#NONE OF THIS HAPPENS FOR REAL. THIS IS ALL A CONSTRUCT OF A HUMAN PERSON'S IMAGINATION

[jessicas-pi]

look, I've decided that everything george lucas was involved in is canon star wars, and everything else is basically fanfiction that I can approve of or disregard at will.

This is going to be a very important part of my life philosophy come this August.

[transformersconfessions]

I actually don't think the babyfication/infantilisation of B-127 in transformers ONE should be such a big deal as some ppl make it out to be.

Do I think Bee is CANONICALLY a lil kid in TfOne? Absolutely not- I TBH subscribe to the idea he may most likely be the oldest of the group, he is just overly chatty and socially awkward due to being isolated for so long. I also don't think any of the others ever treat him as a child or as if he was younger, he is part of the group in a very homogenous/equal way.

Having said this, lil Bee is a ridiculously popular trope. He is small, he is yellow, he is round shaped, he is less somber- and ppl like that, and like to have fun with him being younger or the baby of the group or establish a parent-child relationship with Optimus/Orion. And I think that's more than fine! It's a cute concept, adorable even, I understand why ppl love it and why they wish to apply it to continuities regardless of canon. I tbh don't think it does any harm, in having him being a "child of divorce" with Opmeg or to even have him see Oplita as parental figures. This is fiction, and this is ppl having fun with fiction BCS it makes them happy or brings them comfort or just think is cute.

As long as they don't claim that any of this is canon and is the only "right way" to see him (which I have personally never seen, although this is ofc a biased opinion not enough of a large sample), then let ppl make their AUs or What if or Headcanons.

I also don't get the whole "this enforces the infantilisation of autistic/ADHD ppl" ?¿ I may be ignorant regarding this but just how would that even happen?¿ I never in my life looked at someone short and chatty and socially awkward and been like "oh that's definitely a child and should be treated as such"?¿ As someone on the spectrum myself and who has many friends/acquittance both with either or none, I have never seen this issue, nor the correlation of "you like Bee being the baby of the group hence you infantile or endorse the infantilisation of autism/ADHD"

Maybe I would see it more if we were talking about human characters played by real actors- but here we are talking about giant animated alien robots who have most likely concepts of age/development/social constructs totally different from our own especially considering how long they live- but maybe I am missing some important bit here, always open to be educated on the topic.

Am I saying you have no right to be annoyed by it? ABSOLUTELY NOT- your feelings are valid, but also, make callout posts of how "that's a grown man" feels a bit too much. If you want more canon accurate B-127 I think you should pick up a pen and do it yourself! Create fanarts of it, create fanfics, write analysis, list your head canons! And I am sure more ppl will look at this version and grow fond of it and start producing content themselves! Everyone has their right to have fun, no need to complain or criticise them for it :)

You like lil baby Bee and his father-son relationship with Orion? Go for it! You want to explore Bee as a grown mech who is on equal friends plate? Be my guest!

If you don't like something, either just scroll or block them, and if you want to change how things are, then start creating the corner of the internet you want to live in yourself! After all, all these fanarts/fanfics are works of PASSION given FOR FREE- I don't think you have a right to bash or complain about this nor can you force artists to produce what you want the way you want- but you can always become the artist that produces that yourself!

.

[dana-chan-the-control-brain]

I'm still saying Afton is not the Mimic

Spoilers for the Ruin DLC under the Cut. I wanted to include this in my mega post... but I know that the fandom is flooded with "the Mimic was Afton all along" theories right now actually.

There will be a lot under the cut, explaining some personal theories and the ending of the RUIN DLC so... be warned.

The Mimic, if you read the books, (but you probably haven't so I'll explain it in a few short sentences) is a character from the Tales of the Pizzaplex Books that was built by a Faz Engineer who made a robot to mimic his son to keep him company while he worked long hours while he lived in a factory. The child died in a car accident, and the Mimic kept miming his son's behavior. So in his grief, the engineer beat him to death in rage and grief. This infused rage in the machine.

So now the Mimic mimes behavior of a four year old, but it's corrupted and twisted. It will mime the action of 'scooping icecream' but will be scooping out your brains. It also has an adaptive learning AI so the violent pain it experienced, along with a four year old teaching it, it's a very dangerous thing.

It's also buried into the foundation of the Pizzaplex. And was reprogramed by some dumb lazy tech to clear the debris down there. By disassembling the robots and putting them in a pile. Which it did to all the human construction workers by disassembling them and putting them in a pile.

"This pile" I think is the Blob. Or as the game files refer to it.... "THE TANGLE."

(hard to see but take my word for it. that's him)

(cheating camera angle)

I think "The Tangle" is a infused pile of machinery, robots, and bodies that have all wound up down there.

So, we know that the blob is real. But I really think it's "The pile" that the Mimic has been stacking in the Book Epilogues. And it got out. Gregory/Mimic or Grimmick, says that something tunneled out of the building... And I believe this is 100% true. Because in Base Security Breach, we see this thing in the underground where Afton's room is.

But in RUIN.... This thing is on the top level??? HOw Did he get up here???

Easy..

He tunneled up.

So... the reason why RUIN looks like it does, and HOW it looks how it does...

Is because The Tangle got loose. And has been using the Pizzaplex as it's own series and network of tunnels like a burrowing snake or ant. Causing the entire building to fall in on itself. The Pizzaplex is it's ecosystem now. So that's why everything is falling apart how it is. He's breaking the very foundation and walls of everything.

So we do know the Blob IS real.

And let's assume that he's "the pile" that the Mimic has been building in the Tales of the Pizzaplex Epilouges. Just... sorting all the garbage, bodies, and endos into piles that he can find and stack.

So we know the Blob is real... but is Afton Burntrap real?

Forgive me I don't have the proper collectable screenshots so I'm pulling from the Wiki:

Throughout the game, you collect these real collectable comics that include all of the endings of Security Breach. And Cassie can recognize this as Gregory's art style, and has no idea when he had the time to make these or when he made them. EXCEPT Princess Quest. Which is pretty important I think. Which I think cements that Princess Quest is the definitive three star ending.

It's also worth noting that in Vanny's Room in the RUIN DLC... there is a book of "Fazbear History" by Vanny's Bed. So if Vanessa was freed and got out... we can assume she was talking to Gregory about the Fnaf lore as she knows it.

Also, it makes sense why some of these endings are a little insane now. cause it was just Gregory trying to process everything that happened to him at the Pizzaplex.

Gregory: So, I thought you had a twin sister for the longest time and-

Vanessa: Try again...

But anyway... if None of the previous endings were real.... Is Burntrap even real?

We collect this before we face the Mimic.... of Afton and the Blob. So we know The Blob/Tangle is real.... but was Afton ever real? Was Burntrap ever real? That's what we need to answer...

But if he isn't.... Why is his charging station down here in the furnace room all clouded up? ....As if it never was opened. As if he rotted inside with no more remnant to collect???

Cause here's the thing... I can accept the soft retconning of Afton. And if he was never real to begin with, and this is just Gregory's personal interpretation based on what Vanessa told them about what she was suffering through, I will take that. Or maybe Gregory saw the Mimic and interpreted it as this... I will take that as well.

However....

From what I said earlier... The Mimic... All his motivations in the game don't line up with Afton's.

He is doing exactly what he wants to do.

The Mimic is sealed in the back with Concrete... he's using Helpi and the VANNI Network to get Cassie to let him out. He just wants to get out of the basement and get Free.

Now... if Mimic is Afton the whole time...

and there is a case for it... they have almost the same idle animations as an endo, the Mimic does have Burntrap's claws on one hand. And he does have a similar pawed foot to Burntrap's design and they're practically identical height and pose.

And the Mimic is almost one-for-one linked with Hepi and the VANNI network. And I don't doubt that Vanny the person was using the VANNI network to get around the pizzaplex and become invisible to certain animatronics.

.....But...

here's a big But...

If the Mimic's goal is to kill people with his bare hands... and to get out of the concrete sealed basement, and break all the Security Nodes so he can get free???

WHY DOES THE PIZZAPLEX HAVE SO MANY MISSING PEOPLE/CHILDREN?

Why was the Human Staff all killed in the Pizzaplex?

Why are their children missing?

Why is Vanny hunting children and adults alike to kill in the first place?

This is not the Mimic's MO.

Because Vanny WAS working under influence of Glitchtrap and not the Mimic.

Because if the Mimic just wanted to get out... He would have told Vanny/Vanessa... head of Security.... To break all the Security Nodes A WHOLE LOT SOONER. Cause she literally has a VANNI Mask/suit and access to all of that.

The Mimic has no need for remnant or child killing or human killing if they aren't doing it themselves. The Mimic has always been very hands on with their kills.

But If Burntrap Afton is REAL... HE DOES have a reason for gathering this much Remenant.

He is growing in the charging station and trying to regrow his body.

And while the Mimic moves in a similar fashion to Burntrap, I think that's because he witnessed his behavior at one point and is copying it. But he never saw Afton in his prime. So he literally can't mimic the serial killer behaviors Afton is known for. Just likely his walk and how he breathes.

Because He literally can not copy Afton as a copy-cat killer, if there is NO Afton to Copy. There is no way that he could have learned who Afton was from all the way down below into the foundation. Especially with MXES keeping it hidden down there. And by "hidden" I'm sure it's hidden from Glitchtrap to even possess or check out that low.

People have to remember. The Mimic doesn't have access to illusion disc technology from the books. he can't replicate a corpse face. He's just a learning killer AI who has access to crappy mascot costumes. He can't look one-for-one like a person, even if he can sound like one.

So, there is a possibility that Burntrap Afton DID exist... He just rotted into dust once Vanny stopped collecting remnant for him.

Or there's also the possibility he was never real to begin with.

But.... Glitchtrap certainly was at one point. And Vanny was working with Glitchtrap to kill employees and children.

Not the Mimic.

Just their motivations and modus operandi don't add up if they are one in the same.

It wouldn't make sense for the Mimic to just tell Vanny to parade around in a bunny suit, kidnapping children and killing employees.

He would be telling her to disable the Security Nodes.

There is also the possibility that Vanessa sealed the Mimic in concrete after the events of Security Breach. But even then, I really don't think that she knew about it before hand until she went down to the basement to unplug Burntrap from his charging station.

Anyways... The only way I will see "Mimic is Afton" is that if Afton was using it's body. But then, it's not the Mimic anymore, it's just another Afton-clone.

And from everything from how I've seen the behavior of the Mimic in the DLC, it is operating completely divorced from Afton with it's own motivations and morals of it's own accord.

Oh, just to be clear, I'm not mad at this soft-retcon of burntrap. It's fine. Lol I actually prefer if he didn't exist.

And even if Burntrap was never real in the first place....

Then it means that Vanny was purely an agent of Glitchtrap.

Then when the Glitchtrap Virus got destroyed.... the Mimic hijacked the VANNI network and took it's place.

[bbrokenbback]

Percephone Danakt, the little miss of Iron

I realised I can't reblog from communities a little to late, so this is a copy of my post there, because well I'd like to share it.

Recently I asked here am I allowed to share the story of my Calliphone and Perturabo OC daughter, and since I got a positive response, here it is! Almost embarrassingly long rant based on yet incomplete story of Percehone Danakt is under the cut. I apologize in advance that the story might sound rather complicated, especially considering that I had to skip many small yet important details for the sake of keeping this post at least somewhat a reasonable size. The fanfiction itself is my personal reflection of the problem of fathers and children, and the general subject was inspired by Turgenev’s “Fathers and sons”. Considering all of this… yeah. There’s a lot.

Percephone is a consequence child of one and only night Perturabo spent with Calliphone as his final farewell. It is mentioned in canon that they had feelings for each other, but were never brave enough to act on them, so such occurrence seemed pretty possible to me. They slept together, Perturabo left, Dammekos quickly threw his daughter into some political marriage, and that was it.

I’m adding this part when I finished retelling 100 pages fanfic below to save your time. Here are just some fun facts about Percephone.

She’s too smart for her own good, but she has no wisdom, she knows nothing about the real world. For her entire life she has been in the Tyrant’s palace, spending her time in her little workshop, constructing weird things and showing them to guests when Dammekos demanded so. She’s socially awkward in the worst way possible – she’s impolite, she says all of her thoughts out loud, her behaviour is a nightmare, but not because of malice, since she has none, but because what a mess she is.

Percephone inherited too many of Perturabo’s features. Primarch’s genes are strong, so her eyes, her nose, even her dark unmanageable curls are from him. She also has his weird charisma – she doesn’t scare people off, but she is not easy to like either.

Basically, to summarise her personality, one can imagine her being that version of Perturabo that wasn’t disappointed in everything since the beginning. She does in fact learn things, not simply remembers them, lacking the joy of discovery. She has that weird kindness that got Perturabo drawn to humans before he lost his memory.  And she had only heard legends about war. She constructed some models and minis, of course, but the concept of death and especially of killing people is a mystery to her. She doesn’t realise that such things actually exists because she’s nine years old. Percephone may understand the complexity of decomposition process of human body, understand every little change that happens in cells. But she simply cannot yet comprehend that something like this can happen to her or people close to her.

She doesn’t know she’s half-primarch. She was purposefully raised to believe that she’s just an ordinary, even if very gifted, child. Dammekos made sure she doesn’t understand her abilities like Perturabo did, so she won’t cause the troubles he did.

