#but I don't want to draw three prosthetics

[karlydraws]

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[vioyume]

Finally convinced myself to finish one of my other wips and that is the gijinka designs for wave three. I'm just going to share my thoughts on them through bullet points.

I had design a Magolor gijinka before, but I grown to not really like it now and decided to make him a scrunkly little man who has seen enough of the horrors. He has similar elements to my older one.

He is the shortest out of all the other adult characters

The entirety of the left part of his torso and arm has burn scars (You can sort of spot it by comparing the hands). He has scars on his forehead too if you lift the hood down.

Most of Susie's limbs are now prosthetic. They work as a normal limb should but she has the added bonus of long fall boots.

Her eyes are robotic and those antenna looking things on the side of her head are attached to her, they can rotate. (Though I guess I applied that to regular Susie too since I don't draw her much.)

Taranza is a very tall man. He sometimes feels bad for provoking people with his height and spider like arms and eyes.

I went back and fourth when designing the upper part of his body, whether or not he should wear his cape and how his suit jacket should look. He had a carvat at some point too.

He got a little spike thing on his shoes for the people who want to chop his ankles off. (And its a substitute for how actual tarantulas shoot bristles from their body to harm predators)

His arms and hands were an absolute pain to draw.

[lutraviolet]

Every time I see your art show up on my dashboard I mentally go, "Oh! It's the fitpac mlp artist!" and I get excited. I don't watch FitMC nor PacTW. I haven't watched My Little Pony since I was eight. I am unreasonably obsessed with both of those things solely because of you, and I don't know whether to thank you for that, or like, curl up in a ball and cry as I play pirated My Little Pony episodes out of one tab and a HideDuo compilation out of another.

Your art style is the most beautiful thing on Earth, however. I meant it when I said that I get excited whenever I see your works, because they're always absolutely jaw-dropping. Your handle on colors and body proportions is incredible, and you always seem to know how to draw children like they're children. I love the way that you draw eyes and facial expressions as a whole, because they truly are, well, expressive. You can feel the emotion behind each and every character; the happiness, the joy, the bliss, or just a general contentment with life. It's so much fun to scroll through what you have made and just stare at each and every work of art.

I bounce around your QSMP human egg designs in my brain semi-daily on account of how great they look. It takes a special talent and skill to be able to take Minecraft pixels and make them into something that looks even half as good as what you have been able to make, and you are undeniably an incredible artist.

I can attribute my love of FitPac and HideDuo solely to your art, and I feel like you deserve to know that. Every single thing that you make feels quite genuinely unique. From the adorable drawings of Richarlyson as a MLP character with the absolute cutest prosthetic leg I have ever seen and the most flamboyant but incredible hair to the Federation rabbits you have as your banner, there is not a single artist in the world who has ever made art quite like yours nearly as well as you have made it, and that's really cool.

Overall, you are an amazing artist. Your art is an absolute vibe, and what you create is truly something incredibly unique. I hope that you know just how awesome your creations are, and how appreciated it is that you share it with the greater QSMP and art community online, because it is something to marvel at.

Have a good day, a great week, and a hopefully even better month. You deserve all three.

i was tempted not to reply to this just so i could keep it in my inbox to constantly reread, but anon this is probably the kindest most genuine thing anyone has ever said about my work, you have no idea how much it means to me 🫶 please let me cook you a delicious 3 course meal and draw you whatever you want because oh my god i genuinely teared up

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I've an anthro tiger character who can walk/run/etc both bipedal and quadrupedal. Within the scope of the story he also becomes an amputee - so now hes missing his entire left arm and his right leg up to the knee. I've figured out that bipedally he mostly uses a crutch. but is there anything i can do for him that'll still let him scamper around? I've not been able to find reference for animals missing limbs in a similar configuration.

alright this one was fun. mobile aids for non-human bodies can be tricky, but it's cool and important!

the first step of course is making sure you can keep a character design relatively consistent in both a bipedal and quadrupedal stance.

(image description: simplified sketches of a feline character standing on all fours as well as upright on two legs. their left arm and right leg have also been colored over in red to note that these limbs are missing. there is also a note on the image stating that the arms and legs should be roughly the same length. end description)

keeping the limbs similar in length is important for quadrupedal motion, if you want the spine to be kinda parallel to the ground. otherwise, you get sloped backs which are not the best for smooth motion. but the more important part of this ask is the matter of mobility aids for a character that moves between bipedal and quadrupedal motion! so let's talk about that.

for one thing, if your character is not using a leg prosthetic, they'll need two crutches when they walk upright. one crutch is helpful when you have two legs but one of them is weaker, and in that case you'd use the crutch on the strong side, actually.

I previously reblogged a post about proper cane usage, but it can apply to crutches as well! and from what I've seen, the crutches that have a forearm brace are the most popular for comfort and ease of use. your character happens to be missing an entire arm on the same side he would be using a cane or crutch if he had a leg prosthetic on. so that does make things tricky. alternatively, he could use a leg prosthetic and not bother with a cane or crutch. but! you don't have to do that. you can still give him crutches, leave his right leg without a prosthetic, and even give him a versatile prosthetic for upright and quadrupedal motion!

conveniently, cats are well documented to manage just fine with three legs, whether they are missing a back leg or a front leg! there's even at least one cat out there missing both front legs and doing fine! so, your tiger fella really only needs one prosthetic to do both kinds of locomotion, I think. here's what I've got:

telescopic/collapsible arm prosthetic-crutch-combo and a collapsible or folding forearm crutch that can be carried on a belt when not in use.

(image description: the same feline character sketched upright and on all "fours", this time with added mobility aids. the notes on this sketch say "one leg, no prosthetic, requires two crutches. cats get along fine with three legs." the mobility aids drawn on the character include a folding forearm crutch and an arm prosthetic strapped to the left shoulder that can be extended into a tall crutch for walking upright. end description.)

play around with it until you're satisfied! if you just want a leg prosthetic instead, no crutches, then I think he could use the exact same prosthetic both upright and on all "fours" without the use of an arm prosthetic.

(image description the feline character again, this time showing a simple leg prosthetic that attaches at the knee, has a small thick piece bending slightly back, and then a longer straight rod ending in a foot pad. end description.)

you'll have to adjust the exact proportions and design to better match your character, of course, but these are the options i thought could work for your idea. I hope that's helpful and gives you more ideas for how you want to draw him! good luck!

[hercynianforest]

I have a lot of criticism for Cl**derry that I need to vent, you can read it under the cut, if you like.

It's a toxic and abusive relationship. But it's presented to us as love.

By the latter I'm mostly referring to "The Frozen Ship", where their scenes were paralleled with Rayllum scenes, and portrayed in a very beautiful, romantic way (the music, camera, light, etc).

I don't understand why. It's obvious that Terry does all the work in the relationship, he basically takes turns at being Claudia's carer, parent, and counsellor. When did Claudia ever support Terry? Inquire how he feels? His needs? Talk about anything but herself and her problems? The whole time she acts like a child, who takes his presence for granted.

And no, her trauma doesn't make that okay. It's not just one time, not just when she is in crisis. It's the whole time. Also, she got hurt/traumatised trying to kill others, then killed someone, and never showed remorse for any of that. She repeats that she has to "do, what needs to be done/is necessary, no matter how vile or vicious". She's incapable of seeing the atrocity of her own actions.

And Terry never gets angry. He never voices any desires or needs, it's like he exists only for Claudia. Terry kills another elf to protect her, helps her to carry Viren for hours, builds a boat for her, is not frightened by her murder of Sir Sparklypuff or the fact that she sees animals as ingredients and continuously murders them. He makes a prosthetic for her, washes her, brushes her hair, counsels her, follows her wherever she goes. The relationship is about Claudia and Claudia alone.

And this is never portrayed as problematic, on the contrary - it's shown in a positive light, like some beautiful devotion.

It makes me angry, because I've been the victim of abusive relationships all my life and this kind of romanticising is harmful.

What conclusion will young viewers draw from this? That the only thing that matters in a relationship is that you give 100%, no matter if you get anything back or not? That it's okay if your partner/friend/relative never inquires about you and your emotions? That you shouldn't get compassion fatigue or shouldn't be shocked at their lack of ethics and cruel actions? That you shouldn't talk or want to talk about yourself? That it's still love even though you're not an equal in the reationship? That it's still love even though they take up all of the space and you have to make yourself small? That true love means one-sided sacrifice?

