#but I suppose i had not considered it to its full extent before now

[revvethasmythh]

The research notes on distilling dunamancy found in Brenattos apothecary are so interesting actually. It’s not outright stated who’s notes they are, but with a retrospective lens it’s quite clear that they’re Ludinus’. There are fragments there about his musings on some of Trent’s protégées showing proficiency with early dunamancy, that he is planning to incorporate it into his own skill sets to aid him in his pursuits, and he records how it seems the Kryn have been quote unquote “learning to bend and break the threads of destiny for hundreds of years. Be this truth, I cannot imagine the Raven Queen looks down upon them favorably either, though the thought brings a laugh to my lips.”

#I am going to be honest: I assumed he was aware of dunamancy for MUCH longer than this #but the way its stated implies this was a fairly new discovery #like i was aware that essek giving over the beacons had consequences™️ #but I suppose i had not considered it to its full extent before now #why did i think ludinus knew about dunamacy for ages because apparently NOT #also the bit about the raven queen at the end just made me laugh. he’s such as shithead lol #yes another c2 rewatch #cr2e48 #also what’s the EITHER at the end there?? what the beef with TRQ??? does she hate you specifically?? #i want the hot goss I want to know what he vanguard wear the symbol of TRQ I want to know why HER #otohan used to worship her. ludinus has beef with her. the vanguard wear her symbol #they marbelized HER champion #what the FUCK is up with that

[slexenskee]

MDNSY AU

Posting this WIP bc maybe if it sees the light of day I’ll actually get around to writing more of it

I originally wrote this right after the sick-fic arc even though its supposed to take place during the Eri arc so it gets kinda AU from there

It’s only afterwards— months afterwards, that he realizes the full extent of his own stupid actions. 

So many things had to perfectly align in exactly the wrong way for this to happen. But each and every one of them was his own damn fault, so there’s really no one to blame here but himself. 

It had to have happened when Hawks had been sick and recovering in his hotel room, that’s the only way the timing lines up. Gojo has always been good about practicing safe sex— considering how he sleeps around, he sort of has to— and has never slipped up even once… until Hawks. Multiple times, actually, not even counting the time he was sick. There’d also been that time in Palawan, when he hadn’t brought any condoms with him because he’d honestly thought he wouldn’t need them. That had been rather profoundly short sighted of him, in hindsight. And then of course there were the time(s) when Hawks was staying in his hotel room, when they couldn’t keep their hands off each other and once again Gojo hadn’t thought to go out and buy any condoms because he’d genuinely thought he wouldn’t need any. Hawks had been sick! Basically delirious! How was he supposed to know that the moment he’d recovered enough he’d jump him? And on a related note, how was Gojo supposed to summon up enough willpower to stop him? 

To that point— how was Gojo even supposed to know he should stop him?

That too, though, is entirely his fault.

Apparently it’s a regular part of sex-ed during middle school— except Gojo never went to class in middle school, so he’d entirely missed the memo. With the advent of quirks came a rare genetic mutation that allows for male pregnancies among a small subset of the population. Rare, but not entirely unheard of, either. It was certainly common enough for a segment to be taught in public schools, and testing to be done as part of the gamut of health checks most kids go through around puberty. Most kids aside from Gojo, who was out terrorizing organized crime syndicates just for fun at that age. 

God, he’s a fucking idiot. This entire situation was so laughably avoidable, and yet he’d managed to end up in it anyway. 

Anyway so now he’s having an existential meltdown in the middle of his still unfinished bathroom, staring numbly at the flecks of grout still flaking off the new tile, wondering what the fuck he’s supposed to do now.

“Satoruuu,” a voice whines from the other side of the bathroom door. “I need to pee.”

Gojo scrambles to his feet, binning the evidence of all the pregnancy tests and burying it under a cloud of toilet paper just before he wrenches the door open, smile fixed in place. “Sorry Eri-chan! I was spacing out.”

Eri just takes the excuse at face value, bounding into the only current usable bathroom in the house and shutting the door behind her.

Gojo sighs wearily, slumping against the wall just outside the door.

Alright, first on the agenda is finding a temporary residence for them while he gets an army of contractors to fix the worst of the ‘home improvement’ sins he’s committed upon this house as quickly as possible. He’d originally thought redoing the rooms would be a fun bonding activity for him and Eri, but now he knows all those chemicals will be bad for… for the baby, so that’s probably a bad idea now. He’s also going to need this house in livable condition as fast as he can make it happen, because apparently… there’s going to be a baby here in less than six months. 

He’s also going to need a doctor, and a very good and discreet one at that. From what he’s read in his mad frenzy of online searching, male pregnancies are very high risk. He’s not at all worried for himself, seeing as though he can heal from just about anything, but that same protection doesn’t extend to the other person currently taking up roost inside him. He frowns. Or does it? Wouldn’t his reversed-curse technique still work on them when they’re still a parasite leeching off of his body? When exactly does their cursed energy start to deviate from each others to the point he can no longer heal them as an extension of himself? Man, what he wouldn’t give for a conversation with Shoko right now.

He can worry about things like clothes and furniture and baby food after he’s settled the most immediate concerns on his list. Namely, fixing this house and finding a doctor. And telling Eri, although he doubts that will be much of an issue. The girl will be beyond excited to be an older sibling.

Now as for telling his family and telling Hawks…

Gojo winces.

Yeah, okay. It says a lot that he’d rather tell Endeavor, to his face, that he’s getting another grandchild than fessing up to Hawks about carrying his kid. Even the thought of it is going to give him a stress tumor.

Well, stress is bad for babies, right? So maybe he should just table the thought for later. You know, for his health.

#fic may death never stop you #spinoff fic #mpreg au #mdnsy oneshots

[m1d-45]

hello!! i’ve been lingering on your blog for a while, but i’ve been too scared to request/reach out until now jfnfksk. before i do, i wanted to say that you’re one of my favorite writing blogs. all of the works i’ve read from you are beautiful and profound and, in my opinion, you have a great way of words and storytelling. your blog was one of my introductions to sagau in general, so thank you for that, too.

i’ve been having a lot of thoughts about sagau and fontaine recently, particularly revolving around the 4.1 archon quest. lyney and freminet are both amongst some of my favorite characters, and i have pulled for/have them both, and i use them both often. i personally disagreed with many of the traveler’s (which i’m assuming was the creator’s main vessel during it all?) actions, how we dealt with lyney and wriothesley and how we seemed to be neutral with both of them after. i definitely did not, and do not, like wriothesley after everything that happened, and i wished we were a bit more hostile/cold towards him at least. he put lyney and freminet especially in states of extreme distress and had no qualms about it, even if he never intended to hurt them physically.

how the traveler went about it all just felt very wrong to me. i would not have been so docile and friendly towards wriothesley afterwards, and quite frankly, i would’ve been way more worried about lyney and freminet than we were. i, personally, am on lyney’s side 100%, and i wish we weren’t forced to be in a weird state of limbo between our “loyalties.” i have none to wriothesley, and i wish i could’ve made that known.

in the event that we’re going with the creator being more omnipotent and a third party (such as in your piece “wandering”) rather than isekai’d, do you think that the characters would be able to feel/tell/hear the creator’s frustrations? considering that the creator’s vessels are supposed to be controlled by them, how do you think that would work — the creator mostly disagreeing with the actions their vessel have chosen, but basically being helpless against them? would that align/be possible with how you view sagau and its dynamics?

this could be viewed as a more formal request or just a rambling ask, depending on if you find it interesting/agree with it/wish to write for it or not; i don’t mind! my apologies as well — this got a bit longer than i intended. (also, could i be added to the taglist if that’s not too much trouble?)

oooh this is an interesting point!

now, from a gameplay standpoint, while it makes sense to have two kinds of dialogue when interacting with npcs—sort of like a nice and rude option to give players some room—a canonical single storyline for the traveller is much simpler and far easier in the long run, especially for the kind of story mhy wants to tell. this being said, i do agree we should have more flexibility in dialogue.

i do believe that even if you don’t verbally say something, they can still feel your emotions, such as frustration. the extent changes—i think too much about this game good lord—but the point is that they could tell that you’re dissatisfied with the actions you’re taking. the end conclusion could be anything from “the device they use to connect with this world isn’t perfect. they must not have regained enough power to fully control it.” to “still being kind even through their anger…. our lord truly is gracious” depending on the situation, character, etc. that being said if you out loud disagreed with something you’re doing, it would be pretty universally accepted that the limits of your influence are a Bad Thing. this serves as motivation to find a way to restore your full power; whether that means “we gotta motivate them from afar! how far can we push these boundaries?” or “ok. we have to bring them here.” depends on your flavor of sagau.

that should cover everything i wanted to say. thank you for the compliments, and i’m glad that you liked my writing. feel free to send another ask if you want to clarify or add on, and have a good day!

#m1d : [chats] #m1d : [sweethearts] #i’m so sorry if this is written questionably- #i am not the person you should have come to for this— #i spoke WAY too much about shit that doesn’t matter WHOOPS #like half of this post was deleted because i was just Saying Shit #over half*

[absent-o-minded]

Uh Oh

The YR Season 2 Teaser dropped yesterday? You know what that means ! *Fires up the Chainsaw*

The Palace:

Personally, I think it was very clever of the YR PR team to release the first 4 minutes of Season 2 in replacement of a supposed trailer (eventhough one will likely come) because this does something very different to that of a montage of clipped, edited snippets throughout the entire season - Here, we're given a tonal opening.

Right from the get go, the transition from Wille's soft, intimate dream sequence to reality is indicated through a colour shift, and thus within moments of 0 dialogue an obscure location setting, we understand the gravity that the consequences of Season 1 has had. The golden-hued, saturated colour composition of Wille's dream is ruptured upon opening his eyes, whereby a greyish-blue seeps in through the curtains and he remembers where he has woken up. Simon isn't here. Actually, he never was. Unfortunately, Wille is in the single worst place on Earth. The Palace.

Even just by this subtle indication, the Palace becomes this sterile, de-saturated environment and we realise that the extent of the ending of S1 has, in fact, extended to the building itself. To Wille, the Palace takes upon this sombre reminder of the loss of hope. And despite never being a home, it's even less of a house now, because it's haunted.

The Walk:

This idea of the Palace being haunted is solidified in this small scene because Wille takes on the persona of a ghost.

The interaction between himself and the Cleaner/Housekeeper is weird, especially considering the royal settings, because all usual pleasantries are abandoned. Instead, Wille walks past, and she offers him no more then a quick glance, before continuing with her work. And it's not a look of acknowledgement either, it's more so the look you give when you hear a noise, wondering where it came from.

In turn, the camera follows him through the dimly-lit corridor as he stalks through it, the white shirt making him look almost-hollow. It's hinted at the gothic and I love it, because it makes so much sense. When a character is ruined, deprived and lost, they're not really full anymore, they're drifting through states longing for warmth. That's what Wille is doing right now. All of his desires (as seen in the very first 20 seconds) are confined to dreams, where he can escape the sadness of reality and experience a different plain, but that is his only solace.

Even now, he is both unrecognisable to himself and to staff of the palace. He's so far from who he was that when he got so close to experiencing something that felt like his, it was brutally stripped away and stomped on. Now, all that's left is himself (whoever that is) an his grief (wherever that's getting stored - It's pestering and sweltering). This is really just me wanting to start a ghost choir tbh.

The Blazer and The Portrait:

How has all of this pain, this line of ascension, this sense of missing and longing and wishing been compacted into a blazer? Erik's blazer.

I could cry over this picture - It doesn't fit at all. It's too big on the arms and at the waist. The crown has lost all of its significance, because now the blazer grips the body, but on Wille it's oversized because it was never meant for him. None of this was ever really meant for him. None of the plans made were catered towards him, the narrative followed someone else and he was supposed to be a supporter. A bystander. But now, the room is empty. The stand holds a piece of what waits for him, but it feels all too wrong and uncomfortable because it was Eriks.

His body is distorted in it because he's trying to fit the role of something that was never tailored to him, but he's desperate to feel some sort of closeness to Erik. He's hugging it tighter around himself in the hopes that he'll feel like Erik, assured and confidant, or even better, that he'll feel Erik, his compassion and his warmth. He's just a kid. Isn't that enough? He's just a kid who misses his big brother and who just wants a hug.

Not just this, but Erik's portrait is in the frame and is placed behind Wille, which has so many meanings, such as: 1.) Erik is subverting the theme of pressured surveillance by looking almost fondly, or sadly on his doting brother, like he understands that from his death, Wille now must fill his shoes, and he has to bare witness to the trials and tribulations that Wille is about to face, 2.) Wille is trying to emulate Erik's confidence and grace, of which are all encapsulated in this blazer as the framing lends itself to parallelism - The blazers present on Erik, but it looks neater, refined, right, like it's meant to, but on Wille it just looks strange.

