#Dust and Error are my favourite ones

[luminousjellyfishy]

(Click for better quality!!!!)

I FINALLY TRIUMPH!!!!!!!!!

IT'S DONE!!!!

This took me SUCH a long time it's not even funny (I started in August and it's now pretty much December)

(there was definitely no procrastination /s)

Anyways yeah I am so very proud of this

Please reblog it!!

Character credits:

Cross: @/jakei95

Killer: @/rahafwabas

Nightmare: @/jokublog

Error: @/loverofpiggies

Dust: @/ask-dusttale

Horror: @/horrortalecomic

[mikimakiboo]

I NEED TO REBLOG THIS ONE I HAVE SO MUCH THINGS TO SAY

FIRST I got scared because I first saw "found" and "Dream" and was like "WHAT ??? 😨" but then it was Error so all good

NOW

They are growing grapes, amazing, and just- tiny baby Nightmare wandering across the vines picking some grapes as a snack- his mouth is purple and everyone knows he stole some grapes but they don't say anything (they do watch out in case he eats too much tho)

AND THEN ERROR

ERROR GOT INTRODUCED

You should know that I love Errormare, I breath Errormare, I eat Errormare, I sleep Errormare, my life depends on it, so seeing it even slightly mentioned ? I'm going crazy (and I do respect you a lot for not making it a pedo relationship, baby has a crush, as every kid does, celebrity crush goes hard, and Error is simply like "it's my favorite person", nothing weird, he just cares about him as a friend, it's adorable)

Baby got a crush yaaaayyy his very first crush, Killer is not happy about it AT ALL

If Error ever visits to see how things are going Nightmare's gonna try and be cool in front of him but he is just a kid, he will eventually do what every kid who wants to seem cool does: show him everything that he owns while being overly excited like "and I got a bat plushie !! Her name is Batsie, I named her myself without help !! She's super big but I can lift her without problem !! Do you want me to show you ?! I'll show you, you wait here !! *sprints back inside to grab his plush*" while Killer is behind looking MAD but Nightmare is happy soooo,,,,

Last thing I promise-

Error making him an octopus plushie I am MELTING

He's gonna make him so much plushies just to ensure he stays his favorite ! Little does he know he's just making the crush bigger

Now remember teen Nightmare with his crocheted hats ? Error definitely made him some when he saw he liked them

Ahhhhhh alright that is adorable I'm gonna stop here lmao it's already 1am and I have driving lessons tomorrow morning-

RealAgeAU Drabble - Found

After some thinking I decided to write this little thing :3

I was thinking between this drabble and one that was about Dream and decided to go for this one.

Mostly because the timing for later in the series is just so much FUNNIER if this one is done first. (you guys will understand later)

First Drabble and original prompt by @spotaus Prev Drabble Next Drabble

No beta and no edits. We jsut going.

*---------------------*

Killer sighs as he rubs the sweat of his skull. You would think it is cooler now than the summer but it hardly matters when you are physically active.

Ugh. He hates cleaning duty.

Still he looks around the area he is cleaning up and grins proudly. They had realised that the decliding cliff was facing the south meaning it had so many sun hours.

Horror had offered they could grow grapes using the cliff side and because those where plants that liked to climb up they could use the vertical area to create more space!

Also leaving the flat area for them to do soemthing else with. Killer had been thinking about trying to convince the others to agree to animals but he may need to plead a bit more for that idea.

Still he looks over at Cross nad Horror, both are setting up trellises along the side to help start to grow. All preparation work for their first season of course.

Tehy hadn't quite decided what they would make of the grapes, maybe even just sell the grapes themselves. But they will figure it out. Killer had offered the obvious wine but he hadn't been too excited about it himself. Seemed like a bad idea to make wine when you have a babybones running around.

Even so. Tehy aren't in a hurry. They first need to manage to grow some to begin with.

Killer stretches his limbs when he hears a strange sizzle. Killer blinks and looks back up the side of the cliff before looking at Cross and Horror confused. Both looking up themselves as they no doubt heard it as well.

They assend their, newly repaired, stairs and get to their normal area. It looks fine but Dust is also out and looking around wiht a frown on his face.

Killer gets to his side "Ngihtmare?"

Dust hums "in the nest. Sleeping with his bat." he looks around again and shoots Killer a look "sound?"

Killer shrugs, he has no idea. Cross shoots upright as he looks up "oh no..."

Killer looks up himself and feels himself freeze. becuase he knows those glitching effects. The sizzling gets louder and with the sound of ripping fabric the very universe opens up.

Moment later a figure they all know appears.

Error blinks as he looks around before spotting them. He huffs annoyed "hello abominations. I am looking for your boss." he looks around and frowns "Why are you in this dump?"

Killer freezes. Waht do they do?! Normally it was Nightmare who contacted Error about things he wanted or shifts or jobs or anything. Error coming to them?! Unusual! Also! How the fuck?!

Killer huffs as he crosses his arms "We are busy. How did you even find us here?" Did they leave traces? Did they mess up? Do they still need to move around again?!

Error looks smug as he jumps down from the roof and lands in front of them soundlessly "I obviously looked into the code of the multiverse, antivoid and void."

Killer feels a part of him relax. While most of them can in someway check a universe's code. Checking the code of the multiverse itself is a skill only Error can reliably do.

Error looks very annoyed as he crosses his arms "Do you ahve any idea how long it took me to find you? It is so annoying! Now. I got to talk business with nightmare. Where is that octopus?" he looks around.

Dust growls and glares at him "leave."

Error blinks and tilts his skull "Since when do you talk?"

Dust keeps glaring "Nightmare doesn't want to see you. Leave. You are not welcome."

Killer must admit Dust has guts but also Dust not the time!

Killer tries to nudge Dust further back but Dust refuses to move from his spot. Oh shit.

Error glares at Dust "You dare try and get in my way? The destroyer!?" he chackles as he raises a hand. Strings slowly appearing in the air "I will show you what happens if you do. Now. How about you-"

"Wait!"

Killer feels his skull freeze as he looks at the door. Oh no.

Error frowns and turns before looking confused at Nightmare. A large error sign in Error's sockets as he just stands there frozen. Nightmare doesn't say a word but just keeps looking at the other god.

Error blinks and slowly turns to Killer and points over his shoulder "you abominations made a tiny abomination?" Error looks utterly confused.

Killer almost wants to laugh at that notion but he just isn't sure what to say. What can he say to make Error leave them be? More importantly what can he say that would keep Error from telling everyone about what he saw here? Where could they even go if Error can just check the code of the multiverse to find them!?

Before Killer cna say anything else Nightmare takes a step closer. A very panicked sound leaves Cross before he just sprints by Error to stand between him and Nightmare. Keepign his arms spread in front of Nightmare as a living shield.

Error frowns at him and studies Nightmare.

Nightmare gulps before he has that same tiny grumpy stubborn look on his face that Killer just adores. Nightmare huffs as he crosses his arms "What? I thought you wanted to talk?"

Error stares and then he takes a step back "what the fuck?"

Killer mutters it before he cans top himself "language" look they all had just been trying to fix their own cursing a bit but it is habit for all of them.

Error dismisses him as he takes a step closer. Cross summons a weapon and growls at Error "Not a step closer. you can talk from a distance."

Error rubs his sockets. Stares at Nightmare. Rubs his sockets again. Stares at Nightmare again. Then he calls up the code screen for this universe. Looks at Nightmare again. the he looks at Killer and just mutters "What?"

Well would you look at that. Aparently even the destroyer hadn't seen everything in the multiverse.

Dust takes this chance to get to Ngihtmare as well and pick him up. he huffs "What is wrong? You are acting like you have never seen a child before."

Error stands there before waving at Nightmare "That is Ngihtmare! The Nightmare?!"

Horror just crosses his arms and raises a brow "so?"

Error blinks and the error messages around him get a bit worse before he waves at Ngihtmare again "So!? Since when is he a child?!"

Killer grins himself even if his soul pulses quickly. He makes a show of leaning against one of their new fenches "I mean. For a while now. Since his birth. Then again his age was frozen when he corrupted so..." he shrugs.

Error stares at him "No?! He wasn't a child?! He was... You know! Adult? dripping goop and tentacles?! Remind you of anything?!"

Killer raises a brow and shrgus "yeah. Turns out? Not an adult. Just a babybones with magical god apples making a corruption shield around him and temporarily giving him the body he needed to do his god thing." Killer figures it is fine to tell Error. Error will be able to find out anyway and honestly they don't need Error being mad at them for lying.

Error stares at him. Looks back at Ngihtmare. then looks back at Killer for a moment "you aren't shitting me? You are fucking serious?"

Killer sends him a look "dude. seriously. there is a six year old here. Try to not swear." he shrugs and walks over to join Cross and Dust, and Horror for that matter. Killer continues speaking as he walks "It is hardly needed to curse the whole time."

Nightmare shoots him a look and mutters "hypocrit."

Killer grins "you know my tiny boss!" he grins and pokes the tiny cheek. Nightmare looks away embarresed and flustered. mh... weird.. normally he doesn't mind the poking...

Error frowns as he looks to the side before looking at Nightmare "So what now? No goop?"

Ngihtmare glances at Error for a moment before nodding. It takes him a bit to find the right words. Nightmare still speaks softly but with how quiet it is his voice still seems loud "I... I am sitll a god... I think... Just not of balance anymore. I can't do stuff with that anymore..."

Error stares at them for a moment. looks around the area. Then looks down thinking. there is a small loading bar showing his thought process.

It hits full and he straightens "well... I am leaving." he turns to the side adn starts to mess with a coding window again.

Killer frowns "That is it?!"

Error pauses and shrgus "obviously? I was looking for Nightmare, you know, king of negativity and god of balance and all that sh-... stuff..." he glances at them before looking back at the window "Nightmare isn't that anymore. So I will have to figure something else out."

Cross looks anxious as he steps forwards "No one can know! If they know...." he rubs his hands "Just... please..."

Error pauses again and shrugs "Don't see the point in sharing. After all. He isn't the god of negativity. And when people ask about him they want to find the gooped up bas- guy who had all powerful magic and abilities... Why give them the location of a child and his group of babysitters?" and Error disappears through a portal.

A long silence.

They... are fine?

That... that was pretty much him saying he wouldn't tell anyone right?

Like... They are good?

Killer glances at the others and they all share slightly unsure looks. Nightmare however looks at where Error disappeared.

Nightmare just stares before getting a very tiny grin as he hides his face a bit and mutters "he is cool..."

Killer freezes. Nightmare's tiny blush. the embarresment. the way he tried to looks tough and controlled and cool... before when Ngihtamre always searched Error out. The fact Nightmare was always very willing and easy about helping Error even if it hardly helped his own goal.

No.

No absolutely not!

Killer turns to Nightmare and makes him look at him. Ngihtmare huffs and looks annoyed while Killer stares at him "No."

Dust shoots him a look "Killer what are you even saying-"

Killer continues as he stares at Nightmare "No. No crushing on Error. I don't care he is technically the only other god who was nice to you or was understanding about your work. You are not allowed to have a crush on him. He is dangerous and crazy and you can do so much better."

Ngihtamre has a lsightly panicked look on his face as he looks away and mutters "I don't... he is jsut..."

Cross blinks before laughing "Killer calm down. It is just a little crush. Kids have those all the time."

Killer shakes his skull "Nightmare will evnetually grow up again!" may take them ages or not. Hell they don't know how gods grow up but still! Killer isn't allowing it! No way! He looks back at Ngihtmare "You are too young and too tiny to even think about liking others like that so stop that. And even if you do start thinking like that WHEN you are an apropriate age! You aren't allowed to like him because he is crazy and you deserve so much better!"

Horror chuckles "what is the appropriate age?"

