enrage him ever further, a fun little game between the two of us.

Unfortunately, whatever bit of heaven I managed to find in my demise still made me the loser of this game. After all, I was going to be nothing more than chyme and fuel for his graceful power soon enough... Truly this was the magnum opus of his callous sadism, the complete erasure of one's personhood. He and his ruthless nature would always win. It always did.

If only he heard my screams and cared. If only he'd set me free in a few more minutes... If only he coughed me up, revealed his heart, and we became true friends. Maybe more, if he confessed he loved me too. If only this really were a game, a playful cat and mouse, and not my execution. But I already knew there would be no salvation tonight. There would be no tenderness from the pitiless digimon, not after my constant failings.

My skin began to truly itch, burning from the thick juices pooling up around me, massaged deep into my flesh by the churning stomach walls. I slumped down in defeat, mind going blank--I was sure that Voltaboutamon and his extravagant guests had already forgotten about me beyond a silly and fanciful dinner story for future parties.

As much as I'd begged and screamed though, it wasn't so bad... Leaning back into it felt as if I became warmth itself, and despite the danger I was in, I almost felt cradled by my lord's body. I could pretend.

My head swam with the heat, my eyes fluttering shut as the stomach bubbled and churned around me, feeling as if the sensation in my skin was fading and my body was beginning to melt. Now, I was nothing but food, fallen prey to my decadent lord.

Nothing but food... Nothing but... Nothing...

***

"Why are you staring at me, Charissa?"

I started with a jolt at Voltaboutamon's grumble. He hovered at the edge of the small kitchen, disgruntled and dissecting a slice of pizza with a fork and knife.

"Ah! Sorry, I was zoning out..." I prayed he hadn't noticed my eyes on the bowed frown of his mouth, on the silky swallows he took of cranberry juice and steaming pizza. I returned my attention to my own slice, stuffing it into my mouth messily.

He looked down his nose at me and scowled even deeper with disapproval, huffing. "Well look somewhere else."

I rolled my eyes and gave a sarcastic salute, desperately hoping my blush wasn't enough to be noticed as I tried not to imagine disappearing down his long, elegant throat, slipping between his menacing teeth and into the cruel and unrelenting confines of his stomach...

I really needed to get a reign on this daydreaming habit. Especially before my reluctant new friend noticed.

Especially before my fixation on his guts and his heart ruined everything.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What would u say are the best and worst book narrated by each character ?

I sat down to come up with my least favorite book by each narrator and had a pretty easy time of it — there’s an unfortunate dip in quality in the series around #39 - #43 that I can point to as definitely not my faves — and then ended up totally baffled by how to choose JUST ONE favorite book by each narrator, because such a task is almost impossible.  In conclusion, I really love Animorphs, as you probably never would have guessed from reading this blog.  So, with a little cheating, here goes:

Tobias

Least favorite: #43, The Test

The plot of this book pretty much requires that all of the characters, but most notably Rachel and Jake, act in ways that really don’t fit with their behavior for the rest of the series.  My cynical hypothesis about What Was The Ghost Even Thinking rhymes with schmender schtereotyping, but even if I more kindly assume that everyone was just acting strange to jerk Taylor around, I can’t really enjoy this book.

Favorite: #49, The Diversion

Tobias’s point of view works so well for this book, because its plot draws attention to his status as a partial outsider not only for human society as a whole but also for his team.  He’s literally trapped in a liminal space that here actually gives him a lot of perspective on his friends’ families — and the importance of sticking close to his own.  (And by that I mean 93% Ax, 7% Loren.)

Other favorite: #23, The Pretender

Speaking of Tobias being sort of stuck between roles, this book is so good because it shows the strength of his position as both able to access and able to escape being human.  He moves flexibly between a ton of different roles in this book — a leader to the hork-bajir, a supporter to Jake, a parent to himself, a son to Elfangor, a quasi-hawk, a quasi-human, a quasi-andalite — and does so with astounding grace and aplomb.  Resting bitchface has never seemed like a cooler accidental superpower.

Another favorite: #33, The Illusion

This book is the brutal shadow-self to #23, instead shutting Tobias out of a whole bunch of different roles over the course of the plot.  It does however contain one of the series’s best villains (Taylor is terrifyingly sympathetic) and some of its best moments of heartwarming body horror in the final battle.

