#hope it fits lmao

[crafty705]

She’s counting down!!

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DJ Motti design by @starfishes-and-watercolors:

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Sketch and lineart below cut:

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[wanologic]

vlad met him there via helicopter

[duckzz]

little sunshines ☀️

[sweeteastart]

Ravioli day 5 four days later for raviolishipweek by @breannasfluff

I finished this 25 panel hell of a comic. It's resolution is a bit quick but i don't think I'm impartial after spending days on it

[mochiajclayne]

Ever since watching One Piece Film Red, I kept on hyperfixating about the red spots on Law's outfit--like just looking at it for no reason whatsoever--until Luffy was on the same frame with him and something in my idle brain suddenly clicked: their outfits were a mix of red and yellow, which is their respective colors.

[mellohimelody]

cpurpled

letters to kafka, salma deera // station eleven graphic novel (x), illustrated by Maria Nguyen // underbelly, nicole homer // the garden of good and evil, alfredo jaar // mrs. caliban, rachel ingalls // I HOPE YOU READ THIS, lev st. valentine // station eleven graphic novel, illustrated by Maria Nguyen // the last scene in the movie by eleanor hsieh (x) // the gods show up, michael kinnucan

[eustasskiddsprosthetic]

"You got the best of me."

Wips, different colours and context below the cut. (TW: Religious themes)

If you're curious, this illustration is based on a comic (which is based on a fan fiction) I worked on for a long time called "You Got the Best of Me". Yes, it's a BTS song. It's a good B-side.

The idea is that traveller!Antonio finds his way to a small, wayward tomato farmed owned by this grumpy man called Lovino. He's the son of the village's head priest who had passed away from cancer when he was a child, not long after his younger brother, Feliciano was born.

Feliciano was always sickly and couldn't do very much. He was a crybaby. He was kind of pathetic but always cheerful and Lovino loved him very much, and worked hard to support him.

Growing up, Feliciano became very religious like their grandfather and trained to become a priest. Lovino didn't exactly disapprove, since it meant Feliciano would be taken care of, but he didn't believe in God as much as he used to. Afterall, God let his grandfather—the epitome of Godfearring—die so painfully. Feliciano tries his best to reconnect but their difference in faith made it difficult.

In the present day, Antonio and Lovino met when Antonio just stumbles into a village party one day. He leans against an empty barrel, exhausted, until someone taps his shoulder. He turns around and sees a handsome, albeit drunk as fuck young man giving him a bottle of alcohol, telling him to cheer up and drink. Antonio fell in love at first sight. That smile was gorgeous.

They meet again the next day when Antonio walks into the church and sees the same young man sitting at the back. The young man didn't say no when Antonio sits with him, and doesn't do anything when Antonio talks to him and asks to share his Bible.

After service, they walk around the church in silence and they go to a quiet stretch of meadow where Antonio plays some childhood songs on his guitar. Antonio was surprised when Lovino knew the words and could speak Spanish. Lovino said the 'weirdos' his grandfather made friends with taught him whatever he knew, which was surprisingly a lot.

They continue chatting and without knowing, it had been hours.

"Brother, it's lunch time," Feliciano said softly.

Lovino screamed. "H-how the fuck did you find me?"

Feliciano laughed as he pointed to the footsteps in the ground. "There's coffee! No alcohol, don't drink so much." Feliciano acknowledged Antonio with a curtsey and a suspicious glance. Lovino did not always have the best judgement.

The three of them walked together, Lovino walked ahead because he was hungry and knew that he needed to explain himself. Antonio and Feliciano introduced themselves. Feliciano was not as paranoid as before—Antonio seemed like a nice person. Antonio liked that Feliciano took things well despite his sickliness and hoped that he would get better soon. Feliciano gave him a look.

Antonio understood immediately. Feliciano was unnervingly pale and skinny. The only thing about him that was strong was his will to live. Antonio promised to never talk about it again and Feliciano smiled.

A few months go by and Antonio was helping Lovino harvest tomatoes and that was when Lovino pulls him aside and asks, "Do you know about my grandfather?" Antonio said vaguely because he and Feliciano slipped it in conversations here and there. Lovino nodded and then elaborated more on what Antonio 'vaguely' knew. Lovino usually wasn't this open so what happened now?

"Doctors said Feliciano won't have longer than a year left."

Antonio felt devastated. He did not know them for very long and yet he knew Feliciano was one of the better sort of people out there. He could only imagine how painful it must be for Lovino—his own brother!

"Is God trying to take a piss at me?" Lovino said angrily. "For not believing? For fucking giving up? For calling Him a bastard? If He feels bad, then maybe He should stop fucking killing everyone I love! My own family, Antonio! What the fuck is wrong with Him?"

Antonio listened. Lovino started ugly sobbing, understandably so. Antonio nodded.

"Feliciano's a good kid. He's always doing his fucking best. He never whored around, he's always nice. He cooked for old ladies. He prays and reads the Bible every fucking day. Why do you Hate your own, God? Is it because he's dating some guy? Well, I don't like the blonde son of a bitch either but I won't kill them. What the fuck is your problem? Aren't you the good one?"

Antonio pat his back. And then, Lovino said, "Why can't He just kill me instead? Let Feliciano go. Let him be happy."

"That won't change anything."

"Yeah that fucking won't but at least I won't be sad."

"Well, I would."

Lovino looked at Antonio like he was crazy.

"But you'll fucking bounce in what? A week? Two weeks? I know your type. You idiots never fucking stay in one place, always running around, bumming around without doing anything proper. Piss off, Antonio. You'll find another one in China or some shit."

"No, Lovino. I care about you. I don't want you to die. Feli's not dead yet. What would he say?"

"He'd tell me to pray."

