#but it was An Exercise xD

[limielle]

monster and master

[zu-is-here]

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[i-dont-talk-for-days-on-end]

I know the reader is probably not supposed to think of William Baskerville as cute but I am so utterly smitten with Sherlock Holmes in each in every timeline that I just can't help myself ... Yes go on William and look at the world through lenses and ingest some dubious substances and roast those who try to insult you and be gentle to your Watson pardon me Adson and read the signs around you as the genre demands ...

[breadbox-draws]

Jorballin

[divinekangaroo]

Whilst waiting for my drawing program books to arrive, a couple of days ago I drew this shitty 3-minute artline scribble of my kids cuddling on the sofa.

Today I found out my son took it to his school to show off to all his friends and his teachers because he loved it so much, and I’m like:

…are you proud of me son?

*him gone bashful* yeahhhhhhhhh

[the-lightning-strikes-again]

I'm so sorry to hear you were in an accident im glad you are alive and feeling okay again <3<3

I'd love to send you a lotura prompt, hopefully it lifts your spirits to be back on that sweet ship.

How about Lotor and Allura talking about weapons? (i.e. Like how Allura prefers a staff and Lotors sword designs (like the one he was first shown with) )

Hey, good to hear from you and thanks for your super kind note!! I'm doing a little better each day and am excited to get back to regular routines! While I was on hold over the phone about paperwork today, I managed to exercise my brain with the prompt you gave me! <3

Staff vs. Sword

Emperor Lotor leans against a wall, crossing his arms and quirking a slim, white eyebrow at the princess before him. “Surely, you jest with me,” he murmurs. “A staff again?”

Princess Allura beams, and she grabs her favorite staff from the blunted practice weapons with a solid grip, fingers tight. With a quick flick of her wrist, she spins it and sets the end solidly on the ground. “My bayard for Blue Lion also turns into a whip,” she says nonchalantly, “but that seems entirely unfair to use against you, as it produces an electric shock.”

“Ah, yes.” His eyes crinkle, his slit pupils dilating with softness. He adds dryly, “Because we do not already create enough sparks on the courts.”

She brushes back her long, thick braid and waggles her eyebrows. “You said it, not me.” And then she pokes his chest plate with the end of her staff. “Do tell me you’re not afraid of a second round after I defeated you.”

“And nearly caused an intergalactic incident,” he says, voice halted. “The training grounds are intended for practicing the art of combat—not the art of catching one’s opponent off-guard with a kiss.”  

With a giggle, Allura pulls the staff back, her Altean markings glowing a bright pink. “Yes, well, we Alteans have a saying that all’s fair in love and war. Now, pick your weapon, dear emperor, so that I may defeat you once more. And do choose something other than a sword this time—at least mix it up for me?”

Lotor eyes her before grabbing a blunted sword from the wall, inspecting its balance. His long fingers grip the hilt tightly. “A sword is the best extension of a warrior’s will,” he declares, raising his chin with a petulant chin. “It is simple. It is efficient. It is my favorite weapon.”

Allura sighs dramatically at him. “It does not have quite the—” she waves her hand—“the impact of a staff, though.”

He raises the silver sword to her. “The staff is an impact weapon,” he says dryly. “You simply seek to showcase your Altean strength to the Galra who prowl these courts, and that is why you prefer it as of late."

“Tish tosh,” she says, planting her feet properly on the training mat and eyeing him with an increased wariness. She knows Lotor likes to strike unexpectedly. “I also happen to like the way training robots crumple to bits beneath a staff. It relieves the stress I feel after a large conference with intergalactic leaders.”

A tick of silence stretches between them.

And then in a blur, Lotor races toward her, slashing down.

She blocks with the staff and swings, and he ducks smoothly before stepping back, flipping the sword in his hand.

He paces the mat, the overhead lights capturing the glow of his eyes like a predator in the dark wilderness. “Poor Princess Allura,” he teases. “All the power in the universe, and yet you fear the peace we have wrought together, instead longing for means of violence. Are you certain you are not of Galran blood somewhere in that long ancestry of yours?”

Alura’s voice strains as she circles him as well, resetting her staff. “I can’t think of a single species that doesn’t enjoy a rough tumble now and again, in a safe, non-war environment. Why, the humans even have something called, um—” Her concentration breaks as she pauses, snapping her fingers. “Um, wrestling. And something called rugby. And then they have a very large, worldwide competition for their various violent sports, called the Olympics.”

Lotor pauses.

His slit pupils widen in curiosity of other cultures. “Olympics? Is that similar to a Kral Zera?”

“Somewhat,” she nods, “but instead of choosing a world leader by, um, killing everyone, these tournaments are for medals that they wear around their necks and then bite in front of cameras. And no one dies generally.”

He lunges again, and in a blur, wrenches the staff away from her hands and presses her up against a wall.

Allura squeaks, eyes wide.

His nose is inches from her own, his breath a hot puff against her face. “How very curious.”  

Her breath stalls as her cheeks heat hard enough to radiate to him. “Um, y-yes.”

