#i think my aunt still has the first game or one of them I CAN'T REMEMBER.. i think her copy is in japanese though wtf

[melodyalanaroster]

@candysweetposts Has done it again!

I've been on a HUGE Devil May Cry kick since last September... With Nero being my current videogame crush...

If you read my last update, this game series is one of the biggest reasons why I haven't been writing on Alana's and Nathaniel's story. I can't write about their love story whenever I can't get my mind off of Nero. So, I took a self-insert that I had made for the Black Clover universe and repurposed her for the DMC universe. In know. I know. I'm thirsty... Finral is still my current anime crush, and I still love Nathaniel, but Nero has taken priority...

So, I had the bright idea to have Alice edit an illustration for me. Nathaniel is the perfect love interest to turn into Nero, so I went with one of his illustrations that doesn't have his right arm in it. Nero gets his human arm back at the end of DMC5, but he spends most of the game with various prosthetics (his Devil Breakers are a key game mechanic). The background is from Season 2 of Eldarya. This image is supposed to be that Nero got a call for a mission while he and Melanie were on a date, so the date had to get cut short. She doesn't want him to go, but knows he needs to. So, she ends up telling him to be safe and to come back to her as soon as possible. If you don't actually wanna read me rant about why I don't ship Nero with Kyrie, then don't read after the cut. If you do, then you're in for a wild ride.

Even though I am well aware that Nero is in a canon coupling with Kyrie, I am not fond of that coupling. In DMC4, Kyrie basically spends the entire game either being a "Sweet little singer", "Devout cult member" or "Damsel in distress"... All while hiding behind Nero and Credo and being used against them by the cult. On top of the fact that she is, technically, his adoptive sister. In DMC5, she's not even present in person... Either only being a voice of reason to Nero at the end of the game, screaming out Nero's name at the beginning of the game, being casually mentioned whenever Nero "messes up", or having a section in Nico's files. Seriously, the most important thing she does in DMC4 is basically the same thing that she does for Nero at the end of DMC5. Apparently, she has more of a presence in Before The Nightmare, but as it doesn't have an English translation (even though I do have a copy of the book), I can't quite count that... I also can't stand the fact that, during an interview for the 4th game, one that's published at the end of the Graphic Arts book that covers 1-4, the creators of the game state that, without her, Nero would have gone on a similar path as his father, Vergil. I cannot accept that. I don't ship him with Nico, but I hate the fact that Nico is clearly nowhere near as "important" as Kyrie, yet she has one hell of a personality that is established throughout DMC5... In fact, Nico has more of a personality in the first 10 minutes of 5, than Kyrie has throughout both 4 and 5. As much as I want to like Kyrie, I cannot stand characters like her. If they're so damn important to one of the main characters, they need to be properly established with more personality traits than "Damsel", "Kind", "Generous", "Beautiful" and "Good singer". Characters without flaws, especially love interests, piss me the fuck off.

I don't ship Nero with Nico because it's established very early on that they have more of a sibling relationship. Nico doesn't see Nero that way... In fact, bare minimum, I think she's at least bisexual. Especially whenever she comments on Lady having a "pretty smoking body" and the way she reacts whenever Nero gives her a look and shakes his head. As a bisexual woman myself, I know gay panic when I see it.

I don't ship Nero with Lady for multiple reasons. On top of the fact that she is way too old for him, and he knows it... I ship her with Dante. Lady is basically his aunt.

[astonmartinii]

mamma mia | formula one social media au

drivers: sebastian vettel, jenson button and fernando alonso

what the hell is in the water in greece? why are pregnancy tests so expensive and why does seb name his vehicles like that?

fernandoalo_oficial

liked by maxverstappen1, aussiegrit and 803,450 others

location: greece

fernandoalo_oficial: had a great break in greece recharging the old batteries 🔋

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user1: old man who is this woman?

landonorris: who taught you to soft launch grandpa?

fernandoalo_oficial: hey! respect your elders

landonorris: you just called yourself old? and WHO IS THIS?

fernandoalo_oficial: none of your damn business kid

user2: why is he particularly dilfy lately?

user3: he's approaching silver fox territory i fear

jensonbutton: i see that greece was a popular spot for wold champions this break?

fernandoalo_oficial: i also saw, sad not to bump into you old friend :(

maxverstappen1: where was my invite ???

jensonbutton: cool world champions only

lewishamilton: excuse me?

fernandoalo_oficial: idk what to tell you it wasn't planned, me, jenson and sebastian just have good taste

sebastianvettel: i see mary goodnight was appreciated

fernandoalo_oficial: yes thank you for lending me your boat, huge hit with the ladies

sebastianvettel: very happy with my choice to get it deep cleaned before i got there

fernandoalo_oficial: first of all, i'm not dirty. second of all, thanks for the faith in my game big man

user4: i am so confused by this comment section I DID NOT WANT TO KNOW ALONSO FUCKED ON SEB'S BOAT ???

yourusername

liked by yourbff, oliviarodrigo and 1,340.987 others

tagged: yourbff

yourusername: (sober) brunch with a side of light baby daddy investigation

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user7: only y/n would end up in a mamma mia situation, stay strong

yourusername: omg i didn't even realise, but donna was always a bad bitch, so i will just be the same

user8: i can't believe i am watching a girl investigate her own baby daddies on the internet (i love this place)

yourbff: if we can't find the lucky men, at least they'll have a cool ass aunt

yourusername: all fun and games until you have to change a nappy

user9: i'm enjoying this saga, BUT, why can't we just wait and do a paternity test

yourusernmae: i still need to know them to do that... and being nosey is far more fun

user10: all i'm thinking is this girl has to have GAME for three dilfs in the span of like three days... RESPECT 🫡

user11: i am so invested in this... please be interesting people 🤞

jensonbutton

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 401,330 others

jensonbutton: back on sky duty and bumped into a couple of familiar faces

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user12: who let these old men talk about their sex lives on a live broadcast?

user13: i am entertained tbf

user14: obsessed with both needing to reinforce the fact that they pulled in greece

user15: i need seb to jump in on this conversation ASAP

fernandoalo_oficial: not happy with you pinning all of my success on seb's boat mate

jensonbutton: was it all your charming personality?

fernandoalo_oficial: obviously

sebastianvettel: i can confirm that it's always all the boat

jensonbutton: is that a confession?

sebastianvettel: gentleman don't kiss and tell x

charles_leclerc: jesus christ and we're the generation ruining the sport?

jensonbutton: f1 has always been slutty, you guys are letting us down

maxverstappen1: clearly you guys are still active enough to keep up the reputation yourselves

sebastianvettel

liked by charles_leclerc, jensonbutton and 902,180 others

sebastianvettel: retirement is looking fun, glad to take mary goodnight out for her first spin

view all comments

user21: did he just say mary goodnight? SEB WHAT?

user22: omfg he is potential baby daddy two??

charles_leclerc: so seb got a bit too lucky in greece?

user23: CHARLES?

user24: i am losing my mind they were right, they are the baby daddies

user25: i knew as soon as she said a nando with a samurai tattoo

user26: @yourusername he's number two !!!!!

user27: @yourusername we found him, boat and all

landonorris: YOU'RE POTENTIAL BABY DADDY TWO SEB WHAT THE FUCK

sebastianvettel: i don't understand lando

landonorris: check your texts

user28: don't forget the others lando

landonorris: @fernandoalo_oficial check your texts (and forward it to jenson i don't have his number)

fernandoalo_oficial: okay?

yourusername: WHAT THE FUCKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

user29: i think someone needs to check on her

yourusername

liked by sebastianvettel, fernandoalo_oficial and 1,509,600 others

yourusername: i hot girl summer-ed a bit too close to the sun, what do you mean the three dilfs were f1 world champions?

comments are turned off on this post

sebastianvettel followed yourusername

fernandoalo_oficial followed yourusername

jensonbutton followed yourusername

note: AHHHHHH? idk if i love it or hate it? do i know who i plan on being the dad? no. but do i plan on expanding on this? yes. mamma mia chaos will return.

[varpusvaras]

At this point, for me, one of the most interesting paralles in Ace Attorney is actually Mia and Miles and Maya and Franziska.

They both start their careers for very similar reasons - Because of DL-6, because they lost their parents, because their families have long-running discourses in them. These things also shape their law careers a lot: Mia chose to be a defense attorney and Miles a prosecutor because of how their shared past affected them.

They meet for the first time in court on the opposite sides, and both go through a really messed up first trial that ends up with neither of them winning.

Most interestingly, for me, as an older sibling, is the fact that they are both the older sibling in their families.

Especially what hits close to home for me is the fact that they are the much older older siblings in the family. I have a similar age gap with my younger siblings as Mia and Maya have, and the one Miles and Franziska have is not that far off, either. I moved away from home when I was 16, on top of the large age gap, so my youngest sibling was a literal toddler when I left.

I can't help but feel like I've left them behind in some way.

This sentiment is very much echoed in text with Miles and Franziska. Franziska feels like Miles has abandoned him, gotten the attention of their father, the one thing she wanted, by just the virtue of being first (this is not the whole truth, but for a kid, the perceived truth is in practise the very same as the real truth). Miles does care about her, of course, but he is a traumatised and messy person who largely sees things from his own perspective, especially as a young adult, and thinks mainly about how he is supposed to do things and how he is supposed to operate his own life. Franziska does get left behind in all of that, and the resentment she feels is completely valid. It's maybe not fair to Miles, who did not ask for the many horrible things that drive him forward, but it does not mean that Franziska should just be understanding of his feelings to the ends of the universe, without ever feeling anything herself.

And then there's Mia and Maya.

Mia had, arguably, very noble reasons for moving away from their home. She wanted to find out what happened to their mother. She wanted to remove herself from the arguably very toxic situation that was primed for pitting her and Maya against each other, in order to lift Maya up. They are still in contact with each other, and are very much in good terms.

Mia still, just by being so much older and by removing herself so thoroughly from their home, left Maya behind.

Maya does not show any resentment about this outright, but when reading very closely between the lines, you notice that she is anxious and worried about her future, about the rest of her family, about her own abilities, about...everything. She hides all of this very effectively behind her otherwise bubbly personality, but it does end up coming through, especially towards the end of the first game. She has a lot on her shoulders, and she feels inadequate to deal with all of it. Her home is not really supportive either: the other adult in her life, her aunt, does not hold any true affection towards her, and most likely cannot show the type of support that Maya needs, either. If she could, Maya would not be saying things like "I wish that I hadn't woken up at all" when faced with things she perceives as failures.

No matter her reasons, no matter how much they love each other, Mia still left Maya behind.

And there they are: Mia Fey and Miles Edgeworth, standing on the opposite sides of the courtroom, one of them barreling head first into the tragedy that binds them together, and one of them running away from it as far as possible, while being chained to the ball.

[arsenal-womens-1]

Mama mom and auntie Caitlin

 

 My mom has been acting weird; they have been fighting a lot. Mom has been staying with Auntie Shebahn for the past 2 days, and Auntie Caitlin has been over a lot. 

 

I have asked Mama what has happened, but she won't tell me. I'm not Ruesha and Katie's biological daughter. I was at the Arsenal U10s program, and Katie had an interest in me because I was apparently a good player. I was put up for adoption when I was 3 days old, but the adoption never went through, and I was placed in foster care. 

 

I'm now 17, and I play on the Arsenal senior team. I play as a striker and defender. I'm currently sitting on a chair. I knew what my mama wanted to tell me, but I didn't want it to be true. I was snapped out of my thoughts by Mama talking, "y/n, I need to tell you something because you need to know... me and Ru." I know what's about to come out of her mouth. 

 

It was like slow motion: "We have decided to break up, "I just staired at her, "Did you cheat on her with Caitlin?" A look of guilt goes over her face. " "I-" . I get up and walk out of the room. A few of the girls were standing there. Caitlin was one of them. She reaches out to stop me from going. The rest of the girls look confused. "Get the fuck off me. Why the fuck did you do it?" I get out of her grip and go to the car. and drive off. I drive to the London City Lionesses trying ground, and I park. I can see everyone on the pitch; they are in practice. I sit for 10 minutes, then get out and go in. They know me because I've been there before. 

 

I knock on the door to see if anyone is in there. When I don't get an answer, I go out to the pitch, and the boss sees me. I stand off to the side. She comes and stands next to me. She looks at me with sad eyes, telling me she knows why I'm hearing "Hey, sorry, I don't know why, to be honest." 

 

"It's all good. I guess you know now." 

I look at the players on the pitch and say, "What I'm meant to do, I can't look at them without feeling betrayed; she was my aunt.". 

 

Time skip: 3 weeks later 

 

Not a lot has happened except the fact that I've stopped talking to everyone. I'm now staying with Viv Beth and sometimes mom, but mostly Viv and Beth. I don't want to be at Arsenal anymore, so I've decided to have a meeting with the managers and other people to see what I can do to get out of here, even if that means I have to go to the USA. If I want to get out of here, I need to. 

 

It's like I'm suffocating while staying here. 

 

After the meeting (I can't be bothered to write it), 

 

So that was eventful for the first part of the meeting. They did want to let me go, but in the end, after I said I would quit football, they decided to lone me out to Gotham; it's a team in the USA. 

 

I don't really want to leave mom, and to be honest, I don't really want to leave mama, but I need a new start and a fresh slate. I want to go and be able to breathe. Maybe mom will follow me to the USA. I don't think Mama would, and to be honest, I haven't talked to Mama. I'm still angry at her, but she's still my Mama, and I still love her. 

 

It's been three weeks since we made the deal with Gotham. I have yet to tell anyone I need to tell them because in two days it's the end of the season. Then it's the World Cup, so I need to tell them today, but I don't know how to tell them. 

 

I'm sitting on the pitch, and a bunch of the girls next to me are all talking about the next game. the World Cup and the new signings that will happen Leah was talking about people transferring, and everybody was saying who they thought would go where. 

 

I say in a hushed tone, "I'm going to Gotham." I guess it wasn't quite, and Beth said loudly, "You're moving to Gotham!" 

