#anyway... thanks for the ask. I guess?

[eastofedean]

Hey! I say this with love but I feel like you might be spiraling? Please don't forget to take care of your basic needs and go on a nice walk if you can. And re the romantic love thing, I've been there and felt hopeless too but at some point I started dividing my attention more and found more kinds of love in different places and now I feel fulfilled with friendships and community, and perhaps romantic love later down the line but I don't feel that "burden" and pressure anymore. And I believe you can get there too. I really do. And because I feel like you might now deny that or say something self-deprecating, I will probably not come back to your inbox but know that I have faith and I promise things do change, you just need to shift your mindset slowly over time, be gentle with yourself but also give yourself a kick in the butt if you feel like giving up or going back to behavior or thought patterns that are unhelpful. Wishing you the best ❤️

hey, anon!

sorry, if you got the feeling that I am spiraling, but I am actually feeling very stable at the moment. I am not sure if my last ask made you come here and leave this ask, but I wasn't just talking about romantic love. I was talking about all those different kinds of love. you can love your friend just as deeply as your partner. and all the people I've met (which have almost all been friendships and very rarely something more) have made me the person I am today. I meant that in a very thankful kinda way, if that makes sense? I never felt these feelings were a burden or a pressure. sure, I would usually try to deny whatever is said about me (especially in a nice context, I guess), but I honestly don't think anything you said is like... something I was trying to say. I do think that we all have the capacity to find our own people. romantic and platonic love have always been linked to me anyway. I am being as gentle and kind with myself as I can be. I am good with who I am, and too tired to try and be anyone else anyway.

I know that this is probably an asks with kind intentions, but I am not sure what to make of the first part if I am being completely honest.

[octylish]

Kiss Me, Son of God

[intotheelliwoods]

I miss them...

And the besties

Here king, have a small bestie comic 🥺(Post redemption One, who belongs to @dianagj-art)

Bonus: my warmup scribbles which was apparently giving poptart wings? Can you guys tell I love drawing wings?

[the-broken-pen]

Hey hey

Could you perhaps write a snippet where the building hero is in, gets bombed? Its bombed as an assassination attempt to get them, however the people in that building die and hero, succumbed to their injuries couldn't save everyone of them. At last they watched the last ambulance left without them, even as they called for help

Villians villa is just few kilometres away

Thankfu hero's legs aren't broken

They begin walking

The problem? Vil is way to composed and prim and perfect to let all of hero's blood get on their expensive carpets and fabrics. They could even be mad at the hero for reddening their porch if they hero stood their asking for bandages. What now? And the fight the two had yesterday that ended with "never see me again" and "don't ever talk to me"s.....vil was stopping hero from attending the event the building....

Will vil help them? They can just ask for bandages and leave.

What hero doesn't know: vil would literally destroy the world for hero, and there's no way in hell are they leaving hero on their doorstep.

(Anon you were cooking with this ask, thank you!)

The hero realized the building was going to explode a split second before it did, which wasn’t enough time to do anything other than brace.

They tensed, and there was a horrible screeching of metal and brick, followed by a deafening silence that covered them more completely than the rubble did.

The hero coughed once, weakly, pain rocketing through their chest, and shoved a piece of concrete off themself.

From somewhere else in the building, a soft, terrified wail began, broken around desperate sobs.

The hero coughed again, hand rising to their ribs. They didn’t have the energy to be surprised when their fingers came back coated in blood and dust. They grimaced at it, struggling to their feet–

And oh, god. That hurt.

The hero had a surgery once, the kind that resulted in bandages and a care regime and a set of stitches, and when they had woken up in the recovery unit, it had felt sort of like this. A moment of loopy half-awareness, and then a pain that had knocked the breath out of them, hands clenching into the sheets as a nurse tried to figure out if they needed more medication. 

This was worse. Their vision swam, and they blinked it back with a hiss.

Because someone, somewhere in the wreckage, was crying. And if one person was crying, it meant there was someone who survived. Which meant it was likely there were other survivors–ones too hurt to make any noise, ones knocked unconscious, ones still too shocked to do anything other than lay there–and it was the hero’s job to find them.

It took them far too long to locate the source of the crying. Longer to dig them out, vision going white as the person slammed into the hero’s chest in some facsimile of a terrified hug.

“You’re okay,” they managed, voice like gravel. “It’s okay. I’m going to get you out, and you’re going to be just fine. Were you with anyone?”

