#so I'm probably running the same one a few times

[crossdressingdeath]

I think when talking about choice it's also important to remember that Zevran... isn't actually any more representative of the Crows than Teia and Lucanis are (arguably he's less representative because I'm pretty sure the actual mechanics of how the Crows operate were retconned after DAO, his description of bidding on contracts and royals inheriting control of Crow cells doesn't match up to the system of houses and Talons we see later in the series; I'm aware that that's not a particularly solid argument and doesn't actually change his experiences, I just think it's worth keeping in mind when discussing the Crows that they seem to have changed on a structural level at some point in the series). He got unlucky in his boss for sure, but we have no actual way of knowing if that was standard at the time with just the one data point. The Talon of House Arainai at the time chose to run his house like that... and perhaps not coincidentally died in 9:31 (although as far as I'm aware there's no confirmation on how he died, I wouldn't be surprised if his underlings got sick of the mistreatment; treating the trainee best assassins in Thedas like shit isn't actually a smart business decision). It wasn't "the Crows" as some faceless conglomerate, it was the Crows Zevran specifically directly worked for. Meanwhile Teia (leaving out Lucanis because while I'm sure he'll be a very good First Talon we don't actually see him lead so there's no examples to pull from) chooses to be kind and treat those around her well, and seems to be pretty well loved among all the Crows we see who know her; she probably doesn't have to worry about any coups because she's actually by all appearances a good leader.

We can actually see another example of that with Zevran again during the events of DAO; while he'll fight to the death to defend his friend/lover when Taliesen attacks, if the Warden hasn't made the effort to earn his loyalty he will turn on them without a moment's hesitation when Taliesen gives him a way to walk back his decision to leave the Crows. The Crow houses seem to be as good or bad as their individual heads, same as the various parties in the series are made better or worse by the protagonist's efforts to make friends or be absolutely horrid. I find it actually weakens the theme of choice you're talking about when people act like the Crows are bad by default with a few exceptions when the reality seems to be a lot more... people make decisions, and when people with power make decisions they can make things a lot better or a lot worse. House Arainai in Zevran's day was led by someone who made decisions that made things worse; the fact that Teia and Lucanis choose to do better by their subordinates and the non-targets around them doesn't undo that, it just underscores the fact that the Eighth Talon of the time never had to be cruel. It wasn't something forced on him by how the Crows were run and it wasn't as far as we see necessary to keep up with the other houses; it was a choice.

You know that convo between Taash and Lucanis where they're talking about the Butcher is so incredible for so many reasons but I want to focus on Lucanis's line 'there is always a choice' because I think a lot of people write that off as the writers forgetting the Crows are supposed to be assassins and going on what Zevran said in Origins about you know the Crows having him kill his lover and then laughing in his face about it because they wanted him to know that he never has a choice BUT have we ever considered that Lucanis is right? Like you could take this as oh he's the First Talon's grandson and he's in a position of power but also... what if good people can still exist in bad environments? Like Lucanis and Teia exist in the Crows, despite everything done to them. If you read Tevinter Nights, neither of those people ever says the Crows are good, and in fact Lucanis is the one who says 'we're not heroes anywhere' and yet despite that, he takes the time to make sure the slaves get out. Teia is upset that the kitchen staff were murdered. Zevran is kind and helpful and heroic despite everything done to him. Why must the existence of good people in a bad organization indicate that the organization is good? Why can't people be good despite their circumstances? Of course Lucanis would say 'there is always a choice' because this is the guy who was supposed to be a breeding ground for a demon and instead of that he kept both of them alive because he felt bad for Spite but at the same time he desperately wanted to live. Like I don't know when we decided that Teia and Lucanis were the representation of the entire Antivan Crows' morals. And both of them still enjoy killing people. Like, a lot. Idk. I think it's more powerful to have people be good people and choose to be good people despite their shitty circumstances and to the best of their abilities.

[goobstars]

Hello ( ≧∀≦)ノ may I request a P.ai.nter x gn!reader fic where both of them finally confess after constant bickering and banter (and getting turned into swiss cheese from turrets/good people)

But completely forgetting P.ai.nters walkie talkie was still on and Sebastian could hear ever word. (Based on your dating hcs were Seb would tease tf out of both the expendable and P.ai.nter if they do start dating)

Btw, I'm the same anon who requested the patching up fic! Was kicking my feet and giggling the whole time it's SO GOOD

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐒𝐒

⋆        painter x reader

summary : after bickering with painter once more, you didn't expect your argument to turn into a confession.

tags : painter has a body, romance, confessions, mentions of turrets, and fluff.

note : people have been asking for p.ai.nter content lately, so let me lock in

you were about to throw hands with that computer.

you covered your ears while the sound of bullets hitting the table you were hiding behind echoed, and you could feel the power in every shot as the table pushed against your back.

though, you weren't scared of the bullets even though they could easily end your life. instead, you were irritated with them, and that was because you knew who was behind the attack.

painter.

you were aware that his room resided at the end of the hallway, but in order to get there, you had to get past this turret. even though it was only one, the room was built in such a weird way that it made it hard for you to move around, and the turret moved around hastily enough that you barely had enough time to hide.

your hands were removed from your ears as the shooting stopped, and you slightly leaned over the table to eye where the turret was going before going back to your original spot.

if you waited for the turret to go to the left, you could probably make a run for the little room you saw earlier. it was like a little safe space, and there was even another doorway that allowed you to hastily enter the hallway before entering painter's room.

you could see the hole in the wall, and you knew he was probably waiting for you. he could see you through the cameras littered throughout the blacksite—he knew you were present, and you could already hear the gripes that we're going to echo from him as soon as you entered his room.

as soon as you noticed the red laser pass by you, you forced yourself up before darting into the little room, and you peeked through the next doorway to eye the hole in the wall. you waited for the laser to move away, and once it did, you bolted towards the hole.

your shoes scraped against the stone as you grabbed onto the rocks that stuck out, and you hoisted yourself up before digging your feet into the stone for a better grip. you started to make your way up into painter's room, and you eventually entered before standing up.

you dusted off your jumpsuit while your eyes fell onto the robot, and he only turned to face you when you cleared your throat.

oddly enough, he wasn't in his little room like he had been the past few times you've visited. the door to his room was wide open, and he had been messing with the servers in his room before you caught his attention.

he peered at you as an irritated groan rang out from him. "oh, it's you."

the disgust in his voice made you frown, "i'm not happy to see you either."

"then why'd you come into my room?"

"to tell you to stop tormenting me."

at your words, a smirk flashed on his screen, and he turned to fully face you as he lifted a hand to fix the sleeves of his lab coat. "me? tormenting you? i haven't done anything—"

"tell that to the turret out there that almost turned me into swiss cheese."

"don't compare something as amazing as cheese to you."

you felt your eye twitch while painter's grin only grew, and you only let out an annoyed sigh before taking a few steps closer to him. "can you at least calm it down with the gauntlets or something?"

"why? it's not like it's hurting you."

