Not the anon who just bought Transistor, but I actually just played it for the first time, on valentine's day!! After having been interested in it for so long bc of your art!!!
It's such a gorgeous and fun game and I absolutely loved every second of it. The ending had my chest hurting and The Spine just scared me constantly! I'm so happy that I got to play it so thank you for sharing gorgeous art and fun jokes of a game you love!!
aah thank you so much!! glad to hear you had an equally fun (and painful) time with it!! :’D (the spine still makes me jump on replays sometimes...... u kno what the spine is still just very unsettling..)
Oohhh your blog is always such a serotonin-boost!! Nothing makes me feel as happy and mushy as your AA art! It's so cute and your artstyle is so dynamic and expressive!!!!
:D thank you I’m glad to hear it!! I love to be soft and mushy lol it’s one of my favourite pastimes
Uhh, so guess who lost a good ff7 fic and would appreciate help after research that yielded nothing (me. It's me again. Yeah, I need to stop doing this)
It's a clack Transistor au, pretty sure I read it on ao3 and pretty sure I found it through you? It's a rewrite of Transistor but set in Midgar with Zack as the talking sword and Cloud as Red. I think Zack even says a few lines from the game? It's been living in my head rent-free since I read it
Is it magnets pulling from different poles (with no control) by citadelofswords?
I’m at a disadvantage bc I’ve never read it nor have ever played Transistor, but this is the only hit I got on a fast search — I figure it’s the best way to start. I’m totally happy to keep looking if it’s not right tho! I enjoy the thrill of the hunt, so to speak. Lol.
Started watching Guardian thanks to you and THANK YOU!! It's so good??? I'm on episode twenty and while I love the main boys interactions, I was not ready for Chu and Guo, my friend and I went absolutely feral over the scene in episode 19
right? somewhere in the tag there was a post that talks about like the difference in what was censored and what was in the novel, bc their relationship was background in the novel, in the drama, it wasn’t really subject to the same scrutiny. so in some way, the drama got away with WAY more when it came to chu shuzhi and guo changcheng
I havent been able to stop thinking about 'because I could not stop for death' since I read it. Your writing is always amazing but the little twist was so cool!! It would be a delight to read a continuation if you ever write one
!!!!! awww thank you so so much! I had such a good time with that drabble and I’ve always been meaning to dive further into the consecuted-caleb theory, and I’m delighted that you enjoyed the story.
Who knows!! Maybe when I get a chance, I’ll see where else the story could go........( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Hi! it's me again, the person who named their cat after Newton. Just wanted to share a thing that happened today I let him out and like 20 min later an older gentleman calls me to say that my dumbass of a kitten had followed him home. I had to drive over there to get him (he was fine btw, the man was really nice and even gave him some food). But like, newmann au where Hermanns cat runs away and attractive stranger Newt takes care of the kitten until Hermann comes to get him.
Anonymous said: i hc that 1 of many reasons hermann loves cats is bc they're like tiny lil mathematicians!! calculating angles n trajectory before they jump, evaluating the way things move etc. no-kaiju au hermann has 2 clever cats n finds out that newt loves cats too, so they kind of hook on to that as a small talk prompt so they don't kill each other. but one day herms has to drop smth off @ newts n finds out his cat is The Most Stupid Orange Boy Ever bc like what did he expect. ofc he loves them both anyway.
i loved both of these messages so much and i love newt and hermann and cats so im....making a little ficlet combining the two (with some stretching of the anon message)...this is SO hallmark channel original its atrocious
Hermann’s never been the type for pets, not even when he was a child. Nor has he ever been the type for caring for really any living thing. He’s not the nurturing type. He had a small terrarium with a turtle as a child (a birthday gift from a relative who’s long dead at this point) and kept a houseplant for a month (a housewarming gift from an overenthusiastic neighbor in the flat next door), but his sister claimed ownership of the turtle when he went off for university and he hasn’t seen it since, and the plant quickly withered and died from lack of natural sunlight.
But the winter months always hit Hermann the hardest (seasonal depression compounded on top of regular depression compounded on top of Hermann’s semi-self-inflicted aching loneliness), and moving across an ocean and even further away from everything he knows is hardly helping, which is why his new therapist suggested he get a pet. An emotional support pet, he thinks they’re called. Something for Hermann to look after and have as his companion so he doesn’t spend every moment he’s not lecturing at the nearby university staring out his bedroom window at the ice and the frost and the snow and contemplating his own existence and the aforementioned aching loneliness.
So Hermann got a cat. It was either that, or try to make friends, and he’s never been good at making friends either.
It’s a nice little cat, a small grey-and-white tabby, and Hermann took a shine to it immediately at the local humane society when it peered through the cage at him with big brown eyes and mewed. If Hermann were another man, he might say he took a shine to it because it was cute.
