#I just need to rewrite it to fit

[ace-malarky]

hehehe hit word count for the month :3

obviously I am not. actually done with this arc but it's fine don't worry about it we'll uhhhhh yeah

just keep writing

I'm not actually sure where my notes for the plan have gone lmao I think they might still be in the notepad I haven't looked at since like mid-Feb oops.

Be interesting to see what I've skipped past if anything?

[starry-bi-sky]

fast food is the best course of action after causing a scene. ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏғ ᴛʜᴇ ᴅᴀɴʏᴀʟ ᴀʟ ɢʜᴜʟ ᴀᴜ

(First Post Here and Second Post Here

--------

Danny finds Sam easily.

She's right where she said she was over the phone: standing outside on a balcony, in Gotham, at Father's many charity functions. 

("Would you still be willing to fly over to Gotham, Danny?" She asks, her voice ringing clear through the speakers. Danny is already climbing out his window before she even finishes her sentence. He was just about to settle down for the night, his ghosts would know better by now than to disturb him at this time. The Box Ghost not included.)

("Of course." He says, sounding more confident than he feels. Sam was one of his best— closest friends, he would do anything she or Tucker asked. Even if it means stepping foot into his Father's city. He drops down silently, and walks through the house's ghost shield. "Would you like me to bring you anything?")

(Sam sighs through the phone, relief leaking through. "One of the veggie burgers from Nasty Burgers would be great, with their new ecto-fries. Extra salt. I'm sick of all this rich people food.")

(A small smile pulls across Danny's face, tilting at the corner as his living form falls away to his ghost self. "Alright," he says, and kicks himself off the ground, "I'll be there in a few minutes.")

("Thanks, Danny.")

He had the bag of food with him, stored in a container he had to run back to the house to get that would prevent the food from cooling during his flight over. Clutching it in hand, he floats down behind Sam and sheds his invisibility.

Being visible and being invisible always felt different, but in a way Danny can never describe, no matter how many times he tries to think about it. It's like a gut-feeling, a sixth sense, he always knows when he's visible and when he is not.

His ghost form burns away like steel wool being lit, and Danny drops the last foot to the ground silently. In his other hand lies his thermos, but filled with plain ectoplasm — lazarus water. "I have your food." 

(He brought the thermos for himself — his side was still healing from his last fight with Technus. The ghost impaled him with a broken pipe, and Danny returned the favor by wedging his sword into his chest. Technus had been quite offended by him ruining his favorite coat.)

Sam jumps a foot into the air, and her hand slams across her mouth to muffle the shriek she lets out as she whirls around. "Danny!" She hisses, her voice rising in pitch, and her eyes narrow at him into a glare. "Freaking-- Tucker's right, we seriously need to put a bell on you."

"You have been saying that for years," Danny grins, sharp-toothed and jack-knifed, and passes the container over to her. "And yet I've yet to see any kind of bell." He was going to start getting disappointed at this rate.

As Sam takes the container, Danny hops up onto the railing and looks around. He hadn't seen any of Father's other children lurking around the building before he revealed himself, but that doesn't mean they aren't there. He wasn't going to fool himself into thinking that their stealth skills were poor.

He wasn't that arrogant.

...Anymore.

"Oh you will." Sam threatens, unzipping the container and grabbing the takeout bag. "I'll get you a collar and everything, we can start calling you Catwoman." When she pulls out her fries, Danny snaps forward and steals one from the box, ignoring her indignant yell as he pops it into his mouth.

"I spent my own money on these fries, Sam." He sniffs, leaning away from her with a stifled huff of laughter as she swats at him. "So they are technically my fries. And also, Catwoman would be a poor thief if she wore a bell."

Sam grumbles at him, and takes a bite out of a handful of fries. "I'll venmo you money." She says past a mouthful of food, Danny would have been disgusted in the past, when he was still new. But he's gotten used to this... normality. So he makes no reaction to it. "How does three hundred bucks sound?"

Danny immediately frowns.

"Did you have a fight with your parents?" He asks, eyes glancing to the doors. Doors that are covered heavily by curtains and blurred heavily, decadent music passing through in muffled sounds. He shifts himself away from the light. "You only spend that much money when they've pissed you off."

Sam's chewing stops, and her annoyed expression falters into one Danny knows well -- hurt, furrowed brows, a small frown, disappointment -- and she turns her head away from him. She swallows. "Yeah." she says, quiet.

Oh.

Danny knows that tone too.

