#also what a goddamn nightmare to color this was

[offdensen]

The end of days are nigh. The Metalocalypse is upon us. Unless you are vigilant, you will drown in fear.

[thatgoddamngingerundercut]

BTS Home Party 'I Like It pt. 2' Suga focus

[kinos-fortress-2]

i just woke up and realized my art did developed holy crap

[iamespecter]

Hi. I have new stuff to show. There are more coming as well, I just had to stop with three for now because it's so hot rn.

(tw for body horror)! | Digital Nightmares post

Now, when tackling the monster designs for this little crossover, I had to keep in mind what made the LN monsters so unique and uncanny in the first place. Which meant simple, but exaggerated, contorting body horror features. I had to not stray from original TADC concepts and try to embody them in these designs as best as possible, and made them extra grotesque. For Jax's case, he's become a farmer that also doubles as a scarecrow, something he asked the Doll (Ragatha) to do to him. His purple complexion is the result of this decision.

There's also the factor of making them have more muted colors as opposed to bright and saturated ones, to really make it hit home and the cast would fit in the universe of Little Nightmares (even though the environments are most definitely not gonna be the same as the games, since the monsters' environments reflect their occupation/role) Ragatha in this one is a Dollmaker whom had an unfortunate run in with the Entomologist (Kinger), resulting in stitches.

The designs may look simple enough, but make no mistake; I had a TON of trouble figuring out how to incorporate the TADC cast into a more monstrous versions of themselves because of just how vastly different the vibes between the two medias are. These designs underwent at least 2-3 tries before being finalized, because goddamn character design is my passion but does it kick ass sometimes Good ol' Kinger here is an Entomologist (Insect collector), who doesn't like his "focus" on his work and belongings being disturbed. He has two detached hands that roam around.

Obviously this isn't where it ends because I still have to do Gangle, Zooble, Gummigoo, Gloink Queen and Loolilalu (Maybe even Martha Mildenhall) so this may be a multiple part series.

Not to mention, Pomni and Caine's monster selves too because I'm not gonna ignore that, everyone becomes a monster in this and no one can stop meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee

[foursaints]

Do you have any Rosekiller headcanons??

bro the amount of hcs i have about them should get me locked away

i love the idea of a rosekiller as opposites? evan as an extremely competent but also insanely neurotic and controlling nightmare of a premed student who takes frightening color-coded minimalist notes… and then you have barty. who fully vomited in the campus fountain that week

(except on the inside barty is actually quite clever and evan can be a MESS)

they meet through regulus and it’s one of those situations where two people should NOT be sleeping with each other (how do they even know each other?) because it makes no goddamn sense, they have nothing in common, and- oh they’re fucking. i guess this is everybody’s problem now.

complete train wreck together but it’s beautiful. they’re mutually questioning all their life choices

barty commitment issues jr introduces evan as "his little buddy" while theyre fucking and evan responds by burning all of barty's dumb Nine Inch Nails band shirts in a trash fire. and barty is just like Wow he must really like me <3

"why is my uptight medical school TA doing the world's drunkest karaoke to You Shook Me All Night Long with that guy in hot topic chains. what are they d- oh my god that is SO explicit"

they're both freakishly obsessed with each other but refuse to admit it and then will be in the McDonald's drive thru bullying each other like "AWWW does the little baby have a little CRUSH ON ME 🥺??" <- said mean as fuck

their friend group has to put up with minimum 6+ months of this shit yet the INSTANT they officially get together rosekiller shows up in matching couple's windbreakers that say "HELLO VIRGINS" on the back. evan is spitting his gum into barty's open mouth.

theyre insufferable together. they shouldn't last a week

barty loudly publicly proposes in the middle of regulus's wedding (interrupting everything) and evan thinks its the most romantic thing he's ever seen

he's on his knees and quoting bleachers lyrics. "hey baby baby, ive been so far gone lately", he's saying. he has tears in his eyes. evan is openly weeping. regulus is about to call security

[yuesya]

“Why did you do that?!”

Tenes shuffles uneasily in the background, biting his lip as he clenches his fingers over the clipboard. He casts a glance at Thrasus, who looks angry, and it’s kind of scary, even though the anger isn’t aimed at him. Tenes would rather that his supervisor be upset with him, though, because the current reality is even worse: Thrasus is angry with Titania.

Titania, the first of the Iron Cavalry. The bioweapon that was specifically designed to lead and command the legions of cloned soldiers against the Swarm.

Behind the thick layer of reinforced glass, Titania floats quietly in the blue-green experimental liquid. It casts an eerie color over her naked body –as if the solid black limbs morphing into human flesh wasn’t enough of an eerie sight already. And there were also those antennae atop her head. Tenes is almost glad that Titania has never opened her eyes before, because if it’s the same as those beady eyes of the bug-aliens, then he thinks that he might have nightmares for a week.

[I do not understand your question, Thrasus.] The speakers connected to the audio device acting as Titania’s ‘voice’ suddenly come to life. The voice is feminine, but very clearly artificial and robotic all the same.

(Personally, Tenes has never really understood the choice; wouldn’t it be easy enough to designate a more realistic-sounding voice to translate Titania’s signals? Wasn’t enough already that Titania looked half-bug alien, what was the point in making her seem half-machine lifeform, too? … More nightmare fuel, as if the entire world wasn’t enough of a nightmare already?)

“You were designed with the pinnacle of Glamoth’s intelligence, don’t play dumb.” Thrasus’ voice is harsh and unamused. “Why did you withdraw the Iron Cavalry from Pandaisia?”

[The forces stationed there were not enough to overcome the increased numbers of the Swarm. Engaging in combat would not have yielded meaningful results, and so I deemed that the Iron Cavalry would be better utilized in–]

“So you just gave up on Pandaisia?!” Thrasus roars.

[Correction: Temporary retreat.] Titania remains unmoving amid the hundreds of wires that she’s connected to. For all intents and purposes, she appears to be peacefully sleeping –which strikes a strong contrast against Thrasus’ anger. [Pandaisia is a nonessential area with low strategic value. It would be better to reclaim Phaenna first, before mounting any efforts to target–]

“The Council specifically ordered for Pandaisia to be reclaimed by the end of this month,” the scientist hisses. “Do you not understand the boost it would be for morale? Pandaisia’s agricultural industry once had the highest output in Glamoth with its fertile lands. If we can tell people that Pandaisia is ours once again, if we can let them know that there’s hope even despite the ongoing resource crisis–”

[Pandaisia’s lands have already been ravaged by the Swarm. It is unlikely that the fertility of the land will produce any bountiful crop yields. Estimated time of recovery is–]

“It’s not just about the goddamned resources! We need a meaningful victory that people can rally behind and cheer for!” Thrasus groans, running a hand through his hair. “Gods, resources are thin enough already, and if the Council decides to pull their support, then we–”

“Let me deal with the Council, Thrasus.”

Thank gods Chief Scientist Polus is here. Tenes quietly closes and hides his communicator –the one he’d used to notify the Chief Scientist of what was going on here. Then, he does his best to make himself small and disappear into a corner of the room.

“… Polus.” It’s either the Chief Scientist’s sudden appearance or the fact that Thrasus has already gotten most of the anger out of his system through shouting that has the man swiftly calming down again. “You aren’t worried at all by what this might mean for us?”

“The Council won’t decommission the Iron Cavalry,” the Chief Scientist shakes his head. “The Iron Cavalry is the hope of Glamoth. It’s only been a short time since Titania was activated, and we’re already starting to see results with the Swarm being pushed back in various locations all over Glamoth. The Council is just being too hasty.”

“Whatever. I’ll leave the political talk to you, then,” Thrasus grumbles.

The Chief Scientist nods, then turns towards the immobile bioweapon floating in her containment chamber.

[Hello, Polus.]

“Hello there, Titania.” Chief Scientist Polus checks a few of the readings on the side panels, then nods in apparent satisfaction at what he sees. “How are you doing?”

[I am well. All systems are online and operational.]

“Good,” the Chief Scientist nods, stepping backwards. He pulls out a holographic screen, and begins tapping away through them, his fingers a blue. “And, Titania –none of us here are military officers or strategists, so we can’t help you in matters of the battlefield. But, we’re still here to support you. Don’t be too concerned about losing your soldiers.”

There is a slight pause this time, before Titania responds again. [… I do not understand. Is there not an ongoing resource crisis?]

Thrasos snorts and folds his arms across his chest, muttering, “This is the one resource that there’s plenty of. Accursed bug aliens…”

“It’s fine, Titania,” Chief Scientist Polus replies, ignoring his fellow researcher and not even pausing to glance up from his growing cluster of holographic screens. “Don’t worry about it. We can just make more of them.”

[lazyneonrabbitt]

Monsters among us

Daryl Dixon x Reader | pt.2

Your water breaks in the middle of nowhere but to your luck you stumble onto the prison where you find the man of your nightmares.