Killer's mind blanks before he answers "When he is thirty! Physically! AT LEAST!" and even then Killer isn't sure about it.

Cross snorts "you aren't even thirty... physically."

Killer huffs "And I am a bad example. We don't do what i do." he stares at Ngihtmare.

Nightmare just looks down embarresed before pushign his face back into Dust's shoulder.

Killer will accept that answer for now. But maybe he will need to look through the stuff they have. Clearly no romance novels or movies are allowed anymore. He will have to check it all. Honestly what are those people thinking?! Showing romance to such young minds!

Cross snorts and leans closer to Dust "Somehow I did not expect Killer to be the anti-date parent. Yet here we are."

Dust hums "same. expected it to be me."

Horror chuckles as he leads them back inside.

They still remain watchful and pack some emergancy bags. If they notice even the tiniest sign that their location is compromised they are leaving. They give Crop and update and ask him to watch out as well.

But..

Nothing happens.

Not even a peep.

Nothing.

days go by and they slowly start to relax and get into their own rhythm again. Cleaning and repairing stuff. Getting ready for the next spring and talking with some town folk.

Today is a day that Killer, Dust and Nightmare are just laying in their nest watching an old western movie on the repaired tv, thank you Dust.

It is nice and calm untill.

sizzling.

Killer shoots upright and a small portal opens up. only for a black skeleton hand to drop something through it before it closes again.

It had fallen right in Nightmare's lap and Ngihtmare blinks confused at the small hastly packed present.

Dust looks over his shoulder and a check later and it seems fine. Dust nudges Nightmare and Nightmare first opens the small card.

Killer leans close and reads wiht them.

It is just a card saying 'so he knows which side to aim towards when he grows up.'. Which, weird.

Nightmare blinks at it before opening the present and he lets out a tiny gasp.

Killer stares as he sees a small woolen doll octopus. It is bright purple with a tiny grumpy face on it.

Nightmare feels the plush carefully as he stares at it with pure awe. A tiny purr starts to leave their baby bones.

Killer is going to have to make plans in advance to make sure that WHEN Nightmare is a teen he doesn't try and hang out with Error. Killer will also have to figure out how to successfully threaten a god.

On his 'to do' list it goes.

*---------------------*

First Drabble Prev Drabble Next Drabble

Also Also

Error finds them

gang: *panic*

Error leaves again because whatever but leaves a little plush for Nightmare.

Gang: ... okay.

Nightmare hugging the plush: I did always think he was real cool... *slightly wishful stare*

Killer realises baby has a first crush: ... *PANIC TIMES FIVE* absolutely not!

[koishua]

★. 𝐄𝐍— and the orange peel theory.

! © 𝗞𝗢𝗜𝗦𝗛𝗨𝗔 𝟮𝟬𝟮𝟰, 𝗔𝗟𝗟 𝗥𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧𝗦 𝗥𝗘𝗦𝗘𝗥𝗩𝗘𝗗.

starring hee, jay, jake. + their version of the orange peel theory

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐇𝐄𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐔𝐍𝐆

he doesn't think anything of it when he snaps your chopsticks in two for you from where he is positioned across you. the plastic chairs in front of the convenience store upon which you're seated on aren't the most comfortable, the sharp edges digging into your skin on occasions when you fidget around trying to find a way to strike up a conversation with the man you can't bare to label as your friend now.

the bamboo sticks now rest on top of the lid of your bowl of instant ramen, currently waiting to be fully cooked within the three minute time frame the instructions had given you. you notice how they hadn't split equally, one having snapped away a small portion of the other side with it. the irony of it all feels comical when you detach yourself from the situation you're currently trying not to run away from.

heeseung doesn't say much as you hesitantly take the broken utensil. he can only pretend to awkwardly observe the engravings in the table, occasionally glancing at the dainty chain of the necklace hiding under your collar. it had been his fingers to graze against the skin of your neck to clasp it together for you. he wonders what hurts more; remembering, or having to force himself to forget about it all?

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐘

the house is quiet, had been for hours now, except for your frantic breaths and hurried stomps while darting from room to room, trying to find your bearings as the time ticks by much too quickly for your liking. the alarms you'd set for your lecture hadn't rung (they had, actually— no one would dare to disagree, however), which had naturally resulted in you running late for it yet again.

your lips lift lopsidedly moments after the neatly framed picture of the happiest moment of your life catches your eye as you try to put on the stubborn socks you'd fished out from the drawer on your side of the bed. jay had always been beautiful, even back when he still had that boyish smirk constantly plastered over his face, hair a mess.

you make a mental note to wipe away the dust that had started to form a thin sheet over the wooden frame, though that too is quickly forgotten when you realize that he'd very kindly filled up your bottle with water and placed it next to the most comfortable shoes you owned he'd laid nearly on the floor by the door, certain of your forgetful habits.

━━━━━━━━━━━ 𝐉𝐀𝐊𝐄

layla's tail wags excitedly at the sight of the treat in your hands that you leave for her to enjoy. smoothing over the gingham sheet before laying back on the lap of your favourite person in this universe and the next, from where you look up at him, the sun blazing in the sky makes it look like he's emitting a heavenly glow. fitting for someone like sim jake.

days like this don't come by often for either of you, so having you right by him, the weather as beautiful as it could ever get. this is what he'd describe heaven to feel like. every part of his body beats with the insatiable desire to always have you as close to him as possible, day and night.

the cool breeze is a constant visitor to your little spot by the beach, a welcome addition to the already magical day. realising that he'd gotten lost in his thoughts, he looks down at your serene expression, off somewhere in dreamland, most likely. his thumb gently traces under your eyes, a ghostly touch afraid of waking you up from your deserved rest. he unclips the hair accessories he can see tugging and digging into your skin before adjusting the shade to cover your eyes.

this is his dreamland.

notes from vie: couldn't help it with the hee angst y'all im sorry it's a koishua must. it was very mild tho so yeah enjoy please i haven't exercised my enha writing skills in ages and as always pls reblog muah muah ignore any errors i haven't got the energy to correct them myself 🍊🍊

[midnighvtm4ss]

A scenario I often imagine is Arthur drawing you while you show him your favorite music. Him simply worshiping your body, making you his muse and capturing it in his journal forever ��⁠˖

thank you so much for your request !

You’re my first request im super super excited !! I hope you like it and that I met your expectations even though it’s a quick read <3

highhonor!arthur morgan x f!reader

warnings: maybe a bit suggestive but mostly fluff, wrote this on my notes app so grammar errors for sure sorry :(

wc: 1.2k

“Wanna put some music on f’me sweetheart ?”

The deep rumble of Arthur’s voice muffled in the crook of your neck broke the silent shared bubble of intimacy that surrounded both your naked bodies.

His hands holding you close to him, tracing abstract shapes on your back as you both came down from your highs, a very well-deserved peace after the events of the past month.

The mood around your fellow camp members was slowly starting to get better after escaping the cold claws of Colter’s harsh climate, which trapped the gang in an endless white desert of snow for several weeks with little to no food and an abundance of regret regarding the failed robbery and the miraculous escape from Blackwater.

Although the evening air was still a bit chilly in Horseshoe Overlook camp, being only the early start of spring, one could sense hope warming all your hearts, melting away some of the sorrow and disappointment that the failed robbery and the loss of young Jenny and the Callander brothers left you.

Dutch, more than anyone else, clinging to this glimmer of hope, trying to keep everyone’s faith in the gang.

The wind whistling through the flaps of your and Arthur’s shared tent made a shiver run up your naked body as you made your way from your shared cot where you two were laying, to Dutch’s gramophone, which was opposite the bed, kindly lent to Arthur for a few days.

A small thin cloud of dust and dirt rose up from where your hands flipped through Dutch’s records, eyes scanning meticulously trying to find some of your favourite ones.

Behind you, you could hear the shifting sound of the thick cotton sheets as Arthur moved into a sitting position, his eyes automatically glued to your seductive form like a moth to a flame.

“A ha ! Here it is” you softly exclaimed as you finally found the record you were looking for, the one that never failed to put your mind at ease whenever Dutch would play it around camp.

Sliding it out of the wooden box, careful not to scratch it, you put it on.

As the soft melody of ‘The Flower Duet’ filled the rather small space of your tent you started to sway to the rhythm of the song.

“Sous le dôme épais, où le blanc jasmin à la rose s'assemble”

Turning back to look at Arthur, you found him already looking at you, his aqua irises mixing with yours for a second before quickly looking down his lap and scribbling in his worn leather journal, his face relaxed and a small hint of a smile making its way into his chapped lips.

“What you writing in there ?” you asked softly, body still swaying to the sweet rhythm of your favorite song, a shy smile creeping up your face.

“Nothin’, just some quick…” he took a moment to finish his sentence as he looked back at you, eyes flying to catch every single inch and detail of you.

How the light from the small lamp on the night table made your skin glow and your curves even more defined with the contrast from the darkness of the night sky outside, your french braids, all untidy from the intimacy shared before, shifting with every move you made.

In this moment in his eyes, you were the definition of a goddess, his poor mortal heart struggling to keep an even pace near you.

“…thoughts.” he exhaled the last word, licking his chapped lips before flipping through some pages of his journal seemingly filled with various sketches.

“Ah! Glissons en suivant doucement glissons, de son flot charmant”

As a comfortable silence fell between the two of you with only the soft melodic sound floating in the air and the scraping of Arthur’s pencil on paper you continue to sway, your mind floating away carried by the suave voice of the singer, unaware that the man sitting on your bed is engraving this peaceful and intimate moment forever on paper for his eyes and his heart only to see.

“Dans l'onde frémissante, d’une main nonchalante, gagnons le bord”

His eyes were bright and focused on how to draw your mesmerizing face, afraid of not portraying your unworldly beauty right on paper, so focused that he was slightly surprised when your soft arms wrapped around his torso as you climbed back to your cot, planting a small kiss on his bearded cheek making his heart skip a few beats.

As you rested your head on his shoulder you looked down on his lap expecting to find a doodle or a quick thought scribbled away in his perfect cursive handwriting, but instead, your eyes were met with a full sketched page of you dancing near the gramophone.

With cheeks of a deep red and wide eyes, you looked at Arthur, trying to say something but failing as your heart filled with even more adoration for the not so cold hearted outlaw beside you.

“Sous le dôme épais où le blanc jasmin, ah !Descendons, ensemble!”

Your relationship with Arthur was relatively new, barely six months, and in those six months of relationship you would often catch Arthur sitting somewhere quiet and isolated with his journal, sometimes writing stuff down or sometimes moving his pencil in quick strokes which you guessed were doodles of stuff he would see every day, but you would have never guessed how talented he was in his art.

“Well it ain’t much of a picture” he murmured, a faint, almost imperceptible blush covering the apple of his cheeks, feeling self conscious of his skills under your attentive gaze.

“Oh you silly man, it’s beautiful, Arthur” you quickly reprimanded him with an awestruck tone, your index finger gently caressing the drawing careful not to put much pressure and smudge the graphite version of you.

“Can I see more of your drawings ?” you asked him, meeting his unsure gaze which was already on you, with your hopeful lovesick one. After a quick internal struggle, he fully put his journal in your hands, giving you full permission to explore this new side of him.

As you flipped through the pages you started to see fewer drawings of plants, animals and views and more drawings of you, from portraits to full body.

He carefully captured in each drawing every single detail of you, your beauty stuck graphite to paper, making you look like a lady every painter would fight for the opportunity to draw.

With each passing page, you also noticed how some drawings featured you in more intimate moments, some when you were asleep or braiding your hair, but one in particular made you stop your flipping, heart racing as a deep blush rushed to your whole face.

On a rather empty page, on the left bottom corner there was a drawing of you naked, splayed on the bed, your expression one of pleasure with your hands seemingly caressing your body.

