#ART SCRAPS DAMMIT

[cyclopssun]

how to get out of art block?? 😟

[delineate-creates]

Tried drawing Miguel today. Feeling very normal about him. Not delusional at all in fact! And he isn’t my lock screen and I don’t have a fic of him tucked away for later on my browser either. So really there’s no need to ask 😀

[zunckerz]

possessed, evil, malicious and effed up hattie and dipper….and mabel and bow :3

sorry for not being too active, haven’t been doing well mental health wise these past few months. and my anxiety often flares up quite badly when I’m on here, but luckily I’m finally getting the help I’ve needed for years. I’ll try my best to post more, no promises though ^^;… instagram’s shitty AI scrapping policy might make me post more art on here, but we’ll see! I’m planning on posting more AHiT doodles and such that I’ve been holding off on doing because I felt embarrassed to but dammit I love those goobers and wanna share em! thanks for everyone who’s still stuck around and supported me and my content, it really means a lot 💙💙💙

[baileythebean]

OPEN RP :3 (LONG-ASS INTRO, HEAVY BAILEY ANGST, TW: MENTIONS OF MURDER, BLOOD, THROWING UP, SUICIDE, EXTREMELY SAD BAILEY - I’D ALSO LIKE PEBBLE @the-sugar-demonboy TO BE IN THIS ONE IF POSSIBLE, THANKS )

*Bailey had an exact agenda in mind. Scam some lootbag into buying “modern art” at an insane price and then dash. He succeeded, obviously. He’s Bailey. What do you take him for?* *The problem came when he ran into a group of scraps in the alleys who he didn’t know. They were somehow aware of the formation of the sort of alliance that his friends had with Stone, Vinnie and Skipp. After further discussion, it became clear to Bailey that this was a threatening attempt.* “So, what’s it gonna be? You can give us that cash ya got there… or we can turn your little gang against you. How’s that sound?” *The G word alone was enough to make Bailey tense up, but he knew better than to give them a reaction.* ”and how exactly, are you going to accomplish that? You seem like the type of dumb fucks that like to get under people’s skin and never get anything done.” *The same one that had spoken up earlier went on:* “Oh we could uh… I don’t know… inform them of some… plotting you’ve been doing with them pretty weapons of yours. They’re not gon’ feel so safe ‘round you once you’ve been outed as an attempted murderer.” ”But I never-“ ”Oh, we know. That’ll be the fun part.” *He smirked as Bailey’s eyes widened. He was suppressing everything as best as he could, but everything kept coming back up. Like his brain was vomiting up something he was desperately trying to keep down.*

“…Leave me the hell alone.” *He shoved his way past, and hard. He needed to get out of here right now before everything came out.* ”Fine! You seem like the type that’d shoot all of ‘em up anyway if they got on your nerves enough!” (Dammit… I need to get away… fuck, fuck, fuck…) *His mind was clouded and his vision blurred as his eyes welled up with tears. He sprinted away from there as fast as he possibly could. He wouldn’t have been bothered by that petty comment but… he knew all too well what it was like to lose someone to your own two hands. He couldn’t help but imagine Sora, Finn, Jasper, Stone, Vinnie, Skipp - Hell, even Flynn as motionless bodies scattered on the floor. He needed to get it out of his brain. He finally found a quiet, empty ditch in an alley.* (fucking disgusting…) *he thought as he slumped against the wall and he finally let his tears spill down his face.* (I’d never- Yes you would.) *his own thoughts cut him off.* (You’ve done it before.) *the last thing he thought before everything came rushing back to him. The images were too vivid. Like he was seeing them in front of him right now. Brain vomit turned into physical vomit and after a few rounds of violent throwing up, he now had dry heaves. Drenching a tissue in water and wiping his face off, he started to forget how to breathe, how to neutralize his feelings. Why did it have to be like this today? He could normally get over this with a few minutes of mourning everyone… but this? He’d only felt this a few other times. He started to scratch at his shoulders as he hugged his knees to his chest and cried.* (What if I joined them…? Met the same fate myself by the same hands…???) (mod: WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT AM I ON TODAY?? I’M SORRY TO ANYONE WHO LOVES BAILEY AND DOESN’T LIKE SEEING HIM DEVASTATED.)

[nthngtoseehere-blog]

THE PLOT THICKENS.

Spoilers for episode 6 of The Sign ahead.

I love how this show is playing out. Things that stood out:

So Tharn HAS told Phaya about his visions? I would have liked to see that conversation.

Oh no, is Tharn now telling people about Phaya's dreams? Or are they common knowledge among the friend group after Yai found out?

Also, Tharn has a dead ex, ouch. Between that and his parents, no wonder he feels cursed.

The Khem/Thongthai back story killed me. Khem is such a dumbass, and the fact that Thongthai is apparently into that actually makes me like him more. Thongthai: angel in the streets, freak in the sheets ("freak" in this case meaning hot for a big sexy blockhead).

