#not to mention how i write horror

[theweirdestroller]

I'm gonna say it now, before I get into what I actually want to say because this fandom can get wildly toxic; but this applies to ships too. (can we please stop fighting over them already?)

Fan creations have long since disregarded canon, and I don't see why the UTMV would be exempt.

I love writing Nightmare's Gang as sympathetic characters who love one another and would die to keep the others safe. I sometimes indulge in reading and writing Dream as a bad brother. Sometimes I do write Nightmare as a bad person.

An old saying of mine that I used to use rather frequently, which came about due to the nature of multiverses (especially with characters like Ink, Error, and their variants) , is that there will always be a multiverse where all your headcanons are canon!

There's not a right or wrong way to see this (or any, really) fandom! That's the beauty of fan works! It's all how you want it to be!

Something I see a lot in the UTMV fandom nowadays is people talking about canon. "Canon Nightmare wouldn't act like that," "Ink is morally gray," that type of stuff.

The issue is that UTMV started out as a community project and will continue to be a community project. Fanon is incredibly important to certain pillars of the fandom. People are allowed to interpret the characters differently!

It's important to recognize the source material and respect it, but you must also respect different creator's stories. This isn't a community based around one big canon source material. It's based around countless comics, animations, characters, and fanfics that have been shared for years now.

People are not just going to abandon ideas they have loved for years because of the canon of the source AU. I LOVEE seeing canon Nightmare stuff, but I love dadmare or any other interpretation just as much!

In the UTMV fandom, canon and fanon literally have to coexist. It's no fun otherwise.

[little-pondhead]

The Folly of Men - Masterpost

AO3

[Links will be updated as new parts are added!]

-

SUMMARY:

The League of Assassins has a secret. Deep within the sprawling city of Eth Alth'eban, the Well of Sins was watched over by Ra's al Ghul. See, while the Lazarus Pits could grant him immortality and bring people back from the dead, the Well of Sins was also more than that. It was a portal to another dimension. Ra's had held this information close to his chest for centuries, determined to take full advantage of this power and keep it for himself. He managed to successfully placate and deal with many demons and spirits that slunk out of the portal until now, so why should now be any different-

Oh. That was a dead boy at his feet.

Perhaps he should let Talia know she has a new son?

-

Chapter 1 - #355E3B

Chapter 2 - #78866B

Chapter 3 - #228B22

-

Concept designs - Jazz, Dani, Sam, and Tucker

-

Timeline from part 2! The full explanation can be found there.

[trash-gremlin]

could you imagine how good spirit animals would be if it wasn't written as a children's series

[ancha-aus]

RealAgeAU Drabble - Dawn

I am back because i got home from work and I got no chill! :D @spotaus

First one Prev drabble Next one

Okay. So why this one? Because i realised it was a while since i wrote a drabble from Horror's point of view and that is criminal and it is a great excuse for me to showcase some stuff from the quiet and very observing sockets of Horror! (also gives me an excuse to not think about the drabble order i got now and that thought i messed it up a bit which I need to think of a solution for)

Ready? Let's go!

*------------------------*

Horror makes sure to carefully close the door to the greenhouse. It is still early but he is used to those.

He enjoys the cool fresh air as he walks towards the house, small basket filled with fresh monster food. Horror is happy he got permission from Crop to harvest the plants in there for their meals.

He quietly opens the door and listens for a moment. He saw Cross leave the farm a little while ago to do his own morning workouts and by the sounds of it the other three are still asleep.

Which is good because he needs his own sleep. Horror knows very well that Dust is the one to wake up with Nightmare if something bothers him in his sleep.

He found the two of them awake and reading a book one too many times for Horror to believe they just had an allnighter.

Horror likes being up early. Maybe strange for him but he got used to it in his old universe. The best time to check his traps and search for food had been in the very early morning, or very late night depending on how you look at it, as most people would be asleep.

It is a leftover habit and he just kept going with it when he joined Nightmare's gang.

He puts the food away in all the right places and goes about getting the ingredients for todays breakfast. He notices the fresh milk and eggs and the choice is obvious. Some pancakes would be great.

He starts preparing the ingredients as he takes the time to measure it all. The milk makes him chuckle.

Watching Cross realises there was a cow had been funny. Finding Cross in a tree shaking with a cow under it had been hilarious. Crop ahd been apologetic as he explained that his cow, Betty (Killer had mutters "of course it is claled betty") was aparently mischievious.

Horror had his doubts but Cross swore that the cow would know when he left the farmhouse. That the cow would stand at the edge of her field and stare at him.

Cross did not go to the east side of the farm anymore. aparently that was Betty's territory in his mind.

Nightmare liked petting Betty however so you have your ups and downs.

Horror mixes the ingredients slowly but surely. Thinking about Nightmare, "Shouldn't you still be in bed?"

silence before a soft mutter "Not tired anymore."

Horror chuckles as he shoots Nightmare a look. He looks fully awake and adorable in his new wool sweater. Horror grins "God powers?"

Nightmare shrugs "I mean probably. I never needed sleep before. that is still new." They hadn't really noticed anything that could be connected to Nightmare's godhood at the moment. Maybe it had gone domant, at least that was Cross's guess. Dust just thinks Nightmare's magic is now focussed on healing instead of weird god shenenigans.

Speaking of healing! Horror gives him a stern look "bandages?"

Nightmare rolls his eye lights but mutters his answer "All still in place and good. Killer replaced them after the bath last night,"

Horror nods. With that secured he relaxes abit "Want to help?"

Nightmare is already by his side and stands on his tiptoes. Horror chuckles as he gives him a look "Need a chair?" he would offer a stepstool but the chair is more stable for him.

