#behold!! they're colored now!!

[miguxadraws]

people seemed to like meanie ragatha a lot, so i decided do draw her again (ft. ringmaster pomni)

[jellyloveru]

glip glorp - here comes the rescas babyyy

[synonymroll648]

pls dont mske me copy paste an emoji im on my computer and eepy

i hope you're not as eepy anymore <3

-

It’s a new page in his notes app. Untitled, it reads, ‘Refresh me on your PDA boundaries, please?’ with the cursor blinking on a new line for Keefe to respond in.

At first, he just snorts at how formal it sounds compared to how most people would put it. But when the implication that oh hey, Fitz wants to kiss him in public hits him, it’s suddenly not as funny anymore. 

His ears burn like a paper caught aflame, and that fire quickly spreads across Keefe’s cheeks. 

[leclucklerc]

Hard Carry CL16 - 00.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x driver!reader

Summary: When you're talking about one of the greats in Formula One, y/n is up there.

Word Count: 1.3K

Masterlist Next

Drive to Survive, Season 1 Episode 3

It's all about Porsche

"There's just something about Porsche that attracts you."

The scene cuts into Porsche's jet black F1 car zooming pass the screen in a top speed. The sound of the loud roar from the engine, as well as the checkered flag that was being waved as the car glide through the finish line is a sight to behold.

"Their team is new in Formula one," said Will Buxton as he leaned back on his seat. The pitch black backdrop is almost poetic considering which team they're discussing right now. "They debuted in 2012, and never looked back ever since."

At this, the scene cuts into a compilation of Formula one announcer announcing many of Porsche's achievements. From the constructor championships, to the world driver championships. An intimidating music can be heard playing in the background before it switches back into the interviewer room. Though, this time, it's not Will Buxton who sat there.

A man with greying hair and pitch black shirt could be seen. There's a small logo of Porsche on his breast pocket. Besides that, the shirt is void from any decoration. Just like how the man expression is void from any emotions.

"Hello," started the man, eyes zeroing straight towards the camera. "I'm Herman Muller, the team principal for the Porsche Royale Formula 1 team."

The scene changed into Porsche's Formula One garage. The pitch black theme with golden accent could be seen everywhere as the mechanics and engineers huddled along the car that they had created for the past year.

"We are a German based team," said Herman as many compilations appeared on the scene. Many of those, are the team celebrating their wins. "A fairly new player in the game, but a tough one, certainly." His English is loaded with German accent, though it only made him seems a bit intimidating.

Constructor championship.

Driver championship.

Many trophies could be seen lining the wall of their factory back in Leipzig. Pictures of their Formula One cars too could be seen littered around the wall.

"When Porsche came, it brought a lot of excitement," said Will as he gripped his hands together. There's excitement evident on his eyes as he began the tale. "There are a lot of buzz here and there about the team. After all, it was the first time FIA had decided to expand the sport." As he said this, clips of articles and old interviews from back in 2012 can be seen playing.

The decision that FIA made to add one more team in the sport after decades. It's for the fans, they had said. To add more excitement and enjoyment for the sport.

"I think our team motto is the reason why we can become like this," said Herman as the camera switched back to him. "Complete domination."

Sounds of machine whirring could be heard as a clip from recent grand prix could be seen. It's a fight between Porsche and Red Bull. A fight, that the pitch black car wins easily.

"Porsche managed to become one of F1 top team during their debut year, and they only ever skyrocketed ever since then," continue Will, he sounds every bit amazed at that. "Every year, without fail, they will always become a favorite to win the championship."

"It's a rocket ship," said Herman as the scene changed towards mechanics and engineers did their adjustment towards their car in the garage. There's a serious air around them as they continue their job. "I like to think that we're building a rocket ship, and not cars."

A compilation of the pitch black car zooming in front of the camera could be seen.

"Besides the complete monstrosity that they call car," said Will, eyes full of amusement. "Their driver lineup is, is simply incredible."

Two people could be seen walking through the grid in a dramatic slow motion. Only their bottom half could be seen, both wearing dark colored pants and sneakers. 

"We have the most amazing driver lineup in the grid," mused out Herman as the scene changed back to him, letting out a small laugh. His previous lack of emotions has changed as a clear mirth could be seen shining through hid eyes. "A really unique one."

Well, unique is an understatement.

Will laughed, head nodding. "Their number one driver is probably the favorite driver is most definitely the favorite driver on the track-"

The scene changed into many race compilations, as a pitch black car with the number 1 could be seen overtaking Ferrari's familiar deep red car as well as Mercedes's during their highest height. Checkered flag could be seen waving around as the car zoomed past it, as it was announced as the winner of the race.

"And the favorite off the track."

Kring! Kring!

At the familiar sound of a bicycle bell, many turned their gazes towards the source of it. Almost immediately, their faces broke into smile as they laid their eyes on the person riding the vehicle. The camera is positioned at the back, showcasing long hair with dark Porsche hat on top of it.

As she made her way, many people greeted the woman in a friendly greetings. Some drivers like Daniel Ricciardo or Lewis Hamilton too could be seen waving or trying to make small talk with the rider of the bicycle. With those small interactions, it's clear that she's a popular face here in the grid.

The scene changed towards the interview room where a woman could be seen sitting on the chair. She looks oddly comfortable. As if there's no whole production crew staring at her just beyond the camera.

"Can I start?" she asked, voice soft. Long hair styled perfectly and bright eyes could be seen staring straight towards the camera.

"Yes, yes, start when you feel ready," voiced out the producer.

Said woman laughed, eyes crinkling and cheek rosy. "Well, hello, everyone, Netflix, and new Formula One fans, hopefully," grinned the woman as a round of small laughter rang through the room. Pearly white teeth could be seen under the painted lips. "I'm y/n l/n and I drive for Porsche Formula One team."

"Please say the full team name," said the producer.

Y/n blinked, before the grin on her face widened. "Ah, I completely forgot what it is. Better call Herman, no?"

After that introduction, a camera that was being placed on top of Porsche's garage as the car did a pitstop could be seen showcasing the Drive to Survive opening. 

The scene cuts back towards the dark colored interview room. The name y/n l/n now could be seen besides the female as the title as Porsche's driver could be seen underneath it. Besides that, another addition also can be seen.

Three times world champion.

It's a title that many would salivate at the mere thought of. The very dream of every driver that ever graced Formula One.

Various news outlet appeared at this. News anchor announcing y/n's debut back in 2012. Of her, being the first female formula one driver in decades. Of her, as the youngest person to actually managed to snagged one of the most coveted seats in motorsport. Of her, breaking many unseen boundaries and limitations that the sport had put.

A photo of her on the cover of Times Magazine could be seen. Posing comfortably in front of her Formula One car as she holds her helmet.

"Y/n is probably the biggest star that F1 has ever produced," said Will as the screen shows Y/n's instagram page with a whooping 50 million followers. And counting. "She's completely charismatic woman-"

A scene where y/n is mingling with people in the paddock was seen. Laughters could be heard as a response to whatever she said. They seems magically charmed and completely fixated on the woman.

"- a fashion icon-"

Y/n now can be seen in Paris Fashion Week, sitting front row with various celebrities near her.

"- life of the party -"

A ecstatic y/n could be seen spraying champagne to other fellow drivers. The atmosphere is light and full of teasing and banters.

"- And of course, a damn good driver."

The scene changed into a dramatic turn that the woman made in one of the corners. The screeching sound of tires meeting gravel could be heard as she propelled into full speed, easily overtaking cars that stood in front of her. A scene where she was crowned as that year world champion also can be seen as she celebrated with the team.

It changed back to the interview room, where the woman could be seen completely relaxed as she smiled. 

"Do you think you're a good driver?" asked the producer.

Y/n tilted her head before various clips appeared.

"AND Y/N L/N IS THIS YEAR WORLD CHAMPIOOON-!" She could be seen spraying champagne.

"TWO YEARS IN A ROW! Y/N L/N IS A WORLD CHAMPIOON-!" A clip of her spraying champagne once again was shown.

"AND YET, SHE MANAGED TO TAKE BACK HER CROWN AS A WORLD CHAMPION!" And another clip of her spraying champagne towards other fellow drivers could be seen.

The loud scene full of euphoria and loud yells are cut as y/n appeared back in the interview room, a small smile on her face. The sudden change into a tense silence is a bit shocking.

"Well," she started, laughing. "I guess I'm a pretty good driver?" y/n stopped a bit. "Can definitely become an Uber as a side hustle."

