#intentions are super important

[frobbybrainrot]

do you think bobby has been harassing anna? in an era where women are attacked and killed for not giving out their number, i would be freaked out by bobby personally and his obsessive behaviour

honestly it's a little tough to say, on one hand i wouldn't call it harassment because up until the cindy reveal anna had actually been rather reciprocative like when bobby told her how he felt, she didn't turn him down and they shared that kiss and she at least looked pretty happy about it, but on the other hand he definitely isn't good at being able to distinguish platonic interest and romantic interest... i was actually surprised that anna shared that kiss with him, i really thought she was going to turn him down then and there lol

i think it's really important to take bobby's past and experiences into consideration when it comes to his interactions with people he's interested in - he's not quick to open himself up to other people, even in just his body language when he's around people you can tell he's withdrawn and he has a terrible habit of trying to be ANYTHING but himself to try to impress whoever he's courting

he spent a long time pretty isolated from normal experiences people have when they grow up and it made him awkward and clunky and.. well. inexperienced, obviously

the only person he's ever been with was dana, she was his first in a number of ways and he was even totally prepared to marry her when he thought she might be pregnant, but even that relationship had its ups and downs because of his insecurities and stuff

obviously in real life this kind of thing would be PRETTY yikes and i'd feel unsettled as well, but in real life he probably would've already been told that anna (or whoever) was obviously not interested or would've eventually gotten the hint, it's just that we're watching a soap and it's being egged on for plot reasons lolol

it's not that bobby is dim or dangerous, he's just incredibly naive in the romance category and doesn't understand a lot of social cues or how to read between the lines

also with the 'obsessive' part - i totally see why it'd be described as obsessive but i think it's less him being obsessed with anna and more him being desperate to be loved. even though so many of his family constantly reassure him that they love and care about him and forgive him for lucy, his lack of forgiveness for himself over her just completely clouds over their love for him so he seeks it out in the only way he really knows how: by trying to get back the feeling of being loved by someone who isn't 'obliged' to because of blood relation

he's a complicated character and i really want what's best for him 8') i love how far he's come and how he's always so kind and considerate. even in tonights episode after the outburst in the pub, one of the first things he worries about is that ian embarrassed anna and freddie, not that he just got his heart ripped in two by two people he cares about

[platinummice]

The ‘Important’ bullet points I have written down for Mors btw I have these for all of my little ocs and they are all equally descriptive,,, anyway I will proceed to word vomit about my boy.

Morsus is very small for an astartes, he’s short and thin and it leads to a lot of problems for him because he appears weak in the eyes of his brothers (He has a different SKILL SET okay? He’s still very capable in a fight.) He is almost constantly harassed by his battle brothers, beaten up to ‘make him stronger’, and he just kind of accepts it because he does believe they’re trying to better him. He keeps himself small and out of the way for the most part, does whatever is asked of him and then slinks off to hide, usually in vents because it’s difficult for other Night Lords to get to him that way.

He has a few,,, not great relationships with other Night Lords. He loves like a dog, you almost can’t do anything that he would deem Too Much and it makes him very vulnerable. Honestly he doesn’t see anything wrong with previous relationships because he doesn’t know better (until he meets Carrion, a world eater oc by @jaghatai-khock) He’s very clingy if he likes someone and he’s an open book emotionally cause his ears and tail give him away.

It honestly bewilders him, how he managed to secure Carrion as his mate. He’s small and fragile looking and, in his own opinion, not a great pick. All he can pin it on is his insistence. There was a lot of rejection involved at first (and maybe getting tossed around like a ragdoll for trying to crawl into Carrion’s lap uninvited) but he’s very insistent and it works out for him in the end. He develops a very healthy obsession for the man, veeeery healthy… Like, a ‘You could pull out all of my internal organs and wear them around if you wanted to. You could pluck my eyes out and use them as your own if it helps you see better. And I won’t even wiggle around while you do it.’ Kind of healthy… Needless to say his tail goes crazy every time he sees Carrion.

ANYWAY. Morsus. A little insight on how his brain works. A little information on him. My bestest little freak. My weird little dog. I love him.

[t-u-i-t-c]

balance & naga // episode 31

[kvroii]

Book Divider (3/3) - Poison World

[monards]

everytime hoyo humanizes the hexenzirkel a little more I cry

[dancedance-resolution]

i started a supercorp portrait of a lady on fire au like three years ago. i'm never going to finish it, but the writing style is pretty cool, so i want to share it. so um enjoy the prologue and a bit of chapter one?

