#should have been asleep an hour ago

[wtfuckevenknows]

🎶 Was it all in my mind?

'Cause everyone else grew older in time

I'll be alone forever

Forever 🎶

[violeteyedkiller]

ok. Now I'm out

[krysmcscience]

BILLDUMP TIME (with transparency, because I can). Don't mind me, I'm just yeeting my goofy art at some way more talented individuals out of nowhere and then hauling ass back to the security of being a weird silent lurker ahaha

@tesscourtes and @beccadrawsstuff, respectively! These two Bills make a little prism of sorts together because of their recent crossovers on Patreon~ :3c Speaking of which, I highly recommend supporting both these artists! They do fantastic work! (TessCourtes and Beccup)

@qoolk on the left, and @monobmp on the right! I am such a sucker for these outfits~ OuO Go and check these two out, their art is phenomenal!!! >u<

@1spooky2me The most difficult Bill of the lot for me to draw, ahaha... Their art is so incredibly consistent and dynamic, I am, a little envious <:,) A little envious, but mostly impressed, so go look at their amazing art, what are you waiting for

And finally, @ckret2, whose writing is sublimely in-character and just a delight to read - they're a great artist, as well! I simply Could Not resist drawing their Bill in this ridiculous incredible and very fashionable pink feather dress, even though he only briefly wears it in their fic, so I also did a little bonus doodle of him in his standard hoodie to make up for it. XD (Also, as far as I'm concerned, Bill and Mabel were both correct in that lime green accessories make the dress Much Better.)

This is just a small selection of the human Bill designs I enjoy. I may draw and post more later on, who knows! Feel free to reblog with some neat Bill designs, either your own or by other folks - if any of the designs particularly call to me, I'll add them to the little list I've got going~ :D (Alternatively, if you really like my stuff and want me to draw something specific, you could...mmm...perhaps, commission me...? OuO)

Also I'm tagging Billford because uhhhh yeah, sorry not sorry, every single one of these Bills is getting shipped with Ford by the artists in some way or another, lmao

[mushtoons]

we sped rush doodled this cuz we had a sudden burst of love for transfem rise leo

[thegreenhordes]

The Attack Pt2

Null: Shit, Shit, Shit! Growlers screech and groan behind him, attracted to the noise of his initial assailant and his own loud running. He's being cornered, and he soon won't have the energy to keep running.

The seconds pass before Null makes a choice- He Stops Running. And then, just as the Growlers close in, their maws open wide and teeth sharp, he puts down a quick- but weak- barrier. It won't last long, he needs to think fast. His stomach churns as he watches the Growler horde start to turn on each other already, one closer to the front biting down hard on the neck of another. It never ceases to disturb him, the things the late stage infected will do.

His head tilts as the voice of one of his new stalkers reaches his ears.

Null: I don't intend to die anytime soon.

He doesn't sound very confident of that.

Blood and Carnage- They're banging at the barrier- no time no time no tiME.

[kedreeva]

Part of the moss cleaning process; it gets brought in and dumped into my sink, where it gets an initial cleaning. I remove any debris and detritus I can find, and take the "roots" as close to down to bare as I can get them. They get a hot water soak (about 135F to start with) for a bit to loosen anything else up, and then they get a second cleaning, to get to this:

Then they get a quick hydrogen peroxide mix bath to sanitize them, then a rinse, then drying overnight on paper towels. They'll get one more rinse, and then they're ready!

This batch I'm using for the snail babies, in their mini terrariums.

The last batch went into the big terrarium, which has just some isopods/springtails in it so far but will have snails, too. I put together a little trellis for the ivy.

And what's an update without saying hello to Whiskey, who is doing yoga to repair a nick in his shell.

Goodnight!

[lilbittymonster]

Day 11: Surrogate

Read on AO3

The road was long. Every ilm of his body ached under his armour. The lance that was once so proudly given as the honoured weapon of the Azure Dragoon had been reduced to being used as naught but a cane. The rolling hills of the Central Highlands were all beginning to blur into one green mass before his exhausted eyes, and only the years of treading these roads made sure he and his young charge were heading towards the tents of Camp Dragonhead.

