scalpxls - Tumblr blog

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op is a transphobe lol

Okay decided to post what I had done!

I think I have a good direction for Lulu, but Angie’s personality needs work, and I think I want a new name for Freckles. This was written on the fly! Also don’t let the coral fool you, I absolutely did not design that and just found a REALLY awesome coral brush. (Available here!) I did design SOME coral to make everything feel coherant and in the same location, and I did design Lulu’s home and all the sea anemonies. I designed them to feel as coherent with the coral brush as I could.

I think visually I’m really happy with it, but the writing needs work.

So. I hope you guys liked it!

PS: to fit all the files I had to include 2 pages per each image, so I definitely say to click on them to read them properly. It looks like a mess otherwise. So. Enjoy! EDIT: Fixed it, clicking on the image just made them so small- it just made sense to have all the images on top of each other. Sorry that makes it so long!

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Loverofpiggies does NOT act responsibly around minors. Please, if you are a minor, stay away.

I’ve removed their name because they’d prefer to keep their privacy. A little anecdote from me, too, is that CQ / loverofpiggies ‘befriended’ me when I was 16 (I’d been a fan since 14) and after turning 18, she was willing to do pretty hardcore nsfw scenes with me. While I offered, yes, she was 28 years old and should have said no.

She was also willing to date a 19 year old when she was 26. While not illegal, with the other ways she’s acted around minors, it’s best to just stay away and not support her.

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HEY GUYS I’m so sorry for the radio silence, I’ve been Hella Busy and also got pkmn Sword so.... Yeah it’s taken over my life a bit.... I’ll be back soon though!!

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @vapidhope​:

The image speaks, and her hands clamp down on her ears in reply. She’s burning, anger and anguish meeting and tangling within her to overload her senses. This is worse than nothing– at least boredom let her wither in it’s grasp. This is a hot flame, threatening to consume her whole. She wants to scream for Chisa, beg her to make this stop, but her words are choked in her throat, eyes burning with tears and any semblance of her fragile sanity waning with her ability to speak.

Eventually she slows, eyes glazed and hard as she turns to look back at him. It’s like ice now, her mind still shattering and reforming.

  “ … why … why are you here. “

Robotic and slow, her eyes watching him like a hawk. She can feel herself shifting, her attempt at remaining singular fracturing like a mirror. The lilt of her voice changes with each word, but she never stops staring.

Why was he here....?

How was he meant to answer that when he didn’t even know himself? He felt like he was being stabbed all over again, Junko’s iciness hurting more than her false kindness. At least then, he could pretend...

“...The... The doctors...”

He stops, clearing his throat and moving to his knees- Purely because with his injuries, staying crouched was far too painful.

“...My therapists. Told me I should... See you again.”

His gaze drops to the ground, fingers digging into the messy present wrapping as insecurity seeps into his frame. Terrified of being rejected again, because if Junko didn’t want him, then nobody did, and he wasn’t sure if he could even live with that. 

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @eludum​:

the wound is deep, though not particularly wide. it’s going to need stitches, for sure, but she doesn’t comment, knowing he’s already aware. determined, she keeps going, despite his protests.

“you’re doing good,” chiaki says, her breath by his ear, “keep counting for me. ten, eleven, twelve… it’ll be done with this soon.”

the cotton pad, and her hand, is coated in his blood. it’s a sick feeling on her skin, but her focus is elsewhere. she’s not paying any attention to the state her body is in right now.

once the wound has been cleaned and sterilized, she presses a gauze pad to it. applying just enough pressure to slow the blood oozing out without causing him too much discomfort, she finishes the job by wrapping his shoulder in the bandages, then cutting them. it’s a messy job, but it’ll hold him until they can get a real doctor to look at him.

“…it’s done.”

It’s through a life of neglect that Matsuda finds comfort in Nanami’s praise, quietening down and automatically relaxing despite the pain thanks to her words. With shaky vocals, he resumes counting, mind floating through the pain.

“E-Eighteen, nineteen, twenty...”

He breathes out a sigh, slumping back down once the bandage is snipped and set. No more fiddling. Not until he could get proper painkillers.

Slowly opening his eyes, he shifts his gaze across to her- Before averting it to the ground instead. Vulnerable. He felt too vulnerable, too raw, in front of someone he didn’t fully know wouldn’t judge him for it or use it against him. He holds his arms against his bare stomach defensively, trying to hide the scars littered along them.

“...Thanks. Nanami. Maybe they’ll just cut my arm off when we get back.”

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @eludum​:

chiaki’s jaw clenches; she can’t help but catch sight of matsuda’s scars, now that he’s exposed them. at any other time she’d be flushing and turning away from this sight, but right now, she has to stay pragmatic.

“…hold still.” she knows just how much this is going to hurt. she starts carefully wiping away the blood, exposing the wound, still slowly seeping from his shoulder. her touch is gentle, as kind as she can possibly manage without sacrificing efficiency.

next comes the disinfectant. this is the hard part, where she’s going to have to ignore his protests and focus solely on the task at hand. wetting down a cotton pad, she takes a deep breath. “count to thirty.” her tone is strict and firm. despite his ornery temperament, she fully expects him to obey.

the counting is for him, not her. it’ll help distract him, as she starts applying the cleanser to his shoulder, working diligently so it’ll be over with by the time he’s done.

