#i was gonna draw blood but I forgot and I didn't have time

[eyezdrawz]

He is our prophet

He is our savior

Follow him

(This is Elijah volkov, I know, I drew him really strange but I hope y'all like it)

[shoyudon]

dad!choso is on my mind. he’d be the sweetest husband/father to-be. i just know he’d hold our hand the entire time and say things like “i wish i could take this pain away from you.”

𝐌𝐀𝐌𝐀'𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐘 .ᐟ

keeping up with the choso family

starring. choso x fem! reader

heads up. pregnancy, giving birth, you're in you're 20s during shibuya (around nanami's age), all information are from research.

note. NONNIE, FIRST OF ALL YES. I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS ABOUT THIS??? i just know he'd cry during every one of these moments, i'm gonna sob, i miss him so much.

the first time choso met you, he didn't know you'd be his life companion. pushing aside at the fact that you both were enemies at first, being a jujutsu sorcerer assigned to shibuya wasn't really the best circumstances for first meetings — which practically didn't happen smoothly.

long story short, he actually hurts you with his blood manipulation. not enough to kill you, but enough to consider it a 'medical emergency'. he is really sorry about it though; when he saw you protect yuuji despite your injuries, he just knew he had to have you.

choso made it clear that he regretted hurting you — especially when his technique left a scar on your skin. specifically on your shoulder, and your lower abdomen. occasionally pressing his lips onto your scars, the vivid drawings of your stitches still embedded into your skin.

"'m sorry . . ." choso whispers out into your skin, burying his face into your stomach as you both lay down on the bed. once again, he was feeling apologetic for hurting you more than a year ago. every day after shibuya, he was busy apologizing to you for hurting you.

"cho, that was what . . ? more than a year ago? you need to stop apologizing, baby," raking your fingers through his hair, he sighs out in content, leaning his cheek onto your stomach — his arms draped around your thighs.

when he asks you to marry him, he subconsciously did it because he panicked. choso had it all planned for a whole month, and managed to ruin it in three minutes on the day he was going to propose to you because you were just so captivating, he just lost all senses of everything he practiced.

"please, marry me," choso blurts out, his mind going one hundred miles per second — he wasn't even sure if he was conscious at that point, "i love you so much and i can't think of my life without you, please marry me," he whispers, squeezing your hand gently.

choso actually got help from everyone on what to say and what to do, which all went down to drain when he decided to use his heart to propose to you. and it worked out well anyways, "seriously? i'm gonna cry," you fanned your eyes.

believe me when i said that choso was on the edge of his seat, waiting for your answer. when you exclaimed out a happy and tearful, "yes!", he could finally breathe out in relief, raising your hand up to his lips in happiness, slipping the ring he even forgot for a second.

choso actually told himself that he wouldn't cry during his own wedding. months before the reception — he finds himself watching wedding videos and happily kicking his feet at the sight of the groom crying, he believed he wouldn't, because he's seen you everyday. right? right?

wrong. the moment the tall doors opened and there you started walking down the aisle slowly, choso felt overwhelmed at the fact that he was getting married to you, and you were getting married to him. he swore if it wasn't for yuuji, he would be laying down in front of the whole guest list, crying on the ground.

he stood there, instinctively wiping his tears — that were never-ending, and god, you looked so beautiful that all he could see was you. choso felt like it was just you and him at that moment, no guest, no yuuji, just you.

after the ceremony, choso just wanted to go back home and if it weren't for you telling him to wait until everyone goes home, he'd technically kidnap his own wife and bring her back to their home. with a pout and a long face, he greets the guest with you, hand in yours like a little child who didn't get what they want.

"can we go back home now? my legs are killing me," he whispers, squeezing your hand, tugging you towards him, "jus' leave them, they're eating the night away . . ."

"let's wait until everyone goes home, okay?" you tell him. almost wanting to laugh at the sight of his fake offended gasp right after, choso didn't complain anyways — nodding his head as you tugged him towards a group of people to greet them.

when you both got home after a long day, choso immediately headed for the bedroom, tossing himself onto the bed, white shirt wrinkled and his tie messily pulled towards one side. eyelids half closed.

"cho, you know you have to shower before you sleep. you stink."

"mmm . . . wanna sleep," he moans out into the pillow, reaching his hand out to you in an attempt to bring you onto the bed, which did not work since you were too busy wiping off your makeup, "can't we just shower tomorrow? 'm so tired."

choso's never really thought about having kids. he didn't know how to take care of kids, nor how to react with kids. for some reason, the universe though — seemed to have bless him with a wave of "baby fever" one and a half year into the marriage. watching videos of random babies from all over the world doing baby things, and he felt his heart flutter at the sight.

that was when he knew, he wanted a family with you. technically, the two of you were already a family the moment you both got married — but he wanted an addition to your small family. a child.

he didn't really know how to break the fact that he wanted a baby with you, and so he tried subtle ways to do so. showing you baby videos, telling you how cute your kids would be, even pointing at baby shoes or onesies when you both go out.

by that point, you'd caught on to his little scheme, "why're you talking about kids a lot? baby shoes, baby onesies, baby videos, baby this, baby that," you informed him, threading your fingers through his hair as he laid his head on your lap.

"wan' a baby."

so when you broke the news that you were bearing his child, he cried. and by cry — i mean bawled out like a baby. clinging to you, overwhelmed at the fact that he was going to have a child with you, he was actually going to have a little family of his own.

just a few days after the news, he'd grown a lot more protective of your wellbeing. asking here and there about what you could and couldn't eat, or what might harm the growing baby inside you. searching here and there.

during your first trimester, more precisely, during your fifth week; the cravings began getting heavy and wonky. despite all that, choso still indulged in your cravings. hell, he even had to try some because he couldn't say no to you when you tried to share with him.

peanut butter and salmon sashimi, pickle juice with honey, cream cheese and fried chicken, ramen soup popsicles, bacon and toothpaste, milk and ramen seasoning, and more of those odd combinations. choso never did complain even once, if you wanted to eat something at three am, he'd run out and go find some no matter what — you were carrying his child, and he figured that was the least he could do for you.

"taste good, baby?" choso asks you, swiping his fingertips over the cream cheese spread on the corner of your lips.

nodding vigorously, you brought the half-eaten fried chicken messily dipped in the thick and white cream cheese spread — eyes shining brightly, as if asking him to try some with you. blinking in surprise, he took a bite. definitely a weird experience for him, and it was one of the oddest combination of food he had ever tried.

"'ts funny, but it's not bad," he swallowed after chewing the chicken a few times; reaching for the glass of water by the nightstand.

throughout your pregnancy, choso made sure to spoil you with a lot of things. the doll you looked at for a split second while the both of you ventured into the mall, the food he sees you browsing through his phone or your phone, tucking you in bed using the pillow he bought for pregnant women, and the feet massages for you everyday.

"where are you going?" choso asks, rubbing his eyes in exhaustion. the dark spots under his eyes were getting darker every time — it was obvious the changes in his life had made it, but choso was more than enlightened to do it for you.

"want to drink," you whisper, letting out a cute incoherent noise as you tried to roll off the mattress.

choso was quick to hold you back, tucking you inside the bundle of covers, "i'll get it for you, stay here, okay?" he whispers, hopping off the bed to fetch you a glass of water — choso didn't want to keep you waiting, running off to the kitchen and fetching you a glass of water topped with a lot of ice cubes; something he noticed you'd chew on a lot ever since you got pregnant.

"here you go," he walks back carefully, handing you the water, pinching the skin on your nap gently as he watches you gobble the water down, parting your lips to pop in an ice cube or two.

nearing your due date, specifically just a few days after the 37th week — the contractions started. it was the ninth month, and it was expected. choso heard your hushed whimpers in his sleep, he would probably guess it was at dawn, probably around four? he didn't even bother checking on the time because all he cared was you.

he was barely awake, kicking off the covers and helping you. ushering you to slowly breathe in and out, his hand rubbing soothing circles on the hollow of your back. choso figured that he wanted you and the unborn child to be safe, and so he decided to bring you to the hospital where the experts are.

choso was worried beyond anyone else; even you. constantly staying by your side, his hair disheveled; a few strands going the opposite way, and tangled with each other. he laid his head down on the mattress, by your hand. choso laid his hand on your belly, rubbing against the cloth gently to ease the pain from the contractions.

at the early stage of labor, you were feeling cramps and an intense backache — which choso helped you through. he was glad he brought you to the hospital because not long after, your water broke. and he was there to help you through it all, clutching onto your hand as if he was holding on for dear life.

everything that the doctors or the nurses do, he felt his heart beat a notch quicker than earlier. choso was afraid, and he wasn't really afraid to admit it — i mean, you're his wife and you were carrying his child. he didn't want anything to happen to the both of you.

choso heard the doctor explain to him about what was going to happen, but everything that came in from his left ear exits through his right. he could barely remember anything because through out the explanation, he was too busy caring for you throughout the contractions that had grew a bit more intense during your active labor.

he hated everything inside the delivery room. it smelt like blood — choso was used to blood. but he didn't like it when it came from you, his heart drumming against his chest as he felt your grip tightened on his hand. frankly, he could care less if he broke a few bones as long as you and the baby were both okay.

choso hated seeing you in pain, even while delivering his baby. he didn't blame the baby, of course; he just wishes he could do something and take away the pain from you, latching his lips onto your sweat painted forehead. salty. he could taste your sweat against his lips, and despite that, he still refused to move.

