#with just a touch of overlap

[sarcasticdolphin]

Hii, i wanted to send another drabble request for rudolf :)

count gondrecourt absolutely pushes rudolf to his limits n scared rudolf strikes back in self defense leading to the furious tutor reporting directly to franz for rudolf's "terrible misbehavior"

Todolf "Retrieval"

Leopold is Gondrecourt's first name.

Under the cut because well .... Rudolf's been spending too much time with Tod. I'll leave it at that. I spent awhile thinking about this one, and it very nearly ended up being similar to Into Darkness, I Fall. But in the end I took a slightly different route. I'm publishing this somewhat late at night so there may be more English issues than usual.

The Crown Prince was an incorrigible brat at times. Not that Leopold would ever phrase it quite that way when he reported to the Emperor, but that did not diminish the truth of the matter.

His Imperial Highness’s latest bit of antics was a disappearing act - off to his hunting lodge in the forest in spite of the fact that the season was entirely wrong for any sort of hunting. And of course, as the prince’s tutor, it was Leopold who had to endure the long cold ride to fetch the wayward boy. He had a pair of guards - not for himself, but for the prince, who had departed quickly and quietly in the predawn hours, almost alone. 

Ever since the Emperor had seen fit to gift the Crown Prince a hunting lodge within a relatively short if not easy ride of the Imperial Palace this had been the pattern of things - Rudolf much preferred Mayerling to Vienna. It was an entirely proper gift, one expected of a monarch to his treasured son and heir. That didn’t make it any less irksome for Leopold. But perhaps it was for the best. More hours in the saddle were always good practice, and Leopold hadn’t ridden as often before the Crown Prince’s antics began.

The low roofs of Mayerling are both a welcome and unwelcome sight. The long ride is over. But Leopold’s battle is only just beginning.

He tosses the reins of the horse to a waiting groom before stepping into the halls of the Crown Prince’s hunting lodge. The servants all know him - they’ve all been through this charade before, and Leopold walks the familiar halls - ever dim, even in the heights of the day. 

The Prince is alone when Leopold finds him in his bedchamber, staring out the window at the endless dark forest.

“Imperial Highness.” Leopold knows this charade well.

The Crown Prince turns evenly to face Leopold. His eyes are hard and cold. “Count.” And he spits Leopold’s title like it is an insult.

“Your Imperial Father has bid me to retrieve you.” It’s not strictly speaking entirely true - the Emperor had bid Leopold to educate his wayward boy, to teach him the more masculine arts. But Vienna was the best place for said education, not a hunting lodge.

Something in the Crown Prince’s eyes hardened yet more at those words, and it was then that Leopold noticed the silver knife in Rudolf’s hand. Rudolf’s trembling hand. 

It’s not that Leopold has never seen the prince’s hands tremble before, but not like this. There is no fear in Rudolf’s eyes. Only an icy hatred.

“Get out.” Most lesser men would flee at the tone of the Crown Prince alone.

Leopold doesn’t even blink. The boy is still a boy. A trembling little prince. He still has so much work to do. He tilts his head ever so slightly. It is always tedious, dealing with the brat like this. It isn’t like Leopold can simply have him beaten. One doesn’t beat a prince. Even when it would probably do the impudent thing some good.

The movement is quick and vicious, coupled with another order, more snarled than anything. “GET OUT.”

The boy had cut himself. Of course, he would be so clumsy as to do so. The blood was dripping over his fingers, but the Crown Prince still seemingly hadn’t noticed. 

The icy chill that descends at once, all-encompassing and vicious, steals Leopold’s breath away.

—---------------

Rudolf had been deep in his longing when Gondrecourt had arrived. He wanted his friend above all other things. His companionship, his friendship. Him. 

“Imperial Highness.” 

The tendril of hatred was vicious, black, and coiled as it slipped through Rudolf’s mind. This was his time of prayer, after a fashion. Was nothing now sacred?

“Count.” It’s not how he should be acknowledging Gondrecourt. But they aren’t in Vienna. No one is running to his father. The walls don’t have ears here.