The child hadn’t uttered a single word the entire journey, and the weeping had ceased bells ago. Now, still dusted in soot, he stared listlessly ahead as he clung to Alberic’s gauntlet. He’d been limping for the last malm and Alberic wasn’t sure if he was in any state to carry the boy should it come to it. Blessedly, the light of the campfire was visible off in the distance. All he had to do was wait until they were spotted.

“Who goes?” called a sentry as they drew nearer.

“Ser Alberic of the Knights Dragoon,” he called out hoarsely. “And…..child.”

The knight straightened at Alberic’s call. He said something to the other knight beside him, and they ran off into the camp.

“Full glad are we to see you returned, Ser Alberic,” the sentry said as they approached. “We could see the battle raging from here.” He turned to peer at the boy trailing slightly behind Alberic. “And who have we here?”

“A survivor,” was all Alberic said. “He needs to be seen by a healer.”

“Of course, of course,” the sentry nodded quickly. “Whatever you need.”

Alberic nodded wearily, and with another look at the boy, he led them further into the camp towards the healer’s tent. Now that they were in full lamplight he could see the burns on the child’s feet and hands. Smears of blood from unseen wounds crusted on his skin and tear tracks through the soot ran down his cheeks.

“Good evening, how- oh, good heavens above,” said the attendant chirurgeon. “What happened to this child?”

“Dragon attack,” Alberic said wearily.

The man was already pulling clean rags from a shelf with one hand and tugging the boy’s hand away from Alberic towards a bed with the other. Alberic released him and leaned his full weight on his lance, content to let the boy be seen to first. He was still silent, unresponsive to the healer’s prodding as he was wiped down. The burns were an even angrier red once the thin layer of black was removed and Alberic feared the boy may scar. The chirurgeon’s lips pressed together worriedly as he worked.

“What is your name?” he asked the boy gently.

No response.

“Do you know?” the chirurgeon asked, turning to Alberic.

He shook his head. “He’s said nary a word the whole journey.”

The chirurgeon hummed in disappointment. “Were there any others with him?”

Alberic shook his head again.

“A shame. How many more good innocent folk must we lose to the thrice damned Horde?” His hands were methodical in their movements, and in small concentrated bursts were the burns slowly eased. Satisfied with his work, and that there were no other injuries in need of tending to the boy, he straightened and turned to Alberic.

“Do not think your slumping has escaped my notice, ser dragoon. Sit, I shall be with you shortly.”

Alberic obeyed without complaint, glad to be off of his feet. He set the stained and bent lance to the side of the bed and stiffly began the process of removing his armour.

The boy said something in a mumble.

“I beg your pardon?” Alberic said gently leaning in.

“Estinien,” the boy said in a whisper. “My name’s Estinien.”

“Hello, Estinien. I am Ser Alberic Bale, of the Knights Dragoon of Ishgard.”

Slowly, Estinien looked up at Alberic with hollow eyes. “Where are we?”

“We are in Camp Dragonhead, not far from the Holy See. You’ve been hurt badly.” He hesitated. “Do you have any family that live in another village? Grandparents, maybe? Or an aunt and uncle?”

Estinien paused, then shook his head minutely.

Alberic closed his eyes and inhaled slowly through singed lungs. Another orphan of the war.

“Well, Estinien, once you are rested up a bit, I shall take you to the Holy See. You’ll be taken care of there.”

Estinien just looked past him again, eyes unseeing once more.

-

Alberic shouldered open the door to the apartment. It was far less glamourous than his previous lodgings, but a knight’s barrack is no place for a child. A lantern was already filled on the counter next to a small flintbox, and he methodically went around the room lighting the various wall lanterns. The room filled with soft light, and he turned to see Estinien still standing in the open doorway, staring wide eyed about the space.

“Come in, and close the door behind you, lad,” Alberic said as he set down his bag on the bare floor.

Hesitantly, as if waiting for an enemy to spring from the woodwork, Estinien stepped over the threshold and closed the door softly behind him. Trailing a hand along the wall he made a slow circuit about the common room. He paid no mind to the kitchen, but the washroom seemed to confuse him.

“What is this?” he asked.

Alberic looked up from the small wrapped bundle of plates he was putting away.

“What is what?”

Estinien was standing over the toilet with a confused tilt of his head.

