#non-sighted

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

No time for fashion, we have a stat bonus to collect.

[smokescreenimusprime]

not my usual but it was too perfect to pass up and the idea was NOT leaving my head. Decided to write a snippet for @keferon's IMMACULATE Mecha Pilot Jazz AU, though apologies if the charactization is a lil funky, this is my first time writing either of these characters and double apologies for the undoubted slew of grammar and spelling errors

but that aside, I hope you enjoy :)

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Is It Self Sacrifice If It's Not Really You?

Despite the cacophany of the battlefield, Prowl's scream cut through it with with the ease of a freshly sharped blade through flesh and found it's home nestled into Jazz's ears.

He barely had a second to look up, hardly more than a glance, but it was all he needed to make out familiar white and black.

A Quintesson, one of the smaller but more freaky looking ones, was looming over his collapsed frame. He was pinned, his back to solid rocky walls and the Quint at his front, jamming it's tentacles into every crack of his armour they could.

He was putting up one hell of a fight, but something was wrong.

"PROWL!" he shouted, shifting his weight in preperation to bolt. "HOLD ON, I'M COMMIN-"

But the screech of the Quintesson he was currently grappling with forcefully stole his attention back, barely any warning given before it's gaping maw latched onto his mech's forearm.

It pulled, joints and plates creaking with the strain but still holding strong. It shook it's head and Jazz brought a hand up to brace against the outside of the monster, if only to stop the arm from being completely ripped out of the socket. He landed a few solid kick as it lifted him off the ground, but it's movements were still largey effortless, like his frame weighed as much as a tin can.

Prowl screamed again. This time it was louder.

Against all common (sane) sense, Jazz looked away from his enemy and toward Prowl

Some of his external plating was damaged, gouges in messy circle patterns with rivulets of blue energon sluggishly bleeding out. He seemed to be smoking too, thin curls of smoke wafting off his cables. His eyes were flickering wildly, something Jazz had grown to associate with too much damage and too little power.

All of the damage paled in comparison to where Jazz's focus was.

Now, Jazz didn't know how these guys had their mechs built, but they could hold up to some serious punishment. Their engineers seemed to keep an even more meticulous eye on any damage, and Prowler and the other's all had frames clealy meant to last.

But they were all still vulnerable at their cores.

And the Quintesson's tentacles, sparking with a terrifying yellow and red electricity, were pulling and prying right at the plating above that core.

It was starting to show some give too, a testimate to the true strength of the offending monster. Chest plating, no matter the make, didn't come off easily, intent to protect the most vulnerable parts of a pilot.

The electricity was already frying his frame, if it got a straight shot of that to his chest-

Jazz needed to do something.

Jazz needed to do something.

But what, what could he do, whatever it was it needed to be quick, he didn't have time to finish off this Quintesson, there wasn't time for finesse, he just needed to go to help to F I G H T -

Jazz readjusted the braced positioning of his legs, thanking for what was probably the thousandth time the engineers who'd made the adjustment to give him more flexibility and agility, and brought his free arm high above his head.

And brought it down.

His trapped arm creaked, the plating denting and squealing as the metal controted, sparks going flying and red error messages flashing in his vision.

He did it again.

And again.

And again.

He made sure to keep his blows aimed at preciscely where he knew it was weakest and made sure to push with his legs as hard as he could, swaying side to side and focing the joint to bend in ways it had never been meant to. His movements became a dance to the orchestra of cables snapping and metal ripping and electricity cracking and his arm b r e a k i n g , the dance growing faster and more determined the louder the music played.

It felt like eternity, and the phantom sensation was disorienting. There was no pain, only uncomfortable pressure that built up and up and up, perfectly in time with the warning messages he forcefully dismissed. It was far from pleasant, but it was nothing compared to the cold burning terrified angry fight flight save him running full blast in his brain.

And with one final crack akin to lightning, he was free.

It was the furthest thing from a clean break, and to his mild surprise it didn't break at the elbow but rather a bit above it. In the second of freefall he had, he couldn't help but admire the shredded stump and mourn how he knew Ratchet was going to have his head for all the extra work.

He hit the ground in a roll and popped up running, stumbling and nearly falling face first into alien dirt at the sudden uneven weight distribution but he simply let his partial fall carry him forward until he was sprinting full speed.

With his remaining hand he grabbed the Quintesson and pulled, not letting go until it wasn't tearing into Prowl's front and instead embedded several feet in the ground. He dashed, not giving it even a moment, standing tall in front of Prowl.