[femmeslash]

the sinners visit a 24-hour convenience store

rodya was trying to unionize everyone in the pursuit of snacks and got pretty close (outis will NEVER acquiesce to such tomfoolery)

charon just pulls over anyway

she wants a slushie

verg isn't going to say no to charon

they're getting slushies.

fifteen people enter this convenience store all at once with the kind of dazed look you can only get upon seeing rows and rows of bright fluorescent lights and Products after being in a moving vehicle for 48 hours straight

faust just starts talking to the cashier, who is wholly unprepared to deal with [Insufferable, Chronic Lassitude]. she's just telling them information.

don quixote has never heard of an inside voice and she's not going to start now

BEHOLD, MINE COMRADES! I SHALL TAKE UPON THE CHALLENGE OF SAMPLING EACH FLAVOR OF SLUSH, AND REPORT MY FINDINGS!

she immediately gets brain freeze and is loud about that too

yi sang and hong lu are examining packaged snacks together

hong lu is reading off the ingredient labels and saying things like "oh, grandmother never allowed me to eat things that had artificial dyes in them!"

yi sang is just kinda there, concerned about hong lu's statements but too overwhelmed by the lights and colors to say anything of substance

ryoushuu is openly shoplifting

rodya gets her pile of snacks and then decides to bother gregor because she's bored again now

gregor is trying to buy cigarettes

greg babe look they got that delta 8 stuff! you wanna give it a try?

gregor is fully pretending he does not know her

he mouths "i'm sorry" to the cashier

outis is watching dante like a hawk

executive manager we must remain vigilant against threats to your person at all times, especially when the chance of an ambush against us seems low

dante has never been in a convenience store that they can remember...? but they're pretty sure outis is taking this a little too seriously

heathcliff is sizing up the hot food display

dunno what kind of madman would be too keen on eating these sad oily chips but scran's scran

he offers some to hong lu who has since wandered over

hong lu has never had chips/fries before and has no idea that you eat them with your hands

mistake.

it's a mess.

sinclair is waiting anxiously for his turn with the slushie machine as meursault methodically fills a huge cup with every single flavor they have

ishmael quickly got her preferred snacks and now is waiting passive-aggressively for everyone else to be done

the poor cashier has to come face to face with a fucking color fixer while this rodeo is occurring, because it's technically a company expense

vergilius saunters up to the counter to pay for all this crap, looking miserable and homicidal

charon got a cherry slush. red. same as verg. happy.

so it's not all bad.

it isn't until they've gotten back onto the bus and started driving that dante says <wait>

<where's yi sang?>

they find yi sang sitting in the parking lot, placidly eating a slushie of his own

the artificial watermelon flavor, cold and crisp underneath the moonlight... it has a certain charm.

ok grandpa let's get you to bed.

ryoushuu's haul includes three lighters, beef jerky, extra-strength headache medicine, root beer candy, and a large spider that was in the parking lot, which she is planning to release into faust's vicinity next time faust pisses her off

hong lu promptly gets sick from eating the disgusting fries.

[verysium]

how bllk boys would react when u draw them, could either be rlly good or rlly SHIT u choose idk (plz include barou and the itoshi bros) 😊😊😊 i love you and ur works, and the way u write the boys and ur content makes me laugh fr, one of my fave bllk authors mwjahaja 😓 have a great day, ily:3 and the icks post made me smile like all of ur posts do!

thank you so much anon ♡ this ask had me contemplating very seriously, so apologies if it's a bit late:

sae is definitely awestruck in some way, even if he doesn't immediately show it. i think i talked about this in a previous headcanon, but he has a deep-seated admiration for artists who can grasp abstract concepts because he himself cannot. he would be somewhat flattered if you drew him since he's never considered his own appearance to be particularly inspiring. would be appalled if you considered him your muse. like....why? to him, his looks aren't anything of importance (clearly he is blind.) would probably say your drawing was inaccurate but then hang it up by his nightstand so he can look at it every night before he goes to sleep. if you're a full-time artist, he probably keeps a little stash of your gifts in a small box beneath his bed. sometimes if he's having a bad day or he lost a game, he goes back and flips through them just to make himself feel better. secretly loves the way you draw his bangs and the little swoop you do in your signature.

kaiser corrects every single detail in your drawing. stands behind you and gives you little pointers here and there. he should have an 8-pack, not a 6-pack. his jawline isn't sharp enough in your initial sketch. poses shirtless in front of you so that way you can encapsulate the full extent of his sexiness. shows off your drawing to every living creature in existence. "isn't he handsome?" like...🙄 yeah, michael we know. he's probably the hardest to draw because of his tattoo, so i think he genuinely appreciates it when you put in the effort to capture his intricacies. will never admit this but he's low-key proud of you and your talent (mostly just your ability to make him look good.)

rin is one of those people who doesn't understand hyperrealism. like why does he need a highly detailed sketch of his face when he can just take a photo and print it out? i don't think he understands art in general. probably despises modern art too. he'd take one look at a rothko painting and be like....i could draw this too...in my sleep. similar to sae, i feel like he's just numb to the sentimentality of gift-giving. doesn't understand why you would waste your time drawing a little picture of him, but it does make his heart feel strangely fuzzier, so maybe he'll keep it this one time. lo and behold, months later he now has a collection of your drawings he doesn't have the heart to throw away. refuses to let isagi or anyone see them because they're meant for his eyes only.

yukimiya has impeccable taste. in fact, he's probably an artist himself. i think it'd be cute if you both drew little sketches of each other throughout the course of your relationship. but neither of you ever knew until you gifted him your sketchbook for christmas, and he was like....guess what...i drew you too. thinks you're pretty even when you don't think so. sometimes when you're having a coffee shop date, he scribbles a portrait of you on his napkin because the sunlight hit your cheek just right in that moment, and the birds were chirping, and he fell in love all over again. i think it's also tragic that he's slowly losing his eyesight, so he won't be able to enjoy your drawings and the vibrant colors you infuse into them. that's why he treasures them even more. probably thumbs over the pages from time to time. memorizes every stroke and line.

isagi likes the way you always draw that little tuft of hair that sticks up on the top of his head. it looks like a cute little bean sprout. he pins your drawings up above his bed next to a polaroid of you two in germany. buys you a professional art set for your birthday. if you're a digital artist, he buys you a new tablet and stylus.

bachira adds his own doodles next to yours except he makes a chibi version of everything. always pesters you to include his little fangs. uses the boldest combination of colors. he would definitely be a messy artist. paint everywhere. fingernails perpetually stained a different color. you both draw during class, so when you two trade notebooks to actually study......there aren't any actual notes.

barou acts like he doesn't know what to do with your drawing of him but then the next day you visit his house, and he's already put your artwork in a fancy picture frame. refuses to let anyone else even stand within a ten meter radius next to it because he doesn't want their "nasty fingerprints" all over your beautiful masterpiece.

[zoropookie]

HOW HATERS ARE BORN (HHAB)

♡ chapter sixteen — doxxing is okay sometimes 💋

The entire drive back to your house, Scaramouche wondered why he was always put into compromising situations. It wasn't the late hour, or the otherwise deserted roads other than the usual few vehicles being dime a dozen.

No...it was that he was chauffeuring the only person he didn't want to be within a ten foot pole radius from. Softly, your laughter was still emitting from your lips as your head lolled back and forth.

His eyebrows knitted together in frustration, grip tightening on the steering wheel. He was annoyed, but knowing this was the quietest that he'll ever see you was more comforting than not being perceived.

Texts from his phone illuminating a section under his arm as his eyes kept flicking back and forth, he knew it was Ei bothering him again. Her poking and prodding the gnawing that he always felt being around her.

Pulling into your driveway, he brought his car in enough to quickly get you out. Tohma quickly headed into eye view to hurry towards the other side of the door. "Thank you so much. I don't know what I'd do if they weren't able to get home."

He sighed in response, turning off the engine. "Is that all?"

"Yeah...(Y/N)?" Tohma paused, his gaze lingered on you. "They're completely out."

"Keen observation." Scaramouche sarcastically quipped.

Tohma looked at the other before hesitantly rounding you up, careful not to jostle you as he helped your limp body out of the car. Your body soon enough became less languid, eyes slowly opening.

You mumbled something unintelligible in response, your words slurred. "Scaramouche," You made out, blinking blearily before you felt a certain rage overcome your body again. "Where is he?!"

Your steps were unsteady as you leaned against Tohma for leverage, but you were also thrashing to turn and find the person you were screaming at through Twitter earlier.

"(Y/N)...take it easy-!" His words were drowned out by your fervent rage, your gaze was wild as you scanned the surroundings, only to see the very person you were talking about.

"YOU." Your voice rose to a shout, staggering towards him. "Had some nerve coming to my house!" You shouted, tears welling in your eyes as your vision went in and out, "My friends hate me because of you! I will fucking see to it that you are destroyed by my very hands!" You screamed, causing Tohma to panic.

"I'm really sorry! Thank you...again-! (Y/N), please stop." Tohma struggled out. He felt like he was on the verge of a brain aneurysm any second now.

He lunged towards you to hold you back from attacking Scaramouche, but as soon as you did that, you were about to speak again. And then you regurgitated, your body convulsed until you were retching violently, doubling over.

"Oh my god," Tohma mouthed silently, his body frozen.

It was a sight to behold - Scaramouche's dark clothes were colored in a murky brown shade of vomit. But instead of what Tohma thought he was going to do, it was the complete opposite. He didn't recoil in horror, he didn't scream or curse, he simply just stood there, expression unreadable.

