#hehe original stuff now

[ttikottbok]

bones?

[annie-of-the-arts]

[begin id: A drawing reference/fullbody of Doctor Rat, specifically the character (?) he plays in Content SMP. Next to him are design notes, and a color palette of his colors. The design notes read: "-dress looks to be made of low quality, party city material. but, it's actually well taken care of, and clearly has been stiched over several times. -tons of pockets. tons. -oh defintely changes his heels up every now and then. i think he could gouge a man's eyes out with stilhettos. -ngl i think he looks like geronimo stilton." As for the design itself, he is a tall half-rat man with a pink rat tail, and grey fur that covers where regular human body hair would go. He has curly purple hair, about shoulder length, and a grey mask with a blotch of lighter grey near the eyes. He's wearing a maid dress; consisting of a black dress with poofy sleeves, an apron, gloves, and wedged ankle mary janes. The apron and gloves are covered in dark but faded stains, and his dress is covered in scratch marks to indicate consistent and constant repair of it. As for the pose, he's standing straight, feet together. His left hand on his hip, the right standing idly by in a calmed fist. He's smirking. End id]

to people who loved my silly rat sketches. thank you very much. im reminding you all yet again that im a big nerd for character design forever and ever. thank you very much

[reblogs >>> likes | don't like without reblogging!! if you like and don't reblog i will curse your bloodline.]

[chiropteracupola]

"Sleepers in the Peat," 2022.

two years ago I wrote a short story. finally got around to posting it.

The water was bitter here.  Beneath thick layers of branching sphagnum moss, it rose from the earth in drips and drenches, pooling in little reed-ringed ponds and lying smooth as glass.  A faint curtain of mist drifted across the bogland, obscuring the far-off tree-line and rendering the world somewhat distant from the clear light of the morning.  

It was beside one of these little wells of peaty water that she crouched, clipboard and pencil in hand, the raincoat drawn over her broad shoulders a green only a shade less saturated than the moss.  Her name, scribed in graphite across the top of her sheet of notes, was Theo-short-for-Theodora, a fact that she had had to explain nearly every time she introduced herself.  She had shaped it better to fit herself, although out in the silence of the marshes, there was very little need for such a thing as a name.

Kneeling now, Theo dipped a gloved hand into the water, pressed the acid-tangy water to her lips.  She breathed in, and breathed in bitterness.  Fibers of moss crept into her nostrils, taking root in her lungs like branching alveoli.  This, then, was the culmination of all her work, all her study, the taste of it at last on her tongue.

The faces of the ancient dead had always fascinated her.  Their empty eyes, skin smoothed by ice or desert to touch the contours of the skull, lips drawn back from ground-down teeth.  It was not the frozen explorers with their eyes still wide and dove-blue that captivated her, nor the ancient kings with their desiccated, dead-lizard hands, nor yet the strange distorted faces of those preserved beneath honey until even their bones took on a sweetness.  Theo, young, had traced the crisply-printed pictures set on slick photo-paper in the centers of her books, memorizing the images of those gone down and buried in the peat.  She became something of an expert in names that her schoolmates did not recognize, Tollund and Lindow, Windeby and Old-Croghan.   They lay still in black-and-white against their backgrounds of sand, so unlike the living people that walked just beyond her windows, and Theo, in her way, preferred that stillness.

Still, she watched the living move all the same.  There was a casual grace to them that fascinated Theo, the way in which hips shifted as the feet fell one in front of the other, how hands settled in close at the waist.  She herself stood with her hands apart, her thumbs tucked into the loops of a belt.  

Just as other children had run in gleeful circles on the blacktop while she stayed inside, book in hand, they kissed and laughed now in dizzy blue-dawn hours.  Theo preferred to sleep instead, lazing curled in bed while the world spun by outdoors.  Dressed in pajama trousers with torn-out knees and rolled-up hems, she drew layer after layer of blanket over herself, sinking deeper into the quiet dark.  In those solitary nights, though, she sought nonetheless, and dreamed of moss beneath her fingers, of the strange faces of the mire-mummified dead.  She would see them sure and true one day, Theo knew, and know the taste of the same tannin that so preserved them.

The North, that was where they were to be found, where ancient peat tracked patchily across Europe and left the dead preserved in its wake.  Her grandmother had called that place homeland, and Theo had scoffed behind her hand.  What connection had she, really, to that place?  Without invitation, she could not walk on that soil with the sort of fierce pride that her grandmother held onto so tightly.

“You’ll see one day, Theodora,” her grandmother said, and nudged back the crooked postcards of green, green hills that had slipped slightly from their places on the refrigerator.  The words sat sourly around Theo’s shoulders, and with time, refused to rot away.  

