#i feel like a vaguely human shaped blob

[umilily]

nothing worse than having real person appointments when you don't feel like a real person

[alsojnpie]

HI hopefully this isn't a weird question to ask, but i was just wondering if you have any particular headcanon for what Papyrus would look like as a human?? :00

no it's not a weird question!! I'm delighted you asked me! but i hope you don't mind my answer which is: i hate thinking about that!!!!!! if i think about him being a human i am not attracted to him AT ALL and it feels weird! if he somehow got turned into a human i would cry real tears! sometimes i think about that just to check if anything changed but it never has!!!! SOMETIMES I THINK ABOUT THAT as angst fodder because it would be a pure tragedy if he somehow became a human!!!!!!!

oh anyway i just realized i didn't answer your ACTUAL question because you didn't ask me how i felt about it. as for his looks i have zero feelings. EXCEPT!!!! that he would have the cutest smile in the world to me. (that means it would look exactly like my husband's smile)

[strixludica]

The unappreciated art of making mecha look inhuman

Something I noticed lately, by browsing lots of lancer homebrew and fanart and comparing it to the official art, is that a lot of third party artists, across levels of artistic competence, made mechs that looked plain to me for a reason I couldn't pin down. Again, this was only weakly correlated with other metrics for artistic quality, like posing, shading, and linework. After comparing them closely with other art that didn't give me that vibe and art from 1st party material, I realized what gave me that feeling: their mechs looked too human; they looked like they could be convincingly portrayed by a person in a costume.

If you look closely at official Lancer art and the best fanart, you will notice there are always details making sure the subject is unequivocably a giant robot and not a person in sci-fi armor.

One strange but effective way this is achieved is the legs: each manufacturer has one or more distinct style of legs, with the only overlap being between SSC and RKF (which makes sense because SSC has close ties tot he Baronies). Let's go through them and see what about them makes sure you know this is a mech:

Smith-Shimano Corpro + Royal Karrakin Foundries: SSC has three kinds of lower limbs: the Horse Leg, which they share with RKF; the Foot Without Heel, and the Anatomically Correct Human Leg With Toes.

The Horse Leg is not only obviously inhuman, but also obviously unnatural, bacause no biped would be able to move properly standing on horse hooves: it would be like contantly doing a ballerina tip-walk using clown shoes; that is something only a mechanical device assisted by top-of-the-line automatic balancing could achieve.

The Heel-less foot, due to being used almost only for their spider-mechs Death's Head and Swallowtail, has little dehumanization work to do, but it does cover that function when used on the Dusk Wink, which *is* in fact a person in power armour, but still the artist took care of reminding us of how mechanical it is, by giving it feet which have little in common with boots or any other footwear. The Toed Leg seems, at first, to be the opposite of dehumanizing: it looks the most like an actual human bodypart, it feeds into SSCs fetishization of the Human Form (phrasing entirely intended). However, that is also the reason why it very clearly shows the Monarch and Mourning Cloak are robots: because no suit of armor would ever look like a naked leg; this level of anatomical fidelity only makes sense for something mechanical, whose skin *is* armor and as such doesn't need to cover itself.

Horus: Horus is mostly the easy one, with how most of the art gives their mechs beastly paws and hooves, gecko-like foot pads, or long, amphibian fingers whose vague semblance to human hands only contrasts with the blatantly monstous shapes of the Pegasus and Gorgon. However, they have four mechs portaryed with human-like legs.

The Hydra has little need to mask its mechanical nature, but the Lich commits the grave sin of being clothed, one of the biggest risk factor in making mechs look like dudes in armor. To counteract this problem, it's feet have two very evident inhuman characteristics: they have only two long, slender toes, and they touch the ground only with their futhest tarsus, in a way that makes it obvious they aren't bearing any actual weight, as if both Lich and Hydra were alway hovering a couple feet above the ground and used their feet only to skip along it, like a venetian boatman might do with their pole.

The other two exceptions are the Calendula, which being an RKF design has their trademark horse legs, and the Kobold, which already looks inarguably like a robot thanks to the barrel shae of its main body, the Horus-patented Pikey Blobs Aesthetic(tm), but still has feet with actual toes, which achieve the same effect as those from SSC.

GMS: For the longest time, GMS did not have art at all, but let's look at the [G] Type Everest from Op. Solstice Rain:

While the Boot with Auxiliary Side-Toes shape of the foot could potentially belong to a suit of armor, if we look up at the knee it's a different story: look at the slabs on either side of the joint which restrict it to one degree of freedom, as opposed to the frontal protection typical of armor for humans; look at the opposite bends of hip and shin, which almost makes the leg look digitgrade. Inequivocably robotic despite the clearly humanistic design. However, the lower parts of mechs are not the only way their design is dehumanized: we come now to Inter Planetary Shipping - Northstar and Harrison Armory, and in a curious inversion they take the opposite approach.

Although some legs of IPS-N mechs use the above principle (the Blackbeard's angular feet whose toes almost look like retractable claws, Drake's heel-less boots, and Lancaster and Kidd's SPOT-like hooves), a lot of their mecha have quite human-looking armoured boots. HA goes a step further, likely due to a deliberate stylistic choice stemming from the anthrochauvinist ideals: Their mechs look very much like armoured warriors, often even with little skirts like the Iskander or Sherman or reinforced *baltei* like Genghis and Tokugawa. With one important exception: their head.

IPS-N has a very distinctive One-Eyed Cylinder with Another Eye on the Top shape for their mecha, it's probably a deliberate par of their brand; it sees some variation like Drake's looking more liek a helmeted facemask and Stortebecker's tricorn, but even Lancaster and Kidd have a sort of vestigial head on the front with a single eye coming out of a slit.

HA's mecha have greater variation, but nevertheless for all that their body is as human-shaped as possible, their heads are always distinctly not: Barbarossa has a flat prism with a this transparent section on top, looking more like the control tower of an aircraft carrier than a head; Genghis, Tokugawa, and Gilgamesh both have canopies recessed into their bodies; Napoleon also has a barely-extruding canopy with a strange shape and covered in Blinkshield emitters that make it look like a bug-eyed little freak; Sherman is quite literally built around having a cannon for a face; and Sunzi has its drum-looking Blinkspace device. The only HA mech that has a "head" region separate from the rest of the body is Saladin, and even then it's a flat cylinder with a rectangular window in the middle: a design which would never work as a helmet but makes sense as a rotatitng cockpit with a canopy.

The observant among you will have notice that I left out four mechs: Nelson, Vlad, Enkidu, and Iskander. That is admittedly because they are those whose design asserts its inhumanity the least.

Of the first two, despite Nelson committing the sin of clothing, it also compensates hard by leaving a gap in its tabard to show the hatch for the pilot, while Vlad unfortunately does not, and with the weirldy human-looking eye, if there wasn't a pilot for scale one might legitimately not know it's a robot without context.

Iskander is the one mech in the entire Compendium which can be cosplayed without altering its proportion: cyclopism aside, this could be a person in future armor.

Enkidu also has a look which could work just as well for a human-scale cyborg, but given that it's a deliberate statement of intent it gets a pass. At the very least it's elongated head and pad-less feet make it obvious that this is not a person in armor.

Conclusion:

Although I cannot prove it without some double-blind polls, I think one of the secrets to a good mech design is making it look not only obviously like a robot, but also giving it pose, proportions, and details such that it would look big not just on a white background with no context, but that if you tried to shrink it and put it in a scene as though it was more or less the size of a person, people would realize that it's supposed to be larger.

[mushroomnoodles]

Does Morrigan ever experiment with their magic while Simon is pregnant with them?

I can just see this poor man attempting to relax and read a book when his mug of decaf coffee suddenly drops through a teeny mystery portal to who knows where.

they sure do!

cw/tw for sfw and nonfetish mpreg

they did not often do anything because they were sleepy, but around the 5th month they had a very vague idea of what was in Simon's immediate surroundings- but only if he made noise with them. the sound of him resting in a chair or setting a mug down made them aware that he was interacting with things in the environment, and so they would test their influence on the outside world. simon would always feel like his stomach was twisting up and he'd get like, this tingle of energy up his spine whenever morrigan tried to use their powers.

they.. didn't have very much influence, but they had enough to create little portals and use their transmutation powers.. the only problem is they didn't know what they had, or what anything was shaped like, because, yknow, they were in the womb. so their transmutation was a lot more like.. distortion.

simon still has his fucked up mugs from his baby (excluding the meat and bone mugs) <3

and yaaknow, while we're on the topic of some morrigan in the womb shegnanigans, i'll bring up some notes i've had on them, so ig this is also a headcanon post under the cut:

morrigan was very aware most of the time while simon was pregnant with them; they simply were too sleepy and small to do much of anything. so they knew who was doing all that annoying shit to them. fuck you pb. they knew she was causing simon distress too.

they understood what simon was saying but they were by no means omnipotent; they didn't know what the outside world was like and a lot of words were known but meant nothing to them (what the fuck is a betty?). they also misunderstood some words. (book and reading mean simon is about to mutter for a long ass time)

morrigan was severely weakened by the effort of breaking the seal on them and being born in a human body, and their powers went dormant after birth until they got to puberty. (they are steadily going to look less human as they grow older. morrigan +1000 is about to sprout some wings!)

morrigan made the conscious decision to form and develop as a humanoid, not a less human, chaotic entity. this additionally limited their power, but they did not want to scare or hurt simon- they didn't care if anyone else was, but they were rather fond of simon and wanted to take a form after his.

morrigans memory of when they were developing steadily vanished when they were a baby; they now mostly remember that for the most part they were very comfortable, they were appreciative of simon for incubating them and they remember staring at simon when they were born. (it's why they stopped crying the instant he spoke, bc wow, there he is! that's what he looks like! a tan and brown blob!)

they also remember what the seal felt like.

[wreckmetoji]

Angel Eyes, Cold Heart

A fic in which you face the music after sleeping with your local priest

↳ Nicholas D. Wolfwood/M!Reader

content warning. amab reader, profanity, so much religion, religious guilt, mention of alcohol, hangover, smoking, blood, angst, anal fingering, anal sex, spit kink if you squint(we call that the eden special), creampie, soft wolfwood makes me weak in the knees

This is a purely self-indulgent fic. Please note that even though this is a reader insert, this isn’t my usual vague reader insert. This reader is heavily based off of me and my own experiences. If the idea of any of these content warnings make you uncomfortable or are off putting, I suggest checking out a different fic. 

minors DNI

A continuation of Reach Out and Touch Faith. Part 2/2 (Part 1)

8.5k words

Red, yellow, and blue light glowed, blinding you and blurring your vision, rendering you completely incapable of differentiating the vaguely human shaped blobs in front of you. Wiping your hands down your face, scrubbing at your eyes, you squinted and blinked, desperate to get some semblance of sight to ground yourself before you began to panic, heart racing and breathing quick. One of the blobs stepped forward, and it was as if it had walked through a filter, the closer they got the clearer they became, behind them the others followed. The tall, tanned man you had grown to know a little too well became clear, looking down at you with molten disdain, contempt, a disgusted scrunch of his nose as he stood, body unmoving. His lips were moving, but you couldn't hear what he was saying, too focused on the amount of people coming into view, surrounding you in a circle. No, it wasn't that you were distracted, there was nothing. No noise, no sound, they all spoke but you were deaf to their words. Desperately, you lunged forwards, grabbing at the apparition in front of you, only for everything to fade away, dissipate like smoke. You began to cry, looking around frantically for anything, anyone, and upon finding nothing but seemingly endless nothingness, tears falling as you cried, begged, pleaded, only for no sound to come out.

Upon sinking to your knees, screaming in the silence, gaping for air, your eyes shot open with a gasp. Above you was an unfamiliar ornate wooden ceiling, shining colors from the stained glass window behind and above you stretching and cascading down your body. The first thing you registered was the pattering of rain against a window, the second was your absolutely raging headache, and had you not dealt with copious hangovers before you would assume your brain was melting out of your ears. With a shaky breath, you lifted your hands, placing them over your ears, then pulling them away, testing your auditory capabilities. A dream, it was a dream. A deep breath in, and a deep breath out, you reached up, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes and rubbing. It had been a while since you had such a vivid dream, you were still able to see the unadulterated disgust behind his gaze. Clenching your jaw, you vaguely recalled the happenings of the previous night, fingertips feeling the cotton gauze pad taped on the bridge of your nose.

Wolfwood had rejected your advances. You don't know why you did what you did, you expected that to be his reaction, considering he was so adamant on barely having anything to do with you, and you him, after you had initially slept together. He kissed you back, tongue down your throat, leaning you back against the couch. When he nestled himself between your thighs, you were convinced maybe he was just as desperate for you as you were for him, the roll of his hips against your inner thigh proving that he wanted something more. Just as you had reached past the waistband down the front of his pants, grazing your fingers against his cock, he was snatching up your wrist, pulling your hand away. He parted from your lips, a string of spit connecting you for a moment longer before it snapped, dropping to your glossy lower lip. You were confused, asking him what was wrong, asking if you were the problem, but all he said was I can't do this with you. You didn't think you could get punched by any more psychological damage on the issue, considering you had gone through most of the motions of grief over your first mistake by this point, but the pang in your chest and lump in your throat proved you wrong. He was courteous enough to walk you back to the room, but he never walked past the threshold of the door, simply standing in place and watching until you closed yourself in, opting to ignore your pitiful sorrows by curling up and going to sleep.

Considering the light streaming through the window was minimal, you let yourself relax a little before braving a look at the time, whether that was from the copious amounts of rain clouds or it being too early for the sun to even comprehend coming out, you couldn't tell. With the realization of fuck it's cloudy, you shot up into a sitting position, turning your wrist to look down at the time on your watch. 9:42 AM.

You've got to be fucked.

