#sander sides writing

[paytonthefrog]

I’m finally finished!! This took roughly 14-15 hours of my life I honestly don’t regret

Thank you to the 6 people who reblogged the original wip with nice comments - you guys are a big reason for why I got around to finishing this

And here are the tags for who requested them: @5am-the-foxing-hour @iamthedestroyer-grr-argh

[theokusgallery]

A bunch of fanart for @greenninjagal-blog's fics I either made during the weekend or never posted for some reason. Names of the fics for each image is in alt text -- in order, we have: 600 Pieces of Eight, Dead Men Break No Codes, Deja Vu (2 images), Details in Gold, and With an Enemy Like You (Who Needs a Lover?)

First image there is called "re-reading 600 Pieces of Eight". Because I'm normal about that fic and its Janus. Second picture is just there because I wanted to show off Virgil's face + I hate how Janus' body looks

And a very small Janus from A Cactus and Nothing More because I j. I just. love this fic so much. It's so cute and rmgjhlfkd.

[part-time-zombie]

Virgil is Logan's closest friend.

In case it wasn't already clear, he truly means a great deal to Logan. He won't admit it, but he can't necessarily deny it either.

Who else among the sides knows Logan so well, and knows exactly what gifts he'd love the most and why he'd love it? Who else ever cared to put in the time and effort to actually cater to his interests so thoroughly, or bothered to at least try to meet them?

Who else does Logan feel like he can actually converse with, who he can let his guard down around and actually relax for once? In all honesty, who among the sides would he fully enjoy being around without feeling like he were holding his breath the whole time?

Other than him, who would actually listen to Logan talk without interrupting, never once making him feel bothersome for sharing his thoughts?

Everyone else has already shut him up and cut him off more than once. Logan has been interrupted, ignored, and outright entirely removed from conversations more times than he'd like to count, and the only one who hasn't done so to him yet is Virgil.

Honestly, that in and of itself is a miracle.

So of course Virgil is Logan's closest friend, maybe even his only friend. And that's more than fine, because he's also Virgil's friend.

Or, he hopes he is.

Because when he sees how Virgil is with the others, how he seeks them out and prioritizes his time with them above all else as if he truly cherished it more than anything, he can't help but wonder...

...how important is Logan to Virgil?

[delimeful]

a promise softly sung (1)

BTHB: Rendered Mute

Summary:

Stripped of both his ability to speak and his willingness to communicate, Logan has resigned himself to his new position as the latest hopeless case in the intergalactic version of a wildlife rehabilitation center. None of the staff has managed to identify him as a Human or even as sapient in general. It's not the easiest on his dignity, but in the interest of avoiding more pain, he'd like to keep it that way. Now, if only the strangest alien he'd ever met would stop trying to put enrichment in his enclosure.

warnings: severe dehumanization, miscommunication/assumptions, mentions of violence and injury, mentions of euthanasia, references to torture

-

Logan woke to the familiar buzz of the lighting system flicking on, illuminating the cell around him and agitating the other denizens of his current prison.

He didn’t bother trying to turn back over and go back to sleep; even if the other creatures around him miraculously settled down enough to allow it, the harsh noise of the lighting system was at just the right irritating pitch to keep him awake whether he liked it or not.

It probably wasn’t intentional— from what he’d heard and observed thus far, this facility wasn’t anything close to the first one he’d been kept in. There weren’t any training sessions or punishments for bad behavior, nor was he constantly eyed by speculative buyers.

During the first few weeks he’d been here, he’d frequently observed his neighbors through the thin window that ran along the front of the cell, and most of them didn’t show any signs of discomfort or even irritation at the noise, meaning that it likely wasn’t intended as a deterrent.

He felt fairly confident in his assessment. Early on, he’d gleaned that this was the intergalactic version of an animal shelter, and one that seemed to value proper care for its unwilling residents. He didn’t expect that the aliens running it were intentionally trying to agitate the fauna they were trying to adopt out or rehabilitate.

His daily headache arrived regardless, but it soothed what little remained of his temper to know that this particular suffering wasn’t inflicted purposefully, just to be cruel. Ignorance was hardly an excuse, but he’d found it was far preferable to intentional cruelty.

The thought made him snort as he slowly, painstakingly pushed himself up to a sitting position. The Logan of five years ago would never have been placated by knowing his captors were simply ignorant. If anything, it would have only made him more furious; how could anyone pretend to be fulfilling an animal’s needs without doing sufficient research to understand the animal?

Then again, the person he’d been five years ago wouldn’t have accepted the idea of being trapped in an alien animal shelter, seen as little more than a mindless beast. He would find his present self unrecognizable, unable to reconcile with the very idea of sitting sedately in the alien equivalent of a kennel, silently waiting for the start of a day that was virtually indistinguishable from yesterday or tomorrow.

Sometimes, Logan missed being that person. He’d been overwhelmingly naive back then, but even when things had been at their most painful, there had been a sort of thrilling vindication in seeing his handlers grow furious, a heady satisfaction in his own stubborn refusal to give in.

It had been pointless, of course, just as his nostalgia for that vivacious attitude was pointless. His pride had only earned him more pain.

