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icecream4starscream · 6 months ago

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Spoiler Warning for Transformers One. Please go see the film, it's great.

Something occurred to me when rewatching Elita-1's firing scene:

Right off the bat, she's presented as an absolute unit in the mines. We see her being a very by-the-book character. She's incredibly competent, strong, serious, focused, and an effective leader.

Maybe a little too effective.

We learn that Sentinel goes out of his way to personally take care of any "anomalies" in his system and does so in a way where the blame always gets shifted away from him.

It's why he personally went to see Pax and D-16 after the Iacon 5000 race. He makes himself out to be the open-minded, compassionate leader he's been parading as.

When Darkwing throws Orion and D-16 into sub-level 50, neither bot suspects Sentinel for their demotion. In fact, they beg Darkwing to talk to Sentinel so he can sort out the "misunderstanding".

It's later confirmed that Sentinel never had any intention of talking with Orion or D-16 after their first meeting. When Orion reunites with his fellow miners later in the film, they mention that Sentinel put out a statement saying that they both died from "racing injuries".

Sentinel might've not even openly ordered Darkwing to dispose of them. Darkwing might've been manipulated into thinking everyone was mocking him for losing the race (thanks to lowly miners) making him want to get rid of them.

Subconsciously manipulating someone like Darkwing would've been easy for Sentinel.

Sentinel clearly does not tolerate anyone rising above the station he imposes on them.

So what does this have to do with Elita-1 being fired?

We see her rigidly following the rules, meeting all quotas, running a tight and efficient crew. She's doing her job as a miner, a role unknowingly forced upon her by Sentinel, perfectly.

Shouldn't Sentinel be happy about that?

Well sure...

If Elita wasn't actively trying to get promoted.

We don't get a lot of information about how promotion works in TFOne's mining system, but we do know that in other iterations of pre-war Cybertron, one of the only ways miners could rise out of the mines was by participating in ridiculously difficult gladiatorial fights in Kaon's pits.

In other iterations, this was how D-16/Megatron was able to escape his station and how he grew to be so strong.

So basically, whatever version you look at, the miners are told "if you work really, reeeeally hard, and do your job perfectly, and don't die in the process (which, odds are, you will) you might, MIGHT get a chance to get out of the caste you were born into."

It's BS.

It's an impossible feat. No one is actually supposed to be able to achieve that goal, but it's the metaphorical carrot dangling in front of the work mules so they don't notice the ever-tightening rope around their necks.

But every so often there's someone extraordinary, like Elita, who actually manages to meet this impossible standard and with whom it becomes increasingly difficult to deny this coveted promotion.

So what can Sentinel do about bots like Elita-1?

Simple.

Wait for a screw-up.

It must happen eventually.

A member of Elita's team, Orion Pax, in clear violation of evacuation protocol, goes back into the mines to save Jazz from getting crushed to death.

Despite managing to escape, the closing mine causes a tunnel support to be flung into nearby machinery (which doesn't look critical and could probably be easily fixed).

Then, right the heck outta nowhere, Darkwing drops in, SECONDS AFTER THE INCIDENT JUST HAPPENED, and immediately fires Elita.

No "What happened?" or "Who's responsible?" or "The supervisor wants to see you", he just pops into the scene and demotes Elita, arguably one of the best workers in the mine, to a bottom-tier waste management position.

As if he'd been on standby, actively waiting for a reason to fire her.

"But Elita herself wasn't the one who screwed up!"

Doesn't matter.

"But she told them to follow protocol!"

Doesn't matter.

"But Orion admitted he was the one at fault!"

Doesn't matter.

"But a bot was saved! Jazz would've died!"

Does. Not. MATTER.

Her firing is presented as the typical "one character says thing won't happen then thing immediately happens" joke, but given how so much thought went into so much of TFOne's background details, I can't help but wonder if this was a hint to how broken the system was and how it was always rigged in a way that ensures the miners will never get out.

Not to mention, once Orion, D-16, and Jazz safely escape, she chews Orion out by saying, "If I get fired for this..." meaning this abrupt, out-of-nowhere, baseless firing is absolutely typical.

That's what makes Elita's "I'm better than you" speech to Orion that much more meaningful, because in many ways, she is better than him.

