#also experimented w/ line weight

[retiredcultistredux]

Prince fluff please be quick kirby and hyness are in danger.

Also, good luck with Ester.

Prince Fluff: "Yeah, I know--"

He rolled his eyes before scoffing, which led into him ranting as he ran down the hall.

[...Yeesh.]

[cheapcheapfaker]

[lullabyes22-blog]

Hi lullabyes, would u mind sharing your take on the flashback with young Silco, Vander, and Felicia? :O

It's adorable. It's touching. It's sweet. It's a serene moment of intimacy and family (or polycule) bonding in an otherwise deeply frenetic season.

It's also so surreal it may as well be a fever dream.

I should note, at this stage I've shut off my cognitive reasoning about Arcane and begun approaching this as if it's a series of exquisitely crafted, animated short films that are all about to collide into a beautiful disaster.

Because that's what it is.

S2 has thrown a lot of the intelligent plotting out the window to embrace the chaos.  Whether due to time constraints, intellectual fatigue, or creative indulgence, I feel like we have a show that's now just hurtling breakneck towards the finish line. Previous story threads that once held weight and were the driving force behind character arcs and subplots, have since been abandoned. Nuanced motivations and character growth are being tossed to the wayside for the sake of action, montages, music videos, and a cavalier, anything-goes approach to world-building.

And yet, it's still such an incredible spectacle to behold.

@ravenkinnie delightfully noted that she is now watching this show with her pussy.

I agree 100%. S2 is a full-body experience, and one I find myself wholly consumed by. It's like a one-night stand you weren't expecting to be so fucking good. And when the sun comes up, you know it's going to hurt to say goodbye, and there'll be no follow-up call.

But damn, you enjoyed the shit out of that experience.

So yeah, the flashback was fucking adorable. I love the genuine emotion and closeness between the three characters. I adore the idea of Felicia, Silco and Vander being childhood friends (or, again, a very messy polycule) and both men sort of falling apart without her Manic Pixie Dream Girl presence in their lives. It's a nice little character arc.

However.

I cannot reconcile this scene with the rest of S1. It feels completely disconnected from the reality of the show and the world around them. The flashback has absolutely no impact on the current events, nor does it have any foreshadowing. The flashback exists solely to provide us with a glimpse into the past, with sweet little parallels to serve as bonbons that make us coo and sigh. It completely glosses over Silco's deeply, blackly visceral hatred of Vi in S1, reduces the class struggle culminating in the Day of Ash to "Oh, Silco. If only you've protested for your basic civil rights in a peaceful manner instead of tossing a molotov cocktail, you'd still have your family, a place in the community, not to mention your eye," does not really explain why Benzo reacted to Silco's appearance by calling him an animal, and, most importantly, gives the lie to the entire dynamic between Silco and Jinx.

We were led to believe that Felicia's death was the catalyst for Silco and Vander's falling out.  That if Silco had found Vander's letter in their little Brokeback bunk, they would've worked out their differences and found peace together. That they'd have raised Felicia's anklebiters side-by-side as the Zaundads of the revolution.

Except Silco is also the man selling Evil Anime PCP (Shimmer) as an economic cheat-code to earn respect for his people, and Vander is basically Captain Centrist and traumatized by war, and there is NO WAY they would've seen eye-to-eye on their respective methods. There's no way they would've come to any sort of accord. And there's no way Silco would've forgiven the man who mutilated and left him possibly sheared of half his lifespan, any more than Felicia's children would forgive the man who killed their mother.

It's such an incongruous narrative beat.

Which brings me to the other point:

Silco and Jinx.

imo, while I love the idea of Silco carrying either a secret torch for Felicia, or seeing her as a sister he'll always love, and while I absolutely treasure the idea of Jinx being a daily reminder of what he's fighting for - "I'm doing this for us, Jinx." - it sort of cheapens the key connection between them. In S1, Silco and Jinx's arc is, in my eyes, one of the best things about the series, and so incredibly well-written and executed. Silco is a monster, yes, but his monstrosity is the product of systemic and individual trauma, and the inextricable bleedthrough between the two. Finding this little girl and bringing her up under his wing, he has the chance to be the steadying hand and safe harbor he lost after Vander's betrayal. His monstrousness is not something he inflicts on her; it is something that, rather, grows on JInx like a kudzu vine, as the terrain of her damaged mind is already fertile for his worldview and methods to take root and thrive.

He is, perhaps, the best example of nurture triumphing over nature, even if his nurturing is rather, uh, extreme.

But if their bond is predicated on Felicia, rather than two strangers finding each other in the wilderness of heartbreak and learning to let their black hearts beat, messily entwined, as one family unit, and if Silco's obsession with Jinx is merely a projection of his guilt for killing her mother, and, by extension, a projection of his love for Felicia onto her daughter...

It's just.

Do y'all remember those uncomfortable frames that the showrunners admitted were deliberate, despite the evidence in the written text suggesting a familial bond? The subtext that, all the way into S2, carries the implication of a romantic relationship between a father and his daughter?

Well.

The implications now threaten to melt into explicit text, and the uncomfortable frames have turned into Unfortunate Implications, and I am not sure how I feel about this.

 It's not giving Lily and Snape; it's giving Sansa and Baelish.

It's giving the showrunners a big, fat "YEESH" rating from CPS.

And it's giving us the same, old, tired trope of a monstrous man unable to form an attachment unless it's through the lens of prior attachments, that whole 'You remind me so much of her' and the like.

 (I also admit I am the world's biggest hypocrite as the entire premise of Forward but Never Forget/XOXO is that the core foursome of Vander, Silco, Lika and Sevika knew each other, and that those ghosts haunt the machinery of the present day. But I try my damnedest to make plain there's politics buffeting all these relationships, and despite all their efforts to claw at self-sovereignty, reinvention and a new order, the past is a stubborn bitch that refuses to let go.)

(Also in FnF, Silco is triggered by Lika rather than into her in any affectionate or romantic way, because they're so similar: pragmatic survivors who aren't above rule-bending to get their way, and at their core just want a smoke break, a stiff drink, and a nap. It's a mutual respect rather than an affection, which is why she bestows on him the dubious honor of mercy killing her if she's too wounded on the Day of Ash to continue on.)

(He's the one person who could, and would, do her the service. It's kinship, and Jinx is the bright torch of their shared ambitions and ingenuity given both wing and voice.)

But anyway.

The flashback is a fever-dream. The kind you have when you're high on cold meds and can't think straight, and the world is a blur of sensations and memories that seem vivid in the moment but melt away into madness when you're better. It's a scene meant to be savored rather than interrogated. And I think if the showrunners had the time and inclination, we would've gotten a second episode solely dedicated to the flashback, rather than shoehorning it in. But since they're clearly trying to tie everything up with a neat bow before the finale, I don't blame them for having to skim past it and focus on the vibes/emotional resonance rather than the substance of a meaningfully written scene.

But hey.

Fanfic writers will have a field day with the open-ended dynamic and the fandom will never fucking stop, so that's nice.

Also we got loads of fantastic gifs of Young Silco. Bless.

<3

tl;dr: I've switched my critical brain off and decided to just enjoy the ride. It's so fucking epic. 

Also, Felicia was delightful and I hope her brotherhood/polycule/whatever with Silco and Vander gets its own spinoff, a la Road to El Dorado (or Zaun.)

[mrpenguinpants]

Ttorschlusspanik [ Commissioned ]

[ Hcs for Dottore where the reader is very sleepy/sleep-deprived and is constantly falling asleep in battle, on dates, or maybe during research and experiments! ]

Word Count: 4k

Ayato Ver: Pale Blue Slumber Semi Part 1: Low Battery Warning [Masterlist]

Thank you so much for commissioning me! You’re so sweet, and I truly appreciate the tip, but I can’t accept this level of generosity. Please let me know if I went under the word count. Also, thank you for your patience—I got really sick this week and am still recovering.

Torshlosspanik. noun. 1. A desperate feeling that something desired is fading, missing, or being taken away. 2. A feeling of frustration when something one has is departing.

A slumbering figure, a nearly empty desk, and foreboding fabric are the greeting signs to the infamous lab. It’s ironic, really. The concept that the Doctor’s domain comes with a “receptionist” setup stationed in front of imposing steel doors, giving the illusion that this place is as normal—and as morally sound—as any other doctor’s office. At best, it’s laughable to think anyone would believe this place accepts patients willingly, let alone frequently enough to require check-ins. Yet, a shabby but sturdy wooden desk stands innocently in the corner of the entrance, its chipping edges lined with plastic chrysanthemums and white lilies. The artificial flowers are faded, their colors dull from years of neglect, as if mocking the very notion of hospitality. Behind the desk sits an equally worn-down office chair, large enough for someone to curl up in. Its fabric is stained and frayed from years of misuse, the cushion lumpy and barely holding its shape but still useable. All for a receptionist, if you can call them that, who spends more time asleep than actually working as an employee in this most unlikely place. Legs curled up on the seat, arms crisscrossed over the knees in a fetal position. A chin tucked towards the chest, hidden from the view of passersby. Back facing toward prying eyes, leaving only the pronounced slouch of their spine visible, an angle practically begging to develop scoliosis. But the most harrowing detail isn’t the position. It’s the unmistakable black-and-white fur coat draped over them like a blanket, the fabric’s presence carrying an air of authority and fear. A coat only gifted to the Eleven Fatui Harbingers. The desk itself is of no help either. There’s no clipboard, no pens, no paper-nothing that could even remotely resemble the tools of an actual receptionist. It’s an empty stage prop, barely held together by the weight of its own absurdity. And yet, for all its flaws, it stands as the gateway to a place no one in their right mind would willingly step into.

No one dares attempt to wake you. Successfully doing so is practically a death sentence, especially if you go whining to Dottore about the unprompted “alarm clock.” He has a reputation for ensuring the offender never makes a sound again. The only ones bold enough to try and emerge unscathed are his fellow Harbingers, though even they tread lightly when it comes to disturbing your slumber. It’s both impressive and deeply concerning how much of a deep sleeper you are. The bustling footsteps of agents pacing outside the lab, their sharp voices discussing assignments, don’t stir you. The deafening clangs of machinery, coupled with the revolting squelches of severed monster parts being dissected, fail to trigger even a flicker of awareness. Not even Tartaglia’s incessant yammering, loud enough to make glass shudder, elicits so much as an irritated swat from you. Instead, you remain in a state of unyielding sleep, utterly detached from the chaos around you. Your peculiar habit has become such a fixture in the lab that the staff barely remember you exist. You sit perched at their entrance and exit, as still and silent as a gargoyle guarding a forgotten ruin. To them, you are little more than part of the backdrop. A slumbering figure whose presence is a curious mix of ominous and benign.