Ax

Least favorite: #8, The Alien

Honestly, there’s nothing really wrong with this book, but there’s nothing amazingly right about it either.  It has a few great moments (Jake’s naïve optimism at the kandron’s destruction giving way to fear for Tom, Ax having dinner with Cassie’s family, Tobias definitely not tattling on Ax) but overall the plot is just kind of inane and doesn’t do much to move the series forward.

Favorite: #38, The Arrival

Estrid et al. act as such a cool check-in for not only how much Ax has grown as a person through spending too much time around humans, but also how much the team as a whole has grown until they are actually more effective warriors than a group of battle-trained andalite assassins.  Every time I reread this book I end up making noises of triumph and fist-pumping the air, no matter how public my location is at the time.

Favorite favorite: #46, The Deception

This plot hinges on the stark contrast between Ax’s terrible and unavoidable awareness about the horror of open war and the Animorphs’ lack of standard of comparison beyond “hey, remember D-Day?”  MM3 and #28 both do important work to condemn humanity from the outside, but this book actually uses Ax’s perspective primarily for celebrating the whole human species from an outsider’s point of view.

Marco

Least favorite: #40, The Other

As I’ve mentioned here, at this book’s core is an interesting concept that very emphatically does not age well.  On top of the cringe-inducing attempt at an After School Special treatment of the idea that (*gasp*) queer men with AIDS are human too, it also has a largely nonsensical plot that strains both credulity and logic.

Favorite: #25, The Extreme

It’s a brilliant use of Marco’s perspective to comment on the constraints and terrifying outer reaches of Jake’s leadership, one that also contains a highly enjoyable mix of humor and horror.  Because Marco.  I could reread this one a thousand times and still find new aspects of the narration to delight in.

Also favorite: #15, The Escape

This book makes amazing use of Marco’s unreliable narration and lack of self-insight to contrast his willingness to imagine himself confronting sharks with his willingness to run from them upon a real encounter, along with his determination to kill his mom and his inability to stop himself from saving her.  Marco is at his most human in this book, and also his most lovable.

Also also favorite: #51, The Absolute

The governor of probably-California is one of my favorite minor characters in the series, and I absolutely love the dynamic between Marco-Tobias-Ax any time it occurs (this book, #46, #30, #49), meaning that this surprisingly fun aside acts as a much-needed breath of fresh air and comic relief in between the Animorphs losing the morphing cube (#50) and blowing up the Yeerk Pool (#52).  Plus, Marco + tank  = OTP.

Cassie

Least favorite: #39, The Hidden

I’ve said most of this before, but this book is just… nonsensical.  And it’s not delightfully nonsensical like parts of #26 or #14, it’s mostly cringe-inducingly nonsensical.

Favorite: #29, The Sickness

Arguably this is the best Animorphs book, both IMHO and by fan consensus.  It’s got a simple but devlishly difficult plot, a ton of great characterization moments for all six kids, a handful of brilliant devices and settings that meld beautifully to Cassie’s overall character arc, and a wide-reaching perspective on the importance of overcoming difference that is a huge part of what makes these books so good.  It’s also funny, horrifying, edge-of-your-seat engaging, and tear-inducingly beautiful at the very end.

Also my favorite: #4, The Message

Whereas #29 is probably just hands-down the best book ever written, #4 holds a special place in my heart because it’s the first Animorphs book I ever read and the one that convinced me to go find the rest of the series.  This one is sweet and mystical, bleak with the dawning realization that these poor defenseless cinnamon rolls are in this war alone but also hopeful with the realization that these precious cinnamon rolls are in this war together.

Jake

Least favorite: #47, The Resistance

Although I’m of the opinion that #41 is more poorly-plotted, this book manages to be both poorly plotted and glaringly racist.  Its plot doesn’t make sense on several different levels, not the least that Visser Three knows how to find the hork-bajir valley in this book and then apparently forgets how to get there for the entire rest of the series.  And don’t get me started on Jake’s reprehensible behavior from the moment he casually declares Tom “as good as dead,” through to him trying to boss Toby about what’s best for Toby herself, all the way on to him being a jerk to Rachel and Marco. Blah.

