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shadow genderfluidity cookie or whatever. walks away

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lollol

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Futile

( click the photo for better quality)

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i can explain (no i can't)

anyways tagging @dourgeek @lavenderanxiety @whoeverthefuckelsewantstoplay

Picrew chain! Make yourself with this picrew and the most recent meme on your phone

Tags: @dracosleftarsecheek @yourlocalbadgerscales @forensic-b1tch-aiden @names-confuse-me @agathokakolog1cal @yourlocalxiaosimp and open tags! <33 have fun

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Happy Easter

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it was just a webcomic from 2009. why did this happen to me

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misc

butter roll and prune juice Individually after cut

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Thing

Wanted to try making an animatic and use CapCut for the first time dhdhdh

(Audio: Khonjin House Ep. 2: Game Show on yt

Pure Vanilla's Wet Tingles belongs to Cranberry_Maximum on Reddit)

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hello and welcome to me having cookie run brainrot

i was up until 4:30 am on this piece cause i procrastinated and it was for an event LMFAO

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haha get bit you stupid dog

ngl i like it monochrome

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Sp00ky Here! 📌

LITTLE INTRODUCTION: 16 don’t be weird!

I would consider myself a artist/writer, I do editing as well but only because I do YouTube videos! New video every month, I would appreciate if you checked them out! I do videos on things the general public considers cringy :3 more specifically fandom cringe

I’ll just be drawing/posting whatever, just fan fun, for now Marble hornets! and perhaps my Oc’s? ((Yes.. you have to like them))

Best way to support me is checking out my carrd, AKA MY C0MMISSI0NS >:) I SWEAR THEY’RE NOT PRIC3Y

(Also subscribing to my YT cough cough)

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☆dreamtale animatic | i'll meet judgement by the hounds.

☆happy 1 year anniversary to my dreamtale au / rewrite, The Apuldor Psalter! though i haven't been able to create as much as i'd hoped this past year - life got in the way, as it always does - i am eternally grateful for all of your attention, encouragement, and support :)

☆after So many months of work, here's the Big Project i've been alluding to since september. i had so much fun trying my hand at something animated - this is my first time doing anything of the sort - and experimenting with mixed media and photobashing, my art has definitely evolved a lot because of this process ehe

☆thank you ever so much to the Official Co-Owners (tm) of this AU, @xyriscomplanata and @hackrusty, who don't do much art- or writing-wise but provide company and moral support and listen to me be Insane. i love you both so so much, none of this would be exist without you!! and thank you, my friends and mutuals and followers, for supporting me every step of the way. it has been a joy creating for you <3

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here’s the closeted furries “hey man… can u bum me a cig” and “the one uncle nobody invites to the family reunion but SOMEONE keeps telling him where it is anyways”

if you want an idea of what john is like, imagine hau from pokemon sumo

ALSO the ppl who kept asking me for trans thomas art, HERE he’s trans in this au (; 

ft John:

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" And they knew Buttercream is a wyvern??" Finally, I got this comic done! o(≧∀≦)o Sorry to anyone who wanted something more romantic between Royal Margerine and Y/N; I just really wanted to draw RM being pathetic-

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IS THIS FUNNY? CHAT AM I FUNNY?

don't answer that

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"So you crossed half the continent just to not do the work we've hired you to do?"

"Woah woah woah there," the assassin holds out a gloved hand waving the squire down. "I'm not hired yet."

This much is true. They'd crossed mountains and plains to get to the kingdom, but honestly, they'd also pissed off a loooot of people where they'd come from, so a change of scenery is more than welcome, even if it is sounding like it's going to be temporary.

The squire, a young looking man with dark hair that sweeps over thick brows, huffs and goes to stomp a foot, then seems to realize that that's quite a childish thing to do and instead crosses his arms over his chest. "You were called here by my sir knight, so you should-"

"I came here of my own free will," the assassin reminds the squire. "Your letter was preeeeetty vague, so I agreed to come scope it out before signing a contract."

In fact, the assassin hadn't even signed their name at the end of their own response letter. They've been scammed before and aren't terribly keen to have it happen again.

The squire looks even more annoyed, if that's even possible.

"It should be your duty as a citizen t-" "Hey, woah, okay. First of all, I don't live here. I've got nothing to do with this. Second of all, EH." The assassin makes an exaggerated shrugging gesture. "My political beliefs are more along the lines of 'pay me to not pay attention' and I just kill people on the side. I'm very easily swayed one way or the other, and I'm not gonna lie to you, she seems like she has a lot more money than you or your knight do."

They know they're just toying with the squire now, but his face just keeps getting redder and the assassin's glee only grows. They're digging themself a grave and it's never been more entertaining to pick up a shovel.

"The- I- Well- Hmph!" The squire looks around desperately, shifting on the spot and trying to find something scathing to say. "The queen wouldn't be interested in you anyways!"

