#i want to doodle them more…. perhaps..!!!!

[cozylittleartblog]

diversity win your spam emails are queer

[albaharu]

“I am going to be normal about the trilogy today” i say everyday (failing)

[spotaus]

Me frfr ^

I've been reading a fic today as a treat for finally being on vacation, and when I say I've just been entranced I mean it. (Also. The fic in question is @ancientschampionau 's well, Ancients & Champions fic lol! It's captivated me >:])

[jondrettegirls]

[ID: A comic of Enjolras and Grantaire from “Les Misérables.” Grantaire is saying, “And I’ll be nice to you, ever so nice.” He takes Enjolras’s hand, and continues, “Only you must be nice to me, too.” A short silence is marked as Enjolras breaks the hold. He asks, “Are you really—attracted by me?” End ID.]

“Very much indeed.”

[fluffydancer618]

Doodles from old notebooks I liked enough to put in my sketchbook

[heysye]

redoodled a pokemon fusion from like 3 yrs ago

[jirachuuu]

Smoking buddies

[mawenskiblue]

👁️ 👁️ what is this “nmg au”? Tell me more?

🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️🧍‍♂️💦💦💦 hides snippet under the cut (rambles in tags)

... It’s hard to tell what they’re feeling at times. Still, they shook his hand and introduced their name.

N.

A simple, one-lettered nickname. Unlike his, clearly inspired by his appearance; but he’s not complaining. Nightmare gave him a better nickname than what the multiverse did. ...

[baylabi]

Thhthhrowsbthem against the wall

talking

[luckyashes-art]

Thinkin abt Splatoon goobers,, (my OCs),,

And part of me feels a little unsatisfied w/ them :(

[axvwriter]

Some Detective Doodles

@officialdaydreamer00

To be a little more serious about the Villainess au, how about me as a cat beastman?

Read more for the writing on the second page/drawing.

“Nine-lifes Detective” “Alexander caol (caol has a strike through it)” “Alex the local stray”

Most times stays at the detective agency that works closely to the government. (like police)

If hired to work privately, will move into the client’s home. Though if Alexander discovers something she can’t possibly excuse, she will turn the client in to the local police.

“A goody two-shoes? Oh sure, I definitely was one as a kid. And sure I like to look at the bright-side of things, but I get that the world is full of greys.” -Alex

“Where is my sense of loyalty? Hah? Seriously, how about you don’t become so nefarious… Don’t you know cats are fickle?”

There are a few crimes Alex won’t forgive and instead release her bottled rage on such criminals.

Can be found napping like this on paved paths with sunlight on her every now and then.

Has multiple hats but they keep disappearing.

[kalims]

scribbles

"( – ⌓ – ) ⎯⎯ he lets you draw on his skin, yeah thats pretty much it.

ft. malleus, vil

malleus

it was... a breach of your patience.

the lesson, was awfully boring. the more you listened to the apparent 'heroic' doings of certain individuals. the more it strips away your attentiveness to the words spilling out of professor trein's mouth. no matter how many times you will your ears to make out the incoherent lecturing of the man... it remains deaf.

so you decide to sate said boredom.

how? of course you need to bother your seatmate!

your intentions remained within the circle of yourself of course. your eyes stuck to the stray marker over your paper so you silently twisted the cap off and scribbled on your paper—then it was your palm—and now, malleus' arm.

"child of...?" man. malleus finishes in his mind, his attention suddenly snapped away at the sudden tug of his arm. definitely not his own decision to even make it move in the first place. usually it would remain stiffly beside his body like usual and even if someone tried to pry it to them it would remain still. but without his attention, his body lets you.

without another word. you peel open his fingers, palm open to you and it's a notion he allows. and he stays silent when you tug his gloves off. perhaps with a curious huff, malleus drifts closer to you. to accommodate your actions that he's yet to get an explanation for.

