#get him some therapy lol

[aroace-in-a-clowncar]

Apparently I’ve decided I like drawing Michael in bad situations. He’s just… having the worst time in my art lmao. Here for example, he’s realized that he really goofed it. He, in fact, should not have made his brother give Fredbear a kiss.

[artsymeeshee]

[liquidstar]

it really is such a shame that subaru has the least merch out of the main cast, because canonically NO ONE would love dressing up in a variety of cute outfits more than him. in the mobile game he literally makes everyone else's costumes bc theyre cute and its fun. one of the first things he talks abt w rem is fashion and how hers may differ from rams outside of the uniforms. he has such an intricate make-up routine for when hes nautsumi. in arc 7 he got multiple outfits to wear as her. you have to understand that this guy would love to be in all kids of outlandish crazy but cute outfits, but they dont let him bc theyre cowards. in photosets w the whole cast in alternate/gimmick outfits i promise no one is having more fun than he is bc he loves dress-up.

[puppyeared]

tw flashing images, implied death

please for the love of god reblog this, it took me 3 days

[skelecentral]

what if Y/N could see Dust San's Papyrus & like ghosts & spirit's in general

They’re gossip buddies 🥰

When Papyrus finds out that you can see him, he’s elated to finally have someone new to talk to - don’t get him wrong, he loves his brother! But his interactions with Dust have been his only interactions for years at this point, so having someone new to dialogue with is like finding water in a desert. A very sock-filled, dusty desert. He wants to talk about anything and everything, desperate for any form of contact, and as a result he’ll probably come off as a bit intense at first; he evens out a little as time goes on and he settles into the new norm, though. He’s glad he can talk to you about what he’s experienced and all of the batshit things he’s seen as a spectator - gossip buddies!

He also likes to give you advice, especially related to his brother. He thinks you’re good for him, and knows he likes you, but he worries about what Dust will be like as a partner. He understands completely how unstable Dust is and doesn’t want you getting caught in a bad situation or some sort of crossfire, both because he’s desperate for company and because of his integrity and value system.

In the end, he decides that the best course of action is to help his brother become an Acceptable Datemate and to be there for you if you need any help or advice or encouragement relating to his brother (or anything else, really - he prides himself on being the best friend anyone could ask for, and what kind of friend would he be if he didn’t help you in your time of need even if it didn’t have to do with his plans? It’s all he’s good for at this point, anyways - it’s not like he could make any other sort of difference…but nevermind that! Moping won’t help anyone!)

I’d say that in the end, most Y/Ns would end up being pretty good friends with Papyrus - especially if they were living in Nightmare’s castle for any reason, but also just in general. Dust is silently happy Papyrus is happy, and finds a lot of joy in that you two get along - despite their damaged relationship, the brothers still care for each other deeply, and that comes out in a lot of their actions. I could see Y/N being really good for their relationship as well and perhaps even acting as a catalyst for healing it :)

[ikemenomegas]

good-ending!kakashi and itachi need to have a little former traumatized geniuses cooking club where they get comfortable with making little "mistakes" and putting imperfect dishes on the table and improvising without needing to explain themselves like it's life or death

[sysig]

Dr. “Has to get a good grade in therapy” Doran (Patreon)

[wernerherzogs]

buck's literally so bad at self-reflection and self-actualization it's crazy 😭

[beans-and-shet]

You’re my happy place

[shsl-writer]

sorry for accidentally dming you this but I find you very interesting and got too excited and pressed the wrong button and stuff so uh yeah

Opinions on Kiyo? (I’m very very normal about Kiyo and definitely relate to him to a average degree)

Heslo! Don’t worry, I totally get it, I’m horrific with technology. I’m just glad you wanted to talk!

Kiyo! God, I adore Kiyo. I haven’t gotten to the third game yet but I’ve watched all the ftes and am obviously pretty deeply entrenched in fandom stuff so I know a good deal about him, he’s genuinely one of my favorite Danganronpa characters.

