#fun to rotate in my mind!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[drinkingdeadpeopletea]

what do you guys think olga costigan is doing up on the highest light right about now

[hey-hey-j]

and now here's me taking little snippets from potential fics and drawing them into comics so they don't languish in my mind forever. I think I described Branch's expression here as "like he's mad that it isn't terrible"

(★ my Kofi)

[luna-spacedoodles]

susie disease. where instead of brain there is susie

[schellis]

So there's this evil scientist I keep thinking about <3

[thebrainrotsreal]

ROLE SWAAAAAAAAAAAAP. Debbie can now be eligible for the worst parent award! No real thoughts for plot ideas yet, just messing around with a design.

[arolesbianism]

Oh god is that a comicfrin drawing where they have whimsy quick someone throw that guy into a decades long timeloop

[bed-buge]

hi chat im back on my bullshit

back at it again with more In Tears And Blood!!! fun fact The Traveler refers to themself as that because they genuinely Cannoy Remember Their Name half the time. but The Stars helps them remember <3

also bonus doodle. i hate The Stars sm theyre SO lame and pathetic and lame /aff

[mxystan]

taiwan travelogue by yang shuangzi tr. lin king is indeed an award-winning banger and perhaps the first time in my life i've ever felt vindicated for dual-wielding a novel with its english translation because the act of translation itself is such a big theme in the novel. big win for metafiction-obsessed himejin everywhere!!

[rooscandraw]

children of lightning

[autoboros]

Wanted to draw @nephilimbrute 's Agent 8 because they are so so neat to me

[hamandeggbun]

I hope this isn't weird but I've been reading this by @batmanisagatewaydrug and I had like the sudden, strongest urge to make art properly for the first time in ages, so uhhhh have some Jessie (or Jess? Can I call her Jess because I love her?) who is a terrible wet cat of a woman!

I wanted to get this done fast and human anatomy is not my forte so I traced a picture of Natalie in the City, who's a fashion blogger and has some cute fits, though no supervillain ones as far as I'm aware :3

[mewkwota]

I want to do this to Volnutt's arms very badly.

[tlirswriting]

[They Colonized Mars, entry 4 // start here]

Venus:

Second planet from the sun, rendered uninhabitable 

Roman goddess of love, beauty, and sex 

> Atlas walks down the steps into Cythera’s, crossing the energy disruption field's threshold — a series of simple devices set up around the perimeter of the club to cancel out the city's artificial gravity — and he feels lighter, nearly weightless, the pressure lifting from his bones. 

> The air is warm and sweet in the hazy basement room, thick with candy-flavored nicotine and THC vapor. A tall, four-armed Venusian dances on a small stage against the far wall for a sparse crowd, glowing pink and glittering in the spotlight as she mouths along to the old 2260s pop hit Acid Rain. 

> The music thumps through Atlas, the beat reverberating up from the floor and settling into his chest, pulsing in his lungs. He unzips his jacket and makes his way to the bar at one side of the room to order two of his usual drinks; something strong and fruity with tiny paper umbrellas in it. 

> “This is what people do,” He says to SaM-B, talking over the bass as he sets one glass on top of it. 

> “I cannot drink; I have no mouth.”

> “That's okay, you just have to stand there, maybe you're… moody, and mysterious, or something. Or maybe you're shy, ‘cause it's your first time coming here.” 

> “And this is normal? I am doing it correctly?” 

> “Sure, yeah.” 

> Atlas leans his elbow on the bar and sips his drink, watching the spots of light spinning across the walls, watching the people — mostly Human — bobbing along in ripples or sitting at tables. Two bored-looking lesbians chat quietly in the same corner Atlas always sees them, but he never caught their names; nor the man in a leather harness with scars across his chest, or the girl with green hair that might have been natural. 

> “This place is usually packed tighter when I come here,” He explains. “Saturday night, people are rubbing against each other, snorting zidge in the bathroom…” 

> “This is fun?” SaM-B asks him.

> “Well, I like it.” 

> He downs the rest of his drink and makes his way to stand by the stage where a handful of people are crowded, staring up at the Venusian; she's ethereally androgynous, shimmering like a mirage, larger than life in her heels and moving like gravity forgot her. She calls herself Majel Stardust. 

> Alcohol works its fingers through Atlas, relaxing his shoulders, easing the knots in his back. He breathes — digs through his wallet for a 1.0 note — reaches out to her, hands touching briefly when she takes it, leaning close enough to smell her perfume and she tucks it into her bra. She's electric, dripping glitter, commanding attention; she's mile-long legs and hands you can't keep track of, she's power and grace, you'd almost believe the blasting music was her own voice. 

> It's all an illusion, but Atlas loves the show, dazzling lights mirrored in rows of bioluminescent spots along his cheekbones and down his arms, only visible when his defenses and inhibitions are lowered. 

> SaM-B holds perfectly still beside him, watching intently, its lights blinking in time with the rhythm. 

> She finishes her set, and disappears behind the curtain as the people cheer. A moment later, she's behind him, a hand lightly brushing his shoulder to spin him around. 

> “Atlas, baby!” Her voice is deep and rich like honey. “It's a Tuesday, what are you doing here?” 

> “Supporting artists,” He jokes as she leads him away towards a table near the back. “What are you doing, stealing me from the other queens?” 

> She laughs. “The next one's Mz. Tuna Piano, that bitch is always late.”

> He hums. “Yeah, she is.” 

> “But honestly, really,” She puts a right hand around his shoulders, and another right hand on his waist. “Talk to me. What are you doing here? You look like the train caught you.” 

> He sighs. “I, uh… I had a weird day at work, I couldn't go straight home. Needed to clear my head.” 

> She gestures to SaM-B after they sit down. “Who's your friend?” 