"wish i could jus' take away the pain away from you, y/n," he whispers — hearing your pained grunt, your eyes glazed with fresh tears. and he kissed them away, whispering sweet nothings into your ears.

telling you it was just a bit more until you could see your baby, how proud he is of you, how much he loves you, how much he wished he could take away your pain, everything he felt in his heart at that moment all poured out into hushed whispers.

when the first cry of your baby echoed inside the rowdy delivery room, choso cried. he looked down at you, cradling your face in his hands, singing out, "good job, good job. 'm so proud of you, i love you so much."

the baby's a beautiful baby boy.

choso didn't want to hold the baby first as much as he wanted to — he felt like you deserved to touch the baby first after risking your life to birth him. and so he told the nurse to let you at least see the baby first, he refused to carry his son until you, his wife, touched him first; whether using your hands or any part of your body.

he stared in awe when the baby's loud cry eventually stopped when the nurse brought him to you, letting you coo at your own newborn son. his tears freely dropping, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand.

when the nurse asked him to have skin-to-skin contact, choso was nervous. what if he dropped his son? what if his son doesn't like him? what if his son doesn't like the way his skin feels? so many out of the box questions that didn't need to be answered were roaming in his mind.

as he slowly cradled his son, he blinked back the second round of tears that had threatened to fall. the light blue beanie stuck to his son's head seeped with a few drops of tears, leaning down to press his lips onto the baby's skin a few times. introducing himself as the baby's father and how happy he is to be one,

daichi l/n. that's the baby's name — it meant great first son. the both of you felt that it was a suitable name for your first baby.

choso slept on the small couch inside the hospital room during your healing week, in the middle of both you and him was daichi's small basinet where he slept soundly. he made sure to knock himself awake every now and then to check after both you and daichi.

when the hospital permitted you to go home, you completely relied on choso on heavy things — which you didn't even have to ask, he was already doing it for you. daichi gets a bit fussy at night, and choso always tells you to go back to sleep and that he'd handle the baby.

"you know, you're really noisy, right? mama's really worried about you," he gently poked the baby's cheek with his thumb as he cradled the small bundle of life affectionately, singing out a lullaby he remembered you singing to him years ago.

choso never knew he had a knack on changing diapers until you were occupied, and he had to change daichi's diaper. turns out he was really good at it, and from that day on — he's also told you that he got it. your body was still sore from delivery, and so everything around the house was mostly done by choso under your watch.

although choso's been the one taking care of daichi, he could definitely see how much the baby's turning out to be a big mama's boy even at a few months old. he noticed how daichi would only let you burp him, or sometimes daichi would get fussy when he felt choso raising him up during early mornings until you had to do it.

he didn't care. he wasn't jealous, daichi's still his son and he was glad that daichi loved you a little more than him. he'd like it if his baby prioritizes you first before him.

being a father is a great wonder to him. daichi's first word being 'mama', and his first steps was done while he was sauntering clumsily towards you. choso is such a proud father.

growing up, daichi turned out to be a big mama's boy. but still he loved choso too. now daichi lets choso carries him during mornings, and he relies on choso when something scares him while clutching onto your hand, taking small steps to hide behind choso. using his own father as a shield for him and you.

"don't worry, baby. 's just a lion in the screen, dada will protect us," you scooped the boy into your arms, pointing at the screen where a lion and its cub are walking.

"mmm. dada will protect you both," choso chimes in, ruffling daichi's thin hair.

daichi grew up loving boxing. you didn't know how he knows about it, but at the very next second, he was pestering choso to teach him boxing. and choso dreaded this because what was his son going to do at four years of age in pre-school with boxing? was he going to use it on his teachers? or his friends?

"no . . . maybe when you're older," choso's always said that, patting daichi's head as he does.

daichi whined every single time, but managed to forget when he saw some people drawing on TV. choso once again being a victim of his own son's pleading for some drawing lessons. as a father, choso of course accompanied daichi during his draw sessions in the living room right after the kid comes back from pre-school.

sometimes choso would draw too, having a little competition with his own son. which daichi mostly won — but at the same time, choso never complained about his loss. he was always proud of daichi.

"look, look mama! this is you, this is daichi, and this is dada!" daichi announces, pointing at every aspect of his drawing, explaining to you.

and to the fridge the drawing goes.

when daichi graduated pre-school, choso again, cried. taking pictures using the camera he had asked you to teach him how beforehand, and the pictures weren't the nicest. most of them being a blur of daichi walking down the stage with his small cap, waving his little hand to the camera.

choso was so proud of his son, of you, of himself. looking back— he's realized how far he had come despite not having to expect all of this. a loving wife. a son. a family.

choso was just glad he had his own little family now with you and his son. although . . . he wouldn't mind having another addition to the small community.

© shoyudon 2024 . no copying or reposting allowed !

[suncoved]

SALTWATER BLUES ! 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ𓇼 ࣪ 𓈒ㅤׂ𓆡 ⭒ㅤ𓈒ㅤׂ

the prologue — rafe cameron

pairing; childhoodbestfriend!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: she left him. in that house. in that town. alone. and he's never gonna let her forget it.

series masterlist!

The sun shone through the passenger seat window of your dad's driver, Al's, pristine black Porsche, burning your ear and face while you sat there allowing the pain to simmer.

You made no effort to move as the perfect houses of Figure 8 blended together to make one as your head span with the constant turning of the car. You hummed quietly as Al seemed to be saying many words, none of which made any sense in your current state.

As soon as you got off the plane to the mainland, boarded the ferry to Kildare, and met Al at the dock, it all seemed like a fever dream. A saltwater haze glossed itself over your eyes and mind as if nothing made sense to you anymore.

It was like it was only yesterday that your mom decided she had enough of having the responsibility of taking care of her daughter and was going to ship you off to your dad who hadn't seen you since you were 13, because well it was.

It was only yesterday.

6 years. It had been 6 years since you had been to The Outerbanks. 6 years since you had been to your hometown. 6 years since a certain dirty blonde-haired boy had watched his word slip through his hands like grains of sand through his fingertips.

Rafe Cameron wasn't Rafe Cameron without you. He had simply never known life without you. He hadn't even remembered anything of his life before you, albeit it was less than a year, but he knew. He knew that without you, he was simply a shell of a human being, soulless almost.

Ever since that fateful day that thirteen-year-old rafe had slammed the door to Tannyhill and ran the 20 or so meters to your neighbouring house.

He knocked on the door with the sequence of the secret passcode you both made up when you were six, even though you would never tell him you forgot it the day you made it up. Rafe pulled his balled fist back as the white door opened suddenly like someone was waiting for him.

He didn't understand why your father was at the door, he knew Rafe would also come to your house at this time every day in summer to come play.

"She's not here Rafe" Sincerity was laced in your father's tone as he looked down at the confused boy. "Where is she? I don't understand."

"Gone, kid. I'm sorry."

You were snapped back into consciousness as you heard the crunching of the gravel under the car, your father's home coming into full view in front of you. You knew you were about to draw blood from your bottom lip that you had been gnawing at ever since you arrived.

"Welcome home!"

You stood in the middle of your childhood home's doorframe, slightly jumping when your father popped out from the hallways that led to the lobby, enthusiastically yelling. You glanced around the foyer, bright words written on a banner etching 'Welcome Home!", with balloons and confetti scattered across the floor.

For a split second, you felt peace wash over you, though it was soon to be replaced by worry and anxiety.

"I missed you Bee" your father spoke, his arms engulfing your body as waves of memories were brought back from the childhood nickname. She was quick to hug back "I missed you too Dad" You couldn't help your mouth curling into a smile as you let go.

