#talking into the void about my interpretation of them

[moonys-chaos]

Functional poetry - The Narcissist Cookbook Heart

The Ballad of the Costa Concordia - Car Seat Headrest Soul

Random assigned songs from my playlist,,,, am I right or should I go explode chat

^ like this explosion

[distance-does-not-matter]

i deserve compensation (psych minor hearing about freud during a summer english class)

[catacini]

man. oberon saying "i'm sorry i couldn't get rid of those proper human history bastards for you, titania" after he's already conflated guda with titania. what does it all mean.

[eternally-anomalous]

i think sunrise would really enjoy being gently patted down after having himself cleaned, then dried orf with a warm blow drier until his fur was nice and soft and warm, and finally to hage his fur tested for its softbess. tbh.

that does sound like it would feel nice..

makes me want fur

ill have to figure out a time we can do that, and make a blow drier...

the blow drier is easy enough to do, maybe we could do this after the hot tub? or would it be better with cold water, so the heat of the blow dryer is a nice contrast and relief after the chill...

thatll be nice for me too, sunrise will be so soft after that, perfect for cuddling

-eternal anomaly

[pastabaguette]

sorry for all the posts today, but this one is very important: alternian video game edits.

i actually have reasonings for all of their blood types, and a few classpects, so i'll dive into them here:

monika: i'm thinking that early in the game, during acts 1 and 2, she maybe masqueraded as a jadeblood or higher. only during act 3 does she reveal herself as a fuchsia to the protagonist.

gordon and alyx: gordon is probably a tealblood, or somewhere around there. fairly high, but not too high, i think. alyx is an olive, and eli is an indigo. azian was probably a gold. (or lime?) i did have to keep gordon’s orange HEV suit, though. surely you understand. okay, troll half life lore: i think on alternia, all the main characters in the half life franchise are like, olive or above. the rebels in follow freeman and the guards are all lowbloods, so that the player doesn't feel too bad about sacrificing them, or something like that. i think this would be something that would happen in an alternian video game, at least.

agent 47: 47 is actually a mutant, due to being manufactured in a lab. he's a weird ice-blue color. he's still got that piercing stare. i felt a little sad changing his iconic red tie, but i do have some thoughts on that as well. obviously, red in human culture tends to symbolize passion, among other things, and in this case, violence and aggression, because it's the color of blood. however, because trolls all have different blood colors, i think they might have different meanings attached to colors than humans typically do. i think that typically, the colors that would most commonly represent aggression in alternian culture would be blue (cobalt and indigo) and purple. now, i know that the sea dwellers exist, but since the vast majority of trolls are lowbloods, they would have a lot more contact with the land-dwelling highbloods, rather than the fish. so, 47’s tie is blue. (i also just think it looks cool matching his eyes)

chell: I made chell a bronzeblood. she’s a test subject, but not one of the special ones (astronauts, olympians, etc). she’s just another lab rat. (also, a lot of her outfit is orange…)

now for classpects! i only have two i’m sure of as of now:

gordon freeman is an heir of hope. this one is fairly obvious to me. a common belief is that heirs have the ability to become their aspect, in a way. in half life 2, gordon quickly becomes the main symbol of the resistance on earth. for the rebels, he himself IS hope.

agent 47 is a prince of life. again, it’s a common interpretation that princes are themselves void of their aspect, and they destroy that aspect in others. this is really literal, obviously, but as a hitman, 47 kills people. literally destroying life. as for his own lack of life in himself, it’s pretty simple as well. 47 is almost always described as entirely void of emotion and empathy. others often remark on his soulless stare, a lack of life behind his eyes. so, as a prince, he fulfills both criteria there.

holy hell, that was a lot of words. i didn’t intend to talk this much. feel free to add your own thoughts; i’d like to hear what others think. these descriptions were a bit rushed, and i don’t really consider myself to be very good at communicating my thoughts, so a lot of things may have been lost in translation. i’d be happy to try and elaborate on my reasonings for any of them.

(oh, also, please no alyx spoilers. i haven’t played it yet!)

[grunckle]

Qualia and Ascension in Rain World

(To clarify I'm mostly talking about base-game lore and not including Downpour, but honestly most of these things can transfer over)

Qualia

One thing that’s relatively hidden in Rain World’s text and subtext is the concept of qualia. Qualia is described as being, “sensory experiences that have distinctive subjective qualities but lack any meaning or external reference to the objects or events that cause them.” It’s a personal sensory experience that cannot be comprehended by another person other than the individual themself, and are often hard to convey via language.

Qualia is a reoccurring motif in Rain World, but what’s more important is the way in which it’s conveyed to the player. The picture that’s painted is that of a world or civilization that placed a great importance on the individuals’ experience, and it’s shown through pearls or environmental details.

Here are some examples of qualia appearing in the text through pearls.

“It's qualia, or a moment - a very short one. Someone is holding a black stone, and twisting it slightly as they drag their finger across the rough surface. The entire sequence is shorter than a heartbeat, but the resolution is extraordinary.”

“A memory... but not really visual, or even concrete, in its character. It reminds of the feeling of a warm wind, but not the physical feeling but the... inner feeling. I don't think it has much utility unless you are doing some very fringe Regeneraist research.”

“This one... is authored by Five Pebbles, when he was young. There has been an attempt to scramble the data, but it's sloppily done, and most is still somewhat legible. It's written in internal language, or thoughts, so it is hard for me to translate so you would understand.”

But the most prominent examples of qualia and it’s importance in this world are the Memory Crypts and possibly ancient naming conventions. The deep purple pearl (shortened) found in Shaded Citadel states,

“In this vessel is the living memories of Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel, of the House of Braids (…) Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel nobly decided to ascend in the beginning of 1514.008, after graciously donating all (ALL!) earthly possessions to the local Iterator project (Unparalleled Innocence), and left these memories to be cherished by the carnal plane. The assorted memories and qualia include:”

Ancients likely mutated their own neural tissue into the cabinet beasts we see in Shaded, which were used to store their memories and qualia before ascension. Even james said once "how 5 pebs got the rot is a good hint here" in response to someone asking how cabinet beasts work, and how they're made.

Adding on to this, ancient (and iterator) naming conventions seem to be built off of the concept of qualia, with them focusing on individual images or experiences.

Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections

Droplets upon Five Large Droplets

Two Sprouts, Twelve Brackets

Looks to the Moon

Generally, this all points to a world focused on the expression and preservation of the individual experience. You could even consider some of the echo dialogue as more evidence for this running motif, but I already have too many quotes lol.

Ascension

So now time to talk about my interpretation of ascension. In short, you turn into a worm, but I should probably explain more than that.

So its been surfacing on rw-tumblr that the light in the end of the game is called the egg in files. Although file names shouldn't be taken as fact or canon, it is pretty obvious given the birth imagery.

But something a little lesser known is what happens to the worm that takes us down to the void-sea depths. Void worms normally have a bright glowing effect, on their body, which is present for ours as well. But after it unhooks us, it swims down, and when it passes us on it's way back that glowing effect is gone.

To be honest, I don't really think this can be interpreted in many ways, but the most obvious one and the one I personally subscribe to is that the worm laid the egg. Biology and spirituality really aren't that different in Rain World, it's implied that karma is stored in the brain through Five Pebbles's slideshow. Adding on to that, we see voidspawn after eating an iterator neuron. One's spiritual state is innately tied to their mental state, and that dictates what and what they can't perceive.

And for that reason I decide to take a more biology leaning approach to what happens in the ending. At face value, we are fertilizing the egg of a void worm to be reborn into a voidspawn.

Not only do void spawn and void worms have multiple characteristics in common, (worm like bodies, tendrils/tentacles, glowing heads, void spawn look microbial and void worms are likely some of the oldest "life" in game)

but voidspawn are seen inside egg-like coverings and share the same egg light seen in the end of the game, confirmed to be the same thing by Videocult in a livestream they did.

I believe that all this points to ascension being re-birth into a voidspawn, which eventually undergoes metamorphose into a worm. Higher-dimensional beings, who manifest and give birth to a new world.

So how does this tie in with qualia? Another thing you might know is that the area in which void spawn are most plentiful is Shaded Citadel and areas in Shoreline near Shaded. And shaded is absolutely packed with Cabinet Beasts, even outside Memory Crypts. I believe these qualia-storing creatures are what manifest voidspawn.

From what we see in ascension, it still looks physical and largely based around the real world. Hunter still has his scars and see's an iterator, survivor sees the slug tree in a more mystical and formless state, and monk sees survivor frankly just looking like a normal slugcat. I think that ascension is a product of qualia. We transcend our earthly knowledge via the egg, and our own qualia is used to give birth to a new world. This is why voidspawn appear most in Shaded Citadel.

Now I won't be getting into Void-Worm theories too much here, I'm mostly focused on ascension but I can't ignore the Gnosticism parallels. For those who don't know, Void Worms heavily resemble the Yaldaboath from Gnosticism, along with sharing some similar celestial motifs.

and running with that some people theorize that, like the Yaldabaoth, void worms are responsible for manifesting the material world. Ascension seems to be a mix of the concepts of Gnosis and Nirvana, but I believe it might lean more on Gnosis.

From my limited knowledge, Gnosis is a few things, some of which being a state achieved from experiences or intuitions, and an essential part to salvation is personal knowledge. While researching a bit, I came across this text by Peter Wilberg called "From NEW AGE to NEW GNOSIS" which brings up some comparisons between Gnosticism and qualia as well.

"Gnosis is subjective knowledge of an inner universe made up not of matter, energy, space or time but of countless qualitative spheres or ‘planes’ of awareness – a knowledge obtained directly through inter- subjective resonance. It is the subjective science of this inner universe."

One thing though that has been brought up when discussing this is how this can be consolidated with the tone of the ending. It is pretty un-ambiguously happy, but if we're going with the Void worm Yaldaboath theory then that would put a bit of a sour twist on it right?

I agreed with these for some time, but now I actually think it ties in perfectly with Rain World's core themes as stated by the devs, "overcoming differences and finding empathy." I don't think the void worms are "evil" or malevolent, but I think they (and subsequently us after ascending) play a key role in demonstrating this theme.

By manifesting the physical world, we allow these souls to experience life and develop their own qualia so one day they can ascend themselves. We are shown compassion, and pass it forward.

[eu-nicola]

her memory

summary: After Grace's death, you offer to take care of Charlie, Thomas, who lives tormented by his pain, accepts. As both spend more time together, both begin to develop something but neither you or him don't know how to accept it.

warnings: mention of death, nothing more i think

word counter: 7682

author's note: english is not my first language

The cold wind cut through the morning with a cruel indifference, as if the world kept turning without stopping for anyone's mourning. The tombstones stood as silent reminders of lives past, names etched in stone, stories that had ended. Among them all, one stood out: Grace Shelby. The letters were carved with precision, the name reflecting both love and tragedy.

You, Grace's younger sister, held a bouquet of white lilies with numb fingers. You had chosen those flowers because they were Grace's favorite, although now the detail seemed ironic. You couldn't remember the last time you had brought her flowers when she was alive. Maybe you had never done so. Guilt nibbled at the edges of your conscience as you walked down the gravel path.

In the distance, a familiar figure emerged from the mist: Thomas. He was dressed in strict black, his face impassive as always. His eyes, though, those blue eyes that always seemed to be calculating, now reflected something deeper. Pain. Or maybe just tiredness.

You hadn’t spoken to Thomas since Grace’s funeral, and before that, your interactions had been tense, at best. You’d made it clear from the start that you didn’t trust him. “He’s not a good man for you, Grace,” you’d warned him more than once, but Grace always found a way to justify it. “You don’t know him like I do,” she’d reply with a smile that was now just a painful memory.

Thomas stopped in his tracks when he saw you standing by the grave. There were no words of greeting or gestures of courtesy. Neither did they need them. You were both there for the same reason.

You carefully placed the flowers on the grave and knelt down, closing your eyes for a moment. The silence between you and Thomas was thick, heavy with everything that had never been said and everything that would never be said. Finally, you stood up, feeling Thomas’ gaze on you.

“She always talked about you,” Thomas said, his voice low and rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.

You looked at him, surprised by the comment. There was an honesty in his tone that was disarming, something rare about him.

“And what did she say?” you asked, not because you really wanted to know, but because you needed to fill the void.

Thomas lit a cigarette, letting the smoke mix with the cold air. His eyes never left the tombstone.

“She said you were strong. Stronger than you believed yourself. That you had always been her rock, even when you didn’t know it.” He paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “And that you were the only one who could tell her the truth, even if it hurt.”

You felt a lump in your throat. Grace had always been the mediator between you and the world, softening your harshest words, interpreting your silences. Now that she was gone, you felt disoriented, like you’d lost your compass.

“I always thought I was protecting her,” you admitted quietly, your gaze fixed on the grave. “But maybe I was just trying to protect myself. I didn’t want to see her suffer for someone who couldn’t give her what she deserved.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice held a tone you’d never heard before: vulnerability.

“Grace gave me more than I deserved. And I gave her back less than I needed.” He stubbed out his cigarette in the dirt and looked up at you. “But I loved her. In my own way, I loved her.”

His words fell heavily in the air. For a moment, you wanted to respond as harshly as ever, to point out that his love hadn’t been enough, that his world of violence and power had dragged her to the grave. But something stopped you. Maybe it was the pain you saw reflected in his face. Or maybe you were just tired of fighting.

“Grace loved you too,” you said at last, almost in a whisper. “I never doubted that.”

Silence settled between you again. Thomas nodded slightly, as if that statement were enough. You both knew that the relationship between you and him would never be cordial, but at that moment, you shared something that transcended your differences: the loss of the woman who had been the center of your lives.

Finally, Thomas took a step back, shoving his hands into the pockets of his coat.

“I’ll always be here if you need me,” he said, not looking directly at you. Then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and began walking toward the exit of the cemetery.

You watched his figure walk away until it disappeared into the fog. The fog slowly dissipated as you walked away, leaving the tombstone and the memories behind.

After that encounter, you knew that you didn’t want to part with what little was left of Grace. The decision didn’t come immediately, but rather as a persistent murmur in the back of your mind. The image of Grace, always smiling with her baby in her arms, was etched ever deeper into your memory. Charlie was the only part of her left in this world, a small piece of light in the midst of all the darkness her death had left. And you wanted, no, needed, to be a part of her life.

Days later, you found yourself in front of the door of the Shelby house. You hesitated for a moment, looking at the imposing facade. You hadn’t set foot in that place since Grace’s funeral. You sighed deeply and knocked on the door. It was Polly who opened it, her sharp gaze examining you immediately.

“What are you doing here?” she asked bluntly, her tone neither hostile nor friendly, just expectant.

“I need to talk to Thomas,” you said, straightening up.

Polly arched an eyebrow, but didn’t ask any more questions. She waved you in and led you to the living room, where Thomas sat behind his desk, papers strewn in front of him, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

He looked up as you entered, his expression unfazed.

“Another telling off, then?” she asked sarcastically, though there was a hint of curiosity in her tone.

You shook your head, gently shaking your head as you sat across from him.

“I’m not here to fight, Thomas. I’m here for Charlie.”

He set the glass down on the table, his gaze fixed on you.

“What about Charlie?”

You took a moment before answering, your hands clenched in your lap.

“I want to help. I want to be in his life. I know this may sound strange, but I would like to be his nanny.” You hesitated for a second, but continued before he could interrupt. “I want to be close to him, to help raise him. I don’t want him to grow up without having a connection to his maternal family.”

Thomas watched you silently for a few moments. His face was a mask of calm, but his eyes betrayed that he was processing each word carefully.

“Why now?” he asked finally. “You don’t trust me, you never have. Why would you want to get more involved?”

You leaned forward a little, trying to convey the sincerity of your intentions.

“Grace loved Charlie more than anything. And if I can’t have her, I at least want to make sure her son grows up surrounded by love, by family. This isn’t about you, Thomas. This is about him.” You paused, letting your words sink in. “And because Grace would want us to be there for him.” Both of you.

Thomas leaned back in his chair, bringing his hands to his face for a moment before running them through his hair. Finally, he nodded slowly.

“Fine. If that’s what you want, you can start tomorrow. Polly will show you Charlie’s routines. But I warn you,” he said, his voice lower and more serious, “this world is dangerous. I don’t want you to go near it if you ever think you can’t handle it.”

You agreed with a slight nod, knowing there was no turning back.

The next morning, Polly greeted you with a mix of surprise and silent approval. She wasn’t a woman of many words, but she seemed to appreciate your willingness.

“Charlie is a calm boy, but he needs stability,” she said as she led you to the little boy’s room. “His mother was his refuge, and now it’s up to you to fill some of that void.”