Scrambling to get your bearings, you launched yourself off of the bed, foot getting caught on the blankets and sending you tumbling to the floor. The weight of your body slamming into hardwood made the room shake, but you didn't have the time to be phased by it. That goddamn priest told you he was going to take you to work in the morning, maybe it was your fault he didn't bother because you had stupidly tried to sleep with him again. You couldn't even be mad at anyone but yourself if that was the case. With a groan, you pushed yourself up off the floor, flinging audible curses at the piece of thick fabric that tripped you as you picked yourself up and snatched your phone off the side table- had you left it there last night? Stuffing it into your pocket and completely ignoring the pills and tall glass of water sitting so nicely for you on the side table, you jogged to the door, hand fumbling with the knob before flinging yourself into the hallway. Coming to a skidding halt at the tall, broad chest blocking your path, a mug filled with coffee in one hand and a pill bottle in the other. You had to stop bumping into him like this.

Lips parted, you looked up at him, seeing the confused arch of his brow. It made you so unreasonably angry seeing him so nonchalant, unbothered, acting like nothing happened when everything was fucking wrong, everything was crumbling around you and he just acted like nothing was out of place. But to him, everything was fine, wasn't it? You were the mess, you were the walking train wreck, but it could still aggravate you that his world kept turning, his days continued. You had so many things to ask him lodged in the back of your throat.

Why didn't you wake me up?

Why did you pick me up from the bar?

How did you find me?

Why doesn't any of this bother you as much as it bothers me?

A small noise left your throat, the starting of a sentence that most likely would've made less than zero sense considering you could barely think without your brain throbbing and threatening to explode, but you were interrupted by a hot mug of coffee being pushed into your chest. Gentle enough that it didn't spill, but hard enough that it had you taking a quick step back. Growing more visibly confused as he continued to stand in your way, unmoving, offering you a lifeline to help stave off your raging hangover with no concern to the outside world. Finally you found your voice, but it came out scratchy and hoarse, and only managed to push out one syllable. "What...?"

"Called in for you. Knew you wouldn't be fit to work today," Wolfwood explained, as if it made complete sense that he knew exactly where you worked and who to talk to to call in for you. It only served to confuse you more, even more questions popping up in the back of your mind as your hands clasped around the hot mug. "You look like shit."

"Thanks, I feel like shit." You grumbled, frowning down at the pitch black liquid in your grip. "Probably the worst hangover I've had."

"Might have something to do with trying to open doors with your face, unless you do that often," Wolfwood jibed, crossing his arms and leaning a shoulder up against the wall. You huffed a sardonic laugh and shook your head, wincing at the sharp throb in your frontal lobe. Once you finally willed yourself to look back up at him, you noted the frown on his face and the way he bit the inside of his cheek.

An unwilling staring contest, both of you waiting for the other to say something. After some time, you took a sip of the coffee graciously given to you, and came to the conclusion you weren't going to get any answers out of him if you didn't ask questions. Briefly you wondered if his don't ask don't tell personality was a priest thing, or something just Wolfwood. You decided to break the silence, clearing your throat and asking a hesitant, "Can we...?" You nudged your head in the direction of his kitchen, "Sit down and talk, maybe?"

With a nod, Wolfwood took lead and walked down the hall, around a corner, through an arch, and pulled one of two chairs out from his minimalistic dining table, if it could even be considered that. You pursed your lips, watching him take his seat, before sitting across from him, resting your cup down on the pale wooden surface. You weren't sure where to start, what questions to ask first, your scrambled thoughts quickly coming to a stop when the pill bottle he had in his hand was tapped down on the table and slid in your direction. Muttering a quiet thanks, you popped the cap, shaking out maybe one or two more than necessary and tossing them in your mouth, regrettably washing them down with the bitter coffee hotter than the deepest pits of Hell. Wincing again, you saw Wolfwood reach down in your peripherals, the shake of a small box urging you to look up and watch as he placed a cigarette between his lips, placing the pack on the table before sparking his lighter to life. He paused, the flame flickering and swaying just inches away from his cigarette as he eyed you up and down. A small smile pulled at the corner of your lips when he slid the mostly empty pack in your direction inquisitively, earning a shake of your head and a raised palm. He hummed, shrugging his shoulders as he lit the cherry at the end, clicking the cap of his zippo back into place.

The smile curling at the edge of your lips quickly fell again upon realizing you would have to voice your worries and concerns sooner rather than later, swallowing the lump forming in your throat and looking back down at your coffee. "I... I'm... Not really sure where to start," You breathed a laugh, mostly just from the nerves. "I don't know what to say."

"Take your time," Wolfwood assured, leaning back in his chair and crossing his arms. "Got all day."

The thought of having to spend all day in this communicative limbo made you want to vomit. Or maybe it was the hangover. Could be both.

A heavy sigh fell from your lips, propping your elbows up on the table and resting your palms over your face, rubbing. "I guess first thing is first, just because I'm genuinely curious, how the fuck did you call in for me?"

"Charged your phone, went through it. Found your boss' contact."

Pulling your head back from your hands, you stared at him incredulously. "You- what? There's a passcode on it!"

Wolfwood snickered at this, bringing his cigarette back up to his lips and smirking at you. Okay, guess you weren't going to get any more answers in regards to that. You muttered a disingenuous insult under your breath, sipping at your coffee which had not cooled down in the slightest. "Alright, fine," You sighed, rolling your eyes and leaning back. Deliberately avoiding the elephant in the room, you asked another question that certainly wasn't as important as the one hanging off the end of your tongue, "How'd you know where to find me last night? Pretty sure I didn't tell you where I was when we were on the phone, and my mom doesn't know."

His immediate reaction told you the question made him uncomfortable, or at the very least nervous, his eyes glancing off to the side before moving back to land on you. "You want the truth, or you want some bullshit excuse like 'lucky guess'?"

Furrowing your brows at his question, you held your hands up, frowning. "The truth, obviously."

"I went looking for you."

The statement in itself was relatively innocent, making his initial question all the more suspicious. Another gesture of your hand, rolling your wrist in a circle, urging him to continue had him grumbling, his hand rubbing at the scruff on his jaw.

"I heard the music on the phone with you, so I assumed you were out. Borrowed a car from a friend 'cause the weather was shit-"

"You don't drive?" You smirked, interrupting.

"I do drive, you little shit, just not a car," Wolfwood huffed, giving you a look of warning. Holding your hands up in faux defense, he glanced off and continued. "Drove around for about an hour, checking restaurants, pubs, bars," He crossed his arms, slouching back in his seat, "Gotta hand it to you, wasn't expecting a prissy thing like you to be holed up in the shittiest dive in town. It was my last stop, the last of my ditch effort, I was expecting to come out empty-handed. Lo and behold, there you were, sat at the bar all pretty 'n tanked outta your mind."

Rolling your eyes at him again, you felt your cheeks heat up, decidedly ignoring his backhanded compliment that you were more than certain were meant to bother you. "Yeah, thanks. I do remember that much."

Everything fell quiet again as he awaited your next question, one you knew you had to ask, one you wanted to ask but dreaded the implication behind it, dreaded the answer you were going to get, dreaded the trajectory of your life after the words fell from your lips. Hands reached forwards, one over top of the other and flat against the table as you glanced at the pack of cigarettes, then down at your hands. Your brows raised when a hand came into your vision, half-burnt cigarette held between tanned fingers. Surprised by his ability to notice such a small detail, you pursed your lips in a fake smile, graciously placing it between your lips, breathing in, then handing it back just as quick. Upon exhaling, you clenched your jaw, pondering over the words rattling around inside your brain. I want to know what we are, what we were, what that was.

"So, you don't drive a car- what do priests drive?" You asked instead, putting on a teasing front and glancing up at him through your lashes. He didn't answer, only stared at you, into you, and the prospect that he knew what you wanted to say instead made you want to jump out the nearest window. Silence, only the patter of rain against the skylight echoing through the room, haunting your thoughts and making you nervous.

"That's not really what you want to ask, is it?" Wolfwood confirmed your fears, and once again you had to mentally commend him for being so perceptive, almost like he knew you better than you knew yourself. Maybe that was a priest thing, but something in the back of your mind told you that no, he really just was so in tune to you and how you were feeling. He knew exactly what you meant, even when you said the opposite, knew the words left unsaid hanging in the air were more than just simple things you didn't want to say. He seemed to recognize your continued silence as involuntary, more an inability to say the words you had on your mind than an unwillingness. So instead, he filled the silence.

"I got a question for you too," He prefaced, bringing his cigarette up to his lips and breathing in, bright red cherry flaring up before he dropped the nearly finished cigarette in an empty mug beside him. "Why'd you stop coming to your confessionals?"

All you could do was stare at him, dumbfounded, as if he had asked the most ridiculously stupid question you had the pleasure of hearing. And it was, genuinely. "You can't be serious? I think you're smart enough to put two and two together, Father."

"Just Nick is fine," He corrected you, not giving you a chance to snap some snarky reply before he continued, "Got what you wanted, didn't see a point in coming anymore, 's that it?"

"What?!" Your volume was much louder than intended, probably only hurting your own head more than anything. "The fuck do you mean I got what I wanted? You make it sound like I just fucking ghosted you after you slept with me!" Throwing your hands up, you glared into him, watching his downturned brows scrunch slightly. "This would be a lot easier if you just admit it was all a ploy to get more fucking money out of my family, if not this entire community. Oh, what a hero you would be, fixing the town pariah, converting him to a good, church-going young gentleman. The priest that could accomplish the impossible, right? This was your goal the entire time, right?"

In your heated tangent, you didn't realize you had stood, palms flat on the table as you stared down at him. You realized he wasn't going to say anything, so you scoffed, leaning back. "Real dick move. Original, I'm sure not a lot of priests have your creativity to increase their numbers, meet their fucking quota or whatever, but I'm not gonna sit here and take your bullshit laying down. You and your stupid fucking religion are morally corrupt, it's a cancer on society and I'll be damned if I sit by and watch you-"

"Can you finish your little tantrum already?"

Immediately your anger flared up, letting out a frustrated shout as you stormed out of the kitchen and down the hall. You'd find your clothes and get the fuck out of here. This was absolutely ridiculous, the fact you managed to wedge yourself in such a position made you want to scream. Barging through the door of the bathroom, you glanced around, seeing no plastic bag in sight. You grumbled, walking down the hall and into the bedroom you had resided in for the night, doing a quick sweep of the area, finding nothing. You were seconds away from saying fuck it and cabbing home shoeless in a priest's lounge clothes. Spinning on your heel, you saw Wolfwood standing in the threshold of the door, holding neatly folded clothes in one hand. Your gaze softened at the care in which your clothes seemed to be handled, and washed, only for a second before falling back into a frustrated downturn. Being raised with decent manners had you wanting to thank him, but the side of you that was just pulled along for his church propaganda was screaming for you to tell him to go fuck himself. Approaching him, you reached out, going to nab at your clothes before he was lifting them up and back, keeping them just out of your reach.

"Fuck you," You spat, reaching up and trying again to grab your clothes, only for the same thing to happen. Cursing again, louder this time, you grabbed a fist full of the front of his shirt, trying to tug him down so you could reach the fabric being held just out of your grasp. "I can not fucking believe I let you string me along for this shit. I can't believe I thought, maybe, you were a decent fucking person, and you had decent fucking morals outside your own shitty church propaganda. I almost- almost had feelings for you!" Frustrated tears stung at your eyes, finally pulling back and giving him a shove in return. He was stable, sturdy, and barely moved even when you put a decent amount of force behind it. "What the fuck do you want from me? Give me my goddamn clothes back so I can get out of here."

"I didn't want to push you away," Wolfwood spoke low, and all you could do was scoff incredulously. "I didn't. I didn't want to brush you off, but what was I supposed to do? You wanted to talk in the middle of Sunday Service, pulling me aside for privacy or not don't you think that's a little suspicious to anyone that's looking?" Lowering his hand, you were quick to act, snatching up your pants and belt, button-down falling to the floor. Wolfwood huffed a derisive laugh, catching your arm in his hand before you could bend over and pick it up. "I wanted to talk, work something out with you-"

Yanking your arm away, you scrunched your nose at him. "Eat shit, no you didn't. You had plenty of opportunities-"

"When? You stopped coming to your confessionals, which is when I was planning on mentioning something. You leave before service is over so I can't pull you aside," Wolfwood reached out again, hand encasing your wrist as you watched him.

"Then what about last night? You can't do that stuff with me, but you wanted to work something out?"

"I wasn't going to fuck you when you were drunk out of your goddamn mind!" Wolfwood raised his voice, tightening his grip on your wrist. "I wanted to, fuck- you have no idea how bad I wanted to," He lowered his voice, dropping your wrist and letting his arm swing back to his side. "But do you think I could ever fuckin' forgive myself if you didn't actually want that, if I just took advantage of the fact you were drunk and I was just there-" He bent over, picking your shirt up off the floor as you stared at him with suspicious eyes. Holding it out, you locked eyes, blinking up at him as you searched and inspected for any signs of dishonesty, almost hoping you could catch him in a lie. If he was lying, that means that none of this was your fault. If he was lying, that means you weren't the reason everything went to shit, and you wouldn't have to shoulder the guilt of putting both of you in an unnecessary and stressful situation.

His eyes were honest, though, and the realization you had been reading things wrong this entire time was a burden nearly too heavy to bear. When you made no move to grab your shirt from him, he stepped closer, placing the now disheveled material in your arms with the rest of your clothes. You took a deep breath, the exhale getting caught in your throat when two fingers hooked under your chin, tilting your head back and up at a more easily accessible angle. The pad of his thumb pressed into your bottom lip, smoothing over it, caressing a line from the corner of your mouth down to your jaw as he leaned in.

"Does the 'social pariah' wanna give the 'morally corrupt cancer on society' another shot?" Wolfwood whispered, eyes half mast as he watched you, gazed into you, gauging your reaction. It was laughable, both throwing your insults back at you in playful jest, and the fact he wasn't deterred by your lack of communicative abilities. As you nodded, he was already leaning into you, nose brushing against yours making you flinch and grimace, placing the palm of your hand over his mouth and push back slightly. He gave you an inquisitive look, almost concerned, to which you could only smile.

