#rusty the guard

[linlin-artpage]

'Cause he got 'em.

I've been working so much in this one and it was meant to just be a quick thing.

My hardest challenge here (except for the hand, duuuh) was his skin,while I managed to somewhat get it similar to the shows art and coloringstyle (not fully, still struggles with the correct flatnes-2D-ratio), it was the fact that he is supposed to have freckles, alot of them, all over. And painting them just like dots everywhere, doesn't look good, so I stayed with just the textured brush but honestly, the freckles should be more prominent (Think like commander Gren from The DragonPrince, but even more lol.)

[owlyhouse]

old doodles from when i was figuring out how to draw owlhouse & also tryin to figure out how to draw again aksdkgjfh

[hunterrrs]

[wingfooted]

Kuroshitsuji -Public School Arc- OP ➺The Parade of Battlers, 音羽-otoha-

[ournextdoorneighbor]

everybody quiet 🤫

[kraviolis]

more from this au bcus it's all i can think about honestly

[pensbitchbiome]

absolutely not what we’re going to do. i get wanting to defend your trades but throwing geno under the bus when every fucking metric showed he was generating scoring chances at an insanely high rate but his fuck ass linemates weren’t finishing those chances

if geno being not so great affected smith’s performance then what is the explanation for geno playing so well in this final stretch with bunts on his line and smith moved down to the third and still underperforming by a lot?

geno made his mistakes but smith being a bad trade and going cold isn’t on him dont fucking piss me off

[frogsock]

*is listening to the magnus protocol* *hilltop road is mentioned* *immediately pauses the episode and curls into a ball on the floor*

:(

[gerbiloftriumph]

Shiny Gold Coins, a super no stakes gen fic about markets and food and friends and all things soft and wonderful (also on ao3)

~*~

A stack of shiny gold coins—Graham’s first wages as an actual knight of Daventry, what a thought—rattled in his pocket. It was a cheerful jingle that put even more of a spring in his step than he usually had. He should send most of it home, like he’d promised he’d do with his first paycheck. But he figured his family would understand if he didn’t.

Because Daventry was holding its last farmers market of the season.

Daventry’s sheer beauty still caught him off guard, even after a handful of weeks living here and calling it home. The autumn morning practically glittered, hardly a cloud in the endless sky. It promised to get awfully hot later, summer giving one final hurrah before giving way to icy winds, but for right now it was perfect. Birds and squirrels chirped and chattered in the trees around him, and he inhaled deeply, the sweet air full of promises.

Promises of baked goods, specifically. He knew Wente had been prepping for this day for a week, his ovens hardly ever allowed to cool. He could taste sugar on the air as he neared town.

The market was supposed to be held in the town square, but the walled town had its limits, and the market had grown over the years. Booths spilled out of the open gate, lining the front entrance. Tablecloths and tents flapped in the breeze, held in place by a dizzying array of goods of all types. Crafts and foods and art and all kinds of wonderful trinkets magical and mundane.

Daventry townsfolk were freely wandering between the stalls, chatting and laughing, but Graham saw plenty of people he didn’t recognize, too—travelers from all over. People from further afield in Daventry, like Mannerly Stove, sure, but more than that. He saw some Serenian style cloaks, and he was certain that the little sunburned group over there was made of Llewdorians. According to Amaya, the market was a popular destination, and the last one of the season always drew a crowd. She especially liked it since it was one of the few times she was sure to get a customer base that could afford her wares properly.

Speaking of Amaya. Her booth was right in front of her forge. It gave off a metallic tang of oil, almost spicy, and sharp things glinted in the sunlight. At least for half of it. With geometrical precision, her table was divided in half, not one thing allowed to cross into the other half. One side was full of weaponry, and the other side…petunias.

“And they are most lovely,” Amaya said sternly when she saw him looking. Each multicolored bouquet was beautifully arranged, and not a single petal so much as shivered over the invisible line dividing her table between weapons and flowers. Not just petunias. Roses and sunflowers and all kinds of other flowers he didn’t recognize.

