#not yet anyways. maybe it will be later.

[the-valiant-valkyrie]

normally, i'm not one to claim to be particularly good at creating original designs. i'm working on improving that, but i still don't really think i'm at that point yet.

however, there is one element of my solaris' design that i do really adore. if not for the way that it looks visually, then for its narrative purpose.

i think that solaris has a prosthetic beneath her eye. if you don't want the socket to collapse, it's pretty much essential to have one. if you took off the patch, there would still be something there.

but i like to keep it on when i draw her. because of the branding. the zoraxis insignia.

it is very clear to me- to just about anyone, really- that solaris and zor don't seem to get along. zor doesn't indulge her personal projects, despite that being the reason she agreed to work under them in the first place. solaris is curt and insubordinate with them- despite knowing full well what they're capable of. zor doesn't give her the proper resources to live healthily on the death engine. solaris abandons them the first chance she gets.

it's a give and take. both of them prodding and pestering and snarling at one another. they stay with each other out of necessity. really, it's the only explanation... zor has 'fired' lesser employees over matters far more trivial than what solaris has demonstrated.

but, when you take the death engine into consideration, everything gets turned on its face.

to me, i think the death engine was a critical turning point in their relationship. a dramatic change for the worse. solaris is quite confident in her abilities as an engineer- and why shouldn't she be, with all that she's shown to have made?

but zor exploits any weakness they can find. they seek out weaknesses specifically to pick people apart- hell, they did it with prism before they had any clue how much she was worth. and the death engine's failure was more than a weakness.

solaris' eyepatch- the zoraxis insignia stitched into it- is a cattle brand. it's a turning point in their dynamic. solaris has failed, and as a result, she has lost what power she held over them. she is no longer of better use to them alive than she is dead.

post the death engine, talking out of turn becomes lethal. asking for too much becomes lethal. taking up too much space. thinking for herself. zor doesn't need her anymore.

which means- as much as she loathes it- she has to bow her head, hold her tongue, and defer. the death engine took her eye from her, but zor took away whatever remained of her pride.

[deoidesign]

Doing master studies the only way I know how: Stealing them and making them my guys.

(Barberini Faun)

(The Fallen Angel - Alexandre Cabanel)

(Covent Garden - William Bruce Ellis Rankin)

[13eyond13]

the way they're saying I need to kill you yet also hello my love all at once here lmao

[ohitslen]

Something other about his eyes

Bonus! Based on this quick thing I did this afternoon and the idea took a bit more shape and turned into that thing from above uEK

[yudol-skorbi]

and what if i go insane

[nattikay]

OC lineup! All the characters that currently exist in this "story"

[ame-to-ame]

having fucked up thoughts middle of the night

just sketching this down before i forget hehe

(my tablet broke. So I can't draw. Oop)

[fujii-draws]

“Ohh Bidoof has a Journal!” “Sunflora has a Diary if you go into her room”— WHAT ABOUT PARTNER???

[shoot-i-messed-up]

Was always worried about the angst of unrequited love, had never realized the sheer amount of comedic potential that it has.

Imagine one-sided Superbat where Clark is fully aware that Bruce has a crush on him but is being his repressed self about it, and Clark is just like, “I’m not gonna touch that :) you’re going to figure that out for yourself, buddy, and in the meantime, I’m just going to have a good time and be best friends with you as you inevitably pull yourself together enough to either fall out of love or to confess :) and I’ll just let you down gently because I care about you :)” but he absolutely 100% is using it to his advantage in the meantime. His puppy dog eyes had never been so effective before. He’s gotten out of Monitor Duty three times in the past month.

