#copy and paste the drawing and use that too

[serensama]

Thursday Bangers: Dr, Who?

Thank you to @woundedsoul12 for this amazing game and prompt <3 My love to @jenn2d2 and @davrinsleftpectoral for the tags!!

Read on Ao3

So, it's not 5k... it's more like 4.3k. I TRIED. If I wanted to write everything I wanted to write, it would have easily been 8-10k. THIS IS WHAT RESTRAINT LOOKS LIKE! Please refrain from looking up the definition of restraint. Don't play me like that.

Rules for your Copy and Paste: Free form a blurb or drawing based on the weekly lyrics prompt. It doesn't have to include the prompt just whatever you're inspired to write, write it! Then tag some friends so they can play as well. It doesn't have to be finished on Thursday just post it whenever you can (you have a whole week between Thursdays).

All my friends we're glorious | Tonight we are victorious — Victorious by Panic! At The Disco

---

Pizza for dinner? No, maybe some pasta. Or both. And some gelato, of course. 

Months had passed since she last saw Illario Dellamorte. 

True to his word, he did not call her office, did not contact her at all. She had tried to delete his number from her phone, but she couldn’t. Told herself to keep it just in case. The weeks that had passed saw her fall into a mindless routine of working, eating, and watching unenjoyable shows, where she yelled at the TV and browsed the dog shelters for a companion that she could call her own. She was the same person her patients knew, but Bellara still watched her with quiet concern, never lingering too long before glancing away, though not before Lilya caught her. She was grateful for her assistant’s sensitivity. Bellara could talk the ear off a statue and often overstepped in the most endearing and well-meaning ways, but when it came to pain- real, enduring pain- she was wise beyond her years. She recognised it even when concealed behind a smile, and knew better than to speak before Lilya was ready.

She hadn’t caught up with Neve since she spent the weekend rotting in her bed with her, her friend trying to force raw cookie dough into her mouth with whiskey in an effort to heal her. Teia had tried to call and ask her to go out for drinks or coffee, or even just to prove she was alive and not just some AI answering machine, but she kept saying she was busy or not feeling well, or that it would be some other time. 

“But you’ll come to the party, right? You said you would!”

“Yeah, Tay, of course.”

...Yeah. She lied. 

She didn’t want to be a downer at the party. The last thing Teia needed was to be watching her from the corner of her eye and babysitting her when it was her night to shine. Lilya would take her out for drinks on the weekend to celebrate and buy her something ridiculously fabulous to make up for it. She had every intention of staying in her pyjamas for an ungodly amount of time again. She scratched at her head, irritated with herself- she hadn’t even broken up with him! He wasn’t her boyfriend. But she’d be lying to herself if she said she didn’t miss his presence in the periphery of her life; that she wasn’t constantly thinking of him, if he was okay and had already moved on. That she wasn’t obsessively scanning the society columns to see if he’d been spotted out and about like some creepy idiot who couldn’t let go of someone who was never hers to begin with.  

She heard her front door open, and she sat up, alarmed, until she heard her brother’s voice call out to her. “Lilya? Are you home?” 

“...No?” 

“Wonderful. I’ll just wait until you’re back then, shall I?” 

“Tremendous.” 

“Lilya de Riva.” 

“Viago de Riva.” 

“Are you alone in there?” “If I were home, then yes, I’d consider myself very much alone.” 

“Are you clothed or naked?” 

“Technically, you’ll find we’re all naked under our clothes.” 

“I’m coming in.” 

“I’m not home, remember- hey! Hey! Stop tha- Viago! Stop!” she shrieked as he climbed onto her bed and locked his arms around her middle like he used to do when she was a child, half expecting him to slam her into the bed after they’d watched one too many wrestling matches. He lifted her up with such relative ease she was half tempted to ask if he had been testing a new steroid on himself- mad chemist that he was. 

He propped her up, looking over his dishevelled sibling, hair a mess, wearing what he could only assume was her very worn university sweatshirt and the biggest, baggiest pair of pyjama bottoms he had ever seen. It was unbecoming of a de Riva, and his flat, disappointed stare said as much. She scoffed at him and made to burrow back into her nest of pillows and blankets, but he caught her around the middle and threatened to throw her over his shoulder if she continued being an annoying brat. 

“Why are you here, Vi?” she said, looking like a sad wet dog. “I just want to be left alone, is that too much to ask?” 

Viago shook his head and crossed his arms, glowering at her so intensely that it would have levelled anyone else who hadn’t grown up with him. “We have. We have left you alone, and you have done nothing but fester here. What would you be saying to your patients in this situation, Lilya?” 

She gave him a sour look. How dare he use logic on her? Even worse, her logic. Asshole. 

“I just don’t feel up to going to this event and dressing up and pretending to care about celebrities and other trust fund babies, with their ridiculous blue blood issues, like not having enough of their favourite champagne available, their maids are more loved by their children than they are, or their country club’s greens aren’t green enough. I don’t have it in me, Viago.” 

He gave her a long, discerning stare, which warmed the longer he observed her. He placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and squeezed, in what he hoped was a comforting act. 

“Lilya… I don’t give a shit.” 

“...What?”

“I do not give a shit,” he repeated sincerely, squeezing her shoulder again, this time his comfort was less keenly felt. “I don’t care if you don’t want to see me or return my calls, only sending me one-worded answers to show me proof of life every other week. I don’t care if you want to look like… this… or if you appear to be subsisting on grilled cheese sandwiches and take-out alone. What I care about is my own peace of mind.” 

“You just said you were happy with my text messages,” she whined, pushing his hand off of her. “Why are you making my life hell?” 

“Yes, I am happy with them. But Teia is not,” he differentiated with a pointed stare. “And if she is not happy, I am not happy. Because she continues to drive me mad talking about you. So if my life is hell, your life is hell. It is like what your mother used to tell me, sharing is caring.” 

Lilya did well not to snort in front of her already unimpressed brother. 

“So you will come with me, you will get ready, you will attend your friend’s party, and you will pretend to have a good time. You will talk, drink, and relate to those blue-blooded bastards, and you will be a damn good friend to Teia, do you understand? Because lately, you haven’t been.” 

She really hated it when he made sense. It was so typically Viago, making good points with his haughty little face, it made her both want to hug and punch him. But she figured that was how most siblings felt about each other. 

“Fine… but I am wearing UGG boots out of this house.” 

“Lilya-” 

“Teia wouldn’t have cared if I showed up to the party like this.” 

“Teia is a far better person than I am, which is why I was sent. We’re going back to the House, Teia has her team waiting to get you ready. So march down and get into the town car, young lady-”

“-Young lady?”

“I swear to the Maker, Little Bird-”

“Alright, I’m going, I’m going.” 

