#the first guy isn't anyone really

[scarlettaagni]

I was never fond of the idea of Vilgaxia so I like to imagine this is the dynamic between Vilgax and his homeworld

he’s increasingly forbidden from coming back home since every horrible thing he does makes them look bad and he’s like “what makes you think I want to come back”

[akanemnon]

Wow, not even 5 seconds in and they're already starting a fight.

FIRST - PREVIOUS - NEXT

MASTERPOST (for the full series / FAQ / reference sheets)

[cup-o-stars]

Last part for old GF sketches

(Actually, most of these aren't old at all, but their average is brought down by the last picture, which I drew back in August and kept forgetting to post)

[lgbtlunaverse]

Thinking of the Nie disciple that told Nie Mingjue it was Meng Yao who stayed behind to clean up corpses on the battlefield today.

Nie Mingjue didn't just randomly stumble upon poor lil meowyao eating bread in the novel, he was already looking for him to thank and reward him for his work.

That's what makes it so fun that nieyao's first conflict will end up being about someone else taking credit for Meng Yao's work.

And I'm sure that Nie Mingjue's actual opinions on plagiarism are a lot more nuanced, all we really get from him in this scene is "well you shouldn't kill someone over it!" which leaves a lot of room for what punishments he thinks are appropiate. But I bet that it isn't occuring to him in this moment that the only reason he knows Meng Yao at all, the only reason he got such a capable deputy, is that he noticed someone was taking care of the dead and cared enough to want to know their name. And then the Nie disciples didn't lie to him. The disciple he asked could have said "it was me, Zongzhu" to rise in the ranks himself, but he didn't. He went and asked others, who all also could have taken the credit, but they didn't. Someone saw Meng Yao working and decided to be honest about it and that simple decision is the catalyst for Meng Yao becoming Nie Mingjue's deputy.

Meng Yao can't just work hard to get results, others have to acknowledge that work. If they don't, it's as if he didn't do anything at all.

[brainrot-yumm]

Had a shower thought. This is my bowsette bowuigi vision

no listen

Listen Im tired as shit and Im getting 5 hours of sleep again for the 5th time in a row but I NEED you guys to get this

tell me you get the vision

this is bowsetteuigi

tell me you get it

tell me

[cacaocheri]

You should in fact infodump about poptropica, also have you considered doing a DCA Poptropica crossover to unite the interests together?

1) I love you so much dude I hope you're doing well 2) poptropica infodump would take AGES this thing has lore so I will spare you a ramble for now 3) I . HAVE NOT. BUT COULD YOU IMAGINE SUN AND MOON WITH THE BIG BOBBLE HEADS

no? because I can

oh my god they look so much more cursed than I expected I'm laughing my ass off

[thetomorrowshow]

you will return to the hospital bed

febuwhump day 8: bleeding out

fandom: life series smp

part of my series six billion moths flying toward it, which begins in a war-ravaged world that grian manages to escape from, bringing the evo members with him to their own world, where they have infinite respawns and peace.

cw: mild gore, violence, war

~

Jimmy isn’t the best soldier.

“Left! Left!”

He isn’t the best marksman, yeah, but he also isn’t very agile, but he’s also Deaf and can never really tell who’s giving out instructions and what for (at this point, he’s really just cannon fodder, which is . . . not a nice thought).

Is the general yelling at him or someone else?

There’s really no way to know, but Jimmy just hopes he’s following orders and crawls left, his hands scraping against exposed tree roots and little chunks of dirt and rock. He’s just in time—a shell lands close to where he just was, blowing apart the ground with an earth-rattling explosion.

Whoever is behind Jimmy shoves him to the ground to get over him, Jimmy’s chin knocking against the dirt, a knee digging into his kidney. He bites back whatever he wants to yell at the soldier; the first rule of war is no in-fighting while you’re in an active battle.

He hates the trenches. Maybe one of these days, he’ll finally contract trench fever and he’ll be able to get out of all this.

Grian promised to get him out, but it doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen. He’s been here for—what, two years? Too long. There isn’t a clean escape route; he’s either going to have to get injured or sick or he’s going to have to die.