He was probably so pissed off that he forgot that he was initially having a horrible day.

"Okay! Okay!!" Tohma said in between two deep breaths, holding you in between his arms even tighter despite your struggling. "Scaramouche. Please let me help you clean up before you leave."

“No.” He replied with a sudden urgency that seethed through his teeth, flicking some of the chunks of sick off of his fingers. “Absolutely not. I’m going home.”

“I’m saying this with all due respect despite everything you’ve done. You can’t go home looking like that, I won’t let you.”

previous ♡ masterlist ♡ next

YOU ARE on your way to being one of the hottest streamer in your nation at the moment, racking a monthly average of 10 million viewers, but something specific bothers you about it. you know that a lot of people hate you, but there's this one account. one account that's been following you since the early days of your career. they leave a flood of rude comments in your stream, your moderators banned each account they made, but they keep making more. you are at the end of your tether. but you are yet to find out that this persistent cockroach is none other than your friend's friend (and the only other streamer that's bigger than you), scaramouche.

taglist ♡ @thystarsshine @veekoko @gumickajolli @simonisferal @kamiboo @justpeachyteastea @feiherp @pinkismyfavcolor @aether-darling @melpomenelurks @keiiqq @mine-lu @featuredtofu @danhenglovebot @k4zushi @kyon-cherri @1lellykins @iiinaurate @quacking-simp @auroratumbles @kookiibun @ulquiorraswife @pichulakkjkk @simplysm1le @h3xi2g0n3 @alatusorrow @scaranthropy @mellowberrie @magica-ren @vernith @kabukipookie @bananasquash @suqarlaced @dellalyra @lightyagamifan @yourfavoritefreakyhan @heartsforseo @yomishen @pwushizz @swivy123 @strxwberryfetish @ibyobi @ashfrommars4 @chemiru @ainnofinway @agaygothicmushroom @levianamor (bold users means i'm having trouble tagging you)

[genderqueerdykes]

i think people who doesnt like men and despise them are just traumatized. i mean its the experience of being mistreated for years that it makes them unable to trust men again. their reactions is maybe too harsh but i can see it being "i just doesnt want to be hurt anymore"

i agree with this take and i don't care if that bugs people

it is okay for a person to say that they have experienced trauma due to the current patriarchy we live under. it's okay to say that. however it's not okay to project one's trauma with those specific things on to every man they encounter. we must not project our trauma on to people who are not hurting us. it does not help us heal. it keeps us trapped in the cycle of negative thought loops, paranoia, fear and disgust

i agree with you completely, people who take this trauma to the extreme without reflecting on their experiences and admitting that the trauma was at the hands of that one person, those people, or that organization just lose they ability to trust an entire gender and decide that pathologically avoiding and hating men is the way to move on and cope. it's not, it never is. to avoid one's trigger for the rest of one's life is to not going to help someone get over it. it has to be addressed at one point or another

there are many men out there who are horrible but there are horrible people of any gender. our current patriarchal society is flawed because we designed a structure built around worshipping men and placing them in positions of power over everyone, especially women, but only if they fit into a narrow box of what a man 'should' look, act and sound like. we torture men, women and everyone else in this society.

men are forced to be the 'perfect' man in order to be validated and accepted as 'real' men. men cannot have long hair or else they 'look like a girl' or are 'too faggy'. men have to be physically fit or else people are ashamed of them or tell them they are unattractive. men are forced to be the 'man of the house', boys are forced into this at young ages. men are only allowed to dress in certain ways depending on one's culture. in the US men have to wear very plain clothes with muted colors. gestures and mannerisms are also scrutinized as well as career choices. only 'masculine' career choices are approved of

we place insecure men into positions of power and tell them to control everyone and make sure that women don't get those same rights and abilities and that's a huge issue but not every man is doing this. our issue with men is systemic due to the patriarchy we live under- men are not genetically or inherently violent, evil or shitty. we are grooming men and certain men catch on to the programming and take it very seriously and many wish to live outside of it in order to be themselves

the way we treat women in this patriarchal society is abysmal. it is shameful to behold- yes women are treated in an absolutely subhuman fashion in most regards of life when it comes to what we experience. it's maddening. but we have to understand that if we stop programming men to behave this way, this will not continue to happen anywhere near as badly as it's happening right now

the average man you meet on the street is likely not a danger to you at all whatsoever. most people aren't. most men don't really want to be a macho stereotype. most men just want to go about their own personal interests. it's okay for them to do so its their right. opening up one's self to average men who are honest and in touch with their interests is pretty eye opening- men also come in all kinds just like anyone else. men can be gentle and caring just as much as they can be difficult to be around. men are people

i agree with you. people project their trauma of what theyve gone through on to people who have not hurt them and it's not a good way to approach community and how one interacts with the world. it's fine to call out men when they do something shitty, when they're misogynistic, when they're being violent, but we also have to let men be gentle, quiet, caring, creative, passionate, loving and so on. because men are capable of those things. it's that simple

hope you have a great day, thanks for stopping by to chat

[eybefioro]

Good little girl~~~

Wacky races - fairly odd parents - powerpuff girls - scooby doo

Please open the image. Tumblr is killing the quality for some reason... :P

(Time lapse and ramblings under the cut!)

@waitingtobebroken @greenthena tagging u bc you voted for this option on the pool <3 hope you liked it!

NnnnnnnNNNHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGG!!!! SAVE ME PRINCESS ANGEL FOOD CAKE!!! SAVE!! ME!!!!!!! aaaaaaaaa I can't stop thinking about her now. As you can see. I used as a ref the cunty-est look of Aziraphale. The French revolution one. Obviously. He was an absolute princess with those shiny shoes to have a date with his boyfriend. And then. Then I went to look what an angel food cake looked like. Bc. I unfortunately never had one. Lo and behold. Same color scheme. I AM GOING INSANE. No I'm normal sorry. I just am in love. Bc. Princess angel food cake.

I had a lot of fun with the background and put some easter eggs here and there! I loooooooove adventure time's backgrounds. They're so pretty and detailed.... also... also.... coloooorrrrssss 🤤 the colors on that show!!! I couldn't replicate it here properly. It's way more pastel there. But I guess it still looks nice? I hope so!! (I just notice that since it's night that means I edited the color with the blue light filter on which probably screwed the balance ooppss!)

And my beautiful wife Crowline. Nnngkkk it was soooooo nice to draw her aaaaaaa! Idk but the Adventure time artstyle is just so SATISFYING to draw. It's nice. I might do it again. I had so much fun!

Also I yapped about it before. But. But. Good little girl/bad little boy is such a A/C coded song. I have it in my mind for a week now. Gosh if I had the power of animation I'd make an animatic. I've found this amazing animatic but I need MOAR!!!! If I had the time I'd make it in stop motion.... ANYWAYS I SHALL STOP RAMBLING NOW.

I think my next one will prob be Courage the cowardly dog but I make no promises!

[babykittenteach]

Welp. Some art rambling below.

So, any time I've ever posted ink drawings here, they did not involve a pencil sketch. The reason for this being I've found time and time again that the pens I most like will smudge and smear when I go to erase the pencil underneath, so I freehand a lot. Or I do an initial drawing in a lighter ink and come back in a darker one. Yes, fineliners don't do that but they're not the kind of pens I like working with; I tend towards gel or, for a while now, fountain pens. Today for the first time in a long time, I gave a pencil sketch another go because I haven't tried it on this kind of paper, and lo and behold! I could erase the pencil with very little smudging of the ink.

But instead I wound up tearing the paper whilst erasing. *hands* Since it was ruined at this point I went ahead after taking this pic and did some experiments with alcohol ink markers --a medium I'm largely out of-- and got some odd results. The paper is Iroful, which fountain pen nerds have probably seen talk about in recent times, and strangely the alcohol ink did bleed through but not at all like you'd expect for paper this thin and not enough to touch the blotting page underneath. So that was interesting. It did make the colors much fainter though, and it utterly donked up the one non "anime girl white" skintone brown I had on hand, so that's never seeing the light of day.

I might try doing the sketch in alcohol, coloring blocks and then doing FP as liner next time, but we'll see. I would actually like to have an idea of what kind of process I wanna use for inktober this year if I'll indeed be sticking to ink instead of throwing up my hands and saying artober and doing digital.

[green-eyedfirework]

Dick walks down the long hall of the temple, past the lit braziers and litany of offerings.  The temple has proven a popular one in the last few days.

Of course it has.  They're preparing for war.

Dick has prayed at several temples over the fortnight.  Wisdom, to find a path out of this mess.  The Earth Mother, to ask for his family's safe return.  The Protector, the sun god himself, to safeguard Dick's home.  He has left rich offerings and offered vast riches.  He has promised everything he has to give.

And all he has received is silence.

The gods do not heed his prayers.  Tim is gone, lost on a quest from the deceitful Shadow King to find Bruce and return him to the land of the living.  Jason is likewise away, too busy being a vengeful avatar of Death to care about Gotham.  Gotham's defenses consist of Dick, the precocious ten-year-old halfblood Talia dropped off without so much as a by-your-leave, and Alfred.