---

Lilya sat in the chair, mentally calculating the most efficient way to strangle her best friend, just enough to leave her conscious for her own celebration, of course. She’d seen the invitation tucked into Viago’s attaché case, the same one she had deliberately left unopened at her office... because well... she really had no plans to go. She hadn’t even taken it out of the envelope, just confirming she received it when Teia had asked. 

“Teia... why didn’t you tell me you were merging with Dellamorte Holdings?” 

“Why did I have to? It’s right there on the invite. Why do you ask?”

“Are you kidding me? How come it hadn’t come up before all this?! You know who I had that one-night stand with that night you got back together with Viago!” 

“Lilya, I literally have no idea who you’re talking about.” 

“What? I sent you a selfie before I left the bar that night!” 

“Which I never got, sweetie, don’t know what to tell you. The wonders of modern technology. So wait... who did you sleep with? Was it Lucanis or Illario?”

“Teia.” 

“Fuck me. It was both of them. Well Done.” 

“T E I A”

“... Oh shit. It wasn’t Caterina, was it?”

“I really need new friends.” 

“You can try, darling, but none will be as fantastic as I am. Now... was that a yes or no to the cousin threesome? If you don’t respond, I’m just going to start making up nasty assumptions that line up with my expectations of you. I’m thinking you all wanted to use a hot tub, but it was too small, and you had to sit on one of their laps? Or their face? Tell me everything and prove me wrong.”

Upon arriving and fixing her friend with a glare sharp enough to make Teia laugh, she immediately slipped into the background, doing her best to remain unnoticed. She lingered at the fringes of the party, making polite conversation in small groups, her eyes scanning the room, careful to avoid seeing or being seen by... someone.

Still, she breathed a little easier. Even in a room full of acclaimed producers, directors, and entertainers, Teia shone. Resplendent as ever, she drew every gaze. As CEO of the country’s largest entertainment group, she had always been impossible to ignore. Viago stood beside her as if he’d been photoshopped there, polished, rigid, and pristine. But that was nothing new to any of their peers. He had long been known as a bit of a snob: reserved and wholly uninterested in mingling with... people. They weren’t there for him anyway. They were there for the glamorous woman on his arm, dressed in a deep red gown with a back so low it revealed the tattoo she’d gotten on their girls’ trip to Rivain, the one they took to celebrate Lilya’s high school graduation. Teia wore it without apology, clearly unfazed by who might see it.

She had worked hard to secure this deal, and tonight she deserved her moment. But that didn’t stop her from glancing over her shoulder, checking that Lilya was alright.

Pushy or not, there was no better friend in the world than Teia Cantori.

“Lilya?” 

She paused, panic spreading through her in an instant. 

“Lilya de Riva? My dear, it has been too long!” 

She relaxed. She knew that voice, and it was not his.  

Spinning on her heel, she turned to see the gentle face of her old professor, Emmrich Volkarin, dressed to the nines as always, holding a flute of champagne and a tiny plate of hors d'oeuvres. Lilya smiled for the first time in what felt like days and reached out for her old friend, kissing him warmly on the cheek. 

“Professor Volkarin! Hello! Pardon my surprise, I wasn’t expecting you here!” 

“Please, Lilya, Emmrich. I’ve not been your teacher for many years now,” he gushed, carefully propping his food and drink at a nearby table. With his hands free, he greeted his favourite ex-student with a firm hug, the professor not releasing her until she let go first. Perhaps she should have let go sooner, for when she peered back up at the vertically gifted man, he was staring at her with concern. Always far too perceptive for his own good. “My dear…” 

Lilya shook her head and picked up a glass of champagne from one of the roving servers and sipped at it nervously. “Please don’t, Professor.” 

“What is troubling you?” 

“Nothing at all. Tell me, how is teaching these days? And your practice? Is Strife here too?” she asked hurriedly, clearly changing the topic. He sighed heavily and frowned; the lines around his mouth deepened, but did nothing to diminish his handsome looks. 

“Alas, he is off to a dig site somewhere deep in Arlathan again; otherwise, I would have wrangled that man into a tuxedo. You will be glad to know that my teaching still proves to be an exciting endeavour! Finding like-minded souls, like yourself, and helping them find their paths to help others is always fulfilling. And whilst I’ve pared back my private practice hours, it is still good to be out there assisting people,” he said pointedly, picking up his glass and saluting her before taking a drink. 

Lilya groaned quietly but could feel herself smile nonetheless. Emmrich Volkarin was the best in their field for a reason. She wiped at the lip gloss that had stained the rim of her glass to shift focus from her friend’s intense gaze, not wanting to divulge everything to him in such a public area. As if reading her mind, he offered his arm and led them to a seating area outside the function room, where only a few people were about. He sat them down and took both of her hands into his, patting them lightly as he had when she had broken down in her honours year, after her laptop was stolen and along with it her half-written thesis. 

“Lilya… we’ve known each other for years, and I consider you a dear friend and colleague,” he said gently. “Please, let me help.”

“Viago called you, didn’t he?” she asked, glancing up to find her brother watching them from the hall. Nosy bastard. 

Emmrich chuckled awkwardly and gave a slight nod. “He did. Invited me to have a chat with you as he believed you would not be so open to meet with me otherwise. He’s still fiercely protective of you, even after all this time.”

“That’s one word for it,” she muttered, but she managed a tight smile in Viago’s direction before turning back to the professor. “I… You’re going to be so disappointed in me,” she whispered, her voice catching. Shame, sadness, and guilt welled up all at once, turning her bright eyes glassy. 

“Disappointed? Goodness, no. Concerned... well, perhaps. But never disappointed. You’ve always been one to hold yourself to such impossible standards.” Emmrich’s expression softened, but he remained measured as he always did.

Lilya smiled weakly and gathered her courage, edging closer to him on the couch, not wanting anyone to hear her admit to what had happened between her, Illario, and the consequences for Lucanis’ treatment. Everything that had passed in the last six months, the almost-something that happened between them and the fact that she embarrassingly, still could not get over it so long afterwards. 

“How foolish of me, right?” 

Emmrich exhaled gently. “Matters of the heart make fools of all of us,” he said, voice warm but cautious. “But you’re right, this is indeed a complicated situation you’ve found yourself in. And unfortunately, it’s not one I can advise you on directly, not while I’m still working with Lucanis.”

Lilya blinked. “Of course. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to put you in a difficult position-”

He shook his head kindly to comfort her. “You’re not. But this is something where your own judgement, and your ability to navigate ethically, matter more than anything I could tell you. The fact that you're thinking about Lucanis’ well-being, even now, says a great deal about you.”

