#i messed up on one or two of them
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akanemnon · 2 months ago
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I don't like this place. It's turning everyone edgy and sad.
FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT
MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)
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suddenly-frankenstein · 2 months ago
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good listener - purity - messy eater - false prophet
my little collection of bloody priests because i can't live a year without drawing one :)
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talietikasero · 2 years ago
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kinda happy those sfxtk artbook scans i uploaded are still being found three years later
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itty-bitty-sunshine · 6 months ago
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"You said you love me exactly the way I am"
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littlebitofdnd · 8 months ago
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Sandra-Lynn and Sklonda are having a "What Do We Do About Kristen" phone call as we speak
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lotus-pear · 1 year ago
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i think you guys are onto smth..
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i unironically got invested in this HELP
#WHERES THE FIC AT IF SOMEONE WRITES THIS I WILL PAY THEM A HUNDRED DOLLARS😭😭#kunikida serving the country while dazai's serving cunt😔#dazai was born to malewife but forced to manipulate and i think that's the greatest tragedy of bsd#anyway some facts i would like to share abt this au thay i came up w while drawing!!#takes place in 1939 (start of wwii) and there was a mandatory draft that required one male over eighteen from each house to serve#both of them are still twenty two and had been engaged for abt two years before getting married that year#newlyweds! unfortunately kuni had to go fight and they were seperated :(#before the war kunikida was a math teacher at the local high school and dazai obviously managed the household and didn't work#he's hopeless at cooking and meal prep even w recipie books so they either get those prepackaged meals or kuni makes dinner when he gets ba#so like when he's making lunch for kunikida he normally just packs a basic sandwich w raw fruit#kunikida always appreciates the effort even tho hes probably sick of having the same thing everyday but he won't complain abt it#when kunikida joined the army he was relieved that the mess hall had better food than dazai#he was the only one in his platoon that never complained abt the food so his fellow soldiers assumed it was bc he came from a tough bg#when in reality he was just used to being poisoned on a daily basis from his dumbass husbands cooking and was hardly fazed from army ration#they write to each other although its more dazai sending and kuni receiving bc hes off fighting and doesnt have time to write back#dazai talks abt life on the homefront and how he has to grow a victory garden (everything is DYING HE CANT EVEN RAISE TOMATOES)#and kuni writes abt his fellow soldiers and how the war is going and when he thinks he'll be home and how he misses sleeping in a bed#ANYWAY yea thought i'd share sry for infodumping in the tags again#this post is for like the four ppl that care abt this specific flavor of knkdz so hopefully this gets four notes at least#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs#dazai osamu#osamu dazai#kunikida doppo#doppo kunikida#kunikidazai#knkdz#lotus draws#bro sry for posting at two in the morning i couldnt sleep until i got this out of my head they have infested my brain
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epiphainie · 6 months ago
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i've just finished my s7 rewatch and it's kinda so funny to me how much discourse people created over every bucktommy interaction when their whole arc boils down to tommy being patient and vulnerable with buck and showing up for him. like when you are not wearing shipper goggles under the name of "analysis" and don't try to reverse-engineer every word and look and shot with utmost bad faith, that's what it is. a simple and sweet story of a new exciting relationship with a guy who's understanding and willing to show up. literally the two things buck needs from a relationship but never had with his previous love interests. they are kinda sickeningly sweet and well-communicating actually lol
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okartichoke · 3 months ago
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here are apollo and trucy !! finally (AA4 spoilers below)
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i wanted to show that they were half siblings, but was finding it hard to find a bird species that fit both of them, so the inherited bleeding heart is what i settled with ! (featuring canon-typical obliviousness)
a couple more…
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Another factor pushing Phoenix to work on his flying was so he could fly with trucy <3
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Apollo is much less flight-avoidant than Phoenix, but still remains grounded (or flying low to the ground) most of the time. Trucy flies and hovers quite a bit. I imagine she works her wings into her magic routines somehow, too.
