#and i cannot stop thinking about ut.

[entamewitchlulu]

Hm. I may have become re:creators-pilled

[sysig]

Two skeletons in a trench lab coat (Patreon)

Bonus:

He’s very careful! Everything was fine before you interrupted!

[yet-another-heathen]

I saw ur really informative post on conditioning and said with whumpers uts about using pain again and again

Any advice about caretakers deconditioning?

[ Referring to this post. ]

The first and most important thing is that the caretaker cannot decondition the whumpee. It's not possible. That progress is entirely internal, and requires a massive amount of introspection, self-motivation, and practice from the whumpee themself. No one else can do it for them.

But what the caretaker can do is be there for them while the whumpee fights toward their own recovery. They can be the stability that whumpee needs in order to work through these massive problems on their own.

Deconditioning is awful. It involves repeated failure, over and over and over, working toward lessening the response. And it is incredibly frustrating, painful, heartbreaking, and at times it feels completely hopeless.

Progress is so non-linear that they can spend months improving and then backslide nearly back to the beginning if they get caught off guard. At times it'll feel like they're stuck at the same point and can't get any further. Like a future where they will be free of it may simply not exist.

At many points, your whumpee is going to feel heartbroken. They're going to spiral into, "Why can't I do this? Why can't I make it stop?" and, "I thought I was past this." and, "Will I ever be able to undo what whumper made me?"

A good caretaker can be there to comfort them when things go wrong. They can hold them while they cry. They can listen to them when they go into a sobbing, breathless rant about how much this hurts. They can make sure that whumpee knows they have someone who doesn't think of them as broken or lesser because of what they've gone through.

Depending on if whumpee feels it would help, they might help them brainstorm a reward system. If there's a situation where they're around other people and the caretaker spots the trigger coming, they can try to redirect conversation away from it before it hits. Preferably without anyone realizing they're doing it for whumpee's sake. When whumpee has just been triggered and wants nothing more than to be alone, the caretaker can make sure their boundaries are respected. To make sure they have somewhere safe to go.

Even more importantly, they can also help by highlighting the moments of whumpee's progress. Pointing out their successes, no matter how small. Pointing out how far they've come. Reminding them that the ups and downs are supposed to happen. That trauma recovery is a rollercoaster, not a straight line.

As a whumpee in that state, it's very easy to feel like they're making no progress. That even when they succeed, the tiny bits of success are hollow, because 'they shouldn't be like this in the first place'. Have your caretaker help them see their own victories. Help them actually see the healing as it grows.

A realistically conditioned whumpee does not need someone to fix them. They need someone to be there for them while they save themselves.

---

This was such a good ask, thank you for sending it my way!

[thenamesapollo]

i remember a while ago (on the last blog) making a post saying something like how I think it was a little funny that ink gets shat on so bad for not stopping no mercy runs because in his eyes it's 'part of the script' while a no mercy run is very clearly a complete derailment from the game's actual 'script' so it makes ink look like a very big hypocrite but nobody picked up on the real reason why he is a hypocrite.

think about it, the game spends it's entirety telling u to be kind and that everything can be solved without violence. in the game's 'script', it fully expects u that u will be kind because that's what ur supposed to do.

so when u go against it and start using violence, the game completely breaks. u miss out on key events, the streets are now empty and u can't listen to the funny things the npcs say, characters rush through their character development just to get killed off in the end. and at the very end u are left with nothing.

u broke apart the game in ur endless quest for exp, ignoring everything the game specifically made for u for the sake of watching an imaginary number go up. that is the very definition of how NOT to interact with art.

ink's whole deal is fate. but in undertale, the player IS fate. u have the power to either bring doom or happiness. but also in my eyes, the player is change.

every character in ut live in loops and old habits. they stagnant, until one day a funny a little human comes by then finally the characters start making progress as people. which makes sense, a game cannot progress without the player not only choosing to get up over and over, but also choosing to boot up the game in the first place. and if the player never even starts the game, it's characters and it's world wouldn't even exist.

and that leaves us with ink and the unique relationship he can have with the players. these tiny humans that just show up and can either signify total destruction or well needed change. these tiny humans that are NEEDED for the stories he loves so much to fully unravel and be loved.

these tiny humans with so much power that him, someone without soul, is practically an ant. an ant that can only watch those humans from afar do whatever they want with his reality and pray that they won't step on and destroy the aus he loves so much just because.

and it's poses a question. if ink's only preoccupation is fate, does that mean he cares more about the players than the world? maybe because they... feel real to him? unlike all the others?

which I find a lot more interesting that what his having with 'the creators'. creators/authors are inherently detached from their stories, but a player? they're right there! he can interact and talk with them as if they're not technically some being above his comprehension that could kill him with nothing but a toy knife.

[riddlemearose]

For the wip ask game:

We've Been Trying to Reach You About Your Magic Sheikah Weapon's Extended Warranty

& You're taller, how fucking dare you? 🤭

Lmao I knew those two would interest someone. They're currently both ficlets, bc I can't seem to get them over 1k.

'you're taller how fucking dare you' started as a literal joke I sent to a friend in early December last year. The premise is that Wind was in Hyrule Warriors pre-LU (he would've been 12-ish, so between Wind Waker and Phantom Hourglass). Time - then Mask - would be like 11 and Wars would've been 16-18. Then cut to the start of Linked Universe. Can you just imagine how mad Wind must've been to see Time not only now older than him, but older than him by like 15 years? He must've been furious.

“Warriors!” A new voice calls. They both turn to see a man, older than the Captain with shiny plate armour and interesting tattoos on one side of his face that Link can't quite make out from a distance, striding towards them. “Oh boy.” The Captain – Warriors, Link guesses, though that’s a pretty shit name if it’s really what he’s going by – mumbles under his breath, then waves the man. “Over here, Time. I found him.” Time’s face brightens – who’s picking these names they’re horrible – as he smiles, stopping beside them. He looks at Link and his smile turns smug. “Tune! I told you I was going to be taller than you.” What? Link’s nose scrunches up. What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Warriors smacks a hand to his forehead with a near-silent groan, but says nothing. Link peers up at Time's face. Shit those tattoos are very vivid. And familiar. Why… does he recognise them? Wait. Wait. Link splutters and points an accusing finger at Time, furious. “Mask?! When did you get old?! WHEN DID YOU GET THAT TALL?!”

