#might make a fanfic out of this i dunno

[steakout-05]

i found this piece of promo art for 'Halfbrick Zombies', the a game that would be later reworked into 'Age Of Zombies', on the Halfbrick Network Twitter account. the game in this state looks much more like a survival horror and has a much darker tone than what it ended up becoming. i think i'd really like to see a game featuring Barry with a much more grim life-or-death feel, it'd be super interesting!! it looks super cool and i kinda wish it was released in this form :)

[sysig]

Some highlights from a tense but still very Winterkov-y scene (Patreon)

[arabella377]

I don't think I've ever freaked out so badly

[sunny-knight]

oh….. the THINGS i would give for a @forgettable-au movie……..

gang- okay…

The vision of Papyrus and Gaster at Wingdings’ funeral…. was so vivid in my head. And now its going to be there forever. and i have 0 complaints.

Dunno if any of you have played Omori, but SPOILERS!

the context to this is kinda like the Blackspace segment. Papyrus is in his head sorting out the shit he needs to sort out through metaphors n such. But Gaster is also there because he can do that because theyre the same person (IT MAKES SENSE)

I imagine that whole thing happens right after Papyrus regains all his wingdings memories like he gets knocked out or something- IM MAKING A LOT OF ASSUMPTIONS HERE LIKE HE MIGHT NOT EVEN REMEMBER, EVER!!! I REALLY HOPE HE DOES!!! BUT!!!

Just let me have my silly fanfics…

After a lot of fighting and agony over the question of WHO IS PAPYRUS? ESPECIALLY AFTER HE’S LEARNED TOO MUCH?

it ends with a somber scene of putting Wingdings to rest, letting his 2 halves live their own lives.

Papyrus asks “Why did you do this?” as in… Why did you bring me here? and why did you do what you did? throwing yourself into the void?

Gaster has the same answer for both of those questions

Thats my theory, I think a lot of Gaster/Wingdings’ ambition, in game and in comic, is just curiosity

TIME FOR SOME FUN LITTLE EASTER EGGS!!!

In the first frame, theres a raindrop in front of Papyrus’ eye socket, meant to allude to Wingdings’ eye lights.

Also the field is filled with Echo and Golden flowers. Echo represents Wingdings, and Golden represents Papyrus. Gaster is just Gaster, don’t worry about him

I also had fun making the save point star look sorta like a cross from the distance…cause yknow…heaven….TEEHEE

I got emotional putting “dearest brother” on the grave cause I couldnt put any more stuff like “closest friend” or “dear son”….Sans was kinda all he had…

and lastly heres some bonus behind the scenes stuff because I have enough room for it

some sketches, and a speedpaint with the best instrumental song ever made from the best liveaction movie ever made that has absolutely nothing to do with the forgettable au (Little Miss Sunshine - “THE WINNER IS”)

Highly recommend, 100/10, makes me UGLY SOB, think the undertale gang would like it (especially Papyrus and Undyne)

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

03 — MY COMPASS, MY TRANSPORT

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3. fanfic playlist.

<- previous part | next part ->

“I have nothing else to live for.”

It’s a truth. A deep, earnest one – and it’s the only option you have.

Without Graves, without your Shadows, you have nothing. No income, no family, no support. You're left with the clothes on your body and the shoes in which you stand, with no hope of finding your footing.

In the darkness, the only light shines from the headlights of the truck, and the red of the radio. It’s silenced, of course, but it serves as a beacon of something between you all.

“I don’t – I have no other choice,” you say, voice trembling. You would not break in front of them, but you could feel yourself cracking; porcelain underneath a harsh grip. Turning yourself so you’re completely facing the two, your expression turns desperate. “I want to help you both, and I want to save Phi– Graves.”

You correct yourself at the final moment, wary of your slip up.

“Save ‘im? From what? Feckin’ charges for war crimes? Getting his ass handed to ‘im?” Soap chokes out, incredulous, eyes wide where they meet yours. He winces when he moves forward too quick, straining his arm.

“He’s…” You look down at your hands, merely watching for a moment as they close into a fist and open again. Blood crusts underneath your fingernails. “He’s all I have. I’m sure he just needs a wake up call, someone to snap him out of it.”

“He tried to kill us,” Ghost speaks up, matter-of-fact, but quiet. As if at any moment, his words will wake up the entire city. If there were any civilians left in it, you supposed. Your eyes burn with unshed tears.

“...And I had to kill some of my men.”

It’s a confession of sin. Like poison on your tongue, yet at the same time, an anecdote to an evil in your veins. You’d killed your men. You’d… done that.

You still haven’t quite allowed yourself to realise it, not yet.

But if it’s enough to keep you alive right now, so be it. You hadn’t gotten this far just to give up over something as inconsequential as pride.

“Ye will tell us everything you know about ‘im. And’ll help us until we figure out what to do. We’re our own bosses now, Sweetheart,” Soap commands, that fucking nickname of his seeming to stick. You don’t dispute it – not right now, not when this is quite literally life or death.

“I promise,” you say, resolute and stern. There was no time for self-pity or wallowing, only time for action and conviction – something you had in spades. “I’m yours for as long as you need me.”

You hadn’t known how true those words would be – not then, and not for a good while. But they were a prophecy, if such a thing could at all be possible for a woman like you.

Soap and Ghost share a look; a brief, yet important one, before Ghost gives the Scot a short nod. Soap turns once more to you, his face betraying the answer of their silent agreement.

“...So?” You suggest, impatient considering the consequences of the next few moments. 

Bringing a hand up to stroke at his stubbled chin, Soap makes an act of pretending to ponder – and it succeeds in stoking the flames at your core, fury burning through you like a liquor-soaked rope.

“I dunno, lass,” he says on a sigh, his ocean eyes betraying a mischief in their depths. “Yer kinda mean to me.”

You might choke him.

Actually, check that, you will choke him. He’s impossible – an arsehole to the nth degree – somehow worse than Ghost in his… foolishness? Was that the right word? Or just straight frustrating-ness?

Seeming to sense your thinning patience, Soap’s hand falls from his jaw with a mirthful smirk, proud of himself. 

“If ye say pretty please, ye can join our lil’ duo.” He finishes the statement off with a wink, and you don’t realise that your hands have curled into fists until the sharp pain of nails digging into your palms force you to resort back to your senses.

You let out a slow, loud breath. 

Neither of them move a muscle, except for the twitch of Soap’s dimple. You hate that you recognise such a small movement, but you easily blame it on the fact that it’s a drilled-in mentality.

“...Please,” you acquiesce, however quiet. 

Ghost’s eyebrow raises. How you’re aware of that, considering his mask, is a props to him. 

“That’s not what he asked for.” His voice is a low, husky thing, and the title of guard dog suddenly doesn’t sound so incorrect.

With your teeth gritted and cheeks straining, you mutter out, “Pretty please.”

Soap’s responding smile is nothing short of beaming, and you almost immediately wish that you could take those words back. Was death really so bad? Would it even be a mercy, compared to deciding to share a threadbare camaraderie with these weirdos?

Too bad time control isn’t exactly a well-researched military weapon.

“Let’s go then,” Ghost slaps his gloved hand against the steering wheel, before looking one last time towards you with purpose, “Sweetheart.”

Soap laughs.

You get out and slam the door in his face.

“Och! You feckin’ bastard, lass,” you hear him screech, before the door opens once more and Soap hops out, fuming.

Turning away, you fall behind Ghost, and quickly take a look around at the vast, empty area that is barren suburbia. Not before responding, however.

“Next time you get shot, I’m not taking care of your ass,” you threaten. “And I’m giving the rest of my sweets to Mr. Melodramatic.”

Soap’s returning mock gasp is, in all fairness, pretty comedic. “You have more sweets? Gimme those and ye lovely bedside manners ‘nd I’ll get a cavity!”

Your returning glare could cut steel. “Keep that up, and you’ll end up with bigger issues than a cavity.”

“I think ye are already the bigger issue,” Soap snaps back, but it’s not inherently malicious. It’s… borderline playful, and that sudden thought has you internally slapping yourself.

“Both of ya – quiet,” Ghost warns.

You both shut up immediately.

