#scribbler scribbles

[kiriti-savyasachin]

Words that make a difference

For the lovely @humapkehaikaun in honour of her birthday. Many more happy returns of the day, Di!

Most of us have often heard it told

That words are wind, at best a comfort cold.

And perhaps, those who are strangers to her warm heart might indeed believe

That words have no import, that they are but a mask, a sieve.

In the throes of loneliness and friendships lost, I, too, believed much the same,

Before I met this graceful and lovely dame.

Words are indeed not enough

To express the difference her love and acceptance made thorough

For me, struggling as I am, too see myself in a good light,

Her words made more than a difference slight.

To the lovely person who thinks far less of herself than she is in truth,

Wishes for a year full of joy, light and moments fine and smooth.

May this year herald you for you all the joy

That you spread among all you know, never for a moment coy.

Happy birthday, didi!

All my love,

Nila.

[ambidextrousarcher]

Crowns of Gold, to Have and Hold-1

For @hum-suffer as a really, really late birthday present, but a timely Christmas present!

This is about 1.5 K words, therefore I am putting it under a cut.

I hope you enjoy this hastily written little piece and would like more of it!

Myrcellla hates her skirts. She always hates them, but never more than now, running behind her little brother. Tommen’s legs are tubby still, unlike hers, but these skirts of hers ruin it all the time.

Light gently heralds dawn, and Myrcella has to work to keep the sound of her steps down, lest one of the servants hear and tell mother of this. Mother always stresses the importance of curtailing one’s baser emotions and abhors the sight of tears.

But Tommen is her beloved younger brother, unlike Joffrey the terror, so she dares to raise her voice, even if it is only once. “Tommen!” Myrcella is lost for comforting words to follow his name, never having heard much of them. She resolves to try, nonetheless.

While she had been casting for words and for ways to keep her balance, she’d nearly lost sight of him. He bumps into a shadow which clinks of armor, and Myrcella winces. Mother will definitely know of this.

“Merda inferna,’- Myrcella has to giggle in spite of herself, for she knows enough to understand that those were curse words, not suitable for children. She wonders who has the consideration to swear in High Western, even when they sound quite tired and sleepy, when she recognises the speaker.

“Your Grace?” Tommen abandons all pretense of manly composure once he looks up and sees their uncle. “Uncle Jaime!”

Uncle Jaime holds Tommen close, wrapping him in his cloak, uncaring of his helm dropping from his hands. He finds a moment to give Myrcella a small smile. “What is the matter? What are you and your sister doing here at this time? Do you”- He’s saved from the trouble of asking further when Tommen, sniffling, mumbles, “Bad dream. Joff knifed Lady Boots. Again.” Uncle Jaime frowns. “Lady Boots?” “She is his cat,” pipes in Myrcella, trying to help.

“Joff knifed her?” He sounds almost horrified, something she had not expected from Uncle Jaime, for she thought he agreed with Mother on everything, and Mother was proud of Joff, no matter what.

“Joff did!” exclaims Tommen. “And mother was not even angry…she said he’s growing into his manhood. Is that what manhood is, uncle?” “It most definitely is not.” Uncle Jaime’s tone is clipped, curt. Tommen flinches. Myrcella takes a step, about to stand between them lest Uncle Jaime raise his hand to her brother against all reason, but Uncle Jaime sighs. “I am not angry at you,” he tells her brother gently. “I will have a word with Cersei, ensure the both of your safety, rest assured of that.” His words ring true, and Myrcella relaxes.

He does have a word with Mother. Myrcella can hear her mother’s voice shouting clearly, for all that the Septa tutting at her poor stitches is trying to distract her. “Remember that you are a knight of the Kingsguard, Ser. And they are my children. How dare you suggest that I am remiss! I am their mother, and I know best!” Uncle Jaime’s voice is too low to be heard, but the slap that follows rings clear, so loud that even the Septa drops her stitches. Mother’s voice stutters, lowered all of a sudden. “J-Jaime, listen…” she trails off. “Your Grace is too kind,” she hears Uncle Jaime’s voice reply, cool and smooth, lilting as always. “I see I must needs speak to His Grace.”

When Myrcella is able to hear Uncle Jaime’s footsteps, she too, tries to look as immersed in her stitches as the Septa does. She does not know what else to do.

