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[hydrophobicmenace]

The interesting thing about QSMP is that it is a perfect example of how people spontaneously mimic the structures of human societies when they are thrown into a situation together, and the best part is that the resulting dynamics were totally unforeseen by Quackity himself.

We knew that the point of creating pairs and assigning each of them a little creature to protect was to incentivize people to break the language barrier and bridge the cultural gap—that’s the whole reason this server existed. And it worked wonderfully. What I’m sure the admins didn’t account for, however, is that because these creatures were played by real people, they developed personalities of their own and before they knew it, what was supposed to be a temporary event turned into the very core of the server.

It's hard to explain to people the sheer impact that the eggs left on all of us without sounding like we’re completely insane. Our brains are really bad at making the difference between real and fictional relationships (if there even is such a thing), so when you spend weeks taking care of a little egg that follows you around and eats the food you make and calls you its parent, you don’t just go about your day pretending that it’s all a game.

(Except Roier. This guy has exceptional mental fortitude.)

We are social animals. We look out for each other. When someone lets an egg die, it feels like a failure on ourselves and the people who put their faith in us. Look at Slime, he literally exiled himself for it. So they start weaving a net to stop their fall, a web of connections between the islanders that can withstand outside pressure. It takes a village, they say. The islanders came together to protect something dear to their hearts, and from their efforts bloomed a tight-knit community that never would have seen the light of day in different circumstances.

Accidents still happen, of course. But at least you’re not alone to face them. I often think about how every single person on the server at the time was immediately willing to accompany Jaiden and Roier on an 8k blocks journey to the place of Bobby’s death, not because Cucurucho told them to, but because they didn’t want the pair to face this hardship on their own. They didn’t need to know them well to volunteer—hell, the francophones had literally crash-landed the day before and Kamel probably thought that Bobby was some kind of pet still. They just did, because that’s what people do for each other. They’ll stand outside of the room where two grieving parents are saying goodbye to their child and discuss plans for a funeral because they understand that it’s the last thing you want to think about when you’re mourning, and someone has to do the unpleasant work.

Grief is a really silly and complicated thing that is difficult to simulate. I don’t think anyone would willingly put themselves in the state of anguish that some of the players were in during that time. Like Bad said, it was a genuinely traumatizing experience, yet you just had to live through it to understand why he didn’t regret any of it. These eggs were their babies—imagine someone gives you a little creature and asks you to sing them lullabies and bring them on adventures until it becomes something you look forward to every day, only to take them away from you on a whim—how fucked up is that?

But even in those moments of tragedies, there is some light to be found. Even as the Brazilians are sat around Maximus in a sullen silence while he plays the harmonica, the francophones are busy collecting bricks a couple feet away and discussing their plans for Pomme—literally ensuring the future of the island in real time. And they did a fantastic job of it. I’ve never seen people fight so hard for the life of a Minecraft egg; French viewers were literally threatening to organize a revolution on the bird app in case things didn’t go their way. You don’t typically do that for a two-week old cubito.

When you think about it, prying this server from their cold dead hands was really the only way to end this.

[naffeclipse]

Charm Brought It Back Pt. 3

Reader x Witches!Sun, Moon, & Eclipse

Commission Info

The lovely @pure-plum request a third part to @jackofallrabbits's and my Hocus Pocus AU! I'm so excited to share this next installment. The witch boys are far from done with the little historian and Michael has some explaining to do. Sun needs to share some vows and Eclipse tries to explain some things on the roof of Michael's home. Enjoy!

Content Warning: Suggestive themes, heavy kissing, heavy touching, injury, blood, violence, fire, (temporary) animal death and (temporary) character death.

———

On the outskirts of town, where the buildings and the suburban life thins into winding roads and wild, pale orange and deep red trees, is Michael’s home. He lumbers towards it like a creature from a 1950s movie.

Weaving between your footsteps is Vanessa, the talking rabbit. Her ears stay pricked and her wide, green eyes scan the starry skies constantly—blades of dead grass stick to the legs of your pants. Holes decorate your sweater, and your breathing has yet to level into something less frightening by the night's events.

You close your eyes for a brief moment to contain all the terror within you, but you almost trip on the dark pavement of the road. Michael reaches out to steady you with a rotten hand. Straightening quickly before giving him a glance of reassurance that you're alright, you nod. You stare at the putrid flesh of his fingers. Your stomach twists.

His dark eyes, alit only with twin, pale pricks of light, linger upon you. The weight is unbearable.

You’re not walking much better than the cursed, rotting man with a broken leg. When you asked him if it hurts, he said no. He can’t feel much of anything. You almost burst into tears, but he told you to keep going. It’ll be alright. 

You don’t know what to think anymore.

“There, up ahead,” Michael's voice churns with gravel. He gestures with a putrid arm. “My house. We’ll be safe there.”

It’s a bonte-white structure, a touch old considering the peeling paint on the outside as well as the overflowing garden of lavender—but you understand now why the flora flourishes on the grounds. 

Two stories tall, the roof slants over the attic. On top, a cupola framed in square panes of glass gives a small sense of safety, like a lighthouse on a cliff overlooking a stormy sea. The dark shingles slope down over the upper-level windows. 

“Do you know where Afton’s home is?” Vanessa speaks, and it almost startles you out of your wits. Her small, fuzzy head turns towards him while he reaches the front gate and shoves it open. You follow in afterward.

Your brow crinkles. When Michael first approached you, inquiring history of some genealogy he was doing on his family, you did point out a few historical buildings and locations within town. He said he needed your research for… personal reasons.

“I do, thanks to our friend,” he gestures to you. 

Vanessa flatly says, “The virgin.”

You cringe as the rabbit hops onto the porch. Michael stops before the cement steps with a quiet growl.

“Don’t say that.” He turns to you. “Can you help me up? I’m sorry, I smell like death.”

“It’s okay,” you smile, then immediately grimace at the stretch while you take his arm. “It’s not… going to fall off if I tug you up, right?”

His dark hair falls across his forehead while he shrugs. “I hope not.”

With that cheerful reassurance, you hook his elbow. Shadowing his step, you help him lift his bad leg onto the step, and pull the rest of his body afterward. Repeating the motions, you fall into a natural rhythm by the time you reach the front door. All the while, your mind whirls at Michael’s current condition while the rabbit waits impatiently at the door and the bizarre events since you lit the starry candle. 

“You didn’t tell me…” you say softly but fall short. You don’t want it to be an accusation, but you want to know. “You didn’t tell me about the brothers.”

He turns his face towards you. The clogging scent of decay infiltrates your nostril and you’re forced to cough to clear it away. Spying the yellowed cusps of his molars between threads of his cheek flesh conjures a sickness in your middle. His half-rotten lips press together into a thin line.

“It’s hard to approach someone with ‘Hey, I’m a witch hunter, just like my great ancestor who hung witches.’”

“Michael,” you chide.

“I warned you,” he says.

“I know.” You shake your head. Reaching out, you grab the door handle and push it open. “We need to brace your leg. Just because you don’t feel hurt doesn’t mean you aren’t.”

“Cursed,” he corrects quietly. “Not hurt. It could have been worse.”

His eyes drift to Vanessa, who stands guard for one moment, staring out into the darkness, before he returns his attention to you.

“I can still do things, though I wouldn’t want to be caught by the witches. They would torture me for eternity if they had it their way, I’m certain,” he drips derision.

A dark fist squeezes your heart. Heavy and pained, you guide Michael into his home. You’ve been in here once or twice, advising him in his research since he asked for your help. It was fun. You like talking about the town’s history how many historical homes are still maintained in the area and what significant events took place on what are now random fields or paved parking lots.

“Do you have some wood boards or planks we can use for a splint?” You ease Michael onto a blue couch, ripping slightly at the seams along the arms. The pale wood coffee table is overrun with books, an assortment of old and dark pages worn by time. You’re tempted to flip through titles, but fear keeps you on track. Michael might dissolve into dust and bones right before your eyes. 

“Yeah, under the sink. I have medical supplies in there.” Michael nonchalantly grabs his ripped jeans leg by the knee and hauls his broken leg up to prop it across the coffee table. A part of you squirms to see the unnatural bend in his shin bone, the leg all but collapsing. He continues without missing a beat, “Don’t worry about cleaning the wound or painkillers.”

“O-okay.” You sound far away. Those aspects are important to treating any injured person but what rules apply to a cursed man? Dizziness circles your skull as you stumble into the kitchen. A few dirty mugs are left in the sink. Rummaging underneath it, you find a black tote filled with medical supplies, a suspiciously, well-prepared assortment from bandages to antibacterial ointments. Needles for sutures wink up at you. Wooden stints wait as if expecting you.

Why does Michael have so much emergency aid prepared? It would be nice to think of Michael as simply a man who is well-prepared for the worst, but after tonight, how can you believe that? He’s a witch hunter in the modern day. 

There’s so much you don’t understand. 

Picking up the entire tote, your questions follow you back into the living room. Vanessa sits on her haunches on the coffee table, her fur still caked with streaks of dirt as she examines Michael’s broken leg. He straightens on the couch as best as he can when you kneel beside his wounded leg.

Following Michael’s instructions, you set the splints around the limb, up his knee, and over the top of his shoes. 

“Ties,” Michael says, “right here.” He leans over and fishes through the tote until he finds dark cords. 

You tie it carefully. You don’t want it too tight or else it could cut off blood circulation—if that is still functioning within his walking corpse. Dismissing the idea, you shudder and finish off the knot. 

“Do you have salt? More charms?” Vanessa asks, her attention upon Michael.

“I do. Weapons too,” he says.

“Wait.” You straighten, stepping back to gaze at both of them. This is not a normal conversation. This is not a normal get-together with a zombie and a rabbit—you need answers. Now.

