Hot take: you can’t actually pirate from a streaming service because of how the software functions “stealing” from it isn’t actually possible. They sell you convenience, not copies of the content.
Hi everyone! At the moment we need a lot of help with our archives. For those that aren’t able to record, any and all help is greatly appreciated to help me look through footage of our archives to make sure eveurthing is good and ready to go! We have less than a month left before terminations so it is very important we find any bad footage ASAP before the time comes.
We also need help on our archiving server to get footage of routes and endings with our Dub team’s MC names for each game to make it easier on our cast! (We have some people who have already gotten the default names, so most things are covered we just need help with dub names) For anyone willing to help us gather recordings with these names, we have an archives server here: https://discord.gg/KVWj2d2eEF
Our MC names for each game are:
- Wizardss Heart: Icy Crystals
- Blood In Roses: Cecelia (Witch) & Lailah (Hunter) both have the last name Valor!
- Lost Alice: Amelie Riedel
- Ninja Shadow: Saori Shisido
- Love Tangle: Julia Darwin
- Guard Me Sherlock: Jane Marple. (We need the most help with S2 routes!)
All footage gathered will also be posted on a channel called “SWDVault” WITH CREDITS to everyone involved in the recordings!
We are also looking for help with collecting and CGs, premiums, diary/journal entries, assets, etc anything we can get!
Hi everyone! There’s only a few more days left until EOS and the dub archive is still missing a ton of content! For those that still have a lot of resources or even event/spin-off stories we really still need footage for a lot of games (with needed fandub names; I do the fandubs but need footage specific names!) and we also need help with gathering assets! Please please please if anyone can help please let us know! Anything is appreciated!! Our discord server: https://discord.com/invite/KVWj2d2eEF
Check out the SWD Archives community on Discord - hang out with 103 other members and enjoy free voice and text chat.
Wait I just found out twst anime is going to have an EN dub 😭😭😭 GOD PLEASE KEEP THE DEEP LEONA AND MALLEUS VOICES 🙏🏻📿🙏🏻📿🙏🏻📿 PRAYER CIRCLE
I hope they have accents to better portray differences in cultures! I know Malleus isn't appearing until season 2 but you will hear me on the news if the literal non-human fae prince sounds like your average barista at Starbucks. 😤 Even Kazuki Kato delivers his voice in a theatrical, musical way distinct from even your usual anime exaggeration.
hey queen just wanted to put in my 2 cents, it’s totally fine to still love killua after turning 18. and dont listen to any dumbass that tells you its a moral failing because it isn’t. i watched hxh for the first time when i was 12 and yeaaars later i still have a crush on killua because in my head he aged with me (although these days im more of an illumi girl lol) you can literally make him any age you want in your imagination. and love for a fictional character doesn’t just disappear on the arbitrary day that is your 18th birthday. anyone that says they immediately stopped liking a character when they turned 18 is just moral grandstanding and we have enough of that in fandom now because of newgen puritans. all this to say it’s FINE to still love killua, age him up do whatever you want because he is not a real freaking person and the police isn’t gonna come bust down your door for thought crimes. okay love u bye
oh em ge thank you for telling me this 😓😓, I love him a lot I can't imagine letting him go, or even if I do—he would always still be my favorite (T^T)
Everyone: Please please please don't write your books in Google Docs. Frankly don't use Google Drive for personal stuff.
Their terms of service say they take down stuff like content related to terrorism and trafficking, but this Google Sheet was literally a list of movies I'd watched this year and books I'd read.
Holy smokes, guys. It's way worse than I thought. Google actually took away access to every single file of fiction writing I'd made on that account. BUT I backed it all up on Scrivener yesterday by coincidence. So I haven't lost my work, but I could have just lost the 12,000 words I've written this month after a year of really intense writer's block. I honestly don't know what that would have done to my psyche.
That is awful! If you're looking for a gdocs-like replacement, Ellipsus @ellipsus-writes is an explicitly queer friendly, anti-AI equivalent with online syncing and sharing - I've been using it for almost a year now as a replacement for gdocs and absolutely love it. They are pro-fanfic, so much so that they have a dedicated "export to Ao3" option that preserves all your formatting. They don't have an app (yet) but you can add it to your home screen via your mobile browser if you want.