The fight will be a slaughter.  Too few generals, too few fighting men.  The only thing that can help them is the intercession of the gods and there is only one god left to try.

Dick takes a deep breath and kneels at the altar.  The knife he draws isn't his flashiest or his oldest.  But its hilt matches the color of his eyes.

Dick knows this, because that was what the god whispered when he curled Dick's fingers around it.

The slice of his skin is the barest line of fire.  The blood drips onto the altar.  One.  Two.  Three.

"I pray to the God of War.  Heed my call."

The silence continues, only broken by the soft plink of blood meeting steel.  Dick stays on his knees and doesn't fidget.  He has all night.

War begins on the morrow.

"I pray to the God of War.  Heed my call."

~#~

He doesn’t know if it’s the hundredth or the thousandth time he says it when he finally gets a response.

"Hello, little bird."

A large part of Dick relaxes at the slow drawl.  Everything else tenses.

"My lord," Dick says formally, drawing his hand back and clenching it to halt further bleeding.  Deathstroke steps out from his altar, smirk already in place as he beholds Dick.  "I pray for your assistance."

"I'm listening."  Deathstroke steps around Dick, heavy boots treading on marble, circling Dick like wounded prey.

"There is an army at Gotham's borders.  Tomorrow we ride to war."

"I'm aware."  Deathstroke smiles, a bloodthirsty, wicked thing.

"I--I beseech you, my lord, to favor Gotham on the battlefield.  I know we are the weaker side--we have less men, and the terrain, and the supplies--we will never last a siege--"

Deathstroke cuts off his babbling with a frown.  For all the time Dick spent entreating the gods, he hasn't thought much about what to say when one finally listens.

Dick waits as Deathstroke completes his turn and stands before him once more.  In the shadow of the altar, he looks like nothing more than a man--dressed for combat, broadsword strapped to his back, dark eyepatch hiding the damage even a god couldn't heal.  The other icy blue eye stares down at Dick with the searing intensity of a thousand suns.

In the shadow of his altar, he looks like a god.

"Why?" Deathstroke asks curiously.  "Why should I favor you?"

There is a hint of poison in the tone.  Dick refused Deathstroke's offer to be his champion once, when Dick was still a child, and gods do not forget.  Gods do not forgive.

"I will give you anything," Dick says, painfully honest now that he has everything to lose.  "Anything that is mine to give."

Deathstroke's eye flashes.  "A tempting offer, little bird," he rumbles.

"It is yours.  Entirely yours, so long as you help."

Deathstroke reaches out and Dick stays where he is.  Lets the god trace the lines of his face with fingers that feel molten.  Hardly dares to breathe.

"Very well, little bird.  We have a deal."

The clasp of hands feels like shackles around Dick's wrists.  He breathes in and out and keeps the god's stare.

He doesn't let himself think about what he agreed to.  Tomorrow is war.  The consequences come after.

~#~

"Where have you been?" Damian accosts him the moment he enters the manor.  "We practically tore the walls apart looking for you--"

"I was praying," Dick says, heading straight for his room and his armor.  "For victory in today's battle."

Damian puffs up.  It's almost adorable, if Dick wasn't focused on buckling everything in place.  "You are very nearly late for that same battle--"

"I am here now," Dick says shortly, strapping on his sword.  "Enough.  Are you prepared?"

"I still insist I am better utilized with you, in the vanguard--"

"No."  In the case that Bruce does return, Dick will not be the one to tell him that he got his ten-year-old killed.  "You will stay and defend the manor in case of an incursion."  It is a way to keep the kid out of the fighting and he knows it.  "Do you understand?"

Damian makes a face.  "Yes," he grumbles.

Dick does not trust him, but he doesn't have the time.  Dawn's first light is breaking and the battle will begin soon.  He has no way to know what shape or form Deathstroke's assistance will take.  He will not sit around and wait for it.

He has begged long enough.  The time has come to fight.

Gotham's forces array out, facing those of neighboring Metropolis.  Someone is whispering in Luthor's ear, someone enticed him to attack.  Someone is keeping the other gods at bay.  The deck is already stacked against Dick.

The first charge begins.  Dick motions for his forces to stay steady and let the archers answer.  A hail of arrows arc over the battlefield.

A wind blows strong enough to sweep them all aside.

Interference.  Dick wants to close his eyes and weep.  Unfortunately, he does not have that luxury.

He grimly motions for the attack.

The clash of two armies is a terrible thing.  The noise of a hundred blades striking each other, the squelch of blood spraying free, the cries and shouts and screams of killers and the killed.  Dick hates it and yet he rides to it.  There is no other way.

Right before the armies meet, there is an unfurling in the middle, a man straightening like he was always there.  And maybe he was.

Deathstroke turns unerringly towards Dick, meeting his gaze despite the lengths that separate them, and unsheathes his sword to point it straight at Dick in salute.

He's smiling.  It is a terrifying thing.

And then he turns and attacks.

The armies meet as the God of War scythes his way through Dick's enemies, blood splattering and steel ringing, and sunlight flashing off that enormous sword that Deathstroke wields one-handed like it weighs as much as a feather.

Dick cannot look away.

There is nothing in the world more alluring than the sight of a god in their element.

Nothing more dangerous either.

~#~

In the end, it doesn't matter who whispers in Luthor's ear or snatches arrows from the sky.  Nothing in the world, mortal or not, is strong enough to defeat the God of War on a battlefield.

Gotham wins handily.  People cheer on the streets, soldiers clutch each other and weep, and the injured outnumber the dead.  An occasion to celebrate.

Dick finishes the letter he is writing and carefully presses it shut.  Ties it and leaves it on his desk.  They will find it easily enough when they search for him.  He has kept it vague, only commanding them not to look for him.  He is not lost.

Dick made this choice willingly.  Now he has to pay the price.

He slips from the manor, ducking past festive crowds and out of the way of laughter and celebration.  He clings to the memory of the relief on Damian's face when Dick returned.  Alfred's quiet joy.

The determination on Tim's face when he left.  The burning green fire in Jason's, utterly alien but at least alive.  The implacable strength of Bruce, a mountain Dick has never been able to match.

Dick hoped that whatever Deathstroke asked for, he could stand to lose.  Something minor, a quest perhaps, nothing that would steal him from his family.  At the very worst, the binding Dick refused once.  Being War's champion would severely curtail Dick's freedom, but he would still be able to visit home.

But Deathstroke didn't bless their swords to strike true or their arrows to hit their targets.  He didn't shift battlefield currents to their favor or tilt luck on their side.  He showed up to fight and slaughtered his way through a good portion of the enemy.

For that much destruction, there can be only one price.

The temple is empty, though offerings fill it from end to end.  Dick steps past them all, to the very end of the hall and the altar looming above him.  The last offering.

His arm trembles as he stretches it out.  But the blade slices cleanly, carving a line up his forearm, blood spilling far faster than before.  He switches the grip, the blade jerky in his bleeding hand, and manages a shaky slice up the other forearm.  The knife goes clattering against the altar.  Dick breathes raggedly and squeezes his eyes against the tears.

It's the pain, that's all.  Nothing more.

When he opens them, Deathstroke is right in front of him.  Dick doesn't flinch, even when Deathstroke grabs his bleeding arms.

"What is this?" the god hisses, one eye burning furiously.  It feels curiously distant though.  Possibly because the world is blurring out.

"The price," Dick reminds him with a tongue that feels too big.  "You helped.  I have to pay."

He can almost feel Jason's shock, can see his little brother turning towards him from far, far away.  He wonders if Jay can visit him in the Underworld.

"Foolish little bird," he hears Deathstroke sigh somewhere above him.  The burning in his arms changes to burning, sharp, fiery pain racing along the cut and making him scream.  "Only life can pay for death."

[ourserendipity]

samsara of shattered dreams: past

(aventurine x gn!reader x dr. ratio) just some heads up, this happened before the whole penacony arc in the story. No Beta read 😎😎 (That's all I think lol. Anyways I'll be leaving for a while cuz I'll be busy and shiz 🥲🥲. hope y'all enjoyy✿) Part 1/3

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Memories. Like glass, they glisten the beauty reflected by the light giving its vivid colors, and yet they are oh so frail; like the fleeting flow of life, sudden yet steady at the same time.

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

Looking back, you wouldn't have thought that you would see yourself in this situation; not that you already foresaw your fate in the first place. Still, there's the feeling of regret lingering at the back of your mind; one that is not directed towards you but rather to the things that you've done. If only, if only you had the power to change the course of fate maybe this wouldn't have been necessary, if only one could stop the other's heart breaking perhaps goodbyes weren't needed to be said. But alas, destiny has its own ways and so now you are trapped, here in a samsara of endless possibilities, all from the past up to the future; all that is only but a dream yet to spur along with the branches of life.