“What is it?” Vanessa asks, her little rabbit face perturbed by your behavior.

“What is going on? No one has given me a straight answer all night.” You cross your arms, clutching at the torn sleeves of your sweaters. 

Michael and Vanessa share a glance as if they’ve known each other far longer than just this evening. Isolation settles upon you.

Michael faces you, testing the splints to see how well they hold. They remain rigid around the broken limb.

“The brothers are witches. They’re very real, and they’re very dangerous,” he says, his dark, sunken eyes holding your gaze. “My ancestor, William Afton, was a witch hunter. He hanged them for their crimes.”

“They were supposed to stay dead.” Vanessa’s voice lowers. Shame and hatred mingle into a chord under her tone. “I was there the day the brothers were hanged. I was the one who led Afton, my master, right to their home. For that, the brothers cursed me with immortality and this wretched body.”

Her ears flick. A heaviness settles over your chest, and your breath quickens into a shallow, desperate rhythm.

“You mean… all this time?” you whisper. 

Vanessa stares at you. Her green eyes are unreadable.

“All this time, I guarded the starry candle. Until you came along,” she seethes for one brief moment.

“Vanessa,” Michael’s voice cuts over her. “Don’t… I shouldn’t have let anyone go there, much less alone.”

“There’s the ceremony we must worry about,” she jumps in place, twisting to face him. “We must only wait them out until dawn, and they will return to their graves.”

Your head spins. The witches who spun you around and purred in your ear have wrecked so much havoc, even after their demises. You turn away.

Michael calls out your name.

“Do you have a shirt I can borrow?” you ask, not looking back at him. Your fingers knot ceaselessly into the fabric of your sweater, widening the holes further. 

“Of course.” Michaels’ voice softens. “Up the stairs, in the attic. Take whatever shirt you want. There’s something else we need to tell you, though. Can you wait a moment?”

“No,” you whisper, then shake your head, “Just… Just give me one minute, okay?”

You don’t wait for an answer as you step out of the room. Hurrying up the stairway that leads to the attic, you hear a hushed exchange. The rabbit harshly wonders if it’s wise to let you leave. You hurry up the steps.

The landing is open, sprawling with chests shoved against walls and a dusty desk left beside a window overlooking the garden sprawling with lavenders down below. A sack of wooden and leather charms sits near the top of the stairs. Across the room, a bed sits with a thick, brown quilt depicting yellow and orange flowers in geometric patterns over the cover. Does Michael sleep up here?

You venture forward, finding a closet with bi-folding doors. You nervously touch your fingers to the handle. Michael said it was alright, but somehow, this feels like an invasion of privacy. A little funny, considering you don’t know as much about your friend as you thought. 

Sliding one open, you find a few shirts hanging. Plaids and button-ups and pullovers, all with the faint hint of Michael’s musky, woody scent. You reach for a fisherman’s sweater, green and thickly textured. Lifting the hook off of the rack, you gingerly handle it with grimy fingers. You make a quiet sound of equal disgust and annoyance at yourself.

Look at you. You’re a mess. You went to explore a historical home and brought three witches back to life. Michael and Vanessa know who the brothers are and the brothers have seemingly claimed you as an intricate piece in a ceremony you have yet to understand.

You should listen to what the witch hunter and cursed rabbit woman have to say. Learning more and diving deep into the past has never been a feat you’ve shrunk away from, but you feel so strange. Confused. 

Phantoms of Eclipse’s hands slip underneath your sweater. Moon’s vows circle your head in a chant, spell-binding and complete. Your stomach burns with the memory of Sun pulling you onto his lap and flying off. 

This should be simple, like a fable. The witches must be defeated and the village saved. Historically, however, witches were only innocents. They were victims of powerful people and scapegoats for natural disasters and widespread sickness. They weren’t luring children away into the house of candy. They were simply practicing an art or culture that so few understood.

A gentle stroke of pity fills you when you think of the brothers and their hangings. Were they truly so evil they deserved to die?

You hear a soft creak of wood just above your head. Your eyes lift to the ceiling. The home is old. It’s bound to groan and settle in around you. Though your heart briefly knocks against your ribs, you clutch at your holey sweater and remember what you’re doing.

Michael and Vanessa are waiting for you. There’s more you don’t understand, and you have to face it. You lower your shoulders and close your eyes, then shiver.

A cool draft ghosts through the room. You turn, dropping the red sweater on the bed. Curiously, your eyes roam the windows, searching for which one hangs open—and why you didn’t feel a breeze before.

A spiral staircase leads up into the cupola. You peer skyward into the black, starry darkness through frames of wood. One of the glass panes is slightly ajar, pushed in, and left precariously loose. A chill slips against your skin through the holes of your sweater.

Was that always open?

Your spine tingles; the sensation of no longer being alone. 

“Hello, sunshine,” a cheerful, dripping voice slips into your ear from behind you.

Sun.

You inhale sharply. Before you can scream, a hand clamps over your mouth. An arm, lithe and solid as iron, wraps around your waist. The witch lifts you off your feet. Struggling, you claw at the hands holding you. Panic surges into your veins as you’re carried across the room and then twisted around to face your abductor. Without his warm, dark palm leaving your lips, Sun pins you onto the bed. You gaze up at him, eyes wide as he grins devilishly. He immediately slots his knees on the other side of your legs, hovering above you like a dark red sunrise, securing you in place.

A quiver runs through you. Your middle returns with a familiar warmth while you roam over his visage. His wide, pale eyes greedily devour you. His other hand softly pets your collarbone, hooking the collar of your shirt to expose more skin.

“There you are.” His thumb softly swipes your cheek without giving you room to speak. “I feared the fool rabbit and the rotten witch hunter spirited you away from us. No need to fear, my darling. We’ve come back for you.”

You whine underneath his palm. His grin widens as if he finds your little muffled sounds adorable. Sharp teeth glint in the near darkness of the attic.

Squirming, you grab at the edge of the bed and attempt to pull yourself out from under him. Sun clicks his tongue in disapproval.

“Ah, ah, ah, my dove! I haven’t gotten a kiss from you yet.” He shakes his head with great sorrow. “Don’t you want to hear my vows?”

He snatches your wrists, one by one, and shackles them in his one fist. He lifts them over your head and holds them against the headboard. Your heart thunders at how easily he contains you. Yet, you twist and flutter at him so close. A scent of honey and wildflowers falls from his cloak, sweet and intimate. You gaze up at him, little more than a fly caught in a spider’s web.

“It’s truly breaking my heart,” he feigns dramatically slumping. “My eldest brother has the pleasure of knowing the taste of your lips, and my twin has spoken his vows to you, but what of me? What am I supposed to do but die of heartbreak?”

He leans closer. Your eyes dart to his mouth and back to his gaze, holding you in a feverish, boiling want. A swipe of his tongue wets his teeth. A heat floods your cheeks.

“Shhh, sunshine. I’ll remove my hand so long as you’re good.”

You weakly nod. Your jaw trembles under his palm before the witch spears you with one last warning. His grin, however, grows. His hand lifts away and frees your mouth. Nervously, you lick at your lips while he studies the movement with pleasure staining his expression.

His hand falls, his dark satin fingertips flowing down your chin before ghosting over the sensitive cords of your throat. As if painting with his hands, he follows the curve of your collarbones. You wince when his claws cut through your poor sweater as he warms your chilled body with his palm pressed against your shoulder.

“Will you allow me the honor of becoming your husband?” He holds your gaze. 

Your breath slows as his hand falls to your side and begins softly caressing you through a notable tear in the knitwear of your shirt. A shiver spreads across your body from his touch. He tilts his head, his sun rays cutting through the darkness in a peacock-like twirl.

“Will you allow me to worship you endlessly, to be at your beck and call, to endure curses and terrors, and to witness blooming gardens and bright days by your side?” He sighs so sweetly as if he can’t stand the thought of stalling a moment more. “I’m afraid you are simply too lovely. Let me show you my devotion, then you may say ‘I do.’”

A tender pang in your heart ripples through you. Gazing into his pale, wide eyes, you fall into them. Would someone so evil have so much good to say? Would he ask for your hand in marriage if he truly meant harm?

“Sunshine?” Sun purrs gently. “It’s alright. You can speak your vows later.”

“Wait,” you whisper. Your gut twists as you think of Michael and Vanessa. Your friends are cursed, and they have the power to undo it. “Michael and Vanessa are suffering. Can’t you remove the curse placed upon them?”

Sun’s mouth pulls taut into a razor-sharp grin, but he doesn’t truly smile. Your stomach clenches with dread.

“How sweet to think the enemies of my brothers and I deserve mercy.” He withdraws his hand from the hole in your sweater and slips down to the hem slipping up your waist. His thumb slides over your hip bone. Softly, he begins circling it and you must bite your bottom lip to keep from gasping at how gentle his touch is. 

“Please,” you say quietly. You curl your fingers, still trapped under Sun’s grip. “I can’t say what you want me to say until Michael and Vanessa are free.”

“Hm,” he hums, the sound rolling deep in his chest, “A great gift to demand as our bride. Why don’t we speak of something else? Something more delicious.”

Your lips part as he leans down. His face is mere inches from your own, and you feel a buzz upon your mouth in anticipation. Shyly, a pink blush fills your face.

He draws his hand from your hip and takes your chin in his hand. His thumb gently brushes your bottom lip, holding you in place.

“You have the most beautiful freckles,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded and sultry. “Your lips are like roses. Won’t you let me stain myself in them?”

“Sun.” You want to turn your face away, but he’s so close. You can smell the sweetness of his person, and your core becomes molten. 

