#look at me gaining a hyperfixation at the perfect time

[madootles]

fma fma fma

[betaboks]

Hello Sanji

I did that thing I always do when I gain a new hyperfixation, which is to say draw them as Hello Charlotte characters. I had a wonderful time with it

extra doodles n reasonings for character assigning under the cut

Assignment reasonings 🎉 Scarlett/Ichiji: Both are redheads and also the “oldest” sibling in terms of position, though not exactly literally. They’re the ideal of what a perfect child is for their respective families and this is consistently shoved in the face of and used to torment the younger, vastly more “inferior” sibling. Q84/Niji: 90% it’s a vibes thing but he also kinda fits in tandem with Sanji as Charlotte. Q84 is the second Charlotte you meet. You expect her to be similar to the gentle Charlotte you knew before, but quickly find out she is a bully, violent, childish, petty, and willing to sacrifice people to the social machine at her own convenience. There is a lot of underlying hurt there that Niji certainly doesn’t have, but I think he’d fit well there. Florence/Yonji: They’re both kinda silly but it was mostly the limbs thing. Florence was kept in a lab and had her limbs chopped off to test prosthetics and I like the popular theory that Yonji’s arms are also prosthetics. I can also totally see Yonji eating soap. V19/Reiju: v19 is the exploited Charlotte, and the one with very little autonomy over her own actions and herself up until the whole oracle business, I thought so pairing her with Reiju, who also has very little autonomy and is exploited by her family, as fitting. Charlotte/Sanji: They’re both the “original”, not necessarily the first to be there, but the first you’re introduced to, and certainly the kindest out of all of them despite the hardships they suffer.

Little chart for taking the violences between characters as 100% the way they are in HC, which is really funny to me. I forgot when I originally made this thing but actually v19 murdered absolutely everyone on her floor EXCEPT Scarlett so it’s actually worse than the chart suggests.

And a bonus cg redraw.

I kinda hate it the more I look at it but c’est la vie

[rabbitbakery]

A brief reprieve (black Pearl cookie x captain caviar cookie)

I’ve been cooking an au in my silly little brain ever since I started hyperfixating on cookie run yet again. I call it the ✨reformation au✨

Warnings: a little angst but comfort, heavily implied that black Pearl cookie was in love with frilled jellyfish cookie before she “died”, man tits 😔

__________________________________

She doesn’t know what this….MAN has done to her brain but she’s not exactly….thrilled about it. Black Pearl cookie told herself she would NEVER trust a pile of worthless crumbs ever again, it’s only brought her trouble anyway! They are nothing but pathetic- weak! Yet, here she was, waiting for her… captain to visit her once more.

Ever since he and that sentient fish tank dared disturb her in her sunken kingdom, he’s been visiting. She tried to drown him for the first few times, but he was nothing but stubborn- stupidly so in her opinion. He was a persistent little pest, yet she found herself waiting for him at noon on the dot everyday. If he would come, it was always at noon, no sooner or later. Over time she…dreaded his visits less…. The constant storm making the Dustgloom sea’s nearly inhospitable calming with every visit. She doesn’t know what’s wrong with her, her first love betrayed her… took Frilled Jellyfish cookie away from her… but yet she finds herself at the same little alcove underwater, silently watching the horizon for a all too familiar ship.

“Lass? You ‘ere?” Captain Caviar cookies deep, raspy voice called towards the watery blue. That voice… ugh she can’t stand it…After a few minutes she decided to make her appearance, her large, titanic form rose from the depths, looking down at the spec of a man in front of her. 

“What do you want…” her intimidating siren-like voice as loud as always, yet she’s never seen him flinch as many others have.

“There’ ya are pearly, ominous’ per usual huh lass?”. That nickname…that damn nickname… 

“You didn’t answer me…”. Part of her thinks he’s still trying to get something from her, yet she had no Pearl to lose anymore anyway…nothing she would be too beat up about parting with. 

“Can’t I come see ya without needen’ somethin?” He says with a deep chuckle, his hand looming over his pocket on his coat. She never knew why he wore the damn thing, he never buttoned it up anyhow. 

“I gotcha somethin’….”. She tilted her head like a curious cat, her usual slit pupils dilating. He grabbed the mysterious treasure from his pocket, waiting for her to hold out her hand to gift it to her. Black Pearl cookie reluctantly complied, it was probably some kind of cookie junk-

A Pearl. A big one too, full of shine and no imperfections, the lustrous surface shining pinks and grays perfectly… her… her Pearl. 

“Oyster cookie found out bout’ me lil trips down ere’ from me crew, the little scallawags, said she had somethin’ of yer’s from an old family member. Poor lass sounded so torn up bout’ er family stealin’ it.” 

“…” ah…it’s been that long… hasn’t it? He moved on without her…had a family…pasted away…

…

She suddenly dove back under the surface, her long white hair revealing her diving deeper and deeper till she could no longer be seen.

“Wait!- Lass? Ya alright? I’m sorry if I upset ya…” his voice started concerned, fading into disappointment… he was really hoping she’d like it. She might as well be part of his crew by now, and he wasn’t leaving his spot till he was certain she was in tip top shape, so he dropped the anchor and… waited.

…She had it back. Her Pearl, her perfect pearl, her most valued treasure returned to her. All that hatred for Lord Oyster cookie, all that venom she had for him taking what’s rightfully hers…. 

She feels…better. For the first time in centuries she felt like she gained just a little piece of herself that she had ripped from her. She felt…happy, not the joy she felt from watching those crumbs dissolve into nothing by her own hand, no. Content, she felt content. It brought her too tears, and she hasn’t cried in centuries, her cold, vitriolic heart beating with joy. She held it close, clutching it like it would be taken once more…

A tiny, calloused hand touched Black Pearl cookies scaled arm, bringing her back into her senses.

“…Pearly..? Are ya ok..?” His voice was soft, concerned and weary. She doesn’t know what to say, how to feel… and seemingly her face reflects that.

“…what…what does dat’ Pearl mean to ya?” That was all he could think to ask, clearly it meant a lot but he’s never seen her cry, it was unnerving to be frank. The highly feared sea siren, her name could strike terror into even the most experienced sailor, crying.

“…it’s my Pearl…” she mumbled like a scared child.

“…it was a gift to…..” she doesn’t finish her sentence. She hates feeling this weak, this PATHETIC. He’s the pathetic one- HIM. She’s the legendary Black Pearl cookie for almighty seas sake!- She’s a GOD compared to him…. Yet…

“…like… a boyfriend or somethin?” Captain Caviar cookie asked, confused that she even might have had a boyfriend before. Like, jeez poor bloke must’ve been idiotic to upset her this bad. 

“…he got my best friend killed over…THIS.” Her voice was full of venom and vitriol. Her  ginormous trident flew to her claw with a loud ‘SHINCK’. Black Pearl cookies tail shot her to the surface, memories she’d long buried swirling in her mind like a typhoon. The clouds above darkened, a grand thunderstorm forming…

“Why won’t that pest leave me BE!?-“ ‘WAM’ lighting struck a nearby rock face, jagged stones falling into the deep blue.

That pest took her way he got her killed by that stupid land cookie then had the gull to beg for forgiveness she will never forgive him she will ripe everything one of his next to kin to shreds-

“…I’m sorry lass…” his voice interrupted her rage, Captain Caviar, in the most sincere voice she thinks she’s ever heard. Her gaze returned to the water, watching him float next to her, his face etched with worry and a genuine care she’s not seen in  a millennia. 

“If i’dda known givin ye that woulda’ brought back such bad memories I woulda’ kept it to meself’…” Black Pearl cookie felt a pang of something she didn’t know she could feel anymore. Guilt.

“….no…no it’s not…I appreciate it, truly, I do…” the storm calmed, her trident sinking back to the sea floor.

“It’s just…I’m still so….” All his hard work, all his visiting and his care was paying off, she was finally opening up…

“Angry. He just… moved on like he didn’t do anything wrong… like he wasn’t a murderer..” Sharp talons dig into her skin as she said that last part, her eyes slits once more.

“…lass… I don’t mean to sound insensitiv’ but… holdin a grudge against that scurvy dog ain’t gonna change what he did… it’s no good for ya too keep makin urself’ miserable thinkin bout em’..” Captain Caviar cookie was trying his best to be as helpful as he could, but he ain’t trying to get himself turned into fish food quite yet. She just looked… tired now. A deep seeded tiredness that had built and festered, destroying the happy little moon she once was, even if she was insecure she was happy. Now look at her… how pitiful she was now…

“…perhaps your right…but it’s so hard not to be angry at…everything.” She was mad at the Almighty Sea for not protecting tearcrown, her sisters, or her precious servant when she needed her most. She’s mad at her sisters for not allowing her to grow stronger, to train incase of a battle so that maybe, just maybe she could have saved Frilled Jellyfish cookie. She’s mad at ….him. She gave him the ability to quite literally thrive underneath the tranquil waters and he threw it all away as soon as money was offered to him. He sold a part of her to a man who killed her true first love… her Frilled Jellyfish Cookie. She’s mad at herself… her sisters would be so disappointed if they saw her now.

“…I know lass… I know.” From the little things she’s told him before, he knew she had many valid reasons to be so hateful. To look at any living thing with distain, to distrust any cookie she saw. He just wishes she saw him the way he saw her. Captain Caviar cookie would never admit it out loud, but she truly was the most beautiful woman he’s ever seen, cruel yes, mean? Absolutely! But he doesn’t mind, maybe there’s baby sturgeon’s in his brain eating away at his senses but that’s kind of what he liked about her. She was so strong, a force to be reckoned with, yet here he swims next to her, gently speaking to her as she’s in a distressed state.  