“From your garden?” he asked.

“I always grow a section for this. Besides, the first frost’ll be here before we know it. Better to send them off to a good home before that.”

“They grow up so fast,” Graham joked.

She chucked an acorn at him.

“How much?” he asked, ducking and laughing.

“One shiny gold coin, of course.”

Flowers would definitely make his little knight-assigned tower room look great and smell nice, and he could press and dry them after to make the winter feel brighter. He hadn’t done much to decorate yet—the pumpkin lantern was on the bedside table, and he’d pinned up his favorite rumpled map of Daventry. The map was worn soft as Triumph’s belly from repeated wear and tear, folding and unfolding, tracing his fingers along the paths he’d meant to walk, someday. He still couldn’t quite believe he’d made it, that the landscape outside his window was the same as what was printed on his paper. He’d also pinned up a little picture, an entrance form. Not his entrance form. Someone else’s. Something small, and special, and important.

He flipped a coin at Amaya, which she deftly caught, and she let him choose his favorite pot. He went for something with a ton of purple, his smile a little sadder than before as he made his selection. His fingers traced the delicate petals, and he inhaled deeply. But it wasn’t just flowers he could smell—Wente’s booth was just over there, and Graham knew where he was headed next. He held the pot in the crook of his elbow and happily wandered over, boots ringing against cobblestones.

It was a good thing his cloak had lots of pockets, he thought, as he studied trays upon trays of every baked treat he could think of, and plenty more he couldn’t. Pies, of course, and tarts, and cupcakes, and loaves of bread still steaming in the sunlight. Studded with nuts, cheese, chocolate chips, berries, and more wild things like starberries and sugarshrooms and—

“Graham!” Wente eased himself around the edge of the stall, going for a hug. “I’m so glad you could make it!”

“Wouldn’t miss it! Is that strudel? I didn’t get to try it at the tournament.”

“Heard Princess Madeline had a sweet tooth.”

“And a good sense of vengeance for Acorn’s sake.”

“Did you know he’s here? He got a booth after all! He’s just over there!”

“Oh! That’s really good! I wasn’t sure if he would, he’d been so nervous about going for it.” Graham waved, but Acorn didn’t notice him over the crowd. He’d have to go over to say hi properly.

“Wish he hadn’t,” Chester interrupted. He’d been standing at the corner of Wente’s table, with a perfectly innocent look on his face that didn’t match the crumbs all over his tunic. “He’s doing folk art, the lowest craft you can imagine.”

“Now, Chester, you know a good piece of art can feel like a warm hug for your eyes!” Wente said. “And that’ll be a gold coin for all those muffins, thanks.”

“I can craft you a better potion that’ll actually hug your eyes,” Chester grumbled, passing over a grubby coin and shaking crumbs into the cobblestones. “None of this knitwear, how embarrassing. Come to our booth, boy, and we’ll show you some properly interesting art. Of the magical kind.”

First, Graham loaded his pockets with all kinds of treats and snacks. Wente handed over a couple soft loaves of bread that smelled of rosemary and lavender, chocolate chip cupcakes, and other berry-filled treats, asking for just a single gold coin in return. Then, with a wink, he tossed in a free walnut strudel. “Enjoy the rest of the market,” he said brightly.

“Graham!” Muriel chirped, waving him over to her stand next door. “Or, is it Sir Graham, now?”

“Yep!” Graham beamed.

“I can hardly believe it,” she said. “Seems like that tournament was only yesterday. How’s castle life treating you?”

“Really great, I’ve got my own room, and Royal Guard Number One’s been teaching me the marches, and I’ve been practicing my archery. King Edward said something about my first quest soon, I think he wants to send me up to the Cliffs of Insanity—I guess we need iocane powder for something, from the flowers there?”