To me Kiyo reads as an abused person who hasn’t yet realized they’ve been abused. Other people can probably articulate it better than me but from what I’ve seen his Sister has dictated most everything about him from his clothes to his interests. Everything he does is for her and from the sounds of it this is still the case years after her death, that’s how deeply she’s influenced (and manipulated) him. I’m assuming that his parents were either absent or not there entirely which is why she had so much control over him. It makes me so angry about what they did to him in the 3rd trial not only because Kiyo’s character was then completely villainized but because it’s an absolutely disgusting way to paint someone who’s so clearly been abused. There’s a difference between recognizing that a character doesn’t realize they’ve been mistreated and writing them to be a goddamn serial killer (Danganronpa has a history of turning heavily traumatized characters ‘evil’ tho, just look at Toko and Syo).

Anyway, I also think Kiyo is super autistic. So many of his sprites are self-soothing positions (which could also be related to the abuse but yunno), he’s covered pretty much head to toe which could be to protect from sensory issues, and most importantly: this man infodumps like no one’s fucking business. It’s kinda all he talks about unless prompted otherwise? And there’s implication he doesn’t have a lot of control over it because he’ll cut himself off sometimes realizing he’d been talking for too long and dominating the conversation. All of his ftes with Shuichi are about essentially acting as a teacher for different anthropological subjects. That is a special interest, you can’t convince me otherwise.

Overall I think Kiyo is just a really tragic character who was completely fucked over by the writing. As someone ND myself I find him so fucking relatable. He’s seen as weird and typically keeps to himself and has a hard time holding a normal conversation. He keeps trying to just stay in the background and observe but not only does his stature make that difficult he’s also got so much to say, so much knowledge he wants to share, and he just wants someone who will listen. I hold him so dear to my heart <33

[acourtofquestions]

Kingdom of Ash Chapter 60

Chapter; Highlights

"The power," Fenrys said quietly to him, gripping the gore-slick wall. "It was the one thing Connall and I shared."

"I know," Rowan said. He shouldn't have pushed. "I'm sorry."

Fenrys just nodded. "I haven't been able to stomach it since then. I-I'm not even certain I can use it again," he said, and repeated, "I'm sorry."

Rowan clapped him on the shoulder.

Another thing he'd make Maeve pay for. "You might not have even found him, anyway."

Fenrys's jaw tightened. "He could be anywhere."

"He could be dead," murmured Princess Hasar.

"Or injured," Chaol cut in, wheeling to the wall's edge to survey the battlefield below and distant dam beyond it.

Aelin, a few feet away, gazed toward it as well, her blood-soaked hair ripping free of its braid in the harsh wind. Flowing toward those mountains, the destruction that would soon be unleashed.

She said nothing. Had done nothing since Nesyn and Sartaq brought the news. Her exact sort of nightmare, he realized, to be unable to help, to be forced to watch while others suffered. No words could comfort her, no words could fix this. Stop this.

"I could try to track him," Gavriel offered.

Rowan shook off his creeping dread. "I'll fly out, try to pinpoint him, and signal back to YOU—"

"Don't bother," said Princess Hasar, and Rowan was about to snarl his retort when she pointed to the battlefield. "She's already ahead of you."

Rowan whirled, the others following suit.

"No," Fenrys breathed.

There, galloping across the plain on a familiar black horse, was Elide.

"Farasha," Chaol murmured.

"She'll be killed," said Gavriel, tensing as if he might jump off the battlements and chase after her. "She'll be—"

Farasha leaped over fallen bodies, weaving between the injured and dead, Elide twisting this way and that in the saddle. And from the distance, Rowan could make out her mouth moving, shouting one word, one name, over and over. Lorcan.

"If any of you go down there," Hasar warned, "you'll be killed, too."

It went against every instinct, against the centuries of training and fighting he'd done with Lorcan, but the princess was right. To lose one life was better than several. Especially when he would need his cadre so badly during the rest of this war.

