#and this was a good distraction

[captainsparklefingers]

I have so many thoughts about Kingsley Tealeaf.

I want to know the specifics of how Kingsley became the new Plank King so badly.

We know that the last one got the title after challenging and killing the previous Plank King, but is that always how it goes? Or is killing the last king just the easiest way to do it? And (if the wiki is correct), Kingsley is only the third Plank King. Ever. So, maybe there's no precedent for anything beyond death and battle.

He's certainly a capable individual. He's a good fighter, quick on his feet, clever, cunning. He's got good weapons even before getting Zehir's sword, and he's got a better grasp on what he can and can't/shouldn't do with his blood magic. Certainly better than Molly did. That's the Lucien in him.

But he's also unconventional. Killing the last guy? Probably pretty easy, even if he is a big ole goliath who's definitely out of King's weight class. But if you kill him...well, you can't make him pay for threatening to kill Jester, can you? Nobody gets away with that sort of thing.

So why not find a way to humiliate him instead?

I like stories about people winning in the face of impossible or unlikely odds by doing something unconventional. I like tricksters. Kingsley, for all that he isn't Molly or Lucien, is still both of them. He's still showy, just in a different way. He still snarks and lies, he's trying to walk a different path than either of the lives who came before him.

What would Molly do? What would Lucien do?

Molly, I think, would bullshit his way into being the Plank King. He'd come up with a story or something, spread it so everyone believes it. He takes down the reputation of the last guy before even having to swing a sword. I'm picturing a whisper campaign against the current Plank King, convincing people he's turned against them and their best interests, and using Darktow against him. And when he's gone, all Molly would need to do is just take the empty throne.

Lucien would fight him. I think it would likely be a one on one thing, intense and violent, and while it would eventually end in his victory, it would be hard fought. Could he bullshit his way to the top too? Absolutely. But I don't think he'd want to, here, because why waste the effort when you can just kill the last guy?

So with that in mind...and with the knowledge that the Plank King has banned his family from Darktow, and that he's explicitly threatened Jester's life...what would Kingsley do?

I think it would be a little of column a, a little of column b. Integrate himself into Darktow, learn all he can about how everything works there, and find a weakness to exploit that way. Is there dissatisfaction or dislike that could be magnified? Does the current Plank King have any particular vices or weaknesses? That sort of thing.

And... I'm torn about what would happen next. Part of me thinks that King would win the title, not by fighting, but by gambling with increasingly high odds, until the Plank King bets his position. Would he cheat to win? Rig the game? I'm not sure.

The other part of me thinks there would be a duel. One on one, another hard fought challenge...but it doesn't end with King killing the Plank King. He defeats him, forces him to yield, humiliates and undermines his authority in front of the Revelry, and takes the crown without killing.

Both feel like they'd be possible. I'm not sure what one feels more like Kingsley. I'm not sure he would either, though. He wants to be his own man, and he is! But habits ingrained from past lives die hard, and we know that he's starting to remember some things. I've always been of the mindset that the reason he didn't remember anything after the Greater Restoration was because taking in two lives worth of memories, two lives that ended violently and painfully, would be too much. The only way for Molly and Lucien to get one more chance is to do it together (I like to think of it as being like a Steven Universe fusion, specifically Garnet), and they're not gone, but they're part of a bigger whole, a new person. And the bigger whole, Kingsley, doesn't want to make the same mistakes (I really liked the metaphor of looking at his past lives like parents. It's just distant enough to let him stand on his own without denying the connection he has to who he was).

So I've been trying to think about it. How would Kingsley become the Plank King. How would he do it solely as himself, distinct from how Lucien or Molly would do it, or if he would lean into one side more than another there.

Either way, the fact that the first thing he does is unban his friends, and look forward to Jester's endless messages...it's a good sign.

I've got a lot of thoughts about Kingsley. I really love him as a character and as a concept...and I love Molly and Lucien too, and look at this person they are together! This person who is both of them and either of them, who is distinct but echoes his past even as he works to learn from it! Who probably remembers more than he admits, but who is trying to find themself and not let the secrets locked in the doors of his mind dictate what he does with his life, who he is. I really want to write about those first six months as he becomes his own person, as he sails with people who loved who he was, with the people who killed him and helped bring him into the world. I wanna know how he became the Plank King. I want to see his relationship with the Nein evolve and change (because the Nein all changed too, none of them were the same people that Molly met). I want more of his friendship with Caduceus, I want to know if he and Essek are friends too. I want to know if Yasha is still special to him (I think she is, because he remembered feelings about her first, and I think there was more to complimenting her hair then just liking how it was cut). I want to know why he's wearing clothes that cover everything, the scars and the tattoos, if he's got makeup or something to hide them on his cheeks. Does he struggle with looking at himself in the mirror, or with these scars he half remembers and half feels but aren't his? Will he someday feel comfortable with his body and be self assured that no matter what he remembers, he is himself first and foremost? Will we ever get him in a billowy deep v necked pirate shirt? He was talking about adding things to his coat, is he embroidering it like Molly did his?

