#//p LEASE

[abimee]

hi i can no longer act coy or hope that a job will come in time so im coming to everyone really embarassingly with my issues

in June I attempted to get fired from/left my job after having a really embarassing public meltdown due to having Rapid-Cycling Mixed Bipolar and the unending stress of that job of 3+ years. I've been struggling to get a job afterwards due to being in CA without a vehicle, and i'm currently working on an overdue commission so could not open up any more.

Soon after, my mother's car imploded, and a series of incidents related to a used engine and taking out a loan with a friend has left her both needing to pay back the loan and still needing to get a new car, putting her thousands in the hole.

my mother has allowed me to not worry about paying rent while unemployed, but now the person living with us is moving out, so it will be on me and my mother to pay rent, upping mine from $300 to $500 a month. I am currently job hunting with good prospects, but I am still in need of some assistance.

I DO NOT WANT TO ASK FOR DONATIONS WITHOUT GIVING SOMETHING IN RETURN, I have a very bad time taking help from people without doing something in return because I do not want people to feel like they Have to give me money or help me, I want to Offer something in return for that money, even in a situation like this, because I want everyone to come out on the other end feeling fulfilled, so I'm offering some (slow) cheaper commissions I can work on in between the bigger comm I owe.

My kofi is always open for donation sketches ---- you can donate the minimum amount (or whatever you prefer) and get a drawing like this of anything as long as you put it into the donation message!

i cant currently take on big commissions as I have one i owe and the commissioner is a very generous person who has been waiting a good few months for me to finish one during this hectic time, but if you're interested in getting something a little higher quality for a donation, a $30-50 USD donation can get you a ''simple commission'' styled drawing --- that is, you give me a prompt and character refferences (ocs or fanart, up to 2-3 characters depending on complexity), and I draw them like below (color complexity depends on price, the higher the amount the more the color).

You wont have access to revisions to make this as fast as possible, so i HIGHLY reccomend only getting fanart comms of these and to make sure you really like my style!!

this is one of those situations where I DEEPLY reccomend people do not donate unless they want something in return, if you dont wanna ask for a drawing or anything i reccomend going to people in more dire circumstances and helping them out with your donation!!!

but if you want to help me help my mother get out of a bad financial situation and get a little drawing in return, you can do a small dono and att a message of what you want doodled, or you can email me at cyrdrawings@gmail.com your $30-50 donation reciept and what you would like me to draw, and ill try to get them as soon as I can

thank you so much for checking this post out and keep it real old school!!!!! i promise once this is over and i get a job we'll be back to your regularly scheduled art posting

[EDIT: PLEASE DO NOT REBLOG THIS VERSION. I AM NO LONGER TAKING THE SIMPLE COMMISSION TIER. REBLOG THE ADDITION TO THIS POST GIVING AN UPDATE]

[ursachaotic]

I once again want to hug Bill Cipher lmao 🥲

[vulprits]

jean ^__^

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

[yourfavhatesinbreeders]

omg a frosty one....

💭Snow echanthry delivery!!!❄️

#6 - frosty

[strawberry-pretzels]

SO VOLTRON REALLY IS GETTING A LIVE ACTION MOVIE????

[kikistrikesagain]

ITS JUST AN INFANT

im making a tuc-epic animatic and here is my VERY important preview for the fans

[bigwetbrowneyedclub]

the pink streak in her hair i’m gonna PASS OUT-

[d8tl55c]

early in the morning after dead'nt, orange has a question.

usually he'd still be asleep long past now, but he wanted to ask about... TDL.

without the others interrupting.

so, he goes to chosen's door.

immediately this plan starts to slip off the rails.

no one knows where dark is.

...........because the others may or may not have spent the entirety of last night searching for him in every nook and cranny except there and they said they'd tell him if they found him and no one woke him up yet so

that means, the only logical conclusion is: he's in chosen's room.

so how is orange gonna ask chosen his question????

well, usually, chosen lets him just walk in.

s0!

here goes nothin

he opens the utterly silent door.

green made it special for cho, because they didn't want anyone to ever hear it being opened.

as a special bonus, yellow was able to code the door in such a way that it would never need any maintenance related to sound: its hinges and latches would stay pristinely quiet, forever.

so chosen doesn't wake up when orange sneaks inside.

they wake up when orange takes one step in, spots bright red, and fails to stifle a gasp.

"oh shit!!" orange whispers.

chosen's eyes peek over the covers.

"I'm sorry! i didn't know- uh, i would've- if um- i can come back later-"

they stare at him. "what's wrong." chosen prefers clear and concise, especially early in the morning.

"you-" orange carefully picks his next words. "and him-"

they're in the same bed.

"yep." chosen nods.

orange stands there.

then he shrugs.

"um, sorry. on our shows, this is always a big point of conflict. we don't know why. so i just didn't want to- you know. assume otherwise."

"oh. thanks...?" chosen blinks sleepily. "yeah, it's okay."

"okay!"

"you wanted something?"

"yeah, so-"

orange cuts off again midsentence.