Lorcan would agree had taught Rowan to make those sorts of hard calls.

Still Aelin remained silent, as if she'd descended deep within herself, and gazed at the battlefield.

At the small rider and the mighty horse racing across it.

Farasha was a tempest beneath her, but the mare did not seek to unseat Elide as they thundered across the body-strewn plain.

"Lorcan!"

Her shout was swallowed by the wind, by the screams of fleeing soldiers and people, by the shriek of the ruks above. "Lorcan!"

Farasha leaped over them, cutting sharp turns as Elide pivoted to look and look and look.

Darghan horses and riders ran past. Some to the keep, some to the distant forest along the horizon. Farasha wove between them, biting at those in her path.

"Lorcan!" How small her cry sounded, how feeble.

Still the dam held.

I will always find you.

And her words, her stupid, hateful words to him ... Had she done this? Brought this upon him? Asked some god to do this?

Her words had all melted away the moment she'd realized he was not on the battlements.

The past few months had melted away entirely.

"Lorcan!"

Unfaltering, Farasha kept moving, her black mane streaming in the wind.

The dam had to hold. It would hold. Until she brought him back to the keep.

So Elide did not stop, did not look toward the doom that lurked, waiting to be unleashed.

She rode, and rode, and rode.

Atop the battlement, Chaol didn't know what to watch: the dam, the people fleeing its oncoming destruction, or the young Lady of Perranth, racing across the battlefield atop his horse.

A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and he knew it was Yrene without turning. "I just heard about the dam. I'd sent Elide to see if you were ..." His wife's words trailed off as she beheld the lone rider charging away from the masses thundering for the keep.

"Silba save her," Yrene whispered.

"Lorcan's down there," was all Chaol said by way of explanation.

The Fae males were taut as bowstrings while the young woman crossed the battlefield bit by bit. The odds of her finding Lorcan, let alone before the dam burst ...

Still Elide kept riding. Racing against death itself.

Princess Hasar said quietly, "The girl is a fool. The bravest I've ever seen, but a fool nonetheless."

Aelin said nothing, her eyes distant. Like she'd retreated into herself at the realization that this sliver of hope was about to be washed away. Her friends with it.

"Hellas guards Lorcan," Fenrys murmured.

"And Anneith, his consort, watches over Elide. Perhaps they will find each other."

"Hellas's horse," Chaol said. They turned toward him, dragging their eyes from the field.

Chaol shook his head and gestured to the field, to the black mare and her rider. "I call Farasha Hellas's horse. I've done so from the moment I met her."

As if meeting that horse, bringing her here, was not as much for him as it was for this. For this desperate race across an endless battlefield.

Yrene clasped his hand, like she understood, too.

Silence fell along their section of the battlement. There were no words left to say.

"Lorcan!"

Elide's voice broke on the cry. She'd lost count of how many times she'd shouted it now.

No sign of him.

She aimed for the lake. Closer to the dam. He would have chosen the lake for its defensive advantages. He had to be out here. Had to be somewhere. Alive-hurt, but alive.

She knew it.

The lake was a gray sprawl to her left, a mockery of the hell to be unleashed at any moment.

"Lorcan!"

They'd reached the heart of the battlefield, and Elide slowed Farasha enough to stand in the stirrups, biting down on the agony in her ankle. She had never felt so small, so inconsequential. A speck of nothing in this doomed sea.

Nothing. Elide halted Farasha. Gavriel had said he'd last seen him right here. Had he plunged behind their ally's lines and moved on from there?

He might have walked off this field, she realized. Might currently be back at the keep, or in Oakwald, and she would have ridden here for nothing-

"Lorcan!" She screamed it, so loud it was a wonder her throat didn't bleed. "Lorcan!"

The dam remained intact. Which of her breaths would be her last?

"LORCAN!"

A pained groan answered from behind. Elide twisted in the saddle and scanned the path of Valg dead behind her.

A broad, tanned hand rose from beneath a thick pile of them, and fought for purchase on a soldier's breastplate. Not twenty feet away.

