despite all the 'i need healing' memes, they're usually pretty nice. they know the entire team is watching and waiting for them to crash and burn
either spawn from hell or just here to have a good time (usually the latter). will probably try to say hi at the enemy spawn
very friendly. will almost never get their ult to go off but won't be salty about it. thanks healthpacks
KINKY. either cursed as shit or will say hello to anything and everything. anyone that mains reaper has dreamt of him crushing their head between his monster thighs
VANILLA. it's okay though, most people want to fuck him but can't explain it
definitely only here to have a good time since she's basically useless until the devs give her a monster buff. if the player spams the boop voiceline you will hear that noise in your nightmares forever
very high chance they're gay. very high chance one of the enemy team will switch to tracer because they're annoying
absolute sweethearts who will risk life and her other eye to keep you alive. secretly enjoys watching the person she's nanoboosted lose their fucking mind trying to make the most of it though
again, really sweet. unless they're on ilios in which case he's public enemy number one and even if he's on your team you shoudn't trust him
probably picked healer because everyone else picked genji and hanzo. alternatively, a masochist. if the pistol is used a lot they probably mained medic in TF2 and don't fear god or death
most likely play competitive too much. another top tier picks for gays but they probably have clinical depression
[flicking teleporter on and off] welcome to my reality welcome to my reality
in the top three most likely to say hi in spawn. please get behind him
this one is skin dependent. normal roadhogs are like your weird uncle but roadhogs with the islander or junkenstein's monster skin are maniacs and will hook your entire ancestral line across the map
i've only ever seen like three. cryptids
tied with tracer and zenyatta as a pick for gays. a good zarya will take your bullets and shove them back up your ass at mach-1 speed
the chaotic good of the universe. probably has play of the game before the match has even started
probably tried to play bastion in competitive once and that was enough. anyone that places him on that elevator thing in hollywood is a scorpio
they take skirmish way too seriously
THE CHAOTIC EVIL TO D.VA'S CHAOTIC GOOD. the sound of a riptire is actually an effective tactic to kill the enemy team irl because half of them will have a stroke out of stress
lava eating machine. all of them are cursed and i'm personally afraid of him
57 shots, 1 kill. if they're using the odile skin they're probably a straight male
lance and keith get put into a mission together and keith sorta confesses that he values lance on the team more than himself, and lance can’t comprehend that bc he believes keith is super important too, so they are both rlly confused??
This was my favorite part of this episode. Here’s why:
So here comes Daesung, trailing after Seungri, hands full with bowls of washed lettuce and whatnot. He’s taking his sweet time and,
in typical introvert fashion, complaining about how he isn’t ready to return to camp yet (“I don’t feel like going back”)… but the second he sees TOP tending to the fire his demeanor changes.
He’s all, “Whoa, look at that fire! You okay over there?” There’s a teasing note to it, yes. Because he’s already been on TOP’s case once today about the importance of washing his hands before handling meat that they’re all going to eat, come on, hyung.
But just underneath that there’s genuine concern, too. Because Daesung cares. And TOP is Big Bang’s big baby, after all. Someone’s gotta look after him. Daesung doesn’t call himself his nanny for nothing; one look at TOP dutifully manning the grill and he knows he’s having a hard time.
At Daesung’s voice TOP turns and– finally, someone who will listen to him! “The tongs are too short,” he complains, though by now he’s laughing at himself a little too. He knows his problems are trivial, but he just… he needs to unload on someone. The fire is hot! It hurts his hand! Why won’t anyone acknowledge that he’s struggling?
Poor TOP, the others all shot him down when he made a fuss about the heat from the fire burning his hand: “What do you want! Leave me alone!” They were so done with him right from the start; they had work of their own to do and no patience for his whining. But then along came Daesung, offering him an ear and an opportunity to vent his frustrations a bit. And really, sometimes that’s all TOP needs to keep going: someone who recognizes that, above all, he just wants to be heard.
fkwkskfkd I never send things to the blogs I follow like this but I kinda need help with a lot of things but what if I want to give up on art? I love drawing but,,,, nothing looks good I'm just getting worse and worse and idk what to do I have no inspiration and nothing comes out as planned dkkfkdkskfnfnakxkfk
Ahh, I’m so glad you reached out! Honestly I seriously love giving advice so I’d be happy to help you out. Every single creator has doubts, even famous illustrators and artists, so I’d be happy to share what I and others have done to help ourselves out.
