#works the brain a lot more when you have to imagine where a limb would go when you can't rough it in first

[cryptic-underground]

Small doodles from a greater doodle page. I like drawing em no bigger than my pinky nail. Especially Stan, love drawing Itty bitty stan

[possamble]

Like take for example how she treats healing Laios leg!! We *never* see someone who was healed have lasting symptoms from a heal. It *itches* terribly — Laios looks like he will scratch it raw. The itching implies an incomplete heal — you only itch that bad when something is being regrown or scabbing like when you get tattoos. There’s something that needs to finish healing. This scene always stood out to me— because Falin notices and *heals* it. And that brought up a ton of questions for me (We see her cast magic, was it to soothe the itching? A phantom pain? Why was it itching in the first place? Didn’t Marcille finish the job? Why was he having after effects we never see someone have any before?) and i’m breaking my brain over it because is this an sign of Marcille’s engagement with healing in general? Perfunctory—a means to an end? Morals? I feel like there is something there for us because that scene wasn’t necessary to the plot so why did Ryoko Kui add this interaction? I think how Marcille engages with healing was telling us a lot more than I previously realized because she was in a medical researcher position before coming into the dungeon however when we see how this was practically applied by her was really interesting!! She’s so divorced from feeling empathy for the pain of healing and i think that’s some sort of self-preservation instinct. Idk i just feel like her engagement with healing is so fucking fascinating when juxtaposed with her beliefs on death pls share thots if any

I think what gets hidden in the details about Marcille’s healing is that no, she’s not a talented cleric and healer in the way that Falin is. But Fantasy settings tend to relegate healing towards “holy” and “good” magic that never causes harm—

and Marcille is what you’d get if you put a doctor and a surgeon with a modern, more realistic approach towards medicine in a genre that doesn’t usually allow for that. 

Like, you’ll see surgeons or doctors secretly being incredibly efficient serial killers in TV thrillers everywhere—but a fantasy series with a cleric or healer that’s secretly great at killing is a bit more rare to find(though not nonexistent, admittedly). Healing magic tends to be painted as either a religious discipline that’s not accessible to those who don’t have a tie to a deity or some ineffable force in the universe, or a matter of accessing some natural “life force” that exists in all living beings. 

Dungeon Meshi, of course, loves bending fantasy conventions in the most incredible ways, so that’s not how it works here. The series allows itself to contend with the fact that healing a human body requires extensive and painstakingly detailed knowledge of that body.

The reason that Falin might appear to be a much more talented healer than Marcille is because Kui dresses her up in all the archetypal traits of a Caring Cleric, and that immediately clicks with readers expecting fantasy conventions in ways that Marcille's expertise doesn't.

This isn’t to discredit Falin, obviously. She is a talented healer, as attested to by Marcille herself:

But the interesting thing is that she does it all on instinct, so it’s not an exact knowledge. Furthermore, she uses the gnomish system of healing, which is implied to rely more on the judgment and knowledge of natural spirits (and therefore takes less mana). So it’s not hard to imagine that she would have less exact knowledge of how the human body operates than Marcille does as a medical researcher. 

And that in and of itself raises questions: In a world where magic can immediately re-attach a limb, why would medical research be necessary? But Dungeon Meshi makes it clear that healing magic isn’t perfect, nor “holy” magic—it’s simply magic, like any other, carefully tailored to operate within the confines of what a human body needs in order to keep living. It’s not able to cure everything, and it especially seems to have gaps in terms of being able to treat illnesses that aren’t immediately solvable injuries.

And that all ties into Marcille's attitude towards it: It's a scientific and magical discipline like any other that requires careful study. There's nothing inherently good or bad about it—it was made by people, for people, and what matters is how you use it.

So, Marcille was at the academy, studying the ways that illness happens in a body, and carefully writing new magic to counteract or at least mitigate it.

(How I interpreted this was that she was likely part of research teams dealing with complicated things like autoimmune diseases, cancer, and other things where the body isn’t technically injured by a foreign element, but erroneously harming itself due to internal reasons.)

For me, this kind of explains her approach to pain in healing:

Honestly, what this immediately reminded me of was that a friend of mine had to have surgery on their throat when they were younger, and part of the procedure was waking them up without anaesthesia right after the surgery to make sure that they could still feel everything. They told me it was the worst pain they’d ever felt in their entire life—but from a medical perspective, it was necessary to make sure that none of the critical nerves in the neck had been affected. 

Sometimes in medicine, pain is necessary because it’s not some uncomplicated and bad thing—it’s a response of your nervous system, and sometimes the only indicator that your body is still working the way it should. And I think this is the mindset that Marcille has, which is why she seems so blase about it—she doesn’t think that she’s actually hurting people, it’s just a necessary part of the healing process. 

And in some ways, she just sees it as a realistic downside of the fact that you have to recover quickly in dungeon situations:

Normal recovery would take months. Healing magic shortens that to a few seconds. The pain is a result/tradeoff of forcing something that would naturally take a long time into such a short timespan. This all makes sense and is Right and Correct and Normal in Marcille's mind. It's not that she lacks empathy and doesn't care enough about not harming her patients: she doesn't think that it's "harm" at all.

Not a shred of guilt in that face before causing extreme pain. Contrast this to her constant fussing over Izutsumi on the smallest things—it's hard to believe she wouldn't even be a little apologetic if she actually believed this would be hurtful in a way that matters.

I think this is overall, less indicative of any lack of empathy so much as her incredibly stubborn and sometimes ridiculous way of compartmentalizing things to her own internal rules. I’d even argue that this mindset is preferable in surface situations, where people have the luxury of time. Dungeon healing hurts because it has to be fast and instantaneous—but if you're just treating a broken bone that can be put in a cast with slower healing magic to help, wouldn't you prefer that over an instant heal with the chance to cause brain damage, no matter how minuscule the chance is? Shouldn’t your long-term health matter more than short-term recovery and some pain?

To touch on Laios’s leg injury—we actually do see this kind of reaction to healing magic later on in the manga. When Marcille is teaching Laios how to heal, she ends up bowling him over because her cut gets super itchy:

but then she reacts positively and tells him that it's supposed to happen, before trusting him enough to try it on Senshi.

So while yes, it was an “incomplete” heal, I don’t think it was particularly telling about her approach to healing. And honestly, judging by the fact that it only distracted him when he was relaxed enough to be cleaning his armour before bed, it looks like she connected all the major muscles and nerves enough not to cause pain or risk re-injury by moving, but just left superficial stuff for Laios’s body to naturally heal. 

Her mindset makes sense in context: She also had to heal Chilchuck and Senshi, while conserving enough energy to immediately start digging for Falin’s body and potentially do a very taxing resurrection spell as soon as possible. 

After that, Falin healed the rest of Laios’s leg injury in a situation where it wasn’t needed, but there were no other high stakes to discourage it. Also, she can’t bear to see others in pain. ambrosiagourmet already did an incredible analysis of how this empathy doesn't really signify perfect altruism so much as Falin's deep discomfort with having to witness pain, so I won't go into that too much—but the important part is, Falin isn't inherently a more caring healer than Marcille. They are both making decisions for the patient based on their own approaches to healing—it's just that Falin's approach is preferable for dungeoneering overall.

(In Marcille's defense, it seems that dungeons are an incredibly specific environment that falls way outside the realm of what's actually taught to mages in most schools. Being a combat-oriented mage actually seems pretty frowned upon.)

So, in a lot of ways, Marcille is both realistic about dungeon healing (mana conservation by not doing full heals when not necessary, thinking about pain as the condensation of the time it would have taken to naturally heal, etc.) and very unrealistic about it. What she doesn’t realize is that the pain matters: In a dungeon, people have to be up and ready to continue right away, over and over. If it hurts every time, that makes them very averse to being healed, stressed out about getting injured, and affects their performance as dungeoneers.

All that to say… I personally believe that Marcille is very passionate about healing people. Not healing magic necessarily, but medicine as a whole. It’s not just a means to an end—it’s her main area of study only second to her research into ancient magic. And sure, she might have gotten into it because of her fear of death—but what I think people don’t give enough credit to is that her motivations changed from when she was a child. 

You see it here, when she’s laying her dream outright to the Winged Lion: 

She might be kinda racist herself, hypocritical, and short-sighted (mostly out of ignorance, I’d argue), but at heart, she hates that people hurt each other. She hates that long-lived races look down on everyone else just because of lifespan. She has—arguably very correctly—identified the disparity in lifespans as one of the main causes of interracial strife, and she wants to get rid of it so that everyone can fully understand and relate to each other as equals. 

And in some ways, it’s not even that insane of a dream. 

Knowing that people used to live as long as she’ll have to, and something changed in the eons since, is it really that weird for her to want to change it back somehow? 

But all that aside—the most important part of this to me is that… originally, she wasn’t actually that hung up on completely equalizing lifespans. She got into medicine because she wanted to, at the very least, close the gap as much as she could in her very long life. 

She was realistic about it at first. She thought that, by studying ancient magic’s ability to pull from the infinite, she could harness that infinite energy in tandem with medical knowledge to give more life to the short-lived races. 

But as she says it herself, it changed when she realized that she doesn’t have time to gradually unravel it on her own. 

So, yes. She got desperate. She got crazy. In light of all she did as dungeon lord, it’s easy to assume that she never cared much about healing as a profession, and is just a self-obsessed little girl caged by her trauma and trying to change the entire world to make sure she doesn’t have to be hurt. 

And… she is all that. She's my blorbo supreme but I'll be the first to insist that she is very much a complete hot mess. But my point is that these were very extreme circumstances, and Ryoko Kui has given us all the understated evidence we need to know that she’s actually a very passionate doctor otherwise. This is the girl who freaks out if she’s not useful to other people and not allowed to help:

Did actually get excited about making safe dungeons for helpful purposes beyond just learning more about ancient magic to fulfill her dream: 

And in tandem with her own personal trauma—not in opposition to it or to obscure it—cared about making life more peaceful and equal for everyone in the world. Not to mention, she had to have done some insane work to be acknowledged as the most talented researcher at the academy and be allowed onto teams that were researching new healing magics.

TL:DR, I think she has a lot of empathy for people and passion for helping them, it’s just expressed in a way you wouldn’t expect in a fantasy because Ryoko Kui doesn’t fuck around with her storytelling and genre subversion. She might not be a good archetypal healer, but she's an extremely knowledgeable doctor with a point-blank and intense attitude towards healing and medical treatment (see: her strictness about physical touch when teaching Laios about healing).

For me, all evidence points towards her going back to what she was doing before the story on top of her duties as Court Mage, kind of becoming a sort of Surgeon General for Melini as the head of health and safety for the country and whatnot. 

PS. I will admit that there's explicit evidence she's not good at healing here:

But this was also like... chapter 3. Written years ago. I personally feel that everything Kui has said about Marcille's background since is enough evidence that it was just a one-off joke before she had an airtight idea about who Marcille was and would be, but I'll concede that it's mostly conjecture.