"Still feel like shit. Didn't really wake up under the best circumstances, didn't get to brush my teeth," You explained, to which he laughed into your palm, standing at his full height again. Grabbing at the clothes in your arms, Wolfwood tossed them on top of his dresser, grabbing you by the shoulders and ushering you out of the room and towards the bathroom. Giving you a gentle shove inside, he reached up into the wall mounted cabinet, taking out a toothbrush and toothpaste, slapping them down on the counter and leaning his shoulder up against the door frame, hands in his pockets. You laughed again at his eagerness, hand reaching out for the toothbrush before making a face.

"Is this yours?" You accused, shooting him a side glance.

"... Yes?"

"You expect me to use your tooth brush? It's already used." You huffed, mostly teasing, but the thought did make you cringe.

"Oh, that's where you draw the line?" Wolfwood jibed, reaching over your head into the cabinet again, pulling out a package. By the time he was peeling the paper backing off, you were already running his tooth brush under the tap water, squirting on a glob of toothpaste with a malevolent grin.

"Fuckin' brat," He grumbled, tossing the half opened package onto the counter as he waited for you to finish brushing your teeth. At some point it became uncomfortable, how close he was watching you, and when it came time to spit you made a spinning motion with your hand, to which he blatantly ignored.

"What's your problem?" You garbled around the tooth brush, shyly spitting into the sink and rinsing off your face, careful not to get water on the cotton over your nose.

"Just enjoying the view," Wolfwood replied, nonchalant, smirking at the arch of your brow. "You look good when you got somethin' in your mouth."

Choking on your spit, you glared at him, met with nothing but his shit-eating grin you would never admit gave you butterflies. After rolling your eyes at him for the nth time that day, you rubbed at your eyes, deciding to inspect how shitty you actually looked in the mirror. The first thing to note was the shiner much more prominent under your right eye, peeking out from under the bandaging. It was red, only bits of purple here and there if you really squinted. Second to note was how absolutely fucking exhausted you looked, and after taking a few more seconds to examine, you hummed, "Wow, I do look like shit."

Wolfwood snickered a yeah, earning a half-hearted swat in his direction. Your hangover was far from gone, but you couldn't find it in you to care about the throbbing in your head from the overhead lights as you reached to smack him again when he so skillfully dodged the first, only to have him intercept your wrist mid-course, leaving you surprised he could anticipate your immediate reaction. His middle and index finger ran up your wrist, then your palm, parting your fingers and threading his own between the cracks, enclosing his fist over your palm. It wasn't that you had small hands, but the fact his palm and fingers could completely encase yours left your throat running dry, something that seemed to visibly amuse him. His other arm came around your waist, having him take a half step closer as he backed you up into the counter, craning his neck down and nudging your nose with his.

"I'm I permitted to kiss you now, princess?"

You barely managing to call him a smarmy fucker before he was pushing his lips into yours, knowing you wouldn't have given him a direct answer either way. It was smooth, languid, channeling all of the pent up frustration and anxiety into one action before it all melted away and made way for relief. Relief that everything was a miscommunication, lack of clarification from both of you that caused unnecessary hurt and turmoil. A kiss that, while not completely made up for lost time, would come close to it. The gentle caress of his thumb over the back of your hand took you by surprise, his touch moving up your arm, the pads of his fingers settling on your jaw and cheeks, squeezing slightly. Feeling defiant and spiteful, you tilted your head back, parting from him. He didn't let you move any further, fingers digging into your cheeks and tugging you back to his lips.

"No," Wolfwood grunted, lips molten, dripping with desire as he hooked his thumb in your mouth, prying your lips open and making room for his tongue. You'd like to say you put up a fight, but you were immediately putty in his hands, hands moving back to grip the bathroom counter to prevent your knees from buckling. When he parted, your breaths were heavy, cheeks ruddy, and he seemed pleased, running his tongue over his lip. "You don't get to be a brat, not after how you've been actin'."

The rebuttal you had lined up in your thoughts dried up when he pressed the pad on his thumb into your tongue, forcing it down as he kept your mouth open, your half lidded eyes watching his adam's apple bob as he swallowed. He was devouring you with his eyes, and you were only slightly concerned that your heart swelled at the thought of him wanting you even now, even after everything that happened, and even though you looked worse for wear, bandaged and bruised. You pressed your tongue up, adding to the pressure as you gently clamped your teeth down over his finger, looking up at him through your lashes. Sucking a breath through his teeth, Wolfwood tugged his thumb from your mouth, crushing his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. It was heavy, heated, and definitely more debauched tongue than sweet sincerity. A surprised noise left your throat when he scooped you up by your thighs, lifting you and placing you to sit on the bathroom counter. Upon doing so, he pressed the line of his body up against you, the already half-hard tent in his pants nudging your inner thigh. His hands came down to your outer thighs, guiding your legs to wrap around his waist. You did, of course you did, heels digging into his legs and tugging him impossibly close. The groan that left his throat, only to be swallowed up by you, was enough to make your head spin.

"Fuck, you little tease," Wolfwood growled into you when he parted, yanking at the loose collar of your borrowed shirt to expose your clavicle, sucking, licking, and biting a line from the column of your throat down to the exposed skin of your shoulder. "Comin' to me last night when you knew I couldn't have you," He continued, biting down hard enough to make you yelp, your hand flying up to your mouth to muffle your noises. He intercepted, grip tight on your wrist as he forced it back to your side. He came back up, pressing a searing, hard kiss to your lips, before parting just as quick. "Throwin' yourself at me like that... You really want me to fuck you again that bad?"

Your cheeks and ears grew hot, peering up at him through half-lidded eyes, lips slightly parted, completely pliant and ready for him, earning a dark chuckle. Before you could register his touch, you felt fingers grasping at your hair at the back of your head, tugging back and forcing you to expose your throat, eyes wide and watery as you stared at the ceiling. Unaware that the moan echoing off the walls was in fact from you, your eyes slid shut, feeling his lips and canines graze your skin. Hands reached up, fists grappling onto the fabric of his shirt resting on his shoulders, trying to steady yourself between the onslaught of abuse to your neck and the pounding headache nagging at the back of your mind. The vice grip he had on your hair definitely didn't aid in the increasing intensity of your already brain-melting headache, but fuck did it feel good.

"Nick!" You gasped when he latched onto the soft skin under your ear, sinking his teeth into you. Eyes rolling back, your hands slid a trail down from his shoulders and chest, falling to the band of his pants. One hand continued down, dipping beneath the band, while the other pushed his shirt up enough to rest your hand on his hip, digging the pads of your fingers into the skin there. He groaned when you wrapped your fingers around his fully hard cock, his breath hot against your skin as he pulled back, brows furrowed and gaze sharp as he admired the colorful tapestry he had made, your skin the canvas and his mouth the paintbrush.

"Shit," Wolfwood breathed, glancing down at your hand working him in the confines of his pants, his hips pushing and pulling with every long drag of your hand. His hand released your hair, a pained groan leaving your lips as you tightened your grip around him, palm smoothing over the tip and gathering the slick precum before pushing back down faster. One hand claimed purchase on the edge of the counter beside your thigh, the other shoving down the front of his pants, just getting them past the curve of his ass, before mimicking the position of his other hand. His breaths were heavy, half-mast eyes staring into you with molten intensity that had your cock throbbing in your pants. You didn't get to admire for long, his palm coming up to circle the column of your throat, fingers gripping your jaw and tugging you into him, pre-emptively parting your lips to make way for his tongue, eyes sliding shut.

It was surprising how vocal he was, groaning into your open mouth when your hand moved faster, when your nails dug into the soft flesh of his hip, when you licked into his mouth. You paused, squeezing at the base, before dragging up painfully slow. You seemed to be wearing his patience thin, if the jerk of his hips and growl in his throat spoke for him. Smirking into your spit riddled debauched kiss, you did it again, moving up even slower this time. His free hand snatched at your wrist, lips pulling back as he leaned away. His lips were glistening with your shared spit, jaw slack as he panted, brows downturned as his nose scrunched, giving you a look strikingly similar to the one gracing his features when he burst into your side of the confessional. You swallowed, heart leaping into your throat and dick jumping in your pants.

"You're playing a dangerous game here, princess," Wolfwood snarled, slowly releasing your wrist, as if to give you a second chance. His mocking term of endearment made you huff a sardonic breath, quirking a brow at him as you repeated your previous motion that had earned you his word of warning in the first place, just to prove a point. Your hand barely got halfway up the length of him before you were being grabbed at the hips, your body hauled up and tossed over his shoulder like you weighed absolutely nothing. You yelled, surprised by the sudden display of strength your head pounding relentlessly at the sudden change in your center of gravity, blood rushing to your head. You swore at him, hurling pathetic insincere insults at him as he marched down the hall and through a door frame. If someone asked you why you decided landing a five-star, open palmed slap on his half exposed ass was a good idea before you were ungracefully dropped on the bed, you wouldn't be able to tell them. Your body hit the bed, the air leaving your lungs, pushing your torso up with your forearms. The pathetic attempt to ground yourself was useless, his hands grabbing at your hips and flipping you over, the feeling of your pants being yanked down making your eyes blow wide. Despite knowing you should have prepared yourself, should have expected it, the flat-palmed, unforgiving strike to your ass made you jolt and moan, slack jawed and debauched. It seemed both of you were equally surprised, your ears on fire as you slapped your hands over your mouth, expression shocked and bewildered, and suddenly you were so thankful you were face down in the bed, because you could feel the smug aura oozing off of him.

"Wasn't expecting that," Wolfwood derided, his palm smoothing over the spot he slapped, the skin still tingling. You wouldn't be surprised if there was a welt there later. "Want another one?"

Before you could choke out any kind of answer, another blow was landed over the exact same spot, followed by another depraved moan bubbling up your throat. His chuckle barely registered, your ears ringing as you open-mouth panted into your hands, eyes half lidded as you felt him grip a handful of your ass, spreading you for him. The thought of him seeing you so shameless made you roll your hips, the friction of your cock being trapped between your thigh and the bed ripping a raspy moan from your throat. Your dissolute actions came to a halt, body tensing and shoulders seizing when an incredibly cold and wet sensation dripped onto your asshole, his hand leaving its spot on your skin. Yelping, your hands flew down to the bed, gripping the sheets on either side of your head, turning to look back at him. Surprised to see him staring down at you shirtless with clouded eyes, eyes locking, one hand fisting his cock at a slow pace, the other throwing the sizeable bottle of lube to the other side of the bed, your cheeks flushed, swallowing as he ran his tongue over his teeth in a predatory display. Watchful eyes trailed his hand, heart racing as his palm smoothed over your hip, trailing towards your lower back, sliding up the line of your spine, before grabbing a fist full of your hair, shoving your upper body back down onto the bed. Your eyes watered when your sensitive nose collided with the mattress, eyes scrunching shut as your body tensed for a second time, a pained moan lodged in your throat. Wolfwood seemed more perceptive of your half-hearted woes than you thought, his grip loosening as he gently tousled your hair, scratching your head once, twice, before following the same line down, a finger circling around your hole, gathering up the surrounding lube.

Breathing a low moan when his finger pressed into you, your eyes fluttered shut, pressing your hips back into his hand. The sudden movement had your impossibly hard cock rubbing up against the soft sheets again, aligning in such a way that it was pressed down, trapped between your legs and peeking out from between your thighs. Some of the lube had dribbled down, the warm, wet drip making your thighs tense, biting your lip to choke back a moan. Your fingers clenched, balling your fists and gripping the sheets below you as he pressed in a second finger, leaving you little time to adjust. Regardless, your eyes rolled back, lips parting to huff out a wanton moan as he pulled his fingers out, before pushing back in, curling down. Yelping, you gripped the sheets tighter in your fists as he rubbed at the spongy spot inside you, shoulders tensing as his lubed up cock slid against the curve of your ass just above your thigh. The steady roll of his hips, followed by the low groan that left his lips, had your head fogging over, pushing back harder into his hand to urge him to go faster, deeper. He didn't seem to be keen on giving in to your silent begging, his fingers moving painstakingly slow against your most sensitive spots, similar to how you had been teasing him in the bathroom. It wouldn't be the first time you were put in your place due to your own hubris, but you knew what he wanted from you.

"P-Please, Nick-" Your voice was cut off by a debauched moan, immediately feeling his fingers move faster, relentlessly abusing your prostate. Your teeth clamped down onto your lip as your thighs began to shake, hips rolling involuntarily pushing back and forth against him, the friction seeming to serve pleasure for both your dick pinned against the bed, and his pressing harder into the meat of your rear. You let your face fully fall to the bed, the pain of your injury not registering over the intensity in which you felt your orgasm creeping up on you. It was shameful how fast he was working you into a messy puddle of a person in his hands, but in your defense this had been the only thing on your mind for nearly an entire month. Moans converted to pathetic whines the closer you got to your peak, eyes clamped shut as the beginnings of tears pricked at your eyes.

"Gonna cum already?" Wolfwood chided, but you were unwilling to answer, half expecting that if he knew the answer he would stop. One particular down thrust of his fingers punched out a sinful whine, to which he removed his fingers, earning a noise of protest. "Shut up," He clicked his tongue, pressing the tip of himself against your asshole, "Impatient brat."

All you could do was choke out pitiful noises as he pushed into you, inch after inch each earning a thrust in and out, before pushing himself in to the hilt. Back arching, you felt his hips collide with your rear, holding there for a moment or two. You heard a shaky breath beside your ear, followed by a warm pressure along the line of your back through the fabric of your shirt, turning your head as far as you could to see his chin hovering above your shoulder. His lips were parted, eyes watchful and sharp when he brought a hand around to grip your jaw, turning your head at an angle that made your muscles scream, before descending his lips to yours in a messy, tongue and teeth filled kiss. His hips pulled back, then jolted forward, setting a slow, brutal pace, swallowing up your unabating noises greedily. He pulled back, holding your head in place, and hooked a finger in your mouth, hungry eyes watching you moan and pant, cheeks ruddy and eyes half lidded. Heaving out a deep chuckle, Wolfwood ran his tongue along your bottom lip, licking a trail from the corner of your mouth, down to your jaw, before continuing his onslaught of abuse on whatever bare skin he could reach. The hand gripping your jaw released you, moving to the back of your head, forcing you into the mattress once again, making sure to angle your head so he was only pressing your cheek down into the mess of pillows and blankets.