"it hasn't hurt me yet," you corrected. "i've almost gotten shot a few times."

"that sound's like a you problem."

you deeply frowned at painter, and he only let out a dramatic sigh. "you're no fun...i don't know why you're complaining, you didn't actually get shot, and even if you did, i would've turned off the turrets as soon as they got close to you."

your frustration flickered into confusion, and you raised an eyebrow. "you would turn them off?"

he let out a scoff as he turned his attention back to the servers, "i mean, yeah—i don't want you getting hurt."

"and why's that?"

"because i like—"

painter hastily cut himself off as he slowly turned his head to face you, and he narrowed his eyes. "no."

"you like what?"

"i don't like anything. you're twisting my words—"

"DO YOU LIKE ME!?"

you watched as dark red lines coated his screen, and he hastily shook his head. "NO—NO! NO, I DON'T! YOU'RE WEIRD FOR THAT!"

"THEN WHY ARE YOU BLUSHING!?"

at least you assumed he was blushing. it was fairly hard to tell given how he had a screen for a head, but you would just have to guess that he was flustered.

you watched as he continued to shake his head while you started to walk towards him, and you teasingly wrapped your arms around his neck as he peered down at you. his screen slightly glitched, yet you felt his hands hover over your hips before resting on them.

"just shut up. you're weird—"

"and you're embarrassed."

he slightly frowned at your words, "you're making fun of me, why wouldn't i be embarrassed?"

"why would i make fun of you when i feel the same way?"

painter paused at your question, and everything went quiet before a sound broke the silence.

"aww, how cute..." a static voice laced in sarcasm echoed throughout the room, and your head snapped to face the walkie-talkie that resided in painter's little room.

you forgot that he had that there.

"SEBASTIAN!" painter shouted in surprise, and he pulled away from you as if sebastian could see you both through the radio. his face had light lines of pink sketched across his cheeks, and his hands were slightly raised in the air as he faced the radio.

sebastian's chuckle rang out, and it was followed by a taunting hum. "didn't know the expendable had a thing for computers..."

you felt your face grow warm at sebastian's words, and you slightly frowned. "eavesdropping is rude, you know."

"it's not eavesdropping if your little boyfriend left his radio on. plus, it's not like i didn't know. you're all he talks about—"

"BYE, SEBASTIAN!"

painter hastily spoke as he made his way towards the walkie-talkie, and sebastian only laughed before the sound was cut off by painter turning off the radio.

you slowly made your way into the room while painter held the radio, and he placed it back down on the table in front of him as he slowly turned around to face you.

a nervous chuckle erupted from him as he shrugged, "sebastian doesn't know what he's talking about—"

"you talk about me?"

your question rang out, and painter lifted a hand to rub the back of his neck while his eyes darted everywhere but on your form. "no! no, not at all..."

"you're a liar."

the statement held taunt as you continued to walk in the room, and you made your way towards him while he took a step back. his back pressed against the table, and it slightly shifted due to the sudden push. the radio fell against the surface of the table, yet you only continued to make your way towards painter while his hands gripped the edge of the table.

and once you stood in front of him, his gaze finally met yours.

he stared down at you, and his eyes widened as you raised your hands to grasp the collar of his lab coat.

"what—what are you doing?" he questioned while his peer slightly darted around, but it only landed back on you once you pulled his face a bit closer to yours.

"you never answered my question from earlier."

he looked slightly confused, and you tilted your head. "do you like me?"

you got a short nod in response, but as you stared at him, he let out a shaky breath before firmly nodding. "yes..."

"good."

he didn't even have time to respond before you gently pressed your lips against his screen, and he stiffened up while his hands gripped the edge of the table tighter. the material creaked due to the pressure of his grasp, and it fell silent once he hesitantly let go of the table to wrap his arms around your waist.

one of his hands trailed to your lower back, and you were pushed closer against him.

you weren't going to be able to pull away anytime soon, were you?

[chainslobber]

IN HONOR OF SUNDANCE

I realize a lot of my followers probably never knew about Sundance's past/origin and why I was so attached to this girl, and while her death is still rippling through me, I figured I'd honor her and show her through the years.

In 2015, I was looking for a dog. It had been a long time since I had one, and I moved back home with my father, who was a very 'no more pets' type of person. But my sister snuck in a chihuahua before she moved out so I thought 'why not'? I was searching online for hours and was about to give up when I saw this picture followed by the words: URGENT.

As it turns out, Sundance was due for euthanasia the very next day. She had no takers. Not a single person wanted her. So I contacted the number on the form. It was almost midnight but I didn't care. Something told me to get this girl. The person on the other end was a very groggy Southerner woman, and when I explained I wanted Sundance, she started crying. "Ain't nobody wants this mutt," she told me with a laugh. "Ain't nobody want this little angel."

She told me that Sundance was found crying in a trash heap on a deer hunting range. She was stabbed in the back with a hunting knife and tied to a tree by a prong collar. They rescued her, got her stitched up, and then waited for her to heal. Because of her abuse, she would shake if there were loud noises, she was terrified of people and would cower and shake, and nobody could go near her.

When she was ready to be adopted, people walked by her cage. Nobody wanted a dog they couldn't pet. She was taking up space and the shelter took the decision to put her down. Her foster was working hard but the work was still difficult. This dog couldn't be rehabilitated in only a few days.

Now, the shelter I got her from is what we call a 'freedom ride' shelter. They take unwanted animals from the south and drive them all across the US. I told them 'I want this dog' and they said 'ok'. So, they did her spay, her heartworm treatments, and then in a few months' time, she was ready. The drive took three days and her foster stayed with her in the truck the whole time.

Three days later, and me, my husband, and my brother are driving to Connecticut to the closest drop-off. People were in line, excitedly talking about their new puppy or kitten. Mothers with their kids, older couples waiting for a little dog. And then was my turn. I told them the shelter, the dog's name, her adoption number and she was So afraid to leave the truck. Everyone was laughing as she had to be picked up and dragged to us, and when we got her leash, she tried to run.

I heard people go 'aww she's so scared' and 'wow she's gonna be a handful'. And I got mad. I got so pissed. And as we drove home and she freaked out, being close to people she didn't know--that she was terrified of--we brought her to the petstore, got her a collar, got her a tag with her name, and welcomed her home.

And the very first thing she did after sniffing around and getting used to her surroundings?

She smiled.

"She doesn't play with toys," her foster told me.

"She's too afraid to be near people and it's hard to even talk without her flinching. It might be hard to even have her in the same room for a while."

"She feels safest in a crate so make sure she has a large one that's covered to sleep in for her first week."

"She doesn't do well with any other animal and we don't know how she is with small kids so make sure to keep her away just in case she fearfully snaps."

"Truth be told...I'm not sure if this girl is a lost cause or not, but I want to give her a chance."

To be loved is to be changed.

Thank you for giving me a chance with her. Thank you for letting me have nine amazing years with her she never would've had otherwise. Thank you for letting me love you with my entire heart.

Thank you for always being my best friend, Sundance.

[happyllamaglama]

[ismyteadoneyet]

.

