#May expand on this

[nothanksjohnny]

Spoiler alert Prefect

Imagine a TWST actor Au where the prefect is the tom Holland of the world. At least one of the other has to be present in their interviews even if their not on camera to keep Yuu from yapping.

" it's a honor to have you here at the studio Prefect! Tell me are the rumors of your latest film getting a sequel?! Maybe even a few new faces we havent seen for a while?"

Cue to the camera view switching from the interview to Vil giving Yuu the most " caring about you won't stop me from killing you" side eye. Meanwhile Yuu is sweating but holding a smile.

" well I cannot confirm but it was quite yhe thrill to find haha!..loved my fellow cast members!"

" Idia has certainly been wonderful to get to know!"

"....I wasn't supposed to say that was i?.."

After a commercial break Yuu now has duct tape on their mouth and vil is now answering the questions for them.

[zakoorye]

Had the funny idea of Ravio replacing Link in TOTK and needed to do a quick drawing

[monkesupreme]

ref

a satisfactory answer for Selina

[bowties8glasses]

giving characters archetypes/aesthetic styles like they're Pokemon

[dammjamboy]

I LOVE AU'S!!! i might have gotten a little carried away though ;;;

alt versions under the cut! including a version with the translated ciphers ^^

[wandixx]

I've seen a lot of different takes on Fear Toxin/other fear causing stuff (Yellow Lanterns Ring or something)(later just called Fear Toxin cause I'm lazy) but here is another one.

Danny seems like he isn't affected by Fear Toxin because his biggest fear is that his accident changed him so much he is no longer human, he can no longer truly experience human things.

So when he gets lungful of fear Toxin, he feels normal. He was antsy before, because c'mon, it's a rogue attack but it's not worse. Or so he thought. Because the anxiety lingers. Not enough to register as abnormal just this slight hypervigilance that makes you see things about yourself and your surroundings that you'd never realize otherwise. He'd realize he doesn't blink as often. He'd realize that if he doesn't consciously focus, he sometimes seems to not touch the ground. Forgets to breathe. He can't feel his own pulse at time. He'd realize people will miss him when he's walking down the street as if he was invisible (people just don't care about everyone they pass by). When he'd look straight into his reflection, he'd look slightly to the left. Not enough to actually name anything that was wrong but just stretched enough to fall on the wrong side of the uncanny valley. If he just caught his reflection in the peripheral vision, it'd be vaguely shadowy creature with glowing green eyes and white smoke instead of hair. Overall he'd be just wrong enough to be distinctly not human.

For everyone else, he'd be just a dude. Literally couldn't find more normal dude than this dude. Will pass as absolutely normal human unless someone is specifically looking for ecto-ghost stuff. Even most magic users wouldn't clock him at the glance

Tldr: Fear Toxin makes Danny perceive himself as some sort of eldritch horror but not enough to make him believe he'd actually be affected, while from outside perspective he's Just A Dude™

[ash-and-starlight]

celebrating Her month by updating my mai&sokka bestieism manifesto & introducing their matching undercuts era

[piromina]

SHADOW MILK LAST TO CORRUPT THEORY YOU WILL ALWAYS LIVE IN MY HEAD

uhh also what if this is why he’s putting up the biggest fight here. what if the witches were the ones to drive him insane. what if shadow milk is the most distorted beast of them all because he was late to corruption so the witches forced it upon him, breaking his older self in the process.

[landwriter]

Hi! I hope you feel better soon!

This is a great prompt by @academicblorbo about Hob Gadling being the landlord of the Dead Boys. It has a wonderful fill already by @omgcinnamoncakes but I’d love to see what you come up with for it!

Alternative prompt from me if that doesn’t work for your brain: remember the date between Jenny and Maxine? How about one between Jenny and Esther? Poor Jenny is going to really question her taste in beautiful blonde women 😭

Thank you! I saw ‘landlord’ and ‘decades’ and blacked out. I love Hob having them as tenants. Maybe even before the modern day meeting in Sandman.

The Sandman/Dead Boy Detectives, 2.4k, G Dream/Hob, pre-slash, alternating/outsider POV, found family, a reunion and revelations etc.

