#yeah its late oh well

[coramatus]

In the semifinals for the @ultimate-submas-tournament, the Woodsman finds himself challenged not by PMD Sneasel!Ingo (@teamconductors) or Ghost Worm!Ingo (@blaiddraws) themselves, but more by what they fundamentally are. Re: dead and a Sneasel. It’s a lot for a guy to take in.

Transcript

Woodsman: *jibbering nonsense*

PMD!Ingo: Think he’ll calm down anytime soon?

Worm!Ingo: Doubt it.

Woodsman: WHAT IS EVEN GOING ON ANYMORE?! SNEASELS?! WORMS?! WHY?!

PMD!Ingo: Is he… crying?

Worm!Ingo: …yes.

Woodsman: Oh my dearest brother, we’re really in it now!!!

[albino-parakeet]

Decided to connect the moles on my left arm with a mascara pen

(Yes it goes up to my shoulder because I was bored.)

[jacksoldsideblog]

study 2

[disastress-i-guess]

Watch me compare this book that has nothing to do with saiki K to saiki K with the power of brain rot.

First of, if you absolutely massacre the main character's personality this book is totally kusbosai. Like just look at these:

This one I feel is just Saiki in general.

I just really like this line:

[frenchfriedgiraffe]

beach episode

(these idiots dont realise theres actually a difference between them)

[skitskatdacat63]

"Non paeniteo potitus."

+ details & process

And, process !!

The jump btwn the second to last and last always surprise me whenever I make one of these because I always forget to take snapshots after I start painting. It's always like: oh yeah heres the lineart with some colors- BOOM fully finished✨️

What he's holding are the Austrian imperial scepter and orb, seen below:

I was going to draw the crown too but decided I don't hate myself that much(maybe some other day), and gave him a golden laurel crown, bcs I'm obsessed with that as a motif, and also its very remincient of the boy king statue that started this whole thing!

There's some symbolism of this, both intentionally but also just historically. I love that the orb represents that the monarch is holding the world in their hand, basically every old monarchy has one of those, and I think it's very cool for symbolism. But also bcs of that, I was forced to basically draw catholic fanart so, you win some you lose some. The star halo above him head is both to reference those religious statues with star crowns(I saw them a lot in Europe and they imprinted onto my brain), as well as: his four championships of course!

[can-of-slorgs]

Final surprise boop attack for @yowassupitsred!!

Faeran would 100% be really obnoxious about Calamari, and would intentionally make others appreciate her boopings haha.

(Secret second boop attack to @starbiology in revenge to the april fools war because even though i didn't know if you had any characters, I think of her as your character by this point and I found this scenario hilarious in my mind)

[cheriboms]

doctober day 19: memory

aka "the first time lone pine doc recognizes the weird little kid hanging around his garage as the future boy who changed his life 30 years ago" :)

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

gonna go on another bot purge tonight so here's your friendly Reminder that if you have nothing on your blog (default icon/header/title, no rbs/likes) uhhhh i Will think you're a bot and you Will be blocked <3

[bikerboyfriend]

screenshot dump

[splatoon-countdown]

hey, so... you DO know right that if you check out side order on the nintendo e-shop, it has a confirmed release date? 31/12/2024

..... Did this ask time travel, or...?

[dorkicon]

What’s your favorite transformer media/transformer to draw? 😊

well. geewun probably.

ive always been very fond of chunky super robot style mecha. and well. g1 gives me the excuse to draw em holding hands. and stuff.

ive been on a marvel kick as well so ive really been hankering to draw more of those guys. ive been thinking a lot about (making shit up about) the geewun wreckers a lot. as well.

umm . well . i really like drawing in the tfa style, even if i dont ...actually like the show all that much.

euuum lets see. i guess botwise....megatron...thundercracker is really fun. ultra magnus. prowl. trailbreaker. umm. impactor. i like big old dudes. ppl i can give really strong profiles. grr. but drawing robots in general is just fun anyway

[hauntingblue]

making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

[kiisaes]

mha is like an estranged awkward father to me. i try not to make my connection to it obvious but i secretly care a lot about it (sometimes against what i desire) and when ppl talk serious shit about it i get defensive. like yea i understand that it's not the best series writing-wise, it's got a good amount of problems and that its mere connection to me makes me cringefail ... but i'll always find some sort of unexplainable comfort in its arms despite its flaws bc there's still a good amount of it to genuinely enjoy without a constantly ironic state of mind that all media must be critiqued with nowadays and i don't expect anyone to understand this odd relationship but myself

[advernia]

The man asked, who are you. I am death, and I make all equal.

The day Jamil turned seventeen, he received a herb.

The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it in between his fingers earlier with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.

"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says. "C'mon, if you don't know what it is or what it does we can just boil it or sell it."

Jamil sighs. "No need. I already know what it does."

"Huh. Then what's the problem? Who gave it you, anyway?"

"... My godfather."

"... You had a godfather?"

"Najma."

She dabs away at her eyes with a cloth, but she does not face him. Jamil crosses his arms across his chest and leans on the doorframe.

"... What do you want."

"... Your friend. Where does she live?"

