#i ordered things at a Reasonable Time for once

[xhyjin]

thinking about nanami kento! (when am i not) with a s/o that is socially awkward/shy

he knew from the start that you were distant. during work parties, you never showed up, only clocking in to work and leaving once your duties were done, never lingering to chat or mingle. the rare times you did attend, you stayed in the corners, quietly observing with wide, nervous eyes and a faint blush coloring your cheeks. he couldn’t help but be intrigued, and one day, curiosity got the better of him. he approached you. your words stuttered, your face burned red, but there was something about the way you responded that made him instantly drawn to you. from that moment, you became his reason to look forward to work every day.

he began to notice the little things about you. how you stayed tucked away in your cubicle, only speaking to coworkers when necessary. how you spent your lunch breaks alone, either watching a show on your phone or quietly eating, lost in your own thoughts. and how, at the end of the day, he’d sometimes catch you smiling to yourself in the elevator, as though you’d found happiness in the smallest of things. it fascinated him how content you seemed in your own world, and after weeks of silently admiring you, he finally decided to approach you properly.

but he was careful—patient. he knew you were shy and reserved, so he didn’t want to overwhelm you. he started small, spending lunch breaks with you. at first, the silence between you both was awkward, though not unwelcome. you blushed furiously at the attention but didn’t push him away. instead, you quietly shared bits of your lunch with him, a subtle gesture that said, i’m glad you’re here. he knew you struggled with words, so he didn’t press. instead, he let his presence speak for itself, slowly building a bridge of comfort between the two of you.

when kento finally worked up the courage to ask you out, making it clear that this wasn’t just work-related but a date; you could hardly believe it. your eyes widened, and then you nodded eagerly, your happiness shining through. his heart swelled at your reaction. he had planned a simple outing, maybe a cafe, but seeing your excitement, he wanted to make it special. he made reservations at a nice restaurant, ensuring you’d have a secluded spot to enjoy your time without pressure.

the date started just as he expected. you were quiet, your voice barely above a whisper when you responded to him, sticking mostly to “yes” or “no” answers. but kento was nothing if not patient. he asked small, simple questions, easing you into a conversation, and when he mentioned something you loved, your entire demeanor changed. your eyes lit up, your voice grew stronger, and you started talking more, rambling on about your interests. you didn’t even realize how much you’d been speaking until the waitress interrupted to take your order. your face turned crimson as you sulked in embarrassment, worried you’d talked too much. but when you glanced at kento, his gaze was soft, a gentle smile on his lips, he looked utterly captivated.

ordering was its own challenge. you felt embarrassed, too shy to tell the waitress what you wanted. kento noticed your hesitation and, with a subtle nudge of his foot under the table, gave you something to focus on. you nudged him back, and it was enough to calm your nerves, allowing you to place your order. he was thoughtful like that, always finding quiet ways to make you feel at ease.

by the end of the date, you’d grown comfortable enough to start asking him questions. the two of you talked for so long that you didn’t notice the restaurant had emptied. when you finally left, the night felt far from over. kento drove you to the beach, where the two of you walked hand in hand along the shore. the sound of the waves filled the comfortable silence between you, and when you stopped to look at the moonlight reflecting on the water, he turned to you and asked, “may i kiss you?”

your heart raced, but you nodded, and when he kissed you, it was as if you were something fragile, precious. he didn’t want to rush you or make you uncomfortable, but under the glow of the moon, he couldn’t resist the beauty of the moment—or of you.

after that, the two of you continued to grow closer, going on more dates and eventually making it official. over time, you began to come out of your shell, though you still retained your social awkwardness. kento loved every part of you, from the way you stumbled over your words to the way you blushed under his gaze. to him, you were perfect exactly as you were, and he made sure you always knew it.

[vaguely-concerned]

huh. you know something I just consciously put together for the first time about caterina and lucanis' relationship is that through the game we get to hear them talk about each other a lot, but we get very few chances to hear them speak with each other at any length at all. contrast it with other companions whose storylines have elements of 'believed lost/long time no see relative returns!' like bellara and davrin, where we get to see both of them have several pretty in-depth conversations with cyrian and eldrin. hell I think even rook talks with varric longer in the regret prison scene than we ever get to see lucanis and caterina interact directly.

(and when we do see them interact, it's mostly one-sided -- it is, perhaps unsurprisingly, caterina who is doing most of the talking and giving all the orders, as he ruefully observes is her wont after murder of crows. including jumpscaring him with 'you're first talon now btw' and the shocked pikachu face in five acts he goes through in response lmao. perhaps it's more accurate to say that she talks at him and he reacts, than that they talk to each other much.)

it has such an interesting effect too, because in deliberately denying us direct insight or experience and only having this mosaic of description from each of them to go on, as well as forcing us to pay attention to the negative space of what is carefully not said, it's evocative along the same principle that you never actually show the monster in a horror film. if you've read the wigmaker job you have a clearer image of the more uh. worrying elements at play here going in, but there is something fascinatingly insidious and naturalistic in the way it's 'hushed up' in the game itself. she has his complete loyalty both as a member of her house and, more importantly, that of an abused child to a parent figure. he readily admits several times that she's a difficult person to live with, an even more difficult person to be loved by ("even for me. and I was her favourite")... but never once does he actively blame her nor truly conceptualize that he has every right to do so (that he can be angry with her and still love her, because whether he should or not he unavoidably does), or that she might have acted differently than she did, that she made a choice every time to hurt him. even affectionately he speaks of her as a force of nature, an act of god -- something that can't be reasoned or pleaded with or resisted, something you can only hope to navigate with as little pain as possible and pray to survive. let yourself get carried away by the riptide, resisting it will only make it worse. you don't compromise with a hurricane, you just try to find the best shelter you can and cross your fingers while you wait for it to pass and be calm again.

love is that hurricane. you do whatever she asks. you earn her continued affection day by day by never letting her down. you only want the things she tells you it's okay to want and cut everything else away preemptively. ("A wyvern tooth dagger?? I loved wyverns as a boy --Caterina would never let me have one of these, though." and as we have all wept and gnashed our teeth over, it never even OCCURS to him that he's a like thirty-five year old adult man who can buy himself any dagger he wants at any time. she said he couldn't have one. so he'll never have one. that's just how it works. and maybe if Illario could just accept that and find his peace with it like I have, this whole thing wouldn't be so difficult. oh lucanis.)

such is the price -- and the cost -- of being loved by her, it's a loan on which the interest will never stop piling up. you have to keep paying it down in perfection every day if you want to keep it. who got the worse deal there: the grandson who has abandoned everything else in life to live up to that and mostly succeeded, until the day he's so burned out and broken it threatens to no longer be an option, or the grandson who can never seem to scrape together enough worth in her eyes no matter how he begs, borrows or steals it, how he hustles and plays dirty?

one of the worst things that can happen to anyone is to be loved by a selfish god. another one of the worst things that can ever happen to anyone is to not be loved by a selfish god. (hope that helps, boys!) even in betraying everything else, Illario can't bring himself to hurt his grandmother, because that would defeat the whole point. who would he defiantly be proving himself worthy to, without her. in love, devotion, submission, hatred, frustration, bitterness, everything is defined in relation to her, you can spot the gravitational force of it through how the dellamorte family move through time and space. she -- her love and regard and attention -- is still the sun both of their worlds orbit around, even as adults. the game might never tell you outright 'she used to beat and starve them growing up. for their own good you see, so they'd be strong (and broken down enough for her to build them up again however she wanted but I'm sure that's incidental)', but if you know even a little bit about how these dynamics can work the writing is on the wall everywhere you look and all the more unsettling for it.

follow lucanis' freeze-logic and fraught interpersonal catch 22 irreconcilable mixed emotions problems back far enough, looong before the ossuary entered the picture, and you start to see caterina's ghost around every fucking corner. she is so proud of him. (well, she would be. she made him. she forged exactly the knife she needed and it rests willingly, devotedly, in her hands, it would return to her every time because it doesn't know love as anything but to be a knife. his tama never taught him how to be anything else. his biggest fear with her is that she won't even want him back, the way he is now.) to the best ability of her soul, whatever parts of it survived a lifetime of crow politics and 'five children, eight grandchildren, only Illario and me left now', I think she really does loves him. he certainly loves her, with all the sincerity and artless desperation of a child, of the little boy he was once. and what she's done to him (and to illario, for all his shitty gremlin scar-ass antics lol) is awful. the harm is real, and the love is real, and trying to find a way for these two truths to exist in the same space is driving all three of them their own individualized forms of insane. you know. the way only family can and so often does lol.

through implications and short glimpses and having to put the pieces together yourself, you can have the feeling that there is very genuine mutual love and attachment in this relationship... and that beneath that there is something so profoundly wrong. and the sneaking '...oh shit it gets worse the longer I think about it' horror of that is more effective for me at least than the stark in-your-face presentation of the facts of the matter could have been. the love is here. the love is here. it only ever makes it worse.

[devosin]

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! episode three : bittersweet wine . . .

♡. Spotify playlist | Updates, every Friday !! — Vil Schoenheit x reader | Dual pov . .

You stare at your phone, the article of Vil’s break in loaded on screen, you focus on the title almost obsessively, your hands tightening around your phone in a death grip. Maybe scheduling a meeting so soon after something that traumatic was a bad idea, but you weren’t one to check the news often, you stopped around two years back when your ex-therapist noted how it affects your mental health negatively, so you hadn’t known the news until now, when you were scrolling aimlessly through your magicam account.  

A sigh escapes you as you lean back into your chair, Amanda had reserved a table at one of these exclusive private bars, just for privacy reasons, it would've been a nice break from your usual typical dinner outings or take-out days, if it weren't for the anxiety building up in the pit of your stomach, alongside a fresh cold platter of guilt for making Vil come out during this sort of situation, despite it not being your fault in the first place. .  or maybe it’s a good thing he’s getting out of his home . .  that is under the assumption that he did spend the night at his apartment after that. 

The bar was rather empty, everything felt like a blur, but you suppose it's normal, no one really visits the bar at 9 in the morning, sounds counter-productive, who starts the day off with alcohol anyways . .  alcoholics . . right.  

Time: 9:18 am Location: Angel’s share

Vil approaches your table, "Apologies for being late, I had to take a cab this time around", he says, as he takes a seat in front of you, setting his bag aside. 

The knots in your stomach finally come undone and you find your shoulders relaxing as you hear Vil’s voice, you didn't even know you were this worried he would stand you up, it was gravely unlikely either way, this wasn't a date but more so of a work meeting. You let out a deep breath, finally looking up at Vil’s face . .  and . . 

“Why are you wearing sunglasses inside?”, you ask, staring at him. 

“Fashion statement.”, Vil says as calmly as possible, his head moved up to meet your gaze, but you couldn’t tell if he was looking at you or not. 

You stare at him and silence falls over the table “. . . “, a few moments pass before you finally ask, “You’re hungover, aren’t you . .?” 

“. . .”, Vil gulps, turning to the side, before he mumbles out a response, , “ . . . Yes, I’m.” 

You pause for a brief moment, before letting out a laugh, everyone who you know to have previously worked with Vil has always commented on his professional and cut-to-the-point behaviour, never once did you think he'd come hungover or unkept to a first meeting.  

Vil opens his mouth, about to say something only to get interrupted by the waitress, "Excuse me, are you both ready to order?", she smiled and she looked a little familiar. Vil squinted his eyes, trying to make out her face fully, he would take off the sunglasses but the bright lights would probably make him want to kill himself, and unfortunately he couldn’t tell exactly where he'd seen her before. 

“hav—”, Vil was cut off mid-sentence, this time by Y/n, “Ah—Yes, we're ready to order.”, Vil stares at Y/n, clearly taken aback by the rude interruption and Y/n doesn’t seem to notice, probably due to his tinted sunglasses. 

“I’ll have an appletini”, Y/n says and then meets Vil’s gaze . .  he chooses to remain silent, which was a bad idea since Y/n just ended up ordering for him anyways, “You can’t stay hungover if you’re still drunk”, the logic was clearly unmatched. 

Time: 9:43 am Location: Angel’s share 

Vil pours you another drink and the two of you clearly should stop drinking—he leans down over the counter, and for a split second he takes in your features—like really takes it all in—and . . you look . . tolerable, he gulps. 

