#this is soooooo gooooood

[forgettable-au]

Do you think, at first, people would call Papyrus's name and he wouldn't respond. After all, its his name but it isn't his name, so it would take some getting used to hearing associated with him (even if there's no other alternative he knows about)

Oh YES

That happened a lot at the beginning, JUST after the incident, during the first Papyrus days

I'm planning to expand on that a LOT more on the comic but here is something in the meantime

I forgot to write things on the list, but it's too late now

-

[smimon]

Mr. Jesse Voss, everybody

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Broken Things (Resident Lover)

Pairing: Very much platonic Mia and Miranda (I am rotating them and their dynamic in my head) Rating: G for General Audiences Warning: HEAVY SPOILERS for Miranda's route, mostly implied but this won't make much sense if you haven't finished it. I recommend also getting the cult ending for maximum clarity. Summary: For two people that hate each other, Mia and Miranda have more in common than either of them want to admit. The night before an important (but heartbreaking) ritual, they share a few moments together. Alternatively: do you think they ever talk about being the only two to really know the MC? I think it hangs over them, equal parts comforting blanket and burial shroud. Exploring their dynamic a lil bit. Also, this is probably the longest thing I've written in one sitting in ages, so... cool. Noice. Just over 1.2k words.

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If she had bothered to knock, there would have been no answer at best, and a flurry of feathered rage at worst. No point in entertaining that formality; not tonight, the eve of another undoing. Few things had any point tonight. But Mia had never been one to overthink things, never one to bother drawing up reasons for her behavior. That was what made her so charmingly irritating. Or just plain irritating, if you asked the headmistress whose office is now being invaded.

“I’m not in the mood for company,” Miranda warns from where she sits at her desk, the barest hints of exhaustion bleeding into her normally veiled expression. Even Goddesses get tired, it seems. Cruelties stir in the back of her throat, vile words and heavy hexes, but she doesn’t waste any energy on letting them spill out. Simply swallows, hard, and crosses one leg over the other. A stiffness occupies her bones this evening.

“I know,” Mia answers, without any snark, carefully setting down a couple glasses where there’s room. The bottle in her other hand has already been opened, the contents mixed with other things, and hastily sealed again. For once, Mia bothers to wipe the condensation off the bottom before setting it down. “Neither am I.”

This time, her lips curl up at the edges, but the downturn of her eyebrows betrays the bitterness she feels. Another thought dances on her mind, and her mouth makes it halfway open before she discards it, playing the movement off as an exaggerated sigh. Pushing Miranda’s buttons is easy… achieving anything else is Herculean. Part of Mia wonders how far she’s already pushing things, not because she cares about the consequences, simply because she can’t tell.

Leaning her weight against the desk (avoiding the side table like a single touch would kill her), Mia grabs the bottle again, popping the cap off with a flick of her thumb. Almost immediately the smell of strong whiskey drifts around the room. Miranda’s nostrils flare, briefly, the purse of her lips growing tighter. But she says nothing as Mia pours drinks for the both of them, eying them closely to make sure they’re filled evenly. A moment passes, then two, before Mia nudges one of the glasses closer to Miranda.

“I don’t know why I keep you around,” the headmistress says, bringing a little bite to her words to show dominance, her posturing a sad show of deflecting vulnerability. They both know exactly why Mia is still alive, why she’s here, in this town, in this day, in this life. Why she doesn’t slip out the door without a word and disappear forever. All the same reasons keep Miranda here, urging her hands to continue pulling strings, weaving and undoing and weaving and weaving and unmaking with the same heart that compelled Penelope to do the same.

Mia chooses not to point it out. Bites her tongue, nurses the mixed whiskey like it was her last. Lets the burn linger on her tastebuds. Breathes in deep, turning her gaze to the dark sky beyond the office window. A few tiny figures move across the campus grounds, returning from parties or maybe more clandestine affairs, utterly unaware that everything was going to be reset tonight. None of them have even an ounce of worth in her eyes, nor in Miranda’s.

“Nobody else has a clue, do they?” Mia muses, somewhere between a sneer and a giggle. Both halves sound forced. For a moment, she basks in the silence, only to remember she wasn’t one to find comfort in such things after all. A glance towards her companion reveals a raised eyebrow, Miranda not yet parsing her words. The details of the reset were a closely guarded secret, to prevent dissent, but most of her flock understood that something important lay past the dusk. What they didn’t understand is all the more fundamental, built into the very cause they pursued. “They all think they know what we’re missing.” More bitterness in her voice this time, acidity on a slow-drip to her veins, a scoff kicking out some of the weight from her chest.

