#“practical but humble”

[fistfuloftarenths]

"Lorroakan, a neutral male human mage, makes his living by enchanting clothes to repel moisture and mildew, a practical but humble pursuit that suggests his mastery of magic is not extensive."

most of D&D is written by people who have no idea how much cloth was worth up until the industrial revolution but like. do they have any idea how much coin you could make with just these spells in a port city.

sails!

i know it says clothes but i'm assuming that's because the author has a limited imagination regarding the importance of textiles so i'm ignoring it because

water and mildew resistant sails

there's sailor's clothing too - they could get paid in scraps of sail to make their own garments from, for instance

once he moved into town and let specialty be known all the merchant consortiums must've formed a disorderly queue on his doorstep complete with punchups and knifings. the savings in maintenance alone. fuck.

no wonder rolan wanted to apprentice under him. him and his family would be finanically set for the rest of their lives.

[mebis-art-dump]

She is so cool

[xxplastic-cubexx]

i would like to draw him more i think..

[nedeii]

[everye]

day 23-24: PRICE OF SALVATION

[tennessoui]

also i passed literally all my midterms with flying colors (basically A+'s if grad school did A+'s) (or gold star stickers if grad school did gold star stickers)

(they should)

and all my midterms were just essays and all my professors who graded my essays said my essays were very well-written and well-structured and had high readability

and im like thank you thank you i've written like a million words of porn for the internet. i know my adjective noun verb placement very well

[keepyourpantsongohan]

Obito still wanting to be the Hokage in his dreams during the war arc is funny for many reasons, but mainly to me because he DID get to be a Kage for years, but in Kiri, and to our knowledge, this is how it went:

Possess Yagura, the Mizukage ✓

Become widely known as the tyrant of Blood Mist Village ✓

Instill a policy of making people kill their comrades if they think they might be captured ✓

Cause most of your most powerful ninja (the Seven Swordsman and the village's jinchuriki, Utakata) to abandon the village, losing both their expertise and your village's weapons ✓

Have Zabuza try to coup d'etat and assassinate you ✓

Get attacked by the direct descendants of the god you will one day resurrect ✓

Have all your village's kekkei genkai users under constant threat of being murdered by their fellow villagers, causing them to go into hiding or be wiped out, and lead your nation to economic and social ruin ✓

Like babygirl HAD an oppportunity lead a village, made it worse and still went "no, I'm qualified for this job" and that's a level of confidence we should all perhaps aspire to

[pillarsalt]

When you grow up with dogs that have owners who treat them with respect and discipline, you learn so much about dog body language. Body language in dogs is the main way they communicate with each other. You learn how they act when they're happy and relaxed vs scared and stressed, and the difference looks like night and day. So it's a curveball to meet people who don't have that knowledge and, for example, immediately go in for a firm pat on top of the head when meeting a new dog and become surprised when the dog doesn't like it. From the dog's perspective, this random they haven't even sniffed yet is quickly coming towards a vulnerable body part from above with no warning. It's the same with small dogs who are "vicious" and nippy, they've had their bodily autonomy violated all their lives because they're small, being picked up and restrained and pushed around, so they've adapted with the only method of self defence they have.

Dogs are CONSTANTLY telling you how they feel through body language (unless they've been beaten/disciplined out of displaying those cues, now that's an unpredictable and dangerous dog,) but most people don't know how to listen. This isn't a criticism of those people, they just don't know the language. Many haven't had the opportunity to learn, and I wonder if there's a way we could give more people that opportunity. I think it would cut down many peoples fear of dogs, I've heard first hand how it causes many a great deal of stress when they encounter dogs in public. Just being able to visually verify that a dog is chilling and no threat to anyone around could be really helpful to those who are scared of dogs.

[skhardwarevers1]

if this post gets like…5000 notes I’ll actually start writing scripts/making storyboards for videos I’ve had ideas about for months

additionally if this gets to 10000 (which I highly doubt it will) I’ll actually work on my abandoned stories, book ideas, and poetry

[shinotail]

lil drawings from the past month from twitter (and also stuff i never posted from a magma askljdlas)

Spoilers for the Suckening finale under the cut!

[tenderjock]

outstanding leadership, extraordinary initiative, & steadfast devotion to duty

Daniel&Jack&Peggy, and medals earned in wartime.

"You ever notice that Thompson doesn't talk about the Navy Cross?"

Peggy froze in the middle of adding milk to her tea. After a moment, she put the bottle down and stirred carefully, thoughts racing. Without turning to Daniel or letting her surprise inflect her voice, she said, "What do you mean?"

