#TY FOR SENDING THIS IN!!

[noodle8]

If your still doing requests what about dane from fo1... (He doesn't have a design sadly but I'm curious what you would make!)

here u go!! I will probably do a more detailed + full colored ver when I'm less busy :)

[umbrakudo]

@fightingthetides asked:❔ ((OOC: if it isn't too late for me to send in? I believe you followed for my Sesshomaru (Fangsofdestruction) sideblog, but if you were also interested in any of my muses on this blog, I figured this meme would be a good way to break that ice))

MULTIMUSE ASK MEME - send ❔ and i’ll list a couple muses that i’d like to throw at yours!

-ciel

-shinichi

-conan

-hanako

-inuyasha

-howl

-gohan

-ranma

-yuugi

[gyuswhore]

just got the chance to finally read cherry picker, and can i say, you've dropped another banger and i absolutely cannot wait for pt 2!! so so excited for whenever its coming out!!

EEEEEEEE THANK YOU ANON!!!!!!!!!!! pt 2 is underway and will be gracing ur screens as soon as uni and life will allow me 🥹

[remyfire]

🌹!

Random WIP Sentence OUGH I forgot I had an old Hawk and Mulcahy fic in the pipe months ago, you're in luck! I'm giving you a large chunk because I forgot this damn thing even existed, holy hell

Hawkeye told Mulcahy what he's not going to do. He knows the rules, the boundaries. But that doesn't mean he can't stoop down on wobbly legs and lift his chin. "I can't see. Get it for me, will you?"

"I-I don't know if..." But even as the man murmurs, he's lifting his hand, his thumb. He collects the droplet, wipes away the path it left behind, and Hawk burns with the desire to suck the digit straight into his mouth. As though Mulcahy can read his mind, he hovers with his thumb extended.

Distantly Hawk can remember as a child seeing the remnants of rituals in Crabapple Cove, the procession of a few faithful Catholics through the street with dark plus-signs on their head. He can recall looking up at his father, asking why, hearing a light description of the act of burning palm leaves into ash, the penitence of allowing one's forehead to be marked by the symbol of a cross. Even then, Hawk had asked a million questions, and even then, his father had answered them all dutifully to the best of his knowledge.

He wonders for a moment if Mulcahy wishes he were penitent tonight. If he'll be praying for Hawk's filthy soul. And just as quickly, he discards it. No. If Mulcahy thought there was a dirty thing about Hawk, then Hawkeye would be far less inclined to want to worship him until the sun rose.

Impulsive, Hawk catches him around the wrist and so gently guides his hand back toward Mulcahy. There's a pause, just a moment of consideration, before Hawk brings it to Mulcahy's lips, watches with a low groan as the man opens his mouth instantly. It's fascinating, watching how Mulcahy's lashes flutter for just a moment as he cleans the beer off his own skin with a slick, pink tongue.

What Hawk wouldn't give to feel Mulcahy's body break for him, to let him spill into his own mouth.

[incantat1ons]

days like these always feel ODD to you. the 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐬 as there are no MISSIONS assigned or RESPONSIBILITES to be enacted. you are left to own devices and without an inane sense of PURPOSE, you feel weightless. and not in the way something 𝐟𝐥𝐨𝐚𝐭𝐬, effortlessly and gentle in breeze, but instead, the way a fly goes about ━ meaningless and droll with no goal in sight. being a student is something you are both 𝐆𝐎𝐎𝐃 & 𝐁𝐀𝐃 at. given tasks are completed with diligence and grace while menial time leaves you stuck between autopilot and restlessness. ( 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 . . . 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚘 𝚍𝚘 . . . ) you roam aimlessly around the school's campus till GYMNASIUM is in view. languidly, a seat is taken on bleachers, a huff of exasperated air follows, making dark bang flutter atop forehead. space is DESOLATE. utterly quiet and you wonder idly if 𝐛𝐨𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐨𝐦 follows you like a SHADOW for other students do not seem to be without company.

a metallic slam. a squeak of sneaker against waxed floors. the noises belong to familiar face. how strange is it to see HIM without posse ? it makes you sit up straighter, eyes darting from side to side just ANTICPATING the arrival of one boisterous personality and another scented in tobacco. though, this does not occur and instead, you are being SPOKEN to. swallowing thickly, eyes blinking as mind attempts to register the combination of words being presented, you can't quite decipher if the ever so gifted 𝐆𝐄𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐑𝐔 has an 𝐮𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 at bay. was the REAL prank crafted for you ?

