#my fanmade ego

[the-matpat-ever]

This is an old drawing I made of Madpat, you can find it on one of my older Tumblr posts

As you can see this doesn't look anything like him(a psychotic man in a bear onesie is a very distinct, iconic look) so I propose that I turn him into a fanmade Matpat ego😌

I fear I projected too much of myself and fanon onto him that he became my own character

HE WAS LITERALLY GETTING FREAKY WITH STEVE RAGLAN IN MY FNAF RP SERVER...THAT IS NOT MADPAT.(please don't ask😭)

When I made him for the rp, I kinda...shoulda rewatched the fnaf musicals cuz i screwed up my man Madpat sm😭😔

JUSTICE FOR THE MAN IN THE BEAR SUIT AND CHAINSAW‼️

Now I gotta think of more interesting lore for this guy... >:)

[walmartt]

walmart worker mark :3

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Things Happen After Dark...

(Disclaimer: one of the characters in this story do not belong to me. Casey Clowes was created by my amazing friend, @insane4fandoms.)

(Now, as for the fanegos who do belong to me: for more information on Caliban, go here. For more information on Azalea, go here. Murdock belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe, and if you’d like to see my personal headcanons on him, go here.)

HAPPY NEW YEAR! (Only twelve minutes late...oh well 😅 🍾)

(Trigger Warnings: murder/death, blood/gore, violence, descriptions of illegal business, poisoning, strangling/suffocation, cannibalism, broken bones, beating/blunt force trauma, knives/blades/weapons, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Sections of the old concrete floor were slick, shining against the dim, flickering lights up above.

An unmistakable metallic stench hung in the air like heavy fog. 

Casey hated the fact that it lined up so well with how he could hear his own blood rushing through the veins in his ears.

The shivers were so violent, racing up and down throughout Casey’s ribcage. He ground his jaw; he couldn’t let his teeth start chattering. 

He’d already shown more fear than he’d care to admit—now, he couldn’t afford to show too much more. 

That would only make it easier for them…

To be clear, it wasn’t that Casey was unfamiliar with these sorts of places.

Old buildings that loomed on the sides of roads, basically out in the middle of nowhere, adorned by sun-bleached brick or faded paint and broken windows. 

The peculiar spots that had been left to rot for whatever reason a long time ago, that anyone could pass on their way to something better.

It was a bit ironic, really; he’d been hired to gather evidence against stalkers so many times before. And yet, sneaking around certain places at odd hours was exactly how he went about earning his keep and paying his bills.  

Sure, he wasn’t immune to cold sweat, or shivers up the spine, or having to duck and cover and just hold his breath until his lungs set themselves on fire and brace for some kind of horrific impact until he could finally, finally manage to peek out and move to safer ground…

But you just couldn’t be a private investigator if you couldn’t handle that kind of stuff.

It was just a fact of life: the more condemned a place was, the more likely people were to slip in through its cracks and do God-knows-what because they knew that pretty much everyone else wouldn’t venture inside.

He’d already snooped around two abandoned factories much like this one earlier in the year. 

Hell, those cases had even started off in a somewhat similar way to tonight’s shenaniganry: with a stroll through the Cove Port Inlets, just to review the facts—there never seemed to be enough—and get the juices flowing.

Granted, those other cases hadn’t involved him getting pulled into an alleyway so a few scumbags could practice for a chiropractic degree. 

Those other cases hadn’t involved him blacking out and eventually coming to with way more rope tightly coiled wrapped around his chest and arms than he remembered.

Those other cases hadn’t involved him being on the receiving end of an amateur stakeout.

Those other cases hadn’t involved near as much of a cacophony—screams that eventually bled into unintelligible whimpers and gurgles. 

Bones snapping under pressure, flesh practically sighing as metal was dragged through it.

Red either oozing down in ribbons to create viscous puddles, or droplets soaring through the air to splatter against the walls or, or, or…

It was almost made worse by the fact that he recognized the figures who were now pacing around the room, just a few feet from the corner he’d been bound to.

Well, the recognizing was sort of technical. 

This wasn’t the first close encounter he’d had with them (and his instincts demanded that he believe it wouldn’t be the last, either), but all the tricks, all the chases, all the near-misses just made things…strange. 

“Oh my God,” Azalea Crawford announced, stepping away from the mess to kneel down beside him, her big chestnut eyes glinting. “Is—is that a half-respirator?”

She reached out to carefully turn the small gas mask that rested on Casey’s collar from a strap stretched across the back of his neck. 

Casey took a subtle deep breath. The shivers cranked themselves up to eleven, so he had to try even harder than before to keep them trapped in his chest. 

She may have been petite—truly, she was one of the shortest adults he’d seen in his life—especially compared to him, but he knew better than to underestimate her. He’d heard of her reputation.

He’d watched her smile so casually when one of his kidnappers fell to the floor as though all his bones had just melted, wailing in agony and clawing at the same dart that had been shot from a small gun she’d pulled from her carob-colored vest 

“Hey, you left quite an impression that one time,” Casey finally answered, raising a sarcastic eyebrow. 

“That’s nice of you to say,” Azalea replied, fidgeting with the cherry-red headband that decorated her gently-curling locks. The venom-laced sugar in her voice made it clear that she remembered just as well as he did. 

“Ooh,” another voice called out from a bit further away, set in a Midwestern accent, a bit jagged around the edges yet somehow still managing to be silvery. “Trauma-incuded mementos are a classic!”

Caliban Crawford wandered closer, his mouth—well, pretty much everything below his eyes, to be honest—still dripping with gore. As he bared his red-drenched teeth in a shiny grin, his silver canine-cap almost seemed to be letting off sparks thanks to the flickering lights.  

“Guess that means I’ve gotta up my own ante, huh?” He asked as he stood beside his sister, appraising toward her and sinister toward the captive audience.

Casey grimaced, quickly shaking his head. “Please don’t.”

“I just feel like I’ve been challenged!” Caliban held up his hands, his shoulders popping up in a snide shrug. “Y’know, to see if I can make you get another protective trinket.”

“The human body’s already horrifying enough on its own!” Casey protested. He would’ve made a furious weeping gesture toward the fresh carnage across the room, but his hands were literally tied, so the most he could do was nod at it. “Look at that! How did you even do that?!”

Caliban paused, glancing over his shoulder to fix the viscera another hungry look.

“I mean, you were kinda watching all of us when it happened,” Azalea mentioned.

“Yeah, well I was TRYING not to!” Casey retorted. 

“A dollop of fairy dust,” Caliban finally proclaimed, folding his arms across his chest as his focus returned to the investigator.

Casey blinked, and if it weren’t for his restrained position, he would’ve felt his jaw hitting the floor. “...That’s nOT FUNNY!” 

“Yeah? Then why was I laughing so much?” Caliban’s eyes grew wider, his grin even sharper than before. 

“BECAUSE YOU’RE SICK!” 

“Oh, c’mon. He’s just having some fun with his job,” Azalea reached up to pat her brother on the shoulder. “What’s wrong with that?”

Casey was about to go on a whole tirade about how a-frickin-LOT of things were wrong with being so damn happy about a career in contract-killing and the Black Market, but he didn’t get the chance. 

“Hey, listen,” yet another voice piped up from just around the corner, steeped in velvetine oil. “I deserve some credit for all this too.”

Murdock Mallory came strolling into the room, a few tiny red spots still clinging to his black-tinted lenses. Really, it was a miracle how no blood seemed to have gotten in the raven hair that just about tickled his shoulders.

“I ripped the tag off a mattress this morning,” he continued, idly twisting the thin chain around his neck between his forefinger and thumb, causing its brass pendant to spin. “Pretty sure that set off some kind of Butterfly Effect.”

Casey wanted to shout, to sputter, to do something more to showcase how angry he was because that just felt like the only thing he had left right now…but he couldn’t. 

Instead, he just heaved a long-suffering sigh. “Oh, wow. And here I thought anatomy was the only science you guys were interested in.” 

“Uh, excuse you. I’m all about chaos theory,” Caliban huffed before turning away and beginning to scrape up the horrific remains that he was insane enough to deem as leftovers into what looking like a body bag. 

“You don’t need to have such an attitude about this,” Murdock chided, taking a few steps closer and tilting his head to the side. “Think: some sleazeball competitors of ours took you hostage to try and bait us. We could’ve just let them get rid of you, but no! We got rid of them instead! So, when you think about it, we’ve actually done you a pretty nice favor here.”

“Yeah,” Azalea agreed. Her voice was suddenly much closer, and Casey realized too late that he couldn’t see her anymore. “We could just leave you here for the cleanup crew to deal with, but we’re not doing that, either! Just think about that when you wake up, huh?” 

The question was punctuated by the distinct pinching sensation of a needle sinking into the small of Casey’s neck…

___

Of course, Casey wasn’t in the rightest mind to think about some things immediately after that. 

When he woke up on a park bench just as the sun began climbing its way into the sky, however, he had to admit: he had plenty to think about. 

…Mainly the fact that he had to have some begrudging gratitude about no chloroform being used. That stuff was way nastier than the movies ever let on.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @lampsforsocks @b-is-in-the-closet

[faislittlewhiteraven]

Fai's Fic Ramble: The GorseTale AU (bare basics)

Ever since roughly... 2017 I think, there been a single Undertale fanfic I've been tapping away at and though it's nowhere near done or even organised enough for me to think about posting chapter 1 on A03, I recently posted a spinoff fic related to it called Eight Coloured Picture about the deaths of all the fallen humans and how some monsters each time were effected by their passing, and well.

I wanna ramble about the main story that fic comes from for a bit!

So.

Working Title: 'Gorse, Blackthorn and Buttercups' I also call it GorseTale in my head for short since Gaijin Goombah's rather fun video on why Undertale's Golden Flowers are most likely Gorse was a HUGE inspiration for the fic back when I started out (it's er changed quiet a bit since then but I'm keeping the flower vibes because Chara likes them and I did way too much research into both practical and symbolic uses for plants in the Underground for this fic not to use at least some of it at some point XD).

Core premise: Story is a Slice of Life/Drama AU set around Frisk being born in the Underground and taken in by Toriel right around the time of 'Undertale canon' (for Undertale Yellow fans, roughly a year or so after Clover's death), and through a series of domino effects stemming from that, various monsters of the Underground are confronted with the flaws of both themselves and their kingdom, and as a result start putting in effort to try fixing things so the little human child they've become so attached to can actually live their life to the fullest without fear of being murdered just for being born a non monster.

Aka: Toriel and Sans experience the joys and terror of co-parenting a child who only survives past the age of 3 because they have phenomenal cosmic power. Papyrus discovers the Royal Guard is NOT in fact something he wants to join (and accidentally becomes politically active in an effort to right by his new nibbling). Undyne takes some time to really rethink her career path and motives. Alphys somehow manages to turn former mistakes into miracles (oh and cures death maybe). Mettaton learns to take time off and share the spotlight, and finally King Asgore gets a surprising amount of hope in encouraging peaceful rebellion against his own accidental dictatorship.

Main cast: Rotates a bit since every major monster (and Flowey) matters in this and who's most in focus depends on the exact arc but Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, Chara and Frisk are the ones who I have the most planned scenes for since well, they're where the 'domino effect' starts.

Ships: Fic is pretty gen for the most part but leaning Undyne/Alphys, Papyrus/Mettaton (who knew all Paps needed to become popular was to openly try convincing monster kind that killing all the humans is wrong in front of a very specific underground star XD), and some very very very slowburn Sans/Toriel (is teased throughout the story because Sans IS Frisk's other parent Sans just means 'Dad' in Frisk speak and I find various Monsters' "Wait Sans has a kid- Wait Sans is married?!" reactions hilarious (Paps giving 'context' to why he suddenly has a nibbling to Undyne especially) but actual, real Soriel doesn't happen until near the very end because Toriel is Not Ok, Sans leans AroAce/Demi and both agree that while the odd kiss, hug or 'real talk' is fine neither up for anything more than that right now. Also Toriel has yet to get a formal divorce and er, she can't even think of him for much of the fic without wanting to set him on fire so... Yeah). Also considering Mad Mewmew/Asgore (because funny but also oddly sweet), and Mettaton trying to get over a crush on Alphys at the start (due to Mettaton's Winter Alarmclock dialogue reframing all of Mettaton's actions in canon in a whole newlight for me), but for the most part romance really isn't a focus.