His mouth finds yours, and heated light falls over you. You fall utterly still under his gentle and smooth, practiced motion. Pushing and pulling, like steps to a dance, he kisses you. His tongue softly swipes at the seam of your lips, asking for entry. A mewl catches in the back of your throat. Insistent but gentle, Sun’s tongue finds its way past your teeth. The molten heat within you becomes lava, volcanic, and you are filled with his feverish desire to love you.

His grip softly flexes against your waist and wrists. Your back arches slightly, and his hand slips underneath you to support your spine. He draws you flush against him. Your sweater rides up, and you feel the soft fabric of his billowy shirt and the smooth, marbledness of his torso. A great fluttering erupts within your chest. Dizzy and struck by his full attention, you are molded by the sheer heat of his affection.

You’ve never felt such love before.

His tongue caresses your own before he draws it slowly out of your mouth. A stretch of spit follows before it snaps. He breaks the kiss, leaving you cold. You whine, afraid to never have such a connection again. You fall back to the mattress but Sun’s hand splayed over your back refuses to let you go, and you remain fast against his body.

He chuckles. “You are so sweet and precious. I have had lovers before, but you are the one who will stay with me. You are mine.”

You breathe out heavily. Your chest is gooey and warm, and your heart beats to a fiery tempo. 

“It’s alright,” he speaks in a low growl, passionate and terrifying, “Accept my vows, and I will love you for eternity. I will give you my heart on a silver platter. I will be your undying servant. I will dance with you every dawn. Sunshine, say ‘I do.’”

It’s on the tip of your wet lips. The words. The one phrase that will somehow evoke magic and time and fate, and make you entirely his.

“Oh, Sun,” you breathe, shaking your head.

Would it be wrong? Couldn’t you show him that he has too many curses? There are other ways he and his brothers can use their magic, right? They don’t have to be like this again.

“One more kiss,” he breathes against your cheek, fingers curling against the dimples of your spine before he bows over you. Your breath catches at the touch of his lips—

Footsteps thunk, slow and uneven, up the stairs. Michael's voice calls out to you, gently, but the undertone of concern does not miss your ears. The splint is working. The quick scurry of little claws scrabbling upwards echoes towards you and the witch about to kiss you.

Sun snarls silently. 

You clench your hands.

“Don’t hurt them,” you whisper, “Please.”

He levels you with a look, a glint of a blade-like calculation.

Rising, Sun pulls you after him in a whisking motion. Your vision spins as your hands fly down to cling to his shoulders. Taking your hips, Sun secures you against him, glaring daggers at the steps leading into the attic room before Michael’s purple face emerges, then widens in alarm and fury. Vanessa bound inwards and jerks to a stop, stunned. 

Sun cackles as he skips you backward in a dizzying, near glide upwards to the cupola. 

“Go and rot elsewhere, witch hunter!” he calls out. You clutch at his arms as he pulls you towards the askew window pane. The night breeze causes your hair to flutter around you. Sun grips you tighter, bowing close and protective over you. “It’s a beautiful night for a wedding, don’t you think?”

“No!” Michael shouts your name, stumbling forward at a break-neck speed. Vanessa scrambles up the thin, narrow steps with bounding legs.

Before you can cry out, Sun bends in half, forcing you down with him as he sticks one leg out of the window, and in one smooth motion, taking you in his arms like it’s your wedding night, he slides you out of the window and onto the roof of Michael’s home. You catch the last fleeting glimpses of Michael and Vanessa, both slapped with horror.

Sun extends his hand. With a hushed but fierce chant, magic heats the air. The little hairs on your arms prickle with a sizzling sensation as Sun casts a spell from his lips. The glass becomes molten, shining orange and taffy-like as it remains stuck within its frames, and then with one more word, Sun changes the glass once more. It warps and expands, becoming almost triple in thickness. 

You catch the sight of Michael throwing himself up the stairs. A warning flies from your lips. Whether he can’t hear you or he can’t stop himself if he wants to or not, he flies into the glass. He bounces off of it as if it were a steel wall. He hits the other end of the cupola, almost falling down the steps before he catches himself.

You gasp sharply. Clinging to the shoulders of Sun’s cloak, he purrs in delight as he slips carefully down the old, faded shingles.

“It’s alright, sunshine.” He pecks your cheek as the sloped roof descends to a dangerous lip with only the gutter acting as a barrier between you and a 20-foot drop. “Eclipse should have cursed the witch hunter into a rabbit. A yellow one with purple eyes. I would have let you keep him as a pet. Vanessa, too, if you ask nicely.”

“Don’t drop me!” your voice rises shrilly as you tuck your face against his neck. “Please.”

“Oh, I’ve received enough lectures from my brothers,” he laughs, then presses close to your cheek, contrite. “Please, forgive me, my darling. My excitement overtook me. I merely had to have you—and our vows still haven’t been exchanged!”

He steps over one of the windows, taking you to the south-facing side of the house, away from the window you both emerged from. Sun is light and graceful as he crosses the dizzying slopes of the roof. 

“The bride returns,” a familiar voice crones. Eclipse.

Lifting your head, you start as Sun slips towards the very lip of the roof. There, floating right in the open air, dozens of feet above the lavender garden, is Eclipse. Moon perches on an arch upon the roof with a disgruntled expression twisting his face while he strokes the warm, honeyed wood of Sun’s broom.

“I’m surprised you didn’t drop our bride once more,” Moon drips with venom. You gaze at him, remembering how he pinned you to the mausoleum wall. A bubbling roil returns to your middle.

“Silence, brother,” Sun growls, “You had your chance to exchange vows and you lost it to a fool imp and a vermin!”

Moon’s red eyes soften upon you when your gazes meet.

“Hello, little mouse. We almost lost you.”

“Moon,” you say softly, blinking against the starlight.

“Come here, little comet.” Eclipse opens his arms out to you. You openly stare. With ease, he balances upon the slender reddish-brown wood of his broom, his cape descending around him like wings. His grin is sharp and earnest, all at once. “We must make haste.”

“Wait, wait,” you try to shake your head but Sun passes you easily onto Eclipse’s lap as if you were mere feathers. 

“Sun?” Eclipse looks to his brother.

“No, I didn’t get vows in return,” he huffs, “the nasty witch hunter has a habit of interrupting private engagements.”

“I thought so.” Eclipse faces you. You sit securely upon his lap. His black cloak drapes slightly over your legs in the manner of a warm blanket. He gently takes your chin in his hand. You are still at the slight trace of his other circling your waist and securing you close. “You need to perform the ceremony with us.”

“Why? Why is it so important I perform the ceremony with you?” you ask softly. The cool air sends a chill down your back. Eclipse frowns before he hugs you close to his chest, sheltering you from the elements.

For a beat, he is silent. He strokes your arm with the back of his hand in slow, tender motions. Your eyelids flutter under such gentleness.

The sound of glass cracking jabs into the air, muffled but distant. A sharp growl echoes from Moon and Sun. You try to twist back to see if Michael is emerging onto the roof but Eclipse hums sharply, regaining your attention.

“It’s important because of you,” he answers gravely but with no less affection. “I have waited a whole life and death for you. As have my dear brothers. Sunrise will be here soon.”

“Sunrise?” you ask, confused. You’ve heard them tell of the bells ringing for them at dawn. “What does that mean then?”

Eclipse cups your face, forcing your attention upon him despite the rush of footsteps scrambling over the roof, and the harsh breaths and sharp curses.

“You love us, don’t you?”

Your lips part breathlessly. His eyes hold you in molten gold, and you become unbalanced once more.

Do you?

Can you marry these strange and handsome witches the very night you brought them back from their graves?

He drops his touch from your mouth and softly caresses the back of your hand. He looks down at it, admiring the small hills of your knuckles and the softness of your skin.

“We don’t have long,” he says. “We have already devoted our hearts to you, little comet. You have the power to—”

“LET THEM GO!” Michael shouts.

Eclipse’s head snaps back to the roof. Sun and Moon are clawing over the singles, the former giving chase after Michael. Shards of glass stick out of the sleeve of his torn shirt, embedded into his flesh; he seems to ignore the wounds entirely. Moon snatches a white rabbit rushing over the arch of the roof with a swipe of his claws. A sharp squeak of pain echoes from Vanessa. Holding up his catch like a fox with his meal, the witch cackles. 

You startle and start to wiggle desperately off of Eclipse’s lap. 

“Please!” You extend a hand towards Sun and Moon. “Don’t hurt them!”

Eclipse begins to wrap both arms tight around you, despite your struggle. Michael recklessly charges down the slope of the roof and reaches deep into his pocket. Producing pale lavender petals, he tosses them like confetti into the air just as Eclipse curses, then shrieks as the petals fall over you both like rice at a wedding.

“No! We’re running out of time!” Eclipse shrieks as he rapidly swipes at his person, removing the petals with a pained expression, but his golden eyes hold you captive. “My bride.”

You sadly shake your head. A dark mouth swallows your heart in a twisting torment: to stay or to leave. To forsake your friends or to give in to your suitors. 

On a nameless fear, you turn back to the roof and fling yourself off of Eclipse’s lap. His claws swipe at your sweater, ripping a tear into the back of it but you managed to land on the lip of the roof. The gutter buckles. You scream. Michael yanks you by the collar of your almost-ruined shirt and drags you up the roof. Sun cuts into his path.

“Nasty little corpse,” Sun snarls, “I’ll teach you to stay dead.”

“Sun, don’t!” Your eyes widen.

His pale eyes flash to you, his wicked grin easing. In the brief moment of Sun’s distraction, Michael squeezes several petals and a charm in his fist. The lethal design flashes in the starlight. Michael hurls the charm and the few petals left. When the charm hits Sun’s chest, a sharp sizzle echoes. The witch yelps, writhing as you fear a searing of flesh before he manages to fling it off of him. Sun is left clawing at where a mark burns through the fabric of his shirt.