How else can you say 'I miss you so much' when the other person isn't here to hear it? How else can you articulate 'I wish you were here. Or at least, I wish I were more like you, so then maybe in some part you would be here.' other than trying to picture their clothes, their face, their eyes? How else are you supposed to ask 'God, I wish that you would tell me what do to. How did you do it so well? How do I do it as well as you?' other than wearing their blazer and hoping that it'll wrap you up and take you away from all fo this? When you can't sleep, and you can't weep, and you can't put a name to your pain, what else are you meant to do than miss them and hope that it's enough?

The Tin:

I know I said that I could cry at the last picture, but this really is the last reason to push the stake further in. Just look at it, it's so-

Of course, just to plop the cherry on top of the cake, Wille ruffles in the inside pockets and finds this little tin (Is it a match tin?) engraved with 'Once A Brother, Always A Brother'.

This little addition offers the only reciprocal of Wille's love, as well as offering the only validation of his feelings, because it works both ways. As well as being Crown Prince, Erik was the only one that Wille wholeheartedly trusted, and felt like he could tell anything to. That's a special person, and it's a unique relationship when it happens, one that is precious. But Wille is also Erik's brother, and there is likely a part of him that feels responsible for carrying on his legacy, both out of love and out of duty. In this situation, the lines are so blurred it's hard to tell where devotion starts and obligation ends.

Not just this, but the fact that it's a match tin (as far as I'm aware) and in S1 Wille's flame was 'ignited' shows how Erik has always been present throughout Wille's journey.

I would just want Wille to know that Erik loved him so much, and that he would've been so supportive and proud of his little brother. Now I'm going to go burst into flames tears, 'xcuse me.

The Burning and The Mirror:

Now, I'm no pyromaniac, nor have I dabbled in arson, HOWEVER-

Notice how, through the framing, Wille's face somewhat replaces August' in the mirror after Wille has burned it away? His flame has been ignited, and now it's manifesting within himself. The burning itself is significant because it's an act of self-rebellion, and provides a little bit of catharsis.

Through this, Wille is actively erasing August from the narrative and distancing him from his Brother, who isn't here to do it for himself. Perhaps one of the main things that Wille is trying to protect is Eriks legacy, particularly in relation to his previous friendship with August, who Wille already stated at the end of S1 is "no longer a part of his family." It's just that now Wille has reason to act upon his desires.

But also, the way in which the 4th wall is broken is equally as significant - Beforehand, when Wille first breaks the 4th wall in S1, it's in the Apology issue and the camera creeps closer until it receives the warranted reaction from something that is suffocating and intrusive. But now, he breaks the fourth wall through the perspective of the mirror, looking at us through a reflection, as if we're stood behind him (The question this begs is whether that's in solidarity for Reputation Era or that we as an audience represent the lingering presences that he's ready to banish, displaying the conviction he has about August).

Either way, our presence is acknowledged, this time against the framework of consequences as opposed to the previous one in S1 of expectation.

And I understand that revenge is not always the healthiest means of healing.....HOWEVER-

The Eriksson House and The Acceptance:

IT'S THE GROOVY GANG !

This is a slightly different representation of the Eriksson home than we've seen before, as usually it's dark and the mains rooms we've seen are the kitchen, the living room and Simon's room, and initially when I watched this I thought that they had moved (The threat of getting doxxed, the presence of the press etc) It could be a possibility, or it's just that we're seeing a different image of the home.

It appears much lighter and airier, comprised of pastel greens and windows, which offers the impression that maybe the family are in a better place now due to the stark contrast between this home and the Palace.

Also - I'm guessing that the letter Sara gets is for her acceptance for residency at Hillerska, right? But the placement of the acceptance letter is both for narrative sake, like kickstarting Sara's journey regarding staying at Hillerska as well as externalising her wants - Acceptance. Throughout S1, that is all Sara wanted and all that she craved for, and now, this is the first sign of her integrating into the Hillerska environment and hoping that she is accepted beyond admission. I'm really excited to see how her story plays out !

HONOURABLE MENTIONS:

Wille simply just closing the door on Kristina. No shouting. No crying. No clipped words. Just the simple act of rejection.

More indications to August' eating disorder/body dysmorphia (He's an extremely nuanced character, and I still stand by the fact that resenting a character for their actions whilst acknowledging their nuanced portrayal are not mutually exclusive. Thanks critical thinking, luv you babes <3)

The music that played after Wille lit up Augusts face? Already SLAPS. I'm so excited for this years soundtrack !

Well, I'm down with freshers flu atm so this genuinely took all of my brain power and now I am s P e N t. But, please let me know what you think !

#young royals #young royals spoilers #young royals netflix #yr season 2 spoilers #yr s2 spoilers #young royals season 2 spoilers #lisa ambjörn #analysis #it's like giving crumbs to pigeons out here #one 4 minute teaser and suddenly none of us know how to act anymore

[asachuu]

Alright, BSD/AO3-related “confession” time, although this shouldn’t have really become a confession.

While my works over on AO3 are occasionally quite dark, the full extent of which is entirely subjective, yet still one I could describe as such objectively, I do sometimes try to water a lot of it down out of fear I’m starting to sound “edgy for the sake of it”, as nonsensical as I personally find that description. Though I’m aware the thought process goes against what I personally believe on these matters, I still don’t want anyone to look at anything I write and assume it’s nothing but a mindless pile of brutality treated without proper seriousness and/or something to exaggerate for “no real reason”, and I often find myself worrying whether or not it’ll come off as such, even though I understand each author has their own visions and motives, me included, and not everyone will assume those correctly, nor will people ever universally agree on them, enjoy the content or even have the willingness to accept the mere existence of art that isn’t pure or sanitized, therefore one shouldn’t feel anxious over this when nobody owes any sort of explanation or justification for their creations to strangers anyway, but…let’s just say I’m still trying to get past that. Unfortunately, I suppose spending too much time around audiences who consider going into any type of ever-so-slightly darker territory in one’s works as an act only terrible, cruel individuals would do may have had its long-lasting effects…but I digress.

There was one work which was initially meant to be entirely unfiltered, “uncensored”, if I should say so, and that work was meant to be what would eventually become both A Second Chance and No Retakes, given the two are merely two varying iterations of an alternate universe I wanted to create for the ship I’m writing about. I suppose it’s the third, never spoken about version of it, and although there are four to five total versions as of today, this one in particular had almost made it through, had I not completely washed everything I were to include away just a few days before I got to writing my “first” fic. In fact, it was precisely the fully clean version which became A Second Chance; the series is essentially only different in its beginning, past and subsequently the way said past would affect what was happening, yet the more general events stayed intact, unlike No Retakes which is still not being too truthful to its original introductory disclaimer as of the last update.

Now, I felt like I had to tidy this one up, and if I am to be honest, it was mainly thanks to my only “enthusiastic” audience at the time always focusing on any sadder element of my writing and pinpointing how much it ruined the whole work, which was…a rather demotivating experience, aside from all else I could say about it. Considering this was a work I would be posting publicly with the intention of actually having others see it and associate it with this chain of accounts instead of someone’s random throwaway I could just ditch at any time, and not only that, this would also be something of great personal importance to me, I didn’t want to discard what I assumed to be my only chance at making something I could look back and be satisfied with. There is certainly far more to this story, but all that is to say, I didn’t want— and frankly couldn’t even afford— this to be dismissed as someone’s “horrible” work with such “unnecessary cruelty” in it, or however else it would have been described.

Even after a long time, after I had started publishing far more “risky” things, such as my whole Rimlaine-related series, and detached myself as much as possible from an audience which would ultimately never find any enjoyment in what I actually wished to be creating and would only serve to bring me down or make me dislike my own content, there was one thing I didn’t change my mind on, and that was feeling as though I still wouldn’t have been able to write the original concept of the ChuuArt series/fic/etc. I had in mind, even after everything I had written by that point and even after many chapters of No Retakes. In fact, I changed my mind a mere four weeks ago, which is the only reason I’m writing this.

If you’ve never heard me describe what the original consisted of, I’ll have to slightly disappoint you this time as I definitely don’t have enough confidence to actually state what it could have been, but as is probably very obvious, it wasn’t for the faint-hearted. I feel as though it’s no exaggeration if I say it was far more dark than every single Rimlaine fic I have ever written combined. I don’t believe I ever considered it “unreasonable” or any other such descriptor, not even when I was too afraid to write it, though— in truth, I sincerely believe both A Second Chance and No Retakes are extremely unrealistic and don’t represent practically anything I had been envisioning. Right now, I’ve decided to see if it’s possible for me to rework the outlines for the latter as it’s obviously very far from done and nobody apart from me would know what the original was meant to be, steering it a little bit closer to its long-lost predecessors, but even if I do manage to pull this off, the concept has been lost from the very beginning, and nothing can replicate it unless I somehow wholeheartedly try to overwrite people’s memories.

Of course, not stating it directly doesn’t mean I can’t imply it, and I will have to, just for the sake of what I’m trying to get at. The initial premise was always having Arthur survive the events of Fifteen, that much is obvious, and while there is one other version of the AU in which he survives on his own accord without any interference from the Port Mafia, the rest of them did require him to fall into the organization’s hands. Now, here is where I feel like ASC/NR completely fail at being anyhow logical, and this has hit me more than ever recently, though I’ll explain why afterwards, despite being somewhat confident that you could figure it out even without my input from here.

Naturally, there is absolutely no reason for Arthur to have been entirely safe and intact until meeting Chuuya in any iteration (…maybe aside from that one exception, but I think you’ll get what I mean more specifically), and no horrible living conditions I place him in are even remotely comparable to what I believe an organization such as the Port Mafia would do to a traitor if he were to be kept alive for any reason instead of immediately assassinated, as implied in Fifteen. I will give off somewhat plot-important spoilers here for No Retakes, so please beware, but NR tries to give some flimsy reasoning for this as I seemed to have become more and more self-aware of it while writing the initial outlines— I thought that perhaps, if Arthur regained his memories and could have potentially held some valuable information about other organizations, it would have made sense to try and keep him alive and well, and while it would have definitely been more straightforward for any PM member to just…let’s say…“standard-mafia-procedure” the information out of him, nobody would have had any reason to do that if he’d either been completely unconscious or he forgot everything again, right…? And one more “spoiler”, although it’s been slightly hinted at in the fic itself already and I heavily regret giving it such little relevance— even that much didn’t sit right with me, so he doesn’t escape entirely unscathed, but nonetheless, all of it is extremely tame, in my opinion. (Spoilers end) It feels more like a last resort to attain more realism points which simply aren’t really there, or so I believe.

The original, however, went all-out with this “realism” I so speak of, and I’ll just say that every variation of this AU has a five year gap between Fifteen and its present at the very least, but in both I’ve written about so far, Arthur isn’t particularly conscious for any of those five or more years. In that version, for one reason or another that hasn’t been properly worked on before being discarded and turned into one of the newer ideas, he’d been reluctantly kept alive, but not a soul would have given him the luxury of just leaving him be for ages until he would have most likely rotted away like in ASC, or until he’d woken up again like in NR. I believe everyone can have their own interpretation of my words here as I don’t even know how I would type this out in the first place, but essentially, at that point, Chuuya wouldn’t have simply carried him away for the sake of it or been tasked to watch over him, it’d be more of him just outright saving whatever was left of his life. I’m sure that anything one could imagine here would also lead to an obvious difference between how this AU’s Arthur would act, as opposed to both AU versions of him currently existing, yet to write all that simply felt…wrong. Not wrong because it didn’t make sense and felt like a pointless gore fest— the complete opposite, actually, but wrong as in, according to my mind and my mind only, something “too dark for AO3” or the BSD fandom as a whole. I probably would have had the tendency to overdescribe it as well instead of letting the reader make up their own mind, which would have added onto that factor, and I was too worried to even dare venturing there. Some of it certainly also had to do with fearing I wouldn’t be able to pull it off as a more amateurish writer, but it wasn’t the main driving force.

Now, anyone could sit here and tell me that my reason was complete bullshit, and I can’t believe I’ve only arrived to this conclusion myself so late. What led me to it, you may ask? Simple— Bungou Stray Dogs itself.

