#lest we have another times loop

[daily-beau]

*gives isabeau a sandwich (secretly has honey mustard)*

Day 53: Is it supposed to be spicy?

[blacktabbygames]

Hello! I absolutely love Slay The Princess! I was wondering, were there any major inspirations that helped you create this game that you wouldn’t mind sharing? I’m always fascinated by the art that inspires the art I love so I’d be very curious and happy to hear what vibes helped you all piece together this wonderful game!

It's always tough to pin down inspirations. I think there's kind of three types: 1. Hard inspirations — things that you know are sources of inspiration at the start of a project. Or things that become known sources of inspiration partway through a project. These are sometimes, but not always technical.

2. Soft inspirations — these are more vibes based. Kind of like "what's going through my head on loop while working on a specific chapter." Almost never technical, and for me, this tends to be music more than anything else. (But maybe it's music *from* something specifically)

3. Loose inspirations — these are more along the lines of formative pieces of media. Stuff that seeps into your soul and directs your development as an artist or person, but not in a way where you can specifically tell what its impact is. Sometimes overlaps with #2 Anyways, some examples for each. Hard Inspirations:

• Disco Elysium — IMO hands down the best piece of interactive media ever made, and probably one of the most obvious influences on Slay the Princess. The concept of using internal voices to represent the player's thoughts helped us get around one of the biggest writing challenges in Slay the Princess — if the Princess changes based on your perspective, how do we codify what the player's thinking? The voices were a solution to interpret those choices in sensible ways and inform our players of how the game was reading their choices. Much better than breaking immersion and outright asking players what they tought. • Soma — we didn't play Soma until we were about half of the way through our work on Slay the Princess, but it was one of those games that felt so thematically on-point. I still think about this game most weeks. • The Stanley Parable — I like when narrators get frustrated at players for doing silly things. It helps when your narrator is British, too.

• Madoka — it's like 12 episodes long. Just watch it.

• Evangelion — Similar bucket to Soma. Didn't watch it until we were most of the way done, but boy does it have some similar vibes. Soft Inspirations/Music I've Kept On Loop While Working On the Game I won't tell you what music was looped for what routes. • Ceremonials (Florence + the Machine) — one of my all time favorite artists, and just a phenomenal album.

• Presumably Dead Arm (Sidney Gish) — super underrated. No Dogs Allowed is a great album.

• Haunted (Poe) — another banger album.

• Black Holes and Revelations (Muse)

I'll leave that third bucket unanswered lest this post become 50 pages long.

[tragedybunny]

Just the Way I Am - Astarion x F!Reader - Mildly NSFW, TW: Mentions of past sexual trauma, drugging oneself

I'm not really sure I like this at all, but since I put so much time into, I'm posting it.

Astarion feels he's lacking because he can't have sex with you. He resorts to a potion in an attempt to give you what he thinks you want.

You had stopped at the potion shop in Wyrm's Crossing, looking for some herbs or something Gale had wanted. Astarion hadn't been paying a terrible amount of attention, he was just happy to run an errand with you only, and none of the rest of the hangers-on. They were alright, he'd concede if asked, but you were getting closer to Cazador and the Brain, and whatever else was going on in Baldur's Gate, and his time with you felt so limited. The two of you could meander around a bit after this and just be together. 

So of course this was taking forever. Currently he was entertaining himself by pacing irritatedly around the shop while the clerk painstakingly found, measured, and packed, all of Gale's list. He sighs and you shoot him a look of irritation causing him to wince internally. The last thing he wants is for you to be angry with him. So he goes back to quietly pacing. 

That's when his eyes spot it, on the upper shelf of a potion display rack, a heart shaped bottle full of a pink liquid. Amor Maius, the love enhancer, the hand written description below it reads, continuing, increase your arousal, spend longer with your beloved. His mind wanders back to the Drow twins the other day at Sharess Caress, and how you insisted you hadn’t been interested in their “services” but he’d seen the way your eyes got wide just looking at them, hells, he’d heard your pulse increase. You weren't just slightly interested, you were very much aroused at the thought. It was probably his fault, he’d failed to provide you with release. Even if you protested that sex wasn’t necessary, he remembered how much you enjoyed it, the way your heart would thunder as soon as you two were alone, how wet you got for him, so eager to be filled, having to put his fingers in your mouth to suck on to quiet your noises lest you wake the whole camp. You shouldn’t be expected to live in chastity and it was only a matter of time before you realized you didn’t want a broken thing like him, a thing that couldn’t even give you one of life’s simplest pleasures. But if he could find a way to give that to you…

A quick glance tells him you and the clerk are still thoroughly occupied and he moves along to get a better angle, waiting. The clerk ducks down behind the counter to retrieve something and lightning quick, Astarion is back at the shelf, tucking the bottle in his pack. He takes another loop of the shop and sighs again, just to keep normal appearances. “Astarion,” you scold and he comes to the counter to wrap and arm around your waist and kiss your cheek.

“We’ve been in here forever,” he wheedles and he sees your irritation give way. 

“I know, almost done, then I promise no more errands.” Your hand reaches down to cover his, where it rests against your waist. Every one of your touches fills him with the softest warmth, he couldn’t bear to lose you, and tonight he’ll make sure he won’t. 

The two of you spend the rest of the afternoon wandering around Baldur’s Gate with no real destination, simply chatting and being with each other. It’s lovely to just be in your presence, every so often stopping to kiss you softly and delight in how you wrap your arms around his neck and put your soul into it every time. With night falling you make your way back to the Elfsong and Astarion sends you upstairs to deliver Gale’s damned herbs while he stops to make an inquiry. 

You’ve already got your pack off and seem to be settling in when he finds you. Leaning in, he whispers sultrily into your ear. “The private room is empty tonight, we could go make use of it, if you want.” 

He smiles at the way your breath hitches. “Are you sure,” your eyes meet his, bright with love and concern despite your rising arousal. 

“Absolutely Darling,” you know him so well, he can only hope he's convincing enough. 

"That sounds nice," pretty pink tinges your skin as you take his hand. 

The two of you make your way down the hall, leaving the noisy common room and your companions behind. There's a single bed in the cozy space and a bath in a little adjacent room. Wyll and Karlach have made use of it before, but it's the first time he's dared bring you here. Brushing your hair behind your ear, he trails his fingers down your cheek. "Warm bath, relax a little and see where the night takes us," he suggests, feeling the panic start to rise, knowing what you'll be expecting now. The potion will help, he just needs to get that far. 

“Whatever you feel up to my Love,” you tilt your face to catch his palm in a kiss and your tender care has him fighting back a sob. There’s not a day that you don’t give him everything he could ask for, more than he ever dreamt he could have. 

He has to give you this one thing, he wants to so badly, but already he can feel his mind trying to pull away, to distance itself from his body in anticipation. “Go on ahead, let me get settled. I’ll join you shortly.” 

As soon as you're out of sight, bath water running, he throws open his pack. His chest throbs, like a weight is pushing down on it and the edges of his vision are going blurry, he needs that damn potion now. Somehow it slipped under the rest of the contents in his pack. "Damn," he mutters, violently tossing things around until a pink glint is revealed. Salvation. 

Quickly he snatches it up, scrambling to get the stopper out. Pausing for a second, it occurs to him that he doesn't know how much to take. He'll just down some and sneak off if he needs more he decides. The taste is sickly sweet and it burns all the way down his throat. For a moment he pauses, waiting for it to kick in, worried it isn’t what it promised. Then it’s like every color in the room is a thousand times more vibrant and he can smell the intoxicating scent of you from here. Already he’s growing hard, hand idly reaching down to stroke himself, and then the world goes black. 

When next he wakes he’s staring at the ceiling, head throbbing. Did he just pass out? “Are you finally back?” You’re right next to him, and gods, you don’t sound happy. The missing moments start to come in flashes, the bath, his hands all over you, the bed, and then you telling him to stop. A light, a spell, you’d done something to stop him. 

“I…” What is there to even say? 

“What in the hells were you thinking Astarion?! I found the bottle. I'm not stupid, I know what that was. Why?” Not only are you furious with him, but there’s so much sadness in your voice too. 

 “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, rolling on his side to face away from you, he can’t bear to look at you right now. 

“Do you even know what you’re apologizing for?” The edge has come off your voice, you probably think he’s too pathetic to waste your anger on.

"Lying,” he asks instead of answering. 

Sighing, you put a hand delicately on his shoulder. “I trusted you to be truthful with me. How can I do the right thing when you do something like this?”

“I wanted to make you happy, to give you everything. I just needed a little help to get there,” he pulls his knees up to his chest, making himself as small as possible, an old habit of self-preservation. Tears are starting to threaten, as if he hadn't embarrassed himself enough. 

“Astarion,” your voice is unexpectedly gentle, “are you able to keep talking?”

Desperately, he wants to, to keep explaining himself but he feels like he's drowning. His mouth opens but nothing comes out. He can feel you shifting around on the bed, like you want to lean over to comfort him but hold back. Another blow he’ll endure. Everything seems like it’s slipping away from him. But you’re full of surprising mercy. “Can I hold you? Just nod.” He does as you say, not daring to look up, and your arms loops around him as the soothing weight of your presence presses against his back. 

The two of you lay there in silence for a long time, you don’t press him anymore but you don’t abandon him either. Soft kisses on his shoulders keep him from unraveling completely.  Finally he finds his voice. “I didn’t mean for it to be like this.” 

“Did you think how I’d feel if I found out I hurt you?” 

“I-I,” his mind races, what answer is right, what will appease you. “No, I was just scared to lose you.” Finally he settles on the truth, plainly spoken, because he can’t make things any worse than they are. "Because I can't give you something so simple."

“Part of me is angry that you think so little of me,” he starts to protest and you shush him, “but I know it’s hard for you.” Warm fingers entangle with his and he lets himself hope. “I’ll say it one more time, and I need you to believe me. Starry Sky, if we never have sex again, you’re worth it. But you can’t do anything like this to me anymore.” 

He wants to believe, with all his heart, it’s just so hard. He nods, “I promise.”

Your lips caress his cheek and he closes his eyes, drinking the feeling in. "Do you want to go back to the other room?" 

Thoughts of having to go back, to lose you to the noise and the attention of others are too much. "Could we stay here, just for a little while?" 

“We can stay here as long as you want.” He turns over, burying his head in your chest, suddenly desperate for the feel of you. 

Soothing fingers brush through his hair, and your hand gently strokes his back. He knows he should believe you, knows you love him more than he ever thought possible, but the shadows and darkness inside still whisper that he's not enough, not the way he is. 

[atsadi-shenanigans]

What Shall We Become 38 - Between a Drow and a Slaver

The rogue comes to an impasse.

