#anyways i guess this snippet basically boils down to

[yuesya]

Pain.

Mind-numbing, excruciating. Mechamaru is no stranger to pain –to him, pain is a constant companion, day in and day out, stretching on and on with no end in sight.

He was born with this condition. With a deformed body that was missing an arm, too weak to even stand upright on its own, skin that felt like it was constantly being flayed and even burned beneath moonlight-

Mechamaru is no stranger to pain. It’s something that he’s used to, something that he’s already grown numb to.

And yet, in this moment –all that registers to his senses is pain, his entire body feels like it’s been shattered into a thousand different shards but cobbled together in mismatched pieces all the same, bones grating and burning and he can’t–

He can’t–

Pain burning it’s no use help no can’t stop Special Grade kill I’m dying no escape–

… Miwa… I…

A green light blooms in front of him. Mechamaru gasps, as a sudden coolness washes through his body, leaving nothing but blessed relief in its wake.

Then, a hand rests upon his head, followed by the sound of a soft, feminine voice. For a moment, the words flow over him uncomprehendingly, before he finally realizes them for what they are: Incantations.

“White,” Gojo Shiki intones, and Mechamaru trembles involuntarily beneath the swell of the other sorcerer’s cursed energy.

Another voice speaks up as the hand is withdrawn from his head. Male, mild-sounding. Mechamaru slowly opens his eyes, only to see a green-haired man with a snake draped over his shoulders step back from him. But beside him, the white-haired girl with eerie blue eyes remains unmoving.

… Gojo Shiki.

Mechamaru struggles and attempts to sit up –but it’s no use. His limbs won’t obey him. Mechamaru blinks, and realizes that it’s… wrong. The angle is wrong; that cursed spirit Mahito might’ve fixed his body, but Mechamaru isn’t supposed to be this tall. His body isn’t supposed to feel so swollen and bloated, either, almost as if–

Horror lances sharply through his chest when he catches sight of sickly gray-green skin from the corner of his eye.

Mechamaru is not an idiot. He grasps the implications of this immediately. After all, he’s seen so many of the victims of Idle Transfiguration through the screens of his surveillance puppets; how could he possibly not recognize this?

“Muta-san,” Gojo-san’s voice is calm, neutral. Mechamaru wishes that he has half of the other sorcerer’s calm in this moment –there’s something inside him that wants to scream. The whole point of everything he did was so he could join everyone and walk beside them as a normal person and–!

“Muta-san, focus.”

“What… do you want?” Even his voice is distorted, raspy and near-indecipherable. His mouth moves, but Mechamaru is barely able to form the words and force them out from his throat.

“Information,” the white-haired girl responds. “… But that will have to wait, I suppose.”

Mechamaru breathes out a harsh laugh. Yeah, I bet that’s the case. To think that he would be the first transfigured human-monster to live… there was a certain irony in that, he supposed. One that he does not have the inclination to appreciate.

“Why am I still alive?” he asks bluntly. Even with her arrival… Mechamaru would’ve expected Gojo Shiki to prioritize killing the cursed spirits and Geto Suguru over making sure that he lived. Unless… “Have I already been pardoned by the higher-ups?”

“Colluding with an unknown, malicious group of Special Grade cursed spirits and curse users is a crime, Muta-san,” she responds mildly.

For some reason, Mechamaru snaps.

“You think I don’t know that?” Of course it’s a crime. Of course it’s a crime! … But what other choice did he have? Mechamaru so desperately wanted to be normal. He’d never asked to be born with this goddamned Heavenly Restriction that left him an invalid cripple! He’d never wanted this!

He just… he just wanted to be able to walk next to everyone.

To smile, to laugh with them, beneath that brilliant sun.

… He’d wanted it so badly, but it was… impossible. Impossible, until a Special Grade cursed spirit with the ability to freely change the human form showed up on his radar, and–

What other choice did Mechamaru have?

“… You don’t understand,” he finds himself growling at the other sorcerer, who remains perfectly composed and unaffected by his agitation. Ever the image of perfection, Gojo Shiki. Gojo Shiki, who was the princess of the Gojo Clan, the blessed child who’d been born talented and powerful and would never, never be able to relate to the same desperation that clawed at Mechamaru from inside. Who could just sit back calmly and judge him from her high seat –what gave her that right?! “You don’t understand!”

“I do not,” she says. “To clarify, are you admitting to betraying the administration and aligning yourself with Geto Suguru?”

“NO!” Mechamaru roars. Because-

He wants a normal, healthy body so badly, but… he’d never truly been on Geto’s side. Because Geto wants to destroy everything, and Mechamaru cares about everyone in Kyoto High, and… and Geto was a threat to them all. It had only ever been a temporary arrangement. Mechamaru would use Geto to accomplish his goal of being healed, and allow Geto to use him for information-gathering in the meantime. Then, once he finally got what he wanted–

… ha. Just what is he saying? Just look at Mechamaru now –broken and defeated, a transfigured monster. And he only had himself to blame for it.

Mechamaru shakes his head roughly, forcing himself to refocus.

There’s… there’s another person standing next to Gojo-san. A young man with dark green hair and piercing gold eyes, and for some reason just looking at him sends a chill running down Mechamaru’s spine. There’s… there’s something truly awful about his cursed energy, almost as if–

“It’s fine,” Gojo-san has a hand held out in front of the new arrival. “It was merely an emotional outburst, nothing more.”

“Very well,” the boy says, with a brief glance towards the other sorcerer. There's something rather strange about the way he speaks, the lilt and the accent of a foreign dialect, although Mechamaru is uncertain of how to place it. “But if he is unable to control himself–”

“I will adhere to the terms of the binding vow… ah, the contract that I have promised.”

Binding… vow?

… Gojo-san… made a binding vow for him? And if he was reading this situation correctly, it was to... ensure his safety, in the monstrous form that he now wore...?

A complicated mix of emotions wash over him –shame, fear, apprehension. Mechamaru swallows roughly.

…

(“Wait, what do you mean, we’re in a different world?!”)

[rokurookajima]

WAIT WHAT ARE CEREMONIALS AND CLAW MACHINE REMAINING CHAPTERS...i dont think ive seen them 👀

hehehehehe

ceremonials is the general label given to what boils down to. all canon waava smut pre- and post- bonding 😎 and it is called that bc a line from Only If For a Night by florence + the machine which is just .. a key waava song to meeee (the full line is “my own secret ceremonials” which just feels very fitting to the absolute nasty shit those two were getting up to)

and claw machine remaining chapterssss there are 2 more chapters for the prompts “stars” & “night” (because lest we forget this was all for waava week 2024 and i just haven’t finished it), and then also. there is an epilogue bc the last chapter was getting too long for the narrative flow :’)

under the cut, snippet from claw machine ch 8 aka The Climax Chapter, night:

“God. Even this coffee is terrible.”

“That’s not even coffee,” Jaya says, looking at him with concerned disgust. “You put old Bailey’s in the microwave. I don’t even know if it’s expired or not.”

“Fuck me,” sighs Wan. He flops overdramatically back down on the couch and bemoans, “nothing makes sense without her.”

Jaya opens his mouth to speak, but stops himself. Instead, he just leans forward, props both elbows on his knees and steeples his hands in front of his face in seriousness. He takes a deep breath in, exhaling hard. “Wan. Listen to me. You’re being really ridiculous lately.”

