#much thoughts on object constancy

[beescake]

I LOVE SOLKAT AND I LOVE YOUR ART SO MUCH UGHHHHHH their dynamic is one of my favorites and your art made me love them even more

AYY HAPPY TO HEAR THAT !!!

HAPPY TO SPREAD THE AGENDA <3

[bloodofvoid]

The Quietest Girl in Town (Mischa Bachinski x reader chapter 9)

Little Lamb

(Back to your POV btw)

You panted heavily, feeling as if you had run a mile. But you were so happy, like Constance had just swept everyone’s sorrows away, creating the warehouse into a happy space for everyone.

It made you wanna sing with her. 

The room slowly lit up again, and you got back up from the ground. Your chest heaved with heavy breaths as Constance got down from the crate, brushing a few stray pieces of confetti from her wild hair.

She usually had it tied up, so seeing it loose was a whole new experience for you. However, it made you even more happier to see her coming out of her shell. The amount of guilt that etched into your heart as she told everyone her story was overwhelming, to the point where it hurt.

You wanted to make it up to her. 

Constance looked at you, a bright smile adorning her face. You rushed over to the sweet girl to embrace her in a hug, squeezing her tightly until she made a protest. No words needed to be shared, it was like you were all one being.

After a long moment, you let go of Constance, wiping a few stray tears from the corners of her eyes. You gave her a wholehearted smile, offering a light kiss on the cheek.

It felt like you were alive again….and god was it euphoric. It felt like your bones were mended, and you were back in the Fall Fair with the rest of the choir, winning prizes and eating junk food.

If only. 

“It appears you’ve met the end of your time here in the warehouse,” Karnak suddenly spoke up, knocking you out of your thoughts. 

You sorrowfully looked up at Karnak, holding a hand to your chest. You tried not to be mad, reminding yourself time and time again that it wasn’t Karnak’s fault that you guys were dead.

“I have decided that the person with the most points will decide who wins,” he continued, and his eerie yellow gaze slowly turned to the ginger standing in the corner.

She looked beyond guilt, shifting in her mary janes, making the floor creak in protest. Her eyes popped wide open, offended that Karnak had backed out of his deal. 

“But-but you said that it was a unanimous vote!” she exclaimed, fists clenched and shaking as she looked up at the robot. “And I demand that it goes back to that.”

Karnak didn’t object, so Ocean took that as a yes. She turned back, and winced at the group before her.

Noel stood by Constance, hugging the scared, depressed and nervous at Ocean’s gaze. Ricky seemed at peace, clasping his hands before him as he stood beside Jane, who’s black eyes were wide with wonder.

Meanwhile, you felt your eyes tearing up, despair filling your heart. This was it, wasn’t it? Was your life coming to an end? At only sixteen. There was still so much to live for! All of them had so much to live for.

After a moment, you let the tears spill. They slowly streamed down your paled cheeks, dripping onto the floor quietly. But you refused to let out any noises, only a quiet sniffle every now and then.

After a moment, you saw a shadow cast over your figure. A hand came up, gently wiping away the tears. Looking up, you saw Mischa looking down at you with a pained smile, his own eyes also watery.

Though everyone was in despair, they knew they couldn’t be the one to be picked. You weren’t sure if you could live with the guilt of living again without the choir at your side. 

“It shouldn’t be me,” Ocean began, looking down. “Who do I vote for?”

It was like she was asking herself, conflicted at who should be picked to live again. But before she could speak up, the curtains to everyone’s right began to slowly draw open, revealing an inky void sparkling with stars.

Ocean paused, taking a hesitant step towards it, before stopping. She turned to Karnak, brow furrowed in confusion. But she also seemed scared to ask what she was looking at.

“What’s that?” she whispered, voice barely audible despite the silence.

“The way out,” he told her, voice also quiet. “Just walk through, and don’t look back.”

Ocean looked at the dark abyss of sparkles and faint voices. You half expected her to just run through, but she stayed perfectly still. You had to admit, the dark opening was quite mesmerizing. 

You took a wary step forward, nearly stumbling. If you listened carefully, you could hear police sirens, and the crying of people as they came round. The faint smell of food filled your nostrils, and you resisted the urge to walk through. It was like you were right there.

“I don’t mean to rush you,” Karnak piped up, sounding irritated. “But time is pressing-”

“Look, if you could just kindly step off for three seconds?” Ocean snapped, taking you by surprise.

The ginger took in a deep breath, before sighing it out. She opened her eyes, looking over at each and every member of the choir. You, Noel, Mischa, Constance, Ricky…and Jane.

Her gaze paused on the last member, her doll-like figure tilted in curiosity. Her soulless eyes bore into Ocean’s, though they held no threat, just an innocent child wanting to know something.

“You knew I couldn’t do it,” Ocean whispered, turning back to Karnak with an astonished look. 

For once, Karnak looked confused. He paused for a long moment, gears shifting and whirring as he tilted his head to one side. “What?”

Ocean looked back at Jane, then back over to the robot.

“Choose myself,” she murmured, taking in a shaky breath. “It shouldn’t be me. We died young, by total accident. The experiences we had, I would gladly take my seventeen years over nothing.”

She looked over at Constance, who looked at Jane with anod.

“Who do I vote for?” she asked quietly, looking down. “The girl who can’t remember any of it. Her…” 

Ocean glanced over at the ghoulish girl. 

“We had a life, she didn’t. That’s my vote. Motioned carried.”

She stood before Karnak, a pained, yet bittersweet smile adorning her lips as she weakly thrust a fist into the air.”

“Democracy rocks.”

Constance was the first to step up, standing beside Ocean with a determined look on her face. Ricky was quick to follow, standing on Ocean’s other side. Next was Noel, stopping beside Ricky. 

You looked up at Mischa, who seemed at a loss for words. You were about to step up as well, but you weren’t about to leave him behind. Though it didn’t appear that way, you knew very well that he wanted the best for Jane, he just needed a little help.

So, you strode back over to him, interlacing your fingers with his and making your way to the rest of the choir. You all gazed up at Karnak, conflicted with emotions you couldn’t understand.

“As you wish,” Karnak boomed, the portal chiming.

Jane, who was standing behind everyone, seemed lost. Her brow was furrowed in confusion, utterly shell shocked that the choir voted for her. The black sheep, the odd one out. The one member even they couldn’t remember.

But, after thinking for a moment, she turned towards the dark void. The Doe seemed to be at peace, stepping into the dark abyss with her eyes closed. For a moment, you looked back.

She still wore the bracelet you gave her, however, it seemingly changed as she went closer to the portal. It became a full bracelet, with the charm of a little sheep hanging off of it.

Suddenly, the cogs in your brain turned, and you stepped away from the line. Jane’s hair shifted before your very eyes, blonde coils expanding out into dark brown braids. Pale white skin became a warm olive, with freckles along her cheeks.

When she turned around, she had glinting green eyes that bore into your e/c ones. It felt like your breath had been stolen from your lungs, leaving you frozen from where you stood.

The girl hesitated, before giving you a gentle, calm smile. She didn’t move, though. Her feet stayed planted right before the swirling void that sparkled with the stars of the living realm.

You took another step closer, feeling your eyes begin to water up. How? How could you have forgotten? You reached out with one of your hands, nearly touching her own but she was too far away.

You wanted to grab her hand, but you resisted, drawing back and simply enjoying her presence for the last time. Finally, your lungs relaxed, and you were able to let out a shaky breath.

“Penny?” you breathed, the name catching on your tongue.

Penny nodded, fiddling with the friendship bracelet that had finally been completed. Then, she turned around, and slowly walked into the dark abyss. The void wrapped around her like a snake trapping its prey. 

And just like that, Penny was gone, back in the living realm.

“Her name is Penny Lamb,” Karnak began. “Born April 7th, Aries, the lucky nature.”

The curtains closed behind Penny, and a projector cast onto them. It had taken you a moment, but soon enough you realized that the video was showing Penny’s life. From the womb to the tomb.

The video went at a dizzying speed, mesmerizing you to gaze into its screen with a blank, almost solemn expression. Before you knew it, the video had ended, and there was something new on the screen.

A countdown.

