#repressing that feeling lmao

[spotaus]

New Age AU (The Camp)

Hello and welcome back to another New Age drabble! As always, fuck it we ball, no editing or rereading! This one is fresh off the press!

And!! Hello to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! Hope y'all enjoy!

Things had been looking up.

   Now, the bar for what was 'better' was set pretty low, but this time, right now, managed to reach it.

   Shortly after the collapse of his former kingdom, Cross had known there was no way he could ever show his face there again. His closest friends were dead, his brother was trying to rebuild things from the ground up, and his presence would only hinder them. If he, the king's loyal dog, stayed? It'd cause he'll to break loose.

   So he left. Alone. In the night. Nowhere to go but anywhere better than there.

   He walked.

   And walked, and walked, and walked, until he came across a town where he could find a place to sleep, a spot to eat, and to find out what the hell he'd do next.

   He had almost hoped that no one would recognize him in the neighboring kingdom. That he'd get off scot-free, but they knew. He was too focused, too quick to draw his blade, too alert.

   He unsettled the patrons at the inn, he was too efficient for the dock work, and the shops wouldn't have him keeping his sword on his hip. He refused to be without it.

   And so within a few months he'd exhausted his resources and had to move on.

   But. Just before he boarded the ship that would set sail for some new dock, he had been rushed into by a wirey, tiny skeleton. Knocked clean off his feet and almost directly into the lapping sea below the docks.

   Cross was not easily placed off-balance. The skeleton was stronger than he looked.

   And he looked... really nice.

   Cross, as he stood his ground, found that the skeleton paused to stare at him. Big, colorful eyelight filled crescent sockets which squinted in delight. A big smile reached the corners of his eyes, and a huge smudge of some darkness patterned his cheek, breaking up the pure while bone of his skull.

   Cross hadn't seen another skeleton monster in ages, aside from his brother. Especially not one with as much expression as this one. Dressed head to toe in colorful fabric sashes and pouches and bags, every one with a new vibrant color. It must've been expensive to-

   And then he'd spotted that this ethereal skeleton had a familiar pouch in-hand. A pouch with a hand-embroidered "X" on it. His coin purse.

   The moment he'd seen it, it seemed the skeleton had noticed, because he practically rocketed off the dock. Cross had followed without a thought. That was his pouch! One if the few things that were ever his. He needed that back, boat be damned.

  

   And so Cross had chased this mysterious skeleton all about town, not losing his track for long when the other managed to slip away.

   It felt like the worst game of cat and mouse he'd ever been a part of. But, it was somewhere outside if town that the skeleton led him to. He wasn't even out of breath when he came to the clearing just off the path. The skeleton had been out of his sight for twenty minutes, but his transportation magic was pungent. Cross knew exactly where he'd gone.

   And he'd found him.

   Grabbed him by one of his scarves abd snatched his pouch back. It was empty, but that was fine. Most of his gold was inside his armor anyhow.

   But before he left, the skeleton had laughed. Had said he was impressed he'd been followed. Wondered what he was doing setting sail on that dingey of a ship before. Cross hadn't intended to sit down, he hadn't wanted to. After all, this guy had stolen from him.

   Yet, the skeleton mentioned he might have work for a soldier like Cross. Paying work. Work that would have him moving about. Away from whatever he was running from.

   And Cross had sat. And asked about the work. And Ink had introduced himself.

   Ink was an assassin for hire, something which had made Cross grimace and almost leave once more, but Ink swore Cross wouldn't be expected to kill anyone. Just... make sure no one killed Ink while he was moving from job to job. A bodyguard of sorts, just until his name was off the radar again.

   He promised gold, and food, and respect. People knew him everywhere he went, a sort of folk hero (though that wasn't what he'd said) and so Cross wouldn't be as judged for his past.

   It had been an easy sell. Scam or not.

   Cross had some things to get used to. The first being that Ink had no soul. He hadn't noticed it because the other was draped in magical items, but Ink was entirely soulless. Along with that, he had an awful memory.

   To work around it, Cross had taken one of Ink's scarves to replace his bandana that was destroyed in a fight. The familiar item seemed to keep Ink from getting spooked by Cross. It was almost familiar to Cross, how to Ink he was no different than one if Ink's other cloth-wrapped belongings.

   And it was two years, traveling with Ink. Helping him keep on track for his kills, keeping folks from trying to ambush him. Fighting local city guards attempting to arrest them.

   It was a life on the run, but it was better than being dogged in his own hometown, missing his friends and family. Some shadow of a fallen king.

   But, now, things were looking up.

