#(I just have Feelings)

[neon-psychopomp]

"Who Moved The Stars?"

Text reads: "How many seconds in eternity?"

Will I ever get Over Heaven Sent? Probably not.

Finished my sketchbook cover! I'll never pass up the opportunity to do a doctor who flower motif :D

I also made it into a free phone wallpaper that you can find over on my Ko-Fi

[owchie-wowchie]

My most annoying pet peeve is people calling Linda Nibbly's prophet. I know it doesn't matter at all and I hate that I get so bothered by it but she's not special to Nibbly. Zoey was just as likely to become honey queen, if she won the fight, she would've been sacrificed. Linda is unimportant to Nibbly at best and she's canonically Wiggly's prophet and no one focuses on that. Everyone talks about her non-existent relationship with Nibbly and no one talks about why she is actually special to Wiggly.

[bryndeavour]

[tlkdraws]

Drew Arven in Victor’s Palentine’s outfit from the Pokemon Masters EX datamine because he’s the only Palentine I’d want ;w;

I know he’s not even in the game yet but the Greedent apron would have been perfect for him haha.

Messing around with rendering and coloring things differently, things are different every time I draw 🙃

[heretherebedork]

When you play with fire, you will get burnt and when you stare at a damaged, aching, lonely rich boy like that you are the one lighting the match of your own demise.

Because Ray will cling to his love for Mew like a lifeline because Mew represents everything he isn't, the smart and confident and loved and cared for without sex or drinking or money and Ray will not let that go easily, he will not move on easily, he doesn't want to move on because he isn't worthy of moving on.

But Sand is going to fall for him. Sand is going to fall for this lonely little meow meow match so hard and he's going to hate it and Ray is going to burn him. Ray is going to light them both on fire trying to destroy himself to escape himself.

Even if Ray falls for Sand, he doesn't know how not to self destruct. That's been his life. That's all he knows. Spiralling and falling apart and drinking to stop the pain that is his existence.

Ray clings to a group of friends who call him a burden and regularly abandon him because he doesn't think he deserves better. He drinks to numb his pain and he fucks to forget that he's drinking to numb his pain and then he goes to school with a hangover and hates himself even more and then Mew says Top makes his heart tremble and Ray's heart, already broken and bleeding, continues to shatter.

Sand is sensible and he knows that he's playing with fire but his fire isn't just fire, it's also a person with a bleeding heart and a serious alcohol addiction and a habit of lashing out because the pain he has can't always be contained. Sand is staring into a flame, trying not to be burnt, not knowing that the fire is also an explosion.

[lubdubology]

I forgot how much anxiety I have entering a new fandom. Like—I have a hard enough time making friends in person and now I’m supposed to insert myself into a well established fandom?

My writing muse has been sparked and I’m writing again for the first time in years but I know I don’t have any pull in this fandom at all to gain traction. (And I know, write for yourself and not others. I get it.)

Anywho. Thanks for coming to my Ted Talk.

[shewolfofvilnius]

no but imagine you're Mirkon. You've just had your life saved and are definitely aware you nearly died to the harpies. But there was this stranger, and her friends!

One of the adults said she was a cambi..cambi..tiefling like you but with wings? Supposedly one of the mean ones but she seemed really nice, and she SAVED YOUR LIFE. AND after flying down from destroying the last of the bad harpies she introduces herself like THIS

So you're going to think she's the coolest person on the planet, right? What a difference that Tav makes. She saved Arabella too! And miss Alfira says she helped her with her song! And most of the other grown-ups who seem to care about the kids ALL say nice things too.

This is a young boy that has just had his life completely changed.

[dcartcorner]

I.. I maybe sort of wrote another thing. I have no excuses. I just think they're neat and care them very much. (Standard disclaimer: I am Not A Writer and yes it's probably out of character).

A Quiet Reflection Characters: Simon Fairchild, Peter Lukas Ship: FoggySkies Warnings: none

Peter Lukas did not know how long he had been in a relationship with Simon Fairchild. Which, he thought, was an entirely reasonable thing to not know - as flighty as the avatar of the Vast was. Here one moment and gone the next. Simon’s seeming inability to stay in one place for more than a few days suited Peter just fine. It made things… easier, between them. Peter liked it. Even so, the thought nagged at him as he stared at Simon’s back - how long had it been? He couldn’t remember the moment in which they’d both decided to be anything more than what they were. It had just… happened.

Sitting in the captain’s cabin aboard the Tundra, he leaned back in his chair and watched silently as Simon mixed paint on his palette. The evening was quiet, the sun starting to set, that time of day where the world seemed to be dropping away, leaving them completely and utterly alone.

Despite not knowing when they’d become what they were now, Peter could, at the very least, say how they met, and that certainly had to count for something.

