#fragments from a scrapped timeline

[physisrebooted]

Fragments from a Scrapped Timeline: Upd8!

In which Veasna discusses her past, present, and future with a mysterious professor who longs to be remembered.

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[arolesbianism]

Every now and then I remember that oni in fact will eventually have more lore added and I get so excited and scared for a moment and then I remember that it could take months until we see any of that and I proceed to forget abt it again and the cycle repeats

[sceletaflores]

come on into my bed with me (i know you want to)

pair: old man!logan howlett x fem!reader

wc: 4.1k

contains: 18+ SMUT MDNI, swearing, some sad vibes because i can't function without them, large age gap (but isn't that obvious by now? mid 20s/old as fuck), established relationship but only kind of, falls in the logan 2017 timeline but very loosely, LONGINGGGG, gratuitous nickname use (kid, baby, honey, ect), nasty dirty talk cause he's old and gross, not so dry humping, JUST THE TIP RAHHHH, porn w/o plot, no use of y/n.

nat’s note: this was heavily inspired by imogen heap's 'i am in love with you' because that song fucks so hard and it really gave me lots of old man logan vibes. i was just so overcome with nasty thoughts that the beat possessed me and i blacked out and listened to it on a constant repeat while i wrote this instead of doing my a&p work. kisses!

dividers by angel @saradika-graphics!

you can't sleep, logan left his door open...

Rain pelts at the smudged glass of your window, drops trailing down the span of the panes that you follow with your eyes.

It's been raining nearly all week, a rare thing in Mexico, especially somewhere as dry as Sonora.

You used to love the rain. You felt a special kind of comfort anytime night would come and there'd be a certain chill swirling through the air, that familiar scent of damp soil and wet stone rising as the first drops hit the ground.

In Sonora, rain is supposed to be a gift—a reprieve from the unrelenting heat, a chance for the dry earth to drink.

It should feel cleansing, like a reset of sorts, and maybe it would have a few months ago.

Now it just feels heavy, oppressive. Each raindrop splattering against the glass feels like a reminder of everything that's stuck, unmoving.

The soft noise of it was almost enough to lull you to sleep, but it was still no match for your wandering mind.

You’ve been finding yourself here a lot recently, shrouded in the scratchy sheets of your bed in the quiet dark encompassing your room, mind racing.

It was raining the first night he touched you.

You've been with Logan and Charles for nine months.

A runaway hitchhiker turned caretaker after you fled from the meaningless scraps of your life back in Texas.

Logan found you on the side of the highway coming back from a shift in El Paso. One stop with the hazards on and a hasty conversation through a rolled down window later, you were throwing your bags in the back of his limo and climbing into the front seat.

You didn't realize until much later that he never truly asked you to stay, or to care for Charles alongside him.

It was only supposed to be a temporary arrangement, a roof over your head in exchange for your help. Watch over his ailing father for a few days while he went out to get him more medicine, that's what you settled on.

Yet somehow, here you are, nine months later.

You cook meals in a dusty kitchen that always smells faintly of motor oil, listen to Charles’ stories about a world you’ll never fully grasp, and watch Logan patch himself up in grim silence after he’s returned from whatever trouble found him this time. 

It's strange how the days seemed to stretch endlessly, but the weeks have slipped past like a blink. You carved out a routine in this crumbling house in Sonora, built something that resembles a life even if it feels borrowed, like a second-hand coat that never quite fits right.

At first, you weren’t sure what kept you here. Maybe Charles. 

You warmed to him almost immediately, drawn in by his gentle demeanor and the way he seemed to see right through you without a hint of judgment. 

Even when his mind faltered, slipping into tangled memories or distant fragments of a life long past, he treated you with a kindness you hadn’t felt in years.

You’d come to think of him as a king, regal and noble. A king stripped of his castle, yet still wearing a crown, if ever so skewed—a king nonetheless.

You still aren’t sure, but you can’t shake the sense that leaving now would be like tearing off a scab—painful and unnecessary.

And then, one night, the rain came.

You remember it vividly, a torrent so sudden and unrelenting. The downpour soaking the dry dirt surrounding the plant. 

You couldn’t help yourself from wandering out, stood barefoot on the porch as the cool air nipped at the skin of your arms and legs.

“You’re gonna catch a cold standin’ out here.” Logan said from somewhere behind you, his voice rough and low after the silence of a long shift.

You hadn’t moved, hadn’t even glanced his way. “I like the rain.”

There was a beat of silence before he stepped closer, the warmth of his body radiating against your back. His hand had been hesitant at first, a brush of calloused fingers against your arm. 

You didn’t pull away.

The heat of his palm felt scalding, causing goosebumps to pebble along your damp skin. His thumb swiped across the circular scar just above your elbow, a cigarette burn, one of many.

He didn’t say anything as he turned and walked back into the house. You learned quickly that Logan’s not the type to fill silences with empty words, but you both knew something shifted.

He came into your room later that night. The squeaky mattress of your bed dipping under his weight as he slid his hand down your stomach, pausing just above the waistband of your shorts, a silent question.

He didn’t kiss you, but the rain pattering against the tin roof was enough to swallow your soft moans and gasps.

You settled into something undefined—a constant push and pull of need and silence. Logan touched you when he needed to, and you let him because you wanted to.

It wasn’t love, not then. It wasn’t even comfort. But it was connection. A tenuous thread in the quiet storm of your lives.

You figured that was enough.

The rain hasn't slowed. If anything, the howl of the wind is stronger than before.

The soothing rhythm of droplets hitting your window turned aggressively sharp, like darts thrown against a worn cork board.

The boom of thunder is nearly in sync with the pulse of your core, aching and insistent in its need.

It’s been weeks since Logan touched you last, his endless cycle of guilt stronger than it's been before. He’s never outright said it, but you know it’s there.

The silence between you both has stretched longer than you'd like to admit, a quiet that isn't comfortable anymore.

You know he’s got it in his head that he’s somehow taken advantage of you. A perverted old man falling weak to the pretty, young thing taking up space in the bed two doors over from him.

The thought stirs something deep within you, a mix of frustration and confusion. He’s not wrong, not exactly—but he’s not right either. You aren’t a child, and you aren’t helpless. You knew what you wanted, what you needed.

And that hasn’t dared to change.

You shift in bed, the sheets tangling around your legs as your body hums with a restlessness you can’t shake. The air in your room feels thick, charged, and suffocating, a mirror of the space between you and Logan.

He doesn’t understand that you want him too, that you weren’t some helpless thing to be protected or shielded from his darkness. It eats at you until your skin is practically buzzing with it, buzzing with the need to show him.

There’s only so much silence you can take before it becomes too loud to ignore. 

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed, the hardwood cool against your bare feet. You know it’s late, but you don’t care.

You walk through the dimly lit hallway, the creak of the floorboards quiet under you as you make your way to Logan’s door. It’s cracked open, a yellow glow spilling through to guide you like a lighthouse guides its ships to shore.

When you reach the beat up wood you don’t hesitate, you push it open the slightest bit, peering through the widened gap. 

He’s there, sitting on the edge of the bed, his back to you. He doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge you, but you know he knows you’re there.

You cross the threshold, your heartbeat loud in your ears as you pull the door shut behind you, leaning your back against it.

“Logan,” you say softly, your voice rougher than you intended.

He doesn’t respond right away. Instead, he runs his hand through his hair, pushing it away from his face. The lamplight catches the sharp planes of his face, a familiar weariness etched into his features.

His fingers flex at his sides, and for a moment, you think he’s going to tell you to leave—to go back to your room where it’s safe, where you won’t make things more complicated than they already are. You almost brace for it.

But then he speaks.

“What’s wrong, kid.” His voice is nothing but a deep rumble, like gravel crunching underfoot.

You shrug noncommittally, hands messing with a stray thread hanging from the edge of your shorts. “Can’t sleep.”

Logan sighs long and slow through his nose, hands pressing into his thighs. “Thought you liked the rain.”

You smile faintly at the irony, chest swelling with something dangerous. 

You take a step further into the room, pushing yourself off the closed door. The familiar scent of him invades your senses. It’s a mixture of leather, earth, and something raw—something undeniably him. 

You stand there for a moment, letting the silence stretch thin and taut before you finally speak.

“Can I stay?” The words come out barely above a whisper, but they land like a crack of lightning.

You feel your heart thud painfully in your chest, not from fear, but from the sudden vulnerability that makes your skin burn.

The room feels smaller now, the walls pressing in as you step forward, each movement slow and deliberate. You stop at the edge of his bed, the sheets pressing against the bare skin of your thighs.

Logan’s gaze flickers over his shoulder, meeting yours briefly before he looks away again, like he’s trying to convince himself that the ache in his chest isn’t real.