[ghost-proofbaby]

thinking about how eddie munson probably has a ridiculous collection of guitar picks. little jars of them. some collected at shows, some he picked up for a nickel at the only local music shop he's ever trusted to do work on his Sweetheart, some he was gifted for free at his local record shop that he's been frequenting for years now. the little old man running the record shop even gets excited when new vinyls are sent out with promotional merch, and he knows it's a band or musician eddie is into. probably even called eddie in at times and handed him a handful of metallica themed pics, hardly worth much, but solely because "i knew you like them and will find a good use for these, son".

my point is, he's got a pick for every occasion. shitty plastic thin ones for just fucking around with. thicker, nicer ones that might have been proper holiday gifts to him. the kind that are meant to hook on his fingers like rings (he tried using them a few times, especially for rifts, but ended up saying he played better when he felt the strings against his skin instead while picking away). novelty ones, ones that just looked plain cool. so on and so forth.

and he's got his collection just sitting in little jars across his room. he used to keep them in other things, like old ash trays or tin cans he'd cut and mold to be good containers. but then he started dating you, and you insisted on lending him any empty jars you weren't using. you had your own collections in yours: pretty stones found down by the creek, bottle caps of the sodas you and eddie get every time you stop at the gas station right on the edge of town by lover's lake - you even had one of every single crumpled up note eddie had ever given you over your time of dating. a few jars of those, actually. so what was lending him a few spares? at this point, the jars were a collection in themselves, and... well... it was prettier to see his vast collection in those glass jars anyways. being able to pick out the vibrant tones of the guitar pick you'd been with him as he'd purchased two weeks prior, or the pick from the show you'd gotten him tickets to last christmas. it was nice. a cute reminder of time spent, of what made eddie munson tick.

the important thing is, eddie munson isn't blind. he sees the way you look at that collection, especially after he fills the jars with it.

how some days, he'll be strumming away on his guitar, softly humming, and you'll just grab a jar to pick through. interrupting his nonsensical playing to ask him where he got one you didn't recognize, sometimes asking for the stories behind ones he knew you already knew. he'd caught on to the way you just liked hearing him talk, especially about the things he cared most about.

you also really, really liked the pick he wore as a necklace. it was probably your favorite in his collection, and you knew it was his favorite too. giving it as a gift to you was never an option, because it had been given as a gift to him originally by his mom.

so he does the next best thing.

he figures out your favorite pick in his collection. the one you always go back to, the one you ask for the story behind on a nearly weekly basis. one similar to the one always resting against his collarbones. pearly sheen, marbled tones, a slow indent the shape of his thumb being worn into the old tortoiseshell. it's a little less red, a little bit brighter, and he can't even strum it against his strings anymore without thinking of you. it's somehow become his lucky pick - the pick he cherishes most aside the one from his mom.

and the one he chooses to turn into a necklace, for you.

does it all himself. carefully piercing a hole through the top just like his own, picks out a nice chain that costs two paychecks of his, takes an old pocket knife to it and spends weeks carving your initials into the shiny material. he's gentle as hell with it, finishing it off with some gold paint to fill in the carving that matches the chain and swirling tones of the picks.

a week before christmas he nearly backs out of the gift idea, and almost begs wayne to help him go to the mall and pick out some other basic but safe gift for you. a perfume/cologne, a nice sweater, anything. wayne refuses to let him, and the only thing the gentle old man will offer is a nice box for eddie to place that necklace born of love into.

the look on your face on christmas morning, sitting in the center of the munson's living room, on the verge of happy tears as you lift the homemade necklace so gently, soothes away every single doubt ever had about it all.

and the look on wayne's face is a simple, caring, stern vision of i told you so.

