#horrific amalgamation of them all

[prompt-master]

I think you're a Leo kinnie

What you mean by this changes DRASTICALLY depending on which version you mean

[thereareeyesinsidethetrees]

i don’t think i should work on any new fics for a while, the slay the princess brainrot has taken over

[quibbs126]

Maybe it’s just me and my fascination with body horror, but I feel like Cookie Run could get a lot of mileage out of it. Considering you know, they’re Cookies

Show us some messed up looking Cookies that are either products of horrific experiments or some sort of disease that horribly disfigures Cookies until they crumble

[cherrrydragon]

➤ find something worth saving (it's all for the taking)

CHAPTER THREE: DEBUT

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SUMMARY ↳ School's in, and so is Spinnerette. Unfortunately that spidey luck doesn't seem to be letting up anytime soon. Must be a canon in every universe. Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop. “We are so back!” pairing: jon kent x gn!reader x damian wayne warnings: hostage situations, mugging attempts, guns wc: 4.3k

You’re irrational in your worry to don the suit. You know logically the battery can last you months, but it might take months to build a nanite chamber. You don’t even want to spend months in this dimension.

Your makeshift nanite chamber is horrific at best. The cord management breaks several lab safety rules. The amalgamation of cables is tucked away in your closet. You haven’t tried to use it yet because you’re absolutely certain it might cause a city-wide power outage.

Tonight, though, you’ll finally introduce Gotham to Spinnerette.

You won’t patrol in East End, Catwoman’s got that covered. You’re not dumb enough to mess around in her territory. You plan on swinging by Crime Alley and the Narrows, two of the worst parts of Gotham. If you find any of the Bats, you’ll just use your totally awesome charm and super duper hero skills to wiggle your way out of their watch. Hopefully.

You take a deep breath, the suit breathing with you. Gotham is so different from your New York. Your home, the “City that Never Sleeps”, is true to its name. The city becomes so much more alive at night, so much more colorful. You’ve seen many New Yorks and its variants, and you’ve never seen one so… lifeless… like Gotham. In all fairness, Gotham is Gotham and not New York.

You sniff, rolling back your shoulders. “How are things looking, K?”

“My forecast predicts rain to hit in 2 hours. Temperature is 74॰, wind speeds are optimal for swinging. I have intercepted police reports nearby about a hostage situation, shall I optimize a route, [Name]?”

Crouching off the ledge of the building, you prep yourself. “Back to the ole grind, K.” and then you fly. Leaping off the building, you feel the rush of wind call you. You flick your wrist, sending a web at the nearest building. You swing forward in a graceful arc, flipping and twirling. Each swing makes you faster and sends you higher. You grin under your mask and let out a whoop.

“We are so back!”

You tuck your knees to your chest, avoiding a billboard. Below you traffic roars. You perform a dance in the sky, swinging from building to building. You feel that familiar adrenaline returning, a reminder of who you are. The weight of responsibility is momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer freedom.

You flip one last time in the air, landing in a crouch at your destination. You look over the edge. It’s just one guy waving his gun around madly. In his grasp is a child.

“I’ll fucking shoot, I swear! Get me my money right fucking now!” He’s panicked and desperate, which means he’s trigger happy. Normally you’d defuse the situation the best you can, but now? You have the element of surprise. You’ll act quickly.

You send a web and yank the gun out of his hands, then send another web, hauling the man up to you. You web his mouth shut, fisting his shirt and making him face you. His eyes are fearful, but you can’t think of anything to say. You look over to the tense faces of the police. Among them is Jim Gordon. You know he can’t see you, but he’s looking right at you.

You huff, lowering the man. You wrap him up in your webs with familiar ease, like a real spider saving its prey for later. He yelps as he’s dropped and yanked back up, the cops pointing their guns in his direction. The kid from earlier is safe behind Commissioner Gordon, letting you know your job here is done. The only sound they hear is the thwip of your web as you swing away.

“I’d say that went well. Enough,” you blurt into the silence as you’re swinging.

“Certainly, [Name].” You’ve never been able to tell when Karen uses sarcasm, and you suspect you never will.

Over there! In there! Help!

You swerve to your right, barrelling into an alley. You crawl alongside the wall, slowing down when you hear voices.

“Please, I don’t have any money on me!” A woman cries, hands in the air. “Please, please don’t do this. I-I have a son!”

She’s face to face with the barrel of a gun. “I-I don’t give a fuck! I ain’t stupid either. I see them earrings. Cost a pretty buck, I’m sure. Just give me all ya money, and we can both go our ways.”

The gun in his hands is shaking and his voice is wavering. He’s just as nervous as the woman is.

“His name is Garrett Fields. He recently lost a custody battle for his child to his ex-wife. He spent his last dollars fighting for his daughter.”

You purse your lips. One of your least favorite realizations as you got older was how gray the world is. This guy fought for his daughter till the very end, and look where it got him. It doesn’t excuse his actions, but it does explain them.

You approach him from behind silently. You put a finger to your mask when the lady’s eyes flick over his shoulder. Claws dig into his arm as it’s wretched back and the gun is yanked out of his hands. You face the woman.

“Go.” Your voice is distorted thanks to the suit. She doesn’t need to hear anything else before she bolts out of the alley. You make sure Garrett can see it when you crush the gun in your grip. He whimpers.

“What’s up, Garrett.”

He struggles in your grip. “You with the Bats or somethin’?” He asks hysterically.

“Nah,” you wave. “Trust me, though. You’d rather deal with me.” You drop him against the concrete. You rock back and forth on your heels. “So, sorry to hear about the daughter.” You pull up a virtual interface of her face and show it to him. “She’s pretty cute.”

Garrett goes misty-eyed almost immediately. “Emma…”

You kneel in front of him. “Lemme ask you something, Gar.” Despite the mask blocking his view, Garfield shudders when he makes eye-contact.

“Have you killed or otherwise hurt anyone before this? I’ll know if you’re lying.”

There’s a tear rolling down his face. He’s got anger and sadness in his eyes. You see the fruits of Gotham’s influence weighing down on him. You’re once again reminded that some things are just out of your power. Hurt people, hurt people.

“No,” he grumbles out. He’s not lying.

“Alrighty,” you clap your hands, huffing when he flinches at the clink sound your claws make. “Listen, I know. Times are tough, you’re flat broke. That gun didn’t even have any bullets in it.” He scoffs. “There’s this cafe in East End. Owner’s feisty, but real understanding. I got somebody called [Name]  that can vouch for you. We’ll get you set up.”

Garrett scowls at you. “Fuck off. I don’t want your goddamn pity.”

You wave your hands frantically, sitting down next to him. “It’s not pity at all. Understanding. I gotta look out for my little guys. The people who get overlooked or judged too quickly.” You pat his shoulder. “You didn’t kill anybody, so I got you, man.”

Garrett stares at you in visible disbelief. “I’m sending you a couple hundred bucks directly to your bank account. Don’t worry, I stole them from rich people,” you drawl.

He can’t do anything else but chuckle. “You’re fuckin’ crazy.”

You hum. “At least I ain’t Batman. He would’ve put your ass in Arkham.”

“At least with Batman I can guarantee I’ll be alive by the end of it.”

You scoff indignantly. “I wouldn’t have killed you!”

He grunts. “Don’t mean you don’t kill in general.”

You shrug, ignoring his side-eye when you don’t deny it. Sighing, you stand up, stretching. “In return for my endless kindness–” Garrett squints in suspicion and rolls his eyes. “–I just need one simple favor.”

“Of course,” he scoffs out.

“Don’t be like that, I just need you to spread the word.”

“The word?”

“Tell people that a giant spider was around webbing up criminals.” Garrett blinks. “It’ll be funny,” is your only explanation.”

You turn and send a web away in preparation to swing away, smiling at his surprised sputter. “My actual name is Spinnerette.” Facing him one last time. “I don’t mind if you call me Spinner, though.”

Your final parting words are “It’s not the end of the world, friend. Keep looking up.”

“News of a ‘Giant Spider’ Webbing Up Criminals in Gotham! A Good Sign or Not?”

“Giant Spider Makes Home in Gotham City.”

“New Threat in Gotham – How to Stay Safe.”

Bruce Wayne rubs his face in exhaustion. Since last night, many articles have sprung up about this ‘spider’ tying up no-gooders in an actual web-like substance. He couldn’t take a sample for himself, it was far too sticky. But he received word from Gordon that he himself had had a run in with the spider.

“It was definitely human-shaped.” He had gruffed out, “The web dissolved after an hour.”

So there’s a new meta in Gotham acting as a spider. And as a vigilante. Bruce can respect delivering justice, and it doesn’t look like they’ve killed anyone. Even so, he can admit he has control issues (maybe not out loud, though), and an unknown variable puts him on edge.

For now though, Bruce has other things to focus on. “What were you saying, Barbara?”

“Somebody got a perfect score on the entrance exam for GA.”

His brows raise. “And who would that be?”

“Some kid named [Name] Stark. I knew you were gonna ask, so I looked into them. It’s kind of weird, their father’s name is Tony Stark, dude’s loaded. He’s an avid traveler, but nothing seems amiss. [Name] is living on their own in East End, working at ‘Carrie’s Cafe’ and getting sporadic payments from her father. Wonder why the hell they’d choose to live in Gotham of all places.”

His eyebrows furrow. “They’re living on their own?”

Barbara scoffs over the call. “They’re 18, don’t get any ideas. I guess they flunked a grade or something, or maybe it’s a late birthday. They just seem like strange people to me.”

Bruce hums, satisfied. “We’ll give them the scholarship, of course. I’ll address the letter personally. And we’ll give them a stipend, as well.”

“Their dad’s rich.”

“That means nothing to me.”

You chuckle mischievously at the headlines. You’ve been cracking up the whole morning about them. You’ll thank Garrett when you next see him as Spinner.

“A successful debut, if I do say so myself, [Name],” Karen pipes up in your ear. Nari meows in your lap. He’s become a faithful companion (read: cuddle partner) in exchange for food. He’s got a good mindset.

Sam’s at the cafe early for once. They give you a smile as you enter. “I was worried that big ass spider got you.”

“And why would it get me, specifically?” you ask as you put on an apron.

“I know you’re an evil freak from the way you have your coffee,” they scoff.

You stick out your tongue at them. “Nothing wrong with my death brew.” Your preferred coffee is known among the staff for its near poisonous potency. You don’t tell anyone the recipe, because you’re kind of afraid it actually is poisonous for normal people. It did it's job in keeping you awake back in the day when patrol ran late.

Carrie walks out, calling for you. She tells Sam to go handle the register, an obvious sign that she needs to talk to you alone. Sam gives you a look as they walk off. Garret Fields is waiting for you in the back.

“I’ll keep it brief so you can get back to work. He’s tryna get a job and said you can vouch for him?” Carrieis suspicion isn’t hidden. Garrent isn’t the same man from the night before. His posture curves in on itself and his eyes are tired. It’s as if he’s already resigned himself to the worst outcome.

You nod, fast. “He’s a friend. It’s a tough time right now, and he really needs a job.” Garrett’s staring at you. “I promise he’s a good egg.”