While it's obvious that the answer to rousing you is to find Dottore himself, or one of his segments if he isn’t around, the interesting part is how you wake up. You're not immune to the initial dizziness that comes with awakening. When you finally open your eyes, blinking the sleep away from your eyelashes, you’re always disoriented. Your eyes feel glazed over, as though you’ve gone blind from keeping them closed too long. Yet, there’s always a common theme: you always reach out toward the nearest blue object. Whether it's an odd trinket or a test tube of acidic liquid, your hand automatically tries to grab it and pull it close to you. It’s part of the reason your desk is stationed outside the lab, away from anything potentially dangerous hidden behind heavy steel doors. Artificial blue has been on the rise lately. Luckily, in nature, blue is very rare. Less than one in ten plants has blue flowers, and even fewer animals are blue. Unfortunately, the biggest nuisance has blue eyes—dead as they are. Tartaglia may not like the doctor, but he does like you. Maybe it’s because your sleep demeanor can be categorized as cute, or maybe you remind him of the simple life in an organization that’s so uptight. Regardless, that little fox has been clawing at the wooden legs yapping for attention. It's only made worse you don't bother to dissuade him, only indulging in his playful antics. It's led to many, many, lectures from one particular segment.

It's fascinating watching how each segment interacts with your sleepy demeanor. While each segment has varying features and appearances, under the same clothes and mask, they would be indistinguishable if they stood still and never spoke. The only true way to discern them is through their actions and mental processes. Hence, it's easy to tell who is who by the way they go about holding you.

Omega is by far the least attentive or affectionate toward you. Perhaps it’s because he’s the most selfish of them all. There’s still an ongoing debate over whether his dislike for you stems from the fact that you stand in the way of fulfilling his desires or if his ambitions extend beyond simply overtaking the divine gaze. Or perhaps the divine gaze isn't actually his goal in the first place. Either way, it’s two sides of the same coin. When it’s Omega’s turn to fetch you, he does so as if you were any other patient. Completely beneath him. One arm rests behind his back, while the other holds a piece of paper clenched tightly in his hand. His mouth is set in a firm line as he gazes down at your slumped form. Although the air around him is calm and silent, it doesn’t take a genius to know that if he could get away with it, he’d drag you through the halls by your hair. Alas, that kind of act would get him permanently disassembled, so he settles for unceremoniously flipping you upright. The arm resting on the small of his back is removed and curls under your stomach. With one swift motion, you’re treated like one of Signora’s shopping bags. The sight of a limp body folded in half under an arm that surely digs into the stomach is the best way to know if it’s the Omega segment or not.

Beta, on the other hand. Beta. That maniacal and neurotic freak adores you but couldn’t care less about you. His research typically focuses on fusing humans with machinery to create “better versions” of themselves, and he fully believes in that philosophy. You would look so much better if he were allowed to be your sole care provider. If your drowsiness were caused by a medical condition like heart disease, asthma, pain, or a nerve condition, he could simply replace them, and you’d be perfect. If it were a mental issue, well, he’d love you no matter how unresponsive you might be. It wouldn’t be much different from you being asleep anyway. When it’s Beta’s turn to fetch you, he does so with a waltz. He walks purposefully toward your desk. Loud and firm, his hands fisted at his sides with unrestrained glee, swinging in time with each step. Even with a mask that obscures most of his face, it’s clear to see the overexcited grin stretching across his lips. It’s almost like there’s static buzzing in time with his artificial heart, fuzzy yet electrically sharp. There’s no fanfare, as soon as he’s within arm’s reach, he grabs the nearest piece of skin and hauls you out of the chair. By some miracle, you’re always still asleep from the rough handling, which is more than enough for Beta to wrap his other arm around your waist. Your chests press together, and he swings your body to and fro in his mad dance. The sight of a limp body dragged into a dancing plague that’s surely pulling your stiff joints out of place is the best way to know if it’s Beta or not. Beta has been recently banned from coming within a six-foot radius around you. 

The original Dottore, Zandik, is a unique case. All of the segments originated from him but at different points in time. However, they are still parts of his thoughts and mannerisms. There really is no order in which the segments are ranked, as they can’t compete with each other. What’s more pointless than trying to beat yourself? You’ll still lose in the end. Zandik is a strange mix of every segment yet none at all. When he wants to see you, he does so slowly, with all the time in the world. His methodical steps echo lightly on the concrete floors of the lab, his arms still at his sides yet loose enough that the slightest wind could blow them away. It’s as eerie as it is tranquil. Everything about the original whispers of restrained patience—that when he arrives at the front of your desk, he simply waits. Usually, it takes you hours or even days to wake up on your own, but when it’s Zandik standing at the edge of your daydream, your eyes slide open. Small ripples in the pond. You’re still lethargic, blindly feeling your way back into your body as your eyes ricochet off the walls until they land on blue. A weighted hand reaches out to grab that ashy blue, and another hand meets your fingertips.

It would be cute if it were anyone else. The sight of a man with curly light blue hair, carrying a bundled-up figure dressed in a white coat with a fluffy black collar, legs dangling from either side of his waist while his hands rest on the lump’s presumed back and thighs. It would be so cute indeed, if it were anyone else but Zandik. But for him, it only looks lonely, despite the two of you pressed together.

The moments when you're awake only happen on two occasions: either you just happened to wake up at that time, or it’s check-up day. What kind of doctor would Dottore be if he didn’t conduct physicals for his only patient who manages to live long enough each year? The check-ups happen twice a week, always two days apart. Never past two days of separation. Ever. Your exact relationship dynamic with Dottore remains as obscure as ever as to why he cares so much. Whether you’re old friends who knew each other before Dottore set foot in Snezhnaya or even when Dottore was called a different name. Or maybe a dead lover resurrected as a zombie in the pursuit of selfish greed and glorious progress; both are possible options. The zombie theory at least explains why you’re constantly drowsy. The staff have never seen you eat anything before, and with the abundance of... zombie food, it's not outlandish as much as it is disgusting. The old friend theory would explain why you can stomach being around someone who can fly off the handle at any moment. The most willing yet unwilling patient. No matter how often Dottore has to wrestle you upright, only for you to slump back asleep the next second, he never loses his temper. If he has to strap you into a straitjacket and hang you from the goddamn ceiling to keep you sitting with a straight back, he will. But by no means will he get anything more than slightly miffed. If he has to force-feed you your medicine because you’re too loopy to remember how to swallow, he’ll shove his fingers into the back of your throat with nothing but a blank smile. The only good thing about your sleep-deprived state is that you’re probably so out of it that you can’t feel discomfort. It saves on using the limited supply of anesthesia the lab carries.

Dottore, for lack of a better word, is displeased with your constant need for sleep. He is deeply frustrated with each check-in and the stagnation of your results. For him, bad results are no different from good ones—they’re still a means of moving forward. Something that will tell him which direction to take rather than wandering around aimlessly in the dark. But in your case, there are no significant changes, as if everything he’s done has been for nothing. He could have closed his eyes and spun a wheel for the same results. The day before your check-in is always the calm before the storm because the staff knows that when the next day comes, they’d better keep their heads down or risk losing them. No one is quite sure if your sleepiness stems from mutated genetics or if it’s a side effect of being around Dottore for too long. Stir-craziness and breakdowns are common in the lab, whether among "patients" or "employees." Everyone eventually goes mad, cooped up within the same cell-shaded walls and working under possibly the worst boss imaginable. Add to that the fact that the Fatui don’t believe in “mental health” days, and with no coping mechanisms in sight, it’s unfair to expect anyone to function effectively. Most people eventually devolve into screaming or manic episodes. Perhaps your escape is more literal. A peaceful retreat from reality through sleep. You’re not even sure why you’re constantly sleep-deprived, especially when you spend more time slumbering than awake. At first, you thought you might be narcoleptic or taking the wrong pills; a diagnosis from scratch must take a long time, right? That was until Dottore bluntly called you an idiot. He told you it’s a bad habit to self-diagnose every minor inconvenience. You should let him do all the thinking and simply listen to him. And truthfully, with the haze clouding your mind, it’s too difficult to think clearly anyway. So, you nod and do as you’re told. It’s easier that way.

It doesn’t happen often, but it occurs more than it should, considering who Dottore is and the reputation he holds. If you wish to cross him, you’d better make it count—because it’ll be your last. He’s in the middle of a meeting with Pantalone, arguing over the lab’s finances when a frantic knock interrupts. Apparently, there’s been a scuffle at the entrance of the lab. To Pantalone's knowledge, there aren't any guards or any agents stationed at the doors except for that sleepy receptionist. Perhaps the doctor's staff finally had enough and decided to take their anger on someone who couldn't fight back? Pantalone's not a good enough person to not find amusement in the situation, infinitely curious as to what Dottore's reaction will be to all of this. Whatever the banker decided to gamble on, his expression doesn't twitch as he follows behind his fellow Harbinger as they walk leisurely through the halls, as if the world has come to a standstill. It’s almost amusing that when your life is potentially on the line, he suddenly decides to take a midday stroll. The only indication of his amusement is the slight shake in his shoulders, hinting at a silent laugh. Dottore punches in the lock code and throws open the steel doors before the automatic switch can activate, slipping through as soon as the gap is wide enough. He stops at the shabby wooden desk that’s now gained a few new dents.

This time, you’re curled up on top of the table, your office chair thrown across the room. Broken. It’s no matter, he’s been meaning to replace it anyway. The chair is just another expense to add to his name. He collects you into his arms effortlessly, and you instinctively sink into the familiar hold. A quick scan from head to toe confirms that you’re unharmed, save for a few strands of hair out of place. Behind him, Pantalone lets out a noise of approval as he surveys the scene. In the center of the room stands a robot with a striking design. A star-shaped frame with six triangular segments forms a perfect symmetry. Glowing cyan cores illuminate the metallic structure, positioned at its center and edges. The intricate details combine sharp, crystalline elements with mechanical precision, radiating an aura of both elegance and menace. As expected of the Doctor. Pantalone can’t help but wonder where this machine was hiding when Signora ventured to Inazuma. Perhaps if it had been deployed then, she might have returned in one piece.

Although Dottore no longer needs to sleep to survive, there are times when, as he passes by your sleeping form, he’ll pause. He stands still, staring for what feels like an absurd amount of time, meticulously detailing and recording every breath you take within a single minute. It’s always 17. Sleep occupies about one-third of a person’s life, a significant portion of time that, in Dottore's mind, could be devoted to something useful. Something productive, instead of wasting it frolicking in dreams that neither matter nor will change anything. Yet, even he can’t deny that, occasionally, a break from reality can serve as a fragile bandage over a wound that refuses to heal. A fleeting comfort in an otherwise relentless existence.  

