#don't get too attached

[pamsimmerstories]

Malcolm is open to new experiences :3

previous || next

[malcolm]: hey! were you leaving without saying goodbye?

[adam]: honestly... i didn’t know if you cared or not.

[malcolm]: well, i do... it was nice seeing you again, adam.

[adam]: we should stop meeting each other like this

[malcolm]: i guess you’re right... adam?

[adam]: hm?

[malcolm]: were you flirting with me? because if you were you gotta be more direct about it. because i usually can’t tell. but you got me confused there

[adam]: *laughs* maybe i was... so?

-

[adam]: wow! i didn’t expect that

[malcolm]: i’m sorry i was too forward...

[adam]: don’t apologize. i really wanted that to happen

[malcolm]: i wasn’t sure how i would feel... i’ve never done this with a guy before and it felt nice, too :)

[malcolm]: i gotta go home now. see you around :)

[adam]: wait!

[malcolm]: yes?

[adam]: there are other things you can try to figure out if you like it or not...

[malcolm]: oh?

[adam]: never mind... it’s a s--

[malcolm]: are you following me or not?

-

[adam]: is this still good?

[malcolm]: yes

[adam]: i have a confession

[malcolm]: what?

[adam]: i knew where the fashion district was

[malcolm]: ...

[malcolm]: wait!!! then you just wanted to talk to me?

[adam]: mhm

[malcolm]: see? people say i’m clueless, that’s why you need you to be straight with me

[adam]: straight? really?

[malcolm and adam laugh]

[observeroflaplace]

Part 6 - Origins Ever After

Proxy.  That’s what that thing said.

My mind races to the letters on my back that Shelke pointed out.  That she could only make out part of them.  That some were faded or obscured.

[…R O X Y  S A T Y P…]

I knew the name Roxy was nothing more than a make-do label.  I knew it wasn’t even a real name.  I knew I hadn’t so much as worn it for more than a few turns of the sun.

Still, it felt as though something within my heart shattered.  The glass dug into my soul, and from its wounds, I wept in place.  I screamed from the bottom of my diaphragm.

How did this thing know what I was?  Did it know my past?  Did I even possess one to begin with?  Deep down, as I asked these questions, in the pit of my stomach, in the core of my very being, I knew the truth.  A truth which on some level, I had been avoiding.

I was not born of this star, nor of its people.  I was no more than a golem shaped from the clay of this thing’s putrid flesh and cast into the world.

“It appears that you have successfully developed, archetype S.A. Type.  Partial core activation… How very familiar.  It appears then, that I was wrong to cast you out as a failure too soon.  Perhaps that is our fate…”

The thing slithered forwards into a leaning position above me to peer closer.  The shell of pearlescent metal simply thudded, lifeless, like a great coffin attempting to bury it.

“Undoubtedly you have questions of your creation…”

The thing’s back lurched and swole like a puss-filled cyst, expanding slowly until it grew to the size of the warped torso smirking at me.

“No?  But your core’s data would lack the knowledge of the project..  Or perhaps, you’ve simply realised on your own?  Still, I shall banish all of your doubts.”

The protrusion began to pulse, separately from “his” own heartbeat.

It eventually stopped, and from it dropped a lifeless body that fell to the floor with a distinct “thud”.  It lay there, motionless, save for slow, methodical breathing.  

I gazed upon it.

The strands of off-red hair.  Scarlet eyes.  The slender and middling build and height.

It was me.

“A piteous and jealous man once clamored after everything the former Legatus of the VIIth wielded.  Power, a family of followers… and the Ultima Weapon.  His early attempts at mockeries of that Allagan device lay beyond his reach, and he knew this.  He knew the limits of his intellect.  Thus it dawned upon him; if combat data could construct the strategies and performance of combatants, then surely one such Warmachina could simulate the great mind of a scientist who fell in the Ala Mhigan revolution.  Of my mind.”

I tried to glare at him.  I could only feel myself blink.