Angst? Childbirth. Conflicted feelings.

🐺 🐺 🐺

The fence beyond the tree line was the best thing you had seen in a while.

You stumbled out of the woods and into the field, keeping your distance from the walkers and looking for a way in.

If someone would see you right now they'd shoot you on sight, mistaking you for being a walker as well.

Blood ran down your legs, walking with a limp and hunched over clutching your stomach that spasmed with every step you took.

Spotting what looked like a gate at the other side of the field you tried your hardest to speed up your waddle, crying out with every few steps.

Closing in you spotted figures walking around behind the gate before hearing a woman's voice yell out to get to the gates.

A large, metal door opened and an armed man ran out in your direction, keeping his gun pointed at you as he approached.

"Are you alone? Bit?" He called out before stopping near you.

"Alone. Not bit. Please help me." You wobbled in place, looking up at the man who was reaching out a hand for you to take. It was clear by now you weren't a threat. "We have a doctor, he'll look at you."

Once inside you were immediately led to a secluded cell where an elderly man and woman came to your side.

"Oh dear, its good you found us." The woman called as soon as she saw you and was on you in a second helping you out of your ill fitting sweatpants and ordering the younger women who came looking to grab a list of items.

"Miss, how long would you guess have you been in labor?" The old man asked as his hands found their way between your legs as soon as the woman had your pants off.

"M.. morning.." You stammered as the sharp pain returned and you cried out.

A hand reached for yours as the woman appeared at your side.

"I'm Carol. This is Hershel. We'll help you get this baby out, okay?"

You nodded, breathing through the pain and thanking them.

Soon the younger ones returned with supplies and a warm rag was cleaning you up to better assess the situation.

Hershel's hand felt around your belly and checked you up, announcing you were gonna have to push at the next contraction.

Soon you were making good progress but both adults' faces drained of any color before Carol excused herself. You followed her figure and saw her grab one of the women on stand-by and send her off.

"Sweetie, can you tell me who the dad is?" Carol's soft voice was next to you again as hershel kept his attention on the child.

You shook your head and dropped the subject as her hands were needed on your other end.

Before you could ask anything a man was dragged into the room. "Why'dya want me he--" he stopped dead in his tracks. Your gaze mirroring his shocked one as he quickly stepped closer making you flinch.

"Stay away from me." You shook as your belly spasmed. You cried from exhaustion but also from terror. You curled into yourself as he stepped up to Hershel, hoping he'd tell him something but he only pointed him back to Carol.

He knew why he was there, the reason he was called was currently making its way out of you. He recognised you, you haunted his nightmares.

Little did he know he haunted yours too.

"Why'd you call me here? Huh? She say somethin'?" He snapped, voice loud and deep, rumbling low in his throut sounded a growl right at the same time your child seemed to start moving around. "Get him out!" You screamed in his direction before Carol could form an answer. Not even you knew if you meant the man or the baby, but Carol seemed to decide on shoving the man out of the room.

"Okay, out with you. We'll talk later." He let himself be shoved out but not without protest. They cursed among each other all the way down the hall and right before the slam of a door rung through the building you heard the man roar. "I should have all right to talk ta her. Tha's mah goddamn kid in there!"

If the whole prison hadn't heard you scream in pain you'd be surprised, but it was done and you were patched up and brought to rest in a cell near the others'

You had passed out the second Hershel has pulled the baby from your body and when you woke up in the cell you were welcomed by one of the younger women who was with you earlier. She told Carol was taking care of your son.

"My name's Maggie," The woman introduced herself as Hershel's daughter. "How do know Daryl?"

You gave her a confused look before realizing Daryl must be the man that had showed up earlier.

Before you could answer a shadow appeared behind the curtain and Carol announced her presence.

She walked in with a bundle wrapped in cloth and an apologetic look in her eyes.

In this world it wasn't hard to know what that look meant. Especially as she held your child fully covered in her arms. Eyes wide and brimming with tears you looked at her but were quickly distracted by movement. The cloth slipped and draped over her wrist and revealed the back of a head, covered in a layer of light brown hair and what looked like large, upward pointing ears.

"Carol?" You couldn't find words so you waited until she moved closer to sit next to you.

"I really don't want to scare you, but Daryl demanded to see his son so I went to him. He really wants to talk but I needed you to see your son first and decide if you agree to talk."

You heard her talk but honestly didn't register a single word except 'Daryl' and 'your son'.

Your son who you were currently staring at, still in Carol's arms.

Your son that you had earlier today.

Your son, that the monster who murdered your entire camp had put inside of you.

That monster who walked around this prison in human skin. The skin you saw in your nightmares.

"He's like him." Voicing your observation was the first thing on your mind to kill the silence hanging in the cell.

Carol smiled at your at least not terrified words and held out the child for you to hold, or just look at. Which ever you preferred.

Your hand lifted closer slowly until a yawn spooked you and you pulled back. A stubby muzzle appeared from Carol's chest, now no longer tucked into her but staring right at you. Bright blue eyes in a soft furred face.

With shaking hands you tried again to reach out and pick him up. You really wanted to try because even if he looked like his father, he didn't have to be like him.

Carol helped you properly hold the pup against you and suggested you try feeding him.

"You mean, let him drink from me? Won't he bite my tit off?"

Both women laughed at your silly but genuine concern and assured you it would be okay, helped you with your shirt and bra and made sure the little one latched on properly.

It was insane, seeing the large not-entirely-wolf pup feeding off you. You spent so much time denying the fact of the beast being the one getting you pregnant, but here you were.

"Can you go get him?" You looked over at Maggie who nodded and walked out in search of Daryl.

Carol couldn't stop smiling at the way you progressed from screaming at him to leave, to asking to see him while you fed your child.

Only a short moment later Maggie returned with Daryl walking in right behind her.

A soft "hey," left his lips as he looked you over. Your pup was still happily drinking from you and the angry, terrified energy you held earlier was nowhere to be sensed. "M'sorry." He switched places with Carol so he could be close to you both, hoping his pup would sense him now that he was awake.

"How'd ya recognise me earlier?" His voice was so much softer than before and your pup stirred in his presence and a soft whine left his lips.

Your hand went to caress fhe fur between his ears as you talked. About the nightmares and the lies you came up with to stay sane.

Daryl returned the gesture with his own collection of nightmares of tearing a camp and this until now unknown woman to shreds. Except he never knew you were actually still alive.

He never came across any other survivors and couldn't remember your scent so he had nothing to track. He apologised uncountable times during your conversation and offered you anything you could want or need.

"What are ya namin' him?" It was the one question that mulled around in your head the whole time and Daryl beat you to it. You gave him a look and thought it over.

"What about Hunter?"

A grumble sounded from next to you. "'s gon' be a hunter for sure, yeah." He nodded in agreement. "I like it.'

You were happy you so easily settled all those stupid new parent things, although you were going to have to talk and figure out what happened. With his other half pushing those memories away and your trauma response doing the same it was gonna be quite the challenge.

"I hope you don't mind me keeping this cell for just me and Hunter for now." You respected him being the father, and he was going to be a large part of your life and maybe eventually be your partner, even. But for now you wanted to get to know him first.

"Ya need space ta heal and get comfortable. I get it." He nodded in understanding and told you where to find him if either of you needed anything. "Ya can come see me anytime. I wanna check on ya both once a day if tha's good." Now it was your turn to nod in agreement.

You couldn't be happier with the welcoming nature of the group and the safety of the prison. This was going to be a nice home for you and your son.

~~☆☆☆~~

A/N: SO that was.. I feel like I can't write believable angst to save my life, but I hope you enjoyed that one.

[anonymous-dentist]

But also:

-

It’s a little funny how Penacony is intergalactically-renowned as a ‘dream world’ when everything in it is a goddamn nightmare.

The lights? Too bright, flashing, colorful: red and blue and pink and orange and colors that can only exist in the distorted subconscious that the dream realm is built upon.

The sounds? Too loud, too everywhere: cars honking and bands playing and people screaming and advertisement boards chasing you down begging for you to check out their home store because even a dimension entirely made out of dreams has fallen into the immoral clutches of capitalism.

Cellbit hates it. He hates everything about it, actually, down to the strange fluttering in his stomach every time he passes by a sentient traffic cone and the buzzing in his head when he drinks too much SoulGlad.

But the IPC has their eyes on the planet, and so Cellbit is here before Cucurucho and the rest of the IPC Census Bureau can arrive and take stock of the people they’re ready to enslave. You can’t die in a dream, but maybe Cellbit can kill Cucurucho good enough in the dream realm that she’ll wake up in the hotel and have a heart attack at the memory of their own death.

Wouldn’t that be nice?

Cellbit sips at his SoulGlad with a faint smile on his lips. Penacony is supposed to make his dreams come true, right? Maybe the Family can allow him just one little murder before sicking their Bloodhounds on him.

“This stuff sucks,” Roier complains, slumping against the bar with his still-full glass in hand. “Why don’t they just serve water here?”

