#now i have drawn all of them. yippee

[exephrine]

aves your mujicas

[l0ganberry]

I never shown this to anyone else except for those close to me but here's a thing I did for my first time drawing all the neighbors in WH (Welcome Home) in my comfort art style. This is one of my favorites that helped me be more comfortable with WH itself. (And to practice on how to draw them in general.)

[the-jordas-trials]

teehee. More earthmovers. Reference time aswell YIPPEE!!! This is by all means not all of my stupid war horses, theres like so many more still in the back of my brain who i gotta design, that atop doing designs for each ones final moments/ Whalefall just vibing on the surface.

more info about each under the cut (poke me about any of these guys i WILL ramble more bout them)

Benjamin: here just for a height reference. Standard Civilian class earthmover. Just a littol man (bonus points if you manage to find V1 hidden on his ref. Carefull. V1 is like five pixels tall but it IS there)

Pyroclastic: Supreme Escalation Class. Ruthless and violent, known to stop at nothing untill his targets have been eliminated. Pyro's name sake was drawn due to his size causing extensive overheat, as a result, vents were built and installed post creation, allowing him to turn the tide of most fights by dumping superheated steam/blood and vapour directly onto the field, often melting or overheating rivals. Pyro is considered a 'failed' EM, having he failed the second 'hurdle' of an earthmover's coming of age. Winning a fight against the last made, Whalefall. Disgraced, he was often chased away from his kills and only gained respect after wiping out several Supreme class herds, earning the nickname Burning Devil. Starshine: early Greater Escalation class. SS is old for an earthmover, but by far not the eldest, old enough before the design was fully nailed down. She supports a prototype canon, opposed to the usual javelin, she was designed to get up close and personal before overloading a rivals shield with a canon shot, allowing a fellow herd member to later take them down. SS pingponged between herds, and was later wounded and found by Whalefall. She's rather squeamish, shockingly kind and was known to go without refueling and resting form months on end. Both she and Whalefall survived the long night and new peace, untill the machine uprising, where Pyroclastic cut her down. Whalefall: Supreme Scavenger/Civilian class later repurposed for escalation. Whalefall is an oddity, having being a dual class earthmover, and was later upgraded before the long night set in. She's deceptively fast, known to sprint down her rivals and body slam them. She's also one of the few earthmovers known to weaponize an old targeting glitch, rearing up onto her hind legs and using the sun as cover, forcing her foe's to loose agro and lo longer class her as a 'threat' due to the sudden lack of javelin. Whalefall is also one of the few earthmovers post Hell Invasion that're still alive and is somewhat able to move, she now rests overgrown awaiting for her last maintenance machine to return from its hell dive.

Cyclone: Lesser plateau class. Cyclone is apart of the last round of earthmover's before the refineries and factories were razed to the ground. Apart of the 'colt/filly' round, small due to the lack of resources to make a herd of full sized earthmovers. Typical for his herd, Cyclone sports massive electric generators along his flanks, allowing him to electrify rivals. His herd splintered early on, joining up with existing herds, he found himself in the care of Whalefall fairly early on. Perished during the long night after tripping and unable to follow Whalefall and Starshine. Divergent: Standard civilian class. She's nothing to write home about. Born, killed, earned respect, then left alone. She's bog standard. Often living a peaceful life protected by her two sisters. Converse often with other herds, including Whalefalls, her large antenna array allowing her to do so. She's a known peace keeper, and was able to talk sever herds out of fighting multiple times. Convergent: Greater escalation class. By far one of the most hyperactive earthmovers. Known sprinter, known escalator. She was violent and hot headed, often shot first, hailed for peace second. Horridly protective over her sisters. She was wounded early on in her life, having taken an unlucky hit to her neck and surviving by the skin of her teeth. As a result she cant look down nor does she have full range of movement within her neck. Transform: Supreme civilian class. Form had by far the largest population atop her back, and as a result could hardly move faster than a shamble. Before the long night set in, she had been gravely wounded on her hind right leg, resulting in an extensive limp. Despite that Form is one of the few Civilian class movers that're willing to fight, and fight often. References still to draw are: Tsunami, Geyser, Eruption, Habitat, Freeze, Solarflair, Pompey, Hurricane, Typhoon and Tropical. yeah... theres alot of these fuckers lmao.

[critterbitter]

I finally got all my brain ducks into enough of a row to send this! I just wanted to say that Tumblr recommended your art to me on a whim, and I am actually OBSESSED now lol. I had no prior investment in Submas or anything tangentially related to it prior to this (aside from liking Pokémon generally lol), but I couldn’t help but tear through everything you’ve drawn for these silly little rat children and I love them so much now!!! I wanna pick them up and shake him around like little action figures! The shenanigans and the heartfelt moments are just,, UGH so good! I have no words! Thank you for the food I am going FERAL over them <3

Your art is also high key goals for me now tbh. I absolutely ADORE your coloring and rendering style, and also they way you draw Pokémon in general?? Very animalistic but still recognizably Pokémon?? Literally galaxy brained. I’m going to SCREAM. I know you already posted a bit of your art process, but I’d love to know if you’ve got any rendering tips and/or how you get that clean but sketchy look. It looks so good I want to eat it lol.

(Also I really love the way you’ve been formatting Elesa’s dialog, with the extra lines around the letters. It really gives the vibe that her grasp on Galarian is currently shaky at best and idk, I like that you’ve managed to find a way to convey that over text. I think that’s pretty cool :D)

I SAW YOU REBLOG A WHOLE BUNCH AND IM,,, (throwing hearts at you)

Thank you so so much! I’m glad you love these terrible little guys wandering Unova just as much as I do, haha!

As a treat, lemme pull out some drafting for the mini illustrations. I usually start every snapshot with a run down of what I remember from the area, possible shenanigans encountered, and then a doodle of ideas to come.

From there, it’s a SUPER rough sketch, followed by lineart and rough color, and then cleanup!

(More thumbs and their finals below!)

At the end of the day, all my lines are VERY sketchy. I’m a lot stronger when it comes to mashing colors. That, and if you set your line layer from normal to multiply, the lines will always be automatically darker then whatever layer is placed underneath. It’s a trick used quite a bit for placing cel shadows in animation, but it’s useful for lineart in a pinch.

For colors, I like to stick to a limited pallet and branch out only after setting my primary colors. This entire series has been very experimental for me though, as you can probably tell.

As for the last bit— YES… YOU GET IT! As Elesa grows, the lines in her dialogue will start appearing less and less. It’s the little things that map the span of time for these guys.

Yippee!

[kentopedia]

RYLIE OMG you’re nanamis classmate and you guys are just like friends or whatever and then he leaves right??? but you stay because jujutsu is all you have. but you guys stay “friends” but hardly ever see each other. then he becomes a sorcerer again yippee!! and you guys are seeing each other a lot more.

he has feelings for you but things you have a thing for gojo so he doesn’t go for it. tension ensues.

anyways!!! i hope your thursday was great rylie!! xxxx

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ AND I AM DONE, DEAR — nanami kento

contents. angst (we’re going back to my roots!), maybe unrequited love, fem!reader, 800ish words

notes. this is so painful bc he wouldn't go for it either :( and then satoru pursues you because you've gotten close over the past couple of years, and kento's been gone </3 there are years worth of memories and jokes between the two of you, and kento spent those years miserable & alone. sometimes, he wonders what would've happened if he'd just had the strength to remain a sorcerer, instead of running from everything he hated

"kento," you snap him out of his stream of endless memories, the ones that always seem to gnaw at him when he was around you.

he glances up, and a culmination of flashbacks spin before his eyes.

he sees you at fourteen, a first year student who was still so scared of her technique.

he sees you at sixteen, smiling from ear to ear at another one of gojo and geto's ridiculous antics.

he sees you at seventeen, sobbing over the corpse that had once belonged to the kindest student in your year.

he sees you at eighteen, your empty, hollow expression when he told you he was leaving, and he wasn't coming back.

"yes?" kento asks, forcing the memories away, because you're there in front of him, more beautiful than he remembers... and though you aren't a stranger in his life anymore, his mind still doesn't do justice to the depth of your angelic features.

"is everything okay?" you ask, blinking up at him with concern. your voice turns into something gentle when you're around him, almost like he's something fragile. the kindness in your heart is endless, extending, even, to the man that once broke it.

kento clears his throat, wondering how much emotion he'd let filter onto his expression. he'd gotten worse at hiding it ever since you'd stumbled back into his life, the woman he hadn't realized he'd loved until it was too late.

"yes," he repeats, flat, calm. though he can't muster a smile, he raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. "why do you ask?"

for a moment, you chew your lip, thoughtful. kento wants to kiss you. he wonders what you'd say if you knew.

"you've just been..." you shake your head, rubbing your arm awkwardly. "ever since..." the sentences are broken, uncomfortable, and though you'd once been best friends, there is a sense of professionalism between you now. a wall that he doesn't think he can break down anymore.

kento parts his lips, considers interrupting, but someone beats him to it. gojo satoru, the constant pain in kento's ass, saunters into the room with a sparkly white grin, gleefulness bounding off of him in a way that's obnoxious.