Things to set it apart from every other 'Frisk grows up in the Underground' fanfic:

A LOT of worldbuilding focus on stuff how monsters get food and materials.

Toriel teaching everyone how Monster society was before the War vs now (aka lots of cultural trauma themes here).

More emphasis on how little Monster society these days really knows about things they really should given their Kingdom's plans.

Sans 'timeline trauma' getting tossed out the window for joining Toriel in 'worried parent' stress (hard to be upset about LOADS when they're specifically stopping a toddler you love from getting murdered).

Papyrus accidentally making everything better just because for the sake of his nibblet he can't back down.

FLOWER SYMBOLISM AND DISCUSSING THE UNDERGROUND'S VERY IMPORTANT PLANT LIFE!

Undyne having a character growth arc triggered by Papyrus.

Mettaton having a character growth arc triggered by Papyrus (and a passing mention of Napstablook).

Alphys not being fired post Amalgamite reveal making her realize she has in fact actually kinda created the cure for death (by 'Falling Down') or at the very least is only maybe three steps away from that and actually works on that alongside a bunch of other stuff with other scientists because working alone sucked.

Lots of focus on the humans who fell before Frisk because their lives mattered! and also the Blue Soul was Kris because damn if I don't feel the need to really hammer in Toriel's trauma caused by Asgore here

NarraChara and Napstablook being ghost buddies =D they suck at it but Chara will take literally anyone who can hear them for company and Napstablook feels bad about that

Snowdin being secretly a hub of human sympathisers! (None of them knew they weren't the only ones).

MONSTER RADIO and ANIME/WESTERNS ON TV!

Tems and the Riverperson mattering while still being true to their very weird selves!!!

Asgore learning that he DOES in fact have a lot of influence and that maybe, juuust maybe, that his screw ups were worse for his Kingdom than he already thought (don't worry Asgore fans, despite my having to write a lot of Asgore grr due to Toriel being a major character, saving him and showing how much he loves his people is a major goal of mine <3). He still f%cked up majorly though XD

Frisk dealing with, well, the stress of growing up in a place that says their death would make everyone (except their immediate loved ones) happy and constantly having to live in hiding/disguise...

Flowey being a murderous little shit but also not having reset power and both Frisk and Chara in his life again.

Undertale Yellow and Deltarune characters! Who probably won't be in focus a lot but they've helped me out a ton for fleshing the out my setting so I will 100% be giving them at least a little screen time to make up for that (like Amalgamate Kanako playing with Frisk, and Martlet and Noelle being VERY interesting in Papyrus's 'Lets not kill the humans' movement for reasons our main characters will eventually learn <3).

Oh and a huge amount of 'Unseen in game' areas I made for the Underground which include:

SnowDen: a 'town' of Dog and Rabbit made tunnels underneath the ENTIRE Snowdin region (connects to every dog sentry post, the 'Toby Fox secret area' and the 'very efficiently laid out' travel tunnels seen in canon Undertale). Generally requires those living there to get through given how winding and confusing the tunnels can get (all guideposts are puzzles made with scent markers...).

TooHot: basically a 'lethal lava land' housing district for fire monsters below general Hotland. Predates the Wat and is too hot for most non fire monsters to go anywhere near (the current name was given by Asgore though).

Cliffstop: a 'thin' vertical crevice monsters in New Home unearthed a while back that goes from from all the way to the very top of Mt Ebott down to the dark of the Abyss below (locals there call the top of the area Clifftop and the lowest safe for travel Cliffdrop). Gets a fair bit of sun and has flying room so it's popular with plant and flying monsters but the cliffs are very unstable so the bottom is covered in rope nets to prevent accidents. Most puzzles about the place are moving rope bridges, loading up vertical conveyer belts with the correct weights and 'light and mirror' puzzles.

Riverfolk Waterway and True Tem Village: settlements hidden deep within Waterfall's 'unreachable in canon' winding waterways. The former is a small inlet where 'Riverfolk' monsters like the Riverperson have a small collection of boathouses they dock at, and the later is exactly what is sounds like, with the 'Temmie Village' we see in canon being merely a Temmie trading outpost. Can accessed only by Riverperson boat or the Temmie's secret tunnels and is home to all sorts of cool things like the Temmie 'Colleg' and 'DEEP HISTORY mUSEEum'~ XD

WebbInn 'the Spider district': Mostly a giant communal spider web hanging Hotland's ceiling but also connected to a tunnel that goes up near Mt Ebbot's peak (the spiders have been digging upwards in hopes of getting a 'sunspot' they can use to advertise their 'sweet little town' to tourists). Has a... Very distinctive culture compared to the rest of the Underground and the 'puzzles' there tend towards being 'social' in nature (aka fey logic games where how you speak and act gets you directed every which way).

Starlite Strip: A little connecting area right underneath the path/cliff Monster Kid and Frisk see the castle while travelling through Waterfall in Undertale Canon. Not a big settlement on its own but something of a trading hub for monsters from New Home and the surrounding areas in Waterfall to buy and sell goods (also has a LOT of Royal Guard presence which is why absolutely no one in Undertale recommends it to the very human Frisk). Very sparkly but in a gentle 'crystals, glowing water and fire flies' kinda way.

And... Yeah. Wanna post a full script of what I've got planned so far but this post is already massive so will do that in a bit.

Will say though that the general ending plan for this fic arguably goes full fix fic with:

12-14 year old Frisk comes out as human publicly and goes through the entire Underground arguing their case (something the Underground has been publicly debating for the last 10 years or so thanks to a very motivated Papyrus and a wanting more ratings + genuinely interested Mettaton).

Undyne attempts to kill them but well, she's only going all out because she and Paps had a deal about this (he vowed that he'd defend any innocent human from her killing them so she could still go all out at her job) and Frisk knows that.

Mettaton gets to do THE biggest and most historically important interview in the Underground's history.

Asgore declares that the Underground will try out this whole 'everyone in the kingdom votes' thing on both the upcoming war and how they will treat humans living here because he wants to make sure he's doing what his people want (Mettaton asks what Asgore will vote but Asgore, finally realizing his own influence, refuses to say).

Asgore and Frisk spend a nice, if slightly nervously time together drinking tea and talking about the future while the votes are being counted. (Toriel and others may join them but mostly this is Asgore getting to know... the last of Toriel's adopted children she told him about the others when she asked for a divorce).

Monsters choose wisely because for all this fic is 'Monsters are flawed too!' they are good people and I want to make that clear <3

Cue Frisk publically trying to help break the barrier while being very alive...

Flowey pulling a 'God of Hyper Death' except well, he, Frisk and Chara maaay have discussed a bit of this beforehand (Flowey did want the souls and this would get him them), so er, the fight might be a touch more mixed with genuine anger and playfulness. Note: Still working out the exacts.

The human SOULs get brought back to life as monsters while Flowey gets a SOUL of his own and Chara gets enough magical matter to be visible to people other than Frisk (it required less waste of the accumulated magic, the soul of an additional human another girl falling into the Ruins was what got Frisk deciding to come out actually, the kids using a bunch of Alphys' furthered research on the interplay between Determination, matter and Dust, and breaking down the dead humans' bodies for enough 'compatible matter' to work with, and the destruction and repurposing of the Barrier but hey! Back to life! Or arguably Chara's case an upgrade to proper ghost-hood). Oh and the Amalgamates that want it are safely separated but not sure if that's a 'before no' thing or a 'here in this big finale' thing~ XD

And yeah. That's all of my 'extra happy ending just because I can' stuff the entire fic eventually builds towards. Will post all my planned scenes/'domino effect planning' some other time but for now I'm done.

If you liked any ideas in this feel free to use them please (I'm a slow ass writer and I write what I want to see more of in the world XD) and er, hope this was a fun ramble to read <3

[duorogue]

hey heres some ruina-themed art i made. all of these made in firealpaca

Malkuth floor | Chesed floor story BG Lehavah floor story BG | Lehavah, Patron Librarian of the Floor of Fiction

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

@sammys-magical-au This is definitely something Azalea would say...but we both know she probably picked it up from listening to Caliban's morbid jokes

like the first rule of cooking is to have fun and be yourself and the first rule of baking is to stay calm because the dough can sense fear

[the-matpat-ever]

Maverick Emily [ My Matpat Ego ]

*Side note* I am still in the process of fleshing him out so some things may be subjected to change and be inconsistent!!

About him~

Personality type: INTJ

Mav is Mad's older brother(only about a few years). They've never gotten along even when they were little. They always had this rivalry throughout their childhood and into adulthood. From a particularly nasty fight with Mad he got this scar that spans across his lower right cheek and nose and a cracked bottom tooth on his left. Mad always liked to destroy things Maverick created or had.

While they may seem starkly different on how they present themselves, they are still brothers. Anger and pride are the two things that bring them together. Only on very rare occasions do they actually work together or get along. Mav is a planner and unhinged in some of his ways. Mad is rash but crazy on a whole new other level. Maverick is also a workaholic, and maybe have a touch of the tism as well(I'm projecting). And Mav hates children. Not in a "I'm gonna go kill a kid" way but more of a "I make sure to keep children out of my life" kinda way. He was friends with William in college but ever since Mad started become business buddies with Will they fell out. Mav is still quite bitter about that...Mad loves rubbing things like that in his face whenever he can. People might mistake him as the "better" of the two brothers but he isn't all that innocent either. He is quite the enabler isn't he...

His eyes are almost a yellowish green and he has a few gray hairs. His wardrobe usually consists of neutral colors like white, grayish purples and blues and black. He has a signature white jacket that he wears almost everywhere he goes. He's also a little shorter than Mad by 3-4 inches. He's very cold and distant, he doesn't like many people but he's not the type to literally stalk someone and go after them and try to kill them..That's just stupid. If he were to do that he'd have a so much better plan than what Mad would do. At least, that's what Mav thinks. They aren't that much different if you strip them of the bare minimum of what makes them a person. They are brothers after all.

[walmartt]

we really need a vampire markiplier ego.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Quiet Moments

Hhokay.

This recent ask, right? Well, even though I still stand by the boundaries I explained…I do feel like I might have come off a bit more passive-aggressive than I would’ve liked. If that’s the case, then I apologize. 

Even if all the irl holiday stress is over, I’m still dealing with seasonal depression. I’ve just kinda been in a haze all month. That’s the reason I’m struggling with my current WIP (which was supposed to be a Christmas gift for certain friends, but now will hopefully be posted on New Year’s Eve because I just really want to contribute something to celebrate).

In short, my head is a mess at the moment. However, since I’ve had a few minutes to think…perhaps fulfilling that little request will help get the juices flowing again. Help me regain focus, y’know? 

So, to the anon who sent that ask last night: here ya go! STILL NO SMUT, BECAUSE I JUST DON'T WRITE LIKE THAT. Admittedly not much in the way of spice either. More like…lightly-seasoned Hurt/Comfort, I guess? Either way, don’t say I never did anything for you.

(Disclaimer: both of the characters in this snippet belong to me. For more information on R.D., go here. For more information on Caliban, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: stress/anxiety, slightly suggestive themes, blood/gore, broken bones, dislocated joints, implied violence, descriptions of illegal business, mentions of cannibalism, mentions of cravings/hunger-pangs, mentions of eating/drinking, mentions of illegal experimentation. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

___

Scrrtch-scrrtch

The sound was so light, so timid. 

R.D. had only just left the office upstairs, only just walked into the bedroom. Her head was still buzzing with all the notes she’d had to memorize and record for her latest experiment. 

(Though, she had to admit that the typical stress was followed by satisfaction. The test subject her team had abducted nearly a week ago was still alive. Certainly not well, but at least somewhat stable. His blood had already shown such interesting reactions to those chemical samples…no doubt there would be plenty more reactions on the way…)

At first, she had to pause and wonder if she’d actually heard anything at all. 

