#HOPE U GUYS LIKE IT ….

[poscariastri]

hey. dont cry. f1 drivers as tumblr textposts. ok? :)

[mybrknhrtt]

the sky is on fire, let it rain on me.

[radaverse]

@atlaslovesedm

I had to

[sunflova]

WHERE MY SKYSOLOS @ 🫵☝️

[visciozx]

The Sinner and The Saint

Lady Maria and Doll Piece I did last night, this one's actually a recreation of an old piece of the two, and now I'm just really sad that I didn't get to ACTUALLY make them identical :/

[yellowmotorola]

a Scorpio moodboard I 🔮 my pinterest board

[alteredsilicone]

(puts Loid in an outfit)

[puddii-ng]

a beautiful museum that lies on the sand of an hourglass ✧･ﾟ

[anglefan]

hi sorry i keep forgetting to post heres like a ton of gd art ILL TRY AND REMEMBER MORE IN THE FUTURE I PROMISE

[accelerandy15]

Mini Valkryie 💖

(other is w transparent bg)

[kabutone]

scaramouche x cringe failgirl reader

high school au - you play beach volleyball with scara but god you suck at it. you suck so fucking bad at it.

It’s a beautiful sunny day, and the perfect day for the beach. Your class has decided to celebrate the end of finals and the start of summer together. The waves are gentle enough to lazily swim through, but still big enough to give your surfing classmates a bit of a push. A lot of people are already in the water, but you see a small group gathering around the volleyball net. Among them, despite being hard to spot among the taller boys, you see him - Scaramouche.

As you get closer, you hear him in a one sided argument against a very happy Childe.

“Why not? It’ll be fun! Just grab someone to play with you.” Childe laughs and picks up a volleyball from the sand.

“I’m not playing your stupid game.” Scara snaps back at him. You’re now standing right behind the two of them.

“Hey, there you go! Y/N, how about jumping in to be Scaramouche’s teammate?” Childe looks past Scara, right at you. With a frustrated sigh, Scara turns to look at you too.

“Me…? You want me to play?” You ask. “I mean, I’m not all that good—“

“Don’t worry! I’m sure Scara can cover for you!” Childe responds. You can already see his competitive nature showing through. Before Scara has the chance to respond, Childe has already turned around and grabbed another classmate of yours to be on his side.

“Fine. Guess I don’t have a choice.” Scaramouche says, casting his large hat off to the side. You see him squint a bit more now that the sun is in his eyes. Now that you see him like this, on the beach, shirtless, with the sun shining down on him, you realize… he looks way more scrawny without that baggy shirt he usually wears. The bowl cut mullet doesn’t make him look any less like a 12 year old. He notices you staring and turns back to you. “Don’t get in my way.”

You’re not sure what that means, considering this is volleyball and you’re playing in teams for a reason, but you decide not to say anything back. You turn back to see Childe and his teammate already getting ready to serve the ball to your side.

But before you can even register that the ball is in the air, you see Scara leaping above the net to spike it back down as hard as he can. He jumped pretty high; it’s actually kind of surprising considering his height.

“Hey, I was going easy on you for Y/N’s sake. But I can give you a real challenge.” Childe gives Scara a smile, one you’ve seen many times when he gets way too into P.E.

“Whatever.” Scaramouche’s voice sounds careless, but his expression is focused and intense. Childe tosses the ball to your side. Scara starts to walk back with it, but Childe stops him.

“Hey, hold on, let Y/N have a chance!”

Scara glances at you and then shoves the ball into your arms. You turn back at Childe, who seems ready as ever for your serve. You walk to the back of the line and set it up. You take a deep breath. You feel your heart pounding in your chest. You can feel Scara’s eyes on you, and for some reason, you also really want to win this for him. You start t—

“Jeez. Did you forget you’re supposed to hit the ball now?” Scara says. You feel your face go red with embarrassment.

“Sorry.” You toss the ball into the air, jump, swing your hand— and miss. The ball drops to the sand. You hear Scaramouche scoff and can see him roll his eyes. You pick the ball up again.

Really focus in on it… You think to yourself. You throw it in the air again, and this time you manage to hit it! You make sure to hit it hard; just like how Scara did— and it slams into the net.

“Seriously?” Scaramouche scowls at you. “Just let me do it.” He grabs the ball and takes your place. Embarrassed, you switch with him and move to his place.