Daniel shrugged, a little jerkily. "I don't know. Everything's always bigger and better with him, you know? He'll tell you how much he earns or how long his - ah, you know, he'll brag. But he changes the topic every time it comes up."

She tapped the spoon against the side of her cup. "Perhaps he -" She broke off, struggling for the words that would turn Daniel's attention away from the issue. "Perhaps he simply doesn't like to talk about things that happened over there. We've all been there; it's never anything like the medals or newsreels seem to say it was."

"Yeah, sure," Daniel said. "It just doesn't seem like Thompson to not tell everyone he knows about it."

"You don't talk about your Purple Heart," Peggy pointed out, not ungently. Daniel stiffened.

"That's different."

"It is," Peggy agreed. "It's different for all of us."

A pair of familiar footsteps joined them at the office commissary before Daniel could respond. Peggy glanced back down into her cup and added a generous spoonful of sugar.

"I see my top agents are spending their workday productively," Jack remarked, his smirk a sharp line in his face.

Peggy shot him a rather arch look. "I see Chief Thompson is having an equally productive day," she said. "Have you admitted defeat yet?"

Jack made a face. He'd been fighting, along with Agent Faut and some rather obnoxious pencil-pushers, to balance the New York SSR's budget for the better part of the week. Most of his morning had been spent in a meeting with the senator's aide.

"I got 'em on the ropes," he said. Daniel clears his throat, rather judgementally.

Peggy isn't quite sure who he's been more upset with recently: Jack, for taking the promotion, or her, for not being bothered by it.

His attitude was a bit annoying, to be honest. Frankly, she was never going to receive a Medal of Honor or the position as New York Chief, no matter who advocated for her or what evidence was presented to the U.S. government. Daniel had to know that, too; the man wasn't stupid. And he had to realize that having Jack in charge, where they could keep an eye on him, was better than any alternative.

"We were discussing wartime medals," Peggy said instead of all that. Jack stiffened; Daniel noticed; Peggy rolled her eyes. "I once knew a man who earned an Order of the Bath for strategic actions in battle." She considered the memory. "He had terrible teeth."

"Order of the Bath?" Jack said, disbelieving.

"For conspicuous heroism taking place in a sauna," Daniel said. Both men laughed. Peggy sniffed. They had no respect, these Americans.

"What about Carter?" Jack asked, still laughing.

Peggy blinked at him. "What about me?" she said.

"What kind of awards did Agent Peggy Carter deign to accept?"

"I didn't earn any," Peggy said stiffly. "Women aren't combatants."

That's a bit of an oversimplification, she will admit in the privacy of her own mind. There were a few medals she could have theoretically earned, from the Americans and her own government, had circumstances regarding her service not been so, well, unique.

Some Englishwomen had received medals, but their service had been different than hers - usually as pilots or somesuch, not the covert missions she had in occupied France and Nazi Germany.

She may have qualified from the U.S. Women's Army Corps Service Medal, although it perhaps would have required Colonel Phillips to pull a few strings. Peggy had occupied a strange place in the war: a woman, first of all, and therefore not allowed in combat or eligible to receive medals for heroism under fire. But she had also been a spy, someone who technically didn't exist; and a British operative working for the Americans. Both sides had simply sort of - cut her loose, after victory was obtained and she was no longer useful.

It was only due to Colonel Phillips' recommendation that she had this job in the first place. Peggy pursed her lips, then shook herself out of her thoughts.

Only to find the two men staring at her like they had just been dunked in ice water. It was a bit unsettling. She took a sip of tea.

"Anyway," she said. "I actually do have work to do. Daniel, try to keep in mind what I was saying."

Jack was frowning at her. Daniel was frowning, too, but his gaze flicked to Jack once when she spoke, before he nodded.

"Sure thing," he said, and shifted on his crutch out of her way to let her back to her desk.

: :

Peggy frequently found herself the last person in the office, nowadays, with the possible exceptions being Daniel and Jack. Right now, Daniel's dark head of curls was bent over his desk and Jack's light was still on in his office, although the blinds were drawn.

They've all been working in a companionable silence for the last two hours. Daniel was eating something that smelled hot and spiced at his desk; little noises kept coming from the Chief's office, the sound of a file cabinet being opened or the desk chair being pushed back.

For Peggy's part, she's been combing through reports of gun sales to women matching Dottie's description in the tri-state area. She has found three that warrant a closer look, and was just about to get herself another cup of tea and really settle in when Jack's door opened and he slouched out.

He stopped in front of her desk. She looked up at him and raised an eyebrow. He stared at her for a second, looking troubled.

