#jester's mcs just existing

[mostlymobilegames]

"Rejecting suitors is a full time job"

[worstcasescenario-if]

DEMO (NA) ⚘ LOVE INTERESTS ⚘ FAQ

Writing has been your passion ever since you were a child. You wrote whenever you could, wherever you can. It's been a part of your life for so many years now.

Now, you're twenty-five years old, with a decent job with decent pay, a loving partner, and you're also planning to write a novel of your own now. Isn't that so exciting?

What's even more exciting is finding out your OCs (that you've forgotten) you made during your teenage years came to life! Oh, but there's a catch:

They all want you dead.

WORST CASE SCENARIO is a psychological horror with lots, and I mean lots, of murdering. Please check out FAQ before proceeding.

FEATURES

-Customize your MC. What are they called? What do they look like? How do they act? What genre do they like to write about? And more!

-Face four of your original characters you put through immense suffering. And maybe romance them.

-Try to remember how you wrote them.

-Find out why your partner is acting weird.

-Choose how you want to deal with their hostility towards you. Apologize? Surrender? Or kill them yourself?

-In the meantime… run.

LOVE INTERESTS

CALVIN/CALLIE ZHU (m/f) — THE DOG

-Your partner of five years. They've been with you through thick and thin, and has supported you through everything. They're a little broken inside, but you're the one piecing them back together every single time. Will you still be able to do that?

PERSONALITY: Loyal, hotheaded and sarcastic.

SAINT CONNELLY (m) — THE SAINT

-The one that went insane. He was once an angelic boy, obedient and kind, until he inadvertently “sinned”. What his family and church did to him after left a huge, ugly scar on him; now God doesn't exist to him anymore.

PERSONALITY: Charming, enthusiastic and easily irritable.

AILEEN TWITTY (f) — THE ROTTEN

-The dumb blonde. She's a conventionally attractive rich girl who spends her money on everything and anything she wants, who posts the best pictures on her Instagram with over 100k followers, and she's happy everyday. That's on the surface, anyways. She still has unresolved issues regarding her mother she… injured.

PERSONALITY: Bubbly, energetic and sweet.

AGARI TAKAHIRO (m) — THE JESTER

-Comedic relief. He can say the most out of pocket things, make everyone in the room relax and laugh with his weirdly dark jokes. At least, that's how you wrote him, right?

There's something wrong with him.

PERSONALITY: Laid-back, nonchalant and weird.

NEKTARIA SOTIROPOULOU (f) — THE BELLADONNA

-”Dream girl”. She's an independent woman, CEO, only warm around the ones she love. A very desirable woman, no? Just tread carefully; one wrong move, and you may see a whole new side of her.

PERSONALITY: Calm, manipulative and narcissistic.

SPECIAL CHARACTER(S):

??? — It's their fault you're in this situation. They messed up. They messed up. THEY MESSED UP THEY MESSED UP

[kii-nami]

GILDED DREAMS | SUNDAY

You do not protest the clear display of authority over the most minuscule of details. Maybe you don’t even care for things like that, maybe you even take pity on him for that fact. Whatever it is in the end, Sunday doesn’t know. Neither does he ask. Birds are born to foolishly oppose the safety of captivity, but some will walk into the cage willingly. For they believe it to be temporary. Sunday’s gloves are stained with your divine blood. Your name will be written in the holy scriptures by his own hand soon enough.

cw: 8.7k words; part two of three; previous part; fem!mc; nameless!mc; i'm not a hsr lore scholar; sunday get behind me i have a glock and nothing to lose except you;

Scars do not itch yet the longing for a fleeting taste of pain remains the same.

Kafka is a mysterious woman yet the one Sunday wishes not to figure out. She is better off as an unidentifiable object of speculation, even if she wishes to insert herself in his drifting existence with a persistence that could rival yours, yet the one Sunday could never appreciate. She is prodding and meddling, her presence is a noose and most days Sunday is too detached to even try to entertain the woman with her bothersome advances. Even if Elio has a plan – whatever it might be – that will grant Sunday what he wishes for by the end of his journey, no contract is enough for him to stoop so low as to play a jester.

And if Elio has a plan – a script, Firefly reminds carefully – that plan is sure far worse than any gilded dreams Sunday used to hold so dear. For if that plan includes being stranded on a spaceship in the middle of the vastness of nothing, Sunday cannot think of that script as sound. The ship is far too small for the three of them, Firefly’s anxious foot tapping on the metal floorboards just adds to the claustrophobic sensation that keeps creeping up his spine and ruffling the feathers of his newly mended wings.

It's been almost six months since that day, yet Sunday still keeps them tightly pressed against his back despite the better judgment that sounds awfully like Robin. They will never truly be his again until he figures himself out. And for that he needs to see you again. To pray to high heavens for your paths to cross once more just like you did the day he last saw you. Only Sunday knows not how to pray to anyone but Ena, he knows not how to begin living a life free of martyrdom, he knows not how to stop the mindless drifting amongst the shattered dreams and finally anchor himself in reality.

It's morbidly ironic, how with only spiders crawling amongst the scattered feathers, Sunday still dreams of ribbons that form the stairway to heaven.

“Kafka!” Firefly exclaims, a little breathless. The tapping stops and Sunday now has nothing to focus on to stop himself from disassociating.

The woman lifts her gaze from the screen of her phone, unbothered and unreadable, “Yes, my dear?”

Finger pointing at the blinking red dot on the navigation panel, Firefly seems hopeful for the first time since the engine of the spacecraft shut down with no warning, “There’s a ship nearby.”

Kafka’s reply is drowning in the drumming of Sunday’s heartbeat. Whatever she says is not and never will be important. It’s his journey towards freedom and the gilded birdcage of his dreams is crawling with venomous spiders and moths that disguise themselves as fireflies. He wishes not to make friends with the insects but to get rid of them, so he can finally break the golden bars and reach the paradise he yearns for. The red dot keeps blinking. Uncharacteristically for him, Sunday hides his hands in the pockets of his coat. He would rather not soil the wings made of saint’s touch with the sin he is yet to wash away.

“Are you with us, Angel Wings?” Kafka taps Sunday on the shoulder, the angry involuntary twitch of his wings gives away his disdain even if his expression remains neutrally apathetic. She laughs, it’s the screeching of nails against the coffin of his sanity. Or whatever is left of it. “We’re ready to make the jump for that ship. I’m sure you’d enjoy it.”

Sunday is not convinced; Kafka is prone to little white lies that benefit only her and that is not the way he wishes to live the life that could have been. Unfortunately, there is no way to leave unless it’s drifting forwards on the waves of time. Wherever this road leads to Sunday will have to figure it out as he goes. He can only hope that salvation awaits him on the shoreline.

Scars do not itch yet the phantom scent of a foreign god remains divine in the lungs of a sinner.

The movement is sudden; it disorients him and blinds him just as much as it takes away his hearing. For a split-second Sunday exists neither in reality nor in a dreamscape; simply stuck in between martyrdom and apostasy, he is rejected by the vastness of this universe, and it is the closest he comes to tasting freedom since the day he was born. Then his senses return to him just as suddenly as they abandoned him, and whatever suffering Elio scripted for Sunday to endure, it all may be worth it in the end.

“We mustn’t argue.” A little panicked and breathless, Sunday hears you before he sees you. Drowning in the starlight of the open space, the halo of your divinity shines twice as bright as it did under the sky of Penacony. You cannot imprison holiness in a cage of sin, and only after tasting both freedom and shackles can one realize that.

You’re too busy with pacifying the red-haired woman – Himeko, if his memory is yet to fail him – to notice Sunday hiding behind the shadows of Kafka and Firefly. Himeko is very uncharacteristically upfront about her disdain for Kafka’s unpleasant presence, and as much as he wishes to express his agreement, Sunday is sure his opinion would never be appreciated by the likes of your so-called family.

“I’m going to shove that ship up her–” Himeko’s sharp gaze is digging rusted nails into Kafka’s mortal body, crucifying her with just words alone.

Your palm pressed against Himeko’s red lips silences all blasphemy and prevents immediate bloodshed. “Miss Himeko, please!”

You tug her backwards. Kafka laughs, her amusement hidden by the purple fabric of her gloves. Whether she finds Himeko’s emotional distress funny or it’s your futile efforts to subdue her rage that Kafka finds entertaining remains unclear, neither does Sunday wish to figure it out.

“No, let her continue.” There’s a change to Kafka’s tone, a subtle shift to the way she pronounces her vowels that an ordinary person wouldn’t have noticed. Yet Sunday has spent months with nothing but the buzz of the flies caught in Kafka’s spiderweb, and despite his better judgment and the constant detachment of his soul from his mortal body, he notices. She was his only constant companion, the one he had to guard himself from; Sunday would have been a fool to not study her to protect himself. “It’s awfully entertaining to watch such a composed woman lose her cool.”

You shake your head, disappointed yet not surprised even in the slightest, merely chastising the older woman for her immature behavior, “Please do not instigate.”

Kafka swipes the scolding under the rug, dismissing your words as if they were never said in the first place. Simply pets your head, two gentle ruffles of your hair, and then leans closer to Himeko’s face. “I see you missed me dearly, Himeko.”

“Die in a ditch.” Himeko spits, stepping aside and almost shoving Kafka to the side in the most graceful of manners one can muster without seeming excessively aggressive. Then she embraces Firefly as if she was her own daughter. It startles both Sunday and Firefly herself, yet the barrage of questions from Himeko doesn’t let the girl settle into her embarrassment. “Hello, my dear. How have you been? You–”

Murata Himeko has little to no composure when it comes to Kafka’s antics, and it almost makes Sunday feel invested. It is almost enough to anchor him in the raging waters of the endless sea, yet it is still not enough, and he is still guided by the glow of the lighthouse at the faraway shoreline. If he addresses you directly, will you respond or would you dismiss him the way Himeko does Kafka, now that he’s bound to the Slave of Fate with a little ink and a lot of blood? Or would you disregard the chasm separating the two of you and reach for a fleeting friendly touch?

Have you prayed for your paths to cross again or have you forgotten your own words now that he is not your heavenly burden to carry? Sunday would never find out unless he acts on his selfish desires, and selfishness cannot exist in a dream he is still so reluctant to let go.

Kafka clears her throat. It’s a warning for Sunday to return from the gloom of his thoughts, yet the stars illuminate your hair with the shade of blood you spilled to escape the Dreamscape. Sunday is here yet he is never present enough to not get lost in the glow of your nimbus. The ribbons sway with every twitch of your fingers.

“Oh, and who is…” Himeko’s breath gets caught in her throat just as his hazy vision meets her eyes. “That?”

