#this was supposed to be a simple sketch page

[nemisisnemi]

Leona Kingscholar? more like Leona STINKscholar/j

close ups underneath + click on the drawings for higher quality!

pls dont decimate my quality tumblr pls dont decimate my quality tumblr pls dont decimate my quality tumblr-

[icewindandboringhorror]

Pages from trying to keep a little sketchbook-scrapbook type thing going for two weeks lol. I gave myself specific rules in hopes they might all end up more cohesive/consistent seeming, but alas, scribbly chaos reigns, it seems

[eluriart]

Inktobertale Day 13- Immortal

Ink belongs to comyet

CORE!Frisk belongs to dokudoki

[kiemiu]

𝓒𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝓞: 𝓝𝐞𝐰 𝓕𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

pairing kang sae-byeok x fem!reader | wc: 1.8k

summary -> the kids being preoccupied left you room to become friendly with the newcomer, kang cheol before his sister makes an appearance for a quick visit. warnings -> injuries (?)

( beneath the quiet masterlist )

12:33PM

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 gave you more time to spend with the kids while your mother was out running errands. You never had a full grasp on what she did on those errands, always returning with more junk than she had left with, always leaving the bulk of it all in the trunk of her car for you to carry in. Even at such a young age you could feel your bones aching and your back practically begging for a break as you carried in pile after pile of magazines. Never knowing what she did with them, or why she had so many, but also never being curious enough to ask.

A huff of exhaustion yet relief left you after plopping the last stack of magazines in front of her door, twisting and turning parts of your body to release any tension before you went back to supervising the kids. Turning your head in a slow circle until your eyes landing on the halfway open door to the art room. The top of a head picking in and out of the crack, scattered papers with markers all over the floor. It didn't take you long to realize it was Cheol. After breakfast and a short lesson, he asked to retire to his room because he wasn't feeling the best, not in need of a nurse or tea that you offered but just wanting to sleep.

You knew how hard of an adjustment it must've been for him to be dropped off in the middle of his adolescents. So many questions could be going through his head, mainly wondering why? And as you think back to his older sister you can't help but wonder what type of hardship they might've been through at such a young age.

The bleak weariness that overtook their forms showed that the past hadn't been kind to them, and even in the safety net of an orphanage they still kept their walls up high. Being self-preserved and reluctant to bond to those around, as if at any moment the world around them would start to crumble, and their efforts to build anything other than a simple acquaintanceship would be futile when it's all said and done.

Without a second thought you made your way over to him, giving the crowded play room a mere glance to make sure the kids were behaving appropriately before making your way inside the art room.

A few gentle knocks were placed on the door before you slowly made your way in, even with the intention of being subtle, you still managed to frighten him, his body jumping before he backed into the leg of a table. A junction of apologies leaving your lips as you slowly made your way towards, your hands held out as you approached as if he was an injured animal.

"I just wanted to see what you were up to." you quietly whisper, bending down far enough to pick up a piece of a paper he colored on. His once rigid form slowly relaxed, scooting himself closer and closer to you when he realized you didn't pose a threat.

The picture messily drawn showing three people in front of a house standing and holding hands with big smiles. "Who's this supposed to be?" You asked, turning the page toward him, having the smallest hint of who it might be.

"Me, my sister, and my mom." he clarified, beginning to draw on another piece of paper, his eyes never leaving the page even as he dropped a marker to pick up another one. You didn't want to press the issue, thinking of all of the possible outcomes that could've led him to end up here, instead settling for a hum of approval and a meek "You draw very well."

A small smile creeped on his face at your compliment, the rapidly moving hand that sketched across the paper halting as he slowly looked up at you. "You wan' me to draw you?" his head slightly tilting to the side, his doe eyes gleaming with something adventurous.

You reciprocated his smile, before nodding, offering to draw him as well, leaving your mother to supervise the other group of rowdy children on her lonesome, you were sure she could handle herself.

As you drew each other on the floor of the art room, you exchanged your likes and dislikes, foods you hated and adored, and your all time favorite tv shows. Small laughs being exchanged between you two, while a light weight lifted off of your shoulders to see him fully relax into the atmosphere. His posture eased and his babbling nonstop, cutting himself off between sentences to tell another story than the other one he told, which was something you also did when you got too excited.

Just as he was in the middle of telling a story, two short and rapid knocks broke through the tranquil bubble created between you two. Looking over your shoulder, your eyes slightly widening at the sight of his sister, standing placid, her face wearing the same exhausted yet impassive expression she wore last time.

Cheol gasped before lifting himself off of the floor and running towards her, his arms locking around her waist as one of her hands rested on the top of his head, messily combing her fingers through his flat locks. "We were just talking about you, noona!" he exclaimed, his toothy grin looking up at her as he rested his chin on her lower abdomen, arms still locked tightly around her waist.

A flash of confusion crossed her face, her eyebrow lifting up only for a split second before returning to her regular stony composition. "You were?" she asked, the tilt of her head similar to the way Cheol had completed the action earlier. Although different in looks you could tell they were related by the allusive mannerisms, even the way they talked occasionally reminding you of the other.

