#playing with the gang was so silly

[gaymars97]

He is. Watching the Tee Vee

[headslikekites]

🐟🔁

[lulady030]

That one Haunted House meme : SEES edition

[somegrumpynerd]

Do you think it bothers Dust that Killer doesn't seem to have any remorse for doing the same things that haunt him in a very literal way? Do you think it bothers Killer that Dust pretends not to feel anything when he's lost the luxury of feeling? Do you think it bothers Horror to hear that Cross was raised with his Alphys like a sister when his betrayed him? Do you think it bothers Cross that Horror is part of the gang when he still has an au and people to go back to, where Cross feels like he'll never have his again? Do you think Nightmare gets them all happy meals when they've been good?

[reddeadsredhead]

Genuinely love how excited Tilly is at the beginning of Sean's return party. The way she squeals "SEAN :D" Also the little "I'd like to see you try" like she genuinely thinks he's so fun/funny and is so openly happy to have him back. I'd love to see them do a mission together or even just have more interactions :)

[shannonsketches]

Z-Crew in a competitive escape room scenario in which they have to use teams but Vegeta and Bulma are not allowed to team up for several reasons so they both immediately call dibs on Gohan but he teams up with Piccolo while they’re arguing over who gets him so Geets volunteers Goku to Bulma’s team and picks up Krillin and runs away before she can say no

[sallymew4]

"Such a massive skull....

It must be hiding an equally massive brain!"

TerukiWeek 2024, Day Five

Hair AND Trauma...

[alt-wannabe]

i had a vision

[shizunitis]

I think half of this fandom got wife-beamed by Shen Yuan, any comments on this tumblr user Shizunitis?

i acknowledge no such events, myself. i don’t need some narrative device or convenient trope or genre convention or whatever to fall in love with shizun. i’m sure there are people out there whose affections needed some prompting or a helping had to get going, but. like. couldn’t be me.

it’s not about the wife beam. it’s not even about what i want from shizun, or in what light i see him, or what he’s done for me, or any of that. it’s the very core of him, the tangle of contradictions and avoidant, endearing paths he takes in his navigation of the world around him, how he clings to it and the people around while adamantly claiming he isn’t.

he fucks up, and he’s snarky, and he’s a bit out of pocket at times, and that’s the most endearing part of him. the acting and the self-reprobations and his own wisdom, which he always overlooks or bats away, and the fumbling and the way every one of his action betrays just how easily his mask can crumble the more he’s made to fight for what he cares for, and how at the end of the day between his own pride and the love guiding his every action, it’s always the pride that he discards first.

also, he’s got a case of rejection sensitivity that would, and does, put both binghe’s and mine to shame.

a wife beam is, in itself, a… filter? i’m not sure how to put it, but a wife beam is too… inauthentic. as the reader hitching a ride in shizun’s brain (which thinking about makes me feel faint and like i’m about to burst with joy and entirely not normal about the whole thing) it’s kind of… impossible, i wanna say, to be fooled by its effects in any meaningful way.

it’s like putting on glasses just a bit different from your own prescription (guess who’s sleep deprived and doesn’t know how to put words together again. you get no prize and you have to feel sorry for me)—the shapes are there, but the exact definition of what you see is not right. the “wife beam” is not doing justice to shizun’s true self.

shizun is shizun. shen yuan or shen yuan as shen qingqiu, whichever, it’s the core of him that matters, and the wife beam makes him seem too… ideal. too untouchable. it’s like cling film. bothersome and unhelpful outside very specific circumstances and we all know shizun doesn’t belong in the kitchen. where he belongs is for me to think about while laying on the floor at 10am on a friday.

or, put in another, more obnoxious way:

this here is a naturally occuring phenomenon; every binghe loves every shizun, and i’m not about to betray the cause or turn away from my nature.

rate this for coherence i give it a solid 6.5 right now. i did a great job, considering.

