#WAUGH...

[fortitude-nine-point-eight]

i need to see kn8 in theaters again......

[anpiels]

can someone tell me to stop sketching new things and actually finish art i can't keep doing this to myself

[multi-lefaiye]

good news: i know how i wanna write the moon hides its breath now and handle its worldbuilding: it's an alt history now, in which the world "ended" in 1945.

bad news: idfk how to research to develop an alt history timeline

[savior-of-humanity]

Equal exchange: 😴 and/or 😨 for Atreus, about Arti? :3

The warmth of another was something Atreus didn't really have the luxury of experiencing often, once his mother had passed. He didn't get as sick as often as he used to as he grew older, so there was seldom need for sharing body heat. Still, even in his sleep, that feeling of being swaddled and safe causes him to nose his way into Artificer's fur and drift into deeper, sweeter dreams.

--

It comes to him in flashes; bits and pieces of moments that, in the realm of sleep, seem to last for an eternity. In each fragment of time, Artificer was always there with him. Sometimes others were there as well, like Father or Mimir or Freya, and sometimes there was nobody else but him and the slugcat.

They come and go, like fond memories; sometimes they're on the Lake of Nine, paddling across the calm and unfrozen waters. Sometimes they're exploring the wilds of one of the realms beyond Midgard, perhaps Alfheim or Vanaheim. The places, people, and things would vary, but out of them all only one stood out in particular.

She's there, watching from the sidelines, and Atreus is a slugcat this time. He's tussling with something, like how he'd play with Speki and Svanna - it takes him a moment to realize they're pups. One with fur as deep and green as the lake waters, and one with fur as bright and blue as the summer sky. He's not sure why, but something about them both reminded him strongly of Artificer.

They play like they'd always been siblings, roughhousing among the summer grass and flowers of the forest surrounding his home. Sun and sea and sky, under the watchful eye of mother fire. It's a moment that Atreus wouldn't mind being lost in for an eternity.

--

But sometimes, the dreams give way to nightmares.

He's not home anymore. He's in what he could only describe as a claustrophobic hell; cramped and dim hallways, lit only by the warm light of lanterns. Packed to the brim and swarming with Scavengers. He was one too, with bright blue eyes and golden fur, but the others looked as him as though he were a demon with their burning, hateful gazes.

Atreus couldn't run, so the only thing he did was fight. Spears flew and clashed against one another; many nicked and pierced him, but for every drop of god-blood they spilled, he killed just as many of their kin. But there were so many, and they wouldn't stop coming, and his arms were getting so tired, and all of his wounds won't stop bleeding and it just hurts--

There.

He hears it first before he sees it; the crackling snap of an explosion, followed by a familiar blur of red leaving smoking bodies in its wake. He tries to call out for her but in his Scavenger throat it comes out wrong, a high-pitched squeal of distress akin to a terrified pup. Among the chaos, she sees her head snap over in his direction and her gaze lock on him. Relief floods his heart when she launches herself over to his side of the crowd, and he starts fighting his way through the Scavenger tide to try and close the distance.

What he doesn't expect is for her to slam into him, and for her jaws to sink deep into his throat.

He can't scream, he can't gasp, leaving only his eyes to go wide as plates at the sudden betrayal. Only now does his magic let him meld back into the familiar slugcat form, yet she does not relent. He reaches up to her face, blood and air seeping through his mouth and throat alike, and manages to rasp;

Why me? Why me?

His spear had sunk into the skin over her heart, yet he couldn't bring himself to drive it any deeper. He sees how her ears pin even further back, how her only good eye seemed to well up, and yet she bites down ever harder.

--

He wakes with a start, a hand pressed to his intact throat as his eyes flutter open to the dark interior of the shelter. Outside, he can hear the distant roar of the rain, but aside from the sound of his and Artificer's breathing, all is quiet. It reminds him of when he'd wake in the dead of bad winter nights, between the safety and warmth of his parents.

He hesitated for a moment, then snuggled back into Artificer's fur, letting its scent and her breathing lull him back to sleep.

[drop--pop--candy]

me vs the sudden waves of sadness

[quenthel]

wanted to do a heavy workout today but i cant do that on my period... not strong enough yet...

[basilpaste]

i drew loopified osisa. so i should draw humanish elle to match, i think.

[cowboycheeseslime]

I know a lot of people consider vigilante work to be tough and scary. But when you think about it, the reason that you do it is a very gentle one. You're trying to protect people. It's never an easy thing, to uphold the law. To decide when someone is doing wrong and bring them to justice. But I think you've got a good head on your shoulders(?) and I really admire how dedicated you are to it. You've got a strong heart. I hope it always leads you true.

"... w-well now..."

"Thanks for the 'ppreciation. Yeah, that's why I'm out there doin' what I'm doin'. It ain't a job I got hired for, it's somethin' I dedicate myself to so the public's safe. My kind, you'll notice that we ain't the most... durable. Someone's gotta protect us and all the others who can't yet lift a hand to really protect themselves. I'm sure my heart's always gonna steer me right... but, heh. Hearin' this sorta thing, helps. A lot. Thank you again."

[lunarpanda]

Eating instant ramen ‘cause there’s nothing else!

[night-dark-woods]

ID. four gifs of waves crashing at the base of a cliff at sunset. End ID.

[fortitude-nine-point-eight]

once i cut my hair it's all over for you people.

[wedarkacademia]

- Evelyn Waugh, from Brideshead Revisited (1945)

[night-dark-woods]

ID. A painting of a flat field of golden grass, stretching out to infinity with nothing else on the horizon line. the sky is solid dark blue-gray clouds like a thunderstorm, with a hint of sunlight peeking through that lights the top of all the blades of grass. End ID.

Golden Fields, Amber Brunsden — 2023 Oil on canvas

[savior-of-humanity]

Let me assign you an affection language. (for Y'shua)

a knife called grief.

You have left your house, you have left those people behind, but what are you going to do about the memories which have taken root in you? You can run but not without them. You want someone to sit with you on this cool marble floor while the sun burns everything. You want them to cut your rotten heart and theirs too. You want to sit with it in front of you, let them see you with all your flaws, which haven’t been your fault but you have been made to believe so, and you want them to love you anyways. Because you know you’d do that for them.

stolen from: @maykrisms

tagging: anyone!

[lunarpanda]

I really wish I could work on my oil painting today. It's almost done like a good 90% or so I just got some final touches and fixing up but I gotta wait for stuff to dry before I can do anything with it.... ough...

[smoov-criminal]

OCD symptom i struggle with but don't see talked about a lot: inability to trust your own memory and/or perception.

as an example: i put my headphones in my bag. i say im sure they're in my bag, but what if i imagined putting them in my bag? i have to check, so i stick my hand inside and grab them. but then i have to check *again* because what if i just so happened to have another object shaped and sized exactly like my headphones that i just forgot about? so i have to pull them out of my bag and look directly at them to fully confirm they were in my bag

this is a fairly benign example but this also happens with other worse scenarios for me and it's. not fun