“Surely you’ve seen a toilet before,” Alberic said, half jokingly.

Estinien frowned. “I have. Why is it inside, though?”

That brought Alberic up short.

“Ah, the city has sewers all throughout it,” he explained, trying not to laugh and embarrass the boy. “It keeps all our washrooms clean that way.

Estinien seemed to accept this explanation, not even looking at the tub, and continued his walk about the apartment. His meager belongings put away, Alberic watched wordlessly as the young boy assessed the space, leaning against the counter. First the bedroom on the left, then the right, before finally coming to rest back in the middle of the room.

“Well?” Alberic prompted.

“It’s big,” was all Estinien said.

“And…..that’s good?”

Estinien nodded, and Alberic’s shoulders slumped in relief.

“Well, which room would you like for yourself?”

Before Alberic had finished asking, Estinien was already pointing to the door on the right. Alberic chuckled.

“Go on, then, it’s all yours. We’ll get you a proper bed after supper.”

Estinien slipped inside and closed the door, and as Alberic picked up what was left of his belongings to enter the other bedroom, he thought he could hear the faint sounds of crying through the wall.

-

The smell of bitter and sweet herbs wafted up from the steaming mug as Alberic mixed in a healthy spoonful of honey before bringing it to the currently curled up elezen on the couch.

“Here, it’s still hot,” Alberic said as he approached.

Estinien slowly sat up with a wince and took the mug from his hands, sipping tentatively at the liquid. He pulled a face at the first sip and Alberic made a sympathetic noise.

“How much longer until it arrives?” he asked morosely.

“The letter that said it was sent from Ul’dah is dated two moons ago. It shouldn’t be long now,” Alberic promised.

Estinien grunted and winced again, taking another sip of tea.

“Is that barley sock still hot enough?” Alberic asked.

Estinien shook his head and unfurled himself enough to hand over the simple cotton tube. Alberic took it and laid it out on the stones by the fireplace again, careful not to let it get close enough to the flames to burn before sitting back down on the couch. Estinien leaned against his shoulder as he settled back against the cushions.

“I can’t wait to not have to do this again,” he muttered.

-

“Again!” Estinien demanded.

“We have been at this for bells, now, son,” Alberic panted as he straightened.

“If I am to be the next Azure Dragoon, then I need to be better than all the rest,” Estinien insisted.

“Aye, and you’ll never survive even being a Temple Knight if you kill yourself training,” Alberic countered.

Estinien scoffed and muttered something, but relaxed his stance. He was nearly the same height as Alberic now, and the set of old training maille rested snugly on his frame. Secretly, he had hoped to keep the danger of joining the dragoons from Estinien and spare him the same fate as him, but the lad was stubborn, and the flame of vengeance burned brighter in his eyes with each passing day.

And so, with a heavy heart, Alberic had agreed to instruct him. And that included making sure that Estinien did not run himself into an early grave.

“We’ve done these same drills a hundred times,” Estinien complained. “When are you going to show me something new?”

“You lack the balance to accompany your strength,” Alberic said, noting the small gathering of onlookers in the wings of the proving grounds. “It takes more than simple might to slay a wyrm.”

Estinien processed this with a furrow in his brow. Alberic rested the sparring lance against the nearby training dummy and stretched his legs. A few of the newer recruits were still fighting at the other end of the sand pit, and Alberic caught some of them gawking, only to avert their eyes as he met them.

“And how am I meant to practise balance?” Estinien asked finally.

“That we can do at home,” Alberic promised. He paused. “And I may be able to call in a favour.”

Estinien’s eyes lit up.

“I cannot guarantee anything,” Alberic clarified quickly, “but I did promise I would impart to you all that I know, and I plan to keep my promise.”

-

Alberic sat up in bed, heart pounding in his chest and pulse loud in his ears, but no memory of what he had dreamt beforehand. Perhaps it was for the best that he didn’t. As he tried to slow his breathing down his sleep-addled brain eventually recognised that there was light leaking in from beneath his door. He hauled himself out of bed and dressed slowly before cautiously opening it.

Estinien looked up from the table, where he was sitting with a deck of cards spread before him and a bottle of wine at his side.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asked, placing a card down on a row of others.

