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lavendermin · 2 months

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what is up, it's your boy, 🔥 anon (please let me be 🔥 anon), come to climb through your window with a stack of notes instead of limiting myself to method acting a little bitch at the foot of your front door

so crazy self-indulgent idea I just had BUT hear me out. hear me out on dreameater!reader AU

say they're originally some sort of metaphysical species like the heliobi, but somehow sustained an injury and decided to seek treatment at the luofu as a last resort. it ends with an experimental solution with someone who'd gotten info about the experiments of the sanctus medicus (like how in the quest, dan shu wanted to get immortal bodies from phantylia so bad but they'd exhausted all other means of artificially producing them—and then some clown disposed of the records badly like an IDIOT)

and it kind of works ∘ ∘ ∘ ( °ヮ° ) !! reader's form is tied to and sustained by the new body like an extremely codependent version of heliobi-possesed ingenium, but it requires the consumption of 'dreams' to support itself. mara is an overload of memories that morphs the mortal form when it hits a max output, so what if some other form of memories, aka dreams and the emotions that they come with can be changed into a source capable of sustaining a mortal form? dreameating is definitely not a form of vampirism haha what? this was totallt not inspired by your previous posts about vampire jing yuan no siree i have no idea what you're talking abou

but anyway. they meet after a battle of some sort where jing yuan gets bonked so fucking hard he gets coma-ed. maybe a side of possible mara onset because if I was a disciple of sanctus medicus you can bet everything in your blog that mara would be the first thing I'd turn to to fuck people over

maybe this is my fate as a self insert. half aha half yaoshi follower of a SM member that is an unwitting plot device and a but who the fuck cares that's not the point rn

sure would be crazy if there was someone around with the ability to seep into people's dreams huh

sure would be crazy if they decided to just ,,, slip into the general's mind to try and see what's going on there, after overhearing the healers working on him whispering among themselves that they don't know what's wrong with him, don't know how to fix it at all

,,, they'll just figure out a way to anonymously tip the healers off, if they figure anything out from their little venture into his head ! pardon the intrusion, dear patient °՞(ᗒᗣᗕ)՞° ,,,

- bonus points if the fact jing yuan is an arbiter-general just floats in a detached bubble, somewhere in reader's mind, because their job is to be a healer !! to live up to the person who'd saved them in their time of need's ideals !!!! who has time to worry about getting caught as being a weird ahh amalgation if they can save someone's life amiright !

I didn’t think about the dream sequence in detail, but what I do know is that jing yuan's subconscious (possibly the actual consciousness too?) would briefly interact with dreamwalking!reader. the natural instinct to having something poke about in your mind in a vulnerable state is to crush it like a cockroach, no shit, but what do you do when it really doesn’t seem to have any malicious intent, and somehow seems to be ,,, helping?

(but their brand of dreamwalking isn't meant for harmless brushes—its meant to devour, to rip sustenance from a mind no matter how guarded it is, to patch the endless yawning abyss that hungers for dreams to keep reader's body from failing on them. reader hasn't been gorging themselves or taking as little as possible because they understand that some things are unavoidable, that they can't keep themself or their patients alive if they're teetering on the edge of frailty all the time. some things have to be done, and they refuse to feel any guilt over it.)

but yeah !! me when I fuck up and accidentally fall into someone's dream, and have to play along with the disjointed imaginary going ons to drag said someone out of it without destabilising everything enough to immediately flashbang them with mara.

me when they wake up but still remember bits and pieces of what had happened in their dream because they're a fucking ARBITER-GENERAL with all the mental fortitude and skill required of one, especially bc they've lasted numerous centuries in that position

me when I suspiciously fall ill right after the patient in a coma wakes up ("guys it's just a cold trust *doubles over like they just got kicked in the crotch when their fellow healer unexpectedly opens a window and now there are spikes of pure light stabbing into their brain oh god oh fuck*")

that's all I have so far, unfortunately ,,, ╮(￣▽￣"")╭ thanks for reading all the way to this point if you did, though !! I'm considering making a new account to moot you, one for hsr content because I like my fandoms separated :D

more notes:

- reader probably has a history of being good with mind related ailments despite always having denied credit, half the healers they're friends with consider them a lucky charm for these matters, the other half think that reader is definitely doing SOMETHING but hey, people get fixed all the same so who gaf. them being a pretty decent coworker who's a hardcore grinder on the job and dedicated to the point that overwork ceases to exist half the time (dreameating has its perks) probably leads them to not mentioning it to anyone else, in case it causes reader trouble.

but who's to say that a certain general won't happen to catch wind about his mystery saviour?

- reader has been on the luofu for quite a while too, their legal documents file them as being a xianzhou native—which would be backed up by the biological makeup of their false body on a surface level ( •̀ᴗ•́ )و ̑̑

Let 🔥 anon cook!!!! This was such a treat to read during brunch bc there’s so much you can explore with the dreameater concept plus a highly perceptive and seasoned arbiter-general.

What would the feeling of having your dreams eaten feel like afterward for the victim? Sort of like with a vampire bite that could leave a physical wound, dull or searing ache, effects of blood loss etc etc.

Could a dream being eaten, since it’s not a simple and easy procedure, cause some sort of ache or short term problem for the person? Maybe it’s leaves a short period of a few days where the person feels like they’ve forgotten something that they’re sure they should have remembered. Like phantom limb but for a dream perhaps. Like a dull headache that isn’t severe but annoyingly present for a few days as the mind tries to cope with the loss of something that was supposed to be processed. Maybe these kind of issues can only be seen in Jing Yuan due to his mental fortitude and strength or bc he was still under whereas your usual patients undergo a different process to prevent these. Dire times and desperate measures to ensure the general is saved.

And the dream walking would be interesting too! How would the reader handle it? Is there a game plan? If most dreams will have strangers we may have seen in our peripheral during the day, will you try to play it smart and blend in as a filler person in the dream? Trying to blend in?

Perhaps your targeted dream eating of sequences in his mind that may be contributing to mara even has repercussions for you afterwards. Maybe like how you mentioned you get ill afterwards like when eating something of poor quality (due to mara effects). A necessary sacrifice that you aren’t quite sure why you felt inclined to do. Perhaps it brings your body vessel at risk since it is one of xianzhou natives’ qualities. Would it be susceptible to being mara-struck?

I can yap on and on

Anon if you ever write this pls pls pls tag me or send it to me bc I would looove to read your explorations on this. It’s delicious for a plot!!!!! Mwah mwah 💗

#🔥 anon #ask stuff 💌#this was sooo good #thank you for feeding my jy brainworms #dreameating 🤝 vampirism #jing yuan x reader

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popatochisssp · 10 months

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Hi!! If the Papyri are knights what are the Sanses? Also you should totally make an AU of this, you beautiful brain

You have no idea, none of you have any idea how absolutely insane I went about this goofy little one-off AU concept

...Some of you have an idea. And some of you maybe know me well enough to have just guessed I would go off the rails the way I have lol

Anyway, this is the first, but absolutely not the last of The Court AU:

Sans (Undertale): The court jester, in possession of a quick wit and a cutting sense of humor and with no desire to let either go to waste. He’s much beloved at court and prides himself on his ability to make even the stuffiest of courtiers chuckle with his jokes and pranks—and his jester’s privilege makes him nigh untouchable to those who somehow aren’t amused by him. It’s a good life…

Papyrus (Undertale): A proud knight of the kingdom and a member of the Royal Guard! Er…well…eventually, he will be. The Captain won’t make him a full member of the Guard until he’s proven his valor through a series of knightly quests…but she won’t tell him what the quests are, so he travels the kingdom as a knight-errant, helping those in need and solving problems that may or may not have needed solving! You’re welcome, good citizens!

Sky (Underswap Sans): A squire, or knight-in-training, attendant to the Captain of the Guard until he properly earns his own knighthood. …Frankly, he’s already capable and qualified to be a knight now, but he’s aware that the Captain has some reservations regarding his health and is hesitating to just give him the job because of it. He fully intends to prove himself to her in the line of active duty, and someday be recognized as a fully-fledged knight of the realm.

Paps (Underswap Papyrus): The court archivist, most at home amidst shelves of tomes and records and far away from the social obligations of the court itself. He tracks and preserves all kind of documents, from agricultural reports to genealogies to romantic poetry, and is on call to locate specific texts for any nobles or otherwise literate folks seeking to reference them. It gets a bit musty sometimes but he wouldn’t trade it for anything.

Jasper (Underfell Sans): A mercenary, traveling the kingdom in search of people to sell his sword to for a bit of coin—and then traveling in search of satisfying ways to spend that coin. He does occasionally venture outside the kingdom for both of these things, but he has quite a few connections to well-paying opportunities within the borders, so as much as he avoids putting down roots, he tends not to stray too far from ‘home.’

Pyre (Underfell Papyrus): A knight in the Royal Guard, touted as a black knight for the scorched and stained armor he wears—a marker of the many deadly, heroic feats he’s conquered. No quest is too dangerous, no enemy too great for him to overcome, and he bravely takes on what lesser knights fear to risk. He’s quite accomplished dealing with dragons, and wildfires, and even mages, who always seem to cast fireballs and…well, perhaps that’s the reason his armor is so blackened…

Mal (Swapfell Sans): Personal guard to the Empress herself, nominally part of the Royal Guard as well but far from the front-lines of battle as his duty to her highness’ safety comes first and foremost. He’s involved in a lot of the structuring and scheduling of patrols for the lower ranking guardsmen, and his opinion is often sought in matters of state and military, but his primary concern is accompanying the Empress wherever she goes, or standing post just outside the door. Only on rare occasions does anyone else fill his role, and that’s just the way he likes it.

Rus (Swapfell Papyrus): He’s a nobleman who used his wealth and free time to pursue a passion in painting. His passion paid off in the form of a bit of notoriety for his work and several offers of patronage from other nobility seeking portraits and frescoes and the like done in his hand. …Or as he sees it, rich people paying him to do what he loves instead of some sort of actual job. As long as he can comfortably afford his paints, he’s happy.

Slate (Horrortale Sans): He’s a stableman at the queen’s castle, looking after the horses and hunting dogs kept there. He isn’t as quick as he used to be, and his memory hasn’t been the same since his head injury, but he was graciously employed elsewhere rather than dismissed and it’s…fine. Well enough, at least. It’s dirty and often thankless work, but he is fond of the animals, and much prefers their company to anyone else.

