#gotta get in that brain somehow

[coolattasclown]

Thinking about the guy ever... I feel like Olmi would have a bit of an interesting dynamic with the other characters so im gonna put how they would feel about em down below . for funnies

Marmors in general: Olmi's relationship with the marmors is a bit complicated. On one hand they should feel grateful, because they would've died in space had their spaceship not been taken in. Plus if they find their planet's location, Olmi will be reunited with his family and people. But on the other, the marmors treat them like a toy or a pet almost. In the vault they're kind of treated as entertainment for the marmors, only getting a window into the other room or hall after asking many, many times. They're not seen as equals and they don't like it very much. Plus, once they escape their cell and learn of whats happening to Teegarden and what the marmors do to the planets they find, Olmi is less trusting of them.

Ward: Too big. But pretty calm and quiet, much like olmi. I think between the two humans, Olmi would trust Ward a bit more just because he's more straightforward with his words than Oscar, and more serious.

Oscar: I imagine Oscar talks quickly and he talks a lot, which makes it a bit hard for Olmi to understand him sometimes. They see Oscar as an older sibling like Olmi themself, based on the care he shows for Alcor, and they find their relationship familiar to Olmi's with his family and younger siblings.

Holly: Olmi finds Holly very confusing. When they first meet they assume he's human like the other two, but I don't think they would fully grasp the shapeshifting. Both of their cultures seem to kind of be based around helping the planet/stewarding the ecosystems (I'm not too sure for Teegarden, but based on what we know, how helpful they are to each other, etc. I think it makes sense to say that) so I think they can relate to that. After Olmi learns about what is happening on Teegarden they would want to help, maybe because they don't want to see a planet with life so similar to their own get extinguished.

Ecliptica: I'm not sure if Olmi would know Ecliptica very well. From the way Oscar talks about her I think they'd gather that she is the leader of the marmors, and by extension Olmi wouldn't be super fond of her. Plus based on her treatment of Oscar I think Ecliptica would see Olmi based on their usefulness to her.

Sculptor: Pretty much the same for the rest of the marmors, although because sculptor is actively trying to find where their planet is by going through their memories, collaborating with other marmor ships maybe, etc., they feel the need to try and stop him, as well as stopping him from hurting others within the vault.

Alcor: scary . its like a marmor but their size. hate. but also kind of reminds them of their younger siblings in a way, so they mostly just avoid him.

[hauntingjasper]

Redrawing one of my favorite doodles by Natasha Allegri 🤲🦇

[doodle17]

What if- hear me out

When some Psychics get flustered they have little head explosions

Not like harmful ones, but, you know when you get complimented or flirted with it makes you get all fuzzy and giddy and stuff and it makes your head feel like it wants to explode in a good way only it actually happens sometimes

Anyways heres my artistic rendition

Yea

[runningwiththewerewolves]

as an additon to my scrapbooking bella post, i'd like to also share my other headcanon that she crochets on occasion. angela was working on a blanket at bella's house while they were hanging out and chatting, and bella got curious about the crochet process. of course, angela got excited about her interest and jumped at the opportunity to show bella a few basic stitches. so now they bond over their newly shared hobby and show off finished projects or ramble about newly started ones to each other. bella doesn't pick up her hooks super often, but angela is absolutely her biggest cheerleader when she does

[giftplane]

(The Universe watches, unmoving. It waits, for your performance, with a keen eye. Almost as if it were unwilling to interfere.) (...) (...You bow.)

[broareweabouttoviberightnow]

THE NEW THEME EATS I LOVE IT

THANK YOU THANK YOU!! dog every couple months I have to completely reinvent my physical n online appearance or I go insane VERY happy were fw it

[luckylarvae]

RED GIANT, CHAPTER ONE

Heya, so this is an ISAT loop fanfic I’ve been thinking about writing for a while, called “Red Giant”. Heavy spoiler warning for In Stars and Time by the way as well as SASASA. For context this story takes place at the end of SASASA. This is my first time really writing in literature format, and my first fanfic thing as a whole, so it's going to be really rough at first but I hope as this progresses I get to improve. Hope this is at least mildly entertaining! Let’s just see how this goes, and constructive criticism is greatly appreciated.