So probably Dao is not going to be a bad guy? Which yay because Dao & Nee would be SO CUTE together.

I love the sibling relationships in this show (Yai might not be Tharn's bio brother, but they're obviously brothers in all the ways that matter).

So are Phaya and Nee orphans too? They live with their grandmother, but their parents aren't mentioned at all. Dao too, actually - she only mentions an aunt.

Oh holy shit the past life vision that Phaya had!!! Aaaaaaagh I need MORE of that! MOAR. Seriously, I cannot wait to see more, it's so! Just! Gah! Want!

Wi the art dealer is clearly dealing with some shit, professionally, and I'm going to put my vote in right now that it will tie into a case coming soon.

OH WOW there's a picture of Chalothorn in the old mythology history book??? Will Phaya and Tharn be in it too?? Wansarat??

Ok, I do NOT blame Tharn for punching Phaya. Phaya is acting unhinged, and Tharn doesn't know why. Yikes.

I LOVE Chalothorn using magic to lock Tharn in the car. And! OMG this:

I'm SCREAMING! Dammit, I love me a creepy evil magical scene-chewing villain.

And now we're getting back to the Lt. Tam case, woo! Which ties into the previous murder-of-rapists case. And! POSSIBLY! Into Tharn's parents' case???

I'm starting to feel like Inspector Akk has an agenda, and he's brought these guys in to further it. I'm getting "good cop frustrated by a corrupt system" vibes here.

Oh boy Tharn having more visions of crime things!

The show is half over, and so far it hasn't wasted any of its episodes. I feel like the pacing is perfect. Obviously it could go off the rails at any point, but there are so many things going on with the crime element, the reincarnation/mythology element, and the romance, that we've needed all six episodes to give the stories time to develop and weave together.

Even if it does fall apart, I gotta admit that I'm having so much fun watching this show that it's possible I might not care if it imploded.

I love all of these characters. I love that this show isn't just a romance, that the characters are adults with serious jobs, that their jobs are not only exciting but also a big part of their stories and characters. I love the scraps of the past lives we've gotten so far.

[tumorhead]

RIP Piper the Cat, 2006-2024

Life details below

This is the first cat that I've been the one to care for that has died, and the first cat in general I'd been around for the death of. She died simply from old age, so she wasn't in distress at the end, just getting sleepy and slow. She had been quickly deteriorating for several days and had stopped eating (I have been crying SOOO much) and we finally called the mobile vet so she could be put to sleep, and she went peacefully at home in my arms. These last few days she got to enjoy lots of outside time in the summer sun lying in the cool grass- all off her leash too since her mobility was so reduced. She got to be around a bunch of our friends all weekend too- she loved to be near everyone.

We got her 10 years ago when we had a "friend" move in - he had been neglecting her badly (I was SO PISSED at him!!) so when he left we kept her. She was underweight and had permanent nerve damage in her ears from untreated ear mites, as well as kidney issues. I was able to fatten her up and get her into good health. But in the last few years she's been properly elderly (she got thin, started losing her ability to jump) and we knew her time would be soon.

She had the smarts and the stealth of a high level rogue. Her black color made her impossible to see in the dark, and she knew when to wait patiently for an opportunity (to escape or steal food). Often though this just meant she got stepped on (dammit Piper!!). She escaped 2 times right when her previous owner left, a few days each time. She found her way back 🙌 Recently she got out for a few hours and I only found out when I heard her meowing from OUTSIDE. babygirl you coulda gotten hurt 😭

She loved boxes and would get into empty ones immediately. When she was younger she was a renowned shoulder cat. She used to be able to jump from the floor to my husband's shoulders (a good 6 feet). She'd try to get on your shoulders any chance she got, like if you bent over. As she aged she slowly lost her jumping ability which was so sad to see, we got her some step stools and were helping her up a lot.

Our other cats, half her age, had differing opinions- Mo the boy would be sweet on her and play with her very gently (he's huge and muscular and she was always small and frail but he knew to not wrestle her). Piper would chase him around in return. (in March we were building Ikea furniture and Piper got so hyped at the fun boxes that she BODYSLAMMED Mo it was so funny). Mo is gonna be sad about Piper being gone.

Sweatpants, Mo's sister, HATED Piper. She took 5 years to tolerate being anywhere close to her, lots of hissing and smacking. Rude at the old lady!! At the end though she left Piper alone at least.

Piper was the only cat I've ever had that LOVED being held especially in the winter. One time I strained my shoulders because I held her for 2 hours. She would beg to be picked up. She would get in your lap and would even lay on my husband's arms while he was actively using his computer. She didn't care that you needed your arms to do stuff.

She liked to sleep in a box on my desk while I worked. I crocheted her a little wool blanket for her box with my scrap blanket yarn (pictured above). She is now buried in it 💔. She liked to look at art (????).

