#is almost like the sets themselves have those characteristics

[asinasura]

i plan on makeing a silly comic thing based on sb...... here are the two main protags i have in mind

i had shown these to some discord fellas and they seem hype .. i plan on making it kinda slice-of-life + idrk what they’re expecting from me ;; uh oh

[skufdaddyswansea]

Jimmy and Swansea at Their Worst

The crash of the Tulpar sees Jimmy thrust into a leadership role for which he was hopelessly unprepared, and in the months that follow, his chain of poor decisions leads to dire consequences for all those aboard, himself included. But he wasn't alone in that marathon to rock bottom. If we follow his footsteps downward, we'll find Swansea's right there next to his.

At the surface level, the two already have a lot in common. They're both brash to the point of rudeness, openly dissatisfied with their lives, and have short fuses.

Notably, Swansea can also be overly critical of Anya.

...But, to be fair to him, he's like that with everyone.

When they really start to converge is after the crash. Looking at Swansea's relationship with Daisuke, it's almost a microcosm of Jimmy's relationship with the crew. While he initially makes an effort to do the right thing, he inevitably gives in to his worst impulses and fails. In Swansea's case, he falls off the wagon. This may look like only a personal weakness, especially compared to Jimmy's more outwardly destructive behaviour. But in his position, even the harm he does to himself reflects outward.

Daisuke is the only other member of the Tulpar that we see "indulging" in the mouthwash. Swansea has no idea that he's sprawled on the floor, sick on dental hygiene products, devoid of his characteristic cheer. If he did know, what could he even say? After all, Daisuke was only following his example.

Later on, Swansea's alcoholism prevents him from protecting Daisuke in a much more literal sense.

All his secrecy and isolation were for nothing.

One of the major reasons he withdrew from Daisuke was because Daisuke was much too naive to hide the cryopods from the others; he probably never would have accepted that everyone else would have to die for him to survive. Swansea took extreme measures to guard the Utility room from Jimmy, all to protect Daisuke. But in doing so, he gave Jimmy the perfect opportunity to take advantage of those very traits he wanted to protect.

In this moment, both Swansea and Jimmy fail Daisuke. They both let their weakness blind themselves to danger. And they both realize their mistakes far too late to save anyone.

But it's through this ugly truth that Swansea is able to break off from their path. With the last of his hope gone, he can do what Jimmy can't: he accepts it. And he does what he knows is right, even if it breaks him to do so.

I think Swansea also sees some part of himself in Jimmy. Maybe even what he could have been if he didn't fight so hard against his demons. That's why in his final act, he tries one last time to get through to him. It was too late to make things right with his kids, or for Daisuke. Or even himself.

Of course, he knew it was futile. Jimmy was never going to listen. Because what really set them apart in the end was irreconcilable; the gulf between them was shaped by their ideals.

Swansea wanted to be a better man. Jimmy wanted to be a hero.

[yrotic11]

Having generational planets in the 4th house could mean your house is haunted/you might’ve lived in a haunted house at least once in your life☠️OR you’re attracted to haunted homes

Generational planets are: Pluto, Uranus, Neptune.

PLUTO

Pluto- the literal under world. Silent hill vibes. The spirits that come to your home may be doing so after having days months years or even decades of treading the earth likely not even realizing they’re actually dead. They go to your home to meet hades to pass into the underworld after much time of unrest. You won’t literally see it (or maybe you could idk) but that’s what’s going on in the unseen side. Spirits come to REST at your house..probably not peacefully but more so necessarily. It can take on Uranus like characteristics where…in the most extreme cases the spirits in your house might mark on your walls /note on paper with threatening messages because their spirit is not at peace and they feel the need to torment you as a result. This is very general of course and for a specific set of people BUT generally speaking spirits will and DO pass through your house. The traumatized kind, the dark figure looking kinds. The perhaps maybe even evil kinds. … a very traumatic event likely happened on the property you grew up in before you came and lived in it and the energy just stayed there. Or you’re prone to harboring your home spaces in places like that without you even knowing. You might live near a cemetery with this Pluto house placement too . Pluto is the higher octave of mars so those violent threatening spirits are possible but are not limited to. Traumatized spirits might find solace in your presence.

NEPTUNE

Neptune- very hazy dreamy and spirits galore. Your home might literally calm spirits. In the flesh and out. So in real life humans can also even feel like they can wind right down to the core of their soul when they enter your house. It has a pixie spiritual vibe to it. I won’t say more “lighter” entities come to your house ;Neptune is more classical spirit related energy so anything is possible but normal regular spirits are more common than the more darker crazy kinds like Pluto—- but those Plutonian coated spirits will only come about if YOU actually make the effort to bring them in like say a ritual or something. But you’re more likely to have normal spirits/spirts of any kinds. And spirits like angels etc honestly anything. Neptune is the higher octave of Venus very endearing spirits may find themselves in your home.

URANUS

Uranus- the literal extraterrestrial. Home is likely very unique the spirits you attract in your house are also unique probably more chaotic/ won’t be afraid to throw a plate across the house/ play on a piano and open your water faucet or open your doors in more extreme cases. There’s an almost unRested air to your house ,spirits in limbo might find themselves in your house while they try and figure out where the hell theyre at and why. Crazy things. I just heard psyche ward 😭😭maybe? The type of spirits that come to your house were psyche ward patients. Or Your 1st couple of years of life(inside your home) was very chaotic and unstable. Maybe had a lot of people passing in and out weather to crash out or like your parents offered them a place to live because they had no where else to go. You may even be that type of friend lmao. Might attract unstable people in your home/what you call a home is unstable. The fae is also possible here I feel like this Uranus house placement is more likely to experience spirits possessing their items and moving said item. Regardless the spirits are probably kind of crazy & maybe even very smart . Uranus is the higher octave of mercury so Einstein type spirits could find themselves in your home or as I said, the fae and may want to experiment how being a spirit is like with the items in your home🤣, like for example that water foucet example I gave earlier lol. You may also have spirits around you who want to teach you about how it is on the other side and help you understand the metaphysics.

[linguisticparadox]

Dr. Kemp's introduction is really fascinating to me, because it sets up not only his personality but also his function in the novel.

A couple of weeks ago, we had his thoughts at seeing Marvel running through the village: '“Another of those fools,” said Dr. Kemp. “Like that ass who ran into me this morning round a corner, with the ‘’Visible Man a-coming, sir!’ I can’t imagine what possesses people. One might think we were in the thirteenth century.”' These are his first words in the book, and they serve as an excellent sum-up of who he is and how he sees the world.

And so far, we might almost agree with him: although we know the Invisible Man is real, the whole story so far has read like a madcap slapstick comedy. Even Marvel, the Invisible Man's special victim, has been portrayed as a silly and rather stupid man in a silly and rather stupid situation, the stuff of modern-day sitcoms.

But then we get a sudden glimpse of the horror of Marvel's situation, and simultaneously we see that Kemp is judging at a distance, and so misjudging: "But those who saw the fugitive nearer, and perceived the abject terror on his perspiring face, being themselves in the open roadway, did not share in the doctor’s contempt." The more perceptive among us might cringe to think of our own reactions to everything that has happened to Marvel so far (and not to spoil anything, but later we will come to feel similarly about the Invisible Man, who so far has mostly just come off as kind of an asshole).

The narrative continues to paint Kemp as a rational man of science, who considers himself superior to the common rabble, with little tidbits thrown in here and there.

This week, he hears shots go off, and seems (or at least pretends) to dismiss them as nonsense, saying, “Who’s letting off revolvers in Burdock? What are the asses at now?” After that, he looks out the window and sees a crowd, which he watches for a few minutes, "during which his mind had travelled into a remote speculation of social conditions of the future." Based on his characterization up to now, we can assume he views this future with rather haughty scorn--"this country is going down the toilet, look at all these idiots," and so on.

Of course, he's more rattled than he seems, especially after the doorbell rings for seemingly no reason. But he manages to lose himself in his work again until the small hours of the morning.

Now, it only comes through in some parts, but the whole narrative is subtly framed as being told by a limited pov third person, who has evidently gathered together news articles and interviews with the various witnesses. We get only a peek at it here, with the line: "Dr. Kemp’s scientific pursuits have made him a very observant man, and as he recrossed the hall, he noticed a dark spot on the linoleum near the mat at the foot of the stairs." The tense at the start of the sentence suggests the image of Dr. Kemp sitting and telling his story, throwing in a moment of preening over his education and scientific prowess. These traits continue to receive attention with lines like "Dr. Kemp was no believer in voices"; and when we are told, "All men, however highly educated, retain some superstitious inklings," we can easily imagine Dr. Kemp rushing to defend his seemingly irrational thoughts to his interviewer.

In short, H.G. Wells tells us, plainly and repeatedly (though with a deft subtlety beneath his compact and engaging prose which characterizes his writing generally), that Dr. Kemp is highly educated, rational and scientific, and that he feels these characteristics place him above the common people.

And this, I think, is a gorgeous setup of Kemp's role in the narrative: to establish that education and rationality do not shield one from falling in with mob mentality and being complicit in the persecution of The Other.* Up to this point, we have had only comic scenes of the Invisible Man causing mayhem and blunt confusion among the simple-minded, straightforward but unimaginative denizens of small towns, the sort of people who needle a man for explanations, not to satisfy any real curiosity, but to gather fodder for gossip and win esteem in their social circles, and who consider it a grave insult when that man, a newcomer wrapped in bandages who just wants to be left alone, denies it to them.

