#uhmm… yeah!

[sasster]

Blow Out

Can you believe no one asked who his doctor is?

[Here’s the doc!]

--

Trollkind is remarkably advanced across a variety of fields, but all that galaxy-spanning innovative thinking must have stopped just outside the doors of every medical waiting room. The one the purple blood sits in is no different than any other one on or off of Alternia.

The fluorescent lights hanging from the ceiling buzz in time with a bare gray wall that seems to pulse with the heart rate of a patient circling the drain. If not for a television that droned on some news channel rattling off its heavy dose of fleet propaganda, muffled by distance, and the sheer veil that covered his face, it would have all been entirely too much for Retcon to handle. It is all quite the scene for the waiting room’s three denizens; The one receptionist and the two worse for wear psions awaiting their teal blooded savior to deliver them from their respective agonies.

In the furthest possible seat from the other two, Retcon fidgets idly with a loose string that juts out from the uncomfortably firm chair he occupies. He works hard to focus on the diluted voice that comes from the television, but can’t seem to make the information fit into his head in a way that even pretends to make sense. To say nothing of the tinnitus like ringing that has plagued his ears for the last handful of days.

In some attempt to prevent feeding into his migrane, which interestingly throbs at the same pace that the lights and wall move, he delegates his attention to the loose thread that he twirls around his index and middle digits. He allows this to be his tether to the breathing waiting room.

Across the room, suddenly louder than the droning of the news channel, the receptionist belts out an unintelligible string of words. Through the filter the ringing in his ears has become, it sounds more like someone in the middle of drowning calling out for help.

Retcon’s attention stays on the stray string. He coils it around his fingers tight enough that their tips begin to pale from the lack of blood flow.

The receptionist speaks again, an even louder version of her best impression of a fish out of water, but an anchor on the TV says something about a rebel syndicate taken down a few days ago and issues a warning to anyone that has ever rubbed elbows with them.

The lights buzz louder.

A door opens.

A conversation joins the choir of noise that slams into him like a truck, about five hundred miles away, at the receptionist’s desk.

Now someone somewhere in the room sighs.

Not being paid enough for this, the woman then says something that sounds suspiciously like someone shouting “Webcam,” from the bottom of a well.

He winces at the sound and focuses instead on the light gray the tips of his fingers have become.

Miraculously, a familiar voice strikes through the white noise that the world has become.

“Ten forty-nine?”

Within a second of his identification numbers hitting his ears, Retcon’s attention snaps up to find the source. Partially obscured by the sheer of the veil, he can just make out the shape of the doctor, staring directly in his direction with a smile on his face.

“There he is, come on back with me.”

He stands.

Somewhere between ten seconds and three hours pass in how long it takes him to traverse the twenty-five feet that separate him from the doctor.

Alaska waits patiently; his unwavering smile makes it impossible to tell how long that wait actually is. In the meantime, he does turn his attention to the news broadcast very briefly before giving a thoughtful hum and switching the channel to something a little easier on the brain.

Soft instrumentals fill the waiting area, quickly alleviating some of the pressure building up behind Retcon’s eyes.

When he does get to the doctor, a hand claps gently over his shoulder and leads him the rest of the way to the examination room and onto a table.

The doctor takes his own seat on a very lively rolling stool that he scoots over to the counter his bag is on and starts to dig into it for his equipment. “Talk to me, Retcon,” he says from within the depths of the bag.

“It’s too loud in here.” The psion manages, indicating the harshness of the much brighter light in this room than the previous one.

“I can’t exactly work in the dark here,” he replies, wheeling back over to him to hand off a pair of light filtering glasses. “Did you lose the last pair?”

Retcon nods and lifts his veil just long enough to put the glasses on and drops it again.

“Is that better?”

“It’s better.”

“So, I take it you overdid it again?” The question is more like a statement of fact delivered with a soft chuckle.

He does not wait for a response as he starts to set his instruments in a prep tray next to him. Odds and ends Retcon wouldn’t be able to name in his right mind, let alone his current condition, clang into the metal tray despite the doctor’s best efforts to lay them in gently.

Retcon winces.

“I think I broke it again.”

“You think?”

“I definitely broke it again.”

Alaska nods, his demeanor does not shift. He takes a second to inspect the blade of a tool that Retcon does not know the name of before turning to fully face him again. “Do you remember what I told you that your limit is?”

“Twenty, twenty-five. Depending. I could get away with thirty if I don’t do them all at once.” He recites what must have been his mantra for the last couple hundred sweeps as easy as breathing air. “More if I spread it throughout a week.”