She's a better worker, better fighter, better at completing the task at hand, better at making sure things run smoothly. She is, ironically enough, an efficient and perfectly-running machine.

But had Orion not dragged Elita to the surface, she probably would've spent her whole life obediently following the rules, never questioning why things were the way they were. She was so focused on rising up within the system that she could never look beyond it.

Elita might be the cog by which other cogs turn.

But Orion is the spark that shows them a better way.

That's why he was given the Matrix.

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viktorthemachineherald · 7 months ago

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I've seen a few takes about how Jayce has been possessed by the Arcane, hence the whiplash of his vicious actions, and how seemingly unhesitating he was in killing Salo and Viktor.

But I think Jayce is still himself, main factor being the eyes:

Jayce's eyes are still the same golden hue, unlike Viktor's and all his followers, which have taken on the iridescent tone of the Arcane. I think Jayce has certainly been touched by the Arcane, and taken on some side-effects from it (one of which being a healthy dose of PTSD), but I don't think he's necessarily been corrupted by it.

One effect we do see is Jayce "glitching" into multiples-- could there be some multiverse situation where Jayce has lived multiple failed iterations, and seen what the Arcane can do and the destruction it lays waste to?

Before Jayce kills Salo, he seems resigned that he has to do so. I don't think this is the face of a man whose actions are being corrupted, but of someone who has seen things, and knows what has to be done.

I also don’t think it’s unintentional that Jayce shot Viktor right through his Hexcore heart.

It's not a coincidence that his visions are constantly interspersed with fractaled flashes of anomalous Arcane beings when he encounters Viktor's healed followers. We see this with Salo, and as he makes his way through Viktor's village.

And when he promises “I won’t fail, I swear it”, who was he speaking to? I think this Jayce has lived multiple iterations of the same situation and knows something we don't, something he learned when he was stuck in the Hexcore Anomaly.

TL;DR: This is a Jayce Talis defence blog, and he is here to DEFEND OUR TOMORROWS I will not take any Jayce slander in this house

#arcane #jayce talis #jayce arcane #jayvik #viktor arcane #arcane viktor #arcane season 2 spoilers #WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HEX ORB #WE STILL NEED ANSWERS #sicklyscientist

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koiukiy-o · 3 months ago

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orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing, beyond ordinary understanding. ─── 003. the framework.

-> summary: when you, a final-year student at the grove, get assigned to study under anaxagoras—one of the legendary seven sages—you know things are about to get interesting. but as the weeks go by, the line between correlation and causation starts to blur, and the more time you spend with professor anaxagoras, the more drawn to him you become in ways you never expected. the rules of the academy are clear, and the risks are an unfortunate possibility, but curiosity is a dangerous thing. and maybe, just maybe, some risks are worth taking. after all, isn’t every great discovery just a leap of faith? -> pairing: anaxa x gn!reader. -> tropes: professor x student, slow burn, forbidden romance. -> wc: 2.4k -> warnings: potential hsr spoilers from TB mission: "Light Slips the Gate, Shadow Greets the Throne" (3.1 update). main character is written to be 21+ years of age, at the very least. (anaxa is written to be around 26-27 years of age.) swearing, mature themes, suggestive content.

-> a/n: well well well... this took a long damn time. apologies, apologies, but the science had to be figured out. these two are absolute NERDS, i fear. oblivion is absolutely delicious on those who claim to possess and pursue the knowledge of the universe. i fear you will be suffering for a WHILE if youre not into the slow burn HAAHAHAH. also,, if you guys ever want to see the actual equations and notes i took to write some of the science for this chapter, i could post it as well,, hehe,, -> prev. || next. -> orphic; the masterlist.

Hushed voices, the occasional shuffle of papers, the muted hum of thought is all that fills the air in the library. You sit at your usual table, papers strewn before you. The assignment has consumed your thoughts since it was given to you—an open-ended challenge demanding structure, logic, proof. Model something that physics refuses to acknowledge.

Your notes are chaotic, an evolving web of connections scrawled in the margins, crossed out and rewritten. A familiar frustration gnaws at you—the feeling of standing on the precipice of understanding, just shy of articulation. You run a hand through your hair and exhale sharply, staring at the mess of your own making. You need structure, a foundation to hold onto. If the soul exists, then it cannot be an anomaly—it must be governed by laws, patterns, something definable. If every human mind is unique, then what makes them so? The answer cannot be randomness. There must be an underlying form, a universal template from which all variation emerges.

