#It's not technically d&d but you know

[aldasart]

Is there a favorite moment you've had in D&D that you wanna share?

!!!! SO MANY TBH

Vrey's campaign went on a while and had so many amazing moments, too many to count, so I'll go with the murderkids;

So it's a battle royale and only one person can live. Everyone is fighting to survive, there's a gun involved, Simon & Gale (the boyfriends basically) are having a Moment.

P2 (a player character, very goofy UNTIL NOW) has just lost his best friends and is in a State. Walks in with a *nail gun*, obliterates Renee, kills Gale I think, basically TPKs it! Goofball joke character wins the game!

For being the winner, he gets One Wish, anything he wants. He managed to get the ONLY possible good ending, where he brings everyone back and un-crazies Jazmine. He's the ONLY character that would have taken the selfless choice and let everyone win, and he did it after killing like half the cast! it was SUCH a moment. Thanks to that I wanna do another one shot with the same cast!

[sensitiveheartless]

Written followup to the horrors comic! It got away from me lol. Most of it's under the cut, cause this part is also a bit long.

~*~

Minutes passed by on the quiet moonlit dock.

Despite the renewed serenity of the night, Chuuya’s heart continued to race sickeningly fast. It hammered away in his chest, as if unable to fully grasp that the danger had passed.

His clothes were heavy and waterlogged, so cold against his skin that he could barely keep from shivering. Icy trickles ran down the back of his neck and dripped from his hair.

Closing his eyes didn’t help. There were far too many twisted corpses engraved in the darkness whenever he blinked. So he kept his eyes open, staring at the planks beneath them as he tried to steady his breathing.

Don’t think about it, Chuuya told himself. Don’t think about them.

Instead, he forced himself to remain in the present moment. Beneath the planks, he could hear the swell of the ocean waters, each wave lapping at the posts in a quiet rhythm. Salt filled his lungs with every breath, the heavy tang of the sea-soaked wood wafting around him.

And against his chest was Dazai’s head, a steady and grounding pressure. His ear rested over Chuuya’s heart, his arms still tight around him.

In that position, Dazai must have been able to hear how hard Chuuya’s heart was pounding—but surprisingly, he didn’t remark upon it. He remained utterly silent.

In return, Chuuya didn’t say a word about the almost crushing strength of Dazai’s arms where they wrapped around his middle. Dazai’s fingers were digging into his ribs, twin rows of sharp pressure, and Chuuya could feel them shaking.

Dazai’s hair was coarse where Chuuya’s cheek rested against it. Back in the day, before Dazai’s defection, he never bothered with conditioner. It seemed some things never changed, even in the light.

For one wild moment, Chuuya wished that he wasn’t wearing a pair of gloves—then he could bury his bare fingers in Dazai’s hair and see if it was as tangled as it looked. And, perhaps, warm himself up. Dazai was like a radiator against him, heat seeping through Chuuya’s drenched layers of clothes at every point of contact, but his gloves remained cold, the sodden leather chilling him to the bone. His joints ached as he uncurled his fingers from around Dazai’s shoulders.

Perhaps it would be worth it to just…indulge for a moment, if only to have something else to needle Dazai about. Really, the man needed to learn how to groom himself properly one of these days.

As Chuuya’s hand hovered indecisively over Dazai’s head, however, he realized that his heart rate had already evened out. While he was reminiscing about Dazai’s damn mess of hair, of all things.

Ridiculous. But that meant that there was absolutely no excuse for the two of them to remain wrapped around each other any longer. Dazai’s shivering seemed to have calmed as well.

“We should—” Chuuya’s voice cracked when he tried to speak, so he paused and cleared his throat before going on. “We should make sure it’s really gone. I don’t want that thing getting the jump on me again.”

Dazai tensed, and his grip tightened so much that for a moment Chuuya could scarcely breathe.

“Oi. C’mon, you need to let me up,” Chuuya wheezed, swatting at Dazai’s shoulder. He strained his neck to look down at the head buried against his chest, a pang of something that was surely exasperation tightening his throat. “I need to be able to reach it, Dazai.”

