#nevvey writes

[neverpathia]

I ended up rambling about a Sacrifice the Maiden Swap AU so here it is, I guess.

Think you got a teeny bit confused. This is a Swap AU, which means the Long Quiet is the Maiden to be sacrificed, and the Voices become her Vessels.

So these are all chapter titles for the Maiden. And these titles are for different Maiden versions of the Voices, pretty much. So they're all humanoid female princess-like beings now, though Fey does retain a few avian features like how Witch is still somewhat catlike, while Flight is just...straight up a bird lol.

Meanwhile, yeah we have catbeast Shifty as the slayer.

I'm just gonna use this reblog to blab about what I have going on, but I'm probably going to do nothing with this idea anyway.

You're in the midst of a dungeon. And beneath this dungeon is a chamber. And within this chamber lies a maiden. You're here to slay her.

Now what I've done here by making the 'Princess' a sacrificial maiden instead of a world-ending monarch kinda plays into my favour. Most of the Voices happen to be on the receiving end of cruelty (Hunted, Cheated, Broken etc) with less agency of their own. So I can keep them fundamentally the same, since you don't really think a sacrificial maiden retains much will for herself.

Also, pretty girl Voices. Don't mind if I do.

Where were we?

Yeah, you got it on the nose for why Oppy's the Fey. She's all trickery and deceit and honeyed words and crafted lies. Although...uh...asking for the Mound's firstborn would be a little strange, given how they're an entire giant cat monster thing now.

Well, Captive and Dame haven't exactly been gender-swapped from the base game Princesses, since they're both still girls. A dame is pretty much just a noblewoman, after all. And yeah, you do get them pretty much the same way as Prisoner and Damsel.

Here's where it gets different, though: the Captive/Skeptic is a lot more inquisitive and openly rebellious against her situation. Yeah, she's relatively calm, but she's by no means as stoic as Prisoner and she's quite expressive. She does care about getting out, but she also agrees to stay behind if you tell her to prioritise seeking the truth over her freedom instead. That's how you get one of her Chapter 3s.

Meanwhile, we have the Dame. She starts out with no agency of her own and ends up with a lot of it handed to her. You follow her whims and desires. You resist yourself and your goals for her sake. (And, yeah, there's a Narrator but she does not know he exists.)

So the Dame/Smitten isn't exactly like Damsel, but more like a cross between her and Tower. She really does think pleasing you is the point of her entire existence, but at the same time she feels completely entitled to owning you and making your decisions. Just Smitten being Smitten.

Trial...I don't really know, she's just an Adversary clone for now. Stubborn. I have no idea what to do with him. He's not exactly my favourite voice.

(FYI: The Blade here doesn't exactly symbolise your fear of the Maiden, but rather how much power you acknowledge that you have over her. If you don't bring the blade, you make it clear that you're willing to set aside a bit of your own agency for her sake. If you do, you're admitting that you have the upper hand here.)

(So when you don't bring the blade, the ensuing Maiden is a little more chaotic and quippy. Think of the blade Maiden as the reasonable albeit innocent Voice of the Hero, who clearly feels more reason to restrain herself and negotiate lest she get stabbed. While the no-blade Maiden is more like base game TLQ and his unstable dialogue options.)

YES. VICTIM. OH MY GOD. ALLOW ME TO BLAB ABOUT CHEATED HERE LET'S FUCKING GO.

And well, here's a thing. As I mentioned earlier, the Maiden inherently has less agency and is generally less threatening than the base game Princess. There's something new here.

So after you talk to the Maiden and decide to betray her, instead of "Give up" or "Finish the job", you get to "Have some fun" or "Make this quick". (After you kill her you also always get to pause and check if she's dead, but for the sake of this route let's say you don't hesitate to keep her down.)

If you decide to "Have some fun" drawing out the no-blade Maiden's death, you end up getting the Loom. Who is Paranoid. Let's face it, she now has every reason to be paranoid because this catbeast was nice to you and suddenly they decide to torture you for no reason. (Side note: you can also get Loom/Paranoid if you check for her pulse, and she does pull out a brief heart-lungs-liver-nerves mantra before stabbing you.)

But if you decide to "Have some fun" with the Maiden when you bring the blade at the start, you get the Victim. The Cheated.

She's the Victim because you fully intended to slay her from the beginning. You chose to wield the power in your hands from the very start, despite her innocence. You never spared her a second thought. You displayed that power. You seized every opportunity to wave it in her face. And you ultimately used it against her in the least merciful way possible.

But she still feels Cheated, because there was a moment when you were about to free her for good. But you still chose to betray her. And boy, is she pissed about that.

You came in fully prepared to hear the Loom out, but ultimately, you kill her when Narrator drops the blade down because of the looming stakes. Meanwhile, you just dangled freedom in the Victim's face before making her suffer in the worst possible way.

So yeah, Victim's kind of mad at you. She doesn't even give you a chance to speak when she hears you come down the dungeon stairs before yelling at you to "FUCK OFF!" And meanwhile, you get the Voice of the Slasher (Razor.) He's perfectly content to kill her over and over and over again because he is Razor and just kind of a freak.

Now, the Slasher/Razor is pretty powerful and can just take control of your body willy-nilly. Oh, you didn't bring the blade? Too bad. Your bones carve themselves out of the flesh of your arm. Oh, would you look at that! You're the blade now! The stakes are completely rigged against Victim/Cheated and she knows it. No matter if you try to talk to her or just straight up decide to slay her, Slasher just makes you charge at her and commit homicide.

You get Chapter III: The Roulette Wheel and Chapter IV: The Failed Gambit this way. And a lot of Victim/Cheated's complaining as she gets more and more cut up and pathetic.

But in Chapter 2, you can simply bring the blade and throw it at Victim/Cheated as a token of your goodwill, like in Witch. And in Roulette Wheel, there's still a chance to give up and resist. That brings you to... Let's talk about The Display/Contrarian first.

You get her in pretty much the opposite way you get Victim/Cheated. Don't bring the blade to the chamber, then Sacrifice the Maiden and Make This Quick when the Narrator drops it down. Then when the Maiden falls, don't check for a pulse because otherwise you get Fey/Opportunist who gleefully stabs you.

(To be honest, I'm not completely sure about anything yet so far. Ideas are still in development.)

The Voice of the Conflicting/Stranger is brought about with Display/Contrarian, as you don't exactly know where your allegiances lie. You eventually sided against the Narrator, but also with him before, but against him the first time. What the hell are you even supposed to be? Clearly Conflicting/Stranger doesn't know what he's supposed to be either. Is he even a singular entity?

Meanwhile, we have Display herself. Oh god. Oh no. She's not exactly too pleased that you took her life last time. So, she's going to make it up to you by ruining your day.

She's not very powerful by herself, but what can she do? Laugh it off while passive-aggressively making you the butt of all her jokes. And at the same time, she hopes she's being funny enough for you to warm up to her, make amends, and just take her out of there.

But she kind of does blame herself for trusting you and getting killed in the first place. Or not saying the right things or pleasing you enough for you to trust her. Or doing literally anything she could have done differently, for things to go a different way. And she blames herself for making you kill yourself, landing both of you in this new situation in the first place. She doesn't like being this maiden, being who she is. She hates herself for it.

Contrarian's called the Display for two reasons. One, at some point she literally just slices herself open with a piece of rock from the dungeon's floor, revealing her innards and keeping them open and exposed for you. Why? She thought it would make you squirm and that's funny. Besides, she's already dead anyway. Opening herself up isn't going to hurt her.

But to be honest, she almost wishes you would slay her again if she opens herself up to you like that. Her heart's right there in her open chest cavity. Then she could get what she really deserves. Then it would all just be over.

Two: all the acts she's putting up to make you smile, and squirm, and distract you from the reality of who she really is- it's all just a display for your sake.

So what if you break the one-sided cycle of violence with the Victim/Cheated, or push aside the Display/Contrarian's lighthearted facade and bring her issues to light?

Victim relishes her chance at victory and seizes the opening. She stabs you and you die, only for her to realise that she actually doesn't understand your game at all when you just let her 'win' for no reason.

Display can't stand the facts of her reality anymore. She stabs you and you die, only for her to realise that it can't solve anything either and she's only making it all worse.

Both of them just give up. And this leads to Last Chapter: The Grand Finale.

And it is nothing but grand.