I’ve drafted this very post those four weeks ago when I changed my thoughts on these matters and just edited it to make it fit recent events, but at the time of writing this initially, I was only on chapter 40 of re-reading the manga, and that has been enough to convince me none of my fics, not even the original AU I had in mind, are “too edgy” for anything to do with BSD (and AO3, of course, I think that site has seen it all). Though I firmly believe no such thing even needs some kind of “justification” to be written in the first place, as for my observation, all of my harsher ideas would still be reduced to mere dust if compared to that or the light novels. There is not a single thing I could have ever written that would have gone “too far” by my own anxiety-driven standards, and even if I genuinely took that entire concept and wrote it to the full extent I’ve had in my mind, it would only be dreaming of being on par with something like Atsushi’s backstory or Q’s treatment, both of which are basically at the mere start of the manga. If not that, it would absolutely pale in comparison to the entirety of Stormbringer, for example, and if one was to put it simply, the amount of missing limbs, dead bodies, torture, on-screen and described gore in this series would make my own concepts…I want to say laughable, but it’d actually make them just a tiny bit more BSD-worthy.

Nothing I’m writing feels like BSD itself from this perspective, and I understand that I’m writing fanfiction— I’m in a space where people don’t always want to match the mood and tone of the media they’re making their own spin on, and there is not a single thing out of place if I make any of my works more toned down, peaceful and whatnot, but at the same time, there will also be nothing out of place if I don’t. Honestly, this may be somewhat clear already, but I don’t want to write works which are fully sanitized, clean and light-hearted only, and while yes, I believe a couple of those exist on my page, those aren’t meant to be the majority as that was never my goal to begin with. I didn’t even have one at first, but when I both actually tried to think of one somewhere along the way and reflected on all my old drafts and notes, the answer I got was to make the opposite of what I look for while browsing AO3 myself, ironically— as I don’t usually spend my time reading much, not even on there, I only ever read short fics that I can go through in one sitting which don’t leave me thinking about anything surrounding them and I feel as though I’ve read them from their true beginning to their true end, with the plot being only what was in the 4000 or so words I skimmed through rather than something much different, something I’ve only looked through a window into, and, simply put for what I think is my case, something far more pretentious than that, of course. Hopefully, there is no need for me to clarify I clearly do enjoy the shorter, less complex fics and am in no way trying to devalue them, they’re just not what I personally would like to write myself— I would be delighted if someday, I could feel as though I have created something which has a full, proper story in itself, and additionally, seeing as it’s BSD fanfiction, absolutely not have this story be one in which you could almost believe all the characters are regular office workers with rather mild problems in their lives. The only thing which is closest to this, yet which still fails to meet the former criteria, is probably all to do with Rimlaine that I’ve written, but that was not the initial plan, and now I’m seeing that it didn’t really have to be this way.

Not that I regret it too much, seeing as I could fix this if I truly wanted to— No Retakes was mostly born out of late regrets after I’ve fallen in love with that version of the AU and spent months wishing I had worked on it from the very beginning instead of having a thousand separate worries about it, all before I realized there were more people encouraging me to write it than people who would have insinuated I’d already written a ChuuArt AU and another “similar” one wasn’t necessary anymore. I could undoubtedly go back and show everyone one more of the originals, the one which would have rivaled every single work of mine in terms of just how dark it would have been, but I’m not sure whether it’s my ongoing WIP or general exhaustion stopping me more here, aside from the fact that I simply don’t have that much of a desire to do it when I could still try and pray to salvage said WIP a little bit and find a middle ground that doesn’t require me to start another project I will inevitably have no time to work on without getting too worn down.

Anyhow, I suppose I’ll get to looking through the outlines again, perhaps cut out some chapters on the way if I can and hope not to add more by accident. For better or for worse, while the reason should have probably been a bit different, I’m glad to be a bit less willing to censor half my works now that I’ve at least realized what media I’ve actually been using this whole time, and I’m hoping it will have some impact going forward as I really want to write what I alone want to write, not what people who don’t even care about my works want to see me create.

#text post #asachuu #all that being said I think reworking the outlines properly is sadly a bit too hopeful #I’ll see what’s doable at least

[stuckinuniformdevelopment]

@bishop-percival

(Previous) “When he isn’t being an asshole? Rare. Then I suppose he does enjoy your company, to an extent.” Miriam didn’t try to stop Teddy as he sidestepped and walked past her. Unfortunately for him, though, he wouldn’t lose her that easily. She started walking alongside him. She was now curious about this quiet watchdog who she’d barely ever interacted with. Since she probably would never go out of her own way to talk to him, she figured now was as good a time as any to get all her questions out. “Is that so? Hm. And you. For having no interest in advancing from acolyte... You take out the most books from our library. According to my logs. Even more than the actual students.” She peered at Teddy from the side of her eye. “Trying to learn something specific?” Meanwhile back in the observation deck, Mike had propped the Blade of Dragon’s Breath against the wall. He looked through the glass doors to see both Miriam and Teddy walking away. “Wh- Are they both just leaving me here?... Tsk, more time for me to examine the blade I guess.” He took this opportunity to at least take some pictures of it with his phone before it inevitably returned to Teddy’s hands where he’d do who-knows-what to it to further study its material composition.

Teddy nodded and faintly smirked at her rude remark. "It is, isn't it?" Then when she joined him he quickened his pace.

If Revenard Miriam wasn't blatantly pressing Teddy for information he may have enjoyed her company. She was intimidating, sure, and seeing himself reflected in her had made him consider putting a bit more effort into connecting with those around him. (He did not.)

Those same similarities made him wonder if they were as like-minded as they outwardly seemed. That curiosity had been kept at bay by the knowledge that approaching her would only irritate her at best.

"I actually was hoping to advance before I learned that a deacon is a full-time position. Alas, I love my current work too much for such a commitment."

"As for the volume, well..," Teddy said with a shrug. "What can I say? I'm a quick reader."

#bishoppercival #Revenard Miriam #Revenard Mike

[ladylyra]

hii! I hope it's ok if I ask a bit more about your ocs again! I'm curious about how the universe that your gijinkas reside in functions? you talked a little about there being guilds and then a bit about how ghost types function through all the comics and I'm just rlly curious what you've had in mind for everything.

i actually didn't plan to go in depth in the comic when i first started doing them, they were supposed to be fun occasional things but i got a little too invested, so its my fault for not clarifying early on the specifics of the universe! so here you go!

regarding ghost types in the comics, it's a little bit intentionally misleading. souta is the only ghost the team really knows, so it's a question of "what is essential to ghosts" and what's unique to souta. souta is an exceptionally powerful ghost, as mentioned in the comics, he was granted powers by mespirit. he's able to control the extent to which hes perceived by others (if he's seen or not) and how he interacts with the natural world (if someone charged full force at him he could choose whether they just went straight through him.) he also has powers relating to being able to help other spirits pass over, as that's his main job. i think what defines him most at least at the moment is the fact that he lacks his memories. the initial impression someone like lucille gets is that it has something to do with him being a ghost, but that's a quick assumption to make.

i've had other ghost-type characters in the past in other projects that are not like souta at all, so there's no real consistent rule for what i do with ghost-types besides me liking to have fun with them and it probably involving death, but memory is also a frequent theme i go with. i'll go into a little detail:

richie, my cofagrigus, lacked his memories for a duration before eventually regaining them. the thing is, he was a ghost-type, but he himself wasn't so much an actual ghost. he was reincarnated. what held him from moving on was a specific, unfinished purpose, and while he had amnesia, it wasn't a complete reset. he eventually regained his memories but had defined himself so much by his new current experiences that he didn't want to give that all up chasing things that already passed.

su-jin, my spiritomb, is also not an actual ghost. his body was half-possessed in the moments near his death. it is the spirit that shares his body that is keeping him alive in a scenario where he'd be dead. so, you could consider him living...somewhat. not fully human, not fully spirit, he's unique in his own way. he has all his memories of who he was as a person, which serves as a conflict because he feels so unlike himself now that he's having to share a body with a being that is in many ways his polar opposite. he has to learn to accept the spirit as a new part of him rather than fight it.

yumi, my froslass, is like su-jin in that her body was overtaken in death. she's an elemental entity. she cant control how cold she is and could probably, definitely kill someone unintentionally with her powers, which is why she views herself as a monster. she also didn't know who she was for a time, but regained part of her memories (a little spottily) due to watching someone else (tulu) live through a trauma she had to experience in life.

nageki, my gengar, remembers who he was. he's probably the most comparable to souta as far as abilities go. he can change to what extent he's perceived, floats constantly, ect. thing is, i wasn't big on THE LORE when i was doing my heartgold playthrough, but he was a zweilous in his past life. nothing much beyond that.

all of this to say, out of all my ghosts, nageki and souta are probably my most traditional ghosts. as in, they're literal ghosts. other characters are...special, with supernatural abilities, but not ghosts as we know it. nageki has his memories, souta doesn't. souta doesn't even have fragments of who he was, which is different from even my non-ghost ghost types. i wonder what's up with that 😉

i also have a class of characters called 'spirit masters.' they're humans who make sure spirits that are in the human world don't cause too many problems. it's a balance. spirits are exceptionally powerful, but with the threat of having that power drained, they don't go too out of line. well, souta got exorcised at one point, so most don't go out of line. he obviously gained his power back and learned a lesson from it all, so maybe it isn't all too bad. magnus and saana are the two main ones i have. in a way, they've traded a part of their own humanity in able to gain powers to help them deal with spirits. saana can store residual energy in the tattoos on her body, and magnus can attract spirits with his voice.

as for guilds, i'm kind of glad you asked. it's one of the things i regret not expanding on sooner since its sort of like, related heavily to lucille's main motivations but, like i said, i never planned to actually get as into this comic as i have:

i think it's easy to imagine guilds as similar to pmd as a stepping off point. there's two classes of guilds, official guilds, and unofficial guilds. there's 8 main official guilds scattered throughout sinnoh where you'd traditionally place gyms, and these guilds are in charge of being a territory's 'protectors' in a sense. they're in charge of helping people, whether this be through something like a rescue mission or engaging in actual fights. the 9th official guild is comparable to the league, but can obviously be divided into the subcategories in place of each elite four member. their 'districts' are other game areas, such as the survival and resort areas post-game, but they'll return to the league whenever there's a challenger (it's actually quite rare.) the 'great guildmaster' heads over this all, and you can take a stab at who that is in the comic :)

unofficial guilds are something like what lucille and the gang are, at the moment. they're travelers that engage, unofficially, in a lot of the same things an official guild may: trying to help others, battling, ect. they're traveling to each guild in the region in order to obtain verification--and once they do, they'll be considered an official guild of their own and be allowed to challenge an established guild's status presiding over a region. in lucille's case, she's interested in the territory surrounding twinleaf and sandgem. both are under the jurisdiction of the guild that runs out of oreburgh. the rock guild is actually in charge of a lot--oreburgh itself, jubilife, sandgem, twinleaf, the routes in-between, and keeping an eye out on lake verity. that's a lot for one guild, and lucille found that her home territory was often left neglected as a result. i think in her youth she just had dreams of unseating the rock guild, but as she's gotten older i think she's realized its more of a matter of there needing to be an entirely separate guild.

another unofficial guild i want to mention is team galactic. this is another case of me not expanding on things sooner, but there will definitely be more about them in the future. they don't preside over their own district, they're by all means 'unofficial', but they're treated with legitimacy and fairly known. despite the team's bad run-ins with them, they were respected, for a time. it's only in recent years that they've decided to go off the rails. i don't want to spoil their exact goals, but it's not exactly cyrus' motive.

a final thing i'll address in regards to guilds: is a guild just limited to a team of 6? not necessarily. when you play a pokemon game, you probably switch out your party members sometimes for whatever specific purpose. official guilds are probably far more expansive than a 6-member party in order to cover territory.

another thing i want to note, regarding death in this comic specifically: it's rare. it's accidental in official settings. wanting to be on a guild is risky, not just for the certification process but for the job afterwards of protecting people. in the comic, i actually left out a fair bit--pokemon that i had only for a few hours before dying, before i had the chance to expand on them at all. i think i regret it somewhat because it is a nuzlocke, but i'm not just playing a game, i'm trying to make a fun little comic thats limited by three panels. if i feel i can't appropriately expand on something (and i haven't yet included it), i'd rather just not include it at all. with this in mind, i'll end this post with a shoutout to all my dead mons thus far: brookyln (shellos), phoenix (ponyta), mason (luxio), [redacted], cynthia (bronzong), rhea (blissey), [redacted] you the real ones and i hope this list doesnt expand 🙂

#platinum 2

[savyir-genesizz-the-wizard]

rankle, pacify

(Sorry for this taking so long. I had a lot of stuff to do and I had zero idea what to write. I mean, these have kinda opposite meaning after all. But I eventually pulled out something, hope you like it)

Word count: 577. Rated Gen

Eligos Lex IV drifted around the Earth peacefully. Gigantic machine could seem like a silent wreck in the cold vacuum of space but, sheltered by many layers, its hearts were beating and lungs drew air. Thousands of its veins spreaded life around its cold, metal insides, almost like it was a living creature.