Dazai remained still for another long moment, then abruptly loosened his grip. Instead of letting Chuuya up, however, he pushed him down to sit on the damp planks, and rose to his feet himself.

“I’ll go,” Dazai said quietly, and strode past Chuuya towards the small, oval mirror where it lay shattered on the dock.

Right. It did make sense to have Dazai touch it first, in case it was an ability that could be nullified.

…But what if it’s not? What if it’s something like Lovecraft? Dazai will be defenseless, Chuuya thought, and instinctively started to his feet as well.

“Stay back,” Dazai said sharply, without even turning to look. He was standing over the mirror, staring down at it. “Don’t move forward until I say so.”

Chuuya scowled, but remained in place. He watched as Dazai bent down and extended a careful hand towards the shards of glass.

One tap, with the tip of a finger. Then another, less cautious tap against the side of the wooden frame. Then another, and another, Dazai’s touches moving systematically across every inch of shattered glass and broken wood.

Nothing happened.

Dazai breathed out, and stepped back. “There. You are now welcome to crush it into dust,” he said lightly, waving Chuuya forward.

His head was still downturned, his eyes cast in the shadow of his bangs as Chuuya walked past him to do the deed.

It was with deep pleasure that Chuuya pressed each little bit of the mirror into nothingness, grinding it down with the overwhelming weight of gravity.

After it was done, Chuuya scattered the dust into the ocean waters below. “What the fuck was that thing, anyway?” he asked, turning back to face the other.

When he turned, however, he found Dazai had moved to sit on the edge of the dock, his legs dangling off the edge.

His back was facing Chuuya. It seemed deliberate.

At first, Dazai didn’t respond to Chuuya’s question. The silence stretched long enough that Chuuya began to shiver again, the cold wind cutting through his damp clothes.

“…A Face Like Glass,” Dazai said at last. “That’s what the ability was called.”

“So it was a gifted,” Chuuya muttered. He walked to Dazai’s side, and dropped down beside him with a heavy sigh. “That mean the user is still out there somewhere?”

“No,” Dazai said softly. “She died some time ago, I’m afraid.”

Chuuya looked at him sharply. “What?”

There wasn’t much light by which to see, but Chuuya knew Dazai’s face like the back of his own hand. Better, probably. And he could tell that the detective’s features had gone unnaturally still.

It was how Dazai looked whenever he was unsure of how much he should give away. Typically his poker faces were more natural, but when he was strongly conflicted, he would simply go blank.

“Explain,” Chuuya said, crossing his arms. “That thing almost killed me, I think I ought to know what it was.”

That got a reaction. Dazai’s lips twitched downward and he looked away, hiding his face from Chuuya once again.

After another lingering pause, however, he finally began to talk.

“A Face Like Glass was the ability of a woman named Hardinge,” Dazai said, as blandly as if he were reciting a history lesson. “She could reflect the darkest thoughts of anyone who looked into that mirror of hers, and give those thoughts physical form. Quite literally a nightmare to deal with, as one can imagine. She was the terror of England. However, after she rose to prominence, the mirror began to behave a bit oddly.

“The more renowned Hardinge became, the more people began to fear her ability. She kept the exact details of the mirror shrouded in mystery, so her enemies were always speculating what horrors it might do to them next.

“Naturally, over time, their darkest thoughts became consumed with fear of the mirror itself. And when Hardinge reflected those thoughts, manifesting them into reality…well. You can imagine what happened.”

Chuuya’s hands formed fists in his lap, so tight the leather of his gloves creaked. His fingers were somehow even colder than before. “A runaway effect,” he said. Despite his best efforts, his voice came out rough. “A singularity.”

“Quite,” Dazai said. “The heights of human imagination should never be underestimated. The more powerful anyone imagined the mirror was, the more powerful it became. When their fears manifested, their imaginations ran ever more wild with terrifying possibilities. Which it would also reflect. And so on, and so on. The only one who could control it was Hardinge herself, stopping the runaway cycle by covering the mirror. She acted as a control for the ability for many years, preventing it from going too far.

“But one day, one of her enemies had the dubiously clever idea to turn the mirror back on Hardinge herself. Which, ordinarily, would have been a mere scare tactic. I’m sure their only intent was to make her hesitate to use the mirror by making her own fears manifest.

