critical role sideblog because i'm obsessed

kittenmitten on discord, icon by djwellsted on twitter

[artists-guild-of-exandria]

My wooden doll piece for the Toy Workshop project by

@ExandriaArtists

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From Twitter:

User - @/Archmage_Misha Artwork Link - https://twitter.com/Archmage_Misha/status/1735789689838145931 https://twitter.com/Archmage_Misha/status/1735789788433686965

[artists-guild-of-exandria]

Inspired by @EldritchBlep , may I present the latest merch from the official gift shop of the Hall Of Wonders. Andy the Andromach, a plush toy for all ages. (Warning: small parts may be a choking hazard)

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From Twitter:

User - @/LeanneLangdon2 Artwork Link - https://twitter.com/LeanneLangdon2/status/1735749672550236220

[artists-guild-of-exandria]

Bring your favorite sea snake, Ukatoa ( Ukatoa` ) wherever you go with this wooden pull along toy

Here's my piece for

@ExandriaArtists 's small project Chetney's Toy Workshop!

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From Twitter:

User - @/Madartsyworks Artwork Link - https://twitter.com/Madartsyworks/status/1735744030972187090

[canonkiller]

but you can't keep holding on like this.

[meru90]

endless summer 💜

[milton-chamberlain]

[leszmart]

pinup knight because it’s my birthday

[vespervines]

[artcher-artwork]

Doing warm-ups, name a D&D class and an animal!

[zmeess]

Yasha is convinced their cake is a half gooey half burnt mess because Essek was wearing gloves the entire time they were baking (alchemist habits) and due to that none of his love had transferred from his hands to the ingredients. also she wasn't sure what baking powder is

(it was actually Essek fucking up the temperature. they did get all the ingredients right down to the gram though)

shout out to @ionomycin for making me think about Yasha and Essek baking cakes together, and @khalliys for giving me an absolutely hilarious mental image of Yasha making Essek wear her apron

tip jar!

[soyonscruels]

i. Sam Vimes dies at nineteen, and not in his bed. The People’s Republic dies with him, blood on the streets and blood in the river and blood in Sam’s hair, matted to the cobblestones his feet will never learn to read through his boots, and that’s life. He dies, and the Republic dies with him, and that’s life, because life, as Sam knew even at that age, isn’t fair. When they find his body, no one recognises him, and he is buried not in the grave of the unknown soldier but merely in the grave of the unknown, the tombstone which marks his final resting place left blank, eerie. When the springtime comes the lilac blooms and they remember. When he died, he died for nothing, as all men do. He died crying and afraid and for nothing, and when he died, the Republic died with him.

Without him, Vetinari dies at the end of an assassin’s blade and the city they both died for doesn’t see a real democracy for a thousand years.

But that’s life, and life’s not fair. 

ii. Sam Vimes dies at twenty-nine, and not in his bed. He dies in a gutter, and is truly forgotten, Nobby and Fred the only mourners at his graveside, a true watchman’s funeral. He dies, as all men must die, and certainly all men who drink twice as much as anybody’s liver could reasonably handle. Nobby cries and Fred pretends he doesn’t, and they flip a coin to decide who becomes Captain now. Both outcomes, be assured, are equally disastrous. 

His ancestor, the Kingkiller, becomes a footnote in history, and he too is forgotten in time. There are no more republics in Ankh-Morpork, and no more kingkillers either, and the city feels the weight of a lacuna no-one knows how to name. The city greys and dies, and there is no justice in its streets, no bravery in its hidden little cloisters. The city herself becomes forgotten, and even her gods die.

Deep beneath the earth, in what was once a little cemetery by the Ankh, there is a stirring. But that, for once, is another tale.

iii. Sam Vimes dies at thirty seven, and not in his bed. He stands up to a dragon, to the Patrician, and above all, to himself, but is caught by a piece of falling masonry as the battle rages forth. His city burns, and burns, and dragonfire spreads across the world, leaving nothing in its wake but suffering and death.

In the never-dark, they whisper: a man held his sword to the dragon, once, long ago. If he did it– if he did it. Can we?

They don’t even know his name, but it doesn’t matter. Sam Vimes was born to inspire revolutions. They don’t need him to be living to bear his name. They don’t even need his name at all.

The world burns, but fire fights fire, and, when all is said and done, what else was Sam Vimes but that? 

iv. Sam Vimes dies at forty eight, and not in his bed. He dies with a demon under his skin, after he changed the world, or most of it, perhaps even saved it, run ragged by the Summoning Dark, because the human body has limits and he’s tested them once too often to make it through this time. He dies in agony, the second most powerful man in Ankh-Morpork, the veins of his eyes shot black as night and the scar on his wrist pools blood into the dust of Koom Valley, and what use is money and power when you’re a vessel for a demi-god, or at least something like it, and he’s too human, much too human, in the end, to make it through. 

When his blood touches the ground, it sizzles. Vetinari kneels beside his corpse, and does not say that he died a hero, because he would never insult him that way. From a mountaintop, he looks down and sees the mark scored into the earth, his friend’s body the epicentre.

“This place belongs to Him now, and is protected forever,” says a grag, and Vetinari feels the initial more than hears it.

“A copper, even in death,” Vetinari does not say, for his breath catches in his throat, and some things are beyond words, even for him.

v. Sam Vimes dies at sixty nine, and not in his bed. He dies with a crossbow bolt in his heart, stepping clean between the Patrician and certain death, an automatic reflex that he would have done consciously, if that sort of time constraint had left him with the illusion of choice– and perhaps it did, time slowed down so palpably he could count every white eyelash, every thread on Vetinari’s collar. He always knew he would die for this man. He always knew he would die for this city. Same difference.