It’s as awkward as it is unnatural. Despite his title as "The Doctor", his hands weren’t designed for gentle touches of flesh and bone. Yet he tries. His fingers twitch involuntarily as he tilts your body to the side, just enough for him to slide in beside you. Carefully, he rests your body against his shoulder. He expects you to jolt awake, his shoulder is bony and hardly a suitable place to rest your head, even when compared to the flaky cushion of the office chair you’ve somehow grown fond of. But you don’t. Of course, you don’t. You simply lay there, your head nestled against his shoulder as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No protests, no shifting away, just stillness. The transfer of heat begins, as described by the laws of thermodynamics. Hotter, faster-moving molecules collide with cooler, slower ones, transferring energy in a quiet exchange. No fireworks, no blaring alarms, just the science of touch, as mundane and profound as ever. Zandik dares to lower his chin, letting it rest lightly against your head. His mask doesn’t obscure the quiet moment, though he can feel the unnatural curve of his lips twitching upward ever so slightly. Down here, in the deepest layers of the lab, not even the howling winds of Tsaritsa’s snowstorm can reach. It’s eerily quiet, save for the rhythmic sound of your breathing. For a moment, he wonders what it would be like if you woke up now. If your half-lidded eyes would squint at him in confusion, or if you’d simply close them again, surrendering to the haze of sleep. But you don’t stir. Instead, he lets himself linger, suspended between an unusual warmth and the cold detachment of his own thoughts

"Breaks" are not something you can indulge in down in the labs. The closest the staff ever got was when one of the Harbingers passed away, and even then, it lasted only half a day before they were right back to work. Still, if you ask nicely, Dottore will nod toward an empty seat, silently giving you permission to make yourself comfortable. You take the opportunity to describe the dreams you’ve had while Dottore tinkers away in the background. You talk about a train whose tracks stretch far into the stars, far beyond the snow-obscured sky you glimpse through the scarce, frosted windows scattered about the lab. Sometimes, you dream of a whimsical city filled with cute shops and tiny bunny-like robots waddling through fissures in space. You’re certain he isn’t really paying attention, his hands busy with instruments, and his focus locked on his latest project. Sometimes, you suspect he forgets you’re even in the room despite your rambling. A small part of you wants to stamp your feet and pout like a child. After all, you’re only awake for a few fleeting hours each week, and even then, all he can think about is his experiments. His endless, obsessive tinkering. The man’s only "hobby" is experimentation, and you wonder if he’s even capable of entertaining anything else. At least Omega and Beta would give you some attention. Omega might tell you to be quiet with that dismissive tone of his, while Beta would enthusiastically scribble down every word you say, his excitement unnerving yet oddly gratifying. Still… your gaze drifts toward Zandik’s back as he works, the muscles beneath his coat shifting subtly with each precise movement. You pull your knees up against your chest, wrapping your arms around them as you rest your cheek against your folded arms. For a moment, you simply watch him in silence, the quiet hum of the lab filling the space between you. Eventually, your eyes grow heavy, and you let them slip shut. A faint smile tugs at your lips as you wonder where your dreams will take you this time. You wonder if Zandik would come with you.

On the rare occasion that Dottore chooses to sleep of his own will, most likely due to substances that induce drowsiness and force his body into a state of rest, it’s always a remarkably uneventful night. He doesn’t dream anymore, nor does he wish to. Dreams, like the past, serve no purpose to him now. On certain days, if he concentrates hard enough, he can faintly discern whispers from the other segments he's created. However, they are nothing more than distractions, a cacophony that only aggravates his already meticulous mind. When he wakes, it’s as though he hasn’t truly slept at all. His eyelids parted smoothly, his pupils sharp and alert as if no time had passed. Yet there is an unusual sensation, warmth. Dottore does not run warm, and the lab, built for functionality rather than comfort, certainly doesn’t harbor it either. He turns his head, curiosity fleeting, and finds you huddled against his side. Your arms are wrapped around his waist in a loose embrace, and your face is pressed against his chest, seeking solace in his stillness. The white coat with its black feathered collar, the one you wear more often than he does, is draped across your body, serving as a makeshift blanket. His hands remain clasped on his stomach, and he realizes with mild irritation that he can’t move without risking the possibility of waking you. For a moment, he lingers. The seconds on, and his mind races ahead to the tasks awaiting him. The pursuit of progress waits for no one, not even himself. Every moment spent lying in this bed feels like a year’s worth of lost discovery. 

With calculated precision, he shifts. His movements are methodical, almost robotic, as he carefully bundles you in the coat, ensuring the hood doesn’t cover your face and obstruct your breathing. In a single fluid motion, he lifts you into his arms as he rises from the bed. He spares a brief glance at your sleeping form, red eyes devoid of emotion. Your breathing is steady at 17 breaths per minute—a rhythm he has memorized and measured countless times before. Still as serene as ever. But then, for just the faintest of moments, his gaze softens, almost imperceptibly, before he turns his attention back to the work that never ceases to call for him. What a peaceful way to escape the world, the thought as cold and clinical as his expression.

---

Hi, thank you for reading! I'll reblog this with further writer notes but I wanted to include the research bits in order of appearance. I can't guarantee the full accuracy but I hope I didn't get anything wrong.

Chrysanthemum & Lily

In many Asian cultures, especially in China and Japan, chrysanthemums are symbolic of death and mourning. In China, the flower is closely linked to the Day of the Dead, and in Japan, it is used in funeral rites. While in some contexts chrysanthemums can symbolize longevity or fidelity, their association with death makes them unlucky in certain circumstances, especially when given as gifts or during celebrations.

Lilies, especially white lilies, are often associated with death and mourning, particularly in Christian symbolism, where they are linked to funerals and burials. While lilies also symbolize purity and rebirth in other contexts, their frequent appearance in funeral arrangements.

Head-Down Position

The sleep position reader takes is a parody of the Head-Down position of babies in their third trimester. The head-down position (cephalic presentation) is the most common and ideal position for birth, where the baby’s head is facing downward, towards the birth canal. This allows the baby to navigate the birth process more easily.

Dancing Plague

Also called the Dancing Mania, this refers to a series of events in the 16th century where groups of people, primarily in Europe, suddenly and uncontrollably began dancing for extended periods, sometimes for days or weeks, often to the point of exhaustion, injury, or even death. The most infamous and well-documented outbreak of the Dancing Plague occurred in 1518 in Strasbourg, then part of the Holy Roman Empire (modern-day France).

Algorithm of Semi-Intransient Matrix of Overseer Network

The robot Pantalone sees is the early concept art for ^ but also known as the "Tomb Guard of the Desert King.".

17

The number 17 is considered unlucky in Italy because of its association with the Latin word for 17, which is "XVII". Rearranging these Roman numerals gives the word "VIXI", which means "I have lived" or "I am dead" in Latin. This gives the number an ominous connotation, as it can be seen as a symbol of death or misfortune.

Honkai Star Rail & Zenless Zone Zero

Yes, reader was describing these two games as their dreams lol.

[secriden]

so i'm rewatching the love sea special episode and there's a moment i really want to talk about that happens right after mahasamut's surprise cruise/dinner on the boat.

they're walking back, tongrak is excitedly chattering about how much he loved the date and mahasamut suddenly gets serious and asks if tongrak's really happy. he mentions someone booking out an entire hotel/restaurant and says what he just did was "just a simple boat ride". the almost subdued, defeated tone fort uses to say this line makes mahasamut sound so small and uncertain and says, "how can i be certain you're impressed?"

and the thing that really caught my attention the first watch was tongrak's response! it just... it has me screaming inside because his instant reaction is "mut, don't say that" (but honestly the tone - and the finger - he uses is more like don't you dare talk about yourself that way).

and then he just goes on to affirm and affirm both mahasamut's place in his heart but also the value of the gifts he gives tongrak. these intangible, wonderful experiences which tongrak treasures because it's time and experiences with mahasamut.

peat's expression here is so soft. like the concern and earnest worry because he recognises that mahasamut is expressing a need here, in the relationship, to be reassured that he's doing something right; that he's doing right by tongrak. that although he can't afford to buy out an entire building, the things he can offer are worthy of the love they share.

we didn't get as much of tongrak carrying the emotional weight of the relationship in the series (for very valid reasons given all he had to work through), but i love love love that we got this moment in the special episode because it shows why their love stood the test of time and social difference. tongrak and mahasamut come from such wildly different backgrounds, environments, and contexts (hell, to some extent even culture) that it would be easy for their wires to get crossed/bypass each other but they've worked on their communication so much so that mahasamut feels confident enough to just ask if tongrak is genuinely happy. and not just in the moment, but in the context of his other experiences/other lovers. remember, mahasamut doesn't care what others think except the people he cares about - so now he needs this reassurance from tongrak to know that yes, he is measuring up to the standards tongrak's other lovers have set before.

and i love that they let the moment breathe too. that tongrak gets to explain not only that the experience itself was amazing (dining on the ocean IS better than dining in a building) but also that mahasamut is what makes it so special to tongrak (you're my boyfriend, that was just some random dude; but also, what matters most is who I spend my time with). it isn't a flippant throwaway one-second moment; it's an entire sequence giving us a glimpse into the dynamics of communication that encapsulates a relationship built on mutual care, love, and devotion. the quiet way peat delivers that last line just really conveys how important it is to tongrak that mahasamut hears and knows that he's doing so, so well.

(and fort goes through a series of expressions as tongrak speaks that is just... gorgeous to watch <3)

and just the way mahasamut looks at tongrak after he says this!! he's so happy but its also tender. there's so much love here and so much joy. it's so beautiful. and we got to see that. ;w; <3

[roseglazedlens]

⦑ 𝐛𝐨𝐛𝐚 𝐭𝐞𝐚 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 ⦒✶.*

pairing(s): leon kennedy x gn! reader synopsis: leon tries bubble tea for the first time, much to his reluctance (he likes it!) content: fluff, established relationship, rebecca chambers & chris redfield mentioned. « 1.4 k words┇masterlist┇ao3┇reblogs appreciated! »

“How far is this place?” Leon lets out a heavy grunt, sight unbearable as the sharp sunrays glaring onto the scorching asphalt. Heat so nauseating it permeates through his clothing to form sweat at areas less desirable.

Leon would rather cuddle next to you at home right now, under the lulling breeze of the air conditioning. But you insisted– no matter the heat nor the distance, you must have your hands on this drink in this thickened fog of heat. It’s perplexing how you find space in your belly after such a hearty lunch today.

You loop both arms around his open elbow – propping up just for you to hold – as you flush your front onto his sides. Partial bribery, partial gratitude for joining you on this conquest despite the harsh weather conditions.

Leon lands his gaze on you – your lashes flutter, body fidget closer. There is no way he can deny you now. That you know and took full advantage of every single time. He groans in defeat, tilting his torso back as if to heave the weight of his well-satiated belly.

“What is this bubble tea? And why do you like it so much?” You call it a bubble tea, but he calls this concoction a monstrosity. Leon will never understand how one can make a drink already perfect imperfect?

“Oh, Leon. I’m about to show you a whole new world.” You spin your heels, skipping a little in the firm grip of his arms.

“I’m surprised you still have an appetite.” Leon’s tone sounds faintly like a jab.

“There’s always room for bubble tea.” He suspects you say this motto often with the way the words uttered so instantly.

Leon grumbles Rebecca’s name underneath his breath. Since you discovered it from Rebecca’s introduction, this supposed ‘habit’ soon evolved closer to an obsession. Replacing your usual coffee order with a tall plastic cup of milk tea. With how Rebecca sweetens her coffee, whatever she recommends can’t be good for you.

“I don’t think I want bubbles in my tea.” Leon tightens his lips.

“It’s not real bubbles, Lee.” You chuckle as you run your hands along his arms. “You’ll love it, trust me!”

Hand in hand with yours, Leon follows your footsteps into a slender laneway, shying away from rows of corporate office on the main street. Red lanterns hang high, adorn by banners of words you can’t read. You find familiar merchants chant a series of today’s sales across the street, hubbub of both young and old, nesting the air in this hidden away part of town. Even during a weekday, Chinatown is busy – endearingly so.