And as if to drive the point home… 

Scrrtch-scrrtch, sccrrtch-scrrttch

There it was again: the faint sound of little nails dragging along wood. 

And it was obviously seeping into the air from the walk-in closet.

Brow furrowing, R.D. approached that corner of the room, flicking on the closet’s light as she entered.

Scrrtch-scrrtch

The door to Caliban’s den was well-camouflaged among the wallpaper in here, but more than enough time had passed for her to have no trouble finding it. 

R.D. reached over and eased the hidden threshold open, revealing a steep concrete staircase.

She found Snare on the first step, one of his feet lightly thumping against the floor as he fidgeted with his forepaws. 

The pale hare was usually full of energy, and in a way, she supposed he was right now. 

But this was a different type of energy. 

His long ears were nearly touching his back, flattened almost like those of an upset cat. When he craned his neck to look up at her, his weird, beady little dark amber eyes shone with what could only be a clear, almost human-esque sense of worry. 

Snare leaned close, pinching the cuff of her pant-leg between his buck-teeth and tugging a few times. He then dropped to all fours and scurried down the stairs.

R.D. didn’t hesitate to follow. Snare’s quirks made it difficult for most people (except Caliban, of course) to fully understand him, but he was a clever little thing. He’d been trained in a way similar to a dog, and you just got the sense that he knew what he was doing. (...Most of the time, anyway.)

R.D. shifted her weight, keeping her footsteps soft, holding one hand against the cold cement wall to keep her balance. She paused on the final stair, peering into the den.

What she saw…well, it wasn’t unfamiliar, really. 

Caliban stood by the block-island, his back turned to her, in the center of all the kitchen and butchering equipment he’d set up down here so long ago. 

There didn’t seem to be anything off with the functional chaos around him…

R.D. silently walked closer, coming to stand just a little ways from his side. 

There was a severed human arm lying on the block-island, probably having been fished out of the chest-freezer a little while ago. Again, not all that surprising; though she’d obviously had a few questions about Caliban’s lifestyle when they first began seeing each other, that didn’t mean she’d ever had a problem with it, mind you.

There was a bit of blood here and there, but it wasn’t much compared to the messes Caliban usually made for his work. 

In fact, the gore here only seemed to be the result of leaking, not cutting. There were no knives (butcher tools or medical blades) strewn about. Even Caliban’s favorite meat-cleaver was nowhere to be seen…

As R.D. watched, she realized that Caliban’s knuckles were white as he gripped the arm’s wrist to keep it steady. His free hand, meanwhile, was busily tugging at the victim’s fingers: he bent the index back with a sharp, sickening little snap!

The thumb and pinkie both looked just a bit too long for comfort, both laying at awkward angles. It only took a second or two for R.D. to conclude that they’d been forcefully dislocated, likely having been gripped at the knuckles when the joints inside were pulled out of their sockets. 

R.D. blinked, and Caliban had already moved on to the middle finger now. He pulled it harshly, bending it back just like he had before…only now, he kept snapping the phalange, slowly-but-surely folding the digit into a fleshy, uneven rectangle.

She tilted her head at the display.

Caliban was a guy who knew how to keep a system. He took pride in organizing all the stuff he harvested from The Pentas Family’s targets, whether they were his or the ones his peers brought to him for disposal. Even smaller pieces like this arm had enough stuff to be divided evenly between what he kept for eating, and what could be cleaned and sold on the Black Market. 

Sometime after they’d first moved in together, he’d been honest with R.D. about not having much in his youth; he usually balked at the idea of wasting resources—human flesh or not. 

She looked around him, slightly craning her neck to see his face. 

Caliban’s eyes were narrowed, all puffy and red. His jaw was clenched, lips pulled back to reveal rows of gritted teeth; his silver canine-cap wasn’t glinting like usual. His skin shone against the flickering light from above; translucent streaks ran down the length of his features. A tiny speck suddenly slid down his cheek, soon hanging off his chin and then plummeting down onto the block-island’s surface.

Something cold and clammy slithered along R.D.’s ribcage. It suddenly felt like there was a jagged hook digging into the bottom of her heart. 

Thinking quickly, she turned away, trekking up the stairs as quietly as she’d come. After that, she exited the closet and made for the space next to it.

The master bathroom was calm, clean, tidy; everything just seemed to have a little gleam to it. 

She pushed the shower curtain aside, then stopped the drain. 

As the water flowed, she’d check it with her wrist every now and again. Not too hot—only warm enough for thin veils of steam to curl through the air. She fished out some bubble bath from under the sink. Not too fragrant; just sweet in a delicate way, kind of like jasmine tea. 

It was an uncommon, expensive brand that she normally wouldn’t share with anyone, but…

Sooner or later, the tub was full enough. After twisting the faucet off, R.D. hurried back into the closet and down the stairs. 

Since the arm’s fingers were all in a very bad way by now, Caliban had turned his attention to the wrist. His hands were shaking as he held it in a vice-like grip, turning it every which way, eliciting all sorts of pops and cracks that would’ve been stomach-churning to anyone else. 

“Caliban..?” R.D. called out, marking sure to keep her voice low and even. 

Her husband still flinched, freezing in place before slowly glancing over his shoulder. The tears were still sliding down, one after another. 

R.D. walked closer. 

He wasn’t avoiding her eyes—that was a good sign. A very small one, but better than nothing...

“It’s…it’s getting pretty late.” R.D. stopped right beside him, reaching over to put her hand over his. Unless you counted a slow nod, he didn’t budge to stop her. 

Caliban tilted his head; even with all the concrete between his den and their house’s first level, there was no way he hadn’t heard the water running 

Slowly, carefully, she lifted his left hand away from the gruesome project. “Why don’t you take a break, huh?” 

Caliban chewed his lip, finally glancing away. A concoction of anger and pain was still very much present in his eyes, but now they were looking more and more tired by the second.

Exhausted, really…

“Okay,” he murmured. His voice was nearly inaudible, so much smaller and choked-up than R.D. was used to. As though his lungs had been buried in layers of something viscous and rotten and wrong. 

...Aaaaaannd that was a bad sign. She’d technically handed a pun right to him, and he didn’t even seem to register it.

He moved to go through the block-island’s drawers, but R.D. kept her hold on his hand, shaking her head. 

“No, don’t worry about that—I’ll take care of it. You go ahead,” she mentioned, nodding to the stairs.

Caliban sucked his teeth, then took a deep breath and trudged up the steps, head hanging. 

R.D. watched him go, then fished a few sheet of butcher paper from the drawer. Once the arm was wrapped up good and tight, she carried it over to the refrigerator. 

The bones inside obviously weren’t in a condition to be sold anymore. Plus…however much time had passed since Caliban had returned, he clearly hadn’t eaten anything. Even if he wasn’t in the mood at the moment, she knew he’d be hungry later.  

After making sure the den’s door was locked, R.D. flicked off the light and headed back upstairs. 

The bathroom door hung open ajar; Snare was pacing back-and-forth just in front of the threshold, almost like a sentry, his little face still screwed up with worry. R.D. reached down to scratch at the hare’s chin. Once he moved to the side, she lightly rapped her knuckles against the door. 

The response she got was a questioning hum, so she moved to look inside. 

Caliban lay against the far side of the bathtub, one elbow propped up on the side so he could rest his head on his hand. Though pretty much everything was covered in a thick blanket of soap-suds, it was still easy to see the scars littered about his shoulders and chest. Some were older than others. 

That was just life in the underground businesses: tough. Even if you had the right (or wrong, depending on the perspective) unhinged mentality for it…

“Are you feeling sick?” R.D. inquired, since it would’ve been pointless to ask if he was just okay. 

“...Not exactly,” Caliban replied after a long few seconds. “My head hurts, but that’s about it.” 

R.D. nodded. “Is there anything I can get for you?”

Caliban shook his head. The vague hurt was still clear as crystal on his face, but a good chunk of stress had clearly vanished. His shoulders were less tense than earlier; his brow wasn’t furrowed, he wasn’t grinding his teeth. 

That was the simple magic of warm water, R.D. supposed.

“Alright, then.” She took a step back, then added, “I’ll be right outside if you change your mind.”

“Thanks.” His voice was still a little weak, but not as tight as it was a few moments ago. 

R.D. stepped away, pulling the bathroom door shut with a soft click. 

After that, she let out a small sigh and head down the hall, making sure all the house’s blinds were closed and all the locks were engaged. 

What could’ve happened earlier..? 

Caliban hadn’t said anything about a hit-job lately. He’d just been focused on a few clients, harvesting and cleaning specific parts for them to eventually collect. 

He usually approached his stress a few different ways—butchering and eating was one of them, which made sense. Giving your stomach something to concentrate on could break up whatever storm was going on in your skull. 

But for something to just…make a cannibal lose his appetite like this? 

Whatever it was, it had to be serious, had to be awful. 

Once the house was secure, R.D. returned to the bedroom, closing the door behind her. She rummaged through the drawers of the mahogany dresser that stood across from the bed, quickly fishing out a set of fluffy pajamas. The fabric of the bottom-half was tinted pale shades of pink, covered in purple splotches that you’d have to squint at to recognize as a pattern of microscopic basal cells. 

R.D. settled down on the bed, untying the side-braid she pretty much always put her hair in each morning, pushing the pillows on either side against the headboard. Reaching over to the nightstand, she produced the novel she’d recently brought home from Barnes & Noble. 

The Edge of Sleep; she was a little over halfway through it. It’d seemed like slowburn at the first couple chapters, but then it just…took so many turns. Really morbid, investing stuff. It truly seemed like the perfect combination of a psychologist’s worst nightmare and dream-come-true.

R.D. wasn’t sure how much time passed since she cracked the book open; immersed as she was, her ears didn’t pick up on the gurgling sound of a bathtub draining. 

Soon enough, however, she felt the mattress dip under foreign weight beside her. And then there was an arm wrapping around her waist, and then another, both gently pulling her close. 

She looked up from the story, glancing to the side.

Caliban had already changed into his own sleepwear: a soft tank-top adorned by a little picture of a grinning venus fly trap, printed to look like it was blooming out of a breast pocket. 

His face was freshly-washed. 

He still looked less than happy, but more calm than before; the tiredness had grown a little. Hopefully he’d get plenty of  rest tonight. 

“So…what happened?” R.D. ventured, sidling closer to him. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

“No.” Caliban answered. In that split-second, his voice sounded so bitter, almost acidic.

R.D. didn’t flinch. She knew she didn’t need to…as well as how he needed to see that.

“No,” he repeated, much softer this time, shaking his head and holding her a bit tighter.

“Well, that’s just fine.” R.D. nodded and shrugged at the same time. “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

He’d tell her in due time, when he was ready…or, maybe he just wouldn’t tell her at all. She knew he wouldn’t lie to her, wouldn’t try to hide anything perse. Some things just had to be buried. 

They would just have to see. 

Caliban shuffled against the pillows before resting his chin on her shoulder.

Snare hopped up over the foot of the bed, walking in a small circle before curling up by his owner’s ankles.

R.D.’s focus went back to the novel…for a moment, at least. Even if she couldn’t see his face, she could sense the hesitation he was feeling now. It would’ve been pretty hard not to, if she was honest. 

She quietly raised a hand to brush her hair away from her shoulder. She then tilted her head ever-so-slightly, opening access to her neck. 

Almost immediately she felt teeth grazing her skin.

Nowhere near enough pressure to draw blood, or even leave any markings. 

Not biting. Just…light nibbling. 

Just something to let her know that Caliban was being careful. That he’d stop if she signaled for him to, that he wasn’t going anywhere no matter what was happening. That he was just here. Thinking and processing…

Lips quirking a little, R.D. reached around until her fingers settled in his hair. 

After all, she had to show him that she was here, too.

Time seemed to slow down after that. 

Sooner or later, the nibbling stopped, and she felt him press a kiss to the same spot. Like that was to make it better, despite no damage having been done at all. 

“Love you…” Caliban murmured, leaning even closer to her. 

“Love you, too,” R.D. replied, pushing the book away and guiding him to lie down with her.