His leader rests heavy and loose against his front. Astarion keeps one arm looped around her—though the lizard’s gait is remarkable smooth and she hasn’t started to slide once. Still. Better caution and all. She’s fallen asleep again, which he thinks is a good sign? She needs rest to heal, and she seems untroubled?

The ground slopes down and down. They currently shuffle along a narrow switchback between huge, glowing crystal formations. He takes a moment to appreciate the color again. Check the underside of his left arm through the leather of the armor—still no knobs or lumps. He toys with the idea of asking the cleric about that. Chances of mushroom tendrils rooting around his undead flesh. Perhaps the druid, providing the freakishly big elf isn’t dead.

Decides his thoughts are turning maudlin, and he has his eyes and some time, and reaches down his front to find the delicate, golden chain.

Oh, his leader certainly was generous. The necklace is stunning. A waterfall of golden droplets, each one set with a dazzling, blue stone. Perhaps topaz? They glitter in the low light. He sets it down over his armor, admires the way it flows over his hidden collarbones. Imagines how stunning it would be against his skin.

He looks again to the dark head of hair rolling against him in time with the beast’s walking. She handed it over without a thought. This woman from another plane, with nothing and no one to her name, who collected a single ring for herself (her first finery, she’d said), and then gave it to the wizard to eat it. She could have kept this. It would have been just as stunning against her darker complexion. Would have stood out like the stars on a clear night.

But she’d let him have it. Freely. Because it was magical. Because he said he could learn it.

(They really ought to find her a prize of her own.)

Enchanted jewelry sometimes carries the spell words on it. It wouldn’t do to sell a piece no one knew how to use (though the higher-end stuff usually doesn’t, for that very reason; exclusivity and all). He wonders who this was made for, to be so exceptionally-crafted, but still carrying letters on the backside of the golden drops. Some foppish lord, perhaps. One of those with more money and ego than sense, who thought throwing gold around meant he could master magic.

To be fair, throwing money about tends to get people what they want.

Either way, Astarion unclasps the piece and flips it over. Traces his finger down each droplet, mouth working silently.

He knows one cantrip, how to mend his clothing, the way to position himself in a dim tavern to entice, and how to get on his back. He supposes the wizard would know these words and immediately raise that infuriating finger to state the name. The cleric would know it. The blade would know it. Hells, even the gith could probably work it out.

At least their tiefling can’t touch something like this without melting it (can she even read?).

He mouths the words (not breathing, best not to lest one accidentally set one’s face on fire) again, feels the shape of them on his tongue. It lurks on the periphery of his mind. A shape in the fog. Something he’s known—no. Something he’s seen. A charming man in the Blushing Mermaid once, down on his luck and looking for coin. He’d amused Astarion, in some way. He just can’t remember what it was. What he’d done that made that man rise from the corpse-laden bog in his memory.

Against him, his leader stirs. He inhales, catches a curl of her scent, which is immediately drowned out by the strong smell of cool water.

He straightens in the saddle. This is enough to jostle his slumbering leader, who makes a soft sound, and jerks up. Looks around.

They’re nearing the bottom of the switchback, now curled in over itself to form a tunnel. And at the very bottom, Astarion spies a flicker of light. Orange light, and the whiff of smoke. Not the usual, cheery scent of a merry wood fire in the main hall of a rowdy tavern. This is a salt smell, slightly acrid. That dried seaweed bundle his leader had been provisioned with by those finned fanatics.

His leader draws the lizard to a halt (he’s named it Fredrik in his mind). A shadow moves against the very flickering light.

Drow, in his limited experience, do not make fires. Not the Underdark ones. This is something else. His leader comes to the same conclusion. The tadpole wiggles behind his eye as she reaches out to the others of their merry band. Finds them still distant and grouped quite close together.

Not their companions, then.

“There’s water ahead,” Astarion says.

The fish beasts had said there was a village on the bank of their mother water. That shadow down there is angled in such a way as the light and whatever blocks it must be projecting down. Meaning a structure. A gate, he’d venture, if it’s a village.

His leader pulls up her bag of holding. Roots around and finds her last Potion of Tongues. She fiddles with it.

The bizarre, unpredictable underground air shifts a new scent to him, and the back of Astarion’s skull prickles even as ache slams through the roots of his fangs.

Death. Bowels. Blood.

“Drink it,” he says.

She glances at him over her armored shoulders, eyes narrowed and calculating (he’d rather like to kiss right between those furrowed brows) (only to make her frown harder, of course).

She drinks. Holds her grimace silently.

He starts to speak, remembers her hearing is far worse than his, and leans in close. “There’s been a fight just ahead.”

She shivers. Odd, she doesn’t usually spook at news like that.

“You picking up heartbeats?” she says. Gods, he’s missed how she sounds. How her accent twists the words and the way she structures them. Hearing her at full eloquence almost tickles.

But he’s a job to do. So he listens. Counts.

“One just beyond, two lurking in the wings. Another two? Possible three further in.”

Her finger rubs over her thumbnail. She swallows again. “Drow?”

“I doubt it.”

“You can tell from a pulse?”

He nearly snorts. Nearly lies, just to watch her blink at him. But, “I’m very good, darling, but not that good. Besides, these little blood bags have torches.”

Her jaw muscles clench. Then she nods (he does appreciate someone else being observant). There’s no other approach. No back way, no sneaking from this vantage, not with the drow still after them.

“Fuck,” she sighs, and nudges Fredrik on.

They emerge into the largest cavern yet, walled off by a crude, dilapidated gate shut fast. Well, as shut fast as something that shoddy can be. He’s rather sure an errant sneeze could bring the damned thing down. A decrepit village crawls along the top and sides of the walls, like a half-rotted growth. And upon that growth, short, dark figures. Duergar, he suspects.

One of them steps forward onto a platform overlooking the top of the gate. A venerable, grizzled sort with a huge battle ax clutched in his right hand.

“Two sun-scum on a drow lizard,” he says, voice low and gravelly as a child's imaginary deep dwarf cold hope to be. “Could hear you blinking back there. Noise like that gets you eaten down here.”

“And don’t we know it,” Astarion says, slipping on the easy charm.

Said charm slides right off the duergar, whose eyes narrow. “Reckon I ought to hush you before something hungry comes along.”

On the edge of Astarion’s hearing, the faint wail of a horn bounces around the tunnel behind them. But the old battle ax doesn’t seem to notice. Apparently their famous hearing isn’t as sharp as Astarion’s. At least not yet. Once they’re aware of the hunting party after his leader and him, the deep dwarves will keep that gate shut and let the drow have them.

So he lets himself smile wider than he usually does. Lets his fangs show in full. “Oh, I assure you, we’re far more trouble than that’s worth. Why don’t you be a darling and let us pass through, and we can all forget we ever saw each other, hmm? We promise not to get devoured in your vicinity.”

Two other duergar shift in the shadows, one on either flank above.

Old battle ax hums. “Don’t suppose you two have seen a deep gnome running around?”

Astarion feels his nose wrinkle. “Thankfully, no.”

He’s content to leave it at that—mouthy little beasts throw themselves underfoot and then have to gall to squawk when they get stepped on.

But he feels his leader’s own eyes narrow. Before he can stop her, “You looking for somebody in particular?”

Oh gods. She’s going to get involved. Astarion has a fair idea what’s at play here, and what, exactly, these duergar likely are. And he feels, quite distinctly, that she will not approve.

“Oh, just on a hunt,” the battle ax says. He should leave off there, but of course, he doesn’t, because the world likes to see Astarion suffer. “Gnome bitch ran off with the sergeant’s boots. Gonna kill the little fuck shite and fetch back the leather.”

Her mouth opens. She’s a sweetheart when it comes to the downtrodden. And to him. (He refuses to think about how those two may or may not overlap.) And she won’t let something like this go unchallenged. But they haven’t the time, so he claps a hand on her shoulder.

“Ah, well,” he says. “Best of luck, then.”

Her outrage is a magical flare in the dead of night. The flash blinds his mind for a moment.

“Hold now,” the battle ax says. Leather creaks and wood squeals as the other duergar take up position and ready weapons. At least one of them carries a bow.

Shit.

“You want passage,” the battle ax says. “So how’s about you do a job for us.”

Distant footsteps shush behind them. Fredrik is a swift beastie, and they’ve been moving since they broke free, stopping only when his leader needs to relieve herself. Yet from that sound, the drow are close. Very close. They must have been running this whole time.

Of course they’ve been running this whole time. His leader carries the last piece of knowledge that decides the future of their house. He should have realized.

“We’re quite pressed for time, actually—” he starts.

“Wasn’t asking,” the battle ax says. The archer draws. “One slave is as good as another. Either you bring us that gnome, or you take her place.”

Shit. They’ll have to find a way around. Quickly. Water laps just out of sight. Either a river or another lake or possibly, if this is the village, the mother water itself. All they have to do it get out of here and find the shore and follow it along.

“Now that you mention it, that is an enticing offer,” Astarion says.

Eleanor is a burning coal in his lap.

The duergar grins. “Thought so. I’m a reasonable man. Our gnome last we heard had holed up with them rot flowers. Them myconids. Seen ‘em?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“They’re hard to miss. Walking mushrooms. There’s a colony back the way you came. You find them, you find our quarry, and we can let a few sun-scum pass through.”

Footsteps echo behind them. Surely the infamous duergar ears should have caught on by now?

“Sounds simple,” Astarion says.

She’s going to do it. The shift twists through his leader, an iron gear grinding into motion less than a second before she speaks. But it’s too late to stop her. She’s gone focused again.

“They’re all dead,” his raging bonfire of a leader says.

The duergar blinks at her. Possibly just now notices her round, stubby ears. Not a drow, not even an elf, but a human perched upon the back of a drowic riding lizard.

“Your mushrooms,” she says. “They’re all dead.”

“Darling,” Astarion tries. He really does try.

She tugs on his tadpole. Those men are slavers. That thought is an iron blade pulled straight from a forge, the air shimmering around it from the heart blasting off.

Of gnomes. They enslave gnomes, not people like them, unless they anger the duergar which she’s well on her way to doing. No one cares about gnomes.

She turns herself in the saddle. Twists right around and her face is carved of iron, her eyes are burning coals. “I do, asshole.”

“Dead how,” the old battle ax says.

The drow are coming down the switchback. Gods, they don’t even have time to turn and flee, now. They’re trapped.

“They got slaughtered by a band of drow,” his furious, foolish leader says.

Astarion is too far to catch the stink of fear sweat, but close enough the pulse of blood in their veins hooks his attention.

The battle ax seems to look at Fredrik in a new light. “Yeah? You lot know this how?”

