#aaand thats about it

[cornkernelle]

THE GIANT OTTER LONG POST --------------------------------------

A bunch of lore and art for Otto, and his past as a monster hunter of the Mustelid Guild. He is from a long bloodline of Giant Otters, which grow much larger than the average cookie.

He initially wasn't a monster hunter at all. For most of his early adult life, he lived in solitude on his own boat. A cookie with a deep love of the sea and it's riches. Thanked her for all of his catches, and it's welcoming depths. He had his first encounter with a monster during a fishing trip, and had successfully killed it. Not wanting to waste the living being, he took what he could from it and cooked it. Then, it all clicked, and his exotic tastes came to be. He continued to hunt monsters to cook, looking for new ways to eat and process them as he went along. The Mustelid Guild saw him and his thick durable fur as an asset, and offered him a membership. He was able to sell the non-edible parts of his catches to them for a profit, and so he accepted. His main weapon is a collection of rocks (different kinds, illustration shows one type) that he uses to bludgeon and break thick skin and armor.

Any dough underneath that fur was either calloused or highly scarred, the nastiest one being on his back. It was from the only sea creature he was hurt by, who still continues to lurk under the waves to this day. It's acidic fluids burnt all the hair on his behind. He takes pride in his cooking and creating dishes from sea beasts. It's the thing he talks about the most to cookies. Ask him to feed you, and he will gladly give you a sharing.

-------------------------------------------------------------

Now that we're familiar with Otto, I can share the most exciting part of his past. He has connections with Ventresca, who turned out to be a next-generation monster hunter. (owned by @limboraptor)

Ventresca used to live in the Lower City of the Crème Republic, fighting to survive in an impoverished community. He always wanted to be a monster hunter, and at some point met Otto.

Despite Otto's initial annoyance at the young cookie, he eventually ends up mentoring him and taking him under his wing. Teaching all that he could. When Ventresca was older and Otter had retired, he passed down his harpoon gun. "Tin Cannon" or "Metal Canary", known for it's quick piercing shot.

Now as an old man, he doesn't hunt monsters on his own. Instead, he owns the Crab Claw and is an active buyer and manufacturer for all things monster-product related from food to tools. It's a good excuse to see his fry, too, since he buys what he uses from active monster hunters.

[meamiki]

mira !!! :]

[conanssummerchild]

writing a fic abt rick having an ed bcs why would i recover when i can just project all my issues onto fictional old men in cartoons and pretend everythings better now ‼️

tw eating disorder, minor self harm and vomit near the end

Morty stopped in the open doorway of the garage, watching Rick who was sat scribbling down some kind of invention idea, or equation, or whatever it was he did when Morty wasn't around, for all Morty knew he might well be writing fanfiction.

An involuntary smile pulled at his lips at the idea of his almost 70 year old genius grandfather spending his free time writing silly little stories at his work bench. What would he even write? Ball Fondlers fanfic? Maybe he wrote about his stoic bird friend, Rick had always been touchy with him and Rick wasn't touchy with anyone.

When Morty focused back on Rick he wasn't writing anymore, the slightly crumpled piece of paper shoved to the side as he fiddled with what looked like a small metal box with a bunch of brightly coloured wires poking out of the sides. A small spark shot out of one of the wires Rick was holding and he cursed loudly, shaking his hand.

"Fuck, Morty, are you just gonna– gonna stand there, or are you gonna pass me the fucking, uh– the thing."

Rick waved his hand in the general direction of the shelf nearest to Morty, but there were so many assorted trinkets on the shelves, Morty had no idea if Rick wanted a wrench, or a hammer, or one of his laser guns, maybe the box was like a new battery for them?

"W-what thing, Rick?"

"The thing, Morty! The fucking– the uh, destornillador."

"What? Rick, I don't know what that means. W-w-what is that?"

"Jeez, Morty, what are they teaching you at that crap school you love so much?" Rick scowled, tossing the box to the side and getting up to grab the screwdriver himself.

"I havent been to school in like a month, Rick!" Morty exclaimed. "And even then I only got to stay for like an hour before you were dragging me out again!"

"Whatever." Rick said with a burp, "School's dumb, Morty. I'll teach you Spanish myself. B-but, uh, not now."

He turned back to his box, done with the conversation, but Morty stayed hovering in the room, remembering what he had come for in the first place.

"Okay, um, w-w-well lunch is ready."

