#cw splitting

[theswiftheartsystem]

[howlsofbloodhounds]

Given that Sans and Gaster were trapped in the Void for like two decades, with Gaster even longer, their survival wouldn’t just be about staying alive—it would be about preserving their sanity and identity in an unchanging, nearly featureless environment.

To combat the overwhelming monotony, sensory deprivation, and existential despair, they could create routines, rituals, and games to simulate structure, meaning, and purpose.

Since time in the Void is undefined, they would need artificial structure to prevent their perception of time from completely dissolving.

Since there’s no natural light change, they might assign times for activity and rest. One of them might say, “When the lights flicker three times, it’s nighttime.”

Sleeping could become ritualistic, even if they don’t physically need rest—assuming the Void negates that need. They might take turns “standing watch” over nothing, to maintain a sense of duty.

They might develop daily “exercises” to stay active, even if their bodies don’t weaken— but if they do, this would be very important to their health. Things like counting steps up and down the corridor. Jumping between floating rocks. Touching each pillar in a certain order.

If their bodies don’t age or tire, they might take it too far—pushing their limits for hours, even days, just for something to do.

Retelling memories to reinforce their identity. Creating fictional stories about the Void, their past lives, or imagined futures. They might take turns “inventing” a chapter of a never-ending story.

The Void might alter their memories over time—if they mix truth and fiction too much, they might forget which is real.

Without paper or clocks, they might scratch symbols into the stone pillars.

If there are limited pillars, they might run out of space after years and be forced to overwrite old marks, erasing their own history. If the Void slowly erases marks over time, it could drive them into panic or obsessive repetition, feeling like their existence is being erased.

Giving names to pillars, rocks, or sections of the corridor to pretend the Void is a real place. Assigning meaning, like:

“This is the North Pillar. If we touch it first, it’s a lucky day.” “That floating rock is the Watcher. If it moves, something is changing.”

If the other starts breaking “rules” about the space, it could cause conflict, as one might cling to structure while the other resists it.

Playing mental hide-and-seek by closing their eyes and guessing the other’s position. If one moves too quietly, the other might believe they vanished—triggering panic.

Repeating words back and forth until they lose meaning. Making up new words and forcing each other to use them. Pretending they don’t speak the same language for an entire “day.”

Encouraging each other to “see” things in the darkness—like seeing shapes in clouds and stars. Betting on what the Void will show them next.

Assigning imaginary “rules” to their environment like:

“If you touch that pillar, you’ll sink into the Void.” “Jump five times before stepping over a crack, or you’ll disappear.”

Over years, they might forget these rules were fake, making them real in their minds.

Testing who can go the longest without speaking. Seeing who can stare into the darkness the longest without blinking. Seeing who can go weeks without moving just to prove they can.

Asking each other “Who’s more real today?” Keeping count of who has the strongest sense of self. If one starts losing consistently, they might begin to believe they are fading away.

If the Void negates normal bodily needs, the long-term impact on their physical form would likely be unnatural and disturbing. They wouldn’t age, but would they feel stagnant?

If old wounds never really heal or new ones never really form, they might test their limits (scratching or biting their own bones or fingertips, seeing if they can still bleed—or more like Sans would probably do this, and Gaster would try to stop him, as this is likely a period that Gaster went through and had to get himself out of before.)

Their perception of their bodies might distort—are they even real if they never change?

Any motion (even a single pebble shifting) could shock them after years of stillness. Their eyes might become overly sensitive, causing pain at even the faintest flicker of new light. If the Void ever brightened suddenly, they might collapse, disoriented and blind.

Without others to mimic, their speech might deteriorate into odd rhythms or broken words. They might develop their own dialect that no one outside the Void understands. If they went years without speaking, their voices might sound strange when they finally do.

If the Void negates normal physics, their bodies might feel too light, too heavy, or non-existent. If they ever left, gravity and sensation might overwhelm them—making normal movement feel unbearable.

Gaster and Sans’ relationship would be shaped by isolation, dependency, resentment, and a deep, painful understanding that no one else in existence remembers or cares that they are there.

Gaster and Sans are each other’s entire world now. There are no other people, no distractions, no escape—only each other. Even if they hate each other at times, they cannot afford to lose the only voice, presence, and warmth they have.

The relationship might shift between extreme intimacy and extreme distance—one moment, they may feel inseparable, and the next, they may refuse to look at or acknowledge each other.