Lotor’s wide mouth splits as he whispers against her mouth, “Fortunately for you, princess, I’ve no intent to fight you truly, or you would already be dead with your silly staff. And if it were these Olympics, you would have no medal to bite.”

Face flushed, her eyes narrow to slits, and before Lotor can avoid it, she hooks her ankle against his and unbalances him. Surprised claws protract from his hands, gripping into her practice armor and his eyes widen.

And the two royals fall in a pile of limbs upon the mat, with Allura sprawled on top of a stunned Lotor, his sword clattering to the mat beside them.  

“Oh, no,” she says with a triumphant giggle, hands planted over his chest plate. Her curly flyaways are an angelic halo around her face. “You lowered your weapon but did not fully secure me, so I still win.”

Lotor grumps beneath her, his lavender cheeks flushing as he grips her forearms.

And despite Galra leadership watching the courts and murmuring with gossip in the far distance, Lotor softens. His rough, calloused thumbs stroke a pink marking along her bare forearm. “Best two out of three, then? I promise to secure you fully next time and cause another scandal for it.”

Allura leans forward, eyes sparkling. “Very well, Emperor Lotor. You’re on.”

[daughterofhecata]

I don't often post pics, but it's just. So nice to look closer to how I wanna look.

(he/him)

[loubatas-art]

Remember that dress meme from a few weeks back? Yeah I did it with my boys =D

(The girls are coming later, don't worry)

[whumpbby]

You know what?

Lan Zhan is mostly so frustrating as a character to me, because making him interesting and giving him a character arc would be so easy and it wouldn't even require changing his character or the overarching story!

Solution:

Have the Lan kick him out after he took the lashes for Wei Wuxian. No seclusion, straight up blacklisting from the properties.

That will reinforce:

A. That actions thaken in good faith result in unfairly harsh consequences.

B. That Lan are a strict sect that will stick to their rules to their own detriment.

C. That Lan Wangji took on an actual risk by trying to save WWX and it cost him more than he was ready to pay. Everyone lost in WWX's gamble.

Have him be a rogue cultivator that has spent thirteen years trying to earn the right of returning to his sect and family - and that's the reason he's where the chaos is, the reason he's known outside of Gusu and sticking to their creed to the letter. It would give him a valid personal reason to resent Jiang Cheng, because in his eyes JC didn't lose as much as him for doing much less.

It would give him internal conflict separate from WWX - does he want to go back to the sect that abandoned him? Does he want to go back to the sect he doesn't believe in anymore? Can he even allow himself to stop believing in the Rules and their utility - because if he stops, what's left for him? He'll be alone in the world that doesn't understand him and won't allow him to grieve the man he loved. Hell, have him question his decision to help WWX and come to no definite answer.

Give him a crisis of faith when he's one step away from returning to the sect and his brother, and his uncle, and that's when Wei Wuxian comes back into his life.

And the choice placed in front of him suddenly has weight. Does he go back to the sect, something he has been working towards for years? Does he abandon the only light in the darkness of his post-war life, that kept him going through the worst times for a man that died over a decade ago? Can he abandon the chance to get back to his beloved brother who breaks law by speaking to him a few times a year?

Or does he choose Wei Wuxian? Choose him in the way he didn't before, this time with his eyes open and aware of the consequences? Does he break away from the sect that killed his mother and broke his father with their unbent, heartless adherence to the Rules? Can he go back to that life after knowing freedom?

And WWX will do okay without him, it's quite obvious he can just live his dream of being a rogue cultivator with ease.

But Lan Zhan won't do well without Wei Wuxian - because WWX was the symbol of freedom for him from the first meeting. Freedom to feel and to act, and to follow his heart.

And he chooses WWX, knowing that he won't be able to go back home - accepting that the home he remembers only ever fit him when he made himself smaller for it. You can never go back home etc.

And that closes the thread of generational trauma for these two - the thread of crappy 'parents/elders' straddling their kids with their own issues.

Coincidentally, that would merge beautifully with WWX's plight - both of them leaving previous lives symbolised by their brothers, that are appropriately opposite in character to suite their specific emotional baggage;)

[a-cakehound-or-critter-a-day]

8/6/2024 Cake wolf playing a vr game!

[una-wea--rara]

¿Cómo estás?

Mejorando 💪

[whostarlockeda03]

Having a very bad concentration day at work and none of my usual brain coercion tricks are working :/

[dingoat]

[Ugh do you know how HARD this one was for me to figure out when we still have so much BETWEEN THEM to work out??? Have they told each other they love one another yet? Will they, would they? Anyway I did my best and it still hurt >.> ~750 words on the theme of pining for the impossible and a big big problem with bonded souls.]

You're Not Mine

She didn’t want to think about the time drawing to an end, she almost didn’t… want to keep progressing, knowing that every step forward she took in gaining control over her wild half also drew her a step closer to having to… leave.