"I'm busy."

Morty sighed, having expected that answer already. "When's the last time you ate, Rick? Or slept? Or... showered?" Morty said, wrinkling his nose a little.

Rick ignored him, pulling at a blue wire.

"Rick!" Morty frowned.

"What, Morty? J-jesus christ, what the fuck do you want?"

"I want you to have lunch with the family."

"And I said no, so screw off."

"Rick, come on, it would make mom so happy."

Rick glared at him, not bothering with an answer.

"...Wouldn't y-you do it for your original Beth if you could?" Morty tried.

Rick slammed the box on the table, causing the thin metallic shell to crack, sparks flying from it, the sudden noise making Morty jump.

"The fuck did you just say?" Rick snarled.

"S-s-sorry!" Morty squeaked. "I didn't m-mean– mean it in a bad way!"

"Get the fuck out." Rick said icily, eyes blazing.

Morty stumbled out of the room, shutting the door behind him to the sound of something crashing. Probably Rick throwing the damaged box across the room.

Morty winced. In his defense he was worried about Rick, and sometimes, depending on his mood, something like that would've gotten Rick to cave, clearly he wasn't feeling so sentimental today, more annoyed and angry.

"What was that about?"

Morty startled a little and turned to see Summer looking at her phone behind him.

"Just, y'know, Rick being... Rick."

"Mhm, pro tip, don't bring up his dead daughter to try and blackmail him into something he hates." Summer drawled. "You can only do that if he's already half convinced, or if he's feeling especially depressed sometimes.

"Summer! That's– that's messed up!"

She quirked an eyebrow. "Oh, yeah, so only you can manipulate grandpa Rick?" Summer scoffed. "God forbid women do anything." She said sarcastically and turned to walk away.

"Wait!" Morty fidgeted with his hands. "Can you... help me? To get him to have lunch w-with us? Please?"

"Yes, but not now. He's already upset so if we double down on trying to get him to eat he's only gonna clam up."

Morty nodded. "I know that– but how do you? You don't spend as much time with Rick as I do."

"Because he's like mom. Who do you think got her to stop drinking before parent-teacher conferences at school?"

"Wow. That's pretty fucked up that you had to do that, though, y'know, Summer."

"Yeah, well, we're the Smiths, Morty. Is anyone in this house not disordered?"

Morty winced at the blunt statement, Rick really was rubbing off on her. But it was kind of true.

"Guess it runs in the family." He muttered

"Guess it does."

---

Morty hadn't been planning on seeing Rick again until the next day. He knew that when Rick got upset he needed his space. Morty didn't quite get it because when he was upset all he wanted was for someone to hug him and tell him everything was going to be okay, but Rick wasn't like him he supposed.

If he was being honest it made him nervous to leave Rick alone in those bad headspaces he got into. Rick was volatile and unpredictable and a borderline danger to himself and often others. He'd walked in on a couple... compromising situations where Rick had had to explain away why he was passed out in his chair or why there was blood on his hands and his lab coat despite being the only person in the room.

Morty pretended to believe him when he said he had been doing a messy dissection experiment or that "This isn't blood, this is Balorkian dust I mixed with red Squanchenite fluid from Planet Squanch, Morty." But truthfully those moments haunted him.

However, he didn't want to invade Rick's space, so he let him be and tried to eat and sleep until Rick emerged like nothing had happened, even though Morty knew what habits of his went on behind those closed doors.

Of course Morty's patience had it's limits, like when two hours after he had left Rick in the garage, angry, there was the sound of something smashing, closely followed by an unmistakable sound that Morty had grown too familiar with since Rick had moved in. The sound of a body thudding to the ground.

He was up from the sofa in a flash, at the garage door before Summer could even put down her phone, flinging it open.

He felt like he couldn't breathe, but the only sight that greeted him was a smashed bottle and rick lying on the floor next to it, not looking any more dead than usual, looking up at Morty blearily, cracking a smile.

"Oh, hi Morty. H-hey buddy." He slurred, clearly drunk out of his mind.

"Jesus fucking christ, Rick." Morty said weakly.

"What happened?" Summer breathed, now standing at his side.

"He's just drunk." Morty muttered, wrinkling his nose at the overpowering smell that he hadn't registered before between his state of panic and shallow breathing.

Summer ventured into the garage, picking up an empty bottle and sniffing it. "God, grandpa Rick, what the hell are you drinking in here, fucking rubbing alcohol?"

