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for the palette meme... Morning Glory Pool with your Julia if I may....................

well. they’re not morning glories here is an ortega and some petunias inspired by this fic by @goldfish-fhr <3

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gimme a gross, sloppy make out session with dry humping rn

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11. for the writing prompts, if you're up for it!

11. "We need to think outside the box." Ortega/Tegan, innocent ending staying at Ortega's, 471 words. Thanks for the prompt! 💙

"Dance with me." Its not a question, but a soft demand. The kind Ricardo likes to make when he's tipsy and expects to get what he wants. His kitchen, his rules, his radio spitting out old melodies neither of them know the names to.

"No." Tegan's never been one to be accommodating and he sees no reason to start now. Besides, saying no always feels good. Unstoppable force, meet immovable object.

"Come on." Ricardo draws out the words behind a wide smile. "You used to." There he goes again, digging up a relic of the past he's intent to unearth no matter how many times Tegan buries it. Buries himself. Like a stubborn dog with a bone.

"I have two broken legs you idiot." Tegan bites back. He shakes his crutches where they lean against the kitchen table to emphasize his point. Though the casts are mostly obscured by too long pajama pants, its not like he forgot.

"That doesn't have to be an obstacle." Ricardo persists. "We just need to think outside the box."

Tegan's only reply is a flat stare but Ricardo presses on, undeterred by the lack of enthusiasm.

"Besides, Doctor Halabi says you need to work on regaining your mobility, you wouldn't want to heal with two left feet would you?" Ricardo punctuates his joke with a wink. He always did think he was clever.

"That doesn't even make any sense." Tegan rolls his eyes hard enough to hurt. "And she meant walking a little." Baby steps, still not strong enough to run. Or kick his ass.

"Or slow dancing."

"I doubt it."

"Couldn't hurt."

"If your drunk ass drops me, it very much will!"

"I won't drop you." He says with a sincerity that always had a way of slipping past Tegan's defenses. Too soft when he expects sharpness. "You know I wont." Ricardo offers his hand, an open invitation too optimistic to consider refusal.

"Fine." Tegan pushes himself up from the table unsteadily, gingerly placing his feet on the ground. "Just till this song ends so you can shut up about it."

"Of course." Ricardo puts an arm around Tegan's waist, pulling him closer into half a hug. Tegan leans heavily on his shoulder.

They move slowly. Awkwardly. Strange and informal enough that it doesn't trigger memories of other dances for worse reasons, half a life time ago.

"This is embarrassing." Tegan complains, more to fill the silence than anything. Banter is familiar. Safe. He can pretend the heat creeping into his face is from that.

"Its just us." Ricardo mumbles against the top of Tegan's hair, planting a soft kiss there. "Just me."

"Correction, you are embarrassing."

"Mhm." Ricardo replies, more felt that heard, pressed warmly against his chest.

It's more shambling than dancing but neither of them will admit the song has changed.

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Making myself emotional because I can see it so clearly if I allowed them to grow old, just Tegan and Ortega sitting at a bar. Ortega has finally accepted the wheelchair but it hardly slows him down even if he's put on some weight. Kept the mustache even if there's far more gray in it now and he wears his glasses with more frequency.

Tegan loses the undercut but keeps the length and isn't quite balding but his widows peak is pretty severe. Lost a tooth somewhere along the way but its only noticeable when he smiles and he does smile now. His hands still shake but they're far more often held and it keeps him from sneaking the cigarettes he's not supposed to have anymore.

And Hoots is different now, has been since Owl retired and the renovations make everything look too new and the clientele skews much younger than before but there's still two old heroes at the bar that have practically become a permanent fixture.

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Nothing new for Ortega bday but this is still my fav doodlecardo.

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Sync

A pseudo continuation of Reverse Alchemy but I kinda want to rewrite that one. This is a day or two after Tegan gives Ricardo his ear piercing. 604 words.

"You're worried about it." Tegan says it like a matter of fact, grabbing his coffee as Ortega slaps down a few bills he doesn't bother to check onto the counter. He flashes the barista a bright smile while grabbing his own coffee and if Tegan rolls his eyes he doesn't notice. Tegan shoulders his way out the cafe doors before Ortega can do something embarrassing like try to hold it open for him, he's gotten good at compensating for that extra reach by now.

"No, I'm not." Ortega catches up to his quarry easily, falling into the same matched stride as if there hadn't been 7 dead years between them. Heading out towards the park they pick a path that offers the most shade and least people. "Like I said, I'm too old to worry about what other people think." Ricardo shrugs and takes a long sip of his coffee. The caffeine is a necessity but it helps that it tastes good too, and most importantly it keeps his hands busy — the temptation to fidget with the small hoop in his ear is almost overwhelming. He knows it needs time to heal, one more scar, one he asked for, one delivered by the surprisingly steady hand of the man he loves and sealed in gold, but he never was good at waiting.

"Please." Tegan snorts. "You want everyone to like you, all the time." He takes a sip of his own coffee. "It's kinda sad for someone your age." Tegan sighs dramatically, the worlds worst psychiatrist, handing down his diagnosis.

"Oh?" Ortega chuckles. "As opposed to being a jerk all the time?" He sticks his foot out as Tegan is in mid step but it's a dance as old as nursing bruises over a pint at Hoots after a fight, the half skip is a reflex and Tegan doesn't trip. "Besides, its still not true." He hides a smug grin behind another sip of his coffee, happy Tegan's reflexes are still there, despite his frustrating retirement.