Calliphone gave her a mechanical automaton in a cat body Perturabo made for her as a present. The cat is black, his name is Alexander, he can talk and he’s a dick.

She inherited Perturabo’s technomantic abilities, and this is the reason why Magnus is stated as a character in this story. Someone has to teach her how to control her powers before she stopped the Iron Blood’s engine in the middle of a warp transition due to her tantrum.

She’s awfully sensitive to everything, just like her father. She’s easy to cry, quick to anger and act on it. Since Perturabo is three meters tall, this fact is frightening and it’s dangerous. But Percephone is still small, she has a height of an ordinary nine-year-old. She doesn’t look scary when she’s angry, even if it may be just as disastrous.

Percephone definitely prefers Forrix over Perturabo, and it pisses the latter off.

She’s also not scared of the Primarch. She talks back to him, she can hit him with her tiny hands and calls him a drama queen. Perturabo’s in shock.

The story at once!

Except it wasn’t that easy. Calliphone gave birth a little less than seven months after that night, which seemed strange to public, since the tyrant’s daughter remained an important figure in Olympian politics. A child of a Primarch in my headcanon is expected to develop quicker than a normal human embryo, but the dates took all the suspicions off Perturabo due to the lack of knowledge on the subject. You can read a complete explanation on the whole half-primarch development/pregnancy here: https://www.tumblr.com/bbrokenbback/758213969513267200/children-of-the-primarchs?source=share (it’s yet another large posts made by me, lol)

So, long story short, basically no one knows that Percephone is in fact Perturabo’s biological child, except for the Dammekos family. It is obvious to both Calliphone, to her soft-hearted husband and to Dammekos himself. They keep this information a highly guarded secret, so Percephone basically grows up isolated, mostly left to herself. “Grows like grass” as they say, with all supervision and control attempts failing miserably, because you can’t restrict a child with an intelligence of a Primarch and a character of, well, a child. Calliphone is too busy dealing with pregnancy complications, Dammekos resents the little one because she is too much like Perturabo (and he thinks he failed in raising him, because he got away), and there’s only one person who actually cares about her, and it’s her gouvernante, Agnes. But Perturabo fires her in a fit of rages.

The story begins when Percephone is already nine years old. She still looks like an ordinary child and, since she was never allowed to train and find out the limits of her physique, she considers herself to be just a gifted kid. She still has the intelligence of a Primarch and a personality of a kid. And to set up a little more about her, lets add her appearance. The first picture is the reference I asked @coolesttatarka25 to use when she made arts for me, and the rest is the commissions I bought from her and some gifts she made for me, since we’re besties (check her out, she’s really cool and broke, she needs you:D).

What a cutie, isn’t she?

Back to the story. Perturabo arrives at Olympia in a hurry, since Calliphone, feeling her own death coming, sent him a message, where she finally uncovered the fact that he has a daughter. As a proof that Percephone is indeed half-primarch, she sends a few pictures, tells a few stories about what she had done during her short life and also gives Perturabo a book she wrote on a subject of theory of functions of a complex variable (it’s from advanced math and is usually studied in college).

Perturabo’s not happy with the whole ordeal. He doesn’t find the idea of being an actual dad to someone of taking Percephone with him to a Crusade, since, well, war is not a school and it would be more reasonable to send the girl to Mars, if she’s so smart. But Calliphone objects it, trying to explain that it’s basically dangerous to keep her in the palace for longer, because, when Calliphone dies, there will be no one to protect her, and Dammekos will make her into another court jester, just as he did to Perturabo.

The Primarch tries his best to think of a better solution than to meet his daughter and, especially, take her with him. He comes to a realization that he doesn’t want war to ruin her as it did him, and it makes him pissed, so he becomes enraged when Calliphone brings him a paternity certificate to finally make him believe her and asks him to think a little more, and lashes out on his late love. Calliphone, with her body being ruined during the pregnancy and childbirth, couldn’t take the Primarhc’s rage as she used to, and gets a heart attack. It was impossible to reanimate her.

After that Perturabo meets Percephone for the first time during Calliphone’s funeral. He makes a decision to take her with him, and doesn’t make any effort to explain the situation.

In general, from the very beginning their relationship is not the best. Percephone is a mouthy, a little spoiled kid, who believes that she’s immortal (which is basically true, considering her nature). She’s smart, very smart, almost in a frightening way, but Perturabo doesn’t buy any of it.

He scolds her for the first time they talk properly, scares her to death, and then just hands her over to Forrix. But before that one interesting thing had happened.

You see, in canon Perturabo’s described as one of the Primarchs who have psychic abilities. But his gift is a little strange from what I could gather and combine in a headcanon: he can only see warp, he’s unable to interact with it anyhow. He can read people’s personalities but is unable to make them like him. He can see the Eye of Terror but cannot do anything about it. Taking his engineering talents into consideration, especially the fact that he made a mechanism that allows people to navigate through warp without the navigators (the Antikythera he shuttered to teach Magnus a lesson), we can say, that he has a gift of technomancy as well, but, due to its weakness, no one including him realises it.

Back to the Peach (this is a nickname I gave Percephone and it’s justified in the fanfic, since it’s in Russian, here’s the transcription to try to explain it: Per-tse-fo-na – Per-sik(Russian for ‘peach’). She, as well as Perturabo, can see the Eye of Terror and read people, although her technomancy is much stronger (although she doesn’t realise it at all). She cannot properly control her powers due to the lack of knowledge, and it has its own complications, one of which is illustrated in the story after Perturabo scolded her and made her cry.

Percephone tries to hide on the ship, and the best place to hide in a child’s opinion is somewhere dark. The strong emotions she feels after meeting a creature that has the same effect on people she does conclude in the Iron Blood (the Iron Warriors’ flagship) to be completely shut down for the time period Percephone needs to cool off. And no one understands why, Percephone herself doesn’t even notice it.

Perturabo is freaked out, but he knows that they cannot delay their department any longer. He’s already behind the schedule because of his trip to the homeworld, he cannot allow it. So the legion departs from the system of Skagan as soon as the ship is back to normal, and the four month trip through warp begins.

Perturabo is tired and annoyed after everything, and he needs some time to process what changes are going to be brought into his life with a half-primarch present in it. Since it’s easier for him to think in solitude, he hands Percephone to his most trusted son – his first captain Kydomor Forrix.

Forrix, being the only responsible adult in the legion, and, as my mutual @ladymirdan said, is the proud bearer of the only braincell of Iron Warriors, including Perturabo, tries his best to have this task done. It’s just a child, he tells himself, just a little girl, he can handle it, right?

Wrong. Percephone is a running nail, as soon as she senses that the captain cannot really object her in anything, she lets herself go. Let us once again make a little repeal to explain it.

It is well-known that the Primarchs have strong effect on mortals. Humans piss themselves, cry, laugh uncontrollably and some cannot even speak properly in their presence. And they have it since the very beginning of their lives. So, it’s only natural for Percephone to have some of that biological charisma.

There lies one interesting detail. Perturabo, being almost 90 years old in the fanfic, has trained himself so his charisma is only used in the frightening way. His sons are scared of him, they respect him out of fear, but they do not love him as a father. In Perturabo’s mind, it would be weird for them to love him – he’s their general, not a babysitter for a bunch of pretty adult yet a little autistic war-machines. He has a conversation about that with Fulgrim in “Angel Exterminatus”.

But Percephone has no need in scaring anyone. The closes thing related to war and fights she had at dinner with her granddad, and the worst punishment she got was being slapped on her face or flogged. Abusive, yes, but well they’re a reference to the ancient Greece, those people didn’t really care about children’s rights or mental state.

So, the effect she has on Forrix and on her other brothers is nothing close to fear. They see her as something almost painfully cute and lovely, feeling the type of affection one has towards a little animal with a primal urge to squeeze something so adorable to the point of the poor thing losing access to air.

It differs a little from one battle brother to another. When Percephone runs away from Kydomor and his boring books about space navigation, she encounters some of her other brothers, and it’s funny. I wanted to make a few filler chapters about her adventures, and, since there was no one to stop me, I did.

Forrix sees her as a talented, yet abnormally charming little girl. But he also feels the whole depth of the sinister valley effect, because it’s awfully obvious how different Percephone is. Her features are a little broken and unbalanced, her body looks strange, even if he blames it on her weird dress, her gaze is too mature.

She’s still a silly little kiddo, I remind you.

So, when Forrix tries to entertain her with some advanced math and space navigation books, she quickly finds an opportunity to run away to explore the enormous ship. First of all, she steals some fruits from the ship’s refectory (it's apple peaches). And then she quickly gets caught by a sergeant responsible for training candidates in the legion. Yeah, it’s stated in canon that due to high loses, Iron Warrioirs train the candidates at their flagship.

The sergeant mistakes her for another candidate (because there's basically no way a girl ends up in the fleet since all the mortal serfs are sterilized), and, first of all, he mocks her for her outfit – long curly hair and a dress, and tells her that he’s going to make her train in this to teach her a lesson. He makes her tie her hair with a strip he tears off her dress and also makes her throw away her shoes since they are impossible to run and fight in.

Percephone tries to explain herself first and tells the sergeant she needs to go to the first captain, but he brushes her off. She goes through the whole candidate training session along with other boys and in the end she even grows to like it. Others are tired while she’s still full of energy.

The last part of the training session is sparring. Boys quickly pair up, leaving Percephone to hang alone on the bars. When everyone is done, the sergeant, who manages to hide his impressed state that a child from a younger group managed to keep up with teens, tells Percephone, who still whines that she needs to go see the First Captain, that he will personally escort her if she manages to stand up against him for four minutes.

This is the first real fight Percephone has. At least, this is how she sees it, because it takes long before the sergeant fully understands that he’s definitely not dealing with a yet mortal child here. He doesn’t fight even in quarter of his strength, but still manages to scare the shit out of Percephone. She’s not even close to how strong Perturabo was at her age, but she’s much lighter and quicker, so she manages to snatch the battle knife from sergeant and almost cuts his throat with it.

Mind you, she never fought in her life before. She sincerely believed that the sergeant was going to kill her. She’s terrified at him and then terrified of herself, because she could actually kill a human being if it wasn’t for her hand slipping due to the lack of experience.

She runs away again, trying to hide in ventilation, of all places. And then she meets two other members of Perturabo’s Trident – Harkour and Golg. And also gets kicked by a dreadnought.

Golg is a mindless killer, Perturabo’s bandog. The Primarch didn’t even give him the title of Warsmith, despite his membership in the Trident. He’s looked down at by the other two, and in general considered a little dumb. He’s strength lies on other dimension. And, due to all of that, he’s the most affected by Percephone. And he adores the girl.

Erasmus doesn’t even try to understand how she ended up at the ship. It’s just like with Primarchs – as soon as he looks at her, he knows that he’ll protect her at all cost. And he spoils Percephone rotten in that short time he got with her.

He cuts her hair with a battle knife. He gives her serf’s robe to replace her dress. And promises her that the sergeant who didn’t treat her right will bring her the forgotten shoes in his mouth.

Harkour finds them in a training hall, where Percephone is taught how to use bolter and other weapons by Golg. They were having fun and Harkour ruined it.

You see, Harkour is sycophant and intrigant. He got his title only due to his sharp mind, Perturabo can barely stand his personality. And when he sees Percephone, he basically snatches her out of Golg’s rough yet loving hands to give “their little miss” the right treatment. Unlike Erasmus, he realises who exactly she is as soon as he looks her in the eye.

Just like her father, Percephone doesn’t like Harkour either. He’s too much of a yes-man to her tastes. She scolds him tiredly and retreats to Forrix’ chambers, leaving the poor Triarch shoked. And then she falls asleep, while Forrix is freaking out trying to find her on the ship.

So far, this is the whole story of the little miss Percephone. There’s a lot more to be added in the future, and also the fanfic has much more depth than what I’ve wrote here, including other subplots about Perturabo and Forrix personally with lots of side characters like the sergeant from before.

I hope you enjoyed reading it, and, if you like it, you can check out the whole thing on AO3 here , on Fickbook here and also in Telegram here. For other ways to find it: "Похороните меня под обшивкой". I’m planning to translate it when I finish the fic, but it’s been two years and it is still not even close to the culminating part, so… it’d take long. If there’s anyone who’d like to volunteer, please, contact me! I can write prompts for you or draw something in exchange.  

[revacholianpizzaagenda]

@palin-tropos get THIS

In spite of the various efforts peculiar to each of those who used to claim kinship with Surrealism, or who still do, one must ultimately admit that, more than anything else, Sur¬ realism attempted to provoke, from the intellectual and moral point of view, an attack of conscience, of the most general and serious kind, and that the extent to which this was or was not accomplished alone can determine its historical success or failure.

