#at least he has style

[rosesocietyy]

you know... If a man looks like this I firmly believe he is allowed to commit a few atrocities here and there. but that's just me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 1: Dread on Arrival

(Part 2)

[1000dactyls]

Rewatching all HTTYD media and realising Hiccup is one of the best shots of the show like genuinely sticks funeral arrow hitting the target that far away, the fact he shot down toothless in pitch blackness while toothless was completely camouflaged there's some more I'm missing but damn get that kid in the Olympics right this second

imagine how much shorter rtte would’ve been if they gave hiccup a gun

[choccy-milky]

⭐ HL x ghibli! ⭐

[doctorsiren]

some mp100 doodles from the last couple days

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 305

So. Uh. Danny feels like laughing hysterically, because? Ghostwriter was doing a thing, and one of Pandora’s curses escaped and erm, well, now the six of them are in a whole other dimension. At least this place has a lot of abandoned warehouses but still. And well, he guesses he’s no longer the only ‘monster’ now? 

But seriously they all need to find a way back home sooner rather than later, even if they might now be stuck in this world… Fuck.

[sunshine-zenith]

Woke up to back to back posts that went “remember when Irep and Peri had to pretend to raise an egg for school in the original series,” “Irep and Peri should totally coparent Dev,” and “trans fem Dev thooo” and I felt the need to contribute

Disclaimer: nothing Dev lists automatically makes someone a girl. Makeup and genre preferences are ultimately gender neutral, though they can also be gender affirming for some people, and the only thing that gets a say in what someone’s gender is that person themself. I just wanted to make an egg joke lol

[highly--distractible]

Sketch dump! I have been sketching these sillies since watching the show. I doubt it'll happen but I want them to be soft for each otherrrrrr. They deserve love and cuddles and it'd be funny cause they'd be so mad about crushing on each other at first xD

Close ups under the read more! :D

[miusato]

Lmao so I finally done drawing a lineup of P3 cast in my Highschool AU. Call them wokesona or something ahskskskskasosk

[mushroomnoodles]

tw/cw for sfw and non kink mpreg

he had to hide in a public restroom to handle a growth spurt and he is emotionally and physically recovering

maybe he cant handle the baby he says

[bacchuschucklefuck]

Riz has counted four casseroles this week alone. Five, if one goes by the method of cooking, but Yelen's scary when she's crossed, and calling her burek by its proper name is important to her, so Riz does her the courtesy and doesn't include it in his mental tally.

He holds the tupperware over his head to keep it out if the way as he takes careful steps over the piles of notes in his path. The dockman case just closed, relevant documentations handed over to relevant personnels, evidences dealt with as needed; all he has lying around now is just record of the process and traces of himself thinking through it. Unsurprisingly they still haven't invented a surface more convenient for people under five feet who like to pace to put pieces of paper on than the ground.

Actual records go into the case folder with the other documents. Anything else with at least one side still blank is going to the school kids in the block - they chew through an astounding amount of paper just learning arithmetic. The rest is for the recycling basket.

Later. It's his mandated lunch break right now.

Riz sits down in front of the corner file cabinet. In an office often overrun with papers and strings and sometimes even thumbtacks, he's never really managed to clutter up this exact square of surface like every other ones. Ever since the bottom drawer rattled for no discernible reason a day long past, his eyes have always just kinda decided to slide across the space without acknowledging it.

It's years out, now. Riz doesn't know why he thought it such a big deal anymore, back then. He wasn't scared, he doesn't think. Not anymore. Maybe just uncomfortable with the idea that certain things persist despite all efforts to change.

He opens the tupperware. Dame Carabelle's experiment greets him with enough spice in the aroma alone to knock out a small mammal. When he chopped the vegetables for this casserole he couldn't really imagine the eventual heft of it, evident even through just these few ladles' worth, maybe weighing heavier for being still warm. His folk eat more through the smell and the textures and the aftertastes than the taste itself. His folk's meal is really the cooking rather than the eating. The eating is the meal's end.

"Hey," he tells the file cabinet's bottom drawer. "Um."

