#I finally took time to sort through my screenshots

[charlignon]

I have a sideblog where I post irl photos and ingame screenshots, check it out \o/

Meet Charles Kino, my Warrior of Light !

[asvidema]

more pictures from my second playthrough

[vin-taege]

muse (m)

summary: Erik is having trouble sketching a design for a pin-up tattoo. No matter how many references he looked through, he just couldn't get the pose right. Luckily, his girlfriend is there to be his real-life model.

genre: fluff, smut

pairing: erik campbell x reader

CW: p in v, unprotected sex (stay safe irl!), spitting, choking, spanking, light degradation, light dumbification, pure filth, lowkey biting kink, erik is a bit of a sadist, aftercare!

words: ~4.4k

"I'm going to get carpal tunnel." Erik shook his wrist, the motion unable to contain the pain from his pinched veins. The house was empty, save for him and Bobby. The rest of the family went out for a grocery run, while the two of them were restricted either by college or by work.

"That's not good," Bobby grimaced, barely glancing up from his chemistry textbook. "You won't be able to jack off properly."

The blunt end of a rubber eraser hit the younger boy square in the head. Rubbing the sore spot, he shot a displeased look towards his 'attacker,' only to be met by a shit-eating grin. 

"Oops, it slipped."

Still feeling his brother's pointed glance, Erik let out an exaggerated sigh. "Okay, I'm sorry. I'm just stressed because Mark won't get off my ass for this project."

"Aren't you guys allowed to use reference sites?"

"Yeah, but I'd rather not slowly burn my eyes out of their sockets. Also, I think I’ve gone through every picture Pinterest has. The frat boy who wants this tattoo keeps asking for updates every thirty minutes and he’s busting my balls."

To say this specific tattoo design was kicking his ass was an understatement. Drawing was both the easiest and the hardest part. Erik was skilled enough to go from neo-traditional to realistic at the drop of a hat, but the amount of work it took—plus his shit working posture he swore he’d fix—was out to knock a few years off his life. The more he drew poses again and again, the sloppier they looked. He groaned in frustration, balling up another piece of paper.

"Why don't you ask ___ to model for you then?" Bobby picked up a highlighter, aggressively running it across what Erik estimated to be an entire paragraph. He almost didn't hear what Erik hastily mumbled under his breath. "What was that?"

"I don’t want her to feel conscious, okay?" Erik huffed. "Plus, I’d get a bit… distracted from drawing, and the whole point is to draw."

Bobby screwed his face in disgust. He shook the mental picture of whatever his brother and you do underneath bed covers and went back to focus on studying for his finals. What he didn’t know was that his off-handed suggestion truly stuck with Erik.

Erik tucked his pencil and graphite stick back into their case, carefully wrapping the latter in tissue to prevent it from making a mess. Even though he had an iPad, he still preferred to draw traditionally—one of his quirks you loved. He was so particular about small details like texture and shading control, loved the feel of wood rather than smooth metal.

He looked back at his phone, scrolling through his mess of a gallery. A mixture of personal pictures, pose references, playlist screenshots, and shitpost gathered under the “all photos” tab—not that he bothered to ever sort them into proper albums. He aimlessly scrolled, not exactly sure what he was looking for. Finally, he was hit with serendipity.

It was a picture from two weeks ago. He had been working late as the shop closer and texted you that he’d spend an extra hour over time. You had whined at him over a brief call, rightfully so, since he had planned for that night to be a movie night.

“Erik, I got all pretty just for you,” he could almost see your pout through the phone.

“You’re always pretty, baby.”

“That’s not my point!”

“I know,” he sighed. “I’m really sorry. I’ll make it up to you when I get there, okay?”

After a few more bouts of apologies and a reluctant “I love you,” that’s when he got the picture. You were kneeling in front of the mirror, your free arm planted on the ground. It pressed against your chest, making your cleavage more pronounced. In between your thighs, behind your hand, he could faintly see the shimmer of lace panties—the ones he picked out for you after you made him listen to the Brat album. The only thing covering you up was his favorite leather jacket, the thick fabric embracing your frame while still showing your silhouette.

And damn, all the memories of that night hit him once more. How he fucked you in his jacket, how breathy your voice got, pitching up when you were deep in subspace, how much you begged him to fill you up. He could feel his dick twitch in his pants.

“I need to go. You’d be fine here by yourself, right?” Erik hastily chucked his things in a ratty. leather satchel. You had gotten it for him three birthdays ago, and at this point, the leather’s got a bit of chafing, while the straps were filled with a row of button pins. Erik refused to use anything else to carry his things.

“Uh, where are you going? Mom and Dad are gonna come back soon for dinner. They texted, like, just ten minutes ago.” Bobby shifted from his position on the couch, moving to toss his textbook aside and catch up to Erik, but he had already gotten his boots on.

“I’m taking your advice.” Erik paused at the doorway, making eye contact with a confused Bobby. In a second, everything clicked for the younger sibling. He cringed, gritting his teeth together.

“Tell her I said hi, at least,” Bobby awkwardly waved at Erik, watching as he trudged off like a man on a mission.

────୨ৎ────

“Bobby says ‘hi,’” was the first thing Erik told you when you opened the door. You chuckled, both in confusion and surprise. Just this morning, Erik had texted you that he’d be preoccupied all day just trying to make a draft for that one client; some frat boy in an on-again-off-again relationship who wanted his girl as a pin-up on his thigh. Which is why you didn’t expect to see him at your door this evening.

He licked his lips at the sight of you. One of his old band tees hung around your frame, barely covering the top of your thighs. Black shorts peeked beneath the soft fabric. You moved to hug him, squeezing his body against yours.

“Kiki! I thought you forgot about me.”

You laughed as he rolled his eyes, the curve of a smile ghosting his lips. With one arm wrapped around you, he brought a hand to cup your face, leaning in to kiss you deeply. You could taste the faint menthol from the hard candies he substituted for cigarettes. He was trying to quit after promising you he’d take care of himself more.

He shifted to grip your jaw firmer, using your small gasp as an opportunity to slip his tongue in. You moaned quietly, feeling his jeans rub against your thighs. Just as you felt yourself getting wet, he pulled away, teasingly grinning at you.

“How could I ever forget my girl?”

Your cheeks heated up at the pet name. Shaking your head, you stepped aside to let him in and closed the front door.

Erik basically lived part-time at your apartment. He knew where you kept your cups and plates, memorized what brand of detergent you used, and knew just the right way to twist your shower knob so that the water was the perfect temperature. He plopped on his usual spot on your couch, with you following close by. He patted his lap, an invitation for you to take your favorite seat.

“How’s the pin-up job going?” you asked once you settled down. His hands automatically landed on your thighs. You took his satchel, digging around before you procured his sketchbook.

“It’s shit, babe. I’ve been getting artist’s block since that guy left the shop.” He watched quietly as your eyes scanned over his failed sketches. He never wanted to admit it, but a small part of him still felt nervous whenever you looked at his drawings. Subconsciously, his thumb traced small circles onto your skin. “I actually came here to ask you for help with something.”

“Mhmm?” you hummed, only half-listening to him. No matter how many times you viewed his sketchbook, you were always awe-struck. Erik’s shop was mainly known for piercings, but on the rare days he’s given a task of a tattoo job, he always kills it with his artistry. Strong shape language, vivid colors, fluid composition—he was such a ridiculously good artist.

“Baby?” Erik chuckled, bringing a hand up so he could swipe your lips with his thumb. You scrunched your face up in surprise, bringing your full attention back to him. “I said I wanted to ask if you could help me with this drawing.”

You smiled sheepishly. “And what exactly do you want me to do? Is this one of your brilliant plans?”

“It’s not a heist this time, I promise,” he snorted. He fell silent for a moment, an uncharacteristic beat of seriousness washing over him. He took a deep breath. “You can always say no to this, and I swear I wouldn’t mind. I just really need a burst of inspiration right now and I keep fucking up the poses. And then I figured… I have a smoking hot girlfriend…”

He trailed off, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You cocked your on brow, laughing in disbelief. “And what, you want to paint your ‘smoking hot girlfriend’ like a French girl?”

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him. He hooked his chin over your shoulder, craning his neck to plant a soft kiss beneath your ear. “Only if she lets me.”

“Hmm…” you pretended to mull it over. “Only if you ask politely.”

“Please, will you, the queen of my heart, model for me?” He widened his eyes slightly, working his charm through his baby blues. You could feel his fingers brush higher on your thigh, his nails catching the hem of your shorts. 

“Fine, pretty boy.”

“That’s my fucking girl.” He bit your shoulder lightly, making you yelp in surprise. You twisted your torso, smacking him lightly on his chest as he laughed. You got off his lap, moving to the smaller plush chair next to the sofa.

“How do you want me?”

“I’d normally say hands and knees.” You shot him a glare, met only by an unabashed grin. “But right now, just sit pretty on the edge there. Bring one leg in front of the other and bend it like—yeah, that’s perfect. Now put your… right hand on the couch and extend it.”

You let him pose your arms, making small tweaks in your position. His touches were light, though lingering. Your skin burned each time the pads of his fingers came into contact with you. When he was satisfied, he took a few steps back, cocking his head a little to the side to take you in. 

“Beautiful,” he whispered under his breath.

You giggled, eyes darting to your oversized shirt, then back to him. “Do you want me to take this off?”

Without waiting for an answer, you peeled the fabric off smoothly before returning to your static position. You shivered a little as the cold air hit your bare breasts. Erik’s jaw hung open, his eyes darkening. He closed his mouth, swallowing thickly. Going back to his spot on the couch, he leaned back, opening his thighs wide. He set the sketchbook on top of the leg, planted on the couch.

“Don’t move, doll. Can you handle that for a few minutes?”

“What if I accidentally squirmed a little?” you batted your eyelashes innocently.

He snickered. “I’ll make sure you’ll regret it then. Wouldn’t want me to bend you over for a spanking now, do you?”

You pressed your lips in a thin line, clenching around nothing. Wetness stuck to the fabric of your panties. You wanted to rub your thighs, grind on the couch, but Erik’s watchful eyes froze you to the spot. His gaze would flicker between you and the paper, silence taking over the living room except for the music he’s set in the background. 

Just from the first song, you recognized the playlist: Erik’s Witching Hour. Also belovedly known as his sex playlist.

Humming to the tune, you tried to distract yourself. Erik’s gaze was heavy on you, piercing into your soul. It wasn’t self-consciousness per se—it was yearning. The room felt hot, despite your nipples hardening from the cool air. Your clit throbbed, demanding to be touched underneath your slick-ruined underwear. You could faintly hear Erik’s pencil scratch against the paper.

It was after whole minutes of silent concentration that you decided to play with him a little. Leaning your head backwards, you stared at the ceiling in faux boredom. “Wait so… you’re going to put a picture of me on another guy’s skin?”

“Bring your head back down, doll. And no, not exactly. I wouldn’t put you on that asshole. I just need a feel for the pose.”