With wary steps, the three of you go to step up towards the front door, when Ghost swings out a hand, stopping the lot of you in your tracks. The night doesn’t allow for any of you to see well, but he must’ve picked up something that you hadn’t.

The thought is an immediately terrifying one.

“Pressure plates,” Soap murmurs under his breath, eyeing the square linoleum tile. “Nice catch, Lt.”

Ghost doesn’t respond, instead motioning for you to follow him towards a glassless window. Gravel crunches underneath your light footfalls, easily heard in the deathly quiet, as you move to swing your leg over the access point and drop to the floor inside.

Landing with a soft thud, you go to unfurl from your crouching position, before a loud warning shout from Ghost has you freezing.

Flinching where you stand, your eyes dart to where Ghost has flung one of his daggers, the sharp metal splintering a wooden beam further into the dark room. Realising that Soap sits at your flank, you shift your gaze to spot a red light focused in on his forehead – between his eyes.

“¿Quien esta ahi?” An unfamiliar, accented voice calls out from behind the beam. You could slap yourself for being so careless, in not realising that someone else was in here before Ghost had saved your arses. 

“Rodolfo!” Soap calls out, relief flooding his tone as he rights his position, shoulders back.

A man peeks out from behind the wood, eyes wide and slightly panicked, before they soften at the sight of the two men behind you. “Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

Stepping out from around the beam, he reaches for Ghost’s dagger, pulling it away from where it had dug into the oak with undeniable ease. His appearance is striking, with a set jaw and gentle features – he’s quite pretty, but not at all in a way that you find yourself attracted to the man.

“Affirmative,” Ghost responds, accepting the knife back when the man – Rodolfo – hands it to him hilt-first.

“Good to see you, amigos,” Rodolfo smiles, before his appraisal sets on you, confusion sparking in his deep brown eyes. He looks to the two men at your side for an explanation, hesitant in the way he does so.

“This is…” Soap trails off, before coming to a realisation. “Feckin’ hell. I never even asked for yer name, Sweetheart.”

Rodolfo blinks. Once, twice, before his eyebrows furrow and his mouth settles into an uncomfortable grimace.

You shoot a glare Soap’s way, before gifting Rodolfo a polite, yet stilted, smile. Extending your hand, you give him your name, and then your official title.

“Colonel? Graves’ colonel?” Rodolfo repeats back, utterly taken aback by such an introduction. He doesn’t seem to know what to do, quickly hissing to Soap in unamused Spanish, “¿Has perdido la cabeza?”

“I saved his life,” you interrupt, before any verbal sparring begins. “And I’m on your team. I don’t agree with what Graves is doing – and I’m sorry for what he’s already done. But I want to help you. I swear.”

Rodolfo regards you for a moment, his internal walls still heavily locked in place. But he seems… softer, now, in a way. More understanding, maybe, less hesitant as he slowly appraises you, inspecting you under his critical analysis.

The silence stretches, before the soldier raises his hands placatingly, the left side of his mouth twitching into a smooth smirk. “No accusations from me, Corazón,” he reassures, the pet name sliding from his full lips like butter over warm toast.

“Aye, none of tha’,” Soap warns, and Rodolfo’s amusement deepens. Whatever the Scot is about to say next is abruptly stopped by Ghost’s booming demand from behind you both.

“Anyone outside of these walls is now considered a hostile – we’re a team now. This happened under my watch, and I’d bloody well do good to fix it.” His posture is stiff, hand unconsciously flexing around the blade strapped to his belt as he delivers the order. It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak in one shot.

You figure he’s stopped speaking, when suddenly his heavy gaze is on you, any ounce of solidarity snuffed out like a match’s flame. “You fuck up once, Sweetheart, and I won’t hesitate when I shoot ya dead.”

It’s as good of a compromise as you’re going to get from the hulking Lieutenant, but you weren’t made Colonel for your talents in stepping down.

“You forget that I outrank you,” you challenge, chin raised and eyes flinty. “And that I saved your mutt.”

“We don’t have a feckin’ dog,” Soap starts, but when he sees the way Ghost side eyes him, and how you give him an unimpressed look, his jaw drops. “Ye bastard! Shoulda killed ya –”

Rodolfo’s hand wraps around Soap’s forearm, the grumbling man twisting in his hold, but not putting up anything close to a fight. “She’s just stirring you up, hermano,” Rodolfo placates, his large eyes meeting yours with a hint of respect in them. It has you straightening your spine, and your resolve.

“We sort this out as equals,” you state, folding your arms over your chest and bucking your hip. Ghost doesn’t, for a single second, shift your mutual eye contact. “And you will all tell me what the fuck’s going on – and what we’re doing.”

“Alejandro,” Ghost quips, sharp and to the point. Finally, you think, his near-black eyes drift to Rodolfo. “We need him back.”

“He’s the only other lad we can trust out there,” Soap adds, his pout easing slightly. Rodolfo finally drops his hand, clapping it hard against the petulant man’s shoulder with a firm nod.

“Already got a head start, hermanos,” he gestures for the three of you to follow him further into the room, before his calculating eyes glance back at you, “y hermana.”

It’s an unknown, entirely different feeling that erupts inside of your chest at the inclusion. Rodolfo was clearly the most soft spoken man of the three, but he had an intelligence to him that you couldn’t wait to unpack. And he trusted you. Or so you had gathered, anyway.

However.

First things first.

“...Where’s Alejandro? I thought he was Mexican Special Forces?” It was, admittedly, a unique kind of embarrassing – how out of the loop you felt, considering you were a colonel under Graves’ command. You’d heard the man’s name before, but it was usually just paired with barracks gossip and warnings to steer clear. Some joke about how the only one who could kill Alejandro, was the soldier himself.

Moving along with Rodolfo, you’re surprised when it’s Soap who supplies you the answer.

“Your fuckwit of a Commander’s got ‘im,” he curses, the words grating and harsh. Deserved, of course it was deserved, yet it was still odd hearing such disrespect for the man of whom you’d idolised for so long.

Of whom you’d given everything.

Switching a light on, Rodolfo stops in front of a large table, a map laid out across the top of it. Your eyes go wide at the intricacies – focusing as the man leans over and presses a finger towards a highlighted spot, watching the three of you where you stand on the other side. Dust floats near the source of the lamp, and the scent of grime hits you a moment later, a familiar thing.

“Graves is holding him here,” Rodolfo explains, his previously mischievous expression settling into a firm, military-grade frown.

“His own personal black site prison,” Soap scoffs, subconsciously flexing his fingers around the straps of his vest. His focus is utterly devoted to the map in front of him, but his anxiety shows itself through the tiniest of movements.

Rubbing his spare hand down his face, Rodolfo lets out a long, strewn-out sigh. “My men are locked in there, too.”

“Then let’s get them back,” you supply with a small shrug when all eyes shoot your direction.

“That’s obvious, lass,” Soap says, lacking any hint of his previous vitriol when he looks around the room. “How we get ‘em back is the question.”

“By breaking in,” Ghost answers, the retort as simple as breathing.

If you weren’t so receptive to body movements, to the smallest of expressions, you’d’ve missed it. Even then, you doubted that anyone could miss how Soap’s eyes soften when he looks to his Lieutenant, how his breath softly hitches in his throat.

You want to claw out your eyes with a rusty spoon.

By the look on Rodolfo’s face, he feels much the same – until he catches you staring, and then his face twists into something much more cryptic. Like a man trying to solve a puzzle without all of the pieces, being forced to jam spares into spots that just won’t fit.

“We need weapons,” you startle out, the words surprising even yourself. You don’t go back on them, don’t even think to. “If we want to stand a fighting chance – we need firepower.”

“Who said you’re with us?” Ghost questions snarkily, but when you go to reply, you find that Rodolfo’s moved to the corner of the room, switching on even more lights, displaying a wrought iron door.

Sliding it open, you feel like a kid on Christmas morning as you take note of the supplies within.

Rodolfo shrugs, but the small, smug grin on his face doesn’t dispel. “It’s well-stocked. This is Ale we’re talking about.”

The affectionate nickname is something you store away for later. ‘Well-stocked’ is certainly an understatement – guns of all types line the walls within the room, all types of bombs and grenades along with it.

“Alright,” Ghost huffs out, the closest to appreciative that a man like him can get.