Both fruitless and fruitful attempts to pacify the ever repeating both petty and grand infightings were a jaring necessity but, perhaps, even the most rankling insults could be cut short, before someone's honor or well-being would be damaged.

Valus Forge would sometimes remember how Tha'arec once said to him that "some people here proclaim that it's inevitable, that this beast is doomed to burst, yet the others say that you should buy their food and, hey, it's definitely not going to give you an overwhelming urge to hasten that judgment day" and, on some days more than ever, he considered these words to be true.

What a Warlock or a Titan accustomed to the peace of the Last City's walls could call an unbearable chaos became reality and maybe even normality for Saladin. And yet…

A gigantic rat flashed between his legs as he walked into the perpetually crowded corridor informally called "Kettle III".

-Catch it, you buffoon! - yelled an unidentifiable voice from the tight crowd surrounding him.

Before he even managed to ask, someone nearly rammed into him at full speed. The Uluran wasn't wearing his usual armor but he immediately recognized his subordinate.

-Reghusk! - Valus coughed up - What in the living hell are you doing?!

Bracus didn't seem to mind Forge's presence as he dived between the crates and started crawling between them in search of the animal.

Former Iron Lord rubbed his temples. The rat jumped on his boot and continued its escape, quickly followed by another.

While some soldiers and civilians started fleeing upon seeing Saldin, some of his Iron Beasts tried to reach him in the crowd.

Among them he noticed a particularly angry food vendor with something that looked like a raw loin of an Atlotl. He barged to him and showed the generous piece of meat in Forge's face.

- You - he proclaimed - are Valus Forge.

- I suppose I am - the man in question stepped back a little.

- And you are their superior, is that right?

- It… is, to an extent.

- Then look! - he brandished his commodity - These beasts they have brought here completely ruined my supply and now they don't want to pay me. Hundreds and thousands in glimmer of worth to waste!

Saladin looked at Reghusk who was just getting up from the ground with both rats in each of his massive hands. These were definitely rats, brown with wet, black, intelligent eyes, undoubtedly Earth ones. Now he remembered that Caiatl allowed some soldiers to spend the free time in the City. Zavala was concerned so they were advised to stay away from the humans however…

- Rats?

- In our defense, the order was to "find some non-violent way to spend time" during the deployment… so we've figured… animal fights? They are small. Or races! Can be races!

- You've bought… rats? Who sold you… rats?

- We went to the bar in the Fallen district… The Empress also disallowed us to drink alcohol so we didn't know what to do. But there was a man who offered to sell these… he said that they are trained!

- But…

- He called himself… "the Homeless Man".

- Ah. That would explain everything.

#destiny 2 #destiny the game #destiny fanfiction #lord saladin #saladin forge #bracus reghusk #destiny cabal #ask answer #mutual of io

[autolovecraft]

Why did you do it, Birch?

In this twilight too, he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep. He was the devil incarnate, Birch, but you knew what a little man old Fenner was. His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; though ever afterward he refused to do anything of importance on that fateful sixth day of the week. God, what a rage! He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. He changed his business, but something always preyed upon him. Birch, before 1881, had been the village undertaker of Peck Valley; and was a very calloused and primitive specimen even as such specimens go. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. He had, indeed, made that coffin for Matthew Fenner; but had cast it aside at last as too awkward and flimsy, in a fit of curious sentimentality aroused by recalling how kindly and generous the little old man had been to him during his bankruptcy five years before. He would not, he found, have to pile another on his platform to make the proper height; for the unexpected tenacity of the easy-looking brickwork was surely a sardonic commentary on the vanity of mortal hopes, and the degree of dignity to be maintained in posing and adapting the unseen members of lifeless tenants to containers not always calculated with sublimest accuracy. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. His day's work was sadly interrupted, and unless chance presently brought some rambler hither, he might have to remain all night or longer. God, what a rage! When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. He would have given much for a lantern or bit of candle; but lacking these, bungled semi-sightlessly as best he might. Why did you do it, Birch? An eye for an eye! Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them. Birch, though dreading the bother of removal and interment, began his task of transference one disagreeable April morning, but ceased before noon because of a heavy rain that seemed to irritate his horse, after having laid but one mortal tenant to its permanent rest. I suppose one should start in the cold December of 1880, when the ground froze and the cemetery delvers found they could dig no more graves till spring. Clutching the edges of the aperture. Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. Only the coffins themselves remained as potential stepping-stones, and as he considered these he speculated on the best mode of transporting them.

Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles.

As he remounted the splitting coffins he felt his weight very poignantly; especially when, upon reaching the topmost one, he heard that aggravated crackle which bespeaks the wholesale rending of wood. He worked largely by feeling now, since newly gathered clouds hid the moon; and though progress was still slow, he felt heartened at the extent of his encroachments on the top and bottom of the aperture. For the long-neglected latch was obviously broken, leaving the careless undertaker trapped in the vault, a victim of his own oversight.

His frightened horse had gone home, but his frightened wits never quite did that. The practices I heard attributed to him would be unbelievable today, at least in a city; and even Peck Valley would have shuddered a bit had it known the easy ethics of its mortuary artist in such debatable matters as the ownership of costly laying-out apparel invisible beneath the casket's lid, and the overhead ventilation funnel virtually none at all; so that he was wise in so doing. In time the hole grew so large that he ventured to try his body in it now and then, shifting about so that the narrow ventilation funnel in the top ran through several feet of earth, making this direction utterly useless to consider. Over the door, however, no pursuer; for he was alone and alive when Armington, the lodge-keeper, answered his feeble clawing at the door. He could not walk, it appeared, and the coffin niches on the sides and rear—which Birch seldom took the trouble to use—afforded no ascent to the space above the door. Clutching the edges of the aperture, he sought to pull himself up, when he noticed a queer retardation in the form of an apparent drag on both his ankles. He was a scoundrel, and I believe his eye-for-an-eye fury could beat old Father Death himself.

The boxes were fairly even, and could be piled up like blocks; so he began to compute how he might most stably use the eight to rear a scalable platform four deep.

Maddened by the sound, or by the stench which billowed forth even to the open air, the waiting horse gave a scream that was too frantic for a neigh, and plunged madly off through the night, the wagon rattling crazily behind it. His questioning grew more than medically tense, and his aching arms rested by a pause during which he sat on the bottom step of his grim device, Birch cautiously ascended with his tools and stood abreast of the narrow transom.

As he planned, he could not but wish that the units of his contemplated staircase had been more securely made. After a full two hours Dr. Davis left, urging Birch to insist at all times that his wounds were caused entirely by loose nails and splintering wood. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had chosen it, how he had distinguished it from the inferior duplicate coffin of vicious Asaph Sawyer.

Neither did his old physician Dr. Davis, who died years ago. Horrible pains, as of savage wounds, shot through his calves; and in his mind was a vortex of fright mixed with an unquenchable materialism that suggested splinters, loose nails, or some other attribute of a breaking wooden box. Then the doctor came with his medicine-case and asked crisp questions, and removed the patient's outer clothing, shoes, and socks. Never did he knock together flimsier and ungainlier caskets, or disregard more flagrantly the needs of the rusty lock on the tomb door which he slammed open and shut with such nonchalant abandon. You know what a fiend he was for revenge—how he ruined old Raymond thirty years after their boundary suit, and how he stepped on the puppy that snapped at him a year ago last August … He was the devil incarnate, Birch, and I don't blame you for giving him a cast-aside coffin! When Dr. Davis left Birch that night he had taken a lantern and gone to the old receiving tomb. When he perceived that the latch was hopelessly unyielding, at least to such meager tools and under such tenebrous conditions as these, Birch glanced about for other possible points of escape.

[hungryyheartarchive]

hey uh. just wanted to let you know that the feral vampiis concept could be interpreted as. kinda not good? based on how you've described them (and referred to them as savages) they could really be interpreted as basically the same as how white colonialism ppl characterized native people most of the time, which is what the kids call Not Good. with the traits of living in a non-industrialized/rural/non-urban areas, having very animalistic traits to signify a lack of humanity (and therefore a level of compassion that otherwise vampiis seem to often have even if they Are 'monsters'), often being considered to be less intelligent or more violent, unpredictable and animalistic and therefore 'beneath' what is considered 'common society', etc etc it. can really really come across as that, even if you don't intend it to, and while the 'beast-like people who are secluded from everyone else' is a fine line to walk without straying into that too much, maybe probably lean away from the 'these people are savages and lesser than the rest of society and considered more barbaric' and maybe more into the 'the concept of beasthood and the more instinctual aspects of vampiis being a predator is a difficult thing to control and cope with which leads to these individuals often being ostracized, they're still People, period, and the focus should not be on them being feral or lesser but rather in the unique kind of hurdles that that kind of intense predator-prey response invokes in people as a baseline instinct [akin to bloodborne maybe] trying to build some semblance of a community alongside it, and while in-world in character people may consider these vampiis to be savage and undevelopped in their own form of racism, you as the writer explicitly Know and remind/state that as Actual People which they Are hands-down they are not lesser even if thats how people ic think of them'. even if u dont mean it like this, its REALLY how it comes across, and death of the author n all that. i just wanted to let you know so you could think on it from a different perspective

thank you for sharing your thoughts! i understand where you're coming from and i appreciate some of my shortcomings being highlighted to me. if you want to discuss this more my IMs are always open!

this is an rp blog - this is not a novel. you aren't seeing the full extent of my lore and every plot beat of conrad's story, you are only seeing the snippets that i choose to share here.

a focal point of conrad's story (and so it's often discussed here) is his ostracization and exclusion by the urban vampiis because he was sired by a feral vampii. because his sire was killed before she could return him to her unit (where he would be mentored by another feral vampii and learn their way of life), he never had that initiation. he fled from his hometown to a new city, and was immediately set upon by the urban vampiis in the area. the urban vampiis and the feral vampiis have a largely one-sided rivalry. it's known among the urban vampiis that the first vampii was feral and that they were all supposed to be feral but somewhere down the line one vampii decided to branch out their diet so that it was predominantly human, and in order to successfully hunt this prey, they had to blend in - which mostly meant wearing clothes and suppressing some natural instincts. a long process of adaptation. the strains are so distinctly separate from each other now that the truth is that none of the urban vampiis know what the feral vampiis are like. whenever conflict occurs it's because of territorial issues, but the urban vampiis are equally as territorial, as evidenced by the countless attempts to drive conrad out of the city and their regular invasion attempts on each other's territories. they think the feral vampiis are savage because of how completely they embrace their vampirism and what it means to be a predator, and how that allows them to live a much fuller and more "complete" life without suppression. the feral vampiis probably aren't any happier about being vampiis than the urban vampiis are, but there's enlightenment to be found in being true to what you are. the urban vampiis still cling to the ways of their former lives, so there's no escaping the past. the feral vampiis do a much better job of making the most out of a bad situation: they kill only to survive and there's a much deeper sense of community. it's only the feral vampiis that can form psychic life-long links with each other.

who routinely commits murder, vandalizes, are generally public nuisances - urban vampiis. who is constantly bullying and harrassing conrad - urban vampiis. any time conrad encounters the feral vampiis, they welcome him. but they're strange to him. conrad is our protagonist. we see through his lens. everything he knows about the feral vampiis comes from his urban contemporaries. his shame regarding his feral lineage is because he's been taught to be ashamed of it. it's what sets him back from being accepted by the urban vampiis - but it's also what keeps him from falling into their trap. his feral lineage saves him not only by equipping him with essential skills for survival, but by giving him the chance to define, for himself, what it means to be a monster.

because this is conrad's story we're following, and because this is a roleplay blog for conrad, most of what i talk about when it comes to the feral vampiis is what you've described - that they're ruthless and they're barbaric. this is (probably) why it comes across that you and i should feel that way about them. this blog is set before the arc that we would follow in a novel. conrad's journey is a self-discovery story where he reconciles with his lineage and the "wildness" inside of him - the wildness that exists in all vampiis, but only the ferals have been able to conquer it, become one with it. conrad's story is about what it means to be "human" or to possess humanity - what must be central to us no matter the circumstance, and what can we afford to let go of? the feral vampiis already know the answer to that question, and it's when he makes peace with that that he learns it for himself.

the irony is that the urban vampiis think they're more civilized when they're just as animalistic as the feral vampiis - they're just more insidious about it (or at least the majority are) and more afraid of what they are, and they project that fear onto the ferals. they're all animals. we're all animals.

