#my pea <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[telemachea]

everytime i read cicero im like what possessed him to fucking say that

[harmleikurdraws]

Is my ranger's IQ count shorter than Shovel's height? Yes, it is. But in some beautiful alternative universe he convinced Zevlor to join their camp, where the old man can chill in the evening with Halsin and pretend as if the fate of the world doesn't lay in the hands of a total moron.

[codename-adler]

3.

Welcome back to the Neil & Seth shitshow!

i love my dummy sweet pea princesita seth sm we were robbed of his 3 brain cells

*Context for the Aaron tweet: in my Kevaaron fic “dance ‘til you find someone to die for” as well as my Kathea 🌺 wip et general hcs where Aaron and Katelyn have to separate, Kate has a mental breakdown from her multiple undiagnosed mental illnesses and thus is interned into a psych ward for months while events unfold on the outside. i just saw the tweet and thought it was funny and a lovely coincidence :)

>> GC next >>

-> aftg socmed au masterpost

[scatterbrainedbot]

its only just barely technically still February where i am so idk if this counts for the 2al redraw event BUT i had a blast working on these and Big Leo interacting with grown Sprout makes me emotional so.

original panel by the magnificent @intotheelliwoods here!

bonus panel and ramblings under the cut <3

so originally i actually intended to redraw a panel from like a more plot-relevant moment but then ell posted this moment and it just really hit home for me — one of the things in 2al that i love so much is just like how much hope there is throughout. how much love and joy. like the leos are literally stuck in this horrible looping pattern of loss, almost a doomed destiny narrative of sorts, but throughout the whole narrative theres levity and light even in dire circumstances — and it comes from loving yourself and those around you and participating in the joys of the present moment and just idk man like.

yes there are terrible foes that feel impossible to face alone. yes life has taken a lot from me. yeah. but. i will put on my shirt today. i am going to have a good day today.

so ofc i had to draw this one, but tbh im not super thrilled with how sprouts face came out in the end?? SO i went through some of my fave mini comics and did the one with Big Leo and Sprout bc, again, im emotional.

thank you for this amazing story @intotheelliwoods its been a wonderful ride

[houseofpsychoticwomxn]

i think you should cook with the boxer!frank thing🙂‍↔️

YAY I got u <3

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Frank was going through it, blood dripping from his nose to his gloves — something that always made you shiver, grossed out and worried not even halfway through the match. still, he didn’t seem worried at all, giving you a quick half-smile when he noticed your brows furrowing from the crowd. as soon as he got a break you were running up to the ring, collecting his face in your hands like you hadn’t seen it a thousand times, cold water mixing with blood hitting your palms as his coach cleaned his face.

“you okay?” he chuckled at the routine check-up as you turned his face in your hands, surveying the damage you’d later be patching up.

“we’ve been over this sweetheart. I’ll be just fine ‘s long as you’re right over there.” he pointed to the ‘reserved for party of castle’ seat you just abandoned, grabbing your wrists to clean them off like you were the one battered and letting them go with a kiss.

“you go sit over there and watch me win this. go on.” with a kiss to your temple and a handful of his own last name printed over your ass, it was time for round three.

˚₊‧꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

[rocketbirdie]

kunsel dump

[lichenbug]

octavia is a Professional shit-talker.

[sidewalksart]

Eddie Trauma Contribution

Dw guys he’s juet a picky eater ☺️

..Maybe.

..Probably.

..Hopefully.

Poor guy :((

[arolegos]

im way too scared to say this on main but icl i love lloyrumi n' i love ur lloyrumi art ... can u draw them more for me ... maybe dr harumi meeting sora and jordana like 'damn lloyd they js like us fr fr ???'

i love when the relationship dynamic is "kiss marry kill? all of the above"

[synodicsoma]

[swagging-back-to]

god i love my ladies

[peapodsinspace]

Usopp offers you [bouquet of flowers]

Do you accept?

[yes] [no]

[catoswound]

i usually hate when rome tags are populated by non rome stuff like octavian and pjo octavian and cato and thg cato. u know. but that clown cicero from skyrim is kinda cunty tbh. not to mention they turned my pea into a silly little jester

[nadhie]

Marcille modern day or smth like that. She has bad taste in literature

[4supermarkets]

sneak peak

[iggyshippingcorner]

okay so the sickfic has spiraled wildly out of control. it's at 2k words right now and i think the final is going to be around 5k... (sigh)

in the meantime! 1k words of Stone cooking that I wrote after baking dessert for an event last weekend. features: domestic stobotnik, some named badniks, and food as love language. mostly canon compliant, takes place sometime in the crab era :3

working at the hardened mass of brown sugar with slightly damp palms. the cheesecake is in the oven, cyan watching it with rapt focus through the glass. he’s refilling the baking supplies in the crab’s kitchen while he waits for the timer to go off. the brown sugar solidified into a brick of molasses while it waited on the counter, and while there are quicker ways to soften the sugar, he’s always preferred this method. small crystals cling to the grooves of his fingers and palms as he kneads at the brick, humming quietly to the music oni plays from her vantage point. a large clump breaks off from the brick, and he rolls it between his palms until it begins to crumple, and he deposits his fresh handful in the waiting jar. 

