#i hope this makes you cry <3

[docdalas]

and i think i’m gonna miss you for a long long time

[kitamars]

i have nothing for halloween so take some yokai ginhiji doodles so you know im not dead ndnjvjd

[recents]

so we all know astarion was named after the minotaur of greek myth, who, despite widely known as the minotaur (“bull of minos”), was named astarion/asterion (“starry one”) by his mother at birth. asterion the minotaur was trapped in a labyrinth and cursed to devour virginal men and women thrown in there as sacrifices.

”The House of Asterion” is a 1947 short story by Argentine writer Jorge Luis Borges that retells the story of the minotaur from the minotaur’s point of view. it’s one of his best early short stories and it’s very short, only 3 pages long. you can read it here.

borges is in my top 3 favorite writers of all time, and “The House of Asterion” obviously deserves to be considered on its own merits, so i feel slightly irreverent connecting this text to a recent video game. but i reread this short story today and there was much to think about, there were many more seeds planted in my mind in terms of interpretations of the minotaur myth and how asterion the minotaur relates to the story of astarion the vampire. i think it will for you, too.

anyway. if you don’t click through and read it, please at least read how it ends, remembering, of course, that the speaker is asterion the minotaur:

:)

[copias-juicebox]

Tobias about his Brother Sebastian who passed away shortly after Ghost released their first Songs and took off on Myspace. 🤍🤍🤍

[dollypopup]

"Colin didn't do enough to earn/deserve Penelope!"

but that's the rub, isn't it? he didn't have to. that's why people are so mad. He didn't have to, and he never had to

Because what this season proves is that love isn't about what we deserve. That love cannot be earned. Viewing love in such light makes it conditional- a matter of transaction. That if we simply do enough, if we humble ourselves, if we are ground down to humility, surely we will be cared for. That love can be a matter of groveling, or suffering, is antithetical to what it truly is. It is such an incredibly puritanical, highly Catholic perspective on it. That Colin has fallen from grace with what he said at the end of Season 2, and thus must now repent. Must have adequate penance.

Who determines what would have been enough, in such circumstances? What would be enough from such a puritanical viewpoint to garner forgiveness? When Colin had history of being soft and tender with Penelope- writing her letters, complimenting her, finding her in ballrooms, laughing at her jokes and making her laugh in turn, defending her- would it truly appease us to have the shape of their lovestory form around the skin of suffering? Of coming to hands and knees in a plead for mercy?

No.

Penelope informs that she's hurt by his comments, and Colin sought to soothe that pain without her demanding it of him. That is love. Penelope reveals the ache of being unwanted and how it affects her self worth, and Colin says 'I will help you see yourself the way I see you', because he has always found her wonderful. That is love. Colin comes to Penelope and reveals that he appreciates her, that he does not want to lose her, and requests a chance to prove that, and she not only accepts, but finds relief in doing so. That's love. Penelope feels braver because Colin thinks she already is. That's love. Colin feels unseen but Penelope sees him. That's love. Penelope asks Colin to kiss her with no expectations of more, and he tenderly touches her face and dreams and dreams and dreams of that moment where she put her heart in his hands. That's love. Colin runs after her carriage and has no idea she harbors affection for him when he spills his own heart open, asking her to choose him, and when she says they're friends, he backs off. That's love. Penelope says she wants to be more than friends, and they fall headfirst into each other. That's love. Colin asks Penelope for her permission to provide pleasure for her, and in doing so, finds pleasure himself. That's love, that's love, that's love.

It has never been about 'deserving'. It has only ever been about opening themselves up to the possibility. Colin and Penelope said: I know you're scared, I know it's scary, but it's worth it. I adore you. Take my hand. Stand with me in corners and have a good time. Crack silly jokes with me. Let's eat cake. Walk with me. Talk to me of matters so foolish, it would make you blush to do so with someone else, I want to listen. I accept you. I see you. Love is not owed, earned- but given. Shared freely. Without expectation. Without condition. With an open hand and heart.

They said: You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves.