I do still back up all my work to local storage on LibreOffice (free to download, Microsoft Office equivalent) too though, thank goodness you backed up to Scrivener OP!
sorry if i'm gonna be quiet for a while. my country recently introduced laws that make it so that in order to use social media to the fullest (not being able to view ns/fw content and in a few cases, not even having access to dms), i HAVE to give the sites my id/face scan.
it goes into effect july 25th. it'll probably effect here too, since this place allows mature content (tho not full on ns/fw)
i'm very distressed about it bc i might end up not even being able to talk to my internet friends. i don't really have any irl ones
if i have to disappear on most socials by then, you know why.
if you're in the uk like i am there IS a petition to sign on the official gov petitions website asking to consider repealing this law. it currently has almost 8k signatures and needs 10k in order for the government to even acknowledge it (and 100k for them to debate it)
idk if i can post it here but please... go sign it! and go write to your local mp if possible. they need to realize how dangerous this law is going to be for uk citizens online. it doesn't protect children, it's just privacy invading AND a huge security risk to boot
ship: kurapika x fem!sphinx!reader
warnings: non-explicit ( kinda angsty/sad, but it does have a bittersweet romance, so… win?)
word count: 5.3k
a/n: I know i said i wouldn't do it now, but i couldn't help my self, loloo. also this piece was inspired by a tweet from Kayla Ancrum (@KaylaAncrum), where she wrote about a man who falls in love with a sphinx and solves her riddles daily. I just had to explore that dynamic with Kurapika and a Sphinx reader! Let me know what y'all think! 🖤✨
Revenge doesn't always bring peace; sometimes it leaves behind something far more haunting.
Kurapika had fulfilled his mission, dismantling the Phantom Troupe and retrieving the Scarlet Eyes that once belonged to his kin. He should have felt victorious, perhaps even a semblance of peace, but instead, he felt hollow, drifting aimlessly in the vastness of the world.
The weight of his chains was gone, but the burden on his heart remained.
In restless strides, he wandered the lands, searching for something he couldn't quite name—purpose, healing, or perhaps a way to finally let go of the rage that had kept him alive for so long.
The bustling city streets did little to distract him from his turmoil.
Kurapika walked among strangers, his eyes scanning the faces that passed by, not really seeing them. The chatter and noise of life around him felt distant, a muffled echo that never reached his ears.
He just got off the phone with Gon, a short conversation that was filled with concern on Gon's part. Kurapika assured him he was fine, though the words tasted like lies even as they left his mouth.
The city was filled with countless distractions—stalls selling exotic wares, street performers drawing in crowds—but Kurapika moved through it all like a ghost.
It was only when he came across a particular stand filled with unique, almost mythical items that he found himself pausing.
There were trinkets, stones carved with symbols he couldn't recognize, feathers from birds that didn't exist in any book he'd ever read, and even vials of shimmering liquid.
Something about the stand drew him in, perhaps the promise of the unknown, the mystery of it all.
As Kurapika stared at a curious amulet shaped like an eye, a voice broke through the haze of his thoughts. "You look like a young man filled with woes."
Turning, he found an old woman seated just beyond the stand, her eyes rooted intently on him.
She was small, her back slightly hunched, with eyes that seemed to look right through him. Her wrinkled hands rested on a small table, a crystal ball sitting between them.
Her presence was almost otherworldly, and Kurapika couldn’t help but feel as if she had been waiting for him.
"Your heart is heavy," she continued, her voice soft but firm, like the rustling of ancient leaves. "You have found what you sought, but now you are lost. Seeking something else, aren't you?"
Kurapika frowned, his first instinct to brush her off, to walk away. He had no time for fortune tellers or their vague prophecies. But something in her gaze held him in place.
Maybe it was the fact that she was right—he was lost, more lost than he had ever been.
Before he could respond, the old woman reached beneath her table and pulled out a worn piece of parchment. She handed it to him, her eyes never leaving his. "Take this map. It shows places where you might find what you seek. A journey is ahead of you, young man, one that may finally bring you peace."
Kurapika took the map, his fingers brushing against the rough surface. He hesitated, staring down at the faded ink and the strange symbols marking various locations. "What kind of journey?" he asked, his voice almost a whisper.
The old woman smiled, a mysterious curve of her lips. "One that will lead you to the answers you need, not the ones you want. Follow the map, and you may find more than you ever hoped for."
Kurapika glanced at the map again, the markings seeming to shift under his gaze, almost as if they were alive.
He had nothing left to lose.
With a nod, he folded the parchment and tucked it into his pocket, a small spark of something—curiosity, hope—lighting within him.