---

Hob did not, strictly speaking, have tenants. It was more of a minor haunting. Pun intended.

The small room above the pub and below his flat wasn’t worth charging anyone rent for; when he first bought the building he had put a handsome oak desk in there and some bookshelves before wondering who he was possibly keeping up appearances for. Who was he going to take back upstairs that would stop and say, Wait, can I see your office? So he’d left it as more or less an abandoned room.

When he realized a pair of boys were using it as their clubhouse, he didn’t do anything at first. He saw them quietly coming and going a couple times, disappearing around the corner of the first landing. Brazen things. He meant to call after them, but the shout had died in his throat. He’d been young once. He still remembered the need to get away from it all. It was only when he went to check if they’d been making a mess of the room that he discovered it was still locked.

He’d crouched down and inspected the latch and found no marks at all. Huh, he’d said, and jiggled it again, and been a little more interested in whatever clever way they were getting into it after they disappeared up his stairs. Then he didn’t see them for weeks, and assumed they had gotten bored and stopped.

Until they came back. In the middle of an argument, striding through the pub like they owned it. Hob straightened up as they passed him.

“I cannot believe you broke the mirror.”

“I was in a rush! It’s not my fault you forgot you needed Arcana Incantatum after we arrived at the church. And found the demon.”

“I hardly forgot, I only made the mistake of assuming you would know to pack it by now.”

Hob raised his eyebrows. The boys disappeared into the back hallway. He followed them as they went upstairs, too preoccupied with their drama to notice Hob. They turned onto the landing, still carrying on. Even as they walked through the door. The locked, closed door.

Hob blinked. Then he drew his keys from his pocket and opened the door. The boys were still inside. One of them was pulling a mirror out of a backpack that was several times too small for it. They didn’t even look up, and Hob wondered how he couldn’t possibly have put it together earlier. He cleared his throat.

“Hello, boys.” That caught their attention. Hob grinned. “Seems we’re neighbours.”

---

Edwin abhorred getting involved with the living. He and Charles got along perfectly well on their own. They were a duo. An intrepid pair. Best mates, like Charles often stressed whenever he was about to ask something particularly ridiculous of Edwin. They were solid together. As solid as two ghost boys could be. The living, though, were messy and unpredictable.

Perhaps the most salient fact at present: Charles invariably became attached to them.

“He’s sad, mate. I can see it in his eyes.”

“You said those exact words in ‘94 about a dog. At least ask Hob himself.”

Before you decide to adopt him too.

Hob Gadling, irritatingly, was unobjectionable on every ground Edwin could think of. He had made no imposition upon them. When he found them, he only asked them their business, and then told them he was usually downstairs, or upstairs, if they needed anything they couldn’t procure themselves. He had an interest in rare and old books, as it happened. In explaining this, he had also hinted at being far older than his looks would suggest, which vexed Edwin twice over. He knew his curiosity would not be slaked until he talked to Hob, but then he would be the one getting involved with the living, and Charles would hardly let him forget it.

“Do you think he’s really immortal? Mate’s far too calm. Last week I saw him stop a fight downstairs by stepping right between these huge blokes. He just said something and smiled and they backed right off.” Charles lit up. “Do you reckon he’d teach me how to do that? Conflict de-escalation, innit? I could show him some moves with the cricket bat, I bet. Oh, do you think he’s a cricket fan?”

It was obviously a hopeless case, and since the Dead Boy Detectives never took on hopeless cases, there was only one course of action that remained. Edwin had long since disabused himself of the notion he needed to breathe. He had no beating heart, yet when he was startled, he would find himself clutching his chest. Now, he exhaled slowly through his nose in an entirely superfluous sigh of resignation. “Well, Charles, shall we go talk to him?”

---

When the millennium came around, Hob found himself celebrating it with his accidental tenants. There was something gloriously satisfying about being able to make a toast to the next one and have it taken seriously. He’d asked them if they had something better to do - spectral trouble to get into et cetera - and they both looked at him with almost identical put-upon and incredulous expressions.

Hob had a terrible suspicion they thought they were taking care of him as much as he thought he was taking care of them.