She was very social and loved to hang out with everyone. She would yowl and bring toys trying to get us to come out of hiding if she thought people were gone. Usually we were just SLEEPING though, lol she was soooo loud.

She was almost entirely fearless. Barring street traffic and going to weird places she gave 0 fucks. She used to be an indoor/outdoor cat so she got bored stuck inside our house. In her search for new stimuli she would get into the middle of EVERYTHING you were doing. Doesn't matter if you were actively using power tools or moving heavy furniture - she would get in the way. She didn't even mind the vacuum! When my other cats ran away in fear of sounds or whatever she wouldn't budge. Couldn't be bothered.

A few years ago I got her trained on a harness and leash to let her get outside again. She begrudged the harness but took to it immediately anyway and loved it. She would CONSTANTLY beg to go outside. She begrudged the boundaries (no you can't go in the woodchuck hole, no you can't stick your nose in the cactus, no its below freezing outside today) but she loved chasing chipmunks and eating grass (was very fond of the prairie dropseed in particular). I am so happy that she departed during warm weather- I was worried she'd go in winter and not get to enjoy one last springtime.

She would only eat ONE kind of dry cat food even though wet food was always also available. We eventually found out she loves milkfat and grease so she got lots of treats of butter & cheese & hamburger & bacon. Because she was so thin these the last few years it helped keep weight on her. she CAN haz cheezburger! This made her even more annoying about getting into people food lol.

In November our friend moved in with us because she was dealing with a nasty divorce and got kicked out of her condo. She moved into our spare room, which was Piper's little exclusive territory. Luckily my friend likes cats and accepted her "roommate". She immediately doated on her soooo much. She got Piper special healthy treats and they became best friends- Piper even put on some weight from the treats! (We found the "too many treats" limit at one point lol). I'm so glad Piper got even more attention in her last few months. (When my friend paid attention to the other cats she felt like she was "cheating on Piper"). My friend saw a lot of herself in the cat. She has helped me a ton in dealing with Piper's last days and I appreciate it so much. My friend even said she wished she'd moved in sooner to have gotten more time with the cat.

Piper was disgusting, she puked up grass often, she was LOUD (she'd meow for things and if she didn't think you heard her she'd look you in the eye and yell louder), she'd find things to rattle (food dish, door) to demand food. She would escape into the basement (not allowed!) and get into the crawlspace and come back covered in spiderwebs. She'd yowl sooooo much at night, the most annoying. She'd get into food left out. She was an obnoxious little gremlin !!! and we loved her anyway.

I knew when we took her in that she'd be the one to teach me about death, as I am an unexperienced idiot when it comes to that. Putting her in the ground felt so weird and hurt so much, but now I know about that sort of thing. I am thankful for that, and that I got to take care of her and give her a spoiled, pampered, comfortable life. I am thankful that I was able to see her go peacefully, and that she trusted us with her final days.

I have buried her in our yard in one of my perennial flower beds, under the big beech tree. She will live on with us through the garden, becoming flowers and trees, which I think is the best kind of afterlife. That way it feels like she's still with us. I am glad she has impacted several other people and we are all crying about her. Thank you Piper for coming into my life. Everyone loved you so much. Rest in peace old lady. I love you.

[doobnnoob-tf2]

Hello! Hope you're doing good, which of the mercs do you think would be most likely to write poems for people? Just for fun. I think Heavy might be a good candidate but I'm not sure his leanings are in poetry. B)

Scout: he says he's an expert at it, and then he'll show up with some sort of "Roses are Red, Violets are Blue" kinda poem that sounds like it was a child's attempt at it. it's.. endearing at least

Soldier: he'd try his best. it won't be good, it probably won't rhyme in the slightest and will be filled with rather strange lines comparing a person to the pile of corpses he himself created on the battlefield. but dammit, he tried

Pyro: not a chance. but they'll draw pictures all day long!

Demoman: he is mostly likely the best on the base with writing poems. and he will make a show out of reading it to the person its for

Heavy: he can, but only in Russian. if someone is expecting a poem in any other language, especially English, then he's not the right guy. he'll happily translate for them, and they'll just have to take his word on it

Engineer: he's not one for writing if he's honest. he may love a good book, but him trying to write something? you might as well forget it

Medic: he would be if he actually put aside the time to try. he just finds it frustrating and then gets discouraged and scraps everything and doesn't try again. the words are there for him, he just isn't good at conveying them

Sniper: he couldn't write a poem if his life depended on it, and he's not afraid to admit that either. it was never an art form that interested him

Spy: he can and it'd be the most romantic thing a person had ever read. he just admittedly doesn't enjoy it. he actually doesn't enjoy writing his feelings in any form and prefers to show rather than tell

[bigmouthlass]

Title:  We're Counting On You, Lord

Series: Supernatural B-Sides

Author:  BJ

Fandom:  Supernatural

Rating:  Teen

Synopsis: In my headcanon Baby's a bit more tempermental than she is on-camera, and breakdowns happen often enough Sam has a routine down when it comes to busting Dean's balls over it.

