#should this be in the main tags? if not lmk

[lemon-russ]

In my late night writing stupor I; 1) used the wrong dividers on the morty fic, I reopened it aghast to see that vague circle shape was not death gaurd but black legion. Please disregard. And 2) I forgot to tag @squishyowl for it 😭

I REGRET NOTHING ELSE

There were discussions. I now am expanding the Otome Cage Morty fic to have Lore because I'm insane and I GUESS it's getting me to write again so. We roll with it.

PREQUEL TO THIS

Mortarion x F!Reader (Pt. 0)

CW: None for this specific thing. Many for the linked one. Many for the future of whatever this is.

TAGS (If you guys do not want to be tagged in whatever this is lmk 💀): @sleepyfan-blog @undeaddream @scriberye @lisikk @moodymisty (<- except you, you get no rest /j)

Your hoe hits the dirt with a soft thud, the thick warm air of sowing season opressing your lungs. You sigh and lean on the tool, wiping sweat from your brow as it threatens to sting your eyes.

Same as it ever is, you have been tilling the field for three days straight in preparation to sow the grains that will feed you another long winter. Your back aches, your arms tire, but worst of all is the humidity as your lungs try to wring oxygen from the air.

Your sister calls your name, and you ignore her a moment, catching your breath. But the next call is sharp and panicked. You turn to look for your sister, but are stopped dead when you see the sky.

Your life, until this moment, has been a cycle of doldrum. Wake up, feed the animals, feed yourself and your sister, do whatever seasonal chores were required of you. Today that was till and turn soil, sometimes it is irrigate the crops, sometimes harvest, maybe darn your garments or weave.

Nothing in your life so far could prepare your brain to process what it currently was desperately trying to parse into your synapses.

A… thing. A building? A construct of some sort, hangs in the hazy sky. Sat there like a cloud, but sharp and pointed and menacing. Whatever it is, it screams predator.

You fall backwards into the softened soil, primal fear gripping your heart. Everything you know screams “wrong, danger, flee” as smaller constructs fall away from the main one, like the large flying insects you chased off of growing season crops.

An alien noise, deep and bone rattling, approaches from the sky behind you. You scramble around to see another small construct coming right for your field, kicking up dirt and debris. You have to cover your ears to muffle the painful thudding sounds it makes.

It settles onto the ground, and mercifully it stops screaming. You wonder if it is hunting, should you run? Where is your sister? You need to find safety from these beasts-

The belly of the thing cracks open and falls to the soil, shaking the ground, and you freeze again.

Something human shaped, but wrong and hard and large, steps out with a heavy thud onto the ramp. It’s terrible face is partially made of metallic plates, with two cylinders that belch thick gasses as it breathes. It seems to be wearing clothes- you think you see human eyes under a hood- but you can’t begin to guess which parts are shell or exoskeleton and which are clothing.

It does have eyes, you realize as the cloudy green things lock onto you. Have you been staring this whole time? You need to run, your body screams, run, run, run-

It makes a noise that sounds like speech at you, and points. It’s… trying to communicate? It barks the clipped noise again and snaps its fingers at you.

Your baffled mind reels, overwhelmed by the onslaught of new information. You point at yourself.

“M- me….?” You squeak out to it.

It thuds across your field, heavy shelled body sinking into your freshly tilled dirt, ruining several days of effort, before coming to a stop in front of where you sit. It peels back its upper skin- Oh, it was a hood- to reveal shockingly human adjacent features. Shoulder length silver hair, pale and cloudy green eyes, and ashen white skin marred with cracks and scars.

It speaks at you again, the sound mechanical and muffled by its gaseous breath. The smell from its cylinders is unlike anything you’ve ever experienced, acrid and sharp and foul, and you recoil from it as its attempt at speech spits the smoke at you.