And then again, and again, and again.

The hero panted, hands on their knees as their body fought them in an attempt to just collapse onto the concrete below. They just–they just needed a minute. Just one, maybe, and then they could–

This time, the hero wasn’t even aware of it before it happened.

The remains of the building shook, then disintegrated into itself in a plume of dust and rock. The hero shielded their eyes with one hand, blinking against the onslaught.

What little air they had managed to get stuttered out of their lungs in something close to a sob. They had done this enough times to know there wasn’t anyone in that building left alive. 

They sagged down against the nearest thing–more rubble, maybe? They didn’t know–and this time when they rested a hand on their side, there was a considerably larger amount of blood.

“That’s…not great,” they said, and their fingers blurred in front of them slightly. There was an ambulance right there. Just a couple feet away. They had already helped most of the survivors, so maybe it would be okay for the hero to–

A paramedic rounded the back of the ambulance, and the hero lifted a hand, reaching–

“Please, wait, I think–I think,” it hurt coming out of their mouth, “help. Please I need–” they trailed off as the paramedic took the step up into the ambulance.

And closed the door behind them.

The hero wasn’t even that surprised when the ambulance began to drive away.

“Help,” they finished weakly, then sucked a breath in through their nose.

They were supposed to be good at this kind of thing. Surviving, no, thriving in catastrophe. A pillar of light. The one with the plan. 

The kind of being that didn’t beg for help on the ground.

The hero wasn’t entirely sure how they managed to get themselves back to standing. It was as easy as that–one moment they were on the ground, gravel embedded in their knees, and the next they were up and shaking but they were up.

“If I stay here, I’ll die,” they murmured. They had hoped maybe the threat would keep their legs from buckling again. It didn’t.

They weren’t near any place that could be trusted. There wasn’t a safe clinic for heroes on this side of the city, and even if there was, the hero wouldn’t trust them. Couldn’t afford to.

But as for near…the hero swallowed the nausea as it rose in their throat. There was one place they could go. One person they could go to.

Four miles. They could do four. There was no other option.

Where the hero had had some blurry recollection, or at least, a good guess of how they got to standing, they had absolutely no clue how they made it onto the villain’s porch. They managed a blink, retching slightly as they stared at the villain’s wavering door, then had to freeze just to bite down the pain that had come from the gagging.

They tried to knock and ended up collapsing against the villain’s door, knees giving out entirely as their fingers scrabbled for purchase and left behind smeared bloody marks on the wood.

They weren’t entirely sure how that happened either, or how long it took the villain to answer the door. Just that it hurt—so, so much, it hurt so–and that they managed to shove themself back into some semblance of standing right before the villain pulled the door open.

The villain’s face did a sort of spasming thing as soon as they saw the hero, jaw dropping slightly in what the hero could only really read as shock.

There was a very considerable amount of blood on the door. They were cold.

“I–” the hero tried, but they weren’t really sure where they had been going with that sentence, and after yesterday and the screaming and the fight the villain probably didn’t want to see them at all, didn’t want to ever see their face again, so–their mind blanked. “I got blood on your door.”

They tried to gesture towards it, but that hurt, so their hand simply twitched slightly from where it hung by their side.

They glanced down at their feet, because they didn’t want to see what the villain’s face was doing, especially if what it was doing was anything resembling anger.

“Oh.” There was blood at the hero’s feet. “And on your porch, too, I guess.”

They looked up at the villain, but they were still staring at them, brow furrowed, hand clenching on the doorframe.

“I’m sorry.”

There was a very faint quiver of tears when they said it, and the hero knew better than to hope the villain didn’t catch it. 

Were they saying sorry for the porch or the door or yesterday–

“Holy shit,” the villain finally breathed, and it sounded like it had been punched out of them. The hero froze, panic rising in their chest.

“I’m sorry,” the hero blurted out, stammering. “I’m–I’m so sorry, I’ll go, just–could I maybe have some bandages? Just–just one, maybe, please? I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” they said uselessly, head swimming. They couldn’t even remember what they were doing here. The villain was perfect in every sense of the word, stoic and proper and collected in a way the hero would never be; a marble statue brought to life. The idea of them letting the hero–the personification of a train wreck in motion–in to bleed all over the villain’s soft carpet and nice shoes and cause irreparable damage to their very expensive house was almost laughable. 

