#tids tidbits

[tidbit-fanfic]

My tits are sadly bigger than my ass. Therefore, all my faves? They're tiddie men because I say so. No, I will not be taking any criticism at this time.

[tidbit-fanfic]

i see you.

I want more.

more of my faves being chubby chasers.

more of my faves tossing chubby! y/n around because my faves don’t like that y/n is insecure about their weight.

please.

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

Chat.. what’s Tid-Bit

HELP tid-bit like. like uh. well shit. I've never thought about like. the definition. meanin like a like snippet? I think? hold on I gotta check somethin n see if I've been making up words for the last several months n people have just been lettin me. cause if so. some of you are gonna have to answer for your crimes.

ok I'm NOT crazy. tidbit tuesday is like a lil writin thing I do that's just like. uh. a lil chunk from somethin im workin on usually!!!

[agodlikehog]

Hey Tidbit what do you think of this(i main Sonic.exe I love playing as him I was originally a Kolossos or Big ExE main)

“OOOUHEHEHE! Nice job, kid! Im so very proud of you. I hope you were atleast rough on metal to show him a lesson or twooo..”

“Fuckin favoritism…”

[tiressian]

love shoko and also missed opportunity i reckon, not having the character inspired by House MD possess even an iota of that feral man's personality are two truths i cradle in my shoko enjoying hands

[ceaselesswatchersspecialboy]

HIIII do you have anymore tid bits for you au.... (share all of them. go ham. I LOVE IT SO MUCH)

So many. SO MANY!!

— After Ford gets his body back, Bill makes excuses to himself to watch over Dipper and Mabel when they’re dreaming, and interjects if they have any nightmares. This is definitely important to his evil plans, okay.

— McGucket definitely knows something is wrong with Stanfraud, and makes a scene whenever he sees him, claiming him to be the ‘devil in disguise’, or ‘the beast with one eye’. When Dipper and Mabel ask about it, Bill brushes it off as McGucket’s memory loss making him recall their fallout as worse than it was.

— Bill was roped into helping Stan teach Soos boxing when he was younger. He thought it was stupid at the time, but Stan wasn’t taking no for an answer. Soos still appreciates both of them for it, and Bill doesn’t mind the kid as much anymore. He’s smarter than he looks. He just has to put his mind to it.

— Bill actually likes stargazing. Stan’s surprised when he first catches Bill on the roof doing it, and Bill gets defensive when Stan pushes him on the matter, but he doesn’t exactly hate the company. When he’s left alone with his thoughts and the stars, his mind goes to a place that’s too dark, even for him. So, sometimes he and Stan will grab a drink — usually beer for Stan and some barely drinkable cocktails for Bill — and they’ll watch the stars. When Mabel finds out about it, she joins him. It’s one of the few places that he seems a lot… calmer. Not by a lot, mind you, but it’s noticeable enough for Bill.

— During Headhunters, there’s a lot of conflict between Stan and Bill. Bill thinks it’s weird how Stan is treating the wax figure, that just because he can’t pretend Bill is Ford, doesn’t mean he has to go speaking to a lump of wax. He has a lot of uncomfortable feelings surrounding Ford as is, ones he prefers to bury deep in the back of his mind, and this whole funeral deal, Stan’s genuine grief, it’s really putting a damper on his mood. Plus, he may be a little bit jealous. And maybe, just maybe, a bit concerned. I don’t have the details figured out yet, but I know for a fact they get into an argument over it, and the subject of Ford comes up again — no more avoiding it.

— Stan and Bill are banned from one of the town’s main bars for life. Why? That’s between them and the raccoon.

— I don’t think I’ve mentioned this yet, but Bill actually dyed his, or, well, Ford’s hair brown, though he’s pretty bad at keeping on top of that so the grey roots tend to be showing.

— Dipper Vs Manliness actually has a small bonding moment between Bill and Dipper, where Bill essentially deconstructs gender and also tries to boost Dipper’s confidence, in his own Bill way.

He’s a strangely good influence in general when it comes to masculinity and gender and what not, being as he doesn’t conform to any human expectation. And he would absolutely sing Disco Girl with Dipper too. He loves that song, bitter memories be damned. Why would he let Sixer kill his groove.

And I shall leave it at that for now! If you’d like anymore tidbits I’m always keeping a thousand up my sleeves! And if you’d like any about specific characters, let me know!

[notmakos]

im assuming youre in charge of melanie lore since youve been answering questions about her?? do you have any fun Tidbits.......

I AM NOT IN CHARGE BUT AT THE SAME TIME YEAH KINDA

the real one in charge is My Bitch Wife @nilawafer (created melanie)

you can also ask her stuff about melanie if you would like

YOUR TID BIT OF THE DAY :

melanie really likes crunchy stuff

[bellatrixobsessed1]

Hey!! If it's okay, could I ask about the Azutara Spa fic? That sounds very interesting. How would Azula and Katara meet? Ofc, you can include any other info or tidbits that fancy you. I'll read it all!

Please and thank you!!

You can ask for sure but I ain't got the answers xD

In all seriousness; I straight up don't have anything but this premise thought up. I had Azutara in parentheses but there should have been a '?' in there because the goal with that one would be Azutara but the fic might want to go in a different direction.

I would love to give tidbits but there aren't even bits to tid 😂 expect for maybe that one of the things that she does at this spa is give hot stone massages.

Wish I could give you more, but yeah that's all my brain has for this one right now.

I can say however, that I got the idea while writing this. So the vibe will likely be similar.

[thedarknessandtheirteeth]

[ @agodlikehog WOE, TID&KOL BE UPON YE ]

Two creepy-looking blue hedgehogs trudged through the zone, one ten times taller but skinnier then the other, who was about.. classics height, rounder, and a more saturated blue. EXEs, essentially. They trudged around mindlessly, aiming to find these new friends they heard about. And it wss.. not hard to miss them. As the two were arguing. Loudly.

“We’re fuckin LOST, you big dipshit! You can traverse EVERY SINGLE ZONE of ours but you cant SEE WHERE OTHER FUCKING DEMON HEDGEHOGS ARE?! GOD you’re stupid! How do we even know that the doll can handle himself alone asshat??”

The smaller one barks and growls, biting and hitting the taller ones legs to get him to pay attention. The taller hedgehog lets out a deep snarl and snags the smallers arm by stabbing it through with the massive, exposed arm that looked mangled and mauled. Lifting the smaller up by said arm as he screeches and yells more while the taller keeps trekking along. It seems they arent looking for the element of surprise here.. or if they are, they’re failing big time.

