#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]

[chlochette-sunde]

Breaking news: France has a new future ex-PM.

[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.

[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

[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'!!!

[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.

[thevoidstaredback]

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

Tim was waiting for them at the door, sitting one the steps of the Manor's entrance, when they arrived. He grinned an jumped up when he saw the car, not quite running down to meet them. Danny nearly jumped out of the moving car to catch Tim.

"Hey, Danny!"

"Hey, Tim!"

Dick got out of the car after turning it off. He rolled his eyes at the two kids. "Hey, Dick." Tim and Danny snickered at him, ditching a handshake in favor of a high five. "You two have met in person once, why are you so close?"

"Occupational hazard," Danny answered.

"Why? Are you jealous?" Tim teased.

"I am not!" Dick protested, "I'm just curious."

The two didn't believe him for a second. "Yeah, sure."

"I'm not!"

The large oak doors to the Manor opened slowly, not creaking once, pulling the three's attention to the top of the stairs. Just inside of the open left door was an older gentleman in a pressed, three piece suit. "Master Dick," he smiled, "Welcome home."

Dick smiled up at him. "Hey, Alfred. It's good to see you."

"You as well," he stepped to the side, inviting the three inside. Dick walk in first, followed by Tim. Danny took up the rear.

Holding out his hand, Danny said, "You must be Alfred. I'm Danny. It's nice to meet you!"

Alfred closed the door before taking Danny's hand. "Likewise, Master Danny."

"Oh, please, none of that 'master' stuff."

"'Mister' it is, then."

Danny didn't like Bristol, Gotham, New Jersey. It was plastic and fake and reeked of money. The trees and lawns and bushes were all exactly alike, and each property was marked off by wrought iron fences nearly ten feet tall that stretched on forever in every direction.

Wayne Manor, though, had a different feel to it. It still smelled of old money, and the greenery was all perfectly plastic looking, but it felt warm. No. It was almost as cold as the other properties in the area, but there was an underlying warmth to it that was slowly being choked out. Like red dye in a glass of water.

Alfred, Danny decided, was not human. He was perfectly human in every way, but there was something about him that nudged at Danny. His posture was perfect, his clothing pressed and not touched by even a speck of dust. His shoes were shiny, his gloves whiter than snow, and his hair lay perfectly. Danny knew for a fact that Wayne Manor was this man's haunt, even if the man is still of the living. The building was perfectly cared for, and he was sure that Alfred knows where everyone and everything are as long as they're within the Manor property lines.

"Thank you for having me," Danny bowed his head slightly. Alfred's smile grew ever so slightly.

"Please," Alfred nodded, "I must thank you for taking care of Master Dick while I have been unable to.."

"It's not problem, really," he said, "I like helping people."

"Should we be worried about whatever..that is?" Tim whispered to Dick.

"I don't think so?" Dick whispered back.

"You don't sound so sure."

Alfred was the first to move, stepping naturally in front of the group to take the lead. "If you'll follow me to the drawing room, I will bring in refreshments while you all talk."

Dick laughed politely, "Don't be so stiff, Alfie! I'll come help you in the kitchen; leave those two to chat." He winked like he knew something neither Danny or Tim did. They ignored him.

"Very well," Alfred accepted, "I expect Master Tim to show Mister Danny the way."

"Yeah, sure," Tim nodded, "C'mon, Danny, it's this way."

The Manor was large on the outside and inside. The foyer was easily thirty feet tall, a crystal chandelier and white frosted wall scones brightening up the black marble floors and beige walls. A pristine, dark green rug ran up the stairs. On either side of the stairs, imbedded into the walls under the landing, were birch double doors. Dick and Alfred went through the ones on the left, presumably to the kitchen. Tim led Danny through the ones on the right.

The hallway Tim and Danny were no in was only ten feet tall. The floor had become dark oak planks covered by a long, dark red carpet. The walls were the same beige as the foyer, but these were decorated with pictures and paintings of landscapes and cityscapes. Potted plants on small tables and short benches were spaced along the walls. About fifteen feet from the birch doors was a dark wood archway leading into another room.

"This is the drawing room." Tim introduced.

The room followed a similar theme as the hallway. Dark wood floors and beige walls. There was an unlit, red brick fireplace directly opposite the archway, a TV a few inches over the mantel. Bookshelves that were obviously only decoration lined the right wall. A white, circle area rug covered most of the space, accompanied by dark blue and oak furniture, and scratchy white throw pillows. The decorations all matched the hallway, too.

It was all very impersonal.

"What's wrong?" Tim asked after a moment of Danny looking around.