Soap is much more upfront about his joy. “My man!” He laughs, his dimples etched into his features like the light spattering of freckles over his upper cheeks and nose bridge. “We’re gonna need new wheels. Preferably up-armoured.”

Digging into his pocket, Rodolfo pulls out a set of keys, tossing them over to Ghost with relaxed shoulders. Turning, shock must be evident on all of you, because Rodolfo lets out a low chuckle. “Your wish is my command, hermanos y hermana.”

To the far end of the room, within the adjoined stables, is a fully-armoured forward drive of some sort – sleek and black and fucking perfect.

“Alejandro thought of everything,” Ghost admires, and when you look to him, you swear that you can see a hint of hope shining in his darkened eyes. Your heart skips a beat on its own accord, and you’re absorbed by the all-consuming want to pull it out of your chest with your bare hands, just so it never does such a thing again.

“Yeah, he did,” Soap whistles, before turning back around to face your small band of misfits. With a determined grin, he says as if it’s an afterthought, “Let’s go get ‘im.”

With a stern resolve and an even sterner disposition, you walk alongside your newfound teammates, and get ready for the most difficult mission of your military career.

*

When you’d, stupidly, recklessly, decided to play good guy and helps out the 141 and Los Vaqueros, you hadn’t taken into account how you’d be at the bottom of the totem pole.

While the three men you were working alongside were all considerably close, you were an outsider. At that, an outsider who had, only a few hours ago, decided to swap sides from enemy to ally.

Being paired with Ghost is, arguably, the most gut-wrenching job in your life. By the time that Rodolfo finds Alejandro through the CCTV system, you’re nearly entirely covered in dried blood, and your head thumps with a headache.

Not a headache from war – a headache from the fucking twat with a shitty DIY job for a military get-up.

“You’re seriously the worst,” you grit out, wiping off a bit of Shadow blood that’s been sprayed on your cheek. “I seriously can’t fucking believe that any one of your mates can tolerate you.”

“Who needs ‘mates’ when I have my boys?” Ghost quips back, wiping off his bloody dagger onto his vest, before slotting it back into its rightful position on his belt. His ability to blend into the night, even with the prison lights on, is uncanny – the only tell the white of his stitched-in skull.

You mock a disgusted sound, sticking out your tongue. “You sound like a fuckboy.”

“A what?” And, although it sounds nothing like a choke, you’re sure that it’s an instinctual question.

The sound of a helicopter up ahead has the two of you pausing in your tracks, feud coming to a quick halt. Looking up, you struggle to see the vehicle in the black of night, but you manage to spot the slowly circling heli above the prison.

“Ghost, Sweetheart, what’s yer status?” Soap’s voice trickles in through your comms. Ghost glances at you, before he answers on your behalf, ever the control-freak.

“Comin’ your way.”

Falling into step side-by-side, you focus on the wet gravel underneath your feet, avoiding making any communication with the man to your right.

“Copy. We’re on the move,” Soap replies, before Rodolfo cuts in.

“Heads up on the helo,” he warns. You find that you much prefer him over the other two – in fact, under any other circumstance, you could see the two of you becoming good friends. Maybe, if everything goes well, that could be a possibility – a positive in your world of negatives.

“Don’t think we’re in his line of sight,” you respond, double-checking your route and the helicopter's position in the sky. Rodolfo had warned you all, debriefing in the drive here, that helicopters would likely show up at some point.

Minutes pass, with small comms between the lot of you, when you finally spot the familiar figures belonging to the other half of your precarious team. 

Soap and Rodolfo stand at the entrance, before the two turn at the sound of your and Ghost’s footsteps. They both seem to visibly loosen their stiff shoulders, seeing you both uninjured – and if you do the same, you pray that no one notices.

“The door’s locked,” Soap informs you all, gesturing to the steel entrance5.

With a small hum, Rodolfo reaches for the pack on his vest. “We’ll need to breach it,” he explains, but before he can grab a charger, Ghost raises a hand to stop him.

“No, Rudy –” And that is a nickname that you’ll be using later, “Knock.”

Rodolfo seems apprehensive, but he agrees anyway, giving all three of you separate glances. “On me…”

All of you getting into readying positions, Rodolfo knocks on the door, the sound echoing loud enough to have your blood pounding in your ears.

A moment later, a Shadow – one you don’t recall having met – pushes open the door and moves to step outside. However, Rodolfo and Ghost are quick to neutralise him, softly dropping his body to the floor.

Pushing through the entrance, everyone except for you shoot a Shadow dead – clearing the room in less than twenty seconds. It’s impressive, how smoothly run the operation is, considering the lack of proper authority or guidance.

You’re the first to spot some more Shadows moving your way, down the stairs – calling it out. “More Shadows from the second floor – watch out!”

This time, you find yourself the cause of two men falling to the ground, blood pooling underneath their lifeless bodies. Your team doesn't give you time to second guess, to mourn, before they’re encouraging you to follow them up the stairs.

“Ale’s up here, let’s go!” Rodolfo urges, his voice bordering on a kind of desperation reminiscent of a boy enlisting for the first time.

Like expected, Alejandro’s cell is down the hall, sat to the far right. Two Shadows guard the steel door, but Soap and Rodolfo are quick to light them up, successfully clearing the entire two floors. You’re ashamed of how relieved you feel, being gifted the small mercies of not having to kill your previous subordinates, unless necessary.

You feel, more than see, Ghost’s heavy gaze on you. When you look back up from the gun in your hands, however, he’s turned completely away – and if you were a less accurate person, you’d have thought you were imagining things.

“There’s Alejandro’s cell.” Stopping at the steel door, Rodolfo adjusts his grip on the gun, before giving you an encouraging jerk of his head. “Open it up, me and Soap will cover you.”

Another small mercy, you think, as Ghost reaches into his backpack and pulls out a set of bolt cutters, regarding you stiffly. “When I pop this lock, you push in,” he directs you curtly, and you bite back a retort. You knew the process like the back of your hand – you had no need for an explanation.

The ‘especially from him’ goes unsaid.

With precise, practised movements, Ghost positions the bolt cutters, and pushes open the door.

As soon as you take one step into the cell, a large hand wraps around the back of your neck, slamming your face into the concrete wall, a blinding pain shooting through your retinas. Letting out a small yelp, your chest rattles as your hands wildly raise in an imitation of surrender.

“Alejandro! Let go of ‘er! It’s us!” Soap calls out, and you swallow unhealthy amounts of air. That hit had taken more out of you than you’d expected – and your harsh breaths were making that incredibly apparent.

The grip on the scruff of your neck slackens when Rodolfo shoots off in quickfire Spanish, “Coronel, relájate, cabron, somos nosotros.”

Your cheek aches and your head pounds as the hand removes itself entirely, allowing for you to take in lungfuls of oxygen.

“Soap, Ghost!” Alejandro bursts out, and as you rise to your feet unsteadily, you watch as he thumps both of them on the back of their shoulders, before turning to Rodolfo with an expression that could only be described as longing. “...Rudy.”

“Didn’t think we’d leave ya, did ye?” Soap chuckles, oblivious to the thread of tension between the two men. 

Whatever silent conversation had occured between the two enforcers is quickly cut as Alejandro accepts the shake of Soap’s hand, a feral grin wide on his features. “What took you so long, pendejos?”

“A traitor with an attitude is what,” Ghost inputs, and really, how much self control can a Lieutenant lack? Wiping at your cheek, you let your hand fall once more to your side as you meet Alejandro’s inquisitive gaze head-on.

“I’m Graves’ previous colonel,” you extend your hand, “And I’m your best bet at getting your base back.”

You expect suspicion, uproar, maybe – or at least questioning, similar to that of Rodolfo’s.

Instead, all you’re met with is Alejandro’s manic smile sharpening, and a slap on the back of your own. Ruffling your hair, he uses his free hand to accept the gun Rodolfo’s extending towards him, shooting you a knowing glance.

