#how to works and what the heck I am doing }

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[nanabansama]

Tsukasa Is Tsukasa

Recently I discovered a poll asking if people thought the Supernatural Tsukasa and the Red House Tsukasa were different, and the results surprised me! A majority of voters thought they were not the same. Not only that, but I've seen many people in the fandom start believing they are separate people, if they hadn't already believed it before.

I think this stance can very easily be explained by the scene in Chapter 111 where Amane comes to the conclusion that the Tsukasa who went missing isn't the same as the one who came back:

While people might be divided on the details, the conclusion is basically the same: whatever that is inside of him, it's not Amane's brother.

And I can see why they think this! In fact, it used to be a popular theory back during the release of chapters 78-82 when we didn't know the specifics of what happened. Heck, we still don't know many of the specifics...and many people continued believing the Tsukasas were different anyway!

There's decent evidence to support this, too. When Tsukasa returned, he had sharp teeth and supernatural powers. He knew that Kunishige's wish was that the head priest would die. He's demonstrably different from the innocent little Tsukasa that sacrificed his life for Amane.

If that wasn't enough, even his own mom came to the conclusion that Tsukasa wasn't her son! This is basically the same conclusion Amane comes to in Chapter 111. That's 2/3 of Tsukasa's family members thinking some evil entity is larping around in his skin--not a good look!

In any case, while I could try and convince you guys there are two Tsukasas and the Tsukasas are different, that's not what I'm here to do. If you read my blog you already know I'm 100% on the side that Tsukasa is Tsukasa and always has been, and nothing AidaIro has shown me so far has been convincing enough to change my mind. In this post, I am here to argue that the Red House Tsukasa is the same as the Supernatural Tsukasa and that he merely works in tandem with the ancient god living inside him.

1. Chapter 82

This is the chapter when a lot of people dropped the theory that there are two Tsukasas, including me. (Yes, I used to believe there were two Tsukasas--people change!)

Kou and Nene had determined that the Red House Tsukasa was the real Tsukasa and that the one Amane killed was a fake. They come to this conclusion because this Tsukasa was trapped in the Red House for 50 years and acts a lot nicer and sweeter than the one we know.

The issue is, Kou tells this Tsukasa that Amane is going to kill Tsukasa and die at the age of 13...and unbeknownst to Kou, the seemingly innocent little Red House Tsukasa is EXCITED at the idea! Tsukasa, thankful to Kou and Nene, helps them escape the house but stays behind. This scene is when a lot of cool stuff happens.

First, we learn that Tsukasa wasn't actually trapped in the Red House and he always knew how to get back home, but that he never left because he was worried about what would happen to Amane. However, once Kou told him that Amane wasn't happy after Tsukasa left and that Amane kills not just Tsukasa but also himself, Tsukasa realizes he doesn't know that much about Amane and wants to learn more. The most shocking part of this scene to me was that Tsukasa's excitement at dying was very similar to the lighthearted way the Supernatural Tsukasa brings up his death with Amane.

Second, we see Tsukasa not only has the entity he sacrificed himself to to save Amane stored in his chest, but that he holds a conversation with it.

The entity being shown in his chest is actually a popular argument for the "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" theory, but I feel this scene proves otherwise. Tsukasa is not the unwilling host of this entity, as one might expect, but instead almost treats it as a friend. They have a sort of symbiotic relationship going on, and Tsukasa makes the decision to go back wholly of his own, despite them both knowing how to get back the entire time. He even says "let's go back TOGETHER," which supports the idea that they work together and that it isn't simply piloting a Tsukasa meat puppet.

We can argue Tsukasa is the victim to the entity's machinations, that the entity needed Tsukasa to do it willingly or that the entity took full control of Tsukasa after he succumbed to the flames or what not and tricked him, but so far AidaIro has only shown cooperation between these two characters. It's not unreasonable to suggest that Tsukasa gaining supernatural powers after he comes back isn't a sign that he's a different being entirely but that he's just working with one.

2. Mother Doesn't Always Know Best

This one will be a quick section, but considering Mother Yugi is basically the origin of "Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa" I wanted to cover why I think she's wrong.

In Chapter 79 Kunishige recounts how Mother Yugi took Tsukasa to their shrine because she thought her son was possessed by a demon after being spirited away. Kunishige thinks she's crazy at first, and so do the priests, who find nothing wrong with Tsukasa. Put a pin in that btw.

However, Kunishige later learns she was onto something because Tsukasa is not only an incredibly unsettling child but he correctly predicts the death of the head priest of the shrine and tells Kunishige his wish, for the head priest to disappear, would be granted tomorrow. This proves Tsukasa has otherworldly power, since he knows Kunishige's wish without Kunishige telling him, and also might have the ability to grant wishes, something the entity in his chest is shown to be capable of.

Now, I personally think the fact that the priests found nothing wrong with Tsukasa is HUGELY in favor of my theory. I understand how you can argue that the entity somehow avoided detection because it's powerful, or because there was nothing left of the original Tsukasa or something, but I still think the fact the priests detected nothing wrong is extremely weird. What if that's because Tsukasa is still in control?

I think the fact Mother Yugi was convinced Tsukasa isn't her son and wasn't persuaded otherwise is important, too. In fact, I think it might directly correlate with the conclusion Amane makes in Chapter 111. I think Amane is more or less coming to the same conclusion his mother made, something he hadn't wanted to believe at first but eventually, finally, succumbed to. I have to imagine his mother's insistence that Tsukasa wasn't Tsukasa left a big impression on Amane, and it's something that's bothered him for years.

I can't exactly blame them both, either. By the time Tsukasa came back, he'd lost a lot of his innocence. Keep in mind that they think Tsukasa was gone for six months. Any normal 4-year-old kid might have been traumatized by leaving his family for six months, but Tsukasa just acts creepy and possessed. And despite him meeting Nene and Kou 50 years in the future, it's possible it really was only six months for Tsukasa! Time worked differently there. Still, it's not hard to see how the extreme circumstances he was in might have changed him. Not only was he stuck in a haunted death house, he later learns the wish he granted for Amane wasn't Amane's true wish and that Amane kills Tsukasa. This is all pretty life-changing information, and when you tack on the fact that he's buddy-buddy with an ancient man-eating god, it's really not that surprising Tsukasa has changed so dramatically, especially when he's still at the tender age of 4.

