s gay m
@cyborg-scanning-you and Jackogien in the bg (:
its that time of year again
sgaym
$LAYYYTER
Three Goblin Art
todays bird
almost home
No title available

titsay

izzy's playlists!
Mike Driver

Andulka

tannertan36
Sade Olutola

Product Placement

Kiana Khansmith

Kaledo Art
Claire Keane

❣ Chile in a Photography ❣
No title available
DEAR READER
Cosimo Galluzzi

Discoholic 🪩
seen from United States

seen from Italy

seen from Germany

seen from Malaysia
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United Kingdom
seen from Poland

seen from Taiwan
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from United States

seen from Malaysia
seen from Australia

seen from United Kingdom

seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
@corruptedhyena
s gay m
@cyborg-scanning-you and Jackogien in the bg (:
its that time of year again
sgaym
THIS IS PEAK
still waiting for it to arrive...
i need to free then from their lobotomiis, PLEASE GAMESTOP WHERE IS IT
IT'S HERE!!!!!!!!
THANK YOU EVERYONE WHO CONTRIBUTED IN GETTING THIS MADE AND DISTRIBUTED!! @hfr-encore YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME!
i will now haunt the page on the chance that any spare merch gets put up for sale u_u
happy friday the 13th!!
traced Casket over Buther's Vanity after listening to it on loop for 3 hours the other day (:
EHS: Finals Week - The Binder
Last one before the update, Elka High School: Finals Week!
This is the official, canonical ending to the original Binder! I've shared the pdf of the original story, and this here is a Toyhouse listing of the end written in modern day! I did my best to wrap everything up neatly (with a little retconning) to make this into a somewhat-competent ending to a terribly beautiful mess of a middle school fanfiction.
I'm quite proud of this, so please enjoy!!
Whispy's First Night - Bindertales
Next up for my Pi(e) Day celebration, a fic from Whispy's POV! This is seet between Issues 3 and 4. As she's just a side character here, allow me to extrapolate! She's an old character that started as a FNAF fursona of my one friend, and later reused as a full-fledged FNAF character, Alpha from Venture Adventure! Here, though, she's carrying on her original intent as a shy bookworm with ties to FNAF lore.
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You’re overthinking things again.
Whispy snuffles, pawing at the sleepies in her eyes as she flips onto her other side in bed once again. The dorm’s bedframe squeals unhappily, the sound barely muffled by the thin mattress. Considering the incredible technology on display on Elka High’s campus, she would’ve expected better from their living quarters. Room 12B, they said, a premium single room experience. Yet there she laid, stiff neck and cold paws clutched to her chest. She could feel her heart thudding beneath her paws. The air conditioning shuffled the curtains by the window, the quiet tapping made Whispy swallow the lump in her throat.
The first night somewhere new always brought some level of anxiety to her. Sleepless nights led to messy mornings which ended up with awkward afternoons until her entire day was ruined. It was an eternal spiral that was only broken after a week or so and, unfortunately for her, tonight was only the beginning. With a lofty sigh, Whispy tosses and turns at each creak of the walls. She glanced over at her alarm clock for what felt like the fiftieth time that night.
Yup, still late. Maybe it’d be better to say early, at that point.
Time just never seems to pass at the same rate, in Whispy’s experience. Some nights she blinks and it’s suddenly time for school, others the hours drag through molasses. It’s a terrible feeling that she is eternally grateful that her friends don’t experience, according to the dazed looks she gets when lamenting her nighttime escapades. At the very least, it’s given her the time to catch up on old series during the days where even laying down feels like a test of strength. She’d hoped tonight wasn’t going to be one of those nights. She had even gone to bed early that night, hoping to use the extra time to make sure she slept enough, for once. Whispy squeezed her eyes shut in a futile attempt to convince her body it was time for bed.
A shudder ran through the far wall, the barrier between her dorm and the next. A sudden storm? Wild animal run loose? Or something worse, something human? Whispy’s fur stood on end. She dared not move from her position, though her ears strained to hear anything next door, in the dorm, in her room-