You rolled your eyes, listening to his request. For now. For another moment, none of you spoke until you started swinging your legs back and forth. “Yeah… I was thinking of how this complete stranger was going to have my body on his for what—the rest of his life? Didn’t know you were into that.”

His expression hardened, jaw tensing. He called your name out quietly, an edge present in his voice. “Stop moving.”

You raked your gaze over him, stopping at the seam of his jeans. His sketchbook covered his crotch, but you could see his knuckles turning white from how hard he gripped it. You bit your lip, swaying lightly from side to side. “The idea of it is hot, no? Like, I’m branding someone almost.”

He said your name again, voice firmer this time. “I’m giving you three seconds to shut up, and if you don’t, I’m not going to be gentle with what I’m gonna do next.”

Your eyes lit up. You were really winding him up now. If there’s anything Erik loves, it's always a good chase. 

“One.”

You spread your legs slowly, angling your hips down to the chair.

“Two.”

Erik had already set his pencil on the table. He leaned forward, bringing both feet to the ground, eyes burning into yours. You could practically see the outline of his cock through his jeans now.

“Three?” you finished for him, rocking your hips slightly. Your thighs tensed as your clit finally met its sought-after friction. Without another word, Erik made his way to you with two big strides. You grinned at him as you felt a hand on your throat, fingers roughly pressing into the points of your jaw.

“Just can’t fucking help yourself, huh?” he whispered. He ran his thumb over your mouth, parting your lips. You suckled on his digit, twirling your tongue around him. He slipped his other hand underneath your shorts, tracing your slit through your panties. He groaned, feeling how soaked you were. “Have you been this wet since we started? Is that why you’re so fucking needy?”

You nodded, hips chasing after his touch when he brought his hand away. His thumb pressed down on your tongue, prying your jaw open. He leaned over, spitting into your mouth. He let your jaw go, watching with hunger as you immediately swallowed.

“I was just… curious about your work?” It came out more as a question. You bit your lip, trying to prevent the smile from spreading on your face. Erik narrowed his eyes at you.

Two firm hands gripped your waist, pulling you up and spinning you around. You felt pressure on the back of your knee, making it bend. Erik pressed a hand on your lower back, forcing an arch. You were kneeling on the sofa now, hands stabilizing yourself on the backrest. He grabbed the hem of your shorts, almost tearing the fabric as he yanked them down your thighs, alongside your panties. He took a moment to take in your wetness staining the black lace, before bringing his eyes to your dripping cunt.

“Are these the ones I got for you?” He ran a finger through your slit, collecting your fluids. He brought it to his lips, groaning deeply when he tasted you.

“My favorite,” you wiggled your ass. Immediately, you felt your left cheek sting, hearing the sharp smack first. Your mouth dropped in a silent moan—too shocked for any sound to come out.

“I’ll teach you a thing about branding,” Erik said, winding up his arm before bringing his palm down on your right ass. He watched the flesh jiggle, waiting for the redness to spread on your skin. He spanked you again, letting his fingers catch on your cunt. You squeezed your eyes shut, yelping in both pain and pleasure. “Since you seem to like it so much, I’ll make an example out of you.”

You bit your lip, too stubborn to let him hear you moan. Your nails dug into the couch as you took blow by blow. The skin was stinging, made worse when you felt the tip of Erik’s nail on the swell of your eyes. A whimper left your lips as he carved a crooked “E” on your flesh. The skin puffed slightly, making the letter even more visible. 

“You’re getting off this, you little freak,” he chuckled breathlessly. You panted, rocking back and forth as he wound circles around your clit. “You’re so fucking wet and I haven’t even gotten my cock out.”

“Fuck you,” you rasped out, trying to force more friction. His touch was light, teasing. You were about to turn your head back to spout more swears at him, when you felt a sharp smack against your cunt. You let out a strangled cry, bringing your thighs together.

“Oh, did that hurt? Poor baby,” he mocked you, forcing your thighs apart with his hands. Two fingers rubbed your slit up and down, barely dipping into you. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”

“Erik.” His name came out as a breathy whine. “Stop teasing.”

“Only if you ask politely,” he mimicked your words from earlier.

You groaned, throwing your head back in frustration. “Erik, please just fucking put them in already! I need your fingers so bad, baby, please. Please—fuck!”

You inhaled sharply as Erik slipped his fingers knuckle-deep into your cunt. He brought them back and forth, angling his hand until he hit the spot that made you see stars. Your breath stuttered, arms almost giving out. Erik snaked his other hand onto your neck, fingers pressing lightly against your throat. He guided you forward, letting the backrest hit your collarbones, your arms bent on top of it.

“Yeah, that’s it.” His voice mixed with the playlist and the squelching noises your cunt made. Each push of his fingers made you tense more, a coil winding up in your stomach. Your mind was clouded, taken over only by his scent, his touch, his voice. Your eyelids fluttered, sinful moans loudly leaving your lips.

“You’re gonna be a good doll and fucking follow orders this time.” He was bent over you, whispering harshly into your ear. He caught the bottom of your lobe, grinding it in between his teeth. Tears sprang from the corners of your eyes, a broken moan wretching its way out of your throat. “I know you’re getting close. You’re gonna make a mess all over my fingers, then you’re gonna kneel all pretty there and take it like a good girl when I fuck you, okay?”

You nodded your head, too lost in the pleasure to think properly. He let go of your throat, grabbing a fistful of your hair instead to yank your head back. “Can you talk to me, or are you too fucking dumb right now?”

“Erik, p-please. Yes, please fuck me, please let me cum, p-please,” you stuttered out, yelling as your orgasm hit you. You ground back into his palm, shaking as more slick gushed out of you. He continued to pump his fingers, slowing his pace as you rode out your high.

Taking big gulps of air, you placed your head on the chair’s backrest, thighs still trembling. You could faintly hear the clinking of his belt, followed by heavy fabric falling down. Your breath caught in your throat when you felt the cool tip of his prince albert poke slip in between your folds. “W-wait, Erik—”

“What’s your color, doll?” he murmured against your back, pressing soft kisses up your spine. He stopped the trail at your shoulder, biting and suckling on the skin until it bruised. You can’t imagine how much more marks your hips and ass had. He waited patiently for your answer, rubbing your waist soothingly.

You finally managed to catch your breath. “G-green.”

“That’s a good girl,” you could feel him smirk. He pressed a kiss on the crook of your neck, then entered you in one fluid motion. You let out a broken cry, feeling his piercing brush against your cervix. He stayed buried to the hilt, grinding his cock impossibly deeper into you.

“P-please,” you begged him. His hand found its way place back on your neck, fingers carefully placed so that he wouldn’t be pressing down on your windpipe. He gripped your hips firmly. Once he was satisfied with his position, he thursted into you. Slowly, cruelly.

He pulled out, leaving only the tip in, before pressing flush against your ass. You gasped each time, his cock expertly nailing your g-spot. Erik grunted, breathing heavily each time he thrust into you. Your cunt clenched tightly around him, greedily taking in his thick cock. No matter how many times you fucked, the delicious stretch always surprised you.

Erik could feel you getting close again. Your uneven breathing, how tight you had curled your toes, the steady stream of moans spilling from your lips—half of them profanities while the rest was his name. “Does my doll want to cum again?”

“M-mhhmm,” you gasped in between moans.

“Gotta do better than that, doll.” He applied light pressure to your throat, starting to quicken his pace. 

“C-cum! Erik, w-wanna cum, fu-fuck—please!” you mewled, barely hearing him give you permission. For a second, you blacked out, cunt spasming around his cock. Your mouth opened in a silent yell, moans caught in the throat he held. Your body went slack, drained by the powerful orgasm he forced out of you. The only things holding you up were his hands on your neck and hips. He used your body as leverage, pulling you into him as he snapped his hips.

Erik kept thrusting into you, following an animalistic rhythm. He plowed on, making the sofa creak, lightly bumping your cheek into the upholstery each time he bottomed out. You were barely coherent—the only thing you knew was that you felt so fucking good. Small ungh, ungh, ungh’s, was the only thing you were capable of saying. 

“Look at you. See, you could listen for once. Staying still like a pretty doll while I use you. You’re such a good girl. You’re gonna let me fill you up, won’t you, doll?” He moaned, voice breaking towards the end. His thrusts were getting sloppier, shallower. He was getting off on his words as much as you were. It always turned him on how fast he could reduce you to a mindless mess, cock-drunk, eyes glazed over.

“Y-yes, please,” you squeaked, voice already raw. He snickered lightly, moaning wantonly behind you, already starting to lose control.

“That’s my good girl. Good fucking slut,” he growled, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix. Hot spurts of cum painted your walls, Erik grinding slowly into you, coaxing more of his seed to spill out. You clamped down on him, cumming for the third time as your eyes rolled to the back of your head. After milking himself in your cunt, he stilled, draping his body over yours, pulling you close.

He hooked his chin over your shoulder, pressing soothing kisses on your cheek and neck. When your breathing went back to normal, he slowly pulled out. You sighed at the emptiness, clenching as his cum dripped out of your spent cunt. He stared for a moment, entranced by the mixture of fluids. His focused snapped back to you when you groaned, limbs already sore.

“I’ve got you, baby,” he whispered. He took you into his arms, gently lying down on the larger couch with you on top of him. He ran his fingers through your hair, lightly scratching your scalp. You hummed in contentment, feeling so so tired but also so full.

“You did so well for me. You’re always so good to me, baby.” His voice took a softer lilt, always the polar opposite after rough sessions. His touch felt warmer, lighter, more afraid to break you. “You can go to sleep if you want, okay? I’ll be here.”

With his reassurance, you let your eyes flutter shut. It didn’t take long for you to doze off, cheek pressed against his chest. He kept on playing with your hair and drumming his fingers against the base of your spine. He only stopped once he was sure you were deep into your slumber. 

────୨ৎ────

You woke up in your bed, way past dinner.

Bleary-eyed, the first thing you saw was Erik sitting by your desk, his back turned to you. You glanced down at yourself, discovering that you’ve been dressed in fresh clothes—one of your sleep tees and the boxers you stole from him. You stretched your limbs, wincing at the slight soreness in your lower half. Erik turned to you, hearing the rustling of your covers.

“Hey,” he smiled softly. You patted the empty space next to you, pouting at him. Your stomach grumbled, but you could hardly care. You just needed him close.

He climbed into bed, taking his place next to you under the covers. “You gonna stop being an asshole now?”

You snorted loudly, laughter like tinkling bells in his ears. He watched fondly as your eyes scrunched up. “Hello to you, too.”

“Sit up and drink some water, okay?” He took the glass placed on your nightstand, bringing it to your lips. You gladly accepted, the water quenching your parched throat. “I’ll order some takeout for a late, late dinner.”

“Did I get to help with the tattoo?” you murmured, still drowsy.

“I think I got it down, baby,” he smirked, pecking your lips. He wasn’t going to tell you that he never got a proper sketch because he kept staring at your tits. To his merit, he did try, but just got so distracted. It was going to be a problem for future Erik. Presently, Erik just wants to eat takeout and be with you. 