“Don’t you dare,” Astarion says.

Eleanor smiles. He doesn’t even need to see her face to know it, to picture it: tight, almost polite, except it doesn’t reach anywhere near her eyes, which still burn. “Cause them same drow are about to swamp all y’all.”

The horn wails. A high, tremulous thing, like the dying squeal of some beast dredged up from the darkest caverns. The duergar snap straight and stare at the tunnel Astarion and his leader emerged from.

“Godsdamnit,” Astarion says.

“Shoot them!” the battle ax says.

Astarion is already unshouldering and stringing his bow, fetching two arrows and firing the first. He hits the stubby archer to the left through the eye. The vulgar thing tumbles off the edge of the wall.

“Go!” he says to his insufferable leader. “Up the wall!”

“The what?”

“These lizards can climb.”

She needs no further directions. Thumps her heels into Fredrik’s flanks and the beast shoots towards the wall. Astarion fires his second arrow at the duergar on the right—a flash of a crossbow—but the little shit ducks and the shot flies over his head.

“Holy shit fuck,” his leader says.

The lizard reaches the wall. Doesn’t even slow. It rears up and Astarion lunges forward to press himself and his leader to the saddle as the creature sprints vertically up.

He’s always wondered what this would be like. He’s heard stories of drow, obviously. And of their mounts. Trained teams can even skirt along the ceiling of a cavern. His stomach gives a giddy swoop and he giggles.

Duergar shout. Something hisses past his right ear. An arrow. But not shot from above or to the side, but from behind. And he doesn’t have to pluck the thing now embedded in the wall to know the barbed tip, likely coated in drowic poison.

“Shitfuck!” his leader says.

They fly up the wall. Ancient planks rattle under the force of the lizard’s climb. They shoot up and up, like a loosed arrow themselves, until they go weightless as Fredrik hits the top of the wall and leaps. Spreads his legs wide. Comes down with a thump and a rattle on a rotten walkway.

Astarion has enough time to look beyond—the vast cavern glowing blue under fields and fields of that blue moss on the ceiling. The deep, black sea lapping beneath it, the water darker than anything he’s ever seen. The thin strip of rocky beach where two docks jut out. And one boat, considerably more solid than anything in the village.

“Over there!” he says.

The instinct swoops out of nowhere. He doesn’t process it, isn’t even aware he’s doing it. He just grabs his leader and tackles them both to the side as something swooshes a hairs breadth from the side of his face.

The two of them hit the wooden walkway. His leader makes a nasty sound as the air punches out of her lungs.

Worse is the squeal of the lizard. The wet meat sound as the ax comes down again, and this time bone crunches. That beautiful beast gasps. It’s a last gasp, filled with death; the monster inside Astarion recognizes it.

Then Fredrik falls, practically decapitated. And the old battle ax of a duergar hefts up his ax once more.

“What the fuck have you shits brought to my men?” he snarls.

Astarion rolls to his feet as his erstwhile leader follows.

“Have it your way, darling,” he says. Draws his knives.  “Let’s kill them all.”

[lost-technology]

Weird-Ass Trigun Dreams

I have them, yes. So, this morning, I woke up from dreams I was having about finding an entire alternate Trigun manga in a bookstore. The strangest thing about it was that it wasn't created by Nightow, it was more like an official fanwork created by some other mangaka and ran parallel to the Trigun Maximum timeline as an alternate universe. I distinctly remember pages involving Vash drawn as an anthropomorphic cat. - So, something like a Trigun / Lackadaisy crossover? It was somewhat in that style. Vash was a very fluffy tabby-type, by the way... a floofy orange cat, but the image was in black and white, I just could tell the type of cat he was supposed to be. And then I had another dream about Vash and Knives in modern times and they were getting into some kind of trouble in a suburb tearing ass in a minivan down a street with Vash on top of it with a baseball bat trying to evade cops or something. And then there is another dream that I recall that happened at some other time involving an entire alternate anime and manga that had continued somehow - in my dream, Nightow had revived the manga at some point after its official ending and I had been OUT OF THE LOOP on fandom for so long that I had years of backlore that I'd MISSED! Gasp! And there was all this funky Plant-lore (although I can't remember exactly what it was, something about origins, I think) and stuff about Vash's early life, wandering days. I picked up a tape? DVD? of this new anime predating Stampede and done in the old Trigun style and the first episode featured Vash saving a town and getting hurt and being cared for by a lady and feeling guilty and depressed about things he couldn't talk about and that she pried about, and it was very sad as he had to leave town after taking care of the bandits that were threatening it and couldn't stay lest he put the town and the friend he'd made in danger. There was a real feeling of he'd finally made a close friend, but couldn't risk it. And in the alternate manga, there was an entire arc about the SEEDS upbringing in which Vash and Knives, prior to learning about Tesla, learned what Plants really were and their origins and Knives was afraid because of how humans use Plants, so he hijacked a shuttle and went to a different planet (than the one we see) and it was kind of gaseous, like there was a surface to stand on, but everything was gassy and Rem and Vash had to go get him back and deal with some reconciliation regarding the Plant and Human relationship. I think this stuff also had some Plant-lore, too, like some alien origins of Plants, but I am not certain. I just remember there being an uneasy feeling to this whole arc. I seem to recall some pretty cool spacesuits and helmets involved, though. And then @somereaderinblue reminded me of one I'd shared with them that I'd forgotten about that I now remember: I dreamed that there was a Trigun anime - a new one, that was different from Stampede that was set on a world that became like Earth. Independent Plants were born later. The Plant kids were still Plants. Rem had managed to save Tesla and was raising her along with the boys. They'd made planet-landing and terraforming and city-building was underway. A better planet, a better future. About when the kids were 12-14, Tesla was called away by Conrad to do a few tests - which she thought were going to be just blood tests and stuff. The season of the show ended with her being shown to a suite she'd be staying in for a couple of days and a door sealing behind her. She realizes that it has been sealed and she can't get out. She says "Dr. Conrad? Dr. Conrad?!" We all knew what was coming. End of Season 1.

[sleephyuns]

A sharp scream awakes her, nearly sending her toppling off the couch. There’s echoing screams and metallic scrapes that follow, and while she fumbles for anything to hold her upright, two things happen:

First, her hand finally finds purchase on her desk. Second, she realizes the commotion was from the TV.

With a roll of her eyes, she grabs for the remote on the floor and clicks it off, ignoring the way her heart had practically rumbled out of her chest.

On again. Then off. On again. Then off. Just to make sure it won’t happen again.

It’s well after midnight, she also realizes, looking at her phone’s screen. She must’ve fallen asleep while journaling and… yes, her notebook’s currently supine on the floor.

She heaves herself off the couch to retrieve her empty wine glass, and thinks about how messy the rest of the end table is. She should probably clean it… but the thought of having to interact with mess makes her brain feel septic. At least for the moment.

She’ll do one thing, though, and it’s to carefully remove the half-written page of her notebook.

It’s one of her irrational thoughts, the need to start fresh and finish an entry in one go, lest something horrible happen to her come morning.

She’s been having a bit of a spike in thoughts like that lately, not that she lets them get the best of her. That’s mostly because she knows where they come from, the root cause of her stress. Of course it’s…

Jeongyeon.

Jeongyeon reminds her of Mina.

Quiet. Very to herself, even if she doesn’t mean to be.

Well, isn’t she kind of like Mina too? In a way. It’s part of why they hit it off so well in the first place. They both have a habit of observation. Though it’s a mystery whether Jeongyeon is the same.

It’s likely. Jeongyeon wasn’t sly in hiding her wandering eyes, her intensity. She just hadn’t realized someone else was watching her too. And maybe she never would.

Another blatancy about her: she was comically bad at acting with any sort of normalcy. With a plastered smile on her face, actions bordering on robotic. She must’ve thought everything was going fine. And well… she’d tried to make the woman feel like things were going fine, in response. So it’s not completely Jeongyeon’s fault.

But what she can do, is notice this line of behavior isn’t Jeongyeon’s usual.

Jihyo always spoke about Jeongyeon like she’d created the universe itself, told her about her days with the other woman as if they were some kind of great tale. And for the most part, they were. She loved to hear about what made her happy, what got on her nerves. Even-

—

“So, Jeongyeon has this idea that if you put a song on loop during sex, you can use it as an instant switch when you want to get in the mood.”

“…”

“You do psych work so… is it true , you think?”

—

So surely there’s more to Jeongyeon than just a few one worded answers.

One worded answers are the devil. Just the thought of them frustrates her to no end. If she makes tea, though, that’ll fix it. That way she can detox and destress as the inevitable happens.

Her inevitable thoughts about Mina.

She rises from the couch and takes her few steps towards the kitchen. It’s there she resumes her thoughts.

They’re amicable, the two of them, when the situation calls for it. Only two other people knew of their history, and there was no point in making a big fuss during group gatherings.

So they chose to let things be, not bothering to contact each other unless they absolutely needed to.

Of course, she has no real ill will towards Mina. Even at her most upset, she always wanted what was best for her. For the both of them.

Though that doesn’t make the memory torment her any less.

—

“I’m alone, waiting for just a text from you with the very little time I have off that we agreed to spend together and you’re either hanging out with your coworkers or begging to spend time with Momo. Where do I fit in?”

—

She laughs, thinking about the quiver in her voice. It might’ve been a little pathetic, in hindsight. Words said in a desperate need to get her point across.

But “you don’t get to do that analyzing stuff with me,” was what Mina had said. And she couldn’t help it-

—

“Well what else should I do when you won’t tell me what’s going on or how you feel? What am I left with if you don’t give me anything aside from ‘good morning’ and ‘goodnight’?”

“What is it you want Mina? Answer me honestly. And I promise I won’t get mad.”

—

Her voice had been soft, as she begged. Pleaded. Because maybe, just maybe, she’d hoped that Mina wouldn’t come to the obvious conclusion. The one that stared them both in the face. She hoped that maybe, for once, her perception wasn’t as spot on as it usually was.

But Mina gave her that look. That damned awful look that told her the next few words weren’t going to be ones she wanted to hear.

And that was that.

No she isn’t carrying a torch for Mina anymore, but the memory still stings, nags at her insides. She even considers journaling about it for a fifth time. But she won’t, not tonight. Instead, she clicks the burner of the stove on and off and on again. Four times until she’s satisfied.

But being around the stove like this… she feels the embarrassment of yesterday creep it’s way up her spine.

“Whyyy did I walk into the kitchen like that?,” she asks her reflection in the kettle.

One more click and it’s gone.

She knows she’s going to have to address this soon, if Jeongyeon won’t.

