#i worked hard on at least one of those drawings

[bunni-v1]

Hnnghh christmas Lighter smut where reader is dressed in nothing but a long ribbon and bow bc he’s been a good boy this year

🍓Did u read my mind? Get outta there… jkjk, but seriously this is EXACLTY what I was thinking about. I really can’t dedicate the time to a full fic, which breaks my little gay heart, but imagine with me if you would… (this is a full fic btw i fucking lied to you and myself)

Tw: Nsfw; kinda rough (not too rough); UNEDITED ITS HORRENDOUS

Mdni

Christmas with the Sons of Calydon is pretty atypical. They have their own traditions that most New Eirduians would scoff at, but they’re rather important to those who live in these parts. Drinking, singing together (usually drunkenly and offkey), taking bike rides out to start a fire and literally burn away past regrets of the year, and of course fights — plenty of fights.

You weren’t exactly a fan of the fighting part, usually meant more work for you to do, but Lighter always seemed to have fun. Obviously he did, he never lost — he hardly broke a sweat for the most part. And he loved showing off, especially if you were there to watch him. Everything else was mostly normal, though… a little odd but custom made to your little ragtag group, and you loved it.

It felt warm, cozy, like family. They passed out gifts, most of them hand made or incredibly thoughtful since money was scarce for most of you. Lighter had gotten you a (rather expensive) bracelet with your and his initials engraved on it. It was sweet, and unexpected from the guy who pretended like the holiday was nothing for the months leading up to it.

It made you melt on the inside and feel nice and warm. However… his nonchalance about the holiday cause you one… teeny tiny, itty bitty problem. You had no clue what to get him, and you hadn’t gotten him anything — time had run out and no one would give you any good hints.

His insistence that you didn’t need to get him anything in return made your stomach ache. It was hard to focus on his fight when your head was rushing with ways to rectify the horrific mistake you’d made quickly. The red ribbon of the jewelry box wrapped around your fingers tightly, then unwound as you mulled over your options.

You could get him something for his bike, but you’d have to drive to the city and it’s unlikely he’d let you go without him — that’s if the stores were even open this late on a holiday. Maybe you could craft up something quick and easy, if you could get back to your place there surely would be something, but… that felt cheap. Especially compared to the bracelet.

“That ribbon’s pretty,” Caesar says next to you, drawing you from your thoughts, “Must’ve been one real fancy place he went to for ya.”

You sigh, leaning back against the wall a little, looking at the ribbon as you twisted it around, “I’m sure it was. He’s so hopeless sometimes.”

“Only because you’re so sweet on him,” She teases, nudging your shoulder lightly.

A laugh huffs out of your chest, then an idea strikes you. The ribbon is pretty. You actually had some like it back at your place, stored away from last years festivities. You twist the ribbon one last time, and then you grin, wide and wild. Lighter catches your eye as he socks his opponent in the jaw, smirking at you like he’d won a prize.

“Hey, Caesar,” You hum, turning to your friend who seemed a little uneasy at your expression, “How long do you think you can keep him distracted for me.”

She hums, watching him thoughtfully, “I’ll buy ya fifteen minutes — wait, why?”

“You’ll hear later~” You hum with a wink, and practically skip back to your place, leaving Caesar alone to deal with your very adrenaline filled boyfriend on her own.

It takes you half the time Caesar said she could get you to find the damn ribbon, and the other half is spent fighting for your life to get the thing on and look at least a little sexy. You tried to recall old articles you’d read on bondage and shibari, but it was hard to do without a guide. You’d managed to get all the good bits wrapped up and hidden, with a few extra crosses to make it look pretty.

You don’t get a chance to check because you hear Lighters heavy footsteps outside the door nearly as soon as you’ve tied the bow comfortably around your neck. Your able to sort’ve arrange yourself seductively on the bed for him just as the front door open and he calls out to you. You could tell he was annoyed from his voice alone. He never liked it when you left his shows early.

“Caesar told me you headed back here,” He called, boots thumping as he threw them off, “We’re you not enjoying the show?”

It’s a tease, you know it is, but there was an underlying annoyance in his voice that sent a tingle up your spine. He pushes the bedroom door open incredibly slowly, to the point you think he’s trying to surprise you with something. You have the gall to feel stupid for a moment right before his eyes land on you, and he stops at he takes in the sight.

There is an audible shudder as his eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He takes his sunglasses off, revealing those pretty green eyes that rake in every inch of you with hunger. Then, he smirks, shoving the bedroom door closed with his shoulder already working his gloves and jacket off to the floor. Forgotten without a second thought. The rest of his clothes follow quickly after.