You approach a humble corner shop you often frequent. Walking up the front of the counter with one confident stride, only taking a step back at the realisation of your confused boyfriend.

Nudging at Leon’s elbow, you point at the signage that displays their extensive list of flavours, options and customisations. “Get the winter melon milk tea with extra boba.”

“Get your own.” He scoffs at your audacity.

“I want mango. But I also wanna try the winter melon tea.” You cling onto his arm, flushing your body onto his. Puffed cheeks, downturned eyebrows – you know he can’t say no. Leon can’t ever say no to you when you do that face.

“So I’m your experiment.” He sighs underneath his breath, but his countenance softens when he sees your toothy smile as the line moves forward. “What does winter melon taste like, anyway?”

“I dunno. That’s why you’re trying it for me.”

Before he can protest, it’s your turn to order. You face the register, shuffling out your membership card from your bag to beep it in front of the scanner.

“What would you two like to have?”

“One winter melon boba milk tea and one mango green tea...” Leon glances over the size options. “Medium, please.”

“Mini boba or standard boba?” The cashier fiddles with the system before them.

Leon pauses, contemplating out loud. “What does that mean?”

“What size boba do you want?” They repeat once more, gesturing to the list of toppings which puzzles him even more.

“Standard, thanks. Whatever it means.” A prompt nod, buttons are pressed. “Ice and sugar levels?”

“Standard everything.” Leon tries to sound calm, but the words escaped with a snapping edge.

Leon makes his payment, frustrated by the entire experience, but it all the more teases a giggle out of you to see the usual composed Leon fluster over ordering a simple drink. The barista calls out your number. You two occupy an empty table, drinks in hand.

The drink sits before Leon, black beads declining to the bottom, tall cup sealed with a plastic film – Leon has seen you do this a few times. He should know what to do. Leon lines the straw on top of the film, with a small burst, puncture the film through the pointy end. The other hand grips the cup a tad too firm, the impact splashing the tea from the puncture all over his hand.

Your laughter bursts at the sight – chuckling so hard that Leon is asking for napkins from the front counter, hands still a dripping mess. He hates you for it – just a little though – for not warning him.

“That went well.” He grumbles, wiping off the droplets from his fingers with the white napkin.

“It’s okay – I've been there, done that.” You repeat his motions, thrusting your straw in your drink with practiced ease before taking a generous sip. You rummage your phone out of your pocket, pointing the lens directly at him.

“What?” Leon fiddles with the straw, swirling the substance under his fingertips.

“Go on.” You tilt your head in encouragement. “Take a sip.”

“I can’t drink if you’re recording me like this.” He broods on the words slightly.

“Drink!” You demand out of impatience, waving your hands more exaggeratedly.

Leon gazes inside the straw, the thick pipe designed for easier travel of any toppings within. He is hesitant, especially with you watching intently at his every movement and reaction. He hopes you never send this video to Chris; Leon will never recover from the embarrassment if so.

“Here goes nothing.” With a deep breath, Leon sucks the liquid from the straw.

The liquid makes contact first: a blend of tea and sugary syrups complementing each other; the dew of wintermelon arousing a soft sweetness that is easy to consume and just as addictive. Flavourful, but not overwhelming so. Suddenly, something round and slimy enters his mouth through the pipe.

Leon winces, taken aback. Bites on it to find it chewy. Then swallows. Doesn’t taste like anything in particular.

“What are these made of?”

“Those are tapioca, it’s nice and chewy isn’t it?”

Leon nods, taking another sip, savouring the taste of all the flavours combined. With how invested he is sipping his drink, you can’t help but smile as the levels goes down steadily. He notices you staring.

“Do you… want to try?” He takes the straw out of his mouth, passing it over to you.

You light up, moving in so quickly it almost shove him aside. Sorry Leon, you should have known that your love for bubble tea is above your love for him.

“Is this what wintermelon tastes like? I love it!” You take a sip. Leon tries your drink, nodding in approval before moving your cup back to you. But you don’t, instead, with an almost guilty tone, said: “Do you wanna... swap?”

“Nice try – but no. You made your choice, stick with it.” Leon scoffs, removing his drink off your hands, which leads you to pout miserably.

After Leon's signal, you two leave the shop. Leon takes you to all the shops you want to visit – and you find your gaze trailing to his drink that is going down much faster than yours.

“So… what do you think about the tea?” You ask, hoping to get any kind of admittance on how this drink isn’t so bad after all.

“It’s okay… I don’t mind it.” Leon keeps his praise short, feigning playful stubbornness.

You see through him immediately, lighting up, before stealing another sip from his. “Back here again tomorrow?”

Leon’s lips upturned into a smile, but he lets you take another sip – which he will regret later, with how fast you’re consuming. His hand places gently on your head. Shaking his head in disbelief, fully aware that he is powerless against you – and you are likely to make a return trip together. Anything to make you happy.

“Get your self together, sugar addict.”

i was tempted to make reader chinese poc since i'm chinese myself, but didn't to make reader more relatable haha (missed opportunity tho)i'm sorry for making ur bf order at the counter (ordering bubble tea for the first time is so daunting) also! thank you @sporeghost for beta reading this & literally held my hand through a few sentences, especially 2nd last line, it's not mine!! thanks for reading! come check out my other works. ––yours truly, rose. tags: @valsthea @sporeghost @daydreamrot (pm me for tags)© roseglazedlens - please do not repost, plagiarise, or feed to ai.

[planetpedri]

I miss you, I’m sorry — Pedri González.

Pairing: Pedri González x Fem!Reader

Summary: Everything about you and Pedri’s relationship was rocky, yet you cannot seem to stay apart for too long—neither of you being ready to let go.

Word count: 530+

Disclaimer/s: Angst with a ?? ending, no pt2, toxic relationship

A/N: i literally don’t know what it is about angst that gets me out of my writing drought but here i am ig.. also i believe i might’ve already wrote one w this title but wtv idc anymore

“I miss you, I’m sorry.”

His voice was light, barely audible, but you caught it. Though the line was cracking the farther you got out of the city and into the outskirts of Barcelona. Tears pricked at your eyes as you mumbled incoherent words.

You didn’t want to leave, but you shouldn’t stay. Even then, you found your hands gripping the steering wheel, turning into the nearest gas station, and heading back into the city.

The line had long since cut.

Memories of the past month burned in your brain. Memories you would kill to experience once again. The good, the bad, everything in between.

Parts of you wondered if he even remembered the good. They were few and far between towards the end of the relationship, but they were still there.

You missed his lash outs, how he’d break dishes when disappointed, when he couldn’t keep his anger in anymore. When you would push his buttons just to see if he truly cared.

You missed his kisses, the way he’d mumble how he loved you and couldn’t stop the smile the pressed into your skin. You mostly just missed his gentle side, the one that had always been there even during the bad days.

The street lamps burned your skin, shaming you for not being strong enough to let go the closer you got to Pedri’s house.

You were angry, so, so angry—yet you were still so, so full of love.

Pedri felt his gut clench and pull when he saw your headlights flash through his house. It made him sick the way he pulled you back in when he was supposed to be letting you go.

Nausea arose within him when he unlocked his door, meeting your depleted face. Your shoulders sagged with an all too familiar exhaustion clear in your body language.

Neither of you spoke as you walked inside. In a way, you both made each other sick.

This never ending game of tug of war with each other was disgusting in the most passionate of ways. Your love burning far too strong, and far more powerful than either of your could admit.

You were still silent as the two of you walked to Pedri’s bedroom, one that you’d once called your own, but was now filled with the cold emptiness of your belongings; the same ones that were packed in the trunk of your car.

Every corner of the room was haunted with memories of screaming and shouting, others filled with kisses and sweet nothings.

Slipping out of your clothes, you grabbed a tee shirt from Pedri’s dresser, slipping it on. He waited in bed, his eyes watching you carefully, assuring you’d truly come back.

Shuffling into bed, the mattress dipping beneath your weight, you allow the man to pull you into his arms. The only sounds in the room were your labored breaths and shaky exhales.

“I love you,” Pedri speaks lowly, his hand flattening out your tousled hair from hours of pulling and running rough fingers through—further showcasing how stressful the last argument was. “I’m sorry.”

Your eyes flutter shut, a calmness spreading throughout you. “I know.” You whisper, “I love you, too.”

Likes, comments, and reblog’s are all appreciated. Lmk if you’d like to be tagged in future Pedri posts.

ᝰ.ᐟ tags @halfwayhearted @lechrts @sakashq @joaoflms @spidybaby @gadriezmannsgirl @unx100to @st4rgirl-ellie @cececarmona17

[creative-type]

The Romanticism of One Piece

I’m always amazed by how Oda has managed to stay thematically consistent for more than two decades while writing a thousand plus chapter epic about silly pirates having fun chasing their dreams. One Piece, at its core, is about the dawn of a romantic adventure, and its been that way since volume one, chapter one.

But romance is one of those terms whose meaning as shifted over the years and is drastically misunderstood. So what is literary romance, and how does One Piece fit within its framework?

Well buckle up, folks. This is gonna be a long one.

Romanticism as a movement started in the late 18th century, and is described by Isaiah Berlin as the “the greatest single shift in the consciousness of the West”. The modern ideas of childhood, imagination,  and sentimentality were born here. It’s a rejection of society’s constraints in favor of impossible yearning for impossible goals. Romantics were restless and passionate, and embraced the magnitude of their feeling over the scientific rigors of the Age of Reason.

Sound familiar?

Romanticism gets its name from the old medieval ballads (themselves written in the Romantic languages) that became popular with the growing movement. The 19th century was a period of incredible change. Industrialization, urbanization, and the development of the middle class were all new. Revolution, both industrial and political, was changing the course of the world forever. The Romantics worshiped heroes of the past (in fact, the term hero worship was coined during this time) and sought a return to nature. William Wordsworth famously lobbied against the building of railways in his beloved Lake District, and much of the art of the time, whether it be painting or poetry, focused heavily on man’s relation with nature

In addition to rebelling against traditional political structures, the Romantics also broke away from the traditional religious teaching, many believing that man found enlightenment not through theology or the bible, but by study and attunement with nature. One of proto-Romantic writer Jean-Jaques Rousseau’s most influential works Emile, or On Education was banned in parts of Europe and even publicly burned due to its ideas on natural religion.

All of this leads to the Romantic pursuit of the sublime. While Enlightenment thinkers would often attempt to remove themselves emotionally from what they were experiencing in order to understand said experience through objective, immutable fact, the Romantics sought emotion, awe, and reverence that transcended rational thought. They celebrated and marveled at the wonders of creation, allowing themselves to be consumed by emotion and experience. These were not stoic people, and its here where One Piece truly begins to shine as a work of Romantic art

The world of One Piece, particularly once the story gets to the Grand Line, is chalk full of impossible wonder and whimsy. Each island visited along the journey is a feast for the eyes, and Oda’s art does each distinct and incredible location every justice. Luffy has no desire to see the boring or everyday, and he has no qualm in expressing his excitement everywhere he goes. Oda has made the conscious decision never to let the reader look into Luffy’s thoughts via thought bubbles, but the audience is still able to connect with him because they are always aware of what he he is feeling. Every smile takes up half his face, every sadness drawn as a sniveling wreck. Logical ideas are routinely rejected in favor of desired experiences, and Luffy himself rejects the opportunity to hear the answer to the series’s biggest questions because to him, the journey is more important.