You don't even know where the maiden is. You're just encased in this claustrophobic lump of organic matter. But if you push through this mass of flesh and nerves and wet meat and blood, then you see the true maiden trapped with you. A vulnerable, mangled female form curled into a foetal position.

This 'Grand Finale' is when the maiden begins to believe that there's no point in what they are anymore, and that the only thing they can really do is give up because they've always been hopeless.

And it's a bit like Cage blended with Fury. You can give in with her (because she can't escape it by laughing it off anyway, or because in the end she'll just lose again). Or you can make her realise that she doesn't have to force herself to do something that she can't, or be something that she's not. You could make her learn that she can just be.

So yeah. Here we go. Might be a part 2 or just straight up released in a fic.

so everyone's doing swap AUs and I was like. Why not.

make of this what you will.

[hello-universe-lovers]

hey there mai. it's nevvey again.

I should not be doing this I already have too many things that I wanna do already here goes.

i'm a bit curious about (yet another) interaction about my opportunist and yours.

because one of them decided to work on himself for once. and the other one decided to work on himself in the complete opposite direction. it's gonna be a little fascinating to think about an actual conversation there, if you get my drift.

like. would my little snake try to see the light? or would your boy be tempted to slip away from kindness for a while and remember his old devious ways...

something to think about. a you who has learned to be better and a you who has become something so much worse.

if you actually want to do anything with this, maybe I could write the actual interaction and you could doodle it into a little comic or something. hehe.

First off, mood. Second off, be sure to pace yourself darling!

Nevvey

This

Is

My

SHIT!

YESYESYESYESYES I WOULD LOVE TO TALK TO YOU ABOUT THE OPPIES! A MIRROR THAT SHOWS A FUTURE AND A PAST! BUT WHICH IS THE FUTURE AND WHICH IS THE PAST?! IS THE FUTURE UNATTAINABLE?! IS THE PAST UNAVOIDABLE!?

POPPY WOULD OF COURSE STRUGGLE BACK TO OLD HABITS AS HE IS STILL NOT REGARDES BY THE PEOPLE AROUND HIM!! AND DRAGON OPPY WOULD GET TO SEE THE LOVE AND AFFECTION THE OTHER RECEIVES FROM THE PEOPLE WHO DO BELIEVE IN HIM!

I

Am very normal about this proposal and I will accept it.

Edit: I supposed I should tag you so you see this...oops @neverpathia

[neverpathia]

okay guys

so this is for a kinda art trade with @everestgale as i've said before i think

but like

i actually have no idea how well i did on this piece tbh. not one of my best works. but whatever, it's here now. yay.

-- -- -- -- --

He was there. And he was also there. And he was there, and there, and there.

Too many incarnations, scattered across too many lifetimes. Littered with too many wrong choices, wasted chances, horrible consequences, painful deaths. Too much pain, too many scars, borne by himself as well as everyone else. Physical. Emotional. Everywhere—

"Hero?" He was shaken out of his stupor by the voice of a companion. The Paranoid. Yes, the Hero was in the infirmary right now. Okay. Right.

Hero looked up from where he sat on the windowsill and blinked.

The afternoon sun-rays fell about him, surrounding Hero with daylight. His sword lay against the wall, propped on the floor beside him. Across from his seat, Paranoid was hunched over a cluttered workbench, tinkering with herbs and concoctions.

She turned abruptly as she shot Hero a concerned glance. "You spaced out for a second."

"Uh..." Hero clutched at the curtain. "Nope. Carry on with whatever you were doing."

Paranoid shook her head and muttered something that sounded an awful lot like "Idiot."

"What?" Hero tried to look as innocent as he could muster.

Paranoid went back to her work, but she only partially turned her attention away from Hero. "You're not convincing me."

"You're only being...paranoid." He offered her an awkward grin.

Paranoid rolled her eyes as she poured some sort of mixture into an uncorked vial. "Fine, I'll trust you. Only a little. For now."

I'll trust you. And from Paranoid, of all people. Hero wanted to laugh.

Hero leaned back against the glass panes. They were warm, almost scalding. He observed Paranoid as she worked, her slender frame bent over the desk in concentration. The apothecary's gloved hands moved to and fro, passing between her crammed shelves and teetering beakers, calculated and frantic. Shaky. Unstable.

She had become like that because of Hero. Of what he had failed to prevent. And then the memories came again: a flickering figure, a porcelain mask, gloved hands and unblinking eyes. That was one of them, only one of the many...

His fault. Another fault. And another mistake, another, another. It could've been averted every single time. But it wasn't. It all swirled around him, amidst him, each sight and step and sound a new reminder. Nails and heels. Claws and fangs. He was only a false Hero, one who tried to save everything but only doomed and doomed and—

"Breathe. You need to breathe."

Memory faded. Presence returned. Paranoid had left her workbench and now crouched some distance from Hero, leaning as a doctor would by a patient's bedside, yet just a bit too far from reach.

"What..." Hero shook his head, somewhat dazed. He noticed a bit of shattered glass on the floor, with what used to be its contents spilling across the table.

Shit.

"Uh." Hero gestured to the mess. "Someone should go clean that-"

"You were hyperventilating." Paranoid's gaze darted back and forth, as if she couldn't decide if eye contact would be okay. She stared with wide, nervous eyes. Her stance was tense.

Hero shifted on the windowsill, sheepish. "Sorry about that."

"You-" Paranoid fidgeted hard with the hem of her own tattered cloak, twisting and squeezing. "Don't apologise. That can't be okay. You're thinking of something. First you were spaced out, and lost in your head, and then after a while you zoned out again."

Hero sighed. "Nothing's wrong. It's just...been a long day."

"And I'm not buying that. Something's wrong, alright."

Hero looked away. "We don't need to talk about it, at least not right now."

Paranoid paused. She clawed feverishly at the cloak before instantly, abruptly, letting go.

And she gave a sudden laugh, nervous and pained. "Hahaha. That's what I say. That- that's what I always say. Don't think about it. Not now, not ever. Just don't. Just don't."

Then her smile faded. "But then it doesn't go away. It comes back and it just stays there. Nagging. Insistent. Worse. So don't give me that shit, Hero, and just tell me."

Hero hesitated. "I don't know about that." He really didn't want to think about it, and he definitely didn't want to bother Paranoid any longer.

Paranoid rolled her eyes. "You do realise that not telling me is just going to make me worry about you more, right?"

Hero was silent for another moment. How stupid of him. To have this breakdown here, in the same room as a friend, as if Paranoid would simply have allowed herself to ignore it. To be led along the same train of thought as ever.

Paranoid sighed. "I could say that I care about you, but that's just going to make it worse, isn't it?"

Hero tried for a smile. "No, it wouldn't."

Paranoid buried her face in her hands. "Oh, for fuck's sake..."

Hero considered for a moment. They were close, after all. How much would Paranoid mind if he confided?

Actually, he didn't want to know.

Paranoid began to fidget again. "Okay. Let's look at this another way. Let's say I'm the one panicking—fuck, I'm always the one panicking—and you were watching it happen. Wouldn't you ask me to tell you what I'm feeling? Wouldn't you try to comfort me?"

Hero avoided looking at her. "I don't know," he admitted. "It's different. I'm supposed to be the one who's okay."

Paranoid facepalmed. "I- ...Fine. Let's just say I care for you. I really do."

Hero didn't meet her eyes. "I know."

"You probably feel like a burden right now. I promise you're not! Really. Doesn't it hurt? Isn't it hard, keeping all that to yourself, locking it all up? Tell someone. Tell me. It would help."

Hero did not respond.

"And I wish I did know, even if you don't. Just...please tell me. If you can."

Silence at first. Then, finally, Hero spoke. "I'm just so tired."

Paranoid didn't interrupt. She only tilted her head ever so slightly as she let him go on; as she simply listened.

"It's like I'm a liar. A fraud." It came slow at first. The words were forced out. But as soon as Hero had said them, it was like something had burst, and it just needed to be released.

"A hero. That's what you all call me. That's supposed to be my name, who I am." Hero looked down at his hands, at all the faint yet present scars criss-crossing across them. "But what kind of hero am I if I can't save anyone? You know the past. I was there with the Decider, with all of you, every single time. And I could have said something. I could have taken control. I could have...done anything."

Tears began to well up at the corners of Hero's eyes. He looked up, desperate to prevent them from flowing down. "Look at everyone. Look at you. You and Broken and Hunted and Cheated and even Contrarian. You're all so hurt. And if I had just done the right things, you wouldn't even be like this. But I didn't. I...let you become like this.