After a beat of silence she turns to her more docile small state, while still bigger then him by at least a foot. What Captain Caviar Cookie didn’t expect was for her to launch herself into his arms, curling around him like a boa constrictor. She’s NEVER been affectionate, other then the few pets she occasionally let him do on her head, they never touch.

“! Wow there lass-“

…he smells nice…like salt water and outside.. this was so nice. She can’t remember the last time she hugged someone, sometimes she forgets how touch starved she is. 

“…I like when you visit…” she mumbled into his coat, which she was heavily judging him for not taking it off before he jumped into the water. 

“…what was that lass?” He said smugly and light heartedly

“Shut it you worthless pile of crumbs and let me hug you!” Black Pearl Cookie hissed. There’s his girl. 

“Pfft- oh come on lass I’m teasin!”. She grumbled a bit more before focusing on snuggling up to him more, a deep purring in her throat. 

‘Hehe, like a cat…’ Captain Caviar thought to himself, happily accepting the affection from the siren he had been trying to get the attention of for weeks now. 

…This was nice…it was like all her anger and hatred was gone for but a moment…she felt.. lighter. Her mind more clear.

“…aye… lass you feelin’ alright? Yer scales be turnin…”.

“?” She gazed down at her tail, towards his gaze… pink. The tips of her scales were now pink, how they used to be… 

“WHAT THE?!-“ Black pearls voice screeched, a look of confusion and a little horrified shock on her face. How was that even possible??? All the pigment disappeared from her body when her mind was tainted- what happened???

“Wow wow Pearly calm down, I’m sure you caught a fever or somethin’”. She hates how his voice could always calm her. 

“You should rest lassy, it’s no good for ya to be havin all this excitement if ye are gettin’ sick.” He gently rubs her back, yeah…maybe it was that…

He bid her goodbye, her retiring to her hoard of valuables she had stolen from republic ships over the years. She was not to sleep till she placed her Pearl in a chest she had laying around, hiding it for no other but herself. Her hoard was like it’s own little story, the history of cookies long passed all within this submerged cave. She curled up in her lavished nest, maybe she’d be ok in the morning…

… but she wasn’t.

Her Pearl began gaining its pink shine back, the black pigment swirling and fighting with the soft pastel. The tips of her tail gained its rosey shade back in a soft gradient, her skin less grey… but it wasn’t sickness. She felt….calm. Like a weight had been lifted off her chest even if just a little. The constant storm within her seas calm, grey clouds. While the pain was still there.. it wasn’t in control anymore. 

She didn’t think a measly cookie could make her fall in love ever again….

But clearly she was wrong.

[kaizey]

I had a hypomanic episode at 3am and theorised an irish historical reading of Hoziers 'Foreigners God'

So while I listen to alot of variety while working, Hozier is a common part of my weekly background, and while I was researching for an article on wells in gaelic culture after going out and taking photos of local Sí mounds aswell, I feel like I got hit with the conspiracy theory beam that sent me into an epithany hyperfixation while listening to Foreigners God and how you can read it as a lament for the last millenia of irish history

The first verse talking about a romantacism of pre-christian, or specifically, pre-protestant plantation Ireland (before the Tudor conquest in 1536), given even early irish catholicism was by papl standards, basically pagan, as a wilder, more free place without the stigma enforced through religious and planter society ["She moved with shameless wonder. The perfect creature rarely seen"].

With the arrival of the english "liar brought the thunder", with the lie being able to maybe be read as the lie of "civilising us" ["Since some liar brought the thunder"]

In this, you could view the "She" as being an anthropomorphism of Éire, with the spirit of the people looking towards the author, either a singulr or collective representation of native irish, whos been continuously emptied out spiritually and culturally under colonialism, and now is filled with a growing hatred for not only the planters, but protestantism itself , even at personal cost ["But still my heart is heavy. With the hate of some other man's beliefs"]

The pre-chorus could be seen as a reinforcing of the scorn for the colonial planters, who especially in the 18th and 19th century, would have been mostly interacted with via the landlordism of wealthy protestant english aristocrats who maintained that their actions were justified in the name of "civilising" us, which would always hinge on violence ["Always a well dressed fraud. Who wouldn't spare the rod. Never for me"]

The second verse could be read as the most forward and lamenting, since it opens with the speaker rhetorically questiong their attempts at conforming to the heirarchy and imposed british way of life, and how often for the likes of peasant and working class irish, would mean performing the role of the simple, obediant but charming worker, to cling onto both employment and avoid potential backlash from the planter ["Wondering who I copy. Mustering some tender charm"].

The line returning to the state of Ireland and, assuming this vague time around the 1700's- early 1800's, our country had in essence been stripped of the majority of its natural and cultural resources, let alone any autonomy held by our people. And in that state of oppression, with minimal success in terms of organsed large scale revolution or uprising (e.g the 1798 uprising), Ireland could be read as having little hope of gaining freedom ["She feels no control of her body. She feels no safety in my arms"].

The last stanza of the verse could by far be the most emotional, especially for gaeilgeoirí, with the author lamenting his lack of language to express his pain for whats happened to the irish people. Explicitly, this could be read as being through the massive, systematic decline of Gaeilge. At the end of the 1700's, our population of ~5 million had estimated 3.5 million irish speakers. By 1851, following the famine, this had dropped to 1.5 million, and by 1900, only 600,000 remained on the island. This targeted attempt at cultural extermination had been going on for centuries, largely through the implimentation of Na Péindlíthe, or Penal Laws, specifically and extension of the staute of Kilkenny, which banned the use of irish when natives spoke to colonisers, and in 1851, banned any use of Gaeilge in areas under english rule. And any attempts to use or express our native language, music or culture was met with either legal, or often, violent rebuttal. All which you can read the author as expressing how with all that leaving them increasingly unable to truly express or show true love for the old Ireland that irish people and growing republicanism at the time wished to return to ["I've no language left to say it. But all I do is quake to her. Breaking if I try convey it. The broken love I make to her"]

It then just gets outright literal with the pre-chorus. English was and is not our language. The english cultural, historical and political weights placed on us were not ours. They were foreign words, and foreign ideals of a coloniser forced upon us ["All that I've been taught. And every word I've got. Is foreign to me"]

In no way saying is this valid or a well informed reading, but it was hard not to get sucked into the theorising and seeing serendipity betwen the sadness and loss in our history and the lyrics from one of our best musicians. Anyway. Hope if you enjoyed the mental ramblings if you got this far

[courtrecord]

On twitter sometime ago you described your writing habits as something similar to my own (slow, tedious, perfectionist, compulsive, agonizing over getting the words perfect instead of editing later, etc) And you also wrote a lot of dope things like Galactic 2E and Venture that are I hope you dont mind me saying, deeply inspirational. So coming from someone who hasnt Gotten There yet I have to ask, how do you get yourself to get up and just write the damn thing already?

omg thank u so much, that means more than i can possibly say. i wish i had a better set of advice but honestly so much of my creative work is vibes and hyperfixation based, and every time i finish something i look back on it like “how the fuck did i do that”, but here are the things that work for me. they are very much based on my own particular adhd and writing hangups so ur mileage will definitely vary.

start small: i didn’t start writing ttrpgs with big projects like venture & g2e. i started with a 200 word game, then some one-pagers, then kept growing from there. @jdragsky has talked a lot about the importance of building the skill of finishing things, and small projects are a really good way of doing that. hell, even g2e only exists bc i started with the smaller project of galactic, then went back to it a year later to build on it again.

share as u go: when i started working on bigger games, and this year as i’ve been working on longer fics, friends to share screenshots of my wip have been invaluable. that way i can get the immediate validation of someone reading my thing and giving feedback without feeling like i need to Publish it yet. biggest shoutout in the world to my friends who tolerate my writing nonsense.

write in chunks: this is kind of the combination of those first two points. bob games are big piles of little lists. i tend to write fic in short, impactful scenes. i have a wip that’s an sbr game, which is a big pile of little advances. that way, i am constantly getting that feeling of accomplishment when i write something. i can agonize over word choice and vibes and editing but then i actually get to a stopping point, where i like that little bit enough to move on to the next one. it seems crazy looking back that i wrote 36 places & 36 traits for g2e, but i didn’t just sit down and knock them all out. i wrote a few, sent them to some friends, then i wrote a few more. u know?

don’t force it: sometimes, the vibe just isn’t there. sometimes, u spend a year doing barely any writing or game design bc there’s a pandemic and ur brain doesn’t work anymore. etc. i’ve thought a lot the past few years about the difference btwn the feeling of wanting to write bc i want to write the thing, and the feeling of wanting to write bc i like the idea of being the person who wrote the thing. when i realize i’m in that second mindset, i go and think about something else. bc no good writing comes from that (at least ime)

find what u like: this is kinda related to the one above, but it’s another thing i’ve been thinking about lately. i spent a lot of time when i was younger assuming that bc i like writing, i had to write a novel, bc that’s what writers do. i would try to follow writing advice made for people who simply aren’t me. “writers must learn to use description sparingly” lol way ahead of u. that kinda thing. realizing that i love writing fanfiction for its transformativity, and i love writing dialogue bc it’s what i’m good at, was a huge revelation. i can just do that. i don’t have to follow the regular writer mold when i can just write really fucking good dialogue-heavy fanfiction. and in that realization, i’ve been able to grow as a writer by gaining the ability to write things down that i’m happy with, and grow from there.

prescription adderall: i told u this list was a mess. this one has kinda been crucial for me. i realized i had adhd in my first year of college in 2017 and started taking adderall for my second year of college in mid-2018. i started churning out creative projects in 2019. coincidence? absolutely not oh my god are u kidding

[tobi-smp]

Please what���s the moomin reference I’m dying to know

Context: [Link 1, Link 2]

*breaths deeply in two year long hyperfixation* wELL

I've tried to write this post a Few times without going into a full essay about what moomin is, as that's Not necessary for answering the question. however, I am unfortunately me and this is the Writes Essays Blog. so I've simply decided I will be a nuisance instead.

but the plus side is that I've been thinking about writing about some of my other fandoms here for a while ! so, for a crash course on the franchise:

“moomin,” “the moomins,” or “moominvalley” is a franchise originally stemming from first novels and then comics written in the 1940s-50s by the finnish author tove jansson, which has since ballooned with Many adaptations and other such goodies (like themeparks and games). 

it’s most popular adaptation is hands down the 90s anime adaptation ! which took tove’s charming designs and calming atmosphere and kicked it up to 11 with a long-form slice of life series

but all versions have their own particular flair and tone, even two versions created by tove herself are Very different. with the comics having a focus in on the absurd and comedic and the novels, while certainly Having those elements, also focus in on more serious themes and melancholy!