[absolutely-not-my-main-blog]

I sincerely think if Dennis Reynolds and Jeff Winger were to makeout, it would benefit them both immensely, in fact, it’d be good for their health

[doodlebeeberry]

Can you tell us about the structural quirk? Im interested!

YAY im so glad you asked! i hope your ready for several paragraphs of object show conlang silly stuff annon.

this got pretty long so i put it under a readmore. i also added a couple doodle is there for fun and to hopefully make some of it a little clearer hehe

(btw this ask is in reference to my notes on this abt a quirk with a word i used in the drawing)

So! Something of relevance to keep in mind about Roadspeak, as ive taken to calling it, is its function in the world of fwd: itself. in-universe it is kind of similar to something like Esperanto, both being kinda constructed languages that arent spoken by any one country or group as a main language (nor are they meant to be). The creation process for both, though, was different. While Esperanto was created explicitly for the purpose of being a lingua franca (or universal second language, if you prefer) Roadspeak, despite becoming one, uh, wasn't.

It developed among traders, travelers, merchants and similar groups as a means of bridging gaps in communication between both customers and peers when out on the road. This is where the name Roadspeak comes from--its the speak of the road! it is a very clever name i know.

(in particular, it formed by means of just...smashing languages together and jumbling up their sounds, words, and grammatical rules. into a big melting pot of mess. not going into detail on this for brevity's sake but it makes for some Mess lol)

As such, Roadspeak is considered first and foremost a language of travel and commerce. Though its used for many, many other things now, thats is what its purpose was and is deep deep down at its core, which gets reflected in its vocab and rules. One particular quirk is in the way some verbs are sort-of conjugated.

See, Roadspeak is a gender neutral language (as objects in fwd dont have genders) as well as an object-type neutral one. Rather, verb forms are decided by the position and/or direction of the subject carrying out the verb relative to the direct object, or the tlaow and lors as they call it. usually this is done by using one or two prefixes slapped onto the base/non-finite verb.

the tlaow (position) comes first and is also generally the less important one. you pull from a different prefix set depending on what your direct object is: if its a person/animal/inanimate thing, youd use something more like below, above, left, right, in front, so on. for a place though you use cardinal directions like north/south/east/west while concepts like numbers or thoughts are exempt from tlaow conjugation all together. some dialects of roadspeak kinda just forgo the tlaow entirely sometimes, this one is a liiiitle be optional, but still get used and taught.

the lors (direction) comes second. Unlike tlaow, this only pulls from one set of prefixes regardless of what the object is: forwards, backwards, sideways, around, upwards, and downwards. this is also seen as more of a requirement when conjugating in most applicable circumstances.

Its worth noting that not all verbs get conjugated on the basis of tlaow and lors. Generally this only applies to action verbs, and only ones that are viewed as being more physical, for lack of better term, or as occurring in a direction as a necessity. run, jump, fall, reach, grab, dance, all these kinds of words would be conjugated. think, sing, blink, dream, sell (sometimes), be, words like this dont really need to be conjugated. you still can, but its not ungrammatical or anything.

as an example, look at the sentence "Sweet sits with Mp3."

plopping this into Roadspeak's structure, you'd need to figure out what sweet's position is relative to mp3, and what direction she moved when she sat. if she sat down alongside them, (and also noting that, in roadspeak, the position of the subject and object are flipped in a sentence) then the sentence would literally translate to "Mp3 beside-downwards-sits Sweet". Meanwhile, if she sits up in front of them, it would be "Mp3 front-upwards-sits Sweet". If all you know is that she sat down, though, then youd just say "Mp3 downwards-sits Sweetie".

does that make sense? I hope it does! heres another example, this time using actual Roadspeak:

(yes this is just the daily that spurned this ask lol)

the letters there read "jodit mi pavirrthol me!" with the verb in this case being "pavirrthol," or forward-give. "thol" means give, which is considered an tlaow/lors verb. When you present someone with something, you are giving it to them in a forward-facing, direct sense, so you would use "pavirr-" for the directional/lors. However, while the use of 'you' would imply the use of a tlaow prefix, theres no way for them to actually know what their position is relative to you when speaking here. Are they below you? in front? its impossible for them to know! so instead, the tlaow prefix is skipped entirely due to that lack of info. this leaves us with the word "pavirrthol" !