“However, that is not what happened. Keep in mind, Hardinge had been watching this ability of hers grow with each battle she fought, gaining strength after strength, only barely containing it with her efforts. Sometimes it must have seemed so powerful that it nearly eclipsed her own self.

“Anyone would be frightened of that. It can’t be surprising that her darkest thoughts contained the fear that her mirror would one day consume her.”

Silence stretched, frigid and fragile as ice.

“…So her own ability ate her,” Chuuya said flatly.

“Yes,” Dazai said. “And without anyone left to contain it, the mirror was unleashed.”

Chuuya rubbed wearily at his temples. “Okay. Then how did it get here? To Yokohama?”

“From what I hear, Hardinge was not popular with the Order of the Clock Tower,” Dazai said. “She had gone into hiding here when her ability overtook her. The Special Operations Division then sent out operatives to contain it.”

Chuuya raised his head. “Oh. They’re involved? Wait, does that mean…was that ex-drinking buddy of yours the one who told you all this?”

Dazai nodded, and Chuuya could faintly make out a crooked smile on his lips in the darkness. “Ango called to warn me of its escape. They had done everything they could to keep it locked away so it could be studied, but all it took was one researcher fearing that the creature had the ability to get out of its cell, and it immediately had that power,” he said, leaning back on his bandaged palms. He gave Chuuya a sidelong look, heavy with significance. “Then, of course, while Ango was briefing me on A Face Like Glass, I also got word that a certain tiny mafioso had gone out to fight an unknown monster that was terrorizing the shipyards.”

Chuuya met his stare with a raised eyebrow. “Yeah, so?” he said. “It was scaring my subordinates. Someone had to do something.”

Dazai’s gaze darkened further. “Chuuya, you went alone,” he said. “You tried to face it all by yourself, without even knowing what it was. You could have —” He broke off, and looked away once more. His nails were digging into the wood of the dock, his shoulders stiff. 

Hiding again, Chuuya thought.

For a moment, Chuuya considered pointing out that there wasn’t anyone for him to call for help. Very few of the other mafia members could stand up to an otherworldly threat—and even those who could, like Akutagawa, were not anyone who Chuuya would want exposed to a fear-monster. Everyone in the mafia had far too much darkness to reflect.

Besides, Dazai had no room to scold Chuuya when he was the one who had left him without a partner in the first place.

But even as Chuuya contemplated speaking those cutting words aloud, he found himself unable to.

Because even though Chuuya hadn’t called, Dazai had come anyway.

And, if the reflections of that ability could be believed, one of Dazai’s darkest thoughts was losing Chuuya to Corruption. Right alongside Dazai’s fear of his own past self, and his fear of disappointing his old friend. That…changed some things.

Chuuya sighed, releasing a long-held weight. Then he prodded Dazai’s shoulder with a cold, gloved fingertip. “Hey,” he said. “Look at me.”

Dazai’s shoulders hitched higher, but he didn’t turn.

“What’s your deal?” Chuuya demanded, poking him again. “You don’t have to hide from me, idiot. What, you think I’m gonna make fun of you for having emotions?”

That, apparently, surprised Dazai enough to glance back at Chuuya, his brow furrowed.

“Because I won’t,” Chuuya said. “Not about this. I mean…look, before you showed up, that mirror motherfucker had already reflected a lot of people at me. The Flags, the Sheep, Murase, even N. That’s how it got close enough to me to grab me and drag me under in the first place. So if you’re embarrassed of breaking down or some shit, you shouldn’t be. I did too.”

“It’s not that,” Dazai muttered, his eyes darting away across the dark ocean waters once again.

“Then what?” Chuuya prompted impatiently, leaning closer.

“I froze,” Dazai said, his lips twisting in disgust. “Under the slightest amount of pressure, I broke. You could have died, just because I couldn’t bring myself to fire at a poor imitation of my friend.”

Chuuya blinked. “What’s wrong with that? I broke too. And you were there to pull me out of the water. I saved you, and you saved me. That’s what partners are for, right?”

That finally got Dazai to face him, whipping around so quickly it must have hurt his neck. His eyes were wide, his lips parted in surprise.

