#and ow. but its fine.

[steampoweredskeleton]

.

Ignore

[burning-basil]

the sleepiest hatchlings on timber hearth ‼️

i wrote a. thing. it got a little away from me but i did want to draw hal and the hatchling…. find out more by READING IT YEAHHH (< the worst advertiser in the world)

you can find it via this link V or on ao3 under burningbasil / starsburningout! its a pre canon fic thats mostly fluff and features hal and the hatchling, obviously, marl, and The Tree Incident. because i love marl dearly ok bye!

[sailingseals]

HIHI..had the most silliest thought..drew the cast as like spooky supernatural creatures (except cecil..no clue what to make him..) or what they're called...well..I should have thought this during like Halloween but nooo...dkjfkd anyways..here it is :3!!

Left to right

Iggy(Ghost), Genzou(Werewolf), Orlam(Vampire), Bucks(Zombie), Gidget(Alien), Hunar(Witch/Wizard??), Jerry(Jackalope), Cecil(Scientist)

Hhhope these fit!! :3

Other extra lil doodles...

[vigilskeep]

mental note next to the list in my head of minerva’s principles/lines she won’t cross that says “okay but it would be sexy if she used her companions as blood batteries more often. minerva have you considered that it would be sexy”

[wormchaser]

you are complaining about complaining too much while complaining about the fact that maybe people dont like you because you complain too much while complaining about being alone. just stop complaining and do something about it. talk to people. reach out. dont just wait for someone to come to you first.

i have tried reaching out to different people in the past year or so but it never works. i understand its my own fault for letting relationships decay because of my own insecurities and issues but that doesn't mean i can just will myself to think or believe different things about myself. it's a self fulfilling prophecy ; i think people don't like me so i don't reach out so people don't like me etc . i am sure you do not want to hear me list all the things i want to say in response so i will put them in the tags.

[trans-estinien]

hallowfall zone of all time

[mamawasatesttube]

just remembered how megfitz made tim think about how bernard is so much better than all the other relationships he'd "settled for" and was once again briefly consumed by rage. meghan you apologize to zoanne wilkins right the fuck now

[frankmillerturnonyourlocation]

Imagine your f/o helping you out when you when you feel sick. Whether you're loving having them at your beck and call or are, like, really embarrassed about the whole thing, your f/o is there for you.

Even if they're a bit of a jerk about it. They might be hiding a smile when you sit up in bed with your hair all messed up, might poke fun at the way you have to take your pills with a whole jug of water. And since you let that mug of tea that they so lovingly prepared for you go all cold, they might tilt it ever-so-slightly over your head with the biggest grin on their face until you notice. (Don't worry, they won't actually pour any onto you. They put honey in it!! And you're obviously in no position to wash the sheets.)

But they're loving every second of it– it's time they get to spend with you, after all. The only thing they love more than messing with you is taking care of you, and the second you ask, the jokes will be done. They'll do anything to make you feel better!

[sculien]

what really sucks about being chronically sick and having weird things happen to your body all the time and it essentially be "normal" for you, is never really knowing when to seek out medical help jfkdfjs

i have pots and ehlers danlos syndrome so im in pain a good amount of time and i have other things wrong with me that cause pain as well, so i never really try to figure out what is causing what pain

but today my right lung and/or rib cage is throbbing and really hurting at random moments and im kinda just like oh i probably popped another rib out again which is normal for eds but then the other part of my brain is like TUMOR ITS A GROWING TUMOR WITH TEETH AND ITS GOING TO EAT YOUR ENTIRE LUNG AND YOURE GOING TO DROWN IN YOUR TUMORS MOUTH

and then im like well as cool as that sounds maybe i should go to the er, and then ultimately im like you know what its not that bad i can still breathe... better just stay at home and complain on the internet about it

[money-and-dandellions]

continuation to this post:

Meg who unintentionally and absolutely illogically gets worried when Lester gets sick after the ghoul incident and he doesn't really understand why would she do that

until he does

[childhoodgrave]

no name would like rarity and pinkie pie, fritz would be annoyed by mlp but wld pick rainbow dash if she had to, ezrah likes rainbow dash and rarity. brunhilda likes fluttershy

[v0idwraith]

james lance has officially joined the ranks of straight men i trust to portray queer characters

[monty-glasses-roxy]

