#it even has a title now

[weatherwaxironboots]

I'm gonna try to draw some of my original characters today

I kind of love making imaginary people

[reineydraws]

i think a side effect of loving mishanks for many people is becoming very endeared by the "rayleigh is mihawk's parent" au's haha :') first one's part of this fic i posted where smolhawk challenges rayleigh to a duel ⚔️✨️ second one's just a random kid!mishanks doodle. i think their shenanigans (incl buggy!) would be cute.

[that1notetaker]

I just think it would be so interesting for these two to share headspace for a limited and illuminating amount of time. (They're so gay/in sync with each other that even if one was feeling gay feelings for the other neither of them would be able to tell the difference. Huzzah) Katsuki: LET ME OUT OF HERE Izuku: *OFA embers elevator music playing in the background* Class A: I'm not sure if this will fix it or make it worse

[haneentifosa005]

Charles has the opportunity to do the funniest thing

[feroluce]

When talking about Boothill's drink order in 2.6, like. Hoyo could have just glossed it over and described it as "a few" or "several" drinks. They didn't bother to program in the actual glasses or anything- it's not like any of us were gonna count them and notice if they put in the wrong amount.

But they specifically chose the number seven, and if it IS just coincidence, it is a very very fun one.

Hsr is also known to make tarot card references- we had the online event shortly before Penacony's release, I'm pretty sure there's at least a couple simulated universe occurrences and a curio, and then Black Swan's Everything.

The Seven of Cups is a card about dreams and making choices when you have multiple options it front of you. It represents resisting self-deception and false dreams, and not letting yourself be charmed by hallucinations. It is a warning to carefully consider what is real vs what is not, which is very important in Penacony as a whole, being the land of sweet dreams, and it becomes relevant to Boothill later, when Primon starts to fuck with his head.

It can also represent someone who is "deep in their cups," which is a more polite way to refer to someone who uses alcohol as a coping mechanism to an unhealthy amount.

I hate that this could be a serious comment on Boothill being an alcoholic to cope with how much horrifying trauma he's experienced...and I have to discuss it looking at Primon's ridiculous fucking face fjkdslajldk

The overall message of the card is to stand fast, keep a clear head, and make your decision. Which suits Boothill beautifully even outside of this patch, since he is the very picture of ruthlessness and straightforwardness- he is able to see that bright clear line between action and result, and he follows it doggedly! Everything he does, he does wholeheartedly and decisively! And we see it especially well when he fights through the partial regression Primon leads him into!

Straight and clear and sure as a bullet, baby!!!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I have greatly enjoyed your comics ever since i saw them and have been quietly Iurking as ya do- thought youd want to know that i played hollow knight based on how enthusiastic u were and how fuckin cool youre art of hk/mdzs is. OH and watched dungeon meshi. Your influence is vast and i have been enriched. Keep on keepin on 🫡

You have bestowed the highest honour upon me.

[teecupangel]

Imagine if, during brotherhood, when Lucy started focusing more on getting the apple and less on keeping desmond safe, desmond's eagle vision started seeing her as an enemy. And he is sitting in the sanctuary and is messing with his eagle vision and does a double take when he realizes lucy is red

It starts off as red footprints leading to the villa.

Desmond found it during one of the few short breaks he was allowed to have. He figured he’d check the villa while he could still be hidden by the darkness of night and just… move around.

One of the things he missed from when they were in that hideout in Rome had been learning to move the same way as Ezio did.

Well…

Mostly, it felt like Ezio but, sometimes, before he could even understand what was happening, he would jump or move like Altaïr.

If he let his instinct takeover, it was like…

It would switch to whoever would have the better move that Desmond needed right now.

Not once did it felt like he was moving on his own.

That was why when his Eagle Vision activated on its own while he was just walking by the fountain, he knew that it was Altaïr’s habit and not Ezio’s.

Ezio used his Eagle Vision when there was a need to. Even if it was just a poke in his mind that he needed to, he would use it.

Altaïr used it regularly. Every three seconds or even less if he was feeling more paranoid than usual.

Altaïr used it like it was his real vision.

He used it like he was ready to be attacked at every given moment.