Tags:  Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester, Jody Mills, Baby the Impala, Baby is a brat, Sam is a brat, Dean is a brat, songfic

AN:  Song is "Mercedes Benz," written by Janis Joplin, Michael McClure, and Bob Neuworth, performed by Joplin on the album 'Pearl.' All recognizable intellectual properties are owned by their respective creators and holders of any copyrights or trademarks. This is a not-for-profit work of fan art and protected by Fair Use.

---

If asked, Dean Winchester will call his car the perfect hunter's car.  Sure she drinks gas like water and doesn't do off-road, like, at all, and don't even ask about parking.  But the pros -- bench seats for emergency sleeping, trunk big enough for a small apartment's worth of gear, all sorts of nooks and crannies for hiding spare cash and ammo, surprisingly inconspicuous for her size and age, able to cruise at 70 for days -- far outweigh the cons as far as he's concerned.  Power, beauty, and able to bounce back from everything the job can possibly throw at them.  They're a matched set, Dean will tell you.

If asked, Sam Winchester will point out that the car sticks out like a bobcat at a dog show, the air conditioning barely works no matter how much Dean screws around with it, its zero-to-sixty can be measured in days, it eats brake pads like they're potato chips, and why in the hell hasn't Dean upgraded the suspension because he swears he can feel the car crying whenever it hits a pothole.  And with the amount of time they spend taking secondary highways, that's a lot of crying.

Most of his gripes get shot down with an annoyed glower and, "One word-- legroom."  And Sam will admit, Dean's got him there.  Getting stuck in Brady's Alfa Romeo Spyder had not exactly been the high point of his freshman year.

Questions about reliability will produce similarly opposed responses.  Dean will swear on any holy book you hand to him that Baby's a perfect lady, never breaks down, never strands him in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night.  Sam will make sure he's safely out of earshot and swear the damn thing's never completed a journey without going bang, ever, not once in the thirty-odd years he's been riding in it.

The truth of course is somewhere in the middle.  Dean's been working on Baby since he was old enough to hold a flashlight steady and he's brought her back from scrap and spare parts more than once.  But the flat fact of the matter is, the car's a blue-collar broad of a certain age who's lived hard.  She has . . . quirks.

---

bang!

"What--"

cough

"Aw shit--"

"Mmm?"

"Don't-- c'mon Baby, just for me, be sweet to me--"

sick revving noises

"God dammit."

"I think the car just gave you the finger."

"Don't listen to him sweetheart, he's just being a bitch as usual."

bang! car lurches hard enough to throw driver and passanger out of their seats

"Definitely telling you to go fuck yourself."

"Shut up."

crunch of shoulder gravel, engine stops

"Well . . . at least it's not dark this time.  Or raining.  Or sleeting, Or--"

creak of door hinges, pop of hood latch

"Sam, shut up."

"No, you know what?  You're right.  I will shut up."

pop of trunk lock, clink of tools

"Because--"

dramatic clearing of throat

"Oh no you fucking don't."

humming for a note

"Start that shit and--"

voice rises in pitch

"'Like to do a song--'"

"Shave your head in your sleep--"

"'--of great social--'"

"Break every bone in your body--"

"'--and political import.'"

"Tie you to a bed naked and call that Becky chick--"

"'Goes like this.'"

thunking of a hand on a car's side panel

"Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a Mercedes-Benz?  Mah friends all drive Porsches, I must make a-mends."

"I will fucking end you Sammy, I swear to God."

"Don't call me that-- I work haaaard all my life time, no help from my friends."

"Sammy-Sammy-Sammykins--"

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a Mercedes-Benz?  Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a color TV?"

"Sammycutiewootiepieface--"

"Dialin' for Dollars is tryin' to find meeee.  I wait for dee-livery, each day until three."

dark muttering about home perms and dye it all bright fucking pink I swear to God

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a color TV?  Oh Lord! won't'cha buy me, a night on the town?"

soft whine of ultimate suffering

"I'm countin' on you Lord, please don't let me down.  Prooooove that'cha love me, and buy the next round."

"Make mine a double."

"So Lord! won't'cha buy me a night on the town?  Everybody! oh Lord! won't'cha buy me a Mercedes-Benz?  Mah friend all drive Porsches, I must make a-mends.  I worked haaaard all my life time, no help from my friends.  So Lord! won't'cha buy me, a Mer-Cey-Deez-Benz?"

silence

"Are you finished?"

a decidedly fiendish chuckle

"Just getting warmed up.  My car is a . . . "

sounds of two grown men trying to seriously throttle each other by the side of the road

---

"So, you boys wanna run that by me again?"