Amid his other scars- Nanami might be able to see the faint ones upon his now bare wrists. Usually hidden by his sleeves, most had faded by now, but there were certainly the few that appeared to be a little more recent.

Matsuda sucks in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes shut tight and gritting his teeth in preparation for what was to come. He knew the procedures, knew exactly what to expect, but that didn’t help when the searing pain shoots through his arm and draws a breathy groan from him.

“...O-One. Two. Three-”

Fuck, he was almost glad that after being stabbed by Junko, he’d passed out- at least then he didn’t have to deal with the painful repercussions of cleaning. He swallows hard, digging his heels into the floor and pressing his skull back against the wall.

“-Four, five, six-”

At least Nanami was gentle. At least she gave some semblance of a shit, different from other foundation members that would likely take joy from his pained cries and sticky blood. 

“-Seven, e-eight, nine... F-Fuck... Fuck...!”

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Send a word for a specific text from my muse to yours.

Send ‘drunk’ to receive a drunk text from my muse. Send ‘sad’ to receive a sad/down text from my muse. Send ‘mad’ to receive a mad/angry text from my muse. Send ‘happy’ to receive a happy/excited text from my muse. Send ‘tired’ to receive a slow/sleepy text from my muse. Send ‘busy’ to receive slow texts from my muse. Send ‘bored’ to receive a disinterested text from my muse.

BONUS: Send ‘reveal’ for a text where my muse reveals their true feelings for yours.

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @vapidhope​:

There is a horrific feeling in her chest, threatening to burn her alive. It feels like bile and fire mingling and choking her, screwing her face into the deepest scowl she can manage, one tinged with pain. Falls forward on her hands, grabbing her chest as she feels herself start to scream, and sob.

It’s an uncontrolled emotion, nothing she’s ever felt before. Nothing like her practiced facades, nothing like the haunting loneliness and boredom that stems from the fractures her mind is left in. Her agony feels warranted, like this is payback for the knife in his back. Eye for an eye, and all that.

Her whole body shakes with the effort to dispel itself of the furious tears that spill from her eyes like rivers.

It’s not real. Her mind is twisting again. She’s relapsing. She promised–

  “ stop ! ju-just, leave … leave me alone. stop showing me this. just let me … live with it … stop burning it into me … “

Her scowl SCARES him- Fills him with an instinctive fear that tells him to run, but at least it's SOMETHING other than the facade he'd become so used to. Wanted to run, but that wasn't fair, not when she'd seen him in a similar state on the day of his mother's funeral, curled up in a ball and wailing, tearing at his hair and cursing himself for being so useless.

No, he forces himself to stay put, gritting his teeth and watching her agony- Before slowly stepping forward towards her, making sure to kick the scissors out of her reach as he crouches down.

The doctors had said something about being clinically insane. He hated doctors.

"...Junko..."

Why was she crying if she never loved him? Did she really hate him that much?

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @eludum​:

“so have i,” chiaki states matter-of-factly, “but that doesn’t mean we’ve developed animmunity to it. it’s not like a flu shot.”

what was supposed to be a routine supply run– along with delivering future foundation’s “prisoner” to a lab where he could be of use– had gone sour. their bodyguards’ fates were unknown; the two of them had been instructed to run, and so they had, chiaki thankful that the shoulder wound was the worst that had been inflicted upon either of them.

she’s already pulling out disinfectant, gauze pads, and bandages. “hold still, and shut up.”

when the time comes, they’ll need to scout ahead, to see if their transportation has been ransacked. if their bodyguards are still alive, they’ll be there. if not, they’ll need to secure another method of travel.

chiaki gives matsuda a hard look. “your shirt needs to come off.” an unspoken threat: if you don’t cooperate, i’m going to cut your sleeve off with these scissors and you might “accidentally” get scratched in the process.

“Ugh…”

If Matsuda had learned one valuable lesson in his life of misfortune and lies, it had been that defying a determined girl was a death sentence. Literally, sometimes- And while he doubts Nanami would ever do anything so heinous to him, he’s smart enough to shut his mouth.

The demand to take his shirt off isn’t heeded without complaint, though. He groans, shakily removing his hand from the wound and instead fumbling to undo his shirt buttons. He hated being so exposed, but as a doctor, he understood WHY it had to be done.

Unfortunately.

With a strained exhale, he peels the sticky material away from the stab wound, shivering from the cold against his exposed skin and balling it up to toss aside with his uninjured arm. His head rests back against the wall as he squeezes his eyes shut, clenching his fists to keep from making any noises.

“…F-Fuck. Could be like a flu shot. The brain… Can be trained to react a certain way to almost anything…”

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Reblog if your muse has ever killed someone.

