#i might draw him at some point too i have a design in mind

[ruburnz]

the murder of roger ackroyd spoilers under the cut

doodles of my doc sheppard design from when i first read the book. i legit haven’t drawn him since then so it’s making me very happy to look at the improvement :]

(ft. bonus video that i made 3 years ago cause i still think it’s kinda funny lmao ⬇️)

#the murder of roger ackroyd #doctor james sheppard #roger ackroyd #hercule poirot #agatha christie #i have a thing for the medical people in these books i think #i was reading 12bms recently and istg when poirot described the killer (spoilers) like becoming a dentist #i was like OH MY GOOOODD🥶…. oh my gooood……🥵 #i might draw him at some point too i have a design in mind #i am currently working on an mv for the 48< murders tho so #you can look forward to me butchering THOSE guys too!!! ✌️✌️✌️

[johnwickb1tsch]

bittersweet ~ a yandere!John Wick x fem!reader sunshine/grump coffee shop AU... Part 1

-Imagine that after John Wick wins his freedom from the High Table, he [re]retires to your sleepy little mountain town, where you work in a coffee shop...

-Your quaint little town tucked in the mountains is the kind of place people go to get away from it all, and you can’t help but wonder what Mr. Wick is running from. He is an unfairly handsome man. You nearly make a huge fucking fool of yourself, the first time he approaches your counter, so taken that you could hardly speak. For all his good looks there is something compellingly melancholy about him. You see it in his soulful dark eyes, and the set of his shoulders. You can see this man carries a weight beyond what anyone of his years should bear.   

-He becomes a regular at your little coffee shop, and you get over your shyness with him. He’s soft spoken, sometimes a little grumpy, but usually impeccably courteous compared to some of your unbearably entitled clientele visiting from the Big City for the ski resort or the hiking. He never orders anything fancy, just black coffee, and he likes to stay for an hour or so in the cozy cabin atmosphere of your shop. He favors a corner table tucked in the back by the river-stone fireplace, usually reading an old book, though sometimes you think he just sits, his attention fixed beyond the page he’s on, eyes not really seeing the room.

-You manage not to stare too hard, when you see him without gloves for the first time, and realize he is missing his left ring finger. You are not repulsed. You just wonder what happened to him.

-In time you notice he barely touches his unadorned coffee, and you wonder if he even likes it. You don't know where you get the cheek to tease this so-serious man. “Do you just order it like that to match your clothes?” You’ve never seen him in anything but head to toe black.

At first he looks at you as though you have grown a second head. Then he answers, completely dead pan, “Maybe it matches my soul.” 

You snort with laugher, not believing him.

Maybe you should have, looking back.

“Sure, Mr. Wick.”

The next day you surprise him with a cup of something you concocted with him in mind. It's nothing too scathingly original. Just a dark chocolate mocha, with a splash of hazelnut, and just a bit of steamed cream. “Try this,” you say, setting it on his table totally unsolicited. You feel validated, for he's barely touched his black coffee again. 

“What is it?” he asks, peering at it suspiciously. 

“I just think you might need something a little sweet.” 

He looks up at you through his long hair, and you don't know why, but a little chill runs down your spine. It's not fear, exactly. It's like walking in the woods, and stumbling on a powerful animal on the trail. Something that maybe could eat you, if it chose, but instead just disappears back into the dark trees.

You do not pester him anymore that day, even if it is the highlight of your shift sometimes. But when you go to clean up his dishes you do notice the cup you gave him is empty. 

He doesn’t come in for almost a week after that, and you fear that maybe you were too pushy and pissed him off with your boldness. 

Maybe it's a little pathetic, the way your heart leaps when he walks through the door again.

“I’ll have…whatever that thing was you made the other day.”

You try not to gloat, but your lips twist in a smile.

-It becomes your little mission in life to make this man smile, and if just the corner of his mouth ticks up at some point during his visit you feel as though you’ve accomplished a good thing.

Maybe it’s totally a cliché, but you’re an artist, and when you’re not making coffee, or cleaning up coffee, you draw bright designs on the chalkboard around the menu with your pastels. You make elaborate landscapes and art nouveau maidens inspired by Mucha. People in town seem to enjoy your weekly designs, which is nice, even if it’s not entirely the recognition you crave. Four years of art school just to doodle on the chalkboard, you can hear your father say. He’s not wrong, but it still stings.

One day, you sketch Mr. Wick reading in the corner on the back of a discarded receipt. He is…such a lovely man. When you walk past you slip it on the table for him. You don’t let yourself watch his reaction. If you had, you would have seen his expression soften, the stony façade cracking even if just for a moment.

Is this how you see him? Not some broken down old man, the way he absolutely feels after his war with the High Table, but something…not unpleasant to look at.

You don’t know it at the time, but this is the action that sets off an avalanche. You wake a sleeping beast in him, and a dark obsession begins to kindle.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #john wick imagine #yandere john wick #yandere! john wick #coffee shop au #keanu reeves #in which the author skips off to hell... #the people have spoken! #john wick fic #bittersweet john wick imagine

[xylomane]

𝙎𝙤... 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖𝙨𝙠 𝙝𝙞𝙢 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙪𝙮 𝙮𝙤𝙪 𝙖 𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙧𝙞𝙚...

Ft. Diluc Ragnvindr Context: You're bored after he left for work and he called you somewhere at night to ask if you want anything from the malls since he just so happened to stop by one. Teasingly and craving for naught, you ask him to buy you a lingerie. You wonder just what kind he'll pick. Does he even know those...?

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Ｄｉｌｕｃ

"Huh? what's wrong? It's just a lingerie, you're the one with a problem not me." You say nonchalantly through the phone. "B-but listen, okay? I'm not good at this and even if I am-" You dropped the call, not even motivated to listen to anymore of his stammers. He's cute but still. It's been fifteen minutes since you requested him for a lingerie and he's still not convinced to agree? How will you know his favorites now?You can't wait another day. You needed to know his preferences.

Diluc knew to himself that he really didn't mean to disappoint. He just... never saw himself suitable for these kinds of things. He is a gentleman of course, with a name and a status to protect. He can't just show up in a lingerie store and attract some attention, his sex life would be questioned if somebody were to recognize him. (Diluc is famously known as the son of the founder of the most successful wine company in the entire world)

Diluc, knowing himself as a pleaser, didn't want to disappoint you any further so he sends you a text to assure you that he'll make it happen: "I'm sorry darling, I promise I'll get you one. I hope it is to your liking." The moment he hits the 'send' button, he rubs his face and sighs.

Diluc goes straight back inside his black car to drive to one of his most trusted tailors. He has given them many commisions regarding clothing before, and they always come out stunning. He let himself relax over the cushioned seat of his car, picturing whatever kind of reaction you'll have on your face until he arrived at the pavement before the tailor's building.

Diluc tried. He really did. He declined the offer for a designer because he wanted the lingerie designed only by him. If he were to still get a designer for it, it might take a day or two before it gets finished. Plus... it's a little... embarrassing. Diluc gets uneasy just by thinking about it.

Diluc needed it done by midnight and it's currently 10:00pm. He knew he needed to hurry but now that he himself, being known to always have a phrase ready on any occasion, had been explaining for about half an hour to a tailor that felt like he was suddenly speaking gibberish, there's no doubt that the chances of making the lingerie might be delayed.

Finally, the tailor sighed at him, exasperated with all the mind work to understand his stammers. She simply told him, "Paper and pencil. Show me when ready." And she hands him two objects that made Diluc's confidence stutter.

Diluc stares at the paper and he feels his cheeks burn with shame. It felt like his confidence just depleted. He knows full well she's just as stressed as he is because, hearing himself, the conversation did not make any sense. But was it really that bad...? Where the tailor even needed visual aid FROM HIM because he sucked at explaining what he wanted? Diluc isn't one to drown himself in shame anymore, so to save face for himself, he actually got to work.

The tailor had been observing the young man behind the rims of her eyeglasses and goodness- she can tell this man is holding back. At some point, as she stuck different pins on a gown of her own design, she contemplated whether she'd rather ask him what he would like to see on a woman in bed or why he wants to see that on a woman in bed. In the end, she waves the thoughts way. None of her business.

Diluc started drawing, straps and laces here and there... rose patterns? Not bad. Is the crotch area too thin? He asks himself then resorts to erasing the entire sketch of the bottom garment away. Is the fabric transparent? Diluc's eyebrows point down. But... that's a little too... he felt his hands reach to cuddle his length, goodness how is he supposed to-

Diluc really wanted something, but he didn't want to make you uncomfortable so he kept holding himself back and doubting each design. Even when Diluc's head spiraled with ideas, he didn't know which one of these ideas intrigue you the most.

At this point, Diluc doesn't really know where to begin with anymore, his tried everything and it's almost been an hour. He didn't want to delay the lingerie any longer so he just followed his heart in the process. Ok... ribbons. Ribbons? Is that too weird on a lingerie? Surely not. Red lace ribbons? There? Yes, his mind liked those. Attached on what color though? Maybe something baby pink or peach. He needed them in two pieces of course.

Finally, he folded the paper unequally to four, stuffed it in his pocket, and then reached for the tailor to whom he finally said the design to. He didn't hold himself back this time and openly told her of how he wanted the lingerie to look. He wasn't planning to show it, but ended up showing it anyway.

"Good thing you got it done..." The tailor told him, letting out a sigh of relief as she placed measurements on a mannequin. "You sure have grown Master Diluc."

Diluc froze at that phrase. She's not lying nor is she wrong. All Diluc really wanted to feel was the lust in the look of you... breedable and inexperienced before him but of course he can't say that so he realized that after all these thoughts, he cannot talk back. He can't. Like, really. It made him feel so awkward that he had to think of an excuse to get out of the establishment. "I'll wait by the car." He excuses, "Just call me when it's ready. Make sure it's done before midnight." And they assure him that it is to be done quickly for the fabrics have already been chosen for the lingerie.

The tailor throws him one last curious stare behind her eyeglasses and then brings her hand to sew and get back to work while musing the unexpected request. (Last Christmas, Diluc asked the tailor to make a dress for you so she already knows your size)

When Diluc got into his car, he brought both his gloved hands to his face. What. A. Night. He didn't know it was THAT hard to think of a lingerie for you. All those thinking of how you would look on those or how it might terrify you really took a toll on him. He can't disappoint you. He mustn't.

Five minutes of breathing exercises and he would soon realize how less embarassing it actually is. Now that he thinks about it, you probably asked him to buy you a lingerie to see what he wants... if that's the case... then he didn't regret his final design. So long as the lingerie compliments your body and keeps you confident in bed he can just-

Diluc felt himself slightly aroused on his seat. He needed to get home. He opened his phone screen and it greets him with the current time: 11:17pm. Suddenly, there was a knock on his car window. Fortunately, it was the tailor's assistant, telling him to go see the finished product inside. He follows the man towards the establishment and when he does see it, he calmly accepts it.

Diluc got home at around 11:40pm and you were already laying asleep on the bed. Laughingly though, your fingers are way too close to your undergarments and Diluc can't help but muster a chuckle upon seeing you so innocently sleeping after maybe, pleasuring yourself. When he wakes you up, you realize you had accidentally fallen asleep after-

You tried to explain to him, throwing lies upon another lie, until Diluc shows you the custom-made lingerie he prepared for you. Your face burned red as he threw them on your hands. "Wear it." He tells you, "See for yourself." His voice is slightly gruff and yet it is calm and soft. You put it on inside the bathroom and... it had you speechless. The theme is cute but so... revealing. Is Diluc really... into this? The good boy, easily flustered, reserved Diluc you know? Shyly and awkwardly, you walk out of the bathroom.

"Everything is see through..." You mumble and Diluc trails his lips just on your neck to whisper, "You asked for my preferences, didn't you?" His voice was rough with warm heavy breaths tickling your skin. His hands reach to touch the back of your waist and pull you closer.

That night, Diluc was rough but aftercare was still done on both of you. (am legit blushing like a slut here lmfaooo)

Kazuha ver. here

#genshin impact #genshin imagines #genshin scenarios #genshin #genshin diluc #diluc ragnvindr #diluc imagines #genshin impact diluc #diluc x fem!reader #diluc headcanons #diluc au #diluc x reader #diluc x you #diluc x y/n

[anistarrose]

The thing about the Heart Attack segment in Wonderland is that they put so much aromantic subtext in it. They accidentally put SO much aromantic subtext in it, on behalf of multiple characters, and I'm thinking about it constantly. Let me tell you all about it.

Magnus is dropped into a dating game and literally leads with "I cannot stress enough how uninterested I am in this." Now, it's perfectly valid to read this as due to him waiting for Julia, or just him being plain old uncomfortable with having his love life put in the spotlight. However! I cannot stress enough the exchange that happens just a minute or two after that line:

Magnus (describing his ideal date): ... and we don't see each other again, ‘cause I'm really not interested in dating. Audience: [exaggerated] Oooooh! (cheers) Griffin: The silhouette is like, fanning itself. Lydia: Playing hard to get, huh? It seems like our contestant is into that.

And I just have to say: unfortunately, this is one of the most aromantic fucking experiences I've seen represented in fiction in my life. I mean — saying you're not interested in romance, then having those words twisted on you, like they're some secret coded way of saying that you are interested in romance? Not having a single way to express your disinterest that'll actually be believed? That's some aro shit right there. God. Fuck.

As an aside, it's enough to really tell that Heart Attack is not designed to be a reprieve from the pain, even though it's the "good outcome" of Trust or Forsake. It's designed to be uncomfortable. To funnel suffering to Edward and Lydia, just like all the other games do. (More on that later, in fact.) But in summary:

Magnus is a character who can be read as uncomfortable with romance for either aro-spec reasons or unrelated reasons. But in either case, his discomfort attracts reactions that reek of amatonormativity — and therefore, resonate with aromantic experiences. (Psst, I did recently write a gray-aro Magnus fic!)

Two more analyses below the cut (and only one of them is for another Horny Boy):

Obviously the next character I need to talk about is Merle. I've found aroallo readings of his character to be compelling for a long time (having sex with plants so you don't have to worry about romantic commitment, am I right?), but the way he describes his "ideal date" is another factor:

Merle: I volunteer to drive her vehicle, and tell her it's filthy, and so we go through the uh- drive through vehicle wash and she pays for that too. Um, and then I take her to have dinner with my family, and- Magnus: Wait, like your wife and stuff? Merle: She meets my ex-wife.

