#Anywho MY SON!!!!!

[dixidin]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY SON AND ONE OF MY FIRST COMFORT CHARACTERS!!! (He one years old :3)

(Plus a little extra thing at the bottom :3)

@zol1x DING DING DING UR ART IS HERE EAT UP

If you repost this on another website, please give credit. Do not put my art in any ai or repost it as your own work. You are free to use this as a pfp as long as you credit. Any like or rebblog is greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading! -dixidin

[cicobuffs]

preachers son!art keeps a picture of you in his wallet because he likes to show you off to the ladies at church whenever they ask if he has a "pretty girlfriend at school". he was, also, really excited to show you to his mom when she asks about you once he steps foot through the door. i think keeping a picture of you keeps with the mental emotional support, too, once being at home becomes too much for him and all he can think about is to go back to you, because, yeah, school is school but home is something that slowly becomes a place that he can't imagine he just lived with and settled for once he got a taste of a world that is just so different.

[group-dynamic]

*SCREECHING*

I was watching this lovely, bittersweet edit highlighting the short, tragic friendship between Celebrimbor and Elrond as they're portrayed in the Rings of Power, and it got me reflecting (as many of us have) on the prophesy, "My father foresaw that one day Celebrimbor's life would be in my hands" and how it's too bad there wasn't anything that felt like a weighty resolution to that thread. Like, to have a prophesy directly from the foresight of Eärendil that's first mentioned in season one and invented for the show feels so significant to be used merely as a device to compound Elrond's failure, you know? The prophesy works well as foreshadowing and elevates the tragic impact of Elrond's role as commander and his inability to defend Eregion, but that feels so distant to the idiom "life in his hands." Especially since Elrond isn't even in sight of Celebrimbor's death, so how could his life really be so directly in his hands--

IT'S THE RING.

THE RINGS.

Elrond's only direct acts related to "saving" Celebrimbor on screen is trying to save his records and his city, aka the lore and legacy around him. And that fails. The records are burned, the city is reduced to rubble, the smith's greatest achievements are corrupted and certainly going to be twisted further to some evil purpose in Sauron's hands.

And Elrond's been so certain that those rings are corrupted, including the elven rings (which for a while are the only rings the Lindon elves know of in the show). But then suddenly those elven rings are all that's left of Celebrimbor's legacy and in the first and last episode of the season they're LITERALLY in Elrond's hands. When he jumps from the cliff trying to keep them from his friends, and when he finally picks one up and uses it for good--for its intended, healing purpose. I mean, Elrond future lore master has Celebrimbro's life story in his hands. He has Celebrimbor's life's work in his hands, and all the parts of himself and his craft he poured into those rings.

And one day Elrond will literally be one of the bearers and wielders of Celebrimbor's life work and legacy. Yeeeeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaahhh==

"His life in his hands" indeed.

[rozeliyawashereyall]

Ngl drew this guy just for @jonxy-wonxy-teehee as a surprise gift

Anyway hi jonxy you're cool

[monowritestoomuch]

Charley: An Exploration Into My Bug’s Lore

Hello everyone(namely the bug army). It’s your girl, Mono. I’ve been putting this off for a while but I have time so this is the post you’re getting <3

TW: Mentions of neglect, alcohol, drunkenness, and overall depressive themes.

Good afternoon ladies, gentlemen and others. You may call me the storyteller, and today I wish to spin you a tale. Not of joy, but of tragedy. I only hope that this take piques what interest you have and moreover that.

The Bug’s name is Charley. They’re 19, almost 20 when the events of Gator Boys occur. They’re a quiet and solitude human who dislikes physical contact, (they’re also severely touch starved) and isn’t one for loud and the big things in life.

And their backstory isn’t one of joy or vibrancy through a life so beautiful it would be as if you were looking through stained glass.

We start out the tale with a woman. A very simple woman. Young, about 19 years old with wavy brown hair, pale skin and green eyes that shown like emeralds. This woman’s name was Alannah.

Now Alannah lived in a bustling town with many taverns and adventurers that would come and go without so much of a trace.

