#whelp!

[ephemeralstarss]

you don't understand how long this has just been sitting in capcut

[frankjoshi]

when it comes to fanfiction one of the only things im ashamed of liking is cheating,, like i hate it irl but infidelity in fanfic is angelic to me

[sjofn-lofnsdottr]

What is the origin of their personality? And let's be honest - how much of it is projecting?

As I've mentioned here and there, Dusk, Mercuriel and Errol were all created for a RP thing I was in many years ago. It was a post-apocalypse setting.

To start with, I made someone entirely unsuited to the post-apocalypse in a particular way, which was Errol, a depressed coward. Errol was that way because I wanted to offset the more violent, ruthless characters in our group and see how long he managed to survive (obviously, I made peace with the idea he might not). As it turned out, when I was writing Errol, he was so pathetic wet soggy cat that even warlords wanted to wrap him in a blanket and give him soup. Was that intended? Not really. But I sure did lean into it.

The depression part was projection. :D

Mercuriel, I wanted to make someone who was extremely skilled at talking his way out of trouble. Someone who was really kind of an asshole but so damn charming about it people liked him anyway. And someone who was, in fact, a way bigger asshole than people realized because those little charming asshole moments were a drop in the bucket compared to what he really thought.

The problem with wanting to write a character like that, is having to figure out how to actually be that charming! I have been assured I managed, but woof. He was the hardest to write for sure.

Catty inner asshole might be a little bit of a projection. I promise I'm not nearly as petty, though. I promise!

So both those guys, they had very messy inner lives (which sometimes became messy outer lives). For my next character, I wanted someone completely different from that. Someone who was exactly who he seemed to be, and who wasn't really very messy at all. And so I created Dusk, a genuinely nice man, a man that is genuinely an open book, a man who is genuinely as low drama as he seems at first blush. Dusk is the nicest man in the world, who has nearly endless love for his fellow man, and as a result seems completely out of place in the rough world he found himself in. But he forges such strong bonds with people, on account of his being so kind and so willing to help people, he wound up one of the most secure people in the game, and most able to cope with The Horrors because of the support network he was a part of. None of that is projection, it's more ... idealistic goals.

No, what is projection are a lot of the little quirks I gave him. He's a terrible insomniac. He doesn't have no thoughts, he has EVERY thought and his mind never stops turning them over and over and over in his head. He hyperfocuses and forgets to eat, and then when he's reminded he should, he eats whatever is fastest/easiest to shove in his face so he can go back to doing something more interesting. Some things he remembers very, VERY well (names, conversations he had months ago, what things look like), and yet he can't remember where he just put his paintbrush, and then forgets he was doing something that required a paintbrush two minutes later. If you get him talking, he will talk and talk and talk and talk, giving excessive detail because context is important, even if it's not actually necessary.

Eventually I was reading up on ADHD for a friend, and realized Dusk probably has some form of ADHD.

Then I realized, oh. I probably have some form of ADHD.

Good times.

Thank you for the ask!

[meirimerens]

i'm looking at this very blog and seeing how little burakhovsky i have on here for someone who spent 9 months 97k words writing them falling/being in love (closer to 130k in total over 3 fics) then i check my files full of them and i'm like oooooh this🔥 is why. hey what was that

[bylerserotonin]

I’m bored so reblog this with your spookiest/weirdest/unexplained experiences.

[teeth-farie]

☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆☆

Notes: gn reader, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, gore/guro, consensual but not safe or sane, dissection, intense pain kink/masochism, julian has his healing mark, wound fucking, sadomasochism, 1.3k

☞. . . This was posted on my ao3 a while ago but I was unsure if it was ‘too much’ for my followers here. But I mean, we’ll find out! Does this count as dark content?? Also a reminder that I am primarily a horror writer that specifies in body horror (hence my love for monsters)

The memory of the garden is in the back of your mind, soft blue light and glowing, dangerous flowers. Julian’s smirk and smooth words, his open wound and the sinful sound that leaked from his lips the moment you pressed your fingers to it. It had sent a thrill through you and you did a lot of reflecting the following days—if reflecting meant fantasizing about taking that moment further, hurting him more, making him bleed so beautifully. It made you feel disgusting for wanting that. Yet..

Julian certainly didn’t mind. The way he sunk into your grip and the way your name tumbled from his parted lips, coated in desperation and something so obscene.

