#AND IT WAS OF DETAILS FROM THIS PAINTING

[erinwantstowrite]

The Bite!!!

every peter parker needs an origin story. unluckily for Peter, his spider bite hurt pretty damn badly. and unfortunately for Connors, this would change everything for both of them

[robinsceramics]

enough wolves, it's catboy time

image description: a ceramic sculpture of an anthropomorphic serval (a spotted wild cat) sitting with his hands on the ground between his feet.

[milkypiggybeans]

The Airship ⚙️

[hinamie]

domain expansion

[mujori]

[raspbel-art]

Saviour in a nightmare

[sometimes-hector]

5. get real

[longingquiet]

001 :: DETAILS — ASSAD ZAMAN as Armand

Interview with the Vampire, AMC - Season 2, Episode 2

[cruel-hiraeth]

BETWEEN YOU AND ME (AND THE SEA) RORONOA ZORO X READER

warnings ⟢ suggestive content (i.e. glorified pillow talk). established relationship. slight angst that ends in comfort. mentions of violence. love as religion/love as worship. allusions to buddhism. gn reader.

the word “bokken” denotes a wooden practice sword.

word count ⟢ 1143

notes ⟢ if this looks familiar, it’s because i reworked my old fic! it’s still embarrassingly sappy + full of my personal hcs about zoro’s childhood. please let me know what you think! <3

“I would die for you.”

Your words caress the swordsman’s heaving chest, his tawny skin dewy from exertion, glistening under the pearly moonlight. The wind listens with bated breath, air at a standstill in the crow’s nest; the only sound to disturb the lulling midnight is the gentle lap of the wine-dark sea.

It takes Zoro several moments to process your statement, his senses still hazy and pleasure-drunk from the events of your shared watch. One wide palm rests on the soft curve of your lower back—an anchor. The other absentmindedly strokes the arch of your neck.

“Hm?” Zoro belatedly grunts, brows knitting together in confusion.

You raise your head to meet your lover’s steel gaze. The fierceness in your eyes—Zoro knows it well. Beneath the heady cloud of contentment is the crazed glint of worship, shining like an unclaimed blade: honed by another’s will, difficult (if not impossible) to master. It’s a look that both terrifies him in its depth and comforts him in its earnestness.

Will I ever be worthy of your devotion?

“I’m not particularly brave or strong,” you start, a fingertip etching love into his flesh as you trace the jagged edges of the scar that slashes across his torso—the ghost of an injury that almost took him from you.

“But I would do anything for you, Zo. I would die for you. And it should scare me, that I feel so deeply…” Your finger stills, hovering above his heart, beat steadfast as the foamy tide. Lub-dub, lub-dub, lub-dub. “But when it comes to you? I lose all my inhibitions. I would die for you in an instant.”

Even in the dusky quiet, Zoro’s hands are broad, as warm and reassuring as the sun on a blustery day aboard Sunny. They may be extension of his weapons, instruments of death. Yet he cradles your cheeks with devastating care as he pulls your face to his. When you’re this close, you can map his every feature, from his puckered left eye to the crooked cant of his nose to his barely-there freckles. His jaw flexes resolutely as he grits out, “Don’t say shit like that. Y’know I hate it.”

Draping your hands over his, you rub his rough, calloused skin, murmuring, “Not saying it doesn’t make it any less true.”

Few things scare Zoro. He recognizes Death’s face, having brushed shoulders with the endless ether more times than he cares to admit. On the rare, starless nights when he dreams, he wades through a river of ichor as an asura, violence incarnate. At an early age, he learned that the price of greatness is at the expense of one’s soul. But he continues to shoulder the burden of existence alone, intent on seeing his—Kuina’s—dream to fruition, no matter how foul-tasting the fruit.

Your vulnerability, however, frightens him—how you lay your heart bare and expect nothing in return. The way you live goes against everything Zoro has ever known, against his basest instincts to keep his emotions under lock and key, to fight the inevitability of suffering with blood in his maw, to survive at any cost.

(It’s a bitter January evening. Snow flurries paint the eaves of the run-down dojo white—a portrait of tranquility.

Inside, a boy’s stomach growls, hunger gnawing at his intestines. His young, scrawny limbs ache with overuse. The room is frigid, his feet frozen as they step and slide across the tatami mats. His simple robe does nothing to keep the color in his cheeks.

This dreaded overnight practice is punishment for pilfering onigiri from the kitchen several days prior. Hunger is but a distraction for the weak. He must repent for his wrongdoing with fasting, meditation, and grueling endurance drills. But in the middle of an overhead swing, he loses feeling in his arms; the bokken clatters to his feet.

His sensei tsks in disappointment. “The way of the sword is absolute, Roronoa. You eat and sleep and breathe by the blade. The second you lose focus—the moment you lose sight of your calling—you will cease to be a swordsman.”