Papy (Horrortale Papyrus): He’s a medic in service to the knights of the Royal Guard. He actually used to be among their number…sort of…but there were some changes, in his life, and his eye-sight isn’t really what it used to be anyway, and… Well! He spent some time learning from the court physician and got very interested in ways to treat illness and injury. He’s not as skilled and knowledgeable as a full-fledged healer but he’s happily on hand for minor training accidents and sicknesses or injuries in those coming back from patrols. He loves to be able to help!

Ash (Undergloom Sans): A musician who plays his trusty horn for the court during all the feasts and festivals. He’s only one player of many but enough of a talent to be selected for the job and pleased that his music should entertain the king and queen and all their noble guests. It’s not the most glorious of positions but he’s happy enough doing it and lives well for his station.

Yrus (Undergloom Papyrus): Head cook in the castle kitchens, a station he worked up to from the bottom as a lowly kitchen boy. He has a lot of experience making meals for the royal couple and for all the nobles that regularly attend court gatherings and he knows how to give the people what they want. There are several other cooks and kitchen attendants that work with him but it’s his job to make decisions and keep everything running smoothly, which keeps him busy but happily so.

Brick (Horrorfell Sans): He sticks exclusively to the royal court these days, not as a hired sword but as a wealthy and rakish duke of the kingdom. His brother gave him the title and it’d be stupid not to take advantage of the perks—though he does have to earn them. He’s less a hired sword now and more a hired axe, performing the duty of the royal executioner whenever he’s called upon to do so. No need to wear a hood, everyone knows who he is and what he does to enemies of the crown.

King (Horrorfell Papyrus): The king of the castle, in a very literal sense. Some may call him a usurper or a traitor to the crown to have seized the throne for himself without proper claim… and for those people he arranges a meeting between their necks and his brother’s blade. He seized the throne because he’s loyal to the crown and the queen he deposed was wearing it quite poorly. If he could, he would’ve stepped down by now and given way to the true queen, but the people have been through enough upheaval—so he will remain as their king, as long as is necessary.

Merc (Horrorswap Sans): A cursed king who lives an austere, lonely life in a desolate castle by the sea. He fled from his true realm in disgrace and now awaits an end to his curse or his shame—whichever comes first—in the ruins of a fallen kingdom as degraded as he is. He doesn’t expect to be found, or saved from the curse that his own choices wrought upon him, and just tries to bear his fate with the grace expected of him.

Ell (Horrorswap Papyrus): Prince-errant of his kingdom, meant to be ruling his people but instead gallivanting off across the countryside in search of his missing brother. He wants to find him and know he’s well about as much as he doesn’t want to go back and be the ruler of a kingdom, for which he was never properly trained and is wholly unprepared! Maybe in his search and his hardships, he can find the strength and maturity to do what the kingdom needs him to do…but he’s not there yet, and finding his brother is his priority.

Pitch (Horrorswapfell Sans): Every knight in the Royal Guard is hand-picked and trained by him. He held a high office among the guardsmen once, but a severe injury put him out of commission and without his sight, he was no longer fighting fit, as they say. Still, his strength and his skill didn’t abandon him and while he could be a liability on the battlefield, he’s nothing less than a powerful asset when it comes to training the knights up to his own exacting standards. Only the best make it through his gauntlet.

Nemo (Horrorswapfell Papyrus): He walks the wall of the castle at night, standing guard for any threats to the kingdom that might otherwise go unseen. He takes his duty very seriously and refuses to let any night pass without a watchman on duty, even in foul weather or nights of great feasts and festivals. His vigilance has protected the kingdom from many a threat and he feels certain that his job is of much higher importance than any frivolous pastimes he absorbed himself in before.

Sunny (Gastertale Sans): A courtier of…mysterious origin. He’s often at court, making conversation and telling colorful stories to anyone whose ear he can snatch—and he manages to snatch quite a few—but no one can manage to figure out quite where he came from or what he ought to be doing. Mostly, he entertains himself and others with various leisurely pursuits, games, hunts, dances, songs, and as such he’s a well-liked person at court…wherever he came from.

Aster (Gastertale Papyrus): Another man of mystery who appeared at court on the heels of his brother, though far less flamboyantly. He’s obviously a learned man, well-educated and well-spoken, and though he wasn’t as warmly embraced by the courtiers at large, he was eventually welcomed into the king’s confidence as a royal advisor. The backing of the king being what it is, he’s accepted and respected as probably some sort of nobleman, regardless of his unclear origin, and continues to advise the king on matters of state.

Spectr (Transcendtale Sans): A wanderer, uprooted from his life and former kingdom and left to walk the land in search of meaning. Some say his kingdom was destroyed but for a small handful of survivors. Some say he turned to dark magic and sold his soul for the chance. to take revenge on the one who desolated his home. Some say he’s ageless, bones turned to cold iron and chest empty of breath to contain the power he now holds. …They’re all right. But his quest is long over, and all that’s left to do now is wander.

PapAIrus (Transcendtale Papyrus): He’s a proud knight of the kingdom! He may not have been in the Royal Guard when he was tragically cut down before his time, but he did come back from death as a ghostly semblance of himself at the same time everyone else did—and when your Captain is no longer worried that you might get yourself killed in battle because you already did, promotions are in order! So, he now serves his phantom kingdom as a phantom knight, valiantly and eagerly, but of course, taking time every now and then to visit his (mostly) living family member, to keep him from brooding too hard.

Xanth (Ascendswap Sans): It’s…slightly unclear what he does. He’s seemed strange for a time, a bit touched, but the queen seems to hold him in high esteem and never fails to consult him (among others) before any major decisions are made. Sometimes he’ll appear in unusual places with cryptic messages, or look into peoples’ eyes and divine their intentions (should they be ill ones), and for all this, though he holds no specific title, he’s at least informally called the court mystic. There are rumors that his strangeness and that of those closest to him is because he made contact and some sort of bargain with the faefolk…but those are surely just rumors.

Piper (Ascendswap Papyrus): The royal falconer, primary trainer, keeper, and handler of all the hawks and falcons owned by the queen. It wasn’t a job he was born into, but one he sought out of the blue one day, and he earned his way by demonstrating a remarkable affinity for the birds even prior to any training. By now he’s a figure of great respect for the command he has over the flighted beasts, and he happily demonstrates it during the queen’s feasts and king’s hunts.

Carmine (Underfell Fruition Sans): He’s earned his way at court with talent, performing dazzling displays of bullets and other magic for nobles and royals alike. He’s a standout from other such entertainers in that his well of magic never seems to run dry and he can keep showing off his juggling and his light shows and his dancing bullets from sun-up to sun-down without ever tiring. He doesn’t talk much about his life before coming to court, but he’s happy now so it’s just as well.

Tank (Underfell Fruition Papyrus): He was trained from a very young age to be a soldier, a paladin meant to fight in a holy war and raised to believe his greatest purpose was to die on the battlefield and bring glory to the cause. That all…never happened. He was freed from the grip of the zealots and reunited with the brother he hadn’t seen in ages, but then left at odds for what to do now—a warrior with no war to fight. Eventually he becomes apprenticed to a carpenter in town in the hopes of learning a trade to live on, and…he’s starting to be content.

Vi (Swapfell Fruition Sans): Spymaster to the crown, head of a small network of covert informants, assassins, thieves and the rest of their ilk. It was a career he…inherited…but also one he carried out diligently, carefully, and above all, secretly. At least, until his brother married and he left to join him in his new kingdom, where he serves much the same function at court—with the added responsibility of wrangling and occasionally nominally filling in for the crown prince. All according to plan.

Hunter (Swapfell Fruition Papyrus): He was in the same family business as his brother, but when he caught the eye of a visiting monarch and won an invitation to their kingdom, to marry, well… how could he refuse? And when, after an unsuspicious amount of time, his spouse is found dead under mysterious—but not too mysterious—circumstances, and no one from the proper line of succession seems to be coming to take their place… He really has no choice but to go from the prince consort to the crown prince, for the sake of his late spouse’s people. He’s far from a proper or responsible prince, and certainly has some kind of reputation, but he’s pleased enough with how everything’s going.

Kohl (Descendtale Sans): He minds the royal dungeons. It’s not what he started out doing, but somewhere along the way he lost the humor for anything else, and it’s as good a job as any. Not too many strangers make it into the kingdom these days, but plenty have foul intentions and it is something he takes some pride in, keeping watch over those ill-meaning outsiders and making sure they stay put, where they belong. He’s not the kindest of dungeon-keepers, but quite frankly, since when was ‘kindness’ part of that job description?

Bram (Descendtale Papyrus): His brother keeps the dungeon and he keeps the grounds. While a groundskeeper isn’t anything close to what he thought he’d want to be, a lot has happened—to him personally and to the kingdom as a whole—and well, he’s providing a very valuable service with his work, humble though it may be. Anyone with skin would have a horrid time pruning back all the wicked, cursed thorns that keep trying to consume the realm, and unchecked, they could probably run wild in less than a fortnight, where would they all be if he let that happen?

#anonymous #headcanons #court au #undertale #underswap #underfell #swapfell/fellswap #horrortale #undergloom #horrorfell #horrorswap #horrorswapfell #gastertale #transcendtale #ascendswap #underfell fruition #swapfell fruition #descendtale

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randomwriteronline · 5 months

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Bionicle and Plato's Cave: Mata Nui help us Random has been thinking again

HI. MY BRAIN HAS ONCE AGAIN BEEN SCRAMBLED. WHY DOES THIS KEEP HAPPENING.

A thing about stories is that there aren't really fully, one-hundred percent original ones. This is not a bad thing, it just happens.

Stories keep repeating one another whether we like it or not, maintaining their own identities through a variety of changes, and Bionicle repeats many, many stories within itself: you've got Polynesian mythos, fantasy epics, dystopian fiction, cosmic horrors, torahic and/or biblical episodes, a subversion of Pinocchio, an Odissey cut short... The works. I'm half certain one would manage to fit some parts of the Divine Comedy in there, probably.

But speaking of deeply allegorical works, the Organic Annal is that too - specifically bearing a resemblance to one of Greek philosopher Plato's most famous allegorical myths, that of the cave.

