#pattern name

[ohwyrmies]

[1alchemistart]

dont got much to offer for The Holiday but have these sillies!

happy valentines day :D

[cheadarchesse]

I just finished my mom's sweater! Lavish me with praise!

[lasnevadaslaborunion]

Huh.

So when Dream dictates people's feelings to them, takes their words out of context, feigns ignorance to things he was caught in the act or word of, goes on nonsensical Ben Shapiro-esque tirades to prevent the other person from getting a word in edgewise, or butts into situations that didn't involve him just to say an ableist slur, it's fine because he has autism and ADHD.

But when Tommy Tubbo stutters, speaks a little too slowly, asks for clarification, or concedes a single inch of rhetorical ground because the topic will go nowhere otherwise, that's proof he's an idiot who can't read or make up his own opinions without his friends telling him what to think.

Do I have that right?

[bunnieswithknives]

Love impulsively doing whatever this is.

[You are at the beginning] [Next]

[tubbytarchia]

oops ponied more lifers (Jimmy and Joel are redesigned lol, design notes and original under cut)

With Tango I wanted to play with half body/split coloring and make him look scorched, including his horn which will just smoke while he's not using magic. I'd like to think he's absolutely fine and all that's changed is that he can only conjure fire magic but he doesn't care that much. His tail and mane can burst into flame whenever

BigB is a big guy with a thousand yard stare and prey animal behavior with his ears constantly tucked back. I really like the idea of him having a huge tail dragging behind him, adds to the unnerve a tiny bit. When people look away he turns into a hyperrealistic creaking horse

Why did I make Jimmy all yellow. His color is blue!!! Blue!!!! Even if I usually highlight him with yellow because it just looks nicer but!! Blue..!! Seeing Lizzie build a blue parrot for him inspired me to finally redesign him, his coloration is based on the blue quaker parrot! The canary theme can still work with this, I'd like to imagine his flight feathers started going yellow and he wasn't just born with canary feathers. Also tried to get across that he's a lanky ass pony but makes himself look smaller

Joel I think works so much better when he's relatively monotone and the green highlights are implemented sparingly (you know, as highlights). I think it makes him look more special even with normal horse colors than if he was mostly green, kinda loses that bit of the design that really identifies Joel AS Joel. Yeah my first Joel design was garbo. Also he's very angry that god made him an earth pony and tiny. sorry little guy

Also also I made this little video where Joel eats Scott and runs away with Jimmy you're welcome

[feather-bone]

[ID: a digital illustration of a deer blowing swirly smoke-like breath upward, a wolf chewing a bone to its right, and a crow flying above. The background is swirly dark blue and grey. End]

COLD BREATH

[puppetmaster13u]

Prompt 274

You know what is fun? Baby Ghost Jason. You know what could be even more fun? Ghosts are Dragons. 

Jason? Aware of none of this. 

He was on comms, y’know listening and rolling his eyes at Dickwing, who used his real name, really Dick, he mocks. It’s just a stakeout, nothing new there, honestly boring when he could be blowing something up instead. It should have just been a stakeout. 

Yet there’s something suddenly there, something behind him. Something that causes his hair to stand on end and his comms to spark into static like some sort of horror movie. Something, something with clawed hands with corpse-pale skin tipped in black, stained or dead or something else, tilting his head up and up and up as he’s frozen. 

“A child, out here? Alone?” a voice crackles, hisses, hums, and purrs, somehow all at once, unnatural in its tone. He can’t move, he needs to move, he has to move, but it’s like the space around him has gone cold and dead, like he’s stuck in the Pits once more as claws hold his head and his vision blurs. “Sleep, child. Rest- we’ll be home soon.” 

[fuckyeahchinesefashion]

Cosplay of zhang qiling张起灵 (nickname xiaoge小哥) from dao mu bi ji 盗墓笔记 The Grave Robbers' Chronicles by xu lei, one of the most beloved characters (paper people) in chinese fandoms (the coser is 小杰), and the book was written in 2006 and isn't finished yet and is still being serialized. Chinese fans voted for "which character from books you consider that won't affect your feelings and impression of her/him/them at all, no matter how badly the movie or TV version fails" and "The character that most convinced you they were real", and zhang qiling won the first place. Many book fans think the only successful live-action zhang qiling is cast by xiao yuliang肖宇梁 in Ultimate Note终极笔记.

mianhuawawa (popular chinese fandom merch, cute fluffy dolls having a real-life sense of companionship) of zhang qiling (cr: 支仓没睡)

A navy blue hoodie, black pants, boots, an ancient chinese dao, and a qilin麒麟 tattoo have become his trademark.

[quimser]

trying a linocut-leaning style (best viewed on desktop, mobile crushes the quality massively)

[nekoyawn5]

Leaked Twisted-Jack Unique Magic (p.s. this is just a joke).

So there this new twisted-fication of Jack Skellington (tho he might be mixed from different characters from Nightmare before Christmas).

