Unvanquished

https://youtu.be/93wE-2E0b4Q

you know this one: https://youtu.be/YMcGLQ-RZ44

I love writing characters who think they’re fine but are actually walking emotional house fires with bad coping mechanisms.

They stop doing the things they used to love and don’t even notice. Their guitar gathers dust. Their favorite podcast becomes background noise. Their hobbies feel like homework now.

They pick the path of least resistance every time, even when it hurts them. No, they don’t want to go to that thing. No, they don’t want to talk to that person. But whatever’s easier. That’s the motto now.

They’re tired but can’t sleep. Or they sleep but wake up more tired. Classic burnout move: lying in bed with their brain racing like a toddler on espresso.

They give other people emotional advice they refuse to take themselves. “You have to set boundaries!” they say—while ignoring 8 texts from someone they should’ve cut off three emotional breakdowns ago.

They cry at something stupidly small. Like spilling soup. Or a dog in a commercial. Or losing their pen. The soup is never just soup.

They say “I’m just tired” like it’s a personality trait now. And not like… emotionally drained to the bone but afraid to admit it out loud.

They ghost people they love, not out of malice, but because even replying feels like too much. Social battery? Absolutely obliterated. Texting back feels like filing taxes.

They stop reacting to big things. Catastrophes get a blank stare. Disasters feel like “just another Tuesday.” The well of feeling is running dry.

They avoid being alone with their own thoughts. Constant noise. TV always on. Music blasting. Because silence = reckoning, and reckoning is terrifying.

He later Germanized it to Wolfgang Gottlieb Mozart, with "Gottlieb" having the same meaning as "Theophilus" (lit. loved by God)

But get this: The same premise every time, but in wildly different times and places. Victorian England, the gentlemen went fuckshit with some nice sherry, wrote some questionable letters, worked together to compose an absolutely idiotic thinkpiece essay and sent it to the local newsprint (the publishing of it must be stopped) and for some reason there's an ostrich.

A troupe of travelling performers in the late Kofun period wake up in the stables of an inn, and the main plot point is the little beast sleeping on someone's chest. None of them have ever seen a cat before, but one knows enough to tell that those are imperial pets, and whoever's fucking cat that is will both be capable and willing to kill whoever stole it. So they'd better fucking return it.

The knights in charge of protecting the royal family wake up after a heavy night of drinking, celebrating that their leader got engaged to the princess, the most beautiful maiden in the land, only to find that the dragon terrorizing the realm is acting as their mattress, purring like a cat. The head knight and his longtime best friend are wearing matching wedding rings. The most buff one is wearing the princess's iconic dress and has perfectly manicured nails. The court wizard's iconic crystal ball is making concerning sounds in the middle of the room.

The crew of the first manned Mars settlement were sent a few dozen bottles of whiskey in their last supply ship, clearly supposed to last until their next shipment, and certainly more than they could drink in a single night. Yet somehow, they wake up in a strangely shaped cave filled with breathable air (???) and every single bottle of whiskey empty around them. They don't know if they're even still on Mars, but they're definitely not on Earth. None of them can raise Houston. The captain appears to be cuddling with a life form that none of you have ever seen before, but looks alarmingly like a Trible.