and thats the long and short of it! tldr: the quirk is that the word "pavirrthol" is conjugated on the basis of direction and position, but doesnt technically follow the formal rules required for doing so.

id rattle off more details, like the rest of the prefix list or contexts in which youd tlaow/lors conjugate non-directional verbs (like think) but i think this post has perhaps gone on long enough hehe.

[fizzytoo]

[mxtwister]

Same Old Story - Part 1 of Discordant Days

Chapter 1: The Stranger

Rating: Teen and Up

Characters: Player Character, Kayleigh, Dr. Pensby

Warnings: N/A

Summary:

| Well, we all fall in love, but we disregard the danger Though we share so many secrets, there are some we never tell | When Cass awakens to find themselves stranded on the strange and fantastical New Wirral island where man and monster intertwine, they soon become entangled in their new friends' longing to find a gateway back to their home worlds, and escape this land once and for all. Their only clue? The fractured song of a fractured being-Morgante, an Archangel with desires of her own-whose lonely music leads Cass and their companions on a journey across New Wirral that will change the fabric of this world, and their lives, forever. ...That is one version of the story. But Cass doesn't know where "home" is. In fact, they can't even remember who they are. And as they struggle to find their identity in a world suspended in animation, they may just discover that their story-this same, old story-stretches across time in ways they could never have imagined.

Read on AO3

Well, I guess we're doing Cassette Beasts now

Preview under the cut

The morning The Stranger came to town was the morning the light fell not-quite-right on the gleaming pearl of New Wirral island. Lonely in the ocean, awash in air of a milky blue tint that was held as still and bracing as breath between teeth, it swelled imperceptibly–anticipatory, but of what?–the ground rising and stirring and groaning softly with the ache of forgotten motions. Within it, something pressed under the skin. Its pressure cracked the ground. Softened like sores left untreated and rotting, the earth bucked and crumbled away in soft black chunks with grass tearing like tangled hair and from under it cold masses budded and rose–

–and just as suddenly, an unseen palm opened and pressed the ground back into shape. Its fingers curled and, finding what it was looking for, gently cradled the figure lying alone on the shore.

“It’s time to go,” it seemed to whisper. “It’s time for us to begin.”

The Stranger awoke. 

Immediately, they clutched their stomach and retched a gutful of saltwater onto the sand, clouded with mucus and blood and tasting like a sour wound. They gasped for breath. Salt heaved in their lungs and stung where it rubbed against the cracks in their lips; when they were finally empty they massaged their sore throat, wincing at the long, scratched-up streaks they could feel running down to the pit of their stomach. How much water had they swallowed? Or, better question, when had they even swallowed it?

Why couldn’t they remember?

Why, when they wiped their mouth with the back of their sleeve, was the fabric completely dry despite the waves that had torn their stomach and still now lapped at the back of their heels?

They shook their head in an attempt to clear it. There had to be something inside to uncover, something that would tell them where they were, how they’d landed alone in the sand surrounded by dried beachwood and limpid seaweed strips and pieces of shells as fractured as their own memory. But there was nothing. They were alone, even inside their own mind. The only company they kept was the whistle of wind that curved under their ear and along the line of their jaw towards their chin, lifting it up with the gentle touch of a friend saying, “Look. Come see the world that you now live in.”

The world….

It was dawn and everything was soft. The sandbanks rolling into hills of sweet grass and flowers were sparkling pink with white particles like flecks of glass or snow, above which trees fluttered teal-shaded leaves and bushels of pine that crispened the air with their sharp smell. Undergrowth leapt between their roots. Fresh, spring green, they were filled with babish curls of new growth and the small heads of newborn anemones already taking on their distinctive star-like shape, mingling with dog rose and daisies in a bed of leaves that intertwined like hands and fingers searching for the comfort of a warm grasp. 

