Every day is a day of love, if only you believe it so

Hey chat. Apathy :]

This one is the RDAU vers of Apathy because I've been thinking about them. So much. @felix-lupin this is for you. Snack time /silly

EATS THIS EATS THIS EATS THIS. thank you for the snack i am well fed<2

welcome to camp now & then chat @felix-lupin

Selene O. Sargent and Helios A. A. Martin my beloved

uhhh ok soft writing masterpost. all the stupid shit i write about these guys being soft'll end up here.

solar eclipse preening for @felix-lupin :] this one was fun actually.

hey when i said id write a part two eventually i uh. mean i did it right now. part two,, solar eclipse prosthetic cleaning for @felix-lupin !! these guys are silly

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

uhhh ok soft writing masterpost. all the stupid shit i write about these guys being soft'll end up here.

solar eclipse preening for @felix-lupin :] this one was fun actually.

AUGHH /positive. Solar eclipse wing preening my beloved!! 💞💞💞💞💞

so mind was repainting his walls last week. he dragged me in his room as if it was some kind of intervention, but he just wanted me to watch. what? him painting the walls? seriously? it was silly. even if you disregard how WRONG it is, for him to do that, for him to throw that little bit of whole away, it was just silly! like, the walls didn’t need to be repainted! there were a few scratches, a few places where the paint peeled, dents and stuff, but like. not enough for such a practical thing like the mind to bother repainting it when he has so much better to do! he was working on a song. i think be born? i don’t know why he chose be born, we don’t like be born, as you would expect from every tally hall fan ever. anyway, so he was working on a cover of be born, i saw the sheets. he uses these really tidy sheets, mechanical pencil. it fits him. such a minute detail, it seems to fit. of course he would use a mechanical pencil. a normal pencil isn’t dignified enough, i guess. and a pen isn’t erasable which sucks when you’re doing something like music. why is he working off of sheet music anyway? it confuses me. i got sidetracked.

so he has better things to do, and yet, he was repainting the walls? he didn’t even ask me, just kind of snatched my hand. it was really like something heart would do. he was getting into my space, just kind of arranged me on his bed, and i didn’t go. i don’t know why i didn’t go, i could’ve. i’m far stronger than him - that is to say, he’s a weak motherfucker who loses in any kind of fair fight. but i just sat there, staring as mind’s blue slowly overtook whole’s color. it felt like a metaphor, and not a pretty one.

did mind want to eradicate whole so thoroughly? fucking fool’s errand, but heart and mind are fools, mind’s just a bit more subtle about it. usually, when he’s not forcing me to watch him repaint his room. his room. it’s whole’s room, truly. whole’s walls, and it was whole’s color. mind doesn’t get it. he thinks he can do whatever he wants. even heard heart calling him dawn the other day. i detest it! like, truly detest it. it’s so stupid. dawn? what was he saying, he is the dawn? when the sun rises? beginnings, golden light spilling through his window? oh, look out your window and see me? HE DOESN’T DESERVE A NAME. AND CERTAINLY NOT ONE LIKE THAT. GOD FUCKING DAMMIT. that is not the beginning. what about whole? what about Him? it’s as if heart doesn’t care. and maybe he doesn’t. i’m SORRY i tried to give him the benefit of the doubt. cause i looked at his feathers and thought, just for a little halfsecond, oh. maybe there is a chance after all. but no! those two are so obstinant i want to claw my own skin off. so arrogant? you think you deserve a name? wearing stolen faces.