20

19

18

17

16…

The choir all knew what was happening, and they collectively gathered together as Karnak spoke up. Constance held onto Ocean, who held hand with Ricky who looked around in wonder. Noel and Mischa kept their shoulders together, whilst you stood on the Ukrainian’s other side, wilting with fear.

“And now…you’re probably wondering what happens next,” the robot began, beginning to sound strained. “That, I couldn’t possibly tell you. But I do know this for certain.

10

9

8

“After reading thousands of human fortunes…”

4

3

2

“My final insight is-”

Before Karnak could finish his sentence, there was a loud explosion of electricity that sparked throughout the warehouse. The fortune teller jerked, his cogs and wires going insane as they bursted out volts.

The entire warehouse lit up with flickering lights and sounds, causing you to jump. The entire choir did as well, all rushing towards each other in search of comfort and safety. You all held each other in a warm, and tight embrace.

Soon enough, the lights began to die out, as did Karnak.

You squeezed your eyes closed, hugging yourself tightly. Tears welled in your eyes, but you refused to let anything spill and stream down your cheeks.

“Be sure to Ride the Cyclone…” As Karnak spoke his last words, his voice went low as he finally died out.

You watched in horror as the robot perished, his yellow gaze dimming. He lurched forward, before going completely still. He was gone, as was the choir’s lives. All of their hopes and dreams. Gone.

You felt a single tear slip.

[myfairkatiecat]

TMBS x KOTLC ability headcanons

(Aka the AU that ABSOLUTELY NOBODY WOULD CARE ABOUT EXCEPT ME. But here)

FTMBS characters as elves:

Reynie: Empath all the way. And he does little things whenever he gets a read on someone’s emotions. If they’re feeling sad, he does something small to brighten their day. If they’re feeling anxious, he helps them calm down. If they’re feeling super happy, he hypes them up. If they’re feeling lonely, he makes a point to show how much he cares all day. 🥺

Kate: Phaser or Conjurer. Either one makes sense for her, though walking through walls just feels SO on brand for her. On the other hand, making a bunch of objects appear out of thin air is ALSO on brand for her since she relies on so many little things. Perhaps she could be both—I think it’s mentioned that a some people do get two abilities (not counting polyglots) even though it’s rare (and Sophie foster doesn’t count). So either she’s able to break down and walk through solid surfaces or the void is her red bucket. You decide.

Sticky: He DOES have two abilities because one of them is definitely polyglot. He’s a polyglot he can speak ALL the languages and you can’t convince me otherwise. As for his second ability, I believe he is an enhancer (actually I also think Reynie could be an enhancer, but I’m pretty stretched to the idea of him as an empath). He also still has his photographic memory and love for knowledge so he knows almost everything, but he also loves the way he can hold a friend’s hand and make their ability multiply in power. It’s like… a physical sign of how supportive he is of all his friends and how much he wants to help.

Constance: I mean if I didn’t make her a telepath I’d be stupid. Of course she’s a telepath. But since she’s Constance and she gets a special power in a world where no one has special powers, im actually gonna give her TWO special powers. Either she’s one on those rare cases I mentioned, or she’s like Sophie Foster (which is totally possible. She has no clue where she came from or who her parents are in the showverse, and she her memories are spotty……./genetic engineering and memory tampering? 👀) but I digress. She’s a pyrokinetic. She is ABSOLUTELY a pyrokinetic. She’s a telepath and a pyrokinetic and we love her.

I’d love to hear the thoughts of my TMBS mutuals who aren’t kotlc fans as well <3

[ginger-lime]

Will Wood (and the Tapeworms) Songs as Ride the Cyclone Characters!

Recently decided to wade through Will Wood's discography more and I think some of the songs by the 30-something year old dude really embody them

How this half asleep rant will work:

[Character]: [Song(s)]

Explanation of why song is chosen

"Certain excerpts from the song I think embody the goober chosen"

Note: all songs wils be linked when they're written (mostly as youtube lyric videos), also this will probably be very long

Ocean O'Connell Rosenburg: The Main Character

Local ‘gifted kid’ teenager has yet to find out that the world doesn't revolve around her and stepping on anyone who doesn't fit in with her isn’t okay, more at 7

"I mean, imagine if protagonists just died in the first scene"

"I loot plot armor from NPC’s / Well, they are to me"

Noel Gruber: Suburbia Overture / Greetings from Mary Bell Township! / (Vampire) Culture / Love Me, Normally

This song (in my opinion) is really the embodiment of Noel's character. attempting to fit in, being told to "tone it down" by his mother until eventually arriving in the afterlife and essentially going "fuck it, we ball" with Noel's Lament (and Vampire Culture in this allegory) until eventually arriving at a state of peace with Love Me, Normally/It's Just a Ride

"a snowflake only matters in a blizzard"

Mischa Bachinski: 6up 5oh Cop-Out (Pro / Con & ¡Aikido! (Neurotic / Erotic)

6up 5oh with it's plot(?) of running from the police and proceeding to get mistreated by them is how Mischa is viewed by essentially everyone is Saskatchewan (and to an extent how he lets them see him). While ¡Aikido!, is more of his 'passion' side, specifically with Talia. The more aggressive reprise at the end of Aikido in the 2020 remaster also reminds me allot of the techno section of 'Talia'.

"It's never too late to embrace your fate"

"So we can touch instead of feel"

Ricky Potts: White Noise & Dr. Sunshine Is Dead

Imagine being so forgotten by everyone around you so the innocent bean stereotype is put on you automatically despite the fact that you’re real personality is far from that and then having a mini identity crisis over it

"You're not meant to sing along"

"I'm no one if I'm nowhere in between"

Jane Doe: Big Fat Bitchie’s Blueberry Pie, Christmas Tree, and Recreational Jell-o Emporium a.k.a. “Mr. Boy is on the Roof Again” (Feat. Pasta by Sneakers McSqueakers) [From “B.F.B.’s B-Sides: Bagel Batches, Marsh-Mallows, & Barsh-Mallows”]

No thoughts, story, or plot, just funky carnival music

Constance Blackwood: Falling Up

This song is essentially 'Sugar Cloud' but more melancholy. This is what I'd imagine a song about Constance's life before she died would be about, or Constance's Monologue in song form. What especially reminded me of her monologue was the rapid fire listing of objects and even the title 'Falling Up' being repeated in the song feeling like the roller coaster when it derailed. They're falling but being upside down it feels more like they're flying.

"You make a wish upon the dead, but turn and call it a weed"

"Much larger than life, 'cause from such height / Life looks awful small"

"Well, I cry on skies of blue linoleum, Clouds o' spilled milk"

Penny Lamb: Willard!

Aspiring animal conservationist doesn't know how to relate to "normal" people partially due to her upbringing. Parts of the song were the singer wants animal traits the make their life easier reminds me of Penny's whole "I vomit fire" thing before absolutely destroying JK-47

“Until frustration makes me wish my teeth were sharp as yours”

“I've never understood what humans do and want / It's quite confusing to me to try to connect / Never learned how I should feel, instincts somehow stunted”

Extra characters outside of the choir:

I'll go less in depth for these as i think most of these are self-explanatory

Karnak: Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world

funky sentient machine is constantly aware of his imminent death and decides to be a goofy goober because of it

Virgil: Tomcat Disposables

rat just wants to vibe and chew on a power cable. oopsies he's dead now

Monique Gibeau: White Knuckle Jerk & Front Street

oh em gee she's so gorgeous and dangerous and the world described in Noel's Lament is very gritty and a little gross

Ezra Lamb: Euthanasia (Live)

this mostly feeds into my hc that Ezra ditched school to go to the fair with the choir and had to see his sister get beheaded, being completely inconsolable, and not being listened to because he's "a kid looking for attention"

It's the end yay!!

That's the end folks! I really enjoyed making this (i am a very big fan of both rtc and will wood) there were a lot of other songs i wanted to include (skeleton appreciation day, i/me/myself etc.) but didn't because either

a. they fit too many characters for me to just pin one to them or

b. the character already had two songs assigned to them

i hope anybody reading this is having a good day/night and listens to will wood more in the future ig

[yourdeepestfathoms]

Since Mischa’s house is open to the whole choir, sometimes they’ll need to get out of the house for a night and he’ll have a surprise sleepover to handle. They don’t always bring pajamas or a change of clothes, so he lets them borrow clothes (really, he has extras in various sizes so they all have clothes that don’t fit them horribly, but if anyone asks, he just keeps stuff he outgrew/likes something larger for comfort reasons sometimes). The rest of the choir makes it a challenge to see who can keep the most of his clothes without returning it.

