#smudged red ink

[smudged-red-ink]

Picrew chain

I found this and it's adorable, so--

No pressure tag:

@igotthisaccountunderduress @shadow-of-tea-and-tea @smallgear @halcyon-and-elysian @clever-naming-convention @clavateur @holdmyteaplease @shadows-in-sunlight @juuzou-rei-suzuya-13 @hansenesque @holdingamelody @the-ellia-west @hachi-qo @keysandopenmind @rainsleeper @bargainbincheese

[smudged-red-ink]

I am so hungry, anyone want to make these for me? Pretty please?

[birdsong-warriors]

My nephew requested a Firestar for his birthday today, and this is what I could do with the limited markers and paper I had. He seems happy with it, at least!

[aimless-aimz]

GAZE OF THE DESTROYER

practice with ink nibs. a few mistakes here and there, but i think the messiness gives it its charm!

[smudged-red-ink]

It is, unfortunately, not, but I shall reblog anyway

[the-dye-stained-socialite]

my besties

[rainsleeper]

best life advice, go.

Honestly, not a very good life advice person.. uhm... do the homework as soon as you get it?

[localgardenweed]

Bringing back my silly Hetalia AU again

[smudged-red-ink]

You'd think Dinsey would've learned to listen to Brittney Lee's designs by now. She nailed Frozen, she was on the right track here too.

Man, it killed me when I read Allison Moore's quote. The emotional journey we gave up with human Star would've been so good if they were actually soulmates.

Early visual development for Wish (2023) by Griselda Sastrawinata-Lemay and Brittney Lee.

An earlier version of the film saw Star take on a human form as a magical, glowing character inspired by Peter Pan. Ultimately, the creative team reconceptualized Star as an ethereal, playful entity resembling Mickey Mouse. "Now Star and Asha have an emotional journey. They are soulmates." -Allison Moore.

[amaranthinespirit]

cowboy!simon riley and city girl!reader when your car breaks down on the side of the road in the countryside

you weren't from around here, it was obvious in the way you dressed, and acted. hell, even the car you drove just screamed that you were from the city.

though if that didn't give it away, maybe it was the fact that your tiny little car was now parked—broken down—on the side of the road. a hand on your hip and the other wiping the sweat from your forehead as the blistering sun beat down on you.

you were convinced you were royally fucked—that you would be stuck to a night in your car. there wasn't any service, and there sure as hell wasn't anyone around.

at least that's what you thought until a massive, dirtied truck pulled off the road in front of your car. you swallowed a knot in the back of your throat that only travelled down to your stomach as you watched a tall, intimidating guy step out from the battered vehicle. his boots kicked against the road, scraping the tiny, loose rocks on the asphalt.

a cowboy hat hung low on his head, a fully black bandana tied around his face that covered his nose and lips, leaving only his dark, daunting eyes to sear into yours. his thumb hooked through the denim belt loop of his jeans, his other arm swaying by his side as he walked to the front of your car, which looked pathetically small next to his.

a quick look under the hood told him all he needed to know—with you and the car. he saw the way your eyes seemed to linger on his exposed arms after he had rolled up his sleeves. the dirt smudges along his skin, the dark ink of his tattoo and the veins that strained as he tinkered through the different parts of your car.

he claimed that he could fix it tomorrow—he didn't have the tools with him! he claimed, but really, they were lying in the bed of his truck, but he didn't want to let such a pretty little thing like you go so quickly. he wanted to have a bit of fun first!

so he offered you a nice stay at his little farmhouse, with the promise of warm food and a comfortable bed to sleep on, and who were you to resist? it was either that, or sleep in the backseat of your car—and you knew which one you would've preferred.

"fuck, such a pretty little thing, ain't ya?" he praises with a beer in one hand, the other veined hand wrapped up in your silky hair, helping your body in pulling back into his cock. the couch creaked and rocked under the consistent shifting weight as he pistoned his hips forward.

the rocking of his hips was restrained in order to not spill his beer—otherwise he would've loved to completely wreck you on his meaty cock.