“You should go back to bed,” he says, voice gruff. “It’s late.”

“I don’t want to go back.” You shake your head even though he isn’t turned around to see it.

Without thinking, you crawl onto the bed, the comforter making soft shushing sounds under your hands and knees. You reach out, fingers brushing the back of his neck, the muscles there tight with strain.

Logan flinches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away, and that’s all the permission you need.

You shift closer, pressing your chest against his back, and letting your hands settle on his shoulders. The heat between you is electric, charged with something unsaid, something raw and undeniable.

“Please,” you whisper, your lips brushing against the back of his ear, your voice a mixture of defiance and desire.

Logan stiffens, but this time, you feel the shudder that runs through him, the way his body responds despite the walls he’s built around himself.

You know he’s torn, that he wants to fight this. You feel it in the tension that radiates from him, in the way his body seems to be fighting against the instinct to turn toward you.

But you don’t care anymore. You’re done with silence.

Your fingers slide down his back, feeling the rough fabric of his shirt against your skin as you press yourself closer. Your breath is hot against his neck now, and you can feel the rapid pulse in his veins beneath your lips as you hover just above his skin, waiting.

“Logan…” Your voice is softer now, almost pleading. You don’t know what you’re asking for, but you don’t have to.

His hand comes up, brushing against your wrist as if testing, as if he’s afraid you’ll pull away. But you don’t.

Instead, you lean into him further, your lips brushing the curve of his neck, whispering into the tension that still hangs heavy between you. “Please.”

The last shreds of Logan’s resistance snap under the cloying weight of your touch.

He’s moving before you can even register what’s happening, rearing up with heavy hands that land on your shoulders to push you backwards.

You fall back onto the bed with a soft gasp, bouncing on the mattress once, twice, before Logan follows. His body settles over yours like a warm blanket, thick forearms braced on either side of your head to support his weight.

"Why couldn't you sleep, honey?" he asks, dark eyes boring into yours intense enough to get your stomach churning. The green of them is deeper than normal, like fresh moss growing over stone.

“I was thinking,” you whisper, breathless. Your pulse races beneath your skin, you wonder distantly if he can hear it too.

“Thinkin’ about what?” he presses, breath fanning over your lips temptingly. 

Your brows furrow, a soft noise escaping you. You can't help but tell the truth. “About you.”

Logan hums, eyes trailing along your face slowly. He slots a knee between your thighs, groaning softly at the wet heat that seeps through to his jeans.

You gasp, hips bucking down instinctively. Your pussy aches desperately, leaking arousal into the cotton gusset of your panties.

His jaw clenches at the sound, muscle ticking just beneath the grey of his beard. “Is that right? You been layin' in that bed, thinkin' about me, gettin’ all worked up?"

Your face burns under his scrutiny, but you don’t shy away. You arch your back, pressing yourself as close to him as possible, letting the heat of your body speak for you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, the confession trembling on your lips. “I need you, it hurts.”

Logan exhales sharply, like the words knocked the air out of him. His hands slide from your shoulders, rough palms gliding down the skin of your arms before settling right under the swell of your breasts.

“Where’s it achin’, baby?” he asks softly, words almost getting lost in the dark of the room. “Show me.”

You let out a soft breath, reaching down to take his hand in yours.

Without breaking eye contact, you guide his hand down your trembling body until his palm rests over the apex of your thighs, where the damp fabric of your shorts clings to your swollen folds.

“Here,” you whisper, voice barely audible above the rain pounding against his window.

A low growl rumbles from deep in his chest, and his fingers press more firmly against you, feeling the slick heat that’s soaked through the thin cotton. His eyes darken further, the green almost swallowed by the black of his pupils.

Logan’s thumb drags over your clit, slow and deliberate, coaxing a needy whimper from your lips.

“Jesus,” he mutters, his voice thick. “You’re drippin’ for me, aren’t you? Didn’t even need to touch you, and you’re already so fuckin’ wet.” 

You whimper softly, bucking your hips against his hand, desperate for more.

"I've been like this all night," you admit, your voice going high and needy. "Thinking about how good you make me feel. How much I want you."

Logan’s eyes lock onto yours, and there’s something new swirling through them, something you’ve never seen before.

A beat passes—too long—almost agonizing. His free hand lifts from your hip, gently cupping your cheek, fingers brushing against your skin, like he isn’t sure if he has the right to touch you like this. 

His thumb brushes your lip, his gaze flicking to your mouth before returning to your eyes, asking for permission, even though neither of you had ever really needed it before.

"Logan," you say, the sound a little breathless, unsure of how to navigate this sudden shift, but he doesn’t keep you waiting.

He closes the distance in a heartbeat, lips crashing into yours with a ferocity you didn’t expect.

It’s like the world around you falls away, leaving only the warmth of his lips, the taste of him, and the pressure of his body against yours. The raging storm outside dulling until it’s nothing but fuzzy background noise.

His kiss is rough, deep, urgent, but there’s something more in it, a slow unraveling. Like he’s trying to carve himself into you, a permanent mark, a reminder that he was here, even if he never says it out loud.

Logan tastes like rich smoke and whiskey, the sharp edge of him mixing with the sweet burn of need. It sends your head reeling, arms coming up to circle around his neck.

You can’t find the words to describe it, not with the way his fingers slide through the wetness gathering at your entrance, sending jolts of pleasure straight to your core.

Your hips thrust upward, begging for more, your body hungry for the release he’s just out of reach of giving.

“Want you inside me, Logan,” you moan desperately, slick lips brushing his with every word. “Please.”

Logan's body stiffens against yours at the sound of your pleading, his grip tightening on your cheek like he's trying to anchor himself in the reality of what you're asking.

“Shit,” he growls under his breath, his forehead pressing to yours as he closes his eyes. His chest heaves, the tension in his body palpable. "I—" he pauses, struggling to form the words, but you can see it in his eyes. He's conflicted, desperate, yet still hesitant.

You move against him, your body restless, your need undeniable, feeling the rigid outline of his hard cock pressed firmly against your thigh. A thick plane of heat that has your pussy clenching around the tips of his fingers.

You don’t want to push him, not anymore. But you’re past the point of waiting for permission.

Your lips meet his again, softer this time, coaxing, until he finally gives in, groaning against your mouth as he kisses you back with an intensity that steals your breath.

“I want to feel you,” you whisper, your hands trailing down to the hem of his shirt, pushing it over the swell of his pecs. 

His skin is hot under your fingertips, rough and familiar. Your fingers trail lightly across his chest, nails scratching through the salt and pepper hair dusted across his skin as you urge him closer.

“Just the tip,” Logan mutters under his breath, barely above a whisper. His voice hoarse, like he’s bargaining with himself. “Just to make you feel good, but that’s it, understand?”

You bite your lip, the edge of frustration gnawing at you. It’s not everything you need, not everything you want, but it's something. And right now, it’s enough.

You nod your head, hands already moving to the front of his jeans. You undo the button with shaking fingers, tugging the zipper down and pushing the worn denim away. 

His cock springs free, already hard, leaking with the same desperation you feel. You run your fingers along his length, feeling the heat of him, the steady throb of his pulse.

Logan peels down the thin layer of your shorts, cursing under his breath when he finds you completely bare underneath, your slick pussy shining under the dim light.

You watch him, chest heaving, as he stares down at you—his eyes dark and full of something primal, something raw.

“Fuck,” he breathes, his fingers tracing the outline of your wetness. He groans low in his throat, his thumb circling your clit once before moving down, dipping inside you just barely. “You’re perfect, baby.”

“Logan,” you whine, thighs spreading in a clear invitation. You patience is running exceedingly thin, your whole body alight with the feeling of a raging forest fire

“I know,” he mutters, placating. He takes the throbbing length of his cock in his hand, swiftly settling between your legs. “I know.”

The thick head drags through your folds, smearing pre-come along your skin and adding even more to the mess between your legs.

A quiet moan passes through your swollen lips, your muscles tightening as he slides himself along your clit. A slow back and forth movement that sends sparks shooting up your spine.

Logan grits his teeth, his breath shallow, as he finally aligns himself with your clenching hole. 

The air around you feels charged, a taut thread stretched between anticipation and restraint. You shift your hips slightly, just enough to encourage him, your eyes locked on his as you beg him silently with your gaze.

Then, with a low growl that vibrates through you, he pushes forward, just enough to make you gasp in relief, the head of his cock sliding home in your entrance.

And though it’s only the tip, the sensation of him inside you is enough to set your world alight. 

You can feel it, deep in your bones—the simmering, searing heat that makes everything else fade into the background.