Fuck this. Even if they pull out some big surprise in s7, like a backstory in which Claudia saved his life pre-s4 or something like that - it doesn't change the toxidity of their relationship, it doesn't change what they've been showing us for three seasons.

[howtowhumpyourhiccup]

Lies Late at Night

Summary: Written for AI-less Whumptober Day 4. Canon Divergent AU. Hiccup won the honor to kill the Nightmare, but before he could, the Nightmare mysteriously disappeared. Now it’s been three years and his father still doesn’t know about Toothless and the Dragon Riders.

Warning: /

Rating: General

Characters: Hiccup, Stoick

Pairing: /

Words: 1 011

Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon, Race To The Edge

Prompt: Hiding an injury, Betrayal, Lying

Whumpee: Hiccup, Stoick

Author’s Notes: Thought of this AU, don't have a name for it yet, but I can see the potential for a lot more fics for this one.

Enjoy!

@ailesswhumptober

XOXOX

As quietly as he can, Hiccup tries to open and close the front door to his home. It's late. Much later than he told his dad he'd be. And as luck would have it; his father sits at the fire. He’s been waiting for him, stoking its dying embers.

A pot hangs above it. Hiccup wonders if whatever used to be in it is still edible. He hasn’t eaten since this morning, but he doesn’t hunger for a hearty dinner.

Stoick knows he’s there, he knows he does. Even so, Hiccup tries to sneak past him up the stairs.

Unfortunately, he’s limping and that means he doesn’t get very far without drawing attention. His prosthetic is quite loud on the wooden floor. He can hear the stool under his father creak as the mountainous man rises.

Hiccup freezes just shy of walking up the stairs. His face is in a grimace, bracing himself for what could possibly turn into a lecture.

“You’re late,” his father starts, hands on his hips. It’s a very father-like way of standing and Hiccup can’t look at him.

“Uh, yeah. I, uh… I got held up,” Hiccup explains briefly.

“You got held up? While fishing?” Stoick asks. His son doesn’t need to look to know that at least one eyebrow is raised in suspicion. Not only did he return with no fish to show for his efforts, but the gear he has is not one would usually take with them on a trip to the nearest lake. Not unless his way of catching fish is by clubbing it over the head with the hilt of a sword.

He knows it’s a collapsible sword. Stoick doesn’t understand how it is in any way a reliable weapon.

“Uh, yea-yeah? Anyway, gotta go to bed. Need to get up bright and early tomorrow for work, right?” Hiccup chuckles awkwardly as he tries to cut this conversation short. He’s so tired. He’s tired and in pain and he wants to go to bed.

His father might’ve actually let him go with that one. Hiccup once earned the right to kill the Nightmare, but the dragon mysteriously disappeared and with it disappeared any hope of a connection between father and son.

Not because of Stoick, however. He assured him that they would catch another Nightmare to prove his worth with. It was Hiccup who suddenly pulled away and distanced himself from his father as far as he could go. It no longer feels like they even live in the same house anymore and Stoick has absolutely no idea why.

In a way, it broke the man and that’s why- three years later- he won’t question his son’s whereabouts anymore.

The rest of the village might complain to him about their lackluster heir, but he has lost the will to fight with his son. Hiccup is 18, if he couldn’t change to be one of them earlier, he’s not going to now. At least he still has his friends, for however long they’ll stick around. At least for the time being Astrid seems fond of him. Hiccup won’t let either of them cross this distance between them, but at least he doesn’t have just him and Gobber in his life.

Unfortunately for the both of them, however, he’s limping and his father is still his father.

“Son? Are you hurt?” Hiccup winces at the question.

He and Toothless made a bad fall, dislocating his weak knee. Astrid reset it, but that doesn’t mean he’s not still hurting and his knee isn’t still swelling.

But he can’t tell his dad that. He doesn’t know about Toothless or the missions they do together. No one in the village knows about the Dragon Riders and it’s for the best. If they did... He refuses to imagine what would happen to their dragons if they told anyone. It’s the one thing keeping Snotlout and the twins quiet about their secret.

“Uhm, I-I slipped. It was muddy out there and-and you know how clumsy I am, dad,” Hiccup makes an excuse and one his dad doesn’t believe. He sighs heavily and Hiccup’s chest constricts, he aches knowing that his dad is disappointed in him. They both know he’s lying.

From the corners of his eyes, he dares to look at his old man. Stoick rubs in his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. He can see the migraine growing.

But just like they both know he’s lying, they also know that neither of them are trying anymore.

“Did you at least visit Gothi?” Stoick asks.

“Of course!” He responds eagerly.

Hopefully, it’ll ease his father’s heart. He hasn’t forgotten yet how he responded to his friends returning him to the village with a terribly mangle leg. The limb was nearly lost in an attempt to rid the Archipelago of the Red Death, but it was in vain. She’s still in that volcano, ruling with an iron fist and bringing death to the Barbaric Archipelago. He and the rest of the Dragon Riders almost lost their lives fighting this behemoth only to find out that she was quite untouchable. And so, the only alternative was to help dragons escape the nest.

“It’s, eh, a minor injury, so,” Hiccup gives him a thumbs up. He hopes to at least assure his father that he’s okay.

But his father sighs and walks back over to the stool to drop down onto it. He should be glad that his son is okay, he should be relieved, but all he can think of is how Hiccup is still lying to him and how he would’ve hidden his injury if Stoick hadn’t caught him.

Hiccup’s guilt grows, he looks away.

“Hiccup… son… When will you finally tell me the truth again?” The question is asked so quietly, he’s not even sure if Stoick meant for him to hear it.

“I don’t know, dad,” Hiccup responds even quieter and limps up the stairs. He heads up to his loft to drop down onto his bed and hopefully leave this day far behind him.

[galvanizedfriend]

what do you think about the baby plotlines? about hope and the twins? do you think they ruined any chance of klaroline being together? or do you think kc could have been together for real and had a good relationship if the babies didn't exist?

This might seem surprising since I have written over a million words of baby fic (although I will argue that it's not a baby fic, it's a fic that contains a baby, which is very different 😌), but I hate the baby plot. I'm a clown. 🤡

It's not about Hope or the twins in particular, nothing against them, I just think that suddenly including magical babies in a supernatural story about vampires is just about the stupidest thing you can do. Vampires are not supposed to have babies, period. I remember watching the backdoor pilot episode of The Originals not having the slightest clue what to expect because I wasn't in fandom back then, or even following anything about TVD, just watched the episodes as they came out, and the moment they revealed The Originals' move to New Orleans was about a baby, I turned off my TV. Whoever thought that giving Klaus A BABY was the best thing they could do for him, is an idiot that should've been fired on spot.

If they wanted to explore the whole father-child situation, drawing from Klaus' immense well of daddy issues, they could've used Marcel. It would've been so much more powerful and so much more interesting. The thought that Klaus, out of all the Originals, would just decide to embrace fatherhood after getting a one-night stand he didn't even like accidentally pregnant makes NO SENSE AT ALL. This is the man who stabbed his siblings and carried them around in coffins as a love language. And people want me to believe that this violence-first, emotionally constipated hybrid would want to raise a child. Sure.

As for Caroline's pregnancy - I guess once you have established that Klaus could make magical babies, then anything was possible. The excuse they used that Candice was pregnant was so dumb though. So many movies and shows have been shot while the actresses were heavily pregnant, but their characters weren't. Catherine Zeta Jones was six or seven months pregnant in Chicago. Everyone in Grey's Anatomy had babies. Ellen Pompeo had three onscreen babies but none of them were written to match her real life pregnancies. In fact, Candice had to wear a prosthetic belly because she wasn't pregnant ENOUGH. So stupid.

HAVING SAID THAT. I don't think the babies were the reason why Klaroline didn't happen. At the end of the day, it wouldn't have been something that would've kept them apart if the writers had wanted to go there. If anything, babies could've brought them closer. I mean, Klaus should've been completely inept when it comes to taking care of another human being who's entirely dependent upon him. Caroline, as a carer at heart, could've seamlessly fit into the narrative. And especially after they gave her babies as well, they could've easily connected through their snowflake kids.