Their current situation isn’t working for anyone. For as much as Jeongyeon’s been walking on eggshells, she, herself, seems to be completely crushing them under her feet. Which, excuse her therapy brain, means it’s time for a new approach.

Because the thing is? Minatozaki Sana no longer gives up on a challenge. Even if she fumbles her way through it, she won’t give up on happiness so easily. There’s probably something to be said about that, but she resists the urge to analyze herself. It’s better not to make herself go mad.

Right now, she’ll take the kettle off the burner and pour herself a mug of hot tea.

The mug she chooses tonight is one of her recent favorites, simply because Jihyo had commented on how pretty it was when she was over days ago. It’s nice to have a reminder of her on nights where she thinks too deeply.

But it also reminds her of Jihyo’s story in response. How Jeongyeon had bought her a beautiful blue-glazed mug in Jeju, just so Jihyo could have one that better suited her grip.

So yes, Sana concludes, Jeongyeon must be the observant type. And thoughtful, at that. Her gaze is as intense as it is tender. She’d known that all along, really. But her brain, per usual, had to work through the evidence to find the answer.

Even when the evidence was presented to her from the start.

—

“Are you cold?”

“Hm?”

“Your legs are shaking. Here-”

“You can use my jacket if you want. I have a sweater on underneath, so it’s all good.”

—

She remembers the beginnings of protest bubbling up in her throat, when the jacket was draped on her, overcome with the need to convince the other woman things were fine. She didn’t need to sacrifice her own warmth in the chilly outdoor air.

She did so anyway.

An insignificant moment to Jeongyeon, perhaps, for several reasons.

Sana was still fairly new to everyone… except Mina and Momo (and Nayeon by proxy) really. And that particular event had gone beyond their usual group of friends, extending to a few people from campus, maybe some coworkers. Lastly? Sana was still in what she had aptly dubbed her “Mina mourning period.”

Sana had been an outwardly happy person for years, wearing her joyousness like a knight’s armor. It worked well to protect her. Harsh words, snide remarks, testy glares. All of it just bounced right off of her.

It still works well for her, as someone who wants people to adore her, to have people know her as one who was “always happy,” rather than one whose despondency made others uncomfortable.

It worked very well… until her heart was broken. When her armor had temporarily cracked.

She’d been on week 2 of stewing in her own misery. Nothing but nights of tears, scribbled journal entries and enough cups of tea to have her running to the bathroom every hour.

That night had been no different, in terms of Sana’s mood. She was quiet and reserved, nursing her second or third beer in her own little section of the circle. She’d forgone her usual flashy colors and habits in order to simply enjoy bask in the night and maybe feel like herself again.

That one simple gesture, that warmth from the fabric, was bright enough to combat the dull drab of everything else.

But then Jeongyeon left early, not even bothering to take the jacket from Sana.

“Fate’s funny that way,” she mumbles, watching the tea leaves dye her water dark. It really is funny. If Jeongyeon had never left her jacket, there would’ve been no need to approach her “best friend” later.

—

“That friend of yours… is she your roommate?”

“Roommate? You mean Jeongyeon?”

“Yes! I think so. She left this with me.”

“Uh, but also… is she seeing anyone?”

—

It’s a memory she thinks on quite fondly. Sana went in expecting the pretty woman with the sharp eyes to mend her broken heart for a just a while. Months later, she’s blessed with the love and affection of said woman’s girlfriend.

And only a fraction of a hair closer to the woman she’d been initially after.

Sana’s going to change that, though. It’s certain. She taps her tea strainer four times against the mug’s rim to insure it.

Of course she has doubts, because what would be worse: Forcing a relationship that leaves all three people broken, or leaving the remaining two behind to salvage the remains of what they have?

Neither is acceptable. So-

“I’ll just have to walk it back.”

She raises the mug to her lips, basking in its warmth while she ruminates on a potential plan.

Minutes later, when she finds herself properly settled for bed, she’s sure of what she’ll do. Now, she’s left to see how Jeongyeon responds.

[tedbird]

Hi hi!

I’m back with more TMA x MPHfPC stuff.

⚠️Spoilers for both mentioned here ⚠️

In TMA, when Jon gets the “statement” from Elias which basically tricks him into starting the eyepocalypse, he says, “I open the door” and part of the prophecy of the 7 in MPHfPC says, “to end the strife of war, seven may seal the door”.

Imagine if the prophecy was referencing the eyepocalypse and the light eaters need to eat the light so the eye can’t see, in essence, blinding it.

Another part of the prophecy of the 7 says “when the prisons are blown to dust and chaos reins…”. This could be about Elias breaking out of prison to start the eyepocalypse.

The part that says “the old ones from their sleep are torn, an age of strife will soon be born” could reference the fear entities as “the old ones” since they’re kinda outside of time.

I’m hyperfixed so hard on both. This might be my new project! If you want to co-write a fanfic of sorts, u would be so happy! Or we could both write one and read each other’s work. Or smth else.

Also, if I missed any of the direct quotes, it because I wrote this from memory.

hello!!

honestly, that au sounds awesome. and it would make sense if noor was to defeat the eyepocalypse. jon was an eye avatar and he just took over instead of being able to stop the fears in his universe, but a dark avatar might have different responses and capabilities. and you’re so right about the prophecy referencing the eyepocalypse. the parallels between the mphfpc prophecy and tma sound interesting

i’m absolutely biased but the two settings would probably mesh really well. avatars and peculiarities could tie in nicely, it’s noted in-text that a lot of common folk are terrified when they see peculiarities in action. if they were separate things, it could still be counted on that the general public would see a peculiar and think ‘supernatural’ and go to the institute. either way, wights would probably end up entwined with the fears, trying to grab for power. caul would absolutely try to start a fear-driven apocalypse if he thought he could be all-powerful in it, it was like his entire goal in the books.

now im just stuck running through different concepts lmao. frankie’s house would be a terrifying web domain, it’s basically textbook, and the kids going through the trenches in tdoda kinda reminds me of that one slaughter domain early on in the last season. abe/the hollow hunters and trevor + montague sort of line up in my head, if the worlds crossed over i could see them taking on similar roles of hunting the monsters. in the eyepocalypse, loops could act sort of like salesa’s safe house, maybe because they exist in a time before the eyepocalypse started, or they could be ravaged by the fears too.

it would be so cool if you make this a project!! what you wrote earlier about the kids and the fears they lined up with was interesting, and your idea about the prophecy lining up with the eyepocalypse is captivating and could make for a good story. i am rapidly running out of free time because i have my final exams in may and revision is going to dominate my schedule, so i probably won’t write anything myself lest my grades to tank, but this idea is so awesome it’s going to rotate in my head until summer and i’m probably going to post about it a bit.

sorry for the wall of text lol, hope you have a great day ^^

[turnipstewdios]

Half-Lives, chapter 13

For all its flaws, and there were many, many flaws, Gotham actually had decent road maintenance. 

Oh there were plenty of areas of the city where the roads were shit. The areas where the rich people lived were always given first priority, and nobody in city planning really gave a fuck about Crime alley or the Bowery, but large sections of the city road network were reasonably well maintained. Bludhaven’s were not. So Jason always had to be careful when he brought his bike over this way, lest he ram into one of the bottomless potholes that littered the cracked pavement. It was even worse with a passenger, and he didn’t want to rattle Danny around too much. The actual road to the Zoo itself was halfway decent, mainly because it was on the outskirts of Gotham rather than in Bludhaven proper. But the side trip he had planned for later would be rough. 

Still, he managed to get to the Zoo’s parking lot without rattling himself or his passenger halfway back to death, and found a decent parking spot that wasn’t too far from the entrance. It was also close enough to the toll-booth that no one should be tempted to try stealing it. Not that they could, his baby’s security was way too good for that. “So, where should we head first?” Jason asked as they walked towards the entrance. 

“Eh, I don’t have a preference. I would like to tour the walk-in aviary at some point though.” Danny replied. “That’s about halfway through the main loop. Let’s just pick a direction and walk.” 

“Sounds good.”

Jason paid for admittance as they went through the check-in. Almost immediately, something seemed to catch Danny’s eye. There was a big, open enclosure full of flamingos near the entry, and Jason saw Danny perk up when he noticed them. Looked like they’d be going that way to start. “You like birds, huh?” “Eh, sort of? I haven't gotten the chance to see many of the ones the pamphlet says they have here.” He leaned on the railing, and watched as a pair of the enormous birds wandered by. “Amity actually did have a zoo, but they had a lot of temporary exhibits. For some reason they never had many birds.” “I thought Amity was a smallish town? How’d they get a zoo?” Danny chuckled. “I, uh, think that might have been Sam’s fault.” “Your friend? How does that work?”  “Sam’s parent’s were kinda rich, and Sam was big into conservation and endangered species. I think her parents funded the place.” He scoffed. “Not that she really liked it. She wasn’t a fan of keeping animals in captivity, and kept complaining about their living conditions.” “Huh.” Jason watched as a flamingo wandered close to Danny, eyeing him over the top of the fence. Jason had stayed a healthy distance back from the enclosure. 

Animals didn’t tend to like him much. He’d wondered briefly on the way here if that was because of the ghost thing, but Danny seemed to be doing fine. It was probably because of the pits. “Wait a minute.” Jason thought back to something he’d heard from Babs the other day. “Wasn’t there something about Amity Park and endangered Gorillas?” To his surprise, Danny… groaned. Loudly. “God, don’t remind me.” He rubbed a hand down his face, seeming to forget about the bird for a moment as it wandered off. “Why? What’s the matter?” “Uhg. Bad memories. Amity hosted one of the two Purple-backed gorillas that was alive at the time for a bit. There was… a thing. That happened.” Oh, Oh yeah, Jason was remembering more of the conversation now. “Don’t you have your name on a research paper about them? It was like the only bit of scientific literature the family could find.” Danny’s head thumped into the wooden rail on the fence. “Yeah, yeah. Figures that would make it out.” “Hmm.” Jason wondered if he should have picked another destination for the day. “I think there’s currently a Purple-back gorilla exhibit here, at this zoo. Should we avoid that?” He asked. “You're kidding.” Danny looked flatly at Jason out of the corner of his eye. “Oh, you’re not kidding. Damn.” He sighed. “It’s fine. We may as well go see them, and we just got here, I’m not about to leave now.” He began to walk down the path towards the next exhibit. “Just so long as I don’t end up spending the whole night watching them, or getting attacked by a ghost who wants to skin me.” Jason stood staring after him for a second, trying to process that. “Skin you? Danny? Danny?! What?” He chased after him, determined to get an explanation for that. Read the rest on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/48120073/chapters/123852799

[writernopal]

🩸Quye’ck, Starved Son of Clan Lexlar🩸

Hailing from a long line of proud warriors, Quye'ck follows in his forefather's footsteps by joining and rising through the ranks of the Hantaphian Armed Reserves. Their forces are the first to respond when the call for battle comes, ever proud to serve the famed House of War. Wild, fierce, and purpose-driven, these men will fight to the last breath in the name of their kin and the Goddess Kava herself. But shrouded under such heritage is another, less spoken of but no less present.