She nodded slowly, though her throat tightened as she prodded further into the matter. “But let’s say, hypothetically, that the feelings weren’t one-sided. That there’s still something unresolved. Wouldn’t proceeding with it still risk damaging Lucanis? Another betrayal from the people he trusted?”

Emmrich took a moment, then offered a steady, thoughtful smile. “You may be right. Or not at all. The only way to know is to talk to him, when the time is right. If you truly care about both of them, clarity and honesty are the best path forward.”

Lilya gave a strained laugh and smoothed the skirt of her dress, fingertips dancing over the fabric. “Truly, there’s hardly any point. Just because I’m still holding onto something doesn’t mean Illario is. Once I told him this could hurt Lucanis, he hesitated, and that’s where we parted ways. Men like him don’t pine for women like me, Professor.”

He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with the familiar expression he wore in class when she thought she’d nailed the right answer, only to realise she had failed to take in all the variables of the situation.

“Ah, Lilya,” he said, smiling fondly. “Perhaps I still have a few things left to teach you.”

---

Another glass of Negroni was thrust into his hand, and he grunted his thanks, ignoring the dry laugh that followed shortly. 

“Why thank you for that Lucanis, how kind of you to refill my drink Lucanis, why am I being such a pain in your ass, Lucanis? Oh, I don’t know Illario. Perhaps it’s because you’re a pain in my ass on days that end with a Y,” he teased, taking a sip of his gin and tonic. “Seriously, you should be happy. The merger has passed, and you’re the talk of the finance world once again, cousin. The Cantori acquisition was a good choice, Caterina is happy.” 

“...Happy?” Illario asked, choking on his drink. 

Lucanis cringed and grinned sheepishly, offering a lame half shrug. “Well, as happy as that woman can seem.” 

“If that woman ever cracked a smile, it would be a Satinalia miracle.” 

“Just because you’re in a shitty mood doesn’t mean you need to wish for the world to witness that particular eldritch horror rise,” Lucanis snorted, turning around to lean against the bar like his cousin. “But back to my original point-”

“You had one?” 

“Surprisingly, yes. You are standing here like you don’t want to be here-”

“I don’t want to be here.” 

“And yet here we are- because it’s our duty, our business. This is your triumph, Illario. You convinced us this venture was worth it, and yet these past few months, you’ve done nothing but sulk.” He paused, studying the man beside him. “Is it me? Did you prefer it when I was angry with you?”

Lucanis had long forgiven him, but his anger had taken time to fade, lingering much longer than he wanted. Yet upon hearing that Zara had managed to get to his cousin and assault him, he was pulled straight out of his fog of resentment- he was not going to let that witch near his family again. Illario had seemed glad enough to have him back at first. But the longer they spent together, the more he noticed the changes: the far-off stares when he thought no one was looking, the sudden fascination with the colour green. He wore it more often now, and he’d vetoed the original navy palette for the celebration, insisting it should be green instead- to represent new beginnings, growth, and expansion, he’d said.

He’d even met with the event coordinators personally, selecting every piece of foliage that now adorned the space. The walls were cloaked in lush shrubbery, and hanging ruscus vines cascaded like curtains, framing the room in a quiet, elegant beauty. Pops of white and green ranunculus and hydrangeas subtly drew one’s eye deliberately around the room. If Illario ever tired of being their CFO, he could’ve easily slipped into a career in event design. His flair for the dramatic had finally found a worthy outlet, rather than just his closet or his choice in romantic pursuits.  

Lucanis had tried to engage him, to see if his ex, rearing her cursed head, was the cause of the sudden change in his mood, or if something else was to blame. The team had told him that there was another woman that day in the office who had been roped into helping Illario, and it looked like there could have been a spark between them, but that was the last they’d seen of her. Typical Illario, he was not one to stay with one partner for too long- Zara was the anomaly and a dangerous one at that. Illario was probably tired or stressed after holding both jobs for so long, due to his unintended sabbatical.

“Say, Illario, how about after this event wraps up, you take the next couple of weeks off? A month, two even- however long you need to recharge.” Illario narrowed his eyes at him as he chewed on an olive. “I know you did a lot behind the scenes when I was gone, let me return the favour. Take some time off, Maker knows you have too much leave accumulated- our HR team has been hounding me to force you to take leave for a few months now.” 

“Like you can talk, HR said you needed to take even more time off.” 

“Yes, it is obvious we need hobbies outside of work. But please, think about it. Maybe some time away from here will do you some good,” Lucanis said earnestly, causing Illario to pause mid-drink before agreeing to think about it. He clapped Illario on the back and was about to suggest they head off to re-join Teia and her date when he noticed two familiar guests enter through the main entrance. “Is that.. Why is my past therapist and current therapist here tonight? Did you invite them?” 

“What?!” Illario’s reaction was instantaneous; he snapped to attention, eyes locked across the room, and Lucanis followed his gaze.

Lilya.

Lucanis raised an eyebrow. Of all the women in the room, of course it would be her.

Illario didn’t speak, didn’t move. But Lucanis didn’t need him to. The way his cousin watched her, like someone staring at a memory that should’ve faded by now, but hadn’t. Like he’d tried to forget her, tried to let it go, but couldn’t. She should have been a ghost by now, something half-remembered and harmless. But there she was. Real. Beautiful. And still not his.

That look told Lucanis everything.

---

Illario straightened to his full height to see across the room, his eyes locked onto the two arm-in-arm and obviously attending the soiree together. He saw her first, of course, found her easily. He always did.

Even in a crowded room in a sea of black, she drew his gaze like a secret he wasn’t supposed to want to remember. She hadn’t meant to stand out; he knew her well enough to see that. The strapless black gown she wore was simple and sophisticated. It clung to her like water, dark as ink, flowing over her form. Even from across the room, the way the fabric drank in the light, soft and heavy, he knew it had to be velvet. Something so wonderfully tactile, encouraging your partner to touch you, to run their palms over you again and again - it seemed like the perfect choice for her. Lilya had leaned in to something that Teia had whispered, and she smacked her playfully; the satin trim at her chest catching the light when she moved, tempting him to follow every movement. How could something so little, so innocuous, affect him still?

He told himself to look away. He even managed it… for all of three seconds. But when his eyes slid back across the room, there she was, laughing politely at something the man beside her said. His hand was too familiar on her back, his smile too warm, too satisfied with himself. He had to remind himself it would not be a good look to beat up a guest at an event he was hosting. It might send the wrong message about how he conducted business. 