[yes-no-maybe-soo]

So having finally gone through the main story update once, stared at the ceiling, then gone through it immediately again... I am in fucking awe. Speechless. How tf am I supposed to digest this lore drop??? I've been taking notes, gone over screenshots, gotten misty eyed over how much I love SylusMC and just augh... this has rewired the way I view a lot of things in this game.

For example... just how large part Sylus truly plays in the main story. How vital he is. He has been there from the very beginning, pulling strings, moving events along, watching, protecting... he is honestly Everythinglus atp. Universlus. Love and Deepspacelus. I cannot stress how central this man is to MC's story. No wonder he took 5 years to craft. And (loath as I am to say it) ... the gatekeeping of some of his content up 'til now kind of makes sense. His lore is just too closely tied to the main story plot (the lack of communication is still shitty though). I am still kind of shocked by this tbh because it's forced me to do a 180 on my stance re: Paperfold's feelings towards him.

This main story update is just mind blowing in different ways, sort of like Beyond Cloudfall and how that changed everything. I'll be obsessing over it for the rest of the week, at least.

Anyway, idc that it's too early in the morning for this I need to get my initial thoughts out of my system and what better way to do so than a long ass tumblr post. So yeah just gonna go ahead and wordvomit/theorize share some screenshots/details that blew my mind all the way to sunday, and also attempt a timeline b/c my autistic brain demands that of me.

(Be warned, it's long and kind of all over the place. I don't blame anyone that won't bother with it lol).

(Spoilers, obviously)

Can we talk about the SOULMATISM between SylusMC and how that is actually canon to the main story??? They reference the 10.5 grams of soul... Sylus says this

They are pretty much confirmed to still be destined archnemeses in their current timeline – they were meant to kill each other as kids/teens. But like in the myth – and honestly like always – they decided to give fate the middle finger and chose their own path together. Then they got separated but found each other again. Twice. And they always will keep finding each other. No matter which "soil" they find themselves in. They have always been soulmates. But not by fate. But by CHOICE.

I have tried to make a timeline of their relationship from what was revealed here, that I kind of think makes sense?

First, Beyond Cloudfall. Dragon!Sylus and later Dragon!MC dies, and are then reborn on the same planet. Note, that this is not earth but possibly Philos.

They are expected to fight each other to the death in the Arena. But instead they succesfully run off together. And perhaps go on to commit crimes... I am speculating this to maybe be the case because of the "even all the crimes you'll inevitably commit" line but also because of the potential scenario I mention in point 3.

At some point in time, they are separated by the Deepspace Tunnel. Either before or after the separation, Sylus is thrown into Tartarus. If it happened before, then it's possible that MC was somehow responsible for it (remember, as a child she threatens to throw Sylus into Tartarus. Which could be foreshadowing of some kind).

In whichever case, while Sylus is in Tartarus, MC has been taken to Earth – more specifically to the Gaia Research Center in the N109 Zone – where she has either regressed to or been reborn as a tiny child, and is experimented on by EVER who are after eternal life and want to use her powers to achieve it.

Sylus breaks out of jail and goes in search for MC, eventually pinpointing her location using the eye of Aether and landing in the N109 Zone in 2034 (this according to the Timelock Key). At this time, the Chronorift Catastrophe is happening and Dimitri – blaming MC for it and for the Wanderers – tries to kill her by putting her in the Deepspace Collision Chamber. But before she can succumb to it, Sylus arrives and breaks her out. He makes a deal with Dimitri to bring MC back to him in the future.

Sylus leaves MC to be raised by Josephine, and for the next 14 years he keeps watch over her from a distance (remember the giant red eye? And mephie ofc), while founding Onychinus and taking over the N109 Zone, and working on taking down EVER. He creates a special menu just for MC at Elysium, in the hopes that she will one day come there, order it, and find him.

LAR. They reunite again, but MC remembers nothing. Not their Dragon myth, nor their childhood, nor Sylus' rescue of her. Instead, she sees him as a monster and despises him.

Present time.

Now, there are some things I want to point out here re: this.

One – I was wrong about Sylus' being resurrected or reassembled. Clearly, he was reborn... but unlike MC with his past life memories intact. I also still see him as a Dragon for the same reasons I've stated before. And also because I want him to be lol. I definitely don't think he's human. Nor is MC.

Two – I still think that Sylus is older than what his profile states. Why? Because we know now that he came to earth in 2034. Fourteen years prior to LAR. Which would – if his profile age is to be taken as truth – have made him 14 at that time. Now, dgmw Sylus is crazy powerful and honestly probably could have won a gang war and perhaps even conquered a planet etc at that age. However... it does not at all line up with the descriptions nor with the visuals we have of him at that time. In the Tangible Shackles video, he is in no way shape or form a 14 year old boy. Same goes for the Anecdote – he is described there as "a tall man" and having a "deep male voice" and "striking features". That's as far as the physical descriptions go. Nowhere in the text is there a single allusion to his being a kid, but rather the opposite. And I do believe that the text would have drawn attention to him being well below legal drinking age in a story like that.

And then there is ofc the Approaching Dusk image as well as this one of him breaking MC out of the Deepspace Collision Chamber (it destroys me btw).

Just compare MC who is roughly 8-9 here to Sylus. The size difference is massive. So no, that is not a 14 year old. They are not that huge, not even a Burj Khalifa on legs like Sylus.

Anyway, what we learned re: SylusMC's lore for sure puts both of these scenes in a different light

We all thought he was talking about their Beyond Cloudfall past here.

But no.

He is more than likely talking about their childhood etc here... "you were quietly moved to another garden in a foreign land" ie their separation in the Deepspace Tunnel, when they had earlier been two flowers growing up together in the same soil and who were supposed to keep growing together and ＿|￣|●💔 yeah. Thanks for breaking my heart again with the same scenes but with new context, game...

And on this note... fuck, man, do I feel even worse for poor Sylus now. Not only did MC forget him once, but twice. While he remembers everything – Beyond Cloudfall, the Gladiator Arena, being separated from her... and also knows just what she went through with EVER. He knows in what ways the love of his life suffered at the hands of evil people.

How the fuck has this man not crashed out yet. He is as mentally and emotionally strong as he is physically powerful imo.

And then there is just his sheer love for her. All the things he did for her: Running away together. (Possibly) being imprisoned. Searching the galaxy. Rescuing her from Dimitri, and giving her a chance to have autonomy and a normal childhood for the first time in her life. Devoting his own life to taking down the organization that hurt her.

And waiting for her. Always.

But even after everything still being ready to let her go. In spite of everything.

HE LOVES HER SO MUCH SOBSADFHUJHJ

I thought I loved Sylus before this update but I swear it has made me appreciate his character even more. What sorcery is that??? You can really tell how much thought and care his team has put into crafting him and his story.

And the same goes for MC. She got fleshed out here in all the best ways and I admire her immensely. I think that line she has about hoping that she made the Gaia Researchers even for a moment see her as the child she was rather than as an object or experiment says so heartbreakingly much about her and who she is.

The two together have so many fantastic moments in this story that had me giggling and kicking my feet. I honestly think it's more romantic/hot than some of the memory/date cards. But I won't talk about it more here or now because this is already way too long lol. Will probably just make individual posts for them.

Anyway, I do want to share some screenshots I took that made me lose my shit

I noticed the patterns on the bell when I was going to take another screenshot from LAR and omfg do you guys see it too????? Tell me I'm not reaching or deluding myself????? Ouuuu Sylus team you always gag me

STAYRUS MY LOVE YOU'RE BACK

I think it's pretty funny how chill MC is about Sylus having wings like she really don't care she just rolls with it (as she does with a lot of huge revelations tbh). Unbothered Queen.

This is one of my very favorite parts of the Kindled. Look how tenderly Sylus holds her here... shielding and protecting her the way he has all these 14 years, but physically this time. And you can see how MC genuinely feels safe in his arms. Oh, how far they've come since LAR...

Anyway, I'm gonna finally leave off here with a prediction for Sylus' future myth. I have an inkling it will take place before and after they escape from the Arena and up until Sylus gets imprisoned. That makes most sense to me. We need to know what they were up to in between and what led to Sylus' imprisonment. In other words I feel like I can taste the Gladiator & the space pirate lore. If I am wrong though, I'm betting it will be a Hades & Persephone inspired one. There have been quite a few references to greek mythology after all. Gaia. Charon. The River Styx. Tartarus. Not to mention the Pomegranate imagery and references. And probably more I can't think of rn.

Oh and I'd love to hear if any of you guys have any theories or things you noticed in this update! I would not be surprised if I've missed important details.

[chaaistained]

hazy fairy lights and the thought of schedules

me waking up in my kpop dr for a total of five seconds ..

.

.

.

i didn’t exactly go into this with the desire to wake up in a bedroom i’d only ever seen from one angle, in a picture, off of pinterest . i even started out this whole “process” feeling so desperate that i’m embarrassed to go into further detail but, we persevere —

the night before, i was plagued with insomniac anxieties, the fidgety kind, where your mind won’t sit still and your body thinks “hey! that’s a grand idea, let me do the same!” as if i’m not laying there in my bed, tempted to pull my hair out

i figured, what’s there to lose? like every other night, let’s give this another go, and i went to look at my screenshot of emma’s method (@hrrtshape — tysm lovely <3) and started trying to shift to my wr

the desired outcome of a mind bending epiphany, an almost destruction of the very construct of reality . that didn’t happen .. and truth be told, i found it hard to concentrate in general. but eventually i just kept telling myself that “this isn’t a chore, this a hobby, this is something i do for fun. i’ve done this [shifting] before, even if it was only for a few seconds, i can do it again” and i let my mind think about my daily routine and plans for my wr

after that, i don’t really remember falling asleep. i sorta wafted from dream to dream, mostly about my cr life — university, my high school best friend and our galentines plans, i had a weird panicky one about a chemistry test .. i haven’t taken chemistry since i graduated high school four years ago . but anyway apparently the body keeps the score.. yay us

i think what set me off into a more calming deep slumber was how my dream rippled from chemistry and science to literature, english, writing, and more specifically, editing — before i went to bed i was editing an upcoming fic i will be posting to my fic account (shameless plug : @yourislandgirl) and it was a drabble featuring enhypen’s jake, a kpop idol for those who don’t know ^.^

next thing i know, i hear a twinkling alarm, the kind of one that sounds like stars? not exactly the same as the standard iphone alarm sounds but, i remember it feeling familiar ??

i instinctively went to rub my eyes, expecting the usual crust and sleepiness only to find that they were relatively clear-ish (a point i make bcs i specifically scripted that i don’t get super crusty eyes bcs i hate it). it didn’t exactly hit me then, but i patted around my bed for my phone, snoozing the alarm, my eyes still closed as i took in a few deep breaths.

