#and now like existing without them is weird

[kenntoria]

synopsis ୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ you worry you’re talking too much and tiring nanami out—but he gently reminds you that hearing your voice is the most comforting part of his day.

you don’t mean to talk so much. you never mean to. but something about being around nanami makes it hard to stop.

like the silence he keeps between you two is a kind of warmth, a quiet invitation—not a cage. he’s not the kind of man who needs to fill space with words, but with him, you feel like your words can stretch out and breathe. like they can exist without being pruned down or apologized for.

and that’s dangerous. because you’ve always been a talker.

not in the “life of the party” way, not exactly. more in the way of someone who notices things and says them before deciding if they were worth saying. you narrate your own life, muse aloud about the sky and the way your toast burned and how you once had a friend who sneezed like a kitten.

you do this with nanami while he makes tea, while he reads the paper, while he unbuttons his shirt one button too slow after a long day—

you do this even when you know he’s tired.

and one day, halfway through a story about your neighbor’s parrot learning to curse in three languages, you stop.

you stop because you realize: what if he’s only being polite?

you’re curled up on the couch beside him, his thigh warm where it brushes yours, and you freeze in the middle of the sentence.

“—and then she said he was banned from the window, which is hilarious because—”

you blink. you swallow.

“actually. never mind.”

nanami looks up from where he was folding his glasses in his hands, brow slightly furrowed. “what happened?”

“nothing. i’m just…” you shrug, tucking your feet under you. “talking too much again.”

he’s quiet. not unreadable quiet, not the kind that says you’re right, but thoughtful quiet. the kind that means he’s carefully, quietly disapproving of that thought.

“do you feel like you talk too much?” he asks.

you laugh, but it’s a little hollow. “i mean, don’t i?”

“not to me, sweetheart.”

you look over at him.

he’s leaning back against the couch, looking at you with the kind of patient sincerity that undoes your insides. the kind of gaze that doesn’t flinch or waver, even when you try to hide how self-conscious you’re suddenly feeling.

“but you’re so quiet,” you say. “and you come home from all that work, and i’m just… rambling about parrots and the weird dream i had and that weird bakery guy who always gives me the wrong pastry—”

“i like hearing about those things.” he says it simply, like it’s a fact. not a compliment. not a favor. just true. “i like knowing what your day was like. what you dreamed. what you noticed that i missed.”

your heart squeezes. “yeah, but i go on for so long sometimes.”

he smiles, soft and tired and full of something so fond it borders on worship. “you talking my ears off is the best part of my day.”

you blink. “seriously?”

“seriously.” he turns to you fully now, pressing his knee a little more firmly into yours. grounding you.

“i spend most of my day dealing with cursed spirits or paperwork. everything is bleak or loud or dangerous. then i come home, and you tell me about the bakery guy and the rude parrot and how the sun looked on the windowsill. and for a while, everything feels… fine.”

he hesitates, then adds,

“you make things feel alive again.”

you can’t speak for a second. you just stare at him, wide-eyed and a little overwhelmed, because how is this man real?

and as if sensing that you’re two seconds away from short-circuiting, nanami shifts forward and reaches out, thumb brushing your chin to tilt your face back to his.

“don’t hold back with me,” he says softly. “don’t ever think you have to shrink yourself to keep me comfortable. i want all of it. all of you.”

your throat closes a little. your hands curl into his shirt, right over the center of his chest, and you rest your forehead there, hiding your face.

“…okay,” you mumble into the fabric. “i am going to finish the parrot story. you don’t get to back out now.”

his laugh rumbles beneath your cheek.

“i wouldn’t dream of it.”

and when you start talking again, you swear his arms around you tighten a little. like he’s holding something precious.

like the sound of your voice is exactly what he’s been waiting for all day.

[hylianane]

Now that we know that Kris is physically well even without the soul, capable of sprinting and carrying Berdly and making choccy milk and playing piano beautifully, we’re back to square one when it comes to answering why they keep putting us back in their body at all. Specially in a Weird Route, specially when it’s our control what seems to be making them so lethargic in the first place. But then I thought about this.

The prophecy thinks of them as our living cage. What if Kris thinks of themselves as our jailor, also?

Because yes, by being inside their chest we can control their actions and movements, but they can also limit us. Limit our ‘checks’ when fighting the Knight, limit our point of view, limit certain actions if they concentrate like in the Dreemurr’s bathroom, stop us from seeing the guitar. They don’t reveal our existence to Susie despite longing to connect with her on their own terms, because she would want to free them, but freeing Kris from us means freeing us from them. And whatever plans the Evil Dark Fountain-makers Groupchat have, they require us to be caged. Whatever Kris’s involvement in Dess’s disappearance is, they now think they owe her and Carol their entire self. Their right to freedom, which they gave up the second they stepped into the role of the cage with human soul and parts.

