#wow people seem to like this one!

[sunshineram]

little fellas!

[hella1975]

dabihawks are a perfect ship like they're a blue-red dynamic they're character foils one was the son of a hero and became a villain one was the son of a villain and became a hero they're heavy-handed societal extremes they're perfect opposites they're the exact same they're child soldiers they're animal motif coded there is so much there symbolically to justify the ship but if you asked me the real reason i enjoy them? they are insane. like they are both so freakishly mentally ill and they're dysfunctional and toxic and traumatised and they bug the fuck out of each other and they hate each other and they understand each other's morals better than anyone while still fundamentally opposing each other and i want nothing more than to put those two freaks in situations just to see who explodes the other first

[kaeyachi]

Kaeya had always been an efficient and hard-working individual (he had to be to support Diluc in the background as his brother rose thru the ranks after all).

He has so much free time because he completes all his work way ahead of schedule. And if he still has enough time, he adds more to the workload in secret.

And once all of that was done and over with, he makes time for everyone. He has to. He feels as if every moment has to be given to someone else.

No one knows how he does it. No one has to know.

Every mission has a dozen strategies in line, and every battle plan is made with efficiency in mind. His perfect record will not be tarnished. He can't risk it (even if it baffles others that he would willingly activate a ruin guard just to prevent a failed mission. Jean disagrees with his methods, but Kaeya can say that the results say otherwise)

He needs to be quick.

Efficient.

Perfect.

And so he comes and goes like the wind.

Kaeya values time because he knew every second counted. He can't just stand there as if he were frozen. Time could run out in an instant.

Kaeya had only been late once his entire life.

He'd rather he never be late ever again.

It took one day of being of being imperfect for everything to fall apart. On that tragic day...had he gotten there on time... then maybe...

.

.

.

" Come on, let's get moving, traveler. We're not frozen in place after all. " Kaeya teasingly says. He stiffles a giggle at the traveler's exhasperated sigh.

"Yeah yeah, we've heard enough of you calling us a slacker. Can't you be a bit more patient?" Paimon whines at him.

Kaeya snorts, but acquiesces, hiding the shaking of his hands at the thought of being idle.

He imagines hearing a clock ticking.

Kaeya knows that that is his own problem. He tries his hardest to relax as he waits for the traveler to finish whatever they're making on the alchemy table because, seriously, it is supposed to be a relaxing day. There's nothing major going on, and his schedule is once again empty as intended. What's the hurry?

Kaeya taps his foot on the ground as he waits. He wishes he could take his own damn advice when he tells others to relax.

[ghouljams]

fae!soap’s darling is one of those crazy makes you throw up poems in her notes app girls

Ding ding ding, here's the threat, the hard darling, the crazy girl

Warnings: Very public sex, themes around addiction/interventions(if you squint)

This is really Gaz's hunting ground. The thumping bass, the technicolor lights, the sea of people. But Soap isn't looking to hunt tonight. He's drained, wasted some of his best magic on a musician that wouldn't pan out. What he needs is thoughtless, what he needs is sex. He catches your arm as you walk past him. The prettiest thing in this hole.

"Can ah buy ya a bev, Bonnie?" He asks, watching your eyes flick approvingly down his body.

You've never been one to pass up an easy catch.

He presses you against the wall, his tongue insistent against yours, hands gripping your hips tight. You get the feeling this guy just got out of a relationship. This sort of intensity only comes from trying to forget someone. Which is good for you, means less talking.

Soap slides a hand from your hip to push between your legs under your skirt. The club is loud, crowded, not very well lit, good for a quickie. You're already wet at the prospect of it. You can feel his smile against your lips when he feels just how soaked you are. He pulls away from kissing you to press closer, speak in your ear where he knows you'll hear.

"All this for me, hen?" He's cocky, you like cocky.

"Could've been for my date if he'd found me first." You tell him, you don't think he's used to being a second choice. Cocky guys never are.

"Just have to make it f'me then," He tells you low and dangerous, fingers rubbing you through your underwear. You smile, tipping your head to suck at his neck as you rock against his fingers.

He's good with his hands, you'll give him that. 