“This is our chance! Our chance to end everything once and for all!!” 

  Mirabelle stands in front of the king, mid battle and looks back at you. Finally something changed, something changed!!! You move out of the way as fast as you can, as Mirabelle powers you up. After all these constant, never changing loops you can finally be free, finally escape this eternal purgatory you’ve found yourself in and finally end everything! After having to suffer through this hell, of playing an actor who dies onstage over and over and over again, there's finally an end in sight, just, one, more, attack!!  You raise your arm up, you summon all the craft energy you have, every single little bit of strength you have, and throw it at the king, and a bright flash of white completely overwhelmes the room. 

When you open your eyes, the room is no longer surrounded by stands of hair, no longer dark with the presence of the king. It is white, clean, empty. Your party and you stand in shock for a moment. Did you really do it? After all this time?

“Did… did we do it?”

“...He’s gone.. We did it?”

“Sif, we did it! He’s gone! The King is gone!!! Hahahaha!!!”

Isabeau and the others smile at you. Isabeau, your friend, your comedy partner… your

“But…”

Before you can say something, Bonnie blurts and and shouts

“Holy CRAB THAT WAS SCARY!!! WE DID IT? WE DID IT!!!!”

The little sibling of the group, the one who kept you all going…

Odile perks up and says “Haha… hahahahahaha!!! Oh, it was close for a second there!!!!”

The women who understands you the best, observant to a fault

“Oh, Oh, what a relief…!”

The Savior of Vaugarde, the reason you are all here…

“Sif, Sif, Siffrin!!!” It’s over! We won!!!”

“... We won…?”

The fighter, no no Isabeau continues to beam “We won, Sif!!!!! The country’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay now!!!”

We, won?

We, WON???????

You won, you won you won you won you won!!!! Tears start to well up from your eyes and you you wipe them away.

Mirabelle looks at you and says “Oh Siffrin… It’ll be okay Siffrin. We prevailed. We’ll all be able to go back home!”

Isabeau looks at Mirabeele and responds: “I can’t wait to tell my old job friends that I’ve helped save the country!”

Bonnie jumps and says “I gotta go back home and see if my sister’s okay!!”

Odile sighs “Finally, I’ll be able to go back to my research.”

It’s over, it’s finally over. Finally, the adventure is over. Mirabelle can go back to her house of change, finally Bonnie can reunite with their sister, finally Isabeau can pursue his dreams of being a fashion designer, finally Odile can continue her research. Finally, you can go… home? You can go… home. 

Home

You start to taste sugar on your tongue

Mirabells puts her hands together in gratitude “ See Siffrin? We’ll all be fine now. There’s nothing to worry about anymo–”

You vision shakes for a bit. You can feel your heart being tugged. No, no, nononono NO!!! NOT NOW!

You feel and your entire being gets thrusted back. You see you and your party rapidly repeat the actions you had just done. You see yourself launching your craft energy at the king, your friends look at you as you get the key, first try, You see yourself, walking into the castle, and then-

You find yourself with your vision black, body… sprawled out? You wake up, in the middle of a field. The shades of the grass in an almost circular pattern, with trees shaped the same. You feel the wind pass by over you, something you have not felt in a long, long time.

A familiar voice cries out to you 

“Ah, Siffrin!!! Huh? Siffrin, were you… were you… TAKING A NAP????!???!”

“I.. I supposed thats… Yes you’re right! I should follow your lead on this one! We’d better get some sleep while we can! Since tomorrow…”

Your heart sinks to the bottom of your chest, fear and terror gripping every single muscle of your body.

“We’ll have to fight against the king!”

…

You fall into a haze.

You had done it

Everything was perfect

YOU HAD DONE IT

You defeated the king, you cried in front of your friends, YOU SAVED VAUGARDE-

But it wasn’t enough

It was never enough was it?