"there you are! megumi told me i might find you here," satoru says, and he's to you in just three long strides, attaching to you like a magnet. "ready, baby?"

gojo kisses the top of your head, throws an arm over your shoulder and smiles at kento, like he knows what's running through his mind.

you're still studying kento, and he pretends not to notice you scrutinizing him, the way your lips are flushed from chewing on them. "yeah," you say to satoru, squeezing his hand, the sparkly bracelet with gojo's initials dangling from two charms shimmering.

a subtle reminder that kento may have loved you longer, but you'll never really be his.

you start to walk out the door, and kento watches with what he hopes appears as impassivity, his lips drawn into a thin line. though, just as satoru is beginning to pull you across the threshold, you meet kento's dark brown eyes, the ones that turn so tender the moment they land on you.

"kento?" you ask once more

his name sounds so sweet on your lips, but he wishes he didn't want to know what it sounded like on the edge of a moan.

"ijichi is waiting." kento doesn't let you ask whatever you were thinking of asking, because being pinned by your beautiful, caring eyes is almost too much for him to bear.

you blink, surprised by his harshness as you curl into satoru, almost imperceptibly. "right. have a good evening, then. see you tomorrow."

kento nods, pushing his glasses back onto his face. his heart cracks a bit at the emotion tinged in your words, and though his severity has never hurt you before, he's beginning to wonder if it's hurting you now.

"bye, nanamin!" satoru waves cheerfully, and the two of you are gone, leaving nanami in the room alone, the silence almost deafeaning.

he's used to it by now: the solitude of his life. he's used to being strong when he's needed, and even when he's not. everyone sees him that way: the man who's steadfast, unwavering, a little too serious for his own good.

if only they knew he was a weak man when it came to you.

[gyernon]

SYMPHONIC INSANITY || INANIMATE INSANITY AU

(actual deets below the read more)

hi guys I have no idea how to format this shit, I'm not new to tumblr but I've never actually thrown out my ideas for AUs into the wild. i'm a violinist and i'm using my experience being in some form of orchestra for half my life to write this yippee. alot of this au also draws from my experience being in my current community orchestra :]

inanimate insanity, except they're all in an symphony orchestra!

i literally came up with this yesterday, so things will probably change as time goes on. check back on this post for edits. however, i'm mostly confident with the assignments i've given everyone. deets below the cutoff.

SOME THINGS TO NOTE:

I like ships. I will tag them accordingly but just be aware that Toipad and Knifecase will probably be talked about when I post about this au

Everyone is fully humanized (including Meeple devices and bot)! There are no fantastical elements to this au.

I am confident on the assignment of instruments, minus the brass section lol. I saw a lot of people that played brass instruments respond to my post so if you guys have better suggestions, feel free to give your input on that. However, I am unlikely to change the string instrument assignments. I'm not even religious, but god came down and told me that Lightbulb is a violist.

With that, anything is bound to change because this au is still pretty new.

The events of Symphonic Insanity are not a one-to-one match with the events of II! However, there are parts of the au that do line up with events or character roles/arcs in the show.

I'm not sure yet what I'll do with this au, I'll probably draw art here and there and maybe put some writing on AO3.

ALSO I AM NOT A BAND KID. If I get anything wrong, please let me know!!

Also if you have questions, feel free to ask me! I love yapping about this au. Plus, it'd help me continue to flesh things out.

All posts about this au will be under the hashtag #Symphonic Insanity

MePhone is a conductor familiar with the music scene. He becomes the director of a small orchestra, finding local musicians willing to join. This initial group consists of the season 1 contestants.

They have a concert which draws more attention to the orchestra, and the new group of people that join are the season 2 contestants. Along with that, MePad and Toilet join in as conductors.

After another performance, more people are drawn to the orchestra and this last group of newcomers are the season 3 contestants.

In the beginning, MePhone's orchestra is tiny and he's kinda just handling everything by himself. After their first concert and the addition of Toilet and MePad (along with some others), Mephone now has a team to help him run everything. The orchestra gains attention and popularity overtime, which gets the attention of Steve Cobs.

Steve Cobs is Mephone's estranged father, for good reason (I also imagine Mephone is adopted in this au?). Cobs originally was a solo violinist when he was younger. In the present, he is an influential figure in the music world. Maybe a professor at some school or the head of a music association? A distinguished composer? Who knows, but he's definitely highly regarded.

The growing popularity of Mephone's orchestra would put him on Cobs' radar, chaos ensues... but that's for later.

The story I want to go for with Symphonic Insanity is that of growth. I think quite a few characters would have arcs as musicians that would match/relate to their arcs in the show. I realize writing this that the nice thing about this au is that nobody is competing against each other. At least, they shouldn't be. Instead, they are all working towards the same goal--to put on a good show and improve as musicians.

Everything I laid out above is the general idea of the au. Everything will probably get fleshed out with art or writing as time goes on. With that being said, here are the assigned instruments/roles for everybody:

NON-MUSICIANS

Conductors:

Mephone

Mepad

Toilet

Staff:

Cabby (Logistics)

The Floor (Finances)

Bow (Social Media Management)

Dough (Sound Tech, handles getting recordings and helps out with misc tasks. Also Dough does play the piano, but he just doesn't perform with the orchestra.)

MUSICIANS

Strings

Violin:

Silver Spoon

OJ

Test Tube

Pepper

Salt

Viola:

Clover

Paper

Lightbulb

Bot

Cello:

Soap

Paintbrush

Baseball (can also play Bass)

Bass:

Pickle

Woodwinds

Piccolo:

Balloon

Flute:

Suitcase

Marshmellow

Apple

Clarinet:

Taco

Tea Kettle

Oboe:

Goo

Bassoon:

Nickel

Brass

Trumpet:

Trophy

Knife (for some reason, I am tempted to give Knife Bass Clarinet)

Tuba:

Tissues

Bomb

Trombone:

Cheesy

French Horn:

Blueberry

Percussion

I usually see percussionists being able to play multiple instruments so the ones outside of Piano and Harp aren't strict assignments.

Piano:

Fan

Microphone

Harp:

Candle

Marimba:

Cherries

Timpani:

Lifering

Misc/Plays multiple instruments:

Yin Yang

Aaaand that's everything you need to know about Symphonic Insanity! At least for now. Like I said, art and writing will come in the future if I don't lose steam lol. I do have some posts planned already but I think this is a good start. I hope y'all like it :D

[thegreatpapaya666]

I'M COMING OUT (a third time) I WANT THE WORLD TO KNOW I GOT TO SOMETHING SOMETHING SOMETHING (i forgot the words to the song lmao i heard it in trolls that one time)

hewwo bestie boos

so first i was like "hey y'all i'm pansexual yippee" and that was super fun

but then i got a bf and i was like "fuck this shit" and after a whole bunch of mental breakdances and introspection shit i was like "i'm pansexual and aromantic" so slay

and it was nice because when you're in the Gay Neurodivergent Theater Kid Friend Group™ when you tell your besties how gay you are all they do is laugh and make you a pride pin and doodle you doing shit corresponding to your sexuality (for instance when my bestie came out as ace we drew him throwing garlic bread at some badly drawn dicks it was a whole thing lol) and nobody really gives a shit besides for using the correct pronouns and lovingly making fun of your sexuality

but then i had even more mental breakdances and introspection shit and i was like "wtf??? i thought i maxxed out my gayness" (gay is an umbrella term here) and then i realized i'm ace. but then i was sorta kinda cornfuzzled (that means confused in papaya lingo) bc like how can i be aroace and pan? huh? and then i kept on thinking:

i experience some romantic attraction.

i experience some sexual attraction.

and when i do experience that (however rare it is), it can be for anybody regardless of gender.

so my bestie told me about oriented aroace where you're completely aro and completely ace and you feel the other kinds of attraction that aren't romantic or sexual toward a certain gender and feel like that fits your identity (feel free to correct me on any of this i suck at explaining things and i may have interpreted this badly)

and then there's also angled aroace which is basically the same thing except for aro-spec and ace-spec rather than 100% no romantic & sexual attraction

but my bestie also said that the dude who coined the term "oriented aroace" was sorta kinda gatekeeping and they didn't want grey aroaces invading their term and they weren't "real" aroaces or something whatever and it was super dumb and icky and I don't fully understand it

in conclusion: i think i like pan angled aroace! so I'm using that term now!

however, a lot of people really don't know what that term means. so i don't really know what to tell them cause i suck even more at explaining things irl than online. and i also don't know how to come out to my parents. but i also hate my mom so maybe she doesn't deserve to know. welp that's a conversation for another day.

so thanks for listening and bye bestiesssss <333

edit: i edited the title bc i forgot how to spell for a lil bit :c

[iscopeee]

wrote a thing for the first time in years because wreck it ralph randomly implanted itself in my brain big time and i had to get it out or ill explode so i feverishly wrote this in one night YIPPEE

1997.