   Ink had said he was going to be going dark for a bit. To help an old friend. One who Cross might like.

   One who was setting up a rebellion against the evil tyrant who'd taken over his home kingdom in order to defend his peoples. A righteous warrior.

   Cross had to admit, the closer they drew towards the encampment, the more excited he became. He wasn't able to help in the last coup he lived through. Maybe he could be of help during this one.

.

.

   The chattering and happy voices weren't what Cross had expected upon finally reaching the end of the game trail. Ink had insisted there was no main road to the encampment, and that they had to use the secret entrance, which consisted of a thin trail that wove between all sorts of flora and snagged at his fraying uniform.

   When they'd emerged, Cross had certainly not expected to find himself standing before a beautiful flower garden.

   It was a landscaped space reminiscent of the gardens back at the palace. It was smaller, obviously, with less variety, but the first step onto the rocky path which led towards the back of a meager cottage made his heart skip a beat.

   The colors were to plentiful, and a butterfly flitted past him in a way that completely had him enamored. It was thanks to muscle memory that he didn't freeze up completely to admire the flawless plants in more detail.

   Instead, he soon found himself up a set of wooden steps, just behind Ink, hand on his swords hilt in preparation.

   Ink knocked on the door.

   It sounded thin, and Cross wondered just how old this building was. Colorful curtains drawn over the windows gave an impression of a fresh life to a building which clearly was on its last leg. The ground creaked under the slightest shift of weight.

   The door swung open.

   His focus was entirely absorbed by the person on the other side of the door. Another skeleton.

   Of course, Ink was shorter than Cross, but this new skeleton was shorter than Ink. He had bright blue eyelights and was wearing what Cross could only recognize as training armor. Old iron scraped up in battle and worn more casually when a soldier was among allies. It was adorned in shades of blue and yellow heavy fabric, and Cross was a little amazed that the little guy wasn't dying in the summer heat right about now.

   "Oh, Ink!" The skeleton inside greeted. "You're... actually right on schedule! That's unheard of for you." He seemed to look over his shoulder a moment.

   Cross followed his gaze, catching a slight view into the inner portion of the cottage. It seemed warm, and decorated, and homey. Too messy for his tastes just at a glance, but he had to imagine it was cozy for those who lived inside.

   "You can thank Cross for that one. He's been keeping me on-schedule for..." Ink trailed off at that, reaching a hand back to knock his knuckles against Cross's padded tunic, just over the center of his ribs.

   "Just barely two years now." Cross supplied meekly, focusing on Blue, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

   Blue seemed to perk up at Cross' words, and nodded a bit.

   "Right! Yes, forgive me, I am Blue." The skeleton, Blue, supplied with a grin. "It's a pleasure to meet you as well, Cross."

   Then, after a moment, he peaked it head back inside to look at something beyond the door, then looked back out to the pair. He was clearly guarding the threshold.

   "If you wouldn't mind waiting out on the front veranda? Dream and I will coke to meet you and guide you to the planning tent." Blue requested, and gestured to the left.

   Cross could only imagine the porch wrapped around to the front, and he nodded in agreement as Ink shot off in that direction without a warning.

  

   Blue shut the door, and Cross took his time walking around the side of the old cottage.

   Dream.

   That was the name of the person leading this revolution. Cross was eager to hear more, solely because Ink didn't always have his facts straight. His memory made it more likely that he was making things up to fill the gaps than anything else.

   He'd made this Dream guy sound like a saint, and frankly Cross didn't believe it. Kingdoms can be bad, but the things Ink was saying sounded cartoonish. Blood sacrifice and godlike power? No way was any of that right. He needed to meet this guy and hear what sort of real threats this tyrant posed, and hear how Dream planned on going about claiming power.

   Cross had seen a plan like this go poorly before. He didn't plan to let another one happen on his watch.

  

   As he turned the corner, he was greeted with a shocking sight.

   Not far past the front fence of the cottage, was a large clearing with a river running through it. Dotted around the edges of the grassy clearing were all sorts of large canvas tents. Ones that reminded him a bit too much of a battle encampment.

   Only, the tents were strung up with colorful flags atop, banners of what had to be the Royal insignia of the kingdom in gold and purple, and, most strikingly, that was where those sounds of joy had been coming from.

   People were talking, there was a dirt patch in the center of the place where it seemed there were people training, others cheering them on. The scent of warm food wafted past him and made his mouth water. Just from a distance, it seemed like a little sanctuary. Hidden away on the outskirts of a kingdom.