When you entered Charlie’s room, your heart tightened. The boy, who couldn’t have been more than two years old, was sitting in his crib, playing with a teddy bear. His eyes were the spitting image of Grace: big, curious, and bright. Seeing you, he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly approached, smiling.

“Hey, little one,” you said quietly, feeling excitement fill your chest.

Charlie watched you for a moment before extending his arms to you, an immediate sign of trust that nearly brought tears to your eyes. You picked him up carefully, feeling his warmth against you. He rested his small head on your shoulder, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were exactly where you were supposed to be.

The rest of the day passed in unexpected calm. You fed him, played with him, and took him for a walk in the garden. As you walked, you couldn’t help but notice that Charlie seemed more relaxed with you than you had anticipated. It was as if, somehow, he knew you were a part of his mother, a connection he still needed.

The passage of time hadn’t eased the void left by Grace, but caring for Charlie filled your days with a kind of purpose you’d never felt before. The little boy had a laugh that lit up even the gloomiest of rooms, and his small hands reached for yours with a trust that melted you. With each day you spent with him, you felt like you were helping keep a part of Grace alive.

Charlie followed you everywhere, whether it was in the garden, where he clung to your wobbly fingers as he tried to walk, or in the kitchen, where he babbled incomprehensible words as you prepared his food. What touched you most was the way he clung to you at night, his small hands tangled in your shirt as you rocked him to sleep.

You were aware that every smile you elicited from him was a silent defiance of the pain his mother’s death had left behind. Though you tried hard to stay strong, there were times when Grace’s absence was too much. On those nights, when Charlie finally fell asleep, you stayed by his side a little longer, whispering stories about his mother to him, wishing that, somehow, he could remember her.

One of those nights, after putting Charlie to bed, you went down to the kitchen in search of something warm to drink. The house was silent, save for the occasional creak of wood beneath your feet. The air was cold, and the light from the fireplace in the living room barely illuminated the hallway.

That was when you saw him. Thomas was sitting in one of the armchairs in front of the fire, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees, a half-empty bottle of whiskey on the table beside him. His eyes, normally sharp and watchful, were darkened by a deep sadness. His face, always controlled, now seemed vulnerable, almost unfamiliar.

For a moment, you hesitated. You had seen Thomas in many facets: calculating, furious, even protective. But never like this, broken.

“Thomas, are you okay?” you asked quietly, though the answer was obvious.

He looked up slowly, his blue eyes piercing through you, filled with a pain that seemed to have no end. He didn’t answer right away, instead taking another long sip from the bottle before setting it down on the table with a thud.

“I didn’t know you were awake,” he finally said, his voice hoarse.

You approached cautiously, sitting down on the armchair in front of him. The distance between you both seemed so short and, at the same time, infinite.

“I was thinking about Grace,” you murmured, trying to connect.

Thomas gave a bitter smile, but his eyes didn’t light up.

“There’s not a single moment when I don’t see her. Every corner of this damn house reminds me of her.”

The silence that followed was thick. You felt like any words you could say would be insufficient, but you couldn't just leave him in that state.

“Grace would never want to see you like this, Thomas,” you said softly. “She always saw the best in you, even when you didn’t.”

He let out a dry, humorless laugh.

“Grace was always better than I deserved. I brought her into this world, into danger, and it killed her.” His words came out laden with guilt. “Everything I touch breaks.”

You leaned forward, meeting his eyes.

“Grace chose to be with you. She knew who you were and what your world meant, but she still loved you. You can’t carry all the blame, Thomas.”

For the first time, Thomas seemed to truly hear you. His eyes met yours, and for a moment, you both shared a pain only you could understand. He let out a heavy sigh, as if he’d been carrying too great a weight for years.

“Charlie gives me a reason to keep going,” he admitted quietly. “But I can’t help but think of everything he lost. What I took from him.”

The pain in his voice tore at you. Without thinking, you stood up and walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“You’re not alone in this, Thomas. Charlie has a lot of people who love him. And so do you.” You paused, measuring your words. “I’m here.”

Thomas lifted his head, surprised by the openness in your voice.

“Thank you,” he finally said, his whisper barely audible.

You stayed by his side as the night wore on, both of you silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. It was the kind of stillness that comes from sharing a common pain.

The days in the Shelby house followed a steady, almost predictable rhythm. The mornings were Charlie's: from the first light of day, the little boy filled the house with his laughter and babbling, and you were there for each of those moments. But the nights... the nights were different.

Since that first time you found Thomas broken in front of the fireplace, something had changed between the two of you. They didn't always talk, but the presence of each other was enough. So, every night after putting Charlie to bed, your steps inevitably led you to the living room, where Thomas waited for you, his silhouette illuminated by the flames of the fire.

The first few nights were a timid exchange of words. Thomas offered you a glass of whiskey, which you accepted although you barely touched it, and the two of you sat in silence, watching the flames dance. Every now and then, he shared fragments of memories about Grace, little anecdotes that made you smile or sometimes let out a stifled laugh.

“Grace always made fun of my smoking,” he commented one night, with a slight smile. “She said I looked like a cheap actor trying to look sophisticated.”

You laughed softly, imagining your sister with her sharp wit and love of little jokes.

“That sounds like Grace,” you said, your voice heavy with nostalgia.

Over time, conversations became more fluid, less restrained. You shared memories of your childhood with Grace, little secrets that only the two of you knew. Thomas listened intently, his eyes softening with each story, as if through your words he could feel his wife’s presence again.

“You know?” you said, staring into the fire. “I always thought you were Grace’s worst mistake.”

Thomas, who had been staring at his glass of whiskey, looked up slowly, one eyebrow arched.

“And now?” he asked, his tone neutral, but his eyes heavy with curiosity.

You sighed, playing with the rim of your glass.

“Now… I’m not so sure.” You looked at him, your words softer than you’d planned. “Grace was happy with you. And that’s what matters, isn’t it?”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he watched you closely.

“I’m not a good man,” he finally said, his voice low, almost a whisper. “I never have been. But with Grace… she made me want to be better.”

You nodded slowly, understanding the weight of his words.

“We all have our shadows, Thomas. But I’ve seen how you are with Charlie, how you talk about Grace. Maybe you’re not as bad as I always thought.”

He let out a dry laugh, but there was a glint of something else in his eyes, something that seemed like a mix of relief and gratitude.

“That’s the closest thing to a compliment I’ve heard from you,” he said, his tone mocking, though his smile was genuine.

“Don’t get used to it,” you replied, smiling back.

With each passing night, the relationship between the two of you transformed. The conversations became deeper, more sincere. Thomas showed you a side that few knew about: the man behind the boss, the husband, the father struggling to find balance in a world full of chaos.

One night, after a long silence, Thomas confessed something that surprised you.

“I didn’t think you could forgive me,” he said, his words laden with a weight he seemed to have been carrying for a long time. “Not after everything.”

You stared at him, sensing the sincerity in his voice.

“It’s not easy to forgive, Thomas. But I also know that life is too short to hold on to hate.”

For a moment, you thought you were going to see tears in his eyes, but Thomas just nodded, clenching his jaw as he looked away.

Even if everything was fine between you and Thomas, there was always something off. The next day, the sun was shining softly that afternoon, and a light breeze rustled the leaves, making everything seem almost calm, almost normal.

Charlie was swinging happily in a baby swing that Thomas had had installed months ago. You stood nearby, watching him with a smile as you gently pushed the swing, making sure it wasn’t too high.

Charlie giggled, and when the swing stopped, he raised his arms to you, asking to be pulled out. You picked him up easily, holding him against your hip as he wrapped his arms around your neck. He looked at you with those big, bright eyes that reminded you so much of Grace, and something in your chest tightened.

“I love you, little one,” you murmured, gently kissing his forehead.

The little boy stared at you for a moment, then rested his little head on your shoulder and, in a barely audible voice, whispered,

“Mommy.”

The world seemed to stop. The air became thick, and for an instant, you couldn’t move or breathe. Your heart skipped a beat as the weight of that word fell upon you. You didn’t know what to say. Charlie didn’t fully understand what he had just said, but to you, the meaning was overwhelming.

Before you could react, a deep, sharp voice broke the silence.

“What did you say?”

You turned around suddenly and saw Thomas standing a few feet away. His face was tense, his eyes dark and filled with a mix of surprise and suppressed fury. He had returned earlier than expected and had clearly heard his son’s words.

—Thomas… —you started to say, trying to calm him down.

—Why is he calling you "Mom"? —he interrupted, his voice low but full of intensity.

Charlie, oblivious to the tension, clung to you with an innocent smile, his small hands playing with your hair. The image must have been a shock to Thomas, a painful reminder of what he’d lost.

“He’s just a kid, Thomas,” you said calmly, setting Charlie down so he could play again. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. I would never try to take Grace’s place.”

Thomas took a step forward, his posture rigid.

“But you are,” he said, his voice raspy. “You’re looking out for him, you’re comforting him, and now he thinks you—” He paused, as if the words were too painful to say out loud.

“I’m here because I wanted Charlie to have someone to look out for him, to love him. I’m not trying to replace Grace, Thomas. I never could,” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Oh, yeah?” he snapped, his tone bitter. “And what do you think is going to happen if you keep this up?” He’ll see you as his mother.

His words were like blades, and you felt a lump in your throat, but you weren’t going to back down.

“That’s not fair!” you exclaimed, raising your voice. “I’ve done everything you asked of me, Thomas. I’ve been here, taking care of Charlie, helping you keep this home standing. And now you’re blaming me for something I can’t even control?”

Thomas clenched his fists, his eyes burning with frustration.

“You don’t understand. This isn’t your place. You’re not his mother. You never will be.”

The words were like a blow, but you refused to let them affect you any more than necessary.

“You’re right, Thomas,” you said, your voice cold. “I’m not his mother. But at least I’m here for him. And you? Where are you when he needs you? Or do you prefer to hide behind your whiskey and your business, letting others deal with the pain?”

Thomas took a step closer, his face now just inches from yours.

“Be careful what you say.”

“Why?” you replied, challenging him with your gaze. “Because you don’t like hearing the truth?”

The silence that followed was sharp, both of you breathing heavily, the tension between you almost tangible. Finally, Thomas took a step back, his face hardening.

“If you can’t understand your place here, then maybe you shouldn’t be here.”

Those words were a final blow. You nodded slowly, your expression cold but hurt.

“Understood.”

Without saying anything else, you turned and walked into the house, leaving Thomas alone in the garden. You felt a mix of rage and sadness as you climbed the stairs to your room. Everything you had done, all the effort, seemed to have been in vain. You leaned against the closed door, trying to control the tears that threatened to spill out.

The days that followed that tense confrontation with Thomas were tinged with an awkward silence in the house. The air seemed heavier, as if the very walls held back unspoken words and hurt feelings. But the most noticeable change was in Charlie.

The little boy, who used to be an endless source of laughter and energy, now seemed to be caught in a cloud of restlessness. His demeanor changed dramatically; laughter had been replaced by sobs, and his usual enthusiasm for play had given way to an irritable, brooding attitude. Every little inconvenience, from a toy that didn't work the way he wanted it to the lack of his favorite snack, made him burst into tears.

It hurt to see him like this, but the worst thing was that you knew why. Charlie missed the closest thing he'd had to a mother in the last few months. And even though you'd tried to keep your distance after the argument with Thomas, you couldn't help but worry about the boy.

That afternoon, Charlie was sitting on the living room floor, tightly hugging a teddy bear that Grace had given him. Tears ran down his cheeks as he murmured between sobs:

"Mom..."

You knelt beside him, feeling a lump in your throat.

"I know, honey," you said softly, stroking his hair. "I know you miss her."

Charlie turned to you, his little eyes full of desperation.

"Mom," he said.

It was like a dagger straight to the heart. Your instinct was to hug him, but you stopped, remembering Thomas' words.

“Oh, little Charlie,” you said finally, your voice breaking.

The little boy didn’t understand, and you knew it. To him, absence was a void that was impossible to fill. His sobs increased, and in the end, you couldn’t hold back any longer. You lifted him into your arms, holding him tightly as he cried against your chest.

“I’m here now,” you murmured, trying to calm him down. “I’m not leaving, okay?”

At that moment, the door opened, and Thomas entered the room. His gaze hardened as he took in the scene before him: you holding Charlie, trying to comfort him like a mother would.

“What’s going on here?” he asked, his voice cold.

Charlie turned to his father, his little face still wet with tears.

“Dad… Mom.”

Thomas tensed his jaw, his gaze darkening even further. He took a step toward you, his eyes fixed on you.

The boy clung to you, but was eventually led to his room by a maid. Once he was out of the room, Thomas turned to you.

“What part of ‘you can’t be his mother’ didn’t you understand?” he said, his voice low but filled with contained anger.

You stood up, crossing your arms.

“Thomas, don’t you see what’s happening? Charlie is hurting. He misses his mother, and for now, I’m the closest thing he has. Why can’t you just accept it?”

Thomas laughed, but there was no humor in his voice.

“Accept it? You want me to accept my son starting to call you mom while Grace is in her grave? Is that what you want?”

“No, what I want is for you to stop being so selfish,” you replied, raising your voice. “This isn’t about you, Thomas. It’s about Charles. He needs someone, and you can’t be everything to him.”

Thomas took a step closer, his presence imposing.

“You don’t decide what my son needs. I’m his father.”

“And I’m the only person who’s been here for him while you drown in your own pain,” you said, not backing down. “But it’s okay, Thomas. If that’s what you want, I’ll leave. But when Charlie keeps crying at night, when he asks you why I left him, you’ll be the one responsible.”

Thomas didn’t answer right away. His gaze was hard, but there was something else going on, too: an internal struggle, a battle between his pride and the reality that was hitting him harder and harder.

Finally, he took a step back, breaking eye contact.

“Do what you want,” he murmured, before exiting the room and leaving you alone.

The next few days were marked by an awkward silence between you and Thomas. Even though he had made it clear that he didn’t want you anywhere near Charlie, you couldn’t just walk away. Not when the little boy needed you more than ever. So, defying Thomas’ orders, you continued to look after the boy. After all, someone had to do it.

That night, the Shelby house was unusually quiet. Charlie had had a long day and was restless, his small body still shaking from time to time from residual sobs. You held him in your arms, gently rocking him as you walked around the room, whispering soothing words to him. Eventually, his eyes began to close, and his breathing became more rhythmic.

The house was empty. Thomas had gone out, as he often did lately, immersing himself in his business and affairs. Everything seemed calm, but there was an uneasiness in the air that you couldn’t shake.

Suddenly, a noise downstairs broke the silence. At first you thought maybe Thomas had returned, but a quick glance at the clock made you dismiss that idea. You clutched Charlie to your chest, your senses heightening. Another noise, this time clearer: the creaking of a door carefully opening.

Your heart began to pound, but you kept your cool. You couldn’t allow yourself to lose control. Slowly, you made your way to the bedroom door, making sure Charlie was safe in your arms.

The sound of footsteps ascending the stairs grew clearer and clearer. Then, a figure appeared in the doorway, a tall, burly man with a cold, cruel gaze. He held a gun, his face partially hidden by a handkerchief.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” the man said, his voice deep and full of mockery. “I didn’t expect to find a babysitter.”

You said nothing, your mind working quickly. The man pointed the gun at you, a gesture that made it clear he wasn’t there to talk.

“Where’s Shelby?” he asked, taking a step forward. “I know she’s not far away. But in the meantime…” his eyes fell on Charlie, who began to fidget in your arms, sensing danger. “Maybe we can send her a message, huh?”

“You don’t have to do this,” you said in a firm, yet calm voice. “Thomas will be back soon, and when he does, you won’t want to be here.”

The man laughed, a harsh, cruel sound.

“And what are you going to do?” he snapped. “Another empty threat? I’m here to settle a score, and if it means hurting the one you care about most…” He motioned to Charlie with a shake of his head.

Charlie began to cry, his small fists clinging to your shirt. Your instinct was to protect him, positioning him so that his body was out of reach of the gun. Despite the fear you felt, you kept your voice calm.

“You’re not going to touch him. If it’s Thomas you want, then he’s him you’ll face. But not a child.”

The man paused, considering your words, but his expression showed no sign of mercy.

“The world is not so kind, young lady.”

Before he could move, another noise echoed through the house. This time, the unmistakable thud of a door slamming shut. The man turned quickly, raising the gun, but before he could react, Thomas appeared in the doorway.

His gaze was deadly. In a quick, calculated move, he pulled out his pistol and fired without hesitation. The sound was deafening in the small room, and the man fell to the floor with a thud, the gun slipping from his hand.

Thomas moved forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the intruder’s body to make sure he posed no further threat. When he was sure, he turned his attention back to you and Charlie.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice low but urgent.

Charlie was still crying, his tears soaking your shirt. You nodded, though your heart was still pounding.

