#i just go with the flow of the story

[iwritenarrativesandstuff]

Ok, I think I have a pretty good idea of why a lot of Akechi's dialogue is... like that.

So, even before his confidant truly started, I noticed that he has a real knack for directing the flow of a conversation. This is very fitting for someone who is both a detective and skilled at interviews - when there is a topic and a goal, Akechi is in his element.

All this to say, he's actually kind of controlling when it comes to conversational flow. He probes for information, or turns the conversation around to a particular topic, usually the Phantom Thieves. He manages to take a few of Joker's dialogue options and spin them so they sound mildly incriminating in the context he's placed them in - the only way to truly get around this is to pick answers that feign indifference, and even then, that's more than a bit telling. He's clearly very good at this kind of thing.

But then, we get conversations where either Joker does something he didn't expect, or else he doesn't have a particular goal in mind - and the conversation stutters. In the first instance, Joker does something (a particularly egregious example is putting his glasses on him and fluffing his hair in rank 3) which both leaves him wrong-footed and no longer in perfect control of the situation. He just kind of... freezes, for awhile. It's hilarious. He has no idea how to respond.

He picks up control again in the phone call afterwards, having chosen to play into it, turning this "fooling the crowds" into a kind of game or secret between them. Nice save.

But in instances where there isn't an obvious topic and the goal is somewhat nebulous, for instance, that one Leblanc scene, it becomes pretty apparent that Akechi doesn't have the right "script" to go off of. Again, it's particularly notable in that scene, because I'm fairly sure he didn't have any specific reason to be at Leblanc, other than him looking for a quiet spot now that public opinion has turned on him. And because there isn't anything specific he's digging for, he kind of just ends up throwing things at the wall to see what will stick. Probing for any kind of recognizable reaction that he can jump on and work with, and that just doesn't really happen in this scene.

He references Sae, a woman in a respectable position, to Sojiro, but instead of that netting a welcome, it earns his ire, given Sae's recent actions against him. He then tries to greet Joker, his... rival? friend? enemy? person who at least seems to somewhat enjoy spending time with him? But Joker's responses are somewhat short, and Akechi practically wilts. He tries to commiserate by oversharing. He tries to involve Futaba and reaches out for the only topic of interest he can think of around "young people". He compliments the coffee. He compliments Joker. He tries to invoke that connection between them. None of it is really sticking, nor does it serve as a jumping off point for him to steer the conversation, or even really start one.

So, he basically just ends up having a one-sided chat with himself and then leaves. Hilarious. Also a little sad, if I'm being honest. It's really giving "guy with no friends who only knows how to speak to adults" energy. If there's no specific purpose to the exchange, or he is not in control of its direction, he seems to be kind of out of his depth. He succeeds only in being a little awkward and confusing, more than anything.

[xskyll]

Curious how many people guessed this. I know the answer is at least one! Prev / Next

First

[lynzishell]

The Past 💛 Atlas

Asher and I sit in the living room of his apartment. I’ve been here a few times before to hang out with Lex and watch a movie or two, so I know this cluttered space well. Today, I sit on the worn rug with my back against her old couch. She was dragging me to the flea market one Saturday when she spotted it on the curb outside a tall brownstone apartment building. She likes patterns and bright colors, and this couch has both. Though, you wouldn’t have known it when we first looked at it. It wasn’t until she spent the entire afternoon and evening cleaning it with a determination and vigor that only Lex possesses for vintage furniture that the bright yellow color really shone. To me, it looks like something out of a basement room in 1995, but to her it is complete perfection, and it’s cozy, which is what matters most to her.

When I insist that I’m fine on the floor, Asher makes a point to lie down and stretch his body across the sofa behind me, as if to imply I’ll regret it, but I can’t change my mind. But, what he doesn't know, is my reason for choosing to sit on the floor rather than Lex’s famous yellow couch: The sketchbook I caught sight of poking out from the edge of the red-painted pallet-turned-coffee-table.

“Is this yours?” I ask as I pick it up and start flipping through it.

“Yeah, just something I was trying out,” he says nonchalantly, though I feel him sit up, watching me curiously.

The pages are full of different types of grasses and wildflowers, mostly individual ones where he practiced different species from different angles and different stages of life, some with color, some not, some have bugs or grasshoppers on them or bees buzzing around. Then, there are a couple pages with vibrant meadows. There’s one with a lone tree blowing in the breeze, with leaves being carried away. Another with a dog running through, a butterfly on his nose. They’re so intricate and detailed that I feel the need to sneeze just looking at them.

“Ash, these are amazing.”

“Thank you.”

He leans over my shoulder, and I feel my entire left side register his sudden closeness. Pointing to the page he says, “That’s my dog, Jasper. There’s at least one of him in every book I’ve had since I got him.”

“How long have you had him?”

“Uhm,” he pauses to mentally calculate, “almost eight years.”

“Oh wow. Must be tons of them.”

“Hundreds. I have a few books dedicated just to him. When I first got him, I would study him, drawing different parts over and over, his nose, ears, the different expressions of his eyes. For a while, I became completely obsessed with drawing his paws.” He stops to laugh at the memory, “It wasn’t easy either. He’s so energetic, it’s impossible for him to keep still unless he’s sleeping. Even if I do catch him sitting still, he’ll run to me the second he sees me looking at him.”