Nicola was right. Season 3 is about romance.

[lovesickeros]

☆ decadence divine [ act I ]

{☆} characters arlecchino, neuvillette, furina {☆} notes yandere, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings yandere content, stalking (implied), kidnapping (implied) {☆} word count 2.3k

ARLECCHINO

Arlecchino was wont to leave social gatherings to her subordinates– the private meetings were where she thrived. It was so much easier to lure your prey into a trap when you didn't have prying eyes and ears waiting for the barest hint of blackmail.

She clicked her tongue in distaste, her eyes narrowing beneath the mask of the fox as she set down her cup sharply. It was difficult as it was to draw them from the safety of their bubble– at the slightest hint of danger, her quarry would run. A chase would be fun, but she couldn't risk getting caught here. The political nightmare it would cause..it already gave her a headache. She had to be discreet.

They weren't making it easy, however.

Which is why she never liked crowds. But this chance didn't come by every day. She wasn't going to simply let it pass by because of a little danger. She'd have them eventually, it was just a matter of how. There were already numerous of her own lingering in the crowds, hidden beneath the masks that every patron bore. It was difficult to stand out amongst the flurry of masked patrons constantly shifting around the room, moving from one conversation to another, gliding from one dance partner to another.

Her heeled boots clicked sharply against the tile as she stalked through the crowds, keeping a wide berth yet always lingering nearby– she was sure they could feel the vague sense of being watched, but with the huge crowds..her lips quirked into a grin with the barest flash of teeth. There were a great many ways to break them in– she'd spent a great amount of time and mora to get anything she could for blackmail, if she so wished. She had the backing of the Fatui as well if she played her cards right– it wouldn't be difficult to convince them that they were a valuable target, and none of them would dare to question just what she did with them afterwards.

Perhaps a bit of play, first. Test the waters. She was familiar with playing the polite gentleman, despite her status as a Fatui Harbinger. Stage something for her to intervene, perhaps, to look the hero. The look of shock when she revealed the wolf beneath the wool..she could see it already. That wide, doe-eyed look as they realized the monster they've followed blindly like a lost lamb..she was beginning to see the appeal.

All it took was a few hushed words and subtle signals before the tiles started to fall in place, her hand gliding along their lower back as she leaned over their shoulder with a thin, predatory smile. She'd have to organize for the agent to be released later, her eyes following as the Gardes dragged him out of the room in a flurry of curses, but for now..she tilted her head to peer down at them, polite and almost apologetic.

"You aren't too startled, are you? Now now, there's no need to look so..scared, poor thing. I won't let another lay a hand on you," She cooed in a sickly sweet tone, the husky rasp of her voice whispered in their ear like dripping honey. "You have my word. Now, why don't we get you some fresh air? Come. Allow me to escort you."

Her lips pulled into a jagged grin at the relief in their eyes– the blind lamb following the shepherd as it led them into it's maw. Just a little longer, and she could finally have her own caged bird– a pretty thing to admire, to protect, to possess.

Something no one else would ever touch again. Something hers.

NEUVILLETTE

Neuvillette was not one for parties. The intricacies and delicate handling of public relations he oft left in the capable hands of Furina, rather then himself. It was only at her behest he even attended at all, but he still felt rather..out of place amongst the bodies constantly shifting through the ballroom like a constant rush of water from one end to the other, no rhyme nor reason to the flow. The only thing that kept him afloat among the tides was the mask of the deer obscuring his face– even if it was exceedingly difficult to truly hide himself among the crowds, most passed over him without second thought.

Though he had to be honest with himself, even if he couldn't bring himself to admit it to Furina despite her insistence that his attendance was mandatory. He had his own reasons for coming– selfishness that left a sour taste in his mouth. It was purely by chance he'd seen the briefest glimpse of them prior, and he..was intrigued, that was all.

He refused to let his thoughts linger on the sleepless nights he spent prying every piece of information he could from loose tongues and obscure documents, every moment he managed to squeeze in between trials spent lingering in their most favored locations– cafes, stores, restaurants, the like.