Though, thinking about hurting the man wasn’t technically against any rules. He shouldn’t have been there anyway, not with her. Not if the reasons she'd given him months ago still meant anything. Too soon. Too complicated. Too inappropriate- she’d said. For Lucanis- she’d said. She was the one who had drawn the line, snatched back any possibility with a trembling smile, and told him it was for the best. And yet here she was, arm-in-arm with someone whose conflicts ran deeper than his did. The man was in charge of Lucanis’ treatment, right? So it didn’t make sense. Or was her refusal simply a matter of politeness? That night, as she stood in his embrace, did she realise that he wasn’t worth the trouble, but found the old man was? 

He couldn’t let his bitterness show. Not tonight, not in front of Lucanis. He stood with his drink and a mask of practised indifference, but his chest felt heavy. Because no matter how much he wanted to pretend otherwise, he couldn’t tear his eyes away from her. Even in something so deceptively simple, she was the picture of devastating beauty. While the others merely sparkled loudly, she smouldered quietly, commanding the room’s attention without having to say a word. And he, oh, he was still aflame.

He turned to the bar and requested a shot of grappa, causing Lucanis to watch him from the corner of his eye. He ignored him and swallowed it in one go, the burn of it reminding him that he didn’t care. She made her position very clear that night in front of his building, and he was not, could not, would not be interested in someone who did not want him. 

He needed another drink. 

---

Lucanis glanced between his cousin, now ordering another shot, and his therapists, past and present, who had moved with Teia further into the centre of the room, chatting cheerfully and utterly oblivious to the strain mounting between him and Illario. He exhaled through his mouth, straightened his tuxedo, and resigned himself to the inevitable.

There was nothing for it. He would have to do something before the tension drowned them all. In grappa or guilt, whatever got to them first. 

“Mierda.”

---

Softly tagging: @rookamell @thedissonantverses @mythals-whore @kabsey @brennacedria @talkmagically @gingervitus @jukkaricity @basedonconjecture @serstolas @selennes @blackwall-my-tiny-husband @seaglassmelody @hedwigoprah @himluv @the-font-bandit @hightowerqueen @cocoboots and anyone else wants to play (if you have already played, please tag me so I can read ^_^)

[mellowmaidenhairs]

RAD OMG HOW ON EARTH DO YOU GET THE COLORS LIKE THAT IN YOUR LATEST ARTWORK. also finally followed u on twt hayyyyyy

hiii so i really wing it when it comes to colors this is basically how i went about it for this piece:

usually when i’m close to done w a drawing i like to play around w layers usually i go in with a flat color on a clipping mask (or 2+ of them) and play around w layer settings. for this i wanted a disorienting effect so i also made a slightly offset+blurred copy on the brightness setting over the other layers. basically playing round with effects and layer settings is fun u will usually land on something that enhances ur drawing :)

the second ver of this drawing was a ver without the offset copy layer:

and here are the colors without layer effects:

hope this was helpful :-)

[amperceter-art]

[good-beanswrites]

Happy 0203 day ❄️🔥🎉 I don't know if these are specifically meant for ships, but have a little platonic normal au thing I wrote of them hanging out and being silly :3

Yuno narrowed her eyes to study the shirt she was holding up to her unwilling model.

“No.”

She angled her head, undisturbed. “You don’t get any say in this.”

“I get all the say in this – they’re my clothes!”

“And it’s my birthday gift to you. So zzzzzzzzip!” she mimed zipping her lips, though she knew Fuuta was incapable of any such thing. She pulled the shirt away from him. “There’s nothing wrong with this one! It’s cute.”

“That’s exactly what’s wrong with it.”

She thought it would have been harder to convince Fuuta to come along on a mall trip this close to his birthday, but he’d answered her text almost instantly. He said he’d allow her to buy one pair of fancy sunglasses, and only so he’d have something cool to wear once he could take his eyepatch off. That one pair became two, then added clothes to match, then a handful, and now they stood beside a massive stack of items she was considering.

“Just try it~”

Yuno gave him a gentle push towards the dressing room. She could only laugh as he went spewing complaints the whole way in. 

A few minutes went by and she busied herself with sorting the clothes they’d looked at, pairing up tops and bottoms and jackets and scarves. Fuuta would probably tease her for shallowness if she admitted how much she enjoyed activities like this, but there was something about it that just lifted her mood. Shopping trips with her classmates left her feeling a bit hollow, but Fuuta’s wildly honest commentary always made it more fun. 

Right as she was starting to feel a twinge of impatience, he crept out. He was still clutching the shirt and hoodie he’d removed, covering up most of his chest. Yuno eased it out of his hands, leaving him with an expression of utter panic.

“It’s awful.”

“Are you kidding?” She pressed her hand to her cheek. “It’s super fun!”

He was looking less at the new shirt, and more at the people passing by, or checking over his shoulder, or down at the floor. Restless hands tugged at the collar, then the hem. It was certainly more form-fitting than his usual picks. 

As much as Yuno liked the look, she didn’t want the poor guy completely folding in on himself. 

She made a grand swing of her arms, ending in an X. “I like it, but I suppose we’ll add that to the ‘no’ pile.”

“What pile…?”

“I mean, you still have to try these on.” She scooped up the stack of clothes beside her and dropped the whole heavy mess into Fuuta’s arms.

“Eh? Which ones?”

“All of them.”

“All of them? Are you fucking –!”

He tried to protest, but his raising voice caught the attention of some other shoppers. His face burned red and he practically sprinted back inside before he could retrieve his original clothes from Yuno.

She folded them neatly over her arm, no longer excited that it forced him to try something else on.

Had she been too much? She thought this was something fun for him, but he was genuinely uncomfortable just then. What if, all this time, she’d only been projecting her own enjoyment onto their outing? Her stomach sank. She knew he took up her invitation so quickly because he didn’t have any other plans. She’d completely taken advantage of his loneliness – dragging him out here just for her to have a blast while he had no other option.

His phone buzzed from the hoodie pocket. 

He still hadn’t come out of the dressing room. So, he really was that uncomfortable. She bowed her head at her selfishness. They’d go right home, once he returned. 

His phone kept buzzing. Yuno glanced down in its direction.

She was never one to poke her nose where it didn’t belong. In her defense, this wasn’t a good sign given Fuuta’s history. She fished it out of the pocket, promising herself just one peek, for his own good.

A groupchat was firing off notifications.

@ fuuta where are you?

he said he was ditching, remember?

are you serious?

Broooo I thought he was kidding…

He’s out with a girl FR? No way, I still think he’s lying

you know you forfeit your spot if youre not here when we start the tournament

He was so hyped for this 💀 

must be quite the girl, huh

cmon man, we need you!

I can’t believe he’s finally touching grass 🙏

TRUE

happy for you man

“Is that my phone?”

Yuno nearly dropped it in surprise. “I – uh, it was going off, and –”

“Sorry.” He snatched it away without even glancing at the screen. “So?”