Her pleased expression sours in the blink of an eye, the curve of her lips forming a frown of disgust. She fixes herself just as fast, yet it is enough for everyone to realize where she stands when it comes to him. The winds pick up speed and the raging waves carry Sunday farther away from his destination. Maybe he is not destined to reach the shores of paradise in the first place, simply born to die as a sinner masquerading as a martyr. Maybe he has not found a place where he can finally drop an anchor for a brief gulp of relief. Whatever the case, Sunday does not care.

He does not exist on the same plane mortals do. He is unreachable, untouchable, unknown. Godhood slipped through his fingers like sand, and now he has nothing to offer to the world other than his own suffering. Strike him through his palms and he will not waver. Strike him through his feet and he will remain standing. Strike him to the chest and he will come alive to die once more. Take him apart like a decaying canvas and he will remain scattered thread, floating in the angry winds with no place to settle.

Heavy lungs and drumming heart, breathing seems like an impossible task under the incriminating stare of a woman who knows not of him beyond the vessel of Ena’s order. His lungs expand, no air fills the emptiness. The contract means nothing if he takes his final breath before reaching the shore.

Flashing lights and a pool of glittering blood that soaks the pristine whiteness of silk, something burns him in a way that reminds him of who he truly is. And when Sunday can finally take a proper breath, you look up at him with the expectant gaze, a fragile shield protecting him from the impending doom inflicted by his own two hands.

“Mister Sunday.” Your voice is scorching, your smile is blinding. Sunday wishes to die in the warm sands of your divine presence, buried under the weight of heavenly light. “It seems my prayers reached the heavens.” One glove. Then the next. Your skin is as smooth as the day his lips tasted it for the first time, the sweetness of heaven soiled by the salt of blood and the bitterness of tears. “It is very nice to see you again.”

If you are lying for his sake, Sunday would never know. If you are being sincere, it would bring him to his knees in a desperate attempt to atone for the sin of creating false idols. Yet he knows who you are, he knows your routine and your habits; your only selfless wish and the fears you hide by the foreign tongue he cannot comprehend. Something burns in his throat. Maybe it’s tears, maybe he has finally reached his end and is choking on the sinful blood of his decaying body. He is leaning into your sunlight all the same.

“He kidnapped you.” The accusation is not unfounded.

You dismiss it like it is, “I wouldn’t call it kidnapping.” A little wave of your left hand, the palm of your right is still gently trembling in the grasp of Sunday’s selfish fingers. “More like a vacation.”

You aren’t taken seriously. It seems to be a recurring thing, from how effortlessly your faux indifference is taken at face value. Sunday wants to speak; to play the shield you so bravely act as to protect his rotting flesh, yet all his voice is lost, and he is yet to find perch on the branches of the forbidden tree. The knowledge is all out in the open for his disposal, yet the wounded raven is yet to accept it as the truth of this world, soaring above the green leaves, shamefully nibbling on the fruit that will inevitably take him straight to hell.

Himeko stares you down, you don’t have the guts to stare back at the woman whom you owe your life to. Simply shakily stand your fragile ground, a cracked glass screen separating life and death. Himeko does not condemn you; it is Sunday she does not trust, and he cannot blame her for doing so. Yet some selfishly irksome part of him deems her reaction as unreasonable. She is not privy to your intricate bond; she knows not of suffering that binds you together, of the tears wasted and the ink spilled; she has no right to judge what she cannot understand. And puny humans like Murata Himeko cannot comprehend the extent of your relationship; every second of your suffering, every minute of his guilt, each of your thoughts unshared, each of his dreams unreachable.

Kafka’s laughter is poison, the succulent flesh of the fruit pushed inside his mouth against his will. Your nails dig into his palm, the blood does not spill yet the fear drips from Sunday’s palms as everyone is trying to find balance while the ground under their feet shakes, ready to split in two.

Sunday’s holds onto you like a life vest, the anchor dropped in the middle of the raging sea storm, the only lifeline that connects him to the reality of this miserable existence. Kafka chokes on her giggles as she almost trips over her own feet, the knockback of the sudden stop sending her toppling over. Himeko catches Firefly by the collar of her dress, pressing the girl close to her chest. The lights flicker in and out, yellow to blue, until red flashing lights overtake the hallway. Then everything shuts down.

It’s a painfully long second of silence with nothing but the heat of your body pressed tightly against his. And when the blood washes off the walls, it’s the glow of the open door and the disheveled pink haired girl and her trailblazing companion bursting though the yellow haze of artificial lights.

“What was that?!” The question is not meant to get an answer, and despite knowing it deep down, the girl with an odd name asks it all the same. “Dan Heng said the engine died.”

Irrationality is the heart of human nature; it is the thing that moves humanity forward and it is also what drags them down. Sunday cannot understand it, yet he is not completely against the notion. He, too, is only human, and your hand in his goes against any rational thinking of a devout believer.

“Himeko, what in the world is happening?” Annoyed and hissy voice, ruffled hair and a white robe barely held together by a little silk belt. The pink haired Foxian that snarled and bared her teeth at Sunday any chance she could back on Penacony, now looks like a displeased cat, lost in the unfamiliar environment. The impatient tapping of her foot, the flat heel of her fuzzy slipper softly knocking on the glossy floors.

Himeko says nothing. Just turns away, lips pressed tightly together. A glance she sends your way sends shivers down his spine, involuntary twitch of his wings sensing danger Sunday cannot combat with just the strength of his body alone. This time you look at her, the haunted darkness of your pupils keeps expanding and swallowing the light of the blushing sunsets Sunday is so enamored with.

“I don’t know.” Himeko finally states. Despite the finality of her words, it is clear as day that the woman knows very well. And with how she avoids your gaze now that she spoke, it is obvious you know even more. Nobody brings it up, even Kafka blinks in a solemn understanding that sometimes scripts don’t play in their favor. Satisfied with her play being accepted, Himeko continues with the second act, “But please put some clothes on, Shuhua.”

Shuhua huffs, a suspicious side eye thrown into your general direction. You seem to pay her no mind, too preoccupied with staring outside the window. Receiving no reaction, the Foxian turns on her heels and leaves the hallway with no hurry behind her steps. Himeko mumbles something under her breath and follows after Shuhua, arms folded over her chest and palpable tension to her every move.

As if sensing some invisible danger, Kafka steps away from the entrance and beckons Firefly to do the same. Slowly but surely, akin to two cautious animals, they hide themselves behind the corner of the hallway. It’s an oxymoron, truly, yet Sunday has no other way to describe the careful way in which Kafka – with all her predator glory – navigates the space. Precise and calculated, she wastes no time in exiting the hallway. Be it to torment Himeko some more or run away from whatever chill that is eating away at Sunday’s wings. Whatever the case, it’s just you, him and the young pink haired woman left standing in the dying light of faraway stars.

“Please step away from the window.” It’s a clear warning and Sunday heeds it, for all drifting souls follow the flow of the stream. March is way too anchored in her life to recognize the tremor of your voice for what it is.

You’re chewing on your bottom lip, unblinking gaze lost in the vastness of the open space. The alien pink hues swallow the darkness of cosmos and the glow of stars, dyeing the dim room with something sinister. March tugs on your sleeve, you don’t turn to look her way. The pinks turn into purples, the black holes of your eyes grow until only the void remains. The prayer falls from your lips like teardrops; some words muffled, some forever lost in the air to never reach his ears.

Faint footsteps are not the ones Sunday recognizes but he recalls seeing the young man, Dan Heng, on Penacony the day everything fell apart. He’s frowning, the tight line of his mouth trying to hide his distress. March seems relieved to see him, finger pointing at you with a quick shake of her head.

Dan Heng doesn’t read between the lines, simply waves his hand, “We caught another distress signal. Himeko ordered to regroup.”

March eagerly takes it as a chance to escape the suffocating tension, although she seems to be too hesitant to leave your side. One of the ribbons of your dress wrapped around her finger, she tugs on your clothing once more, yet you don’t move from your spot. Dan Heng seems annoyed by the delay, enough so he sends a dirty look Sunday’s way as a compensation for his wasted time.

“[Name], did you hear me?” Dan Heng takes one step closer. The purples turn into reds. March can’t find a spot to rest her eyes on, gaze darting from you to Dan Heng. The reds turn into pinks, then back into purples. The young man rests his hand on your shoulder. Purples darken into black. “We need to–”

“Move.” You snap, arms pushing March away from the glass just in time before the fog rejects the laws of this world, slipping through the thick layer of glass.

 The shrill volume of your voice is deafening but it’s not enough to scare away whatever it is that is floating in that fog. It latches into Dan Heng’s clothing, enveloping his fingers. The rapidly melting skin is falling down on the shiny floors like blackened ashes, piece by piece, layer by layer, until there is nothing but bone. And even then, the rot is not satisfied.

Dan Heng staggers backwards until his back hits the wall, mouth agape and eyes wide, shaky legs barely supporting his body. You quickly follow, trying to stabilize him, yet the best you can do is to help him slide down the wall slowly. His left arm is frantically trying to rip the rapidly deteriorating edges of his coat off yet to no avail, the fog swallows anything it touches far quicker than a human can move.

March calls out to you two, quickly crossing the little distance between you and sagging to her knees next to Dan Heng, trying to reach out to help him but you slap her hand away. “Don’t touch him!” You yell, so out of character for the calm and serene attitude Sunday is used to. Then you swallow, mouth seemingly dry, and when you speak next, it’s even softer and lighter than your usual tone, “Please step away, March. Don’t let the fog get near you.”

 Wide eyed, March is staring at you like she sees you for the first time in her life. Gods are gracious yet they are fair; Sunday knows better than anyone just how fair they can be. Yet this fairness from you must be something she had never seen before. Even Sunday himself, in that short time that he spent with your presence illuminating the nights of his loneliness, has not witnessed this side of you. Your refusal was gentle yet adamant, your dismissal was careful yet assured. Your harshness was nonexistent, for you were rejecting it like you do with everything in this life. Yet here you are, embracing it to save the life of the one you care about. It seems Sunday forgot he is not the only one lost in the river, praying to finally reach the lighthouse.

 “You never take me seriously.” You mutter dejectedly, eyes watery and fingers trembling.

“I’m sorry.” Dan Heng’s voice is almost gone, raspy and hoarse, heavy breathing never easing even when the fog starts thinning out under the glow of pinks and purples.

The ribbons of your dress float in the air; the ashes rise from the floor, twisting and turning into bleeding pieces of torn flesh and broken bone as his arm reconstructs itself slowly.  It’s unnatural, foreign to even witness, yet alone feel but Sunday knows the ache of mended bones. He knows the pain will never leave and will follow Dan Heng till his deathbed, a reminder of his wrongdoings. The sin of disobedience is hard to wash off, be it a prayer or holy water. Maybe the blood of a saint spilt on the foreign flesh can cure those phantom pains, yet no saint martyr would ever bleed for sinners like them.

The ode of resurrection is short-lived, yet the horrors the onlookers witnessed will remain there even when they close their eyes and fall into deep slumber. It will chase them like prey until it devours them alive. Sunday is used to a little misery, his dreams used to be his only salvation till they shattered like a birdcage caught in a hurricane; yet he is not sure how those who live to dream would deal with nightmares.