Edwin, with his insatiable curiosity and, deep underneath it, something Hob thought he recognized from himself: a sharp animal ferocity and a refusal to go until he’s good and done, natural laws be damned. Charles, still brightly, painfully alive for a ghost - who should be alive still, by all rights, but nothing of this life was fair - who joked to cover up hurt in a way Hob knew too, and glowed any time Hob turned so much as a kind word to him.

He wondered what they saw when they looked at him.

The year ticked over, and technology kept working. Charles grinned innocently and said he could probably possess the telly and break it that way if Hob wanted?

Hob’s heart twinged. He knew they weren’t his, not to keep, but it seemed that teenagers didn’t change at all over the centuries, even if the boys were only sort of teenagers in the way Hob was only sort of in his thirties. It didn’t change that they’d been punted from the mortal coil before having a chance to grow up, and figure out the kind of men they were, and make their own choices and fuck up and try to be better than their fathers, and everything everyone deserved. Hob had made more than his share of mistakes. They hadn’t been given the chance to make nearly any at all.

So they made toasts to the new millennium, to the detective agency, to themselves, all stuck out of time in different ways and refusing to move on for different reasons, and Hob allowed himself to think of Robyn and privately pretend that they were his all the same.

---

A week later, Hob was reminded of the other universal traits of teenagers when he mentioned his stranger and both boys began to grill him with terrifying alacrity. Before turning to his dating life, like ravening bloody wolves. When Edwin had asked, in a specifically nineteenth century manner that Hob remembered all too well, if Hob had always been unmarried, he’d nearly put his head in his hands.

“It can be hard for me to associate with the living too, you know. For obvious reasons.”

Charles had turned to Edwin and hissed “See? I told you.”

Right in front of him. Nobody had taught them manners.

“Manners, Charles,” replied Edwin loftily. “We will, of course, respect your privacy. A man is entitled to his secrets.”

“You’ll go upstairs and rifle through my personal things, is what you’ll do,” said Hob.

Charles coughed to hide his laugh. Edwin flushed and looked away. Hob snorted, and told them about Eleanor and Robyn. Properly. It was a strange relief. He’d told the story wrong for plausibility’s sake so many times he had been worried he’d forget the truth of it one day.

They had listened, and been remarkably quiet until Charles piped up and offered to set him up with a ‘really fit’ ghost. Hob had roundly shut that down. Woefully, not all explanations were satisfying enough. Charles cornered him again the next morning while he was cleaning the bar.

“No, mate, I still don’t get it.” Hob was about to say he no more wanted to be with someone who couldn’t feel pleasure from his touch than someone who would grow old and be taken from him while he stayed the same, when Charles went on, bafflingly, to ask, “Why don’t you meet your mysterious friend more often than once a century?”

Hob sighed. “Adults are often busy, Charles.” Nevermind that he had begun to wonder the same since the eighteenth century. He’d always just assumed time passed differently for his stranger.

Charles just laughed and perched himself on the bar top. “Ooh, low blow. We’re busy too, you know. Plenty of cases to solve.”

“Really,” said Hob. “You’re busy. Right now.”

Charles waggled his eyebrows.

“Charles, I am not a case,” said Hob, sternly as possible. “I’m not even a ghost. He’s not a ghost. No ghosts.”

“We could investigate. Maybe ghosts are involved. What even is he? Why every hundred years? Is it some sort of Persephone situation?”

Hob bit his lip against shouting I don’t know! I don’t know anything about him! Instead, he tried to smile, and felt it come out as a wince instead. “He’s very private.”

Charles scowled. “Yeah, obviously. You don’t even know his name. He can’t be that good of a friend if he’s too busy to see you more than once a century.”

Hob couldn’t see the expression on his own face, but he saw Charles’ shocked reaction well enough. It was so long ago for him, and still Hob knew at once what Charles saw now: that first time you manage to visibly hurt a grown-up’s feelings, people who seemed too old and too stern to actually feel pain, when you’d been going around kicking at them like a new foal, just to stretch your legs.

“Sorry,” said Charles, instant regret chasing his surprise. He was a good kid.