"Sum-Sum! 'M just having some– some fun drinks. Fun drinks just a lil' bit. Besides I only ever drank rub-rubbin' alcohol once, n' it was– tasted like shit."

"What? I was being sarcastic, why would you drink that?"

"Because I was sad... was sad 'nd lonely after B-b-blood Ridge, couldn't find anythin' else. But 'm not s-sad now."

"What's Blood Ridge?" Summer frowned, "Actually it doesn't matter right now, you need to sober up."

"Get him some water," Morty interjected. "I'll clean up the glass. I also know where he keeps all his hangover serums and stuff, but he told me not to let you into any of his drug stashes."

"Fair enough." Summer shrugged, leaving to get Rick some much needed water.

While she was gone, Morty felt along the wall until he found the small hidden panel under Rick's desk. He fished out the light blue vial of fluid for hangovers, the red one he'd forced Rick to make that would sober him up and a green one that basically equivalated to getting your stomach pumped if you took it, just in case he'd taken more than just alcohol.

He shut the panel securely and placed the three coloured vials on Rick's work bench, grabbing a purple tube-like gadget from a shelf. He pressed a button on the back of it and typed in "Broken Glass" on a small hologram keyboard that emerged, then pressed that first button again. A blue ray shot out, scanning the garage, and the pieces of smashed bottle disappeared in a matter of seconds.

Morty looked over at Rick, who was still lying on the floor, but now he was tracing his fingers along a crack in the cold ground, his expression so solemn he almost looked sober.

"Rick?" Morty asked hesitantly.

"I miss her." He said flatly. "I miss her s-so much."

His words were still a little slurred but his tone had lost all the previous levity.

"I tried to save her, Morty, I t-t-tried, but I couldn't bring her back. And no one could ever replace her." A rough sob escaped his throat. Morty felt frozen. "I'm a crappy fuckin'– piece of shit father but I didn't want to be. I was gonna fuckin' give– give up everything for them, and I would've been happy. I would've been so happy as long as I had them, but he fuckin' took that from me! I nnever even got a chance."

Rick was crying, he was crying so hard that his tears stained the concrete dark grey and snot ran down his face sideways. He was shaking like a leaf and gasping for air.

Morty crouched down next to him, fists clenching and unclenching, unsure if he should hug Rick, or if that would make it worse. What else could he do?

"Oh– oh shit, Rick, I–"

"My little girl, my baby." Rick continued between sobs. "She meant everything to me. S-so yeah, I would be better f-for her if I could, but she's gone. There's no point."

Rick's sudden fit of violent sobs was calming down, replaced by a look that Morty could only describe as pure hoplessness and defeat washing over his features.

"'S no point in anything."

Shit, this was bad. Rick didn't admit defeat, and he certainly didn't talk so openly about his feelings like this.

"Aw jeez, Rick, come on don't– don't– don't say that. we killed Rick Prime, remember?" Morty said, wringing his hands anxiously.

"Yeah, I remember." Rick said, tone now devoid of emotion. "I remember killin' him with my bare hands, watchin' the life drain out of his eyes as his blood dripped down my fists. And I remember nothing changing. W-w-what d'ya do when you achieve your life long goal and nothin's better? It didn't bring them back, it didn't– didn't give me closure or give me a reason to live. I still can't sleep, petrified he's in the fucking house, comin' for my new family, that he'll kill all of you to teach me that t-that's what happens when I-I care about people."

Rick wiped his face with his lab coat sleeve, rubbing away the snot, drool and dried tears while Morty just kneeled next to him, frozen and unsure what to say.

"Rick..." he started but then Summer stepped through the doorway and Rick's demeanour instantly changed.

"Summerfest!" he called out and Morty watched, a little shocked, as Rick's whole face changed in the blink of an eye, going back to the cheerful, goofy expression he'd been wearing when he and Summer first came in. It didn't look artificial to Morty at all, even now that he knew it was. How could Rick just switch it on and off just like that?

"I brought water and coffee." Was all Summer said, placing two mugs on the workbench. "And a cereal bar."

The second statement sounded a little more unsure and Morty could've sworn he saw Rick's jaw clench for a second.

"Gimmie coffee." Rick said, making grabby hands, still lying on the floor.

"Water first." Summer replied, handing him the larger of the two mugs.