Noel is in the lead (he isn’t actually - he just walks into Mischa’s cluster and takes extras when nobody is looking). Ocean is right behind because she stays over the most often. Penny and Ricky are tied, they both have some, but not nearly as much as the other two. Constance is in dead last because she refuses to steal from her friends.

Best part, Mischa knows and tries to manipulate the system. One time Penny helped him clean so he hid two extra shirts in her bag. Ricky was upset and it was really cold one night, so Mischa used it as an excuse to give him a few things to layer. He actively removes clothing from Noel’s bag when he notices so Noel doesn’t get too far ahead. Ocean is over so much that he doesn’t do anything extra. She’s in the lead all by herself. He had to stop hiding extra clothing in Constance’s bag because she thought she’d accidentally stolen from him and apologized several times in the process of returning the “stolen” objects.

I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH

i love how it’s like a little game for Mischa. he’s like a kindergarten teacher rewarding their students with points, but the points are his clothes.

i’m just imagining one of the others going home, emptying out their bag, and there’s a whole pair of pants in there, and they’re just like “how the HELL”

[fandom-imagines-stories]

En Garde

D’Artagnan x Reader (The Musketeers)

Words: 949

Summary: A simple day of training with the man who’s stolen your heart.

Notes: I just thought the scenes where D’Artagnan trains Constance are so damn cute and I really wanted to write something with it because I’m obsessed with this show. I have longer pieces in the works, so I hope you guys enjoy! 

More Musketeer Imagines coming soon: HERE

-

His hands steadied you, holding you at the waist and keeping your position balanced. Warm breath tingled your ear. His lips couldn’t have been a whisper away from your lips. In any other situation, it would have detracted your focus. Here, though, it helped to clear your mind and keep your eye on the target before you. 

“Now fire,” D’Artagnan whispered. 

You pulled the trigger of the pistol and your arm jerked back. The glass bottle in front of you shattered, its clattering demolition accompanying the ring of your weapon and your squeal of excitement. 

“I did it!” You cheered, throwing your arms around your handsome teacher. 

“Careful, love,” he said, removing the pistol from your hand so you were no longer accidentally pointing it at the back of his leg. “I can’t help you practice if you blow my ankle off.” 

Your smile turned sheepish, but even that couldn’t curb your enthusiasm. D’Artagnan smiled proudly and pulled you back into his arms. Despite the protests that might be made regarding him spending so much time with an unmarried woman- and teaching her fighting skills at that- it was worth any odd look just to see you beaming like you were. 

“Perhaps we should call it a day,” D’Artagnan noted, looking up at the sky where the sun hovered just above the horizon. 

“But you’ve been gone for days and you promised to help me practice my riposte,” you whined. Before he could make any objection to the late hour, you tugged slightly on the collar of his leather coat and pouted your lips just so. 

“Now that’s just not fair,” he said and covered your lips with his own in a kiss that signaled he wasn’t going anywhere. 

Should anyone else in Paris discover the Musketeer’s trainee had taken you on as a pupil of his own, there would be a terrific scandal. Should anyone in Paris also find out about your activities apart from the sword and pistol and you would be ruined. 

And yet, in his arms with his lips fervently pecking across your neck, you didn’t care in the slightest if the king himself objected to your actions. D’Artagnan smirked against your skin and his hands found your waist again, only this time it was to urge you toward the door. 

“Shall we take this inside?” He inquired, his words rumbling seductively along your collarbone. You ran a hand through his mane of dark hair, gently pulling his face upward. 

“Not until you’ve helped me practice, sir,” you smirked. 

Now it was his turn to pout. You gave him a definitive shake of the head and went to fetch your rapiers. 

“I propose a wager,” you began, your smirk growing into a mischievous smile. “If I disarm you, you must help me with my offensive tactics for the rest of the evening.” You tossed him his sword. 

D’Artagnan’s lips teased a grin and took a sweeping step forward, lifting his weapon at the ready. “And if I disarm you?” 

You brought up your sword level with his. “Then I suppose we can cut training short.”

“Deal,” he beamed. 

You lunged forward, striking his weapon with your own. The sharp clang rang through the field. Metal upon metal rapidly filled your head as you tried to focus on his movements. He was skilled, trained by the finest men in the king’s regiment, all of whom were aware of your involvement. Athos was hesitant at first, but upon seeing your promise, he didn’t see the harm in your learning. Porthos congratulated your spirit. And Aramis had been the one to encourage it, of course, always one to follow his heart himself. 

D’Artagnan advanced, the flurry of his blows pushing you back. He landed a hit, sliding the blade across yours and inching his face closer to yours. 

“There is no harm in surrender, darling.” 

“I was going to tell you the same thing.” You shoved him back and returned to your own series of attacks. 

This continued for a few more minutes, filled with D’Artagnan’s teasing cheers and your frustrated groans as he maintained the upper hand. Finally, D’Artagnan twisted his wrist, making your weapon jerk in your hand. 

“W-wait,” you whimpered, holding your wrist with a pained expression. 

D’Artagnan’s smugness morphed into guilt and worry. 

“I’m sorry, my love,” he fussed, moving to examine your arm. “I must have gotten carried away. Are you hurt?” 

With your hand still clutching your rapier, you elbowed him in the chest and dove for his weapon. He guffawed and the moment of surprise gave you enough time to swipe his sword out of his hand. 

You turned swiftly, pointing both blades at your stupefied lover. 

D’Artagnan frowned. “That’s cheating.” 

“It’s not my fault you fell for it,” you giggled. Despite your victory, his upset puppy-dog eyes sent a pang through your heart. 

“I thought I hurt you,” he muttered, holding out his hand for his sword. 

“You’re too sweet for your own good.” You returned the weapon to its owner and kissed his cheek. “But I’m sorry for worrying you.” He turned his head and pressed his lips to yours to say you were forgiven. You pulled back with a sparkle in your eyes. “How about this; we practice for one more hour, and then…” You trailed off. 

“That,” he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you, “wasn’t our deal, darling.” 

You pecked him on the lips once more before pulling away and returning to a fighting stance. 

“I’m a gracious winner,” you shrugged. 

“Very well.” He matched your position with a raised brow. This time, he was the first to move. A wide grin spread across his face. “Begin.” 

[owmylasagna-blog]

The Ed Must Go On

Eddy prepares for a last minute gig. Edd helps.

—

A familiar clatter punctuated by loud profanities compelled Edd to emerge into the living room. Much to his dismay the place had been turned upside down, drawers open, piles of paraphernalia strewn on surfaces and the floor. Edd could feel the incensed energy radiating from his partner.

Eddy riffled through one of the shallow top drawers of the break front. He stifled a yell and threw a pack of AA batteries back inside, the sound making Edd flinch.

“Where are the goddamn scissors?”

Edd sighed: if only Eddy would let him label the drawers with their contents, maybe these sort of headaches would be avoided. The vintage veneers had won that battle: a triumph of form over function.

Scanning the room in an effort to help Eddy in his search, the taller man’s eyes fell on the kitchen shears precariously teetering on the edge of the record player stand. Eddy had grabbed them and on second thought cast them aside as a last resort: he knew Double Dee detested mixing up the scissors from their intended use.

Edd took the shears, clasping them in both hands to his chest, and joined Eddy’s side. The angered man slammed the drawer shut, the hardware clacking from the momentum, before tearing into the one adjacent to it and pulling out fistfuls of user manuals and take-out menus.

No more than a foot away the shimmer of stainless steel blades peaked out from beneath their most recent mail. In his periphery Eddy registered movement, then witnessed his partner produce the elusive utility scissors from right under his nose. Edd calmly presented them to Eddy and it took everything in the shorter man not to erupt in a fit.

“I hate when you do that,” grumbled Eddy, a poor stand-in for the truth which was that he hated his utter lack of object constancy.