"Can I go up to my room and put my things away?" Your father waved his hand in reply, pointing towards the stairs before smiling and following Al out to the car to help with some of your stuff.

Being back in your room felt weird, though the balcony flashed in your eyes, an addition you had completely forgotten about. Dropping your bags in anticipation, you rushed to the glass doors, sliding them open. You had always loved the view of the outer banks, the glistening of the ocean and the sun that set upon the sky.

Your eyes locked on the large windows of the house in front of yours, a room that was far too familiar staring back at you. A messy bedroom was fully in your line of sight, the curtains not even slightly drawn.

Your eyes widened when you remembered who actually lived there, three boys walking into the space who you identified to be the trio that you had spent nearly all of your childhood with, Topper, Kelce and Rafe Cameron.

You quickly began to turn and walk back inside of your room, falling straight on your bed. Pulling one of your pillows to your face, you let out a loud groan into the fabric.

"Suck it up" you whispered to yourself, wiping away the salty tears that were now rolling down your face, as the memories flooded back.

You returned your gaze back to the balcony, standing up and walking over to the door. pausing for a moment, you contemplated whether or not it was worth it if Rafe saw you. You leaned your head against the door, sliding down the glass.

Though after everything, you were back in the obx, and there was nothing you could do about it. You just hoped you hadn't left too much damage on the teary-eyed dirty blonde you had left behind.

[writing-whump]

Nausea rising

Isaiah goes to tell Arnie what happened. Emotional comfort. Gets nausous from the nerves. Includes emeto.

"So, uhm..." Isaiah cleared his throat awkwardly, which had Matthew and Seline immediately turning their heads towards him.

"Are you feeling sick?"

"Everything okay, man?"

Isaiah grimaced. They said it at the same time. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I was just wondering...have you guys told Hector and Arnie?"

Matthew frowned and looked at Seline in an accusatory way. "No, we didn't, cause someone here was against it."

Seline shrugged, seemingly unbothered by his tone. "I thought it would be best not to stress you out with them around and panicking."

Isaiah nodded from his place on the sofa. "Thank you."

He was huddled in blankets, his feet in Matthew's lap while Seline sat next to him. Her hand was always on him these days, though he suspected she was just checking his pulse.

Matthew scoffed. "Oh boy. If anyone wants to know what I think, this is a bad idea. They should know."

"I don't think it's necessary," Isaiah said, squirming in his seat and looking at the opposite wall. "I'm okay, why should we worry them?"

"If you don't tell them, I will," Matthew announced.

Isaiah's eyes widened. "What? Why?"

"Cause it's just wrong. And I'm not gonna have another person biting my head off cause you wanna keep unhealthy secrets." Matthew shuddered. Hector's way of doing it would be a lot less metaphorical.

Isaiah looked at Seline. "Help me out here?"

Seline leaned back, hands crossed on her chest. "I agree with Matthew. That wasn't the right time, but they should know."

Isaiah grumbled under his nose. Seline could rationalise his reluctance if she decided to. No fair. "I just don't want them to freak out."

Seline's eyes softened a little. "Then don't keep it a secret. Tell them openly and calmly, show them it's a manageable issue and that you are fine. If you don't make a big deal out if it by hiding, they won't either."

...

Isaiah could not argue against that reasoning. Waiting just a bit longer for a good day - he hadn't thrown up, felt dizzy or stumbled once - he made his way to Hector's apartment.

Matthew and Seline wanted to come with him, but he didn't really want to draw the wrath of his brothers on the two.

As a compromise, he took a taxi to their place. No suit this time, but that suited him, since he was always cold. And the long sleeves of his shirt and cardigan masked the bruises on his arms. "Stupid blood-thinners," he muttered as he stopped in front of the door.

His heartbeat picked up immediately, beating painfully against his ribcage. The pressure resonated through his whole chest.

Stress making it worse was such a great diagnosis for him. Isaiah had always been a stresser. Just really good at hiding it.

He took a deep breath and rang the bell. Should he have knocked? Walked right in? No, that wasn't polite. Even around his brothers, that was just too unexpected.

Arnie opened the door, hair tousled and rubbing his eyes sleepily. That was strange, it was only 8 o'clock in the evening.

"Hey..." Isaiah said, voice trialing away as he forgot everything he planned to say.

Arnie stared at him in confusion, before his eyes suddenly widened. "Oh. Hey. Hector is running late today. If you want to see him-?"

"I came to see you. Both of you."

Arnie's face turned sour and he leaned away with a raised eyebrow. "Yeah? After two weeks, you remembered?"

They stared at each other in tense silence, before Isaiah cleared his throat. "Ehmm, can I...can I come in?"

Arnie scoffed, but turned inside. "Whatever."

Isaiah winced and followed after him. That wasn't an ideal start.

"Countless messages and texts. Your phone went straight to voicemail like you had it turned off. Also a great time to figure out neither of us have contacts on Matthew or Seline." Arnie went into the kitchen for a glass of water and then right through into the living room.

The blond sat down at the sofa, carding his hand through his hair to put them in place. "Any cool explanations? If you hadn't shown up this week, Hector would have raided your place."

Isaiah ended up braced against the dining table with his back, facing Arnie. Hopefully, him leaning against it wasn't betraying how woozy he suddenly felt. He waited all day to see he was symptomless but his baby brother's rant could put him back like this?

"Yeah, that was what I wanted to talk to you about."

"You better," Arnie said, chin lifted and green eyes narrowing at him. "I mean, maybe I'm overreacting. You can say that if you want. But what was this? Some kind of cool, top secret Executioner mission no one could know about?"

Isaiah shook his head. "I'm sorry I didn't call."

"Oh he is sorry," Arnie huffed. "You were sorry when you left 5 years ago too. No warning, no goodbye, just poof. And then you were sorry, but it had to be done."

"I wasn't going to-"

"And you will have bulletproof reasons, I'm sure and we will all feel so thankful to you," Arnie continued, sipping on his cold water drink.

Somewhere along the angry rumbling, Isaiah's tired senses registered something far more alarming though. There was an edge of shakiness to the words and a sort of shiny look to Arnie's eyes.

The hurt was what propelled him forward to the couch. "Arnie..."

Arnie angled his body away from his, hugging himself close. His lips were trembling. "Just- could you just give me a damn warning next time? Just an SMS that you will be going or something so I know?"

"I'm sorry," Isaiah said. Arnie had never truly complained about Isaiah leaving. He had not asked him questions or doubted his intentions. Finding out the truth through Hector, Isaiah didn't see his first or second reaction. He had no idea what about the ordeal hurt him the most.

Isaiah couldn't really think through his heart hammering in his ears, so he acted on instincts. He wrapped Arnie in a hug, pulling him against his side. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry."

Arnie tensed at the touch, arms still like a barrier between them. But then he breathed out and sank against Isaiah's chest, forehead first. His breaths came shaky and quick as he fought down little sobs.

"It's alright. I'm right here. Not leaving again." Isaiah said, wincing and adding, "never again if I have any say in it."

Arnie sniffled and trembled, but slowly calmed himself down, showing no signs of moving. "What-what's up with that outfit, anyway? That sweater doesn't match the shirt at all."

Isaiah chuckled, turning back to rest his head against the backrest. It was nice sitting against Arnie, he was warming him up. "Yeah."

Arnie leaned his own head against Isaiah's neck, muttering something under his breath that sounded a lot more content. "Hmmm...you lost weight too. New eyebags. Have you been overworking?"

Isaiah shook his head gently, Arnie's blond curls ticking his chin. "If anything I have been resting too much. But there is a good reason why I wasn't picking up, I swear." Other then that his eyes hurt too much to look at the screen and he had trouble concentrating on reading.

"...and you feel warm too." Arnie pulled back, scanning Isaiah up and down. "You have a fever? Are you feeling okay?"

Isaiah gave him a crooked smile. Still that obvious? Maybe this wasn't the best day after all. "I'm okay. There is something you should know though."

Arnie frowned, his hand suddenly against Isaiah's cheek. "You are definitely feverish."

Isaiah rolled his eyes. "That's fine. It's normal. I have meds for this."

"Are you sick?"

"Not really. Or I guess not quite. It's just..." A small burp interrupted his sentence. His heartbeat picked up again, goosebumps running up his arm and neck. Whenever this happened, the nausea shot upwards. His lungs seemed to have shrank together. "I'm fine. Promise this is all handled. And I'm not contagious, so you don't have to worry."

"That was really not on my mind." Arnie slid away on the sofa. "What happened? You are clearly not well. Did you have a fight with your pack? Do you need to stay over, that's why you are so late? What's going on?"