“Merry Christmas!” You cheer, though you’re more nervous than happy. He clearly likes it, according to the quickly growing tent in his pants and how fast he is to strip himself, but he’s a little too quiet for your liking.

He sinks onto the mattress in front of you, hands ghosting around the bright red ribbon. Like if he touches it, it’ll all fall apart in his grasp. He traces each inch of it with careful practiced restraint, following the fabrics flow across your body until he remembers that you are under the fabric and he lands on your face.

His eyes soften when you smile nervously up at him, fingers tracing the apple of your cheek with such admiration it nearly makes you cry. “You like it?” You ask softly, unsure of yourself.

He scoffs like you’re stupid for wondering, “This might be the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

It draws a genuine laugh out of you, which he follows with his own as he comes down to nuzzle your cheek with his nose. Then a soft kiss that trails down to your lips, easing you into a slow careful dance of love and passion.

He readjusts your position so carefully, you almost don’t notice he’s doing it until he’s between your legs. Pressing them open then pressing his dick to the ribbons wrapping up your folds from him. You’re already dripping, the adrenaline from earlier enough to get you going, but the added friction just makes it worse. You’d never be able to reuse this stuff, that’s for sure.

His hands glide over your stomach, following the ribbon with lazy easy until he’s found the one covering you from him. His thumbs slide under the pieces, rubbing over the flesh of your abdomen gently. It’s then that he pulls away, a string of saliva keeping you connected as he presses his forehead to yours.

“You’re so perfect, you know that?” He murmurs quietly, “You could’ve given me a smile and I would’ve been happy.”

You shy away, “Well… I almost didn’t have anything to get you, but your gift, mmm, inspired me.”

He chuckles at you, reaching down to run his dick against your still covered folds. The silky fabric oddly making everything feel more intense. “I can see that. Very cute, by the way.”

“I know, thank you,” You hum, wrapping your arms around his shoulders as he presses the two of you back into a laying position, “Now are you gonna unwrap your present, or are you gonna keep teasing yourself.”

A roll of the eyes and another smirk, “Y’know, I’ve never been a fan of ruining the wrapping paper. Shits expensive… so how about we go nice and slow.”

As he says that, he slides his dick between the ribbon, right up against your throbbing clit. You let out a surprised sound, quickly melting into sighs of pleasure and he fucks into the ribbon. Each push and pull stimulates your aching pussy into gushing out more for him, clenching on nothing as he fucks himself against you at a leisurely pace.

You take the chance to look down, moaning out as he head of him touches your thigh. The sight is something you’d see in a porno. Lighter follows your eyes, smiling to himself when he catches you practically going cross eyed at the sight.

“We look good together, don’t we, sugar?” He purrs. A rare nickname, sweet and extra praiseworthy — just like he thinks you are.

You nod along with him, fluttering your eyes back to his with a dumb little smile. Each drag of his dick makes your toes curl and nails dig into his broad shoulders. He sighs at the sensation, pressing kisses into your skin to quiet himself up. He’d rather listen to you, after all, and this was a gift for him.

His fingers begin to crawl up your body, dancing along the ribbon excitedly. They make sure to stop and tweak your nipples through the fabric, humming when he feels they’re sufficiently hard and sensitive under his touch. Then, finally, they reach the neatly tied bow around your neck.

The tug at it, gently unwrapping it from your neck and pulling it away with ease. Replacing the red of it with his tongue, licking and sucking new marks into the flesh. Your hips stutter against his, and he lets out a groan, squeezing your tit as warning. You whine, but don’t fight him anymore. His hands returning to unraveling the ribbon, pressing into the skin revealed until he is the only thing keeping the ribbon and his dick pressed against you.

You pout a little when he pulls away, pussy aching for friction once his dick is gone. You feel it clench as it looks for him, and god it makes you feel like a whore. He takes your hands from his shoulder and leans over you to tie them to the bed board above your head. You can feel how wet your were at the wrists, especially when he kisses them reassuringly.

“I love you tied up,” He hums, “You’re so pretty when you can’t do anything.”

You pout up at him, but he doesn’t stay to admire the look long, leaning over to the bedside table to grab the condoms. It occurs to you, in a state of lust driven stupor, that he shouldn’t have to fuck his christmas gift with a condom on.

“Ah, wait—“ He raises an eyebrow at you, hand just inches away from the condoms, “Would you wanna do it raw?”

