#so ye :333

[sheepie-self-ships]

REALLTY7... REALLY!!!... WHAT!!!!!

THERES UMMM THERES A 3D PRINTING THING NEAR MY SCHOOL & STUFF AND REALLY IMJUST LOOKING FOR SOMEONE TO 3D MODEL HIM..

HELL YES I LOVE 3D MODELING /GEN!!!

Idk what style you’re looking for but this is some of the work I’ve made :3c

I’ve also been looking into maybe moving into some more like… chibi styles, kind of like this colored drawing (but yk, in 3D)

Apologies for all the eagleace/bats, it’s been mostly what I’ve been working on 💀 but yeah!!! I would love to do more 3D modeling 👀

[shepscapades]

An Official DBHC Tango reference sheet!!

I’ve been sitting on this for so long, and it only just occurred to me that I never posted it!! I use it so much for referencing the cracks on his hands since there are so many, plus this gives y’all a little bit of a S8-S9 timeline for his visual design developments! :D Pre-Deviant Tango is so baby to me <3 Something is so wrong with him now <333

[narsh-poptarts]

my dark link thoughts coalesced into wonderful headcanons and crazy amounts of forced perspectives and dutch angles

also sorry HW i would have included your dark link(s) but i do not have passion for your game <3 maybe next time

Some thoughts below

I have thoughts about dark link that boil down to basically two things: 1. it's always the same dark link, and 2. dark link has a very difficult time changing.

No matter how many times dark link is brought into existence, he is formed from the shadow of link usually to test link's will. that shadow can be duplicated (as seen in HW) but generally speaking it's the same guy, sharing the thought space, you know how it is. In terms of sentience/thinking for himself, I don't think there's all that much of it. He is a dark reflection/shadow of link, so shares his abilities and thought patterns (for combat) with added aggression and. evil. i guess.

As said by navi, "conquer yourself", and all that. He's a challenge to the inner will power.

That being said!!! he can have a little bit of individuality, as a treat. Just in the form of being mean and sadistic <3 he's got thoughts, he's not just a combat doll (tho in times of low power, or a greater power having the reins, he reverts to that), so he can be frustrated, vindicated, happy, etc etc. though when your thoughts are mainly "evilevilevilevilevil" your idea of these emotions are a bit skewed.

When he's summoned for each different link, i hc that it's all the same magic, so the same dark link every time. he "remembers" in an abstract sense of his role in the same way a link or zelda "remembers" their own reincarnation. tho his is less of a reincarnation and more being used over and over again. a persistence.

The iteration that's summoned reflects the current link at the time, the part of link that needs testing/defeating, so it's not an existence that he himself can change to match the present. he's locked to that first copy/shadow only. So if he were to have a second encounter with an older link, he'd look like the first time they fought, unless he was specifically re-summoned. i hc he's got limited magic, so this is not something he can do himself.

in a links-meet scenario, his form would be limited to those specific forms of the links, and it would always be the points in time in which he first encountered them, unless there's other magic either he or someone else has access to to allow him to change forms to match.

now you might be saying at this point "wouldn't he be a weaker match if he was put up against an older link?" yeah probably lol. but also!!! i like the idea that with the limited magic he has, he's able to change juuuust enough to stay relatively evenly matched. being able to play to different strengths and all that. but the base stuff is still the same, so he is decently easy enough to read if link remembers the kind of stuff he was pulling back when he originally fought dark link.

dark link also knows about all this so while limited to the particular skillset, is able to adapt slightly.

but yeah been thinking a lot about a links-meet au where dark link is there choosing a different link to be every time he appears to the party.

though there are a couple links that he never impersonates in their games!!! so can't change into those guys unless he gets a new round of copycat magic.

Anyways goodbye guy standing there with standard camera angle, i have dutch angles and forced perspective

[wannabemasterofwindintraining]

You could be nicer about it :((

[absterstuff]

yeah

[swiftmitsu]

he’s come to confess his feelings…

choose him?

no. ❤️ of course!

[comfort-character-central]

Your f/o would never make you feel bad about your intelligence or the way your mind works. Even if you have a hard time understanding or processing, they'll never see you as dumb, stupid, or anything of that sort. They support you completely and the last thing they want is for you to feel insecure about it.

[rendevok]

40 :3

40~ an impulsive kiss

My handwriting is messy, but i intended it as 3 speech bubbles:

Phoenix says (1)“Come here” while interrupting Edgeworth as he says (2)“W-”, and after he turns away, Phoenix says “They’re gone now”.

