#I HATE TUMBLR BETA

[olivermccree]

i. "the fall of home" - los campesinos! // ii. antigone - sophocles // iii. "the wolf" - manchester orchestra

( gdocs version since tumblr beta is super annoying )

quick stats !

full name: oliver michael mccree

date of birth: december 1st, 1966

zodiac big three: sagittarius sun, scorpio moon, gemini rising

gender & pronouns: cis man & he/him

sexual orientation: bisexual

ethnicity: 1/2 white, 1/2 black

nationality: us american

religion: agnostic

languages spoken: english (5)

enneagram: 7w8

mbti: esfp

temperament: choleric-sanguine

alignment: chaotic neutral

background !

triggers: substance abuse, brief overdose, parental abandonment

October 16th, 1983: Oliver would always say that that was the best day of his entire life. And anyone who knew him well wouldn't be able to tell you whether that was true or not, but they would be able to tell you this: there was the Oliver before 10/16/1983, and there was the Oliver after 10/16/1983.

But his story begins with a one-night stand. His mother found a man she was sure would be the guy... again. But the guy was gone the next morning. And she mourned losing the guy after their magical night at The Pit. And a week came and went. And a pregnancy test came back positive.

Anyone who knew her would tell you she wasn't fit to be a mother, but she saw it differently. This was a gift to her, a chance to prove that she could break the chain of the poor parenting that plagued generations. She quit drinking. She quit drugs. She quit gambling. She really turned over a new leaf.

On the first day of December in 1966, she welcomed a little boy into the world. She named him Oliver, an homage to her late brother, and told him she would do right by him.

And she did. For a while, she did. Oliver had a loving and stable mother -- and that made up for not knowing his father. Men came and went over the years, but no one stuck around much longer than a couple months.

Josef Johansen was another story. Oliver was nine when Josef came into the picture and turned his mother's world upside down. His 'foreign charm' swept her off her feet, and Oliver could take being an afterthought as long as his mom was happy.

Josef stuck around for more than two months, firmly establishing himself as part of Oliver's life -- at least, compared to the other men who'd cycled in and out. But, the longer he stuck around, the more he truly began showing his true colors. He became an enabler, Oliver's mother breaking her nearly decade-long commitment to sobriety. He would sweep her away for nights on end, leaving Oliver to twiddle his thumbs and make do with the cereal they still had in the cabinets.

Three years into the relationship, as Oliver's mother was expecting Josef to propose, she found $800 on the bed... and her boyfriend nowhere.

For the next week, Oliver would sit silently in the kitchen with his mother as she stared out the window. Josef wasn't coming back. They both knew it. What drove him away?

The afternoon after she finally accepted what had happened, why $800 had been left behind ( which, she may add, was nothing in comparison to what Josef could afford ), Oliver came home to find her, unconscious, in the bathroom. Whether it was an attempt on her life or an accident, he would never ask. There would always be an unspoken understanding.

With her off her feet, with Josef gone, and with Oliver only 13, there was no steady source of income. They were on the brink of financial ruin, on the brink of eviction, when Josef came back.

He came with money and an apology, but Oliver wasn't willing to hear it out. He'd take the money, he'd relay the message...

...but that was a complete lie. He'd take the money and his mother would never question where it came from.

She eventually began working again... and she eventually fell off the wagon again... and she eventually got back on and began working again... and she fell off... and the story went on like that for years.

Oliver figured that he should've been worrying himself with academia and extracurriculars and all those fun things his friends were focusing on... but he was so busy being far too ahead that he kept falling behind. Until he was 15.

October 16th, 1983: Oliver woke up to find the entire house stripped down. Outside of the bare necessities and what couldn't be moved with ease, his drunken stupor had allowed him to sleep through something big.

His mom's room was completely bare. The bed remained. The closet remained. The vanity remained. Nothing else. It was far greater than he had seen in the past, those nights when she would be swept away by Josef for a week or so. Only they left on those nights. But this?

He found $800 on the mattress.

The first thing he did when he found out his mother may have left him forever? May have left him floating adrift with nothing but $800 to get by? Throw the best goddamn house party Cherry had ever fucking seen!

Without any family in the area ( well... Jamie, but he didn't count... ), Oliver resigned to waiting... waiting... waiting in the house until he was evicted. He couldn't pay. He wasn't going to try to pay. And he wasn't going to pay for anywhere else. He meandered around Cherry proper, looking for some long empty homes he could squat in... and managed to land upon one (1).

The rest of his high-school years were spent working, fighting, partying, and trying to save up money to go to college... which was fucking hard! Especially when he'd drunkenly offer to pay for a round of shots every now and again!

But, between what he had saved up, a bullshit ~diversity~ scholarship, a loan he managed to take out, and some outside help, he'd scraped together enough to pay tuition for the local university.

His days haven't changed much. Working, fighting, partying, saving up... but he's found much more lucrative means of income on university property.

Also he fucked around and found out with Elaine/Harvey. :elmosmile:

SOME ADDITIONS

I could not Flawlessly Weave These Into My Tale™, but very worth noting:

As alluded to, he and Jamie are half-brothers. How did they find out, you may ask? Oliver’s biological father may have been completely absent in his life, what to the point that he didn’t even know his name, but the Child Of His Mother™ was sent for when… his bio dad bit the dust lol.

Since ol’ Oliver was ~11, so pretty in the throes of Josef’s chaos… “I only learned his name one week ago but he is the best man in the entire world and this is not projection.” 

Jamie had something else to say about that. Apparently he was a “””””deadbeat,””””” but… no. Obviously the best man in the entire world. They literally came to blows at the funeral about it.

Chose Engineering as a major because he knows it'll get him a job right out of college... but... you know, first... he actually has to graduate... and... to do that... he has to actually pass it.

