#joy ramblings

[criminallyyoursvn]

May 12th 2025

Little update on Part 2/Criminally Mine drafting.

I have drafted 7/19 scenes so far! At about 14k+ words ✨

The only major things of note is that I’m-

Having fun writing it!

Nik is so pathetic omg

Lots and lots of choices- already 20 in, not counting past choices affecting certain scenes

And one of Wes’ first lines is, and I quote- “Fuck if I know.”

Progress has been pretty steady despite working my part time job, and working on my other game Rectifier so I’m pretty proud 💖

I hope to finish all of the drafting by May 30th, then it’s editing and voice acting lines work- but so far we are on track- I’ll try to keep yall updated.

[off-traveling-in-the-stars]

his fucking toolbox is a TARDIS.

[littlefankingdom]

This man (Bruce) is so abnormal about parenthood and so intense about his love for Dick. "He's not my son, he's more than that" Son is not a strong enough word for what Dick is to him. And the last panel being Oliver with Roy, which is later, implying that Oliver finally understood wtf was Bruce talking about when he got Roy, being like "wtf does his weird bs make sense?!?"

But also, a part of it may come from how Dick wasn't comfortable with becoming Bruce's son, so Bruce got used to immediately correcting people when they called him his father or Dick his son because he doesn't want Dick to overhear it and be hurt (a lot of people in the fandom seems to forget that it was Dick who did not want to be adopted and who was against Bruce being his father. Of course, that changed with time, but Bruce respecting that is great and not "bad parenting". A foster parent should never force a kid to accept them as their father/mother)

[cj-the-random-artist]

Is this my best comic ever?? Nope. Do I think I characterized either of these two particularly well in this comic?? Not really. Did I spend an unreasonable amount of time on it to the point that it would be a waste to not post it?? Yes, yes I did.

I really committed to this one, spent a lot of time on those backgrounds and treated myself to ample suffering with the perspective, which is not my strong suit but I am happy with how it ultimately looks. Yay perspective and background practice!!

(Tbh I shouldn't talk like I think this one sucks, I think I've just been staring at it for so long that my brain has decided it's not good and it's actually way better than I think it is, and honestly I am quite happy with it. The artistic process really is something, isn't it?)

The inspiration was basically me reminding... myself... to take breaks sometimes... by drawing for several hour stints during my only little bits of free time. Which totally tracks. Probably. But I've been rolling around in my brain this idea that Lambert is a very uptight people pleaser and anxious workaholic, but Narinder, at least since adjusting himself to the circumstances (which probably took at least a century, maybe two) has discovered the joys of self care, and has made an active effort to chill tf out. This has not made him any less terrifying to the cultists (save for Lambert's closest disciples), nor has it made him friendlier to really anyone but Lambert (and maybe his siblings), but he sure has found some serious peace of mind. That said, I can't place what his motivations are here. Perhaps he is secretly concerned about Lambert's sanity, because he doesn't want them to turn into what he was, or maybe he's just trying to steal away some quality time with his one and only friend, but regardless of the reason, I spent too much time on this for nobody to see it, dang it.

That said. Enjoy this silly little comic that I spent way too much time on, and I hope this silly comic brings you some joy today.

[thebrainrotsreal]

Eve, Kate, Mark and Rex! Nailing some ideas down on how I wanna draw them in the future, and enjoying messing with their designs like usual! Not a fix-it whatsoever just fun + ref for the future! I cannot do realistic styles so translating them into something I can do while still being recognizable is peak. I will mess with Rex's suit more. Trust. I Kate so much now. Look at her <333333

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

Jason's been pestering Danny about why he looks like a borderline walking corpse for ages and Danny has decided to put his lying skills to the test. (he has none)

rambling below cut

I've been playing w the idea that the more Danny transforms, the more his ghost form gets "lively" while his human form gets weaker and more sickly. He knows that if he keeps transforming like this then, one day, he's not going to have a livable body to go back to, but he really doesn't want to think about all that. He's more interested in the weird "totally dead but not dead" Wayne son who may or may not have a thing for his sister.

everytime i do one these im like "this time I'll keep it simple so I don't have to suffer through colouring bc I have zero foresight—it'll be greyscale at most" and then all of the sudden its 4am and i'm trying to finish a stupid comic but i decided to add "some" colour to spice it up and hide my shitty ink job and then SOME COLOUR ALWAYS BECOMES FULL COLOUR WHY CAN I NOT ESCAPE THIS STUPID CYCLE!!

(did this all stem from me not being able to decide between a super pale character design and one w a vibrant tan bc I love white hair + tan but I also love extremely pale albino so I forced myself to find a way to make both work? never! that's absurd!)