“Seems so,” Alberic said groggily as he meandered into the kitchen.

“Plenty of wine left in the bottle,” Estinien said without looking up.

“How considerate of you.”

Alberic slumped into the chair opposite and watched as Estinien laid down card after card. The wine was a bit too dry for his liking but it took the lingering edge off. He got back up to retrieve the last of the wheel of cheese from the icebox to cover the aftertaste.

Estinien stacked the fourth and final column of cards and swept the deck back into his hand and began shuffling.

“Care for a hand, if you aren’t sleeping?” he asked.

“I could go for a round of Skyfish, sure.”

Estinien raised a brow as he shuffled. “Skyfish, huh? The children’s game?”

“Ah, come now, humour your old man.”

“You’re hardly that old, Alberic,” Estinien said.

“If you’ve the brains for a more involved game, I’m all ears.”

Estinien chuckled but dutifully dealt them their hands. Alberic swept up his four cards, and immediately regretted the choice of game.

-

The manor was quiet in its comfort, the meal finished and plates cleared away by dutiful staff. Estinien and Aymeric were in the parlor across the hall with the cats. Alberic could hear the gentle tinkling of a bell and scampering claws on hardwood as Arienne skittered across them.

“I’m so glad you could join us this year,” Vivienne said as she sipped her wine contentedly.

“As am I. ‘Tis good to spend time in your company outside from formal matters for a change.”

Vivienne laughed at that, tilting her glass in a small cheers. It had taken the better part of the dinner and two glasses of Lominsan red for Alberic to relax in the company of nobles, even nobles he ostensibly already knew.

“Truthfully, I am glad of the excuse not to attend the larger Starlight celebrations,” she said. “My old bones aren’t what they used to be and the chairs are never comfortable enough.”

The sounds of the bell had stopped, and distantly Alberic heard the echoing sound of a door being closed followed by the wails of a small cat. Alberic hid his smile in his glass of wine. A minute later, Arienne appeared in the doorway voicing her complaints.

“Oh, did you get thrown out, your poor dear?” Vivienne said sympathetically. She patted her lap in invitation. “I know I’m not my son, but-ah, hello my darling.”

Arienne pushed her head against Vivienne’s hand, purring loudly, before circling twice and curling up contentedly.

“Oh, to be young and in love,” she said, a knowing smile on her lips. “Have you ever had anyone special to call your own, Alberic?”

He coughed on the wine slightly at the unexpected question.

“Ah, nay, I have not,” he said quickly to recover. “Being a knight, then a dragoon, I had not the time nor desire to tie myself to anyone I might soon leave behind. And then when that path was closed to me, well….” he trailed off with a meaningful look towards where the boys had disappeared to. “All my time went towards ensuring the happiness of my son. And I don’t regret a single moment of it.”

“And he makes my son very happy as well. I can’t tell you what a blessing it’s been to have Estinien around.”

Alberic’s chest swelled with pride at her words. It was a relief to hear that Estinien had come out of his shell just as much as he’d hoped.

“I thank the Fury every day that they have each other,” he said.

-

I loved you as a father, but I can ill forgive you for Ferndale.

Estinien’s final words to him still rattled about between his ears. The din of the room hardly drowned them out, much as he tried. He tried to think of any other way that conversation could have happened. Any way to spare him that pain. But as always, Nidhogg had other ideas.

He supposed it was a good thing Kitali stepped in when she did. He doesn’t know if he could have had the strength of will to fight his only son. He leaned back in the rickety chair and closed his eyes.

Halone, hear this prayer of a desperate father, he thought. Keep my son safe.

[gilmores-glorious-blog]

m. me when. me when shadowgast.

[prince-raisins-art]

SIGHHH must i do EVERYTHING MYSELF around here

[atoltia]

New farmer in town.

had ideas in my head. couldn't get contain them. i apologize in advance afsafasf

somehow this turned into March's pov and tbh it is what it is

Warning: mild swearing

~0~

People had expectations when they found out that someone would be moving into the old farmhouse south of the town.

It took a little over a week for someone to accept the terms to the land, which wasn't at all surprising. The earthquake took toll on Mistria and not many of the passing adventurers were willing to help out on the rebuilding efforts and monetary aid from the Capital would take days, if not weeks, to arrive unless the trade roads were cleared in a timely fashion.

