#am i missing any tags?

[sasster]

Knife Skills

Another backstory Ailzea drabble! Again he’s like.. Early twenties during this time in his life.

[Google doc for the dark background enjoyer]

The cut of the knife has a way of bringing great comfort to Ailzea, one that he could never quantify with words if asked, provided that anything but flesh was on the other side of it. Thankfully, no one is asking and the wood shavings fall harmlessly to the ground as he carves a block out into the shape of a chest.

It is always quiet on this side of the church, so he sits in peace propped up against a wall that faces the forest that threads along the south side of his ancestors territory.

What he wouldn’t give to disappear into that forest. Not that such an escape would do him much justice.

At least for now he gets to be alone. No one ever bothers with this side of the church, not even Favion makes it his business to harass him when he comes out here. He never wonders why that is, Ailzea only finds himself grateful for it.

Little by little the block in his hand starts to take the shape that he is looking for.

Life should just be this.

Maybe an hour or so passes, the chest is fitted with two lovingly carved arms by now, before anyone makes an appearance. A groundskeeper that Ailzea has seen once or twice, but never interacted with, rounds the corner and jumps with a start when he sees the young Roatus.

The delightful smile on his face stays where it is.

“I am sorry. I did not mean to frighten you,” Ailzea says into the wood as he carves out the shape of a leg from a new block, having looked up only briefly to see who it was. “I can leave if you need me to, Tunsen.”

The older, much much older, troll does not seem surprised to be addressed by name.

“I don’t mind the company,” his voice is kind. “You can stay right where you are.”

As he speaks, he moves to trim at the weeds beginning to sprout at the base of the wall.

“Provided you clean up after yourself.”

It is in jest, that much Ailzea can tell, but that he would talk to him so flippantly where no other troll would dare interact with the descendant of the Reverend, it draws his attention back to the olive blood.

“Of course I will.”

“Then we can be friends.”

The groundskeeper is an older troll, there is no telling how long he has been under the Reverend’s employ, but his kind smile and the gentle cadence with which he speaks seems to have the ability to lure any troll into a sense of comfort. Safety even.

He seems out of place.

Ailzea watches as he grips a particularly stubborn weed and gives a great tug. He thinks that he likes his job, because his smile never leaves his face. That is a lovely thought.

“Yes, we can be friends,” the younger troll finally says, setting the doll and tools to the side. “Would you like some help?”

“Oh. We really can be friends if you’re going to be helpful about it!” The groundskeeper punctuates the statement with a laugh. “Glad I passed the sniff test.”

“Between us, it is not so difficult to do.”

Tunsen laughs again.

“You’re a good boy.”

No one has ever said that before.

“Thank you.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The cut of the knife has always been Ailzea’s best friend. But he has made another. This friend is much older than him and provides the same level of comfort that carving away at the articulated mantis he’d been working on provides. His carver's knife slides over the head of the mantis to smooth it out and sends a small amount of shavings into the pile accumulating on the surface of his desk.

His new friend knocks on the door when he visits his room, he knows that it is him because no one else knocks on the door here.

Tunsen enters when the permission is given with two objects in tow. A piece of wood and a book that the boy had never read before. He always brings a gift if he can.

“You do not have to bring me anything, Tunsen.” Ailzea says as the book and wood block are set in front of him.

“I know,” the elder responds with a smile that reaches his eyes, forcing him to squint. “I know that I don’t.”

“Hm.”

The young Roatus looks to his barren bookshelves and then back to Tunsen.

“It looked a bit lonely.”

“It is.”

“The wood is lime. It is soft, I am eager to see what you make of it.”

“I’ll have to return your kindness.”

Tunsen shrugs. “You don’t have to.”

“I know.”

Very suddenly Ailzea is reminded that no one knocks on his door, when the voice of his ancestor fills the room.

It is entirely too loud.

It takes up too much space.

“What business does my groundskeeper have inside?” It demands.

His questioning is simple, but his anger is tangible.

Tunsen says nothing, his back to the Reverend. His smile is tight.

Ailzea always struggled to understand how people were able to wear their emotions on their sleeves like that. He tries, in vain, to conceal the two offerings.

They make eye contact, then his ancestor’s gaze falls on the wooden block on the desk.