Do you guys think Roxy let's Cassie smoosh her face and pull it around like playdoh? You think Roxy only lets Cassie do that cause she's Cassie and she can do whatever she wants forever? Roxy bleps while Cassie smooshes her face and Cassie loves it so much this is the most amazing thing she's ever seen ever Roxy bleps are her favourite bleps

[goldkirk]

I cannot believe how long it took me to turn off the 24/7 tracking app in my phone AS AN ADULT after I’d ALREADY been on the warpath about never letting them use tracking software on my laptop ever again! How did that happen! At least four separate people told me multiple times that I could turn it off and I was like “No you don’t understand you don’t know how it would be if I did” and believed I truly didn’t have the option! This is baffling! I cannot believe it has been YEARS of this shit and I am STILL having more realizations! How am I supposed to ever finally fully trust I can keep myself safe if I don’t know if I know all the rules about being truly safe yet!

[thatfailedpokemontrainer]

well g'night ig.

bye childhood.

[factorialsotherfandoms]

(lich!missa au, pre-island. infact its how missa got there, with a brief interlude by lady death and her angel)

Missa clutches the time off request in his hands, flicking over the corners with skeletal fingers. Usually these matters were dealt with by his direct superior and, with Missa's junior rank within the temple, waved away without much thought. If he were missing then, yes, he would not get paid and his training would take even longer, but it would do no harm to the running itself.

Which is why this is so terrifying; the priest had skimmed over the paperwork as idly as ever, but then his eyes had caught, and he had ordered Missa to the High Priestess.

Now he waits outside her office, waiting for her to be free and allow his approach.

Eventually the couple she is speaking to leave, and Missa himself is gestured within. Even with his enchantment-ridden robes, the jeans he wears underneath make him feel thoroughly out of place in the High Priestess' Office, brightly decorated as it is.

"What do you need, young one?" she asks.

She doesn't sound old. Knowing what he does about Lady Death and her favourites, Missa has no doubt that she is.

"Fernando asked me to bring my leave request to you?" Missa tries desperately not to break at the unusual nature of the situation; as it is his voice pitches and his fingers shake.

"Hm?" The High Priestess reaches over, taking the paper with long thin hands, tattooed to look like flowering skeletons year round. To read it she ducks her head and lifts her veil very slightly - not enough for Missa to see her face beneath, not that he would dare look.

Missa says frozen in silence as she reads, and does not even breath as she lets her veil fall once more, and turns to him, "Quesadilla Island?"

"Yes!" He squeaks out. "I don't know it. Roier - my friend - he won tickets, and asked Spreen and I to come along."

"How did he win them?"

It's not a question Missa expects, "I- I don't know. Is that important?"

The High Priestess hums again, tapping a finger against a bowl of sugar cubes. "No, I suppose not; what do you know of the island?"

"It's... A holiday resort?"

"Nothing else?"

"Should I?"

It's just a leave request; the situation scares Missa enough as is, without the strange questioning about his plans!

"Maybe," she shifts her head. "I have, before, in a dream."

That has everything still. It is not common knowledge that the High Priestess receives visions from time to time, but those who work for the temple know it well enough; it was one of those same dreams which lead to her personally selecting Missa as an apprentice in the temple.

"Oh?" it's all he can do to keep the whimper to the one tone; surpressing it entirely is far beyond him now.

"What is it with you and my dreams?" she asks, but then continues on. "Your leave is not granted, but your trip is allowed; whatever purpose our Lady has for you, you will not lose your house over it."

"Do you..." he hesitates a moment; it is supposed to be a holiday, just a nice holiday with what little remains of his family, but now this. "Know what I must do?"

"No," the High Priestess replies. "I am sorry; she did not tell me."

Missa remembers a voice talking to him in the depths of his fever, saying '/Surrender your life to me, child, and I will save you/'. He remembers reaching out for salvation, accepting any cost for an end to the pain - it still hurts, yes, where his flesh rots from his bones, but nothing matches the agony of that night where he sold his very being away. And in return she had taken his hands and said '/be at peace; I will contact you when it is time/'.

He hadn't even known it was Lady Death at the time; she can be cold, and distant, and terrifying, but she has never truly been cruel. A great many of the other beings it could have been would have delighted in his misery, while Lady Death guards him from disaster instead.