“So…?” Her heart raced with the panic of getting caught. He looked at her like she’d gone insane.

“What do you think of this thing?” He gestured to the new shirt he’d put on. “This was all your idea, but if you don’t want to be here as much as I don’t, we can –”

“No.” Her face broke into a smile. She exhaled. “No, I’m really glad we’re here.”

He blinked at the sudden warmth in her voice. “O-okay.”

“And I think it looks perfect. Really suits you~” It made sense he’d pick this one next; it sat right within his usual style. “Ooh, ooh! Why don’t we keep alternating things in your comfort zone! That would definitely help.” 

“Or we could just buy this one and be done with it.”

She kept her expression neutral. “Do you have somewhere else to be?”

His face was obscured as he headed back to the dressing room. “I wish,” he spat, “but I’m fucking stuck with you.”

Yuno couldn’t help it as her smile spread even wider. 

She called after him, “hey, try on that colorblock one next.” 

“Ugh. It’s ugly. And asymmetric.”

“So’s your face. Put it on.”

“Oi!”

[possiblynotpayingattention]

I did a thing—

Still not finished with the ER demigod vibe check drawing but whatevs! :'D

-

This art meme is NOT my idea even if I did draw all this by hand, the link to the original post is below:

Thanks for making the chart! <3

I love doing similar art memes cuz it's a lot of fun usually to draw out your OCs and blorbos! Good drawing practice at least! :D

[red-dyed-sarumane]

yyesssss line art done for them !!!!!!!!!!!! now to color !!!!!!!!!!

[gremlins-hotel]

fuck you [dragons your silly russian man] | he's the fluffiest which means he's the most fun to draw (for me). also yes. dragons. not apologizing. there are technical things below.

notes about dragon ivan:

his inspirations were sabertooth cats, the siberian tiger, goats & ibexes, polar bears, horses, and reindeer.

a dweller of cold, mountainous foothills and steppes, he possesses curved claws for climbing rocky slopes and gripping ice.

he has a thick double coat; a long, coarse outer layer, and an incredibly soft, downy undercoat. when wet the coat is very heavy. when dry, it efficiently keeps snow away from the skin, instead trapping air close to the body to keep warm. this double coat is good for blocking some attacks from small opponents.

his proportions are stout and stubby to reduce the surface area for heat to be lost.

built for ambush tactics; short bursts of high power to grab and (hopefully) dispatch a target quickly. on the other hand, he would not be good in a long chase.

the same musculature that propels him into a sprint is excellent for leaping across difficult terrain.

his horns, head, and neck are adapted for absorbing significant impacts, usually from headbutting or locking horns with opponents.

massive paws that act as snowshoes and, when swimming, paddles.

he has a flash-freezing breath. technically a fluid, when it contacts the air (if sufficiently cold) it instantly freezes into a stream of frost and will freeze anything it touches. however, if he is too hot, it will only discharge as a fluid and be rather useless. it is very fluid rather than viscous and is somewhat iridescent. in the case of overheating, his other natural defenses can make up for the loss of this weapon.

[laugtherhyena]

HAPPY -2+2 TRIAL IS FINALLY OUT DAY💥💥💥

[monodramatic-cannibal]

Got distracted from doing art and ended up adding a tiny bit more lore to my Renegade au. I haven't posted the specific lore anywhere yet. BUT I've edited Renegade!Reapers info a little bit. Specifically in the 'How they feel about:' section of his info. How he feels about "???/'Her':"

May or may not post that lore somewhere lol. If I do it will probs be edited into the main info post for the Renegade au, and I will most likely make a post announcing it. But for now there's that little teaser in Reaper's info.

[jonquilandlace]

Someone should hire me for ideas on building a superior word processor specifically for dissertation writing I have so many good ideas

[rvlyrik]

I FINALLY DID AN ART!! :D

after... uhhh *checks calendar* SIX FUCKIN MONTHS, i finished my side of the art trade with @altairtalisman!!

they asked me to draw Hisui Inazuma from their Hallowed Hotel OC series(? idk what to call these atm lol), annnd... yeah

it was a lot more of a pain to draw, but the college shit was only a MERE speck compared to the fact that i wasn't able to edit the dang thing in the later parts of me drawing it, due to me having the habit of using a fuckton of layers... man...

anyhoo, even though this was only supposed to be a practice thing, i'm pretty happy with how it turned out! :DDD

[electricpurrs]

im trying to think reallt hard of like. a signature i could leave on my drawings for identification but i have literally no idea how to go about it. ive never signed my art before... i cant use my url cause i change my urls every five minutes. considering just writing "juice" as ill likely keep this name for longer but i guess id need my signature to be recognizable. do i need to make a logo. is this what this. am i in graphic design class again

[lesbian-steppenwolf]

ok but "states have very strong identities" fuck you brad they're literally straight lines traced on a map with a ruler

one thing I’ve noticed while running an online shop is that Americans never include their country when writing their address.

I don’t mean when filling in online forms, bc that’s obviously a required element. but when emailing me for address changes for orders, they never include a country in the updated address. but I always know the country is the United States of America because literally nobody else around the world would do that.

[sophiamcdougall]

You're a reasonably informed person on the internet. You've experienced things like no longer being able to get files off an old storage device, media you've downloaded suddenly going poof, sites and forums with troves full of people's thoughts and ideas vanishing forever. You've heard of cybercrime. You've read articles about lost media. You have at least a basic understanding that digital data is vulnerable, is what I'm saying. I'm guessing that you're also aware that history is, you know... important? And that it's an ongoing study, requiring ... data about how people live? And that it's not just about stanning celebrities that happen to be dead? Congratulations, you are significantly better-informed than the British government! So they're currently like "Oh hai can we destroy all these historical documents pls? To save money? Because we'll digitise them first so it's fine! That'll be easy, cheap and reliable -- right? These wills from the 1850s will totally be fine for another 170 years as a PNG or whatever, yeah? We didn't need to do an impact assesment about this because it's clearly win-win! We'd keep the physical wills of Famous People™ though because Famous People™ actually matter, unlike you plebs. We don't think there are any equalities implications about this, either! Also the only examples of Famous People™ we can think of are all white and rich, only one is a woman and she got famous because of the guy she married. Kisses!"

