#hes been working on for YEARS

[actualmanedrasa]

people are like "oohh a tunneling dragon!" as if i havent had my boy Digger for the past like 8 years

[cozylittleartblog]

"content creator" is a corporate word.

we are artists.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

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[corvidcall]

"heres how mike schmidt could actually be an afton-"

"heres how mike schmidt could actually be an emily-"

[puppyeared]

littlest furth shop

@laikascomet

[ciderjacks]

She’s the most like me

[stellewriites]

marrying johnny was an easy choice, in that you had no choice at all.

he needed a wife and you were too old to stay at home any longer, already well past the average age other women in your town got married. the wild west wasn’t kind to young women, so it made sense to cling to the offer johnny made even if you knew his heart wasn’t in it. it was unlikely you’d find a better option in your town, no one interested was as young or as handsome.

it didn’t matter the rumours that spread about him. in fact they fell in your favour.

you barely had the chance to get to know him; told on your first night to keep house, left with his set of rules and chores to occupy you while he rode off with his tall masked friend.

it could be days, weeks even, between the morns you saw him. you didn’t ask where he went or what he did when he didn’t come back home. you didn’t care, happy to take advantage of the empty bed.

and for months, crossing paths only a handful of times, it worked for you both. you kept your horse fed and brushed, used it to travel into town for your perishables each week and made sure the space out back was kept neat for if johnny arrived back on his own mare.

it worked. you were happy. but then johnny was shot; part of a train robbery gone wrong, the sheriff had told you stiffly.

he apologised for your loss, but you could tell he didn’t mean it. he told you if you had any clue who johnny’s partner could be then it’d be wise to turn him in sooner rather than later before leaving you to organise the funeral. closed casket, he’d advised wryly, in fact just ask the undertaker to seal him in a box and pay him direct. save yourself some time.

watching johnny’s casket get lowered into the ground you couldn’t help but think about how you’d never even kissed. husband and wife, though a true sham of it behind the walls of your home. not that you’d admit it so.

you stand next to his friends, people you hadn’t gotten to meet, and watch them grieve at his funeral. the tall man, his lower face still masked, seemed beholden with his grief; shaking with anger as his wet eyes stayed firm on the casket as it was lowered to the dirt.

you once again deigned not to think of where johnny may have been staying when he wasn’t nipping back home to you or how likely his partner in crime may have also been his partner in life. you’d let johnny keep his secrets.

you take the deed to his house - now your house - and shake and cry yourself to sleep that evening. it wasn’t grief that kept you awake though, but guilt. guilt over feeling thankful for his death since it brought with it your freedom, no strings attached.

johnny’s gentle, if not disinterested, countenance towards you had been reassuring, but not a guaranteed permanence. this however, was.

you continue to keep house, visit the stores in town and generally continue on as before for months after. you don’t see his tall friend and you don’t hear from anyone else that had been present at the funeral throughout the entire time. in fact, it’s almost a year later to the day of his death when you’re disturbed in your home.

steps crunching along the dry mud out back, irregular scratching at the windowsills and knocks on the doors inside the house.

when you think you see a man in your mirror you finally go to one of johnny’s friends still living in town and ask about your late husband, if they’ve seen or heard anything, but they just look at you pityingly.

you leave before they can get a doctor involved, blame it on a bad night’s sleep and a lonely heart - the horse wouldn’t settle for the wind and it is close to the anniversary as you know - and wave them off when they offer to come to the house. instead you buy a peashooter from a condescending clerk at the hardware store and hope for the best. hope to god it’s just big rats.

but you should’ve accepted their offer.

you should’ve moved out as soon as the noises started because finally one night when you’ve been kept up for hours and frozen still by the noises and movement in your house, you shakily take the gun and drag yourself downstairs. you follow the sound to the front door and sling it open.

you gasp at the sight before you. johnny sat on his horse, wearing the same clothes as he was a year ago when he was lowered into the ground; but dirtier, dustier, and his horse’s front leg has too many bends in it to be natural, its jaw hangs too low, its eyes too cloudy.