It was quiet. The branches outside her window sat straight for the first time all day and the air conditioning powered down. Whatever lay beyond the far wall was silent. Whispy was breathing too loudly. Surely, they’d hear her, they’d know she was awake. If they knew she was awake, they would get her. At a snail’s pace, she pulled a paw over her muzzle, ghosting breath over her hypersensitive paw pads. Surely, they’d notice.
Who are “they,” though, she scolded herself, you’re overthinking again.
But she couldn’t find it in herself to move, to breathe more steadily, to open her eyes. Some small memory from health class sprung up amid the claxon alarms in her head, something about “prey drives” and its activation when someone runs, and she has to swallow a bout of manic laughter. What she wouldn’t do for her roommate to wander in right then, to awkwardly apologize for the noise with a voice too loud for the closed environment. Sally was brave, outgoing, social – everything Whispy was too afraid to try.
What was she even thinking, going to a remote boarding school all alone? Her sister even knew it was a bad idea, Whispy saw the tense, doubting squint in her eyes when she’d gotten her acceptance letter. But she couldn’t stay at home anymore. Not after the disappearances. She couldn’t hear the doorbell without her heart skipping a beat, expecting to look out the window to Fritz’s big, stupid grin. The playground pavilions were too empty without Susie’s laughter. She barely even knew them that well, they were friendly classmates at best. And yet…
Whispy shivered. The branches by the window rapped against the glass and the air conditioning kicked in. It was quiet next door. She breathed in, then out. If she tried hard enough, she thought she could hear Sally snore across the hall. It was four am when Whispy finally fell asleep.
In the morning, Whispy made breakfast. Sally wasn’t used to paws yet, let alone how long it takes to groom your fur, so Whispy was happy to take point. They walked to class after meeting up with Sally’s partner – Whispy mostly followed behind them, but Sally would swing around to get her opinion of the nonsense they shared. Class carried on in a haze, as expected, until third period rolled around. One of Sally’s friends sat to Whispy’s left and they landed in their chair in a hurry before pulling both she and Sally into a huddle.
They said there was a fight last night. Someone broke into one of the dorms. The only reason they knew it happened was because the victim woke up in a pool of their own blood, having respawned in the night, and the lock to room 11A being carved out of the door.
It was happening again.
Ghosts and Demons - Bindertales
In honor of Pi(e) Day's rapid approach, I want to share some short fics I wrote for Bindertales/The Binder! Today's is a short aside about Ghost (: TW: Body dysphoria
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With Cas in control, the best Ghost can do against him is pick at his psyche. The demon’s thoughts are hard to get a good grasp on, but he hears everything Cas says like a loudspeaker in his blood. Demonic possession leaves little for the host to do besides listen, and that’s with Ghost’s years of experience with it. At the very least, there are flashes of what Cas is doing with his body, like playing an old first-person video game. They’re muddy and made up of almost entirely flash-feelings, but it’s something. Anything to get a glimpse of the demon in his skin.
As if he didn’t have enough dysphoria to begin with. Ugh…
The possession is as parasitic as it is symbiotic; one cannot exist without the other, who can only do their job with the presence of the one. Cas’ presence in his body gave Ghost the Sight, which both he and Toast depend on for their very career and safety of these around them. While the paranormal tends to notice them, they also are capable of noticing the paranormal, now. Where they once struggled to explain the monsters under the bed, they now can banish them entirely. It’s as though the demonic energy within Ghost is that one last missing link that connects them to the Other Side. When he speaks, the spirits Hear.
All to say, when Ghost first bound that demon to his very soul, it seemed like everything somehow worked out. He kept the remaining pieces of his childhood best friend – the parts that he knew weren’t just a demon tricking him for all those years – and contained the paranormal threat in his basement. Hell, he didn’t even care when he started hearing it talk to him. It seemed obvious – of course the demon would be able to talk to him. It’s a demon owning his soul. That’s supernatural 101. It would whine and hiss in his ear about anything and everything, always hungry and always wanting control. Again, supernatural 101, just never let the demon have control and it’d all be fine. As long as it was stuck in Ghost’s head, it wouldn’t be able to terrorize any innocent people. He even tried to eat a bit more to keep it happy. Yet… as the days went on, it kept shouting the same let me eat let me out let me control. It was incessant, migraine-inducing, taking Ghost out of class to hide in the nurse’s office and calling off social events to scream at the mirror. The thing even had the gall to look like him. An imperfect him. One with a melting face and a too-tight bra.