They clung, sticky and leaden, and Theo would have liked to scream at the feeling of them.  What did her grandmother know, she with her good marriage to her good man, her ticking, soap-sweet house, her fine bed in the back bedroom where she slept as contentedly as a cat?  Her grandmother’s hair was short in the fashion of old women, cut so that it hid how pale and thin it had become.  Theo’s own hair was just as short, cropped by hand in a dim mirror with a sort of ferocity intended to put the viewer in mind of steel-toed boots and hard-wearing canvas.  No use putting them back to back and calling them the same.  And so, Theo shut her mouth, dragged her hand down the side of her face as if to tie shut her jaw.  For all that she railed against those words, the postcards pinned against the refrigerator door were green, green, green.

Try as she might, Theo never slept well in her grandmother’s house.  The air was hot and resolutely mint-sweet, the blankets thin against the heaviness of summer.  Time was just as heavy there, a clock always ticking away beside the cabinets in the kitchen, machinery humming uselessly within the walls.  

Theo crept from the house and settled in the still-warm chair on her grandmother’s far-too-neat lawn.  It had been cut to within an inch of its life just that morning, the first of those two precise twice-a-week rounds of mower and rake and clippers that kept the street-facing yard perfect.  All the same, in the warm night, Theo’s skin stuck, sweaty, to the plastic slats of the chair, and the heat of it felt far too alive for her liking.  She peeled her arms away from it, drew her knees to her chest, sat folded up in herself like an Andean king of old.  Behind her eyes, all was green, the green of hollow hills and deep water.  

So she thought on it, and so she laid her plans.  She did her work with a tired slowness, her motions static and mechanical even as the tasks, somehow, managed to get done.  The grinding stasis of daily life dragged forward, every sample of moss and spreadsheet of data creeping closer to the proper work in the field she sought.  And then, all in a maze of mist, there she was in the North of the world, the treads of her boots sinking into wet sedge as the fog drew itself in close around her.

There were other sorts of bogs than the sort that made a face into such a bitter ambrotype as those that so fascinated her.  Theo had seen the ones where cranberries were grown before, red as all love in the dark water, crisscrossed with boards to serve as footpaths.  This was not such a bog, and made no such deceptions about its helpfulness or its safety.  This was peat all the way down, heavy and wet and certain.  In another thousand thousands of years, pressure would render that peat down to coal, and in another circling of time, perhaps diamond.  All carbon, just as she was, and no light.  Cool, static, stable, deep, the water still as it filtered slow and soft through the moss.  Not so kind, no, but all the same it might hold her gently in the wide green palm of its hand.  

So she knelt down into it, uncaring of the stains it would leave on the knees of her trousers, twined her fingers in among the curls of sphagnum.  Pulling it away in fraying chunks, as perhaps the ancestors her grandmother had spoken of had done, Theo dug, watching water rise, grey and changeable as the sky, to fill the opening she had made in the peat.  Down below, she knew she would find what she had searched for for so long.  And oh — her hand met slick solidity, not peat at all.

The girl in the bog was unchangeable, frozen in amber.  She was no body behind museum-glass, lying in state as if to be awoken by a kiss, but sleeping fast in untouchable earth.  Her face, leathery and smooth, was unwrinkled despite the years.  She could have been born the very same day as Theo, for all that the centuries showed upon her skin.  Her hair, falling wispy about her face, had been reddened by hundreds of years of tannins.  The sun caught upon it and turned it to the gold of autumn-dried acorns, sharp as straw.  There would be grit in her mouth, dust from the rough millstone that had ground down grain, hardly noticeable behind the rich green smell of the bog.

Gloved hands scraped away wet threads of moss, smoothing over skin with as light a touch as Theo could manage.  Under her fingers, the girl shifted, drawing up her shoulders as she yawned.  Her eyes stayed closed, but all the same, Theo felt that she was seen.  

The girl raised herself up languidly on one elbow, water sloughing off in trickles and streams from every seam and crevice of her body.  Her ribs stood out in perfect parallel, still wrapped tightly by the skin of her sides.

“Hello,” said Theo, not knowing what else to say.  The girl in the bog smiled at her with crooked, blackened teeth, and reached out to her.  Her hands were small, round, doll-like, but still soft as burnished leather, the fingernails as neatly trimmed as if she had cut them the day before the peat closed over her.  

She stroked the buzzed-short ends of the hair at the back of Theo’s neck as she leant closer, drifts of wet soil sloughing from her skin, and frowned.