If they had had the breath to laugh.

More of the hero’s blood dripped onto the slats of the porch, and they stepped back. “I’m sorry–”

The villain reached for them, and the hero flinched, taking it for the dismissal it was–

The hero blinked, and it stuck for a moment too long as the world tilted, and when they pried their eyes open again the villain was staring at them with something the hero was too out of it with pain and possibly delirium to identify. Their gaze drifted back to the blood smeared on the door, and the villain’s grip tightened on the hero’s bicep–when had they grabbed the hero’s bicep?–until the hero’s gaze returned to theirs.

The villain said something, but there was a roaring that had started up in the hero’s ears. They seemed to take the uncomprehending blink the hero gave them in return for an answer anyways, and guided them down until they were both sitting on the cool wood. A tug, and the hero was resting against their own propped up knees, villain’s hand still firm on their arm.

“How much blood did you lose?”

It was like screaming underwater, the hero reasoned. Or through a mirror. But they heard it nonetheless, and that was their villain, and even in hatred and war they would always answer them.

“Was ‘supposed to be counting?” If they had any more energy–or maybe slightly more blood–in their body, the slur to their own words would have been concerning.

The villain’s lips pursed into a thin line, and the hero felt them begin to run an assessing hand over their injuries, cataloguing them, brow furrowing further with every second.

“M’sorry,” they managed, tongue thick. The villain didn’t pause.

“For what?”

“Bleeding on your door,” they managed. The villain stopped them from raising their head from their knees. “And your–porch.”

“I don’t give a shit about either of those things,” the villain said, simply, easily. Like it was nothing. Like they didn’t feel the weight of it as they threw it into the air.

The villain sat back on their heels, clearly having learned what they wanted from the hero’s injuries.

When the hero didn’t immediately look at them, the villain grabbed their chin, gently turning it until the hero faced them.

“How far did you walk,” they said slowly, and the hero had never been more grateful for anything in their life.

“Four miles,” the hero said, and they couldn’t hear their own voice above the roaring, but the villain obviously could from the way their eyes darkened.

The hero wanted no part in making the villain angry again–I never want to see you again, do you hear me? If you ever try to talk to me again I will kill the both of us, I promise you that–, but when they attempted to push themselves up to leave, the only thing they managed was a piteous whine and a stab of pain so intense they forgot to breathe.

“Idiot,” the villain hissed. But oddly, the hero didn’t sense any anger coming from the villain.

They blinked–too long, again–and found themselves in the villain’s arms as they walked through the house. Their head lolled back onto the villain’s shoulder, and the villain glanced down as if–to make sure the hero was okay. That they were conscious, and breathing.

Oh.

Oh.

The villain wasn’t angry.

They were afraid. For the hero.

Which didn’t make any sense, because–

I never want to see you again–

“You’re mad at me,” the hero reasoned, and it came out half strangled and petulant. The villain looked down at them, and the hero caught the tiniest flinch in their jaw.

“I’m not mad at you.”

“That’s not what you said yesterday,” the hero whispered, and the villain flinched.

“I wanted to stop this from happening.” The villain settled them onto a bathroom counter, lights flickering on as the hero leaned back against the mirror. Blood began to dry, sticky, between their fingers.

The hero’s mouth went dry, and it caught in their throat when they tried to swallow it.

“You could have just left me there.” Their voice only shook a little bit, but the villain’s head still snapped up from where they had been digging through a drawer.

“What?”

“On the porch,” the hero clarified, clearing their throat. The lump didn’t go away, and they had begun shaking at some point, and they couldn’t stop. “If you didn’t want to deal with me you could have just left me there–”

The villain’s face had darkened into something the hero almost didn’t recognize. 

“I would burn the world for you, and you think I would leave you to die on my porch?”

“You said you didn’t want this to happen.”

“No, that’s not–” the villain rubbed a hand over their brow, and the hero winced at the blood it left behind. “No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was trying to keep you from going to that stupid event and getting hurt. I knew it was going to blow.”

“I would have gone anyway.”

The villain stilled. “I thought maybe if you never wanted to see me again, and you knew I was there…”

“I would,” the hero repeated. “Have gone anyway.”

The hero watched as the villain’s face rippled through a dozen emotions, settling onto something unidentifiable.

“Why?”

