Kim Kitsuragi Shitpost Voicelines!

What do you think of Death as a character?

Death of The Endless is straight up my favourite depiction of Death in literature and media that I've seen so far. It's so good to see a depiction of Death that is sweet and compassionate for once.

But what I think is rather unfortunate about her—as is also the case for her other siblings (or every fictional characters ever)—is that people tend to only remember a part of her and forget the rest

She is one of The Endless. She is Dream's big sister. But first and foremost, she is Death itself—and I think people tend to forget that part (and I am not exempt to that either). And Morpheus being so close to her says a lot about him.

At first, you'd see her as 'the voice of reason'. After all, she has a good head on her shoulders, and what she's saying sounds reasonable. But when it comes to Morpheus, everything she said made him stride closer to her. He followed her. He followed her advice. He sought her out. He felt at peace with her. That's not just a little brother looking up to his dependable big sister; She. Is. Death. What does it say when someone has that mindset and attitude towards Death?

It's written all over (which is why I don't buy people's complaints that the ending 'came out of nowhere') but of course, people tend to forget Death or what she is—both in real life and the story apparently. Especially when Death isn't depicted as terrifying I suppose.

Also, I love that she is compassionate and caring but she's still indiscriminate. She loves everyone the same way—which, in a way, is still cold and cruel to us humans; because in our context, being kind to the cruel is being cruel to the kindhearted. But that's what she is; she is not justice. She is not mercy. She is not punishment. She is just what she is; she is Death—and she is there for all.

Also, I personally think the parts of her that many dubbed as her 'humanity' or the signs that she is 'the most human of all The Endless' has less to do with 'humanity' specifically and more about how she is so close and inseparable to life that we can't recognize her—which is, imho, what makes her so jarring as a non-human being, and what's so terrifying but at the same time, makes perfect sense about the concept she is.

Her speech bubble and dialogue font being the exact same as the regular ones in comics. Her dialogue—the choice of words—that are totally normal, casual, snd familiar (like someone we know. Like a friend). The fact that she has a house which she decorated to her taste—that she has her personal taste. How she keeps goldfishes as pets; it's all so 'human' but we recognise that because we are humans and that how we live—so maybe it's not just about being human but rather being alive.

Either way, we recognise her as one of us: be it as the same being we are or as a being who is alive. She is indistinguishable from what we perceive as normal and natural because that's what Death is: it is as natural to die as it is to be born. Nothing out of place and nothing unsettling about her that we forget that she is there amongst us—she is everywhere. She will always be there. We don't know when we'll see her. We can't recognize her until she said 'time's up'. Thus, many of us live our lives as if she doesn't exist. But she will be there for all.

And forgetting and denying that she has always been there and always will be might make it even more agonizing when she does come for us than it would be if we were to accept that. But either way, she is just what she is. We live our lives because she will be there for us. We live our lives according to how we see her. She is the reflection of our lives and what defines it, but our lives are our own.

That's such a cool depiction of Death, methinks.

Do you ever just stop and think about how if Ernesto hadn’t poisoned Héctor then they could have potentially starred in movies together and double-teamed dance numbers…

I mean I know Héctor wanted to go home but there’s nothing that says that in the future he could have been persuaded to have small parts in Ernesto’s movies as a cameo for them to sing together, especially if he wouldn’t be gone for super long…..

I just want golden age movie dance sequence with the boys 😂

DELTA_EXPERIMENT - Chapter 3-13

[MASTERPOST]

[Discord]

[Art Blog]

- Zaunites dying to help Piltover in battle while wearing enforcer uniforms, even though Piltover did nothing to earn it

- Silco, one of the few pro-Zaun/anti-Piltover characters from season 1, reduced into a mouthpiece for "forgiving those who wronged you" and letting go

- Jinx, one of the few anti-Piltover characters, becoming redeemed by sympathizing with Piltovians, being apologetic for killing Councilors, and feeling like she should die to allow her sister to be happy with her enforcer girlfriend