... and suddenly there's very bright flowers drawn on his palm.

said owner of the palm might just be toe darkest person in the room so it's quite out of place.

but it's from you so he likes it.

he peeks at it, with a fond smile on his face. I should enchant it to remain there forever. he thinks to himself, the curve of his lips growing wider at his thoughts, like he'd proud of the idea. the idea of being able to carry around something made exclusively by you might as well shove him into a cannonball and send him to cloud nine.

it's adorable. you're adorable.

his world grows a little more blue the more he stares at you. and if it weren't for the searing glances the professor sends your way malleus would just let his eyes engrave you into his memory forever, so he laments over it and reluctantly peels his gaze off you. mind speaking a thousand memories, the very same reason he somehow can't hear anything trein says.

you draw a strange looking lizard beneath his ring finger, one that looks a little like him and he thinks that you're asking him for marriage.

that can be arranged... he ponders, oblivious.

vil

drawings, doodles, painting— art. a reflection of the soul.

vil is great at makeup.

every brush on your face, a step to beauty. that is his reflection. you are his soul. he wants to make you look—no, make you feel like you're beautiful cause the canvas he's standing in front of is his greatest piece of art, he'd want to put you on the tallest pedestal there is. the grandest one just so the rest knows your beauty is parallel to none, something they can see and admire but not reach.

but he also wants to keep you in his own room, because only he knows what he felt when he painted you. only he should be the one given the grace.

this... he doesn't know what to consider.

perhaps vil should be bothered, if not then a little peeved at the several colors across his skin. a myriad of doodles, some words, and some simple drawings. a poor portrait of him is drawn next to one he assumes yours, the 'fairest' word on the right side of his hand, and flowers.

he's sure though. you're definitely no artist.

the thought cracks a smile at him, and you steal a glance midst the cool tip of the pen dancing along his skin. "I'd thought you wouldn't even let me do this," you admit, chair having been moved over closer to him so you wouldn't have any leaning problems. a suggestion by vil you gratefully took up, though you doubt it was just another excuse to have you closer.

"why?"

"dunno," you shrug. "it looks unseemly compared to you."

he huffs, flashing you a light smirk. "so my face is, hmmm..." vil ponders for a moment, and your face twists to the realization that you possibly just exposed what you think. but you suppose it isn't really a problem since it was basically common sense that vil is...

"gorgeous." you finish for him.

his aura brightens. (probably will be for the rest of the week.)

your hand retracts from him, the marker gripped between your fingers. and he takes a look at your 'art.' he doesn't know if he should consider it as one since there are a heap of sloppy lines, and the color bleeds into his skin. some smudges that you accidentally brushed against that makes it seem like a messy picture of chaos.

vil strives for perfection, but it's only natural there are flaws. to love oneself, you must love all parts. and to love you, he loves whatever the ink on his skin is.

well, what the heck.

"pass it to me," he stretches his hand, and you quirk a brow. questioning but curious so he indulges you. "I'll show you how it's done."

note. ngl idk what I wrote for vil it's currently 12 AM rn ☠ <- newer note, this has been rotting in my drafts for weeks and I couldn't decide whether to post it cause I wasn't sure about vil's but here hehehe

[arokalypse]

i always thought romantic love was the plague and i was a plague doctor.

so here's an aro-colored plague doctor

me oversharing beneath the cut about how amatonormativity has screwed me up in ways I have never been screwed up before.

(rant beneath the cut is full of negativity, triggering, but perhaps relatable. idk. read at your own risk)

okay so let's have a mini story telling time about how romance plagued every aspect of my life until now.

My bestfriend in high school treated me of less value after she gets her boyfriend. This experience was what drove me into drawing plague doctors during valentines. These doodles were captioned with "Plague is in the air", because my friends in my circle told me to not hang out with her on that day because it's valentines day. So cool, I thought I should avoid them like they were the plague.

For the first half of college, I've been a wingman for way too many of my friends for my only female and best friend.