You stared at the drawing for a full five seconds before Arthur noticed what you were looking at and snatched closed his journal in embarrassment his eyes avoiding yours.

“Well, that’s for another time sweetheart.”

[antlered-prince]

The ValRayne Faeu Masterpost

Decided to finally make a masterpost for @owl-bones and I's fae au! This will be updated when I remember and contains all the relevant info and designs you might want (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)

You can find more under the #valrayne-faeu tag on both of our blogs. Feel free to also use this tag or tag either of us in anything you make!

Last updated: 2/7/2024

Designs

Finished Dream (full body soon) Blue (will get a slight revamp) Ink Nightmare Killer (will also get a small revamp) WIPs Horror Dust (wings) Cross Error (wings)

How tall is everyone?

World Building

Designing OCs/Self-Inserts - ONE | TWO | THREE | FOUR Can a human become fae? And visa versa? What kind of insect wings are associated with each court? What determines which Court you end up in? Rejecting becoming fae What if a fae tears off their own wings? Trying to return to the mortal realm early after being trapped Primary rules of interacting with the fae How big are the fae? What does the fae realm look like? How do you get to the fae realm? What might the fae find intriguing enough to take someone to their realm? Is there something unpleasant about the fae realm? Why wouldn't people enter the fae realm willingly? What would happen if you trick and fae instead? If a fae steals a concept can you trade it back? Iron, rowan and four leaf clovers What if a mortal manages to escape? Can fae and humans have children? Changelings Can fae be killed in some way? Do the Courts overlap our world? How knowledgeable is the average mortal? How do fae feel about Integrity souls? What is the aspect of Integrity souls that fae share? Why do fae trick people? Do fae normally have so many names? Enemies/Predators of the fae? How is a fae born? How were Dream and Nightmare born? Who is the most dangerous? Where do Dream and Nightmare stand in regards to each other?

Character Specific Asks

Dream If you can't lie, why avoid eye-contact? (Art) How can we trust you if you could be lying? Some insight on Fae Dream If Dream finds humans so interesting, why does he change them? Bird MC Drabble (ft Dream & Nightmare) Bird MC Drabble - Does Dream feel remorse? Bird MC Drabble - Can we make him understand the culture difference? Bird MC Drabble - Is there anything we can say to change his mind? What would Dream do in exchange for affection? (Art) Why is affection a big deal? Anonymous Dream Drabble He's totally non-threatening guys (Art)

Blue Blue and his conflicting values and nature (Art) I'd let him trick me (Art) I want to hug him! (Art) Who did this to you? (Scar)

Ink I'd use him as a model for painting (Art) What can I get with..... (Art)

Nightmare What is Nightmare's goal? Does Nightmare have a favourite trick? What would happen if he met his match? What's the best deal Nightmare has made? (Art) I would die to get my hands on that book What flowers are in the book? Nightmare's favourite flower? What would he want in exchange for a kiss? (Art) If we stay, would he be willing to give us information instead? If I stay for the (eternal) evening, where would I stay? What happens if we fall asleep in his library? (notes on Dream's garden & library) Nightmare would move us? (Library) If I asked for a hug, would he give one? Can I pet his wings? What is Nightmare's favourite noise/sound? Nightmare's wings (Art)

Killer What's Killer's favourite trick?

Dust What is Dust like?

Multiple Characters Who stole the ability to lie? Who is the liar theory (Art) Who would appreciate mortals being hard to trick? Names that Dream and Nightmare have collected Any Papyrus-type fae? (OG AUs design ideas) Can I hug Dream and Nightmare? Dream and Nightmare - Someone who didn't want to leave (Abusive family) Which fae are most likely to accidentally in-debt themselves? Someone staring while they talk because their voice is pretty (Reactions)

Other helpful refs

Beetle wing origami

[llamagoddessofficial]

Since you did Dust, Error, and Nightmare’s romantic headcanons, will you do Killer’s romantic headcanons next?

(Sorry if this has already been asked)

Tehe, why not. These are my personal headcanons for romantical Killer

Out of all of the bad guys, he's definitely the one who has the least issue accepting that he's head over heels. With the others, there's a degree of resistance to their own feelings- Killer? Not at all. He knows exactly how much he likes you, from moment one. He'll make it everyone else's problem.

When he's in love, he acts like a schoolboy with an overwhelming crush. He'll do anything to get your attention. He loves to affectionately tease you- his aim is to get you riled up, playfighting, looking at him. If you engage, it's clear in his big, stupid grin and faint blush that he feels like he's won.

He's got a thing for big displays of affection. Expect comically large bouquets of flowers, sappy poems performed on one knee, boxes of your favourite sweets anytime you look remotely upset. Even if he's not your boyfriend yet he completely owns the 'boyfriend who loves his partner a tad too intensely' stereotype.

Though you do generally calm him down and quieten his bad thoughts, if he hears a single word against you (from anyone) he'll immediately go to defcon 1. Knives out, smile gone. He'll need to be talked down from murder.

Loves Valentines. For obvious reasons

Most of his terms of endearment for you are cat-related. Even though the true reasoning is very sweet and personal (he's drawing clear parallels between you and his absolute favourite creature in existence) he always plays it off as a joke when you ask. "it's because if i treat you right, you'll meow for me~"

His dream is you, him, an apartment in the city, and two cats who have very silly names.

The weird thing about Killer, is that a relationship with him is going to look shockingly normal. The other bad guys come with so much baggage, so many hangups... Killer is a funny, loving, attentive boyfriend. He knows how to tease without being antagonistic or taking it too far, he's cuddly, likes to engage with whatever you're interested in.

If you can de-escalate the bouts of murderous intent, and not get spooked by the occasional reminder that his empathy for those he doesn't care about is entirely performative... Killer is very easy to be with.

[diagonal-queen]

hii! can i request hunting dogs with clumsy s/o?

Hunting Dogs with a clumsy S/O

♡ pairing: Fukuchi Ouchi, Jouno Saigiku, Tecchou Suehiro, Teruko Okura, Tachihara Michizou x gn!Reader

♡ synopsis: What are the Hunting Dogs like with an S/O who's clumsy?

♡ cw: Swearing, mentions of getting hurt/bumping into things/getting accidental cuts, mention of alcohol

note: It's been a while since I actually posted some proper writing. I genuinely do apologise you guys- there's not really any good excuse for me taking as long as I have. Long work hours and bad home life combined have me absolutely fuckin spent, but I know that's also the case for other writers who still manage to produce work on at least a semi-regular basis. I just wanna try and get on top of some of my reqs that've been gathering dust in my drafts lmao. Thank you guys for your support and I love you all <3 apologies for errors and I hope you enjoy x

Fukuchi:

I'm gonna be so real with you right now bro literally doesn't care

Like he gives absolutely no fucks that you're clumsy. Fuck you could trip into one of his many barrels of alcohol and fully destroy it and he just wouldn't even be mad

He'd just help you up and be like 'ah you're so cute when you trip over and faceplant and destroy my stuff <33' (probably not that far from verbatim to be honest)

I genuinely don't know what else to tell you other than 'he doesn't care', because he doesn't. Any mess you make, he'll have it cleaned up. Any precious item you break, he'll just replace it.

His only real concern is you somehow hurting yourself, but even then he's not really that worried because he'll find some insanely talented doctor to fix you right up. It wouldn't be an inconvenience for him at all

(Fukuchi IS a sugar daddy and nobody except me has ever acknowledged it and it's lowkey bothering me like c'mon be so for fucking real guys)

All this being said, he probably wouldn't let you carry something extremely valuable like amenogozen (not like he would let you carry it anyway, but your clumsiness does contribute to his overprotectiveness of that stupid dumbass sword)

As always, he will get pissed if anyone else gives you a hard time for your clumsiness

Your whole dynamic is basically just Ozzie and Fizz lowkey

He really just lets you do your thing honestly, he doesn't care whether it's imperfect or whatever. If you're clumsy, then clumsiness is automatically cute tf

Jouno:

Jouno's like the total opposite of clumsy, literally every particle of his being is perfectly coordinated at all times

So he might be upset at first to learn that your motor skills aren't as up to scratch as his are.

You need to remind him that hey, how does he expect a regular ass person to measure up to a genetically modified super soldier? (which is a totally fair argument that even he doesn't rebut)

And after some consideration he's like 'okay fair' and tries to get used to your clumsiness. Keyword being 'tries'; he's not always perfect at tolerating it, but he's doing his best and that's what counts

If you're the kind of person who curses when you stub your toe (or god forbid that thing where you bump your hipbone on the corner of the table for some reason), he's totally cool with that. He's fully okay with swearing

He just doesn't really like when you randomly yell or cry out in pain really loudly/right near him because of the auditory overload

If you cry he will take the time to calm you down and kiss whatever part of your body you hurt better (pretends to hate it but absolutely doesn't)

Uses your clumsiness as an excuse to hold your hand when you guys go out together <3 he also likes feeling your pulse speed up when he touches you

Will randomly pull you in certain directions while you guys are out walking and when you're like 'why?' he'll be like 'you were about to walk into a pole sweetheart' then you turn back around and yeah he was right

Tecchou:

One of my favourite versions of Tecchou is aloof himbo Tecchou so that's what we're going with. Anyways he would be like '...just stop dropping things tf'

It doesn't take him that long to accept that fact that sometimes you're just clumsy without being able to control it and he probably shouldn't trust you with dangerous or fragile object

It probably secretly annoys him a bit at first but he doesn't wanna make you feel bad about

His attention quickly turns to prioritising your safety, so ultimately he doesn't really care

He's really strong so a lot of the time if you have to carry something heavy he just offers to carry it instead. Not only will he be saving you from back pain but he may also potentially be preventing your toes from being shattered under the weight of whatever you would have been carrying

Tecchou would want to cook for you to keep you away from all the kitchenware and appliances, but you don't let him because you know he'll whip up something absolutely abhorrent. Even if you sometimes get nicked with knives or touch hot pans, it's better than eating his food (sorry Tecchou)

He wouldn't want you to leave your place on your own if the weather is rainy or something because that means the pavement/ground is slippery (if you ask him to carry you the chance of him saying yes is surprisingly high actually)

If you ever bump into him, he'll act nonchalant about it but he would be blushing and sweating and shaking and panicking and screaming crying throwing up hyperventilating fanboying dying

Teruko (platonic):

Like most...general traits that a human could have, Teruko would probably make fun of you for it at first

Eventually her teasing would become more lighthearted and silly instead of genuine, but if anyone else tried to bully for you it it's on SIGHT

Teruko can be clumsy sometimes, but more often than not it's just harmless things like carrying a stack of documents and not making sure to secure it so that sheets of paper don't fly off the top

When it comes to her physical strength and combat everything she does is very intentional and coordinated. If you see her actively being clumsy she probably really does not care about what she's doing lol

She's the kind of person to do dart and knife throwing for fun but if you're even in close range of a blade she freaks out and worries that you're gonna fatally wound yourself somehow

If you do end up getting hurt she'll help fix up your injury, like cleaning wounds or bandaging you up or whatever, but she'll chide you about it the whole time (she's hiding the fact that she's secretly super concerned for you)

Absolutely has a phone recording of you tripping and eating shit and always threatens to send it to people unless you buy her food or something like that lmao

Unlike Jouno or Tecchou she's a little bit of a prick and doesn't warn you when you're about to bump into something and then laughs when you bump into said something

I mean she won't let you get hurt hurt but also seeing people get hurt is funny sometimes lmao

Tachihara:

Let's not pretend that this motherfucker isn't also a clumsy bastard

C'mon the two of you are constantly tripping over your own feet let alone each other's feet. You're an accidental chaotic dual MESS

I mean Tachihara is a little less clumsy than you, being a Hunting Dog and all, but if he's sleep-deprived or drunk or something like that he is a literal safety hazard. He definitely doesn't realise how much of a unit he is

As such, he doesn't really mind that you're also clumsy. If you drop things or whatever he doesn't get upset, just helps you pick/clean them up like the sweetheart he is

Also tries to catch you if you trip over (his success rate is improving steadily) but may also fall over in the process so you never really know

He uses his metal manipulation to keep you from getting hurt. If you're in the kitchen and you're about to drop a pot on the ground he catches it before it lands on your feet. Is he really your man if he doesn't use supernatural abilities to keep you from dropping shit

Pretty much every room in the house is stocked with bandaids just in case. You guys almost always have tons of matching ones, along with bruises and random little sores that you have no memory of attaining

Again, if you're the type of person who swears when you stub your toe, the absolute horrific vulgar language that comes out of Tachihara's mouth when he stubs his toe puts you to SHAME

You're as equally concerned for his wellbeing as he is for yours. You both take good care of each other's physical health where you can

taglist~ ♡ @gettinshiggywithit, @fyodorhatr, @flower-of-darkness, @bejeweledgirl

[gayhorrorsans]

shakes you

head canons that make you insane about the bad or star sans?

okok this can be taken two ways

Insane as in AHHH I LOVE THIS

or insane as I'M GONNA HURT YOU

So I'll do both, starting with the first one.

