#for my time and sanity

[etchbee]

here's a short pennywaynes drabble i wrote instead of dedicating the next three months to a 90k slowburn like i want to....

~~~

“You’re attracted to him,” Martha said, sprawled out on top of the too-large, plush armchair. Her tone was careful, and controlled- tipsy enough to be loose lipped but sober enough to be calculated about it.

Thomas’s head jerked up. He stared at her with the wide, terrified eyes of a cornered animal, and his glass hung loosely in his hand. For a long moment, the only sound was the soft crackling of the fireplace beside them. 

“I… Martha,” Thomas breathed finally, the light dancing on his face. 

“Come now, Thomas,” she murmured, raising an eyebrow. “You think I don’t see how you look at him?” 

“Martha, please,” Thomas said quickly, unsteadily. “You don’t understand-” 

“I do understand,” Martha said, almost to herself, as she turned back towards the fire. “You want him.” 

The room fell into silence once more. Thomas swallowed around his thick, heavy tongue, confronted unavoidably with his indiscretions. He’d known this day would come, deep in his gut. “I… do,” he finally admitted. How could he not? This was Martha, a sharp, beautiful, dangerous creature and beyond the fact that no one could lie to her, he would not. 

Martha let out a quiet breath. She watched the flames dance and flicker, eating up the wood with a ravenous hunger. Thomas leaned forwards, mourning the loss of any small insight into her mind. “Did you,” she whispered, “even want to marry me?” 

And the world seemed to drop out beneath Thomas’s feet, as he stared, horrified, at his wife, small and unsure of herself for the very first time. 

“Yes,” he gasped out immediately, as if it had been wrenched from his chest. “Martha, darling, of course-” He moved without thinking, falling off his chair and stumbling to hers, kneeling before her. He reached out, grasping at her hand and clutching it tightly between his own. “I love you,” he swore. “I love you!” 

“But you want him,” Martha said quietly, not an argument but a statement of fact. “I- I-” Thomas choked out, and he would not lie- “I am promised to you,” he settled on finally. “That vow means more to me than anything. Darling, you must believe that.” 

“And that vow is what?” she whispered bitterly. “An assuage on the expectations of your family? The rules of society? If you had your choice-” 

“I would pick you, again and again!” Thomas insisted desperately. “Martha, darling, I-” He screwed his eyes shut. Then, he began to speak, rapid and frantic, as if hacking away at some unseen force. “I have been aware of my perversion my entire life- of course I have- my Father, suspected, perhaps, but I was controlled, never gave him any cause to- I went to college, threw myself into my studies with the intention of dedicating my life to it. There was never any plan to love or- or god forbid, wed- of course not, how could I subject any poor girl to me or any poor man to- but god, Martha,” he said, finally opening his eyes. They were earnest, and burning. “Martha, how could there be any accounting for you?” he breathed. 

Martha’s lips parted softly as she stared down at him in shock. 

He dropped his head, kissing her fingers. “I cannot control it,” he confessed wretchedly. “I cannot remove it. You may hate me, and I would not blame you- you may scream and yell and toss me out but please, my love,” and his voice cracked, “do not let my failures diminish you. Do not let my brokenness make you feel there is something broken in you.” 

Thomas stayed there, holding his lips to her skin as he trembled, a man waiting for retribution. It could’ve been hours, years that he was there on his knees, his mind spiraling and his body shaking as he thought about everything he’d destroyed, the beautiful things he’d crushed in his hand for daring to reach out and hold them and then-

A soft hand dropped onto his head, and carded gently through his hair.

“...There is nothing broken in you,” she murmured softly. “Thomas, how could I forsake you for believing men are worth loving when I myself love a man?”

“It is against God,” Thomas choked out angrily.

Martha’s fingers tightened in his hair, and she pulled his face up, forcing him to meet her eye. “And whose word do you value more?” she said, a quiet steel returned to his tone. “His or mine?” 

Thomas’s mouth worked uselessly for a moment. He let out a hoarse, broken sound before he reached for her hand again. He pressed it to his mouth, this time keeping his gaze fixed firmly on her. He looked devout. He looked starving. He looked like a man at worship, and Martha’s eyes glimmered with approval.  

“I will admit, he sparks my interest as well,” she confessed quietly.

Thomas stayed silent, although his demeanor shifted, sharpening slightly as he waited for her next words. 

Martha chewed on her bottom lip for a moment. “That's happened only once before, by my estimations.” 

Thomas let out a low, shaky exhale, and he kissed her hand again. “My love, I adore you,” he breathed. “Please, help me understand. What do you want- what are you asking for?