That was the year printed on the garishly coloured calendar hung proudly on the arcade’s wall. Litwak had hung it there mere hours ago before shutting down the arcade early to run off and go enjoy the New Year’s festivities, leaving the inhabitants plenty of time for celebrations of their own. Turbo could hear their cheerful voices now, echoing through the arcade - they were probably all gathered at Tapper’s or wherever, not that it mattered. Turbo had no interest in joining even if he were able - celebrating the passage of time felt pointless to him with how long he had spent in this purgatory of his own making.

It had been 10 years since his perfect life had been ruined. A whole decade since everything he had worked for had been ripped away. Now he was little more than a ghost with no game to call home, hiding in the shadows to avoid detection. He knew no one would forgive him for what he had done, and some of them would probably try to kill him if they found him. It was easier to lie low.

Turbo gripped the cloak and pulled it tighter around his shoulders. His cloak - black and white checkered, fashioned from the finishing flag from his home game. It wasn’t much for a disguise, but it at least bought him a few seconds to slip away without being recognised whenever he was spotted. He couldn’t help but smirk whenever he overheard talk of the “checkered spectre” when hiding behind the vending machines in game central station. It felt good to have his name on people’s minds, even under a false identity - though not as good as it felt to hear them whisper his true name under hushed tones. 

Turbo ran the flag’s fabric between his thumb and forefinger. Aside from himself, it was the only physical reminder he had of his glory days in TurboTime. The rest was destroyed, gone forever - not that he missed it. He didn’t miss his scowling opponents - those obnoxious twins, the only thing standing between him and his trophy. He didn’t miss the mind-numbing monotony of the circular track, the gravelly ear-splitting growl of his kart’s engine, not a thing - all he missed was the glory of winning, the warm glow of admiration, the beauty of the spotlight. Nothing else mattered. 

So then why did he feel such a pang in his chest as he stared down at the monochrome fabric?

Turbo scoffed and shook his head, looking back up at the calendar. He was perched on one of the girders in the Donkey Kong cabinet, his legs dangling off the side into the void below. This was one of the only vantage points he could use to see outside without being spotted by the others. Donkey Kong only had three inhabitants - Mario, Pauline, and of course the ape himself - meaning Turbo was often lucky enough to find the place completely deserted at closing time as the trio left to go do whatever the hell it is they do with their time.

On the calendar, the 7th of January was circled in red marker, with the words “new games!” barely visible written inside. Turbo squinted and leaned forward a little, looking for more information. A small poster hung next to the calendar, advertising the new games Litwak had ordered. Turbo’s eyes were instantly drawn to one particular listing. Sugar Rush. A racing game. Turbo’s lifecode. The gears in his mind instantly began to turn. 

Of course, multiple times in the past 10 years he had already considered jumping into someone else’s game long-term. It would certainly be preferable to creeping around in the background alone, with no one around to admire his talent. But that was the thing - his talent was racing. If he tried to blend in to any other type of game, he’d stick out like a sore thumb - and the other characters in the game would know he didn’t belong there. After TurboTime and Roadblasters were pulled, Mr. Litwak was oddly hesitant to order in any new racing games - the arcade had been completely devoid of them for 10 years now. He had always been a superstitious guy; maybe two racing games breaking at once drove him away from them. Until now.

A grin uncontrollably crawled across Turbo’s face, his hands balling into fists as he clenched his cloak. Yes. Yes, this had to work. It must work. Sugar Rush was a brand new game - it would be switched on for the very first time when it arrived at Litwak’s. The game’s denizens would be completely clueless, and would believe anything he told them - after all, they were quite literally born yesterday. It would be so easy to just make himself at home - make himself the star. It wouldn’t be hard to do at all. He had a trick for that.

In his time hiding in the background, Turbo had taught himself to manipulate a game’s code. It was shockingly simple. Each and every game had a control room hidden away somewhere, which could be used to edit the very code that makes up the game’s reality. All Turbo had to do was find the control room as soon as possible after the game was plugged in, and it would be all too easy to slot himself in as though he had been there all along. He could change his appearance, his name, his voice, everything to make him fit right in. But he wouldn’t be just any racer - of course not. That wouldn’t be good enough. He had to make himself the most important character in the game. A king.

Turbo was uncontrollably shaking at this point, bent over, manic chuckles escaping him and echoing through the empty game. One week. One more blasted week.

All he had to do was wait.

[candycorncremator]

Unfortunately lower visual quality than I wanted be because Tumblr only allows 10 images so I smushed them into three canvases instead of two post. Anyway beta trolls Headcanon and some thoughts below the cut.

Aradia

Aradia is the design I probably have the most experience drawing of the beta trolls purely because of how many zines I’ve drawn her in the last year. I like thinking of her hair similar to Pinkie Pies’ in g4 of mlp, where it’s very curly bouncy in her alive and godtiered forms but straightens out more when she’s ghosting up the place and in Aradia-bot form. I didn’t realize until a recent zine I had been drawing her horns ways too low for comic accuracy but I am a creature of habit so I keep drawing them like that.

Tavros

I’ve grown to love this kid because of my recent reread but I do not like drawing them. Between the Mohawk and the long, straight horns, I don’t care to draw their most important traits so he unfortunately only gets drawn in these group drawings. As for the one ear being pierced, it’s kinda a reference to cow tags but also I think it just fits them.

Sollux

Sollux a pretty easy character to design. I just have to imagine a greasy nerd kid growing up too fast for him to put on weight, add his troll bits and voila. The snake bites are definitely a hold over from the humanstuck I made for him last year but I think it just kinda add to his whole vibe. The undershirt comes from someone who also sits in a hot-ass room most of my days and will wears a second layer so leaving the room won’t feel like stepping out into a frozen wasteland.

Karkat

Karkat for me has always been short and stout guy. Other than that most of his facial features are taken from me, being someone who also over exaggerates their faces and nearly always is squinting a little.

Nepeta

Between all my designs of Nepeta the only thing that ever changes with any consistency is her hair. Like giving her cleft lip scar because I gave it to my fan-descendent of her and it’s cute.

Kanaya

Like two months ago I saw a post on here saying give that girl a nose (in reference to Kanaya) and it was the single most true HC I have ever seen. I also like completely throw out any references I have of her when I draw her hair because I think she should have 1930’s waves and curls. I typically only have to draw the super simple eyes so the only thing I had to change was giving her actual eyes.

Terezi

Got pretty comic accurate but probably would erase some of the chin to imply she’s fat a little better if I wasn’t doing this more rigid style.

Vriska

Also pretty comic accurate with the exception of the snake bites which is probably because I don’t draw her a lot and I don’t think about her much enough looks wise to have any specific head canons.

Equius

Goodness his hair gave me a struggle, kept on looking like a balding metal head until I added the pushed back stuff. Also returned back to drawing pseudo animal ears by giving him horse ears only angle to better fit a humanoid head.

Gamzee

I hate their make-up but every thing else about drawing them is a dream; goat ears, not straight hair, simple horns, silly little guy. What more could I ask for.

Eridan

And I’m almost done but unfortunately this doofus is next and requires the most detailed bust even in canon. Due to drawing them in this year’s 413 countdown I know how I like styling their hair and fins so I basically just chop the hair up since this is suppose to be during comic hcs and then follow their canon and Pesterquest designs with a few added features and boom. I was drawing everyone with the dark grey lips but I forgot for Eridan so I’ll just say they use concealer on their lips.

Feferi

Yippee! Back to ignoring canon and just giving her the biggest eyes on account of her glasses and cute piercings. I originally based her fins off of lion fish fins but they’re definitely more based off of betta ventral fin now.

[mochaintherain]

Pleonexia

Summary: Cemented as a false God, the title of "The Creator" warranted a certain Fatui Harbinger to impose his greed upon you.

Word Count: 1.3k

CW: SAGAU, implied violence, implied cultish themes, the fatui comes as it's own warning, slight jealousy?

A/N: formatted on mobile </3 A little drabble I had lying around (*´▽｀*) I really like SAGAU but only a specific flavor of it RAUGHH I also have so,,, many ideas for other fics. Yippee for summer!!! (delusional)

Zapolyarny Palace was destitute of warmth.

The room the Tsaritsa had generously provided on account of your descending far outgrew your meager body; the walls stretched too far, any insulation it may have mustered in the heart of a blizzard out your reach, and the chandeliers hung from the ceiling too high to provide any ample light, encompassing you in darkness. The only reprieve within your residence laid a stately hearth. The fire roared, breaking the monotonous cold hues of the bedroom. Its heat blanketed your face in a sweet caress. Soft whispers of crackled wood lulled you to slumber.

Temptation gnawed at your being. You wanted to rest.

But something you quickly learned about the palace was its capacity for people.

For Fatui.

And they wanted anything but your comfort.

The Regrator hummed, cold fingers trailing the bare of your neck, reveling in your shudders as he clicked the gold necklace onto your figure. Illustrious gemstones and the smoothest links of gold culminated to create art - now adorned by you. It could have been beautiful, had it not been tainted by avarice. Had it not been tainted by his prayer.