He blinks at you, again surprised in the same way he was when he first saw you. “Are you serious?”

“We don’t have to—“ You quickly try to rectify the situation, but he cuts you off.

“No, no, we definitely have to,” He shakes his head, closing the drawer with one swift motion, “You’re trying to kill me out here, aren’t you?”

You shake your head, but he’s not listening as he pulls you up into the position he likes most. Legs over his shoulders, body bent in half so he can fuck you hard and fast. He gives you a few seconds to adjust to the position, then he’s pressing his dick into you at a painfully slow pace.

It’s because he’s just so big, he always has to go slow, but you wish he’d just fuck you through the pain right now. The stretch is perfect as always, and you suck him in like it’s nothing with how wet you already were.

He cusses when he finally bottoms out, pressing his face into the side of your neck. You can feel his hot breath fan against your skin, tingling deliciously. “Fuck you’re always so tight. I’m never gonna get used to it, sugar.”

You hum, though you’re in no better shape. Shivering and shuddering every inch, and still quaking as he sits still inside you. You play with his hair to distract from how hot you are, and how you wish he’d make you hotter.

He gives himself a moment to calm down, then he presses a kiss you your cheek, readjusts you just a little so your muscles don’t tense up, and then he moves. The first three thrusts are slow and easy, then he starts to slam into you hard.

“Oh fuck—“ You cry out as the deafening smack of his hips into your ass rings out across the room.

The pace he sets is brutal and unrelenting, you were hoping for it all night. The unspent adrenaline from his earlier fights coming right back to fuck you so good you know you won’t be walking tomorrow. Each slap of his balls against your quickly reddening ass is accompanied by a stifled moan.

He watches you with an intensity you weren’t aware he was capable of, eyes drinking in every single inch of your expression. He looked crazed, but that’s what made it so hot. He was obsessed with every little look, every little sound that left you.

“Don’t be quiet, sugar,” He hums, pushing two of his fingers along your bottom row of teeth to force the sounds out.

“They’ll hear—“

“Let ‘em,” He dismisses, “They know you’re mine anyway, who cares.”

You really couldn’t argue with that, especially not when he shifts ever so slight to hit your g-spot head on. A salacious moan rips out of your throat, and your sure Caesar has figured out what you were up to earlier from that alone. He doesn’t stop ripping sounds out of you, though, continuing his brutal pace and hitting that spot so well you think you’re seeing stars.

The build up to your orgasm is so quick you hardly have time to realize it’s happening. One second you’re fine the next your throwing your head back and moaning like a whore.

“Lighter- Baby, I’m— fuck me- god I’m gonna cum, Lighter.” You admit, way too loud for your liking.

He hums, seeming to switch gears and fuck you faster somehow, “Go ahead, I’ve got you. Lemme feel you cum for me.”

You nod, chest rising and falling rapidly as start litter your vision. You think you nearly pass out, but Lighters hard thrusts fuck you through your orgasm. You squeeze him so tight, like you’re trying to milk his own out of him. You want him to fill you up, want to feel his warm cum deep in your belly. Want to see it drip down your thighs and pool onto the bed when he pulls out.

“Cum inside, please.” You beg.

“Fuuuck… ‘re you—“

You nod, “I need it, please cum in me. ‘S part of your present.”

He groans, fisting the sheets next to your head, “Suagr, you’re fuckin’ killin’ me.”

Always one to please, Lighter does exactly as you ask. Filling you to the brim with his thick hot cum. You revel in his moans, and only slightly wish you could curl your nails into his shoulders to leave another christmas gift for the morning.

He eases you into a more comfortable position before collapsing on top of you. His weight is welcome against your spent body, as are the wet kisses he presses into your sore skin. He unties your hand with one of his, and you quickly wrap them up into his hair.

“I love you,” He mumbles into your shoulder, “So much. You’re the best gift a guy can ask for.”

You giggle at the praise, “I love you too, Lighter.”

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Price has never experienced affection like he gets from Nikolai.

cw: societal expectations of men in relationships.

Price yawned into the back of his hand and stretched his legs out as Die Hard trailed off into adverts, toes wriggling inside the warm fleece socks Carol had sent him for Christmas.

He and Nik had headed home after tucking Kimmy in bed and sharing a quick Brandy in Carol's living room, and their bellies were still full with Morrison's Finest Turkey crown and homemade trifle. Price had never felt so... content.

"We could get one of those," Nik said, inclining his head towards the telly.

"Hm?"

"A Nespresso machine."

