#i hope this was kinda brief

[mint-chocolate-rooibos]

Can you briefly explain the plot of dungeon meshi i havent watched nor read it

OUGH YES I CAN. OKAY so dungeon meshi starts off with a group of adventures trying to slay a dragon in a dungeon but unfortunately the team was pretty unsuccessful from lack of food and hunger and it ended up making the main character's (laios) sister (falin) get eaten by the dragon. before she was fully eaten she cast a spell to teleport them safely back to the surface but two of the group members quit resulting in there only being 3. these three members venture back into the dungeon and decide if they want to survive to save falin they have to eat monsters and in attempt to cook one of the monsters a guy named senshi helps them and joins their group. they then continue through the dungeon and go through many trials and adventures to save laios's sister

[moon-mirage]

Some anon sent a really cool prompt (actually two) but tumblr ate the ask when I was about to post it. 😔 I'm sorry, anon, I really hope you still can see it.

First was a Vegebul wedding and let me tell you, anon, I gave it my all.

This dress is the last one out of three versions (I usually struggle with drawing clothes tbh). I went from very elaborate to simple because I feel Bulma loves her clean lines, no frill and I feel it works better. And I thought adding the headband she wore on Namek would be a cute callback.

The other one was a Vegebul wedding night prompt and there's a sneak peek under the cut:

I'll finish it and post the full image at some point.

Thank you for your wonderful prompts, anon!

[elitadream]

You know that feeling when you're distinctly unwell but not quite sick? 🥲 Sore limbs, tired body, mild nausea, aching head, preoccupied mind, loud thoughts...

And here I hoped this week's sunny weather would help me feel better. 😞 If you guys have some fun or light observations and ideas that you want to share with me, please do feel free to send them my way, as I'm sure it would greatly help lift my spirits. 🙏🍀

[rayfishandchips]

this is so anime girl coded but miraculously no out of character for him. Someday I'll have to draw him as a mech anime girl.

Oh Roddy was so alive and young back in mtmte I wish nothing bad ever happens--- (rant in tags)

[tricorderreading]

Guess who finally made their card! It's taken forever but they're being printed; I'm going to put one in each of the duplicate copies of Trek books that I have before leaving them in little libraries around my area 😄🖖

And I do intend on posting actual book reviews soon!

[adudelolwriting]

true hate's kiss for chodark mayhaps????? please????? i think it'd be hilarious?????