"Yes?" she ventured, when it became clear he wasn't going to say anything to her.

"Can I talk to you?" he asked, rather abruptly.

Daniel was looking at them now. Peggy drummed her fingernails on her desk, then nodded and followed Jack into his office, where he shut the door behind them.

He then proceeded to stand at his desk, hands braced against the wood, staring blankly. Peggy was honestly starting to get worried, not that she thought letting Jack know that was a good idea.

"Chief Thompson?" she said. She didn't touch his arm, but it was a close thing.

Jack opened his desk drawer and pulled out a box. It looked like a large jewelry box and was made of navy blue leather, with gold detailing. Peggy didn't need to ask what was inside it - even if it hadn't had the name of the medal printed on it in little gold letters, she would have known.

"You should have it," Jack said. His face was grim and set.

"Jack!" Peggy said, shocked.

"You should have it," he insisted. "I don't - it shouldn't be me, anyway. And you deserve it, Peggy. We both know that." Jack glanced at her, then glanced away. "I was going to put it out on my desk but - I couldn't. I can't. You should have it."

Peggy stared at him, feeling like her heart was in her throat. Jack Thompson was a liar, and a fraud, and a self-serving, arrogant pain-in-the-arse to work with, but sometimes he still surprised her.

And, anyway, it would do no one any favors to make this into a bigger deal than it already was. She nodded, and carefully took the box and tucked it under one arm.

"I'll keep it safe," she said quietly. Then, more briskly, "Do you want me to brief you on the progress I've made in the Underwood case?"

"Christ," Jack said, rubbing his eyes. He laughed, a little wetly. "Yeah, that'd be great. Tell me you got something."

They talked for a few minutes. Jack agreed with her that there was meat in the rumor of a bank robbery being planned, although neither of them could fathom why a notorious Communist would want to rob a bank. When Peggy left his office with the Navy Cross in hand, Jack was pouring himself a Scotch, looking exhausted and like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

Daniel looked up as Peggy fastened the clasps of her purse and got her coat. "You leaving?" he asked, and then considered her more closely. "Are you okay, Peggy?"

"Yes," she said. "Just, you know." She looked at Jack's office door and clutched the rectangular shape in her purse tighter. "I need to get home."

"I'll walk you out," Daniel said, still watching her. "I'm just about done here anyway."

Peggy waited while he grabbed his coat, hat, and briefcase. She had to watch her pace a bit when she's walking with Daniel, but the company was usually worth it. Tonight, she was tired and a little shaken and a bit too reflective, and she appreciated the distraction of having to make small talk with Daniel as they walked to the subway station together.

As they were waiting for her train - hers was due in four minutes; Daniel's, in six - Daniel said, apropos of nothing, "I guess I just never expect Thompson to care enough about anything to feel, I don't know." He looked across the platform blankly. "Shame or guilt or, or loss. Or anything."

Peggy looked at him. "I know what you mean," she said.

"You know why he doesn't talk about the Navy Cross." It wasn't a question. Daniel wasn't looking at her.

Peggy tucked her heavy purse tighter to her torso and breathed out slowly. "Yes," she said. Just yes, and nothing else.

Daniel nodded, still staring across the empty platform. "Is it something I should know about?"

She gave that some thought. "It's not something I'm going to tell you," she said finally. "Not without Jack's permission, which I don't think he'd give. But it doesn't change who he is, not really. It might explain some of what he's done, recently." Then, because she wanted to be honest with Daniel: "Although you may not like the explanation."

He dipped his chin to his chest. "Alright," he said, then again, quieter, "Alright."

Her train arrived, and Peggy boarded, wishing Daniel a good night. Peggy observed him through the car's dirty, cracked window, a dark figure braced on his crutch, looking down at the concrete beneath his shoes. Peggy put one hand into her purse, pressing her palm against Jack's medal as she watched him.

As the train pulled away from the platform, Daniel seemed to shake himself and turned toward the opposite tracks, where his train going the other direction was arriving.

[silverview]

[mrsthunderkin]

This was so much harder than I expected it to be.

Those head turn exercises are no joke!

But it really DID help with smoothing out some style issues I've been having.

Maybe I'll do this with other characters 9v9;

[qs-art]

oh whats that?--BOOM its a redraw baby (sorta)

[benveydraws]

hydaelyn sketch for a warm-up ・✧

[abirddogmoment]

i hope i never stop being amazed at the power of latent learning, like wow how cool is it to practice something a little bit, take a long break so it can sink in, and then return and do it beautifully??? amazing phenomenal and so so cool