And now…

There were footprints glowing in red where everyone believed they were safe.

Desmond was immediately on alert, fearing the worst.

Templars.

Abstergo had found them.

He hurriedly followed the footsteps and it led him to Mario’s study. There were many footsteps all around the study but they all led to the hidden entrance.

There was no time to analyze the movements of the footprints. He followed the path quietly, his movements feeling more like fusion of Altaïr and Ezio making their way towards their target.

The Hidden Blade wrapped around his arm felt both light and heavy at the same time, his mind clearer than it had ever been.

He has his mission.

He has his targets.

He knew what to do.

But he stopped dead in his track, his heart beating louder and louder that it drowned out Shaun’s complains of him appearing ‘out of nowhere’ and to make a sound or something next time.

The grounds were littered with red footprints and Desmond finally had an answer to the silent question he had upstairs.

“It looked like only one pair of footprints but why was is moving all over?”

Seeing the footprints here and the locations of all their equipment, Desmond realized that the owner of these red footprints had been helping in moving and setting up the equipment they used.

And now…

“Desmond, are you okay?”

A familiar voice.

The woman who saved him from Abstergo and brought him to the Brotherhood.

The woman now shrouded in that sickening red glow in his Vision.

Can he truly believe his Vision?

Hell…

Seeing the dim blue glow of both Shaun and Rebecca, Desmond was reminded that he was still an outsider.

The three of them were close, members of the Brotherhood.

Even if Desmond was to tell them of the red glow he saw…

Why would he even believe that these two, more white than blue, would even believe his words over hers?

It would be easy to destroy any of his accusations.

‘Desmond has been in the Animus for too long.’

‘It’s the Bleeding Effect. Who knows? Maybe he’s seeing me as someone less. Someone like Lucrezia Borgia?’

Worst case scenario, they might sedate him and push him into the Animus under the excuse of ‘this is for your own safety’.

Desmond couldn’t even be sure if this paranoia was his or Altaïr’s.

Hell, at this point, it could the both of them and Ezio’s as well.

What he did know was…

“It’s nothing.” Desmond blinked.

The world burst into colors once more.

And Lucy Stillman stared at him with the same concerned expression she always had.

Was she truly concerned?

Was she acting?

Desmond couldn’t be sure.

What he did know was…

He needed to figure out if Lucy was red because she had her own agenda that would be detrimental for him.

Or…

If she had turned her back from the Brotherhood and was a Templar sent to keep Desmond-

Ah.

Ezio’s memories.

That was what she was after, wasn’t it?

The Apple.

Like how Vidic desired the map from Altaïr’s memories.

Well…

He would play along for now.

He’d make a plan while he lets Ezio’s memories play out.

It’s alright.

Now that he knew he was alone.

He had all the time in the world to plan.

.

(I will say that if this was an actual fic, I would suggest naming this Red Shoes as reference to the fairy tale the Red Shoes)

The red footprint is based on the one you can find in AC Brotherhood as explained in the trivia section of Eagle Vision wiki.

[pettyprocrastination]

whoever this beloved anon was I am so touched by your kindness! You definitely didn’t have to do this but I am so happy you enjoy this idea and I will happily expand upon it for you!

this is just a collection of word vomit bullet points for the time being but I will happily answer any and all questions about this pair!!

warnings: violence, angst, child death (Sarah Miller), foul language, the same warnings that apply to tlou, reader is Sarah's mom and described as having similar features to her. 

So the general Idea is that you and Joel are happily married before the outbreak. 

You had been Sarah's mother, his high school sweetheart he got pregnant when neither of you were old enough to have any reaction to the pregnancy test other than a fucking panic attack in one another’s arms. but you made it work 

you both worked but made time for one another and your sweet girl, going to museums every other weekend and joel insisting on swooping you off for a date every now and then 

nothing special. He knows you’re more of a diner gal than anything too fancy that makes you both feel out of place. 

