#I searched so desperately

[sheepkebby]

Oh by the way!!! Keith wearing a bucket hat was inspired by the fallen survivor zombies also wearing bucket hats. Sometimes when Ellis sees a fallen survivor he mistakes it for Keith, before realizing it's not him. Figured it was a neat little detail I could add :3c

[bet-on-me-13]

Ghostly Host AU

So! Ghosts need a physical Anchor in the living world, or they are liable to fall apart and fade away if they stay for too long.

In Amity Park, this usually isn't too much of a problem. Sure most Ghosts can't stay for a week without a Host, but the ambient Ecto-Levels in Amity Park are enough that they can stay for a few days or so at a time with little worry.

This changes however, during Reign Storm.

When Pariah Dark awakens, Tens of Thousands of Ghosts use the Fenton Portal to escape the Rule of Pariah Dark, running away into the Human Realm.

If Amity Park had stayed where it was, this would have been fine. They could have stayed in the Living Realm for a few days, and maybe the Weaker ones would need to find a temporary Host, but that was fine since Amity was filled with thousands of Liminals.

Unfortunately, Pariah Darks first move was to suck Amity Park into the Ghost Zone, alongside all of the Ecto-Energy that had accumulated there.

Now left trapped in the Living Realm with no way back to the Zone, thousands of Ghosts suddenly needed Hosts or they would start dying off by the Hundreds. In a Panic, they spread out across the Planet in search of viable Hosts.

Any normal Person wouldn't do, they needed a Living Being that could actually handle their Power, or someone who matched their Soul. Preferably both. Liminals were the best since they had a durable Body and a Malleable Soul, so any Ghost could use any of them as a Host.

But outside of Amity Liminals were very rare, and finding someone who matched their Soul was time-consuming and hard. Thankfully, in recent years the population of Aliens, Metahumans, Enhanced Soldiers, and even extra durable baseline Humans had spiked across the world.

All across the planet, People suddenly found themselves stuck with a new Passenger in their Bodies.

Those new passengers thankfully weren't malicious, for the most part, but it was still annoying. The only good thing was that they now had new Powers, which neat.

They could summon the Ghosts in their Body outwardly, and then command the Ghost to use their Powers in whatever way they wanted. Only other Hosts could see another person's Ghost, which meant they looked very awkward to normal people when they fought. Generally, Hosts seemed to act more strangely after getting a Ghost, as if they lost a few of their Inhibitions.

Why did they feel the sudden need to strike a flamboyant Pose? Or over dramatically scream?

[spicyvampire]

Great and Tyme being worried about each other

4MINUTES (2024) EP. 5

[buggachat]

Ok I know this is kinda specific but does anyone have some recs for established relationship lovesquare fics that have a conflict that goes beyond just an identity misunderstanding? Like it’s already post-reveal or a reveal alone can’t fix it? Like they have an argument or some drama happens or something and they have to solve it together as a couple? I don’t know what I’m saying but I go wild for that stuff but it’s hard to search for

[dawns-beauty]

(pics from mod page)

HOW AM I JUST LEARNING THAT THIS MOD EXISTS.

This is an absolute well of prosthetics (and eyepatches! for male and female models!!), both serious and silly.

[artbyblastweave]

Funniest thing I've seen recently, and not funny in a ha-ha way, more funny in a "the endless entropic void gnawing at my will to live" way, was somebody asking around for alternatives to Neil Gaiman, in the light of Neil Gaiman's ongoing fall from grace. As though what we're currently sitting through isn't the collapse of the carefully curated "Good Guy Neil" image that caused people to parade Gaiman as the same kind of preferred progressive alternative to, say, Rowling. As though we won't be in the same goddamn situation in a few years or months, with some number of the new progressive sci-fi/fantasy darlings- not all of them, to be clear, but at least some of them- when their impeccably-curated marketing implodes in on itself and they're revealed to be the same kind of sex pest or abuser. Can you not see the wheel to which you are strapped. The game of human pinball you are condemning yourself to with this mindset. Maybe you do see, and you're just resigned to taking it one soul-crushing disappointment at a time, one "I never would have guessed" after another. I mean I think we all need to get resigned to that one way or another, sun's gonna go out before it stops happening

[yonch]

my dear friend.

(DO NOT TAG AS SHIP)

[ruyeung]

Happy Halloween! Have a Hellboy as a treat.

[demonslayedher]

I finished posting the unabashedly educational Sword Fic.

