#ill sit this one out

[thefunniestjester]

i haven't updated the sims in months........

[d-does-art]

I googled if deer shed their antlers after making this… They do. Let's just say this happens because of the season, lol.

This was supposed to be a funny/dumb idea.

I just like Luffy putting his hat on sad family members.

[forecast0ctopus]

i think spock and scotty talk about physics. for fun

[squuote]

Press [T] to ignore everyone else in your life except for me!

[broh3m3]

'#missing the old men' are there more old men? Can you tell us about the old men? 🥺👉👈

Behold, more old men! Not the most confident with getting Kalims face the way I want it to look (bear with me, most of these sketches are from earlier this year) but he exists! It's very important to me that he lives a long life in at least one timeline

Small notes on their faces/wrinkles: -Jamil has more wrinkles around his forehead/eyebrows with a sharper cheek bone. -Kalim's eyebrows have a feathered effect where it tapers outwards, and he's got a more prominent crows feet.

like so! I'm hoping to flesh them out more as I study older features, but these are the main points for now

Misc notes under the cut 🐍🦦

-He puts up a stoic face so that others won't bother him, but the kids of Silk City regard Jamil as an eccentric figure with lots of fun stories to tell about his travels. He's well loved.

-Kalim uses a cane to walk and is the frailer of the two. He's a little more subdued with age and his memory is poor, but he's always able to recount his memories of NRC, friends and Jamil with a bright smile and waay too many side plots. Jamil still holds himself with a strong gait and would rather keel over than be assisted, but he's got the worse eyesight (side effect of his signature spell) and experiences minor body aches in his arm/hands. -I think this kind of just goes on par with the regular scarabia/jamikali antics but they're casual with their skin ship, neither really notices unless it's called out. You'll often find one supporting the other with a hand by the waist while they walk.

-Though he's chided for it, Kalim makes it a routine to look after Jamil's hands every morning (it's important!) On the opposite, Jamil is the one that encourages Kalim to walk with him, even if it's only for short periods. In their later years, carpet is often accompanying them to help out when it can.

-When his strength begins to decline and he's bedridden, Kalim resorts to using his water magic to communicate. Jamil doesn't like it, but it's more of what it entails rather than the gesture. He talks more to fill the silence, sometimes responding back with his own magic. -Kalim's the first to go. Depending on how his life panned out, Jamil either stays in Silk City for the remainder of his days (if he came back to retire) or leaves to go on one final adventure, taking carpet with him (if he stayed with Kalim.)

-The detail of him wearing Kalim's feather accessory was inspired from a fic collection ! I'm happy it was noticed

[stil-lindigo]

shallow grave.

a comic about accepting when your relationship is dead.

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creative notes:

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all my other comics

store

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.

[pali-and-proud]

Would Buddy hurt anyone? Why was Buddy shocked when he hurt Chase with the spear? AND WHY THE COMPLETE DIFFERENCE WITH THE SPEAR AND DEACON WITH THE WOLVES?!?

I GET TO TALK ABOUT BUDDY AND DEACON. AHAHA.

Thank you for the Q <3 I love and respect you, but I am going to bypass the first two questions because I am filled with thoughts on Buddy and Deacon's dynamic. Because I don't know if more people noticed (I'm 100% sure others have noticed) but Buddy and Deacon absolutely parallel each other.

What's Buddy's big motivator, as established by the Dreams By Night episode? To escape Ex Libris. To be free, essentially.

What's Deacon's big motivator, as established by The Book of Deacon? To lead his own story, without his parents controlling everything. To be free, essentially.

Buddy, from the beginning, harps on Chase's lack of preparation. Deacon, from the beginning, gripes about Chase's lack of preparation. Deacon over-prepares, to the point where Chase asks him what different scenes mean and what happens in the story. Something he used to do with Buddy, because both Deacon and Buddy indulge Chase in their explanations.

Deacon gets caught off-guard by Chase's perceptiveness, and Buddy gets caught off-guard by Chase's personality. And Chase might gripe about both, sure, but often about superficial, irrelevant details. Complaining about Deacon always being busy, or complaining about Buddy being pretentious. (Not about things of substance, like Deacon having enough money to attend college AND disliking the experience, or about not even knowing Buddy's name.)

We all laugh about Buddy being paranoid, but Deacon matches him pretty well. Deacon isn't spilling any names. Deacon, like Buddy, understands the necessity for secrets. Who makes the plans to hide Prunella? Who keeps telling Chase not to talk to Buddy about her?

(A thought for another time, but--something about kids of strict parents being sneakier, and something about Deacon always convincing Chase into keeping secrets.)

Deacon's being reasonable, and we know that, because we're listening to his reasoning, and his reasoning is nothing like Buddy's. (Buddy's all "EVERYONE is out for themself," while Deacon is a lot more subtly judging the shirtless Hot Topic wanna-be.) But their ACTIONS match each other.