You were never supposed to get out

You are forever trapped in, in a hell of your making.

With these puppets

With you, as the eternal actor

You can’t take it anymore.

Pain throbs through your body, it almost feels as your guts are spilling out, something you’ve felt countless times at the hands of the king

But you only find yourself crying instead.

You don’t want to do this anymore, no more loops, PLEASE FOR WHATEVER GOD YOU’VE FORGOTTON’S SAKE, FOR THE UNIVERSE’S SAKE YOU CAN’T TAKE IT ANYMORE!!!!

You give up.

 And just lie there.

 Mirabelle leaves you behind.

 Time pases.

 It is the next day. They try to get you to move, their fake fingers and ther fake pleads and their FAKE tears.

 They leave you alone, and go to die in the fight against the king.

You feel nothing.

A few loops go by

No more, no more no more no morenomorenomore

At the start of the new loop, you look at the wish tree. This damn tree. You plead in front of it. You don’t care anymore, you don't care for this superficial life with these superficial friends. You plead, crying, god, not anymore!! 

LET IT BE OVER, LET ME OUT!! PLEASE, UNIVERSE, SAVE ME, HELP ME!!!! Someone… Anyone, help me!!! PLEASE!!!!!!

And the universe answered.

You watch as a leaf falls down, and glows ever brighter. It morphs from a leaf, to a flame, to a bright shining star. It falls down growing bigger and bigger until it falls down into your hands. It feels… warm… welcoming.

You feel… safe

For the first time in a while. As you look down on it, you feel one command in your head

Eat

And you do.

You feel warm in your chest. 

What happened? You aren’t exactly sure, but maybe things will be… different? You aren’t really sure why you did that, you probably shouldn’t eat random star things that float down in front of you. You sigh, and start to talk away from the tree. You start to walk away and–

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!

It feels as though you’ve been directly stabbed by a red hot dagger, splicing apart your body. You look down, and see that in place of your normal cloak is a giant, glowing star-shaped hole. Your cloak begins to burn into ash, and you collapse into the ground. The pain is unbearable, you fall onto the ground, clutching your chest in pain. You look at your skin, and what should be your regular light shade of skin, is a black abyss with tiny glints of light within.

Your “friends” rush towards you, as they probably heard from all the screaming you’ve done when this started. The Housemaiden shakes your shoulders,

“SIFFRIN, WHAT’S WRONG?!?!? WHAT’S HAPPENING TO YOU, OH CHANGE-”

Before you can respond, A blinding pain strikes out from within your skull, You thoughts cloud, you can’t quite process what is happening. This is most definitely the worst headache you’ve ever experienced, it feels almost as your head is about to burst.

And then it does.

You find yourself in a black void. You don’t know where you are. You feel... Different. The structure of your body has... Changed? You look down upon yourself, and instead of the body you’re oh so familiar with, it's wrong. You build, the shade you are, the giant star on your chest. Something has gone wrong. Your head feels weightless, and as you reach towards your head,       you can’t really exactly feel where your face begins and ends.

But worst of all, something else changed. Something far worse, something terrible. Something far more important.

You can feel that your personality has been permanently changed.

[djsangos]

//love how since there aren't a lot of ic blogs in some of my muses' fandoms they just kind of insert themselves into a group of characters from another fandom and then ingrain themselves in there like they're part of the gang jdflafkda

for klaus it was homestuck, for link it was... DC comics?, for captain it's pandora hearts, and for acht it's... animator vs animation.

[blee-bleep]

When Diana wants cuddles, there's nowhere Akko can hide where Diana won't find her.

i love u sm anon

[hextech-workaholic]

Viktor, do you see yourself ever representing Zaun in something other than science? Would you ever want to speak for Zaun’s interests like Jayce does as a councilor?