The Reverend smiles.

“Face me.”

Tunsen turns.

Ailzea only watches as the elder enters the room fully and snatches his friend off his feet, a gloved hand secured firmly over his face.

There is hardly time for him to register what is unfolding.

A few seconds more pass and the fabric of the glove begins to wilt away.

“Let this be a lesson to you, Ailzea.”

Ailzea does not react.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

The cut of the knife has never failed Ailzea before and with the death of his predecessor, he prays that it will do him just one more justice. He hold onto a dagger in his hand as though it is a lifeline.

Though he has only tested it once before, there is a shred of hope within him that his ancestor’s grisly power can be undone. There is an interesting quality to that ability, the undead he created always found their way back to places they frequented when they were still living. The Reverend laughed when telling Ailzea that this was perfect as it emulated the hustle and bustle of a real city, excepting that they all continued to defer to his will intrinsically.

He is thankful for this abrupt memory as it removes the guilt of having dispatched the brute almost as soon as it appears in his head.

Ailzea rounds the corner to the south lawn of the church, mulling his relationship with his late ancestor over as he does. He thinks, maybe, the world is better off that he stays late.

“Tunsen? Are you here?” He asks softly.

There is no real answer, aside from the snarling of the undead. He expected nothing more.

“I came to help.”

More snarling.

The corpse he addresses sits slumped over a weed it lacks the strength to yank out of the ground.

“I do not know how much of the real you is still in there, but I want to apologize for what I am about to do.”

Though his voice is quiet and the steps he takes toward his friend are soft, the daywalkers attention is on him in an instant.

Face marred by a dark spot with sprawling veins that reach for more, a gift from the Reverend, it hisses and snaps its teeth at him. Still he presses on.

When he gets close enough to it, his ancestors' scent rolling off of him, it becomes docile and returns to the stubborn weed.

“You should not have suffered for so long, not for your kindness. I apologize for my cowardice.”

Ailzea grips the dagger in his hand, clean of the Reverend’s blood, and plunges it into his friend’s temple from behind.

There is no startled cry, gurgling, or snarling. The body simply slumps over and onto the ground.

It is silent.

Ailzea lets out a sigh and sits on the ground near the body, pulling his head into his lap.

“I would have done this long ago,” he confides, stroking his fingers through dirty hair. “But he would have just done it again.”

A pleasant hum fills the air as he activates his powers. At this point he is proficient, he has no doubt that it will work.

Only a few minutes pass, he would guess maybe fifteen, before Tunsen starts to stir in his lap.

They sit in silence for a peaceful moment.

“You did not have to do that.” The groundskeeper finally whispers, voice hoarse. “You didn’t.”

“I know.”

“You’re a good boy,” he asserts, reaching a hand to pat his arm. “A very kind boy.”

[sabertoothwalrus]

god I have like a billion dungeon meshi comic ideas, some even thumbed/scripted, but I can’t stop drawing chilshi hdhshdhsj the downside of being fond of a smaller ship is you have to make all the content yourself…

[bl00dalchemist]

This one i like.

[spaciebabie]

auuuugh he has no fucking idea how much i love him

[stimboardboy]

bathing a quagsire

[aprillikesthings]

I hate it when buff lesbians in red jackets get stabbed in the side

(listen I know She-Ra doesn't wear a red jacket, just Adora; and that Vi isn't wearing it in this scene; NEVERTHELESS)

and their enemy fucking taunts them about it

but their girlfriend shows up to fight off the bastard that hurt them

And she's nice enough to help them walk after that :D

Anyway. I just like punchy buff lesbians in red jackets, don't you?

[pluvio-floret]

They’re silly sometimes, you see

[luvrodite]

real love, baby [1210]

a post-wedding moment between newlyweds (fluff, suggestive content but sfw)

“Can I see your hand?”

Jason passes it over his lap wordlessly, and you shift on your elbows to get a better look. The silver band wrapped around his finger glints in the lowlight, and you sink your teeth into your lip to fight back the squeal bubbling in your throat. Flicking your eyes up, you find blue-green eyes on you, a similar grin playing on his lips.