Firstly, remember that practice is key. When you’re in an art block or frustrated with art, break the mold and do something that’s a bit different. What I tend to do is draw flowers from reference pictures or go outside and draw a tree or something. Other times, I’ll do thumbnail sketches of compositions like these.
You could do a still life, sketch only the part of a body you’re comfortable with, or do gesture drawings (which intentionally don’t look great). Heck you can even trace art, color someone’s line art, or things like that (obviously don’t share without artist’s permission though)! Looking at art tutorials can be a great source of inspiration too.
Once you’re a bit more like “okay, I like this even when it doesn’t look great!” then you can start practicing the weaknesses you see in your art. For me, for instance, I tend to go with more stagnant poses and I’m not very good at drawing mouths and intense facial expressions. So I started googling references and just sketching them. When you treat it like a study, there’s less pressure for it to be perfect. You’ll notice some will look better than others but, when you walk away and then have to draw that part again, you’ll notice that it comes to you easier.
Now, here’s the most important thing to remember when you feel like you’re getting worse. You’re not actually getting worse, you’re becoming more in tune with your art and noticing things you want to improve more. This is progress!! Awesome super fantastic progress! It only seems like you’re getting worse because you’re noticing the areas you want to improve more. So, all you have to do is start practicing those areas.
While you’re doing this, celebrate how much more aware of the awkward anatomy and compositional errors and weird things you are. This is the best guide towards becoming a better artist–to be critical of your own work. But, to make sure you don’t knock yourself down with self-criticism, remember to be compassionate and honor what that teaching voice is sharing with you. Work together to become a better artist, to learn and grow.
Lastly, remember that all of your favorite artists started somewhere and gosh did we start somewhere horrible lol. We all doubted our work (I still get frustrated sometimes!) and felt like we’d never be on par with our favorite artists. But we kept working–both on improving our artistic confidence and skills.
So long as you keep trying, you’ll make it to where you want to be. That’s the only thing you need.
For bonuses (lol) let me show you some of my old art compared to my newer stuff so you can see how bad I used to be (and most of these art was after about 5 years of study anyways!!).
That piece is from seven years ago, so it took me seven years of doing art most days of the week to get to this sort of work:
Now here’s a super old watercolor (from late 2011). It’s muddied and the composition is poor and it’s generally not a good piece looking back.
About six years later, though, this old watercolor was transformed into pieces like this!
How I got here was practice. I kept trying. I notice what I wanted to work on, what parts about my art bugged me, and I studied them. Slowly but surely I improved. And you, lovely anon, you will too.
Any chance we can get some Anabasis or DAV in celebration of Triduum/Holy Week?
Late reply is super late, but better than never I hope.
I’m working on the next DAV fic which would actually be a perfect fit for the Passover / Easter season, with its focus on themes of liberation, but it is, alas, not finished yet.
So in lieu of that (and by way of apology for being gone so long), here’s a snippet of Anabasis.
This one is pretty spoilery, tbh. But Holy Week for me is all about liberation and new life, and this part of the story is definitely that. So when I finally publish the whole of Anabasis, you all can pretend to be surprised…
[In which Anakin finds Palpatine’s collection of Sith holocrons…]
The place was dim and musty, and it clanged with the distant
echoes of crumbling old machinery. Padmé’s hand drifted uneasily and came to
rest on the blaster at her hip. Just in case.
The door Dinsa had stopped before was the seventeenth in a
line of identical doors, each unmarked and wholly unremarkable, the sort that
might be found in any number of abandoned factories or warehouses in the Works.
But Padmé didn’t fail to notice the way Dinsa stood well
back from the door, or the way she and Sabé watched Anakin closely, alert and
ready for any sudden directive. Anakin himself was focused intently, seemingly
unaware of anyone else around him. Padmé shifted from foot to foot, watching
him stand perfectly still, watching the light of memory burn in his eyes.
“Anakin?” she whispered, hesitating only a moment before
placing a hand on his shoulder. Warmth bled through his clothing and into her
He blinked slowly, just once, then turned from the door to
face her. His mouth curled, far too vicious to be called a smile.
This is perfect, because I just finished a month long road trip across the continental United States (I’ve seen it all), so I definitely know what’s it like to drive for hours and hours with people.
So, considering there are seven people, they take a SUV (2 seats in front, 3 in the middle row, and two in the back)
So Hunk gets motion sick, and this applies to cars too, so all Hunk really only has two options:
listen to music
He ends up sleeping a lot, and as a result he misses a lot of the countryside and such. The rest of the Paladins are nice though, and they wake him up for anything they find interesting.