It’s important that Luffy’s mindset isn’t all that common, even a world as wild and wacky as One Piece. As the Jaya arc proves, Roger’s execution initially inspired a generation of pirates to go out and follow their dreams, but in the twenty years since his death that ideaolgy has crumbled under the weight of a new wave of dreamless pragmaticism, the same way the Romantic movement gave way to the Realists who followed. 

Luffy’s Romantic spirit stands out, even amongst the Straw Hat Pirates. Many of the Straw Hat’s character arcs involve Luffy helping to remove the blocks that prevent them from living out their Romantic ideals. As the series progresses, the crew inches towards embodying that freedom of spirit that Luffy exemplifies. What that looks like for each crewmate is different (Romanticism is highly individualistic, after all) but they’re given the opportunity to live out that ideal because of their association with Luffy.

This theme of freedom of expression and pursuit of dreams follows the Straw Hats wherever they go on both the micro and macro level. The Romantic pursuit of self-determination bleeds over nearly every arc with Luffy at its epicenter, until it comes to a crescendo during the Wano arc, when the true nature of Luffy’s fruit comes to light for the first time.

Luffy is the beating heart of One Piece’s Romanticism. He specifically imbues many of the Romantic ideals of childhood, such as innocence, joy, and being unprejudiced by a corrupting society. He���s uncomplicated yet passionate, without a care in the world for what anyone else thinks about him, and because of that disregard for authority he comes off as equal parts wise and naive.

In Emile, Rousseau lays out his idea of childhood education, which doesn’t include a classroom so much as the child’s interaction with the world, emphasizing the senses and building on the child’s own observations and inferences. The Romantic child was instinctual and in tune with nature, and a character like Luffy growing up on the fringes of society while spending most of his time romping around in the woods would not be out of place (see Mary Robinson’s The Savage of Aveyron, based on the real story of a feral boy that had been found in France).

What makes Luffy different is that he never loses that simplicity of character even as he interacts with an increasingly complex world. Yes, he matures both as a person and a captain, bearing the weight of terrible loss and difficult decisions, but he does it still while maintaining that curious mix of selfish desire to do whatever he wants and selfless sacrifice towards the people he cares about. Luffy doesn’t want to be a hero, but remains uncorrupted by the malevolent social hierarchies that rule One Piece’s world.

But for all the ways One Piece is a Romantic story, the philosophy of the series departs in several key places. The Romantics of the late 18th and 19th centuries were reacting to the anxieties brought around by the Industrial Revolution and the subsequent urbanization that came along with it, while One Piece belongs squarely to the post-modern era of the 21st. While both glorify a long-gone past, what that past looks like is very different. One Piece fully embraces technology and progress, as best seen during the conflict between Noland and Calgura in the Skypia flashback. While industrialization is sometimes portrayed negatively (see Wano) it’s just as likely to be seen in a positive light (Water 7), and the mysterious civilization of the Void Century was more technologically advanced than the present day manga, not less.

What’s more important than modernization and technological advance is the ways people use said technology. The beautifully rendered locations along the Straw Hat’s journey are just as likely to be vast stretches of wilderness as bustling metropolises, and that search of wonder and the sublime is equally likely to be found in both.

More importantly, I think, is that the Romantics of old were solitary creatures, brooding and isolated from the people around them. There was a preoccupation of creating art devoid of outside influence. The sublime was a deeply personal experience that by its very nature could not be shared with others. Melancholy, loss, solitude, and death were preoccupations of the Romantic mind, the price of visionary genius being social isolation.

One of the most famous Romantic heroes of the 19th century was Thomas Chatterton, a young genius of a poet who, in the midst of poverty and depression killed himself at the age of 17. He was immortalized in paintings and poems, and his influence can be felt to this day by the persistence of the trope of the suffering artist that he, and countless others, helped codify.

One Piece is the story of a boy who rejects the confines of society in search of his own freedom, but he does not do so alone. Luffy is driven as much by the desire to be with his friends as he is by his desire to find the One Piece. The series agrees that risking death is an acceptable part of chasing ones dream, but rejects the notion that it should be sought out or celebrated. It’s better to live an undignified life in the hope of a better tomorrow than to give into an easy death.

And that’s the fascinating part about how philosophies evolve over time, because as much as One Piece borrows from the Romantic era of the 18 and 19th centuries, it isn’t a Romantic story, just as how no amount of research and copying of style could ever turn a historical novel written today into a product of the era its trying to emulate. Oda has taken an old idea and made it into something new, using that idea as the guide for the entire series. Like sun, guiding to the dawn of a new era.

A Romance dawn, if you will. 

[gyarustarrr]

LORE LORE LORE!!!🗣️🗣️🗣️ (This is super long and my English is horrible for a native speaker so bear w me)

ILL BE REAL I DIDNT PUT MUCH THOUGHT INTO A REASONABLE BACK STORY but bcuz shes a self insert i had to make a mention for my bestie who can EASILY be in the pressure universe fr <3

Pre-lockdown: I think itd be unique that if Sebastian was used to give humans gills then Phanny can be used to find immortality cuz who doesnt love when a corrupt corporate entity tries to find the cure for death, happens all the time lol. I say for the important parts shes fused with an immortal jellyfish, my favorite jelly which im extreme jelly of 😼😼😼😼, and i would say that its possible that she could live forever IN THEORY with the dna of that jelly but that would have to be tested lmaooo.

I believe because shes also able bodied (mostly) she would be given similar jobs as Sebastian so shes not depressed, rotting, or lashing out. Not sure if they'd work together but she's observant and being a psychologist, she def psychoanalyzing the hell outta everybody in the facility out of boredom. She seems happy but ofc its a coping mech to make the best out of the absolute horrors around her, still emotional unstable and freaks tf out frequently. Once Sebastian frees everybody, she's free to roam and sees what Sebastian is doing. She asks to assist him in his goal but she only plays a part once Seb handles BIDNESS on land during lockdown. Post lockdown she scavenges for data and whatever here and there but shes mostly left alone or out of most of his operation, yk,,,working with Mr Lopee and all. She really tries to get close with Sebastian (despite emphasizing hes a married man, YEAH SURE BUDDY YOU'RE LIKE 32, WHATEVER MAKES U FEEL BETTER💀) and being the drama fiend i am, i think having a "moment of weakness" would lead to their complex semi romantic possibly toxic dynamic.

Fight: And as i did my research its highly debatable if Sebastian is telling pAInter the truth about getting them both out. Phanny would believe this without question cuz if he can make a plan and has all these skills and resources, he should be able to take everyone (this also includes other peoples inserts and ocs who are experiments because it makes the setting more lively and interesting). I even thought of a cool ass line my homie thought was cold asf for argument dialogue between Phanny and Seb about taking everyone back up to the surface.

Just to summarize: Phanny mentions how noble Seb is after making progress with his escape plan, assuming that he'll take at least as many people as possible including Phanny. Sebastian at this point is already trying to push her away post weakness moment and he know damn well he's just doing this for himself and never accounted to leave w/ a whole damn facility of sentient experiments. He just wanna see his mom again and hes already working in private with Mr Lopee i mean this is a one man escape plan. This ofc shatters Phanny cuz from what hes saying, nobody and he mean NOBODY is getting out of here with him. Hes not a savior and hes not responsible for people he dont even know or fuck with like tf?? And Phannys like OKAY? Nobody's asking you to be JESUS but can you at least be Moses?? Free us so we can all get justice! Explain why you can't take a handful and come back once u take this damn company down?? What about your promise to pAInter? To ME.

Ofc it ends in a big brawl, think Mark getting his shit rocked by his own dad (Omniman from invincible) and they just have this heartbreaking dialogue and they split ways.

Post fight + breakdown: After this, Phanny is basically losing it. I even have a vision for this if it was actually in game and she was an actual character with weight to the gameplay. Like crying and wailing in the vents and pipes, shit breaking, Phanny not being seen for a majority of the game until shes physically stopping u from going through doors and rushing the player. Not to kill them, she loves the expendables and protects them but if she really has to if it means Sebastian can get out/she gets to see another day then...

Plus i drew what that would look like in my last post where shes just standing in the dark in the corner blocking the door. Even if shes not blocking the door she's obviously going through something and can't be interacted with, she just follows the player with her eyes and breathes heavily. If its not that then shes crying by the the water and interacting with her gets the player a DEVIOUS side eye or no response.

Pre-breakdown + if she were actually in the game: I can't really explain why she would help the expendables WITHOUT knowing removing the crystal will indirectly end their lives, i actually havent evaluated that yet but shes friendly to expendables, takes free trade in exchange for shiny objects, and can be seen hanging out with or talking to Sebastian, or passing by in the water/halls. She's capable of killing the player entirely by accident due to her tentacles hanging from the ceiling which she chills in and dying to her makes her scream or apologize (before Sebastian says something snarky) since shes strictly against killing and never willing.

Announcing ur presence helps her know shes in the way. Typical interactive npc shenanigans. Maybe even saving expendables from certain attacks but these are rare interactions in the game. She's overall friendly and if she were real, she'd prolly be a fandom fave (ofc not on Sebastian's level, LETS BE HUMBLE YALL😭) because shes so polite and her tragedy comes near the end where the player isnt even aware of how she became hostile in just a few hours of the run. Her story would hardly happen in game and itd be one of those things a creator would have to mention outside of their game for fans to know abt yk?

Its typical for creators to just drop the craziest lore ever about a character but they're purposefully vague or literally like oh yeah time constraints so we scrapped it lol.

ALRIGHTY CLASS, ANY QUESTIONS? (typing this on my phone was so crazy guys ik its a lot but trust me its DECENT lore </3

[deathofacupid]

weighing scale

tw: eating disorder (purging, not eating), bodyshaming, ed shaming

btw, if it's requested, i can turn drabbles into full oneshots!!!!!!!!!!!!!

you guys are beautiful the way you are, and nothing anybody ever says or does will ever change that. remember that gaining weight is totally normal, and you can always lose weight, too, but please, do it in a healthy way. if you ever need anyone to talk to, and this isn't just for eds, i'm here, and you can reach out. if not, there are people who care about you and love you.

you're amazing you beautiful mfs

(also i'm sorry if this might not be correct for you, everyone has different experiences with eds)

(also, also, i did 1st person ... and this is just the way i thought when i was going thru this so i kinda made it relate w/ me??)

100.

98.

96.

she watched as the numbers went down, satisfied despite the fact that it was only one pound less yesterday.

90.

88.

even if it meant that she'd always be cold, or that her hair would fall out. it was a small price to pay to be beautiful. to be skinny. to be like all the other girls that peter liked.

y/n kept telling herself that. and it was enough to keep her going.