For those who do not know it, please have a simplistic bastardized version of its first half, which is the most relevant in this case:

A group of men have been, since birth, shackled within the deepest recesses of a cave. They are sat facing a wall upon which a fire casts the shadows of figurines (a tree, a donkey, a vase, etc) placed before it: this is all they've ever known, what they perceive to be reality. Imagine, then, that one of these prisoners manages to free themself from their restraints, and for the first time looks back. Thus they discover the figurines, the fire, and the lie they thought was truth; and though it would be easy to consider these new idols the "true" reality, the prisoner looks past them and sees that the cave stretches forward. As such they crawl through it until they reach the outside world: the sunlight forces their eyes down as they are not used to it yet, and their first taste of this new environment is a reflection in a puddle, or maybe a lake, wobbly and not quite clear. Only when they've accustomed to the Sun they can raise their head and properly discover the real world.

The myth of the cave is an allegory for the philosopher's quest in search of true knowledge, which resides not in the imperfect physical world, but in the perfect metaphysical realm of ideas.

This is not, necessarily, the allegory I believe the Innard Scoresheet represents.

The Biological Chronicle is, to me, a story about stories. About making stories, about being swept in the flow of a story, about recreating ourselves in stories over and over and over again.

I promise it will probably make more sense later.

But back to the point: the myth and the Flesh Record follow a similar structure and have a similar message. That is the thesis of this post until I inevitably get derailed again. Let's look at that.

In applying the steps (shadow, copy, reflection, reality) of the philosopher's journey towards enlightenment to the Meat Diaries, I'll do what Plato would bludgeon my head with a stick for and take them much more literally: the places described are physical ones, and the characters actively move between them. This is not because of any personal wish to specifically spite some dead Athenian fuck, but because that is literally what happens in the Entrail Annotations, whether through actual movement or changes of perspective.

The island of Mata Nui is of course the first step: shadows cast upon a cave wall.

There is a certain irony in this. Mata Nui shares the same allegorical location as the cave, yet physically is its complete opposite - an open space signaling the end of an enormous interconnected system of caves. The journey starts from the end. Great job everybody, we've found reality! This philosophy shit is easy.

But the island is still very much the cave. It looks prettier and livelier than the cave, but it's still a prison in which the Matoran have been confined with no chance of escaping; it's still cut off from the world at large, be it beneath it ir around it; it's still a place where beings who do not know any better blindly believe what is told to them. Only seven people know the truth (or what they believe to be the truth) and spin it in tales of shadow puppets: simplistic retellings full of gaps to fill with magic and terror and prophecies. The Turaga mean no harm - they had no way to know when or if they would have ever returned to Metru Nui, and it made no sense reminding the Matoran of a place they may end up agonizing to see without being able to - but it remains that Mata Nui is a cave, a prison of ignorance.

Things change after Mask of Light: shackles broken and door opened, the silver sea stretches before the Matoran and offers them a sight familiar yet different, more defined.

Metru Nui is the figurine, the copy held in front of the fire. It's the first introduction to the Matoran Universe proper, the first step towards the cave's exit. Here we see how the Matoran are supposed to work, how this sort of society is meant to function, and it... well, it sort of sucks the joy out of it, doesn't it? The soft edges of the figurine's shadow have been replaced by hard protodermis sides that leave no room to the imagination, letting us see the craftmanship clearly. And it's... it's kind of unpleasant. Kind of dull and mean and so... unmagical. I'd like the shadows again please. Those were nicer.

(Plato describes this exact happenstance in the philosopher's journey - upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

Or perhaps this step is not Metru Nui itself, but the Turaga's recollection of it. The city they knew is now gone, abandoned to itself and rotting miserably alone for a thousand years, and yet they still cling to that pristine image their minds have sculpted for it, forgetting details, crafting imperfect copies of its reality: their own stories place it in a time before time, turn it as they say in a "city of legends", of great minds and a great hero and a strange tension pervading it that they might not consciously recognize. This is their basis for the stories they told, and they believe it to be the truth. It is not. The truth is deeper behind them.

The Matoran Universe as a whole is a reflection in the water. We've gotten out of that cave, but it's still too bright and our eyes can't adapt quickly enough: this will have to do for now.

But what is it a reflection of? A body? That's a given, since the whole thing is housed inside one. Yet this body does not behave like a body, its organs don't act like organs. They are landmarks and settlements, and there are species and parties involved in their own more or less treacherous businesses, and death is everywhere and seldom spares anybody, and evil isn't a singular incomprehensible thing but many perfectly identical pieces, and everything is happening all the time and I would like a break. Please. I can't handle all of this. It's too close to how everything already is. Let's go back to the figurines. They were worse than the shadows, but not to this extent. Please. I just don't want to see the bad guys win. I just don't want to see my friends die.

(Upon seeing something closer to the truth one might feel repelled and want to return to simpler times. But we persevere. We must.)

The Matoran Universe is a terrible place, but it's still far away. The edges are wobbly when the surface shifts: the stakes are universal in size, the rivalries are exaggerated, the situations are fantastical, the evil so terrible and terribly simple. It does what it does because it simply does it, and after all why else should it do it? In its increasing complexity it's still simple and sometimes a bit silly. It's still dolls that you can hold in your hand to make fly around.

As @sepublic mentions briefly here, Bara Magna is by contrast just so human. Before the big bombastic Rock-Em-Sock-Em Jumbo Edition ending and peeling away the sci-fi elements, these are stories of people trying to live. This is reality.

People are sleazy. People have priorities that not always include the well-being of other being put first. People are evil for reasons beyond just "power" or "money" or "why not". Strakk is a massive selfish bastard and also he is the one motherfucker who gets me because to be very honest I too would not want to wade through a desert crawling with quicksand and huge bat winged serpents and raptor riding marauders and spartans so bloodthirsty they don't even name their children until they make a new body count record without being paid well enough. Mata Nui's idealized honor makes him a complete anomaly because nobody is a prince in shining armor here. They're all covered in bones and doing their best not to start a war again.

Even his quest, despite what it entails and how solemnly he presents it and the information we as readers have (his identity as a usurped god exiled from his own body), is surprisingly real - in fact, his struggle is actually the same as Kiina's: both of them are strangers to the region suddenly separated from their people during a time of great strife and desperately wanting to reunite with them. The difference being that while Kiina had no chance to do such a thing, Mata Nui was built to fix both of their problems.

This is what the Matoran Universe is made in the image of. And while it very much deviated across time, the core of it remained the same: elemental tribes and variegated species caught in a dance of death, biting each other's tails endlessly.

This is the world the MU beings find once fully free. It's rough, but they've been through something like this before.

They'll handle it.

They always have.

That is the will of the Non-Mineral Journal.

Of Bionicle, the story-that-ended.

BUT.

Not necessarily of Bionicle, the story-that-does-not-end.

Now we are getting into "Random Experiences Getting The Brain Scrubbed By The Hard Back Of A Sponge And Makes It The Problem Of Everybody Listening To The Inane Yelling" territory. I'm talking walking into headcanon if not straight up just fanfiction territory. Possibly also sensible speculation but I don't know how to tell. Please do come smack me if you feel it is needed.

It's wild that Bionicle has managed to endure for what now (2024) are 23 years. The endless rebuildable possibilities intrinsic to being a LEGO product have certainly helped, but at the same time I really do feel like it wouldn't have held this strongly without its story.

I will admit I'm not a building kind of person. I had some ancient LEGO bricks when I was little and what I usually did with them was stacking them in a really tall line and try to keep it upright until they fell and scattered like lemmings booking it for a cliff. Getting into Bionicle would have never been possible for me had my dear beautiful friend @cantankerouscanuck not innocently dropped me links to Legends of Metru Nui, Web of Shadows, and the Crosswired Geeks website asking if I could have please considered skimming through it. This was back in september 2023. These pieces of plastic have been irreversibly fucking up my brain for nine months, and it was only possible because the plot and characters were written in a way that actively sunk its teeth into my skull and did an alligator death spin so potent that I'm still reeling from it, thinking about it.

I do think that's one of the main reasons why it's still going, why people still talk about it. It lives on through fans who still look at all the enormous potential left by the gaps and holes in the story and work on them, analyze them, make their own versions of them. So this second section is about that part of Bionicle, the story that just does not end, carried on by others.

So back to the point, what actually kickstarted this entire line of thought (the Squishy Note and the allegory of the cave are sort of the same lol) was a headcanon I have about the characters that have been actually missing from this analysis: the Great Beings.

You Know.

The Guys Who Kickstarted Every Single Thing, And Notably Continuously Did All Of It Wrong.

From my own prior knowledge I had understood that they are all Glatorian, and I just learned that they also were, apparently, given their incredible weird fucked up mental powers that made them into godly creatures by a space octopus.

I am going to take both pieces of information and discard them.

There is nothing necessarily wrong with them, except maybe coming from the leftest field available like a sack of granite to the face, but I feel like this kind of explanation for who and what they are isn't really satisfactory to me specifically. It does fit with the allegory of the cave still, technically - they are part of the real world, the ones who created every layer of detachment from it on purpose (somebody must have shackled those prisoners at the bottom of the cave, after all) and have managed to get to a higher level of reality still, following the platonic quest for knowledge into something that resembles the iperuranium, the perfect metaphysical world in which ideas reside.

But also... I'd like for there to be a limit to how higher we can go, you know? Into the cosmic horror? Because everything is cosmic horror in the Doctor's Report already. We live on a god's face. We live in a god's body. We are a god's cells. Our universe is a tiny manmade action figure in a larger universe. Our god is just a synthetic soul. The real older gods made it and sent it around to do their bidding. Also they're all gonna kill us when we figure out our universe is fake. Cosmic horror. Cosmic horror for miles. These are fucking LEGOs. Why is there so much existentialism in them.

So yeah, at the cost of sounding boring the psychic octopus from outer space might be a little bit too far for my personal tastes.

This does not mean I am immune to adding onto the cosmic horror.

Because my personal interpretation of who/what they are still adds onto the cosmic horror.

It just doesn't also include "giant aquatic fauna with psychic powers" in the already very large salad of sentient sapient species who have stakes in this universe, because I think we have enough of those.

So what is my platonic ideal form for them?