(At one point they are going through some very bumpy roads, and since Hunk was asleep he kept bouncing up and down, ‘cause he couldn’t control it…Lance took a video)
Pidge sits in the WAY back, and uses the time to build new gadgets and when they pull the car behind a tour bus they’ll piggyback off of the bus’ wifi.
Lance is the kind of guy who will want to stop everywhere he can just to get pictures ‘it’s the journey, not the destination’
Keith is the exact opposite, he just wants to get where they are going, and why is Lance making so many unnecessary stops?
Shiro is the main driver, and when he drives Allura is in the passenger seat, Hunk in the middle left window seat, Keith in the middle and Lance on the right middle window seat. (Coran and Pidge share the back).
Shiro is the only one who can keep the peace. Basically the entire car is a constant ticking time bomb that follows a simple cycle.
First, Keith and Lance start arguing about who should be sitting in the window seat, and then Hunk complains about his headache. Pidge then tells everyone to shut it so they can concentrate, and Coran mumbles about how he’s never seen such a disrespectful group of paladins.
Then Pidge, Lance, and Keith all team up on Coran and tell him “Of course we are fighting, it’s perfectly normal.”
Now it’s time for Allura to get involved, and she’ll comment something like “Perfectly normal for savages” and that sets off everyone again.
Meanwhile, Shiro is trying to concentrate on the godamn road and he has a semi-truck pulling up on his right side and why won’t these idiots shut up and finally Shiro yells “QUIET!”
Everyone immediately quiets down and Shiro gets another hour of silence before the whole cycle starts ups all over again.
Every day is spent feeling Yuuri out,
fitting them together in a way that doesn’t destroy who either of them is as a
person. Viktor loves that they fit this way; loves that he has sharp edges and
awkward corners and that Yuuri still folds around them, that together they
Yuuri continually surprises Viktor, but Hiroko is another matter entirely.
Yuuri is forbidden from watching his
competitors, at least in the few days before Rostelecom. This doesn’t mean that
Viktor can’t watch—so after Yuuri’s disappeared to his room to briefly
recharge, Viktor settles to watch a recording of the Trophee de France. Hiroko
bustles around him, wiping away the last remnants of the dinner rush and
clearing bottles of sake. He offers to help, but she shakes her head and hums
her disagreement. Viktor’s still not sure how much English she knows. Viktor’s
still not sure how much Japanese he knows, in Hasetsu’s dialect. There are
times when she beams and nods and chatters to him slowly, clearly, and there
are other times where she falls silent, smile warm but vague.
Viktor has long suspected that it isn’t
just a language barrier. There is private, and then there are the Katsukis.
Still, the onsen is quiet, devoid of
guests except one tipsy gentleman that is already snoring softly into the table
he sits at. Viktor pats the ground beside him. “Mama?” Mama, a word Hiroko had insisted he use and one he’s taken gross
advantage of ever since. She kneels, lays a hand atop his.
“It’s late, Vicchan. Late for you.”
“I’m on the free skate,” he explains,
“just a little more time.”
She glances at the screen, and Viktor
can only imagine what her inexperienced eye sees. A man, in a sparkling outfit,
moving from a nameless spin into a jump whose rotations she probably doesn’t
realize to count. ‘Somehow, the Katsukis
don’t know anything about figure skating!’ The triplets had declared.
Viktor will adjust. “Good music, isn’t it, Mama?”
Hiroko huffs, breath slight. “Doesn’t
matter,” she declares, “if he wants to beat my Yuuri, he’ll need better base
value than that, especially with his GOEs. Ah, but he’s young, so his mistake
on the takeoff of the triple axel is…” she gestures, small and soft hand incapable
of grabbing the word in English. She settles, finally, on a different word.
“Normal? Yuuri did the same. Hm. This boy, though, they overscore his
transitions and choreography.”
Viktor is too elegant to gape, or so he
had always thought. “Mama,” he says, slowly, “have you been studying figure
skating this season?” Mari has only now found her interest—perhaps it’s spread
to her parents, as well.
Rather than answer, Hiroko stands. “My
son doesn’t like pressure, Vicchan. Yuuri works very hard. We support him, but
we must be careful, yes?”