Wan lifts the arm slung over his eyes just enough to peek out. “How so?”

“Dude, I’ve lived with you since I was fuckin’ three,” scoffs Jaya. “I know how you are. And this?”

Arching his neck back further for eye contact, Wan waits.

Point blank, Jaya finishes, “you’re insufferable.”

Insufferable. Wan’s heard that before.

“I’m fine, man,” he dismisses with a wave. “Everything’s fine, I’m just…drunk. Apparently.”

“Everything is not fine. Maybe that works on Raava while she’s gone, but that’s not gonna work on me.”

Wan’s heart jolts at that. He gulps down the feeling that rises, and says with defeat, “what makes you think it works on Raava?”

Jaya rolls his eyes. “Okay, so I guess it doesn’t work on her either—is that not enough to snap you out of it then?”

Wan just sighs again, even more dramatically. You’re insufferable—where has he heard that before?

“I don’t even think you’re drunk, I think you just have food poisoning or something,” says Jaya, shaking his head. “Raava’s only been gone for three weeks, dude, is this how you’re gonna be for the rest of forever after high school?”

“I haven’t thought that far ahead yet,” Wan shrugs. That’s obviously a lie—the reminder stings.

Jaya sounds genuinely surprised when he says, “huh. Weird. I figured you already had some grand plan for how you were gonna follow her around for the rest of your life.”

Propping himself up hastily, Wan twists to look back at the other boy with wide eyes.

“You seriously haven’t thought of that? Obviously that’s your fuckin’ problem then.” Jaya takes the joint left in the ashtray and relights it. “If you wanna go with her next year, just go with her. It’s not like she’ll say no.”

Confused, Wan asks, “did Korra say something to you?”

“Why would Korra say something to me?” He taps ash from the joint, blows smoke out. “Like I’d even need someone to tell me that anyway, dude. Again—you basically raised me, I think I know you better than that.”

“What’s your point?”

“Wan, come on,” Jaya scoffs. “I pretend for Raava’s sake that I don’t know about you and her. You think when we all hang out, I go to bed when I do just because I want to?”

“Yes?”

“You guys hit a certain time of night where you’re way too gross to be around. I don’t need to see my brother like that.”

Wan’s face flushes, and he quickly flops back down to hide it. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Jaya laughs. “You are literally not subtle at all, and Raava’s not any better—she makes that fuckin’ face when she’s nervous, it’s beyond obvious. I live here. You seriously still expect me to believe she’s been spending the night at least once a week for months, and you’re not together?”

Before Wan can try to deny another thing, Jaya adds, “our rooms share a wall, Wan. This house is old as fuck. Do the math yourself.”

[bromcommie]

Hello & Happy Monday!

So...for the WIP tag game...I know I'm supposed to pick the one (1! ONE!) that I find most intriguing, but this is like a whole buffet of intrigue, so maybe I can have two? 👀 1) НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT) <- ngl, the 'figure out' cracked me up. Also, late night conversations? Yes, please!

2) what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 <- this just sounds fun...and possibly like the title could be deliberately misleading

Thank you! <3

Hello helloo, happy Monday to you too! (but also Tuesday now I guess. It's a 2-for-1!)

Thank you for the ask, and thank you for indulging me with two (2! it's gonna be so long!) <3

НОЧНОЙ РАЗГОВОР (FIGURE OUT!!!) - Ooof, this fucking guy. I'm glad my stern instructions to myself in the title there were funny, because I do indeed need to FIGURE this one OUT and it's bugging me. It's essentially another chapter that's a part of a larger work (not naming names not pointing fingers but it's. The Work I'm Having Trouble Updating) and it was written a looong while back, which is why it's now a standalone file. I love the premise but I kinda want to tear it down and rebuild it entirely, mostly because I'm still deciding on whether I like the way I wrote the backstory for it. So. It's fun! It's challenging! It's giving me a migraine! The title's from this song about a tired traveler trying to find his way in the night. It's three conversations (Steve+Nat, Nat+Bucky and Bucky+Steve - although they barely talk at all) that happen in the night after a very not lucid, injured Don't-Call-Me-Bucky who's recently remembered the Red Room and also had a pretty rattling encounter with the code words seeks Natasha out in Europe for [redacted] something as a last resort, but instead accidentally walks straight into Steve who he's been staying away from like the Devil Himself since CATWS. And then basically bleeds all over him. (I am not immune to the wound care trope! However, this is unfortunately not that.) A lot of ugly feelings and defense mechanisms are brought up, some painful memories re: the war and the Red Room are brought up, and nobody's having a good time or really knows how to process jack shit. They all communicate/perceive love&protection in wildly different ways, and while all three dynamics end on some kind of natural conclusion it's still a lot of unfinished, unspoken business and just kind of sad. Hurt no comfort that's necessary for there to be the promise of comfort in the future, if you will. Tbh, I really want to finish/reincorporate this one. But it's just so *screams into paper bag*. Anyway. Snippet:

When Steve wakes up the next morning Bucky’s gone, like he knew he would be. Like a hurricane passing through, the foreknowledge doesn’t make the aftermath any easier. And then what? his own voice from so long ago echoes in his head as he waits for the water for Natasha’s tea to boil in the sunny little kitchenette of the motel’s lobby. 16 hours later, he’s watching the blinding stripe of the sun setting over the East River before the plane maneuvers onto the landing strip at JFK. The hell else? Then we march on, ace. We go home.

2. what's a nice nutcase like you doing in a place like astoria 1203 - oh good, thank god! So this one is a bit more fun, but it's only got a few disjointed half-scenes so far. The title is actually one of the most literal ones on the list - the fic does take place in Astoria, Queens, and it does involves a certain "nutcase". Several, even. They really don't get along, and then they almost do.

(Blame my recent rewatch of the Netflix shows for this one. Man. What a golden age that was.)

Excerpt under the cut:

It was easy to clock the combat training before, sure, but up close this guy’s… Keyed up. Wild-eyed, a little, and not in the twitchy way of the three idiots piled up outside by the ruined water hydrant, not just sheer adrenaline stoked by fear and booze and coke. More dialed-in, purposefully ruthless. Hungry. Getting up with an expression like an enraged bull in spite of the beating he just took. Nutcase, Barnes thinks bleakly. Not that he’s in any position to judge — glass houses, all that, but — “What’re you,” he croaks, “some kind of psycho?” “Says the guy who just mowed down six guys without blinking." The man spits, grimacing at the blood that lands on the stark white of the rooftop like it personally offends him. If he notices the similar spray across his busted face, his clothes, his military-short hair, he doesn't seem to give a damn. "Nice going, by the way— my man got away." "And my man's bleeding out on a fucking pool table downstairs," he grits out. He doesn't have time for this. This whole night has been one giant exercise in unpredictability, and the police sirens echoing off in the distance are problem enough without him having to duke it out over and over with some local homicidal moron who might or might not be HYDRA. "You wanna tell me what that's about?" The man levels an irritated look back at him and then shrugs, dismissive. "I don't play with my food." "Your food had intel I've been hunting for two weeks." "Tough shit. Maybe if you hadn't screwed up your goddamn trig—" His lip curls of its own volition, affronted despite himself. What an appropriate time for his ego to announce it's back from the dead and in the mix. How fun. “The hell I did. I don’t miss.” "Is that right? There's some real screwed up drywall down there that says otherwise." His voice picks up an edge of something dangerous, aiming for threatening and landing on feral as he takes a step closer, and Jesus, can he stay down already? "Unless you did it on purpose to let him know I'm coming because you work for the bastard, in which case lemme tell you, you and me have a whole different problem." "I don't work for anybody," he says, probably with more intensity than strictly necessary. "He was a civillian. I don't kill civillians." The words curl acerbic on his tongue. He doesn't. He doesn't. That, of all things, makes the man laugh, a bitter little thing that sounds like it clawed its way out of his throat, and only barely. Who the fuck is this guy. "Oh Jesus Christ, not this bullshit again— how many of you assholes are running around this place, huh?" he says, gesturing a little wildly at him. "You got a fancy catsuit under that hobo getup, too?" It's Barnes' turn to look at him like he's a few marbles short, which judging by all evidence he very well might be. The guy snorts at his confusion, shaking his head. "If you consider that criminal piece of dog shit a civilian, you’re way more out of your depth than I thought, kid.”

