#half conscious writing this

[crows-of-buckets]

Anders doodle that I could have put more effort into but I got lazy :P

Anyways this specifically is meant to take place after he patches up Hawke after the Arishok fight. I was writing it last night and went "hm I should draw that"

Bonus, shitty sketch I did at 2am when I had this idea and the writing segment that inspired it. It's so funny I talk about my writing a lot but I never share it cause it scares me lmao

[obsessedwithstarwars]

An excerpt from a fic I’m writing:

“DON’T-”

The Red Hood turned toward her so fast, he hissed as he felt a sharp pain in his side. Oh right. He’d been shot. Twice.

“Touch that.” Jazz finished quietly. She strode over to his bedside and sat down, revealing a first aid bag. She waited until he nodded his consent to check his bandages and started to change them.

Shit that hurt. Her touch was light but a bullet wound was still a bullet wound. In an attempt to keep his mind off of what she was doing, he asked about the object.

“What is it?” She looked up. He nodded his head toward the… whatever it was. He could have sworn it had a faint green glow around it now.

“Oh that.” She resumed her work while she spoke. “It’s highly contaminated. One touch and your food will come alive and attack you for days until it wears off.”

Ooookay. Not what he expected to hear. And she was so nonchalant about it.

“Really?!” He asked incredulously.

“No!” She finished wrapping his side with new bandages and moved on to his arm.

“I just don’t want you to touch it.” She said with a mischevious smile, then resumed her work.

He chuckled at that, then winced at the pain.

“Careful. Don’t tear the stitches I put in. I won’t do it again.”

[fiona-fififi]

Suddenly thinking about Buck, after he and Eddie finally get together, accompanying Eddie to his pick-up games every now and then just so he can sit on the sidelines to cheer Eddie on.

[oneroomjestershow]

Inspired by THISSSS post that made a lot of sense and made my brain shake so hard it melted, i wanted to try to assign my angel's favorites so i put them together!

thinking that Ren could make friends with pokemon... one can just dream.,.. they're a menace

[helenapologist]

the fact that Cesare is Worthi’s favourite bigtop character makes me happy. its nice to know cesare is loved

[surreal-duck]

the farmer, the drawing and spring onions

Quitting his job was easy enough. Throwing everything away to follow his late grandfather's letter to a small town in the middle of nowhere, not so much.

It's been a couple weeks since Midori had moved into Stardew Valley. The old, abandoned farm was a piece of work, nothing like Midori remembered when his grandfather was still alive. Looking over the field, he could clearly recall his grandfather's figure, hunched over and hard at work among the season's harvest. After his retirement, and Midori's parents setting up shop by the city instead, the place eventually fell into disrepair. Instead of the carefully planted crops and lovingly cared for fields, in his view was a thick, overgrown forest, scattered boulders and logs, and an only growing invasion of weeds.

Trudging along the dirt path with the morning harvest, Midori made his way into the nearby town. Birdsong filled the air, the crunching of fallen leaves beneath his feet offering accompaniment. Upon arrival, a familiar voice called out to him.

"Midori-kun! Already hard at work this morning, huh?" Black hair with red streaks bounded towards him.

"Just the usual, Tetora-kun," Midori sighed, "I didn't think managing a farm on my own would be this much work..."

Between wrangling the ever-expanding weeds, tripping over rocks and fending off crows, he could only wonder how his grandfather had dealt with it all on his lonesome. An especially nasty one had nipped at his hands in a show of challenge. How gramps put up with this for decades remained a mystery to him.

His friend laughed, "Well, if you ever need any help, just give me a shout! I'm sure Shinobu-kun wouldn't mind lending a hand either."

The townsfolk were nice, and he had made a few friends already, like Tetora and his friend Shinobu. The saloon's bartender Morisawa had given him a hearty welcome despite Midori's protests, and his partner Shinkai was... rather eccentric, having beckoned Midori to the beach with a barely legible soaked note in the mailbox, only to appear out of the water to hand him a fishing rod and float away. He tried not to think much of it.

Parting with Tetora, Midori watched as his new friend raced away to the side of tall, slightly intimidating, muscular man. Must be the chief he's talked so much about, he thought.

Midori stopped by the bulletin board hanging outside the general store on a hunt for new requests. With the farm needing repair, money for buying new crops and setting aside any change for food, any extra funds would help. Whether its slaying slimes, mining copper pieces or fishing for sea cucumbers, he'll take them if it's within his ability.