————————————————————————————

There is a part two but I’ve not finished it it’s not my best work but I’ve got a few more from another app that I think I might post here the alexia one will be out when I write it which  will probably be soon

[maarrgarr]

The Unknown Heir.

masterlist of the Unknown Heir.

Gojo Satoru x fem! reader.

Synopsis: The reader returns after being gone for two years and leaving her boyfriend, Satoru, without giving him a reason. But now she doesn't come back alone.

Warning: English is not my first language, possible grammatical and spelling mistakes, some plot changes.

The morning of that day began with you waking Ryusei up with a delicious breakfast in bed. "Happy Birthday my beautiful baby!" you told him when he opened his eyes. He gave you a big smile showing his white teeth and jumped towards you, hugging you around the neck. "You don't have to call me that anymore mommy, I'm grown up" he told you. You died of tenderness, but at the same time your heart broke knowing it was true.

You noticed how Ryu's eyes sparkled when he saw his favorite foods on the tray: mochis, pancakes with chocolate syrup, was accompanied with orange juice and chocolate milk. Ryu loved sweet foods, and although you didn't like that he ate so much sweet because it could hurt him, since it was his birthday, of course you left him.

When he finished his breakfast, you helped him get dressed and you both went to the infirmary so that he could stay with Shoko. "Can't you stay with me even today?" he asked you with a sad face. "Sorry love, but I have to go to work. I promise you that tonight we'll have a great time with everyone, yes?" He nodded a little more happily, "And will you give me the gift I asked for?" he asked and luckily, Shoko just opened the door. "Happy birthday to my beautiful nephew!" Ryu's attention drifted to his aunt and soon the two of them were in each other's arms.

You left Ryusei and went to the training ground where Tetsuo, Rumi and Gojo were already there. It was the same as always, the students trained among themselves, while you and Satoru watched them. You two didn't talk as usual, and you didn't look at each other either.

You were sorry for Ryusei, but you still weren't ready to talk to Gojo, let alone tell him the truth.

But, unfortunately for you, time has already given you several opportunities to tell him, which you missed. So fate would see to it that Ryusei got his birthday present.

It was already getting dark. And in one of the rooms, there were Shoko, Rumi, Ijichi, Ryusei, to your surprise there was also Yaga and lastly you. On the table there was a light blue cake with white details and around it many sweet things and on another smaller table, were the gifts that had been brought to Ryusei. While the room was also decorated with light blue and white balloons.

It was a quiet gathering, all of you chatting and laughing. Soon it was time for Ryu to blow out the candle. You lit the candles and soon everyone sang happy birthday to him. You picked up Ryu and he blew out all three candles. You smiled happily and kissed him cheek lovingly. "I love you" you whispered and he kissed you back on the cheek, "I love you more, mommy."

After blowing out the candles, they kept talking and having a nice time all together. Until Ryu yelled excitedly: "let's play hide and seek!". You were about to say no, since they were all big people and you didn't think they wanted to play that game, Ryusei's favorite. But Shoko spoke before: "Let's play". Rumi and Ijichi agreed, the latter a bit intimidated by Ryu, who almost forced him to play. You turned to Yaga thinking that he would say no, but to your surprise, very seriously he said: "I'll play."

"Mom counts!" Ryusei said and ran off, soon the others followed. You didn't give much thought to the fact that your son was out there by himself, so you just closed the loop and started counting.

Ryusei was running through the corridors trying to find a good hiding place. Hide and seek was his favorite game and he hated being found first. He looked at possible places, but none convinced him. In a corner he turned and for not looking well, he ended up colliding with someone.

Ryusei's gaze was on the person's legs since he was very tall. He looked up and saw a man, with hair the same as his and with bandages covering his eyes. "Sorry" Ryusei apologized, but for some reason he didn't leave.

Satoru walked through the halls with his hands in his pockets. He was ready to go to his apartment, where Megumi and Tsumiki were waiting for him. When he suddenly noticed how a small body was approaching he did it quickly and bumped into it.

Gojo couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him was a boy with his same hair color, his same eye color. He was just like him.

Satoru couldn't understand what was happening. Many things were going through his mind. Maybe he was dreaming? no, he was pretty sure he was awake. Perhaps there was some rupture in space-time where his child self and his adult self met? either, everything seemed to be normal. So why the fuck was there a kid exactly like him?

Ryusei couldn't understand what was happening either or really, he couldn't understand what he was feeling. Being in front of that man, he felt a kind of energy shock, it was strange. Ryusei was a little intimidated by the tall man, but at the same time, he was very curious about him.

On the other side were you. You finished counting and went looking for them. You checked every room you came across, but you never found anyone. You'd be lying if you said you weren't excited, you felt like a little girl.

You turned a corner and found yourself with a scene that took away all your emotion and, on the contrary, made your nerves invade you.

Ryusei and Satoru face to face.

Quickly, father and son, turned to see you. You weren't surprised that Satoru noticed your presence so quickly, but you were surprised that Ryu did. "Mom" Ryusei said.

Gojo felt a chill run through him when he heard how the boy identical to him called you mom.

He turned to look back at the child and realized that he didn't seem to be more than three years old, the same number of years since you left. Memories of you throwing up, memories of him noticing how you ate more than usual and how you had frequent emotional swings, washed over him.

And as if his mind were a puzzle and memories were the pieces, he felt everything coming together and fitting together perfectly.

That boy was his son

TAG LIST: @jellykingsblog, @dummyf , @nyfwyeonjun , @lenasvoid , @yyxy27 , @staygoldsquatchling02 , @whoami-72 , @blackcatpandora , @descargueestoporgojosatoru , @iluv-ace , @mommasbigd , @guenievresworld , @idktbhloley , @cluvsya, @ieathairs , @darianias , @dcvilxswish , @kyriekurokami , @yourfavstalker25789 .

[zwolfgames]

Idk, but I think bg3 reader would try to leave the group, if they know about their yandere personalities, lol. Please, your bg3 works are so good. I expect the new one

(So, not a continuation of the last drabble. This is hypothetical for now. Also it deleted my answer the first time :( so this is try two, it may seem a bit rushed. And I got a bit off track, woops.)

Warnings: mentions of yandere stuff I suppose.

Y/N in this au (aka teen tav) really isn't stupid, sure they grew up in a village with just their mother and pulled random spells out of their ass like a true sorcerer, but they're not stupid.

The party started with variable reactions to a minor in the group. Act 1 doesn't showcase a lot of Yan tendencies due to everything still going kind of fine and everyone getting to know each other.

The yandere part really starts in act 2 when they enter the Shadow cursed lands. Unlike the normal region of act 1 are the Shadowlands riddled with danger.

The party quickly gets their wake-up call after things like Kar'niss (who gets his little momemt) and the other bosses and dangers. Katherine Thorm, being a threat, also doesn't help ease the party's feelings.

The group would go from silly to way more protective in act 2. But Y/N can't do anything about that yet. The shadows would eat them alive, or someone else could get them. Better left with unease rather than dead, right?

I've purposefully mentioned Y/N's mother in the drabbles to show the main goal of the reader, which is to return to their mother. This goal is being held back by a party of people who no longer seem intent to part ways with you once this is over.

Sure, Y/N wanted their cool adventure with heroes like Wyll Ravenguard, but staying with them permanently? Haha... no.

So after the wake-up call of act 2, Y/N would take their chances at escape in Baldur Gate. The thing is, though, Y/N isn't from Baldurs Gate. They don't know the alleys like the back of their hand in the same manner that Astarion does. They didn't grow up playing in the secret passageways like Karlach...

This is a dangerous game you're playing. The more you wiggle, the tighter their hold. It's just how it goes with people who have faced enough to lose it.

They handle you in different ways, of course.

Wyll, Gale, and Halsin strike me as the type to have wanted to protect this poor kid from the start, so their resolve just strengthens to unnecessary levels. You wouldn't mind just being carried to bed by a bear man, would you? He knows some good elvish lullabies.

Lae'zel is her own separate category, she's a githyanki, they have very diffrent ways then most folk on faerun. I'm basing her motherly ability on the prologue where she raises the gith egg. She may not be affectionate, but she does not want you out of sight. Expect training.

Karlach and Astarion surprisingly go together here. They don't seem like the parental type. More of an aunt/uncle. Would try and stay your friend. Guiltripping from Karlach that she may or not be aware of herself, and straight up manipulation from Astarion. They both had a bad past. You can stay, right? As a little gift from the gods?

Shadowheart didn't like you from the start, not a fan of kids. Her yandere strikes a lot later. First, she had only been worried about your health as a cleric. After her arc at the end of the shadow cursed lands (freeing Dame Aylin etc) she gets a bit of that parental feeling nonsense too. Though I'd say she shows it the least. You'd be tricked easily into thinking she's the only normal one in the party.

Minthara, I'm unsure if I can find a good way to let her join, but she'd be similar to Lae'zel, just crueler and definitely bot secretive about her want for your stay. If you ask her directly, she'd just plain out and say that if she catches you, you're getting bound.

Jaheira, natural mom, she's got kids, protected the kids. Don't expect her to be sweet, but you're definitely not going out of sight.

Minsc joins in Act 3, so really, he doesn't have the time to get to know you, he's funny, you're funny. Friends. Not that the rest appreciates the time you spent with him. They're scared you're gonna make up a talking animal next.

All in all, Y/N would try and escape. It just isn't very likely to succeed. If you get far... well, there are other beings out there still after you, you know?

Just forget your mom. Aren't they better family now? Your mom didn't teach you spells, did she? Or swordplay? Maybe how to make balms?

Cmon, they're the best option. Stay.

Just an answer lol, hope i didn't make anyone too OOC with just this. Xd.

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

The following is a case file from Harry's ledger that seems to have been cut from the game. The text and audio is all still there in the game files, but the option to read it is inaccessible.

>Read a case file.

LOGIC - It takes about half an hour to piece one together, using the system you've devised. Which one do you want?

>COLLAPSING TENEMENT

DAMAGED LEDGER - This one's bad. Not that far from Precinct 41 -- in Central Jamrock -- there is an eight story apartment building with two hundred residents inside. It's the dead of winter, January. Snowing. Someone's beating their wife. It's half past midnight.

You get a complaint -- no one's there to take it. So you do call duty. The beating is taking place on the eighth floor. You take the elevator up. The building's creaking around you. Cold as hell. It's a run down old place. Concrete panels, rats everywhere.

And it's not pretty in the apartment either. By the time you arrive the husband's left. His wife has got her lip busted, face swollen. Eyes shut. Can't leave him, they're a *financial unit*. Enjoying this beautiful life in this beautiful tenement.

So anyway -- you take a leak before you leave.

In the apartment I got the call to?

DAMAGED LEDGER - Yes, cops do that. *While* you're taking a piss, you see a big crack in the wall. In the outer wall of the building. You can *feel* the cold air blow in. You take the elevator down, look up -- a big crack runs on the outer wall of the whole building.

Right from the foundation -- up to the eighth floor.

VISUAL CALCULUS [Easy: Success] - Oh god...

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - No, no, no, no...

HALF LIGHT [Easy: Success] - Fucking hell.

The tilt is beyond the point of maximum deviation from the gravity bearing perpendicular. This means that the building is falling -- and will fall no matter what.

DAMAGED LEDGER - That's right. They trained you for this in cop school. Everyone has to pick a civil specialization so they can keep the city running: fire safety, first aid training, and so on. You took *building safety regulation*. And it tells you that this one -- is coming down.

+5 XP

Maybe not tonight. Maybe not even tomorrow. Maybe not the day after, but it's coming down. In a matter of days. It is physically impossible for it not to. And the two hundred people in there? They are all going down with it. The woman with the busted lip, the husband who beats her, their kids in the other room...

The drunk in the hallway. The girl in the elevator when you were going up. The youths on the stairs, laughing, smoking. The couple next to the apartment -- who made the call. They're all going to die.

But, you see, it's *freezing* outside. And there is no municipal government in Revachol. Nowhere to put these people. Two hundred people can't go to their *aunt's for a couple of days*. And above all -- there is no one to *tell* the building is coming down. No authority but you.

I'm gonna have to knock on every door and explain them how load bearing perpendiculars work?

I'm gonna have to go home and do nothing, not think about this ever again.

I'm gonna have to find my captain somewhere, first thing tomorrow. Maybe even *tonight*.

DAMAGED LEDGER - Bad, bad thoughts go through your head. So what you do is -- you call your partner. JV (only initials available) is up. He comes immediately. He didn't take building safety, but he believes you. He brings five more officers. Together you knock on *every door* and explain the situation.

The load bearing perpendicular. The maximum deviation. All of it... Some people believe you. Most don't. Some you have to *forcibly* remove. Some even pull guns on you. It takes 20 hours to evacuate the whole building. 200 people stand outside in the cold. Children cry.

Your captain puts them in a half-burned building 10 km South. It's got black mould and no roof, but hey -- it's better than death.

And then what?

DAMAGED LEDGER - And then the building doesn't come down. And it still hasn't. That was 52 days ago. BUT THAT IS NOT THE POINT. The point is -- it *will* come down.

+5 XP

Am I *absolutely* sure?

And when it does, everyone in there will die.

If it hasn't, it won't. I was wrong.

Oh god, I don't know...

DAMAGED LEDGER - 100000000000%

2. And when it does, everyone in there will die.

DAMAGED LEDGER - At the end of the day -- no one knows. The math says it *must* collapse. And the optics show that it doesn't. It's as if some kind of *evil spirit* is holding the tenement together, like the jaws of a trap. Luring the people back in. One by one. Already they're going... At least 40 of them are living there now.

As we speak. And you can't *keep* them from going back, because they all hate you. They despise you. They think you threw them out of their homes. Every day they despise you more -- and every day, more of them go back.

And every day is a day closer to the day the building will fall.

DAMAGED LEDGER - Exactly. These notes have been very clear. Seems you have been thorough with documenting this one. So -- which one of these do you want to read *next*? (Because there is nothing you can do about THE COLLAPSING TENEMENT).