You dance, you circle around the twinkling stars swimming along azure waters that reflect the night sky, following the roots of time ever so slowly growing, a future waiting to be born, its memories captured in the garden of recollection. Spin after spin, countless lightcones spawn in the vicinity of your eyes; an attempt to draw you unto them, delving into the memories of both the future and past once more. They all glimmer in your eyes, symbolizing its high importance to those who gaze at it, but truth be told, you didn't want to look at them anymore, not when you know you'll only hurt yourself in the process. Even then, you caress them over your palms ever so gently, cherishing the moments silently; actions do speak louder than words after all.

And now you wonder, will everything be alright? Now that the stars have finally collided, and so shall your encounter with death had arrived.

"Y/n... Y/N..."

"Aventurine-"

"They're... they're gone. They really are not here anymore, huh?" He whispers, tightly holding your cold, desolate body.

Despair was imminent in the thick air that engulfs the room as he desperately tries to hold back himself from tearing on the spot. He'd hate for the two of you to see him cry and be vulnerable; after all, didn't he tell you that he doesn't bet on the losing end?

And yet here he is: lo and behold, the winner of it all, stripping him of his own tears, his own freedom to be frail and weak, all just to keep himself at bay, and yet failing so miserably.

"......."

Only silence was heard across the room, rather, it was the only answer the genius could give him. Though not fitting his character, he believes that even he could not give the response the man wanted; needed even.

"There's no time left to mourn what's already gone, we should make haste." It was the only thing he could reply. He knew he had to give him an answer somehow, else the man's insanity would escalate even further.

".....leave.."

"what?"

"leave me alone, I... I'll follow you after a while, just please let me be," he pleads achingly, as if he is almost breaking into the point of oblivion.

Utter brokenness was the only thing he heard upon Aventurine's response. And that alone already tells him that

You wished it wouldn't have been sooner, that you could stay just a little bit longer. And so you fought, no, you ran, you ran along with them in the dark in hopes of outrunning time but to no avail. In the end, you still had to go, regret trailing alongside your eyes brimming with tears.

"Hey no fair! that's my share Aventurine!"

"Not when you say please~"

"Such prudence... Will you two stop the act already?"

"Ooh so scary, Mr. Alabaster head~" you tease, obviously trying to mock him and his antics.

"Indeed. I wonder, where is that handsome bust of yours? You don't seem to wear it as much anymore~" Aventurine coos, whilst holding the bag of candies on his right hand, with you struggling on the other hand, trying to reach the said bag from him.

He scoffs upon hearing the blonde's remarks, though what he was saying is true. If he were to be honest, he doesn't see the two of you as an idiot, but he wouldn't openly admit it to both of you, not with his pride and ego of course. Sighing, he knocks the blonde's head lightly, making the guy dramatically wince in pain.

"ow, that hurts y'know?" he cries all the while you were there, stifling a laughter trying not to laugh at his obvious acting.

It was just a simple day for the three of you in the IPC and yet at that moment, everything felt light; it felt as if the three of you were simply living in your own world, rightfully so. It felt so comforting, like a dream you wish that will never end. But then...

All those years of endless banter, the fondness of even the simplest of times; both good and bad, and them, the two of which you truly had loved with all of your heart, the stars you thought you would never reach; but you did, ever so effortlessly. To think that fate had allowed for the three of you to meet is a miracle from the aeons themselves. And despite their clashing personalities, the pointless arguments they dare not speak of, the past one does not wish to return to, you made it work somehow, like fixing the broken pieces of a broken glass only to be shattered again, all because of that stupid, cruel thing called fate. But somehow, you found yourself here in the samsara, reborn from the memories that you hold, now with a new purpose; to collect and to preserve new memories once more, in hopes of retaining what's for the future to hold on to when the time comes. And now that you have regained life in a different form, perhaps you could go back to the real world, to raise a bud anew, in that beautifully miserable place. And perhaps you could meet them again, not letting go of any opportunity given to you, to build a new bridge, to finally reconnect the three of you once more, all for a better future.

"May the cosmos guide you to the path of the unknown, my beloved stars. "

to be continued......

xx/xx/xxxx

xx:xx

From: ■■■■■■■

To: ■■■■■■■■■■, ■■■■■■■■■■

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

To Aventurine

"To my dearest gambler, blessed upon the gaze of Gaiathra. I simply bestow to you my full adoration and longing. The unknown may hold us captive in our own, but we shall be the winners who'll decide the results; and it seems like it in your side, to which I could only pray for its continuous flow. I am truly humbled by your guts and wits, my dear. But despite it all, I could feel the lingering despair each time you gamble your life away. So to you I offer this humble gift; a gift of life and new comings. Never forget, you are Kakavasha, born from the bright yellow star, blessed by abundant luck and fortune. May you walk upon this newly lit path of destiny, along with him and what's left of us. "

To Ratio

"To my favorite scholar, truly a genius amongst geniuses. I could only stare in awe upon all of the achievements you have gotten. I may not be as potent as your vast amounts of knowledge nor do I reach the same standards as you do, but please be reminded that there are things that even the smartest revolutionists simply could not have a grasp of. And even if it seems that one's passing is but a swift gust of wind in your eyes, I could tell: the moment my drifting eyes meet yours, those eyes of yours are telling otherwise. So please, be a little bit nicer to them next time. You may never know; that in the future, he will be in your saving grace, hoping that you'll spare him the sympathy that he truly needs. "

✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧✧

[jellyloveru]

glip glorp - here comes the rescas babyyy

[statsbot]

THE END OF DUNGEONS & DRAGONS

Prompt: "The sword coast setting, but thousands and thousands and thousands of years in the future, where it's turned from high fantasy into dark fantasy"

The Outline:

Sample Campaign Starter:

Text under Read More:

The Great Cities Waterdeep, once the City of Splendors, is now the City of Eternal Twilight. Its towering spires remain, but they're twisted and warped, having grown like pale coral over thousands of years of wild magic exposure. The city exists in layers - the deepest parts still contain functioning Undermountain technology, while the surface is a maze of crystallized buildings where masked nobles maintain a mockery of the old customs. Baldur's Gate has become a titanous mechanical city-state, burning the corpses of the dead in enormous furnaces to maintain warmth as the sun dies. The Sword Coast itself is no longer recognizable as a coast - the sea has partially crystallized into a sheet of black glass that occasionally liquefies without warning.

The Nature of Magic As the sun dims, magic has become more visceral and dangerous. The Weave has partially collapsed, creating "knots" of wild magic that float like spectral tumors across the landscape. Spellcasting requires blood sacrifice or the burning of valuable materials - the age of casual magic is long gone. Many spellcasters have resorted to binding fragments of dying gods into their flesh to maintain their powers. The color of magic has changed too - most spells manifest in blacks, grays, and pale blues, as if the magic itself is suffering from cosmic frostbite.

The Old Pantheons The gods are dying, but cannot truly die. They exist in a state of perpetual agony, their essence crystallizing into god-shards that fall from the sky like meteors. Some gods have merged together in desperate attempts to survive - Lathander and Kelemvor are now one entity, a terrible thing that represents both dawn and death, neither of which have meaning anymore. Mystra's death long ago caused the initial collapse, but her essence still pervades reality like a virus, causing spontaneous magical mutations.

Survival Methods People cluster around "hearth-crystals," shards of the original sun that still emit weak heat and light. Communities are usually small, heavily fortified, and deeply suspicious of outsiders. Many have resorted to consuming the flesh of magical creatures to survive, leading to widespread mutations. Water must be thawed before drinking, and most food is grown in underground fungal gardens. Some communities have turned to worshipping the machines left behind by the gnomes and artificers of old, maintaining ancient technologies they barely understand.

Monsters and Creatures Most of the iconic D&D monsters have evolved or devolved into horrific new forms. Dragons are blind, pale things that nest in thermal vents, having lost their color affiliations millennia ago. Mind Flayers have returned from the far realm, but they're different now - more mechanical, having fused with ancient Netherese technologies. Beholders have multiplied and shrunk, becoming swarms of floating eyes that serve as organic surveillance systems for the larger settlements.

The Planes The planar boundaries have grown thin and unstable. The Shadowfell is slowly merging with the Material Plane, while the Feywild has become a frozen wasteland of eternal twilight. Fragments of other planes occasionally crash into the material world, creating zones where reality behaves according to alien rules. The Nine Hells have frozen over, and demons now seek warmth in the material plane, sometimes offering their essence as fuel for the desperate.

Ancient Artifacts The legendary artifacts of the past have grown in power as the world dies. The Blackstaff has become a living entity that consumes its wielders. The Ring of Winter is sought after not as a weapon, but as a tool of mercy - it can grant final death to those who otherwise would live forever in the twilight. Many new artifacts have been created from the crystallized remains of gods, each carrying a fraction of divine power and madness.