He began his usual morning routine of simple stretches, keeping one ear on the ruckus around him. There likely hadn’t been any notable new arrivals overnight, but trying to guess which creatures were nearby by sound alone was one of the few sources of entertainment left to him.

Most of the closest noises were dog-like, growls or barks or heavy rumbling. Further away, the cacophony took a much higher pitch, full of the whining, squeaking, and whistling of smaller, less aggressive beasts. As always, Logan was glad for the distance. There may have been more daily variety— the more harmless creatures got adopted out much more frequently— but it wouldn’t have been worth upgrading his daily headache to a daily migraine.

He paused mid-stretch, finally picking out the source of his unease. There was a sound missing, no sign of the familiar rattle of the food and water dish being pulled through the bars and refilled. It was almost always the first thing the employees here did after the lights came on, and while inherently degrading, he had found the routine reassuring.

If they weren’t yet offering the morning meal, there were two prevalent possibilities as to why. Logan didn’t think any of the animals had injured itself or passed away overnight, since there was no urgent calling or somber conversation. That meant an alien had come in to adopt as soon as the facility had opened, a rare but not outstanding occurrence.

If he strained to hear past the growing noise levels, he could make out the mechanical chatter of a translator, confirming his suspicions.

To his surprise, the voices seemed to be coming closer. He shifted out of his stretch, drawing his knees up under him and adjusting the makeshift toga he’d created for himself from one of the provided linens. After being actively dehumanized for years, Logan had long since lost any sense of humiliation or modesty, but he still found some small comfort in clothing, and most aliens didn’t think much of it. There were apparently plenty of animals out there that created simple coverings or incorporated materials around them into fur or feathers.

(At one point, Logan had mistakenly believed that one of his neighbors had been another sapient creature after watching it meticulously tie shredded fabric into little strips and tuck it between feathers in a decorative display. He’d wasted a week attempting to communicate in various ways before realizing the futility, and had accidentally unnerved the poor creature enough to get his cell moved to a different part of the holding room.)

It was unusual that he saw a client approach this section of the shelter so quickly. He was well aware that this was the area designated for undesirables, higher-risk fauna that was more aggressive or feral, similar to how humans would take care to isolate dogs that had been rescued from fighting rings or cats that hadn’t ever been socialized. They didn’t often get visitors, and adoptions were even less frequent.

On his end, Logan hadn’t lashed out too severely at the staff or scared potential clients away like most of the others, but he’d still been relegated to this section. He knew why, of course. Suffice to say, his previous “adoption” had ended poorly.

His mood soured at the memories, and by the time footsteps reached his aisle, he’d shuffled to one corner of the cell and seated himself solidly on the floor, leaning his shoulder against the wall. It would be easier to focus on translating what he could of the conversation if he didn’t have to worry about a sudden headrush or the fatigue that occasionally swept over him after standing for too long.

“—great to hear!” The voice of a staff member trailed into proper hearing range, chirping a phrase used so frequently that Logan had no trouble parsing it out in accented Common.

They launched into a well-worn recitation of what Logan was assuming was standard information about the facility and its available fauna. He still didn’t know enough Common to keep up with the more complicated terms, and could only guess at the general meaning.

Frankly, his attention was diverted by the number of overlapping steps he could make out as they approached. Entire family units came in to look around occasionally, sure, but not to this section. Some of the creatures here were vicious enough to give children nightmares.

There was the clicking sound of a button, and Logan watched dully as the front wall of his cell slowly shifted from opaque to transparent, gradually revealing the muted colors of the narrow hallway outside the cell. Most of the staff used the small viewing windows to check in on them during meals, but when a prospective client came to look, they made sure everything was fully visible.

Two figures came into view as the wall turned almost entirely see-through, with only a faint grey tinge to the material. One was a staff member he’d seen often enough before: a small, feathery alien with big eyes, fluffy antennae, and a poncho that draped over most of its dust-colored form. The other was no species that he’d ever seen before.

It was built vaguely like a centaur, with four stubby legs, two upper limbs, and a long, prehensile tail. Nearly every inch of it was encased in a shining, thick layer of what Logan could only describe as goo. It was as though the alien was covered in an outer shell of vibrant radioactive green gelatin, with only indistinct shadowy shapes visible to indicate that there was any sort of underlying structure at all.

It had no mouth or nose, only two flat black eyes that didn’t blink, and a discolored gray spot below them that was uncannily reminiscent of a handlebar mustache. There were two large, shell-like protrusions on either side of its head, extending past the gelatin layer. From the crown of its head to the base of its spine, there was a stretch of brown plantlike tendrils that writhed subtly in place, looking like a horse’s mane if a horse’s mane was also made of rotting seaweed.

Logan’s interest sharpened despite himself. Most of the shine of being in space had worn off somewhere in the first two years of methodical torture, but occasionally he still felt a glint of that familiar curiosity.

The unknown alien watched him right back, taking in every detail of the small room. A thin pad with blankets piled on it in one corner, and Logan sitting slumped in the other. A few simple toys scattered on the floor, largely untouched.

It asked a question, and Logan noted the way it seemed to hum in different tones before the translator echoed its words. Vibrations produced by an internal organ? Unlike humans, it had no mouth to shape the noise with, so the language must have been composed of variations in the tonal humming itself.

