#doing this gave me too many ideas

[doodlesforfics]

Robin's Egg by Calix aka @arzuera​ is just, such gloriously fun fic to read. I literally want to draw so many scenes from it, like sadlkjfaskd  its just!! so cute!!! aaaaa ;33333

also a lil doodle for locket because my mind is so stuck on it and figuring it out, i mean its just ;) so thoughtful of timbo

[medi-bee]

[spacedlexi]

speaking of fucked up overly hated female twdg characters i find it Super Interesting how people will say carver was the best villain in the whole series, but when lilly is literally just a successful carver (iron fist leader of a community turning children into soldiers) suddenly shes a bad/lame villain for some reason 🤔

[lu-sn]

Pete watches on in amusement as Macau totally fails to shimmy himself into the skintight layer of his pilot suit.

“Hey, it’s because I’m swole now, okay, I lift,” Macau says petulantly as he finally manages to roll the suit past his hips. 

Pete finishes zipping up his own suit. “Mhmm.”

“This is a super old suit,” Macau complains, “they took my new suit for repairs, and let’s be honest, I was basically a stick back then–”

“Until you became hot,” Pete says, having heard this spiel only about twenty times before. He moves to help Macau squeeze his arms through the suit.

“Until I became hot!” Macau grins at Pete. “See, you get it. Hey, I bet my biceps look real good in this–”

“The kaiju will definitely be blown away by your biceps.”

“They sure fucking will.” Macau looks inordinately pleased with himself. “The final, secret weapon that will save humanity.”

Pete rolls his eyes. “Okay,” he says, “hold your breath – good,” as he yanks Macau’s zipper all the way up. He pats Macau on the back. “Let’s go.”

–

Once they’ve made their way to the jaeger cockpit, the technicians start encasing Pete and Macau in their protective armor, along with all of the hook-ups that give them control over the various limbs and weapon attachments on the jaeger. 

“Helmets,” one technician says, and Pete swiftly pulls on his head sock, making sure his bangs are securely tucked under the cloth before slipping on his helmet as well. He hears the familiar hiss of the hydraulics as the technician locks in a large attachment to the back of his helmet – the critical cabling that enables the pilots’ neural link.

“Step back,” the technician says, and Pete does. The exoskeleton clicks into place around him. “Preparations complete.”

“Testing comms,” a voice says, directly into Pete’s ear.

“Menace-L, copy,” Pete responds.

“Menace-R, copy,” Macau follows. “‘Sup, Hia.”

“Brat,” Vegas says placidly. “Operations confirmed that the kaiju is a Cat-3, and it’s headed for the Philippines. You’ll be in-flight for a little over 2 hours before the drop.”

“Yeah, right,” Macau mutters.

Pete snorts. After that one time they were stuck waiting to drop for over 12 hours, Pete doesn’t blame him for his skepticism.

“Tell yourself 4 hours, and then maybe you won’t be so cranky when the estimate isn’t spot on.” Vegas says. “The shelf on that side of the island falls off pretty quickly. Luckily, we don’t think you’ll have to wait until the kaiju makes it to the shallows. He doesn’t look like a swimmer.”

“A runner?” Macau says, a hint of glee in his tone.

“Yep. Four-legged. You should be able to fight him along the sea bed.”

“Phi,” Macau says. “Phi. Can we wrestle him, please–”

“Absolutely not,” Vegas starts.

“Sure,” Pete says.

Macau whoops. “Fuck yeah! Underwater wrestling, baby, let’s fucking go–”

Vegas sighs. “If HQ asks for Menace’s damages bill again, I’ll make sure you’re the one taking that call. You can be the one to explain exactly how critical it is to account for underwater wrestling in the budget–”

“We’ve, like, improved,” Macau says. “We’re good at it now. Tell you what – I’ll make you a bet. External damage only. No dents in the framework this time.”

“Deal,” Vegas says immediately. 

“Here we go again,” Pete says under his breath.

“We’re ready for the neural link, sir,” another voice interrupts. “Are we cleared?”

“One moment,” Vegas says. “Yes, you’re cleared.”

“Neural link for Apocalyptic Menace going live in sixty,” the voice says.

“Copy.”

Pete exhales, leans back into the exoskeleton. The jolt of the neural link is always nauseating, but thankfully it’s short-lived. Pete is very used to it, though. And the drift itself is wonderful.

He hears a faint click, and an indicator pops up on his helmet’s interface that he’s been switched over to a private line.