“Regrettably, this shell of mine was little more than a winged prison.  The pilot’s skills and the body’s mobility were at odds.  She crashed, and with it, almost doomed me before my birth.  We were abandoned shortly thereafter.  It appears my consciousness had not fully developed, even when my core, the Synthetic Auracite within me, began to stir.  It took moons for my brilliant mind to piece the fragments together, but piece them together it did.  I evolved, taking what I needed from her withering body.  If nothing else, she provided valuable nutrients before her time was up.”

So then, that was it.  Perhaps that is why this amalgam’s spawn appeared as it did.

“Know that despite the many fragmented cores left in my care for development, that you are in the presence of Aulus Mal Asina.  The pinnacle of Garlean minds, reborn.  But we can both agree that this vessel will hardly do; and so it is without question that I sought to transfer my core to a smaller, more mobile vessel.  Some functionality will of course be lost in a smaller core; you are testament to that.  No matter, Sas Aurum.  I shall yet iterate.”

“Sas Aurum”.  The name of a Tribunus.  One who fell in battle during the civil war, following the mad prince’s ascension.

Sviette Sas Aurum.  The Grey Jackal.

One whose eyes I gazed through.  Whose hands held her blade as she did.  Whose might and skill and equipment were bestowed unto me as memory.  As a mere fake.  A shadow on the wall, mistaken for a chosen one of the realm.

Was it a coincidence then?  Was the Viera I glimpsed in passing her?  Her name was similar, I think.  Was my first friendship simply the result of my crude emulation of another?

Rather than wail, I shouted, though my lips did not curl them into words.  They did, however, twist into a snarl.

“I alone understand your anguish, Sas Aurum.  We who are born from the shadows of others have no hope of escaping them.  Know that it is foolish to turn your fury to me, my puppet.  And know that by defying the odds and serving my rebirth, you have my gratitude… And my pride.”

I spit.  I twitch and I struggle.

“Thank you, for your services…”

Aulus lowers his gaze.  It is clear he isn’t willing to take any chances with my resistance, as a Vulcan cannon whirs to life, fighting against the rubble to open from a hatch.  Likely the only weapon which could be wielded at such close range that was not buried into the dirt.  Certainly enough for a stationary target, and a normal soldier at that.

“…a…stard..!”

Unfortunately for him, I doubt any of the artificial soldiers whose cores were left for him to raise were ordinary.  Her, not least.

Caught by surprise, he fires at me.  A translucent projection of Hoplites, resembling her - my original - stood firm against the spraying bullets.  They wouldn’t last forever; but neither would Aulus’ invisible shackles.

[…Initiating Oversoul.  Initialisation Complete.]

The phantom warriors fell and scattered into motes of so much aether, but not before one used her large build to hurl me into the air.  The Vulcan cannon whirred and spun, trying to chase me through the air as friction cost me speed.  Still, I had a plan.

I prayed and willed another phantom to life.  She shoved me forward, and herself back in game; covering me momentarily from the gunfire.  A tactic which, perhaps, would be foolhardy, even fatal if performed inadequately.

I was ready, however.  Ready, and with the luck of some devil from the void.

Her strength threw me up in the air, approaching the warmachina’s apex…

And then I began to fall.

Aulus smirks as I descend; seemingly not far enough to reach him, and without enough time to launch another cross-strike.

Instead, however, I surprise him with another technique of the Grey Jackal’s.

I thrust my blade forward, still wreathed in blue flames.  It was a long shot, as I knew not if his core remained in the lattice of flesh and steel within the cockpit, or had forced its way up through his protruding torso.

Still, the flames extended forth from my blade, in a concentrated Lance of flame and plasma, striking right through his heart, as I fell to the dirt.

Stunned, he gazed upon me.

“How dare you..!  A mere puppet..!”

A cacophony of voices rang out from his speakers.  I couldn’t make out what they said.  