But now, as if to head off any potential feelings of class-based superiority in the (necessarily literate, if not highly educated) audience, we have a well-educated, rational man, who considers himself Above All of That, and who views the situation exactly as we have been led to view it ourselves.

And this man, a stand-in for the rational, high-class, superior-feeling people in the audience, is immediately proven to be wrong. He misjudged the situation because he has only seen it from a distance: and the parallel with the readers, who are learning the story from a fairly removed narrative distance, ought to give us all pause.

*For the record, I think Marvel fits the bill as The Other, or ought to, as he is a homeless drifter. Certainly the Invisible Man expects to have sympathy from him on this basis! Unfortunately for him, Marvel in fact turns out to be much more comfortable among the "locals" than one might assume; and yet, in demanding his aid, the Invisible Man actually isolates and others him from his fellows, so that it becomes a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy. But that's a topic for another paper essay rant entirely.

[kimosims]

Upon returning home, Violet and Primrose moved about each other with a peculiar hesitance. The unspoken tension lingered, as neither sister dared broach what had transpired at their godmother's residence. Primrose, cloaked in her own shame, hadn’t found the courage to apologize, and Violet, for her part, had no desire to stir the embers of that memory. She herself wasn’t certain how to proceed with her sister, yet there was a quiet urgency within her—a longing for normalcy, even if the old, easy familiarity had been irrevocably altered.

Florence, ever the gentle-hearted mother, noticed the change in the air between her daughters almost instantly. Always attuned to the delicate rhythms of her family, she sought Violet out, hoping to understand what lay beneath the surface. She approached her eldest with her characteristic warmth, setting the conversation on the pretense of curiosity about the weekend, her eyes alight with a subtle but unmistakable spark of concern.

“So,” Florence began softly, settling beside Violet with a gentle smile to brush her hair at night, “how was your weekend, my dear?”

Violet’s response was cautious, as if she were picking her way through a field of nettles. “It was… fine,” she replied, her tone carefully neutral. “Nothing out of the ordinary.”

Florence tilted her head, a slight, knowing sound escaping her lips. “Hmmm,” she murmured, the sound thick with implication while her fingers ran through her daughter's hair. “My girls are growing up so quickly… Just one weekend away, and they return so different. Being a mother is a curious thing; it feels like I must get to know new versions of you every day.”

Violet paused, caught off guard. She hadn’t thought of it that way, but her mother’s words resonated. “I suppose… I do feel like a new version of myself.”

Florence nodded, sensing an opening. “And that’s perfectly natural,” she encouraged, reaching for Violet’s hand. “You are meant to grow, to change. But sometimes, those shifts can bring us to unexpected places… even with those we love most.” Her voice was gentle but nudging, encouraging Violet to go deeper.

Violet hesitated, then began, almost as if confessing to herself, “Perhaps… perhaps I don’t want things to go back to how they were. I don’t want to keep reshaping myself just to fit into what’s comfortable for Primrose.”

Florence squeezed her hand, a soft sigh escaping her lips. “Your sister… well, she’s very assertive. She can be a bit challenging to navigate, can’t she?”

“A bit?” Violet scoffed, a flicker of a smile crossing her face despite herself.

Florence chuckled, ignoring the jest, her gaze tender and steady. “She never means harm, though. She simply doesn’t have the same grasp on herself that you do—she’s still discovering how she feels and who she is. We all move at our own pace, and sometimes… well, sometimes we can be hard to live with.” She paused, a distant, almost wistful look softening her features. “But think of all the good moments you’ve shared, all the laughter and secrets.”

Violet’s expression softened, though a trace of reluctance lingered. “I suppose.”

“Don’t close this door between you two, my dear,” Florence urged. “Sometimes, a small misunderstanding grows into something far larger than it needs to be.”

Violet carried her mother’s words with her, like a gentle warmth nestled somewhere in her heart. But thinking was far easier than acting. In the days that followed, the space between her and Primrose seemed to widen with each passing moment, stretched by silent pride and unspoken shame. Primrose began bringing more friends to the house, filling the space with voices and laughter, yet when the two sisters found themselves in the same room, it was as if they inhabited separate worlds.

Florence and Albert watched from the sidelines, sensing that their daughters needed room to grow into themselves. They chose not to interfere, hoping that time would soften the tension.

Primrose, meanwhile, threw herself into her pursuits with a fervor that bordered on desperation, as if driven by an invisible specter whispering that she was not enough. Like Violet, she carried words in her heart—Georgina’s pointed admonitions that echoed in her thoughts. But escaping the fear of being left behind, of being found lacking, proved much harder than clinging to the notion of triumph. Her need to prove herself sharpened her edges, and she was determined to emerge victorious from whatever imagined race she was running.

Still, Primrose attempted small gestures of reconciliation, but Violet found herself recoiling, her patience worn thin. Habits that she once overlooked now stirred irritation, the smallest of Primrose’s quirks igniting sparks of frustration within her. Primrose would tease her, for instance, about her dedication to learning Windenburgian.

“Oh, all that studying for a boy you’ll likely never see again?” Primrose would say with a laugh, her words tinged with a lightness that Violet found anything but amusing.

Perhaps, Violet mused, her mother was right. Perhaps Primrose didn’t mean any harm. But why should she, Violet thought bitterly, bear the burden of such immaturity, simply because fate had woven their lives together?

And so, the days drifted by, each one adding another layer of polite distance between them, until a new, tentative normal settled over the Darlington household, fragile yet persistent, like a thin layer of frost waiting to be thawed by a gentler season.

[espionn]

ThunderClan Headcanons!

what this is: i have a personal warriors alternate universe, in which most of the clan systems are the same, but all the characters are original. i've called this au "a cult of stars", as it exists partly to explore the inherent corruption and cultiness of the clans as i see it. but none of that is important for this post!

this the seond in a series of visual and written representations of each clan as they exist in my au. this goes into a lot of headcanon territory, but basically i hope to take the existing clans and make them more interesting, diverse and culturally complex. this one is about thunderclan! i hope you enjoy :)

Environment: ThunderClan resides in the dense temperate forest on the West side of the lake. It is bordered by WindClan to the North and SkyClan to the East. The territory is laden with deciduous trees (oaks, maples, elms), with thick undergrowth occasionally interrupted by cliffy and rocky terrain, especially around their camp.

Appearance: ThunderClan cats, typically, are large, brawny and boldly colored. They are the clan with the most ginger and tortoiseshell cats, and they generally hold the most diversity in pelt color, with the only unusual color being black. In particular, ThunderClan finds big, long-furred, bright-colored cats the most desirable, especially those with thick fur around their necks and chests, which is often likened to a lion’s mane.

Prey and Hunting: There is a wide variety of prey options within the forest: squirrels, rodents like mice and voles, rabbits, and many types of small birds, from blackbirds to robins, are all common in ThunderClan’s fresh-kill pile. These cats typically hunt by stalking, often in groups utilizing team strategies. They also, as a benefit to their bulkiness, can often use brute force when needed, including the ability to chase birds and squirrels up their own trees.

Fighting: ThunderClan cats are defensive fighters, prioritizing the safety of their camp over victory in their battles. They are, however, impressive fighters, heavier and stronger than most other cats and very tough on top of that. On principle, though, they prefer to use their strength to de-escalate fights rather than kill or damage their opponents, when at all possible. They are not as numerous as WindClan or even RiverClan, but they don’t need to be.

Cultural Characteristics: ThunderClan has a reputation for being loud, brash, opinionated and nosy. They prefer to think of themselves as confident, outspoken, honest and concerned with the unity of the clans. ThunderClan believes strongly (and they never believe anything weakly) that it is essential for the five clans to live harmoniously. They do not hold as high a regard for authority as several other clans, and they are not afraid to speak their minds openly, to their own clanmates and to others. They do not follow StarClan and the Warrior Code with as much reverence as others, preferring to follow their own set of morals. Their approach is sometimes seen as disrespectful, and these accusations aren’t soothed when ThunderClan cats respond with disregard.

This clan values age and wisdom to an almost surprising degree. Though they aren’t afraid to speak up to authority, young ThunderClan cats tend to more often hold their tongues when an elder or senior warrior speaks to them. For this exact reason, ThunderClan is the only clan that has an official Council, which consists of the leader, deputy, elders, certain respected senior warriors, and sometimes the medicine cat. The purpose of this Council is to advise the leader on new decisions, and hold discussions about what is best for the clan, especially in times of conflict. If outside warriors have any concerns with how the clan is being run, they will usually speak to a Council member first, and that cat will pass it on to the leader during a meeting.

One interesting piece of ThunderClan culture is in regards to claws. Cats’ claws grow infinitely, in layers, which they shed off while scratching things; each time they shed an old layer of claw, the new layer underneath is sharper than before. In ThunderClan, claws are deeply symbolic of strength, courage and ferocity. As a result, claw-shedding is often seen as a good omen or a sign of growth. For instance, if an apprentice sheds a claw right before an assessment, they will take it as a good luck charm and a sign that the assessment will go well. In a similar vein, wrenching a claw - painfully pulling or twisting it on something - is seen as a wound to one’s pride moreso than one’s body. If a cat were to lose a claw altogether, in battle or elsewhere, it would be seen as the injury of a fierce warrior, an eternal mark of courage and sacrifice.