“Why did they cut your hair?”

“I cut it myself.  I liked it better that way — it felt right to do it before I came here.”  Then, pausing, seeing the wind flick at her rust-red, blunt-hacked locks, “Did you—“

“They cut it before they sent me here.  But it fits, doesn’t it?  It was you that made yourself ready for me.”

“I suppose it was,” said Theo, and meant it.  There was a rightness to it, a reason that she had not put words to before.

“Come down with me,” she said, and Theo could not help but follow.  Half-laughing, she thought of the promises of the red-haired rusalki she’d read of in her books of tales.  To walk down into the sweet water and meet a maiden there, and hear her speak words just as sweet of eternal youth in her kingdom down beneath the riverbed, was an old story, and one that she might find herself believing now.  But the water of a peat bog is bitter, as are all things that keep memories safe, and it wasn’t youth, but eternity only, that the girl in the bog had promised her.

To be preserved, young arms entwined with ones that centuries ago were young, was all that she’d receive.  But what more had she desired to begin with?  The choice had been made long before she had ever set foot there.  Theo extended a hand, stripped off its pale blue latex glove like a snake shedding its skin.  Placing it atop her clipboard, she set aside the plastic barrier as if laying out an altar’s worth of grave-goods.  She shucked the green raincoat and heavy backpack from her shoulders — she’d have another coat of that same verdant color where she was going, once the moss had closed over the both of them.  Then, lowering herself feet-first into the open space amid the moss, Theo leaned down and met the girl’s mouth with her own.

The kiss was thick with pollen, and Theo inhaled it without any of the fear she had previously associated with such things.  There was a sweetness to it, a choking flavor of juniper and sap as it poured like sand into her throat.  Theo wondered, a little, that she could breathe through it, but it was no longer a time for wondering.  Instead, her eyes slid softly shut, and the cool, deep darkness was all that remained.  It was not the iron-red dark of closed eyes in sunlight, but a bitter and at the same time refreshing green-dark, a soft sort of shadow that spoke of nothing at all but the faintest edges of dreams.

Drawing the peat back over them, the girl curled herself fast around Theo’s back, cradling her in earth as if in the palm of a hand.  Twining together beneath the moss, the water crept up over them both one more.  As Theo sank, her eyelids slipped closed, and her head drifted downwards all the while.  It twisted sideways on Theo’s neck, slipping bonelessly forwards, and down with it she went into dreamless sleep, bog water growing ever sweeter in her mouth.

[dontvap0rdawave]

You though I literally redesigned a random ass character just to be completely normal about it!?!?!?

WRONG!!! Kammera time!!! (haha get it, because her name is Kam and she's a chimera- ok)

[mackmp3]

song that i wrote

[twnj]

Full spicy picture on ao3 here 🌶

'His lips were suddenly against her own. He pulled her into his lap, and in a series of moves fluidly as in their day jobs, Temari found herself sinking down onto him a second time. Her head lulled back as she felt him grin against her breast. A wide, cheerful smile stretched her lips.

“Ruin me,” he finished for her, voice low, breaths heavy. Whether it was a command or a plea, Temari didn’t know. She didn’t care. She grinned towards the ceiling all the same.'

Grandmaster on ao3 by @notquitejiraiya

[flowryluv]

[findafight]

Miraculous au

"before I start it's important you know this wasn't my fault."

Well. His Kitty sure has a way of setting him at ease. "You know that's probably the quickest way to get me thinking it's definitely your fault?"

Grimalkin sighs and plops, not ungracefully, beside him. "It really isn't. There are few, if any, things I could have done differently to prevent this, Red."

Red Scarab raises his eyebrow. "Oh? And what is "this", kitty cat? Leaving me in suspense isn't gonna help you if it actually is your fault"

He rubs his face in his hands, pinches his nose too. It's a habit Red Scarab has watched him do a dozen or two times by now. He's frustrated and probably embarrassed. Damn. "My best friend knows who I am."

"what? How!? You know our id-"

"she figured me out!" Grimalkin doesn't even make a pun of it, his nose scrunched and cheeks red. "She just. I rescued her, and instead of calling me 'grimalkin' or 'grim' or even 'malkin', she says "bye, my actual real first name"! I almost brained myself tripping when I heard her."

Eddie tries to steady his breaths. Okay. Alright. He wanted to be the first to find out Grim's identity, wanted to maybe be the only one who knew, but fine. He could share. They could work with this.

"how'd she know? She see you transform or something?"