Rick pouted a little but as soon as the mug was in his hands he drank thirstily, finishing the whole thing in one go.

"You want more?" Summer asked, taking the mug, but he just shook his head quietly.

"Okay," Morty cleared his throat when his voice came out a little shaky. "drink this."

He handed Rick the red 'get sober' vial and Rick chugged it obediently, making a face. "Tastes like– like shit." He offered.

While he seemed a little calmer after the water and serum, his eyes were still unfocused and his voice sounded thick, like his tongue didn't fit in his mouth properly, hints of his accent were slipping through too.

"Did you- are you on drugs r-right now?" Morty asked, reaching for the green vial of serum.

"Maybe." Rick mumbled. His eyelids were starting to droop a little and he curled up more comfortably on the floor.

"Hey, Rick, don't go to sleep okay? What did you take?" Summer asked, crouching down next to him, shaking him a little. He groaned. "Come on, we just have to make sure you're not overdosing and then you can sleep. Maybe not on the floor."

"'M not overdosing." Rick grumbled.

"What did you take?"

"I dunno. Just some random alien drugs I found i-in my pocket." He said dismissively with a burp. "Actually one of 'em was probably adderall. Look at me bein' all responsible an-and takin' my meds n' shit."

He of course immediately showed his 'responsibilty' by gagging and then throwing up on the floor.

Morty winced, reaching for the purple device again while Summer tried to coax him into drinking the green liquid, frowning deeply.

Finally Rick gave in, sipping from the small vial, and almost instantly his eyes began to clear up a little bit.

"Why'd I make these work so well?" He groaned. Then, "My head is killing me, I want coffee."

Summer passed him the second mug and he gestured toward the hangover serum, which Morty promptly passed to him and Rick poured it in his coffee.

He gulped down half the coffee and sighed, wiping his mouth with his already rather dirty sleeve. "Fuck, that's better."

He downed the rest of it and placed the mug on the ground, getting to his feet shakily. He swayed and nearly fell, leaning onto the wall to steady himself as the dizzy spell passed, and then stretched, his back cracking loudly.

He took a few wobbly steps towards the door but Summer blocked the way.

"Fuck– fuck off Summer I gotta– I'm gonna go take a nap."

"Could you maybe eat something first?" She asked firmly, holding up the cereal bar.

"No."

Rick tried to sidestep her but she blocked the way again.

"Summer, don't fucking piss me off right now, I'm serious."

She stood her ground. "Just eat the cereal bar, grandpa Rick. Please."

"Summer, for fuck's sake, I said no!"

"Grandpa," She sighed, the arm holding the bar dropping defeatedly back down to her side. "Do you have an eating disorder?"

The garage was deathly quiet for a second.

"Wha-What?! I'm not a teenage girl in a f-f-f– goddamn netflix drama, Summer." Rick snarled. "What the fuck kinda question is that?"

He gestured wildly, taking another step forwards, which quickly seemed to be the wrong option as a sudden wave of dizziness hit him hard, making him almost loose his balance. He blindly tried to grab onto the back of his chair somewhere behind him, but missed and fell on his ass.

"Rick!" Morty and Summer both rushed to his side, Morty's eyes beginning to well up a little from all the stress of the day.

"I'm fine, don't– don't fucking touch me." He said, shaking Summer's hand off his shoulder, which caused another wave of nausea to hit.

"Please eat this." Summer said nervously, voice shaking as she pushed the cereal bar into his left hand, his right one gripping at his hair.

"Summer, I promise you if I eat that shit right now I'm gonna throw the fuck up."

"Please?" Morty pouted, eyes big and teary.

All it took was one look at him, and with only a brief moment of hesitation Rick snatched the cereal bar from Summer, muttering angrily under his breath.

Morty only caught "Me cago en la puta." and "Maldito cabrón." which he more or less understood, more familiar with swear words than any other words in the Spanish language.

Rick peeled away the wrapper slowly with unsteady hands and took a small bite.

Morty and Summer watched in silence, not wanting to discourage him by saying the wrong thing—which with Rick could be anything—as Rick uncomfortably ate the cereal bar.

"There you fucking go." He said weakly, Throwing the now empty wrapper at Summer, but missing as it was too light to travel more than a couple centimetres, landing somewhere by his feet.

"Thank you." Summer almost whispered.

They sat in silence for a while, Morty sniffling and rubbing at his eyes and Summer shuffling a bit closer to him for both of their comfort.