“Yeah, we’re okay,” you murmured, trying to calm Charlie as you cradled him against you.

Thomas moved closer, placing a firm but gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Take him downstairs,” he said. “I’ll take care of this.”

You nodded again, walking out of the room with Charlie still in your arms. His sobs began to subside as you descended the stairs, the warmth of your embrace providing him with a modicum of comfort.

When you reached the living room, you sat down on the couch, holding Charlie close. Shortly after, Thomas came down, his steps slower, his expression hardened. He sat down in front of you, his gaze assessing you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone with him,” he finally said, his voice heavy with a mix of guilt and concern.

“Thomas… it’s not your fault,” you replied, though you knew it wasn’t enough to ease his burden.

For the first time in days, his eyes showed something other than fury. There was fear there, fear of what could have happened if he had arrived a minute later.

As you rocked gently, Charlie’s little face buried in your chest, while you ran your fingers through his hair, murmuring soothing words.

Thomas sat across from you, his elbows resting on his knees and his hands clasped together, staring at the floor as if he was trapped in thought. The dim light from the lamp cast deep shadows on his face, highlighting the hardness of his features. But his eyes… his eyes showed something different that night: vulnerability.

“I shouldn’t have taken you away from Charlie,” he said suddenly, breaking the silence with a low tone, almost a whisper. He wasn’t looking at you, but his voice was heavy with remorse. “It was a mistake.”

You look up, surprised by his words. You had expected many things from Thomas Shelby, but not an apology.

“Thomas…” you began, but he held up a hand, indicating that he wasn’t finished yet.

“Ever since Grace died, I’ve tried to protect him, protect us both. But in doing so, all I’ve done is fail him. I can’t give him what he needs.” He finally looked up, his eyes meeting yours. “But you can.”

The words hit you with a mix of relief and pain. You knew how much it had cost him to admit that, how much it meant to him to acknowledge that he couldn’t do everything alone.

“Charlie needs you, more than I wanted to admit. I’ve seen you with him, how he calms down in your arms, how he trusts you.” Thomas ran a hand over his face, sighing deeply. “And I was an idiot to try to push you away from him.”

You looked down at Charlie, who was breathing easier now, his fingers gently clinging to your shirt. A feeling of warmth and relief settled in your chest. You had been willing to do anything for that little boy, even if it meant facing Thomas Shelby.

“Thank you for saying it, Thomas,” you finally said, your voice soft but firm. “But I need you to trust me, to understand that I would never do anything to hurt him.”

Thomas nodded slowly, his eyes still locked with yours. There was a weight in his gaze, but also a sort of unspoken truce.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m grateful. More than I can express.”

He leaned forward, his hands resting on his knees as he watched Charlie with a mix of tenderness and pain.

“I never wanted him to grow up without a mother. And I know you’ll never be able to replace Grace, but what you do for him… that’s the closest thing to a home I can offer him now.”

The lump in your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to keep your composure.

“I’ll do everything I can for him, Thomas. Always.”

For the first time in what seemed like weeks, Thomas smiled, albeit a weak, tired smile.

“I know,” he said simply.

Silence fell between you again, but this time it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence of understanding, of acceptance. Charlie had fallen asleep, his little rhythmic sighs filling the room.

Thomas stood up, walking towards you with slow steps. He leaned down slightly, placing a hand on Charlie’s head and stroking his hair gently. Then, his eyes met yours again.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible, but loaded with meaning.

You simply nodded, no need for words.

The next few days were quieter in the house. Thomas allowed you to care for Charlie without interference, and even began to participate more in the moments you shared with the little one. There was a routine that was beginning to feel, if not normal, at least less tense.

You and Thomas also began to talk more. At first, it was practical conversations, about Charlie or about how to reinforce the security of the house. But little by little, those dialogues transformed into something more personal. Moments when, for a brief moment, Thomas Shelby wasn’t the ruthless leader of the Peaky Blinders, but simply a man trying to navigate loss.

One night, after you’d put Charlie to bed, you found Thomas in the living room, a glass of whiskey in his hand. The soft light from the table lamp illuminated the room, creating a warm, almost intimate atmosphere. He was sitting in the armchair by the fireplace, his gaze lost in the flames.

“Everything okay?” you asked, carefully entering the room.

Thomas looked up, his expression relaxing at the sight of you.

“Yeah,” he replied, though his tone said otherwise. “Just… thinking.”

You walked over and sat on the couch across from him. You didn’t want to push him, but there was something in his gaze that night that worried you.

“About Grace?” you asked softly.

He nodded, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down on the table beside him.

“Always Grace,” he murmured. “There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t think about her. What could have been if…” He paused, his jaw tightening.

You didn’t say anything, allowing him space to speak if he needed to. You knew that, as hard as it was for him, these moments of vulnerability were important.

“Sometimes I think I’m losing her,” he continued, his voice barely a whisper. “Her face, her voice… it’s all fading away, and that scares me more than anything.”

Your heart clenched at his confession. Thomas, the man who always seemed so strong, was pouring his soul out in front of you. Without thinking too hard, you stood up and walked over, standing next to him.

“You won’t lose her, Thomas,” you said softly. “She’ll always be a part of you, of Charlie. Nothing will change that.”

He looked at you, his blue eyes shining in the firelight. There was something in his gaze, a mix of pain, gratitude, and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Without thinking, he raised a hand and gently brushed it against your cheek.

The gesture took you by surprise, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you found yourself leaning slightly into him, until his lips met yours in a soft kiss, laden with repressed emotion. It was a brief moment, but it was intense, as if both of you were allowing yourselves to feel something you’d been denying for far too long.

But as soon as it was over, Thomas pulled away, his expression changing from vulnerability to guilt in an instant.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he said, his voice hard and laden with regret. He stood up quickly, moving away from you as if the contact had burned. “I can’t… I can’t do this to Grace.”

The pain in his voice was palpable, but it didn’t hurt any less that his words were hurting you, too. You stayed on the couch, trying to process what had just happened.

“Thomas…” you tried to speak, but he held up a hand to stop you.

“No. I can’t,” he repeated, his tone harsher. “It was a mistake. I shouldn’t have…”

You stood up, the lump in your throat getting tighter with each word he said.

“A mistake?” you asked, your voice shaking slightly.

He didn’t answer, but his silence was enough to confirm it. You felt your eyes begin to fill with tears, but you refused to let them fall in front of him.

“I understand,” you finally said, your voice firmer than you expected. “Maybe I shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

Without giving him a chance to respond, you turned and walked out of the room, your heart pounding in your chest. You climbed the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last, until you reached your room. You closed the door behind you, letting the tears finally fall.

The days following the kiss and the rejection were unbearably tense. You and Thomas had gone back to barely speaking beyond what was necessary. Conversations were limited to the basics: directions for Charlie, changes around the house, or simple mechanical greetings. Any vestige of the connection you had begun to build seemed to have faded, leaving an awkward chasm between you.

It hurt, more than you wanted to admit. You had accepted that Thomas still carried Grace in his heart, but you hadn’t expected the kiss you shared, brief but full of meaning, to become a wall between you.

Finally, one night, after you had put Charlie to sleep, you found yourself unable to bear the coldness any longer. You knew you couldn’t continue living in the same house, taking care of Charlie, and pretending everything was okay when it wasn’t.

You found him in the living room, as always, with a glass of whiskey in his hand. He barely looked up when you entered, but you didn’t say anything right away. You closed the door behind you and stood there, watching him.

“How long are we going to keep this up, Thomas?” you finally asked, breaking the silence with a voice filled with frustration.

Thomas didn’t even flinch. He took a sip of his whiskey before answering, his tone indifferent.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Your jaw tightened, and you took a step forward.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about. This. Us. Pretending like nothing happened, when we both know it did.”

Thomas finally looked up, his blue eyes cold and calculating.

“There is no ‘us,’” he said harshly. “There can’t be.”

His words were like a punch to the gut, but you didn’t back down.

“And that’s it?” you replied, your voice rising slightly. “Are you going to keep hiding behind Grace’s memory, using your guilt as an excuse to keep everyone at a distance?”

Thomas’ expression hardened, and he set his glass down with a thud.

“Be careful what you say,” he warned, his voice low but dangerous.

But you were too furious to stop yourself. The pressure of the past few days, the built-up tension, it all came crashing down.

“Careful?” you repeated, taking a step closer. “I’m tired of walking on eggshells around you, Thomas. What’s wrong with you? Why do you insist on pushing everyone away?”

Thomas stood up suddenly, his imposing presence filling the room.

“Because that’s what I do,” he snapped. Because the people I care about always end up hurt or dead.

“And that’s an excuse to treat me like that?” You took a step closer, your eyes flashing with fury. “I’m not Grace! You can’t keep punishing me for something I can’t change.”

The tension in the room was palpable, each word a sharp dart. Before you could think, you grabbed an empty glass from the table and threw it hard. The glass crashed into the wall behind him, shattering into pieces.

Thomas reacted immediately, crossing the distance between you in a matter of seconds. Before you could move, he roughly grabbed you by the arms, his grip firm but not painful. His eyes burned with an intensity that took your breath away.

“Enough!” he growled, his voice hoarse and heavy with repressed emotion.

You were about to retort, to fight against his hold, when suddenly, without warning, his lips crashed against yours. It was a desperate, hungry kiss, as if both of them were trying to drown all the pain, frustration, and guilt in that moment.

You resisted for a moment, surprised by the abruptness, but quickly gave in, kissing him back with equal intensity. His hands, which had previously held you tightly, slid down to your waist, pulling you closer.

The world around you disappeared. There was no more arguing, no more awkward silences. Just the warmth of his lips, the frantic beat of your heart, and the feeling of being, for the first time in days, completely alive.

His lips left yours for an instant, moving down to your neck, as his hands eagerly explored. Everything about him was urgency, need held back for too long. There were no words between you, just the ragged sound of breaths and the steady throb of a dormant desire that had finally exploded.

“Tommy…” you murmured in whispers, your fingers getting lost in his dark hair as he lifted you slightly, leaning you against the nearby wall.

He responded with a growl, capturing your lips again, as if afraid that moving away for a second might break the connection. It was a forbidden moment, but you were both too far away to stop.

The room seemed to fill with heat as every barrier crumbled. Thomas was all fire, and you consumed yourself with it without remorse.

Finally, when the intensity subsided, you both lay still, breathing hard, still entwined. His eyes searched you, and for an instant, you saw something more than desire. It was a vulnerability he rarely showed, an acknowledgement that he needed you more than he was willing to admit.

He didn’t apologize this time. There was no room for words; the silence between you spoke for itself. And in that moment, you knew nothing would ever be the same again.

[yamujiburo]

About your building a following document you linked. I have been thinking about it, because it's something I've struggled with for a long time. I think there's something to add to it.

Being personable and talking online. You talk, and people get to know you and they want to interact with you. This interaction keeps you visible and in people's minds and also furthers them getting to know you. It's a nice cycle sort of.

That being said, I'm not sure if this is a real question that can be answered, but do you have any tips for talking online? I tend to post my art and then just reblog it a few times before posting more art a week or two later. I talk on my private twitter, but even then, not often. I'm not sure what to talk about publicly, and sometimes I back out of saying things. Of course when I do say things, I don't get much interaction, which makes sense because people barely know me. I hope I'm not sounding self depreciating or anything. I just see how you and other artists interact with people, and I want that! I want to be able to say things and have conversations! It just seems fun.

I do mention that in the doc! More along the lines of commenting on other people's stuff and generally being nice

Throwing your thoughts out into the void is fun! I wouldn't do it with the goal of trying to get people to talk to you. It should be natural if people do happen upon your account.

Then on the other end, going and commenting stuff on peoples' art, beyond the "awww cute" and "i love this!" kind of thing. It's not that these comments aren't greatly appreciated or bad in any way, but generic compliments will usually bring on generic replies of gratitude. If the person drew something you're interested in show that you're interested in it and know the subject matter! On Team Rocket or Pokemon fanart, I'm always commenting something like I like their interpretation of the characters, or that it reminds me of a bit from an episode I'd seen, etc. That tells the artist you're really engaging in what they drew and might incline them to talk more about a thing that they enjoy as well.

The nice thing about being an artist yourself is that you can draw too! My favorite comments are the ones where people add on to my drawings. Examples!!

This might just be the board artist in me but I love when people build off of the stuff I do either to punch it up or add to it in a funny way! And this doesn't only apply to drawing. Whenever I get comments detailing a little headcanon that came from one of my drawings or someone writes out a funny scenario they think would come after a comic I do, I'm in. This is the shit I live for.

Of course every person has different boundaries but that's the kind of thing you find over time~

[beneathsilverstars]

been doing research on writing plural systems for sif+loop in mundane modern aus, and i think i've got a solid idea of what i want to do! specifics may vary by au but i wanted a base set of headcanons to vary from, so sif+loop being a system can be a background fact of my au musings instead of something i have to reinvent every time.

(i'm a singlet so if any systems have concrit or thoughts they want to share i'd be happy to hear it! i'm not like planning a fic or anything currently, but it's still nice to not be working off of misconceptions for my silly little posts.)

siffrin took over as the main host in their late teens and doesn't remember anything from before that. in their early-mid 20s their work/housing situation was horrible and when they couldn't take another day like that, siffrin split into loop (who kept the mid 20s memories, with a new personality) and siffrin take two (who remembers the 17-20 era a bit better, but then there's a big gap). between the two of them they were able to cope better and hold a not-as-awful job and get a shitty apartment all to themselves!

siffrin fronts more often on average, because they're better at quietly accomplishing day-to-day tasks. but if he gets too overwhelmed or anxious (think their mini loop-backs in canon) then loop takes over, bc loop dgaf about some of the things siffrin worries about, and doesn't shut down as easily. but since they don't bottle up their feelings as severely, they're more likely to react outwardly and make rash choices like quitting their job, being rude, splurging on little treats, etc. so that's why siffrin is the default fronter for things like work and chores, when he's feeling up to it.

loop is fairly aware of what's going on while siffrin is fronting - sometimes they choose to tune more of it out, but they can catch most of it if they want to, and sometimes siffrin will talk to them or nudge them to pay attention. since they know at least the basics of what siffrin was up to, they can usually step in pretty smoothly when they need to take over! and it's very easy for them to take over, with or without siffrin's say-so, though they try to ask if it's not an emergency (and if it is an emergency, siffrin is likely trying to back away from the front anyway).

when loop is fronting, though, siffrin is entirely away, dreaming in the void. loop can nudge them for a vague opinion or relevant memory, but they can't hold a full conversation and they're not aware of what loop's doing. when loop puts them in the front again they're usually disoriented and need a moment for loop to tell them what's been happening. and again, loop is the one deciding to switch; sometimes siffrin might resist getting pulled back if they're still feeling bad, or get antsy and start reaching out if they've been asleep a while or are having bad dreams, but they're not gonna react to environmental situations since they're not aware of them.

mal is in there too but doesn't front. its role is to be socially hyper-vigilant, pointing out when other people might be upset at them so the alter who's fronting knows to fix it or avoid the person. it's been around longer than siffrin, and was helpful way back then, but now that siffrin and loop have worked out an effective balance and are fairly safe, mal's behavior is somewhat maladaptive (ha!). it's not super directly aware of the outside world like loop is, not anymore at least, but it does get secondhand memories from both siffrin and loop. it actually sometimes remembers facts and details that sif and loop both quickly forgot, because maybe those details will end up relevant to spotting and avoiding future problems - but since it got the memories secondhand and filtered them through a particularly paranoid worldview, it's likely to misremember subjective interpretations as literal truth, so you gotta take its claims with a grain of salt.

it mostly hangs out in the void imagining fractals and whatnot these days, keeping an eye on siffrin while they sleep. it occasionally perks up and chimes in with its pessimistic point of view when siffrin is really upset - it can communicate better with sleeping siffrin than loop can. loop is not on speaking terms with it because they're mad that it goes behind loop's back and makes siffrin more upset right when loop is trying to shield him from the upsetting situation. but siffrin doesn't mind it bc it's just trying to help in its own way, and sometimes it is helpful to face their fears in plain words instead of avoiding them. and siffrin will sometimes ask it for help with like, puzzles, because it's good at pattern recognition.

there's also a no-longer-quite-dormant alter that presumably fronted for much of the body's childhood. they don't hang out in siffrin and mal's void, and they don't talk to anyone else within the system. but now that the system is more safe and stable, every once in a while something will catch their attention and they'll gently push to the front and start talking. as soon as their train of thought is interrupted they're gone again, and the other alters don't even remember that they got usurped for a moment, a la siffrin's bits of telling childhood anecdotes in canon. loop and siffrin have surmised that they exist, and call them the lost one.

mal has also implied that there's at least one more dormant alter, but it's from before siffrin-and-loop's time and possibly mal's as well.

if something happens that's so distressing that siffrin retreats into headspace and loop won't take over either, the body goes into dissociated autopilot. it will follow basic one-step instructions (such as "follow me" or "eat this"), speak in a couple simple scripts (such as answering "how are you" with "i'm fine"), and complete rote tasks such as taking a familiar route home from work or going to bed. loop doesn't pay much attention because that would defeat the point / put them back in front, so they usually have very little if any idea of what happened in this state, but it is possible for outside events to catch their attention enough for them to try fronting again. otherwise they'll be back next time the body wakes up. siffrin, on the other hand, usually won't front for at least a day or two after this happens, and will likely have forgotten the events leading up to it as well.

it doesn't happen very often since it's the very last resort, after siffrin dissociating, loop taking over, and loop dissociating. loop and siffrin don't consider the autopilot an alter because it doesn't form memories, have emotions or opinions, or interact in the headspace; it just follows where it's led, by habit or outside influence. loop has argued in favor of trying to imbue it with more personhood so it's less uncanny for other people to interact with and can get loop's attention when the distressing thing is over, but siffrin argues that if it can think that defeats the point, and they'd just end up with this new alter and a new autopilot.

past all that, the specifics will depend on the exact au; particularly the ratio of loop time to siffrin time will depend on how much siffrin works and how awful their job is, whether siffrin and/or loop have friends yet, etc. but i think when they're doing pretty well they'd be happy with siffrin doing work/chores and most of the activities that they both enjoy (since then they'll both remember it), and loop fronting for maybe a third of their free time to do their own thing, and maybe here and there if something goes wrong at work. and then if siffrin starts feeling burnt out, they swap for a couple days of loop doing most things and siffrin just coming out for an hour or two. siffrin and mal probably talk maybe a couple times a month, unless siffrin is really going through it, in which case they might talk a lot for a couple days. it also might be possible for mal to eventually adapt a little more to being safe, and start providing a wider range of possible interpretations instead of just the worst case scenario.

ok that's all! and as i said, i'm totally open to feedback. :3

[atzloverr]

Selfish desire - chapter 9

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series masterlist

warnings! includes abusive relationships, bruises and other indicators of physical abuse, manipulation, depictions of violence, Yunho x reader (finally he gets some action even though it’s small)

You looked at the mirror in front of you. Dark bruises, cuts and rashes, that was just the beginning.