@sammys-magical-au @the-matpat-ever @b-is-in-the-closet @im-a-weird0

[the-matpat-ever]

Evie & Casey Smith [ My Anna Prosser & NWTB Egos ]

*Side note* I am still in the process of fleshing them out so some things may be subjected to change and be inconsistent!!

About them~

Evie and Casey go back all the way to the 1800s where they had recently gotten married in a small rural village during the winter. The two were absolutely smitten with each other, anyone with eyes could see that. Things quickly had taken a turn for the worst when a lone, hungry vampire takes the life of Evie Smith, putting the blame onto Casey when he finds her pale lifeless body in the snow. Since Evie was absolutely beloved, always making people laugh and helping around the town, the village turns on Casey. He is brutally executed by the few people who led the village and made all the town's decisions.

Since this happens in only a few hours, Evie awakens in a nailed coffin which she tore apart quite quickly. The village had decided to execute Casey before giving her a proper burial because they had thought that Evie's killer must die before she could rest. Evie is terrified and confused when she awakens, all she remembered was going outside to take a stroll before her vision went dark.

Fun fact! Vampires are super territorial not only where they sleep but also around people too. Particularly, people that they call family, which could be close friends, spouses/partners, relatives, even animals that they consider pets. If one of them is hurt or killed...you better pray to whatever God you believe in that you aren't responsible for it, or get in their way. As expected Evie goes on a murderous rampage when she finds her husband lying in a pool of his own blood. They didn't bother to clean up yet or dispose of his body(they thought he didnt deserve a proper burial). She murdered the entire village, and I mean the entire village. No survivors.

Evie still feels guilty to this day about it, but not entirely. She only feels guilty about the children that had perished from her. She kept Casey's wedding band, always wearing both rings on her left ring finger. She gets them polished after every few decades. Her ghost hunting crew, which she calls family consists of her brother, and a few other egos that I'm also in the process of making(PLEASE SEND HELP/J).

The sun doesnt kill her but she has to wear 100 SPF and apply multiple layers so she doesn't burn because she's so pale. Since she's so pale she usually wears makeup to cover up the inhuman sickly look to her. ALSO when Vampires turn, their appearance doesn't change at all. They aren't inhumanly beautiful, they are average looking people. The parasitic species had evolved so that they are able to blend in with the people around them easily, which means: Retractable fangs and claws!!

Casey on the other hand wakes up a few years later, stuck in limbo for a while before his soul was released onto earth again. He was executed in a church, them thinking he was the devil. He wasn't very liked by the villagers, even before his untimely death. While traditionally, ghosts and spirits usually haunt a specific place or object, Casey doesn't. He just wanders around aimlessly, suffering silently(Onlookers sometimes will spot a strange victorian looking man walking on the side of the road). He is drawn to warm and cozy spaces because of how cold he always is, how empty he feels, but he stays away from people. He's grown bitter as centuries passed. While he is bitter and not a people person, he is not the one to disrespect women or children. He is quite the gentlemen actually, just don't bother him and you're good.

PS~ I'm just making it up as I go, some things are just not going to be historically accurate

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just a little question regarding your beloved Nate ego Parker Thenope :)

I am currently drawing the interesting character that he is and I am curious about his mask! You mention that it is carmine and that he uses it mostly for privacy reasons if I remember correctly. Would that mean it covers his face fully? How does he see out of it and is there any significant details or a specific design that it has?

And one more thing- Is there a certain style of clothing that he wears?

I'm super excited to finish drawing him!!!

Well, that detail was inspired by how Nate went through a decent period of wearing a face mask at all times, both irl and on social media.

So, Parker's mask is just that: a basic face mask that rests on the bridge of his nose with straps for his ears. It doesn't cover his head head at all: just the stuff under his eyes. So, he can still easily see and preserve his anonymity (except for when he's swimming, but y'know).

Plus, to keep up with The Pentas Family's trend of red signature items for its members, the fabric of Parker's mask is dyed carmine, whereas Nate's face mask is simply black.)

And as for the rest of his attire...

For one thing, I can see Parker casually wearing swim gear under his day clothes. Just because he goes swimming so often (Plus, his way of work usually involves drowning, and hit-jobs can pop up somewhat randomly.)

For another thing, I think he'd also wear casual emo stuff similar to Nate. Mainly a zippered hoodie over a tank top with black jeans.

In fact, the zippered hoodie in question would have a tie-dye job a lot like this one, except with a dark, dull shade of green instead of blue:

(Since Nate has a bunch of tattoos, then logically, Parker has a bunch of tattoos himself. But as much as I love tattoo stuff, it'd make sense for Parker to cover them at certain times. Just so he isn't potentially recognized while in public.)

(Also, if you'd like some more details for the other colors of his clothes, just let me know. I assume probably not, since you seem to mainly draw with pencil. Not having a go at you for that, lol. Just overthinking as usual)

Thank you for your interest in the character! I'm excited to see what you end up posting!

Sorry this took so long to answer; stuff keeps popping up irl for me, plus my laptop has been running a little slow lately 😅

[the-matpat-ever]

Guys I made another Matpat ego because I'm bored and I love Yandere Sim Mark and the Yandere Sim Musical so I present to you my sillies🫶

She is trans fem and her senpai is trans masc Steph because I had the urge to swap their genders..

And yes

I will be drawing Nate from the Yandere Simulator musical because I love him

I thought that was obvious..

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

I know some people are probably sick of me sticking my fanegos onto stuff like this. . .but then again, it's not like I do that ten times a day.

Anyway, @sammys-magical-au I can see a line like this working with Caliban. Just because gluttony always seems to be associated with cannibalism one way or another when there's already plenty of different types of symbolism to work with.

Realizing the bad guy in Se7en actually didn’t do his research.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Day 7: Ritual [HALLOWEEN SPECIAL]

(Disclaimer: three of the characters in this story belong to me. For more information on Cruz, go here. For more information on LeviathanPat, go here. For more information on Sol, go here. For more information on Moses and ColosSeptic, go here. EldritchPlier belongs to the Markiplier Cinematic Universe.)

(This story, along with Day 6, is a continuation of a sneak-peek I included at the end of Day 2. Originally, this was going to be a sneak-peek itself, but plans have changed, and I'm on a bit of time-crunch, so...)

(As usual, I got tons of help developing these characters from the amazing @sammys-magical-au ! Please go check out their blog and stories!)

(One more thing: if you’d like to use the distorted fonts you’ll be seeing in this story, go here.)

(Trigger Warnings: blood/gore, body horror, knives/blades, murder/death, torture, descriptions of ritual, occultism, eating/drinking, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.)

Day 1 Day 2 Day 3 Day 4 Day 5 Day 6

___

As attached as he was to his gut-hook skinner knife, Cruz knew that he couldn’t realistically rely on it for everything. 

Sure, he took care to keep it nice and sharp and ready, but that didn’t change the fact that its three-and-a-half inch blade was simply too small for this particular task. 

Besides, it was still very satisfying to hear a wet, dull thunk as he brought a borrowed kitchen knife down, followed by a slick, puply sigh as he pushed the blade deeper and deeper into flesh until the handle was all that could be seen. 

Cruz felt his eyes widen in time with the grin that etched its way over his features. Readjusting his grip, he began a pushing-and-pulling pattern, slowly-but-surely carving a thick line. The table slightly wobbled beneath the weight and the movement, but he used his free hand to keep his current project in place. 

The flesh produced a soft, squelchy rhythm that was close to a growl as the knife continued sawing through. 

…Though, after a moment or two, Cruz had to pause, releasing his grasp to try and shake off the sudden cramp that had manifested in his wrist. 

A wry chuckle kept silence at bay. He glanced over at the figure sitting across the table from him, who had already finished carving. 

“These guys are always tougher than you expect, huh?” Sol—as he’d learned during awkward introductions about ten-or-so minutes ago—commented.

Strings of wet pulp glistened in the pendant light that hung overhead, easily snapping as Sol pulled a decent chunk from the top-half of their own victim.

A strong smell filtered into the air: fresh and ripe and earthy and…maybe tinged with just a smidge of something acidic?

“Yeah, they really are,” Cruz nodded. “Still pretty fun, though.” 

He wrapped his hand around the knife and resumed his cutting, this time a bit of an easier angle. Once he convinced his subject to finally open up, he twisted the top off with a stiff criiick. “...Hey, thanks for taking the time to get these. I would’ve picked some up myself, but the drive over here didn’t seem to take me past any patches.”

To be frank, the drive to The Oozing Crown had been even stranger than the one Cruz had taken when Plier had guided him to make a new home at The Drowned Moon. 

It’d started raining an hour in, and the way those droplets had tapped against his windshield was far too specific to not be some kind of code. 

The edges of the road he’d maneuvered his car along had set themselves on fire once or twice—in the middle of that rainstorm, mind you—flames ignited in between the asphalt and his tires, only to snuff themselves out after a few seconds. 

At some point, blurry deer-shaped figures had clambered out of the vacant fields to gallop alongside his vehicle, giving more than enough time for him to see how they had no actual heads; just pairs of glassy eyes, floating in the air above neck-stumps, that seemed to glint with humor once the creatures had eventually veered off the road and faded away in the distance.

(Not like he hadn’t expected that kind of stuff, to be clear. Outer monstrosities like his boss-and-kind-of-weird-friend basically sweated horror, so of course that would eventually graft itself onto the places they claimed for their territory.)

“Oh, of course! Don’t worry about it,” Sol beamed as they reached into the chasm they’d just sliced open, ripping out a handful of slimy tissue to deposit into the decorative bowl that sat in the center of the table, covered in various glyphs. They then got up from their chair, holding their hands up like a surgeon as they moved to lean over said bowl. 

“There’s actually a sort of botany section back at my boss’ hideout,” they explained, carefully picking out all the white, oval-shaped seeds and put them in a smaller, less impressive tupperware container off to the side. “It’s not much; just one greenhouse across the entrance walkway from my apartment. But it’s been doing pretty well.”

“Wait, really? I thought that museum was all about medical oddities and the like,” Cruz replied as he grabbed a serrated scoop and began raking it over the gourd’s inner-walls. 

“It’s all about oddities in general. Stuff relating to human anatomy just happens to be one of the biggest parts of that category.” Sol shrugged, their face temporarily twisting as one seed managed to land in the ginger hair that tickled their shoulders. They tugged it out and flicked it over to the garbage can that stood at attention by the head of the table.

“As long as it looks creepy, it can be added to the collections. So, weird plants and fungi have just enough game. Like a little preview before the real meat and potatoes.”

“Nice. I can totally see that working well,” Cruz assured, visions of bat orchid and pitcher-plants and doll’s eyes and corpse blossoms flickering through his brain. “But…pumpkins? They really have enough weirdness to count?” 

Sol raised a joking eyebrow, glancing back and forth between the gourds on the table. 

The one they were hollowing out was covered in puffy, dry-looking, wart-esque growths. The one he was focusing on, meanwhile, was a dark shade of green rather than orange, boasting wrinkled-looking skin despite how obviously fresh it was, along with a shape like a clumsily-sculpted cube rather than an apple-like sphere.

“...Yeah, okay. Fair point,” Cruz admitted with a chuckle. 

Twin yips! and mmrrowhs! echoed from a few feet away, prompting the two of them to look over in almost perfect unison. 

A long, wide bar-counter stood at the center of The Oozing Crown, separating the brewery’s main floor from a set of nearly floor-to-ceiling shelves, each one full to bursting with various bottles. It also came equipped with a pair of thin, sliding doors that could be locked up in order to shield said bottles. 

This was extremely fortunate, as two vaguely cat-like creatures had apparently deemed the counter a perfect space for wrestling. They both shifted in-and-out of their glamors as they leapt and swatted and scampered after one another. 

Crimson spikes shuffled through Macaroon’s veil of cream-colored fluff. 

The black feline he was facing off with (Sol had introduced him as Charcoal) pounced away; a shudder ran through his front-legs, his paws and claws and toe-beans all stretching out into a pair of bat-like wings the second he was in the air. 

