#you all have been warned

[starry-bi-sky]

on a completely separate note; shizun luo binghe with a disciple shen yuan who fell into the abyss??? *thinks about LBH canonically stealing SQQ's corpse for 5 years* he'd hallucinate i think. like, like visual and audial hallucinations.

Keeps thinking he's seeing SQQ in the corner of his eyes, or wandering between the trees, amongst a group of disciples. Thinks he hears him calling for him, but its just the wind or another disciple.

Gets Xiu Ya reforged but patently fucking refuses to make a sword mound. Because his disciple Is Not Dead :))) There was No Body. He's Not Dead. And If You keep Insisting That He Is, He's Gonna Skewer You :). He's holding onto Xiu Ya so he can return his most favored disciple's sword when he returns. It's on his hip right next to Zheng Yang where it's supposed to be.

Also this motherfucker?? does not sleep btw. He has the image of SQQ, wide eyed and hysterical and standing at the mouth of the abyss burned into his fucking eyelids. Can't use the dreamscape to escape it either because he keeps trying to save him and either he does and it's an incredibly cruel trick to wake up to, or he doesn't and he gets his heart broken in several different pieces again.

There is no convincing this man that Shen Qingqiu is dead. Absolutely nothing at all. He is buried so deep in denial that moles would be jealous of how deep he is. He keeps making tea for two in the bamboo house only to remember that it's just him. SQQ's fans are hiding everywhere, little reminders of his presence. He goes to wake up SQQ on the mornings he sleeps in-- only to find the room empty.

[canisalbus]

What if I told you that RoobrickMarine went and wrote an entire novella starring my 16th century dog couple? It's very canon-adjacent, well researched and thoughtfully put together, has inspired me a ton during these past months and it's now publicly available at AO3. I highly recommend it.

✦ Separation ✦

[incomprehensi-bull]

the thing about one piece is it's got real good group interaction shots

and also my new favorite reaction pic

[sol-consort]

Humans having just discovered that the gaint metal tongs in space unlock fast travel through the galaxy: oh boy, can't wait to activate every mass relay we can find, whoever turned these off must be an idiot lol

Turians opening fire without warning at first sight of relay 314 glowing again:

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Welcome to the Dungeons of Fear and Hunger.

[egophiliac]

something quick to relieve the tension of these final hours ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ

close-up, 'cause it got kinda lost in resizing:

[dissentersrising]

redraw of this particular meme which cracks me up every single time i see it

but also i think about how the fresh hell v1 even expresses itself a lot and i have come to the conclusion that it’s probably closer to a crocodile more than anything. if it is Just Sitting There and relaxing you are probably doing something right

[holy-reference-in-a-username]

Goretober Day 8: Xray

Sorry bro your skeletons fucking weird

[autisticaradiamegido]

day 231

doomed timeline

u ever think about how literally every single one of the thousands of aradias that traveled back to fight in the trolls' boss battle was from a doomed timeline where she had to a) watch all her friends die b) process that she was also doomed and c) then power through all that to do a bunch of time travel detective work so that she could advise the alpha iterations of her friends on how to avoid splitting into that doomed timeline in the first place? before traveling to a battle she knew she wouldn't make it out of?

yeah man

[poltergeist-punk]

‘twas a school project

anyway i missed this lil bugger

[fangirls-just-want-to-have-fun]

me at the end of episode 5 of agatha all along:

[lunarmoves]

you weren't sure what had woken you up.

you only knew that one moment you had been dreaming—of what, you could not recall—and the next you were staring up at the textured ceiling of your bedroom. your eyes took a moment to adjust. moonlight, dewy and milky, yawned along the walls from the open-curtained window to your right. there was a stillness to the air befitting of the late hour. you blinked once, then twice, your mind hazy with lingering sleep.

that was when you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

slowly, you sat up, your blanket pooling around your waist. you rubbed at one of your eyes, groggily trying to piece together some vague understanding of what you were hearing. your room looked no different, honestly. boxes were still lined along the leftmost wall that you had yet to unpack. a desk tucked in the far right corner had your hunting weapons scattered across its surface—your bow and arrows. your silver dagger. the door directly across from you was slightly ajar, just like you'd left it earlier.