The Great Beings are human beings. Straight up just people. They're the readers, the players, the writers, the designers, the creators and tellers of the chronicle itself - they have this immense dominion over everything around them because they are the origin of everything around them in a sense, but their constant failings make sense because for all the influence and power they are still human, and that makes them very, very fallible. I mean, mr Greg "I will rewire your brain chemistry forever with some of the best stuff you'll read as a kid, and also for undiscernible reasons doors aren't canon" Farshtey would be one of them. Things make a lot of sense.

(this is impossible in Stone Cold Canon by the way and I am aware, because if we got to properly see the Great Beings they would have needed to be products to sell, but this is not a matter of probability it's a matter of Vision. like can you imagine how fucking cool would have been a Bonkle movie where the characters finally meet the Great Beings face to face and when it happens the style just completely shifts from 3D animation to a stop-motion and live-action combo with the Great Beings played by people and the characters portrayed by their actual sets with all of the lack of expression and stiff hands and all. do you see it. im about to blow up)

And so, we return to the allegory.

What are the shadows on the wall? Are they still the Turaga's tales? Then shouldn't they be their memories, as well? Everything that comes out of their mouth is hazy either with nostalgia or simplification, and none of it can be real. Yet they present it as such, because to them it is. Their ignorance is the same as the Matoran's, but they do not grasp it because they can't. Mata Nui to them is not the cave, it's the reflection in a lake: an imperfect mirror of reality. They cannot see the fire nor the figurines.

They are the figurines. Man-made creations confined under artificial light in a vast underground system, as large as a whole galaxy and yet so small, so isolated, so far back into the cave they are never meant to know anything other than. The shadows were their own but they can't realize that, and they can't realize they themselves are copies. The Matoran Universe is a puppet show that Teridax shuts down as he takes its reigns: he banishes its fire, Mata Nui (who is a gnostic Demiurge, a god made by gods demanding worship despite its falsehood - another copy not fully aware of being a copy) and shuts the entrance, plunging it all into darkness. No more knowledge. It is not something dolls need, after all.

Bara Magna is not the last step. It is not yet reality, not yet the truth. It's closer, much closer, but it's not: it's the lake, the puddle, the reflection that distorts when something is thrown into it. The stakes are more realistic, the characters and motivations, but not yet real. There is still a layer of separation: the elemental powers, the alien setting, the strange beasts, the supernatural history, the secrets pointing to things much bigger and more fantastical than anything reality could be, the way it is cut short by no fault of its own. What does it reflect? It's not the Matoran Universe, since that is a model based on Bara/Spherus Magna. It's not Mata Nui, because that is an attempt at recreating what the Matoran Universe was, at least in part. So... Is it the real world? Our, world?

It must be.

The Great Beings (us, the players and readers and writers and artists) shaped all of this. This universe is their creation, their work, and it is based on what they know, on their reality, because all stories are.

Maybe it was a story as close to real as possible that turned fantastic and wild until it became mythical, or maybe it was a simple story that grew so complex and grounded that it became life-like. It doesn't matter. It's a long story, a really, really long one, and maybe they're tired of it, or maybe they don't know what to do with it, or maybe they just think it has run its course, or maybe... Maybe they don't know how to tell it again. Tell it like this again.

So... I guess the thing to do is clean up.

Full tabula rasa.

And once we're done we can take these figurines we still have left, the last proof of all this immense work, this spiraling dive into who and what we are, how we function, how we create, how we imitate and recreate ourselves in fictional worlds that are our own and yet completely alien over and over, and make new ones. Distorted reflections that become imperfect copies to place before a fire so that their shadows can play out a new story upon a cave wall, for those same dolls to believe they are real.

God I got sidetracked severely

#bionicle #random talks #HELLO this took me TWO DAYS to write and i somehow reached conclusions i hadnt thought of during the writing process. Help Me #it also brought me Thoughts about g2 that i need to write down in a fic Right Now. it is Fucking Late In The Night. Shit.#also i finished this while watching an in-depth analysis of Emesis Blue (tf2 psych-horror movie) thats TWO HOURS LONG and very interesting #just to give you an idea of my current state #anyways its a mess. enjoy.

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bozzowl · 23 days

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hey can i request for headcannons for a scarab x higher up reader and how he is such a simp for them

Alrighty! Higher up YN x Scarab HEADCANNONS! :D

Ok, so I’m assuming that YN is higher than Scarab’s position and might be in the disciplinary department so…

Higher up YN:

• as a YN, their position or role can vary depending on the request.

• Possible job positions: a member of the Judgement Hall, could be an Attorney, or Orbo’s right hand (or Big Boss’s right hand?). Could also be a parole officer, Lieutenant, detective, or one of the Big Boss’s Agents. YN could be the person Scarab has to hand over the Egged individuals to for processing…

- I’m not entirely sure of the hierarchy, but YN could be any position, even a Cosmic FBI of sorts. It depends on what you guys request.

• Like Scarab’s Crystal, you guys get a winged orb that functions similarly.

• you guys can use the pendant for more complex disguises

• depending on how you want YN, they could either be a friend of Orbo’s or Orbo could fear them due to him bending the rules (like for Prismo or threatening Scarab for example)

• You guys are basically seen as super cool and can go on James Bond level missions for more major crimes and investigations.

• YN could possibly be undercover to find out if the gods are bending cosmic rules and could act on it depending on the intentions and severity

•or YN can be more laid back like Orbo and just keeps track of Scarab’s missions, could also be the person who sends him the missions directly.

Scarab X YN Higher up:

• relationship could be kept secret due to work related reasons or it could be open, depending on the request.

• Scarab likes to meet up with YN on the way to the judgement hall to talk about his missions. May even show who he has egged and share gossip about the reason behind the misdemeanors

• Scarab likes to stop by your office EVERY TIME he comes by to drop off delinquents for Judgement

• Sometimes you are tasked with joining Scarab in missions depending on the violation. (Sometimes he exaggerates a little in hopes that they send you… and specifically asks for you…)

• you end up with flirty E-mails from him, often sent as an attachment to the report he gives you. You could be responsible for reviewing the reports for record and court purposes.

• your favorite snack on your desk, every day.

• if you’re on your day off, wherever you hangout at, Scarab would find excuses to be there too. Pretending he happens to be going that way specially just so he can see you and talk to you

• investigations together

• will act more professional than usual around you, even going as far as to check his breath and outfit to make sure he looks good when seeing you.

• Scarab wears cologne around you, might even try on your favorite scent if you like it

• even when he’s busy, he texts you

• insists on having a picture of you and him together, each pic with a different form of his. His reason being that he can “pretend you’re his spouse for mission purposes” for “cover stories” to make his disguise more believable. When it’s actually just so he can get away with looking at pictures of you two together without blowing his cover during missions.

• Scarab will arrange candle lit dinners for YN

• Scarab could bring YN flowers, usually red roses. YN may occasionally come home to a rose petal trail to their bedroom… 👀

• YN can get involved to help Scarab when he’s in too deep and needs help

• YN puts a good word in for Scarab after the Fiona and Cake incident

• even after the incident, YN visits Scarab and they read fan fiction together. Where Scarab writes them either as two warrior knights who fall in love after many dark souls-like quests together… OR he writes you as the person in distress and he comes to rescue you in the most dramatic way. (May or may not be Shakespeare inspired…)

• scarab would rescue you if you needed it

• He shows YN his face more often, feels more comfortable and himself around YN

• He will ask YN to join him for a Steak out. Could be legit or an excuse to sit alone in a car with you… 👀

• He speaks highly of you, even defending you behind your back

• He shivers and makes bug noises when he thinks of you, like when a person gets goosebumps a shiver down your spine in a good way kind of way.

• only you can dance with him, especially if dancing in bug terms can be used for courtship

• he brings you a dung ball every spring (for obvious reasons…)

• he will fight for you and gets pissed if someone hurts his precious YN

#fanfics #fiona and cake #bugdaddy #fanart #adventure time #villains with nice thighs #idont need it but i want it #x reader #Bug Daddy simping for YN #scarab adventure time #the scarab #scarab the god auditor #scarab x reader #scarab fionna and cake #scarab #higher up reader

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silviakundera · 10 months

Text

Underrated aspect of A Journey to Love is how the ensemble's perspective is being widened & complicated by their experiences. Intro talks about a war that just ended between An and Wu. An are assholes, going around kicking everyone's ass for $$

First the spy squad from Wu country just want to complete 1 stupid doomed mission, in order to clear their sworn brothers' names who fell in the final battle. No real agenda or deep thoughts besides this personal obligation and Employee Following Orders. Avengers assemble! Our FL Ren Ruyi is on the run and was a Scarlet Guard spy member from enemy country An who are holding the Wu emperor hostage... but the Wu spy chief ML does only a spot of mild torture and basically tolerates this secret because (a) he's determined to retire and (b) she is retired (c) her identity doesn't match any know big enemy of his spy org and the state. But he doesn't want her around.

... record scratch: He compromises. Ok. I do want her around. I won't get attached but ok, she's helpful. I'll even trust her to mentor the princess as we travel to rescue the Wu emperor.

She is only a tutor, though! Won't get her involved in his country's buisness.

Yet then she joins a battle and risks her life to save a bunch of theirs. Ok, ML widens his POV again. She can be their partner!

Everyone loves the mysterious friendly & feral assassin.

Then the squad finds out her identity and tries to kill her. His defense of her inclusion in the group has expanded: (a) her identity doesn't match any known enemy of his spy org and the Wu state, (b) she saved our lives, and crucially (c) she Isn't Born in An Country [isn't truly An] + (d) she was working at the command of her superiors just like we do, a cog in the war machine, and also only killed shitty members of our spy org we don't like

Ok. Now she's on the team. ML & FL are dating now and all the kids ship it. There is 1 (one) Scarlet Guard enemy county spy they accept and support.

But at the same time, she's begun to care about them in return. And we're really IN IT now.

Let's mentor the princess and throw shade on the Wu emperor, considering how our actions matter & how powerful people affect the average person. Caring for the citizens of Wu. They deserve better than their ruling class.

Being generally supportive & respectful of Ren Ruyi's love for the fallen An empress and RR's quest to avenge her.

The Wu delegation willing to (tentatively) ally with RR's former disciple, a marquis of An.

An marquis revealed to have gone against orders to respectfully bury the bodies of their Wu soldier friends, because in his view all loyal soliders deserve it.

The Wu delegation digging up the bodies of their dead friends, to give them a final send off, and mastering their grief to wrench it back from turning into hatred of the An people - focusing their rage and hate on selish & war hungry leaders, not the soliders and generals ordered to fight.