A sob cracked from her, and Farasha cantered toward that straining, bloodied hand. The horse skidded to a halt, gore flying from her hooves. Elide threw herself from the saddle before scrambling toward him.

Armor and blades sliced into her, Lorcan met her halfway, that hand becoming an arm, then two-pushing off the bodies piled atop him. Elide reached him just as he'd managed to dislodge a soldier sprawled over him.

Elide took one look at the injury to Lorcan's middle and tried not to fall to her knees. His blood leaked everywhere, the wound not closed—not in the way that Fae should be able to heal themselves. The injury that had felled him would have been catastrophic, if it had taken all his power to heal him this little.

But she did not say that. Did not say anything other than,

"The dam is about to break."

Black blood splattered Lorcan's ashen face, his dark eyes fogged with pain. Elide braced her feet, swallowing her scream of pain, and gripped him under the shoulders. "We need to get you out of here."

His breathing was a wet rasp as she tried to lift him. He might as well have been a boulder, might as well have been as immovable as the keep itself.

"Lorcan," she begged, voice breaking. "We have to get you out of here."

His legs shifted, drawing an agonized groan. She had never heard him so much as whimper. Had never seen him unable to rise.

"Get up," she said. "Get up."

Lorcan's hands gripped her waist, and Elide couldn't stop her cry of pain at the weight he placed on her, the bones in her foot and ankle grinding together. His legs not even kneeling beneath him, he paused.

"Do it," she begged him. "Get up."

But his dark eyes shifted to the horse. Farasha approached, steps unsteady over the corpses. She did not so much as flinch as Lorcan grasped the bottom straps of the saddle, his other hand on Elide's shoulder, and moved his legs under him again.

As he began to rise, Elide beheld the wound slicing up the left side of his back.

Oh gods. Oh gods.

Elide ducked further under him, until his arm was slung across her shoulders. Thighs burning, ankle shrieking, Elide pushed up. Lorcan pulled at the same time, Farasha holding steady. He groaned again, his body teetering—

"Don't stop," Elide hissed. "Don't you dare stop."

His breath came in shallow gasps, but Lorcan got his feet under him, inch by inch. Slipping his arm from Elide's shoulder, he lurched to grip the saddle. To cling to it.

He panted and panted, fresh blood sliding from his back, too.

This ride would be agony. But they had no choice. None at all.

"Now up." She didn't let him hear her terror and despair. "Get into that saddle."

He leaned his brow against Farasha's dark side. Swaying enough that Elide wrapped a careful arm around his waist.

"You didn't rutting die," she snapped. "And you're not dead yet. We're not dead yet. So get in that saddle."

When Lorcan did nothing other than breathe and breathe and breathe, Elide spoke again.

"I promised to always find you. I promised you, and you promised me. I came for you because of it; I am here because of it. I am here for you, do you understand? And if we don't get onto that horse now, we won't stand a chance against that dam. We will die."

Now would be the true test: that mighty push upward, the swinging of his leg over Farasha's body, to the other side of the saddle. Elide positioned herself at his back, so careful of the terrible slash down his body. Her feet sank ankle-deep into freezing mud. She didn't dare look toward the dam. Not yet.

"Get up." Her command barked over the panicked cries of the fleeing soldiers. "Get in that saddle now." Lorcan didn't move, his body trembling. Elide screamed, "Get up now!" And shoved him upward.

Lorcan let out a bellow that rang in her ears. The saddle groaned at his weight, and blood gushed from his wounds, but then he was rising into the air, toward the horse's back.

Elide threw her weight into him, and something cracked in her ankle, so violently that pain burst through her, blinding and breathless. She stumbled, losing her grip. But Lorcan was up, his leg over the other side of the horse. He slouched over it, an arm cradling his abdomen, dark hair hanging low enough to brush Farasha's back.

Clenching her jaw against the pain in her ankle, Elide straightened, and eyed the distance.

A long, bloodied arm dropped into her line of sight. An offer up.

