#ket people

[koszmarnybudyn]

So this song fits them so very well right?

[mandarinmoons]

Pro tip

Do not make friends with people younger than you because they'll constantly joke about you being old 😭

[mintacle]

Another reason I love Jason is cuz he's not two-faced. He will lie by omission, but he isn't a snake. If you couldn't tell he was going to poison your energy drink because you were trafficking children, then that's on you. Jason never pretended to be Egon's friend. He never played nice with Bruce just to get some benefit out of it. I love that Jason respects his emotions and how he feels about someone or something and he doesn't ignore and abuse his own feelings. You can tell what he thinks about you and if you can't then that's really on you.

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Not Your Fault (Arya to Eragon)

A part of the 2024 Modern Inheritance Whimsical Whumps of Winter prompt challenge! This is a mix of the prompt Nightmares (Eragon) and Not Your Fault (Arya to Eragon). Prompts are still open so feel free to submit a request via reply, dm, ask or reblog!

I tried my best but I don't think it's exactly what you were looking for @thearunadragon so I apologize in advance. You could look at this as a bit of a tie in to the previously established story far earlier in the timeline (as this story takes place in the weird and wild extended war area and the story I'm about to mention is immediately post-Brisingr) Collateral as it deals with some similar topics.

Anyways, on to it!

TW: Mentions of child death, civilian death in warzones, soft target deaths and general war trauma. ~~~ Eragon pries himself from his Waking Dreams, haunted by the specters of civilians lost in a recent battle where he was the leader. Unable to bring himself to tell Saphira of another guilt she does not fully understand, the young Rider finds himself aimlessly wandering the Varden's camp, followed by his Waking Dreams, until he comes upon Arya having her own moment alone on a cold night. ~~~

“Can I…” Movement in the corner of his vision stopped Eragon’s question dead. The little girl was still there, staring at him with wide, frozen eyes. 

“You said we were safe there!” Her voice wasn’t accusing. Shit, sometimes he preferred when they were aggressive, so he could push back and not feel so ashamed of it. But she– ‘Vivian.’ he remembered with a hollow pang, the screams of the child’s mother echoing through his skull –Vivian always sounded so small and terrified. Confused. “You said we were going to be okay!”

Eragon closed his eyes and forced himself to breathe. The icy air stung his nose and crackled in his lungs. Even with the world shut out for a moment, he could still see the ghost of his Waking Dreams there. Off to the side still. Clutching at the gore soaked fabric of her woolen dress where shards of metal had shorn the cloth away to reveal destroyed flesh beneath. 

“Can I sit with you?”

Arya gave him one of her half quirked grins. “Thought we were past you having to ask.” With a sweep of her hand the woman cleared the thin layer of snow that had collected on the frozen ground beside her. “All yours.”

Eragon did his best to return the smile despite the child weeping in the corner of his eye. “Thanks.” 

“Anytime.” 

They sat together in silence. At least, it was mostly silent. Even at night the sounds of the Varden’s camp continued, subdued by the decrease of alert inhabitants and muffled by the thin blanket of snow falling around the tents. 

And of course, it wasn’t silent for Eragon. Somehow Garrow had entered his Waking Dreams, admonishing the little girl for getting so messy, telling her in clipped tones that Eragon couldn’t be everywhere at once, so stop whining that he let her die. After all, he let his own uncle die, the man who raised him, so how–

“Who are you seeing?” 

Eragon jolted at Arya’s voice, his head snapping to locate the sound despite her proximity. The elf turned the page of the small book she had splayed open on the fingers of one hand, entirely nonchalant. When the Rider did not answer, she repeated her question. “Who are you seeing?”

The young man worked his mouth, trying to find words. How could she tell? “I’m not sure I understand your–”

“If I don’t get to lie to you about my shitshow nights, then you don’t get to lie to me about yours.” Marking her spot with a finger, Arya closed the book and turned her head to look him dead in the eye. Ah. Of course she could recognize it. “If you don’t want to talk about it, that’s fine. I’m not going to force you.”

Eragon couldn’t tell if it was relief that rushed into his chest, or another wave of hurt. There he went, worrying the people around him again. 

He had so, so many people he could go to that would meet him with understanding and support. Brom, Glenwing, Roran, even Nasuada and Katrina had all comforted him in their own ways when he had confessed his troubles to them in confidence. Not to mention Saphira, his Partner of Heart and Mind, his everything, his other half! 