You tap your pen against the page, mind turning. If identity is not a static entity but a recursive function, shaped by initial conditions and iterative transformations, then no self is ever fixed. The soul would not be a singular essence but a structure in motion, a process of becoming. And if this process holds, then consciousness cannot be isolated. The soul, then, is not merely a singular phenomenon—it is networked, existing not only within itself but through its connections. But what is it that determines it?

If this recursion is real, then it must not be a property of human existence but a fundamental principle of consciousness itself, a universal law.

It isn’t proof. It isn’t even a complete theory yet. But it is a start. A framework, a way forward. You stare at the words in front of you, pulse steady but intent.

Your fingers ache from gripping the pen too tightly, your vision blurring as you stare at the same lines of text, reading and rereading without truly absorbing them. The library’s stillness, once a comfort, has become suffocating—a static silence pressing in around you, the air too thick, the rows of bookshelves seemingly endless, as if space itself is closing in.

You lean back, dragging a hand down your face. A glance at the clock startles you. How long have you been here? Long enough that the lamps cast long, slanted shadows over your scattered notes. Long enough that exhaustion has settled into your limbs, dull and insistent.

You need air. Movement. A change in surroundings before your thoughts begin looping endlessly in place.

Gathering your papers into a loose stack, you shove them into your bag with little care for organization. You rise, stretching the stiffness from your spine before heading for the exit. The fluorescent lighting of the library hums overhead as you step out, the cooler evening air brushing against your skin like a quiet relief.

Minutes later, you find yourself at the café, drawn by the promise of warmth and caffeine. As the quiet hum of the city presses in, you click a few buttons on your phone and lift it to your ear.

–

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee lingers in the air, grounding you. You wrap your hands around the ceramic cup, letting its heat seep into your skin. You sit near the window, coffee cup nestled between your hands, eyes skimming the notes spread haphazardly across the table. The light overhead buzzes softly—old wiring, probably—but the sound fades into the background as you focus.

You’re not here to have a breakthrough. You’re here to map the boundaries.

The problem with studying the soul—if you can even call it that—isn’t just defining it. It’s figuring out where to look. If it exists as more than a philosophical concept, then there have to be parameters. A framework.

You flip to a blank page in your notebook.

What is the soul?

A real question. Not in the poetic sense, not in the way people speak about it in hushed tones and late-night confessions, but as a function. A thing with properties.

You write:

— The soul is not isolated. If it were, it wouldn’t interact with the world. People change. Learn. Influence each other. Whatever the soul is, it isn’t locked away inside a single person.

— It has persistent traits, but it is not static. Memories shape behavior. Experience alters perception. The thing that makes you you isn’t a fixed point, but it also isn’t random. There’s continuity, even through change.

— It extends beyond individual experience. Connections leave an imprint. People carry each other—sometimes in ways they can’t explain. If the soul exists beyond metaphor, then its effects should be traceable.

You take a slow sip of coffee. These aren’t conclusions. They’re places to start.

At the very least, if you’re going to chase something this impossible, you have to know what it isn’t–

"Trial and error."

The voice is measured, almost idle, but it cuts through the noise of the café like a well-placed incision.

You jolt, pen slipping from your fingers. Anaxagoras is standing beside your table, hands in the pockets of his coat, gaze flicking over your notes with mild interest. His presence isn’t overwhelming, but it shifts the air in a way you feel immediately. Like a variable introduced into an equation.

"You can’t just—appear—like that," you say, exhaling sharply as you retrieve your pen.

He lifts a brow. "I used the door. Perhaps you weren’t paying attention." His gaze drops back to your notebook, reading without asking, though you suspect if you told him to stop, he actually would. "Trial and error," he repeats, as if the phrase itself is under scrutiny. "A method you seem to be employing."

You sit back slightly, fingers curling around your coffee cup. "You say that like it’s a bad thing."

"Not at all," he replies, voice as even as ever. "It’s an honest approach. Just an unpolished one."

You huff a quiet laugh. "Practicality aside, it’s the only thing I can do at this stage. I'm defining parameters, not solving anything." You tap your pen against the page. "Or would you rather I skip to the part where I give you something half-formed and empirically worthless?"

