#I LOVED filling this!

[sorn-orlith]

Heyyyy so I might or might not have just been obsessing over your page (I totally was I ain’t gonna lie). But I was wondering (if your requests are still open) if you could do a M!Tav x Shadowheart where Shadowheart has a nightmare in camp and he comforts her. Mainly fluff but if you want to add smut, well I won’t complain lmao. Anyway hope you’re having a great day!

There had been a time when Tav would ignore Shadowheart's quiet gasps of pain -- not because he wanted to, mind, but because any attempt at soothing had been met with swift and harsh rebuke. Pain is Shar's gift, and Tav learned quickly not to come between his beloved and her goddess.

But tonight is different. Not a tenday prior Shadowheart had cast decades of Shar worship into the ether along with her spear. To say she was taking it poorly would be an inadequate read of the situation; she was withdrawn, but not to the point of harm. She needed to think. She needed time.

The Sharran had long since kept her pain silent; but as Tav lies, ears pricked to the slightest sound, he picks up her voice -- "No."

It's as much of an invitation he's going to get. He keeps his blankets around his shoulders -- the early-autumn air nips at his skin -- and makes his way into Shadowheart's tent.

"Shadowheart."

He calls to her in the darkness, a whisper unheard. Her teeth chatter, her breathing comes in short gasps.

"Viam lux!"

Tav is more forceful as he summons dancing lights, illuminating their sanctum in a bluish glow. Shadowheart, curled in on herself and doused in her own sweat, lay shivering at his feet. In an instant he's on his knees. From his new vantage point he's able to see the muscles in her face clenched, eyes shut so tightly it's as though they're sealed closed.

Tentative as though reaching for a frightened kitten, he touches her shoulder. "Shadowheart, wake up; it's Tav. You're having a nightmare." Gentle fingers wipe the sweat-soaked bangs from her brow. "Come back to me. Please."

In a flash her eyes are open and locked on Tav's, a deer staring down the length of a hunter's arrow.

He brings the light in closer, that she might see an ally above her.

"Tav," she chokes.

"You're awake now; she can't touch you." He knows better than to tell her her dreams were not real. In all her wickedness, the Goddess of loss raking jagged claws down Shadowheart's brain is every bit as true as the man currently crouched beside her.

A steadying hand on her shoulder, the tortured creature's panting slowly evens out into a pained but steady rhythm. Her shaking ebbs.

"There you are," he says.

"She has me," whispers the half-elf. "I can live in the moonlight all I want to; as soon as I'm asleep, I'm hers again."

It's the first she's spoken of Shar since the night they promised themselves to one another. Tav won't ruin this. If she needs to talk, let her talk. If she needs warmth, let Tav be an inferno.

"I'm so cold."

He's ambling onto his side before the words are even out, wrapping her up in his own blanket.

She rests her slick forehead against his.

"Do you want to be touched?" He ventures, cautious.

Shadowheart's eyes study the sproutings of hair on Tav's chin with fervid intent, fearing his eyes as she had when she had first awoken. "I don't know. Can you... here, take my hand."

She was right. She's frigid. Fingers like ice meet Tav's warm hand between them. Silence fills the seconds that come next, stretching out into quiet minutes spent in contemplation.

"I don't think I'm getting back to sleep," sighs Shadowheart at last. "But -- will you come to my tent tomorrow? If you'll have me, I mean. I could use someone to banish Shar when I'm in the worst of it."

He brings her now-warm fingers to his lips. "Think nothing of it. As long as you have need of me, I'll be here."

[sga-owns-my-soul]

reblog to give ur mutuals a soft lil kissy on the head

[vmkhoneyy]

“People are inherently terrible” no!!! Have you ever seen a child wait for their friend while they tie their shoelaces? Have you ever known someone who would bring hurt squirrels and rabbits and mice to the nearest vet just so it doesn’t suffer? Have you seen someone grieve? Have you ever read something that hit your heart like a freight train? Have you looked at the stars and felt an unexplainable joy? Have you ever baked bread? Have you shared a meal with a friend? Have you not seen it? All the love? All the good? I know it’s hard to see sometimes, I know there’s pain everywhere. But look, there’s a child helping another up after a hard fall. Look, there’s someone giving their umbrella to a stranger. Look, there’s someone admiring the spring flowers. Look, there’s good, there’s good, there’s good. Look!!!!

[hellenhighwater]

god I want a vending machine to put in my house for no reason

[readerconfused]

Mr D insisting that Percy's name is Peter and immediately afterwards yelling at the demigods to get the hell out of the camp I LOVE THIS GOD

[bogcreacher]

hey man love your comics! sorry people don’t treat you like a person

[cthaehart]

Someone help him

[mienar]

at the artist's loft

instagram | shop | commission info

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

You keep telling yourself that Namari.

[inkskinned]

at some point it's just like. do they even fucking like the thing they're asking AI to make? "oh we'll just use AI for all the scripts" "we'll just use AI for art" "no worries AI can write this book" "oh, AI could easily design this"

like... it's so clear they've never stood in the middle of an art museum and felt like crying, looking at a piece that somehow cuts into your marrow even though the artist and you are separated by space and time. they've never looked at a poem - once, twice, three times - just because the words feel like a fired gun, something too-close, clanging behind your eyes. they've never gotten to the end of the movie and had to arrive, blinking, back into their body, laughing a little because they were holding their breath without realizing.