He should probably poke his head up and take a shot anywhere he can, just to do something. They’re all hiding in their own trenches, though, waiting for him to do just that. He sure isn’t going to be the first person to check if they can take a quick shot. That’s how you die in this business.

He hates this. He hates how commonplace it’s become to just be shot at, yet how scared he is to this day every time he marches out.

He’s been here all day, choking on gunsmoke and trying to see through teary eyes, a miserable existence when any day could be his last.

“We’re gonna die,” someone cries out—Jimmy can’t tell who or from where, especially with all the explosions and gunshots going on, but he just ignores it and keeps crawling through the dirt, the hot sun pounding down on his shoulders.

He tries, at least, but before he can go far, someone grabs his leg by the ankle and pulls.

Jimmy spins around—it’s another soldier, of course, a man probably close to his age or younger, and he looks terrified. His face is almost green under the dirt and soot, his eyes wide and bloodshot, tears and sweat streaking down his cheeks.

“We’re gonna die,” he says. “I—I can’t—I’m just a kid, dude, I gotta get out of here!”

Jimmy knows that feeling. The shock, the overwhelming fear, the sense of displacement. It’s never quite left him, and to this day he feels all jittery and awful and scared in every battle that he gets sent out to fight in, but he doesn’t know how to tell the kid that he’ll be okay when there isn’t any guarantee that he will be.

Jimmy’s seen people die. Friends, bunkmates, shot as they crouched right beside him and were just slightly less lucky than he. There’s a good chance that this kid—

There’s so much yelling, he can’t even think, but he can’t distinguish any of the voices or anything and—

BLAM!

Jimmy has a moment of blinding white—

Of red—

Of looking down at himself and thinking, oh, that’s way too much blood to be healthy.

Of looking down at himself and realizing that most of his body was missing.

That he simply does not have legs, and he can see into his stomach, and one of his arms is mostly blown off, part of the bone of his upper arm sticking out of dirty, bloody flesh.

Beside him, where his arm should be, is the head of that kid, his eyelids still fluttering.

Jimmy has another moment, where he breathes and it feels wrong, where he’s hit by blinding pain and disgust and horror all at once, where he feels his heart try to leap out of his chest, where he tries to scream but blood just gurgles out of a hole in his throat.

He’s—there’s so much blood—he didn’t—

Everyone always says that your life flashes before your eyes when you die. All Jimmy sees, though, is the house he grew up in.

His home there, the evening growing late, children playing in the front yard to catch moths in jars as they flock toward the porchlight, his mother poking her head through the curtains to make sure they’re safe.

He’s floating away, like a balloon released, watching the scene grow smaller and smaller below him.

Then it all fades away into a near-silent high-pitched squeal, and nausea washed over all the pain and Jimmy’s vision goes grainy then blinks out completely.

He falls into darkness, and he doesn’t return.

-

The darkness is calm. Quiet, with little specks of light scattered throughout.

Jimmy wasn’t brought up believing in an afterlife, and he kind of thought that when he died, he wouldn’t have any sort of consciousness. His code would split up and tie itself back into the universe, and that would be that.

This . . . this doesn’t feel like that.

Why is he here? Not, like, physically (he isn’t sure he’s anywhere physically), but he’s definitely somewhere to some extent, and he’s not sure how he feels about it.

He doesn’t like it, he decides a moment later, as the darkness begins to weigh heavily on him. How does it feel like that, like it’s absolutely suffocating him, like he can’t breathe, when he doesn’t have a body to react to any sort of pressure?

Then it weighs down more, and more, and it hurts—

It hurts his legs, so badly that he wants to scream, building up and up and up—and his arm, and his stomach, and his chest, and head, and hands, and throat—

There’s a sound, then, something that’s like the high-pitched whine of his death, echoing through his ears and it hurts just as badly as everything else, like his hearing aids are malfunctioning worse than they ever have.

There are voices beyond it. People are talking past the pain, past the noise, and Jimmy strains to breathe and manages it.

He’s breathing?

His eyelids feel way too heavy. He can’t open them, he can’t see a thing, he can’t do anything.

It hurts. Every part of him is in agony, and he gasps for breath again and again and eventually realizes that the awful whine in his ears is coming from his own throat.

What’s happening? He—he died, didn’t he, didn’t he die?

He blew up, his body was a collection of bits, chunks of flesh scattered across the trench, and he can only remember that and smell the blood and dirt and gunpowder and he shouldn’t be alive—

He pushes.

He pushes to open his eyes, even though it’s the most difficult thing that he’s ever done, and his vision is flooded with too-bright light and he immediately closes them again.

A voice says something.

His skin hurts, the actual skin of his chest—and then there’s something cold on his pec and Jimmy jolts, which just sends another wave of pain across his whole body.

He opens his eyes again—easier, this time—and squints against the brightness, trying to focus on the dark shape hovering over him.

It’s a person, who is touching him, and Jimmy blinks and blinks until he gets some kind of focus through the blurriness.

He can see their lips, at least, which helps him to understand what they’re saying.

“There we go, you’re all right. You’re back.”

Jimmy can’t speak. He tries, swallows, but words won’t come out in any intelligible form.

Some strange rasp comes out of his mouth, and the person—a doctor?—nods.

“Lungs sound good,” they say, moving off his chest. “Do you remember what happened?”

Jimmy shakes his head, a slight side-to-side movement.

Well, he kind of does. He remembers dying. He remembers being dead.

“You’ve been respawned,” the doctor says slowly. “Someone high-up must think you’re worth it. “

They clap him on the shoulder, a flood of agony surging out from the contact, and stand, turning away to fiddle with a blanket draped over Jimmy’s legs (his legs?). “You should . . . get back in the fight soon. Take a day to rest here . . . sure that everything went well.”

Respawn. A forgone conclusion; nobody ever got respawned. Not unless they were the best of the best, and Jimmy certainly wasn’t that. He can aim a gun and pull the trigger, but—

He’s . . . he’s Deaf. Why would they want him?

He died.

He knows why he got respawned.

He also knows he shouldn’t have been.

There are so many better people, so many skilled soldiers and tacticians and able-bodied people who have died—like the kid in the trench with him, who got hit by the same shell.

It shouldn’t have been him. It shouldn’t have been him, not when it’s millions of dollars just for one respawn. He’s already damaged, he isn’t good at anything, he was so completely dead and he just wants to lie down and let the darkness take him again.

He was dead.

It isn’t right to be back. It doesn’t feel right; it feels like he’s been dragged unwilling from his grave, all his pieces forced back together and shoved into a uniform. He doesn’t—he doesn’t want to be here. He shouldn’t have been brought back.

It probably should have been anyone else.

But Jimmy’s back, now, and he has to stop hurting and get back to the fight.

He doesn’t have another choice.

[bumblingbabooshka]

In 'vis a vis' Janeway doesn't mention B'Elanna in the list of people who're worried about Tom which implies that B'Elanna didn't report the fact that "Tom" grabbed her arm, called her a disappointment and broke up with her (as Janeway definitely would have mentioned it as evidence of him acting strange if she knew about it) which makes sense on several different fronts but also makes me scream and cry loud enough to break glass.

[psychopomp-namine]

.

[softquietsteadylove]

Thena. A movie premiere with Gil. Very intrusive Paparazzis. For the actor au 👀

It was a barrage of flashes as soon as they were out of the car. Of course they couldn't expect otherwise. The movie was a huge hit, and with them playing leads in a studio hit again, they were bound to have press at their heels.

But this was insane. Gil wasn't sure if he'd ever been swarmed by fans and paparazzi alike in such a way. There were cameras everywhere, people holding out things for signing, screams on all sides.

Gil reached back before Thena put her feet to the red carpet. His hand closed around hers. "Don't let go."

Thena had done some modelling work over the summer, and with a few other projects she'd done coming out, she was the hottest commodity of the year. She had always been a star, but it really seemed like she couldn't take a step outside without being photographed.

And that wasn't good. It meant he had a harder time seeing her outside of work.

Gil held his hand out. Security was already on either side of them, flanking their exit and direct route into the building for the screening. He kept Thena's hand in his, tight but not enough to hurt her.

"Thena! Thena, can you sign this? Thena, we love you!"

All the voices blended together into one monstrous hivemind. Thena did her best to sign a few things. She couldn't see from all the flashes in her face, and he could tell she couldn't.

Fighting through as best he could, he eventually made it to the doorway. He looked around. A few of his security guys were with him, but Thena's weren't. And Thena wasn't either.

"What the hell?" he glared at them.

They looked affronted. They were hired for his security, after all.

But Gil growled at them, "you just left her there?!"

They had no response. Gil pushed back into the crowd, which was a hellish mass of undulating bodies at this point. Thena was surrounded on all sides. He could barely see the top of her blonde head amidst the chaos.

"Please, back up, just-" Thena was trying to reason with them, but they were pushing and shoving and deafeningly loud. There were placards and books and magazines being shoved at her from all angles. "Back up!"

Gil shoved a few people out of his way. This was beyond out of control. "She said back up!"

"Hey!" the guy most in her personal space protested to being pushed. He had some big photo of her printed on a canvas, shoving it at her for it to be signed. "What's the-"

Gil tossed the thing aside, grasping the jackass by the front of his shirt. "You don't fucking crowd her like that."

The dirt bag was easy to toss, like the trash he was. The security guys around her were trying to keep people at bay, although he didn't know how hard they were trying, since they certainly weren't fucking succeeding at anything.

He took Thena's hand in both of his, refusing to let it slip away from again. He pulled her with him, closer, keeping people away by any means necessary, if it meant kneeing, elbowing, shoulder checking.

He didn't pause at the doorway, either. Only once they were inside and the door was closed did he lean away from her at all. He glared at her security, who were shaking out their jackets. "What the fuck were you doing out there?! Because it certainly wasn't your jobs!"

"Gil," Thena put her hand on his chest.

"How the hell did anyone get that close to her?!" he bellowed at them. Although, by the second time Thena called to him his eyes were on her. He smoothed down the odd hair of hers that had gotten tousled in it all. He tilted his head. "Are you okay? You didn't get hurt, did you? Did anyone put their hands on you?"

His hands would be laid on anyone who did, was his point. But Thena shook her head, straightening herself out after the anarchy. He could see on her pale skin where people had pushed and shoved and grabbed.

Thena looked up at him as he slipped the fallen strap of her dress back onto her shoulder. Finally, she managed a small smile for him. "Thanks for the save."

He was happy to save her. But he had never considered it saving her before because there hadn't been any peril quite like that. He looked at the security again. "I'm serious, how was anyone able to just come up and get that close to her? Isn't your job to keep people away from her?"

"Look, it's crazy out there," one made a pitiful attempt at defending their poor performance. "We did what we could."

"Really?" Gil's face darkened. He put his hands on Thena's arms. He could feel her shaking. "Because I seemed to do a lot better than you guys at keeping those animals off of her, so tell me right now why I shouldn't ask each and every one of you to be replaced?"

No one had an answer to that.

He could try to beat it into their skulls how useless they were all night. But he had more important priorities. He pulled his jacket off, leaving himself in the mockneck sweater he had worn underneath. Once it was on Thena's shoulders - completely dwarfing her tiny frame - he put his hand at the small of her back.

"You'll get a reputation," she said, either chiding him or amused by him. "Acting like a beast while you're ushering me away from people."

"I think 'people' is being kind of generous in this situation," he scoffed, letting his disgust ring out loud and clear. "That's no way to behave."

Thena sighed. "It is the craziest I've seen it in some time. I may have to stop signings again, just until people can calm down. Unless the studio can arrange barricaded carpets."

They were going to work out something, Gil was certain of it. Because he wasn't going to watch Thena's bodily safety come into question like it just did. He leaned closer. "Are you sure you're okay? It was pretty scary in there."