"And I said things. I turned the Princess into this, into that, into everything at once. It never stopped, never stops now. It's there all the time. Too many memories. I don't want it anymore. I just want to forget. I just want to forget."

He couldn't stop the tears from coming. They broke away. They rolled down. They fell onto his legs. Onto the windowsill. Onto the ground. Little splatters, unguarded, unrestrained; like everything he had never done.

Paranoid's eyes widened almost imperceptibly. And she nodded. And she didn't look away, but she didn't look ahead either; she simply stared in his general direction without staring at him.

She was listening. He was relieved. He was concerned. He was too fatigued to care.

"Can you tell me I'm okay?" Hero asked. "It's...going to be fine, right?"

"No." Paranoid kept her voice soft. "This isn't something logical. I can tell you a million things you did right but it still wouldn't be enough."

Hero gave a weak smile. "Just tell me anyway. It might help, I don't know."

She barely hesitated before speaking. "You've been here since the start. You know all of us, and you're the only one who can comfort us most of the time. And even before all this, you...You were always the voice of reason. The most normal, or at least you forced yourself to be. That's admirable. I don't know how you did it."

Hero tried to feel better. The words did ease him a little. But Paranoid was right, it wasn't enough. He was just doing his duty. It was his obligation. And he had still done too little of it.

Paranoid wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth, back and forth. Still anxious as ever. "I love you for it. But that doesn't mean jack shit. I could list a hundred rights, and one wrong would still be so much worse."

Hero attempted to force a smile again. "I can deal with it. I can—"

"Are you so sure you can?" Paranoid rose as she stepped forward, closing the distance. "Or are you just lying to yourself?"

He stopped. The memories came again. It did hurt. It hurt too much.

"Maybe." Hero slumped. "Can you get something for it, like medicine or anything? You always have something for everything."

Paranoid laughed bitterly. "I wish. Maybe for the short-term, yes. Something to dull it for a while. But you can't avoid it forever."

The resignation in her face told Hero everything. Of course he couldn't just escape. She would know.

She shot him a glance as she walked over to another corner of the room. "I'll get a couple of pills for you. Maybe some tea as we speak."

Hero stayed where he was. He tried to wipe the tears from his cheeks, a bit embarrassed. "Alright."

He scooted along the window and tried to hide into the curtains as Paranoid retrieved something from a drawer. She turned and caught a glimpse of whatever he was doing, the curtains barely covering his bulky frame. She frowned.

"Hero?" Paranoid seemed rather disappointed. "What the fuck are you doing?"

He grinned bashfully, more genuine this time. "Uh, nothing."

"Idiot." This one was clear enough.

He actually laughed a little. "Hey, just carry on."

And she did, pouring something into a cup as she muttered and mumbled to herself. Hero contemplated. At least this was nice. The sun filtering in behind him, the organized clutter of the infirmary, and the company of a friend. Even if the friend was a little strange.

She returned with a cup and saucer in one hand, clutching a small pouch with a few pills inside in the other. "These are for later, six o'clock sharp."

He took the pouch from her. "What's in here?"

"A bit of my own medication diluted with something else." She sat on the floor beside him, setting the cup down on the windowsill next to his thigh.

Hero gaped. "Seriously?"

"Remember to tell me if you experience any side effects—"

"No. Hold on." He stared blankly at Paranoid, her demeanour unsteady and frazzled. "You're medicated?"

"So I've worked with medicines for as long as I can remember, and I wouldn't have enough sense to do something about myself. That makes a lot of sense, Hero."

"What the- This is after mental treatment?"

Paranoid shrank back, comically offended. "Does it still seem that bad?!"

Hero laughed again as he stuffed the pills in his pocket. "Still pretty bad."

Paranoid smiled. "Hey, as if you're not bad either. It does help, trust me on this."

And then the moment was over.

"How much does it work?" Hero asked. The turmoil threatened at him again. Coiling and churning and crossing the edges of his brain. Knocking against his temples. About to rupture against it all.

"It should be enough for now, but—"

"Please," Hero whispered at first, unaware as he did, but his voice rose steadily as he spoke, louder and louder. "Can it all just stop? I want it to stop. The expectations, the guilt. Make it stop. Please make it stop! Please, I can't do this anymore!"

Paranoid averted her eyes.

"I...want it to stop too. Hahaha." Her laugh was desperate, and yearning, and pleading. "But it won't."

Hero heaved a long sigh. There was more silence.

Paranoid extended a hand, and he took it. And for one moment, they remained like that.

Sitting still.

Holding hands.

"So..." Hero broke the silence. "Just like that?"

Paranoid gave his hand a squeeze. "All we can do is live, I guess. Or try to live."

"At least you're here."

"...Yeah." She looked up, finally meeting his eyes. "At least...at least we're not alone."

And there was hope.

[neverpathia]

"I'm on a path in the woods? And at the end of the path is...a village?! "

It's you. You've reset.

so I'm doing one of those tumblr-plays-stp AU blogs, but with a little bit of a twist.

You play as the Narrator.

“ Whatever comforts you may find in these welcoming spaces, take heed and recall yourself.

There is no undoing your wrongs. There is no unjust forgiveness.

There are only amends and retributions.

This is your final chance. ”

Maybe you're here to make things right; to take responsibility; to redeem yourself. Or maybe you're here to reminisce on the past; to reinforce an agenda; to prove a point once and for all.

Or maybe you have no idea why you're here, and to be frank, you really don't.

All you know is that, for some reason, you're stuck here with eleven dunderheaded boys. You once knew them as the Voices. And you probably need to do something about them first.

elaboration and propaganda under the cut

-- -- -- -- --

here's a brief explanation of my AU but you don't have to read it.

Just know that the Long Quiet has left the Construct with the Heart of the Shifting Mound. This is the end of their story.

But it's not the end of it all.

The Voices remained behind in the Construct. Even when they sought the Princess, or even when they tried to leave it all behind and live in solitude; they always found one another. Even when they were the last thing on each others' minds, they always wound back up together. They used to be one, after all, and the cracks between them are far finer than those between the Quiet and the Mound.

So since they couldn't get away from each other, they eventually settled in the Construct and expanded the cabin into a nice little village.

But the Village is still new. It's rife with conflicts and teeming with disputes.

Still, they all try to live as best they can.

Sometimes they embark into the vast, endless Woods of the Construct. Sometimes they stay behind in the village and live in peace.

Sometimes they have to fend off pesky creatures and the more irksome Vessels. Sometimes, even tending the farms and making their trades can prove to be grueling trials.

Sometimes the Vessels stay awhile. Sometimes the Voices say goodbye.

Sometimes they celebrate. Sometimes they mourn.

And now you're here.

Some of them have accepted you. Some of them don't want to forgive you. Some of them can't forgive you.

"But you must be here for a reason. At least...I think so."

"Let's just hope everything is okay."

Once upon a time, you were the narrator of Their tale. It is now time for you to write your own story.

-- -- -- -- --

well. folks, I think I'm going to go through with it. but I'm going to need a bit of help.

1. I can't think of a name

2. ...yeah that's pretty much it

p.s. no romance between narry and the voices. however, you can play matchmaker. and you can DEFINITELY befriend the various voices and vessels- hell, that's pretty much the whole point of this thing! just hanging out and trying to make amends. I hope.

p.p.s. if the thing is badly drawn I apologise, most of the art is gonna be pretty rushed because I take forever to draw something decent.

[neverpathia]

i got bored

so have a little parahero thing i'm spontaneously coming up with on tumblr to pull me out of writer's block

-- -- -- -- --

"Seriously?"

The Paranoid was seriously starting to regret becoming the Long Quiet's resident healer. Not that he'd really had a choice at all, mind you, given how he was the only one that was even half-competent with medicines and the like.

Fortunately, the Hero was one of the better patients. Quite frequent—where did he even find all the time and space to go around adventuring?—but still cooperative enough nonetheless. Besides, ever since the Decider left, they'd had plenty of time together. They were quite close now. He liked it.

If he had one complaint about Hero, it would be...never mind. Paranoid urged himself to focus on the task at hand. Please.

Hero sat upright on the edge of his bed and leaned forward, facing Paranoid and not helping his cause.

"Yeah. I'd like to say otherwise, but..." Hero sighed. "Seriously."