but also:

“Self-righteous, God's sacrificial lamb type-of-shit," he mumbles around the mouthful with distaste, staring off across the bridge. "Got himself a stupid fucking title and everything, if you can believe that. Major pain in my ass.” Barnes hums, considering, before taking a cautious bite of his own sandwich. The thick pile of fatty meat and melted cheese breaks apart in his mouth easy with a sudden, almost overwhelming explosion of flavours, his empty stomach singing praises despite the ache in his bruised jaw as he chews. He never thought he’d say this, but god bless Queens. “Catholic?” Castle grunts an affirmative. “Yeah, I have some experience with that.”

[youre-fired-s-seaborn]

So you guys are never going to guess what I just did.

I might possibly be writing a tww fic (FOR REAL THIS TIME I PROMISE) and I just finished the first little snippet so I thought I’d share that with y’all!

It’s going to be several chapters, each one from the POV of a different senior staff member, basically just a random collection of scenes where everyone Works Out their Issues. Official summary= The senior staff + Donna think about the past, how far they’ve come, heartbreak, hard times, sleep deprivation, and what family means to them over a ginormous bowl of popcorn.

(Part backstory headcanons, part character study, part found family, part random other shit?? I have no clue where this came from tbh. Anyway enjoy this rambly dumpster fire) (the popcorn is figurative)

Part one is Sam, and I’m sure none of you are surprised 😋 Enjoy!!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Samuel Norman Seaborn was a kid, ‘I want to be a lawyer when I grow up’ was one thought that didn’t cross his mind, not even once. Which is saying something, because little Sam had a lot of thoughts. He had opinions about everything, even things he didn’t understand (especially those) and he had ideas, big ideas that everyone said were going to change the world one day, and he had an imagination the size of the Chrysler building and not enough room in his head for all the stories he wanted to tell. Everyone liked Sam. He was easy to like. At least, until he got a little older and suddenly his imagination was distracting instead of endearing and his ideas were silly instead of helpful and the big books he liked to read were taking time away from more important things. It didn’t make sense to him, because he had always thought they were the most important things in the world, but one day when one too many teachers had commented on it and one too many other children had teased him for it, he sat himself down at his desk and told himself he wouldn’t be like that anymore. Sam decided he wouldn’t be the dreamy one with his head in the clouds anymore. He would be focused, and dedicated, the model student and son.

So somewhere in middle school, Sam Seaborn changed from the cheerful, somewhat dazed and forgetful child he had been into the most intensely focused little academic his teachers had ever seen. Focusing was usually...hard, for Sam. At least, focusing on the right thing. His mind wanted to go in so many different directions and think about so many different things, and none of them were what he should have been focusing on. But he found that if he worked really hard and forced himself to think about one specific thing, then he could usually achieve it. Homework and such wasn’t exactly what he was passionate about, but it was what his parents wanted, and what everyone else around him seemed to want, so he did his best.

He worked hard through high school and when he graduated, he got accepted to Princeton. Sam loved Princeton. He loved everything about it. He started working hard because he liked it, and not because he thought other people wanted him to. He worked towards his law degree, and he got it.

(He never did stop writing, though. It was like a disease. No matter where he was or what he should have been doing, he could never make himself not write.)

There was a bit of a gray area after that, and more than one bad decision, but then he got the job at Gage-Whitney. And Gage-Whitney was...well. He was good at it. It paid well. He kept working his way up the ladder until he made partner, and wasn’t that everyone’s dream? Shouldn’t he love his job? Maybe he should have. He didn’t.

Then there was Lisa, and he couldn’t decide if she had been a mistake or not. He had liked her an awful lot; even loved her. She had been quite fond of him too. It had been real. Once. He remembered nice dinners and radiant smiles and the joy of having a partner who was as smart as you.

God, what happened to us? He’d think sometimes, but it was stupid, because he knew exactly what had happened to them. Sam had quit his job and gone running off to New Hampshire with Joshua Lyman. He’d tried to build a presidential campaign from scratch, then actually managed to accomplish it, which was somehow even worse for their relationship because then he was zipping all over the country without a minute to spare and he told himself he called whenever he could but it wasn’t enough and he knew it. Whenever they did get to see each other, there was a...distance, that there never had been before. Eventually Lisa would say something passive aggressive about how apparently Josh Lyman meant more to him than she did, and Sam would get defensive and mutter something about how he never complained when she always went off to fancy bars with her fancy friends every other night, and she would bark out an incredulous laugh because of course he would find a way to insult her friends when he was the one who had left her in the dust, because wasn’t that just the kind of person he was!

It hurt even more because they cared, they both cared. A lot. But in the end, it didn’t matter, because Sam chose the campaign and she chose to stay and there was nothing they could say to change each other’s minds. Her eyes had gotten big and wet and angry, and he had been numb, staring out at nothing. That was the night she gave him back the ring.

But he tried not to think about it too much now. It was a sure-fire way to ruin his day. Or week, more likely.

“Did you know that supposedly the shortest telegram correspondence in history was between Victor Hugo and his literary agent?” he asked. He was sitting at one of the desks in the bullpen, hunched over some files that he really didn’t want to read. It was one of those days, where there was a lot to do but a lot of time to do it, so you ended up doing anything but what you were supposed to do. One of those days that felt lazy and slow when it shouldn’t have been.

Josh was leaning against an office door frame across from him. “Really.”

“Yeah.” he flipped through some of the papers absently. “To ask how the book sales were doing he just sent a question mark. The guy sent back an exclamation point. And all I’m saying is if Victor Hugo himself could restrain his verbosity like that, then just maybe the guys writing these files could-” he paused as Josh wandered over, resting his forehead against the back of Sam’s head and wrapping an arm around him from behind. “What?” Sam asked.

“Nothing.” Josh chuckled. “You’re just a huge dork.”

“Oh.” He rolled his eyes. “Just part of my charm, I guess.”

“In that case, you are extremely charming.”

“Ha ha.” Sam looked over as Josh slid into the desk chair next to him. “Hey, did CJ say how the briefing went? I was on the Hill all morning.”

Josh shrugged. “It was fine. They were all just asking about whether Jancowitz was going to sink the healthcare bill with his insistence on antagonizing what’s-his-name at the DOD.”