Your own features felt foreign to you. Who was this person? Had you turned into somebody else when entering this hellhole? You couldn’t tell.

You still recognized your eyes. They were the same ones you had had all your life. They were the only indicator that this was in fact you, not some sort of monster created by hate disguised as love.

It was a floor length mirror, so nothing was concealed. The sterile lights of the bathroom made you look like some sort of science project.

Although you recognized them, you had never seen your eyes this empty. Even as you looked right at your own reflection, they looked as if they stared into a void of nothingness. Perhaps that was what you wished you could see on the reflective surface. Nothing.

You walked over to the bathtub, and turned off the running water. This was going to be your first time getting cleaned since arriving here. And of course, you were not allowed to do it by yourself. You had managed to bargain with Hongjoong, only letting him come in when you were already in the bathtub.

It was shocking he even had some compassion for you after all that he had done for the past two days.

Endless torture. No rest. No food. No company besides him.

You submerged into the warm water, hissing as your fairly fresh cuts stung when coming in contact with the water. It was immediately colored red. You wished you could shower, but when finding out that you would be joined by Hongjoong, you didn’t feel like showing everything to him.

He had already seen enough.

“Come in,” you muttered, having completely sat down in the bathtub. Hongjoong only wore a robe, almost making you fear that he was going to enter the bath with you.

You hugged your knees to your chest, looking into the reddened water. Hongjoong pulled out a stool next to the tub.

“Does it feel nice?” Hongjoong purred.

You closed your eyes. “Kind of”

You weren’t lying. While being in this hot water stung like hell, this was one of the things you had been craving ever since being kidnapped. Cleaning yourself up.

“Wet your hair for me please,” Hongjoong said. You didn’t know how to feel about any of this. He had gone from treating you like an inhumane being with who he can do whatever he pleases, to this fragile flower who he suddenly cherishes.

You followed his request, and covered your chest as your head submerged into the water. For a second you almost feared that he would push your head under the water, so you quickly pulled your head back up again.

“Don’t worry, my love,” he said, squirting some shampoo in his hand. “Your punishment is done.”

You couldn’t resist the sigh of relief that left you. He giggled slightly. You turned your back against him, letting his fingers massage your scalp, the shampoo frothing up and slowly cleaning your hair. A small moan left your lips, making you cover your mouth in embarrassment.

Hongjoong let out another small laugh. “It’s okay. I want you to enjoy it here,” he said. You looked down. Was that what he interpreted that as? Enjoying it here?

You weren’t enjoying it here. You were simply happy to finally get cleaned after living in a dirty basement for days and then getting brutally tortured for trying to escape.

You didn’t dare to talk back. Just like how you didn’t dare to ask him why he was going to wash your hair, or why he even did all of this in the first place.

You had learned already, that asking questions led you nowhere.

“You can rinse it now,” he said, rinsing his own hands in the water.

You weren’t sure how your cuts would react to having soap in them, but once again, didn’t dare to ask.

As you let your own fingers massage your scalp under the warm water, Hongjoong having turned away to let you do your business, you didn’t even stifle the heavy breaths exiting you. You felt like crying from how nice this felt.

Hongjoong insisted on washing your back with body wash, letting you do the rest of your body. He ran his fingers over the bruises he had left by whipping you. Luckily, he didn’t manage yo break any skin. His fingers traced your spine next, as the soap coated your back.

“You’ve lost weight. That’s no good,” he tutted, a small pout on his lips. You wanted to scream at the comment. He said it as if it hadn’t all been because of him. “I’ll have to make sure to feed you well,” he smiled contentedly.

You put on the bathrobe Hongjoong had prepared for you, and sat down on the large bed as you had been instructed. Hongjoong hummed a tune as be patched you up with bandages, a fond smile on his lips. You looked down at him in disbelief. When you expected tears to exit your eyes, they remained dry. Perhaps you had run out.

Just like Seonghwa, it was as if Hongjoong also had the ability to switch personalities. Was this really the cruel monster who had tortured you the other night?

You thought back on some of the words he said the first night.

“I bet your parents would be disappointed to see that you didn’t actually die.”

That comment wouldn’t have hurt as much as it did, if it weren’t for the fact that you almost agreed with him.


You hadn’t spoken to your parents ever since you left home to go to university. They were no longer a part of your life. In all those waking hours you had spent in that basement, they had often occupied your mind. Did they miss you? Was Hongjoong perhaps just telling you the harsh truth when he said those cruel words?

You swallowed, the memory almost making you feel ill. “What’s going on?” he asked. Your eyes widened in fear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I’m fine,” you said, forcing a smile. Hongjoong raised an eyebrow. “Tell me the truth. You know I don’t like liars.” You stiffened up at those last words. You definitely knew that.

“I’m just thinking about my parents,” you said, almost bracing yourself to earn some sort of punishment once again. Hongjoong clicked his tongue. Not in a matter of annoyance though, rather a patronizing one.

“It’s okay darling,” he tucked your wet hair behind your ear. “You have us now.”

You mentally questioned the statement, but was interrupted by three stable knocks on the door.

Hongjoong quickly stood up from his crouching position, having already finished patching you up. He unlocked the door with the key from his pocket. The sound of those keys rattling almost unlocked a reaction in you. You had only heard those sounds when Hongjoong was leaving you to lie bleeding out on the floor, or when he came back to teach you yet another lesson.

Seonghwa entered the room, his arms behind his back. You stood up from your position on the bed, feeling vulnerable suddenly. You had not met anyone else than Hongjoong for these past few days.

Seonghwa slowly walked closer to you, a small smile on his face. What you hadn’t expected, was for him to wrap his arms around you in a tight embrace. He breathed in the fresh scent of the shampoo Hongjoong had chosen to use on you. You reluctantly hugged him back.

“There you are my darling. I’ve missed you so much,” he said.

You didn’t even know what to answer. You hadn’t exactly left. Seonghwa had let all of this unfold, only the house walls separating you.

He pulled away from you, and his teary eyes met your confused ones for a second. He wore a shy smile on his lips, his hands still slightly gripping your arms. You couldn’t ignore the pain blossoming in your arms at his grip, the bruises still so fresh. Avoiding his gaze, you tried to keep a straight face despite the ache at Seonghwa’s touch.

A satisfied sigh left you when his hands finally left you. “I’ll go get started on dinner,” Seonghwa smiled, leaving the room after placing a small kiss on Hongjoong’s cheek. You only now realized how bad your perception of time had become. Hongjoong had purposefully kept the blinds closed, not giving you any indication of how long it had been, or how long you had left of your punishment.

“Let’s get you dressed,” Hongjoong smiled, closing the door behind Seonghwa. You sat down on the bed again, letting out a deep exhale as you bounced down on the soft mattress.

Hongjoong pulled out his keys once again, entering the large walk-in closet he and Seonghwa shared. You peeked into the room as the lights turned on, almost gasping at the huge amount of clothes. You were still baffled by the amount of money the two seemed to have.

He quickly came out to the bedroom with a small pile of clothes in his arms. He placed them in your lap, and when his hand raised to meet your hair, you couldn’t help but flinch away from his touch.

“Shh, shh.” He tucked your semi-wet hair behind your ear once again. “I’ll leave you to get dressed.” The moment the door was closed, you felt the tears finally starting to pour again.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

The outfit Hongjoong had picked out for you was one with better quality fabrics than you had ever worn before. You looked at yourself in the bedroom’s mirror, adorned with a gold frame. Your new clothes hid your scars so well. There was no longer any visible evidence of what Hongjoong had put you through, well, except for the bandage wrapped around your throat.

The tears were streaming non-stop from your eyes, but you weren’t sniffling. You weren’t sobbing, like before. You just let them fall, and occasionally wiped your tired eyes.

A silent knock was heard, and you padded over to the door with silent steps. Opening the door hesitantly, you were met with Seonghwa’s outstretched hand. You grabbed his hand hesitantly, and you felt how cold you were compared to him. You didn’t miss the way his slender fingers caressed your hand slightly when leading you down the stairs.

Your breathing picked up slightly at the familiar scenery of the living room. You didn’t want to remember what happened the last time you were here.

Seonghwa continued leading you to the kitchen, and when you entered your gaze immediately found the floor.

Yunho.

His gaze searched yours desperately, and his eyes were wider than you had ever seen them before. Seonghwa pulled out a chair beside where Yunho sat, and gestured for you to sit down.

You hesitantly sat down, but kept your gaze low, still avoiding Yunho, whose eyes were still plastered on you. He was so obviously searching for you. He wanted some sign from you, any sort of communication, but you had to refuse it.

You tried to focus on the music in the background. It was such a peaceful tune, and you so desperately wanted to only hear that tune at this moment, not the tone of Hongjoong’s voice.

“Y/n, this is your first dinner in the dining room,” he stated. You kept looking at the wooden table, and nodded. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you,” he said, voice still calm, but you knew this was a warning.

You lifted your head and looked at Hongjoong’s smiling face. “There you go.” You felt sick at the praise.

“Let’s eat then!” Seonghwa said, clapping his hands together in excitement. You watched as everyone started plating up food, and just as you were about to pick up your own plate, Seonghwa reached over and took it in his own hand. You stared at him in confusion, but he didn’t spare you a glance, loading up a fair amount of food on your plate.

You looked down at your full plate and heard the sound of utensils scratching against plates. You could still feel Yunho’s eyes on you, his head perched to the side to watch every thing you did. It didn’t help with the lingering discomfort coursing through your veins.

“Go on, eat,” Hongjoong instructed. You swallowed, picking up your fork to take your first bite. After not eating for so long, it almost felt sickening to eat again. The hunger was gnawing at your stomach, but you felt equally sick.

Hesitantly, you put the food in your mouth, but refused to make a face, even though you felt like crying. You had to admit that Seonghwa’s food was immaculate, but you couldn’t give any of them that pleasure. You knew this was what they wanted, for you to give in. For you to feel thankful for the bare minimum, until you can’t live without them. Having studied psychology and communication, this was right up your alley.

You didn’t register when you kept eating, your pace quickening for every second that passed. You were so hungry, and only now that you had started eating had you fully realized it.

The satisfied feeling of a full stomach was one you had missed, but the wonderful feeling was soon replaced by one of dread when Hongjoong walked up to you, his signature grin on his face.

“I’ll take our little Y/n up to her room for tonight,” he said, looping his arm through yours. You exhaled shakily in fear at the statement. He exited the room to walk you upstairs. “Oh don’t worry, your punishment is done, remember?” he cooed, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Where will I be sleeping tonight?” you asked. He hummed. “I’ll let you sleep in Yunho’s room. How’s that?” he suggested. You swallowed.

Although you should’ve probably jumped in joy at the idea, you didn’t know what to feel. When he stopped your escape attempt, was it just to earn ‘good boy’ points from Hongjoong? Was he genuinely worried about your safety, or did he just not trust you to make it out alive?

Hongjoong led you into the room where you had slept after the night in the living room. It was cozily lit, and you felt like you could jump in bed straight away, but of course, that wasn’t an option.

“He’ll join you later.” Hongjoong started preparing the bed for the two of you. You watched him closely as he added another blanket for you to use. “You’ll have to share a bed with him, but well, I guess that won’t be a problem!” he laughed. You felt sick.

“But no funny business, okay? I know he’s interested in you, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m in charge of that.”

You questioned the statement in your mind, and before you could think it through, decided to speak.

“In charge of what?”

Hongjoong paused his movements. You wanted to look away when he slowly turned to face you, but forced yourself to hold your head high.

“You don’t speak to me with that tone, understand?” he said. His eyes held that exact expression they had held before he punished you. “You know exactly what I mean.”

You wanted to be strong. You wanted to defy him, stay strong for yourself, but you couldn’t bear it anymore.

“I’m sorry.”

Your own tone shocked you. You sounded so… weak. So full of genuine regret and emotion. You sounded like a wounded animal, scared to get killed by a hunter.

When Hongjoong didn’t answer, and only stepped closer to you with slow steps, you braced yourself for an attack. If not physically, then verbally, but nothing came.

Instead, his arms wrapped around your form. His hands met your head, stroking it. “Good girl. Just as I taught you.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

When Yunho arrived in his room, you were fast asleep on his bed. You looked so small, tucked in by the blankets, hugging a pillow tightly. He felt like crying when seeing you.

He closed the door and silently laid down next to you under the covers, and when he saw the bruises covering your arms, now revealed by your nightgown, he let out a quiet sob. His hands found your face, cupping it, and wiping the seemingly fresh tears away from your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he sobbed. He couldn’t hold back his sounds at this point, even when he tried to muffle them with his pillow. Caught up in the moment, he failed to notice you waking up from your slumber, until your hand met his shoulder.

His head snapped up in shock, and his face contorted further when he saw your tired eyes meeting his. Finally, you looked at him. When seeing the look in his eyes, you knew that the reason he stopped you wasn’t one of ill intent. He really was trying to save you.

“Y/n I’m—“

“No, please don’t say you’re sorry,” you stopped him, and before he could continue, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him close to you. He held you carefully, and cried into your shoulder.

“He’s the monster,” you whispered. “Not you.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“I knew it was a test,” Yunho whispered. It had gotten late, but neither of you cared. You still held each other, your bodies pressed against each other in a matter that you would otherwise find inappropriate. It sure was intimate, but you needed this contact right now.

“I knew it was, because—“ Yunho took a deep breath. “Because they did the same thing to me.” You nodded.

“They’re giving you a chance to make it up to them. It’s like another test. They’ll see if you’ve improved.”

You took a deep breath, feeling the scent of Yunho’s hair. “That’s just sick.”

“Wh- when they did the test…” you started, contemplating your question. “Was that when Hongjoong…”

“No. That’s not when he stabbed me.”

You exhaled. Not in relief, because there were no situations where stabbing Yunho was justified.

“I tried to escape after the test, which resulted in him stabbing me. I made them believe I would never try to escape by not falling for their trap. Hongjoong’s still not over it of course, but I’ve done everything in my power to earn his forgiveness.”

The two of you spent a moment of silence together, and just when you thought Yunho had fallen asleep, he untangled his arms from you. He still kept you close.

His eyes met yours, and you could still see the water pooling in his. Even in this moment, he was so beautiful.

“Can I kiss you?” he said. You blinked at the sudden question, and even though you would in any other situation found the question shocking, you knew what you wanted. What you needed.

“Yes.”

