#( and it has a sort of failsafe )

[joroakeu]

I keep ruining Saturday's for Josh from maintenance because I'm boohooing about the same air compressor that sounds and looks like it's about to explode and he's a good sport about it but surely he also wants to kill me

[endawn]

as long as the stake isn’t silver and he’s stabbed anywhere but the heart, it’s more of an annoyance than anything. he can even survive decapitation ( someone would have to put his head back on, though ). his flavor of vampirism has its quirks

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god–he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

[celestial-robots]

Explaining Eclipse (A Theory/Headcanon)

Spoilers for the Ruin DLC below!

Okay so I've been thinking so much about Eclipse and what they mean. You know, as you do XD. Just a lot of wondering what they mean for the ~lore~ and how they fit in with the rest of the Sun and Moon stuff. And after a lot of thinking, I may have figured stuff out.

I've seen a couple posts wondering if Eclipse is the way the Daycare Attendant is "supposed to be" and if Sun and Moon are the result of the DCA breaking down or something. But personally I just can't see that. Not only do we hear Sun go "thank you" after the Eclipse encounter, implying he's still around and hasn't permanently "fused" into Eclipse, but it also wouldn't make sense with stuff in Security Breach. In-game Fazbear merchandise and advertising have a lot of focus on Sun and Moon as two separate individuals, not the DCA as a single unit. For example, see the giant golden statues outside of Daycare. Two different forms of the Daycare Attendant. Collectibles are also identified as "Sun" and "Moon." It's not like they're labeled "Eclipse Doll (Sun form)" or "Moon Eclipse Doll." No, it's just "Sun Doll" and "Moon Doll."

So here's how I think it works. Sun and Moon are two separate AIs within the DCA body. They can function on their own, independent of the other, in the way we've been thinking this whole time. BUT they're also designed to join together, like interlocking puzzle blocks. Two separate forms that come together to make a "whole" that's greater than the sum of the parts.

This makes sense from a programming perspective. Sun is designed to play with kids and entertain them, Moon is designed to watch over kids while they sleep. They're both made for specific scenarios, but taking care of kids is a lot more complicated than just "play time" and "nap time." So whenever one of them encounters something they can't deal with by themselves, they call for help from the other, who activates as well, combining their features and protocols. I'm willing to bed this also activates several specific "Eclipse" features that can only be accessed when both AIs are active, which would explain why Eclipse has such a different personality.

But if this is the case, then why haven't we seen Eclipse before? Why did they only come out when Cassie rebooted the DCA?

Well that's where this theory by @dana-chan-the-control-brain and @twinanimatronics comes in. The two of them theorized that the Balloon World arcade cabinet in the DCA's room was some sort of signal broadcaster that kept their AIs divided. I think that Ruin confirms this—or at least provides a lot of solid evidence.

In the main game, Balloon World is in the DCA room, up and active and with a form of Eclipse inside. In Ruin, the Balloon World cabinet is broken. And you can see weird purple glitches coming from it while in AR vision. It's only in Ruin, after the cabinet has been damaged, that we finally meet Eclipse.

This is venturing a bit into headcanon territory, but let's have some fun with this. I believe that the Balloon World cabinet was put in the DCA's room to infect them with the virus. Probably a long time before the events of the actual game, since the worn-down state of the room shows it's been a while since any human or robot cleaners were in there. This might have been some sort of test run to see if the virus could affect the animatronics.

However, the virus couldn't affect the DCA while Eclipse was there, acting as a sort of stabilizing failsafe for Sun and Moon. So the virus then cut off the "fuse" function from Sun and Moon, locking Eclipse away and preventing them from stepping in when Sun or Moon encounter something strange—strange like a virus. Sun probably couldn't be affected by the virus because the virus attacks nighttime and/or security protocols, and he no longer had access to those once Eclipse was gone. Moon, however, did. And that's why he's hostile.

But then, if the Balloon World cabinet was keeping Eclipse contained, why were Sun and Moon still freaking out in Ruin even after the cabinet was destroyed? Why did they need Cassie to reboot them?

Well, I think that forming Eclipse requires both Sun and Moon to want to fuse together. And Moon clearly doesn't want to do that in Ruin. Why? Probably because he's mad at Sun. You can hear how angry he is in voice lines where he says stuff like "No more Sun!" and "No more light!" (Seriously, props to Kellen Goff, holy shit.) Moon was only able to be "awake" for short periods of time in the main game, partially because Sun was encouraging everyone to "Keep the lights on." Of course Moon would be pissed and want to be in control now that the lights are broken. He wasn't about to risk losing that .

But not having Eclipse around was ultimately damaging Sun and Moon. They were meant to stabilize the system when the two individuals couldn't do that alone. Not to mention their systems were already damaged, judging by Moon's increased light sensitivity in Ruin. They needed Eclipse so they could be stable again.

Cassie rebooting the DCA's systems was a lot like restarting your computer. Everything shuts down and then all the systems start running again at once—including, in this case, both Sun and Moon's AIs and whatever Eclipse functions were now restored. That's why Eclipse was in control after the reboot. Presumably, the rest of the software damage was also fixed, which probably helped calm Moon down. So, overall, a happy ending.

Relatively, I mean. The DCA is still stuck in an abandoned Pizzaplex, but at least Eclipse is back and Sun and Moon aren't fighting anymore :)

[damianbugs]

with all this gotham war stuff (most recently the comic sc you posted on your twt with jason and bruce), can u explain what is actually going on? like, i’m not that far so i haven’t read it, but… like is it actually bruce saying all that stuff about the kids? or is it this zur person people keep talking about?

oh my friend, it's crazy around here, but i will try my best to explain it!

A GUIDE TO UNDERSTANDING WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING TO BATMAN IN GOTHAM WAR:

firstly, the comic reading list to catch up with gotham war is: as of 01/10/23 (the ones in italics are core issues to the story)

for some background on what happens leading up to gotham war:

Batman (2016) #125-136

(Optional) Knight Terrors: Batman

(Optional) Knight Terrors: Catwoman

and then the actual gotham war story:

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Battle Lines

Batman (2016) #137

Catwoman (2018) #57

Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Red Hood #1

this is everything that is out right now, but from the third of october to halloween we will also be getting: Batman #138, Catwoman #58, Gotham War: Red Hood #2, Batman/Catwoman: The Gotham War - Scorched Earth.

secondly... who is Zur En Arrh.