Favorite: #31, The Conspiracy

Unlike #47, this book actually makes really good use of Jake’s character flaws to drive the plot forward — he’s bad at being vulnerable, and that ends up being a huge problem for his team.  It also leans hard on the irony of Jake being the only one with a “textbook” family (i.e. upper-middle class, heteronormative and monogamous, European-American, traditionally gendered, outwardly happy) and also being the only one under constant threat for his life any time he’s at home, thereby accomplishing one of the series’s better comments on the fact that children’s lives aren’t as simple as we’d like to think.

Favoriter: #53, The Answer

There are definitely flaws with RL implications in this book, but the plot is so freaking brilliant that I can still regard it as a Problematic Fave.  The final battle is so well-engineered and the Moral Event Horizon is so terrifying as it swings by that I assign this book to myself for rereading any time I’m struggling to write action or battle.  It’s a scary, awful book, but also a very fitting capstone to the series.

Favoritest: #26, The Attack

This setting is so cool.  This plot is so cosmic and yet so personal.  This use of the chee is so bitingly brilliant in its commentary on pacifism as a luxury not everyone can afford.  This story has so many moments that are either heartbreaking callbacks (the opening scene with Tom’s memories from #6) or bloodcurdling foreshadowing (Jake and Rachel’s casually absolute trust that each will be willing and able to kill the other if necessary).  This narration feels like a middle-aged and yet middle-school protagonist struggling to figure out who he wants to be — and defeating a cosmic power at its own game with the power of love.  I could gush forever.

Rachel

Least favorite: #48, The Return

Again, there’s nothing truly wrong with this book; it’s just a silly and inconsequential aside into the main character’s maybe-dreams at a time when the plot outside her head is heating up to the boiling point.  It makes this whole thing come off kind of like Bilbo sleeping through the Battle of Five Armies.

Favorite: #27, The Exposed

I’m not normally a big one for romance, but this book makes me ship Rachel and Tobias so hard that my tiny bitter walnut of a heart grows two sizes every time I read it.  Rachel has such great self-awareness that she doesn’t like any situation she cannot control or at least do violent battle against, and yet she dives into the bottom of the ocean with both eyes open and her chin up because that’s what she has to do to protect the rest of her team.  Crayak has no idea what he’s talking about when it comes to asking her to turn on her loved ones.

Additional favorite: #32, The Separation

As I’ve said, I didn’t really get this book until I realized that it’s not so much about Rachel herself as it is about how the rest of her team views her, and how she defies their simple categorizations, both well-meaning (Cassie) and not (Jake), through simply being herself.  Rachel is both masculine and feminine, both tough and vulnerable, and she makes no apologies for any of it.

And another favorite: #37, The Weakness

This book has an important role for the rest of the series in that it shows how the Animorphs’ guerilla tactics can easily be taken too far, and also how Jake’s discernment of his teammates’ strengths and weaknesses keeps them all alive.  Rachel makes a fair number of logical-seeming decisions in this book that prove short-sighted, and of course it all leads to her and Jake’s brutal Checkovian epiphany at the end.

Added additional also favorite: #22, The Solution

A brutal but powerful read, this book focuses on the ugliest parts of Rachel’s personality (her sadism toward David) but also the most powerful ones (her compassion for Saddler and protectiveness toward both Jake and Jordan).  It also shows that her reckless taste for violence and her boundless desire to protect her families both biological and found are actually two sides of the same part of her personality.

Okay I have a lot of favorite Rachel books: #17, The Underground

It’s oat-freaking-meal.  Only it’s not just oat-freaking-meal, and I’m not talking about the extra-tasty maple and ginger flavoring.  It’s a biological weapon.  It’s a way to harm the enemy, but only through harming prisoners of war.  It’s a social dilemma the like of which we rarely see in children’s books.  It’s a lesson in decision making under uncertainty.  It’s a moral imperative, but no one is quite sure what that imperative is saying.  It’s a deconstruction of the implied assumption that it’s possible to write adventure stories in which no one gets hurt.  It’s awesome.  It’s hilarious.  It’s disturbing as fuck.  Welcome to Animorphs.