It's the anniversary. Riz doesn't know the exact date of his dad's death; nobody currently alive does. He and Mom both use the date of the funeral, though as he moved out to Bastion and then got more directly involved with Interplanar he hasn't really been going to Dad's grave as much. Doesn't seem like very efficient use of his time, catching a train or borrowing a car or spending a whole spell slot on going somewhere he knows Dad isn't at. They're sorta coworkers now. They talk on and off every other week between missions. When he goes now, it's just to clean up the place, keeping the landmark tidy and respectable.

Without that work to mark the date he doesn't really know what it serves anymore. But he still remembers it. Still takes note, absently or not, when it comes around.

There's not really a good way to tell the drawer that. Riz looks for another way to start the... conversation, hopefully. The question at play, he'd guess, is why he's doing this. He's been pretty content ignoring all the rattlings and the knocks from inside and the times it sits slightly ajar without him ever opening it himself; hell, he still uses the three drawers on top of it. Space is fucking precious in Bastion.

Precious enough to finally fix this damn drawer so he gets his turn to use it? Riz asks himself. Is that what we're getting to? Then he dismisses the thought - he didn't manage to fix it the times he actually tried, let alone-- now. When he doesn't really care that much to.

That's probably a good place to start. "'s fine if you keep being in there, turns out," Riz says.

The lunch hours are quiet in the block, sleepy and bright with the brief window of sunlight that manages to break through roof overhangs and extended balconies and laundry lines and climbing vines. Riz's work isn't loud here (the loud parts happen away from his office, if everything goes right), but the fragment of early summer heat reflected in the steady warmth his meal still carries compels him to lower his voice even more. It makes the words feel intimate, in a way he's never been familiar with - if he says something he just says it. He doesn't whisper. If he gives his friends something, he gives it open-palm. He's found out, along the way, that people usually don't think of rituals and courtesies the way he does.

Small voice for a diminished monster. "You know why I think so?" Riz asks. "Because almost two decades ago you kidnapped me and almost killed me, and now you rattle a drawer in my office."

It doesn't sound as much like a taunt as Riz wanted it to; the drawer has made a lot of noises again this morning when he checked the calendar, and he was definitely annoyed at it. Now, though, facing it like this after cooking the whole morning with more grandparents and peers from the block than he can count on both hands to cater for a tenant union meeting, he thinks the annoyance has morphed. Changed shape.

It has the shades of something like pity. Riz is not prone to pity, and especially not at these kinda matters. It's slightly maddening that he coheres perfectly outside of this one spot. That he commands his spaces, except for a drawer.

He puts the tupperware onto the floor between himself and the cabinet. "I know we're aware it's the anniversary," he says at the drawer. "You do this every year. You make a ruckus every time I decide to go do my job instead of mooching off my friends' aircon, and every time I get an invitation to some stupid social thing I want to turn down, and every time one of the old people tries to introduce me to a child or a nibling, because being a bachelor over thirty is weird," he pinches the bridge of his nose. "I have three fucking jobs. I love doing my fucking jobs. I'm forcing funds into infrastructures. You're never leaving, are you."

The drawer vibrates lightly. It's a very, very mild acknowledgement, considering the history of reactions Riz has gotten from this thing. Riz thinks it's emanating joyous agreement, or satisfaction.

It only sharpens the pity. Riz doesn't like that, but it's how it is. That's, ultimately, the lesson he's been taught over and over and over again, just by existing as himself, turned every which way by space after space that don't see him eye-to-eye: it's not like he'd quit living over any of it. It's not like any of it can sand off these fundamental pieces of him.

He's outgrown a lot of things, he's found out. Again, and again, and again. A childhood home, a yearly trip, a monster.

"'s probably scary for you, huh?" He asks. "Because I left."

He thinks he hears joints creak that sound like you did. Probably the way a scorned lover would say it, in a movie or a yellowback. He has no more connection to the idea than he did as a kid. Less, because it doesn't even scare him.

"That's what it is, right? That it's the anniversary, and I'll never be like Dad." He raises a knee from the floor, pulls it back closer to him. Slings an arm over it. "You love to remind me. The thing is, Dad also left. He loved Mom and he loved me, and none of us wanted it to happen, but it still did. Because love does fuckall to make anyone stay on its own."