“Let me see yours,” he demands and you let go of his hand to sit up from where you’d been lounging on your stomach. You’re careful with the swathes of white fabric you’re still covered in as you move, the reception dress pooling around you as you extend your hand at him. Playfully, you wiggle your fingers at him, letting the ring catch the light. The pretty diamond winks at you, and you can’t help the little sigh that expels from your lips.

The hour is late and you ought to be getting to bed, but the excitement of the day has yet to settle, love curling in your stomach and wrapping tight around you. The both of you had been eager to escape the reception, dreamy as it had been, and the moment the door to your hotel room had shut you’d fallen back onto the plush sheets of the massive bed with a loud breath. Jason had quickly followed suit, but not before kicking off his dress shoes and slipping your own off, slumping on your left in the black tux you’d had a hard time dragging your eyes away from all evening.

“Mine now,” he breathes out, fingers circling your wrist. “Officially. I’ve got the papers to prove it.”

You grin. “Possessive, aren’t we?”

He inclines forward to nip at your neck and you squirm, giggling, batting him away. “You would be, if you were me. ‘Sides, don’t act like you’re any better. Feels like I’m getting mauled anytime you get your hands on me.”

Your smile stretches from ear to ear, it feels like, as you topple forward to kiss his face, arms coming around his neck. The movement is wobbly, the mattress underneath your knees too soft to remain upright, and you fall into his lap.

“Yes, well,” you sigh. “How else was I supposed to let everyone know you were taken? You have this ring now, but it would’ve been anybody’s guess, before.”

You can feel the metal of his ring press into the small of your back through the fabric of your dress. Jason mutters something, your ears catching the word menace, and tips his face up to catch your mouth with his.

“How’s it feel?” you mumble against his lips. When he pulls away, you giggle at the smear of gloss around his mouth. “You’re a husband now.”

He shrugs. “Knew I was gonna be when I met you,” he says baldly, and you blink. “Just feels like things are the way they’re meant to be, now.”

“What?” you titter, a little stunned, still smiling.

He shifts back to lean against the headboard, hands clasped around you. “I just mean that I knew you were it. Took one look at you and I felt it. Intuition, or something.”

“You’re just saying that to get into my pants,” you tease, but you can’t help the way your heart thumps a little harder when he shakes his head simply, blue-green eyes focused on you solemnly.

“I’m serious.”

And maybe it’s the heightened emotions that have been running rampant all day, but tears pool in your lash line so suddenly his face shifts into one of concern as you croak out his name pitifully.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” he coos, and you shake your head, tilting forward to kiss him. A stray tear brushes past your lashes and he laughs goodnaturedly, thumb swiping it away.

“Silly, didn’t I do enough cryin’ for the both of us today?” he chides and it prompts a watery laugh out of you at the memory of your teary fiancé standing at the altar, gulping back the lump in his throat and failing miserable as you walked towards him.

“My turn now,” you murmur through giggles. “Who said you get a monopoly on being emotional?”

“You must’ve missed the notice in the paper.” You swat him half heartedly, and he shakes with laughter.

“Stupid,” you mutter and his fingers dig into your sides.

“Yeah, but you still married me,” he says breezily and you squeal when he brushes against your ribs. The smile on his face is radiant, smug and proud, brighter than the diamond gleaming on the finger he’d slid your ring on.

“I did,” you breathe out, laughter in your voice. “No getting rid of me now.”

His mouth quirks, gazing fondly down at you. “Good.”

There’s a bottle of something bubbly in a bucket of ice alongside two flutes on a tray nearby, and Jason deposits you on the bed to retrieve it, the loud POP it makes eliciting a stream of giggles from you. He joins you soon after, handing you your glass.

Propped against the headboard with his shoulder pressed against yours, you hold your glass up to him. “A toast?”

“Baby,” he huffs out a tired laugh, “I’ve lost count of how many toasts we’ve had tonight.”

“What’s one more?” you wheedle and he sighs in acquiescence. When you look over, his cheeks are flushed, and a quiet smile plays on his lips.

“Sure,” he murmurs. Tipping his chin for you to go on, he adds, “What’s your toast?”

You hum thoughtfully, before you start to laugh. “To Bruce’s face when Dick started dancing with my aunt.”

He throws his head back at that, barking out a laugh. “Sure, I’ll drink to that.”