my room smelled like lavender . which is odd bcs i don’t have a room freshening spray in my cr, i rely on candles but wtv not the point, i don’t own a lavender mist .. but for some reason the only thought running through my head when i sighed out in relief, curling myself back under the sheets was “man . my rooms smells nice”

for your information i’m rolling my eyes at myself while i type this up bcs BITCH (directed at me) YOU SHIFTED

anyway, i kinda felt myself dipping in and out of consciousness, or at least that’s what i thought, bcs in actuality i think i was dipping BETWEEN consciousness’ — the cotton softness of my cr sheets was suddenly a smooth milky satin, and then it was cotton, and then satin, and it wasn’t until this hellscape of a cycle repeated itself for the third time, that i finally realised my surroundings were changing.

it was sort of like what being tipsy felt like, a little buzz in my head, my mind feeling fuzzy, like a pom pom . (that’s legitimately how my mind feels when i’m tipsy btw) and it was like my energy was rising slowly and then getting sapped out of me and then rising and falling

i think i was getting sick of it, and knowing me and my lack of patience, that totally tracks, so when i felt a bit more energy bloom inside, i took the chance to open my eyes. my only thoughts were “god i need to get up, i can’t keep laying here dreaming..”

and that’s when i saw it, the room of my kpop dr self, from an ENTIRELY DIFFERENT ANGLE — i saw a vanity, 80% of it filled with lip products which, again, totally tracks . there was a door open and a stepping stone path of clothes leading out of it, my wardrobe . guitar stands, one for an acoustic, one for an electric . a desk with a monitor and a laptop . i EVEN HAD ROOM FOR A BEANBAG COUCH IM SO JEALOUS

AND AND YA KNOW WHAT SUCKS . IT WAS SO NORMAL?? I KEPT BLINKING TRYING TO WAKE MYSELF UP

my mind was like “ . . . huh”

and THE CHERRY ON TOP OF THIS MIND FUCK — all i could stare at were the strings of fairy lights going along the edge of my ceiling, little stars and diamonds, they gave off a warm golden glow and as i laid there with silk soft hair and skin so smooth i can’t believe i didn’t notice when i touched my face . my brain had the AUDACITY to go “oh fuck . i’ve got to record something today. …(sigh) and rehearse”

LIKE- THATS NOT SMTH TO COMPLAIN ABOUT GIRLYPOP??!!)?)!?,?!

i swear- i swear to you guys . i’m appalled at myself

because i just HAD to think abt something important something tiring, something like my DAILY SCHEDULES BCS THEN

I CLOSED MY EYES AGAIN AND FELT LIKE EVERY OUNCE OF STRENGTH WAS BEING PULLED OUT OF ME

and then i woke up here. again.

my hair was drier, and so was my skin, my eyes were crusty and sleepy, my pillows were comfy but nothing could compare to the marshmallow cloud of comfort that were my kpop dr pillows.

i sat up, stretched, cracked all my joints, went straight for my phone and started to doomscroll . like it was some coping mechanism or something. my mind kept going : “that was a dream. that was just a dream. man what a VIVID dream. yeah, that’s it chaai, you had a vivid dream, you’ve always had vivid dreams, that’s your thing! (true story) that’s all this was…”

but, and i swear you can’t make this shit up, it all felt NORMAL , creepily normal. usually in a dream you’re like “ah yes, i’m dreaming, i can’t exactly wake up right now bcs i’m enjoying this dream, but i know i’m dreaming”

no, no, this quote unquote dream, felt like those sleepy mornings when the world feels slow, when the simplicity of the small rays of morning sunlight coming through your window feel cinematic, when you want to close your eyes and keep taking in gentle deep breaths, hold off on getting up, just for five more minutes.

that’s what it felt like.

i didn’t know i was dreaming bcs i wasn’t dreaming. i was just waking up to a dream, as my reality.

and honestly, another factor is how my mind immediately went to the events of my day, a CLASSIC trope in yours truly. honestly nothing is more on brand than me being like “(sigh) life feels so soft and sweet right now .. alright now let’s cause myself a mini panic attack by thinking about my responsibilities for the day and how many there are and how little time i have to complete everything, isn’t that fun???!?”

finally, my energy levels, that thing i mentioned earlier? about how i’d feel the strength grow and decline over and over again? those five seconds i had in my kpop dr were tiring and drowsy, but not lethargic, they weren’t draining, they weren’t exhausting. i had some energy in me .. and when i closed my eyes, it felt like i was being drained, and i woke up here and felt like i had the life torn out of me and then forced back in. as embarrassing as this sounds, i actually think it “proves” this shift a bit more — logically speaking, i’m more fit, more toned, more active in my kpop dr, where my career is hugely based on my skill levels, as a dancer and singer and performer, where an asset in my job is my appearance, and how i keep myself in shape .. i don’t have to worry about those things here, i don’t have the strength or flexibility or just straight up energy that i do in that reality.. i guess it didn’t hit me, how much difference there would be in my physicality, until this shift

so , yeah. that about sums it up

i think i would have benefitted from grounding myself. and i’m 99% sure i’ll face this problem again bcs i can’t even ground myself in this reality let alone another, mostly bcs i don’t want to, (life’s just so much lighter when your head’s in the clouds .. this is very unhealthy, i do not recommend)

but, for the five seconds that it lasted, it was honestly worth it. my room looked splendid, it was spacious, it was not messy (no matter what dr-self tells you), it was instead, aesthetically chaotic in a pleasing way . and i stand by that

but those fairy lights… mf they’ll be haunting my dreams, ghostly and golden and glorious, i can see them so clearly if i close my eyes.

anyway, here’s to more shifts to come !! i’m not giving up just yet, i WILL get back there, or any other dr for that matter, and i wish you all a happy shifting experience <33

bcs trust me, it took me five years to get five seconds, but in those five seconds i felt a whole 16 years of life in me, i felt a definitive existence there, like i had places to be, people to see, things to do. and i hadn’t even sat up in bed yet ..

this shit is real. it’s as real as you reading this right now. and i’m gonna keep trying, even if all i get next time is another five seconds. and i hope you try with me ≈

.

.

.

chaai brews; tea assortments — dr archive

2025 © chaaistained

[sillyjpeg]

BOOK OF BILL WEBSITE CHANGE

this contains MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE WEBSITE CHANGE. if you want to find shit urself, dont read this!!!

also this is part one of probably many bc i cant fit everything in here. curse you image limit

i wont be going over alot of the not as important stuff, but still go explore the website for it because i got alot of good laughs!

RIGHT OFF THE BAT. In the top right corner of the screen when the lightning flashes, there are words revealed carved in the wall. it reads: VALLIS CINERIS. when this is typed into the computer it gives this video:

haunting. really giving me analog horror vibes. wasnt sure what else to do with this though.

I also noticed that on the candle in the right side of the desk, there is a code

this is decoded used the rune code, and translates into CURSED. when put into the computer, this is what is given back:

interesting.

One of the first things me and my friends did was go through the main characters names. the most interesting one of these for me is definitely Stanley, but i want to go over Pacifica first because Stanleys is LONG.

When you type in Pacifica you get this:

I love her signature btw. BUT if you type in Platinum Paz, you get somethin very, very interesting.

This may not be in the right order so forgive me, but at the end of that code, if you use a shift decoder (im so smart sue me)

it says: "STAY AWAY FROM HER CIPHER. SHE HAS THE PROTECTION OF THE LUMBERFOLKS SPIRITS"

pacificas character development has always been special to me, and this was honestly chilling. in the book of bill we see that she has nightmares about the lumberjack, and this shows how much guilt she carries. her finally finding her peace with what happened made me smile :)

but as nice and heartwarming as this is, were moving on to STANLEY PINES! and oh BOY are the stanley lovers having a field day. so first of all, if you type in Stanley, it will take you to a few different links. including gold chains, brass knuckles, an 8 ball cane, a fez, and a colonel neck tie. funny right? if you keep entering his name, this pops up:

Below this is a bunch of things with the label of being shameful. one of them is very interesting but im gonna put some lighter stuff first for the sillies.

i need alex to show us the photos from the hunky drifters catalogue alex can you hear me please i mean WHO SAID THATTTT WHO SAID THATTTTTT

ALSO NO ONE COMING TO HIS FAKE FUNERAL EXCEPT HIS MOM :( she loved her little free spirit stanley

ALSO- him stripping for flour in Tijuana, again, i need photographic evidence.

his ex wives list also made me giggle. he was MARRIED TO OLD GOLDIE????? also Marilyn being Eda made me giggle, i love the fact that they got married at some point. get them back together please. also stan having smaller hands than ford and being self-conscious about it stan i love you mwah mwah mwah

ALSO FILBRICK TRYING TO SELL STAN FOR GETTIN AN F- PLEASE

anyways now onto the section at the bottom of the Wheel of Shame page!

Its titled : HOW HE BEAT ME. im not adding a photo bc ur guy is running out of room :(

you have to click on this repeatedly to get anything good out of it, so i took the liberty of milking it for all it had!!! i didnt take screenshots of everything because some of it was redundant, but here are the interesting and or funny bits:

just reiterating, this is not all thats in there, im just putting parts that stood out to me. please take the time to go through all this urself bc its a TREAT.

now into the crazier stuff

hes obviously having some sort of breakdown, just like we see at the end of the book of bill. the last page i decoded myself, and i got this using all the different decoders:

"THROUGH LQS SFSE CN EVERYONE IVE EVER"

for "LQS SFSE CN" i used the original bill cipher code, and im not sure why it gave me this. a smarter, better decoder probably has the answer.

i can theorize a few different things on what this could possibly mean even with it not being all decoded. the one that comes to mind is "I can still see through everyone ive ever met" maybe knowing too much? but without the middle part decoded i cant say much. if you have the solution for this please leave a comment as any help would be greatly appreciated. this all did drop a few hours ago so i doubt many people are working on decoding all this.

UPDATE!! I TRANSLATED IT WRONG.

IT SAYS “THROUGH THE EYES OF EVERYONE IVE EVER”

this makes alot more sense. bill can see through others eyes so it most likely is refering too how he possesses people and sees through their eyes. In the book of bill he shows how angry he is having to watch the Pines family be happy.

It says that when he closes his eye, he can still see through the eyes of everyone hes ever…possesed? probably. So can Bill still see through Ford, or maybe Dipper, and he cant turn it off. Whenever he closes his eyes he is haunted by the happy life he failed to destroy. To see through their eyes.

This poem using gambling as a way to describe Stan's life choices really struck me. the more i thought on it the more it made sense. he gambled that Ford's project would probably still work, gambled with all of his sham products. His entire life has been a betting game. The most interesting thing about all this is the end of the poem. It reads

"IM STILL ON YOUR MIND"

this has been a theory for awhile in the gravity falls community that if stan got back all his memories, including ones about bill, wouldnt bill come back? for me this confirms the theory, and opens up a whole new can of worms which i will talk about later.