he dusts his sugar-coated hands off over the sink. a quick rinse to make sure he isn’t leaving crumbs across the whole kitchen. the terracotta disc gets a quick rinse as well, the old clumps of brown sugar clinging to it sloughing off under the spray. he towels it dry, revealing the familiar sparrow with its forked tail and sparse plumage. it goes in the jar, pressed down into the sugar to tamp it flat. with its labelled lid screwed back on, it returns to its designated spot in the cabinet beyond the marzocco. after the brown sugar comes the flour, a hefty glass jar with a bail lid that came from his own apartment. nearly empty. he scrapes out the last two cups and sets them aside, rolling up his sleeves as he wrangles the new bag of flour. 

alpha’s bzzt-brrp! from his perch above the fridge heralds the doctor’s arrival. stone doesn’t turn around so much as he drifts to a more interruptible task and then allows the doctor to step comfortably into his personal space, arms winding around his middle. his chin digs into stone’s clavicle. they don’t speak, not yet, just stand swaying slightly as he sets the kettle to boil and begins perusing their steadily growing tea collection. as much as the doctor despises switching things up, he’s been surprisingly accepting of stone introducing some diversity to his caffeine intake.

there’s clementines in the bowl by the marzocco, and the doctor reaches past stone to snag one. he rewards the snack choice with a silent shift, his elbow squeezing robotnik’s forearm to his ribs more securely. there’s the gentlest rumble of a laugh against his shoulder-blades. he tips his head to one side, curious, but the doctor doesn’t offer any explanation. just leans in and bumps his cheek against stone’s ear, moustache tickling his jaw and lips. 

“back to the grind,” he says, a touch too loud for how close he is. stone squeezes him again just because he can, and then lets him disentangle himself. “ETA?”

stone flicks the oven light on, and they both crouch in front of the glass once cyan shuttles away with a dejected zzzrr. the cheesecake bubbles quietly. stone checks the egg timer. “another hour. hungry?”

“biding my time,” robotnik hums, and waves the orange at him. “curry tonight?”

“I’ll see what I can do,” stone replies, like he wouldn’t carve the moon from the sky with his bare hands if the doctor asked him to. “what were you thinking?” 

“surprise me,” the doctor says, all magnanimous, which stone knows to mean reasonably spicy, and containing either lamb or pork. he graciously allows stone to steal the clementine from his hands, watching impassively as he quickly, efficiently peels it over the sink, and returns the exposed heart of it to his waiting hand. he pops one of the slices into his mouth and when the flesh splits between his teeth, stone has to take a slow, measured inhale. robotnik eyes him, but he just smiles, easy, agreeable. “I’ll send cyan to you when dinner’s ready.”

“sounds good,” the doctor nods, and leans in for an entirely unprompted kiss on the cheek that leaves stone blushing in the artificial sunlight of the crab’s kitchen windows. he shuffles out of the kitchen, peeled clementine in hand. stone watches him leave. cyan beeps eagerly from her post in front of the oven, and it breaks his reverie. 

“alright, alright. let me get in there,” he laughs, grabbing the oven mitts. 

the cheesecake comes out perfect. he has to swat multiple badniks and one robotnik away from it while it cools, and wrestles it into the fridge to chill properly despite more than a few protests (“this is a perfect time to test the liquid nitrogen chamber!”). 

dinner is a quiet affair crammed side by side at the island, legs tangled beneath the counter. the doctor steals more than a few pieces of lamb off his plate, and begrudgingly eats a few extra pieces of bell pepper in exchange. when they finally cut into the cheesecake, stone drinks in the sight of his doctor’s first bite-- the way his eyebrows raise a little, the way he assesses and catalogues consistency, texture, flavour. how his nose scrunches a little and he grins toothily down at his plate in appreciation. 

“excellent again, stone,” he says. such direct and genuine praise calls for a little preening, even if it causes robotnik to smack his arm and nearly send his own slice of cheesecake flying. the doctor snickers as he rights himself on his stool again, and accepts the retaliatory forehead kiss.

they drink tea on the couch afterwards, watching some telenovela while pretending (badly) to not notice the way they gravitate closer and closer, until robotnik’s head is in stone’s lap and both mugs are on the coffee table. stone is trained better than to fall asleep while the doctor provides running commentary on the anarrative arcs at play in the episode, but he would be a liar if he claimed his eyes never drifted shut listening to the familiar cadence of his doctor’s voice filling the warm space between them. his tangents ebb and lull like the waves overhead, their quiet domesticity concealed within the crab, far from the prying eyes of the world.