However, Uncle Jaime is in front of her, facing the septa, and she dares to take a little peek up at him. He’s as charming as ever, smile wide on his face, beneath his helm. He manages to winkle Myrcella from her Septa for a while, bowing gallantly to both of them. The Septa actually blushes, and Myrcella giggles as he sweeps into another bow, this one only for her. “May I seek the honour of your company, your Grace?” he asks. Myrcella manages to remember her courtesies. “The honour is mine, good Ser.” She tries her best to sound grown up, but evidently she is not very successful, because Uncle Jaime laughs. Myrcella finds that she doesn’t mind. She likes hearing Uncle Jaime laugh.

It is only when they are on their way to the White Sword Tower that Myrcella realises she still has her mess of stitches clutched in her hands. That, however, is secondary. First, she needs to make sure uncle Jaime is fine. “Uncle Jaime,” she whispers. He stops. his steps in step with her own. “Yes?” “Are you…alright? Mother-she didn’t-she didn’t hurt you very badly, did she?”

Uncle Jaime looks startled for a moment. Then he laughs once more. “No, not at all. I’m quite used to it, to be honest. It’s nothing to worry about, ‘tis just a sibling spat. I am as I always am, Princess.” He doesn’t seem to be lying, but Myrcella doesn’t understand. Only Joffrey hit her and pulled at her hair, wasn’t that wrong? She shakes her head. He seems comfortable enough, so he must be right, she decides. She smiles back at him. “Cella,” she replies. “I’m Cella, not Princess, not to you. You may be a Kingsguard, Ser Uncle, but I am your niece first.”

Uncle Jaime averts his eyes from hers for a moment, then kneels in front of her. “Cella it is. And I am quite fond of Ser Uncle as a title as well,” he replies, laughter in his voice, though Myrcella doesn’t think she imagined the sheen in his liquid green eyes. “Alright, Ser Uncle it is!” she replies, offering no further comment. Men don’t like to be seen when they are emotional, and for so fine a knight, surely it must be even more of an insult.

His eyes are on her messy stitches. He snorts a little. “And what masterpiece, pray tell, is this?” She blushes. “Septa despairs at my stitches” she mumbles. “Is that so? Well, we can’t have that, can we? I suppose that is what we will do.” “What will we do?” she asks, curious. He winks at her. “Wait and see,” he replies, as they ascend the stairs to his chambers.

Uncle Jaime fiddles with his drawers, clearly looking for something. “Ah!” his quiet exclamation is triumphant. “I only have red, gold and white threads,” he tells her casually, looking once more at the mess she’d stitched, “but we can salvage most of this quite quickly.” Myrcella knows that she’s wide eyed. “You can stitch?” she exclaims. Uncle Jaime smiles with a shrug. “Quite a fair bit,” he replies, “and I suppose I’ll only get better with practice.” “How did you learn?” She is intrigued. She had thought that knights scoffed at womanly pursuits. “That is a story for another day, Cella,” answers Uncle Jaime. His deft hands unpick her stitches quickly. “We don’t have much time, do we? Your Septa would probably return soon from her prayers, and you will have to be returned to her tender hands.” She scoffs. “Your hands are far more tender than hers.” she grumbles. He raises an eyebrow, his eyes comically wide. “Mine?” he whispers, affecting awe, keeping his hands at the level of her eyes. “Surely you don’t mean these callused palms.” She nods, as regal as she could, and presses a kiss on each palm. “These indeed, Ser Uncle.” She answers with a grin. He laughs, his hands picking again at the stitches, somehow managing to straighten a few of them. “We’d make a fine troupe,” he laughs. “Unfortunately, not all songs I know are suitable for such fine ears as yours.” “Perhaps you could learn,” she ripostes.

Before he could reply, they are interrupted by a knock. “S-Ser L-Lan-Lannister?” Uncle Jaime gets to his feet, opening the door. “Aye. I’m not about to bite you, lad. Say what you will.” A boy stands without, his hair tousled, freckles standing against his fair skin. “S-Septa s-said that-that the Princess has her lessons. And-and the Lord Commander s-said that the King is in his chambers, should you wish to meet him.” Uncle Jaime nods, and turns to her. “Shall we, Princess Cella?” She puts on a sigh. “Must we, Ser Uncle?” He nods gravely. “Needs must, Princess. Fear not, however. Your knight shall be waiting for you.”

He takes her hand, pressing a kiss to it. “We would make a fine troupe!” she grins at him, her hand in his, his steps with hers, as they walk out of his room.

Note: The words Merda Inferna mean something along the lines of “damn it to hell” in Catalan, the language I base my hypothetical language of the West the most on, afaik. In my works, Jaime swears, when he does, in that language, because well, he’s around kids, I see as him doing it first for Tyrion’s young ears, and then the habit carried forward.