---

Prologue. Bonnelles, France. 1786.

“First, my contours,” Kara said, her voice soft and level. She looked out upon the dozen or so young women, their eyes darting back and forth from their papers to Kara herself. “The outline,” she continued. The increasingly swift sound of scratching charcoal prompted Kara to further instruct, “Not too fast. Take time to look at me.” She paused. “See how my arms are placed.”

At that moment, Kara saw the painting.

She swallowed and took in a breath; she schooled her expression before letting out the air with a pathetically soft “My hands.” Her students’ gaze followed her verbal direction, now observing as Kara’s fingers curled with remembrance. Their own hands now began to sketch the slope of hers—the slope that had once coaxed breathy moans from a lover, the slope that had once created that very painting in all of its hollow longing.

Kara felt her heart rate accelerating, and her attempts at calming deep breaths only made her shoulders shake unsteadily. “Who brought that painting out?” Her eyes darted around, landing on each possible offender, as she tensed her core and adopted a stern countenance.

Every student dutifully turned to look at the work.

It was an especially young girl who finally lifted her hand. “I brought it. From the stock room. Should I have not?”

Kara’s “no” felt like a brick, its weight threatening to pry tears from her reddening eyes. So Kara took another swallow, a handful of blinks, a few more steadying breaths.

“Did you paint it?” the girl asked innocently. Nia, her name was? She stared at Kara, oblivious to the flood of sound overwhelming Kara’s mind and echoing in the cavern of her heart.

“Yes,” Kara uttered softly, the word barely audible as they fell from her lips. “A long time ago.”

Nia’s head snapped back to examine the painting once more. It stood on an old but sturdy easel, tattooed and scarred but still standing. The artwork itself was brooding, with a white sun bleeding into a dark vignette. Heavy clumps of clouds occupied the sky and caged some of the sun’s rays, so the fire burning behind the woman was bright enough in comparison to create a dragging shadow of her figure. The flames crawled up the back of her windswept dress, bringing sharp tension to an otherwise lulling, melancholy landscape.

“What’s the title?”

The sound of the sea began to swell in Kara’s head. Her lips trembled. Her body unwittingly swayed slightly. “Portrait of a Lady on Fire.”

---

Chapter I. The island of Brittany, France, and the surrounding sea. 1779.

Kara squinted into the distance, her face scrunching up a bit as she desperately tried to shield her eyes from the harsh glare of the sun on the water. For all its gorgeous teals and sparkling peaks, it certainly did make her wish for one of those brimmed hats the rowers were all wearing. With every one of their paced paddles, the cork-like little canoe bobbed haphazardly. Kara rather felt as if she were in the wine glass of a thoroughly drunken Marie Antoinette.

At least she wasn’t prone to seasickness.

She still felt quite unsteady, though, being thrown about and forced to pathetically grab onto the boat’s low walls. She leaned forward, trying to regain her balance and ground herself despite the absence of ground.

The wooden pallet holding her canvas was, apparently, as unstable as she was, and the next thing Kara knew, it had been lurched off of the boat like vomit from a drunkard. Kara watched helplessly as it thrashed among the choppy waves, the sea carrying it a few feet from the boat.

The chief rower met her desperate look with exhausted resignation; he ceased his paddling as Kara shed her overcoat and placed a precarious foot on the edge of the canoe.

With a strained creak from the boat’s wood, she jumped into the water, dress billowing behind her. Her first gasp for air upon emerging from the water was audible; she could feel the effort in her throat. Her arms moved in laborious little arcs as she slowly made her way towards the floating pallet and finally made a desperate reach for it. Kara’s fingers grasped onto a wooden board, and she pulled herself up onto it with a grunt.

---

The incessant wind upon the sea was certainly not helping Kara. Dripping wet, she wrapped herself up in her overcoat in a pitiful plea for warmth. She held the edges of the garment up to her lips, the sensation of the dry fabric bringing her some comfort as she closed her eyes and left herself to the mercy of the mighty sea.

But the interminable rocking of the feeble boat wouldn’t allow her any rest.

Kara wasn’t very religious, not anymore. Yet, the sight of the cliffs and coast of Brittany moved her to relieved prayer.

---

The sun had already begun to set as Kara trekked up the sandy coast. Her legs ached with every stumbling, unsure step—maybe she was a bit seasick after all—and her hands were tired of having to grip her full skirt to keep it out of her way.