Logan presses his lips to your forehead, his breath hot against your skin as he keeps his movements slow, deliberate, his hands holding your hips steady. "This is what you wanted, huh? Got you begging for it, honey," he growls softly. "Even if I’m only givin’ you a taste."

His hips roll languidly, staying true to his word and never sinking deeper than the thick head of his cock. His hand grips the base tightly, his fist fucking slow strokes over the length of himself to where he’s spreading your pussy open.

His scarred knuckles bump against your clit with every stroke, fanning the fire building in your lower stomach.

“Feel so fuckin’ good, honey,” he groans into the skin of your neck, the pace of his hips speeding up ever so slightly. “Feels like heaven.”

You claw at the skin of his back, touch wild and desperate. It takes everything in you not to shift your hips down, to sheath the rest of his cock deep inside your and lock your ankles around his back so he can never leave again.

Logan’s lips find your neck, teeth grazing your skin as he shifts against you. “Tell me you want this,” he says, his voice low, almost a command, yet laced with something tender. “Tell me you want me.”

You meet his gaze without hesitation, your voice steady despite the tremble in your chest. “I want you. I’ve always wanted you.” 

The words come out without thought, raw and honest, and you see something in his eyes shift—a flicker of relief, of something deeper than lust.

Logan groans like he got shot, his body shuddering above you as a low growl tears its way from his chest. He fucks into you faster, short, quick thrusts that steal all the breath from your lungs.

Sparks go off behind your closed eyes, bright white and glittering. You can feel yourself getting closer, your body trembling as you grind up against him, meeting him halfway, needing more, needing release.

“Logan,” you gasp, your hands gripping his shoulders harder, nails digging in. “I’m so close. Please—”

“Let go,” he growls, his pace increasing, his body pressing harder against yours. “Come for me, sweetheart.”

With his command, you unravel, the world spinning around you as the pleasure crashes over you, leaving you breathless, gasping for air, your body quivering beneath him as he holds you through it.

Logan follows, tearing himself from the tight grip of your pussy with a sharp jerk of his hips, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as he shoots thick ropes of come over your slick folds.

Your body shakes at the feeling, a breathless whimper pulled from your slack lips at the sticky warmth of his release.

He collapses onto the mattress next to you, his body shuddering enough to match your own. The room falls into a deep silence, the only sounds your mingling breaths and the distant sound of thunder.

A sick sort of dread bursts through the sweet afterglow of your hazy mind, settling in your stomach like a lead weight. You think that this is the moment where Logan will realize what you’ve done, that he’ll retreat back into himself and send you away.

Send you back to your own room and leave you to lay in the cold aftermath of your own recklessness.

You brace for it, the instinct to pull away, to protect yourself from his withdrawal, but it never comes. 

Instead, you feel his strong arm slide over your waist, pulling you closer, his body heat a stark contrast to the chill creeping in from the window.

His breath is warm against your neck as he shifts, his fingers tracing absent circles on your skin in a move that’s so endearingly human it has your chest aching.

"Stay here tonight?" he asks, his voice rough, almost a whisper.

Your heart clenches, tears burning at your waterline at the vulnerability of his tone. It breaks the dam inside you, relief and something dangerously close to love flooding your body in a bursting rush of water.

“Of course,” you murmur, your voice shaky.

Logan’s hand tightens around you, his thumb brushing over your ribs. He presses a soft kiss to the bare skin of your shoulder, settling onto the mattress with a slow breath.

You drift to sleep more relaxed than you’ve felt in years, even with the knowledge of the slow journey that lies ahead of you. It won’t be easy, it never is with Logan. You can’t find it in yourself to care.

Because even though the rain falls, the desert doesn’t bloom overnight. 

And neither do you.

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[cluelessteam]

Whispers Through Time: {~Secrets in the Shadows~}

A/N: Omg, I am sooo happy that you guys are enjoying the series so far! I honestly was not expecting it but I am so happy! Here is Chapter 2 and I will be constantly putting out these chapters so you guys don't have to wait! Enjoy!!!!

Summary: After being mysteriously transported into the world of House of the Dragon, a modern-day woman poses as a seer to gain entry into the Targaryen court. Armed with knowledge of the future, she secretly warns Rhaenyra and Daemon of looming dangers while hiding her true identity. As she grows closer to both, romantic tension builds, but so do the risks of her deception. With Daemon's suspicions rising and Rhaenyra’s trust deepening, the reader must navigate her lies while trying to alter their tragic fate—before everything unravels.

Characters: Rhaenyra & Daemon

Pairing: Rhaenyra x Fem!Reader x Daemon

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1107

Chapter 2 --- Chapter 3

The days since your arrival in the Red Keep passed in a blur of whispered conversations and cautious glances. Though you had gained entry to the castle by claiming to be a skilled midwife, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to do more if you were to truly alter the course of events as you remembered them. As you moved quietly through the halls of the Keep, your mind raced with thoughts of how to intervene without revealing too much of what you knew—or worse, revealing who you truly were.

You had managed to secure a small, modest room in the servants' quarters, far removed from the nobility. There, you spent your nights pondering the timeline, thinking about the key events that led to the Targaryens' fall, trying to remember details from history and lore that would be valuable in the days to come. Your knowledge of Westeros was fragmented at best—flashes of future events mixed with the uncertainties of living in this medieval world—but you were determined to find a way to help Rhaenyra, and perhaps, by extension, yourself.

As the wind howled outside your window one night, a sense of urgency crept over you. It was time to act. You needed to warn Rhaenyra about the threats that loomed within her own walls. But approaching her directly was far too dangerous—there were too many eyes, too much risk of exposure. You would have to find another way to communicate.

Sitting by the dim light of your candle, you pulled a scrap of parchment from the small desk and began to write:

"Princess Rhaenyra,""There are those close to you who hide their true intentions. Be wary of whom you trust, for some who smile to your face will one day seek to destroy you."

"A Friend."

You stared at the note for a long moment, rereading the words. It wasn’t enough—too vague, too cryptic—but it was all you could offer without putting yourself at risk. Folding the parchment carefully, you tucked it into your pocket. Now came the hardest part: delivering it without being caught.

The castle was quiet that night, the torches flickering dimly in the halls as the staff retired to their quarters. You moved through the shadows, your heart pounding as you neared Rhaenyra’s chambers. You had scouted the area earlier and noticed that servants would occasionally leave messages or small gifts in a niche near the entrance—just out of sight from the guards stationed at her door.

That would be your opportunity.

Keeping to the edges of the corridor, you made your way toward the alcove. The guards were still at their posts, but they seemed to be deep in conversation, their attention focused elsewhere. Silently, you slipped the note into the niche, ensuring it was partially visible so that whoever was meant to find it would do so.

As you turned to leave, you froze. A shadow moved at the far end of the hall. You ducked quickly behind a column, your breath catching in your throat as you watched the figure draw nearer. It was Daemon Targaryen.

Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking him. His presence was unmistakable—commanding, dangerous. You had heard the whispers about him, the rogue prince, the man who walked a fine line between loyalty and rebellion. The last person you wanted to cross paths with.

Daemon’s steps were slow, deliberate. He wasn’t headed for Rhaenyra’s chambers, but he was close enough that you couldn’t risk moving until he was out of sight. You stayed hidden, heart racing, as he passed by, his face unreadable in the flickering torchlight. He didn’t look your way, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was always watching, always aware.

When he finally disappeared around the corner, you let out a slow breath. You had come dangerously close to being caught. Without wasting another second, you slipped back into the shadows, retreating toward the servants’ quarters.

The next morning, the castle was buzzing with its usual activity. Servants bustled through the corridors, nobles conversed in hushed tones, and the guards maintained their ever-watchful presence. But there was an undercurrent of tension—a subtle shift in the atmosphere that hadn’t been there before.

As you went about your duties, you overheard snippets of conversation, mentions of a note that had been discovered outside Rhaenyra’s chambers. No one knew who had left it, and the guards were tight-lipped about the situation, but the news had spread quickly among the servants. There was speculation, of course, but no solid leads. Whoever had left the message had done so without being seen.

You kept your head down, focusing on your work, but your mind was racing. The note had reached Rhaenyra, but what would she do with the information? Would she take it seriously? Or would she dismiss it as a prank or a ploy?

Later in the day, as you moved through one of the upper corridors, you saw her. Rhaenyra Targaryen was standing by a window, her back to you, deep in conversation with one of her ladies-in-waiting. Even from a distance, you could see the tension in her posture, the way her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She was angry—no, more than that. She was disturbed.

The note had hit its mark.