Gaster has been alone for much longer. He has learned how to survive the silence, the lack of time, the possible hallucinations. And given that Othertale Gaster seems to have a floating head, potentially the loss of his physical body to the Void or the Core.

Sans is new, terrified, unprepared—injured. He has to lean on Gaster completely at first just to avoid breaking down—all while possibly juggling a sudden rush of memories about Gaster’s existence at all, if not alternating between remembering and forgetting Gaster— or alternating between believing if those memories are real or not.

But as time passes, Sans might begin to adapt, and the balance could shift. Maybe Gaster starts leaning on Sans instead, terrified of being alone again.

If Sans ever shows signs of forgetting Gaster again or expressing hope for leaving, Gaster might react with rage, despair, or desperate clinging—or a sort of forced intellectual, logical reaction/response that’s only fueled by said emotions in an attempt to hold it together.

Gaster has already suffered the ultimate existential horror: being erased from the world, memories, and history.

Sans also experiences this now, being forgotten by everyone outside the Void—but at least Gaster is here to remember Sans. This might create an unbreakable bond because only they know the other exists.

If they ever argue or threaten to stop speaking, the weight of knowing that silence is the only other option might make forgiveness or forced reconciliation happen faster than normal.

To maintain sanity, they could create rituals, in-jokes, and ways of speaking that no one else would ever understand. They might develop their own language, nicknames, or coded gestures.

If Sans ever escapes, these rituals would become an unbearable reminder that no one else understands him like Gaster did. If Gaster remains alone, he may continue these rituals even without Sans, talking to the shadows as if Sans were still there.

Gaster may even kinda resent Sans for ever having a life outside the Void—for forgetting him, for only now experiencing what Gaster has suffered for so long. Or, this is possibly what Color believes—fueled by his own paranoia, anger, and projection. Maybe both.

Sans may resent Gaster for knowing more about the Void, for having already adapted while Sans is still suffering, amongst other possible reasons that happened in the past, before the Void.

If Sans escapes, Gaster’s possible resentment could turn into rage, heartbreak, or resignation—after all, he is once again the one left behind. Or this could be how Color imagines Gaster thinks and feels about him after Color’s escape.

If Sans ever starts losing hope, withdrawing, or talking about the outside world too much, Gaster could possibly panic.

Gaster could start clinging to Sans emotionally, controlling his actions, or guilt-tripping him just to make sure he doesn’t mentally check out. Or this is how it feels to Sans, when in reality Gaster could just be trying to stop Sans from disappearing into his own head.

(Or making choices for Sans, such as how it’s kinda implied that Color attempted to escape the Void at least once and almost died attempting to do so—only held together and surviving thanks to Gaster.

This could also manifest in Sans as betrayal, anger, and paranoia—starting to believe that Gaster is purposefully keeping him trapped in the Void (or alive, if Sans was actually attempting to die instead of escape) due to his own fear of being alone and forgotten again. Potential for possible unreliable narrator and projection stuff if told from Sans’ POV.

Sans could even completely believe sometimes that Gaster is nothing but selfish and awful, an old man that time forgot, so desperate not to be forgotten he’s willing to damn someone else to the Hell he himself has been suffering—so long as Gaster’s not alone again.

Doesn’t matter to him that Sans doesn’t want to be here and wants to leave, doesn’t even matter to him that Sans suffers by being alive in that place.)

If Sans does leave, Gaster might pretend he never existed just to survive, only to fall apart when something reminds him of Sans again. If Sans leaves, he will change. He will remember the Void and Gaster, but the outside world will pull him back into its rhythm.

Color may forget small things—words, details, habits—that meant everything in the Void. If Color ever returns, Gaster might be horrified that Sans has changed. He is still trapped in the moment Sans left, but Color has moved on.

Worse, if Color returns and hesitates to acknowledge Gaster as he once did, it would confirm Gaster’s worst fear—that even Sans might forget him again.

Whether one escapes or both remain, their bond is inescapable and utterly unique. If one is left behind, they will never stop waiting. If both escape, they may find the outside world unbearable, gravitating toward each other even if they no longer recognize themselves outside the Void.

No one else will ever understand them—because no one else ever knew they existed.

Their relationship wouldn’t just be about companionship; it would become their entire reality, their entire world.