I just give a quiet chuckle in response. I don’t know anything about dogs. Or art. But I like the way Asher looks when he talks about both. He always lights up, whether he’s animated and excited, or casual and relaxed, the same spark is still there lighting up his face. 

When I don’t say anything, he smiles, lies back on the sofa, “Y’know, I was watching you today.”

I set the sketchbook aside and turn to face him, resting my elbow on the sofa seat, careful not to get close enough to touch him. “You were, huh?”

“Did you know that when you concentrate, you do this thing where you pucker your lips?” He attempts to imitate this thing I supposedly do, but fails when he starts laughing at himself, or at me, probably both.

“I do not.”

“You do,” he lets out a sound that can only be described as a choked giggle, and it makes me spit a laugh.

“So, what, you just stand there and stare at my lips like a creep, or something?”

“It’s hard not to. I’ve never seen anyone do that before. Not like that anyway.” He tries to imitate it again, only to devolve into giggles.

“You do the opposite, y’know.”

“What do you mean, the opposite?”

“When you’re really focused, you suck in your bottom lip and like, hold it between your teeth.”

He takes a moment to try it out and then nods his head when the action feels familiar, “Oh shit, yeah, I do do that, don’t I? Here you are, giving me shit, and it turns out you’re the one staring at my lips.”

“It’s hard not to.” I stop and let the words hang in the air, mostly to see how he’d react, but also because it’s not a lie. Catching him biting his lower lip at work sometimes can be mildly distracting. He nudges my shoulder gently with his leg and says with a grin, “Creep.”

Then, with a raised voice and a wave of his arm he says, “Okay, but the best,” as if it’s now some kind of competition that he’s clearly about to win, “is the singing! The way you like, sing to yourself when you’re working.”

“What about it?”

“Well, for one, it’s cute as hell, but also, if I did that, everyone would be so annoyed with me and tell me to shut up. I don’t know how you get away with it over there.”

I scoff, “No one is gonna tell me to shut up. For one, I’m cute as hell,” I say with a smile, and continue before he can interrupt, “but I don’t know, I can’t help it. I don’t even realize I’m doing it half the time. But I think I’m quiet enough that most of them just tune me out by now, and besides, I have an amazing voice.”

“You’re awfully confident about that.”

“I should be. I’m professionally trained.”

“Are you really?”

“Yeah, our parents were very strict about the skills we had to learn growing up, and singing was one of them.”

“Well, shit, now I want to hear you sing for real.”

“I’m not just gonna perform for you, but I’m sure if you hang around me long enough, you will eventually.”

Unsatisfied with that answer, he says, “Hm. Do you ever do karaoke?”

“Yeah, karaoke’s fun. But you can’t just watch me. If we do that, I will make you sing at least one song with me.”

“That’s fair, I’d do that. As long as you promise not to make fun of me if I’m terrible.”

“I’d never.”

“Okay, but now I’m curious, what other secret skills do you have?”

“Uhh, let’s see, there was the singing, and then we had to learn to speak French, fluently—”

“And who’s ‘we’?”

“Oh, me and Dawn, my twin sister.”

“I didn’t know you were twins. I’m going to have follow-up questions, but okay so singing and French, what else?”

I can’t help but smile as his eyes shine with genuine enthusiasm. I don’t think I’ve ever had someone be this excited to know about me. I have to admit, it’s really flattering. I’ve never considered myself to be a very interesting person, especially to someone as charismatic and creative as he is. Somehow, he makes me feel like I am, though, so I continue, “The last one was piano, which was the worst of all of them.”

“Oh my god, right?!” He slams his hand down on the couch so hard that he practically sits up and it makes me jump. “I had to take piano lessons too, and I fucking hated it. Can you still play?”

“I don’t know. I’m sure I could figure it out, but why would I?”

“Good point,” he laughs, “I definitely can’t. Honestly, I don’t even remember how to read music, but don’t tell my dad that.”

“Why would your dad care if you can’t read music?”

“Because he’s a fucking composer!” he announces, with a wave of his arms. “Oh my god, the poor man, though, he really wanted Iris and me to share his love of music. Iris is my sister, by the way, but not a twin, she’s two years older than me. Anyway, neither of us took to it, and we both ended up doing visual arts. She’s a graphic designer, and I make fucking trees for video games.”

“Hey, you do way more than trees! You also make grass and weeds!” I say this with a hint of sarcasm, obviously he’ll do far more than that as the project progresses.

“Right, I fucking love weeds,” it comes out almost aggressive, he clearly means it, and I start to wonder if his casualness about the wildflowers was more of an act that I initially thought. “I tried a bunch of instruments though. He bought me a guitar when I was twelve, ‘cause like, who doesn’t want to learn guitar, right? Me. That’s who. I gave up after a week because my fingers hurt,” he stops for a moment to laugh at himself and I marvel at his smile as it stretches from ear-to-ear, his gray eyes bright and intense, “and THEN,” his words coming out quicker and more animated as he goes on, “he was like ‘alright well the kid’s got rhythm at least, how about the drums?’ And like, okay, the drums were fun and all, but I just couldn’t care less. I’d fuck around on them, but I had no interest in learning to be a good drummer. The best he was ever going to get out of me was dancing. Otherwise, I just want to put my headphones on and draw.”

“Well, I’m glad you pursued your passion in the end because you really are talented. The detail you put into your work, it’s the best I’ve seen.”