On his birthday in 2003, you had planned to tell him that you were pregnant again. But the memories of your own fears of motherhood from all those years ago begin to swirl through your head again and you get cold feel. deciding to tell him the morning after

it is his birthday afterall, you want to focus on him. 

but when you’re woken up in the middle of the night because tommy needs to get bailed out, Joel kisses you sweetly one last time before promising he’ll be back and you can’t shake the feeling that something bad is happening. 

its you that shakes sarah awake that night. shouting at her to put on her shoes when she’s still rubbing the sleep from her eyes because you’ve been listening to the radio for the past two hours, calling joel again and again and again praying for him to fucking pick up but to no avail. 

Sarah, bless your little girl’s bleeding heart is the one who insists you check on the adler’s against your better suspicions and when you find the eldest looming over her daughter, blood and sinew dripping from her mouth, you grab your daughter hand and burst into a full sprint until something slams into your back and sends you tumbling onto their front lawn

its how joel finds you, struggling to keep the once sweet old woman, whose now nothing more than dead eyes and gnashing teeth straining to snap at your pulse point as you push against her while sarah shrieks before your husband runs forward and cracks her skull with a wrench. 

there’s hardly a moment of pause, just enough for him to pull you up and into his arms before he’s ushering you both into the car with an urgency. 

when the truck crashes, you get separated from them. Perhaps at Tommy’s side when the flames rise and create a wall, separating you from your husband, or maybe pulled into the mob of chaos when trying to escape from those already infected-

all joel knows is that you promise you’ll find him: just get sarah to safety and you’ll meet him at the river

Poor thing is already so frightened, held in her father’s arms with tears streaming down her face insisting they can’t leave you they just can’t but her father kisses her forehead and reassures her its going to be okay 

“we just need to be brave, okay babygirl? Your mama’s real tough, she’s gonna be alright.” 

he isn’t sure if he’s saying it to his daughter or himself. 

but when he comes to the river you aren’t there. Only a soldier who points a gun at the scared little girl in his arms and then he loses everything

its when the light is gone from his daughter’s eyes that he realizes. His voice cracked and raw from sobbing that he looks around to see his brother with drawn in shoulders and tears in his eyes but his wife is nowhere to be found. 

Tommy says you got lost in the chaos. Everything was so loud, so sudden that he turned around and suddenly you weren’t there. 

Joel wants to go back but its Tommy that stops him, that dulls the red in his vision to a sad faded pink because his brother points at the orange horizon not too far from them, so much of the city is already in flames. 

“We’re gonna find her, but not there.” 

So Joel searches. for the first year spent in the world post-outbreak its all he did. 

He became a smuggler because of it. 

Information came at a price and he needed to be able to fucking pay it, whether it be in blood or ration cards. He was willing to do anything to find you or any thin thread that lead your way. 

But it’s Tommy that asks him to give up. Not in those words of course. 

The youngest Miller knows better than to say something so cruel that would make his brother, the only person he has in this world turn on him. 

But his voice is worried when he asks him one night in Boston when he hasn’t even had the chance to wash the blood from his knuckles 

“You think she would have wanted this for you?” 

the fight that followed his words was brutal. Vicious insults and scarred fists slamming against each brother until they're both too tired and bloody to continue. Each leaning against a wall for support and Tommy’s wavering voice breaking the silence. 

“I don’t know where she is, Joel. But I do know you're gonna get yourself killed if you keep lookin’ for her.” 

All he can do is nod. 

It’s a few days later when he meets Tess. Who has heard plenty of stories about the elder miller’s brutality and wants him to put that muscle to good use for some extra profit. 

It begins his new life. One that empty and cold but one he can live. 

Until of course, Ellie comes along. The sweet and incredibly opinionated girl that makes him become something akin to the man he thought died twenty years ago. 

its when he’s traveling with Ellie, that it happens. When a warm familiarity has settled between the two because so much blood and pain has been shared he can’t help but see her as something close, something bright even though all he can force himself to utter in her reference is “cargo” 

when theyre traveling through the woods as Ellie chatters away, probing his memory about a movie that may or may not have existed thirty years ago because her descriptions of the plot are incredibly odd he hears a voice shout for them to stop and finds himself staring at a man- no, a boy- pointing a gun at them. 

Ellie stills, but Joel can see enough to know that from the lanky figure and dimpled face that he’s young. Maybe twenty, twenty-two at the oldest, but his eyes dart from Joel to Ellie with a pinprick of fear that allows Joel the time to charge forward and slam him to the ground before wrestling the gun from his hands. 