“Because you were there,” the hero said easily, shrugging one shoulder. Because when it came to the villain, it really was that easy. They could scream, and shout, and hold a knife to the hero’s throat, and the hero would still follow them into hell. That was their villain.

The villain looked like the hero had stabbed them, face draining of color. Their fingers went white around the edge of the counter, as if it was the only thing keeping them upright.

“What,” the villain’s voice was hoarse.

“I went because I was hoping you would be there,” the hero said honestly

“Stop,” the villain raised a hand between them, a shield, voice breaking. They sucked in a breath, then another, like they were trying to keep themself from breaking down onto the tile.

“You would have gone to the event no matter what, just to see me,” the villain said slowly, and the hero nodded

“Yes.”

“Even though I screamed at you?”

“Yes.”

“And told you I hated you.”

“Villain, please–”

“Now you know,” the villain interrupted, voice incredibly soft. “Why I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero forgot to breathe for a moment, tongue going numb in their mouth. The villain couldn’t mean–

They blinked for a moment too long, and then the villain was standing between the hero’s knees, hand on their chest.

“You love me,” the hero said a moment later.

“Ruinously,” the villain agreed.

“So you–”

“I was trying to save your life,” the villain’s hands were gentle as they began to patch up the hero’s side. “And now I’m saving your life in a new and unanticipated way. But there is nothing you could ever do to stop me from saving your life.”

The hero’s heart clenched. 

“Really?”

The villain caught their chin, eyes boring into the hero’s. They brushed a piece of hair off the side of the hero’s face.

“Really.”

The hero sighed, and the villain caught them as they slumped.

“I thought you hated me,” the hero said, and they hated how raw they sounded. The villain made a choked little noise.

“I’m so sorry.”

The hero sniffed.

“Don’t do it again.”

The villain simply hummed, and smoothed the ends of a bandage down against the hero’s abdomen. The hero could feel their hands shaking.

You scared me.

A second later, their hands settled on either side of the hero’s head, and the villain rested their face into the hero’s hair. They pressed a kiss to the hero’s temple, tension easing from their shoulders.

I’m sorry.

The hero clutched the front of the villain’s shirt between their hands, drawing them closer. The villain went willingly, loose limbed with affection and the rapid draining of terror from their system.

“I would have never left you on that porch.”

The hero had never believed anyone more.

[odd-chips]

So I've been teasing this character in my tags/posts for a while, and she's finally hereeee. Anyways WHOOPS, another self indulgent Lethal Company character who is basically the Wario version of [Cap'n]!

Meet Echo and her crewmates: Orion (goggle'd circle-shaped one), Spade (short one with big arms), and Guy (shapely GNC one). Being the opposite of Cap'n's crew, they're all men EXCEPT for Echo!

At first, she started out as a grown woman having a one-sided, very pathetic beef with Cap'n, but she evolved into an angry teenager who projects all of her issues onto someone who literally doesn't know she exists (and subsequently does something horrible to herself to rectify this weird beef). Did it work? Well no, come on, look at her, now she's even worse GOKJDFMKDF

And when I say "one-sided", I mean it. Genuinely Cap'n doesn't know who she is, like, at all. I think the first time they meet will be the inevitable werewolf fight between the two of them when things get out of hand.

Anyways I love the kidnapper fox, but alas, she was too swag for this world, RIP to a real one that lasted a month and a half. u_u)!!

[asgardian--angels]

mage viktor discourse again on twitter and all i can say in my little corner over here once again is, I don't know why the entire fandom takes it as canon that mage Viktor failed to save every world he manipulated.

Canon does not provide evidence of this. This is fanon speculation. It's a fine headcanon to have, but everyone talks about it like it's canon when it isn't. Canon is ambiguous about the outcome of the timelines mage Viktor altered. The little nods we are given point, in my opinion, towards the opposite conclusion, that he successfully averted destruction.

I've written meta on this before but in summary:

1) 'In all timelines, in all possibilities' is worded precisely, it's not 'out of all timelines'; the implication is that every time, Jayce brings Viktor back from the brink, not just in our timeline. 'Only you' doesn't refer to our timeline's Jayce, it refers to all Jayces. Jayce always brings him home. If Viktor continuously put the fate of each timeline in Jayce's hands and Jayce failed over and over, I don't think he'd say those words. And the way he says them matters. His words are tinged with wonder, not sorrow. As if over and over again, he is shown that Jayce saves him, and it continues to amaze him. He doesn't sound defeated, like this is the next in a long line of Jayces he's sending off to die. The feeling is that Viktor's faith in Jayce has not been misplaced.