“Aw, well, shit, thank you,” he extends his hand out, but it comes just short of my arm, so he tugs the sleeve of my cardigan gently with his fingers and holds onto it. I think my compliment caught him off guard because he’s no longer laughing and his voice is softer now, “and, I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. My dad is the sweetest, most supportive man in the world. If anything, I think I was a bit spoiled. I feel a little guilty that he kept investing in these instruments that I would just toss aside. There’s no way I can disappoint him further by admitting I don’t even know how to read music anymore.”

“Don’t worry,” I assure him, “your secret is safe with me.”

I’m acutely aware that his leg is resting against me now, and he’s rolling the fabric of my sleeve between his thumb and middle finger. Normally, I would have already scooted away from the sofa. Pivoted my body so the conversation could continue, but so that I could not be touched. But I don’t feel any need to do that. Not with him. His affection is so subtle and absent-minded; I can tell he’s just feeling comfortable with me. Something about that makes me feel comfortable with him too.

What really takes me by surprise, though, is that I want more. I want to lie next to him on the couch, to rest my head on his chest, to feel him run his fingers through my hair while he watches tv and the steady rhythm of his heartbeat keeps my own calm and quiet. Somewhere deep inside, I know exactly how it would feel, and I ache for it.

“Hey,” he tugs on my sleeve, pulling me out of my thoughts, “where did you go?”

“I’m right here,” I tell him.

“You left for a minute there. What were you thinking about?”

I’m not really sure how to answer the question. I try, but I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound ridiculous, so no words come out.

He cocks his head to the side a bit, looking curious, and says, “I can’t read you. It’s like your thoughts and feelings are written all over your face, but I don’t speak the language, so I can’t decipher your expressions.”

“Ahh,” he sits up with a groan and covers his face with his hands, “fuck, I’m sorry. That sounded really lame, and I regretted it as soon as it came out. Please, just tell me what you were thinking about, distract me from my embarrassment.”

I chuckle quietly. I don’t think what he said was that lame. I know what he meant. But his current state of vulnerability gives me just enough courage to attempt to answer his question, so I give it my best shot.

“I was just thinking that it feels like I’ve known you for years. Not that I’m feeding you some line about how it feels like we’ve known each other forever or something. But you just feel… familiar? I guess. Like, you know when you watch a movie that you haven’t seen in years. You don’t remember it, and you don’t know what happens, but you remember what's happening as it’s happening. Like déjà vu but not. I don’t know. I’m not making sense.” I give up and let my head fall forward onto the couch to hide my face, “maybe I should go before we continue to embarrass ourselves more.”

He doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves his hand to the top of my head and runs his fingers through my hair. It feels exactly the way I knew it would. The way his long fingers run across my scalp, then curl and pull on the strands gently toward the ends, letting them fall little by little. Somehow, I know the feel of his hands as well as my own. I freeze, trying not to move or make a sound. It’s almost as though, if I don’t acknowledge the act, I can ensure he doesn’t stop. And I don’t want him to.

But he does. The sudden tension in my body makes him pull away, “I’m sorry. Was that okay?”

I lift my head up and soften, “Yeah, it was okay. Unexpected, but it was nice.”

“Okay, good. I know I can be a bit touchy-feely sometimes, so if I ever make you uncomfortable, you can tell me. But I’ll be better about asking you first.”

“Thank you,” I say with a nod.

“Of course,” the words come out so gentle and quiet, and the corner of his mouth turns up in a such a sweet half smile that it makes me melt a little. And then he adds, “I really like hanging out with you, Atlas.”

I am officially a puddle on the floor. “Me too.”

Prev // Next

✨I wanna give a HUGE shoutout to @madebycoffee for creating the poses for this scene!! They are so perfect, I literally sobbed when I put them in my game 😭 It means so much to me to be able to bring this scene to life the way I imagined it. I absolutely adore you, Coffee, and I am forever grateful to have met you and to have the opportunity to share this love of writing and sims with you!! Thank you for loving my boys and for making this moment possible for them! 💖

[mutalieju]

[wordswhisperinthedark]

I think the biggest reason why the long forms are my favourite sfth thing is that as someone who spends ages writing because the words won't go the way I want immediately, it's amazing to see a group conjure up such wonderful and well-written stories with beautiful arcs and conclusions (plus the healthy doses of chaos), and well fleshed-out characters in the space of like, 30 minutes or less?? On the spot?? And with other people all throwing their ideas in at the same time?? *mind blown*

[sorrinslays]

What I am about to propose is very self indulged and a dynamic just for me, but

I really want to see a quest where it's just Black Swan, Gallagher, Mr. Reca and Sampo.

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Dawn

I am back because i got home from work and I got no chill! :D @spotaus

First one Prev drabble Next one

Okay. So why this one? Because i realised it was a while since i wrote a drabble from Horror's point of view and that is criminal and it is a great excuse for me to showcase some stuff from the quiet and very observing sockets of Horror! (also gives me an excuse to not think about the drabble order i got now and that thought i messed it up a bit which I need to think of a solution for)

Ready? Let's go!

*------------------------*

Horror makes sure to carefully close the door to the greenhouse. It is still early but he is used to those.

He enjoys the cool fresh air as he walks towards the house, small basket filled with fresh monster food. Horror is happy he got permission from Crop to harvest the plants in there for their meals.

