#hehe look I made a rainbow with my doodles :)))

[morgombie]

didnt draw his face how i wanted but its fine :3 behold

[puppyluver256]

[Image Description: Sabrina (from Pokemon) overlooking a wooden table with a doll sat upon an appropriately sized chair, in front of a similarly tiny table with tiny teacup and teapot (resembling the Pokemon Sinistea and Polteageist respectively) set on its surface. The doll looks like a feminine person with light skin, brown hair in a ponytail, and grey bead eyes with magenta glasses. It is wearing a long white coat with multicolored accents and magenta lining that features a rainbow Pokeball pattern, a black turtleneck shirt, a magenta belt with a rainbow star buckle, blue shorts with pink and yellow cuffs, purple tights with pastel rainbow sequins, and magenta shoes with pink straps and white socks. A thought bubble is coming from the doll's head to indicate it is actually a person in altered form, featuring a doodle face with a relaxed expression, blush marks, and two pink hears. Sabrina is looking upon this doll with a soft, pleasant smile. End ID.]

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I typically don't grab anime-exclusive aspects for my Pokemon fanart, as I'm more focused on the games myself despite the anime having been my entry point into the franchise, but I randomly remembered the doll transformation thing and decided I wanted to play around with that. After hearing that Sabrina has, or at least once had, the ability to transform people into dolls with her psychic abilities, Jules thought that sounded like it would be fun to experience and so begged their girlfriend to do it to them as well. Sabrina was reluctant, but then again Jules was the one wanting to go through it, so eventually she let up and now here we are! Jules seems to be happy with their current situation, Sabrina's happy that her partner's happy, everyone's having fun :D Though maybe Sabrina should adjust Jules in that chair real quick, it looks like they're gonna slide off it soon XD

Jules' doll form is prolly not that accurate to how the dolls Sabrina made in that actual anime episode, but for some reason I couldn't for the life of me find a screenshot of those when I went searching, and I didn't wanna dig out my DVDs just for some brief art reference hehe. Also I feel like Sabrina looks a bit Off here, especially considering I just drew her. Maybe it's because her head's so big in the composition and I'm not used to drawing such big faces? Idk XD

💖🐶 Check out my pinned post for ways to support my artwork, among other things! 🐶💖

~Likes are appreciated, but reblogs are greatly preferred as they let more people see my artwork! If you have something to say, feel free to give feedback in tags/comments/replies as well!~

Sabrina and other Pokemon concepts © Nintendo/GameFreak Jules Dogwood and artwork © PuppyLuver Studios

[kookiemuffin]

🧃 Chalky Afternoon ~

🌷little Jimin & Jungkook 🌷

🌿no tw

The weather was finally warm and sunny, sitting at a comfortable 70 degrees. The fresh green leaves rustled together in the wind, above where Jimin and Jungkook and were using chalk on the sidewalk. They had been out for only 10 minuets and had drawn many colorful things. Jungkook made a slanted and rainbow hopscotch, that he jumped along over and over again, while Jimin drew his favorite animals and balloons.

“Kookie! Come wook!” Jimin called out, catching Jungkooks attention. He came bounding over happily, his hair bouncing on top of his head.

"Hehe, cute! Why dat froggy pink?" Jungkook asked. He thought frogs could only be green.

"Jus' cause." Jimin shrugged. "Hobi says anyfing can be any color." Jungkook was satisfied with that answer. Hobi was always right in their minds.

The two were happily conversing in their own world, as Jin and Namjoon kept a quiet eye on them. If the boys could get along with out their caregivers intervention they would take it. Jimin and Jungkook tended to get along pretty well, but if one was feeling significantly smaller than the other it became harder for them to communicate. That's when the hair pulling, crying and shouting would start.

Thankfully, today they both seemed to be around 4 and it would probably stay that way. Jimin dug his hand into the chalk bin and took out a purple chunk that had been used. Then he started doodling what looked like a sort of fish, while Jungkook watched. Jungkook picked up a discarded orange piece of chalk and started making a very messy jelly fish. The pair continued to draw different sea creatures for a long time, but soon all their work was making them thirsty. Jimin stood up and wandered over to Namjoon, who was sat on the stairs outside the house. He leaned over his lap and whined.

"What's up, Jimin?" Namjoon asked, petting Jimins hair.

"Juice pease." Jimin said, lifting himself back up. Jungkook heard the word juice and bolted over like an excited puppy.

"Me too!" He exclaimed with a big smile. He seemed to loved juice more than life itself.

"Here you go, I had a feeling you'd two want these." Jin said, reaching behind his back and picking up to two juice boxes. He unwrapped the straws and poked both of them into the small foil on the tops of the boxes.