The focus of their resentment now turned to the right direction, expands their thinking & their plotting to have a consideratiom for all the residents of An and Wu, a care for humankind. An citizens are no longer the automatic enemy. ML tells the emperor of Wu to go fuck himself, directly to his face.

Caring about injustice done to some Scarlet Guards and wanting to save active !! "innocent" Scarlet Guard lives. (So far from the starting point! No background check to validate that X, Y, Z don't apply to these people. No rejection of the ML by the delegation or threats for daring to care about a random Scarlet Guard's life or death.) I sure hope the An emperor pays big for being bad at his job, but we gotta be careful about how we deal with him and not mess up An for the nice jewelry makers & brothel workers who live there.

"Having compassion doesn't mean irresolute."

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merriclo · 2 months

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(Switching to asks because it's easier and idk how you feel about dms) Like yeah man it is INSANE how the fandom treats Hylia. None of the Links but Wild and Sky (maybe Warriors, since he was exposed to Skyloft) should even really know who she is in the first place, much less hate her on a first name basis (although I'll admit I can't remember if she's ever mentioned in the comic)

And also actual people that hate her I just. Do not understand. Like for one there's a non zero chance that once Zelda dies Hylia does too there is NOTHING saying she ascends back to godhood or whatever. And for two nothing she did was actually wrong? Her plan in Skyward Sword went off the rails pretty much immediately- like seriously she's not done a single thing that wasn't helpful (since her only other appearance is blessing Link in botw/totk), unless not personally smiting Ganondorf counts (and for the record her job is literally triforce protection, lending more credence to the death theory)

i’m totally fine with DMs but asks are just as good plus i think there needs to be more conversation around this

people hate Hylia so much because like. apparently she gives out the quests and demands that the Links fight and get super traumatized and upset. and it’s like. okay (A) i cannot remember if that was ever explicitly stated in canon outside of like??? prophecies where Link is destined to do that???? and (B) i thought Link and the surfacing of a hero is tied to great evils across Hyrule cropping up. not some divine whim where Hylia is like “hey twig boy go fight evil incarnate. thanks!” please correct me if im wrong but i really don’t think Hylia is making Legend’s boat get struck my lightning again and sending him off to Koholint to experience the wackiest situationship ever

i understand maybe having some animosity against her due to the lines in the chosen hero manga but also hey guys that was in the middle of a war. and from a man who was tortured for like. ever. idk man

#justice for hylia man she’s a cool concept and character #and some of the links hating her could be cool #if it weren’t so half baked most of the time :/

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kiivg · 11 months

Note

i looove the art u did of ur V in that hammock bed with the screens in the background and Jackie below, but what's ur V up to exactly? is he editing the recordings? whats his job?

.Tysm!!!! My V, Gianluca Vargas, is part of my 3Vs AU, so he’s not my main V canonically, but he’s probably the one I like playing the most because I get to run around in flashy suits and kiss Takemura 💋. My actual V is Gianluca’s ex, and Sunny’s half-sister (never going to play as her, I just need someone to be mean to Johnny, be hardcore pro-Arasaka, and then die at the end.)

.So his job is basically an AI (or digital idk) sex worker kind of thing, (idk if that’s what a Brain Dance is because they’re confusing af), where he basically controls a private area of the net that’s his own, and caters mostly to rich clientele. He has default programs that he’s made himself which the AIs run on and he can dip in and out to control them to make the whole situation more personal. On the picture he’s controlling LynchMO8 as his main, but he’s running three others at the same time, and recording BeccaMO6 for further purposes (maybe blackmail, maybe to sell on to others as a separate BD experience). Essentially, hardly anyone knows he’s the one who’s running the whole operation, and WHY would they, he’s a scumbag Valentino from The Glen harhar. Each one of the AIs has Cerdita tattooed however (that’s his left hand, which is basically an AI in its own right,) so it’s like his brand I guess? But I think I called his business Mañana Vices?

.Gianluca is also low-key obsessed with Delamain, and the way he controls and entire fleet of vehicles with little to no issue, (until the big old quest, which maybe I solely concentrated on so I could get all the dialogue of Delamain rediscovering everything again hehehe..) So he runs as many AIs as he can, and has five sockets in his head where he can jack straight into things. He’s never going to be Delamain (as much as he wants to be) but he’s going to keep trying.

.He’s definitely a skilled Netrunner, and the majority of his money came from hacking companies and stealing it, so he could support his sister as she went through the training to become a member of Trauma Team. But then he was like “Huh I LIKE money” so he just kept stealing. He is the one who does all the netrunning in my 3Vs, like he helps to catch the Peter Pan guy for River, helps to interrogate Anders before Takemura shows up, actually probably does 80% of Takemura’s questline because V is too busy elsewhere.

.The link with Jackie is literally that Jackie was really close to V, and she and Gianluca were mostly sweethearts growing up and then she went corporate, and now they’re just friends with benefits. Which is basically if she needs something hacking, she’ll just rock up and things go from there. So him and Jackie are like acquaintances, but they’re close enough to just chill out together every so often, I don’t think he and Misty get along though since she read his tarot and hit a little too close to home. Plus I like to think that Gianluca has a dad who’s sweet on Mama Welles hehehe.

.Anyway, on the subject of Gianluca, here’s a little kind of smutty thing of him and Takemura 👹💋💕. (Also I’m posting off my phone so maybe the formatting is awful.).

When the knock came at the side of his van, Takemura was quick to gather his weapon, finger hovering over the trigger, concealed within the darkness of his vehicle. His mind had slipped elsewhere, thinking through the realities of what they were planning to do, what they had to do, and how it could very easily go so wrong. He keeps his mouth closed, trying to discern footsteps from the heavy patter of rain, waiting for the intruder to either pass along or open fire. There was every chance it was a drunkard in the night, and every other chance that it was a bounty hunter seeking his head. He steadies himself as he had been trained to do, slowing his breath, slowing his heart rate. It had been done a thousand times before, waiting to strike like a viper in the shadows.

The knock appears at his window, a pale shroud of a man slapping a flat palm against the dirtied glass. He points with a finger to the locking mechanism with the same hand, his other raised above his head, holding a jacket aloft to keep himself somewhat dry. The man knocks again, more urgently, gesturing somewhat wildly to the rain that pelts him from above, before trying the door handle futilely. Takemura can see the man’s lips moving, glinting in reflected city light; but the words he could not hear.

It takes a moment, far longer than just a moment, for Takemura’s eyes to adjust to the way the lights of Night City dazzle upon the pale shroud, illuminating him in a halo of advertising pinks and purples, to recognise him; V’s netrunner. The one she has saved in her holo as “Gives Good Head”. A fact Goro had not wanted to know, and yet, it was a thought hooked into the back of his head every time he had seen the man. With a golden triangle tattooed onto plump lips, a set of golden teeth behind them, always fiddling with something; a cigarette, the nails of his organic hand, the straw of an ungodly sweetened drink he had already drank and thrown away, putting anything he could between those lips to keep them busied.

Takemura lets him in.

A button pressed and the door unlocks, he leans over to pull the handle, unlatching and leaving it open just a touch. His weapon is slipped quietly into his holster, safety back on, and he removes what debris he can from the passenger seat. Old papers from a previous owner, a corporate magazine with Yorinobu’s face plastered across it, the wrappers of several burgers he would not willingly admit to eating. There is a fumble as the man, Luca, climbs in, jostling a vinyl bag into Takemura’s lap, and slamming the van door behind him with a heavy sigh. The bottom of it is dripping with rainwater, no doubt left on the floor as he had tried to beg his way into the safety of the vehicle.

Gianluca’s cheeks are flushed, from the cold or the rain, but with the heavier breaths Takemura assumes he had been running. “Were you followed?” He asks, fingers pressed to the ignition. He glances in the mirrors, and then in the screens that show him the rear of the vehicle and the sides consecutively. Nothing but the rain and all that accompanies it.

“What? No, it’s fucking raining,” Gianluca gestures to the outside, “mierda.” He squirms in the passenger seat, attempting to swipe the rain from his impromptu umbrella-cum-jacket, soaked through, and trying to pull the fabric of his slacks away from where they cling to his skin, also soaked through. If Takemura was a man of lesser standing it would be hard to tear his eyes away from the sight, and yet, he doesn’t, knowing that would be far more suspicious than simply staring. Rather he replaces his confusion with a frown, silently chastising the younger man for his shuffling and wiggling as he tries to readjust himself into a comfier situation.

Gianluca was wearing white. Or a close enough colour to it. In the low light of the rearview screen it looks green, and when an advert for Us Cracks billows brightly above Night City it turns pink. Yet it remains white in Takemura’s mind; white slacks, white jacket, white shirt; all wet and now significantly opaque, offset with black and gold waistcoat, tie and shoes. And with a glance down, black underwear, visible now, thanks to the sudden onset of heavy rain. If the man notices Takemura staring, he says nothing, only settles in his seat apologetically, trying to steady his uneven breaths.

“I bought coffee, and food,” he gestures to the bag, a peace offering, a patterned red thing, “I figured you should stop trying to find Japan in Night City, so I got patatas bravas, empanadas, tamales, and churros, for after.” He takes foil lined boxes out of the bag as he speaks, shaking each one to hear the rattle of food before he discerns what it is. It does not go unnoticed that the churros are placed closer to himself than Takemura, the man’s incessant sweet tooth staking a claim on the sugary snacks. Each box leaves a small ring of steam on the inside window, fighting valiantly against the chill of the weather outside.

“I am not hungry.” Takemura lied, returning his gaze to the building opposite, thinking back to the task at hand, and not of Gianluca’s spread position as he plucks at the fabric between his thighs. From the way he sits, each inch of clothing is either a creased hill of bunched fabric, or a damp puddle of tattooed skin blended beneath a synthetic silk mix.

He glances back to Gianluca when the man lurches forward, tugging off the waistcoat and unknotting his tie. He hangs his jacket from the back of his headrest, the van rocking as he turns to check and see there was nothing back there that would cause it damage. His waist coat is next, and his tie is rolled up, held in his tight fists until water droplets run down into the cuffs of his shirt, and then placed on the shoulder of his seat. Part of Takemura wants to chastise the man for taking over a space that was not his, and the other part, the part which likes knowing the three words V had resigned the man to, likes watching tattooed hands run across the damp shirt, wrinkles smoothed, pulled taut and damp over hardening nipples.