"oh AI can mimic style" "AI can mimic emotion" "AI can mimic you and your job is almost gone, kid."

... how do i explain to you - you can make AI that does a perfect job of imitating me. you could disseminate it through the entire world and make so much money, using my works and my ideas and my everything.

and i'd still keep writing.

i don't know there's a word for it. in high school, we become aware that the way we feel about our artform is a cliche - it's like breathing. over and over, artists all feel the same thing. "i write because i need to" and "my music is how i speak" and "i make art because it's either that or i stop existing." it is such a common experience, the violence and immediacy we mean behind it is like breathing to me - comes out like a useless understatement. it's a cliche because we all feel it, not because the experience isn't actually persistent. so many of us have this ... fluttering urgency behind our ribs.

i'm not doing it for the money. for a star on the ground in some city i've never visited. i am doing it because when i was seven i started taking notebooks with me on walks. i am doing it because in second grade i wrote a poem and stood up in front of my whole class to read it out while i shook with nerves. i am doing it because i spent high school scribbling all my feelings down. i am doing it for the 16 year old me and the 18 year old me and the today-me, how we can never put the pen down. you can take me down to a subatomic layer, eviscerate me - and never find the source of it; it is of me. when i was 19 i named this blog inkskinned because i was dramatic and lonely and it felt like the only thing that was actually permanently-true about me was that this is what is inside of me, that the words come up over everything, coat everything, bloom their little twilight arias into every nook and corner and alley

"we're gonna replace you". that is okay. you think that i am writing to fill a space. that someone said JOB OPENING: Writer Needed, and i wrote to answer. you think one raindrop replaces another, and i think they're both just falling. you think art has a place, that is simply arrives on walls when it is needed, that is only ever on demand, perfect, easily requested. you see "audience spending" and "marketability" and "multi-line merch opportunity"

and i see a kid drowning. i am writing to make her a boat. i am writing because what used to be a river raft has long become a fully-rigged ship. i am writing because you can fucking rip this out of my cold dead clammy hands and i will still come back as a ghost and i will still be penning poems about it.

it isn't even love. the word we use the most i think is "passion". devotion, obsession, necessity. my favorite little fact about the magic of artists - "abracadabra" means i create as i speak. we make because it sluices out of us. because we look down and our hands are somehow already busy. because it was the first thing we knew and it is our backbone and heartbreak and everything. because we have given up well-paying jobs and a "real life" and the approval of our parents. we create because - the cliche again. it's like breathing. we create because we must.

you create because you're greedy.

[gunstellations]

mlem 👅

[rivvode]

native miku be upon ye

mr worldwide mr 305

[o3o-lapd-o3o]

do you ever think that the ending of six hundred strike, actually added to the poseidon & athena beef? like i can just imagine them both in beds in apollo's olympus infirmary, just arguing with/at each other! meanwhile poor apollo is just tying to heal them both.

athena: *ranting* i've been odysseus' mentor/friend since he was a teenager! and he still didn't listen to me!

athena: i told him to put his emotions aside but noooooo, he had to let the cyclops live!

apollo: athen-

poseidon: are you forgetting he literally stabbed me? repeateDLY? WITH MY OWN TRIDENT?

apollo: poseid-

athena: *ignoring poseidon and continuing her rant* ruTHlesNEsS iS meRCy UpOn OUrseLVEs. isn't that what you said?!

poseidon: well yeah, BUT HOW WAS I TO EXPECT THAT SAD WET CAT OF A MAN WOULD BE FILLED WITH SOME FORM OF DIVINE RAGE?

apollo: please you two are gonna open your stitche-

athena: oh you deserved it. you literally showed the man his island before trapping him AND THEN you started THREATENING his wife and son? oh that was your final mistake.

poseidon: whatever! so much for you calling him a warrior of the mind. he's a monster!

athena: *wipes tear away* i know, im so proud.

apollo: *tired of their bickering & now glowing in anger* please for "dad's"sake will you two just shut up and let me heal you both?!

poseidon & athena: *shuts up immediately* o-ok

[the-phantom-peach]

skyward sword… yeah <3

Crimson Loftwing

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[dykepaldi]

homestuck was so perfect for autistic teenagers bc it took characters being sorted into categories and having Attributes to its absolute extreme. forget four hogwarts houses, every character has their associated colour their zodiac sign their associated animal their dream planet their god tier class and aspect their typing quirk their pesterchum handle their weapon their planet of x and y, as well as each of them having a handful of other very quantifiable Personality Traits and Interests (e.g. this one is a clown this one is angry this one likes fashion this one is just rufio from hook for some reason) and THEN they all also have their respective ancestors and dancestors(?)(plucked that word from my memory) who have all of those things as WELL

and god not to mention the fucking quadrant system

as a 13-15 year old autistic kid i didnt even need homestuck to have a plot i just happily made a big big spreadsheet of character attributes in my brain

[catboyholes]

breeding kink but ONLY for monster fucking. some human promising to put a baby in me does nothing for me. but a werewolf deep in rut desperate to mount and shove their swelling knot in me and we get locked together for at LEAST 15min until it deflates while my stomach visibly extends from how much cum is being pumped into my poor abused hole and whole time theyre rambling abt how great our pups are gonna be..? 😳😳