But that little trace left was all it took, for one night, Alannah made her mind up to spend the night at the tavern. She wished for a few drinks and maybe a night with another.

And that she did, buying herself drinks and enjoying a long night at the tavern. Eventually though, she met a man who entranced her. His dark hair, almond brown eyes, and tanned skin a stark contrast to her own.

The two, after getting to know each other briefly, spent a night together in the tavern. The man was an adventurer, carrying a sword at his side at all times.

And when all was said and done, the man left the very next morning, alone, leaving Alannah with only herself as company after paying the room fee.

But Alannah was unbothered, heading back to her apartment to change and fix her hair, before going to work for the day.

Months passed however, and Alannah began to feel ill. She constantly felt like she was bloated and starving and eventually she went to see a healer after she had been woken up in the night by the sharpness of what felt like a stab to the stomach.

The healer examined her, and let her know of the joyous news. Alannah was with child.

Now, Alannah being unmarried and being with child would be the scorn of the busting town but she didn’t care, she only put a hand to her stomach and swore to love and cherish her child.

Oh how Fate pulled its strings.

And the child’s birth not long after was quick and not pain-free. But although difficult, with her brow caked in sweat and her pale arms shaking as she held the child, she decided to give them a name.

Charley. Her little warrior.

And Alannah raised the child, loving and caring for them for several years while her eyes began to catch on. The child had tanned skin and almond eyes, akin to their father. And where she thought that their hair would be brown and lusciously wavy, akin to her own, she was proven incorrect. For the child had hair as dark as coal and as fluffy as wool spun from a sheep’s coat, as if to reference the man she’d only known for a night.

And every time she saw those small things she’d remember the man who had promised his love to her on one fateful night. The thoughts led to her drinking to reminisce, and to fill the emptiness she’d been feeling in her dank soul.

And Charley was four when their mother went out for the night and didn’t come back until the wee hours of the morning, leaving them hungry and cranky.

And when Alannah, the now 23 year-old woman, did come home to her child, she merely gave them a loaf of bread and passed out on her bed after another night of bliss spent.

She spent many days after that reminiscing, and forgetting poor Charley and their needs.

And soon after that next night, she fell into what she’d get so many years ago. The blessing of life growing inside her own.

And for those months of pregnancy with another child who was born from a night of debauchery, Alannah was the model mother, attentive to all of Charley’s needs.

But when the new baby arrived, Charley was pushed to the side as if they were a simple speck of dust in the creation of the great universe.

That new baby wore the same emerald green eyes as Alannah, with hair that resembled rich brown warmness, although fluffy in texture with pale skin akin to his mother’s.

And the boy was named Soren Galedriel, being the second-time mother’s pride and joy.

And it stayed that way for several years. Charley in the shadow of their younger brother, who was confused as to why their mother favored him.

And eventually Charley grew from four to five to six to seven and then to eight. And not long after their eight birthday was when their mother gave up again, passing the responsibility of Soren onto her eldest child.

And Charley was young, only eight years of age and their brother was four, and unbothered by the stresses of the reality the two lived in. Even when she began to to drink again, and when she left the house more often to the tavern to spend time with men who had no true care for her as some type of compensation to fill the lonely hole in the void that was her soul.

And even when coin was scarce and there was little food, Charley would give whatever they had for their brother, who would eat gleefully, unknowing of their sibling’s selfless acts.

And time passed like that for many more years. Eight. Nine. Ten.

And when Charley was ten and Soren six, their mother had returned home after another drunken night at the tavern and had passed out on her bed per the usual, the days that passed were passed differently.

And as history tends to repeat itself, the woman fell with child once more. And during her pregnancy she cared for her children, thinking highly of her motherly skills while in reality, her children were quiet and avoiding her every step.

And Charley, at ten, was the one to send their brother off to school with them and leave early to sell newspapers on the street for little coin.

But that didn’t matter to Alannah, as she didn’t notice, and if she did, she didn’t care.

And many months later did she give birth to her third child. A baby girl with emerald green eyes, akin to her mother, and pale skin that contrasted her warm brown hair that puffed into large, curled strands as she would grow.