"As my lady commands," he answers, as he knows he is supposed to.

The High Priestess reaches towards him, before seeming to remember the agony that human contact would bring him. Instead she brings her hand to rest on the table next to his - skeletal bone next to tattooed bone.

"Go on, I am sure you have duties to attend to," the High Priestess' voice is soft, and how uncharacteristically gentle she sounds only terrifies Missa more. "Unless there was something else?"

Missa quickly shakes his head, and escapes back to the temple-proper. The rest of the day passes in a haze of confusion and fear - what does it mean that his holiday is becoming duty? - through both work and at home. He can tell Spreen and Roier are worried, but doesn't know what to do, or what to day; he claims exhaustion and vanishes to his room, and pretends not to hear the worried conversation as he cries himself to sleep.

---

"Kristin? What's wrong?"

Lady Death looks at her Angel, and lets him brush the tears from her eyes.

"Nothing," she says. "I was just..."

She looks at him, really looks at him. There are others she could ask, but how can she do so?

"There is a place," she says, looking at the sun. "Named Quesadilla Island. A holiday resort, it says, but there must be something else; no god can see into it, and no souls ever leave."

"For how long?"

"Decades."

"Ah, shit," her Angel says. "Do you need me to go look?"

Her heart breaks; she does not want her husband to go, but go he perhaps must. They are not mortal, free to be selfish with their time and one another; there is no shirking duty, else the fragile worlds will fail.

"There is another I can send," she hesitates slightly. "Might already have sent; he came into a ticket by chance."

"You could send us both?" her Angel suggests. "Four eyes are better than two."

"I could loose you both - not just have you die, but die somewhere beyond my reach."

"We'd be safer together."

"So you would," she concedes, with a sigh. "So you would."

---

Missa wakes to a hand in his hair, somewhere familiar but distinctly not his bed. His head rests on someone's leg - one far bigger than is reasonable, though.

He looks up, and towering above him is a figure in black and purple, veil low and scythe at her side. He tries to scramble up, to bow - something - but a hand larger than his entire torso guides him back to sitting.

"Hello again, Missa," there's laughter hidden behind the gentle tone. "No need for any of that."

"Is-" Missa tries very hard to make the words work. "Is this about Quesadilla?"

She tilts her head to the side, "straight to business? You poor little thing. But, yes, I am afraid it is."

"Did you... Not want business?"

"No, no, it's quite alright, I was just going to ask how you were doing, but I have been watching so I have some idea," she waves a hand, and Missa cannot tell if she is offended or not - he cannot tell if /he/ is offended or not, for that matter. "So the Island. You will go?"

"Unless what you are about to say is so terrifying I tear up all the tickets and run away!"

Death laughs, and Missa thinks he might be okay, "well then. Some years ago, a barrier of sorts formed around Quesadilla Island. Ever since, neither I nor any of my kind have been able to reach it; the weather does not chance, people do not age, corpses do not rot... Or so we assume, we have nobody there to tell. If people have died there, their souls remain uncollected. If people are born there... I suspect they just cannot be born? I am unsure. Either way, we have held council, and have agreed to send people to investigate."

Unrotting corpses, unaging bodies, undying souls? Missa is terrified of the idea. The brochures all show a beautiful, pleasant holiday island, not the hell of what Lady Death speaks!

"You don't need to be afraid," she promises. "While I think you would be well suited to the task, I will not send you alone; someone will meet you there. You do not need to fix it - though if you can nobody will say no! - I just need you to find out what's wrong, come back, and tell me. Ok? Don't fight if you do not have to, always run away if you can, but I need to know what's happening."

Missa nods because in front of a goddess, what else can she do?

"Thank you," she says. "Goodnight; I'm sorry."

He doesn't get a chance to ask; she mutters in a language he cannot ever hope to understand, and the illusion shatters.

Missa is left on his bed, gasping for air. Spreen is at his doorway with a torch, far too alert for the bed head and pajamas he sports.

Missa sits up, lifting his mask to wipe ill-understood tears from his face. Dusty skin comes with them; in seconds Spreen is there, sat on the bed with him, pulling away his hands and down his mask and hood, covering him in the protective clothing before pulling him into a rough hug.

"Missa? You good?" Spreen eventually asks.

"Just a dream," Missa replies. "Nothing but a dream."