' ' what is this? two foriegn demons in my domain? my my, what a resemblance too! ' '

A Demonic voice called out to the two. it seems that in this domain, currently, it was just a blacked out forest under a starless sky, a faint hue of red behind the tree silhouettes giving things their shape. if they looked though, the voice was no where yet everywhere at once. the world puts itself together in dim colors and what was a pitch black forest turned into a very dull outskirts of what resembled to be greenhills, however there were guts strung from the trees almost as a welcoming decoration. now if they looked ahead of them, they'd see a very familiar dark blue hedgehog with the dulled out fur. however, This Hedgehog seemed to look- kind of like both Kol and Tidbit at once? a strange sight indeed. the only difference was that he had both of his arms intact and had this bloody large but toothy grin scrawled across his face.

' ' Welcome, I heard we were having guests. Lord X insisted I give some of our own kind a fair welcome rather than the welcome I usually give trespassers. ' '

[impietyau]

Lamentations of a Civilization

#Impiety AU - 2 Part - Chapter 02#

Sorrowful Kindness

_____________________

Summary:

"To serve the King was to serve eternity. To serve eternity was to stand unshaken."

Hallownest was meant to last forever, but even gods make mistakes. When the Pale King enacted the Sealing, the act that was supposed to save the kingdom, it instead marked the beginning of its end. The Hollow Knight was chosen to bear the burden, and the Great Knights were left behind to witness the unravel of everything they swore to protect. One by one, they fell.

Isma, the Kindly, who sought to do anything in her power to protect a friend. Dryya, the Fierce, who followed her Queen into a self-served punishment. Hegemol, the Mighty, whose love for the people led him into battle. Ogrim, the Loyal, who desired to prevent the Capital’s rebellion. Ze’mer, the Mysterious, who left to find her beloved amidst revolt. A kingdom lost, a King who vanished, and Five Great Knights who were left with nothing but lament for an era past.

A kingdom lost, a King who vanished, and Five Great Knights who were left with nothing but lament for an era past. — "A... flower?” The King asked, voice now laced with confusion. “It does not need such a thing.” He tried to dismiss it. "But we do,” Isma said. “So, my King, I beg of you. Let us mourn."

_____________________

Authors Note's Corner

*My Canon Compliance for this fic is because it is how I imagine/interpreted the endings of each Great Knight, considering every tid-bit of lore we have on the subject. Other works in the Impiety series will follow the same line of idea, canon-compliant to whatever lore I can find, but my obsessed ass might let some important info go by right over my head (if you know something I don't, please SHARE! SHARE THE K W O L E D G E). Also, not every work in the ImpietyAU will be canon-compliant, only some where I'm working more with the pre-game setting.

Will try to keep up with weekly updates!

_____________________

Content Warning: Major Character Death, Panic Attack, Bugs have torches and pitchforks - they are revolting!

Word Count: 5.2k

--------------------V--------------------

‘Isma the Kindly;

She was the Third Great Knight of Hallownest. Born as one of Unn’s children, she had a deep connection with Greenpath. Her practiced aim was her specialization, viciously tearing at the Kingdom's enemies from a distance.

Her favorite weapon was her whip—word ran that even experienced Knights from the King’s Pale Guard feared it.

On more personnel registries, she was highly regarded and told to be kind, caring, and equal to all. She would not judge anyone based on their background or species.

—

What has happened to her, I wonder. Where did her glorious tale meet its inevitable end?

I would need to delve deep into that broken elevator shaft to find more about it.

—

That was a bad—awful—idea. That shaft is full of sharp ends and ragged edges, not to mention the crazied sentries roving about in that dark bottomless hole.

Hopefully, that little irritating mute bug will bring more journals with tidbits on her.’

~Lemm, Relic Seeker

The Hollow Knight and the Pale King disappeared inside the gaping mouth of the Black Egg Temple, their light seemingly snuffed out by the pure darkness emanating from the glorified coffin. Isma shuddered, her hand flying to her mouth in an attempt to muffle a sob.

Ogrim’s claw was over her back in an instant. He pulled her closer to his chest, giving her a place to hide for a little while, just enough for her to recompose herself before any of the celebrating commoners could see anything amiss in the reaction of one of the Kingdom’s Great Knights. 

The sentries in the area acted like nothing was amiss. None of the Dreamers nor the Queen tried to question or criticize her for such demeanor. They all have something to lose here—be it a friend or even their own life, at the bequest of The Infection and this attempt to seal it away. 

No one would question Isma, the Kindly, for caring too deeply for one of their disciples—even if they are a construct made by the King. Most of them saw how she treated said automaton in the Castle. How much time, effort, and kindness went into molding that vessel into the perfect knight.

The Dung beetle’s face hardened as he stared deep into the darkness Isma now refused to even glance at. His arms held her close inconspicuously, giving her a hiding place to recompose herself before he turned back towards the masses.

Ogrim silently prays to their God-King for this plan to succeed so that their unofficial Sixth Great Knight can accomplish their first and final order.

He truly wants to believe Isma when she says the Pure Vessel has a Soul of their own. He already has his shortcomings wrapped around the existence of Kingsmoulds and Wingsmoulds—creatures made of metal and stone to be like living and breathing bugs but animated by the God-King’s magic. Sentries that did not tire had no reason to eat or drink and could work around the clock in a precise manner.

After seeing them for himself, he finally understood the creepy feeling those constructs gave off and even talked with other bugs about how they feared losing their job in the Palace Pale Guard to those strange things. More than once, he had wondered the same things while reassuring his friends that the King would not just dismiss them and their years of servitude over those things.

At least, none of those machines had proven capable of surpassing the Great Five—shortcomings appearing even at fighting some of the Pale Guards. 

Then, the little vessel showed up. A blank canvas to be filled with any practice they could fit inside their little head. If he had difficulty understanding how Kingsmoulds, things that looked and moved like bugs, and yet were not bugs, it was infinitely harder to understand that little thing.

Unlike normal automatons, the little vessel could molt, stumble, get lost, and even eat on rare occasions. This all made him feel like the little vessel was indeed a bug.  

But the God-King said otherwise, and one by one, they all accepted it—even his Kindly Isma.

Everything seemed fine for a while, and things progressed smoothly with the King's plan. But suddenly, one night, after weeks of stressing over their discussion with the Pale King over and over during the day, she came to him at night and asked what he would do if the little vessel was a bug. What would he do if they had a soul and could think and feel like anyone else? 