Sleep/Wake Cycle: ThunderClan cats are crepuscular; typically, they tend to sleep when the sun and moon are highest, and wake at dawn and dusk. That being said, these cats are not strict about sleeping patterns. As long as they are on time for their patrols and important duties, there is no judgment in taking a short nap during the waking time or staying up a bit while the rest of the clan is asleep. Eating is also not restricted or monitored; cats can eat whenever they want, and usually there isn’t much concern about any clan member taking more than their fair share. Eating prey before bringing it to camp, for instance, is discouraged, but the rule isn’t strictly enforced. (Especially when compared to a clan like WindClan, which would label this as theft and deem it as a high crime.)

Training: Being a moderately-sized clan, there are often two or more litters of kits in the nursery at any given time. When at all possible, kits are made apprentices in large groups, where they are most likely not exactly six moons old. Kits may become apprentices as early as 4 moons or as late as 8, based on other kits near their own age. This is done to make the process more convenient for mentors, who can rely on their entire group of fellow mentors throughout their mentorship, and also for the apprentices, who grow to bond with their group of similarly-aged cats. These apprentice groups are referred to as “generations”, and cats will often remain friends with the others in their generation throughout their entire life. As for mentorship, mentors are usually made upon request; when a cat wishes to be a mentor, sometimes specifically to a particular kit, they will approach the leader or deputy themselves and ask to be one. Because of this system, there are several cats in the clan that have mentored nearly every generation, and discovered a passion for teaching. These cats can then give advice to newer or less certain mentors, and training is a lesson for them as much as it is for their apprentices.

Families and Relationships: Relationships, romantic and otherwise, are an important aspect of ThunderClan life. In particular, sibling bonds in ThunderClan run deep and strong. Cats grow up with and live alongside their littermates for almost their entire lives, and tend to place family before friends. That said, ThunderClan friendships can also be extremely close, and so can romantic relationships. Most ThunderClan cats do end up with a mate, though it isn’t a social expectation the way it may be in SkyClan, for example. Cats who don’t take mates aren’t seen as odd and usually aren’t questioned on the matter. ThunderClan is also looser than most on medicine cats taking mates, and on relationships that may seem unusual in other clans (particularly polyamorous or open relationships).

Names: ThunderClan cares a lot about individuality, and they see names as an extension of one’s identity. Therefore, names are very important to them, and names in ThunderClan tend to be very unique and are usually reflective of more than just appearance. Leaders tend to avoid “-fur”, “-pelt”, and other appearance-based suffixes unless they are uniquely fitting or they have been asked specifically for that name. (It is common practice for apprentices to go to their leader and ask specifically for a certain suffix if they feel strongly.) Common name inspirations are personality/demeanor, achievements, strengths and abilities, and sometimes family members, mentors or other important cats in their lives (legacy naming). Just about anything they know exists, especially that which can be found in their territory, is fair game for names.

Funeral Rituals: When a cat dies, their family and friends will hold a vigil for them in camp, during which they may speak, tell stories, or simply sit in silence. Then, their direct family members, or closest friends, will carry their body to whatever site they believe they would want to be buried at; sometimes cats will discuss this before their deaths, but sometimes they’ll leave it up to their clanmates. They are then buried, partly under dirt and partly under natural foliage and branches. Usually they will spend a part of the next day together, celebrating the deceased cat’s life, accomplishments and legacy; this part of mourning is much more joyous.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

A couple of days ago I wrote up a rough essay highlighting some passing similarities between the characters of Miquella in Elden Ring and Ralsei in Deltarune (read here if you'd like!), and how their shared affinities to childhood and dreams might inform the latter's character and serve to "compel" the affection of the players to one end or another.

I have had additional thoughts on the subject of Ralsei and his associations with childlike characteristics, which I would also like to share.

This may be another long one, so under the Read More it goes!

If you have read my previous post on the subject, you'll know that I drew up all the different ways that Ralsei displays or embodies the concept of childhood and infancy in his character design and personality. But one idea I failed to touch upon, which more closely links Ralsei to his dark kingdom, is that of play. Exploring the connection between the make-believe-esque natures of the dark worlds, and Ralsei's position as their prince, has yielded up some interesting insights which I would like to share with you all.

I think it would be a good idea to define what is meant by the term "play" here. The most obvious definition is as an activity which is undertaken for pleasure or recreation, as opposed to more practical concerns. But there's also believed to be an evolutionary component to play, as a way for children to learn more about themselves, their peers and the wider world in a safe and controlled environment. Children at play often imitate the behaviours and rituals of the adults around them, like cooking, socialising, working at jobs, and even the more performative aspects of romance and child-rearing (which we shall return to in a moment). Of course, play can also incorporate more fantastical elements, such as the plots and settings of movies, TV shows, comic books and video games, as well as larger-than-life concepts such as outer space, ancient history and human cultures of all stripes. To enhance the experience, participants can be assigned various roles to perform, with the aid of props that can be fashioned from all kinds of mundane objects lying around. From these building blocks, new narratives are constructed and played out, power roles are tried on and tested, and through the actions and reactions of their peers, children can learn how to get along with each other and forge stronger bonds.

And so we come to the Dark Worlds, the settings where much of Deltarune's core gameplay takes place. I'm certain you would have already begun to see how the above elements of play translate onto them. We have fantastical settings and plots - a sprawling kingdom in the first chapter and a towering megacity in the second; roles are conferred upon their participants to contextualise their journeys through those spaces; mundane objects become weapons, armour, provisions and even additional characters; and in their concluding moments the participants learn more about each other and are brought closer together as friends. This reaffirms the idea that dark worlds are glorified versions of make-believe, albeit with a clearly supernatural aspect that literally brings the fantasy aspects to life.

You can also see how this relates to Ralsei himself - as someone who has experienced almost nothing aside from his small and empty kingdom, it is through his experiences with Kris, Susie and Lancer that he begins to attain a greater understanding of the world and how it works, the people he calls his friends, the broader concepts of friendship and love, and even of his own sense of self. In many ways, he is a literal child at play, and in this context his more childlike attributes make sense.

And yet, in what might seem paradoxical, Ralsei is fairly mature and grown-up for what we might call an emobdiment of the notion of play. For one thing, he is the one that orchestrates and directs how the dark world games are played - he sets the terms under which the adventures are conducted. He casts Kris, Susie and himself as the Three Heroes, charged with the exploration and closure of new dark kingdoms; he offers guidance on how the game's mechanics work - which conveniently overlaps with teaching new players of Deltarune how to play; he is the one to offer suggestions on where to go and what to do; and he does this all in the service of ensuring the game that's being played is as fun, engaging and rewarding for the lightners as possible. There is an argument to be made on whether the Prophecy hamstrings Ralsei's ability to act, or is otherwise directing him in one way or another, but his conduct is a far cry from how we would expect a young, impulsive and easily-distracted child from performing in such a role.

Perhaps the most telling thing about Ralsei's maturity is that he is very insistent on when these adventures must come to an end. What we see of the dark worlds are finite, tightly-designed narrative experiences, though there is evidence of much more sprawling and unordered segments of these kingdoms that we are not permitted to access. Each one ends with Kris/us sealing the dark fountain away and restoring the room back to its light world arrangement. And when a threat to that finite experience presents itself, as Berdly is about to open another dark fountain in Chapter 2, Ralsei uncharacteristically snaps at him, telling the lightners that such thoughtless actions will bring about the Roaring, an event of apocalyptic proportions that will put an end to the dark worlds and their denizens once and for all.

Thus, Ralsei seems to occupy this strange, almost liminal space between childhood (learning about himself, his friends and the world through play) and adulthood (orchestrating and contextualising these play sessions, ensuring that the rules are understood and upheld, and that play ends at an appropriate moment in time). As to what this points to? Perhaps it is meant to convey that Ralsei is himself the embodiment of regulated, purposeful play - play which provides social, educational and emotional benefits to its participants - while the Roaring and the Titans might represent a notion of unregulated, self-indulgent play that is dictated by impulse and feelings, without any guiding hand to ensure that things do not run out of control, or that nobody gets seriously hurt.

And that's where my thoughts on this subject have landed so far! There's not really a point I was trying to make, just exploring a theme that I found interesting and may hold some clues about Deltarune's narrative and Ralsei's place in it. If I have additional thoughts I may regurgitate them here in a similar fashion, but otherwise, that's it for now! Thanks for taking the time to read :)

[where-i-overanalyze]

Black☆Star and Tsubaki as perfect opposites

i made a post a while back talking about the lack of parents in Soul Eater, and in that i had a realization that Black☆Star and Tsubaki have very similar backstories conceptually and i would like to explore that more in this post.

both of them come from families that are very infamous for their line of work: the Nakatsukasa clan having their special multi-form weapons, and the Star clan being ruthless assassins. their respective families have their own reputation, though those reputations have wildly different connotations. they are both the only ones that can continue on their family name, they carry the burden of decades of their family's legacy, and yet they are both defying those legacies in a way.

Black☆Star's meant to be a ruthless assassin, someone who is willing to do anything for any sum of money, and someone who will do anything for power. even though Black☆Star's whole thing is he's trying to surpass god and whatnot, he is abandoning the "i will do it by any means necessary" thing. also, he's admittedly a shitty assassin for a while (not fighter, he's obviously extremely strong, i mean SPECIFICALLY the act of being a sneaky, silent assassin). he's doing things his own way, he's not going to be told what to do, and he's going to do it as loudly as he sees fit.