Nightmare looks at the counter annoyed before nodding his agreement. Horror grabs a chair and puts it near the counter. Nightmare climbs it easily.

Horror really wants to pick him up but they do have the rule that inside Nightmare should walk around himself to carefully train his spine. It is still much to early to already start carrying him. Horror knows that if any of them start they won't stop.

Nightmare reaches for the ingredients, some fruits for inside the pancakes, before pausing and staring at his sweater.

Nightmare has been very careful with his new gifted clothes. Horror himself is also very careful with the set of clothes Dust got him.

Horror frowns at the food he is making. He really hopes he can quickly find soemthing to do here to earn money. At the moment only Dust has something and it is starting to show, even Killer seems to be getting annoyed with himself over it.

Until now Horror and Cross helped around on Crop's farm. Which he was happy to do as it only seemed fair as a way to repay Crop for letting them stay. Horror has also been learning the basics about farming, farmland and farmwork from Crop. It is still a lot and not everything sticks in his skull, probably falling out of that hole. But he is getting better at it. He hopes with this Crop can maybe get the news out that both of them are more than willing to help around with heavy duty work and get a bit of cash flow.

Killer... Killer has a very specific set of skills. Sadly not specifically useful on a farm. Even if he is great with the animals and can herd pretty much anything, which is very useful but well. Most people won't let you near their animals unless they trust you and Killer is Killer.

Horror just feels bad that Dust is pretty much still Ngihtmare's main caretaker, got the rough end with the backstory they settled on, and has to deal with work to get cash. Only to spend all of it on them all.

Horror can see it is starting to wear him down. He just hopes they can figure out how to balance everything better.

It is another reason he loves these mornings. Because morning time means Dust, and Killer, both sleep in and Horror gets time to supervise their babybones. Horror adores the time wiht Nightmare. Especially when alone because then others don't watch them nervously the whole time.

It is exhausting to be seen as something dangerous even if he knows it is true. It is why they mean so much to him, they never treated him like that. None of them did.

A glance confirms that Nightmare has carefuly rolled up the sleeves and is taking extra care with cutting the fruits, using one of the duller knives which won't be able to cut bone. Horror turns back to getting everything else ready. He has to concentrate to push his intent into the food. He wants them to enjoy and like it. Feel the things he can't say to them.

Horror knows what he wants and feels but also knows none of them are ready to hear it. Horror has known that from the moment he realised what he felt was. The curse of being the only emotional stable one.

He still remembers all the way back near the start of them meeting and chuckles to himself. they did not get along at all.

Nightmare immediantly looks up "What is funny?" he looks adorably confused.

Horror thinks for a moment "Remember when you brought me in?"

Nightmare blinks before giving a slow nod "Yeah... I had hoped you would calm Killer and Dust."

Horror chuckles "Can't believe you thought i could do that."

Ngihtmare shrugs as he finishes up his task and just sits normally on the chair "I mean... It worked." his hands find the glass of juise Horror got him.

Horror pauses for a moment before nodding. Nightmare is kinda right with that one. It hadn't worked right away but he made it work. Mostly because he had had a lot of motivation.

Nightmare, still a fully active god at that point, had offered him that he would slowly but surely fix the food problem in his universe in trade for his service, something about it being too severe for him to be able to instantly fix but if Horror worked for him he would work on it. Horror had figured Nightmare had known about his little weird immortality situation with his own universe's core and accepted.

Turns out he just wanted him to fix whatever had been going on with Killer and Dust. Because they would fight. Constantly. And those two got very close to killing each other a few times.

Horror had eventually managed to somehow form a connection and bond with Killer. It had been rather easy and Horror was able to become friends with him over coworkers. Eventually find him not just annoying but funny. And later think fondly of his antics.

Dust took longer. Which had been a combination of Dust just being an introvert and not looking for connections or at least not in the way that made that clear to Horror. And well Horror heard bits and pieces of what Dust had done and had honestly been disgusted with the idea that Dust just murdered his whole universe and his own brother. Just to fight one human? Just to end a timeloop?

It was well after he managed to get them to stop, or at least contain the damage of, their fighting. Well after he started working for Nightmare more permanently that Horror realised how the multiverse worked.

And how fucking unfair it was.

Because aparently? stupid fate or some shit? That decided how your universe worked. His would always have ended up with a famine and starvation. Killer would always lose control and be controlled, abused and used by the human. Cross would always be the end of his universe. Dust... Dust would always have to kill his universe. No matter what he tried or solution he tried.

It wasn't until later Horror learned that Dust had tried everything. Multiple times. That Dust had learned to play multiple musical instruments in the time of resets. That he had learned to cook, and tinker. He master chemistry. Everything in the hopes it could give him a solution.

But the fates had already decided his ending, much like for all of them there was only one ending possible for them. And in the end locked him in a dead AU make by his own hands when no other options was left. Just like all of them had been.

Horror has to admit it took him a long time to get Dust to admit those things to him. Msotly because Horror had been standoffish before and that he accidentally gave Killer advice to treat Dust like one of the many stray cats he interact with.

He hadn't specifically said that. horror had just told Killer that maybe Dust would like Killer more, or at all, if Killer learned to respect his boundaries. Horror had mentioned how Killer could learn each cat's limits so why not Dust?

Worst part was that it actually worked.

Horror rubs his face "I give him cat advice." his voice sounds pained. Dust had been so mad at them both.

Nightmare nods "I remember. Dust left for three weeks." he snorts "which really is very catlike..." more thoughtful "And then you two got mad at me for not telling you where he went." He blinks and shrugs as he drinks from his orange juice.

Horror ignores the cat comment as he looks at Nightmare "Why didn't you tell us?" Dust had actually been recruited to help Nightmare with the balance. Something Horror only started to do after helping Killer and Dust be less homicidal.

