#had an absolute BLAST with this

[loverofthewindgod]

💚WildWind💙 Incorrect Quotes

Sienna: Hey, I’m getting in the shower. Wanna help me out?

Fujin: ...Have you never taken a shower before?

Fujin : Did you know you remind me of all 26 letters of the alphabet?

Sienna : What? Like J F K W S Q X-

Fujin : No, like, U R A Q T.

Sienna : Awwww!

Sienna : Smart is attractive. Educate me on something I don't know!

Fujin : The mouth of a jellyfish is also an anus.

Sienna : Stop.

Sienna : I’m proud to identify as morosexual. I’m attracted to dumbasses and dumbasses exclusively. Someone asked me what the Spanish word for "tortilla" was once, and now I dream of kissing them under the moonlight.

Fujin : What kind of animal is the Pink Panther?

Sienna , already taking off their clothes: God, Fujin , you’re so fucking stupid.

Fujin: Sienna , you do remember when we agreed we were better off as friends, right?

Sienna , naked in Fujin's bed: No, I absolutely do not.

Fujin, already taking off their clothes: Fuck... Me neither.

Sienna : Go fuck yourself.

Fujin , smugly: Sure, but only if you watch

Fujin: Sorry I’m late, I was doing things.

Sienna : Hi, I’m ‘things’.

Sienna: Since we're in a relationship now, your clothes are my clothes too. Don't ask me why I have your shirt on, this is our shirt.

Fujin: Fine, but when I come strutting in with your fuzzy socks I don't want to hear shit.

Sienna : Relationships should be 50/50. Fujin cooks us dinner while I sit on the kitchen counter looking pretty.

Sienna : Know why I called you in here?

Fujin: Because I accidentally sent you a dick pic.

Sienna: *Stops pouring two glasses of wine.* Accidentally?

Fujin : Are we fighting or flirting?

Sienna : I'm pinning you against a wall with my hand around your neck-

Fujin: Your point?

Fujin, throwing their head into Sienna s lap: Tell me I'm pretty!

Sienna , lovingly stroking their hair: You're pretty fucking annoying, that's what you are.

Fujin: How do I tell Sienna that I want them to yell at me like they're Gordon Ramsay and I'm a poor little chef who just ruined a crème brûlée?

A special thank you to @msbowser for recommending this website to me! 😄😄

Tagging: @ninibear3000, @vivilovespink, @huepazu, @krysta-cross, @theelderhazelnut, and anyone else interested!

[goblin-writer]

Still Some Way to Go

The big day had finally arrived. It had been years in the making. First came the design – a behemoth of steel and steam. Then they had to secure funding for the project. That step had taken months before an interested shipping company had offered them a literal forest of money.

And even once built they had to get on with their preparations. They refined the system. The engine was tuned, stripped down, tested, tuned again. And finally, they had laid out their route. Five days’ worth of supplies had been stationed along the way with tools and assistants in case they needed to fix something.

Their journey would take them a week to complete. With the traditional horse and buggy, it would take two, and while a train was faster, it was much more expensive, and required a lot of track to be laid. With their loco-mobile they could cut down on track and time.

And finally, the big day came. Pomp and spectacle abounded. The shipping company set up a tent with drinks and snacks. A big brass band bellowed and blew. And all the leading figures of town turned out to watch them go.

Not only the leading figures – the promise of spectacle had drawn a crowd. Rail and dock workers held up signs in opposition to their invention. Freight haulers arrayed wagons with messages of support and drinks for their workers. And the local school had brought their children out to marvel at the engine.

A team of engineers clamoured over the engine, filling its water tanks, and checking the coal stores. The ribbon had been strung between two flag poles. One with the company flag and the other with the flag of the small port town they had made their workshop in. A large, bespectacled man approached the two engineers.

“It looks like you’ve drawn a crowd.”

“All thanks to your generous patronage.” The sun touched engineer said – their eyes glowing with a deep, forbidding gold.

“Nonsense – this locomobile will make us rich. Just imagine the headlines.”

They had. Two small engineers revolutionising the world of travel. What more could anyone hope for as a legacy. Together they had gazed at the stars for many nights, peering up at that great darkness. The sun touched engineer had had the idea first and the next day they had gotten to work. Now dusty, brittle pages were lined with sketch after sketch and calculation after calculation.

Now they stood before the engine as a photogram was taken of them and the bespectacled man made a speech. It was all about innovation and prosperity. The company was excited to put the loco-mobile into mass production and today would prove the design once and for all. They had made prototypes run tests with scale models.