"Oh, yeah, if ya want."

Price wasn't really paying attention, because in the brief moment he had leaned forward to grab his mug of tea from the battered coffee table, Nik had rested an arm across the back of the sofa and was now playing idly with Price's hair.

It tickled. A little. Pleasant little shivers skittered down Price's neck and over his shoulders, only intensifying when Nik moved down to stroke the soft skin beneath his ear, just beyond the line of his beard. Small circles with the tip of one finger, and then a longer stroke down his neck with three.

Nik's hands were so big. Like huge bear paws when they settled at Price's waist or cupped his face when they kissed. Price felt intimately vulnerable as they caressed his neck and hair so tenderly now, and he blinked a little faster to try and clear the fuzzy contentment blurring his vision. Perhaps Nik was asking for more.

Price was bloody knackered. All he wanted to do was see that German bastard fall off that tower and then pass out, but Nik had been an absolute gentleman today. Perfect with Carol and Kimmy, doing all the washing up, serving Kimmy her Ribena like a waiter and making her giggle, building the Barbie Dream House contraption with a Philip's screwdriver and endless patience. Bloody hell, a blowjob was the least Price could do if that's what he was anglin' for.

"Nik, did you want... uh, you know..."

"Hm?"

"Well, you know..." Price reached up to take Nik's hand and hold the palm to his lips, his gaze dropping to Nik's lap.

"Ah, nyet, solnyshko," Nik smiled fondly, cupping that same hand around Price's jaw to draw him over. He kissed Price's forehead and then bumped their noses together. "I am too tired, your sister's cooking has me in a, what to say, a food coma. Izvini. Perhaps tomorrow morning."

"Ah, 'course... sure." Price sat back up and took another swig of tea, but Nik's hand didn't leave. It returned to his neck, squeezing his shoulder a little, circling his bicep, before slipping back into his hair. It was nice. Really bloody nice. Price couldn't remember the last person that had touched him without expecting something in return, other than a medic trying to save his life.

His eyes drooped as the film continued, but he only followed the dialogue in passing, his attention completely homed in on the trail of warmth and tingles left behind by Nik's touch. His shoulders relaxed, his ankle slipping from where it had settled on top of his knees, and--

"Ah, careful," Nik said softly, catching Price's mug before it spilled lukewarm tea over his tartan pyjama bottoms.

"Oh, uh, sorry, must'a nodded off."

"Da," Nik took the mug from Price's hands and returned it to the coffee table. When he sat back, he tugged gently at the side of Price's head and patted his lap. "Here, lay down."

Price blinked. "Really?"

Nik's smile was soft, head tilted, and he nodded insistently. They had been dating for a few months now. The sex was good; mind-blowing, in fact. But they had so few occasions to be close in any other way. If they weren't working, they were fucking, and if they weren't fucking then they were asleep in a tangle of limbs, grateful to still be alive and in each other's arms, but too exhausted to do much more. That was the nature of who they were, what they did.

These quiet moments, with nothing to worry about but spilling tea on your lap as you nodded off like an old man in his recliner, were rare. A date in Berlin, a walk in the local woodlands around Hereford, a trip to Brighton to browse the Lanes. Not much. But each time, Nik had surprised Price with something new. Pulling the chair out for him and walking him back to his hotel room in Berlin, holding his hand on their walk and scooping him into a kiss by an old willow tree, cupping his waist and resting his chin on top of his head as they gazed into shop fronts in Brighton. Small acts of affection that left Price stupidly breathless for how simple they were.

This was yet another thing Price had never experienced. Sure, he'd wanted to. Four partners in his lifetime, two serious enough to bring them back to his flat for more than just sex, but he would have never dreamed of asking them to cuddle him, or let him lay in their lap. They would have glanced up and down his bearded, six foot two frame, with weathered hands and scarred skin, and laughed in his face.

He was the cuddler, the pair of shoulders, the strong hands, the warm body against their back. He didn't get those things because that wasn't his role, right? In any relationship, he had to demonstrate his love through quiet strength and resilience. A man, the man was expected to perform in a certain way and not expect more than access to sex and to perform romance on someone else, certainly not have it in return. That was what he had been raised on, and Nik was just blowing it all out of the water.

Price swallowed, glanced from Nik's face to his lap and back again. When Nik raised both eyebrows and gestured again, Price finally shifted over to lay down. His head ended up against the cushion on the other side, his arm slanted down between Nik's legs. Nik pulled the fleece blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over Price's curled body before lounging back into the deep pillows himself. It was comfortable, natural, and Price allowed himself a small wriggle of happiness.