She paused on the rocks, taking a moment to manually wring some of the water out of her skirt. She filled her lungs with an arduous breath before slinging the rope holding the pallet over her shoulder. Next came the fabric sling, which housed her trunk of personal items—she positioned it on her back with careful poise.

The journey up the cliffs and towards the trees was exhausting. Kara’s skirt required repositioning every few seconds, the rope was digging into her shoulder, and the pallet and trunk slammed into her back with each wobbling step. By the time she reached the straight path up to the residence, her breaths were heavy and pained, and the sun was nearly fully hidden beneath the horizon.

A soft light emanated from the windows above the mansion’s door, helping Kara feel a bit more secure as she knocked. A short blonde woman answered her summon and introduced herself with a flat “I’m Eve.” She opened the door a bit wider and gestured with her body for Kara to come in.

Eve held a small candle as she guided Kara up the stairs, the sounds of their shoes echoing through the grand yet starkly undecorated hallway. The walls of the stairwell were cement bricks, and the wrought iron bannister was rather plain and geometric.

They came to a stop in front of a similarly void room, bare save a few heavy curtains and a daybed. The raised panels along these walls matched the white-painted wood of the window frames, and they gave the chamber some elegant character.

While Eve entered the comparatively less intimidating room, Kara stayed back a moment, taking in the shafts of muted blue light from the windows and the contrasting warm glow of leaping flames from the central fireplace.

Eve crouched down to poke at the fire as Kara set down her belongings. “It was a reception room,” Eve explained. “Though I’ve never seen it used.”

The fire crackled pleasantly. “Have you been here long?” Kara inquired.

“Three years,” Eve answered, directing her attention back to the fire.

Kara peeled off her overcoat and draped it along the wainscoting. “Do you like it here?”

“Yes,” Eve said simply as she stood up. She turned to Kara, meeting her eyes now as her hands smoothed over her skirt. “I’ll let you get dry.” And with a nod, she was on her way.

Kara watched her every step.

Once the door closed, she hastily began removing her overskirt. It fell to the dark herringbone floor with an unglamorous thud.

---

There was no method or grace to the way Kara wrapped her hand around the rusting crowbar, but with a few jerks, she’d managed to successfully pry the top off of the pallet.

After setting down the wood cover, Kara extended her hand, letting it fall clumsily onto the slick canvas in front of her. It was still wet, and her hand’s small circular movement caused moisture to pool at her fingertips, as if her touch had beckoned the water. So her hand withdrew, and Kara slid the canvas out from its container. Her eyes danced over the surface as she considered how to dry it, holding it in front of herself like the Communion host of an evening Mass.

---

Kara decided to accompany her drying canvas, which was now positioned next to the fireplace. Stripped naked, she sat in front of the fire and pulled her legs towards herself—she was vulnerable, sitting there bare and in a new environment, and the action made her feel a bit more small, compact, and safe.

Kara set down her candle so she could light her tobacco pipe with the flames. Her large, smoky exhales grounded her, in a way, with the familiar sight and smell acting as a sort of sedative. And she stared forward, expression blank but unmistakably worn.

---

Kara walked barefoot along the cement floor, making her way through the hall and to the pantry room wrapped in nothing but her robe-like smock.

[bonefall]

Same anon again- hearing your reasoning helps a lot, thank you. It helps to understand its a (unfortunately for bramblestar, funny) critique of a personality trait rather then connecting intelligence to morals. Thank you for explaining your thought process and for being civil about it < 3

No problem!! I'm glad it helped!

[moonchild-in-blue]

hi lovely skipping into your inbox with some queries of my own <3

25. whats your favorite holiday? 39. whats the one standard you hold yourself to? 47. whats your favorite time of day 64. how do you respond to compliments?

Hello there beloved miss magic 💜✨

25 - What's your favourite holiday?

HALLOWEEN 🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃🎃

My birthday is during Halloween week, and October is absolutely my favourite month of the year. I wish we had Halloween everyday.

My favourite animation movie is The Nightmare Before Christmas, and I have a LOT of merch and such. I could watch that movie everyday and never get tired (which I did as a teen lol. Tim Burton my beloved).

Fun fact though: I am a Christmas hater. Do not like it, it makes me depressed af, absolutely not. Give me spooky scary movies and candy instead thank yew

39 - What's the one standard you hold yourself to?

Hum. I guess be kind/understanding/accommodation of other's struggles and needs.

As someone who as struggled immensely with mental health stuff (still does, in fact), I always try to be as understanding and non-judgemental possible when it comes to that (and I say mental health, but I'm absolutely including neuro-divergences too. Anything brain-related basically).