Sam and Dean glared while the Sheriff of Minnehaha County tried not to laugh.  She made a mental note to show Donna the video later.  The best part had to be the both of them looking up guiltily as Jody barked, "GENTLEMEN," Sam in a headlock and Dean with a bloody nose.

They pointed at each other, "He started it."

---

AN2: Oh, the song Sam started at the end is Psychostick's, "Two Ton Paperweight."

[thegodthief]

An Occasional Lurker™ asked...

Which hobby would you give a try if money, materials and space were handled?

I have to pick ONE?? And does it have to be a hobby I haven't yet stuck a finger in? If we're discussing something I haven't yet tried: Blacksmithing. Which sounds more like a job than a hobby, but in the (lack of) constraints that you have given, all the blocks that keep me from even being a helper to an established blacksmith is out of the way.

Blacksmithing would tick off a lot of personally satisfying activities in one category, while also giving the option of never being overly repetitive. How can a hobby that is mostly comprised of swinging a hammer on a hot piece of metal repeatedly not repetitive? I know enough about blacksmithing to know that the art of swinging that hammer is NOT just swinging the hammer.

Where to strike. How hard to strike. How to set up a particular strike three hits back. Even if it's a set of identical knives, no one knife is going to be hammered out identical to any other.

There's the pure physical aspect of it, but there's also the art of it. There's the satisfaction of taking something useless (scraps and/or raw ingots) and making something useful out of it, even if that useful thing is only good for looking at.

But if it's a hobby that I have given a try to before, then weaving. Though any loom the size of a room is more likely to eat me instead and I will never be heard from again. Bystanders will look at me with despair, saying that I have been enchanted by the loom and forced to weave until I waste away.

Nothing of the sort. I have always held threads in my hands, and I will admit that not having the time to get back to it has been detrimental to my health.

What food or snack would you prefer on a lazy afternoon?

Ooo... Trick Question™! (First I need to remember what lazy afternoons feel like.) Can't go wrong with a bowl of baby carrots. With hot sauce. And cottage cheese dusted with season salt.

Popcorn is always a favorite, but only if I'm doing something that can exist around butter. So I won't be eating popcorn if I'm going through some books.

You know what's good? A sandwich with sliced roast beef or turkey breast, colby jack cheese, a right thick layer of spinach leaves, on wheat bread that has just enough mayo to keep the seasoning in place.

But ya know... some thin sliced ham and provolone cheese rollups are good as well. If I have to choose between prosciutto and thin ham, I'll take whichever is less salty. Besides, I'm too busy putting the prosciutto on the roast beef sandwich.

I'm hungry, now, dammit.

Reader's choice, what topic could you happily talk about at length?

Keri.exe is taking too long to respond. Close or wait?

Uh...

WHICH ONE?!

My head is a Trivial Pursuit wheel of chance. I know a little about a lot of things, and I know enough to pretend I can connect the dots, and if the topic is a work of fiction, I will spin fanon tales on the spot about certain characters and how they interact in AUs.

One thing I have learned the hard way, is that there is a big difference between typing a few dozen thousand words and having a sit with a friend and talking their ears off even if the recipient of both actions is the same person.

When I go on a rant in DMs, my first message is "Wall of Words in progress, please come back later.", because I know I am going to plow so many words that Merriam-Webster should give me a commission for selling a dictionary to the recipient. But not every topic that is suited for DMs is suited for public posting nor is suited for a phone call nor is suited for a chat at a café.

What topic that I could happily talk about at length is completely dependent on who is the audience and how much time am I expected to fill (or meet).

I'm treating this question in bad faith, and I apologize, but as the answer is public I find myself wary of my phrasing. There is a terrible tendency on the Internet to treat everyone that is posting about anything is an Expert™ in the topic discussed. And many of the topics that I would gladly indulge in private DMs or a public meeting place are topics that I will NOT even comment on in a public post.

And that's bad.

And that's my problem.

And that's something I need to break myself of.

After all, someone told me recently that there is neither comfort nor safety in cowardice, and yes, I am a coward. I am afraid of being targeted, of being hurt, of saying something that will offend the people I look up to and they abandon me for it.

And funny how little things become the lock-pin that holds larger things in place.

I also think that I don't post like I used to because that same Internet tendency that views anyone with an opinion as an Expert™ also makes it hard to hold conversations about a topic. Posts become hills to die on and fortifications to defend. Having an opinion on the Internet is an act of war.

Or so I perceive the topic of topics on the Internet.

Perhaps my perception is incorrect.

Perhaps I'm typing furiously against clouds.

Or perhaps I'm going on at length about nothing.

Who knows.