“Sounds good, hermana. Welcome to how real men fight.”

taglist. @lilpothoscuttings @jng-yuan @iruzias @insatiablekittie @1wh4re1nova @kaoyamamegami @supernaturalstilinski @inthemiddle0feverywhere @msecho19 @nogood-boyo @alfa-jor @lalashhyl @letmeapologise @honeybeeznutz @1mawh0re

[aneldritchmoth]

SILLY RICHIE / NPMD MEME HEHE

i saw the shirt saved in my cursed folder and i had to draw this

i did this instead of preparing for art fight oops, im almost got everything ready tho so it should be alright. im 4 days early.. kinda nervous still.

anywho my favorite starkid headcanon right now is probably the jon matteson family tree. and all the fanfics i've read where richie live with paul are the best. could that count as found family?? dunno lol.

unrelated but i've been thinking of making a superpowers/superhero au except max would be alive and sort of the cocky hero while the nerds are the villains?? idk could be interesting. ik i want grace and max to team up in said au that im cooking up. im having trouble figuring out what the nerds' powers would be.

max has ghost abilities, for, obvious reasons LOL. going invisible, phasing through walls- maybe telekinesis? and grace has light based powers- she can bend light. that makes sense to me. i might have ruth be the guy in the chair and steph be a loner anti-hero that joins forces with the nerds after?? AAAAA idk

lmk if yall would be intersted to see this sorta au and any power suggestions for pete, richie and steph would be appreciated. ok im done yapping now BYEEE

[scrunklyraven]

DIGITAL PAWS AU

MASTERPOST

The Dark Forest is a truly terrifying place, infamous among cats everywhere.

Bughop, once a loyal and courageous warrior, finds herself ensnared in this nightmarish place, with no hope of escape. Plagued by memories of her past, she struggles to endure the torment.

As Bughop navigates this wretched place, she discovers that not all cats can withstand the suffering. Many cats lose their minds, transforming into savage and twisted versions of themselves—unrecognizable, dangerous, and driven by madness.

Concepts and lore

Kaufmo Cricketbounce concepts

The “map”

Out of bounds

Unused concept art

Meet the characters !!

Meet Pomni Bughop!

Bughop is a cautious and jumpy cat who is trapped in the dark forest along with 5 other cats. Despite her initial skittishness, she demonstrates an innate sense of justice and often challenges the decisions of Foxteeth, the group's leader much to his annoyance.

Bughop is constantly plagued by a sense of restless anxiety. She is often found pacing back and forth, or compulsively scratching at the ground. Her behavior suggests an intense unease and a deep seated desire to escape

Meet Jax Rabbitthump!

Rabbitthump is a self-confident and unabashed cat, notorious for his cruel jokes and knack for picking on others' weaknesses, especially Tawnymouse.

No cat seems to know where he came from or what his past is, and he is quite content keeping it that way, relishing the sense of unease his mysteriousness creates among other cats.

Generally easygoing and carefree, Rabbitthump is never serious, except for those rare occasions when a critical event, like the tragic incident involving Cricketbouce, occured. Such incidents tend to make him uncharacteristically serious and even unnerved. Though, he’d never admit it.

Meet Ragatha Patchface!

Meet Gangle Tawnymouse!

Tawnymouse is a nervous and traumatized cat who used to be a Medicine Cat.

Due to consistent bullying from Rabbitthump, she is continuously on edge and always seeking to avoid confrontation.

Tawnymouse is naturally quiet and soft-spoken, and her behavior might be attributed to the fact she is always ready to flee at any moment.

She has heterochromia, a condition resulting from head trauma she sustained from an insedent with Rabbitthump The trauma has left her emotionally vulnerable and sensitive to any aggressive behavior.

Meet Kinger Frecklenose!

(Disc coming soon)

Meet Zooble (..............)

(Disc coming soon)

Meet Caine Foxteeth!

coming soon-

Official comic

Welcome to hell!!

F&Q

“Can I post fanart”

Yes yes yes!!!!!!!!! I’d LOVE that!!

Please tag me!!!!

“Can I put a self insert oc?”

Of course!!

“Can I write fanfics or other media?”

Yes! Yes! Yes!!

Show meeeee

“Can I ship characters”

Yes, but be responsible.

“Can I post headcanons?”

Of course! I’d love to see people’s interpretations of my work!!

(You shood totally tag me)

“Can I make animations (m.a.ps, amvs, pmvs)

Yessir!!

“Is there any ‘canon’ ships?”

As of now, no, but I’m kinda leaning to funnybunny or one sided showtime (heh) I really dunno as this is a wip and I’m really just getting familiar with the characters and lore

If I do end up putting ships just be aware that you are allowed to ship anything in fanart and I won’t be angy ❤️

With all that said I must add that this is a wip and there is a TON of unfinished storylines and plot holes that I need to fix. And a name for Zooble COUGH. So just bear with me…….♥

[skyeslittlecorner]

Okay, I know it's impossible, but can you do some headcanons about the kings are sick? (like maybe because of angels or sth I dunno :'>)

Then we gotta take care of them (hohoho I fine with fluff or a little bit of smoky situation (^///^))

P/s: Sorry for any grammar mistakes TvT Btw I really enjoy your works (love it :3), so have a great day and take your time (o゜▽゜)o❤️

Thanks dear anon, and hope you have a great day too! 🧡 Them being sick is not so impossible, they are definitely lovesick lmao

We can give them some common cold, why not! That's why we have fanfics. To experiment and have fun. Even so, there are plenty of options for when they might feel unwell. Angel blood, poison, war wounds. But we'll go on the lighter side of regular flu. Sick kings times one, let's do it~

꧁:･ ✡ ･:꧂

Satan will never acknowledge he's feeling bad. Do you want to put him to bed? Make him. Actually, making him won't be so hard because he staggers on his feet. Since you put him in bed, you are supposed to take care of him personally. His flu is a game of cat and mouse, he will feel a little better and he will come out of his room, and then he will feel bad again and you will drag him back into the bed. Preferably by the hair, and furious. He would have cooperated a little more if it weren't for the war. At this rate, you'll be curing his common cold for a month.

Mammon is team "spoil me or I will never get better". He even likes being sick, just cut out the 'feeling bad' part. He loves your concern, has all your attention, and you accumulate drugs so much that he hasn't seen such greed for a long time. It's good that you can't catch demon flu, you'll be like his mascot that he cuddles in bed all the time.

Beelzebub? Sick? Be ready for drama. He is NOT staying in bed. Don't even mention needles, he'll be gone before you finish your sentence. If you want him to stay and heal, you have to entertain him. This bastard isn't even afraid of death, what other can you expect? He's feverish, delusional and bored. It is advisable to buy toys. Looot of sex toys. And definitely try it with him.

Leviathan is impossible to decipher. When he feels worse, he will look even better. There is a joke in my university, "what you can't do, you make up for in looks", and he is embodiment of this. Once you understand that he is sick, don't tell his nobles. He's tired, all he wants is being surrounded with them buzzing like bees in a hive. Just lie down with him. Only with him. He certainly took some medicine on his own, so just be there to keep him company.

[meowzfordayz]

when you hop on their back — mitsuri, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Author’s Note: feeling silly today hehe. 🤪 Translation: played a lot of Terraria earlier, and should prob go touch grass ~soon. 🥴

when you hop on their back — mitsuri, kyojuro, giyuu, tengen

Kanroji Mitsuri x Reader, Rengoku Kyojuro x Reader, Tomioka Giyuu x Reader, Uzui Tengen x Reader

Word Count: ~500

CW: none

Suggestion Fulfilled: can you write one like when u slap their ass but if you just hop on their back and do not let go for the life of you? (love u btw your fanfics are awesome)

~faqs~

Mitsuri’s absolutely delighted ☺️

Def gushes about how cute you are, clinging onto her back as she putters around the kitchen

“Honey, I’m hungry,” you declare, pouting into her neck

“Wanna get down and cook something?” she offers, fondly squeezing your thigh

“No.” 😇

“Okay!” 😁

And w/o further ado, she gets to work cooking you brunch

She’s got one arm locked firmly around your leg, the other doing its best to make eggs, readjusting you every so often to prevent you from slipping off completely 🥺🍳

Occasionally asks if you can grab something for her, leaning over to bring you closer to the spices, and the particular spatula she adores

Lowkey Mitsuri doesn’t even break a sweat (altho you might 😂)

Accepts his fate 

Happily 🥰

“Where are we going?” he asks, grinning from ear to ear

“I dunno,” you giggle, hooking your chin over his shoulder, “To get a snack?”