The being- person?- hesitates, and sighs. To your horror, it hooks its thumbs under the metal plates of its face and pries them away, revealing a human-ish lower face. Its cheeks are gaunt, and its mouth cracked in a sickly way, but at least it is now human looking enough for your brain to process what you are talking to.

A man. Almost.

He starts speaking again, but is overcome with a coughing fit. He turns away, coughing a sickly rattling sound out, and instinctively you clamber to your feet and step towards him. Is the air foul to him? You’re sure this massive man, already a foot in the grave if you’d ever seen it, is about to keel over right in your field. He holds up a hand to stop you, and retches something vile into the dirt.

You grimace. Not because of the sick, you were plenty familiar with disease and the death rattle of a creature’s last breaths, the poor thing, but whatever he is producing actually sizzles when it hits the dirt, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to have to dig up the soil this man touches when he finally dies. That’s going to be a lot. He is REALLY big.

Surprisingly, he catches his breath, and surprising more, when he turns back to you, his pallor is slightly healthier. He takes a deep breath, rolls back his shoulders, and speaks again, much more clearly. Unfortunately, it is gibberish.

“I… don’t understand…” you say, shuffling on your feet.

He tilts his head as you speak, then nods. “Ah, you do not speak gothic here. That is fine, I think I know this language too.” He responds, his voice deep and raspy. “Tell me little peasant, who are your rulers?”

You frown. “I… rulers…?”

He rolls his eyes, “Yes, do you have that? Is there a person who makes the rules you all follow? Someone who runs your country or whatever you have here?” He says, gesturing around you.

“I…. no? We all just live our lives, farming mostly….” you say, starting to feel lightheaded. This shelled man came out of a flying beast and now is asking if you had, what, a parent?

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his scarred nose. “That makes things less convenient.” He grumbles.

Suddenly he is scruffing you by the back of your tunic, and you yelp in surprise. You hear your sister scream and run away, calling for the neighbors down the way. The massive man holds you up so you are face to face with him as you squirm and grab at the cold hard hand.

“I am here to bring this planet back to the rule of my Father, The Emperor of mankind. And you-” he stops to cough into his shoulder, “-Are going to tell me what I ask for without argument.” He said between wheezes.

You fight through the confusion and anarchy in your mind to think about the situation you are in as logically as possible. A giant man from the sky in a screaming beast, who speaks your tongue, wants to own your land- what is a planet- and has you grasped in one hand like a stray kitten. And apparently he intends to bring you along as he does whatever it is he is doing for his father, who, presumably, is another large and strange man who could crush you in his fist like a locust.

You could fight, scream, run. Hide until your sister returns with help, hope this man is too sickly to give chase for long. There is a side door to the root cellar, if you could get out of his hands in time maybe….

“Okay.” You squeak out.

He raises a brow. “Okay?” He asks.

You nod quickly. “Okay.”

A very, very faint smile cracks across his weathers face. “….Okay.”

[summerlycoris]

Annon-Guy: As fellow Dawn of the New World fan, what do you think of the main characters introduced in that game?

Specifically Emil, Ratatosk, Marta, Tenebrae, Richter, Aqua, Alice and Decus.

Its been forever since ive played dotnw, so i might mess up small details. (I want to play it again- but am procrastinating playing symphonia orz)

Emil- the twist with him was so good. Kinda similar to Lukes twist in tota, except a bit more tragic because. The real Emil Castnagier is dead from the palmacosta fire. And Aster is dead because of Ratatosk.

But... he's still the real Emil. Even if his life was a lie. Even if his memories of his past were fake. The memories he made with Marta, Tenebrae, and everyone were real.

Ratatosk- I cant really remember a tonne about him individually tbh. Only that he improves over the course of the story, and becomes a much better teammate to Marta and Tenebrae.

Speaking of- Marta- shes a lot of fun honestly. The quips between her and tenebrae were perfect. And her character was also really cool- going up against her dad and the vanguard, all to try and save ratatosk. Shes cool.