Hope you enjoy the not-so-healthy 7yg narumitsus!! Thanks :D

[subtle-as-an-earthquake]

Late Night Berlin Music Special with Arctic Monkeys [X]

[noodles-and-tea]

Hi! Just wanted to let you know that every Tuesday I imagine Sherlock and Co as an animated series in your art style. I hope you're having a great day!

Delivered right to your ear every Tuesday!

[mayhemspreadingguy]

"If you stare into the abyss,

the abyss stares back at you."

[ellearts]

Possessive.

Black cat Lance x Snow Leopard Fernando because im insane

[gothsuguru]

yeah so he’s literally my ideal man

[cookieclover]

Hands you the guys

:cries and gently holds them all in my hands:

[joinmeinjoy]

✨Blade of Frontiers✨

[m1d-45]

bloodletting

summary: a budding god needs a place to test their new powers, and childe was always a little too eager to lose a fight... a match made in heaven!

word count: 1.7k

-> warnings : minor AQ spoilers ? just like, general gi plot.. fairly graphic depiction of blood + other injuries (might be classed as body horror???). generally obsessive tendencies (childe <--> you). i cannot stress this enough, reader is 110% a sadist.

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

power was not something that came easy. it was fought over, stolen, defended with teeth and claw, tides of blood shed just so one could have power over another. social, physical, financial; no matter the leverage it provided, power was hard won. to give someone power was to admit defeat, a certain death that tartaglia had learned and taught more than his fair share of times. nobody undeserving of power ever held onto it for long; it was an acknowledgement that you were better, that you deserved it, that you’d won. power was a fickle resource that childe would kill to keep, only ever laying down his blade for a precious few.

the tsaritsa, of course. his fellow harbingers, skilled both on and off-field, who themselves could rival the archons. his family, for whom he’d happily give the world.

and naturally, who would be more worthy to hold power than you?

you, not just a god but the, the highest authority across all of teyvat. you bore a hundred names and a thousand monikers, your worship the one thing the world could agree on. granted, nobody could quite agree on how, but that was fine. childe did not need external powers to tell him what to do. he knew, in his deepest heart, that he had gotten it right.

he knew—and, on occasion, flaunted—that he was your favorite. of all the vessels you had chosen, you returned to him time and time again, wishing on his stars until his vision gleamed. his bow shone with power, even his weakest weapon more than enough to push his strength to new heights. part of him wondered what he could do if you’d granted him swords, or a claymore… but that was speculation for another time. didn’t it say something that you had still chosen him at his weakest?

the thought always made him smile. thick in the heat of puppeteered battle, before the sun to after dark, your presence was a constant in his life. at every altar, with every offering, when his hands stung from the rash of leather and his blade was covered in rust, your name a prayer behind blood-soaked teeth. he could not remember a time when his pocket was not weighted with a charm.

his devotion was no secret. he wore your bow with pride, entirely phasing out his other weapons. it didn’t matter that he was technically more controlled with them, for you had chosen this path for him. your word was his guide, a polar star through bitter nights.

he did not doubt when your presence ebbed or flowed. who was he to dictate when or where you spent your attention? no, his faith did not waver. it had no reason to. he waited patiently, going about his regular duties, lingering in snezhnaya for no other reason that he just felt like he had to.

who was he to question to buzzing in the back of his head? who was he to decline when he felt an instinct to leave, to go for a trip far past the city gates? who was he to think himself better than the guiding light that had never led him astray?

for you, he was whatever you needed. and so he went, armed with a thick coat and snowboots, hands shoved deep in the pockets to hide the slight shake. down the main road, an arbitrary turn into an alley and down an abandoned path, into a part of the city he’d never traveled. but a golden thread had tied itself around his heart, pulling without hesitation. he easily hopped over the fence gate, not bothering with hauling it open through the snow. the path beyond was covered in a thick layer of powder, his foot crunching through a foot of it before hitting solid ground. still, he continued.

snezhnayan winters were not warm. they bit and dug into every gap in your clothes, stealing away the precious warmth within. and yet, with his half-done coat and incomplete guard, he was not cold. or, rather, he couldn’t feel it. his hands were pink with frost, stiff at the knuckles, but he couldn’t feel the resistance. his body was not important, not now.

the snow began to thin. it fell from his knees to his shins to his ankles to his toes, until he was face to face with a thick wall of bramble, impossibly overgrown. he was beginning to overheat in his jacket. twin blades made quick work of the wall, and the sight behind it easily dispelled any breath left in his lungs.

the air that washed out of the bubble was thick and heavy, like a humid spring instead of snezhnayan woods. his breath came in short gasps, a shameful wheeze that he hoped was missed beneath the howling snow. he didn’t want you to see him as weak, as someone so easily tired by a short trip to a falling star; he didn’t want you to think of him as anything other than his best.