Now a masquerade.

He tried not to let the guilt gnaw at his conscious, but it lingered like an age old scar that still ached.

So he relegated himself to simply residing in the further corner, nursing a goblet of water like a fine wine, trying not to let his eyes stray to the brief glimpses of them through the ever moving bodies filling the center of the room, dancing like puppets in music boxes.

Still, his hand twitched in an instinctual desire– a need to clasp his hand in their own, to touch his lips upon their knuckles, to indulge in a moment of reprieve and unshackle himself from the mantle that bears heavy upon his shoulders. He seeks reverence, worship, but not of himself– but towards the one who had drawn the eye of the dragon amongst the waves of humans he'd seen come and go for a great many years.

No one could compare, he is certain. None have left him as breathless, as hopelessly infatuated, as the one who made him wish only to kneel at their feet in senseless reverence until he could no longer speak. A hopeless man, indeed, if he has never even truly met them.

Instead he's spent his time prying into their life from the shadows. Caution, or simple cowardice?

He dares not ponder.

Yet in his ceaseless pondering he'd blocked out the world without, failing to notice the figure stepping up beside him until their hand brushed against his elbow– just the briefest touch, but it had his pupils narrowing and his entire body tensing like a coiled spring. That touch..bliss. It left him breathless and lightheaded as he tilted his head to regard them, his lips parting in a shaky sigh. They are as beautiful as he remembers– even with their face obscured beneath the mask, he would never forget them.

"Greetings, Monsieur– I hope I didn't frighten you too much." Their laugh made him feel rather faint, just the sound of their voice making his hand tighten around his cane. "..Not at all. I was simply lost in thought." He admitted apologetically, trying to reign in the urge to cup their face between his palms. A dangerous thought. He didn't want to scare them off when they'd provided him a priceless opportunity.

"My apologies, you must have needed something. It was rude of me to have been so absorbed in my thoughts to have ignored you." He continued, gently turning to set his goblet down– offer them his full attention, be a gentleman. The words rang in his skull like a ceaseless alarm, blaring and rattling his thoughts as he gently took their hand in his own. It was a split second decision– an indulgence, but he could simply not help himself. Even with his gloves between them, he felt like he was going to lose his composure just from such a brief touch..

He truly was a hopeless man before an altar, praying for a salvation he intends to bury deep beneath the waves– to keep it hidden in the darkness of the depths that only he can reach. A selfish man, he must be, to even think of it, but it is an itch that he cannot scratch. A need that must be satisfied. He cannot allow any hands but his own to tend to them, to know what it feels to touch them, to hear their voice and see their eyes as he prays– prays like a man starved, devotion born of desperation.

"I hope I did not make you wait too long." He smiles, soft and affectionate, like the bloom of spring beneath the winters chill– yet just as deadly, only masked by the sweet fragrance of flowers.

He had waited too long.

No longer.

FURINA

Furina was right at home amongst the crowds– where the masks obscured the identities of most, it was impossible to not recognize the charming banter of the Hydro Archon beneath the mask of the lamb as she graced the masquerade with her presence, speaking with a silver tongue to any who would listen. A truly enthralled audience fitting for the grandest of performers in Fontaine.

But her eyes lingered not on the people who's praise dripped from their lips like honey– yet so very bitter upon her tongue. Even the mask obscuring her expression did little to hide the longing that had her visibly deflating like a popped balloon. She hated all the eyes on her, really– it was suffocating. She was only putting on a show in the foolish hope that they'd finally pay attention to her. Just her luck, she supposes, that instead she's had to throw herself straight into the role of Archon without a pay off..

They hadn't even spared her a glance! It would be infuriating if not for the fact she couldn't even keep her composure just seeing them across the room. They didn't even have to look at her and she could feel the heat rush to her ears as she forced another smile at the crowd gathered around her. It was unfair how easily they could fluster her without even knowing it– her heart was thumping so hard against her ribcage she felt like it might burst.