The board was as crowded as usual, fresh papers stacked on top of the torn, weathered ones. Midori's eyes skimmed through the calendar, taking notes on the few upcoming birthdays of the various townspeople. Maybe he'll pick up a present or two if he had the time.

That was when a certain poster caught his eye.

Obscured by and tucked away behind several other fliers, a request for spring onions was put up, accompanied by a crudely drawn illustration. Shaky lines drawn haphazardly, a misshapen silhouette, and something curiously akin to a pair of eyes. One might have mistaken it for a sort of cursed talisman, it was almost as if some malevolent aura was emanating from it.

Horrendous as it may be to anyone else, Midori was awestruck at the masterpiece before him. Was it hand drawn? Who was responsible for such a work of art? How could anyone hide it away like that? He was brimming with curiosity. After a few moments of admiring the drawing, he turned his attention the the words below, where 'Please contact Fushimi Yuzuru' was handwritten in a neat font.

Midori couldn't recall meeting a Fushimi Yuzuru before. Maybe he missed someone while greeting the townsfolk? Pelican Town wasn't very big, but the possibility remains.

I'm sure I have some spring onions with me from yesterday... Midori rummaged through his bag, confirming as such, and proceeded to enter the store. Though, instead of the old geezer that usually manned the cash register, he was met with the sight of a dark blue-haired man, one who seemed not much older than him.

With his back turned towards the door, he had yet to acknowledge Midori's presence. He wore a gentle smile as he talked into the phone by his ear.

"...Yes, Young Master, I understand. Are you eating well? If I so much as catch word of you slacking on your studies, please bear in mind I won't hesitate to head there myself and whip you back into shape." A few audible protests spilled from the speaker as the man only chuckled. "Then, have a good day, Young Master. You know you can always give me a call. I know you weren't very thrilled by the rooming arrangements beginning this semester, but please do try your best to get along with Tsukasa-sama."

Having noticed Midori's arrival, the unknown cashier quickly ended the call and turned towards him with a polite smile.

"How may I help you?"

"Oh, um, I have some crops from my farm I wanted to sell..."

Midori quickly unloaded the contents of his bag, looking up for a moment at the young man as he priced his crops accordingly. Upon closer inspection, he found that his slightly messy blue hair, long eyelashes and the mole under his right eye were rather... attractive?

He said something about a young master... is he from some well off family? Assorted theories crossed Midori's mind. What would someone like that be doing out here in the middle of nowhere?

Midori snapped out of his thoughts once the young man spoke up.

"You must be the new farmer, I presume?"

"Ah, yes! It's Takamine Midori."

"Then, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Takamine-sama." He handed Midori a sack of coins in exchange for his crops, once again with that perfect customer service smile of his.

Takamine-sama? "A-ah, same here..."

Midori turned to leave the store, before suddenly recalling the request for spring onions he had taken earlier. Whipping his head back to the sales counter, he asked, "Actually, before I go, do you know anyone who goes by Fushimi Yuzuru here?"

The cashier stared at him with slight surprise. "Yes, that would be me. Is there something you need from me?"

Midori's face quickly morphed into that of surprise, and then awe and excitement. He attempted to stutter some sort of reply, to no avail, before remembering his original goal. After a few moments of fumbling around his bag, Midori took out the spring onions and held them towards him.

"Um, I saw you were looking for these from the request you put up outside, and I just happened to have foraged some last night, so...!"

"Oh! Why, thank you very much."

Yuzuru inspected the the vegetables closely, brushing off dirt here and there, before returning to meet Midori's gaze with the brightest smile of the day. He took a handful of extra coins from his apron pocket, much more than what was initially promised on the poster.

"Do keep the change. I've left that request up for a few days now, and was beginning to doubt anyone would take it." A drop of sweat trickled by his face. "Perhaps adding the illustration wasn't the brightest idea..."

Midori's eyes widened.

"Wait, so... you really did draw it yourself?"

"Hm? Yes, why?"

He squeezed the poster a bit closer. Midori couldn't believe his ears. Here, right here in front of him, was the very genius whose undoubtedly skillful hands had drawn the most awe-inspiring piece he had ever laid his eyes on. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, any sign of his usual tired expression was now wiped away with the pure, unbridled excitement he displayed. By no means would he let the chance of a lifetime slip right past.