Sometimes it was harder to tell who was really the one in the mirror.
The last day of middle school was the breaking point.
Ghost had begun to forgo sleep out of fear of the demon breaking out of his ribcage. Toast was sleeping over almost every day, shaken to the core by the red ringing his best friend’s eyes. They were spending day after day in the recesses of the public library, pouring over ancient tomes that may hold the key to keeping the demon on a leash, to the point where they feared they’d fail to graduate. Toast’s parents put their foot down the day before graduation: No sleepover that night. He wasn’t brave enough to go to Ghost’s house anyways, and Ghost sure wasn’t well enough to bust into Toast’s family estate. He didn’t think he could sleep from the nerves of it all anyways. Just to be safe, he was sure to always keep a mug of coffee at his side. It was only when his clumsy hands shattered it on the kitchen floor did he wonder if sleep was even the catalyst for losing control. Maybe a nap would do him good, he thought, as he sluggishly gathered the ceramic shards in his hands. One managed to cleanly slice his thumb, drawing a small bead of blood.
When he woke up, he was standing in an alleyway, scuffed and sore. He didn’t recognize the area; it smelled horrible and the lights from the street barely illuminated his feet. But it was enough to cast a long shadow from the man at the end of the alley, clutching his arm to his chest and stumbling around the corner with a desperate gait. Blood trailed from his disappearing form to a small puddle at Ghost’s left shoe. A drop plopped into the pool and made him aware of the pocketknife limply held in his hand.
He knew, then, that it was the demon’s doing. It wanted Ghost to see what it had done.
That even a caged animal can bite.
It was Toast that found him in the end, wandering dizzily in the streets. Ghost had missed graduation, he said. They both passed. Then, with soft, clumsy assurances, he took Ghost home – not Ghost’s, of course, that hadn’t been a home in years. They’d settled in Toast’s bedroom, now that his parents were reassured their son was moving forward. They gradually parsed through the younger boy’s memories to pinpoint what had happened, Toast jumping on the opportunity to construct an entire system to keep this from happening again whilst Ghost finally got some sleep in Toast’s bed.
It ended up breaking down into one simple thing: stay away from blood. Wounds were immediately treated and covered with as many band aids as it took to hide the stain. Anything big enough to smell called for covering the sleeves of his hoodie in far too much cinnamon-scented hand sanitizer, which was held to his nose while Toast patched things up. Monthly issues were combatted with healthy amounts of sleep and scent pods in his every pocket. His nasty habit of nail-chewing had to be broken before he could bite off a hangnail and taste blood. It was, overall, an efficient and successful scheme.
Unfortunately, they were teenage boys who hunted the paranormal for a living. Scraps against hellhounds were bound to bear injury, haunted buildings had sharp edges and unsound flooring that were sometimes stepped in, and sometimes he just got punched in the nose. It was tempting, at times, to listen to the demon’s reassurances of strength and victory should he just let go, give control over, just like that- Yet his accursed morals – or maybe that was Toast – kept Ghost from the dark side. Sometimes, though, he didn’t have a choice. Opponents with a swift strike or a tumble in the wrong direction were a slippery slope straight into unconsciousness, which the demon would nigh always take advantage of. One whiff of blood and no mental barriers gave it a way out and into trouble.