Hero had brought the Cheated with him on his latest Hero-ic expedition. The voice of the Cheated. Of all the voices here, did he really have to bring the most reckless? And the most prone to injury? And the one that took the longest to heal?

Paranoid sat down next to Hero. Hero promptly averted his eyes, but he couldn't hide his grin.

"Great," Paranoid rolled his eyes, though he couldn't help but smile a little. "So now I can enjoy even more work than usual."

He glanced at the bed next to Hero's, which was occupied by a sorry mass of bandages. A sorry, spiteful, seething mass of bandages that happened to be vaguely Cheated-shaped.

Yeah, the Cheated was definitely not happy.

Hero shrugged. "Sorry, Para."

"Not that this hasn't happened before," muttered Paranoid. "Does he have any common sense at all? Getting hurt this much, I swear Cheated runs on pure spite."

"Para, you run on pure anxiety."

"Yeah, it's true, but at least it's efficient. Meanwhile, you run on pure righteousness..."

"Like a true hero, right?"

"...and then you make horrible decisions. But yes, very heroic of you."

Hero blinked. "They weren't all horrible!"

"Well, okay, you also made a lot of good ones. I can't deny that, so fine."

Hero proceeded to break into the most sunshiny possible expression ever. Paranoid rolled his eyes, and tried to ignore the fact that he felt like he was being melted all warm and fuzzy.

"They weren't all horrible," said Paranoid. "They were just mostly horrible."

Hero laughed, but it faded out when Paranoid abruptly froze in place.

"Para?"

No response.

"Paranoid?"

The other voice began to tremble a little, and there seemed to be something tightening inside him. Fear. Panic.

Hero was on high alert now. "Are you- Are you okay? Is it coming again?"

"Hero." Paranoid buried his face in his hands.

Paranoid released a little nervous laugh into his palms. For some reason, he'd lately developed some habit of mad-laughing when he was extremely scared, but then again, he was always scared. Still, that might not be a good sign.

"Hey." Hero inched closer to Paranoid and put an arm around his shoulders. He tried for a friendly smile. "Don't worry, you'll fix him right up. This wouldn't be the first time."

"Yes, I know I'm good at my job, thank you very much—" Paranoid cut off his words, slumped against Hero, and paused for a bit before speaking. "No. It's not about that."

They simply sat like that, shoulder to shoulder, Paranoid's head resting against the strong, carved lines of Hero's neck.

"Are you tired?" When Hero spoke, his tone was kind but cautious, as if he were trying to search for the right words but couldn't tell which ones they were. Still, something small in Paranoid relaxed.

"Yes," he admitted. Soft. Barely a whisper, barely spoken at all.

"Do you...want to say what you're thinking about?"

"I- Okay, what about you? Doesn't it tire you out, having to hear what I have to say all the time again and again and again and again—"

"No." Hero took Paranoid's hand and gave it a firm squeeze. "Maybe it's not okay, but I care for you. And I want to know. Just tell me, if you want to."

Paranoid laced his fingers between Hero's. His hand was clammy and a little shaky.

"I'm just...Look at Cheated. And you, you put yourself in danger all the time, always doing the right thing, these wounds, what if it happens to you? What if you're injured and I can't bring you back or you hurt so much and I have to do something about it and I can't or-or-or-or-or—"

Before he could say any more, Hero pulled him into a hug.

"I'll be careful. I promise."

[neverpathia]

okay I felt like writing so off I go

average broken and smitten interaction I guess. my AU. nothing much here, not really, except them being toxic and mutually enabling each others' horrible codependent coping mechanisms. platonic smitbroken. not a ship, keep that in mind.

once AGAIN it's a little OOC because I cannot write broken for the life of me. but hey broken mentioned please give it a shot

pristine cut spoilers

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Do you ever feel...hollow?" A voice, mellow yet deep.

The Broken sat listlessly on the grass, legs resting sideways against each other. Gently, slowly, he leaned down to trace something on the dirt. He wasn't quite sure what it was going to be, though.

The Smitten knelt and clapped him on the back firmly in jest. Broken blinked, eyes wide in mild surprise like a baffled, scraggly kitten.

"Ow," he mumbled.

Smitten ignored the 'ow'. "But surely not! How could I ever allow my soul to remain barren; when her beauty walks the face of this very earth?"

Broken pondered this. "I guess so."

Smitten leaned forward, closer to Broken. "Why do you ask, friend of mine?"

Friend. The others saw him as a friend now, or at least one of them did. Broken didn't know how to feel about that. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die for daring to let someone else actually look at him as if he were a worthy person.

"I don't know." Broken's finger left a trail amidst the dirt; a shallow, curving depression with no particular direction. He smiled. It seemed a little fitting. "I kind of always do. Feel empty, I mean."

As if he hadn't said something like that to the other Voices a billion times.

The Smitten laughed. How was he always so amiable? Where did he find that energy? "Fear not! For she is never far off from us, and her radiance permeates all."

"You say 'she' like there aren't a lot of Princesses walking around now," said Broken.

"Isn't that even better?" said Smitten. "More of my dearest Princess, more love."

Love. The concept that had once felt so familiar, now completely foreign. But something about it was still familiar somehow. Broken didn't know if he understood it, if he could understand.

"You...haven't seen mine, have you?" Broken glanced up, away from his meaningless scribbles.

"Oh, I may not have seen all of her, but I most certainly love every facet of the Princess with all my heart." Smitten's bold voice resonated far too loud.

Broken said nothing and only looked at his stained fingertip.

"I have loved her at her best, and I shall continue to love her at my worst." The Smitten was clearly having fun. "Undaunted I shall trudge, for she is of endless permutation: but each face of hers is pure perfection! Do you not feel the same, my comrade, my kin? You are among the first to show her respect beyond mere camaraderie; to revere her as I do."

Broken didn't know how comfortable he felt about Smitten's words. They sounded a little too close to...something he himself would say, but more flowery and somehow almost worse.

"I loved...love her too." Broken picked at one of his braids with his clean hand. The ribbons embedded inside, the ornaments holding it in place. "One of her."

Smitten raised an eyebrow at him. "And how shall that do? You ought to love all of her!"

"She is above me. She showed me mercy, and I...love her for it." Did he have a choice? Would he have made a choice? "She...You've seen her, haven't you? The one they call The Tower."

"Ah. She who reigns above, is she not? She who dwarfs us all beneath her looming glory."

Broken didn't know how to respond. He hesitated for far too long before he forced the words out. "...I miss her."

"But of course! It's her, after all."

Broken didn't have the heart to tell Smitten that he didn't think he was really listening.

But he didn't like the weight of it all from before, and he wanted to get it off. He needed to get it off. So he went ahead anyway, even if he didn't like it; even if he was going to hate himself forever for speaking those words and thinking those thoughts.

"I don't know. She hurt me. And in one life, I hurt her too. But in another I forgave her. As if I was in a position to, as if I should have done that, as if I was above- as if I was equal- but...she let me. She showed me grace. She..."

The Broken brought his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, huddling into himself, the dirt on his finger smearing across his thigh.

The Smitten tilted his head, loose ringlets shifting across his shoulders. "And why else should she show you grace, if not for her sheer perfection?"

Broken tried to recall what Paranoid and Hero had said. She hurt you. She didn't know you. She wasn't who you thought she was and she never had been. She was...She was...

"I shouldn't love her." Abruptly, he covered his mouth with his hand and averted his eyes. But he continued speaking into his palm, each syllable slow and deliberated. "But I should. But she hurt me, but I hurt her, and I hurt the others too, I should have been hurt, I should have been used, she should have... I don't like this. I miss her. Maybe I shouldn't miss her. But I really miss her. And I don't want to miss her anymore but maybe I should."

"So you question yourself?" The Smitten was growing more wary now. "So you doubt the greatness of your love?"

Broken shook his head. Long lashes brushed across gaunt, cracked cheeks. "I really don't know. Is it right? Am I right to love her? But I don't want to hate her anymore. But I don't want to love her, not when it hurts so much-"

He was silenced by a strong blow across his face. The Smitten had slapped him, fast and hard. Broken cupped his cheek, astonished, reeling against the ringing pain.

"Have you lost your mind?" The Smitten was enraged. "Have you no heart at all? I believed you had always understood. Always, always, you have known! A being of devotion just as I am!"

"Oh..." Unsteadily, Broken looked up at Smitten. "I see."