As for We've Been Trying to Reach You About Your Magic Sheikah Weapon's Extended Warranty, I recently learnt that you can rematch Maz Koshia in BOTW! So naturally all I could think about is how much Four would absolutely hate the One-Hit Obliterator with his entire body and soul.

The whole thing is silly and I think I started writing it at like midnight or something bc I cannot for the life of me remember how I wanted it to end. This is literally all I've written for it lmao.

Things had been looking bad right up until Wild, who looks as though he’s on the literal brink of death, bursts into the room and smacks the monster with a strange, glowing pronged weapon. It crumples under the hit and explodes into purple smoke. “What.” Wind says flatly. Wild wobbles violently to one side but manages to catch himself against a wall, breathing heavily. Twilight squints at him through the bars of his cell, then squints harder – this time at the weapon. “Wait, is that—” “Yep!” Wild answers with entirely too much cheer for someone who looks inches away from dropping dead. He pushes himself upright and staggers towards them, pulling a ring of keys from the Sheikah Slate. “How the fuck did you convince him to give you that?!” The emotion in Twilight’s voice might be described as ‘awed’, if awed could be served alongside a liberal dose of bone-deep exasperation. “Turns out Maz Koshia’s still around, for some Hylia-damned reason.” Wild explains brightly. He fumbles with the lock three times before Four snatches the keys from his hands. “Thanks, I cannot see straight right now, like at all.” He seems oddly baffled by the round of concerned noises that echo across the dungeon, but shrugs it all off and continues describing his latest bad decision without any remorse. “Anyway, yeah, he’s still around and apparently ‘an evil being resurrecting and strengthening monsters beyond what is normal’ is a decent reason to loan it out to kill said evil being. Conditionally, of course.” Time, heaving a sigh, looks reluctant to ask yet can’t stop himself from doing so. “Conditions such as?” “I don’t die, naturally, and also beat him in another fight later.” Wild nearly pitches face-first into the ground, utterly undermining his triumphant tone, but instead collapses onto Sky, who looks world-weary in a way he rarely is. He slings one of Wild’s arms around his shoulders, practically holding the Champion upright. Four, hucking the keys to Warriors, almost vibrates as he eyes up the weird mutant trident-looking weapon Wild’s still holding onto. It glows faintly and thrums loudly with energy. “What is that?!” “This,” Wild flips the weapon with a grin – and really, given how horrible he looks, Four is actually mad at how easily he pulls that action off – “is the One-Hit Obliterator. No, I have no idea why the Sheikah monks made it, don’t ask. But! This thing is stupidly powerful, hence why I had to make a deal to use it.” “One-Hit Obliterator?” Four stares at it and mentally screams.

[starryaike]

something ive only really kept in my head is a security breach x ut crossover where the eight fallen kids are the eight kids who were killed by vanny and went missing in the pizzaplex. chara just sort of following frisk around while they carry flowey in a little flowerpot. frisk being helped by the dca (like how freddy helps gregory) and having to explain that the ghost child tethered to them harbors an intense hatred for moon bc he helped vanny kill them without knowing who they were.

that got too long sorry . i love these characters i think abt them interacting Constantly

I made some doodles based off of this premise because I cannot stop thinking about it

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 

But he never is. 

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what. 

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 

“König?”

“Maus?” 

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 

The Mouse saves the King. 

But a game is no fun with only one player. 

The King also saves the Mouse. 

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams. 

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 

She shouldn’t trust him. 

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling. 

It’s snowing hard. 

She kicks off the tree and into the air. 

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 

He does, indeed, catch her. 

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 

She realizes she’s thankful for him. 

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 

They breathe in time. 

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 

“Wait!” She calls to him. 

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 

She tosses it to him. 

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 

Her lucky charm. 

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 

“What?” He hums back. 

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 

“Because I am not.” Is his response. 

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 

But God, she wants him all the same. 

It’s dangerous to be at war. 

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 

taglist!

@kneelingshadowsalomee @sprout-fics @bucca2 @dead-cipher @gallowsjoker @lostagoodcigar 

[panthera-tigris-venenata]

Okay since I'm apparently not getting anything done today and I finally named the Tremaine girlies, have some Evie & Tremaines & Charmings drama for Soulmark AU.

Okay so. Evil Queen should have a power to fake soulmarks via magic alchemy or what. Y'know, as a little treat.

Since Ursula got the ability to see souls (for drama purposes), it is only fair EQ can have some fun too.

Also I gotta figure out some soulfuckery for the Faciliers too.

Anyway. She passed this knowledge on to her daughter. Banishment does that to you, yeah? She was bored. Also, Evie is her heiress, not her husband's daughter.

Banishment - Evie spent ten years with only her mother. Now she's entering the Isle society with zero knowledge of the Drama (tm) and in dire need of an alliance.

And, you know. A soulmark would make for a neat alliance. It's like marriage alliance but on crack. And she has a very convenient means to fake it as she wishes.

She goes for Anthony Tremaine, the reasons being "reasonably pretty, rich for Isle standards, runs a neutral territory"

Now, Anthony already has two soulmarks. However, Evie doesn't know that.

She learns this by Anthony going "Again?" And his cousins teasing him about getting a harem and whatanot.

... this scene also includes Anthony and Dulcia having to explain what "foreplay" is to the younger ones. For closely unspecified reasons.

„Wait, have Harriet and Ginny stopped trying to kill one another? I though it was like foreplay or something.“ „Not really, they have not.“ „So it IS like foreplay?“

Evie reacts to this by saying „Okay I'm not doing that, I faked the mark, I'm gonna give you the tincture to make it go away tomorow.“

The Tremaine girlies want the tincture to fake soulmarks.

Anthony desperately does NOT want them to get it.

Unfortunately he does NOT get a say as Evie still wants the alliance. So she gives them the potion-thingy. (You spread it on your skin and if you touch other person's skin, it'll react and leave a mark that looks like a soulmark.)

Evie is now basically adopted by the Tremaine girls. It's adorable.