More important than the IPC and Cucurucho, however, is the Fool by Cellbit’s side. It’s Roier’s birthday, and he wanted a nice vacation to get away from the whole ‘revenge quest’ thing they’ve been doing for the past couple of common galactic month cycles. He wanted his dream vacation, and so Cellbit got him just that: a vacation inside of a literal dream.

“You’re in a dream, and you just want water?” the bartender incredulously asks. She shakes her head and walks away to the other end of the bar to handle a drunk wine bottle complaining about her ex husband the whiskey.

“It’s my birthday!” Roier whines. He smushes his cheek against the sticky bar top and squeezes his eyes shut. “Even the water tastes like shit! It’s all sparkly and stuff!”

Cellbit rolls his eyes. “It’s sparkling water, pendejo. I don’t think they even have water on Penacony. Just alcohol.”

Roier groans dramatically. “I want to go home!”

‘Home’ being Cellbit’s ship, the Ordem. It’s a tiny little thing- so small that he and Roier have to share a bed in the closet pretending to be sleeping quarters- but it sure beats trying to hitchhike between planets. (Cellbit knows from experience.)

Cellbit gently pats Roier’s back. “If you aren’t having fun here, we can go somewhere else. Unlimited dream worlds, remember? There’s gotta be something you’ll like.”

Currently, they’re in Golden Hour. But Cellbit thinks there’s a dream realm that’s one big huge restaurant somewhere, Roier should like that. He likes food, and he likes the natural chaos that comes with a restaurant full of rich entitled people.

But Roier just shakes his head and cracks an eye open to look up at Cellbit.

“Can we just… go back to our room?” he asks. “Maybe we can come back later, but only if they have actual fucking water!”

He sits up and shouts that last bit at the bartender, who just sighs and continues consoling the wine bottle. (Apparently, the whiskey cheated on her with a bottle of champagne from the amusement park realm. Wow, what a piece of shit.)

Cellbit’s face softens, and he nods. “Of course. And maybe we’ll get to kill Cucurucho when we come back.”

Roier smiles at that. “Ay, don’t get my hopes up.”

Because Roier’s best friend and son have been ‘acquired’ by the Census Bureau, and Cellbit’s whole planet was destroyed by the Census Bureau’s actions. Cucurucho needs to die, simple. And they’re going to make it happen, even in their dreams.

[beemers-hell]

i desperately wanna apologize to you but you would call bullshit and paint me like something evil bitch when in reality, i want the cycle of abuse to end and to ease my mind. i just wanna redeem myself before ending it all.

- you already know who

to everyone else sorry about this, but I've had enough, anyway i was just gonna delete this, just like i deleted the TWO suicide notes you sent me in my ask box a lil bit ago, but a number of my friends DM'd me about what you've been posting on your blog so I can only assume this all came from Nene, also known as @/shugurrsn0w , and for anyone who doesnt know Nene is, well this callout thread will get you acclimated with her REAL quick lmfao:

You are not fucking apologetic at all if you are using s0uless' full REAL name on your blog, you stupid bitch. That kind of information can put them at risk of REAL GENUINE HARM. S0uless made the mistake of using their name as their art handle when they were younger but they have been doing a pretty extensive wipe of that username being online, I know this isn't exactly doxxing because of that but USING IT WHEN THEY'RE CLEARLY NOT WANTING IT TO BE PUBLIC INFORMATION IS SOME PRETTY SCUMMY SHIT, AND CAN BE USED FOR ACTUAL REAL HARM BEING DONE TO HIM YOU JACKASS

Don't come in my ask box hiding behind anonymous acting like you actually feel bad for the shit you did when you are STILL making posts calling me and my husband fucking freaks when you know DAMN WELL we're not. Don't you dare try and act all remorseful and pitiful and like you're some misunderstood fallen angel when you've been doing but helping making our lives a fucking nightmare. You don't get to act like you've done nothing wrong when you have CONSISENTLY VICTIM BLAMED THEM, CLAIMED THEIR TRAUMA WAS FAKE, BEEN RACIST TO ME, MOCKED MY ABUELAS RECENT DEATH, THREATENED HARM ON BOTH OF US, HARASSED AND STALKED US, AND SPREAD ALL THIS INSANE SHIT ABOUT US FOR NO GODDAMN REASON. You don't get to just act like you made some petty mistakes that you can walk off, you have been non stop harassing, stalking, and falsely accusing me and s0uless of being scum of the fucking earth when there is no goddamn evidence that we are and you KNOW there isn't, because we fucking ARENT. Unlike your freak ass, we KNOW what the fuck is right and what is wrong. But that kind of shit gets around to people and makes people start thinking we ARE those freaks that we aren't.

And you should be well aware of how fucking awful that makes a mother fucker feel, you know? Since you wanna keep whining about how "people keep being mean/demonizing you for no reason." What, you don't think people are gonna DM me asking me what the fuck you're talking about in those posts you make? Newsflash dipshit, most people wanna know both party's stories regarding drama that surrounds someone they know. Don't you try to twist this and cry about how I'm some creepy weirdo that's stalking you, you should've thought harder about following someone and then IMMEDIATELY sending them an anonymous ask about me and s0uless, cause that DEFINETLY isn't fucking fishy at all, dumbass. That's how I was alerted to you and your new bullshit. Don't try and act like I'm a freak that keeps tabs on you, I thought you'd drop off the face of the earth after that one callout thread got made on you. You wanna talk about evidence of wrongdoing? Nothing really shows your true colors more than publicly being racist, harassing minors, and consistently AND RECENTLY consuming bestiality porn of minors. Try bouncing back from saying that YOU want to make noncon porn of your favs, or being a whole ass adult saying you wanna fuck a 16 year old character that you KNOW is 16. THATS some REAL freak shit that YOU admitted to your damn self, you don't get to act like me or s0uless are the real freaks when there is REAL AND RECENT EVIDENCE of you doing that shit, you gross fuck.

Leave us the fuck alone, I do not care about your pathetic ass and s0uless sure as shit doesn't either. This has been going on for over a FUCKING YEAR NOW and i dont give a single SHIT about playing nice and being quiet about it anymore. Don't fucking come whining to me and acting like you're remorseful again when you're PULLING THIS SHIT AGAIN. Leave me the fuck alone and I'll leave you the fuck alone. Expect a restraining order dumbass, it was real easy to get your info when you've got it so readily available online! If youre gonna play stupid games, expect to win stupid prizes. Get the fuck off my and my husband's dick and focus on fixing yourself you ghoul. Do some fucking introspection so you can figure out why the fuck people don't like you. And don't come to me threatening suicide again, I don't give a single SHIT about you and I'm sure as FUCK not going to give you any sympathy when you've shown no fucking growth or genuine remorse for all of this. I've thought about killing myself a lot lately too, you're not fucking special.

[xandriy]

Hmm,what's this I see? 0-o. A COOL ARTIST👍✨😎 So here comes Daft's greetings lol

So cool,so cool

Anyway,I LOVE YOUR ARTSTYLE!! I JUST ADORE IT SO MUCH! AND THE WAY YOU COLOR AND SHADE AND ALL! WANNA BE LIKE YOU ONE DAY :>

Ehem,uh question, what is your favourite food? Just askin. Also,what's your opinion on Dreamtale? That au has so much potential,right? I'm kinda a utmv nerd so I wanna know other people's opinion on like one of the famous au. This is a really long ask...haha

HII! REALLY THANK YOUU! I SWEAR I'M ABOUT TO EXPLODE FOR ALL THESE COMPLIMENTS!

Wanted to do this draw for you! Hope you like It..

•ANYWAYS! My favorite food it's the pineapple pizza! (Please don't judge me)

•And about DREAMTALE! I've NEVER talked about what I think about the others AUs..so thank you for asking me! But I think that Dreamtale it's SO cool! Even the story, I've always find it so original and even really interesting in my opinion. Dream and Nightmare...so...those two are just..incredible, I've always liked them so goddamn much..BUT I really love..all the versions of them like Swapdreamtale, Dreamswaptale, etc., and I remeber like 2 years ago I was like..OBSSESED with Swan..I don't know..maybe for his personality? I don't know..anyways I really liked him, and I still like him. I like Dreamtale even because of my date of birth, because i was born in 17th of December..and when I found out that both Night and Dream were born in 21st of December I was like..."EXCUSE ME!?" And then I felt like i was gonna throw myself out of the window.

•About Dream I think he's just a cutie, but at the same time I feel like there Is a part of him that it's coverd I mean like.. it's a bit misterious, when It come to his past of course..

•About Corrupted!Nightmare I think as well that he can see Passive..and sometimes I think like..you know..Cross can see XChara, Dust see Papyrus, Killer see Chara and Nightmare see Passive....and then I thought what would happend if they all could talk together while the others Cross, Dust, Kills etc. were doing something else without paying attention to them...