But again, as I said, I believe that while she might not be the best at the heal spell that's used in Dungeons, she's passionate about being a medical researcher and the field of medicine as a whole.

[littlest-nightingale]

10th Doctor agere thoughts bc I am not immune to the Doctor, apparently:

The regressor equivalent of a huge dog who doesn't realize he isn't a little lapdog anymore

Seriously he's gonna give his cgs a concussion if he isn't careful

Every one of his companions end up as his caregiver sooner or later

Very quickly switches between perfectly fine and having a panic attack. He's very,,,, fragile, when he's regressed.

He's also incredibly clingy. Please don't leave, please don't leave him, he doesn't want to be alone again =[

He sometimes goes through phases where he convinces himself that he's better off without a cg, because he knows he'll end up alone eventually and figures it's better not to get attached to someone he knows isn't going to be with him forever. Those phases never last more than a week.

He's so much lighter than he should be, or at least he's lighter than he looks like he should be, so it's easy for him to be carried around. Unfortunately he's very. Limbs. He's so lanky that his regressed brain isn't quite sure what to do with his limbs.

Do not let him anywhere near the control panel of the TARDIS. The last thing everyone needs is a toddler aged timelord running around medieval Germany or something. [Because yes, he will try to use the TARDIS while small, if he's bored enough, and yes, he has done it before and it ended very poorly.]

He's fascinated by makeup I think. He's fascinated by a lot of things humans do, but I think he would like makeup. Rose and Martha have both done his makeup on several occasions =D

Hyper! He's got sooooo much energy most of the time and gets very bored in the TARDIS. Goes to the park quite a lot. Martha is working on getting him to not dig holes in the ground. Yes, worms are fun and all, but please don't tear up the grass looking for them, we're on public property.

Has toys but not because he wants to play with them, but because he wants to take them apart.

Doesn't care about the stigma around regression at all. He's an alien with a time travelling police box, why would he? Honestly, his regression is the most normal part about him. So yeah, he's going to go play on that playground even though he's physically a grown man, and he isn't going to give a fuck about the people watching.

He likes to bring stuff to his cg/companion, like how cats bring you dead animals, so his companions end up with a lot of cool sticks and shiny coins and acorns and feathers and whatever else he just happens to find on the street.

I think a dog would be good for him. He needs a friend to help him burn off energy, and also that mental image is adorable, so I'd imagine that he ends up frequenting local shelters a lot, just to keep the dogs company

Forgets to eat until he's actually starving, at which point he becomes really whiny until he gets something in his system

[lurkdragonstuff]

I'm an atheist and a philosophical materialist. I don't think there's anything more to the universe than what can be observed and measured. Disagree if you want, that's fine, but take as read that this is where I'm coming from.

As you can imagine, this makes it very strange to me that my brain thinks I'm a dragon.

I have been trying to square this circle for years. Since around the 2000's, when I first made contact with the Internet, I would look in on the otherkin community, and the draconic community nested inside it, and I would think, man. I wish I could believe that. I wish I could believe that souls were real, and that I had one, and that it was a dragon, and that's why I was so odd. For quite a while, I just explained it as a furry fandom thing. Sure, yes, my fursona is feral, but ferals are furries, too. This is still true! I'm still in furry fandom, and my dragonself still acts as my fursona. But they are also, in a deeper sense, me.

I'm a secular pagan. I don't think gods exist, and I don't think magic is literally real. I can't really cast a curse on shitty charities. The moon's a big shiny rock. It doesn't care if I roar at it when the sun reflects off it just so and I can see the whole of its tidally locked face.

But my dragon brain doesn't know that. It likes the big shiny rock. It likes little shiny rocks, too. It likes to light things on fire, and considers this a sacred act, both bringing destruction to noxious things and bringing honour to things worthy of it. It likes to growl and hiss when things annoy it. It likes to collect things, to have a hoard. It likes to range around its territory, keeping an eye on what's around in what season. It finds it frustrating that its wings don't seem to work at all, and its other limbs barely better. It wants its tail back. It wants its fire breath.

I'm autistic. Sometimes speaking is hard, and I growl and hiss when things annoy me. I like to collect things related to my special interests; I have a sprawling collection of cetacean, Nintendo, and SEGA figurines, as well as lots of little animal figures. Plushies, too, and videogames, and books. I do wildlife photography, as well, marking who's around in what seasons. This is, to my frustration, limited a lot by waning energy because of chronic health problems.

If backed into a corner, to say what I really believe, of course I'm a human. It is in my DNA, expressed in a bipedal body plan, five fingers on the forelimbs only, nails and not claws, no wings, no muzzle, no tail, short neck, skin and fur instead of scales. Not even any horns. I find this frustrating, but it is what it is. I also find it frustrating when people call me 'she' and not 'they', and that really there is no feasible gender presentation that would guarantee that strangers would use the right word. The best I can hope for is that people will read the 'they/them' button on my hat, or otherwise call me 'he'. Still wrong, but at least novel.

I honestly think my draconic identity developed when I was younger as a way to explain why I was so weird. I have never been normal. I will never be normal. As an adult, I have fancy words like "autism" and "anxiety and depression secondary to post-traumatic stress disorder" and "seasonal affective disorder" to explain why I'm abnormal.

But a part of my brain, I think the same one that still believes in magic and deities even though I don't, tilts its head, then grins a sharp grin and says, "Cool story, bro. I'm still a dragon."

I generally have, for any given of my eccentricities, the philosophical materialist explanation (generally that I am either brainweird in some way or another or am playing pretend for placebo purposes to manage executive function etc.) and the dragon explanation (generally what the pretend play revolves around). But - and this is hard to explain - it isn't exactly playing pretend, either. It's me.

When I'm pretending to be Link, either playing a Zelda game or writing Zelda fanfic, Link isn't me. I might be inhabiting him as an actor, but he isn't me. When I play Animal Crossing, and I'm playing a character named after me, that's closer. It's me but greater. Me but more. Me existing in a life I wish I could have.

When I put on my mask, when I sit and daydream about the multiverse-hopping shenanigans I get up to, when I hiss at someone startling me by getting into my space, that's me. I'm not a dragon, I'm a human wearing a mask, daydreaming, hissing because "back the fuck off!" isn't allowed in the workplace.

Yeah. Cool story, bro.

I am still a dragon.

[cripplecharacters]

In general, how would you approach writing nonhuman/feral characters with disabilities? How would you balance the symptoms animals usually show vs human symptoms, experiences and available accomodations?

I'm considering giving my Warrior Cats character with TBI-induced blindness (yes, I know, these books are awful about disability rep and yet I can't help but get attached) a guide animal of some sort, but... in real life blind cats can get by just fine using their whiskers, and though realism isn't a concern here, I'm worried that'll come across as nonsensical. However, I'm personally uncomfortable with writing yet another blind character that doesn't need mobility aids despite not being able to distinguish objects from one another "properly". He may not be totally blind, but I feel like I'd be contributing to the misconceptions surrounding my own condition that way. Thoughts?

Thank you for your ask! In real life animals, including cats, have been known to assign themselves as a guide for a blind packmate, usually walking on the side with less vision to help with navigation. Sometimes an animal of another species will act as a guide, but only if they’re bonded. This also occurs more often in domesticated animals, so if you don’t want the guide to be another cat you could do something like a dog, chicken or rat (though I’d imagine the last two would be hard to keep in a cat pack!).

You could also have your character able to move around unassisted in familiar areas that he is often in, but need assistance in unfamiliar areas.

As for writing your character, I’d say research how his injury affects his other senses. Touch, smell, hearing and limb movement can be affected by a traumatic brain injury, and it would definitely affect your character's ability to get around.

As of now, this blog unfortunately doesn’t have any blind mods (applications are still open as of posting this). However, you can check out other blogs for more information on blindness, such as BlindBeta, AskABlindPerson, and Mimzy-Writing-Online.

Have a lovely day!

Mod Rot

Hello!

When talking about TBI induced blindness, you have to keep in mind that it's different from ocular blindness. The brain-based type of blindness is called CVI, or Cortical Visual Impairment, and it's very common.

(Note: I have done a lot of research on CVI, but I don't have it myself. I heavily encourage you to check the blogs that Rot mentioned.)

A CVI will often have different symptoms than ocular blindness. For example, the character's field of view could be severely limited - the left (or right, or top, or bottom...) half of their vision could be non-existent, and the other half could be what is sometimes described as "incomprehensible". It could also present in infinitely different ways from that, as it can be very diverse.

CVI is often fluid and the person (or cat) can function very differently depending on the circumstances like fatigue or stress or even the weather. If he's having a horrible day he will be able to understand the visual input less than when he's doing fantastic.

With CVI, it's important to remember that visual acuity generally won't be the main problem, but the brain's comprehension of the image is. This is where cat-available accommodations can hopefully come in.

Showing him experiencing visual fatigue and how he deals with it could be one of them. During his kitty activities he could prefer to have them spaced out so that he only sees one at a time and makes it easier for his brain to comprehend without tiring him out. A cluttered environment would probably only make it worse, so you can have him make sure that everything is nice and in its place. He could also take longer to recognize new objects or cats.

If he has, for example, very limited field of vision, then he could have his kitty house (I don't know how warrior cats work I'm trying my best here) arranged so that it would work for him; i.e. everything being on a specific height.

I also very much agree with Rot that he should have more symptoms than just blindness. One example of a brain-based cat disability could be cerebellar hypoplasia; it can't be caused by a TBI, but it causes ataxia which can be a result of a TBI. Either way you can use it as a reference to visualize how your character could move.

I hope this helps, I really appreciate the effort of trying to include disability accommodations in a character who's a forest cat.

mod Sasza

[cillpiines]

Deathbound

Zedweek Day 4 - Hermitcraft 9-10 / Death

The Life Series has its own designated reaper. Jimmy has some feelings about that.

ao3 link

My name is Jimmy, and this is the man that ruined my life.

Things used to be good! I was just another player, and sure I had a few silly deaths, but so did everyone. I had a nice base, good allies. I wasn’t even the first death of the series! No one could mark me as an omen any more than they could Grian, which is the really the way I think this should have gone. I died to his trap and at his base anyway! That’s two of three!

But I was happy and alive and sort of mostly respected…kinda. I was working on it! And I would have gotten there if this guy didn’t have it out for me!

You think you know how this story goes. I know you! Oh, you think you know how it goes! But you’re gonna hear it my way now and see none of it was my fault!

I met him back in 3rd Life. That’s where it all started. I was at Grian’s bunker with Scar, and I’d just gotten hit with an arrow from someone, so I went to try and hide lower in the bunker, but then another arrow-!