[foldingfittedsheets]

My beloved wife and I have this cherished inside joke from this time at the zoo years ago that I’d like to share with you.

We were lazily strolling the tropical rainforest exhibit, and its a great building, there’s glass panes to view the animals surrounded by concrete sculpted to look like rocks and its all jungly and beautiful and very humid like wow.

Apropos of nothing a small child probably around seven or eight but what the fuck do I know came sprinting around the corner and flung himself to his knees in front of an exhibit while pleading with all the earnestness his tiny body could muster at a tree frog enclosure, “Talk to mEeEe! Talk to this boy!!!”

The comedic genius of entreating each other to “talk to this boy” is unparalleled fun.

[thebibliosphere]

I know I’ve been bitching intermittently about my forced absence from screen use (this post brought to you by the wonders of talk to text) but the enforced rest might actually be fixing my brain because I just figured out how the villain scene in Hunger Pangs 2 should end after two years of not being happy with it.

I’ve been trying to fix it for two years, and I finally just realized what I should do instead and it is so much more sinister than what was originally there.

Time to make the neighbors worried as they listen to me narrate it.

[citricacidprince]

Man Lars Barriga is one of the most ‘If I think about him for too long I go insane’ characters of all time

Imagine just you’re a shitty teen who really wants the popular kids to think your cool and thinks being earnest is cringe and dumb (like most shitty teens)

You’re a bit of a loser who thinks that strange emotional kid that lives on the beach with his many colorful aunts is kinda annoying. Well, he’s pretty nice, but still annoying.

You get kidnapped and sent to space with said kid, eventually causing you to just break down in tears cause you’re so fucking scared and if you weren’t such a pessimistic coward you wouldn’t be in this situation

That annoying kid isn’t actually that bad, he was just so genuinely earnest it made you’re feel even worse about yourself

You’re on an alien planet, none of this shit is making sense to you but you guys manage to find a group of outcasts and they seem nice

Everything is going to hell and you have to protect one of them from getting hurt, you refuse to run away and be a coward again

You realize it’s okay to be scared

You die

You come back, scar on your face and completely pink

Your hair is now a portal, that’s new

Are you a zombie? Your heart is still being but very slowly and you don’t feel the need to eat.

You let that kid go home, it’s okay, you and these outcasts you’ve befriended with find a way back to Earth

Does your friend miss you? God how do your parents feel?

Some time later and now you’re a full on space pirate, you are basically an anime character now

You don’t age, or if you do you age very slowly

You get home and stay for a while but you eventually decide staying in space with your new friends is what you want

Are you going to outlive everyone you know? Are you really going to leave behind everyone you love when you know that their time is much shorter than your own?

You’re going to travel the galaxy with your friends and help anyone you can along the way

You hope you made the right choice

[chronicowboy]

"Lot of things wrong with the world right now, but Eddie Diaz on my doorstep isn't one of them," Hen says when she opens the door.

"Hey, Hen." The last time he'd said that neither of them could manage more than a tight-lipped nod, the weight of dress uniform and black suit alike weighing them down, now however, their smiles bloom in unison—not quite easy except for the way that it always is with Hen.

As she beams up at him, Eddie's hit by just how much he's missed her. Hadn't really had the time to think about it before. Not with parents and Christopher and Uber passengers and Buck to occupy his time. On her birthday, he'd wanted so badly to hug her tight and tell her the world got a little brighter the day she was born even if he wasn't there to see it, he just knows. And then, well, Bobby had died and there hadn't been room to miss anyone but him really.

The ache of missing Henrietta Wilson is sudden and fierce in the presence of her steady warmth.

She pulls him into a hug right there on the doorstep, and Eddie wraps her in his arms without hesitation, screwing his eyes shut when she squeezes him extra tight. Eddie lets her draw back, lets her sad eyes pin him in place.

"Want some tea?" she asks, raising her eyebrows.

"I'd love some." And he tries not to think about it. Really he does. How tea is halfway between water and juice. Hot water infused with dried fruit. A subpar substitute. A stepping stone maybe.

Hen closes the door behind him, and he follows her into the kitchen, leaning back against the countertop to watch her careful dance with the kettle. She fetches two mugs from the cabinet and pulls out the tea caddy Buck had found in an antique store two 118 Secret Santas ago. She waves it under his nose as the kettle starts to whistle.

"Pick your poison," she tells him, drifting back towards the stovetop.

He rifles through the neatly stacked packages until his eye catches on a red-orange square. He plucks it from the tin and brings it up to his nose, inhaling the sweet citrusy scent of it. Blood orange and cranberry. Just like Buck's shower gel.

The sound of a cup hitting the table brings him out of his stupor, and Eddie flushes, offering the tin to Hen. She takes one at random, ripping it open and dropping it into her water. Eddie sits down next to her and tears his own teabag open, drowning it in boiling water.