Sometimes there’d be a twitch of a petal or the clatter of a pebble tumbling down the side of the dunes. Birds twittered, but there wasn’t once a flash of wings. Insects buzzed in their ears, and yet not a fly came to land on the stinking pool of blood and vomit beneath them. Here they were seeing the world, but somehow they seemed to exist just outside of it, like a hasty scribble etched into the wrong layer. 

Really, the only proof they had that this wasn’t some elaborate farce or hallucination was…

…well, there was none.

All they could do was trust their senses as they flooded, renewed, into their body. Lifting their head, they sniffed the air for anything other than brine or blood or plant decay, but the thickness of the odor swamped everything. Even if there was civilization close by they wouldn’t be able to catch scent nor sound of it until they got away from the roar of the sea and its bubbling, crashing, hissing waves. Squinting past the salt that fuzzed up their vision, they glanced around. To their right, the line of beach ended in a wall of craggy cliff rising high enough above the sea to vanish into the thick soup of early-morning fog. Not ideal. To their left, though, it seemed to go out much farther, and in the not-so-distant distance three shapes of a strikingly bold orange stood out against the dimmer, more natural colours of their surroundings. Could they be man-made? A sign that there were people close by, that they weren’t totally alone in the wilderness?

It was worth a try.

The Stranger staggered to their feet and began to drag themselves across the sand. Their body ached as if it’d been pummeled by the waves for hours, a strangely uniform pain that pulsed through their muscles just beneath the unbroken skin. Every now and again they felt something fidget inside them. The twitch of an organ, maybe, the righting of a rib knocked askew. They tried to slow and give their insides a chance to reassemble themselves, but found themself quickening anyway when the objects ahead came into sharp enough focus for them to make out their distinctive, pyramid-like shape.

The Stranger came to an abrupt spot as the traffic cone closest began to quiver. Its base lifted up like a flap on a jack-in-the-box and from within it two large, almond-shaped claws emerged, guided by a sickly green flame of an eye lit up with a supernatural intensity. The creature stared at them, motionless. They stared back. Was it intelligence they saw in that glimmering, bulb-like eye? Or was it aggression clacking along those sharp, ridged claws? They couldn’t quite tell, but either way they didn’t like it when the creature began to creep towards them.

Traffic cones. Unexciting on their own, but a sign of life.

Just not the kind of life they were expecting.

“Greetings,” they said. “Get out of my way.”

As if in answer, the creature’s eye flooded a nasty-looking red.

“Fine. If that is what you wish.”

[spotaus]

Phishbone is here finally!

This silly guy is an outcode, a sole-survivor of an au that got corrupted computer-file style for accidentally discovering the Save timelines! He was saved by Core Frisk before the rest of his au died, but was left corroded and his code altered.

Now, after recovery, he decided he needs to help solve conflict in the multiverse... by dropping people into his pocket-dimension of games and puzzles! Once he has you in his Puzzle Cube, you're stuck there until your soul resolves its conflict, or you finish the challenge! Sometimes he'll let people play for fun, but usually he'll show up to big conflicts and yoink the main parties and put them into a no-death friendly-fire puzzle game abd let them work things out.

Very similarly to Error or Ink, he can traverse the multiverse at will, and he exploits all of Papyrus' little tricks (ex his little Flying bit from the original timeline) and more. It's very helpful that he's a Papyrus, because he is extremely determined, but it's also a lot harder for most Sans' to argue with him. I mean, that is their little bro, after all.

[recallback-art]

Did my third and possibly final run of Shadows Over Loathing, so here's my final pc! She's a pig-skinner and it was a no shadow-taint run, I went and did a LOT of secrets I hadn't found before, it was really fun.

Obie and Barker are the best companions period. I love them. I cannot believe I never knew we could get a fucking doggy

[dungeons-and-dragon-age]

aww