#magpie-scribbles

[feartoxinjelloshot]

little scamp. ETC

[blackfinchart]

My Tav, the very neutral Wolfchild, and the three companions they travel with most often

Needless to say it’s rare that all four people approve of the same course of action

…Also, that I really like hitting things with sticks (two berserkers, a fighter, and Shadowheart)

[the-owl-tree]

batch 4 of wolfclan characters!

more info on each of them under the cut

Wrenswoop is a haughty and short-tempered tom. Embarrassed by his sibling's neurotic and nervous tendencies, he tries very hard to distance himself from her. He's quick to point out the flaws of others and even quicker to defend himself when his own actions come into question. Thornclaw and aspects of Alderheart inspired his character

Magpiepelt is an intelligent and thoughtful warrior of WolfClan. While not the best hunter, they are brilliant in planning and design, making them the head of camp repairs and building when needed. They have faced scrutiny from their Clanmates as its believed they are half-HawkClan, though their parent never revealed this even after they died. Magpie doesn't really care and is content to do what they do best: building with sticks and hanging out with their mate, Sparrowflight.

Lightningleap is a chill and easy-going tom who's popular both in WolfClan and with other Clans. His laidback demeanor makes him easy to talk to...and much easier to forgive his flaws. The brother of Gullscreech and the son of Harefoot, his family's outspoken resistance to outsiders and code-breaking is hardly new to him. While he doesn't go about parroting his father's words, he isn't very quick to argue against his kin either. Inspiration is Brackenfur.

[antiquecipher]

HEY TUMBLR THE BOOK(S) I DID COVERS FOR ARE AVAILABLE THIS MONTH. THIS IS THE SECOND ONE.

Do you like queer teen heroes that focuses on the hot mess express lead? Flashback to the 90s? Nine Inch Nails references? Supporting small publishers? Check out Girl Vengeance: The Downward Spiral (book two of two)! ... And after finishing this if you want to know what becomes of Vivienne, good news! Most of her story is when she's in her 40s, this is the flashback books explaining how she became the person she is today.

Digital copies available SOON, but dead tree versions also coming eventually!

(adventures were inspired by a Masks ttrpg game we played so I'm tagging with that :D)

[birdbrainsdev]

The Sketch that Starts It All

Most of our game ideas begins life with a simple what if? Others start with just the name. However the idea comes to being, they all lead to a sketch of what the game will look like. This is one of those sketches for our current game. It will then get written up into a game design document, discussed, scribbled over and tested over many prototypes and trials. No matter the type of game, its length or style, they all start with a single sketch.

- Hoopoe-Tui

[majormeilani]

dumb doodle lol

[midnightwind]

need someone to come dust my room because I cannot be assed with all my trinkets and books

[gongedtornado]

KANGA THE TERRIBLE.

(ramblings in tag)

[nairanorica]

Now that everything's arrived, I can finally show them - babie's first stickers and keychains! The keychains turned out a bit darker than I wanted, but that's something to keep in mind for next time, I still like how they look with the super bright eye :D

[doomedclockworkdotmp3]

teef thief

[rdm-y]

Imagine an alien siren that sounds when a UFO is sighted.

[slashmagpie]

I was inspired,

don't mind him

[notablenotions]

Masks of Nobility – Chapter 14

Hans and Henry had gone off on their so-called “hunting trip,” and Jikta, to her mild surprise, found herself in possession of Hans’ seal of office. A gesture of trust—or perhaps, knowing Hans, a gesture of convenience, given his distaste for paperwork. Still, she didn’t mind. His office was warm, well-appointed, and mercifully quiet.

For someone who cloaked himself in bravado and wore the mask of foolish indifference like armor, Hans was... meticulous. She sat at his desk, rifling through the neatly ordered chaos of parchments and records. In the bottom drawer, she found a trove of documents—most completed to an annoyingly high standard.

Tax reforms, social programs, military requisitions—he had done the work, and well. But instead of submitting them, he’d clearly been drip-feeding them into circulation, hoarding the rest like a magpie with trinkets. Judging by the occasional sardonic note in the margins—“Let’s see if Henry notices this time”—he'd likely been hiding them for the sole purpose of irritating Henry, or baiting him into paying attention.

Jikta chuckled softly. “You idiot,” she murmured, amused. “Too clever by half.”