The employee chirped back an affirmative, keeping their gaze averted from meeting Logan’s dull stare directly in the automatic way that he’d noticed in most aliens. The staff especially were careful about eye contact, presumably they received some sort of training to reduce agitation in the fauna they were looking after.

It was somehow refreshing, the way the new alien unabashedly locked eyes with him. He hadn’t realized how much one could miss simple things like eye contact until he was suddenly entirely deprived of it.

It couldn’t last, of course. Logan hadn’t followed most of the conversation thus far, mostly out of general disinterest, but he knew more than enough to recognize the phrase that always came up when he was spoken about.

“There are recorded violent incidents with multiple previous fosters,” the employee recited, the cadence of the phrase so familiar that Logan could have imitated it perfectly, if he was feeling masochistic.

Instead, he kept his mouth firmly closed and idly waited for the duo to move on to the next cage.

The new alien shifted slightly, the reflections of the overhead lights warping along its glossy body.

“What are its—,” it asked, the translator adding a questioning tone indicator. Logan didn’t recognize the last word, but the employee’s response cleared things up within a few sentences.

“Not good,” they answered, antennae angling back in a display of upset. “It’s already been here for a while. If we can’t find the source planet and nobody takes it in, we’ll have to put it down.”

Those weren’t the words exactly, of course. The employee was using a strange euphemism, but unlike most of the creatures here, Logan had more than enough memory retention and cognitive processing to notice just what inevitably happened to the creatures that were referred to as such.

He waited for the spike of panic, the natural response of his body to the threat of death, but it didn’t come. His heart rate may have jumped by a beat or three, but he mostly felt a strange sense of distance from it all.

What difference did it make? Could what he was doing now really be called ‘living’ by any stretch of the imagination?

Logan met the alien’s eyes plainly, still oddly numb to it all.

The alien hummed a long, toneless note, one that didn’t translate into any specific words, and then stepped forward and tapped on the clear material with one of its thick fingers. As though everything up to this point hadn’t been dehumanizing enough.

If things were different, maybe Logan would have tried to snap out a demand or insult to cover for his wounded pride. As it was, he only turned his head further into the wall and closed his eyes.

This didn’t remotely deter the alien. The resulting thunking noises continued to be loud and repetitive, and Logan gained a sudden and unhappy empathy for every fish he’d ever witnessed being pestered by a child in a pet store. Even the employee looked uncomfortable, feathers fluffing out slightly, though surprisingly enough they didn’t try to stop the stranger’s irritating behavior.

Finally, Logan turned back to it with a glare, letting his lips curl back to bare his teeth in an odd configuration, half-sneer and half-snarl. There, he’d confirmed it. He was scary and aggressive, nothing more than a beast waiting to be executed. Now, move along already.

The tail behind the stranger began to wag slightly, a rapid back-and-forth movement that was so reminiscent of a happy dog, it genuinely startled Logan for a moment. Not many species would react to a threat display with playful excitement. Surely, the matching body language was just a coincidence?

Without hesitation, the stranger turned and asked something that Logan heard almost daily, though never before about his own person.

“Can I go in and meet it?”

[swhhdr-wthhr]

i know i haven't uploaded a new chapter for this fic in over half a year... and i probably won't any time soon... but here's some lore explained w/ virgil

[loganslowdown4]

Roman: Wha- and just WHAT do you think you’re wearing?

Virgil: Uh, a hoodie and jeans… like always-

Roman: We’re going to a wedding!

Virgil: Yeah, and..?

Roman: It’s our wedding!!

[not-sure-what-im-feeling]

Hc that even though Virgil is red/green colour blind (specifically like a dog) and even though he can’t see purple, it’s his favourite colour.

He had just recently broken things off with Janus. It was messy, and loud, and he would rather die than have anything to do with Janus ever again in his life.

He went to the only person he could think to help him with it. The romance extraordinaire, creative prince himself, Roman. He went to him for a distraction.

“Uh, what’s your favourite colour?” Roman asked after Virgil’s sobs had died down for a bit.

Virgil looked up from the tear soaked satin pillow he’d been wailing into, Roman just a blurry grey mess in front of him.

“I don’t— fuck. I don’t *know*!” He almost screamed, shoving his face back in the pillow.

Roman’s hand rubbed his shoulder, and he muttered to him softly in his efforts to comfort him. “Hey, hey, it’s alright. Do you want to pick one now? Hm… which colours *can* you see again?”

“Uh… blue, grey, and—“ Virgil’s voice came out muffled until he choked on tears again. “Fucking yellow.”

“Ah.”

“What’s the farthest away from *yellow* that I can get?”

Roman didn’t even hesitate before he answered. “Purple. It’s on the other end of the colour wheel.”

“*That*. Purple’s my favourite. Anything that isn’t close to *him*.”

Roman nodded, barely stifling a laugh. “Purple’s a good colour. The colour of royalty!”

Virgil’s tears stopped for a moment. “Are you purple?”

“No— No, I wear red and white.”

Virgil pulled his head back up, a broken grin on his teary and mascara stained face. “You’re a prince and you don’t wear purple?!”

[lefaystrent]

Virgil wanders into the living room looking for something to do. Or someone to terrorize. Eh, he's not really picky at the moment.