This would work better in a headcanons section but... I wanna stop using Beta as soon as possible, so I'll just put it here for now: will drink and will take a hit of the blunt. That's it, that's all. He's not looking to follow in his mom's footsteps!

[minnieokok]

a small rant about something in the wh fandom that i feel like needs to be talked about more

there have been a lot of theories about welcome home's lore using beta art as canon art, people reposting beta art, and artists showing beta art in their posts, and it just makes me kinda sad if i'm being honest. clown has stated that to not use art from 2021 as for theories or to repost it as the art is beta art and is clearly not canon.

i don't want to come off as a party pooper or someone who can't have fun, but i believe it's important not to go against clown's boundaries and to make sure the things you're using for your theories are actually still canon or to not repost any of the art from 2021 or show any of the beta art in you're posts of your own art (i don't believe it's bad to use beta art as an reference for your art, hell i have done that before, but maybe just link to the drawing instead of reposting it with your art)

i understand that not everyone in the fandom knows this, and if you did any of this without knowing it went against clown's boundaries, then i don't think you're a bad person, i do believe your actions are bad, but i understand you didn't know you what you are doing, and i hope you stop doing any of it after finding out it goes against clown's wishes

[pteropodhair]

I LOVE HER STUPID RECTANGLE-LOOKING SMILE

So I had to edit it

Also I might be drawing her ink color more red idk just so she has a more unique color, and because other than her initial design she’s just always yellow or red

Edit: I forgot to remove some things

[weird-homosexual-in-your-area]

“Pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Repeat, pilots in unit B43C1 are needed for sortie. Assigned technicians, escort pilots in unit B43C1 to docking bay immediately.” 

She was roused from her dream-like state by a blaring siren, louder than anything she remembered. She wasn’t startled, nor did she reflexively cover her ears like she would have done months ago, she just sat up and left her rest bay. A technician, she didn’t have his name memorised- whatever, they all looked the same to her since the conditioning- was at the door, clearly agitated at her for some reason or another. He grabbed her by the arm and tugged her out of the room, toward the docking bay. 

“You know, I had tickets to go out with my mates, evening of that sortie the other day,” he commented, face slightly reddening, grip on her arm tightening. “Tickets to see that Terra-Kadora game- you know the one I’m on about? Of course you don’t, you don’t see that shit now.” 

He suddenly stopped, with a painless jolt to her arm pulling her in front of him. He towered over her, but she felt no fear, more confusion as to what he was getting at. 

“’Course, you didn’t care if we got to see that game, did you? It don’t matter to you that we were stuck in repairs for two full fucking days, fixing your leg after that stupid jump kick trick you pulled,” he muttered. He was clearly unimaginably angry. She didn’t really pay much notice- he didn’t know how good it felt in the cockpit pulling that off. He couldn’t know. The joy of piloting was beyond him. “That was my first scheduled off day for a full month. Can you imagine that? A full month doing nothing but working, and your first day off gets cancelled because some idiotic brain-dead little shitbag felt like looking flashy. Can you imagine that?” 

A dreamy smile fell onto her face. She was imagining it, and it was as close to heaven as she could imagine. 

“What are you fucking smiling at?!”  He pulled her close to him, screeching in pure rage. She reflexively tried to activate her close-range jammers, to fire off an AP volley to disable the attacker, close in for that sweet, sweet kill; but nothing happened- those facilities weren’t available in her flesh-body. She dropped her smile, knowing better than to provoke the anger of the techs- especially ones who work to fix her mech.  

He sighed in exasperation- they were nearing the docking bay, and she’d have to have the helmet on soon. “I’ll be watching you today. If you pull that shit again, we’ll have issues- I managed to convince the highers to let my guys out today instead, and I doubt they’ll be convinced to do it again.”  

He passed her onto another technician, telling him to “put it in the cockpit on B43C1E”, and gave her the pilot’s helmet. She slipped it onto her head, and suddenly, darkness.  

Silence. 

Nothing except the hand of the technician dragging her to her beloved suit. 

She was pushed down a step into the cockpit and harnessed in. She felt several jolts of agony and euphoria, bright light and blackness, screeching sound and empty static, as she was plugged into the neural system. 

Then, the OPH- the oxygenated liquid allowing her flesh-body to breathe in the cockpit- flooded into the heart of the mech. She fought the urge to recoil as it reached her stomach level, the cold seeping down to her reactor- no, her bones. She wasn’t synced with the mech yet, unfortunately, so she had no reactor to keep her warm. 

As the liquid reached her head height, she reflexively held her breath, preparing to drown, but caught herself and exhaled fully. The liquid needed to fully get into her lungs, or the sheer pressure of the liquid around her would crush them. As it made its way down her windpipe, she fought the urge to splutter it up, to get it out of her lungs, and just let it into her body. Her vision filled with stars, red and yellow hues as her brain screamed for air, until suddenly she didn’t need to breathe anymore as the OPH reached her lungs, filling her with ample oxygen. 

Silence again. No sound, no sight, no feeling but the frigid liquid encasing her like a personal prison. Nothing. 

Then, all at once, her senses lit up with the familiar view from the eyes of her true body, one not of flesh and blood but of reinforced titanium and coolant.  She heard the familiar hissing sound of the scaffolding holding the mech retracting, its purpose fulfilled as the body was now inhabited. 

DEPLOY 

She didn’t hear the word, but it popped into her head. One second it wasn’t on her mind, the next it was all she could think of, and she had no choice but to do what she’d been conditioned to on hearing it said. She pushed her rear thrusters to full, leaning forward slightly and engaging the front calf thrusters to balance her out, so as to achieve the best speed she could- the system loved it when she did that, and so did she, as an overpowering wave of dopamine flooded her system as the reward drive kicked in for her compliance. Her flesh-body shook in response, but her true body, her gleaming body of steel, remained unwavering in its flight. 