That sounds like a nightmare, to be perfectly honest. I have never quite liked speaking to crowds in general- I am more comfortable speaking with a select few peers about topics I am confident in. Like Jayce- for example. He does get my opinion on Council matters, when he asks. But to be directly involved in the same way Jayce is…I would not handle it as well. The pressure gets to him, I know, but I think I would crumble, to be perfectly honest. I do not desire to be an icon, of sorts, and unfortunately that is partly what Jayce has become to people. The Man of Progress. I do not covet his current posistion.

I suppose with that said…I have been known to cave to Jayce's requests for me to occasionally take a more active role, so perhaps my answer is not…solid. I have been dragged to a few Council parties, at least. I do not tend to actually speak much to them, though. There is an unfortunate truth that much of the Council and powerful houses in Piltover have not been exposed to Zaun- so they do not want to talk about Zaun with a Zaunite, and I do not tend to want to push the matter. If Jayce were to need me to speak to them about something related to Zaun, though…I perhaps would, for his sake. I just do not know if they would listen if it were coming from me. Overall, I just want to be a scientist. I like contributing best in the lab. It is where I feel I am helping people.

[official-susie-deltarune]

being absolutely dogshit at wording and describing things while being a writer is truly a terrible combo

[toothextractions]

is it normal to ask your friends to be on call and let you stream google docs so you can get motivation to write. do people DO body doubling for that type of stuff. i need to push myself oh my fuck. realistically i know i can just DO it i’m not incapable i’m just complaining and the motivation is nice

[sobeksewerrat]

okay so the world sucks or whatever, yk how i deal with it? I don't. I refuse to live in a shitty world so I don't. Oh that guy is being an asshole to me? Tell him to have a good day and walk away, no need to fight. There are a million different social rules I need to follow to be perceived as normal? ah, fuck them idgaf the people who like me will like me regardless of whether or not i comply with social niceties. The world's actively trying to convince me to be unkind and individualistic? Fuck the world! Who cares about it anyway- This guy doesn't like the fact that I exist? Well, too bad, it's kinda too late to abort me- good luck to him if he decides to endeavor time travel. Oh...so this shitty thing happened, right...well, there was this other good thing that happened let's focus on that!

[citrine-elephant]

thinking about the scene in vendetta, where arias does his grand reveal and leaves chris to die? chris seeing his comrade turned into a controllable weapon.

yeah i'm thinking of a tragic chreon moment like that

chris about to face a similar monster like that of arias. and with the cycle of retraumatizing these poor guys, a mirror of those events with another familiar face.

it's not meant to show off bioweapon tech. it's specifically to spite chris. bonus points if this is just after vendetta. leon's recovery leaves him far from that dark abyss and far closer to something hopeful. the edge of spring, of a new sunrise....

and there he is. glazed over eyes, those once intense blues faded into the haze of white, scratched with veins of infection. he doesn't focus on anything. not the man holding the reins of his leash. not his friend on the other side of the way.

his shoulders hang low with his body swaying gently, unsteady on withering legs. he looks as if the underworld was siphoning off his energy by pulling him in closer to hell. his soul, long gone now...

gaunt. whether it was torture at the hands of this new evil, or if its the infection eating him from the inside. to say it wasn't a literal visual embodiment of the saying, "shell of his former self," would be a blatant lie.

to see leon so weak, so frail. a brighter future just out of reach, snatched away. leaving him like this. except, so far as chris knows, there's no coming back from this.

visions of the future torment him more than anything this monster could say. visions of putting down leon. one last goodbye. one last gentle kiss to the shell's forehead. to wonder if leon even understood a goddamned thing going on....

[wrathchvld]

so, there’s 10 days left until this event that I’m driving myself crazy over

just been watching the countdown on my phone and collectively losing it a bit more each day

[telesodalite]

Thinking about KrokFire...