As the crowd cheered they climbed aboard using a short ladder. The sun touched engineer lit the burner, the grizzled inventor pulled away the chucks. They waved at the crowd as they got ready, passing each other with a small kiss as they took their places. And the ribbon was cut and fell away.

The machine lurched into motion as the grizzled inventor put her back into heaving the break level into neutral. With a crank the sun touched engineer turned a dial, their eyes sparking in sync with the burner. It was going to be a hard few days but they knew they could do it.

The crowd cheered and the and took up playing again. They fired the horn once as a farewell and trundled along, leaving a party behind them. It wasn’t too far to the first station, a few hours away to make sure the machine hadn’t developed any major faults.

The tires at first rand over cobbled stones, then smoother stones. The buildings turned from old, and tall to squatter and newer, losing some colour as they made it to the outskirts and exposed brick warehouses. Then they left town behind – music following them and people waving all along the streets with bunting alternating between blue and white hanging between lampposts.

The stone road gave way to dirt as they left town behind. Before them was nothing but wilderness until they made it to the next town over. They smiled as they worked – their invention worked.

The sun beat down on them as they trundled along the road. Its warmth paling in comparison to the engine. The grizzled inventor worked pumps to cool the engine as the sun touched engineer shovelled coal. They took long drink of water and tossed some fresh bread, covered with cheese to each other to bake above the coals.

It wasn’t as smooth as a cart, with the lurching and shuddering of the engine. But it was going well. For a while. And then it all happened at once.

There was a large belch from within the engine.

The smoke stuttered above them.

Their horn blew unprompted.

Rushing over they poured water on the engine to cool it. Water sloshed around their feet and off the side of the engine.

“Venting steam.” The engineer yelled above the noise.

“Easing onto the brakes.”

They pulled their levers.

Steam billowed out of the boiler. Their gauges showed the pressure dropping and the heat following. Sparks flew up from the brake wells. The engineer grabbed the steering levers and tried to keep it straight as the steam pushed the engine to the right.

With a pitch and a wobble, the engine shuddered to a stop. They slid down the side and found the ground meeting them much sooner than expected. Ahead of them the road spread out and the hissing of the engine drowned out all but the loudest sounds.

“How far have we come?” The inventor asked. The engineer shrugged as they sat slumped together. Slowly the hiss of the engine subsided. A new sound crept into their ears.

Music.

A brass band’s echoes to be exact.

Tentatively they looked around the engine. Was someone playing tricks on them? To their chagrin they could see the town a few kilometres behind them. They could make out the steamers in the bay, the bell tower at the centre of the square, and even the glittering instruments of the brass band on the stage near where they had started this endeavour.

“I don’t think we’ll get them fund our next engine.”

---

Thank you @flashfictionfridayofficial​ for this prompt. 200th week is amazing. I missed a few here and there but am glad that it keeps going. The prompts are always inspiring, even if I don’t always know what to write.

Here’s to 200 more weeks!

I may have been inspired a touch by an urban-legend retelling of a real event. Found out a lot of what I thought was true re that particular incident is just local legend. fact is rather different.

[starleska]

as a cringe selfshipper who's been in fandom for decades and draws nothing but blushy ship art, i feel so seen and so attacked right now 😂💖💖💖

[3cosmicfrogs]

Bad Habits Are Easily Acquired

Art for 'Bad Habits are Easily Acquired', written by the wonderful @umossu , beta-ed by the fantastic @blbelmont , for this year's @zukkabigbang2024 !

[mangozic]

a commission for @annagenesis of their character Minnow 📚

[dragon-spaghetti]

And here they all are together 😈💖

Available as playmats and as posters!! Pre-orders are open til the 27th of Sept ✨

(Please click for better quality!!)

[katabay]

THERE AIN'T NO ATLAS, KID. NEVER WAS.

if you peel him back far enough, there's nothing but a pile of theater masks

like, it's really fun how fontaine starts spiralling out the closer jack gets to him in the final arc of the game and returns to appropriating the image of family (the fake family in the beginning, the flawed father position later) to try and appeal to jack in some way but it's like. buddy. baby. you already took off your mask. anything you try and put on after this is going to come across as cheap and desperate. the magic is gone! and personally? I'm hooting and hollering

⭐ places I’m at! bsky / pixiv / pillowfort /cohost / cara.app / insta

[superprofesh]

The Five Times Colt Seavers Almost Kisses You (and the One Time He Does) — Part 1

Pairing: Colt Seavers x reader

Description: The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you — on set, with lots of paint involved.