She wasn’t sure exactly when it happened, but at some point in her flight she just knew what she was being sent out for. A few hundred kilometers away from the outpost at which she made her residence, 7 enemy mechs had been spotted making their way toward a crucial state power station. They were new mechs- analysis put the suits themselves at about a week old, so the pilots wouldn’t have much experience. Her unit could easily deal with them- 16 pilots with a few months’ worth of experience versus 7 with a couple of days? Walk in the park- the only real challenge was doing it cleanly enough for the reward drive to deem them worthy, but at this point even that was easy. 

About 15 minutes after her troop set out, they began to see the enemy mechs across the horizon. They were hulking things- 25 meters tall on average (about 5 meters taller than her), armour-piercing round emplacements on each shoulder, with laser arrays along the ribs of the machine. And that was only the armaments the mechs had that she could immediately see- for all she knew, there could be thousands of rocket pods stored in those four arms, there could be EMP generators hiding in that disfigured face, there could be blades that could cut through her sleek, metallic form like butter hiding in those legs. Those mechs were everything she’d been taught to hate, to fear, to want gone. 

For even a thousand infantry troops, dealing with just one of these would be suicide. For her mech troop? 10 minutes, maybe just 5. 

Mechs 1 through 7 began the assault, opening fire with rocket pods to slow down the bulkier four-armed monsters. They took several hits, clearly not expecting any opposition, the fools that they were. They snapped around, frantically shooting off AP rounds to try and slow down the oncoming storm, but not one shot met its mark, all being dodged by her unit, giving each a little hint of dopamine. God, the dopamine was incredible in piloting. Like nothing else in her life before the program, or what little she remembered of it, or during the program. Those techs couldn’t ever begin to understand how good it felt- she could take whatever “issues” they’d give her if it meant she’d get just a fraction of the euphoria she was going to experience over the course of the sortie. 

As the troop closed in, the enemy mechs grew increasingly desperate. They started firing off all-too-predictable laser arrays, each being swiftly dodged by all the mechs, and releasing some hidden rockets from a compartments in their arms, which she just knew were going to be there. She got another hit of dopamine from that- so fucking good- that was quickly cut short by the shared pain she felt over the comms relay, that was honestly more like a thought-sharing system, from several of the rockets finding their mark on number 5. 

 Hatred newly refueled, she boosted her thrusters into overdrive and sped over to the enemies, a cheetah running after a gazelle. She activated her elbow thrusters and drove her fist clean through one of the enemy mechs’ chestplate, grabbing the fusion reactor within and tearing it out, crushing the still-beating “heart” of the machine in her bare hands, and the dopamine was unlike anything else she’d experienced. A clean reactor kill always was- her system was flooded with pure satisfaction, and her flesh body shivered in reflexive response. The unresponsive shell of her kill keeled over, a deafening crash resounding across the barren wasteland as it hit the floor. 

 She noticed an enemy mech behind her through some optical data from mech 3, and span around on her left leg, whipping out her right with a thruster-boosted roundhouse kick that cleaved the foe in two with relative ease. Another rush of euphoria, slightly less satisfying than the last due to the damage she caused to her leg in the process of the manoeuvre, but still significant enough to make “her” body tense up in the cockpit. 

With the new injury to her leg, fighting at the front line was too much of a risk, even though it would net her so much more reward, so she reluctantly opted to retreat to the backline consisting still of mechs 1 through 7, now also with her mech E, to provide supporting fire for the front liners. They fought with grace and beauty, dodging the more unwieldy days-old mechs’ blows like flies dodging weak attempts at swatting, before countering with devestating punches and kicks that caved in heads, carved off limbs, detonated ammo reserves, each hit only adding to the sheer rush of dopamine they all felt. Her and the other 7’s fire was extremely helpful, provided much-needed openings on the mechs that were far more occupied prolonging their own survival than dealing with the far more apt attackers. 

After a couple more minutes of trading blows, only one enemy remained, its four-armed form glistening in the harsh sunlight like the angel of Death it so desperately wanted to be. Strangely, it didn’t attempt a retreat to save itself, or to fight back, or anything of the sort, it just fell to its knees, like it was accepting its fate. Strange. Why would it do tha- 

Suddenly, it clicked to her. It was overloading its fusion core. It’d result in a massive nuclear explosion destroying everything in a... 14 kilometer radius- just about leaving the power plant safe, thank God. Since she knew it, all the other pilots immediately did too thanks to the thought-sharing process. Everyone frantically turned away, boosting thrusters into overdrive to get as much distance between them and the explosion that was about to destroy everything near it- including them if they weren’t fast enough. 

After two minutes of flying, panic overtaking her and every other pilot in the troop, an all-encompassing blast rang out from the battlefield they were at minutes ago. They were pushed a good 50 meters back by the shockwave, all maintaining balance thanks to their experience with this sort of explosion. Their heads were searing from the sheer pain of the soundwave, everything within 14 kilometers of the mech was reduced to ruins, but at least they were alive.  

Pilot B ran a quick diagnostic check to ensure no major damage had been done to any of them- all that returned was E’s leg (the front panels of which had completely shattered with her second kill), some mild overheating in the backs of all of them except 1, 4, 9 and A which could weaken the armour if left unchecked, and several breached armour plates on 5’s front from the rocket salvo they endured. Still, she’d been on missions that had ended far worse for her troop. 

RECALL 

Again, she didn’t hear the command as much as it became her thoughts, and as soon as it did, she reflexively began flying back to the base. She allowed herself to blank out on the way- if there were no briefings she’d receive, no diagnostics to run, no enemies to fight, she didn’t need sit around in a boring flight back for however long it’d take. 