His travels took him far from the crowded city, into remote villages and forgotten paths.
He heard tales whispered in the dark corners of taverns—rumors of a remote island untouched by time, home to creatures that should have only existed in myths.
The locals spoke of a sphinx—a creature of immense power, wisdom, and mystery. She was said to guard an ancient temple on an isolated island, her riddles a fatal test for any who dared approach.
She could devour the souls of those who failed or offer wisdom to those who succeeded.
It was said that she embodied both mercy and cruelty, bound by the ancient rules of her riddles.
Kurapika's interest was piqued. Perhaps this creature held the answers he sought, or at least the challenge he needed.
Something to pull him out of the hollow void that had settled within him.
The island was not marked on any ordinary map, but the worn parchment he carried seemed to lead him there, the strange symbols aligning with the whispered directions he gathered from those who dared speak of the place.
And so, Kurapika found himself standing on the deck of a small fishing boat, the salty wind tugging at his hair as the island came into view—a shadow against the horizon, shrouded in mist.
He felt a strange pull, a sense that whatever awaited him there might finally give him the closure he needed. He had faced monsters before, both human and otherwise, but something about this journey felt different.
As if, perhaps, it wasn't just about finding answers—but about finding himself.
The island loomed closer, and with it, the promise of riddles, danger, and maybe, just maybe, a way to heal the wounds that revenge had left behind.
Kurapika spent the first few days exploring the island, his feet carrying him along unfamiliar paths, his eyes scanning for clues hidden among the dense forest and crumbling ruins.
He learned the lay of the land—the twisting vines, the rocky cliffs that overlooked the endless ocean, and the small creatures that scurried away at his approach.
The island seemed to breathe, its secrets waiting just beneath the surface, and he was determined to uncover them.
After days of exploring, Kurapika made his way back to the nearby village, his supplies dwindling and his body weary.
It was night by the time he arrived, the village bathed in the soft glow of lanterns, casting long shadows across the cobbled streets.
He found a small tavern at the edge of the village, its warm light spilling out onto the street, the murmur of voices inviting him in.
Kurapika entered, the scent of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filling the air. He made his way to an empty table in the corner, ordering a simple meal and a drink.
The tavern was lively; villagers and travelers alike gathered to unwind, their laughter and chatter a comforting background to his solitude.
He ate slowly, savoring the warmth of the food, the taste of something other than the dried rations he had carried with him.
As he ate, he noticed a small crowd beginning to gather near the fireplace at the center of the room. The voices quieted, replaced by the expectant hush of an audience waiting for a story.
Kurapika's gaze shifted, his interest piqued as an elderly man stepped forward, his hands worn and his eyes twinkling with mischief. The storyteller cleared his throat, a smile playing on his lips as he began to speak.
"Gather 'round, gather 'round," the old man said, his voice carrying easily through the room. "I have a tale for you tonight, one of mystery, of danger, and of beauty beyond imagination."
Kurapika leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly as he listened.
The old man spoke of a creature, a sphinx, who guarded a temple deep within the island—a temple known as the Cave of Mysteries. He described the sphinx as both beautiful and terrifying, her eyes holding the weight of ages, her form a paradox of grace and danger.
The crowd leaned in, captivated by the tale, their faces reflecting a mix of awe and fear.
"They say the Cave of Mysteries holds treasures beyond belief," the old man continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that had the crowd hanging on his every word. "Riches enough to buy an empire, secrets that could grant unimaginable power. But the sphinx, ah, she is not easily bested. Many have tried, and all have failed—her riddles are a test of wit and courage, and the price of failure is steep indeed."
The old man finished his tale, the crowd breaking into murmurs, some laughing nervously, others shaking their heads as if dismissing the story as mere legend.
But Kurapika knew better.
He finished his meal, his mind already turning on how to find the temple and to the mysteries that still lay ahead.
The island held more than just danger—it held the promise of something he had never thought he needed.
So, driven by curiosity and the need for a challenge beyond revenge, Kurapika set off to find the temple, unperturbed by the locals' warnings of danger.
And he intended to see it through, whatever the cost.
The whispers of forgotten creatures and the hint of ancient wisdom called to him, a voice that spoke directly to the hollowness he now carried.
His feet followed the clues, ancient symbols etched into rocks and trees, guiding him deeper into the dense forest of the island.
Each step took him further from the familiar and into the unknown—a test he desperately needed.
The journey was arduous, the air thick with the scent of wild vegetation and the distant echo of creatures unseen.