Carrie ‘uh-huhs’ but lets it go. “Good enough for me,” she pats his shoulder, hard. “I’ll go get the paperwork, then.” And she’s gone, leaving you with Garrett.

“Understanding, right?” you say, quoting yourself from last night.”

“No kidding,” Garrett huffs, before staring at you again. “Thank you. Both of you.”

You raise a brow. “No questions, you sure?”

“Something about a horse gift and a mouth,” he rumbles. “Y’all got me a job, I owe ya.”

“Don’t sweat it,” you wave him off. “Spinner’s in the helping people business, a.k.a, the hero business. They don’t do it to be owed. They’re looking out for people like us.”

“The.. little guys?”

You nod sagely. “You get it.”

He sighs, simultaneously grateful and regretful. “Thank you,” he says once more.

Garrett settles in nicely the next week. He’s got that southerness that charms people into leaving tips, and he knows how to use it.

“Say oil.”

“No.”

Sam likes him well enough, so that makes him a-okay in your books.

“Big day tomorrow, how are we feeling?” Sam asks during closing time. Tomorrow marks your first day at GA. Karen strongly suggested not patrolling on the basis of getting a good night’s sleep, and you’re more keen to follow her advice in this universe.

“What’s tomorrow?” Gar, pipes from the back.

“Our little scholar got a full ride to GA, signed by the big man himself. Ain’t that right?” Sam is getting good at imitating Gar’s accent.

Getting accepted into GA wasn't a surprise. The surprise was the nature of the letter itself.

“Dear [Name] Stark,

I am delighted to inform you that you have been accepted into Gotham Academy under the Martha and Thomas Wayne scholarship! GA looks forward to seeing you grow.

It is also with great pride that I am able to inform you myself that you have scored perfect on the entrance exam, and are the first in history to do so. You’ll be awarded with a stipend of $500 every two weeks.

I look forward to seeing you overcome challenges and become a part of our community.

Signed,

Bruce Wayne.”

You should've been paying more attention to the answers you were putting down. You had been on autopilot when taking the test, and now Bruce Wayne himself knows about you. To add more insult to injury, you're the first person ever to get a perfect score. You just hope scores aren't available for others to see. You can't imagine the type of vultures that await you if that's the case. At least you can stop stealing from gullible rich people now.

“The hell you doin’ runnin’ with folks like them?” Gar is far more subtle in showing his dislike for Gothams’ elite, but not that subtle.

“Oh, goodie. There's two of you,” you chuckle. You untie your apron. “Uh, for one, it'll look good for me. Two, it'll be easy stuff. And three,” you pause. You can't say you need access to the lab and its funds so you can create a dimensional portal so you say, “and I'm trying to find my rich future spouse.”

Sam cackles, slapping your shoulders. “I've trained you well.”

Gar raises a brow. “Easy? They got college level stuff in that school and you find that easy?”

“They do my work for me sometimes,” Sam states, ignoring Gar's incredulous look.

“Shit, kid. You’re going places.”

You cheekily smile. “I’ll be sure to put you in a nice nursing home.”

You dodge the leftover pastry he throws at you.

You take a bunch of pictures of Nari in the morning when you find him sleeping beside your head. The school uniform is your average private school get-up. You forgo the loafers in exchange for some converse instead. Something about doing your own thing.

Taking the subway reminds you of the late nights of messing around in the empty station with your friends.

“It’s crooked!

“It’s not!”

“It’s definitely crooked.”

The five of you should definitely not be here right now, but teenagers will be teenagers. You showed the gang a spot you found earlier where Miles could spray-paint to his heart's desire. Gwen insists it’s crooked, despite the picture having no defined shape. Miles’ is insisting he knows what he’s doing and Pav is taking a million selfies.

You and Hobie are leaned against a back wall, observing.

“I think I like this.”

Hobie hums, tilting his head to hear you better. “It’s not really talked about, but I know most of us–” you gesture to the trio. “–Spiders have to grow up fast, or don’t really get to grow up at all. I like giving them the chance to be kids.”

You and Hobie are a bit older than the kids. When something happens they turn to you first for answers.

“We gotta… break that generational trauma, or something.”

Hobie chuckles. “I see what you’re saying.”

When Miles is done, he shows you an image of a figure outlined multiple times, showing multiple identities.

You blink when the speakers crackle to life to announce you’ve reached your destination. It’s a short walk to the grounds of GA. Karen is playing ‘calming’ music in your ear. The school feels much more alive now that there are people chatting here and there.

Some people look at you as you walk by, but they’re mostly looking at your shoes. Hopefully the school doesn’t care enough to say something about it. It takes a little longer than it should to find the front desk, but the school is huge so you think you’re allowed some slack. Your schedule has all advanced core classes, Engineering, Ballet, Computer Programming, and Studio Art. Looks like you’ll be starting all your weekdays with Advanced English Lit from now on.

The class is empty when you walk in, and you scurry to the back immediately. You’ve always preferred to see everything happening in the classroom, even before the bite. People fill in slowly, taking up seats randomly. That familiar anxiety comes creeping back in. You tell yourself in your head that everything is fine, but the weight of your situation has been piling up on you. You can pretend everything is fine and that you’re totally okay with being stranded in another universe. You can pretend like you belong, going about your day like a normal person, but that’s all you are. A pretender.

You begin biting your nail. Somebody sits down next to you, and a quiet snap is what you hear. There’s blood crawling down your finger. You bit too much off.

A woman comes into the classroom. She’s got that look about her that says she hates her job, and you get it. Her voice comes out gnarly. “Good morning, class. I hope you’re all settling in comfortably.” You don’t need Nat’s teachings to tell that she’s lying. “My name is Ms. Varley, I’ll be your teacher for the next school year. We’re going to start with some introductions.” The class groans. Ms. Varley tuts. “None of that complaining mess. We’ll start with you.” She points at a poor unfortunate soul.

You zone out as introductions go on. Your ears are filled with snooty accents and proper tones. Most kids talk about what they’re the heir to, barf. Someone mentions how many vacation homes they have.

You stand up when it’s your turn. “[Name] Stark. I like ballet and hot pink,” you pause, thinking of what you can say that’ll make them turn their nose up at you. “I like spiders.”

Predictably, faces of disgust are sent your way. You grin and sit down. Your seat-mate stands up in turn. You’re more occupied with staring head on at the few eyes that are still on you.

“I am Damian Wayne. I am the blood-heir of Bruce Wayne and I have a keen interest in the arts.”

You do your best not to scream. Of course. Of course! You’re convinced this universe has sentience and is belly-laughing at you right now. And he sits right next to you! Why did he choose to sit next to you? There’s an empty pair of desks right over there! God forbid you can just be left alone.

Damian sits down after his brief introduction, you suspect his peers are used to it, if the knowing smiles and head shakes are anything to go by. You sigh and slump down in your seat. You risk a glance at him and will yourself not to jump when you see he is already looking at you.

You feign nonchalance and raise a brow. “Take a picture.”

“You’re not nearly enough of a sight for that.” You bark out a laugh in surprise at the quickness in his answer. Typical.

“Ouch, my feelings.”

“I know you got a perfect score on the exam.” There it is. The bomb. The reason he sat next to you. So, he’s suspicious of you? Great, awesome.

“Yeah, your daddy himself signed my letter. What, you a fan or something? I know I’m pretty awesome.” You’re not sure what you’re trying to achieve with this act, but you can’t really seem to think straight right now.

“I have my suspicions.”

“That I cheated?”

“Perhaps.”

“It’s not a good idea to monologue your evil plans. Why do you care if I did anyway? You know half of these trust fund babies wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for mommy and daddy’s money, right?”

He scoffs. “That much is obvious. And I don’t care if you cheated or not. You wouldn’t be the first.”

“So, what? You jealous that I'm so much better than you? I know, it’s hard to cope.”

His eye-roll is violent. “Wait, I know,” you interrupt when he opens his mouth. “You’re worried I’m a super secret spy working for, like, the Joker or something and that I’m endangering the lives of all the students. You’ve always had dreams of being Robin and kicking ass with Batman so this must be your chance to prove yourself.” What do they say about freudian slips? “How right am I?”

You’re certain his suspicion runs deeper than that, but hopefully your spiel gets him off your ass for a while. He won’t want your (joking) suspicions about Robin to fester and have you realize he actually is Robin, so he’ll let it die.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s one of my better qualities.”

You can feel his eyes on you for the rest of the class. You’d think Robin would be more subtle. The lab for your science class is… fine. Maybe you’re just spoiled from the Tower’s labs. You feel the same when you walk into the computer lab. You should probably start bringing your own laptop to school. The dance studio is cute, though. The teacher is faking a russian accent, but you think you’re the only person who can tell. She only teaches you how to do proper stretches, so at least it seems like she knows her stuff.

Finally, your last period comes down to art class. A chill class to end the day makes you happy. Large windows let the sun cast its rays. You take your seat in the corner. There’s various plants littered around the room, real plants. There’s even fairy lights hanging above. This is definitely going to be your favorite class.

You hum along to the song Karen plays in your ear.

“Harness your hopes on just one person…” you hum.

“Already talking to yourself, I see.”

You look over to where Damian is settling down next to you. “Can’t get enough of me?” You coo.

“On the contrary, I’m already sick of you.”

“Still suspicious of me yet, boy wonder?”

His glare would kill a lesser person. The teacher walks in with a bright and cheery attitude. She’s got that Ms. Frizzle attitude about her that makes you either love her or hate her. You love her.

She sets you all up with your own sketchbooks, high quality ones. You decorate your cover with all the colors of your friends. You draw little coffee cups and pastries in unconventional colors. Big graffiti style letters spell out random phrases. You peek at Damian and see that his notebook just has his name on it, boring.

Ms. M, as she’s allowed you all to call her, begins droning on about color theory and principles and elements and a bunch of other stuff you don’t pay attention to. You count the minutes as you watch the sun slowly set outside the window. You clack your nails together in boredom.

“Hundred bucks for me to moan out loud.”

Damian does a good job of keeping his composure, but you can see the disbelief from your words. He grits out, “Why would I ever pay you to do such a thing?”

“One might feel adventurous on occasion.” You weren’t going to moan even if he did pay you a hundred bucks, you just felt that twitch to say something to dispel the quiet.

You suck in a breath. “So…”

“I have no interest in conversing with you.”

You dramatically whine. “You’re no fun. What does a guy like you even do for fun?”

“It is as I said, I don’t–”

“–wish to converse with me, I know. So, art then? You like to draw?” You lean forward towards him.

“It does not concern you–”

“I think you’re the type of guy to like minimalist  art. You’d be the type to find something outta nothing.”

He scoffs, and you know you’ve got him. “Minimalist is the most baseless form of all. The lack of detail is abhorrent and requires no true skill. Classical is far superior, it takes a certain mastery of skill to truly imitate the renaissance–” he pauses. You grin, showing your teeth.