He has enough to time to tuck it under the stranger’s chin before he hears the sound of the safety being turned off and finds himself looking up and seeing a gun just inches from his face. 

Joel’s head whips around when Ellie’s voice calls out his name in fear, he turns to see another stranger holding her a gun point, shoulders drawn back and a shadow cast over their face by the had obstructing their identity. 

“You hurt one of mine, I hurt one of yours. That a fair deal?” 

Its takes him a moment to recognize you. It’s been so long since he’s heard your voice, the sweet tease when you would poke at him each time he woke up late despite the fact that you reminded him to set his alarm the night before, the times you’d chide him with a harsh “Joel Miller!” whispered in public anytime he was able to grab you a bit too passionately to be appropriate in public but the laughter in your voice let him know you were never truly mad at him. You didn’t know how to be. 

But that sweetness is buried under a cold rasp that cuts through the air as you point a rifle at the scared little girl in front of you.

“You think I won’t?” You’re older now, skin covered in scars from a life he didn’t know you got the chance to live and your eyes are cold as they regard your husband. “Put the gun down and get the fuck off of him, I won’t repeat myself.” 

Joel mumbles your name in awe. The woman he loved, the woman he mourned the one he fought so hard to find stands before him like some sort of hallucination and suddenly the world feels like its spinning until you bark orders at him again. 

“You’ve got five seconds Joel, make a fucking choice before I make it for you.” 

He looks down and realizes the boy under him, the one with the bleeding nose and snarling face has your eyes and his dimples. 

“One.” 

The one above him has Sarah’s hair. Soft brown curls that shine under the sun. 

“Two”

Wait. No, they both do.

“Three.” 

Twins. Jesus fucking Christ you had twins. 

“Four.” 

Joel holds the rifle up above his head and the one boy standing snatches it from his grasp, tossing it to the ground and kicking it far from his reach. He slowly stands, allowing your son- dear god your son- to scramble to his feet. 

Your voice softens just for a moment. “You okay, Duke?” 

Blood stains the bottom half of his face from where Joel slammed his fist into the boy’s nose just moments before, but he nods nonetheless. 

Now, they both stand on one side of you and he can see the resemblance clear as day the same way he would whenever Sarah was by your side.

When you order him to hand over his bag, he does so without question before telling Ellie to do the same. 

She watches him with wide eyes, her hands still up in the air but gaping at her companion as if he had grown a second head. 

“Joel!” “Just do it, alright?”

He doesn’t miss the way you watch their interaction with narrowed eyes until she tosses her bag to you and you slowly lower your gun. 

“Now, you want to tell me what the fuck you think you’re doin’ at my home?” 

[ganondoodle]

Kinda in regards to the Empress & BodyGuard 2-

Is Zaphira (sorry if I spelled her name wrong) an elf or do humans have pointed ears in your universe? If no elves, how do the pointed ears happen? Are there different length of ears and if so do they mean somethin?

Love your art & use of colours!

Thank you! and thank you for asking! (this sketch took me way too long .. and the colors still look washed out on my desktop screen but im not editing a third time ..)

Zaphira is human, there are no elves, as such, in this world, though humans tend to live longer than IRL and have differently shaped ears-

the shapes are rather diverse (example above) and culturally (so far) they have no significance, they are merely a trait just like different nose shapes or fantasy hair colors

the worldbuilding reason is that these are extremely diluted demonic influences- in the past demons were frequently in the human world, though largely in secret/disguised, and long time exposure to demonic presences can have varying effects, the most immediate and common being a longer life or wounds healing faster than normal; there might have been other long time effects but the only trait that stayed even after their disappearance is the ear shapes

