#neato ocs

[miss-bvnny]

''Going somewhere?''

''...Hi, Frollo.''

[busiest-bee]

Sploon sona. Scrimp

They eat an obscene amount of power eggs. It’s given them Weird levels of strength. Marie saw them bend a metal pipe once with little struggle. Marie would be a little bit scared of them but they only use this strength for good/ their job (which is working as an agent under Marie/ the NSS) so she’s not too worried.

Pov: this thing and their weird gerbil baby guy are going to beat your ass to an inky pulp

Edit (7-2-24) I’ve decided that under the bear ear headband they have little dumbo octopus “ears” that they toothpick down for Lore Reason

[zcottwhathuh]

part fuckign THREEE

aanannd this is it!!!

[mothscotch]

im hearing uhave praying mantis batter. pleae tell me about him

HAI! i do have praying mantis batter :3 his name is... mantis.. so creative

hes part of a bigger bug au (all extremely inspired by the lovely @snakeguy999 's au, check it out!)

(the man himself!!)

-hes a large european mantis, about three inches tall.

-he doesnt talk, and prefers non-verbal communication instead (eg. facial expressions, hand gestures, clicking, little noises, stuff like that)

-he doesnt have eyelids, but for ease of facial expressions i do this

-hes got two sets of mandibles (lower and upper) but for chibi n stuff i tend to show upper only.

-hes good at puzzles and is generally smart

-hes very patient, he can stand perfectly still for days

-he has no puppeteer. all his actions are of free will.

-he also has no add-ons, he is very solitary (?)

-ive mentioned this before but he does the mantis wiggle (^_^)

his bad form is fun..

bug centaur!!!! his lower set of arms doubles as legs :3

-if you stretch him out hes 5 inches tall

-uh he does.. mantis things

-he can jump reealll far

-also he holds his arms like praying mantises do in this form

ah thats all for now.. if i think of more ill tell (>_>)

[redwayfarers]

house of grief and sunlight

fandom: wayfarer ship: cassander/aisanne characters: cassander inteus, aisanne bjornsdottir rating: gen words: 1625 note: this is my entry for @idrellegames' three year anniversary event! prompt i'd chosen is paramour - expected of me, i know - but i've hardly written about cass' bisexuality and i felt like it needed to be written about! excuse the ya-sounding title lmao i could not resist also, aisanne is a gw2 oc that i've ported to wayfarer. she lives over on @i-mybrunettelady most of the time :) divider credit

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s sake, I’m so tired of it. It’s summer, though, and a part of me feels like the sun will chase it away, if only for a day or two. Our house needs the sun right now. Grief hangs over it like a veil, and we don’t speak of it, but maybe the rays that come through our window each morning help. 

Or so I hope. Hope��s a stupid thing by and large, because every time I hope something happens it decidedly doesn’t, as if the gods above or whoever sits and watches this farce of an existence keeps laughing at me and says, “Add more!” But I can’t help but wish, in my heart of hearts, that sometimes, maybe one day in this lifespan that’s entirely too long for one guy, I don’t feel like a tossed out, crapped on kitten on the streets. 

It’s summer. That feels important to repeat to self. I am feeling a little less grief. The room around me is loud and messy and sounds jump from one place to another like rabbits, in a cacophony ruled over by the harmonious noise of music. Sanne’s the one behind the harp, golden under the candlelight, and if she was a different woman, she’d be singing in a Meissandic temple. 

She cares little for the traditional rites, though. She cares little for the chants I’d attended once or twice when I was a kid. She looked at me all confused when I told her how courtly, Vestran services happen, and said, in a strange tone, “I don’t understand how people like that.” I don’t understand either, and thank fuck I’m not a Vestran aristocrat anymore. 

Her place is telling stories of heroes and events long gone, to be a musical wayfarer. She’s doing that tonight. I was drunk when we first met here and she had to hold my hair while I was throwing up, apparently. Can’t say I remember that attractive trait about myself. I’m not drunk right now, however, sitting near the small wooden stage, taking small sips of my cider. The drink is irrelevant; she captures my attention more than any alcohol could. 