His mouth curves—just slightly. "I appreciate the restraint."

"High praise."

Anaxagoras doesn’t acknowledge that, but his gaze lingers on your notes a moment longer before he straightens. He doesn’t sit, doesn’t ask to join, but he also doesn’t leave immediately.

Instead, he says, "It’s getting cold."

You blink at him. "What?"

"Your coffee," he nods toward your coffee cup, still mostly full. "You’ve been holding it for minutes without drinking."

You glance down at it, then back up at him. "I didn't realize you were keeping track."

"Well, far be it from me to disrupt your... inefficiency." he remarks, stepping back.

You glance toward the door. "I'm actually waiting for someone."

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly.

"A friend," you clarify, though you're not sure why it feels necessary to do so.

He makes no move to leave, and you take another sip of coffee, not minding the silence that settles between you. It's surprisingly comfortable, even in its brevity.

Then, the door swings open.

Ilias strides in, scanning the café—then stops dead when he sees the two of you. His eyes flick between you and Anaxagoras, narrowing with immediate, delighted suspicion. And then, with exaggerated slowness, he pivots on his heel, turning straight back toward the exit.

"Oh, for—come back," you call, exasperated.

Ilias replies, raising his hands in mock surrender but grinning as he turns back around. "Please. Continue your—" he gestures vaguely, "—whatever this is."

Anaxagoras exhales, barely more than a breath, and finally steps away from your table. "I’m leaving."

Ilias watches him, expression far too entertained. He mutters just loud enough for you to hear, "I can't believe you invited me to your impromptu date."

You glare at him, but before you can retort, you catch the faintest shift in Anaxagoras' posture—nothing overt, no reaction beyond the briefest pause in his step. Then he continues toward the door, leaving without a word.

You groan, rubbing your temples.

Ilias collapses into the seat across from you like a man overcome by the sheer weight of his own amusement. "That was," he announces, "the single most deliciously awkward thing I have ever witnessed."

You mutter a quiet curse under your breath, flipping to a fresh page in your notebook.

"And yet," he sighs, folding his hands under his chin with a smirk, "here I am—like the universe itself has conspired to place me in this exact moment.”

Ilias is still grinning as he leans back in his chair, stretching lazily. “You know, if you ever need a chaperone for your secret intellectual rendezvous, I’m available.”

You roll your eyes, gathering your notes with more force than necessary. “It wasn’t an—” You stop yourself. There’s no point. Ilias seemingly lives for provocation, and you won’t give him the satisfaction. Instead, you shake your head and lean back in your chair, stretching your arms with a sigh.

Ilias, ever the dramatist, makes a show of settling in across from you, propping his chin in his hands. “You’re unusually quiet,” he muses. “Brooding, even.”

“No.”

“Hmm.” He taps a finger against the table. “That was an awfully long pause for a simple ‘no.’”

You roll your eyes but don’t bother arguing. Instead, you glance out the window, watching the people moving along the street, the steady glow of passing headlights. The café hums around you—low conversations, the occasional clatter of a cup against its saucer. It’s late, but not late enough to leave just yet.

Ilias orders something sweet, drumming his fingers absently against the table while he waits. You sip the last of your now-cold coffee, your mind still lingering elsewhere. A glance at your notes does little to pull you back. The thought won’t let go.

You don’t even realize you’re frowning at your notes until Ilias nudges your cup with his own.

"Thinking about your not-a-date?" he teases, grinning.

You glare at him half-heartedly, but there’s no real heat behind it. “Thinking,” you say simply.

Eventually, Ilias finishes his pastry, brushing crumbs from his fingers before stretching with a yawn.

The two of you step outside together, the shift from the café’s warmth to the crisp night air making you shiver. The city has quieted, the usual rush of movement settling into a steadier rhythm. You walk side by side for a while, boots clicking against the pavement, the hum of distant traffic filling the spaces between conversation.

Even as Ilias chatters on about something inconsequential, the ideas still linger at the edge of your mind, waiting to take shape.

By the next morning, the café is a memory drowned out by the quiet rustle of students filling the lecture hall. The usual pre-class murmur settles into a steady rhythm—books thudding against desks, the sharp clicking of laptop keys, the low hum of voices exchanging half-hearted speculations on today’s topic.