Rick was sitting with his knees losely bent and his head braced in his hands, trying to overcome another hit of nausea.

He wouldn't exactly say he tried super hard to keep the cereal bar down, but it wasn't deliberate when he vomited it down the front of his shirt.

"Oh! Aw jeez..." Morty winced.

"I did warn you."

"In our defense, you had every reason to be lying to us."

"Fuck you, Summer." It sounded weak even to his own ears.

She sighed softly.

"Morty, get his shirt off. Do you have pijamas or do you sleep in jeans and a lab coat?"

"Jeans an-and a lab coat."

"...I was joking, but okay." Summer said, flipping the switch that opened Rick's garage closet and grabbing one of his sets of identical outfits.

Rick squirmed, making noises of complaint as Morty tried to take off his current shirt.

"Rick– stay still, you have vomit on your clothes."

"I'm not fucking two years old, Morty." He scowled. "I can change by myself."

Rick tried to sit up but wobbled and then slumped back against the wall, needing more time to recover. Morty reached for his shirt again and this time Rick let him pull it carefully up over his head without resisting. Morty took the new set of clothes from where Summer had left them on the floor next to him.

Summer wasn't looking but Morty still shielded Rick's body from sight with his own, pointedly not mentioning the raised scars and jagged, angry, red cuts littering his arms which he had already suspected would be there.

Rick shifted uncomfortably, seeming relieved when Morty didn't want to talk about it.

"Okay." Morty said, helping Rick pull on his clean lab coat too.

"I'm going to bed." Rick grumbled, not waiting for him to continue, just getting up slowly.

He felt weak and shaky and his brittle old bones weren't exactly helping out. Despite his thousands of cybernetic implants he was still human, much to his dismay, and he couldn't treat his body as badly as he did when he was 30. Not that that ever seemed to stop him, managing to still maintain the same shitty habits he'd had for years at the ripe age of 67.

He stumbled through the dining room, Morty and Summer trailing after him, not discouraged by the glare he sent their way.

As soon as he reached his room, he slumped onto his bed with a groan.

"R-rick?"

"Fuck off, Morty." He snapped into his pillow, a little muffled by it.

Morty hesitated, exchanging a glance with Summer, who shrugged.

"...Ookay, Rick. Uh, see– see you at dinner, today? maybe?'

"Don't count on it."

Summer frowned, Starting to say something, but Rick interrupted, "I'm gonna apply my room's Lock Protocols in ten seconds, so i-if you're still in here, I'm not letting you out until I'm done sleeping. A-a-and if you're standing in the doorway, you're gonna get fucking squashed in the doors."

"Whatever, Rick, fuck you too." Summer huffed, pulling Morty out of the doorway with her.

"Room, activate Sensory Protocol 2. And t-tell Summer to go fuck herself."

"Sensory Protocol 2 activated." Came the mechanical voice and a heavy metal door snapped shut. "Go fuck yourself, Summer."

Summer scoffed. "Dick." Followed by a sigh. "What are we gonna do?"

"I-I don't know." Morty admitted. "There's not much we can do if Rick won't accept help. And he won't."

"So what? We just give up on him?" Summer asked accusingly, putting her hands on her hips.

"No, Summer, J-jeez. I just– We're gonna have to get creative."

"Fuck."

---

thats it thats the end i didnt know how tf to end this but my goal wasnt to rewrite like the bible idfk it was just to put rick through shit and put completely unfair expectations on summer and mortys shoulders so that they could ALL suffer in this fic !! :3 also this is so mf long i sincerely apologise if u read all that

[uniquezombiedestiny]

disease of the body, disease of the mind

[saturnwisteria]

library books that’ll never be returned, for someone of your own choice (perhaps your OC? 😊)

Yesterday I was telling myself I'm probably just not the OC writing type, and then today I was seized by the throat and wrote this straight through for 5 hours. Thank you for the prompt!

Yeva Rosova woke before dawn with everyone else, even though she would not be flying today. The flak that had bit into her shoulder on the last mission had made sure of that. It stopped her from sleeping on the side she favored, and if being grounded hadn't made her restless enough, then being thrust out of sleep by the sensation of coals burning under her skin, to find she had unconsciously rolled over onto her bad arm, would do it.