Up the roof, Michael scrambles, towing you after him, trying as you might to look back at Sun in your worry. You reach a hand out towards the witch. He stops in his writhing to look back, but Michael pulls you faster until your feet almost give out from underneath you. Across a peak in the roof, Michael zeros in on Sun’s broom.

“Michael,” you say, but he is already striding towards it. Using his un-splinted leg, he brings his boot down hard on the broom until it snaps and cracks in half.

“Afton!” Sun howls, “I’ll make you pay!”

You hear a sharp snarl from across the roof. You face Moon clutching Vanessa as he begins the mutterings of a curse. Vanessa is kicking with her hind legs and writhing. His black claws wrap around her dirty white fur before she manages to twist and sink her teeth into his hand. A growl, pain-filled and brimming with loathing, echoes before he hurls her away from him. Vanessa falls down the roof and over the edge.

“Vanessa!” you scream out.

“She’s fine, she’s fine,” Michael utters, dragging you back to the cupola. “Go, go, she’ll be outside on the grass, and then we’ll run.”

“No, no, no!” you half-sob. You lock eyes with Moon, his expression unreadable. His eyes are red like blood but he makes no more to stalk after you as Michael shoves you through the shattered window. Thick shards of glass lie upon the steps of the narrow staircase and the wood frame is splintered. 

“Hurry,” Michael urges. He pulls you rapidly through the attic room. He stops only to snatch a leather bag and throw it over his shoulder. “It’s not safe here anymore. They’ll curse it. We have to get to town, shake them off our trail.”

“But Michael, Vanessa,” you sob and realize how stupid you are to trust the witches. They are violent. They are wicked.

You wanted so badly to kiss them.

“Focus up,” he says firmly. “Stay with me.”

You catch a whiff of smoke. You and Michael both pause on the top of the staircase leading to the ground floor, and peer up to find flames licking at the wood of the cupola greedily, and descending further, and further down.

“Fire. Of course,” Michael mutters. “Let’s go.”

He yanks on your arm and you both fly down the steps. Out of the door, you scramble over the porch and onto the lawn, finding the still form of Vanessa on the grass. Just like Michael said. You tear away from Michael to snatch up the rabbit’s body in your arms. You turn her head and find blood splattering the side of her face. Her poor, broken body hangs limp in your hands.

“Vanessa,” you wail.

“Run. It will be okay.” Michael pulls you after him. He races down the lone road, towards the light of the town. 

Twisting back once to stare up at Michael’s home now descending in rapid, unnatural flames of bright orange, you almost fall at the sight of it becoming ash. Upon the roof sit three witches, watching you race away. Their stillness pierces your heart. You sob once more and kiss Vanessa’s head in apology. You didn’t mean for her to die.

Why would they do that? You begged them not to.

Michael keeps running an awkward gait with his splinted leg and his rotten flesh. You keep pace, shoes slapping on the pavement, hugging a dead rabbit to your heart with tears spilling down your face.

[cavegirlpoems]

so i consider myself a pacifist, but like... an extremely zoomed-out pacifist. i want the least amount of violence possible to be happening.

what we unfortunately have is that there's a guy gruesomely feeding dozens of people into his giant slapstick sausage-grinder-machine while twirling his villain moustache and cackling evily, and he absolutely will not be reasoned with, and for some reason society has no mechanisms to make him step away from the sausage machine or turn it off. you do, however, have a handgun.

so we can all see that in this situation the least amount of violence is to kill sausage-machine-guy. it would be nice if he could be talked into turning the sausage machine off, or failing that if existing social structures could exert sufficient coercion to make him stop, but unfortunately society is run by sausage machine guys, so gun it will have to be.

thats the thing, right? the violence is already happening on a huge scale. people do actually suffer and die because of these problems, and in a lot of cases these problems exist because specific people are in a position to make specific decisions and will not change.

this isn't to say that i am actively advocating for violence; i mostly am not. but mostly i am not because in most cases i don't think one specific individual popping their clogs would actually fix the problem; in the cases where it would, its just a trolley problem, and i say pull the lever.

like the Claims Adjuster factually, observably saved people's lives. a lot of people's lives. you can look at how insurance companies shifted their policies after the event, do some maths, run some numbers and get a decent estimate of how many people it was. and this may have only been a temporary reprieve until the next sausage-machine-guy stepped up to carry on operating the sausage machine, but it absolutely saved lives. the trolley maths is pretty cut-and-dried.

the current system existing as it is is already violent, we just pretend it isn't because it's normalised. we see 'not normalised' and get confused and think it's the same as 'more violent' but its not. pulling the lever is the least violent option its just harder to sweep under the rug.

[thethronezone]

The High Consort demands an actual proper wedding from Big E, and he accepts what will the wedding would look like?

First of all; location. Of course it's going to take place in the Imperial Palace. There's no other option. Well, there were, but they were all shot down. Apparently, there were no large enough wedding venues on Luna, so the palace it is.

A specific section of the palace is chosen and sectioned off for the event so that no wayward guests will accidentally wander off somewhere they are not supposed to be. Security is going to be tight. The custodes are treating this like its war.

The chosen section includes multiple gardens and halls, providing enough space to entertain hundreds of thousands of guests. Which there will be because the Imperium has a million worlds under its rule and that means that a lot of people need to be present to represent them.

And listen, the guests aren't required to bring gifts. That wasn't included on the invitation. But like, how could anyone show up without one? It's practically a competition between guests to one-up each other in order to prove their loyalty and to (hopefully) earn some favor from the royal couple. Multiple rooms have to be emptied to serve as temporary storage areas because of the multitude of gifts. Some noble brought a space ship. A smaller one, yes, but a space ship nonetheless.

Decorations? Decorations. Not cheap little trinkets either, no, they are breaking out the fine shit, the treasures the Emperor and High Consort have collected over the years. And it's a fucking lot. There are different displays of artworks and artifacts, most of them originating from ancient Terra, that the guests can admire and talk about. A retinue of magos go into an excited frenzy when they find an original Macintosh computer. When it also manages to turn on without fail the custodes has to direct the other guests around them as the mechanicus start praising the machine-spirit with full on religious ceremonies.

As for the Primarchs? Of course they're all there. Attendance is mandatory and so is good behavior. So no convincing the High Consort to bail before the ceremony (looking at you Mortarion). They are all expected to be dressed for the occasion so no wearing just any old rag (again, looking at you Mortarion). Some Primarchs adhere to these rules better than others. Fulgrim, Sanguinius and Roboute are all splendid examples, looking behaving like perfect sons. Angron looks and behaves like someone put a honey badger in a suit while Ferrus just showed up in actual armor. Shiny armor, sure, but that's besides the point. Fulgrim forced him to go change.

Speaking of Fulgrim, he practically begged to be part of the planning for the wedding. Surprisingly enough, so did Rogal. Apparently he had a lot of ideas of how to improve the structural integrity and security of the venue. Fulgrim almost stabbed him in the eye when he suggested automated turrets on the banisters, even when Rogal tried to compromise by offering to paint them gold. Malcador had to calm that entire situation down.

The ceremony itself is actually fairly simple. The Emperor and the High Consort exchange some vows, promise to remain loyal to one another and all that and then the celebration starts for real. There is no exchange of rings but they do kiss at the end of their vows.

[hayatheauthor]

can you write some tips on writing amnesia for a character? <3

Note: thank you for your ask! I'm sorry for replying so late I took a break from Tumblr for a bit.

In this guide, I'll be covering a balance of information on amnesia and how to write it. Some topics I mention are the types of amnesia, how they impact characterization, and how to write a believable portrayal of memory loss. I hope this blog is to your liking anon.

Understanding Amnesia: Types & Realism

Amnesia is not a one-size-fits-all condition. There are many different types of amnesia and each has unique effects on a person’s ability to recall past events or form new memories. You should research the type of amnesia you're going to use in-depth before incorporating it into your writing, but here's a quick breakdown of the types: 

Retrograde Amnesia – The inability to remember past events while still being able to form new memories. This is common after traumatic brain injuries.

Anterograde Amnesia – The inability to create new memories while retaining past ones. A well-known example is the film Memento, where the protagonist loses the ability to form new long-term memories.

Dissociative Amnesia – Memory loss resulting from psychological trauma rather than physical injury. In extreme cases, this can lead to fugue states, where a person travels or assumes a new identity with no memory of their past.

Selective Amnesia – The loss of specific memories, often linked to a traumatic event.

Transient Global Amnesia (TGA) – A rare, temporary condition where a person suddenly loses memory for a few hours or days before recovering.

Many fictional portrayals of amnesia tend to exaggerate its effects or resolve it in unrealistic ways. In real life, memory loss is rarely total, and individuals often retain habits, motor skills, and emotional reactions even if they don’t recall specific events.

Choosing the Right Type for Your Story

Amnesia can be used in various genres, from psychological thrillers to fantasy epics. It's often a plot device or opportunity for character development, so it's important you pick the right type of amnesia.

A thriller or mystery might use amnesia as a tool to conceal crucial information, allowing the protagonist to uncover the truth alongside the reader, in which case Selective Amnesia might be a good fit. A romance could explore the emotional toll of memory loss on relationships, where one partner remembers everything while the other has Retrograde Amnesia and forgets them.

If your story revolves around identity and self-discovery, dissociative amnesia or retrograde amnesia may serve the plot best. If you want to create suspense by limiting what the character can learn over time, anterograde amnesia can add significant tension.

Take some time to consider why your character needs to have amneisa, what you plan on achieving with it, and whether or not you want them to recall what they've forgotten. 

Characterization & Emotional Impact

Amnesia isn’t just about forgetting—it fundamentally changes how a character interacts with the world. A character suffering from memory loss might experience:

Fear and paranoia – Who can they trust if they don’t even trust their own mind?