“What in hell is happening?” Shuhua’s blown amber eyes lost all the warmth of mild fire as she watches the final pieces of flesh reject their decay.

Too many people in this hallway for it to be safe. From Dan Heng to the two companions that came with her, to the black fog creeping near the window. Shuhua’s tail is wagging angrily from side to side. One of the men next to her – the infuriating Stoneheart, bless his audacity – seems to be as annoyed as she is. Although a bit more cautious and way less adventurous as he follows the woman when she steps closer to the black cloud, gloved palm all but ready to tug Shuhua back in case things go south.

As much as Sunday dislikes Aventurine, there is little point in his suffering now that it does not benefit the preservation of Ena’s eternal dream. Neither that nor your grief for the loss of a friend would bring Sunday any satisfaction. If anything, it would just force him further into the deep waters and the last thing he wants is to drown in despair before truly tasting freedom.

So he bows his head and rejects his ego, trying to be that very better brother that could stop all galaxies and freeze time just to let his sister descend the heavenly ladder. Even if the feat is not comparable and Sunday is a simple mortal who cannot perform miracles just yet, he can be a better man who would do good by others for you so at the end he could do so for himself.

The chill of the fog is caressing his back even from the distance Sunday assured is there. The irritation on Shuhua’s face when her investigation gets cut short could rival Sunday’s own disenchantment with the life he was forced into. Yet even if despised, Sunday stands for what he believes is right.

“I strongly advise you to not go near that fog.” It’s the first time in a long while that he addresses someone else. Prayers have been left behind in search of belief in himself and the conversations with Kafka are all one sided. There is no need to speak when Sunday has nothing to say, and it seems even if he does now, the audience is not willing to listen.

“I strongly advise you to stay the hell away from me, birdbrain.” Shuhua is prone to snarling and threats, yet it is very hard to take her seriously when even someone as fragile in body as Sunday himself could probably pick her up by the collar of her coat just to look at her face at eye level. He wishes not to pick any unnecessary fights, yet Shuhua seems to want to pick them all, “I will tear you apart.”

You sigh, it’s so heavy as if the weight of the universe rests on your delicate shoulders. “Please stop.”

Nobody truly listens. True to your previous words, no one takes you seriously. Your wishes have no substance, and your opinion is as translucent as air that they breathe in just to exhale the next moment. There is a brief, fleeting moment in which Sunday entertains the idea of the eternal dream once more. The ideal paradise in which people listen to you all the time and not just when it’s beneficial to them, yet he pushes it aside as soon as it blossoms in his mind with blood red petals. No wishes ever come true in gilded dreams and the only way to change reality is to take action here and now. There is very little Sunday can change, however, so the only thing he can do is stand his ground.

You walk past them right into the haze of the fog, Shuhua and Aventurine casting you a passing glance of confusion. Dan Heng, for as sickly pale as he is right now, is trying hurriedly to get up with March’s help. There must be something on Sunday’s face that gives away his doubt of the safety of your actions, as you smile wearily, “It’s alright. It can do me no harm.”

Sunday’s mind does not doubt the gospel, yet his heart is his worst enemy. Despite his worries, the dark cloud lightens in color: from black to purple, then to pink, and finally it thins out enough for only to pale mist to remain floating at the edges of the glass. The silence that falls is heavier than any burden a martyr could carry. Himeko joins you by the window, respectful distance from the pinkish whisps. She seems to be contemplating something, yet the options she has must be limited and choosing between two evils is never easy. Aventurine is peeking outside where the fog is still sick and dark, obscuring the starlight. Even the cyborg – one of the galaxy rangers that Sunday does not the name of – is searching for something behind the other side of the glass.

“I warned you to take another route.” You say finally. Shuhua is distressed, it’s barely noticeable, yet the twitch of her ears gives it all away. Himeko folds her arms over her chest, troubled expression reflecting on the surface of the glass. It’s evident nobody except you and her understands what you mean by that, yet for once you aren’t trying to include everyone in the conversation. It’s between you and the woman who seems to know way more about you than Sunday prides himself on knowing. “We got too close, and we got caught by the pollution.”

“Where the fudge are we anyway?” The cyborg taps the window, metal fingers thudding unpleasantly on the glass. This shirthole–”

“Mister Boothill.” You chastise lightly. “Language.”

“S’rry, birdie.” He chuckles awkwardly, slight embarrassment to his tone. “Where are we again?”

“My home planet.” Your words are the bloodstained nails, dropped by the executioner. The blood drips off them in thick droplets of divine nectar and falls to the floor, coating the room with the saccharine scent of the paradise lost.

“Huh?” There’s something peculiarly tense about the way Aventurine looks at you behind those glasses of his, yet Boothill’s astonishment saves you a lot of questions that you most likely do not wish to answer. “Ya fudgin’ breathe poison or somethin’?” You laugh, shaking your head lightheartedly at what could have been an oddly disrespectful question if not presented in such a standoffish way.

 “Not anymore.” You confirm, “The–” then your breath gets caught in your throat and your smile falls, replaced by a very familiar longing that Sunday grew accustomed to. Yet today is Thursday and on Thursdays you watch the stars. The regret and the tears are all saved for when the clock strikes midnight on the seventh day, and you get on your knees in a prayer hidden behind a foreign tongue. “Never mind. It’s a long, boring story that will put you all to sleep.”

“[Name]–” Himeko wants to say something; she clearly made up her mind and whatever decision she came up to burdens her way more than not listening to you when she had the chance.

Yet you, as per the path you are chained to, refuse to listen to whatever she has to say, “We do need to look into that distress signal.”

“Not unless we want to get turned into ashes.” Aventurine pipes in, a little teasing behind his otherwise serious tone, “I am not ready to get dusted just yet. No offense, [Name].”

Your smile is strained. It’s unnatural and forced yet Sunday is unsure whether others realize it, “I would never take offense in your finding the desire to live.” A well-meaning comment that is aimed to hit exactly where it hurts the most. Or maybe Sunday simply is too far deep in the waters of sin, so he projects his most evil onto the saints who deserve it not. Aventurine, however, does not contemplate your intentions, simply turns away from you as if burnt as it often happens when playing with fire. “Miss Himeko, if you may?”

Himeko nods wordlessly. You hide from the view with Boothill leaving right after when the awkwardness gets a bit too much for him. Sunday has half a mind to follow you but stops before he does something very much foolish. He needs to learn to pick his battles and regulate his wishes to control everything. For the very notion of control has always been his biggest enemy.

He who has no reign over his life desires to control everything, yet what he is supposed to do now that he has nothing to rule over? To control yourself is to control your own life, yet how does he find freedom when some of the choices he makes are still very much guided by someone else’s wishes masquerading as his own? Abandoning dreams meant abandoning order, yet somehow it still dictates his life all the same.

The lighthouse has never been farther away.

None of these people are tolerant of him, least of all fond of him, and without your presence this hallway once more turns into a cage. Maybe Kafka wasn’t as awful of a companion as he initially thought and her spiderweb acted as feather-like anchor to keep his mind from floating too far away from the shore. Maybe he is terrified of what could happen now that he has been stripped of power completely, matters not that the influence he used to have was all make believe.

“Don’t get your panties in a twist, chicken boy.” Shuhua laughs, twitching ears and sharp teeth on display as a warning. “Nobody here likes you, but we aren’t going to kill you. Unless you accidentally fall into that fog and die.” She misinterprets Sunday’s silence, yet he is not sure whether she is truly capable of cold-blooded murder or simply playing it up for the sake of dispelling some tension.

The Stoneheart quirks his brow skeptically, “Do you really want a sob fest?”

For someone like Aventurine, everything in this life is all but a transaction. An eye for an eye. A favor received; a favor returned. It’s not about either of them but it’s about both of you. The idea of pushing Sunday into the man-devouring fog seems to be quite pleasant for him even if he is almost stopping the Foxian from murder just because Sunday stopped her from almost dying.

Scoffing, Shuhua points her finger at Sunday as if he’s not even there, “She’ll get over it and find another boytoy to fawn over in approximately five business days.”

The notion of you crying over his death is terrifyingly unsettling. There is no realm, be it the rivers of reality long past of the gilded cage of a dream yet to be, in which Sunday wishes for you to weep for him ever again. Neither does he wish to die before you. Or after you, for that matter. Yet dying together with your last breath caught by his lips seems like a beautiful way to end his existence.

But Shuhua, despite her never-ending hostility, is right and he doesn’t think a god would waste her last moments on the fleeting warmth of a dying sinner. Death is far too cruel to allow him to go peacefully. And so, Sunday locks any foolish thoughts behind the golden bars of a dream once more.

That is the only place where heresy belongs to.

The fog darkens, not even a sliver of starlight remains. In this darkness Sunday has trouble keeping himself afloat. The thorns drag him down to the bottom even if the hollow bones of his wings do not itch any longer.

To dream is to survive. To live is to suffer. To dream is to suffer. To live is to survive. No matter how one twists the words, the outcome is the same. Torment is unavoidable, misery is unescapable. Be it in a cage made of gold or in a life soaked in freedom, everyone suffers equally. Sunday is yet to accept that as a given, yet this anguish is probably the only thing you embrace with your torn heart. Maybe one of these days the stream will carry him to his destination, and he finally finds what he’s looking for.

Maybe for the first time in his life Sunday needs to take control of himself and not others.

 “You should come inside.”  A gentle hand on his shoulder. A tall woman – another galaxy ranger – smiles at him with a little something very tired to the curve of her lips. “They’re about to make the jump.”

Sunday stops himself from wondering what all those people are doing here. Their ship got stranded so the rest must have suffered the same fate. Everything happens for a reason, and Sunday has little to no desire to doubt anything right now. Not when that doubt could force the thorns up his body until he is crowned in them like a dying man crucified.

And so he nods, following after Acheron, “They started the engine?”

“No,” She shakes her head, the door in front of her opens automatically. “We’re breeching the atmosphere the old-fashioned way.”

Sunday has no clear idea what that entails, but the implications don’t seem very promising. Some sort of a mascot is running around the room, ushering everyone to get seated. Kafka is smiling, scooting ever so slightly closer to Himeko despite the other trying to get away from her. Firefly is rambling, March and the pesky Nameless to her right engaging her in a rather animated conversation. Boothill, Shuhua, and Aventurine seem to get along rather splendidly, considering their conflicting personalities.

The veiled Memokeeper pats the empty spot next to her in a silent invitation; Sunday knows it isn’t meant for him, so he takes a seat in the farthest corner of the couch and lets Acheron depart with no words exchanged. You are nowhere in sight. Sunday thinks that once again nobody takes you seriously even if they should. Dan Heng and an elderly man who Sunday hasn’t met before seem to be the only one to be at least a little bit troubled by the current predicament, vigilantly watching the door in case it opens.

