You are a scientist. You like testing theories, making hypothesis. Working with dangerous materials that get you scolded. You are a scientist, and you are also a writer! You’ve swung at a few things before: sappy poems, work papers, crab, you’ve even attempted a horror short at Mirabelle’s inquiry. You’re favorite thing to write, though, are just basic letters.
You like to write letters. It's easier, to you, to write your thoughts on a piece of paper and hide it somewhere the recipient can find than to tell them what you think face-first. You’ve done it for years, long before you even came to the House to learn about the Change religion. A childhood habit that’s rolled over through your life like a wave on the sea.
So, of course, when time begins to loop, you write. Many, many letters. They all get lost to time when it twists back, and now, many loops in, that leaves a hole in your heart and a spot in your brain you can’t itch, for the words of each letter are mostly forgotten before you fight the King. It’s… fine, you guess? You can word things as many ways as you need to. Anything described can be described some more, after all.
For the first handful of loops, you wrote the same letters. Rather sappy, lovey things, your specialty. The furthest depths of your heart smeared onto a page for eternity, for you love and love and love, and you want those around you to know it.
Though as time trudges on, the same twenty four hours over and over in a nice single circuit built for it to run through, built by wishes and stars and twisted leaf-baring branches, so do your thoughts; therefore your letters move so, too, to adapt. More theoretical things. Questions. Ifs, ands ors buts and whys. Sadder ones after the bad loops, wailing and endlessly upset and mourning those who froze and those who were killed for standing in the King's way.
They get angrier as time goes on. More enraged. Wrath melts into the corners, edges fold and tear and warp under the weight. You stop delivering them, because you're here in this time loop hell to protect the ones you love, and you'd just make it worse if you gave them a letter like that.
You write a scathing letter, once. You write it after an absolutely abysmal loop, ending with blood and tears and probably the loudest you've ever screamed. It flows onto the page easily, and you leave it out on your desk, because you were hungry and hadn't eaten that loop with how beside yourself stressed you were.
Mirabelle finds it. Asks you, quite worried, if you're okay. You must've said something, and it had to be bad, because she flinched away from you like you'd tried to light her ablaze.
You panicked. Time looped.
Never again.
You hide them, after that. Shoved in your pillowcases or in piles of books, stacks of other papers. In the barrels. When you write only one or two you shove them in a bottle and push them to the back of your potions.
You're a shedding snake, a leopard changing its spots. Time is your prisoner and you are it's, and that melts into you as a human being until you are flesh and blood and twenty four hours that shouldn't continue.
Words spill from you, your mind, onto the page. You don't read them anymore. Just write and write and write, and tuck them away and pray no one finds them. You long for the days you could sit and write sappy love letters-- and sometimes, you still do them, but they're tinged with something, regret or rage or the absolute despair you feel, they're wrong, so they're tucked away as well. Letters just wrong, noticeably so. You’d be asked what’s wrong. Cornered. You can hear it now, “What’s wrong? What does this mean?” And all you can think of is the horrors you’ve seen.
One of these loops, whenever you get out, you expect to have a pile of ramblings with time-burnt letters and tear-stained edges. Whenever you get out, if there are any, you'll burn them. As a rite of passage, or something. A Change. Because time changed you, and the less people have to know about it the better. You can't get rid of your rotten voice or the tiredness in your bones or the way your brain has twisted to think, but you CAN get rid of letters.
You like to write. The horrors you write, of twisted time and dying and what being frozen in time is like— it can go. No one needs to know. No one WILL know. It’ll all fall on you, like every other crabbing thing in the time loops. And that’s okay, it’s enough.
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happy new year Ego!!! Just wanted to let you know that I absolutely adore your twst fanart and the tags are just an absolute pleasure to read! You are my greatest inspiration for my personal twst art and I just wanted to thank you for your wonderful masterpieces <333 if possible, may I ask what are some of your headcanons for the diasomnia family? If not for diasomnia then any other characters are fine as well!
thank you, and happy new year! 💚💜💚 that is amazing to hear; it's always a little bewildering but super flattering that other people like my silly little doodles so much!