Already half out of your mind, when his hands moved down, circling your hips and leaning his weight into you, forcing your pelvis deeper into the bed, you keened, mouth hanging open and drool sliding out from the corner of your mouth. It was almost too much when he angled his hips down, repeatedly abusing your most sensitive spot, the pull and push grinding you against the sheets. "Nick," You panted, one hand reaching up to press against the headboard, trying desperately to push back in time with his thrusts. "S'... good," You garbled intelligently, voice muffled from the fabric beneath you. He seemed amused, the stutter of his hips against your ass forcing a punched out noise of desperation from your chest, his hands squeezing your hips tight before he pulled back completely, flipping you onto your back without warning. You gasped, eyes adjusting to the light now that your vision wasn't half covered by blankets. He gave you no respite, lining himself up again, but in that moment you felt your breath catch in your throat. The sun peeking through the massive colorful stained glass window shone down on him, skin glistening with sweat, strands of pitch black hair clinging to his forehead. One hand held his cock firmly and pushed the tip into you, the other running back through his hair.

"Fuck," Was all you could whisper, completely swept away with how ruggedly ethereal he looked, sun kissed skin riddled with blue, red, and yellow refractions of light, the sight reminding you of the nightmare that had awoken you first thing this morning. His eyes stared into you, pushing himself in to the hilt. Your vision grew blurry, before clearing, and upon looking up at Wolfwood, you noticed his brows furrowed with concern. Your vision blurred again, then cleared again, and he was reaching a hand up to your face, thumb brushing away the wet trails of tears you didn't notice were running down your face.

Wolfwood opened his mouth, pulling his hips back slightly. "Are... Do you-"

"No, please... Keep going," You interrupted, fingers clasping over the hand pressed into your cheek. You sighed out a moan, eyes fluttering shut when he pushed back in, and that seemed to be enough reassurance for him. The soft touch on your face trailed down, fingertips brushing down your neck, torso, before settling on your hip, the other pressed into the mattress beside your head so he could lean down into you. Lifting your lower half and angling himself to push a little deeper, you whimpered, hands reaching up and finding purchase on his shoulders. His dark gaze was locked on your face, and you found yourself unable to look away, despite the intimacy of it making your stomach twist in knots. Silver swayed, the cross necklace adorning his neck swinging back and forth with every meaningful, unhurried thrust of his hips. Somehow this unraveled you faster, never having experienced this sense of care, and you couldn't quite tell if the affinity shining in his eyes made you want to cum or cry more, or both.

"Faster," You breathed, and without further begging, Wolfwood did as you asked, his jaw hanging slack as he leaned down further, his nose brushing up against yours. Finger pads dug deeper into your skin as he lowered himself to his forearm, half-mast eyes remaining locked with yours, even as your vision began to blur with tears again. Seeming to understand exactly what you were thinking, he closed his eyes, leaning in and kissing you in such a way it left you winded. You moaned, whined, whimpered into his mouth, into his gentle touch circling your leg around his waist, back arching when his fingers brushed up the base of your painfully hard cock. His fingers encircled you, pulling up and running a thumb over the tip, only managing to push halfway back down before you were reduced to a puddle in his grip, your climax hitting you hard and fast. You pulled back from his lips, eyes wide as you choked on your noises, hips bucking up into his touch as your warm release painted his hand and your borrowed shirt white.

"Good boy," Wolfwood whispered into you, giving you another searing kiss before pulling back, both hands on your hips as he set a ruthless pace, battering his hips up into you with all his might as he quickly climbed to his own peak. You were a mess, eyes rolled back so far you swear you could see your frontal lobe, hands holding desperately onto his wrists as he flexed his fingers, gripping you harder, tighter, pulling your body to meet with his every thrust. It didn't take him long to hit the wall, his body toppling over, only preventing himself from collapsing onto you when a hand left it's position on your hip, propping himself up with a flat palm on the bed. He huffed, moan depraved and sinful, his eyes sliding shut as his hips stuttered a few more times before stilling.

Silence washed over you, your conjoined panting and heaving deafening in the silence. You could no longer hear the rain pattering against the window, sun shining bright and decorating his slick, sweaty skin in all kinds of colorful geometric shapes. He opened his eyes, catching you staring at him, but instead of the smarmy reaction you were expecting to get, he smiled down at you, palms smoothing over the welts in your hips his fingers left soothingly. This act alone had your heart jumping into your throat, mind still unsure with what his modus operandi was with you, but for now you left your guard down, deciding not to put your walls up quite yet. Ever the perceptive, Wolfwood chuckled, seeming to sense your unease, pulling his softening cock out of you and using his discarded shirt to wipe you off, and then himself. You swallowed, following suit by stripping off the cum stained shirt from your body and throwing it onto the floor beside the bed. No words were exchanged as he flopped down on the bed beside you, arms circling your waist and tugging you back into him, his face nestled in your hair.

Unable to stop your heart from racing when the bare line of his chest pressed into your back, you froze. What did this mean for you? Was this just another fun time, or did he want to pursue something with you? What did that mean for his career if he did want something more with you? What if the church caught wind of this and stationed him somewhere else, or what if he lost everything altogether? All because you were selfish, all because-

"Yer thinkin' too loud," Wolfwood muttered into your hair, arms squeezing your waist for emphasis. "What's rattling around in that head of yours?"

You were embarrassed he had read you so well, teeth clamping down on your lower lip nervously as you stumbled to get your words out.

"Just thinking... You said you don't drive a car, what do priests drive? You never answered me," Your tone was forced, forced amusement, forced jest, and you mentally beat yourself for thinking he would fall for something like that. All you received was a hum and a deep exhale, his breath warm on the back of your head.

"I'll let it slide this time, but you're gonna have to learn to be more honest with me if we're gonna pursue... this."

Jaw clenching, eyes watering, all you could do was nod in his grip, earning a quiet good. Taking a deep breath, you allowed yourself to indulge just a bit, turning in his tight grip- which was a feat in itself- so you were now facing him. A smirk crawled up onto his lips, tugging you just a bit closer so you were now nose to nose, you watched his tired eyes slide shut. You could only stare, could only let a barely there smile grace your lips, leaning down and pressing a tender kiss to his lips, earning a grunt in response. A palm came down playfully to your rump, your body jerking forward into him as he whispered into your lips, "Don't wind me up again."

Rolling your eyes, you placed a hand on his bicep, sliding your palm up to his shoulder, before settling on his neck. "You're insatiable. Unscrupulous. Horrible, horrible priest."

The dark chuckle he emitted as he tugged you closer and rolled you onto your back, moving so he was swinging a leg over you and half-hovering over your form, he opened his eyes to gaze down at you.

"You've got no idea, angel."

[firedragon1321]

How to Spot an AI-Generated Tai in the Wild!

Because I am insanely obsessed with the blorbo and AI art is a hot-button topic right now, here's a silly thing. I'm sure most artists can tell the difference between real and AI art. But my autistic brain wants to pick apart Tai's character design a bit so here you go. This applies to all seasons, touching on basic traits Tai has between them. So I won't go too much into clothing here (people like to dress him up in different cool outfits anyway- keep doing that).

Note that this isn't true to all models, but works 90% of the time. AI art is advancing so quickly that this may be obsolete by tomorrow. Also, real art might "fail" these little tests simply due to lack of experience drawing the character. If you suspect someone is posting AI art, just block and move on. Report if you want, but you know how Tumblr feels about AI. Most importantly? Don't use this post to be a dick.

WARNING: This post uses AI-generative images found from around the Internet for demonstrative purposes. No credit is given because if the "creators" wanted credit, they should've learned how to actually draw. :)

SKIN TONE

Tai has this nice, tanned skin tone that the rest of the Adventure DigiDestined do not have. While he keeps it in 02 and tri, he loses his color in Kizuna. A real fanart piece is most likely to reflect this, or even add color to his paler designs.

Most AI models have a generic pasty white skin tone for anime characters. This applies to any anime character, not just Tai. I believe this model might have gobbled up his Kizuna skin tone. But I've seen fake Tais even paler than this.

There are some AI models that combat this. But the standard AI identification tricks apply. Here, the tongue is mushy, and the highlights on his goggles make no sense.

HAIR OF FLOOF FLOOF

Ah yes- my point of expertise. Tai's hair is a difficult thing to draw. I don't blame anyone for dropping the ball here. But AI does have some notable, repetitive failings.

A "legit" Tai tends to have fluff, rather than spikes. The bangs consist of one stripe over the forehead. The few spikes present designate messiness, but the general shape is actually curvy (look at the top right side of the head for the most wavy lines). The size of the floof ranges between adaptions and even storyboard artists.

AI-generators are convinced that all "anime hair" is spiky. Notice this AI Tai has more spikes and less curved lines.

Then, there's this one, which drops the ball on Tai and Matt so bad that both characters resemble Bakugou from My Hero Academia.

WHO'S THAT DIGIDESTINED?

Eye shape and color has some leeway depending on the artist's style. Adventure/02, tri., and Kizuna supply three different eye styles. However, there are still some dead giveaways.

Revisiting this AI-generated image, the eyes look...familiar. No?

How about now? The modern Pokemon anime style has been completely absorbed by AI models. Sometimes, Digimon and Pokemon will be confused for each other, resulting in similar eye shapes and other traits (look at the noses, too).

HUMAN TOUCH

There's some times you can look at an art and know with confidence it was human-made, such as-

MS Paint blobs/sketches on lined paper/anything showing layers/etc. They're too unrefined for an AI image creator to want to profit off of, so why would they make them?

Some fetish art. A lot of kinksters are using AI, which is why deviantArt made good ammunition for this post. But many have distinct art styles that AI has not copied yet.

Western-cartoony art with hard or thick lines. AI is allergic to these traits atm. Notice the softer, thinner outlines on all three fakes.

Clearly attempting to master Tai's unique traits, even if they don't translate well (e.g.- a dome vaguely shaped like his hair is more credible than a "perfect" hairdo with too many spikes).

FINAL NOTES

All of this could change tomorrow, at the rate at which AI advances. I'm fairly good at deducing AI art from human-made art. But a recent piece almost tricked me (interestingly, it was Davis- not Tai- who looked off). These things are constantly evolving. But in addition to the usual tricks, knowing your blorbos can help identify AI images so you can freely block (or, when applicable, report) the idiots who made them.

[renard-dartigue]

My Sleep Token Creature Headcanons

These are ideas that came to me for the passed few weeks and wrote down:

The vessels aren't actually wearing black paint. That's Sleep's influence manifesting on their bodies.

They wear masks not to frighten their followers during rituals because Sleep has mutated them almost beyond recognition. But Vessel wears his mask to protect the audience.

Vessel

Vessel has 6 pairs of eyes and his perception of reality is heightened. When off stage he only opens the middle row but can open the other sets whenever he wants, though he often gets dizzy doing it. When channeling Sleep's power he opens all three sets and they shine brightly. When using Sleep's power, Vessel can vaguely see the fabric of the universe, infinite strings of information flowing into his mind in bursts, fueling his creativity. However, or thankfully, Sleep heavily censures 99.9% of that information so that Vessel's brain doesn't shatter. Wearing his mask on stage is important because a gateway to Sleep manifest on his face. Staring directly into the gateway will cause people's eye's to explode and liquefy their brains.

II

II can hear and feel the rhythm of the universe. He can raise or lower the "volume" whenever and can allow others to hear it as well. During rituals, he taps into this rhythm, making them more effective. With his drumming and Vessel's incantations, they set the pace of the ritual, providing a safe connection between Sleep and our reality. If Vessel can see the strings of the universe, II can touch them, holding them out for Vessel to pluck. Outside of rituals, he will tap his foot or his fingers in sync with the universe, the actions are soothing to him. His heart beats to this rhythm.

III

III is a bit of a conundrum, even to himself. He is a shape-shifter but not in the traditional sense. His body shapes not into other people but impossible forms. He is still a tall lanky man, same as before he discovered Sleep. However, his body can stretch and contort in impossible ways. He can also change colors but red is the only one that manifests, blobs and patches shifting across his body. One might say his form is ever changing, like the universe itself.

IV

IV being the newest addition to that band, his abilities manifested recently. Basicly, he has a taste for blood. But not in the traditional blood sucking way from ancient myths. Drinking blood seems to grant him knowledge almost similar to Vessel's but on a lesser scale. Blood brings Sleep closer to our world. Human and animal blood work, but human blood is more potent. Its effects are even stronger when someone willingly offers their blood to him, willing giving up a peice of one's lifeforce to Sleep.

Additions

All four of them can travel to a portion of the astral plain while dreaming, but only Vessel can go deeper without losing his mind.

They have many smaller ritual to communicate with Sleep but its takes a few nights before Sleep responds, the reply cryptic but satisfactory once they all figured it out.

The Vesselettes are the most mysterious, even to the vessels. Its not clear when they joined the band but it's likely the choir have grown so close to Sleep that they have transcended their humanity into beings beyond our understanding. They help Vessel with incantations so he doesn't get too overwhelmed channeling Sleep's power.

And that's about all I came up with heh.