Tears of frustration prick Zoro’s eyes, but he bites his tongue, picking up the bokken without sound or complaint. He doesn’t realize that his palms are cracked and that the wooden hilt is stained sanguine. He continues training until dawn.)

“Tch.” He wets his chapped lips, a flash of slick pink. His tongue is always loose when it’s just the two of you and the sea. “I’m not worth it.”

A frown pinches your features. Adorable, he would say if you were talking about anything else in the Grand Line. You wrap your arms around his neck with a huff.

“What makes you think your life is worth any less than Luffy’s? Than Chopper’s? Than mine?”

Zoro assesses you for a moment, feline eye unreadable, then sighs. He measures his words with unusual care. “My role is to protect. It was—it is—the vow I made to our captain.”

Threading your fingers through his mint tresses, you tug, concern rolling off of you in waves. “Then who’s left to protect you, Zo?”

The answer springs to his mind without hesitation: No one.

(The little boy with the bloodstained bokken weeps.)

“Let me protect you,” you entreat, lips grazing his. Your touch is charged yet tender; something within him yields, if only a centimeter.

The Fates, in their divine and impartial wisdom, must have made a grave error: spinning the claret thread of your fate, meting it out, and mistakenly intertwining it with his own. Zoro is certain that it’s a miscarriage of justice—not that the gods have ever been preoccupied with fairness.

Did I do something in a past life to earn your reverence?

“I can’t,” his voice cracks. But his iron resolve is rusting. Fissures compromise the once-gleaming surface, threatening to crumble the pride he has worn as a shield for as long as he can remember.

“You can.”

Zoro has never considered himself to be a good man. Selfless to a fault, you are eager to give. And, for once in his life, he wants nothing more than to take advantage of you—to receive. He allows himself this greed.

Drinking in your affection like a man who has never quenched his thirst, he doesn’t notice how his lone eye burns when he claims your lips with his own, heartfelt I love yous swapped between spit and teeth and tongue.

The tears are silent as they dribble down his feverish cheeks; you chase each of them away with a flick of your thumb, dotting kisses across his salty flesh. Zoro has half a mind to be embarrassed. (Swordsmen don’t cry.)

But if there is one absolute truth in this cursed world, it’s this: his heart is safe with you, and you alone.

[tshortik]

I love you messy artstyle i love you visible brush strokes I love you textures and rough edges I love you imperfections I love you roughness and colour blobs I love you scratchy sketches and bold stylisation and dirt and imperfections I love you ugly and raw emotion!!!!! ❤️

[ganondoodle]

did a little sketch yesterday that i really liked and tried to get it done today just so i got literally anything to post- but i fell into the trap of 'making sketches to elaborate and thus really stiff and non fun' (for me), ... soooooo .. im redoing the whole thing

but the idea was a mummy ganondorf for my (yes still existing) totk rewrite; i wanted to make him more scary looking and also emphasize just how horrid it must be to be kept in between life and death by having your heart grabbed by a cold and vengeful magical hand for thousands of years (in this case the ancient queen .. which i also tried to sketch despite not showing up aside from her dissolving hand)

the spell starting to fail and his body being more damaged in some parts (jaw being only the bones left for example) and his chest open from being slowly eaten up by the queens magic, the ribs contorting around it like its a gravitational pull- sounds cooler than it looks bc this sketch did not work out, so im saving the details for the .. hopefully, better version

[sunjestic]

director's commentary for the Kintsugi comic i posted last week. i put a lot of thought into it, and i really wanted to talk about it.... i am a yapper

i am once again begging y'all to read this fic-

[abessive-art]

CARLOS, THE SCIENTIST - “Last week. Seven Days. 24 hours each day. 60 minutes in each hour. That's 10,080 minutes in a week, right?” THE VOICE OF NIGHT VALE - “Uh huh. Go on?”

CARLOS, THE SCIENTIST - “Well, I ran some figures, and during that same amount of time in Night Vale, 11,783 minutes elapsed everywhere else in the world. That's more than a full day longer. I don't know what's happening.” LOGIC [Easy: Failure] - You feel like time always slows down when you two are together. Is that what he's trying to say?

THE VOICE OF NIGHT VALE - “... Neat!”

[commission info]

[touteytout]

tomb raider t rex

[myokk]

first dada class😳✨

[sothasil]

Two blokes slacking off at work :p

Cretan diplomats based on a painting of the tomb of Rekhmire, Luxor. I was intruigued by the leopard skirt thingy one of them is wearing and drew a more or less realistic interpretation of it! The other guy's there so he can have a buddy.

While i usually draw people looking as average as possible, it's not the case here. It's fair to assume that within the "PR" context of the painting (representing their people in front of a foreign king) these would be the ancient aegean's hottest boytoys, so I kept them snatched and smooth shaved.

Originals under the cut!

Mural with my chosen duo highlighted

Cropped closeup, leopard skirt guy on the left (and the two arms of jugs guy!)