Yes, this is the same Government that's like "Oh no removing a statue of slave trader is erasing history :(" You have, however, until 23 February 2024 to politely inquire of them what the fuck they are smoking. And they will have to publish a summary of the responses they receive. And it will look kind of bad if the feedback is well-argued, informative and overwhelmingly negative and they go ahead and do it anyway. I currently edit documents including responses to consultations like (but significantly less insane) than this one. Responses do actually matter. I would particularly encourage British people/people based in the UK to do this, but as far as I can see it doesn't say you have to be either. If you are, say, a historian or an archivist, or someone who specialises in digital data do say so and draw on your expertise in your answers. This isn't a question of filling out a form. You have to manually compose an email answering the 12 questions in the consultation paper at the link above. I'll put my own answers under the fold. Note -- I never know if I'm being too rude in these sorts of things. You probably shouldn't be ruder than I have been.

Please do not copy and paste any of this: that would defeat the purpose. This isn't a petition, they need to see a range of individual responses. But it may give you a jumping-off point.

Question 1: Should the current law providing for the inspection of wills be preserved?

Yes. Our ability to understand our shared past is a fundamental aspect of our heritage. It is not possible for any authority to know in advance what future insights they are supporting or impeding by their treatment of material evidence. Safeguarding the historical record for future generations should be considered an extremely important duty.

Question 2: Are there any reforms you would suggest to the current law enabling wills to be inspected?

No.

Question 3: Are there any reasons why the High Court should store original paper will documents on a permanent basis, as opposed to just retaining a digitised copy of that material?

Yes. I am amazed that the recent cyber attack on the British Library, which has effectively paralysed it completely, not been sufficient to answer this question for you.  I also refer you to the fate of the Domesday Project. Digital storage is useful and can help more people access information; however, it is also inherently fragile. Malice, accident, or eventual inevitable obsolescence not merely might occur, but absolutely should be expected. It is ludicrously naive and reflects a truly unpardonable ignorance to assume that information preserved only in digital form is somehow inviolable and safe, or that a physical document once digitised, never need be digitised again..At absolute minimum, it should be understood as certain that at least some of any digital-only archive will eventually be permanently lost. It is not remotely implausible that all of it would be. Preserving the physical documents provides a crucial failsafe. It also allows any errors in reproduction -- also inevitable-- to be, eventually, seen and corrected. Note that maintaining, upgrading and replacing digital infrastructure is not free, easy or reliable. Over the long term, risks to the data concerned can only accumulate.

"Unlike the methods for preserving analog documents that have been honed over millennia, there is no deep precedence to look to regarding the management of digital records. As such, the processing, long-term storage, and distribution potential of archival digital data are highly unresolved issues. [..] the more digital data is migrated, translated, and re-compressed into new formats, the more room there is for information to be lost, be it at the microbit-level of preservation. Any failure to contend with the instability of digital storage mediums, hardware obsolescence, and software obsolescence thus meets a terminal end—the definitive loss of information. The common belief that digital data is safe so long as it is backed up according to the 3-2-1 rule (3 copies on 2 different formats with 1 copy saved off site) belies the fact that it is fundamentally unclear how long digital information can or will remain intact. What is certain is that its unique vulnerabilities do become more pertinent with age."  -- James Boyda, On Loss in the 21st Century: Digital Decay and the Archive, Introduction.

Question 4: Do you agree that after a certain time original paper documents (from 1858 onwards) may be destroyed (other than for famous individuals)? Are there any alternatives, involving the public or private sector, you can suggest to their being destroyed?

Absolutely not. And I would have hoped we were past the "great man" theory of history. Firstly, you do not know which figures will still be considered "famous" in the future and which currently obscure individuals may deserve and eventually receive greater attention. I note that of the three figures you mention here as notable enough to have their wills preserved, all are white, the majority are male (the one woman having achieved fame through marriage) and all were wealthy at the time of their death. Any such approach will certainly cull evidence of the lives of women, people of colour and the poor from the historical record, and send a clear message about whose lives you consider worth remembering.

Secondly, the famous and successsful are only a small part of our history. Understanding the realities that shaped our past and continue to mould our present requires evidence of the lives of so-called "ordinary people"!

Did you even speak to any historians before coming up with this idea?

Entrusting the documents to the private sector would be similarly disastrous. What happens when a private company goes bust or decides that preserving this material is no longer profitable? What reasonable person, confronted with our crumbling privatised water infrastructure, would willingly consign any part of our heritage to a similar fate?

Question 5: Do you agree that there is equivalence between paper and digital copies of wills so that the ECA 2000 can be used?

No. And it raises serious questions about the skill and knowledge base within HMCTS and the government that the very basic concepts of data loss and the digital dark age appear to be unknown to you. I also refer you to the Domesday Project.

Question 6: Are there any other matters directly related to the retention of digital or paper wills that are not covered by the proposed exercise of the powers in the ECA 2000 that you consider are necessary?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 7: If the Government pursues preserving permanently only a digital copy of a will document, should it seek to reform the primary legislation by introducing a Bill or do so under the ECA 2000?

Destroying the physical documents will always be an unforgivable dereliction of legal and moral duty.

Question 8: If the Government moves to digital only copies of original will documents, what do you think the retention period for the original paper wills should be? Please give reasons and state what you believe the minimum retention period should be and whether you consider the Government’s suggestion of 25 years to be reasonable.

There is no good version of this plan. The physical documents should be preserved.

Question 9: Do you agree with the principle that wills of famous people should be preserved in the original paper form for historic interest?

This question betrays deep ignorance of what "historic interest" actually is. The study of history is not simply glorified celebrity gossip. If anything, the physical wills of currently famous people could be considered more expendable as it is likely that their contents are so widely diffused as to be relatively "safe", whereas the wills of so-called "ordinary people" will, especially in aggregate, provide insights that have not yet been explored.

Question 10: Do you have any initial suggestions on the criteria which should be adopted for identifying famous/historic figures whose original paper will document should be preserved permanently?

Abandon this entire lamentable plan. As previously discussed, you do not and cannot know who will be considered "famous" in the future, and fame is a profoundly flawed criterion of historical significance.

Question 11: Do you agree that the Probate Registries should only permanently retain wills and codicils from the documents submitted in support of a probate application? Please explain, if setting out the case for retention of any other documents.

No, all the documents should be preserved indefinitely.

Question 12: Do you agree that we have correctly identified the range and extent of the equalities impacts under each of these proposals set out in this consultation? Please give reasons and supply evidence of further equalities impacts as appropriate.

No. You appear to have neglected equalities impacts entirely. As discussed, in your drive to prioritise "famous people", your plan will certainly prioritise the white, wealthy and mostly the male, as your "Charles Dickens, Charles Darwin and Princess Diana" examples amply indicate. This plan will create a two-tier system where evidence of the lives of the privileged is carefully preserved while information regarding people of colour, women, the working class and other disadvantaged groups is disproportionately abandoned to digital decay and eventual loss. Current and future historians from, or specialising in the history of minority groups will be especially impoverished by this.  