Nightmare blinks at him wiht those wide sockets "I didn't want to force any of you... If you wanted to leave..." he speaks softer and softer "I wasn't going to stop you if you wanted to leave... if you didn't want to stay..."

Horror frowns and picks Nightmare up. He embraces him and hums "I am sorry we left..."

Nightmare shrugs as he pushes clsoer to him "You came back..."

hah... yeah they did. Much like Dust did all that time ago. He was gone for a few weeks before returning after killing Ink bringing back one of his fucking sketchbooks as proof. Obviously killing Ink does little in the long run but it was quite the powermove. Dust had glared at them daring to say anything. Killer of course had muttered something about Dust bringing back a kill much like a cat.

Horror is still not sure how he managed to stop Dust from Killing Killer that day.

Horror puts Nightmare at the table and gets a small yogurt and fruit snack ready for him. Just so he can eat a tiny bit. See how his magic will handle food today. Nightmare starts eating it when offered and that is a good sign. Means his magic is actually sending out the signal that it needs food today.

Horror goes back to flipping pancakes. Horror tries to stay in the here and now but his injury makes his mind likely to wander. and with already having been thinking about them.

He still remembers one of the early missions, after Horror learned about fates cruel games. Dust had still acted the same but Horror had tried to be more friendly. He had been close to giving up on it as clearly it wasn't working as Dust was still standoffish. Only for Dust to pull him out of the way of an attack from Ink, getting hit instead.

Later Horror had demanded why he did that and Dust had just shrugged. He hadn't had an answer for him. It confused Horror to no end. Horror was immortal because of that fact that his magic had been used in the core and bonded to that. Meaning as long as the core in his universe was fine he would return to life.

The gang had known this and Horror knew that Dust knew this. And yet. Dust had heard all of that and looked at the large monster Horror had become saw soemthing worth protecting. Something that needed protection.

Horror thinks he fell a little bit in love that day.

Much like how one day Horror just realised he couldn't stand the idea of not being near Killer or never seeing him again. That even if Killer could be annoying that he didn't wish him any pain or harm.

How it warmed his soul that Killer, and Cross later, would hide behidn him. Seeing him as someone safe that would protect them. See him as someone trustworthy.

Cross, so eager to please and desperate for affection and affirmation. but once he relaxed so smart and funny. Loyal and always ready to help...

But now is not the time to try and see what any of them thought or felt. They are dealing wiht a lot at the moment and they need to concentrate with trying to make staying here work.

The front door opens and Cross walks in quietly. He sneaks a glance at them and smiles when Horror catching him looking. Cross waves to Nightmare "Hey guys. All good?"

Horror nods "Nightmare helped." he flips another pancake as Nightmare drinks his juice with a smug little smile.

Cross grins "Good to hear. I will quickly get cleaned up and help. Dust and Killer?"

Nightmare hums "Still asleep." and he sips his juice again.

Cross nods "Good to know. be back in a bit" and he goes towards the bathroom. The pipes groan softly as Cross no doubt turns on the shower.

Horror finishes the last pancake and gets to wrok on getting the drinks and coffee ready.

Another day for them to figure out how this will work. Horror is just happy they are all here, everything else can wait as long as they stick together.

*-------------------------*

First one Prev drabble Next one

[starry-bi-sky]

more cfau miscellaneous things because Childhood Friends Danny and Jason have my head and heart always and I need to finish rewriting chapter two dammit (and redo the half-finished chapter 4 because its just Not The Vibes). i'm almost through I need to get through the graveyard scene. (i just stubbornly refuse to have it be shorter than the original chapter and thats the little death. that is the mind killer.)

Danny and jason’s ghost forms both smell faintly like burnt flesh and cigarettes. However, Jason has a more smokey smell while Danny’s smells almost,,, electrical? In a sense? Like he just straight up smells like burnt flesh and sulphur while Jason smells like someone put him in a smoker first.

It’s very much an unpleasant smell but Danny finds an odd comfort in it just as much as he finds a comfort in the smell of nicotine.

(Jason post-revival smells burnt flesh once and is immediately offput by the fact that it brings him an instinctive comfort. He doesn’t realize its because it reminds him of Danny, and is uncomfortable by it.)

-

In an au of an au, Danny’s altercation with Rath ends with Rath regaining enough of his sanity to snap out of the grieving state and ends with him breaking down. Instead of being souped and imprisoned, Rath, who is permanently 14, decides to Move On into the unknown. He’s exhausted, heartbroken, and tired.

(Is this influenced heavily by the ParaNorman scene where he talks to Agatha and helps her move on? Yes. But it doesn’t fit with the Original Storyline so im shoving it into an Au of an Au.)

Rath tells Danny that Jason lied to them (which he genuinely believes), and that he’s tired of waiting/looking for him/grieving. Jason is gone. He isn’t coming back, he abandoned them. And he wants his mom and dad, and his sister, and his friends. And he’s ready to join them.

He leads Danny out to Gotham, which other than Amity Park might’ve been the only city left untouched due to Rath’s own mental block on the place. They go out to the park he and Jason used to frequent or up to one of crime alley’s rooftops, and there Rath lies down and goes to sleep. Only to never wake up again, materializing into nothing as his soul moves on.

Before Rath leaves, he forces Danny to promise him that he’ll only wait for Jason for ten years. After that if he doesn’t find him, or if Jason doesn’t show, then Danny has to move on. Whether that be like how Rath does, or if its inly mentally/emotionally, doesn’t matter. He has to move on. Don’t wait for him. Don’t waste his time any more.

(“Oh, and if you find him, kick his ass for me.”)

Danny reluctantly agrees, and Rath lies down. Danny sings to him as he falls asleep.