His serve is flawless. He tosses it in the air and hits it perfectly over the net. Again, jumping very high for someone of his stature. It’s almost as if he can control the air around him. Maybe in another universe. You watch it soar straight for your classmate’s face— before Childe quickly steps in front of them and hits it right back.

“Y/N, get it!” Scara shouts. You panic and scramble to wherever you think the ball will land. You close your eyes, lock your hands together, and swing so hard you can feel it pulling at your shoulders! And you feel nothing on your hands. The ball firmly plants itself in the sand between you and Scaramouche.

“Yeah!” Childe cheers! “One point to us!”

Scaramouche doesn’t respond, and doesn’t even look at you. He just picks the ball up and throws it hard over to Childe’s side. Childe’s teammate serves this time. He doesn’t hit quite as hard as Childe does, but nonetheless, the ball is still coming to you. Before you can even make a move, you feel Scara shove you.

“Move.” He growls, hitting the ball back with a frightening amount of force. Childe slams the ball back over the net, faster than Scara could keep up with it, and again it hits the sand. Scaramouche is quietly seething, while Childe high fives his teammate.

“That’s 2 out of 3! Better catch up!” Childe taunts.

“Make it out of five.” Scaramouche picks up the ball and hands it to you to serve again. “You better not mess up this time.”

You nod and ready yourself. You decide you won’t try to focus on anything fancy. You wanted to impress him, but if you mess up anymore, he’ll just get more mad at you. You take a deep breath, and serve the ball. You hit it just enough to get it over to the other side— it’s nothing amazing, but you did what you were supposed to.

Childe hits it over to his teammate, who attempts to spike it over the net like Scara, but is quickly blocked by that short little guy slamming it back over with all the force in his five foot something body. Childe hits it back over, this time hitting it high enough that even Scara wouldn’t be able to jump freakishly high to reach it. You look up and see it coming right towards you. You put your hands over your face in attempt to set it back in the air, but you overestimate how high above you the ball is, and it ends up hitting you square in the face.

“That’s 3 out of 5. Wanna play again?” Childe gives a friendly smile, sharply juxtaposed by Scaramouche’s frustrated glare.

“Maybe when I find someone better.” You see Scaramouche pick up his hat and walk off. He leans over to look at you on the ground as he passes by. “I knew you couldn’t keep up with me.” And with a laugh to himself, he walks off.

[ahmobbu]

farmer au context: teru goes to soybeans & such farms for a school program to get more college credit (even though he’s, like, 15). he meets mob, who works/hangs out there, mostly for the ducks who weed out the rice paddy and beatrice the cat. this drabble is set a few weeks after they meet.

Caring comes naturally to Shigeo, Teruki realizes.

He wonders how it must feel, to remember all of a person’s intricacies. Their clothes size, their room layout. If their hands are rough or if they shiver at night. It almost seems impossible, but it isn’t. Teruki knows it isn’t because Shigeo added a name plate on the duck canopy. Because Shigeo puts the car keys on the bowl when Reigen puts them somewhere else. Because Shigeo adds a lot more carrots to the curry after Teruki said they were his favorite.

It must be through practice, he thinks. To be caring, there should be someone to care for. It’s times like these where he wishes he didn’t live alone.

It’s quiet in a way Teruki wishes he was familiar with. There are only three sounds audible in this moment. One is the cicadas chirping aimlessly outside, only heard through the open shoji, not seen against the night sky.

The second is the soft breathing of Shigeo sleeping. He’s spread out on the veranda like a starfish, legs dangling over the edge. Beatrice, who is something more of a lynx than a cat, is cuddled next to him. Her purrs mimic his exhales. Teruki peers out from behind the tea table to see Shigeo’s fingers carding through her fur. He wonders if Shigeo’s already awake, or if he just does that even in his sleep.

Teruki just needs practice.

Speaking of practice, the third and final sound in the house is of a paring knife on fruit skin. To be more specific, a paring knife on a mandarin orange, cutting around the rind in a spiral. It’s a trick he’s seen both Reigen and Shigeo do effortlessly before, but it’s something he just can’t figure out. His slices are always too shallow or too short. There are already two cut and peeled oranges on a plate on his side, but their skins were messily taken off with his own hands after a wrong stroke.

