#like this horror was happening to someone other than him

[signanothername]

If someone had found baby corrupted nightmare and taken him in, raised him, like, say for example, blue, how differently do you think everything would have ended up?

(*COUGH COUGH* totally not just pushing my dad swap agenda nope nuh uh *COUGH*)

i just imagine nightmare sneaking into his room at night to curl up near his bed like a dog, and IMMEDIATELY skedaddling when he senses him wake up.

This poor kid is freshly dead (alive? Born?) he is in Desperate need of comfort 💀 but it's not like he's gonna ask for it outright.

And i horrendously need someone to hold him and give him warm food and new clothes and toys to play with and blankets and tuck him in at night and Hold Him and feed him medicine when he's sick and read hin bedtime stories and rock him to sleep and give him a comfort plushie or blanket or item of sorts and HOLD HIM and-

ahem, so anyway, what do you think? How differently do you think he would've ended up? Cuz i think it'd be a lot different if nightmare was shown care by someone for once and comforted by someone who wasn't a fellow traumatized six year old.

And, yknow, was an adult who knew what they were doing and didn't hate him for no reason 💀

Ooooh :D

Yeah I definitely think he would’ve grown up a much different person, cause he wouldn’t have relied on himself to survive, he wouldn’t experience the constant fear of the many ways he could get hurt or die

He definitely wouldn’t have starved on negativity cause he didn’t know how to balance it anymore

And if he was actually raised by a loving parent that’s actually present in his life to guide him through it enough to find a healthy outlet for the horrors he experienced, as well as help him with his emotional, mental, and physical health a lot better, his life would be a lot easier

I think he still would be a lot more grumpy and a bit aggressive than he was before the corruption, and the Apple incident would still have a great impact on his psyche, he’d still hold a bit of fear inside, but that fear won’t end up guiding all his actions, and it definitely wouldn’t lead to him becoming power hungry, doing whatever he deems necessary to obtain it

Hell, even with how the corruption twists his happiness from something pure to finding joy in the misery of others, I still think with a loving parent raising him, he will find healthy outlets to his emotions, whatever they may be

I think he might eventually tell his parent figure about what happened with him, with his mother, with his twin, maybe even Dream would find himself in a lot better circumstances when he awakens from stone, finding a brother patiently awaiting him, finding himself waking up in warm welcoming arms, I definitely think it’ll contribute to the twins’ relationship being a lot better, a lot healthier

Their trauma would still put a few wrenches in their journey, but it definitely wouldn’t go so sour and bitter, Nightmare would be a lot more open towards Dream’s love and affection, hatred won’t taint his heart and cause their relationship to go so wrong

Generally, I definitely think it’ll be a lot more fluffy and slice of life-ish, which is super wholesome to think about

Now as for Blue specifically being the father figure, only two words, FUCK YES.

But I feel like, as a very traumatized lil child who doesn’t know any better, who had adults hate, hurt and even try to kill him, Nightmare would simply not trust Swap, not immediately

So it’d be really fun to see Nightmare actually warm up to Swap first way before he takes Nightmare in to raise and take care of him, it’d be fun to see what Swap might do to gain Nightmare’s trust enough for Nightmare to even let him within 10 meters without running away immediately or attacking him

May I also present some suggestions for another parental figure that could be really fun to explore? Color, I’d love to see him take care of a little newly corrupted Nightmare dhhdhdhd

Anyway *cough* this is such an adorable possible multiverse *cough*

[carbonfiction]

Could you do some angst Logan x mutant!reader comfort. Like maybe she has a similar origin to Logan where she was tested on for her powers and escaped. She ends up at the mansion and that’s how her and Logan end up together.

I’ve been wanting to write this myself for a while but haven’t had time. I need to see some truama bonding and comfort for that man with someone who really understands what it’s like. I would give anything to be that person. 😭

Hi anon!! Im so sorry this has taken me so long to get to- despite some little changes on the request, and my unsureness on writing angst, i hope you enjoy this drabble!

One step at a time

Summary: sleep can be a fickle thing, a struggle more personal than most.. But it just so happens theres another person in the mansion that understands. Written with X1 logan in mind!

Warnings?: angst, mentions of nightmares and troubled sleep, self doubt, slight depression? Comfort and fluff at the end? Idk how to tag this really.. Words: 1.5k Masterlist

People were scared of things they didn’t understand, of people that didn’t fit in to a societal box. And being a mutant? Well, you became the scariest thing of all. An unknown, a secret unshared in a room full of people.

To some, that fear, that little nagging doubt about what you are, what you could do.. fuelled somthing else entirely. Not fear, not quite, more an evil kind of curiosity. A fixation to poke and prod, bend and snap, push the limits of their fear regardless of yours in the name of science. Regardless that you too, we’re a person, different now yes, but still born of the same matter once.

Careless to the person you were, only the thing you could become. And even then, if you weren’t useful.. you were useless. Another mistake in a pile of scraped idea's, a caged creature begging for a way out.

You never wanted it, never asked to sit in a room and wonder why. Why you, why this. There was never a good enough answer, never a reason, not really. Some People were just cruel, vile and nasty, out for their own gain.. to test the limits of humanity.

But then it begged the question, what was humanity? Because it wasn’t this. It wasn’t the sleepless nights afraid to close your eyes. The sanctity of sleep a luxury. Peace a rationed thing.

Therefore It had become normal to find you in the dead of night, curled up the couch in front of the fireplace; whilst everyone else slumbered. Sometimes a book in hand, other times just your thoughts. Embered flames burning bright and warm, the crackle of wood often the only sound. It was how your relationship with Logan had bloomed.

From wordless nods walking down corridors to conversations and nights shared infront of the fire; he had become pleasant company, a friend you regarded higher- one who understood better- than most. He'd seen the same horrors behind his eyes, the years a tiresome thing.

So it's here you sit, like always, in your spot on the couch peering between pages of a book and the old grandfather clock, waiting for Logan.

It was late and he'd usually show up around now, your meetings held in a trusted pact- an agreement that if sleep held pain, this is where you'd find one another. It was up to choice then, if you'd relocate to one of your room's; if you felt the embrace of the others arms would quiet the horror, just for a while.

Because while it's true that you both may no longer be broken here in the mansion.. you'd always be bruised bone deep.

"Hey" Logan murmers softly, breaking you from your thoughts as you crane your neck toward him. Hes stood tall in the doorway, clad in sweats and a white vest, two steaming mugs in hand as he pads closer, handing you one over the back of the couch. "Figured you'd want a drink, tried to make it how you like"

You nod, taking a tentative sip with a greatful smile. Your eyes fluttering shut a moment as you swallow, relishing the warmth. Logan had indeed made it the exact way he knew you loved, and it swells your heart; the fondness you feel for the action- for him. "'S perfect, thank you.."

"Was nothin.." he shrugs, sighing into his own cup, back hitting the couch besides you. the cushions are a soft embrace for his aching body, the days seeming longer. He'd confessed one night, that the winter had never helped his affliction. That the cold air made his adamantium bones ache in a way that seemed impossible to describe. The sting of his knuckles that bit sharper with each snikt of his claws.

You shift quietly, book page marked and now placed on the coffee table. Logan watches silently as you reach for the soft blanket that lays dormant on the back. Your fingers adjusting the fabric carefully, unfolding and draping it until it rests over his knees too.

Logan smiles, a look reserved for these nights- for you- in his eyes. Its a soft, greatful, little thing; Unreminicent of his usual gruff demeanor. he lifts a large arm bringing it to rest snug behind your shoulders, tugging you closer.

Theres a comfortable silence that follows then, sat side by side. Logan simply watches as you pick the book back up, resuming your page. A warm feeling in his chest that he hasn't felt for a while as your eyes flit across the words.

He still cant understand how anyone could- would- hurt you. Would even dare harm a delicate hair on your head. It boils a possessive type of anger inside of him, that people, the very same that had hurt him, had dared. That they had ruined your trust, made you into something of their design, just like him.

And Its then that Logan cant help how his mouth moves, how it burts the words before he can even think to stop them, make them sound less jumbled. "You uh.. didn't deserve it you know?.. What they did"

The words feel foreign on his tongue but they hold meaning- one that you can feel as you cast your gaze to him.