“Any snack?”

“Sure…” 👀

And that’s how you end up being piggybacked all the way to the corner store, your feet nearly knocking things off the shelves as Kyojuro peruses the options 

“Babe, maybe you should put me down?” you squeak as he deftly catches a bag of chips, breath pushed from your chest from his sudden movement

“No, no, no,” he chuckles, readjusting your position, “I will not let you, or the Doritos, fall!”

Thank gosh you visit the corner store ~regularly (snacks are a must w/ a Rengoku in the household) 😋

Otherwise you’d prob be kicked out by now 💀

Flustered, but not surprised

He 100% heard you coming from a mile away 😂

“My love, what if I drop you?”

“Shh, you would never!” you grin, kissing the side of his head, “You’re the best horsey!”

…

…

And now Giyuu’s conflicted

Should he focus on how warm and soft he feels knowing you trust him wholeheartedly? 🥺

Orrr should he be concerned that you just called him ~horsey? 😭

“Darling?” 💞

“Hm?” 💞

“Never call me horsey again.” 🤠

…

…

“Alrighty.”

He thinks that’s the end of that, until he feels you whisper against his nape, “Not just any horsey, the best horsey.”

You’re very fortunate that his love for you somehow outweighs his sudden and intense urge to buck you off his back

Jokes on you

Tengen mercilessly teases you, and refuses to let you down 🥴

“Awww, are you too tired to walk on your own?” 😃

“Can’t keep up with my strides?” 😎

“Y’know, this ride’s gonna cost you.” 🤑 // “But Tengen, I asked you to put me dow-” 😒 // “Tsk, tsk, you must wait until the ride comes to a complete stop before disembarking!” 🤗

“Keep your seat belt buckled!” 🤓 (seat beat = your arms hung loosely his neck)

“So what’s it like, watching the world go by in a blur?” 😌 // “Tengen, you’re literally strolling.” 😐 // “But I could start sprinting.”🤠  // … // “Please don’t.” 😭

[zan0tix]

I yap so much about the comic and the importance i find in its contents but i hope when i write dirk or jake or rlly any of them it doesnt come off as me dumbing them down😭

I know the core internal mechanisms at which they all operate from otherwise i wouldnt understand why they even do what they do and why they speak how they do since that is so crucial to analysis of their behaviour and Why they were written.

But i mostly write silly scenarios so the deeper messier parts dont get to show much😭 working on deeper things tho rest assured i am locking in🫡🫡🫡

I try to match the tones of how i believe the characters would act continuing off the ending of homestuck. With dirk and jake specifically i try to write them to where they still both kinda dont say everything they need to but they dont have the weight of narrative destiny on their shoulders anymore so they can admit they like spending time together and have actually confessed like normal people and got out those apologies they kept yammering on about in the last half of act 6

I try to reinvoke the ridiculous nature of the one time we really see the real dirk and jake talk (which was actually a dreambubble memory. jake is so gay.) but i try to make it feel how that did, they really do love spending time together and just being weird and cringe and bantering about stupid shit ❤️(the most we see dirk type laugh in the comic)

(Always Highly recommend reading this log if you havent in a while. Its just such good writing theyre so funny) https://www.homestuck.com/story/4844

I feel like the Best Bros part of dirkjake kinda gets lost alot of the time considering THEY NEVER SPEAK DIRECTLY (which is insane that hussie could craft this universe bending gender norm shattering yaoi with no fucking interactions wtf anyway) but there is alot you can gleam from jakes interactions with hal and this one log to tell us how they usually speak

Dirk always veers into making homoerotic comments because.. i dunno he might have feelings for jake or something whos to say. and when jake presses him dirk immediately diverts. I think from being around dave and everything daves realised thats bullshit about masculine standards and heroism that let him have a healthier relationship to masculinity, hearing abt that would loosen dirk up about Actually being affectionate to jake

But hes still somehow trying to no homo his way out of things that are incredibly homo just in a subtler way, not immediately going “Haha, what? I never said that. Anyway.” (Its both out of his fear for what his true identity means about him as a man but also because he doesnt think he deserves to get such affections cough thinks himself an evil)

And jake was always going with the flow. If his friends socially decreed something as okay to talk about then the fucking damn burst open and he couldnt keep it in anymore but they had to Very Clearly Clarify with him about it. So i think dirk going down a more positive road would lead jake there too seeing that if its okay for dirk to be less restrictive with his feelings jake can be too.

The Epilogues has a highly specific premise and was being manned by caliborn and calliope 2.0 cranked to the max in the deranged fanfic behaviour so. Of course it would not be a healthy environment for characters to grow💀 anyone who takes it as full confirmation about how theyd act or become as adults and ignores the fact of its premise Being “Homestuck but Sick and Twisted; The Fanfiction” is kind of stupid its like saying homosuck was in character. Ofc everybodys lives goes to shit because the two running the show dont know how the hell to be good puppeteers 😭

Said it on twitter but you can tell how much a dirk hates himself based on his relationship to a jake. Because tho ult dirk wouldnt ever admit it jake is dirks anchor of self worth just as dirk is jakes. When they show compassion and kindness to one another its a step closer to self acceptance because Jake is quite frankly a living embodiment of EVERYTHING that is “wrong” (queer, cringe, sincere, feminine) about Dirk to himself in his saviour complex surrounding manhood. (See Everything caliborn says about jake) jakes always waiting for dirk. If dirk were to step down and admit his own humanity itd mean hed have to accept he is capable of growing and isnt inherently evil, and jake would be ready to embrace that about himself too

Anyway all that to say. Even in my simple silly writing i at least do try to retain dirk and jakes strange emotional dodging olympics but also its just on a smaller level since theyve inching their way to fully internalising that Its Okay to be Cringe and Gay Together❤️ because the World isnt Ending anymore. Its in the little things they dont say because haha im the one who makes them say words.

Dirk and jake hate themselves because theyre not men in the right way but their love is because of them not being men in the right way so.. nerm.. Whos flying the plane?

[ficandkaboodle]

Vaginismus: Secondo x Fem!Reader

Author's Note: So . . . I'm already really bad at these types of things. But I think writing one of these on this type of subject matter is still important. Fanfiction is kind of a very rough place when it comes to acknowledging or writing for sexual disorders. On one hand, I am to assume this is because fanfic, by its very nature, is meant to be like wish fulfillment. Reader inserts are often meant to be the representations of the best versions of ourselves. But . . . I dunno, I feel like that can only go so far when you see representations of all kinds of disorders or issues or even complete non-issues. And yet virtually nothing is ever made with people who have conditions like vaginismus or whatever in mind. I love a good smut but sometimes, reading stuff makes me flinch inward and all I can focus on is the pain I would be in from even a pinky tip trying anything. I just think it's important to try and remind people that PiV isn't the only way to "get stuff done" and that it should be okay if that's a struggle for you. Some people can work their way out of the condition, and some people never do. And I think it should be okay to write about it because all too often it's easy to forget that or feel like you've lost out on being loved or understood over something that, in the grand scheme, is so silly. And since I have the condition and there's a chance I may never get out of it thanks to my fucked up noggin, I think this should be an opportunity to write about it. Hope I did okay. There might be more to follow . . .

Word Count: 2394 CW: Vaginismus and all the lovely self-loathing it entails, reader has a vagina, references to aspects of BDSM ig, MDNI

In your defense, you didn't think it would go this far. Certainly, one could argue that Secondo was a serious man: He wasn't prone to playing with food that wasn't absolutely his to consume. But you supposed you had forgotten that, or maybe you were just high on the the arrogant assumption that you might be a special case. Or maybe it just slipped your mind to intervene when the teasing glances, subtle and overt flirtations, and little talks between you kept going and going and going until --

Now look where it had gotten you: Sat in the office of the most intimidating Emeritus brother, a packet of documents lying on the desk before you, along with an elaborate green and silver fountain pen.

Secondo preferred to use contracts when it came to his potential bedmates he had a particular eye for. Ones he had an especial intention of keeping closer. Longer.

To many, this was an absolute honor. You knew plenty of siblings that would probably kill to be in your place. And as you sat wordlessly before both Papa and his documents, you contemplated throwing yourself onto those swords.