(here's a brief rundown for the differences in the adaptations for anyone interested ! [Link])

of course, moomin was a relatively unknown entity in the us because it never officially released here, but there was a brief boom here on tumblr in 2019 thanks to the release of a new adaption (called moominvalley)!

it was a perfect storm for a couple reasons:

1: while it can be a bit difficult to track down the series in the us, the Characters are all extremely accessible. with their designs alone you can pick up on who and what the main cast are both Quickly and Scarily Accurately, with the fandom largely rising Before most people had found access to the content itself flkjfdaskjkjl

they're Incredibly Simple characters that still lend themselves well to complexity. they aren't blank slates in the slightest, but they're easy to Bend and reimagine and flesh out. which is really appealing to fandom spaces!

2: having multiple different fleshed out iterations to choose from meant that if you looked you could most likely find something that suited your taste! (it'd be an incredibly accessible franchise if they'd actually make their content Accessible world wide)

3: this is Especially relevant in how the franchise can act as both escapism and catharsis. the 90s anime especially is a comfortable cottage-core fantasy to sink yourself into and forget the woes of real world (something that was about to become Very relevant in 2019), but the novels were specifically written for an audience that was actively living through war.

and while tove never wanted to make the franchise Dark or Gritty, she wanted to create a series that could help children process and come to terms with some of the feelings they Would realistically be experiencing. one of the very first novels is "Comet in Moominland," where a great comet is coming down to crash into the earth. it still engages with comedy and with the absurd, and of course nobody Dies, but it was very intentionally trying to create an accessible outlet to understand Tragedy and Fear. among lots of other things ! and this is, of course, tempered with the warm comforts of friends and family and community.

I think there's a lot to be gained by sifting through this franchise Now honestly. something that can both Distract from the bleakness and help process it, with a certain gentleness either way.

4: tove jansson was an Incredibly queer woman, and this absolutely bleeds into her work and the adaptations that followed!

while inspiration isn't an Exact one-to-one, tove Has spoken about her inspirations for her characters before. moomin (the character) draws a great deal from herself while snufkin, moomin's "best friend" and a funny little beastie, draws from her lovers both in personality and in relationship to moomin!

a big inspiration for snufkin was a man who had nearly been her husband, a vagabond and a socialist for that matter. the official moomin site (which is cannot stress enough, is representative of the franchise itself and heavily curated) describes That as follows [Link]:

In many ways the relationship of Moomintroll (Tove’s alter-ego) and Snufkin describes the relationship between Tove and Atos. Moomintroll admires Snufkin who still is quite distant and very often Moomintroll is also experiencing a deep sense of longing and yearning when Snufkin is leaving to his adventures or choosing to be at peace with his own thoughts. Moomintroll tries to understand Snufkin’s desire for freedom, even though the waiting is not easy.

Just like Tove admired Atos and just like Tove waited for Atos, his love confessions and commitment. [End transcription]

but it was Also based, in part, on the woman who was her wife in all but legality. [Link 1, Link 2] Having met some time 1956 and having stayed life long partners until tove's death in 2001.

they'd built a home together on an island where they'd go to stay every summer, enjoying their own travels and adventures along the way !

come winter, moomin would pine for snufkin as he made his yearly travel down south, but the spring and summer months would always bring snufkin's return! and all the love and warmth that came with him uwu

How exactly that bleeds through in the franchise itself is well. Extensive. picking literally any iteration and trying to lay out, in full, the queer themes present would be an essay longer than this one. so instead have a small selection to illustration the point:

[Link 1, Link 2, Link 3, Link 4, Link 5, Link 6]

now, naturally, this was (and is) queercoding rather than explicit representation, but this was a queer woman pushing the boundaries of what was allowed to Be in children's media starting in the 1940s and onwards.

there's something About a woman who lived a full and happy life with the woman she loved, pouring that love into her life's work to create a foundation of care and acceptance for the generation that'd come after her, only to see a resurgence of queer teens See her and say what she wasn't allowed to out loud.

which brings us to !

5: the general blanket of pure acceptance radiating from the series.

that's not necessarily anything New for a children's franchise, but in combination with everything else it creates an environment for an absolute comfort series. this fragment of an article about the series has far and away wormed it's way into my mind in some irreversible way (and that's quite a good thing) [Link]:

In most fiction, family is what you escape from if you want to fulfill yourself. For Jansson, family is a place of tolerance, where we can fail and become ourselves. Her experience of growing up gay is there in Snufkin – who is all the more loved for being different. Like the prodigal son, everyone is so thrilled to see him, no one ever asks him where he has been. It’s there too, in Too-Ticky, Jansson’s portrait of her partner. And above all it’s there in the wonderful story where Moomintroll is transformed into the bug-eyed King of California, and his mother recognises him straight away. [End transcription]

the quickest and most accurate description for this series, this franchise as a whole, that I could give is Warmth.

that's not to say that it's All roses. tove herself was an icon, but moomin company is a Company in charge of a franchise in the same ball park as disney properties. but considering there's no way to legally support moomin in the states I'd say the morality of engaging with it on that basis isn't exactly the most pressing of issues.

now with all of That out of my system: the actual information relevant to the comparison.

one of the stories in moomin (the novels, the 90s anime, and the 2019 adaptation, though I'm most familiar with the latter) is "The Invisible Child." [Link]

it's the story of ninny, an invisible child that moomin and co find and bring into their home to try to figure out Why she's invisible and how to fix it.

as we come to find out, ninny went invisible and lost her voice (even the ink on paper she tried to write on going invisible) because she'd been made to Feel invisible through the neglect of her aunt.

the moomins help ninny find her confidence again, with small aspects coming back to her as they make progress and regressing as they make missteps. but the ultimate point is that she needs to feel Seen and Heard.

that feeling of not having a voice, of not having a Presence, taking on the form of a Physical curse of invisibility.

it's a concept that meshes Extremely well with tommy's situation, even Without the headcanon.

[hollandorks]

shadows in the night

battinson!bruce wayne x f!reader

chapter eighteen

summary: more than a year after the events of middle of the night, y/n and Bruce are happily engaged and working to lower the amount of crime in Gotham. However, a new killer calling himself the Riddler has other plans for their happiness…set during the events of the movie, mostly canonical, some changes made to fit the story

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to get posted! In case you missed it, I had my wisdom teeth removed which knocked me on my ass for a full week. But during that time I rewatched Daredevil and hyperfixated again, all of which created the perfect storm of writer’s block for this fic. But the newest chapter is finally here! Thanks for your patience! Only a handful of chapters left, plus the epilogue...

Series Masterlist

word count: 4070

She thought she heard the words “For your own good,” before darkness overtook her and the world fell away.

Bruce’s POV

The moment Bruce figured out where the shot had come from, he panicked. 

Y/n had been looking to see if she could find a lead–and the Riddler was up there, shooting. Where was y/n? 

He was already reeling from Falcone’s confession. Whatever I know, whatever I’ve done, it’s all going with me to my grave…even that little incident last year with the gala. 

Falcone had been responsible for all of it–whether it was to wipe out those like the ex-mayor who were gaining too much power, or if he had been the puppet master all along, Falcone had been responsible. 

He didn’t have time for those thoughts, though. Y/n was up there in that apartment building somewhere, where the Riddler was shooting. 

Bruce burst through the window into the apartment building, every nerve singing with adrenaline. But the apartment was empty. No y/n, no Riddler. Bruce checked his phone for anything from her. The only thing she had sent was the number to the apartment he was currently standing in. 

And nothing else. 

The cops burst in, guns drawn, shouting and sounding like a pack of wild animals. 

Bruce turned and pocketed his phone with an easy motion. He strode towards Gordon, a familiar anger roiling within him as he said, “He’s gone.” 

The other police officers began to search the apartment while Gordon followed Bruce to the open window and the rifle that had been left behind. There was a perfect view of where they’d all been standing only minutes before. Of Carmine Falcone’s body. 

“He’s been here this whole time,” Gordon said, disgust coloring his tone darkly. 

Bruce glanced around before he murmured, “Y/n came to look around while I was inside the club. She was trying to figure out where those photos of the mayor had been taken. Trying to find a lead.” He told himself not to panic–he was certain he’d hear from her soon. Maybe she was looking in another area, completely unaware of the chaos that had happened, was still happening. “She sent me the apartment number.” 

But Bruce also remembered the Riddler’s words in his video. He liked y/n, had been inspired by her. So what if he’d seen her poking around? What if–

“I’ll keep an eye out,” Gordon murmured back. “I’m sure she’s fine.” 

Bruce almost snorted. He wasn’t confident in her ability to stay out of trouble, even after their most recent conversation. She’d found the apartment, somehow, and texted it to him so he’d know. But then had she left? Was she waiting at the Batmobile for him? Up on the roof? Had she followed the Riddler as he’d escaped? 

A crackle of one of the nearby radios interrupted Bruce’s thoughts.

“Lieutenant!” said another officer, holding up the radio for Gordon. “Martinez.” 

“Yeah?” Gordon said into the radio. 