"Your Grace, do you like it?"

That moniker stirred ill within the depths of your stomach. When would be the day they realized they deluded themselves into a lie? When would be the day they killed you for being something you never claimed you were?

As intriguing as the Fatui were on one side of the screen, they were sinister zealots on the other. They despised the Gods so much their hatred festered piousness--and they paraded you like a doll around the estate, an object to collect worship and donate it to rising influence. You were another gnosis, another piece to their revolution.

The match to inevitably burn away the Old World.

"Your Grace," the Regrator repeated, the edge on each syllable chiding, "is this not up to your tastes? ...Not refined enough?"

Your head snapped up to meet his gaze. No semblance of warmth pierced his icy veil. For all the devoutness the Harbingers touted, their theatrics fell short. Ugly, false fidelity bled through their altruistic ministrations.

How you wished to curl up next to the fireplace instead of having to cling onto your robes.

"No...no, it's, ah, beautiful. Thank you," you mumbled, forcing a smile onto your face.

"Of course. Someone of your status—" he grit that phrase out from his throat, you swore it—"deserves only to be lavished in the finest treasures Teyvat has to offer! Wouldn't you agree?"

When they killed you, would he scatter his riches upon your corpse? Or maybe Pantalone would bury you with all the accessories he gifted you--

Perhaps they’d continue the facade, setting your still heart upon the altar dedicated to the Creator. The name you unwittingly stole from its rightful place.

He took your long, drawn, silence as acquiscence. "It's quite alright if you're shy. I fully understand, as your acolyte, but really, you must be more open about you and your capabilities--humbleness goes hand in hand with honesty, after all! Surely that's nothing to hide, hm?"

His hands found their way to your own, and he traced the shape of a diamond on your palm.

"What did you call them again? What was it...oh, primogems?" From your visage, the corners of his lips curled. "Your Grace, won't you show me your divinity? For all my offerings, a glimpse wouldn't hurt."

It's only fair.

"I'm...truly grateful for everything the Fatui, and especially you, have provided," you started slowly, eyes falling to his rings, unable to harbor the weight of his scrutiny any longer, "but...I'm sorry. I can't just use them whenever I wish—" the words died on your tongue as his grip tightened, leaving behind desiccated sputters.

"And why is that?"

"I'm—I'm sorry—"

"Am I not worthy?" Pantalone laughed a little, devoid of joy, "have I not given you enough, Your Grace? What more can I give? I've already built myself up from nothing, despite the Gods' negligence—must I give that up too, to bask in Your warmth?"

You winced, trying to pull away. Yet he held firm, as if it wasn't wrists he was holding, but the bags of mora he hoarded.

"That's not—"

"I really am not asking for much, Your Grace. You've shown the Balladeer—even the Doctor—your powers. So why not me? Dottore and I are close partners, and if you trust him, I can assure you, you can have complete and utter faith in me, just as I do you."

"I...Okay. But only one summon," you conceded, the crystalline shards manifesting into your hands.

As if he hadn't been intimidating you moments prior, Pantalone stared in awe, clasping his hands together and humming.

"Oh! You're too kind, Your Grace!"

"Please, just call me by my name," you whispered, before cupping the primos together into an Intertwined Fate.

"How beautiful," he gasped, "may I?"

Reluctantly, you handed it to him. The size of his figure dwarfed the small orb, brimming with power. A pink and blue glow breathed life into his otherwise dull fur coat.

"How do you use…this?” Pantalone’s brows furrowed together, raising it up to the light as if to get a better view. “It’s quite…tiny.”

"Well, I'm not sure how it fully works in Teyvat—but you wish for something and hope to get it."

"Hm? So you leave it up to chance?"

"Yes, in a way..."

"How pitiful," he whispered, before his voice dropped an octave, "you must have more power than that. You’re a God.”

“I’ve already told you all…” you stopped in your tracks, images of corpses scattered across Dottore’s lab. You were almost a test subject, “godhood” shielding you from the vivisection table by a narrow margin. If they learned the truth…

“I…am not a god in my home world,” you stammered, picking words haphazardly from the floor of your mind, “I’m still getting used to Teyvat, so…”

He sighed, squeezing your shoulder. “I see. Well, demonstrate how it works.” The reassuring gesture only spurred your unease.

With a slight nod, you pondered what to wish for.

“…Thrilling Tales,” you declared, the fate sizzling with luminescence before shooting up into the sky.

Pantalone’s mouth fell agape as a bright, blue, light enveloped your hands, swirled together, then dissipated, revealing the weapon. Another wish granted. More primos depleted, with no way to earn them back.

“A book; Is it a catalyst?” He took the tomb from your grasp, skimming its contents. “From what I can tell, not a very good one.” A frown slowly painted over his countenance. “Are you playing games with me, Your Grace?”

“W-whatever do you mean, Pantalone?” Your voice faltered as he took a step towards you. Gripping your face just hard enough for his rings to chafe and dig into your cheeks, he tilted your chin up.

“When you were with Dottore, you summoned a brilliant sword that he remarked, “wasn’t from this world”. And, with me, you summon this…” He pinched the book by its cover, letting the pages sway limply below. “Fairy tale?”

“Well—! The Doctor scared me—I, I am much more comfortable with you.” Though not necessarily a lie, it wasn’t a truth either. Of all the people you’d interacted with so far, mainly the harbingers—only the harbingers, when you thought about it—Pantalone, compared to the Doctor, was much less scary.

Eyes widening, the grip on your face went slack, morphing into a soft caress of your cheek. You shuddered again.

He smiled, returning to that cheery demeanor.

“Well, if that is the case, I’m glad, and honored, Your Grace.”

You nodded, every muscle in your body taut and strangled by your lies.

“Of course.”

.

[badly-drawn-bbu]

HI FRIENDS!! As some might’ve heard from the main accounts of Admin Maah, today marks THREE YEARS since they first became a fan of BBU! But what you might not know is that I, Admin Buck, share this same anniversary with them!!! >:3 we were actually on the same call together when she discovered the game!

Before we get into some personal messages below, let’s talk about the art! We collabed on recreating two drawings we each made that faithful day ❤️ individual credits will be in this post’s tags!

Now here are some SUPER sweet words from Admin Maah 🥺: “I’ve already had my little celebration for the day but!! I can get sappy Again, as a Treat. BDBBU was started as a small side project back in 2021 because I really loved making silly stuff for this game, and years later I still do! These characters and this world are so incredibly fun for me to explore and work with and BBU countinues to be a source of joy for me through it all 🥹🩵 - Maah”

My turn to say sentimental things yippee!!! I haven’t played a more direct part in BDBBU for very long, but being a fan of BBU itself has both spanned most of our (the admins) friendship, and has made a huge impact on it overall. Making silly art and jokes surrounding the games characters has brought us closer together ever since we discovered BBU, and I’m excited to continue having fun with my best friend and making you guys laugh with our badly-drawn-bbu art onwards <:3c 💖

[rhamrhanch]

Shepherd of Death, Don't Herd Me

Part Eight: Fire to the Flame

Rating: Mature

Pairing: Ramattra/Reader (gender-neutral pronouns)

Word Count: 5.2K

Warnings: canon-typical violence, hurt/comfort

A/N: sorry this took forever, hope you all enjoy! now I can finally watch the arcane finale YIPPEE

chapter under the cut ↓

---

You stared up at the ceiling, eyes wide open and not any closer to the blissful numbness that your body craved so desperately. Fatigue sat heavy in your bones, pinning down your limbs until they became one with the firm cotton of your mattress.

While your body was worn and weary, your mind was racing, a living tempest beating against your skull. Ramattra’s words, deep and cavernous, echoed in your mind.

Sleep.

It seemed antithetical to his existence that his voice could sound so soft, gentler than you had ever heard it in its command. Its warmth was even more pronounced, and for that moment part of you understood how someone could be drawn to his cause. If not for his words, powerful in their fierce resolve, his voice held enough gravitas that surely some were entranced by it alone.

You pressed the back of your hand to your forehead, as though trying to smooth away the thoughts you had pushed to the far corners of your mind that now stood to consume you.

Something had changed. You weren’t sure what it was, or when exactly it had happened, but you knew that something was different. It was like the veil of hostility between you had lifted, and you could finally see Ramattra as he was, what shape he took without so many outside forces pressing down on him.

Everything he did was calculated. Words were used as throughways to information, not as a means for conversation. His countenance was still as standing water, his true thoughts hidden beneath the surface while he stood above it all—a quality that you had to admit you envied, as frustrating as it was for you at times. But there had been moments when the dam broke, and you would find yourself drowning in the cognitive dissonance of it all.

When he had hidden you from Talon soldiers, his arms circling your waist in a protective ring.

When he had allowed you the opening move in your first game of chess with him, and every game thereafter, despite knowing full well how much faster it would end were it the other way around.

And, most fresh in your memory, when he had met your determined declaration of inevitable victory against him by laughing—laughing!—in your face.