And yet somehow, sometimes, none of them completely understood. Even Saphira, who did all she could to give him comfort and clarity, did not always understand how he felt about the war. About the lives taken, intentionally or not. The others did, in their own way. Everyone experienced it differently after all. 

But this was Arya. Arya, who had joined the war at what was considered the elven equivalent of the age Eragon had found himself swept into the conflict. Who, at least from what he had learned, spent more nights awake than most grappling with her own feelings of how her actions affected those around her, and how to best take the weight off the shoulders of her comrades in arms. Duty and sense of right and wrong clashing with what needed to be done, making the choice and living with it. 

Maybe that was why he came to her, after all. Not Saphira, nor Brom, Glen, Roran. To her, the only other person who might truly, fully understand where this pain, this guilt, was coming from. 

His shaky breath out spawned a cloud of mist in the air before him. “I’ve been…having nightmares again.” 

“Visions?”

“No.” Eragon shook his head. “Nothing like that. Just…” He bit his tongue as Vivian’s crying reached a hysterical pitch. “The wolves. In my head again.” 

Arya did not respond with words. Instead, Eragon felt warmth hovering over the back of his hand and flicked his gaze down to find that the elf had hesitantly reached out to him. He gave her a tiny nod and her fingers settled over his, a point of contact for him to follow should he fall. 

“I keep thinking about the last mission. That town.” Vivian abruptly stopped crying at Arya’s touch. She vanished into the softly falling snow, Garrow following her, as Eragon finally shook off the final dregs of waking sleep with his continued speech. “I know…I know we did everything we could to get the civilians out of the way, but…” His voice caught suddenly. “The little girl. And all the others. So many of them died.”

“I can’t stop thinking that…” Eragon swallowed, the next words thick in his throat. A grim confession, an admittance of his guilt. “That she died, and the others died, because we were there.” The young man tightened his grip on his knees, fighting to contain the tears that welled up. “That fight wouldn’t have happened if we weren’t there. And it wouldn’t have gotten so out of control if Saphira and I weren’t there. It’s my fault.”

Arya did not answer immediately. The elf took a moment to properly mark the page she had held with her finger and set the book aside before she leaned her head against the rock at their backs. Eragon took no offense at her pause, having long ago come to understand that when Arya took her time it was out of sincere care for the subject at hand. 

She took a long, calming breath in before letting it steam out of her nose in twin clouds of vapor in the chilled air. 

“Your logic…” Arya began slowly. “Is not inherently wrong.” Eragon’s stomach sank. She must have caught his dropped expression, because the woman put her hand out in a gesture of calm. “Hold on. Let me finish. Your logic is not inherently wrong, but it only takes into account a single moment.”

Arya held her extended hand up and curled it into a fist, her thumb extended to the side. “Yes. That fight would not have happened if the Varden had not sent us there. However, the Varden would not have sent us there if the Broddring soldiers were not sent there to conscript all the men in that town for Galbatorix’s army.” She raised her pointer finger. “The need for more men to be conscripted to Galbatorix’s army would not have happened had the Varden not engaged the Empire in full scale war.” Another finger joined the others. “The Varden would not have engaged the Empire in full scale war had Galbatorix not sent the Urgals to Farthen Dûr to attack the resistance at its heart.” Again, another. 

“Eragon, I could go on and on and on.” Arya dropped her hand. “I can go back over a hundred years, to the day that Galbatorix and Jarnunvösk chose to enter the Spine knowing full well that it was Urgal territory and arrogantly considered themselves untouchable despite the known risks.” 

Eragon wiped his eyes. Even as the woman spoke, he felt the lump in his throat rising. “That’s true. But I still gave the orders that day. I…I’m the one who told the families to hide in that part of town, even though–”

“Eragon. Stop.” Rough palms settled on his cheeks, gently turned the young Rider to face her. Arya’s eyes shone in the darkness, flickers of familiar pain that Eragon was sure he would see had he found a mirror that night. “Enough. It was not your fault. This war, it is not your fault.” 

“But–”

“Shush.” Soft but commanding, Arya silenced him with a finger to his lips. “It is not your fault, and it is not Saphira’s fault, that you both were thrown into this war. This war was made by a man who never took time nor responsibility for his grief and instead decided to inflict it on the world. 