Guilt settles like a rock in his chest. He leans forward, "Was it about me again?" He wasn't blind to the disdain Sam's parents had for him, far from it. This wasn't the first time Sam had gotten into a fight with them over her friendship with him and Tucker. But especially him. He unsettled people, even after years of observing his age-mates and trying to mimic their behavior, and anyone who knew him in middle school knew it was an act.  

Sam's silence gives him all the confirmation he needs, and the guilt heavies itself with the weight of the sky. Danny's never much cared about others' opinions of him -- he is (was?) an Al Ghul, they never heed to mind what the weight of a simpleton's thoughts.

But.. he cares a little a lot when it hurts his friends like this. He presses his lips together into a thin line, and forces the words out through his teeth. It sounds robotic. Al Ghul's do not apologize. "I... am sorry." But this one does. It doesn’t come easy. 

Sam sighs through her nose, and turns to roll her eyes at him. "Don't apologize on their behalf when you won't even apologize for your own; their assholes." She says, and goes reaching for more fries.

It's a sign, a signal. A silent word for the conversation to move on, to change. A distraction. Danny grasps it with both hands, and makes an offended noise in the back of his throat. And like he has learned, puts a hand to his chest like a scandalized American southern lady. "I apologize! I apologize plenty."

She snorts. "Only when you think it matters." And pokes him in the ribs sharply with her fry. He withholds a wince and snatches it out of her hands. "You're about as unapologetic as they come, Danny J. Fenton. I've seen you look more sincere when you're trying to drive your sword between Vlad's ribs."

"Stabbing Masters is a very important task for me, Sam." Danny says in only partially faux-seriousness. Masters has yet to realize that Danny had no interest in becoming his son, but he had to (reluctantly) admire his persistence. "Of course I will apply myself to it as best as I can."

He grins triumphantly when Sam laughs, and she reaches over to shove him square in the chest. He barks out a laugh of his own as he grips onto the balcony railing and catches himself at an angle.

"Quit with your method actor talk," Sam retorts, grinning sharply while Danny twists himself back up elegantly. "I know you can talk like a normal person, I've literally seen you do it."

Danny sniffs, and snatches more fries from the carton as revenge. "I'm not entirely sure what you mean, Miss Sam." He says, grin-twisting when Sam rolls her eyes. "My speech has always been this way. This 'normal' you speak of, I do not know it."

She waves her hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. But if you keep talking like that, I'm pushing you off the balcony."

"Such violence, Sam."

He gets a laugh again, full of disbelief without any of the annoyance. "I'm gonna be the one that stabs you, oh my god. Pot meet kettle." She looks at him again, smiling.

Danny smiles back, and with a flick of his wrist pulls out a kunai from his sleeve. It was one of the few weapons Mother was able to pass on to him whenever she made her scarce visits. He cherishes it well, along with anything else she was capable of giving him. 

He holds the handle out to her, and watches her face shift from disbelief to shock, then back to disbelief. "Then you're gonna need a weapon to do that." 

"Of course you have a pointy object on you." She mutters, and takes the kunai and puts it in her purse. Danny makes a pleased hum, it resonates low in his core, and drops his hand. "When do you not have a pointy object on you?"

As if to make her point, Danny's hands twist near his side, and he holds his palms up to her, revealing the shobo he had also hidden on him. He gives her a shit-eating grin. "Never." He lowers his hand, and pockets the small weapon once again. 

Sam huffs, "Of course," she repeats, "thanks. I was gonna bring a knife but..."

Danny finishes the sentence for her, kicking his feet idly and knowingly. "The security at the door?" He'd seen them on his flight over the building. It wouldn't do much in the face of the Rogues, but at least they were good at keeping appearances and keeping out the smaller threats.

He rolls his eyes and turns his head away, looking up to the ugly, smog-covered skies. There was no bat signal in the air, and while that was a good thing, Danny almost wished there was. He wanted to see it. "I saw, and I would’ve called Father foolish if he hadn’t hired help. He attracts trouble almost as badly as I do."

"Maybe it's hereditary," Sam jokes, laughing under her breath. With her fries finished, she started on her veggie burger. "At least your dad isn't a vigilante like you are."

Danny smiles wryly. It felt nice to be able to talk more freely about this. That he didn't have to hide the fact that his father was Bruce Wayne, now that Sam knew it from her own accord. Maybe he could have conversations like these more often. Even if it was limited to Bruce Wayne only.

(Even if it felt a little terrifying to know that his father was so close by, close enough that Danny could reach out and touch him. To speak to him. But how would he explain that? And with an audience?)

