#i don't even just want to interact i just want to be able to see others interact and not feel gutted

[dalliancekay]

1. Protecting a person can not be enough if you can't accept a fundamental part of their being.

But as I said above, nothing in canon suggest Aziraphale doesn't love and adore and want Crowley exactly as he is.

2. Apologies, what I meant as him being a demon as something that needed to be fixed was that it was Crowley's status as a demon that prevented them from interacting without judgement. The people around him see Crowley as bad, but if he was anything else other than a demon, he wouldn't be viewed that way. Aziraphale wants to be able to live their existances without scorn. After all, it is often viewed that an angel and a demon can not coexist. Sorry for not making this clear.

I don't know what you mean by people around him see Crowley as bad. Who sees him as bad and judges him? Even Muriel simply thought Crowley was Azi's grumpy friend. Aziraphale doesn't judge Crowley. He judges the things Hell asks Crowley to do. Just the same as he judges the things Heaven asks him to do. If he finds them lacking. And he often does.

3. Heaven is viewed as the good side. That is what matters within Azirapahles mind. As you say later on, Aziraphale being viewed as angelic means something to him. When it's against Heaven and Hell, Heaven is considered the good side. That is what matters to Aziraphale, his angelicness wouldn't not work in the world of demons.

Heaven is the good side. Or at least they are supposed to be good. Aziraphale knows they aren't as good as they should be. If they barely are. I have outlined the many ways he shows this above. But even Crowley admits that Heaven is sort of better than Hell. He says so explicitly in the book and he shows this in the show by helping Aziraphale saving Elspeth from going to Hell.

Of course being good matters to Aziraphale. That's what an angel should be. Doing the right thing. And on top of that, he is a deeply good being. You think that's wrong? Trying to do and be good? What is he supposed to do? If he fell, it'd hurt him that he cannot do good things. Obviously. Just as I am sure it bothers Crowley. (But Crowley finds his ways anyway. Sometimes. And sometimes they don't end well and Aziraphale worries for him.) What advantage do you think Crowley has that Aziraphale doesn't because Az stayed an angel? They are both oppressed by their sides, both scared that the other will get punished for something pointless or worse, good; they both have to do things they don't want to for work.

4. Sorry again, this was my mistake. I never clarified what exactly I meant by this. Azirapahle knows Crowley is good. I said so earlier, but what if menag by 'undoubtedly good' was that Aziraohale wants the world to be able to look at Crowley and know how good he is. That his status as a demon means nothing to how good his heart is. I do apologise, I didn't make that very clear in what I meant.

I really don't know where you see this.

5. Yes, he doesnt know. All he has is his wishes. His own desires. He knows that its futile, but he'll go out fighting.

I don't think Crowley and Aziraphale's ultimate desires differ much.

6. This is what I said?? If he isn't viewed as Angelic enough, he'll be punished.

And you want him to get punished? Am I missing something? You don't think he's right for trying to keep his post for the past 6000 years on Earth? Does this come again down to - Aziraphale should Fall to 'match' Crowley or something? Why?

7. Aziraphale had no way to fight the floods and Job's children. He wishes that he did, but he couldn't. So he would try to change anything he could through his loopholes. The thing is, is that the floods and children had reasons from God. God, who is meant to be good. This again comes from the belief that Heaven is the good side.

Yes and? What is Aziraphale supposed to do with the fact that neither Heaven nor God are as good as they claim to be? Or should be? Apart from what he did - look for loopholes to help where he can.

These flashbacks are served as a way for Aziraphale to come to terms that the Heaven he knows isn't what it appears to be but the risk of punishment keeps him there.

No they aren't. He already knows that. They show us how they are both fighting the horrible oppressive systems they exist in as far as they can, because they have no other way to be and nowhere else to go. And yet again, why do want Aziraphale to be punished? Why is he not right for trying to avoid punishment?

This is something we can agree on. The risk of punishment from both of their sides kept them apart, but it's not always just one reason.

Yes it is.

I never said that the reason they couldn't have what they wanted was solely Aziraphales fault. There is multiple parts to this. It's just that the main reason as to why Aziraphale and Crowley seem to have a wall between them is a cause of the reason above.

The ONLY reason they can't be together is because Heaven and Hell will punish them if they try.

Finally, I do agree that Aziraphales' forgiveness is a way of saying that he loves him, that he is willing to offer what God couldn't. But the problem is, is that forgiveness makes it look as if there is something to forgive.

But he does have things to forgive. In S1 Crowley didn't want to try the last resort - speaking to God, he wanted to run. Running would not have solved anything if the whole Universe was to be destroyed. Az was going to try anyway. Crowley called him an idiot for it and left. And Aziraphale said I forgive you. Crowley called Aziraphale an idiot again in S2. And Aziraphale forgave him.

Which to Crowley, there isn't.

I can't read Crowley's mind but I feel like he might be a bit sorry for calling the love of his life an idiot.

I don't necessarily think he views it as offensive, but more as a lack of understanding from Aziraphale's part. I've always viewd his reaction to exasperation, not anger, but exasperation at the fact that Aziraphale doesn't seem to understand that there is nothing wrong between them, that this barrier they created is useless, because it means nothing to him.

If it's exasperation, than it is exasperation over the fact that Aziraphale doesn't want to do something the way Crowley wants it. And just because Crowley wants something, it doesn't make it right. If Aziraphale run in S1 with him, everything would have been destroyed a while later - including them. The traitors. Or do you think they would have been left alone? Deserters of the War? If Aziraphale stayed in S2 - well, we'll find out, won't we. But I am pretty sure the menacing Voice of God was not going to leave them live in peace if Aziraphale insisted on staying. He just doesn't seem the type to me.

There is no barrier between them that Aziraphale needs to take down or overcome or whatever. The only barrier between them is the world they live in. And I am pretty sure they both know that. It's just that Crowley seems to prefer to run and see what happens (nothing good in the end, I'm sure) and Aziraphale wants to make sure they are safe to be together because he could not bear it should something happen to the demon he loves, if he could prevent it in any way. Even if that way is to leave everything he loves and try and change the whole bloody system from within.

I'm pissed about the lack of finish for Good Omens, but I will be FURIOUS, if the movie doesn't include Crowley yelling at Aziraphale.

I need Crowley to finally tell him that no, I don't need to be forgiven, I do not want to be forgiven. My fall from 'grace' is not something that I regret. It is not something I need you to forgive me for. It was a decision I made and it was not a wrong one.

Because this is the reason why they just haven't seemed to be able to fully connect, because Aziraphale still believes that Crowley made a mistake.

Why else would Crowley be so fixated on an 'Us?' He doesn't fit into Hell or Heavan, doesn't want to, and he wished Aziraphale could see that it doesn't have to be the divine versus the sin, because picking a side doesn't always work. Why should they fight in their war? Why shouldn't they just fight to protect their home? Their world?