> “My weird day at work.” He grabs the drink balancing on top of it and takes a sip. “That, and somebody died again.” 

> “You gotta get out of there, honey; they'll eat you alive.” 

> “I will, soon, it's just…” He shakes his head. “And go where, y'know?” 

> “Here, maybe.” She sucks on a thin metal tube and blows a ring of pomegranate-scented clouds. “Anywhere. Doesn't matter much, does it?” 

> Atlas chuckles. “I'm not built for entertaining.” 

> “Some people like Martians, with your big brown eyes. You could grow your hair out…” 

> “No, really, I can't.” 

> She studies him for a moment, something knowing in her compound eyes. 

> “I'm gonna get out,” He repeats. “I have plans, I just need a little more time.” 

> She hums. “You want a hit?” She offers. “I hear sometimes humans get a kick out of CO2, makes ‘em dizzy — wonder what it'll do to you.” 

> “No, thanks; I'd feel kinda bad taking your air.” 

> “Suit yourself.” 

> He watches her curl her mandibles around her electric cigar, draw in a deep breath, and beckon him closer — he obeys, leaning in, and she tilts his chin up to press her mouth to his and blow; he breathes in concentrated oxygen, carbon filtered by her lungs, fresh and crisp, artificially sweet. He pulls away and giggles.

> “There,” She says. “You don't have to be guilty about it.” 

> SaM-B emits a high-pitched whine. 

> “Poor thing,” Majel chuckles. “Is it sentient?” 

> Atlas begins answering, “I'm pretty sure, yeah—” 

> “I wish I was you,” It beeps. 

> “I get that a lot, honey.” 

> He sips his drink and thinks about what it meant by that. 

> The night rolls on, soft around the edges, pleasantly dark and spinning like galaxies. 

>>

> Walking home, still buzzing, Atlas leans on SaM-B as they go — his body feels leaden and too-loose, metal pins digging into his flesh to keep his legs on straight — and he slurs: “D'you understand why I took you here?” 

> It beeps, “I think so.” 

> “My point…” The words swim in his head and roll clumsily off his tongue. “With all of this, is that there's more to being alive than your programming.” 

> They can see Mars’ two moons meeting in the middle of the sky through the top of the dome, dancing among silver ribbons of noctilucent clouds. 

> “I want a name,” It says.

> “Yeah?” 

> “I think Selene would be nice.” 

> “Yeah, alright.” 

> A beat. “Can I be a girl?” 

> “Sure, why not?” 

> “Thank you, Atlas.” 

> “You don't need my permission.” 

> It’s true, but she needs to hear it.

> They wobble along the street under holographic advertisements shimmering in the artificial sky. 

> Atlas vaguely remembers getting on the train — rising up over the streets, city lights glowing trails around him — dozing off, and waking up when the brakes squeal at his stop. 

> Staggering out into the cold air again, he's hit by the wind, particles of sand scratching his face and sticking to the corners of his eyes. The storm is habitable inside the dome (outside, the winds are harsher, kicking up dust clouds miles high) but unpleasant enough that he quickens his pace the rest of the way home. 

Next >>

[dusty-cobweb]

i know we say julian’s old name like “jules” but it would be such irony if his parents actually named him “jewels”. like their original intention for their son was for him to be their prize possession, their treasure, their “jewel”.

that’s why when he was 15 and found out what they did, julian couldn’t stand the name anymore.

because he isn’t really their jewels, is he? he’s synthetic. tailored to have perfect clarity, cut into a certain dimension, polished. but he wants them to love him as he was. wants them to see his cloudiness, the rock that still clings to his edges, his unfacetted form and think “this is still a precious gem, this is still my jewels.”

tldr: julian’s parents cannot see someone’s worth as long as they are not tailored to their expectation of what a jewel is. but a diamond is still a diamond, whether it is raw or polished. it is worth something no matter the form it takes.

[thebrainrotsreal]

FINALLY! Stopped myself from making even more, honestly, and it'd take 20 years to only write the thought behind all the design choices by proxy, so take some visual notes instead of just word vomit lol. There's so many directions for a darker look to take inspo from!!!

Begging to keep the blue-black-yellow, or add red, because Nolan's red visually demonstrates how fitting blood looks on him, while Mark's og suit visually screams how much it stands out on him, by sporting primary colors. Like red gloves = bloody hands, y'know?

[d0d0-b0i]

this entire convo to me is really interesting!

i wonder if this is partly just a way for the devs to tell us that we shan’t yet know all the romance routes, or if it’s a way to show yet again that melinoë continuously hates defining anything real about herself outside of “the mission”, due to a lack of being born into a weapon, and never having the will to choose anything at all really.

what about the mortals? ah who cares, but again, you have many mortal friends(+more) that you refuse to define your positions with because they’re the good ones

but what about the actual valid arguments all of your enemies have made so far? doesn’t matter, it’s either lies or attempts at misguiding you from “the mission”

but what about the fact that you and your group might be wrong? if that’s the case, the part of you that’s wrong can be remolded into something better, including core parts of yourself, so why go through the heartbreak of cutting off branches attached to a rotten tree?

why should gods have to choose, but why does melinoë choose to herself who’s bad and who’s good? what’s black and what’s white? who’s wrong or right? are there not grey areas here? certainly some who fall in line with chronos might actually have a good reason as to why, and mel seems to be fearing this truth.

what would happen if she ever made choices or ever defined anything in her life? all romantic interest is as it is who cares, nobody needs to care just vibe why be serious when there’s “the mission”, hecate is just her mentor-mom-teacher-guardian, nothing weird there that will never anything addressed no way siree! none of her relationships need to be defined because what if she views odysseus more as a brother than zagreus, hecate more as a mom than persephone? what then? what then??

a walking contradiction would have an easier time than her good lord