[wesavegotham]

The different parts of Gotham War not lining up at all in terms of plot, character motivation and characterization is bad enough, but now that DC is suddenly trying to explain when other titles like Detective Comics and Batman and Robin are taking place in relation to Gotham War it gets even worse because now all of these storylines make so much less sense too.

[monster-noises]

When still living in the same city as her there is always a chance that you will run into a person you Do Not want to see, and even if you recognize her but you are not sure she saw you and you only walked by her it can Still absolutely Tank your mood for the rest of the day.

[tantamounttoflirtation]

If they announce a s4 I genuinely might have to log tf off. I don't even want to see what sort of dumpster fire it would be. Maybe I'm just being pessimistic, but I don't see much hope for it being good or worthwhile. I'm going to rant in the tags so if you disagree with my opinion thats cool you can just ignore me and continue scrolling :)

[apocalypticdemon]

I would say I have no explanation for this, but uh. I really do. Behold: the first ideas for a Terror IndyCar AU that has possessed me for the last 36 straight hours. It would not leave me alone until I put some of it to paper.

Behold: Crozier as an established, relatively liked, if cynical, driver, upstart rookie James Fitzjames, and Hickey, who is, as always, totally normal and not causing problems.

The art is rushed, but I needed to purge the demons as fast as I could

[ismyteadoneyet]

How fortunate am I to have so many Things to love and be excited about, to appreciate and look forward to?

Things I feel so strongly about that they stumble into my mind, univited, at random times of the day? Things that spill into my speech and vocabulary without me noticing? Things that impact my vision to the point where everywhere I look, everywhere I go, I see ghosts of them?

How lucky am I to have so many Things I love and cherish enough for them to reshape my very person, change my beliefs and make me grow? Things that make my own loved ones see the Things out in the wild, and go out of their way to make sure I see them too?

How wonderful is it that I have Things that I love so much that the very act is deemed and dubbed "not normal", making my love for them seem like it's more than they are supposed to recieve? An out-of-the-ordinary and above-the-norm appreciation for the Things that make the people around me shake their heads, call me "silly".

My dear, beloved Things, may I always stay silly for you ❤️

[tenthdocter]

God writing a wedding is actually harder than it seems! Especially if you're trying to make it relaistic and use the proper phrases and processes and everything

[andhumanslovedstories]

There was an interesting situation at work recently. I'm gonna keep it vague for privacy, but basically the husband of a patient threatened to shoot hospital employees after he perceived they were ignoring his wife's situation. Which, looking at the case, people were like, yeah, this patient was in prolonged discomfort and had delayed care over multiple shifts due to factors that weren't malicious but were careless. Basically, the task that would have helped this patient was classic "third thing on your to do list." It had to be done, but it didn't need to be done urgently. The impact of not doing this task likely wouldn't be felt on your shift. The work of doing this task would require the coordination of a couple different people. Very easy to just keep pushing it back, and because it wasn't an emergency (until it was), it just kept being pushed back.

You could do a root-cause analysis of the whole thing (and we have) to really break down what happened, but ultimately the effect was the same as if the neglect had been malicious. I'm sympathetic to the husband, as were a lot of people in this situation, because, yes, hospital staff dropped the ball in a way that meant the patient was in unnecessary pain and discomfort with delay of care for over a day, despite multiple requests from patient and family to address the situation. The husband reacted emotionally to a situation where he'd felt helpless and ignored. Institutional neglect ground away at him until he verbally snapped.

And the way he snapped was to tell staff, "I'm going to come back with a gun and shoot you all for what you've done." Which is about as explicit a threat as you can get. Does he get to keep visiting the hospital after that? How do we be fair to him, to the patient, and to the staff? He probably didn't mean it. Right? But how do you ignore a statement like that? If he does come back and commit a shooting, how will you justify ignoring his threat? But does one sentence said at an emotional breaking point define him? How much more traumatic are we going to make this hospital stay?

A couple years back, I worked on a floor a few hours after a patient had been escorted away for inappropriate behavior--by the way, you can't imagine how inappropriate the behavior has to be for us to do that. I have never seen another case like this. That patient said he was going to come back with a gun and shoot nurses that he identified by name. This didn't come to pass. Whether that was because the patient didn't mean it or changed his mind or was prevented or simply was not mentally coordinated enough to follow through on the plan, I don't know. I do know that shift fucking sucked. I remember the charge nurse telling me that it wasn't our jobs to die for our patients. If there was shooting, she told me to run.

There was another situation recently involving a patient in restraints. I despise restraints. I think the closest legitimate use for them is in ICUs for stopping delirious patients from ripping out their ventilators, and that should still be a last resort. I discontinue restraints whenever I inherit them, and I am very good at fixing problems before restraint seem like the only solution. Having said that, I work in a hospital that uses restraints, and so I am complicit in their use. Recently I walked into a situation involving restraints with zero context for what was happening, just that there was a security situation involving a patient who had been deemed for some reason to lack capacity to make medical decisions. They were on a court hold and a surrogate med override, which means they cannot refuse certain medications. The whole situation was horrible, and I've spent the days since it happened thinking about every way I personally failed that patient and what to do different next time.

At one point, the patient called one of the nurses a bitch, and the nurse said, "hey cmon, that's not nice," and the patient replied, "if you were in hell, would you call the devil a nice name?" And yeah! Fair! It is insane to expect people who are actively being denied their autonomy to be polite to us as we do it.

Then there was another patient on the behavioral health floor who got put in seclusion. It's so frustrating, by the way, that staff put them in seclusion because it would have been extremely easy to avoid escalating the situation to the point that it got to. But the situation did escalate, and by the time the patient was locked in a seclusion room, they were shouting slurs and kicking the walls. Other patients were scared of the patient even when they were calm because the patient talked endlessly about guns, poisons, bombs, etc. When I checked in with the patient in the seclusion room, they called me a cog in a fascist machine just following orders. And I was like, yeah. Fair.

Another patient: one night when I was charge nurse, I replied to a security situation where a patient trapped a staff member in the room and tried to choke her. The staff member escaped unharmed. She told me later that the patient had been verbally aggressive to her all day, but she hadn't told anyone because she knew he was having a bad day, she didn't want to get him in trouble, and she didn't think anything was actually going to happen. She said, "Patients are mean all the time."

And another case: I had a different patient with the ultimate combination of factors for violent agitation--confused, needed a translator, was hard of hearing so the translator was of little use, in pain, feverish, scared, withdrawing from alcohol, hadn't slept in two days, separated from his caregiver who had also just been hospitalized--the whole shebang. He shouted at us that we were human trafficking him and could not be reoriented to where he actually was or that he was sick. I tried all my usual methods of deescalation, which I am typically very good at. I could not get him to calm down. He had a hospital bed where the headboard pulls out so you can use it as a brace during compressions. He ripped that out and threw it at the window, trying to shatter the glass. At that point, with the permission of his medical surrogate and with help from security, I forcibly gave him IV medication for agitation and withdrawal. He slept all night with a sitter at his bedside to monitor him. I pondered when medication passed over the line into chemical restraint, but I stand by the decisions I made that shift.