[inklessletter]

No, but hear me out; Steve is genuinely good with kids and toddlers. Like, absurdly good. He engages with them because he finds them not only adorable, but really fun to be around. Steve kind of gets how they think, loves to play with them, their funny logic, how seriously they take what’s happening in their busy little minds. He finds them fascinating, and they often surprise him in the best ways. Steve respects them, and kids perceive that and love and respect him back. Also, to Steve, spending time with kids is socially freeing. When he’s around kids he’s not worrying about social cues, or saying something wrong, or can stop paying attention to his manners or his looks.

Steve loves kids, and kids love him back. 

And Holly Wheeler is the living proof of that.

Read it on Ao3

There is a bonus scene of this, just saying

—

You drew stars (around my scars)

Mike was the only one in the family who actively resisted to like Steve. Since he set foot in the Wheelers household, everyone in the family seemed to be head over heels for him. He had heard his father admitting more than once that Steve was a fine good young man; his mom was delighted with him since the very first dinner because he helped with the cleaning up after every time (he even brought flowers every now and then, ugh); and of course, he had to endure Nancy’s annoying pining and giggling for months. Then they started dating and he was at home almost every day and it was insufferable having him around every goddamn day. 

But the worst one was Holly.

Before Steve, Holly used to chase Mike around, wanting to be with him all the time. Of course, Mike shoved her out almost every time, especially when his friends were over. Lucas understood him; he knew what having an annoying little sister was like. Sometimes she was around, when they were drawing their D&D characters, Will would save a seat for her and let her borrow his big box of colors, or Dustin gave her treats under the table.

Mike Wheeler didn’t want to deal with Holly after him all the time, but when Steve showed up, Holly got totally smitten with him. He wouldn’t pressure her to give him a kiss, but instead, he high fived her. Steve called Holly “Super Star”.

“Hey, what’s up, Super Star? How was school today? Did Timmy borrow your doll? Again?”

“Hey Super Star, wanna sit next to me for dinner? I bet I can beat you, I’ll eat my baby carrots faster than you!”

“I heard Super Star was feeling funny in the tummy today. Are you okay? Will you feel better if we make a tea party with your stuffed buddies? Yeah?”

Then, suddenly Super Star didn’t want to do anything with Mike anymore. Now it was all Steve. 

(Sure, Mike didn’t like having her around, but he didn’t want Steve to steal her from him either. That’s two out of two, not that long ago, Nancy actually DMed campaigns for him and his friends, and then she decided she liked him and now it was suddenly a dumb game.)

When Nancy dumped his stupid ass in November of 1985 Mike almost made a happy dance. The nightmare was over.

But the fucker appeared at the door the day before Christmas with a gift for Holly. He didn’t stay for dinner, but he handed it to Karen. 

It was a stupid light board.

Dustin was suddenly attached to him now. Now they were friends. Lucas was also fond of him. Steve was cool now for his friends too, apparently. And don’t get him wrong, what he did to defend them was amazing. He hated to admit that it was a little bit cool (but Steve’s panicked face when he woke up in the back of Billy’s car driven by Max was awesome). 

Yeah, after all that shit they talked a little bit. Mike made himself crystal clear that he still didn’t like him, and Steve just sighed and told him that he knew. Mike was about to go victorious after that, but Stupid Steve had to add “anyhow, if you need anything, you can always reach me.”

He still kept showing up for Holly’s birthdays. He still brought her Christmas presents secretly. Mike knew that Steve showed up considerably early when he was going to pick him up and his friends to give them a ride to the arcade, or to the mall, or wherever just to spend half an hour playing with Holly. 

Holly laughed the loudest whenever they were playing in the living room together. And it’s not that Mike wasn’t glad that his sister was happy, it was just— He couldn’t be so flawless. Nancy called him bullshit, she must have seen something in him. No one was that perfect.

He was still around for the upcoming apocalypses. He was starting to make peace with the fact that Steve wasn’t going anywhere, when he stole yet another friend from Mike.

Now he and Eddie had bonded. 

They were often together and that riled Mike up like no other. Hawkins was full of people, did Steve have to put a goddamn spell on anyone around him?

Even when Mike hosted in his basement the Hellfire campaigns after Eddie graduated, Eddie showed up at his front door with Steve.

“You are not a Hellfire member, Steve,” Mike deadpanned.

As an answer, Steve lifted a box. A brand new toy doctor kit. He smiled.

“I didn’t come to see you anyway. Isn’t Holly’s birthday this weekend? I have an early gift for her.”

“You’re so lame.”

“Get new material, Wheeler,” Steve rolled his eyes.

Eddie observed the interaction, both of them coming in. Mike closed the door.

“Well, I mean, I’m not surprised you want to spend so much time with Holly, I guess you need someone of your intellect so you can stop feeling stupid all the time around adults.”

Steve stopped for a second. He looked at him as if he wanted to actually reply. He let out a sigh, and went upstairs. God, Mike resisted the urge to fully smile. He glanced at Eddie, who was giving him a dead serious, borderline angry look.

Mike rolled his eyes.

“Wheeler, while I do appreciate that you’re hosting the new campaign, I’m gonna say something, and I’m gonna say this just once, so listen carefully. Treat him like this once more, and you’re out of Hellfire.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s bullshit!” 

“No, you being an asshole with him is. I already lectured Dustin for this, and now I’m lecturing you. I will not tolerate any Hellfire member to behave like this towards friends. That, that is bullshit.”

“He’s not my friend.”

“Like hell he’s not. He cares for you, he does shit for you and you not only do not thank him, you pay him by treating him like shit. He’s saved your ass several times. He pays your fucking late dues, man. Like, shit, give back the tapes on time, Christ.”

Mike was fully uncomfortable now. He crossed his arms and bit his tongue to not snap at Eddie any more.

“Look,” Eddie said, calming his tone. “I don’t know if anything happened between you two, and I don’t want to know, but he’s going through a lot lately. A lot, Mike. You don’t—Shit, you don’t have to like him. Just—just don’t treat him like this, okay? I’m serious about cutting you off Hellfire if you keep this shit.”

Eddie headed down the basement, and Mike was left uneasy.

That afternoon was by far his worst performance in D&D. He had been replaying the conversation with Eddie in his head on and off all the time, but Eddie didn’t give him shit for it, because he knew.

Eddie, an understanding DM as he was, called on a break, and Mike bolted upstairs.

He headed to Holly’s bedroom, the door wasn’t closed all the way. He stopped before coming in to put his thoughts in order and apologize properly. He heard the voices behind the door.

“Doctor Super Star, there are no more patients for you to save! You did great! You cured them all!” Steve said in a funny voice.

“But your tummy hurts!”

“My tummy hurts? Oh, no, ugh! It hurts so bad!”

Mike peeped, still hidden, observing the scene. He saw Steve doing a pretty poor performance of a faint, and he fell, belly up over the rug, amongst the plush toys scattered around. Holly, dressed as a doctor, rounded him and kneeled at his side. 

“I’m going to give you an injection to save you!”

“Oh, please, Doctor Super Star, please, it hurts so bad! N-no, Holly, holly don’t lift my—”

Holly did, and Mike froze. 

Both Wheelers looked at the sudden exposed skin of Steve, all covered in nasty, pink scars. Eddie’s words resonated in the back of his mind loud and clear, and he suddenly understood what Steve was going through lately. Those scars were—God, they were gruesome. That must have hurt like shit. He heard what happened, but now he was seeing it.

That could have been his sister.

Or Robin.

That could have been anyone there, but it was Steve.

Mike gulped, feeling a heavy weight in the pit of his stomach. 

“It’s okay, Holly,” Steve spoke softly, but Mike could feel the nervous, vulnerable tone after his words.

Holly passed a finger ever so slightly, over one of the scars. She looked both curious and serious. Steve’s abdomen flinched a bit.

“Does it hurt?” Holly asked, softly.

Steve closed his eyes and put on a flaky smile, facing the ceiling.

“Yeah,” Steve whispered. “Yeah they—they hurt sometimes.”

Steve let her wander her small hand, examining his torso. 

“They’re pretty.”

A silence. A broken voice. “They’re not.”

“Yes, they are. They look like stars.”

Then, Holly, slowly, put against his stomach a bright pink toy syringe and faked an injection.

“Now you’re cured. Now it doesn’t hurt.”

Mike couldn’t see Steve’s whole face, but he saw enough before he turned away from Holly to see. His expression crumpled, and he saw Steve’s bob apple up and down a couple times. If he wasn’t crying, he was about to.

“You cured me, Doctor Super Star. Good job!”

“Wait! I’m not finished!”

Holly jolted to his drawer, where he kept all her drawing stuff. She came back with a few colored sharpies, and got back to the same position she was before. Steve observed her. 

Then Holly put the sharpie nib softly against Steve’s belly, and he observed.

She drew stars over Steve’s scars.

“See? They are pretty. They’re stars.”