She hoped they weren’t getting into too much trouble. But trouble and Hans Capon walked hand-in-hand like lovers in a tavern alley. Henry, at least, had the good sense to keep him in check—most of the time. She just hoped it was Henry who remembered to pick the belladonna. Hans would return with a single, crushed leaf in his hat and some tall tale about being attacked by wolves. Henry would bring the entire plant, roots and all, carefully wrapped, ready for replanting.

Her gaze drifted to the door. Bartosch would arrive soon. Given the recent… difficulties with Hans and Henry, perhaps it was a blessing that no great scandal had unfolded—yet. Bartosch’s presence might prove stabilizing. He had known Henry before the titles and politics. And more importantly, he understood fear. What war did to a man. Jikta intended to ask him—subtly—about Henry’s condition. She could only do so much with balms and half-remembered remedies. Bartosch had seen the battlefield, and perhaps the aftermath too.

Her thoughts were interrupted by Mags, the longest-serving maid in the house, entering with her midday snack. By her records, Mags had served Hans’ father as a girl, and somehow, against all reason and odds, had remained in service ever since. She moved with the surety of someone who had outlived better men and knew where all the skeletons were buried. Literally and otherwise.

Jikta returned to the pile of tax reforms. Hans’ ideas were radical—beneficial to the common folk, no doubt—but financially unsustainable for House Capon in their current form. He clearly knew this too, judging by the scribbled side notes. “Find way to replace lost revenue without touching wine cellar.” Very noble. Very Hans.

Rolling her eyes, she dipped her pen and began drafting alternatives. There had to be a way to pass these reforms without sending the estate into ruin—or, God forbid, drinking bad wine.

That evening, Mags returned once more, clearing her throat with exaggerated formality.

“Milady,” she intoned, eyes glinting with amusement. “A guest has arrived. I believe it is the not-so-ladylike Bartosch.”

Jikta looked up, a smile tugging at her lips. “About time.”

The next few days were a delight. Having Bartosch back in her orbit was like slipping into a well-worn cloak. They had once been terrors at court—him with his sharp tongue and sharper sword, her with wit that could flay a man’s pride faster than any blade. Now older, only marginally wiser, they found themselves circling the same topics they always had: politics, philosophy, and the general absurdity of noble life.

It turned out Bartosch did know Henry—or at least, knew of him. He asked after him with genuine warmth, a gleam of mischief in his eye that suggested stories best left untold. Jikta made a mental note to keep an ear out.

By day, they labored over Hans’ reforms, poring over figures, drafting proposals, and debating the merits of taxation on imported luxury goods versus levies on landowners. By night, their discussions turned to broader ideas—scientific theory, political thought, and the occasional theological debate that veered dangerously close to heresy. Not that either of them cared.

Jikta had little love for the Church. She had once mused aloud—perhaps too often—why an omnipotent God would need a man-made system of pomp and corruption to uphold his will. Perhaps, she argued, God was no better than the nobles: bloated with pride, desperate for adoration, craving worship of his great deeds. And if pride was the greatest sin, then perhaps God himself had committed it. Bartosch only laughed, called her a blasphemer, and poured more wine.

It was comfortable. Familiar. And together, they managed to shape Hans’ reforms into something presentable—several options, each viable, balancing generosity with pragmatism. Enough to bring real change to the common folk, without threatening House Capon’s coffers—or, more importantly, Hans’ wine reserves.

Jikta leaned back in the chair, satisfied. Let Hans choose the one that suited him best. At least now, the reforms had a fighting chance.

She glanced at Bartosch, raising an eyebrow.

“These should soften the blow when Hans finds out Lady Bartosch is, in fact, Black Bartosch, former mercenary and current terror of polite society.”

Bartosch smirked, raising his cup in salute. “Let’s hope he doesn’t faint.”

Jikta chuckled, dry as dust. “Hans? Never. He���ll turn red, splutter, and ask if it means he has to bow.”

She swirled her wine thoughtfully, eyes distant. “He fears failure, you know. Thinks he’s letting everyone down. That he’s a disgrace.”

Bartosch nodded, surprisingly serious. “Then remind him. He’s not.”

Jikta smiled faintly, eyes glinting with something like affection. “Oh, I will. In my own way.”

And as the fire burned low, she thought—not for the first time—that perhaps, despite everything, they were all doing the best they could.

And sometimes, that was enough.

---

Hans pretending to have not done work enjoying an increasingly tense Henry is my head cannon.