“Ah. Should we send someone to smooth that over?”

“Yeah, you can put Ainsley on it. I’m not too worried.” A problem for another day, then. Josh leaned back in his chair, putting his feet up on the desk in front of him. “It’s supposed to keep snowing all night.”

“They said that the last two times it snowed.”

“I think they’re right this time!” Josh protested, tapping the side of his head. “It’s my flawless intuition as an outdoorsman.”

Sam laughed. “At this rate, we could put you on the Weather Channel. You’d be just as accurate as all of those guys.”

“Mmm. With their track record, I could be their boss by next Tuesday.” He squinted at something for a minute before hopping up. “Well, I should probably go work on my thing before Leo has an aneurysm. I’ll come see you later about the environment?”

“Yeah, see you.” He sighed, staring down at the papers while Josh went back to his office. After a minute, he just shook his head and stood up, gathering them in his hands and retreating into his own office. Sam unceremoniously dumped the files onto a shelf, settling into his desk chair. They could be read another day.

Straightening his glasses, he popped open his laptop on the desk in front of him. He tried typing out some remarks for the President’s conference next week, but didn’t get very far. He wandered over to his email, and replied to a few people who had asked him questions.

I should write my dad, he thought absently. It had been a while since his last email. The thing was, thinking about his father in any capacity was Sure-fire Way To Ruin His Week Number Two.

It was...complicated. Sam had never had the best relationship with either of his parents to begin with. They had always been busy, and now he was always busy, and he supposed that it was possible he had lost far too many important things in his life due to people being busy. It didn’t even sound like a good excuse.

His mother was a brilliant, industrious woman who had grown up poor and worked so hard to get their little family off the ground that there was little else left of her now. At least, that was how he’d always felt. She’d always been so caught up in working to secure his future, and seemed to not have time for him in the meantime. Oh, she had tried, but she was always on a phone call or an extra shift and so it had usually just been him and his dad at the house when he was little.

It made his blood boil to think about it too long. Sam had never been close with his mother, but she had worked so hard and given up so much to keep them afloat. And this was how his father had repaid her? By...by...he couldn’t even put it into words. Learning about his father’s mistress had shook him to his core, and hadn’t stopped shaking it since.

Family had never been a very comforting concept to Sam, and after that particular revelation, even the romanticized ideal of it had come crumbling down around him. Family wasn’t supposed to be built on lies and absence and forced smiles. It was supposed to be solid and warm and loving, not shaky and volatile and brimming with hurt.

He could feel his heart clenching with anger and bitterness and grief over what-could-have-beens, and Sam hated being that person. Instead, he stared at the blank white void of the email draft in front of him, forcing himself to breathe deep. What are the others doing right now? he asked himself, his mind latching onto a distraction. Josh was probably working himself up over the environment issue- that, or getting lovingly screamed at by Leo. CJ had just finished a briefing, and was probably high-fiving Carol or bickering with Danny. Toby was most likely scribbling notes for the energy conference, half of which would be crumpled up in the wastebasket by now. Or on fire. Sam smiled to himself, rubbing at the back of his neck.

“Hey,” came a cheery voice, and Sam looked up to find Donna in the doorway with a file tucked under her arm. “Any important government business going on in here?”

“Absolutely not,” he assured her, leaning back in his chair. “You need me for something?”

“Nothing pressing,” she replied with a shrug, brushing forward and hopping on top of his desk like she always did. “Toby and Josh are in CJ’s office watching the game if you want to join. ”

“Don’t they have work to do?” he mumbled petulantly.

“I really wouldn’t know,” Donna said with exaggerated innocence. She smirked at him. “But you look so sad and lonely in here, the least I could do was extend the invitation.”

“Hush, you,” Sam lamented, stretching absently. He looked down at his laptop and tapped his fingers on the desk. “I really should be working.”

“So should everyone else,” Donna pointed out. She slid off the desk and crossed her arms, giving him a look. “Sam? Hey, are you feeling okay? You look a little…”

Sam frowned, looking down at himself. “Disheveled?” he suggested, noting his wrinkled shirt and crooked tie.

“Ah,” she said with a nod. “That’s the word I was looking for. But, hey, are you really alright?” She leaned down to rub his shoulder. “You seem gloomy.”

“Yeah,” he replied, sighing. “Just a long day, I guess.”

Donna raised her eyebrows. “And do you know what the perfect antidote for a long day is?”

“Watching the game with Josh and Toby and CJ?” he guessed.

“Exactly!” Donna smiled, bonking him on the head with her file. “See you in five?”

Sam looked back at his email, thinking. If he mustered up the sheer willpower to write to his dad, he would have no idea what to say. And it wasn’t like his relatives in California were truly family, anyway. Not if all he associated with them were pain and disappointment. Maybe he could leave this email for later. Maybe he could watch football with his friends and chuckle at Toby and Josh shouting at the TV and rib CJ when she didn’t understand anything that was happening and forget about all of it, for a little while.

“Yeah,” Sam said, closing the lid to his computer. “Yeah, I’m coming.”

[bracedfangirl]

I know I should be putting out the next Fatal Mistake AU chapter but-

School’s got me a little, and I can only put out snippets for a few more days, before I finish the end of the next chapter of it. So here I am with yet another teaser from the later part of the AU, introducing a very much unseen side of Morro

(Small clarification: For a reason the ninja and Morro will have to work together around 2 months after Lloyd dies. I’ll put it in a chapter too later, but if y’all want to know it just send an ask)

"So let me get this straight, Wu never told you anything about how souls and minds and all these things work?"

"Uh no..."

"Shit... Okay, then I guess we'll have to start with the basics… Soul types. There are 5 main ones, and each type has variations of it's own, and each type has a rarity and default traits. Trego, tria, geeda, keydro and sikol. Let's start with tregos. They're stable, possession suitable spirits, who are very common, and can heal their breaks and wounds. Aggressive and impatient most of the time."

Morro says while giving a subtle glare at Kai who tries to hide his offense without success.

"The red is the most aggressive, the intensity getting less in orange and yellow ones-"

"Well I bet Kai's one of these right?"

Jay totally fails changing the mood, but Morro seems to comply.

"You're spot on with that, he's the most hot headed red trego I've ever heard of."

"Hey!"

"What Flamehead? I'm just stating a fact. Anyway, the next are trias who... really differ by variation but are the most common... Possession suitable, usually able to heal their wounds. There's orange white and malachite. Malachite is fairly aggressive and possessive, orange is more like a sane, calm but protective spirit and white... well white is pretty much a very chill, calm and gentle variation."

Jay cuts in again, seemingly oblivious to who he's talking to.

"Okay well they may be common but I didn't recognise any of us."

"You gotta be kidding me! Three of you are trias! Nya's the most vicious malachite I've ever seen! Being an orange is written on Cole's face, and since Zane has an artificial mind, there isn't even any other option."

"What? When was I vicious with you?"

Morro laughs lightly at Nya's protest, before taking up his annoying smug grin, that's been sickening Kai ever since he first saw it.

"Who said I know your personalities from meeting you enough times in person?"

That causes an awkward silence, the urge to break the deal with Morro and just kill him already rapidly growing in Kai.

"A broken soul and a pretty much nonexistent mind doesn't have secrets if you're a possesser ghost. The memories just show up on hit..."