-✨

oh my GODS this one started kicking my ass at the end . its OKAYYY i dont think its the best but whatever they cant all be winners am i right chat (sitcom laughing) . anyways here you go sparkle anon, hope you enjoy !! (ask game here)

~~~~~~~~~~

Dark had a curse. 

Chosen knew this — the curse was to take Chosen's life. Chosen knew the risk of saving Dark, and then helping her. Chosen knew that, one day, the curse, the mission code, would act up, and Chosen would have to fight. 

So, the two fought. Dark always apologized once she snapped out of it (typically after getting the shit knocked out of her), and Chosen always was there to help dress her wounds. 

But… as the years went on, and as they retired, or settled down, or whatever you called it, Dark just got more and more antsy. Secretive. 

Dark revealed his plan on a regular Wednesday afternoon. "We can take revenge, Chosen! We can finally make Him hurt, like He hurt you!"

"...No. You don't want this, Dark. I don't want this."

"But I did this for you! We can attack the Cursor that hurt you!" Dark gestured to the massive laser machine in front of her.

Chosen shook Chosen's head. "No. We're done with this, with hurting sticks, remember? We agreed."

"But He's not a stick!" 

"No." Chosen's arms crossed, and Dark looked pissed. "I did this for you!" He repeated, and then he dove for the button. Chosen leaped to him, grabbing him and pulling him away from the button. The two fought, anger burning through Chosen.

How dare she, try and do this? Who does she think she is, trying to do this to them?

Dark wiggled out of Chosen's grasp, and hit the button. What looked like a nuke launched into the sky, breaking through the Outernet's sky and into an IP — One that Chosen knew too well. Before Chosen could think properly, Chosen blasted Dark through the wall in the house, and flew after the bomb. 

Chosen had to spend a few days on Alan's PC. The… Virabots hurt Chosen — much more than Chosen thought they could have. Deep, long wounds were littered on Chosen's body, and something was preventing Chosen from healing as quickly as Chosen should. 

Alan had some new sticks, apparently. Another hollowhead, named The Second Coming (of Chosen?), and a few regular sticks that looked like they came from Stick City, but more brighter. Noogai3 didn't tell them anything, because of course He wouldn't, but after just one look from Second, Noogai caved and told them everything.

Chosen has been spending most of Chosen's time in a weird, strangely blocky house on the PC. Noogia couldn't see Chosen from the inside, so it was better, even if He promised not to hurt Chosen and had apologized to Chosen.

But the thing was, Noogia shouldn't have to apologize, because He should have never done that to Chosen. The stick was bitter and spiteful towards the cursor. Chosen hated him. But there were also sticks here. 

(Innocent sticks that nearly died because of Dark's revenge. Revenge Chosen never wanted.)

Chosen wasn't healing. 

Yes, the bleeding stopped, but the wounds themselves would not heal. Blue, who was apparently the second oldest behind Second aerself, had put an IV into Chosen's arm as Chosen's presents turned the first level of this building into a makeshift infirmary. The kid explained that it's from a game, and it's supposed to help healing.

Chosen was grateful for these children helping Chosen. Tensions seemed tense — Chosen hopes it wasn't always like this, but who knows with Noogia. 

The past few days, they talked to Chosen. A lot. It seems they've never been off the PC before, and were curious about Chosen's life. Chosen willingly told them the non criminal things, mostly what Chosen did in retirement. 

Currently, Chosen was chatting to Blue, who was checking on Chosen's wounds, when a loud crash came from outside of the building. Chosen flinched — Chosen still wasn't used to all the noise the kids made — before screams rang through the room. Both Chosen and Blue froze. 

Blue rushed out, telling Chosen to stay where Chosen was. Rolling Chosen's eyes, the IV gets ripped out of Chosen's arm (Ow.) before Chosen walks out of the building.

"Dark?!" Chosen shouted, seeing the bright red stick flying in the air with flames surrounding her fists. "What the fuck?"

Dark, upon seeing the stick figure, dropped to the ground, charging at Chosen. Chosen let out an "oomph", unable to defend against Dark's attacks. Dark never really hurt Chosen before — not physically, not leaving welts or cuts or bruises. But the Virabots left every cut and scratch and scar on Chosen's body. 

The kids screamed in the background, trying to pull Dark off of Chosen, but it was no use. Dark was cursed. 

Dark was cursed, and Chosen was tired. Chosen was just able to keep Chosen's arms up, shielding Chosen's face. After a moment of debate, Chosen grabbed Dark's face. It startled her, as her face was pulled down, and Chosen kissed her. "I'm sorry," Chosen muttered, and Dark stayed still, frozen. "I'm sorry that I could never help you."

"I… what?" Dark asked, blinking his eyes. They… they were normal again. Not full of ones or zeros that overtook his eyes when the mission code took over his body. "Why…" Dark's voice trailed off, a hand reaching to his lips.