Last one: I had a different patient who was dying who had a child with a warrant out for arrest. We didn't know for what, and no one investigated further because no one wanted to find out anything that might prevent this person from visiting his dying parent. Obviously, "warrant for arrest" could mean literally anything, although it was significant enough that security was aware of the situation and wanted us aware as well, but I was struck by how proactively the staff protected his visitation rights and extended him grace. Everyone was very aware of how easily the wrong word could start a process that would result in a parent and child losing the chance to say goodbye to each other.

In the case of the husband who threatened a mass shooting, you'd be surprised how many of the staff advocated for him to keep all visitation rights. After all, the patient wanted him there.

Violence--verbal, physical, active, passive, institutional, direct, inadvertent, malicious--pervades the hospital. It begets itself. You provoke people into violence, and then use that violence to justify why you must do actions that further provoke them. And also people are not helpless victims of circumstance, mindlessly reacting to whatever is the most noxious stimuli. But also we aren't not that. You have to interrupt the cycle somewhere. I think grace is one of the most powerful things we can give each other. I also think people own guns. Institutions have enormous overt and covert power that can feel impossible to resist, and they are made up of people with necks you can wring, and those people are the agents of that unstoppable power, and those people don't have unlimited agency and make choices every day about how and when to exercise it. We'll never solve this. You literally have to think about it forever, each and every time, and honor each success and failure by learning something new for the next inevitable moral dilemma that'll be along any minute now and is probably already here.

[surgepricing]

I think about Azula shooters often and their common refrain of "if Azula hadn't had a mental breakdown, she would've won" and I'm here to tell you that no, she wouldn't have.

There is no universe in which Azula was winning that fight with Zuko (or Katara, for that matter).

Azula spent so much of Book 2 being built up as this deadly terrifying force against whom the heroes are badly outmatched that it can be difficult to catch exactly how quickly Zuko is advancing.

Back up a bit to Book One. For the fearsome exiled crown prince of the Fire Nation, Zuko's not that impressive a firebender. He's not bad by any stretch, and he's able to lay the untrained Sokka and Katara flat pretty easily. Then he gets in the ring with Aang, who is an airbending master, and the difference between a regular bender and a master becomes apparent when Aang literally puts his ass to bed:

People have attributed this to the fact that no one's fought an airbender in 100 years, but I think it's also worth noting that Aang (a 12 year old from a pacifist nation) has probably never fought anyone before. Like, ever. And yet the second Aang thinks "okay, I'll attack back", the fight's over.

Zuko's got the same genetic predisposition for firebending talent that Azula does, yet it never seems to manifest because of his mental blocks. At the beginning of the series, he's already so beat down that all he really has is conviction, pride, and anger, so even with training from Iroh (the firebending master, thank you very much), he struggles. Yet throughout Book 2, when he has no time to train because he's on the run, he actually seems to advance faster. The fact that his bending is literally tied to his character arc (as his morals become tangled and he has to fight off aforementioned mental blocks) is pretty brilliant. Like, by the time of the Crossroads of Destiny, Zuko getting his ass handed to him by Aang is a pretty consistent feature of the show--he just can't match wits with him.

Hell, at the beginning of the series, he and Iroh (again: the actual firebending master) launch a combined power surface-to-air attack...which Aang casually swats away into a nearby ice wall. Come the Crossroads of Destiny, however, and Zuko by himself launches this bigass fireball that blows through Aang's defenses.

Zuko advances so quickly that it's scary. That prodigious talent is in him even if it doesn't come through as cleanly as with Azula. Who, by the way, was busy about to get flattened by Katara some few dozen feet away, until Zuko took over and then effectively stalemated her himself.

All of this in retrospect makes it abundantly clear why Zuko's firebending seemed to skyrocket so much when he learned true firebending from the Sun Warriors: it was really the only thing left. He's hard a hard road learning how to fight waterbenders, earthbenders, and airbenders, and even if unconsciously, he's applying the philosophy Iroh taught him about augmenting his bending style with aspects of other styles (see also, the waterbending-like fire whips he uses in the above gif). Once he actually understands fire and how it works, he's got it mastered. Hence why any gap between him and Azula effectively disappears as soon as their next fight--before her friends have betrayed her and her stability goes out the window. There's no real sense of urgency to their fight at the Boiling Rock prison. True, Sokka's presence with the sword helps, but Zuko doesn't look remotely worried and he counters Azula's every attack perfectly.

All her life, Azula only ever learned fire. She was taught by the best people the fire nation can employ, so she knows all the cool tricks, but she's still poisoned by the corrupted firebending practiced in the modern ATLA timeline. Unlike Zuko, who managed to get the basics if nothing else from Iroh (fire comes from the breath, and can be used to survive as much as to kill), Azula has always used fire as a weapon and a means to hurt others. She has no true knowledge of the craft, meaning she's got the same weaknesses as Zhao, she's just better disciplined to the point she can make up for it.

Zuko's victory was a given considering Azula's complete loss of control by the time of Sozin's comet, but even had she been in a perfect mental state, she'd have lost, because in many ways Zuko is simply the better firebender.

And that's the truth of it.

[applecaviar]

This was created because I'm ovulating and I was inspired by this art (link here).

What happens when you catch each LI humping a pillow? 🥵🥵

FOLLOW EKAY!!! art is amazing!!!

Full pictures are on Bluesky and X.

"What the hell?" That definitely sounded like Caleb, but the way he called your name was different. Not playful or teasing like usual. It was raw, desperate, almost pained. For a moment you think Caleb must have heard you come home and is calling for you from the kitchen. But the sound comes again, louder and it's clear something is very wrong.

You freeze on the stairs, hand tightening on the railing as you realize the noise is coming from upstairs.

Against your better judgment, you find yourself moving up the stairs, footsteps silent on the carpeted steps. You creep closer to his bedroom door, which is slightly open. You hear him grunt, followed by the creaking of bedsprings. Your stomach twists into knots as you push the door open a little wider, peeking inside.

The sight that greets you steals the breath from your lungs. 

Caleb, is on his knees on the bed, holding with both hands a pillow that is clutched tightly between his legs. His abs flex and tense with each thrust of his hips, the defined lines of his six pack glistening with a sheen of sweat.

A deep moan tears from his throat, your name falling from his lips like a prayer and a plea all at once. "Y/N..." he grunts with a sharp buck of his hips. The metal dog tag you gave him, the one he never takes off, swings and clanks against his chest with every movement.

His face is flushed a deep red, eyes open in concentration as he loses himself in his own twisted fantasy. His dark brown hair falls messily over his forehead, a few damp strands clinging to his skin. He looks lost in his own world, chasing some dark desire that you can only imagine involves you.

You stand there frozen, feeling a confusing mix of shock and embarrassment. You know you should look away, give him privacy, but you can't seem to tear your eyes from the sight of him so consumed by lust.