In fact, my personal headcanon (somewhat backed by real canon) is that they did. Klaus gave her money for her school, and while I don't think he did it so he could send Hope there later on as Legacies tried to make us believe, I do think the reason he ended up allowing Hope to attend the school was BECAUSE Caroline was there. He trusted her with his daughter, in a way he probably wouldn't have trusted anyone else, particularly because he was absent. He needed to know she would be safe and in good hands, and that was definitely not because of Alaric. And I also think they kept in touch during all those years where Hope went to school there and he went on a murder bend around Europe. Hayley couldn't get a hold of him, but Rebekah IMMEDIATELY knew who she could reach out to to find him. If Caroline hadn't seen or spoken to him in 15 years, that would make no sense. The way Klaus is all 'Trying not to flatter myself that you're here on a sudden whim to see me' implies more intimacy than two people who hadn't spoken in over a decade would've had. They were definitely in touch. How much touching was involved is up to your imagination. :)

One thing I wish Legacies had explored was Caroline's relationship with Hope. They obviously had one, we were just never shown it, which is sad, because there were so many interesting layers that could've been explored. It's also in my personal headcanon that Lizzie would've been fascinated with Klaus had him and Caroline ever had a chance to be together and he got to hang around her kids as well, and the irony that her middle name is Jenna is just delicious (Klaus wouldn't have felt the slightest bit of remorse). It would've given Alaric so much grief.

In conclusion, Klaroline could've been together with or without the babies. They weren't what was standing between them. Stupid writing was.

[erinelizabethh]

Time Slip | Chai x Reader (5/?)

Summary: Chai, ambassador of Vandelay Technologies, certainly has his ways of communication. You, living in the suburbs outside the campus, don't even have a cell phone. You know what they say about relationships...

Chapter One: Time Slip

Chapter Two: #E67451

Chapter Three: Daisies

Chapter Four: Sweet Dreams

Chapter Five: Synesthesia

When the sun begins to set is when Chai begins to squeeze at your fingers like the beat that grants him life. One heartbeat, two heartbeats… a song from the late seventies that he begs you to never skip when you tune into the radio. He swings your arm back and forth with the tune, walking with a swagger unlike you, basking in the summer breeze that caresses your skin and draws out the beauty marks and imperfections–a sketch across your skin. The glances up and down is the tell, except his eyes don’t gloss over the flush of red all over your face. Yours can’t help but notice, the casual, “Me and a pretty girl out on a date? Who would’ve thought… and she’s my girlfriend!” sinking into your stomach like butterflies.

 The date is like your first, with the visit to that same cafe except Chai wills himself to order a pumpkin spice latte he mentioned seconds ago released too early. However, his tongue relishes in the whipped cream reduced to foam atop his drink; the man raises his free hand to slurp at the topping before groaning in satisfaction. His eyes roll to the back of his head every time, and you imagine the reaction is amplified by the fact that the two drinks did not come out of his wallet. His hand does not let go of yours, the two of you across an overpass that overlooks the sun in the distant horizon. The time of day calls for a movie night, perhaps at a local theater where the experience is so real and imperfect and humans provide the service.

He pulls you along the sidewalk of the overpass but you halt your movements to observe the trail of train tracks descend towards a sky of violet hues and summer blues. The path grows narrow as the distance between increases, and behind the two of you is the sound of a drawn out horn. Your gaze is through holes of a fence, a wall before you dragging you from the unknown. What is now is the garden of tulips that surround you, the scent that represents the present more than any other invention that attempts to replicate what is real. What is real is the arm that hangs over your shoulder, following your gaze out into the distance, as real as the refuge Chai provides you.

You hum, and because that doesn’t get his attention, you call out his name. “You gotta’ take me to that place. Y’know, with the view.”

His arms wrap around your shoulders, his chin resting on your left. “That’s off limits but I guess I can take you.”

So he does. The route there is as mundane as the life he lived as a child, a conclusion you jump to upon the tapping of his feet on the train car floor. His prosthetic taps at the metal bar above your head, regardless of the huffs that escape you, yet they falter at the first sight at the place he calls home: the campus that houses him and his roommate Peppermint. The buildings, although imitating, tower above the railway with the interest in housing for those desiring to be close to work. Ahead of you is the spot you have dreamed of since the photo Chai sent you of him and his friends with the ocean behind them; the shine of the sun’s rays across the water is a sight you want to experience for the rest of your life. Perhaps there is the romantic getaway the hopeless romantic in you have always wished for.

You don’t think there’s a sight that can compare, especially because the tips of the grass glows and tickles at your ankles with a sway that rivals Chai’s incessant rocking. You taste the breeze atop your lips, the chill brushing past a cupid’s bow chewed on the more Chai reminds you how much you are loved… without saying it, of course. You scramble to your knees, to embrace the tufts of grass in your fists, to savor the distance between you and the sun setting to meet you. Ten steps forward and it is you against the ocean, waves crashing against the rocks below as the ascent to reach you begins. Nothing is past your vision except the possibilities and the stories untold; you haven’t a clue what is out there, and perhaps that is what’s most exciting.  The young man behind you throws his hands up in the air as if to say, “Welp, this is it!” yet he underestimates the glimpse of the wonders of the world he bestowed to you.

“You like it, huh? Did good, right babe?” He then sits beside you, a guitar he picked up from a nearby rock resting atop his crossed legs. The streaks of red and white are his match, as are the stickers he slapped on with the most notable being a holographic black cat and a fragment of you outlined as a flower. Chai’s shoulders are relaxed, a sigh escaping past the grin that cements itself on his lips. When his eyes begin to glisten, no doubt the reason being the attempt to see the world in your eyes, he turns to find you sparing a glance at him at the corner of your eye. You share the sentiment, your vision shuffling to the guitar in his embrace, and your smile grows with the shade of pink that warms up his face. 

With a hurried strum of his guitar, he warns you with a, “This isn’t finished, but—” He shakes his head. “I really want you to hear it.”

Synesthesia is the name of his work in progress. He looks into your eyes as he begins, a gaze so tender that it’s as if the song is written for you, and you edge closer as if the warmth stems from only him. His voice is soft, low enough that the waves crawling towards the bottom of the cliff threaten to drown out his tune. He whispers at times, mumbling words here and there, and he remedies his nerves by closing his eyes and allowing his body to sway with the chords. The grass follows his movements, and what surrounds you two is an audience that resonate with Chai’s words so much they sing along ever so quietly, a murmur swallowed whole by your humming. As if familiar with the song, a chorus is raised around the two of you as the outro begins, the wind picking up despite the heat nipping at your skin.

When we're together, I'm all the color

When we're together, I'm all the color

When we're together, I'm all the color

You repeat the lyric back to him, effortless enough to memorize. Your lips are centimeters from his when he opens his eyes again, your vision flickering to his lips wet with anticipation. Like yours, they begin to flutter close with what’s about to come, both of you confident that the two of you will align with a kiss that is as perfect as this view. This one promises to be different from the rest, edging toward the abstract of love without the words being spoken. You imagine it’s another step toward that three word phrase, one you’ve said so many times and too quickly for your own good. His breath hot on the tip of your nose, his hand threads itself past the knots in your hair to the back of your head, pulling you close. For now, you can tell him you love this, that you love that it seems as if each kiss will be better than the last. You hope it’s enough for him, if you remind him that—

“Oh dear! It looks like we’ve interrupted something between Mister Chai and Miss—”

Chai groans, his eyes rolling to the back of his head at the sight of his trusted friends. Peppermint is the first to approach you two, followed by her love interest Korsica, their guardian Macaron, and his whimsical analyst CNMN. Of course, 808 follows suit with a nuzzle against Chai’s back, vying for his attention once again. However sheepish the big guy is, Macaron tends to the curiosity of his friends by tagging along with an apology and a scratch of his scalp. Peppermint, with her hands on her hips, relishes in the embarrassment of her friend with a smirk tugged on her lips, cackling when Chai answers with a, “Yeah, CNMN! You kinda’ did!” They definitely did, as his head drops with a drawn out huff. The robot taps at his arm to grab a marker from a slot in his forearm, then drawing eyebrows on his face that resemble two meeting sides of a triangle above eyes that emit a bright yellow glow. He is thrilled, surely because he spends too much time with someone who very much finds joy in seeing her friend too red in the face.