Martinez’s voice was a harried whisper. “Lieutenant, we got a witness here, says she saw someone coming down the fire escape right after the shot. She said he went into the corner diner. The guy’s sitting by himself at the counter, right now.” 

Gordon and Bruce exchanged a look. Maybe the witness was y/n. But why wouldn’t she have called Bruce or Gordon first? Unless she wanted to keep an eye on the Riddler herself, keep him from getting away, and had grabbed the first officer she’d come across. There were dozens in the area at that moment, after all. 

Bruce, Gordon, and several of the other officers around them all rushed back outside. Bruce didn’t bother with the stairs, merely attaching his grappling hook to the fire escape outside the window and swinging down. 

A bunch of officers were converging on the diner already, moving in quickly and efficiently while Bruce watched. He found Officer Martinez, who had his gun drawn but hanging loosely at his side, ready but not trigger-happy. 

“Where’s the witness?” he asked, startling Martinez so badly his gun jerked up. As soon as Martinez saw who was next to him, he lowered the gun again with a guilty expression. 

“Right over there,” Martinez said with a nod. He joined the procession going towards the diner, Gordon at the helm. 

Bruce’s heart leapt hopefully as he followed the man’s gaze but–

It wasn’t her. 

He resisted the urge to curse. As Gordon and the others stormed the diner, Bruce sent y/n a text with shaking fingers. Where was she? He called her right after he sent the text. 

Straight to voicemail. His jaw ached from clenching it so hard. 

If she wasn’t the witness and she wasn’t answering her phone…Bruce’s thoughts turned dark. 

If that bastard had hurt her, done anything to her–Bruce didn’t care about his no killing rule. He would tear the Riddler limb from limb, rip him apart piece by piece, if he had done anything to her. He would make the man suffer for a long, long time until either Bruce got tired of it or the Riddler died from his injuries. 

Bruce strode to the window of the diner, watching as the man who called himself the Riddler was forcefully shoved against the counter and handcuffed. The Riddler met Bruce’s gaze through the fogged glass and smiled. 

Bruce suddenly had a very bad feeling. 

The man was utterly normal in every way, almost boyish, and it only made that sickening smile more unnerving. Like the Riddler knew something Bruce didn’t. Like he had done something they hadn’t yet discovered. 

Within minutes, Bruce was back at the apartment with Gordon, eyes searching through the clutter and chaos for something, anything, to tell him where y/n was as forensic examiners went over the place inch by inch. 

Because something had happened to her. He was sure of it. He shoved the worry and fear down, down, down until his head could clear enough to think. Gordon seemed to understand the urgency, muttering to another cop about keeping an eye out for anything strange. 

“Stranger than this?” The cop huffed a laugh. He had a point, Bruce supposed. The apartment was…like seeing inside the mind of a killer. 

Newspaper clippings were papered across the walls that weren’t covered with full shelves. Bruce’s gaze snagged on a few. With a start, he realized he recognized several of them. A lot of them showed y/n. Those that didn’t have her in them showed his parents. He was very sick to his stomach, even as a hot wave of rage crested within him in the same breath. 

There was their engagement announcement. The grand opening of the Gotham Project, with y/n radiant as she cut the ribbon, Bruce himself just a shadow behind her, trying to make sure the attention was on her and not him. There were articles about the gala too–and a taped up picture of y/n, the one Alfred had used in the engagement announcement, that had the words “informant” scrawled across it with an arrow pointing to an article about the gala. 

And there were notebooks everywhere–journals–giving insight into the actual mind of the Riddler. Bruce felt another chill skitter down his spine. Something wasn’t right here, and it wasn’t just because they were in the living space of a killer. He grabbed at one of the journals, flipping slowly through it. The chill only worsened. 

The question was a refrain in his mind as he skimmed the words within the journal. Where is she where is she where is she where is she?

One of the officers was giving Bruce a dirty look. “Hey, Lieutenant! You really okay with this? What about chain of evidence?” 

Gordon turned from where he’d been speaking with someone else. 

Bruce didn’t have time for any of that bullshit. “You should see this,” he told Gordon. He held out the journal. He ignored the aggravating officer completely. 

“He’s wearing gloves,” Gordon told the complaining officer in a dry tone. Bruce felt grateful for a moment that Gordon had his back. That Gordon would help him find y/n. 

“Friday, July 16th. My life has been a cruel riddle I could not solve, suffocating my mind, no escape,” Gordon began reading. “But then, today, I saw it. A single word on this ledger, sitting on the desk beside me. ‘Renewal.’ The empty promise they sold to me as a child in that orphanage. One look inside, and finally I understood. My whole life has been preparing me for this. The moment when I would learn the truth. When I could finally strike back and expose their lies.”

As Gordon read, Bruce looked around the apartment again, eyes searching for more clues, more hints. He saw prototypes for the various instruments of torture and bombs the Riddler had already used. Cages, full of rats. Bruce zeroed in on the chittering animals even as Gordon continued reading the journal entry in a low, steady voice. 

“If you want people to understand, really understand, you can’t just give them the answers. You have to confront them, torture them with the horrifying questions, just like they tortured me. I know now what I must become.” Gordon paused, voice wavering slightly. “Jesus.”

Bruce frowned slightly at one of the cages. Not a rat, but a bat. 

“Don’t think that rat likes you, man,” Gordon said from behind him as the bat started thrashing against its cage. 

“This one’s not a rat,” Bruce said as he reached for the card addressed for him, taped to the top of the cage’s interior. Attached to the card was something Bruce recognized, if only from its outline. 

“What is that?” Gordon asked as Bruce handed it over. 

They’d drawn some attention now. The officer who was concerned about the chain of evidence asked, “Some kind of pry tool?” as another officer stepped forward and said, “Is it a chisel?” 

“It’s a murder weapon. He killed Mitchell with it. The edge will match the floorboard impression in the mayor’s study.” Bruce flipped open the card as he explained. 

There were only two words written inside. “‘My confession’?” Gordon read. “What’s he confessing to? He already told us he killed Mitchell.” 

The chill weighing down Bruce’s limbs was growing stronger with every moment. He tried to keep his mind from leaping there but–maybe the Riddler had recently committed another murder right on the coattails of his attack on Falcone. 

“This isn’t over,” Bruce said, trying to convey to Gordon what he was thinking with just his eyes. His heart was starting to thrash in his chest like the bat inside the cage next to him. It pounded out one word in its panic–her name. He had to reign it in, couldn’t let anyone know how deeply invested in her wellbeing he was. No one other than Gordon, who already at least knew she’d been working with him that night. 

Bruce’s internal spiral was interrupted by one of the forensic examiners who was standing beside a computer. “Oh, man. He’s been posting all kinds of shit online. He’s got, like, 500 followers. Real fringe types.” 

Bruce was finally able to take in the full scale of the Riddler’s insanity as he got a close look at that wall of newspaper articles. Across the top it read THE TRUTH ABOUT GOTHAM. A campaign poster for Mitchell had the eyes scratched out. Another from Bruce’s father’s campaign had the word MURDERER written over it in red. 

And pictures of y/n–so many pictures of y/n with notes written in ciphers all around them. One article, bigger than the others, from the year before with the ex-mayor’s mugshot on it: Is Gotham’s corruption at an end? Bruce recognized that article–y/n had frowned at it all morning the day it came out. It had been a couple of weeks after their first date. Her fingers had absently pressed against the scar at her abdomen as she’d read. 

Another large article caught his eye. WHO IS THE BATMAN? it read. 

“His final post was last night,” the same man was saying, but Bruce wasn’t listening. “Some video. Got a lot of views, but it’s password-protected.” 

“Can you get in?” Gordon asked. 

“Copying his drive now. Take some time, but we’ll get in.”

But Bruce was wholly focused on the words next to the Batman article. I know the REAL you, it said, white words over a background colored black. 

Heart pounding, the pieces started rapidly falling into place as Gordon said, “Show me the post.” 

“It’s right here.” 

“‘The Truth Unmasked,’” Gordon murmured. 

Y/n, the articles about Thomas Wayne, Riddler’s obsession with the Batman. Had taking her been some sort of trap? A trap for him? 

“I think I’m his last target,” Bruce said. His voice was calm despite the weight of the revelation hitting him so hard his knees wanted to buckle.

“You?” Gordon said. Bruce was grateful he didn’t dismiss him outright despite the skeptical look. 

“Maybe this is all coming to an end,” Bruce said softly as he continued staring at that video. What did it say? Had it revealed his identity? Did it have one final clue for Gotham to figure it out themselves? 

“What is?” Gordon asked, a note of urgency in his voice. 

“The Batman.” Bruce swallowed hard. Outside, his body was still, but the inside of his mind was a hurricane of panic. Fear thrashed inside of him like gale-force winds, storm surges of cold rage chasing the fear, his whole body feeling beat up with the force of it even as he remained outwardly unmoved. 

Gordon’s phone started ringing. 

But Bruce didn’t have time to panic. First, he had to make sure y/n was safe. His mind whirled with several plans at once as he tried to figure out what to do. If his identity was the price to pay to keep her safe, so be it. He would pay it a thousand times over if he had to. He’d planned for the possibility anyways–funneling money and assets into accounts she could access should something happen to him, should he go to jail or get killed or injured so severely he turned into a vegetable. He’d left instructions for Alfred to take y/n and run as far as possible should Bruce’s identity be revealed. No need for it to blow back on either of them. 

How had the Riddler figured it out? Bruce needed to know–but only once he knew y/n was safe. 

Gordon was staring at Bruce as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the phone call. 

“Right,” he said slowly as he hung up. This is it, Bruce thought. “Riddler’s asking for you. At Arkham.” 