:D

[cynningly]

shout out to my one tik tok mootie who is like the only person i’ve seen post a bunch of art and headcanons about Sebastian’s Journal for TribeTwelve she is so so awesome and i adore her art

here’s one of her videos that has more english in it cause that’s the only language i speak and i think most of y’all are primarily english speakers too (she is russian so i have to google translate most of her videos but that is a small deterrent from getting content about Sebastian’s journal)

I’d link a tumblr account but i don’t think she has one, so if you like TribeTwelve and have tiktok go follow her!!

If you know TribeTwelve and you’re thinking “how could there be art and stuff for a journal that we know practically nothing about other than that it’s powerful enough to defeat slenderman?,” then you probably didn’t know that there were a bunch of spoilers shared by TribeTwelve’s puzzle master when Adam Rosner abandoned the series (cause he’s a disgusting coward who i do not in any way support). Among these leaks were the plans for the rest of the series all the way to the end, + a copy of the journal’s content that would have eventually been available to the public

if you haven’t read the journal, i highly recommend it. It’s a really good and heartwrenching read, and it has a lot of really important lore (including what makes it so powerful). I personally just love to see characters like Swain and Deadhead get expanded upon cause they got practically nothing in the actual videos. And let me say, we got absolutely robbed out of Swain content. God dammit from everything i’ve found about him through scrapped plans, he would have been a fan favorite.

anyway i’ll probably make a separate post for the journal for those of you who don’t want to read all 71 entries of this thing cause i’ve been thinking about it a lot, but if you do wanna read it (which i again recommend you do), here’s the link! Enjoy!

[marley-warriors]

Pretty sure AI scraped my fanfic. I got a very suspicious comment on my fanfic, which disappeared after a day. I'm sure it was an AI bot.

I'm actually pretty pissed about it. I know I do not own the characters, but dammit, I like my writing style. I put a lot of time into my writing. A lot of editing. My beta reader also puts in a lot of time. And to think that AI just scraps it and regurgitates it at a faster pace than I can ever dream of sucks.

People don't want to engage with fanfiction and fanart anymore. It takes time to create art. But we live in an era of instant gratification. Consumerism has pushed everyone to wanting everything right now. It just sucks.

[redmyeyes]

waiting in the gloaming

You fucked up.

Dean's hands twisted on the wheel, the leather blood-warm under his palms. He shouldn't have let Sam go, he didn't know what he was thinking. Not Sam, but not-Sam. Bad enough the kid had no instincts. Couldn't smell a rotten egg if it hit him in the face, and it was gonna get him killed sooner or later. Bad enough. It didn't matter. If he wanted to go, he should go. He'd be a liability otherwise. If he couldn't trust Dean to make the decisions, then— If he couldn't trust Dean—

Five minutes to stealth up to the cabin, four if Sam hauled ass. Another two for Sam to convince Samuel to let him in to their secret torture-porn dungeon, or whatever the fuck. And then?

Two minutes and counting.

He wasn't going to come back. He wouldn't come back, and Dean would go it alone, and that was fine. At least he had a direction to go in now. Cas was useless, they'd already barked up that tree. Bobby was strained thin, but he would still come through, right? He'd have to. It was Sam. They had his body, there had to be some way of summoning or re-attaching— a witch, maybe. Body and soul. You'd think they'd be magnetized to each other. Attuned in some way. What if there was no connection. What if the severing was as clean as a sharpened machete to a vamp's neck? Did that make his brother not his brother? Blood on his face. Blood and bruises that he'd made Cas wipe clean. Erased from existence, like it never even happened. If his brother wasn't his brother, why did he feel so guilty? Dean had laid into Sam until he was unconscious. Until his face was mangled and bloody, and he'd made himself look at that face until the interrogations were done, until— but even that had been fake, Sam just waiting it out, placating them, until he'd slipped out of his bindings with such ease he seemed almost apologetic about it. Dean had tied those ropes himself, dammit.

I got it, he'd said. Trust me, he'd said.

You're an idiot. Taking this scrap of— not comfort, not familiarity. What, then? Nothing. It's fake. Literally just a shell. And you'll take that, because even a fraction of a fraction of a percent of Sam is still better than no Sam, right? You are pathetic. You'd better hope he doesn't come back. You think you're in control but you are not in control.

The one thing Dean knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is that he is not in control. There were moments when he almost, almost forgot. He'd turned it into an art form. Like watching for a ghost in your peripheral vision: look right at it, and it'd disappear. Or one of those magic-eye posters, where you had to let your eyes unfocus. See without seeing. Easy to let himself forget. Which meant the reminders were a kick in the nuts.

Dean checked his watch again. He'd give him another couple of minutes. Then he was outta there. He fiddled with the station tuner, desperate for some noise, a distraction, but he didn't let himself turn it on. A charger was still plugged into the cigarette lighter—remnant from when Sam was alone, when he'd loaded the car up with that iPod. Had Sam wondered then, when Dean came back? Dean had been fucked up too, in a different way. But no, Sam had been too caught up in his own shit. The lying, and the blood, and Ruby…

This was stupid. He was being taken advantage of. Someone out there wanted to drive him insane, maybe that was it. Why bring Sam back without a soul. What possible reason, if not to— Yeah, Dean, it's all about you. That's why he's been back a year already with no contact.