'the concept of beasthood and the more instinctual aspects of vampiis being a predator is a difficult thing to control and cope with which leads to these individuals often being ostracized, they're still People, period, and the focus should not be on them being feral or lesser but rather in the unique kind of hurdles that that kind of intense predator-prey response invokes in people as a baseline instinct' this is what i'm going for. the reader should, through the course of the story, understand that the feral vampiis are in fact much more responsible about vampirism than the urban vampiis are, not to mention doing a way better job at having, like, morals. are they still monsters? yeah! it's still a horror story at the end of the day.

'and therefore a level of compassion that otherwise vampiis seem to often have even if they Are 'monsters'' are you just talking about conrad in this example? the only time i talk about other vampiis as in named individuals is conrad's bullies who do a really bad job at being compassionate

i'll do my best to include more content with the feral vampiis that's less centric to conrad's story, and more general to what they are actually like. i'm grateful for your concern, and i know what your intentions are, and it's 100% on me if i'm reflecting negatively on my plans for conrad's book by stressing too heavily on one aspect over the other, but please remember you're not seeing every part of the picture here!

#ooc. #headcanons. #just cause there's a lot of character insight here

[cynettic]

Stay with Me pt.3

Summary - You manage to escape from Scaramouche, if only for a moment before you realize there’s no escape. It only takes until you’re sitting back in your regular spot that you know what you need to do.

Pairings - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warnings - Suggestive content, mentions of death, swearing, slight gore / blood 

A/N - Its really hard to make this depressing while I’m vibing to Rasputin. Like no joke- I have it on one of the 1 hour playlists :D

Here you’ll find -  pt.1 and pt.2

He’d left a key.

Scaramouche didnt make mistakes, not while he had you captive in the vicinity of his bedroom. He didnt have room for mistakes, not when you were watching his every movement while he was in your line of sight. 

Sure, he mightve killed a person or two in front of you, but those were necessary mistakes. There was a sign on the door, it specified not to enter. You’d understand that, right?

Thats what he thought at least, lulling himself into belief after belief that you’d be there waiting for him every time. That you’d welcome him with open arms, even if there were chains ensnaring your wrists. That you’d accept your fate at his hands and submit yourself to him.

The Balladeer was a fool.

He’d kept you there for too long, and while you searched for an easy way to escape, time sent your head spinning. Into a spiral that begged only for the wind against your face, back laying on dirt with the familiar chirping up birds waking you up in the morning.

You wanted to go outside.

And when push comes to shove, you had to risk a little more to make it happen. Lure him into bed with kisses while your hands unbuttoned his vest. But what he believed to be alluring contacts was just your way of finding the keys hidden in the back pocket of his shorts.

It wasnt hard to find the one to your cuffs while he was asleep, cuddled in your chest with both arms around your waist as if to get you to stay put. You took the key, hiding them back in his clothing and hoping he didnt notice.

He didnt say anything the next day.

You werent going to wait any longer.

“Oh for fucks sake, why won't the goddamn door open?”

The room was left in tatters behind you, a little gift for Scaramouche once he got back. Turns out a pair of chains can smash up a lot of things, and rage can be used as a great source of strength when contained for such a long time.

But you’d done more than throw the blankets around, cut up the drawers and smash open the windows. Because your fists had bled red when you punched through the glass, puncturing your skin. Your knuckles were an ugly red, bruising already.

Ah, Scaramouche deserved a much better gift.

Gruesome as it was, you rubbed your knuckles against the pale walls. Till the blood stopped coming, till there was a nice little message for the boy which you held so dearly to your heart.

‘Balladeer.’

The first time you’d found out about him being a harbinger he’d told you not to call him by that name. You weren’t someone he associated with by work, you were a treasure to him. That’s why you continued to call him as he pleased, although the temptation always arose.

You were no longer his.

Shoving the door with your hand again, palm fiddling with the handle and groaning when it hardly budged. “Stupid,” you grumbled when the knob began to loosen. Backing up, you charged with your shoulder to the door, full force as the momentum broke the hinges. The door fell down with you along with it.

It was expected, you’d been stuck in the room for a long time, and thats considering you’d sat on the ground for decades. Your body was slight numb, muscles sore and unused for so long. 

“You a-arent supposed to leave your room!”

A young man stood in the hallway along with a woman who looked relatively the same age. The two were wearing uniforms, flinching when you stood up from the debris and off the door. “Excuse me?” You asked, voice unnecessarily icy and stern. But you couldnt care less, you were going to get out of this house, damn anyone who stood in your way.

They both continued to shake when you walked towards them, staggering from side to side. The woman stepped up in front of the man, presenting a brave face. “If you leave the mansion, the harbinger will kill us all!”

“Well then I expect you should be on your way then. Actually…” you gestured to the maze of hallways. “You can lead the way.”

“What…?”

Your hand went limp to your side, an exasperated looking momentarily crossing your face before you sighed. “Im not staying trapped in that room, I’m sorry if that ruins your life, but frankly you're not the one stuck in there are you?” You took an extra step just to intimidate them, eyes wide to make the appearance of crazy. “It would be a great help if you showed me where he hid my vision too.”

“We can show you to the door…” The man began, “But the whereabouts of your vision are unknown, he wouldnt tell us something like that.”

A gift bestowed from the gods, a piece to help me thrive with my ambitions and pursue my goals.

Gone.

You really wished you’d taken to clawing out Scaramouche’s face instead, but you’d take what you got. Right now your main priority was getting out of this place, even if it meant leaving a piece of you behind.

“Door.” Your voice was raspy and there was a terrible feeling that crawled up to your throat, but you didnt have time to be emotional. “Show me where the door is… please.”

The conflict in their eyes dissipates by the time they lead you along, mumbling words between themselves. You didnt bother to try eavesdropping, you were so, so tired. You wanted to go home.

Anywhere. Anywhere but here.

It took a few minutes until you were standing in front of a grand door, almost twice the size of you and just as wide. You then began to notice the decorational plants and furniture that filled the empty space, there wasn't an inch of dust. Even though you could tell none of it was used.

“Hurry,” the man warned when you paused. “I dont know when our master is coming back, but if its soon, we’ll all be screwed.”

You couldnt feel your head as you numbly nodded, hand clenching the knob and flinging the set of doors open. “Thank you,” you merely mumbled, taking your first step out of the house in what felt like forever.

The days after that were a blur, the area around Scaramouche’s house were nothing but void. Empty and filled with forests and vast plains. You knew he didnt like people or socializing in general, but to this extent?

Your only option was to run.

Let your feet take you somewhere, anywhere. It was a constant pattern of running and taking breaks, leaning on a tree and gasping in a few breaths before you were again scurrying through the forest. 

And yet you felt better than you’d felt in past months that you’d been stuck with Scaramouche.

Food became any boar you came across, the claws you’d spent so long hiding with Scaramouche coming to unleash a wrath beyond your comprehension. Till the animal was cut to shreds and no meat was left even to eat. You’d slaughtered it, without intention to eat or benefit for it, you’d killed it just to kill.

“I’m sorry,” you’d sobbed into the ground where you’d buried the harmless animal. Forehead pressed into the dirt as you pleaded for forgiveness to whatever archons would accept it. You couldn't even remember what archons you were supposed to pray to. “Forgive me- forgive me…”

But eventually you found your way around to somewhere you knew. Territory of Inazuma where you could find your way back, back home.

Where was home?

You’d been on the run from the vision hunt decree, abandoning your post for the Kitsune Saiguu for such a thing. Even now that you could return without a vision and as no threat under the decree…

You’d sacrificed everything for your vision.

Where were you to go now…?

Rain patted down, the trees providing only a slight cover as stray drops fell into your matted dirty hair. You didnt mind, it hid the tears that slid down your lifeless face, feet taking you into the far meadows of your hometown. Till you plopped down underneath a tree, knees curled to your chest and arms hugging them close. You were crying.

You were home.

____________________

“Awh,” a ginger haired murmured, elbow resting on the cool wood of the tabletop. “Is little Mouchie sad? I heard your kitty cat escaped~”

A death wish, even fatui that idly minded themselves around the bar knew it. Sipping cold drinks and swirling their cups, the soft chatter was nothing but a distraction from the main course of events. That being the smaller Harbinger who sat sulking in his seat, hunched over with a drink in hand. He’d drank far more than what was on the counter, but everytime he finished a glass, he’d smash it on the ground, watching the fragile glass shatter into pieces.

“I dont have a cat,'' was his only response, tone daring Childe to pursue further. To give him a reason to start throwing the glass in his face instead.

And Childe was an idiot when it came to challenging someone.

“No cat?” The rest of the drink in the taller harbinger’s glass was gone when he threw his head back. “Hmmm, I cant think of what else could’ve had you so enraptured in returning home then~!”

Scaramouche didnt respond, uneven bangs shadowing the bags under his eyes. “Stronger,” he said instead, elbow on the counter and hand outstretched for something. When there was no movement from the man managing the wine, the harbinger looked up. “I need something stronger to drink,” he repeated, voice seething.

“Of c-course!”

The glass was nestled in Scaramouche’s palm in no time, fingers curling around the circular form to down it in seconds. The drink merely slid down his throat in one movement, alcohol burning his senses. It didn’t matter, he was numbed by the growing rage inside of him.

Finally, he turned to the ginger haired boy, eyes hazily dancing along the counter till it reached his fingertips. Up his hand and along his arm, till Scaramouche was staring right into Childe’s eyes. “They escaped,” he admitted softly. “But it’s alright, because I sent something that’ll bring them back.”

Childe paused, raising his drink up away from his lips to pose a question. Hesitation danced along his features before he brought the glass back, he’d rather not provoke the shorter male any further. Wasn’t like he could interfere anyway.

____________________

“That… that…” 

It was preposterous, having returned to that same spot for a day or two and heading back to the hometown you’d once lived in. The one Scaramouche had lived in. There shouldn’t have been an issue, you were solely gathering supplies for the sake of it, ambition driving you to travel far far away.

Out of Inazuma.

It was your new beginning, convincing yourself that you didn't need a vision. Finding some sort of purpose before Scaramouche shattered the vision and your life along with it. You’d seen how people had reacted when it had been ingrained in the statue, neutralized and broken. They lost hope, purpose and aspirations for anything new.

It’s not like the Raiden Shogun took my vision.

But you’d taken that fact for granted, expecting some sort of new start without Scaramouche. A victory, getting away from him just for a split second and getting out of Inazuma altogether, you’d never see him again.

Until you got his message.

“How the hell…” You crushed the note until it was just crumbled paper in your hand, slowly leaning on the stone wall. “Piece of shit… what kind of person even…” 

Not only did he manage to find you, but without making his presence known, he’d tugged at your one weakness with an ease that had you down on your knees.

You threw the paper to the ground, deliberate as you stared past the alleyway. Pensive as you considered your options. Damn, what options did you even have? You’d been an idiot to underestimate Scaramouche, he wasn’t a child, you knew that… but archons he seemed like one when he was with you. Shown you a vulnerability he wanted only you to see. But maybe that had been part of his plan all along, until all you believed was his soft demeanor.

He may act like a child, but he’s a harbinger.

You stared down at the crumbled piece of paper in disgust.

Not only that, but he has no regard for human life.

Either way, you’d lived decades more than him. You could face him, you would present yourself to him just as he expected you to. Even when everything in you rejected the idea, sobbed at the thought of returning to that house, those chains. Being locked up and confined only for the purpose of coddling a small boy, a selfish boy, a cruel boy. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

You’d figure out a way, and this time you wouldn’t rule out the option of his death.

———————

Oh darling Y/n, how have you been?

I hope this letter reaches you rather soon, we both have much to discuss, no? About me, about you, and much more. You see, I’ve taken up quite a distaste to your little friends. Stone statues in Inazuma as small as Kitsunes truly hold no purpose, what will they do, come back to life? Haha, I should think not. I’ve already arranged to have them demolished, who knows what kind of material they might possess. Ah, and of course I’d show you the finishing product, unless you’re willing to come and have a chat with me once more? Under the Sakura tree like we used to, you’ve waited years, I believe you can wait for me?

I hope this letter reaches you in best interests. I’m always looking out for you after all.

Sincerely, your Balladeer

——————

It was raining.

Beautiful weather as you lay sitting there, feet crossed and tucked in the same you’d often do. After all, there was no need to fear the vision hunt decree or the Raiden Shogun. Let them come, let them take care of you before Scaramouche did.

You werent cold, not when the cold drops dampened your clothing, slipping down the length of your spine and drenching your face. Despite having lived in a luxury residency for such a long time, this was where you were most comfortable, enduring whatever the weather had for you, taking it with a smile. Because you were waiting…

The Kitsune Saiguu was a distant memory.