"Nothing," he said, "it all just seems a bit.. manufactured?" He looked at Tim. "Don't take that the wrong way! It's a beautiful building! I'm just- I'm not used to this is all." A lie, but Tim didn't need to know that.

Tim laughed. "It's not my house, so don't worry about it."

Danny's head tilted to the side. "Oh? Then where do you live?"

"Why?" he smirked, "Gonna follow me home if I don't tell you?"

"Maybe." he shrugged back.

The single birch door on the left wall opened, letting Dick and Alfred into the room. They put two trays on the coffee table, one with different snack foods and the other with a few drinks. Alfred was quick to leave the room again.

"Welp," Dick clapped, "I'll leave you two in here to talk. I'm going to-" Danny leveled a glare at him. "-sit here and join your conversation."

Tim stared between the two for a second before laughing again. "Dude! You have to teach me how to do that!"

"Why? Think it'll work on Bruce-man?" That got both Tim and Dick laughing.

"Only one way to find out."

Danny laughed along with them for a few moments before sighing. "I hate to ruin the moment, but I did drag Dick here for a reason." He stepped back a few feet, motioning to Dick.

"Er- Right." Dick cleared his throat. "Tim, I'm sorry for yelling at you when you stopped by Bludhaven."

Tim blinked, giving Danny the impression that he was not used to apologies and the like. Hm. That'll have to change. "It's, um, okay?"

"Great-!"

"No it's not." Danny interrupted, "He yelled at you. You don't have to say it's okay."

"But it is?" Tim reasoned. "I'm used to it."

That's going to change, too.

Part 11 Part 13

[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.

[forgettable-au]

In a Deltarune au of THIS au, would the "little brother" in the house trousling bones be Papyrus or Wingdings?

Okay this is an old ask and I was gonna answer with some drawings but ...

I DON'T HAVE A DESIGN FOR WINGDINGS THERE!!!! SO!!! I CAN'T...

Still, I'll try to answer :D

YES, PRECISELY

I DO HAVE A DELTARUNE AU OF THIS AU

And in this AU of my AU, the reason why we don't see Papyrus or hear his name is because it's actually still Wingdings lmao

Turns out he didn't shatter across time and space here

I need to make a design so I can draw some of these ideas but, uh, I'll explain the basics quickly!

So! Wingdings and Sans are still twins, Sans just likes to be annoying and call 'Dings his younger brother (which is something that actually does happen in the main forgettable-au lmao)

They're a bit older (I just generally hc everyone in deltarune is a bit older than their undertale counterparts) and they just moved to hometown from the city! That's were they used to work! Before Wingdings got fired for unnamed reasons! Also, Wingdings is using a fake name "Roman" !

And yeah!

Wingdings and Sans are currently in the middle of a fight? They're not on the best terms, Wingdings didn't want to move to hometown and refuses to get out of the house

Wingdings is not doing great! He has no job, no friends, he just moved out of the city he didn't want to leave, and there's other stuff too!!

Sans isn't doing that great either but he's trying to do okay! He sees hometown as a new opportunity and a he's already making friends with the locals! He's trying to get Wingdings to do that as well, it's not working!

Why would Sans ask Kris to hang out with his brother, a grown man? I DON'T KNOW, BUT LIKE, THAT'S WEIRD EVEN WITH REGULAR PAPYRUS! (I know a lot of people think Paps will be a teenager in deltarune, but idk, that feels weird?? Why would Toby make so many characters older and then Papyrus younger??? It's still a possibility tho... and it would be interesting to see)

You know how in forgettable-au they both still use proper grammar before the incident? That doesn't work here (because Sans in deltarune is clearly using lowercase and I can't just change that), sooooo... they both use constant lowercase!

Or I could just ignore that one theory of uppercase and lowercase and accept it's probably just a stylistic choice....but I won't do that............

And yeah that's basically it! :D

Imagining this au of my au as a thing to happen in game is very funny, because if something like that actually happened I don't think the fandom would ever recover.... just imagine the chaos...

For anyone that might ask this:

Why would the voice at the start of the game react to us naming our character Papyrus if Papyrus isn't in the game?

My explanation for that is: Well, if theories are correct and that voice IS Gaster, he probably knows that we know Papyrus from playing undertale! He's acknowledging that... not the fact that Papyrus is in deltarune...but there might be someone similar we can meet, he knows who we expect

Okay that's it! That's the AU of my AU! I really want to make art for it

But I seriously have no idea how Wingdings would look...

I'm just...very bad at designing regular clothes.....

[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.”

[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