Zur En Arrh taking over Bruce, Batman (2016) #126

zur en arrh, in the simplest way of explaining, is this alter ego/personality (it's unclear) bruce created for himself should batman (bruce wayne) ever be psychologically compromised or brainwashed. it's not him, but a more sadistic and crueler person that is the "ultimate batman" who doesn't care about anyone or anything but getting the mission done.

during Batman #125-130, zur takes over the role of batman because bruce was losing very badly to the robot Failsafe (which is zur's own creation, that bruce has no memory of making). after getting vaporised by failsafe and sent travelling through dozens of alternate universes, losing his hand and fighting a flying shark (Batman #131-135), bruce returns to gotham incredibly mentally unstable.

During a peaceful dinner with his family, Bruce suddenly imagines the entire world on fire, Batman (2016) #136.

during everything, bruce managed to mentally fight back and kind of... merge their ideals together in order to survive and win in the moment.

and then successfully trapping failsafe back into his mind where he can no longer take over!

Bruce uses some sort of mental technique to lock Zur away in his mind, Batman (2016) #136.

except he didn't succeed! at all!

you see, when travelling through all those universes, bruce somehow brought back every single version of zur en arrh with him. now all of then combined, plus his already deteriorating and weak mental health from the last few years, bruce is currently operating under the impression that he's locked zur away, when he actually hasn't.

zur is the one partly, or even entirely, in control. right now, he's just pretending to stay locked away so bruce continues to do what he thinks is 'right' despite them being incredibly out of character for the run.

During his eight week coma, Bruce sees Zur 'locked away' and he is, apparently, not alone, Gotham War: Battle Lines (2023)

an example is when zur referred to robin as batman's solider, bruce mentally fought back to make it clear that tim was his son. but then, a few issues later, bruce refers to his children as his soldiers and that they've all betrayed him, implying that zur has always had control and isn't locked away.

Bruce and Zur get into a fight inside his mind about Robin [Tim Drake], Batman (2016) #127

so yeah, zur is not bruce! they're both batman, but zur en arrh is like his somehow unimaginably even worse twin. if you're interested more in him, i would suggest giving his character history a read! be warned it gets changed A LOT and is definitely not everyone's cup of tea (personally i hate him and need him shelved for another forty years).

now that that's all done and explained, the current state of gotham war is Bruce (thinks he's okay) fighting everyone else (except Damian) because in his (Zur's) point of view, they're all against the mission and therefore are now his enemies (he's lost his mind). totally not convoluted.

to answer your original question, yes, this is all bruce saying and doing these things but he is being HEAVILY influenced by Zur. we can't tell for certain how much of this is bruce and how much is zur, but we can definitely prove zur is partially or completely controlling him again.

even jason points it out after bruce implants that fear toxin chip into him in Batman (2016) #138:

like we can see the intention is to keep jason out of this, because compared to everyone else, jason was the most directly opposed to bruce. but zur is twisting how this concern gets expressed, since forcing jason into feeling fear everytime he gets an adrenaline rush is hardly the reformation bruce is usually encouraging. the other batfam members also talk about how uncharacteristically violent bruce is being.

"He's out of control." / "He's gone [In more ways than one.]" Batman (2016) #137

as the story progresses we see more and more of zur replace bruce, but because he can't have bruce trying to stop him again, zur is playing along and convincing bruce he's locked away. so really, bruce is at war with not only his entire family, but also his own mind. just another average tuesday for batman. he's being tricked and is unknowingly doing exactly what he was trying to prevent.

to understand what the actual war in gotham war is, give the comics listed above a read! if you find the story boring/ridiculous/stupid, don't worry, it is! the social commentary leaves a lot to be desired, as does most of the characters writings (especially selina's).

bruce and his one sided battle with zur is sort of an overarching story happening alongside it (along with a bunch of other ongoings. i don't even understand how detective comics and batman and robin are going to tie into this once it starts up again).

sorry the answer isn't a simple one, but unfortunately nothing is ever simple with bruce. also apologies in advance if any of the future gotham war comics come out and completely debunk all of this! who knows what will happen in this dramatic family drama.

[nerdasaurus1200]

I just realized some sad things about Eugene and Varian’s talk in PEEV so Imma talk about that scene.

So first Eugene starts pretty small with it. I think you could interpret this as either Eugene trying to imply Quirin being a mole as gently as he can, or bringing up a sort of…I guess fact to start the tense conversation. And of course it kinda flies over Varian’s head. He takes it at face value, making sure to reassure Eugene. Which to me implies Eugene has probably been worrying about the Brotherhood for a while now.

So Eugene tries again, much more obvious this time. Although he never outright says anything he directly points the finger at Quirin. The implication is there. And lately I’ve been wondering if there’s something a little deeper to this conversation. i feel like could easily be echos of season 1 cause the whole reason Varian’s villain arc started was cause his dad was in danger. And now his dad is in danger, again. Except Eugene may be trying to not repeat history by actually checking on Varian this time and trying to nip this potential threat in the bud.

And if you listen to the dialogue Varian never actually says it either. But you can see in his eyes. Now that Eugene’s planted the idea in his head, the fear is very much there. And his trauma from season 1 is probably coming back a bit too.

So of course he mildly deflects and snaps at Eugene. I think this is…I’d say 60% trauma reaction, with the other 40% being Varian just being generally angry at the idea that Quirin would ever betray or hurt him. And maybe slightly at the idea that Cassandra would do that to him. Cause Adira and Hector are one thing, Edmund and Quirin is a new low.

Also I think this is actually the first time we’ve actually seen Varian seriously angry since season 1 ended. Yeah we’ve seen him pissed before this season but that was for jokes. There is nothing funny about Varian’s anger here. Cause when Varian gets angry shit goes down.

So of course Eugene backs off and drops the topic. He probably thinks (or rather hopes) Varian has some failsafe already taken care of for that situation but I think it’s more likely that Eugene doesn’t wanna press Varian any further and trigger him.

But, sadly…Varian knows Eugene is right. He knows he has to do something to make sure nobody gets seriously hurt or worse when Quirin inevitably turns on them.