He feared where this question was going—questioning their God-King was never easy for him. But Ogrim did his best to answer honestly.

He would protect them.

No matter what.

Shortly after, Isma initiated the plan. She wanted to find out if the vessel would accept a flower from her. If they did, Ogrim stood ready to assist them in escaping upon her command. 

Even after all this time, he still could not grasp inside his big old head how a construct, created not to be a bug, could gain a mind. It all felt so confusing and backward, so he decided to trust his heart—to trust his love. 

If Isma says the Vessel is alive, then he believes her. 

It is as simple as that.

But he also accepts the Vessel’s sacrifice and is thankful to them. Without their help, he is unsure how one could defeat an invisible foe. If not for the God-King finding a way through the use of the Vessel, he could not even fathom what else they could do to be rid of The Infection.

It all felt so... Helpless.

And that sensation gave him shame that ruminated under his carapace every day.

What use is that of a Knight who cannot defend their kingdom? Who can only watch as everything they swore to protect slowly crumbles away into fine dust?

Shaking his head from those thoughts, Ogrim turned his attention back to Isma, slowly caressing her back and supporting her. She is allowed to mourn their friend. 

Breathing deeply and slowly, he knows he is also allowed to mourn them.

“I’ll miss you, little vessel,” Ogrim spoke softly, feeling Isma twitch under his arm as she nodded, agreeing with his words but not daring to open her mouth for fear of another sob overtaking her.

The Black Egg Temple rumbled—chains echoed from the bowels of the gigantic structure, and the air filled with the static of great concentrations of Soul-Magic. Finally ready, Isma lifted her eyes and straightened her face for a proper, dignified look. 

She still held the flower in her hand, and Ogrim offered a claw.

She carefully placed the flower on his pincers, and he approached the door to leave a last memento—a parting gift to their friend by its frame.

As he lowered himself in a last bow to lay the flower down, he felt the looming presence of the Queen approaching him. His claws let go, and the tiny thing rested serenely by the entrance to the Temple.

“Ogrim, that flower—Where did you get it? It holds power from foreign lands. It should not be here. It is too dangerous to be left near Void of any kind.” Before the White Lady could finish her sentence, the ground rumbled, and small pieces of compacted dirt and stone fell slowly from the ceiling. 

“My Queen,” Isma bowed, “It was I who brought the flower.” 

“Please then, dispose of it,” The White Lady commanded, her eyes boring into Isma.

“Let Me’hon do it, Me’Lady,” Ze’mer spoke, pacing quickly toward the fragile flower. “It was Le’mer’s idea to bloom a flower from Lands Serene as a gift. Le’mer knows how to handle such flowers and best dispose of them,” She explained, gathering the flower in careful hands.

The Queen nodded regally, turning to look at the temple’s entrance. More chains echoed from its bowels. 

The Soul Magic had by now lit up runes to the halfway point of the construction.

The air hummed with Condensed Soul, and Ivory-White motes floated up from various runes activating outside the temple. Ze’mer made sure to walk away with the flower while the sealing continued.

“Guards! Enter formation!” Hegemol exclaimed from near the entrance to Dirtmouth, and Isma looked that way to see Infected Husks approaching.

Heavy guards lifted their shields to hold the infected back, spears quickly thrust in between small gaps, digging deep into the Husk's bodies. Sickly hot orange spilled, puppeteered bodies falling to the floor as if the strings were cut.

“Launch!” A winged sentry bellowed, and spears flew out towards the Infected at the back, halting the horde's advances for a moment and giving the shielders much-needed breathing room.

“Please keep calm. The guards and knights are taking care of it,” A Royal Guard explained to the worried commoners. The White Lady did not even spare a glance at the commotion, her gaze fixated on the Black Egg Temple and the enchantments taking place inside of it.

This gave the masses a sense of safety. Although the cheering stopped, the murmurs of conversation and speculation did not cease.

“They are very apt at dealing with the Husks,” Herrah spoke, approaching the Pale Queen.

“Ogrim, Isma, and Ze’mer came up with the strategy while Dryya and Hegemol helped train the sentries,” She answered calmly.

Isma kept her gaze on the fight. So far, this strategy has been enough to hold back even decently large hordes. But an enormous horde would be too much, and the Great Knights would have to intervene if things start to get out of hand.

More Husks appeared from Dirtmouth, and more of the sickly sweet-smelling substance was spilled on the floor and the guards' armor; there would be hell to pay later with guard rotations and isolation to make sure no one was spreading the infection at the capital once they were back.

Isma painfully noticed there were no more chains sounds coming from the Temple.

The air still sang with magic, and something pulled at her—the root systems felt disarranged. Static, making it all the harder to feel any other who shares the system.

The runes at the top of the temple finally lit up.

Something pulled at something else. A tight snap was in the air, and Soul gathered in the building. Every rune chanted mutely, and the air buzzed with power.

Her ears rang. Sounds turned into muteness.

The Infection started to accumulate in the room.

Everyone waited with bated breaths.

Slowly, the sounds came back. Bugs barking orders. Spears tearing into carapaces. Silent murmurs in the background.

And then a Godly scream.

Ravenously screeching.

Threatening to deafen all.

The Infection started to gather in the air. The sweet smell made her nauseous in its stale presence. Everything started to get tinted orange.

Have we failed?

Did we lose?

As those treasonous thoughts envelop her mind The Infection started to pull away, gathering at the mouth of the Black Egg Temple and sucked in. The runes on the outside shone brighter. Soul chains embedded in the sickly orange. A net pulling it all in—every last drop.

The temple shook with its sheer force.

Isma felt like her own body was being sucked along, and saw as other bugs inclined backwards, as if they all felt the same pressure.

And then it was over. 

Small debris falling from the ceiling was the last signal that anything had happened at all.

“The Husks!” Someone screamed from Dirtmouth’s entrance. “They stopped!” They said, a hint of disbelief mixed with happiness in their voice.

Isma looked that way and saw the Husk shells immobiized on the floor. No. She looked at the shells of their dead, who had finally been allowed to rest.

A Pale Ivory Light appeared from the dark entrance.

He approached the Dreamers proudly, and behind Him, a line made of Soul connected His glowing body to the inside of the temple.

The Pale King neared Monomon first. No words could be heard, but Isma knew He thanked her softly before murmuring the needed enchantment. The Uoma archivist slumped a little forward before catching herself.