At that, the assassin shrugs again, gloved hands lifting level with their cocked head. "Maybe not, but I'm young, I'm dumb, and she looks like she knows her way around a dungeon, if y'know what I mean."

They give the squire a dramatic and suggestive waggle of their eyebrows, which draws an outraged half-shout from him, but their mind is elsewhere.

The long, dark hallway of the throne room, where the queen had sat, a stunning centerpiece draped in lascivious reds and purples. The nobles that had come and go, all looking dull and frightened next to her unrelenting aura of strength and power. The flick of a spiked silver gauntlet, glittering in the torch light. The shine of those same torches across exposed cleavage.

What really takes up space in the assassins head, though, is the moment--the singular, heart-stopping moment--when the queen had looked directly at them. Calculating dark eyes had sought their own in the shadows of the rafters, and when they had met, one finger drew itself inward in a gestured command the assassin still intends to obey.

Come to me.

The assassin is shaken out of their reverie by the squire snapping his fingers far too close to their face. Their hand instinctively twitches towards their quiver for a moment, then stills.

"Will you still accept the contract?"

Oh. Is he still on that?

The assassin sighs, then props a hand up on their hip. "How about this, I'll go meet the queen and make sure she doesn't have a better offer for me, and then maybe we can talk. Sound good?"

The squire seems to realize right then and there what the assassin's been trying to tell him the entire time, and his hand drops to his sword.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that."

"Shame. For you, that is," the assassin cracks a smile, gapped teeth bright in the dying light of evening, "I don't take orders from people who haven't paid me."

The squire doesn't even have time to fully draw his sword before the assassin's thrown themself over the side of the bridge, landing a little less than gracefully in the river below.

However, for all their mishaps, for all of the excitement of the day, for how heavy their sopping wet clothes are, they return to the castle. And when they collapse to their knees; when the queen sits forward to appraise them; when the cool finger of her gauntlet curls under their chin to guide their wide, willing eyes to meet her own sly, approving ones; they don't think they could imagine a better outcome for this venture.

"Let me put this in a way you'll understand: you may have summoned me, but the evil queen is like really hot, and my moral compass is very hormonal."

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well, i suppose i could...

When the invitation comes, years later, it's nothing less than a work of art, as the baker had supposed it would be. She's pleasantly surprised that the prince remembers her at all, but if nothing else made an impression on him, it seems her tarts sure did.

The off white parchment comes out of the envelope easily, and the card itself is lavishly decorated with gold leaf and floral motifs that bring a smile to the baker's worn face. A gesture to her baking assistant, who in a moment wears a matching smile and blows thick coils of hair out of her eyes to better see the invitation, and soon both women are making plans to not only attend a royal wedding, but cater for it.

Weeks pass, though not without their hurdles, and when it comes time for the ceremony, the baker swears she gains more grey hairs in the moment she watches the king's men unload her cake from her cart than in the entire twenty-five years she's been baking. The few hours between that moment and the ceremony itself fly by, both baker and assistant skipping around one another. They speak not a word, but always know what the other needs.

At the end of it, the baker stands before her own spread, pleased with herself and her work. The pastries and breads stand beautifully in contrast with the charcuterie boards and assorted self serve meals, and that's all she could ask for. The cake is a stunning centerpiece in the bride's favorite flavors, with beautifully piped flowers and vines, and all in all, the baker figures she's done a rather good job.

Now comes the hard part.

Her assistant manages to coax her into something that isn't stained overalls, giggling all the while in her own pale orange dress that stands stark and lovely against her dark skin. By the end of it, the baker huffs alongside her in something that could passably be called a suit, her fiery red hair cascading down her back.

They stand at the back, something the baker is grateful for. She almost falls asleep during the ceremony, and is elbowed awake more than a couple of times by her assistant.

It's the reception, though, that warms the baker's heart.

Here she can see the impact she's made, the happiness she's brought.

All it takes is one moment, a mere second of eye contact, the flash of a smile of recognition, and she knows that the prince has followed her advice.

He not only loves the woman he's married, but she loves him as well. It's evident in their faces and in the brightness of their eyes, in the way that they pull each other across the dance floor, the new princess's wheelchair gliding across the glittering tiles in time with the prince's steps and their smiles never faltering for a moment.

The baker watches them for a moment longer, then has to drop her gaze.

A familiar elbow digs into her ribs and she looks up to meet dark, understanding eyes, blinking what might be tears out of her own. She manages a smile for her assistant, then scrubs a tired, calloused hand over her face.

They've done good.

They'll be alright.

It was announced the prince was looking for a wife, but the baker girl didn’t care. That was until the very tired and sad-looking boy wearing a hoodie and sweatpants bit into a cherry tart, looked as if he was about to weep, and whispered: "She’s the one." Then a bunch of officials entered.