Soap pushes your panties to the side, fingers collecting your slick before pressing into your hole. They’re thick, dextrous, crooking to stroke your walls with practiced precision as the heel of his hand grinds against your clit. You hum, your hips following the stroke of his fingers. He pushes them against the spongy spot near your entrance over and over, stirring need in you like he has a direct line to your orgasm. You press against him, twist your fingers in his shirt desperate to hold onto something while he works you up. You drop your forehead against his shoulder, grind against his hand as you focus on the tight knot in your stomach. 

“Come on sweetheart,” He whispers, lips catching the shell of your ear, “be good for me, yeah?” You nod all too eager to cum when you can feel his hard cock pressing against your leg. That’s what you really want, you can pluck at a few strands and push yourself over the edge if it means you get fucked after. You shake against him, his fingers never stopping as your walls flutter around them. You can feel the slick dripping off of you when he pulls them out. 

Soap opens his belt and fly one handed, pulling his cock free, his slick fingers pumping it, getting rid of some of your wetness before his hands hook under your thighs. He lifts you with that wonderful inhuman strength and pins you between the wall and his body. You wrap your legs around his waist as he thrusts his cock against your slit. The weight, the angle, god when he fills you he fills you. Gorgeous thick cock pushing your gooey walls apart to make room for itself, the length of him hitting you deep enough you feel it in your stomach. You purr, clenching around him as you squeeze your arms around his shoulders. 

“Fuck you’re squeezin’ the life outta me, bonnie.” He groans as you tease your teeth against his pulse. That’s the idea. He pulls out just enough to thrust back in, your t-shirt the only thing protecting your back from being scraped against the wall, and you bite him as he bounces you on his cock. 

The drag of his thick length is hot enough to make your head spin. His hips snapping against yours, hitting that deep spot that makes your toes curl, that makes heat knot in your stomach again. You moan into your bite, doing your best to muffle yourself when all you want to do is scream. You’re oversensitive, and he is driving you back to the edge as he chases his own high. You do your best to meet his thrusts, distract him from your fingers threading through the tethers that lead off of him. There’s got to be something in- You pull on a painter’s thread and Soap shudders, pressing hard into you as he cums. 

You feel the trap on your back light up, tugging attempting tethers into the sink like a black hole. Sexual energy fills you as nicely as Soap’s thick seed. Your legs feel a little weak when he pulls out and sets you back on the ground. You lean against the wall, catching your breath as he tucks himself back into his pants. You give him a thumbs up when he reaches to… you don’t know, check on you?

“I’m gonna find my date,” You tell him. A look of confusion crosses his face, you don’t give him time to respond before you disappear into the crowd. No need to stick around and deal with whatever baggage he’s got.

-

You bump into Soap at a shitty underground show your friend dragged you to, promising cheap drinks and hot potential hook ups. Normally you're a one and done sort of person, men are so emotional you really can't spare them more than one no strings attached fuck. You don't think this guy has even heard of feelings the way he holds you against his cock and grinds against you in the dim lights on the outside of the mosh pit. He certainly doesn't seem to feel anything but desperate when he bites your shoulder.

"Too many people," You tell him as he soothes his tongue over his bite.

"Wasn't a problem last time," You roll your eyes, yeah you'll give him that. People are a little more watchful here though, this show is at a bigger risk of getting busted up by the cops. You're not getting cuffed outside the bedroom again.

"Ok well it's a problem this time, so find somewhere private." You gripe, hearing a grumble of protest before Soap pulls away to glance around the venue. "Think there's a loft somewhere, might have a bed." You pick at your top, waiting on Mr. Bitey to come up with something better. His eyes dart around the top edge of the warehouse before nodding.

You half lead, half follow him to the loft space overlooking the party. You test the lock as he tests the bed, or the mattress. What is it with punk guys not having bed frames? Is a bed frame too establishment? Better than nothing you suppose, and the place looks clean. Now that you think about it this might be the band’s place. Funny.

You don’t really want to stick around here too long. You drop to your knees in front of Soap. His hand moves immediately to drag fingers along your jaw, tip your head to look at you. 