And this girl, who resembled her mother so greatly, was her mother’s princess. And she despised it.

The girl was named Míriel, and she did not appreciate the dresses she’d be put in, or the bows she’d wear in her long hair. Instead, she opted to jumping into muddy ditches in the near the markets and speaking to animals who she couldn’t understand.

And after two more years, it was back to how it had been. The cycle repeating once more, except, with a new addition.

And it stayed that way for a few years. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.

Charley had been working since they were ten, moving up and up, earning as much coin as they could muster while caring for their two younger siblings, of whom were now eleven and five years of age respectively.

But it was that year that she announced that she was with child again, after another night spent at the tavern with the sin of debauchery tainting her very lips.

And Charley, young, only fifteen years of age began to argue with their mother about her irresponsibility. The arguments always seemed to end when a glass object was slammed against a surface.

And whether it was a glass to the table or a bottle of gin thrown at the wall, Charley’s rage continued to burn.

But when the birth happened, there wasn’t just one. There were two. Such a thing was said to bring misfortune as it was a rarity to occur, especially without complications.

But occur it did, and without complications too. A healthy babe og a girl and a boy. Twins with fluffy brown hair and pale skin. The boy carried their mother’s green eyes, but the girl? No, her eyes were vibrant shade of yellow, almost akin to the gleaming glow of the sun over the horizon.

And as lovely as she’d been during the pregnancy, her mood shifted back to what it had been for year in its repeated pattern of drunkenness.

Soren was the one to name the twins, having scoured many books for the town’s small library for the perfect names.

“Ezeriah,” he named the boy. “It means the lord’s helper, to guide and assist us.” And for the girl, he named her Evanora. “Light bringer,” he described. “She will one day be a blessing from the divines herself as a multitude of light and hope for us.”

And these children were raised just as Míriel had been besides the first year. And Charley, although exhausted and thoroughly done with everything, kept going.

Why, you might ask? Well to them, giving up wasn’t an option.

And that’s how it stayed until Charley was eighteen. Fifteen. Sixteen. Seventeen. Eighteen.

They had heard of the coin one could acquire as a bounty hunter in Al’Terra, and how well the job paid. And over many nights of skipped meals and deliberation, Charley decided to become one.

The twins were only three when Charley left, promising to return and nailing money home every month.

Soren was only fourteen, and Míriel eight, but they were tasked with caring for two young children while they were tasked with school and Soren’s new stall job at the fish stall in the market after school.

And that’s how it stayed, Charley sending coin back to their town, to their siblings. Sometimes it was a large amount, but that was rare, and only due to them hunting down a dangerous criminal or two. The more common ones were lower paying, but still allowed Charley to send money home without constantly starving.

And that’s how it stayed until Charley’s third month in the bounty hunting job when they received a letter from their brother. And upon opening it, they faced a shocking revelation.

The woman they called their mother, had fallen with child once more, even with many of the old complications from the twins still decently prominent during the pregnancy.

And Charley turned nineteen on the road, crying to themselves that night alone in the forest, before picking themself up and setting off.

And it was many months later when Charley returned home, only briefly, to attend the birth of their new sibling. A boy. And this boy was of fair skin—a tan under glow beneath it, however darker spots, lighter than the color of wooden oak, plagued his small body, chasing him to be more of an outcast that he was about to be.

And Soren, now fifteen, worked constantly for coin as Míriel in all her wild spirits, a constant for her, was left to take her sibling to and fro from school and take care of her youngest brother after school while Soren worked.

And although the now nine year-old didn’t like it, she knew that she had to be the one to do it? Because who else would lend a generous hand to them if they didn’t expect something greedy in return.

And that’s where things stayed until Charley, upon seeing a large bounty for some gator-monsters in a swamp, they took it up. And although these were halflings, Charley did not hold that against them, they simply needed coin.

And that, ladies, gentlemen, and others, led to them getting their leg stuck in a bear trap.

That is unfortunately, all the story time I have for today. I hope you will return to my circle of stories, I enjoyed your eager presence.

. . .+ a small picture of Charley

[orphiicheartd]

I can play through old events????