He finds Logan sitting on the couch with a paperback book and pencil in hand. So entranced is he that he doesn't stir at Virgil's entrance. He marks something on a page. His foot idly rotates where he's got it crossed at the knee.

"Whatchya up to?" Virgil asks.

Logan's eyes remain focused. "Sodoku."

"Bless you."

Virgil has the satisfaction of seeing Logan's eye twitch. "Virgil, I know that you know what Sodoku is."

"Yeah, but can you prove it?"

"Yes, but as you are being willfully obstinate, I feel no inclination to."

Virgil snorts good-naturedly. He ambles closer and kind of sways back and forth. He's in a good mood and doesn't feel inclined to take Logan's dismissiveness to heart. Besides, if he's being a true bother, Logan would plainly tell him.

"Willfully obstinate is a step up from anxious mess, so hey, I'll take it."

Logan frowns and glances up now, but when he sees Virgil's smirk, he levels an unamused stare that shows he clearly knows what Virgil is up to. He lowers the puzzle book. "Virgil, you seem to have an abundance of free time at the moment."

"I wouldn't say abundant, but yeah, I'm free."

"Fantastic. You should join me in my downtime. Perhaps you will glean the intricacies of Sodoku via observation."

Virgil rolls his eyes. "Yeah, L. I'll help you with your puzzle."

Virgil doesn't sit down so much as falls onto the cushion, letting his body drop against Logan's side. Logan bounces slightly and adjusts, but doesn't move away or discourage the closeness. He holds the book up so Virgil can see from where he leans his head against Logan's shoulder. There are some squares filled in with numbers, but overall there are only two rows completely filled in. Most of the other blank squares have tiny numbers penciled into the corners. Probably Logan's way of systematically ruling out possibilities.

After a moment of scanning, Virgil ticks his tongue. "I see where your problem is."

"What? What do you see?" Logan asks, way too invested at the thought he may have overlooked something or made a mistake.

Hiding a grin, Virgil points at a random square. "This one is supposed to be eleven."

There's a pause in which Virgil definitely does not cackle. His amusement is all inward, but he watches Logan like a hawk for the beautiful moment of realization.

Logan doesn't disappoint. He goes on an entire face journey that starts with, "Oh, maybe Virgil's right," and ends with, "how dare you." The last bit is directed straight at Virgil and Virgil merely gazes back innocently. It's not a look that comes across naturally on him and he knows it, but that's not the point.

Virgil shrugs. "Then again, what do I know about Sodoku?"

Logan bookmarks the page with his pencil, then reaches up to tap Virgil on the nose. "Ob-stin-ate." He punctuates each syllable with a gentle tap.

Virgil giggles afterwards, airy and care-free, but he'll deny it later.

[prodigal-explorer]

how to write children's personalities

(this is part of my series, how to write children in fanfiction! feel free to check it out if you want more info like this!)

this is the main aspect of writing children that i see people mess up so often, especially in the fandoms i'm in (sanders sides and undertale). children are not adorable little noodles with no brains and no concept besides being cute and silly and crying. children are beings that are just as complex as adults, and they deserve personalities to match. this will make them way more interesting to read about! let's get started!

since there are so many aspects to personality to talk about and i don't want to sit here typing for ten years, we're going to do this guide a little differently. i'm going to divide these issues into archetypes, write a short description, and then make a list of do's and don't's for each one!

archetype one: the cute little baby

okay. babies are cute. we all know this, and i'm not saying it's a bad thing to make your babies cute. a lot of people love reading about moments with adorable little babies. but here are some ways to step this kind of thing up, and some things to avoid if you want to improve upon writing this archetype.

do's:

give the child character another archetype besides this one. though "cute" is the foundation for a lot of child characters, it's not a personality. and if a character is vital to your story, then it needs a personality. that's just a rule. you will read more about other archetypes further along in this post!

make the moments symbolic. though it doesn't seem like it from an outsider's perspective, basically everything a baby does is for a reason, and every action a baby makes can say something about their personality. if you want this baby's personality to be energetic and curious, have them crawl around and explore things, and laugh a lot, and babble. if you want this baby to be more sullen and shy, have them cry quietly instead of wailing, or have them squirm when being held by new people.

make the actions of the baby's guardians affect the mannerisms of the baby. babies act differently depending on how the people taking care of them act and react. for instance, if the baby's guardians are very busy people, then maybe have the baby cry very loudly whenever they want something, since they know that it's the only way to get the attention of their guardians. stuff like that can add depth to a character and to a general story.

don't's:

decide that the baby is cute and call it a day. sweet little babies are cool and all, but they get very boring to read about after a while. this can barely even be considered an archetype because of how bland it is when it's by itself.

keep this archetype around for too long. as babies turn into toddlers and then children, they don't act even remotely the same way. it's strange and off-putting to read about a seven year old acting like a two-year old, unless it's a very clear character choice that is a result of explicit actions and events.

make the baby know that it's cute. realistically, children don't understand the concept of cuteness until they're around toddler age. if then, you want to make the kid be like "i get what i want when i'm cute, so i'll act cute!", then sure, that's hilarious. but when they're two months old, they're not batting their eyelashes because that's their personality. they're batting their eyelashes because they got something in their eye. the main thing that makes a baby cute is that they don't know they're cute. they're just figuring out how to do ordinary things.