He's long past being bitter about it. It's just the facts. Once upon a time he looked into the future and the specter of his friends' happily-ever-after casted lightless, fathomless shadow over him. Love, marriage, that kind of devotion, to a fifteen-year-old with more solved cases than friends seemed so eternal. Final.

But you can only watch your friends build up apps' worth of jilted lovers for so long before getting over it.

"You know what I learned?" Riz tells the drawer. "Love doesn't make anyone stay. Project management does."

He stands up, and picks up the tupperware of Dame Carabelle's casserole, that he helped make, that he helped share with a block's worth of neighbors and members of a community he's at home with, and goes sit at his desk to eat. "Last chance to get any," he drops an offer over his shoulder as he walks away.

He doesn't eat all of his share in one go. What he's spared he leaves on the desk when going outside for a smoke break. Baron looks the exact same as when he saw them last, when he catches a glimpse; they haven't grown at all. They aren't there when he comes back inside, but the leftover has gone days-old cold, like someone's sucked the future out of it.

[sskk-manifesto]

Bungou Stray Dogs: Dead Apple and how “ability users” (opposite to “normal people”) learning to accept themselves through the acceptance of their own abilities is a queer metaphor of acceptance of own's sexual orientation and gender: an essay by me

[lunarharp]

scribbles... pre-relationship onsen trip

[maskedchip]

ryuu doodle dump :]

[tyulezhik]

I decided to look into Greylancer's outfit a little

[where-the-water-flows]

hey no wait. hang on, wait. wenjing is like, explicitly the secret sword, right, the one basically no one knew about, it's part of the reason the court is like 'mmk seems legit' when fang doubing is like ~I am totally for real his disciple~ because he knows about the sword at all

but li xiangyi/lianhua is clearly like. practiced at using the sword, which does not move like basically...any other weapon. that man has spent a fuck lot of time training to and straight up developing how to use a sword that is basically the most unswordlike sword to ever sword. that sword is like a slap bracelet with bladed edges that can also cut through....anything? nearly anything?? it does not move or react like your standard mostly rigid bar of folded metal sword, is the gist here.

which brings me to two, semi-related, points:

when saintess rocks up to steal di feisheng from the zombie cave and also is like 'I'm going to kill you uh actually lol nope fuck that I'm outtie peace bitches', is that literally the first time she's even got a hint that li xiangyi/lianhua has a sword that is basically nigh impossible to block because it can straight up bend around obstacles? (obstacles such as, say, anyone else's sword) if yes, no fucking wonder she's like mmmm I see no thank you I need to go wash my di feisheng's hair, so busy, catch you later because like. how the fuck do you even deal with that. a guy who should have been horribly and messily dead literally a decade ago rocks up and is like 'I lived bitch! also surprise, I have a sword made of glowing Go-Fuck-Yourself metal', like, I too would fucking split! you would only be able to find me by the cartoon dust cloud left in my wake. RIP to everyone else in the jianghu but saintess is making the objectively correct choice here, which is wild because, like. saintess.

how many people's last fucking moment was seeing throat cutter, probably glowing and covered in their blood? because like. Li xiangyi clearly used it! enough to be good at using it. enough to know that it glows blue when there's blood on it, even if he apparently was just like sometimes swords just glow for reasons I guess ¯\_(ツ)_/¯. so. if no one outside of sigu sect high command knows that wenjing exists*, that means everyone else who ever saw that sword -- which there has to have been people, given that li xiangyi was out there uhhh using it -- those people who saw it presumably also uh. died. in a pretty confirmed kinda way. likely via....that sword. throat cutter** indeed

*and not even all of the inner sigu sect command folks knew about li xiangyi having it! they're pretty explicit that five people total know about the sword, which is the four court heads, and then presumably either qiao wanmian or xiao zijin, but not both of them (which, lmao, what the hell were sigu sect internal politics for real), and even that's if we assume shan gudao is not being included in the count because he's "dead"

**yes I know it's a reference to a friendship/relationship you'd cut your throat for per @murderedbyhomework's recent great meta, but also, like. it's still a cut throat, y'know? words can have multiple meanings, and also this is mostly a pun on the name. the rest of the post stands as is tho.