You lifted yourself off of the floor, dusting the sides and back of your pants off before slowly making your way over. "He was just telling me a story on how you taught him how to ride a bike." you clarified for him. A grin creeping on your face as you recalled him telling you she wasn't the best teacher at the time, the longest she'd been on a bike no longer than 10 seconds as she always ended up losing her balance.

Sae-byeok's gaze fell from yours to her little brothers, a ghost of a smile tugging on her lips for a split second before disappearing as her head turned over to the ruckus of the playroom next door.

You didn't mean to stare, but your eyes couldn't help but lock onto the visible scar on her neck, something you hadn't noticed the first time you saw her. Your head tilting the slightest to gaze at it. It was a faded pinkish color, a whisper of a tragedy etched into her skin for life, just barely being covered by the stray hairs falling from her pulled back low ponytail.

It felt as if you were underwater, falling into a trance of your eyes trailing the visible parts of her body to see any other unmarked scars that you had missed at first glance. Her hands barely concealed yet the scratches and traces of dried blood on the knuckles shined a brighter light on who she was. Her fingers long, slender, and littered in bruises, making you wonder what she could've done to sustain such injuries.

The way her hands consciously slipped deeper inside the sleeves of her jacket to conceal her hands didn't go unnoticed, and as if you were pulled from the suffocating waves of the ocean, you heard Sae-Byeok's voice come into view.

"Why aren't you playing with the other kids?" she asked, your eyes catching hers for a second before they diverted to Cheol who was still gripped onto her tightly. He hummed in response, not wanting to tell his sister that he was afraid.

Afraid of what the other kids would think about him, how they would treat him if he spoke too much, and if they'd see him differently if he was truly himself.

"Um, I just wanted to color." he murmured, his eyes avoiding his sisters, his hands resorting to latching onto her wrists, swinging them back and forth to keep himself occupied from having to meet her gaze, knowing that she can read him like a book.

You saw Sae-byeok tense, her face cringing at the sudden pressure around her wrists, but quickly masking it with a frown. Her mouth opened to question him but was abruptly interrupted by Cheol. "Oh, Miss Kim, Can I show noona what we were drawing together?" He suddenly asked, his head turning towards you, a hopeful gleam in his eyes.

You nodded, your eyes abashedly meeting Sae-Byeok's for a split second. "Of course, and if you want you can color with your noona in the visitor area." you offered, already gathering the sheets of paper off of the floor and bending down to throw markers back into their bin.

You smiled as he quickly nodded his head up and down, quickly scattering down to the floor to help you clean the mess you made together. "Will you join us?" Cheol suddenly asked after gathering the multitude of supplies, holding the bin of coloring items with both of his hands, occasionally using his knee to keep it from slipping.

You opened your mouth to answer but was soon interrupted by the yell of your mother calling your name. A small sorrowful smile making its way onto your face, "I don't think I'll be able to..maybe some other time, yeah?" you query, holding the now neat stack of papers close to your chest.

Cheol nodded, his smile still never slipping as he made his way back over to Sae-Byeok.

You held the papers out for her to take, not wanting to pile too much onto Cheol, only then being close enough to realize the noticeable height difference, she practically towered over you, her head having to slightly tilt down if she wanted to maintain eye contact.

Her eyes stayed trained on yours, eyelids fluttering at the smallest graze of her fingertips against yours as she took the drawings away from you. A mumble of what you assume to be a 'Thanks' was heard as she turned her back towards you, her and Cheol treading down the hall to the visitors area to continue coloring together, faint murmurs of Cheol's voice being heard as he told Sae-Byeok how good of an artist you were when you were merely average at best.

As they turned the corner you couldn't help but feel your heart skip a beat at Sae-Byeok's departing glance at you over her shoulder, her eyes flickering towards yours like a magnet before she disappeared into the halls of the orphanage. She evidently wasn't one for words, speaking her own secret language with her eyes, you just had to figure out what she meant.

Where did you come from Kang Sae-Byeok?

' 𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕 ' 📷 : @miabcuzz @twicesuuui @kissyslut @kritkalhit @st4rcs @dumbbellxo @theforestchoseme3 @wlvlurvsfimmia @genshinenjoyer @theweirdanimation @ch-3-rry @nenukkjhj @giaqnn @crack240 @pookalicious-hq @laurenkenss @sheinhamood @pooksterrr @bbynai @diorzs @beaaluv @colorfulkittenperfection @yourl0caltrash @kidicaruslover911 @sherryuki-callmeyuki @i0nic02 @knfthxv @mina-has-been-here

[jellion0345]

"It began here. It will be end here. Have you any parting words?"

I met Morrowind a year ago and he has held a special place in my heart ever since 🌙⭐

It was supposed to be a simple sketch based on a screenshot from the game, but I got a little bit caught up in the process ahaha, I drew it last month, but now is the perfect moment to show this page!

Of course, I'm showing this screenshot from the game, then I went to visit Dagot Ur for the first time, well, then I squealed loudly in surprise because I came without Sunder and Keening, and this changes his appeal to us as we go to him 😳and then I walked into this room and saw him, I even have somewhere recorded my first reaction "why is he so tall???" 😳😳😳

Oh, it's all such a long story! But that's why I love Morrowind!