Theres a look in your eyes he cant quite read as you hum honestly. "Neither did you. you know that right?"

And Logan knows. Hell its deep down but he knows. Yet hearing the words still bring an ache to his chest. Its beyond hard for him to even think about- admit really- even after all this time. He hadn't deserved it and neither had you. But that was certain weather perceived or not.

"Im.. Tired, logan" you trail quietly, casting your book aside as your head falls to rest on his shoulder. "Just.. So tired of being tired."

A shattering feeling stabs at Logan's chest from your admission, a sigh falling against your hair. "I know you are. Hell so am i but.." he pauses, trying to find the correct sentiment.

"We- you- can do this"

You can't help the exhaled sound that slips from you, not a laugh, not not a breath either. "Logan-" you try to protest, try to shift back inside your non vulnerable shell ready to shut down, but he has you locked next to him, fingers coming to rest on your jaw.

"No, look at me, Cmon" he murmurs, cupping and turning your cheek gently until your gaze meet his. "like you told me that once. Its one step at a time alright?"

You recall saying it, remember the context, and yet the idea of saying it to yourself feels foreign- as foreign as the words blurted from logans tongue.

He'd had a nightmare that night, had woken with a hoarse scream and his claws embedded in the plush mattress; pillows ruined with feathers everywhere, soaked in sweat. You'd come barreling in from downstairs having heard his sounds of distress, knowing the situation.

But.. You hadn't laughed, despite him being so surrounded by pillow feathers that he's sure he looked like big bird. You hadn't been cruel or judgemental, pitty in your eyes. You'd just been.. Well, you. Kind and understanding, reassuring him that it was okay, that he was safe. To take a shower and you'd sort the rest. It was from then that the fondness he felt for you had bloomed to something a little more inside of him.

You nod gently, a small, barely there smile on your lips now as you repeat. The light of the fire a soft glow in your eyes, tone a fraction more hopeful. "One step at a time"

"Yeah, thats it sweetheart" he smiles gently, a proud look in his own eye's, before his throat clears. A bashful look taking over his features as he continues, thumb absentmindedly stroking over your cheekbone. A distraction to the honesty he was going to drop "Besides.. you got this knucklehead who'd really like to keep this.. Us.. up"

You swallow, breath stuttering as your cheeks heat."You.. You would?" you sound a little surprised, yet a little hopeful, and It makes Logan smile, hearing your heart pounding in your chest.

"Yeah sweetheart" he breathes, voice a low gravel as he anxiously nods, before rushing to add. "if- if thats something you'd want?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, so excitedly it makes logan chuckle, the deep rumble joining the crackling fire. "I, uh, i mean.. ofcourse i do Logan"

Logans fingers tilt your face higher, his forehead coming to rest on yours as your fingers trace over his scruff coated jaw. "Things are better with you.." you murmer, breath puffing over his lips. "Lighter. You get it, get me.. This.."

He hardly lets you finish before his lips are pressed to yours, breaking the miniscule gap between them. His kiss so uncharacteristically gentle, like he was afraid one taste and you'd break.

"Things are better with you too.." he says quietly, forehead on yours, a smile against your mouth as his nose rubs your cheek.

And so Its that night you both agree, while wrapped up in one another, that things are better together. Better with each others shoulder to lean on. And despite the darkness that would still linger sometimes, that's all that mattered. You and him. Him and you.

[rockinmusicquarterly]

my voices :> (alt text labels who's who)

long ass design notes under the cut:

smitten

went with a sort of roman poet vibe for him with the sash and wreath, plus a nice cape for the dashing hero look, all pinned with a (unspecified) flower right over his heart

hero

his feather coating is short and rounded, meant to give off the look of puffy sleeves like a medieval prince or bard. his little head tufts are heart-shaped also

his wings are shaped rather elegantly, in an almost stereotypically "angelic" way

my mindset for him was as middle-road as possible: in height, feather length, wing size, color values, etc. truly just The Guy

neck bandana for the adventurer look, and some shoulder pads that, while offering some protection, are overall pretty unqualified for the kinds of horrors to be wrought in the construct; he's prepared, but not that prepared

while the other voices have 2 front-toes, hero is one of three voices who has 3. this is done to show he has more of a... i guess closer connection to TLQ (who also has 3), since he's there from the start and feels the most fleshed out overall

contrarian

the shortest king of them all

definitely aiming for the jester aesthetic, but in what i hoped was a more subtle manner? his head tufts are the general shape of a classic jester's hat, along with all the bells he's adorned with - you can hear him coming from a mile away. wears half of a comedy mask bc (gestures) he's Like That

his wings are tiny and cartoonishly shaped, only able to lift him off the ground out of pure looney tunes physics. his whole thing is just rounded, playful edges

3 front-toes like hero, showing how he grows somewhat out of his titular role in the strange beginnings ending, becoming more of his own person than just a singularly-defined Voice

cold

the tallest king of the bunch

his feather coating is a disaster, this man does not care about preening himself & it shows. lots of loose feathers sticking out and ruffled in every possible spot

the last of the voices with 3 front-toes: the cold seems to have an (albeit implicit) understanding of the TLQ's (and to an extent his own) role as a deity, finding familiarity in the textured nothingness - though, he isn't as "special" as he'd hope

the giant wings give him a more imposing presence despite his twig frame, i imagine him sometimes wrapping himself in them like a big cloak

his scarf is positioned just so to make the scar over his heart (matching the spectre's of course) an open target - as if giving one the invitation to make him feel Something

opportunist

this one was where i wanted to start adding design parallels between the canonical voice "pairings" in the game (consumption & betrayal, pain & unfamiliarity, etc.) so he and the hunted share some design elements

they both have little utility belts, but the opportunist carries on him nothing but a poorly concealed blade - looking out ultimately for himself in the long run

lil braid cause it's cute, and to me has the sort of sleek, tidied-up vibe of someone who wants to come off like he knows exactly what he's doing

i think his wings are on the larger side, but he generally keeps them pinned under his clothes to make himself appear non-threatening

hunted

verrry dirty with lots of loose leaves and branches stuck in his feathers. he can try to wash them out, but they're always back before long. dirt boy (affectionate)

has a utility belt like the opportunist, but he uses it to carry a pouch full of various goodies & medical materials - always trying to look out for everyone else, concerned most with group survival

unlike the opportunist who can pull them out whenever he wants, the hunted's wings are fully pinned beneath his cloak & rendered unusable. something something about how his instinctive fears keep him from reaching his full potential?

(though given what can happen in the den maybe it's best he keep that potential unfulfilled lmao)

digitigrade legs are cool :>

cheated

like the razor, he's all sharp edges and angles. he's covered in jagged scars outlining the general spots where the razor chops TLQ up, along with some other missing chunks around his tufts & limbs

(at first i wanted to have some of them look like autopsy scars, but i couldn't quite get the shape right & it was just too much visual clutter 😔)

covered in bandages similar-looking to the contrarian's wrapping things, though they don't do him much good in the long run

not as short but still short king. free my man he did nothing wrong

stubborn

while the cold is slightly taller than him, he's overall the biggest of the bunch

the only one with pants (skirt) privileges because i know in my heart he's the guy who has to be convinced into wearing a shirt. his is adorned with a few of his own feathers

scarred all over, including his wings which are pretty much broken beyond use from all his fighting. he doesn't care - it seems fairer overall to stay on level ground alongside his opponent(s). unlike the broken's wings, stubborn's are flared out despite their damage - essentially saying, "come at me"

lil ponytail cause it's cute

skeptic

both to match the smitten's general look and to try something a bit different from the classic detective vibes, i went with a sort of vampire hunter look for him? not sure how much sense it makes but i think it looks neat

while the smitten's sash is large and goes right over his heart, the skeptic's utility belt avoids it altogether - skepticism vs blind devotion yadda yadda

always carries the pristine blade in a little holster, since he refuses to let TLQ go on without it in all his main routes

on the taller side compared to the smitten

paranoid

in contrast to the cold's unpreened disheveledness, the paranoid is ridiculously overpreened, giving his feathers a messier, plucked shape

