#lemme know if you have other ideas

[blasvemous]

Help Me Draw! Pt. 1

part 2 part 3 part 4

So here's the sitch- I'm suffering from extreme art block, as in the only things I seem to be able to create right now are moderately horrifying ... So I thought maybe you guys could help?!

I'll ask several prompts where y'all will vote and help me complete the drawing.

Vote and share babes, I'm desperate

[fiepige]

Compilation of EVERY single time they changed Hobie's filter in the digital version:

Left: Theatrical release Right: Digital release

You might have to click on some of them to get a better look at Hobie, sadly I don't have a video editor that allows me to make better edits than these :')

[gooboogy]

Maybe it's nice to have someone bring you tea you like

[archersartcorner]

Back in Far Harbor gang… I get they probably didn’t want to extend a cutscene where the player had no control out too long, but I do wish in the Acadia meeting that you can eavesdrop on they brought up Nick 😭 but they do Not so here’s me making up scenarios. The Usual. 😏

[alagaesia-headcanons]

I'll never get enough of the AUs where Murtagh in some way, at some point ends up in Carvahall instead of Uru'baen. There are so many potential variations of how he gets there and who he stays with and even the little differences have some really fun effects. I'm especially intrigued by the idea of Murtagh growing up there while still clearly remembering Morzan and his dragon and where he came from. I think it makes for an interesting counterpoint to canon where Murtagh can't escape his past and his father's legacy because that's what everyone sees in him. Instead, in Carvahall, his past becomes such a dangerous taboo that it can't even be acknowledged, much less focused on. Rather than his past restricting him in its grasp, it keeps sliding out of his own grasp, defying all his efforts to understand what it means for him and what everyone else might feel about it. Black and blue eyes and gleaming red scales haunt his dreams, but he has to swallow those memories down every time.

Assuming Murtagh grows up with Garrow and Marian, when he first arrives with all his fear, he's determined to never breath a word about any of that. But he gets older and starts to second guess that resolve- Eragon aches to know who his father is and Murtagh hates lying to him. He deserves to eventually know the truth (what Murtagh thinks is true, that is), even if it's painful. And it gnaws at Murtagh's own heart to wonder if his family would accept him if they knew, or if the only thing perpetuating his acceptance is their ignorance. At night, he tosses and turns wondering if he's turning out just like his father, a question he can never answer because he has no reference of Morzan beyond his own dim, scattered memories.

One of my favorite AUs like this that exist inside my brain follows that track and actually stays very close to canon. Murtagh grows up alongside Eragon, and plans to tell him about his past when he turns 16, but before that, the Ra'zac arrive and he's tortured as well as Garrow. He pulls through only to discover Eragon vanished with Brom and he goes to track them down, eventually saving them when they're the ones at the Ra'zac's mercy. Then when he's kidnapped and enslaved, there's so much more heartbreak and guilt because he's pitted against everyone he grew up with and cares for. And maybe Brom gets to live so there can be a reckoning when Murtagh does tell Eragon what he believes about their parentage, following him as he struggles for the courage to face his son and tries to find any way to help his step son, before it's all too late.

For something that goes quite differently, I've been thinking through an AU where both Selena and Morzan live. Selena fakes Murtagh's death to disguise her stealing him away and she and Brom raise him and Eragon in Carvahall. They love and protect them fiercely and the boys grow up safe and happy, but whenever Murtagh tries to ask about the things that happened before, they swiftly shut him down and dissuade him from ever mentioning it out of their own fear of the past. It leaves him feeling out of place and fragmentary. And that comes at a cost when Morzan appears, under orders to search for the egg. Murtagh has to hurriedly figure out what he was never able to, now with so much danger hanging in the balance, because no matter how Morzan could want to treat him, that might not matter against the king's orders. And Selena and Brom have to confront their own snarled relationships with Morzan that were never truly laid to rest. (It also caters to my desire to jerry rig the three of them into a very messy and emotionally charged polycule.)

In that one, I build something more redeemable into Morzan's character (soon I definitely plan to elaborate on why I find that a fascinating angle to take with him). I don't know if anyone would want it, but I wrote a drabble for that AU when Murtagh first sees Morzan again, and I could brush it up and post it. [EDIT: here's the fic] I just love the idea of small town farm boy Murtagh who's peaceful and amiable and also just a little bit off. Like maybe sending the guy who dreams each night about blood red swords and dragon's snapping fangs to go plow fields won't last forever.