She’s radiant and shiny, half covered in shadows, which makes her golden crest stand out. The bright sheen of her golden hair disappears and reappears after the movements of her head. I can’t see her freckles clearly from here, but I can see the ink on her neck, the roundness of her full lips, an occasional yellow in the blues of her eyes when the candlelight reflects off them. I’m not blind to beauty, but there’s beauty in a way a finely made building is beautiful, and a way a person is beautiful. 

You don’t wanna fuck buildings, do you? And if you do, what the actual fuck is wrong with you?

Others are looking at her too. That doesn’t matter, because it’s my bed who she comes to tonight. Or is it me coming to hers? Not fucking important. 

These feelings are new. For most of my life, interest like this fell to men. Part of me wonders if I’m just that desperate for any kind of tenderness in my life that my head would start making up attraction; but the way this feels can’t be anything but a solid fucking reality. Women were always beautiful the way buildings were, but now they’re flesh and bone and soul and personality and there’s something so weirdly appealing about that that it catches me off guard. 

Not all women are your mother, you dumb fuck. 

I know, but women have never been.. This. I think about Sanne when she’s away. I watch her practice for the performances, mesmerized. There’s peace and blood rushing to my face when we’re laughing in bed, or making lunch, or eating, or just existing in the same space. My insides get all twisted up, like I’m a kid again crushing on older Wayfarers. It’s like Senna again, and I simply forgot how it feels like to be crushing on someone this bad. 

Nothing will ever happen between us, however. It would be so crappy to prey on a widow’s feelings. She rarely speaks of her dead husband, but he’s not even that cold as far as dead people go; maybe a little more than us Wayfarers, but not by much. Our living together is a result of loneliness, desperation, not a desire to find a partner again. But I was dumb enough to pretend I didn't see it. 

She’s cooking, some days after her performance. Sun is shining through the window, leaving her figure in semi-shadows and catching on the ends of her shiny, metallic hair. She’s not as glamorous as she was at the show; right here is a Sanne that’s more down to earth, more solid, dressed comfortably, not worried about how she’s perceived. I’m folding clothes nearby and doing a half-assed job of it, too. It’s hard to concentrate some days over the deafening noise of all this fucking attraction confusion business. 

Every so often she turns back to look at me with a strange smile on her face. “That’s what I wore to Kiaran’s funeral,” she says suddenly. I jerk and drop my gaze to the dress in my hands. Sunlight washes away its dark color in places. There are little holes in it that I want to sew shut, but I don’t have her consent to. She’s weirdly sentimental about it. 

My Spire didn’t have a funeral, and us survivors only have ashes as funerary garb. 

“What’s this stain again?” I ask, raising the dress and jerking my head in the direction of the big, grayish blob on the skirt. “I keep forgetting!” 

She sighs and throws a full, peeled onion at me. It hits me right in the forehead and the poor plant, already under threat, pricks my eyes. “You’re horrible,” I say in mock offense. “You don’t want your dress to stink, do you?” 

“I’m not burying anyone anytime soon,” she says lowly, in a tone that implies I’m hitting a boundary. I wince and put the dress down, careful of the location of the onion. 

“I’m sorry,” I whisper as I approach, gently placing the vegetable on the table. She gives me a hard look. “I shouldn’t have joked about the dress. It means a lot to you and I tend to joke around, right, about the things that I’m sensitive about so people don’t attack me for it first? Offense is the best defense kinda thing? And I forget that sometimes - a lot of the time - people don’t function the way my fucked up head does?”

Shut up, Cassander. You’re making it worse.

Something tightens my throat, like hands choking me from the inside out. I grip the table and swallow thickly. My stomach twists up, and the smell and feel of onion fills the kitchen and I can only focus on the dents in the dark wood beneath my fingers and the uneven pattern freckles of my hand. 

“Cassander,” Sanne says. Her tone is too much for me to analyze right now, try as I might. “Cass.” 

“What?” 

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” 

“Picking at your scar. Stop it.” 

I lower my hand from my face and grip the edges of my tunic. The edges of my braid - I need to take care of those ugly fucking ends one of these days - tickles my hand. You’re scaring people. Enjoy your lifetime of solitude, whether you’re actually into women or not. Who would want someone as shaky and deranged as you are? 