***** 

Some time passed- she wasn’t sure how much- and her home base came into view over the horizon, a gleaming silver compound contrasting against the blood-stained sand and bright blue sky. She slowed down to walking pace (still many times faster than her pace in her flesh-body) and walked through the bay doors, alongside the rest of her troop. They each slotted into their respective docking bays, and she felt the scaffolding swing onto her, holding her down for the extraction process. She wanted to fight it, needed to stay in her true body, had to stop them tearing her out, but it was useless fighting back, as several anti-mech infantry units were stationed on the various gantries that lined the room like capillaries, weapons trained on each of them, waiting only for the slightest deviation from procedure to open fire. Despite every joint in her body, every cell of her brain that still housed what little remained of her crying out to stop it, she allowed the scaffolding to lock around her. She allowed the piping to drain the OPH from the cockpit. She allowed the doors to be levered open. 

She allowed herself to be torn from her true body in a jolt of pure, unfiltered agony, as the neural ports disconnected from her spinal cord. 

Her brain took a while to recover from the overuse in the mech, and even longer to recover from the sheer shock of the disconnection, so when she next noticed that she still existed, she was being carried by a technician to the debriefing room. She twitched slightly, trying to run diagnostics to ensure she was unharmed- but that facility wasn’t available in her flesh-body. 

“Oh, you’re awake now,” came the voice of the man who was carrying her. She noted it was the same as her earlier assailant, the one who’d warned her about breaking anything- shit, she’d broken the leg, hadn’t she? She tensed up, expecting the technician to break out into a shout, but he laughed softly, almost affectionately. “While you’re here, I may as well just say well done on the mission before the briefing. You did really good, honestly- you took a quarter of them down yourself! That spin-kick was also really well done; I’m kinda shocked.” She relaxed, realising he wasn’t yet aware of the damage she’d done. She knew she was going to suffer when he found out, but that was in the future.  

The technician gently placed her down onto the ground, and she walked alongside him. Several times, she nearly fell over when she had to turn, expecting her thrusters to kick in when she willed them to, but they remained in the docking bay on her true body, not on... this body. They walked in comfortable silence, as she checked every corner, half expecting an enemy mech to ambush her around it, then catching herself and looking ahead, focused on where she was going. 

After a couple of minutes walking, they reached the briefing room, and they went in their separate entrances. The technician went into the main door of the room, into the conference room itself where the details of the mission would be relayed to the staff as a whole by the Base Director, the woman who ran the site. She went in through the back door of the room to behind the stage, alongside the other 15 pilots who were on the mission, catching a glimpse of a pale, unemotive face that wasn’t truly hers in the reflection of the stainless steel door. They were also there for the briefing, to pick up any details they’d missed during the mission, but couldn’t be allowed in the crowd, with their dead eyes and identical gaits being deemed too unsettling for the public to see. 

The booming, yet comforting voice of the site director came over the microphone urging the crowd to quiet down, an order they all quickly obeyed. She then continued; “As you may know, pilot unit B43C1 were deployed into the field a few hours ago. Our sensors picked up a strike team of Forcemesh mechs approaching Power Plant Delta- one of the most crucial plants here on Kadora, for those who make their residence somewhere else. Unit B43C1 was deployed to dispatch of them- if they made it to the plant and were allowed free reign, the consequences would have been disastrous.” 

The crowd murmured in shock- presumably some images of an example of the possible devestation were being displayed on the screen for the audience. There was no screen behind the stage- it would have cost very little to install one, but there was no need for the pilots to experience the briefing (“they’re not human anymore, they wouldn’t get the intricacies,” the Director had said on the topic)- but it didn’t take being shown to know what was being shown.  

“Fortunately, the brave pilots of Unit B43C1 arrived just in time to make quick work of the threat. We have here some footage captured from Mech E’s sensory array of the scene.” The crowd erupted into cheers- likely as her textbook reactor kill was shown on screen. God, that was incredible. “Incredible work from the mech, right?”  

“So, the gains of this mission have been discussed, but now we must talk of the costs. Mech 5’s chest was breached by a rocket salvo, so I’ll need technician section 5 on that tonight. All of the mechs except A, 9, 4 and 1 have had some overheating to their backs from that massive blast the final enemy released, so I’ll need the corresponding teams to check on those at some point in the coming week- it's not the most urgent, but it being done as soon as possible is needed for the continued defence of Kadora. Finally, mech E shattered a couple of the armour plates on its right leg, and the joints need checking too, so section E, you’re on that tonight.” 

She heard some commotion, presumably from section E, after that was announced, with the director chiding them for their childish response. “It’s got to be done, and it’s got to be done today. Sorry, you lot. With that, this meeting is adjourned. Glory to Stormcell!” 

A resounding chorus of the whole room echoing her cry of glory, then footfalls and idle chatter as the crowd filtered out of the room. As per procedure, the Lead Technician of each sector came to the backstage area to escort the pilots back to their assigned rest bays. Her escorter was red in the face, and grabbed her arm with a ferocity that nearly matched that of the rest of her troop. 

They walked in silence, with him almost dragging her along when she failed at rounding corners. When they eventually reached the resting bay block, though, he tugged her arm to drag her into the left turn to the technician dormitories instead of her rest bay. Fuck. She should’ve known this was coming. She should’ve just not broken her leg. It wasn’t necessarily going to hurt- her sensitivity to pain had been annihilated in the conditioning process, as had many other parts of her personality that she missed to varying degrees- but she wouldn’t be in a state in which she could pilot for days. 

As she was dragged into the technicians’ dormitory, she saw the technician who dragged her in- the same one who’d been interacting with her all day, she realised- raise his fist in a punch, and she tried to activate her close range jammers- but they were on her true body, not her flesh-form. As the punch landed, she fell to the floor, and everything went dark. 