From the intellectual point of view, it was then, and still is today, a question of testing by any and all means, and of demonstrating at any price, the meretricious nature of the old antinomies hypocritically intended to prevent any unusual ferment on the part of man, were it only by giving him a vague idea of the means at his disposal, by challenging him to escape to some meaningful degree from the universal fetters. The bugaboo of death, the simplistic theatrical portrayal of the beyond, the shipwreck of the most beautiful reason in sleep, the overwhelming curtain of the future, the tower of Babel, the mirrors of incon¬ stancy, the impassable silver wall bespattered with brains— these all too gripping images of the human catastrophe are, perhaps, no more than images. Everything tends to make us believe that there exists a certain point of the mind at which life and death, the real and the imagined, past and future, the communicable and the incommunicable, high and low, cease to be perceived as contradictions. Now, search as one may one will never find any other motivat- ing force in the activities of the Surrealists than the hope of finding and fixing this point. From this it becomes ob¬ vious how absurd it would be to define Surrealism solely as constructive or destructive: the point to which we are referring is a fortiori that point where construction and destruction can no longer be brandished one against the other. It is also clear that Surrealism is not interested in giving very serious consideration to anything that happens outside of itself, under the guise of art, or even anti-art, of philosophy or anti-philosophy—in short, of anything not aimed at the annihilation of the being into a diamond, all blind and interior, which is no more the soul of ice than that of fire. What could those people who are still con¬ cerned about the position they occupy in the world expect from the Surrealist experiment? In this mental site, from which one can no longer set forth except for oneself on a dangerous but, we think, supreme feat of reconnaissance, it is likewise out of the question that the slightest heed be paid to the footsteps of those who arrive or to the footsteps of those who leave, since these footsteps occur in a region where by definition Surrealism has no ear to hear. We would not want Surrealism to be at the mercy of the whims of this or that group of persons; if it declares that it is able, by its own means, to uproot thought from an increasingly cruel state of thralldom, to steer it back onto the path of total comprehension, return it to its original purity—that is enough for it to be judged only on what it has done and what it still has to do in order to keep its promises.

Before proceeding, however, to verify the balance sheet, it is worthwhile to know just what kind of moral virtues Surrealism lays claim to, since, moreover, it plunges its roots into life and, no doubt not by chance, into the life of this period, seeing that I laden this life with anecdotes like the sky, the sound of a watch, the cold, a malaise, that is, I begin to speak about it in a vulgar manner. To think these things, to hold any rung whatever of this weather¬ beaten ladder—none of us is beyond such things until he has passed through the last stage of asceticism. It is in fact from the disgusting cauldron of these meaningless mental images that the desire to proceed beyond the insufficient, the absurd, distinction between the beautiful and the ugly, true and false, good and evil, is born and sustained. And, as it is the degree of resistance that this choice idea meets with which determines the more or less certain flight of the mind toward a world at last inhabitable, one can understand why Surrealism was not afraid to make for itself a tenet of total revolt, complete insubordination, of sabotage according to rule, and why it still expects nothing save from violence. The simplest Surrealist act consists of dashing down into the street, pistol in hand, and firing blindly, as fast as you can pull the trigger, into the crowd. Anyone who, at least once in his life, has not dreamed of thus putting an end to the petty system of debasement and cretinization in effect has a well-defined place in that crowd, with his belly at barrel level.* The justification

(* I know that these last two sentences are going to delight a certain number of simpletons who have been trying for a long time to catch me up in a contradiction with myself. Thus, am I really say¬ ing that "the simplest Surrealist act . . . ?” So what if I am! And while some, with an obvious axe to grind, seize the opportunity to ask me “what I'm waiting for," others raise a hue and cry about anarchy and try to pretend that they have caught me in flagrante delicto commit¬ ting an act of revolutionary indiscipline. Nothing is easier for me than to deprive these people of the cheap effect they might have. Yes, I am concerned to learn whether a person is blessed with vio¬ lence before asking myself whether, in that person, violence compro¬ mises or does not compromise. I believe in the absolute virtue of anything that takes place, spontaneously or not, in the sense of non- acceptance, and no reasons of general efficacity, from which long, pre¬ revolutionary patience draws its inspiration—reasons to which I defer —will make me deaf to the cry which can be wrenched from us at every moment by the frightful disproportion between what is gained and what is lost, between what is granted and what is suffered. As f«r that act that I term the simplest: it is clear that my intention is not to recommend it above every other because it is simple, and to try and pick a quarrel with me on this point is tantamount to asking, in bourgeois fashion, any nonconfonnist why he doesn’t commit suicide, or any revolutionary why he doesn’t pack up and go live in the u.s.s.r. Don’t come to me with such stories! The haste with which certain people would be only too happy to see me disappear, coupled with my own natural tendency to agitation, are in themselves sufficient rea¬ son for me not to clear out of here for no good reason.)

of such an act is, to my mind, in no way incompatible with the belief in that gleam of light that Surrealism seeks to detect deep within us. I simply wanted to bring in here the element of human despair, on this side of which nothing would be able to justify that belief. It is impossible to give one’s assent to one and not to the other. Anyone who should pretend to embrace this belief without truly shar¬ ing this despair would soon be revealed as an enemy. This frame of mind which we call Surrealist and which we see thus occupied with itself, seems less and less to require any historical antecedents and, so far as I am per¬ sonally concerned, I have no objection if reporters, ju¬ dicial experts, and others hold it to be specifically modern. I have more confidence in this moment, this present mo¬ ment, of my thought than in the sum total of everything people may try to read into a finished work, into a human life that has reached the end of its road.

(Second manifesto of surrealism)

[fiercefauna]

AZURITE FAMILY CREST

I made this to go with @ironymobile ‘s tale because I’m often self conscious about my thread looking good. It’s supposed to be a PNG file - rigged like a digital sticker for added funzies. Hope it works. lol. Irony’s notes were extensive to the effect of authentic realism so I hope the following story doesn’t have too many Ren-fair/D&D vibes. I wanted to make something for the “Wild Silphium.” Image but it went in another direction.

The universe is personal to irony’s characters and features my attempt at world-building based on the themes of Irony’s notes. So, no attempts at crossover with anyone else’s lore. At least not here. As this is a first attempt.

As before Irony is welcome to correct me on anything I didn’t get quite right. Sorry. lol. It’s just that after vacationing in someone else’s imagination (thanks btw) - I was itching to take the lore for a spin. This just seemed like a better place to put this than the chat.

Triggers: Terminal Illness - (may be a tear-jerker)

That said I bring you - Curse of the Azurites

As a youth I was fascinated by demons, witches, and otherworldly monstrosities. No amount of cautionary tales could dissuade me from venturing into that ruin, or opening that forbidden book. None save the tales of Dr. Martin, whom my parents had hired as a private tutor, yet his tales did not dissuade for the reasons one might expect. 

“Can you drop the act please? There’s really nothing here I haven’t heard before.” 

The wrinkles on the old woman’s jowls fell back into place, and she scowled. Dr. Martin opened the cage and ushered her off down the road, a lump of rags laden with bundles of healing and/ or intoxicating foreign herbs. Angry grumbling from the clerics behind us was answered by grunts of frustration from Dr. Martin as the old woman was lead the whole mile and a half back to the cottage behind her family’s tavern. There, a long lecture on local superstitions and harsh feelings regarding recreational drugs and the like, regaled mother and son as Dr. Martin helped himself to the only local spirits I feared he really believed in. 

Coming back from the loo, I spotted a sign tacked to the bulletin board with a royal seal, an infant prince, stolen in the night by what was purported to be, a strix.  

Hoping, perhaps foolishly, that we would finally face real danger, I pointed it out and - expecting some boring explanation - started up the stairs to the rooms we’d rented for the night. Dr. Martin raised his finger, rescinding his next mug of beer, and began the long process of becoming sober. Part of me wanted to be excited we’d once again hit pay dirt, but another part had been anticipating a private bed room, gratuity for saving the tavern owner’s eccentric but enterprising matron.  

Normally Dr. Martin played the rational skeptic. We were slayers of superstition, bearers of the light of reason! And he would repeat this mantra all the way to our next appointment least I get too excited sharpening - and praying over - my arrowheads. But he was mostly silent as we drew closer to the city, only to turn the horses an hour from the gates. It was at this time he started mumbling “couldn’t have gone far, not with a baby.” 

The sun was setting when we made camp beside an unfinished fortification. I’d never seen real human skeletons outside of historic crypts with entry fees. There, they’d seemed unimpressive and I’d thought myself brave. 

“Calm down, these are not going to come to life or anything.” Said my mentor as he moved white skulls and thigh bones out from under the carriage wheels and into neat piles under the weedy banks. 

I hesitated to step out on to such haunted ground. “What happened here?” “It’s disputed. Everyone blames everyone else. Best not to ever bring it up in mixed company, things long ago and long dead.” “Why weren’t these people buried?” “They were, seems this construction stirred them up and was consequently - abandoned.” 

A very large crow screamed at me from atop the carriage and continued screaming as it flew away. Dr. Martin ran after it - apologizing? He snapped at me like one of the king’s thugs when I tried to follow. “Stay with the horses and do not leave until I return. If you’ve a mind to disobey, at least leave your weapons! I should be back by mourning.” 

I hobbled the horses and made a nest for myself in the carriage. Not only had I turned away the nicest bed I’d ever seen since leaving a manor house to go play squire with someone who wasn’t even a knight, there could well be a genuine dragon out there I’d never get to see.     

Dr. Martin did not return the next morning, or the next. I decided not to wait till dark again or heed his advice that I venture into the overgrown maze of crumbling stone walls and ancient ghosts without a weapon. 

Fearing I could mistake friend for foe in the tangle, I left my bow and brought my blade. It doubled as a clearing tool after all. Often I found cutting through thorn-brush just as satisfying as slaying the fiends I once imagined populated every undiscovered corner of what Dr. Martin assured me was a perfectly ordinary world, but every zip of Azurite steal seemed far louder than it should have in this deserted place, slowing me for fear of being heard. 

A baby’s cry echoing across a bone-strewn hillside has got to be one of the most unsettling things. I’ve heard babies before, never thought anything of it. Strange how context … 

The instant I saw him I thought it was over. He was alive, and he appeared to be sitting near a hastily stacked hut, formed partly of the stone walls of the ruins. He was holding a baby. It was laughing and I felt like laughing too. Who would have thought it’d be this easy? I almost didn’t notice the pressure on my sword arm and the chill of a flint knife at my throat. 

Dr. Martin calmly but sternly stated, “Let go of your weapon and crawl over to us. Do not turn around.” As I made my way to my mentor, leaving my blade to whatever was kind enough to climb off of me, I wondered if it possessed the powers of a basilisk. I then realized turning to face it would have seemed threatening. Was I slowly becoming just a boring old Dr. Martin? 

In a rocky hollow sheltered from the whistling wind by thorn bushes, stone walls, and earthen banks, I stood and beheld - nothing. 

“You can turn now.” He said. “But stay calm.” I immediately regretted my wish to fight monsters. This one seemed to be under control and the sight broke the mind. The baby laughed again but it failed to restore my sense of normalcy. 

The thing wore a whiteish-gray hooded monk’s robe and would have appeared human had it not been standing precariously atop the loose masonry of the abandoned construction. Its body then folded, like a bird’s, the legs bending backwards under its clothes, the arms wanting to curl in like wings. Its hooded head twisted in unnatural ways, as it crouched, vulture-like over the child in Dr. Martin’s arms. I almost fainted when it sprang down, with a light puff that made it seem lighter than the thing that had jumped me. 

“The horses!” It said, cuffing me as it vanished into the scrub. The voice was hard to place, neither a man’s or a woman’s and it seemed to come from the far distance. 

“They kept expressing concerns about wolves.” remarked Dr. Martin as though commenting on the weather. “I said you were watching the horses but now you’re here.” 

“What are those?” 

“I only know of that one. I say they because they asked me to.”

“But you told me none of these things were real!” 

“That’s mostly true, this is the only one I’m aware of. And it’s only dangerous out of necessity.” 

“But didn’t it steal a baby?” 

“Brace yourself, this situation has far more gravity than finally getting to see a wonder.” Dr. Martin held the child on his knee. Its unmistakable eyes baring the curse of the Azurite line. 

My intestines were in my toes. He had just lost the right to call me reckless. 

“If that little guy drops on our watch the kingdom will have our heads.” 

“My - friend, was captured and forced to care for Saffhirus, they originally meant to leave him behind when they escaped but - an attachment formed.” 

“It seems a dying prince would’ve been better off in a palace.” 

“You’d think that, but he wasn’t being allowed to get enough sleep, lethal blues always expire in their sleep before the second year and people were trying to make the child last longer. There are those who believe - ” 

“ - these little guys are angels sent to perform miracles that cure afflictions, yeah. I know it sucks to have to work with the public when literally a baby but what you’re suggesting is going to make us mortal enemies of the crown.”  

“You wanted to fight monsters, Toby.” 

In the end we didn’t fight any monsters or humans. I’d like to say this had a happy ending, or at the very least a scary or interesting one. Dr. Martin’s “strix” cooed over its charge like a dove and offered a white powder dissolved in water it took from a leather pouch, but the child hadn’t been hungry. Saffhirus passed away a day later, in his sleep, as expected. It didn’t seem unpleasant or painful for him. The creature continued to care for its ward until he was cold, and his limbs rigid, singing a song with words I’d asked it to translate, only to get a sad head shake as an answer. It was a sound I’ll never forget. 

Dr. Martin had mumbled something about the dead not remembering their lives. He had taken a small tome from his pocket and read from it, in what sounded like that same language. He couldn’t really speak it either, saying only that the book had been a gift from his “friend.” Ancient blasphemies, he called it, as though the words were a term of endearment. 