“Oh, that’s for us!” Muriel said. “Some rare and miraculous ingredients are too hard for even that Merchant to get his hands on. You’ve got to send knights off on those quests sometimes.”

“What’s it for?”

“I can’t recall. Some order. I’ll have to double check what it’s supposed to make. You be careful handling those flowers, though, they can make you sick if you touch them with your bare skin.”

“I shall be cautious in all my flower picking,” he said, with a sharp salute.

“But before all that, anything you’re looking for in the market?” she asked. She spread her hands wide, showing off the table in front of her. It was littered with tiny little bottles full of interesting things, glittery potions and funny trinkets. Some glass marbles moved under their own power, spinning gently, with what looked like galaxies held in their centers. She had spell books arranged in a teetering pile, and feathers pinned under glass, and rings and necklaces that glowed even in the sunlight.

“Just looking,” Graham said. And then something caught his eye. “Oooh, what’s that?”

A little brooch sat on the table, half buried behind all the other bits and baubles and things. It was the little red gems that had caught his attention, rubies flashing in the sunlight.

“It’s a cloak pin,” she said. “You like it? It’s the same type I use for my shawl.”

“I kinda do, yeah.” He couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from it. It didn’t feel magical, exactly, but he was drawn to it, nevertheless.

“Lean over here, boy, let me pin it on.” She gestured him forward, and he leaned close. She smelled like magic and mint, and she gently gathered up some of his cloak fabric and slipped the little brooch in place. “Now, stand back, let’s get a good look at you.” He posed for her, and she laughed. “Like it was meant to be yours!”

“How much?” He fingered it, the soft rubies almost warm against his touch.

“Oh, it looks so grand on you. It doesn’t have any magic, it’s only a little thing I made a while ago. Ages ago, now I think of it. Waiting for the right person. I think I’d be honored if you wore it, Sir Graham.”

“Plus, it’s free shop advertising for us,” Chester said.

Graham insisted on a shiny gold coin, and the Hobblepots agreed, though Muriel pushed a couple tiny vials of starlight into his hands too, for the coin. “To light your path, if it gets too dark on your quest,” she said, smiling fondly at him. “It really does look like it was made for you, you know.”

“Thank you, truly.” He’d been thinking about what he wanted his knight’s uniform to look like—knights could pick what they wanted in Daventry, and he had that minor in Creative Costuming from Knight School. He thought he could work this brooch into something great. He almost couldn’t wait to get back to the castle so he could sketch out a couple ideas, but there was still more to see here.

Acorn’s booth was next. Graham remembered how nervous Acorn had been, fussing back and forth about submitting his application to be added to the roster, and apparently he’d built up enough courage—and knitted enough stuff—to make it in. At least, partly. His nerves and time must have gotten the better of him, because he hadn’t managed to fill a whole table by himself. His booth was neatly divided in half, like Amaya’s. One half was covered in soft blankets, scarves, socks, in a huge array of colors and yarns.

The other half was Whisper.

Huge copies of Whisper’s application form, sketched to silly sizes, while the true Whisper posed in front of them and offered autographs to everyone passing by, if they looked at his posters or not. He also had a little array of pots on the table in front of him, with drawings of Whisper on them. “Whisper’s deLUX hair ointment,” they read, in beautiful looping signatures.

Royal Guard Number One was standing nearby, leaning in to whisper to Whisper. He had one of the hair ointment bottles in his gauntleted hands, rotating it almost nervously. Graham couldn’t help but lean in to listen:

“And you’re certain this works on mustaches without a problem?”

“It’ll make your face hair as silky smooth as Whisper’s top hair!”

“Yes, but, you see, the last mustache shampoo I bought from the Hobblepots turned it pink. It never washed out. I had to start over. You understand why I cannot repeat that tragedy. You swear that won’t happen with this?”

“It’s animal tested!” Whisper said brightly, pointing to a little animal drawing on the side of the label.

“What does that mean, exactly?”