“Your Imperial Father has bid me to retrieve you.” Half a lie. Perhaps more. Rudolf’s grip tightened on his knife - a slim thing, and a gift from his friend - even as the black snake of hatred coiled ever tighter within him. 

He hates Gondrecourt and wants his friend in equal measure. 

“GET OUT.” It’s half by accident, and yet not. He wants his friend. More than anything, he wants. It’s a moment of relief when the sharp blade slips into his arm - barely a nic, but the knife has a way of finding veins. The blood is dripping on Rudolf’s fingers soon enough, and the chill that he has so desired is on the air.

Tod arrives so very close, one arm half around Rudolf, on his back. A greeting and a comfort.

“My Prince.” There is a beautiful music to Tod’s voice, and Rudolf has always found it entrancing. But as much as Rudolf would happily lose himself in his friend, the hand on his back is a sure guide.

Gondrecourt is in a place more fitting for the dog he is - pinned chest down to the floor by a pair of Tod’s attendants. And, Rudolf realizes belatedly, he’s gagged too.

“What would you have of your tutor?” The question is gentle enough, a silky thing floating on the air. 

Imagined images flash through Rudolf’s head. He knows of the brutality, of the cruelty of the ancient world, and in large part thanks to Gondrecourt. And part of him does want those screams, the ones that would be a supreme music.

But he can’t inflict one such as Gondrecourt on his friend. “A long life. Full of pain and anguish. Watching his children die before him, and the labors of his hands crumble.”

Tod approves, Rudolf can see that in his smile. “And here most would give such a man to me.”

Rudolf almost blushes at that. “I wouldn't do that to you, my friend.” He brushes a tentative kiss to Tod’s cheek. “Would that he lives forever, totally aware and in agonizing pain. Screaming each moment for mercy that will never come”

Tod’s smile is gentle, victorious, and amiable. “As you say.”

[facets-and-rainbows]

Guys I gotta talk about Yugioh characters' pronouns

and by pronouns I mean the second-person pronouns that they use for other people

and by yugioh characters I mean exclusively bakura

Okay so in Japanese, pronouns have synonyms. You have OPTIONS for which "you" to use for someone, and it depends on your relationship and how polite you're being:

Safest option for you, the learner, is actually to refer to them in third person, by their name (or title, or nickname). This is both nice and respectful.

貴方（あなた） is the formal polite one that's most often taught to beginners.

君（きみ） is informal and friendly-sounding, for friends! Don't use it for like your boss.

お前（おまえ） is informal and rough-sounding, like walking up to someone and going "hey man"

てめぇ is actively insulting. You are possibly picking a fight. Either this is a close friend who likes tossing around friendly insults, or you want them to meet you behind the denny's for an asskicking. Maybe both.

貴様（きさま）is also insulting. Was once a polite term that got used SO SARCASTICALLY that now it's almost like saying A POX ON YOUR HOUSE. You are probably an anime character with anime enemies.

And fiction makes full use of all this to help you understand how characters feel about each other.

For example, in Yugioh we have Ryou Bakura, a decently polite and mild-mannered teenager. He says the friendly-sounding 君 to most people, at least when he's not just using their names/titles.

He is possessed by the evil spirit Yami Bakura, who is allergic to respect and has a standing invitation to literally anyone to meet him behind the denny's for an asskicking. Yami Bakura only says 君 when he is pretending to be the nice Bakura. When he's being himself he actually defaults to a mix of てめぇ and 貴様, the insulting ones.

But the part I like is their use of お前.

See, Yami Bakura is a guy who says お前 to be nice. Or at least as nice as he's capable of being. In his hands it can end up sounding creepily familiar, like "hey buddy we're cool right? you don't mind the murder do you pal?"

He'll say お前 occasionally to a lot of people, but I can only think of one that he uses it consistently for, and that's his host. Even when he's mad at him.

お...お前は...！　獏良了！！ (Y-You're... Bakura Ryou!!)

Ryou Bakura, meanwhile, also uses お前 for exactly one person as far as I can tell. And that person is Yami Bakura. The demon living in his brain doesn't get the friendly "you."