   When he finally reached Ink's side, the other had hoisted himself to sit on a low-bearing railing that circled the porch. It barely seemed to hold his weight, but he coukd care less. He seemed content to kick his feet and watch the people out in the main area.

   Cross remained vigilant (then again, when didn't he?) and was quick to turn when the front door behind them eventually swung open with a heavy creaking noise.

   There, trailing Blue out of the front door, was a radiant skeleton.

   His magic alone felt like a warm breeze had passed a summer path and let flower petals gently drift by to make a scenic masterpiece. It was unlike anything Cross had ever felt, and he tried not to look dumbfounded when the skeleton's eyelights skimmed up and over the scene before him.

   "Dream!" It was Ink who practically stunt-fell backwards from his perch and rushed over to the skeleton's side without so much as a stumble.

   Cross didn't need to see his eyelights to know they were probably both a bright, striking color. His excitement was evident.

   "Ink, it's good to see you again!" Dream greeted, and to Cross' utter surprise, he reached out and pulled Ink into a quick hug. "I heard from Blue that you brought a reliable friend?" He pulled away just as quickly as he'd tugged Ink in, but he seemed to watch Ink closely with caring eyelights. A soft yellow.

   Ink seemed to take a moment to process, before he gave a single nod and whipped around. In just a moment he bounced off of Cross's side and nudged him for emphasis.

   "Right, this is Cross! He's been helping me, but I thought he'd help a lot with that job you needed done!" Ink introduced, and Cross gave a half-bow. He just hardly kept hinself from saluting in his old fashion.

   Dream finally took a moment to look at Cross as the door to the cottage finally clicked shut on its own behind him.

   It took a moment, before Dream smiled gently at him.

   "Cross, it's a pleasure to meet you, truly." He greeted, reaching out a hand. Cross took it without thinking, shaking it firmly. "I am Prince Dream, and this is my knight, Blue." He added on.

   Suddenly, Cross wished he hadn't accepted that handshake. A prince? Ink hadn't mentioned anything about Dream being royalty?? Surely he'd have been on better behavior if he'd known!

   Dream released his hand, but gave him little time to devolve into panic, and he raised both hands placatingly.

   "Please, don't fret." He asked, "I can see you are not from this kingdom and you don't know the plight we face."

   It was a nice tone. An understanding one, which gave Cross a moment to breathe and think better of dropping to his knees for forgiveness.

   Dream continued, "Undoubtedly you are a brave soul, and a strong one as well. If you truly are interested in assisting us in this fight, I can explain more to you in a moment," He paused, "Though, you have a burden on your shoulders, even so young. Where do you come from?"

   Something about the question was so gentle. So... genuine.

   Cross faltered a bit, "I-" A breath. "I come from the fallen kingdom of Ritten. A high guard, disgraced once the castle fell." He admitted, trying to will his throat to not grow tight in shame.

   "And, may I ask, what brought you to this place?" Dream prodded gentle.

   "My family suffered because I was not strong enough to fight against the oppressive might of my king. I ran away, and now cannot help them." He'd thought hard and long about this. Where he'd gone wrong. Every night for the past two years. "I thought that, perhaps, I might save someone else from the pain of an unhonest rule. At least, based on the picture Ink painted for me of your cause."

   There was a moment of quiet.

   "Mm, I don't remember painting anything of Dream yet though, Cross." Ink chimed in.

   The tension felt broken and Dream's tense, serene aura burst into one of fondness and he turned to giggle at Ink. Blue, behind him, sighed.

   "Figure of speech, my friend." Dream clarified to Ink, before returning focus to, a frankly startled, Cross. "It seems you're passionate. I cannot promise that helping my people will fill that gap on your soul, but I can swear that you will be doing good for them." Dream assured, and Cross couldn't help but agree.

.

   From there, Dream, Cross, Blue, and Ink crossed the lawn. Dream was greeted excitedly by every person they passed, abd Blue helpfully held open a flap to a particularly small canvas tent. One whose walls seemed to block out all the noise from outside, and which most likely prevented any eavesdropping from outside in.

   The four of them settled around a table, Cross sat across from Dream, Ink and Blue facing eachother.

   The table was strewn with a single map, and that map was covered in all sorts of pins and charcoal scratches. Clearly a planning guide.

   Along routes, there were several red X's.

   "Cross, how familiar are you with this kingdom?" Dream asked him as he examined the spread before him.

   "...Admittedly, I don't know anything at all aside from what Ink has told me. We just arrived two days ago." He said.

   Dream nodded as Blue chimed in that Ink was 'unreliable at best'.

   "Then I shall start from what I know." Dream said softly.