(He’s wanted to see him since he was a kid, and he still does. It clings onto him like a cough that doesn’t go away after the cold already has, and while it has faded over the years, it clings. His mother’s words still ring in his ears however; it’s not safe. It’s not safe.)

(And isn’t that why he faked his death in the first place? So that his little brother would be safe? Why he gave up the heirship, his home, his Mother, Damian, and his chance to meet his Father? Going to see Father, even now, would be throwing that all away. He has to stay away.)

(Why is Damian with Father if staying with Father was unsafe?) 

He just needed to tell Tucker. Danny wouldn’t keep him out of the loop, he was just as much as his friend as Sam was. His eyes draw towards the door, where the golden glow of lights was still pouring through, where music was playing loudly. "Yeah, fortunately." 

They fall into a comfortable silence after that, and Danny finally cracks open his thermos. The pipe Technus impaled him with was covered in a goo that Danny didn’t recognize, but whatever it was, his injury was taking its time healing. The ectoplasm was speeding it up. 

He isn’t sure what the difference between the ectoplasm that Drs. Fenton collected and Grandfather’s Lazarus pools is, but there’s a difference. He swirls the thermos slowly, watching as the ectoplasm inside twists into a small whirlpool sluggishly. 

When left alone, it thickens into a consistency similar to egg whites, or perhaps a thick smoothie, but reverts back into a water-like substance when moved and swirled. It was strange; unexplainable. He can understand, to an extent, why the Drs. Fenton are so obsessed with studying it and the dimension it comes from. 

Sam watches him idly as he brings the thermos to his lips and drinks from it. The effect is instantaneous, a sense of relief washing over Danny as if someone had put a soothing balm onto an injury. It buzzes down to his fingertips, and when he lowers the thermos, he licks his lips and watches the tips of his fingers burn green like frostbite. 

“Your hair turned white again.” Sam comments, her hand reaching out and touching the hair on the nape of his neck. While it’s not the first time Sam’s touched his hair, it still makes him tense up with her hand so close to his throat. Instinct. dan

He ignores the urge to bat her hand away, humming thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed it does that.” He says, pulling down his bangs to see if they’ve also turned white. No, still black. He lets go. “Let me guess; my eyes are green too?” He lifts the thermos again and peers into the chrome casing. 

Sam nods, “Yep, but it’s only the, uh.” She makes a circle around her eyes with her finger. “The iris part. Everything else is fine.” 

Danny can see that. The faint reflection on the chrome casts back an intense green. He takes another sip. It chills the back of his teeth, and he can feel his canines warp and sharpen. He runs his tongue over them, and swallows. 

Sam is still watching him, her fingers drumming against the balcony railing. “What’s it taste like?” 

“Carbonated.” He says dryly, before taking a large swig. He couldn’t name a specific flavor if he tried, it changed every time he took a sip. The only thing that stayed consistent was that it tasted carbonated. And slightly sweet. When he pulls the thermos away, Danny twists his body towards her and offers it out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Want to try?” 

Her reaction is immediate. Sam’s nose scrunches up and her mouth twists into a smile, and she makes a huffing-laugh sound. “No, thank you.” She pushes it away lightly with her fingers, “I don’t know how to explain to my parents why my hair is white.” 

Right. Danny pulls the thermos away and puts it down beside him, straining his eyes to see if the rest of his hair has changed colors. Even just his first sip would take half an hour to fade back to its normal black, and he was a halfa. He had no idea how long it’d take to fade on Sam, who was human. 

There’s movement from the corner of his eye, and Danny snaps his head towards the source. There’s a figure, small, a boy, trying to hide behind one of the curtains at the door. His form just barely peeking out from the angle Danny was sitting at. He wouldn’t have seen him if the boy hadn’t moved. 

His fingers curl tightly into the railing, and he breathes in sharp. Sam’s smile crumbles away and she turns to see what he’s looking at. “I should go.” He says, and reaches for his thermos. “There’s someone spying on us. Don’t say anything, just look at me.” 

Sam’s expression warps, twists. Her eyes widen, her jaw starts to drop before fixing itself into place, and her shoulders curl up and tense. She forces it all to smooth over, and she leans casually against the railing. There’s a tick in her jaw. “I see.” Her voice comes through teeth. “Do you think they saw you?”

“I am not sure.” Danny says. He keeps an eye on the figure as he twists himself over and grabs the Nasty Burger bag and the container. He tries not to look like he’s rushing. He is. How long has that boy been there? How much did he see? Did he hear anything? 