I have reached my image and video limit, but expect more posts!

stay weird yall :)

[biowaredisasterbisexual]

Writing Challenge Weekend - Neve Edition

We are in the final stretch heading into Neve Week 2025! Thanks so much @thedissonantverses for letting me take over your Writing Challenge Weekend to celebrate Neve Gallus of the Veilguard. If you want to see everyone’s creations during the upcoming week, please follow @datvcompanionweeks and don't forget @hyperions-light will be streaming for Neve Week as well!

For these challenges the rules are loose, and there is no time limit. Write based on whatever you feel inspired by, and artists if you feel inspired by a prompt please join us! You can reblog from here or tag me and I’ll reblog what you’ve made!

This weekend I’ve provided an assortment of visual prompts* to take as much or as little from as you like! If you’re working on something for Neve Week, or want to contribute to Neve Week but aren’t sure where to start, you can combine them with the Neve Week Prompts, as well!

My example, which was inspired by the shots of Neve in her office and the bulletin board, is below the cut.

*all of these screenshots are ones I took, and y’all are welcome to use them if you’d like.

Neve was used to her office at the Lighthouse, these days. Though it might appear chaotic, to the uninitiated (she could almost hear Emmrich’s delicate scoff at that), it worked for her. Despite all claims by the others otherwise, there was method to the purported madness, and Neve knew where each and every thing was.

Which was why she realized immediately that something was out of place on her return.

Neve’s desk was normally covered in stacks of papers that some might call haphazard. And it was covered in stacks of papers still, but now they were straighter, the edges all lined up. Someone had been in her office and, more than that, had deliberately moved her things.

She went over to the stack at the corner of her desk and rifled through it. Nothing seemed to be missing, which was a start. Neve repeated the exercise with the other piles to the same result.

Whoever had been in here — and she had a very strong hunch as to who that was — either was looking for something they had failed to find or wasn’t looking for something and was straightening up to make a point.

Given that Neve was fairly certain her suspect list was short — so short that it was one man, in fact — she was pretty sure it was the latter. So, shaking her head and rolling her eyes, she walked back to the Lighthouse and up the stairs to knock on Rook’s door.

“Come in!”

She pushed open the heavy double-doors, and noted with some satisfaction that not only was he watching her but, for just a moment, he looked nervous as he did.

Neve placed herself in front of him, hands on her hips.

“Neve!” He greeted, grinning. She saw that little glimmer in his eyes that he always had when he was up to something — something both extremely attractive, for some reason she’d yet to pin down, and mildly concerning — and felt her pulse speed up. “What can I do for you?”

She raised an eyebrow as she looked down at him. “Straighten my office, apparently. Unless you’re going to claim Fred did it.”

He frowned in exaggerated thought. “That would be pretty impressive if he did. Though half of your office might also end up burned down if he tried, so…”

“So you confess,” she interrupted, smirking as she crossed her arms over her chest.

He held up his hands in concession. “Guilty. But it worked.”

What had worked? Neve’s eyebrows rose on her forehead as Trouble’s mischievous smile made her suddenly aware she’d fallen into some sort of trap. Her stomach twisted — excitement? Nerves? Both? — at his expression.

Well. This should be interesting. Or concerning.

[cherrylacuna]

The Last Day

By the time I meet Hayden Christensen, I’ve already decided to die.

Summary: A deeply personal one-shot exploring the darkest parts of my mind—written not for attention, but as a way to survive the heaviness, to bleed the pain onto the page, and to feel just a little less alone.

Pairing: Hayden Christensen x fem!reader (Me)

Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Healing, Slow-Burn Intimacy

Word Count: 2,3k

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, self-harm, eating disorder themes, depression, body dysmorphia, emotional breakdown, graphic discussions of mental health struggles, mentions of scars and starvation. Please read with care.

I wake up knowing exactly what I’m going to do.

There’s a strange calm that comes with finality, like when a storm settles and everything goes eerily still before the destruction begins. I don’t cry anymore. I haven’t cried in days. Maybe weeks. There’s just this hollow sort of silence in my chest, like the space behind a stage curtain before the lights go out.

I don’t check my phone. No one’s waiting for me. I turn my head and stare at the ceiling for a while, watching the way morning light seeps through the blinds in thin stripes. It paints my room in prison bars, and it feels… fitting.

My bag’s already packed. I folded everything last night like I was going on a trip, only this time there’s no return. Inside is a small, folded letter. It took me three tries to get it right. Not that it really matters—no one will understand anyway. I’ve tried explaining a hundred times, in a hundred different ways, and it always gets lost in translation. People think sadness is loud. Mine isn’t. Mine whispers. Mine starves. Mine slices.

I shower. I wash my hair. I paint my face with concealer, mascara, just enough to look human. There’s something strangely sacred about getting ready to die. Like you’re cleaning the vessel you’ve hated your whole life before finally letting it go.

The sleeves of my hoodie cover the bandages well enough. The new cuts sting when I pull it over my arms, but I don’t flinch. Pain isn’t shocking anymore—it’s familiar. Almost comforting. The ache is a reminder that I’m still here, for now.

I take the bus into the city. No one looks at me. Not even the driver. I fade in and out of the window reflection, the buildings passing by like a life flashing before my eyes. All the people I’ll never become. All the versions of me that never made it.

I bought the ticket weeks ago. Hayden Christensen fan event. Laughable, really. A girl like me, attending something that joyful. But he was a bright spot once. When I was younger. When I still had dreams. His voice used to lull me to sleep when nothing else could. His smile used to feel like warmth in the middle of a snowstorm. And maybe it’s pathetic, but I needed to see him in person—just once. Just to prove he was real. That softness like his still existed in the world, even if I couldn’t feel it anymore.

This is my goodbye to that hope.

The venue is packed when I get there. So many beautiful people. Alive people. Girls with healthy hair and shiny eyes and tiny waists. I keep my hood on, hands in my sleeves, shrinking into myself like a ghost among the living.

The line snakes around the building and moves slow. I don’t mind. I like waiting. Waiting means I haven’t reached the end yet.

I scroll through my camera roll. Just old notes. Quotes. Scar pics I took in the dark. Screenshots of breakdowns I never posted. I should delete them, but I don’t. They’re pieces of me, and no one else kept them.

I catch glimpses of Hayden on stage from a distance. He’s laughing. Eyes crinkled, hands moving as he speaks. His voice carries over the speakers—low, warm, familiar. My chest aches, and I can’t explain why. It’s like watching the sun from the bottom of the ocean. You can see it, but you’ll never reach it.

Eventually, the crowd thins. The line grows shorter. The lights dim slightly. His smile doesn’t change.

I’m the last one.

The girl before me giggles and flutters her lashes, leans in for a photo. He smiles kindly, never fake, and hugs her back. She practically floats away.

And then it’s me.

I step forward.

Our eyes meet.

Something flickers across his face. Just for a second. Like a thought he wasn’t expecting.

“Hi,” he says softly. Not just politely—softly. Like he’s already lowered his voice just for me.

I swallow. My hands are shaking inside my sleeves.

“Hi,” I manage, barely a whisper.

He tilts his head. “You okay?”

It’s instinct, I think—just something he says. But my mouth dries up. I try to nod.

He steps toward me, slowly. No rush. No assumptions.

“Come here,” he says gently, opening his arms.

I freeze for a second. Then I move forward like I’m being pulled. His arms close around me. Warm. Steady. He smells like clean clothes and something woodsy. His hand rubs my back once, lightly.

And then he pulls back.

And his eyes drop.

Just for a second.

Just enough to notice the frayed sleeve edge. The faint red seeping through the bandage I thought I’d hidden.

He doesn’t flinch.

But his expression shifts.

Not pity. Not disgust.

Worry. Real worry.

He doesn’t say anything right away. Just looks at me like he’s searching for something under the surface.

“What’s your name?” he asks softly.

I lie. I don’t know why.

He nods anyway. Doesn’t question it.

“Did you come alone?”

I nod.

His eyes flick down again. To my sleeves. To the way I’m barely standing upright. My weight shifts like I might tip over.

He clears his throat.

“Do you mind… staying a second?” he asks, almost cautious. “Everyone else is gone. I’ve got time.”

My breath catches. I don’t know what I expected. A photo. A goodbye. Not this.

“I—I shouldn’t—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly. “Just a second. You don’t have to say anything.”

I sit. He pulls a chair beside me, turns it slightly so we’re angled toward each other. The staff gives him a strange look, but he waves them off without a word.

The silence is so thick I feel like I might shatter it just by breathing too hard.

But I don’t move.

Because for the first time in a long time—

—someone sees me.

And he doesn’t look away.

He doesn’t speak for a while. Just sits beside me like we’ve known each other forever. Like the silence isn’t heavy between us, but sacred. His knee is close to mine. Not touching, but warm. Real.

My heart is in my throat. I can’t look at him. I just stare at the floor, at my shoes, at the way my sleeves cover everything except the parts that still pulse.

“You look like…” he starts softly, then pauses. “You look like you need to say something out loud.”

My eyes sting.

And for a second, I want to laugh—because yes. I’ve wanted to scream it into the void. Write it on walls. Rip it out of my chest with both hands. But no one’s ever asked.

So I say nothing.

He doesn’t fill the silence.

I clench my jaw, pressing my tongue to the roof of my mouth to stop the shaking.

“I don’t know where to start,” I whisper.

“That’s okay.”

There’s something in his voice that makes me believe it. No rush. No judgment. Just… space.

So I open my mouth.

And it all comes pouring out like blood from an old wound.

“I’m so tired,” I say first. “Like, soul-deep. I wake up and wish I didn’t. I walk around like I’m haunting my own life.”

He says nothing. Just watches me. Patient.

“I hate myself,” I continue, voice breaking. “I hate everything about me. My face, my body, my voice. I feel disgusting. Like I wasn’t made right. Like someone took the worst parts of a person and stitched them together just to see how long I’d last.”

My hands are shaking. I clench them in my sleeves.

“And no one sees it. Not really. I smile. I nod. I say I’m fine. And everyone believes me because they want to. Because it’s easier.”

He’s completely still. Not frozen—present. Listening.

“I haven’t eaten properly in days. Weeks, maybe. Sometimes I eat just enough not to faint. Sometimes I starve just to feel in control. But it’s never enough. I always feel too big. Too ugly. Too much.”

A tear slips out. I wipe it away with my sleeve like it’s nothing. Like I’m used to this. Because I am.

“I cut to breathe. Not to die. At least, at first. It’s like… my body’s screaming, and that’s the only thing that quiets it. Like, for five seconds, the pain makes sense.”

I can’t stop now. I don’t care if I’m ugly crying. I don’t care that this man—this beautiful, famous, untouchable man—is sitting beside me. He doesn’t feel famous right now. He feels human. Warm.

“I don’t have anyone,” I whisper. “Not really. People think I’m dramatic. Sensitive. Broken. They stop asking if they know you’ll say ‘fine’ no matter what.”

His eyes haven’t left mine once.

“And today…” My voice breaks. “Today was my last day.”

His breath hitches. He doesn’t speak.

“I planned it all. Wrote the letter. Cleaned my room. Cleared my history. Today was supposed to be goodbye.”