3. Behavior

For something that's supposedly replaced Tsukasa entirely, it certainly gets very personal with Amane, doesn't it?

I said before that Red House Tsukasa in Chapter 82 acts similar to Supernatural Tsukasa. How they find delight in death. But I don't think this is the only point of similarity between them, either. In Chapter 81, Red House Tsukasa is under the impression that Amane hates him.

In Chapter 111, after Amane tells Tsukasa he hates him, Tsukasa tells him he already knew that.

Mind you, this line comes seconds before Amane comes to the conclusion that Tsukasa isn't Tsukasa.

Think about it. Tsukasa tells Amane that he knows Amane hates him, echoing a sentiment that the Red House Tsukasa shares. And Amane, after hearing this, comes to the conclusion that this Tsukasa is an impostor.

Isn't that... really sad?! I mean, I'm not going to say that Amane's whole reasoning for Tsukasa being a fake is that he thinks Amane hates him, but...before this scene, Amane was saying he couldn't destroy his yorishiro because he cared about Tsukasa too much. And for Tsukasa to say something he's thought ever since Amane pushed him as a little kid, and for THAT to make Amane say he thinks Tsukasa is fake... it really shows they've never understood each other at all.

Tsukasa's never been shown to get extremely upset about being hated by Amane, either, so you can't say Amane is right just because Tsukasa is laughing in Chapter 111. Tsukasa initially seems shocked when he was pushed, and overall seems a little sad about it in Chapter 81, but he still remarks that Amane hates him with a smile. He's selfless about it. And later, when he learns Amane kills him, this feeling gets more complex. Despite Kou's attempts to convince him otherwise, I think Kou's reveal only made Tsukasa more convinced that Amane hates him, and this is shown in Chapter 111 when he laughs about it. It's just a funny joke to him at this point.

I...genuinely cannot reconcile this behavior with Tsukasa being a fake. I just can't! Why would the entity be this personal with Amane? Why would it share opinions that the supposedly "real" Tsukasa had? If AidaIro really is trying to write a story about a little boy being replaced by a supernatural entity, then they could at least do a better job of making them act different. TBHK makes it clear that supernaturals can experience human emotions just as strongly as actual humans, so it wouldn't surprise me if the god has its own personality and feelings, but for them to just...be the exact same as the human it replaced? I'm not buying it.

There is no difference between the Red House Tsukasa and the Supernatural Tsukasa that can't be explained away by the fact that people change as they grow older. Everything about Tsukasa's character arc as I've presented it is completely logical.

Conclusion

With so little info on the ancient man-eating god, it's kind of impossible to reach a proper conclusion at this point. All we really know about its personality is that it hungers for flesh and will grant any wish in exchange for it. With this in mind, it's incredibly easy to see why people think the god and Supernatural Tsukasa are one and the same, especially when the cast tends to treat them as such. I could just as easily write a post in favor of them being different as I could of them being the same.

And I think this is what AidaIro ultimately wants! I think AidaIro wants us to second guess ourselves. If I know anything about Aidairo, it's that they like to keep up on our toes and shock us with surprising twists. Who really knows what they have hiding up their sleeves?

Still, I feel the theory that the god replaced Tsukasa raises more questions than answers, and I hope I managed to explain my side of things.

[sensitiveheartless]

Every once in a while I am compelled to read your anon fic from beginning to end, and I love it as much as the first time! For what could have just been a smutty crack fic, you’ve put in so much angst and feels and I love that the most about it. Even though the smut is really fun, I read it solely for the hurt/comfort sometimes. It feels like a slightly divergent AU of the skyline pigeon fic, if you get what i’m saying. Dazai trying to stop Chuuya from destroying himself at the PM… will you update it soon? Im really looking forward to the thrilling conclusion!

(For anyone unsure of what this is referring to, I mentioned the anon fic in the middle of this ask from a while back)

Awwh!! Thank you, that's so nice! Yeah that fic really got away from me and turned into a way more sincere and emotion-heavy plot than I initially intended — I guess that's kind of inevitable with all Chuuya-leaves-the-PM fics, because it canonically takes a LOT to pry Chuuya away from protecting people he cares about (see the "he never stopped trying to protect the Sheep even after they literally stabbed him in the back" part of canon). Also you're right on with it being a divergent version of the Skyline Pigeon fic — I tend to think of the pigeon fic as the "what if Dazai didn't get Chuuya out before he fully broke" version of the anon fic :0

But yeah the anon fic initially started as a thought of "I want to write skk being domestic and goofy but I kind of want it to be in Dazai's dorm room because the idea of Chuuya settling in there is very fun and soft to me" which led to "Okay but why would Chuuya be living with Dazai and not in his own apartment?" which led to "What if Chuuya left the Port Mafia" which led to "but how the heck would he be convinced to do that" which led to "what if Dazai tried to seduce Chuuya into leaving" and then that thought was so funny to me that I had to write it

And then it grew ✨a lot of emotions✨

Anyway! All that said, I do plan on updating it soon! Along with the Skyline Pigeon fic — I've been able to work on both fics a lot more recently, after having a massive mental block on them for a while aksfjksdjf (And after that I may actually write the intended domestic fluff of skk living together lol)

[skynapple]

Madi Caught Slipping: aka "How Jeremiah falls for every character in the book"

Scroll to find your favorite characters. Some are kinda crack ships. Have fun.

The girls:

Tara: This one's easy. They caught each other's eyes through MC and Xavier. He's at Xavier's place, they met in a common area. Jeremiah is trying to be a good wingman but he knows better than to use old tactics of flirting with MC on purpose to make Xavier act out in jealousy, he can do that when the trio is alone. That day he directed his attention to Tara, some small talk and flirting, maybe slung an arm around her shoulder to drag her to get a bucket of ice or anything for the other two to be alone. But she's adorable and he thinks, what the heck, a date won't hurt. She's pretty, and again, it's a good excuse for causing more circumstances to fall into place. The last thing he expects is to fall in love but it doesn't take much. She's earnest, tightness, selfless, and sweet. And look, who else is he going to gossip about Xavier and MC with? Good luck, Jer. Crystals in his pockets. He doesn't believe in any of her witchy stuff but doesn't mind it if it helps her feel like she's connecting to him or keeping him safe somehow. His religion he feels doesn't really affect it, he's only semi religious anyway. Cute planned dates. Flowers on her desk. Starts carrying some things of her recommendations in the shop. It's an easy, refreshing, comforting, and syrupy sweet relationship. Like two kids giggling in a pillow fort.