Steve smiled at her. She beamed.

“They are stars. They are pretty.”

After a few seconds, Steve cleared his throat and suggested Holly tidy up all around and draw for a little bit in the living room. Only then Mike reacted, and left the hallway, going back down to the basement.

By the look he gave Mike when he came back, Eddie must have noticed something weird in Mike, but didn’t say anything.

When it was time for all of them to leave (seriously, Mike had been a total disaster), Eddie hushed them all to the van. Steve was saying his goodbyes, and then Mike spoke before he left.

“Hey, Steve.”

He turned around. “Yeah?”

There was a silence, in which Mike tried to find the words. Steve waited.

“I never—I will give the tapes back on time from now on. I’m sorry for that.”

Steve was puzzled. 

“Okay?”

Mike was shit apologizing. Mike was shit communicating, at best. He was shit at being vulnerable. Mike was shit at feelings.

“Yeah, and—thank you for—you know. The, um—yeah.”

Mike pursed his lips, crossed his arms. He pinned his eyes to the floor. He could feel his ears and his cheeks grow hotter and pinker.

“Yeah. No problem.”

He could feel Steve’s soft smile in his voice.

“You can go now.”

“Yeah, okay. Bye, Mike,” he said. “Good night Doctor Super Star!” 

Holly waved him from Karen’s arms. She even threw him a kiss. He captured it in the air and put it in his pocket.

Mike rolled his eyes.

Ugh.

[owletstarlet]

patron saint of the lost causes (2/2)

“You can stop looking at him like that.” Taki’s voice is frank, but not unkind. Katsumi could not be less in the mood for whatever the hell kind of conversation this is about to be. “Like what,” he replies anyhow. “Like you broke his best friend."

ao3 link | part 1

Given every piece of information Katsumi knows or can infer about Tanuma Kaname, it is the most on-brand thing in the world right now for him to be looking both embarrassed and apologetic while also lying in a goddamned hospital bed. Still very much connected, he might add, to all the equipment necessary to prevent his own body from cooking up his brain and all his organs. Doesn’t mean it isn’t weird. And bad. Very weird and very bad.

They’re allowed in to see him in groups of no more than three at a time, and for no more than ten minutes each. He’d been awake and asking about them, but his fever’s still high if no longer imminently lethal, and he’s apparently still groggy from coming off the tail end of some sedative they’d pumped into him hours ago to keep him from shivering while they’d worked to combat said fever. He’s with Natsume, and they’re the first ones in, and that really, truly and honestly blows. Because Natsume’s silent and tense beside him, because Tanuma’s somehow managing to both look like a ghost and also like he really wouldn’t mind ghosthood all that much, eyes that he can’t even keep open all the way fixed on his lap. At least if Nishimura had come in before him, he’d have had a handful of stupid jokes up his sleeve.

Doesn’t help, obviously, that they’ve seemingly got him hooked up to the complete goddamn works here: the IV drip, the cords of the vitals monitors snaking out from the rumpled neck of the yukata-type gown they’ve got him in. The low beeping from the absolute behemoth of the monitor itself beside the bed that’s got to be 15 years old at least, blocky numbers and jagged lines, hills and valleys in neon colors scrolling the tiny black screen. The chunky wired clip on his finger that Katsumi vaguely recognizes from TV but cannot for the life of him remember its purpose. And to cap it all off, the oxygen tube thing—cannula?—under his nose (which, what the hell, can he not even breathe properly right now). Like it’s all been pulled from some film set for dramatic flair. Maybe less sleek, with more underfunded-isekai-emergency-room vibes, but if anything that just piles on the nightmare fuel.

And he looks embarrassed about it. The fuck.

For few vastly uncomfortable seconds, nobody says anything at all. He’d thought Natsume would take the reins on this, but he doesn’t even look to see what the holdup is, because Katsumi himself is still mucking through what there even is to say.  No matter that he’s had hours to prepare, even practiced it once or twice in the bathroom mirror like an absolute lunatic, but he’s also been roundly warned by the others that any variation of why the fuck didn’t you say anything was off limits.  

It’s Tanuma who eventually speaks first. “I—“

“Save it,” is the first thing out of Katsumi’s mouth, because of course it is. Tanuma winces, and Natsume promptly elbows Katsumi in the ribs. Off to a great start. “We already know,” he amends. “Your dad told us you probably didn’t realize.”

Tanuma looks up, then. And yes, his gaze is maybe still little drug-hazed, but Katsumi’s still not sure how to feel about the look on his face, like Katsumi’s a math problem he can’t quite work out. He nods, slowly. “I’m sorry.”

The room isn’t even a room, really, just one cramped, curtained-off corner of a space containing three other beds. There’s a single, worn chair wedged in beside the bed, and Natsume drops into it now, now at Tanuma’s eye level. He reaches out, and Katsumi doesn’t miss the split half-second where his hand falters midair before coming to rest carefully on Tanuma’s forearm, fingertips just skimming the IV tube taped there.

“Sensei checked around,” Natsume tells him, tone gentle but serious. Huh. Little abrupt, not the first thing Katsumi would’ve expected out of his mouth here. “He said there wasn’t anything he could find, but. You weren’t attacked, were you?”

Tanuma frowns, like he wasn’t immediately expecting the question either, but then something seems to click behind his eyes. “I don’t think so?” he starts, and purses his lips like he’s thinking. His words are lower and slower than normal, but otherwise he doesn’t actually seem all that out of it, just exhausted. “I don’t remember that much. But I think it’d feel…different, than this.”

Something in the set of Natsume’s shoulders loosens, just barely. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” he says, after a moment of consideration. And Katsumi doesn’t mean to snort, it just sort of comes out, but he immediately feels like a dick when Tanuma’s mouth twists and he drops his gaze again. But before he can backpedal on that, Natsume shoots him a look that could strip paint right off a wall, and he figures that shutting the fuck up is the best course of action.

But to be perfectly fair to himself, the guy can’t even sit up on his own without the raised end of the bed, and his face is the same eggshell color as the cheap sheets tucked around him, wherever it isn’t blotched up from his fever of fucking 39.

“…I mean,” Tanuma starts again, “not great or anything, but. Headache’s mostly gone, and,” he turns his head a little to indicate the blue pillow-like object under his head that Katsumi is only just realizing is an extra large jelly ice pack thing. “These are really cold but they’re helping a lot. There’s some more under my arms and legs.” He raises his shoulder a bit, and Katsumi notices the slight lumpiness of the yukata on the sides of his chest that must be more ice packs tucked under his armpits.

Natsume lets out a breath. “That’s good,” he says, and his smile seems much less forced now, softer. “Before you’re discharged, we’ll make sure nothing was out there, so. Don’t worry.”

“I won’t,” Tanuma says, and he’s clearly picked up on the undercurrent of fear in Natsume’s questions. “Thank you.”

It’s not like it’s a bad thing to see Natsume willing to actually feel his goddamn feelings in front of other people, it’s a definite improvement over the vapid not-quite-smiles and the empty eyes he and his classmates called creepy when they were kids. But this, he can definitively say, also sucks. Nishimura had briefly mentioned something about Natsume having been pretty shaken up when Kitamoto had been hospitalized for some minor accident a few months back, but it seems to go deeper than that, here. As if he’d implicitly blame himself for any and all nasty youkai shit in this apparently nasty-youkai-shit-infested-town. When he wasn’t even there. And, granted, Natsume might not respond well to it coming from Katsumi, but it is dumb, and Natsume should know that he is in fact being dumb.

The thought of said nasty youkai shit makes Katsumi remember to fish the little wood talisman out of his pocket. Maybe it’s not the time to bring it up, when Natsume’s freaked out enough as it is, but they’re going to be kicked out of here in about seven minutes. Some ENT had pried it out of Tanuma’s fingers in the back of the ambulance when they were trying to get an IV into his arm, and had passed it over to Katsumi. He found out soon enough that Taki had made the thing, using some obscure old exorcism texts from her grandfather’s library, which he’d honestly found pretty impressive until Sensei had had to ruin it by noting that the flimsy thing would have about the same repellent power against an average youkai that a squirt gun might have on a bear. Which, at least, made it seem it less likely that he’d been clinging to it because he really thought something was going to attack them. But when Katsumi had tried to return it to Taki, she’d given him a maddeningly incomprehensible look and just said, “Give it to him yourself.”

So he is. Hope she’s happy, because he for one feels some heavy sort of way about it that he does not have the energy to parse out right now.

“You dropped something,” he says, because that’s simpler than the truth. There’s not really room to squeeze himself in near Natsume at the bedside, and the other side’s got that mammoth monitor machine taking up most of the narrow space, so he just sort of hovers behind Natsume somewhere beside Tanuma’s legs. He reaches over, drops the talisman lightly on his knee.

