rab-bitly

[rab-bitly]

beyond the gate (emptiness) alt. color version under cut

grabbing my head in agony if i think about dina and the desperate need to belong too much. the clawing desire to know someone when you have the power to peel through peoples' Selves like it's nothing. Still feeling like the outsider the interloper... the solution is Definitely the rejection of the physical body and the creation of one uniform human conscious with the souls of every living person btw ❤️

[rab-bitly]

oh yeah im going to be trying my best to do artfight this year come check me outtt

[rab-bitly]

se7en sen7ence sunday7

thank u for the tag @crowshuh 🫶

im tagginggg @punkranger and @kittlesandbugs if u guys havent been tagged yet! and anyone else who wants in

rule: share seven sentences of your current WIP or latest work

im allergic to giving context but ummmm. very shortly post-hb nico <3

The room is white on white, and your skin is still rusty. Iodine. Bruising. Blooms of pink where they didn’t wash the blood all the way off. Your skin twitches in place of your pulse, which must have run off or bled out or been otherwise excised somewhere, somewhere, (there is feeling and there is understanding and there are places where all things are either quiet or killed.) There were hands inside you just hours ago. Hands inside, and something, some th i n g inside, something and metal and nitrile and none of you.

[rab-bitly]

seven sentence sunday

thank u for the tag @mercuryisfronting i'll pass this on to @camillathe6th @thecryptidenthusiast @rab-bitly if you’d like <3 share seven sentences of your current WIP or latest work

here we are… hesitating to add context because i would Like to finish this within the next day so. Just your average dina/ric interaction👍 #notsex #healthyrelationship #boundaries #normalcouple

All your unyielding armor and the wet heat of breath. You see him. Eyes snagging on a blood-covered mouth. You think you fight him for a moment, hands clawing for purchase on something, anything. Still, his back meets the ground again and he curses from the pain. Lightning-hot, burned off nerves and phantom pains. A body remade with metal. 

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actually im not done with this line of thought i think theres a lot of meat to chew on about when exactly sidestep considers Sidestep dead. what was time and place of death was it heartbreak proper? impact with the ground? in the ambulance ride (in which case is the deciding factor time or distance), at the farm (in which case when exactly here too - upon arrival? upon surgery? was it even day-of or did sidestep die slow in days and months) was Sidestep alive until they returned to LD and upon arrival there was no longer room for both sidestep and Sidestep and so Sidestep had to die? was there an active decision that sidestep was dead or was it pronounced by necessity

something about the constant reassertion that sidestep is dead. something about the constant pressure from the people in their life for sidestep to return to being Sidestep. something about never being able to shake your own dead body & something about everyone trying to kill you again

[rab-bitly]

something about the constant reassertion that sidestep is dead. something about the constant pressure from the people in their life for sidestep to return to being Sidestep. something about never being able to shake your own dead body & something about everyone trying to kill you again

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when im done with them nico/ortega will be t4t yuri

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Happy pride!! 🏳️‍🌈🏳️‍⚧️💕 This wasn't intended to be a series when I first started with Julia which is why there's a lot of inconsistencies but it was very fun and I learned a lot from drawing these! Do you have a favorite?

Bonus Tegans under the cut

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some sidestep explorations in blue

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honey i can’t be your savior

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its been 6 years since i first drew the iconic diner scene and ive finally redone it

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Best friend requested an Ortega which would be fine if I didn’t have to hide my face under my collar THE WHOLE TIME

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nighthawk for nash please and thank you xoxo

nighthawk – n. a recurring thought that only seems to strike you late at night, that circles high overhead during the day, that pecks at the back of your mind while you try to sleep

(cw for brief wound/injury talk)

Nash isn’t a heavy sleeper. No-one in the Project is; perhaps no-one in the city is, the constant hum of the air conditioners a backdrop to the traffic, the noise echoing from the glass and the buildings in a near-constant crescendo. You learn to take naps where you get the time, and everyone pretends they don’t know about your nightmares. You pretend not to know about theirs, too, so it works out well. It should be part of the initiation process, they think in their more cynical moments.

Are you willing and able to take orders? Yes.

Are you ambitious, reckless, or saddled with enough of a martyr complex to risk your life for a cause you don’t care about? Yes.

Are you plagued by nightmares of everything you could have done differently? Yes.

Excellent. We’ll take you.

They roll over in bed, listen to the springs creak in the velvet dark. Across the room, curled in the other cot, the dark shape of their partner breathes slowly, softly. No-one in the Project is a heavy sleeper, but since the implantation, Nash hasn’t heard a sound from them. It’s the silence that bothers them on nights like this, the dark ringing in their ears as they stretch out until they feel the metal bars of the bedframe at their feet. It’s too quiet, too peaceful, a sharp contrast to the way it used to be; Nash shifts again, raises a hand to the semi-healed ridges on their shoulder, the scar tissue forming over thick scabs, the dull thrum of pain as they push down on the wound.