Things were quiet as you tried figuring out what new conversation starter to use, the last half an hour or so the two of you had just been talking about random things, you learnt a lot, like how Vil keeps his first award under his pillow before an awards show for good luck—which seemed so unlike the man in front of you, to the point where it was even a little adorable. 

"You know—", Vil starts speaking, capturing your attention, he swings the class slightly as he makes eye contact with you, "I don't like you very much". and silence falls over the two of you . . but weirdly enough you didn't find it uncomfortable, and for a second you thought all that therapy on confrontation had finally paid off—but it didn't, a weird feeling sat in the pit of your stomach, and you asked softly, "Why?"   

Vil paused, gulping down the rest of his drink, and he could see the waiter from the corner of his eye sighing internally—he paid him no mind—"I just don't believe you can act" . . you froze.

Yes Rook is married, because it just feels in character for Rook to be married by his mid-20's to me, like he gives that golden gilded fences perfect family daydream lifestyle vibe to me.

Cater being a good friend . . I guess?

Vil momentarily being attracted to Y/n's looks because why not.

Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter . .

— LATE NIGHTS & FLASHING LIGHTS !! ♡. Synopsis : VIL SCHOENHEIT recently signed a contract under Descendant. Inc for his very own late night show, only to find out his co-star and fellow co-host is none other than Y/n L/n, someone he hates despite knowing very little about them and never having met them, previously. Y/N L/N, an actor who made their debut 3 years ago and hasn’t been able to catch a break since, recently decided to sign a deal with Descendants. Inc to host their new late night show “late nights & flashing lights”, as a break from acting . . Only to find out their favorite long-time actor will be co-hosting with them. Tune in every Friday, for a new episode of “late nights & flashing lights” to see if these two hosts can find a peaceful work-bond amidst their judgements . . and quite possibly even love? . .

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© devosin , do not repost, plagiarize, translate, or adapt my work without prior permission and or confirmation.

[grammarpedant]

Nope. Trap card #2, activated: There's no evidence that Gurathin is from the Corporation Rim.

The fanon that Gurathin is CR comes from a single line in Exit Strategy: Ratthi says, "It came to Preservation packed into the hold of that much bigger ship, the one that’s become the station, with our grandparents. Well, not Gurathin’s grandparents, he came later." Personally, I think there's even room here to interpret Gurathin as being born on Preservation as the child of immigrants, if Ratthi's use of "he came later" is taken as an imprecise synecdoche for Gurathin's family origins as a whole. Given that this is Ratthi "I'll get the cases" "I'm a biologist, I don't understand this money stuff" being sentimental and distractable in this scene, it's a fair cop.

Either way, "came later" does not mean "from the Corporation Rim." There are plenty of other places in the setting that are neither Preservation nor the CR. As early as Artificial Condition another set of non-corporate polities is mentioned, Rami's Divarti Cluster; it's not clear whether Don Abene's homesystems in Rogue Protocol are corporate or noncorporate, but she certainly has no "bone-deep" fear of SecUnits; Fugitive Telemetry meanwhile expounds on travel routes through Preservation Station stretching elsewhere "outside the Rim." The Rim is only one group of places that a human could be from.

No, people are mixing up Gurathin's backstory with Human One's. It's Human One who is the former corporate contract slave, and SHE is the one who acted rationally on her bone-deep, knee-jerk fear of SecUnits in shooting Murderbot in the back. She's not the only corporate-background character to interact with MB, though—even if we did want to headcanon that Gurathin did hail from the CR, we might just as reasonably compare Gurathin's "We just have to keep you immobilized" to Ras and Eletra's "Just tell it to take orders from us" and "It seems like you don't know how to control it" in Network Effect. Their corporate fear and prejudice and desire for control certainly does not stop them from thinking—with clear self-interest, if not rationally or clearly.

People can headcanon whatever they like, of course. By all means, if giving the backstory of a strong and fascinating female character to Gurathin tickles the fancy, then I encourage people to do that on their own time. But this post is my post, and I am not obligated to care about the things people made up outside the text in my analysis of the text.

Finally, let me address a point that's cropped up more than once now. We all know it's not easy to set aside prejudice and in-group bias and fear of the unknown to make rational or kind decisions. We all live in the real world and many of us have personally had to wrestle with the effects of unthinking fear and prejudice, both others' and our own. The Murderbot Diaries is a series that speaks to us as full thinking adults on this matter, that's why kindness is presented as a rational choice, not merely a morally right one. The series acknowledges that it's hard, but at the same time doesn't allow you to wallow in your own struggles to the exclusion of others'—it still asks you to try to see other people clearly for who they are and what they need, and use what agency you have to do right by them. Gurathin fucked up in this scene, then later stepped up and learned better, and rather than focusing over-much on how hard he had it we should learn from his example and do better.

Gurathin is not only wrong, his argument is fundamentally irrational

Gurathin's argument in ASR:

We need to immobilize this SecUnit stat, because it's going to kill us.

I know it's going to kill us because its logs show that it's rogue. If there is no way to control it, then it is dangerous to us.

It is controlled by the Company to sabotage us. "The missing hazard report, the missing map sections. The SecUnit must be part of that." If it wasn't, that would be a coincidence, which is unbelievable.

This SecUnit has gone rogue and killed people in its charge before. It may do so again.

PresAux's counterargument:

It may be rogue, but that doesn't logically mean it will kill us. "The fact that the Unit has been acting to preserve our lives, to take care of us, while it was a free agent, gives us even more reason to trust it." (Volescu)

Someone may be sabotaging us, but that doesn't logically mean it's the Company or our SecUnit. "There were only three SecUnits for DeltFall in their specs, but there were five units in their habitat. Someone is sabotaging us, but I don’t think our SecUnit is part of it." (Ratthi)

If the SecUnit was trying to sabotage us, then why would it tell us about the combat module sabotage and shoot itself? (Bharadwaj, Overse)

The SecUnit believes it went rogue as a result of malfunction, and that hacking its governor module would prevent a repeat occurrence. Confirmation of its sincerity comes from the same logs that Gurathin accessed for his arguments. (Volescu)

Gurathin's counter-counterargument:

Well it gave itself an edgy nickname

[suzukiblu]

Thank-you sentences for Drakel behind the cut; “the alchemist’s disappointment”. content warnings: internalized dehumanization, dehumanizing it/its pronouns. (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The bright bird goes still, and the disappointment freezes up again; tears its eyes away from him and locks itself down completely and doesn’t–and doesn’t– 

“. . . hey. Can you hear me?” the bright bird asks very, very slowly, his grip on the disappointment’s hand just barely tightening too, and the disappointment–hesitates, and doesn’t . . . doesn’t know if . . . “Did I–scare you?” 

It’s not a difficult question, but the disappointment doesn’t know if it’s allowed to answer it or not. It’s supposed to–it’s supposed to tell its master when the tests hurt, but not when . . . not when it’s afraid. Not unless its master wants to see it afraid, because sometimes he does. But the bright bird isn’t its master either way, so . . . 

Though the disappointment thinks it might rather belong to a master that was more like–

The disappointment doesn’t think that. 

“Can you hear me?” the bright bird repeats, soft as anything, and the disappointment–the disappointment–

It’s a question. It’s a direct question; simple and straightforward. That’s . . . permission. Even coming from a servant. 

“Yes,” it says, and doesn’t let itself look at the bright bird again. He’s too pretty for it to deserve to look at anyway, even if it weren’t a disappointment. 

The bright bird . . . exhales, slowly. 

“Can you look at me, please?” he says, and the disappointment doesn’t know–it doesn’t know what to do about that. 

But it’s an order, even if the bright bird gave it strangely, and when its master isn’t here it’s supposed to obey Hope and Mercy and the servants. And the bright bird is a servant, so . . . 

It doesn’t let itself swallow. Doesn’t let itself flinch again. 

It looks at the bright bird again, and the bright bird looks–strange, this time. He’s staring at it fixatedly, like he wants to cut it open for his own experiments. The disappointment knows that’s what they’ll do with its body once they dispose of it, because that’s what was always going to happen to its body once its master was done with it, but–but it–

“Were you . . . sleeping?” the bright bird asks carefully. 

“No,” the disappointment says. Its master never wants it to say any more than it has to, to answer a question. No explaining. No–excuses. 

Excuses are even worse than flinching. 

“Are you–does your body–” The bright bird cuts himself off; seems to struggle for some reason. The disappointment tries not to stare at his face. The bright bird told it to look at him, but . . . but it tries not to stare. It looks at the sunlight-gold embroidery on the collar of the bright bird’s wing-cut cloak instead, and thinks of . . . thinks about . . . 

It thought–it thought it might get to see the sun at least one more time. 

“Are you–a person?” the bright bird tries, his tone very careful again, and the disappointment feels something in the part of itself that used to think of itself as something else burn. 

But it knows that part of itself’s a liar, even if the bright bird asking that like it’s even a real question makes it–makes it feel–

It’s not allowed to feel things like that.

[volcanicflowers]

Lou Vogas, known throughout the galaxies as The Shining Star of the Sinliss System and The Popular Pinnacle of the Pinwheel Galaxy, is a must-see for every hitchhiker aiming for a life well lived. It is also a terrible place to make big decisions.

It is said that ideas had in the dark are never as good once seen in the light of day, which is only one of the reasons that Lou Vogas has no light of day.

Ever since the Lou Vogasians did away with that pesky sun that put an end to their nightlife by encasing it in a massive sphere, Lou Vogas has existed in a state of perpetual night.

The only light that shines down on Lou Vogas today is of the advertisements on the sphere and of the arriving and departing spaceships. The only thing any Lou Vogasian will reflect on is how much the price of drinks has soared in order to cover the enormous artificial heating bill on Lou Vogas, right before going back to the casino to win more in order to buy more drinks.

Of course, the travelling hitchhiker will have plenty of time to reflect while in a dirty cargo cabin with some new tattoos, a drug habit, and a new spouse.

----------------------------------------

My @h2g2-gift-exchange piece for @androgynouschaosfury!

I've had the idea of Ford and Arthur having a drunk impromptu space Vegas wedding for a long time, and this seemed like the perfect time to use it! I've gone a bit crazy on the worldbuilding of Lou Vogas as well, but I could only fit in so much while making it sound Guide-ish and staying at least somewhat on topic. Still, I might expand on the planet some more in the future!

[quirkyfries]

Ruin ramble because writing his pov is interesting

Do you ever notice that Ruin gets really self depreciative about himself sometimes? (Maybe not quite self depreciative, but highlighting things about himself.) Implying vulnerability in a way that can almost come off as a joke if it weren't for his tone of voice. He says he hasn't been safe in a long time, it would be nice to sleep for once, wouldn't his death be hilarious? It comes off as a cry for help, but he states it as fact, he's convinced it won't change.

He's very stubborn about what he's done. He had nothing left to lose. No, there was absolutely no other way he could've gone about destroying the creator, he'd spent years considering his options. Yes, Solar was collateral, unfortunate. Those lives were a necessary sacrifice. He had to do it. There was no other way.

To him, he chose the lesser amount of people in the trolley problem. That was the morally correct thing to do in the circumstances he was given, lives would have been taken either way. He had to do it. (He could've walked away from the lever that switched the rails, but that would be the self serving option, wouldn't it? To move on?)

The most interesting part about it to me is, why does Ruin keep on going? All he's known is pain and suffering in some shape or another, he had nothing to live for after his goal was completed. All he'd ever known was bad, bad, bad, vindicated release, a little bit more bad, and then nothing. He was ready to die, he didn't know where to go.

Then came along this new dimension, one he'd apparently accidentally created through his actions. For someone who has nothing to gain or lose, wouldn't this be a nice chance of pace? To look forward to something nice that was more or less your responsibility in a weird way, to cultivate something good for once after a life of bad? To be able to take the place of your abuser, break that cycle? This new dimension is his reason to keep going, he will see this one good thing through if he can help it. Even if he isn't particularly liked by his migrated peers.

But he still isn't secure. There are enemies he'd made, the insurmountable weight of lives on his shoulders, and a new uncertain freedom of identity. (Granted, he still has to lie to some people to get by. I more mean his own Creator, the Virus act, and Nexus + Dark Sun here. Ruin having to strike deals and bargain for his life and act against his own morals to survive. But those are gone. When had Ruin last acted like himself, truly? He had barely been able to define himself as an Eclipse before everything bad happened.)