[n7priv]

how do you start sth like this even?..

uhm, hi, so; recently i picked up this video game, i bought it cause i really loved another game its creators made and i wanted to check out their previous work. i'm talking about citizen sleeper (which this post isnt about but this is totally an amazing experience!!!) and jump over the age's first game;

in other waters

its a game about Ellery Vas, a xenobiologist in their dive suit following the tracks of Minae, a former work colleague and friend, onto an exoplanet (which btw is a real planet, but — as far as i know — isn't filled with water and life) and discovering what happened there.

however, your (the player's) point of view is not that of either one of these two friends, but instead that of the supporting AI inside the dive suit (kinda like siri but cool bc its you).

and this is where my adoration for this game comes from:

all you get to see is a user interface.

the mesmerizing wide depths of the ocean, the new species you discover in these foreign waters, the multiple suns that never set because of the tidally locked orbit of the planet,

you get to see none of it.

all you get, is a navigation interface on a map consisting of vague shapes in three, maybe four, colors max at a time;

the AI's POV.

and yet, the game still manages to deliver its environments and story convincingly.

shallow waters feel shallow, depths feel deep, hazardous areas feel toxic, life feels alive, Ellery feels like a person, a scientist who's working together with you to find out what happened to their friend, and to the life on this planet, and you feel responsible for your human.

i'll leave you with a few more screenshots, maybe you'll see what i mean:

apart from the obvious (the colors) it's also the interactions with Ellery that make this game feel so;; alive

they describe the world to you, though not always directly, sometimes you have to read their diary entries, their research notes, their coments on landmarks.

as you explore and scan and sample the different life forms around you, you unlock taxonomy entries for different species, and completing research on each of them will unlock a sketch of the life form from Ellery

(spoiler ahead i guess; just one example)

you end up caring for them because they are your eyes, your window into the real (well, as real as video games get) world, and yet, the only way you can communicate with them is occasionally answer yes or no to a question.

or is it? because i felt that through my actions in the game i was showing them i cared, and i that wanted to help. the entire game felt like a conversation between me and this somewhat lost scientist. when they thanked me for helping them out and looking after them, it feels heartfelt and appropriate; not cold and out of nowhere because "we need a bonding moment"

also, the soundtrack and sound design of this game just create the perfect atmosphere:

so, tldr, i am amazed by how jump over the age conveys this foreign environment, makes me care for their characters, and tells their story convincingly, all with nothing but a few colored lines n blobs, a bit of text, and a wonderful soundtrack.

tldr^2: in other waters is an amazing video game.

thanks for reading if u made it this far ‹3

- Lu

[heroloverangel]

Double the Fun

Fatgum is best dad don’t @ me.

Being pregnant sucks, you’ve come to realize. You’re only eight weeks along and already you’re ready for this to be over. You’re constantly nauseous. Your clothes are uncomfortably tight around your middle. You’re sore and tender in so many places you can’t imagine how you’ll survive nine whole months of this.

You wanted this, you remind yourself as Taishiro helps you get comfortable in the exam room. There’s nothing in the world you wanted more than to start a family with him a few months ago, and he’d been so happy he’d cried when that pregnancy test came back positive. Now you’re waiting to get your first ultrasound and seriously wondering if you should have just gotten a puppy instead.

“Toyomitsu,” the doctor is annoyingly cheerful when he greets you and begins checking your blood pressure. “How have things been going lately?”

“Uggggghhhhhhh,” you whine dramatically, flopping back against the padded headrest.

Fatgum takes over for you. “It’s been awful, doc. She’s eating like she’s tryin’ to dethrone me in a contest but just throws it all up later. Is that normal?”

“Increased appetite and frequent nausea are to be expected, it’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Okay but it’s feeling a little excessive now,” you argue. “And I’ve gained ten pounds already, isn’t that kind of a lot?” You watch the older man scratch out a few notes on your file, nodding slowly.

“I have some ideas, but I’d like to get a look at the ultrasound first if you don’t mind.”

You’re a little comforted that he doesn’t look worried, and you’ve been eagerly anticipating this visit for weeks. “Yeah, that’s fine.” A few minutes later there’s a cold gel slathered all over your middle and the magic wand running along your stomach. “You’ll tell us if you see anything weird, right?” The doctor nods and taps a few buttons. Beside you, you hear Taishiro’s breathing stop as the image comes into view and you get your first look at your child. There’s not much to see yet, at this point it’s more of a vague blob than anything actually human-shaped, but that’s not the point. “Oh my god,” you say quietly. Suddenly all the discomfort you’ve been feeling vanishes as you stare at the screen. “Tai, look. That’s our baby.”

“Hey kiddo, you’re doing a great job in there,” he gushes, your hand wrapped snugly in his giant fingers.

“Everything looks perfectly fine,” the doctor assures you. “Now if you’d like to see something interesting…” he shifts the wand slightly and you notice something else in your belly. “It looks like my suspicions were correct.”

“What is that?” You squint and lean forward as best you can, trying to get a better idea of what you’re working with. “Is that bad?”

The older man laughs. “Far from it. That’s a roommate.”

“A…roommate?” You’re confused for a moment, but Taishiro puts the pieces together immediately.

“Cupcake, that’s another baby! We’re having twins!”

Your eyes go wide and you stare from your husband to the doctor in surprise. “Twins? Really?”

He smiles. “Yes, that would explain the increased side effects you’ve been feeling. More babies mean more work for your body, unfortunately.”

You watch them wordlessly, your eyes darting between one little blob to the other as your doctor drones about something you can’t waste any attention on. Fatgum’s hand stays firmly around yours, equally focused on his children on the screen. “I can’t believe it, sugar. We’re getting two for the price of one.”

You nod distractedly, too overwhelmed with the surprise to consider anything else. “And they’re both okay in there? I’m doing this right?”

“Yes, they’re both looking perfectly healthy. We always recommend more appointments when there’s multiple births involved, but there’s no reason to assume you’ll have anything but a standard, uncomplicated pregnancy.” It’s hard to tear your attention away from your babies, but you force yourself to focus. “Make sure you’re eating a healthy diet with plenty of fruits and vegetables, and don’t overdue it on physical activity.”

Thirty minutes later, you’re fully dressed and checked out with the receptionist, your next visit scheduled and a new library of information to read. Your husband’s been stuck to your side the entire time, practically radiating with excitement. “Twins, honeybun. It’s gonna be amazing.”

“I know, right?” You sound breathless, you’re still too awestruck to calm down. You wrap your arms as best you can around your mountain of a husband and find yourself lifted off the ground as he returns your hug. In this position, it’s obvious when your stomach rumbles and both of you laugh. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

He grins, eyes crinkling with happiness. “Takoyaki it is.”

[iztea]

hi! I saw your post about critiquing another persons art work and it made me realize i dont like my current drawing process

Mostly because I have shaky hands and don’t really like line art because it takes me too long and i still dont like how it looks so im trying to switch to a more painterly style

Do you have any advice? Particularly on defining 3d forms?

P.S.

(I love your art style! You draw so beautifully and I love how you stylize anatomy and hair particularly)

yeah i feel you, i think everyone starts digital art with a lineart heavy style in mind and then gradually drop it as it is pretty hard to master

i'm not sure i'm the best person to ask about defining 3D forms as i myself struggle with that, but i thing that i noticed is that if you don't have a stable base or foundation to paint over then the process will become exponentially harder. So what i do is i make sure i have a cohesive sketch. Not a clean one, not a pretty one, but one where i am sure where everything goes and one that helps me predict and better visualize how things will end up once i get there. If the sketch is so messy to the point where i can't tell a leg apart or i don't know the general form of the fabric then i'll have a much, much harder time rendering later on.. So i think making sure the "skeleton" of your art is set in place. Again it's not about it looking good or clean it's about knowing what you'll be doing with it in the later stages.

But let's say you do have a clean sketch, or even lineart. I think the easiest way to give form to your subject is by choosing a light source ( it doesn't have to be dramatic, it can just be ambient light ) and then paint shadows in the areas where light can't reach. It depends on your style really, but for me i use a darker (but still saturated) color under the chin, under the eyes, where the bangs/hair meets the face and for the nose area i kinda just make a blob (i don't paint noses that much as you might have noticed bdshj but you know,, check out other artists you like and examine how they handle shading). Just try to think of everything as oversimplified shapes. limbs are cylinders, the torso is like a parallelipiped or a box or a sack of beans or whatever you see fit, the head another box etc... just keep it simple, Less is more

Oh and also, for a painterly style, i suggest avoiding overkilling it with the rendering. Let the brush strokes speak for themselves and keep it vague/ abstract. Our brains are smart and they loove filling in blanks for us if they're given some general information so let the viewer do the hard work, don't explain everything.. this is also a good way to practice developing an artstyle but i'm getting off topic if i wasn't blabbering enough already. A painterly style is imperfect and messy and vague at times and you should let it be that way, don't force perfection onto it as you'll deprive it of humanity these are my two cents on the matter hope it made sense and helped in any way? if not you can always watch yt videos or listen to more qualified people than me

[doodleferp]

stormy night (cryptid!Vash x oc)

When Ari takes an ill-advised trip to the woods, she wakes up somewhere she definitely didn't fall asleep with a person she definitely doesn't recognize. Except...it's not a person. In a way.

Based off my cryptid Vash sketches! This AU isn't made for any specific Vash, so feel free to imagine whichever Vash you want! Neversink Cave is the closest idea I had of the one that Vash lives in, so look that up if you want a better idea of the environment we’re in.

triggers: uncanny valley, technical kidnapping

When Ari had fallen asleep that night, she had intended to spend a night in the forest as a part of her Environmental Science project. What she didn’t intend was to wake up in total darkness, soaking wet and covered in grime, with her travel bag, sleeping bag and the clothes on her back.

She groaned to herself and tried to climb out of her sleeping back, grimacing when her hands touched the wet stone floor. Her eyes were still adjusting, so she could only make out large amorphous blobs. But she definitely knew she was in a cave. If she had to guess, she was somewhere near Juneora Rock, which not only had some lovely waterfalls, but a large, deep cave that had been nicknamed “The Pit”. It was a long, long ways down, and people had definitely gotten themselves killed when they used improper techniques or climbed during wet conditions-

Ari was startled by a loud clap of thunder, and she groaned aloud. Of course. The fucking storm. She knew there was going to be a really bad storm this week, but she was so sure she’d been able to beat it. Of course. Fucking weather. No wonder she’d run and fallen asleep in a cave.

…wait.

Had she?

She didn’t remember getting up, nor did she remember sprinting through a storm to the nearest shelter she could find. So how the hell did she get here? In The Pit of all places?

Every hair stood on end as a strange sound echoed through the cave. It was vaguely human, but it sounded more like an animal.

Ari jolted upright and her eyes darted around the cave. And a horrible realization hit her. If she didn’t know she got down here, then that meant something had dragged her out of her tent and carried her here. More importantly, it meant she couldn’t get back out.

Another sound rang through the dark. A loud, clicking trill. Ari looked in the direction of the sound and froze, her heart dropping into her stomach.

A pair of bright-blue eyes shone in the darkness, leering at her from afar.

There was something else here.

The blob surrounding them was definitely human shaped, but something was wrong about it. It was too tall and too thin to be another person. But the way the eyes watched her felt too intelligent to just be an animal. 

Slow, methodical footfalls bounced off the walls of the cave as the eyes drew closer. Ari tried to scramble away, but there was only so much wall she could see in the dark. Suddenly, the footfalls stopped. Ari looked back, only to find the bright-blue eyes directly in front of her.

Oh, fuck.

A large hand took hers and held them up to the eyes. A soft hum echoed through the cave, causing her to jolt once again. Then, the eyes inspected her other hand, the head tilting in the darkness as a light trill echoed through the cave.

As the creature was preoccupied with her left hand, Ari’s right hand dove out of sight. She dug through her pocket, silently screaming for her keychain to be intact. The moment she felt the familiar fabric of the lanyard, she grasped for anything that felt round and metallic. Bingo.

Ari whipped out the keychain, pointing the flashlight directly at the eyes. The creature’s eyes slammed shut and it let out a squawk of terror as she blinded it, scrambling to get back into the darkness of the cave.

Ari scrambled back against the cave wall, pointing the flashlight in the direction of the sound. And as her eyes adjusted, they were in awe of what they’d found.

It was a man. Or rather, it was trying to look like a man. Gangly limbs that were far too long to be normal. A head of the brightest hair she’d ever seen. A long, lanky silver body riddled with scars, missing patches of skin, and dull markings. A large pair of wings wrapped around its upper body, that didn’t look like they were made of feathers.

The man-thing stayed at the other end of the cave, hunched over and trembling as it rubbed its eyes. After a few tense moments, it looked back at her. It looked like something out of Avatar. Breathtaking inhuman eyes, symmetrical markings on its face, and a pair of sharp fangs peeking out of its mouth.

When it seemed absolutely certain that she wasn’t going to attack, the man-thing slowly moved its body to face hers. Ari couldn't stop her eyes from wandering, and they quickly found the stub where its left arm should’ve been. The man-thing noticed her staring and immediately shied away, cradling its stub to its body and turning away from her.

The word “Don’t,” had left Ari’s mouth before she could stop herself. The man-thing tilted its head, letting out a confused chirp. “I-I mean…it’s okay. You don’t gotta hide.” Ari looked at the cave ceiling, trying in vain to find any sort of exit. “I mean, we’re gonna be down here for a while,” she chuckled.

There was a resounding thunderclap from outside, causing the two of them to jolt. Ari looked back over at the man-thing, who was now visibly shaking. “You, uh…ya don’t like storms, huh?”

The man-thing locked eyes with her from over its wings. Slowly, it shook its head.

“Yeah,” Ari agreed. “I don’t really like ‘em either. Rain’s fun and all, but also, like, no.”

Ari tried to stand, grasping around the cave wall for some support. She shone the flashlight around the cave, and, admittedly, was surprised at what she saw. Near the back of the cave, there was a large pile of what appeared to be old blankets and sleeping bags. There was an almost-shelf sitting near the pile, upon which rested a large pair of sunglasses, an ancient-looking burlap sack, and what appeared to be a hand-crafted prosthetic arm.

Unlike the other items, the arm was soaking wet. And, Ari realized, so was the man-thing.

“Did you bring me back here by yourself?” she asked.

Slowly, the man-thing nodded.