make everything a cute moment. while babies are awesome, raising them isn't always sunshine and rainbows. make the baby do something wildly chaotic, because babies do wildly chaotic things all the time. not only does this make things more realistic, but it makes things very interesting!

archetype two: the shy kid

as a former shy kid, i know good and well that these types of children exist, and they are very real and valid. however, there are certain ways i've seen them written that are just terrible because once again, this archetype cannot be considered a full personality on its own. let's get into the do's and don't's.

do's:

make their shyness a deliberate choice. kids aren't usually naturally shy. kids are usually more curious than cautious. is there a reason why the kid is shy? there doesn't have to be a reason why the kid is shy, but there could be a reason why the child is NOT outgoing/curious. try and give something like this some deliberate cause, instead of just making them shy so they can seem more precious and infantilized.

make their shyness manifest in diverse ways. not all shy kids cling to their guardian's leg and sit alone during recess. there are different ways to be shy. you can be aggressively shy, or fearfully shy, or shy due to general unwillingness to change.

make their shyness have realistic consequences. someone who's shy is probably not going to have many friends, if any. not all shy kids magically meet an extrovert who adopts them. someone who's shy probably has underdeveloped social skills, which can lead to them being less emotionally intelligent down the line. this makes the shy kid archetype a lot more three-dimensional than just a wet noodle of fear.

don't's:

infantilize shyness or treat it like it makes the kid some sweet, precious angel. not only is this very uncomfortable for shy people to read, but it's generally unrealistic. shyness doesn't affect how good or bad somebody is - it's a neutral trait.

use shyness as a tool to make characters seem younger. shyness does not indicate age. fear manifests in many different ways, and shyness is not the only way.

rely on cliches. not all shy people have the same journey, and the idea that a shy person becoming more outgoing is the "goal" is not only a bit offensive, but it's very cliche. shyness is not always an obstacle to be overcome.

archetype three: the happy-go-lucky kid

oftentimes, the reason why children characters are written into stories in the first place is to give a little bit of lightheartedness and innocence. to add a unique voice among all the cranky, stingy, burdened adults. but you have to be careful when writing this archetype. i personally really dislike this archetype as a whole, but i'm going to put personal feelings towards it aside because honestly, there's no valid reason to dislike it besides opinion.

do's:

give the kid a trademark. maybe this kid makes a lot of little jokes, or maybe they always see the best in a situation. give the kid one thing that makes them happy-go-lucky instead of just giving them everything because nobody is endlessly happy all the time in every way.

go deeper. while happiness is very often genuine, sometimes, it's a mask that hides something else. this can be an interesting way to sort of spice up your happy-go-lucky kid character. maybe the kid is hiding a big secret behind all those jokes.

don't's:

make the character always happy. while children tend to have simpler thoughts, they don't have simpler minds. this child needs to have thoughts, real, genuine thoughts that aren't just happy things.

see happy-go-lucky as a trait that is exclusive to children. comparing happiness to childhood and viewing them as the only places where the other can exist is just wrong, and it's kind of depressing. maybe give happy-go-lucky kid a happy-go-lucky adult to exchange jokes with!

---

those are the archetypes that i see a lot. but now, i'm going to suggest a few child character archetypes that i LOVE that i don't see enough in fics! feel free to use any of these that you like. alter them, combine them! these are, in my opinion, some of the most fun child character personalities!

the spoiled brat: "i want this, and that, and that, and- why aren't you giving it to me?? if you don't give me what i want, i'll tell on you!". spoiled brats are so fun to read and write about, especially when they have absolutely no reason to be spoiled given the current situation (think riches to rags). they've got everything, humor, angst, and best of all, lots of pockets for personality. think about why the child is spoiled. were they enabled by their guardians? did they grow up rich, with access to everything they wanted? think about whether you want the child to stay spoiled. does something change? do they learn how to improve their materialistic and selfish tendencies? there are so many opportunities to play with the personality of this child!

the know-it-all kid: while i do see a lot of know-it-all kids in media, oftentimes, they don't actually have personality besides bossiness and intelligence. i love know-it-all kids who have depth to them. kids who are constantly spouting information because of their sheer love to learn. kids who have one specific thing that they know everything about, so they never stop talking about it. kids who tell people what to do and act like they know best because they don't have a lot of control over anything at home, so they grasp at whatever control they can find elsewhere. i think this archetype could open up a lot of ideas for personality further down the line. it also has a lot of variety with humor and angst, and general depth.

the serious child: this is an archetype that i cannot get enough of. i love a child that doesn't think they're an adult, per se, and still enjoys kid things, but just has such a calm and regal air about them that isn't learned. it's just natural. think of the kid that doesn't really get excited about things conventionally, but you can tell they're happy by their faint smile. the kid that seems to live in slow motion, and doesn't mind this fact at all. the kid that sits alone at recess just because other kids scare the birds away, and they want to see how a bird acts when it doesn't think its being watched. i love kids who have poignant thoughts, because their thoughts are so creative and different from adult thoughts.