It had been one of those stuffy events James Wright insisted on holding for God only knew what reason - not a fundraiser for the Institute, this was for… people like them. To keep tabs on things, Peter supposed. Whatever the case, James had made a bet. He thought Peter wouldn’t show up. He’d been so certain. Arrogant bastard. So Peter had attended, determined to win the petty wager just to spite James. He had greeted Wright with a smile of bared teeth, and Wright had looked far too smug for Peter’s liking.

A movement drew Peter’s attention back to the present. Simon reached up to the top of the canvas, a dash of pale blue in the grey of the piece. Peter watched him, the way he lifted himself onto his toes, the stretch of his arm, the little line of skin revealed by the pull of the shirt. The way that simple stroke of paint seemed to make everything around it more real than even the skies outside. 

Gold light spilled in from the windows, casting shadows across the cabin floor and illuminating the large canvas. The blasted thing took the entire wall, nearly. How Simon had managed to get it into the captain’s cabin without Peter noticing was, itself, another mystery. But it was there, now. The canvas, paints, a cloth tarp for the floor. A splash of colour in the otherwise monochrome world. Another thing that just seemed to… happen. Just like other, little objects around the place. The books under the table, the drawer in the dresser with a few articles of Simon’s clothes, a decorative ship in a bottle on the desk behind him, the second mug in the cupboard next to a small bag of Simon’s favourite coffee. First they weren’t there, then they were, and Peter hadn’t noticed.

He turned his mind back to their meeting. There had to be a moment, he thought, when the idea of Simon having trinkets aboard the Tundra became an idea that Peter was not entirely opposed to.

It had been well-attended, every corner occupied with observing eyes and conspiratorial whispers, those false smiles and feigned platitudes that gave Peter a headache. He stayed as long as he needed to win the bet, and once James had introduced him to just about everyone - more than Peter could stomach - Peter left. He knew the building well. His family owned it. He knew the quickest way to the nearest, lonely balcony, and so he had slipped out and left James to his little games. 

Peter hadn’t expected anyone else to be there, but,one foot on the grey stone of the balcony, he froze. Someone was there, looking over a stretch of park that was dark and empty at that time of night, with the city lights on the other side seeming so far away. 

The other man half-turned his head to look at him, and Peter vanished. He stood there, watching, angry that his safe haven had been intruded on - wishing the other man would just go away.  

“Peter, isn’t it?” the other man suddenly said, voice seeming far away through the fog. 

Another movement in the present, another pull away from the memory. Simon took a step back, calves hitting the low table behind him, tilting his head to the side to inspect his work. Unhappy with the view, he stepped up onto that table and backed away further. There he paused for a long moment, then, seeming to come to a decision, he stepped down from the table and went to the wooden stool set up next to the canvas, picked up a new brush, and returned to his work. 

Something fond twisted up in Peter’s chest as he looked away, down into his coffee mug. The more things change, he thought.

He hadn’t replied, back then. He hadn’t wanted to. He hadn’t wanted that man to be there. He wanted to be alone.  

But then the man went on, oblivious to Peter’s discomfort, “Always a pleasure to meet a Lukas.” He turned his attention back to the view ahead of them and was quiet a long time before going on, “It is quite unbearable, isn’t it. All that hubbub back there. Can’t stand the drama, myself. Still, I said to myself, ‘Simon,’ I said, ‘you’re going to put on a smile, and you’re going to go to this function. It’s important you show your face every now and again.’” The man chuckled, then sighed, then leaned against the railing. 

Simon. Simon Fairchild, must be, Peter thought. He’d only heard the stories James told of him, and through the family business. He knew of the Fairchilds in passing, in signed documents, in the board of trustees, in the way that any of those that served the powers knew of each other. But he had never met him, hadn’t seen him amongst the crowds inside. 

“I suppose it wasn’t all that important, in the end. Nothing ever is,” Fairchild said. He sounded content. A short pause. “It’s nice out here, isn’t it? You feel like you can breathe properly. And such a view as well! Absolutely marvelous.”

Peter made a decision that he wasn’t sure was entirely his own, and stepped back into the world, turning his gaze from Fairchild’s back out to the city lights. So… isolated. They were over there, and he was here, and it brought him that wonderful uneasiness that filled him with such perfect comfort.

“What are you doing here?” He wasn’t sure why he asked. It had just… happened.

Fairchild glanced over his shoulder again and smiled. “Cosmically speaking? What are any of us doing here?” he replied cheerfully. “If you mean here on the balcony, well, that’s because I needed the space. It gets very… uncomfortable, events like this. You know the feeling. Like the ceiling is slowly lowering down on you, and the walls are squeezing everyone closer together, and no matter where you look there are people trying to get into your pockets. Awfully too close to Buried territory for my liking. I needed the fresh air.” He waved his hand to the sky above. “So I came here.”