It would certainly be quicker and less painful than ducking out after coming this far.

You could picture it: St. Andrew's crosses, leather, hot wax searing deliciously into your skin, his sharp voice directing wicked degradation before salving you with praises. All the scrumptious things Papa II had gained a notoriety for indulging. You would gladly eat it all up and beg for seconds and thirds.

But you couldn't stop it there; it had to go further. Nobody just. Stops there. Nobody normal, anyway.

The problem was that you didn't consider yourself normal. Which was what made imagining him getting into position all the more mortifying even if in concept. You could picture yourself trying to convert the anticipation you were meant to feel from one of nerves into one of bliss but it doesn't matter. You try so hard to relax and be in the moment but it's a terrible moment!

You'd heard Secondo was blessed. The idea sat in your stomach while its surroundings shriveled in fear and constricted to an uncomfortable degree. Hell, it wouldn't even matter if he were the opposite of blessed: It would all hurt the same. It would still feel as though a needle were shanking its way into your most intimate parts, piercing onward until it struck your lungs and took the oxygen right out of you. And that would only be the beginning of it.

And just thinking that was enough to make the mask slip.

You prayed to Lucifer that the sound of you wordlessly nudging the papers and pen closer to Secondo would somehow be enough to disguise the whimper paining your throat. Unfortunately, it was not.

Your already throbbing stomach somehow made enough room to swallow your heart when you saw the older man's brow quirk.

"Something the matter, Sorella?" His voice, the one you'd grown to swoon into after all these passing weeks, made you want to flinch now. Fuck. You could feel your resolve slipping through your fingers like sand and creating further mess. You just needed to keep it together --

"N-no," you forced out. You tried not to dwell on how tight your voice sounded or how it even hurt just to utter that. A complete opposite to how smooth and natural it had been when you answered his invitation to his office earlier. You weren't even sure why you hadn't expected this to be the reason for such a request. You were so naive then . . .

You tried to push through the pain, tried add on, "I'm just --" but stopped almost immediately. You had no idea what to continue with. Fuck, you were fucking this up so badly! You seriously began to contemplate just standing up and leaving, but then where would that get you?

You still lived here, in the Abbey. Avoiding a Papa was virtually impossible at the end of the day. There was no way you two could carry on as though nothing had ever happened -- the flirting, the gazes, all that junk . . . Oh, Satanas, would you need to relocate? Uproot the life you'd finally managed to create for yourself here, sent off somewhere else just to hide the humiliation of what you were and what you had or hadn't done?

Satan, why did it feel so hot in here? Was that why the air suddenly feel like it was only oozing into your lungs with difficulty?

Clearly, Secondo did not take the silence well. His lips pressed into a thin line. "If I have insulted you, Sorella, I deeply apologize." No . . . "I thought you were aware of my practices." No!! He reached a large, ringed hand out to pull the items back towards him. And somehow, that was the final straw, the final snap before the dam collapsed.

It was like watching your last chance for something being taken away from you, even of your own accord! In fact, it was exactly that: Something you knew was necessary but it didn't have to be that way but fuck, your body and mind were at odds with each other and making it your problem and --

You hadn't even noticed that you'd turned into a crying, hiccuping mess, much less one that talked. It was only when you could see through your tears an actually surprised-looking Secondo (he was capable of shock?!) that you comprehended just what sort of state you were in.

And if it was enough to make the most emotionally constipated man in the Church look disquieted, then you must've been in a sorry state. The room only felt more hot as the burn of embarrassment enveloped you. You hoped it might even consume you in a full-throttle case of spontaneous human combustion as you struggled to swallow back up everything you'd just done.

"I-I-" you hiccuped wetly. It was so hard to formulate words underneath his gaze, which he never took off of you even as he reached for a box of tissues to offer you. You knew it was one of concern, searching for traces that maybe you needed help he couldn't offer you. But for the state your mind was currently in, it twisted it into one of disgust; like maybe all those affections he might've held for you an hour ago were being replaced with ones where all he saw was a madwoman.

It was almost too much. But it was also too late to go back now, wasn't it?

"I . . . My body doesn't work right," you finally admitted in a croaked murmur. Your eyes flew down to your lap in shame, watching your hands twist and tear at the wet tissues you'd just used. "It's a condition. Like my body clenches up down there at the mere thought of penetration. So . . . So sex is off the table, basically. I'm s-sorry . . ."

God, it sounded all so lame when you said it like that. But what else could you really do? How could you communicate to him the physical and mental pain it all caused you? How could you get across to him the embarrassment that came with pap smears, the shame you felt when recognizing how behind your peers you were? Would he sympathize or pity you if he learned that on a good day, you could get the very tip of a well-lubricated q-tip in and have to consider that a victory?

You weren't able to even formulate such thoughts, let alone predict how he might feel besides, perhaps, disappointment. Maybe even disgust.

Secondo liked the finer things in life, after all: How must he feel, knowing he'd wasted so much time and energy on something that was actually broken the whole time?

"I . . . I'm so sorry." At this, your fidgeting froze, your mind beckoning for you to glance up even the slightest. In doing so, even from such an awkward angle, you could see your Papa's expression remain nearly unchanged from before. It was still worried for you, though now with a touch of something more. "I can't imagine how difficult a spot you must've felt you were in . . . And for that, I apologize."

You gave a wobbly expression born of appreciation but also acknowledging the silliness of the sentiment. You gently huffed at the absurdity, "Don't apologize, you couldn't have known." A soft shrug allowed you to upright your position better. "If anything, I'm the one that should apologize. I should've said something in the beginning . . ."

At this, the older man shrugged back. "Perhaps, but I also can understand how uncomfortable that might've made you feel. Telling someone something so intimate can be difficult. Especially if it is like . . . Well." He gestured between the both of you.

You gave the smallest of chuckles (albeit, out of a desperate need to tenderize the mood) as you twisted the shredded pieces of napkin in your lap once more. Yet again, your eyes diverted from their connection with his. "Yeah, well, at least you would've known whether or not to waste time on me."

At that, the mood seemed to slightly change. You didn't feel threatened, but you knew that the breed of seriousness had shifted somewhat. Almost reprimanding. The eyes of Papa Emeritus II were just as intimidating out of the papal paints as they were in them, it seemed.

"I can assure you, Sorella," his normal nature of calmness returned, all traces of hesitancy from moments ago completely evaporated. "I don't see any of the time or what we've done together as a waste. If you have had any partners in the past that might've felt the opposite, then I sympathize greatly with you. But I also know that means you have no experience with anyone worth your time. That is, perhaps, the most disappointing thing of all here."

Damn. What do you even say to something like that? What could you say to something like that? Under normal circumstances, you might've argued in unfortunate defense of past failed connections, pinning the blame on you. After all, that's what made the most sense. or at least, it had. Until now, with the metaphorical mirror being propped up before you by one insistent Papa.

The room fell into silence as you searched for a response -- if you even needed to make one.

"Do you still want me?"

You almost jolted. You hadn't been expecting that to be what broke the silence.

"I . . . Well, yes. Of course I do, Papa." And you did. But . . . "But I don't know if --"

"I didn't ask for specifics, piccolina. I asked you: Do you still want to be with me?"

You struggled with a punctuated inhale. "Yes."

He hummed single low note before taking back the documents and pen. You watched curiously (and perplexedly) as he began to scribble and draw lines at seemingly random places. After what had felt like an eternity, he finally slid the packet back to you.

"Take a look. It's the roughest of drafts, of course, but we can properly revitalize it as needed. If you wish to make further retractions or additions, I give you the freedom to apply them."

Your brow furrowed as you picked up the papers for inspection. Of course, your eyes were immediately drawn to the instances of green ink that now freckled the paragraphs but you took especial time dialing it back and reading in full what these adjustments were meant to even mean.

Acts concerning penetration had been removed or adjusted as necessary, acts concerning outercourse or fondling had been either emphasized or added and asterisked.

"But . . . But Papa, I can't ask you to take away from your own pleasure," you objected. It was bad enough you'd strung him along, even if he argued that you hadn't. This was still quite a lot to grapple with in under ten minutes.