When Julian picks a fight with the wrong person and comes to you with a handful of stab wounds already healing over, you take him in your arms and comfort him, though you don’t miss the opportunity to scold him for his behavior. He wiggled in your grip, bashful and whining and without thinking, you pressed harshly on a fresh wound and you could practically see Julian’s brain malfunction. Slack jawed and eyes glazed, you had a lot of fun with him that night.

Perhaps this was something you’d be allowed to indulge in.

And so the wide tarp is laid on the hardwood floor and Julian is buzzing in his seat while you put a silencing spell over the shop. The pirate was rather noisy and what you had planned would have him screaming bloody murder.

With a long discussion and consideration, the scene was set and your lover picked out the tools with absolute delight. Never before had someone ever fully indulged his wicked desires like this. Always too squeamish or tapped out just before it got good, Julian was grateful he’d hit the jackpot with you.

Julian takes his place on the tarp, laying back flat on the ground, fully nude and as pale as a canvas waiting to be stroked red. You set up the tools with care, laying them within reach and relishing how jumpy Julian had gotten while he watched. “What’s your word?” You ask, soft and smooth as you place your warm hand over his chest, stroking languid and light. The doctor nearly purrs. “Plague.” He answers surely.

“If you have trouble, you know the colors?” You trace your fingertips over his jawline.

“I’m all set, dear.” Julian smiles, a light flush heating his face.

“Do your worst.”

The first slice of the blade is light and teasing, without breaking the skin as you trail it down from under his ribs to his patchy pubic hair. Julian bites back his complaints on your patience. The next slice parts his flesh smoothly and a low groan bubbles from his throat as smoothly as blood. The sigil on his throat glows bright and slowly, the incision closes over. Now, that just won’t do.

Julian nods eagerly when you poise the blade over his pinkend flesh. You slide deep and crimson copper floods to the surface, spilling over his depressed stomach and you can see the peeking red tissue under his skin.

The sound that escapes him is unholy, sinful and debauched and you wouldn’t have it any other way. “Deeper.” He croaks and your chest tightens, fingers wet with sticky red as you trade your knife for a scalpel and slice clean and deep into his abdominal muscle. Julian keens, gripping the tarp below tightly, knuckles white with the force. “Color?” You ask, ripping your gaze from the brilliant ruby red of his insides.

“Green!” He gasps, eyebrows furrowed and cock already achingly hard. The glowing sigil is fainter, decidingly waiting until the torture is complete to continue to heal.

The lean fat under the thick layers of flesh is a pretty yellow and at this point you’ve cut down to the line of tissue keeping his intestine inside his abdominal cavity. “D-do it, rip it out of me.” Julian’s breath runs ragged and when you lean down to kiss him hard, he doesn’t refuse. You smear his face crimson and the copper tang drips onto his tongue, lewd and taboo. You trace your fingers over the thick tissue and you can feel the moving intestine below. Julian moans loudly into the kiss, near screaming and he bites down on your bottom lip in reflex.

You punch your fingers into his gut and Julian sees stars, mouth falling open in a warbling screech. He babbles his pleas incoherently, in every language he knows and your name slips into each one, more frantic with each stroke of your fingers.

You slice along the side of the tissue and push it aside, exposing vulnerable organs. They’re browner and deeper in color and the squelch that sounds when you grip his small intestine is no less than disturbing. Julian bucks into your touch, back arching into a perfect curve. “Fuckfuck! Like that—tear me apart, please!”

As it turns out, the small intestine doesn’t live up to its name—it's rather long. Though it’s thinner than the large intestine and its main focus is to extract nutrients from the food that passes through; but currently, it serves a purpose never intended. You unravel it from inside and Julian eggs you on when you wrap the pulsing, slick tubing around his cock.

It squished under your fingers as you fist his cock with it, coating him in his own blood and mucus. Julian’s voice has gone hoarse from his screaming, rough and grating.

“Look at that—did you ever think you’d fuck yourself?” The words tumble from your lips before you can stop them and you move your hand faster, tighter and for extra measure, you spit into his half cored abdomen. Julian mewls lewd and wanton, rocking his hips into your hand, into himself. “Answer me, love. Answer or I’ll cut your tongue out.”

“Promise?” Julian croons, his hands grabbing at his wounds, toying with the slits in his skin.

The vision alone fills you with an unbearable heat and your head is dizzy as you dive down and capture his lips in yours again. His tongue licks into your mouth and you bite down, piercing and the redhead howls in delighted agony. His warning comes with a lisp and you wonder how it’d look to see your lover cover his vulnerables in his own semen so you grant him permission.