[willowser]

the tag “he’s not having sex!!” is killing me im trying so hard to keep it together in this coffee shop rn trying not to cackle

also yeah dabi probably considered the time that you helped him take a fully clothed shower (because he wasnt comfortable at the moment even if he was by himself to be naked) to be third base. maybe even a home run idk

LMAOOO okay okay, not to get on a serious note, but your shower bit 🥺 i genuinely think dabi would be so, so fun for friends to lovers. because a totally platonic relationship with him must be hilarious; this man is a smart ass, okay? he will always have you cracking up. and i think if he views you as just some acquaintance of his, he's more prone to like. just chatting with you or shooting the shit or drinking or walking around at all hours of the night when neither of you can sleep. it's not until things start to get a little...softer, i think, that he pulls back—but that's what makes it so good !

because it could come out of nowhere, for either of you. one minute you're sharing a bottle in a brown paper bag under the bright city lights, talking shit about pro heroes, and the next—

"fuck, i'm freezing." you laugh as you say it, but your teeth won't stop chattering and your legs are starting to feel like they're made of lead. you have to come to a stop, leaning against some abandoned shop in this lesser part of town.

"should'a dressed right," dabi murmurs, having the audacity to tell you such a thing even though he's in pants with holes in the knees, without a jacket. already he sounds like he's sobering up, but you suppose he can't help it; his metabolism probably eats through everything.

"can't all be so h-hot-blooded."

tired, his mouth stretches in a lazy smirk, and he rolls his eyes like you're being dramatic—despite the fact that it's snowing. "ain't that bad."

you beg to differ. "feel my hands!"

he watches you carefully as you offer them, like he's putting too much thought into it, suddenly. it's not often that you two really touch, not if he can help it, because there's never been a need. not before now.

the facade of his nonchalance is readjusted, though there's a tension lining his mouth that you've never seen on him, not with you. he tucks the bag underneath his armpit so that he can use both his hands, and then he folds your fingers down into fists and covers them with his own.

entirely, the long and rough expanse of his palms dwarfing you. it's hot, immediately, and the sensation has you shuddering in relief, letting out a grateful little sound as your body sways closer to his on instinct. neither of you say anything, and you're too tipsy too notice the grit of his jaw or the bob of his adam's apple.

been a long time since he touched someone, just 'cause. with the intention of helping instead of harming.

you don't care, only let out another teeth chattering whine before pressing your cheek into the back of his hand. yours is icy, but his own heat at the sight of you nuzzling into him like a fucking kitten.

it's weird, but only lasts for a moment before you're pulling away and turning to wobble down the sidewalk, back in the direction of the hideout. you almost slip once and the screech you let out is enough to make you both laugh, for now—but neither of you will be able to sleep tonight without thinking about it, his skin against yours.

[pyrosomatic-metamorphosis]

Jaiden broke into Cellbit's Fear room while he slept. Now, she makes a guest appearance in all of his favourite nightmares.

NOTE: this is gorier than all of my other fics, thus the immediate read-more instead of the typical blurb. I watched a bad horror movie and got so offended I went out of my way to write horror on purpose. Cannibalism and blood and gore and mildly ooc Dream Jaiden my beloveds

There’s blood in Cellbit’s mouth.

There’s muscle, too. Fat and nerves and viscera. Somewhere, there’s a knife- he made the first cuts with that, used it to peel away the sweat-soaked skin and get to the hot meat underneath- and he could use it now to carve away more of the corpse, but he can’t bring himself to look for it, preferring to rip away at the gaping hole in the body’s side with his hands and broken nails. He’s so hungry. He was so hungry. He can’t remember why. He remembers his empty stomach, the way it precluded the cannibalism with the desperate feeling of its own self-consumption. Then, the knife. Then, the body. Then, the warmth.

He digs his nails in and pulls, hands so slick with blood that every morsel should be slipping through his fingers, but the knife tore so much of the meat that it is - was - child’s play to come away with another handful. The texture is like poorly-ground pork, and the taste is so metallic- but of course it is. He hadn’t learned how to drain and cook it, yet. Hadn’t known it was an option. Every gory mouthful is seasoned with blood, and he licks it from his hands, then scrapes under his fingernails with his teeth just to consume that little bit more. He’s so hungry. It’s so warm. The body is still hot beneath him, fresh and practically steaming in the cold evening air. He feels drunk on it.

Is this how it went…? No, he doesn’t think so. The first time was desperation. He didn’t mind the taste, but he hadn’t loved it, either. It didn’t matter. It was food, and food to a starving boy is like ambrosia to the gods. But now- now he revels in the metallic taste. The chewiness. The satisfaction of a predator sinking teeth-first into the bowels of its prey.