Over many generations, Clan Lexlar, proudest of these forces, discovered a way to edge out their brethren: Consumption. But such a thing does not come without a cost. That supernatural hunger must be controlled, lest it be sated in other ways. And for some, that is far easier said than done...

cw: drug use

“He’s just here, sir.” The man raised his lantern, tossing a glance at the warden trailing just behind him.

The official sighed, spotting the semi-lucid teenager just off the marked path. He was nearly slumped over, speaking to a rock in his hand. 

“I think he might be Sire Mitha’s boy, but I’m not sure.” The man said as they came to a stop beside the reported vagrant.

“I’ll take it from here. Thank you.” 

The man nodded, hefting the A-frame pack of freshly gathered firewood onto his back with some difficulty, and reluctantly took his leave. The warden squatted opposite the young man and lifted his head to meet the light shining from his lantern. He grimaced, dropping the rock that entertained him just moments earlier. Another sigh.

“Markham Vintar Lexlar of Hantaph. What have you gotten yourself into this time?”

He grinned, somehow recognizing his name in his dazed state. The warden released his chin and sucked on his teeth frustratedly—he reeked of starshoot. Pureleaf, by the smell of it, and clearly far too potent for the likes of him. 

“And how did you end up all the way out here?”

This path was rarely traveled even during the day and normally only used by merchants coming into Miranx from Hantaph. But it wasn’t trading day. And men like the one who’d come upon him were the unfortunate sort who’d had gotten caught out by ill weather or some otherwise difficult circumstance on their way back from the wilds. Another sigh.

“We have a few options, boy. I could book you for the night and you can get a reaming worse than the last from your father when he comes to collect you tomorrow. I could leave you here for some hungry jungle cat. Or,” He sighed, unsure of where the next words were coming from, “I can bring you to my house. Let you sleep off your high and see you off in the morning.”

The troublemaker offered his response by way of a grunt. Unhelpful. The warden set down his lantern and, with some effort, lifted the young man from the ground. He strained under his weight, altogether reconsidering his benevolence. He was taller than he remembered and already thickening to resemble the massive frame his clansmen were known for. He groaned as he looped his tail into the handle of his lantern and lumbered his way home. 

Breakfast the next morning was…difficult. Not because the young man was bad company, but because he was less interested in having any sort of conversation with the warden, choosing instead to fiddle with his listening stone. No good contraptions, in his opinion, but he guessed the young man’s sweetheart had its pair, judging by the speed and the whispered nature of  his responses.

“You’ll be a man before you know it.” His head snapped up. “You should start acting like one. You can’t expect others to look out for you forever. You’ll drive your wife mad with worry someday if you do.”

The young man swallowed the bite he’d taken and laughed as he wiped his mouth clean. “I’m not gettin’ married, sir. Anyway, thanks for the food and for not rattin’ me out.”

The warden sighed, deciding that his attempt at a lecture had gone about as well as it was going to go, and dismissed the surprise guest from his table. The young man got on his feet, listening stone to the side of his head and a smile on his face. Part of him wished he could warn the poor creature on the other stone she was being strung along, but he supposed she would find that out soon enough. He watched as he made his way outside but, oddly, did not rush to give any sort of response to the message he’d just received. Though the reason why soon became clear. 

Just through his window, he spotted the infamous Eiph’ck, a troublemaker of a different variety, carrying with him a bottle of some dark liquid and what looked to be another meal. The two greeted each other with a laugh and the Lexlar boy quickly told some story between gulps of whatever drink his friend had brought him. He sighed again, hoping that he hadn’t given him alcohol or some nonsense like that. Though he supposed neither of the thoughtless individuals were his problem. Another sigh.

Character art by: https://twitter.com/Azraels_Art

Graphics made with license free images from Unsplash and formatted in Canva.

[raspberry-vinaigrette]

cracks open my mountain dew. sighs. hello chat. note that this pulls from personal experience and is not a judgement being passed on all christians -- it's just my personal anecdotal evidence from me and my friends.

my long and weird ass rant on why jack kennedy is a really interesting parallel to trauma resulting from christianity

SO. first and foremost a major facet of jack's character is that he's chained to this duty. this responsibility for something that he ultimately had very little if any control over. yeah in hindsight he could've watched over dee better and came back for her sooner, but hindsight is 20/20, and the promise that jack makes isn't even about dee in specific. it's about every single child hurt by fazbender's! jack is taking on the responsibility of someone else's sins and burdening himself with repenting for all of it. he outright calls it his last chance at redemption when he approaches the arcade machine in his workshop in dsaf3. to him, this is repentence for his misdeeds, but in actuality he had SO little culpability in anything before he died.

this parallels experiences in shitty christian groups quite a bit. effectively you are told that you alone are responsible for the sins of the entire human race and no matter what you do you will always be inherently flawed, but if you give yourself up to a religion and just conform to all these rules to prove yourself and never let yourself stray (lest you have to repent again), then you can be good again. you just have to promise. fittingly, jack is outright told when making the promise that it's gonna suck! it's going to suck so, so bad, and be painful, and he's going to constantly be seen as grotesque, but he still has to keep going. he has to save everyone. and he gets nothing from this besides the comfort he won't be guilty anymore.

and this comes into one of my main points! both religious trauma and jack's existance with the promise come with a sense of guilt basically built into your core. you feel shame for a lot of normal human desires and wants because you're not "supposed" to feel them, and the fact you do is "proof" that you're wicked and evil. this can lead to paranoia and a general sense of dread when it comes to just living your everyday life which i think can be seen in jack's behavior about the promise. he's constantly working towards the promise, and whenever he doesn't have work in some fashion, he literally just sits in bed -- in the marionn-ending when you skip work, jack comments that he plans just to sleep for 16 hours. he doesn't actually do this but he does very little the entire day so it's not unlikely he spent most of the day in bed regardless. plus, well... we know how devoted good ending jack is to fulfilling the promise, and hell -- he even feels responsible for saving people who aren't related to the promise, such as dave, peter, and steven!

there's a couple other major things, too. another thing with those who were really fucked up by the church is that they can sometimes go the complete opposite direction and basically do anything and everything that the church would hate to feel some sense of control. that then loops back into the guilt once the (literal or metaphorical) "high" is over with the need to compensate and rid themself of this sin. this causes a cycle of "do something 'sinful'" -> "feel immense guilt and shame and a need to repent" -> "do something equally self-destructive to compensate" -> spiral and repeat

i think a parallel can be drawn there with jack's actions, in particularly the evil routes. in defiance to the root intention of the promise, whether or not he plans on fulfilling it still, he chooses to kill with dave and shut down fazbender's that way. this is all fun and games and vegas is a great time, but especially near the end of dsaf2, we see jack is heavily haunted by his own actions and how he died and the circumstances of the promise, which eventually leads to him (depending on dialogue) literally asking blackjack to turn back time all to "repent" again. plus, in the 35 year gap between dsaf2 and dsaf3, judging by some various dialogue choices (the main ones coming to mind are during his neutral end rant, during a couple talks with the phoneys at the starts of the restaurant segments, and one where he mentions being shitfaced while working on the springlock suit training tapes), jack has become actively an alcoholic (+ a smoker, somewhat optionally) and living off of frozen dinners. as you can probably tell, he's pretty actively self-destructive, and in the soapy ending v3 he even brushes off an insane reaction to cocaine and inevitably being killed with "i always come back."

he doesn't care what happens to him. maybe, in a way, it feels like repentence. divine justice.

and looping back to the feeling of no control or a need for help making decisions, well... we see how easily jack slips into dave's plans and how he takes to henry's influence. jack is headstrong and stubborn when he wants to be, oftentimes when affirming things that feed into his self-loathing and isolation (i'll touch on that in a bit), but he falters very easily under pressure if he thinks it will bring him some kind of closure and safety and catharsis, be it closing down fazbender's, saving the kids, or something more. it's likely why henry can egg jack into killing dave in dsaf3's legacy route. the promise's guidelines dictate jack's actions just as much as a god might in religion.

last but not least, that self-loathing thing! a lack of self-worth in a big thing in religious trauma, since you're often told your worth is defined by how well you can fall into this mold that is, typically, impossibly and unrealistically perfect. when you fall short, you are told you are the thing that is inherently flawed, not the standard, and so you come to believe there is just something fundamentally wrong with YOU. jack also clearly has a super decreased sense of self-worth and confidence in his own identity for a similar reasoning! his entire sense of being depends on fitting the mold of this promise, and if he fails it or completes it -- whichever comes first -- he loses any reason to live. probably why in the evil endings, he hogs the drugs and alcohol. don't have to remember how little of a purpose you have if you're having such an adrenaline rush, eh? plus, dave is kind of the first person to not expect anything good out of jack and see jack as a person. even peter admits that jack is a monster and uses his scars as reasoning in the pure evil route, not just jack's terrible actions, while dave embraces this and doesn't seem to look down on jack. dave is only ever frightened by jack when jack acts wrong. acts like henry. it's interesting but that's another rant.

the point is that jack defines his own worth by how he completes this promise, and very clearly proclaims that he thinks of himself as a husk and a meatsack. his own soul calls him an abomination just pretending to be jack. for all jack has heart, for all that jack clearly cares and tries so, so hard, he fundamentally doesn't think he's worth anything beyond this obligation, and even when he does meet the bar... it's just what's expected for him to reach redemption. just like how someone with religious trauma believes that ripping themself apart is just what needs to be done to repent.

god is watching.

[prompt-master]

The Answer Was Within The Contradiction

A short fic: After the events of sdr2, Hinata finds himself attempting to recode Nanami. He and Kamakura talk about it

Before it all would have seemed like sci-fi nonsense to Hajime. A world made of zeroes and ones, a contagious disease made from the human psyche, an animalistic human slaughter game for outside entertainment. A synthetic girl.

There was a time before Hajime lived and indulged with this fictional world. And there was a time where he forced himself to be so interwoven with the fiction that a permanent reminder stared back at him in the mirror and whispered into his mind. All he had left was hindsight and painfully distinct memories.

"You are a paradox," Izuru told him often, "Your very existence is a word of defiance."

And once Hajime got a taste of defiance, he found himself craving it at all possible avenues.

"Haven't you already defied enough? Look around you."