now, I don't want to make this post too long, so if you're interested in hearing any of my thoughts/explanations on these two, i made a separate text post for that here :] (the tldr is: if you wanna call this specific version of apollo any other small brown bird, be my guest)
hope you guys like them! ):3
link to masterpost
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carnivalcarriondiscarded · 1 year ago
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years later someone buys the plot, turns on the lights and is suddenly worshipped as a sun god by a bunch of puppets falling apart at the seams
pov you break into the spooky abandoned Playfellow Studios building for shits and giggles
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#lore tidbit! the plot is not available for purchase#the building is only Technically abandoned. its still very much Owned private property!#actually ive been thinking about the Other side of this au. the people's perspective#cause in this au at least they all Knew the puppets were alive#many employees - especially the ones working 'closest' to the puppets - put up a huge fight when the show got canceled#but it was either Disassemble (kill) Them or Lock Them Away#and honestly? killing the neighbors would've been somewhat of a mercy#but the employees had no way of knowing just how Bad things would get#wh lights out au#scribble salad#and i mean. the building's electricity bill remains paid.#the employees that felt really bad kept it paid over the years - devoting a bit of their income each to it#thinking the puppets would a) be awake & b) be able to figure it out#yeah that's actually a lil fun tragic tidbit as well - if any of the puppets had found the breaker....#or found it and Messed with it a lil... flipped the right switch...#they would've gotten the lights back on no problem#but yeah anyway ive been Thinking about the employees' side of things a lot#might tie that in with act two. it'd make sense considering the shit that happens#well either they'd help the puppets out or they'd get shoved into one of the sinkholes by barnaby. so.#bc if we're talkin seriously here. the puppets are more likely to kill a person than worship them for any reason#they'd go full 'THREAT!! THREAT!! ELIMINATE THE THREAT!!! WE'RE NOT LOSING ANYONE ELSE!!!' mode
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no-light-left-on · 5 months ago
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my gift piece for @a--ttano for the @dishonoredgiftexchange! all the prompts I got were fantastic, but I chose 'an overseer oc who makes the music boxes getting engrossed in the music and finding himself drawn more and more into the void'
I hope you like it!
some details under cut
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shahrwrites · 7 months ago
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I’m a normal amount obsessed with them.
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stubz · 9 months ago
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"You said you'd be better after the Tri-Eclipse festival, when we all come back from vacation."
"Yeah that's right."
"Will you promise me that you'll run with me when we get back?"
"...I'll do my best. Yeah. I'll do my best buddy."
.
"Max when we get back after the holidays will you run with me?"
"Yeah. I'll start training, practice running."
"Oh yeah, cause it's been a long time since you ran."
"Yeah...almost 2 months...wow."
..
"Got any plans for the 2 weeks we get off?"
"Yeah I'm gonna train."
"Train for what?"
"Running. I told the kids I'd run with them when we get back."
"Aww that's cute. But yeah you need to test things out right? Start off slow so as to not overdue it when you play with them again."
"Yeah...wanna hear something funny?"
"Sure."
"I, I miss running. I know I said I hate running and that I only ran with the kids because it's good exercise but...I miss it." he puts down his fork. Staring at his plate of food from the ship's cafeteria. He continues.
"I had a dream last night. I was on Earth, in a field of tall grass and flowers, it was summer. The sun was shining, a beautiful warmth on my skin, with a cool gentle breeze on my skin. I was barefoot. I could run and I ran for miles. I ran even after my lungs were on fire, even when the sun went down...I miss running."
"Mmm"
...
Going on field trip. Yanosh came early so we took the noon shuttle. Come as soon as you can. Shuttle A-11.
'I didn't know we had a field trip today.' he thought after reading the text Kim sent.
He grabbed his hoodie and the other emergency bag and made his way to the shuttles. Luckily the A-11 was an express and he would be wherever it was going in 20 minutes.
12 minutes into the ride he noticed that they were approaching Earth.
....
Turn left in 200 meters...You have reached your destination.
"...ha haha hahahahaha! Are you guys serious?!"
"Surprise Max!!"
In front of the young man was his class of youngling alien children (with a handful of humans ones), co-worker and friend. Standing in a field of tall grass and flowers. Yanosh and Kim held a banner saying congratulations.
"I know you've been training in the gym but I thought you'd want your first real run to be somewhere...special."
He scooped his friend into a hug. Then pulled in the children until they were all sent crashing down into a pile full of laughter and giggles.
"You ready?"