(Angsty points if the vigilantes including Red Hood caught wind of their presence and were silently watching from the shadows. Rath might know they’re there, but Danny’s too focused on Rath to notice.)

(If only so that Red Hood realizes that this is what happened to Danny, and that Danny is gone before he can make things right. The tragedy, folks. The angst. The initial realization that Danny was Rath, and then also that Danny was dead and has been dead for years, and that before he moved on, he moved on believing that Jason abandoned him.)

(like i said it doesn't fit in the original timeline/storyline hence why its an au of an au and isn't nearly a fleshed out, but i was largely just focusing on the tragedy of Rath moving on and Jason being alive to see it and realize just who Rath is.)

-

Just like how the Lazarus pits shot Jason's twiggy 4'6-5'4 (depending on what you find) feet tall and 86lb ass up like a tree an essentially fixed his malnutrition, the portal did the same thing for Danny.

(granted i forgot about malnutrition and danny's likely stunted growth at first -- his family lived in crime alley and despite both his parents working, I don't think they had enough food all the time. He probably wasn't as badly malnourished as Jason was, but he wasn't healthy either.)

Granted his ghost in its "natural" state (14) is short, and his growth spurts were slow at first, it did result in him reaching his dad's height. There were points where it just happened overnight, like a baby. He went to bed one night 5’6 and woke up the next day 5’10.

Jazz is shorter than him. Although I have't decided if she's even liminal at all (and if she is, it didn't cure everything because she would have also suffered childhood malnutrition, and since in au canon their parents didn't get their hands on physical ectoplasm until after they got to Amity Park. So the exposure is less.)

-

Danny's voice absolutely sounds like canon Dan's. It kinda just dropped one day when he was 16-17 and never went back up. Sam and Tucker sometimes ask him to just talk about anything because they find his voice soothing.

I'm not sure yet how Danny would feel about it at first considering Rath, but I imagine that Rath, when he did speak, would have had a quieter and scratchier/weaker voice considering he's spent the last decade shrieking and crying.

(and i suppose technically that shouldn't have any effect on his throat considering he's a ghost and idk if that would actually affect him, but i like the idea so im keeping it)

In the beginning you could hear him from a mile away by the sound of his loud, echoing wails, but ten years later you can only really hear him by the soft, shuddering sobs he makes. Like he's gasping for air that isn't there. The future is full of very quiet survivors.

And it's much easier to speak when you pitch your voice upwards (especially when whispering/speaking quietly) so he might've spoken in a higher, airy pitch in order to be heard. So Danny might actually find a comfort in having a lower voice.

[unsat-and-strange]

jonny d'villes heart ticks audibly. the crew can hear it during the few and far between quiet moments on board the aurora. it's so steady, tick tick tick, a reminder that he is there and they are all alive together, never speeding up or slowing down. sometimes they joke about using it as a metronome during practice.

jonnys heart ticks. he can hear it every waking moment. tick tick tick. it never slows down, even in the deepest sleep according to the rest of the crew. it never speeds up even when his blood is more adrenaline then actual blood, times when normal peoples hearts would be racing. whether he's laughing his ass off or terrified for his life (I guess old habits die hard?) it. never. speeds. up. sometimes it's fine, he can ignore it but there are days when the constant tick tick tick tick tick tick tick is too much. the days when he has to drown out the sound with gunfire and screams or music loud enough to make his ears bleed. some days even that barely cuts it and he debates putting a bullet in his head just to make it quiet for a few hours. the rest of the crew has gotten pretty good at recognizing those days, and they know how to help him get through them, just like he knows how to help his crew through their bad days. nastya will bring him into the near deafening engine room and theyll play with power tools until their hands are covered in grease and grit, or Tim will sit him down on a speaker and play the bass so loud the whole ship can feel it, or Marius and raphaella will tell him about unethical medical practices they've witnessed/performed or Brian will just hold him close until the rhythms of the metal man's body distract from the tick tick tick tick of his own heart. the constant tick of immortality is loud. jonny can't deny his luck in finding a crew that is almost always louder.

[off-the-rails-raccoon]

I love idea of ghostbur just looking terrifying.

Not like scary looking like cdrm but somewhat in the way uncanny valley is

YESSS!!! I've always been obsessed with the idea that ghostbur looks uncanny and odd in a way that people generally find hard to place but they know for sure something isn't right. I usually try to make this effect appear by playing up the whole ghost/corpse thing, and just basing his appearance off of how I think cWil would look as he was being buried. For example: The sword wound still looks fresh and new but there's flakes of dried blood around it, his skin is disturbingly pale and chalky, his eyes are slightly sunk in, and they seem to have dulled and appear glassy. Plus, I also like to think that being a ghost in the overworld has slightly warped his body, so minor differences have occurred that most people would miss but those close to him.

[wannabe-minion-of-chaos]

Watches video on cosmic horror

Alright now how can I relate this to Kenny

[sameboot]

Permanently tormented by my desire to share the plot and development and arcs that my oc stories involve except that that would take an insane amount of work and skill that I don’t have. Laying down and dying…………. can u guys look into my brain and see it instead

[cxptainthree]

Mancando Doloroso

It was his fifth, maybe sixth attempt at climbing the Spire.

The shooter in his hands felt weighty and unwieldy; he knew his way around a splattershot, sure, but this one was hard to manage. Every shot left him feeling drained.

"It's a part of their soul," Marina had supplied so helpfully when Sen confided the heaviness the weapon provided.

He didn't think Delta had had so much to weigh on them to make this sleek white shooter feel like lead in his hands. It made him feel...actually, he wasn't sure how to feel. So, he doubled down and didn't let himself dwell on it.