His breathing comes in ragged pants, chest heaving as he continues to grind against the pillow.

You don't know whether to be flattered, terrified, or turned on. Probably all three. But most of all, you are stunned. You had no idea Caleb was this intense.

The sound of the pillow rubbing against his heavy balls up to the tip of his cock, already slick with precum, makes you squeeze your thighs together.

"Fuck, pipsqueak..." Caleb grunts, "You feel so fucking good, baby. So tight and perfect around my cock." He gives a sharp thrust and the pillowcase darkens with his precum.

His filthy whispers fill the room, painting a vivid picture of the act he wishes he was performing on you. "Gonna fill this sweet little pussy up. Pump you so full of my cum, you'll be dripping with it for days."

Your cheeks flush hotly at his words. You've never heard Caleb speak like this before. It's raw, it's real, and it's terrifyingly intense. A dark shiver runs through you as you imagine him saying those things to you, doing those things to you.

Caleb seems to be chasing something, a release he desperately needs. His grip on the pillow tightens, knuckles turning white as he holds on for dear life. The bed frame creaks beneath him, "Fuck, I need it... I need you... Gonna cum... Gonna fucking cum..." he snarls, hips jerking erratically now. The pillow case is thoroughly soaked, the spreading dark patch testifying to his desperation.

A gasp escapes you as you take an unconscious step forward, the door swings open a bit more. In that same moment, Caleb's head snaps up, eyes flying open wide as he realizes he's no longer alone.

But it's too late. Far too late to stop the inevitable. With a deep moan that echoes off the walls, Caleb's back arches as he finds his release. His hips jerk forward one last time, and thick ropes of pearly white cum erupt from his cock, splattering obscenely across his stomach and chest.

Some of it even reaches his flushed cheek, a single strand dangling from his jawline as he pants harshly, struggling to catch his breath. His pelvis is glazed with his cum, the patch of hair there dripping with his seed.

For a moment, time seems to stand still. Caleb stares at you, eyes blazing with emotions, shock, embarrassment, but above all, hunger. It's like he's seeing straight into your soul and you are frozen in place, your own breath coming in shallow gasps. You don't know what to say, what to do. You are not sure if you should run, scream, or...god help you...take a step closer and let him pull you into his arms.

So you do the only thing you can think of.  You step out of the room, you let the door swing shut behind you with a soft click. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you stand there, back pressed against the closed door. You can still picture the look on his face, the raw need that contorted his features. It will be burned into you mind forever.

How can we go back to the way things were after this? 

Your heart skips a beat as you hear an unfamiliar noise coming from Sylus' room. It sounds like...grunting? You pause midstep, standing still just outside his bedroom door.

There's a strange, rhythmic creaking of bedsprings that makes your brows furrow. What on earth is Sylus doing in there at this hour, especially if he's not a morning person? You've never heard him make noises like that before. Perhaps surprising him like this wasn't the best idea after all.

You open the door slowly, maybe he is having a nightmare you tell yourself. Your heart lurches into your throat, eyes widening in shock. He is not having a nightmare, but something far more...intense. He's kneeling on the bed, gripping a pillow tightly between his thighs. The way his arm clutches it, fingers digging into the fabric, suggests a desperate, almost feral need.

His other hand is fisted in the sheets behind him, knuckles white from the force of his grip. The bed creaks and sways with his movements, the rocking of his hips unmistakable even in the dim light. He's panting, low grunts and growls rumbling from his chest as he grinds himself against the pillow, chasing his pleasure.

Shock roots you to the spot, hand still on the door handle. He's looking down at his throbbing cock, watching it, each slow thrust. His hips roll slowly at first, the movement controlled as he builds towards his peak.

"Fuck, kitten," he grunts, "You take me so deep, all the way into that tight little throat. That's it, open wider, take every fucking inch..."

You feel heat between your legs at the sound of his filthy words, arousal dampening the fabric of your panties

Suddenly, his thrusts turn quick and desperate, the arm gripping the bed slipping a bit. The sound of the pillowcase rubbing against him and the slap of his cock against his stomach fill the room. Beads of precum smear across his skin with each thrust.

You can't look away, even as your cheeks burn and your core throbs with need. You know Sylus is seconds away from coming, his thrusts becoming desperate.

He is fully lost now head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, you bite your lip hard, stifling the moan that threatens to spill out. You are not even touching yourself but you can feel your body responding to his fantasy as if it were real. As if you were the one on your knees, choking on his thick cock, gagging for his seed.

You gasp softly as he orgasms, his long moan of "Take it all, kitten... suck me dry" echoing through the room. The sight of his hot cum splattering across his stomach and staining the sheets is shockingly erotic.

There's so much of it. Thick, creamy ropes of cum paint his skin and the pillow beneath him. You can't help but picture how it would feel, the weight of it heavy and warm on your tongue, sliding down your throat. The thought makes your mouth water.

His cock pulses and throbs as he rides out his orgasm, spurting the last few weak drops of cum onto the pillow. His chest heaves as he catches his breath, arm gripping the sheets trembling slightly.

You are about to close his door when you hear his voice again. You freeze, hand still on the door handle, as he speaks.

"You, watching me, made this much more pleasurable, kitten. Don't walk away now."

You should have known you couldnt slip away unnoticed.

Fuck

Three weeks, that's how long you were on a mission and apart from him.

When you open the front door and walk in you notice the house is quiet, too quiet, as you set your bag down by the shoe rack, kicking off your boots.

Your heart flutters with anticipation as you tiptoe down the hallway, the wooden floorboards creaking softly beneath your feet. The early morning sunlight peeks through the curtains, casting a warm glow across the house as you approach the slightly open bedroom door.

"Y/n...fuuuuuuuck"

He couldn't be...was he?

He was.

Your mouth falls open in shock when you see Zayne. He's on his hands and knees on the bed, a pillow placed between his legs. One hand grips the pillow tightly, holding it firmly against his body as he slowly thrusts his hips, his hard cock trapped between the pillow and his pelvis.

His other hand clutches the bedsheets in front of him like a lifeline. His black hair falls forward, hiding his eyes as his broad shoulders rise and fall with each breath. The room is filled with the soft, rhythmic sound of the bed creaking with his movements and the stifled groans that escape his lips. The sight of his muscular back moving with each thrust sends a shiver down your spine and ignites a fire low in your belly.

You realize that he's not just turned on, but he's already found his release once, the pillowcase, now soaked with his essence, testifies to it. He's using the damp fabric, slick with his cum, to bring himself to the brink again.

His cock, the tip an angry, almost painful shade of red, pulses and throbs with need. His balls draw up tight, and his toes curl.

His face, usually so stoic and controlled, is flushed and you can tell he's on the very edge of another orgasm. Your heart pounds wildly as you watch him chase his release, his hips moving more urgently now. His hand claws at the sheets, bunching the fabric in his fist.

Your own body responds with a deep throb of desire. You can feel the dampness pooling between your thighs, the way your nipples strain against the fabric of your bra. But you remain still, a silent witness to the intimate moment, not wanting to startle him.