I laugh—sharp, bitter.

“But I wanted to see you first. Stupid, I know. I just… you were a part of the last version of me that was happy. When I was younger. Before everything cracked. You made me feel something. You still do.”

I look at him finally.

“I didn’t come here for a picture. I came here to see something beautiful before I left.”

Silence.

Thick and soft.

He doesn’t look horrified.

He looks… devastated.

And he leans in just slightly. Just enough for his voice to reach me without the whole world hearing.

“I’m so glad you told me,” he says gently. “Thank you.”

More tears. My whole body feels like it’s trembling from the inside out.

“I don’t know why I told you,” I say.

“Because it’s heavy. And you couldn’t carry it alone anymore.”

He’s right. God, he’s right.

I curl forward slightly, pressing my palms to my thighs.

“I feel broken.”

“You’re not,” he says without hesitation. “You’re hurting. You’re overwhelmed. But not broken.”

I shake my head. “You don’t know me.”

“I don’t have to know you to know that.”

His voice is low. Steady. Real.

“I saw it the second you walked up. Your smile didn’t reach your eyes. And when I hugged you…” He trails off. “You felt like you were saying goodbye.”

I choke on a sob. He was right again.

“I was.”

He leans in, and for the first time, he gently, carefully places a hand over mine. Not grabbing. Just covering it. A human touch. Warmth.

“You don’t have to do it,” he whispers.

I shut my eyes. The pain in his voice makes my chest twist.

“There’s help. I promise. It won’t always feel this loud. You won’t always be alone. Please… just don’t decide tonight.”

A tear slides down my cheek. Then another.

“What if I can’t fix it?”

“You don’t have to fix it all,” he says. “You just have to stay. Let someone help carry it.”

My whole body is trembling now. The grief of a thousand silent days unraveling like thread in his presence.

“I don’t want to die,” I whisper. “I just don’t know how to live like this.”

“I know,” he says. “That’s okay. That’s a start.”

He squeezes my hand softly.

“You’re still here. And I’m so glad you are.”

And for the first time in what feels like forever—

—I believe someone means it.

I’m still crying—silent, trembling sobs that I can’t control anymore.

But I don’t look away.

And he doesn’t either.

He just watches me like I’m not broken, like I’m not repulsive, like the mess spilling out of me is something he’s honored to witness.

Then, slowly, like he’s afraid I might flinch, he lifts one hand and cups my face.

His palm is warm against my cheek, thumb brushing just under my eye, catching a tear before it can fall. His touch is gentle. Reverent. Like I’m not some ruined thing.

Like I’m something fragile, not disgusting.

I freeze for a moment, stunned by how soft he is with me. How quiet.

“You didn’t deserve any of it,” he whispers. “Whatever they made you believe… they were wrong.”

Another tear falls. His thumb catches that one too.

His other hand rises and cups the other side of my face. Now he’s holding me between both palms, cradling me like I might fall apart if he lets go.

And maybe I would.

But right now, I don’t want to.

“Hey,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving mine. “You’re still here.”

His voice breaks a little. Just a crack.

“You’re still here.”

It’s not a question. It’s a miracle. A small, trembling miracle that he’s holding in both hands.

I make a sound—somewhere between a sob and a breath—and before I can stop myself, I lean forward.

And he pulls me in.

He wraps his arms around me fully, completely. Not careful this time. Not delicate. Just real. Like he means it. Like he wants me to feel it.

He holds me like someone who gives a damn. Like someone who’s angry I was ever made to feel this alone.

My face buries into his chest, and he holds me tighter.

“You don’t have to go through this alone anymore,” he murmurs into my hair. “You don’t.”

His hand slides up and down my back, slow, soothing.

“You matter,” he says softly. “Even when you feel like you don’t. Even when your mind lies to you. You matter.”

And I want to believe him.

God, I want to.

So I stay.

In his arms, in this moment, in this night I wasn’t supposed to survive—

—I stay.

And for the first time in so long, I think maybe I could do it.

Just one more day.

Because he’s right.

I’m still here.

And somehow, that means something.

Sometimes I just want to be noticed. The small, childlike version of me, full of delusion, imagines what it would be like to meet the one person who, even though he doesn’t know me, helps me so much. I wish I could hug him and tell him how much he means to me.

Love yall, xoxo

I'm rly sorry for that ;(

[danganronpa-shipping-galore]

I wasn't expecting people to be so fascinated with my Danganronpa character docs, especially since Wiki pages already exist, but I'm happy that you guys are! I was debating whether or not I should make these doc's public eventually, but they still need a few adjustments before being made public.

Also, while there ARE Wiki pages, Fandom Wiki isn't always the most reliable with either incorrect or downright MISSING information. For characters from Danganronpa Gaiden: Killer Killer in particular, there is SO much missing for the characters. But reading through the series twice now, I'm able to deliver 😊

So, here's what's included in these overly detailed character docs that are put into headings and subheading sections:

Basic Facts

Stuff you would see in their report cards, their dorms (or labs), things like that.

Personality

Pretty straightforward.

Character Analysis & Progression

How the character acts in *each* chapter or episode of the games/shows they are in, general facts, and how they developed over the years in general.

Bonus Material (semi/non canon)

UTDP and/or DRS will be included here. This section will include their intros, activities, and outros. There would also be DR: IF and/or Ultra Despair Hagakure.

FTEs

Gained skills, info revealed in each event, intros (screenshots), and present reactions/preferences (screenshots for the reactions.) Hell, I even added my own theories on why they love, like, dislike, and hate certain gifts. Yes that took a LONG time; it took me almost half a year in 2024 😅

Love Suite (V3 characters)

What is revealed about their character or relationship preferences.

School/Island/Salmon Mode

Intro, basic info (for the 2 first games they would include if they are more skilled with gathering or cleaning as well as lines of dialogue when energized vs drained), both story & character ending events, ALL date options ranked and sorted from best to worst including Trigger Happy Heart, Shot Through the Heart, and Harmonious Heart, as well as invites (V3 characters only)—all with screenshots.

NOTE: You may think it's unnecessary to add all these screenshots since there are already Wiki pages dedicated to these bonus date modes, but again, some of them I noticed either *miss* some lines of dialogue here and there, or mix the order.

Relationship with Others

Now THESE are the artistic brushes I use to paint my canvas for "as a ship"—so to speak. Whether moments from canon interactions, bonus material, FTEs, or even merch, I try to include as much as possible. One thing to note though, is this:

Let's say you're searching through the relationship with others section for Shuichi Saihara's character doc, and you scroll down to Kaede, in Shuichi's doc you will see how *he* acts with or thinks about Kaede, not necessarily how *Kaede* acts with *him*, since that would be in her *own* document. It's mostly to avoid repetition and point out the differences/similarities on their own.

Aaannd, that's all! Now, for two final points to bring up:

1. I haven't read the Togami series because it's very ambiguous in terms of being canon or not, doesn't have to do with the creator despite him enjoying the series, and I honestly don't have any personal interest in checking it out any time soon.

I also haven't read most of the non canon manga or 4Koma stuff.

But if you're specifically interested in either, thankfully Togami seems to have translated synopsis info online if you simply search it up, and the manga/4koma stuff is also pretty easy to find. Whenever I make my "as a ship" videos however, please feel free to comment shipworthy or interesting character moments from either source material on the videos themselves!

2. Characters with barely any screen time and/or don't have SO much info that you need to make into a full doc are put into the "minor character" category/doc. But they still have the basics like character progression, personality, relationship with others, so on.

[oishitea]

I cannot begin to summarize how Monster Next Door finally portrayed a flawed parent getting a good ending in a way that satisfied me. I have such beef with Thai BLs constantly giving our mains difficult parents, terrible asshole parents even, and then just justifying the way they treated their child like shit as being parental love and their kid accepts an apology (not you Bed Friend, the holy grail of giving shitty parents their due).

The tension between Diew and his mother, Kade, is obvious, and I was really afraid that the issue would be brushed off as casually as all the rest, due to my past viewing experiences. For a good portion of the show, she seemed overly concerned and harsh toward Diew and it really bothered me.

It was this visual that made things really click for me:

(also I'm sorry for the quality of photos of the show, Gaga now seems to turn the screen black when I try to take a screenshot on my laptop, so I took them with my phone)

Loss of a loved one is hard to talk about with strangers, but it's often more difficult to discuss it with other loved ones who knew them. Diew's father meant everything to him in his childhood because their personalities and dispositions made it easier to enjoy spending time together. I cannot speak as a parent, but I can only imagine the loneliness generated by the loss of a partner (losing a main emotional support you now desperately need) and then watching your child deal with grief by withdrawing from you (a child you have, up until now, not established a relationship as close as your late partner had).

God had the fortune of meeting Diew in the present, and that allowed him to get to know him without any preconceived notions of who he was to influence that development. Kade didn't have that luxury; being a parent means seeing your child through every stage of life and adapting to the changes that come with them. I can only imagine how much harder that had to be when she became a single mother and the clash of personalities made it significantly harder to connect. At some point, she clearly clung to a version of Diew that at least made her feel relevant by presenting her love as wanting to remove all possible worries.

Grieving separately being the main wedge between them runs with some of the themes of the show, I believe. We've watched God and Diew grow together and sort out their differences because ultimately they wanted the same thing - to show they are interested and care for each other - but their challenges presented mostly in how they went about it. Diew and his mother also care about each other. The strain is part of that love and how it has also been weighed down by years of misunderstanding and uncertainty.

Kade recognizing her failure to meet Diew in the middle and letting him know how she felt about it was HUGE to me. So many people will refuse to recognize the failure, and if they do recognize it they do not want to admit it for what it is, much less voice how they feel about it. Also disappointment in one's self as a mother, I believe, is incredibly relatable. It doesn't absolve all wrongs, but it's an incredibly important factor in being willing to do better.

She isn't blaming him here. She isn't using his feelings against him. She apologized without trying to erase what happened. She is simply letting him know that all she wanted was to be closer.

And then Diew seizes the moment. He's grown up and become someone less recognizable to the person she already didn't know very well. That doesn't mean they can't work things out.

Of course this is the solution. This is the green flag communication boyfriends show. But moreover, it's about realizing that life and people come with differences and changes and that doesn't mean that things have to go wrong or end badly. Often the fears that get built up in our heads - the monsters we first perceive them as - are not as scary as they seem, if they are at all. If growth is going to happen, we have to face them.

Excuse me while I sob in the corner, but this response makes Diew such an exceptional character to me. It demonstrates how he has changed from the beginning of the narrative but also remained true to himself. He has always needed someone patient and kind enough to listen to him as attentively as God does. Being heard for what he needs has done him wonders. His struggle to reveal the things that deeply hurt him and seeing how not sharing them can hurt the people he loves in return was an important lesson. Now that his mom has finally shared her pain, the pain that started years ago by no fault of either of them, he can extend that love toward her in a way he knows will reach her.

