#palette knife prompt

[rainbowfic]

But there was a period of friction, when “hello” was spreading beyond its summoning origins to become a general-purpose greeting, and not everyone was a fan. I was reminded of this when watching a scene in the BBC television series Call the Midwife, set in the late 1950s and early 1960s, where a younger midwife greets an older one with a cheerful “Hello!” “When I was in training,” sniffs the older character, “we were always taught to say ‘good morning,’ ‘good afternoon,’ or ‘good evening.’ ‘Hello’ would not have been permitted.” To the younger character, “hello” has firmly crossed the line into a phatic greeting. But to the older character, or perhaps more accurately to her instructors as a young nurse, “hello” still retains an impertinent whiff of summoning. Etiquette books as late as the 1940s were still advising against “hello,” but in the mouth of a character from the 1960s, being anti-hello is intended to make her look like a fussbudget, especially playing for an audience of the future who’s forgotten that anyone ever objected to “hello.”

Because Internet, Gretchen McCulloch

[deadghosy]

Okay, I saw the part in the noob!reader post about Kirby. I love Kirby and would love a Kirby!reader in hazbin hotel. Like how he is cute but can consume worlds and everyone is just like *pikachu shocked face*, same with him being able to pull out random weapons from his abilities. I can imagine he got there from a new weird portal and meta knight is like “where is he NOW?”.

Kirby is a being of chaos and I love him ❤️

I ALSO LOVE KIRBBY I WAS A BIG KIRBY KIN💗💗 🦆

HAZBIN HOTEL X KIRBY! READER

prompt: you lost the sight of your best friend only to be somewhere completely different.

Meta knight was walking ahead of you as you picked up flowers with your cute smile. “Poyo!” You said smiling ready to show meta knight your flowers you picked up into a bouquet. 

When all of a sudden, you were getting pulled into a red portal as you screamed out to meta knight who seemed to be in his own world.

“POYO! POYO!” You then get sucked in as meta knight turns to see nothing. “Reader/Kirby?…..where is he NOW!” Meta knight exclaims, his accent thickening in worry as he runs around the area calling out your name.

Meta was basically that Brandon rogers meme when he lost his “child” 😭

You swirl in the portal to get thrown out and roll into the feet of a person. “Oh my! Are you okay sweetie?” The sweet voice says as she picks you up. Charlie looked worry seeing you dizzy. “Poyoo..” you said with a dazed out look from your trip of the portal.

Charlie took you in her hotel, getting you water and suited to rest as vaggie checks up. After 24 hours, they kept you as you became part of the hotel staff.

I headcannon you once accidentally swallowed Angel because you saw him as a regular spider. You literally transformed into his color palette before Charlie made you cough him up.

Angel was so traumatized 😭

I imagine you literally almost ending hell’s population by yourself cause you were hungry..you dead ass ran through the streets eating random shit. Thank goodness Lucifer picked you up and ran.

You once walked into Lucifer brain storming and he saw you…he immediately had a new idea for his duck creation. He made you stay in his room until Charlie said it was your bed time.

Vaggie always keep tabs on you so you don’t cause trouble around the pride ring and the hotel.

IMAGINE HOW YOU LITERALLY ATE A BUILDING…A FUCKING BUILDING AND HUSK WHO TOOK YOU FOR A ERRAND STROLL WAS LIKE

The egg boiz

Nahh cause you definitely had swallowed up the egg boiz to have a egg shell around you to hide in the egg shell like an ability.

Sir Pentious is always scared of the fact of you just eating him. But you don’t cause you literally get fed chips by the bar. So Pentious calms down and lets you have some time with him

Lucifer would probably make you inhale one of his rubber ducks so you can have a duck beak and wings just so he can chase you around with heart eyes excited that his hyperfixation became real

You have a duck hat and a duck pj set. ALSO WITH AN APPLE THEME SET WHICH IS FAMOUS IN MORNINGSTAR FAMILY ❤️❤️

I can see you always following Alastor like the egg boiz did in “scrambled eggs” 😭 except you just waddle beside him cutely

“Poyoooo… poyoooo..” you said softly as you tug on Alastor’s pant leg. Alastor looks down slightly entertained by your language and gesture for him to look at you.

“Well aren’t you an eager little thing…” alastor says picking you up and taking you to show Rosie his new found friend.

