#i couldn't pick so have both

[cheerioskid]

May I request you some Cleo or Pearl drawing? Btw really love your arts and your au with evo siblings :D

what if it was both :3

[melmoros]

... there's a first time for everything, right?

all i want is for them to spiderman kiss, but with gwen upside down 🌻 image ID below, detailed ID in alt :)

Begin Image ID, done by artist. A digital drawing of Miles and Gwen from Across The Spiderverse. They are both drawn from the waist up and in side profile, wearing their spider suits, but without the masks. Miles is on the left, standing with his hands in his pockets. He has warm brown skin, and a dark brown afro with flat sides. His suit is black, with a red spider on the front in graffiti style. He is making eye contact with Gwen, who is hanging from the top of the drawing on the right side. Gwen has light skin and blonde hair, which is tied in a small ponytail that hangs down; she also has an undercut. Her suit is black and white, with a white hood that hangs down and hugs the back of her head. Her arms are pulled forward in front of her, as if holding onto web to hang from. The sleeves of her suit and inside of her hood are bright pink, with blue web designs. Gwen looks at Miles with a flirtatious smirk and raised eyebrow, and Miles smiles back at her softly in return. They are both blushing slightly. The background is bright yellow and blue, with different-styled sunflowers drawn behind each of them. End ID.

[robo-dino-puppy]

horizon forbidden west | the daunt 2/?

[yuriyuruandyuraart]

motorcycle sketch featuring cross!! >:)

[rinbylin]

THE WOMEN OF SWEET SMELL OF SUCCESS (1957)

Susan Hunsecker: Who could love a man who makes you jump through burning hoops like a trained poodle? Sally: Sidney, you make a living. Where do you want to get? Mary: But don’t do it like a little boy stealing gum from a slot machine. Rita: You’re a snake, Falco. You’re a louse, a real louse. Loretta Bartha: Leo, this is the first clean thing I’ve seen you do in years. Linda James: Me, with my Jersey City brains?

[crypticroyals]

Found a pic on Tumblr and thought it was funny and wanted to give it a try

Technically for me it's less a "type" in the sense of crushes but more of "type" in the sense of gender envy 🤣😭

[meadowlarkx]

Maedhros/Maglor and 26?

26. ...as an apology

Ensconced by the bookcase, Makalaurë strummed a minor chord. The strings shimmered in the shadowy corner, releasing a sound like a sorrowful sigh—like snowfall—like the rustle of leaves in a withering tree. His black curls, disheveled as the robe he wore, blended seamlessly into the shade. Maitimo reflected rather ironically that his little brother had found the only darkened corner in Fëanor’s house: the study where Maitimo spent the fifth day of each week.

The flowing music faltered, and an audible sniffle could be heard.

Maitimo raised his gaze from the tract he was reading for next morning’s lessons and resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

The harp was as big as Makalaurë was, but he had managed to haul it across the courtyard and up the stairs. His head was bowed in sorrow near the harp’s shoulder, and with his robe askew he resembled a crumpled bloom or perhaps a slug on a leaf. Still his weeping tugged at Maitimo’s heart.

“Makalaurë…” he began.

“Cease your interrupting,” Makalaurë sniffed. “I am composing.”

Here? Maitimo bit that back.

He returned his attention to the book. His tutor had been explaining some key points of Tirion’s history…

“You would not understand,” Makalaurë sighed. “There are times one must give voice to the emotion that lies in one’s heart, or resign oneself to Mandos’ halls with Grandmother.”

“Is this about what I said earlier?”

“No.”

Makalaurë went on playing. The melody now filled the room, one solitary, desolate note at a time. He started to hum in his beautiful voice, and lyrics threatened upon the horizon.

At the desk, Maitimo exhaled slowly. He hated when Makalaurë was angry with him. He was his favorite, dearest and brightest companion, and Maitimo could not bear to see him unhappy. He was also the most insufferable person in the world. He was very lucky, Maitimo thought, that Maitimo’s tutor had explained the concept of a tactical concession: and that he had Maitimo, who was older and smarter and reasonable in every way.

He closed the book and steeled himself. “I’m sorry,” he said.

Makalaurë cut off the music with a jarring motion of his hands; the strings twanged unpleasantly. “Whatever for?”

Determined, Maitimo rose and went to the shady corner with the bookcases. “I am sorry,” he said carefully (if tersely), “that I said Tyelko was better company than you.”