Next was Lurrien, who held the King's hand in a feat of boldness Isma had never felt the man capable of. Another quiet ‘thank you’  followed by the enchantment. Lurien slumped forward, and the King managed to catch his body.

When Lurien was handed to his trusted butler, the Pale King finally turned to Herrah. The Beast inclined forward and spoke something into His ears. With a single nod from the Pale God, she closed her eyes, and the enchantment was pronounced quietly. She did not flinch but blinked heavily and tiredly when it was done.

The White Lady walked over to each dreamer and thanked them, bowing graciously to each one of them.

The God-King then turned around to the commoners. His wings flared, and his arms spread in a grandiose gesture.

“We declare from henceforward that the Infection is gone!” His voice echoed in the tunnel. Bugs cheered joyfully and cried in mourning. Relief and hope for a better future intertwined with sadness and longing from a broken past.

“Through the sacrifice of The Hollow Knight and the Three Dreamers—Monomon the Teacher, Lurien the Watcher, and Herrah the Beast, Hallownest is safe and shall reign Eternal!” The King flared his arm toward the Dreamers, and the bugs cheered once more, bowing and thanking the three courageous bugs.

“Herrah, you can go back to your den,” The White Lady said softly, hugging the other Queen inconspicuously. “He will go there to make the final arrangements soon. Make sure there is no lingering regret.”

“My bargain was made; there was never a possibility for regret,” Herrah spoke quietly.

With the King’s orders, they finally started the journey back to Hallownest’s Capital City.

It has been a year since the Sealing.

An entire year has passed, and they still have no new plan. 

She did all she could to get the King to do something—anything—just so Hallow's sacrifice is not in vain!

And yet—

Isma could only watch silently when Dryya and Ze’mer left the White Palace, their forms swallowed by the distant corridors, which seemed emptier by the day. 

One toward the Queen’s Gardens, the other toward the far-off Mantis Village.

Two Great Knights leaving to care for two different crises.

One was to protect the White Lady, who had vanished from the Castle Grounds not too long after the Sealing, and the other was to check on the whispers of treason and conspiracy coming from the Mantis Village.

That left only three of them in the palace now—herself, Ogrim, and Hegemol. Soon, they would also be gone to deal with another crisis.

She had not voiced her complaints at the time, but now, standing in the empty hall with only the distant murmur of a few palace sentries, the weight of their absence pressed on her.

Everything had been fine for the first few weeks. 

Life was seemingly falling back into what it was before. Bugs were mourning still, but at least they had new hope—a future to look towards.

With whispers lost to the wind, it started. Telling a tale of an usurper—of old debts and wrongdoings. Common bugs started praying, not to the Ivory Light, but to a glistening Blistering Sun. Their eyes unfocused, tinted in orange. But there were no physical signs of orange blisters overtaking their carapaces. No infected cocoons present. Not even the lingering sweet smell of The Infection could be found.

There was no evidence of The Infection, and still, the Goddess's presence lingered.

During the day, those bugs acted fine and worked normally. But at night, they dreamed of Her Light. They would pray to Her and speak of Her. 

Ill words started to befall the Pale King and His image. Insisting that His Light had abandoned them. How the deaths were His responsibility. Spouting that He had not done enough to save them. 

And then, the Soul Sanctum happened.

Like a Domino effect, bugs from all around started to blame Him for being careless, for allowing someone to commit such a massacre on the doorstep of His home.

Stories of piles of bodies atop piles of bodies. Of the agronious sin of sucking a bug’s entire soul reserve in the name of research. That the research was allowed by His decree.

All nonsense—lies and blasphemy. But no one would listen to the voice of reason, and the lies spreaded like fire.

The Soul Master and his followers vanished in the Bowels of the atrocious building. They did not have enough soldiers to go after that monster right now. Various sentries had already died at his magic when trying to act independently.

The Pale King did not act. He had hidden away in His throne room a few weeks prior, refusing to leave and ordering none to enter—soul drumming in the air around closed doors.

Isma can only hope he has been doing some research there while chaos ensued. Anything to try and save this Kingdom—His Kingdom!

Without clear orders, the situation was growing out of hand. There was a shortage of soldiers, so Ogrim and Hegemol decided to leave and check the Capital's situation. Things spiralled out of control over the course of a few days. 

Sentries started to gather arms with commoners, whispers of revolt against the King circulating the masses and growing in strength by the minute. Palace Guards left their stations to check on the situation and never came back.  

She felt abandoned.

No—she felt like they had abandoned Hallownest.

With the Infection still lingering, its return slow but undeniable, they should all be fighting to find a new solution. And yet, they had scattered one by one, each drawn away by a different crisis.

Hegemol and Ogrim’s departure had been the final spark of frustration. 

She could no longer stand idly by.

The King had to listen to her now. He could not brush her aside any longer, not when his own Great Knights were leaving, not when the capital whispered of rebellion, and not when she had warned him from the very beginning that the Vessel was impure.

The Throne Room doors loomed before her, heavy and foreboding, the Pale King’s light seeping from the cracks.

He had not left this chamber in months, His absence in His workshop painfully conspicuous. That was the strangest of all.

Before, he had worked tirelessly, endlessly thinking, always planning—that unrelenting mind had built Hallownest’s prosperity! But now? Now, he sat in that throne, unseeing, unhearing, letting his kingdom rot beneath him.

Has He given up? Has he forsaken His kingdom and His people?

Isma did not hesitate. She pushed open the doors and strided in with confidence.

The Pale King was exactly as she expected him to be: seated upon his throne, motionless, his hands gripping the arms of his seat with an intensity that spoke of barely contained tension. His luminescent Ivory Crown cast long shadows against the pristine walls.

He did not acknowledge her for a moment, and her stomach twisted. When was the last time she had seen him truly move?

“My King,” she started, and the words left her mouth more gently than intended. Too gentle. Her grip tightened at her sides. “I need to speak with you.”

Silence.

Her frustration spiked. “Ogrim and Hegemol have gone to the capital to control the uprising. The city is in turmoil. The people see what you refuse to—The Infection is still here. It never left.”

Still, He said nothing.

Her voice rose. “You know the plan has failed.”

His fingers twitched. That was the only indication that he had even heard her.

She pressed on, stepping closer. “I told you! I told you! The Vessel was not pure! We trained them, fought with them, and saw the hesitation—the will—but you refused to listen. You had so much faith in your plan, in your foresight, but now—”

She hesitated. Now, there was nothing. 

A kingdom at the edge of collapse. 

An Impure Vessel locked away, forever sealed, yet unable to contain the rot completely.