[Critical error-] [Opal Weapon systems breached-] [Core Failure Immi-] [Initiate So-] [Error…]. […elf Destruct Sequence in…]

I had no chance to climb up the smooth armour of the Warmachina to reach him from here, nor did I have a chance to pierce its armour even with that technique.

The gun, unable to reach me this close, whirred to a stop.

I had little time to check if he was truly dead.

I willed more phantoms in my retreat, following the path I painstakingly must have plucked free to where I fell from.

The Phantoms aided my climb, and not a moment too soon.  I barely made it atop more of the rubble before I heard an almost deafening explosion.  Almost.  Perhaps my hearing felt unusually sensitive..?

The Phantoms aiding my climb began to fade as my strength failed me.  Despite everything, despite learning that I was nothing more than a puppet to a puppet, I didn’t want to die.

…and then a pair of hands gripped my own.  One which despite appearances, felt metal.  Mechanical.  Another, far shorter but no less strong, and adorned with black scales, pulled me up.

Two familiar faces smirked at me as I aly on solid dirt above ground at last. One winked at me with his only uncovered eye, nearly shoving me to the ground as he dusted off my shoulder.

"You still alive, Rox? Heh, don't worry, I hear medical leave's good."

I drew breath deeply and slowly, finally realising how tense I had been until that point.  Not simply in battle, not simply today.  While my answers were in some ways grim, I finally had them; and could finally unwind.

If things ended there, if my life could simply continue in that direction, perhaps things would have been better.  Perhaps I wouldn’t need to scrawl this all down so hastily.  If only.

[crazycatkatetrap]

"Your highness, I will not be here forever."

Something Solar wishes wasn't true. Especially about KT . . .

Kind a bland background and fricked up proportions, but I did this at 4am, so . . . .

[aza-trash-can]

3, 5,11, 16, 17, and 25 for Nebula!

Nebula! My baby boy!

Quick fun fact before answering the asks: He appears/is mentioned in two of my fics I'm re-writing! So if I get bit by the writing bug, hopefully we'll see him soon!

Okay, now onto the asks

3. What is your favorite childhood memory?

Hmm, I dunno. I'm still a cadet, y'know? So how can I have a favourite? But, if I had to pick, probably choosing my name. 67 was with me, we were in the library and I saw a picture of a nebula, and do you know how cool those are? They're epic! I wanna see those one day. I know I'm gonna, just gotta wait to grow up.

5. What is your favorite thing to do in your free time?

Spying on the CCs, heheh. They're awesome, and I wanna be like them one day. Did you know CTs can get onto command track? Cause I just learned that, like, 5 months ago. Anyways yeah, I like doing that. And talking to 67. He also spies on the CCs with me, so I get to talk to him and spy on them. Double win!

11. What is your favorite type of media (TV, movie, books, etc)?  Name some specific favorites (which shows, movies, books, etc do you like)!

What's a movie? Or TV? The Kaminoans don't let us have that stuff. Are they cool? Oooh, are there movies on nebulas? Oh, answer, right. Uh, books? Cause they're the only thing around besides all the videos for flash training. I love books on the galaxy, space is so cool! Right now, books are the closest I can get to seeing the stars and all that, so I guess that would make them my favourite.

16. Describe your perfect day.

Like, that I can have, or that I want? Perfect day that I can have is what I do every day, cause we do the same thing every day. Training, training, eating, free time to spy on and learn from CCs, more training, eating, and sleep. We don't really do a lot.

The perfect day that I want is to spend an entire day in space. I wanna just fly around in a ship and go places and see everything. I wanna see how close I can get to a star, and what it's like to fly through a nebula, I wanna see a supernova too. Just, spaaaaaaaace.

17. What makes you laugh?

Myself! I'm pretty funny, y'know. I tell good jokes, I know cause even 67 laughs at them, and it's really hard to get him to laugh. Plus, it's good to laugh at yourself if you mess up. Mess ups are funny, so just laugh instead of feeling bad. Do you know how many times I trip over my words and just make soudns instead of words? A lot. But I just laugh, and everything's better. So see, I'm pretty funny!