[serv0z]

got their designs figured out. no one look too closely at the proportions its been a Day(tm) (Upclose + og Ellis doodle)

the red was a placeholder, i liked the purple MUCH more. tried to really stick with their like. descriptions and diff face shapes but idk if it carried over had to do all their refs for the animatic in progress :)) ellis isnt front and center but he has his own appearances so I needed a design

[wasyago]

IGNEOUS!!!!!!!!!!!!!! im actually so obsessed with drawing this guy. it's too fun ough ougb ough

[sforzesco]

BROTHERS

The river Weser ran between the Roman and Cheruscan forces. Arminius came to the bank and halted with his fellow chieftains:— "Had the Caesar come?" he inquired.​ On receiving the reply that he was in presence, he asked to be allowed to speak with his brother. That brother, Flavus by name, was serving in the army, a conspicuous figure both from his loyalty and from the loss of an eye through a wound received some few years before during Tiberius' term of command. Leave was granted, and Stertinius took him down to the river. Walking forward, he was greeted by Arminius; who, dismissing his own escort, demanded that the archers posted along our side of the stream should be also withdrawn. When these had retired, he asked his brother, whence the disfigurement of his face? On being told the place and battle, he inquired what reward he had received. Flavus mentioned his increased pay, the chain, the crown, and other military decorations; Arminius scoffed at the cheap rewards of servitude.

They now began to argue from their opposite points of view. Flavus insisted on "Roman greatness, the power of the Caesar; the heavy penalties for the vanquished; the mercy always waiting for him who submitted himself. Even Arminius' wife and child were not treated as enemies." His brother urged "the sacred call of their country; their ancestral liberty; the gods of their German hearths; and their mother, who prayed, with himself, that he would not choose the title of renegade and traitor to his kindred, to the kindred of his wife, to the whole of his race in fact, before that of their liberator." From this point they drifted, little by little, into recriminations; and not even the intervening river would have prevented a duel, had not Stertinius run up and laid a restraining hand on Flavus, who in the fullness of his anger was calling for his weapons and his horse. On the other side Arminius was visible, shouting threats and challenging to battle: for he kept interjecting much in Latin, as he had seen service in the Roman camp as a captain of native auxiliaries.

Tacitus Annals 2.10-11

there's a lot going on in there! Arminius switching to Latin is a detail that always makes me feel a deep kind of sadness, especially with how it's preceded by mention of their mother. I wonder what she thought of what became of her sons, on opposite sides of everything but still, inescapably, brothers. even when they want to kill each other. there sure are a lot of fucked up and unhappy brothers around. and Arminius asking about Flavus' injury............I also had a whole thing typed out about the horror of imperialism and colonization and the trauma of assimilation but I think this sets the tone better

Rome's Greatest Defeat: Massacre in the Teutoburg Forest, Adrian Murdoch

and also this, just for fun

(ibid)

this post is already a mile long, so lets add another mile to it: a little scene at the start of their conversation! tfw you go in for a hug and your younger brother who also ended up being taller starts roasting your hair style

bsky ⭐ pixiv ⭐ pillowfort ⭐ cohost ⭐ cara.app⭐ko-fi

[mamawasatesttube]

ooooo timkon w “Can you just hold me?” or “You look like you need a hug." for the ficlet thing :3

Kon's hair is a frizzy mess.

That's the first red flag. Kon is ridiculously vain when he wants to be, with a whole hair care shower routine, silken pillowcases, and an array of curl creams and whatnot that he had to explain to Tim twice before any of it stuck in his head properly. Tim teases him for it now and then, but he knows it's because Kon doesn't like people seeing him at anything but his best. Kon got too used to being picked apart on camera for that.

So the fact that his hair is unkempt and mussed as he lets himself in from the balcony is... concerning.

Even more concerning is the way he barely even looks at Tim before he throws himself at the bed, flopping face-down with an oof. The balcony door closes itself behind him like an afterthought, and he heaves a huge, melancholy sigh.

"Kon?" Tim pushes away from his desk, trotting over to the bedside. Kon's legs are sticking off, and Tim shakes his head fondly as he reaches down to tug Kon's boots off. "Long day, huh?"

The first boot comes off in his hands; the second follows almost instantaneously. Kon lifts his head from the duvet to give him a slightly sheepish look over his shoulder, apologetic, before he drops his face back down with a thump.

"I'm tired," he mumbles. And he sounds like it. There isn't even a hint of a smile in his voice.