Does Ruin hate himself? I don't know, he's very adamant about hating what he had to do, but would do it again. He believes he was right, he's even defensive about it to several people, but there is still something that's bothering him. Does he hate himself for pressing the red button? Dunno. Maybe subconsciously. He's clearly meant to parallel Puppet with how he is now, they're the same words in different font. Ruin pulled the lever to kill the smaller amount of strangers to save the greater amount of strangers. Puppet was inside the train that killed everyone she knew. She wants to repent, Ruin hasn't shown much interest in it. Does a selfless act require repentance?

I like to think he has a bit of a dissociation issue, he compartmentalizes things if you squint, a possible coping mechanism of something called cognitive dissonance (a disturbance that happens when your actions do not align with your morals/values.) He was right for what he did. What he did was bad. What he did was necessary. He deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. There's some contradicting statements there, he'd have to separate some things into neat little boxes in order for it to make sense in his head, so he didn't torture himself thinking about what that said about himself and his values. What he did was right and necessary. What he did was bad and he deserves his fate. He doesn't like pain. Still contradictory a bit, but a little more organized. If he focused on the positive box more than the negative box, he can feel better about himself, but he's painfully aware of the negative box' existence. Maybe he avoids looking at the negative box at all times and ignores the contents, but what's inside is so over accumulated that it can't help but be constantly present and occasionally overflow in those matter-of-fact cries for help. A lotta PTSD can fit in this bad boy (pats ruin on the head)

Does that make sense? I don't know, I feel like a therapist trying to write from his point of view. What is wrong with this little british guy.

[vulpixisananimal]

[A:3 C61] [TW for: imagery of mutilated, bruised, and bleeding body] (Odile)

(It was sundown on the third day Ramos was out. No change.)

(You were sitting in the living room. Research notes splayed in front of you. You scoured every inch of your writing for anything that could help. Siffrin was asleep on Isabeau on the couch in front of you. Poor Siffrin had been having panics, but had been getting better. Although, it was concerning who it actually was you talked to.)

(Mal, Asterion, and Saffron. Only those three came out.)

(Asterion would stick to himself, talking silently, eating, and keeping in sight of you all. Any time any of you asked about what happened he froze up. It was clear, honestly, that the only reason he didn’t hide in his room was to alleviate all of your worries for him.)

(Mal would disappear for hours a time, only to return and drag Isabeau away. You asked him what that was about, but his lips were, for once, sealed. You had your suspicions, however.)

(But Saffron. . . They were the worst of all of them when it came to communicating. Getting them to admit they're saffron was pulling teeth. Getting him to admit he needs food was agony. And, you could see behind his smile.)

(“Persecutors need love just as much as anyone in order to heal.” That’s what the booklet Vixul gave Siffrin said. You could confirm it was true, but that didn’t make their biting remarks any less hurtful.)

(. . . Tension was high. If you could figure out how to help Ramos out of their catatonic state then. . . You took your glasses off and rubbed your eyes.)

(The issue is simple: Ramos’ catatonia was caused, indirectly, by mind craft. And the only one who knew mind craft was Ramos themself. So, what do you do?)

(You could continue to hope and pray for conventional remedies to work. You could look for an expert in psychology, or maybe even acupuncture. But you might as well wish to win a coin flip at that point! Ha, ha. . .)

(. . . Even with a grand library in your mind you couldn't think of anything.)

(Except. . . One thing.)

(. . . . . You didn't want to consider it.)

(You were considering it.)

(. . . . You finish considering it, and stand.) “I need a break.”

(The half asleep Isabeau opened an eye.) “Hmm?”

“I'm going to the library.” 

“M’kaaay. . .”

(You've got your notes, coat, everything you need. You waste no time and leave the house, headed directly to the library.)

(You go over the plan in your head. Merlon is back, so there is no truce. Attempt to talk to him. Keep your distance. Look out for any surprises from Merlon, talk politely. Appeal to his soft side, and look for a way to keep him distracted so he can't read your thoughts. He's fast, and your craft type is at a disadvantage, so direct combat is a bad idea. What about a trade? Information for assistance?)

(You couldn't trade any old thing you knew, he's a historian. Perci would know about the Expression of Search’s Elaborate Dance of the Guide. No, it would need to be something more. . . Exciting.)

(You continued to walk. What about What Loop looked like? Call craft? The fact that your party has met gods multiple times now? The fight with the king?)

(. . . Siffrin’s cosmic temper tantrum would be best kept quiet.)

(You made it to the library, you'll check here first. You walk up the steps and into the lobby. The librarian from a few days ago was here, sleepily sipping a cup of tea. They waved.) “Madame Odile, good to see you again.”

“Hello, same to you.” (You walk up to the counter.)

“. . . Tea?” 

(You paused, then smiled.) “. . Please.”

“Camomile or ginger.” (They ask, getting up.)

“Ginger, please. No milk, no sugar.” 

“Perfect, I just boiled the pot.”

(You watch them go. A cup of tea would be perfect. Something to calm your nerves before, whatever happens happens. A moment later they were back, and handed you a cup. You thank them, then move into the library proper.)

(It didn’t take long. Perci was sitting at the center of the library, at a grand table. Books to either side of him. A chessboard to the left. You could hear the familiar scribbling of a pen. Your steps echoed through the silent building as you approached.)

(You stopped a few feet back from him, and waited.)

(There were a few moments where the only sound was that pen, before he finally stopped. He looked up, then back down again.) “. . . Madame.”

“Percival.”

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

“. . .” (You walk around the table, place down your tea, and take a seat.)  “I have come to strike a deal.”

“Have you now.” (He’s smiling, the face of a man truly absorbed in his work.) “I thought we weren’t all buddy buddy now.”

“You know why, Percival.” (You glare at him.)

“Haa. . . That, I do.” (He clicks his pen and puts it to the side.) “Three days already? That is worrying, but what do you want me to do about it?”

(You sip your tea, and stare directly at him.)

“. . . You’re very good at hiding your thoughts, Madame. And I must say, after the inn, I would sooner ride a bull off a cliff than try and tame your mind.”

(You keep your face neutral.)

“. . . . . That is to say, I should be giving you some more respect.” (Perci looks at you, then turns and grabs the chessboard, and starts setting it up.) “Chess? It’ll keep my mind wandering to yours.”

“Thank you.” (You huff.) “I’m no idiot, and while I can respect your mind games, I, for one, like cutting straight to the point.”

“Very respectable.” (He finishes placing the last pieces. Darkless on your side, Lightless on his.) “So, after you, madame. Light before shadow, after all.”

“Of course.” (You pick up a pawn, forward two.) 

“So.” (He moves a pawn to match.) “You would like help with Ramos.”

“Yes.” (Pawn to cover.) “Either you help them recover, or teach me some form of mind craft to do it myself.”

“Ah, well that’s an issue, isn’t it?” (Knight forward.) “I will not teach you mind craft, and I doubt your companions will let me into Ramos’ mind.”

“That is an issue.” (Pawn forward.) “Why can’t you teach me?”

“And give you a dagger to stab me with?” (Knight takes a pawn.) “You would have to give me something good in return.”

“I see.” (Pawn takes the knight.) “Then how about what I found on our travels?”

“Hmm, tempting.” (Bishop forward.) “Very tempting, madame.”

“The ascent through the Dormont House of Change?” (Pawn forward.) 

“Getting there.” (Pawn forward.) “Dormont is a nice little town, isn’t it?”

“Hmm? Have you been?” (Pawn takes a pawn.) 

“Oh no no.” (Bishop takes a pawn.) “I’ve just heard so much about it when researching you all.”

“Really now?” (Knight takes a bishop.) “But of course, rumor can only tell you so much!”

“Ah of course, of course.” (He thinks, then moves a pawn up.) “After all, you tend to hear the strangest of rumors.”

“. . . Like?” (Knight takes a pawn.) 

“Oh nothing too strange, just. . .” (Queen takes a knight; advantage to Perci.) “Giant cracks in the sky of an unknown shade, a cloaked figure dozens of stories tall, small things like that.”

“. . .” (You move a rook.) “Just silly rumors.”

“Oh? Is that the same with the rumors of the king?” (Queen takes a pawn.) “That he was an islander too?”

“. . .” (Move the king.)

“An islander just like my bonded, just like your traveler.” (Queen takes a rook.) “I wonder, do they share some other connection? Perhaps even a family member?”

“. . . Whoever Siffrins family was, they weren’t like the King.” (Knight takes the queen.) “If anything, the King's family would have been like your own.”

(Perci is stunned, looking at the board. He glances up, then back. He castles his king.) “And what would you know about that?”

“Quite a lot.” (Bishop takes a pawn; advantage to you) “Percival Monet, the youngest of the Monets, who destroyed his own family.”

“. . . That’s nothing-” (Knight forward.)

“Oh it’s everything.” (Bishop takes the knight.) “I did not recognize that swear you use, Perci. So, I got curious.”

“And what does that have to do with anything?” (Pawn forward.)

“I looked it up in a teenager's book about swears.” (You chuckle, pawn moved up.) “It’s Poterian.”

“. . .” (Pawn up.)

“A Poterian swear that’s only really used in very old, rich families.” (Knight takes a pawn.) “And from there, there’s only so many families to check.”

“But there isn’t a book in the library about the Monets.” (Pawn takes pawn.) 

“And the House of Change library?” (Bishop takes a knight.) “The secret library? Each house has one, after all.”

“I. . .” (He pauses, looking over the board, eyes wide. Rook forward.) “. . . What do you know?”

“The Monet family. One of the oldest and well known in devoted Soleanist society. Old money. And old corruption.” (Bishop takes a pawn; Perci is in check.) “The last Monet’s were disgraced, the two house leaders at the time.”

“. . .” (Move rook.) “What else?”

“Just that the only Monet with any reputation left, is a historian.” (Bishop forward; Perci is in check.) “And that historian, is you.”

“. . . . . . Hah. . .” (Perci lowers his head.) “Ha, HA! HAHA!! Oh yes! Madame, I knew you were brilliant. From the moment I touched your mind, I knew, I just knew, you were something else.”

(His rook takes your bishop.)

(You lean forward. Something was wrong about this board. You had been counting moves ahead, but there were errors. You didn’t take into account some pieces, pieces that were there but you just, didn’t focus on them. They were out of the way, not a problem. He took your bishop, and you could see the next moves clearly. Next, your knight, then rook, then queen, and then. . .)

(Checkmate.)

“. . . . ha. . . Haha!!” (You sit back with a sigh.) “. . . How.”

“Ah, took you long enough.” (Perci looked at you with a smug smile.) “It was the tea.”

(You look at the cup of tea, then shake your head.) “You took control of the librarian, and spiked the tea with some sleep or relaxation agent. Not enough to be noticeable, but enough to graze my hand without me noticing.”

(Exactly.)

(In a motion, the tables and chairs melted into the floor. The bookshelves expanded, the ceiling disappeared into a thick fog miles in the air. Lanterns lit the endless halls. Perci seemingly disappeared. You stood in your headspace.)

(I don’t think vast is an accurate enough word to describe your mind, Odile. Your voice echoes through the library.)

(A better word for it would be private! You turn, where are you?)

(You pull a book off a shelf. Why, I’m just over here!)

(The hallways shift once again as you glide towards his voice. You can see him! Get, OUT-)

(Your breath catches.)

(You can only begin to imagine what form of hell Perci must have gone through to end up looking like a walking corpse. No, not a corpse. A corpse could at least rot.)

(He had scars, bruises, pinpricks, lines that look as if someone was sewing something into his skin. He had rashes from shackles, his nose was broken, one eye droopy. His clothes were torn and now looked more like a university uniform with the crest torn out.)

(He looks at you, the look he had, it was. . .)

(Hello, Madame. She looks so similar to how she does in reality, except for the fact she floats ever so slightly off the ground. Are you so tied to your own self image to not experiment a little, Madame?) 

(Gems alive. Something hits you in your soul, some emotion, some fear. You take a step back. Why do you-)

(Look like this? Oh, Madame~ You close the book, drop it, and turn to her. Please, allow me to show you!)

[the-cauldron-witch]

Howdy T'Witch! It makes me so happy that you got your blog all up and designed! Those are big days and I’m happy that it looks so good! Hopefully you think so too!