The Quint got back up, enraged screeches and chitters coming out of it's mouth.

"Back off," Jazz growled back.

The Quintesson attacked, and everything became the hyperaware blur combat always became.

Dodge, dodge, punch, dodge, kick, kick, punch, dodge, jump, kick jump-

One of it's tentacles latched right onto the open stump and set a wave of electricity in.

His mech's vision went bright white, sparks exploding out even inside his cockpit and the smell of burning metal filling his nose. All the protective insulation was made useless from the direct route into the mech's systems.

Jazz jerked his arm stump back and headbutted it.

He got a tentacle to the face for his troubles, grabbers squeezing and cracking the visor. He planted his feet, one on solid ground the other on the slack of the tentacle, and pulled as hard as he could.

A decent chunk of the face came left it, not deep enough to affect any systems or his vision anymore than it was already damaged, but enough that it certainly wasn't pretty.

He kept more distance after that. Wouldn't do any good for him or Prowler if he got fried too. But the Quintesson was desperate, like a cornered animal, grabbing and clawing at anything it could gets it's tentacles on. The same gouges Prowl had began to litter his own armour as it kept making grabs, and the beastie even managing to get a few more much briefer electrical surges in.

It was obvious only one of them was going to walk away from this fight, and Jazz was not going to let it be the Quint. Prowl would kill him if he did

Finally he managed to get in a lucky shot, albeit at the cost of his feet. The Quintesson tried to get in a bite like it friend had, only to be met with the full force of Jazz's feet pressing them apart.

The teeth and other horrors might've torn through his feet but dammit if it wasn't satisfying to hear the crack as its jaw snapped and the body went limp.

The battle was still going on around them, but it was starting to wind down. A trio of bots had even started attacking the one Jazz had left behind.

The immediate area was clear, and there were more than enough bots he could shout out to for backup if he needed it.

"Prowler, you okay?" he said, though he noticed his voice had a bit of static lacing it. Maybe getting his face ripped off did more damage than he thought, or it could be lingering damage from the electricity. "Sorry it took me so long to come getcha, talk, dark and bitey kept me a bit occupied."

He wiggled his stump with a chuckle, leaning in closer. Kneeling down was difficult with the leaking hydraulic fluid and Quintesson salivia making it hard to get a solid grip, but with the current state of his visor he didn't want to risk missing anything on Prowl. To his relief, despite the extensive denting and electrical burns, Prowl's chest was thankfully uncompromised. Hopefully his mech was insulated

The electricity seemed to have done a number on his connection to the head though, the eyes were still glitching wildly and his normally expressive face seemed stuck.

"J-Jazz..." Prowl stuttered, and Jazz found himself frowning. Maybe Prowl got a bit more banged up on the inside than he thought. "You- your-"

His eyes were flickering wildly about Jazz's mech, and he could practically hear his friend's battle computer crunching away.

"Ah, don't worry bout that," he rapping his mech's chest with a fist. "This old frame's gone through worse. Nothing delicate got smashed, and I've barely got a scratch on me. Ratchet'll have me right as rain before you know it, so don't worry your pretty little head one bit."

"Speaking of, I'm gonna go find 'im," he stood back up, looking around the battlefield. "The fight's pretty much over, and I'm not sure if it's a great idea for you to be moving after all that zappy nonsense. Just sit tight and-"

"No!"

Jazz startled a bit at the sudden shout, looking back down at Prowl. The other man's mech suddenly lunged up, sitting straight and looking at him with wide eyes.

"Prowler? Is somethin wrong?"

"I will contact Ratchet," he says in a rush. "A comm message will be more efficient than searching on foot, not to mention I'll be able to tell him what to prepare for,"

Jazz raised a brow.

"Go right ahead, Prowl," he chirped despite his suspicion. He was fairly certain Prowl was hiding something from him, but prying would just make him clamp down tighter.

Prowl didn't seem like the sort to hide things from medics but...

He sat his mech down and leaned back against the wall. "You don't mind if I wait with ya, do you?"

Just to be safe.

Despite his initial assumptions, Prowl actually seemed to relax at his suggestion.

"Not at all."

[breadandblankets]

"Bruce Thomas Wayne!" the roar of a cycle cuts off abruptly and the yell rings through the cavern of the batcave.

Batman, suited up for the night, freezes stock still where he was reviewing some notes.

He turns, slowly, to greet his mentee.

"Hello Duke," he says as the Signal stalks forward.