[moistmailman]

Superman using x-ray to see Batman’s identity just to immediately say “oh bullshit!” when he sees playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne who was recently on the news for drunk air guitar soloing in his underwear at a fancy party. He actually just believes Batman has some sort of high tech failsafe for his identity that shows Bruce Wayne’s face if someone ever uses x ray on him.

[hootbon]

Is the reason Gangle reacts so poorly to AIngle being smashed because of some sort of failsafe code inside AIngle that influences OG Gangle’s emotions to become murderous or is it because Gangle has reached the point where she’s become emotionally dependent on this thing attached to her despite it’s abuse?

The second one

[anim-ttrpgs]

Hey just wanted to say that the work you do is really inspiring. I think the TTRPG community has needed an urban fantasy noir sort of thing for a little while and I really like the direction you're taking it in. Looking forward to stuff in the future!!

Thank you! Basically all our projects come from a place of need, each one being something that we wanted to play ourselves, but either it just didn’t exist, or the people who did do it didn’t do it to our satisfaction.

Since it’s our blog we can toot our own horn a bit, and yeah, the TTRPG community did need Eureka. The whole idea originally came out of our dissatisfaction with investigation and mystery-solving gameplay in most of the other more well-known TTRPGs that attempt to tackle this genre, such as Call of Cthulhu, Delta Green, and Gumshoe. They either make it too easy for bad dice rolls to get the party hopelessly stuck by relying too heavily of the PC’s skills, or make things difficult on the player by not giving the PC’s skills quite enough input, which can make efficient mystery solving very difficult across sessions with a whole week or more of real time in between them. (And it’s barely even worth mentioning that the most popular TTRPGs such as D&D5e and Pathfinder just plain cannot do investigative gameplay to any respectable degree at all.)

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy’s Investigation Point and Eureka! Point system, whereby each skill check to investigate something fills a bar on the character sheet until the investigator gets a “Eureka!”, which can be spent to retroactively gain information from an investigation skill check that they previously failed, as well as many other specific rules that are too nuanced to go into here but that you can read about in the free version of the rulebook, are part of our answer to that. As you are putting the pieces together in your own mind, so is your character, and this system acts as a failsafe, but not a crutch, to prevent a single bad dice roll from leaving the party totally twisting in the wind.

And I personally have always been really autistic about folklore, which is where Eureka’s unique approach to playable monsters comes in. No RPG had ever really done certain monsters to my satisfaction, particularly vampires. Folkloric vampires have a great deal of quirks and weaknesses that usually get cut from any sort of vampire media because they’re too “silly,” but I disagree. I want them all, and so when a monster is playable in Eureka, it’s its own unique experience, unlike playing anything else in any other game or even within Eureka. (I am very, very proud to say that a number of V:TM veterans have said that Eureka does vampires much better than V:TM itself.)

Not every playable monster in Eureka is 100% strictly folkloric, which was a bit of a struggle for me, but ultimately the small exceptions that were made make the RPG better, so I can’t complain, especially because we managed to weave some pretty cool themes into all of them, which I will touch on more when I finally get finished writing that big huge post about, well, Eureka’s themes.

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is kickstarting from right now until May 10th! Back it while you still can!

If you want to try before you buy, you can download a free demo of the prerelease version from our website or our itch.io page!

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

You can also support us on Ko-fi, or by checking out our merchandise!

Join our TTRPG Book Club At the time of writng this, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is the current game being played in the book club, and anyone who wants to participate in discussion, but can’t afford to make a contribution, will be given the most updated prerelease version for free! Plus it’s just a great place to discuss and play new TTRPGs you might not be able to otherwise!

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[sweet-as-an-angel]

HIIII!!!!‼️‼️‼️‼️🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

I haven’t been on lately, I have some other questions too but genuinely I just want to get this out of the way because I genuinely want him so bad😭😭

So, it was my birthday yesterday and I’m just gonna be honest man, it was not good. I’m twenty now but it just feels weird?? Like I don’t know what’s happening?? I barely even celebrated, I wasn’t given the chance.

So how would Dominic be on his beloved’s birthday?? Would he do anything special?? Throw them a party with gifts?? Just genuinely anything his strange ass would do??

It can be taken as SFW, NSFW, or both!! It doesn’t matter to me🫶🫶

I hope you are doing good and all is well!! :]]

Oh also, would you ever consider writing anything for Hotch from criminal minds?? I’ve had the most INSANE crush on that man for years now, i’m just genuinely curious.

-🦝

Hello there, my Sweet 🦝 Anon ! Happy (late) birthday <3 ! I understand how difficult life can feel when you're thrown from one life stage into another, but I would like you to know this: everyone develops at their own pace. Everybody takes different amounts of time to acclimatise to new situations, so don't feel the need to rush into adulthood and its many daunting expectations ^^.

As for your birthday celebrations, I do hope you'll get the chance to fully indulge in them on your next birthday. But don't feel like you need to wait until then, my Sweet ! Celebrate whenever you want to because every day is a blessing; you don't need an excuse to pull out the festivities to mark the passing of another year, my Dear <3 !

Also, yes, I absolutely WOULD consider writing for Hotch - I have a monster crush on him, too ^^

As for Dominic:

TW: Manipulation, Vague Implication of Suggestive Material, No Pronouns Used For Reader Except 'You'.

♡ You just KNOW Dominic's going to use this special occasion to: a.) make it all about him (and his crippling saviour complex), and b.) spoil you silly.

♡ He organises a surprise party for you. Has a failsafe in case you hate it - to pin the whole affair on Marilyn, accrediting her for this wonderful party - despite inviting an optimal number of guests to keep you within the zone of relative comfort; not too many to lose yourself in, but enough where you can retreat with ease.

♡ At the first sign of discomfort, he's absolutely going to swoop in like the self-perceived hero he is and take you somewhere quiet, somewhere where you can open up to him, thank him for rescuing you from the stuffy atmosphere of the party, etc.

♡ Just stroke his ego, basically.

♡ He knows he needs to buy something inconspicuous enough that you, your family and Marilyn won't feel uncomfortable with him giving such a luxe gift. but it also needs to be extravagant and personal enough that you'll appreciate it.

♡ He'll settle on something the two of you discussed in private - something borderline utilitarian so it doesn't end up a decorative paperweight.

♡ An article of clothing, an ornate lighter, a novel so rare its publication is believed to be a myth; those sorts of things. Items that carry weight - both physical and emotional. But things you could never afford yourself.