"You miss her, or so you claim. You yearn for her, do you not? These are the feelings of the heart! Never have they led one astray, ever! You find yourself cherishing her presence. You find that her wrongs cease to be, because they have never mattered! For Princess and Voice were meant to be one. You used to feel like you were hers, and you still are. You love her. We love her. You love her as I do, you love her."

The Smitten stepped backwards after his monologue, heaving slightly, as if it had taken something out of him.

"Believe me." Broken dropped his gaze again. "I wish I did."

Smitten spared him a disdainful glance. "Then you do. Wherein do you unearth such frivolous problems?"

"Smitten, why do you love so much?"

"I was under the impression that you were much the same manner as I. To love is the one true right."

"Is it really the only right thing, or are you just telling yourself that it is?"

"And how could it not be echoed within the halls of my being, were it not such an absolute?"

There was another moment of silence.

"I don't know." Broken rose from the ground and began to stand. "I think you're blind."

"Blind? Blind? Fie! I daresay, the only blind one here is you!"

"I want to believe in love. I do."

"Then so you shall. Nothing stands in our way."

"There's something you're refusing to see, Smitten." Broken met his eyes. "We're separate beings now. Bodies and all. You think of me as a traitor. To love, and to you. You think I'm supposed to be like you, and you're still trying to see yourself in me."

Broken took a long breath before he said, "But I'm not one with you, and we're not the same. Not anymore, not ever. Please...let yourself be."

Smitten didn't reply for once, rendered speechless somehow, though Broken couldn't tell if it was due to anger or shock.

Broken sighed. "Maybe what I thought was love wasn't even real. If I let go of it, could you let go too?"

Smitten clamped his hands around Broken's shoulders, his grip harsh and unyielding.

"Nonsense." A low, raging undercurrent belay Smitten's tone, still orotund and loud as ever. "It was real, and it is real, and nothing can ring ever truer. Harken to your heart, its beatings, it's sensations! Harken to your soul and the very person that you are! Is it not clear, then?"

But then Smitten relaxed his grip on Broken. "I just want the best for you, my friend. I wish for you to be at peace. Why? Why must you choose otherwise?"

And at this brief, unprecedented show of kindness, the Broken was unresponsive at first.

Then it hit. He couldn't help it. He didn't want it. He began to cry.

Small, nearly imperceptible trembles and snivels. Tears gathering at the corners of large blank eyes. Why was he suddenly being nice to him? Why now, after what he had dared to say? After he had made himself a traitor in Smitten's eyes?

"It's not a choice, Smitten," said Broken. "It's what I've always been. Maybe...this is it. I still feel so numb. So tired, from forever. Maybe you're right. Because when I used to love her, it didn't feel so empty anymore. I had something to believe in. I had hope."

So what if the hope was false? It was better than this. It was better than this dark and barren and sad and pathetic thing that was his soul, his body, his entire being. It was at least the illusion of a safe refuge. A sort of escape from what he was and what he had become.

The delusion felt good. Perhaps it was all that mattered.

The Broken spoke between sobs. "How could those moments have been my worst when...they made me feel the best?" He felt the descent of tears down his face; the taste of wet salt on his tongue. It was disgusting. Weak. Pitiful. Like him.

Smitten reached over and patted Broken on the back, and he caved, melting into his friend in a sort of embrace. Too readily, too vulnerably.

"Are we just playing pretend?" Broken whispered, pressed against the frills of Smitten's vest.

"No." The Smitten spoke softer this time, keeping his voice lower. "It cannot be pretend."

Broken let him talk. He'd had enough of the argument.

"When all the fibers of your being are peeled back," Smitten murmured, "love is the only thing left. No, it cannot be pretend, for we cannot help but find them beautiful and what we feel is so profound, so pure. It cannot be pretend because it's who we are and what we were meant to do. Make her happy. You seek it. You desire it."

"I do want to," said Broken.

Smitten smiled. "And she's out there."

"I...do want to, right?"

"You do want to. Your hesitation is a lie, to none else but yourself."

The Broken felt wary and he felt truly seen. He felt uncertain and he felt resolved. He felt terrified and he felt at ease. He wanted to turn away, to return, to relapse. He wanted to love, to obsess, to languish in the comforting cage of those thoughts forever. He wanted to flee, and forget about everything, and never even think about Her again.

Despite everything, after all, the Smitten was still his friend.

Smitten pulled away and tousled Broken's hair. "You poor, poor, misguided soul. Once you saw the light and now you shun it."

Broken wiped his tears with his sleeve. "And it was brighter, wasn't it? And it felt safer...I think..."

"Sit awhile with me, my friend. Mayhaps comfort may be found in the silence yet; a calm to precede a change."

And so they sat on the grass. And so it was still.

And so it was all horribly wrong.

[neverpathia]

you, my good sir, are a gem 💞💞💞 love all your stuff 🩷 any thoughts on how a smittunist meeting/conversation would go if they meet on or after happily ever after?

WAHOO and i know this probably isn't exactly a writing request but here's a funny thing, i actually kind of had a scenario like this in mind, and i was kind of thinking about writing it out and posting it when this ask came in! so i might as well just kill two birds with one stone (heh) and answer this request while writing out that excerpt here mwahah

sigh. have i said that romance wasn't really my thing? perhaps fortunately for you all, I may have lied.

so this came out a little more shippy than intended, and it's a bit long so I'm sorry if it gets boring, and it's kinda ooc but it is what it is I guess

===== ===== ===== =====

What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong? What had he done wrong?

What had he done wrong, what had he done wrong, what had he done wrong what-had-he-done-wrong what-had-he-done-wrong? The finest garments a Princess could ever have been clad in. The most lavish settings a Princess could ever have stepped into. The best meals, the best games, the best of everything that she could ever have asked for. It was perfect. All of it ought to be perfect.

The Smitten had given her everything, but for that, he had been reduced to nothing.

Less than nothing.

Because 'nothing' at least required a 'something' to define it, and she was supposed to be his 'something'. Once upon a time, she had been his 'everything', and she would have remained so for all of eternity. It was their happily ever after. Everything would have been bliss. Perfection. The last chapter of their story; the closure they had been offered once and for all.

But there was the Princess, and there was the rest of them—the rest of him—dancing under the starlit sky he had shunned so. Dirt beneath their feet, grass-blades scraping the skin of their legs.

And here he was, trapped in the cabin. The torches no longer burned and only the dark was left. He, too, was the dark now. He was one with the bleak nothingness inside, left to rot away as they pranced and laughed.

They all no longer required him. Perhaps they never had in the first place.

So he watched them dance as he faded, because it was the only thing left to do. Their movements were graceful, elegant, and so natural. There was something about it that his 'grand paradise' had so plainly lacked. He couldn't comprehend it. It lay beyond raw passion, beyond what he thought was-

"May I have this dance?"

Something, someone had entered the cabin. Someone familiar. Like that other heroic voice, or like the Smitten himself; he was a semi-corporeal shadowy echo floating just as he did. He seemed to know him, though he didn't recall meeting him. This one was wily and devious. He shouldn't have liked him.

Yet he felt inexplicably drawn to him, like they were meant to be one. He could tell that he had been a piece of the Decider, the Hero. They both had. And the Smitten had felt the same pull at the banquets and games, but it had been resisted for all their sakes. How had it not been enough? How had it not been enough?

"Why have you come?" The Smitten's voice, once reserved only for the Princess's ears, came out far too hoarse. "Leave me be. Allow me to decay in solitude."

The other one, the Opportunist, cocked his head. "Hm, no, I don't think so."

Before the Smitten could respond, the Opportunist grabbed his hand and yanked him back onto the grand carpets. He pushed him—pulled him—twirled him around—

"Begone." The Smitten, weakened as he was, could only manage a low angry murmur. "I did this. It was I who failed to cover every eventuality. And she is unhappy. I made her unhappy. I...made...her...unhappy."

"Yes, that's true," said the Opportunist, but he continued with the dance.

Here they were, cavorting about a hollow mimicry of a palace, when at least one of them should have been dancing with the Princess instead. Outside. Where the Smitten had failed to take her; where he could have saved everything.

"So?" Resignation sat heavy, thick and bitter beneath Smitten's tone. He tried to wrench his hands away from his new partner's, but for some reason, he couldn't. "Isn't that what I deserve? Harken, am I not the true villain of this new story? Go forth. Enjoy your happy ending while it lasts."