Bruce nodded slightly. He stepped forward to leave, but paused next to Gordon. “You’re a good cop,” he said. He tried to convey everything in those few words–gratitude for the man who had helped him without needing to know his identity, a man who hadn’t been corrupted when so many others had. A man who had helped him keep y/n safe, who had saved her life at the gala when Bruce had been able to. 

Gordon looked utterly puzzled at the compliment. “I’ll keep looking for her, yeah?” he said in a soft voice. 

“Yeah,” Bruce repeated. He’d find a way to beat her location out of the Riddler if he had to, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Gordon continue to look for her. Bruce would have lied, would have told Gordon to “call Bruce Wayne to let him know she was missing” but there was no use. Not when his identity was about to become public knowledge. 

As Bruce went back outside to where he’d left the Batmobile–where they’d left it, y/n with her pictures and he to go save Selina and capture Falcone–he called y/n’s phone again. No answer. He bit back a curse as he started the car with a growl that echoed his own urgency. There was no sign of her. 

Where was she? Was she hurt? Was she–

Bruce shut the thought down. No. The Riddler was inspired by her. And she wasn’t corrupt, like all of his other victims had been. She had no ties to corruption other than whatever vague ties she now had to Thomas Wayne because of Bruce. 

The Riddler wouldn’t hurt her. He wouldn’t. 

Bruce clung to that lie as he sped toward Arkham, toward answers, towards the end of the Batman. 

Reader’s POV

The world came back to y/n slowly. Her head ached fiercely. Her mouth tasted like cotton. No–that was actual cloth in her mouth. She groaned around it and tried to wriggle so she could take it out. 

Her hands and feet were tied. 

Her eyes snapped open just as a boot connected with her thigh. 

“Quiet,” an unfamiliar voice hissed. Y/n couldn’t help the grunt of pain from the kick, though. It was on the same side as her bruised hip, the one that had cracked against the stone floor when she’d tackled that boy at the memorial. God–the memorial. That had been weeks ago, it felt like. But it had only been a handful of days. So much had happened in those short few days. 

Squinting around the pain in her head, y/n glanced up at the man who had spoken. He was dressed in a familiar dark green coat, mask, and glasses. 

The Riddler. 

Her heart dropped.

He had taken her. 

She inhaled shakily through her nose. Her hands were bound in front of her, thankfully, and her ankles were bound as well, but the Riddler had a rifle in his hands and was staring down at her. 

Y/n decided to wait to try any kind of Houdini act, even as she cursed colorfully in her mind. 

She took a moment to glance around, confusion warring with fear to be at the forefront of her mind. She was surrounded by metal–walkways, supports, wires. Above her was a domed glass ceiling that vaguely stirred recognition, though she couldn’t immediately place it. 

It wasn’t until she looked over and down that she realized where she was. 

The fear whited out every sight, every sound, everything except for a faint roaring in her ears. 

Below her was Gotham Square Garden Stadium. There were people everywhere, rows upon rows of seating, digital signs for Bella Reál, and a stage set at the center. 

And y/n was above it all. 

She squirmed in earnest now, panicked, needing to get out, to get away. The Riddler was planning something for the event, and it wouldn’t be good. 

And Bruce–Bruce had no idea where she was. None. He had no idea what was coming, what the Riddler had planned. 

Fuck, she thought desperately. Fuck. This isn’t good. It was an understatement. Falcone was dead, y/n was a captive, and there were soon going to be hundreds if not thousands of people at the event. 

“I said quiet,” the voice hissed again, and there was another burst of pain against her leg as he kicked her again. 

Y/n glared up at him, but then stilled. 

There were other men, all dressed the same, all peering at her curiously.

All carrying rifles.

The fear turned into something darker, sharper. She felt like a cornered animal, trapped with no hope of escape. 

She had to let Bruce know, had to tell him the event was being targeted. But how? 

She tried to subtly check if she still had her phone. Maybe she could text Bruce, or Gordon, or both. There had to be something she could do. 

But her phone was gone. 

The fear made it hard to come up with a plan. She was tied up, surrounded by guns, and Bruce had no idea where she was. But if she didn’t do something, anything, people were going to die. A lot of people. And maybe Bruce. Because even though he’d be too late to stop the destruction that was surely coming, Bruce would still come and he would still fight. And he would lose. 

Y/n had to do something. 

She was still wearing her suit, though her mask was gone. She supposed she didn’t really need it anyways. These men, if they were aligned with the Riddler, knew who she was, what she’d done. And maybe that was why she was still alive. 

Would the Riddler have her killed? Or was she simply under guard for now, until he could come? Because she realized now that none of the masked men around her were him. The man who had kicked her was too tall, too lean. The real Riddler would be close to her, gloating, probably asking her questions, if he were here. 

No, the real Riddler wasn’t here. At least not yet. 

Think, y/n told herself. He didn’t kill her when they were alone in the apartment. Why? 

Either it was because she was an inspiration to him–the thought of which still made her physically ill–or it was for something else. 

She didn’t like where her mind went. 

“Two minutes,” came a breath of a whisper from the man who’d kicked her. She saw the whisper passed around the gathered men. 

Two minutes until what? 

Y/n tried not to bring attention to herself, not yet, not until she had some sort of a plan. 

Okay, so the Riddler either had some sort of weird crush on her, or she was a part of something bigger than that. Based on his actions so far, she was a part of something bigger. He hadn’t planned for her to show up, but he also hadn’t seemed too surprised. 

His whispered words came back to her, right before pain had exploded in her head and the world had gone dark. 

For your own good. 

He was protecting her. From what? For what? From accidentally getting caught in the crossfire at the event that was going to take place below them? That seemed most likely. 

But she had a feeling that she was bait. 

Bait for Bruce. 

For Batman. 

She had to do something, fear be damned. 

She very casually stretched out her bound feet and winced a little, as if working out the numbness. 

“I’m going to stop you,” she said through her gag to the men around her, though none of the words actually came out as anything other than garbled noise. If they were wanting her to keep quiet, the noise would draw their attention, which is what she wanted. 

The man who’d kicked her twice now came striding back over. Even with the mask on, she could see the ire flashing in his eyes. 

He leaned over in front of her, gun pointing dangerously close to her face, and hissed, “I don’t care what he says, I’ll put a bullet in you if you don’t shut up.” 

Interesting, she thought. Riddler definitely didn’t want her dead. 

Threat of bullets or no, she had to at least try to help until Bruce would show up. Knowing the Riddler, he’d left clues. She just hoped that Bruce figured them out soon enough to stop this, whatever it was. 

Quick as a flash, y/n struck out with her legs, swiping the guy’s ankles. He went tumbling down, barely managing to hold his gun aloft as he fell. Her shoulders slammed into the floor as the movement made her lose her balance. She wasted no time and kicked both heels into his face, grimacing at the muffled crunch of his nose breaking behind the mask. She kicked again and his gun went skidding away from them both. 

Three other men came hurrying forward. One of them yanked her back roughly by the back of her neck.

She had to hand it to them, they were quiet. Even with a broken nose, the man in front of her hadn’t shouted or cursed. The rest of them had reacted quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Who the fuck were they? 

She glared at the man as he got to his feet before her. He glared back. Someone handed him back his gun. 

He raised it and pointed it at her. 

Fuck, she thought again. She hadn’t thought he’d actually shoot her. And all she’d done was give him a broken nose. 

She braced herself for the inevitable shot. 

Then came the first explosion.

Next Chapter

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[gummy-axolotl]

Hey I meed help staying awake rn

Tell me about your latest hyperfixation

Good morning. It's probably too late at this point but I'm happy to tell you anyway!

Currently my biggest hyperfixation is the 2019 indie game called "Smile for Me," by LimboLane :)

It's a point and click puzzle game where you have to help cheer up the people around you!

All of the puzzles are so much fun, with silly items and quests to make everyone happy :)

I love interacting with all of the characters, they're all so unique and interesting!

The art style is absolutely amazing, with so many interesting colors and shapes, each character is incredibly well designed and fun to look at.

I'm gonna tell you about a few of my favorite characters (everybody is my favorite but these guys are Top Three)

Putunia Mollar!! She's a little girl who loves super heroes!! She's so freaking cute I love her so much I squeal every time I interact with her she's ADORABLE

Kamal Bora!! HHHH HE'S SUCH A GUY. HE'S AMAZING. SOPPING WET CAT. GRGRGARTARGRTGEAJDHAHDKHD Ahem sorry. He's so funny and cool and I love him so much I cannot articulate akdhsjfhdhkf he's half of my otp <3 he and Doctor Habit are sooooo divorced I love them so much he's so silly and sweet he's a lil nervous wreck AUGH

Anyway, he was Habit's ex-assistant, and helped him build the habitat. He helps you near the end of the story to get to Habit's office to confront him.

And my favoritest of all time!!!!!! Doctor Habit!!!! He's my husband we kiss every day 😌

He is the founder of the habitat, and is in charge of making people happy! But he doesn't actually want people to smile... He wants to keep them sad until the day of the Big Event, where he will use a giant machine to produce laughing gas to drug everyone so he can steal their teeth for himself.

Throughout the game, you can find diary pages from throughout his life, which tell you his backstory.

When he was a child, he just wanted everyone to be happy. He loved flowers and wanted to be a florist. But his parents were abusive, and when he was ten, his father, disapproving of his femininity, hit him, leaving his favorite flower dead and his teeth broken.

Later in life, he gained an interest in teeth, and was angry that people who never smiled got to have perfect teeth and never use them, while he who loved to smile had broken teeth.

Which is why he wanted to steal other's teeth- he wanted to have the biggest smile, to cheer up the most people.

Anyway, once you finally meet him at the end of the game, you can either kill him, or give him a flower, a rare lily, the same one he had growing up. This lets you get the true ending of the game, having cheered up every single person in the habitat.