This also ties to the idea of the lowercase text in the Goner Maker sequence being a separate character to the one speaking in all caps who many assume to be Gaster. This theory’s based mostly on the fact that their typing quirks in Japanese are allegedly dramatically different, with the second voice being distinctly similar to Chara’s. I don’t need to explain why Kris Dreemurr having the same unique speech patterns as Chara Dreemurr makes perfect sense. I also don’t think I need to overly explain why Kris interrupting the sequence and replacing our vessel with themselves reinforces the idea for our dynamic with them that I’m proposing.

Kris has no pity to extend towards us, even in a normal route, and why should they? When we carelessly interact with the world through them with little regard towards their comfort, completely ignorant of there even being a them outside of us for all of our first day together. We treat them like a videogame character, even in a normal route. But, we’re with them by design. So, no matter how we misbehave, over and over again they’ll put us back in their chest to keep the story going, to keep us in check. That’s the role they’re meant to play.

We’re the annoying pet Carol and Dess have placed them in charge of, one they never wanted, one that they at most will occasionally play along with, but mostly one they desperately wish didn’t take up all of their time. One who they’ll need to cage if they want to rest their eyes or see their friends. One whose leash they must pull to keep on track. Otherwise, who knows what could happen? Who would we bite, who would we hurt? Who would catch our interest? Would we even have given Susie a second thought, or would we spend all day talking to that annoying, ugly, stupid, goddamn grocery clerk?!

[megumismyhusband]

“𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐥𝐞𝐟𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐲𝐨𝐮.”

the sun was high and the world felt soft. like a sunday in june. like the kind of day you could live in forever. the wind blew gently through the open windows of the car, warm against your skin, catching your hair and tossing it across your face. rin reached over at a red light to brush it back, his fingers lingering at your cheek for just a second longer than necessary.

his other hand stayed linked with yours, thumb tracing lazy circles onto your skin.

your favorite playlist drifted from the speakers, low enough that your laughter could cut through it, clear and unfiltered. you laughed at your own joke, leaning into him just a little, one leg curled up on the seat, like the car was your living room and nothing outside of it existed.

“where are we going anyway?” you asked, turning your face toward him, eyes bright and full of light.

rin glanced over, one hand on the wheel, the other giving yours a gentle squeeze. “does it matter?”

you shook your head and rested your cheek against the headrest, still smiling. “nope. as long as i’m with you”

you said things like that all the time. like they cost nothing. but to rin, it felt like you were handing him the whole world in those small sentences.

it was warm. peaceful. your fingers laced with his. you told him about a weird dream you had last night, and how you were sure the lady at the bakery gave you an extra pastry on purpose because she was flirting with you. rin rolled his eyes and scoffed. you laughed until you had to wipe tears from your eyes.

you were happy. you were alive. it was a warm day. a good day.

he remembers that part the most.

the sound came all at once. metal against metal. glass shattering. the scream of tires and then—

silence.

he doesn’t remember the impact. doesn’t remember what hit them or how. just the way the world suddenly went quiet. horribly, violently still.

when he opened his eyes, there was blood on his hands.

his first thought was you. his first breath a broken gasp of your name. he reached for you without even knowing if he could move. everything inside him screamed as he crawled through the wreckage, ignoring the pain in his ribs, the ringing in his ears, the taste of copper in his mouth.

you weren’t moving.

he doesn’t remember if he screamed or cried. maybe both. maybe neither. just shaking hands reaching for your face. whispering your name again and again like a prayer. 

your body didn’t respond.

you were so warm just a minute ago. you were laughing. you were singing along with the music. and now—

now your body was limp.

now your lips were blue.

your warmth was leaving your body. seeping out second by second.

he pulled you into his arms anyway. curled around you in the broken remains of the car. rocked you gently like maybe he could keep you from slipping away if he just held tight enough. shielded you with his body like he could undo what had already happened.

“please,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “please, please wake up.”

but you were still.

so, so still.

he kissed your forehead. your cheek. your lips, cold against his. begged you in a voice too hoarse to be his own. but you were already gone.

you were gone.

they told him it wasn’t his fault.

the other car had run the light. he couldn’t have known. couldn’t have done anything.

but it didn’t matter.

you were in the car because of him. he was the one driving. he was supposed to protect you. he was supposed to keep you safe.

he failed.

it should’ve been him.

not you.

never you.

he doesn’t cry.

not at the hospital when they confirm what he already knew. not at the funeral, where your favorite flowers line the aisle and your picture is smiling back at him from a frame. not even when he walks into your shared home and it hits him that the silence isn’t temporary.

it’s forever.

instead, he goes quiet. numb. like something inside him shattered in the crash and the pieces were too small to ever put back together.

your laugh plays on repeat in his head. the way you used to attack him with hugs and kisses, pinning him down and giggling when he got flustered. how you’d press kisses to his cheeks, his jaw, his nose, everywhere but his mouth, until he grabbed your face and kissed you himself.