{four weeks prior}

(first person)

they had little packets for us to take home, like forms. something along the lines of "annual health check-up." the form was just... well, it wasn't a form, really, but more of an opt-out. the paper said they'd just check weight, height, and some other things, like make sure you didn't have scoliosis.

honestly?

i was just happy to be missing a good chunk of math.

everyone got called down to the gym by period, and mine was 5th period, right before lunch.

our class was waiting for them to call us down, so mr. callen just let us do whatever until then. i glanced over to see liz, kayla, and chloe in the corner of the classroom, giggling and pointing towards some of the boys, and eventually, mr. callen.

he was one of the youngest members on faculty, fresh out of college. and i'll admit, he's not bad looking. in fact, he's hotter than most of the guys. and if it wasn't peter that had my heart, maybe i'd think about someone else.

not that the whole peter thing was going great anyways, he seemed interested in liz. so maybe that was my hint to move on. but i don't know. i've just liked him forever, it'd feel wrong to stop now.

i'm just really loyal, i guess.

or maybe this is some weird first love/crush thing, because no matter what, i keep finding myself coming back to him.

it took me second to realize that i'd been staring at the same spot for a while now, so i probably looked funny. i re-adjusted my position and looked at the clock, noting there there was just a few minutes until we'd have to go down.

i looked by at the girls, then at the teacher. did they not realize that he had an engagement ring on? or where they just dense?

because honestly, i'm having a hard time figuring out which one it is.

liz pushed chloe over to the desk, giggling like a manic.

chloe bit her lip, trying to hold in laughter. "hiiii, cal. you know, like, cupid's day is coming?"

me, personally, i didn't really believe in the whole dumb blonde thing, but chloe was changing my aspect on this.

cupid's day was on valentine's day, and you could pay a dollar to have a rose delivered to someone. normally, the freshmen girls did most of the planning. freshmen girls were annoying. they were always together, and i didn't remember a time i'd seen one alone.

i didn't get any on my first year here. last year i got three. but it didn't really count, because mj got me one and betty did. i was hoping that i'd figure out who the third person was, but three weeks into that investigation, i kinda gave up. if they hadn't revealed themselves to me at that point, i'd figured that they probably wouldn't.

maybe junior year will go better.

if you were popular popular, you got at least seven, so it was kind of embarrasing to only get one. and it was probably even more embarrasing to only have, like, one friend. which was betty. but she hadn't hung around me that often since she started dating ned.

mj was an observer, and i knew that much. it was probably the only reason she got me a rose, because she felt bad. but then again, anyone could see how pathetic it was.

peter and i used to be pretty close, but then he met ned, so the attention he gave me got halved.

i would have tried to be friends with ned, because i know he's really nice, but i stressed out too much about it for some reason and gave up. social anxiety, perhaps? it didn't matter, it was too late to do anything about it now.

after that, peter started hanging around liz and some of the other popular kids, and entirely forgot about me.

did forget about ned, though. maybe beacuse i was a girl, and so peter got called "gay" a lot for that. i didn't have much of a chance compared to liz, so i just admired him from afar. it's not that we didn't talk, because we did sometimes, but... actually, i don't know what.

if peter wanted to, he would have.

and it's fairly obvious, but i'm delusional and chose to ignore that.

the intercom snapped me out of whatever zoning out i'd gone back to, "block d, block d. i-is this on? oh, it is? i- yes, block d down to the gym."

everyone got up and pushed their way out the door, i didn't have that type of energy, so i just waited for everyone to get their butts outta the way and then went myself. i followed them down to the hall, staying behind a little. when i finally got over there, i ended up last, right behind chloe, kayla, then liz.

for the most part, it only took a minute or two for each person, so the line didn't take that long.

well, i suppose that's subjective.

it took 15 minutes, but whatever.

when liz was inside, she didn't take care to close the door all the way, leaving it a couple inches open. that's on her.

that's on her for being irresponsible, so it's not really my fault if i accidently hear. i leaned in a little, suddenly very interested in the wall, with all it's cracks... and... paint, and...

"and step on the scale, please... that is," she paused, and you could hear scribbling of a pen.

"121.3 pounds. perfectly healthy. that's actually the average weight for girls your age," another pause, "make sure to give this form to your parents. have a nice day."

liz said something in return and i stepped back, done admiring the wall. "next!" the lady called in.

i stepped inside the room, and it smelt strongly of hand-sanitizer. "okay, honey, step up against the wall... height is... alrightly. now the scale, please."

i did as she asked, keeping my eyes trained on the numbers.

149.7 pounds. basically 150. that was more than liz's, right?

"149, okay, you're good to go-"

"is that around average weight?" i asked, and it was impulsive, i didn't even think.

"well, it's somewhere around that. you're perfectly healthy."

the intercom came on again, signaling my time was over, and the lady thought the same thing, because she ushered me out.

as i walked back to the classroom, i couldn't help but think;

149? no, 150? around average? so basically, i was above average. 30 pounds heavier than liz? no wonder peter likes liz better.

god, that's disgusting. i'm disgusting.

i trudged back to class, unable to stop thinking about it. and suddenly, an idea popped into my mind; why not lose weight? if i lost a little, maybe peter would care about me again.

that's genius. god, i'm a genius.

yeah. i lose a little weight.

when i got back, he'd already started the lesson, not that i cared. i spent the rest of that class figuring out the kinks, like how many calories i'm allowed to eat per day.

i settled on 800.

it seemed like a decent number if i wanted to actually make an impact with weight loss.

stupid kale smoothies weren't gonna get me anywhere, nor idiotic influencer workout routines.

before i knew it, the bell rung and kids were hustling through the hallways. i was kind of on autopilot as i walked to lunch, not really watching where i was going. i'd by mistake shouldered some people, and they gave me dirty looks. i shot them right back.

i couldn't help but silently, in my mind, judge everyone's body that i saw. and not just their body, but other physical features, too. it was automatic, i didn't even mean to. but i couldn't help it.

she's really fat. the gym exists for a reason.

how is she so skinny? i know she's anorexic.

and it just went on and on.

i didn't know what was going on. why this mattered to me all of a sudden.

it was like i didn't notice these things before, i wasn't looking for them, but now that i knew they were there, i couldn't help it.

i couldn't help a lot of things.

when i walked into the lunchroom, i saw peter sitting by himself, writing on some piece of paper, and if i knew him, he wasn't doing the homework due tomorrow.

he was doing yesterday's.

it didn't seem like i'd be bothering him if i went to go talk to him, so that's what i did. i figured since we hadn't talked in while, it would be great to now.

and it'd be a great distraction, too.

i sat down across from him, "hi, peter."

he looked up slowly, a smile rising on his face. "uh, hey, y/n/n," peter paused, "what, um, what did you need?"

"huh? oh, i didn't need anything. just thought i'd come by and annoy the hell out of you."

"just like old times," peter snorted.

"math homework?"

"yep. i have math-"

"-next period," i realized my mistake after i made it. "um, 'cause i see you when i'm walking to class."

in repsonse, he nodded like he was considering it.

i didn't notice i was hungry until my stomach growled, but something inside of me made the thought of getting food and eating it repulsive. i hesitated before grabbing on of peter's fries and popping it in my mouth. he didn't say anything, or really even care, and i didn't know if i liked that or not.

"okay. you have chem next, yeah?"

i blushed at the fact he knew.

"uh, yep," i snagged some more fries, feeling myself loosen up.

and then i realized, that's what this was; i was just in need of some time with actual people who weren't my parents.

i liked this. i liked talking to peter. it was easy. this was easy.

we laughed about some other things, like flash's new donkey haircut.

and i stole more fries. ned, betty, and mj (who normally sat two seats away) came over. the topic of cupid's day came up.

"how many do you think you'll get?" betty asked.

i looked up, "roses?"

"uh-huh."

ned spoke up, "you won't need to worry, bet, i'll get you a whole bouquet." he looked proud of himself.

"i'm not worried," she giggled, like the lovesick fool she was. it was gross. and yes i admit, it was slightly because i was jealous, but whatever. betty didn't have to act so idiotic and desperate.

betty's skinny, too.

"what about you, y/n?" peter said, locking eyes with me.

"i dunno. i never really get any."

something changed in peter's expression, but as soon as it was there, it was gone.

i took another fry. they were really good, for some reason.

"fattie," peter laughed, pulling his lunch tray back, "and then you complain about not getting roses!"

that caused a round of laughs in the small group, but my heart dropped to my feet.

i was right. i was overweight. even peter noticed.

freaking peter noticed.

god, i was ugly and fat, and even peter saw that.

of course he liked liz. he'd be crazy not to. she was curvy and skinny and petite and pretty and skinny.

she was skinny.

i didn't have her hourglass figure.

never did i ever want out of my own skin more.

"y/n?" pete frowned. "i-i'm sorry, it was a joke, i didn't-"

"no, no, not that. i, uh, i... forgot i was supposed to meet with a teacher. sorry. i have to go."

i didn't go to any teachers.

i did go to the bathroom.

and i hid in the handicapped stall. i didn't cry, or sob, or weep or whatever it was stupid girls did in hallmark movies or stuff.

i stood in front of the mirror and picked out everything i hated, making a mental list in my head.

i didn't finish that list, not even after 30 minutes when the bell rung.

-

the rest of the day flew by rather quickly, it seemed. i felt like i was trapped in a warm haze, but not the fuzzy, happy warmth. i didn't like the way i was thinking. it's like i wanted my brain to turn off, these intruding, ugly thoughts were taking up too much room.

i felt icky.

when i got home, i didn't have my normal after-school snack like i usually did. i went straight upstairs and did homework.

i finished two essays (one that wasn't due until two weeks, and one that was due two days from now), my math homework and studied for my math test, started my science project, and did my french flashcards (and studied them a bit).

i must have been locked in my room for hours, because by the time i got up, it was dark outside.

i wasn't a studious person, and the only reason i did any of this was to forget for a little while. to snap out of it. and for a while, it worked.

"y/n, honey!" my mom screamed from downstairs, and as i glanced at the clock, i realized it was time to have dinner.

but i wasn't hungry.

well, i was.

let me rephrase that; i didn't want to eat.

however, i didn't want my mother yelling at me, so i went down anyways. not that i was planning to eat.

"mom?"

"oh, hey. i already set the table, you seemed like you were working hard and i didn't wanna bother you. dad's working late. go sit down-"

"not hungry."

she frowned. "well, you have to eat something."

"but i'm not hungry," i said, hating how sharply it came out.

my mom gave me warning look. "look, i've had a long day, so don't start with me."

"mommmm," i whined.

"sit."

so i did. i felt bad about bothering her.

i ate. small, tentative bites, forcing it all down. we didn't talk.

silently, i put my dish in the sink, before heading upstairs. the food sat at the bottom of my stomach, like a pile of heavy rocks. i wanted them out.

so i turned on the shower and locked the bathroom door, kneeling in front of the toilet. i pressed my fingers to the back of my throat and kept them there for a second. at first, all i got was bile.

but then i threw up.

-

peter and i started talking more again. i think he got in a fight with liz.

i asked him if they were dating, and he said no.

i think he started hanging out with me again because i got skinny. i know for a fact that i'm skinnier than liz. i weigh less then her now.

the numbers told me that.

but i didn't listen.

i didn't stop, and how could i? when i'd gotten this far?

-

we got in a fight. not the yelling kind, though. well, kind of. i yelled a bit.

i thought he was complimenting me. he said i looked skinny, so i thanked him.

"no... i-" he paused, trying to get his thoughts together, "you look skinny, yes, but not in a good way."