Viktor had assumed that the onsen and
Yuuri’s family, in all their unconditional love, was an accidental haven for
Yuuri. If Yuuri can be a dime-a-dozen skater—if Yuuri can be a man not under
the tremendous pressure that comes with world records and being one of the best
six skaters in the nation, Yuuri can begin to cope.
Yuuri needs someone to believe in him,
and trust him, without expectation. If Yuuri can be a man who returns home to
parents who aren’t invested in, don’t understand, the world of skating…
“Careful,” Hiroko repeats, Hiroko who is
not even supposed to know the first thing about skating, “yes?”
Oh, Viktor is always a stroke behind,
when it comes to anyone named Katsuki. They know their beloved Yuuri so well. They
know his sport, too.
“Yes. Thank you, Mama.”
“You are a good son,” says Hiroko before
she shuffles off. Viktor gives up on the Trophee de France, and finds himself
at Yuuri’s door. Let us love you.
At the sight of him Yuuri lights up,
quiet and bright, and he holds out his arms.
Whatever anyone may be feeling about tonight’s ep and the sequences that follow I feel like we’re all in need of a hug so here’s a hug from the two people who are the sole reason for the endless pain and emotion we encounter on a daily basis
So @haikyuu-is-madness always says nice shit about my writing and so I figured I’d give back and write a quick little som-som as a thanks. I asked for a word or phrase and was told “pressure creates diamonds” so this is what I came up with. It actually comes from a fic idea I had a little while back that I’m not sure I’ll ever get around to writing so here ya go.
Thanks for all your support and love, Babe.
(P.S. it’s really super fast and was just thrown together so it’s not that good but uhm uh yeah….. I hope you like it anyway.)
Daichi was under pressure.
His grandmother always said that pressure creates diamonds.
She didn’t say that it would take one to three billion years
for it to happen though.
And given how far criminals went in this day and age to
acquire the damned things, Daichi wasn’t so sure he even wanted to become one,
unbreakable and beautiful as they may be.
Beating up the bastards that stole the priceless gems was
good enough for him.
“Two meters tall, a hundred and
eight kilograms… the man is practically a giant,” Daichi said into his phone as
he flipped through the pages inside the folder on his lap, where it rested against the
steering wheel of his 2011 Toyota Prius. He leaned back in his seat, propping one elbow up on the door and resting his temple against his closed fist.
“There’s no way I can take him on by myself.”
“Hey don’t sweat it,”
the voice on the other line said. “I’m
sure you can handle it.”
“Me?” Daichi snorted. “Me, eighty-six kilograms, wrong side of one ninety centimeters, me? You’re joking, right?”
“C’mon, you didn’t
graduate at the top of your class on your test scores alone.”
“I sucked a lot of dick to get to the top.”
only makes me love you more.”
“Anyway,” Daichi peered through his windshield at the
apartment complex across the dim and silent street. “Even if I do manage to
get the cuffs on him without any trouble, where the hell am I going to put him?
I don’t think a man of that size will fit in my backseat.”
“Just sit on him until
“It’d be like a toddler sitting on her dad’s shoulders. I’d
rather let him snap my neck in resistance than suffer that humiliation.”
“Well then there you
go. Problem solved.”
“You’re as useless as ever, Tooru.”
“Anything for you,
Daichi sighed, “Alright well… I’ll let you know if anything
“Good luck. Don’t get
your skull crushed in his big meaty hands.”
“I feel so much better now, thank you.”
Daichi ended the call and shoved the phone into his pocket.
He had been posted outside of the apartment building for hours and there hadn’t
been so much as a peep. He was beginning to think that maybe his cover had been
blown and his perp had skipped town without his knowing. But how could that be
possible? He had been so careful. There was no way that a mere diamond
thief could have outsmarted Daichi.
He hadn’t graduated at the top of his class on test scores
alone, after all.
He hadn’t even sucked any dick, either.
He closed the file folder- a cheap plastic one decorated with
kittens cuddling in a wicker basket that he had picked up at the store on the
way to his stake-out to disguise the important documents inside- and tossed it
to the passenger seat.
He rubbed his eyes and yawned. That morning he had opted out
of drinking his usual coffee in order to limit the number of times he would
have to abandon his position in order to visit the bathroom, and he was
starting to feel the effects of his lack of caffeine. A dull ache pulsed
through his head and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
“Just a few more hours, Daichi,” he whispered. “Make it
through just a few more hours and you can go home and sleep.”