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

Chapter 1: You Shouldn't Have Answered The Door

Pairing: Soldier Boy x f!reader, Reader POV

Summary: When the reader left Payback 40 years ago after a falling out with her childhood best friend she never looked back, but when two men show up to her apartment and start asking her questions about the past, the reader begins to think those things can’t stay hidden and starts to question what’s real and what’s fantasy.  This is a re-telling of The Boys Season 3, where the reader is a supe who's known Soldier Boy since 1927. The chapters will fluctuate between past and present. This is chapter one of my "You Call It Madness But I Call It Love" series. (I'm so bad at summaries please forgive me!)

Word Count: 3.6K

Warnings: References to sex, Cursing (once or twice), Soldier Boy might be, is, really, absolutely, a little OOC,

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is minimal use of y/n. I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite!

Internal Monologue is in first person and is in italics

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2

Present Day

Your head rests against your forearms on your desk, jerking upwards as a loud rhythmic knocking assaults the front door of your apartment.

What?

You think to yourself, rubbing your face with your hands. Your sketchpad was laid open on your desk beneath your head, the rough sketch of an egret bowing its head along the bank of a small pond splayed over the page in shades of gray. It would be the first in your new series of nature paintings that you would be unveiling in a month.

At least I didn't poke my eye out with the pencil. You think eyeing the sharpened point of the pencil that was dangerously close to your face a few seconds ago.

You turn your wrist to glance at your watch and note the time. It was an antique, square faced and strung on a simple black band, a reminder of a past life that you couldn't bear to part with.

Who would come see me at 8:00 am on a Monday?

For a minute you try to remember if you'd received a call from the curator of the gallery downtown, or if there had been a meeting or a lunch with your agent to discuss your next installment of work, but nothing comes to mind.

When you officially retired from being a hero you decided to become a full time artist, a hobby you had since you were a child. You hadn't expected it explode. You had enough money from your heroing career to live several lifetimes, not unwelcome given the fact that you couldn't die, not in the traditional sense at least, so art was supposed to just be a way for you to off steam. But you were happy with your life now, a lot happier than you had been when you were a hero on Payback. The thought of your previous employment with Vought sours in your mouth followed by the unavoidable thought of Ben that you push down with a well practiced sigh.

You didn't feel like reliving all that over again right now, though you knew it would probably happen later. It came in waves, especially at night when you found it difficult to sleep, the melatonin wasn't working, and all you really wanted was a hard drink.

Sobriety sucked.

The knocking persists, rattling around in your head like a bee trying to get out of a plastic cup.

"Fine. I'm coming." You shout standing up from your desk and making your way from the wall that serves as your studio towards the front door of your apartment, while trying to rub away the line the page made on your cheek.

Your apartment was the one extravagance you allowed yourself. Despite the amount of money you had, flashing it had never been a priority even in your hero days. The apartment was open concept with exposed brick walls, tall North facing windows that angled away from the inside and jutted outward over a raised wooden floored area that served as your studio. A large modern kitchen sat just to the right of the front door with stainless steel appliances, on another wall a tv hung above a leather couch and held a dark hallway that lead to your bedroom and the guest bedroom, the other walls were covered in your work, and the final wall held several bookshelves with art supplies and your vinyl record collection. A collection you started forever ago and that continued to grow with each passing year.

Need to get another bookshelf. You note looking at the limited space that remained.

You look through the peep hole in the solid metal apartment door. A tall dark haired man wearing a Hawaiian shirt and a black duster and a thin younger guy with brown curly hair stare back at you.

"I don't want to buy any girl scout cookies." You shout through the heavy metal of the door.

The younger guy snorts.

"y/f/n y/l/n?" The dark haired man asks an accent tilting the ends of his words.

"Who's asking?"

He pulls out a badge, holding it up to the peep hole. "I'm Agent Butcher, this is Agent Campbell. We’re from the CIA, here to ask you a couple of questions about Soldier Boy."

At the mention of Ben's hero name you pause. You had avoided thinking about your former best friend as much as possible over the past forty years. Your relationship with Ben was complicated, the final few days you spent together even more complicated than the early years.

It hurt to compare what your life with him was like before you both became supes to the life you had together after. You had grown up together, forced into close proximity because your parents were friends and then became best friends yourselves. You stayed friends, before you both got injected with Compound V and a few years later moved on to Payback together. You were the only person able to keep Ben in check and as violent as his temper was, he didn't like to cross you. You were the only person who knew the real him, had been with him longer than anyone else. Not that he ever admitted that to you or admitted that he cared about you, but you thought somewhere deep down that he had to, felt at least something for you.

That was the problem. You were in love with him, cared deeply about him, cared more about him than anyone else you'd ever had in your life. On the night you finally slept together you were happy, you thought he felt the same way, and then the next day at his premiere you found him in the bathroom with Countess bent over a sink. The fight that followed had been your resignation from Payback and also the reason why you weren't there when Ben died.

Your jaw clenches together at the memory, followed by guilt. You were always there for him, you had his back just as he had yours, but the one time you hadn't been there-

You open the door to look at them. "The singer?"

"What?" Agent Butcher looks confused.

"The artist? Soulja Boy-" You arch a brow feigning confusion. "Because honestly I don't understand why the CIA would be asking me about that."