He yanks the pillow closer, using it for more friction, more stimulation. "Fuck..." he growls "Always so fucking tight... such a dirty girl...making me cum twice"

Contrary to before, he doesn't hold back his noises this time. A guttural moan, tears from his throat as he finds his release. It's followed by a litany of curses, each one punctuated by the jerking of his hips and the pulsing of his cock.

"Fuck... shit... damn..." he growls, "Take it... take my fucking cum..." You are sure the sight of him losing control, surrendering to the overwhelming pleasure, will be seared into your mind forever.

You step into the room and walk towards Zayne, eyes drinking in the sight of him, back glistening with sweat, his hips still twitching with the aftershocks of his climax. As you approach him, he slowly turns his head, his eyes blinking in surprise and confusion as they meet yours. He's still gripping the sheets and pillow tightly.

Without hesitation, you reach out and swipe a finger along the tip of his softening cock, collecting the pearly drops of his release that cling to the sensitive skin. Then you bring your finger to your mouth, keeping eye contact with him as you slowly lick it clean, savoring the salty, slightly bitter taste of him.

"Surprise, honey," you say softly, a playful smirk playing at the corners of your mouth. "I'm home early."

You sigh softly as you remember the last time you saw Rafayel, just a few days ago. He had been absorbed in his painting, hunched over a large canvas propped up in his art studio.

You open his front door and walk inside, a basket of freshly prepared food tucked under your arm. You walk to his studio but he is not in there.

An unusual sound drifting down from upstairs makes you stop in place. It's a soft, strangled noise.

Was that a whimper?

Your brows furrow with concern and you set the basket of food down quietly on the staircase, not wanting to disturb whatever may be happening, but unwilling to ignore what sounds like distress.

Climbing the stairs quietly you approach Rafayel's bedroom door. The whimpering grows louder, now unmistakable. Your hand hovers over the doorknob and you take a deep breath, slowly turning the doorknob. As you push the door open just a bit, you peek through to see Rafayel.

It's not his face flushed a deep shade of red that extends to the tips of his ears or the sweat dripping down his chest that makes your heart skip a beat. It's the way he's positioned on the bed, with a pillow clutched tightly between his legs, his hips rocking and rutting against it with desperate, needy thrusts. His left hand gripping the pillow tightly, keeping it firmly in place as his other hand braces against the mattress, holding himself up.

Desperate whimpers and whines spill from his lips as he grinds his hips against the pillow, his eyes screwed shut in a mix of pleasure and what looks like anguish.

Rafayel pulls the pillow closer, the tip of his cock becomes visible with each thrust. It disappears and reappears, glistening with precum as he thrust against the fabric. It makes your face flush hotly, your eyes going wide as you instinctively press a hand to your mouth to stifle any sound.

"Please... please cutie... let me cum..." Rafayel whimpers "Please, I need it so bad... I can't... I can't hold back anymore..." You've only witnessed him in this state once before, and the memory of that intimate moment together flashes through your mind. The raw need in his eyes as he begged you to let him find release within your warmth and tightness.

A single tear of frustration trickles down his flushed cheek, glistening in the soft light. His abs clench and flex with each thrust against the pillow. "Fuck... I can ... smell her..." he chokes out, his voice breaking with need. The pillow is now soaked with his sweat and the weeping tip of his cock.

It's clear that Rafayel is thinking of you, craving you, desperate to fill you and but he is also having trouble reaching his peak, so you decide to help.

You walk softly towards the bed, as you approach, his thrusts against the pillow falter, then stop altogether. He looks up at you with wide, teary eyes, his cheeks burning an even deeper shade of red.

That's when you see the raw vulnerability and need in his expression, the way he's stripped bare of all his usual composure and confidence. It's both humbling and deeply intimate, a rare glimpse into the true depth of his desire for you.

Sitting down gently beside him on the bed, you lean in close, your lips nearly brushing the shell of his ear and in a soft, encouraging whisper, you breathe out the words:

"Keep going, Raf. Cum for me."

Those three simple words, spoken with such gentle encouragement, seem to be the final push Rafayel needs. His eyes flutter closed, a look of pure bliss spreading across his face.

With a hoarse cry of your name, Rafayel's body goes rigid, his hips jerking forward as he finds his much needed release. Thick, hot ropes of his cum spurt from his fat cock, coating the pillow and his hand as he grips it with white knuckles.

"Such a good boy, Raf," you coo softly, reaching out to gently brush a damp lock of hair from his forehead. Your touch makes him shiver, his eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

You're glad you brought food, because you know you will both need it after the long day and night ahead of you.

You slip the key he gave you into the lock and turn it slowly, easing the door open as quietly as possible. The apartment is dimly lit and you can hear the gentle hum of the refrigerator and the distant sound of traffic, but otherwise, it's quiet.

Closing the door behind you, you pad softly into the kitchen. You have a plan, start on breakfast, then wake him so he can eat something. He's probably exhausted from his mission, and you want to make sure he has a nice, relaxing morning. Maybe he forgot you were supposed to have breakfast together this morning.

You open the fridge and start gathering ingredients, eggs, bacon, some fresh fruit. You had found a recipe online that looked delicious and you thought he might enjoy it.

The sound of something slamming softly against the wall grabs your attention. Concerned you walk towards his bedroom, leaving the ingredients on the kitchen counter, the sound growing louder with each step. Gently you turn the doorknob and ease the door to his bedroom open, just a little bit at first. But once you open it a little bit more the sight that greets you makes your breath catch in your throat.

Xavier is sprawled naked on his back, body bathed in the soft glow of the lights filtering through the window. His legs are bent, knees up and feet flat on the bed. Nestled between his thighs is a pillow, and you can see his hips rocking slowly, rubbing the pillow against his lenght.

Your gaze is drawn to his cock, standing proud against his stomach. You can see pearly drops of precum dripping from the swollen, flushed tip, trailing down and pooling in his abdomen.

Unconsciously you lick your lips, imagining the taste of his skin, the feel of his body against yours.

Xavier grips the pillow tightly with both hands. His long fingers dig into the fabric as he pulls on both sides, tightening the pillow around his throbbing cock. The soft material squeezes his shaft, providing a delicious friction that has him gritting his teeth.

You can see the desperation in the way he's chasing his pleasure, the hunger that drives him to seek more, always more. His eyes are clenched shut, lost in a world of sensation and desire. A part of you wonders what he's thinking about, what fantasies are playing out behind his closed lids to have him so worked up. 

You don't have to wait long for an answer.

"Fuck, bunny..." he grunts, voice breathless. "You feel so fucking good...ngh...take it all, just like that. Squeeze me... You ride me sooooo good... fuck, you're so tight...so perfect..."

There's no doubt about it now, in his mind, he's with you, lost in a fantasy starring none other than yourself.

His words dissolve into a moan, the sound vibrating through his chest. The signs of his impending orgasm are unmistakable. His thrusts become erratic, the grip on the pillow tightening. His breathing grows ragged and shallow, each inhale ending on a sharp grunt or a moan. The muscles in his thighs and stomach tense and flex.

