#some light shadow work this evening

[purplecatghostposts]

Senticousins Sun-Moon metaphors except both of them think they’re the moon and the other is the sun. Do you see my vision.

[jennilah]

Gloves

[homehauntsyou]

i think a lot about the idea of sam’s relationship to sh (both the widely recognized types and the more subtle types). in my mind it would start as a sort of self-punishment (pre-series after a hunt that doesn’t go well and he finds the pain of an injury grounding / reminding) and then continues it as a combination of punishment & cleansing until s7, where it would transfer over into pain as a connection to reality / control over his body (he’s getting scars from hunting but he’s getting more scars from himself so that means more in the end). s8 would kind of be a movement back into the cleansing state of mind (embracing & valuing the pain from the trials) but post-09x10 would very firmly be about re-finding security within his body. anyways the sam in my head has sh scars

[puppetmaster13u]

have a very early wip of a tea party :>

This is @phoenixcatch7 's Possessed Doll Au

[averlym]

ghostwriter (their grandma would tell them she'd lose half her soul)

[anxiously-sidequesting]

This blog is my house so I can say basically whatever I want but I know I have some esteemed guests and friends who come over a lot and some lurkers who peer into the windows so all my wildest ass wizard shit stays in the locked basement where it belongs because it's common courtesy 💖

[pumaskulls]

Boa honey, I've had you as a concept for like a week at most and I'm already in love with you fr

[robo-dino-puppy]

hfw: burning shores | aloy 21/?

[turnedpalefromlackofsun]

wow this art is so beautiful this artist is so good at colors

they must be a final fantasy 14 player

i check their profile

they are a final fantasy 14 player

[unproduciblesmackdown]

getting gnc with it out & about at math meetup (or wherever)

[p2iimon]

drawing more furry fnaf art. yknow just to keep you posted. i love posting in the tags sorry these ones got away from me

[blindecho6]

[hyperfixated-homo]

not rlly that proud of this but. littol bloo sketch

[whumpfish]

Being a whumpling is when your class goes to see a joint exhibition of impressionism and expressionism, and they tell you to write down your favorite painting and why

And people are picking Monet's water lilies and Degas's dancers for their beauty and serenity and dreamy execution

But your ass goes "Chaim Soutine's 'Side of Beef and Calf's Head' because of its raw energy and unflinching challenge to the banality of fruit bowl still lifes"

Edit: idk why I forgot to include it in the initial post but here y'all go

[vamqiredove]

tempted to redesign Tae [ the oc/sona thang in my pinned post over on main ] again to have more piercings and maybe some tattoos and just use her as a gender goalpost LOL

[lvrsfilm]

Lieutenant Simon Riley has a favorite nurse. She's sweet as sugar and polite, stitching up every bloodied soldier with gentle words and touches so light they barely feel the push and pull of the suturing. Appreciative, whether they return the soft conversation or not. He likes the way she floats around the medical wing, the way she smiles softly at everyone, even him. He's sure she knows what he's been doing, but she isn't stopping him, so he assumes she doesn't mind.

Every morning, without fail she gets up and comes into the wing in a different colored pair of scrubs. A new color every day, never the same one twice in a week. She sits at the front desk or at another station somewhere around and sips a can of ginger ale through a straw, pretending she doesn't see Simon's eyes on her while she works.

"Wha's it t'day?" Simon says gruffly as he approaches her, bypassing the other nurses almost completely. "Blackberry," She says softly, looking up at him and displaying the can. He takes a look at her scrubs, and of course, they're a dark purple, matching the can. It suits her, he thinks. Not an obnoxious shade, one that matches her skin tone well. "Good?" He asks her, like he always does. "Not my favorite,' she says as she sets the can back down. He hums lowly in reply as his eyes linger on the fabric of her scrubs, the way the cloth dips over her soft curves.

"You hurt?" She asks him cheekily, "Or just taken an interest in the medical field?" He grunts, pulling his eyes away from her scrubs and meeting her own. "Nae," He says lowly. "Just passing by," he adds, shoving his gloved hands into his pockets to keep from touching her. Or reaching out to smooth out a wrinkle in her clothing, or tucking some of her hair behind her ear.

He doesn't know what else to say, wanting to keep her attention on him. "Suits ya," He ends up saying softly, trying to sound as gruff as possible, but his eyes are trained on hers, his hazel eyes staring into her own irises. "The purple." He grumbles, cursing inwardly because why is he acting like he's never spoken to a pretty bird before?

"Thank you, Lieutenant." She says sweetly, a nice red tinting the apples of her cheeks. Simon shifts his weight from one foot to the other, unsure what to say next. Small talk hasn't ever been his strong suit, but walking away feels wrong, like cutting a thread that’s barely started to weave.

"You sure you're alright?" she asks again, but this time there's something softer in her voice. A note of genuine curiosity, her hands stilling on her keyboard. "You don’t usually linger this long."

He scowls—not at her, but at himself for being so obvious. "Dinnae know I was bein’ timed," he mutters, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets.

She chuckles, the sound low and warm. "You’re not. Just... noticed, is all." Her gaze flicks over him, quick and subtle, like she’s trying to piece him together without openly prying. She's familiar with Simon, knows how private he is. "Busy morning?"

He shrugs. "Same as usual. Training, Paperwork."

Her lips quirk upward in a faint smile, but there’s a shadow of worry behind her eyes. "Sounds like you could use a break."

"Aye," he says gruffly, a hand leaving his pocket to scratch at the base of his balaclava. "Reckon this is it."

Her smile softens at that, and for a moment, neither of them speaks. There’s a weight in the air, something unspoken that presses against his chest, and hers. He wants to say more, to keep her talking, but the words are tangled up in his throat.

"Y’know," she says after a pause, "I think purple might actually suit you too."

His brows furrow softly, squinting at her a bit behind the mask, and for a split second, he wonders if she’s teasing him. But her expression is sincere, her eyes glinting with a quiet kind of amusement.

"Me?" he scoffs, shaking his head. "Don’t reckon that’s in regulation."

She shrugs lightly, leaning against the desk. "Wouldn’t hurt to try. Maybe a mask or something. Just a little color." There’s a playful glint in her eyes now, and he feels the corner of his mouth twitch despite himself.

"Don’t think I’d pull it off," he mutters, though there’s a faint warmth creeping up his neck, hidden by the black fabric.

"I disagree," she says softly, and the weight of her gaze feels heavier than before. He looks at her then, really looks, and finds himself rooted to the spot.

"You always this cheeky with the patients?" he grumbles, trying to mask the fact that she’s gotten under his skin.

"Only the ones who hover around the nurses' station without a good excuse," she quips, her smile widening just a fraction. "But I don’t mind. You’re welcome anytime, Lieutenant."

His heart gives a traitorous thump at her words, but he swallows it down and grunts in reply. "I’ll hold ya to that," he says, his voice rougher than he intends.

As he turns to leave, her voice calls him back again, soft and lilting. "Oh, and Simon?"

He stops dead in his tracks. She’s never used his name before. Slowly, he turns his head to glance at her, his hazel eyes locking onto hers.

"Next time," she says, lifting her can of ginger ale in a mock toast, "you could at least bring one of these to share."

His lips twitch into something dangerously close to a smile. "Aye," he murmurs, his voice low. "I’ll see what I can do."

And as he walks out of the wing, he finds himself already wondering what color she’ll be wearing tomorrow.