Jimin took his carefully, not wanting to spill a single drop, while Jungkook grabbed his a little to forcefully. Some of the juice shot up through the straw and landed on the steps. Jungkook pouted, staring at the small puddle.

"It fell out~" He mumbled sadly, looking back at Jin.

"Don't worry, there's still lots left in the box." Jin said, rubbing Jungkooks cheek with his thumb. "Next time, if you take it gently, it won't spill"

"Okay." Jungkook said, taking a drink of his juice.

Jimin wasn't near by to witness the juice situation, he had already wandered off into the near by grass and was laying on his belly. The warm sun wrapped him in a bundle of warmth, and the soft breeze tickled his face. He listened to the birds singing their songs and started to get a little tired, so he rest his head on his arm, while he held onto his juice in his other hand. A couple minuets passed and after counting six cars that drove by now and then, his eyes started to get droopy.

Jungkook was distracting both Jin and Namjoon with a silly game of i spy. Jungkook never revealed his answer as to what he spied, until Namjoon tickled him into a fit of giggles. He was quite the goofball and liked to make up his own rules. Soon, I spy turned into "Watch me spin in circles", which ended when Jungkook fell on his bum, laughing hysterically.

"My goodness, you have a lot of energy today." Jin exasperated, hoisting the giggly Jungkook back up to his feet. He dusted off the littles shorts and fixed his hair a bit.

"Do you want to take a walk down to the pond?" Namjoon suggested, catching Jungkook before he started going in circles again.

"Yeah!! Let's go!" Jungkook cheered, scampering off down the sidewalk a few feet before stopping. He knew not to run ahead too far.

"Okay, C'mon Jimin!" Namjoon called, turning around to find the boy. He was startled for a moment when at first he couldn't find him, but relaxed and chuckled to himself when he did see him.

"What?" Jin asked. Namjoon pointed to the grass, where Jimin was laying down.

"Is he asleep?" Jin laughed, walking over to where Jimin was. He kneeled on the grass and softly rubbed Jimins back. Jin turned back towards Namjoon and nodded, confirming that he was in fact asleep on the ground.

"Jimin-ah." Jin said quietly, shaking his shoulder. Jimin slowly opened his eyes, squinting up at Jin.

"Hey, sleepyhead. Let's get you inside for a nap." Jin suggested, picking Jimin up into his arms. Jimin nodded silently and rest his head on Jins shoulder.

"I'll take kookie. I'm sure once we get back he'll need a nap too." Namjoon said. Jin agreed and headed inside, while Namjoon and Jungkook took off down the road.

Jimin had pretty much fallen back to sleep and barely budged when Jin laid him down on the couch. He still had his now empty juice box in his hand and refused to let go when Jin tried to take it from him.

"Mine..." Jimin had whined out, his eyes still closed.

Jin smiled, it wouldn't hurt to let his little boy sleep with a small cardboard box, would it?

———————————————————

[everlind]

I was going through all my unfinished and rejected text files (there’s… quite a few). So, instead of leaving them to collect dust on my computer, I decided hey, why the hell not. Think of these as the roughest of rough doodles. Doodles that might be missing hands. Or are all drawn in side-profile. Most of these are NOT finished.

This one is actually finished!

FOOL ME ONCE

Pale skin, scruffy clothes, blue eyes. Human. Your eyes catch and stumble, but he’s already lost in the busy throng of the market. There’s no reason for you to come to a complete stop, but you do, skimming the crowd.

Gone. A beefy rustblood nearly knocks into you into a cart with de-spined slimeslugs. “Walk much?” she sneers.

You bare your fangs on reflex. It’s merely the usual polite half-distracted scorn twaddle, because she moves on and you turn toward the cart.

“Wow, what was her problem huh?”

You start, look to your left and there he is. All elbows and knees, hair like a bird’s nest, sly smiling. There’s no way you’re not noticing that half translucent skin, the blue-not-blue running in clears streaks like fucking targets. With effort, you drag your eyes up to his face. He grins wider.

Smooth, Karkat, you groan inwardly.

“You don’t look from around here,” he says, winking.

It’s one of the stalest pick-up lines in the pitch book. A quip about conquering Earth is in your camp, but he’s standing there, glowing in the red wash of the sun’s fading light, all bare-throated and human fragile, with only a single sinkhole of a quadrant accounted for.

“Yeah, and I suppose someone like you would know all about that, huh?” you sneer, eyes lingering over ragged hems of his jacket, his untagged ears and sharp, hungry face.

“I do actually,” he retorts. “What’s the moirail of the Grand Highblood-in-waiting looking for in the slum district, hm? I’m betting it’s not to buy a quad of slimeslugs.” He gestures at the cart.

