#me while drawing these and writing this out: IamcringebutIamfreeIamcringebutIamfreekillwhatcringeskillwhatcringes

[b4kuch1n]

cycle knots doodles from twitter

[ryllen]

After able to play more of his missions after console update, I can’t stop thinking such a nice guy Remington is, 

i wish he finds himself a nice duvos gal who would cook as spicy as her mom & shows him how delicious it is to eat with duvos powder that’s not weirdly spesific at all

[sketchingtons]

Anyway I’m definitely still thinking about how Tim told Bernard to hide and just ran straight at the chaos monster to fight them as a civilian

And like, we know Bernard was taken by the monster but how scared do you think he was to see his friend/date just run at that thing like?? They straight up just saw it kill a waiter at the restaurant and then Tim tells him to hide and launches himself at it???

So just imagine Bernard hiding under the table, worried out of his mind for Tim, and then the chaos monster rips the table away and snatches him-and as the monster takes him away he just sees Tim’s body crumpled on the floor, limp. Like, we as the audience know Tim was just taken out by chloroform powder and is merely knocked out-but I assume Bernard missed all that and, even if he did see it, would have no idea what the powder was or what it did: it could have easily just been poison or something!

So anyway, Bernard struggling in the chaos monsters hold, fighting for all he’s worth and screaming Tim’s name, trying to reach him as the monster takes him away-not even sure if Tim is still alive, but fighting to get to him.

[navyinks]

Nolofinwe, his half-brother, and then his half-nephew

was talking earlier today about how i wanted to see some wholesome fingolfin/maedhros interactions, nolo being a positive influence in nelyo’s life despite the whole third-finwe thing going on, just some growing-up uncle/nephew stuff you know //rubs hands

[peachcitt]

hey uhhh do you possibly have a photo reference for the dress adrien wore in burgundy near black. i know you draw too so did you ever draw it? i just cant get that image out of my head but i have such a sad little brain that's not that good at imagination so i would love to see it with my eyes aslkdafjkl

okay so i did have a reference but also not really. i had a couple of different dresses that i based the idea on of like. general shape/style/vibe. but i couldn’t find a single dress that looked exactly like i wanted so i just made one up. also i didn’t save any of the references i used at the time and now i can’t find them.

what im trying to say is i sketched it just now for you

oh yeah if you didn’t know this is about my fic burgundy near black

[mushroom-winners-proof]

Ansem Riku is such a prick lmao dude really spoke to kairi in that ominous-ass voice meanwhile as soon as sora realizes it’s him he drops the whole act and immediately teases him like you did all that And For What

[chrookrit]

It was one of those mornings and Ethan sighed.

 The place in bed next to him, usually occupied by Leon, was already cold when the blond man touched it, he yawned softly and looked at his alarm clock: 7 am on a Sunday, it was one of Leon's days off.

 He hoped that maybe his husband was just making breakfast or had gone to the bathroom for a moment, maybe he was just getting a bottle of water; but after a minute of silence, the blond man got up, put on one of his shirts, and then waddled into the room next to the bedroom where Rose was sleeping.

 Just like he had thought, Leon knelt beside Rose's crib, his arm was between the bars, and he rested his hand gently on the baby's chest. "I didn't mean to wake you." Leon's voice was heavy, not from sleep, but from something else, and Ethan couldn't help but sit down next to the other man and hug him.

 "You didn't wake me, love ... Since when are you here?" Leon just shrugged and continued to stare at Rose, who was still fast asleep and breathing steadily. Ethan had to close his eyes for a moment and take a breath, he had to fight down his own tears and leaned his head against his husband's shoulder, in hopes of suppressing his emotions; he was trying for Leon's sake.

Sometimes the man just couldn't help but to cry for Leon, he knew how much his husband suffered and how hard it was for him sometimes when the nightmares returned, when he remembered unpleasant things, and Ethan always tried to be strong, to be a solid presence in Leon's life, authentic and always there for the man he loved so much.

