#and while it's not perfect it's been fun

[lugidog]

Experiment more. Just do stuff. Don't worry about making it perfect, just have fun.

[mildh4nn]

THE KING OF PIRATES

Interested in the full resolution and no glaze? Wanna tip me? Check me Patreonn

Added this as a print to buy if anyone would like to grab one as well

[lollitree]

when the law starts catching up to you

[iraprince]

if u like listening to music while u work but find urself getting distracted fiddling with queueing stuff/finding The Perfect Playlist/etc my recent hack has been just throwing on youtube videos of dj sets

book club radio is a good channel to start w bc they usually have the overall Vibe of the set in the title (i.e. "dreamy pop mix", "energetic techno mix" etc) so u can pick the general tempo or w/e u want but then it just kind of blends into the bg and u can set it + forget it

any time i put my own playlists on i'm just too familiar w what could be coming up and i end up wasting so much time skipping/scrolling 2 look for specific songs and stuff. dj sets are like putting a post-op doggy cone on me. it;'s out of my hands

[stiffyck]

I love bad art so much. I love when people just scribble and do random brush strokes and I love seeing artists just not care if the end result looks pleasing or good. I love when people do art just because it's fun.

[bonetrousledbones]

so when are we gonna start appreciating undertale AUs for fueling a metric fuck ton of the creativity and longevity of the fandom because if i see one more person calling them the cringiest part of the last 8 years i might lose it

[flickeringflame216]

blessings roll call!!!

[destinywillowleaf]

one of a kind living in a world gone plastic

baby you're so classic

@most-tragic-character-tournament

(all my thoughts in the tags)

[camthecatchameleon]

So carry me from these walls, brother of mine, Show me the world outside. It has to be true, I'm counting on you To be my wings and my eyes.

Fish in a Birdcage - Rule #4, Fish Inside a Birdcage (2022)

Image ID:

First image - A messy, sketchy quality drawing of Ol' Jericho Sticks from Legends of Avantris: Edge of Midnight. Well, technically this is Virgil in Jericho's body. He stands at the far left side of the canvas, with his back to the camera and his head turned over his shoulder to stare a beady four-pointed eye at the audience. Their arms hang loosely at their sides. Four massive black wings sprout from Jericho/Virgil's shoulderblades and from below his "ribcage," the two farther from the camera extending over the rest of the canvas. The two in proximity to the camera curve over Jericho/Virgil's body, obscuring parts of them, and framing emphasis around their eye. Seven orange eyes with four-pointed star pupils, drawn even more messily than the figure, float in space and stare out at the audience from between the feathers of the extended wings. Scribbles in jagged strokes frame the piece and reach towards the figure. The whole piece is in a duotone greyish/orange color scheme. Words, the lyrics to Fish in a Birdcage's Rule #4 - Fish Inside a Birdcage, are written messily, following the contours of the eyes and the wings. The words write: "YOU GAVE ME MORE THAN I COULD ASK FOR... INDISTINGUISHABILITY"

Second Image - A zoomed in version of the first image, to give a more detailed view of Jericho/Virgil's face and body. Only the figure, the two closest wings, and a quarter of the other two wings are shown. No words are in view, but two of the eyes are visible.

[daboyau]

I got an idea when looking at this post by @tangledinink. I couldn’t rest until I’d jotted it down. The art possessed me like an evil spirit. warnings for body horror, vomiting, general fuckery. 💚

what probably happened directly before Leo found himself in this situation:

Leo: Fairies? No way those sparkly little assholes are real.

The fae who happened to be within earshot: and i took that personally.

Anyway, here we gooooo:

Leo opens his mouth to scream, but the sound won’t come out. He gags on the feeling of it catching inside his throat, and then again when the trapped scream begins to grow thorns. It scrapes its way up, and he claws desperately at his throat, trying to tear the feeling out, falling to his knees as he gags around the forced silence.

The threat of suffocation is enough to tear his attention, however briefly, away from the horror of what is happening to his shell. His body is changing itself on the urging of some other thing’s whims, and even though his nerves didn’t seem to get the memo that a dissolving shell (you know, the thing that most of his internal organs and, like, half of his bones need to stay inside his body?) should probably hurt a lot, he can still feel it.

He retches as the first flower falls from his lips. It hits the ground with a disgustingly wet sound, coated with bile and saliva. It shines wetly, rich orange hues standing out brightly against the black soil. The rest follow shortly after, a painful deluge of familiar colors, and he’s helpless to do anything but dig his fingers deep into the rich soil and try not to let the horrific impossibility of the situation drive him crazy. Tears flow freely, staining his cheeks before they fall to the ground below, greedily absorbed by the cursed earth of this place.

“Oh, dear,” a voice says, too close for him not to have noticed their presence. He tries to jerk back, but he can’t pull his fingers from the dirt. It hurts when he tries. A high pitched whine escapes his throat, but he’s too terrified to be embarrassed by that. The voice shushes him, soothes him, and warm fingers wrap tight around the back of his neck. They come to rest just above where the lip of his shell should be. He sobs at the way his back squirms as heat shoots down his spine and something begins to grow. The furred fingers drag like velvet against his scales as they squeeze, the sharp prick of claws threatening to break skin, and then release him just as suddenly. 