   "I am the crown prince of this place. I was raised alongside my twin in the Wooded Castle." He began, and Cross was already a bit surprised. Twins? For monsters, having twins was practically impossible. It was unsafe, and deadly... "We were inseparable. I was to one day claim the throne, and he was to be my closest confidant. My advisor. We had always been thrilled by our coming futures. I was to be crowned and gifted our familial magic on our 13th birthday."

   There was a deep, deep sorrow that suddenly seemed to overtake Dream's face. Blue slumped a bit in his own seat as they both seemed to have their eyelights glued to Dream.

   "Just months before our celebration, Nightmare became paranoid and distant. He told me that if I went through with the ceremony that something bad would happen. I'm not sure who placed this idea in his head, as I had been trained from a young age to withstand and control the power. A birthright handed on from my mother's father to my mother, and from my mother to me." He explained, "He did not listen to me, did not trust me."

   A miniscule flinch of Dream's shoulders. "During the ceremony, as I was presented with my birthright. An apple, meant to pass on my mother's life energy as well as untold power. My brother rushed up and snatched it from my hands. Consumed the fruit, and was changed by its overwhelming force. He did not inheret the full power, nor was he the same after it washed him in a dark and potent magic." Cross was uncertain. Anxious. What kind of kingdom was this? "Shortly after he took the crown, he... he cast me out. Banished me to a neighboring kingdom."

   Dream seemed to take a deep breath. "Since that day, my people have been suffering. Someone or something is in my poor brother's head, whispering horrible lies to him. I was unable to help him when we were young, and it has led to the horrible state of our kingdom. He is using the power granted by our ancestors to flood the people's crops and to destroy their sources of income. The people cannot survive this way much longer. I need to liberate my twin from those who are twisting his mind. So I may reason with him and help guide him back towards the truth."

   Cross was taken aback.

   Dream literally had an evil twin, and was meant to take the throne.

   "There have been many attempts to gain information on the king's whereabouts, but anyone the smaller rebel groups have sent have never made it back." Blue took over the story. "Dream has been searching for a person strong enough to infiltrate the castle to bring us back direct information. We are blind aside from the word of the people."

   And the dots fell into place. Cross would be this spy, if he agreed on taking this job.

   The others seemed to sense his hesitancy.

   "You can back out this moment if you like, no hard feelings." Dream had added hurriedly, "I am aware that our circumstances are looming for an outsider, and it is a lot to ask of a stranger."

   It was sincere, but Cross knew himself too well. He was in too deep the moment Ink had told him of Dream's plight. There was no way he would turn down this fight.

   "I... want to help you. What else do I need to know?" He replied simply.

   The room seemed to fill with a sort of relief at his admission.

   It seemed to take Dream a moment to collect his thoughts, before he gestured to Blue. The Knight was already out of his seat and rushing out of the tent. Cross figured this meant they were getting serious.

   "My first rule," Dream stated, "Please, for your own safety, avoid facing my twin at all costs." That was... a strange one. "I would fear for his death at your hands, as I truly don't wish to see him dead. Only, he is too powerful for even an army of men to face, let alone one skilled warrior. It would be your death, and I do not wish to send you to the gallows."

   Then Dream sighed, "I have had Ink searching for a worthy candidate for this mission. I would send him, but I fear he would forget his goal and attempt to assassinate my twin. And be killed in the process."

   Cross gave a nod.

   "The second thing to know, is to avoid the Knights. They always wear masks, visages of big cats from across the realm. As far as we are aware, there are three of them. A tiger, a lion, and a black panther." He informed, brow furrowed, "You are not from this area, but I can tell you that the masks are a tradition of our heritage. They are only given to those whom royal blood deem as their most trusted. The masked monsters cannot be trusted, and when together, cannot be faced alone."

  

   Cross hardly had a moment to place the information into his mind before Dream seemed to jolt, "The panther is the strongest of them magically. The lion the strongest. If you come across them on your own, please, just flee with what you've found. All of these people are criminals and vagrants, the lowest of the low. Hostile and dangerous." He reiterated, until he gained another nod from Cross.

   That was when Blue entered the tent once again, his arms filled with maps and scrolls and... was that armor?

   "We have reason to believe that the power in the castle does not keep a close eye on their guard. The plan would be for you to slip in among a grouping of new recruits and investigate further once you are dismissed from your first round of duties." Dream explained.

   Cross figured that could work. He was already a soldier, always had been one, so he wouldn't have to employ his terrible acting skills.

   There was only one thing eating at him.

   "And... what will I be searching for while I'm there?" He asked boldly.