You dared not linger, moving quickly past her chambers and back into the lower halls. The note had worked, but it also meant that you were now part of something far more dangerous. If anyone suspected that you were the one feeding Rhaenyra this information, your life could be at risk. And with Daemon’s ever-watchful eyes lurking in the shadows, you couldn’t afford to make a mistake.

That evening, as you returned to your room, you found yourself pacing, your mind turning over the events of the day. Daemon’s presence haunted you. Though he hadn’t seen you, you felt as though his gaze had lingered on you long after he passed. You knew you had to be careful, more careful than ever before. But as the days went on, Rhaenyra would come to rely on the warnings, and sooner or later, someone would begin asking questions.

You sat at your desk, quill in hand, staring at the blank parchment before you. Another note would need to be sent—this time, with more detail. But the risks were growing with each passing day. How long could you continue before someone discovered the truth?

As you dipped the quill into the ink, you pushed the fear aside. There was no turning back now. The game had begun, and you were determined to see it through.

[highrook]

Stories as jigsaws and Games as notebooks

The world and lore of Highrook is rarely presented in linear exposition. In fact most of the writing in the game is peripheral to progress. You can complete the game without even reading the majority of the texts available. I am a huge fan of cosmic horror fiction, rpg sourcebooks, wikis, board games and graphic novels. All of these forms share the frameworks of fragmented fiction. The story and world is delivered through occult scraps, unearthed pages, scribbled notes and scattered imagery.

This way of organising and revealing information really appeals to me as both a reader and a player. It avoids locking the participant into long inescapable sequences of exposition or cutscenes. Instead it allows a different mode of engagement. You can read as much or as little as you feel at the moment, and return later - to revisit fragments and find new revelations or locate missing pieces.

This structure even mirrors the action in cosmic horror tales, where protagonists assemble obscure source material and attempts to piece together a timeline. Juggling fragments might seem stressful for some people, but if there is no time pressure or ‘single true text’ then the experience can actually be quite relaxing.

It's like putting together a jigsaw, you can tackle it at your own pace, apply your focus in different places until the whole picture emerges. You might concentrate on the edges, assemble islands of shared colour, or work one subsection at a time. It's the same reason I love wikis or RPG bestiaries, they are all ways to assemble a world that builds by aggregation not instruction, it's a workshop not a lecture. This kind of assembly also provides space for the reader to include their own ideas, there is more leeway for interpretation and creative engagement with the material. 

Or maybe its just avoidance?… not being confident enough to commit to direct exposition, but I’ve never enjoyed rollercoaster fiction, or on-rails games. As much as Half-life was a masterpiece of its time I feel that it led to an overwhelming rise of set-piece game design (at least for a while). The zones of the Southern Reach or Stalker, or the melancholy landscapes of Fumito Ueda are more my style… places that I feel would exist without my attention or interactions. Places where the story happens in a way that is more topological than hierarchical.

Of course this can make organising content a nightmare! I already have hundreds of separate cards in my game, with descriptions of everything from an old trowel to a broken heart. But wrangling all these items and notes into shape is a game in itself and something I can attack from different angles depending on my mood or the time of day. There's a few months yet before it will all be tied up, but I can feel it slowly coming together.

[pen-and-umbra]

Compilation spoilers below.

As the party delves deeper into the Temple of the Ancients, a vision of Sephiroth delivers a cryptic speech:

(“My fragmented mother, these errant worlds… All shall be one again.”)

“My fragmented mother” is a very deliberate choice of words. While the OG story touched on Jenova's fragmentation while dealing with the subject of Reunion, the plotbeats focused on Sephiroth and his failed copies rather than the creature itself. As the story unfolds, Cloud kills or severely injures Sephiroth during the Nibelheim mission, leading him to utilize clones and Jenova's remains after emerging at the Northern Crater in order to repair his maimed body. The same Ultimania Omega relayed that developers once thought about a scene where Sephiroth was revealed to have a Jenovaesque lower half. (The concept was eventually scrapped, but it would have added an even more grotesque element to Sephiroth's already terrifying being.)

(“It shall encompass worlds unbound by fate and histories unwritten. <...> My dominion shall reach into infinity”)

However, the Remake implies that the Reunion serves a different purpose. Or, more accurately, Sephiroth refers to a distinct event—the merging of worlds—as Reunion. According to Sephiroth's cryptic message, this is yet another foray into “godhood”. Not too unlike Ultimecia’s time compression, Sephiroth allegedly plans to join all the timelines into one to achieve “infinity/forever”. And yet, what does it have to do with “his fragmented mother”?

(“All made whole.”)

What if the true purpose of Remake's Reunion is not about “infinity” per se but about the “whole” part?

From the perspective of the OG, we are led to believe that the gathering of failed copies is the result of Sephiroth's will. However, Cetra's hologram delivers an interesting warning as the party traverses through the Temple of Ancients.

(“Heed well to our warning of that which is to come…<...> The reunion. When our adversary's scattered malignancy shall converge to plague the Planet once more.”)

The Cetra allegedly referred to Jenova's own inherent ability to reassemble its pieces (“Reunion”), whether conscious or unconscious. Unless the message was purely prophetic in nature, the statement presupposes that Jenova's body was already dispersed during the era of the Cetra, predating ShinRA's R&D department's experiments with alien cell injections. The Temple of Ancients narrates a gripping tale of Cetra's battle against the calamity-from-the-skies, with significant casualties suggesting a lasting conflict rather than a singular encounter.

Thus, it is possible that Jenova sustained injuries and lost some of its biologics before Cetra managed to seal it. Alternatively, fearing Jenova's reunification, the Cetran people may have “scattered” the creature in some way in order to hamper its resurrection. Whatever the case, at the end of the day, Jenova at the Nibelheim reactor appears incomplete or misshapen, missing a wing, and apparently suspended midway between morphing into a humanoid.

If the message is interpreted as a prophecy about the future, it demonstrates Cetran's extraordinary augury ability. However, assuming their knowledge of the future is precise, they never mention a different agent (Sephiroth), instead referring to their “celestial adversary” as the enemy who will plague the planet once more.

Anyway, spool forward, and in the age of ShinRA, the likes of Hollander and Hojo kept experimenting with Jenova's organic material, further disseminating alien cells. Several of its hosts have died. That includes both humans (Angeal or Gillian, for example) and monstrosities infused with J-cells that our party encounters (both organic and mechanical). While it is hard to estimate how many test subjects died during the course of the Jenova/SOLDIER Project, we can suppose that quite a number. It is currently unclear what happens to Jenova cells after the host dies; several instances appear to be convoluted (Angeal's mother allegedly dies alongside alien material, but Lucrecia claims that Jenova cells keep her alive). Let's assume that J-cells usually die with the host. As a result, an uncertain amount of organic material is missing from Jenova's body and will not make it to Reunion.

When combined with the Ancients' reference to “scattered” essence, Sephiroth's words about his fragmented mother make a lot more sense in the context of worlds merging. What if the primary aim of unchaining timelines was to acquire unattainable fragments of Jenova from hosts that are deceased within the primary timeline? Destiny's Crossroads, as a singularity of some kind, appears to be linked to all points in time and space. As a result of destroying Harbinger, our party is likely to have had an impact on PAST events (Zack's Last Stand). As a consequence, Zack lived. What if Jenovaroth's true goal is to alter branching timelines so that as many J-cell hosts as possible survive to converge at Northern Crater? Bringing scattered Jenova fragments across time and space to resurrect the entire entity and restore its power? The consequences of such a plan could indeed be disastrous.

Examining the issue from this perspective raises the question of who is truly in control and what kind of being will emerge after Reunion has run its course. It also raises the question of whether there are other ancient “deposits” of Jenova's organic material left from the Cetran War, if the warning in the Temple of Ancients was NOT a prophecy about ShinRA era.