25.Freebie!  Come up with your own question for the character to answer!

What's your favourite thing to do with your brothers?

Well, I like spying on the CCs with 67. We're gonna get to command track one day, so we gotta learn, y'know? I like doing anything with 67, he's my favourite. Library, talking, whatever, I just like being around him.

I also like when we get breaks to play games. It doesn't happen a lot anymore, since we're getting older, but when we do get to play it's really fun!

[blazetbw-art]

I have some references I've been sitting on from the past few months but I'm not ready to post them yet for reasons, so here's this.

Some are obvious.

I hope to share them in the future.

[thecosmicminds-blog]

And you'll never know

you could know me for years but still don’t know a thing about me

[h0me-sweet-h0me]

she hides behind the doorway a little bit more.

"Don't worry, I'm just.. A caretaker of the house."

He chooses not to get closer, not wanting to frighten her.

"I didn't realize you were still.. Awake."

[massiveladycat]

the great war ocs

so i know i've been talking about my pjo ocs AND. lately i've been developing ideas. think of the titan war but on a higher scale that includes camp jupiter, and it's much longer and doesn't only take place at manhattan here are the ocs that are on sides!! TITAN ARMY OCS Greyson Rosenheim - combat medic, greek, son of Hypnos, he/him Dakota Sanderson - commander, daughter of Hecate, she/her Ryker Herring - wildcard, son of Hermes, he/him Chuck Arberin - tactician, son of Melpomene, he/him Brooklyn (???) - gun woman, daughter of Venus, legacy of Neptune, she/her Tristan Lake - literal teenage god, spawn of River Lethe, he/him Lucius (???) - cook and forgeman, son of Akhlys, he/him Unnamed Demigods, Coming Up Soon CAMP HALF-BLOOD OCS Hector Campbell - Son of Athena, he/him Harris Conway - Son of Poseidon, he/him Roman Conway - Son of Poseidon, he/him Victoria (???) - Daughter of Ares Violet (???) - Daughter of Lyssa Izabel Riddle - Daughter of Ariadne Margaret (???) - Daughter of Astraeus Matilda (???) - Daughter of Apollo Beatrice (???) - Daughter of Aphrodite Jakob (???) - Son of Hades Chris (???) - Son of Zeus William Canville - Son of Ares Dexter Newcombe - Son of Dionysus Alya Lachance - Daughter of Hades Peter Janson (if you know where this comes from i will literally marry you) - Son of Ares More Demigod OCs, Coming Up Soon CAMP JUPITER OCS Ainsley Riddle - Daughter of Bacchus Zelda (???) - Daughter of Vulcan Marcus Constantine - Grandson of Jupiter Celia (???) - Daughter of Apollo Phoebus ROGUE DEMIGOD OCS: Jessica "Jess" Laurens - Daughter of Psyche, Oracle Conrad Quick - Son of Eirene, Caretaker Dustin Rourke - Son of Tempesta, Weather Forecast (lmfao) Alexis "Alex" Joost - A Commander of Rogue Demigods, Daughter of Bia Isaiah Hilliard - The Son of Iris, Farmer More Unnamed Demigods, Coming Up Soon the rogue demigods are somewhat neutral but do lean towards helping the camps more camp jupiter and camp half-blood work together (even if it's killing them) im a sucker for lovers from opposite sides of a war so one boy from the titan army and one of the camp's girls are together, take a guess also a LOT of ocs in this will die or get gravely wounded THIS WAR IS CALLED 'THE GREAT WAR'!!!

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

A knock on the door was not what Danny was expecting that evening. In the two weeks of observation and one week of actually staying with the man, Danny had figured that Dick, for as friendly as he is, did not have many friends. And if he did, they didn't visit him a lot, if at all. So, a knock on the door exactly thirty minutes before Nightwing was set to go out was a suspicious surprise.