Her only solace was the fact none of the patrons seemed to realize she'd clocked out of the conversation, her thoughts and eyes lingering on the distant figure– what a lovestruck fool she makes..it was a chance encounter she'd seen them during one of her outings. That was all it took to enthrall her, evidentially, try as she might to have ignore it for months.

They never left her mind for longer then a day, in the end, and she had to face the fact they had managed to enrapture her so deeply she felt like a newborn lamb learning to walk whenever she so much as thought of them. What an embarrassment! She..she was the Archon, she had a reputation to maintain, she couldn't be seen fawning over a human.

But oh, she still longed for it, beneath the veneer of a God. She'd watched them more times then she'd admit even to herself, wishing to find herself in place of those who'd hands were cradled so casually in their own– to hear their voice, their laughter, as often as she pleased..like a fine delicacy she so badly wished to taste, yet so far from her reach.

Would they think her pathetic for her infatuation? She pursed her lips at the thought, trying to bury the sour mood beneath her faux image of the Archon. Yet it lingered, and with only the quietest of excuses, she slipped into the crowd like a ghost– she needed to leave before she did something..stupid. Neuvillette would surely have a few choice words with her if she did, and she was inclined to avoid such a fate.

She..she just needed a moment to collect herself was all. That was it. She could go back to playing Archon for a little longer, she just needed a moment to herself. At the very least, the balcony had been regarded as off limits so late into the party– which gave her an opportunity to slip out of the public view for the briefest of moments. A welcome reprieve– she was starting to feel suffocated amongst the crowds.

Perhaps on instinct, she reached for the mask, lifting ever so slightly away..only to let out a startled yelp at the touch of a hand on her shoulder, the mask slipping back into place far too easily. It made her lightheaded, even now, but she dared not to dwell on it.

But when she turned sharply on her heel to chew out the person who'd followed her and had the gall to scare her..oh, she was done for, her ears flush with heat. The brief glimpse of their eyes beneath the mask, the curl of their lips as they smiled– her heart stuttered in her chest, and she was certain it had stopped all together when they clasped her hand.

"Y–you.." She wanted to be angry, to brush them off and leave with her rationality in tact, but the warmth of their hands on her skin rendered her speechless. She was no better then a fish on land, struggling to fill her lungs with air as she drew in a shaky breath. "Ahem, you caught me off guard. That's all. Surely you do not make it a habit to sneak up on people?" She huffed in indignation, trying to mask the fluster that threatened to break through her carefully crafted facade.

Ah, what a cruel twist of fate..she'd slipped away to escape their allure, but here they were, dragging her back into their orbit without even knowing how deep her infatuation ran. They were alone, too..it was a chance she wasn't sure she'd ever get again.

Maybe, just this once, she could do something for herself rather then everyone else.

She buried her guilt, the fear– buried it beneath the need to be seen.

"But if you want to make it up to me.."

[luck-of-the-drawings]

[<==PREV PAGES] [NEXT PAGE==>(not out yet.wait a year.or maybe more.imagine.]

saw alot of comments on prev pages; saying 'i HATE that mean teacher! im gonna FIGHT HIM!!' & i LOVE the energy!! it WOULD be nice. to have that catharsis. but the story of young tidestrider is Not one of catharsis. it is a story of being so small and so special and sucking so bad.

[loverboybrightsideghost]

rqg wilde gravestone that reads "third time's the charm ;)"

[sagesolsticewrites]

Dear...

A series of letters from one Lt. Harry Crosby to his wife 🤍 (a sort-of continuation of Just Say Yes, but can be read as a standalone!)

My darling wife,

‘Wife.’ I’ll never get tired of saying that.

How are you, darling? I hope you’re not worrying about me too much; I promise, I’m staying as safe as I can, and someday soon this war will end and I’ll have you back in my arms once more.

I miss you more than words can say, sweetheart. You occupy my every waking thought, and all of my dreams at night. Some of the things I dream can’t be written (you know what I mean), but I hope to be back with you soon so I can make them a reality.