Grim chuckles. Which, rude. This is pretty fuckin serious, little kitty cat. "She said when she saw Grim on tv he seemed familiar, then he kept being familiar. How he moved, talked, smiled. Something niggling at the back of her mind when she saw the heroes of Indy. Then, when I rescued her, it clicked. Suddenly whatever magic the miraculous puts around us to conceal our identities faded, and all she saw was me, her best friend, in silly cat ears and a mask. Saving the city."

"I find the ears charming." Red Scarab finds them absurdly cute, actually. But flirting with his kitty is for later.

"thanks. And that's it. She just. Knew. Saw right through me"

"you trust her?"

Grimalkin nods. "More than anything. I doubt anyone other than her could figure me out, anyways."

"yeah?" A bitter swoop of jealousy tangles itself in Red's stomach. Grim's voice is filled with unabashed fondness when he speaks about this nameless girl. He trusts her more than anything. More than red?

"well," he starts, as though reading Red's mind "maybe the same as you. In regards to my own health and life. I dunno. It's different with you. You're my partner." And ain't that just the sweetest thing? Grimalkin might be in love with some other mystery boy, might be so close with his best friend she saw through ancient magic to his core, but whatever is between them is special. Is different.

Flying above Hawkins, their borough of Indianapolis, bonds them differently than the others. Sure, Grim has friends and a potential boyfriend (as much as that pains him to think of) in his civilian life, and even a best friend who knows about his secret, but they'll never be his partner. Never have the same connection to him as Red does, saving the city from a superviallian. Red Scarab will hold onto that and keep it close to his heart for a while.

Grim nudges their shoulders together. "I really am sorry, though. You deserve to know who I am too. R--my best friend would probably get along with you like a house on fire, I'm a little worried about you meeting" and there he goes, saying such nice things. Acting like them knowing each other's identities and being ingrained in each other's civilian lives is an inevitability. Eddie hopes it is. The people his kitty loves seem, from the sparse details he's shared, quite bizarre and friendly and lovely. They must be, if Grimalkin loves them so.

"yeah? Think I'd recognize you out of the mask?" He says, instead of I hope so, I'd love to, I want to see all of the people you love and love them too.

He laughs. "Probably not. Hopefully not. Don't think I could handle knowing more than one person can see through me so well."

"would you recognize me?"

"no." He says it immediately, and it hurts, just a little. Like being dismissed. (Grimalkin doesn't mean to hurt him, he knows. Thinks the flirting is just for fun, a game, and not Eddie desperately trying to win the heart of a man whose goodness and snark and exasperation and humour stop him short and steal his breath away.) "I don't think so. The Miraculi magic is supposed to protect our identities, and once someone knows, they can see the overlap. Only someone who really, truely knows you and is looking would be able to break it. It happened to me because we have legitimately thought about the pros of combining into a blob person. I don't think many people are actually like that. They certainly don't seem to get me and --and my best friend." He shrugs again. "I dunno. That's what it seems like, anyway."

Grim grins at him. "Wouldn't be very magic if I just saw you walk into work one day and blurt out 'Red Scarab? Is that you!? I'm the guy in a catsuit you beat up supervillains with!' Would it?" If that happened Eddie would probably name it the single greatest thing to ever happen to him, actually. Second only to finding Tikki in his backpack after Hellfire a few short months ago. But his kitty is a romantic, and if he wants a dramatic, heartfelt reveal, then Eddie won't push it. They've got time.

[tidesfate]

I lied actual last post before I force myself to sleep

Plots where someone tempts Mora to take its place as a piece of creation, by it using force or otherwise. Being an aid in another's idea of what creation / reality / the world should be while feeding into that 'it is my right' sort of mindset that might occur when mora discovers what it truly was / is, or entirely independently crafting such.

[shrews-art]

You made a home in here 🌸

[ashdash2417]

I’m sorry for the lack of original posts… it will continue to happen. 😔

[chiropteracupola]

The flower!!

lavender's a good plant for bees!

[makostrife]

5 hours later and i'm pretty much done with reno's carrd, i only need to add personality traits, likes & dislikes, etc. i'm taking a break now tho and gonna play more rebirth, i think i'll throw a promo out tomorrow!

[mystery-star]

[bbbartblog]

I just wanted to doodle my poly OCs~

[stonyponyofficial]

hi violer ^w^

HIIIIIO !! 0w0 please, while ur here have some pictures of the various things in my surroundings including the: sky, field w/ deer (omg i know all of them!), dragonfly on my screeng, and le sign at the local recycling center. no please i insist let me show u my wirld

yea.h.... ;w; i love u @.world ..... thank u for letting me show u my wiorld (like the world but. io is there😳)