(there was a mass extinction event of demons that wiped out all above a certain age, since demons generally dont die of natural causes their life neither depends nor revolves around reproduction so there were extremely few left and those were too young to keep most of their knowledge and culture alive, as they rarely wrote anything down; Shargon is of the current oldest generation and witnessed it happen, just like most now adult demons, Thor and Eadrya are both a bit older than him and thus the oldest living demons, which doesnt mean much considering the technically endless lifespans of them)

and to explain me including Shargon in a human appearance- hes the only demon that spends as much time in the human world as at home, largely to escape the others since they are not interested in going there and would otherwise attack him any chance they get (the human world is rather uncomfortable for demons to be in and they have better things to do than to chase him that far), while hes generally very weak compared to them, something he is very good at is shape shifting, mainly the speed of which, being able to shift between full demon and the smaller more humanoid form extremely quickly, or even mid forms that are a mix of both - even in motion! while for the others it takes them quite a bit and forces them to stop which is the main reason he keeps escaping them not able to keep up with his rapid shape shifting (though it does take its toll .. also a reason hes so skinny)

he is the first (only?) one that at some point will learn how to shift into a much more human looking one (depicted in the sketch) too, but its rather dangerous since it involves supressing and compressing his demon heart and system... which is what keeps demons alive (its somewhat like holding your breath for way too long) so the only time he would make use of it is in extreme situations, like avoiding detection by maschines that can pick up demonic energy or escaping shackles made of celestial silver (which drains their energy and can scar/hurt them permanently, like silver to vampires(?werewolfs?) in a way)

....the point is that if he shifts into a human form he has very long ears, meaning that is basically the extreme form that doesnt occur in humans and hints at the origins for those ear shapes being demonic exposure in the past

[birdantlers]

I didnt even know DB Daima dropped bc life shit but @peridotite has informed me that they just casually drop that namekians apparently originate from [checks notes] the demon realm

Yk everyone's favorite and most memorable DBZ setting ..... The Demon Realm .......... ..

[reel-fear]

Reminder Mike is literally so rich and successful he owned/owns[?] a Bendy themed custom car. His franchise also has merchandise in Hot Topic and fucking Walmart alongside huge companies like Hasbro and such. Nobody made him delete his Twitter, he made a shitty comment towards someone who just wanted to see more poc in Bendy, then people rightfully told him off. Then he got so upset he deleted his account, because despite how upset it seems to make him when people rip him apart for the stupid shit he says he also can't keep his mouth shut.

Nobody MADE Mike tweet that shit, nobody was holding a gun to his head to be active on social media again. In fact it would probably be better if he wasn't so active so he could focus on actually making the damn games. All of that was his choice, it just so happens it was a poor one he eventually regretted and took back. He's not a victim, he's an asshole quite frankly. He put himself in that position, acted all tough and rude. Like he didn't care what the fans had to say and talked down to them like they were idiots, then the fans bit back and suddenly he couldn't take it. He could dish it but he couldn't take a Fraction of it? That's on him 100%.

That's that on that <3

[luckycharms1701]

You’ve always loved turtles. If you’re truly pressed to say why, you would probably say that what you like about them most is the intermediate space they take up. Between land and water. Between soft and hard. Between big and small. They really do it all.

It doesn’t hurt that turtles are super cute.

So when your soulmark came in as an orange turtle on your bicep, you were beyond ecstatic. There is debate about the soulmark symbols and what they mean, but you hoped that meant your soulmate would share your same interest.

There’s really only one career choice for you.

When Channel 6 approaches you about doing a story on your turtle rescue, you are surprised to learn that reporter April O’Neil is going to be the lead. She’s an amazing investigative journalist, not known for this kind of fluff piece.

You understand when you meet her for the first time. She’s as obsessed with turtles as you are. You almost forget it’s an interview as the two of you chat and chat.

Despite the easy rapport you and April have, you are surprised when she contacts you after the piece runs. All she would say is that some people want to thank you in person, can you meet up with her? The mystery has you intrigued, so you agree.

You are not expecting four giant turtles and their rat father. Once you apologize for being rude and they insist it’s fine, open-mouthed staring is the most minor reaction they can think of, they thank you sincerely for your help with their “kinda, sorta brothers???” as the orange-banded one put it. It seems that when they saw the story your passion for your work moved them.

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

Out of this unusual meeting friendship is born.

You, Mikey, and Raph hit it off immediately. They often sneak off during patrol to come help you with your turtle rescue, much to Leo’s chagrin. He can’t really be mad at them though, they are a huge help to you. You have employees and volunteers, but none of them can understand the turtles you rescue like the guys can.