“Wouldn’t want anyone else getting this view,” He tells you, you roll your eyes more focused on getting his belt open than whatever charm he’s trying to hit you with. It won’t work anyway, you’re more than protected against his magic. Still, it’s always funny seeing weavers try to work you.

“Your dirty talk could use some work,” You tug his pants down, wrap your fingers around his cock. You hadn’t seen it last time, but it’s just as pretty as the rest of him. You’re careful as you drag your tongue along his length, slicking the pump of your fingers. Soap swears over you, eyes fixed on the movement of your mouth. You put on a good show for him, kissing his thick cock between strokes of your hand, sucking at the head and lapping at the beading pre-cum. Your eyes lock on his, enjoying the way his pupils dilate for you. 

“Fuck you are good at this,” He groans, watching you swallow the length of his cock. You hum affirmative, your hand leaving his cock to cup his balls. You’ve done this enough times, you should be at least competent at it.

You can feel the pentacles on your back starting to turn, the itch of warded magic. So compliments are part of it. Noted. 

Soap’s hand presses against the back of your head, and you’re happy to give him a second just to feel your throat constrict around him as you swallow before you’re bobbing your head. Your tongue drags along the underside of his cock, tracing the veins and circling the head. You never take your eyes off of Soap, too eager to watch him lose a piece of his composure. 

And he does, the cracks in his cocksure mask slipping as he swears and bucks into your mouth. Curling over you with a low moan when he does finally cum. You lick him clean as more hooks get redirected by your ward. More threads worked into your trap. Insurance.

You leave to find your friends before he can get it in his head to ask about the tethers.

-

You're talking to a guy at the bar, half interested too, when someone catches your arm and drags you away. You yank your arm away in protest and round on the guy only to realize you recognize him. Fuck what was his name, you've hooked up a couple times before.

"Oh hey, Mr. Clean, welcome back." You absolutely fumble whatever he's actually called. He barely seems to hear you, already dragging you towards the bathroom. The broken mirror and sticker covers stalls barely register over the way Soap kicks a stall open and pushes you into it. He locks the stall door behind you, and turns the both of you so you're pressed against it, dropping to his knees.

"Why is it every time I see you, you're with someone?" He asks, hardly waiting for the go ahead before he's dragging your shorts down.

"Bad timing?" You joke, he doesn't laugh frustrated with something. Not you, you think, otherwise he wouldn't press his mouth to your cunt with such an eager groan. You thread your fingers through your hair and exhale as you feel one of your hooks grab him. His tongue rolls over your clit, stoking the rapidly igniting heat between your legs, you wonder what’s got him all worked up. You suppose it doesn’t matter, he’s an easy meal.

You let out a shuddering breath, his tongue following the movement of your hips as you try to keep quiet in the empty bathroom. His mouth is hot, a furnace befitting a summer fae, just at the edge of too warm for you. His lips close around your clit, fingers digging into your thighs to leave bruises for the rest of the bar to see. The suction makes your hole clench, and you can feel the way slick smears with each drag of his hungry tongue. Eating you like a last meal, fast and aggressive. Like he can’t think of anything but your cunt. 

He might not be able to. You’re never sure about your dosage for repeat customers. Coaxing his energy just a little heavier, feeling the rush of it when he palms himself through his pants.

“Good boy,” You purr, enjoying the shiver that sends down his spine. The renewed need that has him pressing his tongue into you, tasting you from the source. You press your fingers a little more insistently against the back of his head, hips bucking to follow the stroke of his tongue. He needs this, you think, needs the easy rush as badly as you do. An addict chasing their high.

His tongue twists and you whine, pressing your hand against your mouth. He does it again and you know he wants to hear you. But that won’t happen here, and he sure as shit isn’t coming back to your place. Still, it’s good, electric and wet. The attention to your clit sends sparks up your spine, paying you back for leaving him last time. 

His hand leaves your thigh to push his fingers into your cunt as his tongue flickers against you. His fingers crook, twisting and stroking until the added stimulation makes you push down hard against his mouth, whining loud into your hand as you cum. 

You feel his tethers hit your trap hard as your legs shake. His groans against you, fingers and tongue still working your clenching cunt into overstimulation. You grab a fistful of the tethers leading off of him and yank him back. He stares up at you with glassy eyes as you pull your shorts back up and tumble out of the stall to get the fuck out of dodge.