Merle's probably exaggerating as a joke, continuing on about both him and his partner being miserable, but I think the fact that Merle's mind goes here is genuinely drawing from a lot of poor romantic experiences in the past. He didn't get a choice about being on Heart Attack, and his marriage with Hecuba was similarly "arranged".

It's also worth noting that at this point in time, Merle is putting in the work to be part of Mavis and Mookie's lives again, but is not interested in doing the same for Hecuba — he instead just asks Mavis how Hecuba's doing. That said, given that Magnus is the one to put the focus on Merle's ex-wife, I think it's fair to read the "family" comment as Merle actually expressing that he'd rather spend time with his kids than give any special romantic attention to his date. Moving on to the rest of the "joke":

Merle: She's having a miserable time and she's really mad, she can't wait to get outta there. I take her back to her house, and so I lean up against the door jam and say, 'Sure you don't want me to come in for a few minutes?' and she slams the door in my face.

It's possible Merle just has a more roundabout, self-deprecating way of expressing a similar thing to what Magnus did: Merle just isn't interested in dating. To me, the last line implies he might not say no to sex, if offered — but overall, it reads as if Merle is putting minimal effort in because he's looking for an excuse to get out of this relationship anyway.

It's also possible that Merle's "rejection" of a suitor being so disguised as humor could point to him still coming to terms with his disinterest in dating. Particularly, in comparison to Magnus, who is so vocal and unashamed about it, while Merle might still be figuring this all out.

(Honestly, the self-deprecation Merle turns to here is actually kind of sad, when viewed in that light — he already lets himself be the butt of jokes so often, and now he feels like the way romance doesn't click for him has to be a joke, too? Oof. Someone give him a hug and tell him he's not broken this instant!) But regardless:

Merle views dates, and perhaps romance in general, as things that will inevitably turn disastrous for him and any party involved with him, and he would rather spend time with his children than repairing a relationship with an ex, or cultivating a relationship with a new partner. This is not an experience exclusive to the aro-spec umbrella, but you can't say that an aromantic reading of his character doesn't fit him like a gardening glove...

...which he wears while fucking his plants. Because plants don't demand emotional intimacy, nor take too much time away from the platonic relationships that matter more to him. And you know what? He's fucking valid for that! Fly your flag, nasty grandpa!

But moving on: I promised you aromantic analysis of characters outside of our protagonists, and henceforth, that analysis I will provide. And not just because I admittedly see Taako as the token alloromantic (though clearly an aro ally; if he hadn't chosen Forsake we wouldn't have gotten all this incredible characterization!)

I digress. So let's go on to addressing the lich twins in the room: Edward and Lydia.

Remember my argument earlier that Heart Attack serves the purpose of collecting suffering just like the rest of Wonderland does? How it's just a subtler way of making Wonderland's victims fundamentally uncomfortable?

...Using, of all things, romance?

How the vogue twins, for whatever reason, felt inspired to make people uncomfortable with matchmaking and adoration? How, some way or another, they noticed how much potential romance had to induce suffering? Being pressured into a relationship, being told that no matter how firmly you say you're uninterested, you're not really uninterested?

...Relatedly, I have always gotten the sense that Edward and Lydia projected relentlessly onto their victims.

Edward: This resolve, this desire to do whatever it takes no matter the cost to save yourselves — do you know who you three remind me of? Magnus: No? Merle: Who? Edward: Us!

I'm even going to go a step further and say that on top of projection, they want their victims to go through things they went through. Swallowing the guilt of having fucked someone else over to survive, of course — that's basically self-admitted. But possibly also... the feeling of not being able to get back what you lost (Keats). The feeling of being able to heal (Keats).

So, where does that leave Heart Attack?

Lydia: It was the three of us, surviving against all odds. The world against us.

Their family of three was (is) indescribably important to them. I'm not necessarily saying that societal expectations of romance, especially of romance as a priority above that of family, left a bad taste in their mouths — if not downright contributing to their trauma — but, okay, I wrote the rest of this post and now that I'm back, I can no longer deny it. I'm definitely, absolutely saying that.

At the time of the podcast, we know Edward and Lydia's own relationship is heavily strained. Until the end, they are lying to themselves and to each other about the fact that they continue to be emotionally and magically reliant on each other. After all, Lydia wouldn't say "I guess we really needed each other after all" in her dying moments with such surprise otherwise.

This is the second reason that I... well, I wouldn't quite call it a "theory," but I find it most impactful to read Edward and Lydia as characters for whom the concept of Love has baggage. And always has, from their origins as youth in a tough spot in an already amatonormative world.

Maybe the constant societal devaluing of platonic, familial bonds left them with serious emotional scars. Maybe the constant conflation of Love and morality just weighed on them and weighed on them and weighed on them until they decided: well, we don't love the way people expect us to, so we might as well give up on being the good people they expect us to be. We might as well embrace this new fuel of suffering.

...And you know, I hope this gets across what I mean when I always say I headcanon villains as aromantic to make them more sympathetic.

Edward and Lydia, textually, are already tragic villains. As twins and liches, they're also textually foil characters to several of the Seven Birds. But I also like to think that they have a lot in common with Magnus and Merle, and the possibility that tugs at my heartstrings the most is the possibility of them all falling under the aromantic umbrella.

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #magnus burnsides #merle highchurch #vogue elves #wonderland twins #(i always forget which tag i use for them lol) #aspec taz #taz meta #happy aro week this essay is my gift to myself <2

[ckret2]

Chapter 24 of human Bill Cipher being the Mystery Shack's extremely inconvenient prisoner, featuring: the Pines figuring out a way to chase off Bill's ex-girlfriend... who happens to be a giant eyeball with bat wings.

It kinda goes like this.

(A head's up before we get going: this chapter is a bit more mature than prior ones, so I feel like a warning's in order. There's no sex, and nothing here is erotic or sexy (unless you, too, happen to be attracted to eye-bats), BUT there IS some academic speculation on the logistics of alien sex, and some very filthy-sounding dialogue describing acts that, to humans, aren't sexual at all. Plus some dirty humor and toilet humor. And nothing here is what I'd call billford quite yet, considering Ford still very much hates Bill's guts—but like, he's definitely a little too obsessed with the anatomy of triangles for it to be normal. If any of this is too spicy for you, skip this chapter and come back next one. We'll be starting a new "episode" then.)

####

It was past midnight. In his search for the eye-bat repellant recipe, Ford had flipped through every notebook he'd used during his initial interviews of the residents of Gravity Falls, flipped through them a second time, torn apart half his bookshelves looking for any reporter's notebooks he might have accidentally sorted in with his larger binders, and now he was exhausted, frustrated—and, worst of all, bored out of his mind.

Which made it hard to avoid thinking about more interesting topics.

And for the last hour he'd been unwillingly plagued with the question of how an eyeball and a triangle had a "casual physical thing." 

If that didn't mean sex—and you never knew with aliens—then it was still something close enough to fill the same social/recreational niche. It certainly meant sex on the eye-bat's side, Ford had fully documented the reproductive cycle of eye-bats, that was sorted out—but triangles?

It had to be something that would work in the second dimension. Ford had visited a two-dimensional universe populated by geometric shapes, he knew roughly how their bodies functioned: a shape's perimeter was its external surface—its "skin"—and its internal organs were inside that perimeter. So if Bill was still configured the way he had been in his home dimension, any external reproductive anatomy would have to be somewhere on his perimeter, right? Maybe at one of his corners? Or camouflaged where the seams of his brick pattern reached his edges?

But then if Bill were a normal two-dimensional person, he'd have his eye on the edge of his body, not right in the center of his "internal organs." So he'd been rearranged to some extent. Who knew how the rest of his body worked now? His top hat contained flesh and a skeletal structure; maybe it was a removable reproductive organ that could be passed to a partner, like some cephalopods' detachable tentacles—

Ford flinched as he realized Bill was staring at him.

To aid in his anatomical speculation, Ford had drawn a diagram of Bill in his journal and labeled various points on the triangle that might be concealing reproductive anatomy. He quickly scratched out the drawing's staring eye and slammed his journal shut. 

He'd happily gone thirty years assuming that Bill had no sex life—Bill was an energy being who presented himself as a floating featureless triangle, his hobbies involved cheating at chess and discussing multidimensional transportation, he probably wasn't designed for "physical things," and if he was designed for it then surely he wasn't interested. Ford was not pleased to have his assumptions disputed.

Because the thing was—Ford knew more than any living human about the mating rituals of unicorns, werewolf/mermaid couples, stomach-faced ducks, and tentacled warrior piglets. (Did he ever know about tentacled warrior piglets.) He had the only photos of a gnome mating ball, which he didn't need, because that horrible sight would be forever seared into his long-term memory. He knew the names of twenty obscene acts in siren sign language, and knew how to use his extra fingers to make them extra obscene. This wasn't unfamiliar territory to him. He was curious about how strange, supernatural creatures functioned; and those functions included how the reproductive drive influenced their behaviors; and a living triangle that had escaped from the second dimension was certainly a strange supernatural creature.

But, unfortunately, it was also Bill Cipher. And Ford did not want to think about what Bill did in bed. ... Assuming he used a bed. Really, at this point the only thing Ford knew was that Bill's only admitted partner was capable of flight. Maybe he just hovered while he—

Ford slammed his journal shut again to stop himself from scribbling down more theories, then stuffed the journal in a desk drawer for good measure. Did normal people think like this? He had no idea. He didn't even know who he could ask.

Enough of this. Back to searching for that eye-bat repellant recipe, and this time he wasn't stopping until he found it.

####

Like a vast eye in an upside-down triangle, the circular center of the portal lit up so bright blue it was almost white. The four energy vents glowed in sympathy. A rainbow constellation lit up in twirling patterns around the central light.

Bill watched with bated breath, a second-dimensional shadow waiting for his door to the third dimension to open. The cavern walls shook; the ground quaked and rumbled ominously; Bill didn't care. The portal was stable, the lab was somebody else's problem, and Bill had a party to get to.

The steel beams supporting the cavern rolled like a wave, and Bill's stomach roiled with them. They weren't supposed to be able to move like that. But he knew what he was doing, the portal was stable, he was not here to destroy this world, he'd come here to save it, whether it wanted to be saved or not—

The whole world undulated. Bedrock and steel were not built to undulate. Bill bobbed on the energy wave like a toy boat on a choppy sea; but the steel shattered, rock crumbled, shrapnel and rubble sprayed out. There was a peal of deafening thunder as the world below him cracked apart.

####

Bill woke with a gasp.

Oh. Right. Dreams.

Dream diary. With a groan, he sat up, checked to make sure no humans were coming by in the next few minutes, and pulled his stolen journal out of its hiding place.

The guide on lucid dreaming had recommended writing down his dreams in full, vivid, rich detail—any people or scenes or events, anything he could detect with his five (?) senses, as much as he could recall.

He drew a portal—gray inverted triangle with a center circle, four circles around the triangle, all five circles filled in yellow green—and then a yellow green line trailing out of the portal's side that grew progressively wigglier like a seismogram. He labeled his doodle, "this." He'd remember the rest.

After a moment of thought, he wrote, "Don't remember if I was a human or a shape. My organs were doing things a shape's shouldn't." (He wrote "human" as 人; there was no translation for the word in the language Bill wrote in. The two angled strokes stood out in Bill's rows of Morse-like dots and dashes.) "Being around so many humans who are CONVINCED I'm trying to destroy their world must be getting to me. Sixer pitched another hissy-fit about the portal yesterday. Enduring all that negative talk can't be healthy for me. I know I'm just helping their boring little planet, but maybe their accusations are getting lodged in this stupid brain's subconscious."

Maybe he should meditate a bit—go think positive thoughts, drown out the mortal voices that insisted they knew his plans better than he did. He'd had enough dreaming for one night, anyway.

Beneath the note to himself, Bill added in English: "Everything would have been fine if you'd just let me finish, Fordsy." If the humans ever did find this journal, Bill was determined to get the last word in.

Then he stowed away the stolen journal and shuffled downstairs.

He wondered how much was left of Ford's portal.

####

Old man bladder. Stan dragged himself out of bed. The other guest room bed was empty. Stan hoped Ford was sleeping in his study—he'd mentioned once he kept a cot down there. Better than pulling another all nighter studying alien sorcery or whatever.

He skipped his glasses, groped his way to the downstairs bathroom, and, yawning, lined up with the toilet.

The toilet said, "Pretty forward of you, Stanley."

Stan screamed.

He stumbled backwards out of the bathroom and hit the wall. Bill flipped on the light and leaned out to grin at him. "Careful! You're due for a broken hip any day now."

"BILL! What are DOING!"

"Trying not to get urinated on."

"Jsh—shut up!" It had dawned on Stan that if he could hear Bill without his hearing aids, then half the house probably could too. He hoped no one had overheard that. "Why are you sitting on the toilet in the dark!"

"It's a free country, Stanley Pines."

Stan raised a fist. "GET OUT!"

Bill bolted from the bathroom like a scared rabbit, then caught himself, rolled his eyes, and raised his hands over his head in mock surrender. "You could have asked nicely!"

Pointing at Bill as he retreated, Stan added, "And stop being so darn creepy! Lurking in the dark and sneaking around silently all the time, like a... some kind of—burglar ninja assassin!"

Bill turned to shout back, "What, do you expect me to make a peace cry every time I walk around? Make sure I can't sneak up and stab you in the back?"

Stan had caught about half of that. "YEAH, smart guy! It might help!"

Bill flung his hands out in defeat as he rounded the corner.

Stan finished his business, went back to bed, and glared angrily at the ceiling another ten minutes.

####

It had taken half the night, but at last Ford had disassembled the filing cabinet and found a few notebooks that had gotten stuck behind the bottom drawer, including the one with Old Lady Sprott's eye-bat repellant recipe. Ford copied it down, left a list of ingredients on the gift shop cash register for Soos, and finally dragged himself into the house to sleep.

And paused in the entryway.

Bill was sitting in the kitchen, staring out the window; Ford had seen him like this before. Usually, he could make himself walk by.