[dragons-and-dwarves-are-nice]

The Grim Reaper's Guide to Breaking Every Rule of the Universe /// Chapter 2

Bruh. My back is HURTING from being hunched over my laptop lol. For some reason I've managed to shit out this next chapter at the speed of light, but I'm back at uni and deadlines are picking up so I can't guarantee another one for a couple weeks. ANYWAY - ALASTOR HAS FINALLY MADE AN APPEARANCE. Not in person yet, but he's here (in spirit). I also apologise to anyone not from Yorkshire, I've used some of our slang from there and it may not make sense, but MC's embracing her Northener crave for violence.

Summary: When touring America for the sake of it, you go to stay with your aunt in New Orleans for a while, taking up a peaceful part-time job restoring objects. But a few weeks in, a package arrives containing an old radio that's seen better days, along with a note seemingly written by someone who thinks they could fist-fight the Devil.

What you didn't know, was the hell of a path that was now set out in front of you. Not fist-fighting the Devil, but instead a very smug radio host who would have no problem spending the rest of his days driving you up the walls.

But two could play that game.

Tags: Demiromantic-Asexual Alastor x Demiromantic-Asexual OC/Reader - 1920s/30s New Orleans - fluff - angst - EXTREME slow burn - crack - Violence (It's Alastor what else)

Word Count: 6800

Warnings: Period-typical sexism, Period-typical attitudes towards neurodivergency, Swearing, Descriptions of murder and dismemberment. MC'S RACE IS DEFINED DUE TO PLOT REASONS (also because she is based off my OC)

Taglist - comment or message to be added!

Now available on Wattpad and AO3 (please let me know if links aren't working)

< Chapter 1 // Chapter 2 // Chapter 3 >

PART 1: Chapter 2

Another box for my trinkets it's trinketville.

Meraki (Definition): To put something of yourself into your work. (Noun)

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Thursday, 7th November, 1929.

The first four months of your new apprenticeship had you thriving more than ever before since arriving in the US. The last time you had felt this joyous and satisfied you were nearly eighteen, the tickle of the long grass on your cheeks as you laid in the meadow at the height of spring, holding the bunch of wildflowers against the kaleidoscopic swirls of the evening tones of the sky above you, admiring the way the lowering sun hit the petals and the small bugs that floated around with its golden highlights. It was one of the few times you had managed to bring your racing mind to a stand-still; no voices; no random lines of songs in your head playing on replay; no worries about the chores you were procrastinating or the book your friend had recommended weeks ago that you were yet to touch. You remembered the feeling of the summer dress you wore, the texture of the leather messenger bag beside you gifted by the old woman who lived further down the lane of the village. She used to babysit you when your parents would travel to York days at a time for work or personal errands. You loved to skip down that lane, with your hand running along the rough stones of the ancient stone walls that lined the lanes of your little village you had spent your whole life in – also lining your mind with the cuts it gave you as you tried to climb over them with the twins over the years.

The routine of working at the repair shop had brought the blissful feeling of stability back, the hectic frenzy of travelling from hotel room to hotel room, checking your tickets a thousand times to make sure you were on the correct train platform, then checking again. You no longer had to worry about travel dates that would leave you feeling paralysed from doing anything else.

Mr LeBlanc had been an excellent teacher and manager, drilling skills into your mind since you stepped into the shop for your starter shift. It was certainly an experience: opening the double doors to a vintage collector’s dream, an antique emporium filled from floor to ceiling (and on the ceiling). Ralph had brought you behind the counter, to a room in the back that he gleefully revealed to be concealed by a door disguised as a bookshelf. The workshop hidden behind was every antique restorer’s sanctuary, and it was certainly yours. Drawers lining the walls filled with every tool that could file, chip away, or apply anything you could find. In the centre was a large wooden table – thick, sturdy planks covered in chips and splatters of paint and adhesives used over the years. This table would be the place you would spend the next four months, your hair tied back by a patterned silk bandana, Ralph showing you how to work with materials from wood to porcelain, metal to textiles. You would pour over books you had pulled from Mr LeBlanc’s bookshelves until late into the evening, until he sent you home with them in your bag, and you protected them with your life as you returned on the trams (or ‘streetcars’, as Americans called them) in the evening light.

Every Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, he taught you everything he could, and you absorbed it all at the speed of light, your mind soaking up every piece of information like a dry sponge. By month three you had been given the go ahead to work on your first object from a customer – a small, spindly regency era chamber table belonging to a local gentleman. All it needed was some chips to be filled and repolishing, allowing Ralph to be confident enough in your abilities to complete it correctly. Your results came out on top, both Ralph and the customer being satisfied with your work, and you received the praise gleefully, along with the hefty tip the gentleman handed you over the counter. To you, everything was going fine and dandy.

Until October hit.

Apparently there were plenty of warning signs, according to most. They knew this was coming, your aunt knew this was coming. It was what she had said when you sat with her on the steps of the front porch.

“Shops are going to start disappearing.” She said, keeping her gaze ahead as she watched the cars sputter by. “With the rate this is going, I’m going to have to pull the boys out of school and get them working – I can’t keep the walls of this house up by myself.”

It had sent chills down your spine when you had picked up a newspaper, the words ‘Wall Street’ and ‘Stock Market Crash’ staining the pages for weeks. You put your mind and body into helping Mr LeBlanc, desperate for him to keep his business up and running. Unfortunately, as prices dropped, less people wanted to splurge the extra cash on something nice and antique, so you both lowered prices where you could, even going to lengths to hammer fliers to every street-post that advertised restoration jobs for any household item, promising customers that they would save money on repairs instead of buying it new.

It worked more than you thought, and it brought in enough income for Ralph to scratch by. He was also grateful you hadn’t asked for a raise to cope with the financial crisis, flat-out refusing when he had tried to hand you some tips he had received.

It was just the beginning of December when Ralph had called the house phone as you were getting ready for work. Ollie had yelled up the stairs to tell you and you scrambled down in your work trousers with your nightgown still on. Grabbing the phone, you listened to a raspy Mr LeBlanc as he told you he had falling ill with the usual winter flu. Unfortunately, being 63 meant that he was more susceptible to the illness, and was unsure if he would recover. If he did, it would still take a while, so he had asked you that morning if you were capable of running the shop solo. You had instantly said yes, refusing to let any sidetrack be his business’s downfall, so, with your head held high, you walked to his house, picking up any essential documents that he said you would need, and kept the shop up and running to the best of your abilities.

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Friday, 6th December, 1929.

It was the Friday of the first week of December when you were an hour away from closing. You had been lucky that it had been pretty quiet the last few days, allowing you to settle into working your first ever Monday to Friday and getting to know the everyday things that were essential to keep the doors open. You had brought an armchair behind the counter – the gap between the counter and the wall was spacey enough for you to fit the chair and a small side table.

After not seeing any customers for over an hour, you had wandered off to the small side kitchen hidden by a Persian rug hung over the doorway to fetch yourself a warm cup of tea and a slice of carrot cake that Agnes had slipped into your lunch bag that day. Returning to the front, you placed the food and beverage on the side table, and sank into the chair, propping your feet up and delving into the book you had bought a few months ago.

Your eyes were drooping by the time you finished the tea and cake, and you rested your head on the back of the cushion, lowering your eyelids shut but remaining awake, knowing you had to get up soon in order to close in a half hour. Though the sudden sound of the shop’s bell chiming had you shooting out of your seat like a cat on a hot tin roof.

Scrambling to your feet, you scooted over to plop yourself on the counter stool, fixing yourself to look as presentable as possible as you faced the person entering. It was the mailman, stomping his boots to rid of the snow from the mild blizzard outside on the shoe rug by the door whilst holding a semi-large parcel under his arm. You recognised him from his rounds of the area, normally dropping off the odd parcel here and there for Ralph. Making sure the curls you had pressed into your hair overnight weren’t flattened at the back, you straightened out the silk scarf tied round the front of your head, flicking a curl out of your eye, and faced the man with a warm smile, to which he returned. He was a tall, young looking lad, older than you, but youth still shone in his eager eyes as he approached you.

“Afternoon ma’am,” he greeted, tipping his snow patterned hat. “I apologise for the snow on the floor, m’fraid the storm doesn’t seem to be letting up anytime soon.”

You waved him off, assuring that you were going to be cleaning up soon anyway. He inquired about Mr LeBlanc’s whereabouts, and you explained that his illness wasn’t letting up any time soon.

“Shame,” he said. “I know you’re probably not getting overrun, but it still must be complicated being a young woman running someone else’s business – especially near Christmas, having to trek home in the cold and wet by yourself.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright.” You laughed with a shake of your head, trying to not let your frustration show at the thought of him doubting your skills because of your gender. “He’s given me everything I need, and I can deal with the weather just fine. Wet and cold is the norm where I’m from.” Changing the subject, you gestured to the half-damp parcel still under his arm. “Is that addressed to Ralph or the shop?”

As if suddenly remembering the reason he was here, he quickly hauled the parcel from under his arm and slid it onto the counter.

“It’s for the shop.” He explained, gesturing a gloved hand to it. “S’pose it’s a last minute repair for a Christmas gift or somethin’.”

Placing your hands on either side, you slid the large square box towards you. Standing up from the stool, you peered at the top. Brushing off the half-melted snow, you read the handwriting that ornately spelled out the address - this was probably another repair.

The parcel itself was probably the neatest you had ever seen anything wrapped. The parcel paper was thick and expensive, the water and snow running off without leaving any trace behind except for a slight sheen, and the edges were folded so crisp and perfectly shaped and flat you wondered if whoever had wrapped it was human. Tied round like a present was a thick twine, looping into a bow directly in the middle of the top. You admired the dedication of whoever had put in the time to wrap this, running your fingers over the corners only to jerk them back slightly as the folds were so sharp they felt like they were slicing at your skin.

Looking back at the mailman, you thanked him for the delivery, and hoped him safe travels back home. Tipping his hat at you, he turned away with a farewell, and the bell chimed again when he opened the door, dipping his head against the wind as he faded into the white wall outside.

When the howling wind finally allowed the door to shut, you began the closing routine, knowing that there wouldn’t be anyone else today with the severity of the weather outside. After locking the exits and pulling the shutters closed and the blinds down, you kept the shops lanterns on as you lifted the hefty parcel with a grunt and shuffled through the hidden doorway into the workshop.

Sliding it onto the table, you got to work opening it up, pulling the twine bow free and taking some small hand-held shears to slice open the glued down folds to reveal a cardboard box.

Pulling the thick brown paper and twine out from underneath, you chucked them onto the other workbench pushed against the wall to the right. Placing the shears down, you pushed your fingernails between the gap of the serrated cardboard and swung the flaps open. Inside was a lot of loose cotton wool, and you reached in, removing the protective layer and chucking it onto the table whilst simultaneously thanking whoever had spent their time padding the box out. This uncovered a semi-large shape swaddled in a maroon-coloured knitted blanket, and you reached your arms in deep to wrap around the object and haul it out.

Laying it on the table, you pushed the box and wool out of the way, and gently began unwrapping the blanket, mindful that some repair jobs may start out with several shattered pieces that you certainly didn’t want to accidentally drop an lose amongst everything. Coming to the final layer, your nails slotted through some of the holes of the knitting and clacked against what sounded like solid wood, and slipping the material off, you had your first look at your new potential project.

It was an old radio. Well, not that old, considering radios had only been in circulation for a decade or so, but it was one of the earlier models, the features you recognised from when you visited the county Mayor’s house when you were in your early teens. It was shaped with a resemblance to a cathedral arch, the wood panelling around the edge looking like pillars that began swirling and spiralling into gothic patterns the closer you got to the top. These patterns decorating the fine grated material that covered the speaker, and a few dials were situated on the bottom half, and you immediately noticed one was missing.

Pulling a stool over, you sat down to get a closer look, and you noted down the damages that came to light. It had obviously been looked after over the years, but, as always, people are prone to accidents, and this radio seemed to have gone through a few. Apart from the dial that was missing, there was a large split down one side, between two of the panels, and scratches and slight dents from where it had obviously been dropped. Grabbing your notebook, you jotted down your initial observations, before diving your hands into the left over cotton in the box to search for anything that could assist you.

To your luck, you found a small linen bag about the size of your palm, that you untied to reveal the missing dial and a few pieces of wood that had come off in some areas. Returning to your notes, you were just about to start a proposal form for treatment when something caught your eye. Looking over to the blanket you had put to the side, your eyes landed on a fancy looking envelope.

Reaching over, your fingers clasped around the paper, the material just as thick and expensive feeling as the parcel wrap, and you brought it towards you, careful not to elbow anything in the process, because if they could afford fancy radios and paper during this crisis, then they certainly were expecting you to repair this with equally expensive standards. Holding the paper up you read the loopy handwriting on the front of the envelope:

To  the Owner.

Turning it over, you pried the even fancier wax seal apart as gently as you could as to not ruin the paper, and opening the flap, you reached in to slide out a folded piece of parchment. Unfolding it, you began to read the matching, loopy words.

---

December 4 th, 1929

Dear Owner,

I do hope this package finds you well. I am delivering this fine radio to be repaired at your establishment, as it belongs to my dear Mother and I would be overjoyed to have it completed in time for Christmas. Unfortunately, it has suffered its fair share of drops and bumps, but from what I have heard from others in our beloved city, you should be able to do an excellent job. The outside is obvious with what needs to be done, but there are areas within the interior mechanics that require some repairs. Now, I would take it to the radio shop, but the man who owns it is oh-so unpleasant, and would take weeks to be returned.

I am sure you would be happy to take on this challenge, for my mother’s sake, and that you will do a splendid job.

Regards,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

You blinked. Then furrowing your brows, you read it again. And again. Did this guy want you to not only fix up the look of his mum’s radio, but magically know the ins and outs of radio technology? You shook your head, then did a quick once-over of the words scrawled onto the page. Yep, he wanted you to do a Frankenstein and completely resurrect the old thing.

