#diidles

[dusts-sun]

rabbit doodles

The urge to make ocs out of the two in the bottom right

they actually come from a childhood story idea

[diidiidoodles]

@foodtracer and I got out hands on scans of the Elsword art book and I found so many nice outfits for Code Ultimate, so I touched up my CU Maru and mixed a bunch of stuff I liked to make her stand out a bit ;o;

[tales-of-bahana]

I’ve been pretty inactive lately and I know it can be a huge hindrance to people who actually look forward to my art, so here, just something I thought I could actually share with you guys.

It was actually really relaxing drawing this, and made me look back to the days where I couldn’t even draw hair flowing properly.

[ratkiddoo]

Improvement ?!??? (All done on my iPad!)

[doodlebat]

7

7. Best Friends?

@potionsmasters @darkmarks-and-curses @xochiquetzl

:D

[fearprophet]

unpopular opinion no one asked for: i fucking love the bones tv series and pelant was a great character

[npcdoodles]

idk what to caption my diidles anymroee

[bubblymuffin240]

Doodles diidles

[meagee-blog1]

Don’t you just hate it when you bite into a banana but it turns out it was a pickle. Anyways ayee I’ve been gone for too long cause of school and shit so have a quick diidle doodle.

[incandescent-justice]

Excerpts from On Rona, by Kathleen Jamie

‘The island is only a mile and a half long. It has one fertile hill, and two flat near-barren peninsulas, one pointing north, one southwest, like two mismatching wings. There are no beaches, all is cliff, swooping now high, now low, and cut with many geos. The sea prowled into every geo; by night its sound seemed muted, though now and then the breeze brought whoops of seal-song. Clouds were gathering, but that was good, Stuart said: the darker, the better. 

We walked westward up a slight rise, which at its crest gave views down a long slope to the ragged peninsula called Sceapull, which soon surrendered to the waves. A dusty, antique sort of light lay over the islands; the sea was the colour of tarnished silver. The path led across a hillside, then through a gap in an earthen dyke. At once, within the dyke, the land began to rise and fall in ridges, like those of a vast scallop shell, waist-high ridges between shallow-filled troughs, all with a pelt of long grass that shivered in the wind. The ridges curved downhill toward the sea. Hundreds of years ago oats of barley would have been raised on them, but now, long overgrown, they had become sculptural, land art. 

We passed through that strange estate, then arrived at the shell of St Ronan’s chapel. Just four stone walls, all speckled with lichen, a low doorway, no roof at all. It faced the southern sea, and between the chapel and the cliffs a quarter-mile away were ovals and pockets of darkness, half dug into the eath, and bound by overgrown turf walls - all that remained of the village. Beyond that, beat of the waves. This was what we’d come for, something faraway and special, so we settled ourselves against the chapel wall to wait. [...]

You have to go a long way to find a breeding colony of Leach’s fork-tailed petrels; to a handful of the farthermost islands, St Kilda, the Flannans, and here, Rona, where on summer nights they make the quick dash ashore. Mate calls to mate, dit-dit diidle-dit!, rival pursues rival, one partner creeps back into his burrow-nest, allowing the other to be off on her small black wings, far out to sea. 

The call, to our human ears, sounded like laughter. At the darkest hour, the walls, like a hive, were busy with birds. They’re small as swifts, but their challenge isn’t the ocean storms, it’s the short race ashore. Great skuas - bonxies - prey on them, god knows how, hence their dash by moonlight - except they prefer no moon. They prefer the darkest of summer nights. [...] 

Nothing is known of St Ronan but his name, which, oddly, means ‘little seal’ - as if he’d been a Rona selkie who’d swopped his sealskin for the habit of a monk. Doubtless he was one of the early Scots-Irish monks, who sailed from his monastery to seek ‘a desert place in the sea’, where he could live a life of austerity and prayer. Hundreds of years later, the people built the chapel in his name, and buried their dead beside it. Now those people are gone, too, and their graveyard is a poignant place. [...]

St Ronan rode to Rona on the back of a seamonster, so the legend says. Monster or boat, he’d have jumped ashore giving prayers of thanks, sometime in the eighth century. [...]

But we know what the saint sought, because on faraway Rona there survives something unique. A tiny building. To enter, you must first enter the chapel. Then, low on the eastern gable is another doorway, just a square of darkness with a lintel of white quartz, as though it were Neolithic. You have to crawl, but once inside you can stand freely. At first it seems wholly dark, and it smells of damp earth, but as your eyes adjust, stars of daylight begin to spangle here and there overhead, where, over the many centuries, the stones have slipped a little - so after a while it’s like being in a wild planetarium. 

Darkness, eath - and a sudden quiet; no wind or surf - you find yourself in a place from which all the distracting world is banned. Then you see the stonework. The little oratory is beautifully made, and has stood for 1200 years. A low stone altar stands against the east wall. So there is one thing we know of the saint - he had a feel for stone; strong hands. Or someone did. Having sailed here and claimed this island of sea-light and sky and seals and crying birds, he built himself a world-denying cell.

[...] I crept into the oratory, and waited till my eyes adjusted to the low light. I went warily, because a fulmar had made her nest in a corner; too close and she’d spit. A fulmar guarded the saint’s cell, and it was strange to think there were Leach’s petrels secreted in the walls. Seabirds, named for St Peter, who walked on water, had colonised a cell built by a saint named for a seal.

I crept in just to wonder what he did in there, Ronan; to imagine him right there, in front of the altar, wrapped in darkness, rapt in prayer, closed off from the sensory world, the better to connect with... what?’

All photos by Marc Calhoun, except for the birds eye view - found on flickr. 

[midnightechoes]

Daily Doodle for December 19th. Was pretty busy today so you just get a quick diidle kitty tonight.

[diidiidoodles]

some days I feel skinnier than all the other days

sometimes I can't tell if my body b̶e̷l̶ l̴̛͎ ̷̓ͅo̵͚̿ ̴̦̂n̶̲̐ ̵̹̌g̴͕̍ ̷̖̀s̷̗̈ ̴͙̂ ̸̟̍t̵̹̂ ̴̙̏o̷̞̎ ̶̕ͅ ̸͓̎m̶̳̆ ̸̙̉ ̷̬͂ē̴̺

[tales-of-bahana]

I live! With an Evil AU version of our favorite son Elliot.

You can tell he’s evil cuz he doesn’t have his cute ribbons

[pastel-punishment]

In case this isn't horribly obvious. This is kinda like a trauma blog? I've been though some stuff and I'd like to use this as a platform of coping. This is not for anyone's entertainment. Even if it doesn't work at least this will be an attempt at healing. Enjoy this doodle I diidled.

[dylanshipley]

Yet more VI pics. I’m very happy with the facial expressions in these recent panels. . . . #comicart #comicbooks #comics #illustration #indycomics #art #design #instaart #drawing #diidle #sketch #ink #anime #manga #animeart #mangaart #volcanoisland #hair #woman #dailyart #keepgoing #scifi #dibujo #arte (at Axbridge, Somerset)

[feirafn]

Doodle diidle duudle duu 😋😋 Mati lampu dari pagi ya gambar aja dah ❤ #draw #doodle #linebrush #drawing (at Apartemen Kalibata City)