[estie-draws]

these are my current designs for SoF…. For some fun

Because I’m lazy. @papita474 idk if you have designs for all the sons, but I’d love to see your version of this poll!

[happi-tree]

Hello :) do you take art requests?

Would you be willing to draw-

Teen-High-Binder Transmasc Normal?

Hi there, Nonnie! While I don't typically do requests I HAD to jump on the bandwagon for this one. Thank you Will Campos for making characters that are so queer and transgender 💗💗💗

Hope you're having a wonderful day!

[ej-artyarts]

Icon Comm of a friend’s fursona, Ashton (they/them)!

[dirtytransmasc]

this is Mr. Chuckles, I made him with my kids at camp, they named him, he's some sort of shark, I made him with no reference, I was just going.

[nico-sdv-archives]

Nico, there’s a character in a book series I like with your same name. I keep thinking about you when I read. He wears all black. You wear all black. So I have one question… do you play any greek inspired card games?

- @farmer-juice (also congrats on the new relationship with Star )

Uhm.. does stacking all the cards into a little house count? I don't actually know how to play any card games...

[altruistic-meme]

do i dare write the post looking at and trying to explain Queen Kristina's behavior? probably. i swear im trying to be less annoying about it but also like. i do what I want.

[ambersky0319]

Guess who finally listened to the entire heathers soundtrack for the first time ever

[blubary]

I'm so sad about the lack of fanfic for Little Hope on ao3. Like, I want an angsty sad hurt/comfort daylor fanfic. But everyone knows I won't write it because I love them too much. I want Daniel getting upset about something and Andrew and Taylor helping him calm down. But I wouldn't know where to start with a fanfic like that lol

[ruinakete]

"You're not supposed to kill anyone," Griss says, but behind the excitement in his eyes and smile, it's hard to tell if he believes it. Or cares. Standing to Zephia's left, he stares off at the rest of the field and its blend of colors: red like blood, blue like bruises, gold like...

A horn blares and his head snaps up toward the cliffs, the thought severed before it can finish. A southerly breeze swells and rushes through the crowd. The flags snap and flutter over the hush.

Griss tosses his head to brush the hair out of his eyes as he glances back at Zephia, meeting her two-toned eyes with a toothy grin.

"But that doesn't mean you can't rough 'em up real nice. I hope I go home with a nice reminder." He extends his arm, flips it over to examine the underside, then points to his ribs underneath and laughs. "Maybe right here."

OF COURSE NOT," comes the amused hum of the mage dragon, flexing her claws in arches and curls until a satisfying crack lets the tension within her simmer, "the monastery is not likely to support more. . . fitting practices like peer elimination. unfortunate, dear, i know. you need not tell me."

but griss does not, for both kin and herself are silenced by the abrupt blaring of a horn overhead, drawing their curt attention yet losing it all the same. it is almost startling how unfamiliar she feels here; poised to stand beneath the colors of a banner she knows little of, to support the house of a dragon she knew not existed until weeks ago. though she cannot be solemn now, can she? not when her hound meets her eyes with the excitement of a child first getting his hands on his master's tome.

home, he speaks so easily of.

zephia offers him a smile, arms crossed over her chest and head canted down to see where he points. a fit of sweetly natural laughter leaves her in an exhale despite herself. "and i hope your opponents gift you that pleasure! hm-hm, only a fool would be unable to, after all. but, if they do not, then you may find me instead."

sangria eyes flit elsewhere, narrowing to the expanse of the battlefield before them; not ignorant to the flags fluttering overhead, easily bent to the wind. she has only seen rafal once. . . may lord sombron grant her the blessing of a closer vantage point, then. an eye into the natural state of any fell child. . .

"griss. i expect to hear the upset whines of my students after this battle, yes? complaining about a hound who nearly tore them apart to-day." and with that━━━and a harsh flick of her wrist, striking griss' shoulder as if a good luck gesture━━━zephia turns to leave. a fanged grin is given in farewell, "simply tend to them, darling. that is all."

[orphiicheartd]

Rewatched some of the New Years sale event and my god, Ortho’s interactions with Sam are so fucken CUTE