“Oh, it matters not!! You were simply expressing what you truly felt. You should always be honest and speak plainly. I am not upset at all.” His voice wavered.

Maitimo could not conceal the sigh at this.

Makalaurë wiped away tears and snot with the back of one hand. “You don’t really wish to speak to me,” he pronounced.

Maitimo grabbed the dampened hand. “I’m truly sorry.”

Makalaurë looked hopeful, but quickly disguised it, closing his traitorous eyes to become the picture of noble woe. “Empty words; you are merely appeasing me—"

“I am not. Do I spend all my days with Tyelko? I did not mean it, and I should not have said it. I’m sorry, Káno.”

Makalaurë peeked at him. “Are you?” he allowed.

“Yes.” Maitimo kissed his dark hair, and then his brow, and then his cheek. And lo, victory! everything was well again.

Maglor did not go to Maedhros, at first, when the news came of his return. He shied away from his presence like a shadow skitters from the light. Of course, his excuse was setting things in order in the Mithrim camp before departing for Fingolfin’s tents, but he lingered longer than he needed to—partly because he could imagine how the Mithrim camp might look to Maedhros, and that was humble, poorly-fortified, and rustic, despite the progress he had made in thirty years ruling there. The day drew on and at last, he could not resist the impulse to know, and see.

When Fingon showed him to Maedhros’ bedside, Maglor understood that Maedhros would not be surveying the Mithrim camp a while yet, nor anything else. His brother was asleep amid the furs, so still that Maglor first feared he was dead in truth. His right arm was bandaged and bloody, and his body scarred and windburned and starved. His eyes moved beneath his pale eyelids, as though chasing out some evil, and his breathing beat weakly. Weak himself, Maglor watched and made himself learn every detail, every wound and scar. Fingon, with a sympathetic look that was entirely unwarranted, showed him a chair and some poultices and left them alone.

He did not take the chair, but knelt by Maedhros’ bedside as he had done at his brother’s coronation. His mind refused to understand that Maedhros really lived and might yet wake. What he understood thoroughly was that Maedhros had suffered. It was one thing to know it, to imagine it every sleepless night and every moment his gaze drew towards the dark fortress of those mountains—to think of it each time he told his council there could be no attempt at rescue. It was another to see it.

When Maedhros woke, Maglor knew he would not want his apologies, or his company. He would do better to give them now.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured. “Nelyo, my love, I am so sorry.”

The words felt blasphemous in the chill air: a presumption, however quiet. He kissed Maedhros’ mouth and felt the warmth that still pulsed in his brother, and hoped that somehow, it would carry them all through whatever came next.

[bumpscosity]

not perfect but the fact that it's practically the same pose meant I had to do a sandsurge arceus scry

[eff-plays]

Wish people would stop tagging my BG3+shitpost things with Hira and Astarion as Durge x Astarion. Cuz no I did that myself. The parallels? I made them up in my head. Hira's bloodthirst and lowkey suicidal vibes? I did those all on my own. No canon or Bhaal needed. I'm just spicy like that with my own thoughts and headcanons.

[sysig]

Employee(s) 416 (Patreon)

[dinosaurcharcuterie]

We interrupt the scheduled summer dress for middle nephew's birthday present. He's getting a knight surcoat in orange and green, because he likes orange and he's in a knight phase. And because a) everyone does a lion rampant and b) the lion rampant on his toy shield is not doable in my budget or one month of hand embroidery, I figured I could make him a nice coat of arms.... By copying historical pictures from wikimedia commons.

The original plan was a paleo art doe, but then I stumbled over some Scythian stuff. And THEN the Scythians had a "chicken" (his favorite animal, if I'm up to date) that wouldn't cause strife if a Flemish kid wore it where the I-blame-my-fellow-countrymen-instead-of-the-Académie-Française-for-how-fucked-up-learning-French-is bigots can see.

So we've gone from "sewing a few rectangles together and hemming them, maybe knit a tiny mail shirt" to "which one of these designs can I feasibly hand embroider in a month?"

This is a reasonable gift for a soon-to-be 4-year-old, right? Right?

[shinmiyovvi]

Forgot to post this here so have our tired bean with all these weird powers she got from getting experimented on (This is an idea I made and wanted to picture it out)

[spotaus]

The Judgement Hall

A semi-awaited drabble about Doppletale's Sans and Asgore! (Specifically about Sans becoming the Royal Judge!)