“Whisper snuck into the royal stables and washed Graham’s gerbil with it, and Graham’s gerbil did not turn pink. It did get lovely and extra fluffy, though. Mane for days. Almost as good as Whisper’s!”

Graham nodded thoughtfully. So that’s why Triumph had been so soft last week. He’d thought it was just good castle feed. He’d have to pick up a jar of that stuff for his best buddy; Triumph deserved everything after all the hard work he’d done getting them from Llewdor to here. And…yes, the tiny animal drawing was of Triumph, not of a bunny as he’d first thought. Another shiny gold coin gone: his pockets were starting to get a bit light.

“Hey, Acorn!” he said, waving.

“Graham!” Acorn looked up from the pile of scarves he was meticulously rearranging. “Hey buddy, how’s the festival?”

“Really good so far, I’ve found some really great things. How’s business?”

“Oh, y’know, surprisingly good. I didn’t think Daventry had good taste, after that sock thing in the tournament, but everyone really loves them. Aside from the pairs the castle bought, a ton of people here want them, too!”

“That’s because they’re like walking on clouds,” Graham said, repeating something Number One had said a couple weeks ago. Nearby, Number One glanced up, then turned back to his whispered conversation about hair products. “How long did all this take you?” He ran a hand along one of the blankets, the deep blue so eye catching in the sunlight. It was ridiculously soft, and he could tell it would be wonderfully warm in winter.

“Oh, not too long. I listened to my stories while knitting.”

“Stories?”

“Squirrel chatter. Good as any gossip you get from guards. Princess Madeline has seen some things, if you know what I mean.”

“I think I do…but I don’t think I want to ask.”

“Well, I want to thank you for pushing me to apply for this,” Acorn said. “I wasn’t gonna, you know. But I thought, well, with the rebranding, now’s probably a great time to really show off my stuff. Get a foothold in the town, you know.”

“So, you’re staying in Daventry?”

“Yeah. I only applied for the tournament for my parents, remember? Since that fell through, I’ve got all the time in the world, and I like it here. I think I wanna settle.”

Of all the places to end up, Daventry felt like a pretty good spot. Graham had certainly been more than happy enough with his choice so far.

Graham realized he was still touching the blanket, dragging his hand back and forth across it. It reminded him of Triumph’s fur. He thought about winter, about his little tower room that overlooked the lavender fields, and he thought about how in a few months’ time the fields would be laden with snow. “Hey, Acorn, how much for this one?”

“That’s a good one! Love the color; it’s almost the same as my cloak. Turned out super great. For that one, one shiny gold coin should do it.”

“You got it, big guy.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Acorn said, rolling his eyes and catching Graham’s coin out of the air. “You got anything else you’re after today?”

“Not really. I’ll probably just wander around now, there’s all the little offshoot alleys. You could spend half the day here.” And he intended to do just that.

He could see vegetables, brightly colored fruit, bundles of lavender, and jars full of sweet golden honey. His coin purse was light, but his pockets had a comforting weight to them now instead, his hard-earned wages in the hands of his friends. The morning’s golden light glittered. The warming air smelled strongly of lavender, sugar, bread, and, just beneath it, that crisp autumn scent of Daventry itself. There were a couple bards wandering around now, too, strumming and singing. Someone selling sparkling apple cider was calling. All told, it was a perfect start to the day.

He fingered the brooch on his cloak again, this little piece of his new life pinned to his old life. He checked his pockets, to make sure none of the pies were getting smooshed or the bottle of shampoo was leaking or his beautiful purple flowers were wilting. He set off for another booth piled high with tapestries and books and maps, and another one filled with the last fruit of the season, and another filled with lavender products freshly made from Daventry’s fields. Ready to see everything this town had to offer him, all the things they had made and grown and built and loved. Just for him.

He could get used to living in a place like this.

[rolling-harbinger]

Something really useful that could happen from Belos possessing Hunter is Hunter getting Belos’ memories.