Every day, since the day I met you, I have seen you and Saphira take action.” She lifted his chin, swiped away a tear with her thumb. “And every time, I see you both consider the consequences in all that you do. You came into this war as children, forced into it without a choice in the matter, and you both have learned and grown so much despite your circumstances.” 

Eragon swallowed hard and tried to shake his head. Saphira, he would agree, had taken on her role like a fish to water, like…well, like a dragon to the skies. But him? The scruffy farm boy, the fool who had not only taken part in battles where hundreds of lives had been lost, but the imbecile who had cursed an innocent babe, had failed to save so many, had–

Arya’s voice took on a brittle tone for a brief moment. “Eragon, if you keep disagreeing with me right now while I’m trying to comfort you and explain this, I swear I’ll have Saphira relocate the cook tent’s viscera pile to your bedroll. Am I clear?” 

Oh, he did not doubt her in the slightest. He summoned his will to, at the very least, bite his tongue and nodded.

“Good. Now. I have met countless men and women three times your age and more, who hold the lives of their troops in their hands, and they did not even consider what could happen when they give their orders and make their choices. They didn’t even give time to the idea of thinking any of it over! But you and Saphira do.” 

Arya gave him a soft smile. “So I know. I know neither of you intend to hurt anyone you don’t have to. You try so hard to keep the civilians out of it. You set clear, hard boundaries and fight for them when they are tested or broken. But war…fuck, war hurts. It hurts everyone. And if you didn’t feel some guilt then I’d honestly be more worried about you than I constantly am!

“Eragon, it is not your fault that war did what war does. You and Saphira did everything in your power to try and keep those people safe. You stacked the deck in their favor and yet war decided to say ‘fuck you’ and snapped a cable in some shitty old Broddring artillery that shouldn’t have even been there and shouldn’t have been aimed into a town allied with its owners and sent a fucking cannonbomb into what happened to be the same area we, yes, we, agreed to shelter the civilians while we rooted out the soldiers.” 

Arya released her grip on his face and shifted her hands to his shoulders. “Eragon. It was not your fault.” She shook him gently. “Say it.”

“I–”

“Say. It. Don’t you call me a liar to my face. Say ‘War sucks. It’s not my fault.’”

Eragon dropped his gaze. “War sucks. Not my fault.”

“Say it again and maybe I’ll hear it this time.”

He breathed in. Breathed out. “War sucks. It’s not my fault.”

“One more time and maybe I’ll believe you.”

That quirked a tiny smile at the edges of his lips. Hell. He was starting to believe it himself. “War sucks. It’s not my fault.”

The elf pulled him closer after the words left his mouth and, in one of the favorite little gestures they shared, pressed their foreheads together. No words were spoken, just a thread of relief that passed between them in the contact. His relief at the confirmation of his lack of guilt, and hers at his understanding of what she tried to convey.

And then Arya drew back and settled against the rock again, shoulders squared. The posture told the Rider multitudes. Eragon was with her, and he needed help. Arya was protecting him, alert, watchful, that vigilance colored with warm care towards her friend. Not quite On Duty, but happily taking him on to keep his demons, real or imagined, at bay. 

He couldn’t have asked for a better friend.

Eragon sniffed one final time and rubbed away the last traces of tears on his face. He already knew her answer from the way she had shifted, but he always felt the need to ask. "Can...Can I stay here? I don't want to worry Saphira. She'd understand better if she finds you watching me."

"You can stay, but only if you get in here. I’m fucking freezing." Never taking her eyes off the tents around them, Arya lifted her arm so that her cloak opened to him, gathered warmth spilling out into the chill night. "Come on."

The easy smile she gave him was all he needed in that vulnerable moment. Eragon scooted over and let the elf drape her arm over his shoulders and rearrange the warm fabric so that it wrapped around them both. A gentle squeeze had him leaning into her side. He tucked his legs up to where he had pulled his arms and fists under his chin, and just like that...Eragon found himself being cuddled.

Arya rubbed his far shoulder with a quiet sigh that ghosted puffs of mist into the air. "Damn, you've definitely got that elven blood going. You're warmer than you used to be." With a deft flick of her wrist the elf opened her book to the page she had marked. "Now get some sleep. I'm not going anywhere." It was silent for a handful of seconds after Eragon closed his eyes. “...You’re going to keep me safe if Saphira gets jealous of this, right? This is usually her move.”