I don't think I really have any really solid headcanons and also canon keeps validating me left and right (FLUFFY DOMESTIC DIAFAM IS REAL). mostly just kind of...impressions and general thoughts, if that makes sense! lately though I've been kind of obsessed with thinking about Lilia's hair, and specifically when/why he ended up cutting it. (l-look, we're bouncing around the timeline and I gotta make decisions about these things when I draw, it's relevant) (I mean I would probably be weirdly fixated on this anyway, but.)
I think I've settled on the idea that he kept it long until he went to NRC, partly because 1) I like drawing The Ponytail, and 2) I think he thought of NRC as a chance to reinvent himself a bit! he gets to go and be a wacky carefree teenager for a few years and have fun! (officially he's there to keep an eye on Son #1, but how much trouble could he get into, really.) so he gave himself a Cool Teen Haircut to go with his fresh new Cool Teen Persona!
also maybe he had some reflection on his hair's troubled past with three kids...
...and had to weigh his vanity versus the fact that he was going off to be around hundreds of kids on a daily basis, and. the choice suddenly seemed obvious.
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"Alright, here we go!" The bartender announces, leaning up to place the drinks on the bar.
"That's one whiskey, neat—" He says, sliding the lowball cocktail glass with amber liquid in front of Eddie.
"—And one Whammin' Slammin' Booty-Bangin' Pina Colada."
He places the extravagant cocktail in front of Steve. It's decorated to the nines with a straw, an umbrella, a piece of pineapple, and a little bit of tinsel on a toothpick. A whole party decoration in a drink.
"You guys have a good night." The bartender says warmly, already moving down the bar to tend to other customers.
Eddie stares down at the whiskey in the glass before him and pouts a little. Beside him and watching his boyfriend closely, Steve rolls his eyes.
"Oh, quit being dramatic," Steve says, sliding the cocktail across the bar so it's in front of Eddie, who had ordered it. He steals the glass of whiskey back at the same time.
"It happens every time."
"It happens most times."
"That isn't much better!" Eddie protests, even as he leans down and takes a long sip from the straw while they both get to their feet and leave the bar. Steve's hunting for a table they can snag, his eyes narrowed in focus. Eddie follows him blindly, his cocktail cupped in both hands.
"I'm serious, Steve! What is it about this adorable face—" He says, gesturing to himself, barely letting go of the straw to talk. It doesn't seem to faze him that Steve doesn't even glance back. "—Says I don't want to enjoy a Whammin' Bammin' Big Booty Colada?"
Steve comes to a stop, pausing his search for a moment to look back at Eddie. His expression seems unimpressed on the surface but Eddie can see his lips twitching up at the corners.
"We've had this conversation too many times, babe." He sighs halfheartedly and takes a quick sip of his own whiskey, eyes casting back out across the bar. "You have scary dog energy, you know this. You specifically dress like this on purpose."
Eddie picks up the pineapple wedged on the edge of his glass and bites into it, sending it down with another sip of his cocktail as Steve leads them further into the back of the bar. He finally spots a spare empty table.
"C'mon, I think I found one." Steve urges, one hand snaking back to make sure Eddie's following.
"Is it a crime to wish to not fall victim to stereotypes?" Eddie prattles on, following Steve duly by slipping his hand into Steve's outstretched one. His cocktail wobbles precariously as he takes another gulp.
"Like when that waitress gave me your awful black coffee! And you got my delicious delicacy that I paid extra hard-earned money for..."
+
i like to think that when steve and eddie go out, people always lean into their assumptions and are like hmm ok preppy boy with the polo? oh he gets the fruity cocktail! and eddie is always like >:( i don't want this expensive puddle of piss gimme the bonanza supreme cocktail pls. like excuse me i paid for that.