The floor ahead loomed, cast in harsh flourescent light; even from behind the bars of a silver cage, Sen could see his opponent waited on the opposite side of the room.

There were two to start, this time. The twentieth floor was never kind, the fragmentation more severe. It made Sen's chest ache. The cage dropped out from under him, and Pearl caught him without hesitation.

She rambled off something he wasn't listening to and must have realized his attention lie elsewhere because she fell silent halfway through her sentence. The unusual stop almost jerked Sen back to the present, but he was determined.

The first of the masked inklings dropped in, wielding a brush. Its shiny metal face flashed as it swung at Sen, red eyes faulting for a moment as they searched for where he'd dropped into his own ink.

Swiftly, Sen lunged up from the muted orange ink, grappling one-handedly with the opposing inkling. He stuck his foot out; they tripped over it, stumbling, and it gave Sen purchase to wrench the brush out of their hands.

"Delta," he said firmly, pulling the inkling out of the sickly black ink they were standing in and into his own. The masked inkling tilted their head, trying to shove him away.

"Stop," Sen pleaded, low voice insistent. "Delta, I want to help you."

The inkling shook their head, voice warped by the smooth metal mask on their face. The heavy ink coating their body wavered, damaged by Sen's own. The octoling squeezed their wrist, mouth ajar to say something else, when they fell apart into a puddle of ink that stuck to his palm and oozed between his fingers, into the white of his shoes.

Sen jolted back, returning his grip to the shooter in his hands. The weight of it made him want to cringe, as the second of his opponents finally caught up to him. The ex-agent didn't hesitate to strike the roller down; the expression on his face easily read as disturbed.

Pearl whizzed close to his ear, making Sen tilt his head to avoid the blades of the drone's propeller.

"Hey!" She bumped into his shoulder purposefully. "Eight, c'mon. Get your head in the game!"

Sen opened his mouth and shut it again, widening his stand. The next wave was starting. He had to get through to at least one of them.

A blaster-wielding copy of the inklings from before rushed him, it's shots popping in the space between them and spattering slick black ink across the empty ground. Sen had neglected to claim any turf between waves; he was paying for it now.

The blaster gave him no room to get in close, and Sen shot them down without a second thought. It didn't get any easier to watch them succumb to the onslaught and their body liquefy into an unrecognizable stain on the floor.

Sen peppered off a few shots, hiding the evidence of the kill. He rounded on the next - a slosher insistent on trying to cover as much ground as possible. The octoling gritted his beak, grinding his fangs together. He threw caution to the wind and rushed the slosher.

The cloying black ink sprayed over him, seeping through his armor and shattering some pieces of the holographic tech. Regardless, Sen got what he wanted; he raised his knee quickly, jostling the slosher out of his adversary's hands. It clattered uselessly to the ground.

The inkling paused and drew their hands to their chest. They ran.

"No!" Sen lunged after them, giving chase, but the inkling pitched over the side of the platform and into the endless abyss below. Sen went off the side after them.

His hand caught in the deployed handle Pearl had to offer, and with some difficulty, she righted him on the platform of the room again. The drone deployed a bomb, which bounced to the feet of an approaching brella. It got caught in the brella's shield and exploded, spraying orange ink into the face of another masked inkling.

That one pitched backward, sinking unceremoniously into a puddle of ink.

"Eight," Pearl's projected eyes narrowed. "What's going on? Come on, take care of this!"

Sen waved the drone off. He was running out of chances.

"I have to get one of them alone," he looked up at Pearl, who wavered in midair; she was unsure of where he was going with this.

Pearl tilted up in the direction of the enemy cage, already bringing along another brush. "You got it."

Sen nodded. The octoling was glad to have her support.

The brush was another bust; this one never even made it to him, caught in his ink. Briefly, Sen wished he hadn't invested in those poison ink chips, wanting to tear them right out of the palette if it meant he could get his hands on one of these masked inklings.

The roller gave him more trouble than he'd admit, tracking wide swaths of black ink across the floor that had Sen frustrated. He gunned them down out of impulse and moved on.

Pearl, to her credit, tried to get the blaster in a corner. Unfortunately, she lost track of them under a swarm of jelletons that the enemy drone deployed. Occupying herself as a sprinkler to try and cover ground, Pearl didn't notice the blaster until it had already fallen prey under a poorly-placed bomb. Sen watched the altercation out of the corner of his eye and resolved to forgive her botched effort.

He was down to the dualies and the shooter; the latter seemed to have perched at the top platform, watching Sen's desperate display from the safety of its ledge. He had no doubt they'd come down and face him when they were good and ready.

The dualies certainly were eager to take a shot at him, and their mobility gave Sen a real run for his money. He struggled to keep up.

The octoling frowned to himself, sidestepping as the inkling came rolling right past him. He lunged at them, knocking one dualie out of their hand and pushing them down on uninked ground.

Pearl hovered nearby, spinning nervous circles. The shooter-wielding inkling watched from above.

Sen pinned his target's chest under his hips, knee dug painfully into their wrist.

"Delta," he pleaded for what felt the dozenth time since he started this endeavor. "Please, I don't want to fight you."

He dropped his shooter aside. The absence of weight as it left his hands had Sen feeling more confident. His fingertips traced the edge of the inkling's mask, and they stopped struggling.

Sen's hearts sank in his chest. The seam of the mask was completely smooth, as if the shiny metal had been fused into their face.

"No," he mumbled, trying to dig his claws down. The inkling under him writhed as thin beads of black ink pushed up around his sharp nails. "No, no, no. Delta, please."

The inkling tried to kick him off, and Sen nearly let them. He tried again to pry up the mask, and it was starting to give. The octoling slid his fingertips under the edge as it rose. His mouth watered unpleasantly as more black ink oozed out from under the mask, frighteningly warm. It stuck to the inside of the mask as he pried it off.