 Leon, however, noticed Ethan's actions and took his husband's hand in his own, squeezing it and uttering a broken, "I'm sorry."

 Ethan shook his head harder than necessary, perhaps to dispel all the thoughts that were occupying his mind at the moment. He had to think, maybe Leon had forgotten to take his antidepressants, or Ethan hadn't noticed, and his husband had been feeling bad since yesterday, and it had intensified overnight.

 "Hey, I can hear you thinking." Leon tried to chuckle, but it came out as a sob, and the blond man hugged the agent tighter, trying to get closer. "When did it start?" Again, all he got was a shrug, which made Ethan take a deep breath. His lungs filled with air and ached as if he had not been breathing for minutes.

 "I just thought the nightmares were over, but then I thought Rose was gone and you were gone and I mean, I woke up next to you, so..." Leon had to gasp between his quiet sobs, and Ethan continued to hold him. "Well, I mean, I knew you weren't gone, but then I had to go check on Rosie and it all came back from the last mission, you know, and, and, I don't know. I'm sorry, Ethan."

 Ethan didn't try to refuse the apology; he knew Leon felt the need to apologize. Leon knew he didn't need to apologize.

 With a quick press of his lips to his husband's neck, Ethan stood up and ran his fingers through Leon's uncombed hair. "I'll make breakfast, okay? Then we'll see what the day brings, we could take Rose for a walk, it's warm outside." Leon nodded and grabbed his husband's hand again, holding it gently as he looked up at Ethan with glazed eyes, pulling him closer, pressing a kiss to his knuckles and putting a genuine smile on his lips.

 "I'd like that, I think Rosie's awake too." He turned his full attention to the child now. "Are you hungry, my angel? Do you want to go downstairs with your daddy and me?" - "With your daddies!" Ethan put extra emphasis on the 's' and couldn't help but snicker and cup his husband's face with his hands as Leon lifted their daughter up and then leaned down for a kiss.

 "Thank you, Ethan." he said, and what could Ethan do but to smile and walk toward the kitchen with an affectionate expression on his face as he looked at his little, broken and still perfect family?

[westywallowing]

a small one-shot that goes with my dnf comic here, based off of @taxolotl fanart and idea :)

"you like music, don't you George?"

george looks up at the sudden question.

"Yes, I'd say I do. why do you ask?"

XD runs his fingers over the flowers, small fairies gently nudging his hands back in hello. the sun cascades over his hair and wings, making them glow like starlight. "Music is a very human invention," his face is devoid of any imperfections, bare of the familiar freckles and scars that litter the similar face of another, as he speaks. "Gods have no need for it."

He tilts his head. "But that melody you hum to yourself. Why does it get stuck in my head?"

He hums a few bars and George looks to him sharply, his eyes and lungs and head filling with longing and heartache. but gods such as XD don't understand heartache.

"Why do I know the words? like a long lost memory?" He asks, lifting a small flower fairy into his palm.

"I'll swim and sail on savage seas," he sings quietly. "With never a fear of drowning."

George's hands begin to tremble at the familiar words, they drive needles into his lungs like fire. XD continues without pause.

"And gladly ride the waves of life,"

His image flickers, and suddenly George is transported several years back. Before the fighting, before the war, before the torn bonds. When they just were.

The image flickers, and suddenly there is no longer a God in front of him, but merely a man. A man with a once big smile, and even bigger heart.

"If you would marry me." the man in his memories would sing. Oh, how he longed to hear him again.

In his treasured memory, he recalls the next verse spilling from his own lips. They were filled with sunlight and saccharin melodies. "No scorching sun nor freezing cold," past George recites, reaching a hand to run down his lovers cheek. "will stop me on my journey."

and then it disappears. it fades away in dusts of time and winds of sadness. and then he's back, basking in the presence of an ancient being who sang the melody of his other half.