Thinking about them sparring in the cargohold, because it's a long trip, and cabin fever is setting in, and Misfire is gonna pop a gasket if he doesn't do something about it soon, since flying in open space gets real boring real fast, and it's making everyone a little nervous, but Krok has time to kill, and maybe, quietly, he's also two steps away from doing something stupid just to feel alive again after cruising around pointlessly, mindlessly, endlessly, for so so long... (It's barely been a month)

And sure, Misfire is a terrible sparring partner. He has no technique, no concept of proper balance, or an inkling of how to use the weight of his own frame. He rushes headfirst like he's more bull than fighter jet, he talks too much, he spits, he bites, and he can't stand losing. But, in a roundabout way, it almost makes him the perfect partner in Krok's eyes.

Crankcase won't spar, "can't" he claims flatly, gesturing at the gaping hole in his helm, but Krok can respect his want for distance. That occasional flash of fear and frozen unease in Crankcase's visor in close combat doesn't go over his head. He knows that look. He gets it. He won't push.

Fulcrum... well, a streetlight might be a tougher fight, or at least it would stay up longer and complain less. So much for a once respectable officer of the empire. What was Deathsaurus' command thinking promoting anyone without any actual combat training? It would almost be pathetic if Fulcrum didn't find a way to put the vitriol of thrown fists into his words instead. Now there was some swears Krok hadn't heard in a couple millennia, it would be inspiring if it wasn't his own spark Fulcrum had been damning to the pits and back through a bloody nose.

Spinister? Now Spinister was a good fighter, a better fighter, Krok wasn't so prideful to deny that truth. He'd tasted the dust of the cargohold floor enough to know it was a definitive fact. But Spinister held back, he was careful, he matched Krok's pace, his movements, he held himself defensively, any attack was quick, simple, and merely restraining. It was less a fight, and more a waiting game until Krok finally gave up, and that... well, that did sting a bit.

But Misfire? Misfire was a different beast all together. Sure Krok could dance circles around the flier all day, but it wasn't totally effortless work, he had to stay sharp, Misfire was so predictably unpredictable, he kept him thinking, moving, on his toes, and maybe it felt good to sidestep another stupid headfirst charge, easily grabbing and swinging Misfire around by his arm, so unbalanced all Krok had to do was let him go, and the weight of his own frame would send him careening into the crates stacked around them.

Most days, Misfire would give up by then, pull himself off the pile of overturned cargo with no small amount of burning shame and frustration, as he avoided Krok's optics and stormed off into the bowels of the ship before Krok could say something to ease the sting of losing again and again. Misfire didn't want his apologies though, and even as a pang of guilt ate at him over it, Krok knew he'd be back eventually.

But today, too pent-up and bored to quit now, Misfire pushed himself back onto his feet and charged back in again, and again, and again.

And Krok moved with him again, and again, and again. It was almost repetitive, but lively enough that he could feel the energon pumping through his head, a thrumming beat in his audials that reminds him of deafening battlefields and roaring stadiums, and oh, he'd missed this feeling, the adrenaline, the movement, more so than he thought he did.

Maybe it's the overconfidence that gets him then, or the memories pulling him out of the present, but Misfire's fist suddenly comes slamming down into his mask, and for a moment everything becomes a blur, until he finds himself on the floor, clutching at the shattered metal falling from his face in disbelief.

Faintly he can feel the twinge of broken mesh, of pain pinching dully across scarred flickering sensors, and maybe it's the adrenaline that pulls a suprised and breathy laugh out of him as he stares down at the pieces in his hand.

Maybe it's also the disbelief, the sudden shock at being struck hard enough to break his mask, by Misfire of all mechs. Or maybe he's cracked his helm, finally snapping something important deep in his processor, some vital function that kept him sane all these years.

Either way, an old familiar buzz of heady energy fills his chest, loosening his joints and straightening his struts as he stands back up, brushing off the broken remains of his mask as he stares back at Misfire, barefaced and bleeding and amused as the flier's optics go bright and wide.

And all Misfire can do for a moment is stand there, wide-eyed and breathless, his own adrenaline filled frame and hammering processor still trying to make sense of the broken plating of his knuckles and the energon trickling down Krok's scarred lips.