(i wasn't brave enough to draw them but i know in my heart he's got some bald patches)

has a big, splotchy scar over his heart with little blood vessel/nerve lines diverging off of it - his route has TLQ dying of "fright" (something usually associated with a heart attack), compared to the cold just skewering himself

his little cloak-thing is torn to shreds, trying and failing to hide his heart - while the cold leaves his purposefully vulnerable

short(ish) king

broken

my beloved <3

very disheveled, though not as bad as the cold or paranoid. he's generally too miserable to worry about caring for his appearance, but is more open to the effort than the cold (and less neurotic about it than the paranoid)

clipped talons and nails

has a shackle around his neck for the obvious pet/prisoner imagery from his route, and one around his ankle on the opposite side & limb from where the princess is usually chained up

he's scarred up, but in more i guess "deliberate" places than the stubborn. one near his neck reaching to his heart, one winding around his midsection, and one on the back of his knee

his wings are broken & unusable like the stubborn's, also open though in a more subdued manner, showing the openness of his pain & vulnerability

[tsukis-marauders-microfics]

microfic biased off this post by @we-were-starss because why not

It had been a brilliant idea.

After all, they’d already planned to brew Polyjuice, and what else to use to for other than pranks?

Right before class, James had put his glasses on Sirius’s face, and then James had pulled off a strand of Sirius’s hair, and Sirius to James. They put it in their cups and drunk the whole bottle, causing both of them to crumple in pain.

When they arose from their fetal positions on the floor in their dorm, Sirius looked up, shocked to be met with his own face.

“Bloody hell, Potter. This brilliant!” Sirius said, examining his arms his arms, and flexing.

“Merlin, Sirius, how do you deal with your hair this long?” James brushed his fingers through his (Sirius’s) hair.

“How do you deal with glasses?” Sirius asked, taking off James’s glasses and squinting across the room. “Your eyesight is fucked, mate.”

“Are you two ready to go to class?” Remus asked, coming out of the bathroom and straightening his tie. Peter had music blasting in his ears as he attempted to put his shoes on. Remus walked over to “Sirius” and was about to kiss his cheek before James jumped back, and Remus looked at “Sirius” confused.

“It’s me. James. I’m James.” James said frantically “He’s Sirius” Remus’s brow furrowed before a wave of realization flooded his face.

“Polyjuice.” he muttered, as Peter pulled out his earbuds.

“Polyjuice?” Peter asked, standing up.

“Those two idiots took Polyjuice.” Remus sighed waving his hand between James and Sirius. Peter stared at both of them shocked.

“Smart as ever, Moony.” Sirius winked at Remus.

“I am not kissing you until this wears off” Remus called over his shoulder, walking out of the dorm. Sirius sighed lovingly, before continuing to examine his body and Peter bombarded them with questions.

☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆☼☆

Sirius and James had decided to just go to the others classes to draw less attention to themselves. They enjoyed walking around Hogwarts, nobody else knowing that they weren’t who they were supposed to be. They agreed to continue to take it throughout the day, but to have it end before quidditch practice (Sirius drew the line at him and James’s swapping positions).

The day started to get interesting after Potions, when Sirius said that he had to go grab something he forgot from his dorm. The others waved him goodbye and headed off to lunch, while he made the trek back to the Gryffindor common room.

Nothing interesting had happened, until he suddenly felt someone pull his robes. He yelped out of surprise, which was only heightened when he was shoved into a broom closet. Once in, the person moved their lips closer to his, but he was able to push the person off him with little effort. His eyes widened as he looked at the person in front of him.

“What the hell Reggie??” Sirius shouted. Regulus shushed him, and was beetroot red.

“Sorry.” He mumbled.

“Sorry??? Why did you do that?” Sirius recoiled, very confused.

“You said I could.” Regulus seemed to be making himself smaller as he adjusted his clothes.

“Why in the name of merlin would I say that? You’re my bloody brother!”

“What?” Regulus’s eyes snapped up to meet his.

“I’m your brother! Why would you try to snog me?” Sirius repeated himself.

“You’re not my brother. You’re James.” Regulus tilted his head to the side, just as confused as Sirius. Suddenly, Sirius’s mouth dropped open.

“Fuck. Regulus, have you been dating James?” Sirius asked.

“James? Yes. You are James. Stop playing with me, Potter.”

“Regulus, I’m Sirius. Me and James took Polyjuice.” Regulus’s eyes widened in horror.

“Oh shit.”

“Yeah. Shit.” Sirius grumbled, his mind still spinning from the realization.

“I’m sorry. Actually, no. I’m not sorry. Me and James are together and if you don’t like it then that’s your problem.” Regulus snapped, his eyes aflame.

“I never said I had a problem with it, Jesus. Give me a second.” Sirius adjusted his (James’s) glasses. “I’m going to go talk to James.” Without another word, Sirius fled from the broom closet and ran all the way down to the great hall.

Once he was there, he scanned the hall, and then ran up to the table where the other three marauders sat. Once he got there, he stood over himself (James) and crossed his arms.

“Hello pads-prongs.” James corrected himself. “Care to join us?” Sirius stayed where he was and narrowed his eyes at James before shaking his head fondly.

“You brother-fucker.”

[mercy-misrule]

mouthwashing spoilers, mentions of fictional sexual assault, discussion of fictional neglect and abuse of a disabled person, the many nuances of the patriarchy and capitalism

Let's have a chat about how Swansea and Daisuke failed Anya as crewmates!

Thank you everyone for your very lovely and thoughtful responses to my previous Mouthwashing meta pieces, here and here.

Let's have some more thoughts! Again, I'm examining the text from the perspective of a sexual assault survivor, a survivor of a life threatening accident, a domestic violence survivor and a person who grew up in poverty.

I love this game for giving me enough meat to sink my teeth into, for fodder for thought.

I've written about how supremely vulnerable Curly is, post-crash, the real true horror of being reliant for every aspect of your survival on an abusive person.

I'd like to look at another aspect now, the fatigue and isolation of the carer under a profit driven patriarchy!

Being a carer for someone who is entirely reliant on you is tough, is stressful and supremely isolating. The best and most dedicated carers in the world get burnt out, and not because they are bad people who don't truly want the best for the person in their charge.

You see it happen. Their friends and family disengage with them, not wanting to be asked to help, not wanting to confront the difficulty and reality of disability. They'll start to ask why the carer doesn't give their charge up into permanent care, they'll make snide comments about how much easier it would be if they weren't a carer....and if a carer cannot provide for their charge, and does get professional support or their person does go into care, they get met with judgement for 'not trying hard enough' or bewilderment that they might be upset.

The disabled are seen as a burden, and when anyone tries to challenge that, the system is set up both at a macro and micro level to fundamentally quash that challenge.

And at home carers? Over proportionally, they are women.

So look at what happens to Anya. Anya is a medical professional, yes. But there are many tasks that could be done in Curly's care that don't require specialised skills. Swansea or Daisuke could have stepped in at any minute and offered her help.

Instead, she asks Jimmy, the man who abused her, who is abusing Curly to help, because as awful as it is, he's literally the only other person interacting with Curly.

He's the only person who talks to Curly post crash. Anya doesn't say a word to him, only talks about him.

Anya is not a cruel person. She's not revenge driven or malicious. She actively does not want to hurt Curly, his pain is extremely distressing to her, and she is put in the position where she has to cause it, either by her own hands or Jimmy's by proxy, because she has no other help.

Swansea is very dismissive of Anya. He refers to her as our so-called nurse, that woman, and that rickety elbow of a woman. Swansea also shit talks Daisuke, and we know he has affection for Daisuke, but actions, or inaction speak louder than words.

This is a game where taking responsibility is a core theme, and Anya is forced to take sole responsibility, where she could have been supported and helped, if Swansea or Daisuke could have stepped up as her crewmates.

Daisuke is a grown ass man. Is he a young man? Yes. Is he a full grown adult capable of making his own decisions and responsible for his own actions? Yes.

So his choice, to actively ignore Curly and Anya, is just another decision.