"gon' hafta keep ya around, ain't tha' right?" he grunted before taking a swift sip from the bottle.

when the beer got to the end of the bottle and he set the glass down, you were in trouble. with a swift movement, he had pulled out enough so only the angry tip of his cock teased your hole, slick with your arousal before driving his bulbous dick back into your sensitive pussy.

his hips pounded against your ass, turning your flesh red as the sound of skin slapping together carried through the house. his balls slapping against your glistening pussy with every slamming thrust, the sensation making your eyes roll back. he was determined to make a mess of you—more so than he already did.

his fist clenched harder around your hair as the other went to your shoulder, a bruising grip against your flesh. he growled at the mindless moans spilling from your lips, only making him even more driven to fuck you brainless.

and don't worry, he will.

[allium-phyrzz]

eye of the beholder's eye

[smudged-red-ink]

Yo I just saw princess mononoke for the first time last night and man:

The little white forest creatures with holes in their faces

Lady Eboshi's perfect non-villany.

The way you can viscerally feel Ashitaka's fear as he braces himself for inevitable death after the forest spirit doesn't heal the demon's wound.

The fact that the women of the Iron City are able to be utterly ridiculous but also extremely competent at the same time

Ashitaka's quiet: "Don't make me kill you" when he's trying to get the forest spirit's head back from Jibo

The messages about blind hate and rivalry.

Just ahtrfyguhijokplasdgfgfqdwdefdsbv c

Forget blockbusters, let's go back to the good stuff

[smudged-red-ink]

Okay but there is so much mutual respect in this picture. They look like old friends meeting after one has returned from a long battle.

In my head the white one is older, a seasoned warrior haunted every day by the ghosts of his past battles, even as he continues to do his duty. The younger one, Brown, grew up watching and admiring White's work, but he did not understand White's pain. When he was called to war he seized the chance with enthusiasm and set off in pursuit of glory.

Brown has returned now, but only for a brief visit. His family and friends greated him back open arms and warm meals and familiar jokes, but although he smiled back, their welcome felt empty.

Their jokes were too witless to make him laugh. Their meals were too rich. Their embraces felt like a trap. It isn't their fault; the Brown who left for war would have relished the attention, but he isn't that Brown any more. All he feels now is tired.

But there is no time to rest. He will have to set out again soon. The war is far from over, and he is fresh compared to so many of the warriors. Brown must return, he must fight, so that the people back home can continue to laugh and feast and embrace one another with out fear.

So Brown will go willingly. But ohh, how he dreads it.

He spies White across the field. The older warrior is home for a reprieve as well, his mind bracing for the next round of fighting. Brown sees it in him as clearly as if White said it aloud.

They go to each other. They don't say anything, but press their foreheads together.

I understand now.

It isn't long now before the horn will call them back to the field. And when it does Brown and White will obey. They will go, and they will fight until they can't fight anymore.

It's likely they will never see each other again.

But the horn has not sounded yet. So for one precious moment, they will rest here together.

[thesecondhandwoman]

(SPOILERS FOR ACT THREE)

JINX’S DEATH

Sevika x f!reader

Synopsis: Only days after Isha’s death, Sevika learned that Jinx’s followed, leaving her without any found family left. She hasn’t been dealing with any of it in a healthy manner, especially with everything changing. It came to the extent where you, her girlfriend, and new second-in-command, to step in and comfort her.

The dim light of Zaun’s flickering neon signs seeped through the cracks in the dilapidated windows of Sevika’s apartment. The once-vibrant buzz of the Undercity felt muted now, like the soul had been stripped from it. Zaun had always been chaotic, a blend of raw, unfiltered energy. But without her—without Jinx—it felt deader than dead, even before Silco’s death.

Sevika sat at her cluttered workbench, a half-empty bottle of whiskey in one hand and a delicate, half-finished gadget in the other. The gadget was unmistakably Jinx’s handiwork—chaotic, colorful, and covered in erratic doodles. Sevika stared at the swirling patterns painted on the surface, her thumb brushing over the smudged ink, as if she could bring back the touch of the one who made it.

Jinx was gone.

Her sacrifice haunted Sevika more than she cared to admit. The girl had been a thorn in her side for years—a chaotic storm that tore through Zaun, Silco’s operations, and Sevika’s patience with equal fervor. But Jinx was also a constant. A force of nature who had wormed her way into Sevika’s hardened heart.

When Silco had first brought Powder, soon-to-be Jinx, into their world, Sevika had scoffed at the pathetic child. “Another stray,” she had muttered under her breath. But even back then, she’d felt a begrudging sense of responsibility.

Someone had to keep the kid from blowing herself up—or taking half of Zaun with her.