-

Soap stares daggers across the bar table, his fist tightly pressed against his mouth as his scotch sweats in front of him.

"What's bit your ass?" Gaz asks, barely drawing Soap's attention away from the space over Price's shoulder.

"Ah'm bloody starvin'." Soap snaps, the other three men at the table exchange a look. He's been through more artists in the last three months than ever before.

"What happened to the bird with the violin?" Gaz tries, voice measured and slow to keep the concern at the edges. Ghost's brows twitch together watching Soap drag a hand down his face.

"Only gave me one piece."

"Any good?" Price chimes in, leaning forward to rest his elbows on the table. Soap frowns.

"Really good."

"Then what's the problem?" Price presses. Soap doesn't know. It used to be enough. Ages ago one haunting piece could keep him for months, years if it was good enough. He was patient, he wasn't as jaded. What happened?

"Johnny," Ghost starts, Soap turns his glare on him, Ghost glares back switching tactics as the concern leaves his voice, "Find a new meal. There's a reason leanan don't live long." Soap scowls.

"Ah found one, and they don' give two shits about me."

"Sounds like a nice change of pace." Ghost says dryly. Price nudges him. 

“You got any tethers in ‘em?” Price asks, trying to ease the Scot’s tension. Soap stops, thinking. He’s met you three times, he should have something, but as far as he can feel they’ve been empty interactions. So why do you fill his head at every spare moment? Why does he want to see you so badly?

“Not one,” Soap says finally.

“Christ you’re as bad as Ghost,” Gaz groans. Price stays silent, gaze heavy, inspecting. He snuffs his cigar after a moment, and pulls a new one from his pocket.

“I’m only gonna ask this once, so I’d think real hard on it,” Price strike a match to life with his fingernail, lighting his cigar with narrowed eyes like he’s worried Soap might lie, or might not know, “How many hooks they got in you?”

Soap counts zero, nothing, tries to feel for anything new that might have latched onto him. He’d know if a human got a few hooks in him, especially if he hadn’t gotten any in them. But the longer he thinks, the more he feels them.

Intricately latticed gossamer threads dig haphazardly into him, squeezing the other tethers and wrapping around old hooks. They constrict and expand just shy of tight. Just shy of noticeable. Now that they have been noticed, the feeling makes him shudder, it’s unmistakable. Soap drags a finger along one, hissing at the blood it draws, the way the line lights up red before falling away. Gaz leans back away from him, pressing against Ghost’s stiff form. Price exhales smoke across the table, the tendrils latching onto the spider silk threads and snapping them.

[creaturefeaster]

wanted to draw all the side character mimes but im quickly realising there's many of them that dont have solid designs yet and also i feel like im forgetting some

[spacedlexi]

people dont talk enough about how heartbreaking the marlon betrayal mustve been for clem too,,

this dude saves the life of her and her kid. takes them in has them patched up gives them their first hot meal in who knows how long. gives them a safe place to stay. possibly permanently. confides in her that hes trying to be a good leader but feels like and fears that hes failing. asks her to help him take care of the rest of the group. helps her get over her fear of dogs by asking her to trust him. and things go well. she feels safe. like this place could really finally be the home shes been looking for

but as soon as she finds out what happened to the twins. that marlon planned on giving up her and aj too. she immediately becomes a liability to him and he attempts to kill her for it. locks her in the basement to die by walker. then tries to turn the group against her so he can shoot her instead when the first method fails. and he nearly succeeds

then a majority of the group turn against clem the minute aj kills marlon. ignoring marlons mistakes but condemning aj for his. like clem wasnt betrayed by marlon in the exact same way he betrayed the twins. like she literally wasnt almost killed twice? and how long had he been considering giving her up? was it always some contingency he planned? did he truly want to keep them around and things only changed when he feared the raiders had returned? she'll never know

[banned-for-horny]

One of the Good Ones

Mason gets in trouble.