[indigo-flowers09]

it’s december. school sucks. have some puppy

might make some more doodles of them tonight but i’ve been sitting on this for a while so here :3

i love me some dadlo

fun fact the horses name in north star

[zarnzarn]

lamb who kills the one who waits when the time comes to decide, furious and betrayed at being asked to lay down their life after everything they'd done, after-

they kill him, and don't stop to see what happens to the body, carried away by their celebrating followers. They rejoice the whole day, of a final victory against evil, riling each other up to the heights of joy and mania until late in the night.

And then Lamb goes to bed and blows out the lamp and the their decision finally sinks in.

what have they done.

they wake the next day trembling from forgotten nightmares, overheating as they make their way through the day's chores, blank-faced and numb. the call to sermon is waved off in face of a headache, as they try not to think about how much of what they preach no longer is relevant.

the week passes in a haze- they unthinkingly leave offerings in the wooden chest until they rot in the summer noon; call out the rituals in Narinder's language and pretend the power isn't fainter than usual, go on a crusade to get their mind off things- except the last is the worst of it all, because the crown's eye is pale pink, pupil fat with power, instead of the crimson cat-eye that Lamb is used to, and there's no getting away from the fact on how silent it is when no one is watching behind it.

how silent it is because no one is there.

yet somehow worse still is-

"hope you feel better soon, leader!" a younger follower says, tucking a camelia into their wool. they know they've been distant lately, avoiding worries left right and centre. "praise the one! he'll make everything alright."

it's like a hammer to the chest, leaving them breathless and stunned, to realise- they never commissioned a statue of Narinder, after all these years. so stubborn in only leaving the crimson eye scratched around the cult grounds as his symbol until he found an artist worthy of Lamb sharing the image of the god of death, that-

no one else except the lamb knew what narinder looked like. they had no idea whose defeat they'd celebrated.

no one but Lamb remembers their god.

..

it gets harder after that.

Lamb isn't sure how many people have left the cult by the time the Mystic Seller's demand comes through, to save what's left of the Bishops from endless purgatory, before their violent shadows disrupted the fabric of the four realms.

They stare, speechless and disbelieving, at the outrageous ask, before it suddenly sinks in that-

The bishops.

The bishops.

They run through the lands once more with eagerness, sword slashing harder each time, ruthless and relentless in their kills. They reconquer Leshy and Heket brutally, curtly setting out the terms when they are diminished back to mortal and forced to stay in the cult. They agree, and agree to keeping their peace as well when Kallamar and Shamura join them, surrounded by a cult that's flourishing once more, waiting eagerly for a familiar stranger. Lamb tells stories around the fire about The One Who Waits, watches the smiles on their followers' faces reappear, the ones who had fled their anger and depression slowly making their way back to the flock, and the cult grows back to its full potential once more.

And then Lamb runs up the stairs when it's all ready and beautiful and welcoming, beams at the Seller as they wait for their instructions.

The Seller frowns. "Yes?"

Lamb tilts their head, rusted bell on their neck tinkling. It had broken the day after Narinder's defeat, the collar finally fluttering to the ground in tatters like a cloth of eighty years should; but Lamb had repaired and maintained and polished it until it wrapped proud around their neck once again. Their heart is beating in their chest, excitement running through their veins. They'd forgotten how it felt to be on the cusp of going to meet the One Who Waits.

"The last bishop still remains," They laugh, joy spreading through them. "I have to go get him too, yes? For the good of the universe and all."

The Mystic Seller... is silent.

"Narinder was not a Bishop," It says finally. Lamb's smile drops. "The Three-Eyed Cat had completed his ascension when he mastered the resurrection ritual. He was a God."

Lamb's heart drops to their stomach, stumbling like they've taken a hit. "What? So what? Can't I bring him back?"

The Mystic Seller tilts their head. "No."

"What do you mean no?" Lamb's nostrils flare, red crown sparking as they take a step closer. "I brought all those others back, why can't I-"

"They were the pillars of the very order of the world-"

"They were fucking MONSTERS!" Lamb shouts. "And what, death isn't?"

"It is," The Seller says, unaffected by the screaming. "But you are the Bishop of Death now. The cycle has begun again."

Lamb feels like they've taken an arrow to the chest. They stumble forward, and then to their knees. "No," they whimper. "There has- has to be some way to bring him back."

The Mystic Seller stares at them. "You were the one to kill him," They point out, and Lamb feels bile rise in their mouth as their breathing gets faster. "Why would you want him back? A thriving cult, an usurped crown, his spells in your hand-"

"Shut up," Lamb hisses.

"-you have all the power you could ever want, little sheep. Your revenge against the murder of your people."

"He wasn't the one to do it!" They shout up at the Seller, despite the hypocrisy- it had been part of their thoughts when they'd raised the axe again and again and again; the resentment of if it wasn't for you-

"No, no, no, no, no," They whimper, holding onto their biceps and shaking. "Narinder."

It is the first time they have said his name in five years. That realization is what makes the tears finally fall.

