#it gets really sad in my head

[heartorbit]

if we could stay connected, just like this

[future-crab]

The thing about TMA is that if I think about Sasha James too much I will cry and if I think about Michael Shelley too much I will cry and if I think about Agnes Montegue too much I will cry and if I think about Jonathan Sims too much I will cry and if I think about Naomi Herne too much I will cry and if I think about Gerry Keay too much I will cry and if I think about Tim Stoker too much I will cry and if I think about Jane Prentiss too much I will cry and if I think about Martin Blackwood too much I will cry and—

[yeonjune]

Yeonjun about the strain he felt while preparing for his debut solo project ✙ "GGUM" MAKING FILM

[pokimoko]

haunting the narrative -> haunted by the narrative -> haunting the narrative -> haunted by

[emrrys]

when your teachers pull out this pose at school picture day

forcing myself to remember how to draw by doing a redraw of one of my favorite pictures

[vaguely-concerned]

what would I do without you. indeed illario.

lucanis trust me! indeed illario. the ea-nasir vibes on this shitty little rat of a man (somehow still slightly affectionate despite myself)

I am obsessed with WHERE this letter is found and what we're meant to read into those context clues. I don't have a handy save for this mission right now to double check the details, but from memory: It's the room across from what seems implied to be Caterina's room (Lucanis says these are the family quarters, so Illario has kept her locked in her own room all this time probably?? Oh oh house arrest, house arrest for grandmother for ten thousand years style)? We find the scraps of a letter from Zara to Illario, torn to pieces with one fragment still in the empty fireplace so presumably we're meant to assume he burned it, and this old letter from Illario to Lucanis lying neatly on a table. Whose room is this? Because here's a theory one could put together that has some real crazymaking potential for me specifically at least:

Considering that we're helpfully down to only three Dellamortes to account for, it's likely either Lucanis' or Illario's room. If I'm remembering right/let's for a moment assume that Caterina is being confined to her own rooms -- the fact that Lucanis is her favourite and also heir apparent I'd say tips the scales for me that it's likely she'd keep him closest, whenever he's home. Thus opening for the possibility that all this time Illario has been staying in the room of the cousin he murdered but as it turns out not hard enough that he didn't come back again like a haunting, reading his own old letters to him that Lucanis apparently kept all this time (!!! ow !!!), and sparing them from the spiteful fate he gave Zara's 'aww chin up you'll get 'em next time babe' one, right across the hall from where the grandmother he apparently can't bring himself to kill or seriously hurt even with everything else he's done is imprisoned and i n c r e d i b l y pissed off, if she gets out of there while he's sleeping or something he's fucked. Has he been sleeping in Lucanis' bed since kidnapping Caterina????? (did they ever share a bed, when they were children? for comfort if not ever out of real necessity?) is this some kind of incredibly fucked up way to try to be close to them both somehow even when he is the one who messed it all up to begin with? no matter what I have so many questions here what is WRONG with this family???????? (well I don't think we have time to get into all that right now that's a novel not a text post probably fhsdkj)

[kit-screams-into-the-future]

wanted to try my hand at a fake screenshot thing with a scene from one of the bttf fics of all time, Time Is a Flat Circle by @fourth-dimensional-thinker! i set in to draw only the "little canary" line but. as you can tell. my hand slipped and fell down a 6 story building

if you haven't read it already please check it out PLEASEEE it's very good. i read the whole thing in basically one sitting. the vibes are perfect for the spooky season too!

versions without the filter/subtitles under the cut:

[itissadbutitsmy-artblog]

im the most normal person at the party

^ my reference picture to prove im not crazy. or to prove im extra crazy.

[creativesplat]

I would also like to see some miphlink, if that's okay!

I was really struggling with what to draw, and then I remembered your ask from ages ago (dang ADHD brain...) anyway, sorry its such a late answer, but Miphlink inspired by Dicksee's La Belle Dame

[wurstigdurstig]

Horsegirl Horseboy

[rebrandedbard]

You were looking for Geraskier prompts and I'd just like to point out there's still time left in MerMay. 😉

The Prince did sit aside the sea, blushing with his Siren.

[h0estar]

Yukine's journey toward acceptance of the life that was robbed of him, this time with finality, exemplifies the emotional and beautifully rendered arc that has defined his character.

