#the background was hell to make btw

[flutt3rb4tz]

what could go wrong?

[voidshrub]

"Follow me!"

[dicespider]

Watching ur friends fight like bugs

Fanart of the pega game by @xxacidnekoxx

[astralleywright]

Leather-clad, covered in piercings, spiky hair; yeah, this guy is a *punk*. He raises his eyebrows as you sidle up to him, contorting the broken golden threads that fill the cracks in his skin. Thin light filters erratically through a plate of slag glass, uneven and crystalline, that's affixed directly to their skull. CONCEPTUALIZATION [Medium: Success]: Like a prism, each side shining with a different wayward possibility. ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success]: Or like an *insane* Pyrholidon trip. HALF LIGHT [Medium: Failure]: Holy fuck, is this guy okay?

Ashton Greymoore, Disco Elysium portrait style.

[mohntilyet]

Personal headcanon about the "you picked the wrong dellamorte" line, I don't think illario actually likes rook outside the context of them being someone close to lucanis. Like rook on their own isn't much to him, but when they meet it's yet another person talking about his cousin (why isn't he good enough for whatever job they're hiring for?) and on top of that they somehow bring him back from the dead (another whole can of worms for illario). Now he starts turning on the charm, but whether he's actually interested or this is just one more thing his cousin has that he doesn't and it gets under his skin, who knows. Either way, rook ignores illario, the guy who lives off his charm, and is instead interested in the guy who's never even dated before and thinks giving someone a knife is how to flirt. Infuriating

NO THANK YOU !! i am genuinely sorry if i have ever implied illario is into rook like i see some takes about it and unless it like ties into your rook's personal backstory i don't seriously think he's romantically jealous. at all. my enjoyment of that line stems from illario's pathological need to make it about himself and not see his strengths but what lucanis has, and therefore what he doesn't. he's annoyed enough to try and goad you in the middle of a fight about the 'wrong' dellamorte and completely blind to the fact that the venatori are at best, a stupid fucking alliance, and at worst, a cult that will devour the crows from the inside out and illario would have been the one to give them the keys. he sees lucanis make allies, needs his own, and instead of charming the other talons/houses as he should, he (probably spitefully) picks the venatori. or maybe he just thought it would be easier. ugh he makes me want to telekenetically throw him around

[autistic-pebbles-au]

Something to keep my brain fixated

Cause hyperfixation is cool

[dr0pdeadg0rgeous]

moodboard by me ˖ . ݁𝜗𝜚. ݁₊

[sol-consort]

I...I've somehow manged to create this miracle

[ruvviks]

gayboys in the apocalypse whatever will they do!! rudy (top) belongs to me and luca (bottom) belongs to @mojaves :]

taglist (opt in/out)

@shellibisshe, @florbelles, @ncytiri, @hibernationsuit, @stars-of-the-heart;

@lestatlioncunt, @katsigian, @radioactiveshitstorm, @estevnys, @adelaidedrubman;

@celticwoman, @rindemption, @carlosoliveiraa, @noirapocalypto, @dickytwister;

@killerspinal, @euryalex, @ri-a-rose, @velocitic, @thedeadthree;

@jacobseed, @swordcoasts

[cryptids-do-autism]

This was supposed to be a quick drawing that I had thumbnailed in my outing sketchbook! It did not stay that way…

I fudged or just didn’t draw a lot of the non visible bits of the drawing but yk here’s the background and sketches!

Here’s the top layer and full time!

[antiquepearlss]

Tiana The Series really needs to hire me as a writer because I’ve already got plans on how we’re going to subtly incorporate tts into it.

[salon-maiden-anabel]

I need to make a general In my verse [these characters] are related Post . I need to expand upon the nightmare that is the Orochi family

[pixlpawz]

thank you for the love on my fursona forecast post🩷

[thefourpointedstar]

Ughhh why wasnt i born a day sooner, maybe then i would have had better spatial art skills i mean god man out of sight my ass what about the eyebrow thats gotta count for something-- i dont wanna be stuck in eternal 3/4ths view headshots forever land!!! i dont wanna make nfts!!!! :sob:

[fishtank32]

recent oc drawings

[misaerabl]

𝝑𝑒 giving blue collar!wife!ellie a bath

no cw btw, just good ol' domestic vibes

The sound of the stovetop sizzles softly as you stir the pan, the smell of garlic and onions blooming in the kitchen. The house is warm—summer dusk filtering in through open windows, cicadas humming in the background, and you… you’re in a new sundress you picked just for her.

