#arrgh

[yoshis-island420]

Could you draw Blinky and Aaarrrggh please?

Didn’t mention which era but I’m obsessed with the idea of blinky teaching arrgh how to properly speak (spoiler, it did not work as he hoped it would but hey, at least he tried)

[neon-hell]

*wakes up in cold sweat in the middle of the night* Alastor makes video technology glitch so his presence physically hurts Vox when they're face to face or even in the same room-

[blackbloodedisabel]

isther from 2days doodles…. if she has no fans i am dead

OHHHHHHH MY GODD SHAKING SCREAMING TWIRLING AROUND THE KITCHEN..... ISTYYYYY🙁🙁🙁 and you got her side profile like. omg her!!!

THE FREEEAKING LIZARD OH MY GOD IT'S. ARRGH. can't even call it bbl that feels too lighthearted.... it's big lizardd....... the PUPIL and the SILHOUETTE it's like. image stolen straight from my mind. oh my god.

her stupid cute face. kill her. again

[gardenofchrome]

Trollhunters Full Soundtrack on Spotify

[rotting-and-so-beautiful]

writing fics for ships that no one really cares about in fandoms that are pretty much dead is so argajkakoplsbanioa

[tulpar-transmissions]

it's ok !! i figured it wasn't. i just wanted to say something :-D

ok yay

thanks. helps a ton. /gen

[sui-imi]

Roo's not very good with compliments x)

I wanted to animate based on the drawing below:

... so I did.

[tomodachi-irl]

Cringetober day11

Niche interests

Idk if these are niche interests 😭

[meohme-thedorklord]

Pirates of the Southlands

Part 1: The Curse of the Rickety Raft

Happy Talk Like A Pirate Day arrrgh! 🏴‍☠️

Join this brave and silly duet on their new adventures at sea.

Will our salty Lady of the Light succumb to her desire to drown her scabby companion - the Dork Lord?

Will Halbrand stop knowingly smirking every time the scorching sun shines through Galadriel’s soggy Elven pyjamas?

…or will they give in to their angry lust?

[no2ticonderoga]

Writing fic lately be like:

Choose 1:

TIme

Inspiration

You can't have both.

[orangemerrin]

Arrrrr piratessss!!! (Working on some game art for my game)

[bat-boy-beckett]

patterning, tracing, cutting and sewing fabric is such a tedious and frustrating process

(but it's all worth it for my Phonegingi cosplay...)

[frogshunnedshadows]

Oh, god, that vest was and is a pain in the ass. Got pretty much all of it done except for the buttons and buttonholes. I think I can do them tomorrow night after baking the pie.

[faggyart]

shitty whiteboard doodles

[mollymagician]

Dreamling Week Day 6: Sick

A companion to this and also this.

It was day two of watching Dream’s fledgling immune system engaging in gritty trench warfare with what he hoped was the flu, and Hob was maybe…losing it a little. Just a bit.

Though it was obvious which one of them was more miserable, startling awake every few minutes for hours to the sound of Morpheus’ wracking coughs left Hob strung-out and woozy. But that wasn’t anything he hadn’t dealt with before.

It was just that, for all he’d known that this was inevitable, it was still a shock to his system to watch. Every time. With anyone he loved. Fresh blood from the 600 year old scab that had formed over the memory of his family dying of the plague. And the knowledge that Dream couldn’t die didn’t help nearly as much as he’d hoped it would.

Now he lay awake, too keyed up to doze back off. Dream was a long burning line beside him in the dark. Quiet and finally able to rest for nearly a blessed hour, thank God.

Quiet for a certain value of the word, anyway.

He twitched in his sleep, shivering, hands grasping fitfully at the blankets. Murmured incoherently on and off. But the coughing was settled for now and that was half the battle. Hob laid a hand against his sternum as his raspy breathing quickened, pressing gently. “Shhh, dove.” The bare skin was hot under his hand. Hot, hot, hot. After watching him sweat through his second shirt in as many hours, Hob had given up on hassling him to change into fresh ones and let it go.

It was probably the flu, Hob told himself. Again. The COVID test he’d pulled from his stash in the bathroom had come back negative, but what did that even mean anymore? He’d put in calls and informed all pertinent parties that he’d be isolating, anyway, with a sick partner who had all the symptoms. (Who still seemed so NEW, whose body still sometimes seemed to forget the rules it was playing under.)

They’d started him on an immunization schedule as soon as he was able. “Look. Even if it can’t kill us, whatever it is we get,” Hob had told him, “we still might pass it on, yeah? Better for everyone if we make sure that we can’t. And…there are things…” He felt his face twisting into some wry, sad thing. “Even if they can’t kill you, there are some experiences I’d spare you, if I can.”

Hob expected an argument, but Dream just regarded him for a long moment, nodded solemnly, and that was that. Hob found him a physician who was well known for his experience with neurodivergent patients, assuming that would be their best bet, and they cooked up a story about Dream finally removing himself from a “complicated family situation” that had resulted in an adult who had never once been to a doctor and needed to begin a vaccine regimen ASAP.

Apparently as soon as possible hadn’t been quite soon enough.

Beside them on the nightstand, an alarm began to chime softly from his phone and Hob reached over to silence it. He scrubbed a hand over his face

“After everything you’ve been through,” Hob whispered, “what does that brain of yours see when it goes haywire like this, eh?” He pressed a hand to Dream’s burning forehead. “Or is weirdness so normal that your sick dreams are all about toasters and shopping for socks?”

“My sister,” Dream rasped, “can make even socks as weird as anything you can imagine.”