“Don’t you dare, Sam,” says Vetinari, and Sam opens his mouth to say, oh, piss off–

VIVE LA REPUBLIQUE, says a voice, and two eyes that are not eyes shine like the implosion of galaxies in the dark.

“What?” says Sam, which is odd, without a mouth.

YOU ARE THE KINGKILLER, says Death, THE LEADER OF THE REVOLUTION. WE HAVE MET BEFORE. DO YOU NOT REMEMBER?

“And now I’m sodding dead!” says Sam, “Don’t tell me Heaven’s bloody real. Another king, all I fucking need.”

THERE IS NO HIERARCHY IN WHAT COMES AFTER, says Death, and Sam smiles.

“Finally,” says Sam, that great weight slipping away for the very first time, “Well then. I might get a bloody rest.”

[pien-art]

some good omens drawings i made this week!

(click images for optimal quality)

[miawerz]

god loves you but not enough to save you

[rhan-hastur]

Yes! As the days are getting shorter and colder, the summer and autumn bats have now become winter bats:

New OC status unlocked, they now have names! Having fun imagining a fake children's book cover ~

[ominousfrey2]

@softest-punk ‘s amazing writing was the inspiration behind this, ( the text here is from the fic) !please go read their work it is divineee!

Hiya, could you pretty pretty please do a 12. and 33. prompt for the ineffable husbands? I keep thinking of Bentley just locking them in and

[viktormaru]

Sort of Omen body HCs... under read more cause i go off a little bit (copied off twitter)

The first thing is that he has the literal cover of shadows around him that is so dark it doesnt reflect light, so he looks like just a hole in space rather than a 3d being and its really off putting to look at.

The second is that underneath the shadows is this layer of glowing radianite that is a bit transluscent. It can remind a little bit the crystal body sage summons whe she revives ppl but its more soft to the touch.

Underneath the radianite you can kinda see organs if you squint though theyre always a little off. in fact his anatomy is always a little off. arms a bit too long, or waist a bit too thin, it changes slightly depending on the day. And so does those shadows/light patterns. Theyre constantly moving, slowly, fast. He'll often "twitch" or "smoke" and those can cause sudden changes to his patterns or anatomy. it gets worse when hes exerting himself physically and/or emotionally

wait i didnt talk abt his face!!!!! I also imagine he does kinda have a face, its just under that layer of shadows but it is also.... not.. pretty.... as in well, the skin is mostly non existent, the skull is a bit off and theres other stuff going on. it is best it is in shadows

[cleavetheclover]

I rly love the idea of translucent flesh and having different things change by the day but I also want to add my own headcannons to this thread

Omens shadows/surface temperature always matches the ambient temperature, as if he is actually made of pure gas. But the radianite is always pulsing with warmth

Does Omen choose his anatomy? No, he doesn’t have the power to. He once had human anatomy that got torn apart like fabric, him trying to keep himself is only just that. Any minute changes are subconscious and involuntary. Ie Omen is not a shapeshifter

Does he eat, sleep, shower, etc? I always imagined that he can, but does not need to for the sake of health. Eating does not provide much for him either in nutrition or pleasure, as he is incapable of taste or smell. He does sleep on a regular cycle, mostly to actually rest, partially to match his fellow Agents’ schedules, and partially out of boredom. He showers after battles/missions but otherwise hygiene isn’t really an issue.

I don’t think Omen goes out of his way to try and “be more human” in terms of the actions listed above. He’s well aware that he doesn’t fit in, and shallow motions won’t solve the core of the issue, so he just leaves it be.

[viktormaru]

Yeah!! I like the temperature stuff, I also think the radianite is kinda warm, I mean, energy must be coming from somewhere and usually that releases heat... and radianite is one hell of a power source isnt it

Same!! I do think hes unaware of his changes and doesnt even control what his face does even when it pulses or twists (though i like imagining the three slashes rather then... lets say, two eyes, is due to his belief hes not human anymore mixed with his lack of ability to give himself a face due to his lost memories). I do also think he sometimes subconcsiously starts kinda "copying" the build of ppl who are adound him if he spends too long with them and thats where my silly headcanon of "omen changes heights" comes from.

Gosh the human needs hcs for me are all so goood i can never pick one though I do stick with the idea that he kinda does still have human needs only because i'd rather keep it consistant for my fics and easier to explain, though I can go off for a long time on how and why I like each idea. I'll forever love Jason's suggestion that Omen is forever starving and yet food makes no difference, miserable and angsty just how I like it.

Omen setting himself aside as something else other than human...... just.... unable to truly fit in ever and having no hopes to do so........ ouch.... my meow meow.......

[iingezo]

!! COMMISSIONS COMMISSIONS !!

Readying for more! If interested, go ahead here with the form linked below! https://forms.gle/zAHvr8keMsWh3Azj6

Commissions may take up to 3-6 weeks for completion (depending on complexity / my schedule) with payment in full via PayPal invoice once the flat color has been laid down. The form will close September 12th 4:00PM (PST) with folks selected messaged over Tumblr.

!! AND HORSES !! These were unofficial before, but to keep the sections tidy here's a form exclusively for horse : https://forms.gle/R4JJsBkkxMwhYLzF7