He answered it anyway.

On the other side of the door was a kid about his age, an inch or two taller. He had dark hair, pale skin, bright blue eyes, and eyebags dark enough to rival Danny's own. He also smelled faintly of coffee.

"Um," Danny started dumbly. "Hello?"

"I'm looking for Richard Grayson." The kid's accent was stronger than Dick's, putting him as a born and raised Gotham resident. There was also a hint of something that reminded Danny of Sam's parents. This kid comes from money.

"And you are?"

Obviously upset about being stalled, he huffed, "Timothy Drake. Are you going to let me in now?"

How does someone sound so rude and so polite at the same time? Obviously a skill Danny needs to learn. "Why-"

"Who's at the door, Danny?" Dick called from the hallway, making his way closer. He was in his Nightwing costume, minus the mask, but had covered it with a hoodie and sweatpants.

"Tim Drake," Tim introduced himself again, pushing Danny out of the way and entering the apartment to greet Dick with a handshake. "You're Bruce's Wayne's kid, Richard 'Dick' Grayson."

"Yeah, that's-"

"You need to come back and be Robin again."

There was a moment of silence as Danny closed the door softly. Then, "Excuse me?" Dick's smile was strained and his eyes narrowed slightly.

"You need to come back and be Batman's Robin again. You don't have to don the suit, but he needs you." There was a hint of desperation in Tim's voice now. "He's been spiraling since Jason died, and he's starting to hit harder. Most of the guys he beats up end up in the emergency room! Some of them have even died from their injuries! Batman needs your help! He needs a Robin."

Dick was quiet for a moment. "No."

"What?"

"I won't- I can't go back to being Robin. I can't go back to being in that house."

"Why not?"

"I just can't. Now, I don't know how you found me or how you found out who I was, but you need to go back to Gotham, Tim."

"But-"

"Now, Tim. You're parent's are probably freaking out about where you are right now."

Tim didn't say anything for a long moment, he feet rooted in place. Just as Dick turned around to go to the fire escape, he spoke, "My parents don't care where I am." Louder, he said, "Bruce is going to start directly killing people if you don't go back there and help him."

"Why should I help him?" Dick demanded. "He didn't even tell me that my little brother had died! I didn't even get to go to his funeral! And then Bruce had the audacity to punch me in the face and blame me for not being there! I'm not going back to Gotham, I'm not putting on the Robin suit again, and I sure as hell am not going to help Batman. he made it clear that he works alone, so let him." With his peace said, Dick took his hoodie and sweatpants off, donned his domino and escrima sticks, and left through the window fifteen minutes early.

Neither Tim nor Danny said anything for a long few minutes, neither bothering to move. Too many thoughts in each of their heads with no way to properly form words.

Finally, after nearly seven minutes, Danny's voice broke through the air. "I'm sorry he yelled at you."

Tim, having forgotten Danny was there, jumped and turned to face him. "What?"

"He hasn't been the same since Jason died, not that I know what he was like before."

"What do you mean?"

Danny moved into the kitchen, pulling down two cups, filling them with water before offering one to Tim and leading him to sit down on the couch.

"I don't know a lot about the situation, I've only been here for three weeks now, but I know that Dick is still hurting. Nightmares, hallucinations, the works. He's been more violent recently, too, but obviously not as much as Batman has been."

"You, uh, you know?"

"Yeah. Kinda hard not to figure it out while living here, and you coming in today didn't help that." Tim blushed and sipped his water. "Though, like you, I showed up on Dick's doorstep already knowing he's Nightwing."

"Oh? And how well did that pan out for you?"

Danny shrugged. "I offered him help and refused to leave until he accepted it."

Tim laughed. "That's what I did to Bruce!"

They shared a smile. Danny lifted his cup as if to toast. "Here's to a couple of goblins with hero complexes." Tim lifted his cup to join Danny's toast and they both took a drink.

