Too big for my pocket, anyway.

This ficlet is @theabysscomeshome's fault twice over. First, in 2022, we were talking about the wingfic, and wing-grooming, and they suggested the specifics of this piece. Then, a few days ago, we had another discussion about grooming-as-affection that reminded me of that older conversation. I've been telling myself for two years that I couldn't write this until I finished the wingfic, but I don't know if I'll ever finish the wingfic, and you know what? I don't need to in order to write this. If I ever DO, I'll probably clean this up and throw it on AO3 as a short coda, but for now I've had fun writing it, and it can live on Tumblr as an exercise. :>

---

It takes Diluc a while, once he returns to Mondstadt, to notice the state of Kaeya's wings.

They aren't in notable disarray. But neither are they at all well-kept. He keeps them tightly closed against his back, the cape of his new uniform half-falling over them, eclipsing them with its ornate cut and dramatic tones. There's no gleam of oil, and his feathers are dry and brittle from the lack, more always broken when Diluc sees him than can be accounted for by battle alone. They're brushed back with a ruthlessness that no doubt is only breaking them further.

And Diluc has never once seen them decorated. Kaeya doesn't wear any wing-clasps, even though Diluc can easily imagine several designs that would nicely match his outfit, and whoever he commissioned it from would surely have offered to add them in. Not once has Diluc seen even the ends of the primaries painted. Father used to love painting their wings, and unlike Diluc, Kaeya would hold still for an hour or more, both wings stretched out behind him, while Father painted each primary with a peacock's eye in full and natural detail.

Perhaps Diluc can understand why he doesn't paint them, at least.

When someone has a chronic illness or is disabled and can't work, they say a few common things.

It must be nice to sit around all day/sleep all day.

I wish I could sit around all day and not work.

I wish I could sleep all the time.

They don't want to sleep as much as we have to. They'd feel sick and sluggish.

They don't want to sit around the house all day not doing anything. They'd be bored out of their fucking skull.

It's so unbelievably fucking frustrating, but there's a fundamental lack of understanding.

They liken our lives to a vacation, imagining that it's fun and relaxing and we can do whatever fun things we want to all the time.

In reality, it should be likened to an extended hospital stay. You can't do anything and you feel like shit.

parried by the aluminum foil :0

I jhow it looks like they're blasted back, like the foil has some kinda repulsor field.

It's a Scara comic! just a funny idea I had, so I can practice drawing comics.

this fox is hunting. all the rabbits are hiding on the bottom of the tray

those colours should be much brighter and more blue once fired

-SCREAMING-

thinking about the video where a bunch of guys get together to un-corrupt a blastoise that got bad egged years ago in a leafgreen game and how that whole scenario is like. the loving side of cosmic horror. you are a blastoise. you trust your trainer. you've been through countless battles together, and while they never say anything, you can tell your trainer loves you. what you don't know is that your trainer is, at all times, being puppeted by intelligent forces outside of your dimension, holding knowledge far beyond the scope of anything you could ever know. they know things about your world that you do not; that nobody in your world ever could. the distinction between your trainer and this creature is minimal. at the same time, this creature is not god. it does not have infinite knowledge; it understands far greater than you, yet in still a very limited capacity. they understand what your world is made up of and how it can be manipulated to fit your whims. this creature loves you. your trainer loves you. they love you so much that they want to help you become stronger. they manipulate the very laws of your world to attain this feat. however, they did it wrong. they didn't know what they were doing, and the makeup of your being- everything you ARE- was twisted. you are no longer a blastoise. you are a bad egg. your trainer remains the same as ever. everything continues on, the same as it ever was, yet you cannot be what you once were. your trainer tries over, and over, and OVER again to hatch you, but you never become what you once were. you are a bad egg. there are other bad eggs now, other pokemon you used to know; pokemon you helped your trainer catch, pokemon you may have even fought alongside. now you're all bad eggs, sealed away by ancient protective magic known as Code. you never knew such a thing existed. you wonder if you're dangerous now. your trainer sets you in a box. over the years, he forgets which box you're in. unbeknownst to you, the creature is panicking, trying everything it can possibly think of to restore you to your blastoise state. the creature is just a child. he carries the pain of your loss long into adulthood; in his mind, he is responsible for your death. in the grand scheme of the universe, you do not matter; you're a "game". a few lines of code and some pixels. you do not Exist. and yet, you are mourned. and yet many others just like you are mourned by many others just like him. the world has been still for many, many years. you don't know this, because your world does not contain an internal clock. time doesn't really exist for you; it's a concept far outside of your reality. and yet, it is important. your creature contacts another of its kind. it shares the story of its sin, the insignificant act of corrupting you beyond repair. it shares this story in hopes that it could save you. the other creature recalls its own destruction of a world not unlike yours. it agrees to help. many creatures within the world outside of yours have gathered all together, using technologies familiar and unfamiliar with one collective goal in mind: to rescue you. specifically you. your loss is widely considered nothing. and yet, they put in incredible effort. obstacle after obstacle, they perform miracles for your sake. they copy your world; they use strange windows to view it, they layer your world over itself many times over to view it from every angle. they dig deep into the very makeup of your universe just trying to find you. one of them uses a method that only he has access to, in all the world, to find you. and they do. you have lost your name and everything else that makes you you, but there is something that remains in tact, that makes you findable; a piece of "data", an invisible quality to you that you and your trainer would never see, something you could never possibly know about. this is what ultimately makes you you, and not another blastoise. slowly but surely, they begin to put you back together. it's much harder than it needs to be, it is far too much effort for one