Julian cries into your mouth, hot tears sliding down his cheeks when he spills, burning and shaking and his body convulses. You only slow when he begs you to. “Color?”

“Y-yellow, let’s take a break.” He’s panting, sweat slick and covered with his own sticky blood. You watch as the mark on his neck glows and your fascination grows when his intestine wind back into him like coils of snakes and his skin stitches together. His skin is still tender and he pulls you into another kiss when his flesh smoothes over.

It’s softer this time and you swipe the blood off his cheekbone. “Was it ok?” You ask, pushing his hair from his face. Despite his exhaustion, Julian nods quickly. “Yes, but..whew, that took a lot out of me. I’d say I’m pretty satisfied.” He flashes you a grin all too familiar and the air clears with the fall of your spell. You nuzzle your nose against his and smile wide at his giggles.

“I had fun. Let’s get you taken care of now.” You press a kiss to his nose and use a bit of lightning magic to your advantage when it comes to carrying him to the bath.

“I love you.” Julian sighs soft against your chest, cradled in your arms despite his long limbs. A sweet buzz fills your chest and your head feels light.

“I love you too.” You whisper just as soft, leaving the visceral mess of gore behind to deal with later.

[citrus-cactus]

[sunnysviolin]

Omori and Sunny both have a love for sea angel themed lights (sadly, those things don't exist for some reason) I also do think that if Omori still exist in whitespace, he gained access to more art material because of Sunny's better mental state. So when Sunny goes into whitespace, he and Omori just craft up little lights.

Now I normally like to think that Omori ended up disappearing back into Sunny’s subconscious because he served his purpose (Omori was his escape from reality, but Sunny didn’t need to escape anymore because he was strong enough to live through the good and the bad) but hmmm if Omori still existed in some layer of the subconscious, I like to think that Sunny would want to make things nice. Let’s run with this together for a bit nonnie :D

Omori faded after the Final Duet, and he thought that was it. He had hated Sunny for so long (Was that hating himself, or hating his creator? He wasn’t Sunny, He was Omori, but Sunny was Omori. Did that make Omori Sunny? It was easier to just try to stab the older boy than try to think about it)

Then Sunny hugged him. Omori was used to hugs from his friends, even from his big sister Mari, and he thought he knew how they felt. Nice, but flat. Like looking at a picture of a delicious food. It seemed delectable and desirable, but there was no substance. 

Hugging Sunny felt real. Omori had never really felt real before, except in the moments where he was scared. He had thought reality only included bad, that was why they were in headspace wasn’t it? But this hug was real, and Sunny was real, and Omori felt warm for the first time. 

He faded, the steak knife he had for so long slipping from his fingers. He didn’t know what fading meant, but he saw Sunny walk through the door before his eyes couldn’t see. 

There was nothing. Then there was White Space. Usually when he opened his eyes in White Space he had the same two thoughts. 

Welcome to White Space. You have been living here for as long as you can remember.

This time he didn’t think anything. Omori simply existed. One minute he was faded, the next minute he existed once more. Mewo slumbered in the corner of his white rug, and his laptop was booted up already. He had his box of tissues, full now instead of almost empty, and-

His sketchbook. It was...new. His sketchbook had always been dirty and beat up, the paper crinkled at the edges. It was filled with drawings that scared him, drawings he knew he did, but also had no memory of ever doing. This sketchbook was sleek, black leather with his name on the cover. Next to it sat a pack of full sharp colored pencils. Omori stood and walked over to it, kneeling down and picking up the pack.

He had never had blue before. Or green, or purple. Now a full glossy rainbow of options peered out at him. He tucked the folds back into the box carefully, and picked up the book. 

The pages were crisp white, empty new canvases for him to fill. None of the pictures from Sunny’s bad dreams, or the fragments of Black Space he couldn’t fully get rid of. Just...new. 

Things began to appear in this fashion. Omori would fade, and he would come back, and his Space would be made different by additions. A ball with a bell in it for Mewo to chase around, a soft blanket that looked like it was made of stars, even a new light, no longer a dark bulb filled with the dark parts of headspace, but a string of twinkling sea angels, hanging on nothing above him. 

Things were added, things with color and sound and feeling. Things that made Omori feel...real. The same feeling he got while hugging Sunny. Only one thing was taken. 

White Space was missing the door out.