Sam had no reason to stay. Competence reigned king in that soulless mind now, and Dean had no illusions that his grandfather wasn't the better hunter. The guy had at least thirty years on him and a legacy to boot. He just knew way too damn much. So what incentive did Sam have to trust Dean over Samuel? Memory? Some residual… feeling of obligation? Except he didn't feel. Anything. No soul, and yet he was clinging to "family" like— like Dean had always wanted him to cling to family. All year, trusting blindly in Samuel and never once getting the heebie jeebies from the guy. And leaving Dean alone.

On the wheel, his fingers started tapping out an absent rhythm. Distracted enough that he didn't realize it was "Rock of Ages" until it hit the chorus, and he abruptly stopped. He'd never be able to listen to that song again.

Five minutes to stealth up to the cabin, seven if Sam was taking his sweet-ass time. Another two to talk to Samuel, but maybe it was taking him longer to convince him. This Sam was really shit at lying, for all that Dean was, against his better judgment, desperate to believe him.

He wasn't coming back. Dean's whole "I drive the bus" speech had been the wrong play. He couldn't even get away with an ultimatum with his brother, what good would it do on this soulless thing? He wasn't coming back, and that was for the best. Dean couldn't think, this not-Sam was so— distracting. Off-putting. Unsettling. Painful. Every second with him a reminder of how he'd failed— it was better. This way, he could focus. He could get his brother back—

Sound of footsteps and and the creak of the car door opening—oh god you're back thank god I don't know what I would've done—and Sam collapsing carelessly into the passenger seat.

Dean said, "Hey."

[themaudlinmimic]

SYNTHETIK 2 RANT

Ok, so. A while back, a couple of german college students got tired of the fact that there were no shooters with realistic gunplay mechanics. So they made a demo with manual ejecting and reloading, tons of gritty stats for guns, ammunition types with unique stats, nerd shit like that, and slapped the system onto a topdown 2d run and gun about being the last member of the human resistance taking down the robot government. And this game slapped. I cannot stress enough how cool and satisfying the gameplay was, how cool the art direction and sound design was. It all just worked.

Then, a couple of years ago, Synthetik 2 released in early access. In the grand tradition of indie games everywhere (Risk of Rain) they made the jump from 2d to 3d for the sequel. Along with that, they changed a lot of the core systems, added lots of modding support, and kept the gunplay mechanics basically untouched because that was their fucking bread and butter.

Now, I wasn't a fan at first. But it's been a while, they've gone through a few updates, and most of the initial bugs and issues I had have been ironed out. So I decided to pick it up again on a whim, and holy shit everything else apart this game is so fucking COOL.

You don't even understand how sick a standard run of this game is. The class I'm focusing on at the moment is the Chrono Trooper, a motherfucker who stole tech from the time police department of the robo government and is returning said tech with interest. Now, at the beginning of the game, you've got your standard class abilities? Y'know, normal shit like mobility and defence and offensive options. The Chrono Trooper has, all from the literal first level:

A teleportation movement ability wherein telefragging opponents into showers of scrap metal is not only possible, but encouraged.

A fucking bubble of slowed time you can pop at any point to just walk around bullets.

As an offensive option, a fucking skyrim shout of power that drains all your shields in return for what's functionally a wave of pure nuclear fusion at whichever robots are in the general direction you're facing.

FUCKING DUEL WIELDING PISTOLS.

This is fucking level 1! Before you even get into any of the bullshit with items and weapons and And the best part? THIS IS LIKE MY FOURTH FAVOURITE CLASS. THERE ARE SO MANY OF THEM.

In Conclusion: Fucking buy Synthetik 2 already god dammit I want someone to play co-op with and there is no game on earth cooler than this one.

[accursedkaleeshi]

His Family & Technology

Since Grievous was basically the kaleeshi Prometheus, making technology more accessible to his people (via theft & ingenuity), it would make sense that his compound, his personal family home, would have the best network connections on the planet.

This gave his children the honor of being the first generation of kaleesh to grow up around the wonders of tech. It was no surprise that some of his older children, in their natural inclination to copy their father, became avid scrap gremlins as he would call them. The older prodigious kids that had learned directly from dad would teach their younger siblings.

Things Grievous taught his children, purposefully &/or offhand, included welding, droid smithing, circuitry, & basic programming. All of that came in handy when he would explain how to hotwire ships or work around networks. His clan practically came prepackaged with all the skills needed to start trouble.

Before he exploded Grievous had been working on a way to mask his home network's location spurred on by a sense of impending doom. Ayaan & Igira spent several grief-stricken months holed up in their father's workshop & finishing his work. They were able to spoof their network's coordinates to a random directional buoy that just floated alone out in space along the Muunilist's trade route, since the Muunilist system was relatively nearby.