Diew and his mother are equal in how they can move forward. The relationship isn't treated like a hole in the wall to putty over, but truly something that can be built upon a newer and stronger foundation. I greatly enjoyed the finale as a whole, but this aspect of it tugged at my heart strings personally. I adore this show. Forever and ever.

[7clubs]

if anyone cares, the Internet Roadtrip has consumed my every waking moment the past week (that isn't consumed by working on my comic, on which I have an incredibly difficult deadline).

I have been chronicling and timestamping much of the dead stretches of the journey when the USA gang are mostly asleep. I was there for the climactic final Bot Battle of Bar Harbor. I've been really into Maine lately.

took a ton of screenshots, but I'll sort through them later when I have more time ^_^ have WBOR fanart for now

[xxnashiraxx]

With Stars to Fill My Dream (13) - Moving Through the Silence Without Motion

Whew- sorry, this one took longer than anticipated!! I was on vacation last weekend and couldn't make the last-minute changes I wanted to make that would have allowed me to post on Tuesday, but it's all done now! ☺ Back on schedule!

✧˖ Release Schedule: Every 2 Weeks ˖✧

Summary: The camp deals with the aftermath of their encounter with the dream visitor, and a certain fluffy friend joins their odd group of misfits. Ofelia experiences another embarrassing predicament, and their party finally enters the goblin camp to face down the three leaders and clear the way for the tieflings in the Grove. Branded by a priestess, rediscovering the luxury of coffee, and sharing a sweet opportunity with her favorite fanged companion aren't enough to cushion the blow of reality all while Astarion tries to sort through emotions he would rather not address.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 7,603

AO3

Took some fun screenshots!! Please enjoy the opening below the cut ❤

✧˖Tag List: @khywren @allymcfee

“Are you alright?” Shadowheart pokes her face into Ofelia’s tent, pale and clammy. Ofelia scrambles to wipe her tears away, nodding and meeting the half-elf’s eyes.

“Yeah… I think so… did you see it too?” Shadowheart’s lips set in a firm line, nodding softly.

“We all did. Here, it’s dawn… come out. Let’s all sit and talk around the fire.”

Ofelia heeds Shadowheart’s suggestion, pulling her boots on and fixing her hair into a loose bun, resolving to bathe before they start the day. Officially. She hesitates, once again finding her return to her bedroll to be a mystery.

The last thing she remembers is swaying in Astarion’s arms, thinking about how pretty he looked under the light of stars, music from her own world making her feel like they were in their own pocket in time, separated from the tadpole, the cult, all of it. She remembers wishing he’d been from Earth, that way she’d want to go back… And try as she might, she can’t bury these stupid feelings.

Her face flushes in shame at the memory of pressing that kiss to his cheek, that pang of longing when he hadn’t shoved her away but instead gazed at her in surprise… It makes forgetting that it happened ten times worse. Then she returned to her tent, somehow, a faint feeling of unease now clouding her mind. How did she get back? Did she go back alone? She can’t shake the feeling that she’s missing something important, but she can’t put her finger on what it might be…

She walks out into the early dawn, stunned to find another surprise- a welcome one at that.

“Scratch!” Ofelia crumples to her knees as he runs up from beyond the outskirts of their camp, the rest of her groggy companions yelping or jumping out of the way as the dog barrels into her. “Oh, I’m so glad you're safe!” She mumbles into his fur as it pokes her neck and cheek and he nearly knocks her backward. He licks her face and barks and she scratches his ears, giving him little kisses on the snout and top of his head.

“Is that a dog? Oh my goodness!” Karlach cries tearfully, bringing a stick over. She seems to be talking to Scratch, but all Ofelia can hear are soft yips and excited growling. “He says he wants to stay if we’ve got the room?”

“Oh my god of course he can stay!” Ofelia sobs, wiping her eyes as Scratch licks the happy tears off her cheeks. “I love him so much,” She sniffles to Karlach and the two of them giggle and lead Scratch over to the fire as the rest of their companions huddle around.

“In addition to Lae’zel, we’re letting more than one mangy mutt stick around?” Astarion frowns, a sour look on his face. Ofelia scoffs as Gale hands her a steaming cup of tea, watching Lae’zel do no more than grunt and roughly shoulder the vampire out of the way on her path toward the fire. His affronted yelp and subsequent snarl make Ofelia laugh under her breath as she smiles at Gale in thanks and hands Scratch a couple of hunks of sausage from their stock.

“You all were approached in your sleep by the same visitor, weren’t you?” Astarion mutters, lips still twisted in displeasure. Ofelia regards his unkempt head of hair with an amused smile, feeling privileged to see him before he’s had a chance to put himself together for the day.

[jamesmmorgan]

GRANTATHON DAY 2: Maurice (1987) - The Midnight Realm and My Parents' Divorce

Genre: Romance/Drama

Starring: James Wilby, Hugh Grant, Rupert Graves, Ben Kingsley

'I would have gone through life half-awake if you’d had the decency to leave me alone.’ - Clive Durham

It is the 2nd of December 2024, and against my better judgment I am watching Maurice again. When I watched the film for the first time I believe I was not quite evolved enough to truly appreciate it, and by the time I read the book upon which the film is based I was far too wise to finish it. In fact, I stopped right in the middle, after Clive returns from Greece, and I put it down and never picked it up again. Similarly, I could only make it to the one hour mark on this re-watch before I had to turn the TV off and make myself a stiff drink (whiskey and cointreau, if you must know).

While ‘Hughie’ Grant’s cinematic debut in Privileged was disappointing, both for the brevity of his onscreen appearance and the kind of acting that would give Tommy Wiseau a run for his money, Maurice is quite a different story. Grant plays Clive Durham, an aristocratic student at Cambridge who falls desperately in love with the titular Maurice Hall (pronounced ‘Morris’, for those like me with more Romantic inclinations). A lot of people in queer media have been holding space for this film since its release, by which I mean it’s been analysed to death by now. Perhaps that is just my skewed, spoilt perception of it as someone intimately familiar with gay cinema, but I think the rule of thumb most sheltered middle-class lefty Southerners use in these cases is the following: if a book or film has a review in the Guardian, and enough prestige about it to get a 30th anniversary showing at the Cambridge Arts Picturehouse, it’s as good as universally acknowledged (at least among the likely readers of this blog). As such, I will endeavour not to retread too much all the common ground when it comes to this film, such as its themes of class or the censorship of the original book, but I will do my best to elucidate my own connection to it.

SPOILERS AHEAD

I began this rewatch with my mother, who is herself a Cambridge alum. She spent the first ten minutes of the film pointing out and naming all the colleges featured onscreen, then retired early to bed as she is prone to doing these days. Today had been a day of great jubilation for us, because my father finally filed for divorce. When the e-mail from HM Courts came through, my mother took a screenshot and sent it to him with the caption ‘Yay!’

A question that filmmakers have been asking since they started projecting stories onto little strips of tape is whether it is better to know someone and lose them than to have never known them at all. While canoodling in the grass in one of the film’s most screen-grabbed scenes, Clive remarks to Maurice, ‘I would have gone through life half-awake if you’d had the decency to leave me alone.’

The tragedy of this line is that Clive will ultimately favour the half-slumber of a heteronormative life over the searing pain of living wide-awake, much like the protagonist of I Saw the TV Glow (another exceptional queer film). Both Clive and Owen catch glimpses of that infinitely more vibrant, more perilous reality, and in both cases they recoil and run away, to Greece or to the 90s limbo of the Fun Zone, all the while carrying that precious, glowing secret inside of them like a neutron star, only denser and even more all-consuming. Both, you could argue, would have been better off had they never gotten that first taste of honey. With nothing to compare it to, what could they possibly lament about their half-life, which to them would seem all the life there is to live?

But, as much as directors like to posture that their work is all ‘ambiguous’ and there is no right answer, the conclusion you’re typically expected to draw from these sorts of films is that no, their lives would not have felt less empty had they never come to know what was missing from them. Owen suffocates either way; Clive is always unfulfilled. And to some extent, what makes these characters who they are is that curiosity about themselves in the beginning, that daring to peek inside however briefly to see what all the commotion is about. Both are not ready — yet — to pull back the curtain and bare those curiosities to the world, make themselves vulnerable and possibly even targets of violence just for a chance at happiness, with no actual guarantee that they’ll achieve it. Peace is guaranteed in the hiding, happiness is merely promised in the seeking. Or something to that effect.

I refill my glass. This time, I’m doing two shots of whiskey and one of cointreau (the ratio was all off on the last one). I like the orange flavour because it’s vaguely Christmassy, but not that much. I think about starting the second half, but I’m not ready yet. My mother was given an early edition (we believe a first printing) of Maurice by a gay friend of hers when she was at Cambridge, which definitely belonged to the library at one point because it has a log of people who took it out in the front along with a photograph of E.M Forster and a newspaper clipping from the 70s, when the book was published for the first time. The sort of artefact a character in a movie might discover that conveniently delivers all necessary exposition for that story beat. The book belongs to me now, and it lives buried somewhere in my room out of sight, along with my old school jumper and a collection of tiny drawings of Ben Wishaw’s Q from the James Bond series tucked inside the grey woollen tip of an old mitten.

Grant portrays Clive’s inner turmoil with such deftness and nuance, I am not surprised he has made a new name for himself recently with his ‘freak show’ era in Hollywood. For all his self-deprecating and playful disparagement of his early career, his second film out the gate has Grant’s flair for subtlety and pathos on full display. I acknowledge my bias in saying this but I feel so, so deeply for Clive throughout the film, although like everyone else I am increasingly disgusted by him. By his cruelty, by his cowardice, by his pretension and self-absorption. At the closing image of him looking dolefully out the window at an apparition of Maurice as he was in their heyday at Cambridge, the words ‘serves you right’ come immediately to mind. But he’s not that bad off, all things considered. Perhaps he has chosen to stay in the Midnight Realm of the Maurice universe, but he is a wealthy man of high status, with a wife who will at least provide him some company in his old age. The latter is a comfort many straight men take for granted these days, my own father included; I often suspect I inherited my worst traits from him (be that through genetics or by example).

Maurice is a movie about a man called Maurice who defies class boundaries and societal norms to pursue a true, genuine connection with a working-class man called Alec Scudder. But Maurice is also a movie about rejecting love, deciding that society is right and diverting all your energy into moulding yourself to fit it. Because when you’re young, you still believe in the fairy tale that things can ever go back to 'the way they were before'. You believe your parents will get back together and it will be exactly the same. You believe that if you keep your head down and stay inside the lines, you can return to your childhood later and catch up on all the things you missed while you were busy behaving. But eventually you learn that every moment is unique, and everything must come to an end — that is the only constant there is. You will never get to be thirteen again, except this time you do it all differently, do it all right. You are dying from the moment you are born and the sooner you realise this, the sooner you can accept it, the better you can swallow that medicine that sends you to the Midnight Realm, numbing you just enough to make the remaining conscious half of your brain pay no mind to the other. Maurice is a movie about cutting off your hand to feed your stomach and starving to death in the time it takes to bring it to your lips.