Jenna: This one's not easy. But, she's Xavier's "Captain" which, ok, Xavier is Jeremiah's "Captain" so there's the good soldier dynamic. There's a chance -depending on how Infold wants to play it- that Jenna and Jeremiah have a already met. It may be through Backtracker work, anti-Onychinus logistics, Jeremiah's research, something. If they have, it's an easier door. Either way, all they do is talk logistics and mission stuff to begin with. Then it's random small talk. Jenna is fun, and always thinking of others. There's a sense of "we're in this together" that bridges a gap. Maybe he senses that she's overworked. Maybe he hears from Xavier that they lost a hunter on their team. He sends her flowers. Then just keeps sending her flowers so she always has something to brighten her day, because he feels some compassion for the stress she's under, and secretly he's grateful that someone else is looking over Xavier. It's a slow burn. It's dependable, and sweet, and then it's a strong. They're a candle that keep others going, just trying to make it another day, but they keep that candle burning together.

MC: See Budding Romance. Anyways. This one really only works if like, MC has eyes interacts with him a lot more than Xavier. Because Jeremiah is always realistically going to be putting Xavier's needs first? And he really has shipped those two for centuries. He's probably absolutely had it up to here with them (imagine I am gesturing to something really tall for the metaphor.) But it also only works if he realizes he's loved her, because he has to get past a sense of 'She's Xavier's but I want her too.' It also only works if Xavier's holding back a bit, like he senses there may already be something going on between them? If he's confusing MC and she gets comfortable with Jer enough, then maybe, maybe. OR, she is just a version of MC who just doesn't have interest in pursuing Xavier at all, similarly to the MC's that end up with literally any other love interest, this MC would just... be particularly inclined towards Jeremiah to begin with, regardless of meeting Xavier first. Which, Jer would still have to get past whatever he's going to deal with, but once they're together, God. The manic things I've thought.

The way he's loved her for centuries, even if platonically before, to stay at her side in unwavering devotion for centuries, to abandon everything he knows on a chance of saving her, being her second-in-command, probably being the one to hold her tears when she could've easily felt very alone. He knows MC inside and out, TOO. And I think it would be very easy for him to want to slip back into a sense of companionship and want to by her side in any capacity of her life. Jer needs to feel attentive and needed, and I think it would be easy to want to stay by "his commanders" and "his Queens" side purely out of loyalty, and maybe... there's a sense of: It's always been me, I don't want it to be anyone else.

Yvonne: This one's funny. It definitely has to be a coincidental meeting. Jer's not going to any hospitals anytime soon. They have to meet outside work before, either on accident or she's a patron of his store, something like that. But the energy, please. She's beautiful, snarky. He can get behind that. She's also probably overworked. It's easy for him to be a sounding board, listen to all the gossip, or the frustration of incompetent patients. It's easy for him to be a comfort, patients get under your skin sometimes no matter how high the walls. Losing patients is never easy but god if Jeremiah hasn't been used to losing people all the time. It's easy for him to go along with antics. Prank bouquets to unwitting hospital members. And maybe if he's comfortable, he's appreciating that he actually knows a nurse. He teaches her how to care for Philosian differences in physiology, because there's probably things that are different and things he's had to DIY. Oh she'd absolutely shred him an earful if she finds out he's doing something stupid post-Wanderer hunting excursions. He absolutely makes her vision of beautiful custom scrubs come true.

Talia: Lord, Jeremiah as her nth husband? Sure. She's definitely ordering a lot of flowers to pester at Rafayel. Or she's getting flowers for her nth wedding. Maybe Wedding Planner style, it doesn't work out, but hey that florist is kinda--. And honestly, Jer probably picks up on some things. She's not from around here, neither is he. There's a certain vernacular Lemurians use, and there's a vernacular Philosians use. Maybe it's easier to tell earlier on. Kinda like Hispanics and Filipinos can immediately just pick each other out of a crowd. (Source: Is Hispanic). So there may be some companionship in, hey we're not here by choice, something drastic happened. And she's,,, way older century-wise probably, but he's not actually young, and they both have the bodies of a twenty-something. It's fine. They probably can find things to relate to. Old stories, old myths, old movies, old music. It's nostalgic and sweet. Maybe she likes the fact that he's not going to die, unlike her previous human boyfriends.

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

the boys:

Xavier: I could write a book but. Just the constant companions and devotion. The loyalty. The "I'm with you to the end" and the fact that Jeremiah was someone he immediately told everything about MC. How, despite Xavier's jealousy, he still depending on him to look after MC and still needed him. Honestly, Xavier needs Jeremiah a lot more than I think he lets on. Vice versa. Xavier wasn't there for him when Jer lost the love of his life, and unlike Xavier's who reincarnates, he's never getting her back. It's a very permanent grief that Philosians seldom had to deal with. I'm sure Xavier feels a sense of regret. At the same time, it just makes Jer more fiercely loyal. I said it above, he deeply needs to have a sense of duty. He desperately needs to be needed by Xavier, to be ordered around and feel like he's contributing. He doesn't want to let him down, and he desperately doesn't want him to ever go through what he has. They know mostly everything about each other. They do love each other, already, so much. It doesn't take much. One or both could've already questioned things. Or they're in a universe where MC already chose someone else, so it's a matter of comfort and redemption and trying to let Xavier heal and grow into someone independent of MC. Also. I think about the fact that in CANON Jeremiah specifically made sure that he brought Xavier's favorite flowers with them from Philos and if that's not love I don't know what is. In this essay I will---

Zayne: This one is the most crack to me because again. Jer and medical staff? Probably not going to mix. They must meet at an outside time and place. Jer can't know Zayne's a doctor until later. It definitely has to be a universe where MC is pursuing someone else, but that may not stop Zayne from buying her flowers? Especially if she's not dating other guy yet, and on her birthday, something like that. So they could meet at the flower shop. It's not love at first sight, it can't be. Jer gets him with sweets. He uses one of Bella's old recipes maybe when he's mourning her death's anniversary? Zayne has plenty of loss experience. He's just a customer that day but he takes comfort in letting out the story a little bit. Zayne makes a recommendation. Jer makes him something else to thank him for his patronage. Its just sweet sharing back and forth until they actually decide to go somewhere after work. Not a date. They're too manly for that. Both assume the other is friend zoned. The crowd is banging through the floorboards at these two. Jer baking a lot, Zayne eating and tending to Wanderer wounds. Very slow but, comforting and sweet. Pun intended. Cause that's what it would be. They heal each other in more ways than one.

