#ahem anyways enjoy

[1driedpersimmon]

They beat each other up so punishment is this for an hour

[xia0ming56]

doodle!! Dump!!!

[ricky-mortis]

Curtwen Week Day 2: Chimera

[katballesteros]

Sachi

Commissioned by @inusmasha for @mustardyellowsunshine

Enjoy, Robin! :)

[oseike]

An idea: kdj's return isn't as simple as him just reappearing, but the stories that reform him appear as strains of text, fragments of rebuilding stories, that storm around him.

Hsy and yjh's voices and their hands grabbing his loosely-formed ones can help solidify him and keep him grounded while his soul and mind put all his stories back in place. I'd imagine internally he's quite scrambled for a hot second, perhaps reliving memories rapidly - and maybe even glimpsing worlds he dreamed of on the subway - so having anchors would help him not get lost in the deluge of information.

EDIT thanks to @princess-of-purple-prose for ID text that I didn't even think about WHOOP

[ID: An Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint comic of Han Sooyoung and Yoo Joonghyuk entering Kim Dokja's hospital at the end of chapter 551. Over the hospital bed is a whirling tornado of lines of illegible black text which spreads tendrils of letters throughout the room.

The two stare in surprise as the letters float through the room, their hair blowing back from the force. They both reach towards the vortex, where a hand composed of letters reaches back. The last panel shows them both sitting with Dokja on his bed and supporting him as he gasps, letters crawling over his skin and rising off him. End ID]

[skrunksthatwunk]

something he can't put into words.

[kleinv01]

I don't know if it had been asked or not, but...

I've been having this imagination like; what if there's a failed first Klein Physical Bot prototype who suddenly self-activating on its own one day only to realize it was abandoned and, well, a fail product. What if the first prototype trying to hunt down like, the rest of other functional Klein bot out there because it jealous over the care and affections the other bots getting? Or maybe, worse, not targetting other bots but hunting down Klein Users.

And following that what-ifs...

I was suddenly wondering if Klein (in his physical bot form) is implemented with self-destruction program? Or a weapon? In case, you know, let's just say MC is in a very dangerous situation to the point where Klein engaged in a... Fight, i guess, and had to take drastic measure -like self-destruct for example-.

It's just a what-ifs that's been stuck in my mind, so... sorry if it feels random 😂.

(Btw, i like the game so much T_T. Klein is so, sooo cute! I want to squish him like a jelly 💜. And -i want dolores to step on me too- sera is the best :"D).

://SYSTEM_MESSAGE_ANSWERED !

in the game's narrative, it's not possible for earlier models to coexist with newer ones, especially when the fully functioning v.0.1 model (the one our MC has) is in use. once a new version is deemed operational, previous prototypes are immediately destroyed to prevent any confusion or overlap within the workers, particularly since they look more or less identical to one another.

but for the sake of angst; that self-activated android would only target the other Klein androids. had it succeeded in 'killing' one, the company would be able to track down that rogue android upon the discovery of a missing prototype and secure it for further inspection to learn from it and prevent future mistakes.

Klein doesn’t quite... have a self-destruction feature, but he is equipped with a shutdown button and the capability to deactivate himself (his system) under specific conditions. the external shutdown button can be used by his user or others when necessary, while his internal shutdown programming is only accessible through his own system. and of course all of these are implemented for safety measures for both klein android and his users

[1driedpersimmon]

-

The story continues…

[good-vs-evo]

oooh i was just tryna find some huayin content because i was bored and a little tired and wanted to cheer myself up AND GUESS WHAT

i thought tumblr was a safe place for me to be insane and queer and have a good time w my silly little rarepairs and polycules and hcs

but apparently. i can't ask for one place to be silly lmao there are ppl on tumblr still being like haters... for ships they could easily avoid? and putting it... under the huayin tag? which is, you know. the uh. the intention is kind of confusing. esp since ppl search up that tag w the intent to consume content related to their personal interests and probably don't want to see ppl hating on what they enjoy in the process <3

once again i don't really see the point in so avidly hating a ship that ur tagging it... in hopes that ppl who ship it will see it? because... they're ppl who ship it... and will likely not agree w u... and will likely just see u as another hater... and either ignore or fight and like where will that get anyone? sincerely? and hating an artist so much like w so much passion i think there are better things in life to do such as: find an artist u do like and move on!!