Also, shes got tokunaga on her backpack. Any fan of Best Abyss Character, Anise Tatlin, is a friend of mine! (joke)(kinda)(i probably would like any Anise fan unless they were murderers or something like that.)

Tenebrae- brillient honestly. After playing tota, i can see the Jade influence loud and clear. And then you get to the twist and realise- he was in on it! He knew what was going on... owwie my heart. I see his reasoning for staying silent though. Just. Ow.

Richter- gay gay homosexual gay- sorry Richter, but its true!

On a serious note. God his situation is tragic. Seeing his dead best friend in Emil- and still seeing fit to be nice to Emil, and help him out? Despite knowing that this is really ratatosk? Amnesiatically piloting a copy of his best friends body? Ow owow ow ow. That got to me when i was sixteen (still kinda gets to me tbh) why? Because he believed in Emil being Emil.

Im sorry, I just need a minute.

Aqua- another one I dont remember a tonne about. She was really loyal to Richter- even above his own desires at times iirc.

And now, for my absolute blorbo from this game...

Alice- my silliest little meow meow who has done ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WRONG EVER FIGHT ME ABOUT IT!

(She has done everything wrong and i love her for it.)

I went fucking loopy for this girl when i was sixteen. Like, if she told me to jump off a cliff i woulda done it. I wouldve fought Decus for her heart in a heartbeat if. Yknow. I couldve ever stood a chance at winning lmao.

I did all her sidequests in a second playthrough. (Missed some time sensative ones in my first playthrough nooooo) and felt so bad for her when her backstory was revealed. I loved that sidequest where she gives an old lady from tetha hella medicine (iirc) because. It showed me just what she couldve been if only the world had been better towards her.

Shit, i even tried brainstorming some timetravel au fanfic with her when i was a teen. Glad that never got out of my head- i wouldve written it SO badly. (My writing when i was sixteen was SO SHIT OMG-)

I felt so bad for that final battle with them, where we had to kill her and Decus. And she realises she really did love him... tear my heart out too why dont you?!

I really need to replay this game honestly.

Decus- hes pretty cool honestly. I cant remember the most about him. I liked hearing his backstory. And he had a interesting character- prioritising Alice above any allegence he had to the vanguard. And yet- he played the punch clock villian. It was never personal if he had to attack Emil or Marta- just his job.

This is all ive got for now. One day i will replay it again. One day. I hope that answers your question!

[squinkoblinko]

Redraw of a DTIYS entry I did for @greasby on insta forever ago hai haiaiis

why is there so much awkward space with this croppifn i’m too lazy to fix zzz

photo for reference (the whole dtiys was just to find a vintage queer photo n redraw it as a tf2 ship :•3 WAS FUN ASF)

[factual-fantasy]

So spent the last couple of days working on my FNAF recap/repair comic. And I’ve made a BUNCH of progress. So I figured I’d take a short break and doodle some random stuff before getting back to work.

So this post is just a huge mish-mash of random things I drew on my break. Well, at least these are the more coherent ones- <XD

[dez-ku]

🚨🚨CW! SUGGESTIVE🚨🚨

Made a poll on Instagram and they picked this outfit on macaque.

I made another poll for women :^]] I'm mostly active on Instagram so if you want to follow me there, go ahead! ^^

[appallinnballin]

Djgkdjg here it is, it's about 2.9k words and just a bit angsty (cw for Sarv getting drunk basically) but the end is sweet, I hope it's okay,,

THANK YOU FOR THE FOOD. ITS EVEN MORE THAN OKAY

[kheprriverse]

Just a casual plug ahah

If you wanna commission me I do take them I just tend not to advertise them coz idk I’m strange. It’s always a “ask and we’ll figure it out” kinda thing.

I’ll do doodles/sketches like my previous post for $20(per character).

[daincrediblegg]

ONE WARM LINE CHAPTER 1 PREVIEW

Well folks. For the old man's Birthday, this is what you get. A preview of the first chapter entirely from Lady Terror's point of view. Enjoy

In the mind of one Miss Genevieve Sinclair, September of 1846 still had time yet to shape up to become a very good month indeed.