But connections are made, and it's a panicked realization at first, a cold dread, a 'ohhhhh fuck oh primus I fucked up I'm dead I'm so fucking dead-!' sort of feeling, as Krok's marred face breaks into an energon stained grin. But then there's another feeling, growing somewhere underneath the panic, a sudden curl of heat in his chest, a flush of pride, conviction, a sort of frenzied joy at the sight of broken mesh and fresh energon, and another rush of hot anticipation as Krok began to move again, circling, waiting, an unspoken question in the air as he rolls his shoulders back and flexes his hands.

And Misfire answers eagerly, suprising himself almost as he charges foward again, wanting more of that feeling, wanting to win again.

It's not really sparring past this point, and somewhere in the back of their minds they both know that. Every strike, every kick, every punch, it's all thoughtless instinct, each clash of plating, and bite of denta, and scrape of fingertips, is part of a mad dash for victory in the gladiator pit of scrap and debris they've built around themselves.

Of course, it can't last forever. They're no real gladiators, no phase-sixers, no primes, and movements get sluggish, vents rattle and wheeze as coolant pumps reach their limits, and building condensation slides powerless punches right off of scuffed metal and mesh.

Even like this though, worn out and bleeding from more scrapes than he had half a mind to count, Krok is still better, and Misfire is still predictable, and it's no great feat to sweep his legs out from beneath him, landing him flat on the floor, wings spread out and chestplate heaving.

Overworked joints sharply protest as he goes to pin the flier down bodily, and finally Krok faces the fact he has to consider how to end this, so he might let his own beaten frame finally still for a moment to breathe.

But as Krok catches one flailing arm in his grip, scoffing at the desperation, still goading Misfire on even as he tries to end this, a hand stubbornly catches his throat, but stops before it can truly squeeze.

And once more they're not really moving, just staring, watching, but it's less wired and tense now, rather, its shaky, a little unfocused, as exhaustion filters out in heaving puffs of hot air between their frames.

Someone's plating is rattling, Krok isn't sure if it's his own or Misfire's, but the cost of adrenaline is painfully noticeable now. His grip loosens on Misfire's arms, and the idea of total victory is less sweet as his cables begin to ache throughout his inner-framework.

But Misfire's hand slides up to catch his jaw before he can lean back and relent to a truce, and he's pulling him closer, and Krok starts to push him off, call it quits before either of them breaks something past repair, but a flash of energon on Misfire lips catches his eye, and that hadn't been there a moment ago?

Before he can even begin to ask what that was supposed to mean, Misfire is pulling him down again, angling his helm upwards to feverishly meet his lips half-way.

Although the mesh of Misfire's face was throughly bruised and scuffed, Krok had frustratingly failed to return the favor of a busted lip. So, it had to be his own, smeared across Misfire's face at some point in the scuffle, it shouldn't have been interesting in the slightest, but Krok's processor was hazy, slow, and his optics trailed Misfire's glossa as he licked his lips and made an odd curious sound.

And maybe it was a stupid move to make so impulsively, one he'd regret making probably, but still too caught up in the waning heated high of the fight, Misfire figured he could worry about losing such a hard-earned battle later. Right now, this seemed far better than actually winning, and the taste of Krok's energon felt like a victory and reward nonetheless.

Bracing himself as Misfire wriggled his other hand free to splay out over his thigh, holding him desperately against his frame as he tried pulling him even closer, Krok considered the heat dispersion warnings flickering distractingly in his peripheral, and the very noticeable strain on his back and legs, even his arms.

It's not a great position to be in right now, after all they've done already. He'll regret it, he knows he will, his body will make sure of it, if Spinister doesn't first.

But then Misfire's glossa is sliding against the jagged edges of his teeth, and he's making hoarse little pathetic noises into Krok's mouth that stoke some sort of ego at having the flier so desperate beneath him, and Misfire's hands are warm and heavy over aching plating and seams, and really, on second thought, after weeks of boredom, why the hell not?

They've got nowhere to be.