***** 

She wasn’t sure how long it was before she came to, but when she was she wasn’t in the grimy, dark dormitories but the unsettlingly clean medical bay, with its flourescent lighting and too-polished walls and floors. She saw a figure sitting on the side of the bed she’d been put on, not one she recognised but not one she viewed as a “stranger”, per se. 

“Sam, it’s awake. Get in here, you’re the one with the damage report,” came the voice of the figure. The voice was bored, like it’d been sitting there for hours and this was the first thing worth his time that had happened. Then, another figure came in. She couldn’t tell the difference between the two- their medical scrubs were identical. 

“Right, E, so you fell off a gantry apparently- side note, pilots seem to have horrible balance on days they damaged their mechs, but that’s just an observation- and ended up with a concussion, extreme bruising pretty much all over you, but luckily for you, no broken bones. Good on you, you ‘landed’ well.” She let out a breath she didn’t realise she was holding at that- at least she could get back to piloting fairly soon. 

 “You’re staying on rest for a day or 2 while you recover, but after that you should be good to go back in the field after that. Also, your technicians asked me to pass on a message to you when they found you- ‘be more careful, you braindead piece of shit.’ I’m sure they’re lovely people to be around. Anyway, that’s all, so… yeah.” 

He stood there in arkward silence for a few seconds, before he and the other figure walked out of the room, leaving only her, the hum of the lighting, and a reflection that wasn’t hers in the polished, shining ceiling. 

She could have gotten off worse, at least. 

[veryrealauthorthings]

[jakeyt]

re-working some shit + figuring out chapter lengths. working out whether or not to move the end of ch. 11 to the beginning of ch. 12... which kills me to do (i arrange my chapters very specifically), but due to tumblr's lovely paragraph limit, i may have no other choice. :')

anyways... just thought i'd keep you updated. love you guys (gen. neu.)! <3

[amynchan]

"Tell me to stop..."

The words were ragged on her lips. Shuddering, shaking their way out of her.

Beneath her, her beloved smiled.

"I don't want you to."

Those words rang with trust, and it rolled through her. Her shuddering muscles brought her closer, and she nearly choked.

"Please!" she gasped, tears finally beading in the corner of each eye. "Don't make me do this! One word! Just one-!"

She was stopped by a loving hand. Her face was touched lightly, and as the hand fell, exhausted, she knew it had left a trail behind.

"I know it's difficult to bear-" that voice, always so strong, was a shade of what it could be "-but you are strong. You can do this."

As if they weren't on a battlefield. As if they hadn't been drawn to fight one another, to defend what they couldn't wholly understand.

"I can't!" Her strength was failing, her vision blurring. "I can't! Please don't-!"

"But it's already done."

The reminder wasn't unkind. It was soft. Gentle. Loving. As if they were entangled in nothing more or less than a loving embrace, proclaiming their love with only the celestial bodies to bear witness.

As if there weren't a sword between them, held by unwilling and willing hands alike. One desperate to release, to save what little life force could be recovered. One at peace with dying, prepared for this eventuality.

One of the two had always been optimistic. The other, realistic.

How cruel reality could be.

"When I die, the spell will release." The words were meant to be comforting. They weren't. "You'll have my magic, and you'll be free to take your place."

"But I don't want it!" She wanted to rage against her own body. Stop this from happening. But it was done... it was done... "Not like this!"

It was so her. So optimistic. He wished he could share her view, but...

He was always a realist. And he was dying.

And he loved her.

"I'll meet you in the stars," he told her instead. "Be strong, and don't let go of our future."

In the next moment, her hands finally, finally let go of the sword. For her, it was one moment too late.

In the moment after that, the people learned, viscerally, the meaning of "hell on earth."

And they had every reason to be afraid.

[paintedwingz]

my goon im so skibidi so i open the rizzdow to hear sounds of edgers...to hear sounds of edgers. omegaverse, planet of alpha was destroyed by all the betas. did its edgers want too much too? did its edgers want too much? and i dont want your rizz, i just want an alpha near me. guess im a beta. i just want to feel skibidi

[violetwolfraven]

Someone tell me why there are GEN BETAS in the world

I know every generation goes through this but my gen z ass really was not prepared to not be the youngest generation around. Gen alpha was fine cause they’re all like 12 but the fact that GEN BETA EXISTS

[sansofhumor]

Little writing round up / teaser after the cut.

Warnings for unreality maybe. It's sans. It's always sans.

The wisps of a dream fades as Sans adjusts to consciousness. He's on the couch. The curtains are wide open casting a warm glow on the carpet in front of him. He's on the surface.

Judging by the angle of the light it's mid afternoon. He can't hear Papyrus in the house. That's not unusual; his bro is a busy guy. Sans pushes himself up on the couch and scratches at his temple. He doesn't remember if Papyrus should be at work, or if he's out running errands, or if he's hanging out with Undyne, or—

His phone is in his pocket. It tells him the date and more importantly Papyrus's latest texts.

[8:30am] REMEMBER! I AM CAMPING WITH FRISK AND FLOWEY TODAY!

[8:30am] SO! DON'T FORGET YOUR BREAKFAST! IN THE OVEN!

[8:31am] AND. DON'T FORGET! I LOVE YOU.

[11:15am] LUNCH IS IN THE REFRIGERATOR.

[11:17am] [LOOKATTHISBUG.JPG]

[11:43am] [LOOKATTHEM.JPG]

[11:43am] [LOOKATME.JPG]

[12:02PM] [LOOKATUS.JPG]

There's a few more images after that in the same vein: Papyrus and his favorite freaks climbing all sorts of rocks and trees and streams.  There's even one photo of Flowey, clinging to the edge of a rock jutted in the middle of water, a vine held out for a Dragonfly to land on.