[grecoisms]

title: to deserve a spring (1/2) pairing: Kakashi Hatake / Sakura Haruno rating: M summary: “Yet he looks at Sakura now - and is not untouched by what he sees. Here, her brows knitted in attention, her movements controlled and contorted in their focus - he sees her as she is: a fort of devotion."

For @neonanything and @ninjas-in-love  - their blogs inspired me to write this mess.

i.

When Kakashi Hatake sees Sakura Haruno again after years of space and silence, she is five inches taller and almost three times as strong. He has time to appreciate and learn this first-handedly the moment Sakura breaks his nose in the first ten minutes of their fight. 

Then it takes her and Naruto half a day to solve the bell test, which they do so, gloriously. 

He feels a pride that lessens the pain.

"Surprised?" laughs Naruto, clutching his cracked ribs. He fell from at least a dozen of trees. 

"Relieved" he says, sitting down. He touches his nose and it is no surprise that the mask is wet with blood. And though he winces, he is also smiling. "Finally you can teach me something too."

There is a touch then, on his right shoulder, light as a feather. 

It's Sakura and she points at his face. 

"Let me see."

There is a pause in which Kakashi stares at the towering girl before him, all determined. 

"I think you just want to have a peek." His voice is nonchalant, but Sakura sees that he has a glint in his eyes: he is amused. She rolls her eyes.

"It's broken isn't it?"

"I suspect, yeah." She smiles then, all teeth and warmth. "Please don’t hit me from a different angle, Sakura. This nose is not worth it."

"Why bother when I'm better at healing?"

A truth universally acknowledged. 

He lets her pull down the mask as much as she wishes.

She does not peek.

ii.

They have their first S-mission together a year before Sakura is appointed Chief Medical Officer at the record age of twenty. 

Their task is delicate: they are to escort the four year old daughter of Shibuki - head of Taki - from Konoha back to home, the village near the waterfalls. It is only delicate because assassination attempts are sure to come, and Kyo, the daughter, cannot stop talking.

"The moment we get back " Sakura says when they finally manage to lull Kyo asleep on the third night.  "I am going to sleep for a week." 

Kakashi thinks of his plants, all dying. 

"Hm."

"Are you seriously judging me." her face deadpans when she sees his expression. "And here I was, thinking you are the king of napping the day away."

"I mean yes. But I do prefer cleaning my flat as stress relief."

For one long moment, they look at each other. The fire is long quenched; they are sitting in the dark while Kyo snores in the sole tent they brought.

Then Sakura starts to laugh and cannot seem to stop.

"Wait" she says after a long while. "You are serious."

He holds his hands up.

"I never lie."

Sakura sticks her tongue out.

"Liar."

A hero and a murderer has many other names. Kakashi knows this from experience. Tsunade calls him one of the greatest shinobi genius of the century and a despicable pervert (usually in the same sentence or breath). His apprentices call him weird (and very lazy). Obito used to call him a showoff. Very few people call him a friend. 

Gai is one of them. Naruto is another.

Sakura, he thinks as she stops laughing and begins to prepare a meal, is also a friend.

iii.

They almost make it eventless.

Except, just at three miles out of Taki, next to the Terendo fall, the ambush squad finds them. 

It is Sakura who hears it first, the snap of a branch, the inaudible whisper, buried under Kyo's babbling.

She manages to hurl the child away, along with Kakashi (who is heavier than expected), but she gets a fucking lance in her thighs in the process so she decides, okay, it's a draw.

"Run!" she shouts when Kakashi takes a step towards her. She can see the gates of the village in the distance, throbbing with the promise of shelter. "Mission is first and I can heal myself!"

He is too stubborn and so of course he stays. Kills the one who threw the javelin almost immediately. 

"Kyo" he instructs as he shifts his headband out of the way. "Stay here with Miss Sakura, please."

He disappears.

The girl runs to her, terrified.

"Hey" she smiles, trying to act like it's but a scratch. Resists the urge to cringe as she gouges the weapon from her leg. "See - not poisoned."

Before she can tend to her own wound though, and pick her up, two men appear from the water next to them. 

She draws the girl under her with her right while hurling the bloody lance with her left. There is enough power in it to hit both the attackers, but not enough aim to injure anything crucial.