Chuuya knew why. It had been years since he had called Dazai his partner.

All too aware that his cheeks were beginning to heat, Chuuya reached out to pull the infuriating man into his arms, tucking Dazai’s head against his shoulder. “Not a word,” he growled, squeezing Dazai tightly in warning. “Make fun of me for this and I’m kicking you into the ocean.”

Dazai let out a choked noise, and suddenly he was clinging to Chuuya just as tight, his fingers practically clawing into his back.

He was shaking again. Or maybe they both were.

“It—it had been so long since I heard his voice,” Dazai cried against Chuuya’s neck, muffled and damp on his skin. “I don’t want that to be how I remember him, I don’t, I hate it…”

Chuuya closed his eyes and saw Albatross laying on the ground in pieces, staring up at him in betrayal. He let out a slow, careful breath, and held Dazai closer.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “I know. I get it.”

Dazai was still so warm. And Chuuya’s hands were still so terribly cold.

Making a reckless decision, Chuuya pulled off his soaked gloves and tossed them aside, then sunk his fingers into Dazai’s mess of curls without hesitation. He felt more than heard the sharp inhale against his neck, and the quiet questioning hum that followed. Chuuya ignored it and continued to card his fingers through Dazai’s hair.

“…Chuuya?” Dazai breathed.

Chuuya tugged absently at a knot. “Tangled,” he grunted. “It was bothering me.”

“Mm,” Dazai hummed, and his hands slid up the back of Chuuya’s jacket. “Chuuya’s cold.”

“No shit,” Chuuya said grumpily. “I fell in the fucking ocean, and it’s freezing out here.”

There was a soft laugh, then a strange sensation ghosted across the side of Chuuya’s neck just above his choker, almost like a pair of lips had pressed there. Chuuya’s hands tightened in Dazai’s hair, stiffening in surprise. He could only wonder if he had imagined it, unable to comprehend any other possibility.

He certainly didn’t imagine what Dazai said next, however.

“Come home with me,” Dazai whispered, his lips brushing against Chuuya’s skin once again.

Chuuya made a very strange noise, somewhere between a shriek and a gasp, and used his grip on Dazai’s hair to haul him away just enough for their eyes to meet. “The fuck?” he spluttered, face burning. “What do you mean, where did that — hah?”

Dazai’s eyes were rimmed in red, dulled with weariness. One of his hands wandered up to Chuuya’s cheek and rested there, circling the blush with his thumb. “I don’t want you out of my sight right now,” he said quietly. “That’s all.”

Ah. Right. The reflection of Corruption.

Well. Chuuya couldn’t really deny that he wasn’t looking forward to a night spent alone in his own apartment. He might not dream, but that didn’t matter if he couldn’t even get to sleep. Having someone beside him might help.

And beyond all that—this was the first time that Dazai had ever asked Chuuya to stay with him.

So, dazed and still a little flushed, Chuuya abandoned all common sense and replied, “Okay.”

Dazai captured one of Chuuya’s hands between his own, and brought it to his lips to brush a kiss across his knuckles. “Good,” he murmured, and pulled Chuuya to his feet. A slight smile flitted across his features. “I think I spotted Chuuya’s dreadful hat further towards the shore. Shall we find it first?”

Chuuya’s knuckles were still tingling. “Okay,” he repeated, strangled and utterly bewildered. His thoughts were chasing themselves in circles like a pack of confused terriers, but he allowed Dazai to tow him away towards the lights of the city.

And if Chuuya’s fingers ended up intertwined with Dazai’s as they traversed the shadows…well.

The streets were too dark for anyone to prove it.

“…Wait, is there even room at your place? You’re still living in that shitty dorm, aren’t you?”

A familiar grin and a pair of twinkling eyes turned back to him as they passed through a dimly lit alley. “Hmm? Chuuya has been tracking where I live? How sentimental of you, slug.”

At least he’s getting back to normal, Chuuya thought. “Oh, shut up,” he grumbled aloud. “Of course I’d keep an eye on your annoying ass.”

A scandalized, yet delighted gasp. “Chuuya likes looking at my ass?”