He settled back in his seat and stared through the
windshield, already sick of the sight of the ugly, rectangular, brick apartment
building. Why would a diamond thief live in such a shithole anyway? With the
kind of heists he had been pulling, he should be living in some kind of uptown
penthouse or a mansion on the beach. Not a place that looked like it had failed
its past thirteen inspections and may or may not be infested with rats and/or
Just what the hell was this guy spending his money on?
Loud knocking startled a tiny jump and squeak out of him,
the entire car rocking with his movement. He turned towards the sound, hand
reaching instinctively towards the gun hidden inside his leather jacket.
A pale-haired man stood outside his window, stooping over to
peer through at him, wearing a bright smile. He waved cheerfully and then held
up a colorful sheet of paper.
Daichi hesitated. He glanced at the apartment building once
more but it remained still and silent. He pursed his lips and pressed the
button on the car door. The window lowered silently, allowing a fresh, cool
breeze to fill the vehicle.
“Hi!” the man immediately leaned an arm on the door,
invading Daichi’s space in one swift movement as he thrust the flyer inside. “I’m
the priest of the Catholic church just at the end of this street. The kids call
me Father K!” he lifted a peace sign and smiled, soft brown eyes squinting
“Uh…” Daichi’s eyes wandered down over the white clerical
collar peeking out between the black fabric of his long sleeved button-up as he
took the flyer from him. “Hello…”
“Sorry to bother you,” he went on. “It’s just that we’re having a barbeque tomorrow at noon and we’d really like to reach out
to the community so I’ve been walking around passing these babies out to spread
“Oh…” Daichi stared at the sheet of paper.
There was an image of a family sitting around a picnic table,
eating burgers and hot dogs while they laughed. Large, thick letters spread
across the top reading:
Treat Yourself to Our
Daichi pursed his lips tight together to avoid letting out a
laugh at the unfortunate choice of wording.
He cleared his throat and nodded, “Ah… I see.” He lifted his
eyes to the priest and caught him smirking quietly at him. The smirk warmed and
he folded his arms over the side of Daichi’s door.
“It’s bound to be a fun time,” he said. “Lots of good food,
some games… have you ever played rodeo golf?”
“Uhm… no, I don’t believe I have,” Daichi glanced towards
the apartment building.
“What about washers?”
“Ah. Yeah. I’ve played that.”
“Perfect! Anyway, it starts at noon and is going all day
long. I really hope you can come and visit for a bit!”
Daichi lowered the flyer, “Yeah. I’ll pop in and check it out a
little later in the day…” Guilt filled him and he winced. “No. No, that was a lie. I’m sorry. I can’t
believe I just lied to a priest, holy fuck.” His eyes widened and he turned in
the seat to face him, “Oh my God— gosh! I’m
sorry. I’m just really tired and—”
He laughed and Daichi clamped his mouth shut.
The priest leaned his chin in the palm of his hand, fingers stretched lazily up his cheek. His ring finger rested just below a small beauty mark nestled in the corner of his left eye.
“Please relax,” he said gently, smile softening. “I’m
Catholic. We drink alcohol in the middle of mass. A little cursing
isn’t going to make me take up the rosary.”
Daichi lowered his eyes, “Sorry.”
He giggled, “What’s your name?”
He was supposed to be undercover. His name was well known in the criminal community, after all, and just the mention of it could send his perp on the run.
alias for the day- decided by Oikawa- was Sato Haruka, a pathetic sap hanging outside his
ex-girlfriend’s apartment in hopes that he would run into her on her way to
work so that he could convince her to take him back.
He was fairly certain the embarrassing cover story was Oikawa’s way of getting revenge on Daichi for passing off that undercover stripper case to him two weeks ago.
“I’m still finding glitter in my ass crack, Sawa-chan!” he had complained to him just that morning.
It’s not my fault. There’s no way anyone would believe I was a stripper. He was the only realistic choice for that case.
Despite hating it, Daichi had practiced his embarrassing cover in his head
for hours, trying his best to meld into the role of pitiful Sato
“Daichi,” he replied, offering a hand.
He couldn’t help it.
It just didn’t feel right to lie to a man of the cloth.
“Daichi,” he repeated and a sudden flush of warmth filled Daichi’s chest at the sound. “Daichi,” he said again, reaching out and taking his
hand. “It’s nice to meet you, Daichi.”
And Daichi found that he really liked the way he said his
name. The way he carefully enunciated the Dai and
let the chi spring softly from his
It made him feel like he was something precious, a diamond in the palm
of his hand.