It does not. Instead, the lights flicker rapidly, the ground shaking beneath his feet. Being sat is not enough.

Everything comes crashing down, and no seatbelts could save them from the heat of the fall through the corroding fog and the atmosphere unwelcoming to the outsiders. Someone more poetic would have called this the fall of god’s most beloved angel, Sunday knows that it is nothing more than a punishment for the sins one could never atone. Everything seems to be on fire, scorching and hostile. Sparks of light ignite outside the trembling glass windows. In the darkness of this nightmare, fate in the shape of glowing ribbons is kind enough to catch him right before Sunday slips off the couch.

The fall stops so abruptly that the train jumps upwards. The pinks and purples shimmer with the peculiar radiance, lighting up the shadows and ensuring a safe descend into the deepest circles where only the most heinous sinners could survive. That is not a place someone like you could be born in, yet it seems just right for Istanai the Repudiation.

“Is everyone okay?” Your voice is hoarse, and you look a bit worse for wear. Sweat running down your temple, you shiver. Someone says something, it gets lost in the raging waters of doubt. “I cleansed the engine as much as I could but it’s enough to make one jump far away from the fog.”

“Please be careful.” Himeko mumbles, the train shakes for the final time.

You smile, “Aren’t I always?” That smile is nothing more than a kiss to the cheek and 30 pieces of silver, yet somehow Sunday is sure that it is them who would end up weeping at the cross.

Perhaps even Himeko herself knows she is sending the lamb to the slaughter. With regrets and misty eyes, she presses her lips to your forehead. It’s a fleeting touch with nothing left of it by the time it ends, and you turn around first, leaving without even a goodbye. Stelle darts from her seat, ready to join in on another dangerous adventure, Dan Heng and March following suit until Himeko stops them, whispering something that makes March gasp audibly. Half astonished, half disappointed, she returns to her spot on the couch and drops down with a huff. If Sunday is sure of something, it’s that the lonely path you are bound to cannot offer you any constant companionship.

Kafka is watching him with that infuriating something behind the clouded haze of her eyes. Sunday hates letting her win; he despises being caught in the spiderweb of her schemes and convoluted plots written by a lunatic far worse than he, himself, is. Spending his whole life being conditioned to believe he is the one in control of the cage, Sunday has been chained to the golden bars of a tomb where they buried his freedom. Yet he is not a charmony dove in desperate need of someone looking after him, his clipped wings have long been mended and the disillusionment in a dream that cannot be is ringing in his ears in Robin’s trembling voice.

What would she do if she were in his shoes, Sunday wonders, although there is no real need to contemplate it at all. For someone like his sister – another victim of a mind far too cruel for this world – there is only one path in this life. You move towards freedom, even if it means getting caught up in the crossfire.

Kafka’s giggles die with as the distance grows. Sunday is lucky to catch you before you exit the train, yet he isn’t sure there is any more luck in his life left for you to change your mind.

Sunday isn’t fast enough to even voice his concerns before you shut him down, “I just need to check with the port security, and I will be back. One foot out, one foot in.”

“Then I shall accompany you.” How can one preserve a life without controlling it? How to change your mind when even the most drastic of measures will prove futile? If Sunday gets down on his knees and beg like a sinner would do before the heavenly lord, would you accept him then? Would telling the truth save him now that he has nothing more to his person than the wings that belong to you and the halo that he is willing to discard for your sake?

“As much as I would enjoy to go on adventure with you, Mister Sunday, I am afraid this is something I must do alone.” There’s an air of finality to your words. As if you gave up all your agency to fate and willingly chose to walk the road to your crucifixion with the shoulders carrying the weapon which inevitably will be used against you. Yet Sunday doesn’t want you to. If there is a way to share this burden, his hands are willing. If there is a way to unfasten the noose around your neck or to wipe the blood of your palms, he is ready to stain himself until everything is red. “Besides… Who will save me if I put you in danger with my own two hands?”

As usual, you make little to no sense. How can Sunday save you if he isn’t by your side? “Aeon or not, you mustn’t–”

Your palm against his cheek is warm. Thumb gliding over his skin, smearing crimson till nothing is left of his anguish. Only heartache remains; the realization that he cannot do anything but give up and let you walk outside the gilded cage of safety into the world which would never be kind to you even if you spill all your tears for it. He could not stop Robin and had to pay the price, and now with you Sunday will have to do the same. Control is never enough when you lack the power to reinforce it, the dreams are fleeting and fragile like the glass castles amongst the clouds. All Sunday can do is to believe that he will get there in time to gather your holy blood before the ground accepts it as a part of itself.

“To live is to survive.” He whispers, hopeless and sorrowful.

“To dream is to suffer.” You agree. A ruffle of your dress, the ribbons sway as you rise. Betrayal means nothing when the warmth of your lips against his cheek eradicates all vices and purifies all evil. “May the heavens be kind enough for the suffering to cease.”

The door silently closes. Sunday returns to the train cart. The shimmer of the ribbons is still glowing all around the room. The atmosphere is a bit too charged, Dan Heng and Himeko glaring at each other with various degrees of animosity. Kafka is grinning, although there is something tense to her smile that Sunday had no desire to investigate. Elio admitted he could not predict your future, so whatever script she has is probably nothing but a nonsensical piece of fiction written by a crazed lunatic.

“You know nothing.” Himeko snaps. It must not be a regular occurrence, as it earns her a couple of odd glances. “If she doesn’t contact us in five system hours, [Name] told us to leave her here.”

Sunday expected as much yet this being said out loud weights way heavier on his soul than he anticipated. Dan Heng, familiar with the aftermath of touching death firsthand, seems to share the sentiment, “You can’t do that! Himeko, what–”

“This is not my place to decide, and this is not your place to judge.” The woman cuts his sentence short, not at all content with your decision yet unable to refuse your final wish. “It’s [Name]’s choice. Her fate has found her. You should know that better than anyone, Dan Heng.”

This silences the young man way faster than Sunday anticipated. Dan Heng, oddly dejected and somewhat pained, ignores Himeko’s orders and returns to the couch. March’s comforting hand does little to soothe whatever turmoil he is going through and Himeko doesn’t hurry to apologize for hurting him. Kafka hums, a little perplexing noise, as she pets Himeko’s shoulder lightly. The red-haired woman has little strength now to refuse the spider’s advances now, face hidden in the palms of her hands.

Pompom quietly warns everyone to buckle up and the jump is way smoother this time around, yet nobody seems to be happy about the comfort. The quiet conversations and Firefly’s soft, somewhat awkward laughter fills in the void of passing hours. Scars do not itch yet old habits are hard to break, and Sunday is once again being dragged down to the bottom with the thorns of his deadly sin. One more hour, the glow of the ribbons dies along with the fog. Soon there would be nothing but darkness and the glitter of starlight illuminating the edges of the planet clouded in death.

“You seem awfully worried for someone you quite literally held hostage.” Shuhua’s voice is a fairway noise of the waves crashing against the pier. Sunday doesn’t mean to ignore her, yet he has no desire to engage her either. Pointless bickering has no merit unless both parties have something to prove. And Sunday has nothing to stand for right now. She is somewhat correct, and he is completely lost.

“Not as fun to bother now that you have nothing to hide.” Aventurine is the green glint of the precious stones scattered around the seabed. Laying amongst all those colorful rocks, Sunday lets them dig painfully into the base of his wings, till blood seeps through the open wounds. “Lame.”

“Cut him some slack, you two.” Black Swan says, a little teasing to her hushed voice, “He’s in the process of actively yearning.” Sunday wishes they would stop talking about him as if he isn’t present, yet he is not allowed to condemn them for sinning when his deeds are as unforgiving as they come.

 “Not like he knows anything about love beyond controlling the object of his obsession.” If a Memokeeper can get into Sunday’s head to pick his troubled feelings apart and put them together into some semblance of cohesion, the Stoneheart doubts the notion of Sunday having any emotions at all. It’s infuriating, yet it helps in a way. The waters may be deep, and the waves may be harsh, yet fury knows no hell like a lover scorned.

“I advise you to not speculate about my feelings.” The chill of his tone is familiar. “You might find out the true extent of their depth.”

For a second Sunday is back on Penacony, caged and buried, following orders and grasping for an ounce of control over his own actions through desperately trying to liberate those who could be saved. Would any of them try to save him? Robin would. Robin did. Now she’s somewhere out of reach, in the lighthouse Sunday can see yet can never find a way to. You would. You did. And now you are back to the dream shattered, unattainable and doomed.

Sunday has little to call his, yet his heart is worth fighting for.

Aventurine lifts his glasses, the grin on his lips is the one you would only find in hell, “Hit a nerve?” The tension increases, yet Sunday is not above playing dirty. They should know as much already. All is fair when you protect what you believe in, for the road to hell is paved with intentions most pure.

“Fifty thousand credits say you to shoot the chicken if he squares up.” Shuhua whispers, yet her voice is loud enough for everyone to hear.

Boothill clicks his tongue, “Make it a hundred, foxy. I ain’t lifting a forkin’ finger for some chump change.”

“Now now, let’s not fight.” Black Swan claps her hands to dispel some of that tension and it works. Somewhat. Sunday’s wings are still twitching under his coat, posture rigid and breathing shallow. Aventurine himself is way on guard for someone who is not ready to fight for his life, yet he is the one to throw in the towel. “We might need our knights to rescue the damsel in distress.”

“Talking about distress.” Acheron inserts herself into the situation with a surprising ease, surely not in the mood to mediate any immature conflicts yet very much willing to remind of the reason they’re all here in the first place. “It’s been four hours, Himeko.”

“I know.” Himeko nods, her expression as hazy as the fog outside this room.

Kafka huffs, amused and ready to stir the conversation where she wants it to go, “When I left you the kids, I thought you would keep them safe, Himeko. Look at you now…”

Himeko, for all her detachment now that she’s haunted by her own choices, seems to be finally ready to physically fight Kafka this time around. Her anger is short lived. And everything after that is nonexistent. It all ends here where it all began.

“Guys.” March gasps, palms pressed against the glass window. “No, guys, look.”

Stelle joins her by the window, but the others ignore her excitement as they did ten times prior to this. Yet judging by how the curve of Stelle’s lips drops suddenly, this time around they should have paid attention.

The blinding light is promised to lead all mortals to salvation of Paradise. With the scorching warmth of hell’s fire on his face, Sunday is sure that he is never destined to find the shores of redemption. The train is shaking with the aftershocks of the end of the world as they knew it. His fate is sealed with an explosion and the debris drifting into the open space, colliding with each other in a promise to never meet again.

In the eyes of Murata Himeko, Sunday can recognize the guilt which is dripping from his heavy lashes every time he brings himself down on his knees in a prayer. To live is to survive. To dream is to suffer. Paradise of eternal happiness cannot exist, for it is nothing but a pipedream of a man gone mad.