I even have some evidence that may prove this. When Belos is possessing Hunter and is talking to Luz, he sees an opportunity when the rest of the group shows up. He makes a smug look and reveals to the group that Luz helped him. How could he possibly know to do that. How could he know that the others didn’t know, how could he know that Luz didn’t want them to know. The only one who knew all that was Hunter. Yeah, it could’ve just been Belos being full of himself, but I feel like his actions normally have a reason. And since he seems to know something that only Hunter should know, there’s a possibility that Belos got Hunters memories, and so that could mean Hunter got Belos’ memories as well. (It makes sense considering they shared a mind)

Now why would it be useful? Well Belos knows the most about The Collector and how they work. Belos is also the only one who knows what magic is keeping himself alive and making him invulnerable to attacks. But if Hunter got Belos’ memories, he could then find out more information about the collector and how to approach them, and he could find out how they can defeat Belos for good. He can even find out more about the full backstory of the whittebane brothers. This will then make Hunters possession meaningful and important to the main story. To make it a key reason into defeating The Collector and Belos that would make the possession very necessary, and even thematically appropriate for the story. Belos’ own actions yet again lead him to his downfall. Everything that happens in a story needs to have a reason, and this could be a possible reason for the possession.

But hey this is just a little theory of mine that most likely isn’t even true whatsoever.

[transmechanicus]

Warhammer minis are unironically one of the worst mini ranges to use for Turnip28 bc they're expensive as hell, uniquely scaled, covered in universe specific icons and details, all of which combine to make the experience of kitbashing them in a purposefully haphazard way an absolutely agonizing experience.

[transingthoseformers]

I thought you shoukd know that i saw 1 singular panel of the bayverse comics of Starscream trying (failing) to protect a bunch of hatchlings and immediately decided hm yes I am going to need to read these comics for the decepticons looking after their swarm of children content

That is hilarious especially since I've had that exact thought process before with tf media

The bayverse comics are 100% on the list and the hatchlings fascinate me beyond belief

[lenreli]

Recently got a PS5, so time to platinum Lies of P again! :D

And just tonight, defeated Laxasia!

[mccnstricken]

starter for @luminexhotaru

Busy as always, Thoma hardly feels like there's much room for a break in his schedule these days. If not as if he doesn't mind, but it becomes much more noticeable as the days get more bustling during the more fuller months. If it's not housework at the estate, it's running about Narukami Island for a variety of reasons. Festivities at Ritou, errands in the main city, and other tasks of the similar sort. Leave it to Thoma to get it done by the end of the day and still have time to spend with the Estate's lord and lady, whether it be preparing a warm dinner or being whisked away to hot pot.

Thus when he does have spare time between tasks, he uses it to quietly take time for himself.

Crouched beneath a tree near the shore sits the retainer, in the process of breaking half of an onigiri to a nearby stray. There's a warm, tired gaze in his eyes as he greets it, smiling gently as it takes the food gingerly from his hand.

”There you are, buddy… You must've been real hungry, huh?“

[hezekiahwakely]

I just want to point out that the Medium article about Rusty Quill's alleged mismanagement, bad communication, shitty contracts, etc. was written by the marketing director of a competing fiction podcast network, Fable and Folly. I could certainly see a bit of an incentive existing here to detract from Rusty Quill's image and turn business away to other companies (them).

I don't have a way of saying whether the allegations are true or not, I'm not confident in supporting one side or the other atm and I hate this whole situation because it involves the creators of something I love. But I also don't know whether the article was written in earnest good faith. This is an aspect to consider when weighing the whole situation.

[charlieslowartsies]

Summary: Max is 98% he shouldn’t able to get sick, considering the whole being dead thing. The problem is, no one bothered to inform his body that, and a flu descends. It also teaches him an important lesson…that he and Scraptrap are no longer alone in the world. Takes place about two months after Last Shift. Sickfic.