It’s one such night when you realize that friendship isn’t the only thing on your mind when you think of Mikey.

The two of you are passing in the outdoor enclosure, him with a box of his “little bros” in hand, when you trip on a rock. Without even looking at you, he reaches out, catches you with one arm and a “Woah there angelcakes!” and spins to set you back on your feet. He turns and continues on his way, cooing down at the baby turtles in the box.

You, meanwhile, are frozen in place. The way he just… did that, as if it was the easiest thing in the world. Just casually picked you up with one arm and put you back down, as if you weighed no more than a feather. The way he acted like it was normal, reminding you that he is not. The way his scales felt, cool through your shirt. Paradoxically the thought lit a fire in you.

It’s a little harder, interacting with Mikey after that. Every touch causes your heart to stutter, and Mikey likes to touch you a lot. He throws his arm around your shoulder and ruffles your hair. When you are able to successfully rehabilitate a particularly ornery softshell turtle, he picks you up in a hug and spins you around, nearly causing you to faint from the sensation.

And he’s so sweet, especially to the turtles in your care. Your heart swells three sizes whenever you see him handle the turtles with such care, as if they are made of hopes and dreams instead of shells and teeth. He doesn’t even mind when they draw his blood, simply laughing and apologizing for scaring them. Even you curse at them for biting sometimes, on your worst days.

He’s a little too perfect, and sometimes when you think of him you find your hand on your bicep.

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

You are thinking of him while you and Raph are building an additional enclosure for a leopard tortoise that isn’t playing well with the others. You feel an itch in your bicep, possibly psychosomatic but annoying nonetheless. You push up your sleeve with the hammer in your hand and scratch at your soulmark with it while you line up the next nail.

“The fuck is that?”

You look up at Raph and blink. That was pretty abrupt, even for him. You follow his gaze to your bicep. “My soulmark?”

A kaleidoscope of emotions flash across his face, too quick to follow. He settles on exasperation. “That’s your soulmark? ‘Nd you never thought to, I dunno, talk to him?”

“Talk to who?”

Raph throws his hands in the air and stalks off. You hear a mutter that sounds suspiciously like “made for each other” as you watch him go.

Part of you wants to follow, to figure out what’s going on, but you really don’t want to have to wrestle this lumber you’re nailing back into place. It took long enough the first time. So you turn back to the task at hand, trying not to get distracted while you hammer the nail in.

It doesn’t take long for Raph to come back, his protesting little brother in tow. He comes up to where you are bandaging your finger after hitting it with the hammer and grabs you as well. He sits the two of you down on the pile of lumber.

“Bro, wha-” Mikey cuts himself off, staring as Raph lifts your sleeve and reveals your soulmark to him.

Raph steps away, letting your sleeve fall back into place, then points between you. “Talk.” He stalks off once again.

You turn to Mikey, hoping he can shed some light on what’s going on. He’s still staring at your bicep, a little slack-jawed. You wave your hand in front of his face, and his gaze snaps up to your face. He starts fumbling with the bracelets around his arm.

When he manages to push them off his wrist to reveal the matching orange turtle, it’s your turn to gape at his arm. You’re moving before you really process everything, and he meets you in the middle for a searing kiss.

“That’s not talking!” Raph’s annoyed yell comes from the other end of the enclosure. You and Mikey pull away simultaneously and start to laugh.

[borbology]

quick breath of fresh air...

[prolibytherium]

Somehow that ongoing 1,500,000+ word The Beatles Paul McCartney x John Lennon fanfiction I read includes like the most absolute minuscule details of the Beatles lore, like tiny little things where I was like "that can't be real" but I looked it up and it was (IE a guy claiming to be Jesus Christ barging in on one of their recording sessions). But it does NOT include the apparently real group masturbation sessions

[sweetandglovelyart]

Knightfall in Dream Land - Page 6

Meta Knight begins his long fall to Popstar’s surface and passes by some familiar faces on the way down.