- Vi not having any problem with her Piltovian enforcer girlfriend gassing Zaun, and reduced to kneeling for Caitlyn's pussy in a prison cell, where she was locked for years as a child by an enforcer

- Jayce telling Viktor that his disease was never a weakness to be cured even though the disease was caused by Piltover polluting Zaun

- Ekko never calling out Heimerdinger's failings as a ruler nor Vi for joining the enforcers (even though he does in the game), and also risking all the Firelights' lives to help Piltover

- Sevika not having any lines in Act 3, never interacting with Jinx or reacting to Isha's death, and also risking her life to help Piltover, a decision which was made off screen

This scene is so good I really love it so much, the blocking and shot composition is great, and tense and I love it.

The way Deckard subtly recoils in disgust

And Silco juuuuuust sliiiiiiightly turns to him and it's like... dude you said the wrong thing.

I LOVE THIS SHOT framing it through the blood-spattered, cracked glass? Amazing choice. And the body language is so good. Only Silco can feel predatory while standing perfectly still and unbothered.

"Power" Silco spits. I made a post earlier commenting on how Arcane uses spit, it's gross. And they do this with Silco a lot. He's icky, he makes your skin crawl. And it was a good choice, because Silco is charismatic and the grossness counterbalances that, it maintains this unsettled feeling about him. If you're starting to like SIlco it helps keep you ambivalent towards him, because ew.

And then yeah this shot is just super cool

Dumbledore is someone I find hard to hate.

He used Harry, he used Remus (let's be honest, he only helped him to have an werewolf at his side of the war) and he used Severus.

He could had tryed to bring Sirius outta Azkaban, like he did with Morfin and that elf, but he didn't. He let Sirius stay there because his freedom would disturb his plans.

He let Harry stay in an abusive household.

He let Sirius get away with attemped murder, while forcing Severus to secrecy. (He obviously didn't gave a shit that he was probably traumatised)

He literely did nothing to stop the Slytherins to turn to Voldemort. (Either because they had no one else to turn to or by influence of their familys)

He treated the gryffindors better than he treated the other houses. (He let his precious gryffindor boys getting away with merciless bullying for 7 years)

But I just re-read HBP and man, he is sweet. He is very sweet. He cares. Maybe not about people that had no use for him, but he did. He cared about the Wizarding World. I dunno what was on his head, it is even harder to understand than what is on Snape's head. I really dunno. Help me.

“I am aware that this request is fundamentally selfish. I can offer no justification for it, no argument in its favor. It is simply the outcome I desire to see the most.”

The Pre-Undertale Timeline 

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A visual compilation of the events before Undertale based on research from @nochocolate​. Special thanks to the mods of NoChocolate for all the help and proofreading! 

Not every event is captured on this timeline, but the main chronological order of events and the rare, specific mentions of dates are included. In order to be as objective as possible, theories and speculation have been omitted. All data has been taken at face value (including possible hyperbole, such as Bratty claiming they’ve been underground for “millennia”).

Source content and in-depth analysis:

[ Undertale takes place in less than a day ] [ How long has Flowey existed? ] [ The Undertale Timeline ] [ Mettaton Added Last Week ]

(Kindly do not delete the comments above.)

Please tell us more about Voldemort's relationship with Severus, and why you think it differs so much from Voldemort's other relationships

Whatever it is that lingers between Tom and Severus—power, manipulation, some dark bond none of us can fully grasp—it naturally ignites chaos in the mind of the beholders. And if you’re eager to feel that burn, I’ll gladly embrace you in it. To you brave, reckless souls, I say this: your wish is my command.