(it's not. It's terrifying)

And when she gets to Auradon, well, let's just say. This girl has a type.

The type being "Rich, influential, and owns a lot of mirrors".

So yes, she immediately goes for Chad Charming.

Now, I cannot emphasise this enough, they're SO bad for eachother and for everyone around.

Chad thinks he's using her and meanwhile she's looking at him with poorly concealed murder in her eyes. She thinks she should have added "can carry out a semblance of inteligent conversation" to her list.

The Tremaine girls support her anyway, they think it's funny.

And NO Evie will not be dumping him. She's Evil Queen's daughter. She can save actual feeling for extramarital affairs and not get caught, please and thank you. Or maybe just kill him once ut won't be too suspicious.

In fact, Anthony has a bet going on when the murder is gonna occur. He didn't tell that his sisters and cousins, though the reaction of the older ones would be along the lines of "Well good for her" and "Girl power" and "Slay, queen." (You see, they younger ones would be upset.)

[infernal-heart]

Cannot stop thinking about your post on the similarities between the judgement hall and the school. I was wondering if you could elaborate on more thoughts on that? Or I guess, who do you think would be the ‘judge’ in deltarune?

I absolutely can elaborate, yeah. Beyond the birds that I mentioned in the original post, the school in the afternoon specifically is, like the judgement hall, quiet. It’s almost eerily so. You and Susie are alone in this place, and I think it nails the atmosphere really well. Which is to say, it recontextualizes the same atmosphere we know (walking up to Sans in the judgement hall in UT, getting the speech about LV and EXP. But of course, more memorably, the Bad Time quote) aka one of relative dread, to one that is overtly… peaceful.

Don’t get me wrong, I still think it’s eerie. Any space alone is, but after all of Chapter 1, you’re left alone in this near-silent space. But it isn’t oppressive. It isn’t angry, or dangerous. It’s just… lonely. Isolated.

Uncanny is the word I’m looking for. Of course, devoid of the context of the UT Judgement Hall, I think a lot of the power of the atmosphere is lost. But with that context, with the foreknowledge of such a pivotal place in the story of that game, one naturally asks oneself: “What’s the connection here? Why is this place calling my mind back to the judgement hall?��.

Of course, I can’t definitively explain that because I’m not Toby, but I can guess. The end of the chapter(s) is itself important story moments, points of downtime. And, crucially, moments where important things happen. While comparing the story of DT and UT is probably meaningless, I think it bears some weight that right after you are in an environment eerily and intentionally similar to Judgement Hall, you are given the game’s first look into a shakeup of the traditional rules or formula. In UT, Asgore breaks your mercy button. In DT, the end of Chapter 1 shows us the first clear indication that something is awry between Kris and the Soul. Something to consider.

Backpedaling for a moment, the comparison between the school and the judgement hall isn’t just, y’know, musical or audio-based: this environment does literally look like the judgement hall. The yellow, checkered flooring, the light coming in through the windows. It’s very, very reminiscent, and as I’ve said many times at this point, Toby clearly meant this.

(Also, point of intrigue that is not entirely relevant to this discussion, but is interesting: the Dark World closet door looks suspiciously similar to a number of doors in the True Lab)

But I digress.

As for who I think a “judge” might be…

I think if there were one mechanically, we’d probably have to wait until near the end of DT as a whole to see. Given Sans/the Judgement Hall’s placement in undertale, if there were an analog to that in DT, we probably aren’t far enough along in the story to have seen them.

However.

I think that the Secret Bosses (Jevil and Spamton so far) serve a similar purpose as Sans narratively in DT that he did in UT.

Sans was written to be a very rounded character. He was never important, and that was the point: he’s a watcher, really. A judge. He takes the sum of what you’ve done, and displays it to you in a succinct package, both during the Judgement Hall sequence and the post-neutral run phone calls. He serves as almost a summary to the player, an in-universe perspective on what your actions mean for others. And, of course, his role as a Judge (being almost reactive to your own as player) takes on a new meaning in the no-mercy/kill everything run, being your final challenge before world domination, and universal destruction. He puts up a good fight, as we all know. But he isn’t doing it because he wants to kill you: he knows he doesn’t truly have that power. As Sans says himself, he is trying to make you bored. Stopping you by being such an inconvenience that you, the player, will give up. That is to say, he knows more than most of the cast either lets on (Papyrus may have a similar level of timeline-knowledge, I don’t know enough about it to say for sure) or genuinely is aware of.

That’s the key point of similarity: Sans serves the role of somebody (other than Flowey, the main villain) who, in some part, understands your actions and your agency. He’s somebody to bounce off of, I think.

And this is reflected in the secret bosses, most obviously in Spamton. He is, in the end, the single character we have met in DT who understands Kris and their relationship with the Soul (aside from MAYBE Noelle in Snowgrave but. It’s just speculation at that point I think). He is himself a puppet, and recognizes Kris as a kindred spirit, somebody bound to their strings as he is. Both the bosses, him and Jevil, share one attribute with eachother: amongst other things, they seek or believe themselves to be “Free”. Jevil believes he is the only one outside the cage, that he can do anything he wishes. Spamton yearns for freedom, to be cut from his strings and let loose. He wants your Soul because he knows it can set him free from his strings.

All of that is to prove what I said before: that in UT, Sans, and in DT, Jevil and Spamton, are almost… reflections of the player. I hesitate to use the word foils, but I think one could make a case for it.

All of that aside, if I had to guess, from our current list of characters, who a “Judge” might be?

My inclination is to say Susie. I think it would be impactful writing-wise to have her, a character Kris actively works at being friends with during chapter 1 and 2, end up being a force of karmic confrontation in regards to the actions of the player.

But if we’re thinking about this in terms of Sans’ role in UT, the “judge” character probably won’t be particularly central to the plot, and Susie absolutely is. Maybe Asriel? As a character established in his UT incarnation to have an understanding of timeline malarkey, and as the closest thing to a peer within that game to the player, he could provide a good way of being that in-universe perspective of karma that Sans was in UT.

I’m also somewhat apprehensive about him, though, given how important he is to Kris, and how important him coming to visit from college will/would be.

Again, I don’t think any Judge character (if we’re going off of a similar framework as Sans) will be somebody crucial to the story.