❛ if you're trying to pull a 𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐎𝐍𝐄 on me, i won't FALL for it ! ❜

@drippingheart has left a message ! ❛ Interested on pulling a prank on Satoru, Iori-senpai? ❜ Despite his apprehensions putting forth such a question, an optimistic smile remained on Suguru's lips .

[corrieguards]

Hey Ezzie✨

Whenever I see you on my dash the first character coming to my mind is actually Fox and not Rex. Maybe because of ur name but also, even though I haven’t interacted with you a lot I think you are kinda a perceptive person, good at reading people and understanding them. That’s like kinda my first impression, which is also the same reason, why i am a lil intimidated thx to my anxiety lol. Anyway i am projecting the same things on Fox so yeah that’s the reason why I associate you with him🧡 why did this become so long, sry🪦

Aww this is so sweet tysm!!🥹🩷 I do like to think I'm good at reading people (although whether that's actually true or not is debatable)

I enjoy studying characters and picking them apart to really get into the nitty-gritty of what makes them them. Their motivations, their struggles...

Especially with the clones because they are all so wildly different and unique. I love playing around with these differences and trying to really capture them in my fics <3

[allyphase]

∗ 72﹕ sender  beats  receiver  in  a  video  game (reverse) / miss mark it'd be an honor to get my ass beat in a game of chess

Well, not all of her opponents can be grandmasters.

Mark had been more than thrilled when Dorothea had asked her for a game of chess, but it'd become clear near immediately that one of the players on the board wildly outclassed the other. It was nothing to be ashamed of, not many could match Mark at chess, but she finds herself planning three moves ahead, just so the game lasted longer than a few turns.

It's not like the main attraction is the chessboard, anyway. Mark is more excited for Dorothea's company, busy as they both are. Truthfully, it's a nice break from burying herself in books on strategy, and practicing her upcoming exam with endless hypothetical examples. It's nice, for a moment, to feel like a person, more than a tactician.

"Ah..." And she's moved her knight forward enough to pin Dorothea's king against her own pieces. "Um, do you want to play again...? I can try to help... show you what you- didn't see, last time...!"

[hischiersjohnston]

touch for the wip game :)

i'm kinda cheating a little because technically i know it's touch, but the word i found in my wip is 'touched'. this is from the next fic in my restaurant au series and yes, it's yamo x dumo <3

[cursedlegacies]

🐮? - @hphmmatthewluther

send me a 🐮 and I'll make a moodboard

[noodle8]

HII i been loving ur art for a while now and i was wondering if u are on any other platforms or ur strictly on tumblr also have a awesome day/night ^^

Hello!! Thank you for the ask and the kind words :D

Unfortunately I really only use tumblr to post art as I'm unfamiliar with how to use twitter and I really only use instagram for university stuff :(

Maybe someday I'll branch out a bit, but for now it's really just this and a handful of discord servers :)

[tethered-heartstrings]

[realitybled]

@timewound : man is a questioning creature.

on instinct,  ethan feels like he can’t trust her.   then again his instincts are telling him he can’t trust anyone these days.   inflicted with strange magic threatening to turn you into something else and being cast out of your home will do that to a person.   she seems to know more than she lets on,  an ancient and distant look on her young face.   he wonders where she’s come from,  and what more to her there is based on that cryptic statement she just gave.   he places his plate to the side  (he’s not hungry, he never is)  and leans back,  propped up on his elbows.   ❝   well, yeah, i kind of need answers. if i don’t figure out what’s up with this,   ❞   he gestures loosely to his side,  the black mold crawling along his skin concealed by clothing,   ❝   then i’ll be dead before long.   ❞

[shrimparts-blog888]

This meme but Darling/Apple coded. 👑🗡

BUAHAHAHAHA I LOVE THISSSS 😭✨

[serpercival]

mash + text posts (5)

[nyancrimew]

So people once were calling me a terf, persecuting me just because I held some different opinion. After taking a break from social media, I've did some thinking, and I've came to accept this label as a part of who I am. I identify, inside and out, within the fibers if my soul, as a terf, and anyone who objects to this is being criticalphobic. After a while though, being so enshrined with terfness started exposing to me the many issues and hypocrisies terfs have, which I started rejecting. I just remembered I left my pizza in the oven, its burning uh

Eventually I realized that by rejecting trans people from society, I was arbitrarily drawing a line between what a person participating in society could be, completely discounting all the possible ways our biology I've so long revered could betray the labels our ancestors placed on ourselves. I stopped excluding trans people and started exclusively rejecting normal feminists, making me a ferf, until I walked outside and accidently talked to a guy and found they were normal. With no one familiar to belong to, I gave in and joined feminists and became a rfet.