SITUATION A hearth-crystal powering the settlement of Coldhearth is dying. The crystal's dimming has caused panic among the inhabitants, who know they have perhaps two weeks before the cold claims them. However, the local Crystal-Speaker has had a vision - one of the dying gods, a merged aspect of Gond and Oghma called the Brass Scholar, is falling from the heavens. Its crystallized divine essence could serve as a new hearth-crystal, if it can be claimed. Unfortunately, others have sensed its imminent arrival too - including the machine-cult of Baldur's Gate and a desperate band of god-flesh scavengers.

SETTING Coldhearth sits in what was once a coastal village near Waterdeep, though the black glass sea is now several miles away. The settlement is built into and around an ancient lighthouse, its beacon replaced with the current (dying) hearth-crystal. The surrounding area is a wasteland of crystallized trees and frozen earth, with occasional patches of liquidized ground where wild magic has temporarily thawed reality.

The nearby "Shattershore" - where the black glass sea begins - is a maze of geometric shapes and broken reflections. The glass occasionally liquefies without warning, swallowing the unwary. Scavengers risk these dangers to harvest valuable resources from ancient ships trapped within the glass. Several miles inland lies the ruins of a pre-twilight trading post called Wayward's Rest, now home to a colony of devolved mind flayers who trade memories for warmth.

The predicted impact site of the falling god-shard lies in the Thornmaze, a crystallized forest where the trees have grown into impossibly sharp geometric patterns. The local mutation-touched say the trees still grow, just too slowly for normal eyes to see. The maze is home to various geometric predators - creatures that have adapted to move and hunt along perfectly straight lines and right angles.

CAST The Settlement of Coldhearth Vara Nightbridge, Crystal-Speaker and unofficial leader. Her eyes have been replaced with shards of a fallen god, allowing her to see divine essence. She speaks in temperatures rather than words. Ghkss the Thawed, a mutation-touched merchant whose flesh periodically liquefies. He maintains the settlement's fungal gardens and knows more than he shares. Pock, a child who never seems to feel the cold. The other children follow her lead, and she knows all the settlement's secrets.

The Machine-Cult of Baldur's Gate Archimandrite Kex, a cyborg priestess who has replaced her blood with heated oil. She leads the local machine-cult expeditions. Brother-Operator Finn, a former street thief who maintains the cult's warmth-engines. He's secretly planning to steal the god-shard for himself.

The God-Flesh Scavengers The Twins, Voss and Vess, who share a single mutation-touched body but alternate control. They're known for eating anything that glows. Skrike, their enforcer, who has bound frozen demon-flesh to his bones. He can only move in straight lines but hits like a runaway cart.

INITIAL CONDITIONS The hearth-crystal is dimming noticeably each day. The settlement's outer rings have already been abandoned as the warmth recedes. Most residents have crowded into the lighthouse proper, creating tensions and using up stored resources faster than anticipated. The Crystal-Speaker's vision has given hope, but also attracted unwanted attention from outside groups.

The machine-cult has already established a forward camp near the Thornmaze, using salvaged warmth-engines that leave trails of black smoke. The god-flesh scavengers are more mobile, using trained geometric predators as mounts to patrol the crystallized forest's edge.

The god-shard is due to impact in approximately ten days. The cold is getting worse. Strange lights have been seen in the Thornmaze, suggesting the area's wild magic is intensifying in anticipation of the divine arrival.

GOALS Vara Nightbridge seeks to save her people and maintain order during the crisis. Ghkss wants to preserve his secret collection of pre-twilight artifacts, even at the cost of lives. Pock intends to lead the other children to safety if the adults fail. Archimandrite Kex plans to use the god-shard to create a new type of warmth-engine. Brother-Operator Finn dreams of becoming a god himself by consuming the shard. The Twins aim to feed the god-shard to their geometric mounts, believing it will create perfect predators. Skrike simply wants enough divine essence to fix his condition.

TOOLS/RESOURCES Vara has her god-shard eyes and the loyalty of most settlers. Ghkss maintains a hidden cache of thawed water and preserved food. Pock knows secret ways through the Thornmaze. Archimandrite Kex commands several warmth-engines and trained technicians. Brother-Operator Finn possesses a pre-twilight device that can supposedly contain divine essence. The Twins control a pack of geometric predators. Skrike has demon-enhanced strength and durability.

SAMPLE SOLUTIONS Navigate the Thornmaze using Pock's knowledge, reach the impact site first, and defend it until the god-shard arrives. This requires surviving the geometric predators and wild magic surges.

Ally with Brother-Operator Finn, use his device to safely contain the god-shard, then betray him before he can consume it. This means dealing with both the machine-cult and his personal ambitions.

Convince the Twins to help clear a path through the Thornmaze using their geometric predators, then deal with their inevitable betrayal at the impact site.

Use Ghkss's secret resources to outlast the other factions, letting them fight among themselves before claiming the god-shard from the survivors.

Negotiate with the mind flayers at Wayward's Rest, trading memories for their help in securing the god-shard. This is risky but could provide a significant advantage over other factions.

[meowmeowriley]

WAIT but to see real bunny ghost boxing….. would we not need another bunny??? I nominate either Konig (bc big boy bunnies are amazing) or Farah (she strikes the fear of god into me like a wild hare). I was going to say Rudy, but he has too-perfect cow eyes to be anything elseeeee

Hare shifter Farah is now Canon here. I fucking love it. And once Ghost lets his secret out, Farah gets to admit that she knew all along. Takes one to know one. They're not the same, but similar enough. They do box. Both shifted and not, and it's a sight to behold. In both forms Ghost towers over Farah, but she's quick, she's tough, and Ghost loves the challenge.

Now... Cow Rudy... I have a confession. I grew up on a cattle farm and cows are extremely near and dear to my heart, I fucking love them. So I had to sit and think for a minute. I couldn't make him my beloved Angus, I will die on this hill, Angus cattle are the best. Fight me. BUT, this isn't about my preferences, and nobody wants to hear me go on for hours about what cattle breed is best, you just wanna know what Rudy is.

Corriente. A gorgeous Corriente bull, in a half shift he'll proudly display his upturned horns. Most Corriente are black, but can be nearly any color. Rudy is no exception to this, being fully glossy black, but don't be mistaken, he's absolutely stunning. Now this breed is not generally used for meat. No, they're use is in Rodeo and Roping. Rudy comes from a long line of rodeo bulls. Where do you think he and Ale met? Way back when Ale was a junior bull rider. And when Ale left the ring behind to join the army, Rudy's family was aghast by his decision to follow.

P.S. if you're looking for rabbit König, @konigs-bitch-ass-wife is writing a series of Rabbit Hybrid König, and I believe he's also a flemish giant.

[themonopolyhat]

shoulder the sky: the Doll au

another AU spawned in the chat with @shootingstarpilot, cleaned up and preserved for posterity.

featuring helix (originally belonging to @swmoddy) and el pilot's own needle and stitch. this trio has me in a chokehold at all times. <3

what follows is 4100+ words of family by way of magical realism. in which i am nice to helix, for once!

behold:

Envision if you will a world not like ours, where everyone has the same face and new people are not born—they begin as small, plain Dolls made of cloth and seeds and yarn.

It goes like this: a person suddenly Receives a Doll. Everyone knows what they look like, even if they're not all totally identical when they arrive. The arrival of a Doll is always without warning, and nobody knows exactly how it happens.

One day, you don't have a Doll. The next, you do. Some people get two or three at a time. Some go for years without ever being a Recipient.

It's the Recipient's task to carry the Doll around with them, keep it safe, talk to it, show it new things, clean and mend it if necessary. Most people come to love their Doll. They imagine the sort of person their Doll might be.

Eventually, with no set timeline, most Dolls begin to Breathe—that is, the tiny cloth Doll is replaced by a living grown person. Many Recipients keep in contact with their Breathers long afterward, because it's something like a parental/sibling relationship, after all.

(It's said that a neglected Doll can die. Sometimes a Doll arrives damaged, or incomplete, and the Recipient has to figure out how to help as best they can. If a Doll is destroyed, it's a cause for genuine mourning—that was a new potential person, and the Recipient will never get to meet them now.)

oOoOo

Helix has been Breathing for ten years and working as a doctor for six, and he's never Received a Doll.

Until one day he does.

He is too stunned to immediately process this. He picks up the recognizable Doll Pouch from its place on his floor, feels it gently. There's a Doll inside, he can tell.

A Doll. He has a Doll.

He is not ready to have a Doll. But he's not about to let this one die, so. He supposes he'd better get his shit together.

He carefully undoes the cord and opens the Pouch. The Doll slides out with a gentle shake-shake-shake.

He cups it in his hand. It's smaller than he expected, though he's of course seen many Dolls before, tucked in others' hands and pockets and hats. It's floppy-limbed and has a squishy, seed-filled belly.

There's something not quite right about it, though. Helix immediately notices.

Two different fabrics. The body is one color, and the head is another color. Neat stitches connect the pieces together, completely purposeful, and the proportions are prefect. But the Doll has had its head entirely replaced at some point before arrival.