“…?! Shut up! That is not what I said—!”

[archaicden]

one final dance.

[sysig]

You're still standing off to the side. Somehow, center stage has shifted from under your feet without you realizing, and you're standing in the wings, performing to no one.

Starring Role (Patreon)

[quibbs126]

And this here is today’s attempts at drawing Transformers, specifically TF One

I had this idea when I started today, since I knew the faces and noses were giving me trouble yesterday, to try this paintbrush style. The logic in my brain was that the movie was made in 3D, so logistically a more lineless style should work better, right?

I do admit, I think that the lineless style works far better in terms of the eyes and noses being the right shape, but I also admit my lines are probably a bit too soft and I may need to darken them. As well as get something good for the actual thin lines, since the paint brush on its own feels too thick, even at the lowest size

And you know what, since we’re here, does anyone have any Procreate brushes they can suggest for this sort of style? Right now I’m just using Flat Brush, but I wonder if I should use something else

Anyways, so this canvas was supposed to be more D-16, but partway through I figured I should try someone else to draw as well, so I decided Orion, so we could have the yaoi

Honestly my big problem with Pax here is that I don’t have a good comprehensive reference for him, while I can get by just fine with D-16. These were about the best I could get, and that last one I only got because these other two weren’t cutting it

I need high quality references of these characters, or at least specifically their faces. And I’m gonna need even more if I plan to draw Megatron and Optimus as well

But yeah, Orion’s here, and I was also having trouble getting the correct colors for him, because I’m stupid and used to flat colors. D was pretty easy considering he’s just greys, and a yellow tinted grey works just fine there as a grey (though I do admit I’m struggling with his eye color), but I feel like blue tinted Orion looks too blue by comparison. But I don’t know how to give him his proper face coloring without it being the same shade as D-16

I feel like my words aren’t making sense. But just get that Orion colors are a struggle. And still are, because I still don’t think that other grey is the right color

Also Orion has a significantly more complicated helmet than D, so that’s fun

I really wasn’t planning on Orion taking up so much of the space, but I needed to actually practice how he looked so that I could draw him easier. I had numerous attempts at D-16 prior, I could sort of understand his look, but I was flailing in the dark on Orion and needed the practice

I think another problem is that I don’t make him wide enough. But sue me, my character designs usually don’t have their bodies that wide/their heads that small. I’m working on it

I capped off this canvas by just deciding to make a small doodle of Orion kissing D, since why not and also I was too lazy to think of anything else to add

Where do we go from here? I have no clue, but hopefully it’ll go good

[electrozeistyking]

Poor Little Star.

Summary: Beneath the Favor Tree, Loop has a moment to think about everything. (Takes place in the Longer Than Necessary AU.)

At first, watching your stupid little stardust bumbling around had been somewhat funny.

He had gotten himself trapped in a time loop, and you were put here to help him, of course, even though it wasn’t like you would’ve had much of a choice. It’s your job, as their helpful guide Loop; you’re supposed to help them. 

You gave them tips and tricks to help them get through it. You spoke with him about different things, answering his questions and occasionally interjecting to ask him some of your own. You grew used to talking a lot more and throwing theories around with him, even going so far as to test one of those theories against his will. 

It’d been weirdly cathartic, in a way. You hadn’t minded helping him, but you couldn’t deny that seeing him go through something worse than what you had made you feel better about the whole thing. You got to sit back and relax, knowing you didn’t have to be center stage.

But the loop count grew.

And more.

And more still.

Your stardust had blown up one loop, lashing out at his party and at yourself. He’d wanted nothing more than to kill that stupid so-called King with his own bare hands, simply because he’d been convinced it was the only way to end the loops — even though you’d known for a fact it wouldn’t. 

That was the only time you had spoken with their party. Your stardust had gone into The House alone, and you’d helped their party reach them, giving them the tools and the context they needed to do so, all thanks to some weird and cruel twist of fate... but your stardust had completely burnt out before then.

Next loop you had seen him, your stardust had looked so empty and lifeless. To this day (loop? whatever), you still find yourself wondering how he’d even managed to walk to the Favor Tree without collapsing.