It has gotten to a point where the meaning of my companionship with my male friends had become solely for providing a connection to a girl they want to date.

In the long run, my bestfriend, who my 'friends' were pining for, actually has been pining for me. She asked if we could be a thing, I said yes because I thought that, romance isn't probably as disgusting as I think of it.

To protect tradition and to protect the feelings of the men she rejected (who I also wingmanned), we kept it hidden.

For the entire time, she emphasized how I was dense and oblivious about romance. For the entire time I was confused, disoriented, and even repulsed. I didn't know how to reciprocate and I certainly did not have THOSE feelings either at all.

Of course it didn't end well.

After that failed attempt at romance, I have been involved in three more encounters after that. Men suddenly started talking to me out of nowhere. Initially, I thought that they were just trying to make new friends. I didn't realize they were hitting on me but when I did, I cold-shouldered them out of my life.

The last one was the most traumatic. I have explicitly stated that he shouldn't attempt to romance me because I've admitted that I'm way too tired of dealing with it, but he was stubborn. He has also gone as far as sexualizing me against my will.

So yeah.

Amatonormativity made me lose faith in the meaning of my friendships.

It made me realize how friendship is easily overshadowed by romantic relationships.

It made me worry that my kindness is misread as a romantic gesture.

It made me constantly hate how friendship is only seen as a stepping stone for a romantic relationship.

And because amatonormativity has rendered all my significant connections meaningless, I'll spend every second of my life hating amatonormativity. I will always be repulsed at the concept that destroyed every goddamned friendship that I had. Nothing has ever made me feel THS sick. I will always think of it as the plague.

[ozzgin]

What does Daos, the Romanian werewolf boy look like? What is his personality like? What was his childhood like and what made him want to be a warrior? Did his parents do some witchcraft or offerings to the gods to have a son so big and unnaturally strong? Why was he betrayed by his own people? May we get a story of how was like in battle before he became a werewolf? Love your OC!

Yandere!Werewolf Headcanons

I’m so glad the wolf boy is liked! I genuinely didn’t expect much when I wrote the story, but he’s definitely grown on me as I researched and expanded his lore. Here’s a little doodle of how I imagined him, plus a little background. I couldn’t think of any particular war story, but I came up with a funny reasoning for it instead.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, character info

Background. Daos came from a family of tarabostes, or cavalry nobles. While Dacian society was divided into priests, nobles and peasants, all of them were trained for battle. "A hand above the weapon, and another holding the plough" is how they were described. Much of their culture revolved around war. Thus, even as a child, Daos spent most of his time sparring. He'd always had a sturdy build: he was taller that most of his peers, could work for hours without breaks, and his wounds were quick to heal. He was sent to serve in the army before he even reached his teenage years.

Was there witchcraft involved? Not at all. Everyone seemed to agree, however, that such strength and tenacity were not a mere coincidence. Clearly this boy had been sent by Zalmoxis himself, perhaps as a reward for their relentless pursue for victory. Daos carried the flag of the wolf-headed dragon through countless battles.

Why was he the one to be sacrificed? Well, because he was the chosen one, naturally. What better messenger for the Heavens than the godsent gift itself? Daos absolutely despised his reputation as a blessing from above.

With you. In his human form, he is quiet and reserved. You suspect the blinding aggression of his werewolf self is reminiscent of days long gone. The fearless warrior who lived for bloodshed has fallen into slumber, only awakening under the guide of a full moon. You can only imagine what kind of battlegrounds required such boundless violence, as he speaks little of his barbaric past.

Maybe it’s too painful to remember, you assumed.

“Before I died, you mean?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, looking up from his book. “I didn’t think you’d be curious about it.”

“I didn’t want to intrude, and you never mention it”, you explain sheepishly.

“That’s…” he purses his lips, visibly uncomfortable. “I just assumed you’d find it boring. I’m an old man. I didn’t want to saddle you with embarrassing war stories.”

