I am so confused I literally had two strawberries and a celery stick with habanero seeds hours ago and I’m so full I️ feel like I️ binged. Also 5 bottles of water. Idk if it’s a good thing or..?
Well I suppose it’s a good thing that you feel full on such a small amount of food? 😂🙈 and it’s good that you try to drink so much but don’t overdo it! You don’t want to get sick from drinking too much! Stay safe hun, take good care of yourself please 💖
Zone of truth! I definitely do not have the World’s Most Original designs when it comes to Adventure Zone, but I’m REALLY proud of the color design holy heck. Fun fact, each boy is actually based off of a dessert. I went and found pictures on google to pull colors from and everything.
I also really wanted them to vibe with each other, since they don’t really share any physical features I wanted their colors to tie them together a little. Magnus’ big dumb head was the hardest thing to design when it came to shapes, but after a little working at it I finally got something I liked.
The characters from adventure zone have been such a GREAT exercise for character design, and drawing fan art of them has been a delight! This podcast was such a blessing and I’m so happy I listened to it.
since I was talking about languages headcanons, let me share an actual fav of mine: Yuuri actually started studying Russian when he first fell in love with Viktor (’s skating).
A starry eyed little Yuuri, glued to the small bulky television in the living room of the onsen, watching the recording of a young Viktor’s Junior World Championship in Bulgaria, his ponytail whipping around as he twirls and cuts the air in a perfectly executed jump; there’s nothing more Yuuri wants than to be like him, to know what this person made of starlight looks like inside. How can this beautiful angelic boy do what he does, how is it even possible to glide so effortlessly on the unforgiving ice when all Yuuri can do is fall and cry and bruise?
So he starts info dumping, collecting scraps of rare skating magazines, reading article upon article about him and interviews; but then again, there’s only a certain number of them that’s in Japanese, a little more in English, of which Yuuri’s knowledge is still wonky at best. Most of them are in Russian, because you know, Viktor is Russia’s prodigy, so of course. It’s not easy to find them.
Their dial up connection cable whirrs ominously and sucks money and energy, but he doesn’t desist, finds some approximation of a skating fan site with grainy images and pages and pages of minuscule writing, so much it makes his head hurt. Even then, he doesn’t give up. Yuuri is twelve, and stubborn, so he goes to the library and brings home a dictionary, sits down in front of their outdated computer and squints at the screen, flips through the yellowed pages and reads, painstakingly, his vision going fuzzy in between kanji and cyrillic. It’s not the best, but it’s all worth it when one day he realizes he actually can recognize some of the words without even cracking open the ratty dictionary.
When Yuuri is eighteen, he places his heart and dreams in Detroit. He slices himself open and drips red on the pavement of the rink, strips his feet raw and never stops thinking about the force that drives him, locks a wish too big to be contained into the small space between lungs and ribcage. He signs up for a Russian Language course.
When asked, he tells Viktor he had to choose an extra class to take in college. He doesn’t tell him about the little kid hunched over a shitty dictionary at two am begging to know more about his idol (he’ll tell him, a whispered confession in the middle of the night, but now it’s too much, too early). He doesn’t tell him that he knows exactly what he’s doing when he brings a tub of ice cream home and Viktor beams delightedly, exclaims “that’s my favourite!” Yuuri smiles, replies he had a hunch it would be. The old article is clear in his mind, a stolen piece of memory of a Katsuki Yuuri that wanted nothing more than to know exactly what Viktor Nikiforov’s favourite ice cream flavor would be, not knowing there’d be a time where it would become as simple as asking. Viktor laughs, makes grabby hands at it. “I love you,” he sighs wistfully, wrapping his lips around the spoon, and Yuuri flushes, takes a spoonful too, feeling incredulous and warm.
The wish that was trapped inside crawls up his throat and takes off in a huff, no more than a whisper. It has no use now, for it’s fulfilled, at last.
The ice cream tastes better than anything he’s ever had.
…Honestly Idek. I can’t continue with my normal commentary because I’m just all wtf at myself 8DDD But yeah HERE IT IS! Day 6 of the Epic Battle(?) with Angel Yoosung and Devil Saeran. But Devil Saeran has a new appearance? And he’s a Pokemon at that?! What in the world is going on? Tune in to the FINAL instalment of this nonsensical series on Day 7!!!