[sabines-wrens]

as much fun as i'm having watching sabine fail disastrously at being a jedi, what i'm really hoping for is that it's all leading up to another 'trials of the darksaber' type journey.

yeah that would be a little repetitive, but it would make sense. because sabine has always loved being mandalorian. however complicated her history with her family and mandalore got, she was always so proud to be called and call herself mandalorian. 'never get between a mandalorian and a weapons package' 'i forged this armor with my family clan wren house vizsla' don't tell me sabine wasn't at her best when she was unapologetically mandalorian.

let her recognize that this desperation to be a jedi was a misguided heartbroken attempt to feel close to the ones she lost, an escape from the people and planet she lost. let her realize that she can save herself and others by being aggressively, stubbornly mandalorian.

[icantalk710]

Tfw you can't tell how much sweat is your workout and how much is the gym's A/C being busted 🥲

[code31-onthedancefloor]

you know what im just putting it in a separate post. this is my own ulixes backstory - content warning for parental+familial abuse/neglect.

Another stupid mistake.

Ulixes had forgotten to wash and put away the dishes. This had the immediate effect of enraging his father - who was hitherto consumed in a bad mood - and the expulsion of Ulixes from the family home for the night. Moronic of himself, Ulixes thought, to provoke him so thoughtlessly. Muffled in the kitchen and its yellowing white tiles with that awful, guttural shout, until Ulixes turned and ran - ran out the back door, to where his father would not follow under the siren call of another pyrholidon from the fridge. 

And so he sat, looking up at the house and the pale sky above it. An entire wooden thing slumping dauntless before him. It rotted and shook and groaned through stormy nights, as if aware of its absurd and depressing existence. Embarrassed by the silence of its residents. Apathetic to the omen of another hard winter. On the little porch around the back that nobody ever used - where it wouldn’t dampen his trousers - Ulixes wondered into the thrice-unread pages of his book: why doesn’t it just fall? 

Yet, the clocks kept turning, and the mice wouldn’t stop running through the pantry. Little scampering-scratching in the walls beside his bed. The pigeons that nested in the chimney each Summer. Ulixes Bücher, tucked away where no-one would try to find him. Empty pantries. Cold bed. Crumbling chimney. Ulixes, tucking himself away. That was the way of things. That was how nature was slowly reclaiming the Bücher household. Day by day. Night by night. 

Especially those long, long nights which were as black as pitch and twice as humid. Where he as a little boy would toss and turn and dream of the entire wretched house collapsing. In those dreams, he would wake up in the morning, surrounded by and buried in rubble - the mounted deer head, the ripped clothes, the four-poster bed in his parent’s room, the fine china that was never used - and Ulixes, sole survivor, a tiny dot in the wreckage, emerging. Fifteen tumbling steps to the left, and he would happen upon the remains of the family jewels. In this childish fantasy, Ulixes would sell the jewels and move far, far away. It didn’t matter where. The house just needed to fall. So why didn’t it? 

In a fit of frustration, he snapped his book shut. Wind tousled his hair as he meandered through the overgrown garden: through the long furs of grass - the deadnettle, which his older brothers would pick the flowers off to jokingly whip at him - past the old pine trees, all the way to the back. Here, a shed almost as old as the house itself stands vigil against the elements. A slightly brighter shade of wood, still dulled by years of use and disuse. A musky hint of rainy evenings past, warping the walls. Windowless. 

And no lock, of course - nobody would just let themselves into here, not in the East. Not where you were picked off the street and sent back across the canal for the most minor of public infractions. Except, nobody in the Bücher household has repeatedly accessed this little hovel either. Perhaps since his grandfather, as far as Ulixes knows. He did woodwork, or something to that effect, in his spare time. Back when they employed house-servants, this place could possibly have gone over the rusting equipment with a dust-rag. Now, all the erstwhile sawdust has simply blown away; a blessing for the jacket on Ulixes’ back which is quickly going to become a mattress under the dented, discoloured workbench - one of the only things nailed to the floor. 

He doesn’t know how many hours his grandfather spent here. By all accounts, he was a silent old man, praised by Ulixes’ siblings for scoring a once-in-a-lifetime engineering commission from a previously blossoming city. In fact, the Bücher household seem to have a thing for dying before Ulixes ever meets them. Apart from those who still remain in the house, he knows of one cousin who moved away to Jamrock, never to be heard of again. Every other member is locked in an eternal, poisonous game of one-upmanship over dinner, concerning wage brackets and managerial positions. Quoting the spiteful rants of his oldest brother - there used to be openings. And now there aren’t. Honest, skilled workers like he are forced back across the canal for work, where the jobs are cheap and the turnover is cheaper. His Aunt, spitting into a wine glass about mingling with the lower people, how the trickle-down up-swing has faded, how stagnancy has strangled her aspiration of a nice car and the subsequent respect that would blossom on everyone’s faces when she turns up in that. 