faintly, you could see small specks of dust as they floated in the moonlit air. you wrinkled your nose. you had yet to do a deep clean, preoccupied as you were with everything else. you wiggled your toes slightly from where they poked up from underneath your blanket.

it was quiet.

scritch scritch scritch.

you turned around, craning your neck back as you stared at the wall your bed's headboard was propped up against. it was a plain thing, painted a light lavender that looked midnight purple in the darkness of your room. you watched it for a moment, like you were expecting something to reveal itself or change. but nothing did.

you reached up and ran the tips of your fingers along the wall. then, carefully, you stood up. your feet sunk into the plushness of your mattress. it would be easy to lose your balance. you braced one hand on the top of the headboard.

you stared at the wall some more. and slowly, ever so slowly, you leaned forward to press your ear against it.

the plaster of the wall was cool against your skin. you could hear your own breaths, your own heartbeat. a steady rhythm that nearly wiped out all other sound.

you waited, terse and quiet.

scritch. scritch scritch.

it was like it was directly inside your ear. incessant. like someone was scratching a thin nail against concrete.

you huffed and leaned back to eye your wall once again. this house was old, handed down through generations until your grandfather had eventually gifted it to you. and thus you knew the prospect of rodents running inside the walls was not too absurd of an idea.

you rubbed at your eye again, too tired to deal with this at the moment. gently, you banged your fist against the wall—a muffled thump thump thump that echoed throughout your room. and after a few moments of silence, you plopped back down in your bed. hopefully that scared the rodents off.

you'd deal with them in the morning.

the next time you heard the scratching, it was just past sunset.

you were in one of the halls on the first floor of the house, repainting it after having ripped off the old, yellowed wallpaper. the lights flickered for just a brief moment, drawing you from your work as you glanced up at the bulbs on the ceiling. but before you could squint at them for too long, you heard it.

scritch scritch scritch.

right in front of you.

you paused and looked back down at the section of the wall you were painting. your eyes were level with discolored plaster you had yet to cover up. you'd bought rat poison a few days ago at the small town nearby and crammed it into whatever cracks in the walls you could find. you had hoped it would be enough. it was not.

your lips twisted as you frowned at the wall. you really did not want to contact anyone to deal with the rodents. it would cost a pretty penny, and you were trying to save up so you could make additional repairs on the house. you grunted and set your brush down on the top of the paint bucket. then, you stepped back and wiped your hands on your overalls as you scrutinized the wall.

further down the hall, you heard it again. faintly.

scritch scritch. scritch.

your head turned to stare in its direction. and after a short moment of consideration, you trailed after the sound. maybe it would lead you to a hole you'd missed.

the scratching moved down the hall and to the right, trailing all the way up to a peeling, white door with a large lock on it. you grimaced. the basement. you never did find the key to open it—especially with how cluttered everything had gotten once you'd moved in.

you weighed your options in your mind for a bit, then turned around to make your way over to one of the storage closets. rummaging inside for a minute or two, you let out an aha! once you found the perfect tool. a hammer.

gripping it in your hand, you made your way back over to the basement door. and with a few well-placed hits, you broke the lock on it and kicked it off to the side. you tucked the hammer into your overalls and pulled open the door. dust wheezed into the air.

wooden stairs led down to a dark room. it was stifling. musty. you could see the cobwebs that lined the rail and the corners of the staircase. you shivered slightly. this door had not been opened in a very, very long time. you could only imagine the amount of work you'd need to do for restoration.

you tugged the collar of your shirt up so that it covered your nose and mouth. just past the door frame, there was a switch on the wall. you flicked it.

light spluttered to life from a bulb that hung over the middle of the staircase. you peered down and caught a glimpse of a concrete floor. off to the sides of the stairs, you could see more boxes, their shadows stretching languidly towards you. you strained your ears, listening past the deafening roar of the basement's silence.

scritch scritch scritch.

you started your descent.

the stairs creaked and groaned with every step, protesting against your weight. you winced slightly at the sounds and found yourself skipping a few steps so you could reach the bottom faster. your skin crawled as you made your way past all the cobwebs. your shirt slipped off your nose once you stepped further away from the stairs. your eyes trailed around as you took everything in.

the basement was just that: a basement. another room for storage. moonlight from a small, rectangular window on the wall directly across from you filtered through the air. it cast everything in an ethereal glow, illuminating things just enough that you could decipher what you were seeing.