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.1k

Tag List: let me know if you want to join! :)​

Author’s Note: This is part 1 of what I hope will be a six-part series, but it can be read as a stand-alone too. I am so obsessed with Colt right now that I can't even see straight, so just take this and do whatever you want with it!

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

The first time Colt Seavers almost kisses you, you’re not sure it actually happened.

You’ve been on set for about two months now, and your job as set decorator for the biggest action thriller of the decade has ended up being way more challenging than you expected. Every day, it’s a new demand from the director — more realistic graffiti, more subtle light fixtures, more beat-up furniture. It’s going to look amazing, but you’re exhausted just thinking about another day of smearing grime on the set walls by hand.

The one bright spot of every day is Colt Seavers. He’s the best stuntman in Hollywood, so naturally he’s been recruited to perform stunts for almost every scene in the movie. Watching him get thrown against walls, riddled with bullets, and dropped from dizzying heights is heart-pounding for you, but nothing gets your heart pounding as hard as when he leans a little too close to you, so close you can see the dusty brown of his eyelashes against his soot-stained skin.

“Nice sign,” Colt quips, dropping onto the picnic table seat next to you. You’re hand-painting a bright-red Do Not Disturb sign for the next scene, and you barely manage to keep from smearing the paint when you whirl to face him. “Is it for your trailer door?”

You give him a mock glare, laughter slipping through the edges. “Very funny. It just so happens that you’ll be kicking this sign in half in tomorrow’s scene, so show a little respect.”

Colt’s eyes sparkle at your words, all his attention focused on you. He leans forward on one elbow, the other reaching up to ruffle the dust out of his hair. “Wow, a handmade prop just for me to kick in half?” He grins, inclining his head in a mock bow. “I’m honored.”

You can’t hide your return grin, or the blush rising under your skin at his close proximity. Colt always has this effect on you — never pushing the limits to make you uncomfortable, just taking up space with you in a way that steals your breath.

“What’s this?” you ask, using your free hand to tug on the shoulder of his fireproof vest. One side is seriously singed, close enough to his skin to set you to worrying.

Colt shrugs, flashing you a crooked smile that makes his left eye crinkle. “Little pyrotechnics mishap,” he informs you casually, brushing imaginary dust off his arm and onto you. You roll your eyes at him playfully. “Ray got a little overexcited with the stun grenades.”

“What?” You can’t keep the concern from slipping into your voice, even though you try to disguise it behind a joking tone. “You’re working with real stun grenades now?”

“Well, yeah,” he says, as if it should be obvious. “It’s only a stunt if it’s real, you know?”

You narrow your eyes, cocking your head to one side. “I think that’s the opposite of how it works, actually.”

Colt just laughs at that, the golden rays of the setting sun turning his tanned skin golden. His smile is warm and directed entirely at you, heating up the blush in your cheeks again. You turn your eyes back to your painting to keep from completely giving yourself away.

These past few months have been both paradise and torture for you. You thought you could hide your crush easily enough — it’s not like you haven’t done that before. But with Colt, it’s different. He sees through your stoic facades and teases out your laughter, searches for ways to make you smile even on your bad days. Whether it’s pulling a goofy face at you from his rig or remembering that you like sour cream in your soup, Colt has found some new way to surprise you every day that you’ve known him.

The thing is, you’re not sure if he’s actually interested in you or just being flirtatious. Misinterpreting the signals would be awkward and painful for you at this point, so you’ve decided that he’s just going to have to make the first move. You’re too old to play middle-school games with him.

Even if he does give you middle-school butterflies all over again.

You don’t realize that you’ve been lost in your thoughts until you notice that Colt has imperceptibly moved closer to your side, peering over your shoulder as you put the finishing touches on the purposely-sloppy sign.

“So I kick the sign in half tomorrow,” he says softly, his husky voice in your ear sending goosebumps over your skin. “What happens if we have to do another take?”

You risk a glance over your shoulder at him, letting a coy smile slip. “Do you really think this is the only one I’ve done?”

Colt just lifts his eyebrows at you and smiles, returning his eyes to the sign in your hands. Colt has a way of burning you up just with his gaze, and you can’t help breathing an inner sigh of relief every time he focuses his attention elsewhere. Concentrating on anything when he’s looking at you is impossible.

“You know, I could definitely give you some pointers on set design sometime,” he mutters, as if he’s genuinely musing on the thought. You know he’s warming up for a joke, so you let him continue, hiding your smile while he watches over your shoulder. “I have tons of experience in your department.”

“Oh, really?” You grab your black paint and begin the focused task of sprinkling the sign with the darker color for a realistic touch. Realism is the key to making memorable set designs, and you’ve mastered the technique.