Korsica stoops down to your level. “Thought we’d find ya’ here!” Then, to Chai. “You finally showed her the spot, eh?”

“Yes!” CNMN nods, his excitement concerning. “Did she like the song you wrote for her, Mister Chai?”

Your boyfriend, with another groan, buries his face in his hands. You giggle in response, evolving to a snort when you lunge forward to attempt to pry his hands away from his burning cheeks. Only then, despite the burning of your own, do you throw your arms around him to pull him into an embrace. The left side of his face is squished up against yours in the process, and despite voicing his complaints, no effort is made to distance yourself from you. His complaints, mind you, are at the mercy of a smile so wide they stretch at his cheeks. 

The rest of them can’t help but share the sentiment, but the second you notice the lingering gaze of Peppermint’s towards Korsica, you are at the mercy of her glare. Her eyes narrow, as if already knowing your not so well-kept secret.

Hey. Stop messing around and go tell him you love him already.

[tyo-mimt]

19/36. @tmnt-event-blog

Mikey remembers that asking for help is okay.

Mikey wouldn't say he's overprotective or defensive about the kitchen, but he'd be lying if he said he trusted his brothers with dinner. It wasn't an attack on them as people, but the three of them had different ways of cooking, and Leo would probably be the closest to a legitimate chef, if it wasn't for the missing hand and the hazard a highly explosive prosthetic would pose to the kitchen (thanks, Donnie).

Besides, he enjoyed making food for the whole family, and it wasn't like any of them were going to complain about not being able to eat.

Though, today was a particularly hard day.

His hands shook as he handled the pan, liquid sloshing out as he fought his body to cooperate.

He tried drawing before, but they looked sketchier; it wasn't the artistic kind either, the dissonance between his mind's eye and action discouraging him further. He tried helping Donnie with an invention, but the tremors in his hands caused a wire to melt; he wasn't officially banished from the lab yet, but there was the implication. He even tried to accompany Raph with a training session, but the jitters kept him from focusing; Raph officially banished him from the garage until the bad streak ended.

So where was he now? Struggling to make a simple soup for his family in the kitchen, pushing his frustrations to the back of his mind as he attempted to focus on the task at hand.

He bit his tongue, eyes narrowing as he eventually managed to place the pan down on the stove without spilling anything. He let out a sigh of relief, stepping back only to trip over on a soapy sponge. He wasn't able to catch himself, impacting causing him to kick the cabinet in front of him and topple over a precariously piled stack of dirty pans. It's easy to guess where they all fell.

The sound of metal clattering unceremoniously onto the box turtle alerted the other three turtles, immediately rushing in to lift the dirty dishes from Mikey's fallen body.

"Who was supposed to do the dishes?" Mikey questioned, trying and failing not to sound accusatory.

Raph and Donnie immediately turned to look at Leo; the slider scowled incredulously, "Hey! I dropped the sponge and was dragged out of the kitchen by the Caseys! Well, just Cassandra specifically."

"Never mind that," Raph groaned, facepalming with that typical flavour of big brother disappointment, before extending a hand to Mikey with a soft smile, "Let's just focus on helping Mikey out."

"Right, we don't want him turning into us," Donnie drawled, only to get jabbed in the elbow by Leo.

"We definitely don't want that," Leo rolled his eyes, crossing his arm over his plastron. Mikey laughed a little, lifting his hand up. It shook, a reminder of what caused this to begin with... Ah, but it didn't matter. He took the hand extended to him, being pulled up. The mess on the ground promptly cleaned up and the wet sponge thrown into the closest trash can, they continued to cook.

Raph helped wash the rest of the dishes, Leo kept track of the soup to make sure it didn't overboil, and Donnie cut up a various array of vegetables as Mikey flew across the cupboards for any seasonings he missed. They finished quicker than Mikey expected, just in time for their regularly scheduled dinner time. Dad (Splinter) came back with other dad (Draxum) from a small exploration of New York, immediately welcomed with the smell of warm stew.

It was dysfuctional, maybe a little broken, but Mikey wouldn't trade it for the world.

[maria021015]

“I think it’s time you give us a proper explanation,” Isaac crossed his arms, standing across from Chris in the Argent’s office. Scott, Allison and Zaida were standing around the desk whilst Kira waited in the other room. She’d surely have plenty of questions for them, but right now they had more important things to worry about.

“I thought you were going to wait before telling the others,” Chris glanced at the teenagers in the room.

“We did,” Allison interjected, leaning against the window as warm light streamed through the half-drawn blinds. “They showed up again. The other night, how did you know what they were?”

“Because I’ve seen them before.” The man relented, taking a seat in his desk chair. “Many years ago, in Japan, I watched one of those…things, grab a man’s face and just stare at him. There was something almost ritualistic about it - like it was looking right into his soul.”

“That's the same thing it did to me.” Isaac identified bitterly.

“That's what they did to everyone.” Allison corrected.

“Not everyone.” Scott shook his head, stepping forward. “They only came after the werewolves.”

“And Lydia,” The huntress pointed out only for Zaida to then raise her hand.

“And me,” She added lowly.

“Anyone with a connection to the supernatural,” Chris summarised, staring at them all grimly.

“Then who was the guy they went after in Japan?” Isaac brought them back to Chris’ story.

“A Kumicho - a Yakuza boss.” The man answered with pursed lips.

“Yakuza?” Scott repeated with his eyebrows drawing close together.

“Japanese mafia,” Zaida answered succinctly so that Chris could continue with his story. She pulled the jacket that she had borrowed from Scott closer around her body, still feeling a lingering chill.

“It was my first gun deal. I was only eighteen, and it was supposed to be a simple exchange...Except Gerard left out the minor detail of the buyers being Yakuza.” Chris recalled the memory. “He wanted to see if I could adapt in the moment. Testing my ability to, uh...improvise.”

“Or, your ability to survive.” Allison scoffed, still harbouring some well-earned resentment towards her grandfather.

“The moment the sun came down, it was like they just materialized out of the shadows. They had swords - not curved like katanas, but straight, black steel, like ninjatos.” The man continued his tale.

“What did they want?” Isaac interrupted once more in an attempt to guide the conversation where they wanted it to go. They needed information. As the others spoke, Zaida checked her phone for any message notification. There was one from Lydia confirming that she was okay, but none from Stiles. With the acrid taste of disappointment in her mouth, She turned her attention back towards Chris.

“To get to the Kumicho. They cut down every living thing in their way.” The Argent spoke in a low voice, his eyes clouded with darkness.

“Did they mark him like they did us?” Isaac questioned eagerly.

“Not exactly…” Chris grimaced. “They impaled him and all of the men who tried to protect him.”

“If they went after the Kumicho, he must have been supernatural too,” Zaida spoke up and Chris nodded slowly.

“What was he?” Scott asked, leaning against the desk.

“I don't know. But, there might be someone who does.” The man’s shoulder stilted into a half-shrug. “There were a few others who survived that night. One of them was a man named Katashi. They called him ‘Silverfinger’ because of an unusual prosthetic...And it looked like he was getting ready to take them all on himself. I've known for a while Katashi was in the country. I spent yesterday tracking him down.”

“Didn't look like he wanted to be found,” Isaac responded snarkily, eyeing the deep cut on Argent’s temple, which he had closed up with three Steri strips.

“Not particularly, no.” Chris grimaced.

“You think he knows what they are? Or what they want?” Scott shifted his weight from one foot to the other, supporting his weight with crossed arms pressed against the desktop.

“Maybe…” The man tilted his head in acknowledgement.

“What if he doesn't want to talk?” Allison asked.

“What if he doesn't even remember you?” Isaac followed up with a question of his own.

“He'll remember this.” Chris reached for an item shrouded in cloth on the desk. Pulling the fabric back, he revealed pieces of a silver mask, shattered but placed in order like a mosaic. Zaida immediately recognised the face, only when she had seen it, there had been yellowish-green glowing eyes behind the dark holes. “ In a desperate attempt to save Katashi’s life, I shot one of them directly in the face. I know I didn't kill it - I'm not sure you can. But, I slowed it down long enough for us to get out of there.”