There's a lot more stuff I could talk about but I'm half awake still so I'm done for now sjdhjsfj

Hope you enjoyed! I highly recommend this game 💜💜💜

[joanofexys]

about yapping: my current topic of predilection that nobody seems to get is how nonexistent school teachings about animals are.

for ref, i'm from Québec, Canada, and truly learned nothing about animals from preschool all the way to uni. until last year i didn't know sharks were fish (most of them) and not mammals. i only discovered my passion for monkeys and apes at uni, by luckily having the option to have a primatology class as an elective. vet tech for zoos? never knew that was an option. whale psychology? don't know her! dogs????

my Indian friend has taught me many things from her mandatory, government approved cursus, and that's when it truly clicked that i knew jackshit and never had the opportunity either.

wbu?

WAIT FR???

I'm in the US so I can't say we learned a ton but it was def like a focus. Especially in bio class. Idk I talked about animals a lot. We had animal science specific classes. I looked at specimens and shit all the time. In elementary school we had to do multiple presentations a year on different animals of our choice

It's not like a super heavy part of our learning unless you decide to specialize in it but that's crazy to me that it's just not a focus at all (my little kid self with differing hyperfixations on a variety of animals just could not help it)

Idk I think my big school related hangup is abt like the way people treat English classes and the lack of recognition that they are actively media literacy classes. I think if I don't end up majoring in journalism that I'll be an English major (I graduated with double the required English credits lmao). And also how it bothers me how little variety tends to be offered for English credits. Kids gain a lot more from English courses when you give them options for how they gain those credits. I took creative writing 1, then 3, then 1 again, then 2 all throughout high school. I did English honors, English 11, and a college English course. I took Mythology and Film & Lit and Mystery. And I don't know I guess I have always loved it but also being offered that variety really fueled my passion for it and I think if it was taught more that kids don't have to be good at writing essays or have perfect grammar to still understand media and enjoy literature and be able to articulate what they gained from it that there would be a lot more people actively recognizing that English teaches good media literacy when you bother to give it the time of day. And yeah my grammar was complete shit through all of that. It's late. I don't care. I just feel really passionate about English classes

[midnightwerewoolf]

your mysme is reminding me of like back in the day when I played the game. I actually started playing because of Seven. I am a slut for characters with red/orange hair. And I was super into those like lying bastard boys who are mostly lying to hide some underlying weakness. It really was a time XD.

What's funny is that while I already showed a few preferences when it comes to fictional guys, I became so high-key hyperfixated on him I hyper analyzed him the whole time and he ended up being the biggest blueprint of what I like, which is in extremely simpler terms fun loving guys with a big heart who are witty and really smart... Also gingers. I ended up gaining a weakness for gingers, bonus points if they have fluffy hair. The lying is just a little fun added thing when you can see right through them and know them well enough, BESIDES FLIRTING WITH SEVEN IS SO FUN, IT'S JOKE FLIRTING BUT NOT REALLY, IT'S FOR LAUGHS AND HAVING A GOOD TIME AND IT'S SO AAAAAAH.

I COULD GENUINELY WRITE AN ENTIRE ESSAY ON THAT MAN.

And honestly? Can you blame me?

Mystery man, fun loving guy, mischievous dude, flirtatious guy, smart as hell, he could create anything he puts his mind into, he cares so much about those close to him he will help them even if they don't ask for his help and in his own way. THIS MAN LOOKS AMAZING IN A DRESS AND PULLS IT OFF BETTER THAN I EVER COULD.

1000/10 HE'S PERFECT.

LITERALLY THE ONLY PERSON WHO WOULD HAVE A CHANCE TO GET ME TO ACCEPT MARRIAGE.

[elvhenfaer]

Dog Breeds of Thedas: on a personal note.

I apologize in advance for the ramble, but I had to live in the real world for a second.

For those following the Dog Breeds of Thedas series, I reiterate: I am using years of canine behavior study and hands on training to inspire these breed entries. Everything I write in them? I mean it. Unwanted behavior is the single deadliest threat to dogs. It is the number one reason that dogs are taken to shelters and are often not able to be adopted out to new families. Dog breeds exist precisely because we wanted what amounts to employees, each one for their own purpose. Do you know how many people I have met who got a dog “because it was cute/cool looking”? A gardener who loves her flowers and can’t stand that her terrier is digging in the garden bed, like it was bred to do. A frat boy who throws lots of parties and doesn’t want his guard dog growling at guests, like it was bred to do. A regular person who can’t figure out why their herding dog has hyperfixations, like it was bred to have. These are just a few examples.

So to all of my dog lovers out there, and anyone considering getting a dog, there is a Dog Breed Selector on https://www.selectadogbreed.com that will match you with your perfect breed. I promise you that you cannot research enough before you commit 7 to 17 years of your life caring for another living thing.

You may be asking yourself, why type all this now? Well, my next entry is based on the Caucasian Ovcharka and it makes me nervous to even admit that. They’re making their way into the United States and gaining popularity. They were literally made to guard livestock from wolves and bears. There is no tier of guard dog above this dog. It’s this and the Tibetan Mastiff. That’s it. Unless -bears- are a real and present threat in your life, -you don’t need one-. Plenty of other breeds will suffice if you want a companion who will protect you. In fact, whether or not you even own a dog, a simple ‘Beware of Dog’ sign will deter over 70% of home invasion crimes. I know they look badass, I know they’re huge and fluffy, and I know that there’s a chance American breeders aren’t even breeding for the same killer instincts that they are in Russia, but if you have no experience handling any type of guard dog this is not the dog for you. It will end with your dog being euthanized because it bit someone, and it will break your heart, and it will be your fault.

Sometimes the best thing you can do for a dog is to not get one.

There might be some of you who don’t like hearing that. Save your hate, I’ve already heard your arguments and they do not change the horrors I’ve seen, they do not change my firsthand experience with guarding breeds. I spent three solid years rehabilitating an aggressive dog that I adopted. It was not easy. People were bitten. Other dogs were bitten. And one woodchuck lost its life. I was beyond lucky that none of those attacks ended with any serious injuries (except for that woodchuck, RIP little dude). I was beyond lucky no one ever called Animal Control for their minor wounds. I had to be hyper vigilant to keep him out of trouble and anyone but me could not handle him, because he didn’t trust anyone else’s leadership. I did this so that he could live. Dangerous dogs get put down. ‘Potentially dangerous dogs’, in the eyes of the law, have allllll sorts of restrictions placed upon them. Dogs are wonderful, amazing, loving, intelligent, adorable, best friends to have. They are also predators. Whoever owned my dog before I got him should not have had a dog. My dog was an untrustworthy monster and an emotional mess for a very long time because of bad ownership, and if I brought him back to the shelter he would have been euthanized. Instead, I spent every single day for eight years being my dog’s guardian and I was laying on the floor with him when he breathed his last breath on this earth, an old man who went peacefully in his sleep. In his later years, people would often say they had never met a better dog. I would assure them it was because we did the work.

And I firmly believe that anyone who is not willing to do the same, anyone who would give up their dog because it barks, or jumps, or pees on the carpet, or because they have to move, shouldn’t have a dog. As a dog trainer let me say: most of those behavioral issues can be fixed. A dog offers unparalleled loyalty but if you cannot offer that same kind of dedication back to them, you don’t deserve it. That dedication should start before you even bring the dog home, when you’re considering if your personalities will match.

I’m willing to admit, I was eighteen and I only thought I was prepared for what I was getting myself into.

My dog was homeless with me. My dog moved across state lines with me. My dog was more fucked up than any other dog I’ve ever met in person. But I stuck by him and five years later when a weird dude was following us through the woods on our daily walk, he saved my life.

The man, the myth, the legend:

My point here is: not every dog is for everyone. A dog is not a fashion accessory. No dog is friendly and perfectly behaved 100% of the time and they should not be romanticized that way, but you can make it easier on yourself by trying your hardest to get the right dog for you. Be honest with yourself with what you’re really looking for, some dogs are just meant to be companions.

My asks are always open if anyone has dog related questions, whether for real life or for their writing.

And if you have a dog, give them a big hug from me.

[dotterelly]

A bit of a ramble around my current state of mind. Nothing negative, but I know not everyone wants to read a long post of my thought processes so I'm gonna stick it under a read more.

I've been here before. Admittedly this time I kind of speed ran the experience because I joined the fandom so late, but still. I've been here before where a fandom experienced a series of tough times followed by fundamental change, and it caused a lot of people to move on.

I am not convinced this is the end for the qsmp. There are still ways for them to continue. But for a lot of original fans, this may be the point where they drop out and move on. So things will change, a lot. And change is scary and upsetting.

For all those who are struggling with the current state of things, particularly those for whom qsmp has been a hyperfixation, it's going to be ok! I'm not going to tell you not to grieve for what has been lost, or for what might have been. I just want you to remember at the same time that it is going to be ok in the end. You will live and you will grow, and all the things you've experienced in this fandom will help nurture the things you go on to do next. You will find that you do not have to let go of everything, and there will still be things coming in the future that ignite the same fire in you as this did. So hold onto the things you have gained, and let yourself be sad for the things you have lost, and through all that keep moving forwards.

Personally, I will probably continue to track what's going on with qsmp, but what originally brought me here was my intention to start following Philza, and that intention has not changed. I was looking for a good comfort streamer to help ground me during the more difficult mental health moments and for something I could have on as background noise while I wrote, and Philza's hardcore streams are perfect for that. The qsmp was just a bonus for me. But I will still try to keep in touch with people here. I love the big multicultural community, and the people I've talked to directly are great, and I truly hope we can be friends going forwards. And so long as there continues to be art and fanfic I will probably still indulge in it and reblog it.

Much love to all of you! <3

[profmj]

WIP Wednesday

Victor Vallakovich has become my favorite NPC in Curse of Strahd. However, after jumping into the CoS fandom on Tumblr, I was shocked to find very little fanart that incorporated him. So I decided to throw my hat into the ring, alongside the absolutely talented likes of @pigeon-princess and @vanhelsingapologist, and post about my shameless hyperfixation.