[rottenpumpkin13]

Quick little question... does Sephiroth hoard stuff

( @izunias-meme-hole )

I feel as though he's like a crow as an adult. There are so few things that actually belong to him because of Shinra, so over time he begins to form a habit of creating belongings out of oddities and trinkets (like a magpie), stashing them away in hidden corners of his otherwise immaculate quarters. It's as if these small, strange objects might fill the void of a life that was never truly his own.

• Shiny rocks. Anything smooth or shiny. He tells himself they're "mission souvenirs" but the jar on his desk is starting to look suspiciously full.

• Paper scraps. Angeal's grocery lists, little doodles Zack left behind, Genesis' scribbled notes about loveless, sticky note reminders, anything and everything that remind him of the people he loves.

• Buttons. Lost, mismatched, shiny, dull. He has a box of them. When asked, he claims they're spares for his clothes. They aren't.

• Feathers. Mostly black, but a few white or iridescent ones. They're tucked into books, wedged into his pen jar, and mysteriously appear in his coat pockets.

• Postcards. Scenic views of beaches, forests, and mountains that remind him how life exists beyond Shinra HQ.

• .....sticks, varying in length, thickness, and "practicality." Angeal is unimpressed.

Angeal: I'm concerned for you. You've got more junk than sense at this point, and I'm starting to think you need professional help. You're a hoarder.

Sephiroth: Don't be ridiculous, Angeal. Everything I keep has value, is practical, sentimental, and are reminders of life's impermanence.

*Sephiroth pulls out a box*

Sephiroth: Now, help me sort this box of random items I've stolen around HQ as compensation for my work.

Angeal: Shiva's tits.

[lumilasi]

I'm starting to think Ava is my favorite lady character, which is funny because she started kinda "meh" to me lol

While I was looking for inspo for some other character, I spotted this really cool Japanese fashion dress that I felt Ava would ABSOLUTELY wear (I mean, her dad is technically Japanese (long story why I'm using 'technically' lol, lore/fantasy stuff), so I always felt like her style would have some influence from there), and I had to draw her in one inspired by it.

I really like this lineart style I've been fooling around with. Also gave some extra info about her, such as the whole lore reason for her overtly elaborate hairbun lol. Also the "mum 2" she's referring to is her dad's right hand woman Aimi, who used to babysit Ava a lot when she was small/still tends to check on her for her dad.

[anna-no-emma]

How the batkids go about journaling

Jason: has very neat matching journals (like he always buys teh same red moleskin or whatever when the old one is close to running out) where he writes about events in his life. He either excludes Red Hood stuff or very very vaguely alludes to it in ways only he would understand. He also has a specific favorite type of pen he uses so it's all very uniform. As disciplined about writing as it is possible to be given his Red Hood schedule.

Steph: has a mismatched collection of journals (just notebooks she thought were cute) and mismatched collection of pens she uses. She mostly talks about her friends, school and writes little reminders to herself (replace a part on her scooter, buy a new mascara etc.)

Dick: just has a box full of pictures, receipts, birthday cards, notes from his friends, and ripped newspaper/magazine articles he found interesting. He just collects things with good memories attached to them and puts them in pretty little wooden boxes. So far he has 4-5 boxes that live in the back of his closet and he looks through them whenever he's feeling a little down.

Damian: has art journals. It's all just sketches with the date and an oocasional little note next to it (11/10/24, Drake being an imbecile. 20/09/23, Todd fixing his bike. etc.). He's very specific about the type of sketch book he likes so they all match nicely.

Tim: A certain type of notebook (he likes a certain kind) that's full of indecipherable case notes, scraps of relevant documents/articles/photos and research about his special interests but has the odd 'dairy-style' note in the corner (20/11/24 Steph bought me mango hand cream, very nice. 02/03/24 Bernard listening to Bats of Gotham podcast again, will have to monitor. )

Duke: Ends up with fat little journals with diary entries and pictures/receipts/notes/junk he stuck in it. He uses a code (it isn't very logical) that not even Tim can make sense of to allude to vigilante stuff. He only writes every few weeks but when he does write he likes to catch up on everything so the entries are quite long.

Cass: Likes to magpie bits and pieces from the rest of her family for her journal, doesn't write much, but makes quite disciplined, regular entries using things like pictures Tim takes, notes Dick has left around the manor, doodles Damian has made and forgotten about, cards/notes Duke has given her, quotes/bad poetry Jason has scribbled down on scraps of paper when he's bored or has been using as a bookmark and forgets about.