bleedingfromeveryorifice
RECONFIGURATING...
Do Not Trust Anyone Wearing This Costume. || DOAI/Pastra AU based on old lore and headcanons || AU IS BEING REVAMPED. PARDON OUR DUST!
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Mesho🚺 She/her
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i lied (I DONT HAVE A BETTER PICTURE OF SCOUT AGH)
(characters are Scout (drawn by @fenscranberrycabin) and Megan (drawn by @plxtypusbearr73)
a shitpost: the only thing i will post after vol 1 for a while (MAKING A NEW CANON WOW)
(characters are Scout and Klaus)
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a shitpost: the only thing i will post after vol 1 for a while (MAKING A NEW CANON WOW)
(characters are Scout (drawn by @fenscranberrycabin) and Klaus)
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silly guy spiderparades on TH drew!!!
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WHAT A BAD HABIT! IT'S HARD TO SCRAP
#oc#artists on tumblr#art#artwork#oc art#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#tw horror#tw body horror#experimental#song based#caravan palace#zami#tw eyestrain
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THING I DIDNT FINISH. WOW. WILHELM BUT PASTRA STYLE
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animatic frames for a stupid shitpost I made 👍
said shitpost:
#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastraspec#pastra#oc#art#artists on tumblr#artwork#lankmann#kenneth#wilhelm#bennet
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He needed to get out of there. He felt stupid for needing to take a break, but if he stayed one more second in that office crammed full of bad memories, he felt like he was going to go insane. Then there wouldn’t have been anything differentiating him and his patients. Just an overinflated ego with a side of daddy issues. Not like there wasn’t someone like that already.
Lankmann walked faster to try to escape his thoughts. He didn’t need to come up with more self-justification right now, he just needed an escape. And everything around him reminded him of something or another. The sun was setting. A reminder of curfew, which was a reminder of that beast again. A street lamp flickered its orange glow, its pole covered with missing posters. A reminder of that goddamned demon.
Eastridge County was such a hellhole, you couldn’t even step outside without feeling the smiling snatcher’s misshapen eyes follow you. Or maybe it was just Lankmann that felt like this. Maybe wherever he went, he’d be haunted. Maybe no matter how hard he tried, he’d never be safe. Never again.
Lankmann caught his finger drifting to the trigger on the handgun he was strangling and promptly fixed it to the front instead. He might be stupid, but not enough to shoot his own foot. At least not like that.
The road curved into a gravel path that shifted with every angry stomp he took and finally led to a forest that he knew oh so well. Even here, in his safe haven, he couldn’t escape the monster. This was its forest after all, and just entering was a death wish. Not like Lankmann cared.
He knew the procedures, curfews and regulations he was breaking with every step, but he was so viscerally enraged and distracted to acknowledge them. As he pushed shrubs to the side and violently tore away branches, he noisily made a new path to follow. Of course, the snapping of foliage and angry muttering would have signaled any animal to flee, so Lankmann wouldn’t see even a single squirrel to shoot at, let alone one of the varmints he was looking for. As Lankmann tore away at particularly annoying grass, he heard the sound of a creature’s flight and in pure desperation, swiveled to its general direction and fired his handgun, missing a fleeing bird by more than an inch.
Lankmann groaned in frustration, finally facing the reality that was his situation. None of this was going to work. Not the hunt, not the escapism, not the rage, nor the asylum. None of this was ever going to make a difference. More and more people were being mauled by veldigun, being left as husks of their former selves; more and more going missing and were never found, and he was doing nothing to stop this. I mean, god, who even came up with the idea of this shit? If anything, he was actively contributing, faking suicides left and right, infecting innocent bystanders with the madness epidemic for, what? Science? Research?
This was pathetic. Lankmann was pathetic. He would never even come close to the legacy his father left behind.
If he wasn’t this, what was he?
#doai#i write sometimes#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#tw gun#tw unhealthy coping mechanisms#tw ableism#tw self hatred#tw self destructive behavior#tw self destruction#tw sui ideation#tw suicide#lankmann#clyde#clyde lankmann#klaus#kenneth
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Everything was happening all at once. The stench of blood, the clattering of metal on metal, the momentary blindness that he blinked away, and the pained sobs of his friend nearby. Oh, god, his friend.
“Mark,” Lankmann cautiously opened his bloodied eyes. “Mark!”
Only a cry in return.
Lankmann kneeled down to judge Markov’s injuries. The side of her face was swollen, eye bleeding to match. Parts of her pink hair were matted with ichor, and most visibly, a large precise cut spread from her armpit to waist, revealing an intestine.
“Oh, God, Mark…” Lankmann reached out to try to help, but retracted his hand when he realized that he didn’t know what to do.
Painfully, Markov opened her eyes and winced when seeing her guts spread on the tile floor. “Oh, shit,” She groaned and laid her head back down.
“Mark, I’m so sorry, this never should’ve happened to you,” Lankmann sobbed.
“What are you crying for? You know I’ll be back,” Markov weekly responded.
“You didn’t deserve this, I should’ve been in your place. This is all my fault,” He continued to bargain, laying his head in Markov’s blood-soaked coat.
“Well, it was gonna happen to one of us eventually,” She sighed, emphasizing different syllables in pain. “I’ll say hi to your dad for you.”
“Mark, I swear to God, if you leave me, I’ll kill you.”
“How would that even work, stupid?” She scoffed. “I’ll see you again anyways.”
“Mark, Mark, please, Markov,” Lankmann hysterically sobbed, repeating her name over and over as if it were to somehow stop the truth.
Her breath became shallower and shallower.
And just as it stopped, Lankmann knew.
He had a new patient.
#tw gore#i write sometimes#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#oc#lankmann#markov#tw blood#spoilers#kinda
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drawing that isnt a shitpost under cut cuz i didnt like it lmao
#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#oc#art#artists on tumblr#artwork#tw horror#tw scopophobia#tw body horror#klaus#lankmann#mortimer#clyde#winfrey#kyata#markov
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Fen (BAT) and Will-O being silly and also Markov ref :D
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SOBBING
yayyyy summary is done!!! now time to force my cohosts to write their respective profiles
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All payments for my bestie broski @mapalssyrup teehee
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Six-up, five-oh, pigs come, I cop 'n' go
#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#oc#tw blood#klaus#artists on tumblr#artwork#art#oc art#song based#will wood
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And when the gun goes off, it sparks
And you're ready for surgery!
#oc#artists on tumblr#art#artwork#oc art#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#clyde lankmann#abel#song based#repo the genetic opera
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Mortimer Grey
“Hey, here's an old desk. I bet someone wasted so much time in this chair…”
Mortimer is the current illustrator for the Lankmann Foundation, specializing in monochrome monster characters. His work has been notably featured in 1993’s “The Rules of the Season!”, a cheerful PSA warning residents of the Eastridge Demon. He’s one of the most paranoid employees the Foundation has ever recruited, terrified of a creature in the asylum’s walls. He is a straight demiboy who goes by he/they pronouns.
Voiceclaim: Jeremy Jordan as Lucifer (Hazbin Hotel)
Currently: alive
Creator: canon/pastraspec
#i write sometimes#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#oc#tw horror#tw paranoia#tw body horror#mortimer
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it's our favorite conspiracy theorist!!!
#doai#doai au#doai oc#dreams of an insomniac#pastra#pastraspec#oc#artists on tumblr#art#artwork#oc art#mortimer
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Last one *flops onto the floor*
@mapalssyrup
🎻 | 💜 | 🎻
🎵 | 👁️ | 🎶
🎻 | 💜 | 🎻
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