There was nothing underneath. The inkling splattered into a puddle under his knees.

"Eight!" Pearl warned, deploying a suction bomb.

Instantly, Sen grabbed his shooter and rolled to the side. The enemy shooter had joined the fight with a massive splashdown.

Sen's vision blurred. He wanted to be sick. He didn't have time.

"Looking for me?" The inkling's voice warbled.

Sen got to his feet. The shooter was approaching casually; unsure, Sen's body tensed as he waited for the inevitable attack. It didn't come. Pearl puttered nervously nearby.

"Sen," the voice went on, as the inkling toed the line of Sen's orange ink. "Come here."

He shook his head and gripped tight on his shooter so much that he nearly squeezed the trigger on accident. A part of him wasn't sure if he was refusing the order or warning them not to step into his ink in its poisoned state.

The inkling pressed on, beginning to struggle through the ink towards Sen. It was clear they were taking damage.

"Delta," he breathed as the inkling adversary suddenly dropped their weapon. This had never happened before. Why now? "Please, let me - let me help you."

"Sen," Delta's voice skipped and pitched in weird ways, "Sen it hurts, please - make it stop - where's Gamma?"

Then sharp static cut through their voice, and Delta's head rolled to the side limply. They fell to their knees, silvery mask beginning to slide off their face. Tarlike ink oozed against it as the metal clattered to the floor, still connected by thick ropes of viscous ink.

Delta's body dropped limply to the floor. Sen sank to their side, weapon discarded; his hands pulled fistfuls of their blackened jacket into his grasp.

He begged, quietly, for them not to disappear; even if he knew that they'd fight again. He wouldn't be able to explain it to Gamma: that he'd failed, that he was going to fail again and again and again.

Over, and over, and over and over again.

Delta's body was quickly liquefying under his touch, a thin veneer of semi-transparent ink floating atop the thick black. Sen's stomach churned as he recognized it as blood.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

genuine question but is there any fandom where a character is well written by the majority. im thinking about fandom culture and the spread of frustration when people dont write characters well but. honestly in all the fandoms ive been in there's only like, a Select number of authors who i trust to write Well, let alone write Well AND In Character. character analysis and writing and getting inside characters' heads are all separate skills (all of which are trained by roleplaying fyi can CONFIRM playing pretend with your friends is good for you). there's been more than once where I've disagreed with an interpretation that others agreed with, and then I turned out wrong. or i turned out right. like it doesnt matter WHO is right it just matters that differences in character analysis exist, so even if you DO write well AND write in character, your in character is still going to be someone else's out of character

there's this sort of. vibe. that to play in the sandbox you Need to be able to make a castle, and if you can't make a castle then you shouldn't bother, and it completely dismisses the idea that youre in that sandbox to PLAY in the first place. there's this Weight of disappointing someone if you can't build something that they like, but that forgets that you aren't there to build them a castle. like, be KIND. if you disagree with someone then please make an effort to do so kindly. i dont give a shit about fandom discourse but there is a reason kids get removed from sandboxes if they keep throwing sand in people's eyes. but if they don't like your misshapen sand pile, then youre not obligated to change it. even if you yourself end up hating that same sand pile later- youre not building a legacy. youre playing. and sometimes the result of that play is out of character drivel. theres a reason there are so many authors and so few who i like to consistently read and thats because everyone is Fucking Around in their hobby space. hash tag brag or whatever but i can build castles. ive built several that im v proud of. ive also dug holes in the sand for fun and then tripped on them when trying to get up. I often dug a hole and then got up and fucking- whoops, its a castle now, and i didn't realize i'd made something to be proud of until after the fact. the whole time while creating shit i was Convinced it was bullshit that didn't make sense. and then other times i was Convinced it was bullshit and then i was Right and i can look back and go. huh. ew. but it doesn't matter what the end result was, because i had fun playing in the sandbox

this wasn't meant to turn into a ramble but i have Feelings about bad art and art that's badly perceived and how public perception can screw with your head and how making art youre proud of is fucking. it's so difficult!!! it's hard!! it's really fun, which is why i try to make it, but i promise you it is Okay to not tryhard creativity. even if you CAN, it's okay not to do it all the time. or ever, even. fuck around find out have fun etc

[ccaptain]

''Kaeya Alberich'' and his Experience in becoming a ''being'':

Now that we have thrown the bases for what a ''being'' essentially is, how it works and the hierarchy of the Fictionologist, we can talk about ''Kaeya''. Or better: we can talk about what happened before he took the identity upon himself.

He was a bright child with a different name and different looks than what he's known for now, with nothing but Gallagher and Siobhan in his life after the former came to take him away from his crumbling homeplanet and took him to the reverie, where he grew taken care of and prepared as a future Emanator.

There was a fruitful journey ahead of him trying to save humanity from a past mistake that the people of his homeplanet made. It seemed to him like a big adventure at his age. After all the preparations, I want to say that he felt ready and excited, without the jitters of fear poisoning the experience.

I really want to say that. But he was indeed a bit afraid, because it started small. Small, sudden, and a much advanced age that he predicted it would happen- so he was fully developed into his own person, when the process began. It's always more difficult when it starts at this point, when an individual has already manifested with his own personality.

Slowly, very slowly- he realized that situations that would have drawn an emotional response out of him- a startled cry of fear at a particulary horrific scene in an horror movie, a long coming-from-the-belly laugh due to his dad's antics, bursting into tears for something emotional- slowly stopped doing that. It happened so gradually, with the startled cries reduced to a jolt, with the full laughs that he had into a polite chuckle, with the sobbing simply a watering of the eyes that could be easily subdued with a small distraction.