There’s something not-quite-right here. Something foggy. Who is he eating? There is blood in his beard, across his cheeks, sticking his hair in messy strands to his face. This is his first meal, but he was a boy, then- here, now, he is a man. He is starving. He plunges his hands back into the corpse and swallows down mouthful after mouthful of raw flesh and never feels full.

Another pair of hands join him. Or- one hand, which picks delicately at a loose piece of skin. He stills to watch it, heart suddenly hammering in his chest. The details are stark, suddenly. The corpse’s side torn open like by an animal -had his knife done that?- and the blood shines in the moonlight -is it night?- and the pale hand dips the skin into the rest of the gore, carefully scooping up some of the messiest meat onto it like a strange appetizer at a fancy dinner. Cellbit doesn’t breathe. His eyes are pinned to the hand as it lifts, raising the little treat up to the waiting, smiling face of Jaiden. She pops the skin in her mouth, chews thoughtfully, and swallows decisively. He feels cold.

“Not bad,” she says, and reaches down for more.

Cellbit turns away and vomits.

–

He’s speaking to Pac. He has him pressed up against the wall, knife to his throat, and he’s growling in his ear. There’s sweat sticking his hair to the back of his neck, and he can feel Pac’s heart beating rabbit-quick even through the layers of clothes between them. He laughs, low, and keeps laughing when Pac whimpers out- something. Something he’s happy to hear. He licks his own teeth and tastes blood.

He trails the knife upwards, slow, to scrape against Pac’s pulse point. It leaves a thin white line of marked skin, and he’s smiling. Pac’s eyes are blown wide and he stammers something out and in return the knife is pressed down, gently, until Pac shuts up.

“Woah.”

Cellbit’s heart jumps into his throat. He turns his head, just enough, to see Jaiden. She looks strange in prison clothes, but she doesn’t seem to mind them. She holds her hands up when Cellbit meets her gaze.

“Hey, I’m not judging,” she says. “You do you. I’ll just…uh. Go this way. Really quickly,” she adds, like an afterthought, and turns to stride purposefully down the corridor. Her footsteps don’t make any noise.

Pac is still trembling beneath Cellbit’s hands. He looks back to him- but it’s not Pac, except it is, but he can’t see all of him at once- there are details missing until Cellbit thinks to focus on them. No hair across Pac’s face until there is, and Pac is wearing the hoodie instead of his prison uniform, and he says something that Cellbit doesn’t hear and he doesn’t seem to notice Jaiden at all.

“What?” Cellbit croaks out. He pulls away from Pac in confusion, already turning to follow her. “Jaid-”

–

He’s shaking. There’s blood on his hands, and he’s shaking. His eyes are closed and he tries to close them harder. There is no blood in his mouth. This is progress. He has to believe this is progress. He has to believe that he wants progress. His room is dark and his bed is hard and he can’t stop shaking.

She’s there, then, curled up the way he is; she’s his mirror, wrapped around herself overtop of the covers. When he opens his eyes she doesn’t move, gazing at him peacefully. “How many?” she asks. There’s a strange quality to her voice, and he struggles to parse it.

“What?” he croaks. His voice his hoarse from crying.

“How many therapists did you go through?”

He chokes on a sob, and doesn’t answer.

She hasn’t pulled away, but she’s further from him, and he reaches for her but can’t bring himself to touch her. There is still blood on his hands. She doesn’t recoil; she watches him curiously, smiling faintly. There is something wrong. “Wow, dude. You’re really fucked up, aren’t you?”

“I’m a monster.”

He blinks and Jaiden is sitting up, suddenly, legs crossed. She blinks a few times before she furrows her brows at him, squinting at where he’s still curled up on the horrible bed. “And I’m a bird,” she offers, uncertain but trying to help.

Cellbit’s tears break down into laughter. He laughs, and laughs, and she joins him.

–

The plan goes bad. The plan goes bad fast.

The hallway is cold, damp and wet- moldy, and covered in rotting vines. It’s dark. He can’t see. He doesn’t know how he got here, but he knows what happens next.

Like in slow motion, he turns. The bear is there, grinning. The chainsaw is there, whirring. He’s there, too, and he’s already screaming before the saw meets his flesh.

Slow motion. Why is it so slow? He watches his own blood fly through the air, splattering across the walls, the bear, himself. It’s not just blood, though, he knows this. It’s meat. Chunks of his own muscle wet his face and coat his hands. He’s frozen, stuck in place. He can’t feel the pain but he’s so acutely aware of it- and then the whirring stops.

Now is his cue to run.

He takes it, gasping for air as he rips himself off of the saw (and there is more gore, more blood, more scraps of him left to smear across the floor). He almost slips in the blood as he turns, but just barely recovers and instead manages to fall into his sprint. .