“So, Daichi. You won’t be stopping by our little barbeque
tomorrow then?” he slid his fingers slowly away and Daichi found himself missing the
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I have… business to attend to all
“Hmmm… I won’t lie… I’m a little disappointed.”
Daichi looked away and cleared his throat, cheeks warming.
The priest giggled and leaned back, hands still resting on the
“Well, whatever your business is, I’m sure it’s very
important. So I won’t keep you any longer.” He winked and said in a low voice, “I’m
sure we will be seeing much more of each other in the future. So…” he
straightened and peered down at him with a smile that made Daichi’s stomach
flip. “Until we meet again?”
He swallowed hard, “Ah… yeah. It was… a pleasure to meet
“Please,” he took a step back, one eyebrow lifting over
brown eyes glinting with mischief. He turned and called over his shoulder, “Call
Daichi choked and coughed into his fist. He pounded his chest and watched with wide eyes as he walked away, a slow, confident
swagger to the sway of his hips that made the collar of Daichi’s shirt feel hot
and itchy. He tore his gaze away and rubbed roughly at his eyes, trying to
scrub away the impure thoughts that had filled his mind.
There was no way he was going to hell for fantasizing about
a man of God.
What a stupid reason to burn in eternal hellfire.
Oikawa would never let him hear the end of it.
He sucked in a deep breath and lowered his hands to his lap.
“Just a few more hours,” he whispered, staring
through the windshield at the apartment building. He lifted the flyer and set
it aside, taking the file and bringing it into his lap once more.
Daichi was under pressure.
And his grandmother always said that pressure creates diamonds.
But he hoped- in his case- that his grandmother was wrong.
Daichi had no desire to be a diamond, coveted and stolen by
It was his job to put those criminals behind bars, after
He flipped the file open and read over the information for what had to be the thirtieth time.
“Two meters tall, a hundred and
eight kilograms, brown hair, blue eyes… alright.”
Ash Yams: “Ash yam is a tough tuberous root vegetable…”
These taste like sweet potatoes, although very grainy and with a tough outer skin that outlanders peel off before eating because it is both tough and bitter. A true Dunmer would never dream of peeling off this skin. They like it.
Very common food, very basic. Generally cooked in a wood-burning oven, the texture is baguette-like and extremely crusty. The flavor itself is bland but palatable. The amount of salt added to the dough depends on the region; water-rich areas tend to eat saltier bread.
Comberry: "The comberry is a bush that produces a bitter berry, best known as the basis of the native comberry brandy, a rough but potent alcoholic beverage of Morrowind…”
Similar in flavor to an unripe mulberry. Except incredibly bitter, like you-just-licked-the-spout-of-a-well-used-Keurig bitter. It sweetens during the fermentation process, however not by much.
Crab Meat: "The mudcrab native to Vvardenfell is prized for its sweet crab meat…”
Because mudcrabs are, at their smallest, the size of a large chihuahua, they usually produce enough meat to feed a modest family of three (elves don’t have many children). Though all mudcrap meat is tough and chewy, the younger the crab the more tender the meat.
Hackle-Lo Leaf: "Hackle-lo leaf is a tasty edible succulent leaf…”
One of the most common vegetables eaten on Vvardenfell. Though its shape and texture are similar to a fat kale leaf, its properties are more similar to a squash. When left uncooked, it has a crispness and flavor like a cucumber. Cooked, it tastes like sauteed zucchini. Its versatility with spice and other foods is why it is preferred over other vegetables.
Hound Meat: "Hound meat is the flesh of the nix-hound. The meat is sweet and tender…”
Most similar to beef. Nix-Hounds are much, MUCH leaner than cows, however, and so the meat they produce has a very low fat content. Maybe that’s why all the Dunmer are so thin? Or maybe they are constantly burning calories by scowling all the time? Nirn may never know.
Kwama Eggs: "Kwama eggs are a rich, nutritious foodstuff…”
Large kwama eggs are the size of ostrich eggs, and small kwama eggs are the size of bigger-than-average-jumbo chicken eggs. Whatever the case they’re bigger than a chicken egg, and if you wanted to scramble them for breakfast you’d just have to crack one open for a heaping plate. The taste is yolky, but the yolk-to-albumen ratio is pretty even. A waxier texture, it squeaks on your teeth when eaten.