I say that your writing requests were open and I’d love to pick your brain on some light angst if you’re up for it! No worries if you ain’t because hey understandable. The holidays be crazyyyyyy 🤪

But maybe to something to think about if you’re bored and whatever. But I wanted to ask on how do you think the Bayverse Boys would respond to you (y/n) getting amnesia and forgetting about them completely for whatever reason for how ever long? Do you think they’d try to rejog their memory or try to love them better with the chance of a fresh start? Or something else entirely. I am curious and I’d love to hear your thoughts if you’ve got the time and energy. Thanks for existing!

Hey Anon! (It’s weird to type this and have you not actually be an anon lmao)

I am very happy I finally have my blog up and running how I like, it finally feels like a little home to me. Thank you for noticing! 🫂🫂🫂

Thank you so much for sending an ask, I’m going to have fun with this one! I’m giving them a happy ending though, cause I can’t write angst and not give my boys a good ending. (Also completely unedited and not proof read lol)

Leonardo

The worry and anxiety he feels in the pit of his stomach like he swallowed a lead weight is one thing, but the chest-clenching heartbreak when you shriek at the sight of him and had no recollection of his existence is another.

He keeps a stoic face once you’ve calmed down and while explaining who he is to you, but really this poor guy is absolutely gutted. It takes so much of him to keep a straight face.

Still a bit of a helicopter, using any subtle opportunity to jog your memory of himself. He’ll make a cup of tea for you in the exact way he did on your first date, subtly comment on your outfit when he recognizes it’s something he bought you, anything he could think of to hopefully remind you.

This man does not sleep the entire time. You aren’t sleeping in his bed, how could he anyway? Once he is sure you are fully asleep, he comes to check on you. Listen to see if you talk in your sleep, mumbling about memories or just in case a nightmare decides to haunt you.

When he can’t check on you or do really anything else, he’s meditating in order to keep his emotions in line. He’s completely destroyed, so meditating for hours on end is the only way he can keep himself in check.

Although he’s snappy, irritable, and driving everyone but you away, what Leo really needs is one of his brothers to ignore the attitude and just stand there and let him get it out. By the time he’s done he’s already apologized a hundred times, he’s just lost and broken hearted.

Out of all his brothers, Raph is probably the one that cracks him and gets him to just spit it out. They all know what’s going on and how much Leo’s hurting from it all, but he still needs to let it out. Raph can handle the attitude with ease, brushing it aside and letting Leo get himself together

After what feels like an eternity, you gain your memory back at the most random of times while you happened to be watching him practice his kata. When you start babbling memories excitedly, he picks you up in a hug and cries into you.

It doesn’t matter if anyone’s watching, he’s crying and just so grateful that you remember who he is. Weeping tears of joy and the bottled anxiety finally burst as he holds you. Bear with this poor guy, it’s been a ride for both of you really.

Raphael

This poor guy is so surprised and in shock when you don’t remember him, he thinks you’re playing some sort of prank on him at first.

“Heh- babe, c’mon…don’t joke around like dat”

Once it hits him that this isn’t a prank or joke, you genuinely do not know who he is, Raph practically shuts down.

The love of his life doesn’t remember who he is, even looks at him like he’s the monster he felt he was before meeting you. It breaks his heart so much he locks himself away for a day or two, unfortunately leaving you more confused.

When you start wanting to be near him- no, needing to be near him, is when he starts coming around. He found you pacing back and forth in front of his bedroom door like a cat waiting to enter a closed off room one night.

You couldn’t explain it, but you have this invisible pull and primal need to be near him somehow. To be close, even touching him. Although you don’t remember why, you just know you need to,

Raph starts coming out of his room and trying to act normal, but when his brothers look him in the face an see how red and raw his eyes are, the dark circles, and the heartbreak in his eyes, they know it’s just an act but wisely choose not to comment.

He catches you staring at him while he’s working out, chuckling as you bashfully try to shy away. He doesn’t tease or joke though, instead encourages you to come watch

“I miss my favorite spotting partner,” Raph admits, hoping that will help jog your memory a little. It doesn’t outright, but you do find yourself already knowing how to spot him.

After a few days of you following Raph around like a lost puppy, your memory finally comes crashing back to you when Raph slipped the boxing gloves on you for practice.

Relief. So much relief it washes over Raph like a tidal wave that nearly knocks him off his feet. He holds you and kisses you, telling you repeatedly how grateful and happy he is you have your memory and you’re here. The tears will come at night while the two of you are in bed for the night, but he holds you and everything is okay.

Donatello

Initiate full on analytical mode. He is immediately going through a thousand different scenarios and cures in his head, he almost forgets that *you forgot* who he was all together, so his babbling did nothing to calm you down.

Even with all his knowledge and abilities, it still doesn’t negate the overwhelming emotions he feels when you don’t recognize him. It hurts, makes it hard for Donnie to even breathe, but he hides it behind his science and research.

Sitting in front of his computer for days on end in between checking up on your, it becomes almost like an obsession for Donnie to get your memory back. At the risk of his own health and wellbeing, he does not stop.

From using scents he knows you enjoy, like that cologne you bought for him as a gift or your favorite body wash, tasting your favorite coffee or the tiramisu Donnie bought for the two of you on a date once.

Let’s put on that movie we watched on that one Valentine’s weekend; you were obsessed with it for weeks!

Oh, what if Donnie took you to that rooftop the two of you saw a comet in the night sky once? It was absolutely beautiful, but wasn’t nearly as beautiful as you, he confided.

Countless hours of research keep Donnie from sleeping, honestly at one point contemplating how he could just straight main-line caffeine into his blood stream to stay awake.

Without warning one night, you come into his lab and demand he sleep. Not ask, not coax, you demand Donnie to get in bad with you and get some sleep. He questions if you’ve finally gotten your memory back, but sadly no. And he’s crushed. But you still demand he lay down in bed with you.

Crawling into bed with you with awkward limbs, Donnie is surprised that you lay down exactly as you always do with him. Even without memory, it was like your body still remembered how you fit together.

Quiet tears fall as Donnie holds onto you, sleep mercifully taking him into a deep slumber. Guilt crawled its way into your stomach while trying to sleep, wishing that your memory would just return so you could stop all of this.

Waking up in the morning, you blinked with shock as you look at Donnie- looked at him like you knew him again. And you did. You had woken up with your memory by some miracle.

Kissing and hugging you with love and relief, Donnie can’t keep his hands off of you or keep the tears from smudging his glasses. It was all so hard to believe while it was happening that now it was over, it felt like the end of a tornado.

The two of you decide to sleep in a little longer, only because Donnie could barely hold his eyes open. Frankly, sleep was probably what you needed too after all this.

Michelangelo

Confused. Downright, no jokes confused. How could you not remember him so suddenly? Time just doesn’t erase like that right?

Mikey asks Donnie a million and one questions, repeating or re-wording them or giving scenarios. It drives his brother mad, but he tries to be lenient because Donnie knows how terrified his younger brother is.

He caters to you in every way; offers to get you a drink, make you something to eat, get you a pillow, it becomes a little overwhelming, but you don’t know how to tell him to stop.

When Mikey tries to kiss you and pull away, it was like you could practically hear the way his heart shatters like glass. But he hides it with a smile and flirts, telling you he won you over once, he could do it again.

This is when he starts to flirt with you like he did before the two of you started dating, but with far more strategy and knowledge. Comments about how sweet you are while making your favorite chocolate pancakes with strawberries and whipped cream

Tells you how amazing you look in that shirt or those pants, mostly because he was the one to buy them.

He’ll give you your favorite kind of gifts; favorite flowers, candy, stuffed animals, anything he can think of giving you and jog your memory. Each time it doesn’t work, he’s crushed a little bit more, but he keeps trying.

Plays movies that you and Mikey watched together, shared music playlists the two of you built together over the period of your relationship, and whatever else he could possibly think of. But it still didn’t work.

When you aren’t anywhere near to see, Mikey with let himself cry for a moment out of frustration and sadness that you don’t remember him. It hurts, but by the time you are near he has a smile back on his face.

He thought you were sleeping one night when you found him crying down one of the sewer tunnels away from the lair. The sight broke your heart, which for some reason jogged your memory. Rushing to hug and kiss him, you damn near scared Mikey out of his shell.

“Angelcakes, you remember!?” Mikey shouts, picking you up and spinning you in a massive hug. Thank the pizza Gods, he had you back!

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[saturnsedan]

Does Judeau like Griffith?

Someone said they "didn't think Judeau really liked Griffith" on the piece I drew of them hanging out together. I replied in the comments but I realized I have a lot more to say about it ^^

When Guts first joins the Hawks, Judeau has nothing but good things to say about Griffith. He talks about how they were all charmed by Griffith and, because of his efforts, they can live somewhat normally despite being mercenaries. While he admits that he doesn't really have a grasp on who Griffith is as a person, he doesn't seem all too bothered by this.

About the only thing I could think that would bother Judeau at this point would be the way Griffith treats Casca. She was obviously uncomfortable and upset with his order for her to lay with Guts while he recovered. But Judeau doesn't say much outside of explaining the situation and quoting Griffith.

He doesn't offer his own opinion on the matter but we can infer, based off his feelings for Casca, that he wouldn't care for that kind of misogynistic sentiment. At the very least not when it's directed towards Casca considering she "gave up being a woman".

When Guts and Casca fell off that cliff, Judeau reported on the situation with Gaston. While he's concerned, he doesn't push for an immediate action like Gaston. In fact, it's Judeau that keeps Gaston from continuing to push the matter.

Because Judeau understands that, on the battlefield, the lives of two soldiers is not worth risking an army or defeat. As much as he cares about them, he knows that they are mercenaries and their bloody work comes first and foremost.

Of course, Griffith made the decision to search for them despite the nobles' disapproval because he cares deeply about the both of them. Either way, I don't think Judeau would have disliked Griffith for his decision on the matter. He understood how tricky Griffith's position was but, I'm sure that in allowing Judeau to lead the search party, he was grateful to him.

He goes on the say that he was jealous which means he wants to know that Griffith cares about him just as deeply. He wants to be invaluable to him, to be something he'd risk losing men over. You wouldn't want that from someone you dislike (at least, you shouldn't.)

Judeau, like all the Hawks, greatly admires Griffith. He left his life behind in the circus to join him because he believed Griffith was capable of obtaining his dream. He followed him because he wanted a chance to touch greatness. He's content in being a jack-of-all-trades instead of a master-of-one because he can assist Griffith better that way.

The only time I think he truly begins to question Griffith is when he suspects Guts of possibly having a hand in the royal assassinations. Because Guts would not do such things by his own volition, it's just not like him. Guts would need an order to take on such things. And Judeau understands that only Griffith would make such orders.

But of course, he quickly brushes this thought off. Either because he doesn't want to suspect his friends of such heinous crimes or because he knows that little good would come out of confirming his suspicions. The Hawks are in a great position by this point and very few would suspect them. And Guts is leaving anyway. If he did play a role in it all, the nobles would have a hard time proving it, much less finding him once he's gone.

He's not upset or even bothered when Griffith challenges Guts to a duel because he understands his reasoning. Upsetting as it may be to see either one of them hurt or killed by the other, he knows that that's simply their way of life as mercenaries. It's completely within Griffith's right to protect the things he owns even if it means potentially destroying said thing.

And even after a year of running around as wanted fugitives and likely living off very little, Judeau sticks with the Hawks and holds onto hope for their future. You could argue he's only staying for Casca - which is a big factor, don't get me wrong - but the Hawks are a family to him. And he, just like everyone else, has hope that they will rescue Griffith and things will fall back into place.

He wants to save Griffith despite the fact it was his arrest that led them to this time of hardship. Despite the fact it's wearing on him and tearing Casca apart. Because he cares about Griffith and wants to return him to their found family.

He may have come to question Griffith once more when he witnessed him attempt to choke Guts during his rescue. But, if anything, this would only confirm the suspicions he and the others already had - Griffith blames Guts for his downfall.

I don't believe Judeau would necessarily hold such an act against Griffith in the long run. At that point, Griffith had suffered over a year's worth of torture and he very likely not within his right mind. What man would be? A bit troubling, of course. But I'm sure Judeau thought that, with enough time, they could sort it all out and rebuild the trust between them.

But ultimately, I think what's most telling about how Judeau feels about Griffith is his plan for the future. He decides he will take on the responsibility of caring for Griffith. When Guts asks him if he has any obligation for such a task, Judeau tells him that he's still a Hawk.