"How are you?" he asks as their teas steep.

"I'm okay." She nods, smiling at him tight-lipped. "Lung's all healed up, and I'm cleared for full duty again."

Eddie shoots her a deadpan look.

"That's not what I was asking and you know it."

Hen rolls her eyes, but they don't come back to Eddie, they stay in some faraway corner of the room, somewhere Eddie wouldn't be able to find if he tried, somewhere Eddie knows more intimately than most.

"I'm getting through, Eddie." She sighs, shrugs. "I don't really know what else there is to do."

"Yeah." Eddie nods down at his cup. "I know what you mean."

"What about you?" she asks gently, ducking to catch his eye. "Getting through?"

"Most of the time." Eddie purses his lips, shakes his head. "I keep trying to convince myself that it's not my fault." He wraps his hands around his mug then, the burn of it grounding him in the moment.

"Eddie."

"No, I know." He huffs, rolls his eyes at himself. "Rationally, I know. But I can't shake the thought that I could have—I might have been able to change things."

"That's a little insulting, Eddie," she mumbles. Eddie's eyes jump up from the ruddy orange depths of his tea, startled into confrontation by the words.

"What?"

"You don't think we were enough?" She raises an eyebrow at him. "Don't think we could have stopped it, saved him, if we'd known?" She ploughs on, ignoring the way his mouth opens and closes like a fish out of water. "Or do you just think you're more observant than the rest of us?"

"No, of course not."

"Then what the hell could you have done?" There's something about the way she says it. Something about the gentle chiding, the chastising softness, the firmness of her care, that reminds him of Bobby. Of a captain. Of Henrietta Wilson. The effect of it is dizzying, sobering.

"I don't know," he admits, shoulders hunching, defeated by harsh reality and hypotheticals alike. "I just." His voice breaks, and Eddie takes a sip of tea to wash the cracks away, barely winces at the burn of it. "Ever since Buck called me, I can't stop thinking about—"

"The what ifs?" she asks quietly. Eddie nods. "Yeah, I know a little something about that."

Eddie hates himself then. Just as fiercely as he had when Buck's ragged voice had come down the line all those weeks ago. What are his what ifs compared to those of the people who were there? Who were close enough to do something about it but still so far, too far?

He takes another sip of his tea. Remembers why he's here.

"Like what if you were captain?" he chances, raising an innocent eyebrow. The look Hen turns on him then is harrowing, flat and unimpressed and just a slight bit daring.

"How did you find out?"

"Through the grapevine." He shrugs.

"And which grape told you?" she deadpans. Eddie hides his smile in his tea.

"Well, Athena told Karen and Karen told Chimney and Chimney told Maddie and Maddie told Buck and—"

"And Buck told you," Hen says, sighs maybe, doesn't ask, like it's that obvious, like it was inevitable. Eddie ducks his head, heat creeping into his cheeks, hiding from whatever emotion has stolen into Hen's expression. He shrugs again. "I should've known." She takes a sip of her tea, digs a fingernail into the grain of the table. "How is he? Buck?" And this question. This was inevitable too. Eddie exhales a pained breath.

"I wish I knew." He shakes his head, runs a hand through his hair, thinks about the note waiting for him on the coffee table when he'd woken up that morning—gone to help Maddie and Chim with the nursery, breakfast's in the oven :). "He won't talk about it. Not in any real way." Thinks about how Buck had locked himself in his room the night of the funeral, how he hadn't come out until the next morning, how Eddie had found him bouncing between five separate prep stations in the kitchen, how he'd been out the door before Eddie could ask how he was. "All he does is run around after everyone else." Thinks about the night Eddie had fallen apart on the couch, and Buck had held him through it like it wasn't his grief to share. "I feel like I see him less now than I did when I was in El Paso."

"Yeah." Hen's eyes fall to the table, a furrow appearing between her eyebrows. "Maddie said he's been doing his therapy, engaging with it well, but I think Buck's always been better at locking things away than most of us like to think."

"It's only the easy emotions he wears on his sleeve," Eddie mumbles absentmindedly. "I normally have to work to drag the bad ones out into the open."

Silence stretches between them, heavy and taut, long enough that Eddie's eyes pick their way back to Hen's face. He almost flinches at the expression there. Something knowing and confused at the same time, something tight in her eyes and loose around her mouth, something relieved and pained all at once.

"No luck yet?" she asks eventually. It feels like more than it is. He shakes his head slowly.