Husk once

STOP IT CAUSE WHAT IF YOU INHALED A KNIFE AND EQUIPPED IT ONLY YOU BE THAT FUCKIN MEME WITH KIRBY HOLDING A KNIFE😭😭

YOU WOULD STAB SOMEONE’S TOES AND KNEES YOU ABSOLUTE MENACE!!‼️

You definitely stood outside of the Vee’s tower holding the knife with a smile as Valentino looks so scared closing his curtains.

#justiceforangeldust

Angel dust loves you to the point he might adopt you as a sibling since you are pink like him.

Charlie and vaggie are the parents who maintain what you eat and sleep. Dead as you were gonna eat a butterfly when vaggie picked you up like “NOPE! NOT TODAY!” And took you inside for the rest of the time-

See I can personally just imagine that Kirby gif where Kirby eats the whole ass meal on the table. So imagine the crew’s face seeing you do that shit 😭

I can see you getting on fat nuggets and just start to ride fat nuggets like a cowboy 😭💗

Angel definitely recorded it as you just smile while fat nuggets runs around the hotel freely.

I headcannon you bought a bunch a flowers for the crew and the was so adorable how you just picked each flower matching the cast’s colors

Imagine you just watching a hell cartoon and Vox is like “kill them! Kill your entire family” as you jolted shocked and cry at the scary tv man

Niffty once fed you dust particles thinking it wouldn’t affect you…it did cause you coughed and got sick. Niffty cried, not thinking it would harm you as she sniffles giving you soup in your room.

Niffty was banned from making lunch for you😭

Alastor be trying to troll you into eating cannibal meat, like dead ass he would make you a sandwich with “turkey” meat. But you could already smell THE MUSSTTT 🤮

So he failed with that mission. But at least you like his radio station and his jazz music.

Charlie brought you to her meeting with the first man so she can feel comfortable as you are kinda like her service animal.

Adam actually would like you cause you love to eat endlessly and you are pick up size. This mf will literally pick you up with one hand and dribble you like a basketball or treat you like a damn football💀

“Hey lute! Go long!” “Yes sir!” Lute replies back as she moves back far. Adam launches you making you scream as lute flies up and catches you.

“GOALLLL! FUCK YEAH!” Lute says accidentally throwing you off of the cloud floor they were on. “LUTE WTF?!” Adam yells looking at you fall before a portal had eaten you up. “Well damnit…I was gonna miss that lil pink shit.” Adam says before walking away with lute close behind him

Meta knight is back at home was tweaking out as he literally sobs eating with a picture of you on the table. He misses you deeply as he stares at the photo before looking down. “My friennnd…” he says with a sniffle as he covers his face.

Good ending was that you plopped down on the table from the portal as meta immediately hugs you as you smiled happily, showing him the flowers. You guys ate dinner happily!

[kimolisai]

Using Bing Create with the prompt: An oil painting, thick rised impasto, palette knife, different size brush strokes of a plus size african american woman, cherry blossoms, full length body view, whimsical, swirl pattern, with thick impasto, expansive view

[avocado-writing]

If you’re still open for prompts, can we get Tav to bring Astarion for shopping, claiming she has no fashion sense, but in truth it’s to make him buy something for himself?

I don’t know if you’ve seen the free cam screenshots, but the inside of Astarion’s test is bleak and messy, and in the lower city camp he’s hanging filthy rags to dry above his tent, like he’s so used to only focusing on his outerwear that he forgot he can actually get himself some nice towels and bedding for personal use.

notes: what a sweet request! i get so many lovely requests for astarion and it's what he deserves tbh.

words: <1k

rating: T

“I’m not sure why you need me to come with you. Apart from because you’re in need of my stellar company, of course,” Astarion sniffs.

“Well, you have the best taste in camp, and I trust you with this sort of thing. Besides, what were you really planning on doing today apart from irritating Gale?”

Astarion makes a show of putting in a bookmark and slamming his novel closed, looking up properly at where you’ve wandered over to him. He pretends to be a bit irked, but he wasn’t really paying attention to the words in front of him anyway - he was too busy sneaking glances up at you as you helped out around the camp. It’s something he’s been doing a lot recently. His eyes are drawn to you. He is drawn to you. Magnetised. 

But that is far too raw-hearted and personal for you to know, so he’s desperately trying to hide his weakness for you beneath a layer of palette-knifed-on apathy. He suspects it isn’t working.

“Come on,” you continue, your pleading too sweet to be ignored, “it won’t take long. I just need to get a couple of bits for my tent, you know, to spruce it up. Please?”

Astarion groans. Secretly, he doesn’t mind. He’d quite enjoy it, actually. But if you know that then you suddenly have power over him, and the idea of letting someone have power over him again, even if it’s you, scares the unlife out of him.