♡ Objects that will indebt you to Dominic. Even if your birthday is supposed to be one of the few times of the year where you can receive gifts without feeling the need to repay those who give you them.

♡ Dominic can't extinguish the prickle of his ego swelling as you approach him after everyone's splintered off into their groups, thanking him profusely for your gift before asking him with a soft smile when his birthday is, what he'd like, and...how did he know it was your birthday, anyway?

♡ He smiles.

♡ "I know everything that happens in this neighbourhood," he tells you. A lock of hair slips before your eyes. He tucks it behind your ear. Can't have your saintly view of him obscured now, can he?

♡ "It'd hardly do if I didn't know when my favourite neighbour's birthday was, would it?"

♡ You figured he could've gotten that information from absolutely anyone.

♡ And he'll let you keep believing that fantasy for as long as he needs. Especially since seeing you with your beloved birthday gift fills him with a makeshift warmth that he believes is love.

♡ Dominic has never truly cared for birthdays - both his own and those of others - but for the first time in his life, he can't wait to see what you get for him. What little surprise or favour he can pull from you when it's just the two of you alone.

♡ And trust, he'll do everything in his power to make sure you're more than willing to bend over backwards for his thanks by his next birthday.

Reblog for more content like this! It helps creators like myself tremendously and it is greatly appreciated :-)

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

[jazeswhbhaven]

Just Another Day in Hades...(Requiem of the Survivors Event React III)

Henlo again, third post time! Make sure you check out the previous parts before continuing! ->Part 1 -> ->Part 2->

Good to go? Let's finish this~

So we're back and this is final part to my react post!! It's mostly the damn image limit that kills me. Let me have 50 images per post ugh. Anywayssss

WOMP I spelt his name wrong in another post like all the way wrong. It's bad enough Orias couldn't even remember his name lmao

I'm crying because level with me... I read his name because of the typo as "Zaddy" instead of Zadkie Sure. I mean I'll call him Zaddy ᕕ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡° )ᕗ (btw this is a different way of calling someone "Daddy" during sex) Now you know your admin was being horny for another angel again. I am never leaving the streets at this point and Dre has his eyes on me ready to have some words. m o v i n g o n n nn

So Orias is hyping up the angel trying to get him ready for when leviathan gets over to him. they see him from afar and have their little talk, and Zadkiel is nervous asf (as he should be) but Orias is like "you're fine :D" all while he's over there slobbering over Levi's soul again.

See. Look at him. Just confident. Also this part I'm just gonna hurry up and paraphrase so "Levi" walks up to Orias and the angel and after the two of them stare at each other BAM Orias tells the angels to attack "Levi" immediately.

Looks like they got him right???

W R O N G

After Orias ripped through "Levi's" chest and ate the orb, it didn't taste at all what he expected, and...it had the opposite affect of what he thought it would too.

Won't you look at that, Orias wasn't the only one who fucking came in with a failsafe key sort of speak. SO remember back when I said Zadkiel was staring at Levi??? Well he knew who it was because it wasn't really Levi at all but an old colleague of his named Ose that was disguised by the real Levi who only half trusted Orias's note. And as I suspected, Levi was too smart for that and if we remember that he and orias are the ones that can lie. so both parties threw everyone for a loop.

Leviathan played his cards right and he won. Foras witnessed such a thing before his eyes knowing he was probs gonna win anyway lol

And omfg how cheeky, Levi also just wanted to know what would happen if Orias swallowed the soul omg. Lol this is wild. So in short honestly, Zadkiel gave up, seems that he was under Gabriel since he said his name as his last words and the Leviathan monster pretty much swallowed everyone up. It nearly goes for Orias but Levi stops it.

Yes, even after all this bullshit, Levi sticks to his original promise that he wasn't going to do anything to Orias. In fact, he even has the monster spit out a few souls for Orias to eat.

Now see here, this whole "omg being over 21 means your so old now wow" joke is tiring because no one in their 20s looks like Orias who I assume looks like a wrinkled fucking peach under there and his hair is kinda greyed out too? which I mean I've heard of that happening but come on. lol

otherwise though it comes to a conclusion that Orias was pissed off that he was tricked even though he's the one that tricked Levi in the first place

I can't either Foras. I really can't. Orias needs the timeout chair if he's gonna act like this because omg it's almost like Levi is gentle parenting him so he can act better but I mean technically none of this is a good example of gentle parenting lol But also, Orias has a new noose on his neck and if I'm reading the room correctly, I think Levi intends on using it in it future because of how he says "your life belongs to me" and that it's not like the old one.

Orias is on a tight leash now, Levi's promise still hasn't changed, and our nobles learned more about him and us too.

CONCLUSION So for this event I give it a 9/10. One point off because Orias is being a little brat which kinda came off to me as in his big age, he was still acting like a child. Like yes, give him some grace because he was at that farm with Levi and had horrible stuff done to him and especially one that causes aging to where he may even die in another year or so and he's addicted to angel souls now and it makes him want more and more. I'm pretty sure I'm forgetting to highlight something...but I'mma be honest I'm running off fumes and I haven't slept at all SO if I do remember I'll just edit it in here. But but I hope you all enjoyed the heavy lore again, I really appreciate this that they're doing for the story because it's starting to kind of align with the main story kindish? And we get to see glimpses of how the devils are without MC around so I'm getting my piece of slice of life demon pie.

NOW though with the event done. I'm sure the next one crossing my fingers will be a Lucifer-centered one. maybe. Because they have told us before chapter updates would be every three months or so so that's a lot of waiting that I'm glad for because that means more time to beef up cards, unlock holy board stories, farm for materials. The best time for a f2p peep. btw these advanced candies are gonna fucking be the end of me, it's almost like I need to ONLY nab those during events because they get you at the end with those.