   That was when, almost like a cue, Blue set a scroll before him. It seemed to be a list of locations, people, and imports and exports.

   "That is a list of all the things in which Nightmare has destroyed in the past year. All the locations and people affected by his wayward deeds." Dream explained, "I ask of you to listen, and find word of where his next area of disaster is planned to be. That way Blue, myself, Ink, and the others might intercept his Knights before they cause more harm to my people."

   Okay. Just information.

   Cross almost wondered if it was fate which brought him here, to sit before the radiant prince and his loyal followers.

   He'd eavesdropped on his father and spoken with his siblings enough to understand exactly what Dream was hoping he'd find. Plans, schemes, people even thinking of slandering this king who he could crush under his boot.

   This list was full of names and towns, written in a gentle cursive script, no doubt written by hand by Dream. Like there was a mourning etched into every stroke of the quill.

   "Alright. I'll do it." Cross confirmed, though mostly to himself. Then, "When do I set off?"

[good-to-drive]

[aventurineswife]

In the quiet, galactic space of the Astral Express’s observation room, you find Dan Heng standing alone, his form ethereal and strong, back turned to you. In his Vidyadhara form, he appears almost otherworldly—a being of dragon heritage with sharp features, midnight-black hair that fades to teal, and curled horns casting shadows on the walls. His clothes, a blend of warrior regalia and quiet elegance, reflect both his heritage and his inner conflict.

You hesitate at the doorway, admiring the serene yet guarded figure before you. He knows you’re there—Dan Heng is never unaware—but he says nothing, his gaze fixed on the stars beyond the glass. In the silence, the space between you feels almost sacred, as if speaking would shatter it.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward, daring to approach him. “Dan Heng?” you say softly.

He glances at you, eyes a striking, vivid green that glow faintly in the dim light. For a moment, his gaze flickers with emotion—something raw, buried deep within. But he holds it back, as he always does, his face returning to the composed expression you know so well. “You should be resting.” he murmurs, though there’s no admonishment in his tone.

You can’t help but give a small smile. “I couldn’t sleep. And… it seemed like you could use the company.”

For a moment, he says nothing, but his silence is answer enough. Slowly, he nods, turning his face back to the galaxy. Encouraged, you come closer, standing beside him as the two of you gaze out into the void. His presence is calming, yet electric; you can feel the restrained power within him, the weight of his lineage and the memories he hides.

“You don’t talk about it much.” you say quietly, unsure if he’ll answer.

He tenses slightly, but doesn’t move away. “There isn’t much to tell.” he replies, though you sense the reluctance in his words.

“Even if it’s just with me?” you ask, heart pounding as you reach out to him, your fingers brushing against his hand.

For a moment, he remains still, as if deciding whether to let you closer. But then, slowly, he turns to face you fully, his hand slipping into yours. His eyes are intense, searching your face for something, perhaps reassurance or understanding. It’s as though he’s teetering on the edge of something—vulnerability, maybe, or trust.

“Being here, with you…” he murmurs, voice low and filled with an emotion he can’t quite conceal, “makes me wonder if there’s a part of myself that I could share, that isn’t… tainted by the past.”

His words stir something deep inside you, a mixture of empathy and a need to bridge the chasm he keeps between himself and everyone else. You reach up, your fingers lightly tracing his cheek, his skin warm beneath your touch. “You’re not defined by what’s happened. You’re allowed to want more. To want someone.”

Dan Heng’s eyes search yours, his breathing shallow as he lets your words sink in. Then, his hand lifts, his fingers ghosting over yours as he draws you closer. His forehead rests against yours, a sigh slipping past his lips, as if he’s finally allowing himself to let down his guard.

The moment stretches, filled with a quiet tension. Then, his lips meet yours, soft at first, cautious. But as you press closer, a new urgency fills the air, the kiss deepening as he lets go of his restraint, just for you. His hand slides up to cradle the back of your neck, his fingers gentle yet firm, drawing you in as his lips part, inviting you further.

It’s then that you feel it—a faint, unfamiliar sensation against your tongue. You realize it’s his split Vidyadhara tongue, a delicate, serpent-like touch that’s both unfamiliar and thrilling. A shiver races down your spine as he explores, his breaths growing unsteady. The unique feel of his split tongue intertwining with yours is mesmerizing, an intimate act that seems to bare the quiet vulnerability he keeps hidden from everyone.

Dan Heng’s hands settle at your waist, his hold tightening as he pulls you flush against him. Each movement is tender, filled with a longing he rarely lets himself indulge. His lips trace yours, slow and deliberate, as though memorizing the shape, the feel of you. His breath mingles with yours, each exhale carrying the unspoken desire he’s kept buried.