“So much sorrow and pain. And, oh, so many regrets,” the thing says as she circles him, humming a tune that makes his head pound in rhythm with his racing heart. His hands have sunk beneath the black soil, and it has begun licking greedily at his wrists as well. He can feel tendrils of something wet and cold winding themselves around his fingers, and he wants to scream again, but the bursts of bile-soaked colors decorating the ground keep him from opening his mouth. He can feel a petal still clinging to his bottom lip, and when the thing kneels before him, she reaches out to pluck it off, unbothered by the way he shrinks as far away from her touch as he can manage.

She slips it between her lips, and he catches a flash of a blackened tongue as it darts out to meet that single purple petal. Her teeth are sharp when she smiles at him. They hadn’t been sharp, when she’d first approached him in the Hidden City. Nothing about her had been.

In the dim lights of the underground world he and his brothers had only recently begun to explore, she had looked soft. He’d seen her approaching, and the first thought to flit through his head was, aw, bunny. A fluffy, rounded face. Big eyes, dark and deep as a still pond as they reflected the flickering neon of a sign in the shop window behind him. A pink nose had twitched when she’d smiled at him, sweet and kind, and asked him for his name. 

(What had he told her?)

Now, she would be unrecognizable, if not for the same strawberry patterned dress that drapes over her stretched out frame. He’d think to compare her to a hare now, but the hares he’d seen when watching Animal Planet with mikey had never looked like they would take delight in tearing his nails off one by one or plucking out his eyeballs. They had never made his vision swim or his body shake when he’d looked at them. Maybe she’s become more of a wolf.

The soil has reached his elbows. Those cool, slimy tendrils have circled his wrists like shackles. They’re squeezing tighter and tighter, and he feels his fingers throb and tingle as circulation is cut off. 

His mind flashes briefly to raph and how he used to tell them not to wear rubber bands on their wrists, convinced that their hands would fall right off if they got squeezed too tight. He wonders if the things that live beneath the dirt will steal what they’ve claimed, just like she’s stollen his shell. Another sound wants to bubble up his throat at the thought, and he lets it, because what use is a swordsman without his hands?

The hysterical giggles escape as big, iridescent bubbles. They glitter pink and blue and leave a bitter taste on his tongue. They only float a few feet into the air before they fall back to the ground, their attempt to flee the horror of this situation not getting too far at all. Soft green grass rises up from the dirt to catch them, but they do not pop. They rest, suspended on those tiny blades, for far longer than any bubble he’s ever blown before. He watches, transfixed, as his laughter is eventually swallowed by green. It begins to spread.

A hand cradles his chin, and his gaze jerks back to the thing that brought him here. She is watching him intently, eyes darting to take in every tiny change in his expression. She looks curious, in the same way that donnie does when he’s thinking about all the ways he can take something apart, and what he can do with those pieces to create something better. 

Her hand is soft where it touches him. She is gentle as she wipes a cloth across his mouth. It feels like water, soothing and cool, and he finds himself leaning into this tiny offer of comfort among the stomach churning violation of what is being done to him. His eyes flutter, and he distantly registers that the face she wears seems to swim before his eyes with each rapid blink, shifting back and forth between bunny and wolf and something other. She looks like she wants to devour him whole, no matter which face she wears.

From this close, he can see the way her eyes sparkle and dance when she smiles. He can’t help but think that maybe being swallowed whole wouldn’t be such a bad way to go, after all. 

The writhing shackles around his wrists tighten. 

She laughs, breathy and soft, and the sound is layered and beautiful like wind chimes. It conjures a hurricane inside his mind. Her cool breath gusts over his face. It smells like churned dirt and funeral flowers and pustulous rot. He doesn’t know if he wants to gag or breathe deeper. 

“Little blossom,” she croons, cupping both his cheeks, dragging their faces close. He doesn’t resist. She giggles, and she drags those soft hands and those sharp claws down his neck and over his shoulders, fingertips bumping against the disgustinghorriblewrongparasitetumor gathering of delicate buds that have sprouted up all across his back. She pinches one between the pads of her fingers, and he wants to screamcrybeghertostoppushherawaycutherdownandtearthemalloutbytheroots be good for her.

“Little blossom,” she says again, and those dark eyes catch his gaze and hold it as a heavy feeling settles against his skin, across his shoulders, around his neck, and he can’t look away no matter how desperately he tries. But he doesn’t want to try. Her smile stretches wider, wider, and for one brief flicker of a second he can see blood on her teeth as she asks, “Do you believe now?”

.

(Side note just for fun. The flowers that appear in this but aren’t actually described or named are:

Orange marigold, for grief and despair

Purple hyacinth, for sorrow and asking for forgiveness

Red cyclamen, for goodbye and resignation

Yellow zinnia, for missing a friend and remembrance

Bluebells, for gratitude and everlasting love 

[arom-antix]

Happy birthday to the man, the myth, the legend, trophy husband of Yuuri Katsuki, Viktor Nikiforov!

[yo-yo-yoshiko]

TimeFire with the stinkiest little smile~! I left this scan relatively unadjusted because I thought the streaky-ness of the ink on the helmet looks pretty cool!

And the version before I added the red and splatter:

[ehlihr]

also finally beat my hades run record but it was with extreme measures all the way so who knows what we could have had

[mitchmotch]

sonia warm-up i did a while ago

[bacchuschucklefuck]

the never stop blowing up vhs is where cute twinks go to get harmed

[collegeboysam]

parkinson's can cause lung issues (the chest wall becomes stiff and muscles weaker, which can cause a lot of coughing) so maybe being given the dark gift stopped the advance of the disease but didn't erase how it had already affected daniel's body to that point. armand, your fledgling is sick. daniel needs you. armand. armand please.