#tiny update note

[reddeadreference]

So my notifications on my phone for Tumblr were off... So I didn't see that I had asks in my inbox, idk when they got sent in... I'm so sorry x.X As soon as I can properly answer them I will.

Getting screenshots for the compendium now which will be cigarette cards (better images because I think I already did them), animals (The actual compendium pages from the pause menu and both drawing versions.. hopefully), the same for the fish (minus drawings), plants (+drawings), horses, gangs, weapons ... Actually everything but equipment only because those don't have pages in the menu.

Found my phone that can have the RDR2 app on it meaning I can get much better photos of the journal pages themselves for drawings.

The compendium stuff is gonna have its own page and be separate from the journal pages by the way (those are meant to be the actual entries written during story mode specifically, like how the ones for Strangers are also separate)

[frankenstein-ate-my-left-shoe]

buddie boys

[deerpuppi]

🧱 ; ellie , rhi , jack ! he , she , dog / puppy themed neos ! bodily 19 ! ( pw - udd )

🗡️ ; personal agere && petre , hard to label regression ages && petre to many animals but most commonly puppy && kitty. babytalk will ensue as it helps me to regress && stay regressed. basically a blog of what baby ellie thinks is real cool alongside diary like baby posts. asks are on and quite welcome ^_^ interacts from @butchreg cw for 420. ( will be tagged )

🏹 ; autistic && disabled among other mental conditions. please be gentle. spins && hyperfixations include but are not limited to : tlou , yellowjackets , wicked ( film specifically ) , ariana grande , horror films ( && film in general )

ellie nendoroid pngs made by me ☺

🎒 ; please note that i do not like discussing my disorder and due to the nature of it i often am not aware who i am / who is fronting at all times. i am simply a person with a disorder. i am often heavily dissociated and my identity as a whole is fairly flimsy and ever changing due to this but i prefer to be referred to with singular terms. there may be rare times where a part specifically asks you to refer to us differently but oftentimes this will not be the case. any part who wants a specific tag will get one so if you see a name tagged that's why.

[the-anonmaton]

I'm writing such an indulgently filthy hate-sex SevikaxReader smut right now...

[burnttoastlife]

I miss when April Fool’s was booping. This year we get Big Ass UI

[alchemiclee]

the council has gathered

the council has spoken!

daily bladie 20: they just keep multiplying! you better do what they say!!!!

[bizlybebo]

Howdy hey! I’m curious if you have any drawings of Hamartia!Mark or character descriptions of how he dresses and looks and etc. same with hamartia!dakota tho I’ve found one drawing of him you’ve done which will work ^^. (For no reason ofc ofc-)

YESSS HIII !!! HAMARTIA MENTION HIII … OKOK SO

mark… i’m horrible at drawing him im not sure why, ive tried many times.. 💔💔 but !! he’s honestly not too far off from canon mark.. just around twenty years older (idk his actual age in canon, but at the time of hamartia he’s 52, and in the ashe flashbacks he’s 32). he’s prolly got a decent beard going on, but i think he at least sometimes cuts it so it’s not long enough to get in the way of bandages/masks etc. . i’ve recently taken to imagining him with a ponytail and since it’s my au, he now has one if you want <3

for clothes… i imagine him honestly dressing vaguely similar to the way that joel miller from tlou does… his signature fit is probably just a plain white shirt under his green coat, and either khaki cargo pants or the most worn out jeans you’ve ever seen. this guy is horrible at taking care of himself, too ,so all his clothes r kinda fucked up. he’s maybe bought new clothes twice (outside of repairs/replacement) since the whole End Of The World thing.

and DAKOTAA!!! i actually recently tried to draw his design, since it changes slightly between acts 1 and 3, but i hated the way his face turned out. however !!! here’s what i drew of his act 1 design, minus his face </3

^ if you can’t read the notes, on the left side they say:

- longer hair than canon, doesnt rlly cut it

- friendship necklace (this isn’t relevant or even brought up really but it’s important 2 me) ^_^

- he lives in this flannel. #crust

- kat’s (katori’s) headphones

- got shoes from overlord’s people before leaving NH (new haven)

and on the right side they say:

- generally scrawnier than c!dakota on account of living in Hell World

- scary ass hazel eyes after the procedure (his eyes glow slightly in the dark ! yay !)