A few months out from the Baffin Bay now, the air on HMS Erebus began to shift measurably. As the renewed cold washed in, so too did the excitement of the crew. You’d be hard pressed to find single soul on either ship to not be in the highest of spirits, but the sole woman among the total of 129 men on both Erebus and Terror (and the solitary representative of her sex on this expedition, at least, that which she knew of), was not quite as convinced.

With the cold, of course, came ice, and it was her charge to observe it, after all. She may still have been considered a Junior in these matters in comparison to Mr. Reid, and Terror’s Mr. Blanky, but she was familiar enough to know that even with how well their ships were outfitted, it would be difficult to maneuver the Passage, and the further they approached, the more difficult it would become, and the signs of that difficulty had already begun to show themselves. The ice, in recent days, like this one, began to look like lily pads on a great deep blue pond (dinner plates, Mr. Reid had called them, but she felt it an inept analogy for the way they floated on the surface, like they belonged there). Soon, they would grow to size, and fuse with one another, to create a great sheet, and soon after that, it would freeze farther down even than below where the ships buoyed themselves upright in the water. If their course was not charted carefully from here on out, it would be a certainty. And though certainty was a comfort in its own way, a possibility of success was far more palatable, and Sinclair would rather tread the unknown, study, and understand it, than take her chances with certainty.

And it was for this reason that, in spite of her own reservations on the future of this venture, she found herself at least a little infected by the enthusiasm of her shipmates. It was in fact this same energy that took her up to the portside gunwale on this day in particular, practically glowing from it as the cold air pinkened her cheeks. After wintering on the ice-locked shores of Beechey Island, cooped up for the majority of that time in her cabin out of necessity, she had resolved to not spend a single moment of their summer strait (un-summer-like though it was) below decks, and after receiving her assignment from a begrudged Mr. Reid to aid him in charting out the as of yet unmapped coastline as they passed, and of course, around mid-day Mr. Reid had gone down to attend other duties left to him by Sir John, leaving Sinclair alone to finish the task before her.

In perfect honesty, she couldn’t have been more relieved. Mr. Reid surely was a well studied man, in her estimation, but his demeanor, like many of the other men on these ships, was so curt and plain whenever he spoke to her. They were all a superstitious lot, she knew. Her years on the Demeter with her Father had taught her as much, but even those men, as set as they were in their superstitions, had warmed to her by the end of their course through the Prussian seas. It truly baffled her now, even one year after landfall, and none but a handful that she could count on her two hands had seemed to change their minds on the matter of her, and even fewer with the bravery to more than tip their hats to her in greeting.

And yet, in spite of their ignorance to her presence, she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched as she worked. She was still an oddity enough to these seasoned naval men to warrant attention. And though they would hesitate to speak with her directly, their gazes were enough to tell her what they thought of her. Even now, perched by the portside gunwale with her instruments and sketching paper, where she had been nearly since the day began, she could feel their eyes every now and again as she tried to work. It is why she preferred to work in her cabin, or alone, at night, most days, so the feel of the eyes on her would not distract her as much. But even that feeling could not dissuade her from being determined to push through with her task today. The credit for finding the passage itself would never go to the name of a woman, she knew, but it would be her strokes in crude lead and later still in fine ink upon the very map of the world itself… it would be a credit to her. And that, no man could deny her.