"If you will promise me your heart," XD sings, but it sounds like he's coming to an end. George knows that it isn't the end. Whether that means the end of the song or something else, maybe he will never know. But the song isn't over, and it begs him to finish it.

"And love," he whispered, breath hitching.

In the distance, past fields of grain and groves of trees, through walls of steel dripping in purple glow, he swore he could hear it. the last verse.

"And love me for eternity." a voice sang, one achingly familiar. one devoid of grace after having come so obsessed with obtaining it. now reduced to what he always was. human.

but George heard him. he believes that he'll always hear him, forever.

[theotherace]

Aang Week 2021, Day 4: Dance | @aangweek

[ID:  First Image: A digital drawing of Aang and On Ji from Avatar: The Last Airbender. Both are wearing their Fire Nation school uniform. Aang is on the left, On Ji on the right, facing each other. They are dancing with each other, her right hand in his left. On Ji is smiling with closed eyes, one hand raised above her head. Aang is looking at her with a happy expression on his face. The background is brown. The light on them is yellow-ish.

Second Image:  A screenshot of a Tumblr Ask, reading: Anonym hat gesagt (Anonymus said): Could I request a platonic Aang/On Ji drawing? It’s okay if you don’t want to do it /end ID]

[strawbebbiesart]

Lollipop Goddess  🍓 🍭

[my instagram]

[unproduciblesmackdown]

first Meeting in a forest at night or whatever

[pastelpaperplanes]

I know that a main point in the C&M ending that people consider is that Optimus would never let go of his morals and just be with Megatron in the mob. But, do you think, just possibly, Megan can convince Optimus that he's just doing a little evil in order to do some good? Cause it feels to me like Megan would run the mob in such a way that yes, he has to do bad things, but its for the greater good, to keep people as safe as possible. Such as keeping the dirtier trades away from his business.

Honestly a lot of their little story in the entirety of the C&M AU is surrounded around the two forfeiting once hard rules for a desire to explore a bit of a ‘happiness’ with the other—Megatron let’s himself get attached to a mech he comes to adore, knowing that his position alone could very well put this person he loves in a crossfire, and Optimus allowed his desperation to get his career back on track to affiliate with criminals, as well as him stomaching that he’s emotionally torturing an unknowing mech HE comes to adore

Megatron promised himself he’d never drag a lover into his line of work, should he ever be able to live with the fact that their life should always be in danger by means of leverage. Optimus fell in love with someone despite knowing he’s built a fantasy with lies for himself and will tear holes in the hearts of his friends, and more importantly his lover.

Megatron’s position in the Mob rule has been mentioned to be almost Damage Control for the terror caused by his brother, plus corruption on even the ‘good’ sides has become even more transparent as the decades have passed. The line between just and unjust has become more grey, more blurry—should no one be there to keep a firm hand on the balance from becoming distorted, then the city would be far worse off without a Boss to be the keystone between crime and law. A person for people to point their finger at when needed, a mech to entrust personal relations stand aside from business, someone to make the tough and even tougher calls, the one to shove their own desires aside to keep the fragile idea that is peace.

Keeping both enemies and friends rich and richer still calls for morally ambiguous funding at times—unfortunate, but necessary evil to keep both the ‘sinners’ and ‘saints’ from starving—from a turf war between both spectrums. Megatron has,,,responsibilities. He can’t allow for his own fantasies or personal wants to get the better of him, but he did.

Eventually, Megatron will come to the harsh realization that he gave his whole heart to a mech that he later came to know never existed at all. And what, this same mech went to these lengths to deceive him in order to survive, just another testament that Megatron’s work is never truly going to ever be done, a lesson learned in the most painful way possible.

Should Megatron come to love Optimus, yes, the two would have to come to a mutual understanding that tough choices must be made in order to preserve even a semblance of order, rules will be bent, dangerous practices and shady deals will be created—this Mob life will never be perfect nor will it ever be pure, but it is simply a matter of maintaining balance.