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【ロンパ】松田ログ２【ごた混ぜ】

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Black White - A tied-up Yasuke is transported into a dark hospital. He ends up in the operating room and a group of Monokuma doctors surround him. The red light of the operating room lights up. From the outside, silhouettes of something drill-like can be seen. Almost immediately, the operating room explodes. The explosion is big enough to destroy the entire hospital. Inside the wreckage, a few pieces of paper were found. On them are hand drawn pictures that look like a Monokuma doctor, with a warning that states that he is a fake doctor, as it appears Yasuke died in the explosion. This execution is only shown in the Official Fanbook.

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @vapidhope​:

The blonde sits on the floor, hair undone and extensions pulled up by the seams long ago. Half-curled into a ball, staring at a wall. She looks like a porcelain doll, delicate and unmoving from her position on the floor. Not when there’s a knock. Not when the door opens. Not when footsteps grace her ears. She just watches the wall, tracing patterns with her now bare nails.

Nothing about her looks as it used too– the bright blonde has dulled, and the harsh blue of her eyes now a stormy blue. She’s wrapped in a thick hoodie and short shorts, a cascade of cuts and bruises, obviously self made, marring the pale white of her legs.

She’s more tanned than she used to be, too.

Her hands move to some scissors on the floor, looking them over slowly in thought. Thinks to snip at her hair, but then her eyes finally find Matsuda and they drop with a clatter to the floor.

Maybe it was a mistake coming here- Because every part of this HURTS. The broken shell of the woman he once knew was a stark reminder that nothing was the same, they’d been defeated, there was nobody left for them but each other.

Usually so witty, Matsuda found himself speechless, words dying in his throat when their eyes meet.

“...”

What was he meant to say?

“...Surprise,” He manages to croak out, glancing to the floor. It was easier than looking at her. “...’Guess I’m not dead.”

It seemed like, in those final moments, he’d had so much he wanted to say, to ask, to yell. Infinite things that he no longer had the time for, begging her to tell him the truth with her name on his lips. So why now could he think of nothing? Why was he so willing to push those things aside just to be with her for five minutes? He didn’t understand. There was so much he didn’t understand anymore.

“I bought you something. Don’t have much money anymore, but, uh... Hope you like it.”

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ˢᵗᵃʳᵗᵉʳ | @vapidhope​

It’s ironic, Matsuda thinks.

Bringing a gift to the woman that tried to kill you.

No, not only that- Physically assaulted you, destroyed your life, killed all of your friends and manipulated you to the point of committing murder, thus resulting in your qualifications being stripped and legal action keeping you under constant supervision and scrutiny.

Yep. Pretty stupid.

But here he was, leaning heavily against wall outside Enoshima’s new bedroom, wrapped gift clutched within his hands. To say he was terrified was an understatement. The last time he’d seen her, it had been covered in blood and taking his dying breaths... An image he’d been unable to stop dreaming about since the incident occurred. 

His therapists said it was important to face this. Important for his recovery, and destructive tendencies. Maybe he’d be able to move on- That didn’t stop his trembling, though.

He finally inhales a full breath, turning around and abruptly knocking on the door, not waiting for an answer before pushing it open and stepping into the doorway.

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“Imagine deciding you want to be a teacher. Tragic.”

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ᶜᵒⁿᵗᶦⁿᵘᵉᵈ | @the-taboo-king​:

 “Pathetic creature,” Gundham snarls down at the man currently face down in the dirt before him.

  Apparently this one is important. Something about him actually mattering or creating the Wraith. Gundham doesn’t always pay attention on the rare occasions when the Remnants meet. Much of it feels beneath him, the former breeder ignoring much of what comes out of his fellow Remnants’ mouths. They all disgusting, insignificant humans that do not deserve his interest. Only his goddess matters, and this one appears to have her affections.

  He can’t see why. He sees no greatness in this thing writhing before him. He just sees another broken human, barely holding onto life. Another thing to turn into terrified bloody pieces. How he loathes the anger the sight of this creature creates. It shouldn’t make him furious. The thing is so wretched.

   He strides closer, giving a lazy kick to role the man onto his back. Gundham then places a heavy boot right onto the center of his chest. He leans forwards, pressing his weight down onto his sternum.

   “Must you truly get in my way like this?” He asks, voice deceptively soft. “I have no desire to waste my time with you.”

Matsuda chokes, his lungs burning, vision blurring. Maybe in the past he could have fought back- He’d faced bullies before, gotten into altercations with boys much bigger- But those times were long past. Junko had certainly made sure that he didn’t escape without his weaknesses, physical setbacks that the others seemed to take such sick pleasure in exploiting.

He’d tried to push himself back up, coughing up viscous blood into the dirt, before he’s kicked onto his back and the damning weight of his best friend’s attack dog is forced upon his chest. He wheezes, automatically moving to grab at the man’s boot and uselessly dig in his ragged nails.

“Y-You--”

Pauses to suck in a desperate breath, struggling with the pressure upon his lungs. His tongue flicks out to lick away some of the blood that had smeared from his nose to his lips, adding to the metallic tang that overwhelmed him.

“-If you kill me, she’ll f-fucking hate you,” He claims on a wheeze, knowing it was entirely a lie. She never cared about him. She’d made that perfectly clear.

“You want your mistress to disown you? S-Stupid mutt...!!”