Tsubaki was seemingly crushed underneath the weight of her bloodline's legacy. her own identity problems stem from the fact that she feels that she has no defining characteristics and that she is lending herself and her powers out to others. that's what she is "meant" to do as the member of the Nakatsukasa family with multi-weapon form ability. she feels like she must put herself to the side to better serve her meister and be a better weapon.

their partnership almost feels sacrilegious: the "heir," so to speak, of the Nakatsukasa abilities with the last remaining member of the killer Star clan. their families are seemingly on opposite ends of the spectrum when it comes to honor and morality (at least from what family history we're given), and yet they work extremely well together. Black☆Star even masters the form of the shadow sword, which literally claimed many many lives that tried to master it before him.

by being partners, they are defying the paths that were set out for them by the simple act of choosing each other. they also pretty much affirm the parts about themselves that they're trying to prove to the world. thinking about when they first meet and partner up, Tsubaki fully listens to Black☆Star's whole deal, and Black☆Star talks to her out of respect, not because she's part of the Nakatsukasa clan. they saw each other as people, not their family histories.

i like the idea that someday, somewhere down the line, someone encounters them while they're on a mission. the person doesn't know what they're up against, but they recognize Black☆Star's tattoo and they're like "oh man, Star clan, i thought all of those guys were dead. guess i'm in for a rough ride." and then they see him wielding Tsubaki, watching her change form, probably using the shadow sword, and then they're really like "okay wtf did i just get myself into" because they know the history of these two families, but they don't know Black☆Star and Tsubaki, and they don't know what they're capable of together because there's never been a partnership quite like theirs.

[st4rbe0m]

SUMMARY ▸ 20 years ago, a gruesome murder shook the town hard. A type of murder that should've never happen, much less in their quaint town. A lovely family killed in cold blood with an unforgiving axe wielding maniac - a mother, a father and a little girl. It's been 20 years down the road, hasn't it? Then why are these 11 teenagers stuck in a loop of the same day, being haunted by a little girl who died 20 years ago?

PAIRING ▸ Park Jongseong (Jay) x reader ; additional pairings between characters as well , multi chapter story

TAG LIST ▸ open!! send an ask to be added

WC ▸ 2.2K

WOULD YOU LIKE TO CONTINUE THE BODY SEARCH ?

▊ yes -> CHAPTER 3

▊ no -> CHAPTER 1

BODY SEARCH MASTERLIST

Kim Sunoo. Nishimura Riki. Park Jongseong. Uchinaga Aeri. Lee Heesung. Sim Jaeyun. Ning Yizhuo. Y/N Y/L/N. Park Sunghoon. Yang Jungwon. 10 teenagers. 10 minutes past midnight. 10 minutes since they’d found themselves mysteriously at the chapel of their school - none of them having memories of how they could have reached there. No, the only memory they had was of a set of jarring texts from an unknown number requesting that they find her. Who the ‘her’ in question was, was not revealed at all. 

“Guys, seriously, this is creeping me the hell out. Where are you guys going?” Giselle voiced her frustrations. Seriously, who the hell splits up like this? Haven’t they watched horror movies? “What’s your favorite scary movie?”, the teasing voice of Lee Heesung whispered into the shell of her ear, not only making goosebumps appear near her skin, but lurching her into a scare. Smacking him with a pout on her face, while the boy just laughed while clutching her hand, the couple that had been dating since the beginning of freshman year just walked behind trusted Park Jongseong, who was also trailed by Y/N and NingNing. NingNing’s nervous eyes kept flitting between Jay and the gloomy darkness around her, a contrast from her confident and approachable appearance at school. During the day, atleast. Who knew what night, this night, in particular could bring? 

“Sunghoon’s wandered off”, Jake mentioned. There was an edge in his voice as he said it, and it even made Jay’s eyes harden under the milky light of the moon. “We’ll find him guys. Let’s figure out what’s happening first maybe?”, NingNing chimed in. Biting her nails, she added, “Even the two underclassmen have wandered off somewhere, and so has Yang.” We’ll get them soon. 

“Look, there’s Sunghoon!”, Y/N said, her voice almost lost like a wisp in the wind. Luckily, Jay and Jake caught on to it, and turned their heads to where Sunghoon stood, in the middle of the soccer field. Motionless, yet slightly trembling. They jogged up to him, the boys yelling out his name. “Sunghoon, Park Sunghoon! Come here!”

Sunghoon turned around to the sound of their clamoring voice, pale skin having dewy drops of sweat beading his forehead. But perhaps, what was most characteristic about him, was the expanding patch of red on his crisp white school uniform. 

He opened his mouth slightly, yet no sound escaped him. He slumped forward while they looked at the garish scene before them. Because it was only the top half of Sunghoon’s body that had slumped forward, jaggedly dismembered torso falling forward onto the blackish grass. 

“What the fuck?!”. “Fuck!”. A scream. And just a gaping jaw. Those were all the reactions the 4 could muster up. With legs propelling them forward at insane speed, Jay and Jake ran to where their deceased friend lay, halting harshly when they saw that Sunghoon’s body wasn’t the only entity on that field.

“Who is that?”. It was Heesung who asked this time. He and Giselle ran over as soon as they’d heard the screams and shouts, and even Sunoo and Riki and Jungwon were running over to them. 

It was obvious who Heesung was referring to, but no way to answer. She looked about 9 years of age. A small silhouette of a girl. There were no discernible features on her face, and all they could make out was a mop of unkempt black hair, greasy and dragging till her ankles. 

None of them wanted to stick around for answers. Not when the little girl took a step forward, barefoot and crunching against the ground. That’s when they felt it, the extreme and spine-chilling bolt of terror. Each of them took off almost immediately, running into the school building, ready to hide in there then have to cross the girl who, despite her size, acted almost like a barricade against the school gate. 

Park Sunghoon was dead. Park Sunghoon was dead and she was probably next. That’s all Y/N could think of as she ran into the school, breathing heavily, trying her best to enter the art classroom, the room she was most familiar with. What Jungwon said while they were running is what plagues her mind.

“It’s happening. It’s the Body Search.”

What the hell even was a Body Search? And frankly she wasn’t planning to stick around here long enough to find out. If it was anything that required what just happened, she’d rather not know. There was a dead silence around the room where she crouched, keeping an eye out by the door. That’s when she heard it. 

Pit. Pat. The sound of two little feet approaching the room she hid in. Pit. Pat.

Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat.Pit.Pat. The feet were running. Running to where she was, ready to tear her apart. 

Her mouth opened, ready to scream, until a veiny, large hand covered her mouth. Wide eyed, she turned to where the hand emerged from. Jay. Crouched under the desk right next to her, he raised a slender finger up to his lips, to signal what she had to do. To be absolutely quiet. To survive. To think. Slowly nodding her head down, she turned back to where the door. In another time, in another situation, she would have blushed hard at what had just happened. But a near-death experience leaves very little room for crushes. 

The feet seemed to be distancing from them, making both Jay and Y/N feel a sense of relief. A relief, that was short lived. Not with Jake’s and Giselle’s simultaneous screams piercing the air. Abruptly getting up from their positions, survival be damned, the two made way down to the hallway where She saw a frozen Giselle, a Jake bleeding out at the landing of the staircase, neck bent at an angle and eyes slack. And Lee Heesung. A Lee Heesung who seemed almost suspended midair, until their eyes traveled down to where the jagged end of the wooden frame of a classroom door seemed to have been struck right through the middle of his chest, blood unceremoniously pooling down to the floor just below him. It’s when her eyes shifted to where Giselle was that Y/N let the scream bubbling inside her go. 

Because, standing with Giselle was a little girl, barely 9 or 10 years old. Matted black hair that reached her ankles, and a body covered in blood. A hand outstretched, that seemed to have passed right into Giselle’s mouth, and emerging from the back of her head - little fingers wiggling in her joy. It seemed that Y/N’s scream delighted her even more, because she gave a Cheshire-like grin on hearing it - pale, crooked teeth forming the most terrifying smile they’d ever seen. Grabbing Y/N’s hand and leaving no second to spare, Jay took off in the opposite direction. He wasn’t going to wait around to see what was to happen to them - in what creative ways this little demented creature could murder them in cold blood. His plan was to reach the chapel where it all began. 

Yang Jungwon was dead. Yang Jungwon was dead, and so were Jake, Giselle, Heesung and Sunghoon. NingNing and the juniors were missing. It was only him and Y/N he cared about right now. 

Sunoo’s panting hard, and his lungs prickle with the burn of exhaustion, as the adrenaline gives away. He’s running and he’s been running for a while now. He lost their senior NingNing a while back - the red smears at the bottom of the staircase led him to believe so. The low visibility isn’t really helping either. He can’t tell where the little girl is either, or where Riki or Jungwon disappeared off to. Run. Running. That’s all he can think of right now.

He reached the shoe rack, the little white cubicles creating a mosaic in front of him. The burn in his lungs has only intensified. “This is a good place to hide”, he thought to himself.

“Hyung!”

Sunoo jumps violently, organs violently lurching inside him. Still no sound of small feet, only Riki, glad to have found his friend in one piece still. Riki quickly sprints to where Sunoo has crouched, a little wooden cubby meant for storing the smaller sports equipment. Riki’s hands are desperate as they grab on to Sunoo - being alive meant something much more important right now. Riki was scared. The tsundere Riki, their class mood maker, a happy go lucky kid was scared right now, and a sense of despair and hopelessness hit Sunoo right in the heart.

But despair, or any emotion was cut short.