Trouble being a less heavy way of saying people in the hospital. Collateral damage. Moving towns when the people know his face. Not making connections anymore. He thanks the stars for Toast, who followed him to the ends of the earth and then some. Not to mention how eager he is to spend money on Ghost; it’s hard to keep a phone alive when every monster of the week has it out for you personally. Any friends made along the way were cherished: Ghost and Sally meet once a month for whatever trendy movie is being shown, Toast has a bi-weekly video call with his brother to discuss the books they’ve read and family gossip, and both make routine visits to their hometown faire to chat with the kind old folks whose attic was haunted. It was nice, keeping in touch.
It wasn’t much, but it was their life.
When it wasn’t the demon’s.
pov you started yet another long-term project which will eat away at your free time and has quasi-deadlines
i'm so sorry i got distracted again, Cas ;_;
I henceforth shall only be referring to my estrogen as girl juice and my spiro as boy suppressant.
The real loser is me cuz I spent time making this
Yeah, I’m painfully unfunny. And?
Its no fun when your sad ughhhhg
I’m not sad, it’s a defense mechanism.
If I only post things that are painfully unfunny, I ensure my posts never show up in Tumblr YouTube videos.
putting this convo in the ratcraft video out of spite
awoo! *flies away*
AWOO!!! BEAUTIFUL!! SKILL!! MASTERY!!
HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!
so grateful to have been able to spend the time leading up to new years with @sp4cer1otz !! time sure flies when youre defusing bombs and gunning down backrooms zombies for hours (:
Struggle Siblings Christmas Drabble
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“Happy holidays, Dr. Hayes!”
“Let’s go out tonight, ‘tis the season, right?”
“Merry Christmas!”
Frankly, Vera had expected a hyper-covert science facility filled to the gills with everything the world hid under the covers from to be less festive. Everything they dealt with on the daily was depressing at best, mind-melting and reality altering at worst. Just last week, one of the janitors accidentally bumped into the favorite plant of a particularly grouchy astral entity and lost all of his orifices.
Yet there were glittery garlands hung along the hallways and a wreath with a rosy-cheeked Santa Claus on the bathroom door. Her coworkers, while usually on rather neutral terms, were chattering like old bitties about their holiday plans. The crabby Dr. Winters had even wished her well. It put an itch in her feathers.
“Miss Hayes, good morning!”
She huffed – spotted already, that was almost a record.
“Morning, Mr. Conway,” Vera said with a short smile. “How are you?”
“Cold! They’re calling for snow tonight, and I’m ready for vacation, y’know?” Alex prompts, sidling up to fall into step with Vera’s brisk, uneven pace. He keeps to her good side, well-trained not to get his overeager paws in the way of the metal leg. From his pocket comes a wrinkled slip of obnoxiously green paper. She eyes it as he holds it out to her with a bright grin. “They’re holding a little craft show down at the conference hall, the one by site 125. D’you wanna check it out?”
Vera pursed her lips as she held back a grimace. She knew, logically, that it would be good for her to get out for once. Healthy, even. But there was vomit burning up in her throat before she could consider it beyond a passive idea. Still, she gave Alex a smile and took the flier with tentative talons.
“Maybe. I’m – I’ve got some plans already,” Vera sputtered as gracefully as she could muster, “lots of… things to do. We’ll see. Don’t wait on me, okay?”
“Okay,” though his energy dimmed, her coworker nodded resolutely. “That’s alright. Maybe next time, right?”
“Right.”
Vera strode past as Alex waved from his office doorway before ducking into her own workspace. He wouldn’t miss her for long; she was mindful to keep her coworkers at wings’ length for their sakes. She didn’t intend to be there longer than necessary. Merrik was the priority. Always.
The thought burned in her chest. Fuck, she couldn’t think about him first thing in the morning, but the endless holiday cheer around her just kept digging and digging into her skin until she felt like she was going to explode.
Fuck that stupid, shady company that took him to god knew where.
Fuck her chatty fucking coworkers who had to broadcast to everyone just how good their lives were with their families and friends and craft shows.
And fuck Christmas for reminding her how fucking much she missed her brother.
The stupid puppy calendar she’d hung on her wall mocked her, the days passed way too fast to be real. Time didn’t deserve to keep moving forward when she felt so frozen. It couldn’t have been three months already. It just wasn’t possible.