But when Nik's hands settled on him again, Price thought he was about to elevate out of his body in pure bliss. Strong fingers pushed into his hair, while the other palm slid beneath the blanket to stroke idly over his arm and side. Price ignored the film in favour of closing his eyes to relish every flutter of sensation against his skin. The way Nik petted his hair, occasionally scratching lightly against his scalp, was heaven on earth. A thumb smoothed over one of Price's eyebrows and then followed his sideburn into his beard. "Ahh, better than any lap cat," Nik said fondly.

"Careful, might get m' claws out."

"Close your eyes and purr. It will be our secret."

Price chuckled softly, even rolled his tongue against the roof of his mouth to imitate a purr, much to Nik's delight, but he was soon drifting into a deeper, fluffier headspace that left him quiet but for muted sighs.

His toes curled when Nik scratched his nails lightly over the curve of his arse through the brushed cotton of his pyjamas and then again through his t-shirt on the back of his shoulder; a pleasant tingle blossoming through his skin beneath the duel sensation of soft material and blunt nails, leaving behind goosebumps and faint echoes of pleasure until Price's entire body was humming.

Nik alternated between that, a flat palm, scattered fingertips in large circles that eventually slid his t-shirt higher up his ribs beneath the blanket. Nik mapped his body reverently, lingering over the different textures of scars and moles, the fuzz of his belly and the silky soft skin beneath his arm. Price wasn't sure what he liked best. All of it. He liked all of it. Nik's big hands made him feel... safe. Cradled. They were warm, firm, assured equally in their tenderness as they were in their strength.

Price knew his body was translating the pleasure into arousal. There was a tension in his hips and his prick had chubbed up, but he was content to ignore it. It didn't matter. This was what he wanted - what he needed - right now. The man he loved touching him like he mattered as more than a warm body to have some fun with. That he was deserving of this innocent love, even with all the shit he had done, even being who he was.

A tightness prickled behind Price's eyes, a slight knot in his throat, but he swallowed it down, breathing softly through it until the sudden surge of emotion calmed. Mind and body running a gauntlet of emotions and sensations to try and translate the deep contentment it was experiencing, Price reasoned.

It was good. He could enjoy this. He could want this and Nik wouldn't think less of him. Nik was enjoying it too. Price could tell in the way he touched - occasional squeezes, lingering caresses, the change of pace, pressure and location because he wanted to feel all of Price at once - the slow, deep breaths he was drawing in as the act of doting on his lover was lulling him into a doze. This was what love felt like, wasn't it? This is what he had been missing all these years.

Price wasn't sure when they both fell asleep, but when he woke some hours later, another film on the television and the orange street lamps streaming in through the gap in the curtains, he only rolled over and nuzzled his face into the plush warmth of Nik's belly and closed his eyes again. This was where he belonged; safe and warm in Nik's hands.

[ashcoveredtraveler]

My AU and fic designs for Pale King and White Lady (Along with backstory under the cut)

Let us start off with the White Lady. While she doesn't remember it, but has some recollection and knowledge of it, she started off as some sort of fluffy seed. A seed that can float in the wind and go far and wide. She landed in a canyon near a stream where she grew.

The canyon didn't get any sort of sun but that didn't matter to the White Lady as her species wasn't made to absorb the sun. She is pale and lacks chlorophyll. However, she needed a lot more nutrients in the ground, and even though there was a stream and soil it was only enough for her to grow enough to realize that she couldn't stay in that spot forever, so she unrooted herself and made the argus journey to somewhere safe.

Luckily for her, she metabolized way slower, that's why she's thick. But she moved so slowly. She came across some pockets of life, but it wasn't sustainable for her and left before she used up all of the nutrients so the pockets could recover for others. By the time she reached maturity, she made it to the Howling Cliffs. She made it to livable lands that could sustain her and others.

She was able to make her way to a pocket of greenery, but there was one issue. She was going to another god's lands. She would be stronger than Unn but she was so weak from her travels that she would be no match for the slug. She dredged her way to the very south of Unns land and tried to gain her strength there.

Many bugs didn't give her kindness in the area. She was in Unns land, and everyone there was worshipers of Unn. There would be no reason for another god to be on their god's land. She kept herself isolated as she slowly gained strength. His roots grew throughout and felt the land around her.

Eventually her roots picked up something strange on the other side of this livable land. She only saw paths of this creature created among her journey here and she knew it was a Wyrm. Out of curiosity she unroots herself and goes to the edge of the land.

