#i love these little people in my ears

[murd3rouscrow]

Holy shit... The retired colourman might be my new favorite mystery, as always, spoilers below

I just want to start by how much more gruesome this one was, especially compared to the last episode with the ai. I really really like the more gruesome stories. It amps up all the emotions.

Also very fun story, like you know the murderer is, that's not the mystery. It's not the who, but the what... Oooo very ominous, very cool.

Also Lillian. She was there, ngl she kinda grew on me. Let's be real, we'd probably be just like her. Also didn't think she'd go through with the true crime podcast after getting sprayed blood. I'm going to assume john have her some important podcaster wisdom while they were outside.

Also, more Mariana, which I'm always happy about. Especially Mariana basically solving the mystery. Love it. Love her. Especially loved the emotion and her little moment with Sherlock in the cellar and attic

Further making me want a Sherlock and Mariana only episode, I swear they'd be so efficient. Also just Sherlock reassuring her that she doesn't have to the bodies, he'll do it. Like yes, I've been waiting for some Sherlock x Mariana, so far they're dynamic had only been making fun of John together (which is also great)

This entire mystery was just fueling my inner baker street poly heart.

Overall, great episode, loved the emotion, I like very much.

[royaltea000]

Pose practice! ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

hng. them <3

bonus!

[hydrachea]

I can't stop thinking about Blade saying gifts are unfamiliar.

And I can't stop thinking about Kafka and Silver Wolf, hearing that, and making it a mission to bring him gifts whenever they travel somewhere for their script - even if he's there with them. About the confusion in his eyes when they steal buy something and turn right around to hand it to him.

About his room starting out completely empty except for the bare minimum necessities, a few spare clothes and what he needs to take care his Shard Sword, but filling up with little trinkets and gifts over time. Clothes and jewelry and perfume from Kafka and posters, figures and plushies from Silver Wolf. About them also bringing food back, expensive specialties swiped from a restaurant and the weirdest option they could spot in a lone vending machine, a category of gifts that doesn't leave anything behind (except the photos they both take of the three of them eating together, or of the faces he makes when Silver Wolf manages to trick him into trying a suspicious snack while he's distracted with polishing his weapon).

About Kafka spending hours finding clothes and jewelry she thinks would suit him, because that's her love language. She gets him makeup too, refusing to let his good looks go to waste. She knows he can't put it on himself, they both do, and he doesn't care for his appearance enough otherwise - but he'll let her do his makeup for him anyway, because she enjoys it, and because he finds it soothing.

About Silver Wolf also buying him clothes, but the ones she gets aren't his style at all, and just barely his size. She gets them for him, but just so she can steal them right back - her love language is quality time, and she fills Blade's room with gifts she can borrow along with a moment of his day. It still counts as a gift, she insists, practically swimming in an oversized jacket she swiped from his closet.

About how in another life, Yingxing gave gifts to the people he loved and in this one, Blade receives them from those who love him.

[blue-eli]

Skuld in quantum design :)

[sea-jello]

hong kong miku,,,

[potpourrifandoms]

I saw someone somewhere saying that it was impossible to make an attractive male githyanki in BG3, so I decided to try it for myself. I only meant to open the character creator, but I accidentally got attached, and now I'm having fun watching all the tieflings in the grove react with abject horror at my approach.

His name is Vanic, which I got from the fantasy names generator page for githyanki. It's cute because it rhymes with manic and panic, both of which are things he is prone to. He gets into disagreements with Lae'zel a lot because she wants to be gruff and mean, but he has fun telling the tiefling children he's a swamp elf or asking refugees what cats are instead of looking for the crèche.

[byemambo]

Hey, wanna join Hiking Club? Yes. Oh, you speak a dialect. Where are you from?

Takara's Treasure (2024) | 1.01

My Favorite Scenes [1/?] | dir. Yuho Ishibashi

[feroluce]

When Al Haitham dreams, it's in shades of sandy blonde and red, metallic gold and feather-blue. His nightmares are colored much the same.

Kaveh leisurely strolls ahead of him, shoes leaving deep treads in the soft desert sand. He keeps a careful distance, arms length, and in return Al Haitham keeps an eye on him, the other man's back dead center in his sights.

He curses the sand in his boots and the long line of footprints he steps into, already the exact shape of the soles of his shoes.

They aren't lost. Al Haitham knows where they are. They've been here before. They are still here.

Kaveh doesn't watch their feet. His head is constantly tipped back with his eyes on the stars and their constellations (of which Al Haitham only knows two, Vultur Volans and Paradisaea). He'll walk right into a cactus like that. Al Haitham yells ahead for him to watch where he's going.

Kaveh reaches up to touch the side of his head in a strange motion, but otherwise there's no acknowledgement. They press on into the dark of night.

Something squelches beneath Al Haitham's boot.

It stops him short, pulls his attention like a magnet and as much as he wants to, he can't ignore it. He doesn't want to lose any more ground. But something won't let him move on. Al Haitham watches as red seeps into the golden sand, spills beyond the border of his bootprint until he slides his foot aside.

It's an ear.

It's a human ear, and there's a heavy earring attached, metallic gold, gems red and green, a familiar shape, a familiar shade-

Al Haitham opens his mouth to yell. Chokes. Swallows the lump in his throat as he quickly restarts his pace. Tries again.

"Hey!"

Another squelch under a hurried footstep. He doesn't stop to look. Al Haitham is pretty sure he knows what it is.

"Kaveh, hey!"