Eragon let a sleepy smile grace his lips. “I’ll try my best, but no promises.”

“Fantastic. Go to sleep, dork.”

[whorejolras]

almost every take I read on here about queer politics could be solved if op got off the internet and hung out with queer people irl

[kame-artist]

[cookinguptales]

that said, as much as I've been struggling the past 48 hours or so, I have to admit that it has felt a little clarifying.

I've been playing the hell out of stardew valley, like I always do when I'm struggling with my PMDD, because the calming repetitive movements and bite-sized tasks (which induce the illusion of productivity) make it much easier to calm my mind and like...

I keep thinking "wouldn't it be nice to make something that soothes...?"

I felt a little embarrassed last night when I was writing about how I realized that AITNISTS would have meant the world to me when I was a queer, disabled teen feeling very broken and unlovable, and how now it almost feels like I'm writing bedtime stories for a ghost.

but... I think to some degree, that's nice, too... if I'm writing what soothes me, maybe it'll soothe someone else, too. making art that soothes people that feel broken... I think that would be nice. or... kind, at least. maybe.

it's something to aspire to, at least.

like sometimes I do feel this weird need to make something beautiful or complex or important but I guess "important" can mean a lot of different things, and so can "beautiful"...

I'm obviously never going to win any kind of literary prize with monsterfucking hurt/comfort but like. idk. maybe it's enough to write the kind of book that would have made me feel like I was capable of being loved and wanted when I was a kid.

especially if it helps anyone else now...

idk. it's a nice thought, at the very least.

[hella1975]

who let my flatmate host a houseparty surely i would have vetoed that. walking into the carnage of my living room and letting out a delicate gasp

[ketlovers-official]

grantaire from les mis is a ketamine user

grantaire loves ket!

[an-ruraiocht]

oh. huh. i am Not in fact mentally stable enough for all of us strangers. that sure is something to realise when you're 1h13 into watching all of us strangers.

[doomzday-zone]

I don't know if you're like Joking about the Midnight Motorist being about Into The Pit because if you have Genuine theories I want to hear it 👁️👁️

Also I don't get why people keep saying it's an ~unsolved mystery~ it's William Afton right? Am I just as confused as everyone in the FNAF community rn?

I've heard multiple theories about the midnight motorist, one that the Mustard man is in fact william afton and one that hes someone else entirely, and to that i say: both can be right!

we know that in ITP the rabbit isnt *exactly* william afton, but moreso a reflection of him and the horrors that happened at the freddy fazbears pizzeria years before. which would explain why the sprite is a decidedly yellow colour instead of Wills usual purple, and the fact that the rabbit disguises itself as oswalds father also explaining why the sprite is in the shape of a human man instead of a man sized rabbit.

The car being driven by the Mustard man in the game is a dark purple, in the ITP novel the colour of oswalds car isnt specified but in the game it is red </3 a possible explanation for this being that the car looks purple because its dark which is slightly less believable than the alternative, being the colour of the car is more symbolic 😌 calling back to William afton, which isnt completely unprecedented in the fnafverse generally if something is purple its expected to be connected the aftons in some way(for instance michael aftons corpse sprite being purple etc.)

Now.... Jr's. what could this possibly mean for into the pit? i need you to remember there are multiple endings in the game, ill come back to this in a second, in the game files the lore parts of the midnight motorist is called Later That Night. implying this is something we havent seen yet or possibly a different perspective on something we have seen- SO this COULD be either a) a continuation of something we saw in ITP or b) something entirely new. which brings me back to Jr's- you can remember the multiple game endings now<33

in the novel oswald and his dad dont Actually leave Jeffs Pizza, this could imply that something bad will happen again after the events of the story. and adding the game endings what ACTUALLY happened after everything is extremely vague. i propose that the events of MM happen later after the main events of ITP, and given that oswalds dad only wakes up in the pit After the death of the rabbit and since i already established earlier the rabbit is still alive, i also propose that oswalds father is most likely dead. now HERE IS WHERE JR'S COMES IN W THE IRON CHAIR IM SERIOUS THIS TIME:

Jr's is referenced as a restaurant from one source, but also theorized to be a bar, i dont think the distinction is super important but, the interaction with the green fella is mighty interesting "You're not allowed here, dont make this harder then it has to be" in this context this could be in reference to the scene at the house, the disguised rabbit is no longer allowed into the nearby establishments due to its reputation. 'dont make this harder then it has to be' is SUCH an interesting line too, not only implying that the Mustard man knows exactly why hes no longer allowed here, but also the subtle accusing tone and implying that the reason is not only a burden for the Mustard man to carry but that it also weighs pretty hard on the speaker. whatever it was, its serious.