Hob leaned over to peer down at him and caught the glint of pale blue eyes just barely cracked open in the dimness.

“When you’re right, you’re right,” Hob said softly. He brushed lank hair from Dreams face carefully. “I am so sorry to wake you, love, but it’s time for more meds.”

Dream stared at him for a few moments before his eyes drifted closed. “Yes,” he murmured.

Hob had begun to shuffle himself out of bed when a hot, clammy hand suddenly wrapped itself around his wrist. He glanced down to find Dream looking back at him, glassy and intense. “You were gone,” he said, his normally velvet-dark voice sounding as though he’d gone a few rounds with a cheese grater and lost.

Hob lifted the hand that gripped him and kissed the backs of Dreams fingers. “I’ve been here all night, I promise.”

“No. You asked what I saw…I…” Dream swallowed. “I kept seeing that day. The White Horse ruined, and I walk but there’s nothing to find, because you’re gone. And always I end up…back where I started…”

“Fuck, Dream.” Hob climbed back across the bed and gathered Dream against him. “But you see now that didn’t happen, right? Look.” He lifted Dreams hand, held cupped in his own like nesting bowls, and kissed his fingers. “I’m here, and that didn’t happen. I just need to go for a moment. To the kitchen. I’ll be right back, you just…stay right where you are.”

Ridiculous, considering Dream would probably be out again in seconds but Dream nodded, and let Hob go.

——————————

By the dim glow of the oven range light, Hob found the bottle of paracetamol he’d left on the counter and set about filling a mug with water and wetting a tea towel.

From the open window behind him he heard a familiar flutter, and Matthew landed on the back of one of the kitchen chairs. “Hey,” he said, “so how’s our guy?”

Hob ran a hand through his already disastrous hair. “Could be worse?”

“Yeah that’s about what I figured.”

Hob obligingly let him hitch a ride on his shoulder down the hallway, and he disembarked onto the top of the dresser, uncharacteristically quiet.

“Dream, love, wake up.” Hob laid a hand against Dreams cheek, jostling him gently. “I’m sorry, duck, I need you to drink for me. Come on.” Dream woke with a sharp breath, eyes tracking quickly around the room before meeting Hob’s. The tension drained visibly from him.

“Hob…” he said. When nothing else seemed to be forthcoming, Hob leaned in and helped him shuffle up against the pillows. He took two pills and drank half a mug of water before turning away with a scrunched, pained expression. “No more.”

“Okay.” Hob set the mug aside, knowing if he pushed his luck then everything that just went down would come back up. He gently went about wiping away a nights worth of clammy sweat from Dream’s face and neck with the towel.

“Thank you,” Dream murmured, followed by a tumble of words in a language Hob didn’t recognize (and he thought he’d heard them all.) Then, “I’m sorry…I…”

There was a soft thump as Matthew landed on the bed beside them. “Dude, what the hell was that?”

Hob sighed. “That was probably the hundred and three degree fever talking.” He pressed the towel to the pulse beating in the hinge of Dream’s jaw. “Though it happens sometimes on a good day. Think his brain’s still working out the kinks.”

Matthew sat silently for a long minute, watching Dream shifting restlessly beneath the blankets. Then he said, in a voice more subdued than Hob thought him capable of, “I feel kinda shitty, you know? I thought him being human, it was gonna be a big larf. Haha, right? I forgot for a sec how much it sucks balls, sometimes.”

Hob chuckled. “That’s certainly one way to put it.”

Matthew hopped over to Dream, close enough to preen gently at a lock of tangled hair. “You’re gonna feel better in no time, Boss 1.0”

He looked up at Hob. “There, uh, anything I can do for you guys? I mean, I was a lousy cook even when I was human so I wouldn’t trust my chicken soup if I was you but, you know, anything else I can do. Just ask.”

Hob opened his mouth to reply, and suddenly felt hot fingers, curling around his wrist again. Gripping tight. He dropped the towel and covered Dream’s hand with his own, then shifted to lace their fingers together.

“Actually, Matthew, can you ask Daniel to do me a favor?” The enormity of the fact that he could say this, so casually, as though he was asking someone to pick up milk at the shops, wasn’t lost on him. “Could you ask him to get a message to Del for me?” He rubbed Dreams fingers where they were locked with his own and felt the grip relax. “Tell him to ask her…to send us some goldfish instead. She’ll know what you mean.”

“Right,” Matthew said. “As Boss 2.0 to ask Del for goldfish. You got it.”

“Thanks Matthew.”

“Hey, anything for you guys.” He took off through the door and vanished in that uncanny way he had. Hob reached for his phone, carefully set the next alarm, and slid back under the blankets, tugging Dream against him in the gray pre-dawn light. “Not going anywhere,” he whispered, and lay his head down to sleep.

[tulpar-transmissions]

Hello, Jim ^^ /pos

I cannot personally understand exactly what you may be feeling, however I sympathize with not enjoying being associated with actions from canon, and I do hope you know that if anyone ever gives you bullshit for it, I am here for you. /gen, nf

I figured this may be an important thing to sympathize with, as actions within canon which you do not allign with, but are constantly assigned, can make some feel very isolated from the wider community. /gen

-Sunday

📗ough 🫂

🌿thank you sunday means a lot /gen

📗it just. yaeg. like i knowwww that ppl probably will take my word for it but it's like. ough. it's rough

🌿that and all the (deserved) hate on canon me just kidna. kablooey. thank u so much though!! seriously this means so much to me 🫂🫂