You watch as a deep blush spreads across his face.

“Oh my God”, you remark, baffled by the realization. “Is that why you never…you’re terrible at this.”

He gently pats his lap.

“Come here. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

[Main Story] | [More Monsters]

[yuoimia]

50% YOU AND ME

summary: you two as parents

characters: alhaitham, diluc

notes: gn! reader, fluff, diluc is noted to have a daughter (alhaitham one isn’t specified), wc: 600.

alhaitham

unknowingly spoils his child. both behaviour-wise and financially. which, perhaps, makes the sentiment even more sweet. his tender actions don’t match the sharp words of warning that frequently spill from his lips, diminishing like a blown candle from faltering disappointment. no, he’s most definitely not smiling, let alone smirking from behind his palm!

the one to wake up your child through the late hours of the night to give them a dose of medicine when they’re sick, despite his preference for getting a full eight hours of quality sleep. “i don’t want to deal with your grumpiness in the morning,” he claims when you volunteer. it’s half true, but wouldn’t it be a thousand times more efficient and straightforward if he could just say that he just didn’t want to see you disturbed from your beloved sleep? overworking was something alhaitham could not easily allow.

(also because he knows considers himself a little more lenient than you when it comes to parenting…hearing with an argument at 1 in the morning in the next room about how disgusting the medicine tastes for twenty minutes would be far worse than sacrificing five minutes to reach a more successful outcome)

with love comes discipline, knowledge is important, but happiness is too. to maintain equilibrium between the two is his greatest rule. nights will roll past, not finished without a book or two, a few questions, answers, and inside jokes, ending with a secret snack in the dim light of the kitchen when he checked you had certainly fell asleep (he can’t be caught for a third time, surely? he had just made it up to you..)

alhaitham is handsome. you are ethereal. of course, it’s practically guaranteed from the start that your child would be devastatingly beautiful. at least twice a day, he’ll catch himself completely awed. is that child really 50% of him?

diluc

diluc is a gentle father, his love is like the walls of crimson blossoms blooming all year, around the cobblestone edges of dawn winery’s manor, tendered so they remain exquisite and flowering, but left to their own winding paths and bonds alongside the golden honeysuckles.

morning adventures worthy of trailing journal entries, when the air outside is still crisp and fresh, the swatches of condensing clouds brushed across the pale blue sky. plates of homemade breakfast arranged on the table, your voice reverberating through the quiet halls as pairs of footsteps patter down the stairs.

“will i be able to take a bit of the clouds to put in my box?” your daughter asked, eyes wide and sparkling with the same alluring tint of carnelian as her father. excitement fizzed from her eyes to the tips of her brown boots, now jubilantly kicking the air under the table. from the satchel thrown around her shoulders, she pulled a rectangular box, approximately the size of your hand, decorated with sprawling doodles and glitters. “will it fit in here?” she questioned again, sneaking an apprehensive glance through the arching windows, now biting her lip.

“what are you planning?” you suddenly muttered anxiously, just loud enough, unaware of his previous promise. “you know she can’t actually grab a cloud.”

diluc smiled, facing you with a pleasant expression of satisfaction. “dandelions.”

celebrates the smallest achievements. they aren’t anything short of monumental to him; a significance in their life is just as important to be engraved into his. he keeps a diary of sorts, nothing too extravagant, occasionally entries with the date, maybe a few polaroid pictures, but overflowing with tender dreams, memories and hopes. and his greatest hope of all—that one day, the two people he loves most will be able to read it.

[leighsartworks216]

You Have A Type, Don't You?

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Based on this post

I wrote this instead of doing any of the work I need to do! I'm gonna go do that now lol

Warnings: innuendos, minor references to sex, the barest hints of jealousy

Word Count: 1,601

Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

Your pencil scratched across the paper, drawing Astarion over and over again on a single page. This wasn’t anything surprising; you drew all of your companions. Gale, Wyll, Karlach, Shadowheart, Lae’zel - they all had pages of their own, but it was usually only one drawing. Some had even posed for it. It was just a way to relax, and their faces always lit up when you showed them, even if they tried not to show it.