So, here we are, picking apart how Severus Snape—mudblood, poor, and bruised from the heavy hand of a Muggle father—managed to land himself a spot at the table with the most rabid pack of blood purists you’ve ever seen. A table, mind you, he had no business sitting at. The Death Eaters, that tight little clique of privileged purebloods, had no real reason to let in this scruffy little outsider. Sure, Snape was useful. Very useful. His skills were sharp as knives, and he could do their dirty work, get his hands filthy so they didn’t have to. But useful doesn’t mean welcome. Useful doesn’t mean accepted. You know who else was useful? Fenrir Greyback and his mangy lot. They brought terror to the doorsteps of half the wizarding world, and did Voldemort’s cause no small service. But did they get a place at the inner circle? Did they get respect? Hell no. They were the dirt beneath the boots of the real Death Eaters. Useful filth. And then there’s Snape, embodying everything these purists claim to despise—a half-blood with a tainted surname, living in squalor, dragged through the muck by a Muggle brute of a father. By all accounts, Death Eaters should have spat in his face and tossed him out like yesterday’s rubbish. But no. Not only does he get a seat at the table, he rises. He’s placed on a pedestal, standing closer to Voldemort than some of the most loyal, purest-blooded lackeys in the room. Voldemort, in all his cold-blooded glory, didn’t just tolerate Severus. He raised him up, right in front of their sneering, offended faces. Now, here’s where it gets really interesting. If you think Voldemort did this out of some sense of gratitude, you’ve missed the point entirely. Tom Riddle doesn’t do gratitude. That kind of sentiment is beneath him, an alien concept. Voldemort doesn’t reward; he uses. Deeds done in his name are expected, not appreciated. You’re not going to get a pat on the back from a man who thinks the world owes him its loyalty. Snape’s service should’ve earned him nothing more than a brief reprieve from pain. A loosening of the noose around his neck, if he was lucky. That’s Voldemort’s way—keep them all desperate, keep them all afraid. So why did Snape, of all people, get raised up? Why did he, the least likely among them, become a favorite?

Mind, it’s not just me declaring Snape as Voldemort’s favorite. That dark, twisted bond is laced into nearly every interaction between the two, as if something unspoken and festering passes between them. But it’s Narcissa Malfoy who lays it bare. A woman born into the highest echelons of pure-blood privilege, the very foundation on which Voldemort’s so-called supremacy stands, doesn’t hesitate when she calls him “the Dark Lord’s favorite, his most trusted advisor.” Let that sink in.

Here is the wife of Lucius Malfoy, a man whose lineage is steeped in the darkest of traditions. But when her family’s future is on the edge of a wand, when her son’s life dangles by a thread, she doesn’t rely on Lucius, doesn’t turn to Bellatrix. No, she comes to Severus, because deep down, she knows. They all do.

It’s something more insidious, something that slips through the cracks in the floorboards of Voldemort’s ideology. He is the one Voldemort trusts, the one Voldemort leans on, the one whose counsel can shift the dark winds of fate. That is real power, raw and untouchable. Narcissa sees it—how could she not? Even with all her aristocratic pride, even with the weight of her name and her family’s legacy pressing down on her, she understands that none of it means a damn thing next to what Snape has. Narcissa, with her family’s long, proud heritage, has to grovel before someone who, by the very logic of Voldemort’s cause, should be inferior. But Snape is different, and everyone knows it. They may not say it, they may not even want to admit it, but they know. He operates outside the lines, above the fray, immune to the very rules that were meant to keep people like him down. Snape, the half-blood, the one with the muddied past, holds a kind of sway that no one else in Voldemort’s ranks can claim.

Oh, there comes the bitter irony of Peter Pettigrew. After years of scraping and groveling, thinking he’d earned his place in the Dark Lord’s favor, Peter is handed over like a rag for Severus to wring out. Peter, one of the smug Marauders who’d gleefully hounded Snape through school, reduced now to something just shy of a house-elf, bowing and cringing under Snape’s very roof. A cruel twist of fate, no doubt arranged with Voldemort’s signature malevolence. Was this some attempt to plant a spy in Snape's house? Maybe, if you take it at face value. But think for a moment—Voldemort, who couldn’t pry Snape's treachery from his skull with all the power of Legilimency, putting his trust in Wormtail to do the job? The rat that couldn't outsmart a dormitory prank, never mind a master of deception like Severus?