We all have our ways to cope with life, and even if I think it's weird or whatever, who am I to dictate how you do it? I'm very particular in the way I do things, and wish people would just be "cool 👍 okay 👌" instead of giving looks ya know?

(unless of course you're actively harming/ putting yourself or others at risk. other than that it's fine.)

47 - What's your favourite time of the day?

I like the evenings and late nights, when the world is dark and quiet and I can just exist.

I do also love very early mornings, if I'm waking up to travel or something. Nothing quite like that crisp morning air and mist 😌

64 - How do you respond to compliments?

😬😬😬😬

I... Am terrible at them. I don't believe most of them, even if I *know* someone is being genuine. I do appreciate highly specific/weird compliments, because somehow my brain registers as - okay they actually payed attention/ like x or y because who says that??

But honestly depends. I never know how to react, so I just go "thanks! 🙂👍" irl. In here feels different though. Since there's no pressure to be nice or establish a relationship with others, I have a much better time accepting (and giving) compliments over here. We're too weird to be fake I suppose hahaha.

Idk, I have a complicated relationship with trusting what others say to me. Words of affirmation is my lowest love language to both receive and give at almost 0% 😬😬😬😬😬

[oopsalltes]

its really important to me that max remains as distinct from mighty as possible because i don't want to downplay how mighty's sacrifice really resonated with me as someone who struggles with ideation, but it's also really important to me that max still cherishes the memories of an identity that he no longer considers himself because he doesn't want to let them be forgotten. that's how he's able to be re-integrated into the family - shiro understands that they aren't the same but he also doesn't want max to have to find himself all alone, so he thinks of max as an entirely different son. ivory is probably the most hesitant to this really abrupt change, because he has the least amount of context (shirobon has already gone through the arc of acceptance in realizing that mighty is dead and max is not him) but eventually everyone is able to come to an understanding :)

[fenixburned]

something something both of w.ilmon‘s I love yous happening when they‘re hugging & very close, both of them being whispers for only the other one to hear after their privacy has already been invaded so violently 🥹🥹

[squishosaur]

i really really love your art it feels so flowy and comforting 🌟🌟 it's super nice to look at :-)💗💗💘

thanks so so much!! this makes me so super happy!!! i think my art is very picturebook-esque... or that's what i'm told anyways!! but i try really hard to capture feelings in a very silly goofy way :3 anyways, thank you for the kind words and i always love seeing you in my notifs :0c

[youjustwaitsunshine]

next week we're gonna make parchment and gold beater's skin, very excited

[shields-down]

Fym he has nothing? Everyone has something. Some sort of identification

NOTHING I TELL YOU!!! NOTHING AT ALL!!!! FROM NO WHERE.

THE ONLY PERSON I KNOW WHO WAS LIKE THAT IS MISS ANNABELLE. AND MISS ANNABELLE IS NOT FROM HERE. IT MIGHT BE SOMETHING LIKE THAT.

[trans-leek-cookie]

reading Disco Elysium analysis posts is giving me fun new ways to conceptualize the ways society especially in regards to sorcery in JJK can be horribly flawed and traumatic. To the point I upset Myself. Anyway haha

[writersdrug]

Simon "Ghost" Riley is the kind of man who:

In your shared home, always sits with his legs spread. Manspreading king. Adores it when you cross your arms and give him a disapproving look, saying there's no room for you. "Course there is, luv. Jus' sit between my thighs."

Refuses to let you do simple tasks around the house, like making tea, folding his underwear, or putting away the dishes. One might think it's a sweet, husbandly gesture - but he's just super picky. You made tea in the microwave once, and now you're banned from ever touching his tea stash. Likes his underwear folded in a specific way, and you don't understand the importance of it. He got tired of you stuffing his underwear in his drawer, so now he folds it himself. And the dishes? Couldn't stand how you put them away. "There's no rhyme or reason to 'em." "I didn't think there had to be, Si-" "Just gimme the damn bowl." Fewer chores? You aren't complaining.

Looks like he's always on edge - and he is, kinda. When he's out with you, he can't help but be alert and watchful, and extremely protective of you. You've tried to get him to loosen up - it's the supermarket, what could happen? - but have just come to accept it as his nature. Plus, you get that giddy feeling when you see other men look straight down at the floor, avoiding Simon's stare as the two of you pass.