All my love, and a thousand kisses,

Your Harry

My most darling husband, I know you didn’t just try to tell your wife not to worry about you! I know how capable you are, but there will always be a part of me that worries.  I’m keeping as busy as I can. I’ve found a job as a typist at the factory here! It’s not quite the job I’ve always dreamed of, but anything I can do to help you boys! Violet from two doors down works there as well, and I’ve made friends with a few of the other girls there, so you don’t need to worry about me being lonely over here. Be safe, my love, and I’ll be counting down the days until I see you again. The swell of joy I feel when I get your letters will surely be nothing compared to being in your arms again. With my deepest love, Mrs. Y/N Crosby P.S. Say ‘Hi!’ to Bubbles for me! P.P.S. I admit I’m intrigued by these dreams you claim you can’t write about… I don’t even get a hint?

Sweetheart,

‘Mrs. Y/N Crosby’ I don’t think a prettier sequence of letters has ever existed…

A job! Darling, I’m so proud of you.

Though now I can’t help but wonder at every piece of paper arriving on base here— did you type those words? Perhaps it’s just me wishing you were closer, but I like to think every piece of paper coming in with the supplies came from your hand.

Speaking of paper, was that a hint of your perfume I detected on your last letter? It was a wonderful reminder of you, my love. 

There are flowers blooming in the fields here. I’m not sure what kind they are, but they’re beautiful so of course they made me think of you. I’ve enclosed a few that I’ve pressed, and I can only hope they make the journey to you in one piece. If not, well… I send my apologies and a promise that I’ll make up for it with all the fresh flowers you could want when I’m home.

Bubbles says ‘hi’ back, and wants me to tell you that he’s making sure I’m safe (though I’m sure you know it’s clearly the other way around— no, I’m only joking, honey. We keep each other safe.)

As for your question regarding certain dreams… I’m afraid I’ll have to keep you in suspense, my dear, at least for now.

Your unspeakably proud husband,

Harry

[enclosed: a variety of small pressed wildflowers]

Honey,

It’s been a while since I’ve heard from you. Are you getting my letters? I hope so.

How are things going at work? I hope they’re not working my girl too hard. 

You’ll never guess what happened with Bubbles, sweetheart. He was off on pass visiting his girl over in Norwich, and the poor guy caught a stomach bug! He won’t be flying anytime soon, so I’m taking his place for a bit. Frankly I’m not sure how flying with me will be any different from flying with Bubbles with a stomach bug…

I miss you with all my heart, honey. I love you I love you I love you I love you I love you

Goodbye for now, angel. I hope I hear from you soon.

Love,

H

My brave Bing, Poor Bubbles! Hopefully he’s recovered by now. Tell him hello for me! And I hope your missions went well, darling, and that you’re taking the time to rest when you can. Take care of yourself, my love. Work has been fine, for the most part. Violet and Carol had a bit of a falling out— over what I’m not sure, but it’s made the office fairly awkward. The prevailing theory among the girls is a spat over a boy, though Ruthie’s making a very convincing case for it being an argument over a lost lipstick. I’ll be sure to keep you updated on these riveting (ha) events, as I’m sure you’re as curious about it as we are. Your gifts did make it to me in one piece for the most part, and I’m keeping them safe next to my picture of you. They’re beautiful, darling. In return, I’ve enclosed some pressed roses from our garden. You know I don’t quite have your green thumb, but I’m doing my best (though I am looking forward to the day you’re back home and can take over the gardening duties— the flowers miss you almost as much as I do.) All my love, Mrs. Y/N Crosby

[enclosed: two pressed red roses]

My darling,

Would it surprise you to know the boys now have a bet going as to the reason for your colleagues’ falling out?

I told Bubbles about it, then word apparently spread, and now nearly the entire 100th seems to know the story! (For the record, most of the boys are leaning towards the cause being a boy, though Bubbles is still holding out for Ruthie’s lipstick theory)

Do let us know if the cause for the argument is ever discovered: I’ve got $10 riding on this, sweetheart!

I managed to get a moment to myself yesterday, and found myself walking in the field near where the ground crews were working on the forts. And do you know what happened, honey?