“I was saving the best for last,” you used to pout afterwards.

he remembers how warm your hugs were. how your hand fit so easily into his. how your face lit up when he came home early. how your voice sounded when you were sleepy and wrapped around him like a blanket.

but the memories start to fade.

slowly.

painfully.

first it’s the sound of your footsteps in the morning.

then it’s the color of your hoodie.

then it’s your voice.

he keeps trying to remember. repeating everything he can in his head like mantras. but the details keep slipping.

that’s what breaks him the most.

not the silence. not the guilt. not even the loneliness.

the forgetting.

the slow erasure of you.

he goes outside sometimes. walks past the bakery you loved. sees couples holding hands. hears laughter.

something twists inside him.

that should be you.

you should be here.

but you’re not.

and he is.

and that truth claws at him every time he breathes.

he gets home to an empty house. your side of the bed untouched. your favorite mug still in the cabinet. your toothbrush still by the sink.

he throws up often now. sometimes just from looking in the mirror. because all he sees is blood. all he sees is the reason you’re gone.

and he knows what everyone says. that it wasn’t his fault. that it was fate. an accident. that you wouldn’t want him to suffer like this.

but he doesn’t believe them.

you died because of him.

because he was driving.

because he should’ve taken a different road. left five minutes earlier. five minutes later. anything.

he should’ve died.

not you.

he knows this. he knows it.

time moves without him. the world keeps spinning. people forget. but not rin.

never rin.

every anniversary he spends in silence. he still sets out your birthday card on the kitchen table. still lights a candle on your side of the bed.

he talks to you sometimes. out loud, when he’s alone. tells you about the weather. about the soccer matches he doesn’t play in anymore. about the new shoes he bought that you probably would’ve made fun of.

he waits for your response.

it never comes.

sometimes, he sees you in dreams. brief, flickering moments where you’re smiling again, wearing that hoodie he can’t quite remember the color of anymore. and when he wakes up, it feels like dying all over again.

he lies in bed at night, curled around the hoodie you always wore, even though it doesn’t smell like you anymore. your side of the bed is cold.

it’s always cold.

and when he closes his eyes each night, it’s with a quiet, desperate hope.

that maybe, if he’s lucky, he’ll get to see you again.

just once more.

tags: @kaidostwin @levihanmyotp @ohagiyoo @oorosiidinmotive @wonubby @xoxojisu @yvanilaa @sevarchive @thetwinkims

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[kelsunnie]

What Isn't Said (Deltarune Kris X Reader)

HI GUYS... U CAN PROBABLY TELL THAT THIS IS INCOMPLETE.... AND IM VERY SORRY FOR THAT...... BUT..! I HOPE THIS IS SATISFACTORY ????????????????

Chapter 4: A Simple Diversion

You slowly walk ahead, not even noticing your three companions heading off first. You continue observing everything around you, disbelief at the sudden change in your surroundings settling in your chest like static in the air. Just a few hours ago, you were sitting in the library’s computer lab—teasing Berdly and using his words against him. Now, here you were: standing in the middle of a glowing, mechanical dreamscape that looked like someone dropped a city into a motherboard.

Suddenly, you hear your name being called out by Ralsei, breaking you in your trance, “There’s a guidebook here!”

A guidebook? You tilted your head. Why would there be a guidebook lying around in this cybercity-esque world?

You walked towards Ralsei’s direction, taking a peek at the guidebook he mentioned. You were appalled to see that it really does exist. You flipped through the pages, skimming the content. 

“‘SPARE’? ‘PACIFY’? What do these mean?” You muttered to yourself.

“Oh! Let me explain!” Ralsei excitedly chimes in, eyes lighting up behind his glasses as he adjusted them with both paws, “In the Dark World, battles aren’t always about hurting others. We can end fights peacefully—by SPARE-ing enemies when they’re no longer hostile, or by using magic like PACIFY to help them calm down or sleep!” 

So, like a video game? You blinked at the pages, still trying to wrap your head around it. “So… you’re telling me I don’t have to fight?”

Ralsei nodded, “Exactly! With your previous battle with the Werewires, you’ve already learned how to ACT, which is a way to interact with enemies—talk to them, help them, or even dance with them, if it helps!” 

You tilted your head, still absorbing the information. “So it’s really like a video game…” You glanced down at your grappling hook, then back at Ralsei. “But how do I know what to do? What if I mess it up?”

“That’s okay!” Ralsei encouraged. “Everyone finds their own way here. ACTing is about understanding. Sometimes it takes a little trial and error. But you’ve got us with you.” He beamed, looking at you with soft reassurance. “You won’t have to do it alone.”