But I could be wrong. Ralsei presents a compelling case, I think, because he also knows something is up with Kris and the soul. We see both in Chapter 1 and Chapter 2, each time we (the player) shift perspectives from Kris to Susie, we return to Kris just as Ralsei finishes talking with them. It’s suspicious. It’s intriguing. It’s never touched upon, never mentioned at all, but it is an element of the story that I think will be important going forward. If anybody is to confront the Soul, other than Kris, I think it will be Ralsei, or maybe some plan put in motion by Ralsei.

Not that I think Ralsei is, like, oooh an evil mastermind and all that like some theories do. But he’s… smart. Smarter than he lets on. And he absolutely knows more than he gives willingly. (As a side note, even before thinking about him in this capacity, on my first Chapter 2 playthrough, I got weird vibes from Ralsei. The changed sprite, and a few instances of changed demeanor seemed… off, to me. Something has absolutely changed about him between chapters).

I’ll leave this post off with one more thing that I’m sure you’re well aware of at this point:

The Bunker.

The only other location with the sound of birds from the Judgement hall.

The only other specific location with a direct audio link to Undertale.

And the one place, I’d say, most associated with Gaster in the Deltarune world.

It’s this. This sort of thing, this kind of mystery, that I love Deltarune (and Undertale) for.

Why are the same birds out here, and (to my knowledge), nowhere else but the school?

Why is Gaster’s Entry 17 emanating, like a dying cry, from behind the closed doors, and beneath the earth?

Why does the sound of the birds cut out when you approach the bunker, leaving you in total silence but for the ragged memory of something you were never supposed to see?

That’s the question, I suppose. And the questions that I love to think about in UT and DT.

Gods, I love the mysteries in these games.

[astranite]

Notes- Christmas TAG secret santa fic.

Because of this post and @janetm74 and @edutainer2022 here are my additional notes for my 2023 thunderfam secret santa fic.

It contains brainstorming that became part of the og fic and notes as a continuation for the car ride. It was actually these that I came up with first and intended to write but got side tracked with explorations of getting ready, especially given the prompt i was given was “Every day is a school day” with Jeff and Lucy. Also deadlines!

Mind that this is pretty much as is from my notes in its entirety, complete with spelling errors, partial sentences and utter lack of cohesion as I jumped between ideas.

Link for the fic proper on ao3.

---

“Every day is a school day” Jeff and Lucy. And everyone.

Car drive to spent christmas with Grandma and Grant at Gran Rocha. The preparing and road tripping shenanigans.

getting all five kids plus themselves and luggage into the car on time as chaotic as a school day. Jeffs line?

S15, J13, V12, G 6?7, A3

Wake-up call. Alarm going off Lucy tired and grumpy where Virgil gets it from. I’ll get the kids up and you can head straight to the coffee. Jeff fooling around like mock drill sergeant. Scott’s grumpy teenness and chucking a pillow at him with surprisingly good aim for supposedly asleep. Scott getting up. Bed hair mess that Jeff runs a gentle hand through pulling him into a hug. Virgil and John. John and Bagel the cat curled up together. Both hissing at him in unison. Virgil needed to be hugged and woken up more slowly. 

Down in the kitchen. Jeff kissing Lucy and trying to steal her coffee. No you cannot steal my coffee Jefferson Tracy, you have your own.  Lucy’s massive science pun mug. Hair in her face looking like little Virgil. 

HURRICANE LUCY. Time skip to about to go?

packing- John wanting to fit telescope. Or “But I did leave my telescope behind” but bag full of books. 

Last min shoving presents in. Neighbour to feed the cat.

Scott nabbed the car keys first on massive ** many different  keychain so neither Lucy nor Jeff could lose them. Swinging them around his finger, “can I drive” Parental chorus of “No!” Doesn't have license yet but is learning to pilot. argument of Grandma lets me drive on the ranch. Thats the beat up old ute and theres nothing much out there to hit any way.

And they were done. Bags were in the car, kids were in the car, last final bathroom stops had been had.  Lucy patted down her pockets. Keys! She didn’t have them, so Jeff must except that he didn’t. Surely the couldn’t have lost them with the neon pink rocket ship key chain attached to prevent this. Until they both spied Scott leaning against the drivers side door and swinging them around his finger.  

“So, can I drive?” Scott asked as if he didn’t already know the answer to that question. 

“No,” came the parental chorus. 

Then the other kids repeating them, picking up on it slightly behind. 

Scott grinning and tossed the keys in the air one last time then caught them. He passed them to Lucy’s waiting hand prompted by a stern eyebrow. 

7 seater beat up car. Drive- Kansas to Texas. approx 9 hours to 8 1/2. Lucy english thinking its ages. at least america had good highways. and from her mothers tales at least kangaroo spotter was a redundant position. 

Panic at dress clothes for Christmas day

someone packed no underpants. Gordon only packed underwear and swimmers. Trying to sort laundry at last minute. Jeff’s haphazard packing of his own clothes with getting everyone else in military order. Lucy remarking jokingly, “Mightve gotten to mars adn forgot your space suit. 

Jeff the nerd, calling Grandma to tell on our way, “Houston we have take off”. Kids dramatic countdown. A “finally”. FOnd eye rolls. 

John and Virgil at back seats. Johns already long limbs folded up.

Scott getting the dubious privelige of the middle row. but centre seat between Alan and Gords car seats and on big brother duty. 

Lucy hoping but not expecting to get some rest on the trip. Up all night getting ready. has mystery novel to read. but trying to wrangle kids. Putting Jeff’s cowboy hat over her face to keep the sun off as she sleeps.

Stops for toilet breaks. Lunch fast food. “Do not let gordon have soda.” Johns burger order. Virgil picking pickles out to give to john. The chips stealing. Trying to eat and drive. sending older ones in to fish younger out of the play area. losing Scott to it too, send in John planning it like a mission.

Jeff adn Lucy discussion over what coffee is supposed to do. ADHD Jeff. starting with Scott asking for coffee, cheekily. No, we dont need you any more hyper. Jeff’s confident, “Coffee doesnt do that” Even same with Aa. spirited debate. JSSo that means I can have some? eff still saying no coffee for Scott.