Placing you elbow on the table, you rested your chin on your palm as you stared at the wall covered in tool across the room. There was no way you could do this, not without Mr LeBlanc still ill – though even if he was here, you didn’t know if he had any knowledge on radios. Sighing, you rubbed at your face tiredly, not caring if you smudged the mascara on your lashes, it wasn’t like anyone was going to walk in on you with panda eyes anyway. Letting out a prolonged groan, you came to the final decision of what to do.

Trudging back into the shop, you quickly made yourself another cup of tea, before snatching some of the letter paper and an envelope from under the counter. Slumping back onto the stool in the workshop, you placed the paper in front of you whilst reaching into one of the drawers attached to the table to grab a pen, then, taking a moment to think of what you were going to say, you began writing.

---

December 6 th, 1929

Dear Mr Boudreaux,

Thank you for your enquiry. As much asI would love to fulfil your request, there are some issues regarding certain stages of the repairs. Mr LeBlanc, who owns the company, has taken ill this last week, and it is not yet known when he will recover, and I am the only member of staff he has employed at the moment. Unfortunately, I am not experienced in radio mechanics, and strongly advise that you come and collect the radio and take it to be repaired at a radio shop.

The radio can be returned here for outer repairs, but I am afraid that is the only option I can offer you at this time. The radio will be ready for you to collect from 9am on Monday morning. I do apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

---

Signing the first letter of your name, along with you surname, you read over what you had written. Satisfied, you sealed it in the envelope and got to work wrapping the radio back up. Quickly taking a candle, you took a peek in between the crack in the wood, the light shining on the innards. You definitely had no chance of fixing that, if the absolute mess of dislodged coils, wires and metal pieces inside said anything. Reluctantly you placed it back in its box wrapped up and padded with the cotton, before taping it up and re-glueing the parcel paper and twine back in place. It was a shame that you had to reject the request, the payment for the repair would have benefited you and Ralph quite a bit, and it made you feel awfully guilty to prevent someone’s gift for their mother, but it was out of your control. So, with the guilt hanging over your head, you pushed the parcel into the corner under one of the tables on sale.

Doing one last round of the shop, you extinguished the candles dotted around and flipped the light switches off except the main one by the door. With your coat and gloves on, you made sure the scarf was wrapped tight round your neck before grabbing your bag and did one last sweep of the place. Glancing in the corner, you took one last lingering look at the sorrowful parcel that sat under the table, but quickly snatched your eyes away, and grabbing the keys, you flipped the final light switch and stepped out into the cold, looking for the nearest post-box with the letter grasped in your hand.

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

New Orleans, Louisiana, USA – Monday, 9th December, 1929.

Monday came rolling round as usual, and you began your usual weekday routine of washing and dressing yourself before heading downstairs for breakfast. Scooping some scrambled eggs onto the toast on your plate, you trudged from the kitchen to the dining room, the slap of your bare feet on the tiles echoing through the wide hallway.

Shuffling through the doorway, you sat opposite Ollie, who, by the looks of it, was still waking up as he shovelled buttered toast into his mouth with his head still lying sideways on the table. Reaching over, you slapped the handle of your fork against his ear that stuck out from between his loose, dark curls, and he let out a whine as he sat up to face you with one eye glued shut, the other barely open, bread hanging from between his frown.

“You’ll choke eating like that.” You said as you scooped egg into your mouth.

Ollie dropped the toast from his mouth onto his plate. “Good.” He mumbled. “S’better than Miss Sammie droning on and ooonnnn about nonsense.” He flopped his head back on the table.

“Well enjoy it while you can.” You snorted. “If this crash gets any worse Mum will be pulling you both out to find jobs. And I know you two wouldn’t last a day in the workplace.”

He jerked his head back, scrunching his face in offence. “Like you would be any better.”

You deadpanned. “I’m currently working 9 -5, Monday to Friday, dumbass.” You jabbed back in annoyance, throwing a piece of crust at his forehead.

“Shit, forgot about that.” He grumbled, but perked up suddenly. “Yea, but you’ve only been working full time since last week!”

You chucked another crust. “Running a shop full time on my own – something I’ve never done before??”

“Still.” He retorted, shrugging his shoulders.

You had opened your mouth to retort, but stopped halfway as Allie’s voice echoed through from the kitchen.

“There’s been another one!” he called out, almost excitedly, the thumping of his feet vibrating through the floorboards as he practically sprinted into the room with the morning newspaper grasped firmly in his hands. The two of us jerked back as he slammed it onto the table.

“Amuver!?” cried Ollie, voice muffled by food, though he quickly swallowed it. All evidence of his tiredness now gone, he snatched up the paper and brought it right up to his face. “It’s barely been a week!”

“I know!” Allie replied, his voice rising in volume every time he spoke. “At this point it could end up happening every month!”

You looked between the two of them confused since you couldn’t see what Ollie was reading. “What could happen?” you asked, perplexed.

The two of them froze, turning to stare at you. Their eyes darted to each other, before Ollie lowered the newspaper and spoke.

“…The murders?” He revealed, as if it was the most obvious thing.

You blinked, then looked between the two, more confused. “What murders?”

“What!?” Allie cried, bracing his hands on the table as he leant over it, eyes wide. “You’ve been gallivanting round town for seven months and don’t know about thee murders??”

You leant back slightly at the sight of your cousin’s crazy expression, and slowly shook your head. “I’m uh – not one to read the newspaper often.” You explained sheepishly.

He gaped, clearly shocked at your lack of knowledge about the subject. His head whipped to where his brother sat, and his hand reached out and snatched the newspaper from Ollie’s. You quickly moved your breakfast out of the way, saving your food from being flattened as Allie slammed the paper down and began aggressively prodding at the headline on the front page. Swatting his hand away, you read the giant words printed above a photograph of a lake you didn’t recognise.

‘BARRISTER FOUND BUTCHERED ON EMBANKMENT’

Suddenly intrigued, brought the paper closer to read the front column.

Tragedy strikes again in New Orleans as the remains of county barrister, Paul Morgan, were found on the embankment and in the water of Lake Cataouatche by visitors to the area. Morgan was reported missing last Wednesday by his wife, Martha, when he failed to return home for two days after a night out on Monday with his colleagues. It was reported that Morgan’s body was dismembered, and his head took several hours to locate. However, certain body parts are still missing, therefore the lake has been closed off to the public for the foreseeable future. Police are calling in and searching for potential suspects, and give their condolences to Paul’s close family and friends, stating that they are working overtime to bring the killer to justice and prevent any further deaths. Due to the nature and severity of the crime, it is possible that this is another victim of who the public dubs ‘The Bayou Butcher’. The Sheriff strongly encourages people to stick to an early curfew and remain indoors after nightfall, as the safety of the public cannot be guaranteed at this trying time. (More on Page 5)

You went to flip through, but the paper was pulled out your hands by Ollie who wanted to read it.

“You know what I’m thinking?” Allie hissed excitedly as he lowered himself onto the chair at the head of the table between you both. “This could be another Axeman!”

Ollie gasped, eyes sparkling. “Shit, it could!”

You perked up. “Another Axeman? How long has this guy been around?” you asked as you brought your breakfast back in front of you.

Allie turned to you, eyes shining in excitement. “The first body was found in 1927 – and the rest have been popping up every 2-3 months, but this is the first time there’s been two in less than two weeks!”

You narrowed your eyes in thought. “How do you know it’s all one guy?”

At this question he seemed to get more excited, practically vibrating in his seat as he gestured to his twin. “Ollie and I have been collecting newspaper clippings on every murder that’s happened, and we’ve tried to eliminate any outliers – like, different weapons, ones that are bleedin’ obvious who did it – the rest all have the same MO: they never find the whole body.” He yammered on at light speed, emphasising each word with a loud thump of his finger prodding the table. “Sometimes it’s not obvious, I think they try to throw the police off by going for something small – like a finger – but there’s always something missing, and we know it’s them.”

You frowned. “Them?”

He shrugged. “Could be a woman.” You raised an eyebrow. “What!? I don’t discriminate! Women can be scary!” You slowly sat back in your seat, staring your cousin down. He pointed at you as he looked at his brother with wide eyes. “See!? You wouldn’t be surprised if she dragged a body in?”

Ollie swallowed the food he was chewing. “I wouldn’t be surprised if she caused the second Great Fire of London because someone stole her food.” He said nonchalantly, before casually returning to his toast.

“Exactly!” cried Allie. “No wonder the government wants you all nice and buttoned up in a strait jacket!”

Dropping your fork with a clatter, you looked up at him in shock, mouth hanging open. He froze, quickly realising what he had said, and his face slowly scrunched up as he cringed.

“Too far?” he squeaked meekly as he glanced at you. “Sorry.”

Pouting, you glared silently before picking your fork back up.

A few moments of silence passed, before Ollie decided he had experienced enough of the dampened mood. “You know,” he began, catching your attention again. “We think the body parts aren’t just missing for the sake of it.”

“Oh?” you tilted your head, intrigued again.

He looked you directly in the eye. “We think they’re eating them.”

Your eyebrows shot up. “Oo yummy, like a cannibal?” you queried, eyes darting to Allie, who perked back up, nodding. “So… there’s a cannibalistic serial killer running around New Orleans?”

Allie pointed a finger. “Serial killer, yes. Cannibal, possibly. We don’t actually have any proper evidence for that. I’m also going to skip the ‘yummy’ part, cuz I know you would never willingly consume human flesh.”

“You would be correct,” you confirmed with an amused smile, before glancing at the two. “Has mum ever suggested that you two should consider joining the police force?”

All you got were two matching cheshire grins in response.

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

After cleaning up your food, and disappointing the twins because no, you didn’t bring your serial killer books to America with you, because you didn’t want to be judged by the luggage inspectors on the ferry, besides, Jack the Ripper got a little boring after a while.

Even though it was interesting to learn about the current events of the city you were staying in, the subject of said current events did end up putting you on edge when you travelled to work that morning, with you clutching your bag a little tighter, and intensely staring down anyone who looked at you a little odd on the tram. It even got to the point where you had stepped off the tram, and spent the ten minute walk between there and the shop glancing down any alleyways as subtle as you could, even though you knew you would spot anyone against the white snow that reflected the morning sun into your poor, suffering eyes anyway.

Unlocking the shop doors, you stepped in, stomping the snow off of your boots on the mat before picking it up and shaking it off outside. Crossing the threshold of the room, you ducked under the rug into the kitchen, shrugging off your scarf and coat and hanging them up on the pegs.

You were just dusting off the old grandfather clock that was slotted between the shelves of smaller antique clocks when a knock echoed through the shop. Jumping slightly, you lowered the feather duster in your hand and looked over your shoulder to see the same mailman from Friday waving at you through the window in the door, his smile growing as you made eye contact with him . Placing the duster down, you quickly strode over to the door, twisting the locks before pulling it open and sticking you head through the gap.

“I do apologise Miss,” he began after you said hello. “I hate to interrupt you whilst your still getting ready to open, but my boss handed some priority mail to me – said I had to get it to you as soon as I could.” He held a letter out in front of you.

Frowning, confused, you slowly reached out and took the letter from his hands. “Okayyy…” Turning the letter around you came across some very familiar hand writing:

‘To Mr LeBlanc’s Employee.’

“Oh god.” You groaned quietly, your shoulders slumping. This could turn out to be quite nasty if this was going the way you thought it would.

The mailman glanced between the letter and your very prominent grimace. “Is everything alright?” he asked, concern shining in his eyes.

“Yea! Yea,” you breathed, glancing around the street with the dwindling hope that your client would show up to pick up his parcel, but the letter in your hand said otherwise. “Everything’s fine. Just some very small business issues.”

He glanced at your face again, and went to open his mouth, but hesitated, seemingly switching what he was going to say. “Well, uh, I hope everything goes well, ma’am. I’ll see you around?”

You nodded, still staring down the street. “Yea, sure. See you around.” You said distractedly. Quickly giving him a strained smile, you stepped back to close the door, and the man tipped his cap at you again before strolling away.

Walking over to the counter, you slumped onto the stool with a groan, chucking the letter down in front of you. Leaning your elbows on the surface, you rested your forehead against your palms as you glared at the words inked onto the paper. The way it was addressed to you already screamed passive-aggressive, and you hated confronting anything or anyone with a passion, and you certainly didn’t want to confront this Boudreaux guy because you denied his mum a Christmas present. With a loud whine, you slammed your head onto the counter before blindly patting the surface until you felt the thick paper and slowly dragged it towards you. Sitting back up, you held the seemingly innocent envelope in front of you, and stared at it for a couple more moments, before you couldn’t take it anymore and tore it open.

---

December 7 th, 1929

To the Employee of Mr LeBlanc,

I hope this letter has found you in post haste. I am deeply upset that you lack the skills of radio repair, after all it is a growing medium that most should be learning at this point. Therefore I have come to the conclusion that I will refuse your rejection. The fliers you put out stated very clearly that you could repair ANY object, and it would be very disappointing for people to hear that it no longer has that skill to offer, since the only other option for radio repair during these trying times is a very unpleasant experience with that owner I mentioned.

I do hope my Mother’s radio will be fixed on time, I do hate to disappoint her. If Mr LeBlanc does not recover within the period, or you have any queries about the repair, please call the number I have written below.

XXXXXXXXXXX

Best Wishes,

Mr A. Boudreaux

---

If your mouth hung open any further than you would be catching every insect that resided in the swamps surrounding the town.

Was this guy fucking for real??

You scoffed slightly. Then again. Eventually you scoffing spiralled into manic laughter as you guffawed at the audacity that this man thought he had. With wide eyes, you slammed the paper down back onto the counter, staring over at the wall because if you looked at those words any longer you would probably end up tracking this man down so you could shove his mother’s radio up his ass along with the fat metal rod that apparently already resided there.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed back the stool and stood up, deciding you needed you reset your mind before the first customers came in. Marching back to the kitchen, you spent the next five minutes sat in the middle of the floor, waiting for the kettle to boil as you very angrily stuffed the blueberry muffin you had brought in your mouth. You glanced at the clock and pouted as you realised you only had 15 minutes before you had to put on your best customer-friendly expression despite the metaphorical grey cloud that thundered above your head.