"I'm okay, I swear. I came to explain to you-" His stomach twisted and Isaiah could tell if this was his normal case of stress sickness or the constant mild medication nausea worsening because his heart was messing him up.

Seline forced some emergency medication into his pocket. It was probably weird enough he was wearing so many layers with how warm the air was.

His chest was burning. He was so close. He could just say it out loud. Heart condition. Surgery. Alright now.

Isaiah put his legs down on the floor, a wave of lightheadedness washing over him. His stomach cramped and contracted in itself and his breath hitched from the pressure. His mouth flooded with saliva.

The nausea level rose up so quickly he wasn't sure if he wasn't going to throw up right there, without moving a muscle to prevent it.

"Isaiah? You just turned green."

Isaiah got up shakily, the nausea sliding down his back and around his spine like a snake. "Could you give me a minute? I-I'll be right back."

He headed to the bathroom, the vertigo coming and leaving so suddenly it blurred his vision for a bit. But he found the right door even half-blind.

He couldn't get down to the toilet as quickly as he needed or he would make the dizziness worse. Instead he leaned against the sink, fingers curling around the cold granite as the nausea rose again. Like water filling his nose, like he was suddenly too full...

An involuntary gag had him heaving over the sink, a splash of acidic water making its way out.

"Jesus! Okay, okay, we are doing this." Of course Arnie followed him in, his hand planted at the center of Isaiah's back. "You are okay. Let it up."

Isaiah didn't really have a choice. His chest burned and the world twirled as he burped towards the white sink, the soup and the tea from his dinner splattering all over it.

He spat out at the taste, panting for breath. Arnie rubbed his back up and down slowly, eyes wide with concern.

And then even more so when Isaiah swayed, grabbing onto Arnie for support.

"Whoa, Isaiah, what-"

"'s okay. Help me....sit down." His chest was doing that wheezing sound again, the pressure rising so much he gagged over his lap, but managed to suppress the hot liquid back down his throat.

Not realizing when he shut his eyes, he forced them open. He was propped up againd the bathtub on the floor. Arnie's hands were wrapped tightly around his arm. The blond was bravely quiet and calm for how pale and spooked he looked.

"...All better now."

"Hell you are. Still dizzy?"

"A bit. Just gonna sit here and it'll pass."

Arnie swallowed heavily, his grip on Isaiah's arm grounding him to reality. The room was spinning in a way that should have worried Isaiah but after the last two weeks was so familiar he didn't have it in him to panick.

A sudden burp bubbled up, nasty and wet at the end. Isaiah shut his mouth tight. It wasn't really that his stomach was upset, it was the combination of his heart not getting enough oxygen and his chest hurting that caused the vomiting fit.

"Will you tell me what's wrong now?" Arnie said in a small voice.

"Yeah. Just a minute." Isaiah shivered. The floor was cold. "This is harder...then I expected," he said with a small smile. He wanted to put on a brave face, but he also came here to be honest. It didn't go well together.

"Don't stress yourself out. There's no hurry." Arnie said with urgency, saying exactly the right thing without knowing everything.

The pressure started to ease up, letting Isaiah exhale and then slump to the side against Arnie. He was so exhausted he couldn't keep his eyes open.

"Is it your stomach or something else? You look like you are in pain," Arnie said into the silence between Isaiah's drawn out relieved breaths.

"You are pretty good at reading me."

"Not that hard today as usual. You are more open. But don't push yourself because of me. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Isaiah nuzzled his cheek against Arnie's shoulder, touched by the concern taking over his brother's curiosity. "No. I'm gonna tell you. I have to tell you." His stomach immediately cramped with a jolt, a burp rushing out.

Isaiah shudderssd at the sound, cradling his stomach gingerly. It was all sloshy and upset now, the adrenaline of the fit draining it of blood flow it needed to do its work.

"Anything I can get you? Anything you need?" Arnie said, tightening his hold on his arm. His voice sounded close to Isaiah's ear.

"...Stay like this? Just a few more minutes."

"Take all the time you need," Arnie assured him, his tone more settled and calm. Isaiah wondered how it became like that so quickly.

[meanbossart]

Misc. Ask compilation

These aren't all of the asks I want to reply to, just some that I can answer relatively quickly to clean the ol' inbox out before things get out of hand. Thanks for your patience!

HAHAHA THANK YOU FOR PERUSING AROUND and for enjoying my work! I had a... Weird Gale experience my first playthrough which led to his characterization being what it is in my comics. Here's the beat-by-beat of all the shenanigans: https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/740827466716807168/alright-i-am-like-90-sure-there-is-one-line-in-a

And here's just some of my personal thoughts on him! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/736193145686114305/can-you-tell-me-more-about-how-you-would-make-gale

I would be lying if I said I'm not conflicted to know my style still bears some remnants of my edgy teen roots (not your fault not noticing it though, you aren't the first and won't be the last) BUT... That comic did mean a lot to me as a youth, so I guess I should be proud 🤷 and honestly it is a little cool that such a thing would survive for so long in what I do, crazy how that works.

LMAO, re: the bottom/top debacle, I was honestly so surprised to see people react to it like it's something novel. If I ever expected to get any push back on the matter, I thought it would be from people assuming DU drow was the top and taking issue with how violent and big he is (and yknow, some people are weirdly protective of Astarion as if he isn't a sneaky murder machine rippling with lean muscle)

Very disheartening to see that mindset still so alive and well among young people, but I guess it just means I gotta draw DU drow throwing more back and Astarion drooling over more ass until the stereotype is forcefully banished out of people's minds!

(more asks below the cut)

"Sleeper agent activation phrase" absolutely took me out, Thank you so much LOL

YEAH I got it pretty late though, Astarion had already told my durge that he was a vampire of his own accord (and the response was, of course, "no duh") I forgot wheter this happened before or after the first romance scene triggered, but I think after.

Since this was after DU drow decided he was gonna fuck him out of pure contrarian spite and was shamelessly laying it extremely thick, He happilly let Astarion drink his blood. Hell, he was probably a little Too Eager - the guy likes pain and he likes letting people he trusts do with his body whatever they will, and while he didn't yet trust Astarion at that point, that event might've very well reminded him of something from his past that planted a seed which would eventually grow into his genuine affection for the guy.

Ah, he definitely got a half-chub as it happened too. I'm sure Astarion noticed it and just walked off rolling his eyes and thinking "eugh of course" lmao.

Hello!!!

Oh man, I grew up fascinated with horror things. I remember from a very young age just looking at the covers and backs of horror movies at the film-rental even though I wasn't allowed to watch them. I was also easily scared but I sought those things out anyway - I think i just enjoyed the visceral reactions it drew out of me and was always curious about most things taboo.

When I got access to the internet that just opened a (very unfortunate) door to all things vile and awful like it did for so many people at that age in time. Though my tastes have changed a lot since then (Less August Underground, more The Devils kind of guy nowadays) my stories and art are just always going to fall into a horror-y category because I just... Don't think there's many better ways to showcase the human experience and emotional range without many of the elements native to the genre, and I'm all about that.

Thank you for your question and your sweet words, have a good week yourself!

I did a little write-up about that over here! https://meanbossart.tumblr.com/post/742508493562593280/i-dont-have-a-particular-question-in-mind-sorry

That's the result of a scene that happens relatively early in the story I'm writing ("A Novel Experience" on Ao3).

{SPOILERS} DU drow accidentally passes out on a blade which puts a relatively deep gash on his hip. Meanwhile, Astarion is weakened and starved after certain events that transpired the prior night. They have a private exchange both in a somewhat hazy-state of mind and Astarion ends up prodding and prying at his wound while feeding, so it's a laceration and bite mark that just scarred over badly.

Elves apparently don't grow body hair so never LOL guess they'll just have to slip&slide up on each other for heat

[lockpickingliar]

So about the third trial's investigation...

Or: Ouma Kokichi (Cookie) on the floorboard incident

I saw a post last night and it's still bothering me this morning so! Here I am. That's a lie, it's not bothering me, per se, but I just want to clarify for anyone interested:

I was literally concussed~

Fun facts about loose floorboards: If there's nothing holding them down, then they KEEP GOING! The difference between what Shinguuji did and what happened to me was that Chabashira and the cage and whatnot was holding the floorboard down so he could safely accomplish his see-saw trick.

I was in the first room, however, which was empty, and stepped on that floorboard entirely by chance. My foot went through the floor, swinging the board upward and directly into my face like a rake in a slapstick cartoon.

Now, I wouldn't go so far as to say I had brain damage from it (or maybe that's a lie), but concussions are quite scary, actually! The really serious ones can land you in the hospital.