Stars:

I find it amazing when Dream is given less innocence, but also isn't an asshole. I know this isn't really a 'headcanon', but the amount of times Dream is either some innocent toddler or an asshole is ridiculous. Like give him morals and stuff that he might lash out at but come on.

Dream having possession of something that reminds him of Passive Nightmare, a journal or some pictures. Maybe something like Basil's photo album from Omori.

When they aren't all assholes... AHHH I LOVE IT. I know this is the bare minimum but the stars have been butchered by the fandom so badly ☹️

Ink knowing about some AU details, but not all. It's more interesting, he may forget some of it anyway, as he's very forgetful.

Swap not being yandere.

Them being friends, I don't like them having drama, or at least if they do they can ignore it to protect the multiverse.

Most of my headcanons focus on the bad sanses since that's how I maintained my interest in the fandom. I've always preferred villains in stories. There's probably more I'm just not remembering. I know theres more it's just not coming to mind

Bad Sanses:

Dadmare is a headcanon I have always LOVED. it's not my main au, so depending on how I want a story to go, I may adjust characters, but Dadmare is a guilty pleasure.

Headcanons that delve deep into the mental of them. How Horror is mentally, Dust is, Killer is, Cross, error etc.

Speaking of that, Cross being a part of the bad sanses is a must, or he must be at least aligned with them (I'll discuss what this means in another post) and Error must occasionally work alongside them, and would have a room at the castle.

BRO I could yap for ages oml.

A general idea that Horror, Killer and Dust cancel out each other flaws. Horror is amazing physically, Dust is amazing magically, Killer is a mix. They all balance out another. Like I'm not saying Horror is gonna wipe the floor with with Murder, but he would certainly stand a chance, and given a chance, would easily win. Killers a Jack of all trades, hes fantastic magically and physically, but doesn't specialise. However since he has both he can use his skills to confuse apponents.

Silly Killer is funny.

okay this is actually kind of hard to write about. I can do bad headcanons easier. So in no particular order:

Making Fell abusive towards Lust

Making the Fallen Starts exist... I've seen them properly executed less than 5 times.

Making Horror act EXTREMELY feral (I do like it, but there's a line... and people treat it like a fucking jump rope.)

Making Nightmare extremely horrible. I don't mean he has to be a dad, but I personally have a limit, I like the angst, it's just not what I'd personally have in my AU.

The Bad Sanses becoming 'good', maybe they're not as bad as people thought, but making them good I don't like.

I think my least favourite headcanon of all time would probably be like Classic being on the star sanses.

I LOVE MY BOY CLASSIC OKAY. AND I WANT HIM NEUTRAL. And when he joins the stars for some reason he veomes super emo and depressed and shit and suddenly has an alter ego like this is some Jeckyl and Hyde. I don't like him being on the star sanses AT ALL.

Okay I'm writing these so Im forgetting them... I'll update if I remember anymore.

but my fav one I love to see.

is where classic IS one of the MTT. Classic is Dust or Killer mainly.

CAUSE OMG

the stories you can make. the animations you can make. THE ART. oh my lord. guys

😼 Heh. if you're struggling for ideas on what to draw yknow 😉😼 there's an idea 😊😊

[dseval]

ArchiveVerse Cross

(sorry if the quality is butchered everyone Ibis paint is uncooperative today)

Finally, i'm able to work on ArchV content, with my favourite character, Cross. More under the cut.

Cross is the first one to get a 'reference sheet' or a character intro, since he's the first one to kickstart this AU too. Expect more ArchiveVerse charcaters to receive the treatment in the future.

(though for now Delta is next, because i absolutely hate his current archv design, and i'm redoing it. If you had anyone you're interested in seeing next, please tell me.)

I actually don't know how to format this post, though, so sorry if the information is all over the place (or if it's too much information). To understand most of the things I write here, please refer to my ArchiveVerse post.

★Info★

Cross, a student from the Omega Public School (OPS), used to be a normal student. That is, until he got caught in trouble along with Ink and a student from Juvie, Error. Ink was let off scot free, but Cross wasn't so lucky. Due to the troubles he caused, he was quickly arrested and thrown to the Juvenile Containment. Much to his own displeasure.

There, as much as he distances himself, he made friends with the other students contained there (Dust, Killer, Horror, and Nightmare). Though, it doesn't deter him from grinding hard for credits and speedrunning his community service to be released fast and quick from Juvie. He succeeded.

After graduating from the Juvenile Containment, Cross returned to OPS, and swore to just become a normal student, avoiding having himself thrown into Juvie again. He tries his best to steer clear from trouble, though the other Juvie students seem to bring that trouble to him, often dragging him along to their mischief.

Quick facts:

His height is 180 cm (probably he's the third tallest character in archv)

Cross's powers are Lightning, and on the side, he has small matter manipulation powers, able to break down molecules, though he hasn't explored his capabilities with this yet.

His powers are volatile, and he still had difficulties controlling it. Occasionally he'd accidentally zap someone when he touched them. Purple sparks of lightning also fizzle out of his fingertips when he's flustered or nervous.

He wears at least three layers of clothing.

Cross has been described as handsome, with long legs.

He rides his bicycle everywhere, often going for rides in the weekend too.

Cross always brings his school bag whereever he goes, in it are chocolate energy bars, and other utilities.

His eyelights are starry whenever he's overjoyed (this is his swap sans trait guys)

Every student in OPS has their own house, Cross makes sure to keep his living space tidy and neat.

Character relationships:

(These are only the ones i can mention off the top of my head)

Cross and Dream hangs out sometimes. To drink latter or get breakfast. Cross really admires him.

He often hangs out at the arcade with Delta, Epic, and Color. Delta seems somewhat hellbent on beating him at anything, Cross felt like he can't lose. Epic and Color plays a cooking game.

Dust, who was banned from entering most merch stores and malls, often sent Cross for fetch quests to get him any new Ice-e merch. Cross finds this annoying but obliges.

Killer and him often zap each other back in juvie, he still have black spots and bruises in several parts of his body. Nowadays, they still zap each other sometimes, Killer mostly for teasing— and Cross, on accident.

Horror and him often went to all-you-can-eat events together, they also exercise together occasionally.

Even out of Juvie, Cross still calls Nightmare by 'boss'. Nightmare finds it embarrassing of him.

Cross rarely met Ink, still somewhat wary that Ink will drag him into some sort of trouble. Though, he doesn't hate him.

Credits (please tell me if I missed anyone!):

Cross Sans by Jakei

Artstyle inspired/taken directly from Mx2j, one of the artists for Blue Archive. The character intro format itself follows Blue Archive.

Mentioned characters: Dream & Nightmare Sans (Joku), Dust Sans (Ask-Dusttale blog), Killer Sans (Rahafwabas), Horror Sans (SourAppleStudios), Ink Sans (Comyet/Mye bi), Error Sans (CrayonQueen/LoverofPiggies), Epic (yugogeer012), Delta (AnimatedZorox), Color (superyomna)

[hp-hcs]

am just gonna bombard you with requests until instructed otherwise because i've found my new favourite writer✨

but how about the theo's x obscurus male reader (yandere or not, both theo's or not) honestly i'll gobble up whatever given - yxdls

freaks — yandere! theodore nott x obscurial! male! reader

tws: implied/referenced child abuse; snape being a dick

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

To be honest, nobody had really ever noticed Y/N L/N until he came back from winter break with a black eye and a broken nose; and with just one snide comment from a certain Potions professor, he promptly exploded into the most terrifying thing any of them had ever seen.

An Obscurus.

It’d been the first class back from the break. Someone clearly must’ve hated the fifth years, because the new schedule listed Potions as the first class on a Monday morning. Exhausted, all of the fifth years had trudged in and taken a seat, too tired to care about any accidental inter-house mingling.

Professor Snape was having none of it. His beady eyes flashed as he surveyed his class of half-asleep teenagers.

“When an adult says good morning, it is polite to respond.”

“Good morning, Professor Snape,” the class mumbled in a completely exasperated tone.

His lip had curled back into a sneer. Opening his mouth to, presumably, berate the class, he was interrupted by the late arrival of a student.

“Mr. L/N. How wonderful of you to join us. We surely wouldn’t want to waste any more of your precious time.”

The boy in the doorway tried to shrink in on himself. He looked so small and lost with that busted up nose and eye. He started to make an apology, but made it barely two words in before Snape struck again.

“Perhaps it would be beneficial for you all to take a note of Mr. L/N as living proof that Charles Darwin’s theory was not without some error. Mr. L/N, if you would research the term natural selection and write ten inches of parchment on the subject. You can turn it in to me tomorrow morning. Take a seat.”

The boy’s cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame as he scrambled to a seat in the back row.

“Natural selection,” the professor intoned. “The riddance of those who are not well-suited to their environment. That is, abnormalities or freaks of nature.”

The class glanced back at the previously unknown boy. Who was this kid? Why did Snape have a vendetta against him?

Something in the ashamed boy’s eyes flashed. At the word ‘freaks’, he visibly broke.

A low rumble filled the classroom, making Snape pause mid-sentence. With a resounding crack, the flagstones just inches from the professor’s feet split and shattered, like someone had taken a sledgehammer to them.

Snape jumped back, his head snapping up in a panic. The walls began to shake and rumble threateningly. From the belittled boy in the back row, an odd dark mist was beginning to form, slowly swirling around his body before engulfing him completely.

The kids around him scrambled away in a panic, the entire class rushing to the doors. Theodore sat still, stunned as he watched the terrifying scene.

One of his friends tugged on his sleeve, shouting something that was immediately swallowed by the sound as the odd swirling mist began to pick up speed, whipping papers and quills around the room.

The crack that ran through the flagstone floor began to spread with an ominous rumbling, the stone walls beginning to shake and spiderweb with fractures. A dust cloud of debris emanated from every fissure, choking up the air and reducing any visibility.

A sound, like a small child crying, seemed to echo around the room. Theo, stuck in place, watched with wide eyes as the mist- no, whirlwind, began growing, getting more and more violent.

The whirlwind lashed out, reducing Snape’s desk to splinters. The crying got louder, and a sharp burst of magic from the whirlwind sent Theodore flying, hitting the ground hard and scrambling for cover under a table.

For just a split second, so fast that Theo barely had time to notice, the mist of the whirlwind parted, revealing a white glowing form in the center. The form was vaguely humanoid in shape, curled up on the ground in the fetal position with its hands clasped tight over its ears. Its shoulders heaved with the force of its sobs, and then it was gone, swallowed back up by the storm.

Theo wracked his brain for the beaten boy’s name, scrabbling for any memory he had of the kid who had always previously gone unnoticed.