His huff is silenced by your giggles.

notes: i imagine readers NY looking like rottmnt's NY (it's really vibrant and lively-looking if ur too lazy to look it up)

i feel like this chapter is pretty fast paced in the beginning (god forbid i know how to write action sequences) so uh sorry bout that

you've dodged the batfamilys suspicions! for now anyway. except damian ofc. i havent read any dc comics so sorry if dami's ooc.

Nari is short for Narinder, from Cult of the Lamb :D. also, how are we feeling about Gar? when i write him i think about Joel from tlou, and i think im gonna try to channel that as hard as i can lol.

reader was humming "Harness Your Hopes" by Pavement.

bruce when he learns reader is a "teen" living by themself: it's free real estate

[ratatouillewastakendammit]

HEAR ME OUT 😭 toga!reader who grew up with katsuki and izuku, she was always insecure about her quirk bc ppl told her liking gore was weird etc and ofc kats bullied her bc of that… until she grew older, realised how much her quirk can do, joined league of villains alongside dabi… maybe dabi takes a liking to her ^^ and he understands the need for revenge all too well… 🙂‍↔️ THATS ABOUT ALL I HAVE RN!

Wait this is so fun!! I usually try to keep the readers quirk undefined because I know some people want to insert their own but tbh I loveeee gory quirks and stuff

I'll Kill 'Em, You Hide the Body

Pairing: Dabi x Reader

Warnings: language, slightly suggestive, bullying, violence, blood (ofc), also it's been a while since I've written less dialogue heavy stuff so let me know if you have any critiques!

Word Count: 2.1k

Dabi had never been a fan of Toga.

The blonde was nothing short of psychotic, which he usually didn't mind by itself. Still, she possessed an undeniable creepiness about her that had him keeping as much as possible.

Seeing that she had wormed her way into his room to jab him for blood once may or may not have exemplified his dislike.

You on the other hand?

It was interesting how you and the blonde shared similar quirks, powers of seperate sides of the same coin with minor differences on how you used them.

It was even more interesting, however, with how much different the two of you actually were.

He remembered how you acted when you had first been introduced to the League, quiet and eyes glued to the floor, words slurred from the subtle way you tried to keep your mouth closed as you spoke. Still, your efforts seemed to be in vain, the soft whites of your sharpened canines becoming revealed the second you had joined them for a meal.

In all honesty, Dabi had thought it was dumb, how insecure you were of your quirk. He had seen mutant-quirk holders with features much more abhorrent than your barely noticeable fangs.

Spinner, the giant lizard man working along with you both was an easy example.

Shigaraki had accepted you, seemingly already knowledgeable of whatever powers you possessed when Giran had brought you to the hideout, leaving everyone else in the dark.

And while the others hadn't seemed to mind, accepting your soft spoken demeanor and mystery with open arms, Dabi wasn't exactly elated to have another weakling on the team.

How the hell would he be able to trust that you wouldn't fuck up if he didn't know what you could do?

So when Shigaraki had assigned you to his group for a mission, he had scoffed, grumbling about how you were just going to get yourself killed.

You, however, had been quite the surprise.

Drawing a small knife from your boot, you slid the blade over your palm, the metal leaving a thin line of scarlet behind. He watched as the liquid pooled over your fingers before rising in the air, leaving your skin clean and untouched.

He watched, cerulean eyes wide as he took in the horrific beauty you possessed.

Blood continued to slip from your cut, each drop falling upward to amalgamate into your dreadful creation, a vine of vermilion that trailed around a group of your opponents.

When a squeeze of your fist, the ruby liquid clotted together, wrapping around the men and pulling them together into a makeshift prison. The blood, now miraculously hardened, poked at their skin, pulling at their own plasma until it was also under your control.

You used your other hand, careful not to mix the substances, before forming the material into a scythe. If one listened hard enough, they could hear the edge of the blade slicing through the air, just as deadly and graceful as its wielder.

It was almost poetic, the way you cut through your foes with the innards of their comrades.

By the end of it, a gory havoc had exploded through the room, you, just as untouched and pristine as before all of it, standing in the middle of it.

Beckoning a finger forward, you drew your own blood back toward you, the fluid snaking back under your skin and gluing the cut back together.

Toga had been absolutely obsessed with you from that moment on, hanging off your shoulder and chatting your ear off whenever you would let her.

Surprisingly, you didn't exactly seem to mind, expression holding nothing was silent contentment, the way one may look at a younger sibling or apprentice.

Dabi, on the other hand, had only grown increasingly obsessed with figuring you out.

To say you grew up isolated was an understatement.

When your quirk had first been revealed, your parents had been happy, albeit a bit taken aback by the initial grimness of it, hopeful for the unwritten future of success you had waiting.

Blood bending had quite the potential, after all.

Similarly, your friends had been enamored by the creations of your ability, eyes wide in childish wonder as you made inanimate creatures float around the classroom, one of your favorite tricks.

Your life had started to end the first day you passed out in class.

It had been a small turtledove that time, red as rubies and small enough to fit in your hand. The avian organism flying over your head was the last thing you remembered before the world went black.

Filled with panic, your parents had rushed you to the nearest urgent care, voices laced with tension as they explained the situation, even as you woke up. The doctor had done numerous tests, each more exhausting than the last.

A few days passed, filled with fear and anticipation at each time you would faint without an explanation.

'Extremely low iron' was the first thing written on the report, letters big and angry. Still, those that followed were so much worse.

The notion of having to consume some form of blood, not only to sustain your quirk, but to keep you alive, left your family in shambles.

Each of your friends began to trickle away after the news as well, most scared by the rumor that you were secretly a vampire started by some blond a few grades below you. Bakugou was his name, that of which you had learned a few days later as the bullying continued.

Whispers lined the hallway as you walked past, each hushed syllable and scowl following you like a disease.

"She'll eat you if you let her too close."

"I heard she picks people off the streets and drains 'em."

The love for gore and scary movies you had definitely didn't help your case.

Regardless, back then, you would've easily watched some romantic comedy instead of your favorite slasher film, if only it could be done with friends by your side, giggling at the dreamy love interest and cheesy lines.

And despite your desperate yearning for companionship, maybe you would've been fine if it was left at plain isolation.

The worst of it started when Bakugou convinced some of his friends to break into your locker. They had taken your lunch box and dumped the contents out in the nearest trashcan before stuffing it back in, all of which you being completely oblivious to.

When you opened your lunchbox expecting the usual sandwich and bag of chips, your eyes had doubled in horror when they met the dead bird cradled within instead.

Home could have easily been a sanctuary for you, but it soon became just as depressing as school.

Thankfully, your doctor had been able to give you meager rations of the blood donations the local hospital received weekly. Still, you began to dread each time your parents went out to pick it up from the pharmacy.

They would hand you the bag to put in the freezer, fingers barely gripping the plastic like it was a dead animal.

As far as you knew, it very well could've been.

Their complaints ran through your ears constantly, vivid descriptions of the revolted looks the nurses would give him, followed by the scattered glances of pity they might get from other parents at the store.

Once, your mother had to excuse herself from the table, silently gagging at the ruby liquid in your cup. Soon it became a regular occurrence, both leaving in disgust until you were left to eat your meals alone, food cold and room silent.

A few years inched by before they pushed you away as well, lending you money for a small apartment on the other side of town, as far away from them as possible.

By the time you turned eighteen, they had cut you off completely, giving you just enough time for all that sadness and insecurity to meld into hate.

Joining the League was the first thing you did after moving out.

Surprisingly, it hadn't taken a long time at all for Dabi to take a liking to you, the quiet admiration stemming from his initial awe at your power, regardless of how much he didn't want to admit it.

Taunting you soon becomes his favorite activity. You were unexpectedly hard to fluster, but the way your eyes would flit to the ground in embarrassment made it deliciously worth it.

Regardless, the soft blood lust burning in your eyes whenever he would push your buttons too far had his pants tightening.

It was hard to decide which reaction he liked better.

Those were the reactions he was digging for tonight, arms crossed as he leaned on your door frame, smirking at the way you had mindlessly left the entryway to your room unlocked.

It was like you were practically begging him to come in.

He had learned of your past a few hours ago from Kurogiri, the dark mass of mist and fog easily digging out the information.

The knowledge had pissed him off, sure. In all honesty, he would've happily added another U.A. brat to his kill-list, especially once he recognized Bakugou's name, the idiot being in the same class as his darling little brother.

Still, Dabi had enough self respect to consult you first.

Or, at least, he had convinced himself it was 'consulting.' Whether or not it was more accurately 'annoying you until you did something worth the regret' was none of his concern.

And it was all the more motivation if he could worm his way into your good graces.

He definitely wouldn't mind letting you play damsel if it meant winning your affection in the end.

Maybe it was the mention of that blond twerps name, or maybe that of your parents, which had your fingers curling around your pencil, your line of sight glued to the paper in front of you.

"Get out. I'm working," you said without looking up.

"You know, fucking someone up would make you feel a lot better than writing in a diary." He walked over to where you were sitting, a smirk pulling on the corner of his lips. A hand slipped over your shoulder as he bent down, the warmth of his skin kissing your own as he whispered, "Or I know some other ways of relieving stress if you want help."

You scoffed, ignoring the heat building in your cheeks at the insinuation. "Are you always this annoying?"

"Only for you, doll."

Dabi was quite the flirt, and while you were quite masterful at hiding your own attraction to the man, each amorous comment had your defenses faltering.

"I just don't know how you can let that shit fly." His touch slid lower, hands snaking low enough to rest on your thighs, his breath tickling your ear. "If it was me, they would be six feet under right now."

"You really think I don't want to?" The heels of your chair slid across the wooden floor in an unpleasant screech, your pencil slamming against the desk as you stood and turned to face him. "I think about it all the fucking time! I just..." You swallowed. "There's no coming back from that... I don't know if I can."

Silence met your unwilling confession, clashing with the pit of embarrassment growing in your stomach. An attempt to hide from the scrutiny of his stare, you moved over to sit on your bed, resting your face in your hands as the stillness enveloped you.

"Then let me do it for you."

You looked up. "What?"

"I said," Dabi slowly crept over to you, gaze locked on your own. "Let me do it for you."

The way each syllable was enunciated with cruel ardor left you shivering, your skin prickling in goosebumps as the heat radiating off his body swept closer.

"I'll make sure to leave enough pieces behind to drain, if you want."

It was almost as if he could hear the blood thrumming through your veins, your quirk begging for the violent, venegeful release that you were being promised.

That annoyingly excitable muscle in his chest jumped at the way you looked at him, eyes dancing with a mixture of desire and ferocity.

Eventually, you gave your answer, quiet, but certain.

"Okay."

[nockfellblues]

For the second ask- can I have a story of Junpei Yoshino being saved by the reader? Context: Reader is also a sorcerer and was with Itadori at the time of the encounter with Mahito.

Ngl it took me a bit to work out a good concept for this one- idk if its just cuz i never really toyed with making a jjk oc or if i was just having a brain fart lmao and then I started writing and it just kept going??? Either way, here it is! GN reader and can be read as platonic or as a crush if you squint. Again, thanks so much for requesting! I hope you like it! 💕

Warnings: Usual canon compliant violence, mentions of blood.

“Should we really be doing this?”