You slide into your usual seat at the front, your notes open in front of you, though your pen remains idle between your fingers. The thoughts that have followed you since the library refuse to resolve, circling just beyond reach. There’s something missing—something foundational, yet frustratingly unformed.

At the lectern, Anaxagoras sets down his drink with practiced ease, the cup making a soft, deliberate sound against the wooden surface. The hall quiets.

He surveys the room with that same composed intensity, his gaze flickering over the assembled students before settling briefly—too briefly—on you.

“Continuity,” he begins, his voice carrying effortlessly, “is a deceptively simple concept. We assume that when two systems interact, they influence each other only at the moment of contact. That once they separate, the interaction ends.”

You straighten slightly. A slow prickle of recognition runs down your spine.

Anaxagoras picks up a piece of chalk and sketches a familiar equation on the board—one you’ve seen before, but never in this exact context. Your fingers tighten around your pen.

“But,” he continues, underlining a key term, “this assumes a linear, local model of influence. What happens, then, if we acknowledge that certain interactions leave something… persistent? That even after separation, a trace remains?”

The rustling of papers around you barely registers. Your thoughts lurch forward, bridging gaps in ways they hadn’t before.

You shift, almost without realizing, and Anaxagoras glances in your direction—briefly, but with intent. He knows.

A student two seats over raises a hand. “Are you talking about quantum entanglement?”

Anaxagoras tilts his head slightly. “A useful analogy, but not a perfect one. Entanglement suggests an instantaneous connection regardless of distance. What I am asking is more fundamental—does influence itself persist, even outside direct interaction?”

A murmur ripples through the hall. A few students exchange looks, some hurriedly scribbling notes, others frowning as they try to grasp the implications.

Your heart beats a fraction faster as the pieces align. The answer should be simple. If two variables are no longer in contact, the influence should end. The system should reset. But—

“They don’t go back to what they were before,” you murmur, half to yourself.

Anaxagoras sets the chalk down. “Louder.”

The words form before hesitation can stop them. “Even apart, they still retain the effect of their interaction. They update each other, whether they remain in proximity or not.”

The silence that follows is the kind that shifts the atmosphere of a room. Not an absence of sound, but a space filled with quiet recognition.

Anaxagoras watches you, his expression unreadable, but you swear something flickers in his gaze.

You grip your pen tighter. “There’s a kind of imprint,” you continue, voice steadier now. “An effect that doesn’t disappear even after separation. A persistence beyond time or proximity.”

He nods once, the movement precise. “Nonlinear. Nonlocal.”

A slow breath escapes you.

The clock on the wall ticks forward. A student coughs. Someone flips a page too loudly. The world presses back in, indifferent to the shape of revelation.

Anaxagoras turns away first, back to the board, where the equation remains half-finished. He picks up the chalk again, his voice returning to its usual cadence, folding the moment neatly back into lecture.

His gaze flickers back to you for a moment—steady, contemplative, threaded with something unreadable. Interest, perhaps. Amusement, restrained but evident in the slight tilt of his head. And then, just low enough for only you to hear:

“You were closer than you thought.”

You exhale, staring at the marginalia scrawled in the edges of your notebook—sharp, decisive, yet somehow restrained. Outside the window, the campus air carries the crisp scent of rain—not quite fallen, not quite gone. And yet, the thought lingers, refusing to leave you.

-> next.

taglist: @starglitterz @kazumist @naraven @cozyunderworld @pinksaiyans @pearlm00n @your-sleeparalysisdem0n @francisnyx @qwnelisa @chessitune @leafythat @cursedneuvillette @hanakokunzz @nellqzz @ladymothbeth @chokifandom @yourfavouritecitizen @somniosu (send an ask or comment to be added!)

#❅ — works !#honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x gn reader #hsr x reader #anaxa x reader #hsr anaxa #hsr anaxagoras #anaxagoras x reader #guys a/n 2 #if you guys have any suggestions for a playlist for this series pleeeeasseeed drop it in the comments <3 #i have 7 songs so far but unfortunately my taste is too corrupt for this series :sob: ANY recs i will take them all HAHA (desperate)#if something isnt linked right pls lmk !!