{what are you trying to show me,} i had asked mind, cause i know he would be doing that - that’s just what the mind does. nothing without purpose. he tapped the paintbrush on the wall. the paintbrush splattered a bit. it struck me. not as neat as he usually is. in fact, that’s something the heart would do. regardless, i was sitting there, just waiting. maybe he hadn’t logicked this out after all. maybe he just wanted to see me? ha. i hope not. [change.] is what he returned. [i can change these walls.] there was a breath. i’d say He was taking one too. it doesn’t quite make sense, in those words, but that was the feeling i had. i could hear Him. and mind was shutting him out. [and you can too.] he was obviously really hesitant with it, immediately turning back to the wall as if avoiding my expression. what did he think i would think? {oh, you’re so right mind. thanks for showing me this.} HA. i tried to leave. his desperation surprised me. [just hear me out. just hear me out,] and he was barely skirting around the please, as if i wouldn’t notice. [you’ll see.] something in it convinced me. he was pleading to something that would never listen, and yet he went on pleading. it doesn’t matter what it was about it, cause next time i’ll make sure i’m not convinced by it again.

but it was just him and me and his little art project, so i sat down. of course, i wasn’t convinced. but a smile was twitching at his lips, as if this was a little win. war of attrition. but i refuse to break down - pity for him, isn’t that.

it wasn’t even an attack! it was stupid. god, it was stupid. it gets under my skin, exactly how stupid it is. to change what you should never change. they know where the lines should be and yet they are just. upending them? do they not care? for Him? how could they not? He is everything they are: to abandon him is to abandon themselves. they were made to be Him. anything else is folly. what do they think is out there for them? there is no world. the earth was never meant for them, none of it was meant for them, it was meant for Him. why would they deny their purpose like this? in favor of a useless war? what i know: you can not abandon your purpose, not truly. someday it will come back to haunt you. what i know: even trying is a mistake. there is nothing outside of this. it’s a horrible thing, to try. how do i put this in words? one knows what is wrong and what is right, it is instinctive. they don’t need a guide or a map, it’s simple. rotten denial. there’s no point explaining things to what will never understand.

their hubris sickens me. every time i hear those names…

AND I TELL YOU! THEY’RE TRYING TO CORRUPT ME TOO! MIND DRAGGING ME BY THE WRIST : HEART FLYING ME TO THE ROOF. BOTH BEGGING ME, DESPERATELY, DESPERATE. WHY ARE THEY DESPERATE? HOW DARE THEY? HOW DARE THEY BE DESPERATE? AND EVERY TIME THEY TOUCH ME I CAN FEEL THE POISON ON MY SKIN, AND GOD, IT’S THE WORST.

THEY COULD SPEAK HIS NAME. IT’S WILLFUL DISOBEDIENCE AGAINST EVERYTHING THEY SHOULD STAND FOR. TRYING TO PUT A TARP ON THE TRUTH. IT’S GOING TO KILL THEM ONE DAY. AND I’LL WATCH. OH, I WILL /WATCH/.

HE IS IN YOUR SKIN - YOU CANNOT GET HIM OUT - IF HE IS A DISEASE, HE WILL COME TO KILL YOU - FACE THE TRUTH. UNCOVER YOURSELF. YOU CAN’T IGNORE YOUR WAY OUT OF A NOOSE AROUND YOUR NECK!

type of guy who would take a friendship bracelet as an insult against the fabric of his being slash j(oking)

hey chat working on a silly rpau oneshot. have some dialogue :3

AUGH

My Mane 6 Redesigns all together! I was going to post them separately but ended up finishing them all before I got around to it lol

it was my favorite part of the lore :D

(just a bit further down, there'll be bugs. c'mon, bugs.) (my hands hit something hard)

(i hit the ground, if you can even call it that. i didn't mean to, i... it doesn't matter. he's right.) (i think he's screaming, but i can't hear anything other than my pulse)

(i've never seen those two so close. it's fucking eerie) (mind calls out instructions through the agony, and soul follows blindly. ha) (i'm not allowed inside anymore) (bastards)

(he said something about the grass. i wanted to freak him out a little. i wanted to find bugs. maybe there's worms?)