“How d—“ you begin, and swallow the rest back down like a mouthful of acid. Too late, the other guy’s smiling so brightly all his flat useless cud-chowing teeth are on display.

“Ah!” he taps the side of his nose. “I have my ways. Also the pin in your lapel, dumbass.”

Fuck. You look down, hands moving up to tuck it back out of sight but it is, still meticulously hidden away under the gray silk tie. How—?

“Hehe,” he winks again. His irises are the purest indigo you’ve ever seen, even on a goddammed highblood. Weird. “So mister moirail, maybe I could help you find what you’re looking for? I know my way… around.” His eyes sweep you up and down, linger.

Is. Is this guy flirting with you? You don’t even know if he is, but it’s working, why is it working? And then, right on the heels of that, understanding slamming into your pan like rail runner: an pretty thing like him willingly approaching you, a troll? Hah. Not even in your dreams. Although… he doesn’t seem dressed like a conciliatory hire and he’s a bit too tall and rangy, most trolls like ‘em smaller and softer than that. Still really attractive though.

Damn it. Yeah, there’s no way, just no fucking way, he’s just messing with you. Rage and humiliation helps wash away the tingling, naive warmth already high up enough to warm your cheeks. Enough of this bullshit.

“Something you wanted?” you snarl, allowing your vocal box to thrum a subsonic warning at him; back off unless you have a cull wish, runt. He’s untagged, unowned, unwanted, worthless, human, nobody would care if you clawed open his bowels like hatching day present.

The idiot just continues to smile at you, aggressively amiable, like he’s perfectly aware of that, but isn’t worried at all, the cocky pink shit. Or maybe he’s just fucked in the pan, it happens sometimes. “Maybe,” he answers. He’s close. When did he get so close? Quirks an eyebrow. “Depends on what you want,” he offers.

The words fall like hot lumps of carbonized vegetable matter into your gut, and you have to swallow before you can answer. “You’re really forward, aren’t you.”

He grins, and it’s not altogether nice. “You have no idea,” he breathes, touching blunt-nailed fingers to the side of your jaw and leaning in. His mouth is fever hot, mammal warm and sultry, he’s kissing you full on the mouth, steady and firm, with just enough catch at the sweet inside of his lips to make your bloodplusher beat hard around the sudden surge of sheer, flushed wanting.

It’s been so long since you were touched like this.

You kiss him back, make a little noise you didn’t mean to make, reach for his face— only to find he’s slipping through your fingers, stepping back, stepping away. You get a glimpse of the look on his face, wide-eyed and startled, before he turns and takes off. He’s gone before you can blink, swallowed by the meandering stream of marketgoers.

You stare after him in numb consternation, thinkpan revving uselessly.

“Better holler for the patrocullers, kid.” It’s the slimeslug swindler, shaking his head at your glubcurdling idiocy. “He got ya good he did.”

What the fuck is he talking about… oh. Oh no. No, no no no ohnohefuckingdidn’t. Did he? You pat your pockets. Pat them again. Fondle the ones on your glutes for good measure and he fucking did, he did, he stole your wallet and you’re going to-

“—fucking wring that grubnugget’s little bobblehead straight of his shoulders and slide his squeal pipette full of my fresh, radioactive hate until he chokes on it. DO YOU HEAR ME?” You scream, shaking with fury. “I WILL SLICE OFF YOUR OILY, MALFORMED HUMAN NETHERS AND SET UP A STALL RIGHT HERE, PANDERING YOUR MALODOROUS GENITALIA SO ALL THESE UGLY FUCKS CAN HUMP THEMSELVES THOSE FINAL PRECIOUS INCHES INTO OBLIVION.”

“Hey now,” the swindler says.

“Fuck you, fuck you with a rusty culling fork I cannot believe you stood there and let him rob me.”

He seems wholly unimpressed with both your plight and temper. “First time to th’ market, ey?”

You stab a finger at him. “Stay. Stay right the fuck there because I’m going to fucking kill that little crotch sniffer and then I’ll be back for you.”

“Aight,” he agrees, easy as you please. “Better up an’ get yer legs marchin’ if you wanna play tag.”

Livid, you storm off, in the approximate direction you think he went. Hope he went. Probably went. Fuck. Oh sweet shrieking Gl'bgolyb, you’re going to kill that fucker, your hemochrome card was in there. The quote-unquote “special” one Sollux made for you so you wouldn’t get your mutant ass culled as soon as you farted loud enough for the drones to smell it. If you get ID’d on the way home you’re grubloaf. Which, of fucking course, is extremely likely as you need to cross into the first precinct. You’re so dead.

Past you is a complete idiot.