“No.” Agent Butcher holds up a photo.

You keep your face impassive. It’s a photo of Ben and you at a movie premiere the week before he left to go to Nicaragua. Both of you were standing in your supe suits, your own was a sleeveless black one piece suit with purple embellishments that traced from the sides of your ankles and stretched up under your armpits, while a dark hood covered your head and a black mask hid the bottom of your face. You always thought you looked more like a supervillain in it, but you were thankful that it hid your identity. It was so long ago, but you still remember that night clearly. The ridiculous movie, the afterparty where everyone was so tipsy and the smell of alcohol burned against your nose, and finally when you went to the bathroom and found Ben and Countess together, the immeasurable rage followed by heartbreak that you felt when you saw them.  Not to mention the fight that followed when Ben trampled all over your heart and stated that you meant nothing to him.

“You’re here to talk to me about my mom?” You flit your eyes back to the two men standing in the doorway, easily slipping into the lie that you and Legend invented.

“Your mom?” Agent Campbell looks confused.

“Yeah. Indigo? I mean y’all can come in if you want-“ You open the door wider, understanding that they won't leave, before you begin to move towards the kitchen. “I apologize in advance. I’m not quite myself, I was up late working.” You pause halfway into the kitchen. “I’m going to make some coffee, you guys want some?” You eye the man in the black coat. "Or tea?"

“Coffee is fine."

You find the coffee filters and shuffle through the cupboards to find a bag of coffee, still trying to wake up. Staying up late wasn't unusual for you. You tended to find the urge to create in the wee hours of the morning, not to mention everything that happened in the past kept you up.

You open the bag of coffee to smell the grounds, thinking that it will wake you up, but as soon as you do the smell of Agent Butcher and Agent Campbell washes over you.

You could smell the compound V in their veins pumping through their bodies with every beat of their hearts.

So, they're supes. You think to yourself, pouring the grounds into the coffeemaker. Which means they probably aren't from the CIA.

Despite the realization, you weren't worried. Your particular ability was a well-kept secret, a secret that only Ben knew despite you being on Payback. Stan Edgar and the others had believed that "Indigo," the hero name assigned to you, had enhanced strength and senses, but it was more than that. You had an ability that, if brought to the public, would probably land you in a government facility. Laying low had it's perks, your freedom was one of them.

You watch them begin to walk around your living room examining the artifacts of your new life, the one you crafted when everything fell apart. There wasn't anything in the living room to arouse suspicion that you were the original Indigo. The only remnants of your past life that remained were in a wooden trunk at the back of your walk in closet, hidden behind a collection of paint splattered overalls almost identical to the pair you were wearing right now.

"You've got a nice place." The younger guy says looking around.

"Thanks. It's rent controlled. I got lucky-" You fiddle with the coffeemaker to buy yourself some time.

Why were they here to ask me about Ben? It had been 40 years, hardly seems relevant now. And why were they pretending to be CIA?

"You're an artist?" Agent Butcher asks, staring at the canvas sitting on an easel by your desk. It was a collection of multicolored dark greens that swirled together, flecked with pieces of gold that shone in the brilliant sunlight from the wall of windows where your studio was.

"Yeah. And I tend to paint my best at night. Hence the coffee" You turn, placing your hands on the island to face the two men.

“You’re really good.” Agent Campbell says examining some of the canvases on the wall.

“Thanks.”

“So your mum eh?” Agent Butcher turns to look at you. You note the smirk on his face and incredulous raising of his brow.

He doesn't believe me. Hard not to. I don't age.

“Yes?” You raise an eyebrow to challenge him

“You look a lot like her.”

“Thanks. I think there’s a compliment in there somewhere.” You look from Butcher to the younger guy who has moved on to look at your vinyl collection. "And I'm pretty sure that most kids look like their parents. But I'm not a geneticist."

"NO WAY! You have a signed copy of Billy Joel's Glass House!" Agent Campbell shouts holding up the vinyl cover in awe.

"Yeah." You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"How did you-“

"Hughie." Agent Butcher sighs.

The younger guy now identified as Hughie puts the record back with a frown, before turning back to the collection.

“But you have the same name.” Agent Butcher's eyes flit to yours.

“She named me after herself. I’m sure the CIA can locate my birth certificate."

“Right.” Agent Butcher smiles, but it’s tight lipped.

You stand there for another minute looking from Agent Butcher to Hughie, trying to think of why they're here. "So what do you want to know?”

“Well is your mum around-“

You allow your shoulders to droop and take in a shaky breath. "She died about a year ago. Cancer."

They weren't the first to come here and accuse you of being Indigo. Legend and you had come up with the farce to protect you, help you start over, but you hadn't wanted to part with your name. So other precautions were put in place: a funeral plot was purchased and a death certificate was issued as was a fake passport, I.D, and birth certificate that made you thirty two rather than over one hundred.

“Really? I thought Indigo-“ It’s enough to make Hughie turn around and look at you.

“Don’t read everything Vought says." You interrupt. "That experimental shit they put in her veins may have made her powerful, but it couldn’t protect her from that.” You sigh again to sell the lie, before turning to the coffee maker, to pour them and yourself a cup. "There should be some milk in there, sugar's in the bowl." You gesture to the refrigerator and the small blown glass sugar bowl on the counter next to the coffee maker.