“Father, fortunately, has privacy films on the glass. Nobody should have seen me unless they’re specifically trying to peep through the door.” He says. The boy seems to realize that Danny was starting to leave. And, his heart beginning to sink, instead of leaving, moves to grab the door handle instead.

No. No, no, no, no, no.

Danny’s breath catches in his throat, he’s hoping that isn’t who he think it is. But how else would he have not noticed an eavesdropper on their conversation unless it was someone who was capable of bypassing those skills? He told himself that he wouldn’t fool himself into thinking that his siblings’ had poor stealth. He got distracted. 

Five years, five years. He refuses to let that go down the drain. He zips up the container and throws his legs over the other side of the railing, his back facing the door. He hears the doorknob click, and without a word to Sam, slips off down the side and down to the ground below.

Just in time. The once muffled music now sounds blaring as the door presumably is thrown open and the pull of invisibility washes over him like a second skin. He doesn't stay to see who it is.

[the-king-of-lemons]

Headcanon i've had for a while now about how minecraft hack clients could work, similar to the headcanons about how in game chat would work.

Just sort of an explanation with some examples, obviously some hacks are pretty hard to translate into a physical thing, but i tried my best. :)

Full text can also be found under read more.

"Hack Clients" are illegal modifications of a player's attire (i.e. player skin) in order to give them an unfair advantage. The visibility of a "Hack Client" modification depends on the server a player is on. On servers such as 2b2t, these modifications are obviously visible while on stricter servers, such as Hypixel, hackers will try to be more subtle, often hiding modifications underneath clothing.

Eyewear: Modified for use of visual hacks (i.e. x-ray. fullbright, esp, etc.), the easiest to hide from moderators.

Footwear: Modified for use of hacks such as Anti-Knockback, High-jump, and other similar hacks.

Mechanical Braces: Used to allow players to move with otherwise impossible reaction times, most often used for PVP. Completely illegal on most servers, players will attempt to hide them underneath clothing but often fail.

Leg brace: Used for b-hopping.

Arm brace: Used for kill-aura and aimbot.

[ganondoodle]

I am sorry to hear that the depression has stolen your spark.

I want you to know that you are the sole reason I gave Skyward Sword a chance. Your art was so beautiful and compelling that I just had to know about the media it came from.

Your art introduced me to an incredible community that years later, I am still benefitting from. Your art was the gateway, and I've always been thankful to you for that.

I hope your spark realights, and I hope you can kick depression right in its ass.

i- i did that????? qoq

yes im reviving old reaction pictures

i hope im not ruining the mood bc .. this legitimately made me tear up and i kept thinking of this ever since receiving the ask-

but bc i cant keep my mouth shut (i apologize if you are already well aware of all this i just .. like to talk i guess), i ... idk i have said this before but i feel incredibly conflicted about demise (am i allowed to like him??? do i even like him when i changed him so much??? am i a fraud fan????) and the game he comes from, i .. dont actually like skyward sword that much, or, not as much as it may seem like (my favorite is windwaker, second is botw), every now and then i even feel guilty for demise being my blorbo tm- as much as i love him im under no illusion what his introduction to the series did, the games lore is not .. great, it seems to have kickstarted the decline of the series writing and completely torpedoed any sort of fandom discussion by making zelda a literal reincarnation of the good tm gods of love and light and peace and everything good tm uwu and pit her against an evil demonnnnn that just crawled out the earth one day (??) and was only evil and bad and dark and hate incarnate an hated the good tm gods bc hes jsut so eviiiil, it gave rise to the utter dissmissal of any sort of ganondorf related discussions (funny how it only seems to apply to ganondorf, and none of the other villains hmmmmmmmmmmmm) bc, while not confirmed confirmed (though the fandom likes to pretend that), hes now widely seen as a reincarnation of demise and thus, doesnt need nuance or be given any grace or thought bc apparently when you say someone is a demon (or its reincarnation, which i dont believe ganondorf is, to be clear) that means its fine to not give them any thought bc demons are just evil tm and thats ok and good writing actually (wat????)