Thinking for a moment, you shot back up, chucking the muffin case as you strode back through to the counter, and snatched the letter up, marching back to the kitchen over to the rotary phone on the table in the corner. Picking up the handset, you pressed it to your ear as you spun the number written out on the paper in front of you.

It rang for a moment, and you tried to picture the man who would – hopefully – receive your call. You expected to hear the gruff voice of some 50 year old, that would start yelling down the line about how incompetent you were, especially when he found out you were a woman, before you heard a crackle as it was picked up and a polite and much younger sounding “Hello?” came through.

You froze for a moment, your vision of some rude, old guy whooshed away at the voice of a much younger, more spritely man, and you pictured someone like the mailman, until you heard a louder, drawn out “Hellooo?”, the man on the other end seemingly becoming amused at your lack of response.

Snapping yourself out of the character builder you had in your mind, you quickly spoke. “Hello, do I happen to be talking to–”

“Oh, I am sorry, my dear.” You blinked as you were interrupted. “But I do believe you’ve accidentally called an American number!” The man said chipperly, though there was a condescending undertone – his amusement clearly growing at the thought of your apparent mistake. You guessed it was when he heard your accent.

“I- what?” you stammered down the receiver.

“Oh you poor thing.” He simpered over the line like some fake grandma comforting you after you tripped over. He was clearly having fun – you could just picture the fake pout he was putting on. “Like I said, I’m afraid you have the wrong number.”

No, this was definitely the right one. His attitude over the phone matched his attitude in the letter precisely.

You could hear him being to move to put the phone down, and you quickly called out. “WAIT NO!!” you cried, on the verge of an outrage. “I definitely put the right number in! Now, am I or am I not speaking to a Mister Boudreaux?”

“Oh! Do pardon me.~” He practically sing-songed. Oh, so now he was willing to listen? “Yes that is I, and to who do I owe the pleasure to be called by an English dame such as yourself?” the fake flirtatious tone had you picturing the faceless man laid on his front, kicking his legs as he twirled the coil between his fingers. You pushed that amusing thought down, however, when you caught sight of the piece of paper in your hand.

“I got your letter.”

“Ah,” It was like a switch was flipped, the man’s tone darkening slightly. “I see.”

Rereading the words this guy had put down, you could barely control yourself, and you pictured the time your mother had marched you down the lane to the house of a boy in your school year. That boy had given you a large bruise on your forehead, and instead of telling you that he did it because he fancied you, your mum decided to give him and his family the verbal lashing of your life. ‘I’m not raising you to snap at the slightest pressure like those London lasses, my love’, she had said, ‘You’re gonna go down kicking and screaming like it’s the last thing you’ll do’.

And that’s exactly what you’re gonna do.

“Right,” you began, your Yorkshire accent coming on full force. “I’m gonna need you t’ open yer lug ole, lad, cuz I dunno how you lot do customer service over here in America, but bein’ passive aggressive t’ someone who’s literally done nowt to deserve the absolute shite you’ve just given me makes you out t’ be a right knob’ead, you hear me?” You reprimanded. “If you don’t get your arse down to the shop by the end of the week, I’m putting ya mum’s radio down as unclaimed and selling it t’ the next person I see!”

You quickly slammed the phone down, too fuming to hear anything that Mr Boudreaux had to say. The only reason you felt a little guilty was that you knew nothing about this guy’s mum – she could be the sweetest woman in the world, and you just up and went and threatened to sell her possession! Though, with the way her son behaved, you would be surprised if she turned out to be just like him. Ugh, then you would be dealing with two of them.

Letting out a sigh, you picked up the phone again, instead dialling the phone number pinned to the corkboard on the wall. It rang for longer this time, and when it picked up you received a very loud coughing fit. When it died down, you finally spoke.

“Ralph I need your help.” You groaned, plopping yourself down on the spindly chair next to you with a defeated sigh.

“I’ve got the worst customer in the world.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Does uh, anyone want more memes?

I hope you've enjoyed what I've given you so far, and I do apologise for the sudden dialect change, I was desperate for MC to finally speak the way I do lol. See you soon for Chapter 3!!

Please let me know if you want to be added to the Taglist!

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*feeds you content a lot earlier than I thought*

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[love-and-deepspace-polycule]

Hey y'all, just posting my random poly relationship headcannons, first up is movie night. I include MC, but I don't give many (if any) headcannons for MC due to the nature of the game being MC=you. These are just silly HC I thought of randomly. Hopefully you enjoy? I do occasionally swear in my Headcannons or make minor pop culture references. This one in particular has a swear word so read at your own risk. I also don't consider gender when using a gendered descriptor to get a silly point across (for example, I refer to Sylus as a wine aunt. Aunt refers to a female individual, but used to portray a stereotype even though referring to a man). I think that really covers my headcannon style.

Movie Night! Couch order left to right HCs + Movie choice:

- Zayne: The bringer of snacks. Snack daddy. Lord snackleton. All loving names given to Zayne because he can't say no when somebody asks him to get them a snack. He will usually stand his ground on everything else (he's definitely not a pushover, don't get it twisted), but as he is not really a huge movie guy he doesn't mind being "snack daddy". He sits on the end as to not cross over anyone and block the movie when he leaves to go get snacks. He is also the most likely to be called into work so he is a loner on the end of the couch. Documentary watcher. Rarely picks the movie for movie night. The closest he gets to cuddling with anyone is him having his arm around Xavier who is next to him.

- Xavier: Second in and will lean on Sylus or Zayne next to him. Maybe throw his legs up onto the couch in either a crisscross or lays his legs over the lap of Sylus (not usually Zayne as he is The bringer of snacks). Speaking of snacks, his snack of choice is usually something salty like chips or popcorn. He is an action movie fan. Bonus points if it is a Sci-Fi. Usually ends up picking the movie, not because he fights for his pick, but because his is usually the least controversial option that won't end up in a fight.

- Sylus: Black and White movies. Cannot escape the old man aligations (he's still in his 20s lol). Wine Aunt. Will occasionally steal Xavier's snacks but only if it's pretzels. Manspreads hella on the couch, but it's fine because everyone cuddles into Sylus. Living heater. Keeps the homies warm and cozy. Calls Zayne Snack Daddy.

- MC: Your here and your cute! Keep up the good work, cuddle with your boys, and pick your favorite movie! Obviously you being MC I can't determine your choices.

- Rafayel: this man cannot sit still and thus has been condemned to the end. I'm also convinced he has to pee every 5 minutes. You would think being a painter he would be able to sit still for hours, but it is completely different when he is painting versus literally anything else. He's also a lounger and will lay on everyone else. So it's not really the end if he's laying across three people's laps. Changes lounging positions every 3 minutes. Was the one who started the nickname trend for Zayne with Lord Snackleton. He is a beverage bitch 3+ drinks at any given time and none of them are water. Romcom or horror. No in between. Snack of choice something sweet like a Reese's cup or Skittles.

- Bonus: Luke and Kieren will sit on the floor in front of the couch. Weird cult classic movies. Will absolutely not shut up during the movie.

[pumpkinsy0]

fuck it, more Purly Haitian vacation thoughts:

On the first day, Ponyboy got sunburnt to all hell. Yeah he was made fun of for it, but whatever they gave him wasn't regular aloe, it was better.

Runs out of clean clothes (he didn't have much to pack anyway) so he makes due with the clothes given to him (and insisted he keep and bring to america)

Curly jokes he'd look cute in a karabela. Pony doesn't know what that is and just rolls his eyes.

Sandals! Everyone wears them. Ponyboy watches fondly as Curly's aunt weaves him a pair, asking him if he likes the color purple, which he responds "Wi Matènèl." Just like Curly taught him.

The mornings come early and while Curly would love nothing more than to lay in bed all day with Pony, he does want to wake up early and take him for scooter rides. Ponyboy holds on to him tightly as they weave around corners. Curly is in heaven.

Ponyboy is interested in the literature and art of Haiti and loves the bright colors of the homes. He loves their cheap art galleries and after dinner he's read to in Kreyole first and then English second because he wants to try and learn what stories are being told to him.

Darry has asked him to call if possible. There's only one phone avaliable and it's at "the big house." it costs a lot of money to call but The Shepards don't bat an eye giving him the coins he needs to tell his brother he's okay and what his day was like.

Curly avoids all questions asked to him about family back in America. He can't stomach the thought that his relatives think he's living it up and couldn't be further from the truth.

He hates America. Hates the racism. Hates their stupid laws. He hates how their mother left this beautiful place to chase a man that doesn't give a hang about them.

Curly needs a cigarette. On the porch, he pauses:

Ponyboy is given a pretty red and yellow choublack flower crown (cause it's still the 60s) and is out on the street with a bunch of Curly's younger cousins who ask him to draw on the sidewalks with them. Ponyboy never got the opportunity to be a big brother, so it's all fun and games with him. It's lightly raining, a sunshine shower. Ponyboy is smiling, laughing and singing along to some child's song, slightly butchering the words.

Curly is whipped at the sight.

i JUST woke up to this absolute GEM of an ask im going insane im like a dog with zoomies after a shower another BANGER anon ask about haiti omg

AND AND I WANNA ADD MORE THOUGHTS☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽☝🏽

•the shepards has family in the countryside of haiti, and they have a fucking donkey and that thing would nibble on ponys shirt everytime he came near and it was ALWAYS him and him alone like dude???fuck of?????

•pony would LOVE ti kawòl (its this ice cream in a bag thing, comes in different flavors) but he likes it when its melted so he literally WAITS till its a liquid again, pokes a hole in the bag and drinks it and curly, tim, angela, and their family think hes so WEIRD for that

•curlys aunt is always making malta ak lèt (just means malta and milk) and its curly, pony, and the younger cousins fault that its always gone within a few days like my god

•theres a good chunk of reptiles in haiti and curly used to spend his time catching the fuckers when he still used to live in haiti, and ik he took pony to the best places he would find em, however outside of that sometimes pony would find them on accident and his body would take a ss

•kite flying is pretty important, i think pony and curly should be allowed to make their own cool looking kite at least once

•tim and curly were def stealing cool looking plates from their aunts and was forcing pony to be apart of it, he was a mess trying to keep it together

•OHOH sometimes they would have to ride tap taps (just look it up im WAY to lazy to explain it) and pony was a bit nervous bc theres rlly no specific individual seats and no seatbelts, so curly would hold onto him to make him feel safer so gay

•pony def accidentally got some mannerisms from his time there, this is more of a “if u get it u get it” thing, but if yknow that look ur haitian elder gives u when they catch u doin some stupid shit and they just stand there w their hands crossed???yea pony started doing that LMAOOO

•angela made pony this bracelet w seashells, she was makin em w her fav aunt :3

•the whole family went to the beach and curly hit pony w a wet sandbl and IMMEDIATELY fell and got a cut on his knee by a seashell and i promise u, when there was a collective sound of “gade” (means look in creole) in a ‘well thats your karma’ way, i mean it

•pony and curly both have to share a place on the couch to sleep on so they r just all up on each other by the time 4am rolls around

•curly has this scarf thats used in haitian folklore dances and he is NOT using it to dance, hes using it to pull pony in by the neck or hips, i can feel it trust me on this

•one of the shepards family members is a snack vendor, like the kinds w the snack cart right outside schools, and they would always get free snacks, in return they helped w the homemade snacks they sold, but that goes as well as it can w pony and curly making food, they r NOT allowed to make fresco again

•curly would climb treats for fruits pony wanted he def would

•pony brought the gang lil souvenirs :P

[orqheuss]

☆*: .｡.Wand headcanons.｡.:*☆

Warning: long post! Deep discussion of characters and their personalities ahead

I have been thinking extensively about Ominis and Sebastian's wands and which would suit them the best since they are currently unknown in canon.

As we know from Harry Potter lore, wand cores and woods have the most sway in how not only the wand itself would behave, but also what kind of person the wand owner is and how they will use it. With that being said, we know the personalities of the boy's quite intimately, but we know absolutely no information about their wands besides what they look like, and even then in some scenes they look vastly different.

For this research I used stills from the game when we get close ups of their wands, as well as the Harry Potter Wiki, the Wizarding World website, and a funky weebly website that someone made for a class all about wandlore (I know, not really a reputable source, but it has a but ton of information that can be backed up via the other websites I mentioned) to gather my research.

This was all just a late night info spiral that the ominis discord server helped me with, lol (message @finalgirllx if you would like to join! we have fun)

I am by no means saying my word is law or that you can't have your own opinions. This is just what I think fits them best. I do not own the characters or the Hogwarts Legacy game.

I tried to keep this as spoiler free as possible. No huge plot spoilers are shared.

Now with the formalities out of the way, let's dive in.

We'll start with Ominis, because he has, arguably, the most interesting wand.

My headcanon: Horned Serpent horn core, blackthorn wood, 10 3/4 inches, brittle flexibility

I'm going to go section by section and explain my reasonings. First, the core.

Horned Serpent horn core: While a very, very rare core, it is an exceedingly powerful one that leans towards not only the ties it has to Ominis' family name but also his strengths and weaknesses.

There has only been two wands created with a Horned Serpent horn core in Harry Potter lore, and they belonged to the adopted sons of Isolt Sayre, the founder of Ilvermorny, or the North American school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

According to the lore, Isolt is a direct descendant of Morrigan, a famous Irish witch, and Salazar Slytherin, one of the founders of Hogwarts, thus making her of Gaunt heritage. Her parents were murdered when she was young by her aunt, Gormlaith Gaunt, whom was unhappy with her sister's muggle-helping ways. Gormlaith then kidnapped the girl and kept her captive for a number of years before Isolt was able to escape and flee to America on the Mayflower. There she befriended a Horned Serpent, and when her adopted son's were of age she had their wands fashioned with a sliver of the horn from her serpent friend.