Giggling, the two finished their water in relative quiet, the air around them comfortable.

"Say," Tim asked, putting his cup down on the coffee table, "How old are you?"

"Fourteen. You?"

"Same."

"Cool."

"You're parents know where you are?"

"Nope. I would ask if yours do, but you already answered that."

"Yeah, they aren't really around much. I did tell Alfred I'd be gone, though, so he knows I'm not home."

"Yeah, but does he know you're here?"

"No."

"Hm." A beat. "Who's Alfred?"

Another laugh startled out of Tim. "Bruce's butler. Did Dick tell you nothing?"

Danny shrugged again. "I haven't pushed for answers about anything; I'm not a therapist. I'm just here because he's going to end up killing himself at the rate he's been working himself."

"So is Bruce," Tim admitted softly, "But he's going to end up taking Gotham down with him if no one stops him."

"So what are you going to do?"

He thought for a long minute, weighing options in his mind before saying, "I guess I'll have to be the help he needs me to be."

Danny tilted his head sideways like a dog. "What do you mean?"

Tim squared his shoulders, though he was still hesitant. "Batman needs a Robin, and if Dick isn't going to be that for him, then I guess I'll have to be."

Another beat. "But do you want to be a vigilante?"

"Does it matter if I want to be?" Tim asks, "If I don't then no one will." He took a deep, steadying breath. "Gotham is my home. I can't let Bruce destroy it in his grief."

"I understand." Danny nodded, "But what you want does matter. I know I can't stop you, so I'm not going to try, but I'm going to make you promise me something." He made sure to hold Tim's gaze. "You ask for help when you need it." He held out his hand and waited.

"What?"

"You're phone. Give it to me." Reluctantly, he did so. As soon as the flip phone was in his hand, Danny put his number in it before giving it back. 'You don't have to do this alone, okay, Tim? Promise that you'll call me when you need help, okay? Any time of day, I'll answer."

Tim stared at his now closed phone, the weight grounding him for a moment. "Are you going to be a vigilante to help Nightwing?"

"I already am."

"Huh?"

"It's why I'm here, It's why I know I can't stop you and why I'm making sure you know I'll be here to help you."

Nothing else was said between the boys. Nothing else needed to be said.

Part 7 Part 9

Tag List: @flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581 @blueliac @talia-scar123 @cyber-geist @violet-foxe @currentfandomkick @jaguarthecat @moonchild0924 @tonicmii @bushbees @idekwutoput @justalittleghostkid

[tiredsurvivoronmain]

Kinda makes me sad that whenever Chris forms a bond/relationship or teams up with a guy he ends up losing them, Leon being the only one who hasn't died (possibly Wesker as well since it's apparent he's actually alive after re5)

[zivazivc]

Finished!

A lazy summer day by a stream~

I finally put my illustration degree into good use and made a proper traditional illustration (although still fanart 😅). Sometimes I really wanted to just "undo" some strokes or move some things around haha but man was this relaxing and satisfying to work on, also I am just so proud of the outcome. I haven't done a proper traditional illustration on this scale since my thesis so it's been a few years.

I took these photos with a phone outside to try and really capture the colors and details.

[observeroflaplace]

PART 5 - TO THE DEPTHS

Though the Oronir - and thus, more specifically, Gansetseg and I had made headway against more of these [E!£o’s] Primals, it was the wicked and winged bird woman that became our undoing.  Even the Oronir joined could scarcely land magical blows amidst the raging storm winds which she called, deflecting arrow and bullet, as well as spellcaster and swordsman alike.

Only ice seemed fruitful to slow her down, and that was beyond even the tiny Xaela’s tremendous firey strength.  Time and time again we charged, and time and time again, the flames of her strikes and my own Terminus Est were snuffed like so many flickering candles.

