#anyways. i just think they're neat

[videoeater]

Engie and Medic..

(btw tumblr might've killed the quality. so click for higher resolution)

[honkshoo-zzz]

i rendered an artwork. simply,,, lovely

details n ref below the cut :]

they're so dumb and stupid and i hate that they look like fuckin--

yes this is the reference. former formula one drivers, mark webber (playing the role of mick mundy, sniper tf2) and seb vettel (playing jeremy willis, scout tf2); they look suspiciously like them and i am afraid of the implications

[annasofthe11thdimension]

-----

Odile doesn't get Loop's fascination with star gazing, but she can at least appreciate the chance to sit down and do nothing for a bit.

[starlingfawn]

kgatlw bearded vulture furry.... reference for artfight

[kotalloh]

12 DAYS OF ANDOR @andorappreciation day 2: everyone has their own rebellion + underrated dialogue/quotes [my favorite ANDOR dialogue (part 3/?)]

[notbecauseofvictories]

completely and entirely forgot that Vetinari and Carrot get together to gleefully "reward" Samuel Vimes and also ruin his blood pressure forever.

[sunlight-shunlight]

attempt to deter the herald of andraste from reading an inaccurate treatise on "the magickal art of dalish fresco" out loud.

5 minutes later, deterrence successful. no one is reading anything.

ouch. anchor malfunction after closing a rift.

two elves, standing 5 feet apart, because they're Emotionally Detached Professionals™

(uhhh pretend the vallaslin is on there, it's deeply annoying to draw on a small scale without ruining the facial expressions fjfsfhg)

[essektheylyss]

Fearne had, in true Fearne fashion, wrapped herself like a personal pashmina around Dorian, which left Orym to curl into his chest.

They had slept this way dozens of times before. Fearne’s blackened fingers wrapped tightly around his forearm as she snored loudly into Dorian’s ear. Orym’s head rested on Dorian’s bicep, his arms folded together between them, and his bare feet were gingerly resting upon Dorian’s thighs just above the knees, as Dorian had coiled enough to let Fearne’s fuzzy leg stretch over his hip. They were exhausted, and this was familiar, and he should’ve been fast asleep.

But Orym’s mind buzzed.

Fearne had always been a strong source of heat, but now she was a furnace, and even without covers it was too warm. But Fearne was not the reason why Orym’s skin burned where it met Dorian’s.

He was a fucking grown man. He was fully capable of admitting that.

Admitting it didn’t change it.

Neither did it change his awareness that Dorian had been too still for the past hour, his breath too precise and measured to be natural as it fell upon Orym’s hair. Orym was not going to presume that the cause of this was the same thing afflicting him; there were plenty of other reasons Dorian would be lying awake tonight.

“My family will find your brother,” he murmured finally, and Dorian’s breath wavered for just an instant before he regained his composure and returned to his measured, singer’s breathing. It was so slight that no one else could’ve noticed it, but Orym noticed. “You said there’s a body— the Tempest can bring him back, or Fearne, honestly—“

“I know,” Dorian answered, and this too was so faint that no one but Orym could’ve heard. “I know,” he said again, as though this one was only to appease himself.

“Do you think… do you think any of Opal is still in there?”

“I don’t know. I could barely tell what was in there—“ he cut himself off. “I couldn’t even help my brother. I think Fy’ra Rai might’ve… she must’ve seen something. I hope so,” he added, inhaling, trying to capture an airy tone that he didn’t fully manage. “The Spider Queen doesn’t deserve her. She doesn’t deserve anything.”

Orym had nothing to say to this. He hadn’t cared what the gods did or didn’t deserve in weeks, but now he could see the vein of fury that sharpened Dorian’s edges. It didn’t frighten him the way it had frightened him months ago, when things had been simpler, when there was not a war to be fought. It simply saddened him. “I’m so sorry about Opal,” he said, after the silence had lingered. “But I’m,” he breathed out a single dark laugh at himself, his selfishness, “I’m real glad it wasn’t you.”

Dorian’s laugh matched his own. “I suppose that is a silver lining.”