Opportunist stepped to the side, his fingers still splayed across Smitten's palm as he shrugged with one shoulder. "Well, this ending looks like the Princess and the Decider's. Doesn't have to just be theirs, though. It could be ours too."

"I do not remain one of you any longer," Smitten spat. "For how should I?"

The Opportunist smirked, a horrible mirror of the Smitten's own smile at them from across the table earlier. "But you were! At least I remember you. Besides, this can still be a happy ending for everyone! Including you."

He brought his mouth closer to the Smitten's ear. "Or, forget about you, I'm the one who wants this dance."

Smitten was too tired for rage. "Why?"

"Well, I can't quite put my finger on it myself," Opportunist mused. "But it's like, the Decider and that other one and you and me and the Princess, we're all fragments of the same thing, you know? Except there's two major parts, us and the Princess."

Opportunist paused for a bit, silent in contemplation, but he and Smitten continued to move in tacit harmony.

"There it is," said Opportunist. "Of course I'm drawn to the Princess, we all are. But I feel more drawn to you. Because the Princess and the rest of us, well, the crack between us is too wide and we're too separate. And even if I'd joined their dance, there's still a missing piece somewhere, and I suppose it must be you. But you're a closer thing to me than she is. We fit tighter, better perhaps."

Opportunist bowed forward and Smitten leaned back in response. Their bodies pressed close together: chest against chest, hand clasped in hand, fingers gently intertwining.

"So that's how it is." The Smitten stared into the Opportunist's eyes, but he didn't know how to read them. It all felt so right and it all felt so wrong; it felt so impossible; it felt like something that he should never have been able to feel.

And he couldn't understand it at all.

"How dare you?" Smitten rose, forcing the Opportunist backwards. "How dare you utter such...balderdash?"

"It's just how I felt, since I know you like feelings so much."

"No. This is nonsense! The Princess is the only absolute right. We must be with her, you must be one with her. How could you forgo such a chance? How could you forsake her, how could you choose to stay behind in this wreck and deny your true happy ending, how could you? Do you go against her? Are you mad, are you impertinent? For we have wronged and I may not make right, but you...you. How dare you?"

"How dare me?" This angered the Opportunist. "As if you did anything right! As if you're not the one responsible for her suffering in the first place! We ate and we ate and we ate then we played and we played—do you know how boring it got? How stale? And then it all lost its meaning and everything was just so empty! And you caused it, and you forced her to sit through everything! She was so scared! So before you even think about going all 'oh, how dare you, how dare you,' think about that first."

For a few beats, no one spoke. And still they danced, two shadows, graceful blank silhouettes amidst the vast unlit chambers.

"Alright, I take everything back," said Opportunist. "In the end, you've lost. Look at you. You were so powerful that reality itself bent according to you and your simpy little desires. And now, what are you? An exhausted little thing."

The Opportunist led the dance, steering him this way and that, with but a few flicks of his wrists and turns of his heels. He grinned. "So I'm still a winner, and you're still the loser here."

Smitten glared at him. "Have you no shame?"

"Not one bit, no."

"You have come to gloat, then? To laugh at my fall?"

"Why, yes I have! Can't say I don't enjoy it. See? I've come up on top. Just as I've always wanted."

And the Opportunist did laugh, throwing his head back as he cackled and shook. Amused, he veered aside, dragging the Smitten with him in a circle.

"So that was you," Smitten seethed. "The one who said we could stay in the cabin, she and I. The one who started everything. You caused it. You. You!"

"Yes." Opportunist sighed. "Fine, I admit it. I did something wrong there."

He violently jerked Smitten's arm backwards with his own, as if he wanted to wrench it from its socket.

"But who was the one who ripped our heart out?" demanded Opportunist. "And who made this whole place like this, and did everything he could to keep her unhappy? That definitely wasn't me. No, I think it was—"

"No more, I beseech you." Smitten interrupted. "I..."

He hesitated.

"I did make her unhappy. And right now, she's happier. Without me."

"Of course she is. You brought this loss upon yourself, lover-boy. Now isn't that satisfying."

Smitten didn't speak.

"I do agree with you, to be honest," said Opportunist. "You do deserve this. To fade away alone and unloved."

Smitten looked up at him. "Then why do you still take my hand in yours?"

Opportunist didn't respond either.

And there was another moment of silence. They quietly dared each other to pry apart their hands, to cease this dance, to stop these motions altogether.

But they didn't.

"Something about this still feels whole," said Opportunist. "I'm more complete here. Don't you feel it?"

"I don't know." The Smitten averted his gaze. "Truth be told, I don't know how it's meant to feel. But I think I do."

A few more steps. A few more turns. Pulling together, falling apart, pulling close again.

"This feels more complete," whispered Smitten.

"It does," said Opportunist. "But I still don't like what you did."

"And nor do I," said Smitten. "You vile, scheming wretch."

"You delusional lovesick psycho."

"..."

"...Are you scared to let go too?"

Something grey threatens the edges of their sight. Yet they dance still.

"I am."

Something ancient pulls at them, passes over the walls and floors. Yet they dance still.

"But you know I still can't forgive you, right?"

Something feathered reaches out and away, consuming, morphing, becoming. Yet they dance still.

"I know what I've done. I'm sorry, I truly am."

Something taloned stretches into the long quiet, and a mirror is touched. And the dance ends; still they stand hand in hand.

"I hate you." The Opportunist reaches out and pulls the Smitten into an embrace.

"I hate you." The Smitten reciprocates, resting his head against his shoulder, pulling him in, ever closer.

Shards of broken glass dissipate into oblivion.

[neverpathia]

WIP Ask: I wanna know about Nerves and Nightmares [of course I do, Paranoid my beloved]. Tell us as much as you can / want without spoiling too much :]

also I love the HC of Paranoid being the resident overworked mom of the Long Quiet, it's the same for my Paranoid

okay.

let me preface this by saying that I probably know as much about this WIP as the average audience member. and why is that? because I actually didn't think about properly plotting it out.

if anything, I was just like "okay I wanna write stp fanfiction for my AU". and then I went ahead and was like "I wanna write it in first person." and then at first I wanted to make cheated the main POV character (so we could've had like 'Rages and Razors' or something I don't even know man) but then I decided. nah. paranoid's better for plot and he's my wife now.

so here we are. what an awkward start to a relationship.

i've blabbed a little about it in the main post so I shall blab a little more about it here. it's cosy fantasy. daily going-ons. a little slice of life. taking care of work. living and learning and changing. dealing with the other voices' bullshit. they all live together in a cosy little village, and he's the resident healer apothecary guy, and there's thankfully no shortage of bullshit to deal with.

this is a story of adaptation and new beginnings. this is a story of tying up loose ends. this is a story of development; of discovery and rediscovery. this is a story of learning to relax, of accepting your flaws, of facing your fears.

above all, this is a story of healing and recovery.

so obviously I had to focus on paranoid because COME ON he's the perfect pick. he's inevitably going to have to interact with everyone because of his job. so we get to see at least one moment with every single voice. he's also kind of unstable by himself, but he's gonna get at least a little better.

there's a truckload of character development. does that count as a spoiler? he learns that the world isn't out to get him, not anymore. that he doesn't have to be so on-guard and mistrustful all the time. and to fucking stop overthinking that much oh my lordy lord.

hero features pretty prominently in this. oh golly gee, I wonder why. totally not like they become boyfriends or anything of the sort. they totally don't learn to acknowledge their flaws through each other. that they might be more similar than they realise. that they don't have to be alone in navigating the overwhelming reality and endless expectations- okay, yeah, that totally never happens. /j

cheated does also feature quite a bit in here though, because he's the star patient. not because he's so cooperative, but because he's paid way too many visits to the infirmary and paranoid is very done. they have a kinda hilarious friendship. like "fuck. you're here again." just ranting back and forth about "god everyone else is so dumb, thank god I'm the only normal person here." (neither of them are normal.)

so if you like either of the above then yeah. nice.

also just because this is cosy fantasy and no one dies or anything, doesn't mean this is all sunshine and rainbows and 100 percent cruelty-free. far from it. for starters, I have made broken and smitten best friends and if you know how that one platonic smitbroken ficlet went then you will have an idea of how bad it can get. that won't be the only toxic relationship, or even friendship, up in here.

of course not. nightmare's roaming around somewhere in a fic where the mc is we-all-know-who.

and then there's the individual issues of everyone, left alone to fester. it's not just about paranoid. there's hero's guilt and remorse. cheated's bitterness and resignation. but there's still paranoid's overwhelming workload and ever-increasing stress. the fact that he has to deal with the traumas of both himself and his patients.

it's not going to be nice.

and there is at least one attempted suicide. spoiler: I haven't mentioned the perpetrator in this post just yet. wonder who he could be...guess lol. consider that my first warning.

like, I love psychological angst. no death or murder or downright destruction. just people left in the throes of their own worst qualities. that's my fucking speciality.

but we cannot have recovery if there is nothing to be saved from.

and another thing to take heed of: there obviously isn't going to be a lot of smut, but I'm a male writer. there will be women. there will be feminine characters.

so most of the time I'll probably end up fixating on Paranoid's large eyes and billowing hair and delicate features and slender frame and stuff. why? because wife. but sometimes the narration will veer into...uh, say, describing how buxom the Thorn is. consider that my second warning.