“What was behind the mask?” Scott wondered aloud curiously.

“Darkness...Absolute darkness.” Chris swallowed thickly. “No person - just black smoke.”

“Like spirits?” Zaida clarified, her brows rising inquisitively.

“Like demons,” The man shook his head.

“Even better,” She muttered. How was she going to explain this one to Xander?

“Scott! Hey, Scott!” Zaida caught sight of the boy, slamming Lydia’s passenger side door shut and half-walking, half-running towards where he was pulling into a parking spot on his dirt bike. She looked back to wave the redhead goodbye. “I’ll see you later!”

When she managed to catch up to Scott, two motorbikes had parked on either side of him, and the twins tugged off their shiny black helmets. “Why are you two always everywhere now?” She groaned and Aiden reciprocated her glare.

“You guys going to be doing this all day?” The alpha questioned the two omegas beside him.

“All day.” Ethan began with a smirk and looked at his brother to finish his sentence.

“All night,” Aiden confirmed.

“Is this about being in my pack?” Scott asked with an unamused expression sharpening his features.

“Because if so, you can kiss that hopeless dream goodbye, because it ain’t happening,” Zaida smiled sweetly at Lydia’s ex, though her lips were painted with poison.

“This is about you being the target of demonic ninjas.” Aiden corrected, ignoring her snarkiness.

“You mean, the demonic ninjas that pulled swords out of their chests and completely kicked our asses?” Ethan’s voice was dripping with sarcasm as he played up the roleplay with his brother.

“Yeah! Those demonic ninjas!” Aiden nodded enthusiastically.

“I don't need anyone to protect me.” Scott insisted, but none of them were entirely convinced. One-on-one, maybe, but facing a whole hoard of them? Impossible.

“They were looking right at you when the sun came up.” Ethan justified their worries.

“I hate to say it, but he’s right,” The brunette admitted, agreeing with the twin.

“And they also disappeared. Argent thinks that they could just come out at night…” The alpha shrugged.

“Scotty boy, I don’t think you’re taking this one seriously enough. I don’t know what they were doing, or why, but I can tell you it sure as hell didn’t feel great,” She grimaced, remembering the state she’d been left in the night - and morning - before.

“Since this is our first experience with demonic ninjas, we're thinking we should play it safe.” Ethan nodded.

“All day,” Aiden started the duo’s apparent new tagline.

“...And all night.” Scott finished it with a grumpy sigh, swinging his leg over his bike and carrying his helmet with him as the twins did the same.

“Scott, just…I need to talk to you!” Zaida quickened her pace to walk after him, shooting a pointed glare at Aiden. “Without any unwanted, nosy listeners.”

“Weren’t you the one who was just agreeing with us?” Ethan arched a brow at her.

“Whatever!” She scoffed at him and flashed Scott her phone screen. “Have you heard anything from Stiles? He hasn’t been answering my messages since he left the loft last night, until this morning when I got this.”

“Ooh, trouble in paradise?” Aiden teased her with a pleased grin and she stuck her favourite finger up at him in response. After finishing at the Argent’s apartment, Scott had been tasked with taking Kira home and catching her up with supernatural. Zaida had gone back to the apartment to catch a few hours of sleep and waited for Stiles to reply to at least one of her messages or calls, to no avail. Except for a brief text she’d received only twenty minutes earlier instructing her to meet him in Harris’ classroom. Safe to say, she was worried about him.

“I got the same message,” Scott nodded, glancing back over his shoulder at the twins with a stern look. “Okay, one thing first. I need to talk to Stiles and let him know everything that happened last night - without you two.”

“No!” Aiden protested, but Scott was having none of it.

“Yes.” He insisted. “And I don't want you listening in. No wolf-hearing.”

“How would you even know?” Aiden challenged the alpha but Scott raised a brow.

“I'm a True Alpha - you have no idea what I can do.” He smirked, and though Zaida was fairly certain he might be up-playing his abilities, she wasn’t about to call him out on it. Particularly not in front of the twins, and especially not when it would get them to piss off. Thankfully, both werewolves split off from them - but not without a bitter glare.

Taking the stairs two at a time, Zaida took the lead towards the Chemistry rooms, eager to see Stiles - to see if he was okay. He was waiting for them outside the classroom, leaning casually against the wall and looking entirely unharmed. “Oh thank God, you’re okay!” She pulled him into a tight hug, and though he stiffened in confusion initially, he melted into it quickly. “I thought that maybe they’d gotten to you too.”

“Who?” The boy pulled away, brows furrowing as he looked at her in confusion.

“Last night at Derek’s, I tried to follow after you but these things showed up and attacked us-” She began but his eyes widened in alarm and he cut her off.

“You were attacked? Are you okay?” Taking a step back, he gripped her shoulders and scanned her up and down, searching for any signs of injury.

“I’m fine,” Zaida promised and laid her hand over his soothingly, pulling away to allow Scott into the conversation. “We’re all fine.”

“I’m sorry I left but I had to get here and then I spent all night researching and yes, I’ve had a lot of Adderall, but I think I figured it all out.” Stiles rambled, the words shooting out of his mouth rapidly with an anxious jitter to his movements as he held open the classroom door for them to pass inside. “Remember how you were talking about phosphors, and the key having chemicals on it? So that made me think of the chemistry closet, and the fact that someone had to let Barrow in...You guys have to see this.”

“...See what?” Zaida asked as she scanned the empty classroom. Nothing particularly stood out to her, and Stiles pushed past them both to stare at the clean blackboard where they had found the coded message the night before last.

“It's gone…” The boy stared at it with a hollow look in his eyes before whirling back around to face them with a wild expression as he dug through his pockets. Pulling out his keychain, he sorted through the mass of metal. “Okay, it doesn't matter though. It doesn't matter. I've still got the key...What the hell?”

“Is it not there?” Zaida asked, stepping closer to see that the round key from the night before was indeed missing from the collection.

“I had it - I had it here. I had it here this morning, I swear to God, I had it this morning.” He muttered, beginning to spiral as his breathing shortened. Now that she looked closely, Zaida could see the deep bruised bags on his face and his bloodshot eyes. He didn’t look like he’d slept a wink.

“The key you were talking about last night?” Scott clarified and the boy nodded fervently.

“Yeah. I showed it to you, right? Didn't I show it to you?” He asked and whilst Zaida had indeed seen it, Scott shook his head.

“No, you just told me about it. I never actually saw it…” The werewolf trailed off with wariness behind his gaze.

“I saw it,” Zaida reassured the boy in an even tone, hoping it would calm him. She knew him, and he was close to falling off the edge.

“I was here a couple hours ago. And the message left to Barrow spelling Kira's name was right there on the board in my handwriting, and I had the key to the chemistry closet.” Stiles explained, and Zaida's stomach twisted. Was he saying what she thought he was saying?

“So, you unlocked the chemistry closet so Barrow could hide in it from the cops, and then you wrote him a message to kill Kira...?” Scott repeated, his brows creasing in concern.

“I know how it sounds...But look at this-” Stiles exclaimed in frustration, letting his backpack slip down over his arm so he could pull a stapled bunch of papers out to show them. “This is the news report that came out about Barrow when they caught him, okay? About the shrapnel bomb that he used. See this? See what he did? He put nuts, bolts, and screws, and then he hid the bomb and the detonator in a box that he wrapped as a birthday present. What does that sound like to you?”

“Coach…” Scott answered, recalling the prank on Mischief Night. “The joke we played on Coach.”

“Stiles-” Zaida began but the boy cut her off.

“That was my idea. You remember? That was my idea.” He spluttered. “That's no coincidence. It can't be.”

“I don't want to sound like I'm trying to tell you that you're wrong...But I don't think you're trying to kill people, either.” The werewolf pointed out, appearing entirely unconvinced. In fact, he was looking at Stiles like the boy was…crazy.

“It was here. It was all here.” He whispered under his breath, eyes watering from the overwhelming emotions flooding his brain.

“Stiles, just breath.” Zaida reminded him, reaching out to grasp his hand.

“Dude, are you feeling okay? You're looking really tired…” Scott prodded gently.