Rafayel: If I speak- ok. Listen. Talia or fans still is ordering a lot of flowers for Rafayel. Jer gets used to dropping them off. He knows Rafayel is probably hiding something, again, vernacular, however I've seen Rafayel tends to hide his better. But those muscles are way too toned for Rafayel to be some random painter. Pls. I know too many art majors. Jeremiah making Rafayel clothes. Because he's talented (hello Lumiere costume) and can definitely do some cool stuff (fireproof, effect stuff). Also, Jeremiah like,,, is on the dark web scouring for content for stuff to build ship parts and also keep an eye on wayward Backtrackers. There's no way he doesn't know Rafayel's wanted. Maybe he helps take care of it. You know Lemurians and debts. Idk. Just lots of snark. Lots of trying to take care of each other. Cooking together. Maybe even fighting together. Jeremiah being weirdly assertive with Thomas, a la "He said no pickles" style. Again, very easy to slip into a loyal companion mode. Very easy. Plus like. It's a very, very acts of service relationship. They squabble a bit but only cause they care. Also, same dynamic as Talia, they've been around a long time, they'll be around a long time from now. There's comfort in that.

Caleb: If Maverick himself is alive somehow, it either comes through mutual connection like MC wanting to introduce her "brother" or Caleb maybe stalking out people in "his sister's" life. So honestly he may have met him at a party. Its a work party. Everyone gets a plus one. MC brings Caleb, Xavier brings Jer. I have a hc Jer is a hopeless drunk, but nothing happens at this party cause earth beverages from what we've seen with Xavier don't honestly have much effect. Unless... Caleb himself gets.. yeah. Maybe he retaliates that MC is showing Xavier a lot of attention when he's s'posed to be the date. Fine. Two can play at this game. He goes after Jer. Sloppy kiss. Jer would be... admittedly weirded out, and probably more concerned about the guy. Next day some kind of humiliated apology at the flower shop spurred on by MC. But Jer's soft, and sweet, and kinda teasing. Oh no god help Caleb. They might bicker a lot, but they both care about MC and later on each other deeply. They might just start hanging out for the sake of it. But they both have soldier's hearts, and are protective people. They become protective of each other. Jer starts watching the sky scanners, keeping up to date on any relevant threats. Secret information passed along through a channel Jer engineers. Caleb frantically watching his watch that's connected to Jer's when he assumes Jer goes wanderer hunting. Fishing trips, cooking. Arcades. Nostalgic movies. Somehow they have synergy. Somehow.

Nero: Jer's an alien so that's cool. Honestly, I wonder if they already know each other. Not in person? But online? If Jeremiah's ever submitted anything for private analysis and Nero's the wanderer expert. He might've been connected just through accessing Xavier's portal to the deepspace organization. They start meeting in person to trade stuff. It's very secretive. Nero catches him out and about. Doesn't recognize him, couldn't possibly begin to, but he knows that voice anywhere. And oh no Jer's beautiful. He starts doing his own investigation. Shows up at the flower shop once he's sure, and slides him something only they would know. Jer's incredibly impressed. Wants to hang out more. They talk nerdy, and honestly it's probably worse the more Nero knows. Like, you mean there's alternate timelines and dimensions? You mean you can pull a sword out of your arm, too? You mean this metal is from another planet? You mean there's even more wanderers? You fell through a black hole?? Just on and on. Jer doesn't mind the obsession, it's nice to be open and talk about home. It starts as just kinda friendly besties but they grow to actually care about each other. Maybe they worry about each other somehow. They definitely try to outdo who does more for who. It's very relaxed, and not constrained. They don't have to be together all the time, it's comfortable.

Thomas: Again, something to do with deliveries to Rafayel. He starts being around. Maybe Thomas contacts him to do an event and Jer is just? Helpful? A nice guy? Hey Thomas looks like he needs a drink, that's all. Or maybe Thomas forgot something, requires Jer to back and like. They just?? Talk? For a long time. That kind of comfort bond builds first. Jer is easy to talk to. Jer's also like, nice and insistent enough if he finds out Thomas is an artist like, insists he wants something from Thomas specifically and wants to trade for some kind of arrangement. Well how about a drink? It's just relaxed and comfortable. This is a relationship Jer might withhold some of the aliens from outer space stuff a little longer, just until he's more sure of things and outcomes. But it's easy, and he likes hearing the stories. Thomas tries to paint what he thinks Philos looks like based on his descriptions. Jer cries. Jer cultivates a specific type of rose after Thomas. It's very luxurious type of relationship. Doesn't have to be money consuming but. Museums. Botanical gardens. Whiskey nights. Private lounges. Jeremiah makes him a custom suit. Just a lot of gift giving back and forth.