For a moment, he breaks the kiss, his forehead resting against yours once more. His vivid green eyes meet yours, softened by an emotion that words can’t quite capture.

“You make me feel…” he murmurs, voice barely audible. He trails off, as though he can’t bring himself to finish, but his expression says enough. In his gaze, you see it all—years of solitude, of battles fought and regrets carried, all melting into the gentle warmth he shares with you now.

His lips find yours again, this time with a sense of urgency, an unspoken promise. His split tongue brushes against yours once more, sending a thrill through your senses as he pulls you closer, his hands sliding down your back, grounding you against him.

In that moment, the walls he’s built around himself crumble just a little more. Dan Heng, the stoic guardian, allows himself to be vulnerable, to be human, if only with you. And as he holds you, lost in the quiet intimacy of the moment, you realize just how deeply he feels for you, even if he may never find the words to say it.

[angelarsenal]

OHHH when you get the time, could you maybe draw tgirl Sam again? She is so special to me :3

YESyes always have the time to draw her ....

w a splash of wincest tbh..

[emblazons]

Joshua Rosfield in Final Fantasy XVI ⤷ treating with the Motes of Water • The Rising Tide DLC

[ying-doodles]

another kiss ehehe-

(drawing base by @/mellon_soup)

[spocks-kaathyra]

do u think that um. yk Julian was having a rough time in the later seasons. and ofc he wants to talk abt it, wants someone to help him process it, wants someone to just listen. but it's not easy to talk abt. and he wants to talk to Garak, wants Garak to know what's going on in his life, wants to be vulnerable and be met with support and care. but Garak is so emotionally unavailable and so unwilling to break his pleasant facade and so unwilling to deviate from their little social script. he was taught never to show care or vulnerability. and Julian gets so tired of playing their little game when, god, there's a war going on, his life is falling apart, can't Garak even acknowledge how bad things are for both of them? he doesn't need witty retorts, he needs sincerity. and Garak can't give him that. so he withdraws from their friendship. and it's not that Garak doesn't care. it's not that he doesn't want to help. but sincerity and vulnerability were beaten out of him a long time ago, and he doesn't know how to take off his mask. even just acknowledging genuine emotion is practically impossible for him. and maybe that's why ASIT is the apology that it is. it's saying, here, I've learned to be honest, I've learned to be vulnerable. I know the harm I caused you by refusing to acknowledge pain, so here's a whole book of me acknowledging pain.

[vampyre-lesbian]

three episodes into the dead boy detective show and i desperately want the repressed gay one to fuck the sexy anthropomorphic cat dude but I have a bad feeling it’s not gonna happen :(

[mars-ipan]

Matthew 7:15

(my commissions are open!)

[bonetrousledbones]

Can you tell us your the reasons for why you like Papyrus? (I’m sure you’ve did this before xd, but I always enjoyed rambles about Papyrus. Hope you’re well!)

oh it is 100% his whole loneliness thing. growing up i was a chronic friend group hopper all the way from kindergarten to 8th grade and then by high school that didn't work anymore so i just kinda didn't have any genuine friends for basically that entire 4 years. so hyperfixating so hard on a character who's basically completely centered around that struggle helped me feel a bit less hopeless about it. the funny thing is i think pre-undertale papyrus actually had more friends than i did back then but like its the little things

that's why this fic that i'm gonna plug again hit me so hard tbh. shit sucks when you're trying so so hard to be friendly and engage in other people and then you get to a point where you have to realize they're not at all interested in returning the favor, even if they're not overtly rude about it or anything, they just don't care to get to know you any deeper than surface level convenience and it gets real hard to not let yourself get angsty about it lmao

i do think that while sometimes i wish i hadn't been given such free internet access as a kid i'm still really lucky that i was able to be exposed to undertale when i was. it's such a unapologetically hopeful game that i'm sure it absolutely impacted the way that i think about things today in terms of optimism and the ability to turn bad situations around, and papyrus plays a huuuge part of that entire message. if it weren't for him, i'm honestly not sure if i would've had the drive to keep trying to connect with other people even when it didn't work for so long.

so tl;dr thank you funny little skeleton man for constantly reminding me that making friends is still possible even when your demeanor is frankly weird as fuck. sometimes you just gotta keep truckin until you find your people even if it takes a while

[princema-k]

i would actually love to hear your thoughts on when layton would emote the ways you've drawn him! if you want! no pressure if not!