Snagging the scissors and stomping his way to the coffee table Eddy planted himself on the floor and started turning the garment laying on their shag rug inside-out. Edd returned the kitchen shears to the knife block, the floorboards of their pre-war apartment creaked as he tentatively crossed the living room. He peered over Eddy’s hunched shoulders.

“A dress?” Edd questioned. A long groan escaped Eddy while he hacked away at the armhole.

“Sandra Oh-No-She-Didn’t’s out on her honeymoon, Mother Mayhem rolled her ankle and Patty Melt got the effin’ flu so your brilliant boyfriend here volunteered to host drag trivia tonight.”

Double Dee knelt down beside said brilliant boyfriend, watching as he successfully extricated one sleeve and began cutting away at the other.

“Couldn’t you wear something you already have in the closet?” Edd suggested. There certainly was plenty to choose from. He couldn’t see why Eddy was adding more stress to the situation.

“Yeah, if I wanted to look like an overstuffed sausage,” Eddy griped, then snipped the sleeve clean off.

It had been almost a year since the last time he’d dolled up and in that time he’d put on a bit more weight. He’d thrifted this old frock at the last second just for the job but the sleeves had been so constricting he feared losing feeling in his arms half way through the evening. They had to go. Hit with a pang of guilt, Edd awkwardly fidgeted with the side seam of his house pants.

Eddy threw the scissors aside and lifted the dress up.

“Well, that looks like shit,” he grimaced at the jaggedly frayed arm holes. He dropped the garment in disgust and shoved the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, growling in frustration. “Fuck me.” Double Dee reached out a sympathetic hand and caressed Eddy’s thigh.

“Oh, don’t despair, my love. Let me find the sewing machine.”

He patted Eddy’s knee before getting up from the floor and scurrying to the hall closet. Once the machine was set up on the dining table, Edd instructed his partner to put the dress on inside-out. Eddy stripped down to his boxer briefs and shimmied into it.

Eddy wiggled impatiently as Edd painstakingly pinned the fabric in place.

“Would you stay still!” Edd reprimanded through clasped lips, where he was holding a few sewing pins.

“These sequins are drivin’ me nuts, babe.”

“Just… a few… more… and done. Mind the pins as you remove that. Actually, let me help you.”

As Edd unzipped the back and guided the sleeves over Eddy’s shoulders, he couldn’t resist trailing a few kisses along the nape of his lover’s neck. This area was Eddy’s weak spot. His eyes rolled back and he smiled.

“Mmm,” he hummed, delighted, “now that’s what I call customer service.”

“This would be highly unprofessional.”

Eddy’s shaved hairline tickled Edd’s nose as he inhaled deeply.

“I should report you, ya perv.”

The dress dropped around Eddy’s feet and Edd’s arms wrapped around his naked torso. He planted a few more kisses from the crown of Eddy’s head to the stubble of his left cheek. The affection released some of Eddy’s wound-up tension. They kissed on the mouth before Edd gave a squeeze and asked, “Would you like me to come tonight?”

“Oh I bet you would.”

Edd simply glared back. Eddy sighed before trivializing the question with another quip, “What, you like me or somethin’?”

“Eddy…”

“You know it’s gonna go past your bedtime-”

Edd frowned. “I’ve managed well enough before on less sleep.”

“And it ain’t like you’ve got a team.”

“Some of my coworkers could be enticed.” There was a pause. Edd caressed the hairs on Eddy’s arms.

“Yeah?” Eddy responded in a softer, curious tone. His mouth curled into a goofy smile. It wasn’t every day that Double Dee made last minute plans.

“Yeah.”

Eddy turned to face his adorable partner when he got a foot-full of sewing pins.

“YEOWCH!”

Eddy jumped into the air and into Double Dee’s arms. The lankier man staggered under the weight, sputtering high pitched whines from the exertion, until they both collapsed on the couch in a heap.

After getting a bit… distracted… on the couch, Edd inspected the parts of his sewing machine. He dropped the foot and slowly applied pressure to the pedal as he fed in the fabric.

“Now, see, Eddy, I needed to secure the lining to the outer fabric like this to get a tidy seam.”

“Mhmm.”

The absent tone of that utterance made Edd pause and look up from his work. He raised a brow at Eddy, who was rapidly tapping away a message on his phone. Double Dee cleared his throat and the other man looked up.

“Wha-”

“You know, it wouldn’t hurt for you to become acquainted with some basic sewing techniques. Then you wouldn’t need me for every minor alteration.”

“But it’s better when you do it,” Eddy winked.

“You can lead a horse to water…”

“Aah I’m messin’ with ya,” Eddy replied, waving a hand limply on his wrist before clasping both hands together with a clap, “So which side is facing what again?”

Edd smirked as he detailed the construction of the seam, Eddy intently listening. It was refreshing to know the version of Eddy that had outgrown the exploitative labor practices of his youth, more often than not opting to learn new skills and pitch in his handiness when needed. The first armhole completed, Eddy nudged Edd’s elbow.

“Do I get a crack at it?”

“Absolutely.”

Eddy took over Edd’s seat and slowly started the machine up.

“So I was thinkin’ I’d wear the black wig, but the red wouldn’t look half bad either.”

“I like the black more,” Edd said, crossing his legs.

“Then it’s settled. Blonde.”

“Why even bother asking my opinion then,” Edd tilted his chin up smugly.

“Sometimes you don’t know what you want till someone suggests somethin’ you don’t want.”

“Hmm,” Edd absently hummed in reply, watching Eddy’s hands closely, “sorry, do you mind if I- “ he motioned to the machine.

“Here we go,” Eddy raised his hands like it was a stick-up.

“What's that supposed to mean?” Edd prickled. He scooted his chair closer to Eddy and repositioned the fabric. Eddy just leaned back, crossing his arms.

“You know. It’s your way or the highway.”

“Well I can’t help that you were pulling the fabric too taut. Your seam is going to be cockled.”

“Maybe I like my seams cockled.”

“Eddy, please. Can you- “ Edd stopped himself with a huff. Eddy had to sympathize just a little: the poor guy was tortured by the mundane on the daily. The shorter of the two men stood from the table.

“You finish that and I’ll put on espresso.”

Double Dee considered this an agreeable arrangement.

“Thank you, dear.”

With the seam ripper he went to town undoing Eddy’s stitches. Eddy just snorted, refastened the straps on his robe, and headed to the kitchen where a good house floozy belonged.

[sydneyofalltrades]

RTC headcanon: ✨Language Edition✨

Noel knows French. Man put in his hours on that cursed owl app and also his mom helped him for years, he’s fluent in French.

Ocean knows Spanish and German. She took both of them as extracurricular activities and she hates her trilingual brain sometimes. Also her parents never understand a single word she says in either language so she curses around the house and they make songs about them.

Mischa already canonically knows Ukrainian, Russian, English and a bit of Dutch, so throughout a conversation he will frequently speak in all four and the others will have to extract what they could understand.

Ricky knows ASL, he had to to be able to communicate. But as his parents had their own language, which I assume is just what they thought sign language was, a physical representation of an object or emotion for example, so Ricky knows his parents’ SL and actual American Sign Language, and he (in my AU) uses it more than actual speech. Ocean knows ASL for the clout, Constance did it out of the goodness of her heart, Penny knew for years, and Noel picked up over childhood. Mischa learned quickly to talk to Ricky and he appreciates it

Penny picks up little bits and pieces of the others’ and their multilingual speech, but she’s dead set on learning Korean. She secretly loves K-Pop and K-dramas and only Constance knows her secret.

Constance is more than happy having to work through her friend’s multiple languages, she just picks up what she can and uses it as much as she does, she’s just glad they can express themselves in more ways than one.

Honorary mention to Jane Doe, who speaks Latin. Penny knows a bit of Latin and bc she doesn’t remember who she is, Jane speaks Latin fluently.