I know none of us left had any extensive medical experience. Except maybe Harukawa-chan—being an assassin she'd know about treating various wounds in case she gets in a scuffle—however she was still lying about being the Ultimate Child Caregiver at the time, I think. I don't remember, much of my memory is hazy around that time. (Gee, I wonder why!!!)

Edit: I remember now, I already outed her after the second trial. How forgetful of me! Not that it matters much in this context, but whatever.

In any case, it's fair that my injury couldn't have been treated, but the thing that grinds my gears about it is that no one seemed even the least bit concerned. You all have seen my sprite. That cloudy look in my eyes. I was way out of it. (Also it was waaaaay more than "a bit" of blood, but who's really counting here?)

Everything was spinning, everything Saihara-chan and Harukawa-chan said sounded like it was coming through water. That prank I pulled in the hall? That was a lie. I was stumbling my way to the third room to check for another loose floorboard when I suddenly blacked out and found myself on the floor. Saihara-chan and Harukawa-chan found me like that and I played it off like an intentional joke to keep them off my case.

And it worked! It's what I wanted!

But that doesn't make it hurt less.

That trial was hell to go through, and that's why I didn't actually have much to contribute beyond my lie about killing Yonaga-chan to draw attention to the fact the back door to her lab had a different kind of lock. Everything was too bright and loud and I felt like I was gonna puke all over the trial grounds. I'm surprised I didn't fall off my podium when the trial grounds morphed or whatever.

That all is to say that it was a pretty severe concussion! I barely remember what happened, and can only really say what happened in canon when I saw it in the game seemed accurate. When all was said and done, I stumbled back to my room and conked out for like a solid day. That might be a lie. I just remember that I woke up during Nighttime, and wandered out to the dining hall (I forgot it was closed during Nighttime. Y'know. Because of the concussion) when I ran into Saihara-chan again.

He told me he was relieved that I was okay. Like he just decided that on his own without asking me first.

I got headaches a lot after that, all the way up until my death. I couldn't exactly take a break and let it heal with a killing game going on, now could I? I had a lot of work to do.

But even now, after I'm already dead, my head still hurts sometimes, and I get dizzy, and it makes me feel so insignificant and alone.

But that's a lie, anyhow!

Don't you worry about little old me! Neeheehee!

[kittehbiscuits]

Old art that I didn't post here for whatever reason or I didn't have Tumblr yet (if I did actually post some of these already, my bad.)

I am doing this on my laptop which as far as I know doesn't let me group images together so every image will be its full size; this is a long post!!

(NOT IN CHRONOLOGICAL ORDER!!!!!!!!)

Trigger warning: old art, blood, body horror, maggots, unfinished art, drug use, old art, gore, sandworms, corpses, nudity, self harm scars, etc.

MY FIRST DIGITAL DRAWING OF BEETLEJUICE this is when I knew the short hair wasn't going to work for me

^^I started a drawing of this weird au beej a long time ago and never finished it so I planned to post this sort of sequel after I finished it but as far as I'm aware I never posted it

I thought the shirt would be a funny thing for him to wear when he moves into the maitlaind's attic

First Bettyjuice drawing!

^^Featuring my ocs as Lydia and BJ

That one Ralsei image

^^ This one is in the tour's fanart binder!

Drew him with short hair for the (technically second) time

I forgot his beard. Inspired by the Haunting of Hill House (love that show)

I miss drawing his nail polish

^^art trade (design belongs to ohwowhumans)

^^Ok I probably have posted this one but it's my Donnie redesign and I think he needs more attention.

I think I drew this the night after seeing the final show

This one is also a celebration of the final performance

And this one

This is Beetlejuice from a really weird fucking dream I had (my mortician character was his coworker at a grocery store in the dream fun fact)

The premise was he caught her smoking weed in the back of the store and there was a big montage of them doing weed every day at work and then she said something that made him think she was gonna tell the boss and get him fired so he got a gun out but didn't end up shooting her and the dream ended (artstyle was vaguely south-park-esque??)

IT'S NOT LETTING ME UPLOAD ANYMORE WAHHHHHHHHH SCREW THIS.

[drabbles-mc]

Maybe some W - Water from the dirty headcanon with Chibs and Bottles?

me opening my inbox and seeing this ask:

let's gooooo!! thoughts below the cut for: W - Water (pool sex? bath / shower sex?)

okayyyyy don't let my surprise and excitement about Bottles appearing in my inbox make you think that i forgot about Chibs. I promise you i did not 😏 while i don't picture Chibs as the kind of guy who has a problem with bathtub sex as a concept, i do think he is the kind of guy who understands that if you're taking the time to draw up a nice bath for yourself, the least he could do is leave you to enjoy it. he'll let you have your You Time until you get out and are wrapped in nothing but a towel and then it's gonna be Us Time.

i don't think that he lists shower sex as his first choice (let's be real a bed it just more comfortable and practical) i think that when he is in the mood for it he is all about it 110%. it's when he gets back from a long run/trip away, or at the end of a long day when he got too much blood on his hands than he really wants to these days. he jumps right in the shower with the intent of washing off the day, the week. then he hears the door creak as it opens and your typical, "want some company?" that you always ask. and instead of laughing or brushing you off he tells you to join him. there's something about the warmth of his body against yours, the steam and hot water, all of that in stark contrast with how cold the tiles feel against your back as he pins you against the wall. it's needy and desperate, somehow still a little messy despite where the two of you are. looking for a reprieve that he knows he can always find when he comes home to you.

but Bottles on the other hand???? my boy the light of my days??? that man won't allow you a moment's peace if he can help it and he's not gonna be sorry about it either. he will make your bathtub have room for two if it's the last thing he does. it starts off as something that's supposed to be sweet and innocent and cute. bubble bath together after a long week. "you can sit in front of me and i'll rub your shoulders." the whole nine. he knows what he's saying and he probably even believes it at first, too. but it doesn't take too long for his hands to start to wander. what started off as innocent and cute very quickly turns into everything but. he's at least kind enough to make sure that he dries the water off the floor afterwards since more of it splashed over the sides of the tub than he bargained for.

it takes about a week of the two of you living together before he realizes that he is now presented with the daily opportunity to slip into the shower with you. sometimes he'll ask. sometimes he knows you're already running late in the morning and he isn't looking to make your day more difficult. other times though, he's pulling the curtain back and slipping in behind you before you can even think to try and stop him. it's all giggles and soft touches until it's not. you weren't running late for work when you got into the shower, but you're cutting it extremely close by the time you get out. one time you didn't even get to finish washing your hair, but you didn't really have any room to complain as you stepped out of the tub on shaky legs to grab your towel.

the first time you and Bottles hooked up in a pool, you weren't even supposed to be in the pool in the first place. it was a little hotel in the middle of nowhere. the two of you stopped because you were too tired to keep going on your road trip, but then once you got into the hotel the last thing you wanted to do was sleep. the pool was technically closed but you were certain that if you were sneaky enough the two of you could get in without getting caught. and you did, not even bothering to turn any of the extra lights on since the small bulbs at the bottom of the pool cast up just enough light for you to be able to see and not hurt yourselves. and Bottles was so busy being amused by that, that he almost didn't know what to do when you plopped down and straddled his lap. he looked around, afraid to get caught right up until the point when you pulled your bathing suit bottoms to the side and slid down onto him. you only had to clamp your hand down over his mouth once when a staff person walked by the pool room.

the way that until i sat down and started typing out the answer to this, i never realized that i haven't actually ever written for Bottles. a shame and a crime. but now i will be. thinking about him. 😌

Dirty Headcanon Game

[bella-rose29]

episode 5 commentary - Death Is Coming

the usual warnings of swearing and lack of context, as well as a lot of comments on hands and arms and obviously spoilers for both the series and the books

girl has stare down with a skull in a jar

omg it's been so long since I watched and I forgot how pretty lockwood is

OMG HE ASKS IF SHE WANTS JUICE

WHAT IF THE JUICE IS ORANGE AND HAS BITS IN

lolllll George is shipping already and the episode only just started

Georgie needs more sleep

lockwood takes the Mum Stance

I always think that the DEPRAC van is a lego van bc it's yellow

ohhh you can really see how big the coat is on lockwood :(((

ooo nice detail with the lavender pin that he has

'wILL yOu cAN iT pAm'

hands

ugh Lockwood's so pretty

Georgie noo

'bobby Vernon will have been at it since dawn'