The sound of the knife is quieter than everything else, but it’s amplified by Teruki’s concentration. It is a cracking sort of thing, like pulling out tape or scratching an old wooden table. Peel, peel, peel. There’s a place he seems to always make a mistake in, just a little below the middle of the orange. As he approaches it, he slows down his peeling and braces himself.

“Hm?” Someone says through the haze of semi consciousness.

Shigeo’s awakeness is announced with a yawn. He stretches his arms up, though he makes no move to sit. Instead, he moves them over his head and rests his hands on the nearby tea table, palms up and fingers outstretched.

The sounds are lessened to just the cicadas.

Teruki grabs a slice of orange from the plate and leans over across the table. He places it onto Shigeo’s hand as a greeting. Their fingers don’t touch, but the space in between is small enough that it doesn’t matter. Teruki’s heart stutters at the almost contact.

Shigeo hums at the sensation, as if he didn’t expect Teruki to be there. He drags his hand from the table to the front of his face. He uses his other arm to push himself into finally sitting up.

He stares at the orange in his hand again for a moment, wordless and silent, with an expression Teruki can’t decipher from the back of his head. He takes two bites to finish it, sighs in a refreshed way, and turns to Teruki with a small grin. “Thank you,” he says. “Mandarin oranges are my favorite.”

But Teruki already knew that.

[mako-ink]

☀️🌟🌙If the Fates would allow☀️🌟🌙

[raekensarcher]

It’s like the Universe has left me Without a Place to go

“Do you ever think about your fate?”

or: Theo is lost and Liam helps him find his way back.

[clownwrites]

Rain/MascReader

He/him R pronouns used/fluff/cliffhanger?/slowburn/ send asks for more hcs about this story's development if you want. I likely won't be finishing it.

You're a loyal painter for Sindel's court, company and family; and have made Rain a muse over the years you've worked for them.

Dinner was dimly lit, you admired each champion from a distance; the sound of your brush smoothing across one of hundreds of canvases you'd primed and had delivered to you from palace storage. Your work was very shortly unnoticed, those who fought too busy trying to maintain their head in the ring of Sindel's home. You'd the pleasure of painting Raiden an earth champion who shared a brief, confused appreciation of your work.

"I don't think I could ever understand the need but it's beautiful." He admitted to you, seeing the ways in which you stilled his movement onto a single canvas.

" You don't have to understand the need," you assured "you just have to enjoy it, that's the best part."

Raiden asks "enjoying the art?"

And you specify "enjoying the results, much like your fighting."

You could've dedicated a canvas to the shape of his smile in that moment, the brief and beautiful understanding of your passion before he walked away.

As of now, however, you're dedicating the canvas to an array of people, washed in a light of blue and gold. Horns decorated in beautiful metals and heads blanketed with stunning robes. You watched carefully how the shadow played on their features from a distance while they sat at dinner, heads bobbing amongst each other as they spoke; struggling to match the colors suddenly on a single person. His robes of purple reacted to the light like camouflage, had it not been for the gold detailing, perhaps you wouldn't have noticed him. How you wished you wouldn't have noticed him, of course. In your eyes, he became plain, you've studied this man and his features from afar for so long, painting them had become second nature.

"Purple bastard" you'd seethe, feeling as though his presence made it easy to see who was centered in your work, his visage was the smoothest and most natural feeling in the dinner piece, at least to your eyes, the details of his robes glowed compared to those around it and it didn't help that the entire painting started with his silhouette.

You always felt rather naked in a room with him, he stared through people, as if they were made of a sheer tulle but something always felt quite strange when he stared in your direction. remembering once, how his deep brown eyes scanned the final details of his portrait, you'd reflected the color of his robes in his skin, and the golden hour of the sun in his eyes. When you first began painting, Rain reminded you the joys of painting the valleys of the kingdom with the shape of his nose; the way his skin sparkled like the sand by sea, and how his hair flowed like a river just under his hood. Despite the obvious effort made in the painting, that you felt would pale the portrait of even the queen, Rain noticed your hands first. How they held the brush, how your nails slightly warped from over working and your fingers just the same.

"You've the hands of a working man" Zefeero wondered out loud "the scars that luxury leaves behind…"

These words shook you, so accustomed to the praise your work received, to hear what might have been concern for your well-being confused you, haunted you and soon, reflected that haunting in the ways you painted and repainted him.