The moment Sans fell into the Void, Gaster finally had someone again after an eternity alone—that’s an unfathomable change.

Sans, meanwhile, had just lost everything he ever knew—and Gaster is the only thing left.

This means they would cling to each other in ways that go far beyond normal friendship, family, or even love—they are each other’s only proof of existence.

Over time, they would develop unspoken understandings, inside jokes, and ways of reading each other’s thoughts and emotions with just a look.

Given Gaster has already been alone for decades before Sans arrived, he might be bitter, angry, or deeply possessive him—or this is how Sans starts to see it.

He might see Sans as a symbol of everything he lost—a reminder that the world kept going without him.

Or he could worship Sans as a lifeline, depending on him emotionally to an extreme, because he’s the first real person he’s had in forever.

Either way, Gaster might fear that Sans will forget him again too—just like everyone else did. If Sans ever mentions the outside world, Gaster might react with rage, jealousy, or deep sorrow, because it’s a world that erased him.

With no one else around, they would slowly build their own way of speaking and interacting—almost like an inside joke that never ends.

They might give names to the flickering lights, the floating rocks, or even the Void itself just to have something to talk about.

They could develop wordless signals for emotions, like tapping on a pillar to express boredom or flicking their fingers when scared.

If they don’t want to talk about something painful (like the outside world), they might create metaphors or code words to discuss it indirectly.

Since time in the Void doesn’t follow normal rules, they would have to invent their own structure to stay sane. They might “measure days” by counting the number of times a certain light flickers or the number of steps it takes to cross the corridor.

They could have daily rituals, like tapping all the pillars in a specific order or telling a made-up story every time the Void “goes silent.” These rituals wouldn’t just be for boredom—they would be a way to survive. Losing the routine would feel like losing control.

On one hand, Sans’ arrival was the best thing to ever happen to Gaster—he was no longer alone. On the other hand, it reminds Gaster of everything he lost—especially if Sans remembers the outside world and all the people who forgot about Gaster but Gaster’s memories or trust in his memory has started to slip.

If Sans ever talked about leaving, Gaster might react with pure terror, rage, or complete emotional breakdown. Even if Sans never planned to leave or eventually gives up trying to, Gaster might constantly fear being abandoned again.

This could lead to desperate, possessive behaviors—Gaster might try to convince Sans that the outside world isn’t real, that only the Void matters now.

If Sans escapes, Gaster is left completely alone again—but this time, it’s worse. Now he knows what it’s like to have someone again, and that makes the silence unbearable.

If either of them escapes, they return to a world that has completely erased them, where they have no place, no home, and no identity. Either way, their bond would be irreplaceable, unrepeatable—they would never connect to another person in the same way again. Or would feel that way, at least.

Sans might dream of escape—but would he really leave Gaster alone again?

Gaster might say he wants to escape—but does he even believe a world exists outside the Void anymore? Their bond is both the thing keeping them alive and the thing trapping them.

This isn’t just a friendship, or family, or colleagues or even some form of love—it’s mutual survival. They are the only witnesses to each other’s existence. Without the other, did either of them ever really exist at all?

[stagesofkiller]

Was reminded of that ask on my primary blog that asked me if i thought killer could develop another Stage and then recent posts I made on this blog—like this and this—made me think of a horrible way he could

[thr4shit]

Get glomped back!

We're metaphysically sharing our Monster with you :)

GET GLOMPED SO HARD

And awhh thanks

I wanna go thrifting or some shit with y'all right now and not pay attention to who I am because goddamnit brain

[habitual-creatures]

OOC

My brain is kinda mushy rn, but this blog is keeping me grounded and I’m so thankful that I met all of yall :)

Glad it's keeping someone grounded.

I'm barely lucid right now.

But yeah, I'm glad i met you too. Life would've been waayyy different without yall, really.

[possibly-in-wonderland]

The haul :D

- 'Michael'

(Also not sure if we split in response to that or if it's a normal headache but we're getting the headache thing and EGHGH??? BUT BEADS SO WHO CARES!!! :DD)

such pretty colors :O

we're sorry you had to go through that :(

but beads :P

[th3webhorr0r-coll3ctive]

Why the hell am I here.

Like.. seriously.

How did I even get here?

Is this because we rewatched some of the Entries?

It better not be.