It should not have surprised you as much as it did. Plenty of times had you heard him laugh, but they all paled in comparison to what you heard then.

It reverberated from his chest, rich and mirthful in its robotic timbre. A laughter so rare that it filled whoever heard it with the overwhelming desire to hear it again and again.

You may not have liked him very much, but you were at least honest enough with yourself to admit that you really, really liked his laugh. As your eyelids drifted shut, you wondered what you could say that you may hear it again.

A sharp ping from your pager rang out in the silence, waking you much earlier than you would have liked. You ignored it, rolling back over. It was probably just another repair request, no need to answer it immediately.

To your misfortune, it pinged again, and again, each one even louder than the last. Groaning, you dragged your pillow over your face and pressed down, hoping to muffle the sound, but it was no use. You threw your pillow to the foot of the bed and angled the pager toward you, squinting at the message that appeared.

From: Winston. New assignment, report to the hangar ASAP.

You shot upright, flinging the covers aside. Damn, you were already late. You snatched your coveralls from the chair you’d thrown them over and yanked them on, all thought of the Ravager forgotten as you rushed out the door.

---

A few hours later, you were back in your workshop, gripping the edge of your worktable so tight that your hands trembled. Bits and pieces of the briefing you'd received surfaced from the fog of anger clouding your mind as you stared at the lifeless omnic in front of you.

His head and eyes were obscured by a device which could only have crawled out from your nightmares. Cylindrical rods jutted out from it like spikes, like the shell of some creature warning all those who came near to stay away.

You sucked in a sharp breath, letting it out gradually before gently taking the omnic’s head between your hands. With practiced grace, you rotated it slowly, inspecting the device closely. Whatever purpose it had been designed for was a mystery to you, but the condition it left its wearer in made you less than optimistic.

You tilted the omnic's chin up, barely revealing the dim glow of his LEDs beneath the shrouding metal—a somewhat good sign, though you felt little joy at its discovery. Carefully, you released him. He did not respond, head limp as it dropped back down.

Toronto. That was where he had been found. You tried to imagine it then, what it must have been like to see airships roam the sky, deploying Nulltroopers by the hundreds as one loud voice called out above the chaos.

This is not war. This is liberation.

If this was liberation, then it bastardized the word. Its meaning had been warped and distorted into something unrecognizable.

So much time had passed, so used to seeing Ramattra had you become, that you let yourself forget. Forget who he was, and why he was here. Why he was kept under lock and key, always under a watchful eye. Now, as if punishment for your ambivalence, you were forced to see the proof of who he was with your own eyes.

Even still, you were being spared. The omnic on your worktable was only one out of hundreds. So many more had been taken, an even larger number abandoned in the streets. All with their agency, their very being having been ripped from them in an instant like their lives and souls meant nothing.

And all the while you had been here, devoting your time and your empathy to the one responsible for it.

The shame of it all was going to burn you from the inside.

With one harsh motion, you shoved off the worktable, grabbing a cable and plugging one end into a port on the back of the omnic's neck and the other into the tower under your desk. You had been sulking long enough—there was work to do.

You chewed the inside of your cheek as you watched the monitor flicker to life, eyes scanning the ribbons of graphs as they oscillated on the screen.

All except one.

He was still alive, of that you were certain. But the line that represented CPU activity plateaued, cutting into your eyes like a wire. You knew from the flicker of his LEDs that the omnic was awake as well, though perhaps not fully cognizant of the condition he was in. Even so, that line should have been fluctuating, yet it remained unmoving, as clear an indicator as any that the omnic was little more than a husk of his former self.

For the rest of the day, you toiled in your workshop, running diagnostic test after diagnostic test and hoping, praying to see any change in the omnic's neural activity.

A day turned into two, and then to three, and by the fourth day of no change you had gotten deep into the habit of breaking things just to release some of the tension. Old scrap, broken projects, anything you could get your hands on, you would disassemble and then reassemble until your fingertips were sore, as if trying to prove to yourself that you still had the ability to fix something.

But eventually, that too ceased to bring any satisfaction, and you found yourself sitting with your head in your hands, an empty numbness overtaking your entire body as you stared blankly at the scattered notes on your worktable. Realization crept up your back as you felt a disbelieving laugh threaten to burst from your throat.

Trying to fix something like this was the ultimate catch twenty-two. You couldn't deduce the purpose of the device without removing it, and you couldn't remove it without risking the life of the omnic. No wonder Torbjörn had passed the buck to you for this. You wouldn't want this job either.

The fleeting urge to laugh at your circumstances dissolved as a familiar ache settled in your chest.

What if you couldn't do it? If even Torbjörn, a man who had decades of engineering experience on you, dared not to try, how could you possibly measure up? No amount of skill gave you the ability to conjure miracles out of thin air.

You almost resented it now, the amount of faith that your fellow agents put in you. How much your skill was esteemed, without even knowing how you had honed it.

All you had promised was that you would try your best. Your senior engineer had thanked you with a grateful smile, wishing you luck.

Don't thank me, you wanted to say. Please don't.

The thought made you recall the first conversation you had with Winston, when you had been on the cusp of joining Overwatch. He had wanted to discuss your previous work, mentioning a dissertation you had written long ago when you were still a fledgling engineer in your field. Something about simulated neuromodulation in robotics—you couldn't quite remember, as you hated reading your old work.

Inspired, you remembered him calling it. Ahead of its time.

Recalling the words now made you cringe. Your optimism when you had published that paper was blinding back then, leading you down a path that you took too long to realize led to nothing but despair. And now, because of the decision you made to shed your past life, you found yourself here, at the precipice of an indescribably important task and unable to do anything about it.

If only you knew the device's purpose, then maybe you could have an idea of where to start, some inkling of what to do. But the thought of even speaking to its creator made you feel ill, a mixture of disappointment and guilt and anger rising to your tongue like bile. Your failure at being able to solve this problem on your own made you feel useless enough; you did not need to rub any more salt into the wound by begging for help.

You did not sleep, staying up all hours of the night with your head on your desk as you waited for the tests to take their toll, watching the lines flicker on the screen and knowing that they would be the same as they always were.

You heard that same voice that once warmed you with its kindness urge you to rest. Rubbing your eyes tiredly, you banished it from your mind, refusing to indulge in something you did not deserve. You would not stop working, not while the fate of this omnic rested on your shoulders.

Hearing a signal from your computer, you lifted your head from where it rested in the crook of your elbow, feeling a familiar burn in your eyes as you stared at the monitor for what felt like the hundredth time. Today was the fifth day you had slouched over this table, monitoring the omnic for any sign of change, only to see nothing.

Hot tears of frustration sprung to your eyes as you gazed at the omnic on your worktable, motionless as he had been since the day he was brought to you. There would be no sixth, you decided then. Tomorrow, you would tell Winston that there was nothing more you could do.

Reaching forward, you took the omnic's hand in your own, realizing that you did not even know his name. You wondered to yourself what kind of person he had been before all of this happened to him.

Did he have a job? Any hobbies, a favorite song?

Did he have a family, someone waiting for him to return?

Your heart began to beat faster as the last question weighed in your mind. How could you give up on him, without knowing whether there were people out there who still needed him? What gave you the right to decide that, when there was still one last thing you had not tried?

Gently, you placed his hand atop his chest, before sitting up from your chair and throwing open the door of your workshop. You refused to let your pride stand in the way of helping someone who needed it.

---

Ramattra lifted his head immediately at the sound of footsteps, having heard their specific rhythm enough times to recognize who they belonged to.

He felt his body warm slightly at the expectation of your arrival. When you had not returned like you promised, Ramattra had initially thought nothing of it. You had other duties to attend to, and he welcomed the quiet solemnity that solitude offered him.

But when almost a week had passed and you still had not come, he had realized how much he had come to look forward to your visits, and how noticeable your absence now was to him. With you came the knowledge that for at least a few hours he would have something else to focus on besides the dull and colorless walls of the room, an element of his imprisonment that he was growing more and more weary of.

It was with this expectation that his internal fans began to circulate, his processor running wild to compute the possibilities of what you might do today. But when he finally caught sight of you across the hall, you were not wearing the expression he had grown accustomed to seeing.

Your eyes were dull, the shadows beneath it having grown darker since he saw you last. Clearly, you had not taken his suggestion to heart. But as tired as you seemed, there was a quickness to your stride that could only have come from determination.

The keypad outside the door beeped in rapid succession and then you were entering, something he couldn't quite identify clutched in your hand. Ramattra stood instantly as you came to a stop in front of him.

"You need to come with me," you said, and then your hands were around his wrists without warning. There was an urgency to your motions that was a far cry from the care with which you touched his wrist before, and he instinctively pulled away, finally seeing what exactly it was that you had brought with you.

Handcuffs.

"What is the meaning of this?" he growled, and you sighed as if frustrated.

"I'll explain it to you later, but right now I need you to—" You reached for his hand again, but he snatched it away.

"I will not be kept in restraints—"

"Winston won't let you leave this room without them," you said through grit teeth. "Just let me put them on." A moment passed, and then, "Please."