"Yeah, yeah definitely!"
"READY KIDS?!"
"YEAH!"
"LET'S GOOO!"
And for the first time in 2 months human Max ran. Past the slowest ones first. He tried to pat every one of them on the head as he flew bye. Broke through the pack of the average runners. A laugh trailed behind him. One by one surpassed the faster one's. His unused lungs somehow allowing him to whoop in-between pants.
He raced every child. Played every game he could not play before. Carried those who longed to be carried again. He ran despite the burning in his lungs and the sweat in his eyes. He ran through the pain in his feet and the exhaustion in his body until he collapsed.
Laying there in the dirt surrounded by the children and his friend he smiled. And he wore that smile in his sleep on the way back to the centre.
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triglycercule · 3 months ago
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nightmare viewing the murder time three as little toys but more in like a little spoiled kid kinda way. because it would be funny and if you take into the account that he was like 6 before getting corrupted and do some mental loopholes it would be even funnier. like these are his dolls (killer dust and horror) and this is their barbie dreamhouse (his castle). they all have to stay in one room because nightmare needs to keep his toys in a toy box. the toys only ever come out when he wants to play but oh damn it they keep on breaking out!! silly toys,,, and then he locks them into the room again.
nightmare serves them food with plastic tea cups and plastic plates and there is no food. there is no tea. they have to imagine the food because dolls can't literally eat. there are food containers and stuff in the house but its all just a bunch of empty boxes. horror starts tweaking out after he scavenges the kitchen and finds a cereal box and milk carton that have NOTHING in it (why keep empty boxes?????)
they have to go where he wants them to go. nightmare gets to dress them up in whatever he wants because theyre his dolls they can wear anything he wants. it gets incredibly embarrassing when the trio is forced to wear pink pretty dresses and fight like that. or they have to go around the castle doing stupid fucking roleplays and it gets weird because theyre being forced to reenact a bullying scene and nightmare's giving them the death stare if they don't get it right (is this projection. this must be some form of coping mechanism dust theorizes)
and then you know nightmare's not exactly the best toy owner so he loses a few of his dolls here and there. maybe they get destroyed when he was playing a bit too rough with them! (killer dies in battle for like the 29th time) but its okay because he can just go back on down to the store (something new) and buy. wait no. steal another doll and then put it back in his dreamhouse and BOOM he has a full set again!! so sweet so cute. his dolls don't have consciousness what are you talking about theyre begging to be let go?? that's all just your imagination. what do you mean you're asking about the several slowly dying bodies with removed arms or legs in his dungeon. oh that's just where the broken but not yet destroyed toys go dw theyre fine its humane
#toy story but evil#imagine nightmare dresses the trio up in dreamtale esque clothes and then forces them to pretend to be his parents#because the stupid shit grew up parentless and now that he has dolls he can just roleplay that now#or he could just make the trio roleplay as a family. one parent two children. huh i wonder where i've heard this before#he's still like totally smart with all the multiversal plans and conquering and manipulation and all that#just that he's still got a bit of childish charm in him yk.🥺🥺🥺 he's sweet and cute 🥺🥺🥺🥺#killer says as he tries not to go insane from being stuck in a room with dust amd horror for weeks on end#nightmare has no sense of boundary for the trio because theyre just little toys for him#if he wants them to change clothes he strips them because dolls cant change by themselves#if he wants them to move a specific way he maneuvers them because dolls cant movs on their own#nightmare's messing around and has all his dolls in the splits because who hasnt done that#dust and horror are in so much pain. killer just feels humiliated#these are GROWN MEN you are objectifying here nightmare. LITERALLY objectifying. but irs okay its funny#dadmare but instead of nightmare being the dad he's the kid. while also simultaneously having all the power#this would go for a sick ass plotline if someone made a fic for it#it aint gonna be me 🤣🤣 but like.... trio has to convince nightmare to stop treating them like goddamn dolls#and nightmare has to change his stupid little kiddy mentality while also they all have to just get on better terms in general#so stupidn so dumb. would the mtt hate eachother during all this. quite possibly#three crazy freaks trapped in one room for unknown amounts of time. homoerotic arguments must have occured#they must know stuff about eachother that they don't wanna know. they all know what they look like naked#nightmare is the leading cause of mtt deaths because he just doesn't know how to properly handle his toys#oops he says as he accidentally breaks horror's neck and dust and killer watch on. guess its time to get a new one!#and he gleefully skips off to horrortale while dust and killer are left with the dusting beheaded body. what a fun time#killer sans#dust sans#horror sans#nightmare sans#murder time trio#bad sanses#tricule rant
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faeriekit · 9 months ago
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Health and Hybrids (XIX)👽👻💚
[I can't remember the original prompt posters  for the life of me but here's a mashup between a cryptid!Danny, presumed-alien!Danny, dp x dc, and the prompt made the one body horror meat grinder fic.]