“Y/N!”

The storm…paused, sort of. The debris that had been in the process of being thrown across the room halted midair, hanging suspended for a split second before whipping back around with a stronger fury.

The shattering of glass made Theo instinctively cover his face, smashed potions and vials sending shards of certain death flying through the air.

“Y/N! Y/N, you have to stop!” Theodore shouted, pleaded.

The storm howled with shrieking fury, leaking anguish and total despair.

“Y/N! He’s wrong about you!”

A chair was sent hurtling towards him.

Ducking, Theo continued talking, raising his voice over the wailing of the storm.

“I want to help, Y/N!”

The storm paused again, for longer this time. A cauldron, suspended midair just inches from whacking into Theo’s skull, dripped some sort of potion onto his leg, burning something awful.

That was a problem for a different time, Theo figured.

“I want to! I want to help! You don’t deserve to be treated the way you are!”

The storm drew back a bit, the iron cauldron clanging to the floor and spinning around in circles as the dark mist of the storm retreated.

Theo tried his last saccharine sentiment. “You deserve to be happy!”

With a loud whoosh, the storm completely vanished, quills and chairs dropping to the floor with a loud clatter. The boy—Y/N—sat on the floor in the same way as the glowing form had; fetal position, hands over his ears. His skin crackled, and dark sparks snapped and fizzed from it, although he seemed to pay no mind.

Theodore stumbled to his feet from under his table and carefully picked his way through the debris of the classroom to kneel down a comfortable distance away from the crying boy.

“Hey, hey, there you go. That’s better. Are you alright?”

Y/N looked up with a tear-stricken expression, wiping his sleeve across his face and sniffling. “‘m not a freak, I swear. Please don’t send me back.”

“You’re not,” Theo soothed. “I won’t. Snape was way out of bounds with that one.”

Y/N sniffled again, a fresh wave of tears streaming down his face. “He called me a freak.”

At the sight of the boy before him, sobbing pathetically over his douchebag teacher, Theo felt himself burn with rage.

How could anyone hurt this boy? Who’s done absolutely nothing wrong?

“I’ll make him pay, sweetheart. Don’t worry.”

[canmom]

the adventure of canmom at weird weekend (part 1)

is this 'adventure of' joke getting old? like I've already done the 'translate into scots gaelic' variant. it's not exactly an adventure if it's a half hour bike ride is it? ah fuckit

This weekend was the Weird Weekend film festival in Glasgow! it's the tiny kind of film festival with one screen and folding chairs - they did get their hands on a real beast of a projector mind you...

Look at that concentrated beam of pure film. Kind of awesome to actually see a lightfield intense enough to scatter off random bits of dust in the air honestly.

This is apparently the fourth time this festival has run - though as is often the case I'm terribly out of the loop and only heard about it when @birdfriender told me it was on lol. It's also only my third time going to a film festival (the previous times both being Annecy, a very different kind of festival). It was a great time: the organisers have excellent taste and there's a lot of deep cuts, and made some good friends among the attendees.

On Friday night I showed up for the opening evening of interactive film - this included a short film/video essay commissioned for the festival based on of all things the Goncharov meme (seriously...), followed by a brief history of interactive film including the amusingly ill-fated venture of a certain former Microsoft guy called Bob something (I really should have written this down), and then someone called Puke ("everyone’s favourite genderfluid body fluid") came out dressed like this to oversee the actual event...

...and we watched of all things Final Destination 3 with the DVD feature that lets you switch in alternate scenes at various points (mostly death scenes). This was actually a pretty good time since it was my first time seeing a Final Destination film, and there was a good energy in the audience (although it seemed like the film always picked the opposite of what we voted for - not sure if that's a thematic point or programming error lol), but I'm glad the rest of the festival was more obscure stuff.

On Saturday, the festival proper began! I am reminded of a certain line in Exordia, in which the alien Ssrin gives her assessment of humanity, opening with "You’re a species of gangly distance runners, adapted to sweat and throw stuff. You like watching each other fuck." And indeed, there were few films this weekend that did not offer an opportunity to watch someone fuck. That's art for ya babey.

Looking back the clear highlight was Louise Weard's film Castration Movie I: Traps, but more on that anon - let's start at the beginning. I ended up catching all but one of the films over the course of the weekend and there was maybe only one I'd call an outright miss, so great going in all.

On Saturday we opened with a pair of Hungarian films directed by György Révész, about an incredibly up himself intellectual-in-exile named Dr. János Bátky - the self insert of author Antal Szerb. the first film, The Loves of a Dilettante, sees Bátky going through a series of affairs with women around him - in each case abruptly ending the relationship because it doesn't conform to his specific fantasy. The reasons become increasingly absurd: at first Bátky wishes instead that his partner is a certain Countess, but when he chances to meet the lady herself, he refuses to believe she is who she says she is; at last another woman at the library turns out to be the secret admirer who has been sending Bátky gifts in the post, and he cannot stand to be pursued instead of the manipulative pursuer he fancied himself to be, and spurns her as well.

Bátky is very much the butt of the joke in this film, and the ending sees everyone pretty much done with his bullshit; at the same time, he is an entertaining character, with a nonstop patter full of literary allusions, bizarre tangents and dubious observations. Not so charming that I can quite see why all these women are throwing themselves at him, but that's the conceit of the film I suppose! The actor playing him, Iván Darvas does a splendid job of making this sideburned wanker come across as interesting enough to carry a film.

The second Bátky film, The Pendragon Legend was a major tonal departure from the first - and also featured a different cast, despite including a number of the same characters. (Funnily enough Iván Darvas returns, but as a different character.) This time, rather than a study of Bátky's foibles, we have a complicated conspiracy at a stately home in wales, tying in with biological experiments, immortal sorcerors and the Rosicrucians, assassination plots, affairs; the works. It ends up a lot of fun, although the sheer number of characters made it a little hard to keep track of everything. Here, Bátky is pulled in as almost an observer of all the shit going down, and comes across a lot more sympathetic as a result.

All in all, a pretty fascinating pair of films and window into Hungarian cinema. With both these films set in London and Wales but voiced entirely in Hungarian, it seems to present an amusing alternate universe in which Hungary is the language of the UK, but nobody knows where Hungary is. It's a very old-school 'from outside' view of the UK, full of tea-sipping aristocrats and walks in the park and intellectual conversations in a library - it's quite funny to me. I haven't seen a ton of Hungarian film (mostly animation), but everything I've seen has been fascinating, and terribly literary.

A whole lot of the films in this festival were restorations of various out of print films, and that includes to the next one, Treasure Island directed by Scott King. This film has absolutely nothing to do with Stephenson's book, instead referring to the island near San Francisco where mail was processed during the second world war.

The basis of the story is the historical Operation Mincemeat, in which the British constructed a false identity for a corpse and planted it to mislead the Nazis; here the story is transplanted to the American invasion of Japan, but the focus is hardly wartime intrigue, instead the psychosexual inner lives of the two Americans who are involved in constructing the fake identity for the corpse. One of them secretly has two wives, one a white civilian woman and the other a Japanese woman who works in translation for the military; the other habitually invites other men for group sex with him and his wife and has a whole lot of hangups about how he is not gay, and that corpse is not at all sexy thank you.

As the film progresses, both of them are increasingly struck by visions of the dead man talking to them and the line between 'reality' and fantasy gets blurrier. It's a very well crafted and engaging film; shot in black and white in 1999, it aimed to challenge the rather sanitised and straightforwardly heroic picture of the 'Greatest Generation' who fought the war, presenting a more 'warts and all' look with the sexuality and racism and so forth in full view. I found it very effective! And it was cool to have the director there, a bearded American guy who spoke very confidently about his intentions for the film - I got to ask a question about how he kept all the fantasy and more literal elements straight while scripting the film.

(Do you find that when you get a Q&A session like this, you really want to ask a good question? Because I do. It's very silly. But like if I am going to hold the mic and get the spotlight on me... sure I don't want to waste peoples' time, but also I kinda want to come off well lmao. If I can get people to go 'ooh that's a good question' I feel like I've won audience Q&A, a real thing that is reasonable to want.)

In the afternoon we got a massive block of trans films old and new. We opened with Scarecrow in a Garden of Cucubers featuring Holly Woodlawn; Jaye Hudson of the TGirlsOnFilm Instagram account (which I was not previously familiar with) gave an introduction, telling the story of how Woodlawn came into the orbit of Warhol's 'Factory', and reading out some funny anecdotes about her experience on set. As Jaye talked about it, at that point in the 70s, trans girls were kind of the flavour of the month and we appeared in a bunch of films at the time, of which this was one.

The film sees a girl called Eve Harrington moving to New York in pursuit of the dream of becoming an actress; there she meets a series of weirdos from taxi-driving nuns to 'Mary Poppins', the drag empress of a kind of roommate finding service who's always trailed by worshipful boys. Most of the film sees Eve trying to find an apartment and a boyfriend, and running into various 70s archetypes along the way: a werewolf (also played by Woodlawn in boy mode), political lesbians, a plant-obsessed hippy, and finally a taciturn amnesiac Russian woman and her brother, a little person in a cowboy outfit who does pro wrestling. It's an intriguing slice of the 70s and of New York in particular.

Apparently this film has long been out of print and only narrowly evaded being lost media, so it's pretty sick to see. (And honestly despite the long cultural shadow they cast, I don't actually know that much about the girls around Warhol's 'Factory', so I was glad to get a look in.)

Next up we had 'An Untitled and Perfectly-Legal Coming-of-Age Clown Parody Film' - not hard to figure out what film this is (The People's Joker), especially with the still and trailer right there, but while the courts in the US seem to have come down on recognising it as a valid Fair Use defence, the legal status is still a bit up in the air in the UK.

This one got a lot of buzz for thumbing its nose at Warner Bros.' copyright empire - and of course being part of a recent wave of trans girl directed independent films such as I Saw The TV Glow. It's a trans girl coming of age story built around the Batman milieu, and clearly by people with a pretty thorough knowledge of Batman's cinematic history and DC universe deep cuts (the final act involves a musical number with Mx. Mxyzptlk, played as a puppet, which I'm sure means something if you read the comics).

It's largely shot on greenscreen, with all kinds of mixed media and animation segments - deliberately going for a grungy, chaotic look where it doesn't try to match lighting and animation styles (there's a whole bunch of indepedent animators contributing brief segments here, much as in Barber Westchester). The story concerns Joker the Harlequin, a trans girl who finally moves away from her controlling mother after being drugged with 'Smylex' for most of her life; now in Gotham she can transition, have a dodgy relationship with a trans guy (who is also a version of the Joker, and - spoilers - a former Robin), and build an 'anti-comedy' club with most of the usual Batman villains before going to confront the cultish institution which controls all legal comedy in post-'cyber war' America.

The film's strongest aspect is, fittingly, jokes - throwaway lines about the casually dystopian setting ('drag was outlawed after the explosion at RuPaul's fracking ranch' got a big laugh); a running joke of namedropping cancelled comedians with 'before the unpleasantness, of course' 'of course'; the playful riffs on past Batman films. The core story, though, is a fairly by-the-numbers queer/trans coming of age about self-acceptance, parental mistreatment and finding community, and a bit of a satire on SNL which is perhaps more specific to the director's history - I get the purpose of this kind of narrative and I certainly needed it at a time, and wrote similar stories myself, but it's a kind of story I'm kind of increasingly tired of hearing. I don't mean to say it's bad for that - just it doesn't resonate the way it might have ten years ago.

Honestly, I think trying to make a 'trans movie' kind of paints you into a formulaic corner. A corner very deftly avoided by the next movie, Louise Weard's Castration Movie Part I: Traps. This was the theatrical debut of this movie, though it's been available to download on Weard's gumroad for some time.

