#working on stuff ig

[frycekseuthanasia]

gay ppl OMG

[hinamie]

*about any given drawing* cranking the saturation slider will fix this

[xxplastic-cubexx]

obligatory beach divorce doodling

bonus rough cover redraw of x-men #41 (1995) But Beach Divorce below cut

[squinkoblinko]

funny post for all 7 of the wkm fans still out there

original image snork Zz snork zzzzz

[doodlingwren]

Shaka but he's like. Early 2000s anime girl or something 💖

[malcontentonline]

New animatic I thought y’all who’ve followed me recently may enjoy obviously inspired by @ludwigplayingthetrombone and they’re galaxy brain connections and wonderful animatics

[fernisworm]

some random silly KO stuff i drew for my husband..... why'd they make this bot so goddamn sexy!!!!

[worldwideorganic]

would you care for them

[davonati]

They make love out there in the field, before David has to leave for good. It’s fast and messy, with both of their emotions running so high. Yonatan comes with the taste of David’s tears on his tongue.

He stays lying on his back in the grass until the sound of crunching footsteps finally fades away, and only realizes later that, in their utter desperation for each other, he’d forgotten to take any of the usual precautions. But by then, it’s far too late.

***

Four months later, he goes to see David at Horesh. Even in the dim light of the hideout, David looks at him oddly.

“Something’s different about you,” he muses, and Yonatan has to stop himself from reflexively clutching his belly. He’s not showing yet, not really, but he can feel the life growing inside him.

He expects David to approach him then, to explore the planes of his body as he’s done countless times before. He readies himself to tell David the truth, to finally feel the weight of this secret lift off his shoulders. But David comes no closer. He eyes him for another moment and then turns away, pulling out a large map of the Judean territories as he updates Yonatan on his group’s movements over the last few months.

It’s better this way, Yonatan decides. David has enough to worry about at the moment without concerning himself with Yonatan’s health, and there’s no guarantee that the baby will make it to term anyways: it’s not as if Yonatan is willing – or able – to confine himself to bedrest for nine months. When David returns to Giveah, Yonatan can reevaluate the situation. Most likely Yonatan will never need to reveal his mistake; best case scenario, David will have an heir to secure his lineage as he ascends to the throne.

***

Years later, as Yonatan lies bleeding out under the stars, his last thought is to wish he’d gotten the chance to tell David about their son.

[tartppola]

skulleycham wip!

[binkusdinkus]

💥💥💥

(forget about the buster moon jumpscare you didn't see it it wasn't me I don't know who put that there)

[doctorsiren]

Totally real image of Beanix trying to set up the MASON system

[eternalfrowning]

pffouh

[forgottenarthur]

aria/arthur "i did this for you. no one else."

ooc: so, as you know, ive been saying for awhile that amira'll poison arthur after the tournament to punish him for showing up edmund (will she tell edmund she did this? did it ~for him? nope!). this is the result i spun for the poison generator (note: amira didn't have to purchase said plant from the black market bc she def grew it herself oops amira: 'i ~am the black market' jk jk):

(don't ask me why it looks like that -- idk either)

also looked up hypothermia symptoms and we get a fun lil cocktail of the following:

Mild Hypothermia (32-35°C / 90-95°F): 

Shivering (unless energy stores are depleted)

Confusion, impaired judgment, and slurred speech

Increased heart rate, blood pressure, and respiration

Shortness of breath

Fatigue

Pale and dry skin

Nausea

Possible memory loss

Loss of fine motor skills

Dizzyness

Moderate Hypothermia (28-32°C / 82-90°F): 

Cognitive decline

Lethargy

CNS depression (reduced reflexes, dilated pupils)

Hyporeflexia (reduced reflexes)

Hypotension (low blood pressure)

Bradycardia (slow heart rate)

Bradypnea (slow breathing)

Shivering may stop

Paradoxical undressing (removing clothes due to confusion)

Susceptibility to dysrhythmias (irregular heartbeats)

Severe Hypothermia (Below 28°C / 82°F): 

Unresponsiveness or coma

Difficulty breathing

Abnormal heart rhythms

Very cold skin

Slow, weak pulse

Low blood pressure

Possible cessation of shivering

Loss of consciousness

In infants, bright red, cold skin and low energy

Other Symptoms: 

Clumsiness or lack of coordination

Sleepiness or drowsiness

Fumbling hands

Slowed or shallow breathing

Weak pulse

Behavioral changes (confusion, unusual aggression)

Apathy

Hallucinations or euphoria (in some cases)

sounds like a great time for arthur thanks amira! #bestmomaward lkadsjfjsd

------

He didn't know how he had come to be here. Or where he was. The corridor was dark here; raging blurry-bright every so often, and he put his hand to his face, groaned. Stumbled. Hissed as his shoulder hit the wall. Cold. So cold, it burned. He recoiled. Stumbled again. He was shaking, sluggish. Nausea rose like a veil over his senses, dizzying and sharp.