Grief and loss – The realization that they’ve forgotten people or parts of themselves can be devastating.

Frustration and helplessness – Simple tasks may feel overwhelming, and social interactions may be fraught with confusion.

A shift in personality – Without their past experiences shaping them, they might react to situations in unfamiliar ways.

Relationships also play a crucial role. Loved ones may struggle to reconnect, while old enemies may take advantage of gaps in memory. This emotional complexity adds depth to an amnesia storyline, making it more than just a convenient plot device.

Medical Insights on Amnesia

To write a realistic portrayal of amnesia, it’s essential to understand its medical and neurological foundations. Memory formation involves various brain structures, particularly the hippocampus, which plays a key role in storing long-term memories.

Causes of Amnesia

Head trauma (e.g., concussions, strokes, aneurysms)

Psychological trauma (dissociation due to extreme stress or PTSD)

Infections affecting the brain (e.g., encephalitis, meningitis)

Substance abuse (alcohol-induced blackouts, drug-related memory loss)

Neurological disorders (e.g., Alzheimer’s, epilepsy, brain tumors)

Memory Recovery & Treatment

While some cases of amnesia are reversible, others can cause permanent memory loss. Treatments often include:

Cognitive therapy to help the brain form new associations.

Medication for cases linked to neurological disorders.

Hypnosis or psychotherapy for trauma-induced memory loss.

Fiction often portrays amnesia as something that can be instantly cured by another head injury or a dramatic emotional revelation, but in reality, recovery is often slow and uncertain.

Writing Realistic Amnesia Symptoms

When crafting an amnesiac character, it’s crucial to depict their symptoms accurately. Some of the most common effects include:

Confusion and disorientation, particularly in familiar settings.

Difficulty recognizing close friends and family members.

Emotional reactions to people or places they don’t consciously remember.

Trouble forming new memories (in cases of anterograde amnesia).

Physical symptoms such as headaches, dizziness, or fatigue.

By integrating these symptoms into your character’s behavior, you create a more immersive and believable narrative.

Unraveling Memories

Memory recovery should feel natural rather than forced. Instead of a sudden, convenient realization, consider gradual memory restoration through:

Sensory triggers (smells, sounds, touch that evoke forgotten memories)

Therapeutic methods (therapy sessions, hypnosis, journaling)

Unreliable memories (false memories, altered recollections)

Emotional breakthroughs (re-experiencing an intense emotion tied to a memory)

It’s also worth deciding whether your character will ever fully regain their memories. Some narratives work better when the character must move forward without ever reclaiming their past self.

Common Pitfalls & How to Avoid Them

While amnesia can be a powerful narrative tool, it’s easy to fall into unrealistic portrayals. Here’s what to avoid:

Instant cures – Memory loss doesn’t resolve itself with a single emotional moment or another head injury.

Overly selective memory gaps – Forgetting only plot-relevant details makes amnesia feel contrived.

Ignoring emotional consequences – Memory loss isn’t just about lost facts; it’s about lost identity and relationships.

Lack of research – A poorly researched amnesia storyline can feel lazy and inauthentic.

By steering clear of these clichés, you can create a well-rounded and compelling narrative.

[symmergy]

✧ Tales of Reverie Expanded ✧

The Tales of Reverie Legacy Challenge is a story-driven generational challenge that includes equal parts wholesomeness and drama. Each heir has a story to follow, with a set amount of goals to complete over their lifetime, as well as a major lifetime event that will determine the trajectory of their lives. With the new structured endings feature your choices will shape the future for generations to come.

This challenge is still in it's testing phase, which means generations are still in the process of being written.

So far the challenge has:

10 fully completed generations, with another 10+ in the works

A detailed backstory/premise at the start of each generation

A list of goals, traits, and skills for each heir to complete

One or more major life events that will determine the trajectory of your heir's story

Structured endings with different outcomes for your heirs

A list of suggested mods for improved gameplay

Find the challenge document HERE.

Please make sure you tag your posts, gallery sims, gameplay, etc. with the tag #TS4TalesOfReverie. I love seeing what you all get up to in your gameplay.

Brief highlights for each generation ↓

════════════════════════════════════════════

Generation One

Highlights: Rags to riches, cottage living, summer flings, and an accidental pregnancy.

Generation Two

Highlights: Ambitious chef, rising to fame, and the outbreak of scandal.

Generation Three

Highlights: Renowned journalist, workaholic, situationships, and an unwanted child.

Generation Four

Highlights: A budding artist, foreign countries, sabotaging love, and an ill-fated affair with the best man.

Generation Five

Highlights: Adventure, ancient cultures, archaeology, and a scholarly rivalry.

Generation Six

Highlights: Wholesome veterinarian, animal hoarder, and a decision that changes everything.

Generation Seven

Highlights: Fame, the big screen, and a scandalous party resulting in paternity tests and co-parenting.

Generation Eight

Highlights: Escaping the spotlight, joining the military, charmed by a toxic superior.

Generation Nine

Highlights: Space travel, unexplored galaxies, and an enemies-to-lovers manhunt resulting in a secret child.

Generation Ten

Highlights: Big happy family, bowling leagues, a temporary separation, and a one-night affair.

Generation Eleven

Highlights: Beach life, a long distance relationship, and a steamy affair.

Generation Twelve

Highlights: A teen pregnancy, a marriage of convenience, and conflicting ideals.

[strawberryforks]

waves of three // simon “ghost” riley x f!reader

part 1/?

warnings: swearing, injuries, vomit, death-mentions

a/n: i haven’t played much COD 😬😬 so this won’t have many canon events, etc. kinda obsessed with this little plot and the characters brewing in my mind but so open to feedback & suggestions. recs open btw! <3

Tradgedy, trouble, whatever it was you wanted to call unfortunate happenings, they came in waves. Good things were temporary and so, you clung to them, nails scratching, clawing, teeth sunk in. Happiness was fucking fleeting but you had found it, god, you found it—found him, and for once you didn’t have to hold on as tightly because he was there, holding you too, from the very beginning.

Your lieutenant always watched your six, saved your life a few times to which the thank you’s were brushed off “would’a done it for any of the guys,” gets grunted in your general direction, “No one left behind,” you hear that once or twice, too. Then, the one time you save his ass it’s a problem. You’ve been a part of the 141 for a year now, so he knows you’re capable—it isn’t that, he’s worried about. You’re taking fire, hiding behind a brick wall with about as much (structural) integrity as the scummy family that built you. Your lieutenant, he’s bleeding pretty badly. You’re half-knelt on top of his muscular thigh, and no, it’s not the best time to be appreciating that but you’re only (barely) human and you’re having to pop up from behind the “wall” to fire at hostiles—a high stakes game of jack in the box to which you won’t be the winner. “Go,” he growls, and you give him a glare that could freeze hell, “I’m not leaving you,” and you’re stubborn, stubborn and disobeying orders because they’re stupid. You radio soap, tell him your position, ask him to send some fucking help and he is, he is, but it’s five minutes out. Do you have five minutes? No, but, you’ve always been good at making time. A quick tourniquet and he grunts, “Reaper, get the fuck out of here. Tha’s an order,” you reach for his gun, he lets you take it. “Negative sir,” you tell him, then, and all those protests? You ignore them. You tell him the gunfire has your ears ringing, “Can’t hear ya, LT,” and you tell him to stay the fuck awake, too, because he doesn’t get to be the one who leaves. Not when you’re staying right here, right with him. Soap brings backup and you both make it out of there—your lieutenant doesn’t speak to you for a week, not after he chewed you out initially, but… no matter where you were after that, he was there too, not far off and always ready to repay the favour should the need arise.

He rests his arm around his shoulder, your reassurances are subtle then, when you let him. You fall asleep on him once and, and he’s fucking honoured that you trust him enough to be vulnerable around him. When you’re asleep, you’re defenceless, but not with him—no one could come near you without fearing for their life, no one disturbed you (not only was he was a good pillow, he was warm, and he was better than and Do Not Disturb sign you’d ever bought) and, though you never said anything. That plane ride was the first time in s long time you didn’t have a single nightmare.

You’re vulnerable with him in a different way one night, after a particularly difficult mission. You need comfort and you find it in the way bodies do, tangled all together. In his room, the two of you see all of each other for the first time. Respective masks are exchanged; abandoned, and that night you meet Simon. In the morning, he looks at you as you climb out of bed and start rifling around on the floor for your clothes. Your shirt, your pants, the underwear he ripped—a non-apologetic half shrug is all you get for that. Simon’s not a heavy sleeper so it’s no wonder your shuffling around wakes him up. He leans back against the headboard, watching you struggle into your thigh high boots and he cocks a brow “Ya leavin’?” and god, he hopes that didn’t sound as pathetic to you as it did ricocheting around in his own ears. He’s not bloody awake yet and he’s finally had you, after years of fucking pining and what, you’re gone now? Done wit’ him? He thinks he loves you and you think he’s a good shag? Fuck him for falling, fuck him cause he knew. You were too good for him, too good to want him.

You laugh, bright, cheery, good (you’re a fake. fake, fake, FAKE) sounds before you swipe at the air, “I’m just going to pickup breakfast. I’ll be back. I swear the only thing that could get me away from you is my coffee and breakfast wrap. I ordered you tea, cause you’re a stereotypical fuckin’ brit and I figured I’d get you a bagel too. Didn’t wanna wake you but—“ and yeah, he agrees to go with. You suggest a blueberry bagel and that might just become his favourite.