He fluttered in circles overhead, undoubtedly soaking up the way Macaroon stared at him.

Sol tilted their head at the display, eyes practically sparkling. “Y’know, I really didn’t think Char would get along with another cat-monster so well. I mean, he was a stray when I first found him.”

Cruz shrugged, scratching at his thin beard and resisting the urge to walk over and scoop his pet up. “Well, when I got Macaroon, I was told that about sixty-percent of his brain is a ragdoll’s. So, he loves to play when he gets the chance.” 

(Granted, that playing also extended to shredding sacrificial victims into ribbons if they tried to cause any problems during a ritual, but still. So long as he wasn’t directly threatened, Macaroon was a total sweetheart.)

Sol nodded, and it wouldn’t have taken a mind-reader to guess that they were thinking about all the not-so-cute-and-cuddley things Charcoal had done in order to help them out with their own projects. 

Unseen hinges creaked, followed by the unmistakable rhythm of footsteps and claws clicking against hardwood. 

A brunette man, seemingly around Sol’s age (so, younger than Cruz, but still obviously an adult) traipsed out the brewery’s kitchen with glistening, dark red stains on his hands.

Moses paused to wash them off at a sink behind the bar (if you asked Cruz, the blood really wouldn’t have been too noticeable against the deep maroon fabric of the button-down he wore…then again, that button-down was open and draped over a white-as-snow tank-top). He then sidled around the corner of the bar.

A small, vaguely dog-esque creature skittered by his side. Judging by the splotches of gray and black and tan that decorated his fluffy fur, his glamour seemed to be a hybrid of Australian cattle dog and German shepherd. 

Just like the cats, however, things were not as they seemed. 

As Moses’ pet panted like any canine would, his mouth seemed to stretch just a bit too wide at the corners; his pendant ears and little button nose almost seemed to wither in place before snapping back into form. His big, warm eyes flickered, looking much more hollow for half a second. The poof of his wagging tail was a blur, but if you looked at it just long enough, you’d see several stands of something scaly and sinuous…

Both Macaroon and Charcoal paused their antics, regarding him with curiosity and suspicion. Mincer, meanwhile, simply sat and stared back at the felines, tilting his head just a little too far.

“How goes the gutting?” Moses announced, taking a chair away one of the other tables and dragging it over to the one his guests were occupying. 

“Good,” Sol reported, lifting up her pumpkin to show how (relatively) clean it was on the inside. 

“We’re almost done here; just gotta get one more pumpkin’s worth.” She gestured to the glyph-covered bowl, which was now almost piled high with fruit-masquerading-as-vegetable guts. 

“Alright, then. I can take care of that,” Moses grinned, approaching the group of just-in-case-spares that Sol and her boss had brought along. He loomed over them, eyes wandering back and forth, trying to decide which one would be best. 

“And what about the set-up down there?” Cruz asked. He’d only caught a glimpse of The Oozing Crown’s basement, but he’d have a chance to get a better look once Plier returned, along with the monsters Sol and Moses were working with. 

“Oh, yeah, everything’s pretty much ready,” Moses replied. “Getting bodies into the spare tanks is always a little tricky, but I managed. Helps that there’s only two for tonight. And the live one definitely won’t be going anywhere.”

“He’d better not be,” Cruz replied with a grim chuckle. “Because the hypnosis is definitely gonna wear off sooner or later.”

As if to prove his point, muffled screaming began to echo up through the floor, alongside a chorus of desperate thumps.

An instinctive shiver ran down his spine at recent memories. 

How Plier had apparently singled one of the theater’s patrons out from the crowd.

How Plier had instructed Cruz to lead said patron into Screen Nine, and then lock the doors and put up a maintenance sign to all other customers.

How Cruz had used the Employees Only room to slither into Screen Nine’s projection booth and watch the trapping process.

How the movie that the patron had chosen to watch began normally…only for the enormous screen to turn a dark shade of gray, still glowing from within, giving ample opportunity to see hundreds of tiny lines all writhed and rippled along, like raindrops violently colliding with a pool of deep, murky water.

All the while, character dialogue had transitioned into something else. The sound had been reminiscent of rubber being stretched…only at a much lower pitch that carried on far, far past its welcome.

Just one of many tricks at Plier’s dispense when he either wanted or needed to make sure that a customer wouldn’t be leaving The Drowned Moon…

“Oh!” Moses suddenly blurted as he glanced at the pumpkin-gut bowl. “Before I forget—!”

He raced past Mincer and the cats, hovering behind the bar. He fished a small, glinting key from one of his pockets, opened up the shelf-door, then quickly shut and re-locked them after taking a grabbing a rectangular, teal-tinted bottle. 

“This is one of my favorites,” Moses mentioned, snickering as he carried said bottle over to the table. He raised it to his face, expertly using his teeth to dislodge the cork with a loud, shrill sqquueeak!

The sharp scent of tequila seeped into the air.

Cruz blinked, exchanging a look with Sol. 

“What’re you—” Sol began to ask, but Moses cut her off via resting the bottle’s neck on the rim of the bowl, allowing at least five shot glasses worth of booze to pour on in. 

Once he was satisfied, Moses re-corked the bottle, set it off to the side, and grabbed one of the scoops to stir the alcohol into the pumpkin guts. 

“Voila!” Moses proclaimed with a triumphant smirk. 

“...Why?” Cruz wondered aloud, brow furrowing in confusion. 

In response, Moses raised an eyebrow as though Cruz had just asked him whether or not water made things wet. “The whole point of this ritual is to keep some mindless, starving primeval monster disguised as an asteroid from eating the moon. So, that means the offering should be as filling as possible to keep him from trying that stunt again for at least another couple centuries.” 

“I mean, yeah,” Sol acknowledged. “But…things like Ah’Mung-Stus can only process alcohol in impossible ways. Nothing like how humans can.  The offering’s already gonna involve blood, and we have no idea how it could mix with that drink.” 

“Exactly! It’ll be a fifty-fifty chance: the tequila could make the offering delicious…or it could make the offering completely appalling. Either way, it’ll just be one more thing to stop Ah’Mung-Stus,” Moses insisted, putting a hand on his hip as he took the bottle and returned it to the shelves. “No matter how it tastes, in the end, he’ll be too full and too drunk to be a threat,”

As he went back to scrutinizing the pile of pumpkins, he added, “Besides, we’re in a brewery that has to be closed on Halloween. You have any idea how much of an impact that’ll put on business after this? I might as well make use of some of the supply tonight, one way or another.” 

Cruz wanted to point out how intoxication generally did NOT make outer monstrosities less dangerous than they already were.

Especially considering all the chaos that had taken place in the theater on Plier’s part due to a horrific hangover from…well, Cruz would never be sure what his boss had consumed that infamous night, but a faint, nearly-radioactive scent still lingered in Screen Ten months later. 

But before he could, Sol suddenly stood from her chair in a violent flinch. They rested one hand on her temple, her bright blue eyes flickering in a way that Cruz was all too familiar with. 

There was a voice in her head; a voice that was very real because it was being spoken by a creature who could feast on mortal minds professionally or casually. A creature that she’d obviously made a pact with similar to the one he’d made with Plier all those years ago. 

“Moses, wait—” Sol tried. “Not that one, NOT—!”

A section on the white pumpkin Moses had selected suddenly bulged from the inside. A muffled chorus of scraping and squelching followed. 

 Moses’ eyes grew to the size of dinner plates as he, likely acting on panicked instinct, dropped the gourd and backed away several paces.

The pumpkin burst open with a spray of pale orange slime before it even hit the floor. Without even a second of hesitation, its seed-covered guts ripped their way through the organic chasm. The glob floundered on the floor in a clumsy, wobbling slither like a huge slug on bath-salts. It raised its dripping, misshapen, featureless head to the ceiling and let out a high-pitched squeal. It then clambered in Moses’ direction, snarling and spitting. 

Mincer leapt in front of his owner, his glamour completely evaporating. His fuzzy head vanished, revealing a set of three canine skulls in its place, the vertebrae from three necks eventually disappearing into the fur that remained on his chest. What was once his tail was now a cluster of live snakes, which all hissed and writhed independently, craning themselves to look around their host’s body. 

Mincer’s middle-skull lunged, sinking its teeth into the pumpkin-gut-creature and thrashing it back and forth while his left-skull and right-skull barked and growled. 

Macaroon saw this new chaos and realized that one of his new friends had found an odd little plaything. So, he dropped his own glamor and raced into the fray, a coat of spike flaring out over his back, extra eyes blooming under his primary ones. He opened his mouth, allowing a disturbingly long forked tongue to wrap around the opposite end of the pumpkin-gut-creature, making it easier for him clamp his own fangs down. 

Charcoal, who had been perching on the ceiling fan that hung just above all of this, quickly realized that someone else was getting more attention than he was. So, he dive-bombed his way into the sudden game of Tug-O-War, wings flapping furiously, veils of smoke pouring through his teeth. A pair of horns sprouted up from his forehead, and the tip of his tail was topped by scorpion-esque barb that had absolutely NOT been there a few seconds ago. 

Sol and Cruz abandoned their seats at the same time, their respective shouts mixing into one another as they rushed over to their pets. Moses grabbed at Mincer’s chest (and, by some miracle, avoided getting bitten by any of the tail-snakes) but the monstrous little dog didn’t release his hold. 

Sol managed to pin Charcoal’s wings to his chest before he was out of reach, but the cat-dragon-thing proved just as stubborn. 

The same went for Macaroon, who didn’t so much as budge when Cruz made to scoop him up. 

Thankfully, all the extra friction seemed to be on their side…kind of. 

With an energy similar to that of a rubber band being snapped, the pumpkin-gut-creature ended up flying across the room to hit the wall with a solid SPLAT!

It then slid to the floor, still and quiet as the pumpkin guts that waited patiently in the glyph-bowl.

The pets all quieted down, slowly shifting back into the guise of normal animals, their eyes all wide and curious and they stared across the room. 

Their respective owners pretty much followed suite, mouths hanging open as they held their pets close and braced for more chaos.

When the chaos failed to come, Sol was the first to move, heaving a sigh of relief. “Okay, okay. It’s dead.” 

“Are you sure?” Cruz asked, not wanting to look away from the mess too long. 

“Positive.” Sol nodded before she set Charcoal down, crossing the room and grabbing a roll of paper towels from the table they’d been using. She knelt down to scrub at the fresh stain on the wall; once it was cleaned, she gave Moses an apologetic look. “Pat had been holding that pumpkin on the way here. I guess some of his energy grafted onto it.”

“Oh.” Moses murmured, slowly nodding. He blinked, then rolled his shoulders and knelt down to receive some puppy-kisses from Mincer. “...Can we still use those guts, or should I just hollow out a different one?”

Sol’s brow furrowed, their eyes flickering as they listened to the voice of a monster. “...No, he says this should work just fine.” 

“More potency, right?” Cruz offered with a weak chuckle. 

It took a few long, awkward minutes for the three of them to scrape all the formerly-animate pumpkin guts off the floor and into the bowl. An extra moment to pick out all those seeds.

Even so, it seemed the timing was perfect. 

A strong chill spread through the air, right as the hardwood floor took on an abrupt, almost organic heat.

The building shuddered. 

A cacophony of twisting, straining metal, of splashing, of warped hissing and growling echoed from the the kitchen doorway. 

And then…a voice. 

A horrific, distorted voice that implied the air inside the lungs it’d just risen out of had melted.

A voice that Cruz didn’t recognize it…but Moses most certainly did judging by the way his lips quirked into a smile. 

“𝗪⃥𝘌̸'⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘈̸𝗔⃥𝘈̸𝗔⃥𝘈̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗞⃥!̸” It called, the words seeming to bounce along the walls and floor and ceiling. 

“And we’ll be right down!” Moses responded, balancing the pumpkin-gut-filled bowl on one hand like he was a waiter in a snooty restaurant. 

He strode back behind the back, disappearing through the kitchen doorway once again. 

Sol and Cruz filed after him, entering the brewery’s little kitchen just in time to see him strapping his personal, protective mask onto his head. 