Najma turns around, eyes red and glaring. Jamil does not flinch or move from where he stood, his figure ominous under the dim light.

"Why do you need to know?"

"What did you do!?"

Jamil pries Najma's shaking hands off his forearms, steps a few paces away from her. Stray strands of her hair are sticking to her sweaty face, her nose was red and running a bit. Her voice rasps with both exhaustion and shortness of breath.

"But... but... they all said... only three... three... three days left... but how...?"

Jamil looks past his sister, to the hut behind them. Through the open window one could see a family of three huddled together in a tight embrace - two adults and one healthy child in the center, all smiling and tears streaming down their faces.

"She's alive now," Jamil says, reaching out to rest a hand on top of Najma's head. "Isn't that enough?"

One day when Jamil was about to step out of the hut with a satchel strapped to his waist, Najma drops her half-woven blanket to run after her brother and tug at his sleeve.

"I'm coming with you," she says.

Jamil narrows his eyes. "You don't need to - get back to work."

"I'm going, whether you like it or not," she huffs.

They just stand there for a moment, glaring at each other until Najma pushes past Jamil and walks out of the hut.

"So where are we going?"

Light clinking sounds rung out from Jamil's satchel each step he took; no doubt coming from the pouch inside that held enough thaumarks that would feed them well for the rest of the month and then some. The sound was akin to little bells, one that Najma had her herself whistling along to as they walked their way back home.

"So its like a cure-all," Najma says. "like magic in fairy tales."

Jamil snorts at her comment.

"But both those things don't exist," he replies, moving onward.

"Hey."

"What."

"So what kind of person is your godfather, then?"

One could say that like anybody else, Jamil was a creature of habit. He was one whose mornings started with the bow and arrow at the crack of dawn, one whose afternoons were spent bargaining with the merchants of the markets and one whose evenings were knit deep with wool or thread until he had burned his midnight oil. His routine ran as steady like water and like clockwork was his every toil; but that was how he had lived the ten years of his life with his younger sister under his wing.

"Aren't you going to eat?"

Najma asks him this halfway through her meal, eyes round and blinking. Jamil had not touched his own portions yet, but both were warm and fragrant under his nose.

A loaf of freshly baked white bread. Stew with generous portions of meat and vegetables.

Removing the weight tied to his waist, he sets the satchel on one end of the table then picks up a slice of bread.

"The chief was looking for you."

"It's about his son, isn't it."

"Yeah. You going?"

"You're the one halfway through the door, though."

One could say that like anybody else, Najma had read fairytales. She was one who had read about wide kingdoms and kind rulers, one who had dreamed of knights and princesses and witches, and one who had wondered about magic and miracles. These are the worlds she had traveled to when she was still a small child wrapped in the warmth of her parents' embrace, but now that she was older and able to stand up on her own, she grew wise enough to learn that her world was vastly different from those in fairytales.

Maybe that is why she gives the old lady her shawl - it is perhaps too colorful, too long, too thin; but it is received carefully and with whispers of tearful thanks.

"Let's go," Jamil tells Najma.

A nod, but Najma's eyes still linger to the old lady - the shawl that Najma gave was now being wrapped around someone else's shoulders; around a young noble boy who was too pale, too small, too frail for such a large bed.

"Can I buy some cloth? One bolt of whatever material would do. Nothing colorful either."

"What are you making?"

"Gonna try making shrouds."

Three months.

It had been three months since they had left the comfort of their hut, their village.

Three months since they have gone around the country, visiting the ill or the ill finding them.

Three months since they have been sought after by kings, queens, nobles, commoners.

Three months since Najma had been making shrouds.

Three months since Jamil had met his godfather.

Three months.

The herb was as long as his hand, its sheen a dark green, its leaves broad and scent something fresh. It was just a herb, and yet Jamil held it inside his fist with such a furrow on his brow and a frown on his lips.

"Oh, don't make that face," Najma says as she draws her hand out from under the covers to swat at her brother's arm. When Jamil would not raise his head to face her, his head still so close to lowering itself on her mattress; Najma closes her eyes and her voice becomes something small.

"Ah... Has your godfather come to visit me, too?"

— godfather death. | 1812

2: going grimm's fairytales!au ft. twst cast for this month's ficathon! the indented text above is an excerpt the actual fairytale + a link to the full tale. there's also a link tied to the fairytale's title at the end of the fic - it shows the different translations/renditions of the tale in other languages. 3: a tl;dr version: godfather death is a story about a poor man with twelve children - when he had his thirteenth child, he immediately sought out a godfather. he meets two people: god then the devil, but he makes neither of them a godfather. instead the man chooses death as his child's godfather, and when the child had grown older death gives his godchild a herb as a present. death says he will make his godchild a celebrated physician. whenever there would be a patient, death would be there too: if death stands by the patient's head, then the godchild would say that the patient could be cured with the herb death had given. however, if death would stand by the patient's feet, the godchild must say that the patient cannot be cured - the patient would be taken by death, so the godchild must not interfere. 4: and since i don't want to clutter this space anymore or flood my tags, each story comes with post-reading notes!

[divorcetual]

Meow !