[kudouusagi]

Hi! I wanted to ask your opinion on this panel from the first volume of KBS

If this translation is correct, did senpai felt betrayed that Morinaga would use the drug on someone else? I am not entirely saying that he was jealous or anything but at least i think he used to (and still does) show a sort of trust in Morinaga’s feelings for him, even relying on them sometimes to the point of calling him out for being “unfaithful”, its like senpai already saw them as a sort of “relationship” even before actually dating, just as when Morinaga called their relationship “fuck buddies” and the way it pissed him off so much basically saying that he does it with him because he likes him not because he wants to.

Because of these little things I have always loved to personally theorize that Souichi always (romantically) liked him im his own fucked up way, shown also in the way he was so ready to completely throw his homophobic values in the garbage if it meant having Morinaga by his side. It just makes sense to me when you notice the little things because i have seen many people that read KBS for the first time and end with the conclusion that souichi started liking him wayyyy later in the manga (mostly people that aren’t aware that they started dating after volume 7).

Basically, i want to know when do you think Souichi actually started liking Morinaga? Sorry for the essay lol

Well, it's my translation I hope it's right :p

But yeah I think the thing with Souichi is that he instantly bonded with Morinaga when he saved him from being raped by his professor. Souichi went from not even remembering Morinaga's name to making him his best friend.

They had been friends for 2 years by the time Morinaga confessed to him, and at the beginning of KSB it's been about 2 and a half years. So they've been close for a while and he's known Morinaga likes him for probably about half a year when he says that.

I think he started liking him sometime in those 2 years between the teacher and when Morianga confessed. In his interaction with his brother when he goes back to Tokyo, I think he's asking questions about it more for himself than to understand Tomoe. I don't think he would have even questioned Tomoe if Morinaga hadn't said anything. And Tomoe doesn't seem to think so either lol

And while Souichi said he wouldn't be able to to have a relationship with a friend just because the friend wanted it, like his brother said happened with Kurokawa, I'm pretty sure he knew on some level that he could and he was just trying to convince himself of that.

When he sees Morinaga again he doesn't tell him to leave, he doesn't tell him to stop, he just tells him to pretend he never told him.

We can obviously tell from the story that Souichi doesn't understand relationships, doesn't seem interested in that whatsoever, so it's easy to assume he'd take Morinaga's confession as he likes him and that's not going to change. And Souichi kissed him to make him stay, they're probably basically together in Souichi's mind at this point lmao.... (of course he's way too in denial to admit that until volumes and volumes later lol)

So I do think he sees it as a betrayal that Morianga would use his aphrodisiac drink on someone else lol

[perry-the-platypus-f1cs]

Your idea for Dadler and Graveson au is wonderful. Also involving the 141 in it is icing on the cake !

I'm curious do you have ideas on how interactions between 141 and Adler will go down .

Thanks for your time !

ahhhh! thank you!

(short answer)

There would be a lot of tension, particularly with Soap and Price. However, if Adler were able to prove his value through action, the team might ultimately come to accept him as a leader/handler

(long answer)

141 would interact with Adler similarly to how they interact with any other unfamiliar allies. Adler would be introduced to the team by lasswell as their 'handler' simply put, Adler would make sure that they completed their missions and don't get side tracked by their animosity towards Shepard or any other third parties (Graves)

the interactions would start with distanced-professionalism from 141 not trusting Adler because he was sent to basically keep them under control.

this would create tension between Adler and 141 especially with Price, Price has his own sense of honor and responsibility, and Adler’s morally ambiguous tactics clash with Price’s more straightforward military mentality and tendency to divert from military leadership and approval. However,

Price would likely respect Adler's tactical mind and experience, even if he disagrees with some of his methods and how he controls the taskforce.

Soap, being more hot-headed would have more difficulty accepting and respecting Adler’s leadership. He is used to following Price’s orders and detouring from usual intelligence driving tactics. Soap would also not take kindly Adler's past manipulative tactics and how Adler would 'control' the team.

It would take time for Soap to warm up to Adler, especially given that he has witnessed Shepherd’s betrayal and will most likely see parallels between Shepard and Adler's leadership

Ghost would follow Adler's orders without much questioning, as long as the task at hand is aligned with their mission and goals. However, like Price and Soap, Ghost would likely be cautious and watch Adler closely, particularly regarding his trustworthiness and moral compass.

Ghost would also probably speak to Price about Adler hoping to learn more but would end up empty handed as Adler's missions are classified to high heaven.

Gaz would be cautious and skeptical of Adler when he first takes command. Gaz, while being more flexible than some of the others, would still feel the weight of the mistrust that happened after shepherd's betrayal. He’s not as brash as Soap, but his wariness would be evident. He’d want to see if Adler’s actions line up with his words.

Adler would view the task force as either a temporary problem/ distraction or as just another operation that he needs to do. his interactions with the team would start professional and then quickly ease into interest when he finds out

(either from Soap or Phillip) about what happened in las Almas and the animosity between the taskforce and his son. he would most likely talk to Phillip about this and get his side of the story before slowly digging away at the taskforce slowly gaining information about what happened.

possible scene

Adler :(sipping coffee) so, what exactly did the general do that got you so fired up?

Soap: (tried and angry) The general let a son-of-a-bitch PMC commander practically almost kill!

Adler: (curious) huh. what PMC?"

Soap: (yawning) Shadow company."

Adler: (chokes on his coffee) I am not a bitch!

Soap: (confused) huh!?

[hornyjailbreaking]

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Minors do not interact! This post is NSFW and dd:dne!

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This is the follow-up to this drabble that I've written on June 23rd 2024. It's around 1,2k words and is dedicated to that one pregnancy kink Kylar lover who really wanted to read more about the pregnancy itself (there's still some sex tho), and to every other Kylarfucker who's into (step)cest and breeding! I love y'all, keep being nasty <3

Written in second person POV (you/your)

WARNINGS: Fem! Reader x Kylar, stepbrother!Kylar, older brother!Kylar, stepcest/pseudoincest, fucked-up family dynamics, breeding, (slightly inaccurate) pregnancy, giving birth (mentioned in passing), nipple play, lactation, proud dad Kylar (still a pathetic pervert)

Getting knocked up by your big brother wasn't what you imagined would happen when you got adopted into a seemingly nice family. But one thing led to another, and now you're sat in Kylar's lap while he's sucking on one of your engorged tits. He's latched on so tightly that you actually wince from time to time, pulling on his hair when he bites down on your poor nipple too hard in his excitement. He seems to enjoy the hair pulling a bit too much.