[neverpathia]

*drop these and runs away*

2. (Explore) If you have a least favorite Chapter, then how would you go about changing it?

12. (Explore) What's your favorite Voices dynamic?

25. (Explore) What’s a moment in the game that emotionally destroyed you?

nevvey has a PhD in yappanese so this came out too long, oops

2. least favourite chapter

huh. well I know everyone's been answering the greys for this, and I don't wanna be another member of that echo chamber, but honestly I'm kinda struggling to think of my least favourite right about now. the ones that are great are great, and the ones that aren't as great. uh. they're more or less on the same tier if I'm gonna be frank

fine. I'll cave. it's drowned grey. haven't seen her route yet but in all fairness I don't feel like it, not too interested, already know what happens, and am scared of being scared. with burned grey, at least I can respect the themes at play. the extremes of blind devotion playing into callousness. the crossing of boundaries that one has claimed to demolish. violence to fix violence met with violence. hurt intended to cure hurt.

there's at least more of an emotional reaction there, but with prisoner? you're less obligated to feel something for her, I guess. I'm not saying you're not a fucking traitorous scumbag if you slay pris, but I'm just saying that she provokes less pity and sadness than slaying the damsel. drowned grey to me comes off as pure spook factor imo. it's a tale of vengeance, that's it. there isn't as much to explore there.

drowned grey works as a route but it's not as complex as I would like it to be. and that's fine for the game. it works. but it's just kind of there. I wouldn't know how to fix it because the course of events still makes sense, but it's just. underwhelming. I wouldn't do anything about it but only because I have no idea how.

12. favourite voice dynamic

OH COME ON. YOU FUCKING EXPECT ME TO CHOOSE?????

so it keeps teetering between parahero and smittunist but in the end I've just been writing those things out in my head and the majority of how i perceive it is all fanon. it doesn't matter. nix. nada. nothing.

if we're going to talk about in the actual canon...probably still smittunist. it's hilarious how they interact in thorn. oppy being the same bootlicker as always, and smitten just mindlessly swinging behind GASP HOW DARE YOU and OH YOU ARE SO RIGHT FOR REAL, is just kind of golden. but at the same time it's sweet how smitten makes up for oppy's faults here. and at the same time as much as they contrast and you can still tell that oppy hasn't really changed too much but there's still something there and it's still so unresolved but they still manage to put aside their differences and stuff- plus. funny dialogue. it's gold. it's just gold

but at the same time I recently did den, and I think hunted and skeptic's a bit of an underrated dynamic. there's an inherent trust that's obviously there between most of the voices already, but it's especially highlighted with skeptic's plan and stuff. i can kinda hear them as a grizzled old man and the scruffy little creature he picked up on the side of the road and decided to adopt. he taught him that plans matter, yay. he saw him make his first friend (den in rescue), yay. it's adorable.

but then we also have hero and paranoid giving broken a reality check in apotheosis and like. paranoid losing his mind. broken having lost his mind in the other direction. a confused hero being the only sane man. them powering through together as a team anyway. the two gay uncles and the depressed nephew they got stuck with babysitting. I can't-

[rams my fist straight into the wall and splinters all of my phalanges and releases an uncouth yelp worthy of a soprano] I CANNOT. DON'T ASK ME TO CHOOSE.

25. worst trauma

look. all the pristine cut stuff so far was absolutely devastating, and I am specifically laser-focusing on Happily Ever After with that comment.

but the moment that fucking punched me in the gut and had me doubling over was probably, thorn. yeah because she's my wife and we're married and I can't bear to see her hurt and she's reading this over my shoulder right now and she's beautiful and she's resplendent and

specifically, when you descend down the charred remains of the cabin. you hear just how resigned she is. just how tired everything has made her. and you just look, and see how badly she's been wounded. how she's been hurt. all these raw bleeding cuts and scrapes and scratches and scabs. it's so clear how vulnerable she is, and she's truly ashamed. this is what she's done. this is who she is now. this is what she believes she deserves.

and then all the dialogue options that show how much you don't want to forgive her. just as she wasn't able to forgive herself, as much as she's punished herself instead. like. like MY POOR FUCKING GIRL.

and another one for when her grip on the blade tightens... the lingering spite. the remnants of fear. the urge to distrust. she's leaving behind everything she thought she was and it's utterly ASSRRRGGGHH love you thorn.

[neverpathia]

It occurs to me that I don't officially have an intro post.

intro post

aliases: nevvey/nixen/joey/zhaoyi

age: turning 16 (fuck)

gender: male (he/him)

sexuality: heterosexual (but I would never turn down a nice femboy)

ethnicity: malaysian chinese (but I don't really speak the language please don't bother)

stuff I do:

> writing

> drawing

> rambling incoherently

> suffering through the meaningless crutches of existence

> grasping for straws amidst the throes of futility

current hyperfixation: slay the princess

writing/analysis requests are open

like. if you want to see two characters interact, or do something together, or if you just want to see any specific scene in general, then just drop an ask for me to write an excerpt about it and i'll do that.

or if you want me to analyse a specific character or dynamic or ship or something, then sure. just drop an ask. it might take a while but it will most likely be answered.

art trades are open

as for drawings uh well I won't do it for free, shit takes too long and it's easier to fuck it up imo. so if you wanna see something from me you better give something in return.

fandoms I can create content for:

Slay the Princess (current hyperfixation)

Cult of the Lamb

Six of Crows/Grishaverse in general

Percy Jackson

Danganronpa (original 3 games only)

Ace Attorney (original trilogy only)

Frieren

[hello-universe-lovers]

This was...certainly smth to think about. I don't think Broken was OOC, Smitten isn't either, at least to me. They both align pretty well here. Smitten has always been Blinded to love and Broken has always see the worst in himself. It's only natural for this sort of conversation to come up. To me, they have the most complicated relationship with their Princesses for Spoiler reasons, and are kinda one and the same in my eyes. Getting em to talk about their feelings is also like getting Stubborn to stop loving Advy.

okay I felt like writing so off I go

average broken and smitten interaction I guess. my AU. nothing much here, not really, except them being toxic and mutually enabling each others' horrible codependent coping mechanisms. platonic smitbroken. not a ship, keep that in mind.

once AGAIN it's a little OOC because I cannot write broken for the life of me. but hey broken mentioned please give it a shot

pristine cut spoilers

-- -- -- -- -- -- --

"Do you ever feel...hollow?" A voice, mellow yet deep.

The Broken sat listlessly on the grass, legs resting sideways against each other. Gently, slowly, he leaned down to trace something on the dirt. He wasn't quite sure what it was going to be, though.

The Smitten knelt and clapped him on the back firmly in jest. Broken blinked, eyes wide in mild surprise like a baffled, scraggly kitten.

"Ow," he mumbled.

Smitten ignored the 'ow'. "But surely not! How could I ever allow my soul to remain barren; when her beauty walks the face of this very earth?"

Broken pondered this. "I guess so."

Smitten leaned forward, closer to Broken. "Why do you ask, friend of mine?"

Friend. The others saw him as a friend now, or at least one of them did. Broken didn't know how to feel about that. He wanted to be happy. He wanted to crawl into a hole and die for daring to let someone else actually look at him as if he were a worthy person.

"I don't know." Broken's finger left a trail amidst the dirt; a shallow, curving depression with no particular direction. He smiled. It seemed a little fitting. "I kind of always do. Feel empty, I mean."

As if he hadn't said something like that to the other Voices a billion times.