Tanuma blinks down at it, slowly raises his hand to place overtop of it. The movement is awkward and slow, between the clip on the finger of this hand and the gel pack wedged under his arm, but his remaining fingers close around it. He looks up at Katsumi, eyes wide. “You—“

“It’s whatever,” he says with a shrug, before Tanuma can even get the words out. He’s not in the mood to be thanked right now. “It, uh. Looked pretty important, though. You were squeezing it damn tight enough.”

That earns him a sharp over-the-shoulder look from Natsume, a don’t-you-fucking-tease-him-or-so-help-me-god face if ever Katsumi saw it.

Katsumi ignores him. That wasn’t the point. Because despite the fact that Sensei had patrolled the area, and that it made the most sense that he’d been clinging to the talisman out of some delirious attempt at self-soothing, if there was any chance he’d been desperate to grab for it because it was better than nothing at all if something was hanging around, that’d be pretty damn good information to have before any of them have to walk that road again. Maybe seeing it would jog his memory.

Apparently not, though. He manages, awkwardly, to flip the thing over so it rests in his palm, even though it jostles the clip just enough to elicit a few abrupt pi-pi-pis  from the machine beside him. “All I really remember,” he says, at length, “is leaving home, then Lawson, kind of, and then, ah.” His eyes flick upwards, for the barest second, not even making it up to Katsumi’s eyes before his gaze drops right back down like a stone.

“What?”

Tanuma’s fingers close tight as they’re able around the talisman, and he looks so thoroughly miserable that Katsumi’s starting to be sorry he asked.

“I remember throwing up on you,” he mutters.

And that startles a chuckle out of Katsumi. It’s a sharp, awkward sound in the hush of the room. But it feels good, like a crack forming some gigantic dam that barely fits in his chest anymore. Another follows.

Natsume glares. 

And okay, yes, it’s got to be a dick move to be laughing right now. The splotchy bits of Tanuma’s face have grown even splotchier as he stares down at his talisman, and the heart monitor’s tempo has kicked up a bit.

“Seriously?” Katsumi manages, catching his breath, before Natsume gets the chance to declare war here. “That’s the part you remember.” The guy’s subconscious must really have it out for him, because Tanuma legitimately looks like he’s about to faint.

And that’s no good, either.

“Look,” he starts, and drops down to perch awkwardly on the bedside edge somewhere near Tanuma’s shin, opposite Natsume. At least like this he’s not looming like a creep over the foot of the bed anymore. “For life-threatening situations? Free pass. And I got some new threads out of it anyways,” he says, plucking at the sleeve of his borrowed shirt. “Timeless classics.”

They actually look fine, some nondescript green button down and dark chinos belonging to Shigeru-san, though when he’d thrown them on this morning he’d barely even registered what he was wearing anyhow. Nishimura, Kitamoto and Taki are all wearing the same clothes they’d worn yesterday, still a little damp from being hastily laundered and hung to dry indoors overnight, but Katsumi’s things are currently still soaking in a bucket of oxygen cleaner on the Fujiwaras’ veranda, and Natsume’s clothes are all a size too small for him.

“It’s not your fault for getting sick,” Natsume tells him, gentle but direct, when Tanuma doesn’t immediately respond. Which is exactly what Katsumi just said. But whatever. Tanuma huffs out through his nose, a soft halting sound that makes an odd little whistle over the top of the cannula, and finally looks up at Katsumi. There’s something taut behind his eyes, but least he looks marginally less like wants to evaporate into the goddamn ether anymore.

“I, just.” He shifts in his seat a little, swallows, but keeps talking. “This all must’ve been…a lot, for you, so. I’m sorry. Thanks for getting help.”

“‘Course.” Katsumi shrugs, still not really sold on the idea of being thanked right now. “I’m not a total monster.”

That, at least, elicits some sorry little suggestion of a smile from him. He’ll take it.

“But, with your dad saying you didn’t realize, though,” he starts, before he can think better of the question. “Has this happened before?”

Natsume looks a little wary, as though he’s ready to shut this conversation right down if need be—which, fair enough—but is also watching Tanuma like he isn’t exactly not curious, either.

But Tanuma says, “Sort of?” and cocks his head like he’s trying to remember. “In third or fourth grade, maybe. There was this school clean-up event just before the summer break, and…I don’t exactly remember what happened, but I guess the teachers realized when they did a head count at lunch.” He shakes his head a little. “Anyways. That town was…we didn’t live there long.”

Katsumi’s not at all sure what to make of that last bit, though Natsume looks perturbed by it. But something’s not quite adding up regardless. “Wait,” he says, frowning, “if this was a school clean-up, wouldn’t you all have been working in pairs or groups or something?”

Tanuma shrugs. “I guess?”

“You got ditched,” Katsumi concludes, flatly. “That’s fucked up.”

“…I mean…” He’s starting to look uncomfortable again, his fingers picking at the edges of the talisman. “I couldn’t actually attend school there all that often, so. I didn’t really know many people’s names, or anything. It’s okay, really.”

No, it’s fucked up, he wants to say, only to remember the other person in the room right now. Natsume doesn’t look particularly happy to hear this story, but he doesn’t look surprised, either. Like he very much gets it. And Katsumi’s acutely aware that he himself the last person who should have anything to say about any of this at all.

And the kicker is, yeah, he knows how cruel and ugly kids can be to each other, because god knows Katsumi was, but this doesn’t even sound like that. Tanuma had recounted it as though he were as good as a stranger to his classmates, and vice versa.

Katsumi glances at the talisman again, at the marker ink that’s gone splotchy in the corners visible under pale fingertips. And, unwillingly, he thinks of some sickly nine-year-old, lying lost behind some tree or tool shed, nobody looking for him at all.

A long buzz from his pocket punctuates the silence. Then another. Katsumi doesn’t need to fish his phone out to know it’s Mom. Again.

“It’s fine,” he mutters, when two pairs of eyes flick towards him. “I’ll get it later.”

He’s been putting off actually speaking to her; he knows Touko-san called her sometime yesterday and since then he’s mostly just been sending her messages to check in and vaguely reassure her. He’ll have to talk to her soon, but he likes to think he’s got enough dignity left in him to not want that to happen anywhere remotely near any of these guys. The thought makes something itch in his throat.

“You know,” Tanuma starts, after a moment, voice quiet but clear. “It really is okay for you to go.”

“Nah.” Katsumi shrugs. “Like I said. Nothing better to do back home either. Except get nagged about holiday homework.”

Tanuma nods, once. He doesn’t necessarily look unhappy, but there’s a thread of unease in his voice. “You’re welcome to stay,” he says, “but…you’re here for, what, five more days? Six? And, ah.” He casts a glance at that giant beeping machine beside him, then around the cramped room that doesn’t even have a window or real walls. And he looks so tired. “I’ll be here. And then on bedrest when I’m out, they said, so…”

Katsumi frowns. “…so?” he echoes. “Is this about the cleaning? ‘Cause fuck the cleaning.”

Tanuma just blinks, nonplussed, and Natsume sighs and rubs vaguely at his temple like he’s got a headache coming on. “Shibata,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it.

Katsumi rolls his eyes. “I meant, it’s not your problem right now.”

“But it shouldn’t just be yours, either,” Tanuma says, gaze drifting back to that damned machine again. “You’re here because I asked, and now there’ll be even more, with less time.”

This is starting to feel like a stupid conversation to Katsumi, because he has the suspicion that even Tanuma’s dad wouldn’t be all that bothered right now about offending someone’s dead great-great-aunt on Obon with a dusty altar or two. So it’s probably for the best that Natsume speaks up before Katsumi has the chance to.

“He is right that you don’t need to worry about it right now,” Natsume tells him. “But, there’s still plenty of time, too. And Sensei and I can try and find some extra hands, too.”

“Extra…” Tanuma frowns. “Would that work, though?”

Katsumi’s not a hundred percent on the specifics here, but he’d heard in passing from Sensei that most of the local youkai population weren’t too keen on hanging out around Yatsuhara Temple. Natsume’s finger drums lightly on the bedrail, like he’s considering, and then there’s a flash of…something…in his eyes, something steely enough to maybe just unnerve your run-of-the-mill forest-dwelling flesh-eating folkloric monster.

It’ll be fine.

“Either way, it’s just an extra day or so, right? We’ll get it done,” Natsume says, decisively.

“Yeah, we spent a lot of the first couple days just kind of fucking around, anyhow,” Katsumi adds. It’s not all that true—there had been a little downtime in the evenings, some idle rounds of shogi on the veranda, placing bets against each other on pocket change and cheap snacks, but they’d all more or less collapsed into the lumpy borrowed futons by 10PM each night. It still sounds like a helpful thing to say. Maybe. “We’ll just hustle a bit. It’s all good.”

Tanuma looks torn. “I…thank you. Really. But, I’m the one that actually lives there.” His expression settles on a rueful smile. “And I couldn’t even walk to the store, so. I’m sorry.”

Okay, yeah, no, this is stupid, actually.