"Blah-" he frowned. Stumbled. He hadn't quite meant to say that. Blast. He'd meant to say that. He shook his head. Stopped. Where was he going? God, it was cold, it was so cold. He didn't know when he'd last felt so cold. Had he ever felt so cold?

Aine was screaming. Her fires licked the rafters, her shrieks reverberated there. Kil-kennar was burning. Everywhere they rose in riot, their spears and swords and cries all stabbing at him. Everything burned. "Help us!" they shrieked from the flames, piteous horror-garbled sounds. The air stank with fire and blood. They were all burning. "Help us!"

He staggered forward. He tripped. His hand hit the wall; his knees the stone floor. Burning ice. He recoiled. God, they were everywhere screaming. He struggled to his feet. He had to climb. Their shrieks were in the rafters. He had to make it to the stop of the tower. He had to save them.

Moans and flames and screams wreathed the air, shrieked at his ears. Everywhere they pled with him. Everywhere they scrambled and fought. Riot and fire. Everywhere, they were burning. But the heat was cold, horrifically cold. He hardly had the strength to go on. He couldn't stop. "Help us! Help us!" they sobbed. "Don't do this to us! Don't let us die this way! Don't do this to us!"

But his father bellowed, too. "You're no son of mine!"

His voice tore and tangled with theirs and he was there, too, heedless of the flames, even as they engulfed him, women and children at his feet holding one another as the flames crept closer.

Arthur couldn't get there. He could stop it. They shrieked in his ears. They burned.

"STOP!" Arthur screamed. "Please--please, stop!" He was weeping, gasping, trembling almost too hard to stand but he couldn't stop. He had to get to them. He had to save them.

Aine was screaming, screaming, endlessly screaming. "My fath--" he shook his head sharply. "Put her to the tor--" he stumbled again, overcorrected, stumbled back, rocked forward again. "Nah my son. I--Couldn't--I--God," he begged. "Why? Why this?"

"What's going on? What're you doing here?"

Arthur jumped at the voice. He turned, no, tried to turn. Sluggish feet hardly moved. He shivered violently. He could hardly move for trembling.

"Are--" the voice hesitated. "Are you all right?"

"Wheere--" He put his hand to his brow, again, as if he could steady himself. "Um--"

"Arthur?" Another voice, more familiar. Quick steps and someone was at his side. He knew her voice but he couldn't remember from where. Perhaps the sky was speaking to him, he thought.

Something hot took his arm. Surprised, he stumbled away, hit the wall again. Burning cold. He jerked away with a cry.

"You're scaring me. What's going on?"

"Fir--mm--fires, Kil-ka--fire--" he said the last part very carefully. "I--saw..."

"All right," the voice whispered to herself. "You're not well, Arthur. Please. Please come with me."

He shook his head. "I haff--I haff to--"

"You have to come with me." The voice was authoritative, and the voice was close. He could see her now, moss-dark eyes finding his.

"Can't--"

"I know how to deal with the fire. I know how to save Kil-kennar. But you have to come with me."

He relented. "I feel--"

"Terrible?" She nodded, gently twined her arms around his. He gasped. The heat of her arms was a balm. "I can tell. You're shaking like a reed." She was warm, so blessedly warm. He leaned closer. She put her arm around him. She gasped. "You're so cold!"

"You're--so warm..." He pulled her closer.

He was lying down. He was blinking at the skies, stars wheeling sickeningly overhead. He tugged at his blankets. Pushed them away.

"Arthur, drink this." His mother's voice. A chalice floated before his eyes, silver and shining as if a fire burned within it.

"The stars--" he muttered, and tried to pull the covers over his head. He couldn't look at them. They were laughing at him. Aria was always laughing at him, really. Laughing just behind her eyes. Somehow, though, somehow he didn't really mind when she laughed. He didn't mind...

"That's just the ceiling, Arthur."

"Tell the--tell them--"

"Arthur. Drink this."

The chalice floated again and he reached, missed, his hand shot off towards the heavens. He thought perhaps he could grasp one of the stars, blazing in their fury. He could pull them down and he could place them amongst Aria's ebony locks. Perhaps she'd smile, then, smile at him with stars caught amongst her hair, skin aglow with silver starlight...

Something touched his lips. A warm hand tipped his head back. "Drink." Another voice, this time, demanding.

He smiled, lay back, and closed his eyes. Aria was annoyed with him. Of course she was. He drank.

"Get some rest, Your Majesty. You've been up so long. I'll sit with him."

Quiet. Then his mother's voice: "All right. But you'll let me know if anything changes. Anything at all--"

"I will, Your Majesty. Get some sleep."

He was near a fire, warm and bright. Shivering, he groped towards it.

"Arthur?" Aria's voice, again.

He opened his eyes, turned towards the voice.

"Arthur, what's happening?"

"Were walk--walking in the stars."

She leaned forward, touched his brow. Her hand was warm. He groaned.

"You told me once -- implied -- Arthur, has this, or something like it, happened to you before?"