Sans flips the phone closed. The front screen flashes 5:54pm in 8 bit letters before dulling.

He remembers eating breakfast from the oven, doesn't remember lunch, so he must've napped pretty soon after.  There's a knock knock at the front door, from a determined, if small, fist.

Sans stands, pocketing his phone.

"who's there?" He calls as he reaches the door.  The kid doesn't respond, which isn't abnormal, but he doesn't hear Papyrus grumbling about the blatant joke set up either. Maybe he's unpacking the car still.

His last text was at 1:04pm.

"not feelin' up to it? no problem," he says while reaching for the front door. "I got enough words for the both of us."

The door creaks open, shadow cast over the kid's face. The flower pot is in their arms. He can't quite see their expression yet.

"what's up, kiddo—"

Papyrus is holding their hand in his.

Papyrus is also about three inches shorter than Frisk and swimming in his clothes.

"THE SKY?" Papyrus answers, looking up, dubiously.  "RIGHT FRISK? YOU SAID THAT WAS THE SKY?"

His voice is higher pitched. Young sounding.

"We already went over this! Get it through your thick skull you– uh– baby!" The flower in Frisk's arms growls.

Papyrus looks down from the sky. He looks up at Sans. Sans hasn't been taller than his brother for. Well. A long time. There isn't recognition in his eyes.

Then all at once there is.

"SANS???" Papyrus's hand tightens in the kid's and his face stiffens up in an expression Sans hasn't seen in, well. A long time.

Sans kneels down and spreads his arms like a rusty machine. "hey bro," he says. "long day?"

Papyrus lets Frisk's hand go and his body hits Sans' chest like a potato sack. Sans let's himself rock back before settling his arms around his more literal than usual little brother.  Just like he remembers, Papyrus' bones quake and then he starts yowling.

"WHY IS THERE A SKY? WHERE IS EVERYONE? WHERE WERE YOU? SANS!" Papyrus wails into Sans' jacket with as much force as he can muster.  "WHERE'S ALL THE SNOW? I— I — I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED AND I—"

Sans rubs at Papyrus's—small, narrow—back but he looks over his shoulder at the kid and the flower. Tilts his head at them. Smiling.

The flower sneers but Frisk at least looks worried. Not guilty.

"why don't we, uh, take this inside." He picks Papyrus up and settles him against his chest like he's done it a thousand times before. He has.  His knees just ache a bit more now.

He barely waits for the kid to follow but pulls the door shut behind them.  Papyrus has graduated from trying his damndest to deafen him to sniffling quiet into his hoodie.  Too much going on outside, Sans thinks. Too much light and noise and uncertainty for him.

Sans can feel him peak up over his shoulder, no doubt casing the joint like a punk. Sans feels him stiffen when he realizes he doesn't recognize the house.  It's certainly not their home in Snowdin, but even if it had been Papyrus wouldn't recognize it now. Not this young, at least.

Sans shoots a look at the kid and flower behind him, and deposits his brother on a dining room chair. Papyrus' fingers grip his shoulders tighter before unsticking and letting go.  While Sans drags the refrigerator door open with his foot and roots around for something to feed everyone he tries to remember whether that's to be expected, or worrisome.

When he turns back around Frisk has taken a seat across the table from Papyrus, Flowey still gripped in their hands.  Papyrus has his skull craned to keep an eye on Sans.  Sans doesn't bother heating up the left over casserole courtesy of Tori before he drops it and a couple plates on the table.

Papyrus makes a noise of interest. Before he can tear into it with his bare hands like the feral gremlin he is, Sans slops a portion onto his plate with a spoon.  He adds another scoop, and then a smaller one on top, a misshapen lump that should—

"SANS!! STOP! PLAYING WITH THE FOOD!!" Papyrus demands in a shrill voice.

"what, you too old for casserole-men?" He asks.

"THERE IS NO SUCH— SANS!!" Papyrus's voice reeds into a frustrated whine when he recognizes Sans' voice when he makes a bad joke.

"yeah. I'll, heh, cool it."

"THERE'S NOT EVEN ANYTHING TO COOL. IT'S NOT FUNNY IF IT DOESN'T MAKE SENSE." Papyrus accepts the spoon from Sans' hand. The right spoon, sans remembers, because Papyrus doesn't like them too big or too small.

"Hah! That's what I keep saying!" The flower says. 

Frisk wants Flowey to be quiet, but since that's a lost cause they also thought the little snowman on Papyrus' plate was pretty ice. 

"It's definitely snow joke." Sans says and takes their plate. "If Tori finds out you didn't reheat her casserole you're gonna need more fortitude than I can give you before she's through." There's a little square shape on their plate when he hands it back. Squinting, it could look like a sentry station. Or maybe a fort.

Frisk scrunches up their face and Sans can see them repeat casserole and fortitude until their eyes light up. Castle-roll, yes, yes. Sharp kid.

"So, uh. Wanna tell me what happened?"

He's staring at Frisk, and by extension the flower, but it's Papyrus who answers. 

"I DUNN— DON'T KNOW— I JUST WOKE UP AND IT WAS VERY BRIGHT AND YOU WEREN'T ANYWHERE TO BE SEEN!" Sans would wince, if he weren't smiling. "BUT FLOWERY—"

"Flowey!" The flower interjects. Papyrus' grip on his spoon tightens.

"FLOWEY FOUND ME AND THEN FRISK AND THEY EXPLAINED? A LITTLE BIT? LIKE WHY IT'S SO BRIGHT??? BECAUSE OF. THE SUN???" Papyrus' voice gets more and more incredulous as he speaks and he throws Sans a glance like Sans'll explain anything at all. "AND WHEN I. ASKED. ABOUT YOU, THEY TOOK ME ON A VERY LONG, VERY SKETCHY, HIKE WHICH ENDED UP HERE SO I SUPPOSE NOT THAT SKETCHY."