Pit, pat. Little red feet. Run. Hide.

Their eyes grow wide simultaneously. Pulling Riki closer by the arm, Sunoo prays with whatever finality he can muster. She must be getting closer, and it’s all he can do right now. Because no matter where they hid, she’d find them. Sniffing out their fear maybe - the thundering hearts and the tremors that shook in their bones.

It’s dead quiet now, and it makes Sunoo’s ears ring slightly. Everything held a bit of horror in it, including the quiet.

“Where did she go?” Sunoo barely mustered up a whisper.

“Do you think she left?”, answered Riki, in an equally low baritone sound, hoping for it to get concealed with the wind, lest they get discovered.

“We should head to the chapel-”

There’s a crash. That’s all that Sunoo registers. The speed and the totality of it was far too much for him to realize the rest. All he knows right now is that she’s here, there was a sound, and the space where Riki was is empty now.

There’s something dripping on his head. Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl? Where’s Riki? Where’s the Little Red Girl?

He looks up to the source of the mysterious liquid dripping onto his head - only to lock eyes with Riki’s lifeless ones.

“Fuck, what the hell is that?”. Jay’s frustrated and scared. So fucking scared. His best friends are dead. “Do you think we might find answers in the chapel?”, the quiet voice of Y/N Y/L/N cut through in the frenzy in his mind. His childhood friend, whom he’d grown estranged from, had no idea what she was like now. But he knew who she was before - a daisy in a lawn. A force of nature that made the shy, new kid in the neighborhood Jay feel more welcome than he ever did when he moved to Korea from the States. She inspired him, in a way, to be the Jay of today. And she didn’t know that at all. Realising his silence, he cleared his throat and answered - “Well I hope. This is all madness.”

The medbay was silent as they sat there, trying to catch their breaths. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and the exhaustion was catching on, considering their sweaty bodies and their panting breaths. 

“She’s here.”

Y/N says it with grim finality, while Jay still cranes his head to hear where the little girl could be? “How do you know?”, Jay turns to look at the teary-eyed Y/N. Sobs are sputtering out of her mouth now, faster as tears stream down her face. Alarmed by this new development in her emotion, he opens his mouth but Y/N cuts him right off. “Jay, I’m sorry. She’s behind you.” 

The alarm is harsh in its morning call. It’s blaring and blaring, and bleary eyed Y/N wakes up drenched in cold sweat. This isn’t right. 

“Your dad already left, so I’m planning to drop his lunch off at his office later. I made fried tempura prawns today, way too many I think. Share them with your friends, alright?

This isn't right. This isn't adding up. There’s something wrong. She saw all this happen, in a dream? No. That can’t be. Something’s wrong.

The bus pulls back and the cat yowls, and then students gather near its dead body. It’s wrong already, but she knows something is off when she makes eye contact with a certain Park Jay, who’s eyes mirror the same discomfort on her face. 

“What do you know then, Jungwon?”

They’re all huddled by the stairwell - All 10, seemingly alive considering the gruesome ways they all died last night. It was Jungwon asking the question, flanked by Giselle and NingNing on the other side. Jungwon is nervous too - glasses slipping on the bridge of his nose and wringing his hands around. Even the juniors joined them - staring hard. 

“Well. I’m not sure about this alright? But I’ve read some books about occult practices and hauntings before. Based on our situation, well.”

“Fucking spit it out.” Park Sunghoon harshly said, his body while seeming nonchalant against the railings, seemed to be shaking in some sort of feeling - fear, but also anger. Maybe the absolute bone-chilling realization that you’re repeating the same day.

“I think we’re participating in the Body Search!”. The words tumble out of Jungwon’s mouth in a nervous ball left for the rest to untangle. 

[geothewriter]

Zutara Week 2023 - Day 6: Forge

You must look within yourself to save yourself from your other self. Only then will your true self reveal itself.  ~Prince Zuko - Time Ambiguous

One’s self identity will constantly flow and furrow along their life’s pathway. Their sense of self may evolve throughout, affected either by life changing events, or slowly adapt, molded by small pressures. A person’s sense of self may also be forged in fire, molded by immense hammer strikes, deforming their sense of being in mere fractions of time. Most individuals will only have one or two life-forging events in their lifetimes. 

The Fire Lord is not most individuals. His early life was simple, happy even; however, his young adult life was filled with turmoil, torment, and trauma. Forging event after forging event shaped and distorted his entire being time and time again. He journeyed from the side of genocide and evil to its polar opposite. As his formative years ended, he underwent one final forging event, his most dramatic. 

He joined with a group set to overthrow his own father and end the hundred year war. The event that changed everything was one of self discovery, learning who he was and who he could be. It goes to say, that one so volatile and immersed within life’s ever changing tides would be subject to further moments of immense change. The Fire Lord’s malleability was soon brought to an end. The tumultuous forging of his youth was stopped not by constant growth, but by a cooling tempering. 

Not long after rising to his status as Fire Lord, he had found himself under such immense stresses that his body began to buckle under the pressure. He had stopped eating, struggled sleeping, and could barely function. His council nearly removed him from his position due to incompetence, in spite of his early actions. A life-forging event was clearly on the horizon for the young ruler.

A young woman of blue reintroduced herself into his life at this critical point. Her element was opposite his in every way. Where he was volatile, she was calm. Where his consciousness was unfocused, hers was sharp. When he was uncertain, she was definite. She brought balance to him in every way, and he to her. 

The council retracted their proposal for the removal of the Fire Lord shortly after her arrival. He regained his confidence. His vigor for pivotal change in the lands showed through, as it had in his first weeks as ruler. Some say she was the sole driving force that pushed him to be at his best. Others say her presence simply calmed the storm beneath the surface. 

I know them both. I know him, past and present. I know her, her love, mind, and history. To say she calmed the storm would be incredibly wrong. Beneath the surface of who she shows of herself in public, a storm rages unabated. To say he was pushed by her to be his best would be wrong as well. He always wanted the best for himself and others. She showed him that it was acceptable to allow the outside world to witness his hidden almost always-hidden characteristics.

They saved one another. Their opposites created balance. They drove each other to better themselves and those around them. Rulers as they both became, they forged their futures, tempered by their love of the other. Fire Lord Zuko and Fire Lady Katara brought a better future to the world, together. Without their love, I fear the world would have fallen to significant imbalance and become a far, far darker place.

~Excerpt taken from Avatar Aang’s biographic journal outlining the years immediately following Fire Lord Zuko’s rise to power.

If you like my writing, check out my other works over on AO3!

@zutaraweek

[ofthebeasts]

The fallen angel part one

"Well, prized guests! It seems the overwhelming majority wants to see my dear celestial, Areli!"

Amarathine steps out of the venue for a minute. The clack clack clack of the wood of his boots on the floor resounds as the the crowd observes in expectant silence.

As he returns, the light shines on his face in a manner that makes visible two long scars. One horizontal, beneath his eyes and across his nose, and one transversal, through his left eye and the right corner of his lip.

Behind him, threads a celestial— but not quite. It's wings, though still angel-like, of white feathers and holy light, have a demonoid stucture, and are sharp at the edges. It wears a white leather collar, stitched with red thread, and half-loops made of silver at the edges, that dig into its neck.

Its long hair is pitch black, dark like an abyss, like something to get lost on. It's incredibly long, reaching the angel's knees, tied simply on the middle with an equally dark red bow.

"I ask you now, my dear patrons," Amaranthine places his hand on the back of Areli's neck, in a gesture that is almost possessive, "Have you ever seen a celestial in an in-bettween state?"

"My dear angel," His voice, in those three words, drops low, almost to a whisper, an affectionate, intimate tone, "I found it while threading through the tundra I hail from, in a terrible state. I don't usually deal with celestials or demonoids, but what kind of person would I be to leave such a dear lonely and hurt?"

The angel slowly inches closer to Amaranthine, seeking the warmth of its master, but when it begins to wrap its wings around him, Amaranthine makes a distasteful little sound, and Areli drops to its knees by his side.

"Angels, I've found, are insurmountably defiant; they're loyal to their creator, and they just won't break— in my youth, I used to dream of an army of celestials at my mercy, a beautiful collection of holy beings, but I gave up on it as soon as I attemped to train one."

Areli's head hangs low, and it's hands clutch at the fabric of its trousers, as its wings begin to close around itself. However, Amaranthine pinches the edge of the wing closest to him, and they spring open right away, revealing themselves in all their deformed glory— they are long, and covered in not quite white feathers, but have the triangular shape characteristic to demons.

The feathers don't entirely cover the bottom, and beneath them, the membrane typical to demons. It's incredibly ragged, as if a strong wisp of wind would be enough to tear it apart. When Amaranthine sets his right hand on its left wing, Areli can't quite keep back a little whimper of pain.

"And demonoids, well, to put it simply, do whatever they want. I've never even attemped to deal with one, but from hunters and collectors that did, I've gathered that they must be broken nearly to unresponsiveness to make anything out of. I'd rather not walk such a fine line bettween compliance and ruin."

Areli remains still, allowing Amaranthine to touch his achy wings, caress the feathers, let his hand dive beneath them to the sensitive membrane and bone.

"But fallen angels— fallen angels, they've been rejected and abandoned by their creator. They are desperate for purpose, for guidance. The threshold to find a fallen angel is typically around two hours, never more than a day, and they usually fall into empty places— such as the tundra I found this dear in."

