#can you tell I’m procrastinating

[couthbbg]

this is what mitchy looks like in my mind’s eye btw (he’s one apple tall for scale)

[scruffydogposting]

For your viewing pleasure: my new pfp

[papastarion]

Writing out the postgame is so much fun when you just. Do whatever you want. When you get to explore your own interpretation of what comes next for these silly, silly newly dubbed heroes (or villains, if you went that route.)

People have pointed it out a million times how much Astarion changes in such a sort period of time and how he’s a blank slate, really. He’s got to learn who he is now, not who he was. Now, I’ve personally expanded the timeline of the game itself quite a bit for my own purposes, so he has even more time and there’s even more that happens. And those first few months in particular after the ending are chaotic for everyone in the group.

But I like to think Astarion, prickly Astarion, who, at his core, has become a survivor, is so soft now. The more he adjusts to being him, and to learning what he likes, the more fun I have writing him as forever the king of sass, but he’s just so content that the sass isn’t so venomous anymore. It’s jovial. It’s borne from contentment, not a coping mechanism. He still has his days. His moments. 200 years of torture will never leave him. But he never has to go back.

He’s seen that people can care, that he can be loved—he is loved. He’s learned that a hand can be raised to reach out and help, not just poised to strike. I don’t ever see him becoming fully altruistic, but he’s no longer fighting to survive. He gets to live now.

He’s the stray cat who’s finally found a home, a safe place. Is he still going to cause chaos? Tear up the proverbial carpet, knock over the glass of water? Sure. He wouldn’t be Astarion if he didn’t. But there’s a certain pleasant domesticity he gets to enjoy now. And after so much time playing at family and at being at home, it’s cathartic getting to write him building his own, real, chosen family and growing more and more comfortable in a real home.

[yonderlyporcupine]

so you know the fandom’s insistence that Alastor died by being mauled to death by hunting dogs …

Yeah, several things:

According to the fan wiki Vivzie never said that. She said that Alastor possesses a strong dislike of dogs due to the role they played in his death.

hunting dogs … don’t do that? As someone who has a hunting dog (Punkie is a bird dog from bird dog lines and was well on her way in training prior to the attack) and someone who runs in hunting circles as a result, yeah no. A hunting dog that mauls anything be it prey, dogs or people is useless. The only hunting breeds I know that are actively bred/encouraged to kill their prey are ratters (JRTs, dachshunds, rat terriers etc) and hog dogs (that hunt wild boar). Otherwise the whole point of the sport is to bring home your catch usually to eat. A responsible hunter would never hunt with a dog that posed a threat to fellow hunters (or their dogs) or that would maim prey. Most all of them are bred and trained to have soft mouths for retrieving (think golden retrievers, labs and of course pointers).

Alastor was a serial killer. He was likely paranoid as fuck, and would be easily spooked. You might not know this but hounds are the primary dog used on deer hunts for the same reason they’re often used in police work: tracking. Hounds bay when they are on scent. So imagine you’re a murderer standing in the woods burying your most recent kill, trying to evade law enforcement and you hear hounds baying in the distance. Would it not be reasonable to assume that they might be there for you? As in that someone might be looking for you? Yeah so

Here’s the headcannon I have:

Alastor being the idiot townie he was went wandering around in the height of deer season to dispose of a body. His paranoid ass heard hounds close enough by to spook him. He starts running, making it hard for a hunter to differentiate between him and possibly a deer (it happens 🤷‍♀️ that’s why blaze is important). The hunter shoots and kills him. Alastor winds up in hell with the distinct memory of dogs baying before his untimely death hence the hatred of dogs.

Let us not forget some other key points: Alastor is clearly supposed to be a psychopath - and as a serial killer likely has a history of animal cruelty. Lots of serial killers have admitted to disliking animals (although I have not double checked that fact I just picked it up from true crime podcasts and criminal minds so) and Alastor is probably not an exception.