Yukine finally accepting the reality of his death. Yukine stepping out from the fridge that contained memories of what was once his life. Yukine freeing himself from the shackles of his trauma. Yukine running to protect the person who cherished him the most in the world. Yukine standing up to an abusive father. Yukine wholeheartedly apologizing. Yukine's growth, and Yato tearing up as he stretches his little arms to pull him for an embrace.

Yukine's gratitude for what Yato did for him is evident throughout the series. He was given a name more precious than any other. He was treated like a human--an ordinary teenage boy. And life after that was one exciting journey after another. Now, Yukine can no longer be entirely consumed by the horrors of his past because he knows that his reality with Yato is so much brighter. Far brighter.

Yukine could break out from that refrigerator because of the true, sincere, and nurturing love shown by the only father figure in his life. Yato has said multiple times throughout the series that Yukine was his priority above all else, and Yukine was the only person he swore to protect the most. Hell, he even went straight to hug him after Yukine apologized for turning into that form! Yato did not need to summon Yukine. Yukine came to protect Yato on his own decision. As he always did.

The journey to their healing will be painful, and this chapter shows that Yato and Yukine will face it together. No more secrets and no more miscommunications. They will help and be by each other's side as they always have, not only as god and shinki but, this time, as family.

"I will not let him die. Not Yato. No matter what happens... I swear I won't let anyone take him from me!" -Yukine, Noragami Vol. 17 Chapter 67.

[heal-the-ashes]

I feel like Hershel and Desmond would both be afraid of themselves.

If they stop and look at themselves. If they realize what they're doing came from years of pain. Would it all lead to a question of "Who else am I going to hurt?" "How many people have I unintentionally hurt because I never realized what I was really doing?" "How many things of my life have I missed because of this?" "How many things do I—or will I—regret?"

I feel like Layton self-sacrifices to a fault. That others get hurt trying to protect him. That he unknowingly drags other people through pain to get to where he thinks he needs to go. To solve every mystery there is. To get rid of his pain from outside sources, he needs to make as much of it himself under the titles "Determination" and "Amazing at solving things" and "Helping others" because then, how could those things ever hurt him? How could they ever be seen as pain? They're not like his (other) traumas. They don't cause pain at all. Not to mention what he thinks about danger. Danger? What danger? There's no danger here. Just people who are willing to hurt others to get what they want—Which is very sad and shows their pain and he'd very much like to help them in any way possible, if possible. If they show that they don't want to be helped, then it's better to leave them be.

But then again, nothing can ever be someone's fault other than his around him. I think he goes over betrayals thinking, "There must have been something I could have done." or "There must've been something I did." or "If I learn from this, I can make sure it never happens again." or... ... I think he has a hard time accepting that things really aren't his fault / there's really nothing he can do about some situations. Actually, when it comes time for Unwound Future and the whole Evil Layton arc... The only time in which he actually raises his voice is at himself. Is at the version of him that betrayed all of the morals in which he's held onto for so long. But a part of me thinks that, if he knew things were actually his fault, he'd have a problem with that, too... I mean, look at how he reacts to him getting puzzle answers incorrect in CV. In CV. In the 4th game of experience that he's had with puzzles. And a movie. With all that experience and he gets something wrong... he's disappointed in himself. Going back to the UF/LF thing... "I demand an explanation!!" I don't think I'll ever forget that line. I think, from his journal... We know he was trying to think of reasons why he would do something like this. Idk. I'm. Thoughts are not thinking anymore. Um. Wow I really lost my thought process. I was also gonna talk about Desmond. But I guess that's not happening at the moment.

[wazzappp]

I took a shot at writing!

Thank you to @rokhal for letting me mess with your dream sharing idea its absolutely DELIGHTFUL

And thank you to @moosemonstrous for beta reading for me. Its so fucking cool to have an author I admire so much giving me advice <33!!

Basically, RE! Robbie having Jill’s nightmare from RE3 remake, and all the consequences that follow

A loud crash of thunder woke Robbie up. He blinked a few times and unstuck his face from the desk he had apparently fallen asleep on. Again. His mouth felt unbearably dry in the way that tended to happen after a good hard sleep. At least he had a glass of water ready to help him wake up.