In our campaign, my character (Laika, a shifter monk) was immediately smitten with Victor. He was quiet, brooding, sarcastic, and quite unlike anyone that Laika'd ever met before. I'll include an excerpt of the scene I'm illustrating below the cut, but TLDR: Laika obtains the Tome of Strahd and selfishly invites Victor to join our party without consulting anyone else.

Victor excused himself to use the restroom after barely picking at his food. Once he was out of the room, I nodded at Edeline and similarly excused myself. Victor's subtly-spiced scent was not hard to follow upstairs to the attic of the manor. I nearly didn't believe that Victor was up there because the room was dark and incredibly cluttered. But quickly I noticed light coming from under a door across the room after poking around. The door to the room was locked, so I did what any "upstanding citizen" would do; I knocked.

Victor answered the door with a look of poorly-masked disdain, and begrudgingly invited me inside. The room was his secret study; books were piled all around on crates and tables, and a large chalk sigil was drawn on the ground. To my surprise, he confided in me that he had been teaching himself magic, despite the local superstition and would-be disapproval of his parents. When I asked why, he told me that he wanted nothing more than to escape Barovia.

Realizing how much he'd shared, Victor asked me not to tell anyone. I agreed, and in order to establish trust decided it would only be fair for me to confide something in him. I told Victor that I was not the "upstanding citizen" his mother took me for, and transformed in front of him to take on my regular pseudo-wolfish form. Victor smiled in shocked approval.

That was the right move, apparently, because Victor then showed me his most prized possession--the book from which he'd been learning magic. It's cover was made of a dark red leather and it was fastened with steel hinges. I opened the book, expecting to see some alchemic instructions or spell, but instead was met with this:

I am The Ancient, I am The Land.

My beginnings are lost in the darkness of the past. I was Warrior, I was good and just. I thundered across the land like the wrath of an angry god, but the war years and the killing years wore down my soul as the wind wears stone into sand. No man alone can bear the brunt of what I have seen and come away with soft hands and a soft heart.

All goodness has slipped from my life and time itself has become my worst enemy. For all I have gained, I have lost more.

Father once advised me to keep record of my deeds, as men of military might should strive to make order of the chaos they have wrought. For him, such records would prove to future men the power of their betters.

I care little for this. Mother thought writing it all down might fix the broken thing inside me and, since I made her a promise, I had to try.

How foolish of her for asking, and how foolish of me for agreeing. I am not broken. I am what I was made to be--what I was destined to be-- a perfect weapon--metal that has been tempered over and over by putting it in fire.

Now we all must live with the consequences.

It is why I brought you here, dear adventurer.

Yes, you have found my journal. Perhaps you hoped to plumb my innermost thoughts, to learn my origins, to discern the secret to my destruction. See how generously I have provided you with that and more—a full and honest account of my history, even of my weaknesses—all because I have no reason to lie, no cause to fear. Doubt my words if you must; it makes no difference to me. Though, perhaps with some help, your misguided efforts may actually excite some vague interest before I drain you. Think well on your heart’s desire. What price are you willing to pay, even for the meanest hope of obtaining it?

How will you choose to die?

Will you serve justice and peace, submit to my lordship, and accept Barovia as your home? Or will you spread vain hope and dissension, rebel against my throne, and play the assassin? Whatever you choose, and though you may wish otherwise, you now have my full and complete attention.

I am Strahd von Zarovich, Lord of Barovia, Master of Ravenloft. And this... is my game.

I quickly showed the book to Victor and asked him if he could read it, too. Victor could, and he commented that the book had never done this before. He reached out to take the book back, but I withheld it. And then... I couldn't help what I said next. After the day we'd had, I couldn't lie to another person, particularly when this book was clearly so important to Victor.

I openly told him that we needed this book in order to break the curse on Barovia and release everyone's trapped souls. "Victor, I'm asking you to trust me," I said.

"Take me with you," he pleaded in earnestness.

My heart started racing again. The look of determination on his face. He was so sure, and in that moment I was willing to be selfish. I agreed.

[electricskelecomics]

Page 13: Landing

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Finally! I cannot believe it has been over a year since I have worked on this. I have a lot to talk about regarding this AU so click read more if you're interested. if not, just know the next page is being worked on.

I am very excited to get back, but if this page looks unfinished, that's because it is. This page is over a year old, and throughout the many times I tried working on it I had changed art styles a lot, which is why the line work is different. However, instead of trying to change everything to fit how I draw now, I think it is just easier for me to upload it in its current state than try to make it look perfect.

My interests also changed. Since my last upload I have gained/dropped hyperfixations about Kirby, just shapes and beats, Splatoon, and a few more that I'm probably forgetting. I'm regaining interest in THSC, so content will return.

luckily, I do remember the important pieces of the plot, so I won't have to spend too long to recollect my thoughts. however, I must say that because I do not know how hard this semester of college will hit, do not expect a weekly upload.

to those that have stuck around all this time, thank you so much. I really appreciate it.

[mlplovelight]

Ch. 7 - Down Bad

“What do you think of the shop, TWILIGHT SPARKLE?”

Applejack asks you this, and at least this time she gave you a minute to take stock of your surroundings before asking your opinion. Sheesh, she’s so eager to know what you think about things.

Truth be told, you’re not sure what to think. Applejack’s shop is full to bursting with scrap from Old Equestria, but everything is meticulously organized; there are shelves lined with finished refurbished objects, and objects half-finished marked as works in progress. The wooden floor is completely spotless, and there is a neatly managed desk standing by the far wall, which Applejack immediately hops behind and looks very professional.

This isn’t what you expected at all, you figured a junk shop would be cluttered and messy, with scrap lining the floor in dangerous heaps. This is… so organized. It’s kind of overwhelming.

“I’m impressed,” you manage to keep a straight face and an even tone. “You keep this place neat and tidy.”

“Of course!” Applejack holds her head up and smiles. “Don’t want anypony trippin’ over anything, and keepin’ the place organized helps me always find whatever I need whenever I need it. Plus, just between you and me, I LOVE sortin’ stuff.”

Oh no she’s literally perfect.

The scrap shop is quite nice, the neatness and tidiness really does make you feel like you’re in a professional space, which is cool and all, but what REALLY stands out to you about this place is what it says about Applejack; that she’s organized, professional, and knows her stuff.

And you are DOWN BAD for that kinda thing.

“Ahem, well,” you clear your throat and try to remain composed. You don’t want to become a mess of weird feelings in a stranger’s house. “I’m sure you have an overstuffed closet somewhere full to bursting with heaps of unorganized scrap, am I right?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” Applejack chuckles and points to a door in the far back corner, adorned with a ‘DANGER’ sign, “right over there. Last thing I want is to run outta stuff to organize, y’know?”

Crud. Your plan to change the subject with a ridiculous rhetorical question backfired; she was prepared for your clever ruse with an adorable response.

Not only that, but now you are ENTICED. You want to see the danger room… you want to see the heaps of disheveled scrap.

The thing about Old Equestria scrap is that it’s all pulsing with the ancient magicks of Old Equestria; there’s history to every piece of it, and power to be gained by those who are able to discern their secrets. This stuff is FASINATING to you, as a scholar of both magic and of Old Equestria, but mechanics has always been your worst subject when it comes to magic.

You want to see all the magic scrap… especially untouched, raw scrap… and you want to hear Applejack, an EXPERT, explain the magicks to you. The thought of it is so exciting… it’s almost more than you can bear.

But you can’t just ASK her to show you that stuff…

“Hey, you wanna take a look back there?” Applejack asks, nodding her head toward the danger room. “I could show you some of the really cool stuff I haven’t fixed up yet, maybe ramble about how it works and what I wanna refurbish it into.”

HOLY #@$%!!!!!!!!!

“Yeah, sure,” you say with a casual shrug, and Applejack nods and trots over to the danger room, you slowly following behind.

YES!!!! YOU NAILED IT!!!!! It takes everything in you to not pump your hooves in the air in excitement, but you’re not gonna blow your cover now!

You’ve got her CONVINCED that you are a stoic cool girl who’s difficult to impress, you’re not just gonna shoot that impression down now over a little bit of scrap, OR over a beautiful woman rambling to you about her hyperfixations (even if that is literally the hottest thing a woman could possibly do and you’re absolutely LOSING IT over how cool she is).

Applejack opens the door to the danger room and your jaw immediately drops to the floor, and you let out an embarrassing croaking sound as your senses are PUMMELED by the sight of TONS of scrap piled up in huge heaps, the smell of rust and musty old metal pounding your nose, and your skin tingling from the aura of magic rolling off all this scrap in waves.

To put it simply, Applejack basically showed you a room full of more treasure than you have ever seen in your life, and she did it with the casual demeanor of someone finding a pack of gum in the bottom of their saddlebag.

“Uhhhhh,” is all you can think of to say, your eyes wide enough to explode in your skull.

“Like whatcha see?” Applejack asks, a devilish smirk on her face. You want to be mad about her being so smug, but honestly you’d be kinda mad if she didn’t act smug about this.

“Ahem,” you manage to get yourself together and clear your throat, trying to affect a more casual demeanor yourself. “I’m mildly impressed.”

“If that was you bein’ mild, I’d love to see your face when you get REALLY impressed,” Applejack chuckles.

Suddenly a bell jingles, and your ears flick up at the unfamiliar sound. You look to Applejack for a sense of how you should feel, and she doesn’t look too concerned, just looking back behind her toward the entrance door.

You follow her gaze and see a pony has just walked into the shop; the bell must’ve been one of those ‘someone just entered the store’ bells, that makes sense.

“I should take this,” Applejack says, closing the door to the danger room. Which is just as well, you should take a little time to get mentally prepared before actually going in there.

