#here’s ur food

[procrastination-artist]

POV: it’s Valentine’s Day and Dabi has some idea of how to spend it-

(late valentines piece for the dabi simps!)

for those 18+, see full uncensored version on my nsfw alt Twitter @rated_pa ✨

(also, if you haven’t already, check out my Valentines Day: Hawks game on itch.io! Link in bio 💕✨)

[sonicattos]

How do you think Shadow realized he had a big fat gay crush on Sonc

i see him finding out in a dramatic pathetic wattpad fanfic way (/lh). he slowly gets to see bits n pieces of sonic he’s never seen before that he starts to admire. he starts to soften up like he typically does with friends, but it’s weird this time bc it’s his biggest rival that he’s now starting to care for and become weirdly close to. he’s very dismissive at first, he might want to become distant, but he doesn’t because they always end up crossing paths and he can’t help himself, but be drawn to him. it kinda just builds up and he slowly starts to quietly accept it, despite how insane it is. he has a little diary with thousands of words of personal analysis on the subject.

sonic on the other hand…. same thing kinda happened he saw him more, he got to know him, and he softened up. had a day dream one day and was like “oh god.” and unlike shadow, tried avoiding shadow as much as possible until it “went away” (it didn’t)

[hinamie]

someone asked if i had ever drawn gojo with his scars, now i have :>

[buwheal]

[karkats-longsleeves]

@coulsart made these for me and I can't breathe when I lOOK AT THEMMMMM.......... Thank you worstie I will GET you back!!!!

[filbosstalker]

theyre jam buddies canon i say so

filbo definitely plays ukulele while buddy has absolutely NO musical knowledge so they just try to follow along the best they can hehehe

[brewstersbru]

I want to get more used to writing low stakes lil blurbs so please enjoy this, also posted on ao3 under my pseud brewstersbru :) hopefully being able to post it here will bring the perfectionism anxiety down lol

***

Astarion is perhaps the one of the most interesting, irritating, but somehow undoubtedly kind people Halsin has ever observed. Though he’d flay anyone who had the audacity to tell him it.

The duties of an Arch-Druid are many, and often arduous in nature, but nonetheless rewarding. And it all boils down to watching, observing, noticing little idiosyncrasies in the people he leads. The people who trust him with their lives and wellbeing. Halsin has become well-accustomed to watching, as any good leader must and it is no surprise that the skill has followed him to where he is now, camping with a menagerie of illithid-infected souls, searching for a cure.

Though, with this aforementioned observational skill, Halsin has gotten the distinct impression that many of them seek quite a bit more than a simple cure. Absolution, freedom, a clearer path forward. It is so often in the words they don’t say, rather than those they choose to reveal. For example, Gale never talks of an ‘after’, a concept all of the others seem so enamored with, save Astarion, of course. He simply hums and offers a small melancholy smile when conversation turns to the topic of everyone’s plans after they find a cure. It wasn’t difficult to figure him out, not when Halsin had been paying attention. Gale is convinced that dying is the only way to atone for his sins. To be forgiven.

Halsin’s heart aches at the thought; poor child, it is not a sin to wish to be loved. But he digresses.

Astarion, curiosity that he is, had immediately captured Halsin’s attention when he’d joined camp. On the surface he seemed shallow, and ill-tempered, but Halsin has not gotten this far in life by making quick judgements on a person’s first actions after he’s met them. Sure enough, he’d caught a glimpse of the real Astarion not even two days later.

It had been a long day, brimming with long, arduous battles after which they had all come out exhausted and bloodied. Wyll, with his lion’s heart, had fought especially ferociously. Perhaps too much so. His robe was torn horribly across the front and he’d had to be propped up as they trudged back to camp, unfortunately neither Halsin nor Shadowheart had maintained enough energy to heal anyone.

Astarion had almost immediately wedged himself under Wyll’s arm, curling an arm around his waist while also berating him as they walked. “What in the hells were you thinking jumping out like that! You’re weak, leave the feats of strength to Karlach you dolt!” And on and on. The words were cutting, and not entirely fair, but still, his hands remained gentle against his friends skin and he walked slowly so as not to jostle his injuries.

Shadowheart- exhausted herself, likely with a beast of a headache after all of the concentration spells she’d been slinging- had told Astarion to shut it, only hearing the words and not the worry behind them. He had obliged- another kindness-as his eyes darted around the scrunched pain painted over her expression and his own expression set in resolve. Still, he performed a pout, and everyone took it for what it was- or rather, what he’d wanted them to take it for: Astarion being his usual surly self.

Halsin took it for what it truly was, a man doing his best to aid his friends and keep their spirits high after such a grueling encounter. He’d thought they needed someone to direct their exhausted irritation at, lest they start picking themselves apart instead (something Halsin had noticed, but was unaware Astarion knew of) and offered himself like it was as natural as breathing.