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iteration-anomaly · 2 years ago

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-{{ I am a mature, adult Traveller. I'm not going to make a joke, I'm not- }}-

#[broadcast sent]#in character #rp blog #roleplay blog #ask blog #character blog #traveller anomaly #iteration anomaly #nms #no man's sky #game screenshots

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tmnt-anomaly · 7 months ago

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Here’s some doodles I made

#tmnt anomaly #tmnt anomaly sketches #tmnt #tmnt iteration #tmnt april #tmnt donnie #tmnt raphael #tmnt Casey #tmnt Leo #tmnt mikey

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annomalysstuff · 10 months ago

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I made this in one sitting 💪

Guess what show she’s talking about (hard mode/j)

#Im really proud of this >:0 #tmnt anomaly #gravity falls #gf #art #animation #tmnt iteration #tmnt

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my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction · 4 months ago

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Hello!

I hope you are doing well.

Could I request a fem!reader x Miguel imagine where reader is a medical doctor and relatively new to the spider society. Rather than fight against anomalies, she's taken on the task of healing these spiderpeople after they get injured because she is the only one who really can due to their unique physiology. She's known for her venomous sarcasm and biting wit, trading insults and quips like they're her love language. But in striking juxtaposition to her usual behaviour, her bedside manner is extremely comforting, gentle, and maternal. This is the first time that the head of the spider society himself, Miguel, has been one of her patients. He came in with really awful injuries from a mission gone awry. This is the first time he gets to see this side of reader. Because I am such a slut for the "playing nurse" trope. Bonus points if she gently refers to him as "good boy" at some point 😫 And because our boy could really use a comforting touch

Thank you so much!

This is amazing, I love this idea! I'm so sorry it took so long!

Sharp Words

Miguel O'Hara x f!Reader • Rating: PG pals • Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • buy me a coffee? •

Warnings: surprise kiss, injury, brief mention to a spider backstory, overuse of italics, not beta read, please let me know if I've missed a warning.

Word Count: 864

Miguel had been so close to not coming in at all, his mind practically already made up.

He wouldn’t die. He would heal. He could do this on his own.

And while most would think he was either just not taking care of himself, or dismissing how bad his injuries actually were, it was Lyla who hit the metaphorical nail on the head.

“Just admit you’re scared of seeing her.”

“No.” He’d winced, his voice sounding childish even to his own ears. And obviously lying.

“Prove it.” Lyla folded her arms across her chest and, of course, that gave Miguel little choice in the matter.

He’d expected your tuts, eye rolls and sharp words, including a fair few comments on ‘how stupid he had been to get his messed up’. Even as he walked to the med bay he’d been mentally rehearsing his answers.

“It’s not that bad.”

“It looks worse than it is.”

“People were in trouble, it was either get out the way and let them get hurt or stay where I was.”

“This Green Goblin had a teleport glitch that made evading attacks pretty difficult when you don’t know he has that yet.”

Maybe he’d just stay completely quiet.

But none of that had happened.

Your eyes had widened when you’d seen him and ushered him to a bed. You’d fussed over him quietly, only asking questions that were pertinent to his care.

Your hands were warm and your expression soft.

And weirdly, it hurt.

“I just need to run a few blood tests, okay?” You say gently, waiting for him to nod.

Miguel gives you the go ahead. “What for?”

“Well,” You take the samples quickly, the actions practised to an art form. “First time I’ve treated you, I just need to check your physiology is what I think it is…” You trail off for a few seconds as you focus. “And second, I want to make sure there’s no contamination.”

“Contamination?” He frowns.

“Don’t worry,” You lay your hand on his uninjured shoulder and he shivers. It shouldn’t feel as nice as it does, as safe. It shouldn’t make his heart rate spike.

“Some Green Goblins have a toxin on any bladed weapons, I don’t think this one does,” You pull up the information the Spider Society has gathered about this particular iteration on your holo pad and skim through it. “But I just want to be safe, rather than sorry.”

He hums quietly, and laments the loss of your touch when you move away, his shoulder cold now that your fingers had left his skin.

Miguel lets you work in silence for a moment, trying to quell his racing mind. To think of nothing.

“Is the Green Goblin the reason you didn’t come here straight away?”

Your voice catches him off guard, “I…”

You move closer, pulling over a chair and sitting before you spray the largest gash on his chest with numbing spray before you start to clean and stitch the wound.

There’s a moment of quiet once more before you glance up at him from under your lashes, “Because that’s not…” You sigh and look back to your work. “That’s not something you need to worry about, I’m not made of glass.”