We buried Saffhirus among the bones on the hillside. After that, what I assumed was a strix had moved on. I’d been far too shy to ask the entity what it called itself and words used by people were never kind, so I hadn’t mentioned them. I feared its reappearance at the hill fort and the continued future consequences of it’s determination to help people. 

On the way back to the tavern I was shown an etching of the Azurite coat of arms, the caladrius. Seeing the chained bird, it dawned on me. Benevolent critters were not my forte, and yet there was no denying the resemblance to the flesh-eating strix. Both tales described the same thing. An angel if its patient lived, a demon otherwise.  

[sleetkissed]

❝ Your 𝐜𝗿𝐢𝐞𝘀 , a symphony. Your fear , my 𝐦𝘂𝘀𝐞. ❞

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# 𝐒𝐋𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 , an independent , selective   &   crossover friendly RP blog for Dark Urge 𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐈  —   a frost sorceress  &  artist from Baldur's Gate 3 , Mun   &   Muse +21 , composed by Fungi [ she/her; they/them ]  , heavy topics, gore, potential nsfw warning  ,  personals DNI

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-> League of Legends verse promo + info <-

Follows back from @bloodyarn 

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𝐈. carrd (under construction)     𝐈𝐈. RP prompts.     

𝐈𝐈𝐈. interest tracker. 𝐈𝐕. Wall (Guestbook)

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𝐑𝘂𝐥𝐞𝘀  &  𝐀𝐛𝐨𝘂𝘁 𝘁𝐞𝐦𝐩𝐨𝗿𝐚𝗿𝐢𝐥𝘆 𝘂𝐧𝐝𝐞𝗿 𝘁𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝘂𝘁.

Past (BG3): here ♥

RULES:

[ Hey, I'm Fungi [she/her], 25 years old and living in Germany. [GMT+1] ]

❅ Mun ≠ Muse ; I think that much is clear. Any statements that come up ic are not specifically my own. ❅ No God modding ; Small liberties like change of scene and such are totally fine and do not have to be discussed. You can hurt her, shove her or whatever, just keep in mind that my muse will react accordingly. Do not assume reactions and write my muses actions. ❅ Feel free to continue asks! I will be the last one turning one down. ♥ ❅ You can always message me for plotting or headcanons if we are mutuals. ; However, I prefer if things play out naturally. We do not necesarrily have to plot out every thread till the end. I am more than happy writing and see how things develop. ❅ You can always send a starter, no need to ask! ; Again, if we are mutuals. Same goes for sending me rp prompts to my inbox, memes or whatnot. You are also free to tag me in dashgames! ❅ OC - and Tav friendly of course. Just be sure to have a little bit of information ready and visible on your blog so I can look it up before we interact. We stan OCs in this household. ❅ Post trimming. ; I use XKit Rewritten to trim my posts. It is not a MUST but I would be thankful if you have a way to trim your posts. Just to keep it nice and clean on the dash. Other than that, I use the usual small text, cursive and bold text edits. You do not have to match my writing or editing style, as soon as everything is nicely readable. ❅ I won’t write NSFW with minors. Mun or muse. Please make sure to have the age somewhere on your blog before interacting. If smut happens, it will be tagged and under 'keep reading'. ❅ Shipping: I am a huge sucker for ships. If said thing happens, keep in mind Esteri is multiship, means that every ship takes place in its own universe. I do have to see chemistry between muses tho, let it be through rp or just nerding about them. ❅ No racism, homophobia, transphobia and so on. Don’t be an ass. I can definitely tolerate ic biased opinions on that in threads, just don't bring it into the real world.

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ABOUT:

Basics:

Name: Esteri Venla Väisänen Nickname/Alias: Ester , The Dark Urge Age: 34 years Date of Birth: 5th december Gender & Pronouns: female, she/her Orientation: pansexual/romantic Race: human Nationality: baldurian Class: sorcerer [dragonic bloodline - cold ]

  Appearance:

Height: 180 cm / 5'11'' Hair: white Eyes: pale red Scars: none visible Other: several beauty marks all over her body, subtle freckles

  Personal:

Positive Traits: • honest • creative • patient • mature Negative Traits: • snobbish  • indifferent • lack of empathy • slightly narcissistic

[cafecourage]

The Tree of Legacy - Chapter 2

Previous chapter - Next Chapter

There are many stories passed through the generations of Hyrule, of heroes and of gods. The first ever dated legend happened many era’s after the Calamity in the time of myth. While historians do debate on the legitimacy of these stories, none can argue with the story of the Creation of Hyrule. When humans return to the surface.

As Hyrule grew, information became muddled together. One could wish that a better system would have been implemented to keep things organized. At last, that’s not the world that Link lives in annoyingly so.

Hands lowered down as green eyes scanned the classroom. Students hurried away writing what notes their professor just wrote on the board and signed to them. It was a class of fifteen in a small cozy room, bookshelves lined the cobblestone walls, the biggest light source was in the front of the room behind the teacher’s desk, the light from this giant window filtered through. Link leaned over to look at some notes he wrote for this class. His shadow made it easier to read against the dark oak table.

It was the homeroom for his class. Link’s class topic was simply ‘the Heroes of Hyrule.’ It was a topic that most youths training to be knights love to talk about. ‘Though talking isn’t the same as learning about them.’ Link thought to himself with an exasperated sigh as he closed a leather-bound notebook, hoping that this class's lecture came across well enough. Even with the knowledge given to the people of Hyrule, information has been lost and what was kept are stories about nameless knights saving nameless princesses. In the common person's head these debatably real individuals were only wife’s tales that didn’t need to be complex. Stories to scare children into behaving or to give them hope in the world.

Noticing a figure in the corner of his eyes, Link could only hold back a sigh as he turned back towards his class. ‘It’s the scarred one again’ they all have scars to an extent, but this spirit’s scar was the first thing he always noticed about him. It was unlike the Champions where it’s the entire right side of his body, this one was different.

This man appears differently each time he shows up in the corner of Link’s vision. When Link first met him when he was ten and the hero was of the same age. Then when growing up he has seen him as a young adult and now as a fully grown man around his 50’s. No matter what the age was he always had a scar on his right eye that kept it permanently closed.

“Professor!” Link’s train of thought paused as a young Lurelian girl had her hand raised. “I have a question about the final paper.” Aryll Lynde, she was someone that Link grew up with as he went to class with one of her brothers. Link gestures for her to continue. “Can we add on to our last year's paper?”

‘As I wrote on the board,’ He walks to the chalkboard with their class assignment. A lot of teachers would argue that his teaching wasn’t the best. There are no tests and no true homework. However at the end of the class the students are to construct an essay about a portion of Hyrule’s vast history with research to back up their statement. He only asks for them to hand in something for periodic check-ins. ‘Hero’s aren’t the only thing in Hyrule’s history. Instead of limiting you to one topic, if something in this class or classes in the past year catches your eye then go for it. So yes Aryll you can research the minish forest and the inhabitants.’ He signs smiling.

A knock rang out. He looks up to see a familiar looking blonde woman in a blue turtleneck and a lab coat. Zelda. A fellow teacher of the academy and the Princess of Hyrule. She had her arms crossed as she leaned on the arch, gesturing her head towards the grandfather clock.

It read Eleven o’clock.

Link stiffens, pales and shoots an apologetic look to Zelda. She shakes her head laughing softly pushing off of the arch. Clapping gets the students attention. “Alright everyone. Your professor has torture you enough about curses and hero’s tales.” She finally arrives at the front of the class, stopping and turning around. “It’s time for class to be over.” Link quickly flipped through his notebook and nudged Zelda showing her the homework the students had to do. “And be sure to have your final paper topic’s in for the check up next week!” She yells after the students who were packing up, giggling and whispering at their professor’s flustered expression.

After the last students, Oha and Buiell, thanked him for the class and hurried out. Link braced for impact. ‘I’m sorry’ he signed.

Zelda gave out another airy laugh, “I figured much. So, I came to help those poor souls.” She holds out her hand. “Come on. We have to catch this train if we want to have enough time at the temple. Do you have your stuff ready?”

Link rolled his eyes and took her hand after throwing his bag over his shoulder.

The streets of Hyrule’s Castle Town was as busy as ever. The pair held hands while weaving through crowds, Zelda was on a small rectangular slate that was a family heirloom from the Hero of Wild. From what she told him it was called the Sheikah Slate adding her two cents right after on how it wasn’t the best name for it. Either way it played a vital role in the last Hero’s adventure, and since it still works all the same Zelda is now using it to document and compare the ancient tech to the new. The small device also contained a lot of documentation from the Hero of the Wilds Era. Which caused this interest into the Forgotten Temple in the first place.

The dream is still in the back of his mind though and going to the Forgotten Temple made his stomach drop. It’s not like he didn’t want to go. He would have loved to do some personal research on the heroes without the feeling of existential dread.

“-Ether way, I just want to make sure everything is ok.” Ah. He zoned out on Zelda’s briefing. She looks over her shoulder. “Are you feeling good?” Link nods, lying about the bubbling anxiety he was feeling. “It will be quick, then we can come back for the start of the Festival of Farore.”

‘That’s today?’ He totally forgot. ‘I thought Claus was just coming home.’

“He is. But it’s also the Festival.” She turned back to her slate. “Which is also why Vita and Iris couldn’t come with us.” He just hums in acknowledgment. They fall into a comfortable silence as Zelda subconsciously swings their locked hands together gently. Occasionally the Princess would show him some old pictures from the past. Annotating with musings on how things changed in 500 years. Which was true, it was interesting and is why the Forgotten Temple would be nice to examine.

The Forgotten Temple.

As the name implies was an abandoned ruin that the people of Hyrule could only assume was a temple at one point. Due to its architecture and how it housed the oldest Goddess Statue in all of Hyrule. A lot of the scholars of Hyrule couldn’t date it and theorized that the ruins were here after Hylian’s settled down in the area. There wasn’t much to it after the Hero of Wilds got rid of the remaining guardians for the last time.

Even then there wasn’t much here to begin with. The Goddess statue wasn’t anything special. There were journals talking about the shrine that lay under the ground after the calamity was defeated but that would be almost impossible to dig up without ruining the structure.

However, that was not what Zelda wanted to come here for. Shockingly. Link really thought it was with how obsessed his friend was with ancient tech. If he was honest, he still had no clue on why they were there in the first place. The Doctor said that something was bothering her for a while now about this place and that was it. He was brought along because of his knowledge of the history of Hyrule’s past.

A green haze started to form in his vision, subconsciously Link rubs his eyes. “I guess I was wrong.” Zelda lowered the old slate in her hands.

‘Was there something here in the first place?’ Link looks around at the limestone structures. ‘The whole place looks like it’s been flipped upside down.’ An offhand comment since the ceiling really did look like the flooring to the place and vice versa.

A lightbulb almost physically lit up in her head and she looked up, then to the flooring. “Goddess your right.” Now with new found inspirations he watched as she bounced around the room to taking pictures. He rolls his eyes and looks up observing the walls. There was truly nothing here.

A blue glow from above caught his eye as he faced the back wall of the temple. There was a hole in the wall it was coming from. There was scaffolding leading up from a previous venture inside and was left so others could get through. He turns and whistles for Zelda’s attention. She faces him confused at first but seeing what he was pointing at her eyes widens. “Just as I thought.” She bolted towards him. “Come on.”

‘Just as you thought?’ He signed quickly catching up to her.

“I had this feeling something weird was happening here.” She admitted as they climbed up the wooden structure. “It’s not dangerous obviously. However, I knew I couldn’t ignore it.”

They walked to the edge of the crack facing the other side of the temple. The blue glow was in the last room where the goddess statue stood tall. Green haze came back into Link's vision making him shut it. Anxiety bubbled up. He didn’t want to see anymore. No more spirits. No more memories that weren’t his. No more dissociative episodes. He took a deep breath when he opened his eyes again. Ignoring the questioning gaze of Zelda and continued forward.

The hollow corpses of guardians always put him on edge but seeing them in this second room was unnerving. There was so much damage to the temple and it was clear that most of it was from the automated tanks. It was a shame really.

“Hey Link?” Zelda stopped before the goddess statue room where the blue glow was. He turned to her concern writing on his face. “I…” She desperately tried to look for the right words to say. But instead, just shook her head. “Let’s hope that we find something interesting.” Link stared blankly at her as she walked past. There was no doubt in his mind that she wanted to say something different at that moment, but confronting her about it wasn’t something he wanted to do.

So, he just followed her in.

The statue room was the smallest room in the temple. There was an indentation in the ground where the shrine used to be and was subsequently covered up due to the 500 years that have passed since then. But in its spot were 3 dark blue rectangular crystals. It wasn’t a luminous stone or sapphire, but something that Link had never seen before. There were markings that reminded him of the markings on the few shrines he saw in pictures. The light blue glow disappears when they get closer.

“Do you recognize this?” He shook his head. “Same.” Zelda bent down as Link hovered around her, not sure how to help. Looking around there was much to the surrounding area that was new. Until he stopped to look at the base of the goddess statue to see a small golden harp resting at the base. However, when he turns to let Zelda know, she was in the process of tapping the gem with her knuckle.

One hit made the room explode in light and color as a blue bubble formed around them. Everything that was in the case inside the orb had time turned on it. What once was a yellow stone walkway turned into a marbled garden path up to the statue. The ceiling became open and sunlight shined through. Everything outside was what it was in their present. “A time-shift stone…” Zelda whispers as a soft harp melody slowly fills the room. They both stared up here and turned to the base of the goddess statue.