Greyson: Like Zayne, there has to be some circumstance outside of work. But Madi you wrote that for Yvonne too. AND I'M SAYING IT HAS TO. But if it doesn't for some reason, let's say Jer overdoes it, gets kinda beat up, some citizen finds him and he gets dragged to a hospital. You know how Philosian heart beats are slower? God, imagine? Oh they think he's on his way out. Rushed to the ER. Jer just like, coming to cause maybe the sedatives don't work the same, grabbing Greyson by the wrist like, begging, desperate, Don't hurt me. And oh no. Deepest shade of blue eyes on pools of hazel that are desperate. He might break. He doesn't want to become a science experiment. Ok that's dramatic. YEAH. Like does he break out of the hospital? Does Greyson flip out and have A Moment™️ with the other surgeons in the room? This is literally what Jer's been dreading for 200 years he's shaking he's terrified inside but he's also a soldier. He bites down that fear and idk maybe gets out of there. He thinks he's safe. Freaking runs into Greyson at a cafe or something super what-are-the-chances. And before Jer can run Greyson grabs him like, hol' on a second. ANYWAY. I'm just saying. It has to be dramatic or super mundane, for it to work. But if it does work out (somehow) then its. Cowboy and Alien. Jer is very doting, he can get to Greyson's cheesiness level. Who can outfluster who? who will survive? Dad jokes. Tormenting friends. Prank wars. Teaching Greyson to bake. He thinks he'll teach Jer how to ride a horse, surprise he was a Knight and already rides bareback. It's a fun dynamic.

[gwydionae]

SAY IT WITH ME:

FEMALE CHARACTERS CAN BE WARRIORS AND FEMININE

MALE CHARACTERS CAN BE SMART AND MASCULINE

BEING BOTH IS NOT A "FLAW" WHERE ONE NEEDS TO BE REMOVED

IT'S CALLED "COMPLEXITY"

[tathrin]

Yesssssss guess who just learned how to swap usb cords between mice tonight? That's right mate, we are unstoppable now. So you go ahead and discontinue the best mouse ever fucking made, Logitech, that's fine; I'm just going to ship-of-theseus my babies forever and you can't stop me.

[my-precious-little-worm]

one of my friends told me i should start doing commissions but 1. i've never done them before and i'm insecure about my art and 2. idk how i'd price myself. idk i'm considering it but i'll wait and see where my art takes me im so clueless when it comes to this kind of stuff 😭

[tittysuckersworld]

THE PEOPLES LIKE MINE ARTTTTT AAAAAAA

[a-lil-strawberry]

One outcome I didn't expect from an outing with coworkers at a bar after a long week was an extreme state of existential dread, but here I am

[clockworkflicker]

[tap or open image in new tab for higher quality]

In Sickness and In Spite

3.5k words, F cold. Familiarity with the source material is not required.

Fi/re Emb/lem Thr/ee Ho/pes — platonic Hubert & Monica. Snzfic + character study. These idiot rivals begrudgingly care about each other, your honor! Cue mlm-wlw bickering. Inspired by this post about ice magic. We love a sniffly traumatized mage.

Content warnings for wartime medieval fantasy setting, referenced past imprisonment, and mess.

“Return to the eastern encampment at once, and see to it that our reserves are told to prepare for the capture of Arianrhod.”

The faintest of smiles threatens to tug at Hubert’s lips as he hands a letter off to the courier standing at attention in his quarters. His expression, which the courier might later describe as “reeking of malicious contentedness” is one that Hubert’s fellow commanders are slowly growing used to as this war drags on, but it still sends a chill down the spines of those less familiar with the man’s more dubious qualities.

“Count Bergliez is to bring his troops to Arianrhod to hold the city in our absence, do I make myself clear?”

The man’s voice is smooth as dark chocolate, and equally rich, the courier finds himself thinking as he accepts the letter from Hubert. Of course, now is no time to indulge in chocolate, nor thoughts of admiration of a man’s voice. How foolish.

“I’ll see it done.”

Hubert folds his arms and gives a subtle nod. “Good. Well then, safe travels.”

The courier leaves, and Hubert finds himself once again alone in his quarters. He considers stepping out to check in with Lady Edelgard and discuss upcoming battle plans, but he thinks better of it once he pulls the drape from the entrance to his tent and sees that the sun has already set. They’ll be marching again early in the morning, and Her Majesty is likely to be asleep (or attempting to sleep, at least) by this hour.

He lights the lantern at his desk and sets a kettle to boil for coffee. His body feels heavy after the day’s skirmish at Magdred Way, but his mind isn’t quite ready to sleep. His troops encountered those damn Agarthan mages looming between the trees at Magdred. Evidence of their continued presence in this war, pulling the strings from behind the curtains, is enough to keep him up at night — not that he’d ever admit to such a thing. Given that he’s not sleeping just yet, there’s no sense in squandering an opportunity to get some work done, so he settles down with a stack of paperwork and quill.

Outside, a chorus of crickets come alive for the night, cautiously chirping along with the smoky early-autumn breeze and the occasional chatter from other commanders and soldiers passing by. After some time, the sound of a harsh sneeze pierces the white noise. Hubert casts a slow glance to his tent’s entrance. It sounded close by, but no one’s immediately outside the tent. He sets the distraction aside and returns to the list of provisions he was perusing.

But he can’t help but notice that the crickets’ song is punctuated by the occasional sniffle. Is that new, or has he only just noticed it now, he wonders. After a few minutes, there’s another sneeze, this one more high pitched than the last, followed by a slow, laden groan. It’s a familiar groan, he realizes. He knows exactly who it belongs to.

Unlike Monica von Ochs, Hubert does not possess a perfect memory. But given the frequency with which the woman expresses irritation around him, he would be remiss not to recognize the sound of her grumbling.

Her tent isn’t far from his. “I’m Her Majesty’s vassal just as much as you are,” Monica had insisted when they’d been setting up their base camp last week. “If she has need of me, I wish to be prepared and nearby.”

While Hubert finds her near-constant presence and general lack of composure to be somewhat grating, he certainly cannot complain about the woman’s dedication. Monica is, above all else, a valuable asset to the army and confidant to Her Majesty.

The kettle boils. He sets his quill aside and finds the coffee grounds he’d packed in his satchel. His eyes fall on the Almyran pine tea blend he keeps handy next to his stash of coffee grounds — a provision should he find a spare moment to enjoy a warm beverage with Ferdinand.