As the brush strokes through the memories of your yearning, you hardly noticed what new attention you'd drawn. Shao, had his dramatics before being dismissed, and so guests were made to entertain themselves amongst each other once again. The very same robes of royal purple that haunted your heart ghosted across marble floors to find their way toward you with a small gathering, curious of your work.

You could feel a familiar set of eyes on your hands again.

—--

It stands on a third floor, an empty attic with glassless windows. A space where many beautiful pieces came to rest as they hung dry, strung up by their handles and dripping onto the window pain.

It was planned to be a guest room, so Sindel once told you, “It was planned to be a sunroom before father died.” Kitana admitted to you, as was proven by the array of once dusty curtains, when you were first introduced to it. It looked past the valleys of the kingdom and straight onto its beaches, every morning your paintings would meet the glare of the sun while they dried. Despite every wet drop that might color the once, very tediously decorated tiles, you were careful to never color the bench. It laid close by a window and when you had once sat on it, you noticed that it pointed towards the very spot of the beach where the king and queen had wed. you wondered how long She might have sat here after her husband died and even longer, if she had ever waited up here while you finished painting his memorial. It's a strange guilt that plagues you every so often but the queen insisted you let your work stay here to dry, until something is chosen and something is gifted. It's connected to the castle, of course, so two guards stay just outside the doors and wait on the work. It's not uncommon to hear a respectful rapping at its wood for you to finish lamenting your pieces but there was a new, echoed sound, just outside its carved surface from where you stood.

Then, the door creaks open “Portrator?” The Umgadi calls “Rain is interested in seeing your work here, may he enter?” The question caught you by surprise, his connection to Sindel made him your superior, so the consideration to ask never once came to you.

“Of course”

Never seen without his staff, the sorcerer stepped into the room, the fabric of his slipper barely making a sound in the tile. He nodded to the Umgadi to close the door and then looked toward you and smiled. You couldn't help but return it

“Curious that you come up here so late.”

“ I had the privilege of seeing your progress but hardly ever your finished pieces, I suppose I remembered to take the opportunity now” Rain explained, “I always hope to meet you before you leave but my work… it often precedes me”

A specific feeling of joy filled your lungs, as if breathing in the cool air at the cusp of autumn, in silvery voice you welcomed him “Then please, take the opportunity”

Zefeero had turned his back toward you, to look upon the pieces surrounding the very walls of the room. Some leaned against each other on the floor, others somewhat unfinished. Sindel would sometimes scrap the work for you when she found herself unsatisfied with the progress “The Queen makes her tastes known” Rain shushed

“A trait I curse sometimes” you admit, much to your chagrin.

As he circled the windows, passing each piece made tonight and many nights before it, his face scrunched so slightly in thought “is all your work like this?”

you look where he had and shrugged “I have more creative freedom when not on commission” you explain “no, not every piece is made from life”

The sorcerer looked toward you with real interest now “I would like to see that, then.”

Confidence washed over your mind like a strong liquor, words slipping off your tongue sooner than you'd thought of them

“Then you must make a date for it”

Zefeeros eyes brightened at your words as you then began to stutter

“In an accommodating sense, you said your work precedes you and my work never leaves my home”

And there it was again, that small talent of observing everything past your words. You'd dedicated more pages in your sketchbook to that unique glare than you had anything else for sometime, deep brown eyes that seem to strip your resolve naked as you waited on him to bolster your approval with his own.

“I will make it a date then”

You wonder if the musical ringing in your ears was caused by blood rushing to your cheeks or some strange godliness adding a theme to the way your heart beat in that very moment, regardless;The sun room began to feel less like a guilty place.

—

As you stayed in your home again, as you always had, waiting on the next commission call to fulfill your social needs and carve through the creative block; You had wondered what paintings to display to your strange friend. You should bare the very veins of your heart and feel less naked under his gaze, you think to show him those pieces you've made from the plights of your life and hide away the rest until your strength could bear the weight of being known in this way, that you'd promised him; “Not everything I create is from life”

You only hope the dust on these most delicate pieces disguise them.

The letter given to you, written by The Sorcerer's own, surely shaking hands, had scrolled the date that warped itself into the curls of your memory. You wonder how long you could be hosting him, planning the meal or snack you make with some care to impress but you knew better and you'd hope that he did too. There was no amount of sparkling light from your stained glass windows that could shine against the gall of a gold and white palace, eternally decorated in hues of pink and glittering blues. To a kingdom, in the ever changing height of fashion and design, your colors shined like the jester, made to entertain. But even comedy tastes change, if not in one person than in another.