Word Count: 2,663

Tw: Death, Cannibalism(kinda? eating humans)

No revisions, I die with my typos 🫡

(aaaaand @oodlesndoodles and @mylackofgrammaristerrifying because it's not Oc lore but it's Dopple-stuff lol!)

(It's under the Cut for viewing convenience ♡)

   The day was different.

    Not like any others.

   It'd been a week since Gaster's death. A week since Sans had had the hard talk with Alphys about quitting his work at the lab. It'd been a week since he'd moved as far away as possible, all the way to Snowdin to the vacant house at the edge of town.

   Now he found himself in the Capital.

   He'd gotten a letter asking him to come visit. King Asgore wanted to see him. To have some tea and chat.

   Part of him worried the King was going to convince him back to the Lab. The CORE was structurally sound, but Gaster's research went unfinished and now was left entirely to Alphys. He knew one scientist couldn't handle it alone, but he couldn't bare to be in that place anymore.

   Maybe Asgore would reprimand him for moving so far off. Away from the Capital where the King said his door was always open. Sans knew, but it hurt to think of taking up residence in the castle while other monsters were starving.

   He worried on these thoughts as he walked down the streets. The buildings here stood tall and crooked, white stone buildings having been shoddily constructed when Monsters finally arrived here. The Capital held most monsters, but the numbers were dwindling.

   Even now as his boots clicked against the white stone street, very few monsters were out and about. He thought he spotted Madjick entering a shop, two whimsum further down the street sat with eachother on the front steps of a building. It was barren compared to the lively and exciting streets he'd used to shy away from in the past.

   It was a ghost town.

   The castle that always loomed tall over the white stone city was closer now. He could see a few of the remaining Royal Guard stationed outside at the top of the steps. The doors were wide open. They were never closed, just as Asgore always promised.

   Sans hardly acknowledged the Royal Guard when he passed by them. He doubted they'd even recognize him if he did say hello. The skeleton-look was new. Without his lab coat, his glasses were the only defining feature of his that was truly left.

   It didn't matter. He clearly wasn't human, so they let him pass uncontested.

   The halls were just as he remembered, if not a bit more dusty. White brick that was painstakingly chisled and pieced together. A far cry from the messy work outside. The walls, the floor, all flawless. The floors had long purple carpets running along them, and the walls were covered in tapestries, each one painstakingly woven before their imprisonment, and a few more that were made after.

   One, at the very end of the hall, sat unfinished. Sans wondered if the one who'd been weaving it was taking a water break, or if they were long gone. He didn't bother to look for dust.

   And soon enough? There stood the hall he knew well.

   He entered, and he thought about just how much had happened here. The white pillars spanning up and far above his head into a ridiculously tall ceiling. It was completely consumed by shadow, but he could see the twinkling of crystals they'd had moved from Waterfall. He'd been the third to see it finished after all the construction. They still glimmers brilliantly like stars.

   The windows were all stained glass, seemingly untouched by the years. Blue and purple glass, all of it picturing different monsters of glory from their past. Each one portraying them as they heroes they were. Sans knew no more would be added, but he humored hinself to think that a few monsters he knew deserved a glass pane of their own.

   He remembered the coronation. The day the monsters big and small, disguised and not, gathered here in this hall as King Asgore and Queen Toriel introduced their children as their royal heirs. Asriel and Chara. They'd appeared in their disguises at the time, and they'd been the most precious little creatures. The underground had partied for a week straight.

   No one regretted wasting those precious meals, it was worthy of celebration, but the memories were bittersweet now that both heirs were dead.

   Sans sighed gently, dragging himself away from memory lane. The door at the end of the hall was still shut tight, but he knew it wasn't locked. It never was.

   So, he pressed his palms against the heavy wood, the wood that had been stripped white with water damage, and pushed.

   The hinges didn't squeak. The rush of hair that flew past was nice. Asgore's throne room had always doubled as his and Toriel's garden. A safe-space for them, so close to the barrier that sunlight could leak through the windows and allow sunlight to reach the plants. The burst of wind once smelled like a forest, earthy with a tinge of dew. Now it smelled of sickly sweet perfume. The plots that once held different types of plants only held buttercup flowers, the golden yellow blooms constantly swaying in an unseen breeze.

   He missed that old smell, but he knew, at least, that the scent of Buttercups would always alert him to the King's presence. He hardly ever left this room anymore, as far as he'd heard.

   At the thought, his eyes skimmed past the flowers and to the throne.

   Empty.

   He tried again. To the left, closer to him.

   There.