It wasn't that she was bitter about being grounded; no, that she understood, because Yeva was not a pilot, and therefore actually sensible about the fact that her injury, although not serious, would still prevent her from doing her job to the best of her ability. So no, she was not bitter, but it would not have been inaccurate to say that she was more than a little peeved to not be going up with her crew.

Especially in the wake of the last mission. The absence of Major Cleven could be felt around base like a deep contusion: invisible on the surface, but felt with every movement. No one would say it, but the ache was impossible to ignore with Major Egan's dead eyes haunting them all.

She drained her coffee to the dregs, twirling the grounds in the mug like her mama used to. She didn't really believe in scrying truth from the remnants of a person's drink, but she had woken up already forlorn and found herself craving the familiar.

That feeling disappeared quickly.

For a moment, she's a little kid again. Little Yeva who waddled after her мама on house visits, who was shy and quiet but not scared of the sickness that filled the room. Who stared with big dark eyes at yellowed skin or inflamed joints or angry abrasions slick with pus and plasma and didn't flinch, but crept closer. She watched with fascination when her mother would pull out the glass jar full of fat, crawling maggots and place them on a patient's crowded lesions.

Sometimes what her mama did would work, sometimes not. Occasionally, Yeva would walk into the house, hand clutching her mama's tightly, and she would know nothing could be done. It was a smell in the air, thick breath and dry skin and the tang of ointment; or maybe it was the family's desperation that would linger visibly in the room, casting a cloak over her eyes. Either way, Little Yeva was never wrong.

Death did not scare Yeva; she had known it too often as a child to think of it as anything other than a forgiving figure. Now, it stood silently in the corner of every room. In the interrogation hut, spacious where it should have been crowded. In the barracks, solemn gazes where there should have been rowdy laughter.

She saw it on the hardstands, lurking under the bellies of countless forts, shadowy hands stretching out along their wings in anticipation of the moment where they would be allowed to tug them down, down, down.

Most of all, she saw it now in the dark shapes hunkered at the base of her mug, portents of the future, reflecting bad omens on the horizon. She slammed the mug down and stood up quickly, a few members of her crew looked up at her in question, but she waved them off. If she doesn't speak it, it can't come true.

That was not how tasseography worked, but perhaps her superstitions would cancel each other out.

She found Addy smoking outside, eyes trained on the lightening sky. Yeva walked over to stand next to her, and when Addy nodded in greeting, Yeva leaned wordlessly into her side. It was a little awkward, given that Addy was a few inches shorter, but Yeva didn't care. It seemed Addy didn't either, as she crossed her arms over her chest and allowed Yeva's arm to slide deeper against her side, bringing them closer.

Yeva "Bones" Rosova and Addison "Guts" Guthrie had met in basic. They had both gone to the recruitment station intending to join the Army Nurse Corps, and both had made a last minute decision upon hearing the news that a select few branches were opening a limited amount of active combat positions to women. Both of them, it turns out, had wanted to see what the world looked like from above the clouds.

They had landed in the 100th Bomb Group, in the 418th squadron, in separate crews but together nonetheless. Addy as a tail gunner, and Yeva as a top turret gunner/flight engineer.

In a few minutes, the mess hall would empty and trucks would begin to fill with crews ready to fight for yet another day. Yeva tries to ignore the feeling stirring in her gut, the sensation that something bad is about to happen.

Her mama had loved to tell her that she had been born with a sixth sense, a secret knowledge for knowing when something was amiss. Yeva had cherished this attention when she had thought she would be following in her mother's footsteps as the village's 'barefoot doctor.' She had clung to it as her secret weapon through training, where she proved again and again to be adept at quickly identifying issues and failures and finding solutions. And when she had finally started flying real missions, and the problems had turned from textbook to reality, she had found that more than once, following a hunch had saved her ass.

Now, watching Addy take a final pull before crushing her cigarette with her toes, Yeva despised this gift for the first time in her life.

The mess door flew open, and airmen began to file out, heading toward the trucks waiting on the tarmac. Addy stood up straight beside her, stretching out her arms above her head, before turning to Yeva with a signature Addison Guthrie grin; sweeter than honey and warm enough to melt the frosting off a cupcake. It sent a fresh wave of curdling worry through Yeva.

"Well, here we are," Addy said.

"Here we are," Yeva replied, taking the moment to memorize Addy's face. Deep grey eyes shining, brown hair pinned back, pale lips stretched wide in a smile that revealed both the dimple in her left cheek and the gap between her middle teeth, which Yeva had always found charming. Makes me look like the hillbilly I am, Addy would always say, purposefully making her West Virginian accent thicker.