The Pale King was born in the wastelands with his litter. He was raised by his father along with his siblings while the mother went off to find more mates, as there is a sex ratio of 1:10 making more males than females. Some one needs to train and take care of the young so that wyrms could actually live.

Once they were old enough to travel far, they left the nest and went on to see the wastes together. One day after a hunting session with his father, they came across a tiny kingdom. His father taught him that lesser and smaller bugs would only be useful to put in their thralls if there was a massive amount of them for them to accomplish massive tasks which the wyrms could find useful. However since they came across a small kingdom that isn't enough to eat or to put under their thrall, so they left.

This even sparked PK's interest in lesser insects. Not bugs that he could eat or make into slaves, but bugs that can be his servant and do things he is unable to do.

Once all of the siblings reached maturity, PK went the complete opposite direction of any wyrm trail and away from everything. He wanted to see more bugs, more kingdoms. Maybe even make his Kingdom?

He wandered and saw many livable lands, but they were either too small or didn't have what he was looking for. He eventually came across a steep cliff side. The sun rarely shined here and it occasionally snowed. But on the opposite side of the cliff he could feel life. He could feel potential.

He then started crafting his new body within him. He knew that it would be nearly impossible to rule with a body like his, so he needed to downsize. He wandered around the edge of the land. He was losing energy, trying to make a body for himself, so he was weak. Suddenly he was ensnared in pale roots.

The WL and PK's introduction was a misunderstanding. WL thought that PK was slowing himself down to put her guard down so he could attack her. PK explained his situation and story and he ensnared WL with his words. He knew that he would be extremely weak once he was reborn, so he begged for the WL to take care of him.

She did and then this was a start of an alliance, which turns into friendship then a partnership.

[alicenpai]

emilico :) super rough + small 5 min style test

been thinking of changing my art style a bit more lately to have more texture + a bit simpler bc all of my previous illustrations were taking too long. the timeline for my most recent drawings was like, nov-jan: 4 zine drawings over the course of 3 months. which burnt me out so bad.. it was too smooth and too anime for my liking.. then nothing until i did that pandora hearts illust in may. which also was exhausting! it's now 2 months later and i gotta attempt at least 1 or 2 new drawings for otakuthon. and i do not wish to have burnout again, so i really need to change up my approach to art :'))))

[drpicklesart]

they are going to mehnahnaroo

[arolesbianism]

Just realized I forgot to post these

[askthekirbysquad]

"Meta Kniiiiight!!!" Kirby whined, batting at the older puffball with his fists as he leaned against him. "Just let me wiiiiiiiin!"

Meta Knight raised an eyebrow, unbothered by the other's 'attacks'. "And allow you to split yet another one of my masks in half?" He chuckled. "I'm afraid not, Kirby."

The swordsman had already learned that lesson twice by now, after going a little easier on his student and paying the price for it. At this point, with his stash of spare masks dwindling in order to truly challenge Kirby's abilities, he had no intentions of going anything less than all-out.

"You will not get any stronger if you only ever fight against weak foes."

"But it's haaaaard!" Kirby pouted, sinking to the floor. Though he may have been Dream Land's hero and had saved both it and the wider universe on several occasions, Kirby was still a child, and clearly, not one who appreciated losing several times over. "This dumb samurai stuff is different from our usual training!! I can fight really good when it's a normal battle. But this is just waiting... And waiting... And more waiting..." He yawned. Even just talking about all the waiting he had to do was making him tired. "And then when I can actually fight without getting in trouble, I've gotta be really really fast, because I lose if you hit me even once! I don't like it."

"What if you someday face a foe capable of defeating you in one blow?" Given the exceedingly powerful threats Kirby had faced in recent times, such an opponent was not entirely out of the question. So, it was important that, as his mentor, Meta Knight prepared him for the situation before it could arise. "It may be more wise to dodge rather than strike first in such a scenario, that is true, but the point of this exercise is to train your reaction time. Being able to react quickly and intelligently to anything your opponent may throw at you in the heat of battle is a vital skill to learn."

Kirby merely grumbled in response, absentmindedly wondering if there was any copy ability he could use to melt further into the ground. Maybe Meta Knight's lecture made just a teensy tiny little bit of sense, but it didn't make him any less frustrated by the new training regimen.

Meta Knight sighed at the young puff's antics, and produced the Maxim Tomato he had kept safely tucked within his cape. They had been training for a while now, he supposed, and it was good to have small rests every now and then between sessions. ...Even if that was something he himself was notoriously bad at incorporating into his own training. Luckily for the swordsman, Kirby immediately perked up upon seeing his favourite food.

