Raytheon protests at Cambridge, Mass, March 21 2022
Even if you can’t attend a protest there are other ways to support/participate, including helping arrested protestors deal with the police through the phone and social media. Public pressure seems to have helped here.
[ID: a digital drawing of Jester from critical role, from the knees up. She’s standing with her feet apart, hands on her hips, looking at the viewer with a big, open, slightly mischievous smile. She’s wearing a pink top, dark blue shorts and a darker pink skirt, or fabric, attached to the back of her shorts, flowing in the wind. /end ID]
after the con and now watching some art videos on youtube i just Really Really wanted to draw again, i missed it so much, so here’s a fairly quick cute jester!
It was nearing dawn and the pull of daylight had made Izaya drowsy. He forced heavy eyes open to gaze up at Shiki nonetheless. “Am I?” He murmured.
“It’s a bit uncanny. When you’re awake, you still look and feel human. When you fall asleep, all that warmth and life seems to leave you.”
“Does it bother you?” Izaya asked, wondering why Shiki had brought it up.
“Not really. It’s just interesting.” Shiki replied, idly running a hand through Izaya’s hair. “When you sleep, you could very much be mistaken for a corpse.”
“You’re so good at the sweet talk,” Izaya responded with a snort.
“If someone were to find you like this, you could end up in a morgue,” Shiki continued with a hint of a smirk playing at his lips.
“Yes, thanks for the reminder. This is why I wanted extra security.”
“And here I thought it was just so you could have dinner delivered to you.”
“That too,” Izaya admitted with a snicker.
“Stop eating my people, brat,” Shiki replied, giving his hair a tug.
“But it takes so much time to go hunting…” Izaya whined in response. “And I don’t hurt them.”
“They won’t make good bodyguards for you if they’re fainting from blood loss.”
“I don’t take that much,” Izaya defended with a huff and Shiki chuckled. “What would you do if someone managed to break in?”
“While you were asleep?” Shiki snorted. “Come rescue your undead ass, of course.” Izaya made a noise that might have been a pleased purr. “Can’t afford to have my best informant killed in his sleep.”
“Is that all?” Izaya retorted huffily.
“Especially now that he has access to even more information.”
“So mean.”
“Oh? That isn’t what you wanted to hear?”
“Haruya…” Izaya whined though it was growing harder to keep his eyes open.
“Go to sleep, Izaya,” Shiki responded and Izaya let his eyes flutter closed as the sun crested the horizon. In the darkness of his bedroom, wrapped in the warmth of Shiki’s arms - warmth he couldn’t feel - he died at dawn. Shiki placed a kiss on his cold forehead. “I will always come for you…” He murmured into Izaya’s hair.
…running errands, probably. Arana is a skilled gardener and spends a lot of time at the communal garden and orchard, so I imagine that’s where they’re returning from…
“This is my friend, Clavicus Vile,” Boethiah said to Trinimac, waving at the horned child.
“Ah,” began Trinimac, his metallic voice resonating from under his helmet. “A companion of Boethiah. A charming fellow, I’m sure.”
“Charming is my middle name,” said Vile, winking and offering his hand. Trinimac tentatively takes it, his massive gauntleted hand dwarfing Vile’s. He was accompanied by a hairy, gangly dog, who stood loyally by his side, his tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. “I’ve heard all about you, Trinimac.”
“Is that so?” Trinimac took back his hand and examined his reflection in it, checking for smudges.
“Yes, you’re quite popular around these parts! Well, maybe ‘popular’ is too strong. People definitely talk about you! Isn’t that right, Barbas?”
The dog looked up at Trinimac and barked once.
“How quaint. You’ve trained him to speak.” Trinimac reached down and gave Barbas a solid pat on the head. “What exactly is it people say about me?”
“Ask Barbas!” Clavicus exclaimed, wrapping his arm around his canine companion. “He’ll tell you all about it.”
“Beasts can’t speak, Clavicus Vile. Not like we can.”
“Wanna bet?” Vile and Boethiah shared a glance. “I bet you that shiny helmet of yours that Barbas can tell you allllll about your reputation here.”
“Ridiculous,” Trinimac said, shaking his head. But he turned to look at Boethiah, whose face was suddenly serious. “…Fine,” he said. “But your beast can’t speak, nothing on four legs can-”
“You don’t have to walk on four legs to be a dog, noble Trinimac,” said Barbas, his voice clear as day. “You’d be vicious if it weren’t that you’re just obeying your master’s orders. It would be sad if it weren’t so foul.”
Trinimac froze, his mouth agape under his helmet. He looked at Boethiah out of the corner of his eyes; he was covering his face to hide laughter.
But honest Trinimac fulfilled his side of the deal, and slowly removed his helmet, his long silver hair pouring out like a waterfall from underneath. Boethiah watched as he did so, and fire lit under Boethiah’s cheeks as he witnessed Trinimac’s true visage. “You’re the foul one, Vile.” He dropped the helmet at Clavicus’s feet, and walked away.