Jack went down the stairs with a huff of annoyance. The first floor of the Haus was packed from wall to wall. Loup thumping music, laughter and yells that were barely tolerable from his room now seemed almost tangible, crushing him from all sides. He could already feel the beginnings of a headache.
He pushed his way through and managed to reach the kitchen unscated. Only three guys were sitting at the table, loudly debating Plato’s cavern versus the Matrix, and another was leaning on the counter near the stove, muttering to himself.
Jack opened a cupboard, swore under his breath when he saw that it was empty of their usual mugs, glasses and bottles. He took a new red solo cup from the enormous pack available to all, and filled it with tap water, trying to ignore the guys at the table.
‘…aren’t you the most precious thing, baby…’
Jack turned around. The guy next to the oven was muttering endearments with a southern drawl- but there was no one next to him. He wasn’t even holding a phone.
Jack had a doubt. Was the guy talking to him?
‘Yes, you are lovely, a bit old, but I would love you, and take care of you, and create glorious things with you, oh sweetheart, if only…’
The guy was not talking to Jack. He was talking to the oven.
He was also, apparently, completely drunk.
‘… better things than pizza rolls, you can be sure of that, you sexy thing…’
Jack was a moment away from heading back to his room when he heard a sob.
‘… but it’s not to be, pretty thing, you and I will have to go our own separate ways and- sniffle- get with our own lonely lives and - oh lord, I’m being ridiculous-’
‘Huh-’ started Jack. ‘Are you okay?’
The guy turned around. He looked older than Jack expected. At least, he seemed to be over eighteen. Jack only had an impression of eyes and blond before he got the drunkest and fakest smile he ever saw in his life.
‘HI!’ said the boy. ‘Gosh, you’re big.’
‘… are you okay?’ repeated Jack.
‘Why, yes, of course! I’m peachy!’
The guy seemed surprised by this fact. He dried his tears with the sleeve of his hoodie and made a dismissive gesture with his other hand.
‘Don’t mind me, sweetheart, I’m being silly.’
‘…You were crying,’ insisted Jack. ‘And talking to the oven.’
‘Well, no one else seemed to give her love, so I figured-’
He stopped himself and looked at Jack.
‘You’re the Captain of the hockey team,’ he realised. ‘This is your house. This is your oven.’
‘…Yes? In a manner of speaking?’
‘What’s her name?’
‘The OVEN,’ insisted the guy.
‘She- it doesn’t have a name?’
‘Blasphemy. If I had the chance to own such a lovely baby, I would name her something adorable! Like Daisy, or Betsy, and I would bake everyday, I would make pies and cookies and biscuits and-’
He burst into tears.
Jack threw a look around. The guys at the table were staring at them.
‘Dude, what’d you do to him?’
‘D’you break up with him or something?’
‘No! We just met! He was talking about the oven- and then- and then-’
He made a helpless motion towards the crying boy.
‘Maybe you should do something about it?’ suggested one of them.
‘Dunno. Something. To make him stop crying.’
Jack hesitated. He thought about retreating to the safety of his room, where the music didn’t hurt his ears and blonde strangers didn’t burst into tears at the sight of a kitchen appliance.
Awkwardly, he lifted a hand and patted the guy’s shoulder.
‘…there, there,’ he muttered, feeling like the most ridiculous man on Earth.
He got several thumbs ups from the table residents. Which didn’t help his predicament at all. The boy was still crying.
‘Hey, hey, shh, don’t cry, everything is going to be okay…’
‘You don’t know that!’ wailed the blonde boy.
‘Okay, you’re right. Maybe, huh, what could make it right?’
Welp. We went to see Wonder Woman. I cried during the sad parts and some of the other parts. They were the same kind of tears I had on and off through Ghostbusters. Movies with strong women who are fully realized people who are allowed to be sexual but are not sexualized and can also kick ass just make me cry randomly. Though TBH I also cry in LotR when anyone picks up their sword and runs into battle screaming the name of their home. I didn’t even realize how ravenous I was for a female version of that.