Hughie moves into the kitchen to pour himself a cup, but Agent Butcher continues to eye you suspiciously.

“It wasn’t in the news.” He grunts.

“They covered it up pretty well. I mean do you blame them? One of the first supes gets killed by something like cancer. Can’t be good for Vought given they pride themselves on showcasing unstoppable heroes. I mean can you imagine if Homelander or Queen Maeve died of something like cancer? Doesn’t look good.” You shrug your shoulders and take a sip from the coffee in your hands. “What did you want to talk to her about?”

“Soldier Boy.” Butcher moves to the coffeemaker and it takes a strong amount of willpower to stop the urge to turn towards him, but you know that you need to act indifferent.

“Did she talk to you at all about him?” Hughie moves to one of the bar stools on the opposite side of the island with his coffee in front of him.

“Yeah.” You look down at the mug with a sigh, rolling the warm glass between your hands. “He really did a number on her. Plus towards the end she started seeing him everywhere."

The emotion that you summon is not fake. You allow a small amount to trickle over the dam you built to protect yourself from falling back into the pit you fell into when Ben broke your heart and then died. When you broke every piece of glass in your apartment and threw your couch through the wall.

“I’m so sorry for your loss.” Hughie looks sincere when he says it.

Why is someone like him hanging out with this guy? You think to yourself eyeing Agent Butcher again.

“It’s been hard. But I took care of her, sometimes it was only me. It’s kind of hard to restrain an 103 year old with super strength.” You smile to yourself at the joke.

“So you’re a supe?” Hughie takes a sip from his coffee mug.

“No I was just able to talk her down. Guess that first batch of Compound V doesn’t work the same way. Never transferred. Plus my dad wasn’t a supe so maybe it just diluted.” You shrug, the lies weaving easily through the air. 

“But she did talk to you about him?” Agent Butcher presses. He's leaning against the counter to your left.

“Yeah.”

“And?”

“I mean what do you want to hear? There’s a lot.” The mug sends a pleasant warmth through your hands as you hold it, but does little to stop the chill of the past from creeping up your spine.

“Start at the beginning.”

“Well.” You take another sip of coffee. “I don’t know details-details but- I just know that she grew up with him, they were from the same neighborhood in Philadelphia.  All that shit they made up about Soldier Boy being from a poor family was just propaganda. His dad owned half the steel mills in the state of Pennsylvania. Used to invest in property with my grandfather. Soldier Boy and my mom were friends. When he got the Compound V shot, she did too. They were looking for female and male volunteers. I think he asked her to? Or-“ You shrug your shoulders to push away the memory of the day Ben told you about the experiments. When he told you he was finally going to make something of himself and convinced you to go with him.

“They were dating?” Agent Butcher asks.

The question makes you pause. It was difficult to think about that, difficult to relive the memories of Ben continuing to push you away and his final refusal to admit he loved you. Ben never did say that to you. You had been through so much together, so many years as friends and then after the night you finally were together he threw you away like you meant nothing.

“No, but he really hurt her-“ You avoid their gaze.

“What did he do?” Hughie asks leaning forward on the counter.

“They had been through a lot together and I think when their friendship began to transfer to relationship he pushed her away. My mother said something about him refusing to admit he loved her. I think the last straw when she caught him with Countess.”

“Do you know anything about how he died?”

The memory of the phone call strikes you in the chest, when Stan Edgar himself called to tell you Ben was dead. When the darkness swallowed you whole and all you felt was guilt and heart break over the fight you had and how you left him alone when he needed you most.

“It hurt my mother a lot. Broke her. She never really got over him, no one was good enough, not even my dad. She drove him away too and then it was just us.”

“Was she there when Soldier Boy died?” Hughie spins the coffee mug in his hands.

“No. She left Payback  before that mission. It was right after she caught Countess and him together.” You force a shrug. “I think she regretted not being there. She was almost as indestructible as him, but I think she felt worse because they had a big fight right before.”

“So she didn’t know about Nicaragua or the thing that killed him?” Agent Butcher raises an eyebrow.

You cock your head to the side feigning confusion. “What are you talking about? Soldier Boy got vaporized in a nuclear explosion.”

“Well I think we’ve wasted enough of your time.”

They get up to leave.

“Wait-“

 Agent Butcher turns to look at you. 

“Why are you asking me about him? It's been what? Forty years since he died-"

"That's classified love. Thank you for your time."

You watch them leave, but listen to them as they walk down the hallway.

“So do you believe her?” Hughie’s voice echoes in your ears.

“Not a bit. Maybe we trail her for a day. See if she really is an artist." Agent Butcher grunts. "At least until we go to Russia."

Russia? Why would they go to Russia?

You stand there for a second, holding the coffee mug in your hands. As you do the memories of the past 90 years wash across your mind, breaking through the damn that you built to protect yourself.

You were friends for years. You loved him since the moment you met. There were good times before the serum and then the bad, when he got famous and you were there to keep him in check. Sure you may have annoyed him, but he liked that about you, that you were able to bring him back from the edge. The day you finally had sex you remembered it, it was special, or you thought it was. You were excited that finally he loved you as much as you loved him. But then it all fell apart. That fight hadn’t been pretty. When you left him you felt yourself begin to slip, you didn’t eat or drink for days and when you finally got the phone call you thought it was him trying to apologize, but it was Stan.