“You don’t have to eat now, Takemura, but it’s good food, and I promised abuelita I’d, you know,” he gestures limply and without definition, grabbing the bag and setting the boxes back inside. He hesitates with the small box of churros, lamenting the treat he would have to leave in the hands of another man. It’s something to distract him, focusing on the smell of the food, and then the strong bitterness of brewed coffee as Gianluca pulls the decorated flask out. Without his optics he cannot smoothly translate the words carved in Spanish, but the small upturn of Luca’s lips tells him they were written fondly.

It’s more of a planned picnic than an impromptu dash around the streets for something that resembles a meal. Homemade, Takemura thinks, a twitch in his stomach that can’t decide whether to swell with affection or curdle with jealousy. His own grandmother had raised him as a child, before Arasaka, and he can see love in the way Gianluca handles the boxes, the flask, the way he pours coffee from it and into the small cups. Abuelita, he thinks, trying to conjure an image that would suit the title, trying to figure out how Night City had bred a woman who would give her fully grown grandson, a thief, a ganger, and more even, a perfectly wrapped meal and send him out on his way knowing full well that he had his own concealed weapons at hand.

The coffee itself is stronger than he would have liked, and it burns a trail down his chest when he drinks it. Gianluca himself, drops in three pill capsules to his own, and they fizz as they disintegrate, black coffee now swirling with little flecks of pink and blue. A puddle of the night sky held in his palm. He declines one of them when Gianluca offers, smiling to himself when the man drops the fourth in; muttering to himself about how it is only sugar.

It is more than sugar, V had told him when they had met in Tom’s Diner, concentrated and synthetically made. Absurdly sweet, to the point that it made her gag when she had first tried one. Gianluca split the pills himself, one capsule held the contents of three. Different flavours to make one overall combination of saccharine granules. An abomination, Takemura had thought, wondering how he felt as if he could now smell that over the bitterness of his own drink.

“You have told your grandmother about me?” Takemura asks, glancing back at the red bag, placed closely in the rear of the van. How much? He wonders at first; Saburo-sama’s failed bodyguard, an Arasaka outlaw, a rat from Chiba 11 who was given everything and failed his only purpose.

“No,” Gianluca says, sighing as he swallows a gulp of coffee, shrugging as the warmth blooms in his chest too, “well, just a little.” His smile is coquettish as he glances over, cradling his plastic mug in hand, blowing the steam as it rises to his lips.

“You should not have done this, anyone who knows-” Takemura starts.

“Is at risk, si, si, I said you’re a friend of a friend who’s a little run down.” His worries are not dissuaded off by Gianluca’s limp wave, nor by the way he shrugs out his admittance. “Anyway, she’ll be pissed if you don’t try some.” He points a thumb at the food, raising his brows in a way that relayed his message in all seriousness.

For a moment Takemura feels a pang of something in his gut, a slight worry over disappointing the faceless figment of a grandmother of the man beside him, over being judged by the same woman. The pang sets in the scales of his stomach, balanced out by Gianluca’s behaviour, which tells him that the younger man had spoken of him fondly enough that said grandmother had made him the equivalent of a packed lunch. Or perhaps she was simply like that, perhaps Gianluca was simply like that. Helpful; and in Night City? The words don’t sit comfortably together.

“A friend of a friend?” He asks, sipping at his coffee, watching the way Gianluca swirls his own by tipping his wrist, stirring the sugar as he pours himself a second cup. Personally, he didn’t believe that friend of a friend described him accurately enough. He wasn’t friends with V. Their relationship was one of purely business. She had seen what had happened at Konpeki, and Takemura needed her statement. There was little more to it.

But Gianluca, he hadn’t been there. Takemura didn’t need the man. And yet, throwing him from his van hadn’t even crossed his mind. Granted, his mind could easily excuse it; Gianluca was an exceptional netrunner, the man had skills and a certain know-how of a great many things that neither V nor Takemura knew how to do. Even V had explained to him, if there was a way of getting Gianluca to the parade float without danger, he’d be able to hack it without the daemon that Takemura had purchased, and he’d probably do it faster than V could upload it. But he was a coward, his chosen implants spoke to that, and was mostly useless in a firefight.

He would be useful in other, more specific ways, is what V had told him, as she had first shared his contact information. Not that Takemura had been tech savvy enough to be able to change the name of him, and with his pride and previous blunders, hadn’t asked anyone to help him to do so.

So he remains, Gives Good Head.

And if Takemura had to explain that to anyone, he’d struggle beyond what was reasonable. Because there would be no way for him to know either way, despite the flirtatious nature of the man, despite the way he mouthed at everything and anything he could. Takemura couldn’t simply just ask; and there sits the struggling thought, because he didn’t know what he would ask, specifically. If he questioned the title, then Gianluca would either have to lie, or be believed to be lying, or demonstrate if the monicker lived up to standard.

“You did not mention V?” Takemura asks, holding his dwindling cup out to be refilled, staring at the black liquid as it decants, eyes flickering from it to Luca’s hand, to the damp collar of his shirt, to the way his hair dries awkwardly around the face. He can see the soft whirring of cybernetics on his pupils, a dimly lit gold as he runs through whatever data breach he explores.

“Why would I? She doesn’t like her, she’s not making any of this for someone like V,” he offers another smile, plump lips pulled taut, “just accept the food, Takemura, not everything needs to be dissected.” He holds up his own cup, tapping it against Takemura’s, before downing it himself. He hums in undecided agreement, staring at the steam that rises from his cup. Perhaps it did need dissecting. If Gianluca couldn’t hack the float by himself, more or less even have a reason to do so, why was he still here? Bringing coffee and food like this was something else, as if they weren’t scouting for information on the parade floats, as if he was a friend of a friend.

From the corner of his eye he can see Gianluca readjusting himself, pulling at the crotch of his slacks, picking at the damp fabric. Thumb held behind his belt as he stops it from digging into his gut, trying to relax and ignoring the squelch of wet fabric against wet fabric as he moves.

He was handsome, Takemura knew this, Takemura had seen this. Takemura knew that Gianluca also knew he was handsome too. It had been easy to see the way he had flirted with those around them, with street food vendors and passersby, with the NCPD when they got a little too suspicious, a tilt to his hips, a wink, his tongue pressing against that golden triangle. Like a peacock, he thought. Brightly fanned tail feathers like a shield around him. Takemura held reserve on it all, trying not to think of the contact on his holo, trying not to look when Gianluca raised his hips to pluck his slacks from where they uncomfortably cling to his arse.

“You and V have a history?” Takemura asks. He already knew, her holo contact, but there was more behind it. Which meant there was more to all this, and Gianluca was wrong; this did need to be dissected. Because if she was paying him, then that meant she might be paying others, and that was an endless list of people who might know where Takemura was. And if not that, then blackmail, if V had something to hold over Gianluca, surely the man, coward or not, would find a way out of the trap she had set for him.

“Si.” He admits, thumping back down into his seat with a bounce, angling himself to the side so he could look at Takemura head on. He sits on one side of his hips, legs crossed at the ankles, his clothes were drier now. Still damp, still smelling of Night City’s rain water, but less see-through, whiter now.

“If there is more to this, then I would like to know.” Takemura explains, his voice lowering a tone, trying to convey the words he didn’t want to speak. “If it could affect what we aim to do.” He adds.

“Are you asking professionally or…”

“Yes.” He says quickly, not wanting to entertain the idea of this being anything but business. There had been many within Arasaka’s training camps who had felled their own training over a lover, over quick trysts in silent corners. Takemura had not been one of them. Where the urge arose he squashed it down, and when he couldn’t deny himself any longer, when his body thrummed with arousal and desire, when heat and sex and lust dropped off of him like sweat, like an overfilled cup of coffee, like rainwater off a white suit, he pushed it down again. Further, deeper, and restrained himself mentally in ways that would so often break other men.

Takemura had patience and willpower, an uncanny ability to simply deny the part of him that wanted to lose himself with another for just a few moments. A few moments back then would have cost him a lifetime, a few moments now; he dared not entertain, and yet-

“We had a thing back when we were teenagers, she was my first proper output, gave me my first blowjob a couple blocks from here,” Gianluca’s words fall so unapologetically from his tongue, wet and organic in a self imposed gilded cage of teeth, “she got a job with Arasaka, I stayed in the Glen, we fuck when she gets a little homesick.” Takemura has to chew on his own tongue, he was homesick, he was only a couple blocks from a couple blocks away, he was trapped in his own vehicle with a gilded man dripping onto the centre console, talking about fucking a woman, talking about giving head, giving Good head.

“And you two are…” He clears his throat awkwardly, unwilling to say the next words. Because Gianluca was beautiful, and V was beautiful, and Takemura’s hormonal balance regulators had been turned off along with everything else, and he had unwittingly grown used to them thrumming away in his body, limiting the things he had taught himself to deny naturally.

“Are you asking professionally? Because I’m sitting in your van, in this pinche clima, in this soaked suit, and compiling all the information I can get off the Arasaka compound; and I’m not doing it just to get that puta to ride my dick.” Gianluca inches over, leaner closer, lowering his voice from where it had been raised in disbelief and annoyance. “There are easier ways to… mierda, Takemura, pa ti. That’s why.” He jabs a finger in Takemura’s direction, pointedly enough that he looks down, and then back up into Gianluca’s eyes. Golden lines turning as he tries, fails, to connect with Takemura’s own disabled optics, a hitch in the download as he turns his gaze back to the building beyond them.

He readjusts himself again as he sits back in the passenger seat, and Takemura’s gaze does not flee his form, not immediately. Because perhaps he had fooled himself, and he was a lesser man than he thought he was, because now the only image in his head was V writhing in Gianluca’s lap, head thrown back, arched and panting and wanton and brimming with lust and decorated with sweat. And so easily does she fade, replaced by his own body.

A part of him laments the image, laments the desire to take Gianluca’s cock in hand and press it inside of himself, and so he turns back to the building in the distance. Because it should be the other way around, he should have Luca on him, his status would demand it. He could not debase himself in front of a lesser man, a younger man, to give his most intimate parts up so freely to someone like Gianluca. A larger part of him doesn’t care, because the images playing in his mind increase twofold. Of being inside of Luca, of being on top of Luca, of being underneath Luca, of being spread legged with wide tattooed shoulders under his thighs, and a mouth, lips tattooed, tongue organic, teeth gilded, pressed open against his cock.