Cole has to keep him down after that, his boiling hatred threatening to burst out of him.

"Anyway back to the original topic, the next are geedas. While you can possess a geeda, it's not the best choice... These guys have issues with emotional control, and often are panicky or anxious. Somewhat stable, but not the best at fixing themselves. There's blue grey and yellow, the grey being the absolute embodiment of anxiety."

Cole snorts, looking at Jay with mischevious eyes.

"I'm sensing Jay in this one."

"He's a yellow one, the second worst to deal with."

"What- rude!"

Zane's eyes light up, and he turns to Morro, words chosen way too carefully.

"What are you? I didn't really see any match yet."

"I'm a keydro, probably a yellow one... Mood swings and emotion control issues are let's say common, but at least mine is so much of a hostile type that you wouldn't ever get possessed. It wouldn't end well for that ghost. We're more of possesser spirits in general. There's grey and green too, but there's not much difference."

Nya isn't exactly subtle at voicing her opinion, voice venomous.

"That would explain why you're such an asshole."

Kai's uncertain, quiet voice suddenly rings out, grief clearly staining it.

"What about Lloyd?"

Morro freezes mid-turn at that, stalling for a few seconds before sighing and flopping down on the ground, eyes miles away. His voice is quiet, and Kai catches a slight emotion in it, something he never thought he'd hear from the ghost.

"Sikol..."

It's terror… fear…

"Black sikol... and trust me, that's not something you want to meet in pure form. Especially not in… his case... Sikols are... unusual and… rare. They have insane mental birth defects, completely missing whole emotions sometimes..."

"Mother of god-"

"Too unstable for possession, but you can't recognise them at all... they don't have a trait you can see to recognise them. They can't heal either… at all."

"So that's why the kid still had nightmares about Darkley's years later-"

"Yes… their wounds stay open for years, making them unpredictable and agressive… Very aggressive… They're vicious, and don't care about anything… sometimes not even their own lives… There's white, gold, grey and black and-"

Morro takes a few seconds to stabilize himself before somehow continuing in a more panicked manner.

"And black ones resemble demons more than humans… they take a dragon like shape and a… shadow like appearance, with glowing wounds and eyes... Fighting one isn't just unwise, but downright suicidal… It's like you picked a fight with a rabid dragon!"

It's in that moment that the question he's been wanting to ask for months explodes out of Kai, anger and pain soaking his voice.

"Then why didn't you stop? If it was unwise and dangerous why didn't you just let him go and try possess one of us? Why him?"

"Because he was the leader, and if I let him get home and tell you about me I won't have a second chance! It's just simple strategy Kai! Besides this way there's at least one person who knows how close he was to snapping permanently... an abandonment break blinding your soul's right eye isn't something you can ignore for long-"

"What's an abandonment break?"

"I said too much again didn’t I? *sigh* It's the most dangerous mental injury you can suffer from... Any break is dangerous, as it's the damage of an emotional core, and you can get it with emotional trauma. An abandonment break is when your love and trust cores get damaged, and the name comes from it being found mostly on people without parents... I've never known that it can appear over your eye until I've seen Lloyd's... It looked serious and like it has been there most of his life... I'm pretty sure it's from Darkley's."

The silence that follows Morro's last statement is so thick, they could cut it if they tried. Everyone is trying to understand the new information, still partially in denial.

"I've been taught how to possess, how to keep control and how to try to avoid sikols for decades, but never once did anyone mention that a 14 year old with the soul injuries of a 90 year old war veteran can exist, much less how he fights! He was weak but attacked in waves, and then it took a lot of force to keep him down... The-The only good thing that came out of this is that I completed the mission given to me and that I showed the world how weak it is. I don't think people should depend on just a person to protect them this much...There's simply no way Helena is doing this for fun, she probably feels like I took something from her and in return she's gonna mess with something she doesn't understand, and-and that will result in chaos! People who feel like they were exploited in their lives are agressive upon forced ressurrection! The problem isn't that Helena is planning to do something disrespectful and disgusting, it's because she's planning on unleashing something no one can control! That's why it's important to stop her. I doubt you'd be happy if someone woke you up at 1 am demanding you to save the world... Imagine how Lloyd will feel, waking up in his fucking rotten body!"

The silence after this is far less thick, Kai making an uneasy, seemingly forced statement.

"Then I suppose… we can work together… but only if you play fairly and by our rules."

"I never expected anything else."

[h3trappedcollection]

Author Interview Part II

Another interview with one of our fabulous Trapped fic writers, this time with skuld aka @the-wintry-mizzenmast Stories written for the Collection:

The right to Thursdays

Unplanned parenthood

It takes a village to bake a cake

Not All Has Gone Astray

Interview:

How did you come into the Trapped fandom?

Indirectly through the Guardian fandom, which I was only on the periphery of, but was exposed to via @for-the-flail (Naye). At some point, I was lamenting the lack of homosexuality in Guardian and other c-fandom TV canon due to mainland Chinese censorship. I believe it was @bonibaru who told Naye about HIStory3: Trapped, and all the amazing tropes and actual queerness that it contained because it’s Taiwanese BL.

So we watched it, and were instantly delighted by how the series was basically the writers seeing how many tropes they could smash together into every episode. I fell in love with it.

I remember finishing the last episode and thinking, “Well, good thing I’m a TangFei shipper, because there’s so little for the B-couple.” Then I spent four weeks trying to think of some good ideas for TangFei fic and drawing blanks before the Househusband idea took root. And the rest is history, as they say.

Who’s your favourite character?

Jack. 

I like the way he’s presented as this enigmatic trickster badass who enjoys riling up Li Zhi De, is the biggest TangFei shipper, and falls for the most innocent cinnamon roll in the Criminal Investigation Division. ...And he’s stacked, to boot. What is there not to love about Jack? 

What’s your favourite trope?

My two favorite tropes of all time are Found Family and Enemies-to-Lovers, and both of the main couples fulfill these incredibly well in the Trapped storyline.

And then there’s other things that they just put in there for pure fun, like handcuffed together, having to huddle in an abandoned hut for warmth, the huge amounts of hurt/comfort with Meng Shao Fei and Tang Yi. I mean, this series is a Greatest Hits of everybody’s favorite tropes. 

What do you like about writing for Trapped?

That it’s such a rich, open world, and that there are so many possibilities. Trapped has done such a good job at depicting just a short slice of what you know is an ongoing story. The writers give you just enough direction to let your imagination soar. 

You know that Tang Yi and Meng Shao Fei have clashed multiple times in the past, and you know that everything will be fine going forward at the end, even though Tang Yi turns himself over to justice. You know that Jack is a mercenary who has been in the employ of Interpol for some time, and that he quits his dangerous lifestyle to be Zhao Zi’s househusband. You know that Andy and Dr. Jiang have been friends with Tang Yi for years, but we don’t know how they met, how those friendships formed, what they’ve been through together. 

There is so much that we know that happens, but we never get to see, meaning that there are huge, empty spaces to play around in everybody’s pasts and everybody’s futures. And that is what I love so much about writing for Trapped. It strikes the right balance to spark creativity.

Care to elaborate on your writing process?

I usually start with an idea or a scene that I want to write, something that I want to play with or something I think is fun that I want to show the reader. Then I flesh out around that. Sometimes I will write an outline and then start writing, or sometimes I will just start off with ‘Jack/ZZ PWP’ and see where the characters take me.