When Adeline said someone bit on the notice, people were ecstatic. That old farm was decrepit for years with no one bold enough to take on the labor to tend to it long term.

There were bets called from the old guards. Of course there were. Will it be a runaway from one of the neighboring cities trying to find their fortune? Will it be some lowly adventurer that found out early in their career that adventuring and the mercenary life was just not for them? Will it be a former noble exiled by their family to some small town in the middle of nowhere with the hopes that they'll be able to come back as the prodigal child to vye for the position of head of the family, if not the throne (Maple was particularly fond of this theory)?

Not all of the theories were as dramatic as these, however. Celine hoped for a plant lover like herself. His brother, Olric, hoped for an outdoorsy person like himself.

March, of course, didn't care.

They didn't need another person to live here. They were doing fine. His brother, Ryis, and he would be enough. It's not like one person could make that big of a difference. The person could be some shady motherfucker, anyway.

Well, whatever he thought, he would have been wrong either way.

The new "farmer" was not some naive, doe-eyed low level adventurer who had nothing to their name but the clothes on their back. The new farmer was not some inexperienced moron that needed handholding throughout every step. No, they didn't get any of that.

What they got was a woman, taller than most of the women in Mistria, with long (though not as long as that witch Juniper's) hair as dark as midnight. There was a cautiousness to her eyes, one that he couldn't quite pinpoint, that was present even when Adeline was excitedly chatting her up in the town square. Dark, dark eyes fully alert to the comings and goings around them. She was polite enough, he'd give her that.

The chatter changed its tone rather immediately. The woman, Sandra, was here barely here a week before the rumors and gossip started anew.

Balor said he saw her scale the side of one of the cliffs at the western side of Mistria without breaking a sweat. Nora said she was damn sure she saw a knife tucked beneath her shirt while harvesting some berries in the eastern ruins. Dell was adamant that she saw their new villager transform into a dragon at the western excavation site (this was an fib and everyone knew it).

But he didn't care. March did not at all care. He just hoped to god that the woman would leave him the hell alone.

Boy was he wrong.

---

for anyone wonder who my oc is, meet sandra haha (gonna make more art of her soon)

What his eyes can see, part 1

[dysfunctionalcreature]

I'm delirious and half asleep but I just had the thought:

Kevin in a moment of weakness begging Andrew to call him a "girl", not even caring whether Andrew says it in a positive or derogatory way, and Andrew responding by calling Kevin "babygirl".... of course Kevin fucking melts at that

[moth-of-mild-anxiety]

*Spoilers for the horror game Mouthwashing*

Mouthwashing is about confidence and glass houses.

Captain Curly's glass house was built on his belief in good. His glass house goes up in a raging fireball smelted down into a bead. Even in the end that core remains even if it isn't able to do anything but roll around.

Daisuke had a classical young man's thoughts and emotions. His house was thin, wavering in the critique of others and his own inability. His house flickered like fire outside utility when he is forced to realize that authority is not always real and experience does not know all.

Swansea doesn't have a glass house. He has a bunker of diamond. His thoughts and opinions have crystallized and he is unshakeable. He knows the writing is on the wall. It takes a bullet to shatter his physical self but that bunker didn't even dent.

Anya may have had a glass house before but it's been destroyed for a while now due to actions before the events on that cursed ship. All her optimism died in the horror of the crash and her confidence is fleeting. Now all she has is the crystalline shards she wields as bloody knives in her hands.

Jimmy doesn't have a glass house. He has a opaque plastic house that obscures what he sees and what others see of him. I imagine his confidence like the plastic smile on a toy action hero. Fake. Useless. In the end the plastic melts and drips like wax in the heat.

[weidli]

i changed the locks, but your key's still working

(Loustat // Dessa, Matches to Paper Dolls)

[uncanny-tranny]

It's really freeing when you learn that rationality isn't going to be feasible in the long run, not because rationality is this thing that only Truly Enlightened people get the privilege to experience, but because humans are just irrational.