You could argue he only wants to stay for Casca. But that can't be the root of it considering he literally tells Guts to take Casca with him. Yes, he wants her to go because seeing and tending to Griffith in the state he's in would surely break her heart over and over again.

But it's also the fact that Judeau genuinely cares about Griffith. More so than as a commander, but as a dear friend. He's willing to carry on with the hardship and commit himself to a life of crime to protect and take care of Griffith. He's willing to bare the burdens that such a thing might entail because he wants Griffith to heal and prosper. He wants Griffith to continue living and to do so in relative comfort.

You don't take on such a demanding task for someone you don't care about deeply. Not when you don't have any real obligation to do such, not when there are others that could take up that role.

TL;DR - Judeau cares about Griffith just as much as any of the Hawks. He understands Griffith is human and thus has flaws and he accepts them as a part of him. He wants to be important to him and help him achieve his dream. He is willing to sacrifice his own safety and comfort to ensure Griffith's own.

In conclusion, Judeau likes Griffith! :]

[bleedingcoffee42]

Heard it was Winnix Monday. My contribution drabble based on this photo.

Discipline.

It was the word that was at the very core of everything in the army.  Physical training. Orders.  Close quarters drill techniques.   Professionalism.   Bravery. 

All discipline. In the face of everything you had to overcome, discipline would be what carried you through it.

And when he became an officer, it amplified the need for discipline–but not in the way he thought it would.

Dick Winters was not expecting Lewis Nixon III to be the ultimate test of his discipline.   Yet here he was smiling like an idiot as Nix explained something on the crudely made sand table in an attempt to win them over on some strategy for their officer’s course.  Discipline was the only thing holding him together at this point. The move to OCS had taken away most of his drills, marksmanship, and excuses.  Now he had nothing to do but go to class, exercise, and bask in the glow of joy he felt when around Nix.

“Are you listening to me?”

Dick snapped to attention and looked Nix in the eyes.   Gray eyes, so damn striking, staring at him through a cloud of recently exhaled smoke.   “Yes.”

“Then what the hell did I just say?”

Dick smirked, a response to Nix’s New Jersey accent and attitude coming out.   Nix wasn’t being forceful or irritated, he just was being a product of his home state.  “I honestly have no idea.  I haven’t had any real reason to believe you’re going to let anyone else talk during this presentation.”

Nix huffed, the small crowd of soon to be officers around them laughed and dispersed.   They clearly believed the same thing. 

“You should be the one teaching the class.”  Dick followed up, once everyone left.

“Then you’d listen?”  Nix asked, stood up, crushed out his cigarette and stretched.   His smile was evident, amused that the studious Dick Winters found himself distracted today.

“Hang on every word.” Dick said, and meant it.   He stood up too, dusted sand off his knee and met Nix’s eyes again.  This time unobscured by smoke.  There was something there, something they both held onto for a second too long, and left Dick having to clear his throat and remind himself about discipline.

He was going to need it to get through this without giving into want, weakness and whatever this was that was brewing between him and Nix that was more than any friendship he had ever had.

[endlessburningdarkness]

**I headcanon their relationship falls apart anyway, even without a reveal, bc there's only so long Shen Yuan can lie to himself and put up with terrible sex and LBHs manchild behaviour. I imagine he logs out at some point and returns to his real life.**

Can you develop more this, please? =)

Through most of the story, Shen Yuan is going from one crisis to another. He doesn't have time to sit down and think and be honest with himself. After the story ends, and he has to think beyond just surviving I imagine he will eventually realize he wants more than a relationship built on a lie, and terrible sex and the life of a cultivator.

I imagine he'll crave modern things more and more, not to mention, finally remembering his family and the life he left behind, the life he could've had, where he doesn't have to get his arse ripped open bc the protagonist will cry and destroy the world if he doesn't feel sufficiently "loved". Isn't it telling that both LBH and SY's idea of love requires sex, which one of them doesn't enjoy?

I also imagine he won't be able to deny how manipulative and coercive LBH is, and LBHs appeal as a character (and he does still consider LBH a character even in the end, its why he insists on bottoming, bc the stallion protagonist couldn't possibly take it up the arse) will dwindle and fade away.

It's like how you like badboys in fiction, but if you really had to deal with one irl day in and day out for years on end, you'd say fuck it and pack your bags. If the story book world is now real, that means real human emotions and realistic reactions to things, and I can't see Shen Yuan, realistically, wanting to stay.

So he would find an out, either by killing himself or just logging out and going back home. I don't think LBH would let him leave, and he knows that. It's why he feels so pressured to keep LBH happy and content and sees it as his responsibility, bc an unhappy LBH = world ending. Eventually though, he'd get over that idea, once he has time to pause and think things through and sort out his feelings and get used to his new, disappointing life.

Maybe Shen Yuan becomes the new protagonist, and lives out his dream of being LBH. bc that's the real reason he was reading th original novel, it was a male power fantasy, and Shen Yuan bought into that. He wants the power fantasy and he'll ultimately have to confront his own unhappiness and disappointment within himself. There's only so long you can lie to yourself. Shen Yuan lies to himself in order to survive, but once survival is secured, he will have ample time to realize he's been lying to himself, and that he doesn't want to continue.

And maybe some things are worse than death. I can't imagine years of lying and being coerced into a relationship with painful and humiliating sex is gonna feel any different from torture via human stick a few years down the line.

Him logging out and continuing with his normal life is probably the funniest outcome. I can see him writing fanfiction of Shen Qingqiu becoming a demon lord and fucking LBH/women as a sort of therapeutic exercise to deal with his trauma in the real world afterwards.

Honestly, I think he'd be relived to escape and probably give up his online hating. Which is ultimately the message mxtx wanted to send by writing a story about a straight online troll ending up getting fucked in the arse so badly he bleeds every time. don't hate in front of the author's face, aka the comment section, which is what Shen Yuan was shamelessly doing, harassing the author so much the author remembers all his comments. It would be a nice ending to say he learned his lesson?

But i also don't think an online hater deserves what Shen Yuan is put through in the story as "punishment" for his bad behaviour. It's not that serious imo. Good thing its a fantasy story and doesn't take itself too seriously. It would be a lot more depressing then, and not nearly as funny.

I may have gone a little offtopic. Oh well.

[that-one-ostrich-friend]

just a drink

older!sirius black x reader - just a drink

word count: 4k

summary: after a long meeting with the order sirius invites y/n to stay for… just a drink

warnings: kissing, mentions of age gap, absolutely infatuated sirius (bc i like men who shower me with compliments and affection) also slight dumbledore hate

a/n: once again i went insane with this. there are so many other things i should be writing for you but i just have to share this

     The room was dimly lit, the flickering candles casting long shadows across the mismatched chairs and the weathered wooden table. The members of the Order of the Phoenix sat packed tightly together, their faces solemn as Dumbledore spoke. The tension in the air was palpable, the kind that settled deep in the bones and refused to let go.

     Y/N sat near the middle of the table, between Remus and Sirius. Her arms were crossed over her chest, her jaw tight as she listened to Dumbledore outline the latest developments. Her patience was thin tonight, thinner than usual. The constant weight of the war, the sleepless nights, and now the decisions being made without enough consideration for their consequences—it was all too much.

     Dumbledore’s voice carried on, steady and commanding. “We need to establish a stronger presence near Diagon Alley. The Death Eaters are becoming bolder in their attacks, and we must be prepared for the possibility of a strike closer to the heart of wizarding London.”

     Y/N’s fingers tapped against her arm, her brow furrowing. She could feel the frustration building, a knot tightening in her chest. “I don’t see how that helps,” she muttered under her breath.

     Her voice was quiet, but Sirius, sitting to her right, caught it. He glanced at her, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. She always had something to say, always pushed back against authority when she thought they were wrong. It was one of the things he admired about her— her fire.

     Dumbledore continued, unbothered. “A visible presence in the area will serve as both a deterrent and a warning. However, we must exercise caution. Any unnecessary provocation could lead to—”

     “With all due respect, sir,” Y/N interrupted, her voice cutting through the room, “standing around looking official isn’t going to stop them. They already know we’re here, and they’re not afraid of us. If anything, it’ll just make us targets.”

     The room fell silent. All eyes turned to her, some surprised, others wary. Y/N felt the weight of their stares but held her ground, her gaze steady on Dumbledore.

     “Y/N,” Remus murmured beside her, his voice low and calm. He placed a hand on her back, a gesture meant to steady her. “Not now.”

     The touch was gentle but firm, and Y/N felt herself deflate slightly. She bit back a retort and leaned back in her chair, her arms still crossed tightly over her chest.

     Sirius’s eyes flicked to the spot where Remus’s hand rested on Y/N’s back. His smirk faded, replaced by a subtle tightening of his jaw. He knew the gesture was innocent—Remus had always been protective of her, just as he was with everyone in their group—but it still bothered him. There was an ease between them, a quiet understanding, that Sirius couldn’t help but envy.

     And yet, he had no right to feel that way. She wasn’t his.

     He leaned back in his chair, forcing his gaze away from them and pretending to focus on the parchment in front of him. But his thoughts refused to cooperate.

     The age gap. That damned age gap.

     It was the reason he hadn’t made a move, the thing that held him back every time he caught himself watching her for too long or thinking about her late at night. She was young, vibrant, full of life. He was weighed down by a lifetime of mistakes and regrets. What right did he have to want her?

     Dumbledore’s voice pulled him back to the present. “Now, onto the matter of Hogsmeade,” he said, gesturing to the map on the table. “There have been reports of suspicious activity near the Shrieking Shack. I’ll need volunteers to investigate—discreetly, of course.”

     Y/N straightened slightly, her interest piqued. Sirius could see the determination in her eyes, the way she was already considering the assignment. But before she could speak, Remus gave her a subtle nudge with his elbow.

     “Don’t,” he murmured, his tone light but pointed.

     She shot him a look, half annoyed, half amused. Sirius felt a twinge of something—jealousy, irritation, he wasn’t sure—as he watched the exchange. They had their own unspoken language, a bond that had formed over years of shared experiences and trust.

     The meeting dragged on, Dumbledore moving from one topic to the next. Y/N’s frustration simmered beneath the surface, evident in the way she tapped her fingers against the table or shifted in her seat. Sirius found it hard to focus. His attention kept drifting to her—to the way her hair caught the candlelight, the way her brow furrowed in concentration.

      And then there were the little things, the details only he seemed to notice: the way her lips pressed together when she was deep in thought, the soft sigh she let out when something annoyed her.

     By the time the meeting adjourned, Y/N had reached her limit. She stood abruptly, muttering something about needing fresh air.

     Sirius watched her go, his eyes lingering on the way her hair swayed as she walked. He wondered if she realized how captivating she was, if she had any idea how much space she occupied in his thoughts.

     “You’re not very subtle, you know,” Remus said, breaking the silence.

     Sirius turned to him, frowning. “What are you on about?”

     Remus smirked, his tone dry. “You’ve been staring at her all night.”

     “I wasn’t staring,” Sirius said quickly, too quickly.

     “Right,” Remus said, gathering his things. “Just try not to make it so obvious next time.”

     Sirius let out a huff of irritation, running a hand through his hair. 

     But it was hard to look away.

     As the room emptied, Sirius stayed behind, slumping back in his chair. The candlelight flickered, casting shadows across the walls. He closed his eyes, letting out a low sigh.

     The truth was, he couldn’t stop thinking about her. He’d tried—Merlin, he’d tried—but she was always there, lingering in the back of his mind. Her voice, her smile, the way she carried herself with so much confidence and determination.

━━━━━━━•✧°•°𓅦°•°✧•━━━━━━━

     The cold outside felt like it seeped into her bones as soon as she stepped through the door, the chill from the air making Y/N pull her coat tighter around her. She had rushed out earlier, frustrated with the meeting and the constant back-and-forth of words that never seemed to result in any real action. But now, standing alone in the cold yard of Grimmauld Place, she realized she’d left her coat and bag behind in the rush.

     With a resigned sigh, she turned back toward the house, the heavy wooden door creaking slightly as she entered. The warmth of the house immediately wrapped around her, but it wasn’t enough to shake the unease still lingering in her chest. She moved quickly through the entryway, making her way back to the sitting room where she had left her belongings.

     The house was eerily quiet now. The voices, the laughter, the bustling of the meeting—it had all vanished. The flickering candlelight in the sitting room seemed to magnify the silence, making everything feel still.

     She paused when she saw him.