Alastor is also a mixed race man in the south, subject to all sorts of discrimination in many forms. One well known example is dogs being used to terrorize and control people of color. I don’t really feel comfortable expanding much on that but it’s definitely something to look into. Regardless there are a great many reasons why Alastor might have a dislike and even fear of dogs.

And as always, write what you’d like, this is fanfic/fan art. It doesn’t have to be realistic. I just know I have a hard time suspending disbelief whenever someone talks about “vicious hounds” so I figured someone might appreciate this information. Cheers!

[facethesuns-moved]

also i’m on a mission to find a hoshi icon so if you see me switch between a million in the next 5 minutes mind your business

[dyinggoosenoises]

“Hey are you done that book report? It’s due today”

“I’m almost done” I say, as I open an empty slide show that I was supposed to have started 6 weeks ago

[dinosuarm]

Continuing the sketches

[chandajaan]

[sun-e-chips]

After a busy day in the waterpark you get picked up for dinner

Your still dripping from the pools and Sun wants to make sure you don’t slip;)

[sublimecoffeefestival]

“A small following develops around the magnetic preacher at first, a core group of disciples who spread the message to the larger populace” -Revolt: An Archaeological History of Pueblo Resistance and Revitalization in 17th Century New Mexico by Matthew Liebmann

Grab the nearest book to you...

… turn to page 16, and find line 4. Reblog this and share the full sentence. 

[lumiilys]

I know multiple people have probably brought this up before but it makes me a little insane that Ed’s hair is down when he’s sitting on Stede’s bed in ep 6 and I need to know who did that. Was it him? Or did Stede undo his hair? Was it gentle and tender? Did he run his fingers though Ed’s hair before going to close the curtains???? I NEED TO KNOW

[lesbagel]

grief, loss, and friendship

+ bonus quote from pinterest and the top comment under it

[m1d-45]

You know, I've been thinking. The stars in our world often look quite dim, especially in areas where there is light pollution. Suddenly, I'm imagining that in the Imposter!AU, the Creator looks at the stars at night, captivated by their brilliance. Perhaps Scaramouche or Mona (Whichever you prefer, you may also just write another character you think fits this scenario :D) find them. The Creator looks at them, then back at the stars.

"They're very lovely, you know? The stars never shine this brightly back home. It's a lovely sight..."

They smile. "I'm happy that I'm able to see them, even if it's in another world. I appreciate you letting me look at them before I die."

Perhaps the character takes pause... And sits next to them.

It's a lovely night.

in the stars

word count: ~1k

-> warnings: violence, blood, both of those in your future so technically you’re not hurt yet, not written for mona mains, sorry, didn’t work with the plot :/ also diona/klee/qiqi/nahida/sayu mains are on thin ice with this one. questionable plot. barely edited.

-> lowercase intended

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie

< masterlist >

the stars never lie.

mona clutches her catalyst to her chest, wide eyes turned to the sky. she whispers to them, hoping they’ll change, shift into something she’ll understand, anything.

they don’t.

her head lowers, inspecting the book. thrilling tales, the spine reads, the cover a simplified dragon with a sword through it. she tries to read into it, to try and pick apart the motives behind the weapon, but all it returns is a simple needlepoint.

a compass. one she’d followed ever since she caved into the pull on her catalyst, one she’d followed out of the city at dusk and into the plains, hiking up starsnatch cliff at its behest. her twin tails had lost some of their curl on the journey, her hat flopping sadly. it was late, later than she’d normally be awake, and she stumbled once on a rock before quickly catching herself, checking to make sure you hadn’t moved.

you, sat at the peak of the cliff. you, surrounded by cecelias, face turned to the stars. you, who turned at her short cry.

“are you alright?”

she couldn’t bring her hands to shift her catalyst into its attack position. her hands, free from their usual gloves, dug into the cover of the book, shaking both with the chill of night and with… she couldn’t tell, couldn’t pin whether it was fear or nervousness, or something else that blurred the line between panic and excitement.