but i digress i just. i wanted to make a lil post w my hcs for them bc i <3 huayin hehe

reusing some from my long post abt all the rarepairs and polycules i ship!

hua cheng rarely got sick, but when he did, he wasn't worried (he knew yin yu would take good care of him)

both yin yu and hua cheng know how to cook, so they make each other meals when they know the other is too busy to remember to cook for themselves

yin yu can read hua cheng's handwriting! possibly the only person on heaven, hell, and earth who can, he's really used to seeing his messy scribbles and has learned how to decipher them

hua cheng was kind of a xie lian gatekeeper for a while, but he regaled yin yu with stories and let yin yu into his temple dedicated to xie lian

e'ming trusts yin yu and likes him to equal levels to xie lian

they have some little odd creatures of mysterious background that they keep and raise together in paradise mansion

yin yu asked hua cheng to teach him how to draw and paint and hua cheng has little lessons for him when they're both free

yin yu's interested in different kinds of masks, so hua cheng gifted him a room and funds to invest in new ones

they have chill time once a month when they're required to leave their work to just spend an entire day together

hua cheng's love language to yin yu is acts of service and gift giving

yin yu's love language to hua cheng is acts of service (no wayyy) and touch

hope u enjoy :) and also wishing u a nice day :D

[majestic-salad]

Missing blaseball o'clock have a garages cover <3

[leejeann]

.......*sigh*

fine, soukoku enjoyers you got any ao3 fic recs? I'm new here lol

[acoraxia]

i missed you I watched elementals today with my friend, thus, short ficlet about mistyembers (2k words, and a little messy)

———————————————————

Hm.

It’s annoying.

Almost truly tedious. 

Hong Hai’er isn’t one to be sentimental about the past nor does he try to touch anything that comes with it. He leaves the events of the Samadhi Fire behind, he craves nothing of the past even if it means moving on from the fact his father left and his mother rejected every idea he had with a hint of malice. They’re growing now, being better parents, and he dubs everything down to stress and the inability to stop Heaven’s wishes of having his father imprisoned for over a hundred years. He doesn’t linger on it anymore, he moves on; and he stands there, garage and storage room burnt and charcoaled, wondering why he feels such an intense amount of woe over the fact he’s lost contact with her for over a year now.

He doesn’t miss the ice cold touch of the Bone Spirit’s hands, the shrill laugh that came with it—he steps over broken glass shards and his lips twitch in disgust at the ash piles that he steps into when he tries to dodge a car fragment. It’s been… well, a rough start ever since they moved so far out from the city where his Uncle now lingers. He’s kept in touch with him, brought important matters to his attention, and the two often see each other when he comes by, gift in hand, ready to greet his mother and father with a smile. Still, he wishes he has stayed in the underground areas of the giant, technology driven city than having agreed to move to this wasteland of an area. It’s empty and it lacks humidity. 

He misses the beach, all of a sudden.

His relationship with water has always been tied to her, after all, and no matter how many times he refreshes and reloads and pieces his phone back together he hears no word of her. He looks on the positive, as Xiaotian would put it, and thinks she’s merely forgotten how to use the damn device despite his numerous well-written instructions being given to her with the object—he breaks one of the door handles to his newest vehicle and throws it down on the floor, hissing under his breath.

He lost contact with Chenxia for a few months when his father got possessed. She’s an acolyte for the very Master Subodhi that his uncle trained under, her hair long and black, eyes filled with a calmness to them that he could live without, throat drying at the thought of seeing them again after so long; she’s been near him since he studied under Guayin, learned her ways and was handed back to his parents after years of lectures and teachings—and he can never forget the cold, gentle touch of her hands on his, the way his embers seemed to shine brighter around her. She used to smile at him with calm and patience that could rival the lakes of purity that he’s seen in his travels. 

Chenxia is—familiar, to put it simply, and he feels anger boil up inside him when the very last trace of her is ruined and gone by a mere misdemeanor from a bastardous spirit, upset that Heaven could not adhere to her ‘perfect world’. The selfish witch. 

He sniffs. He runs a hand through his hair, annoyed at how easily it flares up into flames now.

Chenxia had always had a never ending flow of patience for him; she combed his hair and calmly asked him to remember to breathe when his fire got too out of hand, her hands untouched by the scorching flames that moved towards her as if she were made of wood. It was beautiful, somewhat, that she managed to find a way to help him control his fire until it did nothing but keep her warm when his emotions got out of hand. She was everything.

He wants to revive every cursed spirit and deity that had a hand in the ice witch’s plan solely to deliver them to Diyu himself. His teeth grind against each other out of habit, his mind focusing on how every rainy day was a reminder of her and her quiet voice against his cheek, pressing cold touches to his skin.

He misses her.

His phone buzzes when he manages to get to the supply closet that was somehow untouched by his flames, broom in hand when he squints at the messages from Xiaotian and Sun Wukong. He opts for the latter, the annoyingly bright comments of optimism that the boy would bring were not favorable for the demon at the moment. He’d rather tell Sun Wukong that he’s busy than deal with his acolyte.

It takes three messages before his patience runs out over the long intervals between texts and he just calls the damn simian, sliding his gloves on as he prepares to start reworking on all his inventions.

“Oh, bad time, kiddo?” Sun Wukong sounds… light, as always. Not the same voice he feigns when talking to Xiaotian or Xiaojiao, it’s a voice Hong Hai’er has grown up with since childhood, light and airy, like a sun’s warm ray on a snake’s back during spring. Warm. “I thought I could deliver you some good news today.”

“Please, Uncle, I’ve no time for your trickery. I have work to do, something you couldn’t even fathom considering you barely even attend all those Heavenly Court meetings about the ‘calamities of the world’ or whatever else happens up there—”

A choked laugh. “Who told you that’s what they do?”

“Nezha, of course.” He slides his goggles on, frowning slightly when he sees how dirty they are.

“Kiddo, Nezha doesn’t even like those meetings.”

“My point stands: I’m not going to waste time talking to you about whatever random person you bumped into or how inaccurate the latest movie about you was when I could be doing something more productive.” Hong Hai’er snatches a rag from his desk and promptly begins wiping the glass on his headwear, narrowing his eyes when the stains don’t come off. “Besides, don’t you have some scroll pieces to sort through?”

“Funny that you mention it, dearest nephew of mine, fellow member of the forged fires trio of the Heavens; did Xiaotian tell you what happened in the scroll during his time there?” He avoids the question. Of course he does. 

Hong Hai’er scoffs. “Of course not. That boy is taking after every single toxic trait that flows through your peach infested vain—”

“So he didn’t tell you he saw Chenxia?”

Hong Hai’er swore, once, that he’d learn to control his emotions. He’s touched water with gentle fingers, watching it curl and coil around his own hand with a tenderness he wouldn’t ever forget. He’s learned to channel his energy into more productive things—his inventions and vehicles, machinery—and he learned to meditate to channel his inner flame.

And yet his phone nearly shatters from the way his hands burst into flames, fire licking at the nearby wrenches and screwdrivers, nearly melting with the intensity that comes with it. His eyes are burning —from tears? desperation?—and he screams into the phone about the information. He rambles and goes off on a tangent, eyes burning harder until he digs a palm into one, squeezing it shut to try and smother the flames out of existence. Sun Wukong waits, disturbingly patient, and asks, “When are you free?”

The remains of his sigil on the perfectly cut green grass of the temple base are going to remain for a solid year, seeing how deep they settled into the earth, and Hong Hai’er stands there with a black shirt and disheveled hair, his goggles sitting skewed atop of his head. The Monkey King raises a brow and Hong Hai’er coughs into his fist, waving away traces of smoke as he vanishes the goggles and fixes the jacket tied around his waist. A hand comes to stop him from moving further, profanity and insults sitting at the top of his tongue when his Uncle—Gods help him—proceeds to dust off his shirt, brushing away traces of ash and smoke.

“Gotta look good for your lady, kid,” he coos and Hong Hai’er almost burns him to a crisp right there and then.

The temple is nothing to bat an eye at; it’s pristine and clean—no doubt taken care of by the several acolytes running around, exchanging jokes and going off about lessons from their master. He eyes the youngest group, watching the way Wukong trails behind just enough that he expects him to tear away from him and go join them in their mischief. They carry on the hallways, the young adults promptly ignoring them as they do, surely already aware of their arrival by Hong Hai’er’s entrance.

(He makes a quiet, small note to open a portal further away from the temple next time, wringing embarrassment out of his system by saying it was a spur of the moment decision, nothing else.)

And—he’s quite sure he’s never felt this awkward to stand on the open area of the tree infested entrance to the temple. It’s hidden away, kept from mortal eyes, and yet, somehow, the group of miscreants had managed to find it—ah, no, they were taken to this place by the immortal master himself. Of course. How else would they have found the very home of the calmest person he knows? The one who stares at him now, with dark gray eyes and uncertainty on her face when they step into the clearing. 

He looks to Wukong for guidance—a loud ‘are you serious?’ leaving his mouth when he finds the simian is absent from his side. He’s alone. With her. With Chenxia. 

Gods.

Her hair is longer. She’s tied part of it into a top knot, her outfit still the same color as the other acolytes in the temple. He remembers her in brighter clothes, more reminiscent of her smile and better suited for her eyes. He wants to ask about it—and then she moves closer to him and he frowns, arms crossing over his chest to try and hide the rapid beating of his heart. Blood pusher. It was messing with his head, somewhat, how calm she was in approaching him. He should be angry—snap at her for not calling or informing him of her whereabouts—and yet when she reaches up to brush a smear of oil from his face he softens, fire soothing into a candle-like ember instead of a raging storm.

It’s terrifying how he leans into her touch, sighing out in relief when she smiles at him, familiar and comforting.

“I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmurs, bringing another hand to cup his face in its entirety. “I—your friend, Xiaotian, he-”

“He is not my friend,” he mumbles, turning his face to press a chaste kiss to her palm. It’s funny how she laughs at that, quiet and secretive, and he makes an effort to press another kiss for good effort. “I should be mad at you.”

“I know,” she says. 

“You didn’t say anything.”

“I will,” she lowers her hands onto his neck and then his shoulders, holding her gaze steady as she does. Her eyes are serious and Hong Hai’er’s softness leaves him in small, gentle waves.

He reaches up and grasps her hands, gently, into his hold. “I… was beaten up by Sun Wukong when an immortal bone spirit possessed him.” She blinks, startled, and he laughs at that. Because it’s funny how easily her expression changes. “I’ll… tell you everything. Then you can explain what happened.”

Her lips twitch. “Alright.”

Hong Hai’er inhales, tugging on her hands until she’s closer to him, tilting his head down so he can press his forehead against hers, her skin cool against him. She closes his eyes after a heartbeat and he follows suit, inhaling the smell of the ocean breeze and soothing meadows. 

“I missed you,” she says against his lips.

“Me too,” he answers and then leans in.

[shkika]

hi shkika …. i just wanna say your designs and interpretations of the iterators are super cool and when i first saw them, especially sliver and innocence, it really opened my eyes to the fact that these characters can Really Be Anything. and i think that’s super awesome!!! keep doing ur thing bro … cuz it’s really inspiring to people…. but most of all because it’s clear u have fun doing it <3

thank you cream.. wow.. i don't know if your timing was on purpose or not, but it's great anyway. it means a lot really

[oblivions-dawn]

❝𝖎❜𝖑𝖑 𝖑𝖊𝖙 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖙𝖔𝖚𝖈𝖍 𝖒𝖊 𝖘𝖜𝖊𝖊𝖙 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖘𝖑𝖔𝖜 𝖏𝖚𝖘𝖙 𝖙𝖆𝖐𝖊 𝖒𝖞 𝖇𝖔𝖉𝖞 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖞 𝖘𝖔𝖚𝖑— 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗 . . . 𝖞𝖔𝖚𝖗 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖚𝖗𝖉𝖊𝖗❞

[s-n-o-w-p-i-e-r-c-e-r]

ignore me ranting in the tags i am aware i am being absolutely insufferable

[tortoisesshells]

34. stars; for maggie and joe.

Maggie Evans hadn’t asked for much in life, and had let much of what she wanted pass her by: little trinkets she couldn’t afford, friends she had no time for, Joe Haskell, who’d never looked her way, until – Until he had. And then, crushingly, he hadn’t. If there were solace in knowing why Maggie was too far gone to feel it – seeing that thing’s teeth in his neck had made her throat own ache, and heart go light, as though she was scarcely tethered to life at all. Joe said he had to answer the door, after the knock came again – if she could only get him away from here, just as she had thought, those horrible weeks in the Old House, that if she could just run far enough away, she could be free of Barnabas – She took hold of his bedside lamp. Mouthing her silent apologies, thinking desperately of the moon and stars over a balmy sea, of some place in the world where no one had ever even heard of Collinsport – Maggie brought it down on Joe’s head with a dull thud.

send me a number and two (or more) characters, and get a five sentence drabble!