And if that wasn’t enough, you still remember how they hadn’t responded when you’d tried to push their buttons and tease them. But it hadn’t worked, so you’d given up at one point; and now they’re still tired and hazy, like they barely know what’s happening anymore. You can still remember how the star in your chest sunk when he first started calling you “Loo.”

And yet you let him.

Because that was fine, wasn’t it? 

You called them “stardust,” so you’d reasoned you might as well let them have “Loo.” He’d blown up in one fiery burst of mania and anger and hate, then turned himself into a heaping pile of ash and hollowness and agony. You had the feeling he was forcing himself to go through everything again because he had no idea what else to do.

Therefore, it only made sense you let them have their silly little nickname for you, in exchange for further assistance in getting out of the loops. Even if doing so felt like someone was twisting a blinding dagger in your chest. 

Because they would have to break free, right? Maybe you’ll feel like you’re swallowing molten rocks when that moment finally comes, but you would have to be content with the fact you at least did your job, should they finally get out.

Not that you’re very good at that anymore.

You were meant to help him get out. That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Despite knowing it was through words being twisted, you were meant to be their someone who could help free them. And yet you couldn’t even do that, could you? Now look at your stardust. They’re falling apart because you can’t help them.

You’ve been watching as more of himself slips through the cracks in his memory every loop. He grows even hazier and more forgetful the longer he’s trapped. Humans weren’t meant to have so many years worth of memories stuffed in their head, after all; older memories keep falling away to make room for new ones. 

He can’t remember what the earliest loops were like, or what his life was like before they ever started. They don’t remember that you were ever called Loop, their helpful guide to help them through the loops. You sometimes wonder if they remember who they are, or if they’ve forgotten what they had left.

But you. 

You’re just so special now, aren’t you? They can’t remember, but you can. Because you’re not human, is that right?

Oh, who are you kidding? Of course you’re not human anymore, just look at yourself! You’re some weird star-headed thing now, a blinding ethereal being who knows things they never should’ve been cursed to learn. You speak of wrong buttons and secret Craft signs and dialogue branches.

You can bend the rules, ever so slightly. 

You helped your stardust do the same.

So why are they still here, Loop? 

What have you been doing wrong? How could you have let them reach this point? Just how blinding stupid are you?

You hear footsteps and look up, torn from your own thoughts.

Ah. Speak of the devil. Here’s your stardust now.

[omchar]

Ok so like. I was abducted by some gemcyt people on mcci and fell deeply into that rabbithole. So now we're here! Have these:

Designs belong to @chrisrin

Skin download thingies under the cut :D

also also: flower husbands ft. poppies (i was too lazy to get pictures of the skins themselves)

[phoenixcatch7]

Cap should be allowed to teleport to the rock with his transformation lightning. I mean that's where it's coming from, after all.

He would use it to get out of so many situations XD.

Batman: captain, do you have a minute to stay after this meeting?

Billy, going to be late for school if he doesn't hup to: um haha sorry the wizard wants me back at the rock I'm already pushing it hahaSHAXAM

The wizard, looking up from his orb: *raises an eyebrow*

Cap, transforming back with more lightning and rushing for his bag: I'm sorry I'm sorry Mrs Ermine is going to KILL me if I'm late again this week!

The wizard, to his rapidly retreating back: this is the seventh time this month you've used me as an excuse.

Billy, halfway down the hall of sins, voice echoing: I said I'm sorrrryyyyyyy!!

Batman, left all the way on the watchtower: :|

[invye]

Mihawk does not fly a Jolly Roger on Hitsugibune.

I don't know why I never noticed it before, but now that I did I can't stop thinking about it. I don't think we have seen the black sails unfurled before, so it might be hidden there, but that seems unlikely. The fact that Mihawk doesn't fly a Jolly Roger of his own results in a very different interesting thought:

What if Mihawk does not consider himself a pirate?

(extended ramblings under the cut)

He's not denying it of course, after all he's got a bounty, travels the seas and is the feared Marine Hunter. But he also doesn't bother flying a Jolly Roger, he doesn't want a crew nor a captain, his boat is barely a better raft that's not meant for any other than himself and probably only manages to brave the treacherous whims of the Grand Line due to its owner's sheer willpower and sailing skill.