there were more wooden boxes scattered about. old, antique furniture and other miscellaneous items were interspersed between them. a lamp in the shape of a flower with curled petals. a rocking chair with carvings of small animals along its arms and legs. a chest with another lock tucked in a corner.

you marveled at it all as you ventured around the room, stepping between stacks of books and ornate dishware. you wondered why your grandfather never sold any of this stuff. though, you supposed he was a bit of a hoarder.

you kept your eyes and ears peeled as you glanced at the surrounding walls. there was no more scratching. no pattering of tiny feet against the floor. no holes from what you could see either, though you were going off of the limited lighting from the window, so perhaps you missed something.

you frowned. you'd have to come back when it was brighter down here, maybe get a few lamps to chase away all the darkness. mind made up, you turned back to head towards the staircase.

as you did, however, your eyes caught onto an object just under the window. it was covered with a white sheet—stark like a ghost against the shadows that surrounded it. and it was such an odd thing, wasn't it? the only covered thing you could see. curiosity got the better of you.

approaching the object, you took note that it came up to about chest height. your nose wrinkled as you caught sight of the layers of dust upon the cover. you used your arm to shield your nose and mouth. then, with your free hand, you swiftly tore the white sheet off.

you weren't sure what you'd been expecting, but it certainly wasn't a small, metal cage stacked atop another box. you let the sheet flutter to the ground, waving your hand in front of you in a feeble attempt to disperse the cloud of dust that had burst in the air. on top of the cage was a slim, vertical piece of paper. you picked it up.

you... couldn't tell what you were looking at. there was some pattern of sorts on the paper, drawn in ink that nearly glistened in the dim lighting. squiggles and waves. dots and strange characters. you squinted at it—felt the thick material of the paper itself—then shrugged and let it fall to the floor to join the sheet. your grandfather had been a strange man, particularly in his later years. you'd learned long ago not to question the things you found in his old house.

bending slightly, you peered past the thin bars of the cage. you'd been expecting an animal of sorts, dead or taxidermied or something. what you didn't expect were two dolls.

you straightened up and reached up a hand to the small lock on the cage's door. what was with your grandfather and locks, honestly. you pulled out the hammer from your overalls and quickly disposed of the lock before shoving it back into your pocket. the cage door creaked open. you pushed past it to grab the dolls and tug them into the light.

they were similar yet different, with matching smiles and crescent markings on their faces. one was colored red and gold, with yellow protrusions from its head that you realized mirrored the sun. the other was silver and blue, a hat with gold stars nestled comfortably on top of its head. both the dolls had blank, grey eyes that stared up at you hauntingly. you ignored the goosebumps along your arms.

you squeezed them slightly, one in each hand. your fingers sank into the plush material of their torsos. your thumbs ran across the intricate stitching of their tiny clothes. and you wondered what they were doing down here, locked in a little cage seemingly made for their little bodies. it was strange.

shaking your head, you glanced up at the window to see the moon steadily rising into the sky. it was getting late and you still needed to clean up. you eyed the dolls in your hand and set them atop the cage, propping them up against each other so they were sitting upright. you'd come back for them later. maybe you could sell them to one of the kids in town.

as you turned around to make your way back out of the basement, you failed to notice the way the dolls' eyes suddenly glowed a gentle white. following your figure as you disappeared up the stairs.

[plulp]

IM NOT A DOCTOR BUT I THINK I MIGHT BE ABLE TO HELP

[sewerdraws]

Make it for me // Put it on me

it's here ... the convoluted spy x spy x sniper shoe themed page.... very much inspired by this song .

if you wanna read my incoherent thoughts about the ship and this piece in particular it's under the cut !! (warning for sex mention and v unhealthy dynamics)

Basically two ships i rly like are sniper x spy and spy x spy (going from the assumption they are two different people who are somehow magically uncannily similar) and i started thinking about mixing the two...