It almost resembled one of those classic gas-masks…almost. But a set of six spindly blades that had been attached to the base of the mouth guard, clutching at the air like the mandibles of an insect, had other ideas. As did the multitude of shiny, deep blue eyes that had been welded to scatter all over the mask’s head, above the primary lenses that Moses was now looking through as he made his way down into the basement. 

Two more masks had been left on the counter by the stove.

One that shone like black porcelain or marble, decorated with sculpted veins a dull shade of reddish-violet. A pair of ram-like horns curled under the sharp spires of what must've been ears. It boasted a mouthful of sharp, gleaming teeth that formed a grin on the left side and a snarl on the right.

Sol took it into their hands, lifting it to rest on their face before shrugging a violet leather jacket over their black-and-yellow striped shirt. Then, they marched on after Moses, quickly disappearing into the darkness.

Cruz picked up his own mask, the one he’d spent nearly an entire week perfecting before he’d ever even met Plier. It was in the vague shape of a bird’s face, almost like those plague doctor costumes that so many people were hot for on Halloween. Streaks of scarlet and gold wound about the beak, ending at the glass eye-lenses. 

Even after all the things he’d done, all the things he’d seen and learned thanks to Plier, it was still a little hard to believe that this thing was responsible for shielding Cruz’s mind and brain from all the surreal energy he exposed himself to for projects like this. 

Cruz shook his head, then pulled the mask on. Once the straps were secure against his dark hair, he draped his favorite duster-cardigan over his shoulders. Yeah, the fabric was grayish-blue, and that didn’t exactly mix well with bloodstains, but he’d always liked the way its pattern almost looked like clouds of fog. Besides, it had washed well enough before.

The basement door hung open before him; it’d been built into the floor, much like a storm cellar. The beginning of a metallic staircase waited at the edge, only visible a few steps down.

Taking a deep breath, Cruz descended, pulling the floor-door shut behind him. 

He found himself standing on an iron catwalk, overlooking a truly enormous lair built with an industrial aesthetic. 

Out of all the machinery Cruz could see, a set of huge tanks stood out. It seemed they’d been constructed from copper and lined with a more silvery material. 

There were seven of them in total—six of them stood in two rows of three near the walls. The ones in the center of those rows were both full; gallons upon gallons of liquid churned within, glowing just enough to show off the silhouettes of a floating body.

The seventh tank stood at the head of the basement, much larger and more imposing than all the others. It glowed even brighter, its light tinted a sinister shade of green.

This one also wasn’t quite so empty; it shuddered and twitched and groaned in place as a trio of blurry shapes writhed for purchase inside. 

The tank’s hatch was pushed open with a keening screech, and a mass of horrific, abyssal flesh flooded out and down the side. 

A set of four arms sprouted from the monster’s sides, helping him steady himself just as he touched down on the concrete floor. He shook his head and rolled his shoulders, slinging droplets everywhere like a dog shaking water out of its fur.

Sol trotted over to stand by the abomination’s side. He gazed down at her and bared his long, glinting teeth in a knowing grin. 

This must have been the Pat that Sol had mentioned earlier.

And his grin died a quick-yet-brutal death as another hideous figure pushed its way out through the tank’s hatch, a clutch of claws landing on one of the tendrils coiling from Pat’s back. 

Pat let out a short cry of pain that evolved into a furious HSSSSS, a forked tongue flicking between his rows and rows and rows of teeth like a party favor.

The emerging monster glowered right back, offering a low snarl before he clambered over to the opposite side of the room. 

Plier’s skin was the color of fleshy rust, almost every inch covered by organic thorns. It seemed to flicker on its own accord, like he was standing in the light of an invisible fire. Eight long, jagged, insectoid legs curved out of his torso, clutching at the floor and walls as he regained his balance. 

Cruz felt a grin spread under his mask. 

He jogged down the catwalk’s stairs, metal shaking with each step until he got to the basement floor. He raced past the rows of tank, having to jump over the live sacrifice—a sobbing, writhing man who lay on the floor, having been gagged and hogtied—like he was a hurdle that had been set up on a gym track to avoid tripping. 

Plier barked a laugh at the sight, the sound buzzing like a swarm of angry wasps in a blender. He reached with one claw to clap Cruz on the back. His eyes never failed to remind Cruz of burning embers, and they took on a somewhat softer glow with his humor. All sixteen of them.

“You’re late,” Cruz joked, drumming his fingers on one side of his mask. 

A long, chittering sigh drifted through Plier’s teeth—both his upper and lower canines were always longer than the rest, curving out of his mouth like tusks. 

“Ỷea͞h͍,̅ w̶̎e̽l̨l͠,̜ͮ̆ w̶̳e W̟O̻UĽ͙ͭD'̿V̢ͫͪE b̡_ȩ̃̓e͑n͉ he̹̦r͗̄̑e a̅ l̠͢i̜̅̐t̴̆ṯlͣ͟e͖ ea̬̾́ȓ̴͖l̦̾iͧe̟̿r̨̀̇,̍ Plier replied, his tone reeking with salt, “if̞̏͒ SO̜̼MÉ̲͖O̢͆NE͙̠ h̘̿a͛̔d̩̃͛ņ͓̓'͊t̓ taken̫̐ h̠́ịͦś S͝W̷̺ͧEE̅T̹ͯ DA̾M̈́̕N͌ͩ̅ T̒͗I̬͌̇M̯̚͟È t͉ͦ͂oͨ cͦat̤ͥ̍ch̗ â̬̕ st͍ȧr͑.”

Nine of his eyes rolled in their sockets, sending little daggers in Pat’s direction. 

Pat glared, pinprick pupils shuddering in the sickly-pale orbs that were trapped in his cavernous eye sockets. 

“¥ðµ'rê †ålkïñg ßïg gåmê £ðr †hê gµ¥ whð håÐ †ð kêêþ ¢ïr¢lïñg ßå¢k †ð gê† RÈþLÄÇÈMÈñ†§,” he snapped, pushing an accusatory talon at Plier. He glanced back at Sol, his sneer morphing into a smirk. “Hê jµ§† ¢ðµlÐñ'† §êêm †ð §†ðþ Ðrðþþïñg hï§ ðwñ §†år§ ïñ†ð †µmðr §lµï¢ê; †ððk åß𵆠£ïvê †rïê§ ßê£ðrê hê måñågêÐ †ð hðlÐ ðñ†ð ðñê.”

Cruz’s eyes widened. He felt his heart skip a beat. 

Stars? The monsters had captured actual stars for this ritual?!

He stared at Pat, eyes searching frantically until he finally caught it: a large maw was taking up space on the abomination’s stomach, rows of sharp, crooked teeth having sprouted from his flesh and locked themselves together. 

And there, through the crevices of all those teeth…light. A bright, beautiful light that was flickering and shaking, so obviously struggling. 

Cruz craned his neck toward Plier and eventually found something similar. A group of his thorns had grown longer and thicker than all the rest, creating a makeshift cage on the upper half of his back. Desperate light seeped through the thin cracks.

Plier sputtered at this, veils of steam pouring out through his skin. “O̢ͩͮh̾,̢̐ͯ p̫̾̒l̝ẻ͎as̿e͋̐!̽ Iͩt̊'̫́s̫͞ n̳o̿́t̚_̓ M̷̬̕Ỳ f̵̺͖a̮̾u͑͋l̟͘͢t͐ͧͤ th̫͛̆e̮ͮy strͦu͑ggl̨͑̚eͮ s̙̼̒õ m̥̀͜u̹ͣc͡h͔͆́!ͬ̀̚”

A snide hum seared into the air through Pat’s teeth. He tilted his head until it was angled upside-down. “Wåï† å §ê¢ðñÐ…wh¥ ÐÌÐ †hê¥ §†rµgglê §ð mµ¢h? Ì mêåñ, ï£ ¥ðµ'rê §µ¢h åñ È×þÈR† ðñ h¥þñð§ï§ åñÐ gµïlê—”

He cut himself off as Plier snarled and lunged, ducking in just the nick of time to leave the other monster’s talons swiping at empty air. His torso stretched with a chorus of awful pops and cracks as he glided along the floor, baring his fangs to retaliate.

…Or, he was about to when a ragged, piercing howl swept through the basement. The sound truly seemed to turn the air poisonous; both Plier and Pat flinched badly, lowering their heads and wrenching all of their hideous eyes shut. 

Cruz’s head swam. It took an embarrassingly long few seconds for him to realize that he’d fallen to his knees. He glanced over at Sol—they were still standing, though they had to lean against one of the tanks for support. 

As Cruz picked himself up, that green glow quickly grew brighter and deeper. He looked over at the seventh tank, just in time to see a third abomination floating in the center. 

Like Plier and Pat, this one was vaguely human-shaped for the most part (though, really, you’d have to be on some serious drugs for that to make any sense). The flesh stretching from his wide, hollow eye-sockets seemed to flutter in the tank's liquid. His dark hair was even longer than Plier’s, strands swaying and swirling like drunken eels. 

All the eyes on his chest, neck and arms blinked and rolled, pupils of all shapes dilating and constricting with no rhyme or reason. He even seemed to be somewhat propelled by the remains of his torso; like a cluster of ghostly jellyfish had taken nest inside of the cavity. 

The toxic light was vibrant enough to essentially burn through the copper, allowing everyone to see him for what he truly was. 

“𝗜⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘞̸𝗢⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘈̸ 𝘛̸𝗥⃥𝘜̸𝗖⃥𝘌̸ 𝘍̸𝗢⃥𝘙̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥,̸” the eyeless-and-yet-also-eyeful abomination announced, glancing back and forth between Plier and Pat. 

Plier scoffed, fixing the floor with a withering glare. 

Pat folded each of his arms across his chest, softly clicking his teeth together. 

“​​𝗨⃥𝘏̸-⃥𝘏̸𝗨⃥𝘏̸,⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘎̸𝗛⃥𝘛̸.⃥ 𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥,̸ 𝘓̸𝗘⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘔̸𝗔⃥𝘒̸𝗘⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘋̸𝗙⃥𝘖̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥𝘈̸𝗞⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸ 𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘗̸𝗣⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥!” A sardonic chuckle seeped through the eyeless abomination’s teeth. He glided closer to the front wall of the tank, the copper vibrating as he drummed his talons against it. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥,̸ 𝘚̸𝗘⃥𝘌̸?⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘖̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥ 𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘈̸!⃥”

Catching movement out of the corner of his eye, Cruz turned his head to discover that Moses had been placing the pumpkin guts in a rather decorative circle around the live sacrifice.

“Thanks, Septic,” Moses replied, his tone implying a huge, crooked grin on his face. Once the bowl was empty, he set it off to the side and trotted over to stand by the eyele—er, Septic’s tank.

Septic cleared his throat, diving back down and out of sight for a few seconds before surging back up again. The misplaced eyes on his arms rolled in different directions, some staring at Sol while others scrutinized Cruz. 

Cruz swallowed a lump in his throat, nodding to signal cautious respect. 

“𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘜̸𝗬⃥𝘚̸ 𝘒̸𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗪⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗬⃥ 𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥'̸𝗥⃥𝘌̸ 𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥?̸” Septic inquired. 

“Absolutely!” Sol chimed, stepping forward and rocking back and forth on their heels.

“Of course,” Cruz reassured, moving a bit closer himself. 

“𝗚⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘋̸,⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘋̸.⃥” Septic nodded. He then craned his neck, fixing his focus on the live sacrifice. 

Despite his position on the floor, the trapped victim seemed to immediately feel the monster’s gaze, as he started violently trembling and gibbering, though he already looked exhausted from all the useless struggling he’d done earlier.

“𝗪⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘚̸?⃥” Septic asked, glancing at Plier. 