A few onions were knocked aside as Midori fervently reached across the counter. Taking Yuzuru's hands in his, not even the man's startled face could deter the sparkling eyes focused solely on him.

If there was anything Midori knew at that moment, it was that he'd want nothing more than get closer to the wonderful artist before him.

"Fushimi-san— no, Master Artist!"

"...Pardon?"

[dawnthefluffyduck]

Dess from the Deltarune comic Looking Glasses by @ferronickel, I loved her design at first sight so here's the promised fanart; check out the original comic! It's very much worth the read :D

[skunkes]

unsure how to word this but there is something about having ocs with unsavory events happening in their past where it's like. talking about it, even when asked, seems almost gratuitous and inappropriate. and i'd much rather describe it through the oc themself and/or draw Them saying it. which is like. fitting for the subject matter? like of course its weird to talk about somebody else's business...!

and falls back into humanizing em/exploratory writing and development where u consider the impact of words said/words unsaid/HOW those words are said etc etc

[viric-dreams]

Trying to sleep whilst simultaneously letting some potential lore scenes for future writing/art run in the back of my mind produces some truly unsettling results.

Under no circumstances would Roberts be court martialed for treason. Officer Beverley seems to understand this, but his logic is entirely backwards. Framed by the glow of the fireplace, Beverley leans back against the sole chair in his spartan lodgings and explains what he’s so sure is going to happen. If Roberts does not comply he intends to go to the London admiralty, to let them in on his missing time, the new player making waves in Anarchist circles, the lies at the foundation of his very existence. He seems to think that the Dark-Spectacled Admiral has the power to land him in political scandal.

His letters will never reach the Admiral. Roberts knows this with the same certainty that he knows the Dawn Machine burns in the Southwest. Beverley’s contact is the Voracious Diplomat. He’s trying to be cagey about it, but Roberts has seen the letterhead, shoved quickly into a drawer whenever they need the space on the desk to work. And the Diplomat would never let such a tidbit go to the Admiral, not when it’s worth so much more on Grand Geode.

Roberts was there for the Luminous Plot of ‘69. In fact, he had been the one to ensure that its perpetrators would never find a way to return from the slow boat, no trial, sham or otherwise. As he and the Commodore stood against the gunwhale and watched their cement-laden bodies sink into the Zee, the Commodore turned to him.

“You wouldn’t betray me, would you, Elias?”

The expression on his face is clouded, as if already playing through and wounded by the possibility in his mind. It feels like being thrown into ice water.

“Of course not, sir!”

The very idea is appalling. Surely the Commodore doesn’t truly believe it’s in the realm of the possible—not when the very idea makes his skin prickle. He’s the Commodore’s man, through and through, dedicated to both him and the Work.

The Commodore smiles, his golden eyes suddenly kind.

“That's what I thought. You wouldn’t do such a thing,” his hand reaches out to pat his shoulder, “Not from my most loyal midshipman.”

He can’t help but flush at the praise. Hopefully, the deck’s dim lighting covers it. But it hardly matters, for the Commodore turns away, gazing into the waves where they’d thrown the traitors not minutes ago. Roberts thinks the conversation is at its end when the Commodore starts again, eyes never leaving that fixed point on the Zee’s surface.

“If you did betray me, of course, I wouldn’t kill and feed you to the dawn flukes. That would be too easy of an end. Instead, I’d weld you into our smallest zub and ship you to Anthe. Who knows,” he shrugs, “you might just even have enough supplies to make it.”

He can’t breathe, his lungs are frozen in his chest. The image is all too real—trapped in that metal coffin, hardly able to move. Through the icy panic, all he can feel is the frantic hammering of his heart and the sharp twinge of the muscle of his left thigh, where the scarred skin puckers above it. The Commodore wouldn’t. Of course he wouldn’t. Right? He has to take a breath. He needs to respond. It’s been too long. His silence might be taken for suspicious.

“There’s no need for that, I assure you.” The words come out whole, though his voice is frailer than he’d like. The Commodore is studying him now. Roberts isn’t sure whether or not he can meet his gaze, what the Commodore might see on his face. After a moment the Commodore nods.

“I didn’t think so. But you never know.” With that, his mouth slides into a grin, demeanour changing like night and day. “We’d best get back soon. There’s work to be done back on base. I’ll alert the navigator.”