'alarming how quickly you got into character' (code for: I am completely in love with you')

careful Georgie that's a lot of blood

ew dead body

'I know him' YOU CAN SEE HOW UPSET HE IS BUT HE'S GONNA HIDE IT BC HE FEELS THE NEED TO BE STRONG ALL THE TIME

I JUST WANNA GIVE HIM A HUG

CAMERON CHAPMAN THE MAN YOU ARE HOW DO YOU DO THE MICRO EXPRESSIONS SO WELL

ohhh lockwood is trying so hard to not be upset and it breaks my heart :((( poor boy

✨swagger✨

I want an epic breakfast

'I hardly knew him' BOY DON'T-

wow she's a bitch let my boy do research

get away from Georgie you bitch

eeeeeee

'when am I not nice' Luce I hate to break it to you

Lucy that is very clearly a ghost and not a real baby

silly goose behaviour

'I did' QUEEN

'who's the latest slapper?' ICONIC

'oh wow, a female serial killer? aspirational, why don't you stick it on a t-shirt'

I love lockwood bc he makes sure the remains go to a good home AND Flo gets her money

ohhhh I just had a Thought! what if one of the reasons they made Joplin a woman was to draw parallels between her and Mary dulac??? one of the headlines on the papers is 'mystery madwoman: Bickerstaff connection?' so maybe they wanted to repeat the past but this time make the crazy one go too far and die? idk if that even makes sense but oh well

Georgie noooo

no leave him alone

let him go clean the oven and I'll be there to make him a tea

WIFE BEHAVIOUR

he can't even slice toast without being Extra

JONATHAN BESTIEEEEE

'a suicide note' Lucy honey have you noticed that your bf has a tendency for suicidal things

I really wish the bisto was in the background bc that would be hilarious

'I thought you'd be dead by now' NO LETS TAKE A MOMENT TO TALK ABOUT THIS

BECAUSE HE GOES FROM QUIRKING A LIL SMILE, TO LOOKING DOWN AND THE SMILE DISAPPEARING, TO INHALING AND SMILING EVEN WIDER BECAUSE HE KNOWS LUCY IS WATCHING HIM

give that boy some therapy for free

aw two nerds talking about mythology (I wish I was the other one)

also can we talk about the STAGING OF THIS SCENE??? BECAUSE JOPLIN HAS A MIRROR OVER HER LEFT SHOULDER AND GEORGE HAS ONE OVER HIS RIGHT

also George has the city lights behind him and Joplin just has the beige walls and I love that for some reason, maybe to show that George's life is bright and he's got life left in him whereas Joplin can only gain brightness from George bc she needs him for the mirror? idk if I'm explaining that right but oh well! also Joplin's mirror reflects the light behind George which is funky

just you wait for my next analysis of the show which is almost certainly gonna be on the use of mirrors lol

THE STAGING AGAIN

FILMING THEM IN THE MIRRORS

I LOVE THIS GHOST SHOW

'how did you meet Flo?' 'can't remember. ages ago' LOL HE'S HIDING THE FACT HE GOT HIS ASS BEATEN

ohhh the green lighting

'I'm not worried. are you?' well not when you say it like that

while I do love this show I am very sad we didn't see more of lockwood using disguises

of course he knows how to pick locks

I don't like it either Lucy dw

I love how jarringly innocent the stuffed bear is compared to the fact that they're in the warehouse of a family with a significantly traumatised boy

lockwood and kids <3

sack of potatoes

I cannot stop thinking about the fact that she must be dragging the Actual Cameron Chapman out by his feet

Georgie noooooo

idk why he's looking around bc he doesn't have his glasses on so he can't see shit

I shouldn't feel the way I do about lockwood regaining consciousness but the expressions- I just- hmm

'I'm a burglar, you should call the police' honey not one of your better lies

no bc why when I first watched this did I think that winkman was the same actor as Pekka Rollins

winkman: 'shall I draw some pretty pictures on your pretty little face'

lockwood: 'omg you think I'm pretty?? 🤭🥰'

ohhh I'm getting inspiration for a fic I started planning 👀

I can't imagine having to pretend you're being electrocuted like how do you know how to act that

I feel like something can be said about Leopold wearing red and mrs winkman (I forgot her first name WAIT ADELAIDE) also wearing red but idk what

omg hedgehogwood

winkman is actually so funny *points at lockwood* *puts hand over heart* 'ohhh' he's literally us

aw lockwood pls don't say that she's got more to live for than you :(((

omg Lucy tells Leopold to get out the way <333 she'll regret that :D

this couple loves setting fires

Georgie seriously how are you without your glasses rn

green light green light green light

funny looking bird you got there george

'total psychos' dude-

'I prefer to call it a noble sacrifice' NO I COULD WRITE AN ESSAY ABOUT IT

greeeeeeen lightssssss

'what is going on with you' Cameron Chapman Acts his Fucking Face Off

omg lockwood saw the knife and then looked out the door to see what was there

that's such an awful angle to be lying down

omg poor lockwood

the way he's sat in that final frame breaks my heart bc he's literally just had someone else die in his home :(((

wow what a depressing note to end on

[popiellart]

Hello!! I don’t know if you take OC asks but I keep thinking of your big dragon durge and thinking. Did he live outside of the temple like the canon suggests before coming to the temple as an adult? What was his life like before that? I remember seeing an art with Sceleritas Fel where he was an awkward teen, did he have a family and was he sweet once?

thank you, that's a fun question!! :D answer under the cut, cause long

yep, he had a foster family as a child, his foster father was a butcher (hehe. wink wink. etc.), somewhat impoverished, but generally loving. (he had another name than 'the dark urge' back then, but forgot what it was even before the lobotomy)

he was a surprisingly sweet child. giving off the 'well-socialized as a puppy' energy, you wouldn't pick him out of the gaggle of kids he was running around with, other than maybe visually (dragonborn are fairly rare, and he's noticeably pitch black from nose to tail, so he stood out a little)

the most violent thing he ever did was lightly nipping a half-orc girl when they got into an argument who's gonna be sarevok and who's gonna be jaheira when they played (he wanted to be jaheira!! and the girl looked nothing like jaheira either!!). didn't even draw blood

well, other than the wholesale slaughter of his foster family, of course. that's where his backstory diverges from canon - in canon, durge is left on their own until adulthood, but he was taken to temple immediately, hence the art you mentioned.

playing around with the 'why', but i'm thinking maybe this was malevolent on part of the other branch of the happy bhaalspawn family - sarevok telling orin to watch the pup, and to bring him in as soon as the first urge happens, hoping that the kid will just break down from the shock of murder and immediately meeting the cult of bhaal, and. well. the problem will hopefully remove itself

Which almost worked, words cannot describe how much the sweet, generally normal kid that he was, was utterly unprepared for the murder cult shit. he wasn't eating, he was scared shitless of his divine father, he was scared of the cultists, he felt sorry for all the victims, he was disgusted at all the rituals, Orin was tormenting him on the daily, he hated Sceleritas, and blamed himself for the murder of his parents, he prayed to Bahamut to send paladins to kill everyone and take him away or maybe kill him, too.

But since Bahamut couldn't be arsed and no legendary heroes dropped by the Temple, he ultimately came to a point where he had to make a yes-no type of choice, and he chose to survive. Knowing that he's destined to be the world-devouring antichrist, and his death would probably marginally improve the world, he still chose to live. Because, to be fair, what has the world done for him so far? His family is dead, and he's trapped in a sewer with a bunch of freaks. Maybe if gods didn't want the world destroyed, they should've done something back when he was still sweet, still redeemable, right?

(in that way, he's a parallel to gortash, who also has very little reason to feel fondness for the forces of good in the world - where were forces of good when a little boy was getting sold to a devil, yeah?)

Eventually, with time, he went from just surviving to living, slowly started getting a taste for the Bhaalist specials - hard not to, lots of positive reinforcement from murderous ecstasies, being constantly amongst the brainwashed cultits, it skews your view of the world.

Sceleritas was sorta helpful there, he hated the little thing so much he eventually snapped and killed it, and found out Sceleritas actually makes a great chew-toy, and with time his hatred twisted itself into sort of fondness.

By the time he was a full grown adult in the prime of his life, he basically forgot all about his childhood and even the early days in the Temple; he had the whole Dark Urge thing on lock, the victims were just meat, the cultists were in his sway, the previous cult leader was eaten, Orin was sat the fuck down, the only thing that lingered from those early day was the he never really stopped being scared shitless of Bhaal, although he long rationalized it away as simply part of worship and natural part of father-son relationship besides

[moonstone-vibe]

For the ask game pairing: SongXue aesthetic: modern AU, (mostly empty) underground garage, bloody knife, loud car alarm, someone coming down with the lift

Sometimes, he really hated his job.