Areli shivers as Amaranthine tells its story. It tries to move its wing, gently, slightly, tries to signal to him that the light touch hurts, but that earns it a stab of his nails beneath its feathers. Okay, then— Areli would be patient.

"I was clueless as to what to do, as I had never come across a fallen. I found, after taking it back to my home here, that it stayed in this in-bettween state, taking me as its new master. Fallen tend to go on to become demonoids, but, and keep in mind that I could be wrong as this experience is novelty, if they find a new master in the overworld they will remain there, as something in-bettween, something singular."

"But alas! I digress." Amaranthine spreads his arms, spins once, and bows. "Without further ado, let the show begin!"

Taglist:

@enigmawriteswhump

[ryunumber]

Does Misa Satsukino (Gundam Breaker 3) have a Ryu number? [I don't know if this is against the rules because while it is a game it's very much based on an anime.]

Misa Satsukino has a (Limited) Ryu Number of 3/does not have a Ryu Number.

(explanation below)

Gundam characters usually aren't too difficult to link given the series's long history with Super Robot Wars, but the key point here is that moreso than being a Gundam game, Gundam Breakers is more accurately a Gunpla game.

Gunpla, of course, being the wildly popular model kits based on the titular mecha, and most importantly for this blog's purposes, not actually the mecha themselves.

To that end, while the likes of Amuro are technically present in the recently shut down Gundam Breaker Mobile, they appeared as AI pilots you could assign to your Gunpla while participating in Gunpla battles, instead of the in-universe flesh-and-blood Gunpla nerds the game was ostensibly about.

So in a sense, these pilots all "appear" in whatever game-like system the Gunpla battles take place in. But does that count as an appearance in Gundam Breaker Mobile alongside the actual Gunpla battlers?

While I'm generally pretty hard-nosed about not counting depictions that are fictional in-universe, which kinda comes part and parcel with the Gunpla conceit, the Twitter account's judgment on in-universe media appearances is "How lazy is it?". In that sense, you could make a decent case that this is worth carving out an exception for. They all came with their own set of stats and characteristics, they were all voiced, and while this is personal speculation, if the primary appeal of Gundam Breaker as a series is playing with Gundam models by assembling and battling with them, the secondary appeal of Gundam Breaker Mobile was getting your favorite characters to pilot said Gundam models. So in a sense, you could assert the in-universe Gunpla battles were the actual core of Gundam Breaker Mobile, and the story with the "real" characters were little more than periphery flavor.

Now, my gut is to keep being a hard-nose about the in-universe depiction thing separating the two levels of fictionality at play, but complicating matters is that the game also added its own story characters as AI pilots.

So now there's characters that exist in both the fictional universe of Gundam Breaker Mobile and the artificial Gunpla battle system that exists within the fictional universe of Gundam Breaker Mobile. Are those the same character and character appearance within Gundam Breaker Mobile? I don't know, this is the exact situation I try to avoid with Extended Ryu Numbers and real ass people, just wrapped around another layer of fictionality. (Which itself could imply that, if you take the dubious step of extending the Gundam Breaker Mobile universe by asserting that other fiction beyond Gundam exists almost exactly as it does in real life, these characters have in-universe Ryu Numbers, which has to be by far the most ridiculous phrase I have ever seen fit to post.)

Not complicated enough for you? There's also AI pilots from Gundam Breaker Battlogue, the tie-in ONA for Gundam Breaker, which naturally includes Misa herself.

Honestly, if I'm twisting myself into this many Gordian knots just to establish some basic ground truths, I may as well cut it myself by saying that yeah, sure, she can have a Ryu Number if you want. It might even be Limited, going by when the Misa AI pilot was available. I don't know. Embrace and reject nuance simultaneously.

(Also, there's multiple Haros don't fucking @ me)

[fluffydice]

KuboSai (+ Pining One-Sided ImuTeru) One-Shot

Wordcount: 1,029

Hm, now that Imu really thought about it — or at least actually paid attention — this dump of a school really didn't have any good options of men. 

Or boys, rather. Most of these guys weren't mature enough to handle being in a relationship, but Imu wasn't exactly looking for something long-term. Just…something to try and stamp out the vestiges of her crush on Kokomi. 

Oof, just the thought of her name was enough to make Imu's heart begin to beat faster. She pressed her knuckles against her mouth and tried to calm down. This fidget, at least, had the added benefit of making her seem shyer and needing guidance, something these second-year boys would eat up. 

Well, most of them. She looked to the side, peeking up at Saiki through her lashes. The upperclassman didn't so much as twitch. Normally, boys fell over themselves at the sight of her looking so cute, but not this one. The most he'd really regarded her was with a cool detachment, his eyes betraying nothing and the hard press of his mouth only implying irritation rather than any flusteredness.

She wasn't sure if she believed the expression, but at the very least, she did believe that Saiki didn't have an interest in her. And why would he? He was going after Teruhashi, after all. 

Something hot and angry stabbed through her chest. Imu looked away before she could snap at the loser. 

He'd gone quiet ever since Yumehara had shown up, which was fine by her. He seemed more of the wallflower type anyway, even if he was kind of slimy. Imu didn't turn to look at the girl, only pinpointing the boys the other pointed out. Imu listened and responded with all the intelligence of a private investigator reporting on a target. 

 Imu was very good at this kind of thing. She didn't tend to be as stupid as other girls when it came to boys. They were always blinded by love and admiration, but that had never distracted her. 

She blinked. Did that say something about her?

No, no, it didn't. Just like her crush on Kokomi was just a phase. She'd find a guy, and all would be put back to rights. 

Yumehara was floundering. Imu glanced across the terrain of potential prey, and her eyes settled on a broad back. She smiled thinly. Was this Yumehara's crush? It made sense; she hadn't mentioned him, and Imu had already picked out what characteristics were meant to be attractive. 

"What about that one?" She asked sweetly, motioning to the guy. What was his name…? 

"Kuboyasu?" Yumehara asked, her eyes going wide. Haha, she was making it too easy. No girl would look so horrified if she weren't imagining a cuter girl snatching up her crush. 

Imu grinned wider. She'd spotted her target. "Well, he's certainly handsome, right?" She was pretty sure. "And he seems to be the protective type. He's the kind that's been in many battles, I can tell…"

Yumehara was waving her hand in front of her throat in a 'cut it out' gesture that just inflamed Imu. Yes, this would do nicely. If someone else wanted the guy, that meant she'd chosen correctly, right? Kuboyasu would probably make her forget all about Kokomi. 

"Maybe I should go talk to him," Imu teased, not quite meaning it. 

The door slid shut with a bang. A pale, slim hand was settled on the wood in front of her eye-line. She turned to look at its owner, her stomach dropping right along with the temperature of the air around her. 

She knew, instinctively, before she even looked, that she was messing with something far beyond her. But it was still making her stomach quiver with fear to meet the eyes of her usually meek and dull upperclassman, now cavernous and freezing with frigid rage. 

Saiki stared at her, unblinking for a reason very different than her schoolmates'. His mouth was still set in that flat line, but Imu could almost imagine those lips hiding a pair of canines, ready to rip out her throat from her stiffening corpse. 

Her mouth felt dry. She knew, somehow, what Saiki was waiting for. "It's not- I'm not actually that interested in him, actually."

"Good. He wouldn't be interested in you, anyway," Saiki responded. The words seemed to resonate in her skull. She couldn't even find it in herself offended and just nodded quickly instead. 

The air around them was beginning to warm once more. Yumehara crept up closer to her, half hiding behind Imu's smaller body like a shield. "Of course not! Why don't you go talk to him?" Yumehara suggested. 

Saiki's gaze flicked back and forth between them. Imu was suddenly rocketed with the foreign but ancient feeling of standing before a predator who was deciding whether it was worth the effort to chase them down. 

Those eyes settled on her. The residue of their earlier frost still clung to his eyes, but they had melted for the most part. "Good grief," he muttered. 

Imu seemed to be recovering, too, because she actually mustered up a flicker of irritation at the words. 

Saiki took the bait. He slid open the door again and strode in with the graceful confidence of a feline, assured that the place and things inside of it were his. Imu watched as he approached Kuboyasu behind and brushed his side. The other boy jumped, spun around, but he relaxed so tellingly that Imu almost wondered how she hadn't seen it before. 

They weren't together; Imu could tell that much. There was an awkwardness around Kuboyasu's movements like he was keeping himself from reaching out and touching. Saiki had that expression of apathy once more, but this time, she couldn't believe it. It almost reminded her of a girl playing hard to get. 

Imu blinked. Yumehara still seemed to be spooked, but somehow, Imu had gotten over her fear relatively quickly. She was just mostly shocked. Yes, at the fact that Saiki was apparently gay(?) but-

Mostly because her first reaction had been glee at the thought that she no longer had a serious rival for Kokomi's heart.

[findingmelissa]

Saw this post on Instagram: "5 Self-Esteem Prompts That Will Change Your Life."

Write down the characteristics of your ideal self. What are the specific fears and self-doubts that make you feel like you're not that person?

I started this post with 5 or 6 qualities but the more I wrote, the more I realized that I really only need to focus on one: kindness. My fear is that I am not a kind or good person.

When did you start to believe those things? Try to pinpoint each one to a specific event or moment in your life. These can be beliefs you've inherited from your family or culture when you were a child, or beliefs that you picked up in early adulthood.