     Sirius was sitting at the table, the same spot where the Order meeting had been held just a short while ago. His elbows rested on the edge of the table, his hands folded loosely in front of him, and his gaze was distant. He hadn’t noticed her entrance yet, his focus still on some faraway thought.

     Y/N’s steps slowed as she studied him for a moment, unsure of what to make of the stillness that seemed to surround him. He didn’t appear to have noticed her yet, his focus still on something she couldn’t see.

     She cleared her throat softly, breaking the quiet.

     Sirius looked up at the sound, his gray eyes meeting hers immediately, the hint of a smile pulling at his lips. For a moment, they just stared at each other, the weight of the past few hours hanging between them.

     “Forgot my coat,” Y/N said, her voice a little more subdued than usual as she gestured toward the chair where she had left her things.

     Sirius nodded, sitting up straighter in his seat. “You left in a bit of a hurry,” he said, a wry smile on his face. “Cold out there.”

     Y/N glanced down at her coat, then at him. “I guess I didn’t think about the cold.”

     “Would’ve figured you for someone who’d remember that,” he teased, but there was something softer in his voice now.

     Y/N stepped forward, picking up her coat from the chair. As her fingers brushed against the fabric, she hesitated. The frustration she had felt during the meeting had yet to leave her. The weight of Dumbledore’s decisions, the helplessness of their situation, had settled deep within her.

     Sirius observed her, his gaze softening. The silence between them was now something different, something more reflective. "You alright?" he asked quietly, his voice devoid of teasing now, the softness lingering in his words.

     “I’ll be fine,” she said lightly, tugging her coat tighter around her shoulders. “I just... I need to clear my head.”

     Sirius raised an eyebrow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “You look like you could use a drink. How about you stay for a bit?”

     Y/N hesitated. She knew what he was offering: a brief escape, a chance to let their shoulders down after the weight of the meeting. It was a kindness, one she rarely turned down when offered, but she wasn’t sure she was in the mood for conversation—at least, not the kind he seemed to want.

     She smoothed a hand over her coat, then met his gaze. "I don’t want to be a bother.”

     A small chuckle escaped him, though it didn’t reach his eyes the way it usually did. He was trying, she could see that, but there was a quiet undercurrent in his voice now, one that didn’t have the usual playfulness. It was something else—something deeper.

     “You’re not a bother. You never are.” He paused, watching her closely, as though he were searching for something behind her guarded expression. “Come on. Let’s just... have a drink. Relax a little. Please.”

     Y/N could feel the hesitation in her chest, that resistance she’d built around herself, but she also knew she didn’t want to go back to her flat alone—not after tonight. Not when she could still feel the sharp sting of everything they had just discussed lingering in her mind. Maybe, just maybe, a drink with Sirius would help take the edge off.

     She sighed, stepping away from the doorframe. “Alright. Just one drink.”

     Sirius’s smile, though small, was genuine. It reached his eyes this time, and for a brief moment, Y/N caught a glimpse of something in his expression—a flicker of hope or perhaps relief. But then he masked it again, as he always did, with that ever-present, charismatic ease.

     “Excellent,” he said, gesturing toward the kitchen. “I’ll let you pick the poison. But if you say Firewhisky, I’m warning you, I’ll be pouring myself a double.”

     Y/N shook her head as she followed him through the hall. “I’m not in the mood for something that strong,” she replied, though she couldn’t hide the slight smile that tugged at her lips.

     He led the way into the kitchen. It was a small space, cozy even in its slightly outdated decor. Y/N had always thought there was something oddly comforting about the kitchen in Grimmauld Place—it was a place that felt lived in, not cold and sterile like the rest of the house.

     He moved to the cupboard and pulled out a bottle of something dark, his fingers brushing over it in a way that suggested familiarity. “How about this?” he asked, turning to her with a raised eyebrow. “A little bit of something to take the edge off without turning us into complete wrecks.”

     Y/N smiled at the offer. “I’ll try it. But I’m holding you to your word—just one drink.”

     “Of course,” he replied smoothly, though there was an edge to his voice now, a quiet sincerity. “I’m not trying to get you drunk, Y/N. I just thought... after everything today, maybe a bit of peace wouldn’t hurt.”

     He poured them both a generous measure of the amber liquid, handing her the glass with a soft smile. She accepted it, their fingers brushing ever so slightly as she took it, and she was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Sirius’s presence always had this magnetic pull on her. Even now, as he leaned back against the counter, watching her with those dark eyes of his, she felt something shift in the air around them.

     “So, what did you think of the meeting?” he asked, his voice low and steady, but she could hear the underlying edge of exhaustion in his words. He was tired. They all were. But Sirius... Sirius had always worn his exhaustion differently. He carried it with a certain grace, a way of making it look effortless when it was anything but.

     Y/N shrugged, taking a small sip of her drink. “It’s the same as always. We talk strategy, we pretend like we know what we’re doing, and we leave with the same uncertainty as when we came in.”

     “Yeah,” Sirius muttered, his eyes darkening as he swirled his drink. “The war doesn’t exactly give us much to work with, does it?”

     Y/N looked at him, her gaze lingering on his face. There was something about the way he said it, like he had seen the world through darker lenses than most. She couldn’t deny that part of her was fascinated by that—by the depth of everything he had been through. And yet, there was always a part of him that seemed so light, so full of life. It was that contrast that both intrigued and unsettled her.

     “I think we’re all just waiting for the next bombshell to drop,” she said softly, her eyes not meeting his. “And in the meantime, we try to keep it together.”

     Sirius watched her closely, his eyes fixed on the movement of her lips as she slowly sipped her drink. His gaze lingered, and for a moment, he forgot about everything—about the weight of the meeting, about the ever-present tension of the war. It was just her, sitting across from him, and the soft glow of the kitchen lights casting shadows across her face. His heart seemed to skip a beat as he noticed the way the soft candlelight made her eyes shine, the way the curve of her lips looked even more inviting with every sip.

     Y/N felt his gaze before she saw it. The weight of his attention pressed on her, as though his eyes were tracing every line of her face, every small movement. It made her heart beat a little faster, a warmth spreading through her chest despite the cool air around them. She looked up over the rim of her glass, meeting his gaze. His dark eyes were soft, but there was a flicker of something deeper, something more intense. Something she hadn’t noticed before—or maybe she had, but had ignored.

     “What is it, Sirius?” she asked, her voice teasing but with a subtle undercurrent of curiosity. “Do I have something on my face?”

     Sirius blinked, caught off guard for a moment. He cleared his throat and shook his head, trying to shake off the lingering thoughts. But the truth slipped out before he could stop it.

     “No,” he said softly, “just thinking... you’re beautiful.”

     Y/N’s eyebrows lifted in surprise, a small laugh escaping her lips. She set the glass down on the counter and crossed her arms, her gaze locking onto his. “Really?” she said with a playful smile. “You’re not so bad yourself, you know.”

     Sirius chuckled, though there was a touch of nervousness beneath the laugh. The air between them seemed to shift, the tension thickening, and for a brief moment, he forgot all about the age gap that had kept him at bay for so long. The difference in their years had been a wall in his mind, one he had built to keep things at arm's length. But now, standing here with her, so close, so real, it felt like that wall was crumbling away piece by piece.

     He leaned forward slightly, his voice low and rough. “You know, I’ve been thinking about something for a while, and I’m not sure if I should say it.” His heart was hammering in his chest, the words threatening to spill out before he could stop them. “But... would you want to kiss me?”

     Y/N’s breath caught in her throat at the question. It was so direct, so unguarded. And it was like the entire world seemed to stop for a heartbeat. She blinked, the shock of it mixing with something else—something warmer, something she hadn’t been expecting. She felt her pulse quicken, her eyes flicking to his lips before she caught herself.

     For a moment, she said nothing. Then, slowly, her lips curved into a teasing smile, the spark of mischief flickering in her eyes. “Why wouldn’t I?”

     Sirius didn’t need any more encouragement. The restraint he had held onto for so long—the years of wondering, of doubting—slipped away in that moment. He moved closer, his hands coming up to gently cup her face, and then, without another word, he leaned in, his lips brushing against hers.

The kiss was soft at first, but it wasn’t long before the gentle pressure of his lips grew more urgent, more insistent, as though the need to be close to her had been building for far too long. Y/N responded in kind, her hands finding their way to his chest, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as she deepened the kiss.

     Sirius let out a soft groan as he felt her pull him closer, her body pressed against his. The intensity of the kiss surged, and he could taste the warmth of the alcohol on her lips, the tang of it mixing with the sweetness of her kiss. His hands roamed to her back, pulling her flush against him, his breath quickening as he kissed her deeper, harder, the world spinning around them.

     “Y/N...” he muttered against her lips, his voice thick with desire. “You’re... heavenly.”

     Y/N’s heart was racing now, her hands tracing the lines of his chest, feeling the muscles beneath his shirt, the heat radiating from his skin. She had never imagined this—never imagined that the distance between them could close so quickly, so completely. But now, with him so close, with his lips on hers, she couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

     She pulled back just enough to catch her breath, her lips tingling from the intensity of the kiss. Her eyes were heavy-lidded, her gaze locked on his. “Sirius...” she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but thick with emotion. “Kiss me again.”

     Sirius didn’t need any more prompting. He kissed her again, this time with a desperation that was new—raw and hungry. His hands slid down to her waist, pulling her closer as he kissed her with a depth that left them both breathless. The kiss was no longer soft. It was passionate, consuming, as though every doubt, every fear, was being kissed away in that one moment.

     He muttered a few curses, his lips trailing down to her neck, tasting the soft skin there. “God, Y/N... you don’t know what you do to me.” His voice was rough, strained, as he nipped gently at her skin, sending shivers down her spine.

     Y/N gasped, her fingers threading through his hair as she tilted her head back to give him better access. His lips were on her neck, hot and insistent, his kisses leaving a trail of fire in their wake. She couldn’t stop herself. She didn’t want to. Every part of her was alive with the sensation of him, the taste of him, the warmth of his body against hers.

     The kiss deepened once more, and without thinking, Sirius picked her up, his arms wrapping around her waist as he pressed her back against the wall. The sudden movement surprised her, but it only made the moment more intense, more real. She gasped, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively, and he groaned at the closeness, at the feeling of her body against his.

     His lips moved down her neck, kissing her in slow, deliberate strokes, his breath hot against her skin as he whispered her name. “Y/N...” he murmured again, as though trying to make sure she was still with him, still there. “You’re... perfect.”

     Her heart raced as he kissed her neck, his lips trailing over the sensitive skin there. She couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. She only knew that she wanted more.

     When their kiss finally broke, both of them panting for air, they slid to the floor. Sirius’s head rested against her shoulder.

     Slowly he sat up, his hands still holding her waist. He looked at her, his dark eyes filled with a mixture of longing and something else—something deeper.

     “I was... worried,” he confessed, his voice low, vulnerable in a way she had never heard before. “Worried about the age difference. About whether you’d... feel the same. It’s always been in the back of my mind.”

     Y/N’s heart softened at his words, and she placed a hand gently on his cheek, brushing her thumb over the stubble there. “Sirius, I don’t care about that,” she said softly. “I’ve never even thought of it.”

     He leaned in to kiss her again, but this time, it was only a soft graze, a reminder of how easily he could lose himself in her.

     “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice rough with the emotions he could never fully hide. “So damn beautiful, so bloody lovely...” He chuckled softly, a spark of mischief lighting in his eyes. “It’s maddening, really.”

     Y/N’s chest fluttered at his words, at the vulnerability that she could hear in his voice. She leaned in, gently kissing the corner of his mouth, her lips lingering for a moment longer than expected. “I’m really glad you convinced me to stay for a drink,” she whispered, her fingers gently tracing the line of his jaw.

     Sirius’s breath caught at her words, and for a moment, he looked as though he might say something else, but instead, he moved, his hand rested on her leg, a soft touch that conveyed so much more than words could. Then, slowly, he shifted again, lying down with his head in her lap, the two of them surrounded by the quiet of the kitchen.

     He gazed up at her, his eyes filled with a kind of wonder, a touch of awe. “You’re so perfect, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice low and warm. “I can’t believe I’m here with you. I’ve wanted this. Wanted you. For so long.”

     Y/N blushed, a soft smile curling on her lips. She gently ran her fingers through his hair, enjoying the warmth of the moment.