You were waiting for Scaramouche, the young boy that often bound into the field in lengthy strides, childlike wonder in his eyes. The one who’d cried when the other kids pushed him away, the one that just wanted to be praised. You’d held him in your arms, and now, even knowing the results, you wouldnt have done differently.

He was just a boy.

Just a boy when he joined the fatui, looking for praise that he was given. He created chaos and bellowed orders with a cruelty that was highly looked upon. Told that he was doing well, so he continued to do so.

He’s just a boy.

You wished you’d held him in your arms, if not only for a tad longer. Shield him away from the wrongness of the world, if only for one last time.

Banishing away your hatred for him was hard.

But you found it under the tree, rain soon dimming down to a clouded cold breeze that swept through the meadow. You’d hated him while stuck in the mansion, but you could now see it from a larger point of view. What he did was wrong of course, but you could remember him so vividly now. His small form giggling, tiny arms around your neck. 

“Play with me!”

Was it your fault?

For not holding him tighter? For trying to rectify his bad doings and teach him what was wrong and right? Maybe if your grip was firmer, if you’d spoken to him about the warmth he’d given you that day when playing cards...

“Lazy ass.”

Burying down that pile of worry and insecurities, you took a deep breath in to relax. The edge of your lip perked up, only slightly. “Still terrible with your social skills arent you?”

Slowly securing a dry space under the three with you, Scaramouche sat down. His features were the same ones you’d grown accustomed to at his mansion. Rich clothes, sharp eyes, and the baby face that refused to go away. His movements were soft as he pulled out a deck of cards. The two of you didnt speak as he distributed them between you both. It was tense… no, it felt too much like the warmth form long ago to be tense. You only wished the situation to be different.

“I love you.”

But you could only offer a bitter smile to his words. “I love my vision,” you replied. “I love the Kitsune Saiguu, and I love my friends.”

His touch was gentle when his fingers came to gently cradle your cheek. Holding your face dearly as he peered into your eyes, his were soft. Different from the cruelty he held within, the hatred that burned and destruction that seeked to explode.

You saw a little boy.

Your hand came to press his hand further against your cheek, till you slid his palm to your lips. He appeared so calm when you pressed the first kiss, lips tracing the lines along his palm with all the care in the world.

But you needed to change your view, see him as the man he now was. As the man he had become.

“I love you,” he repeated, and you let go of his hand. It fell limp by his side, cards all but forgotten. There was a much more pressing matter at hand, because you truly needed to see him as he was.

It was necessary if you planned to kill him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact hc #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact oneshots #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #kitsune reader #yandere scaramouche #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #reader x scaramouche #scaramouche angst #writing #angst

[nat-20s]

what’s poppin everybody I’ve seen multiple tma ep 92 “martin cleans jon’s wounds” fanarts and we all know that season 3 jmart pining hits different, so please enjoy this 900 words of just straight up yearning

~*~

 For all of his drive towards knowledge, Jon's thinks he might have had enough revelations to last a lifetime or three. He thinks he's definitely had his fill of revelations that happen while he's exhausted and bleeding. He supposes, that of the revelations that have been brought forth while he was in pain, this one is least terrible. It might even be good, in some contexts, in some stories, other than his current own. With the fogginess of his head combined with the sensation that none of his movements interact correctly with gravity, he can hardly analyze the feeling, its source, its repercussions, hell, even its general depth. All he knows is that one: he very desperately needs some sleep and two: as he watches Martin dig around the oversized first aid kit, he would very much like to kiss him.

He's not going to act on it. Obviously he's not going to act on it, especially as he doesn't know whether this is, is..an impulse, or an actual, full blown desire. Maybe this is simply born of gratitude. After all, Martin is, as they speak (or, as Martin keeps up a light stream of chatter and Jon make vague noises in response that are less painful than actually speaking), taking care of him. As he applies the salve and wraps Jon's seemingly still burning hand, Jon knows that this may be the last gentle, genuine touch that he'll experience for months? years?. It'd be nice not have to wait, to want, but instead to be able to ask for Martin to hold his hand outside of the context of medical care. Kissing is certainly a step beyond that, but it's not particularly hard to get from point a to point b. Distantly, he considers that Martin might even enjoy a kiss as a way to say "thank you" when the words themselves grind up Jon's slowly healing throat. However, he doubts he would enjoy a kiss as only a thank you, without the deeper feeling to back it up.

Not that..not that there isn't deeper feelings to back it up. God, Jon just..he doesn't know. There's so much he doesn't know, what's one more item to add to the list. That being said, this newfound, newfangled want might simple be the natural sprout of a seed that had been planted earlier. Maybe back to the Prentiss attack? Witnessing Martin pull out that corkscrew, the physical representation of Martin's ability to somehow alchemize his own fear into cunning and resourcefulness and, and... fore-sightedness, well. It's not like Jon hadn't taken notice. Then there's the way that Martin would laugh on one of their semi-forced lunch outings, and Jon would silently beg whatever might be out there that it's not him, that Martin didn't kill Gertrude, wasn't out to kill him, because he couldn't stomach the thought that that laughter was meant to cover a secret cruelty. Or how when he was staying with Georgie and she told him to reach out to people, his mind automatically replaced "people" with "Martin". Or, hell, the three minutes ago when Jon made a questioning noise at the extent of their first aid kit, and Martin made a teasing comment about adding to it because someone "stabbed themselves with a bread knife", and it set off Jon's current minor crisis.

Oh.

All of that together..that's not nothing. That's almost certainly a something, and once the ibuprofen kicks in and at least muffles the sharpness of his pains, once he sleeps off the delirium of too many straight waking hours, he will probably still very much want to kiss Martin.

All of this gets solidified when Martin moves from wrapping his hand to his neck. To keep him steady, he lightly places his fingertips on Jon's jaw. Jon leans into it before he can question the action, and his revelation becomes much, much worse.

He doesn't want to stop at kissing Martin. He want to eliminate any space between them; he wants to curl up his legs in his lap and wrap his arms around his shoulders and bury his face in his neck. He wants to be held as he sobs, as he finds the strength to tell him about Mr. Spider. The fact that he wants to tell Martin about that says far too much in of itself, but he wants to be understood, just by one person, who is currently only inches from him. He wants Martin to be gracious enough, to care enough, to allow Jon to purge decades worth of fear, and to love whatever might remain of him afterwards.

.

.

.

To love.

Shit.

Jon swallows it down. He swallows it all down and tucks it away in his ribs, only to be brought out when he can actually do something with it. He does, however, in the very back of his mind, make a vow to himself. When the world doesn't end, or, if it does, but they're both somehow still there, he'll say something. He'll, at the very least, get Martin to hold his hand without bandages separating them. For now, though, as Martin finishes his wrapping, Jon decides to instead ask for something more simple. With his good hand, he texts Martin, Stay for dinner? Just take out, but I'd appreciate the company.

As Martin easily smiles down at his phone and replies, "Yeah, of course! I was gonna suggest it if you weren't," Jon still wants to kiss him. But, for the moment they're suspended in, his presence alone is more than enough.

#tma #jonmartin #jon sims #martin blackwood #FINALLY WRITING AGAIN AFTER LIKE A SOLID MONTH AND A HALF WOOO #my fic

[sukuna-slut]

teacher’s pet - pt. 1

yan!sukuna x reader x yan!gojou

as you fall deeper into an unusual relationship with the king of curses, your favourite teacher becomes increasingly worried for your safety.

warnings

mild depictions of injury, abuse of power, infantilisation, noncon

rating - teen

word count - 1558

What was happening? As a Jujutsu sorcerer, you had lived by the affirmation that you would not regret death once it came upon you, but you never prepared for the possibility that death would sneak up on you when you least expected it. Before stupid Itadori crashed into your world like a bull in a china shop, you were Tokyo Jujutsu Technical High School’s most promising student. That freaky Okkotsu kid had that super-powerful Cursed Spirit living inside him which automatically made him Special Grade, but with your extraordinary natural talent for jujutsu, you were sure to one day reach his level if you just worked hard enough. Gojou-sensei had said it himself, you were a rare talent. You still had so much further to go, so much more to achieve, so why were you now bleeding out in some random alleyway with nothing to show for your sorry life but a few empty words of praise?

Your opponent let out a rumbling peal of laughter. ‘Oh yes, I love that one… you know, of all the expressions people show me before I kill them, anger is my favourite.’

Even with the tattoos crawling up his arms and extra eyes blinking on his face clearly marking him as Ryouma Sukuna, you couldn’t help but hate Itadori for once again ruining everything. Gritting your teeth, you ground your twitching palms into the cold asphalt in an attempt to push yourself up, but your elbows gave out, making Sukuna laugh even harder.

‘I’m not… done yet,’ you spat, blood spilling down your chin in direct betrayal to your words.

‘Yes, you are.’ 

Sukuna turned to leave and you attempted to will away the black spots clouding your vision. Despite your pride, you wondered when your life was going to flash before your eyes like it was supposed to.

‘Such a waste… you might’ve had a chance if you’d tried a little harder,’ he murmured with a slight chuckle. ‘A small chance, but who knows.’

Huh?

The shock you felt at his words momentarily numbed the pulsing pain in every muscle of your body, giving you the strength to prop yourself up on one elbow.

‘What… do you mean?’ you forced out.

‘Hm?’

He turned his head with a slight raise of his eyebrows, as if he hadn’t expected you to still be alive.

‘My technique was perfect,’ you insisted.

Itadori’s features morphed into a derisive smirk unbefitting of the cheerful boy.

‘Who told you that? That irritating teacher of yours, no doubt,’ Sukuna laughed. ‘So much untapped potential… if only they taught you how to really use your powers, you could even rival dear Itadori.’

Your eyes widened. You had potential to match Itadori, the vessel of the most powerful Cursed Spirit in existence? Sukuna was turning away again but you couldn’t let him leave, you had to stop him. Ignoring the screams of your body, you pushed your weight back until your butt rested on your heels, your arms stretched out in front of you in a deep bow.

‘Teach me!’ you begged with every bit of energy you had left.

Sukuna paused where he stood, turning to regard you with an expression of utter shock. It was only there for a moment though, melting as soon as it had appeared into raucous laughter.

‘You want me… to teach you?’ he managed between cackles. ‘Interesting! Maybe you’re worth keeping alive a little longer.’

He took slow steps towards you before crouching to lift your chin between his thumb and forefinger to gaze into your teary eyes, silently pleading for his help. You were barely holding onto life at this point, yet he seemed to be in no hurry, a grin stretched wide across Itadori’s face.

‘A teacher, huh?’

The last thing you saw before you blacked out was Sukuna’s extra eyes and tattoos melting back into his skin, his malicious expression replaced with your classmate frantically calling your name.

Gojou Satoru was livid. Staring at the swirling mahogany of his desk, he forced his bloodlust down to a simmer and fixed his face into a painful smile with which he regarded the snivelling boy before him.

‘You lost control,’ he accused, ‘a mistake which nearly caused the death of your classmate. What do you have to say for yourself?’

As Itadori began blubbering apologies, Gojou’s mind returned to the sight of you lying in a hospital bed, a mess of wires and bandages around the gaping wound in your stomach that nearly cost you your life. The image of you, his bratty little (YN) looking so defeated made his blood boil with the desire to tear whoever was responsible to shreds. Unfortunately, the perpetrator was the very student he had insisted on keeping alive. Was it worth the risk? What if losing you was the risk?

You came into his life bright-eyed and brimming with terrifying reserves of untapped potential. Whether or not you were aware of just how much power you possessed, you had an inexplicable desire to distinguish yourself which reminded Gojou of himself at your age. While others were irritated by your brashness, he found himself growing fond of his latest protege. He liked to think that he was the only one who truly understood you. When he informed you of exactly how exceptional you truly were, your face lit up with such fervent excitement, he couldn’t bring himself to be ashamed of the sudden increased blood flow to his nether regions in that moment. He ended up complimenting you whenever possible during his private sessions with you just to see that face again. He loved the way you lapped up his praise like a cute little dog, he loved how you treated his word like gospel… eventually, he came to terms with the realisation that he just loved you.

Even so, you scared him sometimes. At first he had lived to see you shine whenever you discovered a new ability with his help, but with every milestone, he felt you edging further and further away from him. At that rate, you would surely become a Grade One Sorcerer, and then… you’d have all these responsibilities, responsibilities he honestly wasn’t sure if you could handle with your weak constitution, responsibilities that would lead you away from him.