creature in one game that will never be touched again, and yet they do it. they race against the clock, stressing endlessly, sweating bullets and crying out in relief when they finally find the exact values, the last pieces of invisible quality that makes it YOU. you are now a blastoise. you are now "legitimate" to the game. you do not know it yet, but your trainer - your creature - is waiting for you, excited to Transfer you into new worlds until you are where he wants you. until you are safe. you also do not know that at this time, two of you exist. there is the You, here, being put together, manipulated through the fabrics of reality to restore your original form. and there is the Original you; the one waiting home, on the cartridge. the Real you. you are a clone, but you are not. you are a new pokemon, but you are the original. you are both corrupted, and legitimate. you are many things. the new you is saved, and this version of your world- this version that has fixed you, and only you- is re-uploaded, overlayed and overwritten to the original. you safely arrive. You are a blastoise. You were a bad egg, for a short time. But now you are a blastoise again. your trainer acts the same as ever, because he cannot display anything that would suggest he notices the difference. you do not know what happened. you have no idea. you have no idea how much you are loved.

I’ll just leave this here....

The peacock. The music. The person leaping over a tombstone. The cemetery. It just works.

“GRAVE PEACOCKING” IM DEAD

Great post everyone

zinetober day 12....

A wild Fat HO-OH Appeared!

Inspired by this amazing plush Link

A pair of cherry blossom ravens~

Honestly, I’m really only interested in soulmate AUs with alternative plots.

I don’t really care about person A and person B who have each other’s names on their wrists and find each other and live happily ever after. I care about a culture where people don’t bother forming romantic relationships with anyone other than their soulmate, where they finally find their soulmate and realize they don’t know how to handle the ups and downs of a relationship.

I care about people who fall in love with someone who isn’t their soulmate and aren’t willing to leave.

I care about queer people who are outed by the names on their arms, about trans people who spend their whole lives worrying that their birth name will be on their soulmate’s arm, then sobbing in relief when it’s not.

I care about people in poly relationships and how that looks.

I care about asexual aromantic people who have a name anyway and wonder if they’re broken or if it’s the platonic soulmate they’ve always wanted.

I care about people who Google their soulmate and are disappointed by what they find. I care about the private detective agencies that rake in cash to help people find their soulmates. I care about the ways non-soulmate couples are discriminated against, from disapproving grandmas to insurance companies that won’t insure someone’s spouse unless they’re their soulmate. I care about teenagers who are devastated that their celebrity crush isn’t their soulmate and what happens when the media discovers a young, unknown person whose soulmate is hugely famous.

I care about the people who never meet their soulmates, whose soulmates died young, whose soulmates have another name on their arms.

I care about the ways that this is a broken system, how it fucks people up, how it doesn’t guarantee a happy ending and how people find their happy endings anyway.

paging the-oxford-english-fangeek because these are some fine ass AUs. 

@followfire commented on this:

And as I noted to them in replies, this is more proof-of-concept than an excerpt, because I have an extensive notes doc but nothing actually written in narrative form. Still! It was fun to imagine what those sorts of teatimes might look like. :>c

---

The Royal Librarian looks up as Jean enters the library and, as always, smiles. She's doing something at her desk with a book and her catalyst; she makes a quick pass with her hand and, as her catalyst stops glowing, sets both aside. By the time Jean reaches the desk, she's started warming her cauldron and spooning tea leaves into the pot.

Chamomile, cecilia petals, and a dash of sweet flower, Jean's favorite blend. Jean can already feel some of the weight on her lifting at their faint scent.

"Here, cutie, carry this for me," the Librarian says, handing Jean the tray before picking up her cauldron herself. "Let's go sit on the upper balcony upstairs. Enjou is working down on the lower floor today."

"If I'm interrupting-"

"You're the Princess, cutie. You can't *interrupt*. Besides, I was just about to take a break."

Aaaaah thank you for writing it!! I love this excerpt!

The fic is very intriguing! I love how tense Jean's situation seems to be! Or maybe not tense but delicate, like she's walking on thin ice all the time! And she comes to the library both counting on Lisa's guidance but also simply finding comfort in coming here and enjoying a tea break! And Lisa and Jean's relationship with Lisa talking about the new novels!! °^°