When I was abused and no one told me it wasn't my fault. When (and I am sure now as a result of that first thing) I spent the better part of my teens and 20s lying, cheating, and controlling and manipulating people. When I gave my older cat Loxy to the shelter when we moved because I gave up on her (terrible behavior) and she probably ended up euthanized. When I let my sister take care of my other cat Andy and she ended up neglecting her and letting her dog terrorize Andy into stress-induced sickness and ultimately her death.

After every single mean or impatient word I have ever spoken to Steve, my mom, my coworkers, strangers. After every time I have thrown a tantrum. When I have been gossipy or judgmental behind people's backs.

I am carrying a heavy heavy burden of guilt and grief over not being a kind or good person. (*tears*)

Write a brief letter to that past disempowered version of you and empower them to feel good about themselves. For each of their limiting beliefs, remind them that it's not based in reality — it's just a fear - and create a list of 3 pieces of evidence that contradict or challenge it.

A letter... well, I would have to go all the way back to 12-year-old me and tell her everything I should have been told back then. That speaks for itself. I would tell me in my 20s you don't have anything to prove. Stop manipulating everyone, especially men, just to prove that you can, to prove that you are not powerless but powerful. I would tell the me of my 30s and 40s to stop fearing vulnerability and let people love you, let them help you, you are lovable just as you are. Which would kill a lot of the mean and impatient behavior.

As for contradicting my fear, looking at all of that stuff I wrote in Question 2, it feels like my thoughts are based in reality. :( But I will try to challenge this with some kind of logic and evidence, or at least things I know about myself now.

I love my friends with all my heart and I will (and often do) give them whatever I can - attention, time, money, meals, help with kids - to make their lives easier or happier. No hesitation. They are my chosen family.

I am compassionate toward the entire world. What Buddhists call metta. I know in my heart that even though I have spent a lot of my life not behaving this way, that I have this and I feel this toward every living being. I want to cry typing that. Because deep down, I know this is who I am. And I feel it on a daily basis (So, maybe I am a good person?)

I don't have a third piece of evidence. This will have to do for now.

Make a list of your strengths or unique qualities that set you apart from others. These can be physical traits, skills, or aspects of your personality. For each one, write about a time that you've shown up with that quality and describe how amazing it felt to embody that energy.

Household management/budgeting - this impacts my and Steve's life almost every day and I love that my abilities make our lives so much easier.

Highly efficient/organized - this is more about work, where I do all the things no one else wants to do because I keep detailed checklists and documentation that helps the entire company.

Physical strength - every time we work on our property and I am able to do all the hard things, I am reminded how strong I am. I feel so useful and competent and helpful. I love it.

Cooking/food preparation - similar to Item 1, I feel like I take care of myself and Steve in a very important way. I have also food prepped for friends who needed it and love being able to provide for them in that way.

Can't think of more. But I notice that all of these really have more to do with helping others than anything else. Apparently that's what truly makes me feel good about myself. That's very telling.

Make a list of affirmations that encapsulate your strengths and represent beliefs that you CHOOSE to have about yourself. Write them down on Post-It notes and stick them everywhere you'll see them often to remind you that this is your new self-concept.

I am kind

I am compassionate

I am beautiful

I am enough

I am writing these down right now on little post its and putting them right here on my monitors so I can stare at them every day. Hopefully until I believe them.

[pe4nutastic]

Escape to Earth

After that little warm-up drabble that I wrote the other day, I've decided to get to something that I've wanted to write for a while. I don't know how good it is exactly, but I'm just happy to have finished it at all. In any case, this drabble focuses on an early chapter of Giegue's life whereby George, Maria, and Giegue (as a kid ofc) attempt to escape the laboratory facility where the caretaking experiment involving them took place. Specifically, this writing thing opens into a major point of conflict when they are stopped by a fully-seasoned adult Psion guard.

Trigger warnings (as always) are in the tags.

Actually on second thought, just to be safe. Trigger warnings are as follows: body horror, death, gore, blood. If I've missed anything please do let me know and I'll fix it immediately.

Small stubby four-digit hands grip the slim yet notably thicker wrists of a tall slender being, sharp claws desperately digging in with great futility against cold hard skin.  It’s like trying to move a weighty statue, but this is no statue.  Against all reason, this thing he had put himself in front of, was a living creature, but something didn’t seem quite right about it.  A slight shudder shakes his petite body like a leaf in the wind.  Something felt weirdly… empty about it.  An inexplicable twinge of revulsion and he almost feels inclined to shake his head at, were it not for the currently dire situation at hand.  Something…

… –scary!  Awful!  Not normal!

The thought comes barrelling through like a bullet; faster than he can ever have hoped to stop it.  Faster than he can even chide himself for being so cruel over its appearance and body.  Faster than he had even realized what it meant to teleport in one go and teleported in kind to save his dad from this thing.  Because its eyes, previously transfixed upon the fleeing form of the human man emboldened enough to defy the supreme will of the Psions themselves, had slowly–almost lazily as if this were little more than a mere inconvenience–had swiveled down to make more direct contact with Giegue’s own, large and panic-widened pools of dark blue.

Voids.  True voids.

His mouth drops open, agape in petrifying fear.  It’s easy to mistake them for being like his based off the immediate physical characteristics… but this is different.  There’s nothing reflected in them.  Not even light or a spark of life.  There’s nothing behind them… –no understanding for anything other than to address the situation as it saw fit.  Just holes etched into a deadened visage.  Another shudder runs through him, this one far more violent than the last, as if he had just been drenched in water far beyond its piercing freezing point.

A monster.  A true monster.  Just like the scariest ones in all those old fairytales. Except it’s real.  Like a nightmare come true.

It’s terrifying.  Awful that it looks so much like him, but with an extra set of eyes and more refined features.  Is he… is he… one day going to be like that too–?

He can’t look any longer.  But, even as the impulse strikes him hard, he bites back the urge to avert his gaze or screw his eyes shut with a ferocity that would certainly draw blood if he had any… –heros don’t do that!  With renewed willpower, pointed teeth somehow gritting harder than before, claws finding strength beyond that he had thought to be his absolute physical limit to dig in more as he tries harder to push the Psion’s arms up and away from its target.  To somehow get the intended attack to change course before it can launch beyond any stopping it.  For a moment, he dares to glance back… his dad, George, disheveled (from short brown hair to his clothing) and crumpled on the pristine floors from an especially bad fall in a few initial attacks that just about missed anything vital.  Just about, but not quite.  A few bad scrapes (from what could be seen under dress pants, now torn at the bottoms and riddled with a few odd holes) oozed a moderate amount of red life liquid… –blood!... and burns scorched across now exposed forearms.

Mouth pressing into a tight line with a subtle twitch to it at the sight of his father in such a state, Giegue looks back and somehow pushes even harder.  It’s hard not to immediately let go and come running to his dad… to check on him more closely and do whatever he can to help him feel better, but if he does then, the Psion will definitely finish its attack.  Its final attack.  A small rat-like tail lashes sharply amidst the ever-rising tenseness of his midair posture, arms shaking as the adult Psion starts to effortlessly push back in the most efficient and graceful of motions, frustration starting to wet the corners of his eyes over his own lack of strength.

He isn’t like the Psion.  He can’t do all the things that it can with its powers.  He can’t do anything as advanced as it can.  He can’t even fight back.  Teleporting, floating, and moving small things is all he can do.  But he has to do something anyways.  He’s the only one that can here!  The only one of these creatures that will!  Please, please, please, if there’s anyone beyond the cosmos itself, let him find the strength to do something.  A bright flicker of luminescent blue light outlines his hands before shorting out like a glitchy screen.  A pang of sharp pain as a small crack appears on his arm and with it, a small chip flicks away and falls to the greyscale floors with a dull clatter.  Anything.  Another crack appears in his opposing arm before the luminescent blue returns more steadily, tracing every new crack that appears with its shimmery blue light as it slowly moves to outline the rest of his body, eyes screwing shut against the pain and effort as he regains ground and begins to move the offending Psion’s arms–said appendages starting to sport spidery cracks of their own–back and up along with their violent blast of energy.  Even if it’s only a little bit of power… even if it hurts… even if it takes everything he has until he has no more power left to give.

Please let him save his dad.  At that, a blinding flash of that same blue abruptly erupts everywhere, his short ears abruptly filling up with a piercing static-y nothingness, as it flares and weaves about wildly across the entire space like a particularly violent array of solar flares.

He isn’t a hero, but he’d like to be someday and use his powers to help others.  And if not that, then to make things that will help others and make them happy.

He isn’t a human, but he’d like to live on Earth with his parents and see all the things that they’ve told stories about.

He isn’t alive the same way that his parents are… that humans are… but somehow, everything can be figured out anyways.  That’s what family is for isn’t it?

So long as they have love, everything will work out in the end.

There’s no control.  Just raw power that keeps on emptying out of his body.  It’s like a tap that keeps on running, but with no means of turning back the crank.  Floors smash in a flurry of heavy dents, cracks, and greyish dust that puffs up as a result of some especially critical impacts.  Surrounding walls warp and bend inwards, suffering a few.  The redirected attack of the adult Psion had struck the ceiling and left quite a sizeable dent in it as a result–any chunks that could have otherwise fallen from it eradicated by the sheer power of its attack–before the pure and unadulterated psionic power, growing more and more in strength as it continues to seep out its source’s body at an exponential rate, strikes the same location and with it busts a gargantuan hole straight into the vacuum of space.  Not that Giegue can register any of it in his current state; completely overrun by power he was not yet prepared to properly utilize and incapable of stopping, even if he could regain enough cognizance to do so.