The taller one laughs.

"We just want the girl missy. And - " they both look at her leg, oozing its red liquid. " seems like you are done playing the men's game."

"Thanks for the advice, Men-game." Sakura snarls. "I'd rather win this."

She has to but touch the soil under them, soft and mushy from the current nearby and it opens up, like a melody. The men's mouth are opened in surprise as they sink below the ground. 

"Good one" Kakashi cheers from behind. They turn, and she notes how both his eyes - the saringan is active and neonbright in the setting sun -  are still somber. 

They are out in an open field and they should absolutely not be. 

Sakura notes he lost his vest, but otherwise, he seems unharmed. She lets out a breath she did not know she was holding.

"Mr. Scarecrow - " 

Kyo is crying real tears. 

He crouches and lets Kyo climb up in his arms. It's like he reads her mind and she is grateful for the time he presents her. 

Sakura starts to heal the muscles and the tendons in her thighs - recites to remember: vastus lateralis, please let us do good, vastus medialis, let us do no more harm than necessary.

There is an unearthly shriek coming from behind them and they see a single man tearing his chest open with a blade the size of Kyo. Sakura hobbles up, leg half-mended, blade readied.

An act of sacrifice. Summoning.

"Fuck" Kakashi says and Sakura blood goes cold. 

Kyo is lit on fire. 

The ambush squad does not even bother to attack them anymore. Their task is done. 

The man falls too, most probably dead.

Kakashi swears one more time. Lifts the child up, who screams in agony, then simply loses consciousness.

"Sakura" he begins and she snaps out of her fearful trance.

Steel yourself, girl - she hears Tsunade in her head, now a part of her inner mind - you are capable of anything as long you will it. 

"In the water" Sakura orders, unnaturally calm.

She forgets about her wound entirely.

iv.

There is advantage of being one of the tallest people  in five kages. Kakashi is so lanky that it takes a full three minute until the water finally licks his waist. 

Sakura has a hard time positioning herself, so she asks him to turn towards the shore so she can stand on a higher ground and actually move her arms above water. 

The procedure is relatively simple. 

Steel yourself. Remember. 

Sakura sees the textbook before her; hears the Medical Instructor's careful voice in her ears as they step, as they sink into the water. It is freezing, but the adrenaline, ironically, makes her sweat. 

In case of a burn the very first thing to do is to stop the burning process in order to prevent the tissues from dissolving further. A fire is always there to be put out. If the victim is able and conscious, then one should either drop the piece of clothing that caught fire or/and roll around to extinguish the flames. 

If that is out of question - the victim is unconscious or more severely harmed per se - and the burning/burned area is both large and exposed, then the skin needs to be cooled first and after some time - that depends on how much and how severely the skin was exposed to hear - the blisters need to be covered and bandaged with clean and wet cloth. 

Kakashi and Sakura spend one hour and thirty minutes keeping Kyo's body in and her head out of the water. The worst is when she gains consciousness and starts screaming. In the first hour, Sakura uses all of her chakra up to keep her alive.

Above all, do no harm. 

Keeping her awake is cruelty.

v.

The last thirty of the minutes depend solely on luck and perseverance. 

She inspects Kyo's skin with extreme care. The skin has started blistering - a sign of the body recleansing itself. She will live. The question that now remains is how much scarring this girl of four has to live with.

Sakura bits her tongue. Licks her lips and shivers despite herself. 

Kakashi's hands too, despite being the most disciplined hands she knows, are trembling. Whether from fatigue or the cold or the adrenaline wearing off, she can only guess that it is the mixture of all three. 

"We do not have clean bandages." he comments. His voice is calm.

Sakura considers their options. 

"Kakashi." she says finally; very carefully. "One of us has to alert the father and bring backup. She is out of fatal danger. But we cannot risk infection. We cannot risk moving her too much or too quickly. After all - " Sakura touches his shoulders. "she is very small."

Kakashi knows this means either him leaving her all alone, or her leaving him all alone with an injured child. He feels an immense, all-consuming dread at the thought of leaving Sakura alone in here. It's an old, familiar feeling. 

He clenches his teeth together. Now his hands tremble for a completely different matter.