Over the years, Sevika had watched Jinx grow. From a scared, fragile girl clinging to her trauma to the unpredictable force of chaos she became. She had rolled her eyes at the paint splattered across the walls, grumbled about the smoke from her makeshift workshop, and cursed the noise of Jinx’s endless tinkering. Yet, she never turned her away.

Sevika had acted indifferent, cold even, but deep down, she had cared. She’d cared enough to shield Jinx from Silco’s wrath when her impulsive actions jeopardized a mission. She’d cared enough to sit in the corner of Jinx’s workshop, silently smoking, while the girl rambled on about her newest “masterpiece.” And in the end, she’d cared enough to mourn.

Jinx had died saving her sister, Vi, and taking out Warwick—the monstrous creation of Viktor’s twisted experiments with Arcane energy. It was a choice that had shocked Sevika to her core. Jinx, the girl who had burned bridges and built bombs, had chosen to sacrifice herself for the sister who had left her behind.

The irony wasn’t lost on Sevika. She had spent years trying to shield Jinx from pain, from betrayal, and from herself. And now, there was nothing left to protect.

Sevika didn’t hear you come in. She never did these days. She was too lost in her grief to notice much of anything. You paused in the doorway, taking in the sight of her slumped over the workbench. The lines on her face seemed deeper now, her strong frame weighed down by an invisible burden.

“Sevika,” you said softly.

She didn’t turn, but her shoulders tensed at the sound of your voice.

You crossed the room and placed a hand on her shoulder. “You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?” Her voice was rough, edged with irritation, but it lacked the bite it once held.

“Punishing yourself.” You gently pried the gadget from her hand and set it aside. “She wouldn’t want this.”

Sevika barked a bitter laugh. “What the hell do you know about what she’d want?”

You flinched at her harshness, but you didn’t pull away. Instead, you knelt beside her, forcing her to look at you. Her dark eyes were rimmed with red, tears threatening to spill over. It was a rare sight—Sevika, the unshakable enforcer, brought to her knees by grief.

“She wouldn’t want you to drown in this,” you said softly, but it held some firmness. “She’d want you to keep living, if not for yourself, then for her...”

Sevika shook her head, the tears finally breaking free. She groaned at the way they trailed down her cheeks, creating streaks along her brown skin.

“She was just a kid, just like Isha. She deserved better.”

You reached up, cupping her face in your hands. “She had you,” you whispered. “You gave her better.”

Sevika’s resolve crumbled at your words. She pulled you into her arms, clutching you like a lifeline. You held her as she broke, her sobs echoing through the small apartment. It was a raw, unguarded moment, and you knew how much it had cost her to let you see it.

“She drove me insane,” Sevika choked out between sobs. “But… she was my family.”

You ran your fingers through her hair, grounding her. “And you were hers.”

“Please don’t leave me like they did..” She whispered, nearly begging. “Please don’t leave me alone.”

You held her closer and gently kissed her temple before whispering: “I won’t.”

[ennabear]

gas station!ellie giving you a stick and poke tattoo after she notices you ogling her knuckle tattoos. getting the words “lets fuck” tattooed on her fingers was a spontaneous decision she made when she turned twenty, but she’s oh-so proud of it.

you’re proud of it too, the way they’re usually complimented by the cutest light red indents or copper smudges from the rings she wears to cover them up, especially in front of her boss.

she’s gently holding your arm in her hands, a blue ballpoint pen scribbling pretty constellations that trail from your wrist to your elbow. she slides her hands lower until your fingers intertwine with hers, sketching the letters E and W on your middle and ring fingers.

you giggle, your cheeks heating up. “i wish it was permanent.”

“it could be…” she says.

so now she’s got a needle resting in between her fingers, a half full ink cup next to you on the countertop, and an idiotic grin on her face.

“it might hurt,” she warns. “but i’ll kiss it better when i’m done.”

“ellie, just do it already.” you smile.

she dips the needle into the ink, bringing it up to your knuckles and gently etching her initials into your skin. although it’s not the most comfortable, the pain isn’t too unbearable. or maybe it’s because you have the sweetest, most lovestruck tattoo artist in the world.

once she’s done, she takes a paper towel and douses in rubbing alcohol, gently swiping it over your knuckles.

“sorry, baby.” ellie frowns as you wince at the sting.

you smile down at her, “this is even better than a wedding ring.”