"Fucking tell me when you put something new in my kit." Duke looks angry, an uncommon sight all things considered, especially pointed at Bruce. It happens, every now and then of course, they're all human.

Bruce wracks his brain for what of the changes to Duke's kit he could be referring to and coming up blank. No matter.

"I did," he states.

"Nuh uh," Duke shakes his head. "We ain't doing this,"

"I don't know what 'this' is."

"Yes you do, you do it to all of us," Duke crosses his arms over his chest with a very pointed look. It's the look Duke usually gives him when Duke thinks Bruce is a moron. "Now admit you were wrong."

"I-"

"Ah! Head like a steel trap fucker," Duke says, tapping his temple. "I know my rights."

Bruce sighs, while he's pretty sure he did tell Duke, there was still every possibility he didn't. And knowing Duke, the kid was probably right. The intensity of this conversation however, speaks of a story, and probably an incident.

"What's the damage?"

"Wayne Tech data center #2"

"Oh," that will be a fun report to read. "Good."

"Yeah, good, now only you get to pay for your dumbassery."

Bruce nods in agreement.

"Noted."

"Scared the shit outta me man," Duke tosses his hands in the air. "Tell me! Next time!"

Ah, there's the real issue. Bruce nods again, making a mental note to send all of the recent changes to Duke after this conversation.

"Will do."

Duke gives him another look, and sighs a little under his breath.

"Finish the sentence," Duke says. "I'm not your mama."

"No," Bruce replies, with a hit of amusement. "I imagine not."

"Funny, now..." Duke waves his hand in Bruce's general direction, as if to prompt him to say his lines over.

"I'm sorry Duke."

"Good," Duke claps his hands together and smiles widely at him. "Have a nice night!"

Duke's a good kid, will be an even better man. Even when they're yelling at each other, Bruce can never be any less than immensely proud of him.

He can't wait to see who he will become.

"You too," he says. Then, because he remembers that Duke's probably hungry after patrol: "There's leftover enchiladas in the fridge."

"Fuck yeah!" Duke punches a hand in the air.

There's a lull in sound in the cave for a moment before Bruce hears talking from a little bit away.

"Oh hey Jason," that's Duke still, probably putting away his gear in his batcave locker.

"What the fuck did you do?" Jason replies in a furtive whisper-yell, still more than audible to Bruce.

"Going to have to give me more than that."

"B just apologized, B never apologizes." Ouch, Bruce thinks. He's not that bad is he?

Is he?

"Who are you?" Jason continues.

"Skill issue," and Bruce can hear the smirk in Duke's voice.

"No, wait, get back here!"

[percydoodless]

If I see one more person using he/him on kris .

[constehlla]

this is more of a last minute silly for free day than anything else, but recently I have been enamored with everyone during Freight where poor Rusty is desperately trying to get his bickering ducks in a row. and they are not having it <3

[pulgarcito-perro]

Yeah, I'm not going anywhere.

Thank you so much for all the support. Turns out I only needed time, but all of your different and nuanced takes really helped me along.

The only reason I haven't replied to the comments yet is because I can't read them without crying.💗

[tuskstudioart]

Needed to get back in the swing of drawing more frequent art/actually FILLING a doodle page,decided what better way than to draw some of my fav artists/jttw OCS-

I guess you can say killing three birds with one stone- drawing the ✨L A D I E S✨, doodling peach pit,AND getting out of art block! Yay me 😋

AND IM SORRY IF THEIR OUTFITS ARE OUTDATED/IN ACCURATE THIS IS THE BEST I COULD GET 😭😭😭😭

Suklha Belongs to: @miifu666

Sun Angel belongs to: @skymoral

Gong Yanmei belongs to: @lilchickie

Please give them some love! They have great art,stories and ocs-

Oh and bonus-

My favorite doodle out of the bunch heheheheh- love Yanmei she's such a silly trash panda

[king-lena]

i won’t lie guys this is definitely me when we were never friends (insp)

[wordy-little-witch]

Ya know what occurs to me?

Karai Bari is in the New World.

Crocodile and Mihawk only showed up after the establishment of the delivery service.

Buggy was in Paradise. Marineford would have been in Paradise, I think, or at least Buggy's crew still was.

He doesn't have conquerors to cross the calm belt.

So... to get to the New World and set up shop, he'd have to have gone through Fishman Island, wouldn't he? So he'd had to have gotten the ship coated.