Yunho looked at you for another second before slowly leaning in. He gave you time to back away if you weren’t sure, but when his lips finally met yours, you didn’t feel an ounce of regret. You both knew this was a kiss of pure intimacy; that of being in this horrifying situation together, and only having each other.

What made the kiss so much more special were the unspoken feelings you knew Yunho held for you, and the ones you hadn’t yet realized you held for him.

When your lips disconnected, he wrapped his large arms around you again, and soon, the two of you drifted off together, unaware of the conversation Hongjoong was having on the phone downstairs.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

“What do you mean someone’s onto us!? I thought you made that impossible!” Hongjoong whisper-yelled into the phone, aware of the two of you sleeping upstairs.

Seonghwa sat next to him on the couch, his hands rubbing soothing circles on Hongjoong’s back.

“Okay, do what it takes to get them off our tracks. I don’t care who you have to kill, or what I have to pay. Make sure to get it done,” Hongjoong sighed into the phone.

Seonghwa’s eyes widened at his lover’s last words into the phone.

“Yeah, sure. Come over to my place tomorrow night, we’ll discuss it.”

Hongjoong ended the call and dramatically sat back in the couch. “This guy…”

“What’s going on honey?” Seonghwa asked. “Looks like some people are onto Choi and Lee, despite them making it seemingly impossible to track them. We’ve got a smartass on our tails.”

Seonghwa and Hongjoong sighed in unison. “Looks like we’ll have to prepare for some guests for tomorrow.”

next chapter

my masterlist

I hope you enjoyed this chapter!!! I really don’t know if I should keep writing on this series… I’m starting to doubt if it’s even that good… I would love it for you guys to tell me what you think! Are you invested in this series? Or should I put my focus on something else?? Please tell meeee❤️

[thewertsearch]

Ask Comp 10/12

Anonymous asked: Scratch: Won't anyone think of the children!! If you're gonna be smooching then get a room!!! also Scratch: Time to go manipulate more children into destroying their relationships! @manorinthewoods asked: There are two events in which Scratch has, so far, gained emotions: one, when he discovered that the Serkets stole an incredibly important magical item and hid it for centuries or millenia; and two, romance in his workroom. ~LOSS (20/9/24)

@manorinthewoods asked: "Is it because there’s a ‘good’ and an 'evil’ way for a God Tier to die?" On a scale of 1 to 10, how would you rate this brain fart? ~LOSS (20/9/24)

Wait, is that a brain fart? Because to me, it still scans.

Prospit, the 'good' moon, would naturally be associated with heroism, and vice-versa for Derse. Am I missing something really obvious?

Anonymous asked: Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Death's Bell grows ever nearer. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. But will it determine whether the thief is trully a sinner? Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Honk. I guess we'll see :o) @ben-guy asked: The showdown between Vriska and Terezi really is one of the watershed moments of HS imo. You've questioned if Vriska has matured enough to escape death by mysterious transcendental judgement engine… but let's not forget the meanings of the words in question, and their inherent linguistic and philosophical ambiguity. What if her death being caused by her pursuit of a heroic (albeit foolish) plan tragically makes her growth the cause of a permanent death instead? What if Terezi's decision to kill her is just regardless of Vriska's motivations, making her growth a moot point? Of course, this feels a lot less mutually exclusive, which goes against the implications of the clock imagery. […]

How did Scratch phrase it again?

The terms of a God Tier permadeath are defined according to the case of the individual - which implies that Heroic and Just are subjective, even to Sburb. It sounds like there might not be any ironclad rules, and that everyone's ruling works differently.

Yes, Scratch appears to be outlining some universal examples here - but what does, say, 'corruption' really mean? There are many equally valid interpretations, and a lot of them are contradictory. Maybe each death uses the definition that makes the most sense to that player.

In any case, I think Vriska's fate is currently meant to be unclear. She's designed from the ground up to be a complex, morally ambiguous character, and you could construct a valid argument for either outcome.

For my part, I'm fully convinced this will resolve as Just. I've been predicting Vriska's death for most of the Act now, and it's extremely fitting for it to happen at Terezi's reluctant hands. All those Incidents are finally coming full circle, and they're coming for her.

@morganwick asked: Note that Scratch starts talking about dark pockets and needing to speculate immediately after Vriska sees Karkat and Terezi's corpses. That's all Terezi needed to see, which means it's all Scratch needed to know - and all Hussie needed to know as well.

True! The fight that Scratch couldn't call was part of a doomed timeline. Its outcome was completely irrelevant to the story - and therefore, there's a good chance that Hussie didn't bother to decide on the victor. Author Theory survives another day!

@relaxxattack asked: i dont know if this counts as spoilers (it's a quote from andrew hussie) but i think your theory on scratch's omniscience is basically spot-on! "Doc here refers to the dark spots, the pockets of void on which his vision is built. These hint at limitations to his omniscience. As an alt-author figure, his omniscience makes sense, since the author has sweeping knowledge of story details as well. Because I "know everything," he "knows everything" too. Of course, as I write the story, there are plenty of things I don't know yet, and the "not knowing" is always an important part of the process in this largely improvisational medium. The known gaps are worked into the story, evaded through time skips and other tricks, filling out the surrounding narrative until certain answers become clearer, and then revealed at the right moment. The voids are built around, and in a real way, become foundational, almost load-bearing gaps in knowledge, just as he describes. Pillars of shadow. So his dark spots are not only a limitation to an otherwise ridiculously overpowered villain that can be exploited, they're a feature of a specific type of "authorial omniscience" copied into his profile." -- Andrew Hussie

...and it's officially Hussie-approved! Let's fucking go!

Anonymous asked: One kind of less obvious thing he says about circumstantial simultaneity is that it weaves together perfectly disparate chronologies such as a pair of distinct sessions, so it seems it is at work when there is communication between sessions, such as conversations between humans and trolls. ie: The troll sending the message is circumstantially simultaneous to the human receiving the message. Ditto for the memos. Anonymous asked: Posting for someone else again. -DJ || I interpret Circumstantial Simultaneity to mean a very simple thing: "those events happens at different times, but at the same meta-time". Especially if the things happen in different worlds, and so happening at the same time is impossible, because different worlds have isolated timelines. - RM

That makes a lot more sense than my interpretation. I think I was thrown off by Scratch's insistence that Circumstantial Simultaneity is 'not fully comprehensible to a mortal mind'. His use of such phrasing led me to assume that the concept was more complicated than it appeared, leading me to try and puzzle out the 'real' meaning of the term.

So, in a nutshell, circumstantial simultaneity is when multiple sections of reality are linked by shared events, allowing their local timelines to synchronize. Seems straightforward enough.

Anonymous asked: i don't think scratch technically lied. there are multiple ways in which scratch could die in the same way that there are multiple ways in which anyone could die - an axe could theoretically kill you, but that doesn't mean there has to be a timeline where you get killed with an axe

The semantics here are pretty interesting.

Scratch has stated that there are multiple ways to kill him, which could mean:

That there are multiple scenarios which have a non-zero probability of killing him.

That there are multiple scenarios that would hypothetically cause him to die, if they actually occurred.

These two statements have fairly similar meanings, but, as anon pointed out, there's an important distinction between the two. Statement 1 requires Scratch to actually die in some timelines, but Statement 2 doesn't require him to ever die, in any timeline.

Scratch has stated that he'll only die in one timeline, which means that there is only one scenario that will ever lead to his death. All other scenarios will never lead to his death - and thus, even if they could 'hypothetically' kill him, the probability that they will kill him is zero.

@heliotropopause asked: Never change, Noir. is that the oil jug WV uses for his mural in act 2? how'd it get to Scratch's lair?

I don't think it's the same jug, for the simple reason that both Carapacians emptied out the whole thing for their respective shenanigans. This ain't no Alchemy Jug!

abysswarlock asked: I like to think that the meta joke with the disks are a parallel of how the kings scepters hold small instantiations of skaia that exist within skaia itself, in this case the story of homestuck exists in disk form within the narrative itself.

Perhaps, but the Scepter's recursion is explained to be a game mechanic, whereas there's currently no explanation for the disk's existence. I guess Hussie himself could have put it there, but, like... why?

Anonymous asked: ‘His army thus inspired would spearhead a major re8ellion. Surely one at least on the scale of the sectarian revolt crushed 8y the High8loods, who thereafter for8ade its mention, or any invoc8tion of the heretical sym69ls at all, even in private journals.’ do you have any theories about this line?

Karkat's leadership shines in times of immediate crisis, which is part of why he struggled to keep his team together in the Veil. He doesn't know how to motivate people without an immediate, in-your-face threat - but since his ancestor was leading a rebellion, that probably wasn't an issue for him. The threat was omnipresent.

In short, I think Karkat Senior was always in Vantas Panic Mode. He'd have spearheaded Alternia's first rebellion with vim, vigor, seemingly infinite stamina, and sheer, bloody-minded determination - and if he was anything close to as likeable as Karkat, folk heroism was virtually inevitable. I can't wait to learn more!

@semaphoricwave asked: w.r.t. learning Mindfang dates the Summoner: it makes you wonder if Vriska's obsession with Tavros was the Alternian equivalent of comphet. She had no respect for his agency in the scenario (not difficult to develop when you're able to mind control people), but also she didn't seem to hold much stock in her own agency in all that, either. It's not even a cueball fortune, she just seems to want to be true: this boy she wants to 'make better' (but doesn't know how) is meant to make her happy. Anonymous asked: so with the revelation of the summoner, this makes TWO characters that vriska canonically was in/pursued as part of a romantic relationship that were descendants from her ancestors romantic partners. girl is inventing new kinds of comphet 😭

Vriska, for god's sake. Terezi is right there.

@iknowitsgreen asked: I find it so interesting that there's now an implication that Vriska literally expected Tavros to grow wings and fly to safety when she threw him off that cliff. The question is, did she simply resent Tavros for proving her fantasy wrong, or did she convince herself that Tavros chose to be paralyzed over showing his wings to her? It somewhat recontextualizes her early treatment of him either way

Layers upon layers upon layers. Vriska was fucked up about Tavros from twenty directions at once, and should never have been let within a thousand feet of the poor guy.

@manorinthewoods asked: Since trolls growing wings is apparently some sort of mythic event, presumably the God Tier wings of Vriska specifically tie into this. A God Tier troll gaining wings would be much more significant to the troll than to the human reader, as their culture places incredible emphasis on the meaningfullness of such - and perhaps the God Tier ascension could be likened to such a 'pupation'. ~LOSS (10/9/24)

It would explain why both Vriska and Aradia got them, but John didn't. The trolls have a lot in common with insects, so it stands to reason that in their culture, an insect's metamorphosis would be associated with divine apotheosis.

Anonymous asked: It’s super fascinating riding along as you go through this sequence because when I first read homestuck literally all the mind games went over my head haha. I saw what happened, and had a decent grasp on the characters, but the idea that Gamzee was manipulating Terezi? Never occurred to me. Everything about “why didn’t Terezi suspect Gamze” was just a mystery I never solved (mostly because I never understood gamzee, and still don’t) So Thank You so much for helping me understand better, years later! It’s so wild to look back and know what happens, but still have a limited grasp on why it went down that way.

Thank you for the kind words!

And yeah, a lot of Gamzee's schtick seems to be focused on obfuscating what he's actually doing. The real smoking gun there was the near-complete loss of Terezi's deductive abilities, at the exact moment Gamzee should have entered her radar.

@skelekingfeddy asked: ive always seen the grand highblood as not a troll, but like, the head of the imperial drones. when asked why his blood is black hussie said ‘Because he’s a huge gross monster? I don’t what sort of answer would be meaningful.When the highbloods were setting up the judicial system, they said ok we’re going to need some judges for this thing. Then they said ok how about these massive brainless monsters, that would be so perfect.’ […] its a headcanon of mine that hht is technically the same species as the mother grub. same with the imperial drones. if the mother grub is a queen bee then the drones are…well, drones. and hht is, like, a drone foreman, or sergeant, or something. i imagine that trolls and the drones’ species evolved a reproductive symbiosis, but then the empire took advantage of it and co-opted the drones + hht as enforcers

There's such an interesting untold story here, about how the early trolls might have cyberized a formerly symbiotic species, and essentially made them its slaves.

I've always been interested in how, exactly, the trolls developed their symbioses, and what they might have looked like before Alternian civilization became what it is today.

Anonymous asked: terezi tries to play disc 2 on a gramophone because she literally doesn't know how a cd works - sgrub is all run via grubtech, and most of her humanning has been with mr turntables who even if asked would probably describe a cd through obtuse metaphor likening it to a vinyl record

Oh, good point. Terezi's from a civilization which left CDs behind a long, long time ago.

Hey, come to think of it, why does the Veil even have a…

...oh, right. The room isn't 'canon', so I probably shouldn't be trying to theorize too hard about its contents. It's not really part of the story.

@catlikeascendant asked: I had the impression that just like mindfang was vriska's FLARP character, Redglare was terezi's. That would explain terezi having the outfit and responding to the name, at least @somebody0214 asked: Terezi did roleplay a lot as the Redglare so it would make sense she would respond to Redglare. @dissonancies asked: I'm honestly not sure Terezi does know about her ancestor. […] Vriska had the journals, but she tries to keep her cards close to her chest- remember, "Mindfang" was Vriska's roleplay name. Who's to say she didn't just "casually" "suggest" Redglare for Terezi's character, without telling her why?

Vriska, just how many of your friends have you been molding into their ancestors?

I won't be mad - I just want to know.

Anonymous asked: Equius Sr being fit to Inherit the cueball due his passive Voidiness is another point to sharing classpects with Equius Jr, the Heir of Void. @cationicflood asked: now that youve met the Expatri8, you know now why Scratch didn’t know Vriska had the cue ball until Terezi told him — it’s spent untold centuries ensconced in Zahhak-flavored Void aura. Even when it was in Vriska’s possession, it so happened she was quite literally neighbors with Equius.

We've talked a lot about how I believe Scratch's 'dark pockets' represent information that Hussie hasn't decided on yet. It's admittedly a little difficult to reconcile that with the fact that Void, an in-universe Aspect, is strongly implied to be the source of at least some of these pockets.

Maybe Aspects can work on a meta level, as well as a literal one. Like, perhaps Void is the aspect of author uncertainty, and therefore, anything that Hussie hasn't decided on out-of-universe is canonically 'hidden by Void'.

Anonymous asked: Mindfang warning Vriska about looking into the cueball…. So what you're saying is that Mindfang warned Vriska about the *stares*

It literally keeps happening!

@wolygan asked: So based off of the troll Ancestors we have seen, what do you think the rest might be like? also what do you think of the ones we have seen, since we don't know much about them yet. @absinthe-and-alabaster asked: Hi! I'm wondering if you have any updated thoughts from your initial ancestor theory post about the ancestors we haven't seen yet, given we know a bit more about troll history now

Not a lot! I'm obviously curious about the others, particularly Karkat's, but it's hard to come up with any concrete theories, other than 'their experiences and personalities will parallel those of their descendants', which is a freebie, based on the Ancestors we already have.

Anonymous asked: To be fair to EQ,Nepeta was far and safe when Gamzee attacked, and she could easly hide out of harm way with her skills. He just miscalculated and didn't realise she would follow him and attack Gamzee after he died.

True - but at the same time, he knew that Gamzee would still remain at large after his death, and that he, Equius, would no longer be able to protect Nepeta.

Even if she hadn't attacked him immediately, Gamzee would have remained a significant danger to everyone else on the Veil, Nepeta included. Had Equius fought back, he could have ensured that Gamzee would never be able to harm her.

@martinkhall asked: It's obvious to us that's not Vriska's handwriting. But just because Terezi can smell what the words say doesn't nesisarily mean she can smell the difference in how they're writen.

Plus, would Terezi necessarily be familiar with Vriska's handwriting? After all, most of the trolls seemed to communicate exclusively through modern technology. Would they really have any cause to pass notes to each other while FLARPing?

Anonymous asked: I would push back on the assertion that Heroic and Just deaths are the only way stories can work. One can be slain by a villain but not be a hero, and that can still matter to the story. A certain event from A Song of Ice and Fire springs to mind.

Oh, for sure - that's definitely correct outside of Homestuck. But within the comic, they really might be the only ways to die that Sburb considers 'dramatic' enough to be permanent.

Outside of the God Tier system, though, anything goes. After all, Equius was slain by a villain, and he didn't exactly die a hero.

@flerponius asked: Not really relevant to anything that's going on right now, but I thought you might find it interesting. In the Homestuck physical books, AH comments that the 4 grist types unlocked by default at the beginning of the comic (not including build grist) are related to the players quests; specifically, each grist type is a blight on the land it's found on, and the players quest would involve removing it from the land. I don't think this was explained anywhere else in the comic.