-

With a whistle and a gory thwuk, an arrow speeds through the small gap in the sandy bunker and straight into the lowered head of one Jimmy Solidarity. Rapid velocity sends the sharpened flint blasting through bone, tearing through the tissue in its way. There’s no time to react, no time to scream, as his skull is speared through. Jimmy can only gasp in agonized surprise as his body seizes, nerves lighting up like fireworks.

He collapses.

For a single horrifying moment, Jimmy feels all of it.

For better or worse, it takes no time at all for what’s left of his poor brain to go spotty and shut down.

Then, something hooks around his very being, deeper than his crumbled body and ruined skull, and it pulls.

“Finally! I’ve been waiting for someone to die!”

Being separated from his body is not painful, especially compared to an arrow in the head, but Jimmy screams. His soul is peeled away from flesh, leaving behind the stinging numbness of fried neurons for a frigid detachment from the rest of the world. It’s a foreign sensation and not one he imagined when he got the invite to this experimental series. Is this what hardcore players experience?

There is no reprieve. As soon as his new eyes focus, Jimmy’s met with a pair of haunted, glowing, purple ones only centimeters from his face. He shrieks, stumbling backward and haphazardly swinging his limbs. The figure grins under their dark cloak at him, something horrifying.

In his scramble, Jimmy’s heel catches on something, sending him careening with arms circling wildly to catch his fall. He fails to stop screaming, because what he just stumbled over was himself.

The Jimmy of the corporeal world is face down, saturating the sand red. Blond hair is stained dark around the arrow’s point of impact, his scalp still tacky and leaking blood. The blue shoulder of his favorite outfit fared similarly: dark sickly purple with another arrow—

Jimmy tears his gaze away, but the image is already seared into his mind. He’s fine, his data is fine. He’ll respawn back home soon enough and it’s fine and he’s fine if this scary hooded figure doesn’t kill him dead forever right here.

He’s pretty sure he’s shaking, but it would be embarrassing for a spirit to shake, so he hopes he’s not. The shrouded figure hasn’t moved, still staring and smiling. Jimmy swallows and opens his mouth to speak—

“Congratulations!” it suddenly shouts, tossing up a handful of confetti that it got from who knows where. Their voice is as deep and dangerous as Jimmy had anticipated. The noisemaker that they toot is a lot less so.

Scraps of purple and pink and yellow rain down upon Jimmy, stark against his twice-horror-stricken face. “What—huh? Who are you?”

The figure swings their pink shepherd’s crook and hits themself in the head with it. “I am…Death!...Zedeath. I’m Zedeath. And you’re the first to die!”

Jimmy’s shoulders slump. It’s really over. He’s out of the game first for real, if seeing his own corpse wasn’t already enough to prove it. “First out,” he corrects, recalling Scar’s near-immediate demise at spawn. “My name is Jimmy.” He’d rather not be marked as the first to die by someone forever if he can help it. He’s got a perfectly good name he picked himself.

Zedeath pulls a piece of paper from his robes and squints at it, holding it close to his shadowed face. “Not...you are SolidarityGaming, right?” he queries, missing the large S plastered across Jimmy’s chest.

“That’s me,” Jimmy confirms automatically, then kicks himself for it. Could he have lied to death to get back in the game? Was this reaper only playing a trick on him? He’s heard the stories of trials like that, and this fellow seems the type.

Zedeath makes a mark on the paper with a pen, then tucks both back into his robe, which flutters open into a dark expanse of void. The swirling depth and stars make Jimmy’s head spin, which he does not need any more of, thank you.

He takes the opportunity to instead squeeze his eyes shut and press his palms to his head, reveling in the steadying pressure. He’s fine, he’s fine. Deep breath—okay there’s no air in his lungs, but that’s fine. He pulls his hands down his face, cards them back through his hair. Imagines pushing a breath out. The arrow didn’t transfer over with him thankfully, but he doesn’t understand how it would, since it’s not a part of him anyway. He’s still relieved. He’s still here and will respawn after the game. Maybe sooner, depending on how his reaper works.

“Can you—do you do respawns?”

“We would be in a lot of trouble if I couldn’t! Ready to leave?”

There’s a tattered hole still in the knee of his pants from a slip earlier in the game. Jimmy picks at the loose threads. “Not much point sticking around, really.”

“Okay, rude.” Was he really? He does still have three allies in the game…

“I already lost, though,” the dead bemoans. “I can’t do anything.”

“You won at not winning, though!” Death says brightly, looking quite pleased with such a notion. Jimmy is not.

“I wanted to actually win! Or at least not be last.” Gosh, he’s last. “I wish I didn’t die.”

“What’s wrong with death?” the reaper asks, leaning on his brightly coloured staff to look Jimmy in the eye.

“That’s easy for you to say!” Jimmy can’t believe he has to explain this. “You don’t have to worry about dying!”

“Not until you all start doing it,” Zedeath quips back.

This guy has absolutely bonkers priorities. Maybe being a reaper does that to someone. The constant flow of death could warp their mind or something…Jimmy knew it would make him crazy if he was surrounded by so much of it.

Zedeath hands over the noisemaker and offers a fast respawn, which Jimmy declines. He’ll stay and watch the games for a while more, he’s decided. Maybe he really isn’t ready to go quite yet. The reaper ominously tells him that he’ll know when he is ready, before stalking off to another portion of the map. Jimmy watches him go until he disappears, privately glad to be rid of the spirit for now.

Finally alone, Jimmy sighs and looks down at his hands. Well, first out. But it’s still the first game.

He unenthusiastically toots the noisemaker. It doesn’t make him feel better. Okay, well, it does a little bit, but he’s not about to tell his reaper that. Maybe he can use it to go cheer on Scott and Scar instead. They’re bound to go farther.

No matter, Jimmy tells himself. He’ll do better next time. There’s no way he’s dying first twice in a row.

Fine, yes, dying was mostly my fault that first time. It wasn’t my best, I’ll admit, and Skizz got a lucky shot! But Last Life was completely unfair! It was an accident! I didn’t realize the drop was that far!

I didn’t even get three lives either! Mumbo had more than me and he still died right after, so really, I should have been at least second.

Another death caused by Grian, too. He was supposed to be my ally! If you’re gonna call me a canary, then you should at least call him…coal…dust or something. What kills canaries?

-

Heart pounding in his chest, Jimmy dashes for his life, rapid footfalls speeding alongside the hammering against his ribs. He pushes himself forward, yelling back at Grian to cut it out. His couple of hits were just good fun, come on! Don’t—stop! Stones skid under his boots and he prepares to leap from his pursuer.

His feet leave the roof.

That’s…not the drop he expected it to be.

He flails.

He hits the ground.

Nestled within the stinging pain that shoots through his body is the tugging he can now identify as being from a bubblegum-coloured shepherd’s crook. The pull of his soul from his body is a vaguely familiar sensation now, but Jimmy still screams, quickly pitching into a wail. Zedeath detaches his crook and watches Jimmy’s small tantrum.

“It was an accident!” the ghost begs. “I didn’t think it was that high! I didn’t mean to!”

Death makes no move to act on the plea, no sympathy for the plight of the loser. “Well, the intentional deaths are always better.”

Jimmy’s desperation crumbles into disappointment. He drags his hands down his face and wills his spirit back up to the roof his body fell from. He’d really rather not be on the ground with his corpse right now. Besides, a perch sounds kind of nice at the moment. He plops down to sit on the edge, resting his translucent chin on his translucent knees. “I’m out first again…What is wrong with me…”

A chill settles next to him, and Jimmy doesn’t have to look up to guess that the reaper has chosen a seat next to him. “I’d guess lots! For one, your skin was looking a bit grey even before you died.”

Jimmy huffs. The more time he spends with this guy, the more exhausted he feels. Death is the worst. Taking him twice was enough but he just has to rub salt—wait. He only ever had two lives. Surely Death would have been in charge of that? “Hey, why’d you only give—”

“Another thing is you’re growing little baby feathers,” Zedeath continues obliviously. “I don’t think that’s right.” He doesn’t even give Jimmy an opportunity to question what he’s talking about before there’s a quick and sharp sting on his back.

“Ow! What—”

But when he looks, there’s a small and shimmering golden feather between Death’s grey fingers. His throat catches, and he tries in vain to peer over his shoulder to where it came from. It’s not enough for Death to cut his life short, he has to mess with him too?

“I wonder if the colour is meant to match your hair or a kind of bird,” Zedeath muses to himself, running a finger along the barbs. “Can I get a sample of your blood? No reason.”

“No!” Jimmy shouts, turning so that his back faces away from the bloodthirsty and curious reaper. “I don’t even want to be a bird! I just wanted to play a game with my friends! What’s happening to me?”

“Some of your friends are birds,” Zedeath points out, squinting at the feather. It would be easier if he pulled his hood down, but he does not. “Oh, hang on, hold this.” He drops the feather back onto Jimmy’s head and vaults himself off the building with his staff. A moment later, Mumbo’s familiar voice pipes up.

“Oh goodness, that wasn’t much good, was it?” The posh lilt makes Jimmy’s heart lift just a little. Any company besides the spectre of death is more than welcome. He’s not alone anymore, and with his ally, no less!

Then the realization that he was so close to not being first settles in. Something bitter coats his mouth and he frowns, eyebrows pinched. Mumbo is his friend, but someone else could stand to be out first this time. He’s had his turn! If he had as many lives as Mumbo, he definitely would’ve survived past him.

The reaper and his latest ghost continue to chat out of sight, but Jimmy opts to continue sitting alone above them. The dark voice of Death reaches Jimmy’s perch, appraising how fantastic Mumbo is at dying, to which the dead gives a flustered chuckle.

Jimmy sighs and twirls the feather in his fingers. Still not better than he is, apparently.

I don’t know what happened! I swear I didn’t look at that enderman! I got under a tree!

Tango…I’m so sorry.

-

Jimmy gasps as the crook tears him from his body once more, a sensation that’s becoming familiar at an alarming rate. The searing pain in his arms and chest vanishes in an instant alongside the rapid pounding of his heart, leaving only phantom sensation and Jimmy coughing with surprise. He squeezes his eyes shut, the vibrant angry purple of his final moments still seared into his retinas.

He knows by now not to look down at his body. Experiencing it was enough, thank you.

Instead, he grasps at his heart and glances around. Zedeath can wait this time; there’s someone really important he needs to find first. To his surprise, his fingers actually catch on something. After all that time imagining it, the tether linking him to his soulmate is visible and tangible and gleaming a brilliant ruby red. Jimmy’s never been more relieved to see a piece of string.

He needs to get to the other side of it.

The thread loops around to stretch off behind him, so that’s where he’s headed. Jimmy spins on his heel to follow it, footfalls silent in the space after life, desperate to find Tango while he can. His rancher is out there somewhere alone and confused and dead and Jimmy needs to tell him he’s sorry!

It doesn’t take long for something to have him stumbling on his feet.

Ah. So that’s where Zedeath was.

The reaper isn’t looking at him, instead rummaging through those reality bending robes. His long dark sleeve conceals what he unearths, but only until it catches the light of the moon.