You can know when you're being irrational, and sometimes, it is in big ways. But pretending like that irrationality doesn't exist or can only exist if you're "stupid" only sets you back from growing. Irrationality is part of the human condition - it is impossible to actually be this enlightened person people like to project themselves onto.

[thebookshoparoundthecorner]

Sickfic Recs

I'm down for the count with Covid after avoiding it for three years, and thus have been reading/rereading some sickfics that have brought me comfort. I figured while I was at it, I may as well make a list of a few of my favorites, in case anyone else was in need of the same!

In no particular order:

1. A Tree of Life by aknightofthe7kingdoms

Summary:

Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is a tree of life. Proverbs 13:12 Crowley was certain that he wasn’t ill. He just wasn’t feeling...quite well.

2. La Grippe by LadyWallace

Summary: Aziraphale had watched it take too many lives already, he wasn't going to let it take his friend too. It was lucky then that he just happened to stumble across that deserted barn somewhere in the green fields of France. Sick!Crowley Historical backstory

3. Helped By Angels Unawares by Sodium_Azide

Summary: In the late middle ages, Aziraphale stumbles across a human tragedy that has somehow also affected his demonic adversary, and abruptly understands much more about what he is willing to do for the sake of the Serpent of Eden.

4. Fever Dreams by Lady of Prompts (Aethelflaed)

Summary:

Angels don’t get sick. They can, however, burn through enough of their grace that their corporations begin to malfunction. This happens to Aziraphale far more often than to other angels. Aziraphale gets a fever and Crowley takes care of him!

5. A Matter of Opportunity by PinkPenguinParade

Summary:

The pain danced sharp and angry, lit up ragged nerves. Pulled him on, toward that fuzzy promise of rest. Fifteen feet, maybe? He could do fifteen feet. Could do fifteen feet standing on his head, right?Seven feet.

Four.

He reached out for the door and slapped it once, twice, the wood pulsing against his skinned hands.

6. Such Selfish Prayers by spargelseason

Summary:

Crowley, while still apparently comatose, had somehow managed to wrap himself so thoroughly around Aziraphale on their way up, that any attempt at dropping him onto the mattress without being pulled down as well proved futile.

And hence, quite defeated, Aziraphale found himself lying in a warm tangle of Crowley and blankets. He felt a little stunned.

7. The Words We Say by QixxiQ

Summary: Aziraphale calls Crowley a plague rat one time and it kinda messes him up for roughly 300 years.

8. In Sickness And In Hell by entanglednow

Summary: Crowley picks up something unpleasant while mingling in Hell, and is determined that Aziraphale not see him while he's sick.

9. Temper by TeaCub90

Summary:

‘Angel, I told you not to fuss,’ Crowley croaks, somewhere underneath the blankets – and then he emerges, all tousled hair and black vest, looking both three shades paler than usual and more than a little annoyed at the absolute audacity of the angel for bringing him a hot drink.

‘It’s no bother,’ Aziraphale bats away his irritation, ‘this should be better for you, especially after you threw the Lemsip at the wall. And the hot Ribena.’

10. And In Health by Kalimyre

Summary:

One of the many ways Hell is awful is the demon flu that is always going around the office. Crowley comes down with it, and this time he allows Aziraphale to help.

Indulgent, soft fluffy fic, because Crowley deserves to be taken care of sometimes.

+1 Bonus self rec (cause I'm learning how to get better at doing that)

Our Side by theshoparoundthecorner

Summary:

Aziraphale gets sick. He doesn't know how, and it really shouldn't be possible, but he does and unfortunately there's nothing he can do about it. When he decides he has to cancel his plans to see Crowley, Crowley insists he come over to the bookshop with soup. When he arrives, he looks worse than Aziraphale.

Cue a mysteriously sick Angel and a mysteriously sick Demon, taking care of each other in a London Soho bookshop, drinking tea, eating soup, and having an oddly easy time of it.

Well, at least for the first forty-five minutes.

In which Crowley and Aziraphale see each other at their worst, love each other for it all the more, and learn that being on your own side isn't so bad after all.

Those ten are just a few of my favorites, and I have more that I've been reading and bookmarking, so I might do a second rec soon! Meanwhile, if anyone else has any good omens sickfic recs they want to make (or self recs!!), feel free to do so in the reblogs or comments!

[oschonseleven]