Should they choose to endure that fact while leaning on each other, they may just have one of the strongest mutual understandings and insights into what the future could be for the Mob.

[the-lord-of-the-things]

For the assisting, “You need to stop getting into fights.” or “I don’t know how you even get yourself into these situations.” if you don't mind. :)

This has activated an idea I've been mulling over so strap in this is gonna be a fic Funfact: I plugged the end result into google docs to check the wordcount and. 

here we go

Dust motes floated in the rays of light that peeked through the gaps in the walls. The air was so dry and musty it was oppressive. Micky stared up at the dancing specks of dust as he sat slumped in the corner of the tiny room. Coarse ropes dug into the skin of his wrists where they were bound behind his back. Matching ropes were tied tightly around his ankles, keeping him from standing up even if he wanted to. He'd been stuck in that tiny room for almost 2 days now, judging by watching the light coming from outside. There was a dirt encrusted window high on the wall next to him, and Micky had spent most of the previous day staring out it. Now, however, he was too tired to even crane his head up to catch a glimpse of the sky through the grime. In the next room, past an ancient door that was barely still hanging on its rusty hinges, he could hear his captors bumbling about.

Micky had been on what he'd thought would be a quick and easy errand out in the Mojave desert when that group of two-bit bounty hunters had showed up to ruin his day. He was almost ashamed of himself for letting them get the upper hand on him, but they'd managed to catch him unawares. Micky was a smart enough man to realize the gig was up when they'd cornered him without his gun, so he'd given himself up without a fight.

Next thing he knew, his wrists had been tied behind his back, the ropes tight enough to hurt, and marched off through the wastes to this sad little shack in the middle of nowhere. The structure was made of wooden boards aged to a dark brown with a corroded metal roof, and the entire thing was so full of gaps and holes that it no longer truly functioned as a building. It must have been old and decrepit even before the war, but by now the only reason it was still standing must have been because it was being preserved by the dry desert heat like a mummified husk.

Once there, they'd bound his ankles to keep him from escaping, and tossed him in this little side room to rot. The only time they'd acknowledged his existence since had been when the ring leader had gotten fed up with Micky's back talk and stormed in to shut him up by shoving a rancid handkerchief shoved between Micky's teeth and tying it around the back of his head as a gag. Then he went back to ignoring him with the rest of his little posse. Listening in on their conversations in the other room, between all their loud fights and dicking around, Micky had been able to gather that they were now waiting on their mysterious benefactor to arrive to collect him and deliver their payment.

If it was who Micky suspected, their only 'reward' was going to be getting left to rot under the Mojave sun riddled with lead. A fact they seemed blithely unaware of as they carried on with their arguing and partying.

Of more pressing issue to Micky, however, was the fact they hadn't seen fit to give him a drop of water. His mouth was bone dry behind the handkerchief, his head spun incessantly, and he barely had the strength to keep his eyes open. His sluggish thoughts kept drifting back to the thought of his canteen that he'd dropped when he'd been captured. His thirst was all he could think about anymore, and somewhere in the back of his mind he recognized how dire his situation was. He was dangerously dehydrated, but his captors showed no sign of deigning to give him as much as a sip anytime soon. Maybe that was on purpose in order to keep him too weak to resist even as they kept him bound and gagged in his erstwhile cell.

Now, Micky was sitting there, staring at the dust motes, as he contemplated his predicament and his thirst. He was so lost in his thoughts of how good it'd feel to have a drink of fresh cool water, maybe boiled with some cactus fruit to sweeten it up the way he liked it, that he didn't notice the bounty hunters in the next room had gone quiet. At least not at first. Eventually the deafening silence, the first Micky had experience this entire time, dragged his focus away from the dust and the dryness of his throat. The bounty hunters had never gone quiet before, not even at night when their snores sounded like a chorus of rippers going full throttle.

"... Y'all hear that?"

"What the hell was that?"

Micky didn't hear anything, or he couldn't focus hard enough to make anything out. There was a hushed sound of the bounty hunters rustling around the shack, likely grabbing their weapons and moving to peer outside.

