#I know prolly something can happen and I'll get rid of it soon enough after some screenshots

[tignya]

My guilty pleasures are those shitty app games that shoot a million ads at you that I play for a bit on airplane mode before getting bored(surprisingly good time waster when high)

I've found one that's where you just rip open card packs, and it's got cool art, but it took me 5 minutes to realize it's all AI art, since there's no damn way this much effort was put into a shitty mobile game.

My question is: would it be alright to redraw the ones I think are cool, and while ofc not claim them as my own, not source the images? It's AI, so stolen art to begin with, but I want to know if it's morally bad to draw them anyways. Since despite being AI, some of the lil creatures are still pretty damn cool.

[nctsukashii-archive-blog]

"Hiii." He stumbles away from the doorway, entering the other's apartment. "Kokichi's workin. I can never be left alone, or else I'll do dumb shit huh?" He stares confusingly at the objects on the table, giggling to himself. "There was.. Something I gotta-" He interrupts himself, gasping as he headed towards the poor confused cat. "Oh no you're so cute." He's tearing up. "I would live for this damn cat."

When Saihara practically tripped his way into his room, Hoshi couldn’t stop the pang of sadness that his in his chest. How many times had this happened now? How many times had be seen Saihara shit-faced or tear-stricken? More times than anyone should have. The apprentice swallows his guilt at the words, ‘I can never be left alone or else I’ll do something dumb’, practically echoing in his head for a bit. How terrible, he mused to himself. Saihara’s frowns and tears were much more common than smiles and laughs.

“Careful with him,” Hoshi chuckled- although anyone could tell that it was forced, “Yuki needs to be treated softly.” The hour was then spent watching the drunk from afar roll around on the carpet, cat pawing around and an occasional chime when the detective was being a little too rough. Thankfully after a while Yuki escaped to his bedroom (he’d have to buy an apology treat for the guy), leaving Hoshi the ample opportunity to lay the bumbling drunk onto the couch to sleep. “He’ll play more in the morning. He’s tired, like you. Bucket’s on the floor in front of you if you need it. Just ask if you need anything, I’ll be right here.” Because like hell was he going to leave the foot of the couch after all that. 

Couldn’t have Saihara hurt himself after all. Ouma would prolly get pissy, and overall it would just be worse for everyone in the long run. That, and it just hurt to leave family behind. Not that Hoshi deserved something like that anyways. Once or twice Saihara had gotten up, a drink of water here, a trip to the bathroom there (although a part of him wished Saihara had sliced his neck open with a razor when Hoshi himself wasn’t looking- at least when he’d get sent back to prison for a confession of homicide he’d be executed on the spot), before the latter hours of the night started to roll in without interruption.That was when his mind started to wander.

Maybe Saihara was finally realizing how dumb it was to bring a killer such as himself out of prison. All that empathy quickly diminishing once he truly realized what it meant to live near someone so horrible. Finally getting his head out of the clouds to see the stares people gave him when he went out, or the insults barely veiled in crowds as business would be carried out. Killers didn’t deserve second changes, and maybe the only thing that helped him realize this was a bottle of booze and tear stained cheeks. 

Maybe Saihara was disgusted by the prisoner after all. Once he truly got to see how much the prisoner tried his best, without the confines of a prison school for help, it was just too repugnant to handle. Not that Hoshi would disagree with such an assessment; he himself held nearly nothing positive to say for himself no matter how much he tried and wanted to be normal and not so negative. A part of him believed Saihara would have just said it to his face, like the times he had truly gotten so angry at work, but that was just an assumption right? Did he even really know Saihara all beyond assuming things? 

….No, he didn’t really. “What a friend I am, huh?” He asked aloud- voice barely a whisper. He knew jack shit about Saihara- absolutely nothing besides the general idea that Saihara is nice, or is really good at saving face. God, how blind was he in the end? Blind from the truth and the world by rose-tinted glasses that had thought someone would genuinely care or respect anyone like him. No wonder Saihara was drinking his guts out, it was the most obvious signal besides the avoidance of eye contact. Saihara just hated him, and this was the way he showed it without saying so.

But who was he kidding? Certainly not himself. Saihara was nice- a really nice guy, Hoshi knew it beyond assumptions just from the way the detective looked when he helped others. That smile and little glint of life in his eyes, that was honest kindness. A kindness he barely got to see. Saihara couldn’t lie to save his fucking life, despite the fact he lived with a liar. Ironic in a sense, but that only made the idea Saihara hated him dissipate into something far far worse.

Maybe Saihara was just stressed. Stressed about a killer so close, stressed about the endless paperwork that meant for him, stressed about the title of Supervisor (which Saihara had admitted he wasn’t quite qualified for, god why hadn’t he seen it sooner?) Saihara was trying his hardest to make it through it all- all the difficulty and the trial and error and all the police hearings and the mandatory visits and the papers and the people that talked about him behind his back and the rumors and the days he just had to spend near someone so revolting- it was probably killing him. Saihara was dying right before his eyes, booze in hand and face always wet- god Hoshi was dumber than he thought. This is just Saihara’s way of coping with stress. He’s too stressed out by everything and it’s all his fault for it. It’s all his fault for the way Saihara was hurting himself. Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? It was so obvious. But he already knew the answer to that didn’t he?

He really was an idiot.A soundless laugh left his ugly mug, leaving nothing but a pit in his stomach. It felt so empty inside, nothing but a terrible sense of misery and pity and nothing that he wanted to do anything to get rid of it. He wanted to scream, to cry, to punch something, to hurt something, to kill something or himself or scratch or bleed or die die die-But he couldn’t bring himself to do anything. He was just too tired. Tired of trying, tired of hurting people close to him, tired of being alive. Too tired- too lazy, to just end it all himself and save everyone the trouble. Maybe because deep down he knew he selfishly wanted to stay alive for whatever reason; to find purpose in his empty shell of a life. But what if his purpose was to only hurt people? Did he really want to live if all he did was hurt others?No, he didn’t.

But it’s wrong to think Saihara would just be okay with scrubbing blood out of the carpet, or would want to throw out a corpse into the dumpster. The detective was stressed and hurting enough as is, he didn’t deserve to have to spruce up a corpse for officers when they’d inevitably come through the door. If he wanted to help, there was really only one way he’d be able to do it. 

A shiver went down his spine at the thought- he’d forgotten just how awful it truly was since he’d been living near Saihara. It was horrifying almost, just thinking back to the same old way he’d been before. But, it was the right thing to do- the right thing for Saihara’s health. He wouldn’t let anymore family be hurt because of himself.

By the time morning came up, Hoshi had come up with a plan. A simple plan, but a plan nonetheless. It would make Saihara happy. It would make Saihara lively. It wouldn’t hurt Saihara anymore. It would save Saihara’s reputation from anymore defeat, it would make Saihara be honest, it would make Saihara guilt free. It was the best for both of them, no matter how much it hurt the prisoner to think about. 

A click of the door and he was out, note placed on the coffee table in front of the couch as well as some Bufferin tablets and a glass of water. ‘Take two. I’m getting coffee and breakfast. Be back soon. Please be safe. I’ll have food when I get back.’