He sipped it and let the sound of rain pattering surround him. It was usually so quiet this far out in the woods. It almost made it hard to sleep. There was no ambient sound of the freeway, no trains passing or people talking when they walked by. No neighbors banging on the door drunk at 3 AM pleading for their exes to take them back. Pros and cons to everything, he supposed.

He grabbed the book on local wildlife he had been attempting to read before drifting off and headed to his room. His back never really hurt after falling asleep in odd positions anymore. That kinda made sense. If he could come back from a fractured arm after a few minutes, a pulled muscle or two shouldn't be anything to write home about. 

He still didn't really know how to feel about… all that. At least the only thing he seemed to do was heal fast. The black mold leaking out of his eyes and writhing around the day he found out about his infection seemed to be a one time deal, thank god. Gabe hadn't been so lucky, but he seemed to be coping with his new plant powers fairly well. Were they plants? Technically speaking, the flowers were made of mold and he was pretty sure mold was something different. Would it be suspicious for him to ask the BSAA lady for a book on fungi? He still had so many questions.

They hadn’t really talked much about each other's powers - god. Powers. What the fuck was his life - after the initial ‘bike-meets-garden’ incident. He had questions for sure, he just wasn’t sure how to go about asking them. Really, what was he supposed to say? ‘Hey Gabe, I’m trying really hard to be chill about your mold minion deal, but I gotta ask; Why do you glow?’ Would Gabe even know the answer? Robbie really just hoped it didn't hurt. 

Maybe the BSAA were keeping him and Gabe to see if they could find a better cure. That seemed almost too good to be true. He shuddered at the memory of their last attempt. on the Baker Estate. Bodies shriveling up and breaking into pieces like statues made of crusted over baking soda, screaming all the while before falling mercifully silent.

He reached the end of a hallway that felt way too long and opened the door as quietly as he could so he wouldn't wake Gabe. The fact that their rooms were on two different floors really didn't make a difference. He set his stuff down on the side table next to his bed before flopping down onto the mattress. God he was tired. The day felt grimy on his skin, even though he couldn't remember what he had been doing when the sun was out, and a shower seemed wasteful at this point. A little face wash and then he could go back to bed and wake up without horribly crusty eyes in the morning.

He forced himself up and walked over to the bathroom. His private bathroom, jeez, what a luxury. Turned on the water and waited for it to warm up. He felt a tickle in the back of his throat.

Robbie coughed a couple of times and felt a bit of phlegm come up. Oh, come on. Being sick with one weird disease wasn't enough? He spat it out into the sink so it could drain along with the rushing water. 

It was black.

He stared as it swirled around and around in the sink. He coughed again. More black. More and more and more until it was dribbling in an almost constant stream down his chin. Okay. Alright. This had happened once before when he first started his medicine. It had sucked but he was ultimately fine. This was probably fine too.

He met his own eyes in the mirror and tried to take a steadying breath. The mold had started dripping out his nose. His left eye blackened and seemed to deflate. Shriveling and sinking into his skull as more mold spewed out of the rotting socket like a fountain. He wheezed and slapped his hand over it to try and stop everything inside him from leaking out. 

There was a sort of snapping in his right eye as blood vessels there started to burst. The same feeling as breaking the last few nerves holding a loose tooth in. In seconds it was entirely bloodshot. His iris lightened from it’s usual dark brown to a jaundiced yellow. The same eyes covering the creature in the boathouse that called itself Jack Baker.

He stumbled back from the mirror and felt something in his jaw break loose. He reached up to try and feel what was wrong but stopped when he caught more black spreading up his hands. His scars formed deep grooves as his flesh molded over and shrunk down to the bone. It was creeping steadily up his arms, shooting through his veins like little spiderwebs, turning his skin the dull gray of a long dead corpse. He grabbed at his arms, desperately trying to stop it from spreading, only to spill more black as his new claws dug deep into what should have been skin and muscle. It didn't even hurt. He didn't feel anything except the panic presently choking him.

The endless black spilled over and dribbled into little puddles on the floor. He shuffled further away from the mirror until his back was against the wall and watched the mold spread across the linoleum as it had spread across himself. It was spilling over the edges of the sink now. Growing on the mirror. On the cabinets. On the walls. Each part of the bathroom that he made a habit out of bleaching meticulously was covered in black speckles. Everywhere he had stepped, each place his fingers brushed. Everything he touched was rotting.