“Yeah, I'm fine.” He sucked in a shaking breath. “I just haven't been sleeping, really…”

“I thought things were back to normal since we helped the Tates?” Zaida frowned. She hadn’t received any midnight calls from the boy, and his reading had been back to normal. Scott and Allison hadn’t been experiencing anything strange since then either. So what was happening to Stiles?

“Why don't you go home? Take a sick day, or something?” Scott suggested to his best friend, but Zaida shook her head.

“No, we’re going to the hospital.” She insisted, her guts writhing within her torso uncomfortable as a feeling of dread rose like bile into her throat. “I have a bad feeling about this.”

“Dr. Gardner's not back until next week...Do you want to try waiting for one of the urgent care doctors, or…” Melissa asked from the other side of the desk as Zaida tapped her nails against the top of the counter anxiously. “Stiles? Are you all right?”

“I don't know...I guess...I guess not really?” The boy sniffed in a flat tone and Zaida's heart lurched at the sound. She hated seeing him like this.

“Please, there’s gotta be something you can do while we’re here,” Zaida whispered with pleading eyes, hoping to whatever higher power there may be that there was indeed something Melissa could do to help him.

“All right, kiddo, all right. Come with me. It's okay.” The woman got up from the desk and put her arm around Stiles, leading him down the corridor and into an empty examination room.

Melissa sat him down on a hospital bed and pulled a small clipboard and notepad from a large pocket in her scrubs. Zaida waited patiently in the corner, twisting her golden rings around her fingers again and again to dispel her nervous energy. She couldn’t quite describe the feeling she was experiencing, but she knew it couldn’t mean anything good. It was like something on the tip of her tongue - she could taste its bitterness but she didn’t quite know what it was.

“So tell me what’s been going on,” Melissa opened the conversation in a casual way, but Zaida knew she would be taking notes.

“Blackouts...But not for that long. And sleepwalking, which I used to do a lot as a kid...Um, I'm also having some really bad anxiety…” He started to list his symptoms and with each one Zaida’s heartstrings tightened more and more. How had he been going through all that and she hadn’t even noticed?

“Panic attacks?” Melissa nodded, the tip of her pen scribbling over the paper.

“Yeah, a couple...Oh, and I temporarily lost the ability to read. But, that might have had more to do with this giant magic tree and the whole human sacrifice thing…” The boy drawled sarcastically to deflect from the seriousness of the situation.

The corners of Melissa’s lips tugged upwards in slight amusement. “I remember something vaguely about that, yes. How many hours of sleep are you getting?”

“Eight.” He responded with a sigh, hanging his head low and fidgeting with his fingers.

“A night?” Melissa clarified, obviously expecting the answer to be yes.

“In the last three days…” Stiles corrected and the strings holding Zaida’s heart up snapped, sending the organ sinking into her stomach. Even Melissa’s head swivelled to face the boy in alarm. “Yeah, definitely eight.”

“Been feeling irritable?” The woman continued.

“Yeah...possibly to the point of homicide…” Stiles huffed - another joke.

“Inability to focus?” Scott’s mother added, going through a mental list. She clearly already had a theory as to what was going on with the boy, given that she knew exactly what to ask.

“No, the Adderall's not working.” He shook his head slightly and Zaida’s blood only grew colder and colder within her veins.

“Impulsive behaviour?” Melissa asked, and Zaida recalled the way he had run out of the party the night before on a whim. Check.

“More than my usual? Hard to tell.” The boy snorted sarcastically, lacking much of the energetic emphasis his words usually were backed by.

“Vivid dreams during the day?” Melissa questioned once more and Stiles’ foot tapped against the tiled floor in slight frustration.

“Okay, basically all of the above.” He admitted with a blanket generalisation. “Do you know what this is?”

“I think so.” The woman muttered to herself, turning to a supplies desk and retrieving a large shot of clear liquid.

“Uh, what's that?” Stiles eyed it warily, and Zaida remembered the way he had passed out simply watching Scott get tattooed.

“He doesn’t like needles,” The brunette teen spoke up for him, wondering what indeed was inside the shot.

“Do you trust me?” Melissa sighed, her eyebrows raising slightly as she looked at the boy.

“When you're not holding a needle…” He mumbled, trailing off uncertainly.

“It's midazolam - a sedative.” She explained and without warning, pushed the metal tip into the flesh of Stiles’ arm, finding the median cubital vein effortlessly.

“Why'd you give me a sedative?” Stiles looked up at the dark-haired woman with glassy, heavy eyes.

“Because you, Stiles, are one profoundly sleep-deprived young man. You need rest, and you need it now.” She gripped his shoulders and gently laid him back down against the bed he was sitting atop. “Lie down.”

“Okay, how long's it take to-” He began, suddenly being hit by a wave of almost dizzying fatigue as he settled into the pillows. “Oh... Not long at all…”

“Get some rest.” Melissa patted his shoulder affectionately before turning away, only to freeze at the next words that came out of the boy’s mouth.

“Thanks, Mom…” Stiles murmured in a drowsy and disoriented tone, and Melissa’s face crumpled, full of emotion as she walked away. Even Zaida’s muscles stiffened, her soul weeping at the heartfelt moment. She supposed Stiles and Scott had been best friends for so long, that they were practically brothers. It made sense that Stiles would feel some sort of familial attachment to Melissa - especially since his own mother couldn’t be there. Taking the nurse’s place by his bedside, Zaida crossed over to grip Stiles’ hand, leaning against the side of the bed.

“Why didn’t you tell me about any of this? I thought things were fine…” She whispered softly, gently brushing his hair back from his forehead as he lay with his eyelids fluttering open and shut.

“I didn’t want you to feel like you had to drop everything else to look after me - like you did before.” He explained, slightly garbling from the effects of the drug rapidly taking hold. She had asked for space, and he’d wanted to respect that.

“Don’t be stupid,” Zaida scoffed, her lungs constricting in her chest painfully at the sight of him. “I don’t care what else is going on. I’d drop everything to be there for you even if the world was on fire.”

“I know,” His lips tugged upwards in fond amusement. He’d always found her instinct to protect those she cared about was one of her most admiring characteristics. “But I didn’t want you to have to - you had problems of your own you wanted to sort out. I didn’t want to take away from that.”

“Well, just so you know for future reference, you’re my priority. Everything else can go to hell,” She stated boldly.

“I’m sorry…” Stiles’ words came out in a breathy tone, his eyes half-shut as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. Now that his head was clearing of all the external noise, he couldn’t stop thinking about the night before, and the way she had danced with him. Or the way she had looked so deflated when he’d left her behind in such a hurry. “For skipping out on our first date.”

“That’s okay,” Zaida shook her head, brushing it off. Truthfully, she was surprised he was able to give her as much as he had, considering the state he was in. He’d clearly had other worries on his mind. Worries that now played on her thoughts. Had it actually been his handwriting? Had Stiles been the one to instruct Barrow to kill Kira in some dazed or delusional dream state? “It was a party anyway, so it doesn’t really count. Consider it a clean slate - our next one will be better.”

“Yeah…the nex- nex one’ll be better…” He slurred, barely awake. “I promise.”

“Stiles, shh,” She cooed, her hand shifting to cup his cheek. Her thumb brushed over his skin soothingly in a manner that told him it was okay to let go. “Get some rest. Go to sleep.”

With her permission he finally released his hold on the land of the conscious, falling into blissful darkness. As soon as she was certain he was asleep, Zaida’s walls crumbled. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks as she watched over him, her heart weeping for the boy. She’d felt as if she was going crazy for less - it was hard to imagine just how much he was going through. How scared had he felt these past few days? How terrified had he been when he’d discovered he held the key to the storeroom - when he’d discovered he might have been the mastermind behind the whole plot? The best-case scenario was that he’d dreamt the whole thing - going to the school, unlocking the closet and matching the handwriting. But Zaida couldn’t deny that she had seen the key and it had been touched by chemicals that would have only been handled in an environment such as the chemistry closet. It was too large of an unexplainable coincidence for it not to be connected. But what was more was that she had seen the look in his eyes. Stiles had been convinced of it. The worst part was, she could feel he wasn’t lying. No - the worst part was that…she believed him. What was happening to him?