“Mm-hmm.” You feel the murmur reverberate in his throat when he leans forward, resting his chin on your shoulder while you lightly dab your paintbrush in your paint bottle. Your heart skips at least three beats when you feel his hair tickling the side of your neck, his eyes still locked on the sign as if he’s studying it. Does he really not know what he’s doing to you, or is he doing it on purpose?

You try to keep your hands steady while you feel his chest rise and fall against your shoulder. Struggling to hide the tremor in your voice, you tease, “What could I improve about this piece, then? I can always use an expert opinion.”

He tilts his head to the side, his chin still resting on your shoulder. You can feel the bristly stubble on his cheeks now. It’s an oddly comforting sensation, one that forces every bit of your self-control to the brink in order to keep yourself from moving your face to the side and nuzzling your cheek against his. You feel his face move slightly as his mouth turns up into a smile.

“If you really want some advice…” he begins, lifting one hand up to trace the edge of your sign.

“Careful,” you warn him, “that’s wet paint.”

Colt doesn’t even get close to smudging your paint, but that doesn’t stop you from lifting your free hand to rest on his wrist, holding it in place while you set your paint bottle down. Colt stills at your touch, and your heart accelerates again at the gentle way his fingertips rest on the edge of your sign.

He lets the moment hang in the air between you for a moment, then comments, “I was just going to suggest a nice artist’s signature. See this big gap right here between Not and Disturb? Your name should go there in big red letters.” You’re already swatting his hand away playfully as his serious tone devolves into snickers. “Just like Bob Ross does on TV.”

“You are so ridiculous,” you laugh, glad to feel the tension slipping out of the atmosphere. Colt lifts his chin off your shoulder now, his hair brushing your earlobe as he does.

“No, it would look perfect,” he insists, his eyes sparkling as his smirk widens. “And then I can aim right for your name when I kick it in half tomorrow.”

He laughs out loud when you slam the sign down on the picnic table surface in mock irritation, your grin making your amusement at his joke obvious. The slam sends a few drops of the black paint from your brush flying up, spattering your jawline.

You reach for a dry rag nearby, still grinning as you prepare to respond, but Colt stops you with a hand on your arm. “Allow me,” he says seriously, placing your hand back into your lap and raising his other hand to the side of your face. You freeze in place, unprepared for the wave of emotion that washes over you when Colt touches the side of your jaw softly.

His eyes are still sparkling with humor, and you know he’s about to do something to make you laugh, but you can’t help the feeling that sweeps through your heart when you’re face to face with him, one of his hands holding yours on your lap and the other just beginning to cradle your face. It feels so gentle, so intimate, so right, and your heart aches as you realize that there is no going back from the feelings you’re developing for Colt Seavers.

He hesitates for a split second, his hand hoving on your jaw for practically no time at all, but it feels like a lifetime to you. You watch his dark blue eyes as they dart down to look at your lips, flitting back up just as quickly to latch onto your eyes with a stare that could melt diamonds.

Then the corner of his mouth turns up again into his usual smirk, and he strokes his thumb across your jaw to smear the black paint up the side of your face.

“Now,” he offers, “don’t you think you look more realistic?”

He dissolves into laughter as you reach up and feel the streaks of black now smudged across your face. You immediately reach past him to dip your fingers in your bottle of red paint, giving him a mischievous grin as you slather three fingers’ worth of paint across his nose and cheeks. The combination of his semi-shocked expression and the ridiculousness of his painted face pushes you over the edge into another fit of laughter.

“You’re the one who will be on camera,” you retort, smiling wider than you can remember doing in a long time. “Shouldn’t you be the one who’s realistic?”

“Touché,” he acknowledges playfully, rubbing his face and only succeeded in smearing the red paint further across his face. “Though I doubt Tom Ryder is going to accept any glimpses of my face on camera, so I won’t even have to wash this off.”

You impulsively reach up and drag your fingertip through the splotch of paint on his cheek, resisting the urge to draw a heart and settling on a simple smiley face instead. His own smile resurfaces at that, eyes twinkling as they stay locked on yours.

“If you keep it until tomorrow, you’ll match my sign,” you muse, trying to lighten the atmosphere, which has suddenly grown a bit more intense now that Colt’s gaze is focused on you again.

He doesn’t look away, doesn’t play it off, doesn’t do anything that you expect from him. His breathing seems to slow down, while yours feels like it takes off in a flurry of movement. Colt doesn’t make a move to touch you, but you can feel the distance between the two of you closing infinitesimally.