Also, whenever more than two people of the choir get in an argument, for example Ocean and Noel, they will switch from English to another language and just scream at the other from that language regardless. Mischa perfected this to the point where his opponent just gives up

[inkdemonapologist]

Rambling A Lot About The Lost Ones

(this is very long and it’s NOT spoiler-free. A bunch of it is me trying to figure out why I liked a lot of the book but didn’t quite vibe with the direction it went. YOUVE BEEN WARNED.) Okay, let’s start off with:

THINGS I LIKED ABOUT TLO:

Constance!!! I THOUGHT I WAS NOT GOING TO LIKE HER BUT SHE’S OBJECTIVELY THE BEST

I’m still thinking about Constance’s excitement at getting to Make Fog... like it’s just so well-done, the feeling in that scene of like.... seeing a friend who is Finally Getting To Be Themselves, and just thinking in some heartbroken part of your mind, “don’t you know? this isn’t supposed to be so rare... this is how it’s always supposed to be”

Also the way Constance getting pulled along to the Ink Machine is set up is SO GOOD..... the excitement of seeing someone actually treat her the way she should’ve been treated all along, slowly sinking into dread as you start to notice what’s Wrong with Bill... honestly one of the BEST moments for me

Immediately after the Ink Machine Things Happen, the next couple chapters that do an incredible job describing the teens’ reaction to that surreal trauma. Bill just desperately wanting it all to go away and Constance fighting for some control over what’s happening to her brain -- I’ve joked that Adrienne is good at writing sanity damage but HONESTLY I FEEL THIS IS LEGITIMATELY A STRONG SECTION

the hints of Thomas, and the implications that he might be more under the ink’s influence than he realises, ARE REALLY INTRIGUING

Literally every scene Joey is in is great. Joey only gets like 5 pages and they’re all the best.

Brant is funny actually

I feel like if “non-JDS teens stumble upon the Ink Machine, experience horrors and try to take control of the resulting consequences” sounds engaging to you, you’ll probably enjoy this book.

THINGS I HAVE VERY LONG-WINDED AND CONFLICTED FEELINGS ABOUT:

TLO does this weird thing where midway through it feels like it SUDDENLY CHANGES GEARS and veers almost single-mindedly into the Emotions Issue in a way that doesn’t... quite feel like it goes with everything that came before it??

While it does follow coherently from Constance’s personality -- she’s always portrayed as having a lot of frustration, but keeping that frustration tamped down for the sake of others -- Bill’s Ink Influence actually keeps him AWAY from the Machine and the Ink, completely dropping that obsessive interest we’d started to see in him before. He’s so afraid, he just wants to forget it and stay as far out of it as possible, and if he didn’t happen to meet Joey and have information fall into his lap, he might’ve done just that. Constance says she feels more like herself than ever under the Ink’s influence, which could be pretty ominous, but other than yelling at Bill one time it mostly just makes her Suddenly Really Cool?

Like, it’s weird, and distressing for the kids, but it’s not really sinister, not like the sinister vibes of the first ink machine encounter, where Bill’s acting so strangely and Constance has such a strong feeling that they can’t let the ink touch them. Joey isn’t doing this. The Ink isn’t getting anything we can see out of making their emotions wonky. Brant transforms, but that’s just because he DIED(???), so like, as long as you don’t get smashed in half by a door you’re probably okay? Nothing is keeping the other two involved, in the end, and they never fully understand what’s going on. They’re just some teens experiencing out of control emotions and making a futile effort to break the machine that made their emotions wonky, which, by the way, was a side-effect that isn’t really central to the machine’s main threat.

Ultimately the emotions explanation for the Ink has some logistical problems (Lost Ones in the game don’t really seem Consumed By One Emotion so much as just, miserable, and this doesn’t happen to Buddy in DCTL, etc) but that sort of stuff can always be worked with if you sit and fuss with it. I think the concept itself -- that the Ink can exaggerate something about you that you’re normally able to keep hidden -- is very compelling actually! It’s sort of how I’ve interpreted both Sammy and Susie for a while, that their strange behaviour is just a piece of their normal personality that people don’t usually see, exaggerated to a cartoonish extent. 

But I don’t quite like how it plays out here, the way the story’s entire focus swerves away from the dread that had been previously building to fixate on setting up these all-encompassing emotions, a specific and consistent effect that’s a lot less scary when it’s so easily understood. “Oh no now I’m angry all the time” could be horror, but here, while there’s some good lines, it doesn’t quite feel like it ever gets there. 

And in the end of TLO, nothing else really happened. We don’t understand the stakes of the machine -- since the TLO teens directly point out it’s unlikely that the machine is truly here for repairs, my best guess is that it’s here to dodge investigation immediately after JDS’s MULTIPLE MURDERS, and it’s kinda neat to have a detail like that hinted at in the background of another story, but having nothing uncovered by these kids means that nobody in TLO ever truly understands what’s going on enough to make their interaction with the machine meaningful. I suppose they (theoretically?) prevented the Ink Demon from getting out to wreak havoc on Atlantic City, but I don’t understand the Ink Demon well enough to know if he would’ve done that, or if Thomas and Joey had ways to contain him or not -- and neither do the kids. They don’t understand what he is at all. So, what was all this for?

TLO states what I believe is its most compelling theme a few times --

“What’s the point?” “I don’t know. But it’s what happens.”

None of this happened on purpose. It just happened because Joey didn’t care if people got hurt. The kids fume a little about Joey thinking people in New Jersey aren’t as important as New Yorkers, and the same sorta idea crops up in that “Brant who?” knock-knock joke -- the whole point is that these kids aren’t selected or chosen or targeted for any reason. They’re just the people it happened to, the unimportant victims of Joey’s greed and reckless cruelty that he barely even bothered to notice, too distracted by his own shiny ambitions.

I’m conflicted because when I describe this, it sounds profound! It feels like there’s gotta be a way to make this concept work. But when in practice.... it felt more like, “why have I been reading about all this?” in the end. DCTL was also doomed -- we knew Buddy wasn’t going to expose Joey or kill the demon -- but we’re still excited to see what becomes of Buddy, and to learn more about this mystery he’s trying to uncover that we only know the outcome of, but not the process. But everything the kids were trying to do in that final showdown of TLO had such unclear stakes that’s hard to see it as more than pointlessly doomed. 

And I just.... feel like that showdown, and that focus on the ratcheting up of the kids’ emotions, is weirdly out of theme for the franchise as a whole. If I had to write a paper about BatIM’s original themes, I’d talk about being trapped and exploited, the price of obsession, and a loss of self -- and that could’ve played out here, watching the kids get drawn into something very scary. “No escape,” Scott says, but that can’t possibly be because Joey’s going to go around picking up every single Lost One in his car. How do Lost Ones come to be in Bendy and the Ink Machine? If Bill HAD stayed out of it, would that have worked, could he just have gone home and never touched the Ink again -- or would something have drawn him back, inexorably? Is there any sort of slow (but not slow enough) transformation? Constance is so easy to picture because she immediately jumps into questionable science (in a way that made me feel so robbed that we weren’t getting this scene in a Susie book!!). She wants to stop it and understand it and she wants to know more and it’s so easy to imagine that spiralling into something that pulls her back to the machine. Or Bill being so terrified of this thing he can’t seem to hide from, and eventually having to go back just to know if it really even happened, as a growing obsessive paranoia leads him to increasingly lose touch with his normal life. Instead of storming the machine and fighting the demon -- something that I suspect very few JDS employees did -- we could have seen a picture of what happens to people who get caught up in the ink by accident.

We ALMOST got that. We got so, SO CLOSE to that, to the point that some pieces of that narrative started to play out!! But then the creepy supernatural effects were explained with great certainty, while none of the actual, like, mystery was uncovered at all. Why is the machine here? What is Joey trying to do? What does Thomas think he’s trying to do? We can guess at all this based on DCTL, but the adults and demon never get compelling motives here, just vague hints that don’t come to anything within this story. The kids never learn what the demon is, and don’t consider that the ink might be connected with animation until the story is almost done.

I know a lot of people have complained that there’s too much focus on the characters who are Not Previously Established Bendy Characters, but I think, while that’s a valid feeling, in some cases it might be a misplaced complaint. Bendy: The Lost Ones could have unrelated teens and still have them learn about the machine, about the demon, and about the horrors of JDS and what Joey has done in a way that connects back to the actual story of BatIM, but they don’t -- and to me, that’s why it feels like... like, it’s not a bad book. A lot of it is quite engaging! But it still feels detached from Bendy in a way that’s tough to put a finger on.