He attributed this to a shift of interests as he was growing, starting to use logic to justify things changing with him having no power to stop them. He tried to watch increasingly horrifically horror movies, to chase funnier things to make himself laugh, and to cause himself anger- but the response was always lacking. He understood what that meant- but it wasn't, by no means, less scary to see it finally happening.

He started to lose appetite and thirst as time went on. He no longer needed food to survive, and it didn't mattered if he really ate or drank healthy or unhealthy things- he has tried to drink motor oil, to draw a reaction out of his body, and didn't left any significant effects on him except for a slight queasiness that passes fast. Three days without sleeping at night didn't affected him in the slightest, either. when he tried to go on for a week, the result was much the same. He kept experimenting with how long he could go without any sort of rest, and found out that it no longer mattered- he could have ceased sleeping all together, and still would have kept going.

Who was before ''Kaeya'' started experimenting with what his limits were, and found himself unstoppable. There was no pain in physical harm- no blood was shed from a gash or cut. He developed an amazing capacity at physical recovery, the grey materia floating around the wounded area before starting to reattach and reform it in place, with the worst wounds having to be cured by the water of the Misty Sea. He didn't knew how to react to this change- only that it was what he was supposed to happen. But, until now, it was all things that were supposed to happen, mild things he could handle.

Then, the real deterioration started. And he had no way to stop it.

In situations where he would have once known what to say, words started to slip between his fingers as he was about to say them. He found himself stopping mid-sentence increasingly often, distracted on either an object or another line of thoughts, unable to pick the previous one back up.

He was no longer able to recognize social cues given to him or shown around him unless all of his focus was on analyzing them out of people- and by doing that, he was forgetting himself and furthering the process of burning away. With time, simple sentences became mono-syllabic responses with no emotions in them. And after some more time, he only knew how to be silent and stare, deeply engrossed in analyzing behaviors he no longer recognized as his own, avid to learn those back.

Time also seemed to slow down for him- an entire night would pass and find him busying himself with any task he could do to keep his mind off things, feet constantly in movement, body consistently busy with something. Mostly reading- mostly fixing things. Mostly tidying things. Righting. Steadying. 

The exact things he could not do to himself. It was him coping with events in his life. It still is, to this day.

He had started to forget what his biological parents looked or sounded like. But that mattered little, for Gallagher as his father and mentor was all that he knew and all that he would need to know. This was the thing that worried him less- the memories of a terrifying event just before happiness came in the form of Gallagher and Siobhan and the reverie, and parties, and his mentor's creepy tricks being taught by him, and chocolate milkshakes until he was being scolded by her for drinking too many and getting a tummy ache.

He felt less and less human every year that passed.

Every month, a little less. Every week, less. Every day, even less. Instead of asking, which he no longer could do, for a comfort that he was no longer sure what it meant, he started to simply letting himself float in a mildly awed haze at how the process of becoming a non-human Emanator worked.

And when one day he rose from his bed, as he did every other morning after a sleepless night. He looked at his hands and thought that they were no longer his. This was not his body, not anymore. This was not him, and never would be again- as what that he remembered being ''him'' had left.

So it began the first stage of a ''being''.

While I make this sound fast-paced and linear, this change in who he was before ''Kaeya'' took place over many, many years- from his teenagerhood well into his adulthood in terms of human years, at the very least, and certaintly much earlier before he even considered becoming ''Kaeya'' at all- so ''it'' had no avatar to take as its identity, hindering the process of reacquiring the traits he had lost.

By now, he was simply a vague human-like shaped figure that existed, two burning, mismatched diamonds as eyes the only sign of who he was.

( one of ''it''s earliest memories is seeing Siobhan staring back at him, and falling to her knees a moment after, numb. It remembers hearing her ask what have we done to him, Gallagher? what have we done? and him quietly answering our job to her; not understanding why she sounded so sad and defeated.

This is one of the reasons that the present Kaeya avoids coming home too much. )

There's something so, so uncanny about him having lost the qualities that made ''it'' human. Many Fictionologists coming to see it thought so, too.

Despite ''it'' being assigned to the Fictionologist ''Gallagher'' ever since human, many others were curious about the newly-born ''being'' as usual. Unfortunately, the ''being'' was also curious about them as if any other ''being'' trying to relearn itself- it never brought harm to anyone, but how it moved and expressed itself were... uncontrollably creepy, and vastly different from other ''beings'' known until now, who would be still until approached and would limit themselves to staring back.

Even from afar, it would cover the distance between the curious and unfortunate soul trying to approach it by what was essentially bending reality to shift from place to place- not quite a teleport, but moving in an incredibly fast way and making the air where it stood move strangely around itself. It would stand uncomfortably close to the person, almost nose to nose, tilting its head in fast movements and angling it to avidly study their expression and reactions. Curious Fictionologists were being slowly circled around, studied by ''it'' when they wanted to be the one studying, and found it uncomfortable. ''It'' would crane its neck abnormally close to their face, admiring the changes and shifts in their expressions without a single sound- just two mismatched diamonds that felt like burns into their soul. Many human Fictionologists would walk away from the experience a bit shaken, despite having reported to sense no hostility coming from the ''being''- just a deep curiosity. But for the ones who usually studied, to be studied in return was a shock.

Despite the initial fear, it was still a ''being'' and had to learn, too. So it was allowed to stand in the shadows as long as it didn't interrupted anyone's work, admiring others at work with its head slighty tilted to the side. Admiring their reactions, their usual routines, their precision.

The ''humanswatching'' had begun.

It started with old movies, podcasts, television programs and series. It would curl on the couch and be left alone for hours to perouse various medias, one after the other. Never tired. Never stopping. One after another until it could get its hands on more. It rewinded movies endless times or played those from the middle until satisfied- until it could successfully mimick a behavior, or an emotion it liked, until it was ingrained in its brain how to reproduce it. It would parrot phrases and tones of voices for hours, if it wanted to.