He'd likely have had to face Rayleigh or at least he'd have anticipated it - maybe Shanks even mentions Rayleigh hanging around there, maybe even mentioning him having NEVER missed Shanks passing through....

So when Buggy goes when Buggy expects to be found and claims to be dreading it and is but is also so hopeful so scared so broken so hesitant he's got a few different courses figured for how this will go down.

Only.... Rayleigh isn't there. Shakky is. She just directs them to another coater. Buggy fights himself, wants to ask, doesn't want to beg, and-

Shakky answers the question he couldn'tdislodge from his throat. "Sorry, baby blue, Ray's just working on something real important. You know how it is."

He does. He does know how it is. Important, huh? That's fine. It's probably a job. It's probably not that big of a deal that dad master Rayleigh is preoccupied. Buggy shouldn't have expected the man to drop everything and come running why did he think that, Rayleigh never did it before, not even Shanks' assurance he'd leave a message for Rayleigh would change much, and fuck he can't afford to cry so-

So Buggy gets the ship coated. It's not as pricy as he'd worried. He navigates them down, can even bring himself to smile at the wide eyed wonder from the rest. It's nice. He's fine here - these are his people. He's okay, really, and he'll be able to let this go or shove it into that nameless box in his head and heart soon enough. He just has to ride the wave, you know-?

Only no. Not really. Because a newspaper lands in his hands. And his brain is racing.

Because Rayleigh wasn't at Sabaody at all. He was with Strawhat. He was training Strawhat. He showed up, after the war, so close to the conflict, to train the kid. Rayleigh is fast, but not that fast. He'd have to have left around a week before Buggy even arrived. Shanks had assured him Rayleigh was there when he dropped by ((two weeks ago)). He knew because his brother had wrapped him in his arm and tears were shed, voices were raised and hearts were broken, wounds torn open to drain the festering rot and the healing hurt, it hurt then, it hurts now, it will hurt and hurt and hurt, because Buggy had pushed the Big Top to her near limits just to reach the archipelago that his former guardian ex-father previous family that Rayleigh called home. Shanks had called him, said he'd dropped the message and Rayleigh had chuckled and nodded and Buggy wanted to see his dad because there were still so many scars that had to be seen and acknowledged and Buggy himself wasn't even fully recovered physically but emotionally he had to do it, had to take the step and try because vulnerability brought the best and worst of him out, because he lost a brother and gained him back and he wanted for his father, at least one of them.

But Strawhat was on that front page. And Rayleigh was behind him, smiling, warm, proud, happy, and - Buggy aches. He's angry. He's livid. A week or so, by his estimate, for Rayleigh to find him and get there to the war ground. A week or so because Rayleigh was old but he was still painfully fast. In a week or so, the older man hunted down a boy he'd possibly met once or twice in passing. A week or so and The Dark King showed up to bring another strawhat wearing monster of epic proportions under his wing, had made impressive time in finding the kid, making the plan, getting to the navy hq, getting out, and that's accounting for the article writing, printing, and distribution.

A week or so to find a bright little sunshine boy he barely knew when one he raised rotted in a cell for months on end.

Busy with something real important, he recalled Shakky saying.

His chest burned for a moment, hot and wild and unyielding - and just as suddenly, the fire was gone. He was tired. He was so fucking tired. His injuries throbbed, his head hurt, his scars itched. He sighed, set the paper aside and curled impossibly small into his chaise lounge with a teary chuckle as he gripped his hair and tried to silence the keen building in his chest. He cursed himself for it, bitter and angry.

After all, he should be used to being outshined, out classed and out loved by energetic boys with bright smiles in little wicker crowns.

Story of his life

He is unaware of the many eyes on him, of the people Plotting and Arranging things on their own time. Their captain is the best - uncommon, unexpected, temperamental though he is, he is everything everyone needs him to be because it's the only thing he knows how to do. They see the seams in his mask and performance, and they ache to pay back the pain left on their captain, their boss, their leader and friend. Buggy pirates stick together, freaks and weirdos united - and nobody is allowed to hurt their captain without some serious followup.

[padmestrilogy]

wym you’re worried about the acolyte being “jedi critical.” we’re getting a star war mystery thriller . rejoice

[always-amity]

Bro what do you MEAN the art book for the Live Action httyd has a whole page where they brag about the fact they casted 3 whole actors with Limb Differences?? They were cast in minor background roles that 95% of audiences will forget about before the credits are finished (if they even noticed their existence at all)!!