the adult-ified child: now this is another archetype i can't get enough of, but it's for a different reason. this child, on the other hand, does think that they're an adult for one reason or another. maybe their guardians forced them to grow up too quickly. maybe they just wanted to grow up quickly by themselves. but this child has thoughts that are too big for their little bodies. they explore things that aren't meant to be explored when their brains are still so small. they do everything too quickly, they stumble through life as if a clock is ticking somewhere. to me, they're just haunting to read about. it feels wrong and dangerous to just watch them do things that hurt them because they don't know any better, but they're on a page. nobody can stop them. it's just so tragic, i'm obsessed.

the prodigal child: this archetype isn't really as deep or detailed as the others, but i do appreciate it. this archetype is for a child who knew who they wanted to be from an early age. a child who wanders into a ballet class and finds out they're better than the ten year olds by the time they're five. this archetype often pairs really well with the know-it-all kid or the adult-ified child because usually, children don't experience what it's like to be the best at something until they're a lot older. this is just a really cool archetype when you aren't quite sure what to do with that main character's little sister.

the chaotic child: this archetype is so much fun to read and write, to be honest. this is a child that just does as they please, whether it's out of curiosity or for pure enjoyment. think of the crazy stories that your guardians have about you or your siblings being absolutely insane. scribbling in a book and then demanding that the library publish their version. trying to ride the dog like a horse. cutting up clothes in an attempt to be a fashion designer. this one is just plain fun!

---

now, there are so many more archetypes out there, but those are just my spotlights and recommendations! i hope after reading this, you feel more equipt to write child characters that have real, engaging, interesting personalities!

[5am-the-foxing-hour]

Roman *at Janus*: No! Leave! You are just as needed in this discussion as pineapple is needed on PIZZA!

Janus *looks offended at first before going bewildered*: Did you just call me a pineapple??

Patton: Ooh! I love pineapple!

Roman: No-

Logan: There are certainly health benefits to eating pineapple-

Remus *appears behind the couch*: Did you know that the pineapple is actually trying to eat you up as well, when you're eating it?!

Virgil: What the fu-

Logan: There are more plants and foods that try that, but humans have evolved past those defenses. For example spicy peppers.

Janus: ...

Thomas: You okay over there Janus?

Janus: Why a pineapple???

[greenninjagal-blog]

Hi hello I was wondering if you would be willing to tell me more about the pretty god Janus design/au/whatever is going on with it because I love it so much I desperately want to know more lol

Hi! I am!! So spoiled!! By the amount of art that @theokusgallery has been feeding me directly for this idea that I've been working on. He is so pretty. I'm going to cry. And every new art piece he just gets prettier. Can you believe it??

Pretty God Janus(TM) is part of a dnd themed au called "Kiss the Stars (And Worship the Ground)" that I'm working on writing right now (literally- I'm taking a break from writing it to scroll through tumblr, lol) where Janus is a legendary god of old, who got bored of humanity centuries ago and has since been trying his hardest to find something entertaining to do with all the power he has.

Virgil, on the other hand, is a devout follower of the Goddess of Justice, right up until his entire village is ransacked by raiders waving the banner of Janus's emblem, and he's the last of his people alive, meant to be ritually sacrificed to Janus in exchange for his followers to receive a blessing according to this really old stone tablet a few guys found. Except well. Virgil doesn't end up being the one dead on the altar, Janus is extremely entertained for the first time in millennia, and they strike a deal:

Janus will give Virgil the power to avenge, revenge, whatever, and Virgil will continue to provide entertainment for Janus, all for the price of one kiss per day.

[soysaucevictim]

I just felt like scratching out the Begotten!AU Dork Sides for the helluvit.

Probably scheming abt their next Family Dinner and trolling Roman in the process, somehow.

(The four of them being Beasts with the souls of monsters and all that.)

[part-time-zombie]

Headcanon that remus likes to take some idioms very literally, as in he'll physically manifest symptoms of them as a joke.

He's daydreaming and all of a sudden his head is surrounded by clouds. Patton freaks out thinking his head is on fire, until remus tunes back in and they disappear. (Head in the clouds)

Someone gives him a compliment or shows him genuine kindness and he immediately throws up a bunch of butterflies. Logan shrugs it off as him just eating things he's not supposed to again, and remus doesn't try to correct him. (Butterflies in your stomach)

This idea just came to me and ngl I kinda love it

(if you have any other metaphors/idioms please add them to this, I'd love to see how much other stuff he could do)

[delimeful]

a promise softly sung (2)

warnings: severe dehumanization, miscommunication/assumptions, violence and injury, mentions of euthanasia, panic, PTSD, body horror (?)

--

Remus scanned the extensive fine print on the waiver in front of him with growing glee. 

There were a lot of clauses in the addendum section, indicating that either the creature in question had many features that were inherently dangerous, had displayed multiple different methods of attacks, or both.

He really had found a fun new project, this time. His shipmates would be utterly horrified. He couldn’t wait! 

The document was fairly straightforward, but he still made sure to check over all of it, keeping an eye out for any bureaucratic nonsense that might have been snuck in. After all, he was insane, not an idiot.

Every few moments, though, he couldn’t help the way his attention would keep turning back to the mystery creature.