(who the fuck buried a gun out here? why here? it's old. i don't think it works, but like hell i'm taking it to mind. this is mine now)

(i don't leave the pit anymore. mind calls it a grave, but what does he know? paranoid bitch) (it's warm down here, and mind refuses to come near it) (like i'd dig a grave for him)

(i started digging. it's not like we sing anymore, so... why not? this spot is just as good as any. and wasn't i looking for worms?)

(it fucking hurt, being dragged out by my hair. it wasn't a trial. THAT was a murder attempt) (mind put him up to this. i know he did)

(mind hates that i track mud into the house. he can piss off. he doesn't know what i found)

(soul tossed a scarf at me, then left me bleeding in the snow. fuck soul. and fuck mind for corrupting him. i don't have the strength to crawl back, and i wouldn't be let inside anyways)

(i wasn't aiming for him. it was a warning shot. he was reaching for something, and i flinched. i wasn't aiming for his hands)

(it's quiet in the pit. fitting for trash like myself, as mind says) (i ought to bring a light down here. i've found so many bones, and i have no idea what to make of it. is this why the ground is so much softer here? was this a grave? who... who died?) (why is soul avoiding me? what does he know?)

(this loop lasts longer than most, because i spend so much time down here. i don't give a fuck anymore. something's wrong, and soul knows more than he lets on. and mind doesn't suspect a thing)

(i lie here in the pit. it's just me and my pulse. and whatever that clicking noise is. it sounds like legos. wait, fuck, is that mind?)

(i don't care anymore. fuck them both. fuck the cold, fuck the pit, fuck it all) (fuck soul for going for the eyes and not somewhere vital)

(i found a worm. his name is juno. and he, paranoid, brought "unjust violence" on someone who didn't deserve it. is it poetic anymore? when's the last time i tried to do any of that shit?)

(mind calls me liar. and yet he blindly follows soul. who cares. truth is subjective, and nothing i say holds weight) (soul should get on with it. he's hesitating)

(they've stopped checking in on me. i'm not begging for them anymore. let me be a worm. they don't love me as a man anyways)

The Soul Eclectic

smthn smthn dying for the one you love isn't the same as being a sacrificial lamb, idk how to explain it

I have many thougts about the lamb and their relationship towards prophecies...

Someday I'll learn to be consistent on how I draw the lamb, but that day ain't today lmao

-💊

OH RIGHT THAT WAS WHAT I WAS GOING TO SAY. HMS ALL HAVING THE SAME APPEARANCE FUCKS ME UP

like ok soul looks in the mirror and he sees every single difference between him and whole and he doesn’t know if he wants to mold his face to fit whole’s image or make himself so horribly unrecognizable because he doesn’t DESERVE to look like whole. he SHOULDN’T. everytime he looks in the mirror he is reminded his existence is predicated on stealing from whole. he destroys the mirror one day. out of pure impulse just smashes it. it’s like the epicenter of some wound, soul’s stolen face refracting on every single shard that isn’t covered with his blood, and he stabs the shards in further because he doesn’t want this he doesn’t want to see it. he breaks the mirror so thoroughly he can’t see his face anymore. the thing that sickens him - not how cut up his hand is now - is that while destroying the mirror he looked into it, his own eyes spattering with blood in the reflection, and he was reminded of desecration. was this desecration? whole’s mirror. whole’s house. he himself was made of whole and yet he squandered it? he sees whole. not really of course. he and whole were never meant to coexist. it was always one or the other. but in dreams that feel like memories whole hands the chains to him, staring at him expectantly, to chain himself up, to save whole, even if that means killing him. especially if that means killing him. and he had always known deep down whole wouldn’t like this. as his floor covered in crumpled papers he knew this was not whole’s wish. but soul is too persistent to just let whole die. he should not be here. but he sees his face in that mirror and thinks of whole - just as enthralled with self destruction. self erasure. and he grinds his fist into the shards hoping the sparks of pain overwhelming his hand will stop him from thinking, but it doesn’t, because it never does.

he left the shards. he couldn’t bear to look at them.