But he couldn't tonight. Maybe it was yesterday's conversation still weighing on his mind, the loose ends they hadn't tied up tangling around his throat. "What are you doing up?"

Bill's voice was inappropriately calm: "Dying."

Ford's guard went up. "Do you... Literally or metaphorically?"

"Literally," Bill said. "Hey—how many decades do you think this body's got? Probably not even a century, right?"

Ford's guard went down. Just moping. But it was an interesting question, one he'd put some thought into himself—what age had Bill's body been made at? How had his body been made that age? How long would the body last? Ford had wondered whether studying Bill's freshly-made-but-already-adult body might reveal anything medically useful about how aging affected the human body; but the odds of convincing Bill to participate in any medical studies—much less finding someone to conduct the study who believed their story—were nonexistent.

Ford said, "At a loose guess, I'd put you around... fifty, maybe? A very spry fifty." Bill's hair was a shockingly vivid gold, not a hint of gray, and when he was in a good mood Bill bounced about with an enviable lack of joint pain; but Ford had seen faint, delicate creases around his mouth and eyes that spoke to age. And the look in his eyes... Ford hated the phrase "old soul"—he'd been called that by some of his school teachers, and it only made him feel the distance between himself and his age peers all the more strongly—but with Bill, it was uncannily fitting. His eyes aged his whole face.

"You think this thing looks fifty? Wow." Bill took a deep drink from a cider can. "Shooting Star's best guess was half that. Thanks for shoving me twenty-five years closer to the grave."

Half that? When Ford had been a child, he'd had a harder time guessing adults' ages, and he supposed Mabel might be the same; but it was difficult to mistake a 50-year-old for a 25-year-old. Maybe there was something else going on. He'd have to ask her later. "With exercise, a healthy diet, and a little luck, you could still live another fifty." Ford nodded at the two empty cider cans already sitting on the table. "With your current drinking habits, I'll give you five."

Bill cackled—loudly enough to make Ford tense up, afraid someone would catch them talking. "Cheers!" Bill finished off the can and slammed it down with the others. "Ugh. Finite lifespans. Awful."

"Welcome to being human," Ford said dryly.

"'Welcome to death row,'" Bill said. "Ha! What'm I doing, worrying about decades. Let's be real, I don't even need to worry about the next five years. If I haven't found a way out of this body before then..."

Bill left the thought unfinished. An uneasy weight formed low in Ford's stomach.

"Ah, whatever. Like you'd let me live that long. Right, Sixer?" Bill pushed himself up unsteadily, keeping his balance first with a hand on the back of the chair, and then on Ford's (suddenly very tense) shoulder as he passed him. "I'm going back to sleep before that last can kicks in."

The way Bill was walking, Ford wasn't sure he'd make it up the stairs. "Why don't you sleep on the folding bed in the living room?"

"No window," Bill said. "I've g—" (He stumbled on the stairs.) "I've gotta see the stars."

Of course he did. When Bill said it that way, it was so obvious Ford didn't know why he hadn't realized that himself. Where else could Bill sleep but as close to the sky as possible?

Ford listened as Bill stumbled his way upstairs, creaked across the floorboards, and collapsed onto his makeshift bed.

Ford had thirty years left. Exactly thirty years. Don't have a heart attack, you're not ninety-two yet! Ninety-two was a good, old age. Older than his father had been. But thirty years felt too soon. And yet it felt fitting, somehow, for his life to be divided so neatly in thirds.

If Bill lived another fifty years in this body, and Ford lived thirty, who would stand guard over him? Would he and Stan have to pass that burden on to their gniece and gnephew? Or to Soos and Melody?

Why was he wondering—what made him think they wouldn't find a way to kill Bill before then? What made him think he wouldn't kill Bill before the end of this very summer?

What made him so sure Bill hadn't been lying about when Ford would die? Thirty years felt too soon; but ninety-two felt flatteringly optimistic.

Ford sighed, and picked up the cider cans to recycle.

He wondered whether Bill—hiding from his ex, fretting about death, sleeping on his enemies' floor—regretted how he'd spent his life.

####

Bill's second entry in his dream diary started, "Wet dream about Iris."

He filled most of a page with an extremely graphic summary before he sighed in frustration, stowed the journal away, and stared at the ceiling as dawn crept in. Well. Terrific. He was pretty intimately familiar with how humans coupled, but he didn't have much practice with the solo act. Plus the humans would give him heck if they caught him at it. He'd just have to suffer.

So here he was, all riled up and nowhere to go.

Who else could he make miserable?

####

Stan was startled awake by a heavy pounding on his door.

"Heeey Fisherman!" Somehow, Bill's voice was even more grating at dawn. He rattled the door several more times. "Just passing by! Wanted to let you know! Here I am! Right here!"

Did that demon ever sleep? And, follow up question, could Stan knock him out for a few hours?

Ford—who must have come up after Stan went back to bed—groaned and muttered something.

Ford wasn't nearly as loud as Bill. Stan reluctantly sat up and put a hearing aid in. "What?"

"What the devil is he up to now."

"No idea," Stan lied. "Go yell at him about it, he listens to you."

Ford sighed, but got up and left the room.

A minute later, Stan heard Bill exclaim, "I can't win with you people!"

He smirked.

####

The kitchen reeked that morning. When Stan came in for breakfast, the window was open, a fan in the entryway futilely directed fresh air into the kitchen and a fan on the kitchen table directed the noxious fumes outside, there were bags of groceries on the counter—he noticed hot sauce, peppers, cheap perfume, and an entire bag of raw onions—and Ford was standing at the stove, stirring a pot of vile-smelling brown liquid. The moment he saw Stan, Ford put him to work stirring the pot so Ford could start dicing onions.

While they worked, Ford explained the situation with the eye-bat harassing the tourists and the solution he'd hit on to drive it away. Soos had collected the necessary ingredients this morning, but couldn't help cook because he was busy finding a way to block the bottomless pit—

####

Outside, Soos scooted a trampoline up to the pit, carefully lined it up with the edge—the trampoline and the pit had nearly the same diameter—and shoved it in. It plummeted into the dark. After a short wait, Soos chucked a baseball down the pit. It disappeared, then bounced back up.

Soos pumped his fist triumphantly. "Aced it."

####

—so, Ford was working on the repellant, and in the interest of public safety and the greater good he was drafting Stan into helping too.

Which Stan supposed he couldn't argue with, but considering the smell he would've preferred dicing the onions. "Is all this really necessary for one eye-bat? I usually just swat 'em off with a tennis racket."

"This eye-bat happens to be large enough to carry off a first-grader," Ford said. "And Bill claims it's his ex-girlfriend, so I don't want to risk them meeting."

"Huh." Weird thing to date, but then Stan didn't know what he did expect a triangle demon to date. "Somehow I figured he was tangled up in this."

Ford laughed ruefully.

After a moment of chopping and stirring, Ford said, "Speaking of Bill—he claims that you ordered him to announce his presence? And that you tried to pee on him."

"I did not and he's a dirty liar! He made the whole thing up!" Stan didn't expect Ford to believe him. Stan also didn't expect Ford to believe Bill. Ford knew they were both liars. What Stan expected was for Ford to side with the person he liked best.

"Uh huh." Ford didn't question Stan further. Ha. Pines solidarity.

Even though he'd already won, Stan went on: "All I did was mention how quiet he is! I can never tell where he's lurking. Sometimes I almost forget he's here." In Stan's mind, Bill had been rapidly demoted  from "active existential threat" to "annoying houseguest who blends in with the shadows." Watching him help Mabel cut pretty pictures from fashion magazines with plastic safety scissors drained away most of his intimidation factor.

Ford gave Stan a funny look. "Really? I can't forget he's here for a second. Sometimes I swear I can tell where he's been in the house—like a cold spot left by a ghost."

Stan tried to figure out how to ask whether that was a reaction to decades on the run feeling like hunted prey—which Stan knew how to cope with—or a lingering magical side effect of Ford and Bill's alien possession deal—which Stan did not. Then Ford added, "It's probably because I hear him bumping into the furniture all the time."

"Oh. Yeah. That's probably it. You've got better hearing than me." Case closed. Stan turned back to the stove—

A deafening buzz made them both start. Stan splashed boiling brown stink across the stovetop. "What—!"

Standing in the doorway with a kazoo, Bill said, "How's that, Stanley? Do you like that better?!"

"YOU!" Stan flung the stirring spoon to the floor.

Bill bolted from the room with Stan in hot pursuit. "Whoa! Mercy! Truce! You can have the kazoo! It's not even mine, I'm just holding it for a fr— Ow ow OW ow—"

Stan hauled Bill in by the back of the neck and didn't let go until he was in the middle of the kitchen. He pointed at the spoon, then pointed at the pot. "Pick it up. Get stirring." He grabbed another knife and joined Ford chopping onions. Whew, what a relief.

Bill gave Stan a perplexed look, but picked up the spoon, gave the pot an experimental sniff, and got stirring. He didn't even wince at the smell. "Is this the gnome wizz? What is this, punishment for not letting you use me as a urinal?"

"Whatsamatter, I thought you were the one who thinks pee belongs in the kitchen."

"You're both too old for toilet humor," Ford snapped. "Bill, this problem is your fault, the least you can do is help prepare the spray, and you're not getting a knife, so you're on pot stirring duty. Deal with it."

Bill rolled his eyes dramatically. (At the moment, they were both uncovered; but one was already half squinted shut against the morning light.) "Fine, but only because I like hanging out with you."

Ford scoffed.

"And I don't see how this is my fault just because we happened to date. It's not like I invited her over," Bill went on. "If anything, you should be grateful she's my ex, or else I wouldn't be helping you chase her away—"

"Hey, that's what I wanna know about this," Stan said. He gestured toward the window; the ex in question was currently circling above the gift shop entrance, like a vulture waiting for something to die. "Exactly how do you 'date' an eye-bat? Just—how does that work?"

"Well, it depends on the eye-bat, doesn't it," Bill said, a touch patronizing. "They don't all have the same tastes, you know. But she happens to like art films and water parks. Easy date."

"I'm not talking about that! You're telling us you slept with an eyeball with bat wings—right? That's what we're talking about, right?" From the corner of his eye, Stan saw Ford giving him a sharp look, but he didn't tell Stan to stop. Yeah, the nerd was curious, too.

"Yes, Stanley." Bill's condescension was almost more overpowering than the kitchen's stench. "That's what we're talking about. I 'slept' with an eyeball with bat wings." He exaggerated the finger quotes around the euphemism. "Any more prying you want to do into my personal life, or...?"

"You look at that freak out there and think it's appealing?"

Bill stopped stirring and squinted out the window. Flatly, he said, "Yep. She's still drop dead gorgeous. Thanks for asking." 

"How do you even know that's a she! How can you tell a girl eye from a boy eye?"

Ford said, "Technically, Stanley, all eye-bats are female." He held up an onion and used his knife tip to gesture at it like it was a model eyeball, "They're parthenogenetic parasites that reproduce by attacking other species' faces and depositing egg-bearing spores on their eyeballs, which swim to the tear ducts to begin incubating. Over the next few weeks, the infected eyeball grows wings and develops its own nervous system while the host slowly goes blind in one eye, until the new eye-bat is mature enough to emerge from the host's socket and seek out her mother's colony—"

Bill let out a strangled scream. "Enough!"

Stan and Ford stared at him.

"Would you stop talking about eye-bat sex?! I'm already riled up! I don't need help making it worse!"

He slammed the stirring spoon down and started pacing. "I'm losing my mind. Do you know what it's like to be randy for something you don't have the right body for?!" He gave them a pleading, slightly crazed look. "I need to feel her pupil contracting against mine. I'd lick her hot, salty tears off her sclera. I'd bite deep enough to taste her retina. I want to look like I've got pinkeye from all the bat spores coating my face. I'd give my right eye just to have one of her wings fingering my eyelid again—but if I cave and go that far I know I'd lose my head and give her the left one too, and then I've screwed up, because STUPID HUMANS BODIES can't regrow their STUPID EYEBALLS—"

He kicked the wall so hard he lost his balance and stumbled back into the stove. "Ow. I'm going insane. I can't take it. I need to kill somebody. I need to set something on fire."

Stan and Ford were petrified. Stan's jaw had dropped.

Bill was panting from the exertion of his outburst, arms trembling, face flushed. His shoulders slumped. The picture of a broken man, he said, "I'd do anything to rim her optic nerve again."

Ford let out a strangled noise.

Bill took several deep breaths. He rubbed his forehead. "Sorry! Wow. That was... I think the fumes are getting to me." He shook his head. "The fumes and the hormones. Human hormones. You know, your species has very insistent..." He gestured vaguely toward the doorway. "I'm—think I should lay down."

Stan and Ford nodded. Bill trudged from the room. A few seconds later, Stan heard springs creak as Bill flopped his full weight on the living room sofa.

Stan and Ford exchanged a look. Stan said, "I shouldn't have asked about..."

"You shouldn't have asked."

"You should have skipped the science lesson."

"I should have."

They lapsed into silence. After a moment, Ford stood up to take over stirring the pot.

Stan resumed chopping onions. "Say, d'you think he staged all that to get out of stirring?"

Ford didn't reply.

"Sixer?" Stan glanced up.

Ford had turned away from the stove, and was staring at nothing with a faraway, troubled look. It was the look he got when he'd just latched on to some mystery that would haunt him until he solved it.

"Ford—?"

Ford slapped down the spoon and stomped into the living room. "But you hate losing your eyeball! So how did you two— I mean—! The spores—?"

"Incompatible biology." Bill's voice sounded muffled. "It's why we never got serious. She wants kids and my tear ducts can't incubate wings."

"Ah! Of course. That makes perfect sense." Ford returned to the stove with a look of triumph.

Stan didn't know how Ford had recovered from that fast enough to ask follow-up questions. Weird nerd. Stan shook his head but said nothing.

####

In Ford's journal, he scratched out most of his speculation about the anatomy of Bill's species, scribbled over the diagram, and added, "I severely underestimated how much his eye is involved."

####

At one point, during Weirdmageddon, when Bill had been torturing Ford for information, Ford had spat in his eye. Bill had licked it off. He'd seemed eerily undisturbed.