He quietly opens the door and listens for a moment. He saw Cross leave the farm a little while ago to do his own morning workouts and by the sounds of it the other three are still asleep.

Which is good because he needs his own sleep. Horror knows very well that Dust is the one to wake up with Nightmare if something bothers him in his sleep.

He found the two of them awake and reading a book one too many times for Horror to believe they just had an allnighter.

Horror likes being up early. Maybe strange for him but he got used to it in his old universe. The best time to check his traps and search for food had been in the very early morning, or very late night depending on how you look at it, as most people would be asleep.

It is a leftover habit and he just kept going with it when he joined Nightmare's gang.

He puts the food away in all the right places and goes about getting the ingredients for todays breakfast. He notices the fresh milk and eggs and the choice is obvious. Some pancakes would be great.

He starts preparing the ingredients as he takes the time to measure it all. The milk makes him chuckle.

Watching Cross realises there was a cow had been funny. Finding Cross in a tree shaking with a cow under it had been hilarious. Crop ahd been apologetic as he explained that his cow, Betty (Killer had mutters "of course it is claled betty") was aparently mischievious.

Horror had his doubts but Cross swore that the cow would know when he left the farmhouse. That the cow would stand at the edge of her field and stare at him.

Cross did not go to the east side of the farm anymore. aparently that was Betty's territory in his mind.

Nightmare liked petting Betty however so you have your ups and downs.

Horror mixes the ingredients slowly but surely. Thinking about Nightmare, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

silence before a soft mutter "Not tired anymore."

Horror chuckles as he shoots Nightmare a look. He looks fully awake and adorable in his new wool sweater. Horror grins "God powers?"

Nightmare shrugs "I mean probably. I never needed sleep before. that is still new." They hadn't really noticed anything that could be connected to Nightmare's godhood at the moment. Maybe it had gone domant, at least that was Cross's guess. Dust just thinks Nightmare's magic is now focussed on healing instead of weird god shenenigans.

Speaking of healing! Horror gives him a stern look "bandages?"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but mutters his answer "All still in place and good. Killer replaced them after the bath last night,"

Horror nods. With that secured he relaxes abit "Want to help?"

Nightmare is already by his side and stands on his tiptoes. Horror chuckles as he gives him a look "Need a chair?" he would offer a stepstool but the chair is more stable for him.

Nightmare looks at the counter annoyed before nodding his agreement. Horror grabs a chair and puts it near the counter. Nightmare climbs it easily.

Horror really wants to pick him up but they do have the rule that inside Nightmare should walk around himself to carefully train his spine. It is still much to early to already start carrying him. Horror knows that if any of them start they won't stop.

Nightmare reaches for the ingredients, some fruits for inside the pancakes, before pausing and staring at his sweater.

Nightmare has been very careful with his new gifted clothes. Horror himself is also very careful with the set of clothes Dust got him.

Horror frowns at the food he is making. He really hopes he can quickly find soemthing to do here to earn money. At the moment only Dust has something and it is starting to show, even Killer seems to be getting annoyed with himself over it.

Until now Horror and Cross helped around on Crop's farm. Which he was happy to do as it only seemed fair as a way to repay Crop for letting them stay. Horror has also been learning the basics about farming, farmland and farmwork from Crop. It is still a lot and not everything sticks in his skull, probably falling out of that hole. But he is getting better at it. He hopes with this Crop can maybe get the news out that both of them are more than willing to help around with heavy duty work and get a bit of cash flow.

Killer... Killer has a very specific set of skills. Sadly not specifically useful on a farm. Even if he is great with the animals and can herd pretty much anything, which is very useful but well. Most people won't let you near their animals unless they trust you and Killer is Killer.

Horror just feels bad that Dust is pretty much still Ngihtmare's main caretaker, got the rough end with the backstory they settled on, and has to deal with work to get cash. Only to spend all of it on them all.

Horror can see it is starting to wear him down. He just hopes they can figure out how to balance everything better.

It is another reason he loves these mornings. Because morning time means Dust, and Killer, both sleep in and Horror gets time to supervise their babybones. Horror adores the time wiht Nightmare. Especially when alone because then others don't watch them nervously the whole time.

It is exhausting to be seen as something dangerous even if he knows it is true. It is why they mean so much to him, they never treated him like that. None of them did.

A glance confirms that Nightmare has carefuly rolled up the sleeves and is taking extra care with cutting the fruits, using one of the duller knives which won't be able to cut bone. Horror turns back to getting everything else ready. He has to concentrate to push his intent into the food. He wants them to enjoy and like it. Feel the things he can't say to them.

Horror knows what he wants and feels but also knows none of them are ready to hear it. Horror has known that from the moment he realised what he felt was. The curse of being the only emotional stable one.

He still remembers all the way back near the start of them meeting and chuckles to himself. they did not get along at all.

Nightmare immediantly looks up "What is funny?" he looks adorably confused.

Horror thinks for a moment "Remember when you brought me in?"

Nightmare blinks before giving a slow nod "Yeah... I had hoped you would calm Killer and Dust."

Horror chuckles "Can't believe you thought i could do that."

Ngihtmare shrugs as he finishes up his task and just sits normally on the chair "I mean... It worked." his hands find the glass of juise Horror got him.

Horror pauses for a moment before nodding. Nightmare is kinda right with that one. It hadn't worked right away but he made it work. Mostly because he had had a lot of motivation.