2) If mage Viktor doomed every timeline, there would be hundreds (or more) mage Viktors. All running around manipulating timelines. I highly doubt the writers wanted to get into that kind of sticky situation. The tragedy of mage Viktor is that he is singular. Alone. Burdened with the responsibility of the multiverse. The emotional gut punch of his fate is ruined if other timelines led to the same outcome, and from a practical standpoint, having multiple reality-bending omniscient mages would rip apart the fabric of the arcane.

There are other points, such as there being only one corrupted Mercury Hammer and our Jayce is the only one to receive it, and the fact that if mage Viktor is as omniscient as he is implied to be, he could easily step back into other timelines and correct course, because it's highly unlikely he could sit still and watch things go down in flames. But these things can be argued elsewhere.

While I love conversations about mage Viktor's motives and selfishness vs altruism, the writers & artbook have expressed that Jayce and Viktor care greatly about Runeterra and want to fix their mistakes to save it, and that their reconciliation is symbolic of Piltover and Zaun coming together as well. Yes, they make disastrous decisions towards each other, making choices for the other or without the other, which has negative consequences for their relationship and for Runeterra - but I think fandom pushes their selfishness even past what's canon sometimes, as if their entire goal hadn't always been to selflessly help the world around them. Their final reconciliation is about bridging the gap that grew between them - the pain and grief and secrets, betraying themselves and each other - to mutually choose each other openly and honestly. Part of the beauty of their story, as expressed by the creators, is that in their final moments, they chose each other and took responsibility for their actions by sacrificing themselves to end what they started, together - and that choosing each other saved the world. TPTB have stated this - that Jayce and Viktor are the glue holding civilization together, and when they come back to each other, they can restore balance. It's when they're apart, when they hurt each other and miscommunicate, when they abandon their commitment to each other and their dream, that the greater world suffers. Their strife is mirrored in the story-world at large.

Mage Viktor is framed as a solitary penitent figure, damned to an eternity of atoning for his mistakes. He paid the ultimate price and now is forced to live his personal nightmare of exactly what he was trying to avoid for himself with the glorious evolution. The narrative clues we're given point more in the direction that he saves timelines rather than dooms them. If Viktor's actions kept killing Jayce, the very boy he couldn't bear to not save each time, it would undermine these narrative choices. Yes, Viktor couldn't stand to live in a world where he never meets Jayce, so he ensures it keeps happening. But in that same breath, he couldn't bear to see a world where his actions continue to destroy Jayce and destroy Runeterra. His entire arc in s2 is born of his selfless desire to help humanity, help individual people. He would not lightly destroy entire worlds. That's his original grief multiplied a thousandfold, and narratively it would lessen the impact of the one, true loss he did suffer, his own Jayce. It wouldn't make sense for him to be alright with damning other timelines to suffer the same catastrophic tragedy that created him. I mean, maybe I'm delusional here, but is that not the entire point? Because that's what I took away when I watched the show.

As I said, I love discussions about mage Viktor, as there's a lot to play with. All I wish is that the fandom at large would not just assume or accept the Mage Viktor Dooms Every Timeline idea as canon, when there is nothing in the actual canon that confirms this. Maybe people need to just, go back and rewatch the actual episode, to recall how mage Viktor is presented to us, and what it's implied we're supposed to take away from his scenes, and separate that from the layers of headcanon the fandom has constructed.

[muppenthings]

The many questions with the child falling off board, and one of your sea blorbs going to help them. Can I possibly grasp a little skit of one of your big sea blorbs saving the kid from their probable flailing in the water?

You shall recieve! But I'm going to take the opportunity and make it in line with the lore! :D

The child isn't flailing tho, she's very chill. She even brought her arm floaties. I think she really wanted to swim with the mers. xD

[shaunasjournals]

We see that everyone has a job/role in the wilderness but what is Lottie’s job in the wilderness? Besides her side hustle as the New Jersey medium.

x

[starflungwaddledee]

👀 and 💭 for Coostruck ^^

>>> kirby ship ask game here જ⁀➴ ♡!