OH B OY HERE WE GO!!!!! again take everything with a grain of salt bc i Forgor bits of the series

BLANKET SPOILER FOR UNWOUND FUTURE/MIRACLE MASK MAYBE??/AZRAN LEGACY

(for reference we are talking abt this post)

SURPRISE: As we know in the PL series, it's very very hard to catch the professor off-guard in any way. Most of the things you would think would surprise him, he's already known for a long time and was just keeping quiet about it so that he could use that information at the right time.

With that being said, the times where he does seem to get somewhat surprised (or taken aback. he's so goddamn emotionally constipated) seem to be when the shocker in question has personal relation to him. Though in the series proper, none of the shocking personal factoids are ever presented in a way to make him jump. So theoretically, if any twists like Claire or Descole's reveal were presented much more aggressively, he might emote like how I've drawn him (though I kinda doubt it). Or just jumpscare him lmao

SADNESS: Obviously we know that Layton can feel sadness and cry, though even at the end of Unwound Future it's clear that he's still holding back with his crying. I'd wager that it's because he's out in public and around an impressionable individual (Luke) that he's not letting himself fully express his grief. After all, a true gentleman never makes a scene in public.

I'd say, if he were to cry like the way I've drawn him (that is, bawling his eyes out), it'd probably be at the end of UF when Luke leaves for America, and he'd have to be alone. And I mean completely alone. He'd be very careful about having anyone even remotely near him before he breaks down sobbing; he'd wait for Luke to go home, and wait a while to make sure that he hears no other footsteps around who could potentially walk in on him, before crying. And even then, he'd still repress it - trying to choke back sobs to make sure he isn't heard, pulling the brim of his hat over his eyes and covering his eyes with his hand, the works. Because sadness/crying is weakness to him, and a true gentleman can never show weakness.

ANGER: Frankly, I feel like this is one of the emotions I've drawn that I actually could see him showing in the series proper. We've seen him in Unwound Future just barely holding back his anger at Clive when he endangered Flora/started wrecking havoc on London (obviously still restrained- yadda yadda yadda "true gentleman" blah blah blah).

To get him to unrestrain it, I'd say you would have to put a lot of people he cares about (particularly his wards - Luke and Flora would likely be excellent choices) in direct danger, as well as taunt him to a personal degree enough times. Because even the Professor has limits to how much mental strain he can take, and all limits can be broken. It's just a matter of pushing the right (or wrong!) buttons on him.

FEAR: This one's tough I think. As an adult who's seen a lot (including his own death), it's pretty hard to find something that would really scare him to that degree. Throughout the series the most he seems to show in terms of fear is either: a) surprise that he quickly recovers from, or b) the end of Unwound Future when he realizes that Claire can't stay with him.

I say that theoretically (and REALLY emphasize on the "theoretically"), you might be able to get him to emote the way I've drawn him... if you subject him to anything akin to his recently unrepressed memories of his childhood, and he's rendered helpless to do anything to help but watch. But like I said, only theoretically. I'd wager that he'd probably just be angry too.

LAUGHTER: ...I honestly have no good clue to how or when he'd emote like this. For him to laugh so heartily, he'd have to be in a state of extreme emotional vulnerability, which isn't often.

I'd say it'd be at a time where he's feeling very relieved, or elated (and they'd both have to be situations that connect to him personally too; outside events won't phase him). How he'd laugh to such an extent I'm not actually sure, BUT I could paint a bit of a scenario: It's the end of UF, but Claire could actually stay without dying, and she makes a sort of lighthearted joke in light of the events. Would he laugh wholeheartedly? I dunno. But judging on what we've seen of him, it's a maybe.

It's a shame we never get to see him emote so colourfully in the hexalogy proper, but as I've stated before in another long-winded half-legible ramble character analysis, he's SEVERELY repressing his emotions due to Claire's last words/"gentleman" values/positive reinforcements from his peers and environments for successfully hiding his emotions. Poor guy.

[alienoresimagines]

Buck: I take all the negative emotions and just bottle them and bury them. And they never come out. Buck: I've basically never been better.