"why didn't you call?" Sans asks Frisk.

They pull out their phone, which is shattered. Somehow.  Alphys doesn't make those very breakable. Sans glances at the corner of the kitchen like the shadows and completely benign dust gathered there can answer his questions. Papyrus' phone, if he even has it, is probably the same.

He decides to ignore that they've been walking for probably close to four hours to make it back here and instead asks, "okay. so what happend on your end?"

"There was a crash and then babybones here was screaming like someone was murdering him." Sans isn't sure he likes the tone in the flower's voice. Frisk doesn't either with the way they flick the closest petal to them. But they also don't contradict the flower either, and they aren't hiding anything that Sans can see. So he huffs a sigh.

"Go call Tori," he says and hands them his phone. They hop up and take Flowey with them into the next room.  As soon as they turn the corner Papyrus pipes up.

"WHY? ARE YOU SO? OLD?"

The flower's cackling is loud and clear and makes Papyrus glare in a general direction. Sans elects to ignore the things he cannot control.

"You know how, when you get older, you grow up?" Sans asks.

Papyrus squint his eyes, like he is suspecting sans of setting him up for a joke.  He still nods. "YES I AM—" He glares again in Flowey's general direction. "I am aware! Of! Basic facts?"

"Well, I grew up." Sans explains, shrugging. "You grew up, too."

"I DID?" Papyrus forgets his volume again as he slams his little palms in the table and straightens up, balancing comically precarious on the chair. "WHAT AM I LIKE? WHERE AM I?"

"You're right here. Dunno where uh, older you is, if you're here." Sans offers. Papyrus frowns, digesting that. 

"SO OLDER ME... MAYBE. IF I AM WITH OLD YOU, THAN OLD ME IS WITH MY YOU. Now? Uhm..." Papyrus's face contorts into something very nearly worried. Sans doesn't feel like he has any new memories of running into an overly friendly skeleton as a child so he takes a moment to imagine it instead. 

Papyrus would be thrilled to babysit him, at least. And Sans had never been a... difficult... child. Mostly too quiet and still.  But Papyrus wouldn't be daunted in the least by Sans' quirks, and would be familiar and gentle, and also fun.  If the Papyrus Sans had grown up with had magically swapped places with his younger version, Sans would probably be better for it.  That most likely didn't happen, though, and if it had, it definitely wouldn't be anything for the Papyrus in front of him to worry about.

<-‐----------new story---------->

It's too late to turn back now. The walls are closing in, dark yet darker. A suffocating mantle of an embrace, vast and endless. Claustrophobic. Confining. There is no escape. Call for help, for anybody.

No one comes.

Sans jerks out of his sleep, a prickle behind his sockets. There's a whining pain building up in his head; behind the bones of his skull a ringing static rears forward.  He won't be able to fall back asleep. That's fine. He gets up and stumbles downstairs, avoiding the clothes on the floor.  The kitchen is dark. The appliances are cold and a thin film of buildup has clung to them from disuse. 

He checks the oven out of habit, but there's only a haphazard stack of dirty dishware there. He checks the refrigerator. Empty, stained containers line the shelves like tombstones.  There's no clean dishes in the house: they lie abandoned in stacks on counters and tables, even the floor in his room. Sans leaves the kitchen and instead finds the bathroom sink.

He takes a drink from the cool tap water and takes a moment to let it run over his skull. His phalanges are cold, but his face feels flushed.  The water seems to wipe away the migraine. For now. Sans doesn't bother wiping his face off or finding new clothes when he leaves the bathroom.

It seems pointless, to sit on the couch instead of the familiar embrace of his mattress but he knows it's important. He does not remember why. In his pocket is his cell phone. He takes it out, opens his notes app, and reads the titles of the memos.

schedule.txt

text file.txt

updates.txt

[][][][][][][] .jpg

readings.txt

Before he has a chance to tap one open a text arrives, vibrating the phone in his hand.

[][][][][][] now texted:

*hey.... you haven't checked in??? In a while?

* ??

*sans?

YOU texted:

* checkin in now

[][][][][][] now texted:

* that's a relief!

* what happened?? were you sleeping?

YOU texted:

* always

[][][][][][] now texted:

* what about the [][][][]???

* you have a JOB you know!

Sans backs out of the texting app and opens his notes again. The schedule file is the most opened file so he opens it.

check readings from basement

cross reference with lab notes

pack up miscellaneous tech

find [][][][][][]'s research

shutdown running experiments

start CORE cool down

shut down C[]RE

shutdown cooling infrastructure in snowdin

check readings from basement

turn off generator

lock the door

turn off the frame

return to [][][][][][][]

Taking a glance at his other files, he's already gotten the readings. He must have started the cooling process because the glitching on his phone has been getting worse. The ambient magic in the Underground must be unsettled.

YOU texted:

* everything's on track

* core is cooling down

[][][][][][] now texted:

* you never sent me the research data?

* or the COR[]'s operation files?

YOU texted:

* textfile.txt

* updates.txt

[][][][][][] now texted:

* oh!! perf!! thx

His cell phone shuts off.

It isn't out of battery but it has powered down. Sans doesn't go through the effort of turning it back on. He just stares at his face reflected in the small screen. He has a job to do.

In a smooth motion he tucks his phone into his inventory, and while he's there he sees a LEMON PASTA filling a slot. He eats it while opening the front door.

It's taste is indescribable. 

<---------new story--------->

Papyrus, the Great, packed his bags nearly the same moment the summons from House Dreemur was nailed to the postings outside of Grillby's Tavern. Close enough, at least, to be negligible in the sort of scale one might use if they were, for example, telling a story. His brother might use a different metric but Papyrus was not his brother and had always enjoyed stories more than calculations.