I always try to hammer out a first draft without worrying about editing or if it’s any good, before I then start going through the whole thing for a round of edits or rewrites. Once I feel confident enough in what I have, I’ll send it off to my betas, just to catch anything egregious idea-wise or pacing that I may have overlooked. Having this outside perspective is essential, and is good reinforcement for what a writer is doing right, and what a writer might need to improve.

Your favourite Trapped fic by another author?

It’s difficult for me to pick just one, because everybody who writes in the fandom brings a different perspective, style, and ideas that they want to play with, but there are some amazing, cute, and fun fics out there being written by bonibaru, florbexter, issen4, micuko, stebeee, and weilongfu.

What do you want to write but never had the nerve to?

I love cars and motoring, and am a big fan of the Fast & Furious film franchise, so I would love to write Jack and Zhao Zi starring in an action blockbuster with fast cars, sense-defying stunts, and mayhem. We never really get to see Jack pull out all the stops in Trapped itself (Meng Shao Fei gets to hog almost all the fight choreography), so I’d really like to explore the boundaries of Jack’s physical capabilities and his emotional scars. 

I always second-guess myself on this idea, because is there anybody else in fandom who would want to read something like this?

But after the reveal in the Fast 9 trailer, I’ve realized that I’m not the only one familiar with the saga nor the only one with a penchant for speed. 

So, this could happen, because I might have a headcanon where Jack has previously spent a year working undercover for Interpol in Tokyo...

If you want, please share a snippet of your current Trapped WIP! 

Jack did his best to hide a smile as he heard the soft slide of Zhao Zi’s bare feet on the stairs. He continued slicing a block of tofu into a neat, regular dice, keeping one eye on the pot of water on the stove, almost at a boil. He set his knife down and reached for the head of bok choy lying next to the cutting board, whirling around just as Zhao Zi approached. 

Jack tapped the leafy greens gently against his boyfriend’s forehead. “Gotcha.”

Zhao Zi batted them aside. His lips protruded in an exaggerated pout, his plan to sneak up on Jack foiled. “I could’ve sworn I had you.”

Jack chuckled. “Nice try, but my instincts aren’t that rusty yet.” He raised an eyebrow as he noted that Zhao Zi had descended the stairs with naught but a towel around his waist, but he turned back around anyway, letting Zhao Zi’s arms wrap around him from behind. “Lunch is almost ready.”

Zhao Zi’s embrace tightened. “Mm, I can think of something better than food,” he whispered, his breath warm against Jack’s ear. 

Jack craned his neck to regard his lover with suspicion. “Okay, who are you, and what have you done with my Zhao Li An?”

“Jaaaack!” Zhao Zi’s voice was plaintive above the water boiling in the stainless steel pot. “I’m trying to seduce you here.”

“And I’m trying to play hard to get.” Jack put the bok choy down on the cutting board and switched off the stove. “Is it working?”

Thank you so much @the-wintry-mizzenmast for taking part in this interview!

Previous Interviews:

- dangerliesbeforeyou

[asarahworld-writes]

A ZOMBIES Christmas

Chapter 3

Traffic had cleared by the time they were back at the Wells household.  As Dale pulled into the driveway, Zed noticed there were cars lined up down the street.  They were the last to arrive, then.

Just before they stepped through the door, he pulled Addison aside.  “Are you sure you want to do this?”  He lightly ran his hand through her hair as she nodded.

“We got this.”

We.  Zed grinned.  “Now I know the real reason you invited me over today – the incredibly gorgeous zombie boyfriend will distract them from the fact you’ve taken your wig off. All part of my quick wit and charming smile,” he winked.

Addison giggled, lightly digging into Zed’s side.  “Of course.  You’ve literally figured out my grand scheme.”  She held her hand out.  Zed clasped it firmly as they entered the Wells’ Christmas dinner.

Although they had meant it as a joke, Zed’s appearance did cause a stir among the family. Missy and Dale had known he was coming, but they had apparently neglected to mention that to everybody else. Bucky gave him a look that was a cross between annoyance and disbelief, a mild reaction comparatively.  Their grandmother screamed when she saw him, but her husband was surprisingly calm.  Mr. Buchanan, Sr. may have lost an ear during the Zombie epidemic, but Zed suspected that he had lost most of his eyesight in his old age.

“Hello, everybody, my name is Zed Necrodopolis, and I am Addison’s,” he had been about to say boyfriend, but the word didn’t seem to encapsulate the depth of their feelings, “date.”

“Ned Zeropolis? And how do you know our little Addy, Mr. Ned?”  Mr. Buchanan, Sr. asked loudly.

Addison stifled a giggle.  “He’s a bit deaf,” she explained, unnecessarily.

“She’s a cheerleader, and I’m on the football team.”  Zed winked at Addison, remembering how he’d used the line when he’d met the Mayor and Patrol Chief for the first time, who shook her head and covered her small grin.  Mr. Buchanan, Sr., still not recognizing Zed as a zombie, continued to question him about the football season.

Soon, Addison was recruited into the kitchen to help bring dinner to the dining room table. Zed started to get up to help her, but Addison pushed him back onto the couch.  “My mom and aunt have this weird tradition that we do all the preparation and table setting stuff and that the guys clear up afterwards.  Grandad’s pretty into football.  In fact, I’ve been told that that’s one of the reasons he liked my dad.”

“Addison, I don’t think football would be a great topic of conversation.  In case you hadn’t noticed, he hasn’t exactly realized that I’m a zombie.”  Zed pulled Addison closer, so she was perched on the edge of the couch.

“Are you telling me that my strong, handsome fullback boyfriend is scared of an old man?” Addison teased, quiet enough so only Zed could hear her.

Zed groaned, nearly inaudibly.  “It sounds so much worse when you put it like that.”

“You could always hang with Bucky,” Addison grinned.  “But seriously, I gotta go help my mom.”  She squeezed his hand and left the living room.

It only took the Buchanan women ten minutes to serve Christmas dinner.  For Zed, those ten minutes were filled with Mr. Buchanan asking questions about Addison and football, while receiving a series of odd looks from Bucky as he mindlessly answered with half-truths.  He was far more concerned what would happen if their grandfather realized that he was a zombie.

“Dinner’s ready,” Addison bounced back into the family room, automatically taking Zed’s hand. She gave him a look, eyes questioning, and Zed responded with a shrug.  Addison made a face, then led him into the dining room.  “Don’t worry, you’re next to me.”

Bucky was on Addison’s other side, and Zed was in the corner.  Her grandfather was at the opposite end of the table.  Addison plopped a scoop of mashed potatoes onto Zed’s plate, jolting his focus back to what was in front of him.  “More?”  Zed shrugged, and Addison rolled her eyes.  “Fine, but you’re not stealing my potatoes.  They’re literally the best – my uncle puts onions in them.”

Zed allowed Addison to finish filling his plate, then watched her to see what happened next. She stole his pickle.

Grinning at his girlfriend’s antics, Zed took a quick look around the table to see what everyone else was doing – they had already began eating – and dug into his own dinner. Addison had been right about the potatoes.

Dinner was a quiet affair, sharply contrasting with the quickfire of questions Mr. Buchanan had asked earlier.  With everyone consumed by their dinner, Addison was the only one to notice that Zed was eating with his left hand.