– Alex, who has just been randomly dragged out of the depths of hell*

*(aka our subconscious. I'm jokingly calling it hell... - Alex)

[ Context: he split back in our first watch of Marble Hornets but apparently saw no reason to actively contribute so he sort of just... didn't until now when all of a sudden viewing the Entries made him pop back in front. *and no, I'm not happy about it. I liked my sorta half non-existence thing that I had going on in our subconscious. now I have to do stuff because I'm stuck :/ - Alex* ]

[the-cult-collective]

Hello!!

As our system’s protector against dysphoria and imposter syndrome, i have a lot to say about accepting others and accepting differences, but there are a couple things I’d like to normalize! (And here’s why)

Normalize not knowing who you are in the morning. (Our system has a really difficult time with that, and we often dont know who’s fronting until someone is triggered)

Normalize persecutors getting better, healing, and making amends. (Our persecutor recovered after we collectively started healing and trusting others more, which was even before our syscovery!)

Normalize splitting often. (And do NOT fake claim systems for having high alter counts because of lots of splitting right after their syscovery. We were particularly sensitive to splits because of imposter syndrome and dysphoria; that’s why I’m here!)

Normalize having low to no amnesia barriers, even in traumagenic systems. (Chara was really scared about being fakeclaimed for that, but in truth, having low amnesia barriers is real and valid, just as much as any other system experience)

—and many more! Feel free to keep expanding this list!

~☀️

[pricetagged]

Part 2 of that wifehunter john piece instead of working on my wips 💖

Masterlist l Previous l Next

Warnings: implied stalking and voyeurism. Nothing too bad...yet.

Unedited, typed on my phone during break, abrupt ending (part 3 ig?)

_________________

He thumbs at the book, tracing the swirls of your penmanship until the ink fades off and the paper turns to felt. It leaves his fingertips stained, dark as indian ink, and he can't help the satisfied burr that catches his breath as he presses the sticky whorls of his prints into the pages.

Stained. Blackened.

Imprinted.

It's what he wants to do to you in something more indelible than ink, something that would burrow under your skin and linger. (This parasitic desire, he'll bury it in you, make you feel his presence deep in your guts, squirming and wriggling at the back of your mind-)

Of course he returns the book. Returns it to you marked and dogeared and of course you're grateful for it. Tripping over your words and choking on the thanks that build up and tumble from your delicate throat, feelings and words too big for you. 

He knows that, sees the slight hesitance in your eyes as they flit to the window where he knows your useless Buck is ambling about. Shambling. (This marriage is a sham, his claim on you is a sham, one that John is more than willing to seize upon and squeeze until it all crumbles and all that is left is you malleable and soft in his hands).

"Where...where did you find this? I thought-" He sees how you choke down condemnations, not wanting to crack open that door that leaves your husband exposed.

Is it loyalty? Obedience?

Whatever it is, he wants it. Wants to redirect it his way. It itches at him, sits awkwardly like a broken seam, seeing you waste this fidelity on something still wet behind the ears.

On a man who can't even protect his own home, can't even cherish his own wife and has to call John in to pick up the mantle-

"It's good work. Shouldn't leave it lying around, sweetheart," he raps against the front cover, needs to do something with his hands before the impulses take over and he does something hasty. Something that would send you darting back to your husband's arms instead of in to his. "Would be a real waste if it got lost. Taught me how to transplant herbs, now I've got some parsley on my windowsill that's still alive."

It's a lie. He must have strangled the roots, harvested it too soon, something-

But it makes you happy. He can see the glow that warms your cheeks and brightens your eyes. They way your face plumps up, softens, due to your shy smile.

"You should've tried mint, first. It grows like crazy, basically does its own thing. Basil, too." You're grinning, in your element out here. Surrounded by green and the rich, earthy scent of the soil that you till. Geosmin. Oakmoss.

"I'll have to get you over to show me sometime."

He plays gallant so well, offering to help you with the weeding and trimming. It wouldn't be the first time he got down into the muck and the mire. Wouldn't be the first time he stuck his hands in, got them caked and dirty right up to the elbow in order to get what he wants. In order to do what needs done. It's as familiar to him as the uniform he wears.

And your company makes it so much more pleasant.

You smile at him, glancing up from the flowerbeds each and every time he passes you a tool. Eventually you feel comfortable enough to call for him - John? - to tap at his wrist and redirect his hands around the roots and stems below you both. It's a beautiful symbiosis: you, who are so good at wringing life and he who is so good at taking it.