     Sirius let out a breath, as though he’d been holding it for far too long. His lips turned upward in a small, tender smile. And for a long moment, they stayed like that—him lying on her lap, her fingers in his hair, the weight of everything unspoken and everything new hanging between them, untold but not needed.

[alsfunkyalbum]

Explaining this Sans AU of mine b/c he is haunting me 24/7 and I need to tell everyone about it

Funny thing about this guy is that he's not really a Sans, well not the Sans of his world at least. He's a little special. But to explain that we'd have to go ALLLLL the way back. So the story starts off in a world similar to that of Underswap; an Underswap variant if you will.

Backstory

This is actually Sans

(yes I know it's cropped awkwardly. It's purposeful.)

Sans here acts like your typical Swap variant. Confident, upbeat, and that relentless want and motivation to be head of the royal guard.

He lives a pretty standard and normal life in his totally normal and completely safe life in his Underswap. However, it's not really that way on the outside.

Outside of his world the player continuously plays this Underswap, over and over, but over time the player finds this boring. In order to make it less boring they start to add mods and stuff to the game to make the experience more interesting (one of the reasons why Sans looks so different from the typical Swap).

The player started small with smallish mods that mainly changed the appearance of the game, however the mods eventually grew tiring. So they kept adding and kept adding until they decided, they wanted to turn it up a notch...

They were going to delete Sans completely from the game!

When Sans was deleted from the game he didn't completely disappear. His code was just booted from the rest of the game's code, leaving him to just be there, floating... Observing...

This confused Sans immediately since he was once at home, with his wonderful (albeit lazy) brother, his amazing friends and a comfortable home then next he was merely a viewer. Unable to interact with the people he once loved, unable to follow the paths he used to, unable to live. He was only able to watch as his world continues without him.

Because of this Sans became aware quickly that his world was a complete lie. His life continued without trouble and he was forced into a harsh reality of what really happened to him in most timelines.

The world never stopped moving. But that couldn't be possible without Sans? Wrong! The game knew something was wrong when Sans was deleted. The game followed a script and the script was never disobeyed. But how? How is that possible if an entire character was missing?

Simple, the game replaced him! Since the game HAD to continue the script, it had to put something in his place. While the actual Sans walked around his world unable to do anything, the game placed a fraud in his place.

To keep the script continuing without pause or fault the game created a thing to perform the dialogue and actions that kept it going. Nobody in the world can see this thing since it wasn't made to be seen. It was made to trick the world into thinking Sans is there when he's not. It's there to be Sans when he's not Sans.

This thing was made of dark smog and smoke and had no physical form. The reason being is that despite being a replacement for Sans, the game lacked general knowledge of WHO Sans is rather than his role in the game. The game didn't know how Sans acted, how he looked, how he felt, however it knew that he was a skeleton who was a character. So this figure was never complete looking, always disfigured and ghastly.

Sans could see this figure. Sans could see the thing that took his place in this world. Sans could see the creature who's pretending to be him. However Sans couldn't ever do anything about it, since he was deleted.

So Sans would watch, and watch, and watch... Watch how the world repeated... Watch how this figure would pop in when he was meant to say or do something. Watch how his friends and family were dusted or spared plenty a time. It got boring to say the least. It was a shock at first, for sure! But overtime he got tired of relentless murder and runs, he almost wished he didn't ever 'die' then he'd never be forced to remember how it repeats.

Eventually the game started slowing down. With the constant addition of new mods, the player decided to branch to different websites for more. Little did they know this would drag along plenty of viruses and glitches into the game, causing it to constantly crash and pause.

During these pauses Sans found that the world would just stop in place. Everything froze and didn't move until the issue was fixed. It was a little scary at first, but interesting at the same time!

Another thing interesting was that when he was needed during a scene his copy was there and even when the game froze, he never left. Just like the rest of the characters his replacement was frozen, except not really. Since the replacement wasn't actually a part of the game they'd just sit there, waiting for the pause to conclude.

Sans, a little curious decided to get close to them one day. Despite its lack of distinction it was obviously they were a skeleton. This made Sans interested in this creature. Sans tried to communicate with them, which led to very little success.

The replacement didn't respond nor make any gesture of recognition to Sans. Instead they'd stay still until the game was started again and do their business. However, Sans didn't give up. He had a feeling something would change. So every time the game went under pauses or crashes and the replacement was around he'd try to communicate.

It was a struggle, especially since it had barely any good results. Eventually though, one singular timeline he managed to get something, a response even. When talking, not sure of what, Sans received his real first acknowledgement. A head tilt. The replacement tilted his head in the direction that Sans was standing.

It freaked him out at first. This quiet, stoic, scary figure gives no response then all of a sudden is giving their full attention. Even so, it motivated Sans immensely. He knew he was doing the right thing. So he continued, in every timeline afterwards.

Over time the replacement started to show signs of life. He slowly gained movement, however never once was able to gain the ability to talk. This was due to the fact that the figure was never once able to leave the script. They found ways around it though. Eventually Sans grew a little tired of calling his new friend "his replacement," so they agreed on the name Husk for them.

Sans and Husk continued to communicate and genuinely grew close to being actual friends. Sans for one felt grateful that he had someone to talk to during his deletion. And Husk was pretty open to actually meeting someone.

Sans learned quite a few things about Husk in his conversations. One, being that they're kinda in the same boat as Sans. They may look physically alive and okay, but realistically and even in code they are considered 'dead' or not real. Husk didn't have a soul, therefore rendering him as dead as Sans....

However... Sans realized something... Husk lacked a soul however he retained a body in his world... Meanwhile Sans lacked his physical connection to his world, but still has his soul... They knew what they needed to do...

Through some sort of magic (and logic since it's not completely figured how they do it) the two of them agree that they should combine together to make up for what they didn't have. They would complete each other. So that's exactly what they did.

They'd come together, fill in the gaps and create one singular, alive skeleton. With this, their combined selves created a new fresh body for them to share. They controlled this body together and shared it between each other.

Despite being a body made from the two of them, they knew this body was a whole new thing, a whole new person, so they settled on naming the body Ghost.

When they first got the body Husk and Sans agreed on taking turns using the body, so they can experience a sort of freedom on their own. While one was up and rampant the other would rest... However this plan proved faulty quite quickly when the body one day randomly collapsed due to exhaustion, forcing Husk and Sans out of control for a while. From then on, they agreed to control the body together.

Sans was stupid, Ghost was even more stupid. They struggled to hide the fact that they were not Sans at all, that their Sans was gone. Nobody in his world questioned it, but they all knew. Ghost was sure of it! Ghost was never as physically or even mentally healthy as Sans was before. He was completely different.

Before there used to be this confident, radiant being, bringing up everyone's mood and carrying the world on his shoulder. But now that character is hidden under this scared creature, paranoid about what's next, stuttering about everything, and hoarding loads of secrets. People probably noticed and if they did they never said anything.

Ghost was terrified. Being out of the world, unable to interact was definitely one thing. But being back, knowing the world and life you built around you was built on tremendous amounts of code and lies is another. While upset about this Ghost was happy to have her life back, even if she was an entirely new person.

Ghost would never admit to it though. He would never confess that he is more than just that of the blue skeleton before. They would take that lie to the grave and afterlife beyond him.

And so be it.

Remember those viruses? Those things that brought the blossoming relationship between Husk and Sans... Yep... They are also the ones that are slowly breaking the game from its core out.

The pauses and crashes from before slowly started mutating over the course of timelines, becoming far worse to handle. Instead of just the pauses, objects, places, and sometimes even people started to just entirely glitch out of existence. It wasn't too much of a deal at first but it grew surprisingly rapidly. Eventually the world as Ghost knew it, was tearing itself apart.

At this point his world was unlivable. After so many cries and goodbyes his world was gone, glitched out of existence. He lived in a white void for a while, confused and scared at his life just disappearing. Confused why he wasn't gone as well, confused why his world chose him to live, and scared on what he would do with his life. Eventually something, or rather someone showed up.

A grey kid, similar to the Chara of his world, but different. They introduced themselves and offered Ghost a new place to live. Ghost rejected their offer, choosing a different path. The child insisted, but eventually left Ghost alone, as she wished. Ghost sat there for a long time, just trying to wrap their head around the loss they experienced.

However Ghost was a little weird in terms of code. He wasn't really bound anywhere, meaning he was able to travel freely.... Unfortunately he didn't learn about that quickly and low-key kinda sucks at trying to travel to other universes. It's majorly just a flight response he gets from fear.

Relationships

Papyrus:

Of course Papyrus realized something was different about his brother. He's aware of the different universes, the fact their entire world is a game, all that nonsense…. However, he wasn't at all aware of the fact that his brother was replaced completely. When Sans was first deleted he had no clue since the game tricked his system into thinking he was still there. While he didn't see Husk, his code made him believe there was someone there. He was clueless about his brother being gone, since the game followed the script normally. However… when his brother came back as Ghost, he figured something was wrong. While the script has the ability to go a different route it doesn't happen (especially when Husk was there). Somehow, though, when Ghost came in, the script was completely different. This person was not his brother… and it was at the same time. The first thing Papyrus noticed was his brothers confused, hurt, and nervous nature… that was so different from his bro.. Sometimes though, he'd act like his bro, but he refused to get back onto script. He was so different, as if he knew something about his world that Papyrus didn't. Why did he act like this? Papyrus never pressured his brother and instead continued his life as if this change was normal. His brother(?) never cracked either. While they didn't look, act, or even speak like his brother, they still posed as Sans. Since Papyrus never probed for the answer, he never got it.

Error: To put it simply Ghost is an outcode and Error destroys outcodes. To put it deeper, Ghost enjoys Error's company even if he wants to kill him. Error attempted to attack Ghost a few days after his world was destroyed (after Ghost rejected Core Frisk's offer). However Ghost put up a sort of fight. He wasn't as good as Sans when he fought but he was pretty okay. This was the day Ghost learned of his power to travel to completely new worlds. When Ghost managed to get away it fueled Error with a new sense of motivation. Error would find a way to track down the purple skeleton and wreck havoc on the world he occupied. Everytime Error came around Ghost would just teleport away to a new place (typically out of fear). Then it happens all over in a sort of Cat-mouse chase.

Error would view Ghost as a nuisance, an annoyance, something that gets on his nerves. He swore multiple times to destroy Ghost as soon as he'd get his hands on him. He kinda enjoys the chasing, which keeps the destroying entertaining. He'd never admit to that of course.

Ghost was terrified at first at Error. He wasn't ready to die again... However he quickly learned of the other's stubborn and childish nature, even with his position. He found ways to have fun with Error, even if he's being chased to be killed. He finds a kind of comfort in Error's constant drive. He wasn't sure why and sure as hell couldn't explain it.

Star Sanses: Ghost has seen them before while accidentally showing up in random AUs. It was never by purpose that he meets them, but it just happens. He never gets too close to them, always just watching them from the side, watching as they battle or do whatever it is they are doing. Ghost is generally clueless about the entirety of the multiverse so he isn't so sure who these guys are. They're kinda cool looking so he doesn't really care much.

Dream is clueless about Ghost watching them but he can always feel the constant anxiety running in him. It confuses him a lot.

Ink is aware of the constant eyes of the skeleton. He knows who Ghost is exactly, however he just doesn't care. He doesn't think Ghost is a threat so he doesn't impose on the guy.

Swap is unaware.... Ghost doesn't like looking at Swap because it reminds him of what he used to be. What he was supposed to be.

Personality, Behavior and Quirks

Sans, Husk, and Ghost all act so different despite all of them technically being the same person.

Sans: | He/Him | Cis Man | Sexuality: N/A | 4'6ft | After the events of his AU he typically remains the same. He's confident, radiant, vibrant and as Swap as a Swap can be. However he picked up a few traits after being dead for a bit. He likes to make sure he's alive and living even if it's by small actions. He typically does this through senses. Touching, smelling, hearing, all reminds him that he's still alive and he is not gone. When in control of the body he likes to pump it up a level and see what the body can handle. It deems him as a risk taker. Sans constantly tires the body out since it can't even come close to the physical exhaust placed on Sans previously.