Oh.

Oh.

Jimmy takes off running with renewed purpose. “Wait!” he shrieks, struggling to stay vertical with his frantic speed. “Stop!”

Death has already taken the thread into his hand, the blade of scissors held against it. Zedeath turns with a “huh?”, but he was already in motion. It was already too late. With a simple shifting of fingers, the soulstring is snipped as easily as if it was simple sewing thread. As if it didn’t mean anything. As if it wasn’t the closest, most understanding ally Jimmy’d ever had. As if it wasn’t an ounce of faith that Jimmy would not die.

The string is clipped, and it is unremarkable in how easy it was.

The broken ends of the thread turn a dead grey, which quickly spreads outward in either direction. As it goes, the string itself begins to crumble with it.

As it goes, something shrivels in Jimmy’s chest with it.

He needs to apologize to his rancher…but the reaper is right there. And Jimmy just watched him cut his soul apart from Tango’s. And he’s so angry.

His run towards Tango turns into a lunge against Zedeath. He shouts and scowls, spit flying and wings puffing up. “You! You took me from him!”

Zedeath screeches and collides with the ground. “You were the one that died!” he defends, keeping his staff between the two of them. “I know the rules to this game! You die and you’re out and I go snippy-snippy!” Jimmy brings a fist down toward the reaper’s puffed-up cheeks, but he slips away in a puff of dark smoke.

Jimmy’s head swims with adrenaline, irritation, agony, and…memories of an enderman he swears he didn’t look at. “No…it was you! I didn’t die! You got me killed! I need to talk to Tango!”

Zedeath looks at him with those eyes—those damn purple eyes! He has the nerve to cross his arms and huff. The audacity of Death to be the one annoyed! “How many times do I have to tell you! Killing is not in my job description! I just move your soul so you’re not stuck like that forever!” He swings an arm out toward where Jimmy knows his corpse is prone and mangled. “Is that what you want? Hm!?”

Jimmy clenches his fist. He knows they’re wasting time. Tango is all alone! He’s never been the first to die before! Still…Jimmy can’t seem to put a lid on his fury. If he was a little calmer, he might’ve seen the irony.

 “I wasn’t ready to die!” His voice cracks and he mentally smacks himself for sounding so small. “You’re the one that takes my soul away! You’re the one that takes me out of the game! And you took Tango too this time!” I was the one that died. It’s not fair to him. He shouldn’t have lost.

“Oh, Tango!” Zedeath snaps as if remembering. “He’ll be able to tell you you’re wrong!”

Jimmy seethes. He is so sick of Death.

“You already took me out! You gave me these—these wings! Isn’t that enough?” To have Death turn his own rancher against him is a new level of cruelty, and one he’s too fired up to let pass.

Before Zedeath can say anything else stupid, that beautiful rough voice calls distantly through the trees. “Ze-e-d!” To Jimmy’s utmost dismay, it’s not his name, but the reaper turns his head with a bright smile.

“Tango!” he shouts back. “Over here!” He waves his arm as punctuation as if Tango would be able to see it.

“No!” Jimmy refuses, nose scrunching. “Tango!” he shouts himself, taking off in the direction he heard his soulmate’s call. His horn still swings from its tether on his neck, so Jimmy brings it to his lips and sings out for his rancher.

His Tango sings back. Just like he’d promised.

In true Team Rancher fashion, the two find each other via full collision, torsos and limbs crashing together between the trees. Tango’s horn knocks against Jimmy’s chin, Jimmy’s digs into Tango’s gut, and they both fall over with the force of it.

“Jimmy!” Tango chirps brightly, rubbing his forehead.

“Tango,” Jimmy breathes, relieved. “Whatever this death guy says, don’t believe him!”

“Death guy?” Tango looks a bit bewildered. “Oh, Zed! Yeah, I try not to.” His eyes crinkle like it’s a wonderful joke and Jimmy feels his chest swell with warmth. With their legs still tangled up, grinning together, he can almost imagine their soulbond is still there.

Jimmy pushes forward and wraps his soulmate in a hug. “Whoa there!” Tango yelps, but returns the embrace, toasty but steady. “You okay?”

“I really liked your tower,” Jimmy whispers, voice wet. “Even if it did look like a foot.”

Tango barks out a laugh against Jimmy’s ear, but he doesn’t mind. “I’m glad you were my soulmate too, buddy.”

With a tighter squeeze, Tango starts to extract himself. He offers a hand down to pull up his companion, which Jimmy gladly takes. “Ready to go home?”

“Home?” Jimmy repeats dumbly.

“Yeah.” Tango nods over Jimmy’s shoulder. When he turns, Zedeath is waiting, appearing to try and balance his staff on his palm. Jimmy is stunted as Tango separates to sidle over to the reaper. “The game’s over. I’ll see you in the next one though, right, rancher?”

Jimmy nods, knowing he looks foolish but not quite caring. At least Tango isn’t mad. At least he gives Jimmy a sharp grin and double thumbs up as the reaper pulls him into a respawn.

Jimmy sighs heavily. Tango’s probably super busy on Hermitcraft. He did tell him all about the new season and his big plans. His rancher has massive ideas and a selective attention span. Jimmy knows this and can’t blame him for hurrying out.

“Ready?”

What else is there to say?

It’s over. Go home.

The reaper loops the hook of his staff around Jimmy’s torso. The canary pointedly does not look at him, staring off to a static enderman through the trees. Zedeath tugs his staff, and Jimmy is pulled through space in an instant, landing back on a permanently dusty bed with an absence in his heart.

…

-

The canary does not even startle as the crook pulls his soul out of the most recent wretched game. He does not gaze down where he knows his corporeal body lay, head smashed and bones broken. He does not look to find his allies. He only curls in on himself and cries.

Shimmering silver tears slip down past his shades and paint his cheeks with grief. He hiccups and sobs, throwing his glasses away with a strangled shout.

First out again. What is wrong with him? He had been doing so well at the start!

“I hate myself. I hate myself. I hate myself.”

He’s the worst. He was dragging his team down. He should’ve worked harder.

But does it even matter what he does? It’s always going to be him. It’s always going to be him.

After a game where every second counts, Jimmy doesn’t know how long he cries. He likely would have wept longer, but there’s a tapping on his head that makes him look up.

Who else would it be?

Zedeath stands at a distance, patting his head with his shepherd’s crook. “There, there,” he says, looking uncomfortable. “There, there.”

Jimmy is…tired of seeing Zedeath’s face. It only affirms what he already knows: that he’s died, that’s he’s lost. Seeing the cloaked reaper is his own personal symbol of failure.

He reaches up to shove the crook away. “Why’d you have to push me?”

To his credit, Zedeath does pull his staff back. “It was more of a…consolation pat.”

“On the bridge,” Jimmy bites out without much hostility. He just doesn’t have the fight in him right now.

The reaper looks at him strangely, dead eyes squinting. “My thing is really more of a pull. And at the splat site.”

“You don’t have to act stupid.” Usually he’d roll his eyes, but right now Jimmy is content to only look at his scuffed sneakers.

“Oh, this is no act! Rest assured, I’m stupid for real.”

“I didn’t fall off the bridge.” Saying it out loud should be some remarkable realization, but Jimmy is so tired. “I got pushed.” He knows this to be true in the deepest core of his being, but he does not voice as such.

“Hmm….” Zedeath stares back up at Bread Bridge, glancing around for something Jimmy doesn’t think he’d be able to see if he tried. “Grian does seem like the type. He’s pushed me around before; extremely rude fellow.”

Jimmy lets his forehead fall back onto his knees. His eyes feel strained and puffy. “I don’t like you,” he murmurs, more for himself than Zedeath.

“Neither does Grian,” the reaper returns easily. “And probably a bunch of other people, but I don’t keep track. Who has the time?”

“You don’t listen. I’m sick of you killing me first over and over.”

“Well now who’s not listening? I don’t control when you guys die! If I did, then I would kill Tango first. I like Tango.”

This startles Jimmy into a laugh. “Hey! That’s my rancher! You already took him first once!”

Death winks at him and Jimmy feels the truth of his own words wash over him. Tango was also a first death, wasn’t he? He’d only ever thought about it as dragging him down but…maybe he can be allowed a little selfishness to not feel so lonely.

The reaper continues on regardless, waving off concerns. “I’ve done worse to him, anyway. And he’s done worse to me.”

Jimmy wipes his nose on his wrist with a gross snuffle. “Like…dying all the time?” He doesn’t know what else Death could possibly do to torture someone. He feels he’s already gotten most of it.

“He gets himself killed enough as is. What I do is more fun! Like refilling caves he digs out and dragging his unconscious body around.” Death sounds as chipper as Jimmy’s ever heard him, and he has to gape.

“I didn’t know you could do things in the real world like that.” He’d had his suspicions, but these would have to be largely involved, which is a scary thought. His rancher never mentioned being puppeted by a reaper…could it happen to him too? Jimmy’s already had enough of playing toy. He’s certain this would be the last straw to completely break him.

“I can’t! This is on Hermitcraft. Off the clock.”

“YOU’RE ON HERMITCRAFT?” Jimmy can’t help but shout. The spectre that’s haunted him for so long spends his normal time playing pranks on Hermitcraft? Jimmy’s even visited! He feels like he would have recognized the fellow if he ran into him at all!

“Did Tango not talk about me? I’m hurt!” It may be only a trick of the light, but Jimmy thinks he can see a stray bit of blond peek out from the dark hood.

Frankly, he didn’t even think Zedeath was anyone under the shadow of his void cloak. How could he, with such a powerful and terrifying being? With someone seemingly made of shadows and stinking of death, who only serves to pry him from the games and his friends? Who cursed him into a sacrifice of a songbird?

This changes everything.

After a short conversation, he stands and allows Zedeath’s crook to snag around his middle. It’s biting cold even through his leather jacket. Zedeath’s always cold.

“I’m gonna do better next time,” Jimmy promises him, tear tracks still glinting on the apples of his cheeks.

“I won’t count on it!” The reaper—Zed—beams and pulls his staff.

Jimmy had it all wrong this whole time. Death isn’t an all-powerful force working against him. Death is a Hermit in a dramatic cloak he dons for the job. Death is his rancher’s friend. Death has a player name.

Death is only human.

It can falter.

It can make mistakes.

It can be swayed.

Jimmy steels himself and rises from his bed. He will not be the one to die first again.

He’ll make sure of it.

[sophieinwonderland]

Experience is subjective. I 100% believe that people experience a sense of multiple selves or identities. Identity itself isn’t fixed for even the most basic person. Identity is complicated, hence why finding oneself is such a common theme across movies and literature.

I don’t believe that the various identities exist in the brain as their own people. It’s just not the way the brain works. Brain scan interpretations should be taken with a grain of salt. Correlation does not imply causation, essentially.