PART ONE is here PART TWO is here PART THREE is here PART FOUR is here and PART FIVE is here PART SIX is here and PART SEVEN is here PART EIGHT is here PART NINE is here PART TEN is here PART ELEVEN is here PART TWELVE is here PART THIRTEEN is here PART FOURTEEN is here PART FIFTEEN is here PART SIXTEEN is here PART SEVENTEEN is here PART EIGHTEEN is here...nineteen...oy vey.
💚 Ao3 Is here for all parts (now featuring mediocre mouseover translations, only available on a computer)
Where we last left off... THE BART RETURNS! The earth rejoices! 🥳🎉 Physical therapy can be fun, even if it usually isn't!
Trigger warnings for this story:  body horror | gore | post-dissection fic | dehumanization (probably) |  my nonexistent attempts at following DC canon. On with the show.
💚👻👽👻💚
Danny learns a few more words with practice.
Foda is simple. If Danny is hungry, he can ask for foda. It sounds exactly like food, and when he asks, they feed him.
…Or they up his IV. Which. Danny’s tongue might still feel sore and nasty, but the doctors and nurses and millions of minders don’t seem that mad when he sticks his tongue out at them. Sometimes they even laugh.
They don’t even sound all that mean.
It takes Danny a good chunk of waking time for him to realize that he…probably is hooked up to something he doesn’t want to think about, since all the efforts of lifting and moving him haven’t resulted in a single bathroom trip since he woke up here.
Firstly: horrible.
Secondly: his legs are super, absolutely, positively immobilized, and if someone doesn’t give him enough medication quickly enough after it wears off, Danny is very aware that something is deeply wrong with them.
So. Uh. That’s…gross.
He learns bealo just as quickly. He isn’t sure what bealo means, per se, but when he says it, they up his medication until Danny can pretend he doesn’t have any legs again.
God niht is goodnight, unless Danny is feeling snippy, and then it’s just niht.
…The one lady who minds him always says the whole thing, though. Even when Danny’s mean. Like the one time he threw his rocket at someone.
Or the time he started ignoring everyone when they tried to touch him.
…Or the one time he tried to freeze his IV bag, and put everyone on alert because if he’d been human, that would have seriously hurt him.
“Sorry,” Danny’d whispered, even if it wouldn’t mean anything to her.
She’d patted his hand and meant it. Danny’d had to dry his eyes with his wrist. “Eall es wel.”
Anyway.
Danny hates being in the freaking bed every hour of every day. So when his “sitting up” exercises turn into “hey, let’s try the wheelchair” practice, Danny gets so excited-slash-nervous that he kind of feels like he’s going to throw up all the liquids he’s been injected with.
None of the regular people try to lift him. Instead the lady does it herself, scooping Danny up in very strong arms, the golden cuffs on her wrists weirdly warm on Danny’s skin. When Danny’s settled, his legs sticking out real weird and his back kind of sore, he’s…out of bed.
He’s. He’s not in bed anymore.
And. Sure. It’s temporary, but it’s not the bed. Danny can wriggle, and he can sort of palm the wheels underneath him with the heels of his shaky hands, and he can see so much more of himself than he has in ages and ages.
For one. Both of his legs are in casts. That’s. Not good. He can’t feel it right now, but the sight of fully encased legs…
Well. If he can transform that won’t be a problem. If. If he has to escape. But it is…it’s super scary. He mostly remembers being captured, but the…the other people had been focusing more on his thoracic cavity and his face and head.
…So why are his legs so bad? Did something else happen?