I imagine red spy and red snipes as having a pretty close friendship and strong sense of camaraderie (they are of few words but understand each other very well) with unspoken attraction towards each other and lots of awkward tension (that sometimes has to break out 😏), basically even with their close friendship they still have too much pride and too much of a shell to admit their feelings to themselves and they're so messy aaaah

where red spy's personality is pretty close to canon, blu spy is v different. he keeps to himself because he's very unstable, much more anxious and paranoid. red has some kind of weird superiority complex / identity crisis over him and toys with him (you hate in others what you hate in yourself etc etc...)

blu spy has an unhealthy obsession with red snipes to the point of being stalker-y. his relationship with red spy switches between trying to gain his favours to get closer to red sniper, and trying to kill him / impersonate him to trick red sniper. i have yet to think about how red snipes reacts to it all but i'm sure i can fit a lot more unhealthy relationships in there :) !

the idea for the art here is that shoes are Gay and Horny. but also. sniper's making the shoe for spy, a craft that takes patience, skill and passion. spy, who is notoriously picky about his clothing, trusted him with this part of his appearance. sniper making the shoe is an act of service, but it stems from the trust between them. meanwhile blu spy only gets to put the shoe on, a trivial gesture that red spy could have done himself, and that also puts blu physically beneath him. idK MAN shoes.

anyways they haven't left my mind for the past 3 days im temporarily naming them the toxic trio until i find something better but there will be more art and if you read all of this we are siblings in arms and i love u

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Detectives at the Disco (Elysium)

[afewproblems]

Season 2 Halloween AU Part Four

Part One, Part Two, Part Three

A very big thank you to @strangersteddierthings for chatting with me today and being such a great sounding board for the next update!

Synopsis: What if Eddie had been at Tina's Halloween Party in Season Two? Featuring Steve!Whump, Stancy Breakup, and Eddie just trying to keep up with all these new revelations about who King-Steve actually is...

***

"So…I have to ask," Eddie blurts out, cutting through the awkward silence that has fallen between them, "how were you gonna pick up your car before you ran into me?"

"I don't think it counts as running into you, if you were waiting for me Munson," Steve side steps the question expertly, flashing him a strange smirk that seems out of place. It falls after a second and twists into something pained.

"I was hoping Nance would take me," Steve says eventually, his voice soft, "which was pretty stupid in hindsight, 'specially cuz she was counting on me to drive her this morning, which--"

Steve cuts himself, snapping his mouth shut with a harsh click of teeth, he shakes his head and lifts his hand to run roughly through his hair.

"Doesn't matter anymore".

Eddie holds his breath, feeling the conversation begin to shift. It's as though he's stepped onto a tightrope and any wrong move could potentially send him over the edge.

He settles for nodding once, turning the key in the ignition.

Steve sighs and lets himself fall back into his seat, "I know you know already, the whole fucking school does, Billy saw to that," Steve gestures to his face, "say what you really want to ask". 

Eddie's fingers tighten around the wheel as he turns them out of the parking lot, fighting the immediate urge to say, 'why did Miss Priss throw it all away?' 

"You think I believe the rumours that come out of that shithole?" Eddie lies, keeping his eyes on the road this time.

He can feel Steve's unimpressed stare as they continue down mainstreet.

"Right, so you had no clue I was in detention?"

Eddie chews the inside of his cheek to fight the sly grin that begins to creep over his face, "Alright smart ass".

He hazards another glance at Steve as they begin to hit the residential area, he looks so different from the night before.

His limbs are loose, tension free, if it weren't for the heavy bags under Steve's eyes and the nervous tap of his fingers on the passenger door, Eddie would think he was finally relaxed.

"I knew a fight definitely happened, it's Hargrove," Eddie says slowly, carefully weighing his words, "but I typically prefer to hear the whole sordid story from the source before I pass any judgements, ya know?" 

Steve doesn't say anything as they continue driving through residential  the houses getting progressively bigger as they go.

"Did you," Steve pauses and breathes out slowly before shaking his head and lifting his face to meet Eddie's gaze, "is that offer for something stronger still open?" 

Eddie smiles, "I think that can be arranged". 

***

Eddie pulls over beside Tina Cline's house, wincing as the right front tire rolls over the curb and bounces the van as it lands on the street once more, startling a snort out of Steve. 

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up Harrington," Eddie huffs as Steve shoots him a grin.

"Didn't say a word," Steve hums, unbuckling himself from the seat. Eddie watches as he opens the door and hops out. For a moment Eddie worries Steve will pull the same disappearing act from last night but he simply stops beside his car door and motions for Eddie to roll down his window. 