At this, Secondo cracked the first hint of amusement he'd had this entire session. He smirked as he reclined back in his hair. "And what, pray tell, makes you think I wouldn't derive pleasure from doing any of these things, piccolina?"

Porn, smut, the stories kiss-and-tell Siblings would often share in the cafeteria or in the hallways or the quad. Reddit posts.

"Well, I mean," you tried to argue. "They were there for a reason, weren't they? You enjoy those things." You ignored how the smirk on his face only seemed to grow. Hm. Maybe your words didn't have as much umph to them as you'd thought? Still, you continued. "A-and besides: I can't imagine you'd get off as easily from --" You glanced down at a word he'd scribbled in. " -- thigh jobs."

The low chuckle that rumbled from his chest settled your failure of a one-sided debated.

"Oh, Sorellina: You have much to learn about my proclivities," he sighed. "I understand that what the others might talk about may paint a certain picture of me. But I can assure you, any lover worth his salt should know that just shoving their dick into something is far from the end all, be all."

"And besides." The chair squeaked as he leaned in, hands folded on the dark wood of the desk. "It takes a true lover to relish in pleasure's many forms. I am more than happy to show you this, if you will let me."

It didn't matter that you had heard him say and gesture far cruder things: Just the words coming from his lips -- lips you had craved the taste of ever since your first sampling mere days ago -- coupled with the sincerity of his unbreaking eye contact. Your face was once again awash with a heat, a pleasant one born from blush.

You wanted to let him. You'd let him do whatever he could with you. You just needed to . . . let him.

Your body made picking up the pen feel weightier than it could've possibly been. But in a way, you were used to it: You were used to fighting your body and mind, always losing the battle so that they and their anxieties could be pacified while the other parts of you remained barren. Unsatisfied, with the conviction that it was only your burden to bear.

You didn't want a story to tell or even a milestone to complete so that you could better fit in with your peers: You just wanted to be understood. Or at least, like you wouldn't get left behind, chained by your own body and mind's complications.

As you stared at the green ink that formed your name on the pristine white paper, you felt a tightness in your throat. Never before had you felt so liberated . . .

[mondaymelon]

Remember the one where the boys read your fanfics about them?? It was rlly good!! How abt if they read a fanfic about someone else?? Would they get jealous??

djlajflkdt thank you!! and ooh i can s e n s e the jealousy 👀👀

original fanfic here ✩ (does this count as a post? idk)

xiao: he'd probably act really cold to you for a while or so. he thought he was your favorite, and now here you go, using your scarce time to write fantasies about someone else? he's upset, to say the least, but doesn't even begin to confront you about it.

kazuha: probably the most understanding out of the four - but still not exactly okay with it. i mean, his favorite person in the entirety of the world is busying themselves writing strange fictions about someone other than him. even after he's written all of his poems for you, how could you betray him like this? still, he'll try to understand your point and will probably just act a little shunned.

heizou: goes into detective mode as soon as he finds out. what's the difference between that person and him? what makes them better? he's a renowned detective, both handsome and charming, so why was it that you had decided to write about them instead? he'll count this as his "official" work and probably spend most of his time researching the secrets of the person you dared write fanfiction for... so in a way, this might just be your fault.

scaramouche: pissed. so pissed. after all this talk about "not betraying him" and "always being by his side"... even after all those compliments you threw at him, wishing he'd come home... now you go ahead and shamelessly do... whatever that is? about them of all people? hm, that's strange, how come his ingame model isn't looking the screen in the eye... must be a bug. ah, but now he's angry, and he might just have a thirst for blood. if you don't hold him back, there might just be a character deleted from the game, for whatever reason...

(a/n) im just going to try and be responsible and do a couple reqs because prompt creativity is on an all time low

(dunno if this counts as a post so ima just ✨not✨ add this to the masterlists)

[allastoredeer]

I dunno why when it's radiostatic then I'm either indifferent or sometimes, rarely as it is, even like top!Alastor but when it's radioapple then even a thought about top!Alastor and bottom!Lucifer makes me wanna to gouge my eyes out haha

Samsies, Anon XD When it comes to radiostatic, I don't mind top!Alastor. I've actually like it on a few occasions of Alastor domming Vox. It's delicious. It's exquisite. Very yummy.

I think its the fandom-wide depiction of top!Alastor and bottom!Lucifer that turns me off from that dynamic. With Vox, Alastor gets to be more himself. He's not turned into this super suave alpha male dude (probs because Vox already fits that bill LMAO). Alastor gets to keep his fun and silly characteristics. I've seen more fan art of Alastor in a dress in radiostatic than radioapple, and I would like to thank the radiostatic community for contributing to my health. Thank you for putting my pookie in a dress, he looks amazing and beautiful just like he should.

And Vox gets to be his silly self too. He's still a boyfail. He's a mess. He's suave and charming, but obsessive and goofy at the same time. They match each other's freak.

From what I've seen, radiostatic typically feels closer to their canon counterparts than a lot of radioapple, which might be why I've been so drawn to radiostatic lately.

Their dynamic is so much more complicated and interesting than a lot of radioapple too, which is INSANE because Lucifer is literally the King of Hell, a prideful son of bitch, and an insecure, depressed mess who's been shown to despise Sinners. Alastor is a silly, girlpop, murderous Overlord who's rise to power is a mystery to EVERYONE (that should've been also impossible considering the assumption that he killed the other Overlords), he had an immediate dislike towards Lucifer that was never explained or expanded on, AND he's slowly been driven to (more) insanity because someone owns his soul, and that someone could very well be Lilith, Lucifer's ex-wife. THESE TWO ARE SUCH TASTY, COMPLICATED CHARACTERS AND RADIOAPPLE SHOULD BE THE TASTIEST OF SHIPS.

And yet, they're starting to feel like the oatmeal of ships. Bland and boring.

Don't get me wrong, I DO like radioapple. I do. I promise. I wouldn't be writing radioapple fanfic if I didn't. But it is hard to find enjoyment in the ship when most of what I see turns the characters into tropes and caricatures that strip them of all their tastiest qualities.

[diabolocracy]

"Problematique media bad because it harms people because mentally ill people or children might read it and try to do it :("

Let's ban Superman, then, since there are many kids who have leapt from high heights trying to fly because they saw him do it in comics or on the teevee. (Fun fact, dunno if it's national, but at least one Canadian province already technically has a ban on all comics/stories of that nature for the reasoning of "someone blamed these stories for their own chosen actions". Not that anyone enforces it, buuuut...)

Let's also ban anime. Remember that (unsupervised, might I say) kid that buried his head in the sand and died because he wanted to be like Gaara from the Narutos? No? Well now you know about it.

Oh, what's that? You like Superman? You like anime...? You don't want these things banned because some people are stupid and failed to give their children the "don't try to replicate what you see/read in fiction" talk? Too bad! Blanket ban!! For the good of the people who clearly cannot be trusted to teach their kids or take care of their mentally ill family!!!

While I'm on this rant,

"Problematique media bad because people can use it to groom others :("

As many people have pointed out time and time again, people who groom kiddies IRL use candy, cute animals, and other small gifts (if they don't just grab Little Timmy and pull him into their car in a drive-by abduction).

Let's ban candy! Let's ban cute animals! Let's ban plush toys, comic books, and all other little nick-knacks because again, people cannot be trusted to supervise or otherwise look after their own children or even provide their brats the most basic safety talks!

"But when I was a kid I thought [thing] was okay because I read about it in a fanfic :("

Well, buttercup, sorry to tell you this, but your parents and teachers all failed you! :) Perhaps this blame can even extend to the government, because when I was growing up there were PSAs on the television about NOT REPLICATING THINGS YOU SEE ON TV OR READ ABOUT IN FICTIONAL STORIES.

EDUCATION IS SUPERIOR TO BANNING.

EDUCATION IS SUPERIOR TO MAKING STRANGERS OR THE GOVERNMENT BABYSIT YOU OVER MOTHERFUCKIN' STORIES.

And that doesn't even stop at all this bullshit about problematique fiction! Unfortunately, rational human beings with a brain have to co-exist with idiots too uncurious and too stupid to learn about anything that makes them personally uncomfortable (like republicans and conservatives and TERFs and neo-nazis and, yes, fanpol, you too--I'd go so far as to call you guys "useful idiots" like fellow queers who fell for the "LGB drop the T" attempt to divide and conquer the queer community bullshit perpetrated by the Christian right and no that is not a bullshit conspiracy theory)!