“Your wrist isn’t hurting again, is it?”  She leaned in, whispering.

Zed frowned, pulling his jacket sleeve down to conceal his Z-band.  “No, it’s good,” he said lowly, picking his fork back up and taking another bite of potatoes.  Obviously, everybody in the room knew that he was a zombie.  If all the football talk hadn’t given it away, the green hair and grayed skin was a sure sign.  So why did he still feel the need to hide his Z-band?

Once everyone had had their fill, the table was quickly cleared.  Dishes were washed and left to dry on the counter, leftovers were packaged into labelled Tupperware, and mugs were brought out as the kettle began to boil.  The family broke off into groups and clusters, the room filled with laughter and various conversations.

Addison was the youngest of all her cousins.  Having grown up away from Seabrook, they had only heard snippets about the resident Zombie population, though they were all well-informed about the town’s cheer stats. They ribbed on Bucky’s decision to cut his entire team just before the competition and watched as the zombies joined the cheer squad at the last championship.  Perhaps because of her position as the baby of the family, nobody was very concerned about the loss of her wig.  If they were, they kept it well hidden and focused instead on cheer and football.

Both of Addison’s other cousins had played football during their high school years and were continuing with the sport through college.  As long as the subject was football, Zed was able to maintain a solid rapport with them.  Dessert was served casually, with people keeping to their small group conversations. Addison brought herself and Zed a large slice of chocolate-gingerbread cheesecake and some eggnog, much to the indignation of her cousins, who wanted to know where theirs was.  Addison had rolled her eyes and pointed to the kitchen as she curled up on the couch next to her boyfriend.

———————————————————————————————————

Anyone catch the mashed potatoes joke/reference?  Z1 promo video – Zombie Brain Food Challenge!  Basically, they were taste testing gelatine food and Meg (incorrectly) guessed mashed potatoes.  Milo stole the point by tasting and correctly guessing onion.

For those who haven’t picked up on it yet, this fic takes place after Z2 summer but before the wolves show up.  Based on the pacing of that movie, to me anyway, it looks like they skip over the fall semester and jump straight into the new year.  There’s no football, which is September/October season, and the big dance is the Prawn, which is wordplay on prom, and prom is usually at the end of the year.

[elfyourmother]

For the author meme, if you still feel up for it: 1, 10, 18 and 20, please!

1) is there a story you’re holding off on writing for some reason?

I have...a lot of these. There’s the Landsmeet fic about how Gisele actually came to spare Loghain and how she and Alistair came to grips with it and how their relationship with him evolved (which is really more Landsmeet -> endgame). There’s a slew of Mari fics, like her reconciliation with Fenris and Isabela and how they ended up a quad with Sebastian, and the big Retaking of Starkhaven saga as the notable ones

On ME there’s how Imani and Miranda finally got together, and how Imani’s endgame actually went (Earth was drastically different), etc.

There’s a lot of individualized specific excuses I could make for each of these, but tbh it all boils down to the fact that I suffer very badly from perfectionism, which when coupled with at times cripplingly low self-esteem results in this toxic mix of self loathing and creative paralysis that often causes me not to write anything at all. I can’t do this, I don’t have the energy, I can’t do it justice, i can’t take on another project I can’t finish because I’m awful and never finish anything, no one gives a shit about my OCs anymore or these old games anyway, etc. so it goes unwritten.

10) write in silence or with background noise? with people or alone?

I can do either silence or background music depending on what I’m writing, but I absolutely need to be alone when I write. I can’t do any kind of volume when people are around, just snippets at most. Weirdly enough, the subway is the one exception to that, but I guess a lifetime of New York Ninja training in how to ignore virtually everything around me helps.

18) were there any works you read that affected you so much that it influenced your writing style? what were they?

I always say that I learned how to write dialogue from David and Leigh Eddings and it’s the god honest truth. The deadpan snark machine I 100% got from their stuff, specifically the Belgariad/Malloreon cycle and the Sparhawk trilogies (the only ones I acknowledge tbh). I was also heavily influenced by early Anne Rice, back when she still had editors. That lush descriptive style of the early VC novels has informed basically everything I’ve ever written.

BUT this got turned up a notch when I first read the Kushiel books. You can absolutely tell when I started reading them, solely by reading the fics I wrote before and after. It’s kind of hilarious actually. But I swear it’s not even intentional either, like I’m trying to ape Jacqueline Carey--more that she’s like the god tier version of the writer I’ve been trying to be my whole life, and reading Dart in particular kind of unfettered me, for lack of a better term? seeing that gorgeous kind of poetic and slightly archaic style on the page gave me permission to stop censoring myself in my own work. i’ve always been flowery af tbh and I’ve always struggled with that, because of the constant admonitions against it. Good Writers don’t write that way, it’s tortured and pretentious and dense and blah blah blah. people who are very smart and cultured rail against it and make fun of it. i’ve always felt a certain amount of shame about the way i write. JC gave me permission to let go of that in a way no one else ever has.

I mean, I still struggle with the shame stuff, but the stuff I’m writing now I never would have written if I’d never read Kushiel’s Dart and seen a masterclass in it on the page and how fearless Carey was in using her voice.

20) do you write in long sit-down sessions or in little spurts?

I vastly prefer the former but lately all I can get is the latter. There’s nothing like hyperfocusing on a story and getting in The Zone to me, I enjoy it a lot and feel so much more accomplished than when I’m doing it in dribs and drabs between phone calls at work or on the train.

[silverskye13]

OH, and while I'm here I wanted to mention how much I love Casting Rain, as you can probably tell from my trail of comments lol. I started seeing your Gaster/Grillby art on DA a while back, but put off reading the story because frankly getting into long pre-existing stories scares me a bit, lol. But now I'm in and it's totally worth it, and I'm only afraid I'll catch up far too soon and want MORE. You make a great story and great characters <3

(Sorry for responding to this so late holy heck)

I have seen your comments and you flatter me to no end! I’m glad you’ve been enjoying the story so far and hope it continues to please! It… get’s kinda intense and I worry about it sometimes. But like seriously reading some of the stuff you’ve written has really brightened my day! Makes me feel like I’m doing something right maybe? Hopefully? Ahaha. Anyway! Thank you!

Also I’m gonna take this time over here to answer a question you asked on Archive. I didn’t want to answer over there because in the chapter you asked, those were still spoilers? I think? Kind of?

It’s mostly world-building lore and out of context quotes - does that count as spoilers?

//Makes shooing motion with hands//

It has to do with the history of the Casting Rain world. If you haven’t read to Chapter 35-36 (and a snippet of Chapter 59), then you might consider this spoilers. Large amounts of information under the cut!

Okay so the question was:

“Oh and one thing I’ve been meaning to ask about this story, if you’re still reading all the dozen or so comments I’ve made in the last few days, lol. So Gaster shattered that human’s soul, killed them. And other humans have died in the war, too. So, if humans are dying in this war, why aren’t the monsters absorbing their souls to gain power? Like I understand they don’t have the fancy soul containers Undertale has, but there on the battlefield when a human soul is persisting after death, couldn’t they or a boss monster absorb it? Is there a reason they aren’t doing this? If a single monster got just seven, they’d have the power of a god and be able to end the war instantly. Other wartime fics and theories I’ve read have no human casualties, so there are no souls to absorb anyway, which is why monsters got trapped so easily.”