So, why does this core fit Ominis?

As I said, it's properties directly line up with what we know about Ominis' wand in the game. Sebastian states that it is "almost sentient" and is able to help him navigate around the castle and the outside world with little problem. This fits the Horned Serpent horn because, according to the Harry Potter wiki, "[t]his core was exceptionally powerful, sensitive to Parseltongue and vibrated when Parseltongue was being spoken, and could warn their owners of danger by emitting a low musical tone." Because of Ominis' blindness, he likely has exceedingly strong hearing, thus making the low musical tone of the Horned Serpent horn a likely culprit for his wand's echolocation abilities. Not only would this wand core run in the Gaunt family, but it would also connect to Ominis' ability to speak Parseltongue.

As a side note, Salazar Slytherin had a basilisk horn core in his wand and is said to have passed it down when he died, so it would stay in the Gaunt family. Having a core so similar to Slytherin's, and most likely Ominis' father because he would be the next in line to get the wand, would please his family greatly.

Blackthorn wood: As we can see in the game and in the reference picture, Ominis' wand is a dark grey, nearly black color. This in itself narrows down what possible wood it is, as there isn't many dark wand woods known in the lore.

Below is an image of blackthorn branches.

The coloring matches, but what about their personality?

According to the Wizarding World website, this is the description of blackthorn wood:

Blackthorn, which is a very unusual wand wood, has the reputation, in my view well-merited, of being best suited to a warrior. This does not necessarily mean that its owner practises the Dark Arts (although it is undeniable that those who do so will enjoy the blackthorn wand’s prodigious power); one finds blackthorn wands among the Aurors as well as among the denizens of Azkaban. It is a curious feature of the blackthorn bush, which sports wicked thorns, that it produces its sweetest berries after the hardest frosts, and the wands made from this wood appear to need to pass through danger or hardship with their owners to become truly bonded. Given this condition, the blackthorn wand will become as loyal and faithful a servant as one could wish.

This fits with one of the first things we find out about Ominis and his personality-- he starts off as standoff-ish, brash, and, for a lack of a better word, "thorny." After getting to know him in the game, though, we find out that his harshness is just a defense mechanism due to his past and his protectiveness of his friends. Thus, the berry analogy. He himself goes through an incredible "danger or hardship" at the hands of his family, making the blackthorn tree a kindred spirit for him.

Unfortunately wand length and flexibility don't make much of a difference in wands, but there is still a little bit of information about them. I'm basing most of this information (the wand length at least) on fanon decided lore.

10 3/4 inches: Wand length is primarily based on the height and stature of the wizard. In very rare cases, witches and wizards of incredibly sour dispositions will get small, stubby wands (6 inches or below) but that doesn't fit in this situation. According to the Harry Potter Wiki, nine to ten inch wands are "[v]ery standard, and very formal," and "[t]ypically, wizards of average height (5' 6" - 6' 0") will have wands in this size range." Since most of the fandom agrees that Ominis would be around the 6'0", 6'1" range, this would fit his build. I added the 3/4 just to be a bit spicy.

Brittle flexibility: Because neither website really has information about the flexibility of wands, this is taken mostly from the weebly page on wandlore. According to the Wizarding World website, "[w]and flexibility or rigidity denotes the degree of adaptability and willingness to change possessed by the wand-and-owner pair[.]" I have also heard that it is based again on the witch or wizard's personality, so I used both instances here.

Basically, the more flexible the wand, the more flexible the witch or wizard would be in stressful situations, but also the more likely your wand would be to accept a new owner if it were to be won in a duel.

Brittle fits Ominis the best because of it's description on the wandlore class website:

A wand with this flexibility tends to attach itself quickest to owners who have insecurities, and its level of loyalty is often dependent on how loyal the owner is to it. Should it become very loyal to its original owner, new owners often won't get the chance to earn the wand's loyalty before it breaks. Brittle wands are best suited to subtle and delicate magic, such as transfiguration and non-verbal spell-casting. Because they break easy, their owners should be careful to avoid magic that is unnecessarily flashy or explosive, especially if the wand also has a dragon heartstring core. Owners with this wand flexibility are usually contemplative, clever, and somewhat cynical; they tend to be an "underdog" type of person and perhaps even a little bit unlucky, which could lead them to becoming resentful of their more successful peers. If a brittle wand owner perseveres and manages to get over their insecurities, however, he or she will often become a "great success story" that never ceases to amaze and inspire others.

There are points in the argument both for and against Ominis' insecurities controlling his personality, but this particular wand flexibility fits both extremes well. If he leans more on the insecure side, the wand would attach itself quite quickly to him and would remain loyal as long as he was loyal to it, which is a given since he needs it to navigate the world. Ominis was likely a closed off and insecure child when he was young, so it would fit that a brittle wand would attach itself to him quickly. In the game, we see Ominis is careful and sure with his wand work, so I don't think the brittle nature of the wand would come into play, especially with his and Sebastian's love for confringo.

The main thing that connects this flexibility to Ominis is the description of the owners personality, stating that they would be "contemplative, clever, and somewhat cynical" even an "underdog" type. Ominis is the definition of these three terms, and it can be argued that because of the biases surrounding his last name, as well as his disability, he could be considered an "underdog." Ominis is contemplative in most of his dialogue, wanting to see all sides of an argument before making a decision one way or another. He is incredibly clever, often twisting arguments in his favor and throwing words back at the person debating him. As for cynical, there just isn't a better word for how he treats the MC when he passes them around the castle. Every single one of his voice lines is some thinly veiled insult.

Next, let's explore Sebastian's wand-- easily one of the most identifiable wands in the game.

My headcanon: Dragon heartstring core, yew wood, 9 1/2 inches, unyielding flexibility

Same process as Ominis' wand. Here we go!

Dragon heartstring core: In medical science, "heartstrings" refer to the chordae tendineae of the heart, which connect the papillary muscles to the tricuspid and mitral valves so they can open and close as the heart pumps blood between atrial and ventricular chambers (I had to research this lmao, I am not a science person). It's possible that this is where they get the core from in a dragon, but there isn't enough information about dragon anatomy in canon lore to be sure.

Wand cores are connected to the strength of a witch or wizard's magic, as well as the type of magic that they are more likely to lean towards and the type of magic that the wand will be adept with.

Dragon heartstring is one of the three "supreme cores" that are sold in Olivanders. The description of the wand core on the Harry Potter Wiki is as follows:

Dragon heartstrings produce wands with the most magical power, and which [are] capable of the most flamboyant spells. Dragon wands tended to learn more quickly than other types. While they could change allegiance if won from their original master, they always bonded strongly with the current owner. The dragon wand tended to be easiest to turn to the Dark Arts, though it would not incline that way of its own accord. It was also the most prone of the three cores to accidents, being somewhat temperamental.

Don't be swayed, I did not just pick this because of its proclivity towards dark magic. Yes, Sebastian is the one that teaches the MC the unforgivable curses, but this in itself matches the personality traits he exhibits from the very beginning: confidence (to the point of arrogance at times), and loyalty. Sebastian himself states that he leans more towards "fiery forms of magic" after he teaches you the blasting curse, so it would make sense that his wand core would need to be able to handle this kind of spell work. One that is "flamboyant" and "temperamental" would fit this the best. Not only this, but before the MC arrives at Hogwarts, Sebastian was the best duelist there, so he would need a wand core that picked up magic quick and was able to keep up with his competitive nature.

Yew wood: Yes, another thing that leans towards dark magic, but hear me out. Sebastian's wand color is very light, making the options for the possible wood types he would have just as sparse as Ominis'.

Wand woods are connected to the owners personality, diving down past the surface level and often discovering the most innate personality traits of the witch or wizard that owns it.

Below is an image of yew wood.

At first, I thought Sebastian's wand could possibly be aspen, but upon looking at the coloring of that wood versus yew, yew seems to be the closest in color. Aspen wood is often compared to bone because of how pale white it is, but if you look at the picture of Sebastian's wand, it has some warm undertones that make it a different hue than ivory.

Back to the personality. Here is what the Wizarding World website says about yew wood:

Yew wands are among the rarer kinds, and their ideal matches are likewise unusual, and occasionally notorious. The wand of yew is reputed to endow its possessor with the power of life and death, which might, of course, be said of all wands; and yet yew retains a particularly dark and fearsome reputation in the spheres of duelling and all curses. However, it is untrue to say (as those unlearned in wandlore often do) that those who use yew wands are more likely to be attracted to the Dark Arts than another. The witch or wizard best suited to a yew wand might equally prove a fierce protector of others. Wands hewn from these most long-lived trees have been found in the possession of heroes quite as often as of villains. Where wizards have been buried with wands of yew, the wand generally sprouts into a tree guarding the dead owner’s grave. What is certain, in my experience, is that the yew wand never chooses either a mediocre or a timid owner.

I'm not going to go into any heavy spoilers, but if you know, you know.

Sebastian is absolutely not a mediocre or timid wizard-- quite the opposite. He tends to lead with his heart rather his head, diving into battles before thinking through a strategy or jumping feet first into an argument before hearing both sides of the issue. He is fiercely loyal and protective of those he cares about, which can be seen in how he talks about not only Anne but also Ominis. His main motivation through the entirety of the game is finding a cure for his sister's curse, and he quite literally goes to outlandish means to achieve his goals. He is described as an accomplished duelist (we don't really see that, but let's chalk that up to the companion mechanics of the game and not his actual skill) and he is proficient in curses of all nature. He is the definition of a morally grey character-- not quite a hero, but also not quite a villain.

Again, for wand length and flexibility I will be using a mix of canon and fanon lore because of how scarce the information is on these sections of wandlore.

9 1/2 inches: As I said earlier with Ominis' wand, nine to ten inches is the common length for most wands. Since Ominis and Sebastian are, in fanon lore at least, similar in height (Ominis slightly taller than Sebastian in most fanfictions and fanart), I kept them close in length. Most agree that Sebastian is likely around 5'10", 5"11", so a wand slightly smaller than Ominis' but still within average length would fit best. Again, the half inch is just to be spicy.

Unyielding flexibility: Same as before, most of this information was taken from the wandlore weebly.

The word "unyielding" in itself describes Sebastian's personality. As previously stated, he is incredibly stubborn and hardheaded when he wants to be, and we see that often in the game.

The description for an unyielding wand is as follows:

A wand of this flexibility finely tunes itself to its original owner's preferences and doesn't stray from those preferences, even in the hands of a new owner; the new owner will just have to get used to it. It is particularly good for combative and healing magic. Unyielding wand owners tend to be very confident in themselves and/or in the things they believe in. They tend to be intelligent, somewhat cynical, and usually have well-defined principles that they will not stray from ever. Sometimes, this combination can lead to arrogance because of them insisting on how right they are without considering other points of view or whether or not they might be wrong.

Sebastian is a confident young man. He himself names him the best duelist in the school, and he prides himself on his knowledge of the wizarding world, both due to his proclivity to research and the fact that his parents were professors. In the game mechanics, particularly the bits that did not make it into the final game but were still in the code, there are a few lines for him that lean towards the possibility that he could heal the MC if our health got too low, thus adding the possibility that he was skilled in healing magic and combative magic. Sebastian's principles are defined from the very beginning of the game, stating that he would do anything for his friends and family, as well as was not afraid to break the rules to get what he wanted. He can be a bit arrogant at times due to this confidence, but for the most part it comes off as endearing.

As the game goes on he grows more cynical of the world and of the MC, often stating that they do not share the same opinions like he once thought and that they don't care about Anne and finding a cure for her curse. His tendency to not sway in his opinions and his insistence that he is right and everyone else is wrong grows tenfold around the winter mark. Because of this, no matter how many people are arguing that he is going down a dark path, he does not back down.

As both Ominis and Sebastian say, Sebastian Sallow does not back down from a fight, and he needs a wand that agrees with this belief system.

These are my headcaons! If you made it all the way to this bit, please don't be afraid to share your thoughts and personal headcanons for the boys and their wands!

Thanks for indulging me and my ramblings, lol

[joffyworld]

what are some Cult Of The Lamb Bishops head canons that you will defend with your entire existence. Please a couple for each bishop. Thank you so much love ur poems BTW!!!

First of all thank you!!!!!! So sweet of you I'm glad you enjoyed them there's still at least 3 more to come soon

Also for headcanons,

Narinder

Was actually an okay dad to Baal and Aym, not very affectionate at all but he did care and they knew it deep down

Was a nice and caring brother Pre-Betrayal, just flew a bit too close to the sun and the prophecy forced the bishops to act

Deeply in love with the Lamb, has zero rizz though

Is basically @bamsara's TROD Narinder, sardonic asshole with a heart of not quite gold (because that fic got me into this fandom so yk he's my default)

Smokes cigarettes because what's it gonna do? Kill him

Hates people that smoke cigarettes

Also not my headcanon but someone made a trans Narinder I can't remember who but that was fucking awesome (maybe @ghosts-and-glory I think that might've been them, shout-out their COTL stuff so good sorry for @'ing you if you want it removed ghost please let me know)

Leshy

Slavic king, stereotypical Adidas tracksuit enjoyer

PIWO PIWO PIWO PIWO PIWO PIWO

Says Kurwa a lot

Bites everything

Living or not he bites it

Is actually a caring and loveable but chaotic younger brother (Pre-Betrayal)

Goes insane a bit and only has moments of normalcy and regret (Post-Betrayal) (this one's kinda in the poems if you look carefully) (also his dialogue in-game if you refuse to help him with his artifact)

Gay for boycat (idk just how it's always portrayed)

Heket

GAAAAAAAAAAAY

Very gay, lesbian queen

Like a kinder lesbian aunt vibe

Very hungry

Sarcastic but cares

Very "do what needs to be done"

Lives with the regret as best she can

Also has zero rizz, pathetic wet beast of a lesbian

Kallamar

The gayest

Like so gay

Pansexual icon

Just a gigantic whore

Coward, uses manipulation and sexuality to coerce more than he uses violence

Jewellery king, collects that shit like pokemon

Is best friends (maybe a situationship) with Midas

Super gay

Shamura

Regrets it all, would turn back time if they could

Non-binary but queen and motherly vibes

Oldest sibling by a wiiiiiide margin so they took on a motherly role

Goes by she/they

Wise beyond their years even after the brain damage

Brain damage made them go loopy though, basically trapped in time reliving the prophecy over and over

Accepts that they tried their best but feels immense guilt they failed their family

After resurrection their brain slowly recovers memories and they become a surrogate mother to the Lamb

Does not blame the Lamb at all

Sews and Knits (begins as rehab for their muscle coordination but continues as a hobby)

Is gay (lesbianism my beloved)

Is actually really kind and decent as far as a God goes, very forgiving and wishes they had acted differently in the past

Still loves Narinder even before the lamb comes to kill the gods, sent him Aym and Baal through a deal and ritual with Forneus so Forneus was okay with it too (and the kits didn't have to die)

[heavensbeehall]

Real or Not Real?