You know who WASN'T played by a disabled actor? Gobber, the major character who is a Double Amputee. He was played by an able-bodied man (though don't worry, they took ~inspiration~ from the fact he's got a bad knee and switched which leg he's missing! #representation) Or how about Hiccup, our literal protagonist? Sure, he spends most of this film with both his legs, but the sequel is already greenlit, and unless it bombs horrifically they'll absolutely make the third film too. So even though he spends about 70% of the film series as an Amputee, he's played by an able-bodied actor too!

I'm so fucking tired of seeing able-bodied actors cast to play Disabled characters. I mean, we *JUST* saw this with the Live Action Snow White deciding to make the dwarves cgi abominations instead of just hiring Little People. But it's fine guys! It's not like Disabled People are hugely underrepresented in media - especially kids/family media - but we're expected to not only be content with the crumbs we're given, but to actively celebrate them as if they were full course meals. Excuse me for not wanting to heap praise onto Dreamworks for having three background actors with Limb Differences when their major Disabled characters are played by able-bodied men dressed up with special effects and cgi to cosplay being an Amputee.

[i-hear-a-sound]

im. going to throw up bro

[aro-culture-is]

aro culture is not understanding what's so 'moral' about love, the partners disrespecting someone's boundaries but "oh, no, you dont get it! thats romantic! its cute!" or seeing families hurt each other because they 'love' each other and are 'trying their best'. i will never understand their emotional views, i consider it a blessing, everyone else seems to think its a curse. even other aros seem to fall into that trap, talking about platonic love to no end. friendship and family have no consent, but it is still deemed impolite to not put effort into something you dont care for. people have approached me asking if im their friend. i do not know them. i have never spoken to them. they still seem to get offended when i tell them no, i dont get why. people are so obsessed with romance, but friendship seems like something they only bring up when its to selfishly force others to be around them, to give them emotions and gratitude that cant be given, to act like treating them with anything less is a sin, and they pretend they have always cared. when i say i do not care for love, they dont seem to fully grasp that. i wont pretend for your comfort.

i just have been thinking about platonormativity and amatonormativity and how they are so widespread that even if one is removed it seems like the other gets louder.

something something society and social creatures and social contracts?

[panther-os]

the New Mandalorians cannot be separated from the real world context in which they exist.

it's true, we don't know much about them in canon.

but we know the artists made them all white, blond, and blue-eyed when nearly all previous Mandalorians we met were Brown

we know the writers decided that it's fine if they banish all the people who don't conform (not just Kyr'tsad) to a reservation Concordia - not a prison, and yes a place they can leave where they have their own government, but subordinate to the Sundari government and still away from their indigenous homeland explicitly because they were interacting with their indigenous culture

we know the directors decided not to use the already constructed indigenous language and to have them make wearing beskar'gam - Boba Fett's armor, the thing Mandalorians have been known for since before they were Mandalorians - one of the reasons for banishment

and if you look at the ten stages of genocide, we have an us vs them mentality, we have visual differentiation via the presence or absence of beskar'gam, we have being banished from the main planet, we have armed and armored Mandalorians (again, not just Kyr'tsad) said to be irrationally violent, we have defense forces trained against other Mandalorians (not 👏 just 👏 Kyr'tsad), and we have literal speeches that on the surface denounce violence but overall denounce the traditional Mandalorian way of life

that's over halfway there

6 out of the 10 stages, the 9th of which is the extermination stage that everyone thinks of when they think "genocide"

(even one stage is bad, btw)

and, yes, the Resol'nare and Jaster Mereel's Supercommando Codex are no longer canon. a lot of things are no longer canon, and the producers decided to take Mandalore in a different direction than previous iterations

but they still chose that direction

and that is why I don't like the New Mandalorians

not because they're canonically guilty of anything in particular, but because I am an indigenous person whose people have barely survived genocide and are still healing, and because the decisions made by the people who wrote them not only impact the public perception of us by association but also directly parallel many of our own struggles, past and present - struggles which I hope no Star Wars fan would ever dismiss as "not that bad"

even though I know it's probably a futile hope after how y'all treat tuskens (their endonym is ghorfa btw)

[pulgarcito-perro]

PERRO ILYSM (throws my children at you)

I love kids Charlie! I LOVE KIIIIDS! /quote

Thank you Pigeon. I love you too, and I love these adorable little things. You perfected the curls on your drawing. The style is so cute. Slap that on a postcard and you woulda made millions in the 80s.🍃🌷🐝

[dollsinvogue]

English translation of the comic from the French Panini Group Monster High magazine!

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