Good lord I don’t even know where to start with this ahaha, my thoughts keep scattering in every direction when I think about it. There’s a couple or reasons? But I guess they all basically boil down to a simple answer:

The monsters don’t want to absorb a human soul. This, to them, is a worse-case scenario of the same magnitude as detonating a nuclear weapon would be today. And now for why!

Firstly: Only a boss monster can absorb a human soul withoutlosing control.

I based this idea loosely on the story of Asriel and Chara whenthey cross the barrier into the human world. In case you (or anyone else)doesn’t know the story: Minor deity Asriel rises from the Underground withChara’s body and lays it in the flowers in Chara’s hometown. The humans freakout and start attacking. It’s at that point that Asriel figures out aboutChara’s plan to destroy all humans. Upon realizing this, Asriel keeps theirbody from moving, and only manages to retreat after they’re dealt a fatal blow.

The way I chose to interpret this was that a boss monster,being nearly as strong as a human soul, has almost as much control over theircombined bodies as the human does but notquite as much. Asriel wasn’t able to wrestle control away from his siblingand then flee, he was just able to hold Chara back from attacking outright.

So then what happens if a regular, non-boss monster absorbs ahuman soul? Well best-case scenario is you’ve made a super, powerful being that’smostly controlled by a human, with some influence from the monster. Worst case scenario?Congratulations! You’ve just made a mindless beast! Gaster talks a little bit about this in Chapter 59:

“I didn’t want their soul,” Gaster said finally, trying to sound like he meant it, because he did. Stealing the kid’s soul hadn’t crossed his mind for an instant.

“Why not?”

Gaster piped a laugh that was a little more genuine, “Why would I? I’m not a boss monster. That kind of power is completely lost on me.”

And that was completely true - Gaster wouldn’t know what to do with that kind of power if he had it. He probably couldn’t even control it. Just touching human souls made him feel like he was dropping through the deepest part of an ocean. Having something like that be a part of him forever… he’d be completely consumed by it. He’d probably turn into one of those grotesque boss monsters from the old days, just devouring everything he saw with no way to stop himself.

Which brings is to reason number two!

History.

Thereactually did used to be a time when in the Casting Rain universe, monsters ran around willy-nilly with god-like powers. This was the dark ages, before the war began, and it sucked.But don’t just take my word for it (even though all of this is technically my word forit). Take the story’s word for it!

Chapter 36:

“…But years ago before wewere even thought of? The world was a little darker even than it is now.Famines, plagues, forces of nature, wars - it was all pushing monsters andhumans alike to be a bit more cruel. And monsters were starting to kill becausethey thought they had to, and then because they liked the feeling of beingstrong, and then because they’d killed too much and they were starting to turninto something a little less like a monster and a little more like a demon.”

…………

“We had legends up north aboutthem - dragons like Brigg who turned into boss monsters, and suddenly they weretaller than trees and spitting poison and smoke that could dust an army. Therewere ghosts who could steal your soul while you slept and turn the air likeice, who’d call out their victims by screamin’. Terrible monsters, that didterrible things. They didn’t think they were monsters anymore. They thoughtthey were gods.”

These guys were terrible. Whole armies were dispatched to takethem down. Mixed armies of both humans and monsters, before the war hadstarted. There were crusades based on these things. Everyone wanted to get ridof them, and get rid of them fast. Out of the ashes of this nightmarishnessthough rose a good bit of learning for the monsters, which then leaks into the next reasonmonsters don’t wanna steal human souls.

Third Reason: LV corrupts

This is an idea I’ve loved playing with ever since Undertalecame out - a large bit of Phantom Pains, my first big fic, was based on thispremise as well. And that premise is that the more you kill, the less you careabout the fact that you’ve been killing.

In the Casting Rain universe, that translates prettydramatically into my idea of boss monsters that weren’t born boss monsters, butare instead made by collecting too much LV. The idea is the more you kill, themore LV you gain. The more LV you gain, the harder it is to resist doingbloodthirsty things, even if you’re given the option to not do bloodthirstythings. It’s like taking the easy way out of a situation. Until eventually itsmurder doing anything but the easy way. It’s something that Amatheahas already fallen into actually.

Chapter 35:

“We’d go out of our way toattack things just for the EXP. Humans. Monsters. If it moved it was fair game.We were really terrors before we stumbled into this mess down south. I’ll behonest with you, if Ghirdam hadn’t died when he did, he probably would’ve madeit to boss monster LV. He was mighty close, and hungry after it like no oneelse I’d ever met.”

…………….

“…I am still merciless. I amstill intent. I want to fight, I’m willing to kill. I’m still hungry for afight I might lose.” Her ear frills twitched thoughtfully as she said,“There’s a thrill to a fight that I can’t live without now. It’s written intomy soul. I have long lost that part of myself that can look at my enemies andhave empathy, see mercy. And I doubt I’ll ever get it back again.”

Translated loosely into the game’s actual mechanics,Amathea’s “mercy” button is broken. She’s not a boss monster yet, butshe’s getting close, and getting close in all the wrong ways.Imagine the Fallen Child at the end of the No Mercy run, how their movementsstart being dictated for you. That’s Ammy. That’s what happens when regularmonsters start collecting LOVE with the same religiosity that the Fallen Humanin the No Mercy run does.

And the monsters don’t want that. They learned from their DarkAges that these boss monsters they warp into when they do terrible things can’tbe controlled. Giving something like that the power of a human soul would be disastrous. Somethinglike that would be insatiable, destroying everything, humans and monstersalike. They wouldn’t care to differentiate - or possibly couldn’t even if theywanted to.

I mean, that’s why they’re summoning elementals after all, right? They need strong monsters. More than that, they need boss monsters. But they can’t make them. And honestly the amount of killing a monster would have to do to get to that level would be immense anyway. It’s much less morally compromising to summon a couple beasties from the void than it is to, say, throw some strong monsters at a couple of towns and hope they make something big and bad.

As for regular Boss Monsters, the ones that are born that way like Asgore and Toriel? Ehhh……. honestly I never took the time to figure out why they don’t grab some souls. I never developed any Boss Monster characters outside of those already within some sort of canon (i.e. the royal family).

Perhaps the King is against it for diplomatic reasons? Or holding on to the hope that this can be settled in a way that won’t put a permanent divide between their races? If this really is a war and not an extermination, then stealing a human soul to end it would only add more fuel to the fire, make more humans determined to rid the world of monsters.

//shrug shrug//

Who knows?

So! The long and short of it is this:

Could a monster absorb a human soul and win this thing? Technically yes! You’re exactly right that if someone kind of just snagged one,they could do a lot of damage. A single monster wouldn’t have godlike power yet (after all, Asriel/Chara could still be killed),so they’d have their work cut out for them on a battlefield still. But if they cankill one human they can kill another, right? Which means more souls? So feasiblysnapping up 7 and just calling the whole war bogus could happen.

The problem is (for this world at least, and possibly forthe canonical Undertale world as well) no regular monster soul is stronger thana human soul - ergo, no regular monster could ever productively use a humansoul. Of those boss monsters that could probably wouldn’t use it well.

I can guarantee you that Amathea wouldn’t use it well, and she’s the most sensible one out of all of us, right?