"Oh yeah?" Tegan slows his walk to face Ortega fully. "That barista thought your tip was pretentious, that you were trying too hard." He taps his temple to indicate the use of his telepathy.

"Wh-" Ortega stops dead in his tracks to round on his accuser. "I was just being nice!"

There's a twitch to Tegan's mouth that could almost pass for a smile. Its a tell, clear as day.

"Oh, you asshole! That's not even true, is it?" He tries for a look of righteous anger but the effect is ruined by the mustached grin.

"Doesn't matter if its true." Tegan shrugs but his ghost smile threatens to become real. "You still cared."

"Hmm, I guess that's always been my weakness. Like with you." Ortega winks, words too soft to survive the unspoken truce between them. Banter was easy, feelings are not. Its the needle skip that breaks up the tune, throwing them both out of sync again.

"Anyway, I should get going, work stuff." Tegan says abruptly, throwing his cup into the nearest bin despite its recyclables only sign.

"Yeah." Ortega sighs heavily. "Me too I suppose." If he tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice, he fails. 'Take care?" One last too soft look, despite himself.

"Yeah, you…you too" Tegan mumbles awkwardly before taking off in a brisk walk that looks too much like running away.

Ortega could catch up with him, easily. Could be angry, easily. But instead his hand drifts up toward the gold hoop in his ear to touch the soft metal, but despite his gentleness, it still stings.

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some more camellias! I painted this one with india inks, and I love working with them! They look so nice and glossy in real life.

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🫵 YOU. STOP WHERE YOU ARE

say something nice about prev!!! find something cool about them!! give their blog a skim!!

compliments are FREE TO GIVE so GIVE THEM OUT. pls. thamnk. (⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

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goodnight my friends 

i hope i have good dreams 

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The color palette asks have taught me a very important lesson and that is I do not know how to color skdjankl probably should have worked on that first

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slowly coming up with the designs for people important to mica's canon because i have to do that first if i want to indulge in my need for silly comics between everybody and mica like this one with themmy. yay 🕊️

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Ooooh Mojave and Caine? ^_^

took the opportunity to draw caine's mindscape! it's actually more watercolour-ish than this, but i didn't have any brushes for it (and medibang wouldn't let me download any more for some reason), so i made it an adjacent vibe instead.

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Erosion

A little Dina/Tegan drabble for @crowshuh. 562 words, no warnings. It's a little stream of consciousness-y, mind meld-y and prose heavy so I hope it still makes sense lol. Dina uses she/he pronouns, Tegan uses he/him.

It's automatic, an impulse, the expression of a desire that's too stubborn to name itself, honestly. Dishonestly. Tegan knows Dina is a telepath, that he should keep his thoughts to himself, close and guarded and far away from daydreams. That he should keep his hands to himself too, idiot, and he's not sure his brain is even part of the equation anymore as he wraps one scarred finger around the delicate gold chain encircling Dina's neck, painfully aware of the movement of her throat as he does so. Thin skin obscuring the muscle, blood (a rapid pulse) and bone underneath, accentuated by a scar. One he'd like to press his lips to in the later, the not quite now and what was that about daydreams? Sure she might bare her throat now but would he later? Free from this strange, unspoken truce. The intrusion of space. Words feel a little too dangerous right now. (If they are even necessary.)

He tests the soft metal between his forefinger and thumb, each link etching a memory against the callouses on his hands.

"Pretty." The word slips past the portcullis of his self control (what self control?), spilling over traitorous lips too late to bite back. And he means the necklace, of course he means the necklace and not the smooth brown skin of Dina's neck and the jagged little scar that moves with every breath and far too noticed swallow.

Distantly, maybe a million miles away, if not for being directly in his peripheral vision, Dina's hand reaches out and he doesn't flinch, doesn't move at all except to hold his breath and wait for the strike that doesn't happen (wouldn't happen) as she wraps a finger around one loose lock of his hair. He'd been stupid not to tie it back, but but its a hard thing to regret with the way Dina takes care not to pull (he wouldn't mind) but by gently weaving long fingers though his hair that makes him release the breath he had been holding.

"Soft." Dina's voice is barely above a whisper but feels as loud as a shout, especially with the way he can feel her mind press against his. Not battering down the door but slipping past, hardly disturbed, defenses amounted all the privacy of a beaded curtain. And she means his hair, of course he means his hair and not the way Tegan's eyes linger on the small details of Dina's neck and jaw (and very distracting scar) made all the more obvious by their difference in height.

So it's automatic, an impulse, the expression of a desire that's too stubborn to name itself, all too honestly as daydreams break through the surface tension of reality. Tegan places his lips against that all too enticing serrated edge of skin as the unspoken invitation slams hard into the back of his skull. Warmth and salt and scent and a too quick pulse to match the rush of blood to his cheeks (and, well...) but who could blame him with Dina's hands in his hair? A sharper (wonderful) tug and somehow Dina's mouth has leapt across space and time to find it's way to his. Hungry, insistent and a wave of psychic backlash that makes if feel like too many hands, too many mouths but neither of them mind drowning, just a for a little while.

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opening a few commission slots because alas. april is shaping up to be an expensive month for me. more examples of my work under the cut.

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me, myself and i