Kurapika's senses were heightened; every sound, every rustle in the underbrush kept him alert.
Anticipation built within him, a sense that something lay ahead—something that might offer answers, or at least a distraction from the gnawing emptiness left by vengeance.
Finally, he stood before it—the temple, a structure both majestic and haunting, half-covered in creeping vines, its stone surface carved with the same symbols that had guided him here.
The temple seemed almost alive, its golden exterior shimmering in the fading sunlight, the intricate carvings depicting stories of ancient gods and creatures long forgotten.
The entrance was framed by towering pillars, their surfaces etched with worn inscriptions, and the air was thick with an aura of both reverence and dread.
The massive doors of the temple were slightly ajar, revealing only darkness within, as if daring anyone to enter.
But at the base of the stairs sat you—the Sphinx; a creature of paradox, you embodied both grace and danger.
Your powerful form rested elegantly, your tail waving languidly in the air, each movement deliberate and filled with quiet confidence.
Your form was powerful, the body of a lioness with muscles rippling beneath golden fur, yet your face held a beauty that was almost human, framed by a mix of a wild mane and intricate braids that shimmered under the fading sunlight.
Your claws were sharp, glinting with an almost metallic sheen, a reminder of the threat you posed to anyone foolish enough to challenge you.
There was an ethereal quality to you, a faint outline of wings that shimmered in the heat, catching the light in a way that made them seem almost unreal, giving you an otherworldly glow.
Your presence exuded power—a quiet intensity that Kurapika could feel even from a distance, a force that seemed to pulse with the very energy of the island.
The power you exuded was palpable, a quiet but overwhelming force that made even the strongest foes Kurapika had faced—the Chimera Ants, the Phantom Troupe—seem almost mundane by comparison.
There was something about you—something far more enigmatic, a blend of wisdom and danger that set you apart.
But it was your eyes that captivated him most.
As those golden orbs landed on him, they shifted, narrowing into sharp, cat-like slits, assessing him with an intensity that made Kurapika's breath hitch.
They were a deep, haunting shade, filled with the weight of centuries, and they seemed to pierce through him, seeing the parts of himself he tried to keep hidden.
In your eyes, he saw a depth of knowledge that surpassed anything he had ever known, and yet there was something else—a loneliness that he understood all too well.
Intrigued and cautious, he stepped forward, his heart steady, his mind sharp.
You watched him approach, your gaze unwavering, your posture regal.
Silence stretched between you, thick with tension and curiosity. You had seen many travelers before him, men who came seeking glory or power, only to fall before your riddles, their bones now part of the island's forgotten past.
But this one was different. He moved with purpose, not arrogance, his eyes holding a quiet determination that piqued your interest.
Your voice broke the silence, echoing through the empty landscape, carrying with it the weight of ages. "Young man, why do you seek me?"
Kurapika paused, considering his words carefully. "I seek answers," he said, his voice steady. "Answers to questions I cannot yet name. I seek something beyond vengeance. Perhaps you can help me find it."
A small smile tugged at your lips—cryptic, almost amused. "Answers come at a cost," you replied. "And only those who prove themselves worthy may proceed."
Without another word, you issued him a riddle, your voice carrying an authority that demanded his attention.
"Boundless am I, beginningless and endless, forever yet never the same. I am the river that flows and the sky that fades; I am possessed by none, yet present in all. What am I?"
The riddle was complex, woven with layers of meaning that had confounded countless before him. You half-expected him to falter, to hesitate as so many others had.
But he didn't.
Kurapika listened, his eyes never leaving yours, his mind dissecting each word, each nuance. His answer came calmly, confidently, his voice unwavering even in the face of your sharp claws and powerful presence. "Time," he said, as though the riddle was a mere puzzle, a challenge he was born to solve.
For the first time in a century, someone answered correctly.
Surprise flickered in your gaze, quickly masked by your stoic demeanor.
You studied him, this young man who had dared to approach you, who had not flinched under your scrutiny. There was something about him—an emptiness, a need that mirrored your own.
You had been bound to this place for so long, your existence woven into the riddle game, your only connection to others through the trials they failed. But this one had succeeded, and by the ancient rules, he had earned a boon.
"What is your request?" you asked, your voice softer now, curious.
Kurapika thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the temple behind you, then to the sands around your feet. "For my boon, I wish to stay here," he said finally. "To rest beside you, under the stars, and awaken unharmed. Just for a night."