“I’m so glad you’re here,” Orym admitted. It was easier to keep his voice from cracking at a whisper. “I’ve thought about seeing you again so many times— I wish the circumstances were better—“

“I’m here,” Dorian said, for the second time today. “The circumstances tried very hard to make even that impossible, but— I’m here.”

Orym pulled his arm gently out of Fearne’s grasp and raised his hand to Dorian’s cheek. It was too dark to see the tinge of lavender against his skin, but Orym could feel the warmth bloom beneath his fingers. He still couldn’t bring himself to attribute his friend’s insomnia to anything so self-serving as his own, but perhaps it was one factor.

He pulled his hand back. Was there a flash of disappointment in Dorian’s eyes? He couldn’t tell in the dark. But he brushed his fingers together, drawing upon the wellspring of life within the ground beneath this hastily-erected encampment. The Hellcatch looked like a barren wasteland to most, but that life was still present even here.

Perhaps not now, but after a rainy season, the valley would bloom with wildflowers. The seeds waited in the earth for their time to sprout. Life went on, even in the darkest of places.

He produced a small stalk of life from his hands, and held out the tiny bundle of forget-me-nots to Dorian.

He should’ve said that they were for Cyrus, to remember him by. He wanted to say that they were for Dorian himself, that a day hadn’t gone by that he hadn’t thought of him. He didn’t speak at all as Dorian’s hand wrapped around Orym’s, pinching the stem beneath his fingers but not letting go.

“Orym,” Dorian breathed, looking from the flowers to his face. Then a strange expression came over his face, a wrinkle of consternation as he stared into the middle distance. “Fearne, are you braiding my hair?”

Orym lifted his head an inch to peer past Dorian’s ear. He had noticed that the snoring had stopped, but he’d been too caught up in the conversation to process it. Fearne’s wide eyes stared back with perfect innocence, her hands indeed weaving Dorian’s hair into a loose braid.

“Just pretend I’m not here,” she whispered quickly. “I’m totally not here.”

When Orym dropped his head back to Dorian’s arm, he was met with a crooked smile. It was not meant to be disarming, but it disarmed him anyway.

“Just like old times, eh?” he said, but his hand was still around Orym’s.

Carefully, Orym moved to tuck the flower behind Dorian’s ear, bringing both of their hands with him, and then laced their fingers together instead. “No,” he said, and tucked his head so that his brow rested against Dorian’s chin, and pressed their entwined hands to his lips. “But I think that’s okay.”

[plutonious]

waving eagerly!!! I saw @egglands-worst's post about @gouda-nough's ingo chandelure swap thing and I've been thinking about it on and off for a little while. thus, became these doodles. frolicks away

[eliashirsch]

a few sketches of my favorite characters<3

i've been trying to capture their likeness with various degrees of success:) and i just realized how much rooster really looks like goose

[hauntedsidebl0g]

something about zaki and tamon having the exact opposite experience with their spiritual powers gets me ngl

zaki saw ghosts as a curse and something that only got him hurt by alienating him from everyone else while tamon, even though he still felt disconnected from living people, found solace in his friendship with ghosts and thought of them as the only way to have the "normal life" experience (like his date with angel in his introduction chapter)

these guys make me so sad thank you phantom busters for solving things through the power of friendship

[metiredlr]

Speaking of dynamics we didn't get much of: Kidou and Kazemaru are so underrated together. Bros have the same taste in men and had to withstand the shinanigans of their respective orange GK + angry FW crushes. God bless their patience.

[planetvries]

Been thinking about them lately…

[explosionsfx]

evil leafy gijinka 😋

[verrottweil]

some thoughts™ about guilliman x yvraine from someone who's been slowly reading their way through the lore. so buckle up, because i'm going on a tangent.

if i were to tackle their relationship, i would do so through correspondence, one that spans several centuries and occurs against the backdrop of yvraine's odessey. (and if yvraine is the titular ulysses, would that make roboute guilliman her penelope in the story? mmh...)

anyways, after the ultramar campaign, guilliman would set up a baseline framework of diplomacy with the ynnari, mainly through messengers and intelligence operatives. both guilliman and yvraine wouldn't be too heavily involved. a few passing glances at missives, listening to a meeting debrief, delegating assignments to trusted advisors, etc.