You glanced at Kris, who stood silently a few steps ahead, unreadable as always. Then your eyes flicked back to the guidebook, fingers trailing over the word SPARE, bold and underlined like it was daring you to believe in it.

“... Weird. But kinda nice,” you muttered, sliding the guidebook back into place. “Guess I better start thinking like an RPG character now.”

“Hey, nerds! There’s treasure here,” Susie shouted, her voice echoing slightly.

You, Kris, and Ralsei head to where Susie is, finding her already prying open a chest. With a loud clink, the lid pops open, releasing a faint neon shimmer into the air. Inside was a glowing wristband—thin and pulsing with a soft, green light.

“Don’t need it,” Susie tosses it to you without warning, then showing off her spiked bracelet, “mine’s already way cooler.”

You catch it with your free hand, the material feeling cold to the touch, yet the glow softening slightly in your grasp.

“Guess I’ll try it on,” you murmured, sliding the band over your wrist. The moment it clicked into place, a soft glow pulsed against your skin. You chuckled, flexing your fingers slightly, amused, “Now all we need is a concert.”

“Dibs on the drums,” Susie grinned, motioning her hands like she was hitting  like she was ready to demolish a whole set.

“The violin’s mine,” you quickly chimed in, raising your hand with a grin as if claiming your spot in a band that didn’t even exist yet.

“And Kris gets the keyboard, of course,” you mused, casually slinging an arm over Kris’ shoulder, their mouth twitching into a smug smile once you said this.

“What about Ralsei?”

Ralsei perked up with a sheepish smile, clutching his scarf, “Um… I can sing…?”

“Hell yeah! Now we’re a band!” Susie fist bumped the air, “I call us, Susie and The Nerds.”

“How come YOU get to pick the name? I have the bracelet,” you flashed Susie the newfound glowing bracelet, “therefore, I get naming privileges.”

“But I found that, therefore, I decide that we’re Susie and The Nerds,” Susie howls, “and besides, you’re sounding more like a nerd now!”

“It’s lame! I say we become… uh… Neon Meltdown!” you countered, stifling a laugh, “it’s edgy, it’s cool, and it actually fits the vibe!”

Susie barked out a laugh, “Pfft—Neon Meltdown! What are we, a soda flavour?!”

“You’re just mad because it sounds way cooler than Susie and The Nerds,” you retorted with a smug grin. 

“Well… both sound great in their own way…!” Ralsei offered gently, though he was clearly trying to avoid picking sides.

Kris shrugged, unbothered as always, but the small smile on their mouth said otherwise.

“Okay, okay,” you sighed, “we’ll table the band name after we save Noelle. But I’m putting it in the running.”

Susie rolled her eyes. “Fine. But if we perform and your dumb name flops, I’m blaming you.”

“Deal. But when we sell out concerts, I want royalties.”

“Oh, man, we’re gonna sound so cool! I bet we’d—”

You laughed softly under your breath, the warmth of the moment lingering in your chest. The four of you stood there, enjoying each other’s presence with casual banter. You never expected you’d have so much fun in this weird world you’re in—with Susie, nonetheless. Not that you hated her, but you never really got along with her at school. Or you just never bothered to talk to her, afraid of her image. Seeing this new side of her made you look at her in a new light—that she’s just like all of you. You took a mental note of your previous judgment and current viewpoint of her, promising to yourself to treat her better in this world and the normal world. 

But before you could bask in it any longer, something shifted. Kris abruptly turned on their heel. Their movement was stiff. Sharp. Like they’d suddenly remembered a deadline they were late for. Their playful smile vanished, replaced by that blank look again. They walked off without a word, ignoring the small lyric suggestion Ralsei was about to say and the sentence Susie hadn’t finished.

“... Kris?” you called out, your feet moving instinctively to follow. No response. They didn’t even look back. 

Ralsei had an indescribable look on his face, while Susie blinked, confused by the sudden change, “Dude, what’s the rush?”

Kris still didn’t answer. They just kept walking. And as the others followed them, you stayed still, the heaviness settling in your chest. You watched their back move further and further ahead. Something was… wrong. That familiar warmth from earlier—the subtle, grounded presence you’d felt holding their hand—was just gone. Now, Kris moved with urgency, like they were being pulled by something invisible. Something wasn’t right. You didn’t know how, but you felt it deep in your bones.

You stared at the spot they stood in just a few moments earlier, wondering what happened. Tracing every step and analyzing every word everyone said. Was it something you said? Did they feel uncomfortable when you touched them? 

… That’s impossible, you argued with yourself. If Kris really was uncomfortable, they would’ve told me. Asriel taught us to be vocal about our feelings. Kris would never forget that.

With hesitating steps, you followed suit, not caring that they were already way ahead of you. 

… Or maybe it was that deep for them, you paused in your tracks, a hollow ache settling in your chest, guilt creeping in. I should apologise.