"Guts!" Lieutenant Hoerr called from over by the trucks, "Time to load up. Get it moving!"

"Looks like someone's sour about getting kicked from their seat." Addy sighed, adjusting her jacket collar, and the lilac scarf tied there. Yeva's heart thrummed as Addy started to turn away.

"Wait," Yeva blurts. Addy looks back at her, soft smile still in place, and so fucking beautiful it threatens to steal the breath from her lungs. She wants to say, don't go where I can't follow. She wants to say, I don't know how to do this without you. Instead, she takes her own scarf out from her pocket, light pink and white stripes, and holds it out.

"Here, take it. So part of me can come with you," she says in a rush. Addy stares down at the offering, an emotion Yeva doesn't recognize flickering in her eyes, before she takes it, holding it gently I'm her hands. Yeva expects her to fold it up and put it in her pocket. Instead, she reaches up and unknots her own scarf, pulling it off, and ties Yeva's scarf in its place. Tucks the ends down into her jacket, the fabric resting just above her heart.

And then she leans over, loops her own scarf around Yeva's neck, and ties it up, hands resting on Yeva's shoulders to admire her work. "There," she says, "Now you'll have a little piece of me, too."

"Guts, come on, let's go!" Gangwer yells from where he sits, the rest of the crew of Mlle Zig Zig waiting for her. Addy laughs, and then pulls Yeva into the tightest hug she's ever had. It makes Yeva's arm twinge, but she's sure as hell not about to complain. It lasts for all of a second, and then she's jogging away.

"I'll see you later!" She shouts over her shoulder.

All Yeva can do is believe her.

●●●

Addy doesn't come back. Save for one crew, no one else does, either. Yeva wants to curse the entire world, to punch the walls until her knuckles crack and bleed, to cry until there's no emotion left in her.

She doesn't do any of that. She sits on the floor in front of Addy's bunk and stares at the contents of her trunk.

There's a couple letters, one addressed to her parents, another to her brother; two years older than her and in the navy. Yeva sets them aside. She doesn't know for certain that Addy is dead, but if she is, it's better to grow accustomed to the idea, rather than deny it now and have it break her later.

There's the pretty blue dress she'd wear to go dancing the couple of times they'd had leave. Yeva runs her fingers over the fabric, soft and well-worn. Underneath that is a stack of books, taken from her hometown's library. Addy had offered to pay a fee, since she'd be gone for so long and these were her favorite stories, but the librarian had told her to just take them. Bring 'em back after you win this war. Teach these men a thing or two while you're at it. Yeva wonders who will return them now.

Tucked away in one corner is her embroidery kit, threads in a rainbow of colors lined up neatly next to two wooden frames. Yeva's hand comes up to the scarf at her neck, runs her thumb over the little blue flowers that Addy had embroidered in the corners. She blinks back the tears that spring up.

She can't do this. She can't write to Addy's parents, she can't return her library books, she can't look at the things she left behind. Not when she's become one of them.

Yeva closes the trunk, rubs the numbness out of her legs, and goes outside. The night is cool, the air carrying the song of crickets and night birds. She leans back against the barracks and stares at the sky that Addy disappeared into.

Wherever you are, she thinks, fingers tracing the edges of the little blue flowers, know that I am still with you.

[kaeyachi]

Kaveh isn't dumb! He graduated architecture and is renowned in his field despite being so young! The man just lets his heart lead, which makes him easy to scam unfortunately (letting his heart lead also makes him an amazing architect, btw)

[chickenoptyrx]

Ngl im perfectly willing to just enjoy Daima.

•Expectations: on the ground

•willingness to just roll with it: high

If i dont like it, oh well ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ i still got dragonball and dbz

[spasikonik]

an edek themed collage 🪲

[basslinegrave]

anyway i need more monarch a trois fics. sigh. wish i could write, i gotta draw them more at least

[ribbonpinky-art]

12'6" is not actually Lady's "default" height, disregard that pls :3

[owoesies]

I JUST WATCHED WOLFWALKERS FOR THE FIRST TIME AND OH MYGOD. AU WHERE HUNTER IS ROBYN AND LUZ IS MEPH AND. AND. SIBLINGS

[lovingk9z]