And still, he sat.

Something inside her snapped. She strode forward, emboldened by her anger, until she stood at the foot of his throne. “Say something! Look at me!”

Her arms lifted, intending to grip the King by His shoulders, to shake the stupid out of Him! 

But the figure of the God-King she had looked up to so desperately in the past stopped her. She might be Unn's child, but this does not mean she can just so boldly disrespect another God, especially one she had believed.

Even if she has no lingering respect left.

His gaze finally shifted slowly, as if it pained Him. She could see the exhaustion, weariness, and failure in His eyes. Everything was hidden perfectly under a porcelain mask, one she had learned to interpret after centuries of servitude.

“There is no other plan.” The words were hollow. Empty. A declaration of finality.

Isma froze, her mind catching up with the utter desperation these simple words brought down on her shoulders. 

The anguish and utter sheer feeling of hopelessness that they gave.  

“You’re lying.” She said with gritted teeth. There is no possible way this is the truth.

He is the God-King. He created Hallownest and claimed to have given everyone a mind to think! How can He say there is no other plan?! There has to be another plan! It has to! Please.

His hands curled into fists.

“There is nothing more We can do.” His voice came out softer than she expected, a tinge of sheer tiredness covering it all. 

As if He has given up.

Her breath caught. That was the moment she finally realized. He had given up. Truly given up. The Pale King, the Wyrm, the God-King of Hallownest—he had no more answers to give.

“You have seen the Infection returning,” she accused. “You’ve kept it hidden, but you saw it. And yet you have done nothing!”

His foresight would have foretold this exact situation long ago. So why has He kept it hidden? She cannot understand!

Has He wanted this all along? A Kingdom in shambles? Bugs distraught, in pain, and lost? Is He truly the sadistic monster they all have been whispering Him to be?

Still, silence.

She stepped back, shaking her head. 

This wasn’t happening. He had always had a solution. A contingency. Another idea, another scheme, another path forward. But this time—

His voice, soft yet weighted, broke her thoughts.

“Since I turned to the Void,” he said, “my foresight has been corrupted.” His voice whispered hauntingly as if uttering those words was a grave sin.

She froze.

“I look into the future, yet I see nothing.” A broken whisper belonging to a being who has lost it all. Betting on Eternity and losing Everything He once held dear.

For the first time since she had known Him, the Pale King looked afraid. Lost. Confused.

Her stomach lurched. She thought she had felt fury before, but this was different. This was betrayal. He had lied—He had lied to everyone—To Hallownest. To her. 

He had stood before His people and promised them eternity, and all the while, He had known the truth. He had known that His vision was broken. That the Infection still lived. That the kingdom was already lost.

For the past year, He has known all of it, and He has done naught but sit on that cursed throne!

Her claws clenched, shaking at her sides. “You—you knew.”

He said nothing.

“You knew!” she roared. “And you still went through with it! You knew that Hallow wasn’t truly pure! You knew that the Infection was returning, and you—”

Her breath hitched. He still wasn’t looking at her—He wasn’t denying it—He wasn’t denying any of it. And this dug deeper than a Nail to her stomach.

“There is no cost too great for an Eternal Kingdom,” he murmured. Then, softer, barely audible—

“Even at the mercy of progeny cursed.”

The words sent a chill through her core. 

Progeny? 

What progeny!?

Her mind screamed at her. How could one contain a God inside a mortal shell? The answer was that they couldn't...

Hallow wasn't any construct. They weren't even a construct who gained a Soul—a mind. No. Hallow was His child. A child He locked away .

Sealed alongside a Goddess of plague; filled with blazing hatred to Him and His kin.

"You have locked away your own child? You have left your child to suffer at the hands of a raging Goddess?" She questioned in a whisper, a mixture of emotions ranging from disgust to disappointment and even hatred laced in her voice. Her body trembled. 

A single twitch from His tail, yet He did not answer—He did not deny it.

His form still in a throne; 

a throne at the summit of a Castle. 

A castle that has gone silent under a Kingdom; 

a Kingdom that is burning with vicious rage.

And even though He remains motionless; 

she saw through His lies—His act. 

His stillness was not of stoicism or dignity, but of fear and uncertainty. 

He knew there was no eternity here. He knew he had made a mistake. And yet, he still clung to his grand delusions—refusing to face the truth.

Isma couldn’t stand to look at him anymore. Her fury burned through her veins, hot and suffocating. The roots around her were screaming in agony alongside her soul.

“I can’t do this,” she whispered. Then, louder, “I won’t do this.”

She turned on her heel and stormed away from the throne room.

Her steps were heavy, her mind racing. She needed to do something—To fix this. 

If the pale worm will not act, then she will.

Ogrim. 

She had to find Ogrim.

She found him amidst chaos.

The capital was burning. 

Not with fire, but with turmoil. She had barely made it into the city before she saw him, running—fleeing. She nearly called out to him, relief in her eyes, before she noticed the unmistakable orange glow flickering in the distance. Following. Approaching at a fast pace.

Nails and Lances ran after him, pursuing her beloved in unmistakable hatred. 

A single figure led the charge. 

Hegemol.

No—Not him. But something akin to him. Something that shone with deep orange inside his eyes. Seeping into his mind and whispering lies.

Ogrim reached her, panting, frantic, and she saw the shock in his eyes. “It’s—it’s Hegemol. He’s—”

But she already knew. The infection glowed viciously in the eyes of everyone she had once sworn to protect—every citizen, from young to old, commoner to noble. 

She felt sick.

They had lost him.

Her mind spun. Everything was happening too fast. 

“We need to go!” Ogrim said amidst the commotion, pulling Isma alongside him. His voice felt distant.

She followed, her mind in turmoil, cascading emotions and feelings faster than she could comprehend. No time to mourn. No time to think. They had to run. The city was lost; they had to go back. To the palace—

–

The palace…

She turned toward where it should have been. Where it had stood but a few hours prior. And yet—

It was gone.

Not in ruin, not crumbled—just gone. As if it had never existed at all.

Isma’s breath caught, her chest tightening like something had wrapped around her ribs and squeezed. She blinked, trying to make sense of what she saw, but the world refused to align itself with something logical. The towering structure, the shining halls, the King’s throne—that marvel of architecture—had been there. Just hours ago. It had been there. It had to be there .

She could still hear its echoes. The way her footsteps rang against the polished floors. The muffled whispers of the sentries. The steady hum of Soul that had filled the very walls. She could hear them—feel them—but there was nothing. Empty air. The foundations severed, cleanly cut like a limb lost in battle, and she didn’t even see the wound happen.