Louise Weard made herself kind of notorious for her previous movie, ten years ago, Computer Hearts, but even more so for her castration scene supercut at the Fantastic Fest '100 Best Kills' event a couple of years ago - something that has left her feeling a bit pigeonholed into castration scenes. Part of the joke about Castration Movie is then that it's eight hours (only half of that presently available) of trans girls being sad (emotional drama) without any castration until the very end of the movie. It doesn't even come up in the first half.

Technically, this is a four hour long movie - the first part of an eight hour long movie! - consisting largely of very long takes of naturalistic conversations shot on an incredibly grainy camera, now and then mixing that with musical montage and sex scenes. Something I'd raise an eyebrow at on description, and I want to kind of lead with that because like, no joke, this is legit one of the best movies I've seen; those four hours absolutely fly by. Incredibly sharp character writing, incredibly strong naturalistic acting - and unreasonably funny, just way too much.

The first hour or so focuses on Turner, an aspiring film director who spends his time working odd jobs at a film crew and increasingly torpedoing his relationship with his furry-artist girlfriend - someone he clearly isn't very compatible with and views with little actual interest, and his efforts to try and salvage the relationship ring false in ways he's clearly unable to see. But at every turn he doubles down and builds on his resentment and sense of emasculation, until he's picking fights with a living statue in the street and busting into his ex's room late at night.

Along the way we get all sorts of darkly funny conversations - Weard has an incredible eye for subtext and awkwardness, and can lend an ultimately very unsympathetic character like Turner enough sympathetic motivation to make his downward spiral completely human and convincing. It's both sad and terribly funny, perfectly pitched.

The punchline sees him posting to /r9k/ - and at this point we cut to a new story about 'Traps', the film's actual main character, a sex worker in Vancouver played by Weard herself, who is caught up with the drama of various partners and her own completely unresolved shit around transition to make her an entirely unsuitable would-be mentor figure to her friend Adeleine, who's kind of the deuteragonist of this act, cracking under the pressure of being the only one in the house with a shit but paying office job while her boyfriend gets top surgery.

The first act sets us up a frame to look at the second - Traps is a pretty messed up person, but in a deeply understandable way, and it serves in ways to show that the shit she's going through is not some unique trans girl thing but very much the torment of being a human. Desperate for connection and fucking it up, digging ourselves deeper while convinced it's the right thing to do. Along the way, we see her having various kinds of nasty sex, injecting DIY HRT, taking a bunch of cocaine, a trans guy getting top surgery, and various other fun things that I could never stream on twitch (or you bet I'd be planning a screening right away) - but it's also in many ways incredibly matter of fact about all this shit we get up to in a way that feels incredibly real.

It's a film that benefitted a lot from viewing with a largely transfem audience who would laugh at certain lines in the right spirit - I have no idea how this whole thing would come across if you aren't trans and don't know what 'agp' means (about the person saying it as much as anything) lmao. But if you are, it's like the film I never even knew I needed. It's way too real: from amusing setups like the polycule who has the access to DIY HRT trying to drag you into an argument about Dune before one of them wakes up and has a panic attack or daft conversations about boobs, to the pinpoint depiction of the kinds of neuroses we end up carrying from our shitty tenuous work, and of course the friction and fireworks of trying to care for each other when we're all burned out from carrying our own shit. Weard is fearless, and does seem to rather revel in being transgressive, but this is not edge for edge's sake.

And honestly this is 100% what 'trans film', if we can't help but have such a category, needs to be I think - a story heavily informed by the specific fucked up experiences of being trans but not like, About Being Trans(TM) in the way People's Joker was. Uncompromisingly honest (but with plenty of humour) about how we are, which is to say painfully human, rather than cheerfully painting the sort of freeing subculture we'd like to think we have.

I got to talk to Weard quite a bit on Sunday (ending up in a pub with her and a number of other mostly trans festivalgoers), and it turns out the slightly ludicrous length of the film wasn't even planned, with the original idea to edit it down to something like a standard 90 minutes - but when it became evident after shooting the first forty minutes or so that these long scenes were kind of absolute gold, someone (I forget who now) made the case that they shouldn't be cut down at all and to just go for the full behemoth. And honestly? They were fucking right. This did not feel like a four hour film, somehow. There were definitely other films this festival where my mind wandered and I kind of checked out a bit, but not this one.

As a chaser (ha ha) to that, we had Louise Weard's 'Unsee' segment, screened just once in the hour before the clocks change (which is in a certain sense lost to time, or at least that's the joke of this segment). An elaboration on the experience of presenting the castration scene supercut at the '100 Best Deaths' event, it dives into a reprise of that supercut before increasingly alternating with scenes of a kind of introspective monologue on how people reacted to that event and how far Louise herself started to end up feeling like the butt of the joke (even as random cis women accused her of being transphobic lmao).

As the video progresses it segues into an increasingly ridiculous sequence where two of Weard's friends step in (as substitute Louise Weards) reading out her essay of Lacanian film analysis on castration scenes in movies, while Weard (behind the camera) gives them directions to frame the shot to better show her cis ex's boobs. In between, more castration scenes! So many, most of them unfamiliar to me (funny moment when I finally recognised one and my brain was like hey! that's Sálo! and I found myself turning to face Violet with an excited grin before my brain caught up with that)

Among other things, the narration talks about the whole arc being a transgressive tgirl filmmaker who frequently faced some rather ridiculous accusations of being a transphobe or nazi troll (by TV Glow's Jane Schoenbrun, although it seems they have since made up), all in a time when it seems like a lot of her contemporaries in the transgressive film scene actually do seem to end up going nazi; the trouble of getting pigeonholed as the castration person, and so on - but also kind of playing with like oh, fifteen more castration scenes, that's what you want right? So many swerves, and the supercut was in fact very funny (I wonder if I find it easy to laugh instead of wincing since I actually have been castrated lmao), ending in a scene which is constructed to suggest Louise actually cut her balls off for the bit - though since she showed the prop penis earlier it was pretty clear that she didn't. (Yet..?)

It's a really clever bit and superbly entertaining bit of filmmaking, all told. I'm a full Louise Weard convert at this point, can't wait for castration movie part ii.

This post has gotten pretty long now, so I'll write up Sunday tomorrow. Do go watch Castration Movie tho, it's worth your time.

[signanothername]

If you had to give your favourite sanses vehicle modes what would they be?

OOOOH that’s a nice question!

Killer: he’s a fighter jet your honor!!! I feel like Killer is definitely one for extremely fast vehicles :D

Dust: a van or a pickup truck, Dust likes space

Horror: this man is either a truck, or a station wagon, no in between hdhdhdhhd

Error: a convertible, flashy and adorable just like he likes himself to be <333

Nightmare: definitely a sea based vehicle! I like to think he’d go for a submarine >:))))

Dream: a helicopter! One twin is in the deepest of seas while the other is a free spirit high in the sky, y’know?

Blue: LET MY MAN HAVE A SPORTS CAR!!

Ink: honestly doesn’t stay on one mode for long, doesn’t have a preference and therefore would keep changing it constantly

Color: a motorcycle! My man likes light small vehicles <3333

Fresh: i honestly can’t stop imagining him with a minibug car hdhdhhdh

Geno: ma man has none 😔 (but if he did, i feel like he’d go for small car, ma man has no time or energy for anything flashy)

[plasma-studios]

but all will be well (ao3: x)

inspired by @dycefic's fae short story (story) go show it some love it's one of my favourite pieces of fae media

In a world where the divine has grown weary of grandeur, an immortal finds meaning in life through a deal with the Fae for a child. His wish is granted, but not without a cost.

OR: Ink is an immortal that makes a deal with Fae!Error for a child, that turns out to be a child Fae i.e. Dream. Child Fae!Nightmare is also involved, much to his peril. Though, surely, things will all be alright in the end. Surely nothing bad will occur within a conflict that involves a past God, a Fae, and two child Faes. Surely not?

TL;DR: Immortal Ink/Fae Error x changeling Dream and Nightmare AU

Word count: 3.4k

There was once an immortal. An immortal who had once been known as a god but had long let go of such a title. He had tired of it, and with time chose to step away from the elaborate altars and ornate temples. Quite literally in his case: his steps had been soundless against the temple’s front steps.

How his acolytes had cried out in his absence; how the flowers rotted quickly in the gardens; how quickly the stories of him turned desperate. Devotees cried out with hands raised and ready offerings but he was already gone from their grasp.

These were all memories of a past life now.

So Ink slipped through the cracks of memory. Stories turned from desperate to angry, from angry to pitiful, then to nothing at all. He stopped listening to stories. His temples faded into ruin, into dust, and still he never returned.

He found his own way in the world. It was its own type of indulgence, really. For decades he did nothing but wander. But with time, there were no more beauties left for him, for he had seen them all: he tired of them once again.

There was a void in him that nothing could fill. Not worship, not life; it was the nature of his existence. Immortality was a lonely existence. If not for the nature of his Godhood, he would’ve departed from this world a long, long time ago.

But he was born a God, and the world could not continue on without the presence of its Gods. So, he had to make do.

He began to learn. Learned to mimic others. Learned to mimic warmth and frostiness, grief and sweetness. He found himself in the town squares and open fields, finding himself among the mortals again. For a while the pretense satiated him. 

But there were times when his mask slipped. Times when he faltered, unsure of how to react. 

They sensed it, he knew. They felt it; he wasn’t like them. He was good at pretending, but he was not perfect. It was unfair, wasn’t it? To fake warmth and attract folk to him like bees to honey when he wasn’t warm or sweet at all.

It was unfair. It really was, wasn’t it? He felt guilty at the thought. And if nothing else, Ink acted on feeling and nothing else.

So with time, he distanced himself from the others and dropped the pretense of warmth.

But as time passed, he only grew lonelier.

But the world was still there for him, with all its ugliness and beauty. So it was the world he was drawn to; he became a painter, an artist: mimicking the world through creation (an old friend) and for a while was content. Or as content as an immortal could be.

The others would stay to chat, but they would not stay. They would compliment his art, but they would leave thereafter. They were not cruel, they were not sweet, but they were kind enough and the brief moments of interaction were their own sweetness.

Perhaps that is why he soon grew comfortable enough to dream. Gods dreamt, but of their devotee’s prayers and wishes. Immortals didn’t dream. Most of them didn’t, anyway. There was just his voice in his dreams. Just him and hopes, of wonder. He was still lonely. The idea of companionship began trickling into his head like water into a cup.

But, for a time, he did nothing about it. It would still be unfair to search for a companion, the nature of his being being what it was. At minimum it would hurt him to leave them behind in death’s arms; he had heard stories of forlorn lovers, broken hearts and people driven to insanity faced with the death of a beloved. The heartbreak might even be mutual; then, he mused, what joy would there be in such a relationship? What would be the point?

For a while he considered kin instead of love. But separation would be no less painful than with a lover, perhaps worse: would the nature of his being affect a child of his? He did not want that. So for a time he was alone, and found what bliss there was in it. 

Then there were the Fae. They had always been there, really; just as Ink had been, and with the very nature of their existence being so different they hardly ever made contact. It was mutual, really; the breadth between them, a silent agreement to stay out of the other’s path.

But that agreement was no more than silence when the thought came to him one autumn-stained night. And the thought would not leave him, nor did he let it. So one night, with the wind of fallen leaves in the air, he made his way to the village well and tossed a copper coin into it. Quickly the wind fell into a silence, the ripples of the toss into the water smoothing over, and he wished for a child.

Then a whisper of sharpness, like a simper, like a laugh. 

“You know there will be a price to pay.” Ink did not look back. “I also know I may set conditions.”

“I suppose.” And the voice had dulled ever so slightly, as if disappointed. Not all-together  pleased. But Ink had not come here for them. 