So now I'm thinking we might have things the wrong way around. Maybe Mihawk is not an enemy of the Marines because he is a pirate. He is a pirate because he is an enemy of the Marines.

Whatever happened in his past that shaped him, I believe is also the reason he got the Marine Hunter epithet in the first place. He went on a literal hunt for the Marines, maybe for revenge, maybe for something else, leaving nothing behind but blood and death. The sailing is a natural consequence, after all, most of the Marines can be found at sea.

So the Marines brand him as a pirate, give him a title and a bounty. And Mihawk doesn't care to correct them. He doesn't care at all besides where to find his next fight, doesn't bother with a Jolly Roger or anything else. He's here to fight and kill and become the World's Strongest Swordsman.

Maybe things change a little over time, leading up to him attending Gold Roger's execution. He's there to pay his respect, not as a fellow pirate, but rather as a fellow fighter, a fellow enemy of the Marines. Mihawk doesn't care about the treasure or the One Piece, but he respects Roger for what he's done, for the challenge he had presented to their shared enemy for so long.

But that day he may for the first time begin to understand what it truly means to be a pirate, as he observes how all of the pirates around him scamper and run and yell and go forth to search for Roger's treasure. He observes the beginning of a new era from his position of being vaguely on the sidelines but not truly separate.

Later, when he meets and duels Shanks, being considered a pirate doesn't just not bother him, but he somewhat embraces it. Not fully, he will refuse to join Shanks' crew no matter how often he asks, and he still can't be bothered with the Jolly Roger, doesn't consider himself a captain either, but he has embraced the freedom to do as he pleases.

Mihawk joins the Warlords because he's getting tired of fighting not even mediocre Marines. He's stopped truly hunting them ages ago, ever since he has Shanks to give him a true challenge. But thanks to his title, now the Marines hunt him instead. Garp especially becomes annoying now that he hasn't got Roger to chase to occupy his time anymore. Mihawk doesn't understand why Garp decides to make him his next target, but it takes only so many deliberate near misses of canon balls lobbed at Hitsugibune until Mihawk answers Garp's yelling of "HAWKEYES!!! JOIN THE WARLORDS!!!" with a grumpy, near silent "Fine." (He had already planned to join just for his peace. It's definitely not because of Garp being annoying.)

If by some miracle anyone hadn't considered Mihawk to be a pirate before, joining the Seven Warlords of the Seas makes it official. Mihawk continues exactly the same way he's done before, goes where he pleases, duels Shanks, maybe occasionally shows up for a Warlord meeting to sip wine and observe the drama.

The world may have decided that he is a pirate for him, whether he considered himself as such or not, and honestly at this point? Sure. Why not. Pirate he is.

Mihawk still doesn't bother with a Jolly Roger.

[poliffwoog]

school scribblies: goober edition

[pokimoko]

Hello!! i just discovered your blog and firstly i wanna say that your art is gorgeous! <33 and secondly, if youre still taking requests could i get a lesbian/non binary cheetah? /nf

Thank you! Cheetahs be upon ye!

[thatsrightice]

I know organization of the bomb groups can get kinda confusing so here's some diagrams I found to help. l've also included a diagram of what a "Combat Box" looks like on left, note that "Coffin Corner" aka "Purple Heart Corner" with the red box in the low element is who usually takes the most losses. For a given mission, typically only three of the four squadrons will fly and even then not all crews will be flying.

Heres a diagram of the colors and markings specifically for 100th. This also highlights the four different squadrons within the 100th bombardment group and highlights their specific colors.

Here is a couple more diagrams that show the meaning of the different symbols and particular colors/markings for specific B-17 bombardment groups.

The reason we see silver B-17s near the end war, as seen in Part 9 of MOTA, is because those aircraft hadn’t been painted. When they came off the production line during the war, the shiny metal was painted drab green to camouflage them while parked on the ground. After securing air superiority, there was no real need to start painting them and so they started to leave them silver.

Check out the source document for these diagrams for tons more information regarding the colors of bombardment groups in the 8th AF.