"Fuck,... I'm... I'm so close... Ah, shit..." Xavier pants. He throws his head back, hair splaying out around him like a halo. "Don't stop...! don't you dare fucking stop..."

And in his head you don't stop because the next second he comes undone. His back arches sharply, pressing himself against the pillow, as thick ropes of hot, sticky cum spurt from his throbbing cock.

The headboard slams against the wall with the force of his thrusts, the rhythmic banging keeping time with the throbbing pulses of his release.

His chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath. The pillow is a mess, soaked through with his release. He collapses back onto the bed, a blissful smile playing at the corners of his lips.

For a moment, you're stunned speechless, hardly believing this really happened. Did he really just...?

Before you can overthink it, Xavier's head turns towards the door, his piercing blue gaze locking onto you. A slow, lazy smile spreads across his face, the smirk of a predator who's just spotted his prey.

"Come here, y/n," he purrs, "I noticed you were there before I came, but I wanted to keep the show going for you."

Of course he noticed you standing there, his hunter's instincts always on high alert. It's no wonder he's the best deepspace hunter. Now all you had to do was walk to him.

Easy...right?

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Danny the Guy Who Won't Die

He lives in Gotham, and he is just A Guy. Nothing weird about him, he's just there to study/work/help Lady Gotham to lift her curse/on vacation with Sam. Point is, he is not there to cause trouble and there's no GIW on his tail. Just a dude living his (after)life.

And Gotham, being Gotham, still finds a way to be annoying. There are mugging attempts, robbery, Rogues running around. Only Danny really doesn't want to deal with any of it.

Now there's a dilemma. If he uses his powers to fight, it will sooner or later come to Bats' attention. And if he fights as a human, it will also alert some of the Bats since he doesn't really do a great job at keeping his power levels low. Not to mention the fact he is really not enthusiastic about accidentally punching someone hard enough he sends them to a hospital.

What does he do instead? He pulls the 'I guess I'll die' act.

So every time he is attacked, he just plays dead. The mugger shot him in the chest? He falls down and stops breathing. Caught up in the middle of a Poison Ivy attack? Skewers himself on the vine and goes lax. Scarecrow's Fear Gas? Very dramatically chokes himself and plays a corpse. He makes sure to disappear before any ambulances arrive later, and it all goes well for a few months - he is just a casualty, who cares, really - until one day, he runs into that same mugger who shot him in the chest a while ago.

The man does a double take. Danny doesn't notice - he's been mugged so many times, who has the brain capacity to remember all of those fuckers. But the rumor goes out anyway.

A guy-who-won't-die. It's more of a city legend, really, and the Bats don't give it much thought since, well, it sounds stupid and not very important. A rumor of some man who was shot dead and then showed up like nothing happened? Yeah, it's probably because the mugger didn't check if he was actually dead. That happens. Maybe it wasn't even the same man, Gotham is a big city. If anything, hey, at least that was one less casualty? That's a good thing.

That is, until one day, they show up to Joker's hostage situation and witness the clown screaming at one of the hostages. He is so enraged he is shaking, spit flying out of his mouth, and, contrary to the usual Joker's evil sneers and maniacal laughter, he seems just... furious. But, like, the normal-human-level furious. The 'I just lost the last ounce of patience with you' furious.

"Don't you look away from me, you think I don't remember you?! Na-ah, I do. You were the one I drowned in the shark tank last week! And you were the one run through the chainsaw trap two weeks before that! And you were in the guillotine!!! I saw your fucking head get deattached from your body, how the fuck are you here again?!"

And the guy he is screaming at just looks at him, confused and incomprehensive.

"Um, I'm pretty sure I'd remember getting my head cut off, you know? So, err, wrong guy."

"Wrong guy my fucking ass-"

Joker is so distracted by his screaming match that it makes it almost too easy for the Bats to fight him down and drag to Arkham. Yet, a few of them get just a bit suspicious.

Now, imagine all the shenanigans when they try keeping a watch on Danny the Won't Die Guy.

[unikhroma]

we need to talk about ramb [analysis/theory]

MASSIVE shoutout to my friend mycringefactory for ripping his sprites

ramb! he's the power strip darkner in chapter 3 that runs the stand in the green room and introduces you to the set of games that leads to the chapter's unusual secret boss.

weird attention to detail with his sprites, telling kris that he knows they want, dismissing their concerns that something might be up, having a page of the sweepstakes ARG named after him instead of the location it's showing, directly introducing kris to a rendition of the weird route and saying that it's "REAL fun".

seems like if it were some other character, these would be ringing more alarm bells. but i knew, i Knew there was something up with him. he is the secret boss, it's just not in a way we're used to. strap in, cause this is long as fuck <- not an exaggeration i've been writing this for the past three days.

ramb is the shadow mantle enemy.

ramb wants kris to have fun and enjoy the games he's provided! no he really wants kris to have fun and enjoy the games. he mentions it a lot, and keeps saying that he knows kris and what they want. in the context of a game about the weird route no less.

and all this is much like the shadow mantle enemy. it says outright that it thinks a part of kris isn't getting the shadow crystals because it'll get what they want, instead it's that they're just enjoying this, like ramb keeps saying is the case for them.

it wasn't there to stop kris: what it wanted was to see kris play, said plain as day. i believe the flickering red comment is about kris' eyes, that it wanted to see them really get into playing the game.

it's hard to believe that this is all just a parallel when it lines up So Closely. i feel like you don't just have two characters speak almost exactly the same and with such an emphasis on the same things, with the only difference being an accent in one of them. not to mention that there's an NPC tells you who ramb parallels.

can't find footage, but m-chromatic says this is from a pippins NPC

the shadow mantle enemy also further emphasizes its interest in kris having fun with a secret room in one of the games:

"Having fun?"

it feels like such a personalized message to them, and whether kris is having fun is something that ramb is very concerned with.

something particularly notable is what happens the first time you get proper dialogue from the mantle enemy. after the board is cleared, kris asks ramb about someone being backstage, and he denies it and says he's been there on security the whole time.

also i find it odd that the first line is one of the few times that expression of his shows up. in the second line he turns his head away in a smile

another thing:

and this bit might be a stretch but it's worth mentioning: the little creature that the mantle enemy turns into does happen to have floppy ears like ramb does.

once again shoutout to mycringefactory for ripping these sprites

alright, so ramb may have control of this game, probably from the wide variety of controllers in the backstage (though i have a personal theory that he can go into the game himself). but why do i think he has anything to do with the game itself? well, this ties into a sub-theory:

MANTLE/MANHOLE is a dragon blazers romhack made by ramb, and is what tenna unknowingly built his game off of.

in case you're wondering why i'm giving it two names. i personally think it's manhole cause it ties into other things

tenna's game vs the original game. "some big ol' blasted line from A to B" vs "the ORIGINAL game where YOU decide what to do". the parallel of regular route vs weird route is a lil on the nose. in this game, you're made to do a re-imagining of the weird route in chapter two and something beyond that. but the game wasn't always that.