For once in the short time that he knew her, Kafka is silent. Sunday takes that silence with him into the darkness that envelopes all creation.

The curtain falls, yet as the lights go out the gilded dreams live on.

Scars do not itch yet the memory of a dream yet to be dreamt is the only proof of your existence.

[aayakashii]

Excuse me, tumblr user aayakashii, but if I could ask for a morsel of content? I made a post about king jin x court jester reader and mentioned how it would be an interesting yandere dynamic. Your name got mentioned, and then I also saw you had liked it, so if you had any thoughts? That? Would be cool?

But absolutely no pressure! I was just curious about what a yandere dynamic would look like when jin is obsessed with someone who does fit the servant role.

Sorry for the rambling! Thank you for reading my request, and I hope it finds you well! And please feel free to go as dark as you want with it if the mood strikes you

-@lucky-lucky-duck☆ (user name change ^^")

Of course tumblr user @lucky-lucky-duck 🫡

Okay I had to think looooong and haaaaard about this one because it's an interesting concept, but, as you said, it can turn dark very quickly. I'm not sure if I analyzed it properly tbh, but I hope this gives you a nice idea of how I think the dynamic would go.

First, Jin as a yandere in his usual setting would probably be an extremely controlling man. He'd demand MC to be at his beck and call at any given moment and would probably tell them what they can or cannot do, what to wear, what to say, basically how exist as "his property".

I've had someone say that it's a bit upsetting that the boys as yanderes see MC as an object to possess, but that's just how most yanderes act; they might love their darling, but most of all, they're obsessed – they want to possess them. It's the nature of a yandere character, so I'd have to say Jin would be the blueprint for that.

Now, in that king x court jester dynamic, things would escalate A LOT MORE.

I researched the accurate definition of what a jester used to do, and they used to be "a member of the household of a nobleman or a monarch employed to entertain guests during royal court."

Okay, well. Forget about entertaining other people. You'd be Jin's personal plaything, and no one else would be allowed to watch your lovely acts. And of course, that would allow him to demand more intimate ways of entertainment too...

You'd have to be ready to be his pillow; to light his cigarettes; to smother him in kisses and sweet words whenever he got stressed; to follow him around wherever he went like a loyal puppy; and, just like one, he'd expect you to never complain.

You're the king's favorite, how dare you complain about not being free? You have privileges no other jester could ever have!

And what if the king had a queen? Well, that would not matter at all. You'd still be tied to him, even if he was married to someone. The king's consort would sit beside him, but you'd be perched on his lap, petting his hair and being entirely open to his touches.

You're just a jester after all, and he's the king. No one bats an eye, even as he holds you so possessively.

Jin would be quicker to ditch his consort than let go of you, but he would rather not admit it.

If anyone wants to marry him, they have to understand that he's just too attached to his little pet. See, they're so cute, so entertaining, so welcoming to his touches. How could he ever let them go?

Basically, being the king's jester would be akin to having a collar and a leash on your neck forever. The most powerful man would be able to move mountains just to have you under his constant watch. You'd have no freedom, and his obsession would be overlooked. You'd have no one to save you and nowhere to run.

But that's what you wanted, right?

[antagames]

Hewwo Anta! I hope you're doing well, today when I was too bored at staying in the hospital, I decided to share my head canon about Jester back story!:33

So in my HC, Jester was once a human and he died unjustly. Because I believe he's not a hellborn based on his appearance, and he also has a brother (my brother-in-law UwU of course) who looks quite like human. Even though I know that he is also likely a demon born from hell, I still want to believe that he has a more interesting backstory than that. Anyway.... he used to be a jester working for the king but then the king, or someone close to him, betrayed him and decided to sacrifice him for some ritual. And here we go, a Jester of today!

I also have another headcanon about why he's willing to help us get revenge, because him signing a contract with us without any conditions is suspicious for a demon. As you mentioned before, he doesn't have the concept of love like humans do, so I've ruled out the case that he does it because he loves us. I guess he was doing his job of instilling fear in humans, (or maybe because he was so bored with immortal life) that he agreed to help us so that he could satisfy his inner evil. He wanted to see the MC harm their own royal family and he would get a good laugh. Besides, the fastest way to push a country into decline is to corrupt the state apparatus, and here he wants to destroy the royal family and thereby put everyone in that country into misery. Sounds a bit extreme but to me this makes sense XD

What is your opinion? Jester's fans and I would love to know more about his backstory, thanks for reading :333

Have a good day!!

Thank you for sending your headcanon! Have I mentioned that theories and speculations are very welcome? No? Yeah, they are. I love seeing theories :) I will not confirm nor deny any of your thoughts; I'll be saving the 'truth' for when I'm finally ready to work on a sequel/full game. But, what I can say though, is that they have no concept of 'hell' in their world, which I hinted in my old lore post. It mentions that while they do believe in the existence of gods... they don't have a governing body for their beliefs, which is to say, is that they don't have anything that encourages (heaven) or discourages (hell) them from adhering religious beliefs and practices. They don't believe in afterlife, 'hell' included. As for conditions of the contract, it was implied in the game... Jester just did not explain it (his brother would have bonked him for that). Simple terms: He serves you as his master, and in exchange, he can take away your soul. When? Well...

[master-of-stupidity]

New Pinned Post to organize all my au art (mostly the Wild Kratts ones but also others loll) This will update over time as I post new/ already existing au's over time ^_^

Also btww I am by all means NOT a writer so apologies if these explanations r doodoo or just don't rlly have any at all I can't write for shit 😭😭🙏

.

. Btww feel free to send an ask about any of these au's!! :33

WK cps Takeover au

. Sketches

MouthWash WildKratts au

. The real shit

. Ocs for it

. Silly shit loll

WildKratts Zoochosis au

. Giraffe Martin mutant

WildFalls au

. Main Post

. Stantin

. Bill possession

. 2nd version

JellyBean au

. Sketch

WildKratts Teen au

. Ref Sheet

. Angst

. TikTok doodle

Turning Tables au

. Doodles

Cryptid Martin au

. Doodle

. Explanation post

WildKrattsxTangled au

. Ref sheets

Pony Martin au

. Angstish

. Doodle

. Silly

Just a Kid au

. Main post

. Extra + Doodle

. Concept doodles

Freeze au

. Silly + doodle

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Tangleds Mirror au

. Analog horror

. Art dump

Dark Kingdom Eugene au

. Angst

New Dream Sun & Moon au

. Art Dumps

Jester Eugene au

. Art dumps

MoonStone Lamb au

. Ref sheet

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SP Game Wars au

. Villain oc

. Mcs + doodle

Til Death do Us Part au

. Ship angst

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Rotten Two Brains au

. Sketch

. Explanation (might redo)

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New God au

. Adam angst

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Nightfury Snotlout Au

.Art/Main Post

.The "S" tail

.The Dagur discussion

.Heather ^_^

.riders/berk

.Red Death battle

.Spitelout discussion

.Finding out

.Yap sesh of info loll

.Dragon dysphoria

ALSOOO!! Just because I can (n because I wanna keep it pinned) my commissions r still open!! ^_^ Dm if interested i use Venmo n PayPal for payment :))

(Click for better quality)

[kaedekolya]

on the topic of lars' jp and cn voiceovers, and the difference between the two:

(tl;dr: jp lars is more girlfailure himbo and cn lars is more babygirl himbo)

i think for jp lars the trope subversion is in the dissonance between the way he carries himself (playing up the cool suave persona) and the way he actually is (silly, earnest, kinda clumsy). he imbues his lines with a dramatic flair, playfully inflating his own ego, and it's precisely because of this over-exaggeration that both mc and you, as the reader, know he's mostly full of hot air (and doing it on purpose). i'd describe it as good-natured pomposity; he knows his worth, but he'll jokingly raise himself up a couple rungs to tease a reaction out of you (and to wheedle some praise out of you too, while he's at it). the trope subversion here is on a meta, narrative level, where the dichotomy exists in the way we see through his disposition; it's the contrast between what he presents himself to be and what we perceive through his actions.

whereas for cn lars, there are many instances where he directly lampshades this dissonance; he pokes fun at himself in a lighthearted, self-aware manner, deliberately affecting his speech with childish phrases that contrast his position and disposition. he is simultaneously the successful adult and the child at heart; the confident businessman and the petulant boy; the playful jester and the gentle companion. here, the trope subversion is within the character itself; cn lars' portrayal encompasses both aspects of his personality, letting the subverted traits peek through between the played-up persona. there's less dramatic flair, and perhaps less comedy as a result, but less hot air also means he's more down-to-earth and relatable.

while jp lars is funny because of how transparent his antics are and how quickly his hot air deflates, cn lars is amusing because of how earnest he is in both aspects of his personality, which ought to be diametrically opposite yet coexist so seamlessly within him. both portrayals make lars nuanced and endearing, just in different ways!

i'd elaborate more and corroborate with actual examples from the cn and jp lines, but that would probably expand into a whole essay, so... maybe next time! (i do love languages and linguistics, so)

[ranticore]

you may think the mc of the dragons story is just a variation of félix but you would be wrong. he's actually a variation of my sexy jester oc who only exists to be put in situations

[chaosflame]

So I'm a fan of p3 twin aus and something I've wondered but haven't seen anyone else like address(at least to my knowledge) is what arcana would the twins social link with each other be? Because you can not tell me they wouldn't have a social link with eachother.

This curiosity is what led me to make my own p3 twin au that has greatly spiraled out of control(I have so many connected and offshoot aus that stem from this) and I'm not just gonna share what I made the social link between the twins but all the social links the twins have for this au!! Because I have very little self control, (Under a read more of course, this gets very long)

0. Fool: S.E.E.S(Both)

Same as canon, there's literally no reason to change this.

0. Jester -> XXI. Universe: Shiomi Kotone(Minato) Shiomi Minato(Kotone)

Originally I had the social link between them just be the Fool but being numbered 23 instead of 0 (the socal link for SEES was still the 0 Fool) because they're basically sharing the same wildcard journey, but then I remembered that the Jester existed so I looked at the wiki-

" The Jester symbolizes much of what the Fool symbolizes--ignorance, spontaneity, and freedom--but in a suppressed form. In the case of the Jester, the querent is misguided and unwilling to work with others, in contrast to the Fool, who is compatible with everyone. Ultimately, the Jester acts like a fool instead of genuinely being a fool. "

-and honestly? I think the p3 mcs could end up like this, especially at the start of the game which is around the time this social link would be established, I could get into all the reasons I think this fits for them but this post is long enough already.

Anyway idea for the progression of the social link is that it would be the Jester till like rank 9? and be stuck on that rank no matter what they try till something major happens and the social link arcana changes to the Universe for rank 10!