Something clicks, then, an idea alongside Miranda’s tongue. Dimitrescu imagines her daughters. Beneviento’s grief haunts everything she makes, but the feelings fold into different shapes. Followers flood their senses with Mother’s goals, with her purpose, but they are driven by their devotion to her. Not to her. All the lives in the world, vast and uniquely faceted, and only the two in this room have a clue.

“You don’t love her the way I do,” Miranda whispers, nail guards finding places to pinch her own flesh. Slowly, she uncrosses her legs, and finally reaches for her glass. If there’s any fragility to the way she holds herself now, Mia is kind enough to ignore it, and uncaring enough to leave the pain without relief.

“Mmm, and you don’t love her the way I do,” she breathes. Neither of them are lying. Oddly enough, nor are they challenging each other. Just declaring their surviving differences in this moment of alikeness. “Salut,” Mia adds, ignoring the huff (of irritation or amusement, she cares not to differentiate) from Miranda, but cracks a smile when their glasses raise in sync. A toast to the heart of their shared world, to the central victim of the reset.

There’s no hiding the way Miranda recoils at the concoction, almost a snarl with glinting teeth, the strength of the cheap whiskey hardly diluted by whatever was added to it. Hardly her drink of choice. Yet she runs her finger around the rim of the glass, mirroring the way her tongue flickers across her teeth, savoring the misery of it all. Hauntingly familiar, the closest Mia had ever come to recreating a cursed relic from their past. At least it will get us drunk fast, she had once said, with this same grimace, the icon of their love cheering on the words. Teasing gently about her obsessions with efficiency.

By the time the memory moves beyond her eyelids, the glass in her hands is almost empty. Mia hums a halfhearted tune, pouring another round for Miranda, before pushing herself up from her perch. A few wrinkled papers get left behind, without anyone batting an eye. Everything was pointless tonight, remember? Beautiful nothingness, even stale blood gushing like ichor, almost all things rendered equal.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have some poor decisions to make,” Mia suddenly chimes, face twisting up into a visage of mischief, brushing the last of the dust off of her mask. One hand snatches up the bottle, the other smoothes over her leather jacket, subtly ensuring she could still feel the presence of her switchblade in one of the pockets. WIth unabashed glee, she waltzes through the doorway, off to draw blood and make merry with the worst of what the university has to offer.

She only hesitates for a microsecond, as she goes to close the door behind her. Glances back to meet Miranda’s gaze, all-knowing and piercing as ever, the two of them exchanging silent assurances. Their beloved would be remade, eventually, no matter how long it takes. No matter how many times they have to start over. A determination only matched in each other, as universally true as it is unspoken.

[vaxildanthechampion]

Taliesin Jaffe is The Keeper (Call of Cthulhu: Shadow of the Crystal Palace)

[thelastsaiyanprincess]

white tea & ginger scented whipped shea butter save me

[sparklyslug]

[WAILING INTO MY HANDS]

[blazeball]

just had takoyaki for the first time it was so fucking good. its like if fish sticks loved you

[iza-bel-a]

I wanna post my body online so bad but I shouldn't because I tried it a few times and it gives me anxiety :(

[sailermoon]

sour cream with those ranch packs served with cut up veggies…taste of the summer

[girlvinland]

There is never a time when I listen to Ludwig the Holy Blade where it doesn’t give me chills.

[kokoronohiroi]

okuyasu's actor ... my beloved ...

[lara-transilvania]

Fine, I'll learn The Hanging Tree on the guitar in the year of our lord 2023.

[spacetravels]

got barricade at the wonder years tenth year anni tour for the greatest generation 🥺 i love them sooo much. such a great great show also with action/adventure, sweet pill, & anxious … i have tinnitus now

[definitelynotshouting]

I'd love to play au tenis with you bc I get so many ideas but I don't really have many people to share them with

Like for example I randomly got slapped with an idea earlier today about an au where grian is a pirate on the run from the royal fleet and ends up getting captured alive and brought to a prison, where he meets the guy in the cell next to him who also turns out to be a pirate named scar, and the two of them plan a homoerotic escape together that succeeds but the thing is they never got the chance to see what the other looked like and parted their separate ways under the darkness of light--they only know each other's names--and don't meet again until like two years later where they end up in the same tavern for one reason or another and the unresolved tension that forms when they realize who the other is couldn't even be hacked apart with a sword

-unstoppable object anon

Anon i am GRABBING YOU holy shit this au ROCKS. YOUR MIND. IM GOING INSANE HOLY SHIT!!!!!! that sounds literally so incredible oh my gods im invested just thinking about it. Please feel free to throw aus at me any time bc this FUCKS i love it

[felixcatton]

i just rewatched the last episode of djats

[yuriprince]

i had steak for dinner last night and i’m still thinking about it