As the shadows lengthen and pool between the houses lining the streets, lanterns wink to life. All the colors of the hemospectrum united as paper-encased lights, strung overhead. The dusk market falls apart around you, merchants packing up and hurrying to perform their proper caste-assigned duties. There’s more humans out and about than you’ve ever seen in either of the other two districts and every flash of dark hair and pale skin turns your head, has you ready to charge, but it’s never him.

At midnight, you find yourself as good as alone in the deserted streets, right back where you started and empty handed. To think you ventured all the way to the third precinct to see if you could get your hands on a kaleidoscope. Only humans waste their already short, pointless lives making trinkets for grubs and you wanted to buy one for your moirail so badly.

Instead you got robbed.

Fuck your hot life.

“Still here, huh?”

Tired, you turn to face him, find the street empty. Look up.

There he is, backlighted by a rainbow of lanterns, perched on a stack of crates, crunching an apple. He doffs an imaginary hat at you, grinning.

“If I ever get my hands on you I’ll fucking strangle you.”

“Aw shucks,” he goes, pouting. There’s a smear of powered sugar near the corner of his mouth. At least you know where your boonbucks went. “And here I thought you liked me.” And then he leaps down from the crates, landing with a hollow thud on the filthy cobblestones, right in front of you.

“I could kill you right where you stand and nobody’d care,” you inform him pleasantly, all your fangs on display.

“Very true,” he nods. Cocks his head at you with clinical interest. “Are you going to?”

He’s got nerve, this one. Shit, you… you like it, you like it a lot. You envy it, because he has nothing, yet somehow everything, and it’s all right there standing before you with a droll little smile on his face, scraping the last meat from the apple’s core and waiting for you to do your worst.

And you realize, with a horrified pang, you’re going to do exactly jack fucking shit. Because you like him. You like the thieving shitheel. A lot. Damn it.

Something on his face goes from mischief to some kind of… of wondering comprehension. And when his mouth goes slantwise to crook up into a smile, it’s genuine. It’s real, no act. You think. You hope.

“That was a really nice kiss,” his voice has gone all soft and shy, too sincere suddenly. “Here.”

He tosses you something, and you catch it. Your wallet.

You turn it over between your paws, shaking your head a little. No need to check for your money, it won’t be there, for all he’s showing you that pretty smile. “Wow. Gee. Thanks for returning my empty wallet to me after you robbed me. How thoughtful.”

“Heh,” a rueful huff of sound, barely a laugh. “But I got you something nice to make it up to you.”

When he reaches behind his back your first instinct is to grab him by the throat and crack his skull open on the unforgiving ground -which you don’t, you don’t, even though your hand shot out, you don’t, because his chin comes up and he goes very still and you can see his pulse fucking wave at you from under that damnably fragile skin.

It’s not a weapon. Of course it’s not a weapon. Well. Actually, you’d be less than surprised, with how unpredictable everything about this… this… whatever the fuck this even is has been. But still, not a weapon.

Oh fuck. That bastard. You resist the urge the smack him. Smack yourself instead, clapping your palm to your pan. “Flowers,” you deadpan. “I wonder how you paid for those.”

“Aw, c’mon,” he holds them out to you. “Looksee, they’re kitten lilies, like your name. Karkat, kittykat, crabbykat.”

At ten sweeps you’ve seen a lot of weird shit, but this is really one of the fucking strangest moments yet. You accept the flowers, bought with your own money stolen by the same stranger that kissed you, and still somehow, stupidly, feel flattered. They’re fresh enough they still purr.

“…fuck,” you breathe out, swallowing around the sudden knot in your throat.

“Uhm,” mister pickpocket suggests ever so eloquently. “Maybe. Maybe we could kiss again. Sometime.”

You stare at him, clutching the bouquet to your chest. The lilies mew plaintively. “You robbed me.”

“Only a little.”

“You’ve probably done this to a whole stack of equally moronic losers.”

“Just a few.”

“You really think I’m a goddamn idiot, don’t you?”

He looks at you, almost wistfully. “I promise I won’t steal your wallet. You know. Again.”

“You already took everything,” you point out through gritted teeth.

He makes a ‘there you go’ sort of gesture, eyes bright and amused. Then amends it with a shrug. “I meant like, when you come back.”

You scoff, loud with derision, and take quite some vicious delight from his guilty flinch. “Give me one good reason.”

That uneven smile is back, the real one. “I wasn’t lying earlier you know. I could help you find what you’re looking for. I know a dude who makes real nifty kaleidoscopes.”

And again the “How—“ is out of your mouth before you stop yourself.

“I’ll tell you how,” he promises. The whole hemospectrum is painted across his face in soft, glowing patches. “If you come back.”

It’s not good enough a reason to come back, and you both know it. But you’re going to, and you both know that, too. It wasn’t just your wallet he stole.