Are they the same character? lmao absolutely not. They have different experiences, different mentalities, different perspectives. Deacon has a support system, whether financial (parents) or emotional (Bronze) or even social (Chase). Buddy has a bright eyed, stubborn kid who sees a vampire and somehow therapizes him, and sees someone covered in thorns and reciprocates their hug because he knows it was needed.

But how similar they are really shines in the Requiem arc. Deacon and Buddy match the other's barbs seemlessly, and they call out the other with ease. Deacon insults Buddy's fashion sense + teeth, Buddy tricks Deacon into nearly getting mauled by wolves, which is probably an escalation, and Deacon immediately starts plotting a revenge. "When I get my hands on him," he outright says, implying some retaliation, and yet he sees Buddy and Chase wrestling a vampire to the ground and immediately asks "What're we doing?"

He immediately joins them. He has no idea what they're doing or why they're doing it, but they're doing it, so he alas has to ascribe to it. And then you remember that Chase is the one who jumped Vamp, and Buddy ALSO has no idea what they're doing or why they're doing it, but Chase's doing it, so he alas has to ascribe.

They get each other, is what I'm saying. They're foils in methods (Deacon annoys Buddy verbally, Buddy annoys Deacon physically////Deacon chooses to maintain peace via secrecy, Buddy prefers honest communication despite the impacts/////etc etc etc) but they're mirroring the other. They're two beams of light, coming from the same source, going in completely opposite directions.

Buddy hurting Chase risked everything Buddy had gained, all the trust and the companionship and the grossly genuine friendship he gained. The physical pain risked ripping the emotional connection between them. Buddy hurting Deacon DOESN'T rip open anything, because however far Buddy takes things, Deacon's prepared to follow out of annoyance and spite alone. They have the same priorities: keep themselves (+ Chase/others) safe, and humble the other when necessary.

And Buddy has an embarrassing crush or something. everyone point at the idiot and laugh

[fala-alfredo-pasta]

A very self indulgent tatted and pierced up Ichimatsu thas it

[tears-of-taelia]

This day still terrifies me. To my core. With the strange weather that happened before, I expected something to occur. I could have never predicted the magnitude of that event. I assume you're here to wake me up then? You want us to face that evil again? I'm… We're afraid... Of everything. Of everyone. I don't know what I'm supposed to do! WE DON'T WANT TO GO BACK!

[germesthegenie]

Wanted to do some expanded doodles of the designs I used for this post since I liked how they turned out in that one! Mouse Protector will always be a fave for me given how much presence she had in the campaign my friend ran, both as an occasional ally and one time foe who got the entire party arrested (a story for another time). A real fun character to interact with, and it got even funnier when the GM told us how her cartoonish personality was contrasted by her edgier, more serious nemesis Ravager (who unfortunately never got to appear in the campaign). A nice little duo that’s funny to imagine even with just their brief mentions/appearances in canon.

You can imagine my reaction when I got to read further into actual Worm after the campaign.

…Exactly what you expect below the line

Kinda difficult to draw this one (on like an emotional level but also bc idk how to draw anthropomorphic / body horror type stuff that well), but felt like I couldn’t make a Ravager and Mouse Protector post without addressing the Bonesaw Hybrid in the room

Bonus: My reaction to that chapter in dms with my friend

[motleyfam]

I get so many comments on my Tim series like “omg it’s so hilarious/unrealistic that he gets sick this often, take that boy to a doctor 🤣” and like, I get it, it seems like a lot if you read the series straight through. And part of it is simply because I enjoy writing hurt/comfort fics, so of course that’s what I’m going to gravitate towards. Gotta spark that joy, etc etc

….but like, you guys do realize that people who have medical issues tend to get more medical issues, right? It’s not like “oh he had three things wrong with him already so he’s hit his quota now and anything on top of that is absurd.” It’s more like… this is someone with overall subpar health from a history of chronic neglect, so yeah, he’s probably going to be more susceptible to illness than most people 🤷‍♀️

[quirkle2]

first amv be nicies to me about it or else

[luck-of-the-drawings]

OH ARTHUR BENNETT.. such a gorgeous and intriguing character. terribly burdened by a GRUESOME set of crimes, his light suffocated by a HEAVY century of GUILT. so tragic, so dark and broody, and yet PAINFULLY awkward in any social setting ever

[velvetwyrme]

what about specifically the tfa constructicons. for the giving a car an sti thing

oh ABSOLUTELY oh my god. fuck, i forgot about my BOYS they 1000% would.

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Thinking about a character model height sheet from the TAS BTS book that had magneto be 6’10 and charles 4’8 when seated like girl ……….. why the fuck ……. greedy….