She ignored it. She'd gotten him into the saddle. She wasn't about to send him flying off it again.

Elide backed a step, limping.

Not allowing herself to register the pain, Elide ran the few steps to Farasha and leaped.

Lorcan's hand gripped the back of her jacket, the breath going from her as her stomach hit the unforgiving lip of the saddle, and Elide clawed for purchase.

The strength in Lorcan's arm didn't waver as he pulled her almost across his lap. As he grunted in pain while she righted herself.

But she made it. Got her legs on either side of the horse, and took up the reins. Lorcan looped his arm around her waist, his brutalized body a solid mass at her back.

Elide at last dared to look at the dam. A ruk soared from it, frantically waving a golden banner.

Soon. It would break soon.

Elide gathered Farasha's reins. "To the keep, friend," she said, digging her heels into the horse's side. "Faster than the wind."

Farasha obeyed. Elide rocked back into Lorcan as the mare launched into a gallop, earning another groan of pain. But he remained in the saddle, despite the pounding steps that drew agonized breaths from him.

"Faster, Farasha!" Elide called to the horse as she steered her toward the keep, the mountain it had been built into.

Nothing had ever seemed so distant.

Far enough that she could not see if the keep's lower gate was still open. If anyone held it, waited for them.

Hold the gate.

Hold the gate.

Every thunderous beat of Farasha's hooves, over the corpses of the fallen, echoed Elide's silent prayer as they raced across the endless plain.

Hold the gate.

[shibaraki]

can i please hear more about divorcee kuroo 🎤

well other than his abandonment issues and olympic level skills when it comes to conflict avoidance, I can tell you he also has a pet roomba that he has lovingly named kurumi. this is of course because he thinks it sounds like kuroo and roomba combined

[gabbingwaves]

Favorite (paraphrased) dialogue exchange of the event so far:

Jiuli: How DARE you use ME as an excuse to GIVE UP. AGAIN.

Shifan: But...

Jiuli: I'M NOT DONE YET

Shifan: okay

[curlygrant44]

how does it feel to be ancient and old?

(both ooc and in character. (yes i'm barely a few years younger, still ancient.))

(obligatory /nm This is NOT meant to be insulting. take this as a joke 🔥)

Curly laughs weakly. "That's...not really something I can answer. I think I'm a bit too young for that." Of course, that doesn't stop him from feeling his age more with each passing week, it seems like. He stays in good shape, but hearing Daisuke's slang and watching how energetic he is, realizing he doesn't remember when he stopped being that full of life, himself... He always thought aging would be a piece of cake, but now that 40 is coming closer and closer, he's increasingly uncomfortable with the idea for reasons he can't even put into words.

[the-cookie-of-doom]

Chan/Kim AU where Chan was in love with Kim’s mother. He was assigned as her guard before Korn’s; always loved her from a respectable distance, grateful to be around her and asking for nothing more. They never had an affair, just a courtly love, full of admiration and fondness and the mutual knowledge it could never be anything more.

He’s there when she dies, unable to protect her, but he saves Kim, and Kim never quite forgives him for it.

10 years later and Kim has forgotten his mother’s voice. What she looked like. There are no pictures of her anywhere, no one will talk to him about her. But he finds out about Chan’s feelings for her and tries to leverage them to his advantage. First he he only wants to hear stories about what his mother was like. Then it’s more than that.

A storm of daddy/mommy issues, puberty, and an identity crisis (everyone tells him how much he looked like his mother, but he doesn’t remember her enough to know if it’s true) + generally being starved for affection/approval means he’s throwing himself at Chan. Tells him you couldn’t have her, but you can have me, and Chan hates himself for a it a little bit (she used her dying breath to make him promise he would always protect Kim), but Kim really does look so much like the woman he loved, and Kim is so desperately in need of someone to take care of him. Chan promise he would always take care of him.

[schrodingers-romy]

Sae itoshi is slowly infecting my thoughts and it's shidous fault