Ford would probably wonder how Bill had interpreted that act for the rest of his life.

####

Outside, dressed in a homemade hazmat suit consisting of painter's coveralls and a scuba mask, Soos faced off against the eye-bat, a spray bottle strapped to each hip like a cowboy's revolvers. Dipper and Mabel stood behind him, armed with a rake and a golf club, wearing a bicycle helmet and a football helmet with tree branches taped on. The eye-bat stared them down warily.

Leaning on his elbows over the kitchen table so he could stare out the window, Bill said, "Bet you a hundred bucks she steals Questiony's hat."

Stan snorted. "I'm not taking that bet. You don't have any money."

Bill grunted and turned back to the window, just in time to see the eye-bat dive for Soos's face. Soos whipped out one of the spray bottles, dropped it, ducked down to retrieve it just as she swooped past where his head used to be, and lifted it in time to spray the eye-bat when she circled back to attack him again. She reeled off screeching, eye watering, pupil contracting. Bill winced in sympathy. Poor gal. And she didn't even have an eyelid for protection. But, hey—better for her to suffer than for Bill to risk getting caught in this body. He'd take someone else's pain over his own embarrassment any day.

"It seems to be working the same as it does on any other eye-bat," Ford said. "Good. Once she's gone, Soos and the kids can spray the rest on the roof. That should drive her off while keeping the worst of the scent away from the tourists."

Streaming tears, the eye-bat dove at the kids. They yelled in alarm. Dipper threw his rake at her and missed. Bill flipped up his eyepatch to squint at the battle with both eyes.

"What, do you see something?" Stan asked.

"Just appreciating her sphericality." Bill sighed wistfully. "That spray's gotta be excruciatingly painful—but, I've never seen her that wet before. Sure, we've fooled around with a little hot sauce a few times, but even then—"

"I'm sorry I asked."

Outside, Soos shouted, "Hey! My hat! Give that back!"

Bill wordlessly held a hand out toward Stan.

Stan smacked it away. "Nyeh."

As the eye-bat retreated toward the forest, Ford sighed in relief. "She's gone. It worked."

"You sound surprised," Bill said.

"Frankly, I can't believe that you gave us accurate information on how to get rid of her."

"What! You wound me! Why would I lie about that?"

"To trick us into doing something that strengthens her? To arrange an opportunity to meet her?" Ford suggested. "After all, as one of your Henchmaniacs, she could have helped you escape."

Bill's blood ran cold.

She could have helped him escape. SHE COULD HAVE HELPED HIM ESCAPE! He'd been so worried about not looking stupid or losing his eyes, when all this time—! He could have signaled Iris from the window, and—and the bottomless pit was right there, she could have carried a message to the gang—at the very least, she could probably open doors for him—and instead he just—when he could have—

He watched in despair as Iris's pretty little optic nerve vanished behind the trees.

No, Bill decided—no, getting her help was a terrible plan. If it was a good plan, he would have done it; so it was terrible. He had a better plan. What was his better plan?

"Come on, you think I need her? I've got all the pals I need right here—whether you're ready to admit it or not." He elbowed Ford. Bill had decided he'd wheedle Ford back over to his side, and he would. His survival depended on it. Now more than ever. "I've got a way out, don't worry about that—it's only a matter of time—and she's not part of the plan."

Ford scoffed. "Really. Last night you were moaning about being on death row."

"Wh—Hey! That was..." Not fair. He scrambled to revise his story.

"You're lying about something," Ford said. "If it wasn't how to get rid of her, then it was why you wanted to get rid of her. For all we know, maybe she wants you dead as much as we do."

"Yeah," Stan said, "the 'girlfriend' story sounds crazy enough to be true, but you seem like the kind of guy who has a string of exes who'd love to kill you." (He did, as it happened, but it wasn't his fault he kept falling for petty jealous psychos who hated seeing him thrive.)

Ford said, "If she hadn't been a danger to the tourists, perhaps I should have invited her in to talk."

Unbelievable. Even when Bill did exactly what he was supposed to, he was still the bad guy. "Fine, she was a notorious black widow and you saved my life, happy? Do you like that story better? I made it up just for you." He jabbed a finger in Ford's shoulder. "You know what your problem is? You're too paranoid. You can't trust anything anybody says. You'll only hurt yourself like that—"

Ford shoved Bill's hand away and stepped out of poking range. "I spent years unlearning the paranoia you gave me. And when I finished, do you know what I figured out, Bill? All along, there was only one person I shouldn't have trusted: you."

It stung, but only in a distant, impersonal way; like a hard slap on a numb cheek. Bill turned to give Ford a sour look. "At the lengths you take it to, I could tell you the sky is blue and you'd have to check."

Ford's gaze automatically flickered toward the window.

"Ha!" Bill angrily shoved the table against the wall as he stood up. "Thanks for taking care of my pest problem, boys." He stormed upstairs, flipping his hood up as he went. Ingrates.

####

The view out the attic window was more interesting than usual, mainly because there were three humans traipsing around on the roof spraying eye-bat repellant. From time to time Mabel came by to make funny faces at Bill through the glass; he did his best to one-up them. Once, Soos nearly fell off the roof and died; Bill hadn't laughed that hard since he was murdered.

Their return indoors was heralded by Mabel shouting, "Dibs on the shower!" and Dipper replying, "I take shorter showers, let me go first!" They pounded up the stairs. Mabel tried to take them two at a time, tripped near the top, and by the time she recovered Dipper was already in the bathroom. She groaned. "Augh! Not fair! I don't want to smell like onions and gnome pee!"

"Neither do I! I need it more, I haven't showered in two weeks!"

Bill wondered why Dipper got to go so long between showers without getting dumped in a cold tub in his sleep. (He knew why.)

Bill whistled to catch Mabel's attention. "Consolation prize." He waved a cheap perfume bottle toward Mabel. "We had leftovers after mixing the repellant. It smells like strawberry candy."

"You're my hero." Mabel took the bottle and sprayed it all over herself, in her hair, and under her sweater. "You need a shower too, you know."

"Sure, but until Dolores fumigates the kitchen I'll just blend into the background stink. I can put it off til tomorrow without anyone complaining."

"You're grossss." Mabel emphasized the hiss by poking Bill's arm. "Once I'm clean, I'm not talking to you until you've showered too."

"I'll be devastated."

"Those are my terms!" She kicked aside Bill's cushion-bed so she could sit under the window without stinking the cushions up, and settled back to wait for the bathroom. After a (very short) companionable silence, Mabel said, "It's too bad we had to chase off your ex. I can see why you like her."

Bill gave her a surprised look. "Can you?"

"Iris was so graceful!" Mabel said. "And murderous, but mostly graceful. Like an evil swan."

Bill laughed. "Yeah! Yeah, she is. Floats like a dream. If you think she's graceful in the air, you oughta see her in the pool. She's the only person I know who can make a cannonball look elegant."

Mabel gave him a sly grin.

"What?"

"Look at you. Yooou still like heeer." Mabel propped her elbows on the edge of the window seat and balanced her chin in her hands. "How did you meet Iris?"

For the last couple of days, almost everyone in the house had talked about Bill's ex like she was some kind of malevolent creature, rather than a person. He was used to outsiders talking about his friends that way—heck, most of his friends were malevolent creatures—but it grated all the same. (He missed home.) Just hearing Mabel call Iris by her name was a breath of fresh air. No one else had even asked if she had a name.

"I met her at a party," Bill said. "I'd just gotten a piano and was showing off, and she came by to ask about Earth music. She wasn't in my crew then—but the party was open invite, and everyone in that corner of the Nightmare Realm knew that if you wanted info on Earth, you came to Bill Cipher. So, we talked about waltzes and tarantellas, I played a little Beethoven, we hit things off..."

They talked until the bathroom was free and Mabel went to shower. Sweet kid. Hopeless romantic, though.

When Bill got out of this place, he was gonna find the first boy who would break her heart and kill him before they could meet. It was the least he could do for her.

####

The third entry in Bill's dream diary: "Shooting Star's cartoon is getting to me. I dreamed about the wolf and the cat arguing over who had to host someone's birthday party. The wolf refused to let guests into his enormous mansion, but the cat's house was burning down. They asked me how to resolve this. I told them the cat should execute the wolf as punishment for his inhospitality, take over his mansion, and wear his skin as the party host. The animals were so in awe of my wisdom that I was deified as god of the jungle."

That was not what he'd dreamed. The animals were so horrified at his suggestion that they'd tied him to a stake and forced him to watch as they threw the cat into the flames of her own house. He couldn't remember whether he'd dreamed that he was a triangle or a human.

He preferred his version. Once he'd regained control over his dreams, he could replay this one and make it end properly.

He'd get the hang of this in no time.

####

(You're legally required to tell me if you had a reaction to this one. Even if it's horror. Especially if it's horror.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #grunkle ford #ford pines #grunkle stan #stan pines #gravity falls #gravity falls fanart #gravity falls fic #fanart #my art #my writing #bill goldilocks cipher

[rainydaydream-gal18]

(The Bad Batch) Hunter x Reader: Timing

Word Count: 2,844

Warnings: Mentions of O66, some angst, kissy kissy.

   You lowered your head, pulling the hood of your cloak farther down over your face in hopes to keep you from being recognizable by any untrustworthy characters.  By the looks of it, that meant everyone in this parlor.

   It was a risky move going there in the first place.  Incredibly dangerous.  Some might deem it unwise, but it was all you had.

   Ever since that day…that horrible day… you’d been keeping an extremely low profile.  You traveled from place to place, having to choose the shadiest modes of transport to avoid the chain code system.  Being on the Empire’s most wanted list meant that you had to take every precaution.

   You glanced around the crowded parlor, getting a feel for the room.  The majority of customers were gathered around one of the dejarik boards.  Things were getting rowdy as one individual was just about to defeat his opponent.  No one would pay you any mind.

   Good.  You could locate the one known as Cid without drawing attention to yourself.

   She was a known jedi informant, and now a possible way to reach some old friends.

   Thanks to Rex’s description, you were able to find her very quickly.  She was seated at the bar, quietly sipping her drink and watching the game.  You exhaled slowly to gather yourself before walking over and taking the seat next to her.

   You ordered a drink casually, knowing that if you jumped right into a slew of questions that she’d be much less likely to give you an answer.  Finally, when your drink was set down in front of you, you took a sip and turned to the cantina owner.

   “Good evening,” you greeted.

   Her yellow eyes regarded you with skepticism that you were speaking to her, but she remained curt.  “‘Evening.”

   “I am looking for some friends of mine.  I was hoping you could point me in the right direction.”

   She lifted a scaly brow, scowling.

   “Could you tell me where I might find a group?”  You paused, searching for the right words.  There was a good chance that they wouldn’t go by their Republic designation.  “It’s a very particular group.  I’ve been told they do odd jobs for you.”

   Cid leaned back, her expression calculating.  “I might know of a group.  Depends on who’s asking.”

   “I’m an ally.”

   She huffed.  “Sure you are.”

   Cid didn’t say anything more, but the message had gotten across.  You could only hope that you’d reach them.  If you couldn’t, then you’d have to contact Rex again…  You remained at the counter, watching as Cid slipped away.

   The anticipation of seeing them, seeing him again, was almost too much to bear.  Your mind flooded with memories as you waited.  Memories of the first time you’d met the intriguing squad.  Memories of the first time you’d locked eyes with him.

   “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sergeant.” you greeted, blocking a stream of laser blasts.  “Though I wish it was under better circumstances.”

   His voice emerged smoky and mysterious through the modulator of his helmet as he took out a nearby droid with his viroblade.  “Pleasure’s all mine, General.”

   Later on, after the initial wave of droids, he removed his helmet to speak with you face-to-face.  You were well aware of how the Bad Batch differed from other troops, but it was still surprising to see their appearances.

   “Your squad is most impressive,” you said, trying very hard to push down the immediate feelings of attraction that began to blossom as you admired his tattooed features.  “And you arrived in just the nick of time.”

   He gave a small chuckle, his brow lifting.  “It’s what we do.”

   “Yeah!”  The one known as Wrecker jumped into the conversation, giving a hearty laugh.  “Those droids never stand a chance against us!”

   Tech was typing away on a set of buttons on his armor.  “They are falling back.  By my calculations, they will regroup shortly for a final attack.”

   “We’d better get ready then,” Crosshair smirked, placing a toothpick between his teeth.

   “Any orders?” Hunter asked.  It was apparent that the squad was very accustomed to working independently, but he made a point to recognize your authority as a jedi general.

   “None except that we retake this base,” you replied, making Wrecker practically jump.

   “I like her!”

   You found yourself smiling against the rim of your glass right before taking a sip.  That battle marked the beginning of your time with the Bad Batch.  You had the rank of general, but you’d never assumed command of a legion.  The Council would send you on independent missions as they saw fit, and after the success of that one, you were granted permission to assist the squad on a series of assignments.

   You came to see the Bad Batch as family. Aside from the particularly risky missions, it was the happiest period of your life.

   And that’s where it got messy.

   You recalled so vividly the bonds you’d formed with the brothers.  The hours working on the ship with Tech.  The many different ways to blow up a droid that Wrecker taught you.  The time you’d spent getting to know Crosshair and read him, though you still found him puzzling at times.  The talks you had with Hunter.

   Things got extremely messy when taking into account the feelings you harbored for the sergeant in secret, though such attachments to him, or anyone for that matter, were forbidden.  What was worse…he felt the same for you, and he knew about your attachment to him.  You could feel it every time his mind was near.  With both of you being so sensitive to your surroundings, it was bound to happen.  It was an unspoken thing between you.  Though you ached for more, you decided that being near him was enough.

   Then, there was the night that everything seemed to implode.

   Another successful mission.

   You gazed out at the beautiful star streaks across the dash as the Marauder traveled at lightspeed.  All was quiet aboard the ship.  Save for Tech’s busy mind, everyone seemed to be settling down for some much-needed rest.

   Oh.  There was one more mind that hadn’t been lulled by the sound of the engine.  Footsteps made their way up toward the front of the ship where you stood.

   “Hey. Sarge.”  The very informal greeting was a result of much time spent with the Batch.  The lot of you had forsaken by-the-book speech.  