Vestra should’ve killed you, if you were so determined to go back. 

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my feet. 

“I’m not angry. If you pushed, I would’ve been, greatly so. But you didn’t. Stop shaking like a leaf.” There’s something in her tone that feels like cold water to the face. I breathe out and blink away a small selection of tears. Saltiest one always drops first! I’m imagining a little tear race now, little tear spectators cheering the racers on, tear savants testing the levels of salt in each one. The thought makes me giggle and I bury my head in my hands as I laugh. 

“I’m not angry with you,” she repeats, gentler than before. Her voice is still as steely, though. “Go finish the laundry while I make lunch.”

Without a word, I retreat to my location at the corner of the room, where still wet clothes wait to be sorted and hung to dry. I put the dress to the side and continue sorting through the clothes; sometimes, I look at her, her back turned to me, and the shaking of my hands grows for a split second. 

I try my best not to cry. Better save that energy for the worst of the shitshow that I know is yet to come.

I’ve forgotten that this is a house of grief and no sunlight can fix it. And I’ve walked over her grief in the same way I would walk over my own, but where I’m used to it, she isn’t. And even when we go to the same bed that night, seemingly forgetting what happened, and even when the sun rises the morning after, this is still a place where two grieving people decided to seek comfort because being broken together is somehow better than being broken alone. 

No summer nor new kinds of sex can fix the holes in your heart. 

I am tired of grief.  I don’t know if it ever goes away, but for fuck’s everloving and everlasting sake, I’m so tired of it.

[acosmicwayfarer]

Taking a moment to post a super rough concept scribby of an idea @psychobind and I have been entertaining more recently, which is:

Wagnas' awoken/"butter-goddess" form having a nest of sorts! 🪺

Because the lore and headcanons behind this subject are so neato and I currently lack the brainpower to write them out, I will be returning later with an additional post speaking more on the matter. For now, enjoy rough scribble. 🎨🐌

[just-a-boxx]

Been busy recently so art’s been slow; so feel free to this moron

(Mary, They/them/any)

This ver. colored by @miniartsblog ⇧

[ashipiko]

Slides my boy Finn in front of Niko

Ya'll should meet

“…Finn? Oh. Ohhh. Ohhhhhhh.

The small guy who’s with the Octa guys… He’s… yeah. Kinda hard to keep a conversation with, you know? The flow of it dies quick.

He’s tried talking to me when I was making sales a couple times before, probably under the takoyaki’s request. Suspected he tried to wiggle something out of me, but you know me, it’s not easy. I’m on the same level as him when it comes to that stuff.

The whole interaction was just us running in a circle, to be honest. He’s the type of guy I steer clear of.

N-Not to mention that unique magic of his? It’s freaky. Like, real freaky. I don’t wanna see what he does with my voice…”

[personaei]

ooc. oh yeah. it's all coming together.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

what do you MEAN Ophiuchus has an emoji that I haven’t been using this whole time?!!? ⛎⛎⛎

[metalmadnessoverlord]

Oh great metal overlord I have a question for you

Do you want to meet Mecha Jayden (or scrap Mecha Jayden)

"... Who?"

[miss-bvnny]

''Wanna talk about what's haunting you, or should we wait for a third act flashback?'' ''Go fuck yourself.''

Purposefully q'ing this in advance. I can't chicken out from Birthday artposting, when this is scheduled to post while I'm at work. on my birthday. yay. There's another sketch coming in a few hours as a bonus.

I realize this is...a little late for the joke, but I PROMISE it wasn't when I drew it in august!!!

Disclaimer i haven't seen the movie yet but everything I've seen of posters at work and that clip of DP+W fighting in the car feels like ''two people who hate each other gotta save the world'' and I hate to toot my own horn but that's literally what these two are. So yeah this felt fitting.

[sailorsunspot]

i think i mostly like ttrpgs for the fun blorbos it gives me to draw

[hazelence]

Cure Mosaic!! I was scrolling through tags looking for something fun and I found them!! No shading, but I had so much fun doing the lineart!

Character by @thedeitychildren @curedeity

[keeps-ache]

remembering something

[raredrop]

finished my bookmarks....