Everyone needed a break from fighting and exploring day in day out, so you decided one more day here wouldn’t hurt. As such, you’ve spent the better half of the day just drawing. At first it was little doodles of Scratch, but then you realized you hadn’t drawn the vampire spawn yet.

Most of the expressions you captured came from memory. You’d occasionally sneak a glance for quick reference, pretending to stretch or get distracted by some birds. But at some point, he’d disappeared from camp. You just assumed he’d gone off hunting.

That assumption was proved quite wrong when a voice tsked over your shoulder, almost directly in your ear.

Startling away from the sound, you whipped around to see Astarion crouched down. He wore a self-satisfied smirk and settled down into a full sit on the ground.

“It seems someone is infatuated,” he teased. “So who is it? Someone we saved from peril, perhaps?”

Oh. Right. It had completely slipped your mind.

You cleared your throat as your cheeks warmed and smiled. “Y-Yeah, something like that.”

He chuckled. “Come on, darling, there’s nothing to be shy about. Spare none of the juicy details. What’s he like?”

“He’s, well,” you stammer, “he’s interesting.”

He scoffed. “That’s hardly juicy or a detail. Or is he just another pretty face?” He leaned forward, trying to get a better look at your drawings. You wanted to pull them away and hide them, but why? All the others had drawings done of them, and you loved showing it off when they were done. Why was this any different?

“No, he’s a lot more than that,” you admit quietly. You weren’t good at lying - usually Astarion took the lead any time you had to - but maybe if you didn’t tell a complete lie… “He’s funny, charming. His laugh lights up my world. He’s had a rough go of it, but he doesn’t like it to show.”

“He must like you if you know,” he hummed. Your heart leapt into your throat as he pointed to the pin pricks drawn on the neck. “Is he a vampire, too?” He chuckled, but it sounded strained. “You have a type, don’t you?”

You scoffed even as warmth flooded to your cheeks. “No! I do not have a type.”

“No, of course not,” he played along. “Certainly not for creatures of the night who bite into that pretty little neck of yours.” Despite his smile, there was a tension in his eyes. “I don’t mind, dear. I’d be more than happy to scrounge around some nights so you may indulge your new lover.”

You shook your head. “You don’t have to do that, Astarion,” you assured. “He’s not… We’re not together.”

“No?” You shook your head again. He opened his mouth to give you advice or console you, but you cut him off. It was better to end this fantasy now, before it began to hurt too much.

“It doesn’t matter. Besides, you shouldn’t be sneaking around so you can look over my shoulder. I could have been drawing something terrible.”

He laughed. “All the more reason to risk a peek. You’re so good, it would be nice to know you can be tempted.” Then he scowled. “Unless it’s something terribly dull. You deserve much more than missionary.”

If your cheeks weren’t already blazing hot…

“In any case, I was only wondering when you’d draw my portrait. You seemed more than happy to provide the others with a likeness. And…” He looked past you, seemingly far away. “I haven’t seen myself in two centuries. One gets curious, especially when you’re as vain as me.”

If he heard your heart start racing, he didn’t comment on it. Drawing him would make him realize it wasn’t some other vampire crush you were drawing. But, it had been a while since your adventure began, and you’d drawn everyone else. You swallowed down your anxiety. “Yeah! Of course! Did you wanna pose, or anything?”

He blinked and suddenly he was back in the present. A sly smirk covered up whatever emotions could be lingering on his face. “If your little vampire friend doesn’t get too jealous. I would actually like if you could draw me just,” he paused, “smiling. It would be nice to know what everyone else sees. Make sure I’m not off-putting, you know how it is.”