The scent of death, the gruesome sights, the cold rationality of piecing little details together amidst all the resentful energy he could practically feel crackling in the air, unseen but still lingering there around the corpse. Endlessly angry for the life unjustly stolen. Poisonous.

Xue Yang sighed, throwing a glance around the deserted underground parking - barely a few cars scattered amongst the concrete pillars, no surveillance cams anywhere. Perfect place for a murder, really.

The team was still upstairs, fussing around the woman who had discovered the body and made the call, and he was grateful for this time alone, to observe things firsthand, quietly, before they'd swarm in.

He slapped on a pair of nitril gloves and squatted near the contorted corpse. He took in details, made several mental notes, poked carefully here and there. Spent a long minute staring at the drying pool of blood around the upper body, then another at the bloodied knife tossed nearby onto the oil-stained concrete, the thin blade glinting palely under the flickering neon.

Technically, he wasn't allowed to touch it; still he reached, his hand nearly hovering over it, ready to grab. It was like an evil spel or an obsessively insane thought, that if he held it even a little and felt the weight of the weapon in his hand, he could break into the killer's mind.

The sound of the descending elevator made him snap out of it just in time but he kept staring, taking in more, making more notes, engrossed in the spectacle of death which never failed to draw him in. One person, by the sound of approaching footsteps and he really hoped it wasn't some civilian the police hadn't noticed and warned because he hated to-

But then a car alarm went off somewhere close, the sound brusque and violent in the hollow space nearly making Xue Yang jump out of his skin as he jerked backwards, landing on his rump.

"A-Yang! Are you okay?"

A hand on his shoulder and Song Lan's voice coming from above, nearly drowned by the blaring sound.

Xue Yang nodded and scrambled back to his feet, hastily dusting off his uniform trousers, having forgotten he had the gloves on. Now they were contaminated.

"Fuck," he mumbled scowling and peeled them off with a snap.

"It looks bad, doesn't it," the other said, head tilted, but his voice his laced with concern.

He and Song Lan were closer than they should have been, and Song Lan knew more than he should have known about Xue Yang's work 'episodes'.

"It-... yeah. Gonna have my hands full with this one. 's gonna be a long night."

Xue Yang made an effort to meet his gaze, to work his mouth into a half-smile he hoped reassuring.

"You forgot, didn't you?"

Song Lan's expression softened, but he couldn't spy any actual disappointment. He had forgotten...? Oh. Their six months anniversary.

"I'm sorry, I-" Fuck. Fuck. FUCK! "I didn’t forget actually, I wanted to-... uh... I wanted to cook tonight." He fumbled awkwardly with the dirty gloves and stuffed them in his back pocket. "You like my cooking, don't you?"

Song Lan didn't answer. Instead, he just leaned in and kissed him on the mouth, soft and sweet, way softer and sweeter than Xue Yang deserved, considering.

"It's okay. We'll get some take-out whenever this is over. And lots of wine".

[askyogsundesirables]

update - september 10th, 2024

it's been about a good few months since the announcement I made to start this blog anew, so it's appropriate I give y'all an update and let y'all know I didn't abandon this again... (this entire project has consumed my thoughts since early may)

last I mentioned I've only begun brainstorming a new storyline, though now I have a pretty clear outline how the plot will unravel. at the moment there are a few in-betweens I need to add as well as rewriting/adding more content for an arc; I am not liking how lackluster it feels and it's a very important arc. well it should be. kinda note to self here, make sure to research that thing involving the arc rewrite

as you've seen recently, I started working on revising the banner with, surprisingly, an improved art style. I'm also testing the process of drawing asks and how it will look for the askblog on my art blog, here, feel free to leave me some asks there! answering those asks are gonna take some time since I have work and school started recently and I'm slightly behind atm, hah. the process and art style are basically what I've done before with a few tweaks and hopefully more expression/pose diversity; I mainly wanna get used to the process again

once all the background stuff is taken care of I need to work on the technical stuff, which is mainly tediously retagging all the old posts, yay... I'm also binge watching as many yogs complete series related to the undesirables as I can since I pretty much forgot everything lol. so far I'm just about half way through flux buddies and that's only the tip of the iceberg to the collection of series I need to rewatch. ALSO I've never seen blood and chaos so that will be fun

I project the rerelease of askyogsundesirables to be sometime in early 2025? which is ironic since the first post was made back in early 2020. wouldn't it be funny I start the blog back up at the exact same date. if the demi-gods permit, we'll see

is it normal to think about songs related to projects you're working on before it's even release? there's one song that I'm currently rotating in my brain

[multi-lefaiye]

SALVATORE INKTOBER 11-12. STRANGER TO VIOLENCE, GUARDIAN ANGEL

content warnings: non-graphic descriptions of violence and death

In April of 1963, Seamus O'Neal was attacked while walking home from a drop for Clarence. Joseph McCartney (1916-1963), a dock worker and long-time associate of the Emerald Devils, had heard the boy arguing with his boss regarding payment for the most recent shipment. Most of the conversation didn't matter to Joseph, but one thing became clear: the brat had at least $150 on him, maybe more. It didn't take long for Joseph, drunk and angry after being talked down to by that uppity teen, to decide to relieve him of the cash burning a hole in his pocket. A few hours later, just as the sun was setting, he cornered Seamus in an alleyway and pounced, slamming the boy against the wall and pulling a switchblade on him. Drunk as he was, however, he was swaying on his feet and struggling to hold Seamus in place. He lost his grip on the boy after only a few blows, and the fight was over within seconds. Panicked and thrashing about, Seamus stabbed Joseph in the throat with his own switchblade. For a few moments, Joseph continued to struggle as blood spilled onto Seamus and the pavement below, before he slumped to the ground. He died moments later. Seamus, covered in the blood of the man who tried to kill him, sat there, shaking as he processed what had just happened. It wasn't long before he began to cry, covering his mouth with one bloodstained hand as he scrambled away from his attacker's corpse. He was injured, but he hardly registered the pain as he began to stumble away from the scene, running in a random direction to try and escape what he had just done. The boy was so delirious with fear and pain, he hardly knew where he was going, up until he ran headfirst into a broad chest. A pair of warm hands closed around his shoulders, and a gentle voice said, Whoa, whoa, hold on, kid. In his haste to escape, he'd run face-first into a man he'd never met before, a tow truck driver named Donovan Graves (born 1921). Donovan was alarmed by the sight of the young teen covered in blood and tears, and he immediately stopped to see what he could do to help. He was the one to comfort Seamus, holding him until the sobbing subsided as he tearfully explained the night's events. And afterwards, he helped clean the boy up, patching up his wounds with a first-aid kit he kept in his truck. Once Seamus was calm and his wounds tended to, Donovan gave him a ride home, not wanting the poor kid to wander the streets after the night he'd had. When they arrived, Donovan put a hand on Seamus's shoulder and said, You take care of yourself, alright? Though Seamus never saw Donovan again after that night, he never forgot the man's kindness, nor the warm, gentle hands that held him.

this inktober isn't as polished as the other ones, but honestly i don't think i have it in me to finish them all like i've been doing them, haha! ah well. but i do really like this sketch i made, so i wanted to make sure to get it done and out there :> i once again combined two prompts that work well thematically, since they're centered around the same event: the first time salvatore killed someone.

as a bit of a refresher, at this point, sal was using the name seamus, so that's what i called him here.

anyway, i don't think i'm gonna try and actually draw the remaining prompts, but i do want to share the blurbs for them! so.... if any of y'all think you'd be interested in seeing those, lmk and i'll gladly tag you as i post them! :> thanks to everyone who's shown interest in this!!

art taglist (ask to be + or - ): @skitzo-kero @anexor @jezifster @albatris @transmasc-wizard @lychniscitrus @abysslll @whonsper @presidentquinn @midnight-and-his-melodiverse @approximately20eggs @astral-runic @invaderskoodge @rosesandartss @moonflowerrss @chaieyestea

[thessalian]

Thess liveblogs TLOVM S3, Ep 11

Tonight is not a Silent Hill night. Tonight is a "TLOVM, House Flipper 2 or something, and then bed" kind of night. So here we go with the penultimate episode. I fully expect to be shrieking about feeding a writer bees at the end of this.

(Beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeees…)

Oh dear. Keyleth's not coping very well here…

You couldn't have explained that to her before she tried it?!? That feels like a pretty big fucking caveat to leave vague!

Lady, bullets were not helpful against dragons. Not even in quantity.

Come oooooon, Keyleth - listen to your father!