"Praying isn't dying, sí?" Antonio said. The sun was setting and the birds were chirping. Antonio picked up a plump tomato from the ground, wiped it with his shirt and gave it to Lovino. "Eating this beautiful tomato won't cure you or Feli of your pain but it sure tastes really nice."

Lovino laughed at that childish response. He ate the tomato and smiled. It was quite delicious. Antonio thought he looked like an angel when he smiled, especially now. They looked at each other with an unspoken emotion, something at the tip of their tongue. Antonio knew it a bit better than Lovino but it was still scary because it meant giving up his freedom to stay here.

Forever.

Of course, he can talk about travelling with Lovino but he knew lazy bastard wouldn't want to do anything. He could try to get Lovino out of the house. He could lose his dignity and leave and reclaim that freedom. He could... Lovino laughed again and that smile was gorgeous.

[lunarin64art]

That feeling when he can't stand to see you that way, no matter what you do, no matter what you say😩😭💔

[yardsards]

i needed to express a sentiment in the creative stylings of @dunmeshiminimumwage

[toxi-works-at-culvers]

raglan

[waveoftheocean]

yet another vw wip for this week's wip wednesday bc i have zero (0) self control and so. so. so many thoughts abt them

[royalarchivist]

Pac: Fit. Where are you, Fit? Where are you, Fit? Where is my official gossip???

It's always very funny hearing Pac and Fit complaining when the other person hasn't logged onto the server yet, lmao.

[blaithnne]

I wanna draw more of them but I’m not in the mood to draw ducks so

Meet the Cast!

╰┈➤ Canon ☄. *. ⋆

→ Scrooge McDuff → Matilda McDuff → Hortense McDuff → Qalhata Duiker → Goldie O'Gilt → Jack Duckworth → Bentina Beakley → LÙ Huifen (post-casefiles) → Ludwig Von Druska → Bradford Butcher

╰┈➤ OCs ☄. *. ⋆

→ Lucrais NicRiada

.ೃ࿐

[graciehart]

you could take me to Neverland, baby. (x)

for Aster @magicandmaybe ♡ happy holidays from your secret santa!

[ndostairlyrium]

[x]

[moralcandy]

fifteen things that don't come back, by charlie slimecicle:

number one. the paper airplane you and your daughter throw at your husband while his back is turned in the kitchen, the two of you hiding behind the counter as you snicker quietly when he stops humming and yelps a curse as he turns around with a faux angry expression and a poorly-hidden smile.

number two. the glass your daughter broke trying to grab it from the cabinet on her tippy-toes. you didn't look over until you heard the glass shatter against the kitchen floor, too preoccupied with grabbing the jug of cold orange juice from the fridge to notice until it was too late. golden, afternoon sunlight shone warmly on the both of you from the open window as you swept it up while she stood to the side with a sheepish expression.

number three. your husband's soft shirt he let you borrow when you said you couldn't find your own but really you just quickly shoved yours under the bed when he wasn't looking. you absently noted that it smelled like him. your lips curved into a slight smile without input. your foot shoved your shirt under the bed a little bit farther.

number four. the pictures you took of your daughter and niece, hugging eachother as they posed for the camera, the photo incinerated into ash when you blew up your house. you frantically dug through your daughter's chest afterwards, soot covering your hands as you searched for the photograph. you did not find it.

number five. your niece.

number six. the feeling of a cold glass of wine held tipsily in your hand, the waterdrop of condensation slipping down the glass at the same pace your tears did down your cheeks. you downed the alcohol until there was nothing left except a burning feeling and a lump in your throat. the bartender did not give you another drink.

number seven. your friend, the one who used to laugh hysterically with you as he wrapped his arm around your shoulders before he began to scream at you while he wrapped his hands around your neck. he pushed you into the dirt, the metallic taste of blood in your mouth and the feeling of wet dirt on your skin as you absently question whether the water dripping on your face was the rain or the tears slipping down your friend's face. you know that was the funeral of your children, but you think both of the real 'you's died that day, too.

number eight. the warm, rumbling feeling of laughter in your chest as a smile hurts your cheeks, the sensation long gone. your mouth, for a moment, twitches into a small smile at the memory of the feeling.

number nine. the feeling of hands on your own, your husband's warm hands intertwined with yours as your cold, golden rings clink against eachother. your daughter's tiny hand clasped around yours as she leads you to a butterfly she found, grass brushing your ankles as you walk.

ten. the sound of your daughter's amused laughter, snorts interrupting occasionally. her head leans back as she giggles, her eyes scrunched up in happiness.

eleven. the sound of your husband's soothing voice, lilting with fondness as he looks at you. a smile absently crosses his face as he speaks, audible in his voice. you always remember smiling back.

twelve. your golden wedding band your husband lovingly slipped onto your ring finger so long ago, the one you furiously tossed into a dusty corner with particularily bad aim. you blame the poor aim on the tears blurring your vision, but it could've been the alcohol, really.

thirteen. your husband. you try to go to sleep in the center of your bed now, knowing that he won't be there. when you wake up, you always find yourself on the left side of the bed, as if you've moved in your sleep to accommodate someone. you scowl and think that your asleep self should stop being so stupid. ..you make the bed just in case he really does decide to come back.

fourteen. your daughter. whenever you make yourself breakfast now, you keep accidentally making two bowls, the muscle memory automatic, familiar, and no longer needed. you sit down at the table and set the bowls and begin to eat, but you always end up just stirring the cereal with your spoon as you stare at the untouched bowl across from you. you always end up throwing them both away. without your input, a frown tugs slightly at your lips as your pour out the second bowl but you know that nobody else was even here to eat it anyway. your eyes burn.

fifteen. your daughter, the one you know isn't the real one. sometimes you walk down those train tracks where you found her, hoping she'll be here this time. she never is. ..you still keep checking, just in case.