The way this mirrors the way society isolates carers is such a good piece of storytelling to me. The way it causes Anya so much stress, the way it causes the quality of care she provides to Curly to degrade because she is the only person helping...it's a mirror of real life.

Is it because Anya is the nurse? Sure. Is it because she's the only woman? Maybe. Is it because both Daisuke and Swansea are mired in different versions of toxic masculinity? Absolutely.

Daisuke's indifference and pleasant disengagement, while being tolerated by everyone, handwaving away criticism is the prerogative of a rich young person, especially a rich young man. It'll all be alright! and no one expects anything of him. It's not the same thing, but there's that tinge of learned helplessness in there.

Swansea's unpleasant, grinding negativity, his self focus, the way everything is a burden to him...if you haven't had to work with a man like this, you're doing well in life. You never ever want to ask them anything because it's like being rubbed by angry sandpaper.

If i seem like I'm being very harsh against Daisuke and Swansea, I am. I am purposefully pointing out their worse qualities, not just as people but as crew.

There is no unity within the crew, and the company prefers it that way. No one unionises after all, if they can't stand or trust one another. They force Curly, a chronic people pleaser to hold himself above them, which spirals his anxiety, which leads into him failing as a captain in a myriad of ways.

Daisuke is introduced too late and underprepared. The crew is automatically going to be against him, frustrated with him, and he has no incentive to work against that, apart from his own easy going nature.

Anya is under immense self pressure. She's failed to get into medical school 8 times. She's got no savings. And then she is in close quarters with her abuser, and the only person she tells about it believes her AND THEN does nothing, and seemingly then crashes the ship.

Swansea has that inbuilt, boiling pressure of a life lived like he feels he's supposed to. But he's supremely unhappy, lashes out at everyone. And not in the way that Jimmy does, but in this unpleasant background radiation way, where everyone is already under so much stress.

Jimmy was barely keeping himself together under Curly's command. Without it, he's a whirlwind of aggression, negativity, threats and delivered acts of violence. There was no unity with him, previously, and there certainly isn't any now.

Everyone is responsible for their own actions, and inaction. But the company set them up to fail before they set off, and then the social desertion of Anya dooms the crew.

Anya doesn't need to be rescued, no one needs to get revenge for her. What Anya needs is support, in the actual physical sense.

Swansea could talk to Curly, to distract him. Daisuke could be there to talk her through giving Curly his meds, keeping her panic at bay.

Literally the least they could do, it could have changed everything. If Jimmy was denied access to Curly, if there was a sense of solidarity between the crew, something, anything. If there was any trust at all.

But instead Daisuke gives into apathy, Swansea into secrecy, Anya into despair and Jimmy into a frothing frenzied need for control.

There is no win solution for the Tulpar crew. This is a hopeless crisis.

But if there had been a sense of community, of reciprocity, they'd have options. But it becomes the loudest voice in the room, Jimmy's voice, and just like that, the options disappear.

Being a carer takes community support. It's how carers are kept accountable too, because a disabled person who needs that level of care exists at the whim of the carer. A carer has to be supported to be supportive. Anya receives nothing.

[bighungrywolf]

Jack looked in the mirror, somehow expecting to see somehow something changed and for his muscles to look as big as he wanted them to. However, he saw the same as always, even though he had been training for months, Jack had reached a plateau and had not been able to gain any mass for a long time, and he was already desperate. His dream was to have a body that could be compared to Superman himself, but he was still a long way from achieving this goal. It also didn't help much to see many other men who could easily crack a nut by squeezing it with their biceps.

Without meaning to, Jack stared at one of the biggest men in the gym as he watched him do his reps with the weights, getting biceps as big as his head and seeming to grow every time the blood flowed through his bulging veins. Jack wanted that, to have biceps that could snap the neck of anyone who would go against him, to have a body so sculpted that everyone would gawk at him, having to stop doing whatever they were doing to adore his perfection. As he thought this Jack stroked his biceps, wishing that at some point he could have the gargantuan bodies of the superheroes in the movies.

Suddenly, Jack felt a tingling in his body, starting in his biceps and gradually spreading throughout his body. It was a pleasant sensation, as if he had suddenly infused himself with extra energy that was heating up his whole body. Without meaning to, he let out a small moan enjoying that pleasurable sensation he was feeling, while he kept looking at that man lifting his weights, who seemed to have a serious problem to keep going. Suddenly, Jack took a closer look, and saw how little by little the muscles of that man were receding, leaving behind an increasingly thinner and thinner man, who could no longer at all represent as a model of what Jack wanted to achieve. Suddenly, instinctively, Jack looked away from the man and checked himself in the mirror, and to his surprise something had changed.

There was nothing left of the Jack of before, who suffered for gaining a minimum of muscle mass. In front of the mirror there was someone different, someone who would have nothing to envy from professional bodybuilders.

Somehow, Jack understood what was happening, and smiled wickedly as he looked sideways at that hunk who was now a simple twink who was looking at himself in horror not knowing what the hell had just happened and what had happened to his muscles, while another guy was helping him hold the weights he could no longer lift. Jack was feeling plethoric, but why settle for so little when you can have more?

Trying to replicate what he had done earlier, he stared at the man who had assisted the guy who had just had his strength drained. Soon he felt the energy flowing through his body again, coming like a tsunami from his victim to his body, greedily absorbing every bit of energy it could. The process was much shorter than before, draining that other man completely until he was left with barely any energy, as Jack felt his body expand in an orgasmic feeling.

It had been too fast though, and hadn't given him time to enjoy it at all, so why stop when they had little muscle and energy left when he could still take more, taking absolutely everything? After all, his mother always told him it was rude to leave food on his plate.

An hour later, Jack was posing in the gym, showing off his huge muscles in front of the mirror. What had started with a single victim had begun to escalate, and as people noticed what was really going on, Jack had had no choice but to end up draining the life and energy out of everyone. Well, to say he had no choice sounds like it was something he didn't want to do, which is not the case. Now the gym was empty, with dozens of T-shirts and sweatpants littering the floor, which was all that was left of the victims of Jack's greed for more and more muscle. As he looked in the mirror he thought how his body totally looked like that of a comic book superhero. However, if it had been so easy to get to that level, why settle? There would always be more muscles to take, and now settling for the physique of a superhero seemed ridiculous, his new goal would be to get the physique of a true god, being able to look down on the rest of mortals while he took more and more energy from them, becoming more and more powerful. Suddenly, Jack's body tingled again, so much thinking about what he could achieve had reawakened his appetite, an insatiable appetite for more strength, more muscle, more size, more EVERYTHING.

[oodlyenough]

alright i started trying to write my s2 thoughts and just this one element already got long as hell and it's maybe my hottest take and most #unpopular opinion based on skimming other reactions so. whatever. i'm quarantining it to its own post god help me.

but

Speaking as someone who loved him the most in s1, to be honest I don't think Viktor's story in s2 was particularly good. I feel like they got into the season, realized they were supposed to vaguely tie into League lore, sort of haphazardly gave him some word salad speeches about evolution and emotion, and called it a day. I thought his cult motivations, the influence (or not) of the hexcore, etc were all pretty underwritten.

But in particular I'm bothered by the speech Jayce gives about Viktor "wanting to cure what [he] thought were weaknesses" and the suggestion that Viktor was doing evil blood magic because he was insecure about his disabilities and felt lesser-than because of them. This is just straight up not true in season 1. He does blood magic in 1.2-1.3 because he is DYING. It's like everyone in the show and the fandom forgot he was terminally ill. Conflating the general feel-good "love your body as it is" messaging around disability with *terminal illness* is just ... What.... in the world...?

In season one we saw *other people* treat him as lesser bc he was disabled, while Viktor's introductory speech is "nobody ever believed in [...] a poor cripple from the undercity, [but] I believed in myself". No one in s2 ever acknowledging that he took risks with the hexcore because he didn't want to die at, like, age 30 OR that by the end of s1 he had done the "morally correct" thing of accepting his mortality only for Jayce (and later Singed lol) to ignore that and plug the hexcore into him against his will... Jayce doesn't even own up to that or apologize for his role in things lmao I mean, #classic Jayce, but what is happening here.