[oneluckydragon]

got hit with the echo+sora brainrot so i am once more rambling in your askbox about it. because reasons.

anywho i think there is something truly saddening about echo's struggles to make peace within herself and how she truly finds it hard to find that peace when she is so certain that if the truth about her origins were to be revealed to the world, much less to *sora*, everything she achieved, everything she worked for, all of which matters to her most, will crumble away in a moment's notice.

but the fear of losing all your life's work is none compared to the fear of losing sora. the feeling of poison that settled itself within themselves and between each other out of fear and tragedy of what had happened to them is familiar. echo's resemblance to dusknoir was already enough to set the two off because of how much it had all hurt to see someone you love and yourself turn into a mockery and a splitting image of someone who had pretended to care yet showed he never did at all, but this poison is louder. it hurts to bare, to carry, and to have none but yourself to be its sole holder.

but this poison, this feeling of heartache is different. because whereas the previous pain was something both of them felt, sora was lucky enough to not have known the truth about the person who she cares for so dearly.

echo knows that she used to be darkrai. and it haunts her to have known that her previous incarnation was so *cruel*, all for the sake of it just feeling right. wishing to engulf an entire world in darkness, solely for whatever desire she used to have.

and for how much she knows, how much she will hammer it into her own head that she is *not* like that anymore, that she looks at her past with sneer and disgust and that she will not be the barer of evil anymore, it will not matter in the slightest when she will have to look at sora if she were to ever find out.

how afraid, angry and dejected she would look when finding out, and how she will go on the defense/offense because of how much this will overwhelm her.

because when echo looks at her own shadow, she sees herself for what she is. she knows what she is, be it out of shame or guilt.

but when sora will look at it, she will see a tall, contorting and menacing shadow, towering over with a bright cyan eye doing nothing but looking at her, as if tempting her to make the next move.

and she defends herself. from someone she knows will not harm her. she raises her arms up in self defense from a hand that would never hurt her more than the world has already did.

she knows echo will not hurt her. and thats why she is afraid.

Oh my oh my OH MY, Sinnoh!!! YES YES YES!

HOW!!! IN THE WORLD!!! Are you so good at crawling into my head and creating these vivid analysis/snippets on my OCs??? I've barely shared ANY information about Echo and Sora because I've been wanting to hoard most of my stuff for when my fic is finally finished... but... I think you've broken my resolve a bit, if I'm entirely honest.

You know what? I'm so inspired by your accuracy and eagerness to talk about my girls that I'm gonna forgo my crippling anxiety regarding my writing skills and instead post a snippet of my WIP fic here as a treat for you. A teaser, if you will. Since I have no idea when the fic in question will actually be done and ready (or when I will be satisfied with it, cause the thing is currently 36,000 words and still slowly climbing). And now you've got me eager to share SOMETHING of my fic with you and anyone that might want to take a peek at it.

Please enjoy this conversation between Dusknoir and Echo. The topic deals a lot with what you'd described up above!! c:

[Note: this is an unedited part of my fic because I am still in the process of writing and it may change in the future, so please be gentle w/ me but I'd love to read any thoughts/comments that pop up while reading!! pls send asks or replies or anything really cause I love you guys]

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“I’m going to tell you something now, and you are going to listen.” Echo commands with a sharp bite in her voice that Dusknoir cannot fathom ignoring. He pauses and then offers a slow nod, waiting, wondering what she could possibly desire to tell him at a time like this, of all things.

Minutes pass as Echo remains rooted in place, still as her own shadow, and her eyes dart around as she stares at the patches of dry grass and sand beneath her paws. Her claws clench and unclench, digging into the earth like daggers as the wind of the forest (it’s trees so close, just behind them, a looming sort of presence that could engulf them whole) whistles through the surrounding branches, carrying stray leaves of many bright greens through the chilling breeze. Dusknoir watches them dance around Echo, twirling, floating down, down, down… but it’s quiet, too quiet, and Dusknoir feels a shiver pass through him when Echo’s voice finally rings out through the silence.

"When I evolved, Sora was petrified," She says, nearly a whisper, an admission that melts away her confidence and appears to bring her a flood of both shame and regret. Her face twists up then, strangely, like she’d felt a twinge of pain from somewhere deep inside the very fabric of her own soul and was unable to quell it. "She couldn’t even bring herself to look at me most days. At first, my appearance… well, it reminded her too much of you. And eventually of someone I used to be.”