Lucy driving at some point. 

If Lucy had to hear one more rendition of baby shark she was the one who was going to get out and walk.

music and Lucy and Virgil comparing synesthesia.

John reading massive heavy text book, splayed out across knees. not getting car sick, serve well for astronaut. for fun, reminded he didnt need to study. 

Scott bored and restless. tinies asleep. no phone signal. twisting around, being told off for seat belt, trying to see what Johns doing. seat swap and he and John are in the back doing maths and physics, heads bent together. virgil eyes closed but awake or leaning around car seats to look out the windows, bobbing head to music through headphones. 

when John adn Scott get stuck, calling questions out to Lucy. Jeff snoring in front seat, head on lucy;s jumper, went from wide awake to clonked out even after the coffees.

Virgil using breath on fogged up windows to draw. Scott and John used it for math.

Gordon are we there yet. Alan copying him. 

naming animals and animal sounds. then naming sea creatures. then sounds of sea creatures. some known, some gordon happily making them up.

car sickness. Scott getting car sick, in spite of crazy spins and flips but then hes in control. another reshuffle, Jeff wedged into the middle seat, Lucy laughing and looking in rear view mirror at tall, broad shouldered husband folded awkwardly into the back. John and Virgil back-back. Scott getting shotgun, window open and nauseous. Vomit bags in glove box because learnt from past fiascos and puke in hat story. Scott grumps would be fine if I was driving 

some point tinies and Jeff all asleep.  John and Virgil happy together. Lucy getting to check in and chat to scott. 

on destination. everyone there, big family.  Lee? Kayo adn Kyrano and Kayo mother. Jeff brothers? packed into the big ranch house. noise and merriment. hot dry texas air. smell of good food cooking. some slight odour of burnt. 

explain lucy parents farm????

“The eagle has landed” finding rooms, unpack car. eldest three in together. youngest. 

John overwhelmed after trip, not wanting to talk to anyone. near tears at thought of going into party. going to stable to spent time with horses. 

Virgil running up to Grant and talking his ear off, to much delight of both parties. Grant, still broad shouldered and strong from farm work, charcoal black hair now salt and pepper grey. 

Achievements getting caught up with. Jeff telling grandma about scotts, Scott proud but a bit uncharacteristically shy, leaning into a side hug. 

the comments of how big the kids were all getting, and theyd better not be having more. Lucy laughing and very nope five is plenty enough. 

somewhat tired cranky, sticky dusty kids. Gordon spilling something sticky on him in the last hour, waiting to get there to wash him off. Recovering excitement at bath. 

grandma’s welcome cookies. 

——- other fic. Graduation. car crash. Injuries—the bruises. Scott burst into tears with brothers because he wants mum

[kuriboo]

for the yugioh ask meme: Yudias!!!!! >:3c

YUDIAS! BNUYY BOY! disclaimer: i am only through episode 101 of go rush

tall bnuyy boy

Why I like them/why I don’t

Yudias is in-tune with himself, unfailingly kind. He's a bit stubborn about it, in a good way. He does not stop supporting his friends. He believes in the power of Rush Duels like they're a higher power, which, to be fair, they kind of are in the text. He has a collection of 8.88 million emotional support catboy countrymen who follow him around everywhere in a tiny spaceship (i miss them dearly). He stopped an intergalactic war with the power of card games. Even when he's faced with extinction and genocide, he puts on a brave face for his friends, gives his boyfriend his last wish, and when he breaks down, it's because everything hits him all at once when he witnesses rush duels being disrespected.

He's also got self-confidence issues. I love me a guy with self-confidence issues, because, same.

What I like about their appearance

His human-like appearance would be perfect if it weren't for the UTS orange. I do not like the UTS orange. But. His hair is beautiful. Look at his little horns under his hat. I also really like his hat, when it's not orange. The pink shirt is SO funny. The scenes where he's wearing a middle school uniform are 10/10 in appearance.

Above is a perfect boy.

As for transformed? His shorter hair is cute, too, though I'm surprised I don't prefer it. I usually prefer shorter hair on characters because longer hair characters just remind me how much I hate it when my hair gets too long and it just feels so wrong... Maybe it's the headset that isn't doing it for me. I do love the bnuyy parts of his hair most when transformed, but I do like his hair, just slightly less than when he's not transformed.

Do I prefer their dub names or original names?

He's a protag, so... yknow. I will say I tend to type out protag/related names as Yu instead of Yuu, but that's a me thing.

OTP

I know that Zwijo/Yudias is the canon and most popular ship, and I do like them! However! My otp has to be Yudias/Yuhi

Please look at them. That is all. Thank you

NOTP

Idk about this one? I've never seen a ship thrown out there that I like, hated, for Yudias. Oh, wait, I have one

Yudias/Chupataro

If you mention Chupataro in my presence I will eye beam you. I hate that guy.

OT3

Zwijo/Yudias/Yuhi for sure. I am a sucker for ot3's like this and then taking the characters that interact the least and going insane about them. Once I've caught up on go rush, I will be going insane about Zwijo/Yuhi. They are both Yudias' boyfriends.

Tonight the group chat is selling me on Zwijo/Yudias/Yuhi/Phaser. I see the vision. I think it's cute. Let's add more boys to this polycule.

Favourite card they use

Definitely, her. She's gender, she's pretty, she's the moment.

Favourite moment they were in

It's really hard to pick one. Burgalarly was so funny. Any time Yudias uses eyebeams is a classic. I am very fond of the moment he played his new Maximum against Phaser.

HOWEVER, the best moment, on further reflection, HAS to be the galaxy cup finals

PROBABLY THE MOST HYPE DUEL BEFORE EPISODE 100, though 100 may have surpassed it. But god I loved this duel so much. The switching off of Yudias' opponents. Yudias being the guy we're cheering to lose. GOD this duel was insane. I wanna rewatch it again sometime. Cannot wait to rewatch this when it's dubbed.

Least favourite moment

this entire episode can go burn in hell

Would I fuck, marry or kill them

Marry in a heartbeat. He's not my go rush overall favorite (that's Yuhi rn, if we look at Yuga as a sevens character) but Yudias is very high up there.

thank you everyone for listening to me talk about yudias. in conclusion, you should watch yugioh go rush.