ボクは獏良了。お前に友���は殺させない。ボクも闘う。 (This is Bakura Ryou. I won't let you kill my friends. I'll fight too.)

It's just so hilarious to me that they use the same "you" for each other, but one says it to be "nice" and the other says it to be mean. Like that's great. Isn't that great??

11/10 they should have interacted for more than like three scenes

[illmamnim]

So I saw a post that went "I thought the 'thought of kissing them didn't make me wanna throw up' was attraction" and I think that put into words my personal headcanon for Hirano.

He's always awkward around mentions of romance and doesn't really pick up on signs. When he's told explicitly, he vaguely understands it but doesn't seem to be mindful of little details that Kagiura tries to put across. He doesn't hate touch, he finds people somewhat attractive, but it's never passionate or intimate.

More than anything, what interests me the most, is how he does appreciate the intimacy once it's handed to him. When the "10 seconds" started, he did it for Kagiura, and continued doing as he asked because he enjoys his company. I feel like a big part of the aro/ace experience (at least from what I've seen) is how you'd want to just be emotionally intimate with someone, they offer something you don't particularly mind, so you do it. I've seen ace people in romantic relationships talk about it, aspecs in qprs, and generally people lack the desire but wish for their favourite person's happiness.

This is just how Hirano is.

And I know it's a BL meant to end romantically, but if I take it at face value, it feels like an a-rom com, which I always want more of.

[sysig]

For Requestober No.2

What about Handplates Gaster and Papyrus trying hard to have a bonding activity and Sans just chilling behind them eating popcorns...?

👉🏻👈🏻

Day 14 - He's supervising

[idolomantises]

there's something so comforting about artists you admire talking about their own struggles and insecurities

[player1064]

carraville core beliefs (aka things I am Always keeping in mind when writing them)

Gary:

always busy. always talking. genuinely one of the most annoying people alive. his friends often mute him on whatsapp

easily bribed with chocolate

too rich to have any concept of what things should cost or how anything works

has a Type and that type is tall muscular men

related to his type: likes to be Held. (make of that what you will)

was in love with becks when they were young and everyone who knows him knows this

Jamie:

very much a lads lad and so probably a bit of a bastard but unconsciously acts soft around Gary

loud and over the top especially when he's joking around. VERY touchy-feely but only with people he's comfortable with

does not like sweets. does not like coffee.

loves a paycheck

doesn't have a type he's just insane about Gary. so insane about him that he doesnt necessarily have to actually like men at all to like HIM

completely utterly whipped

as a pair:

always the most insane people in any room they're in and always the most intense

bullying is their love language and they're suspicious if they're being nice to each other

genuinely stupidly fond of each other. what was it I said the other day they just delight each other so much

the reason they delight each other/click so well is BECAUSE they're always the two most insane people in any room they're in

everything is a competition and once they're together they STAY together bc they are both determined to Win at their relationship

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,��� his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[atopvisenyashill]

i’m not engaging in discourse about discourse i refuse to engage in discourse about discourse engaging in discourse about discourse is the mind killer

[vivanightcity]

spent so long setting up a scene for some shots, took a fair number, really happy with how they turned out when i chucked them in to editor

second i loaded them up and was looking at them to tag just got the. Oh. Oh no. This looks a lot like someone elses stuff.

[moe-broey]

You know Henriette is lowkey kind of anime (like the SuMo anime) Lusamine-core. To me

[zingaplanet]

Carraville and the not so subtle art of doing things 101

[sysig]

Some days you just have to scribble (Patreon)

[iratusmus]

[whatimdoing-here]

a lot of my friends aren't local. some family is, but they're fairly busy. one of my great friends who but is amazing with them, asked to take the boys for a day? like wanted to? willingly took my children to go do a bunch of fun stuff for the day. i am so incredibly lucky to have her in my life.

[harmonicunt]

processes of truth unfolding nonsense incoming

[eggedbellies]

In that weird sorta in-between thing where I'm really not into fat gain/stuffing kinda stuff but I am into Inflation and I have to be super careful not to accidentally squick myself and when people send me stuff I'm like hmmmm is this inflation or stuffing.