[kenyummy]

✰ 03. the ballad of a bygone blight.

✰ ꒰ ⍣'ˎ˗ platonic yandere batfam / spider! reader ꒱

✰ 03. each coin can be flipped twice.

SYNOPSIS : being spidey isn't easy. being transported into an alternate universe where you're nothing but a shadow in your house, makes sneaking around a little easier... until you find yourself the apple of their eye... kind of.

note: you guys don't know true pain until you have to copy and paste each individual paragraph into a new draft because you forgot how tumblr drafts work </3

n e ways getting into the batfams characterisation yipiieeeee . i tried to incorporate overthinking into tims part realistically bc that's lowkey how i overthink things but hey. im open to respectful criticism. ive also been consuming a lot of batfam media and i tried to my take on their guilt and how it plays into the crazy thing hagaashhaha im going insane fml

prev. ✰ masterlist ✰ next.

You'd always been far too normal. That's what had driven you, all these years, to such a bitter nature. It wasn't like you'd done anything wrong—you'd done everything a regular person would do, and that was the problem.

This kind—your kind—of normality was impossible for a family like yours.

Impossible for them to understand. Relate to. See. Always falling behind, watching as their costumes and capes flutter in the wind, blowing their vision of you. Too wrapped up in the latest villain to spot the regularity in their life.

You'd wake up at 8am, eat a slice of toast with yoghurt and mixed berries—do pilates, and go on with your day.

(Your family would stay up till 8, fighting the crime that riddled the Gotham streets with an iron fist—sneaking out of the house to play dress up with a bunch of mentally insane criminals.)

You'd spend your nights at home, having done everything you'd needed to that day—lazing around with a comic book in hand.

(Your family were far too busy most nights at Arkham—preventing their hundredth breakout and the spread of fear toxin.)

You'd watch, pupils dilated as your siblings, your father came home bruised, beat, and bloodied (with whose blood—you could only guess).

You'd watch in agonising silence as they'd shoo you off after you'd peek from behind their doorframe—saying this kind of work wasn't suitable for eyes like yours.

Those same eyes dimmed that day—staring blankly into nothing as the sight of that sickening crimson red became more common to you, with each passing day.

Dripping down onto the ground—you'd never be able to get rid of that blood. No matter how hard you scrubbed the floorboards, there would always be that stain of red.

You'd grip the sheets—nails digging into mesh fabric—with a steel-knuckled hold. You'd draw what it would be like to be one of them. That same blood-red suit—yet with a different kind of venom to a bat.

Crawling up a water spout—you, the spider—were washed out by the bitterness enrapturing your heart that was once full and blooming like the most beautiful of gardens.

Venom drips from your fangs and yet left unbitten. Never poisoning anything but your own tongue.

To be overlooked and unseen with the most brilliant mind a god could conjure; the world, your family—may never love a spider, but you will find somebody, someday, who will.

Tim Drake was not used to that expression on your face.

... Actually—he wasn't really used to any expression on your face. For a moment, it felt more like a blur to him than anything. Memories of you—they were few and far between.

Except that look of pity you'd always seem to give them. The image appeared in his mind suddenly, for whatever odd reason. That sad, almost puppy-ish, expression that he'd never really given a second thought.

(Though—it made you appear more of a baby to him.)

Perhaps he'd just gotten used to it. After all this time, what could've possibly changed?

He was wrapped up with something strange given to him by Bruce when he'd seen you. A strange, web-like substance—he was just getting ready to study it when it dissolved like nothing were ever there.

Like silk, it was soft. Like glue, it was sticky. Like fibers, it was stringey. Yet—after just a few hours, it was as if it never existed. Like it were nothing but a bad dream.

Bruce and Damian talked about it like it were a spiderweb—fitting, considering the hero that wielded it, they described as looking more arachnid than human.

Regardless—his mind was already frazzled and buzzing with all kinds of thoughts. Spider. Spider Web? Spider.

Where is that fucking web?

The stress crawls under his skin like bugs and he itches. The red left over is so familiar to him—but perhaps never the same at all.

(That same red you'd seen with those big, glassy eyes—unlike that motionless gaze you'd give him sparingly. If he bled again, would you look at him kindly like that once more?)

Then, a shoulder crashes into his. Hard. Enough to almost knock the vial out of his hands. The frustration is just about to bubble over—the words crawling up his throat like bile and his chest tightens with that familiar burst of rage.

(Tim, crash-out, Drake—Steph called him once.)

But he stops.

It's only you.

Why are you here? Aren't you supposed to be at school? He hadn't been to school in a while—being a vigilante leaves a guy's schedule pretty packed—but he's sure...

"[name]? What are you doing here? Isn't it school hours...?" He asks, curiously.

You blink, face blank. He can't get a read on that face. He simply can't decipher it. It bothers him more than it probably should've. "I felt sick, so I decided to come home. Still a bit frazzled from... you know."

His heart beats faster. What? You went to school? You really went to school?

(Even if he realised it beforehand, it's like the shock runs through him again. What's wrong with him?)

You went to school even though you were shot a few days ago? Did that really happen? Did he... not realise? He's supposed to know this stuff, isn't he? Isn't he the smart one? Doesn't he keep tabs on everybody? Doesn't he look at you?

A cold chill fills his body, and he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek. Before he can stop himself, the words spill.

"...Bruce is going to be worried. You know how he feels when you and Damian skip."

You glance to the side, considering something. He wants to know. Will you tell him? He feels like he knows nothing about you anymore. It's dehibilitating.

Since when have you brushed them off so easily? You were never like this before. You used to preen at a simple headpat (not from him—but you seemed to especially love your two oldest brothers) and practically glow when somebody talked with you.

"I think I'll live. Bye." You shrug.

His heart nearly beats out of his chest. What? Why are you acting like this? Don't you care?

Why are you acting like you hate it? You hate them? You don't care? What's wrong with you?

Did you get a concussion when you were shot? Did you hit your head and forget everything? Did you lose your mind after getting lead poisoning? Is this even you? What happened when you were shot?

Every possible question excluding—what has he done?

The bullet he saw in your shoulder flashes in his mind. When Jason practically kicked the door down, carrying your heavily breathing body bridal style and yelling for Bruce to get his ass over here.

Why were you out in the first place? Why weren't you at home? What happened to you? Why were you shot? What could you have done?

He had no time to think about it before. Not when he was so busy, and Riddler was causing up a stir.

Now, he is crumbling.

You're walking away, but his vision shakes. He feels like he's going to crumble. He hates it. This feeling. The feeling of knowing he simply just can't figure this out. He's mad. At you, or himself—he isn't quite sure. Perhaps a mix of both.

Why have you changed? Why did he not realise? Had you even changed? Did he ever know you?