"what? what do you mean? like, there's only a good way," i laughed, slightly nervous.

peter ingnored that. "have you been eating enough, angel?" his voice was soft, but there was worry in it. why was he worried? this is the best i've ever been.

"do you ask liz that, too?"

"i- what?"

"liz is skinny. you don't ask her that."

"that- that is different. y-you haven't been eating, have you? is-"

"god, parker! stop! it's none of your business!" maybe if i hadn't been so flustered, i'd have come up with a better comeback.

-

i was hunched over the toilet, but nothing was coming out. everything hurt.

my head. my stomach.

my throat was scratchy and raw.

i didn't hear the knocking on the door.

i don't really remember peter coming in. i thought i locked it. what was he doing at my house? i couldn't remember.

i wanted to sleep.

i think i was crying. i don't know. i only vaguely remember the hot tears.

i slightly remember him pulling me away from the toilet and into his arms. there were lots of holes in my memory for that day.

he stayed with me, though. one thing i'm sure about is that peter never left my side. i can recall bright lights. tubes. i was laying on something. white walls. white sheets.

what was engraved into my head was peter whispering "i love you" over and over again. in the bathroom. in the car. was it a car? as they hooked me up to cables.

all that mattered, though, was that i was skinny now. just the thought made me feel light and airy.

to think that all it took was a little motivation and a weighing scale.

[celestialprincesse]

hi angieee ‼️ first time requesting here but i love ur work 😋 esp how u write simon

noticed u don’t have anything for johnny…sooo silly sex w johnny?? bc let’s be real this man will NOT stop until he’s made u laugh a bit. will lowley feel offended 😙 could be hcs or a drabble wtv ur feeling.

but yeahh u don’t have to write this but johnny’s been plaguing my mind lately so ofc u need to experience some of that too 😼 alr byebye have a good/night

BARKING FOR THIS Like actually feral, rabid, foaming at the mouth🙂 There is some Johnny stuff peppered throughout my page, I just need to stop being so fucking lazy and actually organise it!!

Anywhoo mdni 🎀 nsfw

Johnny, despite what some people may think, is far from imperceptive. Yes, he's boisterous at times, energetic and animated, but he's also sharp as a tack, and too observant for his own good. Especially when it comes to you.

The split second he takes notice of the way you attempt to conceal a wince as his thick cock nestles itself up against your cervix, he stops still. Blue eyes search your face, the way your bottom lip is held tight between your teeth and the lines at the corner of your eyes where you squeeze them shut.

"Y' okay?" He immediately questions, the calloused hand he's not using to support his weight over you coming to brush errant baby hairs from your slightly sweaty forehead. "Mhm." You manage to strain, hoping desperately that within a few minutes, you'll get used to the slightly stingy stretch of your pussy accomodating his size. You normally do. "Ye don't look okay." "M' fine." You manage to ramble, although you can already feel yourself panting, and he's barely even done anything yet. "Right." Johnny gives a slow nod before eliciting a whine from you when he pulls out, leaving you empty. The look thrown your way as you prop up on your elbows to stare at him indignantly is half worried, and half wicked. "The hell did you do that for?" He doesn't even respond, just shrugs and flops down beside you, pulling you onto his chest and notching your knee across his opposite hip, one hand coming to rest around your shoulder, whilst the other comes down gently between your legs.

"This okay?" He hums against your hairline as his deft fingers begin to swipe between your folds, collecting the sticky mess of your slick and his precum before slowly plunging his ring and middle finger in, leaving you gasping. "I'll take that as a yes." The fact that you're not smiling like usual does something to his insides, makes his brows furrow into a worried frown. Fortunately, he knows perfectly well how to remedy your lack of usual blissed out giggles.

"Johnny!" You shriek as he digs his fingers into the soft, sensitive arch just above your hip and below your ribs, wriggling them slightly, leaving you yelping and cackling as you attempt to wriggle away from his tickling. "Ye ken why they call me Soap?" He growls in your ear, not stopping his tickling, only worsening it as his stubble brushes your neck, sending a shiver down your spine in it's wake. "S' cause I got slippery fingers." "Fucking idiot." You pant at his stupid joke, although you can't help but snort out a laugh at the idiocy of your situation. "Wha' has two legs and bleeds?" He continues, adamant on keeping that brilliant smile on your face. "What?!" You choke out, somewhere between a laugh and a sob as you continue to wriggle about as he prods at the curve of your waist. "Half a dog." The way you gawk gives him the perfect opportunity to capture your lips in his, teeth clattering and chests heaving as you kiss through the barely contained laughter you both share.

Realised like halfway through writing this that I don't actually know any good jokes 🥴 so I stole ghost's

Also this was like barely??? smut??? idk the brain isn't braining tn

[bazooka-overkill]

MR SANDMAN BRAINROT EUEUUUGGHHH

okay yay brainrot won the poll. also i might psot dragon chan headcanons requested by wallet becuz yaaaaaayyy

uhhh also i dont really gaf about timelines. so if something doesnt line up time wise. ignore it. shh

ermmm cw for child fighting!! mr sandman didnt have the best middle school experience

BAZOOKA'S THOUGHTS:

i need this man so badly PLS MR. SANDMAN ONE CHAAAAANCEEEE

who typed that omg…

GENERAL SANDMAN INFO (canon + headcanon)

full name: isaiah joseph banks

birthday: april 12th

age: 31

height: 6’5” (197 cm)

weight: 284 lbs (129 kg)

origin: philadelphia, PA, USA

gender: cis male

sexuality: bisexual (might be in denial lmao. men say theyre fighting demons and the demons r bisexuality LMFAO)

family:

victoria banks, mother, alive

george banks, father, alive

no siblings

HEAD CANON TIME:

- insomniac. goes between sleeping for 11 hrs during the day and not sleeping at ALL, also explains the eyebags in his TD

- incredibly horrible sleep schedule. stems from his childhood

- also stems from his childhood but not exactly the best at socializing w other people

- somehow is friends w glass joe. don't ask me how it works they just ARE (and they may be a little. fruity.)

- has one of those light up squishy things that u hit to change the color. yeah he either fucking SLAMS that thing or gently pats it when he wants to change it. it’s a bunny for anyone curious

- goes thru the 5 min nap to the 5 hour nap pipeline. “oh im just gonna take a small nap,” then wakes up w the blankets all over the fucking room, the god damn windows r open, he’s somehow upside down, etc etc

- him and the ref have beef after his TD victory animation

- was one of those kids that would be on his knees near some mulch playing w the roly polies on the playground. he'd have like 20 in his palms in 5 minutes

- if u catch him right when he wakes up (like. RIGHT right when he wakes up) he accidentally calls people “baby.” it’s a habit he picked up from his mom and he’s pushed it back into his mind, but it slips when he isn’t exactly thinking (totally not projecting my own habits onto him guys)

- adding to the above that the person who originally found this out was glass joe. take that as you will

- he sends some of his boxing money to his parents to support them (he’s a mamas boy LEAVE ME ALONEEEEE)

- doesn’t exactly search for a relationship, believes that when he decides he’s ready for one the right person will find him

- gets dragged into world circuit outings by either super macho man or aran ryan. on the rare occasion it’ll be soda. one time they all went bowling and sandman watched aran ryan throw a bowling ball like a fucking baseball and it broke the ceiling

- knows how to make a MEAN philly cheese steak. will be mentally freak out (positively) if someone mentions they’ve never had one before. if he wasn’t so stoic he would be jumping up and down and going “YAAAAAYYYYY🎉🎉🎉” becuz he finally gets an excuse to make one for someone

- has 100% almost broken the world circuit ring's ropes (see his intermission animation in contender)

- his locker in the locker rooms is either completely spotless or dented to hell and back. bonus points if theres like. a fake succulent in there or some shit

- luvs animals. takes pics of cool animals he sees anywhere

origin backstory thing under cur bc its long

origin:

isaiah joseph banks, known as his boxing alias mr. sandman, was born on april 12th to victoria banks and george banks in the Doylestown Hospital. born to loving parents, isaiah grew up as an only child.

isaiah learned to keep to himself and care for himself very early on, as both of his parents were usually at work. they worked hard to provide for isaiah and themselves, but always put their son first. they

the time they spent at work would be made up at home, albeit this time could never be fully made up for a young isaiah. he had spent more time with babysitters and nannies than his own parents. of course, isaiah knew his parents loved him, but all the bonds that were supposed to be formed hadn’t; the time frame had passed.

the time they did spend together was… memorable, really. not in a bad way, but every moment— every waking minute— made isaiah into the man he is today.

every night, when his mother was home early enough, she would sing him a soft lullaby. when she wasn’t, his mother had recorded this lullaby onto a tape for him to listen to. this lullaby was the song that made mr. sandman: Mr. Sandman by The Chordettes. it wasn’t a typical children’s lullaby by any means, but by god he loves that song— present tense intended.

then, a problem arose: school. starting middle school is one thing, but isaiah found out how cruel children could be.

isaiah was big, to put it lightly. five foot six at age 12 was enough ground for bullying, and being dropped off by a few different babysitters/nannies in the morning only added to the ammunition.

with how big he was, the bullying never went farther than verbal harassment. soft giggling every time he talked in class, glances from across the classroom, the bullying was subtle except for the occasional direct blow to isaiah.

his boxing interest began when he was thirteen, where his parents enrolled him in a self defense class that revolved around boxing and the sort. they had found out about the bullying from the babysitters, as isaiah had been reporting what they had been saying to him. there, young isaiah learned the basics of boxing: dodging, punching, and jabs had been added to his arsenal.

isaiah had always relished in the safety of knowing that he’d never get attacked at school, but unfortunately this was false.

it was brutal really; the poor boy had been caught in the bathroom and was attacked from behind, slammed his face into the sink, and assaulted from there. it took around two minutes for teachers to hear the commotion, but they were two minutes too late.

there, isaiah was brought to the hospital. no one truly knows the full extent of his injuries, minus his parents. if you look closely at mr. sandman, his top teeth are a little crooked.

nothing exactly eventful happened other than he moved schools, and everything was smooth from there.

his boxing career began to take off when he was 17, when he met an old babysitter of his— one who had taken care of him up until he was 13. he had become a boxing coach and offered to take isaiah up as a student.

if you ever ask mr. sandman in an interview about his boxing idol, he’d most likely say his coach. that man taught him nearly everything he knows, and even taught him the dreamland express move that mr. sandman is most known for, albeit modified.

mr. sandman picked up his alias when his coach told him about the WVBA and their boxers. it was almost inevitable he’d choose mr. sandman in honor of his mother.

he had his first fight at age 18, where it went swimmingly well. records of this fight have been lost to time, but, according to word of mouth, mr. sandman nearly killed the poor man.

i gotta be honest w u all idk how to continue this. umm mr sandman meets a wvba recruiter and then uh yah.😁😁😁

[intertexts]

WRITER ASK GAME B4 I GO SHOWER!!!! how about 28 and 29 :3 talk abt ur fics boy!!!!!!

YAYYY HIIII JAY myfriend jason ^_^

Favorite work you wrote this year?