(if you take skysw as canonically how it all went down bc my interpretation makes it all be a fabricated lie so the gods can play their little games, there is no godess reincarnation, that was a lie to make way for an opressive kingdom belivieing itself to be irrevocably good no matter what they do etc)

it also cheapens any of the past entries, all of them have been flattened by this, why disscuss ganondorfs motivation lol, he just be a demon/demons puppet, zelda could never be wrong or do bad things bc she literal incarnation of goodness uwu etc- (and then totk, only the second game after skysw, retreads its points and makes it even worse while ALSO trampeling over that game imo)

i dont like saying it, but i do feel a little alienated even from ganondorf fans (i love him too!!!!!) bc they hate demise, and rightfully so, it feels weird having your main blorbo be the reason your second fav is constantly done dirty, why you cant even talk about anything critically bc 'iTs jUst a sIMpLe fAiRytALe' now and part of the reason the lore in general has gone to shit, and i dont know how much i can talk about that before i become an obnoxious 'well ACTUALLY my blorbo, who is the reason for all this, is ALSO done dirty and im gonna explain away the bad stuff via my completely noncanon reinterpretation-' guy, or if i already am what im doing with destiny is like .. my way of trying to fix it and make it interesting again? though at this point i guess im falling into the category of people who change their blorbo so much that there really isnt anythign left of the og, which worries me alot, though i wonder if thats even possible given how little there is to him in the first place, i so often see viral posts that make me feel guilty or conflicted for the way i work with media, "actually my blorbo did all those crimes and thats good you all who need to explain away the bad things are weak and annoying!!" "people who change their favs until they barely resemble the character anymore should just make an oc instead!!"-

i dont know if i take these types of posts too literally, i dont know when or how they apply, but it always circles around in my head, i know not everyone can like what you do, but i want to work with the material i have in an interesting way, not a puritanical way (or however you call that), its not in my mind every second, but it nevertheless makes me doubt what i do with my fanworks anytime i talk about them-

... this wasnt really the point of the message was it ... apologies, i hope not every ask will devolve into a sort of mini rant ;__; i dont mean to invalidate what you said, (and im not saying skyward sword is all bad, its full of charm, from characters to designs, just the lore is .. damaging) it is incredibly touching bc me or my art having a positive impact on people blindsides me every single time like "WHAT??? IMPOSSIBLE you MUST be thinking of someone else, no way i could do that", when something gets brought up my thoughts just kinda start pouring out, i thought about deleting everything i wrote, but then felt like that wouldnt be as genuine anymore (i am not normal tm after all and im long past a point pretending otherwise) and have wasted another hour for nothing, so im gonne leave it in and hope, pray even, it comes across correctly

q-q

[gardenvarietycrafts]

WIP Wednesday

We're up to 22 leaves now. These take less yarn than I originally estimated, but I'm sticking with my original plan to knit leaves until I run out of this yarn, then attach them with scrap yarn from something else. I haven't decided yet if that's going to be the leftover bits from my socks, or a different yarn though.

This yarn had a very slight fade from a brighter green to a darker green, but I like the slight variety that creates in the leaves' colors!

Quite a bit of progress made on the second sock this week. I'm a bit ocer halfway through the foot. My goal is to finish that up this week.

I also restarted the cardigan this week! I ended up changing needle sizes, and then when I went to do the math (since my guage is now smaller than the pattern guage) I realized the size I was working on would have been way too big, so I didn't have to switch which size I'm following, just which needles I'm using.

I also did a bunch of swatches/mock ups, and I've planned out how to do the ribbing to make it look best when I pick up stitches for the button band, as well as how I'm doing the buttonholes and other small details.

[squarebracket-trickster]

Maybe I could just [square bracket trick] these revisions and leave them for future me...

Future me is gonna be so mad hehe

[applesaucesims]

I know it makes no sense for them to keep the same cast for the until dawn movie, but i just really want them to keep the same cast

[normal-about-charcters]

i have a fanfic/universe rewrite in my head of a transformers series and if I ever hunker down and work on it these two will be irrevocably linked together in my head for it

[maingh0st]

Yes!!! I was also wondering if there’s different lands located in different countries or continents??? Do they speak any languages other than English???

(anon is referencing this post)

the Folk have their own language, a fact that gets dropped and then criminally underused in tfota!!!

but yeah i'm so curious about this. i think i'm leaning toward the idea that the faery courts are only somewhat tied to geographical locations—like they require physical touchstones to enter them, but are not truly physically "there." for example, the court of termites is underground, and we see kaye entering from a specific physical location, but it's still "separate" and would therefore never be touched by, for example, human drilling or digging.

also, elfhame being the High Court (TM) leads me to believe that even if there are fae courts elsewhere, they don't operate as totally independent powers. i think the faery world is probably more connected even if it's geographically spread out—again because i'm not convinced that geographical "distance" is much of a barrier

to me, this kiiindd of solves the issue of them being in north america, because it means their courts could've been around a long time, but people have only been entering them from north america for a little while. so maybe immigrants isn't quite the right term, but essentially the folk are still newer to north american soil.