Ramattra analyzed your face, searching for signs of deception. Finding none, he let his processor run through the possibilities that your words implied.

Silently, he stepped closer to you, holding his hands slightly away from his body. You slid the restraints over his wrist, and he grunted as the bolts snapped into place. Immediately, he felt his body grow lethargic, as if it suddenly lost the strength to hold itself up properly. He lifted his arms slightly, actuators feeling like they were moving through tar with the movement. Electromagnetic handcuffs, he realized. That ape was smarter than he gave him credit for.

Ramattra had no choice but to follow you as you grasped his elbow, leading him away from the conference room. Though his body was weakened, his system remained unburdened, and he took every opportunity he had to memorize his surroundings, storing them away for future reference. As you proceeded further into the base, though, the halls became more familiar, and he soon realized where exactly you were taking him.

Your workshop was a mess compared to the last time he seen it, scattered papers and miscellaneous scrap covering every surface. When he saw the omnic you had sprawled on your worktable, one of his subjugators on their head and a wire at their neck, alarm sparked through his system. He tried to reach for them, only for his hands to strain against the cuffs, pulling a noise of frustration from his vocalizer.

"What have you done?" he asked, unable to mask the urgency in his voice.

You paused, as if surprised by his reaction, before your brow furrowed. "Nothing yet. Not until you tell me what this is for," you said, before pointing at the subjugator.

His optics flicked from the omnic back to you. "You cannot remove it," he said, not willing to disclose any further.

You held firm, crossing your arms over your chest as you fixed him with an inquisitive gaze. "Why not? Surely now that you are confined to this place, you have no need for soldiers."

"Soldiers?" His head tilted in confusion. "They are not soldiers."

Your shoulders slackened, meeting his confusion with your own. "They aren't? Then why… why would you do this?” Hands falling to your sides, you had a pained look on your face that he had not seen before. “How could you do this to other omnics, your own kind—"

Ramattra caught the waver in your tone, but it did not sway him. "All I have ever done, I have done for the sake of my people. This is a necessary measure, to keep them safe—"

"Safe?" you interrupted, eyes wide with disbelief. "You must be joking."

Irritation ignited in his processor. "I am not."

You seemed to have abandoned your earlier attempt to appeal to him as you stepped forward, eyes piercing daggers through his chassis. "How does robbing them of choice keep them safe? How does suppressing their entire being keep them safe?"

The logical part of his mind knew you would not understand, knew that this conversation would do nothing but unearth a deep bitterness that roiled inside him like thunder, yet still words rose in his vocalizer, a desperate desire for just one person to see things the way he did.

"Would you let your kind walk freely if it meant they were walking into fire?" he snapped. "Too many of my people would rather throw their lives away protecting the very humans that call for our destruction than dare to raise a hand against them.” His hands fought against the restraints as he spoke, feeling the familiar burn in his processor as his buried rage clawed its way to the surface. “I have chosen to walk the latter path, but I will not allow my people to put themselves in danger by standing in my way."

"But it’s a danger of your own creation!" Your voice was rising now, but Ramattra did not falter.

"It is a necessary endeavor I must take to ensure the survival of my people," he said, fighting to keep his voice measured as frustration at your refusal to understand began building in his processor. "Without being threatened, humanity has no motivation to ever treat us fairly. Omnics will forever remain second-class citizens, relics of the war to be whittled down until there are none of us left. If my people refuse to recognize that, then I must make them—"

"You have no right to decide that!" you shouted. "Their freedom is not yours for the taking! To so callously rid them of their autonomy, treating them with little more dignity than as a means to an end—" You stopped as you took a breath, punching out your next words with venom.

“It’s cruel!"

Ramattra stilled. Cruel? What could you possibly know of the word? As far as he was concerned, no human had the right to use that word against him, not after everything he bore witness to in his life.

Slowly, he walked forward, drawing close enough to you that his chest nearly touched yours. He angled his head over you, looking down at you silently. You remained as still as a statue, only tilting your head up to meet his gaze dead on.

Good. He wanted to see the look in your eyes when he said this.

"Do you know how many omnics there were after the war?" he growled, the sound sitting low in his vocalizer. Your gaze faltered slightly, and you clenched your jaw, but you did not answer.

"Do you know how many have died since then?"

Again, you had no answer, so he answered for you.

"One tenth," he said. "In less than thirty years, one tenth of all the omnics who have ever existed and will ever exist are now gone, forever. Just a single generation, and we have been decimated permanently.”

He watched the defiant fire in your eyes flicker out as his words sunk in, but still you did not look away.

“If you want to call me cruel, do not ever forget again why I have been forced to be.”

Silence hung between you for a moment, and he felt a lick of satisfaction at your apparent speechlessness. But it did not last long.

"If you do not let them decide for themselves if they want to fight," you said, your voice eerily calm, "how does that make you any different from Anubis?"

Something jolted in Ramattra's processor, a pointed memory that he had suppressed when the pain of remembering became too strong. An argument, just like this one, with friends long gone.

“I refuse to aid you in undoing all that I have worked for,” he said eventually, turning away from your gaze.

"Fine." You snagged the bridge between his cuffs. "Have it your way. I will do this on my own."

---

You sat against the wall in the hangar, your knees pulled up and your face buried in your arms. Now late in the evening, the blazing anger from your argument with Ramattra had flickered out, leaving you only with the sad reality of what you were now faced with. Having burned a bridge with the only potential lead you had, you were back where you began.

The worst part was that you could not convince yourself to hate him. You wanted to, so badly you wanted to, but after hearing everything he said, you could not fault him for how he felt. He was right, and the reality of it had slapped you in the face.

You had no idea what it had been like for omnics after the war. You had no memories of your own of the Crisis, only what it had felt like to live in the aftermath. Whatever you felt could never compare to the weight of experience that belonged to those who had existed since the beginning.

How many times had your hands swept over the broken bodies of omnics, your own undoing the imprints of hatred left behind by your fellow humans? How many times had you felt the urge to scream from the rooftops, your demands for others to look at the world around them repeatedly ignored?

Your own bitterness and frustration had led you to make choices you now regretted, and you were only human. What must it have been like for Ramattra, for all the omnics, to suddenly awaken from some horrible dream only to be met with hatred and violence for things they had no memory of doing?

You jumped at the sound of grinding metal as the garage doors of the hanger opened slowly, splitting from the middle as the anodized white of the ship’s hull peeked through. Wind from the ship’s landing gear whipped your collar around your neck as you approached it. The hangar closed behind it with a loud slam, echoing around the walls as the main door opened outward. Two figures exited, and you lifted a hand in greeting.

"Genji!" you said upon recognizing the neon green of his armor. "You're back!"

His head darted up, as though surprised to see you. "Oh, hello. I apologize, I did not realize you were waiting for us."

Us? "No, I was just nearby—" you began to say, before finally realizing who was standing beside him. Or floating, rather.

Your eyes flickered between Genji and the unfamiliar omnic before recognition sparked in your memory. "Oh, you must be Zenyatta!" you said, feeling slightly embarrassed at your rudeness and holding your hand out. “I’m sorry, it’s been a long day.”

The omnic bent his head down in greeting before taking your extended hand. "Hello. It is a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise. Genji has spoken about you often." You straightened up, clasping your hands in front of you as you struggled to think of something to say. "Have you come to join Overwatch as well?"

"No, that is not the nature of my visit," he replied calmly, his voice smooth and tempered. "Genji informed me that my presence here was needed. For what purpose, I have yet to find out."

"I see," you said, looking down awkwardly. "Well then, I won't keep you." You moved to leave, only to stop when Zenyatta spoke again.

“My student has told me that you are quite an engineer. Would you be willing to have a look at my shoulder?” He placed a hand over it, rotating it a bit too stiffly for an omnic. “Perhaps one of my servos has locked up.”

"Oh," you said softly, haphazardly looking back in the direction of your workshop. "I suppose, but I really should be getting back to—”

“Wonderful!” the monk interrupted, placing a hand on your back and leading you in the direction that was not where your workshop was. You spared a questioning glance over your shoulder at Genji, but he only shrugged.

Soon you found yourself in the base’s common area, resting your elbows on the island as you watched Zenyatta leisurely float about the kitchen as he prepared tea. How he even knew where the kitchen was you had no idea, but you had no reason to complain.

After a moment, he set a ceramic cup in front of you. You brought it close, letting the curling steam warm your face for a moment.

“I thought you wanted me to check your shoulder,” you said, turning in your chair to face the omnic as he came to hover beside you.

"During my travels I have found that sharing a cup of tea creates a pleasant environment for conversation," he said, clasping his hands in front of him. “It’s good for an omnic to get to know his mechanic, don’t you think?”

You smiled softly, already endeared to this somewhat mystifying monk. One hand beneath your cup, you lifted it to your lips, feeling warmth spread throughout your body. The tea was sharp and bitter, but it gave way to a cooling aftertaste that loosened the tension in your shoulders immediately. For someone with no sense of smell or taste, Zenyatta made an excellent cup of tea.