A butterfly landed on my hand.

It was a little orange and black thing, and it only stayed for a moment before flying off, but having that pretty thing choose me as a resting place on its journey to wherever it was off to… it made me miss you more than ever. I wish you could’ve been here to see it.

I love and miss you so much, sweetheart, I couldn’t possibly love you more, and yet every day, my love for you grows. I’m just existing until the day I can take you in my arms again and never let you go.

Millions of hugs, thousands of kisses, and all my love,

Your Harry

My most darling beloved Bing, Ha! I’m glad I could provide some entertainment from so far away, honey. Tell Bubbles to rejoice: Mary found a lipstick tube that had rolled into a corner behind her desk, and Vi and Carol have agreed to be friends again, imagine that! You didn’t tell me which side of the bet you were on, sweetheart, but knowing you I imagine you sided with Bubbles as always. Do spend your winnings on something sensible— perhaps more paper to write to your poor wife? Oh, my love. You’ll never believe what happened as I was reading your latest letter out in the garden (the weather’s been lovely lately!) A butterfly— black and orange, similar to the one you described seeing all the way over there — landed on the chair next to me. Your chair, darling. Did you send that pretty thing all the way over to me to say hello? I’ll imagine you did.  I love you more than words can say, darling, and so the millions of kisses I’ve enclosed will have to suffice. Stay safe, and I’ll see you when you come home to me. All my love, and then some more, Mrs. Y/N Crosby

[enclosed: in a departure from her usual singular lip print on the page next to her signature, Mrs. Crosby chose instead to enclose an entire extra page covered in its entirety in lip prints 👀💋]

[kithtaehyung]

⬛️ WEBSITE MOCKUPS : RKIVE.ORG ⬛️

“When we went abroad, we stayed in our hotel rooms except when we were working. The only places I could go then were museums. The art galleries full of Monets or Van Goghs were always crowded, but when I visited one weekday morning and had them mostly to myself, I had a eureka moment—an artist who’d passed away 100 years ago was communicating directly with a boy from Korea. I was so envious. From then on, I began seeking out and learning about Korean painters.” — HAPPY NAMJOON DAY! ; 940912 ; CLICK FOR HQ. twt | ig 

Note: rkive and gallery walk gifs may take a bit to load, and look best on desktop. Note 2: To learn more about all of the artwork and artists showcased, click below. 

When The Year 2000 Comes (2019), by YANG HAEGUE, the avant-garde of Korean art.  “She is an accomplished and international artist. She notably represented Korea at the Venice Biennale in 2009 and participated to the prestigious dOCUMENTA (13) in Kassel in 2012. In her works, which flirt with conceptual art, she explores myths and stories, that touch on the universal. She appropriates them through sculptures, installations, performances, and video.”  

From Point (1976), by LEE UFAN, Korean Zen Art. “He is a Korean artist known worldwide for his paintings depicting the mark of a brush whose color fades… Yet his practice goes far beyond that! He creates performances, sculptures and installations, which always question a certain “state of being.” He is influenced by Zen and Asian philosophy, but has also drawn heavily on Western thought. Among his favorite subjects: observing the intimate, conflicting or poetic relationship between natural and artificial elements.” 

Brushstrokes-Diagram (2015), by SONG HYUN-SOOK, Korean and Western art.  “With her, each brushstroke tells a story, a journey. She weaves links between Korean art and Western art. On the one hand, it expresses that almost meditative state of concentration that exists in the art of calligraphy. On the other hand, she uses tempera, a typically European oil painting technique, to create patterns that immerse the viewer in reality and the present moment.” 

Drawing, Charcoal on paper, 65 x 50 cm (2014) and Issu de feu Charcoal on canvas, 100 x 81 cm, (2000), by LEE BAE, the Soulages of Korean Art. “A Korean abstract artist. Like Soulages, for whom black is a color, he explores the almost infinite possibilities of black. He sinks into the abyss of darkness. Until recently, he mainly used charred materials to paint his canvases. In doing so, he offered a powerful metaphor for the cycle of life.” 