   Asgore was stood with his back to the door, leaned slightly over a small table that made Sans' soul squeeze with nostalgia. He hadn't seen that table since before Gaster's condition turned for the worst. Asgore had started bringing Tea to the lab instead of meeting here.

   The king himself was just as Sans remembered. He was a perfect replica of a human. He was tall for a human, maybe 6'4" with his boots on. His shoulders were broad, and while he was a walking wall of muscle, his flesh was soft and jiggled when he laughed. His blonde hair was a bit messy, long enough to barely fall over his shoulders, and his beard was fuzzy and rough.

   The king stood upright, and shifted a bit. His head turned, and from the few meters away that they stood, Sans could see his confusion turn quickly into a soft smile as the King recognized him.

   "Sans, my old friend." His voice was deep and held authority, but his tone was perfect. Gentle lilts at the end of his commands that made them feel more like suggestion. "Come, sit."

   Asgore gestured to the table, one arm escaping the confines of his heavy blue cloak. In the shadow, Sans could see the familiar galaxy mist that swirled purple. The truth behind the king's facade. Though as he started moving wordlessly, he couldn't help but notice how Asgore's hands were calloused and wrinkled with age, scars along his fingers that told the story of a kindly, aging king. One whose people were unjustly locked away.

   Sans let the king leave his vision as he rounded to the opposite side of the table. A familiar tea pot sat in the center, two cups sat ready to be used, one where Sans sat, one where Asgore was moving to sit himself.

   The king gazed at him, and Sans stared back. It was only a second to two, but it was enough for Sans to really take it in. Asgore's tanned skin had just the right wrinkles draped around his face. His eyes were soft and a bit sad. Disarming. The folds of his skin were largely laugh-lines, things you'd expect to see from a kindly older man whose spent most of his life laughing.

   Hid eyes were a deep brown, almost black. His pupils were perfectly round. A few stray strands of his blonde hair fell infront of his face, his crown displacing the strands with its weight.

   "It's been some time since we last spoke outside of our duties," Asgore supplied warmly to the silence, "How are you faring, old friend?" He knew the answer to that. Sans knew he did.

   He answered anyways.

    "I've been better." He supplied, "Losing G has been hard." It was obviously what Asgore wanted to bring up. He'd just get it out of the way.

   Asgore nodded sadly. Knowingly. His movement was perfectly natural.

   "I see that you've taken on a new shape. How long have you held your old one?" Asgore questioned gently. Curiously.

   Sans thought for a moment. "Must've been 200 years or so." Being underground had gotten rid of the need to constantly make new disguises. He'd been content with his latest one.

   Asgore took that with a grain of salt. Pretender kept an unconscious notice of how often Asgore blinked as the silence dragged on.

   "Sans, I heard that you left the Lab. Alphys says you have no intention of returning, either." Asgore cut to the chase. His brows furrowed. He wasn't mad. The wrinkles on his forehead were still too undefined to imply he was mad.

   Sans agreed. He really did have no plans of going back. He couldn't stand another second in there after what his team had done.

   "Very well." Asgore said, then. "I will respect your wishes. Though, I do not want to let your kindness and talent go to waste. Your grief should not consume you." Many monsters had fallen down after the loss of loved ones. Asgore had seen some of the worst here in the Capital. One monster dusted, and entire families fell into despair and couldn't recover.

   He thought the same would happen to Sans.

   The skeleton said nothing, but Asgore didn't hear a refusal yet. He pressed on. "Old friend, our people are dwindling. Many of them have never hunted, those who knew how are losing themselves." He informed. The grim truth was just that: Even if they could escape, how would they survive? "I know you've always dedicated yourself to the survival of our people. I want to ask a favor of you once more." Asgore's voice was growing soft.

   Sans couldn't help but be a tinge worried.

   He'd met Asgore for the first time when the underground was first their prison. Sans had a surplus of supplies, as he was well-liked by his local humans and they'd escorted him to the entrance to the mountain without taking his things. Asgore and Toriel had been hard-pressed to provide for their people, and had asked Sans for assistance. He'd given all he had. It was for the greater good.

   After that, he'd been the royals go-to for problems they just couldn't solve. Sans wasn't often called upon, but when he was he was efficient and smart with his solutions. That was how he'd met Gaster and joined the team working on the CORE.

   Now Asgore wanted more?

   "I have an offer for you, Sans."

   The skeleton let one of his sockets fall closed as he tiredly tilted his head. "You stopped blinking." He said casually.