"You will get better with practice, I am sure." Meta Knight said. "You are already quite skilled at spooking Dedede with that party popper, I must say." Handing Kirby the tomato, he added, "Take a break for now, however, and let me know when you are prepared to resume our training."

"Mm-hm! Thank you, Meta Knight!" Kirby gleefully responded, his sour mood forgotten as he held the precious Maxim Tomato in his hands. Good food made everything better! The new type of training was still dumb, in his opinion, and it was gonna be hard to beat Meta Knight with all those extra rules in place, but thanks to his snack, he had a feeling that he could do it!!

...Meanwhile, in the distance and out of sight of the unsuspecting duo, Magolor snickered to himself as he prepared his legion of mini Scarcutter attacks. It was wonderful to see his friends enjoying the theme park he created, and while he did have some Park Manager work to attend to... Well, who's to say he couldn't have his own fun in Merry Magoland's attractions?

[vulpinesaint]

throws a book at the wall i'm SO fucking tired of putting emotional effort into relationships only for it not to be reciprocated

[cuteniaarts]

Okay google play Dead Mom from Beetlejuice the musical

[pride-of-storm]

first day of work and :( my feet hurt :(

[melochiris]

uuuuouhhghghhhhghggh i wanna work on m yWEBSITE

[hamletthedane]

I was meeting a client at a famous museum’s lounge for lunch (fancy, I know) and had an hour to kill afterwards so I joined the first random docent tour I could find. The woman who took us around was a great-grandmother from the Bronx “back when that was nothing to brag about” and she was doing a talk on alternative mediums within art.

What I thought that meant: telling us about unique sculpture materials and paint mixtures.

What that actually meant: an 84yo woman gingerly holding a beautifully beaded and embroidered dress (apparently from Ukraine and at least 200 years old) and, with tears in her eyes, showing how each individual thread was spun by hand and weaved into place on a cottage floor loom, with bright blue silk embroidery thread and hand-blown beads intricately piercing the work of other labor for days upon days, as the labor of a dozen talented people came together to make something so beautiful for a village girl’s wedding day.

What it also meant: in 1948, a young girl lived in a cramped tenement-like third floor apartment in Manhattan, with a father who had just joined them after not having been allowed to escape through Poland with his pregnant wife nine years earlier. She sits in her father’s lap and watches with wide, quiet eyes as her mother’s deft hands fly across fabric with bright blue silk thread (echoing hands from over a century years earlier). Thread that her mother had salvaged from white embroidery scraps at the tailor’s shop where she worked and spent the last few days carefully dying in the kitchen sink and drying on the roof.

The dress is in the traditional Hungarian fashion and is folded across her mother’s lap: her mother doesn’t had a pattern, but she doesn’t need one to make her daughter’s dress for the fifth grade dance. The dress would end up differing significantly from the pure white, petticoated first communion dresses worn by her daughter’s majority-Catholic classmates, but the young girl would love it all the more for its uniqueness and bright blue thread.

And now, that same young girl (and maybe also the villager from 19th century Ukraine) stands in front of us, trying not to clutch the old fabric too hard as her voice shakes with the emotion of all the love and humanity that is poured into the labor of art. The village girl and the girl in the Bronx were very different people: different centuries, different religions, different ages, and different continents. But the love in the stitches and beads on their dresses was the same. And she tells us that when we look at the labor of art, we don’t just see the work to create that piece - we see the labor of our own creations and the creations of others for us, and the value in something so seemingly frivolous.

But, maybe more importantly, she says that we only admire this piece in a museum because it happened to survive the love of the wearer and those who owned it afterwards, but there have been quite literally billions of small, quiet works of art in billions of small, quiet homes all over the world, for millennia. That your grandmother’s quilt is used as a picnic blanket just as Van Gogh’s works hung in his poor friends’ hallways. That your father’s hand-painted model plane sets are displayed in your parents’ livingroom as Grecian vases are displayed in museums. That your older sister’s engineering drawings in a steady, fine-lined hand are akin to Da Vinci’s scribbles of flying machines.

I don’t think there’s any dramatic conclusions to be drawn from these thoughts - they’ve been echoed by thousands of other people across the centuries. However, if you ever feel bad for spending all of your time sewing, knitting, drawing, building lego sets, or whatever else - especially if you feel like you have to somehow monetize or show off your work online to justify your labor - please know that there’s an 84yo museum docent in the Bronx who would cry simply at the thought of you spending so much effort to quietly create something that’s beautiful to you.