UGH. I know this whole post got waaaayy off track from where it started. I just want more of him, of him with the Nein, of him as the king of pirates... I want to write more. I want to read more!

The man instinctively flirted with Caleb, I need to know more about that too. Need to read more there, there's so little.

[kensatou]

MONKEY MAN (2024)

[the-muppet-joker]

My liege, how do you remain positive in a world so cruel?

There is a lot of despair right now. I do not wish to add for it. A lot of things can be taken from me, but I will remain hopeful and silly and filled with love for the people I care about. They will not take away my joy

[colorful-horses]

not a phase

[evercelle]

some favorite moments from orv read :)c

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

HOT, SINGLE, UNSTUDIED SPONGES. 3000 NAUTICAL MILES AWAY. Come sail the distance and read Tiger Tiger!

[hotcinnamonsunset]

not strong enough!!✨

[hellspawnmotel]

gravity falls x the night of the hunter (1955)

[lulu-draws-stuff]

Lazy :]

[egophiliac]

do skully have pokemon?

Pumpkaboo is the obvious one, but y'know, sometimes the obvious one is the right one! (we'll say SUPER SIZE Pumpkaboo, just for fun. big pumpkin for big skeleton boy.) and another person actually also suggested Greavard, which I somehow hadn't considered, but feels so perfect that I feel like I should have. dangit.

(they can also have little Nightmare Suit costumes :D)

[delicourse]

i miss them a little if im gonna be honest

[peachesofteal]

Simon with herding instinct on that physio snippet.... God what I'd do to be Reader (I'm not sick but I'm KO by my period, so I think I also deserve herding instincts and a cup of tea made by someone who is not me)

I think you deserve a little treat for your body torturing you Same reader as this (female reader)

"Fuck." You draw a deep breath through your nose and blow it out slowly, trying to push the pain away. You have a busy schedule today, and the 141 was expected to be back which meant you'd have the Lieutenant on your table at some point between now and twenty one hundred.

You do not have time for period pain.

Your appointments waltz in and out through the day, your focus turning from the stabbing, burning ache in your belly, quads and lower back, until the clock finally ticks down to nineteen hundred, and you slump over in your chair. A moment's reprieve, a second to get off your feet, exhaustion sinking into you, your longing for your bed and a heating pad stealing the whole of your attention. You can almost feel it, the hot shower, the comfort of your sheets, a cup of tea. Almost.

For now, you swallow more paracetamol and hope it lasts you through the rest of the day.

The door to the clinic swings open, and you don't need to peek outside the door of your office to know who it is.

No one has footsteps as heavy as his.

The Lieutenant.

The man you do not understand. The one who treated you like a small, fragile animal when you were sick, barging into your house and forcing you onto the couch, doling out medicine and hand feeding you warm broth. He pressed cold cloths to your forehead, held your hair and rubbed your back as you vomited.

The entire time you trembled with nerves, staring at the stitching of his balaclava, looking away each time his face turned towards yours. He hated you, why was he here?

Your fever broke, he disappeared. And the next time you saw him-

He went back to treating you just as he always did.

Coldly. Gruffly. Rudely.

Tonight would be no different.

So when you step outside and see him still in his full kit, arms folded across his chest, you wilt, already defeated, stomach tying itself in knots.

"Need m'back looked at." He barks and you fight the instinct to jump.

"Yeah, o-of course." The words are unsteady, you're unsteady, just like each time before, and he doesn't say anything else, just looks you up and down before brushing by you to get to the table.

He's the width of your workspace. Wingspan larger than should be humanly possible, width of his shoulders and back difficult to comprehend. He could tear you apart, if he wanted, so you've always treated him so carefully, staying focused, making sure you don't slip up and push his muscles too far or cause him pain. It's the same care you apply to all your patients, but with him, it's different. It's like diffusing a bomb.

His head is turned towards you as your fingers walk down the middle of his spine, working pressure points. Every time he twitches, or grunts, or even breathes deeply, you tense, but you keep your focus, kneading down to his sciatic nerve, pushing in deep, deep enough to make him groan, your heartbeat pulsing in your ears.

You don't even realize he's saying your name until he shifts on the table.

"S-sorry?" His eyes are locked the space between your legs, and you follow his sight line, gasping when you see what he sees.

Red.

Your standard issue khaki pants are stained dark red at your thighs.

"Oh my god. Oh my god, I'm sorry, I'm," you stumble backwards, hands flying to cover yourself, scrambling on how to get yourself out of the room and into the bathroom as quickly as possible. Your cheeks burn from humiliation. "I'm sorry, I uh- I'll be right back."