It was mid-afternoon now, and she looked at what remained of her work. Three Hundred miles. Three Hundred Miles was all that stood between them and the waters of the pacific. A threshold marred with isles and inlets and capes, and ice. And her hand would chart all the rest of it (or rather, as much as she could manage in her waking hours, at least). But their course through these labyrinthian miles were what counted most. She was well acquainted enough with the accounts Parry, and Sir John Ross left of their attempts at the Passage. Even better acquainted with Dr. Richard King’s theories about the safety of the coastal waters, and as she suspected, islands, and ones that they could sail through the same as they had the Bellot strait just a few short weeks ago. But their luck had won them that prize in the first place. If it had not been summer, and if it had not been in that span of time that they had passed in, she suspected, they would not have made it out the other side and here before. And the ice was beginning to form even here, well… it was all a matter of timing. And Sinclair, as she observed her lily-pad ice, knocking against each other in the rolls of the sea and against their ship, was going to make certain that the timing was correct to avoid being iced in completely.

[timeclipsed]

— ;; Snowfall premature to its conventional end-of-the-year debut has the streets coated in a pearly blanket of frost, amply bundled denizens scurrying to-and-fro all around.

Catenating after the Doctor, miscellaneous bits of scrap tucked underarms, Tails is no different. Muffs, gloves, a scarf and a puffy coat protecting him from the gelid onslaught, he pauses as they pass the obtuse front window of one of the many shops lining the road. Gazing into its displayed setup of festive décor, awe consumes his features as he tilts his head, craning it to peer at Robotnik, whose bootprints leave a rhythmic impression on their path back to the shop the further he gets.

❝Feels like winter took forever to get here this year,❞ he comments, ocean eyes searing into the back of the skull in such a way that prompts the other to pause as well, finally turning back, ❝when we disappeared a few months ago, I thought the year would go by just like that. But… wow.❞

— ;; Quirking a brow, Robotnik stares at Tails from behind those dense ocular spectacles, as if attempting to discern the actual tone behind his words. Momentarily processing, before deciding with certainty that Tails is not, in fact, being sarcastic for once, he gives a rather desiccant reply.

❝You do realize it’s been more than “a few months”, don’t you boy?❞ 

— ;; Hustle and bustle, brumal static in the air, incoherent chatter from all around fully stands still, just like that. Torpidly, his heart suddenly ringing in his ears, Tails turns his head to meet Robotnik’s confused expression, his own twisting into something of mortified disenchantment.

❝…What?❞ Faintly, the singular leading query spills from Tails’ lips, in disbelief of what’s been stated. Lowering wide eyes to their feet, subconsciously observing the frigid fractals that land all around, making the snow its only home. ❝You… you’re lying. I don't believe you. ...How long… has it been?❞

Contemplating for a second, and with the click of a tongue, Robotnik answers, ❝I’d wager it’s been somewhere around fifteen or sixteen months. Did you honestly think time wouldn’t continue to pass from where—❞

❝My birthday,❞ interjecting before he can finish his mordacious remark, Tails’ head whips back up to stare desperately, ❝did my birthday pass?❞

❝I figured you'd have noticed on your own, but it came and went.❞

— ;; Resisting the sudden urge to disgorge, to stain the sleek sheet of ivory into a versicolor canvas of bodily suppuration, the congery of stray mechanical pieces cascades from his tenacious grasp instead, spilling all around their feet.

❝How—❞ cadence oscillating, forcing back the voluminous lump plaguing his throat, ragged breaths leaving puffs of cold air in front of him, he dares to ask. ❝—H-How old am I?❞

❝Fifteen,❞ Robotnik answers with lukewarm certainty as he hunches to collect the discarded parts. ❝You’d be fifteen at the moment.❞

— ;; Quailing to the ground right then, clammy knees pressing into the cold, Tails barely even registers lissome hands webbing ‘round his form effortlessly, gathering everything in calculated silence. That’s it; that’s all he’d needed to hear for any sense of stability he’d had to come toppling down, thousands of miniscule fragments spilling out like hail that rubs against his bare arms, leaving him with freezer burnt welts—

—Leaving his entire world dark, ensnared in a Cimmerian cloister whose clutches stretch with emptiness as far as the eye can see in any direction.