Écriture No.160523 (2016), by PARK SEO-BO, Korean abstraction. “One of the best known Korean artists. He is emblematic of the monochrome Dansaekhwa movement. A current that synthesizes the traditional Korean spirit and Western abstraction. In a way, he is very close to minimalist artists, choosing neutral tones to highlight components and fabrics.” 

Mat 61 × 81 #19-17 (2019), by SUKI SEOKYEONG KANG, contemporary art.  “Born in 1977, this Korean artist is one of the biggest names of the art market. Her work is mostly inspired by her own philosophical research and reflection on space and our place in it. She uses sculpture, installation, and performance to explore these ideas. Her works were presented, among others, in the Venice and Shanghai Biennales.” 

Untitled (1966), by CHOI WOOK-KYUNG, the outcast.  “Wook-kyung Choi (1940-1985) is an outcast in the history of contemporary Korean art. She is an abstract painter. But most Korean abstract painters shine in Dansaekhwa: the Korean monochrome. She, on the contrary, is mainly influenced by expressionism. Brutally, instinctively, aggressively, she throws the colors on the canvas. She seeks to immerse herself in the moment, and to create true, pure, expressive forms. Thus, it plays a capital role for the diversity of Korean abstract art.”

Thank you for your interest in these artists and this passion project! All of the website information (other than the artist bio on the Artist Spotlight page) is fictional. Happy Joonie Day 2022, and let’s continue to support him and all the fantastic Korean artists out there. 

SRC: one, two, three

[tianhai03]

guys wake up new C coloring pic just dropped <333 have some teefs i drew awhile ago that i probably never posted here

[six-white-venus]

What can you do when you hate every word that comes out of your mouth with a burning passion? When nothing you say ever feels right? When all of your words feel like lies, even though they’re not?

Because they’re not, right? …right?

[bleue-flora]

i didn't remenber cdream had a parrot. Now o need to rewatch. Cdream has a curse or something bc why alll his pets die or are killed

Yea… for real. And most of them have really tragic and strange deaths. :’( It’s no wonder he has such attachment issues, only furthered by the death of his horse then later endangerment of his friends and blackmail…

Here’s the link to the parrot stream

Time stamp for finding the parrot: 2:23:21

Time stamp for the death of the parrot: 3:18:02

Here’s the link to the memorial (which I actually mentioned in my recent Dreamcatcher blooper)

Though to truly understand how tragic it is you should watch the whole section of the stream where he has his parrot, because he really goes through so much trouble to bring the parrot (and Spirit) back home with him.

“I loved him like a son he was a like father to me.” — Dream —

[a-force-dyad-in-space]

🎇BREAKING NEWS🎇 Yi City Man Known for Mass Murder is Speechless and Shy as He Experiences Kindness for the First Time in His Life

More news at 8!

[louroth]

Leith :]

[qroier]

always on that stupid boat eternally on that stupid boat. aka what i imagine was roier cubito's reaction on that boat as it sped away from egg island, with some bloodhounds included for fun. full thing under read more and link to this on ao3:

Roier was still standing near the stern. He'd been there for hours. It was the same place he’d been standing at when the bomb had dropped, and he hadn't moved since. Not since the boat had started speeding away after Tubbo finally figured out how to lift the anchor, and not even since the rocky aftershocks had finally stopped churning the waves. The rest of them, the rest of them that had made it onboard, kept checking in on him, occasionally, when they could. Walking back to stand next to him as he faced the ocean and an island that could no longer be seen. Motionless. Soundless.

Bagi had tried, initially, to guide him to a seat, back when everyone else’s shock had started to set in. He had shrugged her off without a word. He’d done the same thing to anyone else’s attempts since. Etoiles softly calling out his name, saying, “Roier, bro? My friend?” had had similar results. So they left him alone, and hoped he’d resurface. A blanket that Phil had found somewhere deep in storage while trying to scrounge for supplies was draped over his shoulders like a cape and like the comfort he was refusing. 