until the cooperation between the imperium and the ynnari tips over into a tentative alliance, and eventually, inevitably, guilliman would be required to sign off an official statement intended, for someone in the retinue of the visarch or, maybe even yvraine herself, and decides to foster some goodwill by sending her his personal regards. yvraine intervened in the battle against chaos on his chapter's behalf, after all. she aided in his reawakening by communing with her death god and disappeared shortly after. common courtesy. he can't afford to spare the affair more thought, not with the whole rotten weight of the imperium on his shoulders.

but yvraine does respond. perhaps on a whim. perhaps out of boredom, in a dead moment sometime during her exhaustive travels.

so, the next time an ynnari diplomat, the term is used generously here, graces the world of macragge, and guilliman receives a summary of the proceedings, a diligent scribe wrote down what the daughter of shades was supposed to have said. mind, there's room for error, for miscommunication, between two wholly different species. while yvraine's orginal reply could've been wry, dry or sardonic; the ynnari diplomat might've twisted the tone, and the human scribe might've blunted the edges even further. it prompts the primarch to spend a scarce few minutes detailing his health and the effects the armor of faith has on it.

a handwritten note with his seal, pressed into a diplomats' palm and then that of another.

when yvraine finally gets her hands on it, anxious and scatterbrained after another vision of she who thirsts devouring her soul alive, she interprets his message as amusing? curious? warranting something that satisfies her own ego? she jots down an answer on the back of his own note--how she couldn't have defeated a hive tyrant in the arena of commorragh with such a cumbersome armor, how her fighting style demands freedom of movement, speed, grace. when her quill hits the desk, her reply's twice the length she intended... but wouldn't it be a waste to toss the paper now? let the monkeigh read proof of her prowess.

and guilliman does, after a year or so. writes back too, inquiring after the drukhari--which, concerning the constant threat of their raiding parties, might be good to know the inner workings of. he pinches the bridge of his nose occasionally, pauses more than once. one sheet of vellum isn't enough. a sigh. unaware that it's the beginning of a proper back-and-forth.

sometimes nothing more than a paragraph. sometimes three whole pages of anecdotes, musings, advice when applicable but not always appreciated, questions and answers. a blot of ink, words scratched through, titles turning into signatures turning into initials.

until one day, after decades, yvraine sends him something akin to a dataslate. it's encrypted; needs some tinkering from a techpriest with. her voice fills his private chambers, picking up right where his last letter left off. she tells him about biel-than, about her time as a corsair, about the wych cult, about her visions, where she dies and dies and dies. can't resist a few jabs in between. at her former mutinous crew. at the drukhari succubi. at the imperium. at him, even. strange then that her peals of laughter secretly delight him.

(and could this be one of those he falls first, she falls harder situations? maybe, yes.)

the eve yvraine met up with eldrad ulthran on the ulthwé craftworld, in the privacy of her quarters, alone with her gyrinx, she lets her hair down, slinks onto a plush chair and presses play on the imperial dataslate that's traversed half a galaxy to get right there. with eyes closed, she listens to the primarch. to the curt click of his throat when he swallows. to the gaps in between words, pausing to think, to reflect. to his careful consideration. non-diagetic. how odd, she thinks, how endearing.

of course when guilliman gets to hear her detail how ulthran intends to send her to mortarion's whispering tower in order to retrieve the hand of darkness, he thinks anything but. even the astartes stationed two hallways away could hear their primarch pacing as he dictated his reply.

and is that concern in his voice she hears? haggard, but alive after the whole ordeal is over. after she's dragged herself to her quarters, worlds-weary with the biggest trials still ahead of her. i am well, she half-whispers, then exhales. i was victorious and i am well.

it took months for the dataslate to reach him. finally. roboute guilliman grips the armrests of his throne, presses the crown of his head all the way back until he nearly faces the ceiling, wishing this dreadful meeting to be done with already so he can listen. finally.

and is that relief in his voice yvraine hears?

[essektheylyss]

Honestly I am still experiencing emotions over Artifice stepping in front of Everett unwaveringly and Dot doing the same thing for Cleo moments later. The Fold wizard crewmates might be inscrutably cryptic and speak at utterly bizarre volumes but they will put themselves between the people they care for and a tearror without a second thought, regardless of the danger, and I love them.