I. Magician: Iori Junpei(Both)

Yeah I'm gonna be prioritizing the plot relevant characters sooooo Kenji gets the boot, he can appear in Minato's social link with Junpei as a side character tho,

I'm honestly baffled why Junpei wasn't the magician social link from the beginning??? Like why?? I can't even be mad about it that's how baffled I am,

For the social link progression itself Kotone's is basically unchanged and Minato's I'm gonna use Junpei's Linked Episodes as a baseline for it.

II. Priestess: Yamagishi Fuuka(Both)

III. Empress: Kirijo Mitsuru

IV. Emperor:

V. Hierophant:

V. Apostle: Kurosawa ???(Both)

VI. Lovers: Takaba Yukari(Both)

VII. Chariot: Kazushi(Minato) Rio(Kotone)

Kazushi Is on the Track Team and Rio is on the Volleyball Team

VIII. Justice: Amada Ken(Both)

IX. Hermit: "Maya"

X. Fortune: Keisuke(Minato) Saori(Kotone)

Keisuke is in the photography club and Saori is in the Library Committee

XI. Strength: Koromaru(Both)

Yuko I'm sorry ;-;

XII. Hanged-Man: Maiko

XIII. Death: Pharos

Ok so how this works is

XIV. Temperance: Bede(Both)

XV. Devil: Ikutsuki(Both)

*SLAMS DESK* I NEED TO KNOW WTF IS UP WITH THIS GUY, EVEN IF I HAVE TO MAKE IT UP,

My idea is that both mcs do reach rank 10 with him but it doesn't change a thing the only thing it changes is Ikutsuki trys really really hard to get the mcs to join, also we hear about sho!!

XVI. Tower: Mutatsu(Both)

XVII. Star: Akihiko(Both)

XVIII. Moon: Shinjiro(Both)

XIX. Sun: Akinari

XX. Judgement: Elizabeth(Minato) Theodore(Kotone)

Yeah I wanted a social link for the attendances and like this isn't even really a social link in p3

XX. Aeon: Aigis(Both)

Faith: Mochizuki Ryoji(Both)

*Gestures to both the twilight wants him back and p5r*

[akechis-special-case]

A lot to yap about. I may as well take the chance. I may have the Jester's Point Of View fic with Goro as an mc but I dunno how many people read the entire thing (barely anyone... Also shameless plug again, sorry). Though that only hints at how we met in canon.

First time using first person perspective when talking about it (for the first meeting especially). If you read my stuff though, you probably know about my sona (Lukanja). They represent me I guess so it's close enough. This will certainly be a first though…

Favorite thing… There are many things about Goro I love. It is hard to pinpoint one favorite thing down. He’s literally the full package and I adore him in every way. It can be as shallow as loving his voice (I love the tone and pitch of it both in EN and JP. It can make me melt on the spot if he decides to use it against me) to his several reactions when he’s being teased. I just love to see him all flustered and speechless before trying to play it off with his cold demeanor. Point is that I love it when he lets his walls down and is just himself. Not acting as the ‘perfect detective prince adored by everyone’, just him being ‘Goro Akechi’ unapologetically. 

Wait, I guess you could say then that my favorite thing about Goro is… Well, Goro being himself, if that makes sense. Listen, if you keep up with his act for a while it really gets tiring. He appeared as perfect before the public, making him come off as too perfect. So seeing him being who he really is and being able to love him as a result is truly a blessing. Even if he thinks he’s not worthy of this love, I’m not sorry. 

Ahaha, it’s probably a cop out to the question of ‘my favorite thing about Goro’ but it really is difficult to pick. There's not really a favorite thing about him I have. I could gush about any aspect but it would boil down to it being a part of him I adore. Like the voice thing from earlier or his reactions or his various expressions. Even aspects of his appearance… Again, it’s all him so being himself is the best answer I can give. I hope it makes sense.

As for the first meeting… Actually, much to anyone’s surprise, the first meeting is rather uneventful. Would you believe me if I said that I was not interested in him at all at first? Like very first. I wasn't even acknowledging Goro’s existence, not really at least. I knew of him from the media as many outlets talked about the ‘second coming of the Detective Prince’ yet didn't pay too much attention to him. After all, he’s just some guy and how he acted at first rubbed me the wrong way. As mentioned before, he had put up a face which was ‘too perfect’, something was up. 

Having someone act indifferent towards him probably rubbed Goro the wrong way. Back then he didn't show it openly yet due to wanting to be acknowledged and loved by everyone. It's not exactly ideal. That and his pride being hurt by it too. It led to him trying to win my favor yet I hardly budged. Tired of this act eventually I started teasing him, to just catch a glimpse of what he was really like. We are both stubborn in our own ways so getting him to properly open up took months to accomplish.

Bonus! Goro even found out by accident about me being genderfluid. I’m not sure if it was a lie back then to get on my good side but him not minding it felt relieving. It was the first time someone I wasn't close to accepting it without any issues and treating it normally. I don't know where to fit it in so I just put it at the end here.

Anyways, rambling over. Sorry for taking up so much time.

Interaction bait lowk BUT

Whats your favorite thing about your f/o? How did you guys meet in your canon? Yapp ab it :]

Reblogs, responses ect are enjoyed and appreciated

[thedecoy-if]

It occurs to you just then, the true depth of your helplessness: you've been taken to another universe, alone with no way home, you're stuck prisoner, your phone has no signal...and they don't even know what Wi-Fi is. Yeah. You're screwed.

DEMO (3/04/2023) ♔ FORUM POST ♔ ARTBREEDERS

♔ The Decoy is a dark fantasy that follows you, a 21st century normal human, kidnapped to an alternate magical universe to play the part of the missing heir to a powerful throne...who also happens to be your doppelgänger. ♔

Life, for the most part, has been all-around uneventful. You work in Manhattan at a convenience store under a sleazy boss in order to scrape by and support your struggling family. Your dad is absent, your mom is too tired to parent, one brother is getting arrested while the other has detached himself from the life he once had. Still, while your days as a twenty-something employee are mundane, at least they're predictable.

Meanwhile, in another realm, the magical dark world of Eterna is in ruin. A war against an entity and his bloodthirsty creatures is brewing, and after the powerful royal family is viciously murdered and the only living child--and now rightful owner of the throne--goes missing, that evil is one step closer to winning.

But of course, that's not your problem. That's in a whole other universe, one you don't even know exists. Your biggest worry is whether you'll be able to take on a double shift tomorrow. Right?

Wrong.

Turns out the missing heir is your doppelganger. In a desperate attempt to save face and stop from losing a war before it even starts, you're kidnapped and taken to Eterna in order to play the part of the monarch, all while working behind the (bloody) scenes to find the true heir and get home.

Stuck in a world of magic and fantasy you've only ever seen in movies, an entire country--and an impending war-- is now dependent on how well you can act.

No pressure.

The Decoy is rated 18+ for dark themes, violence, and explicit content.

FEATURES

Customize your MC from gender identity, pronouns, personality, and appearance.

Choose whether to adapt to this new world or reject it, whether to be defiant or not. Pick what kind of monarch you'll lead as and take full advantage of your new royal identity.

Build yourself up in this new world, focus on honing combat or knowledge of the realm, choose a preferred choice of weapon and more.

Romance one of eight ROs (two male, two female, one nonbinary, three gender selectable) with a variety of backgrounds and magical types. Some more dangerous than others.

Maybe teach your new makeshift gang what television is? Hopefully find some signal for your phone? (not going to happen).

CHARACTERS + ROs

SERIDA/SOREN/SAHAR CRETILLON (m/f/nb , identity dependent on player choice ): the successor to the throne and only living person left in the Cretillon line, S has gone missing not long after the slaughter that murdered their entire family. People have been waiting for them to be coronated in order to plan their next move, but they're now gone without a trace and without them and the power that binds them together, Eterna is vulnerable. That's where you come in.

AZRIEL DAMARIS [RO] (m, he/him): once S's primary royal guard, Azriel has been promoted as the general of the Eternan army and head of the operation to save S. Stiff, serious, and severe, Azriel is tasked with being guard and guiding you through the world of politics and royalty. Unfortunately, Azriel doesn't want you here and he doesn't do much to hide it.

NAMARA AL-LUVEN: [RO] (f, she/her) Azriel's second, Namara is a fierce warrior and loyal to the cause. She's quite difficult to read, distant considering who you are.

DRENWIN SILVA: [RO](m, he/him): a skilled Mage and jester, Drenwin works alongside the Eternan army and puts his skills to work. He seems to be the most approachable of the bunch, which isn't saying much.

VALE: [RO](nb, they/them) the boisterous, flirtatious and arrogant mercenary turned pirate captain of The Lady Mystica. Vale exists simply to make and spend as much coin as possible while engaging in their harem and abundance of bad habits.

CERIS BESILLE [RO] (selectable, she/her, he/him, they/them): a priest-in-training, Ceris is fiercely devoted to their beliefs. Reserved and easily scandalized, they haven't left their quarters in the church since they were twelve, contributing to their lack of outside experience and rather insular outlook on the world.

TALEEA FAREWYN [RO] - (she/her) A half-fae Healer, Taleea follows alongside you as your right hand. She seems to be the only one empathetic to your circumstances, but it's hard to trust anyone in this world, especially someone who is so keen on being...nice.

ARWEN/ARYA VALARIN: [RO] (selectable, she/her, he/him): A Valarin is S's childhood friend and their arranged betrothed. A has been S's other half since they were kids, which means you need to be extra careful around them. They have no idea you're not S and judging from your orders, it's better they never find out.

????? [RO?] (gender selectable) -- They are actively hunting you.

[galaxyworm103]

Me looking at the checklist of Sexyman traits from the Sexypedia. Me looking at Scar:

Me: okay so thats

Capitalist (S6 with Concorp, S7 with literally everything. S8 with the Swaggon)

Clown (The Jangler. He had a jester hat ON HIS BASE)

Distinctive Voice (Need I say anything about this one?)

Quotable Catchphrases (I think his intro n outro count as this. And I know everybody recites them when watching his videos)

Duality (We all saw his S9 arc of being a themepark owner at day and then being an assassin at night. There were Jekyll and Hyde jokes made about this)

Eldritch (I don’t think Scar himself is Eldritch but he definitely has some kind of thing with the horrors. I mean he did just. Know they wouldn’t die in the Boatem Hole, because it was a Rift, and our Rift is pretty ominous. Also his associations with Grian helps)

Monster Features (Vex Scar exists. Need I say more)

Spectacles (He wore a monocle in S7 and sunglasses in S9)

Green (One of the colors associated with Scar is green. Partially due to it being a common color in his S8 fit, but also it was on his Vote for Scar posters from S7.)