Fuck. He can’t run fast enough. Slow motion. He’s moving in slow motion, but the bear isn’t, and the chainsaw starts to whirr again behind him. Where can he run? Forwards. Nowhere to hide, but there is a trail of blood left behind him so he can’t hide anyway.

His limbs are heavy, weighed down by terror. His heart is in his ears. Then there are spikes in the floor, and there is blood on the spikes, and there is a woman bleeding.

Before, he tried to jump over the pit. Now, Cellbit stands in front of it and stares, caught like a deer in headlights.

“Cellbit!” Jaiden cheers, happy to see him. She’s embedded deep into the spike pit, impaled in every limb. There are no less than four spikes driven entirely through her torso, and one that has torn away her ear. Her wings are spread out beneath her, and they bleed. She’s pinned like a bug in a glass case, leaking red onto the floor below her. Cellbit tastes metal in his mouth. “This is so cool. I’ve always wanted to star in a horror movie.”

“This isn’t- this isn’t a movie,” he pants, the english thick on his tongue. He’s so confused. He’s so scared. Where are they? Why is she here? She wasn’t here before, before it was just him and-

“Cucurucho!” Jaiden cheers, with the same joy she’d called Cellbit’s name. His blood runs cold. Jaiden keeps talking. “Long time no see, buddy! I like your chainsaw. And all the red is nice, it’s good to see you trying out a new style. Do you like it?”

“Ha ha ha,” Cucurucho says, too close, behind him. Cellbit doesn’t turn. Is he hyperventilating? He keeps his eyes pinned on Jaiden. She is still smiling, and bleeding, and she leans her head happily against the spike that took her ear.

“Jaiden-” Cellbit chokes out. There is a hand on his back. Soft and round. More of a paw than a hand, really. It pats him, once, in a gesture that in any other situation could have been taken as comforting. Here, he knows, it is mocking.

“Yeah?” Jaiden says.

Cellbit doesn’t get the chance to answer. The paw pushes him, and he falls, and in the blink of an eye he’s impaled. One through his stomach, two through his chest, one scraping his neck and one for each arm and two in his left leg and he is screaming, he is crying, he is dying.

Below him, Jaiden’s blue feathers are stained bright red. She’s talking to Cucurucho, but he can’t hear the words.

–

Roier is dead on the ground. His side is open, sliced cleanly with a knife. Cellbit sits quietly next to him, hands bloodied. Jaiden sits on his other side, holding Roier’s heart in her hands.

“I don’t think you would, for the record,” she says, quietly. She holds Roier’s heart up to his mouth, almost reverent, and he almost drowns on the gush of blood when he bites.

–

There is a worm burning in a fire. There is more burning, too, but he watches the thing he has killed the most closely. He wishes it died. He wishes he had more worms. He wishes he could kill it again.

“Is it always like this?” she asks. Again, her posture mirrors his. Her legs are pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around her knees as she watches the fire.

“No,” he answers numbly. “Sometimes Richarlyson is here. I’m surprised that Bagi isn’t.”

She sucks air in through her teeth, and then there’s the weight of her hand on his arm. They sit like that for a minute, watching the fire. Roberto is almost nothing but ash, now.

Jaiden asks, “If it came down to it- you, Roier, or Cucurucho, who do you think I would choose?”

He puts his chin on his knees and holds himself tighter. “I don’t know.”

“...I don’t think real-me knows that answer, either,” Jaiden admits to him. “But I think you know she loves you… And I think you should wake up now, too. I’m gone.”

He turns to look at her, mouth opening on a question, but she’s gone. The room is gone. It’s dark, and then it’s just- it’s just his Fear room. He’s laying on the ground, curled up in a tight little ball, arms over his head, and his mouth tastes like dust. His joints pop as he uncurls and pushes himself up, the weight of sleep still resting heavy on his bones.

There’s a single blue feather on the ground in front of him. Jaiden is nowhere to be seen.

Cellbit sits there for a long, long moment. Then, he stands up, leaves the Fear room, and goes to find his husband.

He hopes Roier slept better than he did.

[kakusu-shipping]

You’re all getting another unpromted headcanon dump because I’m very personally tired of the “Mario would hide his struggles and trauma post Movie from Luigi because he doesn’t want to look weak and keep up the appearance of the Strong Older Brother” take. Don’t Eldest Daughter Syndrome Mario. He and Luigi are a team. A pair. He would tell Luigi everything.