The Smitten laughed. How was he always so amiable? Where did he find that energy? "Fear not! For she is never far off from us, and her radiance permeates all."

"You say 'she' like there aren't a lot of Princesses walking around now," said Broken.

"Isn't that even better?" said Smitten. "More of my dearest Princess, more love."

Love. The concept that had once felt so familiar, now completely foreign. But something about it was still familiar somehow. Broken didn't know if he understood it, if he could understand.

"You...haven't seen mine, have you?" Broken glanced up, away from his meaningless scribbles.

"Oh, I may not have seen all of her, but I most certainly love every facet of the Princess with all my heart." Smitten's bold voice resonated far too loud.

Broken said nothing and only looked at his stained fingertip.

"I have loved her at her best, and I shall continue to love her at my worst." The Smitten was clearly having fun. "Undaunted I shall trudge, for she is of endless permutation: but each face of hers is pure perfection! Do you not feel the same, my comrade, my kin? You are among the first to show her respect beyond mere camaraderie; to revere her as I do."

Broken didn't know how comfortable he felt about Smitten's words. They sounded a little too close to...something he himself would say, but more flowery and somehow almost worse.

"I loved...love her too." Broken picked at one of his braids with his clean hand. The ribbons embedded inside, the ornaments holding it in place. "One of her."

Smitten raised an eyebrow at him. "And how shall that do? You ought to love all of her!"

"She is above me. She showed me mercy, and I...love her for it." Did he have a choice? Would he have made a choice? "She...You've seen her, haven't you? The one they call The Tower."

"Ah. She who reigns above, is she not? She who dwarfs us all beneath her looming glory."

Broken didn't know how to respond. He hesitated for far too long before he forced the words out. "...I miss her."

"But of course! It's her, after all."

Broken didn't have the heart to tell Smitten that he didn't think he was really listening.

But he didn't like the weight of it all from before, and he wanted to get it off. He needed to get it off. So he went ahead anyway, even if he didn't like it; even if he was going to hate himself forever for speaking those words and thinking those thoughts.

"I don't know. She hurt me. And in one life, I hurt her too. But in another I forgave her. As if I was in a position to, as if I should have done that, as if I was above- as if I was equal- but...she let me. She showed me grace. She..."

The Broken brought his knees close to his chest and wrapped his arms around them, huddling into himself, the dirt on his finger smearing across his thigh.

The Smitten tilted his head, loose ringlets shifting across his shoulders. "And why else should she show you grace, if not for her sheer perfection?"

Broken tried to recall what Paranoid and Hero had said. She hurt you. She didn't know you. She wasn't who you thought she was and she never had been. She was...She was...

"I shouldn't love her." Abruptly, he covered his mouth with his hand and averted his eyes. But he continued speaking into his palm, each syllable slow and deliberated. "But I should. But she hurt me, but I hurt her, and I hurt the others too, I should have been hurt, I should have been used, she should have... I don't like this. I miss her. Maybe I shouldn't miss her. But I really miss her. And I don't want to miss her anymore but maybe I should."

"So you question yourself?" The Smitten was growing more wary now. "So you doubt the greatness of your love?"

Broken shook his head. Long lashes brushed across gaunt, cracked cheeks. "I really don't know. Is it right? Am I right to love her? But I don't want to hate her anymore. But I don't want to love her, not when it hurts so much-"

He was silenced by a strong blow across his face. The Smitten had slapped him, fast and hard. Broken cupped his cheek, astonished, reeling against the ringing pain.

"Have you lost your mind?" The Smitten was enraged. "Have you no heart at all? I believed you had always understood. Always, always, you have known! A being of devotion just as I am!"

"Oh..." Unsteadily, Broken looked up at Smitten. "I see."

"You miss her, or so you claim. You yearn for her, do you not? These are the feelings of the heart! Never have they led one astray, ever! You find yourself cherishing her presence. You find that her wrongs cease to be, because they have never mattered! For Princess and Voice were meant to be one. You used to feel like you were hers, and you still are. You love her. We love her. You love her as I do, you love her."

The Smitten stepped backwards after his monologue, heaving slightly, as if it had taken something out of him.

"Believe me." Broken dropped his gaze again. "I wish I did."

Smitten spared him a disdainful glance. "Then you do. Wherein do you unearth such frivolous problems?"

"Smitten, why do you love so much?"

"I was under the impression that you were much the same manner as I. To love is the one true right."

"Is it really the only right thing, or are you just telling yourself that it is?"

"And how could it not be echoed within the halls of my being, were it not such an absolute?"

There was another moment of silence.

"I don't know." Broken rose from the ground and began to stand. "I think you're blind."

"Blind? Blind? Fie! I daresay, the only blind one here is you!"

"I want to believe in love. I do."

"Then so you shall. Nothing stands in our way."

"There's something you're refusing to see, Smitten." Broken met his eyes. "We're separate beings now. Bodies and all. You think of me as a traitor. To love, and to you. You think I'm supposed to be like you, and you're still trying to see yourself in me."

Broken took a long breath before he said, "But I'm not one with you, and we're not the same. Not anymore, not ever. Please...let yourself be."

Smitten didn't reply for once, rendered speechless somehow, though Broken couldn't tell if it was due to anger or shock.

Broken sighed. "Maybe what I thought was love wasn't even real. If I let go of it, could you let go too?"

Smitten clamped his hands around Broken's shoulders, his grip harsh and unyielding.

"Nonsense." A low, raging undercurrent belay Smitten's tone, still orotund and loud as ever. "It was real, and it is real, and nothing can ring ever truer. Harken to your heart, its beatings, it's sensations! Harken to your soul and the very person that you are! Is it not clear, then?"

But then Smitten relaxed his grip on Broken. "I just want the best for you, my friend. I wish for you to be at peace. Why? Why must you choose otherwise?"

And at this brief, unprecedented show of kindness, the Broken was unresponsive at first.

Then it hit. He couldn't help it. He didn't want it. He began to cry.

Small, nearly imperceptible trembles and snivels. Tears gathering at the corners of large blank eyes. Why was he suddenly being nice to him? Why now, after what he had dared to say? After he had made himself a traitor in Smitten's eyes?

"It's not a choice, Smitten," said Broken. "It's what I've always been. Maybe...this is it. I still feel so numb. So tired, from forever. Maybe you're right. Because when I used to love her, it didn't feel so empty anymore. I had something to believe in. I had hope."

So what if the hope was false? It was better than this. It was better than this dark and barren and sad and pathetic thing that was his soul, his body, his entire being. It was at least the illusion of a safe refuge. A sort of escape from what he was and what he had become.

The delusion felt good. Perhaps it was all that mattered.

The Broken spoke between sobs. "How could those moments have been my worst when...they made me feel the best?" He felt the descent of tears down his face; the taste of wet salt on his tongue. It was disgusting. Weak. Pitiful. Like him.

Smitten reached over and patted Broken on the back, and he caved, melting into his friend in a sort of embrace. Too readily, too vulnerably.

"Are we just playing pretend?" Broken whispered, pressed against the frills of Smitten's vest.

"No." The Smitten spoke softer this time, keeping his voice lower. "It cannot be pretend."

Broken let him talk. He'd had enough of the argument.

"When all the fibers of your being are peeled back," Smitten murmured, "love is the only thing left. No, it cannot be pretend, for we cannot help but find them beautiful and what we feel is so profound, so pure. It cannot be pretend because it's who we are and what we were meant to do. Make her happy. You seek it. You desire it."

"I do want to," said Broken.

Smitten smiled. "And she's out there."

"I...do want to, right?"

"You do want to. Your hesitation is a lie, to none else but yourself."

The Broken felt wary and he felt truly seen. He felt uncertain and he felt resolved. He felt terrified and he felt at ease. He wanted to turn away, to return, to relapse. He wanted to love, to obsess, to languish in the comforting cage of those thoughts forever. He wanted to flee, and forget about everything, and never even think about Her again.

Despite everything, after all, the Smitten was still his friend.

Smitten pulled away and tousled Broken's hair. "You poor, poor, misguided soul. Once you saw the light and now you shun it."

Broken wiped his tears with his sleeve. "And it was brighter, wasn't it? And it felt safer...I think..."

"Sit awhile with me, my friend. Mayhaps comfort may be found in the silence yet; a calm to precede a change."

And so they sat on the grass. And so it was still.

And so it was all horribly wrong.