When Simon’s finger is crooked and snagged in the belt loop of your jeans, you’ve been dating for years. You’re closer than ever, you’re living together—off base—but you still meet up with the guys (Price, Soap, Gaz) even when you’re on leave. You still work together, stay together. You haven’t had many close calls since Simon’s been yours. Since you’ve been his. Even after all this time, he keeps you close—in the grocery store, on missions, in bed, squished against his chest, trapped under his arm—like he was scared you would disappear (be taken from him, get hurt, die) you told him that was crazy. Reassured him, laughed about it. “You’re crazy if you think I’m leaving you, Si.”

(You guess he was crazy)

Six months later and you say the words “till death do us part”

A damning sentence, if you’ve ever heard one.

The morning before the first wave, you throw up. You empty your stomach into the nearest fucking can and shit, because you’re wheels up in 10, a mission or something—solo, and it’s been awhile since one of those but you’re not worried. Intel retrieval, like old times. You’ll get more details when you get where you need to [LOCATION: currently undisclosed] and fuck if you’re not feeling well. You wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, you brush your teeth and you paste on your best smile. You kiss Simon, “I love you,” and he returns the sentiment of course; traps you in a hug that you don’t want to escape. “Be fuckin’ careful” and you tell him “Of course, baby,” and then you climb on the plane and make your way to the back where you shut yourself in the cramped, compact bathroom, and drop to your knees. You throw up again. The fuck are you, pregnant? Your face falls, ghastly, you look down at yourself. You’d gained a little weight but that was normal, You… no. No fucking way. You pocket the possible information and plan to revisit it later. After landing, a black SUV picks you up at the airport, Laswell’s there and you haven’t seen her, you’re old friend, in awhile, so that’s a welcome surprise. You give her a hug, theb you make her stop at the gas station. “I’ve gotta piss, I’ll be a few,” and you take three minutes. Maybe four, and another wave hits you—two lines, it’s positive and shit. It’s not terrible, but the timing is. You decide to ignore it, in and out, the misson’ll finish and you can take some days off, tell Simon, maybe distract him a little so he doesn’t get too upset… (blame the hormones! You can do that now) Simon’s relationship with his dad was about as good as yours is with your dad, you know he’s worried he’ll be a bad father but frankly, you know that’s bullshit. You’re both pieces of work but you’re pieces that work together. You’re worried about motherhood (was there anything maternal about you? other than the rage, that protective, stubborn rage?) and he’ll worry about fatherhood. You’ll worry, but you’ll worry together.

Laswell takes you to her house. “Kate…” you say, suspicious now.

Then comes the next wave.

It hits you so hard you’re knocked unconscious. Before you were 141, SAS you were CIA, and, “You’ve been compromised,” are words you’ve never wanted to hear.

“You need to disappear,” she tells you.

“I have a life, Kate, I—“

The argument dies on your tongue.

“You can’t anymore, Y/n. You were Reaper first. I’m sorry, I am, but we’ve worked alongside each other long enough that I know you. That husband of yours is the first target, the first who’d be killed if you… if you weren’t.”

“You’re saying…”

“I’m saying you can stay with me for awhile.”

“And you need these,” you say, your hands tangling in your dogtags.

She nods and you swallow hard. “He’ll…” (you might get sick again; you swallow back the bile) “He’ll want to see a body…”

“It’ll be an explosion. Too hot, too much fire, the bomb, too strong. There won’t be one.”

You laugh bitterly because this is so… so! So fucking absurd. “You’ve got it all figured out.”

“I’m sorry. I wish there was another way”

You nod, you give Kate Laswell your dog tags and try not to picture Simon’s face—anything about him, really… and… Kate, she points you in the direction of her bathroom. You’re really that predictable, really that pale.

Happiness is fleeting. It’s fucking fleeting and even if two people cling to it, there’s no guarantees in this world.

Not a single one.

[theunaestheticstudyblr]

Some fresh advice for y'all in college to start off the new semester!

Sleep. Sleep will let you function better, be in a better mood, get sick less often, etc

Eat. Fuel your body and mind. Eating helps with your brain fog and focus. Calories are just the energy you are putting into your body and the more you do, the more energy you need.

Find a why for every class. Why are you taking this class? And no just to graduate isn't always a good enough why to keep you motivated. Will you use that physics class? Maybe not, but it can help explain how the world works around you, makes your brain work out, all that stuff.

Take time for you. You are the most important aspect of your life. Great yourself as a priority.

Listen to your body. Please

Take a little time every day to study. Even an hour is a good amount of time. 1% better every day is still better than before.

Don't buy textbooks until after the first week or two of class. You won't need the textbooks for most classes, they just have to say they have a required text book.

Be social. Join a club. Go to events. Be a college student!

Make a schedule. Having a schedule with flexibility built in will make things less stressful in the long run.

Move your body every day if you can. Stretch. Go for a walk. Do yoga. Whatever you like. Taking time to just be present with your body and no distractions or pressures, you can reduce stress and recollect yourself. It's essentially moving meditation when done in depth and without any distractions.

Try out several study methods. Different topics may require different study tools. Flashcards probably won't work for every topic.

Make a budget. Try to save when you can, even if it's $1 every 2 weeks.

You will probably be in a new area. Take time to explore. Find some dive bars. Hiking trails. A cute cafe.

Brush and floss. Teeth are so expensive to fix later on. Take care of them now please. Don't wait for that $10,000 dentist bill for a tooth replacement.

Start hobbies. Let them fall off if they no longer interest you. A lot of times, you have temporary needs that a hobby will fulfill during that time. Your hobbies aren't your identity. And you are fluid. It's ok to change.

Explore your style, interests, food tastes, social structures, etc. This is a time of limbo basically. Have fun and figure yourself out.

Talk to your teachers. You'll probably need reference letters later on. Go to office hours. Ask questions in class. Make sure your teachers know who you are.

[dearyanderenewspaper]

🗞️ YanCorp Park: The Ultimate Retreat for Your Darling! 🎡

Where Fun Meets Control—Because True Love Always Watches!

For Yanderes seeking the perfect balance between supervision and entertainment, YanCorp Park is the premier destination designed exclusively for Darling safety, socialization, and structured recreation.

Part amusement park, part secure retreat, this state-of-the-art facility offers a fully controlled experience, ensuring your Darling enjoys fresh air, social interaction, and entertainment—all under strict observation.

🏰 A Perfectly Controlled Paradise!

YanCorp Park is no ordinary theme park. Here, every Darling is: ✔ Closely monitored by expertly trained ex-Yandere handlers. ✔ Assigned their own private room in the secure underground residential area. ✔ Required to wear a GPS collar at all times for tracking and safety. ✔ Given scheduled socialization opportunities— but only within approved guidelines.

🏷 Armband System – Customize Your Darling’s Experience!

💙 The Blue Armband – Limits access to select attractions based on Yandere-approved preferences. Ensure your Darling only experiences what you allow! Default: ✔ Restrict high-speed or high-thrill rides. ✔ Prevent access to "overstimulating" attractions. ✔ Designate safe zones and activity areas. Custom: ✔ Setup any restrictions you need!

💚 The Green Armband ($200 Upgrade) – Grants your Darling nighttime park access, allowing them to explore after dark under strict supervision. Includes low-lit rides, exclusive lounges, and a tranquil, controlled atmosphere.

🍿 Food & Snack Control: Only What You Approve!

A well-fed Darling is a happy Darling, but only if they’re eating what you decide. ✔ Pre-select meals and snacks delivered directly to their private room. ✔ Set strict dietary restrictions to ensure they only consume what you approve. ✔ Monitor eating habits through scheduled reports via the Yandex App.

📹 Live Surveillance & Remote Monitoring for Yanderes!

Even when you’re not there, you’ll always be watching. 🎥 24/7 Live Feed Access – View your Darling anytime, from anywhere, from the camera on their collar! 📍 GPS Tracking ��� Know their exact location in the park at all times. 🔔 Instant Alerts – Receive notifications for unauthorized behaviors. 📝 Playback History - Review all of your darling’s activities, to make sure they’re always under your protection!

🏆 Reward System for Well-Behaved Darlings!

To encourage obedience, YanCorp Park features an Affection Points System[APS]. Darlings who demonstrate good behavior (following curfews, obeying handlers, maintaining a sweet disposition) can earn exclusive rewards, such as: ✔ Extra supervised chat time in WhisperCage. ✔ A limited selection of pre-approved books or music. ✔ A brief, monitored video message from their Yandere. ✔ Temporary relaxation of movement restrictions (with proper approval).

For Yanderes, this reinforcement system ensures desired behaviors become second nature.

🎭 Special Events & Seasonal Activities

YanCorp Park offers exclusive, fully monitored events tailored to keep Darlings engaged while ensuring absolute security: 🎃 Darling’s Delight Halloween Night – A masked ball where Darlings can socialize—within their designated areas. 🎄 Winter Wonderland Week – The park transforms into a snowy paradise, complete with Yandere-approved pre-selected gifts. 💘 Valentine’s Darling Gala – A romantic-themed event featuring love letters… exclusively from their Yandere.

🛏 Long-Term Stay Options [Only offered in NA Locations]

For Yanderes who aren’t quite ready to take their Darling home, YanCorp Park offers long-term Darling accommodations in our underground residential area.

💰 Affordable Payment Plans Available – Set up automatic monthly payments and never worry about Darling upkeep again!

🗞️ YAN CORP PARK: A DARLING’S PARADISE OR A YANDERE’S BEST INVESTMENT?

For those seeking a secure, structured way to supervise their Darling, YanCorp Park offers the ultimate peace of mind. With a fully enclosed amusement park, lush nature trails, and a secured underground housing area, your Darling gets just enough freedom to remain happy—without the risks of unsupervised exposure.

🔒 The Highest Level of Security

✔ Strict entry & exit protocols – Only verified Yanderes may retrieve their Darling. ✔ Round-the-clock monitoring – Every interaction is observed and recorded. ✔ Ex-Yandere security staff – Highly trained, highly devoted, and always watching.