Hubert briefly regards the pine needles. Certainly not the ideal tea for a cold, and he can’t imagine his neighbor would particularly want his company. And yet...

~~~

There’s ice in her veins and haze clouding her head, and that’s really all there is to say on the matter. She sits at her desk, bundled up in her cloak with a quill and stack of paperwork. The flickering light from her lantern blurs her vision, eyes half-lidded and threatening to grow too rheumy to make out the words.

Not that it matters much. The chill gnawing at her bones from the inside out is enough of a distraction on its own that Monica finds herself wholly unable to make a dent in the status report she’s meant to have on Her Majesty’s desk by tomorrow morning.

She sniffles in irritation. She’d managed to doze off immediately after returning from Magdred this afternoon, but sleep held little respite. After a few hours of tossing and turning, she’d gasped awake, shivering with ire and cold sweat, unpleasant memories distorted by the whims of her feverish subconscious still vivid in her mind. With some effort, Monica had forced herself upright, shakily grasping the glass of water beside her bed and taking a drink.

She’s never forgotten what it’s like to be locked up in a cell — how could she? They say time heals all wounds, but such a thing can’t be true; not for her. While the sands of time are kind enough to erode others’ painful memories, weathering away sharp edges into manageable curves, Monica needs only close her eyes to find herself back on that cold stone floor, every detail in place, nothing forgotten. Exactly 296 stone blocks comprised the wall she had been chained to. That horrible woman’s raucous laugh, which always hit G#, no higher, no lower. The gleam of her athame, teasingly pressed below Monica’s jaw with just enough force to draw a thin line of fresh blood. The warm ferrous odor intermingling with the cool musk of the dungeon and that woman’s near-intoxicating scent of patchouli, sage, and mahogany.

And knowing Her Majesty was put through something so much worse; held in a cell and poked, prodded, sliced open, then reassembled as a tool of war? It makes her blood boil.

Her head had swam from sitting up so fast; a reminder that this Goddess-forsaken fever is going to literally boil her blood if she’s not careful.

Against her better judgement, she’d lit her lantern and dragged herself to her desk to take care of some paperwork. As much as she’d love to drift back off to sleep, the thought of going back there — even if only in a dream — is more than enough to keep her wide awake for a few more hours. Normally, she’d go out for a run or a swim to clear her head and simmer down, but she frankly can’t imagine her body will comply today.

Pinching her nose with a handkerchief that has long outlived its usefulness, Monica distantly wonders what would’ve become of her in that cold dark cell, had Her Majesty not come to her aid. She’d be dead, probably. It’s a useless thought, but one that plagues her nonetheless. Her nose is no less damp when she pulls the cloth away, so she sniffles again and resigns to just cleaning herself up with the inner collar of her cloak, soft fabric feeling like sandpaper against her nostrils.

“Monica?” A low voice from outside her tent startles her back to reality. “It’s Hubert. I have a matter I’d like to discuss, if you wouldn’t mind my company at this hour.”

She hesitates. Company is the last thing she wants right now. Well, perhaps she wouldn’t mind if it was Lady Edelgard or Dorothea...

“I’ll leave you be if you’d prefer it,” Hubert continues when she doesn’t reply. “But I thought it prudent to offer some tea.”

Still no response. Hubert briefly wonders if she’s managed to fall asleep. But then a small sniffle breaks the silence, followed by the sound of shuffling blankets. Monica draws aside the thick cloth draped over her tent’s entrance, eyes tilted up to meet his. Her brow is knit in confusion, but her gaze is glassy and distant. By the look of things, it was indeed the prospect of tea that coaxed her out.

She finds Hubert stood before her, holding two cups, warm steam gently rising from both. Monica doesn’t need her sense of smell to know their contents. One black coffee — a preposterous choice of beverage at this hour — and one Almyran pine tea. It’s almost a comedic image, the way the man's usual looming presence is kneecapped by something as mundane as a warm drink.

“You keep Almyran pine needles on your person specifically for Ferdinand,” she says plainly, her voice hoarse around the edges. “Why offer them to me?”

A slight frown draws Hubert’s lips. This woman is irritatingly perceptive and straightforward, especially when it comes to relationships he would prefer she kept quiet about.

But even in the low light, he can see the exhaustion plainly written across Monica’s face; dark thumbprints pressed beneath her eyes, a glimmer of moisture sits below her pinkish nose, her pallor framed by a mess of untamed burgundy locks. Judging by the paperwork strewn about on her desk, he figures she’s been just as busy as he’s been this evening. It’s not all that cold out, but her slight frame is swallowed up in a heavy winter cloak. Despite this, she looks to be shivering a little, and Hubert makes a mental note to check later if any of her reports from this excursion will need to be rewritten due to shaky handwriting.

While Monica is objectively the shortest commander in the Adrestian army, her shrewd demeanor and prowess on the battlefield are more than enough to compensate for what she lacks in height. But for the first time in years, Hubert finds himself thinking that she just looks small.

“You’re ill,” he says, matching her matter-of-fact tone.

“Yes, and?” Her eyes narrow, unfocused, and she inhales an uneven breath, then another. She ducks to the side with a horribly gruff sneeze, snatching the collar of her cloak up to meet her face as she shudders forward with the force of it. “ihh- hheh-! hHT’CHHUHshh!”

“And tea serves the dual purpose of perhaps offering some relief while also coaxing you away from your paperwork.” Hubert gives a small sigh, still looking stoic. “I should admonish you for working late in such a state.”

She scoffs, the watery phlegm crackling in her airways making her sound far more pitiful than disdainful, much to her chagrin. Wincing, she snuffles and rubs at her nose through the fabric. When she clears her throat, it does absolutely nothing for her wrecked voice. “As if you’re not guilty of the same.”

“Unlike you, I possess the sense not to work myself sick.”

“If you say so.” Knowing the man’s work-life balance (or lack thereof), Monica finds that statement highly unlikely. If she weren't so sick, she’d call him out for it, but she can’t quite muster the energy to get worked up over it at the moment. Another chill shakes through her, and it occurs to her that she’d much rather be sitting than standing, and a warm drink really does sound nice. She swallows thickly and glances away. “Anyway, I, um, I won’t say no to tea. If you’re offering.”

“That is why I’m here, yes,” Hubert says with a hint of levity, handing her a cup.

She gratefully accepts it, the deliciously warm ceramic prickling her cold fingertips. The rising steam causes her nose to run a bit more than it already was, but she revels in its gentle heat. “You said there was something you wanted to —” she pauses to sniffle, and exhales a tired, drippy guhh. “— to discuss?”