It’s a clever cat, and fairly easy to co-habitat with, too. Hermann feeds it twice a day (morning, before lecturing, and evening, after lecturing) and buys it a scratching post and toys so it doesn’t ruin his furniture. In return, the little cat sometimes curls up on his lap as he grades assignments and on the great empty space in Hermann’s bed every night when Hermann lays down to sleep. Often it will lick Hermann’s hand, as if it’s trying to groom him, or present its plush mouse toys to Hermann as gifts in return for a head scratch. Hermann’s rather fond of it, to his immense surprise. He thinks it’s fond of him.
It’s why he’s near frantic now. He had his front door propped open for a single moment--just long enough to balance his cane with his grocery bags--and his cat took the chance and bolted past him down the hallway. By the time Hermann gathered his bearings and tore after it, it was completely gone. No way of telling where it may be, whether it ran up or down the staircase, whether it ducked into the elevator with another renter, whether it’s even still in the complex.
Hermann didn’t even name the bloody thing yet. How is he supposed to call for it?
He heats up a miserable dinner of leftover pasta and considers what to do next. His cat hasn’t a name, but it does have a collar with Hermann’s cellular number and name on it (suggested by the humane society, and Hermann, ever paranoid, was all too happy to go along with it). If someone finds his cat, they’ll surely call him. He hopes.
There are no phone calls through dinner. Hermann is too worried to grade the stack of assignments cluttering up his kitchen table and spends the evening staring out the window at the ice, and the frost, and the snow...
His cell phone rings; Hermann answers it immediately. “Hello?” he says.
“Uh, Hermann Gottlieb?” someone says.
“Yes,” Hermann says. “Yes, that’s me. Hello.”
“I think I found your cat.”
Newton, as the man on the other end of the phone introduces himself, lives a mere two floors below Hermann (Hermann is out the door and in the elevator before he’s even hung up) and found Hermann’s cat wandering the ground floor when he came home from work. Also at Hermann’s university, to Hermann’s surprise, but biology. (Newton is very talkative; he learns a lot aout him very, very quickly.) He hadn’t even meant to take it home, he explains, it just sort of...followed him.
“Maybe he smelled my cat on me,” he laughs, once he’s shown a still-frantic Hermann into his flat. It’s messy and a little cramped, with coffee mugs and open textbooks and half-finished crochet projects strewn about, movie posters and anatomical diagrams and sketches of plants plastered up all over the (lime green) walls. Messy and cramped, and somehow immensely, and strangely, appealing.
Newton himself is strangely appealing, too. He’s about Hermann’s age, short and scruffy, with tattoos and pierced ears and thick glasses, but he smiles brilliantly at Hermann, touches his shoulder and back companionably as he steers him into his sitting room, has a loud laugh that makes Hermann feel warm and pleasant.
(Newton, Hermann admits to himself, is also cute.)
“This your little guy?” Newton says, picking up Hermann’s cat from his dingy couch. He scratches behind its ears, and it starts purring and nuzzling Newton’s chest immediately.
It is, indeed, Hermann’s grey and white tabby cat. “That’s him,” Hermann sighs. “I really am sorry about this.”
Newton smiles. “It’s fine, dude. He and my cat were chilling.” He nods back to the couch, where a fat orange and white cat is chewing on one of the tassels of Newton’s pillows. Hermann almost hadn’t seen it. “He’s such a dumbass,” Newton says, looking at the fat cat fondly, and then turns his smile on Hermann again. “Anyway, wanna stay for a bit?”
Hermann blinks in mild bewilderment. “Stay?” he says.
Newton has not stopped scratching Hermann’s cat behind the ears. “I just made a pot of coffee,” he says. “I have beer, too. Or,” he starts talking faster, clearly embarrassed, “you can just go if you want, obviously, sorry, you don’t have to--”
“I’d like coffee,” Hermann says. “If you wouldn’t mind.”
“Ha! Cool!” Newton says. “Lemme--” He thrusts Hermann’s cat back at him. “Get comfortable. I’ll be right back. Half and half? Sugar? Coffee, I mean, how do you want it?”
“Black,” Hermann says, holding his purring cat with one hand. “No sugar.”
Newton shoots him two thumbs up and scurries off into his kitchen, and Hermann eases himself down onto the sofa next to the fat orange cat. “What an odd little man,” he says to it. It blinks at him, then continues chewing on the pillow happily.
Hermann can’t seem to stop smiling. He catches sight of the window (nearly obscured by gaudy curtains and window gel clings that are five holidays out of season), and--for the first time in weeks--can’t seem to bring himself to care about the dreary grey winter, either.
Hermann leaves Newton’s flat two hours later, warm, happy, his cat tucked under his arm and Newton’s cell phone number (signed with a long string of x’s and o’s) tucked into his shirt pocket, a dinner date looming on his horizon.