Roberts sees the hand coming soon enough to not flinch when it lands on his shoulder, giving it a reassuring shake, before the Commodore is off, already descending the ladder.

He takes a deep breath and steadies himself, chasing the claustrophobic phantasm from his mind. The Commodore is right—there’s work to be done.

Truth be told, he’s not entirely paying attention to the details of Beverley’s demands. He doesn’t have to, when he already knows he’ll agree to whatever he says. It’s clear as dawnlight what he must do. The Officer seems almost surprised by how easily Roberts acquiesces, but that surprise soon turns to barely-concealed delight as the scientific possibilities unfold before him. He’s already turned away from Roberts and back to the schematics, searching for a pen to record the newest thoughts.

It’s truly a shame, Roberts thinks, hand reaching behind him for the fireplace poker, to have to lose such a promising engineer. But treachery is something that the New Sequence cannot tolerate.

Beverley doesn’t even see it coming until the instant he brings the iron poker down across his skull.

[coffeeandcalligraphy]

my brain: I’m so afraid to write this book what if I mess it up

my brain also: what if I didn’t give a fuck

[malboraslihan]

i love my pocket friends and our silly lil stories 🫂

[dailyeca]

INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — A rosebud, more stem than petal. A teacup, with a steeping sachet of lavender. It will take time. But they will wait for each other.

portrait on its lonesome (disco elysium style is so. difficult hkjh i blend colors too much and am too cautious about palettes to be able to pull it off, does not help im a warm colored art kinda guy)

Dialogue: AUTHORITY — Don't let this perp get the last word! Who does he think he is, talking to you like that? RHETORIC [Medium: Failure] — Who *do* you think he is? PERCEPTION (SIGHT) [Trivial: Success] — Someone with a permanent frown. LOGIC [Easy: Success] — Someone who's a criminal. CONCEPTUALIZATION [Formidable: Success] — Someone who's an artist. HALF-LIGHT [Medium: Success] — Someone with two brass knuckles and the know-how to use them. ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Hard: Failure] — Someone who doesn't seem a lotta fun to be around! VOLITION [Heroic: Success] — …Someone who fell through the cracks. SHIVERS [Godly: Success] — Some 20-odd years ago, a kindergarten runaway is herded into the metal belly of packed public transport and emerges reborn in a new city, baptized and spitting up the holy water in the wake of an identity you could barely say was remade as much as it was, simply, made. SHIVERS — He drowns again at age 7, at age 14, and every year thereafter, water filthier and colder every time, treading without a shore in sight. Even as his limbs grow leaden, come hell or high water, he maintains that stepping foot on land after so long will doom him. INLAND EMPIRE [Legendary: Success] — He doesn't even know who he is anymore; he just feigns indifference. He is a ladybeetle inversed - in the same way there are dots of yin and yang. Stiff belief that there will always be bad in the good. Living proof that there is good in the bad. He will never shed the former, nor acknowledge the latter. EMPATHY [Heroic: Success] — Not now, at least. Not with you, and not without time.

[oreolesbian]

thinking about the literal bridal carry rescue meet cute of lukelando again 🤧🙏🏼🤭

[nemesis-is-my-middle-name]

rotating some kind of. combination au version of that old thing where arceus/the lake trio do some back alley organ theft on ingo to make him better suited to the Task they're giving him. combined with a lake guardian akari au. combined with a tao trio champion ingo.

the basic thought is that ingo isn't exactly the protagonist, but rather, he was meant to be the new lake guardian's teacher. since humans are adept at dealing with their own spirit, the lake guardian should learn from them to not pull a repeat of giratina's falling apart. and ingo's ideal for this task, as a champion of zekrom/reshiram, one of the most human-spirit-centric deities around. so he was taken and dumped in the galaxy team to basically await the protagonist's imminent arrival.

[battle-subway-ghost]

Ehhat kf windy2-:$ hattrene ifd probably heve died or somethiv if wouldbt b fu n

[toxiccaves]

I didn't know what you meant exactly by airbrush drawings but the next time you offer to do some I'll definitely ask for one. They look sick!!

ahh tysm! I'm glad they had a good reception since theyre so fun n quick to do (provided im not doing a bg tho lol) I was thinkin of offerin it as a commission option if i open those again (since im currently jorbless.. been considerin 'em!) but i might take requests if i stream this weekend!