Eddie cracks his door open instead, "window's broken, what?" 

Steve rolls his eyes, "whatever Munson, you know the way? It's north on 5th and--"

"Then two more rights, yeah man," Eddie says with a laugh in his voice, "I dropped you off remember?" 

"Fuck off," Steve huffs out, he's grinning though.

Steve swings the Beemer’s door open and slides in. He turns on the ignition and flinches at the loud burst of music from the stereo, the volume obviously set from the mood of the previous night. 

'I want to know what love is, I want you to show me--'

Steve slams his hand against the console, cutting off the song with a harsh crack. 

The van is parked just behind the Beemer so Eddie can't see Steve's face, but his head drops down onto the wheel for just the briefest moment before he slowly lifts it, turns on his signal and pulls away from the curb. 

***

Steve beats him to the house.

He's getting out of the car, which is parked on the long driveway as Eddie pulls up to the street. 

Eddie hops out of the van, hiking his backpack higher up on his shoulders, not bothering to lock it. Who would even want his shitty van among the BMWs and Mercedes parked down this street --hell, Eddie could have sworn he saw a Jag three houses down.

Eddie stops short of the lawn. The Harrington house is so different in the light of day, the strange emptiness that seemed to ooze out of the dark windows the night before has disappeared, leaving an ordinary house in its wake. 

"Well?" Steve calls out as he pulls a pair of keys from his back pocket and spins them once on his finger, "you coming or what Munson?" 

Eddie rolls his eyes and jogs to catch up to Steve who turns on his heel to stride up the walk. He stuffs the key into the deadbolt and swings one of the double doors inwards before shucking off his sneakers.

No shoes? Fucking rich people man.

Steve must notice Eddie's expression because he blushes and shrugs, "I know, I know, but my parents will be home for Thanksgiving this year so…may as well…"

He gestures around the sterile foyer with a tight smile, as though it explains everything. 

If anything, Eddie has more questions. 

Steve cuts off the thought by clearing his throat, "we should smoke outside, last thing I need is for you to burn a hole in the couch or something".

Eddie steps over the threshold and has to stop himself from whistling, were the ceilings always this high in this place?

He lifts his foot to unlace his left chuck, snorting at the strange little table in the middle of the foyer. A giant vase sits atop it filled with a mixture of what have to be silk flowers --no way they were real. He pulls the shoe off and tosses it to the side before lifting his right foot. 

Eddie never had the greatest balance so he hops back and forth with his right foot in the air before hopping as close as he can to the wall of the foyer and leaning back against it.

He finally gets the knot in his laces undone and throws the sneaker to the floor, dropping his right foot to the hardwood.

Eddie looks up to find Steve staring with a bemused expression on his face, he ignores the wide hazel eyes and removes the backpack from his shoulders -which can't have been helping the balance issue. 

Eddie unzips the top and yanks out the trusty metal lunchbox, sliding a wicked grin into place.

"You said something about outside?"

***

By the time they've settled, facing one another on a couple of pool loungers, the sun has begun to dip low, painting the patio and empty pool a warm glowing copper. It catches Steve's hair, which shines like gold in the dying sunlight, like some Autumnal Fae King--

Eddie wants to slap himself, suddenly thankful for the November wind that cuts through the backyard, forcing him to chillout.

He picks up the grinder from his lunchbox, unscrewing the cap to open it.

"You good with a joint this evening my good King?" 

He pours a handful of a new strain Rick let him try the other day into the grinder and starts twisting. It's not something he would typically share with anyone other than Jeff, but Steve seemed like he could use something a little more special tonight.

Eddie looks up after a beat of silence, "yo, Major Tom, you with me?" 

Steve's face is pinched, tilted towards the empty pool, "please don't call me that," he says quietly.

"Major Tom?"

Steve raises his eyes to meet Eddie's gaze, his mouth cuts a hard line across his face, the typical easy grin it usually houses is gone. 

"King-Steve," he runs a hand through his hair, letting the fingers linger to grip and pull, "I just, that's not who I am anymore, I don't--"

Steve swallows harshly, "that's all anyone could talk about this morning".

He drops his voice and octave, "oh, King Steve is so pussy whipped he let his girl fuck Jonathan Byers before she dumped him".