“Right. How many did you do this time?”

“Fifty.”

“Fif--” The doctor swipes a hand over his own forehead, the motion largely conceals it if his expression shifts on any perceptible level. “Fifty? All at once?”

He nods.

“You definitely broke it.” Alaska echoes his earlier sentiment.

Retcon swings his legs idly and watches the floor pulse toward and away from his feet, choosing the nausea that comes along with it over tuning in to the lecture he is about to receive.

The chiding will no doubt be a gentle one, but when you’ve been someone’s patient for long enough, after the first half century, the lectures start to sound the same. They always seem to sound to the tune of: You’ll fry your brain. The device does not have the memory for that. We really need you to stick to these restrictions. Are you listening?

Are you listening?

Are you listening?

Retcon is brought back by the doctor snapping his fingers just within his field of view.

“Ten forty-nine, can you hear me? Remind them of your limits next time.”

“Can’t you just make it stronger? That’s what they want.”

Alaska’s gaze turns into a sympathetic one.

“We’d both like it if I could just slap a fifty petabyte block of memory in your head, but the technology’s not there yet Retcon,” he starts, gentle hands moving to assist him in laying back. “Frying your brain every couple of perigees doesn’t look good on applications for funding towards it, either.”

The doctor wheels his chair over to the usual blindspot, and quips something obligatory to Retcon before pushing a needle into the soft spot behind his earlobe. Retcon hardly reacts as the sharp pain starts and then subsides, his head flooding with a numbing agent he must have heard the name of some sweeps ago.

“I need you to help me help you, alright? Now, hold still.”

[homolobotomized]

hot dog or hamburger style, captain

[umblrspectrum]

you'll never guess which movie i finally watched after 2 years of being lazy

[bottleswithbottles]

Drawing the @rogerrrroger 's Gordon Wall-E with some creativity liberties because im stupid LMFAO (i liked a lot ur design ily no straight)

[4525yaoi]

lovely couple

[abstractfrog]

THE GLORIA SCOTT - part 2, and a follow up to my comic for the first half of this scene! thanks sm to @crashingmeteorz for allowing me to source validation for my whimsical cosmic approach to this moment <3

[sheerricetorrent]

Moon (mostly) human design but its made for me and myself only

[technicallyneon]

felt like rereading the changeling chapters so here’s some of my favorite panels (pretty much only chilaios related because the shipper goggles are permanently glued to my face at this point)

spoilers for ch. 50 and 51 under the cut (duh)

first of all… yeah i don’t know either… is that the second time laios has called him mister or did it happen more often. wonder if they’re gonna change this one to “sir” in the anime too… i mean what who said that…

i’m not even gonna comment on this one

i’m really totally super normal about him wearing laios’s clothes and armor i promise. you gotta believe me

obligatorily pointing out the reversed height difference. laios is so fucking tiny i need to squeeze him like a stress ball

sweet revenge for all the times they’ve coddled him (bonus half-foot marcille appearance because i love her). they both look so cute i need to eat them

there’s something to be said about laios being the only member of the party who doesn’t miss chilchuck’s “cute” appearance (or at least the only one who isn’t actively thinking about it) like everyone’s all upset about tallchuck but laios doesn’t give a shit because he doesn’t care about what chilchuck looks like, he’s still chilchuck to him even if he’s taller now and i need to stop yapping now before i talk myself into a frenzy over this

they have my whole heart

same braincell mfs. they did not communicate this plan at all by the way they just thought of it at the exact same time and it somehow worked out anyway yadda yadda yadda implicit trust in each other and all that (poor marcille tho)

i’m not into feet but my friend is so i’m posting this for it specifically. also it’s fucking funny and i appreciate the detail of laios’s scar from the dragon fight, that’s very cool

that’s it, that’s the end of the post thank you for indulging my insanity

[rockore]

Dude there's still so much I want to post but. Aughhhhhh goes feral

[voidzphere]

bein a sans au artist is funny to me cuz how do i tell people i draw skeletonz for a living. and theyre gay

[fivedayriot]

Cuties....

[umblrspectrum]

its beginning to look a lot like War Without Reason

[grapegoggle]

happy 4/4 day

i wasnt going to draw anything bc i was like “oh i already posted something today :( ..” but then i realized I DONT GIVE A FUCK!!!!!!

[distractorboxten]

Yeah okay I'm done.

[abstractfrog]

My comic for The Retired Colourman! I love this scene between Mariana and Sherlock sm

[emisnt2]

AYO HE'S BACK?! HELLO??? /Pos