You'd started lactating recently, and your big brother has been absolutely relentless about "encouraging milk production for the baby" as he put it. You're fairly certain he's bullshitting and just wants you to breastfeed him daily until your planned delivery date. He may be greedy, but he's not entirely unreasonable. He knows your child will need the milk soon enough... He just isn't ready to give it up yet. You'd heard him whining to your mother about how much he hopes that your kid will leave some milk for him, too. Your darling mother helpfully told Kylar that it's possible to induce lactation at any point if it has already happened before, so he'll be able to drink your milk even once you stop giving birth to his children. To say he was elated is an understatement.

As much as you're willing to indulge your pervert of a brother, your pregnant body isn't quite willing to cooperate. You've been, for the most part, spared the constant throwing up. That doesn't mean you don't get back pains and your feet don't swell so much you can't put on your shoes. Kylar doesn't see that last one as a bad thing since it means you are mostly confined to the house where he can watch over you and dote on his pretty little sister. But the back pains are definitely not something you can ignore. So you whine and complain until he finally pops your nipple out of his mouth with the expression of a kicked puppy and helps you lie down.

Seeing how sad he is about not being able to keep you in his lap, you decide to humor him and ask for various adjustments to make you more comfortable. You suspect he gets off on seeing you so helpless and being the one to take care of you while you're carrying his child. He'd popped more than one boner just from watching you waddle into the kitchen for a snack to satisfy your cravings. Of course, being the good sister that you are, you'd taken care of his erection every single time. Pregnant or not, he still needs your body more than he needs food and water.

Well, being pampered doesn't feel so bad. And your parents are supportive too! Your mother made sure that the nursery was absolutely perfect before you even entered your second trimester, and your father ended up building more than just the crib for it. He became genuinely interested in woodworking! Just recently, he'd built you a rocking chair that will most certainly come in handy when the baby is finally born. Your entire family honestly can't wait to actually meet your child. It was agreed that you wouldn't ask about the gender during your check-ups and consultations. There's some charm in only finding out whether it's a boy or a girl on the day you give birth, according to Kylar and your parents. The nursery is gender-neutral anyway since you most certainly will not stop at one child, and the baby name list your mother had compiled is so thorough you'd enter menopause before you actually used up every name on it.

You're blessed with a relatively short labor and easy delivery that happens right around your due date. Kylar weeps the entire time. So loud and hard, in fact, that the nurses give him some kind of tranquilizer to shut him up and let the delivery happen without his wails in the background. He still sobs when he's told he is now a father of a healthy baby girl, even with the medication still calming him. You're used to your big brother falling to his knees in front of you. He does that all the time, really. But that teary-eyed, revent expression on his face is not one you're used to. He kisses your forehead and gently takes your daughter into his arms, then immediately crumbles into another fit of crying. Frankly, he cries a lot during the first week. He's just so happy! He's a dad now! Seeing you nurse his child somehow doesn't make him jealous and greedy for your affection, it makes him want to crawl on the ground at your feet and worship you like a goddess. You'd actually brought a new life into this world, and he played a role in it! He's the proudest you've ever seen him.

And also the horniest. He starts with eating your pussy daily while you heal, but as soon as you're finished, he's fucking you raw. Your mom and dad are elated to be grandparents and happily take care of your daughter to give you two a break. Kylar uses the free time you two get to fuck his seed into you again and again. It's not uncommon for you to walk around with cum dripping down your thighs because he is absolutely relentless. Your tits hurt and leak because of how much milk you're producing which leads to him often making you nurse him while he stuffs you full of his cock. He fucks you everywhere and anywhere he can get away with, whining into your ear about how much he wants to get you pregnant again. Maybe you'll give him a son this time. Or another daughter. He'd be happy with either. Just get pregnant for him again, please. When he isn't busy pumping your womb full of his cum, he's talking to your parents about how much he loves you and your daughter, and how much wants to have a big family with you. Your parents offhandedly mention the possibility of twins or triplets one evening and it results in an absolute marathon where your big brother begs you to get pregnant while he fucks both you and himself into overstimulation.

You take a pregnancy test less than two months after you've given birth. Positive. Kylar is on his knees again, crying and hugging you while kissing your belly. Your parents are already planning a trip for more baby clothes. You distantly wonder just how many times you'll get knocked up by your big brother in the coming years. But the sheer happiness of your family makes you abandon the thought and embrace the elated glow you feel. Didn't you read somewhere that children who grow up with siblings are often more well-adjusted socially? Maybe you should give your baby girl a few, just to be sure... The more the merrier, no?

[slashthrashandcrash]

I Don't Think This Was A Term In The Waiver Agreement

Just because the scare actors were allowed to touch you in this section of Hell Fest doesn't mean they're allowed to butcher your friends and leave you bound on the floor. Wait, what do you mean that's part of the fine print?

Yippee! Here's a Hell Fest fic I wrote months ago and never posted for...no reason actually lmao. God, this movie was so, so close to being perfect for us slasher x final girl fans (all 7 of us). I had to take it upon myself to give it the ending interaction it deserved.

Word Count: 6.4K

--

The haze of brief unconsciousness loosened its hold on Natalie, regrettably allowing her senses to return to her one by one in the awfullest of states. Mindless bliss was first interrupted by the realization of how she struggled to breathe, her airways clogged with blood from a surely broken nose. The metallic taste lingered in the back of her throat so that even when she took deep, shuddering inhales to counteract the suffocation, all that filled her lungs was coppery air. She had to be dying, God, it sure as hell felt like she was dying.

A few more gasps helped pull Natalie further out of the void, much to her displeasure. All too quickly did she become aware of the agony that throbbed across her face in tandem with her heartbeat, radiating from her busted nose to the back of her eyes and down the roots of her teeth. Sticky blood was smeared uncomfortably over her mouth and pooled under the cheek pressed into concrete, enough so that she involuntarily coughed until she could gather enough saliva in her mouth to spit out the bitterness coating her tongue. It wasn’t until she forced her face to relax from its grimace in an attempt to ease the ache of her cheekbones did she realize how tightly she still had her eyes shut.

With as much strength as she could muster, Natalie pushed through the Herculean task of opening her eyes, almost instantly squeezing them closed again when the barest of light seeped through her lashes. She groaned, enduring the stabbing sensation in her temples as she slowly made her eyes flutter open to a squint. Her vision swam in doubles, triples, before swirling back into a single image of near blackness. For a moment, she was unsure if perhaps her eyes were still closed as there was hardly anything to see. As the darkness thankfully adjusted into something that didn’t make her want to rip her eyes from her sockets, she was able to blink away the remaining haze clouding her sight.

White blobs looking down at her sharpened back into the shape of expressionless paper mache masks, a red overhead light catching the edge of their silhouettes, tilted at a dizzying angle. Natalie would have jolted at the idea of so many people staring at her with blank expressions, but her rattled brain hadn’t quite rebooted back into working order after being knocked around her skull. Right, these weren’t real people, they were just a bunch of dummies cloaked in fabric for a cheap scare. They wouldn’t hurt her, but they wouldn’t be able to help her either.