- also just says that he’s 5’5. honestly his height is whatever, just know that he’s generally pretty short.

OH YEAH !!! ALSO THE POWER SUPPRESSOR!!! THATS A THING… LITERALLY A MAJOR PLOT POINT FHENBRHE.. it gets described in ch12 if i remember right.

during act 3, there’s not a … whole lot of changes, but ! i do plan on making a point of the fact that he changes out the red flannel for a more oversized green one after chapters 14-15, since it’s what’s left after You Know What. also… i’m a big fan of on-the-nose color symbolism .

HEHEHE THANK YOU FOR THE ASKK!!! I LOVE TALKING ABT HAMARTIA YAYAYAY… SORRY THIS IS SUCH A LONG ANSWER… the tldr is that mark is older + crustier and dakota’s just a little rougher round the edges

[majestyeverlasting]

I plan to post the Eddie request I'm working on this weekend. General gist is that Eddie assures reader that she's deserving of genuine love even though it was never modeled to her through her parents. It starts with a meet cute, then jumps to the near future!! After that, I'll probably start thinking about what day to open my requests since I promised I'd do that in June. In other news, I started reading The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde the other night, and it's quite intriguing so far. Very existential. See ya'll this weekend! 🤍

[of-nyon]

"Garchomp ferries some garbage and also Shuckle through Kanto"

(Shuckle is not garbage but is very not designed for a casual playthrough but also gets sturdy and stealth rocks and was able to put in work when needed in boss fights so she earned her ribbon fair and square)

[tiny-dancer-thoughts]

I'm just a girl (tears streaming, no sleep schedule, broken nail away from a meltdown)

[thatsgonnaleaveamark]

did tumblr do something to the desktop dash ui? i use the stylus extension for the old dash layout so i didn't notice anything, just changed to the new one to see if they did anything for april fools

[reddeadreference]

Tiny Update Note 2-23-24

I'm currently working on posts for the Watipi Reservation.

This blog was made to be as helpful as possible and I know it's far from being finished, but I want to make sure people can find what they need when they need it. So...

If there's anything specific anyone needs please feel free to reply to this post or send in an ask (anon or not).

Whether you need facial references for art or location photos for writing descriptions or just photos for inspiration for your next work. Even if it's something I've already done a post about If a current post isn't what you need/helpful please let me know how I can fix it/make it better for you.

[aparticularbandit]

Just A Jump To The Left (I)

Summary: When Haruhi grabs the collar of her shirt and tugs her backward, Junko expects it. That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when the back of her head bangs against the edge of Haruhi’s desk, doesn’t mean she doesn’t still wince with the pain of it. She glances up, blinking, and meets Haruhi’s golden honey eyes with a grin. “We’re gonna start a club,” she whispers, mouth moving a fragment of a second before Haruhi’s, so it sounds almost like an echo but not quite.

“We’re gonna start a—” For a moment, Haruhi’s enthusiasm, her excitement, falters. Her brow furrows again. “What did you say?”

OR: Kyon's role is sabotaged by none other than one (1) Junko Enoshima. This...probably won't end well.

Brought to you by a discussion @tobiasdrake and I had about what it would look like if Junko and Haruhi ever met.

Chapter Rating: T. Fic Rating: T.

AO3

next chapter

Ryoko hasn’t done anything with her hair yet.