“It’s alright,” said Hob. He meant it. He looked down at the shining bartop. His hands were restless with the urge to light a cigarette. He gave in. It wasn’t like Charles would be dying of lung cancer any time soon if he decided to follow Hob’s example. “I don’t think he would say he’s very good at being a friend either. Truth is, I’d love to see him more often. But we had an awful fight the last time we met. If he forgives me, I’ll have to ask.”

“Mates always make up,” said Charles earnestly. He was such a good kid.

“I suppose they do.” Charles still looked sorry, and Hob clapped him on the shoulder. “Hey. Thanks for looking out for me, Charles.”

Charles beamed at him. “Always. We’ve got your back, me and Edwin.”

---

Charles couldn’t bloody believe it. Hob’s friend was here. There was nobody else it could be. He and Edwin were watching from a nearby table, pretending to be absorbed in their own conversation. Neither man noticed them. They were too busy looking at each other.

He couldn’t imagine spending more than a century apart from Edwin. The way Hob had talked about him and his stranger over the years, it sometimes seemed like they were best mates too, no matter how little they saw each other. He was dead sure that’s what had Hob looking so gutted when he thought nobody was looking. He had known they would make up, though. Maybe now Hob would be happier.

“Charles, we really ought not eavesdrop,” hissed Edwin. Right as he scooted his chair closer, the cheeky hypocrite. Hob and his friend were talking too quietly to properly hear, their heads bent together. Lots to catch up on, Charles reckoned. A hundred years. He couldn’t stop thinking about the number. It seemed impossible. Funny, he couldn’t imagine that long away from Edwin, but he could imagine spending that long being best mates. There was nobody he’d rather hide from Death with.

Hob’s face was doing something strange as his long-lost friend talked. Then Hob moved and grasped him by the shoulders, so tight that his knuckles stood out in relief. The man said something in low tones and Hob shook his head, and then pulled him in for a hug. The man stiffened and then relaxed, and his arms came up around Hob’s.

Their cheeks both looked wet.

Charles swallowed and it felt suddenly a little like he was choking. He should look away, only he couldn’t.

“They must be great friends,” said Edwin softly.

“Yeah,” he managed to croak. We won’t ever need to have a reunion like this because I’m never going to lose you, mate. I won’t let them take you. It was stuck behind the phantom lump in his phantom throat. His hand, without him telling it to, reached out and grabbed hold of Edwin’s. Edwin squeezed it hard, and Charles knew he didn’t have to make his voice work after all.

Then the man pushed Hob away, but only far enough to grab his face and pull him back again, thumbing over Hob’s cheeks, and beside him, Edwin honest-to-god gasped, and then Charles momentarily forgot how thoughts worked too.

---

It happens thus: in the New Inn, just next door to the White Horse, some 639 years after they first met, Hob Gadling and Dream of the Endless share their first kiss. Neither, if they had bothered to think about it, would have intended to have an audience, but it’s a well-known fact that some kisses cannot wait, and theirs was chief among them, being that it had so much to say, and was so very long overdue.

I missed you, it said, and I came back, it said, and Please don’t go away from me again, and I could not.

And atop them, like blankets, were laid invisible the daydreams of those who saw them, including two long-dead boys, whose dreams were woven from the fresh and unaccounted-for possibilities of Hob kissing his mysterious stranger. Another man, thought Edwin. His best friend, thought Charles. Dream was the only one who could have heeded this, but he did not, because Hob Gadling was holding him tight and daydreaming loudly of this kiss and more, of this today and tonight and tomorrow, ever greedy and ever easily pleased, and Dream could hear nothing at all over their clamouring and comingled joy; the bright gold daydream between the scant space of their bodies that sounded so much like at last.

[tectonicatomic]

Why are you starting something you can’t finish, Feryn?