(cw including but not limited to bratty reader, leighton being leighton, and mason getting the humiliation/corruption he deserves)

Mason should have just ignored you. You'd come in, made all kinds of rude and lewd remarks, and really, he should have known something was up when he was able to drag you to office without a fight. You're one of the best swimmers in the class, and you had a reputation as a delinquent for a reason.

A loud thwack! startles the swim coach, but it's your strangled moan in his ear that really drags him back to attention. Your entire body jolts from the blow, chest rubbing against Mason's whistle, thighs twitching and knocking his own together. Somehow, the only part of him that isn't being set ablaze by your touch is his crotch, where his cock strains painfully against his shorts. He can't tell if it's a blessing or a curse.

"Ahem."

Blessing, Mason decides quickly. "Nine."

Behind you with a leering smile stands Headmaster Leighton. "Good." He raises the paddle. "I was worried you lost count. We would've had to start all over again, and we wouldn't want that, right?"

"No, sir," Mason forces out.

You squeeze Mason's neck in a hug and sway your hips, drawling, "No, sir."

Headmaster Leighton brings the paddle down with a fierce swing. Mason's hips jolt up...at the noise. He'd been startled. Right. Just startled. "Ten."

Really, Mason doesn't understand how he got here. He'd expected you to be punished, sure, but then Headmaster Leighton had said something about being responsible for their students in the classroom, and that he should know how to control his students and not rely on the Headmaster for everything and-

Another swing. Another breathy moan. This time, Mason can see your toes curling and throws his head back, desperate for air. "Eleven."

-and now he's here.

Mason isn't stupid. He knows this town is-is sick. Fucked up. And it isn't like he's innocent, either - his little sessions in the lake are saved for rainy days on purpose. But he keeps his hands to himself for a reason, always makes direct eye contact and NEVER goes below the neckline.

But this is also his job. He'd gotten lucky getting a position at the academy, and if he got fired, he would have to resort to some...unsavory work until he finds something more stable.

Thwack!

"Twelve," Mason gasps over your moaning. His hips are twitching, either to grind into your crotch or wriggle away from it. The count is fifteen. Headmaster Leighton wanted him to prove he's capable of controlling himself by not touching you. It's not that hard.

He thinks as much until rough, weathered skin squeezes his knee. Mason's breath hitches in his throat, jaw tight as Headmaster Leighton leans over to eye the little gap between the swim coach and the delinquent.

"You're doing good, Mason," the headmaster hums, squeezing Mason's burning skin as he smiles. "I expected no less from someone like you. As for you..." He rises with a quiet grunt, then wrenches your head back by the roots. Your lips part in another breathy gasp, eyes fluttering. "This is a punishment, you know."

The corner of your lips curl dangerously. "Then maybe you should stop hitting like an old man already and actually punish me."

Headmaster Leighton's own smile drills a hole right through Mason's stomach. The paddle strikes your bare end once, twice, three times in quick succession. Even when Mason practically shouts "Fifteen!", the older man doesn't stop. You cry out at the sixteenth, bury your face into Mason's neck at the nineteenth. At twenty, your lips ghost over his skin, nails sinking into his roots and jerking his head back. A moan catches in his throat at the sight of the headmaster's flushed face.

"Still enjoying yourself?" Headmaster Leighton sneers.

For a moment, Mason prays he's talking to you, but when he realizes the headmaster is watching him, his tongue shrivels in his mouth. "N-No, sir. Never-"

It's at that perfect, horrible moment that you finally decide to sit up. Your hips drag up Mason's thighs and hike up his shorts, and the throbbing warmth of your ass finally grinds against his length and draws a deep, pained groan from his chest. His hands untangle from behind the chair, digging his fingers deep into your hips to-to push you off. Right. It also keeps the weight of your body directly on his clothed cock, burning and twitching with the desire to rut into you until he cums, and he can't have that. Mason's supposed to be one of the good ones.

"Oh?"

Sobriety crashes into Mason like he dove headfirst into the lake in the middle of winter. His eyes fly to the headmaster and his nonchalant lean against the desk behind him, paddle still in hand, eyes brimming with cruel amusement.

"Mason," he sighs, "I'm disappointed in you. You were supposed to keep your hands to yourself until I was done."