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

haha hey remember that whole speech izaya gave to masaomi about how his guilt over getting saki hurt "will be [his] god" and how it mirrors izaya's role in shinra's stabbing and how he STILL has nakura under his thumb because of it, partly because of his own guilt in the matter. haha did you know that if youre unaccustomed to feeling guilt for whatever reason- either you repress it constantly or just straight up can't feel guilt- when you DO end up feeling it full-force, you have absolutely no coping skills in place to deal with it because.... well... when have you ever? when could you have learned? haha did you know that this can lead you to repressing guilt even further because of how distressing the act of Feeling It is?

haha do you ever think about izaya- not the person himself but his name, a different reading of "rinya," named after the biblical isaiah, his father a Christian, growing up in a religion that heralded guilt as not only an absolver of oneself but as a necessity to eternal life? do you ever think about how growing up seemingly unable to feel guilt would do to someone in this environment? this horrible feeling as you realize you lack the inate ability to feel something so crucial to life, to the afterlife? to being remembered? to continuing on? and what happened the first time he ever felt guilt over something? he was just a child, dealing with an emotion he'd never felt before- did he repress it? it seems like he did. imagine trying to repress guilt then feeling more guilt over your repression of it, because not being able to feel it is one thing but actively turning away from it is another, but god, it hurt, and you have sisters to feed and a life to live and hurt compounding in on itself and you know human beings have limits and you can't go on feeling guilt and reach yours. you have sisters and they need you and you know you would never shed your cowardice long enough to kill yourself, so whatever hell you were in, you'd be stuck there, so best not make it worse.

you can go through your life thinking that your lack of guilt was because you don't really do anything that necessitates guilt- you don't do much of anything at all, really, you just watch, but then you meet a boy and you do things and you do more things and a floodgate opens and things get riskier and riskier and your only friend gets stabbed and that, that necessitates guilt and it comes in droves- overwhelming, horrible, and you're completely unequipped to deal with it.

you know you're rotten, now, but there's nothing you can really do about it. so you continue on being rotten and repressing any guilt you feel because the thrill of doing what you do outweighs the guilt anyway, and it's not like you can stop- not like you want to stop, more like, because you're in control of everything. and most of all, you're in control of yourself. and all the while that guilt lingers behind you.

watching.

judging.

you may have become an athiest but you've created your own god, ready to condemn you to your own Hell.

isn't that funny?

[merrysithmas]

paul "if john was gay i wouldve known he wouldve hit on me!" mccartney

🤝

john "im not GAY but i constantly hit on paul. it doesnt appear to be coming across. that must mean he's straight too" lennon

/youre bad at it and he's bad at it and that's gay love in the oppressive 1960s straight hegemony baby!

[kingsofneon]

wip wednesday fake it till you break it 🙏

WIP Wednesday list

…The really stupid bit is that he distinctly remembers thinking; it’s not like there will be consequences. 

Well, here’s the irony, he thinks to himself, propping his chin on one hand to hide his scowl. He still doesn’t know what’s troubling Kon, and the consequences are awkward and bitter on his tongue. Kon is love-struck by Caroline, gushing about her pretty hair and her pretty eyes and her sarcastic sense of humour, and Tim has to sit here and listen, discomfort squirming in his belly. He hadn’t actually thought it would get this far, because normally Caroline can twine a boy round her finger and get what she needs in an hour or a second date, but Kon…

Tim isn’t naive enough to think that Kon can’t keep secrets. They’re heroes - they have to be able to bluff, at the very least. Only, Kon doesn’t bluff - he just lies, and Tim doesn’t even notice until Kon says something different to Caroline! 

He also hasn’t even flirted with her past the first time they interacted, and Tim had tried to give Kon Caroline’s number. Caroline had been turned down so gently that Tim had barely recognised the dismissal, flattered despite himself. 

And therein lies the problem. Or, well, the fourth part of the problem in a problem that he thought would’ve been solved three sections of a problem ago.

He’s…

He knows Kon isn’t actually talking about him. He knows Kon is talking about his new friend who works with the Hall of Justice tour guide crew. He knows Kon gets excited when he meets new people, and that he likes introducing his friends to each other, so of course Kon would talk up Caroline in order to get Robin, known lurker, at least vaguely interested.

He is well-aware of all of those things in the most cold-hearted, logical way he can manage. 

It does not stop his insides from being on fire, because currently he is somehow both burning up at Kon’s flattery and wildly jealous of himself.

All he’s saying is that Steph is never allowed to find out. She’ll laugh at him for years.  

“Yo, wonder,” Kon says, snapping fingers in front of his face, and Tim jerks back with a noise that can probably pass as a yeah, I was totally listening as long as no-one asks him for a camera replay. “You’re the one with the dating experience. What’s the most platonic activity you can think of?”

“Anything with a tag-a-long,” Tim says, before he can think the better of it - before he can think at all, really - and yet still somehow caught on the specifics of Kon’s request. 

There’s something wrong with his chest, and he thinks maybe there are five problems, instead.

[goatjam]

holding hands, how scandalous!

oh boi ffxiv art! ft my Viera Zero and @rakunoko's elezen Valtin

these two losers live rent free in my head