"Is that what Hargrove said?" Eddie asks quietly as he pours out a portion of weed onto a paper.

Steve shakes his head, "that was Tommy, but that wasn't why I hit him". 

Eddie nods, and lifts the joint to his mouth to run his tongue along the edge of the paper. Steve watches him from the lounger, his eyes follow the movement before he blinks and continues.

"Tommy and I had been best friends since we were five, he uh, he knows a lot about me," Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and chews the nail of his thumb briefly before dropping it back into his lap.

"Stuff I don't tell anyone, stuff he knows will hurt". 

Eddie nods, twisting the joint closed, he can kind of understand that, although the only person in his life that knew him like that was Wayne.  

And Wayne would never hurt him. 

Did Steve really not have anyone else like that in his life, someone he could tell anything to that wouldn't look at him weird or judge him. Someone safe.

"Anyway, Hargrove started in on me after that, but he's been fucking with me for awhile so," Steve shrugs again, "he saw his big opportunity here".

"Hargrove's been messing with you?" Eddie asks sharply as he pours more weed onto another paper. He lifts it and runs his tongue along the edge of the paper before twisting it into shape. When he looks up, Steve's ears have gone slightly pink and he's sitting strangely, slightly hunched and twisted.

"Yeah," Steve says after a moment, he clears his throat and straightens his back, "yeah, it's just been at practice so far, and I thought it was just because he wanted to one up me for my spot but," he shakes his head, "it's getting worse". 

"You know, I have a bit of a reputation around school," Eddie says slowly, carefully, watching as Steve freezes and looks at Eddie with wide eyes.

"The Hellfire club is more than just the game we're playing, it's also kind of a sanctuary for kids that don't have anyone to lean on, we look after each other," Eddie continues, ignoring the way Steve relaxes slightly, "you wouldn't need to play or anything but if you need somewhere to sit at lunch now…" 

Steve looks at Eddie for a long time, his expression blank, guarded, "really? Just like that?" 

"Yeah man, besides I get to use my 'Mean and Scary Guy' persona on these fuckers so it's a win-win for me".

Steve grins, raising one skeptical eyebrow, "mean and scary?"

Eddie bristles a little bit at the questioning tone in Steve's voice and can't quite swallow the urge to snarl, "yeah I mean you looked plenty scared of the town freak yesterday". 

Steve winces and immediately starts to shake his head, inching forward in his seat so he's even closer to Eddie, their knees are almost touching.

"That's not, I wasn't," he stops and takes a deep breath, "I was upset about Nancy and it was so dark outside, the trees--"

"You afraid of the dark Harrington?" Eddie cuts him off, the lingering irritation still simmers in his voice as he coos. 

Steve just looks at him, there's something strange about the haunted expression on his face that makes the hair on the back of Eddie's arms stand on end. 

"Things happen in the dark, in the woods," Steve says softly, his eyes drift to the empty pool again. 

Eddie opens his mouth to ask Steve what the hell he means by that, when a voice shouts across the yard.

"Steve? STEVE?!" 

The sound of someone running through the grass has them both of their feet, the joints forgotten on the pool loungers. 

"Dustin?" 

A kid, he can't be more than twelve or thirteen, skids into the porchlight that has replaced the last copper rays of evening light, the sun fully set by now. The kid's blue eyes are wide underneath a mop of curly hair and hat, he's breathing hard.

"I need your help".

Tag List: @eriquin @luvinthefreaks @cinnamon-mushroomabomination @goodolefashionedloverboi @ellietheasexylibrarian @bambibiest @sadboislovebeans @howincrediblysapphicofyou @coleys-a-nerd @whycantiuseunderscore @airconditioning123 @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @corrodedbisexual @starman-jpg @ilovecupcakesandtea @yoriposts @clumsiluni @pelinelin @phantomcat94 @lololol-1234 @anaibis @airconditioning123 @steveshairspray @hellfireone @sunswathe @eddielives1986 @tentativeghost @robin-not-batman @estrellami-1 @manda-panda-monium @tinyplanet95 @perseus-notjackson

Part Five

and for some peeps that I think may be interested! @steddierthings @steddie-there @steves-strapcollection @outpastthebrakers @henderdads @stevesbipanic