[kimyoonmiauthor]

The source of the idea of "Nothing original under the sun" in writing.

Was most likely Lajos Egri who was trying to be an asshole to Dorothea Brande.

The Art of Dramatic Writing by Lajos Egri (1946)

How to Become a Writer by Dorothea Brande (1934)

Originally I was giving him a break, but he does no citations, and tends to grandstand things suddenly so I should have known he was putting down another woman (yet again). !@#$

I originally made a note of it by going over Lajos Egri (and the fact he married a child and promoted it in his writing book) the first time, but now I understand why he spent so much time with it.

FU Lajos Egri. Seriously, dude?

See... unlike a lot of the structuralists and later structuralists who were mostly saying:

There's a formula for stories and success.

Originality? Don't even try.

Dorothea Brande spends a whole chapter basically arguing what Jerry Seinfeld argued about stand up comedy: In the specific is the general.

Dorothea Brande leans wholly into the toolbox ideology. There isn't conflict mentioned as a part of story. She isn't in conversation with Percy Lubbock. Can I get a 1940's-1950's cis man not slamming down on women?

This is why one needs to read and give advice in context of the time period and the writing movement they were a part of.

As for Originality...

I made a treaties about that. I think there are a few things to keep in mind...

Stealing other people's ideas when you cannot add a spin to it is often a bad idea because you have not through the philosophy or the depth. People often say it's all in the execution, but often when you steal, it lacks in the execution because you did not ut in the depth of thought and unlike what you've been taught, 100% readers can detect this. Look up Magic Kingdom, Sold by Terry Brooks. Then realize he doesn't really develop the idea more by book 2 he's into the same tropes he uses for his other books because his investment is low. (This isn't slamming him as a writer, but pointing out that you need to also develop your ideas so they have depth.) If he had developed it more thematically and tonally, the following books wouldn't have been as boring. I'm saying execution isn't the only thing you need with ideas, you also need to fundamentally develop the ideas further so you command on more than character and events, but also tone, and theme.

Gap theory

There is a gap in the market, exploit it. Someone went right and EVERY book went to the right path. But what if you went LEFT. This often gets you more money, but is riskier. The readers tend to like gaps over the same three things rehashed. What's more popular an exact remake of a movie, or a new movie? I've gone over the risks and benefits of this, BTW. Great for diversity, BTW.

3. Overlap theory

Usually three things and remix them, but the key is so they feel unfamiliar. NOT that they are this but a little different. The second one doesn't really get an audience following, the first often does. The obvious downside is that people try to play it too safe with this and the market can go stale as people follow people using the gap theory. But when you make things that don't seem to naturally mix then it can be exciting. "Pride and Prejudice only Bollywood." is BORING. I've watched that movie THREE TIMES already. Give me something more outlandish.

So YES, it is 100% OK to chase down new ideas and go all high concept if you like, but put in the time and research to develop those ideas further before you execute them. And I've said it before, but knowing a little philosophy and being a general nerd can help where to look on how to develop your idea.

And psychologically the contemporary research backs up Dorothy Brande over Lajos Egri, so stop repeating that there is no new idea under the sun. Development of your ideas is new and not always in the execution of character/s do events. Because story fundamentally is more than characters in settings doing events.

[dreemurr-skelememer]

Oh my god I’m so you when it comes to Dreamtale, because I left UTMV fandom for like 2 years now but every once in a while I have to come back to rant about canon Dream.

I cannot wrap my head around the concept of Dream being “purest angel boy” who can’t hate or get angry. Dream is unable to hate is so frustrating and it makes literally no sense. Dream before the incident wouldn’t hate, sure, he was a child. Dream after the apple incident can’t hate because of his apple soul, but then again he’s an empath. Empathy is not just an emotional reaction, it links to logic and rational thinking too. Saying Dream can’t hate just implies that Dream wouldn’t have ANY growth with his emotional intelligence. He supposed to be the guardian of feeling?? Hello?? I don’t understand why the creator wants to wrap Dream in a goodness bubble when feeling is a complex field.

And speaking of Dream’s goodness, I’m still salty about how the creator refused to give information about what happened if Dream ate a black apple because “Dream would never do that”. First of all, that wasn’t what we asked for, we just want to know what kind of reaction would happen if a Positive feeling guardian eat a black apple, not everything needs to be surrounded by canon Dream, just give us a hypothetical situation, maybe another Dream, another guardian. Secondly, it doesn’t make sense whatsoever, especially regarding that post about if put Dream into Nightmare’s shoes and getting bullied for 6 whole years, he would take it much longer then Nightmare before breakdown and even if he did, he wouldn’t eat the apple. Let’s give Joku the benefit of a doubt that Dream just lived for 6 years but mentally 14 or something, it’s established IN THE COMIC that Nim gave little to no information about how the tree and apples work, so how did Dream, without any knowledge of how his power work or properly handle his trauma for 6 years, can make better decisions than Nightmare under immense pressure without mistakes. Nightmare was bullied, traumatized, tortured, isolated, threatened to be killed, manipulated, he just wanted to live! I couldn’t think of ANY reason Dream wouldn’t do the same except he’s the favorite golden child who can do no wrong.

Of course that doesn’t mean he should be an asshole or stop being good, there’re a lot of characters that are pure but isn’t perfect, Dream just needs to stop being someone whose only flaw is being too selfless for this world. Also wasn’t there one post saying Dream may be a sunshine character but he probably had the most tragic story in the whole fandom. I laughed because that’s not even close, what fandom are they talking about? Because last time I checked, UT Asgore also went through a depressing life after lost everything. And also that just completely wipes off Nightmare’s existence. Dream used to be one of my favorite characters in UTMV because he had so much potential, but the creator instead choose to sacrifice all of that potential to go to war against fan.