There was a gun on the counter.

Something that sounded like distress came out of his throat. It was hard to tell. It was garbled and choked and chittering. Its reverberations ran deep into his chest and rattled his teeth. The sound was utterly inhuman. He forced himself forwards and grabbed the gun. He didn’t remember how it got there. Has it always been there? He couldn't remember.

His sharp fingertips were digging into what remained of the countertop, and he was having trouble fitting his claw through the trigger guard. He eventually managed. This wouldn't kill him, he knew that. But maybe it would allow enough time for Gabe to run away and get a head start before he totally lost himself. Would it be worse for Gabe to find him with a hole in his head or as a rotting husk of himself, attacking everything in sight?

He chittered again. A strip of flesh fell off his cheek and landed in the sink with a wet plap. 

Robbie raised the gun up to the side of his head and squeezed his eyes shut. Or eye, rather. It didn't matter. For some reason he could still see his reflection. Whatever was doing this wanted him to see it through to the very end. The teeth under his horrible red eye were starting to peek through his rapidly decaying cheek.

The bang of the gun sounded off alongside his garbled shrieking.

-

Shrieking that woke him up.

No chittering that shook his skull and disjointed jaw. Just plain screaming. He never thought he would be so happy to hear it. He huffed, trying to catch his breath. Checked his hands; no traces of black mold. Just tanned skin striped with scars and damp from a cold sweat.

He breathed a sigh of relief and let himself relax back into the twisted sheets he had apparently been thrashing around in. There was a loud thump from downstairs, like someone had fallen down, which was swiftly followed by smaller thumps. A sound he had grown to recognize as Gabe rushing up the steps. He sat up and mentally prepared to put his brother back to bed.

Gabe slammed the door to Robbies room open before he could even stand up. His eyes were red, just in the normal way. Not the nightmare red and yellow. Tears were streaking his face. He sobbed and ran at Robbie, tackling him in a hug.

“You aren't allowed to do that!” He cried into Robbies chest.

Robbie held him close and stroked his hair, “Sorry, Gabe. I didn’t mean to wake you. I can try and get some good headphones for you so it won't happen again.”

Gabe sniffled against his shirt. He adjusted himself so he could glare up at Robbie. It would be adorable if he weren't so clearly upset. 

“What? No, I don't care about that. I mean you can't do that!”

“I don't - I’m really sorry Gabe I don't know what you’re talking about.” Gabes glare got narrower. He raised his pointer finger to the side of his head and mimed ‘pow’.

Robbies spine went ridgid. What the fuck.

“I don't care how sick you get. I don't care if you heal fast. Don't. Do. That.” He felt his heart break a little. Gabe had buried his face back into Robbies shirt. That was nice. It made sure Robbie didn't have to try and hide whatever the hell his expression was.

Something repeated in the back of his head: It gave you my nightmares. That was what Gabe had said. It felt like an eternity ago but it had probably been just a little over a month. 

“I didn’t--” Jesus, motherfuck, what the hell was he supposed to do? Maybe if he just started talking, he could find the right thing to say. Was there even a right thing to say at all? No parenting manual he’d ever read had a guide for what to do if you started sharing dreams with the person you looked after. Especially horrific nightmares like the one he just had.

Breathe. Focus. Gabe is upset. You know what to do when Gabe is upset. 

Robbie pulled him closer, “It's okay. Everything is going to be okay.” He really couldn't guarantee that, but it had to be said for his own sake as much as it was Gabes. “I’m so sorry you had to see that. I didn’t want you to see that.” I didn’t want to see it either. “I don't think that's going to happen. I think it was like your dream. You remember what I said then, right? It’s just our brains coming up with what scares us most.”

“That's what scares you?”

“Yeah. If I–--” he swallowed, “if I'm not… myself, then I can't take care of you.”

“I get it. I didn’t like losing myself either.” God, he was so stupid. Stupid and selfish, of course Gabe knew what that was like. He had been stripped of his own self control, changed on a fundamental level and had powers Robbie was too scared to ask questions about. Here he was, running away from things, and his brother was stuck paying the price for it.