~~~

The two sit beside a small fire, tucked away at the edge of the base camp. On any other day, Monica would have simply invited Hubert to join her in her quarters, but she can’t imagine she’d be able to keep this damn cold to herself in such a small enclosed space, so this will have to do.

“Were you unwell when we marched on Magdred this morning?” He asks, settling down on a fallen log once he’s convinced he’s fed the fire enough wood to sustain itself. The flames dance, bathing them both in a warm glow amidst the dusky woods.

She shakes her head. “What, would you expect me to delay our troops because of a sore throat? I simply did what was necessary.” Monica takes a careful sip of her tea. Swallowing hurts, but it warms her from the inside out. Although her senses are too dulled to get a good handle on the flavor, she finds the tea has a distinct, earthy quality. It reminds her of simpler days spent hunting in the mountainous woodlands scattered about inland Ochs territory.

“And last night?” Hubert raises an eyebrow.

“I thought it was just exhaustion and nerves, at that point. We’d been marching all day, after all.” Smoke from the fire makes her sinuses burn, prompting her to retreat further into her cloak with a watery sniff, almost like a turtle into its shell.  

“For someone so perceptive, you certainly posses an impressive lack of self-awareness.” He tilts his head with a slight smirk. “Perhaps if you didn’t so frequently find yourself flush with rage or affection, you wouldn’t struggle to tell apart fatigue from fever.”

She glowers. “Perhaps if you grew flush with rage every now and again, you wouldn’t have the complexion of a coffin-dweller.” Smoke catches in her throat as she speaks, completely stripping the insult of any teeth it may have had otherwise. She muffles a few weary coughs against her collar, causing a bit of mess to spill from her nose and create another dark patch on the fabric.

Hubert exhales a dry laugh. In spite of everything, it’s good to see that she’s at least well enough to quip back. “Well, there’s nothing to be done for it now. But do try to be more conscientious of your limits.”  

Monica narrows her eyes with a sniff. “I know very well how hard I can push myself, thank you.” As if to deny her claim, the irritation in her airways causes her breath to hitch. Her eyes squint shut and her face contorts into an expression somewhere between a grimace and a snarl. She snaps forward with a desperate and distressingly sick-sounding sneeze, frantically aimed at the fabric resting atop her shoulders. She’d meant to stifle, but there’s only so much one can do when attempting to restrain such a forceful sneeze hands-free. She fumbles her cup of tea, spilling a bit in the process.

“And yet I can’t help but find your form as of late to be rather... rash.” Hubert turns his eyes back to the fire, not wishing for his gaze to be a source of further embarrassment for his stricken companion.

The gesture does not go unnoticed, and she’s grateful for it. The space between her nose and lips is slick, and a string of glistening mess dangles precariously from her septum to her cloak before falling against her chest. She instinctively snuffles, and immediately regrets doing so, as it produces a horribly soupy sound and reignites the burning itch. She hastily sets her tea aside and clutches at her collar with steepled hands, trembling with a flurry of quick, audibly damp breaths, until —

“ihheH- hH’KSSCH’ue! …hh? …hht’KSSCH’uhh!”

The second sneeze rends her throat, leaving her airways and collar absolutely drenched. With a small, exhausted groan, she allows herself just a brief moment of feeling sorry for herself before tending to her nose. She’s soaked through the fabric in her hands, and finds herself wondering if she needs to worry about running out of cloak. After finding a suitably dry spot, Monica draws a handful of cloak to her face and begins cleaning herself up. The stinging sensation of dry fabric against slick, inflamed skin makes her wince. “How so?”

“Lady Edelgard tells me you’ve had quite the talent for fire magic since you were young, and I must agree. The army would be remiss without a skilled mage such as yourself to set enemy strongholds ablaze.”

If she were alone, Monica would have blown her nose by now, but the thought of doing so in front of someone else makes her stomach twist in a knot. Clearly, if his unprompted arrival at her tent with tea is anything to go by, she's assaulted Hubert (and the rest of the camp, for that matter) with far too great a volume of sick noises as is. Goddess, she hopes Her Majesty hasn't overheard any of this. Monica settles for gently pinching her nose between the slick fabric, which does, blessedly, remove a decent amount of moisture. She gives a tired sigh, cautiously reaching down to retrieve her tea, almost afraid another sneeze will cause her drop it without warning. “What’re you getting at?”

Hubert gestures to the jet black tome strapped to her hip. “You’ve been teaching yourself ice spells recently. Why?”

“What kind of question is that?” She crinkles her nose. “Sometimes it’s more beneficial to freeze an enemy in place than set them on fire. Anyone can benefit from being more versatile.”

“Is versatility truly your reason, though? The elemental whiplash you must be giving yourself can’t be healthy.” Hubert gives her a knowing look as he raises his coffee to his lips.

Monica stares at him, then looks down at her tea. Assailing an enemy with flames, followed up by an ice spell, is going to inflict more pain than fire alone. That’s her reason. It’s that simple.

“We’ve recently been fighting more of the people who imprisoned Her Majesty and me. The dark mages at Magdred, for example. I...” she pauses with a sharp sniffle, frustrated with this cold, frustrated with Hubert for prompting her to confront one of her more wicked impulses at a time like this, frustrated with herself for being such a deeply bitter person. “I want it to hurt.”

Hubert remains silent and his expression unreadable, much to Monica’s annoyance. She presumes that his lack of reaction means she’s just confirmed something he was already aware of. Goddess, she hates how he seems to know her vices better than she knows them herself.

Finally, he speaks. “I understand.” His voice is low and surprisingly sincere. “Not a day goes by that I don’t lament my failure to protect Her Majesty when it mattered most.”

‘I understand’ is a bit of an unspoken compromise between two people who will never truly see eye to eye. Their ire for Edelgard’s captors is not equivalent, and they both know it. Hubert is cold and calculating, more than able to channel his emotions into neat, underhanded tactics that will serve Her Majesty well. But for Monica, it’s a spiteful, burning hatred that hungers for vengeance. It’s selfish and cruel and everything she wishes she wasn’t.

Hubert continues. “But, for Lady Edelgard’s sake, if not your own, I ask that you don’t do this to yourself. Even the most skilled mages aren’t equipped to deal with recoil from opposing elements. I suspect you’re intimately aware of this fact.”