Your breath caught, an unfamiliar feeling tingling down your spine. The request took you by surprise.
It was such a simple one.
Men usually asked for riches, power, or freedom. But to simply… sleep by your side?
Against your better judgment, you found yourself agreeing. Slowly, you nodded, granting him this boon.
"Very well," you said, gesturing to the smooth sand near the temple steps. "You may rest here tonight, beside me. But know this, wanderer—come dawn, the the wheel of fate turns once more and the ritual will begin anew."
Kurapika nodded, a faint smile touching his lips.
As the two of you lay down, he moved closer, settling down on the warm sands beside you, the night sky stretching endlessly above. The stars blinked into existence, one by one, as silence fell over the island once more.
For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you felt something shift—a connection, fragile yet real, formed between two lost souls seeking solace.
As the night deepened, you watched him, the quiet resolve in his features, the way his eyes softened as he gazed up at the stars.
The silvery light of the stars reflected in his gray eyes, making them seem almost ethereal, as if the heavens themselves had taken refuge within him. A slight, warm breeze rustled through the air, catching in his blonde hair and ruffling it gently, giving him an almost boyish charm.
As he drifted toward sleep, you kept a close watch, noting the softened lines of his face, how the quiet moments seemed to ease the burdens he carried. His breathing slowed, the tension in his shoulders melting away.
There was a peace in the silence between you, a sense that perhaps, in this fleeting moment, neither of you was truly alone.
But you stayed awake, keeping watch, your mind racing with questions. What kind of man asks a creature like you for something so simple, so intimate? Why didn't he fear you, not even a little?
As dawn crept over the horizon, he stirred beside you, stretching slightly before his eyes blinked open, sleepy but clear.
When he saw you watching him, he didn’t startle or flinch. Instead, he smiled—a small, weary smile that tugged at something deep in your chest.
"Thank you," he said, as if he hadn't just put his life in your hands.
You narrowed your eyes, leaning closer. "Why aren't you afraid of me?"
He paused, thinking over his answer. "I've met monsters before," he said quietly. "I've even become one, in a way. But I don't see a monster when I look at you."
A flicker of irritation sparked within you, though it was dulled by something softer. "You don't know what I am capable of," you warned, voice low.
He only tilted his head. "Maybe not. But I'd like to find out."
And so was the beginning of something neither of you could yet name—a bond forged in riddles, silence, and the unspoken understanding of what it meant to be lost.
Each day, Kurapika worked tirelessly, studying the clues you left behind, learning the nuances of your mind through each challenge in your riddles, each more complex than the last.
Each evening, as the sun set and bathed the island in a warm, golden glow, he appeared again at the temple, his determination unwavering. His intelligence and wit kept him alive, his answers keeping him just close enough to be spared as he engaged in a battle of wits with you.
And each night, he solved your riddle with a grace and precision that began to feel almost routine.
Sometimes, he even looked… amused. As if he enjoyed matching wits with you, as if your challenge was something he relished rather than feared.
You were unused to companionship, your existence long defined by solitude and duty. Yet you found yourself anticipating Kurapika's arrival each day.
You began crafting riddles with a new purpose—not simply to guard, but to challenge him in a way that would make him think, to make him understand you. You dug into old tomes, dusted off forgotten phrases, anything to see if you could stump him.
"I am born of light, yet fear its touch. I dance on water, yet drown in its embrace. I am the silent whisper, the unspoken thought. I am the dream, the hope, the despair. What am I?"
"A shadow."
And yet, time and time again, he would answer correctly, and each time, he seemed to edge closer to you—not physically, but in a way that felt far more profound.
Slowly, you allowed him into your world, seeing in him a spirit kindred to your own.
Nights became more intimate, and not simply because he rested beside you. As the stars blinked into existence above, he would sit by your side and speak of his past—of his clan, his grief, the hollow emptiness that followed his revenge.
You listened, silently absorbing each word, drawn to the depth of his pain and the resilience that had brought him here. You saw the weariness in his eyes, the way they sometimes stared at nothing, as if the world held no color for him anymore.
In return, you began to share cryptic stories of ancient times, tales woven with wisdom and longing, fragments of yourself that had remained hidden for centuries.
Your voice, though calm, carried a weight that Kurapika seemed to understand instinctively. He saw through your cold facade, sensing a deep loneliness that mirrored his own.
And so, night after night, the two of you spoke, your conversations shifting from the guarded tension of strangers to the shared musings of two souls seeking meaning.