Katsumi huffs. “Yeah, all according to your big evil master plan, huh. Luring us all here just to do all the heavy lifting.”

Natsume’s head snaps up sharply at that, and Tanuma just stares, but Katsumi plows on.

“Because that’s how chronic illness works, right? If you can’t just guess and pinpoint all its exact fucking whims day to day, which, by the way, are caused by invisible invisible monsters half the time anyways, then you’re just a super inconsiderate guy, huh. Oh, and dramatic. ‘Cause that’s totally what we’ve all been sitting out there thinking.”

He’s met with silence, from both of them. Which is, basically, the worst possible reaction to receive when you’ve just been on the verge of shouting at someone stuck in a hospital bed. Natsume had looked, at first, reflexively ready to bite right back, but instead he’s watching Tanuma, like he’s holding his breath. They both are.

It’s not a term he’s given much thought to before. Ever, really. Until earlier, hearing Tanuma’s father’s half of a hushed, somber call with some relative or another from the lobby (“…symptoms of heatstroke, but the chronic illness had exacerbated the situation, so at the moment, he’s…”).

Katsumi wonders, vaguely, how they’ve must’ve had him classified in his charts over the years. Generalized Youkai Shenanigan Disorder must be a real head-scratcher to the medical community at large.

But he looks normal, is the thing. A bit underslept, sure. And lugging heavy boxes around all day gets him winded a little faster than the others. And he takes more care than the rest of them to stop for water, but that’s just being responsible. It wasn’t like he hadn’t kept up, hadn’t been fine.

Katsumi had only got the most cursory of explanations, back when they’d first met. That he’d been sick as a kid a lot, moved around often because of it, that it had gotten a lot better when he’d moved here, met Natsume. And he looks so shockingly ordinary that Katsumi would’ve never known.

And Katsumi doesn’t know if anything really was out there in that dusty field with them. Doesn’t think it matters, ultimately.

Maybe it is better these days. And maybe it’s pointless to even speculate, if he hasn’t lived it. But it sure as hell sounds to Katsumi like living with a landmine buried in your skin. Doesn’t matter how deep down it’s sunk, how quiet it seems. Not like it’s not there.  

Nobody’s said anything, still. Natsume’s watching Tanuma. Tanuma’s watching his own lap.

“Am I kicked out?” Katsumi asks, arms folding.

“No.”

Katsumi barely hears him; his voice sounds half-stuck and dried-up. But then Tanuma looks up, fully, and his eyes are wet.

Shit.

“I mean.” He clears his throat. It doesn’t do much. “Soon? But. Not by me.” He seems to realize about the tears, then, and absently reaches up to scrub at his eyes.

Which, naturally, knocks the mysterious beeping finger clip right off, sending it flying right over the side of the bed.

The behemoth next to the bed immediately starts pi-pi-pi-ing, urgent and shrill, and Katsumi swears, swooping down to snag the little clip by the wire now dangling over the bedrail, and slides it back onto Tanuma’s finger. He doesn’t have a clue if it’s on backwards or not, and is only pretty sure that it had been on his index finger before, but at the very least the noise dies down. And he can’t hear anybody rushing in to check if they’ve killed someone, for the moment.

“Sorry,” Tanuma murmurs, while Natsume readjusts the cannula thing he’d knocked a little crooked. The tube’s kind of misty now, just under his nose, and Katsumi briefly wonders what happens if that thing gets too clogged up with snot to work properly.

Because Katsumi had to go and run his mouth.

Natsume fishes out the talisman from where it’s fallen into the sheets, and presses it back into Tanuma’s palm. “We came to help,” he tells him, snatching a corner of the bedsheet to help mop up his cheeks before he can forget again about the clip, or jostle the IV port or gel packs. “So let us. And rest, okay?”

“Yeah,” Katsumi mutters. “That.” He feels like he’s hovering, blunt and mean and too big for his own skin for this tiny-ass non-room. Glances at his watch, scuffs his heel on the floor. “It’s almost time. You know Nishimura’s probably gonna deck me for making you cry.”

Katsumi can’t immediately clock the sharp little hiccup as laughter. Sounds a little more like an injured corgi to him, but when he looks at Tanuma, there’s a little waver in the set of his mouth, and his shoulders have relaxed, just a bit.

Natsume’s expression is dry—you’d have brought it on yourself if he does—but he seems mollified, his hand having found its careful way back onto Tanuma’s arm like it was coming back home.

Tanuma looks up. His eyes are still red-rimmed, but that desolate look has receded somewhat. “You didn’t—“ he starts.

“I mean, I did,” Katsumi counters.

Tanuma smushes his lips together, tries again. “I’m okay.”

Katsumi raises an eyebrow, makes a vague sweep of the arm around the terrible little space, all the equipment crammed around and connected to him. “Yup. Clearly.” 

Tanuma sighs, just looks at him for a moment. And maybe it’s not an improvement, Katsumi thinks, if Tanuma’s circling back to just finding him exhausting to talk to, but then that’s no worse than yesterday before all this shit began.

“Thank you,” Tanuma tells him, finally. His voice is soft but sure.

Katsumi shrugs. Always down to bully a hospital patient. I’m your guy.

But the words dig in, stick in place like nettles. And it hurts, kind of, a nagging sort of prickle embedded in Katsumi’s chest.

It’s not so bad, though.

“Sure,” he offers.  “Now rest up, or else. This place is the worst.”

***

[viviaubm]

Autumn screams about how good monster hunter designs are 1: Shara Ishvalda

this guy isnt really my favorite monster or anything but its one of the monsters i feel the most strongly about if that makes any sense to you. i dont know who needs to be told this but rock monsters are fucking cool. dude looks like a fucking primordial god of the very ground we stand on.

i think its safe to say its sick as FUCK that they actually like. didnt just use the same type of rock for this dude. like theres actual variation in this guy's armor which you dont really see much of in media containing big rock dudes. including monster hunter itself

basarios for example is just like. a rock wyvern. with one kind of rock. but i really think it goes to show how much the design team for monster hunter has improved given that basarios is from the first game and shara ishvalda is relatively new. i just think thats pretty damn neat.

there are no good pictures of this so you gotta trust me when i talk about how cool it looks when you weaken its parts. most monsters just like put a texture over its leg or its head and call it a day but with shara its much more unique. like it actually changes the color of the rocks.

anyway once you crack this cold boy open youre greeted with the most terrifying eldritch nightmare youve seen in your entire goddamned life

im not sure how to describe this thing other than it being cool as hell. its wings are like. fucking veiny. and look like roots. they look like exposed nerves. and this fuckin guy causes seismic activity by CONTROLLING VIBRATIONS. this guys fuckin clothes were kept on with vibrations. and i just. fucking need to talk about how goddamn cool that concept is and how they utilize it.

THIS BITCH FUCKING MAKES DRAGON BALL LAZERS BY VIBRATING THE GODDAMNED AIR. ITS JUST STRAIGHT UP DOING SOME GOKU SHIT. IT ALSO JUST DOES A SPIRIT BOMB?? FROM DRAGON BALL?? MADE OUT OF VIBRATIONS??? AS ITS ULTIMATE ATTACK??? ITS FUCKING AWESOME.

AND IT GETS FUCKING SCIENTIFICAL IN THIS BITCH. IT VIBRATES THE SAND TO MAKE IT ACT LIKE A LIQUID. THATS A REAL THING. THATS JUST ACTUAL SCIENCE.

and dont worry it gets scarier when you hit it more

it opens its fucking eyes. i dont like that. it gives me the heeby jeebies. its great though. its modeled in a specific way to always be looking at the camera no matter what angle youre at. so its just fucking staring at *you*. not the hunter. but like actual you in real life.

quite beautiful and also fucking terrifying if i say so myself.

the lotus flower motif on its design is really cool. i didnt know you could make a design basedon a flower that goddamned terrifying but i like it.

unfortunately there arent many good pictures of it but when you break its parts off with your big cool weapon its like. a fucking amethyst geode. this fucking thing is just rocks all the way down.

in conclusion i think its really neat how capcom managed to make a creature seem so fucking terrifying and incomprehensible in a game where the creature still fucking make sense as part of an ecosystem no matter how wild they get. i dont know what monster i'll be screaming about next but i probably will. probably astalos or something

[jessythebunny]

🖤°•Dark Jessy•°♠

Bio:

✓age: 16-17

✓sexual: bisexual

✓zodiac: Sagittarius♐

✓religion: christ

✓nationality: Scottish

✓favorite food/drink: Taco and Redbull

✓favorite color: black/dark purple

✓favorite animal: dragons

✓hobbies: fighting/playing piano/killing people

✓fears/things she hates: cats and dogs(allergic)/jokes and pranks/soft stuff

Some facts and headcanons:

🖤Dark is a tomboy, grumpy, and nervous, but rarely she's nice and helpful

🖤Dark has a scar on her left eye because she accidentally cut herself with a knife while cooking, which led to a lack of self-confidence, and she hid it using her bangs so that no one would see it.