Hajime knew he asked for too much every time he saw the bittersweet expression of a grieving man on Makoto's face, stark even behind a video screen. Hajime knew he was already quite possibly the luckiest unlucky guy next to Komaeda Nagito himself. He was here. He was alive. He was real. With most of his friends alive, when no one should be.

But it was that one lost friend that haunted him, that left Hajime hungry to defy the odds once again.

"There are things even we can't do."

Hajime suddenly inhaled sharply. He shoved away from his desk, allowing the office chair he was sitting in to roll back with the force. Count to ten. He reminded himself, head leaning over the backrest. He let the numbers roll over him, resisting the urge to start pulling out his hair.

It wasn’t about possibility anymore, this was about necessity. Hajime’s new life was defined by impossibilities lining themselves up into a confusing labarynth, but he would be damned if he couldn’t navigate it one way or another.

He wiped his brow, then muttered under his breath “Shut up.”

“I am free to speak my mind just as you are.”

“Yeah, well…” Hajime dragged himself back over to his desk, leaning over the computer. He was greeted not for the first or last time by complex codes weaving themselves in ways he would never properly understand. Yet, at the same time. He understood them perfectly. The breakets and loops and command lines built an unfinished art piece in his mind, one he craved to finish crafting. He began typing again, letting unknown knowledge blanket him once more. “You can at least keep it to yourself.”

“Why should I keep it from you, when we are so close to one another?”

Hajime resisted the urge to roll his eyes, Izuru really could act like a child at times. “Because it’s unhelpful. I only want to hear something helpful right now.”

“Then allow me to provide you with some advice.”

Hajime’s fingers jittered over the computer keys, stumbling to a halt. He tsked, wishing Izuru had a body outside his own so that he could kick him out of the room.

“You can not achieve your goal in the way you wish it to be achieved.”

“I didn’t ask for advice, especially not that nonsense.” Hajime glared at himself through the screen.

“It goes against basic logistics.”

“Well then, it’s a good thing that those basics mean nothing to me.”

"Allow me to provide meaning, then."

"I didn't sign up for Siri to be in my head…" Hajime mumbled under his breath. Izuru pretended he didn't hear the words.

"Coding is unique to the coder and without the original files or notes it is nearly impossible to replicate a project as complex as the one you chose."

Hajime felt a headache beginning to brew, attempting to tune out the points Izuru reiterated to him

Over

And over

And over and over.

Hajime bit his tongue, grinded his teeth, and held his breath. He tried to focus on his typing. Or the screen. But each "furthermore" and "lest we forget" caused a sizzling burn deep in Hajime's soul that made the characters blur.

"-You simply don't know what you're doing-"

With a snap and a pop the frustration built up enough that the world set itself on fire. Hajime slammed his hands down onto the desk. He was ready to strangle the man in his brain.

"Then why-" Hajime asked through gritted teeth, "Are you helping me?"

There was a great long pause. A pause where silence was his only answer. for a moment Hajime couldn't even feel the ever looming presence of Kamukura lingering over him. A few months ago, Hajime would have nearly collapsed from relief. He would have savored this sliver of peace in his hands. Instead, Silence felt synonymous with Emptiness.

Hajime roughly exhaled through his nose.

And perhaps, synonymous to Loneliness as well.

When Hajime felt the spark return to his fingers and mind, he hardly hesitated to return to frantically typing out line after line after line of code. He couldn't let the opportunity pass him. No matter how misplaced it felt.

It was odd really, getting to be so intimate with a man designed to be his replacement. But in the end as Hajime grew closer and closer by force he also realized there was an unnerving but comforting truth in their relationship. Hajime and Izuru were two parallel lines, similar in so many aspects that they nearly held the same formula, the same meaning. There was an inherit understanding of one another, and where they were heading. Despite the fact that Izuru was meant to be perfect where Hajime was flawed, Hajime couldn't help but be reminded of his younger self when he finally got to see Izuru in action.

But despite the parallelism that binded them together, there was a truth that could not be ignored. There would always be a distance between the two. No matter how close they became, they were asymptotic curves, they were parallel lines, they were never going to cross.

“... Do not ignore these valid critiques. I do encourage you to attempt such a feat, but you should be aware of what will never be.”

Hajime shook his head. He could feel the heartbeat pulsing within, he could feel the cold hand holding his on a summer morning, he could see the sweetest smile that sent sparks down his spine. She lay dormant under his fingertips, pressed between the little crevices of the keys. All he had to do was piece her back together, and then he would get to hear her say his name again.

He was pulled away from that image, as the cold bitter points reiterated themselves once again.

“AI by design is something difficult to replicate as it is ever changing and ever learning.”

“I know that.”

“As it learns, it changes how it will react to the information given to it in the future, which further shapes the AI. If this is true, it is nearly as difficult to recreate as a human consciousness, where each individual factor greatly shaped one's personality.”

“Ok. Cool.”

“And you do not have the original files that Nanami Chiaki-san was trained on.”

"I know."

“Even if you were to show this fabrication of a fabrication the killing game files, that would only offer the AI to train on it from a perspective outside of what the original Nanami-san experienced.”

“I know.”

“Then you must know that this could never be her.”

Hajime attempted to hide the burn of his tears from the

only

one

he couldn't hide them from.

In that moment, Izuru felt like a hand awkwardly hovering over his shoulder. Asymptotic. Parallel. Why oh why did they leave their Ultimate Hope so emotionally empty? What purpose did that serve? Why did they take that from IzuruHajime?

"I… simply cannot comprehend why you would willingly put yourself in the shoes of Sisyphus."

Hajime saw sparks in his vision with how roughly he kneaded his fists against his eyes. "I don't know what that means."

"This is a task that is clearly emotionally taxing for you. You have not slept or eaten properly since attempting it. I have been the one taking care of our body in your stead. One could consider this some form of self-inflicted torture. And yet you continue to push through it, while being fully aware of the impossibility of the task. All to bring her back."

"You said it yourself," Hajime mumbled, forcing himself back into those shoes. He continued typing, with a pain in his heart that felt akin to working with blistering burns on his fingertips. "I have hope. Or whatever."

"I feel as though I still don't fully understand hope."

"Did you even understand despair?" Hajime spat.

And loneliness answered.

"You can't understand what we had, either. You weren't there."

Hajime could feel the subtle rustle of Izuru's trademark annoyance, something only noticeable to someone sharing the same brain. Even Izuru lacked the emotional foresight to recognize the bristling emotion, no matter how muddled.

"I understand plenty. As the Ultimate Analyst-"

"It wasn't a statistic, it was a relationship. You couldn't understand. The only person you ever bonded with was Enoshima fucking Junko."

Count to ten. Count to ten.

Hajime didn't realize how shaky his breath had become, how furious his typing seemed. For all the bonding he and Izuru did after the Neo World Program there was still a part of Hajime that feared and resented him.

"... I believe that I did quite like the Nanami AI program."

But Hajime also pitied him.

"Did you even know her?"

"It wasn't long. We met for just one small conversation before I plugged the Enoshima Junko AI into the Neo World Program."

"So she knew…?"

"No. I temporarily shut her off before uploading it."

"Kamukura…" Hajime floundered to understand the point of all this. He just wanted to work. To create. To craft. To rebuild. He wanted her back. A part of him wondered if he was playing god but another part of him didn't care at all. He was willing to break all the rules if it meant there was a chance they could meet again.

Everyone else got a chance.

Izuru's voice was as bland as ever, but lined with softness that called his attention, "I understand why you want to rebuild her."

Hajime pursed his lips, "You're not going to tell me you want her rebuilt cuz she's some. Savant tech or something, right?"

"When I brought Enoshima Junko into the Neo Word Program, it was a test."

Hajime did roll his eyes this time. "You've told me this before."

Izuru had no clue on the proper standings of Hope vs Despair. He only knew the nonsense both Hope's Peak Academy and Enoshima Junko threw his way. With two extreme ends of the spectrum lining his vision, he found himself with a scenario he could not predict. He knew, but did not understand why, that Hajime would be placed into the game in his stead. And, he also knew that by placing Enoshima within his path he'd be creating the Ultimate Trial By Fire.

Hajime was proof Enoshima was wrong. Hajime was proof that hope could be just as powerful. Hajime was proof of the impossible. Hajime was the contradiction.

"You have a penchant for proving me wrong." Izuru said. "Perhaps you can do it again."

Maybe Izuru did understand Hajime's desperate desire, just a little bit.

After all, Izuru's photographic memory left him with an unexplainable moment to look back on. A moment he did not understand, yet could not stop reviewing.

Because of course, he remembered talking to the Neo World Program’s AI very briefly.

And even more unfathomable, he remembered quickly deciding to temporarily shut her off before uploading the Enoshima Junko AI. For what purpose? It's easy to find reasons after the fact: in case she had any safety protocols, so that she did not alert anyone of the unwanted addition, so she did not attempt to remove the file.

Izuru was the only one who knew he did it as an odd, questionable act of mercy.

He didn't think he would ever truly be able to pick apart the why's of his decision, none of it made a lick of sense. What mercy would Chiaki have truly been granted? She still would have been within the program, knowing something was wrong. She still ended up deleted, after watching multiple people she was entrusted to protect die. She left this world believing she had intrinsically failed at what she was supposed to do.

So what mercy had Izuru fooled himself into believing for that fraction of a second? So she wouldn't blame herself for the upload? So there was nothing she could have done?

Why had he even done anything in the first place? Why her?

Was it because they were both man-made creatures of hope? Nothing more than a programmable personality, the most useful tool available to their creators yet easily replaceable. Was it because neither of them were real people? Was it because, despite everything he had allowed to happen, she was happy to see him?

Or was it because the very circumstances of their births led them down a long, cursed, unlucky life?

Izuru was supposed to be a man made God. Izuru was intrinsically programmed to be able to do anything. To be even meaningless things like lucky. And yet, he wasn't. Even know, he finds himself with one of his first foggy thoughts of desire and he could not act on them. He was a God that couldn't create a miracle.

Hajime though? He was more than just lucky. He was sci-fi. He was fiction. He was the labyrinth. He was the impossible. The unknowable. The unpredictable. He was living proof that Nanami Chiaki could be reborn. His consciousness was tossed away like an outdated file, scraped and deleted without a single care. He was erased, destroyed, burned, mutilated. Murdered by his own design.

But here he stood.

He should have never been able to come back. Yet here he was, existing in a way that even Kamukura Izuru couldn’t fully understand. It was knowable, but not explainable. Why then, if this state of rebirth could exist for Hajime, could it not be extended to others? She at one point existed in this world in similar contradictory limbo, both alive and dead. Both sentient and programmed. Both human and fake. The question then was, if Hajime could survive through that same limbo, why can't she? If Hajime, a man who lived a majority of his life lacking any special traits, can be worthy of a second chance, then why can’t she?