It includes a detailed (but hopefully beginner-friendly) explanation of all the steps of making a Nichirin blade from a sunny mountain like Mt. Youkou, a touch of swordsmith and metalworker folk lore (including demons), meta about what must make Kimetsu no Yaiba's swordsmithing methods different from real life methods, some character exploration for Haganezuka and his polishing method, vocabulary and additional resources in the chapter notes, and hopefully, an endearing, silly POV character to learn this all through.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

hi i don't have the specific comic issue, but i do have this panel (in response to charles being a screamer). enjoy.

First person who finds this issue name gets a crisp and uncomfortably-cold handshake from me

[leeeeeeef]

diamant

[fyodior]

half if not more of the bsd x reader tag is just those multicharacter multifandom posts that give the vaguest blurb of all time and list like 40 insanely unrelated characters underneath. i’m abt to get violent where’s my baseball bat

[vaihdokas-fr]

i was going through my dragons bios and realized i excalted one of my dragons wife LIKE 2-3 YEARS AGO I AM SO SORRY DUDE I JUST YEETED YOUR HUSBAND/WIFE

[sanshinexx]

Family portrait with the Dad Bad Batch

[octaviasdread]

Dead Poet Date Hc's

Anderperry - Chased by Walt Whiskers

When Todd's publisher demands that he use social media, his manager, Ginny, couldn't have envisioned this.

Accidental sweater thirst traps aside, it's Walt Whiskers driving Todd's media engagement. It's Walt Whiskers who guest stars at his poetry readings, and it's Walt Whiskers who Ginny hires a social media manager for.

Who knew his anxiety aid could be such a traitor?

Because when Todd meets Neil his life goes to shit.

Working in media had, of course, given Todd the expectation that his cat's manager would be attractive. Todd can work with attractive. He can ignore attractive, usually.

But nothing about Neil is normal. He's tall, extroverted, and a Shakespearean actor to boot.

He's not arrogant, gym-obsessed, or suppressing the temper of a stage mom. Neil is a regular guy so in love with his poorly paid job that he decimates his sleep schedule and runs ragged to pay his rent by managing the city's theatre socials.

So Ginny, like any good friend, ropes Neil in before her boss at Todd’s publishing house even finishes the call.

Unfortunately, Todd is a homebody. He is a poet with a Wikipedia page branding him a 'recluse,' and the thing about influencers is they have to exist outside.

Ginny compromises at first. Every shoot is scheduled in darkened, private spaces.

Todd watches each time as Neil's brows raise in perfect, incredulous arcs. He doesn't comment. Instead, Neil hoists Walt onto one of his ridiculously high hips and takes a walk to 'check the light.'

Todd's lungs expand.

To Neil's credit, he tries. Todd finds indoor photoshoots awkward enough as he poses with his lacklustre smile, torn notebooks, and Walt Whiskers perching irritably on his lap.

The outdoor shoots are worse.

"Poetry is supposed to stir you up!" Neil's voice projects through Central Park as he gesticulates wildly. "You look as stirred up as a cesspool."

"I'm not like you."

"Don't you think you could be? People listen to your words, Todd. Now let them meet you."

"I thought you were here for Walt."

Neil rolls his eyes, "you are Walt, dummy. Come on, let's break for coffee."

So they order drinks and commiserate through quotes, exchanging words from Tennessee Williams and Kafka until Todd is comfortable enough to allude to his own.

And when Todd isn't looking, Neil gets the Instagram reel. It's the perfect shot of Walt Whiskers wearing Neil's glasses as he slowly blinks at Todd quoting from his supposedly 'aesthetic,' ink-stained notebook.

With a trendy sound bite, the post explodes.

Todd's latest book flies off the shelves. So naturally, Ginny hauls them into her office to talk strategy.

Strategy, in Ginny's world, translates to valentine date.

"It's logic," Ginny dismisses. Tinny music pours from the speakers as the Hudson River Company keeps her cell phone on hold. "Your latest collection is called, Tides of Love, Todd. I'd be an idiot not to set up a romantic dinner cruise for PR.”

"I'm not sitting there with my cat." Todd turns and appeals to Neil for help. "Tell her what people will think."

Neil opens his mouth, but Ginny cuts him off.

"No." She shoots a firm look at them both. "I know for a fact that neither of you have valentines plans. Take the cat together and secure us a bestseller."

They take the cat.

Todd spends all night pulling at his tux. Walt has no such reservations with his mini paw-printed bowtie. Instead, the damn cat has every waitress sneaking chicken under the perfectly pressed tablecloth.