TDL is beginning to stir.

dark emits the highest little squeak-whine that orange has ever heard (even compared to red's baby rabbits), and raises a hand to tug chosen back down to the pillow.

chosen turns their entire face to him, trilling.

they both perform a little brushy-brushy head bonk thing.

then chosen maneuvers their body (under the covers) so it, presumably, mingles more tightly with dark's.

this is satisfactory - for now. dark grumbles about it and stuffs his head under chosen's chin.

orange stands pixel-perfectly still by the door.

"you were saying?" chosen finally turns back to him.

"uh," orange stalls.

dark's eyes open.

he awakens with terrifying speed, untangling from chosen, hoisting up from the covers, and raising a warning fireball within milliseconds.

the room shifts into blazing color and stark shadows.

he shrieks,

"GET OUT!!!"

it seems dark does not, "okay" this situation.

orange drops, scrambles, and miraculously operates the door with enough precision to tumble out the other side unscathed.

silently, the door shuts itself behind him.

...

the fireball is put away.

...

"cho, why do you allow The Beast into your room?"

chosen snorts. "it was him who rebuilt you."

dark snarls. "are you SURE it wasn't some trick? you watched the whole time? i don't trust it."

"i trust him."

"why? how?? you do understand why i have reservations about it???"

"yes," chosen nods. "But I trust him."

They press their very cold head into dark's very warm head, and both of them sigh in relief.

"He brought me you."

dark huffs. "mm."

...

"and other things," chosen concedes. "you... weren't there."

"tell me."

...

outside, orange is still collapsed, upside down, against the wall, across from chosen's door, where he crashed earlier in his escape.

red has just found him while coming upstairs to check out the commotion.

"orange!? u okay?"

"yeap," orange strains. "all good."

"what happened?"

orange's hand flops on the floor towards chosen's door. "you were right. dark's in there."

red takes a second to digest this.

then his hands fly up to his mouth.

"what're they doing in there?????? did you see???"

"yes. i dunno."

"were they ? ? ?

fucking ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ?"

orange squints at him.

through the door, two voices loudly interrupt,

"NO!"

the angrier voice adds,

"AND FUCK OFF!"

red squeaks and hurries back down the stairs.

orange sighs deeply.

this has been a terrible learning experience for all.

[harperonni]

Only played through Great God Grove once, and I want to go through again for all the juicy lore and dialogue but also...

Kinda wanna draw what the gods may have looked like before ascendinggggg

[shyhandart]

[loveandleases]

Everything you want! From the somewhat short meeting with her, I loved aunt Em! My MC would definitely take her surname both before and after married if possible (with Cam 😂😂 Clarke it's definitely a no go 🤣)

Sure thing! I'll work on some em posts i mean maybe she would live to carve up a pumpkin for the Halloween season. XD then she really would just pretend mc is her kid.

[skyheld]

you did say i could ask you anything. from asharen to remembrance

the silt verses. | selectively accepting | @mercysought

"I am sure I have said no such thing."

It looks at the woman through a mask that once looked to be of solid stone, and is now gradually turning translucent. Green is visible through it, two pinpricks of green where its eyes look out, a barely visible flicker suggesting the closing of lids over them as it turns away. Gold veins shoots through the blue of its body, smearing the scales of its armour, flowing down its waist and around its feet like the first pencil strokes of a robe. They are losing the form their lord gave them so kindly. They try to hold on to it, but they have nothing to hold it with. No fingers for it to slip through.

The woman has a body, a real, physical body, though it stands half a step into the Fade. It clings to her; they can feel it pooling around her feet, dripping from what's left of her arm. She lost her arm. They've spoken to many who lost limbs in the war against the cursed Evanuris. It was a special kind of pain, a special kind of loss, and Remembrance could never find its own words to describe it, they had to rely on the words of others no matter how insufficient.

Some of them said they still had pain in that lost limb, and ache in what was not there that could never be soothed, and it thought: oh, that is what I feel. I hurt in a body I do not have.

There is a part of it which yearns to sit at her feet and ask about the arm and the Fade and the strange needles in her hair which vibrate in tune with the Veil. They could carry her pain and her sadness and her anger. They could trade answers for answers until they have all they want. But there is another part which yearns to know and feel nothing, and it is the one that wins.

"If I said it, I may not have meant it." It looks back at her, the green lights stronger, as though its lid have opened fully. The Crossroads spin gold threads out of the Fade to fall around its masked head like hair. "Or perhaps I changed my mind. Though I supposes you may indeed ask me anything, so I can decline to answer."

There is a small, quiet pleasure in declining to answer. If she commanded it, it could still say no; there are no instruction, no matter how well-intended, wrapping around its will to choke it out. That should frighten them, but it doesn't. So far, having a will hasn't crushed them, and their wants have remained at polite distance.

"If you were to ask me anything, what would you ask?"

[usafphantom2]

Acrylic l painted in 2013.

US-built Lend-Lease Curtiss P-40B of the Red Air Force engaging Luftwaffe Dornier 17s in the winter of 1941-42.

The P-40B was the first Allied fighter delivered to Russia under the Lend-Lease scheme, the first batch arriving in Sept 1941.

@PeteHill854 via X

[itsindiana]

am i delusional for holding out hope that hunter will remember the grief he went through when omega was taken under his watch and repay cross's cruelty over that with kindness are they gonna fistfight

[bugboybutter]

(girl who’s about to start their period voice) something’s wrong with me like. inherently i think