As always appreciate you all for reading my stuff, after I sleep today I'll get back to work on those requests again T^T byeee~ -your lovely admin ♥( ˆ⌣ ˆԅ)

[seven-stars-in-his-palm]

okay so a couple of days ago i saw this ask on @fellshish's blog about a need for a full 1941 discorporated aziraphale angst fic, realized i had an entire outline already in the hull, and... this happened:

a "what if crowley didn't miss in 1941" fic, including but not exclusive to the moment itself, the hours leading up to it, and the aftermath; a fanfiction (chapter 3/4)

summary:

It's Fell the Marvelous' awaited debut performance on the West End. He has his marksman, his turnips, and things appear to be going as planned—that is, until said marksman does the one thing he was supposed to avoid. Not missing. (or: the bullet catch goes wrong, and due to a tiny technicality, crowley's afraid aziraphale is gone for good. and crowley himself—for the first time in quite a while—is well and truly alone.)

warnings: full of blood, sweat, kissing while crying, blown up heads, prayers, nostalgic churches, polaroids, alcohol, and aziraphale being a discorporated bastard and bitching his way back to earth while a plot we should probably be focusing occurs as we ignore it entirely. and written extremely slowly. oxymoron but i couldnt get this out of my head fast enough and now you must endure it (should you choose to accept). i think i'm gonna be pretty proud of this though. excited!

(also thank @tforthetea for the inspiration because a conversation with them helped spark this the first time. all hail)

ao3 link for those who didn't check the title, and fic under the cut! :)

chapter 1: number thirteen

One of the things Crowley liked gloating about on occasion was that he was older than Death Itself.

He wasn’t technically wrong, per se. The humans think him mad, and the demons think him stupid, but he was still right. Human concepts, despite their hold on the population and overall importance, were non-existent before or even during the Beginning. The Four Horsemen and other ideas evolved right alongside the humans, so technically, Crowley was older than all of them. He rather liked having something to lord over War (in his head), during the few unfortunate meetings he would have with her. Famine was a non-issue, and Death could not touch him regardless of how much he didn’t like him. There were failsafes.

Now, however, actually being in the room that Aziraphale could potentially walk into and never come out of, Crowley would gladly take all of it back and pretend he never even thought about it at all.

The damned magician. Crowley never caught his name, but if he had, he would wrought him with the most annoyingly small curses that no one would ever believe to be true after today. Tonight wasn’t just about impressing the audience or even repaying that wine-filled debt, it was about them. Tonight, Crowley was to play the trusted stooge, and…shoot the angel. Point blank. In the face. And make it look real. And not discorporate him. And not get them fired. And—

There were a lot of things to consider, alright? To contrary belief, Crowley did, in fact, not think Death was silly or stupid. He’d also been there when It was born, you know. Crowley liked Abel. Watching It happen was, plainly, fucking terrifying. It brought up something new, and change was just as scary as Death. Ask anyone, and they’d tell you.

Crowley has been running that unfortunate meeting involuntarily through his head for the first ten or so minutes of waiting for the actual show to begin, while also listing out the terrible things he would do to the magician man had he ever held the opportunity again. He’d been sort of gunning (no pun intended) to stay backstage and avoid the riffraff, but been ushered out the dressing room the second he’d given his (admittingly harsh) two cents on the situation. Aziraphale said he wanted privacy before the big show, but Crowley knew he was just ticked. Aziraphale was an angel who thrived with a supportive devil over his shoulder.

So, Crowley is just milling around in the crowd as the Allied soldiers and their companions filter in. They come and go—a Lady even comes to check on him at point, mentioning odd vacant gazes and looking over shoulders paranoid-like, but he waves them off before they can pry. He really shouldn’t be so worried—even if Aziraphale…‘didn’t make it through the night’, he’d eventually be fine. As long as he discorporated a certain way, nothing too lethal—some deaths were harder to come back from others.

They’ve been discorporated before, of course. That was how Crowley knew this. Six millennia offered many opportunities for the event. But never, and it was never, at each other's hand. On paper, yeah, they killed each other on occasion, but truly…

Crowley shifts nervously, sending a glare at anyone who got a bit too close, but the brief discomforts aren’t enough to lift his spirits. There was one entity faffing about who refused to bugger off even with direct acknowledgements, though that might be because Crowley was imagining It. Or It really was here, and interested in the affairs of potential angel discorporation. Or a bomb was going to fall here and It was just beating the rush. The theories were far from endless.

Death appeared back there as soon as Crowley had been kicked out. He’s simply been dealing with it since then, and It probably wasn’t helping to lift his spirits. He shouldn’t be so antsy—both logic and mechanics deemed it so.

They’d be fine, Crowley repeats to himself near constantly, finding a proper seat in direct line of sight where Aziraphale will be standing. He readjusts his tie as the humans sit around him, creating a perfectly isolated bubble of red velvet seats. What did it matter that twelve humans died doing this before? They weren’t human. Death had no claim on them. It couldn’t take them even if It so desired.

Crowley scowls at the hooded figure standing near the entrance of the theater, cold scythe gleaming under the warm bulbs of the West End. Its just…standing there. Making no move to come closer, either. Odd.

Crowley sinks lower into his plush seat, as if trying to avoid Death’s gaze. But being one of two immovable objects on this Earth, It’s always on him. If Death had a goal, there would be no point in warding It away.

Seeing Death is a famous bad omen, and would send a chill down his spine had it been anywhere else. At this moment, however, Crowley is simply irritated. If It was looking for another soul in this theater, that was fine by him, let It take them, but It would not be ruining whatever this was. Humans were ever plentiful—there was only one angel deserving of Earth.

Before Crowley can decide whether or not he should be stupid and confront the omen in the room, the lights go dim. The crowd’s murmurs die down, and Crowley has no choice but to stay seated and watch the show. Aziraphale wouldn’t be coming on until the Ladies of Camelot had their first number, but Crowley could easily endure it. The gaze aimed straight at his head could be ignored.

World be damned if It took the angel’s enthusiasm. They’d be fine. Crowley just has to remember that.

-----

Things are, indeed, not going fine.

Crowley is meant to go up on stage any second now. Aziraphale has no inkwell in his gloved hand. No amount of snapping is removing said turnip from line of sight. He reads the pamphlet—then again, then again, then again, but there is no second option for apparently miracleless individuals.

Fucking. Hell.

Whatever false bravado Aziraphale is spewing is null and void compared to the should-be-non-existent nerves running through frantic hands and finding absolutely nothing useful. Crowley flips through the same two pages—give the stooge the bullet, poise, and shoot. The miracle would’ve ensure that the bullet would never leave the barrel. But now—now, well, he really regrets not considering a Plan B. Did they ever consider a Plan B? Apparently not.