No, this isn’t espionage; this is karma. Cruel, twisted karma orchestrated by the Dark Lord himself. You can almost picture Severus watching Peter scuttle about his house, casting him those withering, superior glances—knowing full well that Tom has given him this indulgence, this little taste of vengeance. Snape treats Wormtail with open contempt, because he knows he can. He knows it’s allowed, expected even. It’s as if the tables have turned in the most bitter of ways, a humiliating reversal of fortune. Pettigrew, who once revelled in Snape’s humiliation, now reduced to the lowest of roles, while Snape—Voldemort’s golden boy—sits at the top. Isn’t it delicious? You’d have to be blind to chalk it up to coincidence. Moreover, Pettigrew’s fate is all the proof you’ll ever need that Voldemort’s rule isn’t founded on something as simple or sentimental as loyalty. Loyalty? Sacrifice? Please. Pettigrew’s life was one long, groveling act of desperation to stay in the Dark Lord’s good graces. You bring your master back from the brink of death itself, and still, all you get is contempt. Voldemort demands service, sure. But service? Guarantees nothing. And when you set Severus and Peter side by side, the question gnaws at you. Why? Why is Snape the favored one, the exception, the enigma in Voldemort’s otherwise brutal, predictable hierarchy? What makes him different? There’s something between them—something that doesn’t follow the usual logic of power and punishment. Voldemort doesn’t just tolerate Snape’s defiance; he rewards it, bends the system to accommodate it. Something unspoken, something hidden behind the masks they both wear, grants Snape a level of favor that Pettigrew could only dream of.

What’s crucial to grasp here is that Voldemort doesn’t spare anyone. His entire ideology is rooted in cruelty, in domination, in the ruthless obliteration of all who oppose him. He doesn’t just eliminate enemies; he obliterates them, wipes them from existence without a second thought. And yet, here’s the anomaly: Lily Evans, mother of Harry Potter, a member of the Order of the Phoenix, and a Muggle-born witch, is offered a chance to live. Live. This decision, however, is directly tied to Snape. Snape had begged Voldemort to spare her, and it is this plea—Snape’s plea—that softens the Dark Lord’s otherwise unyielding cruelty.

To truly grasp the enormity of this act, we need to take a step back and consider Snape’s position in all of this. Remember, Severus was just 21 years old when he found himself pleading with Voldemort, one of the most dangerous dark wizard in history, to spare Lily Evans.

Snape wasn’t the imposing, confident figure we often associate with him thanks to Alan Rickman’s performance—he wasn’t a man exuding quiet menace, seemingly capable of standing toe-to-toe with Voldemort. No, at this point in canon, he was barely more than a boy, a young man fresh out of Hogwarts, with no powerful lineage or wealth to protect him.

And yet, despite this—despite the sheer imbalance of power between them—Snape dared to approach Voldemort. Voldemort. With a plea. Not for himself, but for a Muggle-born witch. At best, Snape’s request might have been laughed off, dismissed as the desperate wish of a foolish young Death Eater. But it wasn’t. For some reason, Voldemort didn’t just tolerate Snape’s plea—he actually acted on it.

Consider how critical this moment was to Voldemort’s larger agenda. At the heart of his entire scheme is a singular, consuming fixation: the annihilation of the child prophesied to be his undoing. Harry Potter is Voldemort’s obsession, the one threat he must eliminate to secure his dominion. The Potters were no longer just enemies—they were the key to his future, and Harry was the focus of his most crucial mission. In this context, sparing anyone even remotely connected to Harry was an extraordinary risk. Leniency wasn’t just unnecessary—it was dangerous. By showing mercy to Lily, Voldemort risked undermining his own carefully constructed agenda. And this wasn’t a moment where Voldemort could afford to make mistakes.

This unprecedented act of “mercy,” this concession Voldemort granted Snape, became the very thing that led to his downfall. Had Voldemort simply killed Lily Evans on the spot, as he did James, she would never have had the chance to sacrifice herself for Harry. The protection her sacrifice invoked—the ancient magic that saved Harry’s life and turned Voldemort’s killing curse back on him—would never have existed. Voldemort, the cold strategist, fell because he didn’t bend for anyone—except, inexplicably, for Snape. And that single, dangerous deviation cost him everything. That’s how it’s all started.