…help her from what?

A scream echoed down one of the maze’s many corridors outside of the room Natalie was in, all but yanking her the rest of the way out of her daze and into harsh reality. Hell Fest. Her pictures. Gavin’s texts. Taylor, Quinn. The Other.

Brooke.

…

Brooke!

Like she had just been drenched in ice water, Natalie was scrambling to pull herself up off the floor. Frustratingly, her limbs refused to cooperate with her sense of fight or flight, almost as if she was piloting a body that didn’t belong to her. While the fresh shot of adrenaline coursing through her veins did wonders to clear her mind, it did little to motivate her still aching muscles into moving how she needed them to. Her headache was worsening by the second, certainly a concussion, probably some broken cartilage at least and a fractured skull at worst, but thankfully her face had settled into a more manageable buzz of pain. One less thing to worry about in the moment, even if her eyes wanted to pop from their sockets to relieve the building pressure behind them. 

Rolling from her stomach to her side very nearly caused her to gag at the sudden wave of nausea. Coagulated blood trickled down her throat at the shift in position, forcing her to roll back onto her front as she retched again to avoid choking on any potential vomit. A part of her was grateful she hadn’t eaten more of the overpriced pretzel Gavin had given her, though another part chastised her as those carbs could have been soaking up the copious amounts of alcohol still sitting in her soured stomach. Either way, she would have been stuck with the miserable feeling of needing to puke; it was simply a matter of whether it was better to not have to worry about drowning on her own blood and bile or if she would actually feel better if there was something substantial to purge.

Natalie clumsily pulled her arms up in an effort to brace them against the floor, hoping to elevate herself that way when…she came to the conclusion that she couldn’t. 

It wasn’t that her reactions were delayed by head trauma - although that still couldn’t be ruled out amongst other things - it was that there was something quite obviously preventing her from doing so. Hindsight mocked her for not realizing the predicament she was in sooner – how had it only now come to her attention that her arms were immobile from behind her back? To which she argued back that the fact she was only seventy percent sure her face hadn’t been split open by the blunt end of an ax was a perfectly valid excuse for her lack of awareness. She rolled her shoulders and tugged her arms to either side of her body once more, straining against the unseen binds that bit into the crooks of her elbows. Her hands were free, but utterly useless when they could only stretch forward enough to graze her hips.

Confusion was giving way to panic in her already heightened state of anxiety. During her incapacitation, The Other had left her tied up and helpless on the floor before presumably going off to finish his rampage. He could have killed her, he should have killed her, seeing as he had no problem before when it came to snuffing out whatever lives were unfortunately caught in his grasp. 

But not with Natalie. 

No, he seemed to take sick pleasure in drawing their game of cat and mouse out for as long as possible, like he was teasing her with the chance she’d ever be able to win. Ax in hand, Natalie sprawled on the floor, it would have been too easy to declare himself the winner by spilling her brains.

Instead, he left her, bleeding and unconscious, yet ultimately alive. Bound, so that she couldn’t go anywhere before he returned, because he would be coming back for her once he had taken care of Brooke’s loose end. Was he saving Natalie’s death for last, his final prize of the night? Did The Other want her to experience the full scope of her earned punishment after she had poked fun at him earlier in an attempt to look brave to her friends? Or had this always been a part of his plans; rope or cables or whatever the hell was securing her arms having been stashed away in his hoodie pocket, just waiting to snare the perfect victim?

A second scream snapped Natalie out of her aching head, making her heart freeze its desperate pounding in her chest. It sounded too raw, too primal to be a soundtrack jumpscare triggered by one of the maze’s sensors. The guttural terror made every hair on the back of Natalie’s neck stand on end. There was no doubt about who it could have come from. Brooke wasn’t going to be able to move fast enough to fight off her attacker with that gash on her thigh. If she was going to survive then Natalie was going to need to find a way to get to her before The Other had a chance to finish what he started. 

And then it was quiet.

Natalie strained her ears to listen past the drumming in her skull for any further sign of Brooke, hoping to pick up a whimper or fainter yells or the exit door triumphantly slamming open. Distress was a cruel thing to wish for, but it was the only sure sign she had that her best friend was still alive. She couldn’t lose Brooke, not like this, not when they had already lost so much in a matter of mere hours. They were going to go to Spain–!

“Brooke!” Natalie called out, hoping her voice would carry down the changing hallways. When only ambient music responded, she tried again. “Brooke!”

Nothing. Silence. No, no, Brooke had to be hiding and unable to give away her position to respond. She had to be too far away. She had to have already escaped. Natalie refused to accept there were any other alternatives, not if she wanted to cling onto what little sanity she was afforded in this moment. With renewed vigor to save Brooke from a brutal end, far more concerned for her than her own safety, she fought against her restraints until she was able to gain enough footing to scooch herself forward on her belly. It was a humiliating position to be in, literally writhing on the ground like an insect waiting to be stepped on, but it was better than rolling over to expose her underbelly and wait for The Other to gut her accordingly.

She didn’t have much in mind when it came to a game plan, all her ideas having been bashed out of her head when she was knocked out. There was little she could do without the use of her arms, much less when there wasn’t a way to pull herself onto her feet without toppling over the rest of the standing mannequins. She thought about shimmying herself up the doorframe to help her get on her knees before the sight of the discarded ice shaving knife caught her attention from the corner of her eye. 

Well, there was no reason The Other needed to dual wield two blades, she supposed, likely having dropped it during their brief scuffle. But if he wasn’t going to use it…

Grunting, Natalie pushed forward as well as she could, relying on her legs to scoot her along the filthy concrete, further soiling the once white top she had borrowed from Brooke – I’ll wash it, I’ll bleach it, I’ll buy you a new one, I promise, Brooke, I promise. Her right knee throbbed every time she bent it to wiggle further, the bruised joint not taking too kindly to the extra strain after having just been kicked by The Other. She should consider herself lucky that he hadn’t managed to dislocate the bone or she’d really be in trouble, though perhaps she should focus more on the fact she was still alive and not decapitated rather than gripe about a bum leg. 

It felt like she was running a marathon with the amount of effort she was exerting just to move a few feet to the left. Natalie liked to think herself to be in relatively good shape, maybe not exactly toned as there was hardly a muscle to flex on her lithe body, but her labored breathing said otherwise. Even with the adrenaline shifting her instincts into overdrive, giving her tired body its much needed second wind, it didn’t change the fact she could hardly breathe through her bloodied nostrils and that her weight was fully resting on her diaphragm. Coupled with a blinding pain that still threatened to make her hurl if she moved her eyes too fast and it was no wonder why she felt as worn down as she looked. 