“Applejack, sweetheart!” the pony cheers as she sees Applejack, literally greeting her with open arms. She’s a chocolate colored pony with striking red hair, and she looks very posh with her delicate curls. “I’m so glad you’ve returned to us! I was DISTRAUGHT when I came to town yesterday and your shop was left closed and unattended.”

“Cherry Spices!” Applejack says, embracing the Cherry pony in a hug. “Fancy seein’ you in town! Yer like the third familiar face from outta town I’ve seen today! What a rare treat!”

“I admit, I might be partially responsible for this mass… erm, what’s the opposite of an exodus?” Cherry ponders for a moment, and Applejack joins her, but Cherry quickly dismisses the question. “Whatever, not important. What IS important is that I’m undergoing quite the prestigious expedition, and it’s no wonder it’s got ponies coming out of the woodwork.”

“Tell me all about it!” Applejack says, sitting behind her desk and propping her forelegs up on the counter, her hooves on her cheeks. You elect to just stay in the shrouded corner in front of the danger room, listening in on the conversation but not participating. “Where’re ya headed?”

“I’m headed HERE, Applejack,” Cherry Spices grins. “Or rather, to the ruins in your very own backyard.”

Well now you’ve really gotta pay attention.

“No kiddin’!” Applejack hums. “What brings you to our neck of the woods? Anythin’ I can help ya with?”

“I’m so glad you asked, sweetheart!” Cherry Spices grabs one of Applejack’s hooves. “I was very much hoping I could borrow your expertise for the mission! For we’re planning on going where no pony has gone before!”

“Space?” Applejack asks, and Cherry Spices lets out a scoffing laugh.

“No, silly,” Cherry Spices says. “We’re going to delve into the dungeon.”

Applejack’s eyes widen, and your ears clamp flat against your skull, your eye twitching and your nose curling up in disgust.

“Wh—that’s—“ Applejack stammers.

“Applejack,” you say coldly, and both ponies turn their attention to you.

“Oh, honey! I didn’t see you there, I’m sorry!” Cherry Spices exclaims before you can continue your sentence. “How do you do? My name’s Cherry Spices!”

“I’m aware,” you say flatly, before turning your attention back to Applejack. “Applejack, can I talk with you for a second? Alone?”

“Uh, sure,” Applejack says. “You mind givin’ us a sec, Cherry?”

“Absolutely, sweetheart,” Cherry says. “I have a busy schedule to prep, so I have to be off, but maybe we could pick up this conversation later? Maybe this evening?”

“Sounds like a plan,” Applejack nods, and Cherry Spices gives her a little kiss on the cheek before departing. Once she leaves, Applejack trots over to you in the secret shrouded danger room corner. “What’s up, sugarcube?”

“Going inside that dungeon is a bad idea,” you say sternly.

“Do you know what’s inside?” Applejack asks. “It’s been sealed tight since as far back as anypony can remember. I dunno if we even CAN get inside.”

“I don’t know what’s inside,” you shake your head slowly. “What I do know is that even the spirits fear that place, and that seals from Old Equestria should STAY sealed.”

“Hmm, I’ll keep that in mind,” Applejack taps her chin. “To be honest, the fact that nopony can get inside is kinda a whole local legend. Ponies have tried! But no one can figure out how to get the door open, and it’s underground so it’s not like there’s a window to bust through.

“I’ll have to talk to Cherry Spices about it. No way she ain’t acquainted with the place’s reputation. If she has plans to get inside it, I’m real curious.”

“I’ll ask Emerald Ray about it too,” you say. “Maybe I’m just being paranoid, she’ll know more about it than I do.”

“Sounds good,” Applejack nods. “What happened to Emerald Ray, by the way?”

“Ghosts sleep during the day,” you explain. “They draw their power from the darkness of night, so.”

“Ah, I guess that makes sense,” Applejack shrugs. “We got some time to kill before Emerald wakes up then, and before I have that meetin’ with Cherry Spices I just agreed to. You wanna check out some of the junk in my closet?”

You feel a smile trying to sneak its way onto your lips, but you scoff and manage to turn it into one of those smug disaffected smiles that cool girls use.

“Sure,” you say coolly, “if it means that much to you.”

“Awesome!” Applejack grins and kicks open the danger room door.

Hehehe… your evil scheme is working perfectly. You are going to trick Applejack into rambling about your hyperfixations and you are going to be VERY INTERESTED in the things she has to say, but she has no idea and just thinks that you’re a cool girl who is difficult to impress.

Twilight Sparkle, you are an evil genius.

[tempest-toss]

!! More GOI individuals?

[Yes yes yes! I decided to share quite a few, and there's quite a few trigger warnings, so check the tags first and don't forget to suggest any that I need! If you want more GOI OCs, let me know and I'll share them! (I can reblog the list of the GOIs if needed)]

[I chose Troupe of Shadows since they're the only GOI to gain status as hyperfixation and their mini-vignette didn't do so hot]

Aeon the War Horse

There was a horse that was renowned throughout the land. The horse was a farm horse, and was used to plow the fields and pull away large dead trees that would often fall upon the land from the summer storms. On one such storm, the farmer decided to not wait for the storm to be over to begin dragging away fallen trees.

Disaster struck. A loose tree that was still upright came crashing down and crushed the two. The farmer was alive no more, but the horse was still living. It knew that this wasn’t the end, and it would keep fighting til the end.

As it neared the end, a man walked forward. He was dressed in a flashy suit, with a pin with the initials ToS on it. He felt compassion for the poor animal, and used his power to save it. It wasn’t a perfect save, but the horse would still be alive.

You can now see Aeon in the Big Top, usually paired with another performer for the spotlight. When not in the spotlight, he is usually resting outside with the sideshow, where you can see the results of his save all over his body, with his partially exposed flesh and bones.

It Came From the Green Lagoon

An orphan on the streets with the dream of owning an amusement park on the beach. The streets were very unforgiving, however, and every day his dream seemed farther and farther away. The few morals he was taught as a child were near non-existent by the time he hit twenty, with him stealing, robbing, destroying, lying, and in few cases killing so he could survive.

His big mistake was going to the circus. It was called the Troupe of Shadows, and admission was free. He could probably steal some food to survive until tomorrow afternoon.

He was sloppy, and was caught by the owner, who seemed very kind. She offered him to “be free”, as long as he shook her hand. He did it, believing he would be free from poverty. In a sense, he was. Unfortunately, she meant that she wanted him to be free of his free will.

He still joined the Troupe, but not of his own choice. You can see him now swimming in the murky tank, looking like a creature from a 30s movie. Sometimes he gazes out at the visitors and silently pleads with them to not fall for what he did; he does this every time, even though he knows that with every stop, the Troupe grows.

Tim-Tam the Changing Dog (His introduction to the group)

Ringleader Regina heard what Herman Fuller failed to do. She knew all about the Candified Cat. She laughed at his failure and mocked him to her workers. “That old fool could never do that, but I most definitely could! I can make a dog do tricks worthy of the circus!” Regina found a stray puppy and began her work. She could do it, she could do it!

…

She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t fucking do it. This puppy was just a plain mutt! No matter what she did, this puppy couldn’t sing, or paint, or speak Portuguese! Regina was furious, she couldn’t beat Fuller and now she was left with this puppy. A puppy she couldn’t get rid of, since most of her workers were now attached to it, and smiling everytime they saw him, and muttering that Regina was nice for adopting him. Regina was disgusted. Her name should be feared, not adored. She wasn’t their friend; she was in charge! A cruel smile stretched her face as she lured the puppy back to her trailer.

The workers were in for a shock when Regina revealed to them that the puppy, named Tim-Tam by one of the younger workers, had been forcibly anomalized by Regina. She used her power to modify the puppy’s feet, so that when it barked, its feet changed to that of another animals. It was obvious Tim-Tam was in pain, and Regina’s face was full of delight at seeing the puppy’s pain and the fear on her worker’s face when they realized that not even a puppy was spared from her cruelty.

Monsieur Spewer

New to America, he decided to make the most of what little he had. He did odd jobs here and there, before pursing a higher education. He made great strides, and eventually became a teacher. His students loved him, and he treated them as if they were his own children. His class was positive and hard-working, and he decided to reward them with a trip to the circus.

When the day was over, he thought he heard the voice of one of his students calling out for help. He rushed to their aid, only to be stuck down by one of the carnies. He was brought to the Ringleader, and his fate was set. The school replaced him swiftly, but his students weren’t convinced with the pushed narrative that he quit.

Nowadays the former teacher is nothing like what he was. He was forcibly changed, and molded into a monster. Jet black complexion, oblong toothy mouths, sharp claws, acidic spit, and a few other twisted changes were made to him. He’s now trapped inside his own body, and tries to cry out for help, only for it to come out as strangled gurgles.

The Marvelous Malia

Considered a prodigy in her talent, it was not a surprise when Malia Suchin got her acceptance letter to Brunshire Academy for the Anomalously Gifted. Her abnormal grip made her a star whenever she left the ground. Her skills in spins, arrow shots, tightrope and more wowed her peers and the world alike. She became famous for her trick of swinging from a trapeze swing through a burning hoop and fixing her hair into a ponytail mid-flip, grabbing onto her next swing without a single hair singed.

Her talent and anomaly grabbed the attention of a cruel ringleader, who decided to pick the city to perform at next. Malia checked out the circus and was ambushed. She was kidnapped and never returned to the academy, saving her from the time loop. She didn’t miss out that much, as with her new evil boss, Malia was cursed to not age.

You may find her as one of the show’s stars today. She has her own, fresh poster and even a meet and greet, despite how useless it will be since every visitor’s memories of the Troupe are gone afterwards. Sometimes when she’s alone, Malia will swing by herself, longing to reunite with her classmates that she misses so much.