Yuji just shrugged with a smile, looking blissfully unaware as you both lounged about in none other than Junpei Yoshino’s house, waiting to start a film while the aforementioned boy grabbed some snacks from his kitchen. Behind you both his mother was blissfully unawares as she slept soundly at the kitchen table with a smile on her face. This was supposed to be an investigation into the troubled boy and the strange circumstances he’d found himself in the middle of, but had quickly turned into the three of you becoming fast friends. Before either you or Yuji knew it, you were sat at the dinner table in the Yoshino residence like you always belonged there.

You couldn’t deny how much you genuinely liked Junpei- he was quiet and reserved with a stalwart sense of justice, but listening to him talk about his favorite films seemed to bring out the absolute best in him and make his smile look so much more alive. It was like a little part of his soul bloomed into a bright glow of happiness and contentment. Something about someone talking about their passions always made them shine in a way that was so beautiful, and you couldn’t deny that his bloom was so very enticing. Of course it helped that you shared taste in movies and in music and that he was seemingly such a sweet boy…

Truly, becoming friends with him like this had been such a breath of fresh air in all of the insanity lately. You were so thankful to have met him, even if the circumstances were.. crazy.

When Nanami had brought you onto this particular investigation you were terrified. Being just a student, and just a first-year at that, you had zero concept of how your curse techniques would be even remotely useful. Especially when Nanami and Shoko showed you the horrific amalgamates this new curse was able to produce. After all, all you could do was alter the physical form of objects, not people; Changing a rock into a knife and imbuing it with cursed energy was a vast difference to changing the shape of a body part, or a whole person, much less their soul. But Gojo had put the idea into Shoko’s head that it was worth a shot to see if you could reach something tangible in the form of a human soul, and so you tried.

Touching the soul was… exhilarating. Being able to see the physical manifestation of a soul was so, so beautiful. But it was also terrifying- being the only hope for these.. people that the patchwork curse left behind. It was like falling into a litany of swirling emotions, memories, passions, and colours, everything that made a person who they are, and trying desperately to wrangle them into a shape that they remembered and holding them there until they understood that this was their true shape and began to.. ‘heal.’ So far the best result was separating their physical forms and returning them to ‘normal’- but, so far, not a single person had survived. They returned to ‘normal’ only to be completely comatose for varying periods of time before slowly fading and, eventually, passing.

“Think any harder and your brain will melt,” Yuji laughed, nudging you with an elbow. You returned his easy smile as Junpei came back with an overflowing bowl of popcorn and some drinks.

“Yum! Alright, let’s get this movie party started!”

—————

You could barely breathe, running as fast as your legs could take you towards the ominous shadowed dome of the veil that had opened over Satozakura High School- Junpei’s school. You had happened to be in the area doing some light shopping when it started- the wrong place at the right time, you supposed. Reaching your senses out you desperately searched for any anomalous energies, until Yuji’s burst of cursed energy lit up like a homing beacon.

“Please don’t let Junpei be here- Please.”

—————

“People don’t have hearts.” You could hear the tears in Junpei’s voice and you raced around the corner of the corridor. You found him kneeling amongst broken glass in the darkened hallway, Yuji standing before him looking angry and distraught.

“You’re still just trying-“

“Junpei, please-“

“They don’t!” Junpei’s voice was absolutely wrecked with what could only be grief as he cut you both off.

“Other wise…” Tears streamed down his face, his entire body shaking as you reached to place a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Otherwise- Then that could only mean that people cursed me and my mom with those hearts! That would just be.. Too much,” he sobbed and shook you hand off to stand.

You backed away as cursed energy gathered within him and made the outline of his soul shimmer a brilliant melancholy blue- when in the world had he come into being able to produce cursed energy?

“I wouldn’t even know what is right and what’s wrong any more!” In a flurry of iridescent blue, a billowing jellyfish shikigami appeared behind him, quickly taking aim and stabbing Yuji with its sharpened tentacles.

“Y-Yuji!” You covered your mouth in shock as he took slow steps towards Junpei leaving a dripping trail of blood behind.

“Why-why didn’t you dodge it?”

“I’m sorry. I said a lot of arrogant stuff without really understanding anything. So, tell me what happened to you.. and I swear to you, if you do, then I wont curse you anymore. Please.” Yuji kneeled before Junpei, his voice soft, and you approached again to return a hand to Junpei’s shoulder.

“We’re your friends, Junpei. So, please, let us help?” You gave his houlder a gentle squeeze as he met your gaze with wide tearful eyes- and the dam broke.

Junpei crumbled before you both, body wracked with heaving sobs as he told you about his mother- the horrifying discovery of her mutilated body and another of those damn fingers of Sukuna’s just left there out in the open. Yuji took his hands in his own and you wrapped your arms over Junpei’s shoulders, letting him cry as you both fought back our own emotions at the news.

“I’m so sorry Junpei..” You gently rubbed his back as Yuji took a moment to process what you’d learned.

“Junpei… join Jujutsu high- You’d like it! There are lots of crazy strong teachers and good, reliable friends there. If we all work together, I guarantee you, we can find whoever it was that cursed your mom… then you can make them pay for what they did!” Yuji’s determination had Junpei’s tears start anew, and you nodded along with him.

“It’s true, Junpei. You’d never be alone, and we’d all do our very best to help you!” Yuji nodded in turn and you moved to hold his shoulders to properly look into his eyes. “Trust us again, Junpei. I swear, we’ll do whatever we can to make this right.”

“That’s a big promise coming from such a weak sorcerer.” At the top of the stair stood a man with silver hair and…a patchwork face. His body seemed to radiate the same shimmer you now equated with the visual manifestation of a soul, but so, so much brighter than you’d ever seen one. It seemed to ripple and move, like it was made of water, as though it didnt know enough to stay in one shape. What is he?

“Who are you?”

“It’s nice to meet you, vessel of Sukuna.”

The three of you stood and you deepened your stance to something more solid and defensive as it all clicked, “Yuji that’s him-!”

“Mahito, don’t do it!”

The Patchwork curse’s arm and shoulder alike began to curn like bubbling water, rapidly morphing as it shot out to slam Yuji into the adjacent wall- a second appendage morphed out of the side and swing too fast, swiping you away and tossing you down the hall like you weighed nothing. You flew until you hit the wall at the the end with a sickening crack. Groaning as you slid to the floor you were distantly aware of Yuji yelling, or saying something, but everything was violently tilting and fading into grey, your ears ringing like crazy and you could feel warm blood drip down your forehead and over your brow. Get up, they need you now!

There was a pulse of that same too-bright glimmer as the patchwork curse did something you couldn’t see and Yuji was yelling again, the tone now distinctly distraught as he yelled for you, then for Junpei. Blinking slowly, you’re positive you blacked out for a moment. You woke again to Yuji begging Sukuna for help while that awful patchwork curse giggled like a child. Dammit, get up! Get up!

Struggling to your feet the world swayed dangerously for a moment before snapping into focus on distinct blue shimmer of Junpei’s soul- now distorted and morphed into.. some.. thing that was collapsed at Yuji’s feet. The curse continued to laugh wildly and Yuji’s soul bloomed into a wild cacophony of bright white noise that was nearly blinding- and then he swung.

Fist meeting the patchwork thing’s face, you could see their souls touch in a way you’d never seen before- and the patchwork curse’s soul seemed to… crack? It was so small and barely there, but it had cracked! Had Yuji really hurt it?

You stumbled towards the thing that was somehow still Junpei, his soul twisted and tangled into some little blue monster that was nearly unrecognizable. The curse was goading Yuji into more of a fight and you could feel their souls and cursed energy bloom yet again as they moved their fight up the flight of stair behind them. Good, that gave you time.

“J-Junpei!” You dropped to his side, the wavering glimmer of his soul now so dim it was almost faded to grey in places. If you were going to help him, it needed to be now. But… You’d never touched a soul so newly wrecked- would it make a difference? Would it hurt him to try when he was so weak? There was no do-over with this, and if you fucked up he would die.

“I… I can do this. Please Junpei, please don’t die on me!” Placing your hands over the center of his mass, where is soul seemed strongest, you pulled at your own cursed energy. Reaching into him you were submerged in a vast, cold ocean of darkness. All you could feel was desolation- the frigid grasp of grief and sorrow as you tried to pull as much of his soul together that you could reach. It was like trying to grab bubbles of shimmering water, Junpei’s soul trying its best to separate and float away.

“Not today- You’re coming back with me, dammit! I’m not giving up on you, so don’t you give up on me, Junpei!”

Pushing the last drifting bubble of his soul in with the rest you could feel your own soul stretch thin trying to compress the pieces into the familiar form of your friend and holding it there-

This has to work. Please! The dark around you seemed to grow brighter and brighter until it was a blindingly bright sky blue as the pressure on your soul seemed to pulse- then something within your souls seemed to snap and everything went black.

—————

“Stop fidgeting, you look great!”

“S-sorry!” Junpei’s face was flushed in embarrassment at your praise as he tugged at the collar to his freshly finished Jujutsu High uniform.

Today was the day you finally got to introduce him to the other first year students and he was a bit of a nervous wreck. You gently swatted his hands away and adjusted the buttons on his collar one final time, returning his nervous look with a reassuring smile.

“You’re sure everyone will be.. cool with this?”

“Absolutely, silly. The others are super cool, and they’re all total weirdos, just like us! That’s why we all fit in so well!”

In hindsight that might have been a little rude to say about your friends but it made Junpei laugh, the first real laugh you’d gotten out of him since everything went to hell.

So it was totally worth it.

Ahhh okay this was so much longer than I intended it idk i kinda Ike it! Junpei deserved better 😤

[runningwithscizzorz]

Hello I have an question!

How do you do character design and make yourself come up with creative ideas for them? Outfits, fantasy, etc

I’ll appreciate all and any advice :)

It is very difficult for me to come up with ideas off the top of my head, which is why I’m so grateful that the world makes ideas for me.

For example, the silver horned demon brother, from one of my JTTW comics was annoying for me to think of. “What has horns that isn’t an animal, something ancient and creepy?” I had been looking through videos of cave formations when I saw a kind of build up that looked an awful lot like mushrooms. Bam! One discovery snowballed into this spooky design of the silver horned demon, a decaying eye filled form that lives deep in a cave with his brother

For the Queendom of women, I didn’t even need to think of anything. I simply researched the actual Queendom and based their clothing off of the real people. They have tons of beautiful art and scenery as well, so it was easy to work with once I knew what I was looking for through research

💥WARNING, MAGGOTS SPIDERS AND BODY HORROR❌ I couldn’t find a way to blur the images??

For the design of the seven spider women, I was very unsatisfied with their role in the book. I wanted them to leave a lasting impression with their limited time. I didn’t change anything about their story, but I instead used the fear of insects and impregnating for their monster design, right before Wukong kills and defeats them. They’re based off the wasps that lay their eggs inside spiders, and they cocoon together in an amalgamated form like that of a spider nest, leaving them as horrific humam-spider monsters

[howlonomy]

I love that your interpretation of the amalgamates aren't inherently... like that. That their deteriorated mental state is mostly because of them being locked up in a dingy lab for so long and only tended to by a single distraught scientist who can barely take care of herself. That when they're free, surrounded by loved ones and getting actual qualified help they can recover and become more... coherent.