honestly the reason i started thinking about all this is because i refuse to accept that the folk have been on turtle island for very long (like pre-european colonization). i just don't appreciate the undertones that carries of erasing indigenous peoples and our ways of understanding the world

[papermonkeyism]

sorry for being active

logical... i think I'm annoying you too much /especially with my bad English/, and if you don't want to answer, that'll be fine ^^` in any case, thanks for your attention! i'm probably overthinking this, but...

the last question was, what is Crippled (and the others for that matter) afraid of? I understand that all the hounds lived in a pretty terrible place, but what about simple, almost human things like darkness and loneliness? Surama seems quite fearless to me, despite her dislike of the dark, unlike her brother (okay, he's just quite active), and Iacar is reliving the past. of course, they worry about each other, I think, but... hey, admit it, who is afraid of thunderstorms? :)

sorrysorrysorry ^^`

English isn't my first language either (terveisiä Suomesta). It's just that I'm wary.

I do not currently live in a creative enough environment nor life situation where I can reasonably sacrifice several days out of my week into such a demanding creative work, alone, without burning out.

And every time I so much as casually mention Wurr online, there's usually at least one person who'll come and let me know how tragic it is that I've "decided" to "abandon" my "great story and characters". (Or, in one case, how irrelevant and pathetic I am as a failure of a person. Fuck that one, though.)

Like, I had a bit of a nervous breakdown because of health and livelihood issues back in last spring that I'm still occasionally dealing with (one's systolic blood pressure is definetely not supposed to stay over 190 for long), and I just don't want to be dealing with the people sending me obituaries for my comic on top of that right now.

Like, maybe, maybe, if I one day move closer to Tampere to have my Brainstorm Buddy in my reach regularly again. I miss having creative company.

But right now? I'm just tired.

[oh-meow-swirls]

how does the raft not capsize.

[bonefall]

any changes to the nine lives ceremony? or who gets lives from who?

Yep! There are new rules for the Nine Lives Ceremony, in the hopes of making it more narratively flexible. Not all ceremonies follow the same pattern.

Lives are gifted, NOT obligated.

If there aren't 9 cats who want to give you lives, you could walk away with only 4. If StarClan wants you to do tasks to earn them, you have to do what they say. There are many ways to get one's lives, and the ceremony can look completely different between characters.

Blackstar has to earn his lives slowly. He starts TPB with a marking like a black executioner's hood, and it slowly turns white from how often he visits StarClan appealing for his next one.

However... StarClan's games are kept in check by,

The Dark Forest can give lives too.

If they jerk a leader around, at any point, they can complete their ceremony with the damned. You can even get a mix; and it wouldn't be impossible for a StarClan warrior to sneak out of heaven to attend an unholy celebration.

Brokenstar was actually almost given a life from Heatherstar, but got so angry he rejected her completely and wrapped up his ceremony in the Dark Forest.

But there are some limits...

No leader can get lives until the previous one is dead.

Before the end of TBC, there is NO ability for a leader to step down without death. NONE. Even with ONE life left. You accept the position for the rest of your life.

Nightstar could not become leader while Brokenstar was alive AT ALL. Sunstar also only had one life. Rowanstar plunges into the Moonpool with his daughter Tigerheart's body, drowning his lives away so she could live.

[camvrin]

wait no hold on, I have to rewrite Brutus to fit my oc wait a moment guys

[some-teeth-in-a-trench-coat]

How different would you be if you believed or decided you were? If every objective fact about you remained the same except for your perception of who that makes you? Do you know the range of people you could be without lying to yourself or denying any part of yourself? Are they all equally you? Are you the happiest among them?

[hecksupremechips]

re: udg reblog,

clearly the solution to “oh i love this but i don’t think anyone should play it” is to write a fic with only the good parts and none of the bad parts but then you have this big empty space where the bad parts were so you just make something up that seems vaguely believable

that seems like a normal thing normal people do right?

RIGHT?

It’s always correct and totally won’t ever lead to agony as you look at the canon and scream because my god how are you supposed to salvage something this stupid why are you doing this you used to be so normal and not care oh god why does attacking the little girl make her pants fly off oh god why is delta a character

[dreamerdrop]

If I get attached to a character, I can promise you I've already started writing an essay in my head about why they're a CSA survivor in disturbing detail.