[bouncingkadachi]

Gifts Sunk Into the Sea

Summary: “Grief is just love with no place to go.” — Jamie Anderson

OR: You are eleven, your grandfather is dead, and you are alone in a house that suddenly feels far too big for one.

Word Count: 1,198

Note(s): Pre-game start. POV Second Person. The player character is small and trying their best, OK.

Also available on AO3!

The house seems bigger after your grandfather dies.

Objectively, you know that’s a silly thought. You’re eleven, not stupid. Your grandfather’s passing—the news delivered to Chief Gara and your family by way of an impersonal slip of a letter via the courier Felyne—doesn’t suddenly negate the fact that this was the same house that you were born and raised in, surrounded by the same furniture and tools and decorations. The shutters of your ocean-facing window still creak stubbornly until you give them a sharp tap to the top-left corner, after which they swing out with way too much gusto. Your shelves are still overflowing with jars of pretty shells gathered off the beach. The half-finished braided strap that you’ve been testing a new pattern on as a present for your grandfather is still thrown halfheartedly over a small loom covered with yarn. Everything is still the same as it was when you woke up this morning, before the windswept courier had arrived with the letter.

There’s no body to send off. There’s not even your grandfather’s Kinship Stone. Instead, the village elders enshrine the letter as a cheap substitute and push the little boat into Kamuna Bay for the last farewell. You track the wavering speck of candlelight as it drifts further away from the shore while the Songstress carries out the rest of the rites. Later, you nudge a lantern up into the air so that it can join the rest that are flocking off towards the Sacred Mountain. The entire time, you are childishly hoping that perhaps this is all some sort of ridiculous skit; a horrible prank; an unfortunate oversight, perhaps. Any moment now, Guardian Ratha will see the rising lights calling him and your grandfather home, and slip back down through the clouds.

Nothing ever comes of your wishful thinking.

Kayna’s family eventually herds you towards their own house, where they feed you soup and wrap you in hugs and let you stay the night amidst sympathetic faces, all bound together by loss. They let you stay as long as you’d like, actually, on account of you being neighbors and everyone’s habit of coming and going from each other’s houses to begin with. But eventually, you start to miss your bed. You miss it less for the bed itself, but for the familiarity of the bright red covers—a buoy of constancy in the murky sea that your grandfather's death has thrown you into.

Auntie’s lips purse when you tell her this. She fusses and shoves a basket laden with fruit and sweets and pre-portioned meals wrapped in coconut leaves into your arms. She fusses some more when you put on a brave face with all your might, yet even that doesn’t prevent your feet from dragging as you make your way down the scant few meters between Kayna’s house and yours. You think you hear her muttering to her family that she’s going to drag you back to a house that’s warm and full and alive. You wish she does it. You’re glad she doesn’t.

Your house—your house, because you never knew what exactly happened to your parents and your grandfather is dead now—is quiet. It is empty. It is familiar and foreign all at once. It feels like the walls might press in and squeeze all the air out of your lungs. It feels much larger than it reasonably ought to be, now that it doesn’t have the possibility of your grandfather’s larger-than-life personality to make it snug and cozy.

There is a tidal wave of feeling upsetting your stomach, even days later. Your eleven-year-old vocabulary is terribly ill-equipped to deal with it, but you know anger. You know it in the frustration that spills over from how slowly your crafting project is going. You know it in the glare you give the knotted strands of thread in your hands. Feeling indignant, you find, is easier than feeling sad or whatever else is in that hot lump lodged somewhere deep in your throat.

You fight with the yarn and tell yourself that you shouldn’t miss him that much anyway. Your grandfather wasn’t home all that often to begin with. He was always traveling here or there, his arrivals and departures heralded by little more than the tell-tale sound of his Rathalo’s beating wings. But when he did come back—

When he came back, his Rathalos would hone in on the pier and touch down with such gentleness that the waters below wouldn’t even ripple. He would laugh as you sprinted towards him, full-bodied and deep and with the kind of genuine joy that made his eyes crinkle. When you would inevitably slam into him like a torpedo he’d just take the impact, letting Guardian Ratha support his back with a nudge of its great scaly head. And then he would greet you, large hands cupped on your cheeks, calloused from a life spent in the saddle. He’d rub his thumbs in hard enough to give your face artificial color, but not once have you ever minded. Only your grandfather greeted you like that, after all—fond and overenthusiastic and again and again and again on the short trek back home, just because you liked it. 

There won’t ever be anyone who will greet you like that ever again, even though you’ve always gotten and continue to get plenty of affection and love from your fellow villagers. There won’t be anyone to tackle in welcome on the pier anymore. When you go on trips out of the village, there would no longer be a familiar steady presence to guide you across the meadows or through the tangles of jungle. Guardian Ratha would no longer shadow your steps, gingerly picking up any spilled herbs and shrooms from your basket with his teeth. You are convinced, with all the power of your small childish self, that you will never find anyone who can laugh the same way that your grandfather did ever again.

Despite everything, you finish the strap, and sink it in the bay by heaving it into the water with a tremendous throw. Grief, you’d learned, was all the clumsy precision of small fingers and all the care of a hurting heart pouring into a project that would never be seen by its intended recipient. It is the habit of continuing to document the little going-ons of your life, of picking out your favorites and readying them to be shared, only to face the resulting misery when they sit, untold, in the hollow of your chest. Maybe—just maybe—you will finally be free of this nebulous feeling after you’ve sunk ten or even twenty more straps into the sea. Or maybe you will turn the bay into an entire graveyard of threads, and still it would not be enough. You are not sure which is worse. No one seems to have an answer for you, though they try their best.

You are eleven. (You are only eleven.)

Your grandfather is dead. (There was nothing to bury, not even his Kinship Stone.)

You are alone in a house that suddenly feels far too big for one. (You are alone.)

[nerdnag]

*pours you tea* Please share your thoughts on:

Cats

Constance

Magical innovations

Your research

*contently sips the tea*

Ah. Perfect, thank you. Now, what did you wish to talk to me about?

Cats...

Ah yes, the cat! A proud and beautiful animal. My greatest weakness and most cunning nemesis. A worthy opponent.

(So soft... silky... warm and fluffy... like to bite my knees... purrpurr... paw beans!! love butter... smol but long... aowa... widdle tales... NOSES!! smell everything... prr-mao...)

Constance...

You know, this might surprise you but, you're actually not the first person to ask me about her today! What a coincidence! Huh!

But yes, Constance von Nuvelle... The guiding light of my life, the crumb to my cookie, the ohoho to my hm-hm, the highest of peaks and lowest of valleys, the brightest of stars in the sky...

She really is the Main Character, isn't she.

Magical innovations...

I'm glad you asked! *opens fan with a flick of my wrist and begins to fan my face with a smirk* My most recent achievement is an absolutely magical...

... Excel formula!!!

I'm working on an Excel document wherein even the most magicless can answer but a few simple questions about how they wish to process personal data, and ta-dah! They will be met with a neat little list of what aspects they need to think of before beginning the process!!

I daresay I've exceeded even my own expectations, hm-hm.

Your research...

... Has been stagnant for the past year or so, due to unforeseen and sudden new obligations which stole much of my mental energy away. However! I see a light in the tunnel! Come June of 2023, I expect to be relieved of some of my most pressing woes, sparing me more time for my research and other aims in life!

As for that research, I expect it shall concern the magical subject of formulaic ethics, objects that communicate with each other through invisible bonds, and the importance of private life!*

[whimsyqueen]

To Make a Fool of Death; Benevolence's Final Diary Entry

So, I thought I'd share this, as the last scene I shared was Benevolence's death which was a looooong time after this was written. I think it's a lovely contrast between the Benevolence you've already been introduced to as opposed to the Benevolence that Verity originally fell in love with. It also introduces how this book is written in a kind-of epistolary format, because despite all the first-person sections being an implied journal entry from Verity, this is the first time we get an explicit mention to this scene being a diary entry!