Also, Kanako can still grow up? I thought having a stagnant soul ment she was kid sized forever (which would admittedly suck). I wonder what an adult amalgako would look like.

thank you!! while i think being given hope and then melting together horrifically and being the product of monster experimentation without consent is enough to traumatize them all, i feel like being isolated and basically alone aside from each other is just. more trauma on top of that that led to the decline of their mental health. i think if they had gotten the proper help immediately after becoming amalgamates they wouldn’t have been so…. like That. its just being down there for years and years with nothing to do and no one to talk to that really fucked em up mentally.

but now that they are surrounded by friends and family they can start healing!! and settling into a new normal for themselves

as for kanako; yes! a stagnant soul doesnt mean she wont grow up, just that she wont become more or less goopy as she does. she wont get better but she wont get worse either. here is a quick adult kanako to match the adult clover!!

[v4voracity]

HALF A HEART - COD characters x Poltergeist!reader

POLTERGEIST COD AU

⥇❥"Reader" is a literal ghost, AFAB reader and referred primarily as to as "you", sometimes explicitly referred to as a woman, implied to be British and implied to have died in the 1500s/16th century, though the location isn’t relevant for much other than attempted historical accuracy with her death/why she’s in England. Reader is also not said to be of any skin tone or ethnicity, just that she was *likely* born in England. Reader is from a time when afab people weren't commonly educated and canonically has slight trouble reading and learning after her death since she can't access books or learning materials and had to self-teach herself to read and write after death where she couldn't ask for help, this will probably change though after she meets 141. Said information is slightly relevant to the plot, though I can make an alternate version if people want an amab/gender neutral reader :)

also roach is canonically part of this and has little antenna attachments to his helmet because i said so

  ⥇❥Word Count: 4096, excluding warnings and text above the cut.

⥇❥CONTENT WARNING FOR:

↪ Technically age gap? Reader was born and died long before any cod character ↪ possibly historically inaccurate as i was unfortunately not alive in the 1500s nor most of the following time periods ↪ possibly incorrect depictions of a ‘poltergeist’, as reader is an amalgamation of different types of ghosts/folklore (i mainly just didn't want to use the term ‘ghost’ because it’d be confusing with Ghost the character) ↪ possibly OOC characters ↪ american author writing europeans ↪reader is (basically) rasputin with their death ↪ slight mentions of religion or religious themes (mainly about the afterlife, existence of heaven/hell, and brief mentions of witch trials which were mostly religiously motivated.) ↪graphic description of how reader died (witch trials, so think salem witch trials kind of graphic)

let me know if i missed anything or should edit the content warnings!

Link to main masterlist - Link to HALF A HEART sub-list

You have been warned, scroll at your own risk.

Let’s get things straight. You are, for all intents and purposes, dead.

Deader than a doornail, in-fact, you’ve been dead for almost.. 500 years now? Well, you're rounding slightly but nobody cares for the exact amount of time.

Now, that is a long time to be dead for… Well, a long time to be dead but still conscious; a spirit, ghost, apparition, whatever you wanted to call it. If it weren’t for the fact you were more-so apparition than person, you’d almost say it’s like being alive and immortal for longer than god (or genetics, you weren’t picky) ever intended. 

And being ‘alive’ for so long is very boring; especially now that the deep-seeded anger in your heart has faded, those who wronged you long gone and their kin far too distant from them for you to ever wish ill-will towards them. Especially now that the fear you felt, the horrific terror you felt being escorted to your improper grave and the existential dread that hung heavy when you revived, only to realize you hadn’t survived nor been healed for a second chance. No, you were dead; rejected by both heaven and hell, not even worthy for eternal damnation. The only upside to this was that you were still capable of interacting with the living world; more than you could say for the very, very, VERY small number of ghouls you had met in your time of unliving. Apparently you were a bit unusual, you being far more capable and capable of manipulating the living world than the 'run-of-the-mill' ghost.

That being said, your current behavior, which was following around some hunky military men like a lovesick maiden, was totally excusable…

…It wasn’t creepy, no, you weren’t being improper. You were totally just... curious. It couldn’t have been the fact that you died unwed— a pure virgin, hardly having even engaged in romantic acts, as you were devout in your chaste nature. I mean, surely your absolute devotion which led to you never even kissing a man or woman, holding hands or lying with someone earned you a little justification to do… whatever you were doing right now.

Okay, maybe it was a bit creepy. But dying a without so much as ever having ONE cute little date with heated cheeks, bashful giggles, and butterflies in your stomach as your hands brushed each others— FOLLOWED by being forced to go entirely unperceived much less feeling any sort of physical contact or verbal interaction for A COUPLE CENTURIES makes this somewhat understandable.

It’s not like you were really DOING anything, (because, again, that was a wee-bit hard in your current state) you’ve just kind of been following this guy around?

(You followed him around because you overheard people refer to him as ‘Ghost’ and as an actual ghost you found that a little funny)

Then that led to you following his team around. You had, somewhat, messed with the men— not much, mainly flickering lights, closing doors, and moving objects slightly.

There had been slight complaints, but not much indicating they knew they were facing a lonely, dead girl who died unfairly supernatural danger in the form of a poltergeist with abnormally strong powers. Just assumptions that ‘the wiring was faulty’, or that ‘someone must’ve left a window open’, sometimes they just assume someone knocked something over (despite nobody being near said knocked object). Oh, and your favorite was that ‘some stupid recruits moving shit’— speaking of which— the guys you followed were all pretty high-ranking from your understanding and occasionally trained recruits. That was cool in its own right, but it was especially great for you because you could lob stuff at them and get some poor recruit in trouble. It was fun.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t fun enough to keep you entertained. Now, given when you were born and raised it wasn’t a surprise that you weren’t particularly that literate. Your brain (long gone and returned to the ground) wasn’t even physical or attached to you anymore, so it wasn’t a surprise that learning things was often hard for you(something you hated in death, as learning things would help pass the time if it weren't frustrating and near impossible both because you couldn’t access physical hobbies or items like books AND because your brain—or lack thereof— simply didn’t take to information like it used to), but you knew enough of written English to make out most newspapers and documents. Despite that, you had very little clue of the strange ciphers and terms used by the men, even though you had remained mainly around the military base they were staying in for a few months. 

…That was until recently, when you decided you were curious enough to try and actually learn about what they’re doing. You were currently following this guy— Captain Price, you think— because from what you knew (as a woman who died in the middle ages, uneducated, illiterate, dying fairly young by today's standards anyways and having lived without ever partaking in any wars or battles and not ever bothering to ask about any) he was the highest rank of the team, followed by that ‘Ghost’ guy you originally followed (he’s called a lieutenant, a word you hated writing or reading because it was so damn hard to spell or even look at), then this ‘Soap’ fella (A sergeant, another word you weren’t a fan of) and then this ‘Gaz’ bloke (Who was apparently also a sergeant, but he was the second? So he was lower? Why did they need two? And why was one rank worse than the other? You didn’t know and frankly found it stupid.) There were also these other people; Shadow Company or something, you didn’t really get it because the guy who they most frequently talked to from that company was white as a sheet, but whatever.

Anyways, recently you found out that while wandering wasn’t an issue for you (you weren’t ever bound to a particular area, probably because your body, or whatever remained of it, was far from where you died, and you couldn’t really remember where you were when you died so you weren’t particularly attached) it was very hard for you to follow after the ‘vehicles’ they used. Sometimes they used these wheeled inventions called ‘cars’ (which were kinda like the horses, carts, and carriages of your time but not shitty). They also had these things— called ‘helicopters’ or something similar with a different name (again, you didn't know why they made things so complicated but whatever) that were able to take them anywhere by air. Pretty cool if it weren’t for the fact it made following them anywhere exceptionally difficult. So you had to go about a different method if you wanted to actually follow them anywhere.

Possession. 

Not necessarily like the kind you’d seen in a ghost-related movie you watched over an unwitting couple’s shoulder. It was more so just somewhat attaching yourself to someone, letting part of yourself (probably your soul, if you actually had one) attach to theirs, letting them become a tether into the physical plane. The realm of the living. If you pushed it far you could absolutely do like they do in the movies, but you found that kind of scary since you didn’t know how much of your soul was required for that or if you could be exorcized like in the movies. You really only tethered yourself to someone when you first transitioned into… whatever you were now.

 A wraith, at the time, aggressive and vengeful against the man who accused you, the town that raised you then gazed at you hungrily— blaming you for their sins. Calling you a temptress for the beauty you acquired with your maturation, something you were once proud about turned into something you abhorred.

At one point you even felt festering hatred towards the family that raised you. A mother who birthed you only to denounce birthing you, claiming a devil implanted you as a demon of the night that’d ruin their village and took the milk meant for sons, your elder brothers. A father, one who doted on you before as his precious only daughter and youngest, turning his head; unable to watch as you were tied to the pyre and lit ablaze— a man who was cowardly and evasive. The siblings of yours that you grew with— were close with, were cared for by, were raised by! 

All for them to pretend they had nothing to do with you. Or to join the crowd’s jeering turned cheers as you sobbed, salty tears unable to extinguish the fast-growing embers. Not one of them dared to correct the executioner’s methods. Witches, despite stigma, were usually hung or otherwise given quick deaths prior to the burning; but you… 

Oh, poor, poor you. Things weren’t quite done correctly. You were still alive when they tied you to the post, surrounding you with flammables and letting the flames lick up your body. Catatonic, unable to beg for mercy, for them to kill you properly. Though, even if you were able to speak, you probably wouldn’t beg. You were desperate to survive. When they butchered you like the farm animals you’d skinned many times before with your dear-old-dad. Failed to cut the correct places and left you bleeding, conscious but paralyzed in pain and fear as they dragged your body to a make-shift wooden post in the town center. Never let you burn fully, the triumph leaving their voices when they still saw you, struggling— eyes still moving, hyperventilating as your arms thrashed trying to break the burnt ropes, paralysis spell broken by desperation— still living, still struggling, still surviving.

They didn’t have the courage to finish burning you either.

It'd be a poor choice if you were a witch, since burning was supposed to be done to stop them from cursing people…

Actually, now that you’re thinking about it, maybe you were a witch? Maybe you had somehow sold your soul, and with no soul to give you could enter the afterlife? Maybe that’s why you felt a path of fury when you died? You felt wronged and cursed people for nearly half the first century you found yourself un-living.

Regardless, the cowards backed away from you with wide eyes, and eventually you felt the ropes break, your body barely reacting to what you wanted it to do, stumbling around aimlessly despite your efforts.

All you could do was scramble out the village, betrayed and never wanting to return.

Eventually, you fell to a crawl, dragging yourself through the grass, fingernails caked with a mix of dirt and blood, as if your near-corpse was trying to create a shallow grave every time you scraped them across the ground…

Somehow, you ended up falling into a river. You don’t know if you fell  during your crawls or if someone put you in there, just that it was excruciatingly cold and your lungs, shrunken and shriveled by the heat of your incomplete incineration couldn’t get any air. You tried pulling yourself out but you were too far gone. Even then, ‘til the point your eyes closed you never gave up. Maybe you were so against dying your soul remained, even when your body went.