If they wanted Viktor to be the average Spiderman villain messing around with science to cure his disabilities and unleashing eldritch horrors in the process, they could've written that in season 1 very easily. And of course it's great that Jayce loves him as he is -- to be honest season 1 never gave me any reason to think otherwise, but it's nice for Viktor to hear it, sure. But they specifically made him terminally ill only to act like that never happened, or like terminal illness is an "imperfection" you can defeat with body positivity and self-love. It's so tonally weird. I've seen a lot of people who were very moved by Jayce's speech about loving him anyway, and I'm happy people found meaning in it, but I was jaw dropped. Viktor was never "broken", yes, but he was fucking dying, and there is a difference.

[opal-kitty333]

So, I like Horror Sans, and being a nerd, I've been thinking about him a lot during my recovery with brain damage. A lot of people treat his wounds like brain damage, giving him memory problems, chronic headaches/migraines, speaking difficulties, fugue states, just issues collecting his thoughts. All understandable and reasonable symptoms, but there's something about just what truly horrific, completely life altering, brain damage to such an extent can do to a person that hasn't been explored very much. Yes, he doesn’t technically have a brain, but considering someone with head trauma like him would be in a comatose like start for weeks to a month, we can choke up him taking that hit like he did and being able to walk and talk to that. Plus, we can take inspiration from real injury and science and have wiggle room for it to not be 100% accurate. Anyway-

This is Phineas Gage.

It is one of the earliest extreme cases of brain damage where the patient survived while psychology as a scientific practice was getting on it's feet. If you've taken a psychology class, you've heard of him. He was a railroad worker foreman who had a rod blown through his skull in an accident, destroy most of his frontal lobe.

If you don’t know what the frontal lobe is it's where your ability to reason and make decisions, the ability to control your muscles voluntarily, and your ability to process knew information and recall old information. It's well known for being the part of your brain that inputs logic, the part gives you the ability to remember what happened last time you picked a fight with someone, so instead you choose to walk away despite how much your want to punch them for being a prick.

As I stated before, this man was a foreman, well known for keeping a level head, being responsible, and hard working. After the injury, that completely changed. Everyone agreed he was barely recognizable as himself. He was impulsive, prone to extreme mood swings, impatient, making massive plans only to almost immediately abandon them, and generally seemed to have no control over his desires or ability to distinguish between a want or a need.

Now, let's look at Horror.

I'd say it's safe to say his frontal lobe but also part of his parietal lobe would be utterly fucked. Your parietal lobe controls your ability to process sensory information (mostly touch) and to understand not only where you and your body is, but to process the world around you. You see a massive enough tent, some clowns running around, the right music, and your parietal lobe is what does the work to label that as a circus.

To have these two structures damaged, or the closest equivalent in a monster, would radically alter Sans' personality, his ability to move, his understanding of the context around him, and connect with others.

He'd become rather self centered on his own desires and beliefs, struggling to even have the patients let alone the want to give other people the time of day. His actions would be impulsive, made on his emotions in the present moment and with little concerns other than the immediate consequences. He'd be prone to loud outbursts, not just rage, but any other emotions like sadness or glee with little ability to realize how he's acting may be overblown or inappropriate. Not only could his ability to put his thoughts into words be a struggle, but his ability to say those words could be affected as well. He'd be very present focused, with pass relations or responsibility mattering little as he keeps marching to the beat of his own drum.

That is, if he could march. He'd not only struggle to know where his limbs are or what he's touching, but his sense of balance would be awful. He'd likely have a constant wobble, having to go slowly and potentially hold onto or lean on things if he wanted to move quickly. God forbid how much he'd bump into furniture or trip and struggle actually grab onto something to catch himself. It's entirely possible he'd have difficulty reading and writing or confusing his left and right regularly. He'd need more time to process a situation and could very easily misidentify what's actually going on could likely lead to him acting even more unpredictable as the world around him is so much more dangerous and he's struggling to fully understand what everyone is doing and trying to keep two steps ahead of everyone around him.

But here's the thing. The brain is also incredibly adaptable in ways your wouldn't believe. Phineas Gage slowly recovered over time. He died twelve years after the incident from epilepsy but over time he slowly regaining his social skills and general functionality. He picked up a job as a stage coach four years after the indecent even. He was never quite the same person he was before, but he wasn't doomed to be what he first was after the indecent.

Imagine what this kind of thing could mean for Sans. Not only would the betrayal cut deep enough and the world falling apart put him through trauma that would shred the soul, but people he trust literally damaged his ability to think logically and control his impulses. Of course he's going to lash out, focus on doing anything he can to survive with little respect for what anyone else thinks. Even forcing his brother to do things and refusing to listen to him unless given no other option. All while he thinks the biggest problems after the indecent is how much his head hurts, how his memory is shot, that it's harder or even down right painful to think, and how he's struggling to cling to his independence while never having the patience or resources to give himself the ability to heal. He doesn't even realize how much he's changed. If you point it out Sans would likely get defensive and aggressive, or brush it off as everyone underground being awful people out to eat each other alive.

But then he gets out to the surface. He gets stable food, a safe place to live. His brother is recovering and as the years pass his mind can finally start pulling itself together and healing, finally. Sans begins to regain his ability to think critically on his own actions and others, his emotional outburst and vindictive behavior start to wind down and fade. He's able to think and start sifting through all the shit he remembers.

The guilt of what he did, the people he hurt for no reason other than pettiness. The stupid decisions he made that hurt himself and/or Papyrus in the long run. All the hindsight he has now. Imagine how much he would bury those memories and thoughts. Justifying everything he could and insisting he had reasons, or that it's just how it was and that everyone was as awful and cruel he was. Or just accepting that what Undyne had done to him and the famine after had ruined him, broken and rotted all the good he had and left him vile and malicious. That he'll never have a chance to truly be who he was before.

[meloveanimeforreal7604]

Head-Canon Saturday!!!

I just had a thought about healing and how it can work with the Bad Sanses!! (Fanon)

As most people know. Healing requires a good enough amount of magic and intent. Otherwise, how can the monster heal physical wounds or injuries?

Nightmare -

Nightmare is able to heal only because he has such good control over his emotions. Yes, he is the Guardian of Negativity, but that doesn't mean healing is out of his range. He already has a huge amount of magic, plus spending several years mastering control of his abilities, so emotions and his magic aren't an issue. It never is when it comes to one of his own, despite them telling him not to, he'll give them the old, "You're ribs are fractured, I will not afford to losing one of you for your insolence, now hold still!"

Killer -

Killer is probably one of the skeles who'd have the most difficulty with healing people. He can't exactly feel anything, so if he even tried to heal someone, the intent wouldn't exist no matter the amount of magic he uses. He'd try, and nothing would happen, no glow of green magic, nor a glow of agitated magic because he doesn't have the intent to put into healing someone, if he were asked to heal someone he'd shrug it off and have someone else to heal them, knowing he can't.

Dust -

Dust definitely has the magic for it, but if he tried his magic being how it is as well as his mental state on the average day, it would be very difficult to place his intent to be healing. It would be agitated magic and rather what would feel relaxing and soothing, it feel like a ton of static electricity directly on the injury, causing the other he is trying to heal, to flinch away. He feels really bad about this and Not-Papyrus doesn't help with the guilt.

Horror -

While Horror sure has the intent for healing others, he wouldn't have the magic to, so he spends his time outside of missions cooking and perfecting healing foods, putting all of his intent into it. That way, during battles, if someone does get hurt, he can just give them a small portion of their favorite treat, and they'd be up and running almost instantly! Sometimes, though, after cooking for a while in the kitchen after he's cleaned up, he can be found sleeping in there, putting intent in things takes energy out of him, especially doing it for hours. Nightmare or one of the others usually wakes him up and takes him to bed.