But instead of meeting with the group and confronting Kris for their sudden change of attitude, a Werewire hits you from behind, making you topple over and fall flat on your face.

“Ow—” you hissed at the pain, slowly getting up from your fallen position, soothing the pain throbbing in your head by rubbing the spot with your palms.

“Shit,” Susie cursed, beckoning you to run to them, “get over here, you’re gonna get yourself killed!”

You quickly stand, dusting yourself off before you made your way to them, “Not my fault you guys went ahead!”

“You’re just slow,” Susie stuck her tongue out in an attempt to tease you, “slowpoke.”

“Wha—” you furrowed your brows in frustration, then took a deep breath, “let’s just do our thing, I’ll get back at you later.”

“Kris, what’s the plan?” 

“Attack,” Kris commanded, the speaker-like voice coming back. 

Kris’ piercing gaze met yours, sending shivers down your spine. Was this really the Kris you knew? Their confusing mannerisms sent your mind into a spiral—it was only a moment ago that Kris instructed the group to act, but for some reason, they wanted all of you to attack the Werewires. You shook your head, filling your mind with excuses for Kris’ 

Kris points at the Werewires with their sword, voice cold as ice, “Do it.”

You glanced at the grappling hook on your dominant hand, gripping it tight the moment Kris’ voice echoed in your head. Your heart pounded in your ears.

“What happened to trying to help them? To SPARE them?” You asked, voice quiet and uncertain. 

No answer. Kris just kept their blade raised, red eyes gleaming. Their stance was unreadable—steady, unwavering, detached. You swallowed hard, the weight in your chest sinking. Were they angry? Was this still the friend you trusted? 

“Maybe… maybe we can still find another way,” Ralsei murmured, unsure and glancing at you and Susie for guidance. You wanted to agree. Desperately. But the tension in the air had grown too thick to breathe. Kris was still staring—no, waiting.

“... I don’t want to hurt them,” you spoke, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for Kris to hear, “we can do that ACT thing, could be fun…?”

For a second, you thought you saw something shift in Kris’ eyes, just a flicker of something softer beneath the cold exterior. But it was gone just as fast. Your breath hitched, hands still refusing to use the grappling hook for violence. Even if the Werewires had hurt you, it was accidental, and knowing how they became like that and seeing their trembling figures—shackled by the power cord that stuck to them and hurting them—made your stomach twist with guilt. Your gut screamed at you, telling you that there were no evil intentions behind them. They were scared. Lost. Confused.

“Fine,” Susie muttered, stepping in front, ”I’ll attack first. Maybe we’ll knock some sense into them.”

“... Alright,” Ralsei hesitantly readied his attack, posture unsure, like his heart wasn’t in it. 

You stood frozen as they rushed forward, attacking the Werewires. Your legs wouldn’t move. You watched as Susie charged with her axe swinging wide, and Ralsei cast a hesitant, half-hearted spell, his eyes closed as if to shield himself from seeing the attack he was going to cast upon the Werewires. The Werewires staggered from the blows, sparks flying from their metal frames—but it didn’t feel right. It didn’t feel like victory. As quick as they could, the Werewires let out an electronic screech and scrambled back. Their movements erratic, limbs twitching as they dragged their bodies away, retreating. 

“... They ran,” you whispered, your voice tight, unsure if it was relief or guilt clawing at your throat. 

No one responded immediately. Kris simply turned away, heading off first. Susie exhaled, rolling her shoulders as she followed Kris. Ralsei lowered his hands, his mouth pressed into a grim line. You stared at their retreating figures, back feeling heavy from the guilt, unable to move away from your spot. You swallowed hard, still gripping the unused grappling hook in your hand. You hadn’t done anything. You weren’t even sure if that was the right choice.

Let’s just go, you tried to dismiss the guilt crawling on your back, I’m gonna get left behind again.

You forced your legs to move, the cold hum of the air lingering on your skin. Hesitantly, you followed behind Ralsei, eyes keeping check on Kris. In your mind, maybe Kris just wanted to try and see what attacking will do, which, you admittedly were curious to see, but deep inside, you knew the results already. You took note of Kris’ steps being rushed compared to the three of you. What were they rushing for? Maybe they just want to go home quickly? If that were the case, you would sympathise with them, but with how cold they were acting just moments ago, in the back of your mind, you dreaded for the worst.

Susie calls out your name, halting your train of thought, “C’mon, dude. We gotta get up these teacup things.” 

“Teacup? What—”

In front of you was a large, metal, oval platform, a large slotted screw in the middle with three teacups bolted down like a carousel. The teacups were painted white, and were big enough to fit someone of Susie’s size. 

“... There’s only three cups,” you pointed out.

“You could share with me!” Ralsei, the ever-so-sweet white goat, offered. While you appreciated his offer, sharing a seat with someone who looked eerily like your absent friend-slash-older-brother-figure… it felt too close. Too raw. The resemblance was comforting, but also unsettling, like a memory that refused to fade. 