There is a long silence.

“Wish I could come with you,” Vegas says quietly.

Pete smiles, fond. “You’ll just have to wish harder for a Cat-4. For next time.”

Vegas’s injury means that he’s not allowed to be on a standard pilot rotation, not like the rest of them. But he’s so damn good that HQ can’t bring themselves to bench him, either. So he gets sent out with Pete on the really tough drops, the category 4 and 5 kaijus, and Macau subs in on all the rest.

They’re lucky that all three of them are drift compatible with each other. Otherwise, HQ would force Vegas into the cockpit far more frequently. And then Vegas would re-injure himself, probably, and Pete would have to go kill someone over it.

“Next time,” Vegas says. Then, firm, “You’ll come back.”

“I always do,” Pete says, voice soft.

Vegas hums. “And bring my idiot brother back intact, please. Keep the wrestling to a minimum.”

“Can’t believe you’d throw a bet like that,” Pete says, amused.

Vegas scoffs. “It’s a win-win for me. Less repairs, and HQ doesn’t come for my head... or, Macau does laundry for a month.”

Pete shudders. “Maybe not laundry this time? He’s not very, um. Good at it.”

“How else is he going to learn, Pete,” Vegas says pleasantly, “if we don’t give him the opportunity to improve himself.”

“Uh-huh. And it’s a total coincidence that you hate laundry.”

“Like I said,” Vegas says, “win-win. Oh, wait. Macau is speaking.” And Pete hears another click.

“Phi,” Macau says, very seriously.

“Nong.”

“Friendly reminder,” Macau says, “to not think about Hia.”

Pete laughs.

“No thoughts!” Macau screeches. “None! Not a single one, or I swear to god, I’ll break the neural link and jump into the ocean.”

“That was one time,” Pete says. Plus, it wasn’t like it had been Pete’s fault. Vegas shouldn’t have given him horny thoughts from 2000 kilometers away.

“Once,” Macau says, “was plenty.”

“Link in three,” the technician’s voice counts down, “two, one–”

And as the neural link kicks in, Pete’s vision whites out, and the pain is sharp and bright right behind his eyes – until, suddenly, it settles.

Hey, bro, he hears. Ready to rumble?

Pete grins. Macau’s emotions are infectious, all excitement and anticipation and dogged determination. And in the far corner of his mind, a tiny hint of nervousness. 

It’s good for Macau to have that. Keeps him from being reckless.

Let’s do this, Pete thinks. And then, just for a brief moment, he pulls up a memory from this morning – Vegas standing in the bathroom doorway while brushing his teeth, shirtless, ratty sweatpants riding low on his hips–

Oh my fucking god. Why would you do this to me. Why would you make me suffer like this.

Pete laughs, harder this time.

“Drift is stable,” the technician says. “Cleared for lift-off.”

“Copy,” Vegas says. There’s some murmuring from his end of the line. “Operations says you’re good to go. Good luck. Remember to cut down on the snarking this time. Maybe it’ll improve your kill time average.”

“Maybe I’ll stop snarking,” Macau says pointedly, “once Phi is done inflicting mind crimes on me–”

Describe to me, Pete thinks, in great detail, exactly how you picture this wrestling going. Just so we’re on the same page.

The distraction works. Pete feels a huge wave of glee hit him. Phi. I have so many ideas.

–

(thank you to @suzteel and @kissporsche for all of the ideas ❤️ and especially to suz for saying that every combination of mvp would be drift-compatible, because i swear i wasn't going to write anything until she baited me with that)

[diabolicjoy]

mittens !!!! pattern X - i modified a bit because my yarn was a bit more thick, so i shortned a few rows of the colorwork & added the burnt orange details instead :)

[good-beanswrites]

A little something featuring Fuuta and Es after talking about their criminal lack of interaction in fanworks with @waivyjellyfish ! You had such awesome ideas (a few of which I'm still bouncing around in my head to post at some point,) but this one ended up taking over my brain -- I hope you enjoy 😅 Attempting to answer the widely-debated question:

“Oi, why didn’t you hit me?”

Es looked up from their paperwork.

“Prisoner number three. Most people are glad when they’re not struck.”

“Well, I’m not.” 

Es usually left the door open at this hour, in case anyone had any last-minute complaints before curfew. No one usually took them up on the offer. They figured that if there was any prisoner they could count on to complain, it would be Fuuta marching through their door.