She floated amongst the stars, a nimbus of silver light radiating from her every edge. She'd never really belonged down here amongst the creatures of earth and mud, had she? She'd always been of the heavens, shining and warm. How had he not seen it before? He reached for her, far away amongst the wind and sky. But he touched her. He blinked with confusion. He thought she'd burn him, but her cheek was soft and gently, gently, he brushed his fingers across her face.

"You have to go. But come back," he whispered, very, very slowly. He had to get the words right, though his voice was thin and reedy even in his own ears. It was his only chance. "Come back to me someday. You belong out there, I know, but..." he pressed his eyes shut, his exhausted arm falling back to his side. "I--I'll miss you here."

He was tired. So tired. He just wanted to sleep.

"You really don't know what's going on, do you?" Her voice was sad, far away. She was silent for a moment, yet something in her tone turned decided when she spoke again. "I can help you."

He wondered if Aria would ever come back, now that she was at home amongst the stars. He wondered if she would ever laugh with him again, or roll her eyes at him, or if he would ever see her smiles again, feel their heat, again, even if just while tilting his head towards the skies, would he ever see the gleam of the morning star shining down upon him, feel its warmth brushing his skin, and know she was looking down on him, again...He felt hollow, now, thinking this way, hollow and heart-weary. He hadn't thought, before, what it might be like with her gone. Hadn't considered how, now that she was close...she might never be, again. Was that why he felt so cold? Was it because she was gone, lost to him amongst the stars?

"I think I love her," whispered Arthur.

Silence. A long silence. Then heat. Up it washed, up and up, a warm blanket that shimmered and shone over him, a blanket of starlight glistening with quicksilver heat, like her hands passing over him. He hissed sweet relief, as if every fibre of him were thawing, waking, the pinprick heat of slumbering limbs coming back to life. He was golden, again, warm and glowing. Strength and health flowed, mingling sunlight and starlight brightened every corner of the room as if dawn, itself, burst through his whole being: joy and color and wholeness mesmerizing every cell. He breathed out, a surprised breath, almost a laugh. He'd never felt so well.

He opened his eyes, found himself staring at the familiar star-painted ceiling of his bedroom. He didn't remember going to bed, but here he was. He sat up, put his head in his hands, laughing. "What a strange dream..."

He heard a sound at his side and turned. He started. Someone sat there. A lady. "Aria?!" He coughed, pulled up his covers, suddenly all-too aware of how much he was or wasn't wearing (he realized he couldn't remember what he'd put on last night, but he could hardly check now). He cleared his throat. "That is...Lady Aria...what are you doing here? This is unseemly, I--"

"How do you feel?"

"I--" he frowned. He felt splendid, really, spectacular. He felt ready to, to fight a lion or run a race or ride into battle or leap a river or--

"Do you feel well?"

"I feel brilliant," he shook his head. "I can't think the last time I felt so grand. I--Listen, my lady, just what is going on?"

Aria smiled, eyes twinkling, and Arthur narrowed his eyes at her. Her smile widened and he knew that she was laughing at him from just behind her eyes.

"Endlessly entertaining as doubtless this is--"

"I'll send for your mother on my way out. She'll want to see you for herself."

"What? Why?"

"It seems that draught we gave you has been most effective."

"What draught?"

"You really don't remember?"

"I--" He remembered starlight. He remembered Aria's face aglow, with stars caught in her shining hair.

"I should go," said Aria. "Will you tell her? Will you tell her how effective that draught was? She'll be pleased."

Arthur smiled, a touch confusedly. "Well...good. Of course I'll tell her. If it'll please her. I like to see her pleased."

Aria stood from where she'd sat at the edge of his bed. She crossed to the door.

"Lady Aria--"

She stopped. She didn't turn around.

"I--I don't know exactly what's going on, I admit, but...I feel I should...thank you."

"It was nothing."

Arthur swallowed. "Was it?"

She turned to face him. Paused. "You talk in your sleep."

"I--what?" he frowned deeply, fists going to his hips, momentarily forgetting the covers.

And there it was, again. That laughing smile.

Arthur felt the corners of his own lips twitch upwards. She was laughing at him, again, and he was glad. He liked to see her pleased, too.

"I'm glad you're feeling better." She paused, looked down. "Tell Lady Eithne I hope she is well when you see her next. Good evening."

"What? Aria--"

Surprise colored her face at his familiarity, and he felt a flush heat his own face.

Sighing, he glanced up. "Look, I--" He shook his head. "I gather I was ill and you--you helped me. I know Her Majesty the Queen and-and, of course, His Majesty the Emperor will be very pleased. It was good of you to do this for them." He swallowed. "For us. It was kind, especially after...everything."

Her eyes did not laugh, now. She simply looked at him. "I did this for you. No one else."

Arthur heaved a deep breath, moved forward to his feet, tugging the covers with him. But the door was already closing. Aria was gone.

Words, strange words, floated through his mind, in his own voice: "You have to go. But come back, come back to me someday. You belong out there, I know, but...I--I'll miss you here." Arthur glanced away. He always missed her when she was gone.

[snderist]

oh how the time flies - prev | next

[venomgaia]

Yield That Thang