"What in the fuck--"

"Do y'all see that!?"

"Who on earth-"

Their exclamations of surprise were cut short by the crash of wood splintering and shouts of shock and alarm. Shouts turned to screams as bright light flashed between the gaps in the wooden planks that made up the walls. The shrill electronic zap of an energy weapon being fired reverberated through the shack, soon followed by the unmistakable stench of ozone and corrosion that could only mean one thing- plasma. A few cracks of conventional weapons being fired rang out in retaliation, but soon fell silent as shrieks of terror were cut short by yet more flashes.

Micky watched what little he could see of the fire fight between the planks with detached interest. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he was dimly aware of how strange this was. The legion didn't typically use energy weapons, did they..?

Almost as soon as it began, however, the fight was over. It had been as short as it had been brutal. The shack fell silent, the flashes of light had ceased. All that was left was a faint sickly green glow visible between the boards, and the sound of... machinery? There was a mechanical hum, punctuated by the occasional crackle of electricity. There was a whir of servos and mechanical joints, and the thump of heavy metallic foot steps. Another source of light passed across the room, Micky could watch it's progress as it passed by the gaps in the wall. Whatever was in the other room came to a stop in front of the door to Micky's makeshift cell.

The door was shoved open, and at long last its hinges lost their battle against time and rot. It topped to the floor and fell apart the moment it hit the ground. In the doorway was a looming figure that Micky was half convinced if for just a moment was the grim reaper itself arrived to release him from his suffering. Maybe it had brought him something to drink as it shepherded him from his mortal coil.

All Micky could make out at first was an eerie blue glow punctuated by the occasional arc of electricity. As he forced his eyes to focus, however, he was able to see the metal armor underneath. In his dehydration induced delirium, he first mistook it for an alien looking robot, with its almost insectoid plates and joints and the oversized bug-like orange eyes on its head. The thing's shoulders and neck were shielded by a massive cowl bristling with glowing blue conductors- the source of the glow and electricity- that further obscured its human shape.

Belatedly, Micky realized it was not, in fact, a robot or a portent of his imminent demise, but power armor. Familiar power armor, at that, but Micky struggled to recall where he knew it from. It had to be Enclave, by the distinct shape of its helmet and the hulking silhouette. But the glowing conductors and vacuum tubes, including two perched on top of the head, were something Micky couldn't remember seeing on any of the Remnant's suits. Where had he seen this suit before? He could have sworn he has. He was trying to remember, but it was hard to focus on anything except how thirsty he was.

The person in power armor pulled up short and scanned the room. In its hand was a plasma rifle that was still humming with charge from having just been fired. They almost overlooked Micky where he was huddled in his corner. When they spotted him, however, they froze. The rifle fell to the floor with a clatter, immediately forgotten.

The person rushed towards Micky and crouched down in front of him. They brought their hands up, and with far more gentleness than Micky would have expected from something with such a monstrous looking appearance, reached around and tugged at the knot in the handkerchief. When it didn't come undone with ease, they just tugged it up over Micky's head and tossed it aside. The air hitting his chapped lips and dried mouth was almost painful. He felt gloved hands cupping his face as the person lifted his head to look him in the eye. The motion was downright tender. It made Micky think of Arcade. It's been days, he must be worried sick...

A synapse finally fired somewhere in Micky's dehydrated brain. Arcade. Enclave power armor. He had seen this specific set of armor before. He'd almost been given that armor. Instead, he'd hidden it in the Lucky 38 for safe keeping, only telling one other soul where it was. The very person who'd tried to give him the armor, arguably it's rightful owner...