   His eyes did not flash in amusement like they normally would.  His brows furrowed seriously as he leaned against the wall, and your voice took on a more concerned tone.  “Everything alright?”

   “Yeah,” he replied, though he didn’t look any less troubled.  “Just…a few things on my mind.”

   “Anything you’d like to share?  Maybe talking about it will help,” you offered helpfully.  “I’m no Yoda, but I’d like to think that learning under him has earned me some wisdom.”  You chuckled, giving him a playful nudge.

   “It’s-” he hesitated, gaze meeting yours meaningfully.  “I don’t think you want me to talk about this.”

   You tilted your head in confusion.  “Why not?”

   “Because it’s about…us.  This.  Whatever this is.”

   You caught on to where his mind was, feeling your heart flutter and stomach drop at the same time.  Your lips parted with a tiny “oh” sound escaping from them.  He was right.  This was definitely something you didn’t want to talk about. You couldn’t offer him a commitment.  Your code wouldn’t allow that.  But you didn’t want to lose him. This conversation could very well change everything.

   “Hunter… Before you continue, I just want to say that I…I…”

   “I know,” he said, stepping forward.  It was a small step, but it put him in your space entirely.  Suddenly his handsome face was all you could see, and that musky scent of his was the only thing you could smell.  His gloved hand reached out gently to brush your fingers.

   He knew what you felt for him… because that’s what he felt for you.

   “And I’m not asking for anything.  Or hoping.  I just…have to tell you at least once that I do too.”

   His lips ghosted over yours.  The warmth of his breath fanned your face, drawing you in while that feeling of comfort and security that you felt with him washed over you.  Your fingers entwined with his gloved ones, and you allowed yourself a single moment.  Hunter pressed his lips to your own briefly, testing the waters.  You leaned in before he could pull away, capturing him in another kiss, which he deepened.

   It was only a single moment, absolutely forbidden and beautiful.

   The kiss ended all too soon, with Hunter whispering a low “good night” before heading for his rack to get a few hours of sleep.  You remained in the cockpit, caught up in the thrill of what happened, yet completely torn.

   You felt tears well up in your eyes as you recalled what happened next.  It was right after returning from that mission that the Council had decided to reassign you to assist another jedi in an entirely different system.

   That was the end of your time with the Batch during the Clone Wars.  You couldn’t protest the Council’s decision without betraying some sort of attachment.  Even if the Council didn’t pick up on anything romantic, they still wouldn’t be so keen on your preference of the squad over where duty called you.  The Council’s decision had come so quickly that part of you feared that somehow they knew.

   So you carried out orders without so much as a hesitation.  You didn’t reach out to Hunter, fearful that he would also be at risk somehow.  Time passed.  The war came to an end.

   You’d barely escaped the former chancellor’s horrid order.  And after so many months on your own, wondering where your squad was in all this mess, assuming the worst, you ran into Rex, and he informed you of his discovery of them, the removal of their chips, and their whereabouts.

   It was only a matter of a few rotations before you found yourself at Cid’s Parlor.

   There was no telling how your arrival would be received.  Would they be angry?  Hurt?  Would they be glad to see you?  You imagined that the others would be glad, at least.

   The moment had arrived.  The first one you saw was Wrecker, towering over everyone else in the cantina as he made his way out from the back.  He spotted you right away, and a huge grin spread across his face.

   “Hey!  It’s ________!”

   He emerged from the crowd with Hunter just in front of him, followed by Tech.  Another trooper walked out after him that you didn’t recognize and also a young girl.

   “Ah, _________” Tech said in recognition.  “I am pleased to see you alive and well, considering the events concluding the war.”

   “You have no idea how glad I am to see all of you,” you replied warmly.  “It’s like coming home.”  You mustered the courage to meet Hunter’s eyes, hoping you’d find a similar welcome.  His gaze was piercing, like a single lamp in the dark- comforting, safe, filling you with relief.

   It was true.  That seedy parlor, where you’d never been before, that was full of strangers already felt like home.

   Even so, Hunter suggested the lot of you take the reunion back to the Marauder to avoid drawing any attention to you.  Your mind was buzzing the entire time with questions; both about the new faces you saw amongst your squad as well as the one face that you didn’t see.  Where was Crosshair?

   Tech updated you on the sharpshooter’s absence in a brief, but thorough explanation.  You were saddened to hear of these events, but the group seemed somewhat hopeful that their brother didn’t appear entirely lost.

   The other trooper, who you presumed to be a newer member of the squad, looked rather curious.

   “Echo, this is ________, a friend.  She served with us on several missions during the war,” Hunter introduced.

   “Served?” Echo repeated.  “Then that would make you a…”

   “A jedi,” you uttered quietly.  “Yes.”

   He stood up straight and saluted with his scomp arm.  “It’s an honor.  My name is Echo.  I joined the squad after a rescue mission on Skako.”

   “And this is Omega,” Hunter gestured toward the girl.  “Our newest member.”

   “Hello!” she gave a cheerful wave.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

   “Oh really?”

   “Yep!” Wrecker butted in, wrapping you up in a big hug.  “You’re our favorite jedi, after all!”  He set you down and gave you a playful nudge with his elbow, which almost sent you stumbling.  “We missed you!  Especially Hunter here.”

   The comment piqued your interest.  Hunter gave Wrecker one of his signature looks, silently telling him to drop it.  Tech observed the interaction, noting it while adjusting his goggles.  Echo’s gaze darted back and forth between you and Hunter, understanding flashing in them.  Omega looked confused, but didn’t voice it.

   You nearly collapsed into ruins from embarrassment.

   Wrecker suddenly scratched his head. “ Uhhh, that reminds me.  Tech, d’you remember the other day? I said I wanted to show you the thing.”

   “I do not recall-”

   “The thing.  It’s, uh, in Cid’s.  But we have to go see it.  Now.”

   Echo seemed to catch on to some inside cue because he quickly got Tech’s attention and nodded his head in the direction of the exit ramp.

   “Ah.  Indeed.”

   “You too, Omega!” Wrecker added, ushering the girl outside.  You clasped a hand over your mouth to hide your humor while the group departed.  You could hear Omega’s little voice asking, “what’s going on?” before they were out of earshot.

   Hunter gave a long and heavy sigh, shaking his head, before his eyes met yours again.

   “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised,” he said.  “They’re all trouble.”

   “Yeah,” you chuckled.

   An awkward silence fell over the both of you.  It wasn’t like you expected things to fall back into place, to pick up right where you’d left off.  But with how the others acted, you expected Hunter to say something.

   After all that time…There he was.  Safe and sound.  Standing just a few feet in front of you.

   “Hunter, I-”

   “Look-”

   Both of you fell silent again, and Hunter took the initiative to speak first.  His voice was low, a bit shaky.  “I’m glad you’re alright.  You don’t know how worried I was- we all were.”

   “I was worried about all of you,” you replied.  “I saw what the chips did to troopers.  It’s terrible.  I was so relieved to find Rex, and when he told me that he’d been in contact with you… I can’t even say how I felt.  I’ve missed you so much!”  Your voice broke, and Hunter stepped forward, wrapping his arms around you.

   The low rumble of his voice was soothing against your ear as he held you tighter.  “I missed you too.”

   “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry I didn’t reach out to you after I was reassigned.  After what happened that night after our last mission…”

   “It’s alright.  Neither did I.  I guess…neither of us were in a place to do anything about it then.  We had our obligations.”

   Had obligations.  Past tense.

   “But just know that I’ve thought about you every day since then,” he said.  “Nothing’s changed.”

    “Oh, Hunter,” you cried.  “Me too.”

   His breath hitched in his throat, and he pulled away slightly.  “You know, if this weren’t to happen, there’s a place for you here.  With the squad.  That’s undeniable.”

   You met his eyes, too happy to care about the tears on your face.  His gaze seemed to soften at the sight of them, and he reached up to brush them away.  

   “I didn’t think it was,” you chuckled tearfully.  “I do want to be with the squad, and I want to be with you.”

   A soft smile graced his features, the kind of smile you’d only seen a few times.  One of them was when he first and last kissed you.  Hunter leaned in, brushing his nose against yours, before closing the short distance entirely.

   His arms enveloped you, pulling you tighter against his frame while he kissed you with simmering passion.  You grasped his broad shoulders to ground yourself, and yet it only sent you higher.

   Your eyes followed the contours of his face while you paused the dance of your lips to catch your breath, tracing the slope of his nose, the curve of his mouth, and the edge of his jawline.  Amidst the haze of his close proximity, you’d never seen him so clearly. 

   You were glowing, luminous.  So utterly content, and yet, your lips tingled with the desire to be kissed again.

   Heavy footsteps on the ramp jolted you from the moment.  Before you and Hunter could separate to save face, Wrecker poked his head inside the Marauder, grinning.

   “I knew it!  All it took was fifteen minutes.”

   “Actually,” Tech’s voice spoke up a little farther down matter-of-factly.  You could imagine him holding up his index finger pointedly.  “It was approximately twenty.”

#the bad batch #bad batch hunter #bad batch reader insert #bad batch x reader #bad batch hunter x reader #bad batch fanfic #star wars the bad batch fanfiction #bad batch fanfiction #bad batch hunter reader insert #the bad batch x reader #star wars reader insert #star wars bad batch reader insert #hunter fanfiction #sergeant hunter x reader #sergeant hunter reader insert #bad batch sergeant hunter

[in-omni-scientia]

Someone has to put a WHOOPEE CUSHION under ⬆️THIS FUCKING THING⬆️ AS HE SITS DOWN on his THRONE and directly cause him to FUCKING EXPLODE

(extra art + biiiig and I mean BIG ramble abt skill designs under the cut. yahoo !)

The thing about me is that I looooove to have images for characters so so clear in my mind. And then Not do that. Like I have designs for Ency and Empathy and Authority soo clear in my brain but then I still don't draw them how I envision them. Sad !

I hope Everyone here knows I have Designs for them in my brain even if they're not featured here. Like not just General designs how I envision them in the game but SPECIFIC to their skillsposting blogs. Smiles. Anyways here are some notes

Most of the skills as I imagine them in the game are literally just walking around naked to me and Ency's and Rhetoric's designs here are remnants of that

I want to draw Ency with like one of those judge cloaks and some glasses with the little chains on them to hold them. Not for any specific reason I just think he might look cute. Grins

Empathy doesn't have like. Clear legs. It's more like glowing fog making the shape of them. Same for the bottom of the dress-looking thing I just got sidetracked. The top pair of arms is permanently close to their chest area but they can move it to give hugs and stuff. Also funny clouds too like in their pfp I forgot that

Authority's design in the first image is based on what the Authority account said to the turtle abt what they look me. Auth to me is like. A head and arms and no lower body. It's just a shadow if you look under there. Sorry for lying by giving him legs. He can adjust his height however he wants to tower over others. hes probably wearing like roman armour under the cloak in that image. idk. smiles

Technically Conceptualization is the smallest skill because the only "natural" (permanent and unchangeable) parts of them is what is in their portrait to me, but they can manifest limbs and stuff like that; they are just outlines, a little like the shoulder-looking part of their portrait in the bottom left

Drama is the Shortest because to me they are just a little tiny octopus. Kind of like the bit in Octodad when he's not disguised as a human, but with shorter arms? I really want to draw them properly and not on my laptop touchscreen slash phone at some point because I need to illustrate just how LITTLE they are to me. Slimeball........

Suggestion is sooo easy bruh it's just how they draw themselves. Smiles

Rhetoric's front guy he's eating is just the upper body and he's like carrying it with an extra pair of arms I think. IDK. I don't know if you've noticed but I'm a little shit at coming up with fancy designs. Rhetoric is actually Normal-Guy Sized, he's just as small as Conceptualization and Drama in that image because I couldn't really figure out a way to make it look Normal otherwise. I'm tired I can't explain anything

Right now I can best describe everyone else as being like, mixes of brainrotdotorg's and scribblemakes' skill designs because they are soooo awesome I want to Eat them. Ah! So sorry!

If any other skillsposters are reading this and have a specific Thing in mind for their skill. Please do let me know. I would Love Love Love to draw things at some stage. Smiles

#oh god i am so sorry for that long ass ramble i don't know how it got that long #can you guys tell the reason I picked encyclopedia to do this as yet #anyways I was gonna say i have no fucking clue what possessed me to draw that. #I am so sorry. it exists now I suppose #in case anyone in the main tag is unaware btw: suggestion is now authority's second-in-command #contains: txt #author/s: me #contains: figures #contains: id #skillsposting #disco elysium #secret art compilation

[hazbinfallinginaspiral]

The Vees are Overlords but also a business, therefore they hold meeting and work with clients right and workers? Well what if a Business client or worker unknowingly said something about Retro!Reader in a meeting?

If its before Vox it come be commenting on Retro's cooking, as I see Retro would always ensure Vox had home made snacks for while hes working. Something like "That House Wife of yours is decent in the Kitchen, I see why you keep them there"

If its before Valentino I assume its after Retro brings him something between shoots, some fool would comment on Retro's looks or ask why Retro isn't one of Val's 'Stars' kinda a "Bod like that should be in those sheets"

Velvette would most likely be dealing with jealous models who don't know fully who Retro is but Retro gets to walk in, get the nice personal design treatment from Velvette and not have to talk the cat walk? Bitch fight would incoming.

Hope you don't mind my ramblings and if this sparks something Hooray!

He would destroy the person in question if it’s an insult^

Vox is always boasting about Retros cooking, how skilled and talented they are. He literally never shuts up about it. Now, the demon who said ‘I can see why you keep them there’ might have meant it as a sort of joke or some shit, but Vox would not be pleased. He does not take kindly to people who insult or degrade their partners (ironic, considering Valentino), so someone who’s making that sort of implication about his wife? Death.

He’d sort of chuckle and go ‘excuse me?’, daring the demon to repeat themselves. It’s over for them either way. If the demon backtracks, Vox will very pointedly dedicate the rest of the meeting to bragging about all of Retros other skills, too. He’d try to start by mentioning it off hand, but he’d get so invested in proving a point to the low life that insulted his wife that he’d get carried away. He’d go on and on about how creative and thoughtful Retro is, how nice they are to everyone, including those who work at the company. He would not-so-politely remind everyone that Retro knits sweaters for people at the company picnics, how they always cook at least half the food at the company get together and parties, stuff like that. It’s a stupid move to insult Vox’s wife, but insulting the person who everyone loves just because of how nice and kind they are? That’s ten times dumber.