❝You ne- you never told me—❞

❝It’s not my job to make sure you’re keeping your head on straight, boy. Get up.❞

— ;; Breathless, as if he’d just been gutted, all he can do is shake his head, collapsing sideways into the snow. Legs curling to meet his chest, arms folding around them and holding tight as if they, too, would disappear were he to release them. After a moment, he hears Robotnik scoff.

❝Do you want to lie here and freeze to death? You’re acting ridiculous.❞

— ;; Readying a snarky response, any form of quip to get the Doctor off his back, his mouth grows agape, but no sound comes. Neither in the way of movement; he feels locked up, glued to the ground in this manner. Silence, having befallen the pair, grows thick with every passing moment, until the point at which it’s shattered by Robotnik’s swivel of the heel, restarting the earlier trek towards the workshop.

❝When you’re feeling up to acting your age and rejoining society, I’ll be back at work. Lest you decide you want to perish from hypothermia, at which case I would advise you to expect an unmarked grave and an empty funeral.❞

— ;; But Tails doesn’t hear, curling those namesakes around his body in some feeble attempt to self-assuage. Tears, tepid in comparison to the weather, drizzle down his face, melting small holes into the snow beneath as they roll off his cheeks lopsidedly.

He realizes in that moment that he will never know home again.

[lovelylonelymoonlight]

Like the reading of Bruce as essentially a severely suicidal character who gradually finds his will to live is my favorite take on why he doesn’t kill

Bruce wakes up cause dick broke a chandelier and thinks

I could’ve missed this

He sees his son come back from the dead so very angry but most importantly here and alive and thinks

I could’ve missed this

Watches tim slowly fall asleep on the computer and thinks

I could’ve missed this

Hears damian coo at his animals and yell at his family and thinks

I could’ve missed this

And how could he take that chance away from someone else? The chance to wake up on what is objectively a terrible day and think to yourself-I wouldn’t give this up for anything- especially when it’s something he himself tried to give away. No. That’s a joy he won’t take from even the most vile thing on earth

[mostlyghostly66]

I just finished the second of a pair of crump/grodus fics so its time to promo both of them yayy. The fics are both hurt/comfort and set in an au where theyre more or less just normal people

Rotten Work is about reconnecting by total accident with your missing-presumed-dead roommate who you were in love with (...via a flop of a grindr hook up that you two still try to go through with). Its a lot about fear and grief and the desperation to not lose someone you love again.

Not To Me, Not If Its You follows the ending of rotten work and is very much about the emotions of coming back home to a place where youre loved after suffering a horrific mental health crisis and convincing urself that you can never go home and can never be loved ever again. It deals a lot with how things change and how they dont and the small mundane day to day ways people care about each other

[alphacinder]

it be finished!!!!!!!!!! the gnarliest garb!! woohoo!!!!

[pixxyoffice]

@pixxyofice

[causenessus]

ness I hope u know with all the details ur sneaking us for love notes it might turn into my wdo 😭 mac and cheese 😭 yes please I’ll eat it up

+ SAFE FLIGHT !! IM SO JEALOUS AB HADESTOWN

RAHH bro I hope U know how much of an inspiration wdo is for me and in writing this I REALLY HOPE YOU'RE GONNA ENJOY LOVE NOTES AND IDK WHY ATSUMU & MAC N CHEESE IS SUCH A PROMIMENT THOUGHT IN MY HEAD ALL THE TIME 😭😭 AND TYSM!! AA i'm going to respectfully sneakily take so many pictures of their set <33

[the-martyrfication-of-the-matron]

So I drew sea/ocean god garroth.

problem? Mfer wears no clothes, so i had to add some on afterwards.

except that there is a less-dressed version of him below the cut (bits are still covered, dw, its just sluttier)

I will reiterate

The drawing under the cut involves a far more scantily clad Garroth, with nothing but some carefully placed floating foliage to cover him. Look at your own risk.

[sorikkung]

so if i did nsfw art of hongjoong. hypothetically. would anyone be interested in seeing it,