There was plenty of fight left in her. All she needed to do was get a hold of that knife, blindly fumble with it behind her back while hoping she didn’t slice a finger off on the serrated edge, and saw through her bindings. Rope, hopefully. Predictably. If it was something thicker, stronger, like cable or nylon, her plan would already be massively screwed before she had the chance to–

A yelp escaped her lips before she could contain it, flinching back when a steel toe boot stomped down on the hilt of the knife less than a foot away from her. Ideally, she would have scrambled a good pace away from her sudden attacker, but all she could manage was to duck her head into her shoulders and hopefully avoid getting curb stomped by his other foot. Brown eyes were blown wide in shock, helpless watching as her one salvation was caught under The Other’s sole and kicked far, far out of her restricted reach. In her current state, he may as well have launched it outside of the fairgrounds, because there was not a chance in hell she’d be able to sloppily crawl for it while the killer was looming overhead.

Her breathing hitched in her throat, not having expected him back so soon. How long had she initially been knocked out? How long had she truly spent regaining her senses and wriggling around? Had she wasted a precious hour without realizing it, or could he truly be efficient when he wanted to be, when he had grown tired of toying with a bunch of college kids? Despite her head pounding in protest, Natalie rolled over onto her side and dropped onto her back, unable to bite back a pained whimper as her migraine worsened. In this position, she could at least brace on her forearms for a bit more control in moving backwards. Better than relying solely on her legs skidding on concrete. 

It took a terrifying moment for her new perspective to stop tilting, adjusting to the blood now pooling towards the back of her head rather than dripping from her nose and mouth. She worried her sudden drop in blood pressure would cause her to blackout again, at the literal worst possible moment with a serial killer hovering by her side, completely at his mercy to hack and slash her vulnerable body.

Who was she kidding, she was already in that exact predicament, the only difference being that she had the unfortunate pleasure of watching her execution in all its painful glory. As much as she didn’t want to, she needed to keep The Other in her sights, needed to see what move he was planning to make next. Whether it was better or not to know what was coming was debatable, but the last thing she wanted was to be caught off guard in her final moments, missing something that could have been the perfect defense.

The red light that barely illuminated the cramped room was horrifically artful in the way it reflected off him. Muted shadows blended into his dark clothing, making him appear larger, all encompassing, while the crevices of the faux rotted mask pulled into more sinister expressions that hid his own underneath. Inky splotches reflected off of his hands still tightly gripping the ax’s handle, splattering up to the cuffs of his hoodie and streaking over his knuckles when he flexed his fingers in anticipation. A sickening feeling settled heavily in Natalie’s stomach as it became apparent his exposed skin, his only exposed skin, was drenched in blood that surely wasn’t his own. Not only that, but the dripping red liquid continued its gory trail up the length of the ax all the way to its head, glistening crimson and thirsty for more.

It was much more blood than had been on his new weapon of choice before, far too much to have been caused by the single slice he had gotten on Brooke’s leg. Too wet. Too fresh. It was damn near coated in viscera, impossible to pinpoint whether the blood splattered outward from the blade or the blunt hilt. Maybe he had partially caved in Natalie’s head when he slammed the end into her face – the brain was capable of functioning in plenty of wild circumstances, like a metal rod through an eye or a bullet that lodged between the folds. She must be lying here with half her brain hanging out without realizing it, the blood on The Other and his ax primarily belonging to her impressive head wound because…because if it wasn’t…

Then that would mean Brooke, she…she couldn’t…she’d be…

It all hit Natalie in that moment, yet she couldn’t process a single thing, too overcome by a tidal wave of emotions to be able to experience them individually. Her mind desperately tried to rationalize what she was seeing, convince her otherwise of the obvious evidence that dripped at her feet. There was no body, there was no proof. The blood on his ax was copious, sure, but nowhere near a lethal amount. Excluding whatever backsplash was soaking into his clothes out of sight. Excluding the ever growing puddle that was sure to be spreading from the bone-deep wounds. No, no, no! No, she refused to accept it. 

This wasn’t what was meant to happen! They were meant to escape together, a bit worse for wear but alive in each other’s arms! They were meant to have a fun night out with friends and boyfriends to make up for lost time! 

It was all Natalie’s fault. She should have been a better friend, taking a break from her studies to accept Brooke’s invitations for a hangout rather than brush her off. So many extra memories they could have made together if Natalie hadn’t been too absorbed in her own world to the point of distancing her best friend. Maybe then they wouldn’t have felt the need to go so big at Hell Fest, instead sticking to more local bars and pop up houses. Maybe she and Gavin could have shared their first kiss earlier. Maybe she and Taylor could have properly buried the hatchet from their schooldays and become real friends. Maybe she wouldn’t have felt so guilty for canceling going out as a group on tonight since they had would have just seen each other earlier, then maybe the rest of the group never would have become targets by proxy for The Other, then maybe they’d all be alive because Natalie hadn’t stupidly teased a dangerous man into committing a very real murder in front of her. Fixated on her. Obsessed over her. 

She sobbed, unable and unwilling to hold back the ugly emotions in her chest. Her vision was blurring, this time from tears that rapidly cut through the blood on her cheeks to make streaky paths. Her sinuses burned, amplifying the pain already accompanying her broken nose. God, she must look like an absolute sight; helplessly rolled over on her back, struggling to crawl backwards in a vain attempt to keep distance between herself and the killer, face filthy in blood and sweat and tears. All she wanted to do was curl up in a corner and hide her face, hide her shame and her self hatred, and wait for the big scary monster to go away and leave her alone. These kinds of things weren’t supposed to be real. And when it was real, it was the kinds of things that happened to other people, for her to later hear about on the news and think to herself wow, how awful, thank God that wasn’t me. 

“Please,” she whimpered. It was difficult to find balance with her arms angled near sideways behind her, causing her to scoot too far and slip fully on her back with a wince. She didn’t let it deter her, opting to ignore how her elbows dug awkwardly into her spine while kicking her legs to inch backwards as quickly as she could. “Please, please, I’m sorry!”

Sorry for making fun of you, sorry for trying to beat the shit out of you with a prop on two separate occasions, sorry for invading your hunting grounds, you’re scary, you’re scary, you’re so fucking scary–

The Other tilted his head at her pitiful display and Natalie choked on another sob. It was like he was mocking her, feigning consideration for her blubbering apology as if it would be enough to soothe the bloodlust she fueled. The meager few feet she had managed to put between them was undone in an instant when he stalked towards her with slow, deliberate steps. Heavy boots sounded like gunshots cracking in her ears, signaling he was coming closer, closer, ready to seal her fate with his deadly intent. No matter how fruitlessly she struggled to keep moving backwards, it was impossible to make more distance than what he was already closing. Her doe eyes were locked fully on him, regrettably resulting in the misdirection she was crawling backwards towards. 