Nightmare, still a fully active god at that point, had offered him that he would slowly but surely fix the food problem in his universe in trade for his service, something about it being too severe for him to be able to instantly fix but if Horror worked for him he would work on it. Horror had figured Nightmare had known about his little weird immortality situation with his own universe's core and accepted.

Turns out he just wanted him to fix whatever had been going on with Killer and Dust. Because they would fight. Constantly. And those two got very close to killing each other a few times.

Horror had eventually managed to somehow form a connection and bond with Killer. It had been rather easy and Horror was able to become friends with him over coworkers. Eventually find him not just annoying but funny. And later think fondly of his antics.

Dust took longer. Which had been a combination of Dust just being an introvert and not looking for connections or at least not in the way that made that clear to Horror. And well Horror heard bits and pieces of what Dust had done and had honestly been disgusted with the idea that Dust just murdered his whole universe and his own brother. Just to fight one human? Just to end a timeloop?

It was well after he managed to get them to stop, or at least contain the damage of, their fighting. Well after he started working for Nightmare more permanently that Horror realised how the multiverse worked.

And how fucking unfair it was.

Because aparently? stupid fate or some shit? That decided how your universe worked. His would always have ended up with a famine and starvation. Killer would always lose control and be controlled, abused and used by the human. Cross would always be the end of his universe. Dust... Dust would always have to kill his universe. No matter what he tried or solution he tried.

It wasn't until later Horror learned that Dust had tried everything. Multiple times. That Dust had learned to play multiple musical instruments in the time of resets. That he had learned to cook, and tinker. He master chemistry. Everything in the hopes it could give him a solution.

But the fates had already decided his ending, much like for all of them there was only one ending possible for them. And in the end locked him in a dead AU make by his own hands when no other options was left. Just like all of them had been.

Horror has to admit it took him a long time to get Dust to admit those things to him. Msotly because Horror had been standoffish before and that he accidentally gave Killer advice to treat Dust like one of the many stray cats he interact with.

He hadn't specifically said that. horror had just told Killer that maybe Dust would like Killer more, or at all, if Killer learned to respect his boundaries. Horror had mentioned how Killer could learn each cat's limits so why not Dust?

Worst part was that it actually worked.

Horror rubs his face "I give him cat advice." his voice sounds pained. Dust had been so mad at them both.

Nightmare nods "I remember. Dust left for three weeks." he snorts "which really is very catlike..." more thoughtful "And then you two got mad at me for not telling you where he went." He blinks and shrugs as he drinks from his orange juice.

Horror ignores the cat comment as he looks at Nightmare "Why didn't you tell us?" Dust had actually been recruited to help Nightmare with the balance. Something Horror only started to do after helping Killer and Dust be less homicidal.

Nightmare blinks at him wiht those wide sockets "I didn't want to force any of you... If you wanted to leave..." he speaks softer and softer "I wasn't going to stop you if you wanted to leave... if you didn't want to stay..."

Horror frowns and picks Nightmare up. He embraces him and hums "I am sorry we left..."

Nightmare shrugs as he pushes clsoer to him "You came back..."

hah... yeah they did. Much like Dust did all that time ago. He was gone for a few weeks before returning after killing Ink bringing back one of his fucking sketchbooks as proof. Obviously killing Ink does little in the long run but it was quite the powermove. Dust had glared at them daring to say anything. Killer of course had muttered something about Dust bringing back a kill much like a cat.

Horror is still not sure how he managed to stop Dust from Killing Killer that day.

Horror puts Nightmare at the table and gets a small yogurt and fruit snack ready for him. Just so he can eat a tiny bit. See how his magic will handle food today. Nightmare starts eating it when offered and that is a good sign. Means his magic is actually sending out the signal that it needs food today.

Horror goes back to flipping pancakes. Horror tries to stay in the here and now but his injury makes his mind likely to wander. and with already having been thinking about them.

He still remembers one of the early missions, after Horror learned about fates cruel games. Dust had still acted the same but Horror had tried to be more friendly. He had been close to giving up on it as clearly it wasn't working as Dust was still standoffish. Only for Dust to pull him out of the way of an attack from Ink, getting hit instead.

Later Horror had demanded why he did that and Dust had just shrugged. He hadn't had an answer for him. It confused Horror to no end. Horror was immortal because of that fact that his magic had been used in the core and bonded to that. Meaning as long as the core in his universe was fine he would return to life.

The gang had known this and Horror knew that Dust knew this. And yet. Dust had heard all of that and looked at the large monster Horror had become saw soemthing worth protecting. Something that needed protection.

Horror thinks he fell a little bit in love that day.

Much like how one day Horror just realised he couldn't stand the idea of not being near Killer or never seeing him again. That even if Killer could be annoying that he didn't wish him any pain or harm.

How it warmed his soul that Killer, and Cross later, would hide behidn him. Seeing him as someone safe that would protect them. See him as someone trustworthy.

Cross, so eager to please and desperate for affection and affirmation. but once he relaxed so smart and funny. Loyal and always ready to help...

But now is not the time to try and see what any of them thought or felt. They are dealing wiht a lot at the moment and they need to concentrate with trying to make staying here work.

The front door opens and Cross walks in quietly. He sneaks a glance at them and smiles when Horror catching him looking. Cross waves to Nightmare "Hey guys. All good?"