Cross -

Out of the entire group besides Nightmare, Cross can heal at almost anytime. If Killer had gotten hit by Blue? No problem!! Quick heal and ready to go. Cross having been trained in the royal guard in X!tale had certainly helped him keep a cool head during battle, and being able to focus his intent and magic into healing has definitely helped out the gang more than once, though outside of battles and missions if someone were to arrive home injured he'd be right by their aid with Horror, he wants to help and be important to the team after all. The only time he'd have issues with healing other people is if Chara starts distracting him, his intent wavers, and it would end up like how Dust heals.

[coffeefiction]

Megatron's "Not So Interesting' Life

So, I have this thought of an au for a while, where the war never happened but the world is littered with anomalies, entities and all that jazz, right? And Megatron, is just a normal mech, with a normal life, being friends with "normal" people and finding their newly crowned Prime off. Oh! He also gets these cool abilities that I have yet to properly set down-

If you have any ideas on what I should do with this story! Or questions! Let me know! Have fun!

_______________________

Megatron knows that he special he has always  known this. How could he not? From a young age, he could instinctively distinguish between a walking glitch of a fake and an actual mecha. It was as if his optics had been calibrated to detect the unseen threads of the universe. Shadows danced at the edges of his vision, and he always had the gnawing sense that something lurked just beyond his peripheral awareness. Not that he cared. In fact, he barely gave it a second thought.

Megatron has always known that he has abilities, that he has a gift. He knew this. He could see what others couldn’t. Yet, for the longest time, he refused to acknowledge it, treating it as little more than an inconvenient quirk. That was, until he befriended a few of those shadowy entities that liked to pass themselves off as part of the mortal world. He never really minded—they weren’t doing him any harm, again, he barely cared.

They are attracted to Megatron's gift, I mean, who wouldn't? Having the ability to sniff out someone's bull is pretty helpful.

You see, Megatron grew up in Kaon, and growing up in Kaon, which was and is a place dripping with superstition, Megatron had heard his share of horror stories: the dark, Unicron’s spawns, Primus’ Youngs, and the whispers of what prowled in the shadows. These tales were used to scare younglings into good behavior.

Megatron himself had his fair share of those stories, although, some of the elders do love to exaggerate those stories.

He likes it, not because it makes it creepy. He didn’t find them scary—he found them funny, mostly because of his friends. For reasons he still couldn’t quite fathom, his closest companions growing up were a spark eater, a ghoul, and a demon. Hearing their outrage over the inaccuracies in these tales was endlessly entertaining.

“You can’t eat a spark like that,” Starscream, the spark eater, would hiss in annoyance whenever he hears these ridiculous stories  . “Why do they always describe it like I’m slurping energon soup? There’s nuance!”

“Ghouls: do not hide under berths: waiting to snatch younglings” deadpanned Soundwave, the ghoul, glaring at Megatron. “Soundwave: not a sterotype: Stories; exaggerated”

And Shockwave, the demon of the group would just simply twitch in annoyance.

And unlike Iacon, who rarely has anything to do with superstitions and such beliefs were dismissed as primitive nonsense. (or as media likes to portray it). Kaon has plenty, it thrived on superstition, unlike Iacon,  If Kaon had a museum for the supernatural, it would probably need its own skyscraper.

Megatron can attest to it, as stated before, he is friends with some of the horrifying entities that the tales always tell. Not only that, He’d had his share of encounters with those dark forces, not all of them pleasant. Most of the time, it ended in one of three ways: a fight, a frantic escape, or an unsettling brush with death. The only reason Megatron was still functioning was thanks to his friends, who often bailed him out of tight spots to save his arf.

Yet despite all of this, Megatron barely cares.

He doesn't do much, than work at his boring office job, visit his friends and reassure them that he is well, one of the literally lives in Vos! But at least his trip is always payed, courtesy to his friend. Outside of that? His life is completely barren and uneventful.

That is, until he met the new Prime that goes by the name Optimus Prime. Not, met met him, more like saw him in the holos and the streets during the coronation parade. He didn't wanna be there to be honest, but Starscream wanted to be there, he was in town for royal duties as the Prince of Vos and he wanted to Megatron to hang out with him, that isn't the mech's lonely apartment or Soundwave's house, or Shockwave's lab.

And Megatron, is a friend, so Megatron decided to go with Starscream, begrudgingly of course. 

When Megatron first laid his optics on the New Prime, he immediately sensed something was off, and he can tell that Starscream noticed too, yet he seem calm, which was odd. Normally, Starscream would have been on high alert, his predatory instincts kicking in. But this time? He wasn’t reacting defensively. That wasn’t exactly a good sign, isn't a bad one either.

Spark eaters tend to have heightened senses, they have the ability to sniff out their pray, and they have the ability to semi manipulate the perception of others, making it easy for them to blend in. If Starscream wasn’t threatened, that meant whatever this “off” thing was, it wasn’t something Starscream recognized as dangerous—or perhaps it was something he couldn’t categorize at all.

Megatron looks at the Prime, observing him closely. Their newly crowned Prime seems nice, he speaks very confidently yet softly, a leader with stern yet does not weild his fist to cage those around him. He spoke to the crowd with warmth, crouched to address younglings optic-to-optic, and carried himself with an air of calm authority.

Megatron….he knows there is something wrong, something off with the Prime. Megatron could feel it, like static in his circuits. He wanted to dig deeper, to pull at the threads of this mystery. But before he could, Starscream interrupted.

Megatron has to put those thoughts into a file and store it for later to entertain his friend. A bored Starscream always never ends well.

Soundwave can attest to that.

So Megatron talks to Starscream as they watch the parade from the distance in the balcony of Starscream's  fancy hotel. They watch as the Prime mingle with the civilian, as he interacts with the younglings with such care.

“Ugh. Look at that pompous mech!” Starscream sneered, slumping dramatically in his chair.

Megatron arched an optic ridge. “What are you talking about? He seems fine.”

“Fine? Look at him, so pristine, so proper!” Starscream gestured wildly at the balcony railing. “He’s too sweet. It’s disgusting. He’s practically dripping syrup on those younglings!” 

"Shouldn't I be the one making complaints here? I'm the one who's gonna get affected if his rule is slag" Megatron quipped dryly, already dreading the new rules and laws that will be set if this Prime is like the other ones before him.

“Oh, please.” Starscream waved him off. “If it were up to you, you’d just brood in silence and not say a word.”

“I would, actually,” Megatron muttered. “Besides, you’re the one verbally attacking your own kind right now.” He pointed out, wanting to immediately change the topic, for all that is stands in this world, Starscream is right, he would probably just brood in silence, rules kept him safe after all.

Starscream makes a disgruntled noise. "That thing down there, is far from being my kin."

Megatron grows confuse, he looks at Starscream. "What do you mean?"

“My own kind?” Starscream’s wings twitched irritably as he leaned back in his chair. “That thing down there is not my kin.”

That got Megatron’s attention. He turned to Starscream, optics narrowing. “What do you mean?”

Starscream huffed, clearly annoyed he had to explain. “Look at him! He’s too…off. Too stiff to be a spark eater, too mellow to be a ghoul. His frame doesn’t match anything I recognize. And his voice?” Starscream shuddered theatrically. “It’s wrong. It’s too nice. No one’s voice is that…perfect.”

Megatron frowned, glancing back at the Prime. Now that Starscream mentioned it, he can see more of the odd things about him. The balance of his movements, the precision of his words, the faint flicker of something beneath the surface—it didn’t quite add up.

Huh… Yeah, he can kinda see that now.