“Oͫ̍h̍,̘ͣͩ ń̩͞ö́̅͌-ͦ͞o̗͋ͤn͎ͩ̿è͌ sp̝̖̌eͬͥc̔̔i̶al̜̄̓.͟..̈” A dangerous smile swept through Plier’s face. He lifted his chin, subtly puffing out his chest before slamming one of his claws down beside the victim, who recoiled with a shriek. “.̳̥ͤ.̞.ͬ̎̂j̶͊ü̮̹st̀ s̮o̜̽ṁ̹eͯͥ́ po̠̊ͩm̢̘p̎u͜sͣ̾ͬ l̘͂̑ȋ͕ͥt͜tle͢͞ bi̛̖ͬg-͑ͅs͎͇̄hͯot̗̔ f̬́̾r__om s͉o͕͍me C̫ͮ-̢Ḻ̞ͮi_̩͛s̢̙ͅṫ̞ s̕͜ṱ̹͆r̷e̿a͈͕̗mi̻n͌g͐̍ c̥o̦m̼ͤͤp̓a̤̋nÿ́́̅.”

Pat squinted down at the victim, shaking his head and offering a little tsk-tsk.

Septic hummed, a vague look of disgust crossing his features. “𝗪⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸,⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗘⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘌̸𝗙⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘠̸ 𝘞̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸ 𝘛̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸ 𝘔̸𝗔⃥𝘕̸𝗬⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝘙̸𝗨⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘕̸𝗗⃥.̸ 𝘋̸𝗜⃥𝘋̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗘⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘖̸ 𝘈̸𝗡⃥𝘠̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘗̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗜⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥?̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘠̸'⃥𝘋̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸ 𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗢⃥𝘚̸𝗘⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗠⃥?̸”

“He̊̀̈́'͠s̋ͥ b̳e̪̽͛e͉ͧň fuc̨̯͢k̶̿ǐǹġ̛̭ o͙v̸͇͐er tͩ̚h̅͟e̵̞͡ t͔eam̵̿́s͛̉ t̯͢ȟ̦ăt̞̫ h̀̓͟ã͙v̷̨e bͧèͨe̴͂n͗̐ w͇ͮ͊ö̀r̄͢ķ̙́iͧ͜n̸̙̆gͣ wiͫ̑th MY͌ t̺ḧ́e̫̙̫atͯ͢e̻͈ṟ̞ ḻ̾ate̲ly̾,̎́͜” Plier growled, his voice dropping through several octaves. “H̴͑̀e̼̊ͫ j̡us̈̂͟t̉ s̟ͫ͠ee̎m̾s̺_̟ âd̰dͫ͗i͈cte͈d t̹o̭̓̓ cͅh̥u̥͎ͦr͐̄͜n̯͜ͅińg͎̱̋ o͒̆͂u͆͠t_͛ c̸͎̍ơ̗͡m̮̍ͦp̏let̿̿ͅeͭ a̷ndͣ t̶ǫ̨t͍̐aͨ́l SL̗͚_O͈P̭̊ b̵̟ͤe̙͉̪cä̳́us̓̈ḛ it̾'̨͑̚s͆͝ m̀̒ar͙ͫk̈͢͜et̐aͩb͜l̰̇͝e.̇ S̆͠e͕͊éͣms l̞̝̋ik͇̼͐ę͚̀ hȩ t̶h̽ͅrŏ̷̲w̲̦s̃ͭ a l̍̆iţͫͨt͛͘l̟̮͚é̃̿ tͪr̡͛͢aͧ́ͅnt̂r̮u̐ͧm w̘h̟̹̰en͎̳e͍ve̬r̴̮ h͇ͧe͘ g̀e̹̼ts̍͟ å̧_ w̴̺̉hi̛̹ff̯͊͘ o͜f̴̯ͭ cͤo͎ͭm͕ͥp͓͘e̶͋̃tiṭ̴ͮi̷͟o̜̩͘n̈.̵ͣ”

Cruz nodded solemnly. “I’m pretty sure he only visited the theater to try and find something to make a smear campaign about.”

“Wðw,” Pat blurted. “†hå†'§...†hå†'§ jµ§† åw£µl.” 

Though his voice was warped and scattered, there was no doubt how the shock and brief sympathy he’d spoken with was genuine. 

 “Sorry you had to deal with it,” Sol added, fidgeting with their jacket sleeves. 

Cruz could only shrug. “Well, it’s not like he’s gonna bother anyone much longer.”

“𝗘⃥𝘟̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥,̸” Septic grinned. “𝗜⃥𝘕̸ 𝘍̸𝗔⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥,̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗦⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗟⃥𝘋̸ 𝗚⃥𝘖̸ 𝘌̸𝗩⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘔̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗡⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗚⃥𝘏̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘞̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗟⃥𝘋̸!⃥ 𝗬⃥'̸𝗞⃥𝘕̸𝗢⃥𝘞̸,⃥ 𝗖⃥𝘖̸𝗡⃥𝘚̸𝗜⃥𝘋̸𝗘⃥𝘙̸𝗜⃥𝘕̸𝗚⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘈̸𝗖⃥𝘛̸𝗨⃥𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥𝘝̸𝗘⃥𝘚̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥'̸𝗦⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘉̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗧⃥𝘖̸ 𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘗̸𝗣⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥.̸”

He flicked his wrist and snapped his claws twice. 

Instantly, the other two occupied tanks began to tremble and hum. The corpses floating inside them seemed to twitch, their heads snapping up and forcing their lifeless eyes to stare at the metallic ceilings of their makeshift tombs. 

The fluid all around them seemed to begin stirring on itself, creating a soft, slow whirlpool with them in the center. 

Dark red clouds began to billow off of them, their silhouettes getting fainter and blurrier until they completely vanished into the new haze. After that, the movement stopped. 

And then, a low chorus of bubbling and gurgling filled the air, almost like a bathtub being drained. 

Cruz glanced down just in time to see a thick line of blood oozing out through the crevices in the metal. It moved like it was magnetized, like it was a sentient being; it slithered across the floor, just barely trickling against the soles of his shoes.

The other tank copied this gesture, and two viscous carmine threads spilled their way around and beneath the live sacrifice until he was lying in a shallow, perfectly circular pool.

The metallic stench of iron meeting the rich, earthy scent of pumpkin guts…it was certainly an interesting smell. 

Cruz glanced back at the tanks; save for a few thin, stubborn layers of blood still clinging to the inner walls, as well as assortments of gleaming, picked-clean bones sitting at the bottoms in piles, they were now completely empty.

The live sacrifice kept squirming, kept sobbing as the vital fluid licked at his skin. 

“...Why do pumpkin guts have to be included, again?” Moses asked, sounding genuinely curious as he gazed at the mess. 

Pat raised a brow, idly stretching his back and arms in a way that would’ve made even the toughest contortionist on Earth pass out. 

“ßê墵§ê þµmþkïñ ï§ Ðêlï¢ïðµ§,” he answered, voice dripping with incredulousness. He then gestured toward Plier. “̆'§ ðñê 𣠆hê ðñl¥ †hïñg§ HÈ åñÐ Ì ¢åñ ågrêê ðñ.” 

Plier, much to Cruz’s surprise, nodded vigorously. “Yͤeaͧ̉h̖̤ͬ.͕̇ Ȁ͎ͥre̩̭͝n̿͞'͆ţ̐ hͣu̬̐̍m̸̧ͬḁn͂͝͞s̎̓ o̔ḃ̕se͇s̴͔ͅsͫ́e̙d̝ wit̀̅h̥ p̛u̧m̫͐p̃͞k͕̟iͬ̌n͓-͚ͫ͊s̝͑͝p͘i̲̼c̈́̔ed̾̐ s̡̆t̡̬̻u̢͝f̲fͯ arou̬nd̦͚̃ t̼͠h̞̑ͬḯ͢s s͎̓̑ea͆s̞̳̔o͍n͗?”

“Ah, I mean…” Sol replied, a cringe more than evident in their voice. “There’s never really been a straightforward answer to that question.” 

Cruz, feeling the same inexplicable pain, cleared his throat. “So, I’m guessing that even all this blood still isn’t enough?” 

“'̨ͣ̿F͡r̊a͙̍͢id̬͉͚ no͛̐͡t,” Plier replied, a knowing smirk on his face. 

Cruz nodded. 

He, Sol, and Moses all stepped closer to the huge puddle of gore. 

Cruz fished his gut-hook skinner blade from his pocket. He watched as Sol slipped a flint-striker knife from somewhere inside their jacket. Moses, meanwhile, produced a long corkscrew topped by a duck-shaped handle from his breast-pocket. 

“Oh, god…” Sol murmured, an exasperated chuckle floating up from their lungs. 

The way Moses hummed indicated that there was a smug smirk spreading across his features. Somehow, he must’ve guessed that Cruz’s face was lined with confusion under his mask. 

“...What? What’s so funny about a duck corkscrew?” Cruz blurted. 

“Oh, you sweet summer child,” Moses shook his head in a pitying manner. “It’s not for me to tell. But if you really wanna know, just look up ‘The Truth About Ducks’ when you get home.” 

Plier sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, suddenly avoiding Cruz’s gaze. 

“Öðh, †hå†'§ ñð† gðññå gð wêll.” Pat muttered, shaking his head.

Cruz sputtered a bit before deciding that he could simply put a pin in whatever mess he apparently wasn’t up to date about and come back to it later. 

He got back to business, gliding the blade of his weapon over the skin of his palm. Cold steel bit into flesh easily, leaving a bright, stinging sensation in its wake. 

Sol did pretty much the same with their striker-knife.

Moses took a deep breath before pushing the tip of his corkscrew deep into the pad of his thumb. 

The three of them held their injured hands out, letting a few fat, rich droplets of their blood fall into the shallow pool below them with a few anticlimactic plops.

“𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸ 𝘚̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥ 𝗕⃥𝘌̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘖̸𝗗⃥,” Septic announced with a nod. He then reached up toward the surface of his tank. With a chorus of organic snaps, his arm was suddenly stretching out through the hatch, the luminescent bones inside all bent and twisted in horrible ways. He held malformed hand directly over the live sacrifice, claws bent, ready to strike. “𝗦⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘌̸,⃥ 𝗚⃥𝘌̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥?̸”

“Ì Ððñ'† §êê wh¥ ñð†,” Pat replied. The skin of his forehead twitched, and an eye bloomed out, almost like a flower. It was larger than his primaries, even darker than his void-esque complexion, with a tiny pale iris floating about its center. 

“Mì̥͔ght̂ a̐s w͈̖ͣe̵lͤl,” Plier admitted. All sixteen of his eyes turned pitch-black, now oozing with oily tears that painted little rivers along the angles of his face. 

The two monsters each outstretched their palms, using their free talons to draw a deep, bloody X into their skin. Septic, meanwhile, pushed his claws into a fist so tight that little steaming droplets eventually squeezed out from between his fingers. 

Once it seemed that enough abomination-juice had been added to the mix, they all retracted their arms. 

Pat slid back and nudged Sol’s shoulder. “†hï§ ï§ whêrê ï† gꆧ ïñ†êr꧆ïñg.” 

And indeed it was. 

The blood started to fester and steam and bubble. That bubbling quickly evolved into a rolling boil as the red started moving, churning in a circle that slowly grew faster. 

Even with his mask on, Cruz’s eyes watered as a smell like volcanic ash, acid, salt, and horror all mixed into some kind of surreal smoothie quickly filled the air.

Whatever the pool was made of…it wasn’t blood anymore. 

It was now a substance that shouldn’t exist.

The live sacrifice let out a truly horrific scream. More depserate and unhinged and feral than any of his earlier cries. The fluid ate into his flesh as it splashed around him, leaving awful lacerations that quickly began melting. 

“Tͭha̕͞t̋̄'̱̀s i͂̌t͚͍̉!ͦ” Plier crowed. “Al̸͉̾l̫ of͕ͭ͘ y̏͟o̵ͩͅu̬͋̆,͈ͅ ge̤̦t͙ b͜͞ac̈́͘k͙͞! D̖o̩ń͚ͦ'̳ͅt l͐͐̈́e̗͓t̛̬ tͪḧ͚ẽ̇ sta̘řś̳̉ t̿͛ͦo̯͊u̸̎c͉̄h͘͠ y͝ou͊̈͊!͟”

Moses immediately ducked behind Septic’s tank. 

Sol backed away, obviously struggling to not look at what was unfolding as Pat raised one of his arms to shield them.