Your glasses clink together, and you take a sip, the bubbles making you cough a little as they float up to your nose. You nudge him.

“Your turn.”

He thinks for a moment, eyes lighting up gleefully. “To Damian having to pass Dick a tissue when he started crying before we could make our speeches.”

Your brother-in-law’s face had had the both of you hiding behind your cards, and now makes you burst into laughter all over again, face flushing as you gasp for breath.

“Poor Dami,” you murmur in between titters, your drink sloshing precariously in your glass as you tremble.

“We all knew it was going to happen,” Jason tells you, wiping away a tear, lips twitching as he tries to keep a straight face. “He just came prepared.”

The volume of liquid in your glasses steadily decreases as the night grows darker. Slumped against your husband’s side, the two of you recount the reception and the various events that had occurred during its course. You propose toasts until your glasses are empty, at which point Jason takes them and places them on the floor beside your bed so that he can kiss you.

Tucked under his arm and exchanging sleepy kisses, you peer through your lashes at him. Haloed and smudged by your blurry vision, he appears before you with all the qualities of a dream.

“Mine now?” you ask against his lips, slowly being lowered into the mattress.

He hovers over your body, mouth swollen and eyes half-lidded.

“Always was.”

had this in my drafts for ages and finally got around to finishing it. i just think being so lovesick and giggly and newlywed and forever is something that can be so personal….oh to marry your best friend….

[shad0w-ink]

*appears out of the ether to give you this*

I redrew that one drawing I made like, I think 2 years ago, Originally Arthur wasn't supposed to be shirtless but I got so proud of that arm that I decided not to cover it up

here's a close up

I ALSO DID A TIMELAPSE(half-way through cuz its when I remembered)

and if for some reason you want to know I was listening to Kids Again by Artist vs Poet (its in my merthur playlist)

[fanofthelamb]

Hello friends. this is the low effort foot hurty comics i was talking about.

(he is really only getting away w/ interrupting him bc the lamb secretly loves being pampered/cared for like this.)

also EVERYONE THANK @paintpaintpaintman bc i would not have the courage to post this w/o him !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[ratguy-nico]

Adivinen quien al fin dibujo algo? Wich means I'm back baby!

Its not perfect (like everything I made), but I just love drawing comic-like-stuff, I get to relax more. I dont try to do the lines perfectly or the super accurate anatomy (mostly cause I dont know shit about anatomy at all) and also get to be more simple in the colors, wich helps cause I struggle making colors a lot.

I missed drawing my babies...but why did I drawing them like that? XD I swear...I think I should have seen some reference cause I totally change the way I draw the Burger Babys which is crazy for me XD

Now...is this an AU, is this them as teenagers, why is Louise working on Aplebees? Well I didnt put an exact age for the guys here, they could be 16 or 19 I dunno.

This is solely based on this post from @zer0ogravity I lmao with this and totally need it to draw it.

btw I from Latam, I didn't knew what Applebees was until making this comic so if Applebees dont look like this sorry.

[dreamsy990]

some of the less nice thoughts about being aroace

extras below the cut

sketch

closeups on my favorite panels

bonus: adios

[edlucavalden]

Post canon i personally think kabru and mithrun would live together.

They'd have their shared home above mithruns noodle place, and its not that far from the castle.

Kabru IS welcome to stay in the castle, but let's be real he would overwork himself if he was constantly with his literal hyperfix. Hes collectivly banned LOL.

Hed lives with mithrun under the guise that "mithrun needs a caretaker" but in reality, it's mithrun taking care of kabru.

Insert that scene where past!mithrun is whispering to mithruns ear. Yeah. Thats how he knows what kabru is upto.

Kabru is does smth mundane to the unseen eye like And mithrun goes "no tf you dont. i did this when i was 110 years old i know your tricks"

(Also bonus yaad moment he regains his desire to eat bc he brings kabru home from work (to make sure he isnt scheming smth) and gets free soba from mithrun)

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"And soda; runs off into the street..." "...and soda... is totally okay!"

[stargazer0001]

guys I actually did it!!!!! I stuck to my word and drew it!!!!!

[jokerlennon]

obviously there is no such thing as "canon" in doctor who but to YOU. personally.