“I knew it was going to rain, waited for it, even.” Gianluca whispers. A soft admittance under the patter of raindrops. And when Takemura turns he sees the man dissected, his reasons laid bare.

He had the foresight to bring a vinyl bag that wouldn’t crumple with the weight of water, and not an umbrella to save himself the same misery. To bring food that would keep its heat, coffee the same, enough to warm himself that he would need another reason to shed his clothes; his damp clothes, pale and sticky against darker skin. He had sat in Takemura’s van drenched in sheer fabric, tugging and pulling at it, guiding his gaze in a dance across his body, a display, an allure; hands pressed against his thighs, his groin, his chest, sat lower in his seat so his hips pushed up, black underwear a stark contrast to everything he was and wore.

With tentative fingers he pulls a glittering datashard from his neck, eyes settling to their natural colour, and offers it to Takemura without need for recompense. For you, pa ti. A compilation of what he had gathered from the compound, a gift to help with the sabotaging of the parade.

He is dissected. He is lain bare. He is dressed in raindrops and distant city light.

And Takemura kisses him.

He grabs the offered wrist and pulls him close, pressing chapped lips to Luca’s own tattooed ones. His breath is sugary, his tongue more so. Takemura claws his hand around the back of Gianluca’s neck, pulling him closer like a chained dog, fingers digging into organic flesh and cybernetics alike. He can feel the stubble of hair growth as he grips harder, pressing himself closer; encouraging, if not forcing the younger man to open his mouth fully and share what lays there.

The heavy thrum of his heartbeat is felt through his wrist, a rising thudding beneath Takemura’s fingertips. It sings in time with Luca’s desperate grunt, the sound of his rings clacking against Takemura’s own neck. And when he squeezes harder he hears Luca’s moan over the sound of raindrops, open mouthed and whining, stuttering as Takemura’s tongue pressed in against his own. He yields so easily to him, letting him grab and take and pull, pushing against him with the same ferocity, keening into the state of being devoured.

Gianluca bites at Takemura’s lip as he tries to pull away, following him with kisses to his cheek, his jaw, golden teeth catching against the cybernetics of his neck. He bites down where flesh meets metal, upper teeth scraping his jawline, decorating the plates with his tongue as Takemura groans into the open air.

“You planned this.” Takemura heaves, accusing him as if he hadn’t instigated the kiss himself, catching his breath deep in his lungs. Gianluca pulls back, only the inch that the other man’s grip would allow, and offers a shining smile, he licks his lips, that golden triangle, and nods.

“Si,” he whispers, “but it’s going better than I expected.” He laughs breathlessly, kissing at the hand around his wrist, laving his tongue against the metalwork, trying to pull the fingers into his mouth. He stares at Takemura all the while, watching those dark brown eyes fall heavy, how his jaw twitches as he grinds his teeth.

With a shuddering breath he releases his grip, and instead, points three fingers together, his fourth curled into his palm, and lets Gianluca take them into his mouth. He kisses them at the joined tip, lets the flat of his tongue drag across them. Lips press down towards the cuff of his jacket, and he inhales deeply. It must smell of synthetic leather and sweat, but Gianluca rises with a smile, nipping at the palm of his hand, of the bumps and callouses there. The edge of his nose pressed against the three fingers as he returns to his beginning, and slowly he nips at those too, opening his lips to take them to the first knuckle.

He grins around them easily enough, forcing his tongue between the trio, curling it, flattening it, letting his saliva coat the inch he has in his mouth. Takemura still watches on, knowing almost entirely what both of them are thinking of, using most of his restraint to stop himself from pressing his free hand against the throb of heat below his gut. His whimper is embarrassing as Gianluca takes the fingers in further, to the second, the third, until his lips are flush against Takemura’s knuckles, and the only thing stopping him from going further is the fourth finger he had not taken. He swallows. And Takemura can feel the constriction of his throat against his fingertips, and the way his cock throbs against the inside of his slacks.

Gianluca pulls off, ever so slowly, allowing Takemura to set the pace as he takes his fingers from between the lips, each one sticky with sugared saliva. It’s sinful, the sight of them, glistening in the lowlight, a match to his lips, damp themselves, and open with staggering breath. It’s mesmerising almost, the ethereal nature of it broken when the datashard is pressed against them; all the information he needs, the reason why they where both here, a veritable tower block against the sight of a flush-faced Gianluca.

“Touch yourself, Takemura.” Gianluca whispers, eyes flickering the to fingers he had swallowed.

“I am.. I am not sure.” He says lamely. It seems inappropriate, what he just did was inappropriate, Gianluca’s hands trailing down his own body, catching on damp wrinkles of his shirt, thumbs pulling open his belt buckle, the sound of his slacks zipper being pulled down, it was all inappropriate.

His internal conflict must be written plainly on his face. The way his eyes skitter back and forth, from his hands to Gianluca’s own, to the younger man’s glossy eyed appearance and down to his own lap; and back to the soft frown that graces Gianluca’s brows, and the sound of a zipper being tugged back up. The sound almost echoed in Takemura’s gut, like a pendulum that swung between regret and relief. He’d never had someone… do that before. Truthfully, he wouldn’t have even entertained the mere thought of it before, and had he done so, Arasaka would have noted the stimulation in his endocrine system and flagged it up to be reviewed, as they always had done.

That in itself came with a sickening feeling of relief. It felt dirty. It felt dirty to want to do what Gianluca asked of him. It felt dirtier to hear those words in his head, over and over, and wonder if he could just take a hold of his own sex in spit-slicked fingers, apologise, and ask the younger man to watch, to touch, to taste.

“Is it me, or… this wasn’t a transactional sex thing, you know,” Gianluca clears his throat awkwardly, swiping a hand back through his hair and muttering to himself, “qué cabrón.” He looks over at Takemura, still holding the datashard aloft in wet fingers, his cock half hard in his slacks, and a heat decorating his cheeks.

A moment sits between them in the lowlight. Neither of them quite knowing exactly what to do. Whatever intimacy had stirred between them had been stalled by Takemura’s hesitance, and with each glance between them, fleeting, nervous, like two deer stuck in each others headlamps, it stalled again.

“Let me…” Gianluca says, turning in his seat to grab his pocket square and pluck the shard from Takemura’s fingers. He takes Takemura’s hand in his own, wiping away the excess saliva he had left, distracting himself by semi-detailing the metal work across his knuckles. “Listen, I can walk home,” he drops the datashard into the empty ashtray, “and, that’ll probably need to be filtered through, I can recheck the guard rota the day before V goes in just for extra safety, might even throw in a weaponry jammer if any open fire on the night and-“

“Gianluca.” Takemura says, halting the man in his stumbling words. He doesn’t know what he is going to say, nor how he intends to speak it in forced English. Instead he turns his hand in his own, bringing the organic knuckles to his lips. The kiss is chaste, less so when he reaches over to press against his lips. “I will drive you home.” He opts to say, knowing that it is merely a delay tactic, and one that is foolish in itself. The small smile at least is worth the detour, even if the words are abstract from their meaning.

With a press of a button the van splutters to life, rattling in protest of not yet being allowed to die its death. And he waits until Gianluca has tossed what remains in their cups from the window, and replaced the flask in the patterned red bag, before he moves off from their location.

The navigation system pings to life, a sultry female voice telling Takemura to take a right in so many kilometres, and congratulating him with flirtatious laughter and innuendo every few commands. An echo of the previous owner’s taste, and one that fully wilts any desire that might have been thriving in Takemura’s mind. “You, uh, you chose her, ¿si?” Gianluca asks behind a closed fist, stifling his laughter. Takemura fixes him with a stare, his face unmoving even as the navigator compliments him on his driving.

It is enough to settle the tense atmosphere they had both created. Even as Takemura’s shoulders grew tighter with each command. At the very least it had been a short drive, and the patter of rain had died down to a slow drizzle. It didn’t, however, give Takemura the time he needed to figure out what the plan for this was. Because he has seen Gianluca knocked back by some of those in Night City, and he had always brushed it off with a grin. Perhaps it was because this was private, because it had just been the two of them. And he didn’t know if it was him by himself, or the lack of onlookers which changed it.

With a wanton moan their navigator announced they had arrived at their destination, and Takemura happily punched enough buttons to shut her off, and then the ignition.

“Try the food, Takemura, it’s good, prometo.” Gianluca says with a reassuring nod. It’s enough to stop Takemura from saying, or doing, anything particularly foolish. He taps his fingers against the ashtray, a quiet reminder that Takemura still had work to do, and plucks his discarded clothing from the back of his seat. “You have my contact, right?” He asks faltering as he grasps the handle, hearing the click of the van door opening. He nods silently, thinking back to the name in his phone, back to the way he had swallowed his fingers. Takemura didn’t know whether to thank V or curse her for those three words of sexual wisdom.

Gianluca lingers as he clambers out, his clothes folded over his arm, a dazzling white now he stood under the city lights. He hovers a moment, chewing on the inside of his lip as if the words he wants to say fail to form on his tongue. Takemura wants to say something himself, but find no words can actually help him in this situation. And were it some soppy screamsheet nonsense, he imagines he might have kissed him farewell, but that was not life in Night City, not for Takemura. No, life for him was watching Gianluca step away, shut the door, and hurriedly enter the apartment complex he lived in.

Takemura punches the ignition button again, waiting for the van to regrettably sputter back to life before pulling away. He had work to do, and he was hungry.

#goro takemura #male v #cyberpunk 2077 #answer #mxm #fanfic #gianluca vargas #takemura x v #v x takemura

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gracey17 · 11 months

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intosnarkness · 5 months

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N & S

N - Name three things you wish you saw more or in your main fandom (or a fandom of choice)

I will give a general answer to this, since I'm still new enough to SOC that I'm getting random ideas that need rereads and I don't feel super comfortable answering specifics:

Stronger pastiche. This seems to be shockingly rare in fandom, where many people have spent 0 time analyzing the voice of the canon and don't know what they don't know. I'd love to see more people try to actually ape the style they're inhabiting.