(It did, didn’t it?)
(…Didn’t it??)
His hands shake, but there’s something to all that grip training, or else Danny wouldn’t be able to paw at his neckline to look down his own shirt. Or, well, his cloth nightie, anyway.
It’s good that he looks, since, well…his chest is glowing a solid green.
Whatever should probably be scar tissue. Uh. It…isn’t. There’re gouges down his chest and a crater where his heart should be that probably should be healing over, considering, you know, he’s not freaking dead at this exact second (mostly??), but. Instead of, like, healed flesh, or, say, his insides, there’s a transparent green…jelly… holding him together.
He can see how the green bounces with his heart beat.
...Danny drops the neckline of his gown. His breath comes in choking bursts, eyes pressed into his eye sockets—he feels sick.
He is sick. He has been sick.
The humans are keeping him here because he’s a freak of nature and he’s broken from head to toe and the Guys in White carved his flesh out of his body and opened him up like a can of cranberry sauce.
He presses his hands to his chest, to his stomach, just trying to breathe for long enough that he doesn’t throw up his oatmeal and occasional juice and IV nutrition onto the pristine floor of his sickroom. The people around him all make sympathetic noises that don’t help because he doesn’t know what they mean.
And then he feels something weird.
Not all the sensation in his fingers are back. It’s easier for him to feel impediments than it is to feel textures—something that blocks him from moving, rather than anything sensory-specific. He can usually tell when he touches fabric, because when he moves too far, it pulls tight around his hand. He can tell when he’s on something solid when his hand fails to go through it.
There is something solid sticking out of him.
Danny’s heartbeat quickens. It’s not. It’s. There’s something in him.
And it’s not—it’s so solid. When Danny brushes his hands against it, he can feel his skin and his flesh move with it, trying not to dislodge the thing embedded in him. It pulls at his skin. He doesn’t know what it is.
His fingers tremble as he tries to brush over the object through his gown, trying to figure out its shape from faulty touch alone. It’s like waking up to find himself jammed with needles all over again.
People are talking around them. Danny doesn’t try to listen in. He’s scared. He’s so scared. Something’s happened to him, and he didn’t even notice.
Some of it is—hard. There’s a crinkling sound when he moves. Danny manages to pull his gown neckline back again to catch something of a glimpse, and all he sees is plastic.
He doesn’t know what it is.
He doesn’t know who to ask. He can’t understand anyone and he doesn’t know if he trusts them.
They put something in him. There’s something embedded in him.
He thinks he’s going to cry.
Something touches his arm—Danny flinches. His core tightens with stress as he puts a metaphorical hand on the button, ready to run and hide at any notice.
It’s the lady. He knows her.
No, he doesn’t. He doesn’t know her at all. He can’t talk to her in any way that matters. She’s not a doctor. He doesn’t know why she’s here, or why she’s keeping him here.
She’s nice. She fed him. But is that all it takes to trick him? To make him compliant? Pliable?
She stops touching him when he gets scared, her eyes worried. She kneels—closer than Danny would like, probably, but she keeps her hands to herself. Danny’s heart races faster, out of order, starting and stopping and starting again like a bad engine.
“Eow eart wel?” she asks from his left arm rest, a common question, so softly. Danny doesn’t know what it means. “Eall es wel. Ænlic eow, ænlic me. Bruce bræð wið me?”
She takes a big, deep, breath. Her hand rises slightly over her chest, following an exaggerated movement. Don’t panic. Breathe. Breathe like me. One, two, three.
Danny’s breaths are more choked. More panicked.
But when she breathes, he breathes with her—even with every stutter in between.
“Hwæt es woh[O3] ?” the lady asks, so gently it’s almost a whisper. Her pointer finger hovers over his body, but doesn’t touch—and eventually, Danny figures out she probably wants to know where he’s hurting.
But he’s not hurting. He’s scared. There’s something inside him, and he isn’t sure what it is. He presses the heel of his hand to the object. He feels something rigid refuse to bend inside his flesh.
There’s something of recognition in the woman’s face. “Inne cwic tima,” she says, more certain of answers outside the room, and darts away,
Danny wants to bounce his bound leg. He feels awful when anyone is in the room with him, considering how little of them he knows, but, somehow, it’s so much worse when he’s actually alone.