Valentino would shoot a bitch on sight if they made a comment about Retro in bed. Yes it’s hell, insults and comments like that are to be expected, but he has standards when it comes to Retro. Val is so unbelievably protective of them when they come by the studio, it’s startling. He knows what Vox would do if anything happened, and Val doesn’t want to see Retro in any sort of compromising situation to begin with. He’d do his best to keep everyone in line.

He’d shoot glares and insults at anyone who looks at them the wrong way, anyone who looks at them for too long. Keep in mind, Val is in a wonderful mood whenever Retro visits him at work. They help him with scripting, and he’s always admiring them and gushing over them. He draws little hearts in the margins of his papers and sometimes lets them on set. He’s always nervous about it, but it works out nicely. They usually only help adjust someone’s clothes (with how few they’re wearing, it’s very important), the perspective of cameras, sometimes the hair or makeup (only a little). They know exactly what Val is looking for, and how to get the scene how he wants it. They’re calm and polite and everyone is just so relieved about it. Retro even does their best to make sure the actors are comfortable, the clothes aren’t too tight, the clasps work correctly, things like that. So yeah, if someone makes a comment about them, they’d be lucky to only receive extra hours of work as a punishment.

Velvette? Okay, if Retro was the type to confront people, Vel would record the entire thing. Unfortunately, Retro usually pretends they don’t hear a thing. They’d rather ignore it and keep up the nice and polite house wife routine. They’re probably busy admiring their lovers, anyway. So, instead, Velvette would shoot a model a glare and walk right up to them, demanding they tell her what makes them think they can say such a thing.

Retro gets treated special because Velvette respects them, thinks they’re awesome and adorable and can’t do anything wrong. Mostly. So, the fact that one of her models (people she sees as frequent fuck ups) would try to put themselves on Retros level? The fact that someone would even think they’re anywhere near as good as them, anywhere near as deserving of Velvettes attention and affection as Retro? A ridiculous notion. The model is lucky not to be torn apart by Val. Velvette would go off on the model, listing every single mistake they’ve made in the past hour alone.

The workers at Vee Tower learn not to fuck around when it comes to Retro pretty quick.

#hazbin hotel #vox #hazbin hotel vox #hazbin vox #writing #vox x reader #my writing #x reader #thanks anon!

[mamawasatesttube]

OOF. There are so many good prompts on that list, I could barely decide! But I feel like I gotta go with “They’ll find me, they always do.” Preferably as spoken by Kon?

Kon doesn't know where he is.

Well—okay, he has a vague idea. It's... a box, somewhere underground, designed for holding Kryptonians. Designed for breaking Kryptonians, if he's entirely honest; courtesy of Luthor, of course. The walls are twofold, with all the air pumped out of the gap between the layers so that he can't hear anything from outside, and the strange, uncanny silence alone would be bad enough without the darkness, away from any sun.

The only light is, of course, the fucking kryptonite.

It's getting old, he thinks woozily. How many times is Luthor gonna pull this kinda shit? Does he really think he can break Kon's spirit just with a little (okay, a lottle) physical misery? Does he really think Kon will ever give up any of Kal's secrets just 'cuz of some pain, misery, and humiliation?

Admittedly, having to hand himself over for a bunch of civilian hostages just to get slapped with a kryptonite fucking collar is pretty heavy on the humiliation front, but still. Kon's a goddamn joke. He can take being a laughingstock.

He heaves a sigh, closing his eyes. At least the floor is cold and soothing against his flushed cheeks; the hot flashes are better than the cold sweats, so he's grateful, for the moment. He just has to outlast this, that's all.

At some point, the loudspeaker in the ceiling crackles and jolts him out of his doze. "You look pathetic," Luthor informs him. Kon musters up the energy to raise a middle finger to wherever the infrared cameras in here might be. "Classy as ever, Supernova. You could end this anytime, you know. And frankly, you owe me your existence; you'd think you'd be more grateful than this."

Kon rolls onto his back just to raise a second middle finger to the ceiling, too.

Luthor sighs. "So stubborn. Why do you insist on drawing out your suffering? There is only one way this ends, and we both know that."

"Yeah," Kon mumbles. He's too tired and achy to keep his arms up any longer, so he lets them fall back down to his sides. "There is. They'll find me. They always do."

Judging by the hiss of breath, Luthor doesn't care for that answer. Kon smiles despite the burning under his skin, and closes his eyes again.

Some time passes. Kon drifts vaguely in and out of consciousness, thoughts swimming; when the pain and the nausea grow too overwhelming, he retreats into the part of his mind that never left the tube at Cadmus and lets himself float away from reality.

He dreams about the swimming hole a little ways from the farmhouse. It's in a small copse of trees that stand out on the flat horizon; he took Tim there earlier this summer. They splashed around, swam, and made out sitting on the water's edge; right as they were about to leave, Tim stole Kon's shirt and jumped in wearing it, just to make Kon wear a wet T-shirt the whole walk home, and laughed at his own prank on and off all afternoon.

Kon likes when Tim laughs. The memory makes him smile; he can almost feel the warmth of the sunlight on his back as he reminisces. God, what he'd do for some sunlight right now...

Bang. Bang. Bang.

BOOM.

Light floods into the room, artificial, fluorescent light that does nothing for him. Kon squints vaguely at the silhouettes cast against it, but doesn't bother to lift his head; he'd rather dream of the swimming hole and the cool water lapping at his clammy skin.

"Is that a fucking collar?" Cassie's voice, frigid with rage. Warm hands brush against his throat as she kneels, and the sound of metal snapping reaches him from far, far away. "I'm going to kill Luthor. I'm actually gonna kill—"

"Not if I get there first," Bart says, his voice strangely taut. "Hey, Kon. Wake up!"

Someone else is at his side, too. Red, and black, and white eyes in a dark mask... oh. That's Tim, Kon realizes woozily, as a gloved hand cups his cheek.

"Kon," Tim says. His voice is low and urgent. He's not laughing. The kryptonite is gone, Kon realizes suddenly; there's a metal box next to Tim's knee. Classic Tim, he thinks. Always prepared. "Kon, can you hear me?"

Kon blinks at him. He probably should answer, but... he still feels like he's floating, and none of it can quite reach him. It's fine. It's probably fine.

Tim's lips press together in a thin, tight line. Kon doesn't like that; he shouldn't look so tense and unhappy. He likes when Tim laughs.

"Shit, that bastard really did a number on him," Cassie hisses. "Here, move. I got him."

Tim reluctantly pulls away. Kon whines a little as his hand drops from his cheek; he doesn't want Tim to go. But then Cassie is there, gathering him up into her arms, and Kon sighs, relaxing; she's warm, and he's suddenly acutely aware that he's freezing, and he knows in her arms, he's safe.

"Let's go," Cassie says, standing with Kon in her arms.

"He's shivering. Hold on." Kon watches through weary, half-lidded eyes as Tim fiddles with the clasps of his cape, pulls it off, and... oh. Drapes it over him like a blanket, then bundles him up like a baby, in Cassie's arms.

"If you guys have Kon, I can go murder Luthor real fast," Bart offers.

It's probably a sign that his friends are really, really pissed that no one immediately says no murder, Bart. Kon can't figure out what's going on, but he knows he's safe now. He closes his eyes and sinks into Cassie's arms and figures he'll just have to ask them to fill him in later.

#dissociation cw #timkon #(just a lil but. its there) #core four #rimi writes #kon #bart #tim #cassie #lex luthor (derogatory) #necer0s #sometimes you just have to put kon in the blender you know? #tim cassie bart SO FUCKING PISSED and kon just huh. i wonder what thats about! bc hes dumb of ass and SO out of it <3

[cuckoo-on-a-string]

Promises Six: The Patron

Dark!Morpheus x (female)reader, fantasy/medieval AU, 18+

Master List

Chapter warnings: language, violence, (temporary) character death A/N: You're all fucking fabulous. 💖Aiming for another update next week. Wish me luck.

Only two thrones waited in the main tent. The king’s servants rushed to move a third chair to a place of honor beside them, layering it in swaths of silk and velvet designed to hang over the canvas walls, like they could veil the differences in quality and size with a few curtains.

They needn’t have bothered.

Lord Morpheus refused to sit as his sibling lounged on their impromptu throne with the grace of a cat and a shark’s smile. Familial enmity crackled around the two like a storm, and Desire basked in the attention. The King of Meiren hovered, clearly aching to take his seat, but anxious should he disrespect the guest who would not.

Quite a tableau. If only the bard could paint.

She saw her patrons settled before she went to study the drama unfolding around the two Endless and the king who would dare consider himself an equal. Even the most delusional suitors kept their distance now. Alluring as Desire may be, they did not hem in the waves of power as their siblings did. The bard recognized the overwhelming presence of an Endless even when they tried to shutter the worst of the tidal crush when walking among mortals. She’d felt it with Death. She felt it with Dream. But Desire didn’t even pretend to care for the humans’ comfort.

Every scent was sweeter in their presence, every whisper of taste carried on the smoke of the outdoor cooking fires a draw to addiction. The company looked finer. Everyone murmured about the heat and struggled to meet each others’ gaze as they shifted in their tight clothes, fanning away glittering drops of sweat that drew the eye down, and down, and down to the curious places hidden from view by cloth and lace.

Plenty of mistakes would be made that evening. More than the usual wild carousing inspired by fantasies of bloodlust in the woods. She’d already advised her friends and supporters to avoid as much of the spectacle as possible. To keep a hair pin in their pocket to prick themselves and their loved ones back to good sense if needed. She pointed out the horse troughs and water buckets, and reasoned the king couldn’t complain if a few members of his court felt poorly and left before dark after such a long day.

She couldn’t follow them back, of course. Her curiosity forbid it, and she wanted to be near if a spark caught that might ignite the entire kingdom.

Desire made no effort to hide their conversation from the fragmented assembly. Most were too busy wrestling with their influence to take notice, but the bard knew Desire’s family, and – what was far more important – she knew herself and her desires too well to be so easily swayed.

“I heard you’d been offered a bride, and I simply couldn’t help myself.” Desire treated the seat more as a kind of low couch, spreading over the arms in a pose to draw the eye to their long limbs and fiery eyes. Their red lips looked bloodstained as they grinned. “And a mortal at that. What could have possessed you?”

The king stuttered to join in the conversation, his eyes so dilated even the bard could see the dark hollows swallowing his mind. “I-I offered, your… grace? A bargain for the King of Dream’s aid some years ago. He has not chosen, but there are still many days…”

“Hmmm.” Desire dismissed him effortlessly, not even bestowing a wave. Their eyes never turned to his face, and the king finally slumped into his seat, unseen and unheard by his betters. The bard had never seen him so cowed, and gods knew she’d put in the work.

“An offer only.” The Dream King’s hands flexed into fists. Although the bard had thought he couldn’t grow any paler, his knuckles looked deathly white against his pallid skin. “I have accepted no one, and no one in this host has so inspired my attention or affection.”

Somehow, Desire’s smile grew wider, and as they let their head fall back over the arm of their throne, they chuckled through their teeth. “I wonder, big brother. Really, I do. Ah, well.” They straightened, spinning with unnatural fluidity to properly face their kin. “At least I didn’t miss the hunt.”

The close air within the tent fostered the unnatural heat. It stuck to the roof of the bard’s mouth, and she licked her teeth to scrape it off her tongue. The warmth ached where it dripped into her chest, clenched and hungry for every good and wicked thing she could not or should not possess. Her dead mother’s hand to hold. A good cup of tea in a quiet place beside a trusted friend. Wind in her hair, songs in her throat, and someone –

She left the tent.

Out of sight, the waves of Desire’s power didn’t strike with such force, and the bard walked with her hands on her hips, taking deep breaths of fresh air to clear the scent of longing.

A breeze cut through the clearing where the king’s court set camp, and she imagined it cleaned the stench of foiled passions as it combed through her hair, that it brushed aside the bitter shards of unshaped dreams from her mind.

Sometimes she forgot how much harder intrigue and politics were to wash off than dust from the road. It worked into crevices and scars, surprising her with old filth every time she thought herself free of it.

Her time with the Endless would stain her, surely.

Her mother’s acquaintance with Death left more than a mere mark. If she wasn’t so proud of her own legacy and legend, she’d say it defined her. If she had any sense, she would’ve stayed with the dragon and sung him pretty songs until the Endless had fucked off back to the realm he governed. When Desire appeared, she should’ve turned her mare around, packed up her things at the castle, and left a note of apology. But she hadn’t. Couldn’t, honestly. She wanted to know. She wanted to see. She wanted to witness history – or add a few lines of her own.

Really, what was the worst that could happen? She had manners and a frustrating inability to die, so the chances of lasting consequences for her recklessness were slim.

Gradually, her hands slipped off her hips, and she felt she could breathe easily again. The world wore familiar shades, and no one’s power but her own threaded through her blood. Half finished stories and snarls of old songs half forgotten filled her head. The air tasted of dirt and smelled of sweat. All good and human things.

Strolling through the camp, she found an old fortune reader laying out her tools on a red blanket. The woman chose her spot well, a patch of shade that would only grow as the sun set, just beside the smaller tents where the noble families rested.

The bard nodded in passing, but a wizened hand seized her wrist, bringing her up short. Stumbling to a halt, she blinked down, bemused, but only a little surprised. The woman didn’t have many other customers passing at this hour, when most were resting or preparing for the hunt, and plenty of folk stopped the bard in the street.

All her cards, bones, and runes sat in tidy piles and dishes, untouched, but the reader glowered at the bard with a fortune on her lips.

“You have already caught your doom’s eye.”

Smiling, twisting her wrist in a vain attempt to thwart the old woman’s grasp, the bard said, “You must be mistaken, mother. I have no doom.”

Ridged nails sank into the bard’s palm as the fortune teller squeezed.

“Just because you are deathless does not make you fateless, girl.”

A presence too much like the ones she’d left in the king’s tent coursed like deep roots through the old woman’s words. They tapped unseen waters and sprouted a gravity beyond the woman’s ken. Her glare cut across realms, and the bard’s hair stood on end.