Marshmerrow: "The sweet pulp of marshmerrow reeds is a delectable foodstuff…”
Fruity and sweet, it is served both raw and cooked. The taste is honestly kinda like a marshmallow (believe it or not), but with an almost peachy undertone. The raw, watery pulp is eaten with a spoon, but when cooked, it’s eaten with a fork. To use the wrong utensil is a grave social mistake, as is every other action done by outlanders. Like existing.
Rat Meat: "Rat meat is tough and greasy, with an unpleasant odor and taste. Nonetheless, it is cheap, abundant, and nutritious, and palatable when cooked in a stew and masked by strong strong spices.”
Texture is most like pork. Eating rat meat in a stew is like eating the little meatballs in Spaghetti-O’s; you can eat it just fine when you don’t think about it. It has high tryptophan content, so it makes you sleepy, just like eating turkey does.
Saltrice: “Saltrice is another of the tasty and nutritious foodstuffs…”
Though fibrous, it becomes easier to chew the longer you cook it, often by boiling (Dunmer need their colons cleansed, too). Similar in flavor to cabbage, it is eaten both raw and cooked, usually as an additive to stews.
Scrib Jelly: “…Crushed scribs produce a nutritious but sour-tasting gelatin… that the natives eat with gusto.”
This is nothing like sweet pectin fruit jellies. It’s like pork-bone-yellow-nasty-meat-gelatin. But the coagulative properties come from the chitin (pronounced KITE-in) shell of scribs. They don’t have bones. It’s definitely an acquired taste, and it does grow on you with each successive mouthful. The texture is like that of thick refried beans, and the flavor is that of mild buttermilk.
Scrib Jerky: “Scribs cut into strips and dried in the sun are called scrib jerky… tastes scarcely worse when spoiled than when fresh, and are a practical foodstuff for the hardy native traveler.”
Very chewy, very dry. But all around not bad. One of the most versatile foods in terms of flavors, it ranges from sweet to savory. Scrib jerky produced in traditional dry-rub methods is incredibly salty and rather spicy, and is eaten regularly among the ashlanders. In modern cities, the meat is marinated first in a usually sweet sauce, and it produces a more tender jerky, but it doesn’t last as long.
Scuttle: “Scuttle is Vvardenfell’s favorite local dish. This cheese-like, greasy substance made from the flesh of local beetles is remarkably tasty…”
Eaten with a knife and fork, it is generally reserved for those in the upper class, though all but the poorest Dunmer will find a way to eat it at least twice a year on special occasions. A robust dish, it is comparable in texture to paneer. The flavor is spicy, and it tastes like a Masala dish.
Trama Root: "A calming tea with modest magical properties is brewed from the thick, bitter-tasting root of the trama shrub…”
Most similar in taste to Oolong tea. Almost a smokey flavor, but definitely a woody undertone. Perhaps more like an overtone. No one eats the trama root itself, except for confused and inferior outlanders. But the tea is good and is drank throughout the day, especially in the evening.
me, @childhood friends to lovers trope:
It doesn't always have to be like this, yanno? Like, boys and girls can be friends or even best friends for forever and not develop romantic/sexual feelings for the other. A deep meaningful relationship between guys doesn't mean they want to bang. Sometimes, gal pal really are just gal pals. Platonic relationships exist!!
also me, when I see fictional childhood friends:
sign me the FUCK up 👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀👌👀 good shit go౦ԁ sHit👌 thats ✔ some good👌👌shit right👌👌th 👌 ere👌👌👌 right✔there ✔✔if i do ƽaү so my selｆ 💯 i say so 💯 thats what im talking about right there right there (chorus: ʳᶦᵍʰᵗ ᵗʰᵉʳᵉ) mMMMMᎷМ💯 👌👌 👌НO0ОଠＯOOＯOОଠଠOoooᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒᵒ👌 👌👌 👌 💯 👌 👀 👀 👀 👌👌Good shit
half good, half chaotic. usually very chill. has quality fanfictions and fanarts. but people get salty over rarepairs and it's a disaster sometimes. straight ships are the main target of hate. kurotsuki and ushioi are the most controversial ships in the fandom.
yuri on ice:
80% chaotic. 20% good. the good ones are usually watches the anime and doesn't get too attached to it. that 80% are hella possessive towards their ships. any hate will result in getting unfriended, blocked, reported and foever banish from the internet. good fanart tho. if you have a straight ship in the show better get prepared cause people will hate you for the rest of your damn life even if you're not in the fandom.