Their throat is hoarse when they finish, eyes swollen and blood pooled around them, skin already healing back to perfection where they had clawed through. The Mystic Seller stares at them and sways, silent.

"No," The Lamb finally says, and gets up, determined. Walks past the Seller, to the door behind, leading to the Gateway.

They wonder how they never realized. Or maybe they did, and were just lying to themselves that they didn't.

Lamb reaches the crater, with the rusted chains and wooden crucifixes rising out from the fog around it and comes to a halt.

Narinder is exactly where they left him.

Bones only now. Blackened by all the rituals he performed, he'd told them once; perfectly placed, like he had just fallen.

Lamb still has the ointment they made with their first cult sitting in the back of their cupboard, back when they were naive enough to think it would only take months. Ointment spelled to help grow back the fur on his rotting arms, worn to nothing by a thousand years of pulling at the chains and them tightening on him every time he moved in response.

The skull could be anyone's, now.

Two ribs are broken, where Lamb's axe went through. Straight to the heart.

Lamb exhales and shakily kneels to the ground, lowering himself to Narinder's side, careful to not dislodge a single bone out of place, and molds their body around the skeleton in a perverse mockery of a lover's embrace. Violently, abruptly, they want that, so much it burns- Narinder's arms holding the close one last time. It feels unbearable, to have- to have him lowered to meet Lamb at his level, to have him attainable instead of a towering, unreachable, terrible eldritch horror, and for him to be dead.

Oh, Lamb thinks, shaking as tears form in their eyes. Oh, I loved you. I love you.

"Darling," They choke out, tracing one cheekbone. "My baby. My one. My death. Come back, will you?"

Narinder opens his eyes and shoots them an unimpressed look. Lamb sobs, shoulders heaving, gasping as claws embed themselves in their throat- whole, complete, strong, paw soft as a cloud, faint markings on the fur Lamb never knew he had now drenched with blood.

They laugh, smiling through the tears as they push forward into the claws, flesh ripping and tearing as they push their mouth closer to Narinder's.

"I am sorry," They whisper. Narinder growls. "i love you."

"Traitor-"

"Fuck the crown," Lamb breathes back, moving to straddle Narinder to interrupt him, keeping the weight on their own knees to not damage his healing ribs. His claws are still in their throat, tangled in their stitches. "Fuck the power. Fuck the cult. Fuck religion. I only ever wanted you."

Narinder stills, looking up at them with sharp eyes. Lamb laughs around his beloved's fingers. "I only ever want you. What is life without you, Antim?"

Narinder studies them. Lamb waits, bloodied and grinning, patiently waiting, smitten to have those beautiful trifecta eyes upon them once more.

"I promised you," They whisper. "I promised to break you out of here. Let me, my one. My only one, who has waited so long."

Narinder takes a breath, tilting his chin down and then up. His claws twitch in Lamb's vocal chords, drawing them down closer to him.

Lamb whoops in joy and reaches up to toss the crown to the side, fitting their hooves to the last chain wrapped around Narinder's neck, binding him still to the Gateway, and splinters it into a thousand pieces, never to hold anyone ever again.

"Come," The Lamb whispers finally, moving back and gathering their lover up in their arms, still pressing their mouths together. "Let me take you home, Narinder. Mere jaan. Meri mrityu. My one."

Narinder sighs and buries his face in the crook of Lamb's neck as they start to walk away. "Turn back around, idiot. We cannot leave without the damned crown. And I am picking out the wedding decorations."

"Of course, my love," Lamb coos, and leans in again to kiss their greatest mistake.

[reallyhardydraws]

💙❤️💜it's their time!!! 💙❤️💜

commissions open!

[gadzooksgalore]

Depression has been kicking me in the butt lately so I decided to make a little pill bug friend for myself using this pattern by @livvi3love. I changed a couple details to fit my own preferences (like sewing the legs rather than using felt) and I'm very happy with the result! I've been wanting an isopod plushie for a while so it was fun to make my own :>

[radioactivemelody]

Did you know there are three different instances of Homura slapping someone so they could get their shit together? Yeah, I'll show it to you.

1. Madoka Magica Portable - Madoka

After Homura invades her bedroom again (don't let it bother you), Madoka rambles into a self-deprecatory spiral until Homura snaps her out of it by slapping her. Homura argues by saying despite her negative traits, that's what makes her a cute magical girl. For Madoka, that's not a compliment.

2. The Different Story - Mami 

Mami believes she’s undeserving of living because she is selfish and drops the act of being a heroine of justice. When Homura asks her if she wants to die, Mami basically sees a strand of hope of receiving her rightful punishment. Homura thinks otherwise, slaps her and tells her to get her shit together and keep living on. 

3. Scene0 - Mabayu 

Same as usual, Mabayu undermines herself as a fool for believing she could be friends with Sayaka, when, in reality, she was manipulating her heart to her advantage (even though she meant well). Homura slaps her and tells Mabayu that no matter what she does, time will restart anyways so she must not fall into despair because if she does, Homura will never forgive Mabayu for leaving her alone. 

She's aggressively caring lol