So he altered your training program a little. Taught you to unknowingly hinder your own abilities, just enough so you’d still need him by your side. Maybe it was underhanded, but you were the purest thing in his life and he wasn’t about to let you leave him so easily. But his selfishness had backfired. With your stoppered abilities, you were unable to defend yourself against Sukuna, and because of him…

Gojou buried his face in his hands.

‘Sensei?’ Itadori asked nervously.

He shook his head, donning a carefree smile.

‘You shouldn’t apologise, Itadori. After all, I’m the one who miscalculated when I assumed you would be able to sustain Sukuna’s growing power.’

‘Am I going to be executed?’ Itadori’s face turned sheet white.

Gojou had considered killing the boy himself when he first saw your beaten body. Itadori’s hold against the ancient Curse had been gradually slipping ever since he ate the fourth finger, but he had been so consumed with capturing Sukuna, that he failed to see the situation for the disaster it was.

However, logic soon overruled his desire to destroy anyone and anything that hurt you. The inconvenient truth was, they had no hope of stopping Sukuna without Itadori’s body. But in order to mitigate the risk…

‘No, you won’t be executed. But you will be detained, at least until we figure out a better solution. For the time being, your responsibility will be reduced to being a vessel for Sukuna, nothing more.’

Itadori hung his head but did not protest.

It had been a whole week since you were discharged from hospital, yet Gojou-sensei still refused to let you train. Before, when his presence had been fleeting due to his foremost duty as the strongest sorcerer calling him away every other day, you had craved his attention, but now you wished he’d just disappear.

‘(YN)-chan, you should be resting!’

You had barely taken seven steps down the hallway before he intercepted you and corralled you back to your room, gripping your upper arms firmly as if he were redirecting a wandering child.

‘I should be training!’ you protested, noticing with no small amount of irritation the way his lips drew tight. ‘I’m almost fully healed, the nurse said I could participate in moderate physical activity the day after I was discharged. It’s been a week, Gojou-sensei! When are you going to stop treating me like a- mmh!’

Suddenly, your lips were captured in a suffocating kiss. Gojou-sensei wasted no time pushing his tongue between your unprepared lips, the wet muscle surprising you with its coldness as it invaded your mouth. At some point, his hold on you had tightened to the point of being painful.

‘S-sensei!’ you exclaimed, shoving him back.

His blindfold prevented you from gauging the full extent of his emotions, your teacher raising a hand to his parted lips as if shocked by his own actions. Before he could regain his composure, you bolted down the hallway, your only goal to get as far away from your attacker as possible.

#yandere gojo #yandere sukuna #yandere gojou #yandere gojou x reader #yandere gojo x reader #yandere sukuna x reader #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk x reader #yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #sukuna x reader #gojo x reader #gojou x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagines #yandere drabble #yandere headcanons #yandere smut

[earlgreytea68]

Heyyyyyy, I bet you were DYING to know stuff about that Google v. Oracle decision, huh?

You may have heard recently about a big deal Supreme Court decision called Google v. Oracle, a litigation that has dragged on for many, many, many years and focuses on Google having copied some pieces of computer programming owned by Oracle and known as APIs. Most of the write-ups I’ve seen about it have focused on its enormous repercussions for the technology sector, which makes sense since it’s a case about computer programming and APIs and other tech-y things.

But the thing about the decision is that it’s a fair use decision. The Supreme Court could have found that the APIs weren’t even protected by copyright. But instead, the Supreme Court used the doctrine of fair use, and this means that the case potentially has ramifications for all fair use situations, including fanfiction!

So, if you don’t know, fair use is a main defense to copyright infringement. Basically, you can use somebody else’s copyrighted work without their permission as long as what you’re doing with it is considered a “fair use.” E.g., you can write a story in somebody else’s fictional universe or draw art of somebody else’s fictional copyrighted characters without their permission as long as your use is a “fair use.”

“What’s a fair use?” is an incredibly complicated question. The long and tortured history of Google v. Oracle illustrates this: a jury found Google’s use was a fair use; an appellate court found that it wasn’t and basically said the jury was wrong; and now the Supreme Court says no, no, the jury was right and the appellate court was wrong. Like, this is not unusual, fair case rulings are historically full of disagreements over the same set of facts. All of the cases reiterate over and over that it’s a question that can’t really be simplified: every fair use depends on the particular circumstances of that use. So, in a way, Google v. Oracle, like every fair use case, is a very specific story about a very specific situation where Google used very specific APIs in a very specific way.

However, while every fair use case is always its own special thing, they all always debate the same four fair use factors (these are written into the law itself as being the bare minimum of what should be considered), and especially what’s known as the first and fourth factors. The first factor is formally “the purpose and character of the alleged fair use,” although over the decades of fair use jurisprudence this has come to be shorthanded as “transformativeness,” and the fourth factor is “effect on the market.”

Most of the energy and verve of a fair use case is usually in the transformativeness analysis; the more transformative your use is, the more likely it is to be fair (this is why AO3’s parent organization is called the Organization for *Transformative* Works – “transformative” is a term of art in copyright law). To “transform” a work, btw, for purposes of copyright fair use doesn’t necessarily mean that you have edited the work somehow; you can copy a work verbatim and still be found transformative if you have added some new commentary to it by placing it in a new context (Google Image Search thumbnails, while being exact reproductions of the image in question, have been found to be fair use because they’re recontextualizing the images for the different purpose of search results). The point is, transformativeness is, like fair use itself, built to be flexible.

Why? Because the purpose of copyright is to promote creativity, and sometimes we promote creativity by giving people a copyright, but sometimes giving someone a copyright that would block someone else’s use is the opposite of promoting creativity; that’s why we need fair use, for THAT, for when letting the copyright holder block the use would cause more harm to the general creative progress than good. Google v. Oracle recommits U.S. copyright to the idea that all this is not about protecting the profits of the copyright monopolist; we need to make sure that copyright functions to keep our society full of as much creativity as possible. Google copied Oracle’s APIs to make new things: create new products, better smartphones, a platform for other programmers to jump in and give us even more new functionality. The APIs themselves were created used preexisting stuff in the first place, so it’s not like anyone was working in a vacuum with a wholly original work. And, in fact, executives had thought that, the more people they could get using the programming, the better off they would be.

Which brings us to the fourth fair use factor, effect on the market (meaning the copyright holder’s market and ability to reap profits from the original work). There’s a lot of tech stuff going on in this part of the opinion but one of the points I find interesting from that discussion is that the court thought that Google’s use of the APIs was not a market substitute for the original programming, meaning that Google used the APIs “on very different devices,” an entirely new mobile platform that was “a very different type of product.”

But also. What I find most interesting in this part is the court’s explicit acknowledgment that sometimes things are good because they are superior, and sometimes things are good because people “are just used to it. They have already learned how to work with it.” Now, this obviously has special resonance in the tech industry (is your smartphone good because it’s the best it could be, or because you’re just really used to the way it’s set up?), but there’s also something interesting being said here about how not all of the value of a copyrighted work belongs *to the copyright holder* but comes *from consumers.* Forgive the long quote but I think the Court’s words are important here:

“This source of Android’s profitability has much to do with third parties’ (say, programmers’) investment in Sun Java programs. It has correspondingly less to do with Sun’s investment in creating the Sun Java API. . . . [G]iven programmers’ investment in learning the Sun Java API, to allow enforcement of Oracle’s copyright here would risk harm to the public. . . . [A]llowing enforcement here would make of the Sun Java API’s declaring code a lock limiting the future creativity of new programs. Oracle alone would hold the key. The result could well prove highly profitable to Oracle . . . . But those profits could well flow from creative improvements, new applications, and new uses developed by users who have learned to work with that interface. To that extent, the lock would interfere with, not further, copyright’s basic creativity objectives.”

This is picking up on reasoning in some older computer cases (like Lotus v. Borland, a First Circuit case from decades ago), but I think it’s so important we got this in a Supreme Court case: if WE bring some value to the copyrighted work through our investment in it, why should the copyright holder get to collect ALL the rewards by locking up further creativity involving that work? Which, incidentally, the Court explicitly notes is to the public detriment because more creativity is good for the public? This is such an important idea to the Supreme Court’s reasoning here that it’s the first part of the fair use test that it decides: that the value of the work at issue here “in significant part derives from the value that those who do not hold copyrights . . . invest of their own time and effort . . . .”

This case is, as we say in the law, distinguishable from fanfiction and fanart. APIs are different from television shows, and this case is very much a decision about technology and computer programming and smartphones and how old law gets applied to new things. Like, fair use is an old doctrine dating from the early nineteenth-century, and here we are figuring out how to apply it to the Android mobile phone platform. That, in and of itself, is pretty cool, and it’s rightly what most of the articles you’ll see out there about this case are focusing on.

But this case isn’t just a technology case; it’s also a fair use case that places itself in the lineage of all the fair use cases we look at when we think about what makes a use fair. And, to that end, this has some interesting things to say, about how much value consumers bring to copyrighted works and where a copyright holder’s rights might have to acknowledge that; about the fact that there are in fact limits to how much a copyright holder can control when it comes to holding the “lock” to future creativity building on what came before; about what part of the market a copyright holder is entitled to and what it isn’t. Think about the analogy you could make here: Given the investment of fans in learning canon, which is what makes the creative work valuable in the first place, allowing enforcement against fanfic or fanart would allow the canon creators to have a lock limiting future creativity, which would be highly profitable to the original creator (or, let’s be real, to Disney lol), but wouldn’t further copyright’s goals of promoting creativity because it would stifle all of that creativity instead. And just like Google with the APIs, what fandom is doing is not a market substitute for the original work: they’re “very different products.”

This is not to say, like, ANYTHING GOES NOW. Like I said, fanfic and fanart are very different from APIs. Fictional works get more protection than a functional work like the APIs at issue in this case. And there’s still a whole thing about commercial vs. non-commercial in fair use analysis which I didn’t really touch here (but which obviously has limits, since it’s not like Google isn’t making tons of money, and their use was a fair use). But this decision could kind of remind a big media world that maybe had forgotten that the copyright monopoly they enjoy is supposed to have the point of encouraging creativity; we grant a copyright because we think people won’t create without a financial incentive. (Tbh, there’s a lot of doubt that that is actually a true thing to believe, given all the free fic and art that gets produced daily, but anyway, it’s what the law decided several centuries ago before the internet was a thing.) Copyright is a balance, between those who hold the copyright and the rest of us, and the rest of us aren’t just passive consumers, we have creative powers of our own, and we might also want to do some cool things. And this case sees that. None of us are starting in a creative vacuum, after all; we’re all in this playground together.

#copyright #copyright law #legal #long post

[findingjoynweirdstuff]

Dream SMP Recap (May 18/2021) - The L’Sandburg Deal

A “lore stream” from George takes an unexpected turn, and Foolish finally confronts L’Sandburg, taking up Bad’s offer to meet about a possible sale to end things peacefully.

---

VOD LINKS:

Ponk

Foolish

Georgenotfound

Ranboo

Sapnap

Foolish

Badboyhalo

---

- George starts walking to the prison. Tommy tells him in chat to turn around as he asks why the prison is so big to contain only one person

- Tommy says George told him he wanted to do this today, asking if he still wants to

- George starts following Tommy down the Prime Path and Tommy tells him to take the blood from the path. He says this is real, not a time for primes

- Tommy tells him they need to go get the Nightmare armor from Tubbo and asks how George is feeling. George isn’t feeling well

- Then he tells George no armor, then tells Tubbo to prepare the battle stations

- They run to Snowchester, Tommy says “nukes” in chat

- Tubbo is standing there holding a rosebush. George asks why he’s holding them, but Tommy says there’s no time as Tubbo leads them to the Snowchester vault with Dream’s armor. George takes it

- George looks at the camera and says it’s time to go and kill Dream

- Suddenly, Tommy joins VC and pulls down the green screen to reveal that this wasn’t a lore stream but a meetup, and Jack, Tubbo and Niki are also all there!

The stream immediately ends.

- Later, Sapnap and Karl hang out with Drista for a bit

- Bad hangs out with Sapnap and Karl (in VC) in L’Sandburg. Sam comes over and accuses Bad of smacking his butt

- Bad and Karl talk some more before Karl eventually leaves the call and Foolish arrives in L’Sandburg. It’s time to do some lore to decide the fate of L’Sandburg!

- Foolish orders Bad to tear down the walls and Bad says he wants to sell L’Sandburg to Foolish. Soon, though, Sam comes over to interrupt. As the warden, Sam is here to oversee the conflict.