“The child will be unharmed. You may set me a debt. You may set me a test. But in any case,” He continued, though he knew he would find a way to pay any debt and pass any test. “The child will not suffer. No death, no hurt; no misfortune, no pain. No curse, no hex. Let my debt be mine and mine alone.”

“Ahh.” And there was a note of amusement, of curiosity, of intrigue in his pleased voice. “That is a fair condition. Very well. By sunrise, you will have your child.”

A child that would be nothing like him. A child, whole and loved. A child, safe for him to love. Ink smiled. The wind started rustling again. When he turned to leave, the Fae was already gone. But the apple weighed in his hand and he found his way home in no time at all. 

True to the Fae’s word, which was always true, there was a beautiful babe waiting for him. A boy with charming, glowing eyes and pearly white bones. 

Ink cradled the babe in his arms the same way the mothers he’d watched had, but was careful to adjust the child so he would not kill them in less than a day. He felt almost nothing as he tipped the small bottle of milk into the child’s mouth; the soft, milky aroma that came of it elicited no stronger reaction than a twitch. 

The child smelled so strongly of honey. 

He wiped the drool from the child’s mouth, watched as he gazed back at him with round eyes; then, suddenly, they gleamed with a brilliant gold, and a gurgle left them. 

It was like the sound of a river, the sound of life.

The sheen of gold was gone as soon as it had been there, but then there were the small hands reaching for the half-empty bottle. It was a small bottle. 

Later, he would understand the gold gaze to be a sign of the child being happy. And, perhaps if the child was happy, he was content enough. Someday, there would be a price for this. The Fae would surely claim something grand and terrible. The Fae were not humble creatures.

Neither was he. It would be worth it. He had done miracles before, turned water to wine and blood to roses. If grandness was what was demanded of him, he would simply acquiesce like all the other times he’d done in the past. 

The tiny fingers reached up, grasping at the air before gently curling around the fingers around the milk bottle; he held on as if Ink was his entire world. Ink could feel all the internal gravitas that the memories of a past life had brought forth unravel in an instant.

He could feel himself turning soft. The sensation was not entirely unwelcome. Was this, oh, how it felt like to be mortal?

Ink gave the boy a fitting name, but was not so foolish as to speak it aloud should the Fae have been listening. But it was a beautiful name, and it suited the child very much.

He waited for the Fae to come and collect, but nothing ever came of it. All was well as the babe matured from a very, very small child to a very small child. The child was healthy and knew the joys of living so well that he never cried. They spent springs in meadows and summers in lakes, and though Ink waited for the time where he would need to pay the price, he was left waiting for months and months on end with no Fae contact at all.

Then, when autumn came, the child suddenly became ill. Once so eager to leave the walls of their dwelling Ink had begrudgingly constructed after realising it was not wise to leave a child out in the open, the child now tugged on his hand not to hasten their leave, but to stay. For a while, Ink assumed it had been the cold weather that had brought the abrupt rejection and merely made notes to mark the warmer days for their time outside, but even on the warmest autumn afternoons the child’s resolve remained.

Ink realised the child’s sickness a week in. As the days passed, his bone only grew increasingly, bitingly cold. The nights were the worst of it, and though the warmth of magic he had not used in a very long time unfurled through the house enough that it felt no different than summer sun, the child still shuddered and held onto him, looking upon him with small eyes that seemed to plead for him to make him well. He wailed for nights on end, so pale even in the candlelight of the beeswax candles he kept alight, and Ink began to grow tired. 

Though, the fatigue was minuscule compared to the grief. 

Try as he could, and did, nothing lifted the sickness from the child’s bones. All his Godly miracles did nothing, and neither did the herbs and remedies from the village. Vaguely, he recognised the cruel irony: love heralded grief, he had known that much. Yet, foreknowledge had changed nothing in the end. 

The child stopped crying midway into winter. He was so cold now, as cold as winter ice, but he no longer shuddered and pleaded for him to make him warm and well. The cool neutral nothingness in the child was worse than the days of constant consciousness trying to get him to rest, even for a minute. Neither did the child smile or laugh, and with startling clarity that filled into him as coldly as the child’s bone, he knew very well that this was the price to pay.

But had he not set the condition? Why was the child being made to suffer? Had the Fae wronged him? Now, he did not remember the heat of fury until it filled into him. He would utterly des—

No, he had set the condition, and the Fae could not break the conditions of a deal as they so pleased. There had to be something else at play.

But, suddenly, he cared less about the deal he made now almost years ago, and touched the child’s cheek, warmth pooling in his palm. The child stirred ever so slightly, but it did not seem to melt away the state he had fallen into. The child’s eyes did not show gold for the entire season of frosty winds and snowfall.

“Stay with me,” He murmured. Pleaded. “Stay with me,” He repeated, but the child did not seem to hear. 

By spring, the child had begun to return to his former self. The new season brought with it tentative hope, though the shadows of winter's ordeal still lingered. Ink watched as the child’s colour slowly returned, the once pallid cheeks now flushing with the faintest hints of life. The small eyes that had been so dim and pleading began to regain their spark, the light of curiosity and joy flickering back to life.

Yes, perhaps that was enough. No matter of the Fae’s curse or demand, if the child could recover, that would be enough. 

The next autumn, the child again grew weary and ill, and it was then Ink was certain of the Fae’s role in it. The confirmation had been unwelcome, but undeniable: it had come with the cool, steady clarity of a realisation utterly unquestionable.

But it had been nothing compared to the sight of the baby’s small bed empty. 

He considered many possibilities. Would it matter if he turned wrathful? Who in this world could stop him? Even the Fae would not be able to defend against him forever. It would not be the first time utter destruction had become of him; yes, the memories of previous times brought shame and regret now, but he could find no shame or regret in what he wanted to do in this moment.

Who were the Fae, to demand him come looking for them? Who were they, to abduct his child?

In the end, he merely returned to the well where his wish had been made so long ago. If there was even a chance of retrieving his child, well, how could he not go?

In the small bed of moss behind the well, he found two identical children asleep. Their eyes were closed, but their bones were pearly white even in the light of soon dusk, and the triumphant voice echoed with anticipatory delight. “One is the one you took home with you, the delightful gold-eyed child with the sweetness of honey. The other is a changeling, the one that made your autumns weary and winters fretful. The child you take in your arms and leave with will be yours forever, and the one you leave behind, you will never see again.”

Ink breathed, struck by a so very mortal emotion— terror.

“Choose. That is your test.” The Fae’s voice was so assured in themself, and how could they not have been? It was a cruel test. The cost, he now knew, was the child he would have to leave behind. The Fae must have been sure that he would choose the honeysweet boy; but, as he gazed upon the child that was always sickly in the colder seasons, he could not choose. 

Carefully, he touched the cheek of the honeysweet boy, then the cheek of the changeling child. One was of unbridled warmth, and the other so cold it burned. Surely the honeysweet boy had been tailored to perfection, made beautiful and flawless that he’d want to keep him. And the changeling child, though he did not know for certain, must’ve been made to suffer for the same reason, though for opposite ends. 

This was the cost. He understood it now. It had been the changeling made to suffer, not his own. The condition set had not been broken.

He could not quite take ‘his own’ into his arms and leave the changeling behind, as much as it seemed to be the only option he had.

Then, briefly, he exhaled.

“You said,” He said softly. “That the child I take in my arms and leave with will be mine forever, and the one I leave behind, I will never see again?”

“Indeed,” The voice was cruel, eager, curious.

The decision was made, and Ink took the honeysweet boy into his arms. The glitched, monstrous laughter of the Fae rang out, but it cut off as soon as Ink readjusted the child so he had enough leverage, and took the changeling child into his arms as well. 

“You— you cannot take both!” The voice was layered, glitched; and with the absence of any gloating or cruelty, Ink knew with certainty that he had found his solution. 

“Did you say I could only take one?” Now, the weight of a God found itself in him as he turned sharply to face the Fae, several feet taller than himself, and yet he stared unyieldingly into his mismatched eyes with ferocity that was gaining on him by the second. “No, you did not. I shall take my children, both of which I have loved and grieved, and you will do nothing of it.” “I will not allow that.” Now the Fae’s voice was becoming twisted, angry, inhuman. 

“Yes,” His voice was quiet, piercing. “ You will.”

Because he was watching the Fae so closely, he saw the way he faltered, the way his mismatched eyes widened. 

“You are— not mortal.”

“Your soul will be torn into tatters if you dare take my children from me,” He spoke plainly. “We are not bound by the deal anymore. I have done my part. You have done yours. Now leave me, or—”

“You have not passed.” His voice steadied. The chaotic, messy noise consolidated into a single sound. “You have not failed, but you have not passed. Your debt is unpaid.”

Fool. Ink opened his mouth, but the Fae continued. “I will not claim your children. They will be yours, forever and ever, when you leave with them. That is not what I ask.” “Then,” And Ink’s eyes were sharp, but he was curious too. “What price would you have me pay?”

The Fae was silent. His mismatched eyes were on him, and it was clear for the few moments of silence that lapsed between them that he was hesitating.

“I will go with you.” The words were declarative, sure. Ink blinked. It took a moment for the words to register. “They are still Fae children, even if just half-Fae. I will not have you hurt them with or without intention.”

Ink considered it for a moment more.

“Fine. Come with me, Fae.”

“Actually—” He let out a glitched sigh. “Call me Error.”

Ink glanced upon him. He looked away. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Nice try.” His tone was completely neutral. He followed the path out, and once he stepped out with his children tightly in his embrace, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. 

“The honeysweet child will no longer be just sweetness.” The warning came with the tone of conversation. “He was made that way for the test. He will begin to grow into his own, and experience his own unhappiness soon enough.”

“And the changeling child will become well?”

“Yeah, I guess Nightmare will.”

Ink came to a stop, then turned to Error incredulously. “You call him Nightmare?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not like I realised you would find a loophole and bring him back! His entire existence was crafted to fit that role, anyway.”

Ink let out a huff. Then, he paused, and touched his mouth, as if in a daze.

Error’s eyebrows creased. 

“What’s the matter with you?”

Ink let out a long, steady breath, and continued on his way. He would never voice the thoughts swirling around in his head in a haze of madness: if the children had brought love and grief into his life, what was the biting annoyance he felt now that was yet free of any real ire?

“Please tell me you don’t have iron in your house.” Ink turned to retort, and realised Error had adapted his form so that he appeared less unworldly. The glitching edges of his clothes, and the hum in his voice had been smoothed over or turned quieter, and he now looked no more unworldly than Ink.

“Well?” He prompted.

Ink gazed at him impassively. 

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Error laughed, a laugh steadier than a cackle, but it was still a glitching laugh beautiful in its madness.

Perhaps someday, he would finally tell Error the name he had chosen for the boy: Dream, because the new life had seemed nothing short of a miracle, a dream. 

Perhaps. Perhaps not. He would not make a decision on the first day.

Once upon a time,  there was an immortal that abandoned godhood for the simple reason that he found no meaning in it. He’d left the elaborate altars and ornate temples behind to wander the world, stuck between the living, feeling masses and the simple awareness that he would be alive for forever and ever. There had been simple joys he’d found in this unique sort of existence here and there, across the centuries he’d been alive for.

But the life that awaited him now wasn’t too bad either. 

[imagine-darksiders]

What do you think Strife thinks about head pats and hugs.

Ooooh, thank you for this, Anon! Strife continues to be touch-starved in my mind.

------

The only kind of touch this Horsemen - or any of them for that matter - has known is the kind that leads to pain.

Even as young Nephilim, he and his kind were encouraged to fight one another, to be stronger, quicker and deadlier than your opponent, even if that opponent was one of your own kind.

Death was always considered unusual amongst the Nephilim, in that he wouldn't shy away from gentler handling where his younger brothers and sister were concerned. Some of the Nephilim would taunt him for being soft on the younglings. They would never come to call him soft again after he showed them the error of their judgement.