so based anon. you've said everything that needed to be said about canon dream

[metalmusicwhore]

vent post kinda? or maybe it’s a rant idk just feelings ig AUUGHH

I really REALLY don’t wanna fucking go back to school I’m actually so stressed out. I have like no friends even the ones I do have I haven’t talked to like all summer and this fucking cheer team im on is gonna be the end of me I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD. The girls are so fucking rude I have no ABSOLUTELY ZERO friends on the team nobody fucking talks to me the coaches yell constantly ANDFUCKING SINGLE ME OUTLILE MAAM MISS GIRRL THIS IS SIDELIND FUCKING CHEER IVE BEEN A COM CHEERLEADER FOR OVER FIVE YEARS DO FUCKING TELL ME HOWW TO DO SHIT YOU SAW ME AT NATIONALS DONT DO THIS SHIT TO ME YOU FUCKING WHORE IHATEYOU STOP FUCKING TELLING ME THIS IS HARDER THAN COMP CHEER ITS FUCKING KOR AHEOEBAMDD

I really wanna quit the team but I fucking can’t my parents won’t let me because they’ve already payed for it like I know it costed hella money but don’t you think my mental health and me still being alive matters more DONT YOU THINK THAT YOUR OWN KID YOUR FLESH AND BLOOD MATTERS MORE THAT PAPER WTF ACTUALLY WTF IVE BEEN DOING THIS SHIT FOR YEARS I WANT A BREAK IM SO TIRED OF IT EVERY TEAM IVE BEEN ON THE GIRLS ARE RUDE LAST TAM I WAS ON WAS BETTER BC I HAD MY BEST FRIEND BUT I MOVED AWAY AND NOW INHAVE NOBODY I CANT DO THIS SHIT ANYMORE LIKE I ACTUALLY CANT

MY MENTAL HEATH IS DEGRADING BC OF THIS MY SH PROBLEMS ARE COMING BACK AND I CANT EVEN TELL MY PARENTS BC THEY FUCKING YELL AT ME SAYING THAT IT HURTS THEM MORE THAT IT HURTS ME LIKE HHHUUUUUUUUUHHHHH WTF DO YOU MEAN YOU DICKHEADS WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN I CANNOT DO THIS ANYMORE ACTUALLY WTF

IM SO TIRED OF FEELING THIS WAY I CANT GET AWAY FROM IT SSSIIGH HUGE FUCKING SIGH I JUSST WANT THINGS TO GO BACK TO NORMAL I JUST WANNA FEEL NORMAL BUT I FUCKING CANT IM LOSING SLEEP OVER THIS IM MOT EATING BC IM SO STRESSED ABOUT EVERYTHING

My parents tell me “you’re only a teenager you have the rest of your life to look ahead you don’t need to be stressed about anything” YES I DO YES I FUCKING DO YOU DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO STRUGGLE LITERALLY STUGGLE TO NOT KYS EVERYDAY YOU DONT KNOW WHAT ITS LIKE TO GET MADE FUN OF FOR HAVING SH PROBLEMS YOU DONT KNOW WHAT UTS LILE TO HAVE UOUR OWN BROTHER RAT ON YOU ABT YOUR SH AND HAVE YOUR PARENTS YELL AT YOU FOR HOURS NOT EVEN HELING JUST YELLING AND MAKING YOU FEEL WORSE ABOUT EVERYTHING

THERES NOT GONNA BE THE REST OF MY LIFE IF THIS SHIT KEEPS UP I CANT EVEN TALK ABOUT IT MY MUM FUCKING LAUGHS IT OFF AND SAYS IM FUL OF SHIT LIKE I CANT HAVE MENTAL HEALTH ISSUES BITCH I FUCKING DO IVE HAD THEM FOR YEARS YOU FUCKING FAG WHY DONT YOU BELIVE ANYTHING I SAY AASUUUGGHHHHAHAKEHKWAOJDLSKALS MAKES ME SO MAD SO FUCKING MAD I CANT PUT IT INTO WORDSAAAAARRRGGGGGGGGAGAGEUJEJEKWKWORJDJN

I actually can’t fucking do this anymore I’m trying so fucking hard not to kms rn I’m so scared to do it but I can’t live like this anymore I can’t even talk about it without being yelled at I need help but I’m scared to talk about it with my parents BIGGEST FUCKING SIGH I HATE EVERYTHING RN I CANT BE HAPPY I CANT BE SAD I CANT DO ANYTHING PLEASE JUST KILL ME NOW IM NOT FUCKING JOKING ITS MY TIME TO GO ITS BEEN MY TIME TO GO IVE SERVED MY TIME ON THIS PLANET JUST FUCKING KILL ME ALREADY ITS NOT THAT FUCKING HARD PLEASE IM BEGGING AT THIS POINT I CANT LIVE LIKE THIS

[bitch-spectrum]

PART 2/3

Part 1 ,, Part 3

Ed

Personality Headcanons: He hates tobacco. He hates it when people smoke around him. He's the kind of guy to put out your cigarette for you and you look up at him, thinking you're gonna fight some punk but quickly change your mind. His dad used to make him cut and light his cigars and he hated doing it so much he swore he'd never smoke. The hole that he sleeps in is deliberately cut, sanded, and reboarded. He nests in there. Probably Autistic and doesn't speak much around strangers. Will gladly infodump to his friends. He's in his mid-late 30s ~35-38. In addition to being part of TF4 he also works part time as a steam locomotive driver. After being tied to the train tracks, he kind of got curious about it. He can play an instrument, I'm just not sure which one. Probably a fiddle idk. Physical Headcanons: The tooth sticking out is a broken tusk. he desperately wants to grow facial hair, has tried, and cannot. He's very jealous of people who do have facial hair. ~6'05" Gender: Cis male Pronouns: He/Him Orientation: Straight He's a hardcore ally and loves going to pride events to support his friends. He thinks they're a lot of fun. Post Game: His life carried on fairly regularly afterwards, like Ace. I personally feel like he had more of a connection with Clover than the others though so, he was a little more impacted by their death. Sometimes he'll sit into the early morning with Starlo at the Saloon. Opinions: I'm bias. I heart large men so, points. I would have also liked to have seen more of him. One thing though is that on appearance alone I could so clearly hear his voice when he spoke. His design carries. 3.5/5.