Robbie tried to talk past the lump in his throat. “I'm so sorry, Gabe.” He could feel tears leaking down his cheeks. He prayed to God they were normal. “I don’t - I don't know how any of this works and it freaks me out a little. You don't scare me, I meant that when I said it, but it’s hard for me to understand things I can’t see. I don’t see stuff in my head the way you do.” He took a moment to breathe and leaned back so he could get Gabe to look up at him. “Do you think you can explain how it works to me? I think you might know better than I do.”

Gabe scrubbed his eyes and sat up. “I have an idea, but I don't know for sure. I’m really not like Eveline, Robbie. She talked like she knew how everything worked and I just don’t. I could be really wrong.”

“That's okay. I don't expect you to know everything, just do your best.”

Gabe kept his eyes down, “So, the plants and my fr- flowers. My flowers. They connect and talk to each other. You can do that with people too, Robbie. Evie used it to tell everyone what to do, but I think you can just make it smaller. Like connecting just two people.” Gabe looked up at him, “I think sometimes, in our sleep, you and me talk like my flowers. Talking without talking. Showing each other things.”

Okay. That was a lot. It made sense, it did. But accepting that would mean that his brain had been more affected than he thought, that his body was probably more affected than he thought. If they could do this, what else was possible? Knock it off. Solve the problem in front of you.

“Alright. Do you know how to stop it?”

Gabe shook his head. “No. I thought my flowers made you sick and that was why we dreamed together, but it's not that. It takes a lot to break that connection.” Robbie remembered Gabe stomping on one of his flowers until it was nothing but a smudge on the forest floor. Probably not a good method to repeat. 

He fiddled with the hem of his shirt, “Maybe we could just try to have good dreams instead?”

Robbie let out a short laugh, “That would be nice. I’d like to have good dreams with you. What would we dream about?”

“Hmmmmm… maybe ice skating? I can actually try it now! Ninja Wolf went ice skating before and he looked so awesome. He hopped on his swords and skated around on them, Robbie!”

Robbie would almost assuredly fall on his ass right away, but he would gladly take a dream about repeatedly slipping on ice over what their nightmares had been in the past. “That sounds nice. Do you want me to put you to bed downstairs and see if you can dream that?”

“No!” Gabe hugged Robbie tight again.

“Okay, that's okay, hey,” he started petting Gabes head again, “do you want to just stay with me tonight?” Gabe nodded and sniffled. “Alright, here let's just get a little more comfortable.”

He leaned back until he was resting just a little upright on his pillow so Gabe could lie down. His arms stayed wrapped tight around Robbies torso, like he was scared he’d disappear. Robbie shimmied the blankets up and over to cover them both.

“You know I’m not going anywhere, right?”

Gabe hugged him tighter and looked up at him very seriously, “I don't care if our dreams are close. I want to be actually close.”

Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. “I want that too.”

They slept dreamlessly. 

[triglycercule]

horror is so BLESSED he's the only one out of the murder time trio that has actual good people trying to influence his story 💔💔 dust and killer were both driven to INSANITY because of the choices of their respective humans but horror??? every time without FAIL the polls for horrortale's plotline have always ended in a good place for aliza (either by bettering her relationships/reputation or for her to just. not DIE)

horrortale's potential alternate timelines my beLOVEd🙏🙏 they're SO lucky that we're being kind and benevolent hehe (≧ω≦) now where are the aus based off the possible different outcomes that could've happened in horrortale HUH???? (like how aliza couldve killed toriel or chosen horror's puzzle or gone with undyne to the core........)

[dykedvonte]

My post about Anya is making like a little ruckus on Twitter and I think it’s crazy how many people like have a problem with it.

Like you don’t have to agree with how I characterize Anya and her actions but it’s more like, why are you focused on only one aspect of her character? Why are you removing nuance from the situation? I don’t see it as giving Curly the benefit of the doubt when it comes to doing better for Anya, but as exploring his character and hers relationship with a the very little authentic facts we get about them. In truth, there’s a lot more I wish Curly did, even if it wasn’t pragmatic but I realize the issue there.

The first psychological horror game in a while that’s real intricate in its storytelling and makes you need to really need to address the morality of intentions and its already getting torn asunder smh 😔