It’s nothing fancy. A soft yellow cotton thing with delicate white flowers, fitted at the waist and falling just above the knees. You'd been waiting for a night like this—quiet, slow—and for Ellie to see it.

You’re plating up the roasted vegetables when the front door opens with a heavy creak. Boots hit the floor a second later, then—

“Hey, babe…” comes her voice. Low, scratchy from the day. She sounds like she's already halfway into a nap.

Before you can respond, a pair of strong arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against a chest that smells like sawdust, sweat, and the sun. Her shirt is damp in places. There's oil on her hands. And now, smudged against your hip, on your brand-new dress.

You stiffen, glancing down at the smear of grease darkening the fabric.

“Ellie,” you groan. “The dress. This is new—”

“I know, I’m sorry,” she mumbles against your neck, already half-limp with exhaustion, head buried into your shoulder like she might fall asleep standing. “You smell good. Missed you all day.”

And just like that, the irritation dissolves. Because when you glance back at her, she’s barely holding herself upright. Her eyes are half-lidded, lashes damp with sweat. There’s a streak of dirt on her cheek and the faintest bruise peeking out from under her sleeve.

You sigh softly, letting your body relax in her hold.

“You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re pathetic,” you murmur, brushing your fingers gently through her hair.

Ellie chuckles—more of a grunt, really—then leans her full weight into you. “You’re lucky I didn’t die under the sun today. Felt like I was workin’ in hell.”

“You smell like it, too.”

“Mmm.”

You let her cling to you for another minute before turning in her arms and pressing a kiss to her grimy cheek. “Go sit on the edge of the tub. I’m running you a bath.”

She opens her mouth to protest, but you cut her off with a firm look and a finger pressed to her lips. “Don’t argue with me, Ellie. You look like ten miles of bad road.”

“And you look…” she finally registers the dress, blinking at you in awe. “Shit. You look—real pretty. Did you wear that for me?”

You nod, cheeks warming. “Was hoping you’d notice before you got motor oil all over it.”

Ellie lets out a sheepish laugh, and you nudge her toward the bathroom.

The tub’s about halfway full when you peek your head in again. Ellie’s already sitting inside, one leg bent, her arm slung over the edge, hair loosely tied back with one of your scrunchies—bright pink against all that grime and muscle. You try not to laugh.

“You look ridiculous,” you say fondly, kneeling beside the tub with a rag and her favorite shampoo in hand.

“You gave me this hair tie,” she points out with a lopsided grin.

“Didn’t say I didn’t like it.”

You dip the rag in the water and wring it out over her shoulders. She lets out a sigh that rattles in her chest and sinks a little deeper into the water.

“That good?” you ask, voice quiet.

“Mhm,” she hums, eyes closed. “Keep going.”

You work in slow circles, rubbing the cloth along her arms and collarbone, catching little flecks of dirt left over from the day. She keeps her head tilted slightly toward you, every now and then glancing at you like she’s trying to memorize the way you look in this moment—barefoot, hair pulled up, sleeves rolled, tending to her like it’s second nature.

You dip the rag again, and this time she opens her eyes when you reach for her face.

“Can I?”

She nods, already leaning forward a bit. You hold her chin with your hand and gently wipe the smudges off her cheeks and forehead. The way she looks at you—half-sleepy, half-in-love—makes your stomach flutter.

There’s a moment of stillness, your fingers lingering near the corner of her jaw. You lean in and press the smallest kiss to her lips—barely there, more instinct than intention.

When you pull back, she just smiles, eyes crinkling.

“You missed a spot,” she says, nodding toward her chin.

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling too, dipping the cloth again and dabbing the spot she pointed to. “Drama queen.”

Ellie shrugs. “Not my fault my wife’s hot and bossy.”

“Not my fault my wife smells like axle grease and sawdust.”

She lets out a soft laugh and closes her eyes again, melting back into the water as you continue washing the day off her, slow and careful. No grand gestures. Just warmth, and steam, and the quiet kind of love that doesn’t need to be spoken out loud.