[peachphernalia]

diagram of the Terrible Critters . because i recently had to explain how the hell the hv swap worked & it was harder than it had to be

[spookberry]

Why is the Pool at Haunted High an actual giant cup of water tho

(Previous) (next)

[booty-uprooter]

my grand literary theory is that so many fictional characters (esp main characters) come off as autistic-coded because a lot of traits commonly associated with autism are good traits for main characters to have

[applestorms]

on another note. it genuinely kinda surprises me how many people interpret ivan to be the type of person to Repress and Deny his feelings when, from all the evidence we actually have, he actually seems to be quite open about it?

he does do the dumb stare and watch from afar thing that till does with mizi, yeah, but even there i don’t know if i would necessarily interpret that as ivan like. pushing his feelings away. compare the difference between how till and ivan are framed in these two shots:

in till's, we are pushed way farther back, seeing his full face and a good deal of his body as he slouches back. the colors are bright, fitting in with most of the happier mizisua angst memories, and you can read till's expression pretty clearly, even with his face beaten up. it's cute and mostly innocent, the kind of thing that makes you want to gently push him out from behind the wall to watch him stutter and get all embarrassed but reach out and play with his friends.

in ivan's... jesus. i mean, he looks like a freak (affectionate). you can't read his expression, despite the fact that we are zoomed in much more closely, only really seeing his eye as the placement of his hand covers his mouth. there is very little body language to convey the same type of sweet, childhood Yearning that till has in his staring shot. instead, for ivan, it all comes down to the Eye, how intently he stares as he watches till and mizi. it almost doesn't even feel like he wants to join in at that moment, or not yet, like watching alone is enough to feed the starvation.

don't get me wrong, there's still plenty of Yearning and Angst in that boy-- round 3 alone is enough to demonstrate that. but what i think people sometimes forget to account for is the fact that ivan acts like that specifically because he has already been rejected.

up until [whenever this moment happens in the timeline] ivan seemingly has absolutely no qualms about getting all up close and personal with till. we see this in plenty of the round 6 flashbacks:

he is plenty comfortable getting all up in till's personal space, whether it be to beat him up or just exist near him.

i also like how in this shot (below) we can see him specifically stand up and move seats, just so that he can bother till during lunch and have his little vampire weirdo moment (aww).

ivan's behavior only really shifts after till has already rejected him-- which, i'd also like to note, seems to genuinely catch ivan off guard. perhaps he genuinely didn't even consider the possibility that till would ever push him away?? i guess it's hard to know the specifics of what he was feeling or thinking in that exact moment, but at the very least this speaks to the ease with which they existed around each other previously.

thus: ivan doesn't begin with the belief that till could never love him. he only starts to doubt whether or not his feelings are requited after he has already been rejected, after he pushed too hard and too quick.

after the failed meteor shower date, his affections become a lot more subtle-- sneaking around to take care of till when he needs it, but only when his eyes are closed. the love and obsession and watchfulness is all still there, but he takes more care to hide it better now. until... well, y'know.

he lets the selfishness win. :]

[neiptune]

thinking about shoyo sprawled on your couch, barely big enough to fit a man who's all shoulders, arms and thighs. you're straddling him, cheeks warm and sore from how much you're giggling while insistently tickling his sides, his broad hands on your hips to keep you steady in case you lose your balance. shoyo's smiling so big, almost feels guilty that all your efforts are going to waste because he was not joking when he said he's simply not ticklish.

but you look so beautiful like that, frustrated and out of breath. he brings one of his hands to the back of his neck to prop his head further up, gaze going soft while you conduct your silly experiment.

eventually you give up, certainly annoyed and tired but mainly distracted by the swell of an impossibly large bicep. he's gorgeous and you still can't quite get over the adoration swarming in those eyes, an ever present reminder that incredibly, unbelievably, shoyo is all yours.

when you eventually let yourself fall onto him with a groan, his chest is solid and warm underneath yours, one massive arm curls around your frame as a quiet laugh shakes him.

you murmur something about how annoying he is, breath warm and lips brushing against the skin of his neck. right as you're considering whether you should nibble at the exposed skin, he jolts with a giggle. curious, you ask what's wrong and once more, your breath fans over a specific spot of his neck and shoyo jerks away so suddenly, he almost ends up on the floor.

“interesting” you mutter to yourself.

[cable-salamdr]

I keep thinking about Crossroads culture since it’s a mix of so many different ones, but what I like to imagine most is them having a big ass memorial or graveyard plaque with names on them: A remembrance for all those that died in the Merge or have gone missing and have not been found again. To vaguely quote episode 1 “The Merge gave me everything I have” “and it took everything from me”