There was a sandy blonde-haired man standing at the base holding the harp. He couldn’t be older than 45, wearing a cream knit sweater, brown pants and a soft white cape with an old version of the Hylian crest embroidered in. He pauses and turns around.

“It’s nice to see you again Professor” the older man wore a gentle smile towards Link. Gears started to turn in his head.

“Who…how...” Zelda was as speechless as Link.

“My Queen had a vision that we would meet again, Hero of Legacy.”

There was a pause as the two started to process the information. Link and Zelda shared a glance as the same thought ran through their heads as the Queen's Prophecy.

“The Hero will awaken with the blessings of the Goddess. He, who had already befriended my daughter, will help in their fight with the darkness.”

The dots slowly connect. The dreams and spirits were a blessing. A blessing from a goddess. This man was an early King of Hyrule. The King must have picked up the confusion as he continued. “Link you are the Hero of this generation,” it wasn’t a question to the situation. “Your journey will have you travel throughout time and space-”

“Hold on” Zelda was the first to cut in, “who are you and what do you mean to travel time and space?”

“Time travel.” The King replied quickly “I don’t have all the answers but I know he would need to time travel back and to help the heroes of Hyrule’s history.”

“So, to be transparent here. You don’t actually know what he needs to do to get back in time.” Zelda’s statement caught the King of guard. His expression turned bashful as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“I only know one way to time travel and I can assure you he didn’t use that.”

Zelda sighs and faces Link “This isn’t my forte. What do you think Link?”

Link wanted to sass her but kept his hands to his side. There were a lot of items that can theoretically time travel. The Harp of Ages and the Ocarina of Time were the top two that came to mind. However, both are lost to the ages. The Gate of time was a myth and the War of Era had the help of the Guardians of Time. Help is a strong word to use. Link paused his train of thought.

He was the hero of this Era.

‘Wait are you sure I’m the hero?’ He signed.

“We can only assume you are,” Zelda said exasperated. “We’ll get to it, when we get to it.”

“It was you Professor.” The King said with confidence. “You were the one who, I met on my adventure.”

“Adventure?”

Alarms triggered in Link’s mind.

‘Are you the first King of Hyrule?’ His hands were shaking as he panicked, but the King just stared at him.

“I- uh… can’t understand you.” The king was back to being sheepish. “You had someone else acting as your voice, and when they weren’t there, I had a companion who learned that translation for me.”

Zelda fills in, “he asked if you were the First King of Hyrule.”

“Ah. Yes, that’s me- well kind of.” King paused to think about it. “Hyrule isn’t established yet on the surface.”

He tugged on Zelda’s lab sleeves ‘He’s The Hero of the Skies.’ Link added the context. ‘He was the reincarnation of a Hylian knight that fought alongside Hylia here during the war against the demon god Demise.’ His signs were messy and quickly, Zelda grabbed his hands and lowered them.

“I didn’t come here for a history lesson, Link.” She said pinching the bridge of her nose “and what I’m getting from this whole conversation. Is that Link is the next iteration of the hero and we need to figure out how to time travel back to meet the other heroes?”

“I don’t know about the others. From what my wife has spoken to me about. Yes.”

‘Then the question is how, I’m assuming your way was the gate of time?’

“He asked about the Gate of Time.”

“That is no more, but I know this.” The King holds up to play a short song on the harp. A part of Link screamed with recognition as he was pushed into a green haze.

Ocarina notes flow around him as he hears a child’s voice “If something should happen to you, remember this song...” it almost sounded like Zelda when they were children. “The Goddess of Time is protecting you. If you play the Song of Time, she will aid you..."

Was that it? The Song of Time?

Link feels the presence of the Hero from the Dream again as he stares into the hazy void. There were others there as well, but he didn’t know which was who.

He was asked to focus on something but he couldn’t pinpoint the voice. But the hand he was holding was warm. He closed his eyes and focused on that warmth trying to steady his breath.

“Jus- … ld- end” the voice slowly dissipates the fog. His breath was steadying out.

“Lin…” Zelda. It was Zelda. He opened his eyes as he was facing down to the floor. “There we go.”

Link lifts his head and relaxes his shoulders. ‘Sorry.’ He was shaking, ‘that was the Song of Time, correct?”

“Link-“Zelda wanted to argue but he put a hand up.

‘We might not have enough time to keep talking about this.’

Her lip tightened and sighs. “Right. Fine. But we can’t ignore this.” There is a threatening tone in her voice that made him flinch when attention was off of him. “He asked if that song was the Song of Time.”

“Yes, I think?” The King also was startled now that he was under Zelda’s harsh gaze. “Zel- Er, my wife taught it to me.” The bubble began to shrink slowly as they were running out of time. Noticing this the King held out the Harp smiling. “Though it won’t help you please take the Goddess Harp.”

The duo stared at it for a second. Link took a breath and nudged Zelda to her ancestor. ‘It’s your family's instrument not mine.’

She scoffs and rolls her eyes. “You’re the apparent Hero, you should have the honor.” The tone was teasing as she stepped forward to take the golden harp. “Thank you for meeting with us.”

“I’m still shocked that I got a chance to meet you both.” The King smiled “but I’m happy we did,” as the bubble quickly shrunken down and he disappeared.

There was a pause between the pair now that they were truly alone. Zelda slowly turned around with a smile that gave Link a shiver down his spine. “You got a lot of explaining to do, mister.”

[onecentwriter]

☀️ JUNE ☀️

✨ Writing Prompts ✨

***PLEASE CREDIT ME***

Romantic

Enemies-to-lovers where the superhero falls in love with the supervillin. A is the number one hero/ine, and after they encounter B, the number one villain, bleeding out in an alley, they take a chance and decide to help them.

5 times A didn’t tell B they were asexual, and one time they did.

A works in a flower shop, and they are an expert in the language of flowers. 5 times they send B a bouquet that quite literally screams “I LOVE YOU” while B doesn’t get it, and one time B does and returns the gesture.

A and B are rival politicians, but when both of them start losing popularity, their boss constructs an elaborate scheme to convince the world that A and B are dating. A and B go along begrudgingly, but what happens when they slowly start falling for each other?

PRIDE MONTH BABEY!! Another grumpy-one-is-soft-for-the-sunshine-one fic! Similar to the previous prompt, A is a moody English teacher, and B is a bubbly Art teacher. But here’s the catch—they’re the same gender. And both very gay. This story would probably touch on a lot of themes of pride in a school and in a workspace, and how a little bit of sunshine can light up the darkest places.

[title idea for above fic] ‘oh, sunshine (won’t you light me up?)’

Angst

A is a famous singer online, with millions of views and followers, but it’s a complete secret—none of their friends know about it. They think it’s for the better, but when their fame grows, some of their secrets might start to catch up to them.

A is told that they’ve contracting a fatal disease. At first they are heartbroken, but when they tell B, B decides that the two of them are going to go on a road trip to make the most of A’s limited time. This story would probably have a sad/bittersweet ending, where the epilogue is B attending A’s funeral.

A and B are old rivals-to-reluctant-allies who have been caught in their lives as criminals and are about to be executed. The reason they got caught was because B made a huge mistake, and A doesn’t want to forgive them. However, neither of them want to enter the afterlife angrily, so they slowly apologize to each other. This story would probably be told by alternating between ‘present tense’ (the execution date) and all of A and B’s past interactions/experiences. The ending could be with them getting saved, but I think it would be better to have it end with the execution. Maybe each of them saying weakly, “Friends?” “Friends.” Right before they die.

It’s the apocalypse, folks. A is rough, battle-worn, and is determined to be solitary, as to not have any weaknesses. B is a helpless kid, alone in the desert. A stumbles across B, and reluctantly nurses the overheating child back to health. Slowly the two bond, after A promises B to help find their family. Unfortunately, it’s revealed later on that B never existed—that A was just hallucinating and that A is dying. I think this would be such a heartbreaking plot twist to stab your readers’ hearts. Maybe the reveal is a dream where B says sadly. “Oh, A. I’m not here.” “Wh-no, you are. You’re real.” “I’m not. I never have been.”

A character study of Death, and the easiest, hardest, happiest, and saddest lives they’ve had to take. Could touch on animal deaths, but to make this as heartbreaking as possible I’d stick to humans. Some of the memories could be: easiest: a villain; for example, ‘Death doesn’t even falter as they brush their deadly fingers across [villain]’s forehead—in fact, a satisfied smile grows on their face as they watch [villain’s pronoun] crumble into dust.’ hardest: a person who begs Death not to take them. ‘“Please,” they gasp, “please no, I’m not ready, I can’t, no, please—” They break down into sobs.’ happiest: you might want to read this chapter of my fic to understand fully, but maybe Death taking the life of their mortal lover, who was separated from them by the disapproving gods. Probably a very happy reunion. saddest: Death taking a newborn child, and mourning what that baby will never get to be.

Fluff

Summer Olympics AU! Person A is a gymnast, and one of the best in the country. There’s a lot of pressure on them, but when they meet B + B’s friends, A learns how to enjoy their sport and have fun. Also A’s horrible coach gets yeeted.

Put your characters in a musical! Pretend as if they’re actors in the production. Drama, heartbreak, you name it—all leads up to the climactic Opening Night. Will the cast be able to throw together a performance, or will they ruin everything? This show is brought to you by HBO Max (just kidding, just kidding).

Slice-of-life my beloved!! A is a teenager who’s mourning the loss of their mother. They move to a small beach town hoping to find something to distract themselves from the grief—they didn’t expect to find a family there too.

A is a strict middle school teacher, and B is the student they teach. B is, long story short, really struggling at home, and A finds themselves acting like a parent figure to them. Or, eventually, a real parent--because apparently, this kid's an orphan. Why. Why does A just want to shelter B and hold B tight so they'll never be hurt again gah--

A runs a newspaper, and so does B. Enemies-to-friends but with extra drama columns and roasting competitions over the span of daily papers. This could also touch on more serious themes like media bias, or you could keep it fluffy and humorous.

[isledolon]

Crown of Clowns | Mugen | Trial 3.6 | Re: Lisa

Mugen's dot twitches out of frustration with Lisa and those around. He wants to turn himself around and tell Kanon to shut her mouth if she's not going to provide any form of construction besides punching the woman who is already down. He wants to flip right to Takumi and question why they would ever want to just let Lisa be the worst version of herself that she can be.

Elisha is just being Elisha.

And the main attraction, the star of the hour.

Lisa isn't going to back down, she has the willpower to keep this up till the water drags her under. He's more than sure about that. But so does Mugen. If he can't breakthrough now she isn't off the hook. Mugen will chase her ghost to the ends of the island if it would make her at least consider the affection people have for her.

"I'm not giving you want you want, Lisa!"

If you think this is all an act, that no one could ever be this horrible and self-centered-

Mugen was far from the smartest person in the room, he might even be near the bottom of the list. He wasn't ignorant though. Of course there were horrible and self-centered people in the world...Mugen had the most selfish witch that he's ever met waiting for him to come home.

Mugen looked down at her. This felt wrong. He drops to one knee so he can be closer to her level. So that he isn't looking at her from an angle of superiority.

"You don't deserve this...none of what's going to happen. I'm sorry that I can't do anything more than this! I'm sorry for trying to save you...but I'm not gonna stop...You can't make me hate you or stop caring even when you're not..."

He looks from Lisa out into the surroundings of the well and knowing that somewhere here...she's watching this all unfold.

"Sorry, Mary..."

He just can't bring himself to hate her. He couldn't hate Lacy and he couldn't hate Rudy either. He can't because he knows that they are all the islands toys.

He recalls the last trial...

"If we all got to meet in the real world and be friends then something like this wouldn't have ever happened. It's the island's fault! You fucked up because of what the island put on us! You're not...I know that you're not but...even if you are a bad and rotten person I still don't want you to die!"

There will never be a trial that doesn't turn Mugen into a sniveling child.

Send me to my death…and make yourselves feel better about it.

Ashleigh was right before...How many of the people here are going to cast their votes and walk away from her; wiping their hands on their pants as if the stain of the death sentence can so easily be washed away. 

Out of sight and out of mind. It's no one's fault because Lisa brought it on herself, right? Who cares about her heart? Who cares about how she feels? Her humanity was washed away with the smile that stopped Mary's heart from beating.

"How the hell do you want us to feel good about doing that!?"

Mugen already knows the coin that is going to be thrown. The same as always. The island will not make him push Lisa into the well and nothing that she says will convince him otherwise.