He was proof of her existence.

“Hinata-kun?”

And she was proof of his.

[pixiecaps]

cant wait to see the return of elq & qroier dynamic lest we forget a couple islanders left off on pretty bad terms with elq… vengeance for his rather explosive demise is in order^_^

I'm so out of the loop with lore what happened last time with elq??

basically IF I REMEMBER CORRECTLY when elq had one life left both qmaxo and qbad set up another trap where they blew him up AGAIN and. during that whole set up to get him trapped he interacted with roier & richas and believes they knew what was going to happen and were involved. though they completely were not.

and after his final death he has this dramatic monologue about how they’d all pay and how qbbh would suffer and how everybody including roier & richas would have to pay for what they did to him. etc shit like that. then the next time he saw them he acted.. interesting he just kept blowing shit up. that was the time the egg school blew up. and then disappeared into that federation building and we saw egg A1 die. thats where we left off

[milkshakebattlecat]

I dislike using rigidbodies to move my objects because physics interactions can sometimes go ham and while that can be very amusing, I prefer things to be predictable. So for moving arrows in this game I handled the movement math myself via coroutine. Let's take a look-see, shall we? :3

The goal of this coroutine is to move its symbol object in an arcing motion from its initial position, moving it upward and to either the right or left. Then it will fall downward. Rather than having each symbol object run this coroutine from an attached script, I am using a central script (my GameManager) to apply this movement to a given object, so the first thing I do is make sure the symbol still exists before proceeding with the coroutine:

If we find that our symbol has been destroyed, we exit the coroutine with "yield break". You wouldn't need this check if the script is running this movement on its own object, as coroutines are ended upon an object's destruction.

There are a bunch of variables we'll define within our coroutine to calculate our desired motion; we'll start by defining an arcDuration:

This determines how long the object will take to move in the arc shape. A shorter duration results in faster movement. Using a random amount between a min and max duration creates some variance in how fast different symbol objects will move. I have my minArcDuration set to 1 and maxArcDuration set to 2.5 for quick bouncy movements.

These variables referencing the outermost bounds of the camera's view will be used to ensure that symbols remain within the visible area of the camera at all times. I'm not using a topBound because I'm fine with symbols possibly going off the top of the screen, but I use a maxArcHeight variable that is set low enough that they never do.

For even more spawn variability, we add a little randomness to our starting point. My spawnPointVariance is set very low at 0.3; my initial symbol spawn position is low on the screen, and due to how the rest of this coroutine works, it's important that the symbols are never allowed to spawn below the bottomBound or else they will be instantly deleted (and result in a miss!)

The height here is, of course, how far up the symbol will travel, and the distance refers to how far it will move to the left or right. We calculate the peak of the arc by adding our distance and height to the x and y values of our starting position. Randomizing between negative and positive distance values for our x position adds another layer of variability which includes the possibility of moving either left or right, even though our minArcDistance and maxArcDistance are both set to positive values for clarity (mine are set to 1 and 6).

This is the part of the code that decides upon our symbol's speed by calculating the distance it has to cover from its start to its peak. By dividing our horizontalDistance by our arcDuration (distance divided by time), we calculate how fast the symbol needs to move to cover the entire distance in the given duration. Mathf.Abs is used to ensure that horizontalDistance is always positive, lest we get a negative value that causes us to move in the opposite of the intended direction.

We'll also want a speed variable for when the arcing motion ends and the symbol starts falling, that's where downwardSpeed comes in. In earlier versions of this function, I used downwardSpeed alone to transform the object's position, but I've since refined the logic to take the current horizontalSpeed into account for more consistent motion; we'll see that later. (Also you can see I've been tweaking that arbitrary range a bit... the fall speed was brutal during those mass waves ;o;)

Here we create an elapsedTime variable starting at 0. In our while loop, we will use this variable to count how much time has passed, and if it becomes greater than or equal to arcDuration, we'll change isFalling to true and begin moving down.

We create a Vector3 moveDirection which gives the vector pointing from the startPosition to the peakPosition, and then turn it into Vector3 horizontalDirection, which retains only the X-axis direction. Both values are normalized to ensure consistency. Without normalization, the magnitude (or distance) of the vector would vary depending on the distance between the start and peak positions, which could result in inconsistent speed. Normalization caps the magnitude at 1, meaning the vector represents just the direction, not the distance, allowing for consistent speed calculation later.

Here's how we start our while loop: as long as our symbol object is not null and the game says we canMove, we say yield return null, which will instruct our loop to occur every frame. If either the symbol becomes null or canMove becomes false, the while loop will end and so will the coroutine - for this reason, I only set canMove false when the game ends and the symbols will never have to resume movement, rather than in cases where I want them to pause movement and resume later, such as when a player pauses the game or during level-up periods. For the latter I use an isLevelingUp bool in my while loop that waits until that bool is false before proceeding (yield return new WaitUntil(() => !isLevelingUp)), and for the former I actually change the game Time.timeScale to 0, which is not typically recommend but fuck it we doin it live, because I don't have a mechanism for resuming this function with appropriate variables if it is stopped. It could surely be done if you just store the local variables somehow.

This is the first part of our movement logic that we put in the while loop; remember we already set isFalling false, so this part will proceed with the rising motion.

We count our elapsedTime here by adding Time.deltaTime, a variable which represents the time in seconds that has passed since the last frame, ensuring that time calculation is frame-rate independent. Do NOT use Time.time in cases like this unless you want your users with varying computer specs to all have different experiences with your game for some insane, villainous reason

The variable 't' is looking at the elapsedTime divided by arcDuration, a ratio that tells us how far along we are in the arc movement. If elapsedTime equals arcDuration, this ratio would be 1, meaning the arc is complete. We use Mathf.Clamp01 to clamp this value between 0 and 1, ensuring that it won't ever go higher than 1, so that we can use it to calculate our desired arcPosition and be sure it never exceeds a certain point due to frame lag or some such. If 't' is allowed to exceed 1, the arcPos calculation could possibly go beyond the intended peakPos. We are going for predictable motion, so this is no good

We define our Vector3 arcPos with Vector3.Lerp, short for "Linear Interpolation", a function for calculating smooth transition between two points overtime. Ours takes our startPos and peakPos and moves our symbol between the two values according to the value of 't' which is incrementing every frame with Time.deltaTime. As 't' progresses from 0 to 1, Vector3.Lerp interpolates linearly between startPos and peakPos, so when 't' is 0, arcPos is exactly at startPos. When 't' is 1, arcPos reaches peakPos. For values of 't' between 0 and 1, arcPos is smoothly positioned between these two points. Very useful function, I be lerping for days

Then we alter the y coordinate of our arcPos by adding a calculation meant to create smooth, curved arc shape on the y axis, giving our object its rounded, bouncy trajectory. Without this calculation, you'll see your symbols rising and falling sharply without any of that rounded motion. This uses some functions I am not as familiar with and an explanation of the math involved is beyond my potato brain, but here's a chatgpt explanation of how it works:

Mathf.Sin(t * Mathf.PI): This calculates a sinusoidal wave based on the value of t. Mathf.PI represents half of a full circle in radians (180 degrees), creating a smooth curve. At t = 0, Mathf.Sin(0 * Mathf.PI) is 0, so there’s no vertical displacement. At t = 0.5, Mathf.Sin(0.5 * Mathf.PI) is 1, reaching the maximum vertical displacement (the peak height of the arc). At t = 1, Mathf.Sin(1 * Mathf.PI) returns to 0, completing the arc with no vertical displacement. This scales the vertical displacement to ensure the arc reaches the desired height. If height is 10, then at the peak, the symbol moves 10 units up.

With those positions calculated, we can calculate the "newX" variable which represents where we want our symbol to appear along the x axis. It adds the horizontal movement to the current x coordinate, adjusted for the time passed since the last frame.

We use Mathf.Clamp to ensure our newX value doesn't exceed either the left or right bounds of the screen. This function limits the given value to be between min and max value.

Finally we tell our loop to actually reposition the symbol object by creating a new Vector3 out of newX, arcPos.y, and using our symbol's own z coordinate. That last bit is important to ensure your sprite visibility/hierarchy doesn't go out of whack! If I used arcPos.z there instead, for example, it's likely my sprites would no longer be visible to my camera. The z position the symbol spawned at is the z position I want it to retain. Your needs may vary.

This part tells us our arcDuration should end, so we set isFalling to true, which will cause the secondary logic in our while loop to trigger:

Previously, objects retained their x position and only had negative downwardSpeed applied to their y position, but I didn't like that behaviour as it looked a little wonky (symbols would reach their arc peak and then suddenly stop and drop in a straight line downward).

By creating a new Vector3 fallDirection that retains the horizontalDirection and horizontalSpeed from the arc phase, we're able to apply smooth downward motion to the symbol that continues to the left or right.

Just below that, we once again clamp the symbol's x position to the left and right screen bounds so the symbols can't travel offscreen:

The loop would continue causing the symbols to fall forever if we didn't have this check:

which triggers some project specific logic and destroys the symbol, then exits the coroutine with "yield break". Although the coroutine already exits when the symbol becomes null, which it will see is the case in the next frame as we destroyed the symbol here, adding an explicit yield break is an added layer of security to ensure predictability. Once again, not super necessary if you decide to run this code from the moving object itself, but just be sure you move your Destroy() request to the bottom of any logic in that case, as nothing after that point would be able to trigger if you destroy the object which is running the coroutine!

and that's all folks. If this helps you make something, show me!

HEY, did you really make it all the way to the end of this post?! ilu :3 Do let me know if this kind of gratuitous code breakdown interests you and I will summon motivation to make more such posts. I personally like to see how the sausage is made so I hoped someone might find it neat. If ya got any questions I am happy to try and answer, the ol' inbox is always open.

[dollkichi]

QUESTIONS QUESTIONS AND ANGEL IS HERE FOR ANSWERS!! 💕 Alsoo how could you tell Kokichi was my favorite how did you knooww/silly in all honesty he was my first DR crush he makes me wanna fucking punt him!!!! (romantically) also also, yeah!!! I do YouTube for funises and I have videos on these 4!!! (Hayase has only gotten one because that one drained the life force out of me the pain of being a gachatuber is real....)