Anyway here’s everything I think Mario personally struggles with and would rely on Luigi for

The Mario movie put it very blatantly on the table that Mario’s a little touchy about his height. It’s probably more so because he’s use to being picked on as The Short Guy on the sports team rather than it really actually bothering him all that much. He’s just assumes someone calling him short is an insult. The only personal problem he has with it is being shorter than Luigi. They spent a lot of their childhood the same height, and Luigi being taller still messes them both up from time to time

This is another left over from Highschool; Mario and Luigi (accidentally) kind of fell into the trope of the Smart twin and the Sporty twin, with Mario being the ladder. This messed with his head in a way he couldn’t really articulate, being expected to be a Meathead like the other guys on his sports teams did actually cause his grades to go down, especially in Math which use to be his best subject, which of course caused a lot of concerned backlash from their parents, especially his dad. Now he has it locked in his brain somewhere he’s stupid when he’s not.

He’s bad with people. Luigi’s a lot more of a people person than he is. He has a hard time connecting to people, or making simple small talk. He can be pretty blunt, or awkward, and maybe a bit aggressive sounding, especially to someone not use to how loud and confidently he speaks. As he gets older he gets quieter, speaks less, falls into a much more comfortable selective mute life style, and it suits him much better than trying to fumble through talking to people. He prefers to listen

He’s definitely a workaholic, he’d gotta be busy busy busy all the time. A lot of people will see him run from one project to the next, never turning down a request for help with something, constantly juggling tasks and working on something in his spare time and think it’s all because he’s such a nice, hard working guy. But no. It’s the stress of not doing enough. Or because he anxious being alone. Luigi’s the only one who knows Mario will keep going till he crashes, and is the one to always stop him and remind him he’s doing enough, he’s enough. Take a break.

Mario’s always struggled with separation anxiety. He’s never been one for the whole concept of “alone time”, he’d much rather be near people he loves and trusts and can relax around. He use to joke it stems from being born first, those few moments before Luigi was born was more than enough alone time for a life time. He tries to wave it off occasionally, but it really is a problem. If he is ever left alone, say Luigi goes off on some grand adventure without him, he finds things to work on until he passes out, and then just sleeps and lays about until Luigi comes back.

[mothoscope]

Ed Edd n Eddy as kitties.

[numerikku]

Some oc concepts cause i don't have the energy to do much more (my brain is currently too scattered for polished artworks)

Both are sally face ocs that were inspired by how Travis would react to different interactions

First one is the personification of provocation. This girl dresses modestly with angelic colors but is actually a Satanist (or at least acts like one lmao)

Second one is somehow both the exact same yet polar opposite of Travis. He's a trans emo atheist dude who hates everyone and everything and has anger issues (also his parents are transphobic assholes so that doesn't help)

(i don't have a color palette for him yet)

[fiepige]

Okay guys, hear me out:

Sea Serpent Hobie!!!

Sea Serpent Hobie who sinks any superyachts he comes across!

Sea Serpent Hobie who uses harpoon spears meant to kill him as piercings! And old anchor chains as jewelry!

Sea Serpent Hobie who attacks big commercial fishing boats that are destroying the ecosystem by overfishing

But also benign Sea Serpent Hobie, who aids those lost at sea!

Who helps smaller local fishing buisnesses with sustainable fishing

Who looks out for this small fishing community and in return they warn him whenever hunters show up in the area!

Sea Serpent Hobie who is huge but still manages to hide perfectly in the kelp forests!

Who has bioluminescence and uses it both to terrify enemies and as a way to calm down people in distress, as a way for him to signal goodwill - and to show off when he feels like it!

Who can change his pigmentation similarly to octopi to communicate his mood and feelings! Or just to blend in with his surroundings (also as a nod to the way he changes filters in the movie!)

Sea Serpent Hobie who's frequently seen swimming with whale pods- Orcas being his favourites to hang out with (they sometimes go on yacht sinking trips together)

Sea Serpent Hobie who likes to give people a show and will show off by breaching right next to unsuspecting boats

DO YOU SEE MY VISION?!??

SEA SERPENT HOBIE!!!!!!💙💙💙

[ashtcnirwin]

there is most definitely not a .rar file containing screen recordings of some randomass q&a with four dudes and a documentary about an album or something to be found here🌻

[peapod20001]

Did sleeping help

No </3

[acaciapines]

i need to talk about the dess raises kris au. or im gonna explode.

[haveihitanerve]

yes i ship boots and hazard. not when they are six and two. but when they are aged up a lil. lizzie and hazard literally exchange like two words while its actually canon that hazard and boots are friends and gregor comments on it, and hes like oblivious. so i defo ship them over hazard and lizzie