Whether you need a structured getaway, a monitored social experience, or a long-term housing solution, YanCorp Park is the gold standard in Darling care and control.

📍 Reservations Now Open! Secure your Darling’s stay today at www.YanCorpPark.love

[vee-vee-writes]

Alien Invasion (Frieza x gn!reader)

Request: “Idk if you write for him but could we please have a Frieza x female human reader pls? Idk why but I am starved of this! Spare a few crumbs pls?”

AU (events of DBZ don't happen)

Earth was gone. Destroyed in a meteor shower. Officials had predicted the meteor shower and in conjunction with Capsule Corp had made preparations for the evacuation of the population. A random ticketing system had been rolled out to fill spots on the evacuation crafts. Y/N had been fortunate enough to have been allocated a space on one of these shifts. 

They had set off on a voyage amongst the stars, searching for a suitable but uninhabited planet for resettlement. After several months of exploration in the dark void of space a planet had been located and settled upon. The ruins of an ancient alien civilisation were present but no sentient species seemed to inhabit the planet. A bad omen that was reinforced by piles of weathered bones strewn across paths and huddled in houses. Genocide, At least that’s what it looked like. Yet after observing the planet for a month and sending scouting teams out no particular evil could be found. Whatever had caused the atrocities seemed to have moved on.

So the remainder of the human race dutifully cleaned up, burying skeletons in neatly dug graves and erecting memorials to pay respects to the unknown peoples. What could be restored of the ruined cities were marked out and the rest cleared to make way for temporary capsule homes and communal structures. Life seemed to be settling, humanity adjusting to their new home. 

After a year on the planet the sky had filled with UFO’s. They’d opened up and the sky had swarmed with alien soldiers all uniformed in the same armour. In the middle a striking white and purple alien floated upon a throne. After it was sure that it had captured the attention of all nearby humans it spoke, “My my isn’t this an interesting sight. This planet was occupied and cleared by my soldiers many years ago after the population refused to kneel to my rule. Such a shame really, they could have flourished under my command. No matter, they got what they deserved for the disobedience. Yet, here I find your species, settled in on the ash of a once great civilisation. I must say you’ve done a marvelous job at rebuilding in such a short time.” 

It’s voice was shriller than expected given its muscular form, yet under different circumstances Y/N would have found it enticing. “Oh how rude of me, I haven’t even introduced myself. I am Lord Frieza, Emperor of the Universe and the owner of this planet. It seems that despite being such a weak race you are rather technologically advanced. So if you point me to your leader or leaders I am willing to strike a deal. You will work for me, as part of my Empire, creating new technologies or you will perish as those on this planet who refused me before you did” Frieza declared his voice laced with amusement, “now who will point me in the direction of your leader?” 

Not a sound was made by the large crowd who had gathered underneath the shadow of the looming invasionary army. “Very well maybe I should show you a small taste of my power to motivate you” Frieza declared. Simply raising a finger towards the largest tower the alien shot out a pink beam of light. For a moment nothing happened and the crowd watched on with bated breath. But then a blinding beam of light flashed followed by an ear bursting boom as the tower was eviscerated. With a smirk Frieza turned his attention back to the crowd. Before Y/N could even process what they were doing, they heard their own voice ring out, “Excuse me Lord Frieza, I can show you the way to Capsule Corp. It’s the location of the family who built the ships that got us here and our provisional government is located there while a new building is being built for them.” 

Frieza’s eyes locked on to the human before him, assessing the being. They weren’t powerful by any means but in truth he admired their bravery in the face of such overwhelming danger. After all, the rest of their race was either too stunned or fearful to react or had begun to dash away screaming. “Very well. Zarbon you will accompany me. Dodoria you will stay here and keep an eye on our soldiers. I am a man of my word after all and no harm is to be done without my orders” Frieza barked out, “Do you know how to fly human?” The stunned expression that danced across their face over the revelation most sentient life forms could fly told Frieza all he needed to know. Lowering his throne slightly he beckoned the human over sharply. “What is your name?” he queried. Frieza was returned with a simple “Y/N, my lord.” “Very well Y/N, we will need a good run down on the current state of the planet, the extent to which you’ve settled, and a great many other things. Since you’ve already proven yourself far more useful than these other humans you will come with us to this Capsule Corp and ensure I am as informed on everything I need to be” Frieza asserted, “now be a dear and tell us exactly where it is we need to go.”

After giving a detailed description of what Capsule Corp and its surrounding area looked like paired with detailed directions Frieza seemed satisfied. “Very well. Zarbon, you are to carry our guest. Gently, these humans are delicate creatures” Frieze commanded. With that Y/N was scooped up by the muscular green alien, cradled awkwardly against his cool armour. “Excuse me” Y/N squeaked, “wouldn’t it be better if I could see where we were going so that I can direct you? I can’t really see anything like this.” Zarbon scoffed at being questioned, “No. With the speed we will be travelling at, your weak eyes won’t be able to see anything anyway. We’ll be travelling off the directions you already gave to get to the area and then figure it out from there.” Nodding Y/N clung to Zarbon. “Let’s go” Frieza ordered, levitating up higher into the air. Following his lead Zarbon took to the air and at jet-like speeds the trio took off leaving the rest of the army staring in their wake.

Read Part Two here

Masterlist

[shubertblue]

Squid Games fic I came up with…

Premise: No SquidGames! AU… Inho- Hardened and widowed police officer undercover at a sketchy auto manufacturing facility meets target- Gihun. Gihun, desperate to make money to save his mom’s life and maybe even keep his daughter around takes a job offer he can’t refuse in his position. But tragedy still hits and he’s forced to work. Inho befriends Gihun in attempt to get insider information.

STORY STRUCTURE:

1. Exposition- Introduce Characters/Establish Setting/Foreshadow Conflict

-Inho gets assigned undercover @ sketchy manufacturing facility.

-Gihun target “in” (he’s innocent and Inho doesn’t realize just how gullible he is… well he will eventually.)

-Angsty Inho monologue, meets Gihun, etc

-Gihun desperate to get money to save mom and potentially keep daughter around signed a vaguely legal contract.

Gihun ends up loosing them anyways, but forced to work still… :(

- They don’t talk a lot right off the bat, Inho staring WAY too much, observing Gihun like a predator to prey.

- Gihun rightfully confused- refer to Inho knowing his name without asking and using the name young-il .

1. Inciting Incident 1 - Conflict that puts plot into motion.

-Gihun the only one willing to show Inho the ropes, very patient w/ Inho (he’s a quick learner but had no experience prior.) —> (bonus: Inho thought he could work desk, but turns out that is an exclusive position, only for runners/dealers.)

-Inho impressed, Gihun’s kindness and/Or acting (obviously he’s just nice, but Inho doesn’t know that yet. To add Gihun actually is good at the job, obviously working the trade for real. Not just a strawman.

-Planning to infiltrate, Inho tries to befriend Gihun through events.

-ex) Work convo/ being helpful/ drinks after work/ smoke breaks.

BONUS: Gihun sometimes clever. Inho tells him he’ll have to pay for drinks, Gihun comments that he’s better off and Inho refutes. Gihun points out name brand clothing and well-kept appearance etc- borderline flirting unknowingly.

-Gihun is friendly, but quickly grows weary- Like, he can tell Inho is being a little pushy. He roles with it though, he craves connection.

1. Rising Action - Build tension while characters bond.

-Inho feels like Gihun is catching onto him, so he gets a little bolder.

- He investigates harder, more personally. (Finds a way to get invited/infiltrate gihun’s house

- To avoid getting caught he makes advances on Gihun.

- Not entirely accepted at first, confused and questioning (on both ends really, borderline genuine and half desperate)

- Things get a little awkward/distant, so Inho switches gears to investigate the place itself.

1. Small Victory- Temporary solution/victory before things get worse/resolve

- Inho finds a lead/evidence! But he needs more and that gets riskier…

- Gihun confronts their “incident” and realizes it’s not entirely unwelcome, but still too forward.

- Gihun sees Inho Snooping/ Curious about evidence.

- Inho interrogates Gihun roughly/secretly.

- Figures out Gihun is genuine. A good guy unknowingly working for horrible people.

- Gihun agrees to help Inho get info/bring down the place even at the expense of his livelihood (again) ((probably would joke about it not being his 1st time inciting a rebellion at an his job.))

- This moves Inho deeply.

- Maybe with tension, some romance… (possible spice?)

1. Climax- Height of craziness, catharsis

- They plan more solidly.

- Gihun gets keys under the gullible guise of needing supplies/equiptment.

- Trades off to Inho secretly and distracts people in charge/monitoring.

- Inho is able to get in and get info/takes pictures and sends just in case. Calls for reinforcements.

- Tense moment as he hides in room as someone walks in, stays hidden.

- Inho gets back to work but boss is suspicious of him/confronts him

- Police come and all chaos.

- Badass Inho moments

- Inho about to get shot and Gihun blocks it. Inho still gets hurt but less impact saves him. (what can I say, I love a little dramatic moment even if cliche)

1. Falling Action- affects/aftermath of climax

- Gihun wakes up in hospital besides Inho’s own bed.

- They both survived! Yay! :D

- Still, they went through something traumatic-deals with emotions/pain.

- Inho grateful for Gihun’s sacrifice and care.

- Sappy bonding moment and development in relationship.

- Suddenly interrupted by Junho- Appreciative of Gihun for saving brother’s life.

- Sweet moment then interrupted by Jungbae (salty Inho —> shocked/amused Junho)

- Inho offers Gihun to stay with him as a “thanks” until he finds a new job.

- (Possible quick spice after tension/surviving before time skip.)

1. Resolution- the end! :)

-Two years after the hospital.

-Gihun never ends up moving out, because they end up together!