The kindnesses didn’t stop there, either. When they made it to camp he’d taken Wyll to his bedroll as the others collapsed onto their own. Rummaged through the camp supplies until he found a potion of greater healing, then did not feed it to Wyll until he was half asleep and delirious.

“Mmh… Dad?” Wyll had murmured, eyes squinted closed as he moved his head around. Astarion had simply hummed and continued feeding him the potion.

For the rest of the night he prepped ingredients with practiced efficiency and left them next to the communal cooking pot for when the rest of the party woke for breakfast. Halsin had needed to trance for a few hours, loathe as he was to turn away from the scene, and when he returned Wyll’s robe had been mended, folded and placed aside his head. Astarion was nowhere to be seen. Halsin hoped he’d found his way to his own tent for a short trance.

Elves do not need to sleep, this much is true, but even a short trance would have done wonders to refresh and replenish his energy. Astarion had to know that.

Halsin is still unsure what the other elf had done for the rest of that night, but he’d emerged from his tent with just as much practiced, haughty vigor as he’d always had halfway through breakfast the next morning.

“Astarion! Good morning! Thank you for aiding me in our trek back yesterday.” Wyll had smiled at him, something warm and molten in his eyes. Astarion simply huffed and waved it off, “Well, dear, someone needed to lecture you about the dangers of heroism. None of these dimwits were going to do it.” Wyll smiled and the others gave halfhearted protests from where they’d been digging into the breakfast Gale had prepared from the ingredients Astarion had left out for him. There was a sparkle in his eye as he caught sight of them eating it, something almost like pride, if Halsin had to name it.

The others had been dumbfounded, asking around the campfire about who had done it. When no one came forward they’d simply shrugged and taken it to mean that the culprit was too humble to take credit. Besides, who were they to question a miracle such as this. No one asked the vampire if he’d done the deed, why would he have? He doesn’t eat food anymore and he doesn’t even really like them.

It’s exactly what he wants them to think. Halsin has to give him points for his dedication to maintaining pretense. Wyll doesn’t mention his robe, but his eyes dart from hand to hand trying to scrutinize any bandages or pricks that might indicate a late-night sewing session. It’s a smart move on his part but Astarion, it seems, is a masterful tailor. His fingers are unbandaged and unbloodied.

Everything carefully thought out and executed. Every kindness meticulously planned and hidden. He truly is an enigma. He would rather his friends believe him selfish and cruel, than see him for the gentle, caring man he truly is.

The kindnesses continue, always carefully implemented so as to erase any and all suspicion that Astarion may have had any part in it. He continues to be outwardly difficult and mean so as to cover his tracks. Halsin can do little but watch, as he always has, that is, until Astarion’s little kindnesses eventually and inevitably extend to him, too.

He is not so easily fooled, has seen past the performance that the other man puts on for some reason that he is still trying to parse.

It’s a quiet evening, the battles of the day had been hard, but nothing they were ill-equipped to handle. The shadow curse has been getting to Halsin, though. Seeing his greatest failure in all of it’s unbearable misery has been weighing on him. And he knows his struggle is not invisible to his fellow party members. They seem unsure what to do about it, though, seeing as he is a centuries old former Arch-Druid with life experience they could hardly fathom. He enjoys his time at camp but cannot say with certainty that he is truly close to anyone there. Though he wishes to be, he is afraid they’ve placed him on somewhat of a pedestal after his actions in the grove, forgetting that he is fallible and full of emotion, same as them.

He very nearly misses it, when it happens, too caught up in his thoughts to hear the slight shuffling near the entrance to his tent. Thankfully, he doesn’t, and emerges with a small smile.

Astarion freezes at the sound of his emergence, crouched over something small and wooden at his feet. Then, almost as if possessed, his shoulders relax and he looks up with a devilish grin. “Halsin! My dear, I was just looking for you. Some wretched little thing of a child has gifted me with perhaps the ugliest wooden duck I’ve ever had the misfortune of laying my eyes on. And these things are in no way ‘beautiful’ on a good day. I cannot have something so… distasteful loitering around my tent. You mentioned you liked ducks so I thought it would be of better use here. Otherwise I’m throwing it in the river.” It’s a lot of words, more than the vampire generally tends to use in casual conversation, as much as he pretends he’s an insufferable chatterbox. That’s the second clue Halsin gets that perhaps there’s more to this than Astarion is telling him. The first being the way he froze, as if he hadn’t been expecting Halsin to be there. “Looking for you”, right…

Astarion stands and nods at the duck on the ground. It’s small, a little misshapen, but it’s got hearts carved where it’s eyes should be and for some reason Halsin finds that hopelessly endearing. He kneels and cradles the thing gently in his cupped palms.