Despite the length of time it had apparently been rotting away in this tiny cell, the staff were no closer to identifying the planet or even the specific quadrant it was from, let alone species. Part of it was likely due to the inability to safely interact with the specimen, or note any natural behaviors in such a sterile, contained setting.

Fortunately, that was where Remus came in! 

He’d earned himself something of a reputation for both wrangling and rehabilitating creatures that most were too frightened or disgusted to touch, working with them until he could find a suitable home environment or a substitute one that would still provide all the required factors. Nearly half of the intergalactic ecological community may loathe and/or be repulsed by the mere mention of him, but they couldn’t argue with his results! 

Though the creature— labeled L-064n by the intake form, though he’d surely come up with something much more creative within the hour— hadn’t seemed particularly perturbed by their presence outside the container beyond a lingering stare, that didn’t necessarily rule out aggression. 

After all, they hadn’t so much as properly entered the room yet, so Remus was holding out for further interesting behaviors. He had a feeling about this one, and following his impulses into reckless endangerment had never disappointed him before! 

He pressed his biosig stamp against the document with enthusiasm, noting that at his side, the Ampen employee was only growing more and more fluffed up in alarm. Apparently, they’d expected Remus to back down after seeing the extensive clauses in the paperwork. 

Unfortunately for them, signing his rights to pursue legal action away was a tried and true tradition for him, no matter how vehemently Janus lectured him about it later. He’d wrestled with paruvian death houndsfor fun. A piddly little list of disclaimers that he might or might not get his head torn clean off was hardly intimidating. 

“Alright,” the staff member said, gaze darting over the signature a third time. “I’ll set up the meeting space, then—?”

Remus hummed a denial, already scooting forward to enter the holding cell’s door. “This way is fine! Feel free to use the aerosolized tranqs on us both if things get too out of hand!”

Ignoring their whistle-shriek of protest, he slid easily through the door and into the territory of what he was fairly certain would be his next pet project.

The creature was larger than him, though exactly how much was difficult to tell from its current position curled into a corner. It had dull, opaque skin without any clear exoskeleton or other natural armor, which was pretty rare for fauna that he worked with, and only those four spindly limbs to maneuver with. It had wrapped itself in simple coverings that probably meant the cell temp was a little too low for it, and though there was no dental information on its file, he hadn’t seen the sort of fangs he would expect from a carnivore diet. 

Frankly, if it weren’t for the creature’s size and the unsettling, constant eye contact, it wouldn’t have seemed like the sort of beast he’d be called in to work with at all. The dichotomy of threat and harmlessness was intriguing, and Remus couldn’t help the way his tail thumped against the floor as he sidled into the small cellspace. 

Immediately, the creature shifted its weight, pushing onto the balls of its feet in one simple, efficient movement. Remus felt an excited hum begin to build in his chest; he’d known that there was still zest left in this guy! It may have put up a good show of monotony, but sure enough, when it came to an unfamiliar presence entering the space, there was a prompt defensive response. Those survival instincts were still present, which meant this was far from a hopeless case. 

He took another step forward, slower this time, watching for the moment he’d need to dodge. L-064n’s facial features pinched in a way that was uncannily close to sapient expression, but all of the signals were just slightly… off.

There was something about the narrowed eyes that didn’t read positively, even with the marked resemblance to an Ampen smile. Remus’s mane writhed curiously as he stared with absolutely zero hesitation, trying to pinpoint the difference. It was the angle, he decided, the curve of the eyes less severe without any cheek movement to squish the expression into proper harmless-friendly squint territory.

Perhaps the mockery was intentional, meant to scare off or lure in other species on its origin planet. He made a mental note to repeat the theory aloud once he got his slimy little hands on some fresh data storage chips for his recorder. 

Another step forward had him halfway across the space, well over the limit of tolerance for most fauna species that were even remotely territorial over their environments. 

Even then, L-064n didn’t make a single sound. Remus’s tail went still, held taut in a gesture of caught interest. He stepped forward again, and again, watching as muscles visibly bunched up at his approach.

There were audible warning signs in most animals, a precursor to violence. Growling, hissing, screeching, rattling, buzzing. Raising one’s voice in a show of force was the first and most basic defense for many fauna, especially mammals.

It was the silent ones that were dangerous. They gave no warning, no cry of alarm. There was only the stillness of waiting and the motion of violence, one after the other.

Remus reached out with his least favorite hand, the intent vague but the gesture clearly meant to touch. 

His newest project watched the limb stretch closer, and didn’t make a sound. 

—

It had been a while since Logan had been honestly thrown by something that had happened to him.

The new alien’s apparent enthusiasm for approaching a strange unidentified alien that all others in the building had scarcely dared to glance at had made the cut for surprising him, even if only briefly. 

There were a few moments of reprieve while the odd stranger was talked through some kind of liability paperwork, and Logan took the time to calm the unsettling spark of shock that the declaration had elicited.

He knew better than to read too deeply into things like this. When he’d first been relocated here, he’d eyed nearly every patron and new face with frantic suspicion, waiting for the day that one of them took a single look at him and knew exactly what sort of monster he was. 

(Worse, they might know the significance of the small, clearly-marked incision scar on the back of his neck.)