Still, as she choked back the sob in her throat, Vera had to keep working. She was close to a breakthrough, she was sure of it. She begged for it. She had to be close, she didn’t know if she would survive the holidays without him. Wherever he was, he had to be close, so she hoped he would hear her in some cosmic, unscientific, magical way that TV shows and Hallmark movies would have you believe were possible.
“It’s been a while, Merrik,” she said under her breath, a prayer to everything she didn’t have faith in and knew had no care for, “I’m on my way, okay? So just… hold on. Wherever you are. I’ll save you, I swear it. I’ll save you.”
Her legs gave out beneath her, suddenly unable to support the weight upon her shoulders. The lab was quiet, dark. She hadn’t bothered with setting up for the morning yet. She had to, eventually, because how else would she get her brother back? For just another minute, though, she allowed herself to fall apart, just a little. To sob and whine and be as pathetic as a part of her wanted to be every single minute that her family was gone.
“I miss you,” Vera allowed herself to say, “Please, come back.”
It snowed that night, she noted absently. Late into the evening, she found herself staring blankly into the dark, watching the fat flakes lazily dance in the winter wind. The tenseness in her shoulders were waved away as concern for the trip home. She lived in the employee lodgings, but the walk from the main facility could be slippery. It was just long enough to reasonably meander through the cold with only a lab coat to warm her. Feathers were coverage enough, surely. She didn’t mind the bite against her cheeks anyways. Vera stood in the courtyard, head turned skyward, lost in space for but a moment.
“Merry Christmas, Merrik,” she said, “You’ll be home in no time.”
_______________________
Time didn’t really flow quite right anymore – at least, as far as Merrik was aware. The infinite hell he’d fallen into didn’t have any windows to watch the sunset through, nor did it have any rain or snow or stars. The sky instead consisted of flat tile roof and popcorn ceilings. Sometimes, in the space that pretended to be a pool and a water park and a blank slate all at once, there were sky lights that were close enough to the real thing that Merrik liked to tell himself he was getting closer. But the light they gave off was static and no fresh air filtered through to diffuse the sting of chlorine in his lungs.
Still, Merrik did his best to keep a somewhat steady log of the time that passed. After so long of wandering through mildewy hallways, he would stop to eat, note the date, and take a nap. Upon waking, he would pack up his meager collection of things and set off.
Wander, refuel, rest, repeat.
He had nothing to do but think down there. Though, he wasn’t even sure if “down” was the correct term. He had long since determined that this place was not just a deeper part of whatever fuckass facility he’d been looting on his crew’s last mission. God, it really was their last. Everyone was dead, he was dead-
Merrik didn’t need to dwell on the “where” of it all anymore. It wouldn’t do him any good, anyways.
What he did like to consider, though, was what time it would be in the real world.
From what he could remember, his last trip was sent off just before October. There were black and orange streamers thrown haphazardly around the Company building and a jack-o-lantern for sale in the directory. He had just received a transmission from Vera with plans to smuggle him into her office for the holiday. She’d saved some pretzels for him.
It’d surely been a few weeks already. He began making his notes shorter, less spaced-out, to save what remained of his half-filled notebook. The mental state of the coming months would entirely depend on whether or not the mall-like area he was in coughed up something, anything else to write on. He was praying to a god he didn’t believe in for a Radio Shack for some music. Or maybe a book to read. Or literally anything to keep him sane. God, he was so fucked.
Merrik felt heavy as he shuffled through a neon-lit corridor; the vibrant red made his feathers turn a sickly purple. The air tasted of shitty popcorn and mothballs. The prospect of food kicked his heartrate into gear as he picked up the pace. The end of the hall opened into a movie theater lobby, though the bright lights and flat colors of the place made it feel as generic and empty as the rest. Yet, sure enough, there was a popcorn machine lit in dull reds behind the service counter, filled with half-cooked kernels.
With a trill, Merrik soared straight for it, talons screeching where they scrabbled at the glassy plastic of the machine. The whole thing groaned like an ancient beast awoken from its slumber before Merrik sent it to work once more. The image threw his head into the clouds for a moment, losing an abstract amount of time to the indulgence of imagination. It wasn’t hard – there was nothing to really pay attention to out there, aside from the figures the brain found in the dark.