[onlineproblems]

the goings-on

my brother has to have aortic valve replacement surgery within the year, which is hella expensive and particularly dangerous for him as he already has a condition that could cause a brain bleed if there's a negative interaction from a prosthetic valve. regardless of what solution they come to, it's going to be hella expensive. he's in his 20s and in my parents' care full-time.

m starts a new job in a week, after his previous company went belly-up. i myself am getting a new boss since my current boss is moving to a different department, and it is not the person i hoped for. this is disappointing. but i will cope.

mom changed her relationship status on facebook, so evidently she's serious with this guy. I'm sure this is wreaking havoc on my dad's psyche. i don't particularly care that she's dating someone, but the whole divorce drama has been so annoying and she's so annoying and every reminder is jarring to my otherwise relatively peaceful existence.

i have like 6 months of medication left if i keep to the minimum dose (ive been taking 1/2 the starting dose actually), but i really really hope i can get my neuro to try to authorize a refill before then. insurance has been playing tag with me for months and it fucking suuuuucks. i'm almost not disabled when im on the normal dosage, and its been hard to adjust back to being....well, disabled. having to be super-conscious of what i eat and do, struggling with things that haven't been a struggle for years. like not since college.

Things are not bad, but they could be better.

I'm enjoying my creative outlets and find myself easily putting aside screen-centered activities in favor of reading, writing, drawing, being outside, hanging out and talking with people. I think my anxiety and ADHD treatments are finally at an optimal place.

Making friends has been hard, but in the past year I've put effort in and it's paying off. All the weirdness and awkwardness at the beginning fades away and you fall into a natural rhythm. I wouldn't say I have *close* friends among them yet, but they're good friends. And that's a huge change from a couple years ago when I had like two or three people to occasionally talk to.

I'm more confident, more assured in my capabilities, less concerned with my so-called shortcomings, and happier in general. I am better at establishing boundaries (though I can always improve). I nurture the relationships that nurture me.

My goals include taking random classes on whatever interests me, learning basic first aid, how to fix common car problems, and deal with household maintenance like fixing simple utilities, repairs, etc. I want to get out of my comfort zone more and interact with people I'm not familiar with. A different culture, a different perspective, different interests. I'd love to have someone to practice German with. It's not motivating to learn it alone.

Okay, that's all.

[master-sass-blast]

I HAVE MADE MORE SEVIKA ART!

BEHOLD IT WITH YOUR EYES!!!

Say one word about the ugly curtains and I will do unspeakable things to you sdlkfjsldfjsdlkfjldsfjk.

Close ups and artist commentary beneath the cut!

God, I struggled on this one. I started this piece back in July of this year. It did spend some time sitting while I stared at it in a deep state of ennui, so it's not like I was actively working on it for *counts on fingers* three-ish months.

This is what I get for trying to make a whole fucking scene instead of just drawing a character with no background.

I am pleased with how everything came out, but I still have a lot of frustrations with this piece. A lot of the perspective is off, the floorboards got lost because I noodled with them too much and you can't erase marker, and the rug is just bad sldjfdslkfjldskfjdlskjf. Still, I had fun (mostly) doing it!

A close up of our lady! (The colors got really washed out on my phone, but the warm filter made everything too red, so *shrugs*.) I wanted to stick her in clothes and an environment that was a complete antithesis to her character -soft, feminine, opulent. The baby pink was my first choice, and while I don't regret it, I had second thoughts (after putting the color down, naturally) about picking green instead because of its association with money. I think baby pink, however, was the right choice in the end.

I went with body jewelry like I did for her formal look. However, I stuck with something less opulent this time because I wanted more focus to be on the lingerie and lace. The glove she's wearing was supposed to be sheer -like her stockings-because I thought it was cool, but it didn't translate well on paper, alas.

I was so excited to do her scars, but they got lost/muted in the shading/shadowing under her arm. I tried to use some acrylic paint to boost them up, but they uh... got too boosted sdlkfjdslfkjldskjflskjf.

Arm close up! I hated drawing and detailing this! There's a reason I hid her arm under a cape in the first piece I drew of her!

I didn't want to just draw her "pre-explosion," though, because there's a lot of prosthetic erasure in fandom (in general) already. The highlighted bits were done with metallic gold paint. Also pls appreciate the lil fiddly scenery details I worked very hard on them sdlfkjdslfkjdslfkjdslf.

Materials used: water and alcohol based markers, colored pencils, and acrylic paint for highlights and details.

Lessons learned: spend more time plotting the background before jumping into drawing the character dslfkjdslfkjdslkfj. Also, pick a color palette first.

Tagging @abitohoney and @sevikasleftpussyflap. Also, Professor Flap has requested that I draw something of Sevika spanking a Reader insert. I've never drawn NSFW art, so I don't know if I will, but it did make me think about what y'all would like to see. I can't promise I'll take every suggestion/request, but if you have ideas, feel free to send them my way and I'll see what I can do.

[ferromagnetiic]

;From Miss Golden Week A sea king’s head approaches victoria punk, weirdly doesn’t seem to cause any harm than laying its chin over the ship as a little girl slides from its beak. A wanted poster in one hand and a brush in the other. “ You. You stole Mr three, didn’t you? Prepa—” “✨Uaaaaaahhhhhh!✨”

Eyes turn into sparkly stars, arms upwards in an excited motion even though she keep her frown. “Mecha! Mecha Arm! Uaaa—ha!” Bag is thrown on the floor, scattering things as she reaches for a pen and a notebook. “ Eeehhh! Nevermind! Keep him. Do you mind If draw your arm? It will take 2 seconds.” Marianne didn't really waited an answer as she started to sketch anyway.

          【 UNPROMPTED ASK. 】                     @waxgentleman 【 Miss Goldenweek. 】

          The blithe nature of the steadily approaching Sea King was an unusual sight; the majority of reptilian sea beasts tended to avoid the Victoria Punk entirely, sans the occasional few too young, reckless, and stupid to know they were pursuing an early death by bothering the pirate crew. Even from afar, Kid could tell this wasn't an ordinary one, though he hadn't quite anticipated that it had been trained to serve as a method of transportation.

Bringing in another weirdo, it seemed. She was damn lucky he hadn't shot her ride with a canon.

The young girl standing before him peers up at him from under the brim of her hat with her wide, dark eyes, her energy confidently composed. Not quite like Dive, then. A similar age and height to her, perhaps, but this one is significantly less rabid. She bears no proud display of shark-like canines, nor any nervous twitching which results from an untapped thirst to spontaneously commit acts of inexplicable, unprompted violence.

She was Galdino's girl. He should have figured it out sooner, but her identity was revealed regardless the moment she utters the man's name. Probably shouldn't toss her overboard, then; the wax artist would be in a perpetual state of horrified shrieking for days if his daughter arrived for a number of seconds, and was then immediately flung from the deck. Well, whatever. She was small, she wouldn't take up that much space. Kid could vaguely recall Candlwick mentioning something about the girl in question arriving some time in the immediate future, though in truth, he really hadn't been paying attention to what he'd said. Even if he had brought it up multiple times every single day for the past two weeks in a demonstration of both his sheer excitement as well as his paranoid anxiety for her wellbeing, Kid hadn't been listening to any of those times, either. The point was, she was here now.

Her immediate fawning over his prosthetic limb and subsequent desire to begin sketching it does not inspire a cocksure display of overt conceitedness in him; it would take more than complimenting his craftmanship as a mechanic to form a congenial bond with him. Connecting with him would not occur solely due to her admiring his arm; he knew it was cool already, irrespective of whether or not she told him outright or not. Rather, he is awkward, uncomfortable. Total strangers bluntly praising him often tended to raise his defenses rather than lower them, and entice a degree of suspicion from him. What was she even going to do with that drawing of his arm, anyway? Just keep it and look at it in her spare time? He hadn't even known this girl until around twenty seconds ago. Try again when he had decided if he actually liked her or not.

Kid begins to turn so his back is partially towards her, on the cusp of walking away. If she wanted to draw him, she better do it damn fast, because he wasn't about to linger and wait for her to finish. He had things to do.