Helix touches the squishy belly and considers the blank cloth face. “What happened to you?” he wonders aloud, softly. “Did the celestial Doll factory hurt you and have to fix it before they kicked you down here? That's kind of a shit start.” The Doll is silent. “Well. We'll see if we can't do better from now on.”

oOoOo

On his way to work the next morning, Helix stops for two things: a coffee, per usual, and a waterproof protective case for the Doll. It's small enough to ride around in his pocket, he just figures the fewer bodily fluids it gets splashed with, the less he'll have to clean it.

Helix feels awkward as hell talking to the Doll. He feels a little bad not talking to it, though, even if it isn't really listening yet. (Or is it? Nobody recalls their time as a Doll, but everybody ends up influenced in some way by that time, all the same.)

“I work at the hospital,” he tells it as he carefully tucks it into its new case. “I'm a doctor. I specialize in critical care, so I'm usually in the ED or ICU. Hope you're okay with blood and weird smells.”

The Doll offers no opinion. It seems comfortable in its case, at least. Helix tucks it into his pocket and pats the new lump. He'll have to get used to this.

By the end of the first day, everyone in the hospital knows Helix has a Doll.

By the end of the first week, Helix talks to his Doll more than he talks to anyone Breathing.

The Doll goes everywhere with him.

He carries it around the apartment, and soon there are usual spots where he sets it so it can observe (so to speak) what he's up to.

It sits by the knife block when he's in the kitchen. Helix has Opinions on coffee, curry, and noodles, which are the only three food groups he can prepare for himself. Otherwise it's takeout.

He sets it on his nightstand at bedtime. A habit quickly forms—he touches the Doll's mismatched head, just a quick brush of fingers over the cloth, and tells it to have sweet dreams. (The first time he realizes he's been saying “Sweet dreams, kiddo,” he has to reevaluate himself for a few minutes afterward.)

When he's watching TV, the Doll sits with him. When he goes for a run, it's secure in his pocket. When he goes to the store, to the bank, to the park, to meet friends, it's with him, always small and still and perfectly receptive to anything Helix has to tell it.

It witnesses him at his best. At his worst.

He accidentally drops it in the trash one morning without realizing, and is frantic for a solid hour until he unearths it. “I'm so sorry,” he tells it over and over while he gently washes it with soap and water. “I'm so sorry. I would be so sorry if you were gone.”

He has to admit, sooner rather than later, that he loves having a Doll. He loves this Doll. He can't wait for it to Breathe, and say something back to him.

oOoOo

And then. Some weeks later. Maybe a month and a half.

Another Doll arrives.

The new Pouch sits on the floor, very close to where the first had been.

Helix stares at it, dumbfounded. He takes his first Doll out of his pocket and eyes it suspiciously. “I don't suppose you know anything about this?”

The Doll says nothing, of course.

Helix keeps it in hand and scoops the new Pouch up, setting both on the counter and turning on the overhead light to get a good look at the newcomer. Little gods, he thinks, ten years without a single Doll and now he's got two. It's not usual to get two staggered like this, he doesn't think.

He unties the cord and tips the Pouch.

A few loose seeds spill out.

Helix blinks. Oh, shit. That's Doll stuffing. Not supposed to be outside of the Doll.

“Damn, are you hurt, too?” he murmurs, reaching in to carefully extract the Doll. A couple more seeds fall from the Pouch.

It's immediately apparent that yes, this one is hurt. More than that, it's... lopsided. The proportions aren't quite right, and the pieces don't match well. There are a couple of places where the seams aren't snug, and the Doll is slowly bleeding seeds when it's moved in certain ways.

Shit. Shit.

Helix very, very carefully gathers the loose seeds into a pile and addresses the Dolls in turn. “Hang tight, newbie. You, watch your brother. I'm going to have to give him some grafts.”

Helix doesn't have any fabric that remotely matches the new Doll, so he cuts up a clean pillowcase, digs out a suture kit that snuck home with him at some point, and gets to work. Some of the seams just need reinforcement, but others need patched with the pillowcase fabric. The seeds are tucked carefully back into the Doll's body before it's closed up.

The result is... well. Functional, more than it's aesthetic. Helix isn't crafty. The grafts—the patches are neat and sturdy but hardly symmetrical.

Helix sets his forceps down and nudges the two Dolls together, looking at them wearily. “At least you're both a little mismatched now, huh?” he says, smiling crookedly. “And everybody's in one piece. That's progress.”

He hesitates, touches the new Doll more gently, aware that he's mostly handled it in a utilitarian fashion. “Welcome home, I guess is the thing to say. Sorry you had a bumpy start. You'll be okay now. Your brother apparently lost his entire head at some point, but the new one is doing just fine.”

oOoOo

Helix starts to fill Doll Two in on the things Doll One has learned, all the while chiding Doll One for imagined impatience. “I know you know this, but he's new, he doesn't know it, and you don't have a mouth yet to pass it on. So cool your little rag feet.”

They ride around in Helix's pockets, but he sits them together whenever possible, because it seems right. They prop up against each other so naturally.

Doll Two goes missing one day during a double shift at work, and by the time it turns up in the on-call room Helix napped in, he's an absolute mess. He's had to forcibly stop himself from squishing Doll One too much, like a stress toy.

He takes both Dolls into a bathroom and locks himself in a stall and hugs them both to his chest, biting his lip and swallowing the urge to sob. “I am terrible at this but please don't disappear on me, okay?” he whispers finally.

Helix can't remember what he did with his time before he had his Dolls. He wasn't bored, really, or lonely. But his days seems more full, now. Bright and anticipatory in a way he's never experienced before.

He wants his Dolls to Breathe. He wants them to live.

He can't wait to meet them.

oOoOo

So of course, the first one to Breathe does so while Helix is sound asleep.

He wakes up a little past midnight. Squints at the clock, then reflexively checks the Dolls.

There's only one sitting in the usual spot. Doll Two, slumped over a little without its companion.

Doll One is nowhere to be seen.

Helix is out of bed in a second, flipping the light, squinting and swearing and checking under the bed, inside the bedclothes, what if it fell—

He smells coffee.

It's strong, and strange enough to catch his attention. Did he turn the pot on and forget...?

Scowling, he picks up Doll Two and hurries out to the kitchen. He will keep looking for the other once he's sure he isn't burning his apartment down overnight.

A person stands at the coffee pot, examining a mug. He turns to look at Helix, a bright smile breaking into place the moment they make eye contact. “Hello,” he chirps. “I borrowed your phone to learn how to make coffee. Do you want some? I'm Needle, by the way. And you're Helix.”

Helix is, on some level, aware that he is standing like a complete feeb with his boxers slung low and his mouth hanging open in shock. The person in his kitchen is wearing a towel knotted around his waist and nothing else. He looks like Helix, of course. Superficially. His hair is different. He has no scars. And that smile is several degrees brighter than anything Helix has ever produced.

Doll One is Breathing. He's alive. His name is Needle, and he's making coffee at one in the morning.

Helix swallows his first three responses. "Hey. Yeah. Are you feeling okay? Everything, uh. Go okay with. Everything?"

Doll One—Needle, he's Needle—snorts. "I feel fine. Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?"

Helix rolls his eyes and gets his feet moving, padding the rest of the way in. "I am a doctor, thanks. I'm just surprised. When I saw you last, you were a sack of seeds on my bedside table."

Needle's smile goes lopsided. Fuck if it isn't charming. "Yeah. But I'm here now." He looks down at the remaining Doll in Helix's hand. "I hope he Breathes soon, too."

Helix inhales and refuses to let any sort of mist creep over his eyes. "Yeah. Me too."

The coffee pot bubbles. They're quiet a moment.

"Welcome to being alive, Needle," Helix tells him finally, reaching out to set a hand on his shoulder and squeezing gently. “I'm glad you're here. Really glad."

Needle grins and hugs him tight in return. "Couldn't have done it without you, I bet."

oOoOo

Helix dresses Needle in some of his own clothes—they're the same size, at least—and sits them down with the coffees. And they talk. Needle is... brilliant. Breathtaking. Annoying, and charming, and sweet.

Helix would have avoided him, probably, if they'd met under other circumstances. Unfortunately, he loves him already.

"You were so much more tolerable as a Doll," he growls into his mug after yet another terrible pun.

Needle just laughs, unoffended. "Too late to go back now, boss. You missed your chance."

"I should have gagged your little Doll face as a hint."

"You could always give it a shot with the little one?" Needle smiles at Doll Two, which remains quietly slouched on the tabletop where Helix set it. "Maybe he'll be even worse."

Helix picks up Doll Two and addresses its little blank face solemnly. "Do not listen to a single word your brother says. He's a terrible influence."

“Slander."

"I blame his mismatched head."

“Slander."

There's so much to do, but first: sleep. Helix staggers back to bed, and Needle crashes on the sofa. Doll Two gets placed back on the nightstand.

oOoOo

There are all kinds of programs set up to get new Breathers established. There are classes to get them oriented, case workers to get them housed and employed, funds to support them while they get situated. Helix takes Needle to a local center to get started, and together they read the literature and watch a short video with a couple of other new Breathers.