Oh, interesting. I wonder what they were supposed to be for?

Like, how does Rose's chalk relate to bringing life back to her oceans? Did Hussie have different Quest in mind for her, back then?

@manorinthewoods asked: The human session is shaping up to have lasted for less than a week due to Jack's interference, while the trolls slogged through over 600 hours (probably 612, to be specific, or 25.5 days) of relationship drama, powerleveling, and the production of inane yet somehow powerful weapons. Which of these is a more 'normal' length for a session? Did the trolls take too long, or were they rushing? Do bigger sessions last for longer? ~LOSS (2/9/24)

I'm pretty sure the troll session was closer to a 'typical' length.

According to Karkat, the human Reckoning arrived significantly sooner than normal - I assume this was due to Jack's double regicide.

If the human session had gone more smoothly, I imagine that it, too, would have taken several weeks. Like the trolls, the kids would have been able to hang out in person - and unlike the trolls, it probably wouldn't have devolved into multiple homicides.

@cheyj05 asked: Hey, just so you know it's pretty much impossible to read your liveblog in order on mobile. Searching the act 1 tag doesn't work so you pretty much would just have to scroll ALL the way back, which is impossible @cheyj05 asked: Ignore my last ask, I figured out how to do it

Mind sharing how, actually? I've been assuming that this was impossible, due to the Tumblr app's, uh, unique issues. If there's a way to browse the tags properly on mobile, I should probably add it to the pinned.

Anonymous asked: What do you mean "barely wind-themed", John made a car fly with his wind powers, why is a boat less believable?

You're not wrong. I guess I meant more that the boat's Breath energy looked a lot less like actual wind, and more like the abstract idea of Breath. It might just be stylistic, though.

@wolygan asked: I read another liveblog for Homestuck, and they just got to meeting Jade and then wrote a short essay on how they are convinced that Jade is the seer of light, just thought you might find that funny to know.

I do find that funny to know! Hussie got 'em again!

[bisonaari]

I don't know if it has been done here before because I don't look around, but I have thoughts about the album and I need to share them with someone or I'm gonna go INSANE

Put your tinfoil hats on for my analysis of everything around People's Champion under the cut (probably people have talked about it and I'm just gonna repeat stuff, be warned)

So I've been a bit insane about People's Champion and I've started to think super hard about the order of the songs. I think, in my opinion, that the songs are arranged to tell the story of his life and career from right after UMK 2023 until now.

Ready To Go: This is where we start. Just post UMK, people didn't fully believe in him yet. I remember people saying "oh yeah sweden is sending someone who already won esc, but we're sending… Jere from Vantaa????". Hence the chorus, where people want to see him fail. But he's ready, he knows that he can do it. He's gonna go through and give his EVERYTHING. The mood of the song is really hopeful, with big intense guitar.

Cha Cha Cha: Do I need to explain this one here? I'm still not over this hahaha, I don't think I'll ever be. But this is where events take a turn for him, hence why it's so early in the album, even though it's his biggest song. Because he has so much to say after Cha Cha Cha happened.

Takavoltti: This is where things start to fuck up. He doesn't want to stay on his butt now that he has achieved celebrity and starts to take on so many, many gigs. A lot of us were worried for his health when we saw how much he was performing during summer 2023. But in the song, he says that he only saw opportunities and he just had to continue to take them. It takes a toll on his body. It starts to hurt, but he goes through it. That mad man. Also a couple of times in the song, people ask him to do stuff. Like a little circus monkey. And he just ends up hurting himself.

Ruoska: The bad comments start to really get to him. In the video, Erika and Käärijä are both dressed and perform as aliens. They've completely been striped of their humanity. They're just gimmicks that you can insult anonymously on the internet. Who cares anyway, they chose this life for themselves. It's their own fault. While the previous song was still a bit on the funny side, this one digs straight into the hardships that they feel. There is no more humour, only pain.

Kot Kot: He's still doing too much. While everyone has gone home, he's still drunk on the dancefloor, trying to reach out for friends who were wiser and left. He's being dragged out of there against his will, because he's so stubborn. Pushing through isn't working anymore, and people around him aren't letting him hurt himself anymore.

Skit: An appointment with a therapist. Käärijä is being cut off CONSTANTLY by the therapist, who can't see Jere as a patient. He sees Käärijä, the star. Even when he's trying to seek help, he isn't listened to. Because he's not human anymore for people at that point.

Autiomaa: Käärijä is breaking down. In the video, the therapist from the skit is taking a picture of him during the appointment. The feeling of loneliness and emptiness is around him all the time, omnipresent, eating him alive. He just wants someone to see him as a person, to listen to him, to help him with the void.

Sex=Money: At that point, you know, might as well. You're not human anymore, who cares. Why not try to get some money selling your ass. Who's gonna care anyway, sex sells and that's what people want to see, right? He made so much money on onlyfans, the press is acting shocked that he would even do that. The song is back to a bit light-hearted. My interpretation would be that he just finds the situation ridiculous, and that's why we're getting humour back in the lyrics!

Bananas: I'm not sure how this one fits in my theory, but we're SO back for humour. Kääriä is getting better. I think that in this one he found resolve to just continue going on. He's annoyed because people still only see him as an object, but he has to go through and live his life. Show must go on.

Huhhuhhei: Quite interesting to put a love song in this timeline in the story. But I think it's because he wants to live in the present, and not in anxieties from the past and the fear of the future. He doesn't know if the person sharing his bed is still gonna be there in the morning, but whatever, it's not important. Tonight, they're his and that's what matters. Thinking of tomorrow isn't gonna bring anything good.

It's Crazy It's Party: He's still stuck in the parties, they're around him all the time. He's still doing a million gigs in Finland and in europe. And just as the song is quite close to Cha Cha Cha, he's back at the beginning, the situation hasn't changed much. But this time, by the end, he goes to the party again, by his own will. And this time, he has people around to party with him.

People's Champion: We're back babes. This song is a love letter to people who love him. This is a great wrap around for this album. He's just remembering how everything went, from the start, until this point. Going through every point and emotion we've been through with him during the album. But in the end, he IS people's champion. He did it. He made it. And even with all the hardships, he's with us, when our hearts all sing together. The last line of this album that isn't a chorus is "Thank you everybody, I love you".

What a journey

So something that you have noticed that I've talked a lot is how people don't recognize Käärijä's humanity. He has been made into a kind of creature of gimmicks. You can ask him everything, you can say everything to his face. Whatever, he's a celebrity, not a person.

And this is where that cover is a GENIUS move.

On the cover, there are NO gimmicks. No bolero, no bowl cut, no bare chest with a tattoo. Just his face. You HAVE to watch his face, there is nothing else to see. You have to watch his emotion being raw, he's crying. This is not a pleasant cover to see. And I know, I've had spotify open on his face all day friday while I was working, it felt awful. But it makes you do something.

You have to acknowledge his humanity. And there's no way around it.

I love Käärijä

[messiahzzz]

i’d briefly like to talk about the “it was fine” dialogue option that happens the morning after gale’s Last Night Alive scene in act ii and about the fandom's general reaction to it.

gale is a character who evidently enjoys the occasional teasing. taking the piss out of your partner every once in a while can certainly be a way of showing affection. however, it is important to consider the context of the situation: what is at stake for him and his current emotional state, as well as what exactly had transpired between the two of them prior to said conversation.

gale: forgive me. these were already trying times before elminster delivered his missive. now, for me at least, they are potentially end times.

after he and tav had spent the night together and confessed their love to each other, gale is once again showing himself utterly vulnerable and is carefully asking them for reassurance.

gale: [..] i hope that night meant as much to you as it did to me.

gale: but you - you led me away from the edge.

gale: without your words, your touch... i fear i would have sought purpose and solace in that void. you reminded me what living can feel like.

he wants to check in with them, after both of them have shared something tender and very intimate, something he might even consider life-altering.

gale: we didn't just make love. we bonded, body and soul. i got lost in you.

it’s not even about gale “not being able to read social cues” and “not recognizing the fact that it was meant in jest.” in fact, i’d argue it is a rather tone-deaf, inconsiderate response and just genuinely a REALLY BAD TIME to joke at your partner's expense when they are actively baring their feelings to you and are asking you for reassurance.

i have seen people write off his reaction as “unwarranted” or “overtly dramatic” but in my humble opinion, it is pretty understandable given the nature of their conversation and what he is asking of them. it's also sad how there seems to be a general pattern of gale's emotions and boundaries getting played off as a joke, while other companions get shown the courtesy of thorough analysis/understanding. he is proud of his skill as a lover and the fact that he was able to bring them pleasure, yet his inquiry is less about him wanting tav to stroke his ego and more about him, once again, asking if you indeed share the same feelings for each other… after the emotional high has now passed.

gale has an ever-present need for clarity in his relationships, very likely due to the fact that this was something he couldn’t request of mystra. he might appear more sensitive in that regard compared to the other companions. he doesn’t want to take himself too seriously, but this still often clashes with his general feeling of inadequacy. where he is able to take criticism as long as it isn’t related to his performance, overall prowess and usefulness.

yes, his response is passive-aggressive and yes, he IS obviously hurt by what tav said. yet merely repeating “it was fine” in response to a heartfelt, genuine question could’ve as well been interpreted in that manner. if tav does clarify that they have only been joking, he apologizes to them instead. otherwise his dialogue remains the same, albeit said in a more embarrassed & awkward tone.

gale is a character who is dealing with deep-rooted self-worth issues and yet that doesn’t mean that he wants to be handled with kid gloves, far from it. he craves a relationship in which his emotional needs are recognized, respected and cared for, where he can be unabashedly open and vulnerable without facing ridicule nor pity for it. and he is more than willing to give the same in return.

also y’know — there is a time and a place.

[bnhaobservation]

Where really Tenko’s choices not his own?

AFO ‘Yowai mama tsuyoku arou nado ā orokana Shimura Tenko. Omae wa ima made nani hitotsu erande nado inai noni.’’ AFO「弱いまま強くあろうなどああ愚かな志村転弧。おまえは今まで何一つ選んでなどいないのに。」’ AFO “Though you've become strong, you remain weak. Ahh, foolish Shimura Tenko. Even though until now you haven't chosen anything.’ [Chap. 418]

This is what AFO said to Tomura/Tenko at the end of chapter 418 and of course it sparked discussion because what is this supposed to mean? Of course Tomura/Tenko chose plenty of things, he had free will, hadn’t he? His body wasn’t always controlled by AFO, Tomura/Tenko took plenty of decisions or is this an attempt to take accountability from him?

To discuss this and what AFO really means I’m going to talk to you about something else.

Ever hear about informed consent?

When the hospital needs you to agree to undergo a certain treatment they don’t just need your consent, they need your INFORMED consent.

The informed consent process is an ethical and legal requirement for medical treatment. It ensures that you understand your diagnosis and your treatment options and agree to have specific medical treatment. This process involves ongoing and clear conversations between you and your healthcare provider. These conversations often lead to your decision to give (or not) consent for treatment. Informed consent protects your autonomy and your legal rights as a patient. Informed consent protects your ability to make your own decisions about medical treatment. It also protects your legal right to ask questions about recommended treatments.

And yeah, it also helps your healthcare provider but, for this discussion I’ll focus on what it does for you.

Basically, your decision to say ‘yes’ if you weren’t informed, is legally considered void of value. It doesn’t matter you freely said ‘yes’ if you weren’t informed your consent is not enough.

You might also have heard if you’re a minor even though you decide to give consent to some things, that consent holds no value.

Now you might wonder, where does this lead us?

Tomura/Tenko is not a minor nor he has to undergo under some medical procedure.

The mechanism behind decisions, behind choosing something, is always the same. We choose according to the information we have. Freedom of will isn’t the most important factor deciding our choices, it’s information and they dictate our choices to the point some can predict them.

We inform our decisions and opinions through experiences, be they personal or made just by observing others, through what people teach us be they our parents or our teachers or people we trust, through confronting with others be it in discussions or in arguments.

If you tell me I have to choose between eating a pear and an apple I’ll choose the apple because I know I hate pears but I like apples. This is my INFORMED decision.

If you however were to tell me the apple is poisoned I wouldn’t eat it because I don’t want to die, and this would also be my INFORMED decision.

If you were to lie to me and tell me the apple is perfectly safe to eat when it’s not, I would go back on eating the apple and this would be my INFORMED decision… and it would obviously suck because the information I was given was false.

In Tomura/Tenko’s case, what AFO is saying, is he’s behind each information about how the world work that Tomura/Tenko received.

He got his hands on Tenko when the latter was 5 but even before that age he began shaping the world around him, the experiences Tenko would make. When he took Tenko he told him to call him ‘sensei’ (先生). The English version translated it as “master” as it is a word with many translations but the more common translation is “teacher” which would fit more with how Tomura/Tenko asks him what will he teach him.

AFO taught Tomura/Tenko how he had to see and interpret the world, how he had to see and interpret himself and his feelings, how he had to see and interpret the others. He kept on filling Tomura/Tenko with information that were aimed at influencing Tomura/Tenko’s beliefs, perceptions, will.

AFO taught him that he had an impulse to destroy, that the itch is DUE TO IT instead than due to the abuse he was suffering in his home. That he shouldn't endure abuse or he'll be the only one to suffer, that coscience, morale, ethics are lies, fabrications.

Tomura/Tenko was a small kid, thanks to the trauma he forgot most of his past, which includes the teaching and experiences he had before, and AFO took care to keep always alive the trauma inside him.

Tomura/Tenko was mostly kept isolated, having solely the company of AFO, of Garaki and of Kurogiri. They were his source of ‘reliable’ information as he trusted them… only they were clearly not reliable.

But, you might say, what about the internet?

Tomura/Tenko has no net friends. AFO took care to give him a certain view of the world, so that every information Tomura/Tenko would receive through the web would be influenced by such view. Tomura/Tenko has no reason to doubt AFO, as far as he knows he’s his savior and caretaker and he has no one else.

If AFO tells him the net lies when it says All Might is a good person, that it’s wrong to destroy things, that it’s wrong to murder, why should Tomura/Tenko doubt AFO? Where are ‘reliable’ information telling him what AFO says is a lie, when the other people around him who take care of him (Garaki and Kurogiri) agree with AFO? Why should he trust the net, the people who abandoned him, over the people who’re so nice and caring toward him?

And the more time Tomura/Tenko is left in this world in which AFO is his main source of information the more those information become part of him, influence his perception of the world, his personality.

Remember when All Might first saw him and called him a ‘man-child’? It wasn’t a completely wrong definition, since Tomura/Tenko wasn’t really allowed to mentally grow by interacting with others who were his equal and presented different opinions and wills.

It's not he didn't have Quirk counselling what stilled his growth, it's not he didn't want to grow or something and that took advantage of the fact he had too much power which made him spoiled...

...what the Heroes didn't consider, mostly because they didn't really care WHY TOMURA/TENKO IS LIKE THAT was that it was trauma and manipulation that made him like that. Tomura/Tenko experienced the world and the battles through roleplay games not through real interactions.

AFO was always around him, shaping him, telling him he can do what he wants and that everything was for him and Tomura/Tenko has no reason to believe he was lying, has no reason to think his words though.

Tomura/Tenko decides, but as his choices are all informed by AFO and AFO lies to him, his choices are all dictated by wrong info and manipulated in a certain direction. Even if he's told he can do what he wants his choices aren’t really ‘free’ because he doesn’t really know what he’s choosing and what he’s rejecting, because he’s not informed correctly.

Yes, inside him there’s his own persona, he’s not a complete will-less doll, but this matters little when all the information he receives are manipulated and he has not the means to realize it and AFO knows it. He’s a master manipulator, he knows how to give Tomura/Tenko the belief he’s choosing of his own free will when it’s AFO who put such ideas and beliefs in his head.

Tomura/Tenko is 20 when he is first sent against All Might and can interact with people with a diametrically opposite mind setting compared to AFO.

Still Tomura/Tenko’s first confrontation with All Might is easy for him to dismiss, AFO raised him thinking Heroes and especially All Might are a certain type of people, so All Might’s words are easy to dismiss like empty rhetoric and pretty words (remember? one of the first things he was taught is that coscience, moral, ethics are fabrications that allow people [aka Heroes] to run the world smoothly) and All Might clearly didn’t act in such a way it would positively impress Tomura/Tenko.

Tomura/Tenko views him as a representative of state-sponsored violence and All Might can’t prove him wrong because… he has to use violence to protect everyone.

Tomura/Tenko wasn’t taught to care about the nobility of the mean, for him use of violence makes Villains and Heroes alike and yet they’re split in two groups… but most of what Tomura/Tenko says is something that’s not really coming from him but from AFO’s indoctrination. They aren’t really HIS ideals yet, even All Might realizes so.