Wobbly mannequin legs stopped Natalie in her meager tracks. A couple of the figures, still off balance on their stands from the fight earlier, tipped and fell around her like masked dominos. She flinched, yelping at what she briefly thought were additional assailants that further caged her in with their black capes. Instead, they only served to further halt any escape by blocking all directions but forward, directly towards The Other, knowing she wouldn’t be able to scramble over their uneven bodies without the use of her arms. Like a fitful child, she tried to kick and jerk her shoulders to shake the swaddled figures off of her, but it made little difference besides nestling her deeper between them until her back was against the wall. 

Trapped. Game over.

She was hyperventilating now, a poor combination with a blocked nasal and tight throat. She was suffocating, unable to hold a breath long enough for it to be any use before it left her as a strangled cry. The Other was practically on top of her, trapping her between his legs while he stood above her at her hips. Even if she were to try and kick up at him, she knew she wouldn’t be able to hit anything, only further sliding herself down on her back and giving him the perfect vantage point of her neck. Perhaps it would be in her best interest to bear her throat to the wolf’s teeth in hopes for a swift ending, but she doubted her stalker would let her escape him that quickly. Not after he had spent the entire night in her shadow, always lurking, never pouncing, wanting to savor the chase as long as possible before digging in.

“Please don’t, please,” Natalie begged again, her hysteria building the longer he toyed with her inevitable end. She didn’t want to die, naturally, but God, she didn’t want it to hurt either. She didn’t want to watch herself be hacked into little pieces for an hour, feeling every muscle be ripped apart and the bones splinter under her skin. His fist trembled slightly at her incessant pleading from where it held the neck of the ax, clenching the wood hard enough to make it creak. The Other was just barely restraining himself, his willpower failing seconds later as he shifted the ax to be weld overhead, poised to strike down.

She had always heard in these situations that people suddenly find themselves with immeasurable strength or that their life flashes before their eyes. Neither of those happened to Natalie; she wasn’t able to miraculously rip through her binds and she didn’t experience twenty-two years of memories in an instant. All she felt was pure, unbridled terror squeezing her heart, threatening to crush it before she had the chance to feel her head being caved in. The ax came hurling down at impressive speed, a testament to The Other’s strength hidden beneath the baggy folds of his hoodie, gunning for the poor girl’s skull. Her arms nearly pulled themselves out of their sockets in the instinctive need to shield her head from the blow, as if that would protect her from an already gruesome end. If anything, it would prolong the attack.

Instead, she screwed her eyes tight and turned her head to the side, shrinking into herself as every muscle wound itself up like a spring. Tears flooded down her face, almost wiping her cheeks clean at this point, save for the runny mascara that now mixed with the remaining pink tracks on her skin. There were no last words to utter. No final beg for mercy. Nothing but a pained shriek for her killer to remember her by, assuming she was worth remembering at all. What was hell on earth for her on this one night could be nothing more than the average Friday to him. 

Natalie heard the impact of his ax. She had felt the air woosh over her face as it arced down. She could smell the sickening odor of gore even through the drying blood clogging in her nostrils. But, strangely enough, she could also still feel her pulse thrumming in her ears, her skin feeling electrified to the touch. Still breathing. Still alive. In pain, yes, but no more than she had been seconds prior. There was no rush of warmth spilling from her head or neck to coat her in her own fluids. Hesitantly, she cracked open an eye to see if she would be immediately greeted by the afterlife, or perhaps to check if a chunk of her brain was sitting in her lap and blissfully unaware she’d been lobotomized before The Other finished the job.

The bloody head of the ax was the first thing she saw, less than an inch away from the tip of her nose. She squeaked in surprise and jerked away from it as if it would grow teeth and bite her. It was not, in fact, buried into her tender flesh and eager to rip out chunks of her with each frenzied hack, rather it stayed embedded into the mass of fabric and wooden torsos underneath that had once been a part of the room’s attraction. If it weren’t for the thick layer of gore covering the blade, Natalie would have sworn she’d be able to see her reflection staring wide eyed back at her. 

The Other had…missed? 

No, that didn’t seem possible, not with his unrelenting prowess. He had avoided carving her face off deliberately, just as he had spared her the first time he had her on the ground and under his ax. Perhaps he wasn’t done playing his game after all.

Her terrified gaze followed up the length of the handle to see the killer at last relinquish his hold on the weapon, effectively disarming himself yet still as dangerous as ever. He could rip her apart with his own two hands if he wanted to, Natalie was certain of it. And there was still a chance that was exactly what he had in mind, too, something more personal and intimate saved just for her. Another whimper had found its way out of her chest when The Other shifted his weight where he stood, from engulfing her in his backlit shadow like a giant to lowering himself down to a crouch. Not quite eye level and much too close for comfort. He sat back on his haunches, arms resting on his knees while Natalie remained sprawled under his legs.

For a moment, he simply stared at her. Studying her. Waiting to see if she was going to make the first move or if she had finally learned her lesson of staying exactly how he wanted her. Her stalker knew all the worst ways to trip her up when she refused to cooperate with his advances; corralling her in the bathroom stalls and swinging his ax opposite of her hiding spot when they had entered this room together. Natalie was too petrified to do anything but tremble and hold back the cries that threatened to overflow from her eyes. A good answer, it seemed, because he hadn’t wrung her neck until every vertebrae snapped yet.

His right arm shifted to reach for her slowly, with the bloody fingers splayed like he were coaxing a feral cat. She didn’t have the feline advantage of needle-like claws or baby fangs to ward off the encroaching predator, nor could she find the courage within herself to hiss and yowl like it might deter him. Nine lives wouldn’t be enough to save her, so Natalie was going to have to make do with what little she had – which, to be clear, was jackshit. All she could do was jerk her head to the side in an attempt to keep him from touching her face, though even that proved to be a fruitless endeavor. 

Before she had the chance to fully look away, his open hand lurched forward to grab her by the jaw and stop her in her tracks. She cried out in surprise, unable to resist when he forcibly turned her head back to face him to avoid the risk of a broken neck. His nails bit into the bruising skin of her cheeks, thumb digging to the gap between her sets of teeth and nearly cutting the inside of her mouth on her molars. So badly she wanted to close her eyes and block out the sight of his hideous yellow mask, pretend that he wasn’t there and when she’d open them he’d be gone. But her body refused to let her look away any longer, almost as transfixed on him as he had been with her all night. He was closer now, leaning in far enough that Natalie feared he might try to kiss her through his mangled faux lips.

The black holes of The Other’s mask offered no hint of emotion that he concealed behind it, not even a peek at what color his eyes were. A void; soulless and ready to swallow her whole if she dared to break what she assumed was eye contact again. He wanted to see her, and she was going to see him whether she wanted to or not. Well, she hoped he liked what he saw: a frightened girl barely on the cusp of adulthood in the midst of a panic attack and covered in too many people’s blood, probably with a deviated septum and two budding black eyes to boot. How appealing, certainly how Natalie had always envisioned herself to be remembered as – utterly pathetic. A lackluster final girl.