Peter understood. Surprisingly well, he understood. He didn’t know how James could stand it, didn’t know how other people enjoyed it. Didn’t want to know how. 

“I would ask the same of you,” Fairchild said, turning to face Peter, back against the railing. “But I suspect I know the answer. You know I must say, you’re different from how I imagined the prized son of the Lukas family.”

“Different how?” Peter asked. 

Fairchild shrugged. “Taller,” he supplied. In a swift movement he lifted himself up to sit on the rail. Light as a feather, Peter thought. Looked like a breeze would blow him away. 

Which Peter suspected Simon Fairchild would actually quite enjoy, based on the stories. Based on the one he served. 

Fairchild looked at Peter over the rim of his glasses. For a moment, Peter saw a flash of blue - the colour of the sky, and suddenly the balcony beneath his feet fell away, and he felt as if he was falling. And then, as Fairchild looked away, the ground returned in an instant, and he felt his breath punched out of him. “Sorry,” Fairchild said, knocking his glasses up his nose with a knuckle, hiding his eyes. “Incredibly careless of me. You know, now that I think about it, I suppose it makes perfect sense why neither of us are comfortable. In there, I mean. The Mother of Puppets, the Beholding, I Do Not Know You, Too Close I Cannot Breathe… this is more to their liking, isn’t it? The Lonely and the Vast, however…” A smile up to the sky as Fairchild tilted his head back to look up. “You’d prefer to be alone, and I… I just can’t bring myself to see the point of any of this. And so here we are, escaping.” He looked back to Peter from behind dark glass. “Though I suppose I am impeding your own escape.”

“Yes, you are,” Peter hesitantly agreed.

Fairchild huffed - a sound that Peter thought must have been an amused laugh. “Indeed!” he said. “Terribly sorry about that. Far be it from me to keep you from your retreat, Captain.” The smile that he gave Peter was impish. “Until we meet again, I suppose!”

With that, he leaned backwards and fell from the railing.

Peter couldn’t help the jolt of panic. He shouldn’t have cared - and he didn’t care, not particularly - only, it was not something one saw everyday now, was it? He stumbled to the railing, grabbing hold of it as he looked over the edge, searching the ground below. He knew what he would see before his eyes adjusted to the dark.

There was nothing.

“Of course,” the voice suddenly said from behind him. For the second time, he started, and turned to face Fairchild. The man stood there with his hands clasped behind his back, and was regarding Peter with a tilt of his head. It put Peter in mind of a bird - an eagle that had spotted a fish swimming through the grey waters beneath it. “I am dreadfully curious. How on earth did Jonah manage to summon the elusive Captain Peter Lukas to his little get-together? I admit, when I heard you would be in attendance, I thought to myself, my my, now there’s something you don’t see everyday.” A chuckle. “Quite truthfully, I didn’t think you’d show up.”

Peter’s back teeth ground together as he set his shoulders back. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I happen to take great enjoyment in proving James wrong, and he thought I wouldn’t come.”

“So here you are,” Fairchild said. 

“Yes.”

“A gambling man, then?” asked Fairchild, though it didn’t sound like a question. “Well, that figures. As I recall, dear old Mordechai had a fondness for wagers as well, and they do say these things are genetic, you know.”

Peter blinked. “You knew Mordechai Lukas?”

Simon tipped his head side to side, contemplating. “As well as anyone could have known Mordechai, I suppose, with the distance he kept between himself and the others. Truth be told, I don’t think I was wealthy enough back then to be of any real interest to him, and frankly, I’m not sure Jonah liked me at all, so our interactions were… limited.” Fairchild didn’t sound at all bothered by that fact, Peter thought. “Always outside looking in, with their… boy’s club. Which was perfectly fine, as far as I was concerned. It’s nice. Having distance from things.”

“Hm.”

Peter hadn’t noticed - but at some point his head had stopped aching. 

Fairchild unclasped his hands from behind his back and clapped them together. “Now then! I’m not sure about you, but I am starving. You’d think Jonah would spring for better caterers at these things. No matter. As it happens, I know of a lovely little hole-in-the-wall. Best fish and chips in all of London. You’re welcome to come along.”

“Best fish and chips? That is a very bold claim,” Peter said.

Fairchild smiled. It wasn’t that he had, at any point as far as Peter had been able to tell, stopped smiling, only that the smile grew fractionally wider. “If you’re up to it. A little wager? Dinner is my treat, if you don’t agree with my assessment.”

Peter felt the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile in spite of himself. An easy bet to win, and he was hungry. “I could just lie,” he pointed out. 

Fairchild shrugged. “You could! And I would be out give or take fourteen pound. But I don’t think you will. Gentleman’s honour.” Fairchild held out his hand. “Do we have a deal, Captain?”