Chunks of it still hold its natural blood red sheen, but streaks of it from her scalp all the way through to their tips have transformed to a pearlescent white.  She can’t say exactly when it happened; somewhere between the moment she fled her sister’s massacre of assassins (at her sister’s insistence) and the moment she found Yasuke in the little apartment where he’d been holed up since transferring to his new middle school (to intern at the nearby hospital, despite his age) – somewhere in that space of time, it had happened.  Yasuke didn’t comment on it the first moment he saw her, but he did shortly after, and she’d run her fingers through it, all grease-spattered and dirty, and wondered how he’d seen the white underneath all of its grime in the first place.

Eventually, she’ll have to decide what to do with it; whether she’ll return it to its blood red or bleach it all white or play around with something that is neither at all, she’ll need to do something.

(Not the red.  If not for the white streaks, it would look just like the blood she’d seen around the—)

((When she remembers all of that, she heaves, vomits.  She told Yasuke once – just once – and they’ve never discussed it since. Even then, she didn’t give him any specifics, just enough for him to understand why she is here.  Why she can’t go back.))

She hasn’t started attending middle school yet, not while she’s still recovering from everything, not when she doesn’t even have hair with one consistent color yet; she’d be bullied ceaselessly for that, and she’s in no condition to be bullied (she’ll snap, she’ll hurt someone the way that Mukie—), and Yasuke is so busy during the day with middle school and his hospital internship that the only time they can spend together is after dark.  He bikes to school, bikes to the hospital, because that means he loses less time to sleep (because that means he loses less time with her), but every now and again, as she slowly but surely gets better, she walks to the hospital to see him – to walk back with him, if she doesn’t sit on the back of the bike as he takes them back.  Sometimes they walk the streets, silent, and it’s clear that bothers him.  She’s always been the talkative one.  She just doesn’t have the words anymore.

Ryoko walks through the streets in a white gown, barefoot, with her hair streaked red and white, and people avoid her.

They probably think she’s a ghost.  That’s fine.

Yasuke bikes them back, and people avoid both of them.  That’s fine, too.

Ryoko holds onto both sides of the rack Yasuke’s tied to the back of his bike and leans her head back and looks at the stars.  They seem to stay in place as he bikes them back, and she reaches one hand up and out, as though she could almost—

The bike hits a pebble, something so infinitesimally small Yasuke couldn’t have known to avoid it, and the bike jumps, and Yasuke stays on, and Ryoko, with only one hand loose on the rack, tumbles off.  Her knee stings, as does the palm of the hand she’d pushed out to break her fall.  The skin of both has been scraped clean off.  She’s bleeding.  The same color as her hair.  The same color as—

To the left of her, something metallic jangles.

Ryoko breathes (had she not been breathing before?  maybe not) and looks up to see a girl of roughly her age with long brown hair and a ribbon holding it back trying to climb over some sort of metal entry gate.  She blinks twice – makes sure she isn’t seeing anything, and she isn’t because the girl is still there – and shouts out, “H-hey!”

The girl glares at her.  “Hey what.”

It’s not a question.  It should be a question, probably, but it’s not.

“What are you….”  Ryoko struggles with words.  She’s never struggled with words before.  “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” the girl calls back, still glaring at her, pert nose upturned.

Ryoko glances at the sidewalk around her, then slowly pushes herself up as Yasuke’s bike skids to a stop behind her.  “I fell,” she says.  She brushes the dirt and rocks from her skin, sees the blood bubbling and ebbing up through her broken skin, and her eyes begin to glaze over.

“Well, I’m going to break into the school!” the girl halfway over the gate says.  “And you’re going to help me!”

This has nothing to do with me.

The breeze lifts the edge of Ryoko’s white gown and sends it pushing back and forth against her ankles.  Yasuke’s saying something – barking it out at the girl whose name she still doesn’t know – and Ryoko’s just seeing the spot at her knee where the white gown is growing stained with her blood.

This has nothing to do with me.

Ryoko shivers as the breeze brushes cold against her bare arms, and she starts towards the gate, to the girl halfway over it.  Yasuke grabs her wrist, but she shakes his hand off.  “What are we doing?”

The other girl beams.

“You’ll see when we get to the other side!”