"This blend is lovely," you said. "Where did you find it?"

"At a village apothecary in Huangshan," he answered. “That is where I was when Genji contacted me. The locals recommended it as a good visiting gift.”

"Isn’t the monastery in Nepal?" you asked, taking another sip. "That seems quite a distance to go just for tea."

Zenyatta’s chin tilted downward, and for a moment your heart leaped, fearing you had offended him.

“I have not been to the monastery for some time now. I sought my own path and have been travelling the world in the years since I met Genji.”

You set your cup down, sitting with rapt attention at Zenyatta’s words. “I see. What inspired your travels, if you don’t mind my asking?”

"A great many things,” he said. “But the idea had first come to me from a brother of mine, another monk of the Shambali, long ago."

“Really?”

He nodded. "Yes. He had grown dissatisfied with the teachings of the Shambali and wanted to search for a method toward peace for our people outside of the monastery. Back then, he had asked me to accompany him, but I declined.”

“Did you ever regret it?” The question slipped from your mouth before you could think, and you immediately kicked yourself internally. But Zenyatta only hummed in thought, his spheres chiming as they rotated around him.

“At the time, I felt I had more to learn at the monastery, that perhaps there was something he had not seen that I had yet to know. It was one of the points of disagreement between us, but he did not try to convince me to go, and I did not try to convince him to stay.”

“One of?” you asked, your voice curious. Perhaps your own ignorance was to blame, but you never imagined two members of the same monastic order could be that different. “Did you disagree often?”

"Sometimes. But our bond did not suffer for it. We both shared the same goal, so disagreements were only another way to understand each other. At least, we used to." There was something almost sorrowful in Zenyatta’s tone, hardly noticeable if you were not paying such close attention. "I often wonder what would have become of him, had I taken his offer from the beginning. But the past is a mirror that distorts the memory. I can only look toward the future now to guide me."

You looked down at the tea in your cup, seeing your own face reflected back at you. "Do you still believe people very different from each other can get along?"

Zenyatta tilted his head at you. For a moment, the gesture reminded you of Ramattra, but the feeling was fleeting. "Is there someone in particular you are thinking of?"

You felt a shiver run down your back at how incredibly astute he was. It took only one sentence for him to instantly pinpoint the true intent behind your question.

Your first instinct was to say no. You hardly knew Zenyatta, had only just begun speaking to him less than an hour ago. Yet you felt a strange familiarity with him, like you had met before somehow. Perhaps this was just the way all monks were—somewhat omniscient and easy to talk to. Something you needed right now.

"Yes,” you answered after a moment. “I want—need—to work together with him for something important, but we just… can’t seem to find common ground.” You sighed, feeling a dull pain in your chest at the memory.

“When two people feel passionate about something, it is usually because they care very deeply about it,” Zenyatta said. “Perhaps it would be fruitful to think about the ways in which your goals align.”

You leaned back in your chair, humming contemplatively. It would probably be good advice for someone in any other situation besides yours. Though, at this point, what did you have to lose?

"Maybe you’re right,” you acquiesced. “But I find it difficult to imagine how I could share any goals with the leader of Null Sector—"

The chiming stopped, and you paused, looking back to Zenyatta only to see that his spheres had frozen in place.

You were about to ask him what was wrong when he leaned forward, his voice earnest as he asked, “Ramattra? Ramattra is here?”

[finniestoncrane]

congrats on 2k finnie!!! you deserve it sm!! it's Nick Anon (can you guess who i'm going to ask for? teehee) and can i have a front row ticket to a sci-fi, with some sweet popcorn, a fruit cup and some pickles? thank you!!! 💜

yippee yippee!! nick anon!! you are back to enable my nick love once more!! thank you, i am so excited!! 💚🩷 cw: semi-public sex, risky sex in that... there's zombies around, humiliation, degradation, sex against a wall HELL YEAH 🔞minors dni🔞 send a request • masterlist • kofi link • tag: finnie2k (to follow or to block)

It felt safe enough, at least for a moment, to let your guards down. You could focus your attention on Nick as he kissed you deeply, passionately, crashing into the barren shelves of the small, empty store. He only stopped when he had you up against the counter, watching you lean back on it, grinning up at him with a sneaky grin as you grabbed the lapels of his white suit jacket. But before you could pull him into another kiss, he stopped you, a raised eyebrow as he questioned you in a teasing tone.

"Risky... what if the others catch up with us? What if there's something spooky lurking upstairs?"

"Well, in that case, we don't have long to argue about it. Besides, there's nothing upstairs, it would have heard us by now."

"And the others? When they're done scavenging and come looking for us?"

"I don't really care what they see, they can look away if they want to."

You tugged on him again, desperate to feel his lips against yours but stopped once again, his forehead against you as he spoke.

"Oh yeah? You a little bit of an exhibitionist?"

His words were low, slow, and layered with a flirtatious and inquisitive energy that you couldn't help but lean into.

"Hm, wouldn't you like to know what I was into before all this."

"I really, really would."

Finally, he allowed himself to be drawn into you, a quick kiss to your lips before he began peppering them along your jaw line and down your neck, interspersed with his musings.

"I bet you were filthy... desperate... Pretending to be shy like you did with me... but I knew you were just ready for anything."

Nick tugged at your shirt, pulling it up slightly, running his surprisingly soft palms along your torso, scooping them around your back as he continued.

"A nasty, dirty little slut... Embarrassing really that I;ve had to stoop as low as you these days."

You could feel the cruel smile in his words, the satisfaction he found in teasing you, in degrading you, a power move he didn't have to make.

"Never happy unless you were getting fucked, huh?"

He pulled at your pants, working them down your legs enough that you were exposed before he turned you around, letting you find your balance on the counter before he unzipped his pants and positioned his cock at your entrance.

"Just a needy, greedy little whore."

"That's what I'm like now, Nicky. You have no idea what you missed out on before."

The tip of his cock slipped inside of you, and he let out a groan of pleasure that slid into a dismayed groan.

"Oh come on, sweetheart! You can't tell me that. You're going to ruin me."

"Let's have you ruin me first, then we'll see what I can do with whatever time we have left. I can let you in on some secrets."

[olivexii]

⚠️ - 100 days

Charlie Slimecicle x f!reader

Chapter 1

Tw: Violence, gore, language

Based on the film by Slimecicle (yippee!!)

┌── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┐

It had been around 6 days since it had started. 6 exhausting days of travelling, scavenging and fighting. You were too scared to rest, let alone had the time for it.

You had stupidly decided to go into the city today, figuring there would be a good amount of supplies hidden away somewhere. But now you were trapped on the top floor of a random grey building as zombies flooded the floor beneath you.

Your back leaning against the cold wall, head in your knees. The sound of the zombies below fill your ears as you try and block them out.

They couldn’t reach you, the ladder was blocked with a trap door. But still you couldn’t shake the anxiety you felt as the banged on the wood.

It had been 4 days since the last sight of a human being. Your friend being torn from your grasp as she screams for help plays over and over in your mind; knowing that it’s your fault she wasn’t saved.

Soon the sound of the zombies and your own thoughts were interrupted by a panicked voice.

“OH!!! Well would you look at that”

You couldn’t see the owner of the voice (a man??) but you could hear the sound of a sword piercing flesh, as the sound of the zombies slowly quietened, but wasn’t silenced.

“TOP FLOOR’S ALWAYS THE SAFEST” the panicked voice says again as he realised that he was being overrun.

The sound of the trap door being opened and heavy panting caused you to look up in a fright. The man not realising you were there as he climbed through the floor with his back facing you.

He wheezed as he put his hands on his knees, attempting to catch his breath.

You immediately became aware of the weapons he had on him, becoming extra cautious incase he used them against you.

Still panting heavily he put his hands on his hips and stood up straight, slowly turning around to analyse the room he had climbed into.

“OH, shit”, he exclaimed when he turned around and saw you, your pocket knife now drawn and pointed straight towards him.

Out of reflex he reached for him sword that was attached to his belt, pointing it towards you as well.

“Who are you?” you questioned the brown haired man. Your voice raspy from having not talked in days and from the lack of water.

“Who are you?” he questioned back, sword reflecting in the sun.

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking that, you just appeared out of nowhere!”

His gaze hardened at the attitude you gave him.

“Just tell me your name, and I’ll tell you mine, okay? That’s fair considering I saved your life. Those zombies were almost breaking up here man.”

Copying his gaze you pursed your lips, deciding if you should tell him who you are. What if he’s a threat?

“Y/N. My name’s Y/N” you admitted with a sigh, not breaking eye contact with the man in front of you.

“Nice to meet you Y/N. I’m Charlie.”

He lowered his sword slightly, now pointing it more towards your legs than your body.

“This your… base or something” He asked as he broke eye contact, looking around the room. “Not much here at all.”

“No, it’s not. I was chased by them. I didn’t even know they could climb ladders until now. Luckily I was quick enough to close the trap door before any of them could get up.”

Your eyes stayed on the man’s face as he turned his attention back to you

“You have a base?” He tilted his head.