“You hit all the other guys. You even hit some of the girls that were giving you trouble. So what? You think I’m too weak? You think I can’t take it?” Fuuta spread his arms. “I can, so show me what you’ve got!”

Es sighed. They put down their pen. They folded their gloved hands together, resting their chin on top. “Fuuta, I’m not going to hit you.”

“Why not?”

“As of right now, I have no reason to. If you’re referring to the interrogations…”

They reflected on the first one they'd shared with him. To be fair, the thought had crossed their mind. It would have been satisfying to give this rowdy prisoner a taste of his own medicine – striking him after such a dramatic charge at them. But Es was always good at reading people. It didn’t take them long to understand Fuuta was the type to lash out first and ask questions later. In fact, that was likely what had landed him in Milgram in the first place. 

Although Es knew they weren’t here to do any reformation, they wanted to try to show these prisoners where they’d gone wrong. So, they resolved to act as the bigger person. They’d prove that senseless violence was just that. By keeping their composure, they’d show Fuuta just how childish he was being. 

That wasn’t my only reason. I guess that's true, my actions weren’t all purely righteous. I still spent the entire time looking for ways to make him squirm… But it wasn’t all cruelty. I really did want to understand. I wanted to help. That counts for something, right?

Es never struck the prisoners out of anger, or as a petty show of power. It was a way to force the prisoner to mind their ego. When they’d gotten a bit too full of themselves, a bit too comfortable with the awful deed they’d committed, Es’ blow encouraged them to feel a bit more humility and guilt. 

By the time the second trial arrived, Fuuta oozed guilt. 

The moment Es entered the interrogation room, it was clear that he needed no lesson in humility. He hugged his arms to his chest. His remaining eye darted around the room in thinly-veiled hysteria. His voice trembled when he spoke. It didn’t require any people-reading skills to hear the remorse that underlaid all of his accusations and threats.

Hitting the others felt like giving a dog a tap on the nose after breaking a rule. Meanwhile, Fuuta snapped and snarled like a stray who’d been kicked time and time again.

Of course, he could never know any of this. Any way Es phrased it, Fuuta would misunderstand it as pity.

Well, wasn’t it? I thought he looked like a kicked puppy – that sounds a lot like pity. No, it was out of respect. Does that mean I didn’t respect the prisoners I did hit? No. I respected them too. Then, what’s the difference?

Fuuta was still staring at them, asking the very same question. What’s the difference?

“Each of Milgram’s prisoners is unique.” 

They were met with an unimpressed glare.

Es chose their words carefully. “Each one responds best to a variety of treatments. Some need attention to be comfortable, while others need time. Some need validation in order to confess. Others, a bit of debate does the trick. Some need a show of force. You –” remind me too much of myself  “– require something else. I’ve learned to change my approach depending on the person I’m dealing with.”

Fuuta’s features flashed with confusion, then shame, then his usual mask of anger. “Tch. How pathetic.”

“Excuse me?”

“So you just change your personality when it’s convenient? You put up fake smiles and fake attitude? Have some balls and just be yourself.”

Es was caught by surprise. “... I am. Those are all pieces of myself. I choose to bring out different parts when it would be most helpful.” 

“Sounds manipulative as hell to me.” 

It makes sense he doesn’t understand. He’s a very clear-cut person, with every aspect of his personality lining up in a way that makes sense. I find that predictability fun. Or, is it something that I envy? Could it be both?

They had no time to dwell on it, as Fuuta was struck with an idea. “Though, if you can do it on command, why don’t you give me the ‘you’ that wants to hit someone?” 

He spread his arms once more, hands gesturing to his chest. Es pretended not to notice him wince. They remained in their seat. 

“What are you waiting for? Hit me!” 

“I will not.”

“You just said you can change your personality on a whim, so let’s see it!” 

“That is not what I said.”

His good eye began to look frenzied. He raised his voice. “You scared? The big bad warden of Milgram, nothing but a big coward!”

“Stop this. You’re acting childish.”

“No! You’re treating me childishly! Let me see the Es that kicked Shidou! The one that slapped Kazui! Treat me like you treated them!”

“I hit them because they said something stupid. They deserved it.”

“Are you fucking kidding? I deserve it too! I deserve it! Come on!”

At the last word, his voice broke. He stumbled to his knees. He let his head drop. He sucked in strained breath after strained breath. Shidou would surely give him a lecture about getting so worked up with his injuries. 