“just fine, thank you.”

her voice was harsher than it should have been. she could tell you were being genuine, the way the water in the air shaped around you like it wanted to cling made that clear enough, the stars shining down on you as if you were the only being on the planet.

the stars never lie. so why were they saying you meant no harm?

you turned back to the stars, your hands shifting back to weave into the grass between the cecelias.

"they’re very lovely tonight. the stars, i mean. they never shine this brightly back home….” against her better judgement, mona glanced up. the sky was particularly clear, constellations shining down unhindered. “it’s a beautiful sight.”

orders from the knights echoed in mona’s head, orders extended from a god she’d never met. she knew the knights wholeheartedly meant what they said, truly believing the words they were told, but you…

hesitantly, she brought her hand in a circle in front of her, scrying for your constellation. you didn’t have one, unsurprisingly, and she relaxed slightly in the knowledge that you didn’t have a vision.. still, there was something strange about the empty space where yours would have been. swapping the sigils and rotating the outer edge, mona decided to read your future.

all the air was sucked from her lungs, the images depicted in the water making her mouth dry. the water warped and bubbled a dark color, as if it itself hated to show what it did.

you were on your knees, tight steel chains wrapped around you and latched onto hooks in whatever you were sitting on. in front of you stood the favored, the creator’s most prized, their weapon drawn. their form was taught with anger, nearly seething. it was strange, so uncharacteristic that it froze the astrologist in place for a moment.

no matter how fiery the disposition, vessels of yours were calmer after being wished upon, heart stiller for being by your side. they, the most prominent on your team of them all, should be at most handling such a severe situation with a tick in their jaw and quiet fury in their eyes, not…

she watched with sick horror as the favored attacks once, your chest caving once, twice with hitched attempts at breathing before you slumped over, blood trickling from your neck. the favored stepped back, weapon dismissed, and mona closed the illusion before it played any further. she hadn’t meant to look all the way to your death, only a few-

…only a few hours.

her hands shake where they’re still clasped in front of her, the remains of her scrying circle swirling in her palms. you didn’t even have a day.

she let the water fall, sending it towards the cecelias around you, willing them to stand brighter as she approached. she couldn’t bring herself to summon her catalyst, not now that she knew what your fate held.

the grass was damp beneath her, seeping slightly into her nightclothes. you didn’t say anything, simply passing her a flower that you had been twirling in your palms. she willed it to heal, restored the color to its petals and the strength to its stem, then passed it back. she had no use for it, not when you…

you chuckled as you took it, staring down at it for a moment before turning skyward once more. mona followed your eyes up, spotting a well known constellation directly above you. nearly perfectly straight up, glowing like a beacon, was the constellation of the favored, six stars making themselves prominent against the dotted sea of night.

“beautiful, isn’t it?”

she swallowed, eyes flicking down to you. you were still watching the stars, probably tracing the shape of the constellation above you. unknowing of what it spelled for your fate, unknowing of the warning written above you.

mona settled into the grass a little more, taking her hat off her head so it wouldn’t fall when she looked up again.

“indeed, it is.”

[button-drop]

This is tiny Technoblade. He is very tiny.

He’s eating a tiny snack!

He’s very tired now. He’s taking a little nap!

He’s had a very big day today!

[nellandvoid]

hello all!! sorry for being so inactive recently and for my hiatus going on longer than promised, but!!! i come bearing gifts in the form of sketches that should hopefully tide you over until i start posting regularly again, and act as an apology for being gone so long :)

in order we have:

silly bill cipher!

more silly bill cipher! (fun fact: i drew him once like 10 years ago and it turned out awful so i didn’t draw him again until these sketches!)

silvia on her way to deliver groceries to that mysterious shack in the woods, and bonnie complaining the whole way there

some test sketches of silvia at around 20-ish years old

diane trying to do her homework for astrophysics and ford questioning why she’s even taking the course in the first place

a lil detailed sketch of diane cause i love her <333

[bonesblubs]

Tell me why I’ve taken like 8 personality quizzes and have gotten Wei Wuxian every time. What are they trying to tell me