Mason's jaw drops in protest, ripping his hands away from your skin. "Y-You said to fifteen-"

The paddle cracks against the polished wood. "I said, 'let's start with fifteen'," Headmaster Leighton sneers. "Not 'only' fifteen. I know I hired you for your...physical fitness, but it's simple English, really." His sneer melts into a sadistic grin. "Or were you just that eager to join in on the punishment? What do you think?"

Whatever else Mason tries to say disappears in another groan when you lean back, pressing even harder into his erection. Despite the pained tears brimming in your eyes, you smirk. "I think," you hum, "he really wants to join in, sir."

And Mason desperately wants to say no, wants to shove you off his lap and bolt out of the headmaster's office, but he can already imagine it now: Local swim coach teacher physically assaults student, claims it was in self-defense. Headmaster Leighton would have his name slandered, credibility destroyed. Who would ever want to hire some no-named stranger that got caught red-handed by the police?

"I-" Mason chokes out, "I-I should be punished."

Your smirk only grows. Through the haze of his own panic and arousal, he swears he sees the pointed tail of a devil curling behind you. "For?"

"For..." Mason swallows when Headmaster Leighton circles behind him. "For not being able tO-" His voice hiccups when those same, calloused hands palm his shoulders. With each gentle squeeze, he finds the tension in his muscles soften against his will. "For not being able to control myself..."

You pout. That tail he swears isn't there droops. "Control myself against..."

"Against you," he finishes.

The victorious little smile you flash ignites every nerve under his skin. You sit back fully this time, practically crushing his erection and ignoring his moan to say, "See, old man? Told you he'd break."

"As if anyone could hold out against someone like you," Headmaster Leighton scoffs. He gives Mason one final shove before returning to his desk, retrieving the paddle and giving his palm a firm smack. "Now, what to do..." They could let him go, Mason wants to say, but under the haze in his mind, he already knows they won't let him. Whatever little game they have planned, he'd be stuck between them.

"Why don't we start with some strokes?" Headmaster Leighton pats the top of his desk. You smile and slip out of Mason's lap, practically throwing the swimmer into position. He barely gets his hands on the surface when you yank his shorts down, exposing his ass and-

"H-Hey!" Mason squeaks when you grab his shaft. He isn't exactly big, but when your fist closes around his cock, the head barely peeks out of your fingers.

"That's...smaller than I was hoping," you whine. A few hard tugs nearly has Mason at the brink of orgasm and yet you aren't even paying attention, pouting at the headmaster instead. "You said he was a winner!"

"I said he would be 'entertaining'," Headmaster Leighton scolds. "Seems Mason isn't the only one here flunking out of English, hm? Perhaps I should have Doren come in to provide some remedial lessons. Or should I have Sirris come in to check your ears?"

"No!" Mason manages to shout, voice trembling as you continue to stroke his shaft. You're barely moving your wrist, almost bored, and under all the arousal and embarrasment, he can't help but grit his teeth with frustration. "Can we just start already?"

"At least you're eager," you huff, finally releasing his cock. Mason risks glancing over his shoulder and finds you sidled up to Headmaster Leighton's side, tapping a jaunty little tune against the paddle with your nails. "Now hurry up, sir. I'm bored!"

Headmaster Leighton only smiles and traces the edge of the paddle up your throat, chin tilted back to meet his eye. It's sensual, intimate, and Mason feels like he's intruding on something when the headmaster leans down and whispers in your ear. Whatever he says, it draws the corners of your mouth into a wicked smile. You peck a kiss against Headmaster Leighton's cheek. In the same breath, you pluck the paddle from his hand and point it at Mason.

"Let's start with...fifteen," you taunt, voice dripping with glee. "Ready?"

Mason feels like he might faint. He's supposed to be one of the good ones. "...ready."

[nardacci-does-art]

I didn't expect either of my haunted doll comics to ever be liked so much, uuuhh anyway shoutout to everyone in the tags & replies who, like me, read books as children that gave them lifelong sentimental crybaby syndrome.

[ohitslen]

Eh idk man just mulling over the thought that it’s super awesome to think of Vash as this little silly guy who is always so fucking pissed at Wolfwood ;or just people generally but I’m using Wolfwood for this one because it’s funny to me personally.