Es finally stood.

They made their way around the desk. They knelt on the floor in front of him. 

“Why?” he wheezed. “Tell me…”

“Fuuta.” 

Should I just go ahead and do it, just to make him happy? No, I want to talk it out. But what do even I say? I'll tell him that I care. I can’t. None of the prisoners understand that I care. Why? Why is it so hard for them to see? I’m trying my best, why can’t they see? 

Es extended their hand carefully. They didn’t know what they hoped to accomplish, but in that moment their thoughts were too loud and conflicting. They needed to do something.

Fuuta saw the gentle intention, and immediately raised his own hand to strike. It froze midair, though whether it was from Milgram’s restrictions or his own hesitation, Es would never know.

Neither of their gestures connected.

Footsteps. Then Yuno’s voice, hesitantly from the doorway. “We heard shouting, is everything alright in here?”

Es retracted their hand.  A beat. Fuuta dropped his, too. 

“Yuno. Yes, we’re fine. Fuuta was just heading to bed. I’m going to walk him to his cell.”

“I can handle myself.”

“I said, I’m going to walk him to his cell.” 

Es stood, nodding to Yuno. When she’d gone, they turned their attention back to the prisoner crumpled on the ground. They made an effort to quiet their ever-racing thoughts. 

“Listen. I know you can handle yourself. I’m not doing this because I think you’re weak. You’re strong. Don’t think for a moment that I don’t see that.”

They held out their arm to help him up. He didn’t move.

“Sometimes you are a bit too strong, if you ask me. I mean, picking fights with your prison warden, really?” They clicked their tongue. “You should be grateful for a superior that gives you second chances.”

At last, Fuuta  took their hand. He avoided meeting their eyes, but his voice had softened considerably from his rant. “The only thing you give me is a headache.”

Es offered a dry smile as they pulled him to his feet. “The feeling is mutual.”

[storytellers-and-co]

Tansui's Adventures - #9, Allies and Enemies

By the time Tansui had delivered the treats and gotten the news, it was starting to be evening again - and he was more than ready to just curl up by the stairs and sleep. However, Papashan informed the thaumaturge about something alarming… 

Someone of importance had gone missing. And the rounds were to find some clues. And now, knowing someone was out there, alone and possibly in danger, how was Tansui supposed to sleep? Answer, they couldn’t. And thus, the new mage set for searching this missing person. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take too long - natural curiosity and their ability to attract situations was for once playing in their favour… until, as the roguishly handsome stranger with white hair and quick with so fittingly put it, the dead came out to play. 

Tansui hadn’t fought against Voidsent in what felt like years, and yet they’d always remember the stench of one. Thankfully though, they had some help this time - the stranger taking majority of the heat while Tansui could focus on slinging his spells. Magic from both the mage in training and the Voidsent flashed in the night, illuminating the otherwise dark landscape - the steel of the strangers sword glinting at every spell and attack slung. 

Even when additional company was brought in, or when the claws came far too close for comfort, or when they were starting to run awfully low on fire-power for a short moment, Tansui felt oddly at ease - knowing someone was there, had his back for however short of a moment, that they weren’t in this alone for once was a comforting thought. 

One last Astral Fire was what finally took the Voidsent down, allowing Tansui to take a step back, catch his breath, and let the stranger help with the lady. She was apparently his responsibility, or some sort - Tansui might’ve slipped on his focus roughly there, distracted by a crystal on the ground….

[toytulini]

the challenge of i should commission art of my ocs. would love to commission like, siiyr or bokrae, maybe krachyn or jula. siiyr or bokrae would make the most sense, maybe krachyn. i think theyre the ones with the most detailed notes on their anatomy

but also

oh god i cannot subject another artist to the anatomical war crimes i committed in making these ocs

[sunnibits]

bruh my art brain needs a new hyperfixation so bad rn I swear to god. literally how am I supposed to draw anything if I don’t have a singular all-consuming interest giving me excessive amounts of dopamine every day and taking up every waking second of my consciousness.

[pabs-art]

Thank you for everything! Our hero!

[incesthemes]

it is utterly miserable for a mediocre show to have a really good plot or make god tier parallels or connections because you're like well this show isn't good and the writing is flimsy and there are so many holes and bland storylines, but they paralleled the season finale to an earlier season finale and then made the weight of that decision foundational to the next season so now my every waking thought is consumed by it

[kinos-fortress-2]

fuck i got drained...