but you didn’t push him away. you helped him up—his head was buzzing with delusion, he could hardly see, when had he fallen to his knees?—and brushed the snow off his hair, not pushing him away when he leaned into your touch. he couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, could barely collect himself enough to recognize that he needed to get you inside, away from the wilds.

that was power. to so effortlessly take over every thought in his head, to hold his mind in your hands and pull it into your liking, that was the power he adored you for. gods were figureheads of power, a physical incarnation of their dominion. a god of the entire world would only naturally have power to manipulate that world to their liking. how blessed was he, that he could be the first you made yours.

he was with you when you first stepped into zapolyarny palace, looking around at the chandeliers and fine tile. he opened the door for you to her majesty’s throne room, sucking in a sharp breath as you brushed by. he was by your side when the tsaritsa swore you her fealty, delicately placing the gnoses in your hands.

and oh, how he’d fallen to the floor right then and there, dizzy from the wash of power that rolled off you in waves, an ocean that he willingly dove into. the floor was cool beneath his forehead, his hair sticking to his skin as sweat quickly began to bead. he didn’t bother pushing himself up on his hands, teeth sinking deep into his lip again to control his panting breath. copper bloomed over his tongue, filling his mouth and clogging what remained of his senses.

dimly, he was aware that he was being pathetic, that this would surely change your mind about him. he heard your voice, faint through the fog of his mind, your wisdom lost to his own inadequacy. and yet, despite his weakness, every part of him was tuned into you. he knew it was your hand whispering across his shoulders, he knew it was your influence that stole the breath from his lungs. he knew it was you, because it was always you. you were all he could think of, and now you were finally able to leverage your full power over his self.

he’d woken up in a hospital bed. saline dripped into his arm and the lights pierced his eyes, his head full of snow and iced over. and yet, the moment he was cleared for release, he found himself desperate to be back to your side, racing through the tiled halls of the palace and following the urgent burn in his chest. you would have been right to turn him away, to deem him too weak to stay by your side, but you didn’t. you smiled when he lost his breath and laughed when he wavered, brushing off his concern. you invited him with you—his lungs burned with the need for oxygen—as you twirled the gnoses between your fingers, as if they were toys or paperweights rather than objects of divine power.

divine to him. child’s play to you. a courtyard of snow was cleared in an instant, ripples of pyro melting permafrost while keeping the flora beneath intact, a lazy show of power that pulled little more than a slight hum from you in response.

he wasn’t so much a fool as to think he could teach you everything, or even something, about being divine. and yet he clung to your side like a sailor in a storm, watching as you grew familiar with the elements. he watched, stubborn and weak, as you stopped hesitating.

flowers bloomed as you walked by, crumbling to ash with the slightest look. electro jumped from your skin to his, a painful spark that drew his mind from his head, finally seeing your amused eyes instead of just mindlessly staring. you could—should—have just left him behind, but you didn’t. you instead asked for his help, taking his hand in yours and leading him to a quieter hallway of the palace. you didn’t comment on his thundering pulse despite the fact that you could certainly feel it, tracing a finger along the crease of his palm.

“i wonder…”

a claw of geo cut across his skin, a sharp sting that quickly welled with blood. he barely felt it, watching with detached awe as it filled up his hand, sliding over the edge and dripping to the floor. you didn’t show any emotion, just… watching. his heart beat in his hands, a pool collecting on the floor, and still, you just watched. your other hand moved over the surface, barely an inch away, the blood collecting in a bubble beneath it. with a hum, your fist tightened, pain lighting up his arm. a strained grunt slipped between his teeth, hand flinching closed, brushing against the ball of his blood you had pulled from his veins. his hand was stained red, shaking in your grasp, minutes stretched into hours.

all at once, it dropped, forced back into his body as forcefully as it was removed. with a snap, the skin stitched itself shut, and you were again dragging him along like a child did their favorite toy.

you did that a lot. pull him aside and experiment with whatever new reaction you had discovered that month, week, day, hour, watching his reactions with unabashed delight. and he let you. every time, without fail, he eagerly followed, knowing full well he’d end up rigid with lightning or with ice crystals studding his throat. it was worth it, though. you always fixed him up, squeezing his hand with a whispered ‘good job’ that never failed to make him dizzy.

it didn’t matter what you did to him. it never did. even when his mind was hazy with pain and he couldn’t quite stand on his own, he never regretted it. unconsciousness licked at the edges of his vision, burning black stains that lingered even after you stopped, but he never once hesitated.

if you asked him to jump, he’d ask how high. if you felt like holding him underwater, he’d cherish every bruise. to be kept as a toy was still to be kept.