You spoke of life, of death, of purpose, and in those moments, you realized how much you had missed the simple act of talking, of connecting.
Your dynamic shifted from hostility to mutual respect, and then to something deeper.
The more time he spent with you, the more he began to see you as something beyond a “monster.” He saw you as a being who was as trapped as he was—bound by duty, by the need to protect something, even if it came at the cost of isolation.
The nights spent under the stars became something precious. You both developed a quiet, profound romance—one that transcended physicality, one that was born out of the fragments of yourselves that you shared with each other.
Now, as he rested beside you, he no longer simply lay in the sand, separate from you. Instead, he was practically nestled against your side, his head resting on your flank, his fingers sometimes absently tracing patterns in your fur as if you were a mere cat.
It was a sight that would have been inconceivable to you not long ago—someone finding comfort in your presence, in the warmth of your body. And yet, there was a peace that settled over both of you in those quiet hours, a comfort that neither of you had known in far too long.
Though, despite your growing bond with Kurapika, you were still bound by your nature to defend your territory from outsiders.
When other travelers occasionally arrived, driven by greed or ignorance, they foolishly attempted your riddles. And when they failed—as they always did—you showed no mercy.
You devoured them with the ferocity of a true predator; the golden sands stained a deep crimson with the aftermath of their foolishness, soaking into the sand until the ground seemed to pulse with the memory of their folly.
But instead of recoiling in horror, Kurapika watched silently, his gaze calm and understanding. He never turned away, never judged you for fulfilling your duty.
Instead, he would place a gentle hand on your hide, his touch soothing as you carried out what you must, a silent guardian beside you.
This side of him fascinated you—the way he accepted you, both the monstrous and compassionate facets of your being.
There was a shared acknowledgment between the two of you—an understanding that you were a creature bound by your instincts and duties, and he was unfazed.
To him, you were not simply a monster, but something more, something deserving of compassion and acceptance.
Together, you formed a duo unlike any other—a pair, a bond between a man who understood darkness and a creature who embodied it.
Time passed as if in a dream.
Kurapika came back, night after night, even as the seasons changed. You watched his hair grow lighter, faint threads of silver weaving through the golden strands. His face, once so sharp and intense, softened with age.
The lines that creased his brow told stories of battles fought and challenges faced, but in the quiet moments with you, those lines seemed to ease.
The way he answered your riddles, too, became more thoughtful, less sharp-edged, though he still never faltered. His intelligence remained, tempered now with the wisdom of age rather than the fire of revenge.
One night, after he'd answered another riddle and claimed his boon by your side, you saw him hesitate, his brows furrowing, lips parting as if he was searching for the right words.
His eyes lingered on you, and there was a sadness in them that you’d never seen before. "Do you ever wish… for a different life?" he asked suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.
You turned away, not wanting him to see the flicker of longing in your own eyes. "A Sphinx does not wish. A Sphinx exists. That is all," you replied, your voice steady, but there was a tremor beneath the surface, a crack in the armor you had worn for so long.
He didn't respond right away, but you felt his gaze on you, warm and understanding in a way that made your chest ache. "Even monsters can wish for more," he whispered, as if confessing a secret.
The silence between you was heavy, filled with unspoken words and shared pain. You knew that he understood your longing, just as you understood his.
Though you had tried to keep your heart distant, you found yourself more attached with each passing night, each shared breath under the vast expanse of stars.
As the years passed, you noticed his struggle. His occasional lapse in memory, the way he would pause, his brow furrowed as he searched for a name that seemed just out of reach.
The way his body moved slower, the once fluid grace of his steps now tinged with hesitation.
You realized you were growing attached, and in your quiet moments, you wrestled with the strange pull he had over you, your love for him subtly guiding you to keep him close.
The realization was both terrifying and beautiful—a feeling you hadn’t expected to know.
In response, you modified your riddles, the challenges that had once been a fierce contest of intellect slowly transforming into something softer.
You wanted him to succeed, to stay by your side.
You crafted simpler riddles, designed to fit his weakening mind, riddles that spoke more of memory and heart than of cleverness. They took on a painful simplicity: "Do you remember who I am?" and "When is it not sunny out?"
You watched him wrestle with these questions, a tragic yet beautiful contrast to the man he once was.
His eyes, still filled with determination, would meet yours, and he would smile—a gentle, tired smile—as he answered.