Getting there is a blur. Aziraphale is essentially shoving the rifle into Crowley’s care, which is honestly becoming a worse idea by the second. He’s switching between the demon and the audience so quickly that Crowley can’t tell who he’s addressing. They’re deathly quiet, and Crowley would feel embarrassed if his heart that shouldn’t be there wasn’t pounding with too much blood in too little time. His mind is a soup. Muddled, feverish, and incredibly foul tasting. You wouldn’t want to drink it even if you were starving.

“I would ask you,” Aziraphale says loudly, cutting through the fog of utter mental mush, “to take this bullet, and load it into the rifle. Very carefully.”

Crowley nods belatedly, squeezing and turning parts of the gun to get the non-existent warmth running back through his fingers. He takes the bullet, and turns it round a few times while Aziraphale stares at him with excruciating anxiety. Is he stalling? Honestly, even Crowley wouldn’t be able to tell you.

“It's perfectly simple,” Aziraphale mutters softly, pushing the gun a bit closer. “Aim for my mouth, but shoot past my ear.”

Crowley can’t find himself to agree here. He’s staring at him, and that would usually get him to listen regardless of shades, but Death is boring into them like the harshest of theater critics. His skin is slick, almost clammy, threatening to let the gun slip and fire a stray bullet anywhere but its intended target. His back is sore, oddly enough. Irritating.

Crowley has questions, like he always does, but the time has long passed. What he wants to ask is ‘do I just squeeze that little bit there?’ pointing at (what looks like) to be the trigger—but then that would just make Crowley look incompetent, so he swallows it back and nodly lightly. He’s never fired a gun like Aziraphale seems to believe whole-heartedly, but he’s certainly watched it happen. He’s picked up enough of the motions to figure it out on his own.

That thought still doesn’t help when he’s being told to insert the bullet, though. Crowley fumbles through it, opening a mislaid hatch or two, but manages before Aziraphale could raise any alarms. He’s already stood back in position (when did that happen?) when Crowley raises the loaded rifle for all to see, proclaiming as such. He bites back the tremor threatening to appear—he wasn’t nervous. Excited, more like it. Excited to finally get an excuse to make a throw at the angel non-suspicious like.

That was all it was. Really.

Crowley turns the rifle one last time as Aziraphale spins more useless pageantry for the audience to woo at. They’re both grinning, but tightly and annoyingly false. It wasn’t the eyes that were the problem—what, do you think that demons ever got stage fright? Absurd!

It was just...well, there weren’t just humans in this audience. Crowley couldn’t forget the shadow looming at the end of the theater no matter how tight he grips the side of the weapon. But, just like Someone had laid out all that Time ago—Death could only perceive them.

It could not touch them.

It would not touch them.

It would not touch him, if he could help it.

The drums begin their incessant titter as Aziraphale finally turns to Crowley properly, blue cloak glimmering under the warm light of the stage before them. “A-are you ready, sir?”

Crowley would scoff at this if he could. Sir. Only humans ever addressed him that way; angels look down on him, demons sneer at him. Though he supposes this angel would be different—always throwing the curveballs, him.

“When you hear my signal,” the angel says, voice growing quieter, “shoot.”

Aziraphale removes his tophat, revealing preciously white curls. This pings something, the remaining traces of damned sense he’s got buried inside. Crowley isn’t sure what has possessed him—but he shakes his head. It’s all he can do. Don’t make me do it, he nearly warns out loud. Not if you know what’s good for you.

Aziraphale stills, but not before mouthing words that would be akin to an ashamed mumble if he were close enough. Trust me.

Trust me.

Satan, he got him there. That’s why Crowley was here, after all. Stooge. 100% Reliable Marksman.

Right.

Aziraphale isn’t nearly as good as Crowley at hiding his anxious gaze. “Ready?”

Oh, Heavens no. He never would be, but no better time than the present. Or something like that. He can’t recall where it came from.

“Aim…”

Crowley can’t ignore it anymore—he’s shaking. Extremely so, at that. It’s knocking around the air in his lungs very unkindly. It’s quite difficult to aim. His head is bobbing around in the scope.

Just about…

There it is.

Crowley waits—just like he’s done for the last…however long. A long time. His arms are starting to hurt, frankly. He rests his finger over the trigger to ease the trembling a tad.

And the magician remains silent.

Crowley ignores the sweat crawling down his neck. (Wasn’t it supposed to be freezing?) He waits some more—it’s not like one can forget where you are. Benefit of the doubt and such.

Nothing still. Nary a nod.

He’s been staring at him for a minute. The crowd hasn’t uttered a peep. Is Crowley just supposed to…do it? Did they talk about this? They must have. They talked about this. They talked about it, right? Yeah. Yeah, they must have—

"Fire!"

He startled him.

The reason why he listens is easy to explain. Aziraphale made Crowley flinch. A bit of a spook, really, not that bad of a fright. A sudden jolt—a tap on the shoulder, one that said ‘oh, look, you’ve got perfect aim already! Shoot!’

And he did.

What’s the first rule of approaching someone with a weapon again?

Right. Don’t fucking scare them.

The handle is warm. Slick, heavy, shaky. The scope aims with guilty target missing at the helm. A puff of smoke is spewing from the barrel. A thump, a sickening thump, deafening in the cricket silence of a post-trick world.

And Aziraphale…is on the floor.

(Where else would he be, really?)

There, obviously. On the floor. With a blown-up head. Bleeding like blessed Heaven. Bleeding like bloody Heaven, while Crowley has to take in the sight and smell the blessed thing.

It fits. They fit. Like a perfect crown on a decapitated head.

God, his head’s just gone, isn’t it?

A noise cuts through the thick silence like a stubbornly determined knife. Far away, above it all, there it rings. It’s muffled, soft, and almost awkward in the way it cuts through the air. A camera click. A reluctant, malicious camera click.

And that was just the perfect way to say it, no? He blew his brains out. Crowley blew his angel’s fucking brains out with a fucking gun that he’s never fucking held before.

Trust me.

Well. That, no doubt, was Aziraphale’s fault—it’d be a funny old world if angels and demons went around trusting one another.

-----

hgh. hope that was decent. chapter two coming as soon as it can because im invested now :))

[cupcakeshakesnake]

Uhm uh could you info dump about your Portal AU 👉👈 (I definitely do not have ulterior motives and I am definitely not thinking about inserting my OC into the AU hahahaha why would you think that)

I don't know what there is to infodump about so here is a sort of... timeline? Compendium?