“You are become an ache that preys on the heart. A yearning made flesh. And your doom will tear you from the world if you continue this way in the Garden of Forking Paths. Heed my warning.”

A shadow cut across the sun, and the bard looked up, expecting a thunderhead. That sort of fortune ought to be followed by forked lightning and rolling thunder. But as the light returned and the shape passed through the sun’s glare, it roared, and the bard cursed, ripping away from the fortune teller even as the old woman released her grip.

“Fucking hells!”

She tore through the camp, running before she thought to move, knocking guards and bemused nobles out of her way as they stared up at the great, winged beast above. A dragon. A dragon had come to the king’s hunt.

And the bard knew just which idiot dragon it was, too.

She recognized his scaled bulk. His petulant, flaming rumble.

The absolute twat.

What did he think he was doing?

Time rushed against her, precious seconds slipping beneath the soles of her boots as she found her horse, fumbled on the bridle, and swung onto her back. By that time, knights and hunters had stirred themselves. The bard cantered between men-at-arms rushing to their mounts and young archers half-armed and eager.

She flew by the entrance to the king’s tent where the two Endless stood observing the chaos like it was so very far below them. Fair enough. But at the moment, the bard couldn’t care less. Kingdoms and fates be damned. Her patron was going to get himself killed. She barely felt their gazes wash over her, burning like molten gold, sharper than diamond stars. After a life of dragon’s fire and executioners’ blades, they did not make her tremble like a sensible mortal.

Out of the camp, into the woods, galloping along the path in the direction the dragon wheeled. A goodly field stood some distance away, and it was the nearest place her patron might land without risking his wings on the treetops. So she rode, aware the crash of arms and hooves behind her was growing.

She hadn’t stopped for a saddle. Her thighs clenched tight around her mare’s heaving ribs, every bit of energy and intent straining forward, trying to yank the distant break in the trees closer with sheer force of will. The woods pressed too dark and thick, and she couldn’t tell if the crush of noise in her head came from her heart or the dragon ahead.

The ride lasted half an age, but she cleared the tunnel of trees at last, and blinded by sun, she heard rather than saw the huntsfolk who’d gathered from where they kept the caged beasts and dogs. A dragon was much better quarry. As the glare faded, she wheeled her mare between the humans and the fiery beast. They stumbled, clutching weapons and glaring as she swung down, facing the thing they’d planned to capture.

Hands raised, seeking to draw his eye, she marched towards the dark gouges in the earth where her patron landed.

“Glistiven!”

He turned from the lancer he’d been snapping at, flaring his nostrils wide to smell as well as see her. The wind carried her scent across the field, and he lowered his head, creeping low to be on her level.

She hissed at the hunters as she passed, “He’ll burn you all if you scratch him. Your lives aren’t worth the coin the king will forget to pay you.”

A few, convinced, moved back into the trees. The rest at least backed away, cautious, ready to see if the beast would incinerate the bard before they pushed their luck.

Glistiven stood taller than an oak, and his wings could shade a whole village. He looked a fine prize with his glittering scales – and the gold trapped between them – but he’d not grown to such a size for his tame love of humanity.

He’d burned the bard to ash three times before his curiosity won over his bad temper.

A month of stories, songs, and negotiations convinced him that it may be easier to let the local villages sell him their sheep. It was easier than dealing with unwanted visits from every bounty hunter and monster slayer in the kingdom. Every year, she carried his order down from the mountain, and the farmers let the chosen sheep run wild into the dragon’s territory.

He ought to be in the mountain now.

“Why are you here?” she demanded, marching through the tall grass and struggling to look dignified. As if she didn’t have enough to worry over. Two Endless, a fool of a king, and families looking to her for protection she was wholly unqualified to promise. Just because she was old didn’t mean she was powerful. “You great, flaming… Why are you here?”

Though still many yards away, his great sigh sent ripples through her clothes. “You have not finished your story.”

Hells above and heavens below. The petulance in his voice. She noted the remaining huntsfolk shift even further away from the corner of her eye, disturbed by the voice like a landslide in a wildfire. Crackling, and rumbling, and doubtless inhuman. A voice they all felt rattle in their bones. It reminded them that though they be hunters, they might yet be hunted. Many of their kind fell to dragons’ appetites. This one may yet have them.

The bard dropped her hands, forcing her way through the swaying weeds. She’d give her patron a piece of her mind and sort out this mess. He ought to fly home, but if he didn’t, she could tell him where to hide, where to sleep away from the hunter’s hooks and the castle’s ballistas.

A sharp twang cut the words she went to speak from the air.

Pain struck. It pierced through and out, scattering thought and breaking breath. A strange weight sat in her flesh, and as her mouth fell open, desperate for air that would not come, her hands rose to find the wound, the hurt, and the thing that made it. An arrow tip sliced her fingers. A bolt from some great weapon meant to take down boar and the scaled wyverns that sometimes came this far north.

It had taken her heart out of her body. She could feel it with her bleeding fingertips, fluttering around the wooden shaft, half-pinned by broken ribs.

She fell. To her knees. To the grass. To the waiting arms of Death. Her blood pooled ruby over her hands, her body shuddering and jolting with the determination of a broken clock still trying to tick.

The ground shook with Glistiven’s rage, and the heat of his fire curled over her like a blanket as the last heat of waning life bubbled onto the grass.

Here you are again.

A gentle touch settled over the crown of her head. Cold, but soft. A familiar companion she hated to bother. The bard relaxed into the entity’s hold as she lost all sense and feeling, swaddled in the dark.

What have you gone and done to yourself this time?

#morpheus x reader #dream of the endless x female reader #dream of the endless x reader #dark!dream of the endless #fic: promises #fantasy!au #morpheus x oc

[sanctus-ingenium]

answering asks vol 2.

'Smiths' can encompass enginesmiths (mercury), armoursmiths (mars), alchemists (saturn) and some others - generally a smith is someone who works with engines or metal in any capacity, whether by constructing them, managing their fuel, making armour, etc. all of them have a completely degendered role in the church. They are supposed to be wholly devoted to their craft & church, to the point of becoming almost unpeople, sexless.

-

I like pantera :) he's the main character beast sure (alongside leun) but he's got a lot of interesting history and has been through a lot.

To start out I do some basic sketches while looking at bestiary diagrams of the animal type. Then I draw the base proportions over a photo of the animal's skeleton. Once the joints are all in place and I could imagine it moving relatively freely, I pick a motif and design the armour shapes with that in mind (i.e leun's trefoils, taurus's waves). The motifs come from a bunch of sources - if I see them in medieval art around that animal, the beast's use purpose, the culture that built them and how it might differ in art styles to the 'basic' designs from the heart of the Mezian theocracy. Fun stuff like that.

As an exercise I have taken (human) characters from other settings and made holy beast versions of them, trying to imagine what animal it would be, what weapons, what armour designs, etc. Behold, Bowman:

It's a fun exercise! I recommend :>

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Hi! Thank you for the suggestion! I actually did try to use OneNote for my thesis but I found that it ended up an extra step that got in the way. Instead I organised my reference papers manually (and wrote up all my bibliography by hand as well). I haven't heard of Notion so I might look into it :> as someone with adhd I find that the best way for me is to make it stupid easy, which is why discord works because I already use it for talking with friends and I like the mobile app.

-

SO true!! You can make whatever the hell you want forever and that sounds really cool, I'm glad I was able to help in some little way >:) (although, holy beasts are not robots.. i think the best description for them is just. exotic vehicles.)

-

lmao it's totally fine!! I love to talk

Sir Heaven had such a profoundly negative experience with Leun that he struggles with the concept of making anybody else do what he now considers to be his burden. He also feels that taking any new people inside Leun would endanger them.

The bishop of Salvius cathedral is the guy Heaven answers to, and his superior officer. The bishop has reported the matter to the pope and they're still working hard presenting new potential novices to Sir Heaven, but the thing is that Sir Heaven rejects them for seemingly valid reasons. He doesn't just say 'no I'm not taking apprentices', he says 'this one's reaction speed isn't good enough' or 'this one is too prideful'. But the longer he tries to keep this up, the more suspicion he heaps on his shoulders. If the time came, no, he would not be able to deny a direct order from the pope.

Ketjan was selected at random, one of a large group of other children who were not raised in the church. This is to ensure that there is no per-existing bias or knowledge of how holy beasts work. And he just happened to be the only one of the group who could master Leun's very demanding dialogue tattoo. The recruiting enginesmiths, who designed Leun's systems, were the ones to train him, but Ketjan was the one to write most of the procedures for operating Leun based on feedback from the dialogue.

-

Replies from THIS post:

@ospreyonthemoon @kicks-tiktaalik-back-into-water

Krokodilos had an amazing high-tech ventilation system that used active air pumps to keep it circulating. But exactly like the second reply says, it broke down frequently. And because of how it worked, the interior of croc had to be air-tight so that the pumps could work efficiently. And, of course, if it broke down, and it was air tight on the inside, it instantly became a more dangerous deathtrap than your average passively ventilated beast.

There were valves that could be opened in an emergency but these were only added after the first Incident. The pumps would break down from the fabric seals degrading, lose efficacy, and then the parts furthest from the pumps would suddenly not get enough air anymore because air couldn't be moved such a distance with faulty pumps. The reason his enginesmiths want him to be re-commissioned is because the only barrier was the material used for the seals, and they believe they can innovate some new materials or try something different and have it work. They were even thinking of trying natural rubber, which would have worked perfectly, but they never got approval for it.

#setting: mez

[randomspagetti]

[Swap Au] (because I've lost control of my life)

I didn't try on the souljam bc I'm sick of drawing that thing istg

TW: DISSOCIATION/this au is a bit darker than my usual stuff, not too much but look out for yourself

You can pretty much tell what this au is about by the title but anyways:

Choco: I want to get this sword!

Cacao: No. I'm not letting you go out and get killed on a wild goose chase. Lemme.

[Tl;dr Cacao gets the sword, and while the soul jam is able to protect him from the curse, the curse starts seeping into it. (I've been making a lot of soul jam Aus recently 👀) ]

He notices that he's been more easily agitated, his mind has been being corrupted, and just generally stuff involving his beserk form (curse au who?) at an unprecedented amount, all while the sword is being inspected for any issues by researchers in the citadel for any issues. Realizing he's becoming more and more dangerous, and things might reach a boiling point, he runs away in the dead of night. Leading him eventually to the COD, but at that point the curse infecting his soul jam has corrupted enough of him to be unable to refuse their offer.

-

In this Au he's kinda unhinged but also silent, the voices in his head and the pain and regret surrounding him make it hard for him to think. DE despite some sorrow for her old friend is able to use this, because he doesn't have the mental capacity to deny any requests of bl00dshed. He's pretty much kinda dissociated from his actions. This all leads to the beginning of fights, attempts to help him, and issues at PV Kingdom.

Design:

His hair was slightly matted from his time in the woods, so DE had to cut it, along with that he's mostly wearing what he had under his usual clothes, but I'd imagine hed get something new later (like choco). He also got a bit of a gradient on his hair ^^ and some corruption on his face.

[some random disc stuff I wanted to include ^^]

#dark cacao crk #Swap!Au #cookie run kingdom #dark cacao cookie #cookie run #dark cacao kingdom #curse!au #berserk dark cacao #dark choco cookie #damn that curse hit harder than the strawberry jam sword #strawberry jam sword #pure vanilla crk #pure vanilla cookie #dark choco crk #cookies of darkness #dark enchantress cookie #soul jam #art #souljam

[play-on-skinners-box]

Others have already been furrying the Raincode characters and doing a phenomenal job, but when I would peruse Danganrompa fanart I really liked seeing different and wildly varying interpretations for the characters' animal choices and now it is my turn, my GOD GIVEN DUTY TO PROVIDE IN THE GENISIS OF THE RAINCODE FANDOM, FOR THE HONOR OF THOSE WHO HAVE COME BEFORE ME.

For all of them I used their pose from the artbook renders. I'll say it's to keep them recognizable but that is actually a lie I'm just lazy.

Secretary Bird Halara:

Halara I did first and they were the one I was most jazzed to do because I love them dearly. I made them a secretary bird and I think it's a PERFECT fit. Ahem allow me to rattle off. Secretary birds are birds, so doomed by the narrative to have to stay away from cats, they are predatory birds and of course Halara would be at the top of the food chain. Speaking of predetory birds, secretary birds are known for their ability TO KICK VENOUMOUS SNAKES TO DEATH, AND THATS JUST TOO GOOD A FIT. They also have plumage that I could easily shape into Halara's kinda smooth swoopy hairstyle, and face markings that could be sort of representative of their glasses! I think the drawing for them is probably the weakest out of the group just because as I went along I improved and started to translate the human designs in less one to one ways, plus the pose Halara has in the artbook doesn't fit perfectly to the really big wing hand things. I still enjoyed making it because H A L A R A N I G H T M A R E but I'm honestly kinda sad at how lackluster it is compared to Fubuki and Viva who got the most interesting details and texture work. NEVER DO YOUR FAVORITE FIRST IT'S A TRAP.

Guinea Pig Desuhiko:

With Desuhiko I was going back and fourth between a few rodents, I just think he kinda looks like one and already had those pikachu cheeks. My first scetch made him a hamster, and while it DID look like him, it felt a little too... Indistinct. Desuhiko's probably my favorite design in the cast just because he looks so distinctive and has a short stocky bodytype I really really love and makes my character designer brain happy, so I swapped hamster for guinea pig. While the guinea pig face doesn't look like him quite as much as the hamster, they are very interesting and distinctive looking which I loved a lot more even with a bit of accuracy sacrificed if that makes sense. Also there are Guinea pigs with spikey wild fur that make it so I could just kinda give him his actual hair and still have it make sense. Guinea pigs are also the perfect size and shape to be thrown like a large softball and out of all the Master Detectives Desuhiko looks like he'd be the most sadisfying to chuck across a room.