~

Ryoko doesn’t exactly collapse on the other side of the gate, but she hits her bloody knee when she lands and then can only hobble where the girl wants her to run.

The girl gives her a sour expression, lips a downturned V, and then glares up at Yasuke as he jumps over the gate with them.  “Fine,” the girl says, “you’ll do it then.”

“Do what?”

Which is how Ryoko ends up sitting on the bleachers with her arms resting on her knees, her hand wrapped in a fresh bandage, her right knee wrapped in another one, while the girl shouts out directions to a Yasuke who keeps glaring at her and then looking over at Ryoko, who is too tired to tell him to stop.

Tired.

That’s a funny word, honestly.

Tired.  Exhausted.  Weary.  Consumed.

If she’s honest, Ryoko hasn’t felt like herself since Mukie abandoned her, since Mukie told her to run.  She feels like something else – like someone else – like she’s in the middle of some great and terrible becoming.  Eventually, the girl sits down next to her, still barking directions at Yasuke occasionally, and without a second thought, Ryoko leans her head against the girl’s shoulder.

The girl flinches.  “What are you doing?”

“What are you doing?” Ryoko quips back, voice soft with excessive weariness, as she glances up with big red eyes to meet the girl’s golden brown ones.

The girl gestures with one hand to Yasuke and whatever he’s writing with the chalk along the ground.  “Can’t you tell?”

Ryoko sighs.  She doesn’t have the dataset for this.  She doesn’t want to look for this.  But the girl asks, and so she does.  “You’re writing a message,” she says, voice growing monotone, “to anyone who can see it and understand what it says.  You’re saying, I’m here.  To aliens, to time-travelers, to espers, to sliders, to Santa Claus himself, if he’s out and about on a holiday that isn’t his.”  She doesn’t blink.  “As if that sort of thing would draw any of them to you.”

“You can read that?”  The girl’s eyes narrow, and her face gets super close to Ryoko’s.  She smells a bit.  Sweat, mostly.  Probably hasn’t brushed her teeth.  “Are you an alien?”

“No,” Ryoko says calmly.  “I’m a ghost.”

The girl presses the flat of her hand against Ryoko’s bandaged knee and scowls when Ryoko winces.  “Ghosts don’t bleed.”  Then she crosses her arms and slumps back down, glaring out at Yasuke.  She shouts another direction at him – Ryoko doesn’t care, so no matter how loud the girl gets, she doesn’t pay her any attention – and then gives Ryoko another suspicious look.  “How do you know that won’t work?”

Ryoko rolls her eyes.

(This isn’t like her.  She cares, usually.  She listens.  Even when Mukie used to go off on all of her soldier mercenary military assassin research and interests.  Even when Mukie spent hours correcting her posture because she was holding her stick sword wrong.  But this….

This has nothing to do with her.  Even if she’s sitting right here.  Even if she decided to break into the school with this stranger.  It still has nothing to do with her.

So why is she here?)

“If all those creatures are here and in hiding, a message like that isn’t going to get them out.”

“But it’s in their own language and everything!”

“Are you sure?” Ryoko asks, glancing out over the incomplete message, its chalk inscription trying to gleam in the moonlight and failing.  “Or did you just decide it was their language without any real proof?”  She leans against the other girl again.  It’s overly familiar, sure, but it’s comfortable.  And she’s so tired.  “If I were an alien, I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

The girl frowns.  “Even if I guessed?”

“Even if you guessed.”

The girl barks out another instruction at Yasuke, but it’s not as enthusiastic as it was before.  Half-hearted.  “You really don’t think this will work?”

Ryoko shrugs.  “It might.  There are probably stupid aliens just like there are stupid people.”  (She is not like this.  She doesn’t call people stupid!)  She leans a little more heavily against her.  She’s warm, which really just means that Ryoko is cold.  “But do you really want a stupid alien?  Or do you want a smart one?”