Martha hummed softly, her eyes glittering in the way they always did when she was thinking. “Let us, perhaps, briefly entertain an image of unconventionalism,” she offered, carefully neutral. “If an opportunity presented itself to expand the boundaries of what is yours and what is mine,” she said. “Would you be interested?” 

“My first priority is to your happiness,” Thomas responded delicately. She tugged at his hair in reprimand.

“Would you be interested,” she repeated, narrowing her eyes. Thomas swallowed roughly. Inside him was a war, yanking emotions tossing him left and right- to even consider the idea was disgraceful, disgusting, a good man would laugh and scoff and go to bed beside his wife without ever once feeling like the bed was too large- 

Thomas, far from the first time, acknowledged to himself that he was not a good man. 

He nodded. 

Martha hummed thoughtfully, and her grip softened again. “Alright,” she said. “Alright. Something to think about, perhaps.” 

Thomas rose from his position on the floor and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips. “You never have to do anything you don’t want,” he promised her. 

Martha smiled, mirth sparking in her eyes. “Darling,” she said, “I know.” 

She kissed him back. 

[strategypillar]

Some random pieces I made over the last few months :]

[uhhh-ghouls007]

Knee deep in the passenger seat. Or whatever happened in this scene

[mihtya]

I've made the guy

[neetols]

If one day, I lose control…destroy Mondstadt...destroy everything Can I rely on you to stop me?

[blobbei-art]

More amalgamation doodles 🪶 I think it has a variable amount of limbs.

[suntails]

let me out

[kaiserouo]

okay i admit i like that plush a little bit

[all-my-ocs-are-evil]

This is entirely self indulgent and I haven't even gotten to the indulging part yet.

[keferon]

I. AHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH. I’m okay I’m fine I’m okay I’m fine I’m oka

The fic I'm illustrating and losing my mind about 👉 Mistakes on mistakes until

[curiositeath]

consumed by thoughts of eliot spencer, small farm owner, minding his own business—both his actual modest bi-weekly market stall and keeping to himself—when a wild storm rolls in outta nowhere, careening his whole plan to peacefully live out his days alone buckass sideways when he discovers the 20 pounds of crazy in a 5 pound bag blonde sheltering in his barn—specifically the rafters, literally hanging from them like a god damn bat, the hell—at 2 in the freaking morning.

naturally, chaos and shenanigans ensue. all of which somehow leads to eliot saddled with parker, the thief-cum-farmhand he did not want or hire, who will not leave because his barn's loft and rooftop are so much more fun than a warehouse, and I love love love warehouses, don't you?! who insists on riding on the roof of his tractor, poking every bruise he gets—some that come from her poking—and keeps attempting to "be his alarm clock" (somehow sneaking into his bedroom to sit cross-legged on his bed crunching dry cereal).

when the next storm barrels through and brings another stray—a tech geek whiz kid with a smart car that ain't so smart after going 3 rounds with freak weather—at least it's to his doorstep this time, so eliot's slightly more prepared for handling a stranger in his space. progress.

what he's not prepared for, of course, is falling in love with them both.

update: nvm I had more thoughts y’all can read part 2 here and find the masterpost here

[rjshope]

i gasped

[zazrichor]

the witch and the bard 🌹

[jazzically]

okay but imagine you are a researcher at the magnus institute looking through the archives for a paper you're writing and one of the statements you're using as a source happens to be on tape so you put it into the tape recorder and this absolute THEATRE KID of a millenial starts girlbossing his way through a spooky story about a soldier being slowly hypnotized by a supernatural mythical representative of war and at the end he abruptly switches off his dramatic voice and returns to "snobby scholar" disses the account entirely and throws in a random but clearly gay snide remark about one of his coworkers for good measure and the tape clicks off after a dun-dun-DUN and at the end of it all youre just sat there completely baffled at this chad of an academic who is apparently so annoyed at the disorganization of his new position that he must mention it seven times per sentence (along with the side comments about that other case with the guy who was haunted by an immortal spider and ended up wrapped in spiderweb post-death TOTALLY COINCIDENTALLY) like "well i can sure use this in my research because it has lots of useful verified information in it and definitely does not exist just so a man can spout his poorly disguised homoerotic yearning out loud into an outdated device full of lo-fi charm"

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

With the end of season two comes a second redraw!

[Nov 2022] [June 2023] [June 2024]

[muzsmocsing]

Reading svsss really puts into perspective just how MIRACULOUSLY normal Hua Cheng turned out despite his arguably worse circumstances.