They didn't fully realize at the time how safe that kept them. Outside of a 5 click radius their network was, for all intents & purposes, some random coordinate buoy. Anyone that might come looking for their family would have to send people out looking the old fashioned way. The old fashioned way being much perilous on Kalee. This helped them become a hub of communications for anti-imperial activity in the quadrant.

Most of the children were preoccupied with the unlimited wonders of the Holonet (& that shitty Separatist version of the Holonet that the Bank tried to get everyone to use). They could learn anything! Many of the children took it upon themselves to learn Galactic Basic, since that was the language most content was in. Ayaan & Igira would stream & post videos to a very niche audience made mostly of other kaleesh. Some of the kids were very taken with sims (what Star Wars calls videogames, derived from simulations. Did I make that up?). Renj-are was the planet's foremost meme lord. Please imagine Renj-are trying to explain to Mertenzi what a meme is.

Many were enthralled by galactic art & music, cultures & machines, people & adventures presented to them from the fraying projections of various jailbroken data devices. But some were also scared. Historically, kaleesh were traditional & would literally fight to remain so for many years to come.

Like us millennials, unrestricted access to the internet did come with its drawbacks. Torrents of the galaxy's worst headlines, acts of violence on unfathomable scales, & unregulated spaces. Uniquely, & horribly, for the family it was very easy to access news about the Clone Wars as it was happening. If they were keeping up with it, as many felt compelled to do, they would often hear reports on or sometimes even see their late father burning his way across the civilized galaxy.

The entire family had an unspoken agreement: do not speak to the more sensitive mothers about it & ESPECIALLY don't tell Mertenzi. Mertenzi, of course, knew. She was not stupid. But the concept was so incredibly painful that she had to pretend it was not happening. Otherwise she wouldn't be able to go on &, dammit, she had things to do. The older children would get mixed answers on how to feel from the mothers that were keeping this secret (Bryaru, Jyada, & Weyla). That was when the pedestals their parents were on began to weather. Mom did not have the answers. They were just as hurt & confused. Even if Jyada would brag about their "giant undead metal husband" in jest, she was still quite somber about it.

[siphoklansan]

Honestly you're so real for that, I tried to draw Kaveh and Victoire but only the hands came out looking right so I scrapped it and- HOLY SHIT I HAVEN'T SENT THE YUMIDIA ART YET, GOD DAMMIT PROCRASTINATION

SHIDJEDIJUNIDEJIDJ THIS WAS BURIED IN THE OC INTERACTION SUBMISSIONS IM SO SORRY💀

[arcelerity]

Eidolon Named Night 15/15 HP* uses Hypnagogic Shriek [Roll: 3 - 1 = 2] Tormod 4.5/10 HP

Amidst the flurry of attacks, Tormod is able to wriggle free from the wyrm's grasp. This does not save him from the ear-piercing shriek it lets out, though, the force of which knocks him to the ground and has him covering his ears.

"Dammit..." His vision blurs, and he feels as if he's melting into the very darkness itself. But he can't! Not while his allies still need him.

Marianne uses Physic on Tormod 4.5/10HP [Roll: 18, +4HP] Tormod 8.5/10HP

A strong surge of healing magic steadies him, a light in the unrelenting darkness. Marianne...?

"Alright! Time for a little payback!"

Tormod 8.5/10HP recovers +1 HP from Seiros Shield! Tormod 9.5/10HP Tormod 9.5/10HP hits and hits Eidolon Named Night 15/15 HP* with Flashing Fist Art [Roll: 9, 6, -1.5HP, -1.5HP; Eidolon Named Night 12/15 HP*]

His fists find their mark, energy surging through his body. He can do this! He draws back, ready for another round of pummeling--

Eidolon Named Night 12/15 HP* crits Tormod 9.5/10HP with Dread of Desolation! [Roll: 18, -5.5HP; Tormod 5.5/10HP] Tormod 5.5/10HP loses 1 Foreboding! Foreboding: 0

--but before he can do anything, it turns to face him with those horrible, horrible eyes. His body seizes up, anchored to the floor, darkness climbing its way up his legs.

It should be terrifying. He should be kicking, fighting, screaming. Why should he be doing that again? It's slipping away. A last scrap of something tells him to reach for that, to find the last gleam of light in the darkness.

Tormod 5.5/10HP is inflicted with Ego Death and entombed in The Dark Night 5/5HP

There's nothing else.

Tormod 5.5/10HP takes -1HP from Flashing Fist Art! Tormod 4.5/10HP

For a second, the white-hot sensation of pain offers something to cling to, but it fades too quickly.

There's nothing else.

Mom Said It's My Turn to Get Broken // Team One

toa summer arena 2024 | silver round.