The summons asked for monsters competent in a specific area of skill: diplomacy. When Papyrus was younger, and his brother had moved them from the slums of New Home to the quaint, rustic town of Snowdin, Papyrus had dreamed of joining the royal guard. He'd wanted to be apart of something more than himself.

He'd been too young to join at first, and sometime between his brother leaving and his own coming of age, Papyrus had found himself helping the town's mayor complete her paperwork on time. He was a likeable sort, so the mayor warmed up to him quickly and often let Papyrus in on the workings behind doors. If Papyrus had wanted to be part of something more than himself, he found it in working as a minor governmental aide.

With his brother sending back a working wage each month and the mayor putting him on a stipend, Papyrus did quite well for himself. He even spearheaded several projects of his own: a recreational center that focused on youths, a communal garden, and young but fruitful forays into trade deals with the nomadic humans that wandered closeby.

It may have been through these humans that Papyrus first got the sense that something was stirring beyond the borders of his town. Humans always had a tendency to be skittish around monsters but Papyrus had seen these ones grow used to the Snowdin locals through trade and kindness shown. When they wandered in, weary and wary, Papyrus had known something was brewing.

He had offered a meal on him, ushered the nomadic family into Grillby's warmth and wheedled out threads of growing discontent in the human kingdom. Nothing said outright, of course, he doubted the humans actually knew what their news of unrest could mean. They were concerned only so much as traveling to certain cities was more dangerous or less lucrative. Papyrus did not have his brother's knack for theory but he was more than capable of putting together a puzzle.

Another impetus: his brother's monthly package home stopped arriving.

So, Papyrus was nearly finished packing when the summons was nailed to the posting outside of Grillby's Tavern. The summons merely gave him an excuse to extricate himself from Snowdin's warm embrace.

"Of course I will let him know, you have only been reminding me of my brother's tab for the last six years." Papyrus shook his head and tapped his foot against the warm wood floors of Grillby's seating room with impatience. The fire monster snapped and crackled from his place behind the impecable bar. Grillby beckoned him closer and he reluctantly approached the bartop.

Grillby pulled a neatly packed bag from beneath the bar somewhere and set it in front of Papyrus. It was moderately sized, made of well crafted oiled canvas. Papyrus lifted the flap and blinked at the contents.

"... it will keep," Grillby's intentions came through in the snapping of his embers as he pushed the bag of monster food closer to Papyrus.

Papyrus had already put away some travel food, serviceable rations that would carry him in the event he couldn't find, barter, or buy anything on the road. Grillby had packed him a small fortune of magic laden monster food: spiced bread rolls, cuts of delicate and robust vegetables, jars of ferments, pressed curd, even packets of dried herbs. All either monster made or magic infused, with indefinite stability. He could recognize contributions from almost every family in Snowdin, down to the unruly teens who hung out in the community garden.

"...and for... your brother..." Grillby slid over a paper wrapped package. Papyrus could tell without ever needing to open the thing that his brother's favorite order had been packed with care. The emotion overwhelmed him, for a moment.

"I will of be sure to scold him for enjoying the grease." He finally managed, and though Grillby did not have a face as most would see it, Papyrus knew he was smiling.

Papyrus laid his brother's meal into the bag Grillby had made and attached the whole thing to his pack with very little fanfare. That was not to say he escaped the town so easily. The streets were lined when he left Grillby's establishment and he graciously stopped at each family and friend who called him over for fairwells.

It was enough to fill a monster's soul to bursting. His neighbors and friends gathered to see him off. When he finally managed to leave the town proper and stood on an overlooking hill he turned to see the whole town gathered in the mainstreet. He waved one last time to the snowy little town he'd come to call home.

Now, it was time for his journey.

Of course Papyrus had been outside of Snowdin before. Not just the frantic rush between towns with his brother, but also to greet and see off his human merchants. He'd gone on one trip with the mayor to a lordling's hold as well, a lesson in etiquette and monster economics that Papyrus had to scrawl down in a journal the talking was so dense.

The thing that separated this journey from any other he'd been on was two-fold: it's length and his solitude. Only the move from New Home to Snowdin could match the length in distance, though he'd had his brother for that. Still, he was capable and not afraid as he entered the wilds beyond Snowdin's charming boundaries. The road through Snowdin had grown more traveled as Papyrus worked to welcome new trades with travelers, the Bunnies had been pleased with the uptick in business with their Inn, but it was still little more than a well worn wagon path through snow and forest.

Papyrus shouldered his pack and stepped on.

[umbracirrus]

Phone: two apps need updating

Me: but there's only one app on the list?

Phone: two apps. Update them.

Me: there is literally only one-

Phone: Two. Apps.

[ofgentleresolve]

okay now that i'm seeing the new dash...hot take, but while i'm not a fan of idea of tumblr trying to be like twitter ( if anything tumblr is more popular BC it's social media specifically for people who hate social media :// we'll have problems if they ever enforce a character limit on posts ), i don't actually hate that the menu bar with the words is always on the side- it cuts down the amount of time i usually would take with navigating between say my dash and activity pages, etc.

[bewitched-bullet]

Had an event happen and now I'm hating on everything I've written.

I want to write so badly but scared that I'll hate that too.

'Scuz me while I hate in peace.

[veryrealauthorthings]

[witch128chick]

Sooooo

I finished a chapter, huh?? What a surprise

Hope you're all doing good!!

[shinybulbasaur]

almost entirely passed out during lab meeting, head on the table, eyes closed, everything, regained consciousness just long enough to see some journal article had used ß instead of β and proceeded to call them out for it (head still on table, eyes still closed)