Wolfwood is the most vocal of the two in that regard, about being pissed off at Vash a lot of the time, nobody wonders about it. But think about this, one day Wolfwood says something or does something (not about killing) that Vash so heavily disagrees with and he looks so done.

Not done as in augh this conversation again, but pissed as in repressed anger, as in you should be thankful I don’t vouch for violence as my first option.

And it feels so oppressing, Wolfwood genuinely wonders if someone is out there wanting to kill them, but it’s just Vash doing a poor attempt of regulating his emotions while looking at WWs back with immense murderous intent

[good-beanswrites]

Imagine the awkwardness if in that Mikoto Prank Show ask however, if no one but Es and Jackalope were in on it… And they somehow got everyone’s crimes perfectly right.

LMAO 💀💀💀

Jackalope and Es are in on it, and they don’t even need to guess them -- the machine can be legit! As any good businessmen, they put this newfound life-changing technology to good use: reality TV. They get a hold of 10 random people, planning on editing and splicing the videos to make up some crazy stories about crime and guilt and see how people react. They chose an range of people that might feel guilt over something -- they assume doctors feel bad for losing patients even though they did their best, or policemen regret the people they can't save, or chronically online people feel responsible for things they're connected to -- but that's all.

They get to Haruka’s interrogation and Es comes back to the team going, “hey, did you guys watch the video? Crazy that this guy killed animals, huh.” Then Yuno’s rolls around and they go “shit I never would have thought she was the type for that, now she’s overthinking her abortion��” Then Fuuta. “What are the chances that so many people feel incredibly guilty over someone else’s death? Does everyone feel a secret responsibility for something that happened indirectly?” Then Muu. “Okay that was pretty direct. How did we find these people? Should we contact anyone about this? No? Okay.” Shidou. “?????” By the time they get to Mahiru’s interrogation and she readily admits to murder they’re like “yeah okay, I had a feeling.”

The funniest part is, Mikoto is the team's only hopeful case! From the very beginning, they hear him talking around the prison and everyone breathes a long sigh of relief. “Finally! A normal, not-murdery guy! Our show is saved! We have someone real to prank!” … And then.

(Slightly off-topic but I’ve always wanted to write a comedy normal au in which Es befriends the cast in different areas of their life; Amane is transferred to their school after her incident, Mahiru works in a nearby store, Shidou works at their local clinic, etc.) One by one they get close enough to Es to really trust them, and each confess to being involved with a death that was either indirect or very well covered up. The first few times it’s a beautiful moment of trust and vulnerability, but after like five confessions Es is sitting there like “seriously?? How does this keep happening????”)

[dimiclaudeblaigan]

ah yes, she's concerned about the aggressor and attacker who was invading them six months ago. something is wrong with the empire right now, poor edelgard; whatever could've happened to her? :(

like... what. why do you care about what's going on with her specifically when she's the person who made the decision to invade leicester? does the whole war just mean nothing to marianne? it's just totally fine that all those people died in a war edelgard started? poor edelgard, something happened to her after she started her attack? you're concerned about the leader who gave the order to attack your home?

hopes has stupid lines but this one is top tier of the top tier and just an excuse for more edelgardjerking from the writers.

[pinacoladamatata]

eating my popcorn watching all this drama go down irt the larian discord server

[pancakes-with-grounded-hazelnuts]

hsr: references to jingliu, jing yuan, and yanqing's backstories. interpretations + hcs roughly based on anything up to 1.4

(hi i don't make proper theories or analyses. i just scream my feelings into a void in a chaotic barrage of words.)

thinking about sword family again.

how jingliu’s readiness to teach anyone swordsmanship regardless of fame, talent, or circumstances transformed jing yuan’s life. i think about little jing yuan, whose passion for swordplay went against his parents' wishes, whose talent leaned far more into cunning than the blade. and yet jingliu acknowledged his desire to learn and acknowledged him as he was. even now, he still speaks of her with respect and fondness.

i then think about how jing yuan now, many years later, is mentoring a student of his own, yanqing. a boy with no known background but had a fiery passion for swordplay. how he went against public opinion to give him opportunities on the battlefield at a young age. the dubious ethics of this aside, i can see little yanqing felt his passion and abilities acknowledged.

i think of them being acknowledged by their masters, for not only their strengths and weaknesses, but their dreams. i can imagine a great sense of hope dawning on them. they will never forget it.