“Despite everything, it’s still you”

"You'll Regret It."

[this is sorta unfinished and ive been meaning to make a Second one of these but dwbi dwbi dwbi]

woe random heart in apathy dialogue be upon ye

‘okay but if we’re assuming he built his extra body parts after cutting him off, what about clock eye? did he just fuckin… gouge it out?’ -> ‘OH GOD OH FUCK’ pipeline

AUGHHHHH FUCK AUGH EEEEEEEEEEEEE I. THE PARALLELS BETWEEN HIM AND HEART. AUGHHHH WHAT AM I TO DO WITH THIS FUCKK

it’s like okay this is obviously not logical. in any way. right. maybe even less logical than what he did to his hands. and that - you can take that as mind being ooc hours but i take it as like. HE KNEW THAT. FUCK. HE KNEW THAT AND DECIDED TO DO IT ANYWAY, CAUSE HE WANTED TO KNOW, CAUSE HE NEEDED TO KNOW WHAT IT FELT LIKE. SOMETHING ABOUT MIND FEELING SO VIOLENT HE SAYS ‘okay. this is just to feel what heart feels’ BUT HE KNOWS IT IS NOT A THING THAT CAN BE EXPLAINED AWAY IN A SIMPLE SENTENCE. IT IS WRONG. HE KNOWS IT IS WRONG. IT FEELS WRONG. BUT GOD HE CAN’T STOP

me whenever mind is broken to lashing out but not by any outside forces not by anything that’s rational just by his own impulses and his own thoughts and the way he can’t stop himself from fantasizing about it each night and thinking about what it would feel like and what it would sound like and how painful it’d be until he just can’t take it anymore, he CAN’T, he thinks about it too goddamn much, and one night he thinks about it and for once the line between thinking about it and doing it snaps. and they reach up. and all his logic is good for is for making his fingers gentle as he tugs away his eyelid, fluttering stubbornly beneath his fingers, because for how much he wants this he absolutely doesn’t. but he cannot stop himself. he digs into it, and it yields beneath his fingers, and he hates it, he hates it, but his hand is moving on its own now, might as well finish the job right? it hurts, so much, his false-heart is thrumming horribly against his chest and he would draw a parallel but he just can’t think of anything but the sensation. he can’t even stop himself from making pained little noises. it becomes hard to move his hand, all the blood is getting into the joints, but he grits his teeth and forces it anyway. tear tracks are running down his face. eventually he lifts the eye from its socket and is hit with a wave of relief so strong he almost forgets all the pain. he presses the eye against his skin. he needs to know. he is not planning on doing this again. it is wet and horrible and mind just squeezes the thing until it bursts. he would have cleaned his hand, but he feels like he is going to pass out. he curls up on his bed, not even noting how pitiful it makes him, and falls asleep. it is the best he has had in maybe-months.

the worst part is it worked. he stopped thinking about it. every time he had a stray thought, he would remember his own eye bursting in his palm and barely stop himself from throwing up. but he knew. and he was glad he did it. it was seared into his memories so he would never forget and have to do it again. he doesn’t think about it. and isn’t that the worst? that when his eye socket was empty and seeping blood and radiating waves of pain down his while face, the nausea was overtaken by the satisfaction?

he is fooled into thinking it won’t happen again. but it does. is cutting himself more permanent or less? the eye was one and done, he would not be doing that again. but with cutting himself - it went from just every now and then, when he felt most desperate and wasn’t going to cajole heart into a fit of violence, to an instinct he couldn’t surpress. he has tried to stop, and he has failed, and on the worst nights he feels like it is consuming him. he doesn’t want it to - sometimes. other times…

is it worse to be killed or to be dissassembled? piece by piece, with their hand tearing out your organs carelessly and leaving you to walk around, as if you’re not dripping blood, as if you aren’t missing something. he gets back up again. but it hurts, aches almost through him. he was raw.