( Siobhan would often sit beside it, bringing what used to be her sweet baby boy a bowl of chocolate ice cream, to get him used back to the taste. You're going to eat so much of this, when you get better at this whole ordeal.

Perhaps this is why it's still Kaeya's favorite dessert to eat. )

It was during a curious trip in the Memokeepers territory that he found a particular dreambubble. A dreambubble depicting what was known as Teyvat, a planet long by destroyed, and the lives of many people. Inside the bubble, there was a cobalt-haired individual that caught its attention. This is a story that has been explained already- how ''it'' became not Kaeya Alberich, but ''Kaeya Alberich''.

He roused from a light slumber in a body that felt comfortable, yet uncomfortable at the same time.

When he stammered to the bathroom mirror, thrown off by the sudden shift of height, a different yet familiar face was staring at him with the same, slighty surprised expression that he was sporting.

He looked at his hands, and had the thought of these hands are the hands of my good friend, Kaeya. I'd better keep them safe.

He watched the callouses over the palms of his new hands, the complex lines human anatomy drew in his new palms, digits that moved to his command- he rolled a long strand of blue hair around his fingers, marveling at the softness of it, and admired old scars that he knew the stories of. He tilted his head to admire the complex shell of his ear, the earring weighting his lobe down with a new, curious sensation. He ran a finger over the softness of his eyebrows, the slighty crooked line of his nose, the moles on what he could see of his new body- and then, he locked eyes with who was in the mirror.

An human stranger was returning his mismatched look of puzzlement among cobalt locks.

His shoulders sagged with relief.

When ''Kaeya'' exited his room and went back home to the reverie, he could speak like an human again. He had another voice and another appearence entirely, somehow that mattered so little but so much at the same time.

He looked at his father and mentor, hesitated in contemplation of what to say, and then turned towards Siobhan. He said ''I'm back, mom. I'm sorry I made you worry.''

( For once she didn't reminded him of not calling her mom. She just held him so hard she almost bruised the new skin he had. )

The aftermath is known. He was dressed fashionably by Siobhan, and sent to the journey he was so excited about as a kid, to pursue his goal.

Millennias would come to pass with ''Kaeya'' traveling among planets to learn anything he could- from human to animal behavior, from math to physics, from cooking to singing to playing an instrument, learning a sport, to fix things, to keep himself occupied when Mythos didn't signaled him the proximity of a memory to fog. He kept himself busy and always occupied, busy and always moving. He re-learned emotions. He has met with people, and came to understand many things regarding humanity. But not himself.

He is, now and until major forces strip this identity away from him, ''Kaeya Alberich'': an identity in which he's both comfortable and uncomfortable with in in a bittersweet way ad that he's familiar with- his old self has been burned away permanently, with a few problems along the way: the goal he chases is becoming empty, guided by the memories of a planet he once recalled fondly a distant, hazy dream-like thought at the back of his mind.

There's no fall back plan, no identity to come back to: becoming a ''being'' has burned who he was away forever. It's been such a long time he spent existing that he remembers nothing before the man called ''Gallagher'' took him as one of his strays, and grew him as his own son- and the adventures he underwent after acquiring his new identity. The Enigmata took everything away from him, and gave very little back but a new identity he had to discover- and powers he could have never imagined for himself.

''Kaeya'' had no choice but to take what was offered.

And even after he took what made him comfortable enough, if asked about his past, there'd be some hesitation and shame in admitting that... no, he remembers nearly nothing of it. Only the idea of his birth planet, but not his bio parents, not whatever struggle he may have had to face when the Great Catastrophe hit. All that he remembers is the present, and his journey as a ''being'' of the Enigmata.

While it may feel like something to dodge a conversation, Kaeya's expression would reveal no lie being told- nothing of the sort. Simply shame and confusion for missing memories. Worse: a ''being'' that remembers can become the worst enemy of itself. Was Kaeya to finally remember who he was in his entirety before the process of becoming a ''being'', he would simply cease to exist.

Such is the life under Mythus.

It's an... interesting topic for conversation. Perhaps in front of a campfire, with the right questions and amount of patience necessary to discuss it.

[moritashie]

I HAD A FIC IDEA vol #12

Peter and tony fight some robot, straight out of a night terror. Once the blood is spilled and the machine is detained, Tony wants to study it. Despite the fact that the nightmare-ish thing has almost killed him.

Peter asks tony to get rid of it, dismantle it as soon as possible, since

a) it almost killed Tony

b) he is simply terrified of it's devilish appearance.

Tony lets out a sound Peter perceives as an approving "mhm".

Tony doesn't get dismantle the robot.

Peter's sense doesn't stop tingling

[wereaddison]

Wild ass idea I got that’ll probably never be made cause I suck at writing

Doise and Peddito TF fic where only the Peddito Tfee gets the MC/Identity Death treatment and it ends on a cliffhanger where the Peddito guy is about to kill the Doise guy while Doise it’s trying desperately to talk them out of it all “Stop! It’s me! Don’t you remember?”-style

[ominous-feychild]

You're laughing. You just exposed your necromancy by raising a bunch of corpses, a woman we just watched get brutally murdered has crawled out of the trash chute like the monster from Grudge, and you're laughing.

[night-stalking]

The writing in the original Alan Wake never really blew me away, like, it was fun, but very much of its time

Nevertheless, I'm so excited whenever stuff from the original comes into Alan Wake 2 (and naturally, there's quite a bit of it)

Also Alan is literally so skrunkly in the sequel, give that man a bath and 13 blankets, he's been through so much 🥺