Honestly that it likely isn’t various identities existing in the brain as their own people just highlights how incredibly mysterious and wondrous the human brain is.

That said, negating others’ experience because it makes you uncomfortable is cringey af. Like it has absolutely nothing to do with you.

I don’t believe that the various identities exist in the brain as their own people. It’s just not the way the brain works.

How does the brain work?

Do you know something we don't? Last I checked, neuroscientists were still trying to figure this out.

There are a lot of hypotheses we could discuss but we currently just aren't able to really see how the individual neurons interacting in the human brain. At best, we have these brain scans that can show activity in certain regions, but as some researchers have put it, this is a bit like trying to tell what's happening in a city by watching when their lights are turned on.

To that extent, I'll agree that brain scans may not be perfect and have a long way to go.

But I also do fully believe that headmates are encoded in the brain at a neurological level, even if we might not be able to detect it and read what's happening with current technology.

Without more neurological evidence, we may have to agree to disagree on this though.

Correlation does not imply causation, essentially.

I really wish this phrase would stop being applied to circumstances where it's not relevant.

What the Standford tulpa study did was look at the brains of tulpamancers during possession. (When a tulpa controlled limbs without fronting.) This was compared to the tulpamancer simply imagining someone else controlling their limbs or dictating their movements as a control condition.

What was found was that there was reduced activity during possession in regions of the brain associated with control over your actions.

That's causation. The researchers give an instruction. The subject follows the instruction. And that causes a difference in brain activity.

Perhaps other explanations could be made up that don't involve multiple people in the brain to explain this phenomenon. (Similar activity is shown during hypnosis.) But those explanations have nothing to do with the difference between correlation and causation.

[lollytea]

"there's a bit where hunters life falls apart" HELLO?? MISS TEA ELABORATE (if you please)

Alright. Walk with me. Let's talk.

(Potentially triggering content ahead.)

So imagine you're a teenage boy. Around 17-18. Imagine you're out in public and you've snuck away somewhere discreet to make out with your girlfriend, who you utterly adore.

Someone catches the two of you in the act and snaps a picture. If you were a normal teenage boy and she was a normal teenage girl, this would be a little embarrassing at worst.

But neither of you are normal. So that one little picture means the end of the world for you both.

Since you were little, you've been taught that you have to work extra hard to keep your secrets, because the whole world wants to know them. The whole world is obsessed with you and you should be grateful. However, there are certain things about you that could tarnish your golden reputation so you need to do whatever it takes to keep them to yourself.

And if they find out and make a mockery out of you, it's your own damn fault.

Don't say Uncle didn't warn you.

Do not tell the world the secret to your lean build and muscled limbs. If they found out about the ballet, the rumors would swirl. You don't want them thinking you're gay, do you?

Because you're not gay.

At least not entirely. But they can't know about that either.

Do not tell the world about your Diva Tantrums. About how even insignificant things like the stage lights being too bright or your costume being a weird texture can lead to you having a complete episode on set. You don't want them thinking you have a mental disorder, do you?

Because you don't have a mental disorder. You're perfectly sane. It's just hard to explain why silly things bother you so much.

However, if a rumor goes around that earns you positive attention, then by God, you encourage it.

You are not dating your co-star Emira Blight. Actually you're pretty sure Emira Blight hates your guts.

But neither of you are allowed to say that. It's good publicity for both of you. So you're kinda shackled to each other.

Neither of you are obliged to claim you're dating. But you're not allowed to deny it either. It's the speculation that keeps the interest alive.

She seems like a nice girl but she feels a lot of resentment towards you because all of her magazine/red carpet interviews are questions about you and her relationship with you. For some reason.

"Sexism," Says your girlfriend when you tell her about it. This explains a lot.

Your girlfriend knows a lot about sexism. She knows a lot about various types of prejudice. She deals with at least 4 of them on a regular basis.

She's tough though. Tough as a tree. But she's young too. Young and sensitive. It wears her down, all of this. It really does.

Like you, your girlfriend lives in the spotlight. Unlike you, she's a rather divisive person. A lot of people in Hollywood don't like her for stupid reasons.

You love her though. You love her to pieces.

She's a little like you and you're a little like her. You trust her enough to tell her your secrets. She knows about the ballet. She knows about the way you sometimes look at boys. She knows that your brain does not operate the way it should.

But she loves you. She loves you to pieces.

The little trail of kisses that she leaves down the slope of your nose makes you like it more.

You've always been insecure about your large hooked nose. It makes you a little less marketable so it sometimes sabotages your chance at booking roles.

You're no Edric Blight, that's for damn sure. Button nosed bastard.

But your girlfriend cups your face in her hands and calls you her prettyboy and it makes you melt every time.

It's the nose thing. And the teeth thing. And the hooded eye thing. You'll never be the most attractive young actor in Hollywood.

But you're not doing badly, all things considered.

Especially when it comes to how you are treated compared to your girlfriend.

"The perks of being a slim white man," She says jokingly, cuddling up against your chest.

"Also nepotism," You reply.

Your girlfriend makes you like yourself in a way you've always had to fake.

She also fakes a lot. She fakes confidence when it's not really there. She fakes cheerfulness and nonchalance when she really wants to burst into tears.

So you're determined to make her like herself too.

It took a long time for her to let you hold her. She was afraid you'd notice how soft her body is.

But when you're kissing her neck on that day, you're squeezing her thighs and she squeaks and giggles. Because you're tickling her and not because her thighs are off limits.

You're allowed to touch her now without reservations. Because she trusts you wholeheartedly. Thank God.

You promise you're always going to be there for her. She promises the same for you.

You promise that whatever happens, you'll figure it out together.

You're not allowed to tell the world that your girlfriend is your girlfriend.

There's a few reasons for this. The first being that this is your first relationship. It's hers too. Neither of you really know what you're doing at first but you certainly don't want millions of eyes watching you both awkwardly try to navigate romance.

But the second reason is what really matters here.

If people found out, they would be really really really mean to her.

"I look weird standing next to you," She murmurs. "Nothing like Emira,"

Whenever you tell her that she's the prettiest girl in existence, she grins, flipping her hair. "I know!"

But that's only in the privacy of your dressing room. When it's just you and her and you both feel safe. It's when she steps back out into the spotlight that all that confidence fizzles away.

But it's been a while since you started dating and honestly, it's getting exhausting. A little sad too.

One time you were both at the zoo. A few of the cast members of Hexside and Golden Guard were there too so it wasn't suspicious that you were out in public together.

Your girlfriend saw another teenage boy thread his fingers through those of the girl beside him, happy and carefree. In broad daylight too! But nobody cared about those two kids dating. Because the whole world wasn't watching them.

She had to go slip away somewhere quiet and wipe away a few tears before anybody saw her.

It's not fun living like this. Always nervously glancing over your shoulder. Always checking yourself to make sure you're not smiling too warmly at the girl you are hopelessly weak for. It's extremely draining to live in paranoia.

The two of you have been talking and you're thinking about going public. Not because you want the whole world in your business but after the initial burst of attention, it'll probably calm down.

If anything, you just want people to not care. Indifference is all you could ask for.

But public indifference is a privilege that people like you don't get.

Things have changed over the last year. Your girlfriend is way more popular than she used to be. She has a dedicated fanbase. So....maybe people will be nice?

You're hopeful. So is she.

The picture is snapped.

The picture spreads.

The world knows.

And people are not nice.

This is the part you don't want to talk about. Describing it in detail is painful.

Things were said about your girlfriend that hurts to think about.

And it's because of you. If it hadn't been your stupid face she was kissing, you wouldn't hear her uneven breath over the phone as she tries to keep herself from crying.

The two of you stay up for hours, trying to figure out what to do next and are essentially just talking in circles until your throat hurts.

Neither of you know what to do next. So you give up and call it a night and promise to think about it some more in the morning.

You sleep for 3 hours and when you regain consciousness at 5am you find a long string of notifications on your phone.

Texts from your girlfriend.

Wait.

No.

These aren't texts from your girlfriend.

You don't have a girlfriend.

You reply immediately.

You stand up. You get dressed. You go to work.

At some point you're obliged to be out in public.

You're swarmed by a crowd of cameras with people attached. Questions are hurled at you.

They ask about her.

You black out.

You break someone's nose.

You get punished.

You've never been punished to such an extreme extent before but you understand why.

You have spent a lifetime being perfected by your Uncle. Your image is spotless. You're a polite, charasmatic young actor with an admirable dedication to your Christian faith.

You're considered a role model by many.

And what have you done?

You've ruined it.

You're ruined everything.

The rumors are already erupting in the distance like a mushroom cloud and it's only going to get worse.

Within days, you're somebody else in the world's eyes.

You're a troubled teen star.

You're ignorant.

You're aggressive.

You're violent.

You've lost your way.

Don't you know that children look up to you?

Why would you do something like this?

You're pretty sure it lasted days. Or maybe weeks. But it was endless to you.

It's your wardrobe stylist that discovers the bruises before your attendant can sneak you to the makeup artists (who are apparently great at keeping their mouths shut.)

You and the wardrobe stylist have become close. He likes you a lot more than he used to.

The bruises alarm him.

"I'm sorry," He apologizes but doesn't elaborate. You don't ask.

What happens next is a very long arduous blur.

You're in a contract. This is significant.

There's lawyers involved. The wardrobe stylist fights tooth and nail to get these lawyers.

There are litigations.

You're required to talk about your relationship with your Uncle in painful detail. It's necessary. But there's always a hand on your back to keep you anchored to reality.

You're 18 now. This is also significant.

One thing happens after another.

Until one day you wake up, emancipated.

Your Uncle is no longer your legal guardian.

You're not an actor anymore.

Thank God.

This is good for you, you know that. You wouldn't have lived to see 21 if this had carried on.

But....who are you now?

You're nobody.

You live with the man who saved your life in a nondescript house he bought in a nondescript neighbourhood.

You think it will be nothing but smooth sailing from here. But it's not.

You don't know how to be nobody. You've never been nobody before. You have to adjust.

You've always been discouraged from eating and now you can barely keep down a whole meal. It takes time.

You usually operate on 5 or less hours of sleep so you struggle to stay unconscious the whole night. That takes time too.

Sometimes you think you're fine but you're not.

It's scary not knowing who you are anymore. And when you get scared, you tend to get angry.

You fight with everyone when you're in one of these moods. You fight with the man you live with.

You fight with the woman next door who treats you like her own son.

You fight with her two daughters. The one who also lost her girlfriend around the same time you did. The one who's become your best friend in the world.

You fight with the other daughter. The one who has scars like yours and had a breakdown when you yelled at her and you hated yourself for weeks.

You never knew you were so mean.

Maybe the things people said about you were right.

You have a therapist now. The man you live with arranged it.

The therapist has to come to your house for sessions because you can only go as far as the end of your block.

You have agoraphobia now, apparently. Being out in public makes you have some nasty panic attacks.

The thought of being photographed is enough to make you spiral.