You treasured his presence, savoring each answer, each memory shared, knowing that time was slipping away. The silver in his hair grew more prominent, his steps slower, but still, he came to you, night after night, until even the simple act of walking to the temple steps became a laborious task.
One night, as he rested against your side, his head nestled against your golden fur, you lowered your head, nuzzling him softly.
He looked up at you, his gaze tired but content, and whispered, "Thank you... for keeping me." His words were filled with gratitude, a warmth that spread through your chest, and you knew, in that moment, that you would never forget him.
Even as the inevitability of time loomed, you stayed by his side, guarding not only the temple but also the fragile, precious connection you had built.
He was no longer just a challenger, no longer just a man seeking answers—he was Kurapika, the one who had seen you for who you truly were, who had brought warmth and meaning to your existence.
One night, you posed a riddle, your voice as steady as ever: "I know not life, yet I bloom and spread; I am sightless, yet your darkest hour, I shall guide you to light. What am I?"
His answer faltered. His eyes, now clouded with age, stared at you, his once steady voice weak and trembling as he began to speak. "I... I think..." He paused, blinking, his brows furrowing in concentration, trying to grasp the answer that seemed just out of reach.
His body had grown frail, his hands unsteady, and he blinked, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the words that had always come so effortlessly before.
You could see the confusion in his gaze, a flicker of fear that he had never shown before—a fear not of you, but of the inevitable weakness that was overtaking him.
Your heart pounded, an unfamiliar rhythm that resonated with something deep and instinctual, your animalistic side recognizing this as a cue—the beginning of the end.
A pang of sorrow cut through you, sharp and deep, as you sensed the end drawing near.
You hesitated, torn between your duty as a guardian and the emotions that had grown within you, emotions you had never imagined you were capable of.
The silence stretched between you that night, heavy with the weight of what was left unsaid, and you pondered, thinking up a riddle so simple that he could answer it even in his sleep.
Something that would remind him, and perhaps even you, of the bond you had shared.
"What is your name?" you finally asked, your voice barely above a whisper, carrying the tenderness of the years you had spent together.
Kurapika blinked, and then his eyes softened, recognition flickering back into their cloudy depths. A faint smile curved his lips, tired and gentle. "Kurapika," he answered, his voice cracking, the sound almost lost in the stillness of the night.
He lay down beside you, his body settling into the warm sands, and as his breathing slowed, he reached out, his hand curling into your golden fur. You felt his fingers tighten slightly, a silent reassurance, and you lowered your head, resting it beside him.
You curled your body around him protectively, your tail wrapping gently over his legs, holding him close as if shielding him from the inevitable. The warmth of your form surrounded him, a final comfort as he drifted into the stillness of sleep.
You stayed with him, your gaze fixed on his face, watching as the life slowly faded from his eyes, his final breath a soft sigh against your skin.
The night seemed to hold its breath, the stars above flickering like distant memories, and when the sun finally began to rise, you held his body close, feeling the weight of solitude return, colder and heavier than ever.
You stayed by his side, the warmth of him slipping away, replaced by the coldness of death.
It was a pain you hadn't known was possible for a creature like you—raw, deep, and unending. And when the sun rose fully above the horizon, bathing the island in its golden light, you knew what you had to do.
In a macabre but loving ritual, you devoured him piece by piece as a way of keeping him close forever. Each bite was filled with sorrow, each fragment of him a reminder of what you had shared.
You would honor him, keep his bones, bleach them under the sun until they were as pale as the sands, and decorate yourself with them.
His ribs became part of your mane, his finger bones woven into the braids of your hair, a token of the only man who ever dared to love the monster.
Days came and went, the seasons changing once again, but you felt the emptiness like a hollow ache, a void that nothing else could fill.
The silence was unbearable, the absence of his presence echoing through the temple, through your very soul.
Beneath the temple's golden arches, you remained, gaze fixed upon the endless horizon. You waited, as you always would, watching for any soul who might bear even a glimmer of the quiet strength and resolve he had shown you.
And even though you knew he would not return, even though you had consumed his body and held his memory within you, a part of you still hoped.
Hoped for the impossible, for a presence that could bring warmth to the cold emptiness left behind.
Because as a wise person once told you, monsters, after all, could still wish.
two questions for you mr stirp
1. do you ever get tired or annoyed just being known as the "minecraft story mode guy"?
2. if given the opportunity in the future, would you write a season 3?