GOD it has 2 be turmoil and wonder i think. i love you ghostkicks i love you weird complicated intimacy i love you blood and internal organs... i feel like i might have said this b4 but the inception of that fic was like. me staring at the ceiling for an hour trying to figure out what parts i do & don't like of reading smut (aroace*) & why im fine with it or enjoy it occasionally but for the most part am bored and annoyed w/ it because i have the chronic need to be able to say exactly why i like or dislike anything ever. came out going Oh its because what i resonate with is physical and emotional intimacy and an emphasis on the weight and trust of vulnerability & the like. intersection of fear + desire + trust. cool! how do i cherrypick those elements and transplant them into a nonsexual context. which was so easy actually & like ridiculously self-indulgent & also its just really really fun to write poking around in someones guts. i love when organs <3 runner up is i want to be cold which i love a lot & had a lot of feelings abt writing. yeagh.

Favorite line/passage you wrote this year?

the crack echoes through the room when he backhands him, bringing with it a bloom of pain spreading across his own face as his knuckles contact failsafe's skin. it sounds louder than it hurts, still sends him lurching back against the restraints. he took his mom's rings off days ago for the job: if he was wearing them, they'd have ripped the skin open already, something he knows from experience. left him with even more scars. it doesn't feel right to count as a blessing. he can picture the gouges they'd leave, the way the hot blood would drip down his face.

“you're never going to use your fingers, right? it's the palm and the knuckles and the heel. you throw a punch and you're leading with your fingers, you're wearing jewelry?” she wiggles his fingers back and forth, hands bigger and stronger than his. he does feel kind of breakable, compared to her. “you’re gonna break your hands. like this:” and she shows him how to make a fist right, thumb on the outside, wrist braced. 

“okay, why do you have rings, then? aren't you gonna break your knuckles?”

she grins in approval and winks, never mad at him for asking questions or talking back. “i’m your mom, it's different.”

the sound of the hit echoes into silence, and virion realizes he's been standing still, staring.

failsafe snarls. “that's all you've fucking got, traitor?”

VIRION MOMENT!!!!!!!!! ^_^ i still wanna write a follow up for this one it was a lot of fun. had a real hard time picking out anything specific bcos i don't think like. individual lines r something i'm particularly good at. but. i like this section a lot it makes me go :(

[tailsnumber1fan]

do you have any advice or tutorials on how to draw (specifically color) like you do? i admire your artstyle a lot and I want to learn how you do things ( ˶ •́ ω •̀ ˶ )

got this question a few other times so ill attempt to explain how I personally color (⁠๑⁠•⁠﹏⁠•⁠)

whipped up a small guide (?) but ill explain in more detail some stuff here

• when picking shadow colors i specifically aim for cooler colors (i use very cool ones for the darkest shadows)

• i dont use pure black or white since it can make the drawing look more flat for an artstyle like mine!

• tip for backgrounds, try making the colors blend together more (with blending modes if u want!) so that the characters stand out more. i also make the character + anything i want to stand out more bright and saturated

• adding onto the last point, i reccomend using complementary (aka opposite colors) for contrast

• i dont really do this myself cuz i forget but make sure u dont get caught up in details! a good tip is to color your sketch so you can play around with the colors more easily and to make sure your drawing has good contrast from a distance

• little bonus lineart tip.. line weight! i reccomend finding more in depth videos about this but a simple explination is: thicken your lineart in places where parts are heavier (ex. bottom of a lock of hair or thick shirt) and for anything you want to stand out especially w backgrounds, then the lines thinner for small details

• also just a personal touch of mine, little doodles like stars n hearts really help everything come together and fill in empty space!

these r just some things that have helped me with my art, remember these arent rules! experiment with ur art till u find something you like, study others artwork, take tips from others and adapt them to your own work!!

im not good at explaining but i love rambling about art and i hope u can find a few things in here useful (⁠´⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠.̫⁠ ⁠.⁠ ⁠`⁠)🫶

[karrenseely]

Silver Linings

I just realized something. I learned about the existence of Trans people when I was 12 or 13 I think. I learned about us in a medical encyclopedia. It wasn't a lot to go on, but it definitely was enough. Two things happened when I saw that entry. First I wasn't alone, second I could do something about this.

I absolutely wasn't alone or the only one AMAB who was a girl. That lifted a huge weight off of me, I wasn't alone. People who've never experienced the feeling that you're the only one in the world that seems to not be the way everyone around you is, have no idea how hard that is, I sooo identified with the Last Unicorn as a child. Growing up, I had no positive examples of queer people. None. I can't recall a negative example either that was explicitly queer. There was nothing for me to reference what I was going through. I was taught like all young girls in our society that being a girl is inferior to being a boy (why? Why does our society do this? Even today? Whiskey Tango Foxtrot! We're not inferior to men, we never were, but for some reason some narcissistic AH somewhere decided this and then a bunch of other narcissistic idiots with power liked it and here we are living in a patriarchal misogynistic society, which is absolute BS). But I was also taught that being a boy who "wanted" to be a girl (yes I'm aware I was girl all along, though it took me a long time to understand that, because... society) was doubly bad and horrible.

So I was completely ashamed and terrified of anyone learning my secret because I was the only one and I knew it was a bad secret. I'm sure there are other things that happened that taught me this, experiences with my parents, peers, teachers. But I don't remember most of them, and I don't really need to go into it here, as the sadly important point is that I learned very young to be ashamed of myself.

No one ever talked about people like us. Ever. There were the occasional movies involving cross dressing and drag, usually men pretending to be women (notice that key word that differentiates trans people from cis people. Cis people when they cross dress in performative ways are pretending to be the opposite sex or a gender outside the binary. Trans people aren't pretending, we are the gender we identify with.) like Tootsie. I liked the movie, it was nice to see a man who could pretend to be a woman and enjoy some of it. But I never identified with that character, not in any significant life changing way. Because he was a man, he identified as a man throughout the movie and I was a girl forced to be a boy. And most other instances of crossdressing in media were treated as a joke, including Tootsie. "Hello [shame] my old friend, I've come to talk with you again." (1)

So learning I wasn't the only person in the world that felt this way was life changing. It gave me comfort, which I sorely needed. But the second part was just as important. I could actually do something about my body and I could be me. And that gave me hope. Which was sorely needed as I was spiraling downward rapidly at the time. Months later as the horrors of my body changing became more apparent I came out to my parents in desperation, which instead of recognizing me and loving and supporting me, was met w/ dismissal, and attempts to erase me and increased the shaming tenfold. But the one thing that kept me going. The one bright star in that horrible darkness was the knowledge that I could transition someday, not as soon as I'd hoped, not as soon as I needed, but someday. It felt like an eternity away, but it was there, telling me to keep surviving to keep going because I could be me when I got there.

Had I not learned of trans people, I honestly don't think I would have survived my first adolescence. I would just be another dead kid with everyone wondering why I was so depressed and weren't there any signs? (I often wonder how many of the children that manage to kill themselves are queer. Based on proportions of homeless youth, I imagine queer kids are a very large chunk of that statistic.) Just learning about the existence of trans people kept me alive. Knowing I wasn't alone and there was something I could do about it. It was horrifyingly frustrating that I couldn't do anything until I turned 18, but I would be able to do something about it. So learning about trans people saved my life.

Just that one concept, that trans people living their authentic lives existed, was enough to keep me alive. And here is the silver lining that occured to me. Despite all the negative, bigoted, horrible publicity, laws, and hate. Our existence is being talked about a lot. Which means, kids who need to know they aren't alone, that they are not the only one's that feel this way. Are finding out that we exist. Yes they'll need to do research and understand that we and in turn them are not evil, not monsters, not perverts, But beautiful amazing wonderful and caring people. And because of that, maybe. Just maybe, a few more trans kids will survive and maybe even thrive one day, because they learn they aren't alone and there is something they can do about it.

I hope so. I really hope that is the case. I also wish we didn't suffer so much that way, too many of us die. Maybe someday, that will change for the better. (1) Simon and Garfunkel, "The Sound of Silence."

[n--n]

One last touchstarved theory thingy bc I’ve almost purged my brief obsession!! It’s mentioned by both Leander and Vere that the one running the Senobium- and thus its shady policies- is someone called The Abbess. An Abbess is a nun in charge of the nunnery, so I can only assume she is gonna have some sort of religious symbolism related to her like Kuras and Mhin do. Unfortunately the literal one-sentence blink and you’ll miss it lines are all we have to go off for her, but I’m excited to see what she’s really like in game! (From the attitude both Vere and Leander have in those one-off lines, it’s clear she’s almost certainly a villain).

Some misc, tinfoil-hat theories:

- Elyon, as a powerful noble, likely works with but opposes the Abbess. He owns most of the brothels in Lowtown apparently so he has incentive to keep the divide between hightown and lowtown, but as someone with power he probably chafes at the control the Senobium has over hightown

- Sen, from her one-sentence descriptor, is a revived warden seeking her own death. Almost certainly one of the Senobium’s experiments, not sure what a warden in the context of the touchstarved universe is but probably a Fancy Jailer for the Senobium like the word usually implies. Maybe the experiments left her with such a painful condition she’d rather die? Or it could be more supernatural, in that she can not Rest until her unfinished business in Eridia is Taken Care Of.

-The Abbess could be the one that initiated the changes at the Senobium in the first place a generation ago, since immortality is confirmed to exist in-universe (see Vere being chained “Centuries Ago”)

-I think Leander is meant as the sort of “starter LI”, since the demo and supplementary info give us the most info about him while at the same time holding back just enough as to be intriguing (see: the countless Leander-specific theory posts that started this post lmao) I imagine his route will tell us the most about lowtown, fogfall and Eridia at large, whereas Vere/Mhin/Kuras will tell us most about the Senobium, and Ais will tell us most about the overall world, magic (fogfall again), monsters (like the soulless), and of course Ais’s boss/“friend” Ocudeus and the Seaspring

Other thots:

- I’m most excited for Leander’s route for obvious reasons (hot + will get to meat of story + I want to see What’s Really Wrong With Him so bad) but also know that will make me more disappointed if he turns out to be Just Some Asshole. I want him to be a monster bc he commits atrocities like the rest of them, not because he’s a reminder of the shittier guys I’ve met. That being said I know I’ll probably still really like the character if they do go that route, since the overall writing from the demo is super engaging and solid in quality- which bodes well for the final product

-Speaking of writing, I’m loving that different backstories actually have weight in the narrative. I love when the player is actually rewarded with info for making a choice, instead of it just being one or two flavor text things. Choosing different backstories affects your red dialogue options (the romance-y choices) and gives you different attitudes towards events in the story, making replay ability high

-I’m worried by how successful the kickstarter is since I Have Been Burned last times I backed videogame Kickstarters (Blue Omen Operation, Homestuck Game) 😭 The team seems experienced and competent, since most seem to have come from Nix Hydra/other successful otome games that got killed by poor management. But like, still really worries me since it’s their first game and all. The demo was so good but so was Blue Omen Operations and look where that landed me ($15 less in my pocket from backing years ago 🥲)

-On a lighter note, this game is clearly a passion project and I’ve loved what I’ve seen so far- if I have enough money to spare before the Kickstarter is over, maybe I’ll get it just to support the devs

-getting so obsessed w the demo even if only for a week or so has reminded me Oh Yeah, I Forgot I Love Gothic Horror. If by some miracle you’re still reading this drop a recommendation pls