He nearly crushes the vial in his grip. His hand reaches out, to grasp you. Your shoulder. The bullet lodged deep within you. Maybe if he got rid of it, you'd go back. To normal. You'd be your normal self again.

He feels it so deeply.

That crippling, nihilating urge to—

He stops. Watching you walk away. Fast. So fast. He can't catch up. No amount of training could've allowed him to walk alongside his little sibling.

Perhaps he found himself caught in that spider's silky trap—bound and unmoving as he just couldn't seem to tear his eyes away.

The empty vial doesn't concern him much anymore. He stares at it with eyes as hollow as the glass is.

Tim wonders when everything changed.

Dick Grayson watched your convulsing body with shaking eyes. A bullet lodged in your shoulder and crimson dripping onto the ground in a sickening rhythm. He couldn't reach out. He couldn't have touched your face. Not when Jason held you like that. Like a guard dog. His bloody helmet slamming to the ground just for Dick to see the absolute fury on his little brother's face.

Pupils blown—Dick knows what's going on. Better than any of the rest of them, he'd even go as far as to say. He's manic. Absolutely manic. Shouting and yelling for anyone—asking what Bruce was doing, letting you out alone this late. What he was fucking expecting.

Nobody speaks. Nobody can. What could they possibly say? That they didn't notice? That nobody did?

Jason might have taken them all on in your honour if he had truly said those words out loud. He always would've, even if he never stayed for long.

Dick almost wants to sock Jason in the face for keeping you away, so close to his own heart.

(He would've done the same, if only he had you. If only you would let him.)

The only thing he can see in his brothers' arms is that child who used to hide in the most obvious of spots. Crouching behind that large TV with the tips of their hair peeking out. Who used to laugh so gleefully when everyone pretended they couldn't find them.

He sees you, and nearly falls over.

Dick Grayson isn't a stranger to blood. Blood had followed his footsteps wherever he goes. He is made of the blood of everyone he lost and fears to lose.

He didn't think you'd fit into the former so quickly.

(You never thought you were either—did you?)

He can't do anything when he sees Jason carry you out. Slipping into a car with Bruce and Alfred and driving off, far past the speed limit.

He is powerless to move. He is useless. As he was when he watched his parents fall. When he was held back by Bruce when he found that vile man.

He hadn't felt like this for a long, long time.

He was the perfect one. He was the best of them. The first. Everything Batman was supposed to be. Nightwing. Robin. Doing everything he could to be what Bruce wanted.

He was the perfect one.

What use was that when your blood stains the hardwood floors?

What use was him not remembering what you looked like until this moment? The only time he'd ever seen you was when a bullet was lodged in your shoulder, and your body was practically convulsing.

... This should never have happened.

You were always the normal one. The most regular. Never tainted by the horrors of Gotham. Bright. Kind. Your eyes were always so kind. Pitiful. You'd always pity them. Wanting to help, but how could he possibly let you?

How could he possibly let you see the shattered expression on his face each time he'd seen you hurting? (Even if it was you hurting for them.)

You never should've...

He stops his own train of thought.

Why were you out, anyway? Hadn't you known how awfully terrible Gotham is at night?

Hadn't he... warned you...?

Dick walks off, eyes following his retreating figure—he can't find it within himself to care. He storms upstairs—almost frantically.

Everything is so quiet. Nobody here. Nobody waiting here like there usually is.

Where you usually are. The end of the hallway. It's brighter over here. The windows more open. The floorboards more bleached by the sun than back where his childhood room used to be.

He almost kicks the door open when his sweaty hands can't get a good grip on the doorknob.

(He can't. He can't destroy the barrier between you both, no matter how hard he tries.)

It slips open, eventually. Dick takes in the sight, silently, eyes darting around.

There's dust littering the air, highlighted by glittering light. The glow of the sun pours into your room like molten honey. Shining down onto your carpet.

There is nothing else.

Your room is so empty. If he didn't know better, he'd thought this were a guest room. Scuffed—but suitable for a short visit nonetheless.

How long have you stayed here?

Dick tries to ignore the bleakness that fills his head when he tries to answer his own question.

He can't bring himself to step inside. Not without you there. He stands in the doorway, as lost as he felt when he world came crashing down with that tightrope.

He feels like a little kid all over again. As helpless as a little kid is in this world.

As helpless as you were.

As helpless as you are.

Your face looked like a blur for all these years. Lingering in the background, but never for long. His nails dig into the calloused flesh of his palm. Hardened from years of fighting, protecting all he cared about. All those he failed to protect before.

He didn't do anything, did he? Not for so long. For as long as Jason died, was it?

... How long was that?

He wasn't sure when you slipped from his mind. So caught up with those beside him—he hadn't seen you slip behind, silently.

That little kid, staring up with tearful eyes. Asking where Jason was. Asking when they could all play together again.

Behind the capes, the masks—behind him, there was you.

Dick would've fallen over if he hadn't caught himself on the doorframe.

How could he have possibly, ever let you out of his sight? How can he stand to look at you when he let this happen? The most regular thing in his life. Something he had never given a second glance.

His chest hurts with a white-hot pain that stings his entire nervous system.

The best of them all—it was never him. It was always you, wasn't it?

The one keeping him grounded was you—he feels like his heart can't beat properly. Clutching it hard, nothing works. The ache stings, but nothing feels worse than his mind spiralling with thoughts of you laying in a hospital gown with red seeping out your side.

He will never, ever let something like this happen to you again.

Dick will let you know you'll never need to worry about anything again as long as your favourite big brother is here.

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if you asked to be on the taglist but aren't there, make sure your account is able to be tagged and ask me again!!!

[unpeeled-human]

not sure if this has been asked before, but how do you make your pixel art look so nice and clean? is it just a result of extended practice?

well, the truth is it's not reeeeaalllly pixel art exactly,

initially it was just microsoft paint's default pencil tool at its smallest size- then i switched to the brush tool when i felt it looked a bit nicer (it was a little bit softer). now what i use is an approximation in clip studio paint, the settings for which are here:

then i just zoom in quite a bit. i have a "doodles" canvas on clip studio thats 4000 x 3000 so i have plenty of space to draw, but the doodles themselves tend to not be very large, normally less than 800 x 800- that way the pixels stand out more

because of my simplistic style and how much i enjoy the look of image compression, i prefer to not resize my drawings- but if you end up making something that's too small to show up cleanly on a website or something, do this:

0. open microsoft paint.

take your original small drawing. this little guy is barely 100 x 100 pixels.

2. zoom way in, and take a screenshot. once you paste that screenshot into microsoft paint, youll be able to select and copy your small drawing, now enlarged.

goes from this:

to this