“Any alien!” the girl proclaims, loud, enthusiastic, all that energy coming back all at once.  It’s endless, maybe, her enthusiasm for this.

It makes Ryoko feel even more tired.

(She was like this once.)

“People are all just boring and normal,” the girl continues without hesitation, "and aliens, time travelers, espers, sliders – all of them are infinitely better than people!”  She flashes Ryoko a grin.  “That means you, too, Ghost Girl.”

Ryoko blinks twice and then looks away.  (She’s too bright, this girl.  She’ll blind her with that warmth.)  “At least you’re looking for them,” she murmurs.  “You can’t find one if you aren’t looking.”  She runs her forefinger along the inseam of her thumb.  “Maybe I should write a message for them.”

The girl shoves her.  “Don’t steal my idea!”

“I won’t.”  Ryoko chuckles – small, broken – as she holds up her bandaged hand, used again to catch herself, twinging with pain.  “I’d have to break into another school first, and that….”  She sighs and stares out over the now quite marked up field in front of them.  “I’m too tired.  But you’ll let me know if yours succeeds, right?  Make all the papers?”

The girl just grins at her.

~

It’s as they’re leaving the school, as Ryoko carefully situates herself on the back of Yasuke’s bike, that the other girl pauses in her brisk walk in the opposite direction.  Then she turns, hands propped on her hips, and yells, “What’s your name?”

Yasuke doesn’t even turn back, answering before Ryoko has a chance to do so, “What do you need that for?”

“So I can tell you if they contact me!  Obviously.”

Ryoko hops off the back of Yasuke’s bike.  The action causes her knee to twinge again, but she doesn’t wince as she hobbles over to the other girl.  “Mitsuki,” she says, voice gentle.  Standing next to her, she realizes that she’s nearly the same height as the other girl.  How odd.  Someone so bright seemed like she would be huge.  Huh.  Still, she meets the girl’s honey brown eyes as she repeats, “Matsuda Mitsuki.”

The girl looks her over, and then instead of offering her own name, she asks, “What middle school are you at?”

This time, Ryoko doesn’t have a lie ready.  Even if she did, something tells her it would be far better to keep that information to herself.  There are people she doesn’t want to find her right now, after all, and while it isn’t likely this girl has contacts with any of them, it isn’t an impossibility.  So instead, she takes one of the girl’s hands in her bandaged one and holds it up until they’re flat against each other.  “Have you heard of the red string of fate?”

“Ew,” the girl says, lips pursing, but she doesn’t take her hand away.  “Why’re you bringing that up?”

“Well, think of it like this.  If I don’t tell you and we see each other again, then it’s fate, right?”  This time, when she meets the girl’s eyes, Ryoko almost feels taller than her, but not by much.  She’s growing, finally.  Maybe she’ll be as tall as Mukie the next time she sees her.  If she ever sees her again.  “Like the cosmos says we’re supposed to be friends, or something like that.  And if not—”  She winks.  “Well, we’ll find those time travelers, and we’ll fix it, won’t we?”

The girl holds her hand still, flat against Ryoko’s.  “If I find a time traveler, I’m not going to waste my time finding you.”

“Fate, then.”  Ryoko tucks her thumb around the other girl’s hand.  “Like a good story with a clandestine meeting.”

“Hm.”

But despite the noncommittal sound, the girl tucks her thumb around Ryoko’s hand just the same.

There are no red strings when they leave.

That’s probably for the best. Ryoko hates red, anyway.