Honestly, you weren’t ever really sure which of those injuries eventually lead to your drawn-out and overdue death, but you didn’t care. What you did care about, upon re-awakening, was revenge, hearing the blood-curdling screams of those who wronged you, those who feigned ignorance, those who lied, and those who threw you out when false accusations came. You were swift in it, tethering yourself to everyone in town, attaching small pieces of yourself meant for one purpose: tracking.

No matter where they went they were damned, your violent-haze, the cravings for others to bear a fraction of your misfortune. You were like a tsunami, quick to approach with little warning, only the quick recession of water to warn those who’d be affected. (Not that your victims knew what a train was, but it was like the equivalent of seeing a train barreling toward you and being unable to move, only able to process what's about to happen.) And you were even swifter to strike, small misfortunes not enough to quell that furious fire inside you— brighter than those that scalded you. All ended in what you thought were well-deserved deaths.

But, that wasn’t what you’d be using them for. Not today, and hopefully never again.

You decided you’d turn up the heat a bit and have these men notice that they were, in fact, haunted and not just clumsy or forgetful. You had an easier time manipulating things when no-one was around, or when someone was alone. Easy prey for the ghoulish you, even if most of these guys could probably have easily broken you in half when you were still alive. It sounded dumb to give yourself away, since they might try to send you back to the rest you used to crave upon first re-animating, but it was necessary to tether yourself.

So… here you were! Fucking around and moving things, only to be met with just minor annoyance by this guy. ‘Price’, for some unknown reason, just seemed minorly peeved by your interactions, not convinced they were supernatural.

You moved his chair and desk(which was pretty hard with how heavy it was) and this guy just groaned about how his superiors treated his office however they wanted when they needed something.

You sent his papers flying, stacks of paperwork sorted neatly into piles of done and yet-to-be looked at, all flying. You flung the pen he used too, sending a blotch of ink onto the floor with the papers, permanently soaking them. Minor annoyance, didn’t even say anything. Just… grumbled. 

Hell, you toppled over a WHOLE bookshelf, loud thud echoing as it fell to the ground and all its contents scattered. And this guy? Grumbling about how the flooring was uneven!

If you had a physical body, you’d be beating your head against a wall right now. Seriously, it was frustrating!

You guessed you had done something correctly though, as he seemed annoyed enough to leave his office and go for a walk. Throughout said walk you continued throwing items and flying through his body, which usually caused people immense discomfort, sometimes to the point of causing panic attacks or full-on freak-outs. All that? Yeah, met with a “Bit chilly today.” or a “Someone outta close th’ windows.”

You were offended, to say the least.

Now, you were in a common room with several other people, including those guys, Gaz and Soap, who now talked to the Price fella. It was harder to interact with things, especially with so many people in broad daylight, in light in general. But you surprised yourself when your frustrations and slight anger led to the lightbulbs in the room flickering several times before simultaneously combusting into sparks and broken glass, all electronics—mainly the radios strapped to almost every soldier in the room—  with speakers blaring loud static as you flung the nearest object, a bench that you didn't initially notice was bolted to the fucking ground out from it and towards Price, and the other two who surrounded him. 

‘Oops..?’

Okay, maybe you weren’t entirely devoid of anger and wrathful vengeance, but you’d like to think your self-control was a lot better than when you first died. You did have around… well, about 400 other years to learn some self-restraint and become slightly less blood-thirsty?

ANYWAYS; Lucky for you they all managed to dodge that heavy and fast approaching bench! good thing they were all trained soldiers who were always on guard Oh, and even better everyone in the room now looked at the uprooted bench with wide eyes and terrified expressions! So… mission accomplished?

Well, sort of?

“The hell?!” Everyone in the room backed towards whatever wall was nearest to them, behind unmoved furniture, or otherwise tactically covered positions as quick as they could, many (including the poor sod you’d been following and the rest of his team) having their guns ready and aimed at the entrances or near the uprooted bench.

…Yeah, you didn’t really wanna deal with this.

So you floated off, through the walls pretending your problems didn’t exist, as you usually did.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 You came across something pretty interesting, that Ghost guy was doing some strange hand gestures to this other masked fella (why was everyone here covered almost head to in something?). For a moment you thought they were trying to summon something before remembering that the military used hand signals and stuff. 

Anyways, you now had a new guy to follow! He looked pretty cool and he had these little things hanging off his helmet that remind you of a bug. Something… was slightly off with this guy though. You could’ve SWORN he was occasionally glancing over at you, or your general area. Ghost, who you couldn’t really tell much expression-wise due to him also wearing a mask, seemed to lift an eyebrow. Or furrow them. You didn’t know, you just saw his forehead area shift a bit under the mask. 

“You 'lright?” He turned and glanced over at you, where his bug-like friend kept glancing. Bug-fella looked over at you for a few more moments before shaking his head and gesturing at Ghost again. Ghost seemingly returns to his resting facial position and glances back towards your general direction, not quite as spot on as his friend was. “Y' just keep looking over there, ‘was wondering why.” 

Ghost loses interest quickly, turning away from where his friend was staring, resuming his silent communication with the still-unnamed lad, hand gestures becoming far too fast for you to even comprehend what they were doing even if you did understand what the gestures meant. After a short while of just floating around and watching them, Ghost gives the shorter man a light bump to the shoulder with his fist (seemingly friendly?) and turns to leave. “See y’ round.” 

It’s just you and Bug-boy now. The room empty, and his eyes (not that you can see them, he’s wearing a helmet and goggles that are practically solid with how heavy the glass is tinted) are aimed directly at you. You float over, hovering a good foot or two off the floor because the ground and gravity were for cowards, and stop a few inches away from him. He reaches a hand up towards you, only for it to quickly phase through your arm, then your torso, then back into the air. He’s startled by the feeling, you can tell, shivering as goosebumps raise on his arm and his hair stands on end, you can tell because of his sleeves being bunched up at his elbows. 

“Sorry.” you say, not even sure if he’d hear you. Maybe this was some weird coincidence and he couldn’t actually see you. Though, to your utter surprise and slight delight he kind of waves it off, making gestures (full body ones this time, not the hand-signals you couldn’t quite understand) that you could interpret as meaning ‘not to worry about it’. Your eyes widened, before breaking into a big grin. “Wait, wait, wait, you can see me? You heard me— can hear me?!” He nods, looking at you, observing, then gesturing with his hands again.

You.. feel a little bad that you don’t understand whatever military signs this must be, tilting your head and frowning. “I… I don’t understand. Sorry, I don’t know much about the military signals or whatever you were using. The code signs and words you guys use weren’t around when I lived. Or died.” He seems a little confused, then brings out a rectangle from his pocket— a phone, new invention and quite useful. It lights up as he puts in the code and opens something, pressing at the glass. 

After a moment he turns it towards you. It… takes you a little to adjust to the brightness (and to read the small letters, given your eyesight and low-literacy). “Give me a second, it takes me a minute to read.” In your peripheral he nods, though you don't move your gaze away from the screen.

“That’s fine, not many people know sign language. It’s not a military signal, just a way I communicate since I’m mute.” You read his words aloud, relatively slowly and he nods after you’ve read it; confirming you’ve read it correctly. 

You glance back up at him. “Mute… So you… can’t speak? Right?” Another nod, then he turns the phone back to himself, rapidly pressing the screen and turning it back again. You read again, “What are you? How are you floating, and why’d my hand go through? Why were you watching us?” You hum, floating away from him slightly, sinking slightly to a sitting position, though still remaining affixed in the air and not sitting on an actual chair.

“Well, I’m dead. I guess you could call me a spirit, spectral, a ghost…” you chuckle a bit at the last one. “Well, maybe not that last one, it seems your friend already occupies it.”  You lean forward again, nearly doing a backflip in the air before stopping in a lying position, holding your head in your hands. “I guess me being dead physically but alive… consciously, or spiritually I guess..? Resulted in me being incorporeal, thus not really touchable by people or gravity.” He nods at your words before motioning for you to continue when you pause.

You avert your eyes. “Well, watching people is all I usually can do. Incorporeal and all. I’m not sure how you can see me when I’m not manifested or tethered to you, but it’s nice…” Smiling sheepishly, you can only hope this guy— the only person you’ve actually talked to in a long, long, time— isn’t grimacing under his mask. You hesitate before reaching out towards him, running a finger down his throat in thought, forgetting it'd just phase through. “Maybe it's because you can't speak? It's not a sense but it's like maybe because you don't have one thing your other senses are better? But back to your prior questions. Being dead is… boring. All I can really do is fuck with people and watch stuff. You and your friend, Ghost, and his other… teammates are just what have caught my interest recently.”

He nods and trots over to a nearby bench, you grimace thinking about the mischief you caused slightly earlier by throwing a bench at the captain. Let’s hope your bug-friend doesn’t overhear that and stop talking to you. “What’s your name?” He types, and turns the phone to you, a single word there. “Roach? Like… the bug?” your mouth quirks into a crooked smile and you giggle, flicking the antenna like attachments to his helmet. “Fitting, you got the antennas and everything!” 

Floating down onto the seat, you try your best to sit on it, your bum and thighs slightly phasing through the seat but it's fine. ‘Roach’ begins typing on his phone again, having it set on his thigh so you can watch while he types. It was also probably just in case someone came in or saw him and so he wouldn’t look crazy turning his phone around to nothing (from other people’s perspectives).

“People can’t usually see you?”

You sigh and lean back, accidentally reclining into the wall and to the other side before realizing he probably won’t be able to hear you if you speak. “Oops, I forgot I’d phase through. Uh, yeah they usually can’t unless I’m actively haunting them and choosing to. It takes a lot of energy to do that though, so…” He nods and hovers his fingers over the phone, thinking for a moment.

“What's your name?”

You hum, thinking for a moment. You... haven't had to introduce yourself to anyone in centuries.

"This... well, it's a little embarrassing, but I can't remember."

"Why don't I call you 'Poltergeist' for now then, since Ghost is taken?" You smile at him, your cheeks feel like they've heated up slightly, but not from the lingering burn you got after your death, no, it was the burn of happiness. Giddy from this guy giving you a name, almost like you were a stray. You shouldn't be this happy, clinging to him and internally deeming him your new best friend, but you were.

Your undeath began a new chapter today, now living as 'Poltergeist' (at least until you remembered your name) with your new ghost-inclined friend Roach.

[mx-pokirby]

Wait no hold the fucking phone what do you mean DustDustDust and 6Dust are... Okay no give us a moment.

I'm back on my Undertale AU bs.

Sixbones is a horrific Amalgamate of Sans and Papyrus, holding each other together with their bond. We actually very much like the concept.