You’ve never noticed the flecks of silver-gray in his eyes, or the almost-invisible smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose, or the ragged cut of his hair right beside his ears. Even the brilliant red streak only serves to bring out the golden tones of his skin, the swirls of blonde in his hair. Every detail of his face seems vivid, as if you’re seeing him for the first time.

His eyes seem to drink you in, too, traveling over every inch of your face before stopping on your lips again. This time, though, he doesn’t flick his eyes back up. Words escape you, as do any coherent thoughts. This is it. He’s actually going to kiss me. This is real.

“Seavers, on set, ASAP.”

The squawk of his walkie-talkie shatters the intense moment, and both of you release a breath that felt like it had been held for an hour. Colt swallows, smoothes his hand over his beard, turns to slip the walkie back into his pocket. You turn back to your painted sign quickly, trying to regain some composure.

Uncharacteristically, Colt doesn’t speak as he stands and turns to walk back to the filming set. He does, however, glance back at you the moment you lift your eyes to watch him walk away. Your heart is still hammering, recovering from his closeness to you.

With a wordless smile, he reaches up, swipes a bit of red paint off his face, and presses it onto the tip of your nose in the shape of his fingerprint. Then he walks away.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~ 

Part 2

[ekholocationn]

boodles of loodles (loop doodles)

[every-moment-a-different-sound]

Painland week day 4: domestic au

Outside Looking In by @dont-offend-the-bees

“So,” said the man. “Didn’t expect you to be out and about, and looking… well. Like you do.” Ronnie raised her eyebrows. “Yes, I…” The lady’s eyes flicked in Ronnie's direction before she cleared her throat. “Thought I’d put my face on for a change. A novelty.” “Well, you look dead fit.” He shot her a mischievous little grin, with a twinkle in his eye far too rascally for a man his age. “Always do, mind.” The lady blushed a little, high on her refined cheekbones. “...Thank you, Charles. You look.” She coughed and bobbed her head. “You look very smart, yourself.” The man – Charles, apparently – beamed, big and bright, and his lady friend’s blush deepened. Ronnie definitely felt like she was intruding, now. But there wasn’t much else she could do about it, save for take her break early and leave the bar unstaffed. And she was far too professional – and nosy – to do any such thing. In which Charles and Edwin's alter egos share a heart-to-heart, and an interested eavesdropper.

[nadirising]

Everything is fine and going according to plan :)

[tapeworrmart]

He's having fun

[squiddlysq]

Love is Love is Love & so on & so forth

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Trick or treat!! (Spoiler: it's a treat :3)

I had the pleasure of taking part in the Love Of My Afterlife server collaboration, celebrating Payneland's First Halloween — thanks to @manicpixiedreamedwins for organising!! And I had the absolute DELIGHT of illustrating the gorgeous, soft autumnal hug of a fic that is Season of Mists by @laiqualaurelote !!! Thank you darlin', working with you has been a joy and an honour 💛

Due to time constraints etc. I couldn't even do half the scene illustrations I wanted to do, so I may be back at some time in future with a few bonus sketches! In the meantime here's a soft little portrait of one of Edwin's several oh moments, and a snapshot of The Attic, his beloved and esoteric book warren!

Go forth, and experience the most perfect, gentle, lovely and loving autumn romance read this fine October day 🍂

Some art process pics (as well the Actual Size of the bookshop illustration) under the cut!

Started by very roughly sketching out the shop layout (I imagine it has a more warren-y shelf arrangement than this, though!) And doing a quick sketch. Of course then I liked the quick sketch so much I decided to try and recreate it but better!

Basic pencil layout (amazed at my accidentally decent perspective)

In with the detail sketch — trying to incorporate a load of esoteric little trinkets from the Agency! Although based on the fic I really should have honed in and done even more whimsical shelf decorations!

Sketch over the top in biro so i have something less messy that won't rub away to colour in

Basic colour with watercolour pencils. Looking at this stage makes me wish a bit that I'd not gone in as hard with the ink wash, as the colours are brighter and more autumnal, but you live and learn!

And finally, in with outlines and ink wash, aka my usual art style/medium!

Behold!! A very tiny and fussy work of art 😊

[theslyvoid9]

The first of several arson incidents of limited life My piece for the 4th edition of @trafficzine !! Be sure to check it all out :D

[ribbittrobbit]

Delicious D20 a zine for @d20zinejam from me and @yeehawpim

Featuring three recipes from Gilear, Mother Goose, and Colin Provolone, with additional baking tips from Mrs. Molesly!

More Zines for 2024 D20 Zine Jam!!!