[eeunwoo]

I know I haven’t been posting very consistently but I’m still kinda trying to figure out a good working schedule for school first I’m sorry 🫣

[sarcosmiiic]

bitch i been tryin not to

I made a what the fandom thinks of you generator

[communistkenobi]

A newborn baby girl will have to go through life with the wrong sex on her birth certificate after a registrar’s error, which her parents have been told they cannot change. Grace Bingham and her partner, Ewan Murray, were excited to register their first child at the Sutton-in-Ashfield Registration Office in Nottinghamshire last week. But, after nights of broken sleep, they failed to notice the registrar had written the wrong sex on the birth certificate until after it had been submitted. “We were horrified but assumed that, as we saw the mistake just a few seconds after it had happened, correcting it would be an easy matter,” said Murray. “But although the registrar apologised for her mistake – and the area manager also apologised – it turns out that birth certificates can’t be changed.”

this article is interesting because it demonstrates that cis people can very easily apply structural thinking to sex assignment - this couple immediately identifies that their daughter, having mistakenly been assigned male at birth by the registrar, will have administrative problems in employment, education, travel, and so on. they pretty adeptly identify the foundational role that sex assignment plays in the administrative and civil functions of a state, and how incorrect sex markers effectively produce a ‘rational’ reason for discrimination within these administrative and civil arenas:

The General Register Office (GRO), which is responsible for administering all civil registration in England and Wales, and the Home Office have both confirmed that Lilah’s birth certificate cannot be reissued, although an amendment can be made in the margin of the original document. But Bingham said this is not enough. “People reading a birth certificate might easily miss a tiny note in the margin – which means that Lilah could be regarded as male when she applies for school, her passport, for jobs – for everything that she needs a full birth certificate for.”

And given that this was published in The Guardian, this article makes zero mention as to why it’s impossible for this couple to receive an updated birth certificate with correct information (something the author notes was possible to do a year ago), but the reason is obviously transphobia. 

Now one might ask why there’s no exception for cis people whose birth certificates were recorded incorrectly at birth, but this reveals the instability of cissexualism. How would you determine who is a cis person with a mistaken birth certificate, versus a trans person who wants to change their mistaken sex assignment record? Sure, you could say well, this is an infant, of course she’s “really” “biologically” female (something the parents argue in the article as grounds for having their child’s birth certificate re-issued), but 1) that certainly can’t be argued for in all cases, 2) 'biological sex' is understood by medical doctors as alterable through hormones and surgery, which trans people are often required to undergo in order to change their records, and 3) binary sex assignment is already imprecise and discretionary, particularly if infants have sex characteristics that don’t conform to binary F/M assignment standards (which is part of how the category of intersex emerges, framing this failure to conform to state census categories as a biological defect - and in fact, many intersex people do not discover they are intersex until the onset of puberty or later, at which point they are even less in luck if they want to change their sex assignment - and if they don’t, if they are cis but have sex characteristics that do not conform to cis standards, they will be discriminated against anyway). 

Even setting aside the issue of transgender and intersex people for a moment, states fuck up all the time in administration! you've probably either experienced this directly or know someone who's had some kind of record fucked up by the government at some point in their life. If you get married they could fuck up changing your last name, fuck up your disability status, record your social insurance number wrong, print the wrong address on your driver’s license, fail to acknowledge you as a dependent when filing taxes, incorrectly mark you as having graduated when you’re still a student, fuck up your immigration paperwork, record your name wrong during immigration, etc etc into infinity, and this is not even getting into errors that occur when different levels of government pass information between one another. This level of administrative rigidity is purely to punish people who fail to perform cissexualism correctly, and in the case of this couple's child, the administrative error of the state is imputed to them as a personal failure that she and her parents will now have to deal with for the rest of their lives. 

I think the ultimate analysis is not that transphobia will become less precise and hit more "wrong" targets as it expands its reach, but that this is the exact same operational logic as all other liberal state measures - if you encounter a systemic issue, it’s your fault for not avoiding it, fuck you, go away. You’re poor because you’re lazy, you’re unhoused because you’re lazy, you’re disabled because you’re lazy, and your daughter is now administratively transsexual because you’re lazy. In this case, we don’t even need to assume the intentions of the state - they outright say it:

The family complained to the GRO but was told the mistake was their responsibility and could not be fully rectified. “The duty to ensure that information recorded in any particular entry is true is the responsibility of the person providing the information and not of the registrar general or the registrar recording the birth,” the GRO said.