"You go. I stay." Sakura's eyes widen. "Be quick."

Be safe, it is what he means to say; what he almost says, but her hands leave his shoulder and the water already feels cooler.

vi.

They complete the mission. Shibuki, Kyo's father, weeps upon seeing her daughter and tears at his hair, his clothes. 

Kakashi and Sakura stand in the corner in the narrow corridors of the medical hut. They are straight and silent as arrows strung up - being mere spectators, mere shielding materials in the complex net of such rivalries. 

Kyo survives. There is a giant scar that will remain, just below her neck, uglying her torso. 

It is but a cicatrice, they say. No true damage. An aesthetic slip, rather.

vii.

They eat, they sleep and leave at first light the next day.

As soon as they step through the gate that guards the city, Kakashi stops and turns to face her. 

Sakura opens her mouth to ask him - what now? -  but she realizes she has begun to cry. Hot tears are already carving their ways through the creases of her face. 

He hesitates - this she can feel through the sorrow; because his hand lingers at her shoulder. 

So she simply grabs it, painfully aware of her desperation. His palm is dry and warm and her fingers cannot seem to clasp the vast map of his hand. Then presses that same hand onto her face, and that is when Kakashi envelopes her, his body also warm and real and constant.

viii.

When she is thirteen and curious, Sakura hauls Ino to the Central Archives of Konoha and goes through every picture of Kakashi Hatake in hopes of finding out how he looks without his mask.

"Argh" Ino spits after two hours of fruitless search. "What a complete weirdo. Who wears a mask at the age of six anyway?"

"He does, apparently." Sakura is disappointed.

They find a picture of his father, to whom the sensei must bear resemblance, but it is a half-truth, more of a mirror than a window. His father, named Sakumo, has a small smile on his face, all dimples. The back of the picture says, Konoha's White Fang with son, Kakashi (4). 

Next to him, Kakashi is heavy-lidded, dark-eyed, pale. 

The next photo shows him alone in a middle of a ceremony, with the first prize. He is supposed to be eight years old, but he looks much older, somehow worn out.

"He has the saddest eyes I've seen." Ino whispers.

ix.

His one visible eye is honest and open. He is saying something she does not hear. It is all in his eyes, the trust she does not feel worthy of. 

That stops her crying.  

She steels herself. 

If he survived and emerged victorious through these violence, so will she.

ix.

Just upon entering Konoha, Sakura speaks up for the very first time since they left the falls.

"Also - " It is out of the blue, her voice. Kakashi stops. She has been picking cherries which she decides to save for later. Maybe she will make a pie for her parents as a gift. "You are very skilled with children."

Kakashi steals a cherry from her, ignoring her loud remark - then hangs it on his pouch on his vest. He, too, saves them for later - but must look ridiculous, because Sakura snorts, really, really loudly.

"Charming." he says and she sticks her tongue again. "I deal with children every day, Sakura. And this does not necessarily mean the genins."

"Are you thinking of teaching another team again?"

"Gods no. Just imagine."

Sakura makes a face he cannot translate. 

"What?" he is curious, despite himself.

"You should." she blushes. "Take up another team again, I mean." She takes a deep, deep breath. "Not everyone is a Sasuke Uchiha, you know."

They have never spoken about him. Not time, but deepdeep shame is what stopped him.

And then he realizes, here, at the gates of Konoha, at the age of thirty-three, supposedly wise but a fool, that Sakura Haruno is braver than he or Sasuke will ever dream to be.

She smiles a bit, then waves, wanting to race to the gates, her hair reflecting sunlight and he is also very sure that he could never forgive himself for underestimating her.

x. 

They don't see each other for a while after. Kakashi is sent on an A-Mission two days later, then Sakura has to leave to Suna on Tsunade's direct wishes.

Someone has to prepare the medical units for the Chuunin exams and oversee some new medical facilities and sort out the staff and basically set up a new kind of health care system in that kage after all. And who else, if not Sakura? 

He takes on a new team at the next possible opportunity. Sakura is the first to know - Kakashi makes sure of it.

She sends an alarm clock a week later, with a note full of grainy bits of sand; saying;

"You will need this. (Attention! Very loud!)"