     ❝ Stick with Candlewi— With yer Da. I ain't babysittin' ya, and I don't have time to mind another brat on my ship. ❞

She could stay. Considering his attitude towards most guests aboard the Victoria Punk, this might as well have been a grand gesture of hospitality from him, and she should take what she could get.

[canonically-a-genloser]

so i was asked to describe the little Fucked Up Blorbo that i have made out of post escape rainbo. i spin he in my brain Constantly so here's some thoughts. some of them are older things but i'll try to add new stuff too :D

to me they trust charlie and sneeg with their life. and any semblance of normal they had before showfall is eventually Gone because they somewhat balance out the codependency charlie and sneeg have but the way the other two functioned before ranboo came along also becomes a part of them too because sneeg and charlie don't know any different. and after showfall they're all fucked up in so many different ways that some days all they can do is hold onto each other. because even if they hate each other they don't have anything else to fall back on.

and in my head i have a specific look. they have prosthetic eyes and hearing aids and the whole thing from the box. i am wanting to draw it very badly but it's been difficult because i don't know how bad the scars are gonna be around the eyes yet. not to mention the other scars but YUH

(there's gonna be more silly thoughts in parentheses btw because i am Silly with a bit of Whimsy but. post escape ran especially with the aforementioned design. he give such cozy vibes to me. like. sweaters and hot chocolate and woods. don't mind me it's the delulu cabin au using me as its puppet speaking its words)

but back to Angst. i probably said this before in another post but. when sneeg and charlie have days where they fucking hate ranboo he will literally curl up in a corner if that's what it takes to get himself out of their sight. and whether or not charlie gives a halfhearted attempt to defend them when sneeg yells at them it still sticks in their brain and they end up believing him if they didn't already.

and when sneeg and charlie fight they stop it as well as they can. they know they can still try to keep the two from clawing at each other and they do even if they get hurt in the process. they try to comfort the two when it's over. and sometimes when they try to stop the two from fighting it makes them spiral because deep down they don't know what to do or how to help or if they're making a difference in the end. and sometimes they get overstimulated during it and it takes one of the other two leading them outside and reminding them none of them are fighting for their lives and that charlie and sneeg do care about each other even when they act like they're on the verge of tearing each other apart to make him calm down.

they hate wearing masks but they still do when they can tolerate it because they know there's literal holes in their face. and even though they can't see it they hate that charlie and sneeg do. (i also have my insane au where niki tells them they look pretty and they just straight up cry. i might talk about that one later because it's part of my delulu cabin au and i love that one with my whole heart)

and to me they cannot stand anything to do with spaghetti-like noodles because it reminds them of the filter showfall put over them literally digging through charlie's organs. and it's bad. like full on breakdown bad. and charlie doesn't remember it happening so neither him or sneeg know what's going on.

in my head all three of them are so so so emotionally unstable but ranboo is in the quietest way out of the three. they aren't the type to break into fights or yell or ignore the other two the way sneeg and charlie would in their respective ways. with ranboo every time charlie sits them down to genuinely ask how they're doing they cry. when sneeg stops one day to apologize for saying they deserved the box they tell him not to be sorry for telling the truth. they hate showfall with their entire being because charlie and sneeg didn't get to see the sun for their entire lives and they don't realize that anger is there until they're up at three in the morning sobbing because they thought about it a little too hard. to me they could spend a whole day spiraling and sneeg and charlie wouldn't find out.

(side note another au i think about is one where randy eventually escapes and finds rgb trio. i love this one again because both the randy and ranboo interactions but also i enjoy the guitar headcanons implementation. the one where randy eventually gets a house and the kids are there with him. they find a guitar and randy tunes it for ranboo so they can play it, yada yada. continuing on that however in this au to ME ranboo keeps on picking away at it and eventually gets really good. and ough. i love this one so bad)

ough anyways i'm just really insane about them. i might reblog with more because sadly i have said a lot of this before. i will be probably more insane later when i have more time LMAO

[dahyeltal]

for your choose violence ask game:

9. worst part of canon?

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

9. worst part of canon

The worst part of canon in TOS and TOS movie era is Shatner's ego. There are so, so many scenes that were either taken from others and given to him, or cut out so he could get more screen time. As a Spones shipper, knowing that a lot of the scenes that were cut were Sponesy makes it even worse.

In the current era, the systematic erasure of Doctor McCoy is so goddamn aggravating. They were a triumvirate. They all three go together. To single out just Spirk constantly when referencing the old eras is so goddamn annoying. I also worry that SNW won't bring in McCoy and leave him out, yet again. I didn't want SNW to bring Kirk in, but if he's there, Bones has to be there, too.

17. there should be more of this type of fic/art

I'd like to see more disability rep in fics, especially with canon disabled characters. TOS didn't do the best job of it, but y'all. These characters go through some really traumatic shit during their job. PTSD is a thing, and despite wicked advanced healing devices, even Doctor McCoy can't heal everything. Don't be afraid to write or draw characters losing limbs, using prosthetics or mobility aids, having depression and/or anxiety, or any number of things. My ideal Future Gay Space Communism doesn't erase or shy away from disability, it designs a future with disability in mind.

[omgkalyppso]

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies? 🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities? for any current favorite OC of yours :3c

Thank you for the ask!

🎮 VIDEO GAME CONTROLLER — what are three of your oc's favorite hobbies?

I read a fic recently where the author gave Enver Gortash the skill / hobby of sketching / art. The fic was a fun read, but I don't think Enver would draw his own porn (intentionally / for the purpose of release / tantalization). However, I really like the idea that he has a surprisingly neat and steady hand for art because of all his invention schematics (I'd also appreciate if someone gave him chicken scratch for The Same Reason, but I'm won over to the art for now).

I bring this up because I've been playing my evil dark urge Meabh who I ship with Enver and so they're both on my mind. I haven't shared screenshots because early game evil durge is depressing / would require so many cw's. So I blocked out a bunch of dialogue of Meabh finding what they think will be one of Enver's diaries, but instead it's this book of projects, either personal or half finished, mostly equations and technical drawings but also including a bunch of toys and tools that have sexual purpose. Meabh doesn't find this out (yet) though because he takes it away to instead return to her, her own book of art, and that this is more gorey, but technically comparable, drawings of creatures that come from corpses which would have Balthazar salivating, of bodies and blood - but theirs would be the one that would have pages dedicated to sexual titillation, including pages that feature her lover - especially in ways she would never injure him. So there's that shared, but private hobby. He only looked in Meabh's book when he thought they had died.

I'm calling gymnastics another of Meabh's hobbies. Always fun when your rogue can contort real small or climb a building like an aerial dancer.

Their third hobby can be knife collecting.

🩹 ADHESIVE BANDAGE — does your oc have any physical and/or mental disabilities?

So I'm probably incapable of writing a character who doesn't have adhd and / or autism, so many many of my oc's and their partners will at least have one of these disorders. Which means I will not elaborate. If you suspect it, it's probably true. Sometimes it's intentional. Most times it is tbh.

My ffxiv wol Sawyer is mute. My ffxiv oc Sybille translates sign language for most of their communication with npc's who are less practised with the method of communication. Sybille also needs glasses for near-sightedness.

My fe3h oc Faedolyn has a congenital heart defect in au's to honor the canon of a magical heart transplant at birth. You can Just see scars for this in some art of them (it is Very Hard to notice because I didn't use black lines to outline it. It's just a pink / purple line on their chest): Here and Here. And it came up in my fic Just Go With It.

My dragon age oc, like many people's, Samaire Cadash is missing her left arm.

My bg3 oc's ... well there are some who have the durge condition. What are people calling that? OCD + C-PTSD? Orboloth is also missing his right eye (using a white eye to signify this).

My fe3h oc (one of Claude's sisters) Asmaa walks with a cane and was born with some spinal issue. My fe3h oc (Rodrigue's wife / Felix's mother) Eugénie is missing her right eye. My fe3h oc (Claude x Fae fankid) Simon was also born with a spinal issue and it affects his balance / how much weight he can lift but not much else of his life thus far, he also requires glasses for near-sightedness.

I have a nerve injury in my left foot and have been meaning to give someone the same, but I don't remember if I have? (Sometimes the pain is so bad I want an oc who's had their foot amputated entirely who uses a prosthetic).

Not going to list more glasses users but there's a bunch.