Angel originally wanted Roselyn to be the Ultimate Actress cause it fit her past a little more to me (Acting her way through life. Acting so she didn't get targeted next because her family has this wonderful little habit of absolutely slaughtering each other apparently- also Acting so she didn't get hurt for showing anything more than at least blank discontent, Acting to protect herself and her emotions from being flushed out so she wouldn't get eaten alive. The business world is harsh, after all.) and it helped develop her personality and the fact that she didn't really have one, at least she thought. I mean, in one-shot fics I've written, Kokichi was the only person to ever get under her skin where she shows actual personality, while the others usually saw her sweet and proper fake outside persona before chapter 1. Liars know liars I suppose~

But the Pediatrician talent came when my big bro figure suggested it, since Rose and some of her backstory (at least, her side of the bigger story) was based on Mikan (it still is, the actress talent was just a different way she handled it) and my friend said it suited her, and I guess I can see it? Taking care of kids because she wasn't taken care of. But I'm thinking of sticking with Actress since it made me super proud for my first ever DR OC to finally be fully fleshed out!!!

Sukoshi's Talent... she didn't know how she got it either. She was guessing it's cause she was constantly outcasted for one reason (whoring herself out) or another (having a son and being a single mother), or maybe because she was responsible for her family's death. Though she didn't mean to set their house on fire. They were already dead, why wouldn't they believe her? The second fire was her fault. But she didn't have a choice, she had to, lest she died in a house with residents that wouldn't cry nor care if she died.

Nothing was wrong with her. Sure, she talked to herself, but that's because she didn't have friends at school. She tried to make some, but she was either never acknowledged, and even if she did make any, they'd all distance themselves and leave her anyway. She didn't get it. Nothing was wrong with her, so why did they outcast her like this? Maybe she was crazy. That's why everyone hated her. So, she had her mind to keep her company. At least then she wouldn't feel judged with her friends in her head. They feel real, so it isn't harming anyone, right?...

She also pops up post V3 because she wasn't really supposed to be in any game? She was going to be a sort of OC in my head I fleshed out from a dream, but I decided to make a blog for her and here we are! She's thrown into the loop but she fights and kills for her family<3

Ai's whole thing is being stigmatized and stereotyped because she's a demon. Despite all of that, she was raised by a caring mom and and very sweet papa!!! She also made it out of her stepmom's house because Kaede was there she'd probably died otherwise- She wasn't broken down because her mom always taught her to see the best in people, so she tries that motto, sometimes, it gets her hurt, other times.. it actually works. So, she keeps trying no matter now bad it hurts her to do it. </3 Demons, and specifically Succubi aren't and were never treated well, usually either killed to cleanse the world of them, sometimes just ridiculed and judged, and in Ai's case, Used as sexual relief, whether they want it or not, only to either be cast aside or killed to keep their mouths shut. Most humans even HATE Succubi with a passion they'll become priests or demon hunters just to get rid of them, and other times a few judgemental glances, derogatory terms sometimes and whispering is enough to show how much people hate them.

Fun fact!!! All of the Kokichi ships other than Rose wasn't planned to happen at least mostly on my end I just went along and ended up loving them <33

Aaah I ended up rambling-- (｡Ŏ ᗜ Ŏ ̆ ｡) Sorry about that I'm very normal about my DR OCs (III╥_╥⁠)

– 🩷🎮

I AM SO SORRY FOR THE LATE REPLY. I’VE JUST BEEN SO BUSY AND TIRED.

YIPPEE!! THANK YOU FOR THE ANSWERS!!! Also don't worry about rambling, I love reading your asks! They're always such a delight 2 get :3

Oh my god, I used to love watching gachatubers as a kid. I never understood how to use the apps very well myself though. I have a couple friends who still use them and it amazes me what they can do with it!!

CRYING OVER THE REASONS GIVEN FOR BOTH OF ROSELYN’S TALENTS. SOBBING. ESPECIALLY “taking care of kids because she wasn’t taken care of” OH MY GOD THAT’S SO SAD. I’m sure whatever talent you give her will suit her, congrats on fully fleshing her out!! Always fun to finally figure out what you wanna do with your OC

Omg. Poor Sukoshi, the people around her failed her :((

Would totes be her friend. I am hoping she is much happier now post game!! That’s really cool that she came to you in a dream. If she wasn’t supposed to be in any game though, how does she get her talent? Don’t you need to attend the school to be given your ultimate title?

Oh yikes, doesn’t sound like it’s very safe for demons & succubi in your canon. I’m happy for her in the sense that what she went through didn’t break her down and she was able to continue going!! I love characters like that RAHHHH!!! What is Ai and Kaede’s relationship like? Are they close with eachother?

Sometimes unplanned ships are the best!! It’s fun when something isn’t planned between two characters and they end up just having the best chemistry :3

[punksarahreese]

“I’m sick of hearing that I’ll be fine” for chronic or recurrence pls? 💖

Fine line | Chronic

Spoonie!Sarah

***

Ava heard the laptop slam shut on itself from the bedroom, knowing that wasn’t a very good sign. She quickly ran the brush through her hair once more before leaving her perch on the bedside, following the frustrated muttering from down the hall.

Her girlfriend was pacing in the kitchen, the offending computer abandoned on the table. Her face portrayed more sadness than anger, despite the words she was spitting into the empty air at no one in particular.

“Hey,” Ava spoke before she approached, “Was the appointment-”

“Never turn to telemedicine, Ava,” Sarah interrupted her sharply, “Useless excuse for a cardiologist hides behind his computer. Didn’t even have the courtesy to turn his camera on before he told me my labs were normal.”

“Video appointments never do anyone justice,” Ava agreed slowly, “Did he say anything else?”

“Sinus tachycardia aggravated by the medication change,” she stopped her pacing to look at her girlfriend for the first time, “Stay on 5 mg and see him again in two months.”

“Seriously?”

“Yep,” the popped ‘p’ was incredulous, “Never mind the fact that I was in the ED with a heart rate of 150 after an eight hour shift with no improvement.”

The blonde had drifted over to Sarah, cautiously reaching out for her arm. She had seen the unsteady swaying that had taken over her girlfriend’s motions, whether or not she noticed in the midst of her emotions. The last thing they needed was for Sarah to pass out, lest she give herself another concussion on the way down.

“I know you’re upset, love, but can we sit down?” She tried to be gentle yet avoided coddling, knowing that’s not what she needed in that moment. Sarah met her concerned gaze and hesitated, yet she let her girlfriend guide her over to the chair she had left pushed out from the table.

“I’m sorry you aren’t getting the help you need, Sarah,” she pushed a rouge curl back behind her ear, “It’s not your fault.”

“I’m sick of hearing that I’ll be fine.”

“I know.”

The anger had dissipated but only to be replaced by frustrated tears, making tracks down Sarah’s flushed cheeks. The redness was from her exerting herself in her pacing, her body’s autonomic system unable to keep up, but the frustration only worsened it. Ava saw it in the way her hands shook and her chest heaved a little as she couldn’t stop the sob that escaped her.

“Oh,” Ava dragged her chair closer and grabbed for Sarah’s hand to help cease the tremor, “Sarah, I know you’re not fine. I know you’re hurting and I promise I believe you. We can find another doctor, I’ll contact as many cardiologists as I know and then some.”

“I’m just… I hate feeling so,” she shook her head, “Why is it so hard to get them to listen to me?”

“I don’t know, darling. It’s not fair.”

“I’m educated, I know what I’m talking about and I know my body,” Sarah swiped at a tear before it could traverse her jaw, “I’m not just a patient.”

“And you’re 100% correct,” Ava agreed, “Your ideas were good. We’ll find someone who will listen and help you make a proper treatment plan, okay?”

“I’m so sick of monitors and pushing myself so far for no improvement. An implanted monitor would be so much easier for everyone involved…”

“It would,” in her professional opinion Ava knew Sarah was in the right; an internal loop recorder was advisable in a dysautonomia patient like her girlfriend. She fainted at least two times a week and had over five monitoring periods over one year alone; an implanted device would be so much more efficient.

Sarah’s shoulders dropped in defeat, “He won’t even agree to infusion therapy. He said a port is worst case scenario and ‘we aren’t there yet’.“

“I’m sorry, my love,” Ava opened her arms but waited for her to make the decision. Sarah caved and leaned into her lover, an awkward position given the limited mobility of wooden chairs. Still, she relaxed into familiar arms because it was the only thing she could think of doing in that moment. She was tired, exhausted, and Ava was the only constant she could trust in that moment.

“You’re doing so well,” Ava promised as she used one hand to gently unclench Sarah’s tense fists, “I promise we’ll get the help you deserve.”

“I’m sorry, my love,” Ava opened her arms but waited for her to make the decision. Sarah caved and leaned into her lover, an awkward position given the limited mobility of wooden chairs. Still, she relaxed into familiar arms because it was the only thing she could think of doing in that moment. She was tired, exhausted, and Ava was the only constant she could trust in that moment.

“You’re doing so well,” Ava promised as she used one hand to gently unclench Sarah’s tense fists, “I promise we’ll get the help you deserve.”

[kira-angel24]

Whumptober 2023 Day 18

Blindfold, Tortured For Information, "Hit Them Harder"

The men carried the two girls onto the boat. "Hold on to the little one for me while I take care of the mermaid." The captain tied a blindfold tightly around Kira's head. She whined as she was carried to a different part of the boat.

"Don't worry, we'll take good care of ya." The man holding her walked away from the captain and the rest of the crew. "Captain said to take you to his quarters and I'll be waiting with ya." The man placed her down and tied a rope around a metal loop in the collar. The loose end was tied elsewhere. Kira yanked at the rope trying to pull away. "Hey hey hey, please don't do that. I don't want anyone to hurt you. Lest the captain do something worse." The angel whined as he touched her head. "It's okay, I won't hurt you. My name's Finn." She whined again before someone burst through the door.

"Finn! Don't mess with the girl!"

"I'm sorry captain! She's very afraid that's all."

"As she should be! Now then," he grabbed her face again. "You're a cute little girl you know that." Kira swallowed the lump in her throat, her wings shaking. He pushed the girl back against a pole. "Now then, what are you?" The girl whined and didn't say anything. "Come on answer me!" He knocked the wind out of her, Kira clutching her stomach. She fell forward, tears staining the blindfold. She whined again, her wings moving to cover herself. "Answer me!" A boot collided her head, the girl clutching the wound tightly. "Finn, hit her."

"But, I..."

"Finn! That's an order!" He didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry, little one," another boot hit her. She was sent in the opposite direction of the previous hit. The faint sent of blood filled her nose.

"Come on Finn, hit her harder! She's just only half human!" Kira heard Finn take a deep breath before pulling the girl up by her shirt. He punched her, sending her flying back against the pole again. She collapsed to her side. Her breath growing ragged. "We have all night to continue this you know. You better think about answering before I get back. This time I'll be bringing the whole crew." Their footsteps grew quieter. "Finn come on! Let's let her decide about answering."