His thumb that had been previously pressing into her mandible eased up slightly to move across her face, now settling above her cupid’s bow. Natalie hissed in pain, automatically flinching back but not moving an inch thanks to the steeled grip The Other had on her chin. In an instant, he lifted his thumb off her upper lip entirely, giving her a brief moment for the ache to subside before his touch returned. It was lighter this time, gentle, the rough pad swiping under her nose like he was trying to wipe away the mess of blood he had caused in the first place. Of course, it wasn’t like his gesture was doing much to help give how much blood had dried down into a tacky consistency, nevermind the amount of viscera he was transferring from his own hands onto Natalie’s face. 

Though she appreciated (in a weird sense) that his touch was softer, it didn’t change the fact her bruising skin still pulsated under his fingers, burning red hot. She grimaced, focusing on blinking back her tears rather than think about whose gore not Brooke’s not Brooke’s not Brooke’s was being rubbed over her mouth, dangerously close to be tasted and surely the final straw to make her retch. 

If she didn’t know any better, which one could argue she didn’t as she was battling physical and mental trauma to the head, Natalie would almost think the killer was trying to convey an apology of sorts. As if he was sorry for the short term punishment he felt he needed to give her, certainly not caring about the repercussions for everything else however. Or he was merely admiring his handiwork in a perverse sort of way. A pretty girl covered in her pretty blood, begging to be drenched in more of it just so he could get his rocks off.

Mercifully, his hold loosened and Natalie sucked in a gasp, unaware she had been holding her breath the entire time. It felt like she deserved some sort of reward for not immediately flinching away again when his fingers ghosted over the apple of her cheek. She had been trained well, a quick learner. His hands were warm and rough and sickeningly slick with red, yet so impossibly light in the way they just barely touched her skin in passing. As if these weren’t the same hands responsible for countless deaths and agony, knowing they could decide to gouge out her eyes on a whim. She dared to let her gaze drift from his mask to follow where his deadly hold was traveling next, cringing when they tucked into several strands of hair that had been matted against her face from her bloody nose. Carefully, The Other tugged the hair loose and brushed it behind her ear.

Dirty fingers buried into her locks, uncaring how he soiled them. To be fair, most of her curls had already fallen out and the frizzy ends were likely a mess of tangles, caked in blood and sweat. It was only a small relief that he didn’t go grasping for her scalp, much like how he had tried to grab a hold of her in the bathroom to tug her upwards. This time, he combed his hand down the full length of her hair, stopped by a few knots that he tugged free along the way. It should have been soothing, such a sweet and loving act, even being done with a tender touch, but all it did for Natalie was make her stomach clench in anticipation. The other shoe was bound to drop at any moment. In a flash, his docile facade would be replaced with a blade shoved up to its hilt in her kidney, and she refused to be caught off guard.

When he reached the ends of her hair, he curled them around his fingers, letting the strands slip between his knuckles before twirling them back into his hold. The Other was mesmerized, fascinated, like he was experiencing the luxury of playing with someone’s hair for the first time. 

Long and mousy, just like her’s. Not as silky, though, needed to be straighter. Nothing a good conditioner couldn’t fix. One that had a faint coconut scent, just like he used to be able to smell whenever she tucked herself under his arm– 

His obsession unnerved Natalie more than usual while he was in her personal space, heightened by the uncertainty of his current behavior. Even if her arms were free, she wasn’t sure she’d have the gall to shove him away while he was so pacified in her presence, a stark contrast to every other encounter. It was a miracle how quickly he could be subdued when she wasn’t clawing at the walls to escape his presence, like it was her fault in assuming he meant her horrific bodily harm given the track record he demonstrated all night. Really, that possibility still wasn’t entirely off the table. 

She just wanted a bit of breathing room, wanted him off of her to collect her thoughts before she either spiraled into a nervous breakdown or died of an aneurysm then and there. Crowding her space like this, Natalie could hear every exhale muffled by the mask, see his shoulders rise and fall in tandem, smell the blood that clung to him tinged with just the slightest hint of cologne, pick out all the individual bumps and divots of his mask.

It was like he was sizing her up in the boarding school haunted house again. Before she had given away that poor girl’s hiding spot, stupidly assuming it was all part of an act, when she thought The Other was nothing more than a harmless actor trying to get a rise out of her and her friends. She supposed it worked in the end. He had more than proven his point. If she hadn’t called him out, would he have ignored her in favor of hunting down his target without a second glance? Or would she still occupy his thoughts and spurn him to track her down all the same, equally enamored despite only seeing her in passing? Was there ever a chance she would have been safe no matter how he caught sight of her, would there be significantly less bodies in his wake if she’d just let him corner her in a bathroom stall and play with her hair for a bit?

Fuck, she hoped he wasn’t going to reveal himself to be one of those serial killers that wore their victims skin and was simply fantasizing about what a great wig her scalp would make.

Natalie swallowed to wet her hoarse throat, hoping her voice would be found. It took a few tries before she was confident she could make a sound that wasn’t simply a miserable whine. “What–” 

She couldn’t stop herself from recoiling fast enough when The Other snapped his attention back to her face. His breathing faltered, only for a beat, the single indicator that he had been equally startled by her sudden conversation. All eyes were on her now, eager to hear what she had to say. She hadn’t talked to him in a while – screaming and crying didn’t count in his book. The killer was obviously not a man of many words, not while he donned his murderous persona anyways, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t pleased to see Natalie initiate a conversation all on her own. It was well worth being shaken out of whatever daydream he’d temporarily lost himself in, especially for her if it meant chasing away any musings he could be having about the best way to peel off her skin to make a belt. He tilted his head, urging her to continue.

“What…wh-what do you want?” She finally squeaked out, cowering under him in case that was all he needed to fly into a bloody frenzy again. It was hard to say if she was truly expecting a response, a verbal one anyways. Who knew if he even could give her that much, if his mutism extended beyond his haunted house hobbies. 

Deep down, she knew what the answer was, and she knew he knew it, too. It had been obvious from the start, The Other had made no effort in hiding it from anyone.

He wanted her and now there was nobody left to stop him.

[askthenewritoelder]

Afternoon, Teba. How are you handling your duties today? I see you have rather a lot of paperwork to read over regarding the newly implimented Zora Rito cuttlebone trade. I have a little free time while the storm clears up before I return to training, if you'd like a hand working through it.

While I'm here - though I usually dispise idle chatter; I was wondering perchance if I could gather your oppinion on something? It seems....Tulin might be experiencing his first infatuation. Poor boy is far too shy to come to you directly - you know how pre-adolecent fledglings are. However I admit I am not nearly as well versed in the art of romantic relationships as you, considering your happy marrage. I felt it would be more efficient to play as the middle man for you than to answer directly.