[randomclam24]

Why is it that the subconscious mind, underlying even religious truths in that they are repurposed, is exclusively in the hands of liberal-agreeing, in the exact sense of "I'm With Her" as the *slogan*

We can say "our problems began when we attempted to publish our findings", as I've been parroting the article title on circumcision for a while a while back

But no one alive will ever have made the connection that, *oh*, liberals getting butthurt, as they call it, over having their headspace ruined by what in their heads I guess is Republican *Zionism*, is actually this exact *construct* - liberals get their arguments across not by being the argument it is in their heads, but in pushing, and pushing, and pushing until that argument as it is by proxy is pushed in to the subconscious brain of the onlooking victim. *We* cannot do this, as all of the resulting forces as a comeback are too much for our feeble existence

Essentially, depersoning only happens when a Republican, Zionist by associating, does the subconscious insertion that a liberal does as the sure constant of their banter, for the first time, as that is the *only* time it takes before personal derailment begins as a liberal-agreement zeitgeist upon the *fundamentally*-unsuspecting host **population**

Unfortunately, what has built up over the years, being considered the same way as generational experience, by this paradigm is fundamentally inaccessible to us, as it only intensifies to the point of people, in solidarity with (whatever this implication is(?)), reducing their very existences to ham spinning on a rod to splitting to tiny pieces

Basically, *as* they're piledriving the subconscious focus into you, even the Biblical passage about all things of nature calling to the glory of the Lord is undergirded and repurposed by *nature* by the zeitgeist which is basically the zeitgeist of the *rap* culture, which is "we're still in that place, come and test us" on every *rhetorical* point.

Liberals have this entire thing like, yes, you're actually a person *except* until you're (now that the unconscious aspect is laid out, set up camp and lay out the progressive stack here arbitrarily(you could really put any shitpost)) In reality that's the precise feeling I'm having when people I trust finally just decide to cave and show their ass on real-world metapolitics

Unfortunately, something underlies, manufacturing the ensurance of consent that all this was underlied by something I did not have the intellectual fortitude in order to ultimately find myself in *compliance* with, being in the first place for its own sake seeing as I have no association - but by that right my points on projection reset back to things being as they were, as they were, as personal fallings-through are preassumed as fact to have no relevance when posed with these metapolitics

The point is I as an individual who is more than a job with metapolitics associations (or considerations of anyone in that depth for realism's sake (meaning recognizing projection, as I prioritize it more highly when in context of seriousness when it gets just ambiguously applied to muh big(?) world events)) have no right to exist before the momentous weight of references to the context of the seriousness when it gets applied to muh big(?) world events and figures as they apply to subconscious headspace specifically. [I think if God *loved* us, he wouldn't have made a human subconscious, as this is the being of these things.] Other people bear too many momentous accusations, my whole life being a mere kaleidoscope effectively bearing *witness* to these, my actual life not anything more than theoretical if and when left by itself

People act like there's something special in (whatever association this is(?)), so that it's a real shame and that I have to get my life together for bureaucratic mental gymnastics for obviously their own sake and none ever other than this for its own sake repeating at all times for its own sake which is repeating in order to drill into my subconscious acting directly countered against my conscious will, but I very most obviously, even by simple way of this description, have no motivation to want to begin to associate with these foundationally fallen creatures. Like they say America is fallen by design - that is exactly what I mean by saying this thing

What do I want? "Here's this thing you have - I'm going to fuck it up, like crumpled paper." "You'll never recognize the motivation that went into it, only the glorification of myself that came out of it."

That's everything. People outside to myself don't **have** motivation like I do.

The subconscious guilt by association *always* takes precedent to human imperfections factoring into the equation in people's subconscious - so it's implied by effect projection is a canard, even though it's the universe's guiding axis all along the entire durating that is self-insisting.

How hard is it to break to people that what you associate subconsciously by your nature does not guarantee any relationship to knowledge

When a scientist starts to speak outside their jurisdiction, it tends to be pretty quick they get criticized for going outside their expertise

But everyone, "absolutely" everybody, says positively - subconscious affectation is *absolutely* jurisdiction That's why laymen will sotter themselves out like ham disintegrating on the spinning rod, knowing they do it without shame. They *know* they can do this because they can get away with no negative effect - ability for "I'm With Her" subconscious to manifest forcefully in the *other* is all that matters.

You can't just demand people have open minds like liberals always have succeeded in doing. That's not natural. We'll spend hundreds of years figuring and not figuring out what they've really done to us. What *have* they done? I don't *realize*. But no liberal ever told me that, so I discount any valuation of their open-mindedness as a virtue. [It is a baseline requirement to keep you off the streets though - that will snake you in the ass certainly]

Without "I'm With Her" jewish noses in our subconsciousnesses, we would have:

More of the exact singularity we perfected, because people have to still have jobs for arbitrary made-up reasons by bureaucrats ultimately

Speaking reasonably, either way you get labyrinthine garbage insisting upon itself for its own sake for its own sake, implying *by that* something esoteric which it ultimately then just won't *help* you on. It's all the same. You get to the sophomore year of college education, and nobody can help you without lazily disproportionate levels of time-wasting and going back-and-forth for its own sake for its own sake in a personal meeting with the college professor who can't ultimately *help* you if you don't help yourself which would have to just come from without like *most* people's assumptions, just like seeing any psychologist who isn't even highly regarded in the *first* place in that sense

Update We're not allowed to acknowledge the existence of people as figures that don't just ultimately signpost to an abstraction. For the most part, though, there would only be negative effects from doing that, like acknowledging projection as the universe's new guiding principle in all things more so than any other law. People's theories don't translate into activity, because if they did, the cover of plausible deniability we all exist under under the "I'm With Her" subconscious agreement system we all exist under that's already *complete* would then and thereby have been fully and completely retracted by ourselves. Who would be willing t-

We want our kids to be protected (*do* we? under this toxic environment?(but now that that's out of my head and into writing, it's been assimilated to saying what the police already think when they're storming a man's house for his "transgender" child(only naturally))), under this umbrella of plausible deniability that we would *never* rectify action against "I'm With Her" singularity consensus - is it that they're just (now) garnering this consensus, like it hasn't predominantly existed throughout actual real-life experience througout my entire life?, so that they're the victims? - I don't know what's going on

On the Earth *I* come from, those of the uniparty who are of the "I'm With Her" singularity consensus ultimately, revealed through caving and showing their ass on metapolitics issues in casual talk where for some whatever reason they felt the need *in* their ass to do this specifically to save face somehow?, this being the need to save face at where I am not existent by sheer evidence of the treatment in the situation?, are the ones lifelong-dominating us and nitpicking our every *thoughts.* I just want to be gone(and that has *left* the opinion singularity intact spewing on overdrive mocking us for our every attempt at effort, as nitpicking-posting *online* like on 4chan has been our *only* comeback at salvation. What a hoax! That's the real hoax, folks.)

You keep tweezing - maybe we'll quit being *meat* packets one day

You - oh, *not* you, because of what I'm about to describe - do *I* - specifically and *exclusively* I, because of the same description Do I want to know what is really happening with that? No one else I've associated with has any *awareness* to these fallings-through because they've had no desire to do any action at *all*, which is a requirement by which to see, because actualization reveals these kinds of things, that we're fucked utterly beyond all resuscitating, and in the speech of the "I'm With Her" singularity shills, which are most generally just common people, so no shilling, it's because we're failed. Really, I don't know what that means, as I have no affiliation with any persons living or dead. I never *have* What I'm doing is just the exceptionalism from a purely abstracted state by what we can do *despite* whatever the foundationally fallen state is or might prove to be in process, acknowledging in process and moving right on, because we don't have *time* for these things. If you want to foundationally make your state fallen, then you just move right on, because you have no *place* here What's that? Everyone who cared about actual action is dead? I'm just going to keep *denying*

I've only ever heard of it when invoked at the most extreme level, but it's really the stance taken at every level of proactivity taken against the "I'm With Her" establishment: If you want civil war, we start at your house - specifically state your name and address - they're *not* taking what (look - nobody cares what [I'm trying to redirect their focus after the fact of them making that as their very thing their very first own move, hand-having the act of doing so at a subliminal level - like I'm not even registering what specifically it is in the first place they're *doing*, so why can *I* be allowed to attest to human activity as the focus in the first place (in any case if I acknowledged what was really being done spiritually at that subconscious level, I would never be able to contain the hatred resulting directly ensuing from it and be sent to prison right away, so there's no profit throughout this run in doing *that*)] Focusing to specifics is not a concept. [This is already debunked in advance - the act of doing so in itself is hand-had to the act of depersoning a person and singling them out] It's like I live on a different planet. Why would I *ever* then relate to other people? It's insane! There's *no* context provided. [And then they singularly repeat ad infinitum then if there's no reason for them to be upset at me, then there's *no reason* for me to be *upset*, as I'm evidently from experience no more than the projection sum described previous]

I don't *know* my history. I'm actually a first-generation partly because my dad was born somewhere else and moved at a young age. I can only see the current state as fundamentally divorced from all past circumstance, and that makes it appear exclusively akin to *demonic* possession

And at the end of the day, what I'm thinking and feeling is actually divorced from what I'm writing, so all the reference to all the best of what other people in their writing have afforded is lost and wasted while the establishment just has to step in saying my personal atomization as an example monitored keeps being their best *asset* - by that, they can justify openly tyranny on earth, because I'll just keep *coping* - I have to manually put a stop to that. I felt the requirement to prevent myself washing in the shower this morning until it was completely too late with all the shower water cold.

I don't know what context then I'm supposed to *do* things in, because at some point you get stinky, and the priority to get things done is still in place unconsciously, tampering with the way things are perceived, priority-wise. That makes things malicious when I do them forcedly as I know to *always* do, because otherwise I wouldn't have survived In reality, that's a coping mechanism against people who want me, preemptively, *destroyed*, and not-personed, foundationally, by their fundamental nature [I'm positive this is where they're calling it their "common humanity", the thing that proverbially should be enough, the ignoration of which leads to branches of lashing out by them which can be taken the easy way or the *hard* way]. Looking at the human subconscious, there's *nothing* genuinely deep between us (like, at *all*) What an interpersonal relationship *is* (in the modern worldbuilding) does not translate to action at *all* - in the sense of "I'm With Her" presupposedly-required tagging-along does that translate in their minds to compulsive *action*, otherwise they send you to a *group* home - they're just, as it's been said, when you try to go doing that yourself, going to stab you compulsively targeting preemptively the back of the neck when once they see the *opportunity.*

[goosewriting]

I had this idea and now I'm kinda obsessed with it,, can you do Leo in a relationship with a reader who's big Mama's kid? The others have recently found out and they have their doubts on if the relationship can last (they're not unsupportive or anything, they just have doubts) the reader says to Leo the 9th and 48th pink prompts. ("Reader: they say we're not going to last")

Prove them wrong (rottmnt Leo x reader)

prompt 9: “You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.” prompt 48: “They say we won't last.” “Then let's prove them wrong.”

summary: the turtles find out you're Big Mama’s kid.

relationship: Rise!Leo x GN reader

warnings: none

word count: ~670

A/N: i actually kinda like this idea? has a lot of potential for going a bit deeper into the whole “is blood thicker than water?” concept. but i had to keep it short for this one, hope you like it!

(english is not my first language. constructive criticism and grammar corrections are very appreciated!)

— — —

After the whole Big Mama and Oozesquitoes fiasco, the turtle brothers made it back to the lair where you were waiting for them, and they told you about her betrayal. Out of all the possible responses, they had not expected you to confess to them that Big Mama was, in fact, your real mama.

They knew you were half yokai, half human. But you bore no real resemblance to her arachnid person. You came more like your father, looking human on the outside, but you did have more resilience, strength and agility, as well as the ability to climb walls. 

Now that your secret was revealed, the brothers, especially Donnie, were rather sceptical towards you. You were Leo’s partner, and they had liked you since day one, but their attitude towards you changed after you told them about your mother, and it saddened you. You regretted telling them who you were at that moment. But you could hide it no longer, trying to explain why it would be hard for you to engage in a fight with Big Mama.

Leo asked you if that’s why you always wore a hood when you accompanied them to the Hidden City and always declined to enter the Nexus Hotel. You confirmed his suspicions, telling him about how you had essentially escaped from home and didn’t want Big Mama to see you there.

You pulled Leo with you a couple of steps away from the rest so you could talk in private.

“I’m sorry I’ve been hiding this from all of you for so long” you whispered, cupping his face. “I just wanted to leave it all behind. I didn’t mean to betray you guys’ trust.”

He wanted to interject, but you tilted your head with a slight shake and furrowed brows. Your eyes mapped out his features, coming back up to meet his gaze, and you gave him a sad smile that made his chest tighten in pain.

“You make me feel alive, Leo. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe. I don’t want to lose that.”

Leo could see in your eyes that you were telling him the truth. Meeting the turtles and hanging out with them had made you feel like you finally had a place where you belonged, and you had never been so happy as you were with them. And you loved Leo, whole-heartedly. So it hurt to see the other brothers putting distance between them and you because of a relationship you had no real control over.

But you also understood that Big Mama had now become kind of an enemy to them, with her being in on the whole Oozesquito situation. And apparently she didn’t care about humans all that much either. To make it all worse, she was now on bad terms with Draxum too, which made everything so much more complicated.

You let out a shaky sigh thinking about this, wanting nothing more than to go back to how things were before: simple and happy. This whole situation was convoluted and weird and the others probably thought that at some point you may have a conflict of interests when it came to choosing sides. Sure, she was your mother, so you didn’t want anything bad to happen to her, but you couldn’t support her… business.

Leo pulled you in for a proper hug after you explained all of these fears to him, and gave your temple a kiss. He admitted that he was also scared about you having to face the situation of choosing sides, but he assured you it would all work out in the end, no matter what happened. 

You looked to the side, seeing the turtle brothers doing their own thing with their shells to you. You had heard what they said when they thought you couldn’t hear. 

“Your brothers” you pulled back to look up at Leo. “They say we won't last.”