Still, though. When your eyes are buttery-soft and there’s that furrow in your brow which comes with your sincere confusion, he feels his walls being shattered.

“Fine,” he groans, dramatically, “I suppose you do need some help picking out nice things. Let’s head off, then.”

He tries to ignore the way that his heart does a silly little leap when you light up at the idea.

And so, Astarion lets you drag him into Baldur’s Gate. He is once again overwhelmed with how much he missed the city - not during the times with Cazador, of course, but back in his youth, when he was able to stroll about and shop like this under his own free will. When he had a magistrate’s salary and a healthy portion of it could go on things like this, frivolous and fine things. Maybe he is a little bitter at first as you take him store-to-store, but he soon finds himself relaxing into the joy of a spree; when your hand tangles with his he lets you lead him around, quietly revelling in your delight as you leaf through linens and silks.

Your day together becomes a chorus of, “this one or this one?” holding up bedsheets for him to help you decide between, letting him make a lengthy decision as he tests threadcounts against his alabaster fingers. He helps you pick blankets, new soft towels for when you’re able to bathe (a luxury at the moment, but still…) some sweet-scented candles and incense for your tent to cover the smell of dirt caked into you all. 

He suggests lavender. It’s his favourite.

At the end of the day he watches you count out gold onto the final merchant’s counter before taking a heavy woven tote full of your purchases. It feels like a satisfying venture has been had, but he still feels a bit hollow - after all, your hands are full, and his are achingly empty. 

You stop when you clear the doorway back onto the street, and hold the bags to him.

“What? I’m not carrying your things for you. I’m not Karlach!” he says, appalled. You roll your eyes at him.

“I’m not making you my pack mule, Astarion. I doubt you could be - ” he’s about to interject and bite back at that little jab, but you barrel on regardless, “ - they’re a gift. This is all for you.”

He freezes. Blinks. Eyes drop down to the shopping as if it’s a Mimic, waiting for him to let his guard down so that it can eat his arm.

“All for me?”

You nod, and when he doesn’t move to take the handles, you gently open up his fingers like the petals of a flower and deposit them into his palm instead. 

He feels the weight of the new things. Of his new things. He doesn’t know how to respond. His brain feels blank.

“I have money, you know,” he says, partly defending himself against your kindness, and partly against the idea that you might think he’s in need of charity. You sigh and cross your arms, a sure sign of not taking any of his nonsense right now.

“I know, and I am perfectly capable of giving you a gift because I think you deserve one. There is no trick here, Astarion. I just thought you should have a couple of new bits because you barely buy them for yourself. You’re allowed to have nice things, you know.”

Ah. That hurts him a bit, not because you’re being unkind, but because maybe you’re being truthful. His hands became used to a needle and thread by candlelight, to tiny neat stitches done with such precision it was difficult to notice that anything he mended was ever damaged at all. But he does not live that life any more. He can open himself to the possibility of being pampered again.

He likes that idea.

He retracts his arms, clutching the shopping to his body, as if he’s afraid that you’ll change your mind. You smile at him so brightly that he feels as if you are the sun.

“...Thank you,” he manages, eventually.

“Any time,” you say, and he knows you mean that.

taglist: @ghosti02art @sadandanxiouswtf @yeethaw13 @trappedinlimbo15 @infinitely-kate @dhampling @wereallbrokenangels @tilldeathdonugget @hopeful-n-sad

[palmofafreezinghand]

Aww, I miss you, lovely! I've been gone for a minute myself. Give me something sweet with Edward and Esme, or maybe Esme's pov of the Ephraim confrontation 💕

Thank you for the prompt! I miss you too, I hope you're doing well 💖

2007. 

After months of chaos, dozens of strangers in her house, and the ever constant threat of death looming over her family’s head Esme was savoring the first quiet moments back in her studio. No sooner had she laid a rough underpainting when a familiar footfall made its way down the hall and eventually stopped in front of her door. 

He did not knock, he never did, but instead walked into the room as if it was his own. He slumped into the loveseat — too big for the room but a requirement of him and his father —  slinging his legs over the armrest. 

“I’ve missed you,” Edward sighed. 

She raised her brow, eyes focused on her canvas.  ‘I do not believe I went anywhere.’ 

“I can not hear you,” he said, tapping his temple. “Bella,” he smiled like a fool whenever he said her name, “is practicing her restraint, she wanted to test blocking the voice I know the best.” 

“Is that not Carlisle?” She asked, noting how the shuffling of papers downstairs halted when she mentioned his name. Nosy or besotted, she was unsure which. 

“It appears I know what he is going to think before he does.” 

Her eyes rolled before she could think better of it. The two were too similar for their own good. 

“So I am second fiddle,” she said, attempting to feign annoyance. She knew better than to tease him, but he made it far too easy. 

“Think of it as you’re the person I know better than almost anyone else in the world.” 

“Mhm.” 

They fell into comfortable silence. Edward began leafing through a decade old copy of Architect Digest. Esme began mixing her color palette, something light and peaceful, a slow introduction back to painting. She would not let her art get tainted by the turbulence, the fear, the anger… 

“You truly can’t hear my thoughts?” 

“No.” 

‘You can not hear this?’ 

“If you are asking me if I can hear you the answer is no.” 

‘How did you know what I was asking?’ 

“I know you, Esme,” he grinned, that knowing smile he had worn since the day they met eighty years prior. 

She set down her palette and turned on her stool to look at him fully. ‘I enjoy jazz.’ His face did not change. She narrowed her eyes. ‘I think that sleeveless shirt you wear is ridiculous.’ Nothing. ‘Carlisle and I were the ones who broke your baby grand in 1948, we let Emmett take the blame.’ That clinched it. This revelation would have caused a civil war in their house, and yet nothing. Besides a slightly amused smile. 

“You can’t hear me,” she breathed. 

“You are too stubborn for your own good.” 

She scoffed, he beamed. “I am the stubborn one!” 

“Your husband is close behind.” 

“This is rich,” she laughed to herself. 

It was an odd feeling, being completely alone in her own brain while he was sitting across from her. The only time her brain had ever belonged to her alone were years she wished to never relive. She could think of anything at all. 

The latest bodice ripper she was reading. 

Their fight of 1927. 

The whispered sweet nothings Carlisle said in the privacy of their bedroom. Or his office. Or most recently the garden shed. 

“Please, stop thinking of Carlisle in the nude,” Edward groaned lightheartedly. 

“You said you couldn’t hear me!” 

“I can see your face,” he grimaced. 

“You are such a prude for a man who’s had a child,” she laughed, unable to deny his accusation. 

She returned her attention back to her paints, letting her thoughts roam, now with a few restrictions. 

“That’s the first time you’ve called me a man,” Edward said quietly after a minute or two. 

“No it isn’t.” The palette knife cut a dollop of prussian blue, then crimson, mixing the two in a pool of titanium white, mix. 

“Yes,” he nodded, “it is.” 

The three colors were now a well blended lavender. “I… it is not the… I feel as if… I must have thought it before…if not…” 

As she tried to formulate her thoughts, it dawned on her that in eighty six years she had never had to tell him how she felt, about anything. He had always known, was constantly piecing together her thoughts before she did. How was the first time she was expected to verbalize her feelings now? Was she supposed to tell him how much fatherhood had changed him, had fundamentally changed their relationship, how she could never view him as she once did?

Crimson, cadmium yellow slapped onto the palette with a smidgen too much force, six parts titanium white. 

“I know, Esme. We don’t have to do this, I know.” 

‘Thank you,’ she thought. She knew he couldn’t hear her. Yet something by the way he smiled and nodded, turning his attention back to the article he had read dozens of times before, told her maybe he just knew.

[midgardian-witch]

“Because you’ve got me feeling some type of way and I really, really hate it and I wish that feeling would just leave me alone.” with Laurent maybe?

This turned both kinda angsty and very sappy. I hope you can forgive me, anon. I didn't make this horny even if it's Laurent 😔 (because we all know that that man is a slut)

The Fool

Send me a prompt from this list + a character and I'll write a short reader drabble

tags: love confession | fuck buddies to lovers (kinda) | a little angst | gn!reader

ships: Laurent LeClaire/Reader

AO3

Edit: added AO3 link

“Because you’ve got me feeling some type of way and I really, really hate it and I wish that feeling would just leave me alone.”

The two of you had met regularly even outside these painting sessions. Until you didn't anymore. Heated kisses stolen in dark corners were replaced by the cold bite of loneliness. You don't know why Laurent has been avoiding you, maybe he had found someone new that fueled his passion. You'd be lying if you said that wouldn't hurt you at least a little bit but you knew where you stood. When you started this passionate affair with the artist you knew what kind of man he was; you were under no illusion that this could ever be more than a conduit for your and his desire and lust. Laurent LeClaire was the type of man to fall in lust, not in love.

To put your mind at ease you decided to simply ask him the next time you model for the painting he is currently working on.

As you lounge on the settee, bare as the day you were born, you take a moment until the question finally falls from your lips.

"Tell me, why have you been avoiding me?"

You see him still behind the canvas, the hand holding his paintbrush hovering uselessly in the air.

You wait a few beats before you continue: "Do you deny it? If you have found another just say so, Laurent."

The only answer you get from him is a sigh. It vexes you that you can’t see his face, that you have no way to at least decipher his expression to find an answer to your question. After a long pause he finally speaks.

“There is no other. Only you.”

You roll your eyes and with a groan you pinch the bridge of your nose between your fingers. Trying to get an explanation out of the man felt like pulling teeth.

“Why avoid me then, Laurent? Just tell me and don’t leave me in the dark like this.”

You were starting to feel irritated, having to beg for what you are sure is a rejection biting at your heart. The sound of his palette and brush hitting the wooden table beside him makes you look up. You still can’t see him. It feels intentional now, him hiding behind his work. The coward.

“Because you’ve got me feeling some type of way and I really, really hate it and I wish that feeling would just leave me alone.”

He sounds pained, his voice like a freshly sharpened knife plunging into your heart. If you weren’t already sitting down, the weight of his words would drag you to your knees.

As Laurent finally reveals himself behind the aisle, his lips pulled into a pout you would normally find rather charming, you can do nothing but stare at him. You still can’t believe what he is telling you. Maybe you are misinterpreting things or maybe Laurent has fallen ill or is speaking in tongues. Anything would make more sense than this. It simply cannot be the truth.

“Have you fallen ill? You must have a fever-” Laurent laughs almost manically, not leaving you any chance to continue your sentence. “I am! I am sick, you beautiful, terrible creature.” He looks at you, his eyes glinting in the candlelight. “Lovesick is what I am. And believe me I would rather it be a simple fever than this.” He walks over to the settee with a hand over his heart, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt. He looks like a tragic figure from a play and you wish for nothing but to hold him, to tell him that you return his feelings and that all will be well.

You can feel your hands tremble with the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside your heart. Eyes filled with unshed tears, you look at him. “If it is your wish then I will refrain from seeking your company in the future.” you mumble, your voice and heart cracking with every word.

He falls to his knees in front of you. “I am a fool, my darling. I have been a fool trying to starve my feelings by avoiding you.”, he kisses your bare legs from your ankles to your thighs, “Give me one last chance and let me be your fool.”

You feel dizzy, overwhelmed by emotion, tears rolling down your cheeks while Laurent’s gentle caress makes your heart beat faster. Slowly you reach down and cup his face, your thumb softly stroking his cheek and you nod.

“Be my fool, Laurent.”

[garglyswoof]

A small Klaroline drabble bc i miss writing, no promises I'll ever do more than this, but wrote this in an hour based on this amazing prompt.

Some friends joined for the sprint and I'm looking forward to seeing what comes out of their brains! If you see this, feel free to write on this prompt too and tag me, whatever ship!

---------------------------------

Long as I Can See the Light

The night is dark and full of horrors, and she is very much one of them. Dried blood cracks on fingers clutched tight on the wheel for the 24th straight hour of hurtling towards a ten year inevitability. She runs a tongue along her teeth, the taste of copper still strong despite the hour. She is shaking, shaken, what she calls vampire guilt lighting her synapses, images flashing across her field of vision. Elena lying still, Stefan’s face anguished above her, the stabbing motion through a chest wall, the feel of a heart in her hands. It still beats, for a moment, after it’s removed, did you know? An unbidden reminder of life clinging in spite of it all.

Caroline’s never been sure she’ll ever get over those moments, and now she’s not sure if magic will let her. She feels the panic rise, a physical sensation that has her clutching the wheel harder, blowing air out through her nose, calm breaths one two in out calm calm calm.

Panic won’t help this situation, not in the least, and the only thing that will is close enough that now the panic shifts focus to the coming reunion. 

What’s he been doing all this time? Would he even remember her? She’s pretty sure the answer is yes. After all, she's had quite a bit to worry about on her plate yet somehow she still found time to remember the rasp of his stubble on her thighs. Not now, Caroline.

God.

The smell of the city hits her like a freight train, sweet decay, earth and muck and something ageless and unnamed beneath the typical scents of civilization. She glances down at her phone in the passenger seat, a chipper Australian voice telling her to turn off on the next exit for Esplanade and tries to ignore the smudges beneath her eyes, stark in the rearview mirror. There’s just no time to look her best. She isn’t even sure what time she has, whether things had already been set in motion the moment her hand sliced through that man’s rib cage. 

She isn’t sure of anything except that Klaus is the only one who will know what to do.

-----------------------------------

Klaus steps back from his work, eyeing the canvas with a thousand years of experience. Something about the light source is off, and he rocks forward, using a palette knife to daub shadows amidst the light. It's fixed now, masterful even if he says so himself, but somehow not enough. 

Nothing really is these days. He knows and recognizes the ennui of an eternal existence, but that certainly doesn't make it easier to bear. Maybe someone needed killing. Maybe he needs to see the Northern Lights again. Maybe he needs to torture Rebecca. Something, anything to break up the monotony which spreads years out like taffy, stretching beyond human lifetimes, beyond anything but his own kind's lifetimes. 

And there is the rub - immortality is, in the end, unbelievably boring. What new things to see and delight in when you’ve experienced it all? It becomes a matter of degrees, a matter of who you share those experiences with. His thoughts flash to a place he’d pretended long buried. He lets go of the pretense in times like these, testing the weight of promise like a tongue against a loose tooth - funny the things that stick with you through the millenia - and thinks of breaking it.

He won’t. He knows this, but the act of testing the bonds makes him feel like he’s in control of this feeling; this strange, heart-flipping, enraging and exhilarating feeling. He thinks of checking in on Mystic Falls but the last time he did he had severed the head of the reporting hybrid with the force of his thrown mobile, and he didn’t need to see what surprises Kol would program into his replacement phone this time. 

He inhales in an action long useless and looks at the canvas, the play of shadows and light, and reaches a hand out to play god. Voices rise, a sussuration that reaches through the plaster, and he sets down his palette with annoyance, deciding that if art isn’t the answer, perhaps a spot of death would be.

He descends the staircase, hand trailing down the antique balustrade, fingers picking up trails of dust he’ll need to eat the housekeeper for, and approaches the voices. Two men - some of his guards, Thierry and Alan perhaps, and a higher pitched voice interrupting, tone demanding with a note of desperation behind it that his mind latches on to before the rest of his thoughts catch up and he realizes that Caroline Forbes is in his foyer, her form emerging as he rounds the landing, her legs bare, covered in blood and her face sallow and oh, the dichotomy of vampire, he hates it, he hates himself, he hates her, he thinks she is the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Caroline?” His voice betrays nothing to her, and he watches her stifle a flash of annoyance that almost makes him smile.

“Hi, Klaus. Can you get your lackeys to back down? No offense, lackeys,” she says, offering one of the vampires clutching her arm a bright smile. “I just know how he is.”

They drop her arms at a word and step away, leaving the two of them standing alone in the foyer. The sound of locusts whirring outside is almost overwhelming as she lifts her eyes to his, searching.

He’s not sure if she finds what she’s looking for, but she speaks anyway, her eyes bright and trembling.

“I killed a hunter last night, and I didn’t know where else to go.”

[esperanzagalaxy]

for requests, if you're willing to do something in the garden of yerlick? sasha the knife fairy or cel and their spouse or whatever else you prefer! your art is SO good I could look at it forever

 RQG request #12, a very sweet one. thanks so much for your prompt. i’m actually surprised i didn’t go with sasha the knife fairy (which i sincerely think is a severly underrated line) since doing something about the visitations kind of intimidated me! so i let this one sit for a while and then it just sort of came out of me. the lineart on its own is sincerely very nice, and i was nervous about over-rendering it with the colors, but... i think it’s a lovely result. i’m very happy about the faces. i think they’re all the emotions i wanted. look at cel and yuuko. i might never be able to top that tenderness.

  also, i love my design for feryn, so having the excuse to bust him out was great.

  hope you like it as much as i do <3

 mechanical pencil on cream paper and digital colors.

 ID under the cut!

[ID: an illustration of the party going through the garden of yerlik, accompanied by spirits. it is drawn traditionally with a mechanical pencil, and colored digitally. it shows hamid, zolf, cel, azu and wilde walking with aziza, yuuko,  grizzop and feryn. most of them are in profile, walking from the right to the left. there are tall trunks behind the group, as well as blue betals and cold breezes blowing through. the living and the trees are colored and rendered in cold palettes of purples and blues respectively, while the dead are colored in a flat, warm orange.    from left to right, first in the walking order are aziza and hamid. hamid has his eyes closed, and his head is hanging a little. he has a sad smile on his face. his skin is brown, his hair is darker, curly and slicked back. he's freckly and has a bit of stubble on his chin. his thick coat has a fur-lined hood. just behind him, and leaning forwards to look him in the face, is aziza, who is holding his left hand with both of hers. she has long, wavy hair and expensive jewelry. she has a build and face almost identical to hamid's, rounded, short and fat. she has an elegant dress and a shawl over her shoulders. she's smiling and talking to hamid with interest.    behind them, further back just a little, are cel and yuuko. yuuko is a tall orc with tusks, gentle eyes, and hair done up in a braid that runs along his scalp and then down. he's wearing a plain button-up with an open collar, and a simple waistcoat. he's walking side by side with cel, offering them his left elbow. he's looking at them with moved adoration. cel is white and blond, hair spiky and tall. they're wearing their goggles and a long coat with fur along the sleeves and collar. they're holding onto yuuko's arm with their left hand, and have the right intertwined with his. they're nuzzling into his neck, since he's a little taller. they're smiling, looking melancholic, both sad and elated.    some paces closer to the camera, behind hamid and aziza, are zolf and feryn. zolf is closing his eyes tightly, with his head hanging down, and he's walking with hands balled into fists. his hair is short and white, and his beard is done in a single plait. his coat has no fur on it. he's strong and stocky in build. behind him and one step closer to the camera, is feryn. he has his left hand on his pocket, and tje other on zolf's arm. he's talking to him in an animated manner. they have the same build, with feryn being very slightly taller. he's wearing an old, long coat with a breasplate underneath, and his hair is long and straight, somewhat uneven. his beard is done in three braids.    behind them and behind cel and yuuko are azu and grizzop. azu is looking down and holding the heart of aphrodite necklace in both hands, sad but smiling softly. her eyes are closed. her coat with a wide fur-lined hood is only partially visible. on her shoulders sits grizzop, who also has his arms crossed on top of her head, looking onwards with a cheeky grin. his long coat, plain trousers and boots are visible. he's bald and freckly, with dangling arrow piercings hanging from his long ears.    on the far right, behind them all, is wilde. he's the only one of the living with his eyes open, and he's looking behind them, off to the right to something off-camera. his eyes are wide and he has a surprised, searching expression. his hair reaches his shoulders and is dark brown, with a streak of white on the left side. his coat has a wide fur-lined collar, and there's a rope tied around his waist, tying him to zolf. end ID]

[ohnoitsjetster]

@calliemity wanted to see my teeth poem so here is my teeth poem

- (Short version)

Set on the Teeth

Life is meant to be more set on the teeth

More gnawed

Gnashed and jawed

More tested for sweet

Nipped like an unfamiliar hand on the snout

More to follow the molar curve

And pressed sharpness to the tongue

Oh man the mastication

Oh man the hinge and the gum

The alligator on my chin

The rain makes its leap

from jaw to collarbone

and the spit finds the corner of the lip

The skin breaks and makes

some sudden red

Life’s meant more set to the teeth

More traced palette

More bitten cheek

I will set my life to the teeth

I pledge to all the rotten meat

I will set my rotten soul on the teeth

From the honeysuckle to raw concrete

Life is so bitingly sweet

-

(Long / more rhyme-heavy version below the cut)

Set to the Teeth

Life is meant to be

more set to the teeth

More gnawed

More jawed

More tested for sweet

Nipped like the hand

on the nose of the beast

If the hot skin doesn't smell familiar

More to follow the molar curve

And pressed knife to the tongue

Like the bite-born killer

the tooth and the turn

the wolf in the wound

its the lunge

its the plunge

its the blood on the bullet

Set to bone and set to stone

and set unto the terrible teeth

Oh man the mastication

Oh man the hinge and gum

The alligator on my chin

The cut lets out

The lip lets in

Oh man oh man the allig-ation

The drool takes the drop

from jaw to collarbone

The spit finds the corner of the mouth

The skin breaks and makes

some sudden red

Oh gotta get it out

Life’s meant more set to the teeth

More traced palette

And more bitten cheek

I will set my life to the teeth

I pledge to all the rotten meat

I will set my rotten soul on the teeth

From the honeysuckle to raw concrete

Life is so bitingly sweet

Set to the terrible teeth

Set to the terrible teeth

-

If anyone wants to share their poems you can take this as an opportunity to do so! You could rb this with a poem or make your own post. I know @ricky-mortis and @calliemity write poetry so I nominate them, no pressure ofc! If you can’t decide on a poem u can use the prompt “teeth” or use one that fits it most closely :]

[rainbowfic]

The linguist J. K. Chambers did a survey of Canadian twelve-year-olds in the 1970s, and found that two-thirds of them said “zee”—but when he went back and surveyed the same population in the 1990s, he found that the vast majority were now using “zed” as adults. The same shift happened with successive generations. Chambers figured that children learn “zee” from the alphabet song and American children’s television programs like Sesame Street, but when they get older, they learn that “zed” is associated with Canadian identity and switch. Indeed, noted Chambers, “zed” is one of the first things that American immigrants to Canada change about their speech, “because calling it ‘zee’ unfailingly draws comments from the people they are talking to.”