"Do you have another pair of pants?" He cocks his head.

I don't... I don't think so."

"Hmm." He continues to stare, and then, like he was having a conversation with himself, he swings off the table, reaching for the jacket he showed up in, before stalking towards you.

You stumble back, but you're too slow, and he catches you by your wrist, tugging you forward. You close your eyes. "Lieutenant-"

"Hush." The jacket goes around your waist, giant sleeves tied at your navel, the length of the hanging directly over where your pants are stained. You're not petite by any means, so the fact that this garment can even begin to cover you is a miracle in itself. But then again, he is massive. "Stay." He moves around the room, ducking into the other one with your desk, flicking the lights off, before grabbing the keys off the hook and shepherding you through the clinic to the front door.

"What... what're you doing?" There's a murderous look in his eye when he turns to you, and it freezes your blood.

"Takin' you home."

"I can get h-home myself." You hate the way your voice shakes.

"Covered in blood? You really want the entire base to see you like tha'?" The shame burns, and tears build on your waterline. "C'mon." His hand settles between your shoulder blades, essentially turning you into a ship with no sails, only a rudder at your back. Him.

He steers you into your house by your hips. You live directly off base, in civilian housing, luckiest of them all, if you're being honest, though in this moment, you're not sure you are so lucky.

"Leave your clothes in the sink." He orders when he lets you go, moving towards the kitchen.

"My clothes?"

"You know how to get bloodstains out of your clothes?"

"Oh, uh... n-no."

"Then..." he motions with his hands for your pants.

"Right now?" You squeak, and he nods.

"Now, pet." You fumble with the zipper and the button, hands trembling so bad you struggle with them. "Need help?"

"No! No... I got it." you get them down to your knees after a struggle, and then kick them off. Will he ask for your underwear too? He answers like he can ready your mind.

"Leave 'em on the bathroom floor. Shower, and then straight to bed."

"I'm not a child!" The protest is bold, boldest you've ever been with him, insecure, scared feelings coming forth in the outburst.

"Could've fooled me. Children need takin' care of, jus' like you." The words jam in your throat, stolen by the intensity of a cramp, and his eyes soften. "Go on up. I'll bring you somethin' for the pain, and some tea." There's no fight left in you, drained like the blood from your body, and your shoulders slump.

An hour later, in the dark, your door cracks. You're curled up in a ball, heating pad tucked against your pubic bone, buried beneath a mountain of blankets when the bed dips, the mass of the Lieutenant's weight settling next to your hip.

He sits you up, like a doll. Makes you take more paracetamol, finish a glass of water, and then pushes a hot tea in your hand.

By the time he's done, you slump back against the pillows, exhausted. Your eyelids go heavy, and he shifts you back to your side. You're too tired to argue with him, fight him, and when his fingers start applying counter pressure to your lower back, working through the tension, the tightness from your period, you let out a low moan. He chuckles. The man actually laughs.

"Why are you here?" You murmur in the dark, and he doesn't answer right away, sitting in the silence for too long.

And then-

"My mum always taught me to take care of my things."

[dunmeshistash]

Okay, hang on, wait a minute, I was looking thru daydream hour, as I do, and I saw this page I usually just skip past

And at first I thought the left half was just random characters for some reason? But it's for the changelings, like that's dwarf Chilchuck and dwarf Laios bellow I think, and on top.... Is that elf Senshi???? That's Senshi's clothes right?? And the super round Senshi eyes, plus he's the only one with big wavy hair

Why did I just assume this was a random elf girl?? The first concept for elf Senshi was even more feminine???

I am shocked and delighted

[crowleyholmes]

"Rise of the Serpent"

Somewhere among his beloved stars, during the Great War - the moment redacted despite all his optimism finally lost hope, gave up on Heaven, and became Crowley.

[nitw]

i'm so used to popularized fanon jon sims designs that when i see someone draw him like a generic white guy i have to do a double take. who is this. where is my beautiful archivist

[uncanny-tranny]

This might seem like an "old man yells at cloud" situation, but it's just wild growing up and being told how dangerous distracted driving is - how, at highway speeds, you can traverse the length of a football field (100 yards, 91 meters) in a matter of seconds - how one split second sending a text while driving could result in a potential fatal crash, and then getting on the road as a driver and being surrounded by billboards. Their entire purpose is to catch one's attention, so they're lining major roads, which tend to be highways. How is it that you're told how important it is to never be distracted while driving, but still being advertised to?

At best, this type of advertising is an eyesore to pedestrians and motorists and a general waste of electricity to light it, and at worst, it is an active danger considering they are there to advertise and therefore, must catch people's attention.

I'm not even against advertising in theory, but this particular mode bothers me so much and I hate how pervasive it is - especially in large cities or highways.