He gave you a lopsided smile, taking your hands and giving them a reassuring squeeze.

“Then let's prove them wrong.”

~~~~~

🐥 taglist: [more info in my pinned post!] @hearteyedracoon, @koalaray, @maribatshipper, @whygz, @xnorthstar3x

[bastart13]

I’ve had a lot of fun recently coming with with female mercenary characters for TF2. I really liked where the concept art was going with making them all individual characters rather than simply “if the characters were women”

The design style is fantastic for distinct simplicity so I tried limiting myself to basic colours and shapes to make these

and I’m pretty confident they pass the silhouette test!

Character names/bios under the cut!

Heavy

Name: Marie Jarrett

Age: Mid 30s-40s

Height: 6’5

Nationality: American (Hawai’i)

Bio: Raised in Hawai’i, growing up she developed more and more drastic measures to fend off the tourists swarming her home. Land mines, electric gates, guard dogs, none could stop them for long until she picked up her trusty minigun to send her message. But even still, she hears the click of cameras in the night.

Eventually, she left her home to explore the world. Enthralled with the image of seeing different wonders across different countries, she’s always disappointed. She’s travelled every continent and still finds nothing that lives up to her expectations. No place, no person. She’s outgoing and open to new experiences, only she usually hates them.

Mercenary life is a great opportunity to earn money, see sights, meet new people and kill them after they don’t meet your expectations. She hates New Mexico and takes every opportunity to destroy the buildings and insult her employer’s tastes. She finds some people she tolerates within the mercenaries as she hasn’t yet visited where they live. However much she hides it, she has a deep, instinctual fear of the Engineer.

  Soldier

Name: Linda Smith

Age: Early 40s

Height: 5’10

Nationality: Canadian

Bio: Canada’s perfect woman… or so she claims. The star of war propaganda posters and clearly decided for the role because of her great tactical assets. She’s there to motivate people into the fight. To spread the glory of Canada and inspire her allies. She believes she has higher orders than anyone else she’s working for (ignoring the fact she hasn’t heard from them for a good few years) and is determined to follow them to the letter. She may have lost the letter but she remembers it good enough.

She represents the ideals of Canada: polite, friendly, apologetic, and pacifistic. None of these are contradicted by how she throws around rockets. That’s not what Canada means. She’s superior to everyone around her and graciously educates them on how to improve through example. She loves her French and British allies and will kindly tell the Americans how to be better.

She’s motivating and actually fairly competent, it’s just that competency might be misdirected. She’s damn good at rocket jumping, shooting her shotgun, and supporting her team, it’s just that you really need to get it in her head when she’s meant to be doing it.

Scout

Name: Patricia “Pat” Herald

Age: 50s-60s

Height: 5’4

Nationality: English

Bio: In her years, Patricia has learnt fear… and she’s learnt to laugh in its face. She wakes up at the crack of dawn, ready to leave at the drop of a hat, boots polished and laced the night before. Her years have taught her that with a gun and Jeremy by her side, she can survive!

The postal route of Appleby-in-Westmorland.

She’s been chased by geese, dogs, cows, elderly ladies, and when her postal route had her delivering post during the war, she developed a taste for blood. Nothing will stop her from delivering her post on time. Every day before 6am, every postbox will have their letters and parcels. One chucked across barbed wire, another house jumped over a river, another house miles into the country with dogs on her heels, she WILL get there and she’ll get there FAST.

But after a couple of decades, she needs a change of scenery, and the Gravels wars are just the holiday she’s needed. With her trusty black and white cat by her side (ignoring the yowling and scratches) she reckons it’ll be great time to enjoy herself.

Quotes: “Oh, hello, Human Jeremy.”

“Bloody fucking Ethel! Building her house out in the country… surrounded by bloody hills and rivers!”

Pyro

Name: Nikephoros Papadopoulos

Age: Late 20s

Height: 5’11

Nationality: Greek

Bio: Survival of the fittest. Nature gives and nature taketh away. If you’re not prepared for that, well, Pyro is more than happy to teach you the lesson. They embody the old values of the Greek gods: f*ck or fire. She indulges her every whim and unfortunately for the people around her it often involves arson.

One year for the Olympic games, she was given the noble title of torchbearer. On complete coincidence, the Olympics shifted to primarily water sports. Underwater sprints became the hot new trend!

She’s merry and chatty, never missing the opportunity to talk to other people about herself and her world view. She can’t wait to spread her gospel to help other people improve themselves (though she always gets a laugh out of those who go out screaming in the flames). She can’t help it if she has a sadistic side.

Engineer

Name: Mikawo Kojima

Age: Early 20s

Height: 5’0

Nationality: Japanese

Bio: Japan’s early-rising industrial revolutions in technology are best exemplified in Mikawo, a young upstart determined to rise to the top, learning everything she can and building the best of the best. Unfortunately, she’s never been the most creative but when you happen upon other people’s blueprints and happen to construct them first, what does it matter who came up with the “concept”?

At first, she appears to be every bit the quiet and demure young woman people expect, only when silk hides steel, that steel is a massive automatic sentry gun. She’s motivated by a distinct contempt for the people who get in her way. Especially those who try to be better than her. She enjoys the flexibility of English, especially the cusses, and she has no reservations about swearing up a storm, even if she still refuses to give a straight rejection, preferring instead to give a small “I’ll think about it.”

Quotes: “This GUN is fair use on your head!”

Demo

Name: Qingzhao Zeng

Age: Late 40s

Height: 5’3

Nationality: Chinese

Bio: The Zeng family has a long-standing family trade in demolitions and explosives, traced down the line all the way to the Song dynasty. Luckily, Qingzhao has sisters so, you know, it’s not all that important. She doesn’t even have to stop smoking and drinking. She hasn’t blown herself up (that much) so clearly, it’s working. Precision is for other people to worry about. She’s apathetic to a T, having seen everything. Measurements come from the heart. A pinch of gunpowder there, a splash of paint there.

Her family has a deep-seated rivalry with the DeGroots. Long ago in ancient China, a Zeng matriarch woke up in a cold sweat, a message from the stars to let them know of their Scottish rivals. Due to being a continent away from each other, the families have actually met each other only a handful of times, but the hatred needs to be kept up because, what if?

Turns out, Qingzhao has met Tavish even before finding employment under the Mann brothers. One drunken night, the two of them had a short, whirlwind friendship, sharing secrets and declaring each other to be their best friends. Luckily for them, they both forgot the night, merrily hating each other as tradition dictates. However, headaches and flashes of this terrible night haunt them both. Could they really get over centuries of hate and become friends?

Absolutely not.

Sniper

Name: Ansa Aaltonen

Age: 27

Height: 6’2

Nationality: Finnish

Bio: Snow. Sugar. Cocaine.  Her life is run by many white powders. Ansa is a professional sniper, with a sharp eye and a steady hand… when she isn’t also high as a kite, lost in the snowy wilderness of Finland and screeching to the sky. When you’re up in the dark and cold, you need something to give you a little pep in your step. It just so happens Ansa liked having a bit more pep than most.

She’s there for a THRILL. There’s nothing better to get your heart pumping at 200 beats per second than a good headshot, embracing the chill, and a hit of sugar. She no longer feels the cold or heat or even pain, shrugging it off until she collapses. It just makes her feel alive. She’s efficient, fast, and determined to get her kicks.

She has an unusual taste, living off fermented fish and tree bark. To most people around the Finnish wilderness, she’s nothing more than an urban legend, but she’s very real and she’s looking for some excitement, happily found in employment in the Gravel wars.

Spy

Name: Yvonne Pleshette [Real name N/A]

Age: 30s

Height: 5’8

Nationality: American (California)

Bio: The silver screen calls to his woman and she’s happy to answer. She trains herself to act in every possible role she can, having a wide range of accents, body languages, and backstories. To truly test herself, she gave up her identity long ago. Lately she’s been going by the name “Yvonne.”

The world of Hollywood is cutthroat and full of backstabbers so she learnt to cut throats and stab backs. While some people tell her the terms are metaphorical, nothing else has given her more roles. Living the mercenary life is simply gathering research for her roles (and earning some much-needed money in the process).

She presents herself as a classic film star, despite being a minor name at best, mostly because she’s always changing it. She has high standards but a cheapskate personality. She’s a bit of a bitch, happily criticising others, especially if they’re working with her. What can she say? She’s a diva.

[Slutshames other spy]

Quotes: “Ugh, actors these days, they know nothing about getting into character. They still have names.”

“’AHHHHH—’ Wait, no. Once more from the top. Scream in agony.”

Medic

Name: Susan Monks

Age: 30-40s

Height: 5’7

Nationality: American (New Jersey)

Bio: The American Healthcare system. Is there a more glorious sight? The exploitation of pain. The money. The debt. The fear it strikes into the entire population it’s designed to help. To Susan, there’s nothing better. She squeezes every last drop from the people she helps, working on a purely transactional lifestyle. She’ll never help someone unless she has all of their insurance information and the payment secure in her bank, and god forbid she ever accept help. It’s not like she can afford her own prices.

She’s very self-aware of her own corruption and proud of it, though she refuses to be exploited in the same way, suspicious of anything “free” but also doing her best not to pay for anything.

That said, she doesn’t much care for how good a job she does. In her eyes, asking for surgery is one thing. Asking for successful surgery is another. She has a variety of skills in both cosmetic and military medicine. She just wishes the license board would stop sending her “malpractice” letters. Ugh, stick to your own business. “Disappearing” all their messengers is becoming a pain.

Quotes: “Why get someone else to do something for you when you can scrounge a way to do it yourself?”

[bitemedotmp3]

"Heheh, yeah, I am," she cackles, tucking her phone away. "I mean, can you blame me? I know that look, the whole 'I just got here and I'm scared' expression. Happened to me too, except the first person I met here was a blue hedgehog. Maybe talking rodents are normal where you come from? Whatever."

It is a lot to take in, though. Going from frozen-over, all-the-humans-are-dead, core-collapse'd Copper 9 to none-of-those-things Radial Island was a hell of a culture shock. Seeing real, live humans walking around, and being able to go to the store to buy Bleach merch was almost too much for her. Maybe she can cut this guy some slack. Just a little.

"Are you making words up?" she says, frowning. "Oh, let me guess. You didn't read the pamphlet on the ride in, huh? Well, not like it really tells you much..."

With a sigh, Uzi adopts a dull tone normally reserved for in-class presentations. "Welcome to the city of Spirale, graciously constructed by the Island Stars for reasons we don't get to know. You've been basically kidnapped, and so you live here now along with a bunch of other poor losers, because blah blah blah, whatever."

Shrugging, she pulls out her phone again, because maybe she can finally convince V to watch Akira instead. "Or you can just pretend it's hell. Not like you can leave either way. Hey, if you didn't read the welcome guide, you at least grabbed the cell phone, right? Otherwise... oof."

Peter's jaw falls slack at Uzi's quick response. Normally, he'd shrug her off as some dumb kid trying to scare him, but being in the situation he was in and considering the fact that he kinda did actually suck in life, the words were hitting a little too close to home.

He blinks a couple times, swallows, blinks again.

"No way this is hell. It's too nice lookin' to be hell," He murmurs, but his tone deceives him, he's clearly unnerved. He takes a moment to look around at the Terran-like skyscrapers, the paved streets, the shops. No way was this hell. This little kid was full of shit.

But before he can call her out on it, she's opened her mouth, something about erasing memories because she didn't want to watch a movie about dinosaurs that the mere mention of triggers some odd feeling in his head. He's just going to ignore that for now.

"Okay, so this isn't hell and you're fucking with me. So what planet is this? And who's behind bringing me here? Ravagers? Xandarians? Kree? God I hope it's not Kree."

[delimeful]

mere monstrosity (1)

warnings: spiders, misunderstandings, captivity

-

Logan woke up to the familiar soft chime of his alarm, and rolled out of bed bleary-eyed but ready to get the day started. He kept quiet as he crept out of the room.

He didn’t bother grabbing his glasses, knowing that they’d only be of use after his shower. His feet knew the way from his bedroom to the bathroom by heart, and he preferred to shower in the dark to avoid the likelihood of getting one of his light-sensitivity migraines, so he didn’t reach for the lightswitch either.

Instead, he pushed quietly past the half-open door and fumbled for the shower knob, cranking it up to exactly the point before it turned scalding.

The water flickered on a moment later, and amidst the clamor of droplets against ceramic, he heard an indistinct, high-pitched noise, like a chirp or squeak.

“A mouse?” he muttered to himself, squinting at the dark, blurry interior of the shower.

He couldn’t hear anything else over the spray, so he quickly turned the shower off and stepped back to flick the lightswitch on, potential headaches be damned.

He pulled the shower curtain fully to the side, and blinked at the sight of a blurry black splotch in the corner of his bathtub. Leaning in a little further, he could briefly make out individual legs, long and numerous, before they were pulled closer and blended in with the rest of the shape.

“You are… a considerably large spider,” he informed it, grateful that it was him and not Patton who had found it. The resulting terrified shriek would have woken him and Janus, and probably most of the neighbors for that matter. “Are you a tarantula? Are tarantulas even native to this area?”

The spider, rather predictably, didn’t respond, and Logan recalled that he’d just doused the poor thing with jets of cold water. It was probably curling all its limbs in a mock death-curl, trying to process the unexpected threat to its breathing and body temperature.

He reached over to the counter and carefully removed the collection of multicolored toothbrushes from the plastic cup next to their sink, tapping it against the side of the counter to clear out any remaining dust.

“Try to stay still, alright?” he coaxed in a low voice, crouching and leaning over the tub to get a better angle. “I don’t want to catch any of your limbs, just keep them all tucked in close like that and I’ll get you out of there.”