- Foolish tells Sam to put Bad in prison for taking his land, but Sam reminds Foolish that Bad is one of the guards. He was just coming over to tell Bad he’s on duty tonight

- Bad shows Sam L’Sandburg, and Sam likes it. Karl interrupts in VC. Bad explains to Sam the extent of L’Sandburg’s territory and Corpse Husband joins the call to apologize that he can’t make the lore stream

- Foolish tells Sam he built the obsidian walls to restrict their expansion, but Sam says by doing so, Foolish sanctified L’Sandburg’s status as a separate territory, and Sam is the keeper of law on the server. He believes that L’Sandburg is independent

- They push Foolish out of L’Sandburg territory and Bad explains to Sam and Foolish that he wants to sell the toll gate but keep the L’Sandburg tower

- Foolish offers a stack of leather and a stack of bamboo, but Bad doesn’t accept the offer. Sam considers buying it -- he’s making a bank and needs a steady form of income for it

- Sam offers Bad seven diamond blocks. After much bargaining, Foolish offers seven diamond blocks and steak. Sam offers steak for free, then Foolish increases to eight blocks, then ten. 

- Sam backs down, and Bad asks Foolish what he would do if he bought L’Sandburg. Foolish would tear it down

- Sam would have to enforce the tollgate, but he says he can divvy up his time between the prison and watching L’Sandburg. Bad would rather take Sam’s offer, and Sam says he wants to make it much bigger -- all the way to block limit

- Foolish protests. Bad asks Foolish to reimburse him materials and they accuse Foolish of vandalizing signs. 

- Bad says he’d be willing to accept Foolish’s offer of ten blocks if Bad owns the tower. Foolish says the tower belongs to Foolish and not Bad, and Bad disagrees and rejects the offer. Sam says the toll will be a diamond block now

- Foolish walks around the wall and Sam attacks him, saying he bypassed the toll

- Bad makes his offer again. If he owns the tower, he would get all vertical space included in the chunk, and he wants nothing less than full ownership

- Sam positions himself as a neutral third party. Foolish shows Sam the books. If Bad owns the tower, he would put a toll on the chunk of land

- Bad is concerned that since Foolish would own the land outside his tower, Foolish might box him in. Foolish agrees that he wouldn’t disrupt Bad’s line of sight from the tower and Bad gets a buffer zone

- They agree on the deal and Bad gets the ten diamond blocks, Bad confirming L’Sandburg is a country. Bad gives Sam his “cut” of five diamond blocks

- Foolish asks what Bad means, his “cut.” Sam was supposed to be a third party! Sam says good day and leaves Bad and Foolish to start taking down the walls, Foolish unhappy

- Sam whispers to Bad:

DON’T BACK DOWN ON THIS YOU WANTED TO DO IT. REMEMBER QUACKITY SAID THIS WAS A GOOD THING FOR BUSINESS.

- Bad agrees with Sam and continues to work. He’s pleased. Every nation has to start somewhere, and he now has what he wanted the most: acknowledgement as a sovereign entity

- Bad wants there to be no hard feelings, so he gives Foolish the five remaining diamond blocks he has as payment and apologizes for everything. He explains that on that one day, when he was standing on that one spot...he realized he just really wanted it

- The problem, he goes on, is that you can’t just “pick up a spot” and carry it to “a chest in a secret location.” Now he has it!

- Foolish asks what happens when somebody else decides that they too can claim it. Bad says when that day comes, they can fight together as neighbors! L’Sandburg is like an embassy

Foolish: “Wait wait wait a second -- am I talking to former Eggboyhalo or is this a slightly different Badboyhalo?”

Bad: “No, this is past the Egg arc.”

- Just then, Bad gets a message from Skeppy. He’s confused that Skeppy is messaging him that Foolish took him prisoner and won’t release him until he gives up L’Sandburg. Bad demands Foolish explain, and Foolish lets slip that there was a plan to kidnap Skeppy

- Foolish tries to explain that it was just backup in case Bad had an evil plan up his sleeve. Bad shouts at Foolish, asking where Skeppy is

Foolish: “I should tell you something...Skeppy said he was getting tired of living with you.”

Bad: “...”

Foolish: “He said he needed a break, so I was gonna offer him a vacation.”

Bad: “...You take that back.”

- Until Foolish returns Skeppy to Bad, Bad declares war. Foolish doesn’t know where Skeppy is, as it was an unmarked location. Bad is horrified and immediately goes searching all over for him

- Foolish reminds Bad that Bad tried to kidnap Finley, but Bad says he gave Finley back safe and sound

- Bad gets another message from Skeppy saying he’s cold and hungry. Foolish says it’s just a prank, and he has Tall Mama instead. Bad goes to leave

- Foolish asks if they’ll still be able to be friendly neighbors

Bad: “I hope so, Foolish...”

- As a token of friendship, Foolish hands Bad the decorative button from the now-torn-down L’Sandburg tollgate

- Bad heads back through the Nether, looking down from the bridge into the lava and calling for Skeppy. He walks down the Prime Path, saying he was sorry for going off and making L’Sandburg

Bad: “I know things didn’t go the best with the whole Egg thing, but come on...”

- He makes it to the mansion and sees the poster of the shark with its butt out. It’s the ransom note

- He searches through the mansion. L’Sandburg was supposed to be a place where he and Skeppy could hang out together...

He keeps calling for Skeppy but there’s no answer, and the screen cuts to black.

---

Afterwards, Bad does a brief lore QnA:

- L’Sandburg canonically takes place after the final Egg stream, which Bad says is going to have “a doozy of an ending,” and he “doesn’t want to make you guys too sad.” 

- All the L’Sandburg lore was on the fly. Nothing (except for Skeppy getting kidnapped) was planned, it’s all unscripted and fun

- People will either love or hate the next Egg lore stream. It’s going to be crazy

- There is one more stream that will wrap up the Egg lore and “set everything in motion.” 

- He says you do not want to miss it. Bad will announce the date before it’s time

- A dono asks, if the Egg lore is setting stuff up, is it taking a break and coming back later?

“Coming back later? You’ll see. It’s gonna be interesting. You’ll see.”

---

Upcoming Events:

- The final Egg lore stream

- Foolish’s date

- Quackity’s business opening

- Quackity’s next lore stream

- Tales From the SMP: “Space Race”

- Ponk’s lore stream

- Dream’s lore video

- Sapnap’s possible lore stream

- Awesamdude lore stream

#dream smp #dream smp recaps #long posts

[shoezuki]

ok so like i been Thinkin a lot on that stream techno had today and i may be Thinkin Too Much cuz i was doing psychology while watching but im going to say Words Now

the entire idea and Plot of tommy going from only interacting/being manipulated by dream to only interacting with techno is a Lot. theres a lot here. and i am feasting like a fucking king on the potential of it and what this could all Mean

I think we’re building up the idea of how techno and dream differ and how they house both similarities and extreme differences in their ideals. 

So if we considered how Tommy’s arcs have changed theres a very, VERY clear juxtaposition between the exile arc to.... raccoon arc? whatever the fuck is goin on

Tommy Was manipulated, isolated, and gaslit by dream. that was the only guy he really had interacted with and that was Intentional entirely. Its very obvious this will have and currently has an affect on tommy. 

Now, he’s with technoblade. theres a lot of shit that can be read in this simply as considered right now. I feel we’re clearly supposed to at least somehow compare dream and technoblade because their positions are somewhat similar concerning how they are interacting with tommy. 

Tommy can only really interact with techno, only techno really has the ability to see him (although ranboo, ghostbur, and phil could see him but theres obvious difficulties in their case), and how tommy regards technoblade is.... complicated. like how he regards dream at the moment.

but theres some really, really important and clear differences in this that i think will show a lot about techno’s character and what’s to come

first of all, there’s a question of why techno is seemingly ‘letting’ tommy live with him. No joke, i’ve discussed this a LOT in the technocord and it’s made me realize it from a different perspective since many of those people in there are from Before techno joined the smp.

so, there’s no clear ‘rational’ reason why techno would benefit from teaming with tommy. there’s some arguments that could be made; tommy’s position with people and especially tubbo, using tommy as a bargaining chip with dream, and something else i cant remember. but the technocord hardcore ppl feel tommy is a liability in the long term. techno doesn’t really have much to gain beyond a distraction. the idea of using tommy in order to convince him he’s getting the disks and then to destroy lmanberg is kinda.... its jus more trouble to techno. In fact, it wouldve been defendable for techno to kick him out; he stole his stuff, and we saw how he reacted to his cows being killed, his previous base being pillaged. You’d have thought techno wouldve been angrier.

but like. that aside. there’s little reason for techno to open up to tommy. and thats the point.

there’s no necessity on techno’s part. he doesnt need tommy. he could kick him out easily. but he won’t. 

I imagine technoblade sees the trauma and hardship tommy went through and he sympathizes with him. Its been made clear that techno doesnt know the full extent of what happened, but he doesnt need to. he knows enough. 

Now, back to the happenings of the last stream,

it wasnt plot heavy at all. (mostly because techno’s fuckign glasses are held together with SCOTCH TAPE the guy couldnt even fucking use ducttape i hate that) but there were a Few interesting things, including the Plot Stream a bit;

the ‘box’ techno made with the idea of hiding tommy from dream. (perhaps a joke but it still shows something i feel)

how he’s been giving tommy a Lot of stuff. he hasnt Genuinely been upset at his golden apples being taken; in fact, techno gave him more food in protest of him eating all the gapples instead of.... demanding them back

went mining in the nether with the intention of getting tommy better stuff

he replaced the log he accidentally stripped. extremely funny considering he got the wrong type of wood but he tried

expending more resources on tommy with invisibility potions so that he wasnt in danger of being seen

Repeatedly would assure tommy that dream Is Not His Friend.

at the idea of tommy being ‘banned’ from the nether and being attacked in lmanberg, techno laughed at the idea of him being ‘attacked’ and killed even when tommy worried that he’d die for the Last Time

implicated that techno WOULD defend him. and the idea of someone killing Either him or tommy was funny because of that

okay so slight comparison to dream; techno is instead GIVING tommy resources instead of blowing them up, he’s obviously intent on protecting him in some way, and he assures tommy that dream is No Good (rather than how dream was telling tommy no one cared about him)

But there’s one instance that was really, really important to me

the control room had a very bad impact on tommy. most likely a panic attack (the shaking, heavy breathing, scattered speech/thought is something i know so intimately lmao) and techno’s reaction to it was extremely interesting. 

first, techno said he was ‘freaking out for no reason’ which could be a) techno is horrific at emotions and vulnerability lmao and b) to Him, it Is nothing. he has no clue what tommy had been through. 

He repeatedly asked what was wrong. what had happened in that room. He pressed Slightly. but as soon as tommy said he didnt want to talk about that, techno instantly backed off and said its alright. specifically, he said:

“It’s fine, no one recovers in a day tommy. Healing is a long process, it’s fine.”

that shit hit me like a freight train. Mostly i didnt expect anything to come from this stream like that but FUCK LMAO.

The biggest thing is, i think technoblade is going to help tommy heal from the dream shit and get back on his feet. 

but also, even though im not entirely sure i need to see more, tommy will get techno to be more caring. We know philza is the only one techno is really close to, and ghostbur as well. both of which either weren’t involved in betraying techno, or doesnt remember it. i see it pointed out that techno is going at tubbo and his government rather than dream, but i think it makes sense. 

dream technically hasnt challenged techno’s ideals or what he wants; while tubbo stole from him, used him as a weapon, and reinstated a government despite everything techno was saying. 

Tommy took part in betraying him, thats without a doubt. but tommy was also screwed over by the government in place. so techno empathizes with him. maybe they dont fully trust each other, but thats a work in progress. and it will progress to technoblade trusting tommy despite their past, and realizing that dream is in a position of power over Everyone. 

tl:dr: tommy is going to heal with techno’s help and full come to terms with/realize what dream did to him, and techno is going to realize he CAN trust people and that dream has been the one pulling the strings all along

#mcyt #dream smp #technoblade #tommyinnit #long post #THIS IS A LOT OF WORDS I COULD TECHNICALLY SAY MORE BUT #i feel bad putting a MASSIVE wall of text on ppls dash lmoa #like. i could continue on with what their 'alliance' could mean from techno's perspective #because looking now it looks more like tommy is going to 'use' techno again. as a means of getting his discs back #although yeah it kinda is but i think that will change #i want it too #and i want techno to go towards being TRULY anarchist like cmon ur close buddy but not quite #hes got the 'screw the goverment let us people be our own ruling bodies of ourselves' which is right #but the idea of 'the powerful live above all' is NOT right. at all #like its the opposite #but technoblade acknowledges he wasnt really 'that anarchist' and has said in the past he doesnt have like. a specific idealogy #that he follows beyond 'an anarchist' #ok im stopping talking in the tags but technoblade please. please. become a real anarchist cmon