The path becomes littered, little slices and small pieces, fingertips and knuckles, Kaveh's arms once held casually behind his back now strewn along the sands. Every time Al Haitham extends his hand to him, reality warps and bends like the twisted image in a broken mirror, lines mismatched and edges jagged. Kaveh flits just beyond his grasp, fleeting fae, no longer able to hear him or to reach out to him. Al Haitham can only grit his teeth and follow.

His right foot marches forward. His left follows. His right again. His left suddenly doesn't follow, and Al Haitham is thrown off balance and pitches forward, swinging his arms outward to land on his palms and keep his face off the ground, because he's been in the desert enough times to know what a foot suddenly being stuck can mean.

Quicksand.

Al Haitham curses and swears in just about every language he knows as he tries to spread his weight as evenly as possible, stay afloat at the top of it because if he sinks, he knows he'll be done for, and shit, Kaveh.

His neck cranes uncomfortably in his search, Kaveh had only been a few feet in front of him, he can't be sunk much further, and he's in the desert much more often than Al Haitham anyway, he'll be familiar with what to do-

Kaveh stands in front of him, empty sleeves fluttering loose. Still just out of his grasp, still watching the stars. The quicksand is already up to his calves.

"Say, Al Haitham..." It's the first he's spoken this whole time. His voice resonates somewhere deeply nostalgic in Al Haitham's chest, produces a ripple that momentarily stuns his heart.

Kaveh is sinking.

Al Haitham stretches out on his belly as far as he's able, it's quickly up to his knees, Kaveh isn't even trying to redistribute his weight or pull himself out, it's at his thighs, Al Haitham sucks in a breath and yells for him, his hips, yells louder, his waist, Al Haitham's trembling fingertips can almost reach, his chest, Kaveh drops level with him, quicksand about his neck like a noose.

Kaveh's head tips back, back, impossibly far back, until it hangs, angle awkward, and he's looking right past Al Haitham with his tired smile and gouged, blinded sockets full of starlight.

"Do you believe in karma?"

The quicksand swallows him entirely and Al Haitham dives, shoves his arms deep and pushes off with the one foot he'd had left on safe ground, because he can't, he can't, it's not the same without Kaveh, not anymore, he needs him, no one else keeps him sharp, no one else challenges him like Kaveh, if he can just grab him, if he can just pull him back up-

Al Haitham thrashes, against the sands, against gravity, against the hardwood of his bedroom floor. Clumsily scrubs the back of his hand across his face to rub the grit of quicksand and sleep out of his eyes.

Sometimes he thinks he preferred it when the Akasha was still harvesting his dreams.

He pops his head out from under his weighted blanket and lays where he'd fallen out of bed for a moment, blinking blearily against the lamplight shining from his desk in the corner. Deep breaths. His consciousness shifts along the blurred line of nightmare and reality, crosses over the slow transition into wakeful awareness.

He's home, Kaveh is home. It's dark out. The house is dead silent.

He's just going to go check, he tells himself as he peels himself out of his sweat-soaked shirt and roots around for a replacement. He's already losing memories of his nightmare, the details spilling away from him like wet ink, but he knows he needs to see Kaveh. It'll feel better to do something, anything, than try to go straight back to sleep.

He's quiet when he slips out of his bedroom door, because they both keep late hours but their bedrooms are right next to each other, and Al Haitham will never hear the end of it if he wakes his roommate up.

Lights off, door shut. Nothing conclusive. He moves out to the main room.

Kaveh sits on one of those ridiculous sofas he'd ordered three of for some reason, back to him as he tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. A mostly-empty wine bottle stands tall on the table, next to the cobbled-together remains of an architectural model that's been picked and fussed over for four days straight now.

"Kaveh? What are you doing?"

This earns him an exaggerated startle, but Kaveh doesn't turn to look at him, preoccupied with whatever new sketch or blueprint he probably has in his hands. "Ohhh, nothing," he slurs cheerfully. "Just working. Just thinking."

Kaveh has always been the world's chattiest drinker. Al Haitham waits for the rest of it.

"Say, I think...I think I asked you this years ago, back then, but you never answered me." Al Haitham feels all the blood drain from his face in ominous familiarity, drip cold down the length of his spine. Kaveh sinks into the couch until he can tip his head over the back of it, looking up at him with a tired smile and exhausted eyes.

"Do you believe in karma?"

[which-qsmp-egg-would]

Poll's Origin Story (kind of)

Stardust wanders. That's their whole thing. They are a spirit, or more accurately an... entity? Minor deity? It's a little complicated, but what is important is that they wander, and they wander wherever they want. One day, they ended up in just the right place at the right time.

That little egg that Stardust found ended up being Poll, Of course.

It's a little hard to glean how long Poll was in the Federation labs and why they were made. Like many of the other eggs, Poll doesn't talk about what happened (if they remember at all) and generally pretends like it never happened. As far as they could figure out though, Poll had gone through all the testing and was in storage until the right set of islanders arrived.

Having spent their entire life surrounded by Federation employees, Poll's dragon form was *very* different from what it is today, to say the least.

After spending a little while around Stardust, their form changed to the one we know and love! Although since their papa is a shapeshifter too, their form resembles the dragons their genetics are from instead of their papa.

[medicalunprofessional]

uggGGHHH rendering. doodling… nothing special

[entriprises]

bradley and nat!

+ bob ! (since you also sent that in)

send your character's height and I'll compare it to mine. (site)

[max-does-shitposting]

I love looking at dndads or taz art because it’s just like “aww there’s the lil guy that lives in my head :)”

[mo-ok]

cleaned up some of my gingaman sketches <3 <3 <3

[thebirdandhersong]

we are all trying to reach home and belonging because we were made for something beyond this earth but why does it feel like some people have more access to that feeling right now

[puppyeared]

save me old flipnote studio MVs.......