Anyways do you want to hear about the time I almost drowned in a public water fountain

and the oscar for "best supporting anonymous bait" goes to....... whatever the fuck this is

[inkskinned]

the car broke down by the denny's where you used to work and therefore could never return to. i am trying to pick out the satisfying parts of my life, one-by-one, like i am 12 and in a frog dissection. everything in my life all viscera and formaldehyde. if i can sort the good things from the bad things, i will have a nice clean pile.

i call you and make it sound like i am happy and hangin' in there! when really i am kicking a rock and i am outside without a jacket and i am so in love with you it makes the little bones in my ear shake. someone called my tinnitus an angel choir. i like that it means i carry the echo of every concert.

this isn't the right setting for love. this is a roadside, and a denny's, and i am nauseous and ashamed i never escaped the town where i grew up. the clouds here are this strange yellow, like spilled sour milk. "someone once told me that the orange coating on the teeth of a beaver is due to the particularly high rate of iron in their enamel," i tell you. "the beaver is the largest rodent native to north america."

your voice is crackly on the other end. i'm going into a garage soon, i might lose you.

what i should be doing is calling the tow truck and explaining that my brother's car (that i'm borrowing) (that i broke now, i guess) needs to be lifted by another, bigger, stronger car (which is love too, i guess).

i shouldn't say so much. i should wait, and let you ask about my mom, and ask if i ever got over that cold, or how it's going at work. i should let you lead the conversation, for once, so the love doesn't leak out of me into the gravel. i open my mouth anyway. "if you had to choose between being a beaver with very few trees or being a tree around a bunch of beavers, which would it be?"

i don't know. your voice always has this warm cast to it when you talk to me, but maybe i am just imagining that - i am a poet, though, so i imagine things sort of chronically. through the static, you sound like you're laughing. are you the beaver?

i know, like, logically, not to fall in love with a girl-that-is-your-best-friend. like, who would i even call if we broke up? you're my best friend, you're the person i'd want to speak to. so what if these last few months we keep sleeping over at each other's houses, calling each other for hours, sending each other poems. so what if you keep wrapping your fingers into mine. no best friends. that is the first rule. what you are supposed to do in that situation is leave the situation.

but my car broke down, so. where exactly am i going to go? the car is a very-old chevvy and also where i almost-but-not-quite kissed you after you'd raised one shoulder and looked up at me and said i don't know, i think i'm straight, but for the right person - i'd try anything. the music had been good and it had been raining and your thick eyelashes had made me feel god crawling up my throat like a spider. and i didn't kiss you, because i am a coward.

anyway on the chevy the whole exhaust pipe fell out, and is now scraping on the ground like one silver finger stroking the back of the highway. recently we were watching netflix in my bed and you pushed my hair back from my face like you were making the slowest, most desperate prayer, and then your boyfriend called. i remember us both jumping. i couldn't look at you in the eyes for like a week after. i kept feeling the heat of your fingerprint; computer science, you'd unlocked something dark in me.

google says the closest tow (joe's pick up) is 50 minutes away and also closed permanently. so that's not great. you live in another state and i should be calling my insurance company. i should be calling anybody else. this is not helping. i need an uber. i need to get moving. instead i say: "i need three words for a poem."

yesterday i said love you, goodnight after our 2 hour call like always and then you just, like. paused. all i could hear was your breathing. and then you'd said what a pretty three-word poem. i love you too, sweet thing. the words made my tinnitus act up again, and i must have some kind of synesthesia, because the sound travelled into my mind until it became the shape wedding rings.

orange, you say. the static is now chewing through most of your words and i only catch - borrowing the chevy -

the call dies. i have 12% battery. i never get the 3rd word, but i know you're still going to get a poem from me. actually this rest stop is kind of pretty, and so is the exhaust pipe, and so is joe's pick up, and so are the clouds. the light here is the color of a glue trap. before you worked at the denny's, we used to get milkshakes every wednesday and called it a friend date. you said you'd wanted to work there because it reminded you of me.

the sign's gone dim. the letters now spell out deny. and isn't that something.