Bread dough rolled across the countertop, the labor toned your arms and powdered your chest. A few pastries were broiled to life in the oven and the other ingredients would lay waiting the day of, for the sake of freshness. If nothing, then at least you have meals for yourself to enjoy later. If anything, then you'd get the joy of learning what else Zefeero may like about you and you could ask for nothing more than the privilege of just knowing.

—--

The sorcerer's hands clasped together to conclude a newly insufferable spell, it was something concocted for show over functionality and he would lie of his new interest to impress you with it. his curiosity first simmered the moment you had painted his portrait for the halls. His skin still burned where you held his jaw carefully to pose him in the sunlight and that feeling arose again as he practiced this ‘party-trick’, Zefeero believes what's stomping his progress, remembering how beautifully you remade him; Wordless compliments struck in oil paint.

He felt that if he were smarter, than Rain would know this wasn't a feat exceptionalizing him, he understood that the details of his portrait were not made to inflate what beauty he had or outshine the other portraits beside it. But a strong sense of knowing overcame him when he'd seen the results and that 'knowing' feeling felt a lot like the joys of being adored.

He began idly playing with the water he’d strung into pearls from thin air, they bounced against each other as they danced between the paths of his fingers and as the moment passed he began to imagine those shaking pearls as the nails of your fingers. The light sparkled through a new waving shape of a hand, whose palm pressed against his and wet it cold before it warmed to his skin. The palm breaking into the warped shape of your fingers, how he remembered them, when he watched them work on the paintings that moved Raiden across the pathways where he fought. These fingers slipped between his own, in the shape Rain remembered, when they painted the skyline of his kingdom and the portrait of their deceased king. The skin of his cheeks became warm as he remembered the shape of your eyes and how he remembered them when they scanned his features to create a visage of himself worth looking at and his lips curled at the corners as his heart began to flutter with his imagination.

“Zefeero?” a soft voice came at his door, “Zefeero, are you busy?”

The sorcerer turned his head quickly, the hand he held splashing into his lap shortly before he could stand and he groaned in annoyance at the interruption. “Yes!” he seethed “What is it that you need, Kitana?”

The princess stepped in to see what the ruckus was and then giggled childishly at her cousins stumbling, Rain groaned once more as he tried to pull the water from the lap of his robes “Seriously?” he asks “was the point to annoy me?”

“Oh no!” she defended through veils of giggles “mother wants to see you.”

Rain swatted at his now soaked robes and groaned, "I'll be there in a moment, let her now I'm... Ugh currently indisposed thanks to you."

But the princess does not leave, she instead closes the door behind her as her cousin begins to change. "Do you need something else?"

"I heard You've made friends with the portraitor" Kitana gossiped "you're seeing him for dinner?"

The sorcerer looked back at her offendedly and demanded with his sputtering embarrassment "and who told you that!?" Kitana gleefully shined her teeth in the sourcerer's direction a shrill sound of excitement came out as she bounced over to take her cousins hands "Zefeero!" She cheered "everyone sees how you look at him, I never thought you would go for it!"

Inspite of his embarrassment the sourcerer scoffs, letting go of her hands and turning to his dresser

"I have no idea what this "it" would even be!" A futile argument against his cousins excitement, he knows "and we're having lunch, I asked to see his personal work." Kitana's excitement dampened, she still held a knowing smile on her face "oh of course!" She teased "nothing but professionalism when looking at an artists most personal work"

Her eyes narrowed mischievously "in his personal home-" Rain looked to his wardrobe desperately to quell his embarrassment

"-where he plans to feed and entertain you with his company-"

"oh that is enough!" Zefeero shouted, throwing his wet robes at his sibling "get out! Get out!"

It was easy for the princess to mock him out the door, she shouts back amidst her terrible giggles "Oh paint me like one of your Edinian Maids, Portraitor!"

Kitana slams the door shut behind her to shield herself from the weapons of Rain's wardrobe, leaving the Sorcerer alone with embarrassment stinging his cheeks and the fast beating of his heart.

He only hoped there were no more knowing eyes in the court he would see Sindel in.

[lemohn-the-cat]

BEETLEJUICE DESIGN 🪲🧃‼️‼️