Well, outside of the MCSM community on tumblr (and maybe Reddit) I wouldn’t say I’m really “known” at all for much of anything in the wider video game world. Outside of a few select rockstars, game devs are mostly pretty anonymous unless you’re inside a specific fandom spheres. So, do I wish I got questions about things other than MCSM? Sure. Do I wish I was more famous or successful? Absolutely. But I’m also very lucky to be “known” at all, y’know?
For the right amount of money? Sure. But I also know it’ll probably never happen and, if it did I would almost surely not be asked so I don’t worry about it too much.
Imagine a reader who’s addicted to Discord, tumblr, and video games (Xbox because 360 and newer online servers are still up and you can connect to Discord) who keeps trying to get banned from e-dating servers? Will match with random friends and act like a cringe couple with them to troll the e-daters. Then eventually begging their s/o to make a discord account with them to speedrun getting banned from the dating servers. (I would do this tbh)
Okay, since the AI discourse is happening again, I want to make this very clear, because a few weeks ago I had to explain to a (well meaning) person in the community how AI works. I'm going to be addressing people who are maybe younger or aren't familiar with the latest type of "AI", not people who purposely devalue the work of creatives and/or are shills.
The name "Artificial Intelligence" is a bit misleading when it comes to things like AI chatbots. When you think of AI, you think of a robot, and you might think that by making a chatbot you're simply programming a robot to talk about something you want them to talk about, and it's similar to an rp partner. But with current technology, that's not how AI works. For a breakdown on how AI is programmed, CGP grey made a great video about this several years ago (he updated the title and thumbnail recently)
I HIGHLY HIGHLY recommend you watch this because CGP Grey is good at explaining, but the tl;dr for this post is this: bots are made with a metric shit-ton of data. In C.AI's case, the data is writing. Stolen writing, usually scraped fanfiction.
How do we know chatbots are stealing from fanfiction writers? It knows what omegaverse is [SOURCE] (it's a Wired article, put it in incognito mode if it won't let you read it), and when a Reddit user asked a chatbot to write a story about "Steve", it automatically wrote about characters named "Bucky" and "Tony" [SOURCE].
I also said this in the tags of a previous reblog, but when you're talking to C.AI bots, it's also taking your writing and using it in its algorithm: which seems fine until you realize 1. They're using your work uncredited 2. It's not staying private, they're using your work to make their service better, a service they're trying to make money off of.
"But Bucca," you might say. "Human writers work like that too. We read books and other fanfictions and that's how we come up with material for roleplay or fanfiction."
Well, what's the difference between plagiarism and original writing? The answer is that plagiarism is taking what someone else has made and simply editing it or mixing it up to look original. You didn't do any thinking yourself. C.AI doesn't "think" because it's not a brain, it takes all the fanfiction it was taught on, mixes it up with whatever topic you've given it, and generates a response like in old-timey mysteries where somebody cuts a bunch of letters out of magazines and pastes them together to write a letter.
(And might I remind you, people can't monetize their fanfiction the way C.AI is trying to monetize itself. Authors are very lax about fanfiction nowadays: we've come a long way since the Anne Rice days of terror. But this issue is cropping back up again with BookTok complaining that they can't pay someone else for bound copies of fanfiction. Don't do that either.)
Bottom line, here are the problems with using things like C.AI:
It is using material it doesn't have permission to use and doesn't credit anybody. Not only is it ethically wrong, but AI is already beginning to contend with copyright issues.
C.AI sucks at its job anyway. It's not good at basic story structure like building tension, and can't even remember things you've told it. I've also seen many instances of bots saying triggering or disgusting things that deeply upset the user. You don't get that with properly trigger tagged fanworks.
Your work and your time put into the app can be taken away from you at any moment and used to make money for someone else. I can't tell you how many times I've seen people who use AI panic about accidentally deleting a bot that they spent hours conversing with. Your time and effort is so much more stable and well-preserved if you wrote a fanfiction or roleplayed with someone and saved the chatlogs. The company that owns and runs C.AI can not only use whatever you've written as they see fit, they can take your shit away on a whim, either on purpose or by accident due to the nature of the Internet.
DON'T USE C.AI, OR AT THE VERY BARE MINIMUM DO NOT DO THE AI'S WORK FOR IT BY STEALING OTHER PEOPLES' WORK TO PUT INTO IT. Writing fanfiction is a communal labor of love. We share it with each other for free for the love of the original work and ideas we share. Not only can AI not replicate this, but it shouldn't.
(also, this goes without saying, but this entire post also applies to ai art)
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