(extra headcanony territory) and then i picture, the student of her student, standing before her, hungry for another contest, hungry to learn more techniques from her. he knows she's deemed a criminal by the xianzhou, he knows her past is full of painful complications beyond his comprehension, but through all that, jingliu is still a brilliant swordmaster, and that's what matters to him. he will acknowledge her as she is. he will cut through her punishing memories with his sharp tongue. "what's the holdup? it's time for swordplay!" and she will smile the sweetest and most sincere smile she had for years, for there's fun to be had.

and so the cycle of hope has come full circle.

>> disclaimer: i might be too paranoid about this, but i feel the need to note that the positive way i wrote this (and other posts) doesn't mean i think what these characters do for each other is necessarily the best or healthiest (even by in-universe standards, let alone my own). i acknowledge the flaws and greyness of this world, but i prefer to read them in the context of its own setting and focus on the positives for a lot of these posts because it gives me the most joy.

[mitamicah]

Sad Micah hours. Yay.

[cornerfolks]

to clarify some things just because

this is a funny

i cant claim to know what the inspirations for myhouse were aside from, very obviously, house of leaves

yume nikki itself is inspired by lsdde, but i feel like its usage of wordless Suggested storytelling may have influenced my house, where you can try to piece together a story just from the spaces you travel- in yn you have multiple worlds like that, the first that comes to mind being the hit and run.

lsd dream emulator i feel may have influenced my house Independently from yume nikki, particularly with the way levels interconnect and loop back around on one another in a 3d setting

P.T. definitely belongs here like obviously but consider this: i forgor. and itd look weird if it wasnt a triangle. realistically, its Probably an even bigger influence than house of leaves. i mean, it's PT. its PT.

the complete absence, aside from HoL, of house-centric media is not an oversight because despite everything, myhouse really isn't about the house. the "haunted house" isnt the house itself, it's the doom map of the house- the building is irrelevant, what matters is that its the space Tom created. the reason the house's layout repeats itself everywhere isn't because the house matters, it's because that was the layout tom created in the original map that steve decided to update. do you understand THIS? the house isnt alive, the myhouse.wad is alive. there is a distinction and the distinction is crucial. the analog to the house on ash tree lane isnt the house itself, because there is no real world physical house present in the story, since its only about the mod based on said house. the analog to the house on ash tree lane, to This House (skinamarink acknowledgement), to the monster house, is the map.

thank you for coming to my tedtalk. its 6:30pm and i just ate subway after i started my day at 5pm having gone to sleep at 6 something am with a full xanax following a night of drinking red bull. i need to take my magnesium pills to balance my energy.

btw the gay monster house is something i'm doing myself stay tuned for that.

in truth i dont even know if we can legitimately consider myhouse part of houseposting... but i will anyway because it carries the same spirit. even if its about a doom map. like in fiction its about a doom map.

[loppiopio]

the chances of the people seeing this aren't super likely so this is highly inefficient but i'm too afraid to approach people personally…. yet i've been burning with the need to express my gratitude for the tags i've received individually somehow and figured, i could do it the way i do best. in the tags 😅

(sorted by most recent) (i capped the limit hard here) (some ✂️✂️ had to be done 😔) (i still like this format a lot though) (might do this again in the future idk would people like that??) (i hope it's not mortifying for anyone……..)

it's sorta the way i like it, indirect and unimposing, even if it's kinda. wieldy. but it's just on my blog so anything goes right? although in saying that, i am open to being imposed on. like if someone wants to talk about aci or something, like other fic?? i'm a big fic fiend. or anything else lol not sure what else you'd wanna chat about since so much of the stuff i've put out is just. about fic. but hey, if you're a person i don't mind being approached :>

(lol the way i've made this like a *throws out a bunch of paper slips* find your's 🎉) (might be obnoxious hm) (sorry...) (find your's if you want though 🫡)