Horror nods "Nightmare helped." he flips another pancake as Nightmare drinks his juice with a smug little smile.

Cross grins "Good to hear. I will quickly get cleaned up and help. Dust and Killer?"

Nightmare hums "Still asleep." and he sips his juice again.

Cross nods "Good to know. be back in a bit" and he goes towards the bathroom. The pipes groan softly as Cross no doubt turns on the shower.

Horror finishes the last pancake and gets to wrok on getting the drinks and coffee ready.

Another day for them to figure out how this will work. Horror is just happy they are all here, everything else can wait as long as they stick together.

*-------------------------*

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[gomzdrawfr]

We are getting words in as I wrestle with my brain

this mtf (points at myself) loves stars and galaxy imageries

also random thought, does any fic writers do the thing when writing from art like this? xD I always like to pick things I've noticed from the piece itself, putting it in bullet points and then expand my ideas from there then try to connect them to paragraphs

[phoenix-clan]

A Small Note about the tone of PhoenixClan going forward

So anyone who has glanced at my intro post may notice I removed the portion where I talked about the tone of PhoenixClan generally being light. This is because, as I have finished writing the events of Arc 1 and am moving into writing Arc 2, I am realizing that some of these stories are getting much darker than I ever intended. In particular, Arc 2 will feature a storyline about an abusive relationship and the consequences of such a situation on the psyches of all involved. Arc 1 is not going to be finished any time soon, of course; Arc 1 will likely finish when all of the apprentices have finally become warriors, and they're not there yet. However I felt the need to publicly speak about this because I realize that the topic of abusive relationships is much heavier than many of you may be ready or willing to handle, and may even hit too close to home for some of you. My original promise of PhoenixClan as a lighthearted story, while definitely applicable to Arc 1, will not continue for Arc 2, and I believe you all deserve a heads-up on that long before it happens. I could theoretically remove the storyline, but personally I believe that not only is this the logical direction of this story, I also do not want to overly censor the art I am making or stop myself from depicting things that I want to depict because it may be upsetting. That said, I will be crafting Arc 1 in such a way that, like the first arc of the Warrior Cats series proper, if you want to stop reading and pretend the first arc is the final one, you're absolutely free to. I will not begrudge any of you for not being interested in the darker themes of Arc 2 when we get there. All I ask is that you continue engaging with PhoenixClan with a clear and open mind, and I hope to earn the trust of you all to handle these darker topics.

[raindropren]

thought I could ignore martyns personal lore but then I watched RatsSMP S1 and suddenly I'm confused and little obsessed

also despite having had no interest in PiratesSMP when it came out and not being into pirates and not knowing literally anything about it,, i am now watching Martyn's POV of it,,,,

the silly funny funky minecraft smp lore has consumed me,,, the silly weirdo liar has become extremely interesting,,,

[never-goingtopostanything]

dark flow

Okay so I recently rewatched @rey-0f-sunshine's video on Mihaly and started thinking about dark flow.

If dark flow is all the negative emotions and thoughts a person have, then what does that mean that anyone with depression, bipolar, anxiety literally any mental condition or even just having a bad day?

Like dark flow is clearly seen as evil, so is anyone with these issues treated like a bad person, if someone just saw a random person using dark flow would they assume that person is evil or just go eh? Do they report the person to law enforcement, how are they treated?

Continuing on from that surely not all Danceverses treat people controlling dark flow, I can see one Danceverse not caring at all then another calling for a witch-hunt for someone being seen manipulating dark flow and then one that actually tries to treat them for the mental issues they suffer from to help them live a better life.

Next point, dark flow is what formed Eternyx, are people from Eternyx more prone to having mental issues like depression, anxiety and so on, are the floworld and Melosia realms people less likely to suffer from these issues because of the connection to normal flow?

how do different Danceverses treat mental illnesses, if at all? Does Eternyx have a better system than Dancity because of how many people have these issues that live there or is it worse because of how many people are suffering? Does Dancity have a better system because of the lack of people suffering or is it worse because there is so little research on these issues and so little people in Dancity would have these issues?

The next and final point is how do people treat their friends that normally don't control dark flow when they start seeing them controlling the dark flow? Do they think their friend is turning evil, do they assume their friend is having a bad day, do people even know that negative emotions are mental issues can create dark flow or do they assume that they are evil and twisted despite knowing the person?

Am I thinking about this way too much, yes, but I don't care, I need to get this out of my head right now.

[lavenderjewels]

I’m like a broken record but it’ll be funny if gojo dies when he’s sealed in the anime then there really won’t be any gojo for years

[pics-pizza-peace]

some traditional doodle crap I lazily drew over. not gonna finish this one it's just silly :^P

[aliengirl]

Storytelling Secrets

tagged by @duusheen thanks love

Someone will face the consequences of their acts

Someone new will change others lifes

Someone will finally follow their dreams

Family is not always the one who shares our blood

Tagging @tulipsimss @apricote and everyone who wants to do that and wasnt tagged yet

[joker-out]

~ joker out social media AU ~

part 01 - the character’s twt accounts, only bojan has a priv account and more characters will be added later. the guys are all students and their band is quite popular. might be ooc cause well, it’s an au :))

next >

[lets-try-some-writing]

Artificial Prime

Part 2 of the Artificial Prime AU, previous post here.