“Well.. uh—”

“Hurry up, dumbass, we don’t have all day,” Susie grumbled, already sprawled  out in her own teacup like it was a throne. 

Your eyes drifted at the last cup. Kris was standing inside, silent, their crimson eyes locked on the middle screw, like they weren’t really present. The teacup gently rocked as it turned, and the empty space beside them felt like a quiet invitation. 

Your heart squeezed a little. You hadn’t missed the way they’d been acting—sharp, cold, distant. How could you not? The change was too drastic—too distinct. Like something was wrong. 

But… it had to still be Kris, you tried to convince yourself. Somewhere underneath the strange tone of voice and the eerie calm, they were still your childhood friend. They had to be. Maybe if you had a moment with them—maybe if you talked—it would spark something. A memory or a feeling. Something that reminded them they weren’t alone. That you still saw them, even now under this uncomfortable feeling of… whatever this thing was going on in Kris. And maybe, selfishly, you just wanted to be close. To prove yourself they were still in there. 

“… Got room for one more?” You approached Kris’ teacup, eyes meeting their crimson ones.

“Go—“ Kris’ voice caught mid-word as they coughed lightly, eyes averting yours, “for it.” 

You blinked, raising an eyebrow, “Oookay. Thanks,” you replied, sliding in beside them.

The moment everyone got comfortable, the platform gave a sudden jolt, making the entire structure tremble beneath you. You felt yourself getting lifted, like an elevator. 

“… So. What’s up with you?” You whispered, glancing at your blue-skinned best friend, “Something I should know about?” 

“… Can’t,” you’d have missed their reply if you weren’t constantly looking at Kris’ face. “… listening.

Listening? Susie and Ralsei are listening? You furrowed your brows, looking over to the two. Susie sat slouched, lazily sharpening her teeth with one of her claws, her gaze not particularly focused—though you knew better than to think she wasn’t paying attention. Ralsei looked the other way entirely, his hands resting on the rims of his teacup. Kris’ reply to your question said a lot, even though he only spoke two. Probably something important enough for them not to know.

“Okay, just,” you pursued your lips, “I’m here, okay? You don’t have to carry things alone.” 

Kris didn’t respond—not with words. But their hands slowly reaching over, fingers brushing yours before gently lacing them together explained more than anything they could’ve said. 

You tried to breathe through the unease bubbling in your chest. This place was weird, yes, but there was something else now—something unspoken. That shift you noticed in Kris… it was still there. But so was this warmth. The way their thumb brushed your knuckles absentmindedly as the teacup ascended—that was still them, wasn’t it?

Albeit your extreme confusion with the situation, you savoured this moment, indulging in the comforts and warmth of Kris’ hand. And maybe, this time, you’d hope that this small moment of normalcy was enough for you to accept and understand what Kris is going through. 

You could only hope.

[seafoam-taide]

I want so badly to be writing fic about The Whole Situation but its evading me so bad so you all will continue to get dumbass inaccurate comics

And this 💕 the best part about all of this is I get to finally do my favorite thing (shattering a character's incredibly flawed perspective in one fell swoop and forcing them to get back up again) to soooul yaaay. Have 1 million heart attacks boy

Extra rambling about my thoughts below

In the process of drawing this had more thoughts on how exactly The Situation goes and works. And i want to talk about it

Okay so obviously this is the part where my shit goes from 'really weird version of the album story' to 'none of this shit happened remotely'. I know I posted a comic that directly contradicts what I'm about to say but that was a for fun what if. Bc I need to draw soul suffering at least once a day. But anyway so. Shit. Fuck. Just realized I also need to actually Explain what the hell is up with the fake whole first

So like I said in previous words post soul is lying always to himself and. Haha. Well. His selves. Which means he's either struggling to be a person in real life or he's playing a role inside his own head 24/7. He has No one to talk to and Never feels safe to let his guard down. So whenever he isn't chasing down the other two or trying to people he's just holed up somewhere dissociating and spiralling so bad. And at one point he starts venting aloud to himself to at least pretend anyone was listening. But then he got embarrassed about talking out loud to no one so he was like ! Idea. I'll just pretend like I'm talking to myself but when I'm normal. Bc me when I'm normal would tell me to stop freaking out over every little thing 💕 I'm so smart.