You think again about Russia and finally your mind drifts to Countess.

She was the one that said that the Russians killed Ben, she saw it happen, saw his body get taken away-

Your jaw clenches together in anger and frustration as you remember the last time you saw her, when she taunted you and you almost ripped off her head. You never heard it directly from her that Ben was dead, only heard it from Stan. Of course the ridiculous funeral for Ben that you were expected to go to would mean that you saw her, but you hadn't gone, didn't want to keep up the charade. Instead you went to Philadelphia and walked the streets aimlessly with a bottle of whiskey in your hand, remembering what it was like when you were kids. Sometimes you think it all would have been different if you never got the injection, if you said no when he showed up in your bedroom and asked you to come with him. He was your oldest friend. The only real person you'd ever loved or cared about. The memory of the fight rings in your ears but you push it down.

You think again about Countess.  She was the reason why Ben and you had the fight. The reason you weren't there in Nicaragua. Regret spikes in your chest. You should have been there that day, should have tried to save him. You always had each others backs and the one time you weren't there he died.

Maybe it was time to pay her a visit.

Thank you for reading! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for this series let me know :)

Taglist: @roseblue373

[ghcstao3]

“…where’d you go, Simon?”

It’s the question that usually snaps Ghost out of wherever his mind has wandered, Soap’s version of grounding him in place when he accidentally drifts off into the void.

This time is no different, as everything slowly returns to focus, and Ghost’s gaze flickers up to meet Soap’s.

“Nowhere,” he says, like usual. With nightmares he might have an answer, but other days it’s just… nothingness.

Curled up against the opposite end of their sofa, knees nearly to his chest as a makeshift perch for his journal, Soap watches Ghost with a soft fondness as he stops scribbling on his open page.

A quaint smile appears on Soap’s face. “Then can you answer me somethin’?”

Ghost doesn’t have to think before nodding. He swallows thickly, staring intently at Soap with his recurring need to memorize every slope and detail as he waits on a question.

Soap shuffles a bit, sitting up higher against the armrest. He sets his pencil aside and flips his journal so Ghost can see what occupies the current pages. His smile grows a little wider, a little brighter.

“What d’you think?“ He asks. “MacTavish-Riley or Riley-MacTavish?”

Ghost’s eyebrows pinch together as he looks down at the journal. On one side, there’s several doodles of interlocked rings and barely legible initials and the rough outline of a couple—presumably them—slow dancing in the middle of it all. The other side contains a plethora of scratched out and rewritten John MacTavish-Riley, John Riley-MacTavish’s, and a few with Simon’s name as well.

He has to keep himself from gawking as his heart climbs in his throat.

“Is this your way of proposing?” Ghost wonders quietly.

Soap shrugs a shoulder in his best impression of someone acting casual—but Ghost can see the slight tremor in his hand as he holds out the journal.

“Maybe it is.”

Ghost’s eyes jump from the pages to Soap’s face and back as if trying to reassure himself he wasn’t imagining it all.

But when the words don’t magically disappear, nor the earnest look on Soap’s face, Ghost takes a deep, centring breath, then huffs.

“Riley-MacTavish sounds better,” he mumbles.

Soap snorts with good humour, returning the journal to its rest against his thighs. “‘Course you’d want your name first, you bastard.”

“Get a second opinion, then.”

Soap is grinning again, more to himself than anything, as he resumes his sketches. He shakes his head.

“Nah,” he says. “You’re right, does sound better.”

Ghost can’t understand how such a big conversation could’ve been made so simple, but he supposes he could always trust Soap to make things easier.

Simon and John Riley-MacTavish. He thinks he may have to toy around with that thought in his own head, too.

[voidcat]

— the maker, far away and the muse, ardent

characters: endo yamato, you

notes: this is more in the style of my typical dazai content so iykyk. artist!reader, gender neutral pronouns used. small picture of dorian gray reference. a mini post explaining my vision for this fic basically

Drawing Endo Yamato is a tricky feat.

Despite his simple looks, you realize there are more details to him that meets the eye. Sharp edges and curves, eyes and lashes that cut through, wavy locks of hair that fall with an order to itself.

It is difficult but so is to create. That’s the thing with art, and that’s what you love about it until the very end.

No matter how hard, how detailed something is, no matter how long it’ll take you to reach that level of skill required to make it, it is never impossible.

And so you sit back and keep observing him, smoothing out the page before you, you sharpen your pencil.

Despite the numerous pages adorned with his face, you’ve never spoken with Endo Yamato, not even once. Nor did you feel the need to.

Does god often seek an audience with their followers, does a nature artist eat the apple even after days of mold has accumulated— does everyone kill the thing they love? Or do they just leave it be, to their happiness or misery.

To you he is nothing more than a pretty face, beautiful features and an impressive body, one he uses as his own canvas, recording his life and feelings onto his skin permanently.

Endo Yamato never sits still, as if offering a challenge to you. Another thing that helps you in the long run, your pen begins to hasten, your sketch line improves and you begin to remember and transfer every small detail of a millisecond to paper without breaking a sweat.