What Tomura/Tenko has in that moment is hate for All Might and society. When Stain will force him to tell him which is his conviction, this is what Tomura/Tenko says, not all the rest. He hates All Might and society.

AFO’s indoctrination was meant to manipulate him into believing why he hates them, but the truth is what Midoriya will nail at the end, society and All Might didn’t save him when he was an innocent child, not yet a Villain, and left him miserable. His father, AFO, they all told him this happened because Heroes and society are fundamentally bad. Due to this teaching Tomura/Tenko hates them with a passion, because he feels victimized by them. They’re the cause of his misery.

Stain’s words are harder to ignore as Stain is no Hero and Kurogiri wanted them to join forces and yet Stain attacked him… but then let him live. All of sudden someone who’s not a Hero makes something unpredictable. Tomura/Tenko tried to compete with him and loses, everyone is impressed by Stain and not by him and makes wrong assumptions on them. Touya and Himiko comes to him but he doesn’t understand their behavior. Ultimately he talks with Midoriya.

The talk doesn’t dramatically change him, it merely helps him to reframe everything in a familiar contest. It’s All Might’s fault, he decides, and this is what AFO taught him, but he doesn’t realize he’s parroting what his master taught him.

Ironically, his talk with Midoriya actually helps him to internalize, to interiorized what AFO taught him, because now HE HAD TO PONDER OVER THE SITUATION AND CONFRONT WITH SOMEONE ELSE, which is the first step to makes ideas your own as now they would come from you… but since he tackles that confrontation using the tons of info AFO poured into him and Midoriya is just a kid who makes wrong assumptions of him… well, the result ends up being that now Tomura/Tenko doesn’t just merely absorb AFO’s information but embraces them as if they were his own ideas.

This is what AFO wanted when he said there’s no point in simply telling Tomura/Tenko  an answer but that he needs to reach the conclusion himself.

In a way it’s a test to see if all the wrong information he has given him for years now really live inside him and have become his own. AFO knows that now that Tomura/Tenko is a man, albeit one kept immature, if he has succeeded in influencing him then it would be difficult to completely change his mind after 15 years of manipulations.

He’s not wrong, to completely change Tomura/Tenko’s mind would be difficult… but it isn’t impossible to partially change it, especially since Tomura/Tenko will then keep on interacting with the League… and won’t interact anymore with AFO so that AFO won’t manage anymore to teach him how to interpret his experiences.

In this new contest free of AFO the little of Tomura/Tenko’s original personality kind of come back to life, the League become precious friends he wants to protect. Ironically Tomura/Tenko, who hates Heroes because they abandoned him, want to be a Hero for the League. He doesn’t want to be their master or their ruler, all things AFO wants to be, Tomura/Tenko wants to be a Hero.

AFO used to say everything is all for him but now Tomura/Tenko wants everything to be for his companions, when he’ll submit Re-Destro he’ll ask suchi for them because they wanted it, he won’t force Touya to do what he doesn’t want to do, he promises he won’t destroy what Himiko loves, he let Shuuichi get angry at him.

Tomura is taking some choices that don’t come from AFO and could have taken more if he were to be given more time as he already wanted to be different from AFO and AFO’s attempt to take over his body as well as the revelation he manipulated him likely would have pushed Tomura/Tenko to reconsider everything he knew that influenced his mind and his decisions.

However plenty of what he chooses through the story come from AFO, from how he had taught him to see and feel the world, from the experiences he forced him to go through. We see it in the first war. AFO fed Kotarou’s resentment for Nana, which lead to Tenko’s abuse, AFO made sure Tomura/Tenko wandered for the city while no one helped him and when Tomura/Tenko faces the Heroes he quotes what he learned from that experience, that Heroes hurt their families to save strangers, that society is trash he says as he thinks back at how no one helped him. Society would always reject him, he says strong of his experiences which were manipulated by AFO. AFO taught him he has to free his violent impulses his wish for destruction that whatever tells him the contrary is a lie fabricated by society (chap. 237). Tomura wants to destroy because that’s how AFO taught him he has to fight the pain inside himself. Because he thinks his decaying Quirk is a reflection of his own personality, of his own role. He’s born to destroy… and this idea, as well as his Quirk… well they both come from AFO (and society, to be honest, as society tended to judge people’s personalities tied with their Quirk).

So, where this leaves us?

Tomura/Tenko did make some small choices that didn’t come from AFO… but too much of him come from AFO to the point if AFO had never meddled with his life he would have likely grown into a completely different person, with a completely different set of experiences and information that would inform his decisions.

As we don’t know which experiences and information he would have had, we can’t tell who he would have become (for example AFO gave him the decay Quirk and this influenced him into thinking he’s born to destroy but we don’t know which was his original Quirk. If he were to have a Quirk which also destroyed, he could have come to the same conclusion). Maybe he would have turned into a Hero, maybe he would have turned into an ordinary person, maybe he would have turned into an even worse Villain. Wondering over this is material for fanfics not for meta.

What remains true though is that way too many of present Tomura/Tenko’s important choices come from AFO, from what AFO taught him, that he shaped so much of his persona and actions that what AFO says about Tomura/Tenko never choosing anything is only partially incorrect at the end of the story and probably completely true at the start of it.

So yeah, as unpleasant as it is there’s a huge part of truth in AFO’s words… but it could have turned into a lie had Tomura/Tenko been given more time because, first he was freed of AFO’s influence and free to interact with others and second because AFO revealed his game and made clear he wanted to take over Tomura/Tenko’s body so he wasn’t the caring and disinterested benefactor he painted himself to be for 20 years and Tomura/Tenko didn’t have to take his words as reliable anymore.

A complete turn over would have probably been hard without a positive influence in his life, but for sure Tomura/Tenko would have been free to revaluate all he’d been taught by AFO and judge it again through the lenses of those new info.

But well, in the end he died so we’ll never learn what he could have done, which is just sad.

So is Tomura/Tenko innocent because manipulated?

There’s a part of the world population that think that inborn in humans there’s still the ability to choose between right and wrong even if they’re manipulated… and in real life it’s extremely hard to establish how much manipulated can be a person and how much it was due to them. Many don’t want to think that you can take a perfectly normal child and turn him into a serial killer through carefully raising him as such.

Discussing about this would be a minefield that would require psychological and educational degrees and probably would still see experts arguing because we can’t really test this theory and check if a baby is perfectly psychologically healthy and then try to raise him as a psychopath, and repeat the experience until we’ve enough data to judge, can we?

Real life cases weren’t cases which were carefully observed from start to end as an experiment would require so they leave the door open to speculation.

Long story short… this meta isn’t here to tell you if a real person can be raised and manipulated that much all his choices come from another and he’s unable to take them for himself.

This is a meta to tell you that from what we know and what we could observe Tomura/Tenko was manipulated from young age and that the majority of his life choices, especially the ones that lead him to become a Villain, were due to this.

Not that it would have made any difference in the BNHA world where Aoyama, a teen acting under duress, is viewed as a terrible Villain because, when threatened to be killed and have his parents killed if he weren’t to comply with AFO’s wishes, he choose to comply.

[dragonpropaganda]

you should talk about your thoughts on rw fanon (looking with huge eyes)

Oh god, there's a lot of major misconceptions have concreted into fanon, mostly around ancient society and ascension.

First things first! Ascension is not death! They are entirely separate things treated entirely separately by the text of the game. I can see where the interpretation is coming from, but it doesn't really align with how the text treats either subject. Five Pebbles may want to remove the self destruction taboo, but from his reaction to the rot it's clear that he doesn't want to die. Conflation of ascension and death only comes up as an offhand possibility that pebbs makes on iterator 4chan, when he's going into the possibilities of scenarios that even the other sliverists are doubtful of! (let me make clear that I am not a sliverist by any means)

Ascension is more of talked about as a form of transcendence, yeah? A Bell, Eighteen Amber Beads talks about their sitution as being "To have grasped at the boundless infinites of the cosmic void…", not as them seeking an end to life.

The beta dialogue goes into more detail, mentioning the "infinities of time and space" and the "boundless fractal planes of spirit and reality...", though this dialogue was cut and it's hard to tell how much it reflects the concept as in the released game.

As for the cultural misconceptions... there's A Lot to talk about, but the first that comes to mind is the common conflation of the five natural urges and the christian concept of sin.

It is true that the negation of urges is mentioned by moon as an alternative method of ascension, but much of what we know about the culture of the people who the fandom calls the ancients (which makes discussion of the depths a mess but that's something for another post entirely) points towards the urges not being seen as shameful.

Even the first urge does not seem to be particularly scorned! Being a warrior is presented as a cause for bragging in the Shaded Citadel pearl, being comparable with being an artist and a fashion legend. The second urge, also does not seem to be suppressed. Multiple sources attribute some level of honour to parenthood! The aforementioned pearl also mentions Seventeen Axes, Fifteen Spoked Wheel as being a "Mother, Father and Spouse" without any hint of shamefulness. Nineteen Spades, Endless Reflections expresses pride about having progeny, mentioning it alongside their owned land and esteem among their peers.

After some peer review, an esteemed friend has told me to add a section on purposed organisms as well! This is not so much my area, so I might be a bit off on some things.

As moon says, the majority of purposed organisms were tubes in boxes, and that the primal fauna of the world are almost entirely extinct. A lot of the fandom seems to ignore the first part, and i can't say I blame them, but the evolution of the creatures is so much weirder than people think.

Concept art for the creatures has this interesting quality to it, where the organic parts of the creatures have an almost... melty quality to them.

In the concept art, the flesh appears as if it's almost defying the machinery to form an animal shape. It's as if it's conquering its own artificiality the way the foliage grows over the (stone, brick and concrete, not mostly metal as some think!) ruins.

Of course, it's hard to really tell how much of this reflects the finalised concept, most of the integration is much smoother in the game, in line with a seamless kind of biomechanical design. There was always an intention of biomechanical strangeness, as shown in this screenshot of the devlog before the term "slugcat" even existed!

That said, the melty nature of the concept art shows a level of wild change inherent the biomechanical nature of the creatures, as if they truly are the result of these "tubes in boxes" almost revolting against their own boxes.

and considering centipedes... some tubes may not have had boxes in the first place!

[ficnation]

Chapter 9: Intentions

Series: “Eat Your Heart Out ”Pairing: Hannibal Lecter x Female! Reader x Will Graham Word count: 4,7k+ Warnings: canon-typical warnings, canon divergence A/n: I know we're still not out of Su-zukana, but we're getting there. I probably won't follow everything that happens in the show. I will skip through some parts. Also I'm not super satisfied with the last scene no matter how many times I rewrite it, so I'm leaving it like this. (unedited)

Main Masterlist || Hannibal Masterlist

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Hannibal and Will’s eyes lock in a silent duel, the latter’s gaze unforgiving, tinged with feigned ignorance. Will Graham wishes he could stop caring about what happened and what is yet to happen, but he can only pretend.

He studies the psychiatrist from head to toe, silently pleading for a sign from the universe that would reveal what sick ideas were brewing in his mind.

“You were able to reconstruct this killer’s fantasies,” Hannibal’s voice is almost a melody. “One dead creature giving birth to another. The bird, his victim’s new beating heart. Her soul given wings.”

Will’s gaze shifts away from the man before him, his mind conjuring the brutal image of Sarah Craber’s lifeless body, her eyes forever staring into the void. The way the psychiatrist describes it aligns with your words, and Will finds himself reluctantly agreeing. It’s a brutal kind of poetry, one that leaves an indelible mark on the soul.

“Rebirths can only ever be symbolic,” Will states, seemingly uninterested.

“You’ve been reborn.”

That piques his interest; he looks at Hannibal with raised brows. “Wasn’t that the goal of my therapy?”

A pregnant pause hangs between them as the other man carefully selects his words. Will finds it disappointing when the topic of conversation is swiftly shifted.

“How does it feel consulting again with Jack Crawford and the FBI? Last time, it nearly destroyed you.”

Will blinks rapidly and licks his lips in annoyance, a subtle sign of his inner turmoil. He knows he can’t allow his emotions to overpower him. Certainly not now.

“Last time, you nearly destroyed me,” he states the obvious. Hannibal’s gaze shifts to his hands lying in his lap, a subtle indication of his own contemplation.

“After everything that has happened, Will, you still believe—” his words trail off into silence as Will cuts him off swiftly, his voice almost amused.

“Stop right there.”

Hannibal blinks slowly, meeting the other man’s gaze head-on. Will notices he almost looks ashamed, but he’s not entirely convinced that the killer in front of him is capable of feeling anything, let alone shame.

“You may have to pretend, but I don’t,” Will asserts, his tone firm and unwavering.

Hannibal’s gaze softens, a glimmer of understanding flickering in his eyes. “No, you don’t,” he agrees, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity. “Not with me.”

There’s a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a moment of unspoken connection between them, despite the chasm of their differences.

“I don’t expect you to admit anything. You can’t. But I prefer sins of omission to outright lies, Dr. Lecter. Don’t lie to me.” Each word is enunciated with deliberate care, emphasizing the gravity of the statement.

As their eyes meet, the sunlight streams through the window, casting a golden hue that dances across their faces. The gentle rays illuminate the room, creating a warm and serene atmosphere despite the tension between them. The dim sunlight seems to linger, as if highlighting the intensity of their quiet exchange and emphasizing the gravity of the moment.

“Will you return the courtesy?” the psychiatrist’s question hangs in the air, awaiting a response.

Will remains silent, knowing that Hannibal will interpret his lack of response as agreement.

“Why have you resumed your therapy?” his voice is steady, probing for the truth.

“Can’t just talk to any psychiatrist about what’s kicking round my head.” Will replies, his tone casual yet guarded. Hannibal scrutinizes him closely, searching for any telltale signs of deception or sincerity.

“Does she know?”

“About me being back in therapy with you? Yes.”

“You know that’s not what I meant, Will. Does she know?”

Will sits in silence for an excruciatingly long moment, contemplating which pieces of truth he should divulge and which he should leave behind.

The room grows unbearably hot and airless, and his breath comes quick and heavy. He can feel his heart hammering against his chest, demanding to be let out. He’s struggling with a familiar feeling, the kind that threatens to overwhelm—to swallow him whole. And he’s powerless against it.

Finally, he finds the words, but they’re hardly a relief to the growing burden in his chest. “Yes.”

“What did you tell her, Will?” Hannibal’s voice carries more curiosity than anger. Will isn’t sure if he expected something more profound or revealing from his response.

“Everything.”

Hannibal’s eyebrows raise slightly in surprise, but his expression remains unreadable.

Will feels an intense urge to elaborate, to fill in the missing pieces, to explain the whole picture. But he bites his tongue, choosing to stay silent instead, to keep his secrets. Hannibal remains still for a moment, taking in the information, assessing Will and his answer.

After a while, he speaks, “Does she know why?”

“Hannibal, I don’t even know why you did what you did.”

“Perhaps you never will,” Hannibal replies cryptically, his tone tinged with a hint of amusement. His eyes narrow, piercing Will like a knife. “And yet, you came to me in spite of that.”

“You wanted her to come back. Why?” Will asks. He’s not going to give up that easily.

“Because she’s brilliant, Will. She understands people in ways no one ever has. She’s perceptive and intuitive, and she’s not afraid to stare into the abyss. I’ve been searching for such an individual for a very long time.”

“I reckon asking you to leave her alone would be futile,” Will suggests with a resigned tone.

“Indeed,” Hannibal acknowledges with a faint smile. “But I promise to handle the situation delicately.”

“Handle it delicately?” Will asks, unable to keep the surprise and amusement from his voice. He’s never expected such words from Dr. Lecter, not when it comes to you. “Can you promise me she’ll be safe?”

Hannibal hesitates for a moment, clearly weighing his answer before speaking. “I can promise you that I have no intention of harming her,” he replies, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “However, I am also aware that my intentions may not always be the most relevant factor when it comes to such matters.”

Will finds himself contemplating the psychiatrist’s words, feeling an intense frustration at the answer, despite knowing that Hannibal will never offer more. He wants to ask further questions, to keep digging for answers, but the words won’t form. He’s been given an answer. For better or worse, that will have to be enough.

He speaks, his voice barely registering above a whisper, “Thank you.”

“Do you fantasize about killing me, Will?”

“Yes.” Now, more than ever.

Hannibal raises an eyebrow, his eyes studying the other man carefully. The question hangs in the air for a silent moment, the two men locked in a tense staring contest. Will breaks his gaze, his eyes dropping to his lap. There’s an uncomfortably long pause, one that leaves him feeling more exposed than he ever has.

The psychiatrist speaks again, his voice carefully measured but still carrying a hint of curiosity, “Tell me. How would you do it?”