Is the grumpiest, poutiest, and most indignant man ever when he gets sick. Doesn't want you doting on him in case you catch whatever he has. But, wait - where are you going? "Get your ass back in this bed - 'm cold." Grumbles like a child when you force him to let you get up to grab him soup, tea, or medicine. And no, he doesn't care how sick he is, he's not wearing that stupid, floppy ice pack hat.

Brings Johnny over unannounced, and you've grown used to it. The moment you hear that Scottish yapping out the front door as the key unlocks, you grab a third plate for dinner - he insists you don't need to feed him, but you always make extra for Simon's lunch the next day regardless, and the last time he'd said that, he ended up grabbing an extra fork and picking from Simon's plate. Which, of course, had Simon up at 1 am making instant ramen because he was still hungry, but didn't have the heart to ask you to make him a decent meal. So, yes, Johnny would be fed.

Loves spoiling you on your birthday. What is a man if not someone who spoils his partner rotten? Orders in food from your favorite bakery, sets all your presents neat and nice on the table (the excellent wrapping job done by yours truly, Gaz), flower petals sprinkled on the ground and the table top (also Gaz's idea), and a seat on his lap so for you while you open your presents. Loves watching your face light up, and each little "you remembered?!" fall from your lips as you open each gift. Scoffs and shifts in his seat. "I's not that much of a fuss, luv..." as you squeal excitedly, but you know he's biting back a proud smile. The blush, he can't even attempt to hide.

Is somehow a magnet for your young nephews. Every time he comes along to your sister's place, he's either making conversation with her husband in the living room, or he's interrogated and cornered by her two sons. And, lord help him, he doesn't understand it either. He'd always expected kids to look at him like a monster, but, especially with these two, that was never the case. They'd ask him for stories about "being in war" - half of the time, he'd make up some not-too-gory adventure, sparing them the details of real war. The rest of the time, he'd talk about "Soap, my mate who blows everything up." And they'd listen with wide eyes and jaws on the floor.

Has scared you unintentionally, more than too many times. He'd come home at three in the morning from a mission, and all he wanted was to quietly peel his dirty uniform off and slip into bed with you. His main intention was to avoid waking you up, because you'd force him to shower before joining you in bed - and he was too tired for that. However, you'd been rounding the corner, up for your 3 am glass of water - you screamed as you saw the hulking, dark figure by the front door, launching your phone at him. He'd caught it effortlessly and shoved it into his back pocket. "What've I told ya 'bout using the bat?" "I was just getting water!" "I coulda been anyone." "Well you're not." "Missed ya, luvie." "Missed you too- but you're grimy. Go take a-" "No." He grabbed you and threw you over his shoulder, ignoring your protests as he hauled you back to bed.

[jamiegeode]

I’m sorry but

WHAT?

Symbolism is almost always intentional. Sometimes it’s intentional in the same way as linguistic structures: you don’t have to think about it, it’s automatic, but it’s still got a method to it.

Sometimes it’s intentional in comparing a character to a certain group of animals for an entire story, and whether you compare them to a lion or a house cat at any given moment.

And sometimes it’s how you choose to draw shit. Which by the way, is so fuckin intentional. I get mad at myself for missing little details, you think I would let drawing EVERYONE matching the WRONG WAY be published if I didn’t have intent behind it? And yeah, there’s simple structure in line style and anatomy, but there’s intentional symbolism too. And then there’s just… the humanness of it all.

Computers don’t think about that. They are changelings and fae, pretending to be us, playing the imitation game and hoping we won’t recognize their deception. But they don’t ever actually talk or listen, they just look.

They see hand holding, and it’s just hand holding. Not the trust of it, not the comfort or familiarity it implies. They don’t analyze the rest of what’s going on, how the poses interact. How it might be a forced and rigid grip instead. It just sees two hands, and pretends.

It doesn’t see the light in a character’s eyes or how it can flicker, it just sees eyes. It doesn’t see warmth in skin, or sparks of freckles, it just sees that there is skin.

Sometimes it’s how someone forges their personality in armor. A stiff character, with sharp movements, who never relaxes.

Art isn’t what makes us human, I’ll admit that. There are mice and birds and elephants that draw too, even if it tends to hold a structure that isn’t as natural to us. You know what makes us human?

Fire.

Making our own fire. Using fire. Cooking.

So I’ll forge myself an iron knife to keep the goddamn fae away from me. You go ahead and befriend them, but know this: nothing means anything to them. It’s just an imitation of our structures, to keep people from even trying to learn how intricate a well-made building’s stonework actually is.

AI people: we're just as much artists as you are, you gotta be so observant and go through so many correcting phases for the picture to look good uwu also AI people: