#think blind leading the blind

[gabriels-golden-kazoo]

So if I happened to write a very short little fic about the archangel siblings all trying to teach a young Gabriel to fly but he’s scared and it’s just all very fluffy and cute and sibling antics, how would people feel about that?

[saixria]

The sillies

When even Athena the Virgin goddess whose most intimate encounter was stabbing her bff thinks you’re cooked, you’re definitely cooked

[feroluce]

Not pictured: Aventurine asking Ratio if he remembers where they parked

[everwalldigan]

I love me some delicious miscommunications so:

Bruce and Jason standing off (again) after a mission actually gone right and Bruce is looking constipated trying to articulate how proud he is while Jason’s just pissed as fuck that he accidentally followed the bats’ rules and

Jason, fuming, thinking to himself: Bruce must be behind this, he MANIPULATED me into playing by the rules the asshole I didn’t even get to shoot ANYBODY today im never teaming up with them again my reputation is ruined people are gonna think I’ve gone SOFT

Bruce, going through five stages of grief just trying to find a way to say that he’s proud of Jason without him getting decked in the face and Jason running away: today showed me that you will always be your father’s son (he means himself)

Jason, thoughts immediately going to Willis because Bruce would obviously never address him as his son: actually fuck you, fuck you never speak to me again I can’t believe I was stupid enough to agree to this what the hell is wrong with you

So, on one hand. now you have Bruce face palming because he’s sure he articulated himself in a way that couldn’t be misinterpreted so Jason obviously wants nothing to do with him and oh great they’re back to not speaking terms but hey at least Jason didn’t shoot at him so he obviously understood what he meant, right?? Right????

Meanwhile on the other hand Jason is capital H Hurt and so so angry about it because what the actual fuck. He’s TRYING to reform but obviously nothing will ever be enough for golden standards Bruce so he should just go back to at least beating criminals within an inch of their lives because he wasn’t going to prove Bruce right no matter how much he wants to take those pieces of shit off the streets permanently.

And of course, because both of them would rather shoot themselves in the foot than, I don’t know, talk, it results in a huge falling out and Jason’s “shoot at the Bats on sight” rule is back, until one day just happens to trap Bruce and Jason together in a warehouse rigged to explode. They accidentally went after the same gang and got themselves captured instead in the confusion. So Jason’s watching Bruce frantically trying to dismantle the bomb while sitting back casually taunting him like

Jason: you know damn well your cape’s gonna protect you from most of the explosion and the whole building is deserted by now, why are you trying so hard? The only one who’ll bite the dust is Willis’ son, fitting ending isn’t it? Always his son until the very end, you said it yourself!

And holy mothers of all fuckups Batman, there hasn’t been miscommunication this bad since the aftermath of the Tower of Babel

Bruce, turning around with the dismantled bomb in his hand, actively inventing new stages of grief: I was referring to myself actually.

[romance-rambles]

modern alkaid | 319 roses and a date

Alkaid gets asked on a date by the girl he desperately wanted to ask out, at least before he found out who the flowers were for. You'd like to maintain that nothing you said was a lie.

2.8k, post-alkaid's florist ending [everything else happens the same way, except alkaid's first meeting with mc happens after godheim], misunderstandings + some angst, mc is reader, series: none

ALKAID STARES DOWN BLANKLY AT the bouquet of white roses in his hands. At some point during his stunned silence, he had unwittingly taken them off yours, just as you had hoped for.

All 319 of them, to be precise—which is a number that, put in a different context, can also refer to 3/19, the day of his birth. Even with the limited capacity he has at the moment to sort out the events that led up to this moment, he can't help the way his heart flutters at the knowledge that you remembered, even though so much time has passed.

"Alkaid?" A gentle tap against his shoulder robs the flowers of their spotlight. "Do you...not like the flowers?"

He looks up and sees you, still here—still dressed so beautifully he's once more in danger of succumbing to asphyxiation, with a fretful expression that makes him wonder if he's already there. When he does not respond, you close the remaining distance between them, obscuring all else from his vision.

It is a problem only because he has nowhere left to run.

"No," he croaks out finally, leaning back over the counter to accommodate you.

Obliviously, you move closer, leaving him with no choice but to avert his gaze once more. Alkaid can only hope you aren't offended—that you don't think he finds you unattractive, with how often he does so. It's only that your beaming smile reminds him of what it feels like to stare down the sun.

"They're lovely."

Satisfied with his answer, you pull back. Your hands are clasped behind your back, and your ponytail sways slightly, once more retreating behind your shoulder. There's an adorable star-shaped pin fastened onto the strap of your cross-body bag.

He sighs discretely, relieved, and pulls the bouquet up to his face as casually as he can. The petals, he hopes, will be enough to cover up the deep scarlet staining his cheeks.

"I'm glad!" You clap your hands together. "I was worried they wouldn't be to your liking. Maybe I should've asked you what your favorite flower was before I tried asking you out."

A self-deprecating laugh slips out as you scratch your cheek. An intricate design spans the length of your nail now—shades of red and green shaped into what he can clearly recognize as halves of a rose hugging the edges—against a black background.

Alkaid bites his lip, converting the interrupted gasp into a quiet exhale.

"You guessed right. I like white roses," he says, hoping desperately that his words are nothing less than reassuring. "Though they share that spot with lilies as well."

"Lilies," you repeat, a determined gleam in your lovely eyes. "I'll keep that in mind for next time."

He bites his lip harder.

THE MORNING HE'S DUE TO hand off your flowers, Alkaid finds himself contemplating the benefits of coffee behind the register.

Though his favorite concealer and his usual color corrector have done much to brighten up his undereyes, they can do little for the grogginess that comes with staying awake the whole night (Why such a specific number? Who are they for? Do you remember him at all?). And, by the time the clock strikes nine, he's already downed three cups of strongly-brewed tea.

What pushes him to finally break away from his usual preferences is a simple headache.

The store is empty, and there remains more than half an hour before you're set to arrive. A sharp twinge of pain in the side of his head as he stands up to check on your flowers draws out a careful hiss. Alkaid, with some amount of lingering hesitance, flips the sign on his door to closed, with a note explaining the rough length of absence. Then he walks out the door, his destination the artsy cafe across the street—the one that makes him think of you whenever he walks in.

Allen, the normally deadpan barista on duty, seems to shut down when Alkaid corrects him on his order. Soon, the news spreads to the rest of the employees, who take turns staring at him as he leaves with a warm thermos of coffee in his hands.

But, in the end, it proves to be an unnecessary trip.

You're already in front of his flower shop when he returns, half-crouched and studying the sign the way someone might study a work of abstract art. Today, too, you have a large, dark blue backpack slung over both your shoulders, its surface decorated with various pins and stickers—mostly of a cat, your cat, but also of a popular manga that you seem to like.

In Passing, that is.

It's about a love triangle featuring a tyrant emperor and a well-liked leader of the rebellion. Even without the reviews praising it for subverting expectations, Alkaid would've picked it up anyway.

He's on the third volume right now, and—

Hmm? His eyebrows furrow. Where did I leave it? In my bag?

All of a sudden, the sleep that had been so insistent on dragging his eyelids down vanishes. Alkaid wracks his brain desperately for the answers, stomach churning at the thought of you finding out about his latest reading material.

Unfortunately, you choose that moment to turn around.

"Oh, Alkaid!"

Your confused expression soon melts away, leaving behind only a cheerful smile. Tightening his grip on his thermos, he exhales silently, before flashing you a gentle smile.

"You're here." Time stops as you begin to approach him, your keychains singing a short jingle to accompany you. Your expression softens, as does your voice. "You didn't forget about me, right?"

Alkaid can only sputter out a half-coherent apology.

The words get drowned out by the insistent, purposeful beating of his heart. It's as if it wants to claw itself out of his chest and entrust itself to your hands, as it is, with shattered bones sticking out of it.

You laugh prettily, as always. "It's okay. I'm just joking."

Then, like a moth to a flame, his gaze falls upon your lips. A soft red, with a glossy sheen, one that matches the color of your skirt. On a plain canvas, it's all the more striking. It leaves him wondering about things he, currently a stranger, shouldn't be fretting over.

He's not sure how long he stares for, with slightly parted lips and a series of half-realized thoughts chiding at him to stop—only that it's not long enough for you to grow uncomfortable.

Alkaid clears his throat, holding up his thermos (I should've bought her something too, he thinks) as an explanation. "I apologize for the wait. I went over to the cafe across the street."

"Coffee lover?" you guess, making room for him to open the door.

"I'm usually more of a tea person." As he slips inside the store, he can't help but chuckle self-consciously, remembering all the different ways he imagined this scene playing out. Naturally, his next words are nothing more than the most blatant lie he's ever told. "I thought I'd try something else for a change."

"Is it a nice place?" Upon seeing the puzzled look he sends over his shoulder, you clarify, "The cafe. I've seen the reviews, but I think only experience can beat the testimony of someone you know."

He considers your question for a moment. "The staff is very friendly. I often stop by during lunch for their sandwiches."

"I see..." you murmur.

"I think you'd like it," Alkaid blurts out as he slips in behind the register, happy to note that his copy of Volume 3 is, in fact, in his bag. "The owner enjoys collecting art—there's a lot of different paintings all over the cafe. Um, since you're an art major."

"Well, now I have to try it out." You don't seem particularly startled that he knows about your major; instead, you take to drawing patterns across the wooden countertop. He thinks he sees the familiar curve of an A. "The cookies you recommended last time were really great too."

When he keeps his silence, the complete opposite of what the state of his mind currently is (she remembers?), you look up.

"Hmm?" You tilt your head, confusion clouding your once smiling expression. "Do I have the wrong person? You're Alkaid, right? From that time in the snow mountains?"

He forces himself to nod, but that too is enough.

A shy smile blossoms on your lips, paired with both a brief flash of relief flitting through your gaze and the slight, almost imperceptible widening of your eyes. Placing your hands above your heart, you sigh exaggeratedly.

"You had me worried for a moment," you say. Your eyelashes cast a dark shadow on your undereyes. "I thought we'd never meet again."

For a moment, he wonders if there's more to your sorrow than you let on. Does it have anything to do with the way you disappeared? Somewhere so far away that no one could reach you at all?

Alkaid shakes off his thoughts.

"But we did," he responds carefully. I never thought we'd meet again either, he does not say instead. "Whether it was destiny, whether it was just a coincidence, we did. All we can do is make the most of it."

A tinge of sadness mars your lovely smile. "I think that sounds lovely."

SOON AFTER THEIR REUNION, DONE properly this time, down to exchanging numbers, Alkaid excuses himself to go fetch your flowers. When he returns, lovesick heart brimming with curiosity over the recipient's identity once more, he finds you've returned to doodling on the counter.

"Here they are, 319 white roses," he announces.

There's a blank expression on your face when you look up. Slowly, as recognition dawns upon you, it melts away to something bitter and rough. Its jagged edges dig into his his heart, leaving a paralyzing mix of sadness and longing to wash over him.

And then—

"Thank you," you say, and take the flowers off his hand.

His hand twitches, yearning for the camera he still keeps in his backpack, for the days where he feels like memorializing something instead. Lovely is the only word he has to describe you as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ears and pull the bouquet close with a faint smile.

Then, you close your eyes, and you inhale deeply. Once more, you are somewhere else—somewhere far, somewhere he can't reach.

"Ah, sorry." You crack one eye open. Now, the bouquet is clutched against your chest, but your sadness remains. "I guess I'm a bit nervous. I don't know if he'll like the flowers."

He? From some far corner of his mind, he recalls the image of your guardian. A tall man, with long silver hair and a pleasant, but guarded expression. Cael, he thinks is the name.

"For your guardian?" Alkaid inquires.

Your smile drops entirely at the mention of your guardian. A complicated series of emotions flash in your gaze, soon averted to one of the potted plants at the display. Scratching your cheek, you offer him a polite laugh.

Today, only some of your nails are a plain black. The rest remain bare.

"No, it's not for Cael." You answer carefully. "Actually—"

Looking down at the flowers, you take a deep breath. When next you speak, your voice has reclaimed the softness it'd shown him earlier—your searching gaze as well. You leave him with the truth, imparting it onto him like a mischievous secret.

"There's someone I'd like to ask out."

His stomach drops, and you leave him with the memory of lovelorn smile, forever imprinted behind his eyelids.

"I hope he says yes."

[3:00 PM] you: Alkaid, do you have any plans tonight?

[3:17 PM] alkaid: No, I'm free

[3:21 PM] alkaid: Did something happen?

[3:22 PM] you:

[3:22 PM] you: I haven't asked him out yet. Gonna do it soon

[3:23 PM] you: All of my other friends are busy rn.

[3:24 PM] you: Is it okay if I stop by after you close up shop?

[3:24 PM] you: I'd want to talk to someone about it

[4:31 PM] alkaid: Of course

SOMEHOW, ALKAID MANAGES TO GET through the rest of the day.

His heart is held together haphazardly with duct tape and carefully-placed staples, though their efforts are thwarted constantly by a popular refrain (You hardly know him. Of course there's someone else.), and he's one stubbed toe away from being reduced to tears, but he manages. Somehow.

He swallows down his what-ifs and maybes and waits, watching the hands on his wristwatch inch ever closer to six in the evening. And eventually, the vaguely promised time arrives.

As he's stepping out from behind the register, a familiar chime echoes cuts through the silence. Alkaid looks up and sees you, dressed still in red and black, your turtleneck and skirt swapped out for a knee-length dress.

"Hi."

The bouquet of white roses—held in both hands, a stark contrast to the black leather jacket you're wearing—covers up its neckline. You smile sheepishly at him, pulling at the mesh of your bright red skirt to mimic a curtsy.

You're beautiful. Even the flowers surrounding them pale in comparison. Even the aurora they'd seen together pales in comparison. You rob him of his breath and leave gasping for a reprieve, but so long as he keeps his memory in even the smallest capacity, that's simply impossible.

The familiar knife called jealousy stabs into his heart, leaving him keenly aware of his longing. He averts his gaze, but the damage has already been done. You are beautiful, and he has waited years to see you.

"Hi." Alkaid swallows uncomfortably, as the sound of your footsteps draws closer. In a panic, his hands brace themselves against the edge of the counter. "Was something wrong with the flowers? I thought—"

A mysterious expression sits upon your features when you pull his gaze onto you, seemingly oblivious to your magnetic power.

With a deep breath, you thrust the flowers at him, knuckles brushing against his chest. You pull back for a moment, taking your flowers with you, and the soft coral of your blush makes it difficult to discern whether you find yourself a victim the of same scarlet blooming across his cheeks.

"That's—" You cough politely. There's a heart-shaped pendant dangling from your golden necklace. The dress is either strapless or your jacket has covered up the straps. "—what I'm here to find out."

Alkaid tilts his head. His confused gaze darts across his surroundings and stops at the glass window of the store's display, thinking perhaps that your mystery boy might be outside. But while the streets are not barren, there is no one outside his store.

You say his name in the same way you told him your secret. Like it's something precious. Like it's something you love. And the truth begins to settle into his bones with a finality that deafens the half-coherent puzzle pieces he's been trying to fit together—he is the only one you could possibly ask out in this empty store.

He has no choice but to look back. At you, and the bouquet you're offering him.

"Would you like to go to the movies with me?"

AND THAT IS HOW HE finds himself with the beginnings of a bruise forming on his lip. He doesn't mind, not when the sting he feels as he wets his lip reminds him that this is not, in fact, a dream (It feels like it though, he thinks), nor a fantasy.

"You...you don't have a girlfriend, do you? It's been a while since then..."

You rub your arm lightly, muttering about something he can't understand, and what else is Alkaid meant to do but take your hand? He squeezes it gently, tickled to find that he can return the favor for all the times you've stolen his breath away.

Your lips part slightly, but whatever you hoped to say does not leave the confines of your mysterious mind. Instead, you draw some of your hair from both sides over your flushed cheeks.

"Nothing like that," he reassures, smiling gently at you. "I'm just surprised. I didn't realize you were talking about me."

"That's a reli—what." In a single moment, your voice goes from girlishly breathless to an irritated flat. Releasing your hair, you blink uncomprehendingly at him. "How?"

Watching you descend into another muttered ramble, Alkaid shrugs. "If you'd still like that date..."

You whip your head in his direction. "Then it's a date!"

The first time he met you, it was when you had fished out of the snow and offered him a warm drink to fight off the cold. They had talked about miscellaneous things, from your half-hearted desire to request a camera for your birthday to who could make the better model between them both.

And back then, he had thought to himself that there was no sound more beautiful than your laugh.

Almost four years after the fact, as he watches you giggle, Alkaid can confidently say his past self had the right idea. Such a specific title leaves him with room to declare your follow-up smile to be just as breathtaking.

[gingermintpepper]

Day 3: Asclepius

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!!

Woo boy, this guy was another difficult character to settle on both a design and an interpretation for! Asclepius tends to have two big schools of thought for his tale, either he's the tragic doctor who resorted to illicit methods in order to save his patients or he's a strict scientist who was so skilled at his art that his resuscitations were called magic but were just science. I don't actually mind either interpretation, but due to the way I personally see Coronis and the way I chose to interpret Asclepius' birth story, I chose to focus on a different facet of Asclepius; Asclepius the family man. The theme of geneology and the inheritance of 'curses' through blood and birth is one that permeates this work and Asclepius, in a lot of ways, has not only inherited both his mother and father's banes but his actions and talents create new ones for his children. Throughout this, and all the many messy crimes Asclepius will commit in the name of what he thinks is necessary and right, he will willfully ignore the warning signs staring him dead in his face screaming that he will leave the burden of his work to his children and it will be easy. After all, Asclepius has made a career out of ignoring his own father's warnings and cautions, what are a few more red flags to ignore?

Less of a character note and more of a personal thing, but for a very long time I used his teenaged design when sketching out scenes and ideas but after tidying up my timeline, I realised that he would be an older man throughout the events of the story!! Since he's properly mortal, he would have to look his age and while that was slightly intimidating since I've not drawn many older characters, it also made me very excited since characters in the 40+ age range are rarely protagonists of these sorts of adventure/fantasy stories and working in the physical differences between him and his brothers was extremely fun!

Some fun trivia:

Youngest of Apollo's children currently alive and kicking. Maybe it was because Apollo so intensely regretted the way he dealt with Coronis but he doted endlessly on Asclepius and essentially personally oversaw his education and training. Because of this, Asclepius, without a doubt, is the child with the best relationship with Apollo between the brothers and believes unfalteringly in his father even if they have many practical and philosophical differences.

Has a bit of a sixth sense when it comes to necromancy and communing with the dead and spirits beneath the earth. Because he was rescued from the torch of death when he was babe, he has retained a connection with the chthonic. While he cannot exactly see figures like Thanatos or Hermes, he can certainly sense when they are afoot. Is very aware that Thanatos cannot stand him and expects to be taken by Ker when he does finally die.

Always keeps gold coins on him on the off chance he is spontaneously struck down while doing research or healing some previously unhealable disease. His father, upon realising that his warnings would be thoroughly ignored, pleaded for him to do at least that since after Asclepius is dead, Apollo would be unable to intercede for him.

Happily married and has four children! His eldest Machaon chose to follow his footsteps and became a gifted surgeon in his own right while his second eldest Iaso chose to follow her mother's footsteps and become more of a nurse than a doctor. He's endlessly proud of all of his children and hopes his research makes the world a better place for them.

Was recognised by Apollo at 15 and became Doctor Laureate at 17. Lost said laurels at 22 after he revived his second corpse from the dead and since then has been on a strict probation when practicing his medicine. Has a mark on his left wrist that will fill itself out if he commits such an atrocity again and then he will be marked for death and supposedly tormented until he forfeits his soul.

On very good terms with Orpheus and the two often work together and catch up when they happen to meet up while travelling. Never knew Eurydice but he gets the feeling that he would've really liked her.

Despite being a son of Apollo, has absolutely zero musical talent and cannot dance. He can't maintain his hair either and would've cut it multiple times over if Apollo himself didn't stop him and chastise him for even thinking about such a thing. Epione does his hair. The little braids in his beard are courtesy of the twins Hygiea and Panacea who enjoy putting little braids in anything they can get their hands on.

Doesn't resemble his father or his mother actually! The relative he resembles most is his paternal grandfather Zeus, a fact that gives his wife endless grief because his hair is thick but not curly, a trait she covets. Asclepius having thick body and facial hair was also very awkward considering Apollo is incapable of growing body hair and, for a while, his lack of curls and cascade of body hair when Asclepius started puberty made Apollo doubt whether Asclepius was truly his or if he had saved Ischys' child instead.

Has zero self preservation and will hunt monsters and creatures for their blood, teeth, claws and hides for his medicines. Like his father, he has a personal 'wall of horrors' where he stores everything from gorgon blood to pegasus feathers to hydra venom. Sometimes gods in the guise of men will simply give him precious materials because they know Asclepius is the one who will take their unsolveable cases in the face of disaster. It is a very risky exchange and has only barely skirted by Zeus' notice because actual money hasn't been exchanged (yet).

Preferred weapon is the scalpel and doesn't like fighting humans. Has a fire-retardant mantle made from chimera skin Apollo gave him when he was a child that doubles as a very good shield in a pinch.

Favourite colour is withy purple and his favourite food is goat butter spread on bread and topped with celery, tomatoes and olive oil. Has a lot of snake themed jewellry that he's passed on to his son because he thinks they're too gaudy for his old self to be wearing.

[bonefall]

Do you have a design for Bright Storm? I'm fond of the wise older figure thing you're doing with her

I do NOW

Made her, as well as a revamp of my old Thunder Storm design (I last drew him like a year ago!!) in preparation for some character summaries I plan to bang out after finishing a couple drafts, but Bright in particular gets requested so much (anon you're like the 4th person) that HERE, lady girl and her son be upon ye

I'm thinking about doing the BB!DOTC character summaries in "family" posts, so they're all grouped together the way I plan them to act in the story. Every family is telling a little mini-story of its own, in a way, from the Frost family and their inventing prowess, to the Heart family and how the kits react to Bumble's exile, to the Storm family and how they grapple with Clear Sky's influence.

I wanted to make sure Bright Storm was very large and powerful looking, but in a round, kind of "humble" way. She downplays her strength, her intelligence, and even her better judgement.

So she has these big cheeks, fluffy primordial pouch, poofy tail, keeps her head low-ish. Tends to deny compliments.

I was commiserating with my partner the other day about how intelligent characters aren't allowed to be thick-bodied. So between my fat, beloved Bumble the translator and Bright Storm the wise woman battle strategist I'm feeding us both

I needed to "finalize" their stripe pattern, because I actually plan for TIGERSTAR to have the same one. I'm probably going to update my Tawnypelt and Bramblestar designs to have it too; if they don't look better with Goldenflower's.

I just like the irony and bitterness of it. That these ancient stripes, once so associated with compassion and righteous fury, turn into a "legacy" so divorced from what Thunder Storm and Bright Storm stood for.

Becoming a symbol for the idea of modern ThunderClan and the culture of the new times, not the principles it was founded on.

Also I HAD to do the design thing where Thunder Storm's stripes look like top surgery scars lmao, my beloved transmasc boy

Anyway, I've decided that Thunder Storm was a REALLY dark orange. It bugs me a little, especially in-canon, that he looks nothing like either parent. So in BB he's not too far off color-wise from his mama.

I also removed the old "mane" and replaced it with combination white chest + his father's shoulder burls. The mane is going to become a Forest Cat trait, which is why it's going to get so prominent in ThunderClan.

Instead, Mountain Cats have a REALLY high concentration of ear tufts in their genes. They're also huge and generally hairy.

Funny enough though they're also "oily." They come from the Lake Cat population which was pretty water-resistant because of constantly dealing with the lake, and they haven't lived in the Mountains long enough for natural selection to get rid of it.

It's going to become SUPER advantageous for those who move to the River Kingdom, but become less prominent in the other populations.

But for now, Mountain Cats are kinda... well, naturally 'stinky.' That's not a BAD thing to cats who are animals who LIKE strong smells, but it is a notable trait that I'd like The Wind Runner in particular to comment on.

Thunder Storm: "Well? What did she say?"

Bumble: "Ummmmmm......"

Thunder Storm: "be honest"

Bumble: "she says she smelled you coming when you were upwind. rudely."

99% of the time when I'm changing character eye colors, it's to make them NOT blue because there's too many blue-eyed characters in WC imo. BUT.

I think it was another tiny waste to have the narrative constantly stressing Clear Sky's blue, blue eyes, almost like they're hypnotizing, and then they never really comment on what Thunder's eye color signals to other people.

So I've got an idea; instead of amber, Thunder Storm has ELECTRIC BLUE eyes. Almost green, like his mother's minty ones.

Intense as his father's, but more focused. Sharp. Shocking.

Side note: in my research I actually learned it's easier for tripod cats to RUN than it is for them to walk. They can "canter" like a horse, but when they go slow they have to hop. Taking this into consideration.

I put a splash of white on the little bit of lower limb that Thunder Storm has on the leg, so it sticks out a bit more. I don't want it to be hidden I want it to be prominent

I also figured out a hilarious trick for Bright Storm to pull on Sky's Clan at some point lmao

Thunder's crew is in conflict with Sky's cats and the attacks are getting more and more frequent. They decide they need some extra time to carry out some kind of hunt or diplomatic mission, but Bright Storm only has a small group of cats to pull off a stunt with.