"Micky?" Arcade asked. His voice was muffled and crackling from the speaker sent in the helmet to allow the wearer to talk clearly. Arcade. It was Arcade. Not some legionary maniac, not another bounty hunter. Not a hallucination brought on by lack of water. It was really him. Micky stared up into the blank orange eyes of the helmet, and worked his mouth to try and reply. No sound came. He heard Arcade cursing angrily under his breath but couldn't make out most of the words through the speaker distortion. Micky must have looked like an absolute mess, caked in dirt and dehydrated half to death. "Jesus fucking Christ..."

Arcade let go of Micky's face so he could set to untying him. The ropes on Micky's ankles were swiftly removed, not that it would do him much good at this point. It wasn't like he could walk out of there. Then, Arcade carefully reached around to the ropes on Micky's wrists.

The moment he touched them, however, Micky flinched. A raspy sound that might've been a whimper escaped his throat. Arcade made quick work of the bindings, apologizing the whole time as he peeled the ropes from his wrists. When Arcade brought Micky's hands back around to his front, he could see where the ropes, so tight and for so long, had ate into Micky's skin. The wounds they left were ugly. They almost resembled burns, and were definitely in the early stages of an infection. Arcade stilled for a moment, cradling Micky's wrists, staring at them from behind the expressionless face at the helmet. Micky couldn't even wonder as to what he must've been thinking. He was so tired, his wrists hurt, he was parched.

"Lets get you out of here," Arcade murmured softly. Micky didn't even look up in response.

Arcade gathered Micky up into his arms. He lifted Micky up carefully, mindful not to injure him by accident on the various joints and protrusions of his armor. Micky let himself be folded up against Arcade's chest as he cradled him gently. The remains of the door crunched under Arcade's feet as he carried Micky from the side room. Out in the main space of the shack, the bodies of the bounty hunters lay strewn about. At least, what was left of their bodies. All had been either half melted, or completely reduced to puddles of green goo that was still faintly glowing. The stench in there was indescribable as the remaining stink of the bounty hunters mixed with the smell of melted human being.

When Arcade stepped out of that hell hole, Micky squinted his eyes closed against the daylight. He hadn't realize how dark his ramshackle cell had been compared to the unfiltered daylight.

"Micky!"

The was.. Veronica's voice. Micky cracked an eye open. His vision was blurry for a second, but he was able to make out her brown silhouette a few feet away. Standing next to her was a red bereted figure that could only be Boone. As Micky's vision adjusted to the light, he could see the look of utter relief on Veronica's face. Boone's was more impassive, as usual, but even he looked glad to see Micky in one piece.

Veronica made like she wanted to run up to them, only to pull up short after barely a couple steps. She looked up Arcade, and her smile immediately disappeared. A shadow fell over her face as she stared up at him, standing there in his Enclave power armor. Her posture tensed, and her gaze hardened. It was a look of pure distrust, one that she shared with Boone as they both kept a conspicuous distance from Arcade.

If Micky weren't so tired, he might make the connection that this little rescue mission of theirs had opened a very deep and particularly rancid can of worms. For now, however, he was just too tired to notice or care. Now that he was out of danger, it was like what little strength he'd been holding onto drained out of him. His eyes fell closed, his lids suddenly too heavy to force open. The sun was warm, Arcade and his friends were here. They could unpack that can later.

Somewhere above him, Arcade's voice crackled from the helmet. Micky caught the occasional word, "Followers" was in there, and "Dehydrated", and "Get back", but Micky had already drifted off too far to put him together.

Arcade jostled him a little.

"Hey, stay with me," he said. He was trying to keep his voice light, but there was a vein of worry there just under the surface. "You're gonna be alright, you're safe now, just hold out a little longer, okay?"

Micky forced himself to open his eyes just long enough to summon a smile for Arcade. He heard Arcade sigh in his helmet, then they were moving again.

"You and getting kidnapped, I fucking swear," Arcade muttered as he set off. "How do you even keep getting yourself into these situations."

[thread-theocracy]

I was out with friends when I saw the Beel artwork so here's an artist rendition of my reaction

[ranvwoop]

It's my turn on the sappy posting. Glad u are here.

[tenshindon]

wench behavior