A sole Kingsmould lay broken in the ruins, abandoned in a way that resonated with her. No other soul remained to tell the tale of what transpired in those few hours.

~~

‘The fire crackled. The ruins shifted. Distant voices twisted into shrieks, laughter, wails. Too loud. Too much. Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears—was that hers? Or the city’s? Or something else, something deeper?’

~~

The world was spinning around her endlessly. There was no hope. Everything had gone wrong. The roots screamed in pain and agony. 

0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o

Has this really happened? Is this reality? Or is this a dream? Is she infected? A husk attacking others amidst a nightmare?

She did not know if she was the one screaming. Sometimes, she felt like Hallow was the one in pain and not her. 

Was she feeling them? Locked away in that Temple far above? Or is she slowly going crazy? Her world shattering at her fingertips due to a sin she has committed—this pain her penance.

0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o

She shook her head to clear the thoughts—the pain was not hers... Not hers... Not hers... 

Shuddering under her breath, she started running again, her body mindlessly following Ogrim, who held her wrist with strength. There was nothing left in here for either of them. Their hearts pounding, their breaths short, they fled. 

The White Palace’s gone, and the Capital has revolted—bursting with The Infected. They ran towards the only place left untouched in this mess.

~~

‘The fire crackled. The ruins shifted. Distant voices twisted into shrieks, laughter, wails. Too loud. Too much. Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears—was that hers? Or the city’s? Or something else, something deeper?

Her stomach twisted. A bitter taste rose up her throat. Her fingers tingled—cold, numb, distant. Her heart hammered, too fast, too hard. Her skull felt like it would crack from the pressure.’

~~

–

The Royal Waterways.

Her breath came too fast. Too shallow. She pressed a hand against her chest, willing it to slow, but it only made it worse. The world narrowed. Shadows twisted in the corners of her vision. Something pressed against her skull, pressing, pressing, PRESSING—

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She squeezed her eyes shut, but that only made it worse.

Hallow.

The doors shutting behind them. Chains rattling in the dark. The finality of it.

A breath in. Too sharp. Painful.

She should have stopped them.

A breath out. Too ragged. Choked.

She should have done more.

In. Her chest refused to expand fully. It was too tight. Too much.

She should have saved them.

Out. The air burned her throat.

She should have stopped this. Stopped this. Stopped this.

Nothing.  That was her sin. She had done nothing.

Her head jerked up. She didn’t know when she started shaking or when her claws had dug into her arms hard enough to hurt. Ogrim’s hands were on her shoulders, grounding, solid, but he was saying something, and she couldn’t hear it. The world was too loud—her thoughts were too loud. A roaring in her ears, a scream that was silent but deafening. Was it hers? Was it Hallow’s? Was it the Queen’s?

She staggered back, pulling away from Ogrim’s grasp. Her legs barely held her. She was going to be sick. The capital was burning, the White Palace was gone, the Infection was rising, and the King—

The King had lied.

There was no plan. No future. No salvation.

She gasped, but the air was thick, choking her.

A mistake. A mistake. A mistake. Everything was a mistake.

Roots.

She could feel them, pulsing beneath her feet, deep in the earth, whispering, beckoning.

~~0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o~~

Rest.

Just for a moment.

~~0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o0 o~~

~~

‘The fire crackled. The ruins shifted. Distant voices twisted into shrieks, laughter, wails. Too loud. Too much. Her own heartbeat pounded in her ears—was that hers? Or the city’s? Or something else, something deeper?

Her stomach twisted. A bitter taste rose up her throat. Her fingers tingled—cold, numb, distant. Her heart hammered, too fast, too hard. Her skull felt like it would crack from the pressure.

And then, warmth. Gentle, quiet. No more fire, no more screams. Just the steady, ancient pulse of the roots, wrapping her in silence. The world melted away, swallowed in green, in sleep.’

~~

A place with no pain, no regret. No grief. No mistakes.

She stumbled, barely aware of her own movement. Something warm wrapped around her wrist, coiling, pulling.

Ogrim shouted her name, but it was too far away. The world was too far away.

There was too much pain and, at the same time, no pain at all. She felt hot—too hot, and cold—too cold.

Roots coiled around her slowly, suffocatingly. And yet, they filled her with a calmness she has not felt in a long time—from when she was but a seedling.

So, she let herself be taken into that empty place. 

To a place where she could finally breathe.

Far away from this nightmare.

Back into Unn’s Dreams.

...

...

...

One by one, they all fell. Isma, the Kindly, who sought to do anything in her power to protect a friend; In the end, she succumbed to her grief, wilting away into a dreamless dream.

--------------------Λ--------------------

Link for ao3 -> 'Impiety'

Chapter Two is finally out! A tragic end to the heroic tale of Isma the Kindly. How will the other Great Knights fare in their own endings of this sorrowful story? Writing the last portion about Isma's panic attack and ending was a tad hard (had to redo it like, three times), but I think I have managed to do a good job at it... Hopefully...

Anyways, I have a beta now! Shoutout to the awesomely great squishybeanfrog for helping me with the chapter! Go check out their work (https://archiveofourown.org/users/squishybeanfrog/pseuds/squishybeanfrog)! It is very sweet and angsty, just the way I like it!

--

Likes, comments, and reblogs are always welcomed! I'd love to read your feedback on this tragic tale!

Chapters (Tumblr):

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[tidbit-fanfic]

watching Venom: The Last Dance against my will was a canon event. And now? I can’t stop fantasizing about being Eddie’s/Venom’s hyperfem significant other. Like I want to walk down the street with my tits out, in the shortest skirt ever paired with my platform heels, without a fear in my head. Why? Because tall, dark, brooding, and dangerous is following behind me. Scary dog privilege fr. 🤤

[altraviolet]

Hey violet!