She didn’t want to leave. She didn’t want to be apart. She wanted him to come with her even though she knew it was impossible, he never would, and yet she could not stay here forever, the thought of drawing out her return to the fox left her writhing with guilt. It wasn’t fair, it wasn’t fair, and yet all she could do was cling onto every moment she had  while it was still there for her to hold.

“Ahuska,” Thirteen’s voice was gently amused. “How about you not dig in those claws like you’re holding on for dear life.”

“Sorry, sorry-” she winced and pulled back her hands from around his waist, folding them self consciously against her chest only to have one of his strong, long-fingered hands wrap around hers and tug it gently back to his side.

She shivered, then sighed, and tucked her face under his chin. “It’s not fair,” she whispered, as she had countless times before.

He knew what she meant. He felt what she meant. And he softly sighed in kind, knowing he could no more lie to her than cut out his own tongue. “It isn’t,” he agreed, moving his hand to rub slow, comforting circles between her shoulderblades.

“I don’t want a life without you in it,” she murmured, her muzzle sleek and soft against his jawline.

And it hurt him, as it hurt her, and he was silent for a while as he tried to find the words that would help her understand why she yearned for the impossible. “Ahuska. I love you, but you’re not mine,” he whispered, but as sweet and earnest as his tone was, he couldn’t guard against the way her heart twisted to hear it.

“Why not, why not? Your heart is big enough for me as well, I know it, I know it…”

“Big enough for your love, maybe,” he said, his hand sliding to the back of her head, fingers weaving through her hair, hoping to soothe her before speaking further. Their hearts shared their melancholy, their wistfulness, their frustration at a galaxy that had pressed them together when they could not be. He tilted his head and kissed the bridge of her muzzle. “Your love, but not your hate.”

“What- what?” She gave her head a fierce little shake against his face. “I don’t hate you. I never hated you, you know I don’t blame you for the way anything happened…”

“Five,” Thirteen said, and the way she twisted against him, her response so deep and visceral that the revulsion echoed in his own heart, only made him more certain.

She hid her grimace by tucking her face between his neck and the cushion, but she could do nothing to keep her own feelings from him. “So what?  You’re not him.”

“But I love him,” Thirteen answered simply. “You have every right to hate him, and I would never ask you to change that, to forgive him for my sake.”

“So what’s…”

“I don’t blame you for your feelings. But I can’t stand to feel them for myself, and I’m sure you don’t appreciate sharing mine.”

She didn’t.

Opening her heart to him had been… oh, it had been everything, to know one another so perfectly, man and bothan and wolf and hawkbat, but she knew how carefully they skirted around the subject of Five. She didn’t want their bond tainted with an awareness of Thirteen’s love and loyalty for him…

And how could Thirteen go to him, with Ahuska’s seething aversion simmering in the back of his mind?

How could she do that to him?

“Don’t,” he whispered, feeling her on the verge of spiralling. “You’re bigger than the mess life made of you. You’ll be unstoppable one day, and you won’t need me.”

She shuddered, and closed her eyes as she tucked herself more closely against him. “But I want you.”

“And right now you have me,” he reminded her as he kissed her on the forehead. Please, gods. He fought to convince himself as strongly as he wished it for her. Let it be enough.

[piracytheorist]

You'll tell me, "Twilight? Master of disguises, the man with the hundred faces, wouldn't be able to learn enough about one specific person to trick his child, for a few hours, that it's really their father?"

And I'll tell you, the first time as an adult that he's had the chance to get to know a child is Anya, without knowing she's a telepath. With her as an example, he just thinks children are so well aware of how their parents work that even he couldn't trick a child by acting as their parent.

[yaminerua]

I regret so much the amount of work I gave myself to do drawing this thing lmao but at least it’s just the last 3 pages that need coloured and shaded and stuff now.

Not sure how I’ll format the post when I post it yet bc the speech bubbles are in Gaelic and although I wrote the English round them it’s not very easy to read those so I’ll write the English in the post too. Probably beneath each page for ease of reading instead of all lumps at the end. I’ll figure it out when I finally am ready to post it lol

[lost-kingsmen]

Describe Gawain as if you were narrating his appearance, stature, and general "vibes" in a novel!

Tall, lithe, and clad in gleaming golden armor from boots to helm, Gawain looked the very picture of a storybook knight in shining armor.

Most who only knew him in passing or by his media appearances thought him a heroic but stoic figure, for his responses to questions and conversations were often short and evasive, and - with his face obscured but for his eyes - his expressions were nearly impossible to read. He holds himself tall but tense in his non-hero public appearances, and always seems to be on guard for some sort of threat. Gawain comes across in quick conversation as curt at best, and mildly threatening at worst.

But anyone who spoke with the knight longer than what was necessary to get an audience with his employer, Mayor Aether, would be shown a different side of him - the side that stood in the street to make sure no cars ran the crossing light, and let kids in the park teach him how to play hopscotch. When not feeling the pressure to be on his best behavior for the sake of Aether's reputation, Gawain becomes a kindhearted people-pleaser who has trouble saying no and gives his all to fulfill his promises even when he's overwhelmed and out of his depth.