🙂Anyway, back to making cookies run. Bye

[winterlogysblog]

4KOTA FANFIC

Note: I wrote this on a whim so it may not be good, but please enjoy

"Sin, what's wrong?" Nasiens asked, wondering why the small pink fox stopped walking.

Lancelot shook his head and started walking again. "It's nothing, I just remembered something, it's not anything you have to worry about."

He looks like them, the similarities are uncanny. He didn't think of too much in the looks department at first, it's just a coincidence he argued to himself but as days passed by he's sure of it... Nasiens... Nasiens is his cousin. He's the child his Uncle lost a long time ago, an event that tormented his heart and soul to this very day. Sometimes, he considers his heart reading to be a curse simply because he can hear everything, he can hear all the things that he shouldn't hear.

"Anne should calm down now." He changed the subject as quickly as he could.

"Yes, your method might be questionable but it certainly made her let out all of those feelings." Nasiens nodded. "Besides, what happened is quite unfortunate, losing his daughter like that."

Lancelot stayed silent for a while before hopping into the topic that would hopefully lead to his desired conversation.

"What about you? We're told that your grandfather found you in the Gorge, ever wonder about your real parents."

"I don't think my parents care about me anyway, they wouldn't abandon me like that if they did," Nasiens answered, glancing at Sin and wondering to himself what made the fox so chatty today.

"You're so sure about it, why is that?" Nasiens picked up a sudden shift in Sin's tone, it's like he's hurt.

"It's just... I can't help but think that they don't want anything to do with me. I mean, they left me in a forest, they probably think I'm already dead."

"Nasiens... Ever heard of a changeling."

"A changeling???"

"It's a ridiculous 'prank' that some fairies like to play where they would switch a fairy baby to a human baby, the Fairy King banned this practice, however, there are always some thick-headed miscreants who are too stupid to listen."

Nasiens gasped. "That's horrible!!"

"I know." Lancelot nodded.

"But, what does that have to do with... Do you mean to tell me that..."

"Don't jump to conclusions yet. I'm not certain, but it's a possibility."

"But, the others didn't tell me anything about this."

"They most likely didn't think of it that way," Sin answered.

"Then, why did you?"

Sin deeply sighed. "It's your magic... Mix Venom, it makes you completely immune to poisons right?" Nasiens nodded in response

"Immunity to poisons is rare in humans, it's commonly found in fairies though, and also one more thing... your scent."

"What about it?" Nasiens fiddled with his fingers, his curiosity about what Sin had been talking about turned to nervousness.

"A faint natural smell of Jasmine, quite interesting for a human."

"It's just a hunch, but you may just be a fairy, my friend." Sin chuckled. "But, what do I know!! It's your choice if you trust me or not."

Nasiens lowered his head. "The fairies in the forest also pointed that out when I was young but... I can't be a fairy!! I can't even fly or have wings!"

"Flightless fairies are surprisingly quite common, and as for the wings... I've been told that the Fairy King was once wingless."

"Sin... what exactly are you trying to say to me?"

"I dunno, like I said it's a hunch, you're found in a forest filled with fairies after all. It could be that your parents just lost you because of this stupid prank, fairy or not."

Nasiens smiled a bit, he didn't understand where it came from but he couldn't help but be glad at the idea of it. But a small thought did cross his mind.

"How do you know all this?" Nasiens asked.

"I'm acquainted with the Fairy King, he's quite knowledgeable about a lot of things."

"Really?! That's amazing!!"

While they're in the conversation of Fairies, Nasiens asks Sin a few things.

"What is he like?"

"Who?" Sin turned to Nasiens.

"The Fairy King, what is he like?" Nasiens asked.

Sin smiled warmly which Nasiens never thought was possible. The fox hopped up and rested on Nasiens' shoulder. "He's the kindest King I know." Sin started talking.

Nasiens smiles as Sin talks, seeing him like this makes Nasiens look at the creature from a different angle, Sin seems happy and cheery, Nasiens doesn't expect the ever-so-serious fox to laugh and giggle as he tells these stories.

"You seem to be more than acquainted with him you two seem to be rather close, for you to act as you do."

Sin chuckles. "I'll probably introduce you guys to him someday."

"Okay, you don't have to go that far." Nasiens sweated nervously.

[bluebunnysart]

Fanart of my own fanfiction (Chimera Teto x Android Miku)

Good news! When I woke up and looked at my art again today, I liked it, so here's the uncolored version! I trust you tumblr people, so here you go! You may view. This technically means I've drawn UTAU Teto (here) and SynthV Teto, but I really want to color this and take my time doing so, so here are the lines before it turns into something else hahaha 😂😂😂 Read More for the stuff I wanted to write last night but was too tired to (also the art time lapse)

I showed like two WIPs of different ideas on Twitter but none of them were this LOL (just goes to show how much I wanna draw and see of these two specifically) but the reason I decided to go with this is 'cuz that fanfic I wrote in like one day really got me excited and it made me really want to draw them as I was imagining more stuff about them. Here I'll talk about what I had in mind

I love chimera Teto, especially her majestic wings, and what I drew here is basically inspired by that! Teto's basically the only "living, sentient" thing around Miku so far (I dunno how to approach adding more creatures just yet), which makes Miku extra interested in her. But basically Miku likes Teto's wings and tail too and is very fascinated by them.

I had an idea where Miku is just holding or playing with Teto's tail out of nowhere and complimenting the heck out of her, and that was condensed into this piece. It was too crowded on Miku's side to have Teto's tail there as well, but the reason Teto's embarrassed (tsundere is nice, aint it xD) is 'cuz Miku is indeed praising the heck out of her. Calling her cute and saying how cool her wings are and whatnot.

The dialogue kinda goes like, "Your wings are so cool! And I really like how expressive your tail is! I wonder what I would do with a tail. It's so cute! Actually, now that I think about it, all of you is really cute!!" (Teto, embarrassed: "Stop talking now.") wwww

Miku does have a kinda tail actually! It's the chain on top of her skirt. As an android, I was thinking it works as sort of a battery plug or USB or something. I can show off more of that later (since it's really small here lol) but she can use it to receive electricity and recharge herself, I guess~. (Note to self: make it bigger?)

I haven't shown off much of my art style, but most (normal) characters usually don't have pupils. (See: this Teto, who's a living breathing creature.) As a result, I decided to give Miku pupils (kinda robot-like) to make her seem like more of a robot. She also wears the thing (headphones) over her ears, of course, which I can also use to make her seem more robot-like. There's no green flashing of code in her eyes right now but I might draw that sometime too, after my loads of other ideas...

Teto's wings aren't fragile. They're probably firm, hard, and could even be scaly/rough (up to my own whims or the reader's own preference). Her letting Miku touch her (wings) is probably a huge display of trust/confidence. Teto's wings are strong enough to carry her far distances and even allow her to fly in bad weather, I think. It's up to Teto herself how much energy/desire she has to do things like that though.

This is mentioned in the fic too, but Teto probably folds her wings a lot so they don't get in the way. She's kinda like a bird. I think her silhouette against the sun or moon, with full wingspan, is probably majestic (I'm imagining the Batman symbol for some reason lol). I know some people color Teto's wings as purple, but I specified black in my fic to match her tail. ^^

In order for her wings to breathe, there are probably holes in the back of her outfit to accommodate them, but they're only big enough for the wings (ellipses/ovals probably): she either tears/cuts holes into the shirts she wears for her wings or they already fit her wings so there's no problem. I wonder if Teto made her UTAU outfit herself in this setting. xD (A girl has to pass the time SOMEHOW plus she's probably at least a little bit handy when it comes to clothes and stuff (survival).)

If, while I'm coloring, I need to make adjustments to the seating and lineart and all that, I will, but I figured I'd show off what made me stay up 'til 5 AM last night and then get embarrassed to post 'cuz I thought I wasn't finished yet. I woke up and I liked it, so I'm just gonna put it in this here blog. c:

I don't know how to color, so coloring will be a trip 😂