   The grin grew on his face as Asgore jolted a bit and raised a hand towards his face. He rapidly blinked, seemingly startled that the skeleton had replied with such an absurd statement.

   Then he laughed.

   It was a hearty and playful laugh, one that held no malice or grudges. One that shook the tea cups on the table. Asgore was smiling wide. Pleased.

   "You had me worried." Asgore chimed when he finished his laugh.

   Sans shrugged slightly, "Have ta keep you on your toes, old man. How else are we gonna escape?" He teased right back, voice calm and drawling. "Now, what's this offer?"

   Asgore, a lot less tense than before, smiled at Sans. His eyes squinted so much that Sans could hardly see his eyes past his eyelashes.

   "That keen skill of observation. I'd like to offer you the position of my Royal Judge." He announced pleasantly. "Someone to keep myself, and the Royal Guard, in top shape. To help settle disputes. To tell us if a human has entered the underground and guide the Guard in how to properly hunt it." The ball was dropped. Asgore had outlined a job that Sans knew had been vacant for a long time now.

   Gerson, he remembered. A turtle-monster who rarely looked human. He'd been through the ringer, but had an extremely strong moral code. He'd been the one to suggest that the Dreemurs keep Chara alive. He'd starved pretty early on, passing his lessons onto his apprentice...

   "Isn't Undyne training the guard?" He voiced without thinking on it. Undyne was Gerson's pride and joy, abd Asgore had taken over training her when Gerson passed. Besides Asgore, she was the most human-like monster he knew.

   Asgore's shoulders raised a bit as he tilted his head slightly. "She... is a skilled warrior, and is sure to train her men in combat, but she lacks the knowledge of what a human is meant to look like if it does not look like myself or her. The disguises beneath their armor are very... messy." He admitted wearily.

   That would explain why the guard outside had their armor on. Monsters who'd not eaten or seen humans alive had a much harder time understanding how they worked. Had a harder time imitating them.

   "Your disguise is like your very own skin, Sans. You know well what makes humans trust you. What's normal and what is not. Our people need that." He explained.

   It was true.

   Sans was friendly. He spent most of his life on the surface learning what drove humans. What their system of customs and morals were. Not because he cared, but because it made things easier for him. No one was suspicious when he had just the right amount of flaws, or threw an awkward laugh into the mix of his words. People never asked about his staring problem when he learned to seem hurt by it and explained his vision problems.

   Every muscle twitch and hand motion meant something for humans, and he'd studied all of it for hundreds of years.

   He'd also taken the time to hand-pick what humans he killed. That was something monsters couldn't afford to do anymore. He'd seen it time and time again, but did his best to work through it. He was lucky those he'd encountered in the past gave him bad vibes. He'd felt justified killing them.

   He wondered how hard it would be to teach his fellow monsters human morals. He wondered if Asgore or Undyne would respect a judgement if he found it unreasonable to kill someone. Maybe they'd ignore him. Would he have any authority?

   But then again. Humans weren't worth dying over. They'd trapped them down here. The humans were starving his people. He could teach the Guard how to survive this. He could kill again. Humans were food, and as much as he could delude himself into thinking otherwise, even the ones he liked were glorified animals. Things to let live because they behaved. Underground was different, and he couldn't afford that luxury.

   "I'll do it."

   His voice was still calm and confident. It didn't betray his racing mind. The idea that maybe if he'd given up these fake morals a bit sooner then he could've gotten more meat for the Lab crew. Maybe this would make up for it.

   Asgore smiled at him, and Sans smiled back easily.

   Sans was given his uniform, a heavy set of robes and sashes and belts. A hood could be pulled up to cover his face, and he realized it brought him a bit of comfort.

   Every week he'd visit Asgore and the Guard. Every week he had tea. Every week he'd have a training session that could last 3 hours just to help the guard hone their disguises.

   Every other day, he stayed at his home in Snowdin and patrolled. Every other day he walked the sane exact route.

   Every day was the same.

[tigorrrr]

You're spillin', darlin'

""it was only one night"" sure Jan keep telling yourself that 🙄

[blujayonthewing]

on the one hand I think an interesting direction to take melliwyk getting increasingly stressed and overtaxed and frantic would be for her behavior become increasingly careless and reckless, but the problem is that a part of why she's been Like This is that I don't want any of the Important Things she's trying to figure out to spin out of control

[deadlynightshcde]

❝ why do you care, conscriptur? you could've just walked away. ❞