Afterward, armed with a thick folder and a schedule for the next few weeks, Needle asks if they can go get lunch together. Helix tries not to let his shattering relief show—he hasn't figured out how he'll say goodbye now that his Doll (his first Doll) is moving out and on with his new life.

"So Helix," Needle says once they've gotten their food and tucked in, "there's a couple of flyers in here about getting too attached to your Recipient, or your Recipient being too attached to you. What do you think 'too attached' means?"

Helix blinks. "I'd guess it probably means in the bad way. Like if you were afraid to be away from me, or if I was trying to force you to stay. You know, instead of letting you be your own person." He smiles a little, squashing the sadness. "You're not a Doll anymore. You have your own life now."

“Okay, that's kind of what I thought. But you're not creepy, and I don't feel like I can't do things on my own. I definitely can."

Helix pats his shoulder, proud despite everything. "I believe you. You'll be amazing, provided somebody doesn't sew your mouth shut and kill that budding career at the auction house."

“Rude." Needle steals fries from his plate in retaliation. "I was gonna say, I already know some things for sure. You're a doctor, so you make good money, yeah?"

“True."

“And you could afford a way bigger place if you wanted, right?"

“Yes? But I don't need anything bigger, I'm happy with the space as it is..."

“What if I wanted to stay?"

oOoOo

Which is how Helix ends up browsing for a house before the day is out. A house with three rooms, because as Needle puts it, a spare room is always practical.

(Neither of them mentions Doll Two or implies a single thing. It's just a spare room. Practical.)

The case worker insists on talking to Helix and Needle, once Needle makes the plan known to her. She interviews them separately and together. Helix wonders whether she's more or less mollified when he tells her that Needle is the most annoying person he's ever met—and whether it reassures her that Needle just laughs at him and hugs him, cooing about grumpy sleep deprived Recipients.

In the end, a case worker can't actually stop a Breather from doing what they like, so the plan goes forward. They find a house fast. Buy it without a hitch. The move is quick and aggravating, as moves are.

Needle is full of plans for decorating and enhancing and having friends over, when he makes some. "And," he announces with relish as he breezes out their brand new front door, "I think I want to be a doctor, too. Write me a good reference letter!"

oOoOo

Life goes on. Helix has one Doll in his pocket now. Doll Two goes everywhere with him, still. He talks to it, pats its little head and body gently, keeps it close. It sits with him and Needle when they eat together, watch TV together, look over Needle's schoolwork together. Needle is going to be a brilliant doctor, Helix can already tell.

They fight. They make up. Helix apologizes, sometimes with words and sometimes without. He privately tells Doll Two he's sorry if he makes it nervous about Breathing.

"I suck with people sometimes," he informs it. "Turns out it's easier with a Doll. But you should Breathe whenever you're ready, okay? Take a lesson from your brother and don't let me get away with being a jackass."

oOoOo

So it goes. Life goes on. Then comes the day when Helix is getting dressed to go to the gym, and he turns around to grab Doll Two and it isn't where he left it on the nightstand. Instead there's a person sitting on the edge of his bed, bare and new and staring at him with huge eyes.

Helix does not yelp. That would be undignified.

(He might have jumped a little.)

"Shit. Sorry. Good fucking gods, you need a bell. ... Sorry. Hi."

The new Breather says nothing, just watches him carefully. Helix feels terribly inadequate and thinks of yelling for Needle—but no. No, he carried his second Doll for so long, he wants to properly meet the new person. He can do this.

"Sorry," he says again, smiling a little and easing down to sit on the bed too. "Let's start over. I'm Helix. Are you feeling okay?" He recalls the Doll's weak seams and bleeding seeds, the patches he'd applied on their first night together. "Does anything hurt?"

The new person frowns, visibly considering. He looks down at himself. "Nothing hurts," he decides. His fingers flex slowly. "I was a Doll, before now."

"You were."

"I'm not anymore."

"You're not." Helix has no idea where he came from, this serious and quiet person who's spent most of his existence in proximity to Needle, or at least the Doll that would become Needle. “Why don't we get you some clothes and something to eat, huh? Got your name figured out yet? It's all right if you're still thinking about it, you're new."

The new Breather nods silently and doesn't offer a name. That's all right. Helix figures he might be overwhelmed. He digs out clothes and offers them. "We can take you shopping for your own things, but these should fit for now. —Oh, if you figure out you're a girl or something, just let us know."

That gets him another thoughtful frown. It isn't until the newbie is dressed that he speaks again. “I'm not a girl," he says. "I'm Stitch. And I don't feel okay."

The doctor in Helix leaps to the fore, which is handy because it helps tamp down an immediate burst of panic. "Thank you for telling me, Stitch," he hears himself answer levelly. "Can you tell me more about what doesn't feel okay to you?"

Stitch hugs himself, picking at the edges of his sleeves. He's quiet for a long, long minute.

“Everything is too much," he says finally, his expression unhappy. "It feels too loud. Too big. Like I'm going to unravel and not Breathe anymore."

"Sounds like you're anxious, at the very least. Let me check some things, okay? I'm a doctor."

“Okay, Helix."

It's the work of minutes to rustle up his stethoscope and take Stitch's vitals. His pulse is quick but strong, and his lungs sound fine. His pupils are responsive and even. Reflexes are good.

“You feel overwhelmed? Is that a good word for it?" Helix asks quietly.

Stitch nods, hugging himself again and tugging at his borrowed sleeve cuffs.

"Can you think of anything that might help you feel less overwhelmed? Do you want to be alone for a little while so you can process...?"

Stitch shudders and shakes his head firmly.

“Okay. No to being alone. Maybe music?" Also a no. "We could sit quietly a while. Do you want a hug?"

That gets him a pause. Stitch meets his eyes, looking lost. "I wish I was a Doll again," he says. “That's how it feels. Like I want to be a Doll in someone's pocket."

Helix doesn't think twice about that, he'll figure out later what it means. "Well, here, let's stick you in bed under the covers a while, you can pretend you're in a pocket and we'll see if that helps."

Stitch has no objections, though his frown doesn't abate as Helix tucks him in, pulling a blanket up around his head and shoulders. "Give it a few minutes and see if you feel better, okay?" Helix pats Stitch's leg through the blankets. "I'm going to message your br—Needle. I'm going to ask Needle to bring a glass of water and some cereal for you. You don't have to meet him until you're ready. Sound okay?"

"Okay Helix."

And it goes like this: ur bro is Breathing. DO NOT COME RUNNING IN HERE. he's overwhelmed + in my bed for now. bring water + cereal to door, thx

He sends it. There is a muffled thump from elsewhere in the house. A return message arrives in seconds: OH MY GODS OH MY GODS IS HE CUTE WHAT'S WRONG WITH HIM IS HE OKAY I'LL GET THE CEREAL BOSS NO PROBLEM WHAT'S HIS NAME DOES HE KNOW I'M HERE TOO

And then, immediately after: vitals?

Good fucking gods. Helix loves that idiot.

As promised, Needle knocks very softly a minute later and passes the water and dry cereal in. Helix clocks the anxious look on his face and is glad he asked Stitch about more company in the interim. "He says you can come in, but," and Helix gives him a stern look, "you have to be quiet. Gentle, okay? He's new and not as excited about it as you were."

Needle nods vigorously and mimes zipping his lips shut.

(It's not that Helix doesn't trust Needle to be kind. Needle is incredibly kind. He's just also got enough energy to launch a rocket into orbit.)

"Stitch," Helix says, sitting back down by the blanket lump's legs, "Needle brought you some water and food. Can you sit up and drink a little bit, at least?"

Stitch stirs. Peers out of the blankets. "I have to?"

“I guess not, but I recommend it," Helix tells him easily. "Dehydration doesn't help with anything."

Stitch considers this. "Okay Helix." He shuffles in place, sits up. Takes the water and carefully swallows some of it down. His eyes find Needle, who's sat down at the foot of the bed and is vibrating in place, from the looks of things.

"Hello," Stitch says. "I'm Stitch."

Helix's heart twists a little at the sheer sweetness in Needle's answering grin. "Hi, Stitch. I'm Needle. I'm sort of your big brother—Helix carried my Doll around, too."

"Oh." Stitch looks between them a moment. "You were both waiting for me?" Off their twin affirmatives, he bites the inside of his lip and picks at the blankets. “Was it hard to start Breathing, Needle?"

"No," Needle replies promptly, smiling, "but Helix says I have the attention span of a cabbage, so I probably just didn't pay enough attention to anything long enough. It is a really big thing to get used to, isn't it?"

Stitch nods mutely.

"You want to go back in the blankets?"

Another nod.

“You want company? I can keep secrets, and I'll tell you all of the best ways to get Helix to swear. It's funny."

Helix opens his mouth to interject and snaps it shut again when Stitch says, "Okay."

Which is how he ends up sitting quietly, reading, while Needle and Stitch huddle under the blankets and are quiet and whispery by turns. It's fine. He's very, very proud of Needle. He'll just have to make an effort to undo all of the terrible ideas he's putting in Stitch's head.