Their partner has matching scars, now, a neat line where Nash’s are jagged, just below the hairline instead of scattered across the shoulder, but there’s something satisfying in it, all the same, catching that gleam of pale skin just before it’s covered by a hood. The satisfaction is always chased by something bitter, a sharp aftertaste as they lie there in the dark, unable to sleep. No payment for their own scars, no AI to keep their dreams in check. Some days, they want to ask: was it worth it?

For a decent night’s sleep, maybe. Maybe that alone is enough.

They roll over again, turn their back to the body sleeping peacefully opposite them. Partners. It’s always felt like a loaded word to Nash. Every now and then, lying in the warm velvet dark, waiting for sleep to finally come, they turn the word over in their head, examine it from every angle. They pull back the hammer, check the chamber. Every time, they find the bullet in there, inert and gleaming. Every time, they put it back, safety off, barrel hot against their throat. Nash isn’t sure which of them holds the gun, but they know one of them will pull the trigger, eventually: one of them will have to.

Nash isn’t a heavy sleeper: on nights like this, humid and close, they lie awake in the indigo dark, and they wonder.

[rab-bitly]

Bits could be anything. I am intrigued may I know what the bits are?

indeed they could be anything! turns out thats exactly what they are

(thank you @kittlesandbugs for also asking about the bits!)

(ask game rules here)

this is a recent doc where ive been fighting through some writers block. maybe its not technically a wip but a collection of wips? so maybe i broke the rules including it but whatever. basically the idea here is i just Start something off of whatever little idea i have, dont need to finish it or even need to know where it's going, and from there on i can decide if it goes somewhere or not. helps take the pressure off when i cant write but still want to. ive got a bunch of these sorts of docs but this ones just the nico one from the last month or so

thank u sm for asking! 2 asks about bits = 2 bits samples vv

first one, ill probably actually keep picking away at this one one day

He wants to see you cry. It’s a stupid thought, which of course means it’s the right one, which of course means it’s the last to come to you after days and hours of staring through sunglasses, head angled just so that he wouldn’t guess your gaze, when he thought he stole a glance you were already dissecting (the brow gives just at the corner, the lips thin, blinking slows.) It’s stupid because you never cried, not even the you he thinks he knows. Maybe under the mask, he must have thought, maybe that’s why you wore it. Maybe you were the sweet small thing he could hold in his hand, wet and red-faced, so bravely hiding it. And he’d imagine himself big and warm and steady-handed, and you’d let him pull the fabric up (you’d wanted him to all along, of course), and he’d wipe your face clean so gently you'd only cry harder.

aand the second one thats probably going nowhere

You used to like those teeth. Straight and stainless, uncrowded. Those canines, filed down just smooth enough to be harmless. It’s all in the details, of course. Don’t want to scare anyone. You wondered if they were veneers once, didn’t ask it then and wouldn’t ask it now. You try to avoid it but he smiles quicker than you can flinch, then vertigo as they tear at you.

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These titles are like catnip and choosing is a nightmare but please. Can I get a little information about 5?

explaining a wip before its done is my waking nightmare but yes of course anything for you <3

(ask game rules here)

how to never lose anything ever again AKA how to skip rigor mortis AKA an idiots guide to digging a hole started out as just a way to explore the insides of nicos mind in sidestep days outside of a standard narrative format. if theres one thing about nico its that the paranoia has been there since day 1!! and if theres one thing about me i looove a Format so. boom. listicle fic. i guess

aaaand if theres Another thing about me its that i cant stay focused on an outcome to save my life! which is part of the reason this wip is so dusty and old now, it stayed an exploration and never focused in on something well enough for me to have the urge to see it to completion. the rest of the doc outside of the chunk i posted is Seriously disconnected and would need to hit a Serious chopping block to ever see the light of day, but im just a little too charmed by some sections to stomach the surgery :')

and heres another little bite as a thank you for asking!

18. don’t forget yourself. invest in some perspective or a little prey sense a little perception a pricked ear or eyes on a swivel. swallow that bubble in your chest (see: “see you” see: a tossed wave and that tv smile/that other smile see: that wrinkle by his eyes the magazines blur out that wrinkle you’ve never seen that wrinkle before) and leave the later there

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number 4!!!! i love seeing different ppl's takes on fhr's telepathy

ask game rules here!

oops sorey i hadnt even gotten to the telepathy part yet in it heehee... but it does have some planning/ramblings so consolation prize you get a peek into my twisted mind

telepathy idkkkkkkk FUCK

Chin tucked in boxer style, eyes dipped low like surrender, sun went down an hour ago but the dusk is still too bright to look at. Could have gone back to base but the walls were too thin to think, and anything that enters won’t stop sticking, even with the door locked things slipped in, those thin walls, their seeping. ummmm When you walk each step is something to think about, something you can’t quite hold to, your feet catch you a second before you've realized you need to catch yourself. something peeling, pin through thin plastic → glass? flaking bores in walls houses that are sick quarantine zones this  noise  it  is  overwhelming   the   atoms   vibrate   split    off    attach     the      border      is      lacking       you       have        the         means           to            create             a               new                one               but                    how             but         how     but   how  but how but how buthowbuthowbhwbhwbhwbhbhbhhhhh

this ones very fresh so everythings scattered. my wip documents are a fractured wasteland. thank you for the ask!!