[tyrianludaship]

whenever a disney movie makes their villain unconventionally attractive to make them disgusting / to reflect their actions or whatever, all it accomplishes is making me love and adore them with all of my heart.

like sure yeah, that guy is a loan-shark and that lady tried to take over an entire kingdom, but what the hell did you expect from me when you made them look cool as shit while doing it?

[thedoctor91011]

Hey Lamp! Was wondering if you could do smth with Luffys childhood trauma? 👀

Like the crew's gotta figure out he was tortured by porchemy, or that the dude has a massive fear of fire from Grey Terminal/Sabo's death/Ace's death. Or maybe just that he's got some funky behaviors from being raised alone by his brother in a Jungle and dump

Theres like nothing on ao3 and I'm DYING for something 😭

The first time Luffy sees his brother again, three years after Ace set sail, he is consumed by flames. It takes him back, all too easily, to the night the Terminal burned. To smoke stinging his eyes like tears and the smell of burning hair and flesh and too-hot air burning in his lungs and the surety that Ace and Dadan had died. The knowledge that Sabo had. To years of clear nights where he jerked awake, panting, from sights not too different from the one before him now. But Ace is grinning, and the flames dance across his fingers like he is controlling them, and Luffy understands all at once. Ace is wearing his aren't I cool aren't you impressed did I do good face, and this must be a devil fruit. So Luffy grins and laughs and applauds when he is expected to. Zoro keeps glancing at him, and Luffy knows he's worried, but he says nothing. When Ace leaves again, Zoro drops it. Luffy is grateful. The fire is part of his brother now, so he's determined to love it too.

---

On Marineford, his crew isn't there to play the part for. On Marineford, Luffy is a little brother before he is a captain. On Marineford, he is a desperate child stumbling after a retreating back on Mount Corvo all over again, except this time it's Ace that needs saving. Ace that is alone. This time, Luffy saves him for once. Luffy breaks him free of the platform and San makes a key, and he has his brother back. Luffy is a captain again for one triumphant moment, ready to fight their way back out, victorious. Then, Ace's power returns. He pulls Luffy through the fire, and it brings him back to that night again, to being seven and small and weak, still too weak, and needing his big brother to protect him. He still finds himself wondering, sometimes, if he could have held out longer—run farther—if he hadn't remembered that. If he hadn't been so exhausted and hurt and then remembered being seven and protected. Maybe part of him had thought it would be okay to rest, just for a bit. He'd never know for sure.

---

Luffy is in Dressrosa and the man before his is achingly familiar, but he can't be. The person he reminds Luffy of is long gone, and he is alone. The last brother standing. But Luffy is still looking at him, and he can't tear his eyes away, and he'd never been good at denying things he wanted. He launches himself, sobbing, at Sabo—at who must be Sabo because even a decade later he still looks at Luffy the same way he always did. Sabo, who has a burn scar spanning half his face. Sabo, who Luffy believed had burned to death for years rather than days. Sabo who is real and solid and here. Who wants to help. Who wants just as badly as Luffy does to preserve what they can of Ace's legacy. Luffy is in Dressrosa and Zoro is giving him that look again as they run through the streets. He's still sobbing, and Zoro is worried and yelling at him, and a weight he's been shouldering alone for years is once again split between two. He'll tell his crew everything after.

---

He hadn't thought about it, at the time. Sabo being the one to inherit Ace's fruit had seemed fitting, had seemed perfect, even. The best possible outcome. But then Luffy sees him again and he is made of fire, and everything hits him all at once. The night of the fire, Dogra telling them that Sabo had been shot down, Akainu's searing fist piercing through Ace's chest, fire and magma dripping from his wound like blood. Any time Sabo uses his fruit, Luffy flinches before he can catch himself. Guilt gnaws at his chest. Zoro knocks their shoulders together when he sees, or Sanji slides him a snack, or Robin squeezes his hand, or someone else will notice and try to help, and he loves them for it but he hates that he needs it at all. This is his brother and that fire is all that they have left of Ace, so Luffy can't help but be ashamed for the slightest fear of it.

[whosectype]

and they were streamers…

[bluishfrog]

Some polymer clay project ideas. Some more subtle, others a little more obvious