It begins piece by piece, part by part. When one thing proves difficult to grasp, you have no choice but to dissect it one by one.

You begin with his structure, how he carries himself and his body. You have confidence in your figure drawing but it takes something extra to show off his pride and nose high up attitude in his posture. You don’t know Endo Yamato all that much but you know enough that you don’t like him or his kind at all.

Then comes the face, the edge of his jaw and the softness to his cheeks despite coming off as thin. It’s the details that prove the real challenge. When drawn apart, be it his eyes or the hooked nose, you’re good. Yet the way they have been placed on his face, you have to remake the dough figurine over and over again. His hair proves a great distraction, you’d suppose it is the real source of your problems. It hides everything characteristic to him, every small detail, the arch of his brows, the wrinkles on his face when he smiles or furrows them, the angle of his nose and how the bridge comes down, the light in his eyes though they are absent majority of the time.

You sketch over and over, the pencil glides off the pages. You change the materials but the subject remains the same. Noticeable changes begin to appear after some time. You’ve lost for how long you’ve been drawing, but it comes natural now.

So you switch up the medium, and try the process from the start with watercolors. The uncontrollable nature of the medium met with the difficult subject growing familiar on your muscles perfectly.

Too perfectly in fact, as you are lost in the thrill of it, that you don’t even notice how time passes nor the shift in scenery unless it contradicts your paintings— and you’re slouching over the papers once more, face contracting in focus as shadows disturb your view and lighting.

When you steal a glance above, you’re met with not a cloud but none other than Endo Yamato himself.

Hands shoved deep in his pockets and his confident yet relaxed posture, he glances down at you and the papers, wearing a smug smile the whole time.

You wait for a moment of breath then divert your attention back to the work before you, adding shadows currently.

You hear him let out a slight grunt, and maybe you’d see his expression shift into something of surprise too, were you to be carefully watching.

“It’s sublime knowing I have a fan.” He says, still not stepping one step to the side, adamant on blocking the light apparently.

His words register far too late for you, you let out a hum at first, “hmm… oh?” The sound fades into surprise on your end, “ah, no, you see-“

You dip the brush into water and to the shades of blue and purple, mixing and lightening the amount of paint on the brush. 

A tapping of feet brings you down to earth and reminds you for once you are not alone in your leisure time of painting.

“Ah… sorry.” You say more as an apology for forgetting he was right there up until a second, “it’s nothing like that.”

Your words take him out like a chain of inconveniences following one after another, building up until you’ve lost your temper.

You don’t notice this either, focus solely on perfecting the shading, calling it another painting done and complete.

To Endo, your nonchalance is odd to say the least. Here he stands, the subject of your attention for many a while now, from what he has seen, and you don’t seem to care one bit. Or is it the paper that is holier than him? Or is this another, albeit looser case of Takiishi, not caring for the people but for their reflections, their end products, what comes out of them and the hand that crafts them into something bigger, brighter.

Along the lines Endo Yamato says to you, you do catch something like ‘having the real thing before you already.’ An enlightenment perhaps, a revelation you didn’t need nor asked for.

So he is a charmer, you think, or tries to be. Considering the things at hand it’s the former most likely— walking up to you without a care in the world as if you’ve interacted before. It takes some sort of confidence, as most charmers carry with them. He is just not trying it to the fullest with you, but is it because he thinks he already holds a part of you in his hand, you’re unsure.

In the short timeframe of thinking over a man you couldn’t care any less, you notice your brush staggering, slowing down. Any more and the drops of water will be too much for the paper, ruining all your hard work on this completely.

“So… listen,” you begin, cutting off whatever he was saying. “If you don’t have anything important to say, would you mind-“ 

You wait and wait for him to catch on. Instead met with empty eyes looking at you with not a single clue inside that brain of his, you let out a sigh.

“The light at this hour is very good and you’re making me lose it minute by minute right now.”

Endo looks at you, in disbelief again. Not the reaction he was expecting and definitely not the words he expected to hear. And compared to how quiet and just shy you sounded up until the last sentence— that last demand, all that timid nature of you dispelled within a second. 

Deflated, he admits his defeat for the time being and leaves, stealing one last glance at the paper.

As the man leaves, you watch his back for a bit, waiting for your brush to dry.

Odd, you think. 

What did he really expect you to do or say? 

You may not know Endo Yamato but all you’ve observed is more than enough to deem him as weird. You are somewhat aware he is filled with burning passion down to his very being but that’s just not who you are as an artist.

The views people have on you, and by extension, on artists has always been far fetched from what you’ve seen.

Must art always be loud and intense, waging war upon any heart that gazes at it? Should you too be destructive and heavy— not all artists see their subject like Basil to Dorian, not all art is an all consuming fire, an endless devotion, a declaration of war. Art can be natural and gentle, like a breeze, like a stream of river.  Love can be accepting and gentle, unifying and kind with the familiarity it brings, the comfort hidden in the routine, as he fails to see.

By the time the painting has come to an end, darkness has fallen. Endo Yamato has already left, and the sunlight soon after him. The sky begins to darken, purple spreads of paint among the clouds. You turn the page and leave today in the past, crossing another thing off the list and moving on.