Even our own bodies were hurled around like rag dolls, sometimes taking many ticks to surrender us even to gravity.  Worse still, with every time we gave ground, we grew farther from the tower we sought to seize with the resistance born of the Echo; and closer to the edge of a strange crater.  And it seemed the soulless beast knew as much; pushing back with every advantage she could eke, until I myself was flung to the edge of a fall to who-knows-where.

Gansetseg screams in desperation, reaching for my hand; though her narrow reach eludes her.  I catch onto her tail, as she buries her spear into the ground with what strength she could afford, though the shroud of flames she cloaked herself in to give herself physical might was continually snuffed out.

I felt my own grip weakening.  Garuda’s tempest refused to lessen.  I could feel surfeit scales shed from my tiny Xaela companion’s tail, even as she tried with all her might to curl it closer to herself through the pain.

For a moment I feared that by saving myself, I might tear it clean off.  I reconciled myself with the fact that it may not even save me, but doom us both.

She screams my name[..?] as I surrender my grip, allowing her to hurl herself forward inadvertently.  I don’t know what became of her as I was flung into an abyss of soil, of stone, and rubble.

The depths of this place, forgotten in the desolation of war and the machinations of the Telopheroi seemed to grab at the edges of my senses, clutching, boring into my skull.  I did not black out, nor did I feel nauseated; however I drifted in and out of consciousness; all the while climbing, digging tirelessly.

I hardly noticed when I clamoured to my feet.  I hardly noticed when my nails were cracked and my hands scratched from moving so much stone.  I hardly felt the dust and mud settle and crust on me until I was covered in grime; and a makeshift passage lay before me.

It appeared that some great, hulking Warmachina had buried itself inside a great chamber of ancient Ala Mhigan design; likely lost to time and buried from its crash.  Its hideous and twisted appearance in the darkness made me wonder at first if it was an Eikon spawned by the tower.  The slithering, wet sounds that crawled forth from a cyst which may have once been a cockpit entrance from its back did little to assuage those fears.

I drew my blade slowly, as though frozen in terror.  Indeed, I was gripped by fear, and every instinct told me to turn and run or charge forward and find something, *anything* soft to tear my blade into.

But it was not merely fear which held me in place; but something more profound.  My own voice, monotone, bereft of my feelings and thoughts, rang through my head louder than ever.

[Disengaging combat parameters.  Suspending autonomous motor function.]

Whatever figure crawled out of the ruined Warmachina’s back was much too large to be a man, much too discoloured; and it was clear that despite the shape of a midlander or Garlean’s torso, there was no distinction between clothing and skin.

It rose no further than upright; and the edges of the orifice of the machine appeared to pulse in tandem with oversized and aberrant veins.

Through a once-monocled eye, now divided into three sockets where lenses once were, the sharp and cunning mind of a surgeon, or perhaps scientist, bore into me.  Into my very soul.

I tried to yell out.  To scream for help.  To question just WHAT this abomination even was.

It was no use.  The air left my lungs but I could not shape them into words.

The thing peered down at me.

“It is good to see you return to me, proxy of Sas Aurum.”

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

one thing I really really appreciate abt riz gukgak as a character is that he is un-self-aware to the max. he inhabits his body so completely. the arc that would usually be run as "I'm different and unable to connect with my friends in this way that everyone seems to be able to do and so something's wrong with me and I don't like myself" when it comes to riz is actually like no! I have literally no problems or praises for myself personally. I don't stand outside of my own self and judge it. it's phrased as "other people will eventually find someone more important to them than you" rather than centering it on his self-perception. he doesn't know why he doesn't have the best social life on earth even though he's not afraid at all to talk to other people. every time he sees himself in someone else's actions or behaviour he gets startled by it. his latest epilogue is realizing seemingly for the first time that he's not just an agent of causes but an actual character. he's my hero and I want to be him when I grow up

[waitineedaname]

not romantic or platonic but a secret third thing (bonded pair)

[bungouchronicles]

I like my ships doomed by the narrative