Nothing comes through, only dull impressions of things breaking, crunching, being destroyed and flung about with sickening smacks.  Nothing stops the unending devastation.  Nothing relents until a bloodcurdling, piercing, familiar sound punctures the dull, blinding, static-y fog which had hesitated little in filling his brain the moment pure psionic power had gushed out his tiny body and in the process of doing so, had almost broken it.  Struck with dull yet not less agonizingly painful headache, the young alien finds himself not in the air between himself and the adult Psion but on the ground a little distance away as if violently thrown there, the Psion in question nowhere to be seen… or anything else for that matter, with the air now caked thick in a grey layer of dust unnaturally suspended in it.  Squinting rather sharply as he props himself back up, a small hand moving to gingerly rub at a temple as he does so, he can almost make out a shadowy humanoid figure running off in a wrecked panic followed by the sound of a ship engine starting up, but he isn’t entirely certain.  Not with how overpowering his headache and consequent disorientation is.  Thinking is like trying to wade through molasses; difficult and incredibly slow.

A moment or two passes, the young alien blankly staring at the destroyed surroundings of the very facility which had been the only home he had ever known, and slowly but surely things gradually come into focus:

The piercing sounds of a singular note tortuously reverberating through the monochromatic and angled landscape of what had previously seemed like endless hallways.  The very hallways that Giegue himself and his parents had been traversing through to leave for good before being brought to a sudden and violent halt by the guards; a situation which had further escalated once an actual Psion entered the ‘playing field’ amongst the myriad of robots and other creatures he hadn’t quite seen before until now.

A sharpness he had never experienced before until now; oozing and pulsating wretched agony along the cracks and small chips littering his hands right to his forearms.  An odd, almost strangled, sort of sound pushes itself out his throat at that, as if somehow the shrillness and simplicity of the sound would ease away the horrid sensation now embedded in his arms.

The characteristically sanitized scent of the facility… –now marred by something vaguely metallic.  Like rust.  

… … …

A smell he had only ever detected from his parents.  An indication in humans that their life fluid had been granted a way out from their bodies.

Blood.  And quite a bit of it at that.

Gripped by a suffocating panic all at once, he fully pushes himself to his feet against all the pain and stumbles just a bit, before running towards the strongest of all the varying sources of blood slowly coming into view of his olfactory senses.  His gait is uneasy yet determined.  Weakened yet desperate.  Hoping against all hope that the worst hadn’t happened.  And yet, with every step he takes, the dusty air grows clearer and with each bit of additional clarity, more of the devastation he had not been able to register before comes into view.  Part of the ceiling seems to be sealed The hallway is riddled with numerous craters, cracks, and bits of broken floor, wall, and ceiling pieces wildly scattered about.  Smashed and warped bits of what used to be robots and heavily modified organics lay across varying points of his path, most either contorted beyond recognition or torn apart completely, bits and pieces of metallic parts and burnt flesh generously thrown askew.  Blood in an array of different colors splattered and dripping from the walls; a pop of color that the monochromatic landscape had desperately needed, but certainly not like this.  Guards that had not been smart or fast enough to take cover.  Collateral damage from the conflict.

Every horrible sight imbues a sharp pit and insatiable queasiness to where his stomach would be (if he had one) and quick aversion of his gaze away.  Out of sight.  Out of mind.  He doesn’t even want to think about the dreadful implications let alone admit to them.  Not when he’s already plagued with a flurry of nightmarish imaginations and pain.  Not when he has to get to his mom.  To make sure that she’s okay.  To help if… somehow… she… isn’t…

A freezing halt.  Both in thoughts and in hurried movements.  An enormous pool of red liquid comes all too clearly into view with a piercing clarity, especially once the last of greyish dust clears from the air.  Blood and in it, torn scraps of pink clothing and a few golden strands of hair with a definitive wave to it, as if something had been torn apart and vanquished so thoroughly, not much more could remain afterwards.

He stares.

His mind fills with a painful buzzing, rat-like tail beginning to tensely tap atop the cold and utterly ruined floors.

And stares.

The surroundings blur and blot out everything but the gruesome sight before him, clawed digits digging into his stout ears and yanking them down in such a way, if he had the strength, might have otherwise torn them off.

And stares.

Time seems to slow.  Reality and anything else utterly removed from this moment.  Teeth gritting against the invisible pain blossoming anew, exacerbating that which had already been plaguing him and adding more.  This moment.  This moment...

And… –s t a r e s.

A moment.  The buzzing reaches its fever pitch abruptly, all at once from its decidedly more humble beginnings.

Snapped.  An unfathomable coldness seeps into and infects every single fibre of his being.  He barely feels like himself anymore.  Untethered to anything, but the very dreadful truth he could not look away from.

Utterly transfixed.  Suspended in a neverending nightmare.  Unable to say or do anything with the realization that crashes into him.  Static short circuiting every single complex thought that attempts to form.  He’s stuck in this moment.

Stuckstuckstuckstuckstuck…. until… –

Gone.  She’s gone.

A stray thought which somehow miraculously starts to form; against all odds, or perhaps as part of an exceedingly delayed shock-induced process, something tethers him back.  Hands fall from his ears, tail-tapping atop the ground intensifying, legs turning to jelly and ruthlessly sending him plummeting to the floor.  He could never feel it before whenever he’d stumble and fall while playing make-believe with her, but this time everything juts into every nook and cranny of his body with a hot and fiery vengeance.

It hurts.

Something begins to build up in his throat.  Something raw, visceral, and utterly unbecoming of the crystal clear coldness displayed by the species.

It hurts.

He falls properly from his knees and lands face-first in the only thing that remains of her anymore.  His body begins to shake with a renewed violent vigor.

It’s all his fault.  

That something rises in intensity, reverberating in tune with the shaking of his body.  Rising and rising and rising, pressure building inside while the cracks across his hands and arms begin to glow with a gentle red luminescence…

All his fault.

The something bursts out in a shrill high pitch, slightly gurgled by his position, but no less piercing and rending.  Nothing else feels right.  Nothing else fits.  He just emits a bloodcurdling scream as if that would somehow empty out this excruciating pain and make everything alright again.  He screams and screams and screams until… !!!!!

A peculiar sensation.  An overwhelming static-y force on its own frequency cuts through the painful buzzing like a knife through butter.  A psychic attack on the mind.

He passes out and into a dreamless void emptiness.

[captainclickycat]

I think I've hit upon one of the reasons I hate the "eldest daughter syndrome" thing so much is because so many of the characteristics people talk about apply to my own mother (who was the youngest girl in her family) so much more than they do to me.

For various reasons my mum grew up feeling like it was her job to take care of other people and was pressured to overachieve and put everyone before herself, her parents played favourites in a weird way, and then had a kid relatively young and wound up spending almost her entire adult life raising children almost singlehandedly which by the sound of it exacerbated that whole thing.

She talks a lot now about growing up feeling like a people-pleaser and having trouble setting boundaries, which definitely comes across and which honestly has caused a lot of strain and frustration when you're on the other side feeling like "it's fine if you can't do the thing but just tell me, stop being all vague and delicate about it and making me feel like I have to psychically divine what's going on" and "I'm not trying to force you into a corner by asking directly for something, you can say no and it's not fair to act like I'm pressuring you just by asking" and blah blah blah. Teach your kids that they can have boundaries, folks. Otherwise it's a whole thing.

Anyway, as a result of that she wound up pretty determined not to put the same kind of pressure or pigeonholing on her own kids. Whilst that kind of terminology might not have factored in, looking back there were a lot of measures put into place to ensure that I was at minimal risk of developing "eldest daughter syndrome". Which I'm inclined to say largely worked.

I don't feel like it's my job to look after other people. I tend to assume other people can look after themselves and they'll ask for my help if they need it. I have an instinctive "lol not my job" response to the idea of impromptu-babysitting other people's kids without being asked. I never felt under any particular pressure to overachieve that my siblings weren't (and the general vibe was "we'd like you to do your best but if you're happy that's the main thing"). I wasn't pressured to put other people before myself any more than the standard "everyone has to do that sometimes".

I won't say I've never struggled to uphold boundaries or felt bad about disappointing people, but it's not a major issue for me in the way it is for some people. If I know I don't have the capacity to do someone a favour I'm pretty comfortable saying "won't be able to fit that in, sorry!" and I don't mind people sometimes finding me a bit rude or standoffish because I don't let them touch me or go along with everything they want. Generally speaking, any personal insecurities and struggles I have tend to come down to some other factor (capitalism, being neurodivergent, not wanting to do things the traditional socially-accepted way, and what have you) than to having grown up as the eldest girl.

But the people who get prescriptive about "eldest daughter syndrome" would basically project my mum's characteristics onto me and then act like it was some indelible rule of nature because I was the eldest and she wasn't. And I feel like it's sort of... failing to give her credit, honestly. Parentifying their kids (eldest daughters or otherwise) is something parents do, not something that "just happens" as a natural occurrence, any more than enforced traditional gender roles "just happen".

I used to feel weird about complaining, because if the bad thing didn't apply to me shouldn't I just count myself lucky and go on my merry way? But idk I think I'm onto something here. The way this gets framed often ends up projecting baggage and personality traits onto people who don't have them, and ignoring those same traits in people who do have them just because they don't fit the template people have in their heads. You have to ask yourself sometimes when you're talking about wider social trends, are you actually critiquing them in a meaningful way, or are you crossing over into reinforcing them?