She smiled, and he could tell she was trying to put on a brave front. But he knew he had felt her trembling when he'd touched her arm. "I admit, when they came over me like a tidal wave I didn't quite know what to do with myself. The others were there with me, but in one instant--I don't know, I lost sight of everyone."

How it was possible for her security to allow her to lose sight of them, he didn't know. But Gil swallowed that feeling. It wasn't constructive and it wasn't what Thena needed now.

"So, when I say thanks for saving me," she continued, putting her hand on his arm as they started climbing the stairs. "I mean it, now more than ever."

He put his hand over hers, letting her hold onto his arm properly while her other hand pulled her dress just enough to allow her to walk up each step. "I'll always be here to save you, Thena."

She let out a fluttery kind of laugh, although he couldn't see when she was looking away from him. "Don't say things like that."

"It's true," he protested. He could feel some of the tension leave her the further away from the screaming they got. "Those security guards may not be worth shit but I'd like to see anyone try what they tried tonight if they know I'm there."

He thought he was making her laugh; putting on a front, flexing for her like some dumb, macho tough guy. But she eyed his bicep in the half sleeve of the sweater, then looked up at him. And then she was blushing, out of nowhere.

He cleared his throat, finding himself flustered as well. Once at the top of the stairs, Thena didn't really need to hold onto him anymore. He paused, letting them catch their breath. "Are you ready?--to go in there, I mean."

She sighed, smaller than the last one, though. She nodded, her expression solidifying into more of the fearless Thena he had come to know. She looked at his jacket swaying around her like a cloak. "Won't you need this back? I'm sure your stylist will have something to say about me stealing it."

He kept imagining that creep's hands, how they had come so close to grasping her pristine ivory skin. He shook his head, helping her fan her hair out. "The oversized blazer look is a thing, and everything looks good on you."

Gil blushed again; he really had to stop saying these things to his very trusted and respected colleague.

Thena gave him a more sheepish smile as she adjusted her hold on his arm. "It's my armour, to protect me from the wilderness outside."

[criscura]

I want to get to the good part of this blastvoid thing I'm writing but i do NOT want to write the part before it and I'm procrastinating so fucking hard

Like i know what i want and it'll be satisfying but it's like the reverse of eating beef jerky, where this is the tough gross part you just need to swallow before getting to the fucking SPPIUCCE

[a-drama-addict]

the dragonage brainworms so bad im already planning my dadw character. ough

[deadgit]

4 AM and I can't sleep... so it's time to post my deeply unpopular, but fervently held belief that Rimmer fell first, but Lister fell harder.

[zecoritheweirdone]

first art post of the new year!!! granted, i don't share my art here that much anyway, but– shhh.

hehehehhhooo,, here's something i've been working on for 'bout a month,, albeit not consecutively– took a few,, very very long breaks in between working on this,, but i managed to finish it in the end! am i satisfied with it? .......ehhhh? not completely, but if this took any longer, it might not have seen the light of day, so like. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯.

anyway,, made a little poster for my favorite fic, tommyinnit's services for villains, vigilantes, and various other vagabonds, by @scorpionoesit!!! it's really really good,,, and i've always wanted to make more art for it,, so i decided– poster! at least,, that's what it's mean to resemble,,, dkdmkdmdkd.

i will freely admit,, i'm... not the biggest fan of the fan-made logo i tried to design for it,, feels a bit boring, and could definitely have used a bit more pizazz, something to make feel more like the fic itself(what does that mean? you figure that out),,,, but– again, steam was running low,, dkdnksjs. graphic design is my passion. i do also have other complaints, but i'm afraid i already punched my one-use self-critique card,, oh well,,, dkdnkxjdkd.

regardless,, even with the flaws only i can really see,, this still turned out pretty okay!! hope you enjoy it, mx. scorpio and mx. alibi!!! and i hope everyone else has a wonderful new year!!!!

[sysig]

Always Webkinzing (Patreon)

[mad-hunts]

alright, who's gonna take one for the team and give barton a big old kiss to get him to stop talking when he's being an arsehole... with his mask on