Will feels an intense surge of anxiety, the idea of sharing his murderous fantasies almost too much to bear. His heart beats rapidly, his breaths come short and shallow, and his palms are damp with sweat. He hesitates, taking a deep breath in an failed attempt to settle his nerves.

Finally, he answers, his voice trembling slightly as he speaks, “With my hands.”

“Then we haven’t moved past apologies and forgiveness, have we?” Hannibal studies his face quietly for a moment, his eyes scanning Will’s features, searching for any hint of deceit.

“We’ve moved past a lot of things. I discovered a truth about myself when I tried to have you killed,” Will says slowly, a hint of reluctance in his voice. 

Hannibal’s gaze remains unwavering, a steady, almost calming presence. He’s unfazed by Will’s blunt statement, his face uncommonly relaxed as he listens.

“That doing bad things to bad people makes you feel good?”

Will blinks and nods, a tinge of surprise in his eyes. No one has spoken this truth before, not even himself. But the words seem to provide a sense of closure. There is no judgment, no criticism; merely a statement of fact, a mutual understanding.

“Yes.”

“I need to know if you’re going to try to kill me again, Will.”

“I don’t want to kill you anymore, Dr. Lecter.” The man swallows and shakes his head. “Not now that I finally find you interesting.”

There’s an intense silence between them, Hannibal’s face betraying no sign of shock or surprise at the confession. The man merely listens calmly, processing Will’s words as he studies the man’s every feature.

“Your honesty is both refreshing and concerning,” the psychiatrist says with surprising ease.

“Thank my wife. She makes an honest man out of me.”

As you lie asleep in your bed, the quiet of the night envelops you, broken only by the gentle hum of the old bedside lamp and the crackling of the fireplace. You’re lost in a dreamless slumber, your mind temporarily free from the weight of the day’s responsibilities. It’s probably the best sleep you’ve had in a while. Sadly, it doesn’t last long.

The shrill ring of your phone shatters the stillness, jolting you awake with a start. Blinking away the remnants of sleep, you fumble for your phone on the bedside table, heart pounding with a mixture of confusion and apprehension.

With a groan, you swipe to answer the call, your voice husky with sleep as you mutter a tired, “Hello?”

On the other end, Jack’s voice crackles through the line, urgent and insistent. “Agent Avant, we need you at the crime scene immediately. There’s been a development in the case.”

The words cut through the fog of drowsiness, instantly sharpening your focus. You sit up in bed, running a hand through your tousled hair as you process Jack’s message. “What kind of development?”

“I can’t discuss it over the phone. I’ll send you the adress. Get here as soon as you can.”

“Understood,” you reply, your tone firm and decisive. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

With a sense of urgency, you throw off your covers and swing your legs over the side of the bed. You reach for your clothes, hastily dressing in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, your mind already racing with possibilities. You grab your badge and gun, slipping them into their accustomed places on your belt, and make your way to the door.

As you step out into the cool night air, you feel a surge of adrenaline coursing through your veins. Though weary from the abrupt interruption to your rest, you know that duty calls, and you’re ready to answer it with unwavering resolve, just like in the good old days.

With each step towards your car, you embrace the night’s unexpected summons, steeling yourself for the challenges that lie ahead. In the world of law enforcement, there’s no such thing as ordinary hours—only the relentless pursuit of justice, no matter the hour or the cost. Oh, how you hate it.

You slide into the driver’s seat of your car, the engine rumbling to life beneath you as you buckle up and prepare to head to the address Jack has sent you. You’re glad to have your own car back; depending on Will wouldn’t do you any good in situations like this.

Before pulling away, you instinctively reach for your phone, hoping for a message from your husband to ease your mind.

As the soft glow of the screen illuminates your face, you quickly navigate to your messages, heart pounding with a mixture of anticipation and dread. But as you scan through the notifications, disappointment washes over you—there are no new messages from Will, and he isn’t home either.

A knot forms in the pit of your stomach, a nagging sense of worry gnawing at your thoughts. You remind yourself that Will was never one to provide constant updates on his whereabouts. He’s always been independent, often immersed in his work with little regard for the passage of time. Yet the silence from him tonight feels different somehow, unsettling in its absence.

Pushing aside your concerns for the moment, you tuck your phone back into your pocket and focus on the road ahead. There will be time to address your worries later, but for now, duty calls, and you must answer—no matter the personal cost. With a determined set to your jaw, you shift into gear and press on into the night. Having agreed to return to work for Crawford, you’re determined to give it your all.

“We found Sarah Craber’s grave and fifteen others,” Jack Crawford informs you the moment you step out of the vehicle.

“Fifteen?” you repeat, unable to hide the stunned note in your voice. You knew the killer had murdered others before Sarah Craber, but the discovery of fifteen additional victims is shocking on a whole different level. “How long has he been active?”

Jack’s face is grim, his expression somber as he speaks. “The earliest victim was buried eight years ago. The most recent grave is only two weeks old.”

You dare to focus your eyes on the crime scene behind your boss’ back. The sight in front of you takes your breath away—not in a good way.

The dim light of the night provides only limited visibility, casting the landscape in shadows and silhouettes. Yet, the shapes around you paint a clear picture, a horrifying image of a killer’s work. 

You can see the dug-out graves, dotted here and there—the final resting places of his victims. You can see the rows of police tape, marking off a boundary that no one is allowed to cross. You can see the solemn faces of the technicians, the detectives, the forensics, and other members of the investigative team.

“Fucking hell, Crawford.”

There’s a beat of silent hesitation before he continues, “And I’m afraid it gets even worse—”

You look at him with wide eyes, annoyance bubbling up beneath the surface of your skin. “You said I didn’t have to look at the bodies. You said that to me, Jack.”

“I said you didn’t have to get close to the bodies,” he corrects you with a hint of irritation. “But you’ll have to see them, at least from a distance. We have to assess the situation, and you’re our best profiler. It’s your job.”

“I didn’t sign up for this.”

“Didn’t you? You came back to the agency. This is what we do. You know that.”

“Yes, I came back. But you said I wouldn’t have to see the bodies.”

Jack sighs, a hint of impatience in his voice. “I thought I could shield you from that side of it, but it’s not worth risking your expertise when you can make a valuable contribution here.”

You feel your blood boil as you duck under the police tape and head toward the graves. “Let’s just get this fucking done,” you mutter through gritted teeth, your frustration evident in every word.

As you make your way toward the nearest body, the reality of the situation begins to sink in. It’s one thing to know that a serial killer has been active in this community for years, but it’s a completely different thing to actually see the proof of his crimes. The graves offer no comforting illusion—they’re real, and they represent the brutal truth and senselessness of the killer’s actions.

As you gaze upon the rows of bodies, or rather what was left of them, a realization dawns upon you with striking clarity.

“They’re all women?” you remark, the observation coming swiftly and without hesitation as your eyes sweep over the somber landscape.

Each marker bears testament to the lives lost, their identities hidden by the earth until this moment. There’s a solemnity in the uniformity of the graves, a shared narrative of female lives cut short, each one a story untold and a voice silenced.

In that moment, amidst the hushed whispers of the wind and the solemn rustle of leaves, you can’t help but feel a pang of sorrow for the women who now rest beneath the earth, their stories lost to time but not forgotten.

“Alright, he got comfortable.”

“Too comfortable?” Jack questions, eyebrow raised, ready to find out if you’re close to catching the serial killer.

You nod in agreement. “Way too comfortable.”

When a predator becomes comfortable, it means they believe they’re in control. And when they’re think they’re in control, they’re more likely to make mistakes.

The killer’s overconfidence in his ability to evade detection is evident. He’s been operating for years, right under your noses, taking the lives of innocent women and burying them in shallow graves that are easy to uncover once people start paying attention. You realize that this killer has been playing a dangerous game long enough to develop a deep sense of hubris; he truly believes he’s invincible. Arrogance seeps from every part of his crimes.

“So, it’s not Peter Bernardone?”

You crouch nearby one of the dug-out holes and observe as a forensic inspects the decomposing body. “Tell me, Jack, does Peter Bernardone ooze arrogance?”

Jack ignores your snarky remark as he considers your question for a moment, his expression thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say so,” he decides. “Quite the opposite.”

“You really had to think about that one, huh?” You snort and shake your head in disbelief. “That man is a sheep, Jack. And this was done by a big bad wolf.”

Jack allows himself to crack a small smile at your analogy. “You’re right, this doesn’t fit Peter Bernardone; the arrogance doesn’t match the man. But there are a few others I have my eye on.”

“No, I don’t think he’s one of them.” 

Jack raises an eyebrow. “I’m interested to know who you think it is then.”

“How the hell would I know?” you retort, shrugging your shoulders in frustration.

“Your job is to figure that out,” Jack scolds you, growing tired of your complaints and excuses. “So what are you going to do now, Agent Avant?”

“I—” you start, then stand back up with a sigh. “I will find a bottle of good booze to lull me to sleep today.”

Jack’s face softens at the joke, the slightest hint of a smile gracing his lips. “That sounds like a plan. I don’t suppose you’re going to share?”

“You’re welcome anytime, boss.”

Jack nods, then gestures for you to continue examining the bodies. “Go on. We’re not done here yet.”

“Thought sharing the booze meant we’re ditching,” you mumble in resignation.

“Not until we’re finished here.” Jack indicates the bodies in front of you. “This is hardly the kind of case where you can get drunk and call it a day, Agent Avant. We still have work to do.”

“Alrighty.”

When you return home, the cold seems to have intensified. You lock the car, clutching a bottle of cheap wine under your arm. Sure, you could have splurged on something better, but right now, good taste isn’t your priority. You are aiming for a one-way ticket to Drunkville, with fingers crossed that the morning hangover won’t be too punishing.

The cold air nips at your cheeks, the bottle of wine under your arm a tangible reminder of the purpose of your excursion. You seek a distraction, anything to divert your mind from the day’s grim events. Yet, even as you hum a lighthearted tune, your thoughts stubbornly gravitate back to the graves and the haunting visages of the deceased women interred in the damp soil.

A complex array of emotions churns within you—grief, anger, irritation... perhaps even a touch of admiration? It was an unsettling sensation, one that you had experienced all too often before.

You dare to look ahead, your eyes tracing the outline of the forest behind the house, barely visible in the darkness of the night. It’s a mistake.

As soon as your gaze settles on the trees, you hear a faint scream emanating from that direction. You try to convince yourself it’s just your imagination playing tricks on you, but you can’t shake the feeling of unease that settles over you.

The scream gives you pause, causing you to hesitate on the icy pavement. You entertain the fleeting thought that it might be your tired mind, but then it comes again—a desperate cry for help echoing from somewhere near the woods behind the house. The sound sends a chill down your spine, a stark reminder of your solitude in this desolate place.

Despite knowing better, your legs carry you forward through the clearing behind the house, drawing you closer and closer to the trees where the sound originated. The urgency in the scream compels you to move, your heart pounding in your chest as you approach the edge of the forest.

Your footsteps are unsteady on the icy ground as you pause just outside the woods, letting your eyes adjust to the darkness. The dense trees obscure your vision, and the faint light barely penetrates the forest, leaving your visibility limited to mere feet around you. You press on, determined to uncover the source of the distressing sound.

The screaming fades into silence, leaving only the sound of your own unsteady breathing echoing in the stillness of the night. You slip further into the woods, each step cautious and deliberate, the snow crunching under your boots. Despite the chill in the air, your clothes provide little warmth against the biting cold, and the shelter of the trees does little to shield you from the relentless wind.

The wind carries the cold air deep into your lungs, making your breath come out in cloudy puffs. Your coat offers little protection, and you feel the wind whistling through it, chilling your body to the core.

You take a few more steps, the trees growing thicker around you with each passing moment. 

You pause, listening intently, trying to discern the direction from which the cries for help emanated. But in the silence of the night, your own heavy breathing is the only sound that reaches your ears. 

The shrill of a scream shatters the stillness of the air, bursting through right behind your back, no more than a few feet away. It’s so loud that you instinctively cover your ears, feeling the jolt reverberate through your entire body.

In the chaos, the bottle of wine slips from your grasp, crashing to the ground and shattering upon impact with a nearby rock. Red wine splashes onto your boots and calves, staining the pristine snow with dark splotches.

You gape at the scene with wide eyes, heart racing in your chest as adrenaline floods your system. Your whirl around in an instant, your eyes scanning the area for any sign of the origin of the scream.

But the woods remain still, enveloped in an eerie silence, with only the moonlight filtering through the trees, casting shifting shadows that seem to dance around you. A shiver runs down your spine as you become acutely aware of just how isolated you are in this dark forest, surrounded by unknown dangers.

Your legs carry you as fast as they can, propelling you back the way you came, away from the ominousness of the forest. Panic surges through you, urging you to flee, to escape the darkness closing in around you.

Every step feels like an eternity as you race through the woods, your heart pounding in your chest, the echo of the scream still ringing in your ears. All you can think about is getting away, getting back to safety, away from whatever lurks in the shadows. Your senses are on high alert, every rustle of leaves and crack of twigs makes you jump.

The darkness seems to press in on you from all sides, suffocating and oppressive. Adrenaline courses through your veins, fueling your desperate flight through the underbrush.

You can’t see what’s behind you, but you can feel its presence, a looming specter haunting your every step. Terror grips you in its icy grasp, driving you onward, even as your legs threaten to give out beneath you. You push through the pain, pushing yourself to the brink of exhaustion in your frantic bid for escape.

You look behind you, but all you can see is darkness. You’re just about to reach the clearing when you collide with someone with so much force that it takes both of you down.

Your breath rushes out in a startled gasp as you scramble to disentangle yourself from the other person, heart hammering in your chest. With adrenaline coursing through your veins, you push yourself away from them, scrambling backward on all fours until you’re a safe distance away. Panic surges within you, making your movements frantic as you try to orient yourself in the darkness. The shadows obscure the details, making it difficult to see who or what has you so rattled.

The person mutters your name in panic. It’s Will.

The instant you hear the familiar voice, you know that you’re safe—that whatever was chasing you is gone. You let out a shaky sigh and release the tension in your muscles, suddenly realizing how close you were to losing control of the situation.

But his sudden appearance leaves you confused, and you can’t help but ask, “What are you doing out here?”

“I heard your scream. Are you alright?” He stumbles in your direction in panic, hands outstretched to grab your arms.

The confusion only grows as you listen to his question, certain that you never made a sound. You didn’t scream, yet he’s insistent that he heard it. And even though you know your voice would be distinctive in the silence of the woods, he still seems to be under the impression that you were the one who called out for him.

“I didn’t scream,” you insist, your voice barely above a whisper as you struggle to make sense of the situation. “I heard it too, but it wasn’t me.”

You don’t know what to make of it, and the uncertainty makes your nerves flare. You start backing away from his touch, keeping an eye on him as you try to make sense of what’s happening.

“I don’t understand,” you murmur, your voice trembling slightly with a mixture of fear and confusion. “I didn’t scream. It wasn’t me.”

“What do you mean you didn’t scream?” He seems taken aback by your response, his gaze darting around as he tries to process what you’re saying. “I ran here as fast as I could after I heard you. Are you trying to tell me I imagined it?”

You can feel the tension in his voice, the confusion mirrored in his expression. There’s a palpable sense of urgency in his demeanor, as if he’s desperately trying to make sense of the situation.

You shake your head vigorously, repeating like a mantra, “It wasn’t me.”

“Then who was it?” He glances around the woods again, searching for clues in the darkness. “Who else could be out here?”

“Let’s go home,” you say, ignoring his question and rising to your feet with the help of his steady arms.

Your legs still feel shaky after the run through the woods, and you lean on his arms for support as you try to regain your bearings. The cold air nips at your cheeks, making it hard to breathe, and the sudden burst of adrenaline has left you feeling exhausted. You let him guide you toward the house, not wanting to spend another moment in the dark woods.

“Don’t ever let me near those woods again,” you mutter, the words tumbling out without thought. Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and frustration, the events of the past few hours weighing heavily on your mind.

As you take the final few steps toward the house, you’re grateful to be out of the forest, but a lingering unease gnaws at you. Something about the whole evening feels off, and the fact that Will is here only adds to your discomfort.

As his arms envelop you, you feel a creeping unease settle over you, intensifying with each passing moment. His embrace should be reassuring, but instead, it triggers a disturbing sense of déjà vu. In this moment, you find yourself unable to be reassured by anyone or anything.

His eyes seem to darken, and before your startled gaze, antlers begin to emerge from his head, a surreal and terrifying transformation unfolding before your eyes.

The longer he holds you, the more your anxiety mounts, until you can no longer bear it, pulling away sharply, desperate to escape the unsettling sensations gripping you. Blinking in disbelief, you look back at him, finding no trace of the eerie transformation you just witnessed.

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