👋 @pen-and-umbra

[sparkingcircuits]

some doodles i made of my silly little au i had thought about + some extra thoughts under the cut

we’ve got a drawing of Kieranpon in his Ogerpon form and a Full body drawing of Pecharunt Kieran

first off: pecharunt kieran (who i really need a better name for..)

since pecharunt kieran is working with scraps of their identity, their human form is… off putting, to say the least.

since in their human form they don’t have a special place to store their poison, it just kind of ends up naturally explelling itself, like through the tears and saliva. the poison also causes their human form to be extra weak, which is why the chains are there for support. (it’s also because his human form is just. unstable in general but like. yknow)

in terms of memories, pecharunt kieran’s memories are split between pecharunt’s memories before the merge, the fragments of memories from kieran before the split, and the weird mishmash after the split. Pecharunt kieran is the only merged entity that has knowledge of the previous timeline, although the MC sometimes has strange dreams about it.. but this is about our pecha boy not the MC

due to the weird mishmash of memories and the poisonous saliva, Pecharunt Kieran can’t really speak normally. They talk in broken sentences, as Pecharunt could not speak any human language beforehand, and there’s only a little bit of Kieran we can work with here

in terms of personality and emotions, Pecharunt Kieran feels very envious of their counterpart. Kieranpon got most of their memories and personality and such, and is mostly stable in terms of appearance. Pecharunt Kieran feels as if they should have gotten those attributes, and believes that Kieranpon stole those qualities from them. so they DEFINITELY will end up fighting. and while Pecharunt Kieran’s human body isn’t very strong, the chains are. (i mean just LOOK at them)

SPEAKING OF THIS AU’s KIERANPON

this is mostly just gonna be about his Ogerpon form, and how it is different from his sisters (i haven’t drawn her ogerpon form yet

in terms of what parts of Kieranpon got compared to his sister, he got more of the true parts of Ogerpon, instead of the parts the signboards talk about. They both did, but in terms of symbolism Kieran is more “true” to the original Ogerpon. Kieran and Carmine both look very similar, but there are some differences.

While Kieran’s horns, curve up, Carmine’s horns curve more downwards and back almost. Carmine is also taller and has more sharper features in general, but in terms of strength, both are about the same with their masks

SPEAKING OF THE MASKS, there is only 1 copy of each mask! so they have to share. Kieran tends to use the Teal and Wellspring Masks, while Carmine favors the Hearthflame and Cornerstone Masks. They both have their own cudgels, though.

Both Kieran and Carmine can understand what Pokémon are saying, but Kieran specifically seems to have the easiest time understanding them by the way! technically ALL of them can but like.. yknow

[aidanchaser]

WIP Tag/Reblog Game

Thank you @rosie-b for the tag! I love hearing about your works~

List the titles your top five priorities for WIP updates (link your fics for new readers!)

An upcoming scene, event, or detail in each fic that you're looking forward to writing

Bonus: make a poll for your followers to vote on which top 5 WIP they are most excited to see an update on!

Then tag 10 writer friends!

WIP TITLES

(I picked the 5 that I have open currently - there are so many more than 5 rattling around at all times, and i try not to start publishing any that aren't already outlined beginning to end)

Boulangerella - a fairy tale/cinderella story full of love square shenanigans, blood sacrifices, and scheming villains

Butterfly Effect - Adrien as Hawkmoth/Shadowmoth AU; Marinette and Chloe hold the ladybug and cat miraculous - songfic with butterfly effect by FJØRA

Expectations - Kwami Swap AU where Adrien is Mister Bug from the beginning; he's dealing with the anxiety of his role (and the knowledge that he handed his earrings over to hawk moth in another timeline and has no idea why)

After the War (place holder title) - a 1920s post-WWI AU, where Marinette runs her parents' bakery by day and a club by night; the club is a cover to take down war-profiteer Gabriel Agreste through vigilante action; Adrien has just returned to Paris from his time abroad in London, and Marinette has to wrestle with her childhood crush on him and her now grown-up hatred for his family

Time Lady of Creation (place holder title) - A Time Lord AU - I will say little else about it because it's still in the outline stages with only a few scraps of scenes drafted

UPCOMING SECTIONS

The next chapter is full of A LOT of confrontations and hard conversations - Marinette & Luka (the original conversation has been written but it needs to be redrafted to a new context); Felix and Lila (again, a lot of their stuff is written but needs to be redrafted); and Marinette & Chat Noir (not drafted yet - fragments abound in notes but need to be tied together)

Adrien has to figure out how to get his hands on the Cat and Ladybug Miraculouses so that he can save Marinette from a terrible fate

Marinette needs to help Adrien face Miracle Queen - I'm excited about the Cat/Dragon and Bug/Snake renditions of their powers for this AU, but this fic just kept getting comments that were like "it's not even that different from canon" and so I no longer care too much about this fic - I'm just irritated because I wrote the ending already and i LOVE the ending but I can't post the ending without writing the middle

The next scene I need to write is a confrontation between Ladybug and Adrien Agreste, where he doesn't realize how much she hates him and she has no idea how much he's madly in love with her

Right now it's mostly an outline, so I need to write the beginning, where Ladybug saves Adrien from a wax museum come to life then asks him to run away with her through time and space!

So - which WIP are you most excited to see update?

I know I'm supposed to tag 10 but I know about half of the writers I am mutuals with have already been tagged, so if I accidentally tag you a second time, I apologize! @astargatelover (if you have 5 wips?), @asukiess (if you haven't been tagged yet), @kay-elle-cee, @uncertainwallflower, @ninadove (I would love to hear about your projects and get to know you more) [I'm so sorry i fully reblogged and commented your own WIP list and did not even process the connection - absolutely embarrassing], @chaos-has-theories, @sunshinemarauder, @wield-the-mighty-pen, @miabrown007 (I don't think you've been tagged yet??? unclear), and last but certainly not least @dammithawke (bc i haven't heard about your role reversal au in a while and would love to hear about it again)

[noridoorman]

More scrapped Nuzi fics (warning, some is angsty)

Fragmented/Fragments of the past/Echo/Whatever freaking title I had for this:

Uzi crawls on the ground, one arm missing and every inch of her metallic body feeling like extra weight she’s forced to carry. The room around her trembles, the walls shun a blinding white color, piercing the optical sensors of her visor. Some furniture pieces around her began to fade gradually into the white voice as Uzi continued pushing forward, crying out a name so familiar and yet so distant, grasping for something, anything, in her vicinity.

She hears another voice; a feminine one calling out the same name yet everytime it did, their voice would glitch or distort, making it unable for Uzi to hear it.

Yet she knew, the name somehow carried significance.

Uzi pushes forward, her vision partly recovering after having been assaulted by the light to see a silhouette in a glass capsule, several heavy machinery surrounding it. The silhouette turns to her and despite not being able to discern any facial features or attributes tied to the person she can see its somber smile as it kneels down to her level - or as far as it could go.

Again, Uzi calls this name as she stared at the figure, placing her hand weakly against the glass, a feeble attempt to break it. Sobs wreck through her body, begging the person, whoever they are, to get out of the capsule, to not do something that she couldn’t grasp no despite her own words repeating it. The figure’s eyes closed as they shakily exhaled, trying to communicate to Uzi yet all words came out as equally distorted as the name.

And yet, Uzi begged. Pleaded, cried, anything to convince the figure to leave. Yet it only responded by placing its hand against the glass, its words coming out glitched once again.

“Uzi, I love you…”

Her eyes hollow as the now clear words hit her audial sensors. A deep sense of both love and grief shocks her to the core, all sounds she once made fall mute as a sudden realization settles before her. For the few seconds of silence she had, the figure muttered a thousand apologies before the bright void engulfed them both.

What it was: this was meant to be a "what-if" kinda fanfic. Basically, N cannot take the thought of Uzi dying and looked for any chance for an alternative, which he found. He found a machine in the labs that could rewind time, bringing the time back to a time before they met. However, the machine needed fuel and N was the only one that could fuel it through his core. He sacrifices himself, despite Uzi's pleading. Time rewinds and Uzi wakes up without any memory of what happened and N has been completely ereased from the timeline. However, I really don't like sad endings and this fanfic would have ended on Uzi somehow remembering and bringing N back, however...

Why I scrapped it: I don't trust myself to handle heavy topics and angst and make it believable while also emotional. Plus, I started working on Cinnamon Scent and never found the time to develope it further than the prologue. And as time went on I thought of the concept to be boring and was scared it wasn't going to stick with others through all the other creative stuff out there.

Reborn:

"The absolute most angst-filled idea I could possibly think of for this series is N dying and Uzi proceeding to feed Eldtrich N living worker drones out of desperation, willing to sacrifice anyone to get him back. N revives but without any memory of what Uzi did to resurrect him,' with a traumatized, oil-stained Uzi hugging him in silence."

This was a comment a different Tumblr user made and I asked them if I could write a fanfic about it and they said "Sure". Aaaand, I never write it cause again; I don't trust myself with Angst.

Cinnamon Scent Chapter 5:

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“Uziii, I got the appel strudel u asked for! :D”

“But also… a bit of a surprise”

Uzi raised a brow at that, her mind already going in overdrive to try to think what surprise he might have planned.

Uzi // Today at 10:11 AM

“And that is?”

N // Today at 10:11 AM

“How do I say it ahhh”

“Well, it depends on you if it’s a positive or a negative surprise!”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“Don’t dodge the question”

N // Today at 10:12 AM

“Wahhh, you’re so scary when you’re serious!”

“It’s kinda hard to tell you bc they told me not to tell you”

Uzi // Today at 10:12 AM

“???”