So when we learned about 6Dust (insane design), which in and of itself, seemed to be a deviation of DustDustDust (also bonkers design), which THAT spun off from og Dust!Sans, we made the imo logical guess

"Oh, DustDustDust must be an Amalgamate of the 'popular' Murder Time Trio all rolled into one, and 6Dust must be an Amalgam of the whole expanded cast; Dust!, Murder!, Killer!, Insanity!, Horror! and Last Breath!Sans, or whoever tf else

which makes a kind of sense since we've seen art of the Murder Time Trio fused into one before, and all these Sanses are basically the exact same anyways so fusing them kinda just keeps the 'best?' parts of all of them while streamlining the noise"

NOPE

DustDustDust is just... Dust!Sans. But "MORE" stereotypically insane and overpowered, I guess.

And then 6Dust, this weird fucking Eldritch horror that's like a creepypasta twist on Asriel if he was Sans instead? Oh 6Dust is just... DustDustDust!Sans. But even EXTRA SUPER MORE stereotypically insane and overpowered.

Sure. Uh huh. Okay.

How did I get here this deep into any of this and how do I leave

Fucking Skibidi Toilet respects your intelligence more than any of this

There's being chuuni (ie "cringe /affectionate") and then there's just. I'm left with a giant question mark floating above my head; just genuine sincere confusion

[erial-c]

REDACTED THEORY POST !!!

possible spoilers for the balance, sovereign state, carpe deus, and hush's audios . bare with me because this is horrifically long

tagging @mokozroach hi :3

an amalgamation of theories i have regarding the plot heavy series in the redacted verse :3

so i'm gonna try to discuss 3 different things here :

1. the timeline and how i see it

2. how blake is probably hush's brother

3. what the fuck is hush

1. the timeline (specifically when the fuck hush's audios are set)

we know that when avior and starlight get back to the overworld, + when elliott escapes, the inversion just happened . with that, i think i've found a few things that can set the events in the timeline

- in "deferred judgement" and "reforming a sadism demon", hush says that closeknit's headquarters in dahlia are empty, and that the dept. "came and scared them away" or raided the building.

i assume that what happened in the newest balance audio was also a raid (blake saying the department cut the power in the building) and iirc we're still in dahlia, so this is the same building that hush says is abandoned in his recent audios.

- in "reforming a sadism demon", hush mentions he's only been alive/sentient for "a few weeks"

this wouldn't have given me anything, but if we recall in sovereign state, avior keeps hearing the same sound effect that we hear when hush tries to explain what he is to doc.

since the closest given timeline is "facing a disaster with your demon lover" (40 minutes post-inversion), and the audios after that are probably, at most, a few days after (since avior has to explain the inversion to starlight) we can probably assume that hush has been created at this point.

this would have hush's audios + the 2 most recent carpe deus audios be set a few weeks post inversion at the least.

2. blake is probably hush's brother

so we know hush has mentioned having a "brother" twice now ('there's a stranger in your apartment' and 'deferred judgement')

we can assume hush probably means that they're brothers in the sense that they were made the same way? because obviously they wouldn't actually be blood related ("i have a brother, in a manner of speaking")

- both are also instruments/tools used by the sovereigns. hush having referred to himself as an "instrumental force" many times, and blake being called an instrument by d'deridahn ('a deal with the fallen gods').

- both also "teleport" the same way (parentheses because its technically not that?). normae mentions that hush can "be anywhere" but isn't rifting, and hasn't seen anything like it before ('getting to know your mysterious stranger'). d'deridahn also says that blake can "be anywhere". both also have the same sound effect when " teleporting".

we also know that hush and his "brother" not exactly on good terms. hush's "brother" knows that hush is different, and that scares him. this person has been hunting hush down ever since he was given form, but since hush is stronger and faster, he hasn't been caught.

- blake is an empowered human being used as a vessel by a sovereign. and with hush, all we know is that there's an "echo" of the ones who created him that remain in him (e & m possibly), but he's also neither demon nor human, and has killed several demons. because of this, we can probably assume hush is more powerful than blake.

3. what the fuck is hush

hush is called an egregore by vega, and while there are many different definitions of this, i think he leans more on the concept of an independent entity created by collective thought, because he always refers to himself as an instrumental force with a linear goal.

with this, i think hush is some sort of entity created by e'laetum and min'ara's thoughts and goals becoming sentient. i also think he's going to be the entity to strengthen the meridian.

hush is actively trying to contact avior, hence why i think he's connected to e'laetum and min'ara. he could've been created by them, on purpose or not. maybe the meridian sovereigns realized a demon and a human couldn't possibly help on their own, and created hush. or were so hellbent on their goal that they accidentally gave form to hush, since he is "the silence between the notes" and has technically existed before, but was only given form recently.

hush's focus is likely to strengthen the meridian, but in order to do that he needs another sovereign. he specifically refers to freeing sovereigns trapped in their prison ('getting to know your mysterious stranger') and that applies to the drove (d'deridahn and others, excluding e & m) because they were trapped there as punishment. but i doubt the drove would want to help after being trapped for millennia, so what now?

well, in "getting to know your mysterious stranger", normae talks to doc about hush, and tries to tell them that hush is trying to take the sovereigns' powers for himself. it's possible that e'laetum and min'ara are aware that the drove won't want to help them strengthen the meridian, so they might have tasked hush to making contact with the drove to take their powers for himself, and to aid the meridian himself.

all that or hush is just a little guy wanting to fuck shit up on elegy LMAO

[jackdaw-sprite]

Hi, @ep-10 ! I was your truce gifter this year for @phandomholidaytruce and I decided to use your prompts for a Japanese ghost--kinda, but mostly for a biopunk fantasy au. You're getting some character designs for a biopunk fantasy AU set in a world suspiciously similar to Sengoku era Japan! And also backstory. Mostly backstory, really.

Warning for someone getting baked alive in a kiln.

I mean, we all know who.

Jack and Maddie Fenton are a married pair of researcher/alchemists who've been brought into the country with the influence of an old friend of theirs, Vlad. He wants them to figure out the secret to producing porcelain, an expensive and magically versatile ceramic with a production process that's a closely guarded secret in a nearby, much more economically powerful country.

To this end, Vlad has supplied the Fentons with enough wealth and resources to not ask things like "where did you get this?" and "what exactly is going to happen when it gets out that we're trying to make porcelain?"

As it turns out, this is a very important question, because together the pair piece together how to build a kiln that burns hotter than any they've ever seen before and for the very first time make the coveted porcelain.

The victory is short lived: their son Daniel goes missing that very day, and then their search for him is waylaid by another discovery: some of the porcelain is coming to life, animated by a horrific amalgam of flesh and vitriol. They must find Danny, but first they must make sure the monsters they've made are destroyed…

So! The three big players in our cast of characters here are Jack, Maddie, and poor, poor Danny. They are coincidentally the only ones I had time to do a character design for, so let's look at Jack first, who is holding an experimental porcelain vase:

That's quite an outfit. It's, uh. Not quite standard in the Sengoku: while he's wearing a hitatare, it's been modified, and he's chosen not to wear pants because it's technically not, like, a crime. I chose this for him because Jack:

a) Does not care about what everyone thinks of what he's wearing, or he wouldn't wear a jumpsuit all the time in canon b) Hates the feel of most clothes

Hitatare were growing in popularity during the Sengoku because of how comfortable they were, so it seemed a good fit for Jack. They didn't necessarily need to be worn with hakama if you were of a lower class, but it would be frowned upon to go without if you were off a higher class.

The modifications he and Maddie have made to it make it even less restrictive than a standard hitatare, and a bit more suited to their work of experimenting with kilns and clay.

The obi is stitched into place, so it doesn't actually act like a belt and put a line of pressure across Jack's stomach, and they've added a button to the side to hold the hitatare closed, instead. The stitching around the sleeve openings is pretty archaic by this point, but they've kept (or added) it so he can draw the openings closed when he wants, and a second draw string runs along his sleeve to let him draw the sleeves away from his hands when needed, while still letting him let them extend to their full length to act as a barrier between his skin and unpleasant textures.

He's got some leather gloves and a pair of very early goggles to protect his hands and eyes from the heat of the kilns.

The geta act as an additional layer of protection against bad textures, since they should keep him above mud.

Maddie, here holding a shattered fragment of porcelain, is dressed far less eccentrically, because this (left) is before the porcelain came to life. She's just wearing a kosode with hakama and a leather apron. (She has gloves too, they're just tucked away at her back) The smaller sleeves stay out of the way while she works, and the hakama are roomy. She's wearing waraji, because she prefers what I assume is more stable footing and a lower center of gravity.

This is especially true after they start fighting the porcelain. Pictured here, you can see she keeps her hair out of her face with a standard low ponytail, and the Fenton Anti-Creep stick manages to still exist in this world, despite all odds.

This Anti-Creep stick is a bokken with embedded teeth of broken porcelain for a better shattering potential--metal, especially enough metal of sufficient quality for a sword, is expensive, and they're dealing with something that's only a stronger ceramic…

Which brings us to the kiln. And, to his great misfortune, to Danny.

This is a multi-chambered climbing kiln. While I don't think it's the first kiln that allowed firing temperatures to reach that required for porcelain in Japan in our world, it's the most common and appeared around the same time as that first one. The design of it encourages airflow in a way that traps and directs heat to build it on itself and distribute it reasonably evenly.

The kiln chambers would get filled with the pots to be fired, then they would set a fire in the little step down in each chamber. Then they would seal the kiln chambers entrances with fire bricks, except for a small stoking hole to keep the fires fed.

Then they'd light the main fire at the mouth to the first, lowest chamber called the stoke hole and the fire box respectively.

And then they would keep the fires lit, and feed them, wood upon wood upon wood…

Until eventually, the kiln warmed, grew sweltering, grew hot, hot like fire, like iron in a forge and then hotter still, until the whole of the inside glows.

Like the center of the earth.

…

At the lowest, porcelain requires a firing temperature of 1000 degrees. Celsius.

Brass melts, at that temperature. Porcelain itself gets its strength from melting.

And Danny…

Danny tripped. Danny was loading one of the chambers, and he tripped and he hit his head and by the time he woke he was sweating.

He tried to crawl away from where he knew the fires were. The flue, where the spent air left the kiln, has charred finger marks where his burnt away after the carbon dioxide and heat drove him unconscious a second time.

It was a mercy.

By the time he woke again, his body was cooling.

You see, the Fentons enchanted the kiln to make it try to repair pieces that were falling apart during the firing process. And, if one piece was destroyed in the firing anyway, to use the fragments to reinforce the other pieces in the kiln.

Danny was in the kiln. Danny's body failed.

Bone ash is not a critical ingredient in porcelain, but its presence makes it much, much stronger.

Danny woke up made of porcelain.

His sandals left black on the soles of his feet and the fingers on one hand that had burned looked skeletal. But he woke up.

And he ran.

Later, he'll find help. Later, he'll find a way to fight the other things in the kiln that day, and the results of later firings. Later, he'll meet a boy who loves puzzles and information and who teaches him how to use a bow and arrow to keep his fragile body intact. He'll meet a girl who loves foraging (partly because it gets her away from her parents) but loves justice more.

(Whether he'll stop wearing his clothes like a corpse is another question.)

Danny here is wearing something hitatare adjacent and hakama, along with a yugake.