If he were a better pet owner, Todd would've noticed. In a better world, Todd would've stuck to the no-chicken diet Walt's vet prescribed. But in this world, his cat's manager is wearing a tux.

Neil could be a Hollywood star sitting there under candlelight. With the wine in his head and the river waves in his stomach, Todd wants to take Tides of Love and write it anew.

But he doesn't.

Todd pokes at his Michelin star meal. It may be pathetic, but valentines are valentines no matter how fake.

He crumples a napkin and drops it over the camera lens.

There are no witnesses when Neil pets Walt, his long, delicate fingers brushing Todd's own. Nobody shares how they linger, how they curve, almost taking Todd's hand to hold.

And when Neil makes a determined and tipsy climb up the deck, Todd doesn't turn, doesn't direct his stare away. He finds himself laughing and scrambling to race against Neil's impossibly long legs. With a fire inside, Todd snatches up the lookout post, throwing drunken taunts out in his wake.

With flushed cheeks and Walt warm in his arms, Todd isn't a tentative poet or a hermit half in early retirement. He's Jack flying high through the clouds. He's bold and he's reckless in his dreams, and in his love for a Shakespearean Rose.

Like every ship, Cupid's Arrow sweeps Todd happily into the deep.

It's only with his hangover the inevitable sinking begins. His iceberg is the size of date night floating up his fyp with over 20,000 hits.

A heart-shaped button has never cut so deep.

But with engagement comes sales and not one, but two, NY Times bestsellers, so the poet and media manager keep taking Walt on contracted dates.

Cafes roll into museums, picnic dates, and late-night Broadway shoots.

Walt poses while Neil charms and draws Todd closer and closer into their extroverted orbit.

By April, Todd's poems hang from the walls backstage at Circle in the Square. He walks between frames correcting and composing while Walt scurries beneath seats, and sniffs for wet food pouches stashed under stacks of Neil's scripts.

It's a routine, Todd tells himself. It's enrichment to exercise Walt. It's his typewriter stored as a video prop amongst the leafy crowns and Yorick skulls at home in Neil's dressing room.

It's this home the poet follows, each purr and smile like catnip until he finds himself curling up during rehearsals behind painted, woodland sets. His poems layer across the orchestra, snatches of Neil's soliloquy, and the beat of paws on wood as Todd opens his words and world to TikTok Live.

With these unique readings come sponsors, and with sponsors come trips.

As spring creeps in, Ginny packs them off on a brand deal supplying a '57 Chevrolet Corvette for the road Coney Island.

They shoot Walt in the driver's seat like a city-dwelling Grace Kelly in sunglasses and a scarf. In a second snap, Neil lounges on the red bonnet in a line of Times Square traffic, and Todd is blurrily backlit by Battery Tunnel in a final car shot, the winning polaroid cover for his upcoming collection, Epigraphs for Nostalgia.

The road to true love has never felt so smooth.

Todd knows it can’t last, but he clings to this day straight from the brand’s vintage guide to teenage dates.

Roll after roll fills with charmingly juvenile snaps.

They wave from Deno’s Wonder Wheel. Product placement smears Coney Cone's ice cream over Walt's nose, while Neil and Todd squabble over film and notebook sheets which fly loose to scatter like snow on the boardwalk.

"I told you," Neil whoops, "those dead drafts want to fly!"

Chastened by staff, but thrilled with the candid, self-timer snaps, the poet and media manager take one more shot.

"Come on," Todd grumbles, wrestling Walt into an admittedly dingy photo booth. "You can't take care of yourself."

Walt meows in protest. But the curtain falls and traps both man and cat as Neil slides onto the bench.

Flash. Walt pressed nose to nose with Todd. Flash. Todd squawks while Neil howls at the ice cream Walt smears on Todd's nose. Flash. Walt leaps and Neil dives into Todd's lap in an effort to catch the escaping cat. Ding!

Pink hearts float in bubble letters like cotton candy across the screen: Kisscam Count.

Descending digits blink in and out.

Three.

The poet freezes. His cat's media manager glances up, his body still sprawled across the poet's lap.

Two.

Neil inhales.

One.

The final lines of Epigraph for Nostalgia linger on the seam of Todd's lips.

“Carpe Diem," he mutters.

There's a flicker.

An image appears of an Instagram crashing kiss.

[clown-eating-pig]

Jonathan "surrounded-by-angry-sapphics" Sims ass post