Ari felt something weird in her stomach. Guilt? Anxiety? “Thank you,” she said. “I probably would’ve bit it if it wasn’t for you.”

The man-thing appeared to relax a bit, but he still kept away. 

She frowned. “I guess I’ll have to sleep here. Maybe tomorrow I’ll be able to find a way out.”

The man-thing trilled excitedly. He ran over to her and scooped her up with his single arm, nuzzling her face and clicking excitedly. “Ack!” Ari exclaimed, taken aback by his sudden shift in demeanor. “Uh, hey, take it easy, buddy! I’m not a toy!”

The man-thing carried her across the cave, plopping them both down in the pile of fabrics. Though the dirt and grime on the fabrics made Ari’s stomach turn, they were still much more welcome than the cold, gross cave floor. The man-thing sat cross-legged behind her, but his legs were so long that she was effectively trapped between them.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness in the grody nest, Ari finally realized how much bigger the man-thing was than her. It looked like he had at least a couple feet on her. The way his wings suddenly began to unfurl made him look even larger. But his face wasn’t…as creepy as she’d first seen it. He had the face of a young man not much older than her, with smooth skin and gentle cheekbones. Most curiously, she spotted a small beauty mark under his left eye. If he’d been human and able to communicate, he’d be very attractive.

The man-thing was very aware of her staring, because he puffed up his chest and shook his wings, letting out a jubilant chirp. Ari wouldn’t keep herself from chuckling, and the man-thing’s smile blossomed into a childish grin.

Ari couldn’t stop the smile from appearing on her face. “So, uh,” she asked. “D-do you have a name?” The man-thing tilted his head, seemingly confused by her question. “I mean, we’re gonna be here a little bit. We should get to know each other.”

The man-thing straightened up a bit. He crawled over to a small hole near the nest and started fiddling with something inside. His wings were large enough to block her view, so she couldn’t do much but sit and wait for him to turn back around. When he finally did, he was holding a small set of dog tags on a simple beaded chain.

She strained to take a closer look at the tags. They looked absolutely ancient, and somehow had been kept in very good care since they were last worn. On what she assumed to be the uppermost tag, she could make out a single word etched into the material.

Vash.

“Huh,” she muttered. “I guess your name is Vash.”

Vash cooed softly, a smile coming to his face. He turned back around and put the tags back where he had left them. Then he crawled back over to her, circling around her twice before falling onto the nest. He didn’t close his eyes, no. That would be too normal. Instead, he laid his head directly on her body and stared directly at her face, big blue eyes glowing in the darkness as his chest rumbled with purrs.

Ari sighed wearily and laid down in the nest. The purrs were helpful for helping her relax, but it wasn’t really much in the long haul. It was cold and creepy down in this cave, and she couldn’t fall asleep knowing the man-thing was watching her like a hawk.

She closed her eyes and tried to forget she was there. In her mind, she was in her comfortably-shitty dorm room, typing away on her laptop while she snuggled with her dog-shaped pillow and played Say Yes to the Dress: Atlanta in the background. She tried to pay attention to the rain outside and not the incessant purrs of the man-thing laying on her chest. Not that the weight and vibrations weren’t a comforting sensation. She just wasn’t used to it.

Don’t worry, she assured herself. Morning will come. You can go home soon.

Ari sighed in her sleep, and tried to picture herself anywhere but here.

-*-

Vash watched the human’s body start to relax as she finally drifted off to sleep. It was a good thing he’d taken her before the storm hit. She would’ve been killed if he hadn’t come along. He knew Mama would’ve been very upset with him for stealing a human directly out of their nest. She’d have scolded him something terrible and refused him doughnuts for weeks after.

But this is different, he insisted. She wasn’t safe out there. He hoped deep down that Mama would understand. Wherever she had gone.

He still didn’t know.

He tilted his head, trying to shake out the sad thoughts with the presence of his new friend. She didn’t seem terribly afraid of him, but his rational side urged him to keep his guard up. He knew from experience that humans weren’t the most welcoming creatures. No matter what he tried, they would always run away.

But this one felt different to him. He felt drawn to her in some way. He didn’t know why, but something deep inside him, something deep inside him told him that this human would be an exceptional mate. 

He lifted himself off of her, shifting in the nest so he could lay his head next to hers. His unblinking eyes stared at her face. So gentle. So peaceful.

She was even more beautiful up close.

Vash snuggled closer and reached for her hand, his fingers gently tracing her knuckles. Her hands were so small, so soft compared to his. He couldn’t see any blemishes or calluses on them, but he could tell that her figure was much more full than the humans he’d seen before. Clearly, her frolick had done an amazing job taking care of her -- she’d been able to eat plenty without having to lift a finger to forage for herself. He had no doubt that someone would’ve claimed her, and he couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw that both her hands were bare.

His mate must’ve been accustomed to not foraging, so he would have to work even harder to find enough food for them both. The nest was big enough for him on his own, but he’d have to make it larger to give them both room to spread. Since she had no wings, he wouldn’t have to worry about her wandering out of the den and getting hurt. The rocks and weather would be problems, though. But he could handle that. And if something else came, he would fight it off. He was big and strong. He could protect her.

His wings unfurled and wrapped around them both as he closed his hand protectively over hers.

Yes.

He would protect her.

c. doodleferp, 2023. please do not steal or repost.

[lightofthemoonglow]

Hi idk if you take requests through here but I saw that you write for Milton Dammers and I'd love to request a short fic of him. Sfw or nsfw is okay

Yes, I do take requests! It’s just been a crazy time for me. And i lost the last half of this, but i wanted to get it out because you had been waiting for too long. But i did write some Milton stuff for kinktober that’s coming out tomorrow (10/16)

Summary: you only see him when you’re not fully yourself

Contains: some sort of relationship with a ghost. A lot of handwaving to get to the main plot. Mentions of divorce, infidelity

–

This had been your husband’s idea. Buying and fixing up this old hospital, turn it into a bed and breakfast or maybe some sort of museum. He had what everyone calls ‘fuck you money’, so it hadn’t really affected your finances. All it had required was for you to pick up and move to the other side of the country, leaving behind all of your friends and family. Thankfully as a writer, you can work from anywhere, even a camper parked behind a rundown old hospital.

The two of you hadn’t been the first to try and fix up the place. After some sort of incident back in the 90s, there had been renewed interest in the property. It had been passed around, one hopeful to another. So it’s not long before enough has been repaired for you to move in and actually live in the place.

But that had been long enough for your husband to get bored of the endeavor and leave. It’s a tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme. A man finds out the reality of a situation that is of his own making isn’t as fun as the fantasy and leaves his wife of nearly a decade for a lifestyle influencer that can’t even legally rent a car. And the wife is left picking up the pieces. You’ve seen this play out a thousand times in the three decades plus a few years you’ve been on this earth and it’s not fun being on the other side of things.

Since your name is on everything and the settlement is fucking amazing due to how things ended, along with alimony, you can afford to stay in Fairwater. So you do.

Not long afterwards, things start getting weird.

You wake up and you’re both exhausted and not where you had fallen asleep. Things have been moved and you don’t remember doing it. Sometimes, you swear that you can hear a voice and it’s like whoever he is…he’s standing right behind you. You can feel fingers on the back of your neck, sometimes even in your hair. Sleepwalking has been a problem since you were a child, that isn't a new thing. What's new is how you feel afterwards, this presence that has been lurking ever since you started doing it again.

So you install a camera that you get from some guy named Frank, who claims his stuff can see what the naked eye cannot and hope for the best.

When you watch the footage the night after, you drop your cup of coffee.

You’re up, you’re about, you’re talking to…something. It’s not much, but it’s definitely something weird. It’s a silvery blob that’s vaguely human shaped. You can see fingers form from the blob, you can see them reaching out, grazing your face before it flickers and then vanishes. There's a respectable distance between you and whoever, whatever this is. Someone wants their personal space and you wonder which one of you it is.

You want to know who this is. What he wants, if he wants anything.

–

Milton has seen so many people come and go from this place since he’s been here.

He isn’t trapped here. But he prefers to stay here, away from society. Away from the noise, the chaos of the world out there. Thanks to him, this place has not been occupied for long. But you won’t leave, no matter what he does. And it hits him that you haven’t noticed. In the haze that has come over you since your husband has left, you don’t care that things are out of place. The odd noises go unheard, even his presence is only noticed when you’re sleepwalking.

It’s as if you know what pain is, beyond what he’s witnessed. If only he still had the tools at his disposal that he’d had in life.

Five nights after you try that camera, you’re up again.

You move through the house in silence and Milton barely manages to shove a table in the way to keep you from falling down the stairs. You look right at him, as if seeing him for the first time even though he’s been following you since you got out of bed.

“I missed you,” you whisper, reaching for him in the dark, as if by instinct.

“You don’t. You can’t.” Because in the morning, you won’t remember this. You won’t remember this, standing with him in the hallway, talking to home with an ease people had never had around him when he’d been alive. You won’t remember him tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers going through the shell of it, unable to make contact for more than a second.

“Maybe one day, I will.”

And all he can do is hope that will come to pass.

[dracarialove]

📄 Posting my finished fics here, too 📄

*Check the 'shadow's heart' tag if you haven't read chapter 1

[Chapter 4: Complication]

Rouge's smile dropped the moment the call ended. She stared at her home screen, at the picture she'd taken of them in bed – mostly centered on the hedgehog as he slept, less so on herself – and wished she was back home already.

Of all the times for G.U.N to send her away from her fabulous life, it had to be when a crimson storm was trying to brew, leaving Shadow to deal with it instead of her being able to tell off the echidna herself. The bat cursed Commander Tower's timing under her breath.

She hesitantly pulled up her contacts and went to the 'blocked' list, where Knuckles' phone number resided; and stared some more. Should she even consider opening that can of congealed worms? What could she say that wouldn't come off either too hostile or too friendly?

And could she reign in the emotions that would likely spring up from speaking to her ex-fiancé again? Rouge wasn't as composed as Shadow; he'd probably be able to speak neutrally, if it were him. But just thinking about it made the spy's heart speed up.

'I shouldn't,' she decided, backing out of her contacts and putting down the phone. 'I know it won't go well...'

She wondered how Shadow's confrontation with Knuckles might've gone – if her man had acted with the calmness she knew he was capable of. She could picture him, lean and serious in his uniform, his arms crossed as he told the echidna to leave the premises of her business.

That was what she thought of him if she imagined it, knowing how controlled he was all the time. He certainly wasn't the type to fly off the handle, so she assumed he wouldn't do anything to escalate the issue. Then again, the last time those men had seen each other...

A sigh escaped the lady's glossy lips and she sunk into the chair occupying space in her tent. Maybe it would be best to just ignore it and hope Knux would get the hint. But... then he might show up at the club again, getting himself banned.

Yet still, she felt she had nothing for him. Their relationship ended in a whirlwind, just as it had begun, and she was now caught up in a much more comforting storm; the kind she and Shadow sometimes watched through the window while cuddled up in the recliner.

Safely shielded from the harrowing rain and wind enough to find the beauty in its darkness – that's where she was with him, the quiet, introspective hedgehog. She wished she was there now, wrapped in one of those moments, rather than camping out with the humans.

Rouge looked over at the entrance to her tent and the vague blob-shaped figures of the overlanders moving around outside. The talents she possessed were being wasted on such a simple mission! It made her more irritated and she thought that her return to domestic bliss couldn't come soon enough.

***

Shadow sat on the stoop, his fingers interlaced between his knees, staring vacantly into his palms and thinking. How likely was it, really, that she would want to leave if he told her the truth? She loved him, of course, so she'd want to stay beside him through anything, right?

But then, things could change... it was easy to say she wasn't afraid of the future, but what about when mortality starts to creep up on her? Surely that was something to worry over; something that needed to be considered.

He didn't want to think it, but he couldn't rule it out – Rouge could potentially feel the fear of aging and impending death in a decade's time while Shadow remained youthful.

Wouldn't that scare her, a little? The bat cherished her beauty, and although he would adore her no matter what, how could he be sure she knew that?

Was the conversation even necessary if they could just go on living their life as it comes to them, happy and fulfilled until the aging process actually mattered? Maybe she wouldn't even notice...

"No..." Shadow mumbled to himself. "She would notice..."

While he stewed in his thoughts, the hedgehog was unaware of Silver peeking out at him through the bay window, so it surprised him when the front door cracked open.

The Ultimate Lifeform turned around and was met with his friend's concerned expression, white brows curved upwards while a kind smile played on his lips.

"Hey, Shadow. The food's done..." He hesitated, then asked, "You okay out here?"

"Fine." He glanced away. "Just sorting some thoughts. I will join you two in a minute."

Silver's smile tensed and Shadow could tell he didn't believe him. "With all due respect, I know you're naturally reserved and everything, but I feel like something's off."

He walked through the open doorway, closing the entrance behind him and joining the dark hedgehog on the step. Planting his palms on his knees, lemon-hued irises locked onto Shadow's wavering maroon gaze. "Whatever's going through your head, I'd like to help. I'm a good listener."

He offered a soft smile, one that told his compatriot he was without judgement, welcoming of any hardship that was burdening the speedster's mind. Shadow's wrists rested on his knees and his fingertips bumped together while he pondered how to begin sharing his woes.

"Rouge called, and... she said something that got me thinking about a reality I haven't been entirely truthful about. A reality of myself..."

He trailed off and Silver asked empathetically, "Do you feel comfortable sharing it with me?"

Shadow paused, unable to look at his friend. His old tendency to clam up and keep his secrets crept towards the surface, but he quelled it with a deep breath and reminded himself that he had friends for a reason. "I'm immortal. I can't age. And I can't die unless I'm killed."

Silver was quiet for a few seconds, then whispered, "Woah..." He gathered his thoughts enough to ask, "And you haven't told Rouge?"

Black quills swayed as he shook his head. "She knows that I was created artificially, and how that affects certain aspects of my existence... but I neglected to tell her that I won't grow old or die naturally. That I'll... outlive her..."