Hashtag I love libraries

[andiaquarium-moved]

mikitaka was silly i loved him

[delicatecentipede]

hey guys this podcast is so good oh shit here comes the stuff about sydneys mother that remind me of my father

[unknownadvisor]

whcih one of ur ocs is the most likely to be like. in an action pose idk how to phrase this

assuming that you either mean which one im most likely to draw in an action pose, or if you were taking their photo who would be most dramatic... (they're practically synonymous)

this is going to be a long post, and probably include some of my oc's that are not up on artfight right now! for those folks I'll tack on a headshot piece. ( it will not include 7 or 8 of my ocs, who i will likely rank seperately later; this is because they're part of a webcomic im in the process of drawing still. after I publish the first chapter publicly, i will return to this. ;) )

Bastard he's dramatic, he's flamboyant, he has lived too long to care. he used to be human, and if he still was, he would have died centuries ago- if not because of old age, then because he's utterly stupid. he knows he's indestructible, so he sits in lava pools for fun. he lives for nothing but a good time. he would dive headfirst into lava to pose, or he'd do something dramatic with a sword or bow.

Lunelle she's also very dramatic! sort of like a cross between cosplayer instagram poses and like. i'm gonna kill you poses. she likes to take photos with her friends and show off her teeth, so she'd be smiling brightly. however, she is a hunter, so as far as action poses go, she could also be in the middle of killing something! so could bastard, but he more lives alone in the woods at this point

AR135 ...yes, he is where the name aries comes from,,, photo at bottom he is a criminal! if his coworkers were to take photos on the scene he's probably strangle them but it'd be really easy to get photos of him locked and loaded, covered in blood, or committing a felony. in his day to day life, he would probably pose really domestically though

Ryn getting into nonfancy territory; this one is not as in he would pose dramatically for a photo, but rather it would be spectacularly easy to get a photo of him fighting for his life or dying. for a normal photo, he would probably set down his clipboard and stand with his hands folded, asking "Is this pose okay? ... Alright, are you done now?" after a minute or so. check his source material! he dies often to 'melting love' if it means anything to you haha

Nala not an oc that's very primary for me; from roughly 4 years ago, so i dont remember everything as well as i should- whoops. her photo will be at the bottom! she lives in a mostly normal world with touches of magic, but she always lands on her feet ( wink wink) so she would likely jump a railing just for a cool photo.

Charlie (photo will be at the bottom!) a s:ctol oc from like 2 years ago. He's not one of my primary oc's and I don't draw him a lot, but he's worth noting here simply because he falls off of islands a lot and it would be terribly easy to catch that on camera.

Marmora marmora doesn't like having his photo taken, so the only reason her pose would be dramatic is because he would either freeze in whatever he was doing, or she would scramble to cover her face and get away. because of how tall he is, it's rather easy to get a photo unnoticed. unless you're trying to take a photo of her face.

Adlon (photo at bottom :] ) he's very stoic, so i imagine it wouldn't be easy to get a super nice or interesting photo. they actually are a lot like vega? star based "of another world" character, but ofc different source material and different history by a long shot. his whole thing is that he was exiled from his own world under suspicion of murder, and they now travels from world to world through doorways. he used to be a noble, so he's used to posing sitting cross legged, looking straight ahead, not interested at all. the only reason he's not at the very bottom is because if he was in the middle of casting a large ritual or even small magic it'd technically be an 'action pose'. he can cast forth 'shadows' of himself too that can help carry things or complete simple tasks, so that might make for something interesting. ive drawn him dancing with one and reminiscing before.. :)

Merlot another one who's not fond of photos, but would pose politely. he would not really ever be in an active pose though, unless maybe he was playing the lyre and really into it, but that's sort of it ... technically that is not all of them but some of the others are almost more minor,,, somehow all of my winged oc's got left out. i would have included one or two but i straight up do not remember their names, therefore theres no way they're major enough to wedge in here haha. all of the drawings for those who aren't on my af are also very old, so please excuse any poor anatomy or roughness! photos (in order of listed) vvv

[muirneach]

does anyone want to hear my favourite nugget of info that is gleamed from my classmates instagrams. too bad you’re getting it anyways cause i think about it genuinely multiple times a month. anyways this one girl has ‘junior miss [town] 2019’ in her bio which cracks me up every time i think about it. girl you havent done fuck else but win a beauty pageant FOUR years ago?? also girl u were 12.