"After the anthem, they show President Snow drawing the envelope for the second Quarter Quell. He looks younger but just as repellent. He reads from the square of paper in the same onerous voice he used for ours, informing Panem that in honor of the Quarter Quell, there will be twice the number of tributes. The editors smash cut right into the reapings, where name after name after name is called. By the time we get to District 12, I'm completely overwhelmed by the sheer number of kids going to certain death.

There's a woman, not Effie, calling the names in 12, but she still begins with “Ladies first!” She calls out the name of a girl who's from the Seam, you can tell by the look of her, and then I hear the name “Maysilee Donner.” “Oh!” I say.

“She was my mother's friend.” The camera finds her in the crowd, clinging to two other girls. All blond. All definitely merchants' kids. “I think that's your mother hugging her,” says Peeta quietly.

And he's right. As Maysilee Donner bravely disengages herself and heads for the stage, I catch a glimpse of my mother at my age, and no one has exaggerated her beauty. Holding her hand and weeping is another girl who looks just like Maysilee. But a lot like someone else I know, too. “Madge,” I say.

“That's her mother. She and Maysilee were twins or something,” Peeta says. “My dad mentioned it once.” I think of Madge's mother.

Mayor Undersee's wife. Who spends half her life in bed immobilized with terrible pain, shutting out the world. I think of how I never realized that she and my mother shared this connection. Of Madge showing up in that snowstorm to bring the painkiller for Gale. Of my mockingjay pin and how it means something completely different now that I know that its former owner was Madge's aunt, Maysilee Donner, a tribute who was murdered in the arena. Haymitch's name is called last of all.

It's more of a shock to see him than my mother. Young. Strong. Hard to admit, but he was something of a looker. His hair dark and curly, those gray Seam eyes bright and, even then, dangerous. “Oh.

Peeta, you don't think he killed Maysilee, do you?” I burst out. I don't know why, but I can't stand the thought. “With forty-eight players?

I'd say the odds are against it,” says Peeta. The chariot rides — in which the District 12 kids are dressed in awful coal miners' outfits — and the interviews flash by.

There's little time to focus on anyone. But since Haymitch is going to be the victor, we get to see one full exchange between him and Caesar Flickerman, who looks exactly as he always does in his twinkling midnight blue suit. Only his dark green hair, eyelids, and lips are different. “So, Haymitch, what do you think of the Games having one hundred percent more competitors than usual?” asks Caesar.

Haymitch shrugs.

“I don't see that it makes much difference. They'll still be one hundred percent as stupid as usual, so I figure my odds will be roughly the same.” The audience bursts out laughing and Haymitch gives them a half smile.

Snarky. Arrogant. Indifferent. “He didn't have to reach far for that, did he?” I say.

Now it's the morning the Games begin.

We watch from the point of view of one of the tributes as she rises up through the tube from the Launch Room and into the arena. I can't help but give a slight gasp. Disbelief is reflected on the faces of the players. Even Haymitch's eyebrows lift in pleasure, although they almost immediately knit themselves back into a scowl. It's the most breathtaking place imaginable.

The golden Cornucopia sits in the middle of a green meadow with patches of gorgeous flowers. The sky is azure blue with puffy white clouds. Bright songbirds flutter overhead. By the way some of the tributes are sniffing, it must smell fantastic. An aerial shot shows that the meadow stretches for miles. Far in the distance, in one direction, there seems to be a woods, in the other, a snowcapped mountain. The beauty disorients many of the players, because when the gong sounds, most of them seem like they're trying to wake from a dream.

Not Haymitch, though. He's at the Cornucopia, armed with weapons and a backpack of choice supplies. He heads for the woods before most of the others have stepped off their plates. Eighteen tributes are killed in the bloodbath that first day.

Others begin to die off and it becomes clear that almost everything in this pretty place—the luscious fruit dangling from the bushes, the water in the crystalline streams, even the scent of the flowers when inhaled too directly—is deadly poisonous. Only the rainwater and the food provided at the Cornucopia are safe to consume. There's also a large, well-stocked Career pack of ten tributes scouring the mountain area for victims. Haymitch has his own troubles over in the woods, where the fluffy golden squirrels turn out to be carnivorous and attack in packs, and the butterfly stings bring agony if not death.

But he persists in moving forward, always keeping the distant mountain at his back. Maysilee Donner turns out to be pretty resourceful herself, for a girl who leaves the Cornucopia with only a small backpack.

Inside she finds a bowl, some dried beef, and a blowgun with two dozen darts. Making use of the readily available poisons, she soon turns the blowgun into a deadly weapon by dipping the darts in lethal substances and directing them into her opponents' flesh. Four days in, the picturesque mountain erupts in a volcano that wipes out another dozen players, including all but five of the Career pack.

With the mountain spewing liquid fire, and the meadow offering no means of concealment, the remaining thirteen tributes — including Haymitch and Maysilee — have no choice but to confine themselves to the woods. Haymitch seems bent on continuing in the same direction, away from the now volcanic mountain, but a maze of tightly woven hedges forces him to circle back into the center of the woods, where he encounters three of the Careers and pulls his knife.

They may be much bigger and stronger, but Haymitch has remarkable speed and has killed two when the third disarms him. That Career is about to slit his throat when a dart drops him to the ground. Maysilee Donner steps out of the woods.

“We'd live longer with two of us.” “Guess you just proved that,” says Haymitch, rubbing his neck.

“Allies?” Maysilee nods. And there they are, instantly drawn into one of those pacts you'd be hard-pressed to break if you ever expect to go home and face your district. Just like Peeta and me, they do better together.

Get more rest, work out a system to salvage more rainwater, fight as a team, and share the food from the dead tributes' packs. But Haymitch is still determined to keep moving on. “Why?” Maysilee keeps asking, and he ignores her until she refuses to move any farther without an answer.

“Because it has to end somewhere, right?” says Haymitch.

“The arena can't go on forever.” “What do you expect to find?” Maysilee asks.

“I don't know.

But maybe there's something we can use,” he says. When they finally do make it through that impossible hedge, using a blowtorch from one of the dead Careers' packs, they find themselves on flat, dry earth that leads to a cliff.

Far below, you can see jagged rocks. “That's all there is, Haymitch.

Let's go back,” says Maysilee. “No, I'm staying here,” he says.

“All right.

There's only five of us left. May as well say good-bye now, anyway,” she says. “I don't want it to come down to you and me.” “Okay,” he agrees.

That's all. He doesn't offer to shake her hand or even look at her. And she walks away. Haymitch skirts along the edge of the cliff as if trying to figure something out.

His foot dislodges a pebble and it falls into the abyss, apparently gone forever. But a minute later, as he sits to rest, the pebble shoots back up beside him. Haymitch stares at it, puzzled, and then his face takes on a strange intensity. He lobs a rock the size of his fist over the cliff and waits. When it flies back out and right into his hand, he starts laughing. That's when we hear Maysilee begin to scream.

The alliance is over and she broke it off, so no one could blame him for ignoring her. But Haymitch runs for her, anyway. He arrives only in time to watch the last of a flock of candy pink birds, equipped with long, thin beaks, skewer her through the neck. He holds her hand while she dies, and all I can think of is Rue and how I was too late to save her, too. Later that day, another tribute is killed in combat and a third gets eaten by a pack of those fluffy squirrels, leaving Haymitch and a girl from District 1 to vie for the crown.

She's bigger than he is and just as fast, and when the inevitable fight comes, it's bloody and awful and both have received what could well be fatal wounds, when Haymitch is finally disarmed. He staggers through the beautiful woods, holding his intestines in, while she stumbles after him, carrying the ax that should deliver his deathblow. Haymitch makes a beeline for his cliff and has just reached the edge when she throws the ax. He collapses on the ground and it flies into the abyss. Now weaponless as well, the girl just stands there, trying to staunch the flow of blood pouring from her empty eye socket. She's thinking perhaps that she can outlast Haymitch, who's starting to convulse on the ground. But what she doesn't know, and what he does, is that the ax will return. And when it flies back over the ledge, it buries itself in her head. The cannon sounds, her body is removed, and the trumpets blow to announce Haymitch's victory. Peeta clicks off the tape and we sit there in silence for a while."

-- Description of the 50th Hunger Games from Catching Fire by Suzanne Collins

In the press for SotR, Collins has talked about how the question of "real or not real?" is integral to the story. There's the element of the Capitol creating this fake Arena-world for the tributes, and things not being what they seem. But I think it's also safe to say that the narrative the Capitol put on tape for Katniss and Peeta, is probably different than how Haymitch would tell it himself.

Where do you think things are real and where are they not real, you know? We never see anything from after Haymitch's victory, like interviews with Ceasar or him getting crowned. I'm also super curious as to why the Gamemakers decided to set bird mutts on Maysilee (why her and not him?).

[itsyagurlchip]

hot takes, small details or personal headcanons you have in your au?

you. you are my reasonnnnnnN THANK YOU FOR THIS ASK IT'S GONNA BE ONE OF MY LONGEST ANSWERS. VEEEEEEE THANK YOU <3333 (I'm sorry if none of these headcannons match up with any previous ones i've made, simply imagining them as people makes my brain run on 1000)

(me now) Umm. Seeing this is finished you know you better prepared to sit down and read.

Keep in mind that reader is a child! They will not be the average y/n, she won't try and solve everyone's problems, and they're still learning and growing as a person! (That's what this whole fic is for-)

okokookookkokokokok these aren't all relevant to the Au per say, but this does apply to the plot and some of the lore for the fic.

im sure you saw the post- but I headcanon the skeles to be able to pop out their eyes. and at first it seemed random- but Papyrus has fucking eyes in the game (!?!) and so does sans, so why tf not?

Now a thing that I do not headcannon is their bones being able to pop out. I don't have any reason, I just don't like the idea of their limbs being Legos (but fsr eyes r ok?)

They do have amazing dance moves tho (Sans gets a lil zesty when he does the worm).

Everything in this universe is like a sitcom, and while predictable things happen, it's not in the usual way it would.

Ebbot is in New York. (you know why, and if you don't be prepared for a particular chapter.)

In this universe, pollution doesn't exist as much as it does in the real world. Give these guys a chance to see those beautiful ass stars.

Dynamics I'd Like to Explore:

Horror and reader.

I would love to explore that "Mama bear" dynamic that Horror could have without dumbing him down to just "hungry" "traumatized" and "comfort".

I want to show how being in a starvation crisis still affects him, while also wanting someone to take care of.

I think reader would appreciate a person who always makes sure that they eat, because they didn't have that as often in the program they were previously in.

I also really really really want to make Horror very disturbing and unapproachable, so it would make him and reader need their characters to develop for their relationship to actually bloom.

I also wanna see him do odd things, like grinding his teeth to a piercing shriek, or putting things in his skull to remember for later, and reader's reactions and approaches to them.

Sans/Papyrus and reader

Ah yes, they will be a joy to write.

Sans and reader's relationship will come from a place of mutual respect almost? While also blatantly disrespecting each other at the same time???

They dont really do much together, other than chill.

And in the small moments that they actually do things together, they don't actually talk much (in a serious way) at all.

Papyrus and reader start it off rocky a bit, because of the surface level reason for why she was adopted.

Papyrus tries to engage reader in activities that he likes, but every try leads to some kind of avoidance or lack of enthusiasm.

(insert sans threat here)

But after having a deep conversation with each other, they become the bestest of friends!

Payarus hypes up reader every chance he gets, and reader makes so many gifts for him that his ego just can't take it!

I feel like the three of them together would be so wholesome, whether it's Sans reading Papyrus and reader a bedtime story, or if they all go shopping together.

There's never a dull moment with these two!

Swapfell gold Sans and Papyrus

LET THEM BE WINE AUNT BESTIES PLESSSSS

LET THEM TALK SHIT ABOUT THEIR BROTHERS WHILE ABSOLUTELY LOVING THEM TO DEATH.

They always walk in the room stunning, Swapfell Sans won't ever let Paps walk in the room with rags while he's there.

Both of them enjoy those live-laugh-love type decorations at hobby lobby, and always decorate the house up like a doll.

They curse without actually cursing and it's so funny.

"AW CORNUTS!!"

"YOU BITTER HARLOT"

"Outrageously strong-stenched sinner."

"Papyrus I swear to all stars shining if you do not get your scraggly pelvis in this room your femur will cease to exist."

Mostly a crack dynamic, but that's what this fic is for.

Sans and Papyrus

A lot of this is half-personal and half-out-of-spite-in-the-fandom-because-i-hate-the-way-they-are-sometimes-portrayed-in-fanfiction.

Papyrus calls Sans "lazy" in a lighthearted way instead of actually believing as such. He knows that Sans could do many things, but he won't do them because of his mental health.

I like to think that since Papyrus has such great control over his magic, he's very much patient as well when it comes to people.

Especially Sans, because he of all people needs it the most.