He glanced at Silver, whose mouth was open in a display of nonplus as he stared at the Ultimate Lifeform. His silent reaction made Shadow look away again, uncomfortable with how the white hedgehog almost looked amazed.

"That's crazy... not you, I mean!" Silver rubbed the back of his neck. "The immortality... sounds like it's a burden to have to carry around with you."

"Yeah, it is. So, you see why I didn't want to put that on Rouge, too. I don't even know how she'd react to news like that."

The light-furred man thought for a second, then furled his brow and said definitively, "I may not be as close to Rouge as Blaze is, but I've been her friend long enough to know that she doesn't give up easily – especially not on people she loves. And she isn't quick to frighten, either."

He gave Shadow another firm squeeze on his shoulder, this time out of reassurance. "I don't think you have anything to worry about, although I understand it's not always easy to be optimistic. Those thoughts linger, but... you should try to remember that we all care about you unconditionally."

When the quiet lifeform looked at him, Silver let a smile grow again, then stood up from the stoop and offered his hand. "Come on, I know you're hungry. We'll have a nicer conversation over lunch."

***

Tall trees and thick brush flanked every side of the military crew as they swept a section of the jungle. Rouge still wasn't sure what they were looking for, if anything, because Tower refused to give her specifics.

Whether that was for a real reason, or just because he wanted to annoy her, the ivory agent couldn't tell – the old man did have a penchant for doing things a certain way to get under her skin.

She thought it might be due to jealousy, as she held a closer relationship with the president than he did, and Tower's pride seemed to be very precious to him.

If so, it was silly. All it did was make her want to go home even more. Thoroughly fed up after following along behind the team for half an hour, shimmering lips pouted as she huffed out a burdened breath.

Teal eyes trailed over to Topaz and she announced, "Ya know, I've about had it with this mission. If someone doesn't tell me what the hell we're supposed to be 'surveying,' I'm bailing and going home."

"Retain some professionalism, agent!" Topaz warned, shooting Rouge a cold glare. "Your job is to do as you're told; you don't need to know everything."

"Jeez, somebody's cranky today." The treasure hunter smirked at her human teammate. "Even more than usual, it seems. Did you run out of anti-aging cream or something?"

An offended grumble escaped Topaz's mouth and she turned away to search in a different direction. "Cram it, and stick to the mission at hand."

"But I don't even know what we're searching for!" Rouge whined, adding a bit of a bratty tone to her voice. "If you sticks-in-the-mud would give me something, maybe I'd be surveying more thoroughly!"

This time she was ignored, watching Topaz steadily move away from her. None of the other soldiers bothered to speak up, either, continuing on with their tedious sweep of the grassy area.

Rouge was too bored to care about what her assigned purpose might be; she just wanted to get away from the people-drones and have a moment to do what she wanted.

So, the mischievous spy slowed her steps until the rest of the group were ahead of her, then slipped away to explore elsewhere. She soon found a thick, mossy tree with bushels of leaves curving above the trunk to form a dome-like cover above the jungle floor.

Up it, she also noticed a sturdy-looking branch sticking straight out from the green-brown bark that looked perfect for lounging on. One last glance around her confirmed the bat was alone – her crew far ahead and none-the-wiser – and she flew up to the naturally-occurring bench.

Resting with her back against the tree trunk, Rouge laid her legs straight out in front of her, crossing one ankle over the other. She then retrieved her cell phone, mentally patting herself on the back and smiling at her own genius of sneaking the phone and a signal receiver out of the camp.

Tower would blow a fuse if he found out she'd taken along two electronics she wasn't supposed to have while fulfilling a task, but who cared about his desires, anyway?

He was the reason the jewel hunter was away from her favorite person and the more enjoyable life she had outside of G.U.N. Although she didn't want him to have a rage-induced heart attack, she also felt the mission was pointless so far. She had better things to do.

Rouge opened up her contacts again, but this time the winged woman went nearly to the bottom and looked for Sonic's name. She couldn't keep from wondering how she was supposed to handle the predicament with Knuckles, but the Blue Blur seemed to always have an answer when it came to tough situations; even if that answer was often to face the problem head-on and adapt to the outcome.

He'd known both her and Knux for years, and although he was friends with the echidna first, he also proved to be a pretty neutral party following their explosive breakup, which she was grateful for. She thought for a moment about what she should say to him.

It was difficult to find the best words to open with on such a complicated issue, but she didn't want to handle it alone. And she couldn't involve Shadow any more than he already was – she remembered the stress in his tone when he'd told her about Knuckles' intentions.

He was already dealing with running the club without her. Bane and Jay were there to give him the support he needed, of course, but she knew part of the reason he'd accepted the job was to be around her more often. Otherwise, the duties of running a business were draining.

So, Sonic was the best choice to give her advice. Perhaps he could even provide some profound insight she hadn't considered; a rare occurrence for the hyperactive hedgehog, but it was possible. One line at a time – because the only way Sonic noticed his texts was by the constant beeping of his cell – she typed out,

"Hey sonic maybe you can help me with smth

"So I heard knuckles showed up to club rouge when I wasn't there wanting to talk to me

"And I'm not really sure what to think about it

"Like idk exactly what he wants but im not sure if I should even get in touch with him...

"But I know if I ignore it he might show up again and cause a scene

"You know us both pretty well

"So what do you think?"

She interlaced her gloved fingers, cupping the phone between them, and leaned her head back against the tree. When her turquoise eyes dragged up to the lush green canopy above her, she saw slits of golden light piercing through the bundles of leaves.

It was pretty, and so peaceful out in the jungle; the only sound around her being the distant sweet chirping of little birds. Then the purple cell vibrated against her hands and she opened up Sonic's response.

"Sounds like he finally wants to apologize

"I told him to like a year ago

"But of course he'd wait this long

"So ummm

"I'd say do what feels right

"I know that's kinda vague

"But like

"You always trust your gut instincts right? So do that!"

Rouge sighed. Sonic was being even less helpful than she'd initially expected. But she thanked him anyway before putting her phone away and crossing her arms.

Looking back up at the slender beams of sunlight illuminating the overhead greenery, she thought over the advice he offered, musing about what her instincts were telling her was the right call.

[ysabelmystic]

PLEASE tell us about the shadow boi

Thank you to the at least four people who humored me on this one.

(Using it/he pronouns for the shadow in a gender neutral way)

This took place during my freshman year of high school. I was living in a newly built tract home at the time. This is the last place you'd expect a haunting to occur, but in my experience, California is funny like that. Despite the southern US seeming far more likely to actually be haunted, most of my and my family's experiences have all taken place within the California central valley. This was just the craziest and most undeniable of those experiences.

One morning around the start of the school year, I woke up at exactly 4:15am. My alarm wasn't due to go off until 5:30. Catercorner from my bed was a tall, vaguely human-shaped shadow. And by shadow I mean a dark blob that hovered in the corner rather than being attached to the wall.

Now, this was almost immediately at the start of my Exvangelical era. My parents and I were wading into deep edgy atheist territory. "Facts and logic" and all that. Instead of freaking out, I decided that I was probably hallucinating and went back to sleep. After getting home from school, I rearranged some of my furniture and put my violin stand (I was forced to play against my will but I digress...) in the shadow's corner.

This did not work, because the next morning, at exactly 4:15am, I woke up to the same shadowy blob in the corner, now covering my violin stand. This time, I turned on my phone light and shined it in the corner. The shadow didn't disappear like a normal shadow would. Instead, it seemed to rapidly melt into the adjacent closet.

I might've been an "atheist", but I couldn't completely commit myself to the idea that the supernatural was a creation of human ignorance and imagination. What I was committed to was the belief that the vast majority of "evil" and "demonic" beings were deeply misjudged and at worst just needed a friend. I did some research on shadowy beings and creatures, and found that this thing most resembled "the hat man" (despite being hatless). And since "the hat man" was "evil", surely, it either neutral or friendly. I would treat this thing with respect, and if it was just a hallucination, then wasn't it better to make friends with my hallucinations instead of demonizing them?

This was my train of thought for the next several days, as every other day or so, I was woken up at a 15 minute increment between 3:45am and 5:00am to this shadow in my room. Usually, it was in the corner, but some days it edged closer and closer to the center of the room.

About a month in, one morning, I woke up to the feeling of pressure on my legs. The shadow wasn't in the corner, but at the foot of my bed was the obvious indent in my mattress that could only come from a person sitting there.

Instead of panicking (probably because I was fucking tired), I said something along the lines of, "I don't care if you're in my room, but you have to stay in the corner".

The indent vanished and the pressure disappeared.

Nothing notable would happen for the rest of the school year. As annoyed as I was to be woken up early, in some ways, I started to appreciate the shadow in the corner. I would say good morning to him or gripe about being woken up early. I asked it for its name a few times, but I never got anything. He was just a nameless entity who lived in the corner of my room.

Sometime around February, I went off of my mood stabilizers cold-turkey. I didn't sleep for three days, and when I finally did start sleeping again, I was afraid that the change in my brain chemistry would mean that I'd never see the shadow again, and when I did, I told him that I missed him. The fact that nothing changed in the pattern of appearances is part of what convinced me that it was real.

The final time I saw it though, things changed.

It was either late May or early June. My family was about to move, and it was my final night in the house. The only things in my room were my mattress and blankets, my art desk, a couple of art supplies, and a wooden stick in my windowsill that kept it from being opened. And that final night, I said something to the effect of, "You're free now. Have fun haunting the new family," and went to sleep.

I woke up at exactly 6am. There was no shadow in my room. Instead, what I saw was the stick in my windowsill levitating in the air. It lingered for a few seconds and then fell to the ground. My window slid open, and the bag of colored pencils in the middle of my desk was knocked to the floor.

I was a little shaken, but I was more exhausted and in total disbelief than anything else, so I went back to sleep.

Later that morning, I woke up to my mom opening my door and scolding me for not being awake and for opening the window when it was so damn hot outside. The stick and pencils were also still on the floor. I asked if she had opened it, and she said that she absolutely had not.

I have no other explanation other than that it was the shadow, and that I had somehow set it free. When we moved across the country, I was actually upset with myself that I hadn't invited him along, and tried a few [failed] demon-summonings to see if I could fill the void. I don't know where he come from or why he was there, but it happened. It was weird, but given that I never felt outright afraid (and with some entities, I have), I assume he was friendly. Given that I spent most of that year being actively suicidal, he was one of the few things that brought me any joy, and was probably one of the reasons that I bothered staying alive at all. Regardless of who it was or what he was, I hope that he's dong okay.

But yeah. That's the shadow boi, and he is my number 1 reason as to why I believe in ghosts.

[bluiex]