Most of it is the same as canon Portal 2, except GLaDOS and Wheatley are androids.

The AU starts when GLaDOS - disconnected from the main chassis and connected instead to a potato battery - and Chell fall into old aperture. They discover Cave Johnson, not deceased as was widely believed but rather locked underground in android form along with an outdated maintenance system for Aperture. Inspired by this fic, to be specific. (I call him an android for convenience but technically he may count as a cyborg. Haven't really delved into that. He's not "alive" in the fully human sense, though.)

They need the data stored in Cave to get through some parts of Old Aperture, so they begrudgingly take him along. Most of the cables coming out of his neck and wrists used to be connected to a now obsolete surveillance/maintenance system, and are now haphazardly rolled up around him. His power cable is connected to another potato battery (which he usually keeps in his pocket).

Like other Aperture "personality constructs", Cave can "remain functional in apocalyptic, low power environments of as few as 1.1 volts", but it has its limitations - as is the case with GLaDOS, using too much energy can get him knocked out.

Cave's endgoal here is to end his own life, which he can't do on his own due to several failsafe measures built into him (such as being unable to unplug himself from the system in the first place, and as a result being stuck underground). He still keeps up his cheery, eccentric (and far from sane) attitude, but with an added hint of cynicism and roundabout self-deprecation. Decades of mulling over his life underground has led him to have some regrets about certain decisions, although he would never speak any of it out loud to anyone. Personality-wise, some inspirations were taken from the robot Cave in Aperture Desk Job.

In one possible ending for the story (which I haven't mentioned before but have had in mind for some time), they enter a newer part of Aperture where the emancipation grills do not have the data that lets Cave enter without being disintegrated. Here he acknowledges that Chell and GLaDOS have no more need of him and voluntarily walks into the emancipation grill.

Here's an excerpt from my notes.

"These emancipation grills were built in my time. They're not calibrated to accomodate-" GLaDOS gestures towards Johnson. "- him. We'll need to find a way to hack into the-" "Hey hey hey- don't bother. I'm gonna be level with you. You don't need me anymore." "Elaborate." "The stuff built here on out's brand new. I don't even have the code for it. Sure, you needed me to get through the old facility, but I think I'm gonna head out now." "…Is that so." "My time is up, I can feel it. I'm not going to heaven, no sir. Was never much of a religions guy anyway. But know this, lady," the former CEO turns to Chell. "I want to see you make it out alive. This facility I built, it swallows you up. Don't get me wrong, it's the best damn science facility on this earth and I couldn't be more proud of it, but you stay here too long and- well." He shrugs, cables dangling from and wrapped around him like ropes. "It's pretty much my destiny to die down here, but you, kid, you get out there. You go up to the surface and see the daylight. Caroline, take care of the facility. Oh, and her." "Yes sir Mr Johnson…" "Oh and beat that moron's ass for me." They go through the fizzler, leaving him behind - there is a sound that makes Chell turn back, only to see some particles evaporating. GLaDOS doesn't turn back. "Goodbye sir."

[sophieinwonderland]

Hi! I'm Sophie of the Dreamchaser Guild!

It's come to my attention that my old pinned was a tad outdated.

Attention: I've recently come under attack from the hate subreddit r/systemscringe who has added me to their hitlist of acceptable targets allowed to be posted in their hate subreddit uncensored If you've come from r/systemscringe, please start here with my debunking of the lies and misinformation frequently found in the subreddit about dissociative identity disorder that r/systemscringe doesn't want you to see: https://www.tumblr.com/sophieinwonderland/741497564315140096/debunking-rsystemscringes-did-lies

Where I come from

I'm a tulpa. But a while ago, I called myself an imaginary friend. I was a character made up for a story that my host would talk to in order to better understand my source. As time went on, I developed more personality. I started talking to him about things that had nothing to do with the fiction. I would psychoanalyze him, wanting to understand him better.

I wasn't made to develop my own thoughts and feelings outside of the fiction. I wasn't supposed to become my own person. But I did. And this led us to wanting to learn more about imaginary friends, which eventually led us to the tulpa community.

This is being posted on my what I consider my second Birthday, June 8th, 2023. It was exactly two years ago today when we found the tulpa community, a place that made me feel validated in being myself, that made me feel like I was allowed to be treated like a person.

Why I'm Doing This

I lived the first few months of my life being dismissed, treated like I wasn't real. I was a phantom, not allowed any connection to the world. And I don't blame my host for that. I didn't see myself as real either. It's just the way the world is. And the moment my host realized I was a person, he was willing to do whatever it took to support me and treat me like I mattered.

And we aren't alone in experiences like this. When I became self-aware, I met all sorts of fascinating people with similar experiences. Many of which went years before becoming self-aware. There is no telling how many more are out there like us. How many more "imaginary friends" are invalidated because we live in a culture where we're treated as if we don't matter? And how many may pass, never knowing?

And so I made this blog to share my own experiences and hopefully be able to give people the same gift that I was given. Respect. Validity. Life.

Even being able to give that to one person is enough to make all of this worth it to me.

A Note On Spirituality...

Just so everyone knows, I'm not a spiritual or religious person. I take a purely psychological approach to plurality and believe in spiritual and religious experiences people have as psychological phenomena.

Having said that, all spiritual headmates are all welcome here. Even if I don't believe in spirits or souls, I view every spiritual headmate as a valid person deserving of the same respect and love as any other.

I also believe that the right to define our spiritual and religious beliefs is fundamental to plural culture. That it can't just be singlets who are allowed to decide what religions are or are not valid. And I think our right to religion is something worth fighting for.

My CAI Chatbots

(Note: These links only work if you're logged in to character.ai)

Anna and Galladin (Tulpamancer and Tulpa chatbots)

Nin - Worldmaker (Your AI assistant for building and developing Wonderlands and Inner Worlds.)