Her handwriting is elegant, full of loops and space: free. 

Something moves in his chest that he cannot (fears to) name.

He tries to write back, and hates how formal and stiff he sounds.

"Thank you. See you soon."

He adds an exclamation point to the first, then to the second sentence. Tries to write only one sentence. Then decides to write about his team. Turns out to be a novel. He could, he wants to tell her everything.

Throws all the drafts in the bin after an hour of agonizing overthinking. 

In the end, he sends a picture of his new team, and writes a simple Thank you! in the back of it.

"Great!" he tells to no one particular. To the new plant in the window.

Obito's voice is but a whisper in his mind.

"You. Are. So. Fucked."

xi.

They meet approximately three hours after all the teams from Konoha set up their camps in the outskirts of Suna.

Umma has broken her right leg. Again. Kurenai frowns when she sees Kakashi running with his students in his arms. Iruka is positively fuming.

"Gods damn it all, Hatake" the younger man shouts as they - Kakashi with Umma in his arms, Koshi and Tassun following -  run past. "Every bone has an expiration date!"

Suna burns around them, the buildings seemingly melting in the heat. Umma's face is covered with tears and sweat; she is hiding her face in his shoulders, but he can still feel her pain.

"I know" he says soothingly, forcing an adult-like authority and sureness in his voice he is not sure he will ever have. He sees Naruto talking to Gaara. 

"Wow, Sensei, not again!" he exclaims. "Sakura is going insane with the workload. She is gonna kill you." 

Kakashi wants to scream. 

"Just point me to the med tent, will you?"

Gaara points to a tent wearing a red cross. Clever. 

"Who is going to kill you, Kakashi sensei?" chirps in Koshi as they run forward. He reminds Kakashi of an apathetic  version of Naruto. 

"Does this mean we don't have to take the exams?" shouts Tassun from his left. He makes a note to talk about respect and attitude at the next training day. Honestly.

By the time they reach the medical tent, all three of them are out of breath. Kakashi only starts to sweat when Koshi runs in to find Sakura.

The heat has nothing to do with it.

xii.

Here, far from the drone and frenzy of the chunin exams, is peace. And maybe because Sakura Haruno is tired from patching every nin in the country at least once a day, she does not kill him. She even smiles. 

Points at the nearest table and says,

"Place her here, please."

The tent is orange from the setting sun, and it is an almost-sin how the light chooses to travel and move across her face as she mends the bones and soothes Umma's pain away. Two other men are there to assist and jump as soon as Doctor Haruno opens her mouth.

He was never one to idolize or beautify anything. Kakashi and the reality of grief has grown up together a long ago, until grief and him became one. This does not leave much space for euphemisms. 

Yet he looks at Sakura now - and is not untouched by what he sees. Here, her brows knitted in attention, her movements controlled and contorted in their focus - he sees her as she is: a fort of devotion. This tender tenacity, he muses as she very gently touches Umma's ankles to test the success, is what made her a healer. This kind of devotion made her strong. 

Moving to the other side of the operating table, Sakura now shows her back to them. Her hair is all pinned up, her face flushed, her neck all tanned from living and walking around in the desert and Kakashi sees that therethere, at the nape of her sweat-beaded neck, her hair is damp, a darker shade of magenta. His heart falters at the sight. 

It knocks the air out of him, this sudden, this urgent longing for her. Suddenly, he feels greedy for the weight of Sakura's gaze and Sakura's body. Imagines how her fingers would feel on the skin under his clothes. Whether the skin of her would feel soft or rough under his hands. 

Stop, he says to himself. In the corner of his mind,  Obito is laughing. Rin is shaking her head. 

How low can I sink, he wonders, while trying to temper this want, how selfish can I be.

Sakura straightens, her spine does a lazy curve, all lovely. He fails to look away. "All done!" Umma is looking at her leg now, not quite believing what she is seeing and feeling. "Bit more careful next time."

Umma smiles and waves.  Sakura smiles at him again, inviting him closer. 

Kakashi waves back, trying to remain distant; wanting to forget that outside this tent there is an arena of students dying to fight; and that outside this village there is a war to wage. 

And no place for him to feel what he feels for Sakura and her smile.