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i think there’s an inherent sadness and pain about dhawan coming after gomez. like gomez’s master had finally became friends with the doctor again despite everything. she died for him (twice if we count simm’s). after so long they finally stood together on the same page with mutual understanding and a hope that their next lives would be kinder and perhaps they’d be standing together.
yet dhawan went home after regenerating. came to the understanding that he was nothing to the doctor but a speck in her past. just as small and tiny as her companions and the flood of insecurities that haunted him since the day he left came back. he was never an equal and never would be and the doctor knew it (had known it all along). so he had to make himself an equal and worthy enough to stand against the doctor (never with. for how can you stand with the sun. instead you have to eclipse it take away its warmth and life)
a post-gomez dhawan is just fun.
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Not related to much of anything, but I love seeing YD's posts over on twitter. She's being so positive, and seeing all that excitement is downright adorable
Like when she saw a clip of Phil running over to pick her up after she got downed on her first day
That's so freaking cute
Not to mention all the fanart she's been retweeting, even asking at one point if retweeting or quote-retweeting was better because she wanted to start sharing the fanart that people were making
And of course this post she made today after doing some offscreen digging
And some iconic responses as a bonus
I also wanna say that I really liked Jyungreok's (Let me know if I spelled that wrong) energy too when he joined, he was absolutely hilarious. Though he hasn't been on as much to see. Same with Acau and Kong (Again, let me know if I'm spelling these wrong)
It's just nice to see this kind of positivity again and remember the great things that this server can bring to people all around the world. I'm really excited to see more of them once the server gets back up and running at 100% again (I also cannot WAIT to see how YD and Kong interact with Chunsik)
(Edit)
Ohh and now I just saw her reply to Tubbo lmao!
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i’m sorry but i am a period sex truther‼️
simon wouldn’t even be phased just a “if it helps ya feel better why not” and you’re so giddy because you weren’t expecting him to be into it. in fact you were preparing yourself for him to brush you off and have to deal with the disappointment.
your boyfriend is so diligent laying down towels for you and suddenly you’re feeling shy at the thought of him seeing you like this. he’s seen you on your period of course and he’s seen you naked, but having him look at you with that hungry look in your eye during your time of the month feels a little daunting.
you’re broken out of your thoughts when simon runs his hands up your legs, caressing your thighs softly; his method of wordlessly soothing you and it works like a charm. you take a deep breath as you feel him line himself up with your entrance and you brace yourself for the familiar feeling of him filling you completely.
simon takes your hand and tangles your fingers together, he presses a kiss to the back of your hand and questions, “ya ready baby?” words fail you so you simply nod enthusiastically. in one fell swoop he pushes into the tight heat of you and you both moan in unison at the feeling. you feel more sensitive right now, your gummy walls clamping down on him with every thrust. it doesn’t take long before you feel your orgasm building, white hot heat simmering inside of you. your boyfriend has his head buried in the crook of your neck and is groaning loudly and whispering in your ear about how tight you are and how much he loves the feeling of your pussy gripping his cock.
“si- baby…oh my god. i’m-“
“i know love, ‘ve gotcha”
simon’s hand trails down and rubs fervently at your throbbing clit, the lewd wet sound of your blood and arousal fill your ears and you momentarily feel like you should be disgusted but can’t even bring yourself to be. in no time your back is arching, body bowing as you hurdle right over the edge.
your chest is heaving and you feel sort of cockdrunk that you barely even notice simon pulling out and cleaning you up. you must’ve dozed off because when you wake you’re being scooped up and settled into a hot, bubbly bath. before the blonde man can pull away you grab his face in your hands and kiss him passionately. he was so good to you, how did you manage to get so lucky?
“i’m the lucky one love” you hadn’t realize you said that out loud, but you’re not even embarrassed at your admission. simon deserved to know how much you adored him.
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