you daren’t look at johnny’s face beneath his hat, tilted low until your shaky breaths register and he looks up with a growing grin. grim and broken and hollow. his eyes are a cold grey, no longer blue, but clear and seeing unlike his horse. he stares at you as you take in the blood staining his chest, the unnatural, sporadic twitch in his hand as he removes his hat. you gasp a second time, shudder with it, when you finally see the wound that killed him.

a hole in his temple, gaping and splitting out into minute cracks and bruises across his forehead and down his cheek. hairline fractures and ruptured blood cells reaching out like tree roots.

his smile didn’t reach as high on that side but you tried not to dwell. you didn’t understand what he had to smile about in the first place.

“johnny…?”

“in the flesh, hen. come give yer husband a kiss, eh?”

“i don’t— i don’t understand. this can’t— you died. i saw them bury you.”

“aye. ye let them bury me.”

“i didn’t— i didn’t know—”

“ah ken, ah ken. i forgive ye. or i will, if ye let me in.”

you swallow thickly. there was a heaviness to his words that suggested you’d be doing more than just letting this… man, your husband, back into your home. you know he meant more than that.

“it’s late, johnny.”

“all the more reason not to dawdle. ne’er thought you were one to waste time even if ye were skittish.” he eyes your gun, held in shaking hands but still aimed higher than the steps before you, not fully dropped yet. “ah see ye’ve gotten past that in my absence.”

“it’s late.”

johnny huffed through his nose like a bull. angry like one too.

“so ye’ve said an’ ahm well aware. hen, let me in, before dawn comes knockin’. now, c’mon.”

you frown, clear your throat even as it felt full of cotton.

“what— what did you say to me on my first morning here after we woke up together?”

he squints at you, clenching his jaw tight before letting his unnatural smile stretch back across his lips. “forgive me if mah memory’s spotty but ah think ah said ‘good morning’.”

you raise the gun and point it towards him. “me and johnny never shared a bed. he left me alone here that first full week and he took the chair downstairs when he did stay. always.”

johnny’s grin turned mean in front of you, the cracks splintering further across his face.

“i was happy to try an’ do this the nice way, but now…” he threatens, twisting to drop off his horse.

you shoot him in the chest when his feet his the ground but the bullet doesn’t stop his even pace, doesn’t even startle his horse, and you feel dread finally rise above your adrenaline and chill you to the bone.

“shouldnae a done that.”

[thehmn]

I love people who never smile which make them seem kinda mean or disinterested in you but in reality they’re big softies.

I used to work as a cleaner at a paint shop. The boss was this middle aged man who never smiled and only ever talked to me when he wanted to correct me or show me a mistake I made. Not in a mean way and I much prefer people point out mistakes I’ve made to me instead of complaining to my boss later, but it did give me the impression he wasn’t fond of me.

Two years into the job they decided to merge with another paint shop and I assumed I had to look for other employment but it turned out the boss made sure everyone got to keep their jobs including me. “They can’t fire you” he told me “I extended the contract another year last week. You’re safe”

The only person who lost their job in the merge was him but he secured everyone else on his way out, even the cleaner who only showed up once a week.

[bacchuschucklefuck]

doing chibi is a good design exercise bc it forces u to think on shapes n essential details, essentially thumbnailing ur designs. its also a terrible design exercise bc it ends up looking cute no matter what

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will

[poirott]

Sir David Suchet on the gifts he received from Agatha Christie's Poirot tv series → Capital Theatres interview, January 12 2024

"I know how fortunate I am to have had the opportunity to play such an astonishing character over all these years, and to see him blossom so dramatically around me, to see his exploits dubbed into more than fifty languages and broadcast in almost every country in the world. It is amazing, humbling, and the greatest present that I could ever have been given." - David Suchet, Poirot and Me

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

In the shape of you, something new.

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[feathercreates]

"Old friend... I miss you so much. I'm so sorry."

[dogpantry]

please watch my scrungly old man kiss the inside of a glove

[obsob]

making and weaving and loving! like we have done for millennia!!

[puppyeared]

Alex and my farmer Cosmo (he/him)