You haven't left that neighbourhood in months.

You miss her.

You also miss your best friend, but he's cut you off too.

It was nothing personal. It's just...you were always a trio. But she's made it clear that seeing you again would hurt. Thinking about you hurts. Having any lingering trace of you in her life would hurt.

He decided that it would be better if he didn't have contact with you either. He was going to stick by her side.

You're proud of him. And thankful that she always has him looking out for her.

You can't bear the thought of them seeing you like this anyway.

Things are bad.

But it's always worse before it gets better.

And it does get better.

It just takes time.

You're 19, going on 20 and your ribs no longer poke out jaggedly against your flesh.

There's fat on your stomach.

Your face is less gaunt. Your skin less sallow looking.

You like to read.

You like to sew.

There's a gym downtown that you like to go to, with a large studio on the floor where you can practise ballet.

You and your family often have barbecues in your backyard when it's warm out.

Sometimes you like to sit by your open window for hours and listen to the birds. There's a bluejay that really likes you.

You're 19, going on 20 and you're lying in the grass as the sun lulls you to sleep.

It's getting you, you can feel it. But you can still hear the birds, the breeze, the kids yelling from three doors down.

And then you hear it.

But you almost don't believe it.

It's a voice that you're advised to avoid.

It crops up on television sometimes and it hurts to listen to.

That being said, you still torture yourself by not reaching for the remote control right away.

You're desperate for that voice to fill your ears again. You know that you might be weak enough to beg for it.

But it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.

The voice is soft, tentatively so. And the single word wobbles like she's about to cry.

But as shattered as it sounds, it's a word that you utterly adore on her lips.

"Hunter?"

[spitdrunken]

woorah... been real obsessed with homicipher, specifically mr. scarletella <3 really love your content of him like holy shit i love that manthing! i've had my mind on scarletella with an mc that mutilates themself for gratification, trying to stamp out their homicidal urges because of how it affects their life? or we could get unapologetic and odd, think of mc who gets off on brutality. whisks people away, holes them up in that abandoned building and tortures them slow, cutting into themself as well to make it 'fair,' “look, get over yourself. i can handle it, look.” forces blood into their victim's mouth and grinds onto open wounds, reveling in the pained writhing below them. i can imagine that scarletella would be there during the act, sometimes. i wonder what he would feel towards such behaviours? i think that the reason he is so drawn to mc, besides the 'offerings,' is the violence. that stranger comes and paints the floor red, then goes where he cannot follow. drags their prey into that dreary building and lets them run for the thrill of the chase. they always get caught; after comes the intimacy, mc taking their time preparing 'gifts for him,' which means they have to like him, right? they like him. they like him a lot! surely 'hunting' has to be a thing in the otherworld's culture, maybe those dynamics of predator and prey have specific terms. anyhow, i feel like he would think they're playing with him. they turn and run when he shows himself, do they want him to chase them, too? would they enjoy it if he was tangible enough to pin them down and make them scream? would they claw at him or would they lie there, since they (most definitely, a hundred percent) like him so much? if he asked, would they provide their name willingly? i guess one day, that all leads up to mc being led into the otherworld, and we go down the canon road drool... i wonder if he would like watching mc hurt themself in various different ways. if he would think their pain was for his satisfaction too burning, cutting, peeling their own skin off and shoving it down their unfortunate victim's throat — maybe he would feel something towards that. that they should be leaving it for him. their flesh belongs to him, he wants their soul, their being, too. i love the possessive nature of mr. scarletella. i don't think he's aware of how many different ways there are to express yourself, or what he even wants to express. his entire reputation in the human world is this urban legend who asks for your name, your identifier, what makes you you and reaches for more, takes your soul. of course he wants mc's name... it is interesting to think of the strong feelings he has towards mc (adami, or anyone's self insert... i'm actually super interested in how dynamics can be altered with however whoever wants to change their character)

notes: gore, character death, self-harm

hiiii anon your ask has been living rent-free in my brain, i love seeing your enthusiasm and all your different unhinged (positive) ideas collated here :D!! and i'm glad you enjoyed my take on mr. scarletella <33

putting everything under the cut because it's Graphic. if you're not into reading gore, i wouldn't recommend reading <3

ooooo i love the idea of someone who is desperately trying to keep their homicidial urges under control and, in an almost martyr-like fit, takes to destroying their own body to try and control it all… in the end it never works. and could you imagine someone who copes in that manner getting lost in the other world? capable of chopping off whole limbs and cutting away chunks of their own flesh with all of the pain, and none of the loss— because every single part of their body regrows! spoiler alert i am a huge fan of immortal characters turning to extreme ways for self-gratification so. drool.

unapologetic and odd! i love that idea too… shaking their head and sighing a bit when their victim starts crying before the knife even breaks their skin. they haven't even started yet! there's nothing to be upset about. a person who slices across their own skin before hurting the victim, to show them that they can take it, almost meant as a comfort but not quite. finding connection in the grotesque, sinking fingers into warm, throbbing wounds and popping the tips of their fingers into their mouth.

i imagine that he's always awawre of anything that goes on in the building, so he wold definitely know and see! personally, i also think mr. scarletella is drawn to violence in one way or another <3! quite a few of the monsters left in the other world are reduced to constantly throwing violent fits, so the world he created definitely has that effect on people. maybe he sees all of it as a kind of altar to him because of all the crimson, the colour he embodies. the puddles of blood, the sprays of it on the walls, alongside the stack of bodies left rotting in a corner. perhaps because he is born out of a scary story-like rumour, he'll always be drawn to violence.

oooooo!! i love your take on this. the hunt and the attack being part of a courting process, essentially. to allow yourself to be hunted and taken down as a form of submission to the other, a type of romance… mr. scarletella is already certain that they like him. why else would they have left sososo many gifts for him? and he likes them, too. a lot. he is sad that he can't return their feelings in the samer manner. his form is incorporeal, he cannot physically hurt others, cannot be physically hurt himself either. (in typical circumstances…) at most, he can play with the mind, coax them into giving him their name where he can do absolutely whatever he wants with them. i wonder if, eventually, when they are in the other world with him and he watches them getting chases down by other inhabitants, capable of touching them, if he would get jealous… :')

possessive mr. scarletella is so real and true!! it's all so overwhelming to him, poor guy. he becomes more tangible, more real through his feelings for them, binding him to the world with more than just the words of others- he likes you so, so much! he is absolutely the type to have such a violent type of all-consuming love. where he'd want to crawl inside your skin and inhabit your body, where he'd want to snuff your life out as long as he was capable of bringing you back to life over and over again. he can stand others touching them, killing them, for now, but only because he knows they'll be entirely his sooner rather than later.

once they give him their name, they won't simply cease to exist. they'll be under mr. scarletella's control, yes, but he doesn't want to extinguish all of their individuality. i can imagine mr. scareletella creating a little contained world just for the two of them, where they can each take turn being the hunter and the hunted, tearing into and devouring each other in an endless cycle… perhaps if he had not been poisoned by the sight of all their killings, his affections would've been less violent.

[workplacecomedian]

graaaAAA desperately need to draw this but [insert excuses] so i'm just writing this out for now to satisfy the monkey in the braincage

Far Flung AU, where Martin does indeed land Somewhere Else, but during their fall he's just become a blended smoothie of fear power, unable to identify as truly human nor avatar. This is wholly an excuse to let Martin go overpowered bonkers off the wall in the Protocol universe with many pinches of edgy and angst and next to no regard for canon as i'm not made for writing :] various rambling details on Martin's powers and whatnot below

in regards to powers, he's mostly an amalgamation of the Lonely, the Web, and the Eye, of course. again with the whole 'fear smoothie' role the specifics are a bit lost.

his form can have a bit of an afterimage, like someone playing a video or animation twice. like if he waves his arm, theres a second arm following the same motion. this is usually easily hidden when in public (especially since he can just will himself to be unnoticeable) but it can also flare up, intentionally or not. when this happens, the afterimage appears more inhuman, kind of gangly. at its peak, the second limbs can manipulate physical objects, but still make a habit of following the other limbs around. his face becomes disorienting- both for him to manipulate and whichever unlucky soul is looking at him to stare at. and, of course, this means sometimes he may get extra eyes that linger around longer than they should. this is a pretty solid mix of the three fears

speaking of eyes, he's able to...well. i wouldn't call it Knowing, but something close to it, and those afterimage eyes appearing are a telltale sign he's getting extremely vague information beamed into his brain. while he certainly helped serve Beholding, he also helped end its reign of terror, so any 'help' from it isn't super useful and isn't often, not unless it can serve the Eye in some way.

sticks to walls like spiderman. because i said so :] it's actually more, uh...spider friends sticking him to the wall, probably? not as crazy powerful as actual spiderman (spidermen?) but it's a fun power to imagine him having. watching from the building walls Ominously

he can drop into the Lonely/his domain at will, and i do mean 'drop' literally. bc again its funny and would look cool. im right <3

he can lock into people's memories, or like....make people become lost in thought, kind of? like when you get stuck daydreaming, in a way...still thinking on this one

design wise (admittedly most of this also works as my general headcanons too):

listen to me carefully. one side of his glasses is in decent shape; that side is where the afterimage eyes appear. the other side has a crack in them. its in an asymmetrical X shape, with three more lines around the center, like the world's shittiest web. when hes feeling A Lot, those eyes glow like sunset. blood redorange. pair it with the fog, and its like a really creepy version of a sunset through a densely foggy forest. do u see my vision. martin apparently doesn't, with those fucked up glasses. i think a chunk of panopticon debri smacked his forehead on the side with the cracked glass; give homie a fun little forehead/eyebrow scar. oh AND AND again when he's feeling Many Things, the crack in the glasses follows where he looks, to keep up the scattered light rays (dream logic and what have you!)

when martin worked with peter, peter would put his hand on the back of martin's neck in that way thats supposed to be friendly and comforting, but in hindsight just felt disgustingly controlling to martin. that spot- at the bottom of his hair, around his neck- is where i think the white hair would appear. when he has a hood up and he's feeling foggy, it turns into a kind of creepy mimicry of fuzzy/furry hoods, blocking his eyes (except for when they glow >:) (bonus: he gained a nervous tick of rubbing the back of his neck, after he first left the Lonely :)

and one more ability i think Martin would/could have, both in this AU and in (head)canon:

i have a very vivid idea of Martin being able to manipulate his domain for travel (and his domain is a foggy damp forest but that's besides the point). as in, in an emergency he can pop himself halfway into the Lonely and time is slightly slowed, but he has to be careful of where he does so- if there's a physical obstruction in his path on the physical plane and he doesn't clear that space in his domain, there's Consequences. like getting half buried in whatever material he just failed to walk through! actually i just remembered i wrote something out for this in a friend's dm...and since we're already waist deep in rambling:

Mr archivist took a hit on the leg, only half awake, maybe theyre running from like. Vampires or something bc its so funny vampires exist but are NEVER returned to. So martin is helping him with an arm wrapped around him, but their route gets blocked off. As they run up to a deadend wall, jon "politely" reminds him of such, but martin just yell-asks him how thick the wall is and tosses him over his shoulder. Eye does its thing and jon responds automatically as martin gains speed, busting into the lonely just before they run face first into brick, and its suddenly dead quiet in there, besides martin panting as he counts his running steps, and as they exit the fog he reacts like he just got gut punched and winded but keeps trying to run, footsteps leaving little foggy prints.. it buys them only a little time, but the disconnect from the eye or something shakes jon awake enough. Martin maybe pulls the foggy trick one or two more times to avoid the vampires coming back up to flank them, but it drains him each time, and at that point he tells jon hes gonna need some help, barely able to jog now in his stupor, and as he runs jon sits up against martins shoulder (or 'sits up' as best he can in that position) and gets to do his whole ceaseless watcher baloney and. Idk. I loved the visuals of someone on a motorcycle while their partner is on their lap shooting at pursuers behind them. Cursed and fucked up and evil version of that with martin running out of the fog and jon pulling a fun little pointing pose in martins grip as he curses the shit outta their own pursuers

anyway ty for indulging my rambling <3 have a nice day

[blackholesun321]

OK SO

this au has broken into my house and has been squatting in my head ever since i stumbled across it but my idea was since everybody now has an extra set of limbs what else can they do with them other than the intended use?

that’s right- they can hold shit, kinda like when your hands are full but you still got some bigger-than-hand-holding items you gotta carry and just press them between you arm and your body.

need to carry all the groceries? just start tucking the bags in there and hope the stuff doesn’t water physics around and just completely spill out the bag

need to carry all the pillows in the house to one spot for the ultimate pillowfort? tuck em in and spread em out when you get to the spot for a pillowy rain

gotta carry multiple small children, wiggley and otherwise? wham bam wing-timeout-hug-hip carry time. just be sure to not spread your wings when you got them tucked in there or they WILL fall

did i write all of that just to get other people to realize my vision of shanks or mihawk with a small child poking their head out from behind one of their shoulders while engulfed in their wings? maybe so

okthanksbyyee

I’m sorry this au has taken residence in your brain and not even paying rent? For shame. Hopefully this answer will willlay some of cost.

THIS IS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT, PEOPLE! The world-building for people now having extra appendages – we could do so much with this. Consider people's new limitations, how buildings are designed, think about ships. What if it would be a disability to be without wings? There's so much you can do with this!

This is fucking adorable. I’m going to fudge the mechanics of wing motion bit for this to work properly (it’s one piece there’s a whole human sub species with an extra joint in their arms.) But yessss the idea it percolates.

I imagine Luffy wouldn't be too put out by a little inconvenience like not being able to fly. Besides, he's a rubber man and very durable now. So, he gets really good at scooping and holding things in his wings. He even grabs people and fights with them. Somehow, he even learned to kinda climb stuff with them. Since they are a part of him, assume he can control them just like the rest of his body. Given he's very durable, he'd be able to do normal things others wouldn't even consider with his wings.

Also, I'm now imagining Shanks' parents' Spidey sense going off and shooting out his wing to scoop Luffy up because he was about to fall right off the boat, get into a fight, eat something he shouldn't, or do a lot of Luffy things. I believe this would happen a lot, to the point where he has a second built Luffy sensor in his brain that has his wing shoot out to automatically grab Luffy before he maims himself. The only time he's cried over his lost wing was when he realized he wouldn't be able to hold all his kids at once. He was very drunk, and Ben was so done with his snot and tears by the end of it.

(this you shanks?)

Or Mihawk being interrupted by Marines or a fellow Warlord and just scooping the kids up into his wings to hide them. He can't do this when they're older and bigger, but more than once, out of nowhere, Mihawk would just scoop Zoro up into a feather burrito and not let him out until whoever was visiting was gone. It is very obvious Mihawk has something in his wing, and whenever he gets asked if he wants to put it down before they continue talking, all Mihawk does is glare at them until they move on to a different topic.

Also also, Wing Jail™️ becomes Shanks and Mihawk's go-to de-escalation tactics when it comes to kids. Doing something stupid? Wing Jail. About to fall off the boat? Wing Jail. Fighting with your siblings? Double Wing Jail. Can't stop crying, had a nightmare, are bored and don't want to move? You guessed it, Wing Jail.

This ask reminded me of the Janaca Bird. Which is fitting for this au because within this particular species the dads take care of the baby’s..

Look at him. ✨ A single mom who works to jobs! ✨ Now imagine Shanks or Mihawk with just little legs sticking out of the bottom of there wing.

Anyways amazing ask. Please give more to the stew, it shall be robust and rich by the end im sure!

[eldritch-spouse]

That anon who shipped Santi and Obie was MASSIVE BRAIN, BIG BRAIN ANON!!!

They also gave me the confidence to tell you that, as much as I absolutely adore all the Y/N shipping, I also ship some of your characters together when I fancy it, jdndmd-

Like Patches and Morell! Who doesn't love size differences? And (provided that he doesn't eat Patches' entire head/body) Morell can live out his gross fantasy of eating someone alive while he fucks them, multiple times! Let's not forget that Patches is the pain slut ever and that he literally drove a cleaver guts-deep into himself that one time, like the whore he is...

On a less horny note, while the two probably do clash with their personalities and stubbornness, I personally think they can bond over a few things. Like... Patches likes horses a lot, so I think Morell would (if it has them) take Patches to his family's ranch and let him pet all the horses. Patches would probably show Morell even more ways of catching humans, little magical methods that Morell can easily use even if he doesn't have any magic himself. Patches shyly offering some of his own limbs/blood/organs for Morell to cook sounds weirdly cute to me.........

I wonder how it'd be with Stitches, though? It's easier to imagine shipping Morell and Patches if Stitches is a separate entity, but I wonder how it'd work if he wasn't? Stitches is a pretty annoying fella, he might bother Morell while he works if only to get the guy to stuff him like a creampie and dump all his raw frustration into his ass... Though personally I like to ship the two with Stitches being a separate entity :]

It's an interesting dynamic, that I can agree with. Patches would do well with a lot of the more sadistic characters floating around here, but I'm not sure how well the two would get along in terms of personality. I can see many moments where they get along and many others where they'd get furious with each other- But that's what makes an interesting pairing honestly.

Stitches has a tendency to follow Patches in his affections, and the other way around holds true. Morell thinks he's equipped to deal with the gremlin but he's oftentimes proven very wrong.

[yours-the-author]

Hey, so...

Does anyone remember this post I made recently?

.

.

.

I made some art for it...

If you wanna see it...

Here it is:

I'M SO MAD AT MYSELF IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE SURVIVING THE MANSION BUT I DIDN'T REALIZE UNTIL AFTER I FINISHED IT AAAGGH

...Aside from that little oopsie, though, I'm actually really proud of how the logo came out? I based the font off a style called "Micro 5 Charted". Thank goodness I was using graph paper!

I'm not sure if that Kanji is correct; Google Translate doesn't seem to like the word "oni" or "stick", especially together, so I spelled out the Romanji in the English box and then tried to copy the characters Google offered me as closely as possible. I think I'd be more surprised if I got the Kanji correct, honestly.

Henry Stickmin title screens usually have two different fonts for the verb and the noun, and I thought about trying to make "Mansion" look like an actual house, but that made my brain hurt to much to conceptualize, so I stuck with different colored fonts. Hmm, that clock sure is there. I wonder what it means gets hit by a bus

-----

Anyway, here's some theoretical scenarios of what the main gameplay would look like! This one stars General Hubert Galeforce and some other guy:

Option 1: Shoot

Result: The monster hears you move as soon as you pull your gun from its holster. No time to defend yourself.

FAILURE (DiE!)

Option 2: Backup

Result: Your radio refuses to work, even though it was just fine before you entered the mansion. The monster waits until you've realized this, then goes for your throat.

FAILURE (No one will hear your screams...)

Option 3: Time Out

Result: The monster does not hear you and goes into a separate room, out of sight and out of mind. Galeforce survives... for now. But what was that thing...?

-----

I don't know how feasible it would be, but I imagine this would be a cross between typical RPG Maker-styled games (pixels, speech boxes with pictures of the characters, moving around a set floor plan, puzzle solving, etc) and typical Henry Stickmin-styled game play (cutscenes, choices, possible interactivity [grabbing items/bios], the occasional quick time event, etc) (voice acting would be a stretch). Most of the gameplay, like exploring the mansion, puzzle solving, and running/fighting the monster, would be RPG style, and then occasionally switch into a cutscene that requires you to make a choice; usually with just one correct answer but possibly others that could result in diverging dialogue/interaction/paths/endings? Something to think about.

Anyway, Galeforce! Poor man has no idea what he almost walked into, haha. I experimented with perspective and limb placement here, which was exhausting but also a lot of fun! Dynamics are hard with stick figures, but considering that they're they only character medium I've ever been decent at, I made it work.

And the Oni... I tried to give it some sort of anatomy, but quickly realized that I do not have the skills to pay those bills. I opted for a more of a shadowy figure looking thing with a big smile instead (you can see some of the lines where I tried to make it have arms, I think). I opted for Ao Oni's purple-y blue color scheme verses HetaOni's gray alien look. Back in the day of fan made Ao Oni games, people would usually try to put their own unique spin on the Oni sprite, with HetaOni's being the most unique I ever saw (keep in mind, it was one of the few designs I ever saw, so there might be cooler ones out there, who knows). In theory, a game called Sutikku Oni would use a stick figure shaped monster, but with my current art skills, that would just look like a normal stick person with a big head (look! Geoffrey Plumb's cousin!). I think the less we see, the better; all good horror games know when to leave things to the imagination!

-----

I also made a second one, featuring my boy Dave Panpa!

...Dave, I'm so sorry... *MAKES HIM PEEP THE HORROR*

Option 1: Call for Help

Result: You call for help...

FAILURE (...but nobody came.)

Option 2: Run

Result: You tense your muscles in preparation to run. The monster is faster.

FAILURE (YoU... wOn'T... eScApE...!)

Option 3: Pretend to be a Piano

Result: Frozen with fear in front of the piano, it's all you can do to hope the monster thinks you're also a piano (a sopping wet piano, but still). It's deadly quiet. You can hardly breathe, and you're afraid to. The monster stares at you for an uncomfortably long time, before walking away, out of sight and out of mind. You stay still a little longer before collapsing to the ground. Dave Panpa survives... for now. How on Earth did that work? Or... did that thing let you live out of pity...?

-----

UGH the piano! Pianos are so hard to draw! Luckily, I had an almost head on reference that I was able to use for the first picture. For the above view shot, I had to do some wild guessing. The red stuff near Dave's head in the second picture is the red stuff he was referring to. Is it blood? Paint? Something else? Who knows! But as we all know, any self respecting Ao Oni fan game needs a piano puzzle!