...Not that I couldn't offer advice myself - as you know, an unstoppable, brilliant, charming warrior such as me has near unlimitless options for romantic partners. I could court whomever I desired to, I know practically everything about the theoretics of romance. I simply don't have time for such nonsense with my busy schedual.

However - in the case of Tulin, of course - what advice would you perhaps give to a young man dealing with such a thing? Say for example; perhaps the boy feels somewhat unfamiliar with these sorts of overwhelming feelings and does not know exactly how to express them in a healthy manor. What might be a casual way to communicate his interest in the object of his desire without appearing too forwards? Furthermore, maybe...Tulin is finding himself behaving a little agressivelly towards the individual because he feels concerned over the possibility of rejection. How would he best overcome that malicious reflex? How did you first interact with Saki to get her to like you?

Oh- no need to mention this to Tulin. You wouldn't want to embaress the poor boy, would you? I'll pass along the information. It's best we keep this between us.

Greetings, Master Revali.

Apologies for the late response. Yesterday was a long day, and I still have a lot to catch up on. Other than that things are going well. The current state of affairs regarding the stranded Zora is a bit of a mess right now. I know you’ve had some encounters before, so I’d really appreciate it if you came with me when I leave to find them.

As for your-er…Tulin’s question, my objective opinion would be to try different methods of expressing your affection; spend more time with them, maybe try gifts, or perform acts of service they’d appreciate. I’d also recommend you study the courting practices of the person you’re interested in. I’m not too familiar with courting Hylians so it’s probably better to ask others.

Personally, I’d say tell them how you feel directly. You’ll never know if they’ll reject you without trying. Saki and I were spending a lot of time together, so it wasn’t too much of a surprise when I realized I liked her. I’m not the best with words, but I found myself confessing anyway. Everything just felt…right. This might be the case for you- I mean Tulin. Sometimes you’ll find a moment where everything fits together.

It can be challenging, but the person you’re interested in will never get the message otherwise. If the person cares about you as much as you care about them (and I’m certain they will return your feelings), then the relationship shouldn’t break even if they reject your confession. If that person doesn’t return your feelings, you’d respect that because you love them.

Hopefully I was able to provide some insight on the matter. Feel free to speak with me anytime; I’ll be more than happy to lend an ear.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

STOP I'm thinking about the part in Gravity Falls where Stan shows up with freshly bought (stolen) light bulbs only to see Ford screwing a new one in surrounded by family.

And OH my GOD. AGH.

Stan gets a little (ir)rationally upset about this because... It's.. Guys,,,

Stan perceives it as Ford once again easily receiving the praise and love of their family when he had to fight tooth and nail to receive even half of it.... I'm not well ✋😔

[residentialsinyomakai]

YO-TOBER DAY 10....A DAY LATE: PISTACHIONYAN

....Plus a little message!

(The Rongo Swirll was an idea from a friend aidjoekf)

But anyways, just gonna say that as much as I wanna, I'm not gonna have time to do it every day as I'm sure you've noticed (* ´ ▽ ` *)ﾉ thank you for your understanding!!

Under cut there'll be the usual alt as well as a small doodle dump!! ^u^

Alt + sketches for my favorite day of yo-tober so far 💔 I love the Tough Tribe!!!

Heres this little shading practice I'm kinda proud of! I had fun drawing the eye :)

A LOT of squid stuff.....and I still have more. I'll post them on SpaceHey tho!! (@squ1dcurry btw -u-) one of those is a goofy different outfit inspired by the puni puni event fit + his original!

And timidevil!!! He's a cutie pie ^u^

anyways, I'll be off for now!

[the-way-astray]

alright everybody can we please stop tagging me/talking about me in the notes of pro keefe/sokeefe posts. i know strieefe has made it so that it's really funny to talk about how much i love him and how much i'm in denial when i say negative things about him under those posts (and that's all in good fun and not the problem), but we have to think about the fact that the ops are just trying to make a positive post and probably don't want a keefe hater in their notes /srs

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

:(

[fridayyy-13th]

wow. not even a week into college and i'm already behind on work. fucking lovely.

[viscericorde]

in the uncomfortable situation of having drawn a lot of art of characters that belong to a person that i want nothing to do with anymore. it's frustrating bc a lot of these pieces are also stuff that i'm proud of, skill-wise, but they are essentially tainted now. they will always remind me of who i drew it all for. but i also hate the idea of essentially throwing paintings into a digital fire.

[unproduciblesmackdown]

also if only the physical copy of how to disappear completely & never be found i first encountered & read a few years ago (sort of [roughly avg age ten] reader book, not any similarly titled How To) hadn't disappeared completely & not been found since, probably b/c i put it somewhere i intended to be For Safekeeping, which is also how my binder vanished....b/c it's one of those like. those book for late elementary/middle school readers when they just weave in this unrealism which makes for a delightful range & unpredicability? and with a cynical protagonist girl like off to the races like wow her mom is depressed asf & smoking? and it's about A Family History Secrets Mystery so blatantly a haunting that the inciting incident is basically introducing a haunted [family history secrets mystery] house. and spoilers don't matter like it's stemming from there being this missing uncle who grew up so in contrast to the Winsome Winning Sibling Who Does It All Right while seeing his own affiliation with rats that he tried to disappear completely & never be found which led to this Tragedy which led to this more unintended disappearance of his & he haunts this house & wants to be left alone & only goes out at night with this [ambiguous Is That A Giant Rat Or Weird Small Dog (protagonist affected by these family situations who expresses her preoccupation with an awareness of how fate can Strike and Get you with this interest with roving packs of killer chihuahuas. people think she's weird though she spontaneously befriends this other girl struck with this bolt from the blue & a bit weird / outcast & then Insightful who i wish was in it more)] & plays into the hauntedness danger like playing into the [something's Wrong with you then] until having to take yet more action where the urge to express the truth comes out more both b/c living that hidden is more threatened but also b/c now the niece children are more threatened as well. ft. a sort of preternatural blurring of time b/c of only being communicated with through this uncle via his comic pages (that he paints?) of dubiously accurate translations of irl events that are created so quickly it seems to verge on foresight, imagine like "hmm what's this painting. it's me standing in this room looking at this painting??? as someone ominous lurks in the shadows right behind me?" in both [now how could you know this & paint it really fast ahead of time] and [horror]

[kyouka-supremacy]

( •_• )

[electroniccollectiondonut]

@everyone who's into gortash WHAT are you even talking about for real. no hate i just do not see it

[habits-white-rabbit]

Every time I see someone use Purple Haze Feedback for 'UwU FuGio real!!' or paint Giorno as a coldhearted sadistic master manipulator I feel myself coming closer and closer to snapping