When they started travelling through AUs, Sans underwent the name Spirit. 1, being that he didn't want confusion amongst other Sanses. And 2, he's not too comfortable with sharing his identity so easily

He has scars all along his arms from when he was alive. He was too motivated to let a few scars from training stop his stride. So often they'd build up and keep building till the bone would chip away. When alive he'd wear compression gloves because the scars would flare up sometimes and hurt

When he was still just a ghost he'd never wear his shoes or gloves to feel closer to his world around him

He loves boots and would prefer to wear them with every outfit

His favorite color is blue and sometimes green

When he was alive he used to make all of his clothes by hand. He was never really good at fashion but he thought he was

Husk: | They/Them (sometimes he) | Agender | Sexuality: N/A | 5'7 | Husk is quiet. They don't speak. It was a habit that was picked up and was never put down. Instead they prefer to find other ways to communicate, ASL being mostly used. Husk, if in control of the body likes to be distant, alone, and blend into the background. Having a way to live and all these very alive things (emotions, thoughts, ability to communicate, etc) has them kinda overwhelmed. They don't like being in control of the body unless Sans is there controlling it as well.

They're pretty clingy and often affectionate

They doesn't like being alone that much

In his ghost form their physical body was able to morph however they felt. They could be as big and as small as they want. They sometimes use this ability to their advantage

Before when they were a puppet to the game they didn't really have any traits. They didn't have things like emotions, thoughts, etc. Since they are so new to these things they don't express much, finding it all so confusing

Their favorite colors are red and white

While quiet they aren't very shy. They like using sarcasm and sometimes come off more rude than need be

Ghost: | He/Them/Hers | Genderfluid | Sexuality: NwlNw | 5'2 | Despite just being a combination of both Husk and Sans, Ghost acts like they are their own being. It even confuses Husk and Spirit why he is so different. They are unnaturally scared all the time and constantly trembling. However underneath the shield of fear they are a jokester. They like getting into trouble and causing chaos. The body itself is unstable. It's falling apart as he walks and picks itself back up when the possibility of death is apparent.

Ghost is a coffee addict. It "calms" his nerves as he'd like to put it

They are very fidgety and often find their body was moving in some sort of way (tapping his heels against the floor, chewing on his fingers, tapping his fingers against things, rocking back and forth, etc)

He was not a pro at wearing heels and first but now he has mastered doing everything in them; from fighting to running (he still however sometimes trips)

Ghost is pretty clumsy, possibly due to the body being unstable and overall Imbalanced

He has a bad habit of passing out when under high stress or fear. He considers it (jokingly) a defense mechanism

Fashion is one of her favorite things ever. She loves always looking her best. His fashion sense is a mix between expensive, comfortable, and rich auntie/mom. However they aren't afraid to try our new styles.

Anyone who dates them is automatically considered poly (as declared by Sans)

Ghost likes to set high expectations for himself however they are scared of failure

His eyes turn blue and red respectively when Husk and Spirit step away from control (either to talk or situate something). In this phase Ghost can't do anything, see, feel, or literally be anything. However they are still conscious in this phase since Husk and Sans still occupy his head

Anatomy and Physical Features

(an official body ref has not been made yet and is still in the works)

Ghost has dark spots all over his bones. This was due to patches of his body being succumbed to Husk's mysterious figure. Along with this the body is unstable. As pictured above pieces of his body break off and float. It does eventually combine back into the rest of the body, but by then another piece of his body would have broken off. His figure repeats this. All the pieces floating off are technically dead but come back to life when they are conjoined again, leaving his anatomy in a constant dying and reviving state.

The worst of this would be his rib cage, where the bone doesn't ever reform. There is just a constant hole in his chest, leaving his soul vulnerable. Ghost, in turn, likes to wear pretty tight fit clothing, hoping it'd keep his body together. He also prefers to cover up, since they find their body both disgusting and creepy.

---

So uh... Yeah.. I think that concludes the explanation. I probably forgot a few details but I can't recall anything else. So if you have any questions don't be afraid to send an ask (I would actually really appreciate it).

[garmgeyr]

ENIGMATA: The Path of Storytellers, Skeptics, Poets, and Possibilities

Enigmata is - and will likely remain - a poorly understood path. Its philosophy, after all, defies the concept of “certainty” in favor of endless possibilities, so to understand it fully would be to eliminate Enigmata itself. So far the only factions we know of are the History Fictionologists, who embellish the past with fiction in order to inspire future possibilities, and the Riddlers, who use metaphors, riddles, and other circuitous language to forge multiple meanings in communication. This is not simply “the path of liars and misinformation,” as the fandom has taken to believing. That would be better fit for Elation. Enigmata is instead the path of “what if,” and sits in direct opposition to the cold, systematic omniscience of Erudition.

Defying Erudition does not mean that Enigmata necessarily aims to destroy knowledge or knowing. I would argue that “theory” is an acceptable concept within this philosophy because “theory” itself is innately uncertain. A theory is a theory because there exists the possibility for it to be proven wrong, given enough evidence, the right tools, and time. Instead, Enigmata reminds Erudition that nothing can ever truly be 100% known, and that science is filtered through biases, variables, imperfection, and misattribution. On top of that, reality is created on the individual level, and every single creature in this world experiences it differently. To the Enigmata pathstrider, it is in fact impossible to explain the world with generalizations.

Giving up certainty does not come at the expense of intellect, however. “To stop questioning is to ask pouring rain to relinquish its faith in the glittering stars” is the quote for Enigmata in the data bank, written by a poet who presumably follows the path. The quote itself obscures its meaning with metaphor and leaves its interpretation up to the reader, but also highlights the act of questioning, which by itself creates the unknown and opens the door to speculation. Enigmata is therefore the path of skeptics. Don’t take words at face value, it says. Even Gallagher, one of our only examples of an Enigmata pathstrider at the moment, is described at least once as being skeptical, and frequently warns the Trailblazer not to believe what they see. This is not the path of brainlessness, even if Mythus is represented as a jellyfish, but is ironically cerebral. If there is nothing left to question, doubt, or wonder about, then there is no Enigmata.

Like all the paths though, whether or not you find the followers of Enigmata “good” or “bad” is a matter of perspective. Altering historical records might be offensive to a Candelographo, while writing a story that embellishes the past would otherwise be seen as a work of art. As stated above, Enigmata is not merely a path of lies, insofar as fiction is not foremost labeled as a lie. This is, after all, a path of poets and storytellers, and most of us don’t throw away books because they veer from what we know of reality or truth. Historical fiction presents to us both fact and fiction simultaneously, and asks questions like “what if 17th century Europe had dragons?” Engaging with fantasy in this way allows us to indulge in a whole plethora of alternate worlds that are paradoxically real and fake.

For this reason, there is no better way to introduce Enigmata to us than with Penacony’s dreamscape, which represents dreams, imagination, and memory. All of these things leave real impacts on us, even if they don’t reside in the part of the world we call reality. While just about all of us would agree that dreams and imagination are inherently full of possibilities, what about memory? The path of Remembrance governs memory, and believes that it can be captured and preserved 1:1. Mythus was born from the aeon of Remembrance, however, and represents one of the ways in which memory fails: when we forget details, our brain naturally plugs holes up with fabrications. Enigmata’s corrosion (and it is indeed called such in game) is usually harmless to memory in small quantities, but larger holes lend themselves to more impactful fiction. There is a famous psychological study conducted by Loftus and Palmer in the 1970s that revealed how leading questions and false information can affect eyewitness accounts of car crashes. New information has the potential to overwrite memory - a green car suddenly becomes red in testimony - and Dr. Blues’ quest line illustrates this phenomenon: a person whose body has been “forgotten” by the dreamscape becomes an origami bird with Enigmata’s (Gallagher’s) help. Unlike its defiance of Erudition, Enigmata is a facet, rather than an enemy of Remembrance.

This whole post was actually inspired by the Otherworldly Delights readable, which I haven’t even touched on yet and probably won’t spend much time going over it anyway. This readable describes how one of the Luofu’s storytellers acquired a parrot from a mysterious fan, and how the parrot learned to recite and eventually create stories of its own. This parrot was Youci (the Pure Fiction bird), and while not outright stated to be related to Enigmata, its penchant for reinventing the past all but confirms it to be some sort of History Fictionologist, even though its owner doesn’t believe it has the capability of thought and imagination that humans possess. This story and the description on the Jade Feather (tl;dr : a Candelographo was discovered to have fabricated all of the history she’d recorded since creating a quill from the feathers of her dead parrot) have something notable in common beyond just the parrot: a writer or storyteller acquires some kind of muse that coincides with when they begin creating fiction, but the writer themselves is never attributed as a History Fictionologist.

Mikhail was a prolific storyteller and most of his work was based on his own history. Despite everything he created being clearly fiction, he’s never described as a History Fictionologist. Gallagher is though, and is frequently represented as the statue of a hound. Mikhail even calls him "[his] hound." So I had to wonder — might he have been Mikhail’s “parrot?” Gallagher's purpose would have been to reinvent Penacony’s history, and he does that twice that we know of (first in turning the planet into the “Planet of Festivities,” and second in freeing it from the Order). As we see in Otherworldly Delights, Youci becomes a storyteller itself by first mimicking its master, and then observing the world around it. This echoes Gallagher’s character stories, which shows through a series of notes how he’s created his persona by observing people in Penacony. If he’s not the History Fictionologist himself, then he was a gift from one to Mikhail during the War of Independence. Under this theory, Mikhail - and likely Micah - both knew what Gallagher was, and relied on him for the power his stories held within the dreamscape.

This has gone on too long now, and I still have other theories to write out at some point, but all this is to say that Gallagher continues to be a phenomenal representation of the path of Enigmata: who and what he is remains full of endless possibilities in the face of so much information.

[zynnth]

WELL WELL WELL IF IT ISNT ANOTHER MARTIN LORE STREAM TO MAKE ME GO CRAZY

(My AU of the Eyes and Ears AU)

Alright so this stream from today confirmed a couple of things I was wordering about previously and that got my gears turning again. There were quite a lot of lore drops but for now I'm once again mainly going to focus on the Watchers and how they feed on the emotions of the players.

This got mentioned a fair amount throughout the stream but the moment that stood out to me the most was towards the end, where someone briefly asked whether the Watchers could starve if they don't have any emotions to absorb. Turns out that the answer was a very straightforward "yes". This intrigues me especially, since this is an idea that I have been turning around in my head quite a bit previously, especially when writing this and this post.

I've already talked about how both Joel's victory in Wild Life and Scott's finale in Last Life went against what the Watchers wanted in terms of producing these intense negative feelings, but I haven't yet put into words what exactly that meant for these beings. This was mainly due to the fact that the necessity of feeding on emotions was still dubious as far as I was concerned, but now that has been cleared up. They do need it, and failing to do so will apparenly have severe concequences for them.

Now my interpretation of the lore is slightly different from Martin's, mainly in regards to the fact that in my version, all of the players are at least somewhat aware of the existence of the Watchers, and maybe even the Listeners, and their involvement in the games. The reason why they don't seem to fight back apart from a couple of instances, is the same reason why they usually don't carry over emotions from one game to another. The Watchers take away that resentment too, but as we've seen, it keeps coming back in some form.

My immediate conclusion was that in order to get rid of them, the players would have to overcome the negativity of the situation and either remain relatively neutral or thrive on the positive feelings instead. Part of this has already been achieved courtesy of Grian, who purposefully brings lightheartedness into these death games, seemingly keeping quite a lot of ugly feelings at bay and therefore opposing the Watchers' will. What's interesting though, is that Grian himself is a Watcher as well, who also feasts on emotions. Contrary to the other Watchers however, who prefer negative feelings over the rest, Grian has a more "balanced diet". In other words, he takes both positive and negative ones, not willing to exploit the suffering of his friends. This implies that regardless of whether the players have a fun time or not, the Watchers will still be able to sustain themselves.

The problem with this though is that my initial thought of starving them out to get rid of them wouldn't quite work. Maybe they will move on to another set of players to use once they realise they've harvested as much as they could from these ones, and although that would solve the issue of them tormenting these people, the existence of the death games would still continue.

I guess it wasn't entirely confirmed whether positive feelings are enough for Watchers to maintain themselves so there is still a possibility that it would at least weaken them in some way, enough to give the players a fighting chance.

With that in mind I still think that the key to fighting back is to not give them what they want. Even if that won't starve them out completely, it might just inconvenience the Watchers enough to give the Listeners, or maybe the players themselves an opening to make a drastic move. It won't be easy and it certainly won't be possible just by themselves, but with allies on their side, it might just be possible if they have a little bit of hope and trust.

And we all know how the Watchers feel about trust.