9. 👀 What do other characters think of their relationship? Do they approve or disapprove? and 11. 💭 Do they have a favorite memory involving their partner? + an anonymous ask for 18. 💓 How did they tell their friends that they were together, or is their relationship a secret?

well, i wouldn't say it's his favourite memory, but...

he won't be forgetting it anytime soon. kind of a continuation of this and this!

for an avian this is tantamount to your boys finding that super secret book of terribly cringe poetry and song lyrics you've been writing about one specific person. nuclear event for coo "i'll just keep it all bottled up right here and then one day i'll die" the owl.

*✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ valentines shipaganza masterpost ✩˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ ⋆˙⟡

[elodieunderglass]

I know an adult skunk would be too big, but in my heart this fluffy ball of anger and fear is Bee:

[ID: a picture of a baby skunk in defensive posture with erect and puffed tail. end ID]

[ID: a baby skunk adorably sleeping curled up in a little ball in a person's hand. end ID]

Safely tucked in Chil's neck warmer

(In reference to the Dungeon Meshi daemon-AU fanfiction in which one guy has simply decided to be secretive about his daemon to the point of it being deeply weird)

Thank you so much!! that is the perfect creature and a really, really clever choice and I love her so much.

I really regret that we do actually have to physically meet Bee at some point because it is so much funnier not to.

I also have to say, I don’t know why people who sell their writing get so mad when people guess their plots! Like when you hear about the Game of Thrones/ Star Wars etc guys changing their plots because people were guessing plots and having theories based on the FORESHADOWING THEY PUT IN.

I am completely surprised and excited by how people’s guesses for Bee have gotten closer and closer and how many have landed on the mark. Genuinely very exciting and satisfying and not what I was expecting. The feeling is very good, and it feels collaborative and motivational.

I don’t know what the point I’m trying to make here is, but I think it’s that foreshadowing is fun to set up and also fun to pay off, and that I like it when people guess what’s going on! We are all playing a game involving lying with words and it is collaborative! I think paid media would be more fun if people had more fun making it!

[ask2ps]

this guy's got issues. unfortunately, i love him

[skeletalheartattack]

It’s easy to fuck a tuba cuz anyone can put it in their hoohah

it's easy to fuck a tuba because anyone can put it in their... no... no, not here... *clutches my skull and falls to my knees* AGHHHHHH MY HEAD!!!!

[calamarispiderart]

hello.. may i have more hms chore headcanons.. mayhaps

absolutely. im thinking laundry.

imo they have a washing machine, but if they had a dryer i dont think they would always use it. gotta save on power..!

i could see mind having a set day to do his laundry, and he hang dries his stuff. whether he cleans anyone elses clothing is subject to whether theyve snuck their own stuff into his- and at that point, might as well do it all right? i do think he makes pointed remarks at heart in those cases though. snippy. he always washes his stuff on cold, but doesnt bother with separating out colors from whites - he considers it redundant and unnecessary considering none of them have clothing that bleeds...

soul i can see letting things pile up.. when he does do his laundry he collects the others stuff too, and overfills the machine a bit. its fine. if theres too much to be hung up, he dumps whats leftover in the dryer. he uses whatever setting the washing machine was last left on, but he does seperate colored laundry out from the white. stuff put in the dryer tends to end up slightly damp still.

heart Really lets his stuff pile up. he waits until soul does laundry or sneaks things into minds stuff (as does soul, sometimes). when hes really desperate for clean clothes he washes everything hot and uses the dryer, because at that point he just needs clothing Now. hes probably the only one to use the proper amount of washing powder.

[tagarilaghost]

POV: You're about to be absolutely obliterated by Palkia's Spacial Rift

[blueskittlesart]

Just wanted to let you know that I saw a screenshot of you talking about your post talking about your werewolf yuri art on r/CuratedTumblr WITHOUT the link to the original comic and immediately beelined over to Tumblr and searched for you to find it and show it to my girlfriend (werewolf) and she said she really liked it 🥺

why does reddit only ever steal the posts where im not even trying to be funny

[laithraihan]

If you don't mind my asking, what makes you interested in Reigen? I think the contrast between the often deep melancholic nature of your art and mp100 is what fascinates me actually. Hope this isn't too personal of a question. Have a nice day <3

I enjoy shoving him in a freezer & making him beg for his life. I just think he's the type of guy who would be perfect to use for testing out torture methods, or maybe just for lab experiments yknow. It's somewhat appealing to put a boisterous man in his place.