"You know what you are. dont make this harder than it has to be"

Finally, the scene of the home. with the Mustard man identified as the Rabbit, the person sitting in front of the tv would be oswalds mother. we know from ITP based on how many times its mentioned and such that family tv time is SPECIFICALLY very important for them, so the fact we see her here now alone is very telling.

the Rabbit goes to the other room, the door is closed and cannot be opened, this is the only other room in the home that is accessible.(remember that oswald is an only child) the messages that play out when repeatedly going to the door are in reference to the Act revealed a little later but also symbolic of the thematic relevance of child abuse/abusive and controlling parental figures and dynamics in ITP. at the back of the house the window to the locked room is broken and there are footprints leading into the surrounding woods that being a persons footprints and larger set of what seem to be animatronic footprints, paired with the message "he ran off to that place again, when he gets back he'll be sorry" <- this is the Rabbit referring to the pit, and the boys eventual fate.

Lastly the empty lot and the mound are then symbolic of Jeffs Pizza an empty shadow of the former freddy fazbears pizzeria establishment, the pit itself, and what ended up happening to oswald. giving dual imagery for a rabbit burrow and an unmarked grave. Oswald is dead.

To wrap this all up, a summary: The Mustard man is the ITP Rabbit in a human disguise, after the events of the ITP novel oswalds dad is dead, cue the drive through the woods. at the house oswalds mother sits at the family television alone, talking to ghosts.(realistically you would probably hear your sons rooms window breaking regardless of whether or not its raining *which is still a possibility but just hear me out okay lol*, by the time the rabbit gets back to the home oswald is already dead and his mother knows it) oswalds rooms door is closed and cannot be open, he is not there. at the other end of the house there are a broken window and footprints, that of a child and an animatronic. at the empty lot there is a mound of dirt, cue the bad ending of ITP, the rabbit kills oswald, its over. the rabbit is no longer allowed in the nearby establishments, and most likely just like William afton before him nothing was done about the deaths.(also note the callback to the theme of a broken community and communal isolation in ITP, the community just goes about their normal activities *notice the decently full parking lot at Jr's* simply shunning the rabbit and wishing to forget *now think about the 'dont make this harder than it has to be line, this specific community has seen this tragedy before*)

((ALSO ‼️ dont have the energy to make a whole Bit abt it rn but obv this is all connected to Pizzeria Simulator by the ball pits.

and its lore relevant bc william is supposed to DIE in that game but comes back, which is made clear by the rabbit being in midnight motorist/its story implications n whatever u GET it yeehaw !!!))

but hey....... thats just a theory😏

[mandarinmoons]

I just wanna stay up late with somebody while we show each other the things on our pinterest feed and learn the most insane lore about each other

[ketyoulater]

What "embarrassing" media do you love? I'll start, I am about as feral about the Frozen movies as a 6 year old child

[modern-inheritance]

Face reveal

But not really.

It's been getting more and more apparent to me, especially when I have my own hair pushed back by a headband and when viewed from the side, that I look like WNBA's Caitlin Clark.

So. There you go.

This in particular. I have made that face frequently after jamming up something in the machines at work. Just add scruffier/bushier eyebrows and you have yourself a Ket.

That's as close as yall gonna get to a face reveal.

[metastablephysicist]

i should actually try to write a post about matrix elements & clebsch gordan coefficients & selection rules & what they have to do with nuclear transitions. because i can do a better job explaining. not that anyone asked but it's a useful exercise

[cumulo-stratus]

Dead 💀

actually 🤓☝️ max is short for maxwell

when i get my name change i will change it to maxwell lol

but when i first started using my chosen name with some people as a joke i would tell them it was short for maximus II or sum shit and that my family's ancestors were royal 😭😭 people always believed me too it was great haha