Hours more pass like that by the time a rustling arises from Roier’s corner. Most of them are asleep or at least trying to be, and the loudest sound apart from the ocean’s lapping waves hitting against the boat’s hull is the twinkling of stars overhead and occasional snores from the cabin below. The rustling jolts Etoiles from the half-doze he’d fallen under while standing guard to Roier’s left. He reaches instinctively for a sword that’s not there. Right. It’s turning to dust somewhere, back on that island, after being dropped by Phil and lost mid-flight to the boat. 

There's movement. That's new. It catches Etoiles’ attention from where he notices it out of the corner of his eye, and he only barely manages to scramble fast enough to catch Roier as he crumbles. 

They both hit the floor. In Etoiles’ arms, Roier shakes as his murmurs whisper “Pendejo no duro nada, nada.” 

They both know the tremors are tinged with something more than heartbreak.

“Nada,” Roier repeats, picking himself up and away from Etoiles while glaring back toward the same spot of ocean he'd been looking at before. Ese culero, his eyes try to say.

He looks back down at Etoiles, still on the floor and staring up at him. A- something, drags its way across his face as he scoffs. It might be a smirk. “Man,” he calls down, “No mames. Why are you on the floor, pendejo? Are the- are the fancy boat beds not toxic enough for you? You miss the ground?”

Etoiles just looks back up at him. Okay. “Are you stupid, bro? Don't be stupid, man. I was waiting for you, pendejo,” he tells Roier, putting on a similar grin as he stands up and dusts himself off. 

He shoves at Roier’s shoulders, gently, playfully, when Roier says, “Hm, no, I don't think so.”

“You don't think so? Oh, well, if you don't think so! I guess I must be a liar, then!”

Roier starts to direct them forward, as if he's the one that explored the boat instead of the one that stood at the stern, motionless, for hours. There's not a single glance back to that invisible island.

“You just don't think the beds are toxic enough. You need it more toxic? Don't be so mean or I'll cry for the beds, I swear man, I'll cry for the beds.” Neither of them comment on Roier’s desert dry eyes. How they're tinted red not with tears but from being open for so long.

The lack of direction seems to catch up to Roier, suddenly, as he stumbles while turning about to look for the cabin door. Etoiles reaches out, hand to his shoulder to steady him.

“Roier, man. You uh, you good, bro?” He asks, not removing his hand even after Roier stabilizes.

“Fuckin boats, man.” A chuckle. “I'm not a mermaid. Is Cucurucho too poor for a plane? We're so poor, man. Quesadilla Island is so poor, what the fuck.”

“Now you are the one being toxic, bro.” Etoiles says, turning them, pointing them in the direction of the cabin door and the beds underneath. He looks at Roier again. At the tightness in his shoulders. At how he's refusing to turn back toward the island. “Roier, my bro, do you want-”

“Sleep!” Roier shouts, nodding like the idea will save him. “Yes. On a not toxic bed, because man, I'm not like you. I'm not mean to the beds like you.”

They reach the cabin door a half second later and Roier pauses, hand on the door knob. The humor slides off his shoulders, and the grin drops from his face. 

“Did.” The tremors are still there, hiding under his hoodie. His hand had shaken when he reached for the door. Etoiles hadn't mentioned it. “Did anyone else make it on, after?”

Etoiles looks at Roier, at the way his gaze is glued to the door knob.

“No, my friend. I was the last one on.”

“Oh. Okay. Bueno,” he says, hand and gaze still on the door. “Bueno. Pues F, no?” He chuckles again, finally dragging his attention back to Etoiles as he opens the door. The humor slinks back. “Are you gonna tryhard sleep now? Is that what you'll do, man?”

“Bro, if anyone is going to tryhard sleep, it's the Mexican beast!”

“Ah, facts, factoids. Pure fuckin facts, bro.”

Although there are enough rooms to not, they'll share a room when they make it downstairs and to the sleeping quarters. They're used to it, by now.

And they'll never talk about it. At least, they'll never talk about it for however long they're on that stupid boat.