[starpros-sunshine]

It's is especially at one in the morning that you realise how ridiculous "I shouldn't go take dancing classes even though I desperately need a hobby that would let me fix the issue of me being so ridiculously short of breath that they genuinely worried about my health because, well, i can't dance." actually sounds. My brother in Christ you're supposed to learn how to do that there.

[foone]

the Brazilian flag makes me irrationally angry.

no, wait, that's incorrect. the brazillian flag makes me rationally angry.

but first let me explain that I have nothing against Brazil or Brazilians. They're cool people in my experience, and I'm sure it's a great country. but that flag has personally victimized me.

Look at this flag. What country has a flag this complicated? VERY FEW, LET ME TELL YOU THAT

and as someone who had to recreate this flag for their VGAPride program, because of the Brazil Gay Flag... ARGH this flag is so complicated.

It's not the case anymore because I reorganized how the program worked, but at one point it had EVERY SINGLE OTHER FLAG in one file, and BRAZIL in another file, because if I put Brazil in with any other flags it would crash the program. I had to modify the max limit on how many graphical commands a given flag could take, because the Gay Flag of Brazil was MORE COMPLICATED THAN AT LEAST HALF THE OTHER FLAGS PUT TOGETHER. I had to add the a new command for drawing different sized stars as otherwise this flag would be way too complicated to implement.

and the worst part? Scroll back up and compare those two flags. I didn't even do that good a job of implementing the flag! Some of it is because I'm limited to 640x480, but some of it is just that this flag was so complicated that it was hurting me too much to create.

And that's after I wrote a secondary application to let me design flags outside my program, because manually designing this thing like I did EVERY SINGLE OTHER PRIDE FLAG I EVER IMPLEMENTED would have been too hard, especially with the text (which is again, isn't done that well. especially that "E", which is way too straight, especially for a gay pride flag).

Like, I'm sorry Brazil. You're cool, but your flag gives me PTSD flashbacks.

[stychu-stych]

Could we have some of your Lamb head canons please?

I'm going with my modern au because it's my little obsession right now sijssj

I'm cutting the post so it wouldn't be so long. The whole description is below

So the whole thing with Old Faith as the most powerful religion and Bishops is mostly the same like in the game. The world looks similar to our in 1700s, sheep was hunted down over the decades and Lambert was in the group of the last ones. That group was caught and killed, Lamb was lucky enough to be outside the camp at this time but they didn't enjoy their freedom for so long. As a single sheep it was hard to survive on their own

Lamb seeing their wife for the first time sjsbsjsh

Lamber was caught some time later by bounty hunters. However, an accident happened when Lamb tried to escape one night - there were shot in the stomach badly enough that further travel was impossible without them bleeding out. So since Lamb was going to die anyway, the bounty hunters figured out they'd at least bring Old Faith their head. They didn't wait for Lamb to bleed out first, so that death wasn't fast or easy.

First years as a cult leader weren't easy. Taking care of the flock, learning how to fight, figuring out how rituals work, it was a lot for young Death's vessel. Lamb couldn't get used to their new role for some time. But Ratau was a huge help, beloved rat-dad was as much supportive as he could

After their first century as cult leader, Lamb began to feel comfortable in their role, perhaps a little to much I would say. Their grow their wool and started to pay more attention to their appearance and to the things that brought them pleasure. They started to fully enjoy their immortal life, to be too self-confident focused too much on themselves. They liked being in the center of attention, with the flock fully devoted to them. They even started to add a new tattoo with every kill of a Bishop or their the most devoted followers (as a trophy)

Beginning of XX century, Lamb become TOWW's little killing machine, no fear of death or pain. Ready to die, just to stand up and go killing again. They were fully devoted to Narinder in the most toxic way, ready to do absolutely everything just to make their god satisfied. Lamb didn't even realize how obsessed they were with Narinder at that time

Modern times, with Narinder already indoctrinated into the cult. Lamb as a selfish, egocentric, ready to do everything to achieve their goals bastard. Still unhealthy devoted to Narinder but this time in a different way - on one hand madly in love with him, on the other hating him with all their heart because of he did to them. Either way both of those strong feelings keep them close to him

Jeez this post took me more time to write than to draw djdbdjdj I'm soooo bad at writing

[holytrickster]

sitting there like has my art gotten better over time or do I just add way too much unnecessary detail now