Peter looked at the hand only a moment before reaching out his own and shaking on it. “Deal.”

The memory faded away after that, and Peter turned his gaze away from his coffee. He watched Simon add splashes of grey to the canvas. He did not know how it happened. How they went from that night to… this.

To easy comfort. An arrangement that suited them both.

Simon finally put his brush down in the cup, set the palette down on the table. Stretched his arms over his head and settled his hands on his hips afterwards. Peter’s eyes turned to the canvas. It was beautiful. The grey blue of a foggy ocean, the dull beige of an isolated strand of beach. He could practically hear the sound of the waves, feel cold sand beneath his feet.

The longer he thought about it, the more certain he became.

There hadn’t been a moment that they became anything more than what they were. 

He did not know how long he had been in a relationship with Simon Fairchild, because they had been this way from the start. And Peter reasoned that was why it worked. 

They understood each other, and that was enough.

[liaragaming]

Took another shot at Varric and Solas discussing the Fisherman story set to the Veilguard gameplay, and I think it's better this time.

[stopstopstopit]

Remember that one time these two stared at each other in the middle of a battlefield without speaking?

[tai-janai]

they're right, it is unfair to dislike the vessels because we made them be that way. however. i am within my right to dislike shifty and the shifty wannabe (the wild)

[graciebaberams]

How do I permanently scrub gaylor from my dash

[piracytheorist]

I don't think I'll ever be over how much Twilight cares. His one goal in life is to make sure the peace remains, so that no children have to suffer the way he did. It's ingrained in his character, and he never uses his own past as an excuse to be mean, to be like "I went through a war, surely you can handle a few math problems!" He doesn't project his own pain and trauma, instead he uses it as a motivation to keep going, to keep sacrificing his own chances of happiness, of friends, of family, of any kind of love and security, all because he wants to create a better world, the kind of world that he didn't get to have.

So you know that despite the harsh persona he may don now and then, like when it comes to getting Anya to do her homework, there's a man who actually cares. Not even in a Jerk With a Heart of Gold kind of way, but in a way that you know he wouldn't need to be harsh towards other people and most of all himself, if the threat of war wasn't looming over his head, and if he didn't feel he had the chance, and thus in his mind, the responsibility to stop that war.

Which is also why the approach of Operation Strix makes sense; assassinating Desmond would be a simple, far easier method, but it would also be a short-term solution. Twilight isn't just trying to stop a conflict from happening, he aims to put an end to the cold war for good. And I'm just... This is how dedicated he is to it, that he also knows what is needed, that a mere assassination would not do, that he needs to get deep in to make sure no more conflicts rise between the two nations, at least as long as he has the power to. And all because he knows first hand what the consequences of war are, and he works himself out to fulfill his dream of a world without war - even if he doesn't see himself benefiting as much from it.

(I'm only caught up with the anime, please don't add any spoilers for the manga in case there's any relevant to this 😁)

[slimepuppied]

the roys and the colors i associate with them

connor - light blue. it is the color of the sky, perfect for the man with his head in the clouds, the endless vast above you means potential, all you could be if you could ever reach it; he gives you a ladder, and he gives them the sky. it is the color for the first boy but not the eldest son.

kendall - dark blue. the abyss calls, the brine is deep and unforgiving and as you pull yourself from the water you are met with the endless midnight sky, that same deep blue. you're drowning in it, their expectations can be counted with every navy thread it takes to make your suit.

roman - red. you want to say you are driven by passion, that every act you do is for family, your purpose is your connection, your relationships to those you care for, for those you love. but love has always met you in the form of a clenched fist, in crimson on your tongue from a backhand and a split lip. red is rage, the feeling eats away at you, you’d eat yourself if it meant you didn’t have to see it anymore: you’d let those you love devour you to be a part of them.

siobhan - green. you are nature, you are the beauty seen when light hits through the trees, you are poison ivy, your touch is poison, and when someone goes to soothe you they touch it too, they spread it, on you, on them. infectious. you want to be good, you believe you are, but as much as you appear to be the rose you are the thorns beneath.

[ghosteso]

More Aromantic Arthur thoughts because I have feelings.

At first he’s worried he might have a commitment issue. Then he realizes that’s not the issue. Though to be fair on him he never really dated anyone.

Bella is the first and only person he ever dated.

Parker kind of had a hunch because they had a case and this woman was flirting with Arthur and Arthur was just kind of standing there awkwardly not sure what to say. Parker ended up having to save him.

Parker also kind of knows because he asked Arthur why he never really dated anyone. Arthur plays it off as not being able to move on but Parker just knows. I have many thoughts about Parker and Arthur’s friendship and Bella and Arthur’s relationship.

[sorascribbless]

Anyone else feel this rotten guilt and anguish whenever someone makes any sort of effort for you despite craving it more than anything or am i just weird