Happy truce!

[dragonseeds]

if only because i'm seeing takes about daemon being incapable of not perceiving the women he cares about as sexual objects because of how sexist he is. oh and doesn't remember what his mom looks like so his mind is presenting her as his most sexually appealing fantasy...like what do you even say to this.

i genuinely don’t knowww. it’s…. certainly a reading. like just jumping straight past “it’s sad that daemon can’t remember his mother and instead has to create an image of her that’s basically an amalgam of the other women in his family and horrific that his longing for her is manifesting sexually due to the trauma of dynastic incest + alys attempting to mind break him” to “once again daemon is uniquely evil and sexist and such a targ supremacist that alyssa looks like a generically HOT ai generated targ baddie in his nightmares.” if you ignore the fact that writers have also changed the hair colors of other targaryen characters like rhaenys to make them more easily clocked by general audience members as targs and have made zero effort to give any of them correct eye colors it could work.

it’s… interesting to me that he’s the character through whom the effects of the dynastic incest has been explored the most and he’s also the character people are most vocally disgusted by, while his status as a victim and product of incest is either overlooked or turned into a joke (esp re: viserys). i don’t know what to say to that either. obviously he’s also a perpetuator—but again that is not actually unique to him. how old were aegon and helaena when alicent forced them to marry? helaena is supposed to be 17 this season, according to the wiki—and the twins are toddlers, so…? how old was laena when her parents tried to betroth her to viserys and told her he wouldn’t bed her until she was 14? how old was aemond when aegon took him to a brothel to “get it wet,” and when he was coveting helaena as an object and symbol of what he thinks should have been his? at what age did alyssa and baelon understand that their parents meant them to be sexual partners? like? they’re all in this cycle, they’re all traumatized by it from a very young age, and every male character in westeros is sexist to some degree because the subjugation of women is a necessary component in the maintenance of the feudal system. daemon’s arc this season has actually been a genuinely thoughtful and honest of exploration of what it actually means for him to have crowned his wife and knelt before her in this violently patriarchal society (in addition the nightmares & torment) it’s like. wild that people aren’t getting that aspect of it because i think it’s fascinating.

[brainlicking]

I drew Createrato again!

Looks like it was Virgil who's found them first, likely running to find them after feeling the BIGGEST spike in fear that the mindscape has ever felt. I'm sure Virgil's going to handle this well.

(image description under cut)

[ID: A black and white, bust illustration of Remus and Roman from the series Sanders Sides. They are fused together in a horrific amalgamation of flesh and limbs, they are in pain and terrified. Roman is trying to cover his half of their shared face with two of the total seven hands. One arm is trying to cover up a self-inflicted gouge to their torso. The shredded remains of their clothes hang limp from their twisted body. Both Remus and Roman's eyes, five visible, are all looking in the same direction, speaking over each other to an unseen Virgil. The text of their speech is layered over each other.

Remus: Virgil? Is that you? Virgil! Virgil Virgil Virgil

Roman: Virgil? NO! NO! DON'T LOOK AT ME!

Remus: VIRGIL LOOK AT US!

Roman: GO AWAY!

Remus: DON'T GO!

Both: PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE!

End ID]

[letmeremindyouvn]

Just wanna say Zecharias reminds me of an angler fish. I mean, in a good way 🙂.

Also, i've been wanting to say that i'm really intrigued by the liminal space concept in your yandere vn game 💜. Can't wait to see how it all wrapped up, though. It's very interesting!.

And, i was wondering whether our Zecharias needs sleep or not since he's living in the, well, liminal-space? (He lives in that space, right? Or not? Or does he live somewhere else and has a way to get into the liminal space? :')). And is your liminal space following the canon liminal space, or do you have your own lore?.

Sorry if the ask seems complicated or annoying to you! I'm really curious about it T_T.

Love Zecharias a lot! 💜

Thank you so much! ^^ I got inspired by this and drew Zecharias as a Sebastian Solace-like mutant merman. ^^ It’s a WIP for now but I might finish it in an event I’m planning.

(I'm not sure if I made Zech too powerful or more cursed. ;w; )

Also awww, thank you. :D I love liminal spaces and wanted to make a yandere/romance game based on them.

To answer your questions: Zecharias does need sleep but not a lot of it. He gets horrific nightmares when he sleeps, so he avoids it until he gets too exhausted and has no choice but to doze off.

Zecharias does live in liminal space, he can’t leave. He can go between various liminal spaces but is always trapped in that dimension. At most he can peek out and see what’s happening in our world, but he can never truly interact with our world.

The liminal space in my games have their own lore. ^^ They’re inspired by Kane Pixel’s Backrooms series, but don’t follow the lore of it at all. Basically, it’s another dimension full of empty spaces, made from an amalgamation of locations and memories from our world. Things, locations, or people who are forgotten will be transported to that dimension.

Thank you so much! And it’s not annoying at all. :D I love being asked about lore. Thank you for loving Zech too. :3

[cosmicjoke]

Okay, so, I just got an ask in my inbox from someone bitching at me for "defending" Erwin Rommel, the German general from WWII that some people think Erwin is based on or inspired by. They said "I can't believe you would defend Erwin Rommel because of a mid anime. He turned against Hitler in 1944 because the war was turning, not because he was against Fascism". Needless to say, I'm not going to play into this morons game by actually directly answering them, but I do want to make a point which is important to understand.

Because here's the thing that idiots like this don't get. The morons like this, that want to accuse AoT of being antisemitic, Fascist propaganda, they say all this shit while laboring under the belief that the Eldian's are "meant to be Jews", and because they can turn into Titans, Isayama was making some nefarious insinuation that Jews are actually monsters.

This is so stupid, it shouldn't even need to be addressed, but I will anyway, because some fuckers need to get their heads out of their assess.

First of all, nothing in AoT is meant to be a direct or 1 to 1 allegory of anything. It's an amalgamation of different historical events all meshed together. Second of all, none of these people seem to want to acknowledge that the closest group the Eldian's resemble, in reality, are the Germans, not Jews. It doesn't even make sense for Eldian's to be seen as Jewish, or as a stand in for Jews, because everything about them, from their history, to their names, to their culture and architecture and religious beliefs, resembles German and Germanic culture and history, including the German's historically warmongering ways. Remember, the Eldian's started off as a warring, Viking-like tribe of people who went around conquering other tribes of people. And the arc of the Yeagerist's eventually coming to power most resembles how the Nazi's eventually came to power, through the German people being horrifically oppressed and punished for the outbreak of WWI through the Treaties of Versailles, something we see reflected in how the Eldian's were eventually punished for their warmongering, cut off from the rest of the world, isolated and stolen from. Even if Erwin Smith is inspired by or based on Erwin Rommel, how does that in any way, shape or form indicate some Fascist or antisemitic agenda on Isayama's part, when Erwin Smith clearly isn't meant to be Jewish, but in every way resembles a German man? Let's suppose he is inspired by Rommel, again, it only supports the likelihood that the Eldian's are meant to be German, not Jews, and so the entire crux of these fucking moron's argument, that Isayama is being "antisemitic" because the Eldian's can turn into titans, completely falls apart, when the people that can turn into titans aren't meant to be seen as Jews, but clearly more obviously resemble Germans. Further, Erwin Smith is a fictional character. Just because he was inspired by a real-life historical figure doesn't mean he's meant to be that historical figure. While Erwin may share some superficial aspects with Rommel, Erwin is still a fictional character, and possesses multiple characteristics that differ immensely from Rommel in every way. People don't seem to understand that inspiration for a character or theme doesn't mean the character or theme is meant to be a direct representation of the thing that inspired it.

Further, one of the main themes of AoT is that we all have the capability to be monsters. Eldian's being able to turn into titans isn't meant to be seen as some sort of condemnation of their race. We aren't meant to hate them for this. The entire idea is that people, all people, can be monsters, their having some weird, magical ability to turn into titans having nothing to do with it. The Marleyans were just as monstrous as the Eldian's ever were in the way they treated people, in the things they did, in the agenda they pushed, and in their warmongering. They couldn't turn into titans, but they were every bit as bad, every bit as capable of evil. Again, the ability to turn into a titan isn't ever meant as any sort of statement as to the nature of the Eldian people. It's human nature itself that is framed as the real monster. It's also important to note that the Eldian's turning into titans wasn't ever something they wanted or which they chose to do. They were forced to turn into titans, either by the former rulers of the Eldian Empire, or by the Marleyan government, both of which utilized them as weapons against their wills. The Eldian people subjected to this were never meant to be seen as monsters, but as victims. We were always meant to feel sympathetic toward them for being used and forced against their wills to do something they had no say in or wish for. We see their persecution clearly framed as a bad thing, a very bad thing, which ultimately leads to tragedy and untold destruction and death. We see the prejudice against them clearly framed to be something wrong and evil, the very thing which ultimately leads to Marley's own demise. Again, if you want to make some sort of direct comparison to real, historical events, this all clearly resembles what happened with Germany and the rest of Europe after WWI, with the German people being convinced that they were being denied their god given destiny and right to exist through the extreme punishment exacted upon them by the rest of the world. Nazism and the National Socialist Party took hold because the German people felt deeply wronged and persecuted, which they were. The entire country was practically destroyed by the harsh sanctions and restrictions placed on it. The reaction from the German people in real life is something we see reflected in the Yeagerist's eventually coming to power and exacting their "revenge" on the rest of the world through their support of Eren. The Eldian's were, just like the German people, unduly punished and made to suffer for the wrongs of their past government and rulers, and eventually grew resentful and longing for the days when they saw themselves as glorious and powerful. We see this reflected earlier on in the story with Grisha Yeager's extremism and his belief that the Eldian empire should be restored, etc... His and the Yeagerists desire to take back what was once "theirs", spurred on by excessive punishment and cruelty and persecution from the rest of the world. This, again, all resembles Germany, and what happened with Germany following WWI, with the rise of Nazism and Hitler. How people can miss this is beyond me. They're so fucking stupid, and ignorant to boot. The rise of the Yagerists was never meant to be seen as a good thing. I don't care how many dumb fuck Yeagerists there are in the fandom, or how many morons try to make excuses for Eren's actions, the story plainly frames his actions and the Yeagerists taking over Paradis as a horrifically bad thing, one which leads to unspeakable tragedy and destruction, just like the rise of Nazism did in real life. Anyone who's read or watched AoT would know this. But then, I think most of the people that actually believe AoT is some sort of fascist, antisemitic propaganda haven't ever actually read or watched the manga or anime. If they did, assuming they have any, actual functioning brain cells, they would know how absurd and nonsensical such a belief is.

And once more, I reiterate, nothing in AoT is meant to be seen or taken as a direct or 1 to 1 allegory for any, real life historical event. Isayama was clearly inspired by multiple sources and multiple parts of history when he crafted his story. But it's still a work of original fiction, which is it's own thing, and which can't be taken as some sort of political or ideological statement on anything in real life. It's a self-contained work of art which, while it may have some resemblance to real life events, isn't and never was meant to be seen as an allegory for those events.

Anyway, that's all I'm going to say on this matter.