Someone I used to be. At that, Dusknoir’s immediate reaction is to recall Echo’s previous life as a human, as the miserable shell of a creature surviving alongside Grovyle that he’d relentlessly hunted in the dark future. A human made of contempt and anger and apathy, who never smiled or laughed or cried or screamed like the old legends said humans would-- an entity that simply existed rather than lived. An echo of a life long dead and buried. But, judging by her tone, by her voice, by some uneasy intuition itching in the back of his mind like a swarm of pestilent Ninjask… he knows that she means something else entirely. Something that she isn’t willing to share. And frankly, that concept utterly terrifies him.

Someone I used to be. Dusknoir wants to speak, to break his own silence, wants to ask the myriad of questions bubbling up in his throat because this isn't the first time she's hinted at another life beyond being human, but those questions die at the source like a flame doused in water. And always the coward, coward, coward, instead he takes the easy way out by doing nothing at all. Whether Echo notices his surge of inner conflict or not-- the nervous wring of his hands and the tremble in his spine that he cannot control under her gaze-- she does not react.

“I’d take a step and Sora would flinch away.” Echo confesses, her markings flickering with light before going dark and dead, as if her body wished to snuff them out entirely, a deep seated rejection, a self-loathing so strong that Dusknoir cannot help but recognize it and empathize, and his heart aches, “It took ages for her to stop shaking when I’d speak. To stop looking at me like-- like I was going to…” 

Echo grimaces like she’s enduring waves of grueling torture and doesn’t finish that string of thought, but it’s not hard to make an educated guess on what went unsaid. Like I was going to betray her. Hurt her. Break her heart. She’s been through so much already and I couldn’t bear to be another influence in the history of her suffering. I hate myself because of how I made her feel. When her eyes went wide in fear and through them I could see myself staring back like some sort of burden, some sort of curse.

“I am not my past.” Proud and true, Echo straightens up and holds her head high, a spark igniting in her eyes, a glint of determination, a will to keep going and going despite such circumstances and strife, despite this horrid, unspeakable past that haunts her so, “And I am definitely not you. It’s taken a while, but I know that much now. I’ve accepted it.”

I am not my past. And I am definitely not you.

A sigh, a breath, and Echo glances at him with a certain sorrow that cannot be described, a sorrow that lingers even through the veil of her tenacity, "But no matter how I feel, no matter my conviction, my shadows still find ways through the cracks. Every time I think I'm getting a grip and that I might finally understand myself… I change all over again." She admits, sounding more angry and tired than defeated now-- like a mirror of her old self, her human self that had clawed and damned and cursed him, despised him more than anything. "I hate it. I hate that I never truly know who I am. That I have to learn about my past through stories others tell me, or through fragments of twisted, broken memories that I wouldn't wish on anyone. Through conflict and pain and… and..."

"Echo," Dusknoir murmurs her name softly, an offering, a potential escape if only she would wish to drop the subject and forget this conversation had ever happened-- if she'd overstepped and needed an excuse to back out, a diversion, an understanding. And briefly, Dusknoir wonders why she is opening up about this particular information, why she would delve into something so vulnerable, so personal. Why she would bring up this hurtful history when it obviously brings her great discomfort.

And then, he gets an answer.

“You’re lucky, Dusknoir." There it is, that wildfire burning in her eyes again. A spark that’s new and bold and startling. But lucky? No, never. He'd have to disagree, accounting the mountain of evidence that was his life and regrettable deeds.

"You already know exactly who you are and what you’ve done, and most importantly why. You have more than a tattered picture of yourself that reflects broken answers. And you can change with that knowledge. I see you trying.” She tells him, searching, looking for something so deeply and Dusknoir wishes he knew what it could be so that he could give it to her, because he would, he would gladly give it to her without a second thought if it meant they could be close again. But he isn’t a fool, and he’s wise enough to know they’ll never be like they were before. “And if somehow I could change, even as half-assed as I have. Well, then what’s your excuse?”

You can do it, say her unspoken words, I believe in you.