“I know you’re not.” He says softly.

The Green Goblin from your universe had been responsible for many tragedies in your life, including how you became a spider person to begin with. It was only when he’d died - something you were partly, if not wholly responsible for - that you’d discovered he had been your Uncle Ben. A canon event in your timeline.

“Then why did you wait seventeen minutes to come to med bay?” You sit up fully and fix him with a stern look.

And to your absolute amazement, and secret enjoyment, Miguel O’Hara blushes.

“I…” He looks at his hands intently. “Wait, you were timing me?”

“I was rounding up, sixteen minutes and forty eight seconds if you’re interested.”

“Why…?”

“Lyla told me you’d been hurt bad and when you portaled back, to be honest I was expecting you to portal directly here.” You motion to your surroundings.

Miguel swallows. “It’s not that bad-”

“Don’t give me that.” You stare at him, letting him squirm for a moment. “You know I have the medical clearance to ground you.”

“That’s-”

“You’re the one that gave it to me, if I’m not happy with someone’s physical or mental condition I can stop them from working until they’re recovered.”

Miguel looks ashen. “You’re-”

“Why didn’t you come straight away? And I can tell when you’re lying.”

He groans and closes his eyes, certain that he’s regressed to a ten year old at that moment. “I was… I didn’t want you to get angry.”

You pause. “What?”

“Or snap at me,” he continues, his eyes still closed. “I know we’re both usually pretty sharp with each other and I didn’t want to disappoint you and-”

You smile and lean forward lightly pressing your lips to his.

Miguel groans, kissing you back as he opens his eyes in surprise. “I…?”

You pull back a fraction. “Good boy.”

He pauses, staring quizzically at you.

“For telling the truth.”

Thank you for reading!

Taglist 1:

@pleasurebuttonwrites @raven-rk @campingwiththecharmings @alexxavicry @whatthefishh

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under-lore · 8 months ago

Text

How does Sans feel about Papyrus' death ?

A lot of common Undertale-related debates revolve around the morality of a character.

But among these, the one about Sans' reaction to Papyrus' death somewhat stands out. Both because of how widespread it is, but also because of the way two opposite yet equally inaccurate interpretations of it repeatedly seem to clash against one another.

So let's take a look at how Sans actually behaves in Undertale after his brother is killed :

First, we can observe a number of changes in his behavior, showcasing that he is not unaffected by it.

To start with an obvious one, the fact that nearly all of Sans' other casual appearances during that playthrough will be gone, Sans just... doesn't show up.

No pranks with telescopes, no stacking 29 hotdogs on your head.

While one flavor text with Shyren mentions that he is still 'watching over us' in some form even then due to his promise, he is evidently not as thrilled about this as usual.

But his lack of enthusiasm when it comes to watching over Frisk isn't the only thing that changes.

For instance, there is a present for Papyrus under the tree in Snowdin. However, as soon as Papyrus is killed and Sans vanishes, the present disappears along with him. Implying that Sans has retrieved the gift that his brother will not be able to open anymore.

He also appears to not have gone to Grillby's after our passage in Snowdin this time around. Something that's apparently quite unusual for him as it is part of his routine for that time of day.

And of course, in some iterations of his judgement scene in neutral routes :

...Needless to say that claiming Sans is totally unaffected by the death of his brother is inaccurate. While we do not see much of it, it is fairly solidly implied that Sans does grief his brother at least in his own way. And he does hold it against us to an extent.

However, that isn't all there is to it.

Sans' knowledge of RESETs does play a role in the way he handles the situation. Just not quite in the way it is often portrayed.

First, Sans may be aware of resets, but he does not remember them. This means that for a given Sans, the loss of his brother still feels permanent for that particular timeline iteration's Sans.

Knowing his brother will probably be alive again in another timeline eventually doesn't mean his loss in this one isn't real. Even if it does happen, he will not be there to see it. At least not this version of him.

However, Sans does still have a couple tricks up his sleeve, that maybe, if things work out, could spare of that fate the other Sans'es.

I showed this line earlier on :

However, this line isn't just Sans showing us his feelings about our actions. Instead, it is a part of a much more tricky strategy Sans begins engaging in after Papyrus is killed :

Psychological warfare.