Recap: Optimus is a machine made by Ratchet to replace the deceased Orion Pax and serve as the Prime the Autobots desperately need. He didn't know he was a machine, he wasn't supposed to know that the Matrix within him was fake or that he was sparkless. But then Smokescreen arrived on earth with the real Matrix and now the truth has no choice but to come out lest the Autobots fall.

━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙ ━━━━━━━━━━━━ ⊙ ❖ ⊙

The real Matrix shone in the container it had come in and Optimus lay sprawled out on the ground unconscious, his processors overwhelmed by the sudden surge of data. The team remained silent for a long moment while Ratchet panicked. Then before any of them could do anything about it, he slammed the lid back on the crate and shoved the Matrix in its box under his medical berth.

His processors whirled, desperate to come up with a convincing lie to get both Optimus and the team convinced that Optimus was indeed a Prime. He briefly considered trying to claim that the new Matrix was fake, but none could deny its aura. It was real, it had to be. The very sparks of all the natural born Cybertronians sang at the sight of the relic, they all knew what it was.

In the end Ratchet gathered up Optimus while the team were still reeling and dropped him on the medical berth while struggling to come up with a solution. However after a moment, the team began to understand what happened and in mere moments, there were questions barraging him.

Smokescreen: That was the Matrix! The fragging Matrix! How is it here and not... in Optimus's chest?!?

Arcee: Ratchet, you seem to know what's going on. Care to explain?

Ratchet: ...

Bulkhead: Ratch? Is it fake or something?

Bumblebee: Is Optimus going to be alright?

Ratchet: ... Forget you ever saw this. If you want things to stay the way they should, forget you ever saw the relic and pretend it didn't happen.

Smokescreen: What?!

Ratchet: I can't tell you the truth. It would ruin everything. Just listen to me this once and don't say a word. When Optimus wakes pretend this didn't happen and never speak of it again.

Arcee: You can't be serious!

Ratchet: I am more serious than ever before. Optimus can't know about this. He needs to keep believing. He isn't allowed to know.

Bulkhead: Ratchet, you aren't making any sense-

Ratchet: Do you want a Prime?! Do you want a leader!? Then shut up and follow orders like a good soldier while I fix this!

Ratchet's sharp response caught the entire team off guard, so much so that they didn't stop him and merely watched on in growing fear and concern as he put the box with the Matrix in a storage room and locked the door before demolishing the access point. Not a spark had any idea why he had given them the orders he had or why he was trying to get rid of the actual Matrix of leadership. However as Optimus stirred, they had a choice to make.

As soon as Optimus's waking reached Ratchet's audio receptors he hurried forward and eliminated any evidence of the Matrix's existence before slamming down a random datapad that he intended to claim was the item within the box Smokescreen carried. Then as Optimus shot up, horrified and clawing at his chassis and looking around for where he last saw the Matrix, Ratchet smoothed his expression with such skill that even the team were frightened. Then without any hesitation he told Optimus it was all a dream, that it wasn't real. As he did so he uttered a soft command one which inspired submissiveness and trust. It was one of his failsafes, and while Optimus seemed confused, the command worked and he got up rubbing his helm.

The moment the Prime looked away, Ratchet shot the team the most deadly glare he could, almost daring them to go against his orders. They all looked away and said nothing, earning a hint of relaxation and hope in the medic. Optimus couldn't know the truth. If the team remained silent he could explain himself and come up with a reasonable lie. But until then, he needed them to keep what they had seen to themselves.

Thankfully with a few more near silent commands from Ratchet to make Optimus unfocused, the Prime didn't notice anything and wandered off to his quarters on Ratchet's orders to recharge. At which point Ratchet was once again met with questions, all of which he brushed off as best as he could. He murmured something about answering them later and then reminded the team to keep their mouths shut with yet another glare before heading off to his own quarters to think.

Optimus couldn't know. But now it was too late to keep the full truth hidden. That left Ratchet with only one real option... he had to choose the lesser of two evils and offer up a fraction of the truth, that being that the Matrix in Optimus's chassis was not the real one.

Ratchet mulled over his response for nearly a whole day, unwilling to leave his quarters and he agonized over it. By that point the team had already begun to question aloud and Ratchet's commands to Optimus had worn off. The Prime was suspicious and quickly came to realize that what he was told was not at all true as the team broke and told him what they had seen and experienced.

In the end Optimus was left fearful, confused, and anxious for answers. As such he and the team ended up waiting for Ratchet impatiently as he finally dragged himself out of his quarters to face the inevitable. One truth needed to be revealed, and in his mind, it was better that the falsity of the Matrix come to light rather than Optimus's nature. At least that way he could keep likely keep the team together and shoulder the blame, effectively ensuring the Autobots wouldn't crumble.

He should have known better than to expect things to go that easily.

Optimus: You lied to me Ratchet.

Ratchet: ...

Optimus: I want to know why. Tell me old friend, what's going on?

Ratchet: ... Optimus, you must promise to listen to me before doing anything drastic first.

Optimus: I cannot guarantee that.

Ratchet: ... Very well.

Smokescreen: Is it fake!? The Matrix, is it?

Ratchet: The Matrix that you brought with you is real Smokescreen. There is no denying that.

Arcee: Then Optimus-?!

Ratchet: His Matrix is fake. I made it and implanted it after minor memory alteration and frame upgrades.

Optimus: ... why?