What’s something you want to share with your audience that you couldn’t fit into TEG? Like a scene or some world building tidbit, etc :)

I wish you a wonderful day!!!

hey anon!

oooh this is always a fun question, but I can't think of anything in the moment. but! I hope you'll indulge me in this, something else I've been meaning to share for a while but hadn't taken the time to take pics yet

last year I printed all of TEG so I could edit it. I find editing a zillion times easier on paper than on the screen, especially because my free, ancient word processor doesn't play nice with AO3, so ALL OF TEG was hand typed with the html. so like every time you saw italics or bold, I hand wrote <i>the coding</i> in there. ANYWAY

I typeset it and went to interpolate (??? I forgot the word, but you have to order the pages a certain way in the PDF so the printer prints them correctly in folios) it in Adobe Acrobat (I think) but the function was broken Dx I haven't tested it since then, but I was VERY annoyed to find that was the case, cuz it meant instead of cutting TEG's ~1000 pages down by four to print, I could only cut down by two

so I spent about 3 days printing the whole damn thing out. after editing, I put the pages in acid protected plastic sheets and put 'em into binders:

I went through the whole thing with a red pen, making as many corrections as I could find. I did a post about my most common mistakes (please learn from my mistakes!) but here's a quick recap of the major findings:

"if... then" NOT "if... than"

pouring vs poring -> "poring over data pads" is correct

reticules vs reticles -> "reticles" are what we want, "reticules" are little purses

reign vs rein -> "rein in emotion" is the correct one

how em dashes work

capitalizing in quotations

Then after all that was done, I went back through with gold pen and added little "fun facts" and bits of info because I thought maybe someday I could sell this massive tome, or use it for a raffle for charity, or something, and my author notes would add some interest and value :)

So for example in the above picture, the gold tid bits are as follows:

text: "Ultra Magnus said it's a closed loop. He closed it himself when the tubes were installed."

note: but Soundwave opened them recently (this was a note to myself- this line is to throw off the reader re: how Soundwave siphoned away the 0001 energon in the Scavengers' tubes)

text: I'm glad we told the crew it was missing. Otherwise they'd probably tear us apart tonight when Ratchet does his thing with the current mix.

note: transparency laws (here Rodimus is referring to an off-page meeting in which the leadership team told the crew the 0001 energon was missing. they did this because of the transparency laws they put in place)

text:

Megatron: "If I asked you what the definition of Soundwave was, what would you answer?"

Rodimus: "I… I have no idea what you mean. Our Soundwave? 0001 Soundwave? Another Soundwave?"

note: R means TFP SW here :D b/c 0001 SW is mentioned separately (when Rodimus says "Our Soundwave?" he means the TFP Soundwave that has boarded the ship)

text: (Aquafend had) accidentally doubled a few of the layers, making the original map hard to see in some places.

note: tech issues inspired by boomers

text: Aquafend pointed to his own aft. "Soundwave: posterior."

note: bwa (I think this line is SO funny haha)

text: Ambulon shrugged. "Tell First Aid and Ratchet to lay off? Velocity's cool. I'm satisfied with my life here. I want to do my work unimpeded."

note: this is why he trusts her later with the spark jewels (by this I mean, it's very small and in the background, but Ambulon always defaults to Velocity as advisor or company over the other medics)

-

I did write a bunch of notes, but not on every page. I wanted to get going with making a typeset ebook available for folks (there's a link on AO3), and I do have the typeset PDF for anyone who wants to ficbind! I don't post that publicly, but I do give it out via email. Just email if you'd like to ficbind =)

So yeah! Right now these binders are just leaning against my bookshelf (in summer I use them to brace the door through the ever-present air pressure changes of a/c, lol). If I ever were to sell or give these away, I'd definitely go through and put notes on as many pages as possible. They're not on every page, but a good amount.

Thanks for the fun ask! =)

[desolateice]

For the Romantic Dialogue Prompts:

30. “I know we just met but I feel like the two of us could get in some serious trouble.” (Johnny/Chozen)

OR

35. “Thanks for making my life a little less miserable.” (Johnny/Lyle)

You know me you can't give me an or. I don't do it.

So I split yours up. I decided for #30 (Which again great minds think alike and loved that one for Johnny) that while it would be set during Barcelona and would theoretically fit thematically in Sweet Tapas that it was just going to be too long, because I took one look of part 2 of season 6 Chozen freaking out over orchids and went hanahaki. Which I've never done but was fascinated by. Which is how you got Vanilla Bean crème brûlée Crema Catalana. (I changed the name after posting it.) Vanilla Beans come from orchids and then I just needed a dessert that fit and I liked the idea of a crème brûlée because the sugar is hardened and creates this protective barrier that you crack through to get to this sweet creamy center, but then I saw while doing research for Sweet Tapas that Spain has Crema Catalana which is similar but THE official sweet of Catalonia and was like okay it's been less than 24 hours I'm changing the title. Crema Catalana was created in the 14th century and unlike crème brûlée contains citrus and cinnamon which felt much more fitting for Chozen. It's also a little lighter and more delicate and easier to make. I also did a bit of research on orchids because I wanted to lean into plant... romantic uh....tropes. Sure. Let's go with that. And most flowers have pollen which means easy to you know...have pollen tropes. But orchids don't? Not like dusty easy pollen. They do have pollen but it's different, you kinda have to work to get at it. They're old so I had to figure out a different way to go about uh...that. But orchids, at least some, are edible...so yeah. And they do grow anywhere and everywhere and can be pollinated by a lot of different things. So they essentially got to be a non vocal wingman...wing orchid. Vanilla Bean Creama Catalana (Rated E) can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62985163/chapters/161300728 #35 for Johnny and Lyle I decided to go off that little tidbit in season 6 part 2 in Barcelona where Johnny's talking to the nunchuck guy about how easy it is go to from modeling to skin flicks and realized oh man did they just drop some Johnny lore on us and no one's going to talk about it? This one got posted originally without a title due to my rush to get the whole collection out before the finale and while it's part of Sweet Tapas which is pretty much all set in Barcelona and even your other fic Vanilla Bean Cream Catalana is set in Barcelona this one is set prior to the start of the series and kinda throughout the earlier parts of the series in the Valley and mostly in Lyle's pawnshop. But it's based off that little tid bit. I ended up giving it the title haystack due to a line near the end and because it was a dessert I'd end up making a lot as a kid. Haystack cookies are really easy to make, they're essentially La Choy (the only brand I ever used to make them) dried chow mein noodles that you dip in melted chocolate chips and butterscotch chips and then drop on piles of wax paper and put in the fridge and eat once the chocolate has rehardened the piles to look a little like haystacks. They're easy but fun and a little more complex flavor wise (a little) then one would expect and they've got a nice crunch, which felt...fitting. Haystacks (Rated E) can be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/63016810/chapters/161388100

[agodlikehog]

you two seem like you would play dandy's world and get unnecessarily mad at public servers

“..whaat the fuck is dandy—“

“HOLD ON!! googling it annnddd—-… FWAHAHAAH-“

“What? Whats got you so giggly, pipsqueak?”

“Its a roblox game, like the one PCX comes from but veeery child-friendly it looks like- look-“

Tidbit moves to hold the phone up to show kol, snickerin and giggling as the larger hog puts his hand to his chin eith an unimpressed look, but he is slightly reddish at tid’s giggling. He turns to look at you.

“We probably would, but if anything, i’d just hack into the annoying childs account to start displaying ‘I AM GOD’ among other things to scare them off the game. Its pretty easy to do.”

[veliatra]

Also a little tidbit about Gortash being a Banite...:

((and dwelling into a scolding of Bane? + Very very sporatic tid bits of information. Tried to organise part a bit better with titles.))

Long text post, no tl;dr

You die like me(n)

First impressions; false information;

There's a good reason why Gortash seeks to have a temple to Bane made, with all the massacres a hundred or so years before wiping out most Banites or turned to Cyrics; Ixachtu Xvim or underground. So at this point whatever he has organised with the clergy is well.. most of it.

He doesn't strike me as that typical worshipper; not a wizard, not a cleric. I'd say he does follow the hierarchy and well; with the way he is followed around by other Banites, him being 'the chosen' would mean he's the current version of The High Imperceptor. Everyone would bow to him, kiss his feet, kneel etc. He'd have the remaining to be on his call.

Expeecctt that whole thing? BULLSHITE.

The temple to Bane was converted back to Bane worship a few decades later in the mid 14th century; and Bg 3 is set in the late of 15th.

After the Time of Troubles when Bane was ressurected he re-established his worship

So by then things are settled and Gortash's SIMPLY spreading it. Albeit/presumably without as much backing as in it's golden days. Riding on the new wave of 'cool to worship gods' (I don't presume to know trends. I guessed he is an emo hunk who'd love some edgy god who died and came back. Isn't it like just the choice you'd have made at 11 in an IKEA with a floating black stone on a cool stand?)

Scolding of Bane

Also Bane, tf you keep causing calamities. Chill dude. You died when you walked among your followers, come now, you thought now that you're vulnerable it would be best you fought other gods? Yeah, pretty characteristic if YOU HAD NO BRAINCELLS. I mean yes, you had the chance to take matters into your own hands and not let silly mortals fail and stumble. FiNe.

But I digress;

Gortash as a Banite;

he's the choosen, but is he the High Imperceptor? Well, no? Yes? No. He's far too busy with the Absolute to also tend to the Banites. He's definitely high ranking, maybe even above the Imperceptor(?), BUT not with the same responsibilities, he doesn't look like he does more than benefit from the clergy. He borrows manpower, sure; and maybe he aims to be eventually even more hence he wants to build a temple to Bane.

The hierchy has strict rules on how to treat those above you, he definitely likes that when it's directed at him, not him giving. Which begs the question: he had to be at the bottom of that ladder at some point. He had to do kneeling, bowing maaaaybe even a boot kiss or two.

That said; he maybe a worshipper, and a chosen, but is he a proper part of the church? Well yes, but do you consider a christian the same way part of the church as a priest at a temple?

He's saint level perhaps in those terms.

There was a trend among Bane worshippers: face tattoos. Sadly we didn't get that with him. Would have been cool, but alas, handsome mid 30's younger man is our to marvel at.

Bane comes to him in dreams to direct him and Durge; he commissions a painting of him and a bust according to how he came before him.

That said it would have been funny if someone painted/sculpted Bane during The time of troubles.

Gorty really was thinking of rebuilding the Black altar wasn't he?

Please feel free to correct me on lore. I would love to be wrong.

[sweetiepotatofry]

Hello everypony, welcome back to Bubbles rants about cube shaped people who's stories may or may not ever be finished, today's topic..

The portrayal of homeschooling in Aphmau's PDH. Reviewed by, a shut in homeschooled teen girl.

Aphmau

PDH!APH IS LEGIT ONE OF THE BEST PORTRAYALS OF HOMESCHOOLING I'VE SEEN.

like she doesn't fall into the 'I was homeschooled, so I'm good at everything' or the 'social freako who was locked inside their house for a reason' stereotypes. She's a normal somewhat awkward, occasionally cringe, teen girl.

Speaking of cringe, I find most (not all) cringe moments very very relatable to irl experiences I've had. Especially the way you don't necessarily realize how words sound when they first come out. (Yes this is about the 'let's make a new one!' Babysitting scene.)

And the whole 'she finds nearly everyone she meets somewhat cute' thing (Katelyn, garroth, laurance, Aaron etc) is the most accurate thing ever, like for non-homeschooled shut ins, imagine how whenever there's a new kid at school and everyone suddenly has a crush on them, but everyone is the new kid to you.

The whole back and fourth she had with Teony on how homeschooling isn't that fun and all she did was play video games? Amazingly accurate to every conversation I've ever had about homeschooling.

Another quick tid bit is that I enjoy the habit Aph has of talking to herself, because sometimes when you have nobody to talk to, you start talking to yourself, but when you do have people to talk to again, the habit of talking to the invisible person doesn't disappear.

I find that Jess having been homeschooled for a year herself due to 9/11, makes her writing and handling of PDH!APH hit home for me.

Aaron.

^ the social freako who was locked in their house for a reason, and I was homeschooled so I'm good at everything. While he is technically a stereotype, he isn't technically homeschooled, he just went to military school.

BUUUTT, he is a good example on how sometimes when you grow up isolated, you stay isolated.

While I relate to Aph more nowadays, what's implied to be how Aaron was pre-senior year does remind me loads of the person I used to be. All lonely and off in a corner.

He really does highlight how some people get their daily social interaction by being aggressive to others. It's harsh, but it's true.

I enjoy how in FCU he is seen actively *trying* to make friends, his struggles are eerily realistic that I quite enjoy. I also like how he portrays how sometimes socially isolated people can be jerks, just like how they can be not jerks.

Conclusions.

Both Aaron and Aph can be seen as two of many ways people can take loneliness. 'Accepting' the loneliness and shutting out any chances of social interaction, and trying to cope with the loneliness by pretending everything is smooth sailing. sometimes you're even a strange hybrid of the two. Moral is, severe isolation sucks.

Anyways this is also one of those times where writing for your and your spouses kinda self inserts come really in handy! Like I said in Aph's final tidbit, Jess' writing really shines whenever she writes stuff she knows.

As an ending bit and a slight disclaimer, this is mainly from my experience of being homeschooled for the past nine years, other people might have different experiences.