🖤she showed it to Duck and Percy because she trusts them, she can show it to you too, she just has to trust you.

🖤Dark spends most of her time playing the piano, but she has a terrifying knowledge of what will give her listener many nightmares

🖤she also has that goddamn gun for no reason,just because she's enjoying killing anyone she sees (go and hide from her quickly)

🖤Dark has a little crush on Timothy the ghost engine,but he treats her like a best friend

🖤Dark suffers from a rare condition that causes her to involuntarily expel a strange black liquid from her mouth

🖤She has a Scottish accent don't judge her

🖤she's very close with nue Jessy(bff), demon Jessy, Jessy.exe,Timothy the ghost engine(bff),Bad Jessy,Duck, Percy, Donald and Douglas,Emily,Messy.exe

🖤good friends with soft Jessy, angel Jessy,Jessy weirdcore, galaxy Jessy, Thomas, James, Diesel, Diesel 10,Duncan

[ant1quarian]

It’s a me, Story Anon (as you nicknamed me /pos)! I’m back on my bs again so you get worldbuilding about how spite works in my hcs

Spite souls are not a natural part of a trait. Spite appears as a dark maroon/red- a mix between determination’s red and perseverance’s purple- and fills in cracks (or makes them) on the soul’s surface. It doesn’t mix with other traits’ colors, unlike every other trait. Monsters deem it very unnerving to look at.

A soul that is full spite is never a healthy one. It’s not really a sign of a bad person, but more of a bad environment or significant trauma- what the hell would someone have to go through for their soul to be mangled in such a way?

If someone has enough spite in their soul, they’ll actually damage monsters on contact with their intent (even if they don’t mean to). In, say, a pacifist run where humans and monsters are in the same area (but not everything is perfect esp the human government), spite souls are required to wear intent-blocking gloves so they don’t unintentionally hurt someone. I’d think they’d have to have “spite soul” somewhere on their legal docs too.

Of course, this doesn’t actually fix anything. And being shunned for a part of you- a part of your soul, no matter how “corrupted”- probably just makes these people want to cling to their spite even more. Because fuck you, actually, I’m not a goddamn dog to be muzzled. It would feel really unfair, I think, and only add fuel to the fire.

Spite souls would also be incredibly hard to heal. Their soul actively fights against it, along with healing others. Full spite souls are constantly stuck with a little less than full HP because their soul is damaging and repairing itself ad nauseum. They’re literally any healer’s worst nightmare.

They’re not really accepted, usually getting thrown both fearful and dirty looks every time someone sees their gloves. This leads to them feeling isolated, feeling angry and ashamed at their treatment, and consequently increasing their spite- it’s a cycle.

In addition, for full spite souls the usual “you are filled with _____” prompt says,

*YOU ARE FILLED WITH VITRIOL.

Vitriol because they’re literally living on poison (and I will never get over how fucking cool the word “vitriol” is istg). Kind of like how your body gets used to alcohol and shuts down without it. Reminder that this is full spite, though- a little spite filling in the cracks can even be beneficial for some, as long as you don’t let it take over your entire being.

…for a monster, especially one like Sans with so little HP, befriending a spite soul would feel like befriending a dragon. One that is fiercely loyal to those that have never wronged it. Its claws, razor sharp, never hurt him. They’re only there to protect, to pull him closer to the hard scales and only pleasantly warm fire, where he can be better protected. Closer to the dragon’s underbelly and heart, its most vital places, so no matter what draws near he will be safe.

(I’ve had that vivid imagery, of a dragon carefully pushing him back with a single paw to the small space between the underbelly and armored, scaly front legs for a long while. It’s such a pretty image in my head I wish I could astral project it into this ask lol)

uh yeah. spiteful characters, worldbuilding, and the word vitriol my beloved. hope y’all have a good day! time to return to my eons long slumber to incubate more ideas

-Story anon!

y e s .

that's my only response because. yes.

Also welcome back story anon!! Very awesome, intriguing, and complex lore and thoughts ough-

Your braincells- Your braincells I wish I had it-

That is a beautiful image, I think the brainwave has caught onto me

[sencity]

yan! botanist content? i am eating this up, we are so well-fed. but dare i present, yan! botanist x entomologist darling?

hear me out… as a botanist, he does happen to dabble in fieldwork from time to time. prior to meeting you, he’s always gone out alone, but that won’t be necessary anymore, not with you around of course. and, oh, how perfect it is that you too, partake in nature research.

conducting fieldwork with him is so wonderful! he’s so knowledgeable, and surprisingly even a bit in entomology; plants and insects are crucial for their environment and one another, you know. he’s showing you all the beautiful flora, even informing you about their histories and roles in the ecosystem. while you’re studying the insects, he offers to help catch them in jars for you! no matter how many bug bites he gets, it’s all worth it for you. and how his heart swells with absolute love and adoration when you patch him up with bandaids and kisses afterwards.

nothing beats bonding over two people’s passions that co-exist perfectly–– especially when you’re in a grand field, of tall grass and little visibility, miles and miles away from any type of civilization; no one to bother the both of you, no one to take you away from him, just you two.

RAHH this man has awakened something in me…

you don’t understand how i’m tittering in my covers reading ts. my mind FLOODED with ideas bro. just… let me add onto this thought. your mind is WONDROUS.

nightmare fuel: none, unfortunately. except me not proofreading.

sen’s statement(s): link to the rest of my yandere!stinkers, let alone the yandere!botanist because why not?

it was a given that mother nature had finally answered his prayers; of course his love interest has an adoration towards insects! could life get any better!? insects are essential to plant life and vice versa. it’s the universe telling you that he needs you, and you need him! the two of you will soon flourish under each other’s love, why wouldn’t you become the butterfly to his pistil?

although you’ve forgotten about the times when he’d try to act cool for you or a little uncharacteristically, he surely goes out of his way to assist you on your projects. whether it’s collecting blister beetles in jars for your research despite the seething pain emerging in his palms or leading you into secluded fields to chase butterflies with wings that match the colors of your guys’ eyes, he’ll be there! still, you do tend to question his motives when he asks what a certain flower reminds you of and comes up with some poetic, philosophical answer to impress you. jeez, save it for the yandere!poet…

“is that right? hm, i’d assume that wisteria reminds you of your dreams… or that little starfish you’re so fond of—”

“the ochre sea star! yes, they’re nowhere near as perfect as you, but they’re lovely—oh! or plums and grapes! i love purple!”

there’s the sencha you love, the one who rambles about his simplistic passions and dislikes since he’s easily (dis)pleased. you’re here to listen to them all, even if they’re a little irrational and aimless like stick bugs…

goddamn, he can’t stand stick bugs.

even though he alters his personality to your liking sometimes (and fails horrifically, of course) he sometimes manages to appeal to your interest… by being himself. there was a time when you fixated on fireflies, wanting to study the patterns and language of their little light bulbs or what genetics causes some lightning bugs to not glow. sencha of course ran with this information and wanted to help to his best ability by insisting on you to sit your pretty self on the porch while he fetches a few for your research. you weren’t too fond of the idea of him doing the job for you, also potentially taking the fun out of it, but you allowed it this once…

you were going to go retrieve him since it seemed that he disappeared, but it just took him so long to collect so many. you would think he used the jar method again but decided that that’s not enough to truly get you to believe that he loves you, therefore he attracted fireflies with his bare hands…

…by coating his hands and forearms with sugar water in order to please the ravenous lightning bugs. primary his sticky hands were coated with tiny gleaming lights since he started off catching them with his palms, and it’s only natural for the rest of them to follow in pursuit.

“i uh, made a few friends along the way…?” he would titter unsurely as his arms expressed ethereality. he was referring to the random moths or flies that were also interested in the treacly treat, but that was the last thing you were fixated on since you were ordering him to not move so you could take pictures…

the two of you were truly an inseparable duo, a nature fusion much like leaf bugs or orchid mantises…

while we’re on the subject of orchids, the flower is one the both of you are very fond of, even though the both of you are suffering from a silly case of synesthesia.

when y/n hears the word orchid she sees a fuzzy yellow that resembles a bumble bee ever so faultlessly. she could never forget how he managed to get his hands on a bee orchid just to prove that his field of study compliments yours greatly. his point has only been proven even more when you giddily bring up that “orchid mantises” exist somewhere in the wild…

when sencha reads the word orchid, your honey-imbued lips drip onto his taste buds which awakens his sweet tooth and sends him into a sugar rush. you were a gift from mother nature, handcrafted by the goddess psyche herself. he even grew different species of orchids just because he cares for the flower so much!

normally you would adulate the bed of vibrant orchids and laborious pollinators that sprawled across the fields while pondering about those simple facts, whereas he would adulate you like how the tides adore the sand. it’s very hard to wrap around that the two of you were a match-made in heaven; he was sure to make you his once the fireflies began to coruscate …