Flowey

Personality Headcanons: Flowey is my favorite character in the Undertale franchise so I'm going to TRY to keep this short. As it stands, he's currently stuck at the maturity level he died at, so around 11-13. Since he doesn't have a physical body (other than a flower) he doesn't really age. I don't think he's a lost cause or even completely irredeemable. He's a terrified, traumatized, kid who's own parents don't recognize him anymore. He's had to try to navigate the world in a body that isn't his, completely alone. Sometimes when he goes through episodes he lies close to the ground to bite his petals and rip them off hoping that somehow it'll make room for his horns to grow back. He both despises his family for splitting up and ignoring him but wants nothing more than to be a family again. He has really conflicting feelings on a lot of things. I feel like if he went through extensive therapy his maturity would probably eventually catch up to what would be his chronological age if he wasn't a flower. He's touch starved but hates being touched. Probably has one or multiple personality disorders. Physical Headcanons: We get a side profile of his nose in his boss fight in neutral. I think that's a genetic trait from Asgore. Has freckles. Not much to headcanon since he's a Flower until the true ending of the OG UT when he ascends. Gender: He stopped giving fucks a long time ago. Pronouns: He/They (DESPISES being called an it) Orientation: Aroace. He's not necessarily repulsed but if asked if he has a crush on anyone he'd say "I'd rather watch someone be crushed to death than think ever think about dating." Post Game: N/A Opinions: I'm a die hard Flowey Apologist. He's such a deep, complex, and tragic character. I love him. I want to hug him. In this specific game too, wow, I love Flowey lore. Love Flowey angst. 5/5.

Martlet Personality Headcanons: Probably AuDHD. Definitely has racing thoughts / scatterbrain. Her first job was babysitting when she was a teen. She only barely got into The Royal Guard because they were desperate after losing a lot of good members in the war. She eventually proved herself to be a good member. Probably in her early 20s so ~21-23. Physical Headcanons: She's pretty buffed because of her job. ~5'10". I don't have too many. Gender: Trans Woman Pronouns: She/They Orientation: Multisexual of some sort with a preference for women. Also ambiamorous. Post Game: She quit her job at The Royal Guard, unable to really take the burden of having to kill a human child for the king. Chujin's words haunt her, what he said about her not being cut out for it. Instead she got a job as a classroom assistant. She bounces around the limited schooling system the underground has. So often times she gets a good reputation with the kids and will get to watch them grow up. Sometimes her job makes her think about how she could have done her best to hide Clover and watch them grow up too. She's a very emotional person by nature so, she would probably take the longest to really have it be in the past for her. But, she got right to *appearing* like she was moving on. By day it was like nothing had happened at all, she puts on a smile for the kids she helps out with, plays games with them. She's good at seeming okay but just shatters every night for a long time. Eventually (RAREPAIR), spending so much time with Dalv became beneficial for the both of them and they helped pull each other out of the rut. Opinions: I wish she had more screen time because she seems like a character the creators cared a lot about. She's very OC shaped and that's a good thing. I love when I can see the care that goes into a character. 4/5.

[thewriterowl]

More dark din head canon? I kinda missed ut

I love Dark Din Content! I've needed to sit back and think about this because I haven't touched it in a while...I need to get back to my horrible, feral roots of making everything terrible with this.

So, let's see...what about Dark Din who doesn't fall for Luke at first? Like how I was tempted to do with Blooms but it didn't quite go to the level of Dark I wanted cause I felt like it wouldn't have matched the story to that point and wouldn't have been fair to Luke/Readers/The Plot?

I've considered doing another multi-chapter story of where Din is like a dark (but still good) king of Mandalore and he has to work together with a Force-user to rescue Grogu...but he makes it clear he hates this guy and would gut him if he could except he needs him. Luke is just vibing along as normal. Then he just makes things click in Din's head of "oh, I can never let him leave me"--like now it's a Blooms meets Little Bird type of situation

Once in love, Din would be feral over Luke. He would plot to keep Luke trapped on Mandalore. There would be an unspoken law that Luke Skywalker can never leave the world or there would be absolute hell to pay.

Luke would just be going about enjoying his time, thinking all of this is temporary, and wow it is weird his ship keeps having trouble, and he'll be sad to leave but he needs to do stuff and this family needs time to themselves, and Mandalorians still don't like Force-users...all the while there is a marriage being plotted and he has no idea.

Now, the things this Dark Din does:

-slowly begins to replace the few pieces of clothing Luke has with prettier and things of better quality. It starts off with just tunics and pants that are more like gifts and to help him fit in and have things that are just nicer in general. But then they become prettier, more feminine, and something that just common civilians of Mandalore would wear...even better than Clan Leaders or noblemen would have.

-is trying to slowly erase his connections, as few as they may be, to anything outside of Mandalorian space. No one really needed to know of Luke Skywalker and he did not need any reason to ever try to leave.

-tries to spoil Luke rotten; wants most everything Luke owns to be something he provided for him. He wants everything to make Luke think of him and as a reminder to others and Luke himself that this is all Din's. Din did this. Din provided for him. It was all Din and everyone needs to be aware of this.

-Luke has mostly free reign of the palace but cannot set foot outside without explicit permission from Din only and needs to be accompanied by someone. It seems over the top but he doesn't have much argument. This wasn't his homewold and things got a bit...messy and now he was potentially a target of enemies. But it still felt a bit overbearing.

-does have Luke followed and will try to be the one who follows him if possible. He normally can't, cause he's king and all that, but that doesn't stop him. He gifts Luke a cute little droid as a pet (Artoo hisses at it) that rides Luke's shoulder/head or floats next to him and gives Din all sorts of updates and live feed (he is a creep, but this is dark Din and we can go all out)

-has warned Luke that there are consequences to actions. he will be very lenient with Luke and most things but in regards to his safety, things are non-negotiable and he needs to listen and follow instructions (it takes time but eventually spanking is brought in)

Honestly, my brain is just bringing up delicious lead up to one of my favorite dark Din dinluke stories of Ni Ceta Ni Alor by @aureutr--cause can you imagine the slow breakdown of Din's sanity and his need to own, protect, and control Luke. The lead up to where we get to in that story.

Because I adore stories of Din already the victor, of him already losing his mind and heart to the darkness and succeeding where Anakin didn't--I love that SO much. But I also thrive on the build up, of how did he get his victory and how did he lose himself to the Darkness to the point Luke was swept up as well?

Ugh, love it so much