“Who’s they?? Where are you?”

N // Today at 10:13 AM

“OO I said too much, we’ll meet u there!!”

“Wha?” Uzi whispers under her breath, an uncomfortable feeling emerges at the pit of her stomach, making her thoughts go even more in overdrive.

Did he bring a friend along?

With confusion and determination both etched on her face (and some sprinkled in nervousness) her pace quickens as she beelines towards the amusement park, ready to smack somebody if she needs to.

-

“Hey, Uzi!” Uzi turns around to the sound of N calling for her, spotting him standing near the entrance. And as Uzi had expected, he didn’t stand alone.

“That’s her?” A human with a large bow in her brown/reddish hair and a few freckles on her tanned skin. “It’s nice to finally meet you!”

“Yeah, so nice” A drone with her white hair styled into two twintails responded sarcastically, making Uzi forget about her shock for a second to glare at her.

“Don’t be like that, J!” V lighty smacks the shoulder of, who Uzi now knows is, J. J in turn glared at V’s direction, though the latter seemed not bothered by it.

“I… I didn’t expect you to bring your family,” Uzi chuckles awkwardly, pointing at all the new (and not so new) people behind N. He scratched the back of his head, opening his mouth to speak.

“Yeah, well-”

“We weren’t going to leave him alone with a stranger” J interjects, making N cower underneath her harsh gaze. Uzi only returns that, her shoulders tense.

“Friend. I’m his friend,”

“Guys, let’s not fight!” Tessa stands between J and Uzi, making N breathe a huge sigh of relief. Uzi’s eyes softened a bit, her stance growing less defensive. “N talked about an amusement park at some point. We all thought it would be fun to go together!”

“I wouldn’t be able to sneak out again anyway,” N shoots Uzi an apologetic smile that she returns with a soft sigh, both not hearing J yell in the background ‘again?’.

“No need to be sorry, bud,” Uzi hides her hands in her pockets, trying to mask her disappointment with a casual attitude. “It’s your family, I’m not going to deny you not taking them out here,”

“And we’ll get to spend more time together!” N cheers, looking excitedly at Tessa. “Right?”

“We’ll have to see how it will work with your schedule but otherwise, I don’t see why not!” Tessa ruffles N’s hair, chuckling.

“We’ll also have to see if she’s not a threat!” J argues back, however, it fell on deaf ears as everyone turned towards the entrance, all making their way inside the amusement park while J grumbled something under her breath.

“So, which rides look the most fun?” Tessa strokes her chin, looking at all the different attractions in her line of sight.

“The rollercoaster is pretty cool,” Uzi shrugs. “There should also be a carousel somewhere, but it’s for kids,”

“What about this?” N runs ahead towards a giant mechanical octopus with seats attached to its tentacles. “This looks fun!”

“And dangerous,” J crosses her arms, her eyes moving along the rotation of the octopus.

“I think it’s safe,” Tessa smiles, turning to Uzi. “Right?”

“Oh, uh, sure!” Uzi scrambles together an answer, somewhat surprised that Tessa would ask for her opinion. “I wasn’t on the octopus a lot, it always bored me. My mom thought it was tons of fun though,”

“I got us tickets!” V cackles as she hands each and every one of them tickets, with N taking it eagerly and J more reluctantly.

“V, you know we have to save,” J glares, making V roll her eyes.

“I know, I know, but we can take it easy once,” V hands the last tickets to Tessa. “What fun would we have if we saved every penny only for necessities?”

“They’re called necessities for a reaso-”

“J,” Tessa places a hand on J’s shoulder, making her eyes widen a bit. “Don’t worry about the money. I’ll take care of it”

“But-”

“See? Tessa got it covered!” V walks on the ramp as the ride stops, choosing eagerly which seat she’s going to take. “Besides, you should take it easy especially!”

“If this is what it's like to have siblings then I’m happy that my parents only adopted me…” Uzi speaks her thoughts out loud, flinching as N’s laughter rings out next to her.

“At least it never gets boring!” N takes her hand, leading her to two empty seats. Uzi’s core flutters at the contact, her eyes drifting towards their hands. N helps hoist Uzi up due to her smaller size, only intensifying her already prominent blush.

“I’m… really surprised they came along” A employee fastened their seats, taking their tickets with an odd look. Uzi returned the look with a glare before sighing. “How did you convince them?”

“Oh, there wasn’t any convincing needed!” N beams. “Tessa wanted to go somewhere, I just mentioned the amusement park!”

“Did you tell them about me?” Uzi grips the edges of her seat as the ride slowly begins.

“A little, yeah” N admits sheepishly. “J got suspicious that I knew about the amusement park”

“Of course” Uzi rolls her eyes, her grip tightening as the ride picks up speed.

“Tessa was all for it!” N grips Uzi’s hand, squeezing it as fans begin to whirr louder. “Th-This is my first time here, you don’t mind that I…?” N’s gaze flickers towards their hands, making Uzi shake her head frantically.

“N-Not at all!” Uzi squeezes his hand back, partially to reassure him, partially due to her internal panic. “Be warned though, it’ll get faster,”

“Faster?!” N yelled as the seats began to spin along with the giant octopus in the middle. Uzi cackled as the ride began to spin quiet fast in all directions while N’s grip on Uzi’s hand tightened, screaming as the seats moved up and down.

“Are you afraid?!” Uzi yells, her smile disappearing as she looks at N. However, a nervous smile etched on his face as turned to Uzi.

“This is awesome!” He kicked his feet in the air as the ride continued, making Uzi laugh in response.

Despite the wind tossing and turning her hair in every direction, the adrenalin in her body going on overdrive or the constant spinning of the ride, the feeling of N’s hand intertwined with her’s turned her entire brain functions into mush.

-

“That was so cool!” V fist bumps in the air as she excitedly jumps off the ride with the rest trailing behind. “We should do that again!”

“Yeah, right, it wasn’t THAT exciting!” J crosses her arms, a frown etched on her face.

“I saw you laughing like crazy, J!” Tessa giggles, fixing up some strands of J’s hair. “Admit it, you liked it,”

“J-Just a little!” J balls her hands into fists but doesn’t fight back against Tessa’s hands undoing her twintails to make it even again. “It’s still overrated!”

“What J actually meant was, thanks for taking me out on this fun trip away from my crippling workload and the same walls I have to witness every day!” V holds her shorter hair up, mimicking J’s hairstyle, posture and voice.

“Aren’t you mature?” J rolls her eyes as Tessa ties the first pigtail up.

“We’re kids, let’s enjoy it as long as it lasts!” V rests her hands on her hips, a smug grin on her face.

“V is right, J” As Tessa finally tied up the last pigtail she kissed the top of J’s head. “I wanted us here so that we don’t have to hide away anymore,”

J groans, her arms dropping to her side.

“Where did you guys live before?” Everyone's eyes turned to Uzi who immediately felt herself shrink under their intense stares. “...too much?”

“I-I can tell you sometime later!” N places a hand on her shoulder. “Right now, let’s just enjoy our… Wait, what’s that?!” N instantly runs away, leaving them all dumbfounded and scrambling towards his direction.

“N, don’t just run off like that!” J scolds as they finally reach him, his gaze concentrated on a giant Shiba Inu plush hanging from the side of a stand. Cans are stacked on top of each other with more different plushies and prices hanging on the sides.

“Do you want this?” Uzi points at the Shiba Inu plush, making N rapidly nod his head.

“Yeah, but… I’d have to win to get one,” N sadly scratches his arm as he eyes the plush.

“My mom used to be really good at those, she taught me a thing or two” Uzi responds somewhat smugly, yet a shy blush showed itself on her visor. “Maybe I could try winning you one?” Uzi smiles, her hands resting on her hip. N’s eyes brightened as he happily bounces on the spot.

“Only humans can participate,” V points at the sign, her expression turning sour. “How stupid…”

“I can try!” Tessa beams, handing the vendor money. “I’m probably not as good but it’s worth a shot,”

“Really?!” N claps his hands, they light in his visor shining somehow brighter. Tessa nods eagerly, grabbing one of the three balls on the counter, raising her hand behind her shoulder to throw the ball. Her eyes squint as pure concentration etched itself on her face, every fiber of her being channeled into landing the perfect shot. The drones all gather around her, looking with both excitement and unease in their eyes.

However, for Uzi, all she saw were the static covered eyes, an image of what should be her mom standing there, ready to throw the ball. Khan places a hand on Uzi’s shoulder, making her look up to him with a curious gaze.

Nori throws one ball and misses.

Wait… Mom never missed?

She throws another. Again, miss.

That’s not a memory.