[chickensauras]

Hes gettin the latest gossip straight from their resident expert hater

[ambidextrousarcher]

Reposting on main, because hey, Ponniyin Selvan! For the first time in a long while.

Tagging @rdx-dcm @mizutaama @willkatfanfromasia and @harinishivaa just in case. Please ignore if you wish to.

Augusnippets Day 6: Path of Whumperless Whump- Shipwreck

AND

Augusnippets Day 7: Path of Hurt- Drowning

New characters belonging to a new fandom, while still catching up with @augusnippets prompt fills.

Day 6: Path of Whumperless Whump- Shipwreck

and

Day 7: Path of Hurt- Drowning

Context: Two warring dynasties of Indian History, specifically Tamizh history, Chozha and Pandya, feature here. Pandya assassins want to capture the Chozha Prince, who swims to their ship in the middle of a storm as they had captured one of his friends. All of this happens in the middle of a storm that is a prelude to what could be a tsunami. Poonkuzhali is a young boatwoman with a crush on the Chozha Prince Arulmozhivarman who accompanied him on her boat to lead him to the ship which captured his friend. (This fic is closer to film than book canon)

Note on the Tamizh

Illavarase: My Prince

Illavarasar: the Princea

Athai: aunt

Tagging @ba-bhump

The Pandya projectiles burst into flame on the stricken ship Poonkuzhali paddles furiously towards it, hoping and praying that the Prince survives unscathed.

Vandiyathevan’s voice cuts through the wind, insistent in its urgency. “Ilavarase!” Poonkuzhali dares to look towards them, beyond. the clashing waves. Both men are clinging to what used to be the mast of the proud Chozha vessel, now ravaged with fire and storm, splintering into pieces.

Ilavarsar Arulmozhivarman’s hands nearly slip, at risk of breaking the precarious hold he had on the wood. Poonkuzhali averts her eyes from the sight, unable to bear the thought of him losing the fight.

Arulmozhi holds on tight to Vandiyathevan’s hand, the other man doing the same with his as the deluge of water swallows them. Both of them try striking out at the water, but, fast losing strength with the shivers setting in, for the moment at the very least, Arulmozhi can fight no more.

The Pallava sailors, watching the sight, can only think of one ending to the incident. News spreads like fire of the Kingdom’s beloved young Prince, the apple of their eye, being lost forever, and a nation mourns.

In the depths of the sea, the mute woman, now old and worn, strongly holds the child of her heart close, paddling strongly, aided by his friend. Worry arises in her for the ceaseless shivering the child has, wondering where to turn for aid, when she spies the beacon of hope.

Poonkuzhali’s face splits into a wide grin when she spots the familiar visage of her athai, Vandiyathevan paddling wearily behind. Looking more closely at athai, her smile widen as she rushes forth eagerly. Her Prince. His chest moves in the glorious gasps of heavy breaths. Real, tangible and alive.

[termagax]

I didn't think I'd get this far...okay picture this... Fishboy begs roadhog to give him a piercing but 🐟 keeps squirming Everytime the needle gets close. Roadhog uses one hand to hold their head still and tell them to "quit your squealing" and fishies like "sorry I'm a little scared of a 8 foot tall road warrior holding a sharp object near my face" and hog just laughs and says "scared? This is nothing piglet" and pulls out his cock which has at least three big shinny studs along the shaft

screwed around with the dialogue a little but errrrrrrrm

[ghostpressure]

layers + her-shapes

[bea-beast2007]

The Scribblers

Dottie and Bernard are Andreas’ parents. Andreas was Born in early 1975.

Heidi and Andreas were in a relationship for 7 years (married for 4) but divorced in 2001. They had one child during their relationship, Klaus Scribbler.

Andreas then went on to marry Maria Tanaka Pereira, a Japanese Brazilian woman who was also a former member of the singing group Popping Candies. Maria has since retired from the industry and works as a baker in a bakery

[mitamicah]

The full Scribbler Out project but with a twist; now the boys are wearing their own faces x'D

The last few months I've had fun drawing these traditional ink drawings of Joker Out in an abstract, scribble style. For my mind's eye they sort of look like a badass shirt design so I had all the boys wear it (was easier to "just" draw it than actually make it happen irl but who knows maybe I'll get it as physical shirts and try my luck some day x'D)

You can find the boys one by one (except Jance) next to the original artwork below

[faffreux]

scribbling scribbler

[pikozumo]

⚡⚡!! BRUSH DROP !! ⚡⚡

Scritchy scratchy scribble brush for my CSP girlies! 💅 !! Tag me if u use this thang!! 👽 link below ⬇️ ⬇️ ⬇️