Information on how to join the taglist is below, or you can simply ask to be added/removed!

word count: 487

tw: religion, burning at the stake, vague vampire shenanigans, not nearly as much as the first snippet

Dear Diary, 

Constance and I are to leave tonight. I do not know what has happened to her, but I know that I watched the fire press against her skin and do nothing. I know that I watched her husband and all of the men in our village shout their terrible shouts and condemn her for being the witch they claim is destroying their livelihood. I watched all the women, clutching the babies that Constance delivered, sobbing and screaming and praying for her damned soul. 

I suppose my soul will be damned then, too. Because I won’t let her go anywhere without me by her side. I cannot bear the thought of her alone. And so I won’t let her be. I know she’s a terribly sad girl, and I love her with every ounce of my being. Regardless of whatever change she went through, she is still my dearest friend. 

Though, perhaps she is not Constance Audley anymore, as I knew her. I think it would bring her some comfort to leave everything behind and start anew. I could say the same about myself. I’ll propose this to her, I think. Changing her name and who she is, fundamentally. I am sure if Judith were less small-minded she would be sympathetic to Constance’s situation as well, and would suggest a lovely name for her. But Judith added flame to the fire this evening, and will be left behind as well. So that makes this my job. And it is a job that I will treat with the reverence it deserves. 

I think I will present her with the name Verity. For truth. For everything she wishes she could be. For holding on to who she is throughout whatever comes of her future, however long that may be. For honesty, to herself about her situation and to others about where she has come from and where she is going. 

It’s a lot more difficult to name a grown woman than it is to name a baby, because I’m terrified that she’ll object to the name, and I’ll have to start all over, but she might not. 

I’ll offer her my own last name. Hayrick. So that she knows that she is not alone. So that she knows she has a family, even when she remembers her own, that family that abandoned her so easily in the face of tragedy. 

I offer myself, now, to be her family, for as long as she’ll have me. For the rest of my life, if that’s what it takes. 

It does not matter what I am leaving behind. None of it matters anymore. Not if she isn’t there with me. 

If you find this diary, please do me a favor and burn it. I’ll have no one knowing the sins I commit from this moment on. None of it matters, anyway. We all end up in the same place. 

Yours, 

Benevolence. 

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

Join the taglist here! Or ask to be added! @athenixrose @bardic-tales @drowsy-quill @thelibraryofchaos @cyparissos @kittyphoenix12-xx @destiniescollide @aeipathys @fearofahumanplanet @cactusmotif @midnights-melodiverse @ninirito @antique-symbolism-main @annetilney @athenswrites @the-void-writes @heinleins @galaxy-writer @sender-paulson @wip-nook @writeblrsupport

[ravenkinnie]

oh can you maybe talk about the bpd symptoms and how Jinx fits into them or rather what scenes in the show depict them? That would be so interesting

mind you, I'm not saying arcane set out to portray anything in particular, just that these are things I have noted in jinx and that's I've seen other people point out or relate to

cw for discussion of mental health issues ofc, self harm and suicide

obv she has intense fear of abandonment that pushes her to do impulsive or straight up insane things. it is tied to her self worth and her belief that she needs earn love and value - dinner party is one thing but even when she steals gemstones for silco in ep4. another aspect of this that jumps out of when she specifically hands vi the gun and tells her to kill caitlyn so vi can get powder back - obv jinx is hurt and is spiraling but she's very much manipulating vi there to test her love and that's something I've seen people do in so many ways: hurting themselves, withdrawing emotionally or physically, threats, even stupid little things such as 'if she replies within next hour then she loves me'

I talked about splitting and black and white thinking before ofc, the way she puts people (I mean specifically vi and silco) on a pedestal but if she feels they are against her she can devalue them completely - jinx in general seems to lack that object constancy where her image of and feelings about other people remain stable, they are transient based on most recent encounter (I'll give her credit that she's usually in insane situations where trust is v fragile, like vi disappeared for seven years in her mind and silco is a fishy ass mf)

I've mentioned it somewhere before too but while I don't like the concept of a favorite person and I don't like how it's used in bpd communities often, it is true that sometimes people will fixate on one person who becomes their whole identity and the focal point - I think for jinx that obv people who respond to that need to be taken care of, first vi then silco

on topic of that black and white thinking too, bpd is characterized by identity issues - jinx has a really interesting case of it where she split herself into powder and jinx as a way to conceptualize her identity. we know that there's no powder vs jinx, there's just this one person but putting herself on those two ends of a spectrum is how jinx understands herself

I don't feel like I even need to explain impulsive behaviour and mood swings dhdhhdnsn also self injury and suicidal ideation - none of these are specific to bpd, mind you, also you can be an impulsive emotional person without having any disorder but I have seen a lot of people relate to that. with sh and si, it's never outwardly shown or stated but I'm thinking of that moment on the bridge where jinx just gave up and it's clear that she was 100% ready to die

this isn't specific to bpd but it's def a sentiment I've seen a lot that because there's so much happening internally people become v self absorbed and it becomes hard to be interested in others. I don't think people really register to jinx as real people unless it's through her relationship to them, like I don't think caitlyn feels like an actual real person to her, she's just an obstacle, a concept of one

psychosis isn't, like, bpd-specific but bpd can have psychotic features, it's fairly common really. especially paranoid delusions which jinx does show, she easily believes someone is about to leave or get her, abandonment is also her biggest trigger, next to guilt

in conclusion, I thought about this meme when typing this

[bluegrowlmon]

Again interesting that in Redwall, when Constance and Matthias talk about the rats, and Constance remarks that she thought they were bad news, mice in the crowd object.

The badger's statement caused an uproar and shouts of "Nonsense. Pure speculation" and "That's right! Give a rat a bad name!"

And it's a bit funny because it's so different from pretty much any book in the series. Whenever vermin species are mentioned there pretty much always considered evil, and they usually always are.

[whatdoesshedotothem]

Sunday 16 December 1832

8

11 ½

fine rather frostyish morning F46 ½° at 8 ½ am breakfast at 9 5 – came upstairs again in 25 minutes – read from p. 211 to 297 Foresters’ guide – cut my nails – then wrote 2 2/3 pp. to M- went downstairs at 12 and in 50 minutes read the service and sermon 22 Mr. K- and came up again at 1 ½ and finished my letter to  M- 3 pages and ends - should in spite of Mr Kinnersley’s odd answer to them (the L-s) think it right to apply to him for a character of Thomas Beech - but if the same sort of thing as to the L-s, should attend to M-‘s and Granthams recommendation and take the man - no objection to give £20 wages if that is to include washing - give clothes such and so many as I think proper he would have all house work to attend to and be a good deal about me - his being able to read and write, indispensable - ‘If you think the man a sufficiently good servant as to his work, he must still be good tempered, civil and obliging, trustworthy, and sober’ - it would be a great comfort to be well suited - ‘the great inconvenience is, I can bring neither of them here - but this cannot be helped - I must contrive some way or other - and I may not be tried very immediately, for my aunt seems quite as well again as usual, and my father as likely as ever to live 2 or 3 years longer - are you really prophetic in persisting in it, that I shall never live here long together? ‘tis true, we know not what we shall do - ‘Oh blindness to the future kindly given! yet the thought of exile from poor Shibden always makes me melancholy - come what may, I have been happier here than anywhere else; and, unfortunately, I am a person of more constancy than has ever been surmised even by those supposed to know me best - But Providence orders all things wisely - I am perfectly contented, and have more and more gleams of bright assurance that even happiness is within myself, and may, and will be with me here or anywhere - But I am attached to my own people - They are accustomed to my oddities, are kind, and civilized to me, that their faults to others are, in my own case, lightened much - But..... nous verrons - a great deal will, and must depend on that someone, known or unknown, whom I still hope for as the comfort of my evening hour’ - then give the following as the about summary of expense I have been at here - mill £600, Pickersgills £300 - Southholm £80 George Naylor’s £30, James Smiths £25 Draining and wearing £60 to £80 - my walked and etc about home probably about £100 - water to Lower brea to be about £50 and other jobs - with law and agency expense shall not get off for £1300 - nothing could have been well spared but the expense about home - must go and live on bread and water - whether I shall do so, or not, is doubtful - busy just now among my young trees, pruning etc - glad the inscription was so much what she wished - glad to return to our old regularity in writing ‘at least for the time that my being in England will permit’ - had just written the above of today at 2 ¼ - mention the arrival of the Judas trees etc from Leamington on the 5th inst. out at 2 ½ in the fields and in my walk till 5 20 – dressed – read from 297 to 322 Monteaths’ foresters’ guide – dinner at 6 ¼ - sent off my letter to M- ‘Lawton hall, Lawton, Cheshire’ – read the 1st 80pp. vol. 2 (vid. Friday) Emersons’ history of Modern Greece, and then asleep ½ hour till 9 ½ - then went into the other room – skimmed over the courier – came upstairs at 10 ¾ at which hour F46 ½° - very fine day, - not very frosty tho’ feeling colder than of late

[nickywhoisi]

Oh snap it’s Nick’s post!