Ratchet: We needed a Prime. Primus would not give us one, so I did what was required.

Optimus looked like his entire world was crashing down around him, his face the embodiment of pain, shock, and confusion. He didn't pass out again, but he wobbled and held onto the nearest surface like it was his lifeline as he opened his chassis to look at the faux Matrix. He raised a shaky servo to it and touched the faux Matrix as if the thing itself had betrayed him.

The team were in mixed states of shock. Arcee looked conflicted, Bulkhead appeared to want to vanish into thin air, Smokescreen just seemed confused more than anything, and Bumblebee was torn between going to Optimus and asking further questions. Ratchet watched it all while silently wishing Smokescreen had never arrived. The rookie was ruining everything, and all Ratchet could do was try to patch up the complex lie he had built up for the entirety of the Autobots and for Optimus.

After the reveal Optimus retreated to his quarters for over three days, not coming out for anything while he processed a whole part of his worldview shattering. Ratchet slid a datapad under his door containing all the details of the faux Matrix minus anything that would hint at Optimus's true nature. He hoped it would bring his creation some sense of understanding, but he could only wish. All the while the team did their best to function on their own. Thankfully for Ratchet, while they avoided him like the plague and treated him with mixed hatred and grim understanding, the team remained loyal. They didn't show any signs of abandoning the Autobots because of the lie Ratchet had built, and in fact they seemed more loyal now that they knew Optimus was as much as a victim of the lie as they were.

It was a cold comfort, but one Ratchet accepted. He had already made himself a heretic and a sinner by creating Optimus at all. He knew what fate awaited him and he accepted the cold disregard for his presence stoically. He deserved it after all.

When Optimus emerged again he was received with more understanding and care from the team than anything else. They respected him still and gave him their sympathies. He was in far more pain than they were and they knew it. He had led armies, fought in a pointless war, and suffered through every conceivable form of pain because he believed it to be his duty as Prime. To find out that he was not a Prime was a harsh reality check, one that had Optimus similarly avoiding Ratchet as if he were a stranger.

Ratchet accepted it all. He didn't show any emotion during the day and only told the children to refer to Optimus by his first name and not his title. He patched wounds as quickly as he could, opened ground bridges without a word, and kept out of everyone's way. What did his loneliness matter after all he had done? He deserved to be treated as an outcast.

As such time passed and battles were fought. Optimus opted to not reveal the truth of his lack of a Matrix to the Decepticons for obvious reasons. But around base he dropped the name of Optimus and instead asked to be called Orion, a fact that left Ratchet wanting to purge every single time the name was called. Still he endured and did not utter a word of objection, instead focusing on keeping the children from noticing the growing gulf between himself and the team.

They hunted relics, fought Megatron for them, and continued their war. It was a sad existence for Ratchet, but an acceptable one... right up until Optimus came to him for the first time in months since the reveal and asked him for one simple thing.

Optimus wanted the faux Matrix removed, claiming that he wanted to leave behind anything that set him apart from the others. Ratchet only half heard Optimus explanation before stress and panic emerged and he slammed his fist down onto his workstation with a resounding cry of "No". The team who were listening in all paused in shock again and Optimus looked more frustrated than anything. The artificial Prime had evidently had enough and began to question, asking why and getting in Ratchet's face. Ratchet pushed his creation away and refused to answer. The faux Matrix couldn't be removed, doing so would reveal Optimus's lack of a spark. Perhaps on Cybertron he could have whipped up something fake to go there instead, but on earth? He had no such ability.

Soon enough Optimus got frustrated and opened up his chassis with the intent to tear out the faux Matrix if Ratchet wouldn't. Desperate and fueled by panic and fear, Ratchet made a mistake. He grabbed Optimus's arm, tore him away from his attempts and uttered the shut down phrase he had installed in terror. Before he could realize his mistake, Optimus dropped to the ground, aware but paralyzed.

The team rushed to his aid while Ratchet shook, knowing that now there would be more questions. How could he tell them? Optimus already didn't trust him. And now that Ratchet's failsafe code had been revealed there was no way in the pits that Optimus wouldn't get curious and dig on his own if Ratchet failed to explain.

He was fragged, totally and completely fragged.

Arcee: What did you do to him!?

Bumblebee: Fix this! He needs help!

Bulkhead: We need an explanation now!

Ratchet: It was a failsafe code.

Smokescreen: What does that even mean?!

Ratchet: I... I couldn't risk him going rogue... If he ever found out or his AI went out of control I needed a way to shut him down until I could fix things.

Bumblebee: ... AI?

Ratchet: ... He wasn't supposed to be like this. He... it was supposed to be a tool, a machine to serve as a placeholder until the war was over... it wasn't meant to adapt as it has. I never intended for it to really feel anything.

Arcee: Ratchet, are you saying-?!

Ratchet: Orion Pax died. We needed a leader. I made one for us, a perfect leader who would never fall to lesser emotions like greed and envy.

Ratchet: ...

Ratchet: I made a perfect artificial Prime all for your sakes. It was for our cause... for the Autobots...

Not a word was spoken amid the silence that followed. Optimus remained prone, his optics gazing up at Ratchet in increasing horror as his AI struggled to comprehend the reality. The team stood in growing horror, looking between the paralyzed Optimus and Ratchet in confliction.

Everything Ratchet built was coming crashing down and all he could do was weep.