[Partially] Mad Scientist (While not having the traditional mad scientist vibe, Scar did create the Resurrection Chamber after Demise in S6. Which would take a Wild Steve, change their body, and allow a decaying/dying Player to use that body as their own. Scar did this to himself and Impulse. That’s gotta count for something)

Obscured Face (the Vex Masks from S5 and S6)

Oncerlization (this is less about Scar getting his own subfandom this is more about Scar was ACTUALLY JUST the Onceler. Heck during S7 he had an alternate skin THAT WAS A GREEN SUIT!!! He was Literally the Onceler!!)

Perpetual Smiler (maybe not in fanart, but his MC skin is constantly smiling. And with how he talks, I could be convinced he is almost always smiling)

Power (mans canonically had access to Vex Magic. Also was a wizard twice. And one of his crystals actually seemed to be legit, given Cub’s reaction during S7 when getting one)

Purple (Due to S7 and Last Life, I’d say Scar is somewhat associated with purple)

Theme Song (while not his own theme song, the Sewer Cats song was made by Scar and remixed several times over. Also smth about Sewer Cats screams Sexyman to me. [EDIT] Super Fast Build Mode could also be his theme song, has no lyrics though which is why I didn’t initially count it)

Technically Antagonist (in S7, he played a corrupt politician who was screwing over an island. In 3rd Life, if you watch the Red Army’s POV, Scar is clearly the antagonist. He was also King Ren’s hired assassin. So)

Suit guy (Scar has several suit skins. He has the Convex suit, which is a black suit with diamond cufflings + tie. He has the Hermits in Black suit from A77. He has his Mayor suit from S7. He has his blue pinstripe suit from S7, as well as a green suit also from S7. His S8 outfit isn’t just a suit but it is suit enough to count, same with his Create Mod outfit)

Uniform (in S6 he has the General Angry Eyes uniform, and in S9 he is wearing a uniform while working on his theme park)

Long Coat/Cape/Robe (Both of his wizard outfits seem to be robes.)

There are more things on the checklist obviously, and I’m not entirely sure how to find the checklist cause fandom wiki (and thus sexypedia) sucks. But!! I just thought I’d say all of this to get it outta my brain

[fukuokadivision1]

"Normal is not something to aspire to; it's something to get away from."

Introduction

Sanyu Inouye is the leader of the Fukuoka Division rap battle team, MIHANASA. She is also known by her moniker, MC Rogue. A former lab rat that was sold by her parents and experimented on by Chuohku, Sanyu loathes anything related to her past. Her parents, the government, the fact that she has nightmares, and especially the fact that she is no longer just a woman.

As her appearance can no doubt infer, Sanyu is a very tomboyish-looking woman. However, despite her androgynous look, she still identifies as a woman and is actually quite feminine. She has navy blue hair that is in a medium-length ponytail that goes to her upper back. She also has bangs that fall into her left eye, both of which are emerald green. She is 5'7" and weighs 48 kg. In her left ear, she has two silver earrings.

When not on her job, Sanyu tends to dress casually, preferring clothes she can slip on and off when she wants. She wears a black sleeveless midriff with a white jacket over it, along with a matching-colored skirt that sometimes shows her white panties. Lastly, she wears a pair of black knee-high socks with brown sneakers.

On her job, she wears somethin akin to a jester's outfit, complete with make-up. Only a handful of people know that it is really her behind her outfit and clown get-up.

Name Meanings

Sanyu (さんゆ) - happiness

Inouye (井上) - above a well

Aliases

"Harleen" - Her circus name

"Subject X"

Biographical Info

Gender - Female

Age - 21

Birthday - January 3rd

Ethnicity - Japanese

Hair Color - Navy Blue

Eye Color - Emerald Green

Height - 174 cm/5'7

Weight - 48 kg/106 lb.

Star Sign - Capricorn

Piercings - Left Ear

Markings - A large 'X'-shaped scar on her back, and numerous injection points on both of her arms and neck.

Family

Mother

Father

Adoptive Father

Voiced By - Tsubaki (Rapping)

Fun Facts

MC Name - MC Rogue

Occupation - Circus Performer

Division - Fukuoka

Team - MIHANASA

Position - Leader

Favorite Food - Omurice

Least Favorite Food - Hard Bread

Likes - Free food, high places, water, cigarettes, cute girls, hot baths

Dislikes - Needles, Doctors, Scientists, Anything related to Chuohku, being mocked about her body, cold nights, nightmares, "normal"

Hypnosis Microphone

Sanyu's Microphone is a ribbon microphone on a stand that is pink at the bottom but slowly fades into a dark blue when you get to the top. The stand has a point on both sides of it at the top, and the mic has a point on it at the top, pointing to the northeast. Overall, it bears a resemblance to the 'hermaphrodite symbol'.

Her Speaker takes the form of a large red and white circus tent with a clown's face as the entrance, its mouth open wide, beckoning the people inside.

Her rap ability, Second Chance, allows Sanyu to be revived with her full health once she is knocked out by an opponent's attack. The ability immediately activates once Sanyu is unconscious. She can only use this ability once per battle.

Sanyu's rap themes touch on serious subjects, such as the fact that the homeless and runaways are mistreated, not only in Japan, but also in the rest of the world. She raps about why people strive to be "normal" all the time, when it is a concept that does not exist. She raps that society needs to change its way of thinking, and start being more accepted of people, especially those with "supposed" flaws.

Personality

Sanyu, despite how she may appear, is an optimistic and relaxed young woman, trying to put the events of her past behind her. She tends to argue a lot with Tasuku over the most trivial things but they are also very close and friendly with each other. She's not the type that likes to follow orders and rules; the only one that can boss her around is Ming, who in Sanyu's words, 'is very scary when angry.'

However, Sanyu hates to be looked down and underestimated by others and is always very independent and self-sufficient. Her "curse" is a vulnerable and soft spot of hers that upsets her a lot. A former experiment that was used by Chuohku to test the resistance of the True Hypnosis Mic, Sanyu's body is physically and mentally scarred as she was also subjected to cruel experiments that altered her hormones, turning her into a hermaphrodite. She's pretty sensitive and upset with her "curse" and hates to feel mocked for it.

Sanyu also hates humans because none of them did anything to help her or her friends when they were down on their luck, instead throwing them into an abandoned part of Fukuoka made only for the downtrodden and despot. If anything, she blames society for having this stupid and idiotic idea that people with flaws cannot fit into a "normal" world. As such, she has a deep hatred for the word, and cannot stand to hear it.

Despite this, Sanyu loves and cares deeply for her friends, citing them as her "new family." A natural leader, she was able to unite a gang of criminals and thugs to make a new life in Fukuoka. As such, she has the respect and support of the people of her division, which is why it should come as no surprise that she was chosen to lead her team in the D.R.B.

Background

*Coming soon*

Trivia

'Sanyu Inouye' is not her biological name; rather, it is the name that Tasuku and Ming chose for her. After showing her some words from a dictionary, she chose 'sanyu' and 'inouye' cause she liked how they sounded.

Because of her history of being experimented on, she, unsurprisingly, has a deep-seated fear of doctors and hospitals.

The chemicals injected in her not only changed her sex, but also increased her sex drive, making her a nymphomaniac. As such, she often has to rely on Tasuku and Ming to calm her down, which she hates doing because she feels she is taking advantage of them.

Her experimentation wiped out most of the memory of her childhood. When she tries hard to remember things, she suffers a headache and a nosebleed.

Despite hating her "curse", she is not ashamed of her body, and has no problem proving to men and women wrong when they call her a "girl".

She is far stronger than the average human thanks to being experimented on.

Because of the trouble they would get into if she were to reveal what they have done to her, Chuohku has placed a large substantial bounty on Sanyu.

[sirdust]

so for a bit of context: lately, the favorite time-waster among me and my irl friends/roommates is to browse youtube for the most unintelligible algorithm bait we can find. this has resulted in the junk account we use having the 'recommended' page of a 10-year old with unrestricted internet access. needless to say the latest hb ep wound up on there and since my friends know i used to be into the show, we got to talking/joking about it.

the reason this is necessary to mention is bc when you're talking about the show out loud with people and trying to explain it to them, everything becomes even harder to translate out of the realm of "this was my special interest for 3 years and so i know every piece of trivia and lore dropped outside of the main series itself in that time". however! the latest episode makes the storyline objectively difficult to follow, even as someone who was fully immersed in theorycrafting and collecting tidbits of trivia for quite a long time. this is because there is no clear explanation of how the accident could have occurred in the timeline (and by extension, how mammon could've taken fizz under his wing, etc.)

the first thing that confused me is the stalker fan subplot. the first time we see this guy is when fizz is a teen, but that implies fizz is already well-known, to some extent, before he's sponsored by mammon. this is perplexing because the imp circus seems to be obviously struggling on the occassions we do see it. there's no reason to imply that fizz had any level of fame before the accident; though we know he was the standout of the imp circus, it seemed to be relative. but, like, okay. let's just ignore that for a bit.

what's stranger is the fact that fizz HAD to have started working for mammon after the accident. there were no hints in the s2e6 flashbacks that he had any contract with mammon by this point, and unless i've gotten this mixed up, he did ultimately gain his position under mammon through the clown pageant.

the reason this doesn't make sense is because there's pretty much no way fizz could have won the pageant without prosthetics. it's possible he had a set between the accident and the pageant win that we haven't seen, but prosthetics (even just one, let alone the two at minimum he would've needed to perform) are expensive, and fizz was poor. it's been confirmed fizz did not meet ozzie or get his robot limbs until after he started working for mammon. that leaves this period of his life a total mystery, and there is nothing in the show indicating that this will be addressed. it's a massive plot hole in fizz's story.

on a bigger scale, the episode fumbles so much of mammon's introduction and his backstory with fizz that it's kind of unreal. mammon is like every other abuser on the show in terms of personality (with fatphobia added in for flavor, i guess). if they were trying to set up a theme of the deadly sins not being as bad as you might expect, he breaks it in a way that doesn't feel unique at all. he's nasty and misogynistic (which is ironic, because the only female characters in this episode are slutty mean girls who exist to contrast with our suddenly wholesome jester). but what else? he has few other defining traits, if any.

those are my gripes with the character, though. the narrative structure is the real offense this episode commits, because it sets up this conflict between fizz and mammon (along with fizz's inner turmoil around the matter) only to resolve it in half an hour. this episode could be removed from the show and very little (if anything!) would change, because fizz's work for mammon has been flavor text up until now. mammon isn't even in his life, outside of this pageant, because fizz's life pretty much revolves around ozzie, and sometimes blitz. s1e7 and s2e6 both showed that his primary occupation is to serve as ozzie's business partner and MC.

the episode had nice moments. a couple of the songs were good! there were a few glimpses of meaningful insight on the experience of being disabled! but it was all drowned out by the pacing and implications for the story as a whole.

i just do not understand what the show is trying to be about anymore. i keep saying people say the show is about overcoming abuse, but if that's the case, the series is doing a bad job with it.

i have to get ready for work but i'll post my thoughts on the new ep in a bit here bc it was more confusing than anything else

[macabreyouth]

:000 hiiii i wanna send asks but i don't know all your ocs! so can i maybe get a list? alsoalso ily and i hope you're doing well!!