Once he was sitting comfortably, you turned to a fresh page and began drawing. The paper was hidden from his view, but he watched as your hand, wrist, and arm all moved in tandem like a clock’s gears to create an image. Your eyes moved between the sketch and him multiple times. Sometimes you’d glance up and draw for almost a minute. Then other times you kept going back and forth, constantly checking for reference.

Watching you work was fascinating. All your surroundings faded away. Karlach being her usual loud self, Wyll dancing, Gale cooking, Lae’zel sharpening weapons - nothing could turn your attention from him. He almost felt subconscious with the intensity of it. Your eyes studied him, taking in every single feature, and translated it to your journal. What did you see when you looked at him, he wondered. What did the world see? It had been so long, he couldn’t even remember his face. All he knew was he was attractive.

With a final few marks, brushed away to blend them into the rest, you looked down at your masterpiece. You were so caught up in the drawing you forgot why you were hesitant before, but now that Astarion stared at you from two different angles, your anxiety came back full force. There was no way out of this.

“All done, dear?”

You smiled shakily up at him and turned the journal around. His face scrunched up in confusion. When he met your eyes, he was decidedly unamused. “Darling, if you’re going to draw your fleeting fancy, don’t trick me first. I know it’s hard to see past the depraved bloodlust, but we don’t all look alike, you know.”

“No, Astarion, it’s not- I-”

While you fought to find words, Karlach picked up the slack. Cupping her hands around her mouth, she shouted across the camp, “IT’S YOU, FANGS!”

Dread washed over you. You closed your eyes. If a merciful god was going to kill you and rid you of this embarrassment, now would be the time. A bolt of lightning, perhaps. You’d even welcome decapitation.

You risked a glance when you felt your book being tugged carefully from your hands. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open as he tried to comprehend what the fuck had just happened. Gods, now he was going to leave camp. You buried your face in your hands. He was going to pack everything up and leave before the sun even touched the horizon. And you’d never see him again. Maybe you’d go find Cazador yourself, just to kill the bastard.

“All these drawings… are me? Darling?”

You inhaled deeply and lowered your hands, but you couldn’t bear looking at him. He could stab you with his dagger and you’d apologize to him for it all. Hell, you’d let him drink you dry if it meant leaving this all behind you. “You’re very pretty,” you admitted quietly. “I didn’t know how to ask, and just- You can rip the pages out, burn them, whatever makes you feel better. And if you leave, I won’t blame you or chase after you or-”

“I’m not upset.” Your head never shot up so fast. “Well, a little. You’re not subtle when you stare, you know. I thought you were just uncomfortable being around a vampire, but this…” He turned back to the portrait you’d just finished. “This is really what I look like?”

You swallowed away a small portion of the shame. At least he wasn’t running away. “As best as I can capture you, anyway. Y-You’ve got these sharp eyes, and your hair curls around your ears, and you get little wrinkles around your eyes and mouth when you laugh - and I just like drawing you.”

The page flipped over again. The page of expressions, capturing everything you described. When he smiled full and bright his fangs were on full display, accented by the laugh lines on either side of his mouth. And the puncture wounds on his neck…

“Ah, so when I said you had a type…” He chuckled, but it didn’t hold as much warmth as usual.

“Your laugh does light up my world,” you admit. His red eyes were on you in an instant, flickering over your whole face. “Just, for the record.”

He glanced at the drawings once more, contemplative. Then, he held the book back out to you. “I wouldn’t be… opposed to trying this. Whatever this is.”

You reached out to take it, but he pulled it away. “But, no more sneaking glances across camp when you want to draw me. I would be delighted to model for you again, in any pose your sweet heart can concoct.” He held the book out again. “Deal?”

You grabbed onto the book, finally relaxing as you smiled. “Deal.”

---

Tag List:

@satelliteapotheosis @hypopxia @mjmygd @flsalazar @thedevilssinner @marina-and-the-memes @softempest @rebeccasship @pinkishredlemonade @faeoran