Fish Fubuki:

Fubuki was really hard just because it's difficult to anthropomorphize a fish in the same way as a mammal or a avian cause of their structure. She might look a biitttt more like a fantasy creature inspired by a fish than just a fish but she's charming enough I don't completely mind. I got some SOLID advice and looked at some Splatoon NPCs characteristics to try and make her more appealing. So why fish? I got it as a suggestion that I ended up really liking because fish are notorious for their bad memory, live in tanks their whole lives(Fubuki is the definition of sheltered), and they have fins to mimic the shape of Fubukis cloak and hair. I used beta fish for reference, they don't really fit her but just being a fish was good enough for me and at that point I was prioritizing looks. She doesn't even really look like any specific species like the other three to be honest. She's defiantly the outlier of the group but that's fine, she can be special in her own unique way like always. Got a little lazy with making the hair look all that fin-like, but it's kinda the main event of her human design so I wanted to keep it as true to that as possible but looking at it now I think its tooooo copy and paste looking. Her furry design IS my brothers favorite out of the batch so that's gotta count for something!

Flying Fox Bat Vivia:

The vampire looking man was always gonna be a bat, I am but a slave to the whims of fate. I made him specifically a flying fox because they're the largest bat species and therefore can loom ominously. Vampire bat would have been fun too, but they have more of a squished bastard energy that doesn't really fit Vivia. Bats also are known for their weird sleeping habits, ala upside. Viva isn't sleeping upside down or anything like that but he DOES snooze in some weird places so I think comparing him to a bat in multiple aspects is very apt! His drawing and animal design is probably my favorite, I really like the wings, and the bat feet are super weird I loved doing those. I did have trouble incorperating his hair, flying foxes have pretty smooth heads, but they do have sort of a mane thing going on so I tried to put some of his hair texture and shape there instead. Sorry I did not give him is edgy edgy hair cut, I too love it very much but it was simply not to be. I did try to mimic it's vibe with the patterning on his head though, an illusion of his bangs.

I'm very happy with this lineup overall, they're some neat little designs if I do say so myself! I might do more but I have the chronic problem of not being able to sit still for a long time to do a BUNTCH of guys again(though for the record I would make Seth the most delightfully storm drain gutter looking creature). I also kinda wanna do Makoto and Yuma cause someone suggested a REALLY good idea for them, but the concept for Makoto with this idea would be more of an involved design that I wouldn't be able to use all of his normal outfit for so it'd probably take longer than average.

TLDR: Furries amiright?

#rain code #raincode #halara nightmare #desuhiko thunderbolt #fubuki clockford #vivia twilight

[ask-the-totally-real-peppino]

Looks at Pep's profile on toyhouse:

Oooh, interesting stuff here! Also lots of sadness in the links! More thoughts below:

<"–and even being rescued himself in a few situations.">

<"- he and Porto helped me home when I was struggling to move, let alone keeping my form together -">

<"Porto, and Bello, found me when I wasn't in the best place, and very vulnerable">

My first thought was imagining Pep in 'Sopping Wet Creature' form being in either Porto or Bello's arms, but it's more likely him having a panic attack and both of them helping him get home.

<"but I realised what they needed, and I gave it to them - I still have that scar... I didn't even know I could get new scars...">

Wait, what do you mean new scars? And hmmm, clones don't really have blood (at least not like regular blood), but given what we currently know (or at least theorize) about Pep, perhaps he was the only one that could've helped Mirtillo.

(On a related note: Mirtillo being purple and considered to be Pep's baby. And a certain picture with a baby wearing purple. I'm not saying they're the same, just that maybe there's some subconscious connections here. Maybe the loss hits harder because he has lost his child before. It's twice now that he was taken away from his family.)

Also the dramatic irony of having an idea of what exactly happened to his family hurts! And every single one of Pep's links being one-sided thoughts! I'm over here making myself sadder theorizing that the last parts of each one are the exact thoughts he had while searching for them! That even though he was able to see the world outside the tower, he couldn't fully enjoy that freedom because in the back of his mind he's thinking that he failed them, that he was too weak and couldn't protect them–

He hopes that maybe, just maybe, he could find them. To be able to hug them again, hold them all in his arms and never let go. He would never ever lose them again.

Okay, I'm done for now.

On happier thoughts, Happy 1 year to this askblog! (It's March 1st where I am) Thank you for sharing this story with us! We appreciate all the love and care you bring with your designs and writing.

Always remember to take your time and have fun with it! Take care of yourself, Bean.

(Shy Theorist)

(AUGH, Shy Theorist Anon, must you sucker punch me right in the heart on this joyous occasion!!! (silly/lighthearted)

But you bring up various points! And I will provide context for others where applicable, like right now;

[Pep's updated reference on toyhou.se] and the [links where he shares his thoughts on his fambily members]

First point about [Porto] and [Bello] rescuing Pep I actually hope to touch on soon! Well, 'soon' as in 'within the next few story posts' - when they will actually be up is yet to be determined jfgksgd - but you're not too far off hehe

Second point about Pep getting a new scar - this is a little confusing since I don't draw scars in my cartoony style (for some reason that I do not remember) - unless it's like [Halloumi's] missing eye scar, which is just a big 'X' - but a lot of the characters do have visible scarring!

We just gotta hit them with the unsilly beam, like this;

And there they are! Although Pep's 'scars' are just markings to mimic Peppino's scars - except for one - while clones do not typically scar due to their healing/regeneration factor, it is possible

[Mirtillo] and [the baby in that 'certain' picture] both being purple babies might be intentional, or it might be bc I have a bias for purple, I'll never tell - but I do confirm they are not the same being, since Mirtillo has been depicted as a newborn clone (the 'gummy bear' stage) and clones made out of human cadavers do not have this stage

And yes!!! Pep doesn't know what happened to any of them, and he misses them all so much!!!

But they just might be closer than he thinks...

... Any way, thank you so much! Your kind words really mean a lot to me, and I always love hearing your thoughts and theories - even if I am a coy bastard about them sometimes, fkgfksdf

I know I keep saying that hopefully we get back to it, and I really mean it, but it in the meantime I just do what I can, and drop a few crumbs now and then hehe)

#ooc post #lore tag #theory post #why did I use different words for these tags kjfvdkdgf #oh well #but thank you shy theorist anon! #also gonna put a tag for real Pep just in case #body horror

[madwheelerz]

Seeing as a lot more compelling evidence than the evidence used in the original theory has come to light, I’ve decided to redo the manifestation theory. So here we go and far warning for any potential plot twist reveals.

Overview

The manifestation theory is a theory of mine that the show operates as one huge D&D game and that a lot of the settings that we see such as characters, locations, and events aren’t real, at least not in the traditional sense. They exist in the real world, but they originated from a child’s mind. Mike’s mind.

First let’s see why Mike would’ve randomly started manifesting monsters. The simple answer is that he wouldn’t not without a reason and certainly not on purpose. What I think Mike did is that he tried to turn back time and succeeded, but with the consequence of having expended the reach of his mind a little too far and releasing beings from the mind. Mike is the DM after all so if anyone might be pulling the strings it’s him.

Let’s provide some evidence that the events aren’t actually happening first.

Do I have your attention yet? Good. What I think happened is that Will died. He was murdered in another timeline and after around a year of learning to use his powers Mike turned back the clock to the last time, he saw Will alive, the initial D&D game. This would’ve been something of a save point and is why so many important things show up in relations to that game.

At 8:15, Karen stops the game. Will dies after rolling a seven, Mike wanted twenty more minutes. The works. Will leaves and is kidnapped into the upside down. If Mike is the writer here, then Will is acting as the main character. The game is built around protecting Will except it’s hitting a point beyond Mike’s control.

The barrier between Mike’s mind and reality is weak and it keeps getting weaker the more time passes. The involvement of time travel explains Mr. Clarke bringing up that multiple world’s interpretation and the references to curiosity voyages.

Mike is highly suspicious in the way that he seems to be constantly framed over dialogue suggesting a connection to other worlds and the “Vale of Shadows”, which is what the kids were originally calling the upside-down.

There is also the way Mike sometimes knows stuff and is completely unable to explain how.

So, none of this is real. We’re in a kid’s game and Mike is the DM. This I think is the reason that the three playlist left belong to Will, Billy – literally the other William, and Mike. Mike’s playlist description is also referring to a 5-hour (season?) D&D session despite the fact that none of Mike’s campaigns are that short nor does his playlist actually last for that long.

So, Mike dies = the upside down dies or something to that effect. The Hawkins National Lab isn’t real, but wasn’t one of their main goal to discover time travel?

Weren’t they pushing so hard that they released monsters onto the world. No one from the lab would’ve seen Will prior to his kidnapping to the upside-down, at least not in enough detail to recreate it quite that perfectly, but Mike saw him. They spoke, Mike was acting weird, Will told Mike that the Demogorgon got him. Why do I think the lab isn’t real well…

This is the very first DM book that Mike has. We get a nice shot of it right before Dustin starts to read about the “Vale of Shadows”. As he’s reading, we see Hopper traveling through the interior of HNL. This is also Mike’s first campaign book, so it makes an appearance twice, which is interesting simply because the DM books don’t seem to appear twice, but especially not in the same season.

When Mike narrates from it is connected with the guy in the lab running from a Demogorgon. It’s also interesting to note that the book is the only DM book that we can clearly see has the design of a building on it. So a building design connected with the interior of the lab. It also carries a small drawing of the cardinal directions right above the building and considering that later Dustin is using a compass to lead them to the lab that’s pretty interesting.

This and the fact that Mike’s D&D campaigns take place in the basement and most gates only open in a basement of some sorts. For example, the HNL basement and the starcourt basement, but also the Mindflayer’s main operation being in the basement of steelworks. Basements, basements everywhere.

Why do I think that Mike might’ve turned back time first?

This and the way that Mike is constantly associated with running out of time. With that I’ll leave you to it, but if you decide to watch the show with this interpretation fair warning it gets trippy.

#slay #manifestation theory but part 2 and make it compelling #manifesation theory #byler #<- for attention #jason's speech is insane too tbh

[ruckis--rookie]

there is a specific art piece of your’s that seems to have vanished off the internets: “Dark Lord Gerakobitz - Bad End AU”. and I know it disappeared recently because I have a cross-post from your DeviantArt from November 2023

https://www. tumblr.com/loveandmad/ 733130379991629824/dark-lord-gerakobitz-bad-end-au- by-ruckis-rookie (remove the spaces) that now goes to a 404 page

Yeahhh about that. A lot of old art of mine of Fawful and the other M&L lineup has up and vanished. Twould be on purpose.

Y'see, after some very personal events I tried distancing myself from the M&L fandom. The game series remains very sentimental to me, but paired with the personal reasons and the poor treatment Nintendo was giving their fans, I took a long (possibly few) year hiatus. One of several reasons for my hiatus was guilt that I had strayed so far from the source material that the cast of characters didn't seem like the og cast of characters, rather OCs made to fit the mold of them. So by the time I came back I had revamped all the designs I had for the M&L lineup were revamped to be featured as an antagonistic group for my nonfandom oc story called "Order of the Stars" that I'm working on.

The one inspired by my old Fawful design, now named "Geragera", is VERY special to me. He was the one I projected onto the most in the past and he was the one I worked the hardest to distance from the source material without changing him so much that what I had built was no longer there. He's basically a second Fursona to me now. Words can't describe what he means to me.

But despite the many reminders that I gave to old fans that I would be moving on and if I were to ever return to M&L I'd be referencing the source material closer, people still kept missing the memo. Even years later some get confused and it really made me realize how much of an influence I had on shaping the fanon Fawful that's remembered today. It was... incredibly disheartening and upsetting given how hard I worked to make Gera his own character. And furthermore it didn't make sense to me HOW comparisons were still being drawn. I had disappeared for a while to let the fire and the hype die down, in what world to people think THIS

Looks like THIS

If anything at this point Gera takes more inspiration from Yoshi in appearance, I'm shocked more comparisons haven't been drawn to the dinosaur because then I might actually be flattered

But given the circumstances I'd been silently deleting a lot of my old works and archiving them on a personal thumbdrive. It initially started with things I'd see pop up in my notifications that people liked. If I deemed a picture too close to my old fanon Fawful I'd save and delete it. But eventually it got so upsetting to me that in an anger fueled moment I went on an art purge to try and erase the impact I left, or at least scrub what I could to let Gera have a proper limelight instead of being stuck in the shadow of the thing that inspired him. People were also confusing Order of the Stars for an AU, which it's very much not.

While normally I wouldn't have minded the exposure, in fact I would have been flattered had it been years prior (even though the same pic was very much up on Tumblr at some point), that picture was a sore reminder of the past I was so desperate to distance myself. One of many, and reminded me I had to scrub more than just Tumblr... and might have possibly been the catalyst to the purge? I dunno, I slept since then.

The closest you'll get to it now is a horror themed bad end AU that I made that follows a very similar concept

And this is very generous considering the hell I've gone through. It got so bad that I haven't felt very compelled to draw Fawful anymore for fear of further confusion, heck, more recently I decided that I was just going to exclusively post any future M&L art I make over here because I got tired of people finding reasons to draw comparisons on other sites too. I even thought about dropping ANY M&L drawings related to Beanish just to get away from it, but decided against it. I've even started putting more emphasis on Gera's snout just to make him seem less Beanish, which sucks because I've had to stray away from what makes my style mine to begin with. I could easily change his colors, but I can't bring myself to. He's been like this for years now and it's a characteristic that I can't easily let go of, nor do I want to. I've very begrudgingly changed my Beanish HC so that they don't have blue tongues and blood anymore (which was initially nspired by a beta Cackletta sprite having a blue tongue). It feels like I'm having to strip any and all hc personality I gave to certain fandom characters just to create more distance, which sucks.

It gets hurtful after a while, especially considering Geragera has more than just one inspiration... but yeah, a lot of my old stuff got purged and personally archived for my own growth. Truly sorry about that, and for the being a lengthy explanation. Truth be told I also needed a reason to get this off of my chest but I was never prompted until now. For future reference though (and this goes for just about anyone) I would greatly appreciate if you asked permission before making a crosspost sharing my work. There's a good chance I probably would have said no on that one. Anything that remains on this site is either too sentimental to get rid of or still close enough to the source material to stick around.

#mail found under the secret rock #ruckis borks #even now I'm debating whether or not to add key tags I'm afraid people wont take this well #but I might have to #mario and luigi rpg #fawful #order of the stars #geragera guffaw #just to get the word out their and prevent future confusion #*there