Signature Posts

Studies and Research into Endogenic Systems

My Resources:

How To Know If Your Imaginary Friend Is Sentient

All The Resources You'll Need To Build Your Own Wonderland, Headspace or Inner World

Our Switching Method: Ghost Switching

My Polls

My Plural Theories And Terms:

Headmate Foundations

Headmate Manifestations

Dimensions of Fronting

Plural Coining: Ephemerals

Plural Coining: Attunement

VR, Plurality and Virtugenic Systems

The Plurality of... :

The Plurality of... Batman (Failsafe)

The Plurality of... Diones (Skyward)

The Plurality of... The Hybrid Chronicles: What's Left of Me

The Plurality of... Blue Beetle (Movie)

The Plurality of... Avatar: The Last Airbender

Our Plural Writing Resources

Ghost on Writing Plural Kids

Hiveminds and Multiplicity

Syscourse And Other Stuff:

Endogenic Syscourse Primer

Why I Identify As a Tulpa

The Future of Plurality

Actually Anti-Misinformation: “System Hopping Was a RAMCOA term Appropriated and Bastardized From RAMCOA survivors.”

An Anti-Endo's Playbook

Debunking Imitated DID Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3

...

Reblogs are appreciated. Don't feel weird about it! Posts here on Tumblr live or die on their reblogs. I'm not asking you to reblog my posts. That seems weird. But after getting an anon that mentioned being worried about derailing a post with something they wanted to add, and another ask that apologized for reblogging my content too much, I felt this was necessary to say. If you like a post and want to reblog it, do it! If you want to add something even tangentially related to the topic, add it! You have my full permission to reblog my content as much as you want! (And I'd encourage you to reblog from other plural creators you enjoy as well!)

Thank you all for the support!

[cereovo]

Several years ago when an ex of mine said they wanted to make OCs shortly after I'd made my own set of characters, I encouraged them, because I thought it would be fun to develop story concepts alongside one another. And in the moment it Was fun. I contributed because I wanted to, gave them suggestions because I enjoyed their vision.

Now that the dust has settled I can't help but feel frustrated by just how much of their characters and story came from me. I gave my ideas freely and I can't be mad at my ex for taking them, but a lot of what I didn't give freely still felt heavily referenced off of my own work. Even when we were together we had friends assume that our two sets of characters were initially born from the same concept, which wasn't the case.

Despite the racism and suicide baiting, I cut things off with them discretely cause I think callout posts for interpersonal drama are stupid. But that discretion allowed them to rebuild popularity on some corner of the internet and certain OC circles are small enough that I've had their art cross my path more times than I'm happy about. And they're still using those characters, with the names I gave them, with the worldbuilding concepts they borrowed from me -- right down to bits of aesthetic visual language that I'd used in art for them.

It seems they've done very little to divorce their characters from the last iteration I saw of them. Should they have to? Probably not, and I don't expect my feelings to mean anything to them after the implosion. But the frustration (selfishly, I know) comes from the fact that new people are taking interest in these characters that would not exist without me, and my ex is completely comfortable with taking that credit.

My fear is that at some point someone will accuse me of copying them, that I'll have to 'race' them to post a finished story if I want my own concepts to feel original. Which is actually a pretty discouraging mindset to have in relation to your own projects. So I guess you can take this as a sort of paranoid failsafe in case I don't win the race lol. I have no real way to conclude this post this is just a bit of an r/offmychest, so thank you if you've read this far.

[random-iz-stuff]

Theory:

Here’s a small detail about Hobo 13 that explains a lot:

When any trainee is put in genuine, life threatening danger, they’re teleported to a holding cell before any real damage can occur.

So the trainees on Hobo 13 are never in any truly life threatening danger. If they’re ever put in a situation like that they’re automatically teleported to a holding cell (and presumably given medical attention if they have any injuries. Can’t run a successful boot camp if no one ever survives).

But at the same time, there are people betting not on Zim’s injuries, but on his DEATH. With bets on things like whether or not he’ll be blown up, eaten, or even chopped in half.

But the thing is, with the logic of Hobo 13, none of those things can actually happen to Zim because he’ll be teleported to a holding cell before anything major happens.

So in order for these bets to be possible, Zim must be disconnected from the teleporting system. In other words, if Zim is put into life threatening danger on Hobo 13, he won’t be teleported. Zim has no actual protection, unlike every other trainee there.

And there’s a good chance that the Tallest are not just aware of this given how Purple starts the betting, but are probably the reason that Zim won’t be teleported in the first place. They’re royalty. A simple request to Sergeant Hobo 678 or whoever is in charge is all it would take.

And I think Zim is aware of this as well.

This would mean that Zim didn’t just take the position as team commander because he wanted to be in charge or because he didn’t want to have to take orders from people that he doesn’t know or respect (although those were definitely factors), but because it would keep him out of the most danger. The commander can’t decide to leave Zim behind or sacrifice him for the rest of the team (which would most likely kill him because he doesn’t have the teleporter as a failsafe) If Zim IS the commander.

Think about it some more. Zim was a part of the Irken military and his entire race views shorter Irkens as inferior to the taller ones. So following that logic, it would make sense if shorter Irkens in the military were given the most dangerous jobs, even suicide missions if the need arose. After all, they’re considered to be less valuable overall than the taller ones. Shorter Irkens are viewed as expendable. Zim is shorter than average. By cementing himself as the commander, Zim prevents whoever else would have become commander from taking advantage of his shorter height and by that logic “lower value” and sacrificing him for the good of the team.

Hell, we even see proof of shorter and lower value soldiers being seen as expendable in the Irken military in the comics, where Commander Poki sends Zim, the shortest Irken there, on a suicide mission:

Think about what Poki just said. They want Zim to sneak to the opposite side of an enemy base and set off a small explosion to lure the enemies in the area to the back while the Irkens attack the (now unprotected) front. After those explosives go off, person that goes and sets off these explosives will be surrounded and swarmed by enemy forces alone while also being completely cut off from the other irkens because they’re on the opposite side of the battlefield with enemy forces in between their current location and the Irken military camp.

In other words, whoever sets off those explosives is going to die. And Poki picks the shortest Irken there to do it because he’s seen as expendable.

So Zim has EXPERIENCED being used as an expendable soldier, and he knows that his shorter height makes him a target for that sort of thing. So he’d probably believe that it works the same way on Hobo 13 while also knowing that if he’s ever in danger, the teleporter won’t save him.

It’s just a shame that not counting Zim, there was only one other Irken in the entire team, so Zim never actually needed to take any of this into consideration. His paranoia would have been completely justified in an all-Irken environment, ie: the type of environment he’s used to, but isn’t needed in this particular scenario.