And that's just. A thing he starts doing and never stops doing. And he's pretty much like "might as well atp" about it bc he already views h&m as the same thing. Only fair to make up a him that will be nice to him. (And then he uses that to beat himself up further at his lowest point in the cycle but shhh)

Anyway 👍 one cycle for whatever reason- bc and I won't get into this but the cycles also progress like. They Do remember them somewhat. Things change progressively. Sometimes worse sometimes better. So one cycle his lowest point is Very low- he still can't genuinely bring himself to. Actually dying. But during one of his vents he spirals about wanting to never have to deal with any of this again and to just exist without having to be him. And he's like "oh. Soul's the one that has to do all of this. I just have to not be soul. I just have to make soul like i made the others" <- he loves depersonalization its like a sport to him. So he attempts to do this. It does not work bc unfortunately he IS soul and soul is already real.

And he's immediately like oh my god why did I do that I'm not allowed to do that you're so fucking stupid but also sad bc he's still himself (and also scared bc of the Implications) and then he looks over and uhhhhhhhhh uh oh. That's a guy. Like a real guy. What. What? What???

And then from there it's a huge ordeal but eventually it results in them all actually communicating and existing as a normal fucking system instead of violently repressing it every other week and erasing nearly all progress they make.

Also also to add. Thought about it. Regular concord in the cycle they shouldn't really be like. Fully unmasked flourishing. So heart & mind are still just Afflicted instead of fully embracing themselves. Soul barely fucking changes at all. The awesome fun creature designs they can only get during The Whole Situation 💔 sad.

Okay 💕yay 💕 I'm done for now. I recognize it's late as hell rn you better believe I'm reblogging this in the morning

[ren-cerati]

TW yap and pressure spoilers

Something a buddy of mine brought up while I was sobbing over p.ai.nter

Technically, if you think about it, you *are* rescuing him.

Stay with me.

Painter is one of my favorite characters EVER. Like hes very important to me okay and you will not believe the crash out i had when the update dropped. There is a painter made of cardboard in my room now. I was literally exploding. Kaboom kaboom kaboom EXPLOSION

Anyway

Now, let's reference the scene. Player smashes his screen in, effectively destroying him (assumedly permanently, since Sebastian can be heard afterwards in distress, and he kills the player at the end.)

Thing is, maybe this is mercy. Sebastian and painter have been trying to get out of the black site for what, 13 years? Thats a long time. Even if its a lesser number than what im thinking, thats still a godawful long time.

Painter has actively expressed regret over his actions through multiple voicelines. Even if some of the lines seem to take joy in gunning down expendables or trapping them in a room with eyefestation, he still expresses regret. He'll apologize to you after you enter a door with good people.

Sebastian himself puts it really well- they're just doing what they need to survive. Its them or the expendables.

So in destroying him, you truly could say that was the kindest option. If it's taken this long, it might never happen. Why continue watching blood spill, deaths caused because of what you've done?

And something alongside that- it's heartwrenching how sebastian and painter have dialogue on what they'll do after escaping. There's hope there, but is it misfounded?

Think about this from his perspective- you're a computer programmed for art, an expression created from life. You gain sentience and form an attachment to your creator. One day, jealous people decide that because of their own lackings, you're for the taking. They track down your creator and torture him, later killing him. You're taken to a facility and forced to give up the passion that was coded into you and mine roblux.

You try to fry your circuits multiple times, resulting in unstable behavior and drop of the hat moodswings. You fail to destroy yourself, and existence continues on.

Eventually, someone saves you. Someone who's also experienced the injustices of the company.

You team up. Eventually, alliance turns to friendship, and even with the passing days you trust your benefactor to save you both. That one day, you'll get out of this awful place and be free.

You have to kill to do it. Because once the crystal is retrieved, who's to say they cant blow the black site sky high, covering up all their misdeeds? Or a hundred other horrible options. So you do. You kill, you shoot, you misdirect and trap.

And it's horrible. Because those are people, no matter if they're searching desperately for a pardon for a crime they could have or could not have committed. Many are guilty. Many are innocent.

They all bleed the same, regardless of who they were.

And you? Slowly sinking to madness. You can't remember your creators face. You cant say his name. When you don't talk with Sebastian, you sit in a room, alone, maybe drawing, maybe just staring into space. You watch as people run to their deaths, even sometimes without your prompting.

People pass through sometimes. You try to let them know it isn't personal- you just want to survive. There's a reason to survive now, since theres a chance to get out. There's also someone to live for.

You'll get out, surely. Ignore any doubt you might have as the days drag on.

And now back to the weird analysis claim thing- I'm not good at phrasing my thoughts.

I likely sound like a broken record, but im just gonna lay out my base idea.

Killing painter is mercy because he and Sebastian might never get out. Why prolong suffering if it's pointless?

This probably sounds extremely depressing and nihilistic, and it is. But there's literally almost no hope to be found in the situation.

Now, this isnt to say oh, painter and sebastian will never escape and wah angst sad wah, but it's a sort of deep dive into why destroying him could be considered 'rescue.' You're releasing him from the torment of worrying about the next day, from watching red drip over the walls and floors, from having to wonder if each day is the day you'll get out.