When she comes back, there’s a second person who walks through the double doors with her, in blue scrubs with ducks on them. They wave to Danny.
Danny…blinks. He feels numb. It’s kind of a problem.
They take it in stride, though; in their hands is a blank board and a chunky marker. The cap comes off, the new person scribbles for a minute or so, and then turns the board around so that Danny can see.
It’s a…person. A rudimentary outline person, sure, with some visible bones and organs to fill in the person-shaped outline. Danny can recognize most of them from anatomy class, although those memories are more…personal, now. A little more painful.
The person taps on the board. The person points to Danny.
Danny frowns.
The person turns the board back around and makes some Pew, Pew, Pew! sounds with their mouth, occasionally opening and closing their hand over the board to match the noise. There’s some more scribbling. When the board turns back around, there’s a violent smudge of marker on top of the drawn person’s drawn intestines.
The person takes their covered pinky finger and erases a little neat circle of marker in the intestines, mostly favoring one side. They draw a little arrow from the hole to the general outside-of-the-person blank area. Then another circle, with a thicker circle inside.
Danny recognizes the object jutting out of him. Oh. This is how he got it.
The person—probably a doctor, Danny guesses, or the surgeon who did this to him—do these people even need credentials, actually?—hands the board over to the lady. They hold out ten outstretched fingers, marker under their arm, and make a show of counting every one of the outstretched fingers with the opposite hand. Then they take the board back.
And then, when they write on the board, Danny can actually understand what they say.
Or, well, it’s numbers! The numbers are the same as his—the line and a circle is clearly meant to be a ten, and the little x is a multiplication symbol— they draw a 10, as clearly and a brightly as it could be against a stark white board, and add a little x 7, probably to indicate a week; the result is ten suns times seven, or seventy suns.
Danny feels his heart bounce in his chest. Danny would bet a whole lot of money that the number is meant to be seventy days. There is an end point. It’s not that Danny is free to be subjected to random anatomical whims—there’s a goal here. This was purposeful.
The little circle-within a circle gets erased. The hole is scribbled through as if it was never there, and the person makes a weaving gesture with the marker that Danny is certain is meant to be sewing.
Tears prick at his eyes. The lady gets close by him again, but Danny lets her. His hands aren’t good enough for wiping tears the way he wants to, yet. Help and company are good.
She gives him a tissue from Danny's bedside table. He takes it with a whisper of a grip.
“Seventy?” Danny rasps, tearful. Hopeful. Terrified of hope. He practically jams the tissue into his eye sockets.
The lady’s eyes go wide. “Seventy,” she repeats, marveling.
It’s enough. Nothing is perfect, but it’s enough. And if Danny's allowed to spend so long in front of the space window that he falls asleep in his wheelchair, well. It's not like he was in charge of where they went.
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royalarchivist · 2 years ago
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Anonymous Viewer: I once ate cardboard to impress a boy
Niki: A BOY??? A BOY??? Come on, get some standards!
Aimsey: You won’t ever see me doin’ that, you won’t ever see me doin’ that. For more reasons than one, but still.
Niki: That’s why we love Aimsey, ‘cuz Aimsey has standards.
Aimsey: I have standards, women <3
Bonus:
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darkwings-and-horcruxes · 2 months ago
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There’s this deep possessiveness at the center of Luffy’s chest whenever he looks at Sanji. 
Come with me. Be mine. I want you. 
But he can’t take him by force - no matter how much he wants him. Sanji has chained himself to the Baratie with ropes made of grief and guilt, and he’s hard-pressed to let go, even now.
People don’t stay for Luffy, but he’s hoping Sanji may stay with him for the sake of his Dream. That’ll be enough - to have Sanji by his side while they accomplish their dreams together. 
Or maybe, he’ll stay with him for the sake of Nami. Luffy knows the way the others have written Sanji’s flirtations off, but there’s a depth to Sanji’s feelings, visible in the way that he looks at Nami like she’s the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, like he’s blessed to have her near him. Maybe Luffy’s not worth staying for, but Nami is. It's why he’s going after her despite everything she says.
No matter the reason, he just needs Sanji to stay.
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