When he eventually came back to earth, Merrik’s eyes were stinging and his haunches ached where he was still perched awkwardly on the counter. He eased himself to the floor as he blinked harshly and just breathed. He pushed the palms of his talons, achingly cold as ever, tightly against his eyes and pretended the claws kneading at his brow were Vera’s.
The growl of his stomach drew Merrik from his thoughts. He was no brother to Vera if he was dead; there was time to yearn later.
Finding the thing’s power switch was trouble enough with the contrasting lighting, then the damn thing turned out to not even be plugged in. Cobwebs covered his arm as it wiggled desperately beneath the counter in search of the outlet and Merrik passively hoped the place had functioning sinks. Soon enough, though, the hum of electronics reached his ears as the machine sputtered to life.
“Oh my god,” Merrik said as he narrowly avoided clocking himself on the lip of the countertop as he shot upright and squished his face against the glass. It emitted a soft light that glistened in Merrik’s eyes; it was already warm. With a little more fiddling, the lofted pot inside began to pop merrily. A grin pulled at the tender scar on his muzzle. “Holy shit…!”
The machine’s gentle glow felt like a beacon in this endless hellscape. Maybe, just for a little while, Merrik could stay there under its warm glow. The yawning emptiness filled with the steady popping of delicious, buttery, movie theater popcorn. It made the air smell familiar, cozy, right. Between that and his stance kneeling in front of the heat, Merrik found himself in his family’s home at Christmas, fledgling claws tapping against the fake fireplace’s glass window.
“One day, we’re gonna have a real one,” Vera said beside him.
She too held her talons up to the simulated flame. The heated vents blew hot air directly at their faces, but neither of them moved to pretend the fire was anything but real. Merrik’s eyes burned.
“You chop the trees,” continued Vera, “and I’ll make the spark. I already found some flint down by the mill!”
“’Found it,’ huh?” Merrik huffed, voice high and breathy like the little kids in school. He wasn’t little anymore, but his voice hadn’t gotten the memo. Mom said it was normal for boys his age and Vera said it made his voice sound nice, no matter what the other kids said. “Vee, you’re gonna get in trouble. Mom’s already getting susup-susp-“
“Suspicious, I know. But that’s why we did our chores already,” Vera smirked.
Merrik hummed a half-hearted agreement. He dropped his talons to his lap as his wings shuffled with barely contained energy. His eyes darted towards the kitchen; the smell of buttery, homemade popcorn was making him drool. Vera poked a claw into his side.
“Fine. We can hang ‘em up now.”
“Yes!” Merrik shrieked. He shot up from his seat and, with a single wingbeat, was in the dinette with a bowl of popcorn in his talons. Vera trailed behind with the fishing wire and scissors; somehow she was the one mom trusted with sharp things even though they were the same age. He plopped back into place beside the fireplace, bowl snuggled between his legs, as Vera took her place across from him.
He had gotten better at threading popcorn throughout the years as his claws grew out of their fledgling clumsiness. Vera’s still shook a little, but she danced careful talons through string to make her garland more skillfully than he. They both took turns sneaking popcorn off of each other’s garlands to snack on as the gentle hum of the heater lulled them into a cozy state. Merrik had nearly fallen asleep when his sister nudged his leg.
“Look, Ricky,” she whispered, “Merry Christmas.”
He followed her sparkling gaze towards the frosted window to be greeted by the fat white flakes of Winter snow. With an odd wetness in his eye, Merrik smiled softly. The sound of the popcorn machine had long since quieted, its contents filling the glass enclosure with a sharp smell of the burnt kernels stuck inside the pot. Buzzing from the neon lights above dug into his skull, chaining him down to the endless maze of isolation around him. Despite the heat pressing against his cheeks, Merrik shivered.
“Merry Christmas, Vee.”
Vera owned by @sp4cer1otz (:
MERRY CHRISTMAS AND HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!
here are some pie team edited screenshots ive used as pfps over the years (:
bro... what's Carol Holiday doin here...
soon
(hopefully)