the spamton sweepstakes is how we know this. the d_a_m_n_y_o_u_t_e_n_n_a page and noelle's icepalace_glaceir blog teases MANTLE/MANHOLE and ties it back to ramb. clicking the TV will change the screen to be static-filled (like the game cuts to when the controller isn't plugged in), and the lowest point of the page contains static squares, one leading to a neon blue screen and the other leading to ramb's page.

the neon blue screen (similar to the title screen of MANTLE/MANHOLE) can be scrolled up to show what looks like a representation of the ice area in the old game where you use the ice key. the door on the page leads to noelle's icepalace_glaceir blog, where she describes an oddity in dragon blazers that lines up perfectly with an area in the old game.

this cross area in the old game is accompanied by a track named GLACEIR. on noelle's blog, she writes that she's currently listening to a song from dragon blazers of the same name. it would make sense that if she's writing about that area and feeling nostalgic about it, she'd be listening to the song from it as well.

the choice of word for what her mood is.. i can't help but think of how that one weird ass expression of ramb's is called "nostalgic"

with all that in mind, i feel like it's pretty clear that that "old thing" tenna says he based his game on was intended to be dragon blazers. except that "original game" was clearly tampered with. it's not a coincidence that this game has a rendition of the weird route's beginning, it was put in there by someone. tenna is bothered by MANTLE/MANHOLE's contents as well:

another clue on the game being modified by ramb is, despite it being dragon blazers, the third board isn't a non-specific RPG location and is instead based on cyber world, specifically cyber city and queen's mansion's basement.

ramb originates from cyber world and while tenna may have known things about cyber city due to his connection with spamton, it's highly unlikely that he's seen the mansion basement, so it had to be ramb who modded it. ramb mentions people who live in queen's mansion like he knows them well.

another thing.. think about the names associated with him: his name is ramb. like RAMb. to put it simply, RAM is any data in a computing device that can change or be modified, and it's implied that he modded dragon blazers.

his name is misspelled as ROMb in-game and in the sweepstakes page regarding him and the old game. the track that plays in the S-rank room and thus when you speak to him about the game is called "Dump". to mod a ROM, you'd have to dump it from the hardware first (though i don't think that's necessarily what ramb did since we're in a fantasy world).

the dump thing is interesting to me also cause as mentioned before, the spamton sweepstakes has a page for ramb, but it was first accessed by clicking "[scrap heap]" in one of the prize descriptions. another allusion to him and trash... btw i feel like it's worth stressing: HE'S HAD A PAGE NAMED AFTER HIM THIS WHOLE TIME!!

oh and there's these two lines from him that absolutely implies that he had some kind of hand in the games backstage. the "HIS" would not be emphasized like that if the old game was impersonal to ramb.

so why is ramb like this?

why'd he want kris to play his fucked up snowgrave game so much? what's all this talk about fun? and then after all that, asking them if opening the fountain was that good of an idea... after all, doing so would cause him several darkners to turn to stone.

he's a power strip. like outlets, power strips can have a large variety of things connected to them: fans, chargers, TVs, video game consoles.. the key difference though, is that they can have multiple things connected to them at once and they're portable.

ramb shouldn't turn to stone because, unlike that zapper that turned to stone because its likely to be for catti's TV and isn't compatible with the dreemurr's, he's not bound by that kind of restriction. in fact there's a lot of uses he can have, multiple at once even. he's also directly relevant to TV world as being able to provide power to tenna himself.

but ultimately, in the same vein as tenna, he stopped being used. and getting kris to play these games, when his purpose is "letting you play your games", might've been a way to keep himself alive. "Without play... the knife grows dull." i think this line from him as the shadow mantle is also in reference to how without him being played, he'll turn to stone (grow dull).

i don't think this is just that side of himself being un-petrified because of the light. the light is enveloping him entirely, you can see it go well past him. i think he needed to be as close in proximity to the game as he could since it's tied to his purpose. more on this later.

selfish actions aside, i do think ramb cares about kris. but he was also suffering from being outcasted both socially and by lightners including them, so i think he was preparing for a fountain opening and the opportunity to convince kris into spending time with him again.

he was really done dirty by his fellow darkners man

he projects onto kris so much: he wants to have fun too. he misses those times. an opportunity to meet an old friend in the midst of loneliness and to relive those good memories he holds onto so much? well, he had to do something.

...and the something he did was keep the shadow mantle and create a fucked up game for this kid because he missed seeing them have fun and thought that all that fucked up shit was what they liked. (i think it's implied that kris plays video games in a bit of an aggressive way? unfortunately struggling to find specific scenes about it)

the thing about how he was already stone on the inside makes me wonder if that's a way of saying that he died inside a while ago and the loneliness broke him. part of me thinks he's intended to represent mentally ill people who fall through the cracks cause they don't "seem" like they are. this power strip needs therapy and medication man

the implications of him modifying the game to show the weird route in particular though... is he trying to encourage it? is it a warning? was learning about the weird route the thing that made him spiral and turn to doing this? it's very likely yes, since similar things happened to jevil and spamton.

how does he know about the weird route and what happened to him?

awesome first question: i don't know. it's possible that, because he's meant to parallel tenna, that he too was contacted by the knight, and they told him about it. however, it may not be that one-to-one. since spamton's forbidden knowledge came from someone outside of the in-game universe (most presume gaster, but i think it's DEVICE_FRIEND), he could've gotten it from that.

speaking of, what's up with all the DEVICE_FRIEND appearances in his romhack? ..honestly can't explain it either. but since he depicts queen's mansion in it, i get the feeling that he's been down there and he saw it. maybe it's something that really stuck with him, or he had extended contact with it.

now as for his fate.. after the sword route is complete (meaning all three boards of his game are finished), the rabbick in the S-rank room expresses fear over something that happened with ramb.

so what the hell happened to him to freak this rabbick out so much?

most likely: he parallels tenna, so maybe he was also enlisted by the knight, and his job was to keep the shadow mantle out of kris' hands. because he failed to do so, he got taken or hurt by the knight as punishment.

less likely but more interesting to me: let's address the rabbick saying that kris already went past. we saw the pixel kris leave the backstage, so they noticed that. the pixel kris escaping the game may mean that the game will technically never be turned off, making it so that ramb is always being "used" and thus not fated to turn to stone while the fountain is still open

so the rabbick might've been frightened by a darkner that shouldn't be alive coming to life again (..thoough i have a theory that he might be able to shapeshift and that freaked them out but that's for another post)

either way, if you completed the sword route, ramb is somewhere else now. isn't that fun?

so! now with all of this information about him in mind: do you see why i'm insane about him. edit: as of now, i've made two other masterposts for ramb, one with more information about him and one about the lore between him and tenna.

anyway:

THANK YOU FOR READING!

oh and by the way, if there's a little man who doesn't fit with the other darkners telling kris to do some weird out-of-the-way shit and telling them that that's what they really want and he's talking about freedom, you should be asking questions