Because Internet, Gretchen McCulloch

[deepdreamnights]

Halloween Leftovers

Prompt: a painting of smoke in a dark hallway, in the style of expressive figurative abstraction, made of liquid metal, dark white and violet, organic biomorphic forms, digital art techniques, action painting, delicate ink washes:: an ice cream cone that is white, in the style of post-apocalyptic landscapes, digital expressionism, dutch marine scenes, fish-eye lens, palette knife work, romanticized country life

Prompt smashing makes for odd gens.

The image(s) above in this post were made using an autogenerated prompt and/or have not been modified/iterated extensively. As such, they do not meet the minimum expression threshold, and are in the public domain.

[kimolisai]

Using Bing Create with the prompt: An oil painting, thick rised impasto, palette knife, different size brush strokes of a whimsical black woman, cherry blossoms, full length body view, whimsical, swirl pattern, with thick impasto, expansive view

[anticomedygarden]

more solangelo (prompt website)

-

tw for brief suicide mention and talks of death and grief

-

Ever since Nico had developed the power to sense death, people watching had gotten a lot less fun, but with Will in the bathroom and Nico left in the white-washed, lowly lit hallway of the mall with nothing but the vague lyrics of some pop song to keep him company, there wasn't much else for him to do.

Directly to his left, there was a large fake plant whose pot he could see was filled with garbage, the M&M wrapper on top having been placed there by a fast-walking woman in a business suit. On the bench across from him, a teenager sat on their phone, looking about as entertained as Nico. Several other people were walking through the hallway including a woman with a kitten in her hoodie pocket, a boy with pants low enough Nico could see the tops of his thighs, and an old man with a color palette that reminded him of a newspaper, as well as a significant number with babies and toddlers. His sneakers squeaked against the smudged white tile. They all stank of death.

It wasn't like he came with the intention of considering his future and mortality, but sometimes things just weren't in his control.

It wasn't his fault the business woman recently lost an aunt anymore than it was his fault one of the teenager's friends had recently attempted suicide. But it didn't matter; he felt all their losses like a knife to the heart. He felt the kitten woman's ever present grief from the loss of her father as a child, and the underwear boy's grandfather jumped at him, harsher than the old man himself who had been alone for years now. Even the kids had an air of reincarnation and incredibly old great-grandparents he couldn't shake.

The whole experience was kind of making him want to throw up.

He shoved his hands in his hoodie pocket and shivered, suddenly wanting to go home. This was stupid; where the hell was Will?

Our of nowhere, a woman sat down next to him, and he actually flinched. Pointedly looking away, he refused to focus on her. He didn't want anyone else's grief.

"You ready to go?" Will asked, appearing out of no where. Nico didn't hesitate; he jumped up and grabbed their bags, just a couple from the book store and some clothes.

"We're done?" Nico said hopefully, if a little surprised. They'd only been there for a half hour.

"Yeah, unless there's anything else you needed."

Nico hurriedly shook his his head and wondered if Will was actually done or if he'd sensed Nico was building up to a breakdown.

It didn't matter. He took Will's hand and followed him home.

[copper-skulls]

*waves a knife vaguely around* also y'all better send those requests for the palette meme in or I WILL choose my own prompts and y'all will have to suffer whatever my brain comes up with In Conjuction to those palettes. this thing has points. that i can make go up. i want to get the 'what the fuck is wrong with you' rank absolutely

[stablediffusion]

“Love the 'full fat' interface! Prompt: colorful oil painting, palette knife, primary colors”

Give us a follow on Twitter: @StableDiffusion

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[doomboy911]

Theme Knife

Prompt List

Art Prompts 2024

Commentary

Another piece I'm very very happy with. The butter looks absolutely fantastic and the buttered toast is great. I have nothing of use to say because I'm just marveling at how great this turned out. I really appreciate this saturated palette and hope to use more in the future.

Palette Picked