a neutral fandom. fans usually gush over aomine and akashi. good fanart. not really active compared to the above two.
good fanbase, but seriously underrated.
where even are the fans.
neutral fanbase. makoharu vs rinharu war ongoing. very cute fanart. where are they.
once very chaotic, now half-dead. easily forgotten by 2000s kids. very nice and chill fandom. lovely fanart and fanfictions. very few ship wars. as a 2000s kid in this fandom, it gave me social anixety and i'm lonely as hell cause no one talks about the anime with me.
noooooooooooo @ Oliver wanting something indescribably filthy and Connor wanting them to make love with eye contact and praise I CAN'T TAKE ANY MORE OF THESE NERDS MAKING ME FEEL THINGS... but also I wonder what Connor thought that Oliver saw/believes his biggest kink to be, because I think if he knew that Oliver saw them making love he would've been really embarrassed and also he doesn't have the greatest self-awareness anyway
(okay. this is going to be a semi continuation of this but i don’t think oliver told connor what he saw)
His soulmate was lying to him.
Connor watched the play of Oliver’s face as the other man rambled on about having a vision that involved whipped cream and knew–in his heart of hearts–that the man was lying to him.
Now, Connor wasn’t really sure how he was supposed to feel about that. I mean, yeah they were soulmates and everything but they were also strangers. Complete strangers.
Media had lied to him for years–for probably his whole life–about just how awkward soulmate meetings were. Rom-coms made the whole exchange seem cute and fun and breezy but the reality was nothing like that. It wasn’t fun to barely exchange first names before having a vision so dirty it made Connor feel like he needed to go to church. Hell, he and Oliver had been making semi-decent headway until their hands had touched. Now, Oliver could barely seem to string two sentences together.
“You know what?” Connor said, gently interrupting Oliver’s lie. If his soulmate didn’t want to tell him or was too embarrassed or too shocked or whatever, Connor wasn’t going to make him. “Why don’t we take a step back?”
Oliver swallowed. “A step back?”
“Yeah.” Connor curled his lips into what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Let’s just get to know each other a little bit. I mean, I don’t even know your last name.”
Oliver hesitated. “You really don’t want know?”
I don’t want you to be uncomfortable, Connor thinks. But instead he simply says, “You can tell me later.”
His soulmate considers before nodding. “Okay.” Then, “It’s Hampton. Oliver Hampton.”
“Nice to meet you, Oliver Hampton.” When Oliver only raised an eyebrow, Connor was quick to add. “Walsh. Mine’s Walsh.”
“Connor Walsh.” Oliver smiled. “That’s got a nice ring to it.”
“I certainly think so.”
Talk of soulmates and kinks and visions forgotten for the moment, the conversation between them started to flow again and, once again, Connor was back on the best first date of his life.
Could you maybe do a drabble where Roy & Kori show up and give Artemis & Bizarro a 'How to Care For Your Red Hood' list of instructions? I'm pretty sure rule #1 on the list is 'When in doubt, call Alfred at ###-###-####.'. I can just see Kori, completely seriously, telling Arty Jay prefers stuffed bunnies to teddy bears for sleeping, or something equally embarrassing, lol!
Do I even remember how to drabble? Let’s see.
Jason took one look at his couch and shook his head. “No.”
Artemis and Kory looked up from the list Kory held in her hands. Artemis smirked at him.
Kory smiled. “Jason, it’s good to see you. I was just taking Artemis through the list.”
“I hate the list,” Jason replied wearily. “You know I hate the list.”
“It’s necessary.” Kory cleared her throat and pointed to the next item. “Eight hours of sleep a night is ideal. Too little and he becomes injury-prone. Too much makes him cranky.”
Her smile widened. “Hush, Jason.”
The front door slammed and Roy and Bizarro came into the living room.
“Jaybird!” Roy flung an arm over his shoulders, exchanging grins with Bizarro. “This guy is so handy! We just upgraded your security system.”
Jason opened his mouth, but was distracted by Kory pulling a teddy bear out from behind her with a flourish.
“And this is Teddy.” She held it out to Artemis. “He is Jason’s most prized possession. He won’t blow up a safe house if Teddy is present.”
“I’ve never seen that thing before in my life.” Jason scowled. “You’re lying.”
“It’s a cute bear,” Artemis told him, lips twitching.
Jason took a deep breath.
“Can share shelf with Pup Pup,” Bizarro added.
“Nope.” Jason shook his head and turned to leave. “I’m done with all of you.”