To his surprise, the spider really didn’t make any sudden moves, remaining frozen as he settled the cup over it. The only reason he was sure it was still alive was the tiny motion of its front legs, two little investigative nudges against the edge of the cup.

“Excellent job,” he praised, his curiosity only growing. Most of the spiders he had cupped would immediately run at the glass with arms lifted in threat, or run in frantic circles along the edges seeking an escape. Of course, none of them had been this large. Most wild tarantulas were hunters, though, not spinners. Aggression would serve them well, so why was this one so docile? Was it an escaped pet? Had the cold water been that shocking?

He quickly retrieved a folder from the living room, returning to find that the plastic cup had shifted a couple of inches. It was large enough to push it, then.

“Just a little bit more,” he continued to soothe, carefully sliding the folder under the cup bit by bit, allowing the spider time to shift its legs onto the folder so the tips wouldn’t be pinched. He then carefully lifted the whole ensemble up, keeping a cautious hand on top of the cup. “There we go.”

The kitchen was dimly lit, the small light under the microwave still on so that anyone getting water in the middle of the night wouldn’t trip or run into anything in the dark. Logan glanced at the front door for a long moment, and then gave in to the urge to investigate his catch a bit closer. It would be irresponsible to just release a domesticated tarantula into the wild, after all.

He set the cup and folder down carefully on the counter, and then placed a heavy ceramic plate on top of the cup, reasoning that it was better to make sure the spider wouldn’t push the cup-- and itself-- right off the counter.

“One moment.” That done, he went into his room to retrieve his glasses, leaving the light off so as to not wake up Janus, who had only gotten in from his night shift a few hours ago. His roommate normally slept heavily once he managed to get to sleep, so Logan didn’t have to worry about waking him by climbing out of their shared bed, but better not to risk turning the lights on in the first place.

The world came into a much clearer focus once he’d pushed his glasses into their proper place atop his nose, and with his vision improved, he had no problems finding the hall closet and rummaging through it for one of Janus’s old terrariums.

He set the glass case down on the kitchen counter without any furnishings inside-- he was only planning to get a good look at the specimen, after all-- and flicked on the kitchen light before carefully moving the trapped spider into the terrarium and then lifting the cup away.

The spider frantically scuttled back, smacking thorax-first into the glass wall of the terrarium, and Logan frowned contemplatively at the sight of it.

It was certainly a tarantula, one that he’d probably be able to find online fairly easily with the distinctive white stripes along it’s eight fuzzy legs. Concerningly enough, there was an odd swelling protrusion on the anterior part of the body. It was a similar dark shade to the rest of the body, but almost larger than the thorax, and it blocked off any sight of the pedipalps, fangs, or eyes.

The texture didn’t seem to match the carapace… Perhaps it was a piece of garbage or organic waste that had gotten stuck on the creature? If it hindered movement, that could explain why it had been so still earlier.

It wasn’t still now, exhibiting an odd vibrating throughout its body that Logan had never witnessed from a spider before. He would certainly be doing some research into arthropods after this.

Well, at the very least, he could see if that protruding material would come loose.

Logan carefully pulled on one of Janus’s thick leather gloves, one of the more worn sets in case the spider had urticating hairs, and then reached down. The spider seemed to spot his shadow, going by the way it stiffened, and he reminded himself that though he didn’t know the species and many tarantulas were venomous, it was incredibly unlikely their venom would be able to do more than hurt him.

Confidence restored, he continued reaching down until his fingers met the odd lump, at which point a low, guttural hiss sounded, and the spider threw its front legs up and lunged, slapping its limbs down against the floor of the terrarium in threat.

Logan remained undeterred by the small tantrum, instead focusing on the fact that the obstruction was loose, almost like shed skin on a snake. Studying the spider carefully, he pinched it gently between two fingers, trying to discern what in the world it could possibly be.

The next three movements happened in rapid succession.

First, Logan tugged lightly at the material caught between his fingers. Second, the spider recoiled sharply, pulling away from his grip with surprising strength. And third, the covering came loose, the spider pulling free from it and leaving a limp swathe of fabric hanging from Logan’s fingers.

Below him, now uncovered, there was pale skin, a mop of bedraggled hair, and a tiny, terrified human face.

Logan froze, staring down at it-- them with wide eyes.

The being he’d mistaken for a spider was actually a drider, a creature of myth that was apparently all too real. Logan couldn’t help how stunned he felt. Even apart from the shock of the discovery, there was the shock of their size. Driders were said to have a human-sized spider half, not the other way around!

Below, the drider was still frozen in place, staring right back up at him. He could see the way their little chest was heaving with quick, panicked breaths, could feel the way the tiny makeshift poncho in his hand was sodden and cold, and he felt guilt strike him like a ruler across knuckles.

“I-- Hold on a moment, please,” he managed, his mind racing as he stepped back, turning and hurrying out of the room.

Once again, the hall closet held exactly what he needed, and he mentally rescinded all his past complaints about the amount of extra snake care items Janus had stashed away in their storage closet like a dragon’s hoard.

The heat lamp was compact enough to fit easily in the terrarium, where the spider-person had scuttled back to press themself into the furthest corner, limbs pulled in tightly in what had to be a fear response.

Logan set the lamp carefully inside and plugged it in, sighing in relief when the bulb lit up and began to glow orange. “This lamp is designed for reptiles, not arthropods, so it may be too hot for extended use. However, it will work temporarily as a heat source to get rid of excess moisture, so I encourage you to use it.”

The drider was glaring up at him with the tiniest scowl he’d ever seen, front legs still lifted up defensively, but didn’t say a word.

“Do you speak?” Logan asked, and received only silence in return. “I suppose I should have guessed as much, seeing as you haven’t responded to any of my previous statements. Do you understand me? Do we speak the same language?”

The drider glared harder.

“I find it hard to believe that you have animal-level intelligence,” Logan continued, now mostly to himself. He lifted a hand, displaying the poncho he still held. “Although some birds can ‘sew’, construction of clothing to cover one’s form is a complex and distinctly human sentiment.”

Still, nothing. Their gaze was caught by the poncho for a moment before they looked away entirely, looking for all the world to be sulking.

Logan sighed, and then slowly moved to place the poncho next to the heat lamp, laying it out flat for easier drying. “I’m going to attend to my morning routine. It should only take me a few moments, but please feel free to call or make noise if you need my attention between now and then.”

The drider’s expression had eased into confusion at the sight of their garment laid out before them, but their legs remained warily upright as Logan left the room.

As promised, he only made a brief stop to make sure both of his roommates were still soundly asleep before climbing into the shower and preparing himself for the day, roughly fifteen minutes behind schedule.

It wasn’t too disruptive-- it had eaten into the time he normally allotted for sitting at the table and eating breakfast, so that would have to be skipped today, but it wasn’t the end of the world.

Honestly, he’d likely spend the rest of the day thinking about the surprise addition to his morning. There were so many questions he’d love to ask, but seeing as the creature had attempted to hide their existence even at risk of being perceived as a normal spider (and therefore possibly squashed), he expected he wouldn’t be receiving any answers.

Talkative or not, the drider clearly had sapient levels of intelligence, and Logan was loath to start off humanity’s relationship with a vulnerable and secretive species by keeping them trapped in a snake terrarium against their will.

Even if he was willing to weigh scientific advancement over his morals, his roommates would never allow it. Patton would naturally be terrified and possibly sympathetic when witnessing their clear terror, and he’d had enough extensive debates on ethics with Janus to know that his opinion on keeping them captive would be much the same.

So, when he returned to the kitchen and saw them toppling over and scurrying back from the heat lamp that they’d clearly been attempting to use as a makeshift ladder to freedom, Logan didn’t bother commenting, simply moving forward and looking them over.

“You seem to have mostly dried,” he stated instead, able to appreciate the subtle design work of the poncho better now that it wasn’t being used as camouflage. The drider gripped it like they thought he might take it away.

They would react fairly badly to him reaching out with his hand, and reasonably so. Logan hadn’t exactly done much except douse, capture, and then gently interrogate them. Not exactly trustworthy behavior.

He studied the terrarium for a moment before grabbing a washcloth and draping it over the side, providing an easy textured surface for the spider to climb up. There. “You are free to go.”

The surprised expression that flashed across their face was almost comical.

“I’m not sure what your purpose in the bathroom was, but I’d ask you to be more careful in the future. One of my roommates…,” Logan sighed through his nose, exasperated even imagining it. “Well, suffice to say you should avoid him at all costs.”

The tiny drider continued to stare at him, gaze occasionally flickering over to the towel with clear suspicion. It was saddening to be so distrusted, but perhaps this show of goodwill would help prove that he didn’t intend any harm? He hoped he hadn’t frightened them from the residence entirely-- he shuddered at the many, many potential dangers the creature would find outside.

“My roommates will wake later in the day, so if you intend to avoid their notice, I’d suggest leaving the enclosure as soon as I have departed for work,” he gave a little farewell wave, not reacting to the slight flinch it elicited from the little guy. “It-- well, you probably don’t share the sentiment, but still-- it was nice to meet you. Goodbye.”

Forcing himself not to turn back and get one last look, Logan hurried out the door.

[belovedharringrove]

so i made a post saying that if you want proof that billy is abused by neil, that you should watch the scene where neil's asking him where max is with an abuser (but, like. don't actually do that if you can avoid it) and @sonneillonv asked to see my perspective on it.

okay so start this off properly

TRIGGER WARNING

there will be discussions of abuse to both a real person (me) and a character (billy).

i'm putting my thoughts in order as i write this so this may either be extremely short or very long.

right. i am 21 years old and i work and make my own money, and during all these years i have been abused physically, verbally and let's say financially. the physical abuse has slowed down but from the time i was 6-7 to when i was about 17 my father abused me physically almost every day, sometimes for what i considered to be the dumbest reasons but he considered to be disrespect. my dad worked in construction his whole life so he didn't have the lightest hand in the world either.

when i watched s2 e8 (correct me if i'm wrong but i believe that's the episode) i was with both of my parents.

in the episode, billy's getting ready for a date and neil knocks on his door demanding to know where max is, start insulting him, etc.

the moment i saw nail hit billy, i immediately went "see? billy lashes out at everyone because he's being abused. that is abuse." and my 60 year old father immediately disagreed with me. he said that no, that's not abuse, but billy was being disrespectful and maybe if billy had spoken better to him, neil wouldn't have had to punch him, billy could've gotten away with a slap to the wrist!!! which is a form of manipulation that he's used with me before. you know, the apologies that go "i'm sorry i yelled at you in public, but if you hadn't pissed me off i wouldn't have had to scream at you!".

then we get to the part where neil asks billy to repeat himself and i say "that's a tool that abusers use as a way of holding power over their victims" and my father once again disagrees with me. says that sometimes as a parent, you need to ask your children to repeat things so "the lessons stick better" and "they don't keep making mistakes". when i asked what mistake billy made, he floundered and then said billy lost max and when i pointed out that, in me and my older siblings case, we could both be home at the same time and be none the wiser because we're always in our rooms. perhaps the same thing can happen to billy and max? y'know, because they're humans and billy can't be expected to helicopter over a moody teenager the whole day unless he wants her to throw her skateboard at him? he just got quiet and told me to shut up.

then we get to the part that billy goes to the byers' house and he gets into a fight with steve. when max grabs the syringe and injects billy with the medicine, i say "she shouldn't have done that, that was very dangerous thing to do. billy could've died." and my mom says "but they were using that to put will to sleep, it wouldn't have hurt him." i then have to explain that we don't know billy's medical history. he could've had an allergic reaction to the medicine and simply just died. i am 100% certain that none of them have cpr training or even would've known what to do if that had happened. then they go and take billy's car, leaving him drugged and with no mode of transportation.

at this point my father is not very happy and says "well, billy is a grown man! if he hated being abused so much, he could've just fought back!" and- no. he couldn't.

billy looks like a grown man because dacre montgomery was around 23 years old in 2017 when season 2 came out and, let's be honest, the man is pretty fucking fit. but billy was a teenager. only 17 years old. it's not he didn't want to fight back, it's that he couldn't.

as a 21 year old, i have my abusive father financially dependent on me while he waits to be retired. i could easily deny him a single cent that he asks of me but i cannot. not because i'm incapable, but simply because my mind goes 'he's your father, he raised you, he loves you, do you really wanna turn into him? he did his best while raising, he wasn't perfect but who is?' and that's only a few of the thoughts that go through my mind. billy is 17 years old and similar things probably go through his mind, plus maybe 'i don't have anyone' because max proved she doesn't care for his wellbeing back at the byers house, susan wouldn't come to his defense and neil is his abuser. he's far from california, he has no friends and no other family. he's completely alone.

i really hope this made sense and i put it in a way that people understand. i am emotionally drained now because this is a difficult topic to breach for me, but if you have any questions or need me to clear anything up, just reply or send me a pm and i'll be happy to answer.