So this has been a long time coming, and I know I should have done this EONS ago, but I decided that this blog needs a header post about me for everyone seeing me for the first time. I think the intro I had up there is actually rather...bad, not so helpful, a little sketch, and maybe even a little worrying to someone uninitiated. So I ought to fix that.

-My name is Nicholas, and I prefer to go by Nick, but Nicky has also happened and I don’t mind it too much, being in my username and all.

-I am nonbinary, they/them pronouns, and only that. I have a pretty sore spot about this, being misgendered irl all the time... and so I am pretty strict about getting pronouns right and picking one exclusively for myself. I just really want to distance myself from being forced into femininity that I can’t even begin to tell you I don’t have. I don’t know what’s wrong with people out there! I don’t understnd why they can’t stop looking at the exterior skin and know that there’s a real identity here.

-I am just about to be 30! Wowee! And I am smashed up so much from traumatic life experiences, I don’t feel a day over 2! How am I not dead?! Hooray eternal youth! ...Well, yeah, y’got me. I can’t even pretend that this is okay. I really am sometimes oscillating between frames of mind that do not reflect my age, if there is even a guideline for that. The truth is, I have never had healthy human relationships or “object constancy/permanence” to know what a stable person acting precisely like the age range they are is supposed to be like, and it’s been nearly 30 years. I don’t think I’ll ever get to know how to solve this problem. So what’s left? Just that I am a personchild who suffers way too many emotional and psychological traumas, and needs to be treated so meticulously careful, but has a real big heart and got a lot of sagely fandom wisdom and life experiences to share, to anyone who would care to listen. That’s why I’m so strangely knowledgeable, yet immature and unsure about things all at once. I can only hope that’s fine or that you at least understand what’s up with me, because I can’t change this...and believe me, I’ve been trying. Frankly, it’s the concept of change that got me into all this mess, SO DO NOT EVER BRING UP THE TOPIC OF CHANGE TO ME PLEASE AND THANK YOU. 8) My blog is part of the Eternal Domain of Inazuma, get it?

-I am a multifandom blog! I had no idea that I had to specify this until perusing other blogs! I just thought it became clear by post variety. See how weird and old fashioned I’ve become? I didn’t think it would happen to me, but here we are, and it will happen to you too! get ready for that one kiddums. In any case, here are all of the fandoms and series in general that I’m into, though I have already posted a lot of trains. Did I mention I’m on the autism spectrum+adhd? Maybe even a bit bpd/schizo? Yes, very fun.

-Sometimes I am ultra fun, in a good mood and approachable, but sometimes I go entirely in reverse, depending on my general mood or if something outside of tumblr has occurred. I am sorry. This will likely be hard to follow, and the last thing I want is to make enemies out of friends over any amount of misunderstandings, but following a healthy routine, knowing what I’m comfortable with at all times, and trusting other people understand and know the same thing, and then above all getting to experience behaviour that feels right, is very important to me. I will do my very best to announce my state of being ahead of time so y’all will know, and hopefully the transitions will be smooth. In a less-than-this situation, I can’t really know what to do beyond freaking out and maybe bailing, so...the bottom point may give you better help to know how to handle me. I’m so sorry...

-I am severely damaged goods, and become a neurotic mess when attempting social interaction of all kinds, even here, because I have suffered a giant terrible history of unhealthy relationships, and while I know who I am and where I stand on things, life insists on only bringing dangerous, unhealthy, unprocessably unstable types my way to make my ability to reach my goal that much harder. It’s almost getting too unbearable for words, and I have been thinking of quitting people altogether. But if I did that. I know I would never reach the life goal I’ve always wanted; of having a stable group of friends who stick with me lifelong. That’s all I want, what everyone else I look at from afar seems to have. Yet life insists that hatred stubs my toes over and over again, and each repetitive pattern of trying so hard, getting so close, only to reach a disquieting change and leaves me rejected and failing is too much to go through. I can’t tell who even wants me anymore, and this has eaten away at me for my entire life. I can no longer tell if there’s anyone in the world at all who cares that I exist and wants me to be alive and happy, wants to be my friend for real and then continue to be so, or if people hate me for knowing myself so well and demanding that I get my fair treatment that I was promised my entire life. I have had enough of being the tossed-away outsider of my own life, and I aim to collect. I don’t want to put in the effort anymore just for someone else to make me fail at having this very thing that I, as a human, was supposed to have eons ago to be healthy. I don’t want to keep trying to open up just to be made to feel like I should regret doing so...it’s sick, cruel unusual punishment that I have never deserved to go through. And if I’m bothering to stay alive instead of (still wondering if I should really) ending it all, I expect to not be made to go alone. I am sick to death of being forced, bottlenecked into failure that is not even mine to experience when I know, after wasting my entire youth learning about it, I did all the right things that are considered normal and rational, never once diverging from my path. (what I mean is, I could maybe count on my fingers the few times I was truly responsible for a failure in my life, but the longer list actually comes from other people just...being a roadblock on my path? Being the one to come up with some insane, arbitrary excuse to just put a stop to my trajectory? To abruptly end the progress I go to war everyday just to begin?! do you see why I am concaved under so many mental issues that I am eternally complaining? really hope somebody’s paying attention instead of just reading...!) I do not like being alone, and I’ve been crying everyday since I’ve been effectively thrown out from my own comfortable life and forced into...this super-nightmare isolation. I’m an extrovert with introvert needs. Can you believe I’m actually an extrovert first, even when all of my other traits point otherwise? So all of that is where I need your assistance. I am horrifically broken to the point where I’ve been conditioned that “help” is actually an opening for someone else to “harm” instead. This is actually what I’ve experienced more of than anything that is normally expected. It is insane. I need you to retrain me on what it means to healthily interact, to know if and who actually cares about me beyond myself, to relearn everything on how people are supposed to behave and carry themselves around one another. Because I am still, after all this time, needing to learn that from someone trustworthy. I am trying to reply on you to be my “teacher” in this way, but as fair warning, I am already expecting the worst; I expect failure, dismay, peril, trauma, the works. I beg you, find a way to prove all of this wrong.

-I have a vast variety of interests, way too many words to describe it all, far too little time to do so, and an unbelievable amount of raw passion driving my interests...into a canyon. *pixel explosion effect* You’ll have to wait with bated breath to see just what topics I like the most, what things I have to say the most about, and even the things I don’t like/have interest in I have a lot to say on. I’m basically an infodump truck. Get ready for that lol

Will continually update this post to add other tidbits to know about me, as it is getting a bit tiring to type out already, and I need to make a fandom post list too. So all in all, I ask for careful trepidation so things aren’t unpleasant, and I have a dangerous amount of issues that I am working hard to solve, but inbetween that, I want to come off as a very positive, dedicated, reliable, and more trusting individual for for you to hang out with, share in the entertainment, and have a great time with. I don’t want to be just another one of the unstables, I want to regain my past stability in fact. And above all, I simply HAVE to do my part to make the world a happy safe place like I’ve always wanted. I’ve spent too long ruminating on everything, especially how much it doesn’t seem like the world is at all happy or safe. But I keep seeing hints and glimmers of proof that it could be, and we only need to exemplify that ourselves. Put in the work and do, not wish. We need to become what we want. I want to be the proof that good and justice wins over all evil in reality. Looks like I always take one the way-too-hard challenges...but I didn’t say it was impossible. And that hero’s optimism isn’t just shallow hope to be broken later, either. It’s not fake pleasantry. If there really are evil villains in our reality, right now, in this absolutely insane time period, doing all sorts of evil things that we only learned about through our favourite series, then that can only mean...