He’s not wrong, Monica must admit. Ice magic has a way of chilling its caster to the bone, and alternating between fire and ice always leaves her a sniffly mess. It’s caused easily-ignored colds to turn debilitating more times than she’d care to let on. She doesn’t know what to say. She hadn’t expected anyone, let alone Hubert, of all people, to care.

Before she can fully sort out her thoughts, a familiar burning sensation bristles at her sinuses. Her mouth hangs slightly open in uncertainty, brow furrowed, and a small, wavering breath sifts through her teeth. Monica teeters on the precipice for just a moment. Watery mucus drips down one flared nostril, then the other, pooling above her lip. She dares not sniffle, or else —

“ihhh-? hehh- hED’SSHuuh!”

She ducks to the side and clings desperately to her teacup as a half-stifled shivery sneeze seizes her, sending another unfortunate deluge of soupy mess down her face. Goddess, she’s tired. “snndffl. ghuhh. You could say that.”

Once again, she sets aside her tea and takes to tending to her nose. “Look, Hubert, I appreciate the concernd, but I...” she trails off with a congested groan and shakes her head. “I don’t know.”

“Far be it from me to lecture you,” Hubert says, standing from his seat on the log and turning to leave, “but destroying yourself won’t change the past.”

“Where are you going?” Monica looks up at him, confused.

“To fetch my kettle. You’re still shaking, and have just about spilled the last of the tea.”

Pulling her cloak a little tighter around herself, she watches him walk back to his tent. She thinks that perhaps, just this once, he might have a point.

[elegyofthemoon]

ngl tho if they dont have my schedule by the end of the day (bc they still havent given me one yesterday) i might explode 🤭

[thistransient]

While I was away, my friend who's down south for a month left his fan for me to borrow. Previously I had either been using my aircon extremely sparingly (only when over 30C at night) or laying on the floor sweating like god intended. The fan's arrival, however, immediately initiated an unprecedented new era of slothfulness. Where at least before there was some motive to go in search of cooler climes (the library, the park at night), now it was entirely realistic to hang out at home, sprawled in front of the device forever. The evils of technology made manifest!

Or so I thought. After a week of this, my paranoia over the one (1) query from the immigration officer was festering, and I was growing cognisant of the fact that I didn't actually want to live out my days in a tiny dark apartment, prostrated at the altar of the artificial breeze. (Or it could also be that I simply don't want to spend the rest of my life in a subtropical heat wave...) I was getting real moody about my prospects, or lack thereof. Today I decided to finally have a go at actually finishing the preliminary test for an editing company whose listing I've come across a couple times (and usually quit halfway through because imagining reading this sort of stuff for 8 hours a day seemed guaranteed to drive me batty). But recently my bff who used to have me proofread his undergrad papers started using ChatGPT to write them, leaving me bereft of grammatical errors to savage (and also the dinners he would trade for my diligent efforts).

So I almost immediately received an email prompting me to move to the next stage, HOWEVER for visa sponsorship apparently the gov't requires either a graduate degree OR a bachelors + 2 years of relevant work experience. No teaching. If blogging and editing for friends counted as experience, I would be golden. Or rather, if I could establish a paper trail for said experience...

[tj-crochets]

Every time you post you make me want to make something!! How do you manage to start and finish so many projects constantly? I’m also disabled and its always so hard to find the spoons to finish my projects 😭

I definitely feel you on the difficulty finding spoons thing, I had multiple days this week where I did absolutely no crafting at all because I was just completely out of spoons. This explanation got long, so it's below a read more

For me, crafting is a...I'm not sure how to word it. A load-bearing hobby? Making a physical, tangible object gets me those good "finished task" brain chemicals while at the same time letting me learn a skill (one of my favorite things to do) and ending up with an object that I will probably eventually give to someone (also one of my favorite things to do, matching objects to the people who will love them). If I go too long without crafting I get antsy and grumpy and I get frustrated easily. Other load bearing hobbies for me are reading and making music; too long without any of them and I feel off-balance, metaphorically. I have a variety of crafts I keep supplies for on-hand for different spoon level days; for me crochet takes less spoons than knitting, which takes less spoons than all but the simplest plushie sewing, which takes less spoons than most quilting. There's some differences; plushie making is less physically taxing for me than quilting but takes a lot more focus, so if I'm having a good physical spoons day but a bad mental spoons day I might opt for quilting instead of plushies? The other thing that's helped me a lot is forgiving myself for unfinished projects. I used to feel guilty when I got hung up on a project and couldn't finish it, and I'd struggle through it and not want to craft and it would take forever and I'd be unhappy the entire time, or I'd set it aside and try to make other things but feel guilty the whole time because I thought I should be making something else. These days, I have gotten a lot better at accepting that I have limits, both physical and mental, and it's okay for me to respect them. Not finishing a crafting project is a morally neutral thing; for me, crafts are for enjoying, and if I enjoyed making the part of the project I made then I got something out of it even if I never finish it. I also think no crafting effort is wasted, you'll learn something from it even if all you learn is that you don't like that particular craft. The other other thing that helps me start and finish so many projects so often is that I am lucky enough to be able to keep the basic supplies for a wide variety of projects on hand at all times, so that I can make almost anything as the whim strikes me (like grumpy bunnies this week). I think of it like keeping a stocked pantry as a baker; you might not know what you'll want to make tomorrow, but you know you'll probably need sugar and flour and salt, and as you learn more about baking you can tailor your stock of supplies to what you like to make (for me in sewing, that means keeping a rainbow of minky and some faux fur on hand, so that I have many colors to choose from because I really enjoy working with color. In knitting, it means keeping a particular yarn in any color on hand because I pretty much only knit beanies these days and I don't care what color they are but do care about the yarn. Your "staple supplies" will vary based on your craft, your preferences, your budget, and your storage space, but I absolutely love being able to impulse craft things)

[slowips]

isn't it so SICK (neutral, but leaning towards a negative tone) that 2023 is coming to a close and i have not started with any of my wips.

[greenmenace]

Sorry for not being around, I've just been a little busy with birthday shenanigans, I'll be 21 next Sunday!

[dontmeanyoudontmissit]

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