When he looks up Astarion is grinning at him, still in that sneering performative way he likes to, but in his eyes that shine of pride makes itself known. Halsin likes the duck, it’s obvious. And Astarion is proud of himself, but he’ll never tell. He’ll never let anyone else be.

The third clue is dripping sluggishly down Astarion’s finger, stark and red against his deathly pale skin. Halsin remembers the first time he’d whittled. His hands had looked much of the same. He smiles.

“Thank you, Astarion. This is very good. Would you like some salve for your hand?”

Astarion’s eyes widen, only fractionally, but noticeable if you’d been looking in his eyes. And Halsin had been. Still, his expression shutters and he pastes another smirk on before turning his nose up at the duck.

“Thank the Gods, that ugly thing is your problem now. And I’ve no idea what you mean dear, my hand is perfectly serviceable.” He rushes away with a perfunctory wave, likely to rob Halsin of the opportunity to call him out on his bullshit. Halsin only smiles and cradles the duck. He’d bloodied his hands for this, for him. The surge of affection that washes through him is entirely involuntary but wholly welcome.

Astarion wakes from his trance the next morning to a gift settled gently at the entrance of his tent. It’s a wooden cat, masterfully carved from a dark oak and undeniably beautiful. Perfectly fitting the vampire’s tastes and sensibilities.

A note lies beside it in what he recognizes to be Halsin’s messy scrawl.

Thank you, Astarion, again for the duck. It thrills and delights me to know that you care. It did make me feel better, you know, and I still have that salve if you need. All you have to do is ask. I thought I’d return the favor, seeing as you do so much for the camp but refuse to let anyone see it, or thank you.

I see you. I thank you.

Yours,

Halsin

[sanchoyoscribbles]

aaand here's my full piece for @dotzines prismagic zine! go grab a copy here, it's free and full of wonderful art of so many magical girls! 🍒

[von-leg]

My thoughts about Nilou and Alhaitham

[amoebeau]

im woobifying the priest game in ways you cant even imagine

[shortnotsweet]

1. ANATOMY OF A KITCHEN (excerpt from THE THRILLING AND NOT AT ALL REPETITIVE ADVENTURES OF CAPTAIN MAN AND KID DANGER: “A CHRONOLOGY OF ENTIRELY TRUE AND HEROIC EVENTS COINCIDING WITH THE END OF HISTORY”) [2] [3] [4]

If you want to know a person, watch how they treat their servers, how they treat their food. Living with them is the second best option. Living with Ray is not Henry’s only option, but it is the best. They don’t even need to watch the other eat; they know each other already.

[ “There is a man in my house. There will always be a man in my house. I will find him even when he is not there. And one day, when I find out there is no man in my house anymore, well—I will go find one and invite him in.” Paraphrased and reappropriated from Catherine Lacey’s “Cut”. The borrowed text refers to the uncanny feeling Henry experiences as an adult reflecting on his childhood relationships. ]

Catherine Lacey writes in her short story “Cut”: “If you're raised with an angry man in your house, there will always be an angry man in your house. You'll find him even when he is not there. And if one day you find that there is no angry man in your house—well, you will go find one and invite him in!” Peggy—a professor—reads this poem, which a female student has placed on her desk, and grapples with a response, to which she is advised, “It’s not your job to save anyone from their life or explain anything to them or even really teach them anything”.

PANEL NOTES

This follows the format of the catalyst stranger approaching the downtrodden protagonist in a dingy bar from behind, backlit by the hazy yellow lights and smoked out shadows. This is not a bar, but a kitchen—the center of any living space.

The borrowed text is tweaked, and excludes the descriptor “angry”, as the theme of the storyboards is not anger.

The use of red is limited and strategic, and scattered throughout like evidence; dusting for fingerprints. It’s tempting to drape Henry’s back in red against the blue background, as if bathed by an overhead lamp, but Ray is the anomaly. Henry is colored by an anxious, slightly melancholic blue (as well as shaky panel borders), while the flints of red signify danger (knock on wood) or non-literal symbolism.

The white wolf is curled around the blue in a protective gesture that also doubles as a stranglehold, snakelike.

Something, something, about wolves and lambs, consumption, and the simultaneous loss and retention of innocence through transformative processes. Note there are three lambs; these could stand either for Henry, Jasper, and Charlotte, or Henry (singular).

[blusandbirds]

eli moskowitz - "am i making you feel sick?"

[inzombniia]

do you think you could draw william vanessa?

like father unlike daughter

[triona-tribblescore]

TRIONA‼️ HIII‼️‼️*GIVES YOU A PEEPAW MIKEY* :3

He's 💥magic💥

HES SO PRETTY!!!!!

[quirkle2]

anybody else rly rly ill about the amount of grief in his eyes in this scene

[original screencap under the cut]

[mollusken]