They have made it abundantly clear that whatever blessed the Bücher family three generations ago is never doubling back. The repairs the home direly needs will never be happening. Even if they did, the resounding result would simply be putting a plaster on a stab-wound. It doesn’t matter how much junk his father sells to put him through a return-on-investment education. So, why doesn’t the house fall? 

He breathes the afternoon light, perched in the doorframe; leaning. In contrast to the opulence of his grandparents’ tailor-made mansion, the shed is a utilitarian thing. Cuboid and sturdy, with its thick walls and insulated door - telling the tale of a person who would be complained away from the porch by neighbours or would not be dissuaded from partaking in outdoor hobbies in Winter. A floor softened by work boots. Flecks of paint and glue and oil staining in intervals. The whisper of pine needles reverberating around. So much wood, he thinks, like a little hole in a tree. A bird’s nest, from which he is watching the grey bulb of the sky grow dimmer and dimmer. Until the trees and the too-tall fence and the grasses turn into a shadow-puppet show. Until all Ulixes can hear is the wind. Until Ulixes can no longer read his book - only able to see a vague outline of his hands, and the stars still somehow shining through the city smog. Until he whistles, and the air stops whistling that jaunty little tune back into his ears, and the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. That is when he shuts the door to the shed. 

It is warm, Ulixes’ little nest. Thrumming with that insulation, that warp-curved geometry. It does something comforting to your brain, such like a reinforcing example does for a belief you already hold. He parts his chapped lips, and pushes his tongue to the back of his throat. A little click of sound is released. A pushing of a particularly satisfying button - or the trigger pulled on an empty gun-barrel? 

The click bounces off the walls. It is an instantaneous cacophony, finished in less than a second. But it reels back his mind from wandering back to earlier, where the dishes were stacked and dirty and his father’s face was… 

Click. Click. Click. 

Echo. Echo. It never fails. Nothing is used against him, here - where no one will look for him. 

Ulixes opens his book to the middle before resting his head on it. He knows by experience the floor will mercifully not hurt his body come morning. A jacket, brown, coming apart at the seams, slung over his thin frame. 

Tonight, he dreams again of the house falling down. The wind; terrible and exacting, will extricate the foundations from the tumour of Revachol East and tumble it in a chef-swirl across the street. Miraculously, it would ignore The Shed, just as Ulixes would awake the next day to ruins, only to completely disregard its contents in favour of walking into the encroaching Pale. As if there was something in there for him. In there, where the air whistles back at him. 

[foxsnails]

i currently have mild nerve damage in one of my fingers bc ive started mass-making stickers by hand, using a scalpel to cut out every single one

i really hope its worth it oughghhg

[moon-mirage]

A suggestion for an illustration: Vegebul under the full moon.

I love how open this prompt is … which means I might revisit it with a different picture. 😅 I had so many ideas (another sexy pic, a domestic fluffy one in bed, them stargazing on CC’s rooftop) but for now, it turned into an AU art of a Vegebul wedding on Vegeta, including some traditional royal Saiyan garbs:

I might do another more canon-compliant version of it but really, that was a great prompt and as always, I hope you like what it inspired. Thank you so much! 😊

[thormanick]

!!!

[welcometogrouchland]

Something something Hunter and Willow both trying to outrun past identities that were assigned to them against their will something something in attempting to subvert it they become a shadow imitation of that identity, harkening back to it via it's absence, never truly able to escape it if they continue to define themselves in opposition to it. This also kinda happens to Luz btw

[stuck-in-the-ghost-zone]

update i saw the mario movie !! it was cute actually

[akkivee]

I love complaining about a lack of character interaction and then getting that potential character interaction I HOPE god i need this story TRANSLATED so bad

arb actually has eyes and ears everywhere lmao idk if he’ll get around to it but this person has been translating events when he can!!!! idk if the discord server is best to join or not since i’m not a part of it, but he’s got a lot of the more recent events tled if you search arb!!!

[chainsawworld]

Having s bit of a strange moment