Realistic dialogue. I'm not saying that everyone needs to be me and spend years filling notebooks with records of extremely mundane conversations in a quest to become David Mamet, but the #1 reason I nope out of a fic is weak dialogue. I don't care that he wouldn't fucking say that, I care that he wouldn't fucking say it like that. It's in part because fandom skews young, but I wish I could take some writers by the hand and help them listen to other people more carefully, and develop their ear for it.

Maybe it's the Fandom Old in me, but it seems like people write much more safe stuff these days. I don't want a lecture on the purity of the fic in the description as if I should be ashamed to write or read about difficult or dark subjects. Write something weird and fucked up and engage your id. I don't know your mom, and if I did I wouldn't tell her. You're never gonna grow as a writer if you're too afraid of the purity police to try something different.

S - Show us an example of your personal headcanon (prompts optional but encouraged)

I read something the other day that said something like "Kaz Brekker defines himself as a man with a dead brother." and I have adopted that because it makes so much sense to me. Gratuitous personal story: I've talked about this before, but for people who don't know; I'm from Virginia and I was in college from 2003-2007. Most of my high school ended up at UVA or Virginia Tech. So on April 16, 2007 a lot of people I grew up with were shot at, and some people I grew up with died that day. I was in Maryland, at my campus job. I was standing in the classroom support office, talking to my boss (who years later you all would get to know as CancerKid, but that's another story) when my Nokia brick rang and it was my mother. I didn't answer, because it was my mother. We didn't text back in 2007, but she left me a message, which was uncommon for her. So I called my voicemail, despite the terrible service in the building. And my mom began her message with "Laurie, there's been a shooting in Blacksburg--" And then my phone cut out. What I knew then, that you don't, is that my brother was in Blacksburg that year. My older brother, who was supposed to have finished his 5-year program the year before and started teaching. But he had one more class he was taking on campus. I ran out of that room so fast that I knocked a person over and spilled something on Nat's desk. I could not breathe. All I needed was to get my mother's voicemail off the phone. I sat on the front steps on the building, shaking so hard i could barely hit the speed dial because every part of me understood that the next five words would change my life forever. They were going to start with "and your brother is" and that last word would be "dead" or "safe". And either way I was going to cry. It was safe. My brother was fine, and he continues as a thorn in my side to this day. I love him more than I know how to say. (My mother got a lecture about starting with the "everyone is okay" line that she taught me as a child. We had beef.) But for the three and a half minutes before the beginning and then end of that voicemail, I was a girl with a dead brother. I could see the rest of my life without David stretching out in front of me and it broke me. I literally was never the same after that day, because for the first time I had to acknowledge the mortality of the boy who played x-men with me and who taught me how to get onto the roof of the garage and who defended me against bullies. And I had to live with the fact that we weren't close, and we didn't talk much, and I had so many regrets. If not for that day, we would not be as close as we are now. Not half. So it's not quite the same thing, but I get it. My "one fear" t-shirt says "living in a world where i am an only child" on it. I know one day one of us will outlive the other. And I know if it's me who lives longer, I will be a woman with a dead brother for the rest of my time.

(ask me) (fandom asks)

#anonymous #talkback #meme

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captainmvf · 1 year

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I saw you were taking asks? I have a few questions I'd love to hear your answers.

What is your favorite side ark in the fossil fighters games?

Favorite characters/character dynamics?

Not a question, but I would love to hear about your personal headcannons about characters and such.

Have you ever thought about Dinaurian lore?

I'd love to hear all your thoughts on this, it's so rare that anyone has anything to say about the games. If you don't answer all (or any of them) that's totally fine! ^^

Hiya!! This got a bit long so here's the cut-off:

Favorite side ark in the fossil fighters games?

Oh gosh it's hard to decide because two certain arks are my favorite: The Nick Nack ark in the original and the Princess Pooch ark in Champions.

I feel like they mix in just the right amount of zany with plot progression to feel both fun and important errands! Princess Pooch's helps with unlocking the Miraculous Fossils and keeps the weird lore of dogs being intelligent enough to Fossil Battle from the first game and Nick Nack's even ties in Dr. Diggin's lost sandals. Nick Nack also has one of the most memorable themes lol.

Favorite characters/character dynamics?

Dynamic-wise: Hands down, the BB Brigade in Champions. They play off of each other so well and (even though I think their writing with Don/Joe is flawed) I wish we could have seen them more with Joe after the main story!!! The Patrol Team even has a great dynamic that is very fleshed out by the end of the game. I'm even enjoying Becky and Sean's sibling relationship in Frontier at the moment. Also, I like Dynal's dynamics/interactions with EVERYONE in the original. The guy clearly brings a presence that makes you want to pick at him, especially with Dr. Diggins, Raptin, and Duna.

Characters: OBVIOUSLY Joe Wildwest!!!!!!! Other favorites include Duna, the BB Brigade, Patrol Team, Drake, Violet, and Sean and Becky are growing on me.

Headcannons?

TONS!!!! Oh god UUHHHHH WHERE TO BEGIN-

Stella is takes her job the most seriously but she also wouldn't she she's married to her job of being a Staff Leader. Joe can trust her with almost anything in the park. She's also a lesbian.

Terry and Kent are not as professional as Stella but they still take their job seriously. Terry tends to be more aloof while Kent would rather snowboard. They are Bi but don't really seem interested in dating as they are currently in positions that make it hard to date.

Dr. Diggins was probably really scared to see Dynal again after the Guhnash battle because Dynal is going to learn one way or another that he stole the Dinurian tech from that crashed ship. Dynal eventually is told the truth by him and just goes 'okay' since it's not much of a big deal anymore.

I have this very specific headcannon that curators and just fossil fighters in general who work in museums have to have an impressive cleaning record. The cleaning side quests in the first game and the Hare Club stuff in Champions helped fuel this.

Dino and Dina are fraternal twins! Dino even is Autistic and Dina has ADHD.

Vivosaur battles are really taught in school unlike much other monster collecting and battling games and other RPGs but rather it's treated much like a sport with scientific and historical roles as well. I much tend to think that Hunter and Rosie and other kids on Vivosaur Island are there since it's summer break. The Patrol Team each have their own reasons for getting to be at Caliosteo: Dina and Dino are home-schooled, Todd was able to tag along since he became friends with them for being home-schooled as well, Pauleen probably doesn't get public school and obviously ran off to join the tournament, and Rupert gets his schedule managed by someone else but he probably goes to a tight private school that's flexible with their students being absent for periods of time.

Frontier does make it canon that everything takes place on an Earth similar to our own with the same countries but I chose to believe France doesn't exist. That's Nomadistand now. They're separated far from other countries? Well I guess they have some wide rivers now for borders.

Vivosaurs can be kept as pets but there are many laws and risks that come with it. Smaller vivosaurs are easier to tame but larger ones are more challenging. They're treated much the same as exotic pets: Yeah, it's nice to own one, but it's not very safe.

Nevada and Joe have a rivalry going on that doesn't make much sense to everyone else but it does keep journalists busy whenever a fossil tourney is announced. Sean also ties into this but he's more of the mediator who was invited to eat pizza and watch a documentary with friends not sit awkwardly on the couch and watch as his two friends throw pillows at one another to try and counter-argument each other about the topics of the documentary.

Duna barely remembers much of her home planet but Raptin, being older, does. This is possibly why he was more enraged by Duna's betrayal.

I think Joe and Rupert should get therapy animals/vivosaurs after Champions to help with the body-stealing trauma. As a treat. Rupert should get a fluffy white great pyrenees dog named Antionette and Joe should get a nine-banded armadillo named Sundance.

Rosie gets really into fossil battles to the point she goes pro and that's why she's at Caliosteo. She eventually finds out she'd Bi and dates Duna in the future (Duna finds herself identifying as a lesbian).

^The whole romance thing was kind of just brought on due to the amount of thrilling moments with Hunter so both Rosie and Duna kind of fall out of romantic love with him but still have a tight bond that borders on family.

Hunter also eventually goes pro with fossil battling but prefers to travel more. Rosie and Duna eventually get a quiet house on Vivosaur Island together and Hunter also lives there when he's not traveling. :)

I think Holt and Todd should meet up and be friends. :)

Pauleen would get really into fashion design when she's older. She's mostly inspired by fire type vivosaurs.

Rupert takes over his dad's company and even learns to ride a motorcycle.

Todd gets into rogue vivosaur wrangling since he finally found his courage during the events of Champions. :)

Dina takes over the park and Todd is her secretary.

Dino gets to go pro at fossil battles since he was better at making strategies and vivosaur teams (Dina's top strategy is 'hit everything with sharp claws and teeth really fast') and he gets a lot of trophies. He also gets to be Rupert's boyfriend/partner. :)

Cole gets to go back to school and gets back into his robotic engineering degree (he failed to earn all of his credits the first time around and just decided to drop out since he didn't like his professors anyway). He eventually finds work at FossilDig and Caliosteo making cleaning devices. Sometimes, when he's mad, he threatens to make Five Nights at Freddy's real.

Lola has a harder time deciding to go back to school since she failed her medical science classes. It takes some encouragement and inspiration from Cole and Lester to help her along.

Lester tries to follow his dream of being a musician again and gets to form his own rock band! They call themselves the 'B-0NES' in tribute to the BB Brigade.

Joe Wildwest is gay. :)

Zongazonga's corpse is stuck in eternity as a tourist attraction.

If you want more I leak headcannon stuff onto this workplace parody account on here that's also a bit RP-ish: @realjoewildwest

Have you ever thought about Dinaurian lore?

Actually I have!! I've seen some headcannons floating on here with Dinurians messing with Guhnash's origins. I also think that they also traded with other aliens before they came to Earth since running a huge ship does take a certain amount of supplies to manage. Unsurprisingly, I choose to also believe that nearly every Dinurian can have a battle hologram.

I also think that white-hair can also be a sign of aging but those with white hair and pale skin are usually linked in some way to the royal bloodline that is King Dynal's. It's only Dynal who carries on the royal bloodline these days, however.

When I say 'big space ship' I mean big enough that the Dinurians have a safe gene pool for repopulation methods. It was probably initially made for the purpose of escaping their home planet months in advance since their methods of destroying Guhnash kept failing.

#mvf responds #fossil fighters #fossil fighters champions #tyyyyy!!!!!!!#this one got away from me again lolllll #i also have a fic called 'Fly Away with Me' for more headcanons and stuff (mostly Joe stuff lol)

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