Hi Quinn!! Three out of my six currently developed OCs for this story have a more detailed post about them under #oc info if you want to check that out! I'm going to list the six and some basic info here!!

Aster Birch: The MC, aka The Blood Witch, they/them, 23, leader of Macabre Youth (MY), dropped out of The University, passionate anarchist, wants to fix the system that has wronged them and their found family so much, struggles with mental health despite making effort to do better, natural magic user, excellent at glamours, excels at all magic

Cain Allister: Side MC, aka The Blue Jester, he/him, 24, rebel existing outside of MY, Aster's ex and childhood best friend, currently dating Lukas, eldest of the Allister twins, not a magic user

Alvera Allister: Side MC, aka The Mad Scientist, she/her, 24, joins MY a few months after it's creation, actually a scientist it's not just an alias, Aster's other childhood best friend, the youngest of the Allister twins, the only unnatural magic user

Sylvia Hope: Side MC, aka Star Sign, she/her, 25, joins MY a couple of years into the rebellion, mental health advocate, the only character so far to graduate from The University, one of Aster's best friends at The University, natural magic user with a proficiency for space themed magic

Rhys Thorngale: Side MC, they/it/maybe some neo pronouns? idk yet, 23, joins MY after the group frees a massive amount of prisoners (itself included) a couple of years into the rebellion, this takes place after Sylvia joins, Aster's other best friend at The University, natural magic user, but they struggle with it, it is known to have emotional outburst be the only time they can control it's magic

Lukas Vanderbilt: Side MC, he/him, 21, never joins MY, The Royal Prince of Macabre, an absolute asshole, dating Cain, manipulator, hated Aster with a passion and has convinced Cain to feel the same, starting dating Cain to defy his parents and stayed because he views the people's struggle as a game, initially presented as sympathetic to the rebellion eventually revealing that he is not, not a magic user

[johnnys-so]

I recall you saying you don't know Day6 well enough for an analysis, but what about now? If you can, we'd love one. Thank you!

HEYOOO! 

Umm a lot hasn’t changed on that front but I feel like the distance might be a good thing so I’m going to attach some small mini-analysis after the cut.

sungjin

Bob is literally the most dad friend ever and I think he really takes the cake (though GOT7′s JB comes a close second). He looks so constantly done with all of his members, and yet - probably the one who cleans the kitchen and makes sure to stock up on water/ramyeon/veggies etc.

I feel like he was born to be the hyung, you know? He is the responsible and primary caregiver type. Even though he doesn’t make a big show of it, it seems to be a big part of his personality that he takes care of other people

Also, my god his humour is just.... something commendable, truly. He can’t be funny to save his ass but atleast he keeps trying and i think THATS what so funny about him??? sungjin-ah.... never give up bby

I feel like he’s the least complicated of all members. He doesn’t seem to be the emotionally volatile type and seems very centred in his personality, he also seems oddly like he might have a sister? a younger one (does he? idk, mydays pls let me know). it’s just that other than the protective bear stereotype, he does seem emotionally well-adjusted. Maybe he’s just at that point in life where he can encounter a shitty day or some sort of hardship and look at it straight and say - ok, that’s fucked up. But I guess we gotta just work through it. (in comparison, wonpil would be shrieking through his lungs AND working through it)

in terms of a temper i think he most certainly has one but it takes him a while to get there and i don’t think he’d talk through it AT ALL. maybe cleanliness would be his pet peeve? (im just shooting in the dark here)

to wrap it up, sungjin is the sort of guy (in my opinion at least) who has a strong and steady value system and he’s sort of ok with dealing with the world as long as he has it figured out in his head. He knows who he is, and therefore there is little conflict he brings to the world. If he wasn’t playing in this band, I’d 1000% see him settle for the corporate life and clean9 to 5 job which lets him come back home by 7pm and have some cold beer while watching football and hearing his kids play in the living room

Jae

Aww man this skinny bitch. I feel like the fandom is sleeping on his ‘annoying prankster’ potential because i think  he’d give peeves a run for his money

derives great joy from the misery and anguish of others (probably has Wonpil maniacally laughing in the background)

on a normal day Jae is the sort of person who’s probably going through memes on the phone while everyone’s having a serious conversation about their tour or like their everyday schedules. He has a few things he cares about in life and is okay to take a backseat when it comes to the other shit. As long as he gets what he needs (a possible slytherin mofo?)

But that’s not to say that he’s easygoing or wishywashy about the things that he does care about. Music, matters a lot to him. Even though he’s not academically musically instructed (as young k is) he has spent a whole lot of time and effort into educating himself to the point that it really shows in their albums (i could wax poetry about the complexity of Day6′s music and how its so refreshing in it’s personality of being both goth and peppy i-). So Jae is most certainly determined, goal driven and very intrinsically motivated

Also, very much in his head. If he doesn’t have a strong pisces placement, I’m willing to eat my foot. I feel like while Young K is very intense about his emotions, Jae gets very emotional about the people he surrounds himself with.

With people: not very trusting of everyone. Has a chosen few that he goes to certain things about. Might be the kind of person who distributes his troubles by categories to various confidants. But also, trust is something that is earned with jae. But that is not to say that he won’t get along with other people. He’s cordial and is good in engaging a crowd (as a performer, MC, friend, VJ) but he’s also good at drawing lines and boundaries

the most incredible part of his personality for me has always been his work-ethic and his drive to be better. He’s always challenging himself through his existing skill set, but also pushing himself to learn new things. Sounds like a bloody workaholic to me. 

probably shit at figuring out his own feelings/emotions/attitude about certain things. But always up for being the wise advice-giver to other delinquents (read: jamie)

sarcastic wit to sass everyone for days. probably a loki over thor guy

Kink master extraordinaire. Likes cooking up shit and encourages people to sin.

Young K

emo baby af. But we all knew this so more on that later

The ultimate Onion of a personality. Young K, off the bat, seems like he hides so many layers. Not purposely at all, but simply because he’s unable to communicate the extent of his mental world to the public

one beautiful way he has found to channelise all of his thoughts and ideas about the world is clearly through his music and lyrics. But he’s also extremely creative in other ways (art and fashion). I feel like he’s the sort of person who feels most confident and assured in himself when he’s creating. 

socially, what a mess. I wouldn’t say he has trust issues like Jae does but im pretty sure he’s made some foolish mistakes about choosing friends and not realising how to navigate that friendship (friendships where he has demanded too much or has been demanded too much of??). But otherwise a jovial fool the kind of person who laughs the loudest (and dorkiest) at a dinner with friends

how’s his alcohol intake? I have this super funny intake of a drunk young k trying to write mini love poems for all his friends and sungjin being called to take him home and the call actually begins with “did he try to be poetic again?”

while im trying to paint a picture of him as a jester (because young k also needs to be seen for beyond his emotionality) he’s the kind of guy that would surprise you with how brilliant he is. An actual wisecrack/genius, and very underappreciated. I wouldn’t be surprised if he someday returns to teaching

Right. Emotionality though. If he isn’t some pisces (sun or moon) i will actually yell. He’s the definition of ‘someone who navigates an alternate plane, is open to a world that most people don’t even begin to understand exists’. i feel like speaking to him about abstract concepts - such as the existence of truth, the point of life, the definition of beauty, other existential phenomenon - would be so much fun because he’s have such an interesting and unconventional take on things. I feel like he’s make me humble with the words he has (he already makes me feel so secure with all of his lyrics because i realize, even if the world is shit what a relief that someone like young k exists)

probably would be a guilt-ridden but a wonderfully emotionally supportive boyfriend. Someone who understands your demons all too well and would go the extra mile to provide whatever help he can

1000% has high neuroticism scores that would be cause for concern. someone give him a Beck’s depression inventory right away.

HAHAHAHAH probably the fucking kinkiest mofo, after Jae

Wonpil

An actual baby!!

No ok but wonpil has matured THE most in all of Day6 and i really didn’t realise it until i notice how his expressions have become more closed during airport pics, and his voice has gained a new level of emotionality in live stages, and he’s also a lot more reserved these days on variety shows

still the most extrovert in the group. I just think the fame, the crowd, the possible betrayals as a result of their growing fame and having to be an adult in this tough situation - has gotten to him. But that’s inevitable really. None of us can be protected from the reality of life that leeches away at our innocence

such a vibrant soul. Such a giver. As a friend, he’s literal sunshine. Not much of a protector, but more of an amicable I’ll-always-be-there-for-you sort of person (though im guessing the amount of people he extends this courtesy to nowadays has probably reduced. 

fucking made to be an entertainer. He’s naturally funny and attracts all the energy (and eyes) in the room to himself. A very good mood maker if you will

in terms of neuroticism, I think he’d be more on the depression (from the constant stress workstyle and the increasing loneliness) than an anxious person. I think he probably is a bit volatile in his emotions but that’s because he gets lost in the moment. He’s literally someone who lives in the present far more than he lives in the past (sungjin or young k) or the future (jae)

don’t think he's intrinsically motivated much. Prone to a lot of lazy days, a lot of extreme gaming and just randomnly playing jokes and pranks on people. he’d need some strongly external guidance/deadlines to get his work ethic going

high extraversion and agreeableness, probably low on conscientiousness (especially discpline) but fascinated by aesthetic beauty (openness to experience).

Dowoon

Honest to god i cannot figure him out. I think it’s a case of - im trying to look deeper and harder but the truth is, it’s not even that complicated

underappreciated oppa potential 100000%

still comes through as a dork of a maknae. has zeROhand eye coordination outside of drumming. the kind of kid who breaks the glassware and blames it on his sibling (wonpil) and his parents totally believe him because he could do no wrong (aka sungjin grudginly yells at wonpil, again, about house rules)

just a man dedicated to his drums and his food. if he can play some solid beats, get some work done on the albums, play a nice set on a tour, have some chicken and beer while he is resting, have his hyungs fool around in the green room --> he good bruh

but by no means does that make him a fool (though i do think he’s a bit of a fool sometimes when it comes to picking up social cues about wonpil/jae making fun of him. he lacks the 눈치 you know what i mean)

Also (maybe I just love plot twists) but i think he’d be eerily good at picking up on people feeling sad/depressed/lonely/off in general. He’d be like that guy who just walks into the room and sees you just slinking away on the sofa and he thinks.... nah im just going to give them space and go get myself some food. But literally a few seconds later, he sits by you on the sofa, offers you food, and asks what’s on your mind. The silent supporter kind. Willing to listen, willing to be there for you

i don’t know much about dowoon so im just going to end this with: arms that can lift kids/ crush you in a bear hug/ pin you against a wall and leave bit marks on your neck

sorry if that didn’t cover much. I sort of only know day6 with their music. If im extremely wrong or way off about someone, please reach out and correct me!!