[triglycercule]

thinking so much about horror and dust,,, gosh these SILLY goobers theyre so EYDAGHGGG!!!!! compliments to eachother,,,,,

i need them to make puns about topics that absolutely nobody should be laughing about and then DIE cackling because no waaay the punchline was a human's execution :333 (phantom papyrus is shaking his head in dismay)

need them to share stories about shitty experiences with humans and for horror to be impressed by dust's ability to keep coming up with new ways to kill his human and then for dust to also be impressed by horror's ability to handle with all different types of humans!!!

they make eachother food but dust poisoned horror's food and horror added rusted nails to his so theyre just like no you first you really should eat first i wouldn't wanna be rude no but i INSIST! they both know. it's a fun little game isnt it??? horror gets a bit scared of having to eat the food when dust's eyes turn red and cyan but it's okay because then he can just shove the shitty eggs he made into those eyes because theres literal NAILS cooked into it

sometimes they fight because thats normal and dust is annoyed at horror for hating undyne because she's a good person who just wanted to help others and horror's getting pissed because DIDN'T YOU LITERALLY KILL HER DONT YOU JUST VIEW HER AS EXP WHY ARE YOU DEFENDING HER!!! and they bicker back and forth and dust is really starting to wonder why he even empathizes with horror atp.... but its ok after a little quarrel they simmer down and move on. they dont change opinions at all the fight was for nothing

but then there's also times when they just wanna confide in each other because likeeeee theyre both shitty people who fucked up their undergrounds by their own accords and miss how peaceful life was back then. dust tells horror stories of life back before the human came because horror doesn't really remember it that well anymore and horror speaks to phantom papyrus through dust so he can pretend that this is just a conversation between sans and papyrus and everything's okay for just a moment. they both linger onto their memories of how things were before everything went to shit even though horror can barely remember and dust hates his previous self back then,,,,,

dust thinks horror's sooo much better than him for not literally mass murdering everyone but then goes around and stink eyes him for forcing his snowdin to eat humans and then leave the rest of the underground to starve. WHY DIDN'T YOU DO BETTER HORROR WHY DIDN'T HELP EVERYONE ELSE. horror scoffs because even though he kinda lowkey gets dust's philosophy of saving everyone and stopping the human through gaining LV he still killed everyone??? WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO THEM YOU IDIOT SHOULD'VE JUST FOUND ANOTHER WAY OR LET IT HAPPEN!!! the way they understand eachother on paper but then in reality despise what the other did,,,,,

ok SO WHAT if they encourage eachother's delusions. SO WHAT if they pretend the past never went away so WHAAAAT!!! it doesn't matter at least they found someone who can match their freak,,,,,, dust and horror peak duo PEAK DUO DARE I SAY OK

[kadetheradio]

Sprunki AU: After the Slaughter.

TW: Mentions of attempted suicide, self-harm, blood, insanity, implied schizophrenia, death, self-harm, grieving, etc.

After the Slaughter (ATS) is an Alternate universe of Incredibox: Sprunki that takes place after the events of Horror Mode. All characters who were listed as alive or abnormal return in this AU, deceased characters will not for obvious reasons.

Characters:

Gray:

-Incredibly traumatized.

-Rarely speaks, constantly shaking.

-Spends most of his time with Jevin or Fun-bot

-Paranoid, flinches at anything.

-Easy to trigger

-Actually misses the friendship with Wenda before the slaughter, but refuses to visit her.

-Great with medical care. Helped fix up Pinki & Brud's wounds.

Wenda:

-Arrested soon after Black left

-Still insane but does feel some remorse for what she's done

-Currently stuck in a mental asylum

-Never visited by the others

-very sensitive to light

-Talks to herself

-Forgot how to "sing" normally

Jevin:

-Not much changed about him

-He does wear a longer cloak but he doesn't have a reason for it

-Hates Black more than anyone

-Was the first to leave the bunker after the slaughter

Fun-Bot:

-Doesn't understand his own emotions

-Deeply misses his parents creators

-Spends most of his time with his brother(Mr. Fun Computer)

-Has attempted to end his own life at one point, still has thoughts about it.

-Refuses to go anywhere without someone else

-Rarely charges until he's worked his battery to 0

-Bring flowers to Clukr & Garnold's graves every day

Brud:

-Still himself, if a little more jumpy at times.

-Has nightmares a lot but doesn't remember them

-Doesn't have his bucket anymore, so he wear a beanie

-Doesn't know where his brother is, and the others don't have the heart to tell him. (I headcanon Brud & Tunner as brothers.)

Pinki:

-Stays near Oren's grave most of the time. She's fallen asleep next to it before.

-Still has phantom pain in her face

-Wears Oren's headphones, even if she can't use them due to her ears.

-Hates Wenda for what she did, will never forgive her

-Chronic baker

-Blind in one eye

Mr. Sun:

-Doesn't remember most of the events from after he was corrupted

-Although his face is mostly normal, his left eye looks like the eye he had in his horror form

-Not much changed but he's a lot more careful around others.

Mr. Tree:

-Personality wasn't affected by this due to not remembering anything

-Still has the missing poster, shows it to passersby to help find the girl.

Mr. Fun Computer:

-Does remember and is horrified by what happened

-The demented lyrics are still stuck in his head

-Constantly tries to factory reset himself but is stopped by the memory of his brother

-Also misses his creators, wishes he could visit their graves.

Durple:

-Jaw is permanently dislocated

-Cover his mouth with a mask

-Never speaks

-Still has the abnormal mouth, but his personality and awareness has returned

-Often starves himself, having to be forced to eat.

Simon:

-NEVER leave his room

-Often feels hungry for no reason

-rarely leaves his bed

-Horrified at what he did to Brud

-bashes his head into walls, cuts his arms, etc, just to feel something.

-Hates himself

-hates Wenda more

-hates black even more

The AU remains unfinished. Asks will be reopened but ONLY for this AU.

[eats-all-your-shoes]

MORE hermitcraft fic recs! <part 1>

I can be the one you call by mayflowers07 Every hermit has their own work series, 143k, 26 parts

[The Hermits have a code phrase. If spoken, this phrase acts as an emergency safe word, telling everyone to stop whatever they’re doing, because something is seriously wrong. Whether it’s from physical or emotional distress, all Hermits know that when someone uses the code, they need help from their chaotic, dysfunctional family.]

i can’t BELIEVE i didn’t rec this before. this is like The hc fic in my mind

The continued adventures of the boatem field trip by Bee_4 Grian & Scar & Mumbo & Pearl & Impulse Complete, 27k

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this is both body/cosmic horror and really silly, i love it

Queries by Silverskye13 Xisuma-Centric Complete, 1.9k

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“Other gods? Huh? Wait, what was I supposed to do?”

Use this power wisely, the Universe replied wryly, leaving his question unanswered. Good luck.

And it never spoke to him again.

Or, a story of Etho's long life as the God of Redstone, all from before the fall of the ancient builders up to the eventual emergence of players.]

On the changing nature of the Hermits by Anonymous Scar & Grian & Joe Hills Complete, 472 words

[Joe is different than he used to be, and has a halo of colorful eyes. Scar and Grian talk about it, and why it happens.]

this one’s short but it’s really good!!

Jhost by Katie_Smith24 Joe Hills-Centric Complete, 1.2k

[Bruh Joe died and came back as a ghost I think haha]

[mercurial--supernovae]

Lets just say there is a reason why despite his vast array of connections seeing the chimera actually doing a job with someone was more than rare.

This kind of thing is exactly why.

Things like this are also one of the many reasons he predictably doesn't have any friends.

Who would have thought.

Despite knowing full well the likelihood anyone would be able to get out of the building in enough time let alone survive it coming down himself an his client included that doesn't seem to stop his stubborn onslaught of gunfire in the slightest even as Apollo attempt to stop the madness by using themselves and their sword as a shield.

"Get fucked."

He growls, smirking with self satisfaction at the telltale whine of something getting ignited.

Even then his pride won't allow for relenting in the attack at all even as the exo rushes towards the chimera with the intention to save his ungrateful life.

Up the stairs..

Bibi's expression softens slightly as the otherworlder begins to explain things..

Normally, admittedly, they probably wouldn't budge and would even probably say it's their organization's own fault for not thinking that far ahead.

Their own problem to deal with. It wasn't like they're the only ones who needs those parts.

But, fuck. It's probably the tears. Bibi isn't good with crying..

And then a warning rings out from below. It only takes them a second to realize what had to have happened, eyes wide in horror.

"You gotta be fucking kidding me."

Voice practically a whisper as panic takes over, what were they supposed to do?! Their instincts scream fly to safety but there's no way that's happening, there was no good cover on this floor. Their mind raced uselessly.

Suddenly their shockingly warm and lightweight frame is plucked off the ground and the moth lets out a grunt as the pair slam into the wall, only for the floor to give way mere seconds later.