And there it is— how it’s all ends. Voldemort’s final words to Severus Snape before he executes him. But pay attention to how he begins. “Clever man,” he calls him. He suggests that Snape might’ve already known the truth of the Elder Wand’s treachery. Tom would never acknowledge someone’s cleverness if it undermined his own intellectual abilities. If he implies that Snape may have already unraveled the mystery of the Elder Wand, it undoubtedly indicates that Voldemort had recognized Snape’s crucial role in the wand’s problems long before. It’s not just idle chatter or casual flattery. No, it’s a bloody confirmation that Voldemort himself had long ago pieced together the mystery of Snape’s involvement with the wand. This wasn’t some last-minute realization that forced his hand. It wasn’t ignorance that delayed Snape’s death, not at all. It was deliberation. Voldemort, for all his cruelty, wasn’t stupid. He suspected, long before that moment, that Snape was at the center of the problem with the wand’s loyalty. He just chose not to act on it until the very last moment.

He held back from executing him, searching for any other way around the wand’s limitations, trying to find a solution that didn’t involve killing Snape. But when it came down to it, when all other options were exhausted, Voldemort finally made his move.

And what does he do? He delivers a speech. A bloody speech, full of regret and excuses—“I regret what must happen.” Does that sound like the Voldemort we know? The Dark Lord who kills without a second thought, who carves his empire from the bones of the disobedient? Hell no. This is the man who thrives on fear, on swift, brutal punishment. And yet, here he is, delivering justifications like some guilty executioner. This isn’t Voldemort’s usual method. This isn’t the whip coming down fast and hard. This is something altogether more… hesitant.

That speech, soaked in rationalizations, tells us everything we need to know. Snape’s death wasn’t just business—it was personal. It’s a messy, ugly end to the unexplainable dynamic between them. Even at the very end, Voldemort is bending, twisting, trying to justify his actions to the one man who had managed to worm his way under his skin. And in that second, we see something rare—a glimpse of the complexity in their relationship. Voldemort’s usual ruthless efficiency is absent.

His “I regret it,” spoken once more, stands out like a blade in the gut, sharp and unexpected, slicing straight through Voldemort’s usual cold indifference. The Dark Lord, who has never spared a thought for the wreckage in his wake, lets these words hang in the air, unnatural as they are. A man who’s never known the weight of remorse now offers something that almost feels like regret. Not true regret, of course—Voldemort doesn’t have the luxury of feeling something so weak, so human. But still, It’s not a sentiment he offers to anyone else. It’s almost as if Voldemort doesn’t know how to process this lingering attachment, as though Snape’s mere existence demands something from him that Voldemort is incapable of giving. Snape occupies some strange corner of Voldemort’s mind, twisted and dark it may be, that not even the Dark Lord himself seems to understand. Despite the fact that I’ve painted a whole canvas of tangled thoughts on the strange relationship between Severus and Tom, I’ve barely begun to tug at the thread of their inexplicable dynamic. There’s so much more I could unearth, layers of intrigue and tension that ripple through every scene between them, and I could easily go on for hours about the small, delicious details woven into their story. But, as it happens, my full-time job is already sharpening its knife and aiming for my back, so I'll have to bring this whole saga to a close with the following quote:

For me, the intensity of this scene speaks volumes about their relationship, capturing the very essence of what makes these two so bloody fascinating. The way their gaze alone can make Death Eaters flinch under the weight of their unspoken understanding. It’s not fear, not exactly. It’s something colder, something deeper. As though they’re witnessing a bond forged in the dark, a grim understanding that none of them can ever be a part of.

That’s what keeps dragging me back to these two. The tension, the labyrinth of contradictions, the complex tangle of manipulation. I want to look away—hell, I should look away, just like the Death Eaters did. But there’s something about it, something that coils around me, tightening like a serpent’s embrace. Can you blame me?