"I keep trying, but he just... Tells me that he's handling it. That I don't have to worry about him, and I should focus on myself for once." He scoffs, bites at the inside of his cheek. "That's not how we work, and he knows it." Eddie doesn't look at Hen this time, keeps his gaze trained on the teabag wilting in the bottom of his cup. "God, Hen, I can't stop hearing his voice on the phone that night." His voice comes out quiet, broken. Not what Buck's had been: loud and jagged. A great choking, hiccupping sound that Eddie wasn't even sure you could call a voice. "He could barely speak. He kept apologising over and over, and I was eight-hundred miles away and I couldn't do anything."

"Well." Hen grabs his hand, squeezes once, so he glances over at her. "You're not eight-hundred miles away now, so what are you gonna do about it?"

Eddie pauses. Stills. Thinks about how the grief had fallen on him like a tonne of bricks when Buck had broken the news. How he'd thought he'd never be able to get up off the ground. How he'd thought he'd stay buried there in the middle of his fucking living room for the rest of his life. How Buck had called him every day, digging Eddie out brick by brick. How Buck had carried them all for Eddie.

And he thinks too of how many other bricks Buck must be carrying. Wants to takes them all off his back with gentle hands. Wants to dab antiseptic into his abrasions. Wants to wrap him up in a hug. Wants to divvy the bricks up between them equally, carry them together. Together. Always together.

"I'm gonna be here," he says, resolute. Lets certainty fill him for the first time since he'd walked into his parents' house to pack Christopher's bag. "I'm gonna be here to catch him when he falls."

"Yeah, I thought so." Hen smiles at him, and it's a small thing, but the pride in it is overwhelming. "Families can only survive for so long apart."

And that's it, isn't it? Buck is family. Not the one he chose. That was Hen and Chimney and Bobby. But Buck is the family he built—they built.

"Speaking of..." Hen drawls, eyes evasive, glinting with something. "The 118 is still waiting for you to come home."

"Oh, yeah?" he asks, quirking a smile.

"Yeah. They've been missing you." She nods seriously. "Got a place carved out for you and everything."

"You know, that's something only a captain could promise."

"Well, how about that." Hen grins, all mischief and mystery.

Eddie shakes his head and huffs a laugh.

"Henrietta Wilson, always three steps ahead."

[monstermonger]

I... I.....

made a coloring book LMAO 😭😭😭😭😭 of all my itty bitty season dragons!!!!

It arrived in the mail yesterday and omg the amount of serotonin i got upon seeing it irl :"D

[spookyteeth]

happy trans visibility day

timelapse !!:

happy trans visibility day, you are visible to our world and till the end of time we will stay visible. trans people have always existed and the attempted erasure of our history is devastating, but may we stay strong! resist by existing, and in the face of extermination say fuck you. i hope you all have a wonderful day and please appreciate your journey of becoming who you are : 3

[sleepy-the-loz-enthusiast]

I don't always enjoy the idea of older Links (Time, Warriors, Twilight) scolding the younger Links for their language, however in a scenario where this happens I can fully see Legend creating elaborate insults without swearing, or straighf up teach the others swear words in the various other languages he speaks. Which is all fun and games until someone stubs their toe in Legend's house and lets out the most vile Lorulean swear and Ravio is either so scandalised he breaks, or he laughs so hard he falls over and Legend has to fess up once questioned why Ravio reacted that way

[mellosdrawings]

Depression trio spotted!!!

You guys have no idea how much I love the Anniversary cards. Why are all of them so cute but only SR? ToT

(Cater is so teeny hehehe)

[off-traveling-in-the-stars]

as someone who like grew up on Moffat era. Joy To The World is so clearly a Moffat story in like the most neutral, objective way possible. the "what did I see?" is so 11th Doctor era and mystery book coded. people being kept conscious in the afterlife due to technology. catch phrases being said over and over. women just being otherworldly. a really dumb wholesome guy (Trev).

[necile]

I'm gonna have a bit of an internet big sister moment and just say this: you are good enough, your content is good enough, and you're not in competition with anyone.

I constantly see people on my dash comparing themselves to other people and getting down on themselves because their computers aren't top of the line, or they don't feel like the screenshots they share are good enough because they don't use Reshade or edit them the way other people do, or that their gameplay isn't worth posting because it's too boring/niche/whatever, and it makes me so sad.

You are ALL good enough, your screenshots are good enough, and your stories and gameplay are good enough. Ideally, you play The Sims games to bring yourself some joy in whatever context that looks like, and that's what matters at the end of the day. We're all here to document and share our unique experiences and game styles, and that uniqueness is what should be focused on. Everyone has their strengths and weaknesses, and I encourage y'all to take a look at why you think your strengths have to be the same as someone else's.

Be yourself, and do what makes YOU happy. There is only one You on this earth, and that person is worth celebrating, strengths and weaknesses and all. Be kind to yourselves, friends.