He catches the way the living room curtains twitch, the shadow of the young buck pacing and pawing just out of sight. Too much energy, not enough courage. Not seasoned enough to come out and plant himself between the challenger and his wife. It's stable vice, sending him spinning, uselessly watching as John sidles in and digs his paws into the very foundations of the house. It makes him smile, big and broad as he tugs at a particularly stubborn weed with a grunt.

And when you can't quite get the rubber of the yard gloves to slide over your wrist, he just has to help you. Has to grip at your soft forearm, cooing as you wince.

"Big pull, that's it sweetheart."

You brace yourself so well, pulling back in a counterweight that just digs his fingers in tighter. Blinking back tears, you laugh a little awkwardly. A little thrilled.

And you thank him for it, shaking your arm out and stretching your fingers. All damp from the soil and your sweat.

Unoticing uncaring of the ring that's no longer on your finger.

He has the urge to shake it out of the glove onto the dirt. To burry it and trample all over it until it's dull and forgotten and dead.

But -

But it's still warm from your hand.

It's so fragile, too small to fit properly over his thick fingers and swollen knuckles.

He thumbs at it on his drive home, plays with the smooth face and angled edges as he thinks.

He won't give it back, the thought draws a scoff as he signals into his driveway. No, the only way you're getting a ring from him is on the same day that the ink dries on your marriage license.

But there's the matter of that ugly possesive thing that lives in his ribcage, so close to the surface that the lines blur and shimmer until he's not sure which skin he's wearing. It has him feeling hot, burning up and itching to watch the fall out.

He settles on the settee, cigar in one hand and your wedding ring in the other.

It sits tight just barely at the first knuckle of his forefinger. The screen in front of him illuminates it, makes it glint cold and sharp as it moves lower and lower, over the slight give of his stomach until it reaches the bulge pressing into his zipper. He palms himself, hisses as he feels the metal dig in a little to the sensitive, aching flesh.

With another slow drag, he flicks open his fly and settles in.

Even the slight pixelation of the monitor can't disguise how pretty you are.

_________________________

Someone with a big brain please help me to name this haha 💖

Sorry for the delay. Been super demotivated lately. Still got several k of wips that need attention :/

[ganymedian]

Napoleonic ineffables…………

[ribbittrobbit]

Hacaea, the Witch of the Woodland Green and Grimore, the Witch of the Wild Hunt

(@worldsbeyondpod has me pacing and fearing for the pcs lives)

[marypsue]

Man, it's cool and all if you see a metaphor for marginalisation in the monstrous, and if you want the power fantasy of 'what if you could just eat anybody who threatened you/pissed you off'. Me too.

However, as soon as you start saying 'no, these monsters are a 1:1 on Specific Marginalised Group, and you have to treat them in the fiction like they are directly representative of real human members of the marginalised group', BUT you also, in the fiction, make them hurt/kill/eat humans? And then try to shame me, your audience, for noticing or engaging with the bit where they kill people, because you made them directly representative of a real-world marginalised group? You have lost me, and also, I think, the plot.

[thr4shit]

A ??? In The Life Of These Motherfuckers™️

/silly but this is basically what happens and GHFHRHTG >:/

Us: *watching/listening to/otherwise enjoying a form of media*

Us: Wow! This is really cool!

Brain: *evil giggling,* Say no more...

*The already torn apart and shattered pile of hazardous material and broken glass that is our brain enters factory mode.*

. . .

. . .

*Silence*

Us: Did that... do anything...?

New bastard from the beloved media: WHY AM I HERE?!

Everyone else: GOD FUCKING DAMNIT NOT AGAIN-

Or the alternative

Life: *stress of any form that seems to moderately to severely impact us*

Brain: Guys don't hate me-

Us: You did it again, didn't you...

Brain: I did it again- 🥲

Varying amounts of new guys from various medias with no predictability: Uh-

Everyone else: ...Yay. -_-

[crush-echoes]

I’ll always be more scared of you leaving me then caring for myself

Whatever you want I’ll give

 My heart, my soul, every fucking thing

[joshiepopop]

More Regretevator! Expect to see a lot of it for the time being; can't stop thinking about this game.

[hazbeen]

drawing things i find difficult. or something