- Their relationship isn’t perfect, but they’re exactly what each other needs/balance each other out nicely.

- Gihun helps Inho loosen up/restores faith in humanity/ Joy.

- Inho gives Gihun the push to get his life in order.

- Gihun ends up getting an automotive service management position. (Makes good money.) At a good place this time.

- Fluff of their life together/ maybe even appreciating each other’s scars—> symbolic of having similar traumas and loving each other regardless.

- Possible sweet spice/ more romantic.

BONUS:

-They end up visiting Gihun’s daughter in the US

- Gihun first meets his ex respectfully, she’s impressed by his growth and they are civil.

- Gihun notices her husband was spying on them, she feels a little bad for being mistrusting but Gihun is very accepting about it.

- Inho (secretly spying on Gihun) ends up coming over to ease the tension.

- Plays it off with a clever excuse (as to why he was there) and Gihun of course believes him.

- Inho meets Gihun’s ex, cordial and cold. (A little possessive/flaunty in a very subtle way.)

- Gihun is able to meet his daughter with Inho.

- She notices that they have matching rings.

- Turns out, they’re engaged! :D

Bonus/Bonus

-Their vacation in the US!

-Romantic Dates and vacation activities ensure!

-tooth rotting fluff and sweet romantic tenderness.

-Possible “spice” fun, more flavorful…

(Might write it, but would definitely need a beta reader to keep me on track! I’m talking 10k+ slowburn….

[ancientcharm]

Nero: The end of the Julio-Claudian dynasty (Part III)

The big fire of Rome (known in Latin as Incendium Magnum Romae) 18th July of 64 (Roman year 817)

From 'The Annals' by Tacitus:

Nero at this time was at Antium, and did not return to Rome until the fire approached his house, which he had built to connect the palace with the gardens of Maecenas. To relieve the homeless he opened the Campus Martius, the public buildings of Agrippa, and even his own gardens, and raised temporary structures to receive the destitute multitude. Supplies of food were brought up from Ostia and the neighbouring towns. After five days, an end was put to the conflagration at the foot of the Esquiline hill. But before people had laid aside their fears, the flames returned, with no less fury this second time, and especially in the spacious districts of the city. Although there was less loss of life, the temples of the gods, and the porticoes which were devoted to enjoyment, fell in a yet more widespread ruin. Rome, indeed, is divided into fourteen districts, four of which remained uninjured, three were levelled to the ground, while in the other seven were left only a few shattered, half-burnt relics of houses. Some people noticed that the beginning of this conflagration was on the 18th of July, the day on which the Senones (Gallic tribe) attacked Rome. Others have pushed a curious inquiry so far as to reduce the interval between these two conflagrations into equal numbers of years, months, and days.

Tacitus also writes that the favorable things that Nero did were soon nullified, for a rumor spread that he was singing and playing the lyre while Rome burned. Tacitus assures that it was such rumor caused another event in Rome.

'Nero's Torches' (detail) by Henryk Siemiradzk, 1876

" Therefore, to put an end to this rumor, Nero invented culprits and subjected to very refined punishments to those hated by the populace, called Christians.

The origin of this name was the so-called Christus, who had been condemned to torture and crucifixion during the reign of Tiberius at the hands of one of our procurators, Pontius Pilatus; And a most mischievous superstition, thus checked for the moment, again broke out not only in Judaea, the focus of this disease, but even in Rome, where all things hideous and shameful from every part of the world find their centre.

At first those who confessed were arrested, then, after their denunciation, a huge crowd was condemned, not so much for the accusation of the fire, but for hatred of the human race.

In addition, the mockery of those who were going to die was added: covered in wild skins, they died torn to pieces by dogs, or were either crucified or condemned to the flames and to serve as torches when daylight had expired. Nero offered his gardens for the spectacle.

Although they were criminals, deserving of very severe punishments, a feeling of pity arose, since they were murdered not for the common good, but for the ferocity of a single man." Tacitus

'A Christian Dirce' (detail) by Henryk Siemiradzki , 1897

During the reign of Nero, Christian community in Rome was small. They were mainly slaves, freedmen, and converted Jews of humble origins like their leader, the apostle Peter.

Was this really the first persecution of Christianity?

According Tacitus those innocent people were executed for supposedly burning Rome, or rather because Nero wanted to get rid of a rumor that accused him of the fire, not for their religious beliefs.

And after those events Nero dedicated himself to the project of rebuilding the city and there is no record of any other persecution of Christians during the rest of his reign.

The Catholic Church, which keeps a rigorous record of all its martyrs except for the apostles Peter and Paul, does not mention any saint who was “martyred during the reign of Nero,” which I find surprising given what Tacitus wrote.

The fact that the two most prominent Apostles of Christianity were executed in Rome during the reign of Nero is in all likelihood the reason why this emperor is considered the paradigm of the Antichrist and the first enemy of christians in history.

Was it really Nero who accused the Christians?

'Nero at Baiae' by Jan Styka, circa 1900

Tacitus accounts that Nero returned to Rome and helped the people in the disaster, but adding:

"These acts, though popular, produced no effect, since a rumour had gone forth everywhere that, at the very time when the city was in flames, the emperor appeared on a private stage and sang of the destruction of Troy; comparing present misfortunes with the calamities of antiquity"." (The Annals XV)

Is it possible that people in Rome who had seen Nero in action during fire believed this story? Or could it be that such a rumor never existed but was created by the Roman historians many years later?

Tacitus also accounts the Christians were "detested by the populace." So, isn't it more credible to think that someone among the immense populace could have accused the Christians of burning the city? Is it possible that the false accusation reached Nero directly and that this was the true reason for the arrests and executions ?

'The Fire of Rome, 18 July 64 AD ' by Hubert Robert, 18th century

Last Part

[04k96]

I don’t care, probabilities is my favourite type of maths: reoccurring patterns within infinity

1. Mathematical Perspective: Chaos and Order

In mathematics, chaos theory and the study of complex systems suggest that while systems can behave unpredictably in the short term, underlying patterns can emerge over time or across large scales.

• Deterministic Chaos: Even in systems that appear random (like weather patterns), there can be underlying deterministic rules that, over long periods, produce complex but often recognizable patterns.

• Poincaré Recurrence Theorem: In certain types of systems, if the system has a finite number of states and operates under specific conditions, it will eventually return to a state very close to its starting point. This suggests that, over an infinite amount of time, even highly chaotic systems will exhibit some form of recurrence.

This means that even in infinite possibilities, certain patterns may inevitably repeat themselves, though the complexity and unpredictability of the outcomes may make these patterns hard to detect without long-term observation.

2. Physical Perspective: Entropy and the Universe

From the standpoint of physics, especially in the context of thermodynamics, the concept of entropy plays a crucial role. Entropy is often described as a measure of disorder or randomness, and in most closed systems, entropy increases over time (the second law of thermodynamics).

• In an infinite universe: If we imagine the universe continuing infinitely, patterns of energy distribution, formation of structures, or even recurrent cosmic events (like star formation) could emerge. However, over infinite time, entropy would likely dominate, and the universe would move toward a state of maximum disorder (heat death), where predictability and patterns would cease to exist in the traditional sense.

In this view, while local or temporary patterns could emerge (like the formation of galaxies, planets, and stars), over an infinite timespan, the decay into disorder could prevent large-scale, sustained patterns from emerging or persisting in the same way.

3. Philosophical Perspective: Infinite Possibilities and Recurrence

From a philosophical or metaphysical perspective, the idea of infinity opens up the possibility that every conceivable event or pattern could occur, but with varying likelihoods:

• Eternal Recurrence: The concept of eternal recurrence, first proposed by Nietzsche, suggests that all events in the universe will repeat infinitely in the exact same way. This implies that over infinite time, every possible pattern (even chaotic or unlikely ones) will play out, potentially more than once. However, this idea assumes that time and events are cyclical and finite in their fundamental properties, even within the context of infinity.

• Infinite Outcomes: In a truly infinite universe, some philosophical views posit that every possible outcome could eventually occur. This could mean that while large-scale patterns may emerge in some realms, in others, the recurrence of entirely new or unique patterns might overwhelm previously observable regularities. For instance, if there are infinite ways the universe could unfold, the probability of new, emergent patterns becomes higher, even if previously established ones still reoccur.

4. **The Role of Randomness and Probabilities

In the realm of probability, especially in statistical mechanics and quantum mechanics, randomness plays a central role. If we consider infinite possibilities, it’s important to understand that:

• Random processes don’t necessarily eliminate all patterns, but they can make the predictability of patterns much harder to identify over time.

• In some cases, infinite possibilities could lead to an infinite number of unique configurations (especially at the quantum level), but also ensure that patterns within those configurations would still be recurring, due to probabilistic laws and underlying constants of nature (such as physical laws that govern particle interactions).

5. Anthropic Principle and Human Perception of Patterns

The anthropic principle suggests that humans, as observers, are more likely to notice patterns that are meaningful within the contexts they experience. This means that the pattern recognition we see may be more of a human construct rather than an inherent property of the universe. In an infinite universe, while patterns may persist, the way we interpret or even recognize them might depend on our frame of reference.

Conclusion:

The likelihood of patterns recurring in every possible outcome over infinite time depends on several factors, including the nature of the system (deterministic vs. chaotic), entropy, the laws of probability, and philosophical interpretations of infinity. In a finite system, repetitive patterns may eventually emerge due to deterministic laws or chaotic systems, but in an infinite universe, new patterns could emerge continuously, often overwhelming earlier, established ones.

• Short term: Predictable patterns may emerge (chaotic systems, quantum processes, biological cycles).

• Long term (infinite): The decay of order (through entropy) might cause ultimate unpredictability, though some patterns (even very complex ones) might still emerge due to the deterministic nature of underlying laws.