Sans loves his brother, but not to a possessive extent. Yes, he will kill anyone and everyone for the coolest guy on Earth, but not without reason.

They take care of each other as much as they can actually.

They also have more complications other than "just keeping secrets". It's actually communication as a whole.

Something that I will not explain because it's a headcannon and not my story yet👍

Red and Sans

I feel like they'd be assholes together. That's all I need.

They probably make card houses out of boredom, but with packs of condiments.

They hate each other at first, but neither of them want to fight so it's passive aggressive comments between the two.

Imagine two Loona's (helluva boss) in one room. One emotionally stumped and the other too laid-back to do anything about it.

Suddenly the hostility goes away and everyone else is confused.

Very nice.

Fresh and Reader

Okay I admit this one is purely crack.

I need them to go to Chuckie Cheese and make fun of two year olds when they lose a game.

I want them to attack Karens in the parking lot with possessed furbies.

I want Fresh to scare reader with an ominous statement about her soul and go back to living life free.

LOOK INTO MY EYES!!!

I want reader to believe he's not real and only a part of the fever dreams she has since the world changed.

I NEED FRESH TO PLAY ALONG BC HE THINKS ITS FUNNY

Dream and Nightmare.

Most of these headcannons are inspired/from Ano (@/signanothername). So if my brain is rotted no it's not.

Their relationship is...complicated.

At first, they sabotage each other for fun and competition.

But next thing you know! They're full blown fighting, throwing jabs at each other physically and verbally.

Most people like to think that the two fight each other because they represent and protect different and opposite emotions.

But they fight because they are mentally teenagers, who are SIBLINGS<

It's very tiring to experience and be apart of, because you never know what the two will do in a room alone.

Coming from experience, when I would want my sibling to feel something that I was trying to get through to them, I would say something that hurts. Like really bad.

Dream and Nightmare remind each other of their past mistakes with aggressive and ingenuine kindness when no one's looking.

While Dream isn't an asshole per say, he just has a hard time keeping himself in check around Nightmare. Other than that he's the kindest soul.

Nightmare is an asshole, but he doesn't make any move to "confront" Dream or make a meaningful conversation with him. He still has regrets and animosities from the past, but won't intentionally heal from that.

^^These all will contribute to main plot and subplot. Nothing will be completely resolved, but each relationship will be expressed with more realistic situations rather than "they feel this way because everyone else says so." (cough cough fandom cough cough)

Every other dynamic like Reader and Gaster, or Star/Bad Sanses will be explored as well- those are just the main ones I'm excited for. Of course, I cant fit them all in (because it'll just be run-on words with no actual plot), but I can try to give everyone a situation where they can interact with each other.

Unfortunately, Swapfell Gold won't be in this story at all- only Horrortale and Underfell and the usual multiverse deities. I may not be able to fit them in one fic, but I can make side content and my own fanart to satisfy myself. (WHY WONT MY BLORBOS FIT IN!!!)

Sans

Sans actually does sleep in my au, probably too much really. He uses it as a means of escape because it's hard for him to come to terms with "no more resets"

Frisk isn't the same anymore, and throughout the story he'll get more and more paranoid.

Sans will trip Gaster any chance that he's given.

I like to headcannon that Sans doesn't have an obsession with ketchup, and it's moreso "gasp! the ketchup guy!" type thing. I also like to believe that the only reason why he can drink so much ketchup like that is because of people's reactions.

Sans is a comedian at heart, so he will do/say most things that people consider outrageous; hence the ketchup thing.

I like to think that he only pursued physics because of his dad, rather than mathematics like he initially wanted to do.

Sans hates slime and the grease it leaves on his phalanges as well as the sound it gives off.

He'd probably bring ketchup popsicles to the function.

Papyrus

Imagine that he can 'port' as well, leaving Gaster the only one who cannot. He just doesn't do it because the "void" makes him uncomfortable.

You could call him the "emotionally intelligent one" despite him not understanding a goddamn thing. He's just good at solving problems with patience.

He can see how someone feels, but he won't use that to read the room and understand what to do and what not to do.

He doesn't understand some social rules, like "comparing yourself to others for competition" and "tips for a cup of coffee"

It's confusing he thinks. Which can also lead him to misreading someone's emotions.

If you open up his closet there's a trick wall in it. And behind it, there's a dart board with Gaster's face on it. He's still mad at him, but won't let it show as to keep the family as peaceful as possible.

Sometimes when he's out with Sans, Papyrus would grab him and hold him under his arm and just carry him like that.

He is actually a pretty decent cook. And Sans doesn't lie to him about that.

Gaster

He actually falls when Sans trips him. It's funny as hell.

Since we don't know much about Gaster, this personality is kind of all over the place.

As I've stated before, he is morally ambiguous, and is comfortable with justifying things that seem wrong to most people.

Like cutting holes in his hands to get children instead of getting a wife.

On the other hand, he finds most arguments that humans have tedious, annoying, and easily solvable.

Or testing on a subject's soul who's figured out how to reset time itself instead of asking various questions.

He probably takes the top off of muffins and puts them back in just to spite Sans.

He loves his sons, but doesn't have a way to show them without making them feel awkward.

Despite him being open minded on human affairs, he can be very closed-minded when it comes to new things like routine, emotional intelligence, and boundaries.

Reader

Reader believes that the only reason why she was adopted is because Sans wasn't okay. Like she was supposed to "fix" him in some way, and kind of resents Papyrus because of that.

She's just a kid! How are they gonna help a stinky blob of depression?

Otherwise, it's probably the best they've ever lived.

When there's chaos, reader will remind Sans how "good" they're being and expect a reward when it's over.

She stims by rubbing her knuckles vertically across the joint of her arm (like me, tehe), and picks at her hangnails when she's under stress (also like me).

Granted, she doesn't remember memories from when her parents were alive, but right now she feels like she's in a place where she belongs. Like people actually want them.

Reader grew up in a place where they were older than everyone else, so they were immediately dubbed "older sibling".

Despite the wholesome sentiment, the way those kids would treat her would be toxic, but a small part of her still misses them.

Cannot match clothes to save her life (she walks out the door looking horrendous AFTER Papyrus gave her an outfit-)

She's fine with it though, "No aesthetic can fit me anyway."

Okay I'm done y'all, sorry for putting you through that torture.

I don't think you guys understand how long I want this fanfiction to be. Like bro IM PLANNING CHAPTERS NOW. I know I was trashing on the "fandom", but do know that whatever opinion you have is fine with me. I just have different ones and I prefer to express that through writing rather than arguing/causing mess.

And reminder: THESE.ARE.HEADCANNONS. If you agree, that's fine, if you don't that's also fine. But please do not come to my comments with your fists up. I'd rather discuss more headcannons for variety/diversity rather than claiming that a character can only be represented in one way. Thank you for coming to my TED Talk :))

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა tags: @kittykittyanon @bonefanatic @oleander-nin @towomatos @thealphagirl

૮₍˶• .•⑅₎ა@ziipzeepzop-eez @wheezdostuff @spongejuice @cyb3r-st4r @matteo-hamato

@clown-froggi @acesgarden

if you would like to be added, check my blog. if you would like to be added, check my blog. SEE? I SAID IT TWICE!!

[canon-vi]

буги боги убоги- [boogie gods are wretched-]

finally remade the baby to fit the canon (but still, instead of touching, she kills with kisses!)-

everything that does not concern what has been changed remains canon for this menace on little legs

Name: Shelki

Age: 5-6

Height: 148

--------------------------🐲--------------------------

°

Well... Only in the good and surprise endings exist ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

°

Goth died, no clone, Goth is dead for good

°

She sees something, so she doesn't count as completely blind ☝🤓

She sees the outline, a faded reddish outline of organic matter (what's alive, dogs, flowers and all that), she sees souls more clearly, but also only their outlines

°

"Mom, I'll take care of the socks myself!"

Or why is it that this crazy little girl is 99.9% sure to have different socks

°

Tries to avoid everyone from Dream's family, even just family friends, like Merciless and Crescent because of Reaper's stories about who killed Goth, and it doesn't matter that the game is over

°

She loves the company of the dead more than the living, the dead have many interesting stories that they could have lived, or seen already wandering as souls

°

"Freckles - a kiss from the Sun", in general, she has them for another reason, namely because of the increased production of melanin, but no one can forbid someone to joke about her freckles, by the way, Shelki likes such phrase

°

2 pairs of charming, so far without feathers, fluffy wings :3

--------------------------🐲--------------------------

Sun:

Daddy doesn't like him, but I think Uncle is really funny and cool! He told me about some evil goddess and my sister Goth, using them as an example of what happens to those who go against the rules, but I'm a smart and good girl, I have nothing to be afraid of!

Moon:

Auntie Moony is very nice, and her voice is even better than Mom's! Although who could be better than Mom? Auntie told me that that guy, Pallete, is not so bad, as are his friends and family, but I still will not treat them better! I don't like them all!

Death:

The best and most wonderful man! Forgive me, Uncle Sun, but Dad will always and forever be my number 1! He is very caring, though it's a shame that he can't touch anyone except me and Mom

Life:

I don't really like Aunt Eva... People don't speak very well of her and she speaks sharply and rudely, I like spending time with Aunt Moony more

Geno:

Mom is the best and most beautiful, and mom is my mom, which means I'm beautiful too! I really like it when mom braids my hair, she also helps me with clothes, it was mom who helped me find this dragon-shaped cloak!

Nim, Lanny, Qwerty- Quetzalcoatl and Xolotl:

I don't usually spend time with them, but listening to their conversations is very interesting, they have so many stories about how they met, how they became friends, how they met the first man, what empires they had and other such wonders!

Cross:

Oh! Oh! That baker! I love his peach pies! I would sit there for days if it weren't for some unpleasant people!

e.l.a by @anotherrosesthatfell

[reallysaneguy]

So I have a Spider-Noir AU and I think it's pretty swell

so basically. yeah. Uhm. Well. So first off, I would like to mention that I was, in fact, in a manic episode when I got the idea. so you cant be mean to me. Look, I know this sounds crazy guys but PLEASE IT'S MY EVERYTHING

He's always been a really mad character. the first thing he did after getting his powers is go to kill goblin. So I figured, lets amp it up by 100. So now, unintentionally, I made him a mix of Punisher and Jigsaw. But he's cooler and more interesting because... uh... he's him? Yeah.

If you couldn't tell by the beautiful graphic, massive trigger warning. this gets graphic. like, REALLY gorey graphic. I don't know why nor how I got these ideas. but yeah. warning for that. No visuals, though

To start off, SCREW THE 2020 NOIR COMICS. THOSE ARE NOT HIM!!! THOSE ARE SO NOT HIM!!! THOSE ARE FAN SERVICE!!!! I am the fan though. That one panel with his double Ds is, in fact, my lockscreen. BUT THATS NOT THE POINT!!! the point is, it's a continuation of the 2009 comics. actually, it continues after Spider-Geddon. Because 2 can play the back from the dead game. Since it's a continuation, I beg of you to please read his comics. please. please oh my god they're so good. like oh my god. I have made a google slideshow about them. guys they are so full of tiny details I gen can't

So he's back after dying. I figured it can be the same way as the canon one. I'm not that creative. OBVIOUSLY some other canon parts have been changed, too. I'm bringing characters who def could have survived back, hence the ability to eat vulture back. which. is what we're doing. well, what he's doing. uhm.

Anyways, he's back from the dead. He rushes home to Aunt May just wanting a hug from her after everything he just went through. Unfortunately, when she sees him (after the initial disbelief) she looks at him with nothing but disgust for him.

So now he's homeless. But he has a cat. Because adding Ding-Ding was such an amazing move in the 2020 comics. So he basically just lives with this cat. He does, eventually, become a PI with his own little abode. Don't ask for more details. I don't know.

Well. Uhm. GUYS I'M SORRY. I HAD TO DO IT. I COULDN'T THINK OF A BETTER REASON TO LOSE YOUR SANITY. GUYS PLEASE I'M SO SORRY. IF YOU ARE ON TIKTOK, YOU MIGHT HAVE SEEN SOMETHING WITH IT, AND YOU BLAMED IT ON BENNY BOY. I'M SORRY. I'M THE ONE WHO DID IT. HE JUST DREW IT.

I killed the cat. Precious Ding-a-Ling is dead.

So he snaps. He's officially lost everything. Aunt May disowned him, Robbie is Robbie, and as of right now MJ is back to war or something. idk. maybe she can be dead too. yeah. MJ is also dead. THE POINT IS, HE HAS NOTHING NOW.

And now, the only thing that brings him any emotion, is after killing a bad person. So he hunts them down. It's like a drug. He has nothing left, so why not? It's not like he can die. At least he's helping people. But after a while, it's just not enough. These people deserve more than an easy way out. He slowly becomes more and more sadistic.

This is where the Vulture comes back. Who else is still alive? Goblin, Montana, Ox, Doc Ock, Shocker, and Mysterio. And since I was bored, Jonah and Felicia are part of this too. Yeah.

One of my beautiful (really shitty) drawings is based off "an eye for an eye", because that's what this is. Revenge. So here's some outcomes for those guys!

The Vulture: Blood eagle (because he needs wings, duh) and also eaten. He's also! Alive! yeah. Our silly guy knows anatomy. He knows what he can and can't do. (I watched midsommar)

The Goblin: His greatest fear is being locked up in a cage and mocked. So he's kept in a cage. And Since he always had others do his dirty work, it's his turn. He's gotta help clean up and help torture. Also, he's being experimented on. Because once again, Peter Parker is Peter Parker, and he is a nerd

Doc Ock: I originally was going to lobotomize him, but that's BORING!!! So he is now Swiss cheese. yeah. lots of holes drilled into him.

Shocker: Bennett actually came up with this one; electric chair, but he has to power it himself.

Mysterio: White room.

Uhm. I do have more, but this is already long and I don't want to bore you guys if you've read all this for some reason. But thank you if you did! I've actually worked really hard on this entire thing. There's a lot to it. So I hope you enjoyed this???