I imagine Dave was dragged along for the ride when the Toppats decided to find the treasure of the mansion (or something to that degree), fully intending to leave him there to die if there was, in fact, a monster inside. Poor Dave... Maybe there could be an ending where amends are made? Or maybe not...

I mostly put the smile on the monster's shadow as a means of showing that, indeed, it is the monster, but now I'm wondering if the monster's mouth glows or something? Hot fires of Hell, delivered right to you! Can you beat the heat?

-----

Thank you all for coming to my fixation ramble that absolutely no one else except me finds interesting! Any thoughts before you go?

(A cricket chirps, then leaves because it's in the wrong conference room)

...Yeah, I figured.

[kyuohki]

Break Point/To Be Remade in general

11 What was the most challenging aspect of writing it?

22 What is something you learned about yourself as a writer from the experience?

Any story-

25 Share your favorite line

26 Share your favorite detail

>:3

11 What was the most challenging aspect of writing it?

Trying to figure out where all their goddamn *limbs* were at any given time during the smut, so it didn't feel stiff. Also trying to figure out if the bondage was reasonable for what I was attempting (the chained to the dais by collar and manacles made me wonder if it was actually possible with the positions Zale was in). It got to the point where some of the scenes didn't feel sexy anymore as I wrote/edited.

Writing "Wilted Flower for a Broken Pet" was challenging, bc I needed it to fit what I alluded to in "Break Point," while also hitting all the beats I wanted (like expanding on what Chapter 8 briefly touched on, from Zale's broken POV). I remember complaining once about how authors with already established stories can sometimes contradict themselves in works further down the line, but now I have a *much* bigger appreciation of how *difficult* writing in the same verse is without massively upending previous plots/characterizations.

Right now it's challenging on how to get Zale on his path to healing, on how fast or slow it should go, and how long is reasonable for a time-skip to a Zale that is more healed. (I also want there to be happy sexy times for him, but it can't happen too soon! No healing dick/sex! *sighs* Doesn't help that my brain just wants more whump.)

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22 What is something you learned about yourself as a writer from the experience?

I apparently like the kinks more than I originally thought. *blushes*

Also, that I have a lot more fun writing on the antagonists' side than I do on the protagonists' (I still only have a rough outline of what Valere and Co were doing up to the rescue, and haven't written anything fully). But it's so *fun* to plan and explore how these bad characters tick, and how/why they're doing the things they are.

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25 Share your favorite line(s)

From Kintsugi (wip Ch.2; though I posted it in a WIP Wednesday):

"Pet is useful to me. And proof that those ‘vermin’ can be tamed. Freed even,” Master murmured between his gentle kisses. “Is that not what our bases were? Failures for the Archivist, perhaps, but willing to sacrifice themselves to become something greater? To serve our Master willingly, instead of being a weapon to be tossed aside when their puppet master was through with them?”

I love this bit from Barma'thazël. The idea that Brugaves and Erlina made the "correct" choice in serving Aephorul, and why this Demon would think that, when we know that what they've become is actually a terrible thing. Trying to see how these two view their reality, and their justification in what they're doing is "right," makes for some twisted lines. Fun to write and explore, tho.

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26 Share your favorite detail

The recurring theme of Zale squeaking in Bloodlines. I giggle at it every time.

Also, this whole scene from Scorched Earth:

The windows and door to the balcony faced the east, and rattled as the wind picked up. Two turned just in time to see the black cloud rise up in the distance. It surged up in a pillar not unlike smoke, then roiled across the sky at incredible speed. For a moment, the shriek of the wind and the rattle and shattering of glass about the Manor was all that could be heard— —then the cloud reached them, and all went black. The very air felt thick, a dark presence in it that pressed heavily down all around her. Two smiled as it rejuvenated her, the very essence of the darkness coiling about her like an affectionate pet.

Ahh, I just love the imagery of this scene! Two is succeeding in her goals, and is absolutely enjoying the moment. I also loved writing how the magic took over Lucent. I was imagining it like a merger of how Madoka Magica animated how witches transformed (with a dash of Gainax explosions thrown in), as well as how in Sleeping Beauty Maleficent sent her spell to surround the castle and create the thorn barrier.

(OH. *That's* why I love writing the bad guys the way I do. I'm channeling Maleficent. Ooookay, themes I absorbed as a child through my favorite Disney movie, you really like coming out in everything I write now, huh?)

[just-jordie-things]

Ino falling in love with the most beautiful girl he ever saw while exorcising curses on a mission and being full on blown away when he sees you pull out some super impressive technique that... looks... oddly familiar...?

He's so mesmerized by you that he doesn't even notice the cursed spirit behind him, dashing at his limbs but quickly being handled by you who jumped in front of him to protect his dumb absent-minded ass.

He starts to blush stupidly and thanks you multiple times. He's both embarrassed about not being any help and impressed by you not actually needing any help anyways.

After all the curses are dealt with you glance at him and he smugly introduces himself, waiting for you to do the same.

When you tell him your name his jaw falls to the floor. Did you really just say your name was Y/N Nanami? Are you related to his mentor Kento Nanami? You surely must be, Nanami isn't a common surname in this area. Or maybe... maybe you're his wife...? But his mentor never even mentioned having a girlfriend, let alone a wife.

Nonetheless, the mere thought of you being in a romantic relationship makes his chest tighten and his heart break. Even if it would be his beloved mentor, he's feeling jealous just thinking of it.

You pull him out of his thoughts when you start to laugh, followed by a comment about how you imagined him to be a lot more badass and not so lost in battle, for lack of a better word.

Now he's confused. He's utterly baffled, entirely flabbergasted, quite literally he's bamboozled. What did you just say? Why would you think this of him when you don't know him? Was he correct that you are in some relationship with his mentor? Whether platonic, familial or romantic, he doesn't know. And if the answer is yes, which quite obviously is the case, does that mean his mentor talks about him when he's not around? He tells people about him?

"But you're also a lot cuter than he described you." — Ma'am, he will have to ask you to stop bamboozling him like this, because this young man will have a stroke quite soon.

The sound of your laugh is easily his new favourite tone, even if it's at his expense since you're obviously laughing about his confused expression. Understanding that this boy us currently stumbling over his own mind and needs some help with the situation you offer him a kind and happy smile.

"I'm Kento's younger sister."

It's the best and the worst thing he ever heard. You're related to his mentor, not in a relationship with him, something he feels immensely hopeful about, but then...

...how will he explain to his mentor that he fell for his sister?

———

Just some silly little Ino stuff my brain came up with at work.

~ Nanami Flowershop Anon

pls i need more of this nom nom nom 😭💀

ino is such a love at first sight guy and i think he’d especially fall head over heels for a strong powerful capable badass woman

((and nanamis sister?? he’s day dreaming abt the wedding already))

to the point where it makes him a lil dumb and pathetic and he’s flopping like a fish out of water when you talk to him

(he probably thinks he’s being smooth but he’s stuttering and staring so hard)

lucky for him your type is handsome simps 🥰🥰

[crehador]

Do you have any double date birdgun & icsm hc’s? 🥺

BOY OH BOY DO I EVER

thank u anon i absolutely love this sort of ask

so one of my most beloved hcs is mtc+ichiro end up living together post-canon after the drbs (won't go too into detail about how that comes to be bc it's a fic i do hope to write one day)

and in that context i can imagine some moments like

breakfast:

rio and ichiro become fast friends and workout buddies after getting to know each other a bit better, and go on early morning runs together samatoki and jyuto get to sleep in a little longer, but are always up to greet them with coffee and sleepy kisses when they get back the four of them cook together and have breakfast around the fire pit out in the yard (ichiro has been gently teaching rio what is and isn't an ingredient)

lunch:

when jyuto's working a big case and/or samatoki's dealing with major katen-gumi issues, they sometimes have to leave home super early or don't even have time to sleep at home the night before so ichiro and rio bring their bentos to their offices on those days, and samatoki and jyuto always take the time to snap a picture of their food and text it to each other like "my aisai bento is better than yours" "your aisai bento has a lizard in it dumbass" one day ichiro and rio are also in a hurry and after cooking they each grab the wrong bento and samatoki ends up with the one with [redacted] in it but still eats it all because he thinks ichiro made it (but i mean he loves his bros so he would also eat it even if he knew rio made it)

dinner:

i can see them having a regularly scheduled double date, like a proper double date out at a nice restaurant and all, once every two weeks or something like that (though sometimes it feels date-y, sometimes they just feel like a friend group out for food) after a few drinks, samatoki and jyuto maybe both get a lot more tactile and even competitive about how many kisses and cuddles they can get in a semi-public place (answer: a lot of kisses and cuddles, their boyfriends are so doting lol)

that's all for specifically uhh i'll call it house!verse or something (i just have big big big mtc+bb found family feels in general)

as for more general birdgun + icsm hcs...

not exactly a double date but i will always love the mental image of samatoki and jyuto getting into an argument and ichiro and rio just each picking one of them up and physically carrying them away to let them cool their heads

(even funnier version: samatoki and jyuto get into one of those cartoonish fights where they just become a cloud of dust and smoke with a limb occasionally popping out, ichiro and rio dive in to each grab one of them and come out with the wrong one lol)

also hc when samatoki brings ichiro out with him and rijyu for the first time and is like "yeah so... we're dating now" i can see jyuto just giving them a scathing look like "really? you can do better" and samatoki being like "HEY?! ICHIRO IS AWESOME" and jyuto just hits him with an "i know. i was talking to him."

and, last but certainly not least, beach date! obsessed with the idea of them all going on a beach trip together (though realistically that would probably be less of a double date and more of a family outing because of course they would take jiro saburo and nemu too)

but like getting a little too competitive over beach volleyball is of course a must lol

then later ichiro and rio each bringing over a big thing of shaved ice to share with their partner (samatoki and jyuto getting a little too competitive about that too, racing to see which team finishes first, all of them lying on the sand moaning about brain freeze when the younger siblings come over to be like wtf are those nerds doing)

team effort to bury rio in the sand while he takes a nap (he is the sand guardian guardian of the sand)

also sand sculpture competition where ichiro gets really pumped about the idea of making a miku and samatoki has to patiently explain to him "ichi you are having creation ideas above my skill level" and they end up making like a rough imitation of ichiro's speakers or something instead then turn around and find that rio and jyuto have made a neo armstrong cyclone jet armstrong cannon structurally sound military bunker somehow

and taking a boat out for some scuba diving! all sorts of docile sea creatures coming up to actual disney princess rio to say hello, jyuto staying a wary distance away but filming everything with a gopro, samatoki and ichiro keeping a closer eye on things to make sure rio doesn't mistake his new docile sea creature friends for food

finally, being so tired at the end of a long day that they all fall asleep in a puppy (or more like large dog) pile in one room at the inn (nemu takes so so so many pictures)