Ask and you shall (eventually) receive. More on my 'Magic and Memory loss' mumscarian idea, this time with some more angst.

~~~~

As Grian begins to wake, he can feel his body getting shaken in almost every direction. It's a sharp jolting and jerking motion, very reminiscent of a horse or a carriage. He can almost hear the clopping of the horse's hooves…And he even begins to think about how sore he was after all the times he has ridden on a horse.

Slowly opening his eyes, he tries to see what is shaking him so much. His vision is still rather blurry, but he can vaguely see a blur of red and a human-shaped blob seemingly sitting on it. 

There is the faintest sound of breathing that he can hear. But other than that, there seems to be no other sounds of note. Strange…One would think that kidnappers would be talking about something after they were successful. Unless they already talked and are just waiting in silence now that the job is so close to being done.

"You waking up, sunbeam?" A voice asks, with a hand touching his head soon after. "I guess that's to be expected, that little trick was only supposed to keep you calm as we got you away after all."

As the hand starts to pet his head, he becomes aware that he's laying down with his cheek pressed against something. Or rather, someone's leg. Which only makes this situation even more weird.

He tries to move away, but the hand gently pushes him back down.

"Easy now, Gri, don't move so much. Coming back from that spell can be a little difficult. It'll be best if you rest as much as possible"

"Where are you people taking me?" He asks rather slowly. "Why are you taking me?"

In all honesty, he really wanted to make some quip about them being the reason he's in this difficult position in the first place, but he knows he has to hold back. He can tell they are all already in a carriage, going somewhere and possibly already far away from the lord's village. This is the worst time he could make them angry. They could hurt him and as far as he knows, the carriage driver could be in cahoots with these people. 

His screams for help would go unanswered out here.

"We're taking you back home," The stranger says calmly. "Where there's people who care about you and would be really happy to see you again."

"And the why?"

A tutting sound comes from somewhere above him. "That wasn't enough, hmm? I don't understand where your distrust comes from…We're just trying to do the right thing."

He turns so he is lying on his back, slightly regretting doing so because a rather sharp pain pulses through his head. He quickly raises a hand up to his face, massaging the area between his eyes with his index finger and his thumb.

"Told you not to move."

"Just explain yourself. Why did you grab me out of anyone else?"

"Because it's rather unfair for you to have to live such a poor life in comparison to the one you had before. Because no one should have to dance around like a puppet on a sting for the amusement of those who want to ridicule them. Because you mean something to the both of us with you now and the people who are waiting for you at this journey's end. Are any of those reasons one you will accept?"

"Talk a lot like you care, for someone who put a spell over me…" He says rather bitterly. "That trick of yours makes me wish I was kicked in the face by a horse. And I had to bind a cold wet cloth to my face for a week after I was."

"Like you would come with us if we walked up to you and politely asked?" The stranger huffs. "With saying something like 'Hey, we are people from a life you don't remember, who have been searching for you for years, and we would like to take you back to that life.' Would you not scream for the city guards and try to get away?"

"Guess you'll never know, huh? I could have very well gone with you if you had asked. Hasn't anyone told you there are some rather crazy people out there?"

They hmph, but they don't actually sound annoyed. "Glad to see they could get rid of your quick wit and smart mouth…I would go back and burn that village to the ground if you were made into a shell of what you used to be."

He moves hand down, resting it on his chest, and finally gets a look at the stranger whose lap he's resting on. Their hair is brown like it was in his dream, and their face is quite similar to the picture on the bounty board. But the picture put the scar across their nose higher up than it is. And their smile in that picture can't capture the same amount of charm when opposed to seeing it in person…

The beginning of a scream catches in his throat. No, he is not going to be doing this! The last thing he should be doing is thinking of how charming one of his kidnappers is! What the heck is wrong with him?!

He doesn't have much more time to really sort through that thought, because the carriage jerks to a halt, which causes the other stranger on the other seat to let out a shocked noise. The man with black hair quickly looks around the carriage before looking forward and at them. He can hear them faintly sigh, and can see their shoulders lower as their body relaxes.

"You two okay?" The stranger with black hair asks, leaning back against the wood behind their seat.

"I'm fine, but our sunbeam is still rather exhausted." The man he's laying on gently pats his head. "They're probably going to need some help getting out and maybe even help walking."

"I hate you."

"Aww, you don't mean that, sunbeam. You're just saying that because everything hurts and it's hard for you to move at the moment."

"Scar, you really shouldn't be saying that like…that. Grian doesn't know who we are at the moment. For all they know, we're just weird creepy stalkers."

"Like you two aren't…" He says under his breath.

If the two heard him, they don't say anything. Not like they had the chance, because a knock at the carriage door and the door being opened slightly takes everyone's attention. 

"We're at the border, sir," A voice, he assumes the driver's, says through the gap. "This is as far as our carriage service goes. You can collect your bags when you're ready. I wish you safe passage, and that the clerk here at the control post is quick with your paperwork."

"The border?" He asks quietly to no one in particular, confusion plaguing his mind.

The black haired stranger keeps looking at the driver through the gap, paying him little mind. "Thank you. We'll be out in a bit, just having some minor troubles with one of our party members."

"Let me guess, one of you took a nap during the journey?" A chuckle sounds from behind the door. "I don't know how one could possibly sleep when getting tossed back and forth, but it doesn't surprise me. Long journey, boredom, maybe even a mix of the two, can probably make anyone fall asleep. Happens really often. Take your time, I'm in no rush. Y'all paid me when we started. And more than most others I take out here too."

The door of the carriage closes, and the reality of the situation sets in, as does panic in his heart. Why are they at the border?! There's no way some foreigners from a different kingdom went into a neighboring kingdom to kidnap some random mage. There is no way. Impossible. That is too much work. 

There's no way these two think they can get him across the kingdom's border. He doesn't have a travel pass from the king, or theirs for that matter, if they want to pass him off as just another resident like them. Unless…

An arm moving under his legs and him being lifted up makes his heart jump to his throat. He quickly starts squirming, trying to get out of their grip even though he is still in a very weak state.

"Grian, sunbeam, please don't-"

"Shut up! Let go of me! I won't let you take me!" 

"Gri, it's okay," The black haired stranger says, reaching towards him. 

He squirms more, trying to get away from their approaching hand, even as the stranger holding him tightens their grip on him and begins to 'shh' at him. What he really wants to use his hands to push them both away, but his arms are trapped under an arm the one holding him wrapped around his torso. 

"It's alright, you're okay…"

"Let me-Let me go."

"We aren't going to hurt you, darling. You're safe."

"No, I'm not…"

The hand reaches him, gently touching his shoulder and rubbing a small circle into it.

"You are, Grian…" The black haired stranger says softly. "I promise."

"How…How can I trust you two? I don't even know your names…"

"My name is Mumbo. And the one holding you is Scar. Is there anything else you want to know?"

"Are those really your names?" He asks, with genuine curiosity. "And…What am I to you? Since you have been searching for me for a while now."

'Mumbo' laughs. "Yes, those are our actual names. A little, aren't they?"

"I'm pretty sure my parents weren't expecting me to become a mage back when they were naming me…" 'Scar' says, sounding just a tad bitter about it. "I think they were expecting me to be a soldier or something. No one who hears the name 'Scar' is going to think 'OH, that person must be really kind and make good cookies.' Everyone thinks I'm really mean…"

"And for your question of what you are to us…You're someone we care about a lot. The day we lost you was the worst day of our lives. And everyday we hope we would find you again."

He's not sure if he believes them…But something in him wants to. And he doesn't understand why. Mumbo seems to be talking sincerely, but it could just be a trick. There's no way someone could possibly care about him that much. There has to be another reason…

But maybe it wouldn't hurt to pretend to believe them for a bit…Live a comfortable lie for a while. He can always try to sneak away when they finally get tired of pretending…

Three sharp knocks on the carriage door takes everyone's attention yet again.

"You three alright in there?" The driver's concerned voice asks. "I heard shouting."

Mumbo glances at Scar, who shrugs back at them, leaving Mumbo looking rather unamused.

"Yes, uh, we're fine. We just woke up our sleeping member and they apparently were having a bit of a nightmare. Sorry about that…"

"Alright…Do you need me to call for someone?"

"Oh no, no we do not need anyone! We're fine."

"Okay…"

The driver stops the conversion, probably walking away and thinking they're all crazy, wondering if they should have let them in the carriage in the first place. Everyone lets the silence sit for a bit, him and probably the other two think that any noise will get the driver's attention again.

"This is turning out to be a lot of trouble…" Scar says tiredly. "Grian. Sunbeam. Our little darling…Are you calm now?"

"I won't…I won't fight you two in this anymore." He ignores the bitter taste those words leave in his mouth. "I won't…prevent you from taking me across the border. But I don't believe you can trick the clerk here."

Mumbo hums, patting his shoulder. "We shall see then. I promise you'll understand this eventually. And I would like to let you know you can ask us anything you need to know to make this easier, and that when we reach our destination, you can ask for any items that could make you feel more comfortable."

I don't believe you…

"Sure. I'll do that, I guess."

"Okay then. Come on now, let's not waste any more of the driver's time and get going."

"Everything will be fine, Grian. You'll be okay." 

Scar pats his arm, using the hand of the arm that's holding him, and gives him a smile. He gives them a small one in return, though his probably looks more bitter.

"People keep telling me that. But so far, everyone who has ended up dead, so I don't like your odds."

AAAA SO WORTH THE WAIT DUDE I LOVE IT SM

Ough Grian please let them help you- let them show you they love you an mean we and you use to know em qoq

[fishfingersandscarves]

Because at this point I figured out I'll never get it done... Let me hand you the bits I started writing for the idea of:

What was captured was only the most human aspect of Dream of the Endless, because there is no way simple magic circle could fit the whole of what dream is. It changed dreams and way humans experience it, drove many of them mad, but it did not truly hold Dream. (Closer to lobotomy)

Hob was sure this dream was supposed to be a nightmare about Robyn's death. He could feel it on an instinctual level, even if it was also all wrong. The tavern was there, the same old building with worn wooden beams and formerly white walls darkened by years building has stood there. There were lights inside and noise, a vague suggestion of people inside, drinking and arguing.

But the unreality intensified in waves as he approached the building enough to see inside. Rather than people gathered inside to drink and play like he is certain there should be there were just vague blobs of shapes instead of people, pretending to sit around and a large one standing in the middle of space. The sound was still just distant incoherent noise that fails to form any words, getting louder but not any clearer. Only the smells of alcohol and sweat and general human unpleasantness are still the same. Then the shape of the middle blob shifts a bit and... oh, there is a splatter of blood, strangely stark and clear on the aged wood but with how unreal everything else looks it doesn't have the emotional impact it should. Hob knew what it represented, and it was hard not to, but he is also aware it was just a dream and not a realistic one. It wasn’t even a nightmare anymore.

Hob looked around, again wondering why there are no people in the dream that by all means should be full of them. Then he looked at his own hand, first just glancing down, then as there was something missing he lifted both his hands, trying to take a closer look, just to realize that he didn’t have hands at all.

Actually, his body felt like he isn't even human anymore. The edges of the dream frayed and dissolved while he was still there and watched it go.

And then he woke up. It was still somewhere in the middle of the night, but he could hear the neighbors' dog barking... since when they had a dog?

shapeless shadows clinging to the edges of the room seemingly deeper, with swaying movement for no discernable reason. Everything seems off, wrong in subtle ways, but enough to drive Hob to check his hands, just to see, to make sure he really has hands and it's not just another layer of that strange dream, but it was just a hand, normal. No need to think too hard about it. He drank some water and turned his pillow, determined to just go back to sleep. Hob rubbed the remains of sleep from his eyes, just as a desperate scream sounded out from the house on another side of the street.

Hob sat up on his bed with a groan, wondering what kind of insane night was it going to be. Clearly, something must be going on and he didn't want to have anything to do with it.

If anything important is happening he would hear about it in the morning, but probably it was nothing, he tried to convince himself. And yet, it felt like something behind him was watching him. But he knew it was just a wall there.

With the effect it had, Hob decided to put the dream he had just had firmly back into the nightmare category.

He grumbled to himself, burying himself into the warm sheets, determined to ignore the feeling and people who decided to be noisy in the middle of the night.

Barking continued.

(it is the neighbor, little bit carried up by dreams of being a dog)

Dream of the Endless swayed on his feet, corporeal form dissolving at the edges, flashes of clothes weaving in and out of existence as he followed the faint thread of power back home. He gave all he had in that one desperate effort and not much was left of his personification, just enough for the gravity of his greater self in the dreaming to pull rather than recreate.

And then his next approximation of step across the unreal space got pulled off course.

“Here in the darkness!” Whispers of voices were more suggestions than actual words at first.

“Here in the darkness!” Demanded attention, yanking another step.

“Here in the darkness!” Pulled Dream down, stumbling into corporality.

“Here in the Darkness!” His cloak was material, the air was cold and bones ached with the pain of wear.

The chants stopped and Dream couldn’t feel his self, just the faux blood rushing and thumping in his ears, the feeling of skin covering muscles, internal organs materializing and shifting inside. Disgustingly fleshy and painfully limited, human senses ringing and clawing at his self demanding attention in absence of eternal song of the minds. Wrong. Something so small and contained simply couldn’t be Dream of the Endless. And yet Dream was there, personified. It ached like a fresh wound, being cut away from himself. It was making him sick. It hurt.

He couldn’t get the incorporated vessel to move. There were muscles and he never before had needed to figure out how those functioned. There was skin and it was tight and uncomfortable. It felt like he was tied down in it. Flesh resisted.

The figures were gathered around, empty mindless dolls walking around. They were just lifeless existences, shifting as they moved away. The cloaks obscured features, but the faces didn’t matter either way. They were just dull things without dreams, without souls that Dream could sense.

Not worth any attention, even as one shaped as a child was pushed forward.

The thing took his dreamstone of anchoring and pulled the bag filled with grains of creation out of his fingers that refused to cooperate. The corporeality should be less stable without it, and yet the bones stayed aching underneath the mess of biological parts he rarely would bother to pay any mind to.

Even those things didn’t help lifeless things to fix their lacking souls, but it hurt even more for Dream to be separated with even those bits of self, like the things had some malicious intelligence guiding them to tear away even more bits of what Dream was.

He tried to abandon the corporation, to drift into the diffused self.

The void welcomed him instead.

Hob glanced over the pub casually and then froze. There was a *thing* standing in the doorway, something vaguely resembling human, but like the bad rendition put together from pieces that were decidedly not.

Someone else noticed the thing as the whimpering inhale suggested and after that first reaction everyone else did as well, the voices fell silent, and heads turned, everyone seemingly too frozen in fear to react. Bunch of bloody animals in face of predator no one could escape from. Not when thing stood blocking the exit.

And then it moved, taking what probably was supposed to be a step, but flesh flowed and oozed and flowed in air all at once in a sickening manner, for a moment splitting things "leg" into two. The movement of the body parts was disjointed and it slid forward out of sync with it. It was moving toward hob, black holes in its head glowing with distant supernovas.

Then it shifted and yet it felt like it didn't change at all, marble sculpture of perfectly white skin, raven feathers formed into a shock of black hair sticking from the head, and Hob felt his stomach sink with realization.

It was trying to look like his Stranger. Failing badly at this but as it came closer he could feel that there was something familiar in its aura.

Someone screamed in the background, the piercing noise of panic, that seemingly broke people out of their terrified stupor, to make them run.

But the thing... flared, for the lack of a better term. And people settled on their places, back to their discussions and drinks like they haven't seen anything. Like thing was not standing right there in front of the table with a humble professor on other side.

"HOB GADLING" thing rumbled in a voice that wasn't voice, cascading of sounds of nature somehow coalescing into meaningful words. And then it wasn't using even that anymore, just flashes of images and intent flowing into Hob's mind, popping right there but obviously separate. Greeting. Then shift to question about his time between meetings, but not giving nearly enough time for Hob to form the words as it moved on from a topic, right into question if he still wishes to live. Almost as if this thing was following some sort of programmed script.

Hob felt bitter thinking about how it must mean his stranger doesn't want to meet him again if he sent this thing... but then he remembered the date. It was years early. As he thought that the thing seemingly responded to his thought, responding with a sensation of time flowing weirdly, non-linear, and grand concept. Too much.

He found himself slumped on the table, alone. The pounding headache suggested he had far too much to drink. But he couldn't have just hallucinated the bizarre meeting. Whatever it really meant. Something must be wrong. Something about his Stranger, almost certainly.

And Dream sitting in the fishbowl, disconnected and unaware what the hell is going on. The impersonal Dreaming definitely would capture back quickly at least the sand, maybe grabbing ruby quickly as well. Because while it isn't a person at the moment, it is all animals and plants and planets and stars and all has instinct to try being whole. Probably without anything else actually changing on front of capture, since Hob lacks way to figure out stuff, and there are no hints to try looking for something captured. So Morpheus is mourning that he is forced to miss the meeting. And when one day he is free, one if the first things to do is to rush and apologize for not coming and Hob is all so confused because he kind of was there twice in last century? He didn't quite look well, but it felt like him?

And Morpheus makes decision to basically sit with hob and wait for rest of him to come and pick him up because he clearly can't find the way to even try going back.

ooooooooooooo i love this <3 the body horror of it all <3