Cruz barely even registered the weight on his shoulder before he was stumbling back into the wall, well out of reach of the pool of gore. And there he sat, transfixed, watching as Plier’s back-thorns twitch and shrank back to reveal a mass of light that seemed to pulse, singing in a language he’d never be able to understand.

Across the room, Pat did the same; the teeth lining his stomach-mouth finally pulled away from one another, releasing the star he’d personally captured. 

As for Septic…well, it was a bit hard to see from his position, but Cruz still managed to watch as Septic plucked the largest eye out from the center of his chest. A third star flew from the now hollow socket, surging out through the tank’s hatch.

As the pool’s churning grew faster and stronger, the air began to thicken and whistle. 

The stars all tried to pull away, likely desperate to escape back to the sky, or wherever place they’d been harvested from. 

But whatever gravitational pull the pool had just couldn’t be escaped. 

One by one, the stars were effectively sucked into the center of the pool, where all that, brilliant, silvery light combined and contorted. 

The live sacrifice let out one final, bloodcurdling death-rattle as the light soaked all over his form in a near-blinding cocoon. 

As if encouraged by that, the horrific mixture of human blood, eldritch blood, and pumpkin guts was suddenly vacuumed up toward the center, all spiraling around, shrinking as it moved faster and faster and faster and…!

And then it was gone. 

Just like that.

Not a single stain was left behind. Not a scrap of gristle remained of the live sacrifice.

(Was it correct to call him live anymore? There was a good chance that he still was, since this stuff always worked in such odd ways. And if he was still breathing, Cruz knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was wishing he couldn’t.)

“𝗪⃥𝘌̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸.⃥.̸.⃥” Septic announced, cringing as he pushed that eyeball back into its chest-socket, where it blinked and rolled a few times to get readjusted. “𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘈̸𝗧⃥.̸” 

Pat hummed assent, his forehead-eye slowly-but-surely sinking back into his flesh. 

Plier shook himself, scrubbing the abyssal tears from his face as the hellish glow returned to all of his eyes.

Moses crept out from behind Septic’s tank. 

Sol stepped forward, staring at the spot where all the gore used to be “...That went by much faster than I thought it would.” 

“†hê ¢l姧 ålw奧 Ðð,” Pat replied, shrugging. 

“𝗕⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗜⃥𝘛̸ 𝘈̸𝗟⃥𝘓̸ 𝘞̸𝗘⃥𝘕̸𝗧⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸𝗙⃥ 𝗪⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗧⃥ 𝗠⃥𝘜̸𝗖⃥𝘏̸ 𝘖̸𝗙⃥ 𝗔⃥ 𝗛⃥𝘐̸𝗧⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥,̸” Septic declared. He nodded to Moses, Sol, and Cruz in turn. “𝗬⃥𝘖̸𝗨⃥ 𝗔⃥𝘓̸𝗟⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘓̸𝗔⃥𝘠̸𝗘⃥𝘋̸ 𝘠̸𝗢⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘈̸𝗥⃥𝘛̸𝗦⃥ 𝗣⃥𝘌̸𝗥⃥𝘍̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗧⃥𝘓̸𝗬⃥.̸”

Cruz nodded back, smiling. “Glad to hear it.” 

Sol visibly perked up, seeming to have gotten all their energy back in the blink of an eye. “Thank you!”

Moses wiped his hands in an overexaggerated gesture. “All in a night’s work.”

For a few long seconds, there was silence. 

As he tucked his gut-hook skinner back into its leather sheath, Cruz decided to break it: “So…is there anything left to do?” 

Septic offered a long, theatrical, conspiratory hum. “...𝗡⃥𝘖̸𝗣⃥𝘌̸. 𝗧⃥𝘏̸𝗔⃥𝘛̸'⃥𝘚̸ 𝘞̸𝗛⃥𝘠̸ 𝘐̸'⃥𝘔̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥𝘕̸𝗡⃥𝘈̸ 𝘎̸𝗢⃥ 𝗙⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘋̸ 𝘚̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗘⃥ 𝗢⃥𝘍̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘖̸𝗦⃥𝘌̸ 𝘊̸𝗢⃥𝘓̸𝗗⃥𝘞̸𝗢⃥𝘔̸𝗕⃥ 𝗟⃥𝘌̸𝗘⃥𝘊̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸𝗦⃥ 𝗜⃥ 𝗦⃥𝘈̸𝗪⃥ 𝗗⃥𝘜̸𝗥⃥𝘐̸𝗡⃥𝘎̸ 𝘛̸𝗛⃥𝘌̸ 𝘚̸𝗧⃥𝘈̸𝗥⃥-̸𝗛⃥𝘜̸𝗡⃥𝘛̸!⃥”

The monster then surged downward, disappearing from his tank and from view entirely. His toxic green glow followed suite, soon casting the basement into shadows.

“CͅoldW͓om͔̉̇b͆̄ Lͅe̝e̱c̬ͤh͎̑͠es̡͍̐?̼̏!̣͖” Plier let out a surprised gasp that seemed to sizzle through the air. “Hey,͠ g̠̽et b̵͖̭a͌͢c̣k̏͑̏ he̥̿́r̺̊e!͚͟ Ỉ̧ͤ ŝ̬aͧ̀w t̶̯͙hẻͨm͊ f̒́̍i̴͇͂r̢̛̊s͇t͆!”

He scuttled across the floor, lunging at the tank…and immediately colliding with Pat, who had just started to climb up its sides himself. 

“Lïkê hêll ¥ðµ ÐïÐ!” Pat snarled, shoving Plier away. His form seemed to dissipating into a shroud of ink and eyes and chattering mouths as pushed himself through the hatch and into the liquid below, quickly swimming down in the same path Septic had. “Ì ¢låïmêÐ †hêm! †hê¥'rê MÌñÈ!”

“N̵̼̙o̘ͫ t͇̪ḧ̥ͧey'̯ͩre͢ n̢̾o̬͂t̅!̐ͯ̈́” Plier protested, furious. He shoved his way through the hatch, his body crumpling and bending in all manner of grotesque ways in order to fit. And soon enough, he was swimming too. “D̹oͮ͑̾n͓'̸t͇ y̒͒o̯̔ų̈́ d̶a͍̼̫re t̯̂ő̒u̷cͮͥ̄h̵̘ 'ëm!͐̾̿ I'̏̐m̏́͐ g̷̢on͊na g̮ḛ̅ͨțͤ t̯̟͂h̘͌͋e͙̫̎r̡e f̺į̶ͤrst͙,̱̰ añ̞̾d̑̈ t̢̬h͠en I_'̐m̌ͮ g̖on͖̦̒na̹̓ e̝at̆͠ '̖e̙ͨm̤̠ a͗ͣl̩l i̵͌n fr̀o̽́n͆t o̺ͪ͌f̝ y͔̕ou̒!”

The twisted voices all crawled grew more and more distant, more and more muffled. The shouts, the arguing, all the promises of dismemberment and such eventually grew so faint that they were almost comparable to whispers. But they never faded completely; wherever the monsters were all headed, it was still somewhere beneath The Oozing Crown.

Cruz pursed his lips as he slowly removed his mask. “They’re probably gonna be occupied for a while.”

“Yeah,” Sol agreed, running a hand through their ginger hair as they took their own mask off. They gave Moses an apologetic look. “I could just start driving back to the museum, but…I don’t know, it doesn’t feel right to leave without Pat.”

After a slight pause, they added, “Plus, I’m pretty sure I need him to guide me away from this place. The roads I had to take on the way are all just so…wrong.” 

“Same here,” Cruz agreed with a nod, thinking about to the headless deer-things he’d seen beside his car hours earlier. 

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” Moses reassured, lightly shaking his head as he pulled the mask away. He considered the situation for a second, then threw his thumb over his shoulder at the catwalk, that the basement door. “...I’ve got some movies upstairs, if you guys are interested.”

@sammys-magical-au @inkbedou @nwtbobsessedemo

[plague-karm]

I’m going to talk about Sanrio characters that don’t get that much attention from the main brand because I love them sjsjsjsjsj-

Lloromannic (2007)

Lloromannic (Berry and Cherry) were created to be the Kuromi equivalents to Cinnamoroll, they’re little demons who cause trouble for no reason and they probably have my favourite designs out of any Sanrio characters, they appeal to me specifically and I love them for that. Berry actually created Cherry to be his friend because he was lonely and he accidentally added salt instead of sugar into the recipe which made her sassy as a result. The mansion they both live in actually used to belong to one of Espresso’s (Cinnamoroll’s friend and Cherry’s unrequited crush) ancestor Espriana. They aren’t completely forgotten characters (merch of them still gets made and they’re used in collaborations quite often) but I don’t get why they’re not utilised more? They’re a mix of Cinnamoroll and Kuromi, some of the brands most popular characters, if they were used/more I can guarantee that they’d be a lot more popular but eh, I can dream. Another fun fact is that they’ve actually appeared in an episode of Onegai My Melody but Cinnamoroll doesn’t show up once, I just found that really funny.

Pierrot (1984)

Pierrot was created as a part of the Fancy Friends brand (characters that existed throughout the late 70’s and the early 90’s to appeal more to adults due to their calmer and less “childish” designs). No merch has been made of him and he’s a retired character, which is such a shame because I genuinely ADORE his design! He’s so cute and simple, I would love to have a plush of this guy. And he’s actually quite popular from what I’ve seen since there’s a lot of fanart of him so I’d love for him to be brought back in some way.

Magical Twin Comets (2007)

The Magical Twin Comets (Lili and Lulu) are witches and the Kuromi equivalent to the Little Twin Stars, but unlike Kuromi and Lloromannic who are antagonistic towards their counterparts, Lili and Lulu are actually the childhood friends of Kiki and Lala and aren’t rivals with them. I actually thought they were fanmade for a while until I realised they were official and that’s because almost no merch of them exists, trust me, I’ve looked, but I couldn’t find anything. Which really sucks because I’d love a plush of their mouse friend Mimi.

Coro Chan (1973)

Coro Chan is the cousin of Hello Kitty’s bear friend Thomas and his cheeks are apparently croquettes that he sometimes eats on occasion. He predates Hello Kitty, making him Sanrio’s first ever published character, I have no strong feelings about him but it’s a cool part of the company’s history, I get why Hello Kitty’s the mascot now, I wouldn’t want a filthy cannibal fronting my brand either.

Hummingmint (2014)

Hummingmint is a deer character who looks really unique compared to everyone else, I love how soft her palette is and the one plush I’ve seen of her is actually really cute, it sucks that her popularity died out in recent years because I’d really like to see more merch of her she’s adorable.

Pop N’ Berry (2003)

Pop N’ Berry (Berrina, Banyanyan, and Melorina) are a trio of animal themed fruit fairies and they were created in collaboration with Bandai (to this day they’re the only characters Sanrio and Bandai have made through collaboration). I don’t have strong feelings about them but I think their designs are cute and there IS still merch of them it’s just few and far between (I’ve seen some stuff on EBay but idk about other places).

Darkgrapeman (2012)

Darkgrapeman is the sidekick to the superhero Ichigoman (which is Hello Kitty’s alter ego that she transforms into once she wields a strawberry shaped smartphone). Darkgrapeman is another character that I feel like would fit into alt subcultures really well since his design is quite striking (I think the cherry symbol on his face is meant to be glasses since all of the plushies I’ve seen of him have it made from more see through material).

I’ll probably make more of these but idk 🤷‍♀️

[fixer-xiuying]

hey guys!

I'm xiuying (she/her)! I'm a liu association south section 2 fixer, and my current grade is 4. I look forward to meeting people on here!

sometime in the future (probably when I move up a grade or two), I hope to start a northwest liu branch, if that's even possible / allowed

extra oc details:

24

4'11", but weighs way too little for that bc ✨ bird bones ✨

may or may not have manifested ego?? or maybe she's just vaguely abnormality-adjacent or smth (to explain her non-human traits)

originally from district 21's nest. she and her family moved closer to the great lake in june when she was 20, then moved back into their original home by the end of that year.

she's been trained in combat since her childhood, and decided to sign up as a fixer pretty much as soon as she turned 20.

no idea which office she worked in first. maybe I'll come up with an original / fanmade one