[quirkle2]

Shigeo follows slowly, and a bit distantly, perhaps. Her voice feels a bit like jello; it doesn’t help that the rest of the cafeteria drowns out half of her words. “Is there a reason you think somebody is doing this and not… ya’know. Just bad reception or something?” Mezato ticks her finger back and forth like a grandfather clock. “Mob, Mob, Mob… First of all, bad reception does not cause phones to overheat and explode—actual case here, by the way—and second of all, don’t you want it to be some weird, paranormal thing going on?” “Uhm,” Shigeo tries, deciding between the “correct” answer in Mezato’s head and the correct answer in basic morality, “No?” She blinks, and then slumps, eyes lidded as her neckerchief almost dips into her vegetables. “Simpleton, Mob. Simpleton! Don’t you like excitement?” Shigeo stares at her blankly, hoping the message is clear.

[glass-trash-bab]

You know. I really did not need to watch the hunger games on a Wednesday night after a long day with family over. I think that was a bad idea, I'm way too sensitive for this

[noxious-fennec]

PLEASEEEE tell me about the symbolism in your drawing Oh i am dying to know

HII why thank you for asking!! I'll try my best to answer concisely but Tl;dr I'm not normal about either cwilbur or flower symbolism :) it also must be noted that a lot of my decisions are entirely based on my personal cultural experience so I hope if anything you find it interesting.

For an overview, The peice is inspired by art nouveau, namely alphonse mucha and henri privat livemont, and is mostly based on this hamlet production poster by the former. The composition however is not based on said illustration, and is slightly inspired in part by stained glass and fences of the movement. The clothing cwilbur is wearing is from the edwardian period, if I've got my references correct it's earlier in the period, though not any year in particular. It differs drastically in the fact that the colors are very vibrant (I can't help putting cwil in shades of red, ho16 permanently changed my brain chemistry), and that the Cape part of the inverness cape is entirely too short. Otherwise I've attempted to keep the general silhouette accurate.

Now the plant symbolism:

First: Arabian jasmine (which fun fact are not actually the same as the 4 petal vine yasmine, has a different name, Full (فل), and they grow on shrubs) and the Damascus rose go together because of two reasons: 1) i didn't know other flowers to put there and 2) they're very closely tied in my brain. If you try to find their symbolism you'll find a lot of things about beauty and purity, as is common with any white flower or rose, but my reasoning differs. Without going into too much detail, I intended for them to symbolise community and belonging.

Daffodils (the ones depicted are the ones most common in my region, they may not resemble the expectations but they are indeed daffodils) mean death rebirth and hope, its a flower i generally associate with cwil. Same meaning goes for the white lilies. And poppies have a heavy association with war and generally symbolise remeberance and hope for peace, and thus, l'manberg association.

The next five are flowers that represnt certain characters strictly based on cwilbur's preception of them, but they can be applied to others as well, i just thought these were most important:

Freesia: especially when yellow, usually means thoughtfulness, trust and friendship. represents cranboo.

Orange/tiger lilly: pride, hatred, status, tenacity.  Cquackity

Lilly of the valley: cmon we all know this one, ctommy

Boat orchid: virtue and morality, a gesture of respect and friendship. Ctubbo

Gladiolus: diminutive of gladius(sword); strength of character, moral integrity and rememberance. ctechno

pomegranate tree and fruit: pomegranates have a very different connotation in Western media, from what I can glean, as opposed to what I'm used to them being perceived as (I won't derail this but I can elaborate if needed). In short, I've chosen to take advantage of this double meaning and so its here to represent life death and resurrection while the tree is for family and home.

On a side note, I was originally going to do night blooming jasmine (مسك الليل) but it wasn't working, the symbolism of it however still stand: its a flower many love and think smells amazing, but rarely do they actually want the burden of having it in their own yards because of how deathly strong it smells. I was intending on using it to symbolise the complicated nature of cwilbur's relationship with the important people in his life.

And finally, the olive tree: aside from its meanings of peace and friendship, olive trees also mean olive oil which is a product with many healing properties that is not too easy to make and requires a lot of work. i chose it to mean healing and the process thereof.

So yeah that's it, hope it's up to expectation and thanks for the interest means a lot to me <33

[pocketramblr]

dndhat movie is fun but i'll admit a good 30% of my fun was pointing at the screen like "wait i have a character/party member who does that too! :0!!"