He didn’t dare even mouth the word, for multiple reasons, but he imagined the shape of the syllables in his mind, one after the other: Deathworlder.

Even now, his caution was likely entirely unnecessary. For all that they’d earned an astonishing level of infamy in the greater universe, Humans were apparently utterly unrecognizable to the vast majority of aliens. It was the same now. If that odd stranger had somehow recognized him, their reaction certainly wouldn’t have been to try and get closer. 

No, this was simply the space equivalent of an unwise young adult being dared to reach into a zoo exhibit— a reckless attempt to engage with something dangerous for ego or pride or whatever other motivations aliens had for risk-seeking behavior. He’d somehow caught their attention, but he wasn’t at risk of being found out and forced back to a facility like that very first one. 

Still, there was no real reason to engage. By the time the unwise stranger had shuffled into the room on surprisingly nimble feet, Logan had already decided to endure the visit with as little reaction as he could manage. He shifted into a more maneuverable crouch, just in case, but didn’t bother moving in any other way as the alien came closer. 

And closer. 

And closer. 

And then there was a limb being extended toward him, not moving particularly fast but still close enough that it triggered some automatic, primal part of Logan’s mind. Memories of the last few times anyone had grabbed at him flared up uncontrollably, with echoes of the searing pain that always followed.

Without conscious thought, his own arm whipped out and knocked the intrusion away with full reflexive force of the adrenaline that had just spiked through him. 

Splat! 

Logan, who had recoiled heavily the instant after he’d struck, managed to blink away the sensation of claws dragging down his arms. 

In front of him, the stranger stood, an arm still extended.

Only an arm. No fingers or elongated palm remained. 

A swift glance to the side revealed the remains of that lime-green hand, now splattered against the floor in a shapeless mound that was leaking a thick, chlorophyll-like substance. He’d… He’d knocked it clean off with one strike. 

At the realization, Logan only cringed back further, waiting for the unpleasant pained shrieking of someone who’d just been severely wounded, but none came.

Instead, as he watched, the dripping end of the alien’s arm sealed itself off into a starfish-like point, and the alien retreated with all the hurry of a tortoise wandering across a highway. The stranger seemed entirely unperturbed by the impromptu amputation, tail back to wagging idly as they gave him further space. 

His posture, which had grown quite hunched and stiff without him realizing, began to loosen from equal parts disorientation and bewilderment. What was he supposed to think about an encounter like this? He had just signed his own death warrant, hadn’t he? So why did it feel like his reaction was entirely in-line with this new alien’s expectations? 

Even after all this time, Logan hated being made a fool of. Eyes narrowed, he pushed himself up to standing, watching as the alien had to tilt their head back at a slightly grotesque angle to follow his progress. If he had to be uncomfortable at the whims of this stranger, he at least wasn’t going to make it easy for them.

The stranger’s whipcord tail wagged even harder. It had to be some sort of threat display, no matter how firmly Logan’s brain was pulling up reference videos of puppies. He braced himself for some sort of lunge, but instead, without breaking eye contact, the stranger trotted over to the pile of goo that had formerly been an appendage and promptly stepped on it.

Logan almost grimaced, recalling at the last moment that showing teeth was a bad idea, but even at the curl of his lips, the stranger maintained their leisurely pace as they sidled back over to the door. There was hardly a trace of the biomatter left behind, which was intriguing enough that Logan’s attention was immediately dragged astray to theorizing on the structural principles one would need to manipulate a body that could apparently be disassembled and reincorporated with more ease than children’s play-doh. 

As such, he’d almost fooled himself into believing the bizarre interaction was done and over with, ignoring the faint buzz of the mechanical translator and the much louder scolding whistles from the staff member as they presumably discussed the psychological warfare they’d just waged on Logan for no reason. 

Maybe it was some sort of test. If he had passed it, perhaps they’d talk about transferring him to the space equivalent of a no-kill shelter. Even with his life on the line, it was hard to work up to will to care either way. 

Huffing, he sank down into a seated position, still eyeing the slight shine left on the floor from the encounter. Enough was enough. He was done uselessly guessing at the indecipherable motives of aliens. He only wanted to think about creative potential nerve structures of invertebrates for the next two weeks at least. 

Of course, his life could never be that easy. 

The strained silence that had fallen outside the cell caught his ear a mere moment before the staff member, sounding more winded and croaky than he’d ever heard, forced out a familiar phrase, one that had only ever been applied to him once before. 

“If you're sure, then… c-congratulations on finding your… your new best friend!” 

Inside the cell, Logan jolted back to his feet so quickly that he saw spots. What?!

Outside the cell, the alien that had just unwittingly adopted a Deathworlder as a pet continued to wag their tail with oblivious glee. 

[let-roman-bite-someone]

the way Roman started off as a proper prince; regal accent, poetic catchphrases and all. and then that accent started disappearing as he started speaking more and more like just a normal guy, disguising his pain with cringy jokes, trying desperately to get everyone's attention, no longer self-assured and prideful, because he's no longer Thomas's hero.

[loganslowdown4]

Roman: I was at the park today and people were installing one of those spinny… things. Like a horse tornado… for kids—

Logan:

Logan: You mean a merry-go-round?

Roman: Look, I’m not the wordsmith you are brain boy—