Tim crawls onto the bed next to him, rests his hand comfortingly at the small of his back. "What happened?"

Kon hisses out another sigh into the duvet. "Someone tried to—and don't get your knickers in a twist, I'm fine—but someone tried to dissect me today. Again."

Alarm jolts through Tim's whole body; his hands immediately start roaming Kon's torso, probing for wounds. "What?! Are you hurt—"

"I just said, I'm fine, Rob." Kon sounds a little wry as he rolls onto his back. "Jeez. What happened to your listening skills?"

He catches one of Tim's wrists and holds it to his chest, over his heart; Tim can see the sliver of an incision, cut right into the center of the S-shield emblazoned on his chest. He can't tell if it cut the skin beneath or not, but at least he doesn't see any blood.

The tiny smile on Kon's face fades, and Tim softens, studying him. Now that he can look properly, he can see the telltale signs that Kon cried, earlier; his cheeks are a little blotchy, his eyes slightly reddened. An eyelash is stuck to the delicate skin just below his eye.

"Some... ugh. They were some, like, Cadmus-wannabes. Total bozos, though. They had a red sun lamp, but no metagene suppressant, so." Kon shrugs, discontented. "They didn't even use the energy restraints like that time with Amanda Spence, like—c'mon, at least do your basic research if you're gonna try to vivisect a guy, right?" He snorts humorlessly. "I got out fine, took it down, called the S.C.U., it's whatever. I'm just... I'm so tired, Tim," and his voice cracks on Tim's name.

"Kon," he murmurs, leaning down. He presses their foreheads together, his chest aching. He'll have to check the news, find out from reports who exactly was behind this, because... it shouldn't matter, since it's already taken care of, but something inside him burns at the thought that anyone, anywhere, could put such a bone-deep sorrow into Kon's eyes.

"I'm so tired of people acting like I'm—like I'm not a person just 'cuz I hatched outta some stupid tube in a lab." Kon's eyes are too bright. He squeezes them shut and takes a shaky breath. "Like—what do I gotta do, y'know? How do you just—how do you even get through to people who're so convinced clones aren't people? I'm a person, too! I just... I..."

Tim very briefly debates the ethics of breaking into Stryker's just so he can hit someone with his staff. Or his car.

"I'm... really sorry you had to deal with that," he says instead, lamely. It's cold comfort, and awkward, and—

And it makes Kon laugh, watery but real. He blinks his teary-bright eyes up at Tim, brushes a gloved hand to his cheek. "You're mad as hell right now, aren't you?"

Tim smiles ruefully and presses his lips to Kon's jaw. "You caught me." Another kiss, to the corner of Kon's mouth. "I just—I hate that I can't do anything to fix this kinda thing for you. You don't deserve it."

"Mm." Kon takes a second to collect himself, swallows hard, and breathes out slowly. "You do more than you realize, I think. Can you just—can you just hold me? For a little while?"

Tim flops down on top of him immediately, wraps his arms around his head and neck, and smushes his face into Kon's hair. It would probably be more comfortable if they were side-by-side and facing each other, but the advantage of this position is that—

Kon laughs again, soft and fond. His voice is still a little thick, but he's smiling now. "Is that comfy for you...?"

"Kinda." Tim kisses his temple, too. "You smell like smoke."

"Mmf, sorry." Kon sighs again. "And I got it all over the bed now, too, huh..."

"S'okay. We can just grab a different blanket later." Tim scrunches his fingers through Kon's hair until they hit a tangle. "...Want me to wash your hair for you?"

Kon's arms tighten around him, and suddenly he seems like he needs a moment before he can respond. Tim doesn't rush him.

"Yeah," Kon croaks out after a moment, his voice suspiciously wet. "Yeah, Robbie. I'd like that a lot."

[todayisafridaynight]

journalists underestimate the magnitude of my addiction and how far i'll go for the bit

[mirykka]

dunmeshi sticker designs