But in destroying painter, you essentially destroy sebastians hope. He likely knows he and painter may never get out of the blacksite, but he still wants to try, needs to try. Because someone is relying on him now, and they believe in getting out. I like to think they're both sort of each other's reason for carrying on after everything.

Will NEVER be mad at Sebastian for killing the player at the end. It's so deserved. It's insane. (Also Simps. Wtf. You just killed that mans computer buddy and you're kicking your feet as he rips out your assumed heart and basically calls you a piece of shit and a horrible person.)

Bit of a rant there uh

Anyway! Yeah I feel like theres just so much to think about given the update and there were so many thoughts in my head but theyre gone now. I really hope the update spawns a lot of fluff fanfics for painter and seb because im still in shambles. I really hope theres an actual option to rescue them both in the future and not some relaly fucked up mercy kill.

Holy yappathon. Anyway sorry if this is incorrect first time yapping about my thoughts about a fictional character (I should stick to art)

[icewindandboringhorror]

Some (late) holiday photos of the boye~!

[theofficialpeanutgallery]

My dad's been reading a book about pseudo-science that kinda goes into the sociology and history behind it, but today he informed me that Rome used prophetic chickens to make decisions on when to make attacks. Basically, if the chickens rushed out of their coop to gobble down their feed, it was an auspicious omen from the gods, indicating their favor for the planned decision.

Naturally, I had to find more sources- not because I thought he or the author of the book were lying, but because it's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard and I need to know more.

I was not let down. Generals and Senators consulted their chicken priests, and often a priest would be brought along with his flock on campaigns, according to Livy.

I am 100% going to be searching for academic articles about this subject later

[balkanlila]

most of the time i am deeply freaked out by these books, but then i remember the ultimate message is that they're called MY BRILLIANT FRIEND!!!!!! elena really said the most historical and the most unshakable truth about your life is that i loved you. elena's history book as an antithesis to all history books.(this is why it is the best one)

[leon-stupid-kennedy]

I recently re-learned that Hunk's face makes an appearance in Dark Side Chronicles, is that something you think you can find/reveal? I've seen the screenshot of it reflected in the G-vial

The screenshot you sent is actually from Umbrella Chronicles, not Darkside :) He only has one very brief appearance in Darkside, just a brief flashback to him killing William.

Unfortunately the Chronicles games use a mix of pre-rendered cutscenes and cutscenes that actually use models on the fly. The pre-rendered cutscenes can't be edited in any way. If you try dumping textures during a pre-rendered cutscene, all you'll get is just the frames of the cutscene. In the interest of being thorough, I did dump the textures for Hunk's model, but as you can see there's no face. His face is only visible in the pre-rendered ending cutscene so there's no reason for them to have given his model a face.

The best I can do is a screenshot of the cutscene with some graphic enhancing emulator settings on and then manually making some brightness/color adjustments in an editing app to make it clearer:

[phagodyke]

in a hilarious turn of events my flatmate didn't even know I use any pronouns....

[green-eyed-prophet]

The Invisible Man:

does your muse feel unseen by the people around them? do they find it difficult to make others take notice of them? how does being ignored / unnoticed make them feel?

Universal Classic Monsters Headcanon Asks

Most of the time, Bruno doesn't very much mind being ignored by people. In fact, he would often much rather be ignored than be put in the spotlight, as far too many past experiences have made him believe that the kind of attention that he's bound to receive from most people is the negative kind. He's definitely gone out of his way to make himself less noticeable, with the most notable (and extreme) example of this obviously being the decade he spent in the walls, hiding in complete isolation from both the town and his own family, only daring to venture out when he was absolutely one-hundred percent certain that no one would see him.

While he's convinced himself that it's usually better for him to keep quiet and stay out of the way, it can still be pretty painful for him to watch others receive the sorts of positive attention that he's always craved deep down. Watching his family eat dinner without him every night for ten years was hard-- so hard that he had to occasionally force himself to tear his eyes away from that little crack in the wall in order to not act on his impulses to run out and beg them for the love that he so very much longed for.

All in all, Bruno is used to being ignored, overlooked, and unseen. He's made something of a habit of choosing to be all three of those things. However, that doesn't mean that he doesn't want people to see him, so long as they see him and not whatever terror or curse or disappointment they may believe him to be.

[wiltinglycoris]

My main sona, I realized that theming my sonas around my @ was a stupid idea so I made something that I felt would truly represent me

[supergraphicultramoderngirl]

aaaaaAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

[sevenseasaurus]

so do the rest of you guys just simplify your dreams when explaining them to people or do I just remember a significantly weirder degree of depth than the average bear

[windupaidoneus]

picture me like a ffxiv minion running around in circles at very high speed I FEEL LIKE SUCH A BURDEN AHHYAAHAHAHAAHAHA!!! WAEEEHHH XD okay im good No im not i need to be euthanised