[hoodienanami]

a short comic written and drawn by 15 year old Mark Jay for Record Mirror, a British music magazine, sometime in 1977 about Sex Pistols lead singer Johnny Rotten

despite how young Jay was at the time, Record Mirror employed him as their 'scribbler in chief' as he refers to himself. but he got his start in 1976 with a fanzine called SKUM that let him meet and hang out with members of his favorites bands. Jay was even allowed to ride along with the Sex Pistols during their famous anti-monarchy protest concert on the Thames River on June 7th 1977

here's Jay chatting with Sex Pistols drummer Paul Cook during the calm before the concert

and to show he doesn't play favorites, here's a comic Jay scribbled about The Clash. its meant to be telling the story of their creation but plays pretty fast and loose with the truth...which is pretty on brand for anything related to The Clash

Jay's fanzine SKUM published the first ever interview with Sid Vicious on the behest of Joe Strummer and the first ever interview with Shane MacGowen who at the time was a fellow fanzine creator and just getting his start in music with his first band The Nipple Erectors. later on Malcolm McLaren asked Jay to whip up a poster for the Sex Pistols debut LP. it was because of that poster that Jay got hired at Record Mirror!

if you want to learn more about Mark Jay, check out his website here. if you want to see more of his work for SKUM, check out what's been archived on the fansite God Save The Sex Pistols here

and here's a picture of Viv Albertine that Jay's friend took that was published in SKUM. it's one of my favorite pictures of her. she's very bored if you can't tell

[dramatic-dolphin]

was sitting at a desk in the classroom that had calls for help scribbled on it such as "HELL" "KILL ME" "SOS" and for some reason "Arwen ♥︎ Aragorn". i feel you, unknown desk-scribbler. i understand you.

[amostdelectablescribbler]

Not done a writeblr intro in a while, and i’ve changed up the style a lot.

I am a most delectable scribbler, known to the moots as Scribbly. I have been known by many names before, and i’m committing to the classic.

I write things. Sometimes. I got exams and hobbies so time is sparse between sit-downs to write specifically. I can draw, too. Not well.

Other things that may need to be known:

1- If it sounds mean, please know i’m saying it and lookin’ like this:

2- jinx is a precious scrunkly and you cannot tell me otherwise.

3-

My wips have intros already, go find them if you wanna read ‘em, i’ll put links and tags:

Steel Horses and Hot Irons: #sthi

Beast of Burden: i swear to god i have tried to find the link and the tag but i can’t for the life of me. I’ll do another intro later for it. Wish i could pin multiple posts to my dash.

And THESE are the moots!

@squarebracket-trick <—shit a brick but i luv ya to death so don’t. We’ve been doing this bit for 6 months now.

@silverslipstream <—doesn’t exist. Just gone.

@tea-and-mercury <—serotonin.

@leisoree <—serotonin 2: electric boogaloo

@forg-plushie looks like this scrubgus little thing

@stesierra <— actually writes good

@harleyacoincidence <- you get a cool arrow because you’re cool

@etherealatheling <- truly a connoisseur of the “finer arts” hahaha naw i’m just teasing you’re grand luv ya.

[premtattva]

Ahmm...Ahmm!!!

so, haanji

I'm Aadya aur this will be my first ever post to be precise.

I'm an amateur writer naa ji naa writer nahi, I'm a scribbler - one who scribbles down the khayali pulao and some broken musings originally belonging to her mastishk. i love writing

so, hum soch rahe the ki.... if you all could kindly suggest me a PEN NAME??? aap sabke bahot bahot shukraguzaar honge >>>✨🌺🌙📿

Tags:

@azure-cherie @swayamev @janaknandini-singh999 @kanhaiyapriya @the-sound-ofrain @bharatiya-naari-sab-pe-bhaari @oyeevarnika @vidhi-ka-vidhaan @tumharimummykibahu @idkwhatimdoingherebutitsfun @deviika @ramayantika @ashru-premika @ji-jii-visha @krsnaradhika @navaratna @notanastrologer @dumdaradumdaradum @scribblesbyavi @kurja-tales @everythingthemoontouches

[cigarettes-and-black-eyeliner]

i'm the maudlin scribbler because sometimes I scribble and I'm kinda maudlin and so are my scribbles

[cuboidcodex]

Cassidy scribble

I originally went all out with colours, but ended up liking the b&w version way more. Also experimenting with a looser, scribbler style at the moment so we’ll see how that goes.