“Come on, Nori, you can do it!” Khan cheers, looking as if he doesn’t see what Uzi is seeing. The static over her eyes, the clouds in the sky going faster than they should and the feeling of the breeze hitting them in all places at once.

Nori throws again. This time, all the cans fall down.

Cheers emerge from all directions of Uzi’s auditory sensors, voices so familiar and strange.

“Look, Uzi!” Uzi jolts as N holds the Shiba Inu plush at her face, recoiling slightly at her reaction. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you!”

“N-No, it’s fine, I was just… thinking?” Uzi shakes her hands.

“Explains why you stood there like a zombie,” J crosses her arms, raising a brow. Uzi opens her mouth, ready to defend herself until N presses the Shiba Inu plush again against her face.

“Look how adorable it is!” He offers for Uzi to hold it but she raises her hands in the air instead, taking several steps back.

“Uh, I-I…It’s cute,” N’s head tilts to the side, a puzzled frown on his face.

“Your fans are really loud!” Tessa notes, kneeling down to Uzi’s level. “Are you okay?”

“I-I’m fine!” Uzi takes more steps back as Tessa tries to place a hand on her forehead.

“Are you sure-”

“Bite me! I said I’m fine!” Uzi crosses her arms.

“Watch your tone!” J takes some threatening steps towards Uzi but is stopped by N who stands protectively in front of her.

“J, stop,” N says with a somewhat authoritative tone, surprising everyone. “She probably just feels overwhelmed. Leave her alone,”

J raises a finger, her mouth opening but after several seconds of no sounds coming, her hands fall to her side.

“I think we should all take a break,” Tessa says, trying to defuse the situation. “Maybe we could sit on a bench and stare at the ocean for a bit,”

“Great idea, my legs are starting to hurt,” V stretches her arms above her head, exhaling heavily before walking ahead. “Come on,”

“Do you know where you’re going?” N asks, staying next to Uzi’s side who looked at the ground, absent minded.

“It shouldn’t be that hard to find a quiet corner!”

“You’re walking into the crowd,” J groans.

“Hey, trust my intuition once!” V glares, looking behind her.

“Your intuition got us in more trouble than it actually helped” A exasperated sigh escapes J’s lips but V only chuckles in response.

“Like that one time in the mall?” J cracks a small smile as V mentioned the incident, making Tessa laugh along.

“We were looking so long for you two!” Tessa picks up her pace to walk between V and J. “What made you guys think that hiding into the gaming store was a good idea?”

“It was V’s intuition that made her think you’d look for us there first,” J rolls her eyes albeit with a smile. “Truthfully, I think she just wanted to look at the games there”

“Lies!” V gasps dramatically. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

“It was the truth, wasn’t it?” N laughs from behind the three. “You told me, V!”

“N, you suck!” V yells, making both Tessa and J burst out in laughter.

“Ah, oops, shouldn’t have revealed it, huh?” N scratches the back of his back, a sheepish smile on his face.

The three began telling more stories of the past, recounting incidents or happy memories and sharing smiles and laughter together. However, N caught on to Uzi’s silence and somewhat distant behavior the whole time.

“Hey,” Uzi jolts slightly as N places a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You good?”

“Yes, for the thousandth time, I’m fine,” Uzi sighs.

“You’ve been so quiet though,” N sheepishly smiles. “Sorry about, uh… all this,”

“All what?” Uzi raises a brow.

“I should have told you my family was coming along and not make it out to be this surprise.” An unusual somber expression falls on his face as his lips twitch downward to a frown. “I’m sorry for overwhelming you like this,”

Uzi opens her mouth to speak again but N kept on rambling.

“In fact, I probably should have gone alone!” Slight panic arises in his expression, making Uzi feel a pang of sympathy in her chest.

This is scrapped because I felt embarrassed about the family drama. However, this is only the snippet of what's being edited, there's a ton that will stay the same bc it's Khan and Uzi bonding stuff :3

[ut-scatteredextension]

What sort of runs have you done in the past?

I feel like Papyrus' (and Flowey's) RESETs can't really be categorized into "runs" like a player's playthroughs can. While their world might feel like a game to them (particularly Flowey), it still isn't one. There isn't a set "beginning" or "end" to a "run" for them like there is for us (...though I suppose a comparable beginning could be the first moment they woke up after being revived, but I don't think either of them would necessarily start from that point all the time. Papyrus especially would want to start at least a little bit after that point). They just RESET the timeline whenever they get bored/can't get anything useful out of the current one and want to try something new.

As a result, their "runs" are a lot more fragmented than what we as players would consider to be a run.

That said, Papyrus does typically lean more on the Neutral/Pacifist side of things. He's not opposed to murder, though---he can just undo it later, after all, so it's not like it really matters. If a situation "required" it, in his eyes, then yeah, he'll kill someone. But it's not his default course of action (though it wasn't Flowey's either, aside from Frisk anyway). While he hasn't done a "murder everyone" run himself, he's not bothered by it if Trace/the player attempts one and will help you/them out with it. It's something new, and hey, maybe this is actually what he needs to do in order to get the answers he seeks.

Which, actually, is another key difference between Scraps and Flowey! Flowey's actions are fueled by boredom, curiosity, and a desperate desire to fill that void in his SOUL somehow. Everything he does is for his own entertainment, just to see what happens when he does this or that. Papyrus, meanwhile, is on a specific mission, and his actions and RESETs are driven by his attempts to reach that goal.

[physisrebooted]

Fragments from a Scrapped Timeline: Upd8!

With the glorious return of MSPFA, the story continues as Team Lunarosette discuss their plans for the first stage of the game, violent drama between their friends, and the looming threat of Alternia's imminent demise.

> Read the latest pages here!

> New reader? Start here!

[unraveling-plot]

ORV Side Story reactions so far (through episode 8 part 4)

First of all. LHH <3 I like him

It's rough reading this from the perspective of someone who's empathetic and cares about saving people

Love that he's a better person than KDJ while playing the role of a villain

The way he uses incite on himself is 🤌 chefs kiss. I hope this backfires some day

The snowfield with KDJ was so. I loved it

Also the Trauma flashback to him recalling KDJ's backstory?? Damn. Certified fragment behavior. Also mad sus

Representative Kim Dokja 🔪 who are you. My theory is the Dokkaebi King based off of vibes alone. But they're definitely an outer god. Eesh idk

Calling out KDJ for his selfishness... whoo. We knew but ouch

The timeline. Oh my god. The first 40 rounds got scrapped with SYS getting sent back. Like yeah that makes sense but I'd never considered it. What happened??!

KillerKing cracks me up

HSY girl what are you doing here. Thrilled to see her tho <3

This whole this is so surreal and meta to read

I miss Kim Dokja

[sincerelygideon]

I don't know how much more of this hell I can take. I can feel myself succumbing to my mind's control of perception. Instead of being able to truly recognize my environment, the body becomes nothing more than parts and scrap. I'm only left with thoughts and patterns. I can see the disconnect at times. The realization of my hands and how disconnected they are. They become fragmented, almost as if they are not a part of me.

General monotony is eating away at any concept of myself. I begin to feel nothing as I am nothing. A question of what else is beyond this? To say the grass is greener on the other side, as to say there is more beyond this timeline. All feels lost and forever hidden by something I can't explain. Every sound is blending into a mass of phonics. Nothing to perceive, nothing to pay attention to. My attentiveness to the world around me feels invisible.

I want to escape from this reality.

[iamthescalesofjustice]

i definitely share the problem many people have of whats in my head vastly outpacing what ive actually written, but i sort of have the opposite problem with other parts of the creative process bc the thing is when i do actually write its never so much bc i sit down to write, more like the ideas that have been pressurizing finally burst forth in a chaotic torrent that drags me into a fuguelike state where there is nothing but feverishly getting the words out with minimal mind to editing or organization and eventually after at least several hours i surface and find myself with like 8k new words of writing to sort through, and hope the spell is broken rather than being only a brief window of lucidity bc it wont properly be done for the next couple days actually, which is what happens sometimes

[dukeofriven]

Y’All Should Actually Read Barthes (Or: Why Your ‘Rings Of Power’ Critique Is Bad)