OVERALL RATING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

HAIR RATING: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

MUNGO SCORE (1-10): 11

Tune in next time when we'll be keeping an eye out for Mungo in Rutherford's 1987 Crime Thriller White Mischief!

[blackbutlerfandomnerddomain]

Theory: Joker and Beast killed Doll's parents and Doll was born into a noble family

Okay yeah this was a weird thing to start with but I'll explain! Starters I mentioned this in a PM to @midnight-in-town about this theory but decided to finally write about it, this is a theory/headcanon I personally have you are free to not enjoy it or believe it cause this is my mind

So in Book of Circus episode 5-6 (I forget the actual number) when Sebastian seduces Beast is where this started. In the scene building up the two going back to Beast's tent when Sebastian said along the lines, "Why must you be with a man who only brings you pain?" and instantly it flashes to this scene which I took screenshots for this research;

This stuck with me.

Now I personally believe the additional scenes/scene changes, big or small, mean something from Yana to us. Like the added scenes of Doll and Ciel like Doll's conversation with Ciel once they got their tent for example. So in other words I don't feel like this was shown just for randoms.

Yet why do I think this scene is meant to be Joker killing Doll's parents? Cause he clearly loves her!

In the side story in the manga he tells the story of Doll's first loose tooth and how he was the one who suggested to look for work and then proceed to work for hours straight for one coin so Doll could believe the Tooth Fairy came.

He named Doll "Doll" cause to him he's precious

He clearly trusted Ciel enough to share a tent with her despite not knowing, same as Doll clearly trust him so much

Conclusion: Joker loves Doll. Probably much more than the rest of the circus group.

So this is the set up I have made up: Joker tracked down and killed Doll's biological family since compared to the others Doll went through worst. While everyone who was abandoned or wound up there was born with some sort of deformation or ailment, Doll was abused and horribly disfigured by her own family and then abandoned and she the youngest of the group so of course if they care for her they would probably kill them if they knew who they were... This could add some blackmail on Baron Kelvin on Joker. Cause Beast was right, they can easily run and if there were kids in the Workhouse they could just get them, not like Victorian orphanages had security, but Joker was very much firm to stay by Baron Kelvin most and even said "there's no turning back", maybe Baron Kelvin caught wind of the murder and promised to never tell a soul if he behaved.

Now the only evidence of this theory being the time period of the early circus years is the cloting

Joker's outfit reminds me of Joker's outfit in the official art-

But it also helps me pinpoint it takes place when Baron Kelvin went crazy-

See the ruffle collar?

The only difference is the hair, but I can argue this was still taken in early circus years.

Not to mention he looks rather... content/happy in this scene. I would assume his eyes would be wide or manic cause panic of being caught, not a soft look and a hint of a smile.

This theory alone was enough for me.

It was simple, it was easy.

Case close.

But then I looked at the background more to see why it feels... iffy...

This is when the second theory came in: Doll's backstory into weath.

First evidence, the painting:

I actually wanted to figure out if I can find the painting's possible inspiration or look alike but it's so blurry I can't even figure out what it is.

But anyways-

I did some research to see if owning a painting was a sigh of wealth then and turns out I may be right!

Okay so I can't trust the results but still-

So paintings are a lot of money, which still is a thing today, but there was art thieves in the Victorian Era so one can argue the ones in this home stole art. But I highly doubt someone was so stupid to hang their stolen piece of art up for the world to see.

Now onto the fireplace evidence-

It's rather large with even some engraving details if you enhance the image.

Okay, so in this time period there was pretty much fireplaces in every home, BUT the only those in the middle class and upper class had ones in a larger scale with some form of ornament or art on it!

Source

This became my official name in my coffin. This was the final say of this house is wealthy or middle class at best.

So then... what would this mean?

Well, I mentioned this theory with @freckledfenrir and a bit with @deadlystarchart in our PM chats before and in those logs I've mentioned (I tried to go through so if either of you lovelies can screenshot where I said this so I can add it later it'll be helpful!) a possible picture;

You see back then there were more cases of missing kids/kids who were seen and never mentioned again then we assume. Ciel and Sebastian only got wind of the circus kidnapping shit because someone noticed a pattern and Queen Victoria was sad. Hell even Scotland Yard had problems in this case too! Back then families can easily abandoned, kill, or simply hide away a child and no one could bat an eye. Especially when money is involved. (You thought the rich vs the legal system was corrupt now?) So in theory Doll was probably born with either a upper class or middle class family, but someone with lots of money. She was abused, this is sadly still canon, but sometime after burning her, her family abandoned her in the East End.

You know a crazy fact I wasn't going to know if not for this theory? Rich people actually lived in the East End!

So that means it would make it easy for the family to abandoned a poor wounded little child without suspicious people around. But to also add a tragic/fucked up layer they stayed in the area to constantly eye and maybe even mock the poor living conditions of their child.

This also gives Joker a easy access to see someone who either reminds him of Doll or maybe even see Doll react to a couple walking down the street, follow them home, remember that home, and when the night is perfectly still he alongside the rest of the circus troop, or just Beast, he broke in to make sure those people will feel the pain his precious sister felt and will never forget...

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

How long was the process before the character reached its final version? (or a version that would be clearly recognizable as the character?)

So Dusk has gone through the process twice, essentially, first in the setting he comes from, a post-apocalypse RP I was in years and years ago. I think his personality became recognizable even to FFXIV people pretty quick, because I had a clear directive (nicest man in the world) for all my RP choices and it really solidified it for me. And 'nicest man in the world' as a starting point gets airlifted to other settings pretty easily, it's all the details that need to be worked on!

Dusk as he is now, in FFXIV, I would say it took until the end of Shadowbringers for him to not only act but look the way I think most people would describe him, if they were asked to do so. The nicest man in the world, eager to help anyone who asked, started right away (in part because ... I mean, it's a story-driven MMO, if you don't want to be a busybody helper person, it's probably not for you in the first place!), but he didn't start getting a little deeper until Heavensward, because boy, being the nicest man in the world starts to really weigh on someone after a while, doesn't it?

That sort of thing was tested in every expansion since, and while he is still, I think, the nicest man in the world, it's become more and more a conscious choice on his part to be that way, and not necessarily something that comes as naturally as it did in the beginning. But I think choosing kindness even after all the times it didn't work out how he wanted shows a sort of inner strength and commitment to making the world a little brighter for everyone he can that he didn't necessarily have when I started out with him, when it was just sorta something he did instinctively. I think I've also gotten a lot better at conveying he's a nice man who very much wants to help without being a full-on doormat.

As for his look ... he never really looks right to me in his older sprouty screenshots, because I'm so clearly still learning how to dress an elezen man in a way that's coherent as a 'style,' and worse, he's not wearing his glasses most of the time. But by the end of Shadowbringers, I had finally figured out the sorts of styles he looks good in AND the sorts of styles he likes, and most importantly, he fully accepted he's nearsighted at last and will never forget to wear his glasses again. :P

Thank you for the ask!

[sincerely-sofie]

Chapter 8 of Sofie Plays "Slay the Princess": The Hero and the Princess (Round 3) + The Damsel

This is a love story, but it's a love story that I wrote at thirteen during my Warrior Cats phase.

[ Beginning ] - [ Previous Part ] - [ Next Part ]

... Hopefully she doesn't mind the flesh rotting off of my avian visage?

This run is going exactly like the one where I was forced to kill her by the Narrator--- I'm hoping I can change it by not alluding to her gnawing off her own limbs and just checking upstairs for a key.

FRICK.

Interestingly, the option to slay the Princess is no longer available here. The run is a bit different, despite being very similar.

I can't select any of the options. Am I stuck like this?

IF YOU SCROLL DOWN YOU CAN WARN HER. OH MY WORD. THE ANGST IN THIS SCREENSHOT.

Can I please chuck the blade away so that she can defend herself with it. Please. Pretty please. Narrator pleeeeeeeease---

Huzzah! Okay new game title: Slay the Borb.

... I didn't think that was actually going to be the route we took, but alright. Fair. Knowing the way the writing in this game has gone, she's going to miss anything vital and just make it hurt.

This is probably the single game I hate having so many predictions about prove to be correct.

Oh, shoot, it's a new chapter? I couldn't see through my tears.

New party member: Now introducing the Voice of the Simp! ... Smitten. Voice of the Smitten. Yes. That's what I said.

Mirror check! The Smitten is a dork. Moving on.

Once again, I didn't take the knife. I really gotta see what happens when I enter the basement with it in hand.

The Smitten ranting about how much he loves the Princess to the Narrator and Hero's utter dismay like:

I don't have any comments to make on this exchange other than how hilarious it is and how relatable it feels for someone who's had hallucinations try to talk to real people in the past.

The Hero was pulling out a squirt bottle for the Smitten two minutes ago, but the second the Princess calls him a hero he's competing for the Smitten's title. Peak character right there.

The idea of the Princess having a sort of Narrator instructing her on how to behave and what actions to take / things to say is INSANE and a question I had the second the Narrator told me to go down into that first basement. The immediate deconfirmation is a little saddening, but the Smitten's comment makes me wonder if the one who has reality warping powers here isn't the Princess, but us.

Hear me out. The way we interact with the Princess in the first chapter of every loop seems to dictate what the next Princess will be. It's like our opinion of her shapes what she becomes. She savaged our player character in that very first interaction, and then in the next, she was a wild animal that swallowed us whole. In the chapter preceding the Stranger, we never entered the cabin in the first place. We never met. And when we finally did, she was a fractal of possibilities--- almost as if because we hadn't formed an opinion of her yet.

GIRL HUH. Yeah no she's not real. This is a cardboard cut out with a speaker behind it.

NOPE DON'T LIKE THE FACT THAT THE MUSIC IS VERY MUCH CHANGING.

Hey wait her eyes look different. Am I crazy?

Yeah no a lot more than her eyes are different! The gal is having a crisis of identity that is represented by the art style and that is VERY COOL and also VERY DISTRESSING

Chickened out and didn't press the issue of her having her own wants beyond leaving the cabin beyond a second question. I said that if she wants to leave, then we'll leave, and she was abruptly back to normal. Sweetie you need therapy.

The Smitten just said "We have each other. We don't need the world for our happy ending." and that COULD just be his mushy romanticism showing... but what if it's not?

Turns out the Narrator is the one who's been locking us in the basement 90% of the time, not the cabin itself, or the Princess. When we were locked in, I asked the Princess if she thought she could open the door, and said I believed in her when she asked if I thought she could.

THE POWER OF DATING A MARY SUE Y'ALL

Ultra Princess I'm genuinely so thrilled to hear your terrifying ambience again this princess scares me infinitely more than the ones who gnaw off their arms or eat me please take her away ;w;

FINALLY GOT A SCREENSHOT OF THE ARMS. THIS TIME I WAS READY, HECKERS!!!

Continuing this in the next post. Can't wait to take my next mirror selfie! I'm not scared whatsoever :,D