She knows she can't fight them head on, but she NEEDS to buy her son more time, so she hatches a plan.

Clear Sky values his intelligence and his ferocity very much. To a fault, even. He loves to outsmart his opponents and overpower them-- so Bright Storm gets all her cats to build a very large, very tall, nearly impenetrable wall out of briar thorns. There's only one way in; the well-guarded tunnel they've constructed in the front.

It would be a challenge for a lesser cat. But Clear Sky, clever devil he is, realizes they've made a fatal flaw; they've built their camp right next to the trees. His fighters don't need to jump over the wall or push through it, the oaks are their allies!

So, while Thunder's cats are all surely sleeping, he gathers his best men and come through the canopy. In well-trained patrols, they swoop down into the camp and prepare for battle.

and no one is there.

You see, there was only one way in... and only one way out.

And Clear Sky and his best fighters watch with HORROR as the tiny crew of guards seals that entrance up like the neck of a bag. There are no trees to climb INSIDE the wall, and it's too tall to hop out of. It won't hold them forever, but it will hold them JUST LONG ENOUGH.

Bright calls this little plan "Operation Timeout."

[eightsixtiism]

Lando can’t reclaim that was never his Max has being saying simply lovely for literal years is Lando said it again it would just be embarrassing 😭

i don't care, i'm all for the shithousery. lando can put a little twist on it if you're so worried about this two-word phrase being max's.

[stari-hun]

Also I can’t imagine how Curly felt during this? He wasn’t observant beforehand when he needed to be as a Captain in order to keep Anya safe, and then he was cursed to sit and suffer as witness to his crew die because of his own initial inaction.

[spoopyandtired]

what if I posted vampire klapollo fic with toxic Kristoph focus. what if I did that. Would any of y'all be interested in that

[reineyday]

shanks, four years younger than mihawk, is usually granted the "starry-eyed crush on the cool older boy" trope (with good reason!), so i was thinking it'd be cute to grant that dubious pleasure to mihawk in an age swap au instead.

mihawk, scrappy nine year old, gets picked up by roger for a trip on the oro jackson to the next island (roger just wants to feed the kid lol), and gets sweet talked into it by dangling a duel with rayleigh, the current world's greatest swordsman, as bait. when mihawk gets there, rayleigh says mihawk has to be able to beat his apprentices first, and gets his ass summarily handed to him by a thirteen year old shanks, who both impresses and embarrasses mihawk, as shanks beats him without even trying but he's so cool when he does it.

and so mihawk declares himself shanks's rival, and when he wins, shanks will have to listen to a request. and years and years later, when mihawk finally does win, that request--which he's never changed his mind about--is permission to start formally courting shanks. charmed, and absolutely having seen this coming after years of observing an obvious crush and slowly warming up to it as mihawk grew and changed between their meetings, laughs and just kisses mihawk straight-up.

[worldsewage]

hmmm....whats the most toxic thing one of ur ocs do

Alligator is mean and vengeful towards those who she thinks are better than her and has definitely bludgeoned Callie more than was necessary during her mud-takeover hypnosis and has to be shot by Marie in order for her to stop.

Valentine is a die hard Octarian Solider who is miserable, she’s not an ideal agent 8, the one octarian who saw she was a little lonely and gave her a chance— Valentine betrayed by snitching on her to an Elite, knowing she was a deserter because Valentine didn’t want to leave and didn’t want to be alone.

Saint chews with their mouth open.

[akiradachi]

This was the snippet I was talking about for the record. It plays when asking him for information at the Tampico when you're on his good side.

And it fucks me up so much because for a second dean sounds fond. Like for a moment he forgets to be bitter and just reminiscences.

But then he remembers he's supposed to be mad at Sinclair. If he's not, all of the years spent in the Villa, and everything that he did before it would mean nothing.

And it makes me wonder to what extent Dean actually hated Sinclair, and to what extent it was just Dean projecting his bitterness and cynicism onto him.

[spiderziege]

they should make more german music that was released in 2004

[amnesiaguy]

doing research

[isa-ah]

crick is a few years older than isaiah... what if he had very faint i was a little boy memories of isaiahs mom before she died oxo