I think what really gets under my skin about the many, many lousy critiques about Rings of Power[1] on Tumblr dot Com and Reddit[2] that I see out there is that, firstly, they frequently seem to come from people who don’t seem to realize that their understanding and memories about Tolkien are shaped far, far, far more by the Peter Jackson movies (which were hardly ‘canon-compliant’) than they are by the original text. Second and more crucially, I think, is that everyone really wants to get pissed about canon that Tolkien never actually codified. Here’s what I mean: Tolkien didn’t ‘write’ the Silmarillion. He wrote a whole bunch of essays, letters, notes, scraps of ideas, poems, plot outlines, and ramblings, some of which he earmarked for a project he one day planned to compile as something called The Silmarillion. Then he made a slight error in his scheme by dropping dead. So his son Christopher Tolkien and his pal Guy Gavriel Kay stared at this enormous pile of stuff that went back decades, pulled out some of the bits they thought were most polished, did their best to link them into some kind of narrative, edited the crap out of it, added punctuation, and published a book they called The Silmarillion after JRR’s planned, but never completed idea. And was what was in The Silmarillion everything JRR planned to be in the final volume? Not necessarily. In many cases, not remotely, but Christopher Tolkien and Kay tried to take the stuff that was most polished, even if it was thirty year old material that Tolkien had changed his mind fifteen more times on, because the old stuff often had a clarity of completion that the later revisions did not. They usually took the stuff that complete sentences over the stuff with sentence fragments, even if the latter was more ‘fresh.’ Because they realized that The Silmarillion was more a simulacrum of Tolkien’s ideas than anything definitive, Christopher then put out The Unfinished Tales, which contained some more of Tolkien’s ideas: spme that had made it in other versions into The Silmarillion, some that had not. And since the very large pile of notes and scribblings and essays and letters and old recipes didn’t seem any noticeably smaller, he then spent thirteen years publishing The History of Middle Earth, comedically large tomes stuffed to the brim with Tolkien ideas, variations, variants, and late night side-table Kleenex notes. And then they kept putting out more books. And more. And then Christopher made the same silly mistake of dropping dead too! But other people put out even more books, with even more untouched material. There’s a new book coming out in November and JRR Tolkien’s been dead for fifty years! None of this was published under JRR’s aegis. And let me tell you, JRR Tolkien had a pretty weighty aegis: the man was famous for berating his publishers for edits and corrections. Part of the reason he never got around to completing a definitive Silmarillion was the fact that the man never wanted to publish something with which was not completely satisfied. Everything that has come out after his death, compiled with all the love and care in the world, is nevertheless pretty damning evidence that Tolkien was rarely satisfied. What we know about old JRR is that he changed his mind again and again, and we can’t know that on his death bed, his last thought wasn’t some brilliant revelation that finally made the One Ring work in the context of Sauron’s timeline in the Second Age. If he did, he didn’t get a chance scribble it on a napkin for his son to later try and make sense of. And so we will never really know what his true canon decision on, say, elven pregnancy was: sometimes he thought it should take about 108 years. Sometimes only 9 years. He would change his mind, or change his math, again and again.. So when you talk about the ‘canon’ of Tolkien, it’s important to remember that even if you’re just speaking about ‘definitive’ works, you’re left with those published with his approval in his lifetime. namely The Hobbit, The Lord of the Rings, The Adventures of Tom Bombadil, and The Road Goes Ever On songbook with Donald Swann. Even with those four books there’s complexity: what version of The Hobbit are you talking about? The original? Or the one he rewrote after he changed his mind about the entire nature of the ring Bilbo found in a cave and decided that actually it was the most important piece of jewelry in existence. Honestly, given world enough and time Tolkien probably would have made a third edition of The Hobbit because those two ‘canonical’ books, The Hobbit and it’s ‘sequel’ Lord of the Rings, don’t even fit together very well, as poor Peter Jackson learned to his sorrow and our pain with his wretched, tonally disjunct Hobbit films. It’s funny, because everyone on here loves talking about Roland Barthes’ Death of the Author. Almost none of you have ever read it, but it sure is a thing that’s a super important, inviolable concept... until we talk about an author the internet isn’t mad at, and suddenly the author’s word is inviolable and all adaptation choices are wrong. I don’t know how to get this across any clearer: anyone who has ever dug deep into Tolkien’s lore knows that speaking of things like ‘canon,’ ‘definitive,’ ‘authoritative,’ and all similar adjectives is often a fool’s errand. Tolkien left us with a lot of ideas about the second age, but very little in the way of clarity, much less ‘this is the true thing unchanging.’ Even the ‘authoritative’ timeline of the Appendices in LOTR is stuff he was changed in the writings he did in the years after. So I am begging you. Please. Please stop giving the Akallabêth a level of authoritative definition that even its compiler admitted it did not possess. Until you can prove to me you brought the shade of JRR Tolkien back from beyond the Veil to speak True Authorial Intent,[3] I am going to treat your recourse to ‘but the canon’ with the level of exasperation it deserves. --------------------------

[1] Besides the general problem on this website that everyone’s heard of critical theory and almost nobody’s ever read any. [2] There are plenty of valid critiques to be made, especially about pacing and awkward racial optics, but it’s really not the unhinged shit I’m seeing, as usual. [3] Let’s be honest: in the fifty years since he shuffled off his mortal coil, the shade of Tolkien will unquestionably return with a ghostly second pile of essays, letters, notes, scraps of ideas, poems, plot outlines, and ramblings, and they won’t be remotely definitive either. And we’re all going to be super disgruntled when the ghost insists that the only good adaptation is his work is Khraniteli.

[deceitful-darlings]

Have you seen the imposter au with sagau

I’ve seen both imposter au and the villain au, and yes, I love them! However, I don’t feel there’s often much background planned into the level of hatred or emotions from the characters, to the point it can almost feel completely out of character, and where did this ‘imposter’ even come from? So, why not make a lore, at least for my version, that half works with some prexisting characters with very little lore? I would say the imposter and villain au happen in a slightly different universe to the regular cult au, mainly because I don’t see how any of the Archons could’ve met the Divine Creator, yet somehow then see them millennia later and just...say they’re fake?

So, while their time of disappearance can vary for in the regular au, in the imposter and villain au, the Divine Creator must have vanished well over 6000 years ago, long before the oldest gods of Teyvat still alive even roamed the earth. Which then begs the question, what happened to them?

Well, we know of one being that is believed to currently be the start of Teyvat’s timeline. The Primordial One, a being who came from another world. Time to take the scraps of information I have and run with it.

The Primordial One was the first being to come to the Divine Creator, maybe even the being they created Teyvat for, after all, why would an all powerful being just create a world out of nowhere? The two were friends, The Primordial One shared their knowledge and The Divine Creator their power, and from this combination, the Old World was born. The first humans were some of the few who knew the truth of The Divine Creator, because their friendship (or romance) didn’t last.

The first humans could never be sure of the reasoning for it, but the relationship between the two began to fracture, they never spoke as to the reasoning, but one day The Divine Creator vanished from Teyvat. The Primordial One had attacked them, battling against them for a reason unknown, and during this battle The Divine Creator was wounded, their power, even after all these years, had not yet recovered from building Teyvat for their dear friend, and they weren’t strong enough to fight against them. So, Teyvat came to their aid, crumbling their physical form and sending their soul from Teyvat to another world, far from the reaches of The Primordial One.

Of course, they knew they hadn’t destroyed them, their soul had vanished yet there were still the faintest of traces of their existence, so they knew they must make a plan, and present a reason to the humans as to why you’re no longer here, whether it’s out of self preservation, guilt, or an attempt to lie to themselves about their action, they concoct their story.

The being who’d be walking among them was not The Divine Creator, they had known this for centuries but had not been strong enough to destroy the entity, born of darkness and corruption, that had stolen your face and drained you life force. They have now dealt with the imposter, however it had taken them too long to punish them, and you had suffered for their weakness, your body and soul so drained you were no longer able to manifest yourself, and your soul slept deep within Teyvat. So the story goes.

And how would they deal with the possibility of you returning? Well, they know it would be discoverered eventually, but they could buy themselves time. What better way to instil distrust that to make this being of fear and corruption a central peg in your story, the imposter that could always return wearing the face of The Divine Creator? Of course, they need something to be convincing, an imposter to make you seem like the imposter if you return, so The Primordial One sets to work. Creating a replica of a divine being is far from easy, but they manage to do so, and they link this body to the fragments of your divinity that linger in Teyvat. Using those fragments, this imposter is able to access memories, and even command Teyvat itself to an extremely limited degree.

The imposter was a failsafe, a being that was only to be used upon your return if it were soon, but when The Primordial One vanishes/dies, their story of imposters and real gods is passed through the generations until it is legend, to this very day the story is know. But the imposter is left behind. Sleeping deep in the earth they lay dormant, the fragments of your divinity whispering to them of the events in Teyvat, and upon your return they awaken. It has been many years since their master vanished, they’re no longer there to give new orders. Teyvat is very different to the one recalled in your hazy memory fragments, but none of that is of concern. They have one mission, and one mission only, the thing they had been born, taught, and raised for.

To dispose of the Divine Creator by any means necessary, be it death or incarceration, all to protect their creator’s secret.