Oh. Ooooooooh is that why she found the twins?!?

Yep. Yeeeep-- HEY!

No no no no…

C'mon, Korrin! …And you know, don't, you-- waitWUT.

WUT?!?

Nonononono-- Ohthankthegods.

...What the fuuuuuck?!?

Oh.

WHOA.

Aaaaaaaand antlers.

Whoooooa-- wait. Where is she?!?

He … didn't move, did he? At all. I CALLED IT.

No, it isn't an improvement, Kaylie.

Oh, we had to make that pun, didn't we.

N'aww…

YEEEEEES!

Nice flying-- OW!

Oof. That was … a shot.

Oh, the Orthax-arm is baaaack.

They literally stole a shot from Pirates of the Caribbean. Curse of the Black Pearl, I mean.

WaitWHAT?!? NO!

NONONONONO! I'm glad to see Keyleth is okay, but I WANT TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED WITH THE BLAZING BOOM!

Oh, Grog, ewwwwwww…

Don't say that-- Yeaaaaaah…

See, this is … better. I like this better. NOW SHOW ME-- Yeah. Thank you.

Oh FUCK I forgot about that part of Cabal's Ruin--wait.

Wait, was that--?!?

SHIT NO VAX I KNOW BUT DON'T GET DISTRACTED!

OH SHIT NO.

Nononononono…

Oh. THAT arrowhead.

Now. That's the one through the heart…

…and one through her mouth as she screams.

Did … did they just poke fun at the whole Jack/Rose thing about the Titanic movie?!? REALLY?!?

You figured it out, Vax! Awesome! But … grim, yeah.

Oh, that's gonna be a conversation-- GAH WHAT THE FUCK?!?

…Yeah, Vax, that's another really good way of putting it.

CAN WE ALL CALL IT A DRAW?!? …Or that, thank you, Pike.

N'awww.

"I … don't remember. Words … not working…" And Vax turns into my D&D group's cleric.

Okay wait where the hell is this?

This place is creepy as shit.

…and now we've upped the creepy! Yay!

Is … is that blood?

…Yes. Yes, it is.

Aaaaaaaaand that's the Meteor Swarm.

Erm … no. No, Keyleth. Nonono. Not in the middle of that ritual. Nonono.

Yeaaaaaaah that's gonna be a probleeeeeem…

Ah. Eugene Son again. Hi, Eugene. I won't feed you bees because I saw this coming. And you cannot have killed the entire rest of the party because otherwise Ep 12 would be very short.

Also, I'm sensing a pattern. Every story arc seems to end with a big-ass battle and saving Percy from having his soul eaten. It's a thing.

So. Omn1, then House Flipper 2 probably, then bed. I did have curry, though. And there's even leftovers - partially because I ordered from a different place this time. Older favourite, but that's because the more recent favourite got way more expensive than the other place and stingy with its portions to boot. If I'm going to pay for takeaway, it's going to actually feed me.

[stardustcrusader]

i think my surgery day is probably gonna be one of my most favorite days of my life because the snapshots i do remember were great

my boyfriend and i in the car at 5:45am, when it's still dark out. i turn the engine over and he looks at me, the interior lights glowing blue so i can make out his face. "are you ready?" i make an 'i don't know' noise and he says, "no, no, are you ready?" and i stop and i think. and i go "yeah," before we head off to the hospital.

the pre-op nurse's eyes going super wide because the vein on my arm was so huge. she went "i wanna do, like, experiments on you. that vein is so juicy." i laughed super hard and started telling her about how i let my coworkers practice their first blood draws on me because no one's ever missed me.

two different people trying to come into my room while the surgeons were marking my chest up for surgery and them having to yell back "we're marking!" several times to keep the door from being opened. a little army all here to help make my dream a reality.

my surgeon looking at me and going "alright, it sounds like they're chomping at the bit out there. are you ready?" i don't even hesitate this time. "yes." i say from the hospital bed.

i forgot that i can't have morphine since it makes me nauseous. they gave me some during the last stitch. i came out of the or gagging and retching--but i don't remember it. i remember dozing off a lot after they tried a bunch of different anti-nausea meds on me. the pacu nurse stayed with me for four hours until i could stand on my own. turning my head made me feel motion sick, like the whole world was spinning. she brought me some crackers to eat and water with a bendy straw to help me recover. they were the best thing i'd had all day. she held my hands as i practiced standing up from bed and we swapped stories about hernia patients we'd seen at work while we waited for discharge to get me.

my mom went to get me and my boyfriend dinner--i was at the hospital for 12 straight hours. stephen said he was really glad i packed him a lunch because he ate basically everything in the bag. it made me glad, too. she came back with matzo ball soup. it had too much pepper, but i didn't care. i ate half of it and saved the other half for the next day.

i love being alive. i love it so much. i'm so happy i got to experience this. i'm so glad i get to live the life i have now and that i didn't die all that time ago. i'm excited to see what's under my bandages. i'm excited to live.

[i-can-even-burn-salad]

WIP Wednesday

I was tagged by @winterandwords to uh... talk about a WIP I guess? :D

I'll pass on this tag toooo... @starlit-hopes-and-dreams (as always <3) but I'm not sure who else, so if you feel like talking about a WIP, consider this an open tag.

Oh boy, which to pick. There are currently only 2 projects where the P in WIP actually stands for "progress" (for the others it stands for "procrastination".)

I think I'm gonna pick Till Death. It is the one I am currently obsessed with, and the only one I am writing, not editing.

Here's the blurb:

Finnian is a wandering healer down on his luck. When one of his patients dies, the village turns against him, beating him half to death and leaving him for thirst and scavengers to finish what they started.

Eilis lives deep in the forest, hiding from the world. When she finds him, impaled on a tree and barely alive, she can‘t leave him to his fate, even if it means upending the peaceful life she has built for herself.

As Finnian slowly recovers, days filled with quiet companionship make the prospect of him staying less daunting than either of them had expected. But he carries too many scars, and Eilis too many secrets, threatening to destroy their fragile relationship as the shadows of the past draw closer. When everything falls apart, will they save each other, or will the price be too high?

You see, in April I finished the last chapter of all my ongoing stories, which left me in a very weird mood. For 1,5 years I always had something to work on, and suddenly, there was nothing started. Sure, I had a few outlines, but nothing really called to me, with the added problem that for those, I have to figure out bullshit like politics. I needed something new. New chars I didn't know yet, a fresh story - and 🌟violence🌟 :)

I've been talking about wanting more gore with happy end, but sadly, existing OCs are so fragile, I can't even break all their bones without them dying 🙄 So it was time to fuck up another healer.

For a few weeks, I threw concepts against a wall like cooked spaghetti, grabbed whatever stuck, and then I just started. It's the first time in a year that I actually write a story without posting as I go. I can leave a little note "this sounds weird, fix later" or remember "shit, I forgot this injury" or change a name halfway in. I know. That's how a draft is supposed to work 😅

I'm at over 60k words, and it's looking good. There's a few 'first times' for me, a lot of things I love and a lot of things I am excited about. I have a rough outline of events still to happen that leaves me enough freedom to go wild. And wild I go; half of the scenes are gratuitous pain and suffering, and there will be more - but it's also a story of love and finding a place to belong. Which brings me to the next point:

I'm tired. Tired of feeling like I don't belong anywhere. Of having no genre and being "just whump" because it fits nowhere else. Of being "not enough whump" while still finding myself on every squick list.

So this one's written for a target audience of some very close friends - a target audience for which I don't have to write CWs at the top of each chapter, a target audience who doesn't grow bored at the first calm moment, a target audience who will call me a bitch while asking for more pain.

I love you, pocket friends 💜

Here's the start of the book (unedited, rip):

Finnian hated dealing with sick people.

Considering the fact that he earned his money with healing, that was rather unfortunate. If he didn’t want to starve to death, he had to grit his teeth and ignore the stench of sweat and blood while taking care of coughs and aches and fever.

Sometimes, he wished he had learned something else after it had become clear that this wasn’t the right profession for him. Then he wouldn’t be sitting here, explaining to a grown ass woman that when he had told her to keep the wound clean, that included keeping the bandages away from dirty water. And that yes, it fucking hurt, because now it was infected, and if she didn’t plan on losing a finger or two, she’d better keep her hand dry and clean this time. And that perhaps, just perhaps, that was a bit more important than cleaning the windows.

Unfortunately, he had not learned anything else, so he left the house half an hour later with barely enough coins in his pocket to make up for the supplies he had used. Most roots and herbs he could gather himself, but bandages and tinctures didn’t grow on trees.