Pain aches through their whole exoskeleton as they hit the ground, before they can even begin to get their bearings the stranger rolls on top of them, narrowly preventing them from being impaled.

As the dust settles..

The chimera shoves Apollo's body off him with a glare muttering something inaudible under his breath.

Whatever it was sure wasn't thanks judging by the look on his face.

Bibi meanwhile is frozen in shock staring at the figure on top of them. Struggling greatly with the idea someone just gave faer own life to save theirs, let alone a stranger whom had been thoroughly kicking their ass just minutes ago.

After all, for most people you can expect death to last..

But.

...

Can those two..?

Just not fucking DIE?!

As if that in itself isn't a lot to unpack..

Well. This sure doesn't look like a friendly reunion.

Pretty obvious neither of these two wanted to see each other, whatever history they had.

Kallex scoots back, away from the pair, while Bibi on the other hand manages to pull themselves out from under the bent and broken remains of the stairs, staggering to their feet, eyes traveling between the two, speechless for the moment if only from the thickness of the tension in the air.

The Young Wolf rolled their eyes at Kallex's argument. Clearly that wasn't what Apollo had meant, not that it made much difference to them. It wouldn't quite occur to them that the pair weren't on the same wavelength or knew the whole picture.

"If Bibi could take me down, there's no way they'd lose to a lightless Dead Orbit flunkie," the exo retorted, their eyes following the shifted aim of their opponent...

...Straight to the table of fucking explosives lining the wall.

"...But apparently, YOU'RE the dense one here...!" they followed up, making a mad dash for the wall, a leap and roll into a crouch, and bracing the Lament against their arm once more to interpose themselves between this sore loser and his fucking suicidal-ass plan.

The pulse rifle's shots ring true against the Lament and its barrier, SIVA nanites beginning to swarm and embed themselves into the Guardian with a stifled groan of pain. Of course this would be the one way to back them into a corner... not that it would matter.

As before, shrapnel shot off from each hit, and each piece being disturbingly closer to their volatile targets. Until they hear the sound of metal and a high-pitched whine ring out behind them.

"You fucking idiot...!" they lamented, throwing caution to the wind, and running full-bore toward the chimera, through bullets and nanites and leaping toward the man trying to kill them all, crying out a warning as they tackled them to the ground.

"EVERYBODY GET DOWN!"

Upstairs, the other-worlder had slowly begun to lower their own explosive device, giving a small sniff as Bibi attempted to de-escalate and prevent a suicidal last-stand as a sore loser might.

"A lot of what our fleet is built with involves a lot of exotic materials..." the warlock explained. A gloved hand covered a weeping face. "We... can't use our jump drive or transmatter teleporters without them. And... I don't think my organization's leaders anticipated the possibility that our equipment would wear out this quickly..."

The remainder of the explanation would have to wait however, as the lightbearer's accomplice downstairs decided to do exactly the same thing Bibi was just about to stop from happening.

Everyone is just so sportsmanlike today.

The Stormcaller's eyes dart to the stairwell upon hearing the warning from below, and back up to the wounded arachnid as the building began to shake with the thunderous clap of surprisingly high-yield prototype grenades bringing down the entire fucking wall.

Leaping into action like the fellow lightbearer downstairs, the assailant-turned-rescuer wrapped their arms around the former opponent, and carrying her, threw the pair against the opposite wall to the one coming down, as the floor crumbled beneath them.

Rushing stone, wood, metal and concrete came down around them all, pelting and impaling the pair of lightbearers as they bore the brunt of the destruction for their opponents with their own bodies.

Devotion inspires bravery. Bravery inspires sacrifice.

Apollo could feel their skull caving in from blow after blow of stone and concrete. Their jaw set, and flickering eyelights glared straight into Kallex.

Slamming into the ground, the Warlock immediately, despite being winded and struggling to breath, rolled overtop of Bibi, just in time to feel rusted steel puncture their lung, as the rickety staircase gave way above them.

Sacrifice... leads to death.

The dust settled. The human and exomind laid dead atop the pair of rivals. Whether they freed themselves or not, a familiar pair of drones fizzled into being above them, staring pitifully down at their charges and their surroundings burn with a warm, soft Light.

Just before revival, the two ghosts look up... and make eye contact.

"...Oh."

"...Oh dear."

In two flashes of light, the pair of lightbearers disappear and re-constitute, standing, and completely unscathed. Apollo looked down at the extremely punchable douche they just saved, and looked up.

To make eye contact with the Warlock that they once thought they were going to spend the rest of eternity with.

"...No. No this is not fucking happening right now..."

The warlock, who had just calmed down enough to stop faerself from doing what Kallex had just done, had, upon spotting the source of faer current woes, descended back down the mental health hell slide into losing faer actual literal shit.

Apollo took a step back as the Thunderlord was drawn back into the Warlock's hands, with bloodshot eyes glaring at them through the sights.

"...What in the Traveler's name is Set doing here...?!"

[bottombaron]

I think that Guillermo, at the end of Laszlo's 'Roast' party in episode 7, will reveal his secret.

The party will most certainly devolve into a roast of him instead, because of course it will. Because Nandor won't be able to make clever jokes or get anyone to laugh and in order to save his ego he'll do what he always does in those situations and sacrifice Guillermo in its place. He'll say unnecessarily cruel things because he thinks no one person can be more important to him than the fear of his own weakness. He'll pile it on too. One thing after the other. Maybe the other vampires invited to the roast will laugh along because familiars are easy marks. And the heat will build. There's only so many lashes Guillermo can take on behalf of Nandor's pride. And Laszlo, Nadja, and Colin are starting to grimace and wince.

And that's when Guillermo will do it.

He will stand up, with the chair he was sitting in making a horrible noise across the wood floor like a record scratch. To let you know that the party has been violently cut short.

And Laszlo will do a panicked head shake, maybe try to salvage the situation from the precipice that Nandor has unknowingly brought them to. That Guillermo is about to jump off of. With all of them helplessly attached.

Guillermo was put in the audience on the other side of the room. Already segregated from the rest of the group. He's in a room filled with vampires who were just laughing at him but now look. Nandor's peers. The whole vampire community is here, watching him.

Guillermo's vampires sit across from him at a long table with a podium, like a panel of judges. Like he's a prisoner standing before the pulpit awaiting a verdict. He's got one last moment to either swallow the pride he just started to embrace on a float earlier that year and sit back down, let himself be ridiculed like always but live to see another day ... or burn it all down like it deserves to be, with his plea of guilt.

Holding a struck match, Guillermo will finally speak the truth to Nandor. To everyone. The real truth. The one he hasn't spoken out loud yet. The one nobody knows.

He will say, "I have a joke." And everyone will listen.

"I paid to have some barely-turned, low-rank, nothing of a vampire. Who hasn't even been one longer than I have been a familiar…to bite me. And turn me. In the back room of a gas station where he works. And he did it."

"I've been turned by a vampire that wasn't my master. That wasn't you."

Guillermo's jittered, bitchy energy tapers. He no longer fidgets or looks around at the faces slack-jawed at him. He's gone cold.

Like a killer, he delivers the next blow straight at his master's heart, sitting across the room at the podium, similarly frozen in place.

"But that's not the joke."

"The joke is, I may not have known how taboo it was…that it would be such a big deal to everyone else…but I did know…" (he licks his lips and despite his unshakable intent the uncontrollable emotion he always carries inside him threatens to undo his composure. Still, he keeps his voice loud and steady. Mostly. His attention is focused. His eyes start getting a little wet, but he hardly notices. He's going to follow through.)

"I didn't even really do it because I wanted to. Not then, or like that. (Not with him). Not for the same reason I had wanted to do it before. Or the reason I told Laszlo and Nadja I did it."

"See…the joke is…"

(His voice has become softer. It still carries across the room easily. There is no one else in the whole house but Guillermo and Nandor.)

"I did it because I knew how it would make you feel."

"I did it because I wanted to hurt you."

[ratatatastic]

nothing could have prepared me for the cats finally releasing erods gopro footage of him going around being a chaos demon at our cup parade

Panthers Championship Parade | 6.30.24 (x)