The anomaly has reset this world many times before, and in neutral routes, he is left with the impression that it will likely do so again. This thought had previously been a demotivating one for Sans as he explained in genocide.

This was the case whilst Sans lived a semi-regular life under the constant threat of everything being undone on the snap of a finger.

However, now that what Sans incorrectly believes to be the anomaly has revealed itself and killed his brother, the situation has actually somewhat changed.

A reset, while it would wipe out his memories, would still bring his brother back to a different Sans. Papyrus' death doesn't have to be truly permanent. Because of this, Sans now wants the anomaly to reset. Not to keep doing it forever, but at least just one more time, to make sure that this timeline won't be the one that'll end up sticking around for good.

He also has a secondary motive :

While he is at it, he might also try to get the anomaly to changes its ways. Of course, Sans knows he's not a time traveller, not a god, but just a guy who is probably not capable of forcing a being such as the anomaly to change.

That being said, maybe, just maybe, he could help in giving it a little push to make it decide to want to change on its own.

To incite a RESET to happen, Sans has one main strategy : Making the anomaly regret its actions.

Sans believes that the anomaly keeps on RESETing the world because it is unable to find fulfillment, and that it keeps consuming timelines out of a desire to find happiness one way or another.

Thus, Sans aims to make the anomaly feel like this timeline can't be what they were looking for. Ensuring that, for the anomaly's quest for happiness to continue, they will have no choice but to reset this timeline as well.

That is the reason why Sans asks us this question :

The question was very carefully chosen on his part.

It both serves to confirm the anomaly's identity, but also more importantly, no matter what they answer, it allows him to either point out that the anomaly's actions did not match with their own morals, or forces them into making a selfish confession which he can then use to make them feel like they've done the wrong thing.

In either case, Sans is able to present his brother's death as an event that would only bring the anomaly further unhappiness. And thus, might get the anomaly to reach by itself the conclusion that the only way for it to find happiness now would be to RESET this world once more and avoiding killing Papyrus again in the future. A pretty good outcome for Sans.

This is what he refers to as taking it the 'easy way' to deal with an aggressive anomaly in a few routes. (as opposed to the 'hard way' he mentions halfway through his genocide dialogue).

In the neutral endings in which Papyrus was slain, Sans once again attempts a similar strategy. Although the awareness that a RESET still hasn't taken place even after quite some time passed since the anomaly was last seen in the underground & his last attempt at it is likely quite worrying to him.

This leads him to be a little more blunt than last time when it comes to the ways he tries to make the anomaly feel like this timeline isn't the one. Although his approach method remains broadly the same.

Though these lines are still rather noteworthy :

Given Sans wants the anomaly to go back, they might sound odd to hear at first.

It turns out that the more brutal we have been throughout the run, the less optimistic Sans' approach to dealing with the anomaly becomes during the phone call.

Here, Sans might be trying to play on another bleaker aspect of his psychological profiling of the anomaly : The consideration that they may view the world as a kind of game to explore, in which if they 'can', then they 'have to'.

By saying it is not welcome down here, he is also saying that it won't be able to keep exploring the possibilities of this world unless it makes them all forget everything.

In another of the neutral endings where both Toriel and Papyrus are killed, Sans seems to begin to doubt wether the anomaly can really be redeemed after all.

This all ultimately culminates in the leaderless endings.

In this one, Sans acknowledges that this is likely not our first time hearing him saying those kinds of things over the phone.

And that his 'strategy' seems to have failed to push it towards the right path.

In this route, Sans appears to have reached a similar conclusion as in the genocide one, that his hope of a redeemable anomaly merely looking for happiness may have been just naive/wishful thinking on his part after all.

In sum, Sans' awareness of the RESETs does not prevent him from missing his brother if Papyrus is killed. However, it allows him to weaponise his own grief using the psychological profile he has made of the anomaly in order to attempt to push it to RESET. Although he knows his own memories would be wiped out if he is successful, it would ensure Papyrus' death isn't permanent. Depending on the run, he also still harbors a dwindling hope that the anomaly itself could be steered towards a better path.

He mostly just needs to convince them to RESET one way or another though.

Past that point, it'll be up to the other Sans'es.

#undertale #undertale theory #sans #sans undertale #undertale sans #papyrus #papyrus undertale #undertale papyrus

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