But Death's rare and subdued moments of tenderness don't hold a candle to the unsparing frequency of those given to Strife by his favourite human.

You took the Horseman wildly off guard the first time you stretched up onto the tips of your toes and reached out a hand to ruffle the spiny nest of hair that jutted from his skull, dislodging a cloud of dust that had been hiding comfortably among the strands.

"When was the last time you brushed your hair?" you'd teased, unwittingly scratching your fingernails over the skin of Strife's scalp and subsequently sending a shiver of delight racing up his spine.

'The Hell was that!?' he wondered, at the time, 'And how do I get it to happen again?'

Luckily for him, that wasn't the only time you subjected the Horseman to your avant-garde, human affection.

He wouldn't even try to pretend that he wasn't affected by your touches. You hugged him for the first time, and he couldn't keep his limbs from locking up in shock. It felt like you were unwittingly trying to keep all of Strife's broken pieces safe inside the circle of your arms.

You were holding him together, your body like porcelain pressed up against rough, unpolished quartz.

It... didn't hurt?

It didn't hurt.

It felt... good... Really good, in fact.

So good that he almost crushed your spine in his haste to throw his bulky arms around your back and squeeze you against him as if he was trying to bury you safely underneath his armour.

[cirqosmos]

IN THE GYM, INSIDE YOU | KEI &TEAM (TEASER)

WARNING ↪ gym sex (at hybe gym lmfao), dom!kei, sub!reader, established relationship, pet names, u calling kei as daddy, dry humping, choking, oral sex (f and m receiving), breeding kink, size training/kink, saliva play, profanity. and more u see.. 🙈

WORD COUNT ↪1.6K (the full fic are estimated to be over 10-12k lmfao PLS)

AUTHOR'S NOTE ↪ not proofread, so some minor errors and grammatical errors.. i'm just trying to get back to my momentum of posting on Tumblr again. BUT IM CRINGING ALOT HELP I CANT STOP GAGGING LMFAO-

The cool breeze of the night sky as you passed through the convenience store shot a severe chill down your spine, despite having a thick hoodie over your pyjamas. Now that you think of it, it is a bad move. Brushing the tip of your thumb across the shelf as you picked one of Kei's favourite ready-made coffee drinks, you recalled the way he called you an hour ago.

His voice dripped in a heavy tone of honey, almost like a melodic hymn of desperation as he enunciate every syllable of your name. As if he was begging for you to come as fast as you can, and when you expressed your initial concern over his odd request, he brushes it off as being exhausted by his current workout routine.

A night workout routine, he repeated.

After exiting out of the automatic door screen, your peripheral vision caught on the remnants of illusionary dusts in the form of a human, and the stray cats scattering beside the over filled trash can, and the serene moonlit sky brought about a good amount of anxiety in you. It is after all, the after dark. Where the world switches off to an underworld vibe, pulling of its black velvet cloaks with indifference that it had hidden beneath the entire sunlit day.

Screw you, Kei.

After dark was when people ripped apart their moral ethics, goodie traits, and humane characteristics—revealing their innate desires they had been keeping to their core.

"Kei?"

Not an answer did you receive as you pushed open the black velvet door, only the cool breeze of the AC and it's audible sound surrounding the gym greeted your ears. You assumed that Kei must have left.

"Hey."

Your head turned to the owner of the voice you knew so well, a lazy smile pulled up on your cheeks as you met those dark grey orbs laced with affectionate words all over it.

"Hey, Kei." Giving the ice cold can coffee to him as you approached him, "Quite cruel of you to call me at 2am, seriously."

With no hesitation, he pulled you into his embrace, leaning in closer as he buried his face in your neck, sniffing in your scent which immediately engulfed his exhausted soul in a safe amount of euphoria and craze. "I miss you, though. Don't I have the right to call my girlfriend anymore?"

"At least look at the time." You pouted as you pulled away, squinting your eyes in a playful manner. "Everyone's sleeping right now, and you're the only one pulling up a goddamn Greek god workout routine."

An audible giggle squeezed its way out of Kei's mouth, his doe eyes crinkling into crescents. "Greek god, eh? I'm a Greek god to you then?" His finger dusted off the rosy hues on the tip of your nose, cooing at your childlikeness.

"Well, maybe." You shrugged, sitting yourself leisurely on one of the gym's chairs, swaying your feet up and down. It didn't go past your eyes how Kei leaned against the pull-up machine, a loud pop emitting from his thumbs in the process of opening the can, his plump lips lapping against the edge as he slurped it down his throat—where his Adam's apples protrude in a sensual motion, one that sent havoc into your mind.

Breaking your fixated gaze onto somewhere else, you cleared your throat in attempts to take off your not so holy thoughts in a brief moment. Mentally slapping yourself on the inside, but oh well, scoring a boyfriend like Kei ain't a damn joke.

"How was work?" His melodic voice flows into your ears again.

"Tiring, but it's okay. It's my job anyway, got to have enough fat money to buy what I want. Heh." Dusting off the tips of your two fingers, mimicking the action of counting money before the boy causes his gorgeous lip to let out another audible giggle.

"I love how you're independent, it's damn cool to even think of it.. but you see, why don't you depend on me?"

"Hm?"

"Depend on me." Kei repeated with doe eyes wholly fixated on your form, "It's just a suggestion, but I would really adore having to take care of you all by my own, every little thing."

Well chosen string of words got your already tangled heart in an even tighter knot, "I could take care of myself, though. I don't need a sugar daddy yet." You stuck your tongue out in a mischievous manner, that alone had him shaking his head with a round of giggles. "But that's sweet of you, Kei."

"No, but." Pair of sneakers approach you with every low rise and down of steps, his palms having the remnants of water beads as he puts down the ice can on the machine's flat edge.

Halting his step before you with his towering height, the light above the ceiling illuminated the top of his ash strands all while casting a matte shadow on his features—giving him a somewhat eerie look, yet his orbs held so much more in it that it had you unconsciously gripping your finger on the edge.

His long finger and thumb brushes your cheek in a circular pattern, and then down to your neck. "I want to take care of you. I've been thinking since much, much long time ago. I want to look after you, care for you in every way possible. It just hurts to see you punching yourself in the chest whenever your shitty boss ruined your day."

Touched by his words, "Work days are pretty much like that, Kei. Having a shitty boss is an unfortunate bonus, that is."

Your sentences comes to a halt as you notice the way his orbs lingered on your lips, the sensation of his index finger ghostly rubbed your lower lip had your heart skipping a thump, yet you hold on to your firm character—arching the corner of your lip in a mischievous smirk. "Does my lips look that pretty for you, Mr. Kei?"

"Mr. Kei?" His plump lips pursed in a giggle, "I'd like your lips on mine, if that's okay for you, Mrs. Koga."

Enthusiasm filled your chest, and you were sure he did as well the way he confirmed your given permission through your lit up blaze eyes. His index finger on your lips found its way on the back of your neck, splayed tight. His other hand spreaded against your hips, pulling you closer to his body as he sealed your lips in his wet cavern.

Kissing Kei always felt like the first time for you. It didn't go past your notice how his warm cheeks pulled up even higher as you let him in through your tongue, tasting each other to the point of maniacal craze. Your eyelashes fluttered up to reveal your curious orbs, taking a brief glance at the wall clock behind Kei's obscured ruffled ash hair.

1:07 A.M. — The after dark where suppressed desires begin to reveal themselves, manifesting into low seductive whispers and sneaky touches.

"Scrap the sugar part," Kei's breath ghost against your ear, sending a round of butterflies in your stomach. Your eyes lingered on his swollen red lips enunciating each word in a clear hushed tone, yet sensual rhythm. "Your daddy can take care of you right here, right now."

"Now where do you want daddy to touch you?" Kei lapped his wet cavern across your neck, a slight moan left your lips at the bold gesture.

"Please."

"Please what, babygirl? You have to tell daddy where exactly he should touch you."

"I-inside me, daddy." Lust fogged your mind, yet the sight of the gym machines pushed the logical part in the surface, physically manifesting to your hands stopping Kei's ones. "We aren't going to do it here, r-right?"

You enunciate the question in confirmation, you need him inside you right now but you dead ass wouldn't want to get caught in the act and possibly ruin his career. But the way Kei's lust filled orbs lazily darted to look at behind him, it seems like he had no intention of bringing your intimacy behind an appropriate place.

"Where's the thrill then, baby?" Kei whispered, "Look it's 1am right now, I doubt someone's going to come in. But well, it would be good either way cuz' someone can see how I'll take you all to myself."

That was enough to rule your mind into overdrive, giving in to Kei and embarking in this bold dangerous act. The thrill, the suspense of getting caught, his large hands spreading all over your skin, his lips nipping onto your bare skin; everything fuels into your brazen mode.

This wild desires of exhibitionism; his greatest will to flaunt you and show to everyone that you belong to him. Kei had always been a dominant man, oozing uncontrollably from his aura ever since you first laid your eyes on him, there was no doubt. Your suspicions were further confirmed by his utmost dedication in perfecting his craft or whatever it is he deemed to be of great importance.

And one of them was romance, which immediately rooted back to you. The apple in his eyes, which he oh so desire to devour more than it takes and how he greatly detests anyone who dared to lay their hands on you.

He turns you around, your back hitting his chest and before your mind could process anything—wet slick tongue lapped across your neck down to your exposed shoulder, his fingers pulling the material each centimetre. Yet you couldn't focus on anything but on his tongue doing it's magical wonders on your skin, sending electrifying sensation into your veins and cells.

"K-kei—" his other hand flattened deep inside your shirt, stroking circular patterns on your tummy and into your navel.

"Shh, lemme take care of you." He whispered, and you didn't fail to sense his growing smirk. "Now where do we begin?"

「 © talesofyuan on tumblr 2023 」 all rights reserved. do not copy or post without permission.

[edwin-paynes-bowtie]

From @emmalovesfitzloved : Wessa decorating the Christmas tree and making their favourite foods! Tessa is still pregnant (can be spicy or wholesome or both!)

"It's odd to me that the baby enjoys these so much," Tessa told Will, chomping down on a dried fig dusted with sugar. "I have never truly appreciated them before, and yet I am finding them irresistible this holiday season."

"At least it's a far cry from that mushroom-and-cheese abomination you had Bridget make on Thursday last," Will said. "A quiche would have been one matter, but wrapping all of those ingredients in bread with a smattering of mayonnaise..." Will shuddered dramatically.

"I cannot help my pregnancy cravings, William," Tessa said sweetly. "You mustn't complain. After all, you're not the one growing an entire human being inside of you. I suppose he needs the odd array of nutrients to grow... eyeballs."

Will raised an eyebrow, his blue eyes shining with laughter. "Eyeballs?"

"Well, he does need those, I would imagine." Tessa took another bite of fig, shooting her husband a dignified look as she did so.

"Perhaps he ought to focus on more important matters, like growing a tongue. If her did, he may realize the error of his ways in forcing his poor mother to consume such wretched abominations."

"It's possible. But what if he wished for chocolate? There are certain limits to what I am willing to indulge the little one with."

"I thought a mother's love for her child was limitless," Will deadpanned.

Tessa lightly whacked him on the forehead.

"Before I forget, though, because you are performing the rather mad miracle of creating new life, I got you a gift," Will said, shoving a hand in his pocket. He drew out a small clay ornament with two angels hand-in-hand. One had the name WILL on it; the other was labeled TESSA.

And between them was a smaller angel, his hands in the larger ones' and a halo atop his head. JAMES, he was called.

"Oh Will," Tessa said, taking it from him. "I love it."

She walked toward the tree and placed it on a high branch. "It looks beautiful. I do so hope that he will like it next year."

Will pulled her in for a kiss.