“Well… Not exactly”

“So you move around a lot then?”

“Why are you asking so many questions?” Your head titled the same as his.

“I don’t know… You’re the first person I’ve come across since this all started.”

You moved your knife down slightly, lowering your guard. If he would have wanted you dead he would have done it by now.

“Really? Is there no one else around here?”

“Not that I’ve see no. Apart from you obviously. Y’know, you’re pretty lucky I came around when I did. Another few minutes and you would have been zombie lunch.”

He bounced up and down on the balls of his feet slightly, his sword now at his side.

“I could’ve defended my self you know”

Charlie clicks his tongue.

“Ehh… I don’t think so. I couldn’t take them all there were that many down there. Which is why you should be thanking me.”

His voice got more enthusiastic the more he talked to you, seeming proud of himself.

“Yeah, yeah. Thanks I guess.” you replied with a hint of sarcasm he seemed to not pick up on.

He smiled lazily to himself, still shifting on his feet. It was silent for a moment, the only sound filling the room were the zombies from the floor below and outside.

“I think we should go take care of them…” He looked up at you as he scratched the back of his neck.

“Wait, you’re not bit, are you?” You asked him, suddenly becoming cautious again.

“No, no I’m not. Nearly was a couple times but… I’m not no.”

“Okay good, I’m not either. I swear if you go all zombie on me I will kill you” You glared at him, bringing the knife back up and pointing it in his direction to prove your point.

“I don’t doubt that, jeez” He replied, fixing his pastel green shirt out of nerves.

“Good.”

You finally stood on your feet, knife now back down at your side as you turn your back to him to pick up your back pack.

“You found any supplies?” He asks curiously.

“No, whole fucking place is empty.”

“Yeah I couldn’t find much stuff either. Must’ve already been raided.”

“Shame.” You replied dryly as you walked towards him and the trap door.

“Okay, so, game plan,” he started and you turned your gaze to him. “You take the right, and I’ll take the left. I don’t think there’s that many there, but just in case.”

“Cool”

He nodded to himself in re assurance and took a deep breath before opening the trap door. The groans of zombies and reek of rotting flesh immediately filling the room.

“I’ll go down first, you follow after me” Charlie instructed with his eyes glued on the ladder.

You didn’t respond verbally, only nodding at him even though he didn’t see it.

He jumped down suddenly, and you were quick to follow, immediately turning to the right and facing 3 zombies.

You swung your knife straight towards the closest one’s head, the blood splashing back and hitting you on the cheek.

You took the other two out in the same way, knowing it was easier to go for the head.

When you had taken them out you turned back around the see Charlie handling the last one. His sword came crashing through it’s skull with a force, making it drop immediately.

He let out a heavy sigh and he slowly turned to face you again. Blood covered the right side of his face, but he seemed unbothered by it.

“Well, I’m tired now. Suns almost set so it’s probably a good idea for me to head back to my base.”

“Yeah probably.” You responded dryly again, only thing on your mind being how you would probably have to set up camp on the top floor and fight off zombies the whole night.

“You should come back with me. I just got done building my base and you look like you need to rest.”

You looked up at him in shock.

“Really? You’re just going to let some random girl into your base. I could be a threat you know”, you exclaimed with folded arms.

“Yeah but, you’re not going to try anything. I know that. And if you do just know I’m so much more prepared than you, you’d be giving yourself a death wish.

He threatened as he attached his blood covered sword back onto his belt.

“Yeah I guess. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Mhm, I don’t mind. Plus it’ll be nice to not be lonely. We can sleep in shifts so that way we’re protected and can rest.”

Charlie began walking towards the stairs out of the building, expecting you to follow him.

“C’mon Y/N. It’s gonna be dark before we get there, so I suggest moving those legs of yours.” He called out as he disappeared to the floor below.

└── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──┘

A/N: I HAVEN’T WRITTEN IN OVER A YEAR!!! YAY!!

[wulfums]

Griddle Facts

- Griddle can make baby deer noises, baby goat noises, and horrible hell noises

- but hes overall very quiet. Hes very big into naps.

- his genetics are held togetger with crazy glue so it takes him longer to develop than other critter babies.

- like he doesnt open his eyes for a year. After that things are on a more stable pace.

- he can walk before he can see and his eyesight is never very good. Also he has scary blue eyes.

- grim refuses to have Anything to do w Griddle until griddle starts being able to interact instead of sitting like a raw chicken. Grim is fsr Griddles fav person and Grims never been Anyones fav besides his bfs before so this is his son now

- Literally Griddle barely respects Gnarly and Gristle(He loves them but like. Cant blame him for not respecting them.) but he will listen to Grim immediately no question. Grim using this to humblebrag to other parents but in reality he has no idea why Griddle respects him and is worried that it wont last (Grim remains Griddles fav forever though yippee)

- Griddle wasnt a very difficult homonculus to raise. He just wants to listen to the tv.

- Gristle is excited to be a dad again :) When he was married to Satan, he was Brittanys fav step parent and sometimes she gets to come up to the surface on weekends to see Gristle. She absoluteky considers Griddle her baby brother and cares him sm

- Griddle has the tism. So does Gristle and Grim which might explain why Griddle felt so drawn to Grim

- They waited until Griddle was old enough to choose by himself to give him a permanent last name because all 3 of them have pretty bad last names. Grim getting emotional and leaving the room when Griddle wants his last name to be Gromble

- As a dad, Gnarly is like Bandit if Bandit was high, used Tiktok and was extremely irresponsible. But he does get to be the fun dad who lets Griddle use swear words so

- Gristle is pretty similar to Gnarly, being Fun, but he struggles w the fact Griddle loves him but doesnt respect him in the slightest. I think Gristle accepts this eventually. Griddle eventually kind of listens. On matters of safety. Because Gristle has told Griddle a lot about what Hell is like

- Griddle loves his dads very much :) They are disliked by every other parent but have to be tolerated because everyone loves Griddle

- Griddle loves reading!!! He gets super into horror. He absolutely makes one of his dads read a story from Scary Stories to Tell In The Dark every night before bed

- You just know he loves fnaf

- Theres so many photos of him as a baby with hige shoes and clothes on because Gnarly and Gristle thought it was funny

- Griddle is like. Morally neutral.

- Hates his grandma (Grims mom. Grim is a trist fund baby who hates his mom but puts on an act to get her to keep giving him money. Grim teaches Griddle how to do this too.)

- Might not have the best dads, but they are the perfect dads to Griddle

[drowsystarlight]

oooh wait MORE asks I am a fan of these ask games they rock (all of these are about Five again cause I know them, but if you give me a crash course in your OCs from other places even if I'm not in the fandom I would be Very Happy :D nothing quite like losing your mind over your own fictional characters, is there?)

🧡 - Is your oc honest? Why or why not? Are there only specific people they’re honest to?

🌇 - What does it take for your character to trust someone? Do they have to prove themselves? Or does your character not trust anyone no matter what? What made them this way? (I know parts of this from Heartbeat but I'd love to hear more!)

🍁 - What brings your character joy? Do they find happiness in the small things? Does it take a lot to cheer them up?

🥕 - How does your character treat themselves after a long day? Do they buy something new? Maybe they eat a sweet treat? Call someone they love? Take a hot bath?

✴️ - Is there anyone your oc admires or looks up to? What qualities of this person does your oc admire? Do they want to be like this person one day?

also your art is the prettiest thing ever and while rn I'm Broke one day I WILL buy a commission from you because your art really is amazing and I love it so so much

AYYEEEE NO WORRIES I LOVE FIVE ASKS!! my ocs are here and there and i havent had the time to yap bout them recently so maybe someday >;3 THANK U FOR THE ASKS!!! <3

🧡 - Yes and no . There's only specific people they're honest to, and 9 times out of 10 they have no problem with lying to a stranger about something . They don't trust people that easily, or at all :3 However they will tell you the truth about it months later if they get close

🌇 - AHHH YOU READ HEARTBEAT YIPPEE!!! theres a whole another chapter in my file but i havent drawn anything for it so im keeping it there for now LMFAO,,, anyway, it doesnt take much pther than time and kindness . it doesnt matter if Five likes or dslikes you, eventually theyll form a more solid opinion of someone and they can earn their trust by then :3 My Five was alone for years before the start of the ZR series . being alone, lonely, and isolated for so long does that to you </3

🍁 - Don't tell anybody else . Cats . ANY cat, real or not

🥕 - Unfortunately they don't . Five thinks rest is a treat . it's not a treat and its a normal basic human need . They learn this from Abel people eventually--by that time, they treat themself with some sweets :DD

✴️ - Janine . They love that she's a leader and is put together, knows what she's doing, etc etc . They admire her for being strong and stern and level-headed . They also admire Maxine and Sam for being kind and warm people... Also Yes. They want to be like them someday

THANK YOU!!! RAHHGH,,, i always see your reblogs and notes and tags and it always fills my heart with warmth,,, it means so much to me especially now that im suffering thru my art college thesis,,, WAHGDSH