[xmalereader]

Miguel O’Hara x Black Cat! Male reader || 3 ||

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|| Masterlist ||

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Authors note: This one has a bit more angst into the story also these are not accurate to the film! I made my own changes in order to keep the whole found family together also thank you for 7K! 😫 damn just a week ago I had 6.8k and quickly got to 7K! Thank you everyone and enjoy this next part!

Summary: Miles has been MIA and Noir has grown worried over the disappearance of his own little spider.

Warnings: Slight ATSV Spoilers, fluff, angst, mentions of spider bite, universe, fate, found family au, miguel is trying his best, black cats fate changes, reveals, humor, co parenting, language.

Word Count: 2.1K

— || Part One || Part Two ||

—

“You weren’t suppose to be Spider-Man.”

Miles had been MIA ever since he got back from his last mission in capturing Spot. He was hard man to catch but after some time and working as a team they were able to capture him and put him on lock down, making sure that he was no where near anything that could help him escape.

It was Noir who noticed the teens absences after a day. The kid was usually attached to his hip and never left his side, other times he would come see him and rant about things that happened in school or the times that he saved people and the stories he would tell, but not today.

Miguels lab was too quiet.

It irritated him.

Even though Miguel and him have started to fix up their marriage again, he was still under house arrest until further notice from his own husband, not being allowed to leave without permission, but the cat was getting anxious. A small voice inside his head was telling him to search for the kid, to check up on him and see how he’s doing. The parent inside of him wanted to crawl out and do what a parent would do when their kid was suddenly missing.

So, without Miguel’s knowledge he leaves base.

He makes sure to block Lyla from tracking him in case Miguel finds out that he’s gone. As much as he cares for his husband he didn’t want to deal with his anger if he were to find out that he left without giving him a reason. When arriving to Miles universe he makes sure to appear on the rooftop of his parents apartment, knowing that it was the weekend and that the kid usually spent his time at his parents house, being with them and catching up.

With slow movements he looks over the roof to where Miles bedroom was, getting ready to climb down and slide the window frame open only to freeze when he sees Miles dad leaving the apartment with a deep sigh, following after him is his wife. “Don’t worry. I’m sure he will come back and help.” Said Rio as her husband shrugs his shoulders. “Spider-Man hasn’t showing up in nearly two weeks. Who knows if he’s coming back.”

His words catch Noir by surprise, eyebrows furrowed as he stays hidden on the rooftop and watches the couple interact with each other before he quietly slips inside Miles room to find it empty. He takes in the teens room, never had he entered the kids room without permission until now, taking in the interior and the way the kid kept it organized and messy at the same time.

He found Mile’s sketch book lying open on his bed finding the open pages to a sketch of both him and his uncle, simple drawings that the kid liked. He reached down to pick up the sketch book, only staying on those pages before closing the sketch book and setting it down. The rest of kids room is messy and clothes was scattered everywhere, in the pile of clothes he finds his spider suit and frowns.

The kid never left without it as he gets down on one knee to pick it up, holding it in his gloved hands before hiding it under Miles bed and looking out the window, getting an idea of where the kid could possibly be as he jumps out the window, using his grappling hook to swing across the city as he searched for the kid.

The sound of traffic can be heard below him as he swings across the city, focused on finding the kid that he doesn’t notice the familiar red and blue following after him.

It only takes him a few minutes to reach the clock tower, landing on top to find the teen sitting on the edge, wearing a hoodie as he stares at the city view.

“Figured I’d find you here.”

His voice startles the poor teen, jumping in surprise as Miles sighs in relief. “You scared the hell out of me!”

Y/n chuckled as he sits down next to the teen. The two sitting in silence as they take in the city’s view and sunset. “You’ve been distant.” Y/n finally speaks up, glancing at the kid who lowers his head with a small shrug. “Sorry, just been…going through something.”

The thief wants to roll his eyes at the kids excuse, knowing that it was something more as he moves closer to the kid. “Sure its not something else? I mean, I’ve seen you upset and you still do your job as the cities hero but—‘spider has been missing for 2 weeks?’ Doesn’t sound like you.”

“What are you, my mom?”

“Technically, I’m still your guardian whenever you are a hero.” Y/n shot back, nudging the kid on the shoulder playfully, earning a slight laugh from him.

It wasn’t until he fell silent again, giving Miles the time to finally get the courage to speak. “Remember the mission I had with the others on capturing Spot?” Y/n nods at his words. “Well, he showed me something that I wished I didn’t know.” Miles sighs deeply, nervously playing with the strings of his hoodie, eyes focused on the material.

“What did he show you?” Y/n asks.

Miles hesitates before speaking up. “That I wasn’t suppose to be Spider-Man.”

Y/n froze at the comment, eyes widening under his goggles as he glared at nothing, blood boiling.

“He said that the spider that bit me actually belonged in another universe and that someone else was suppose to be bitten.” Miles continues. “I wasn’t suppose to be Spider-Man in the first place.”

“Miles—“

“That makes me an anomaly doesn’t it?” Miles turns to Y/n with sad eyes, realizing the mistake that’s happened in his own universe the realization that this whole time he thought he had a purpose only to find out that it was all a mistake. “Think Miguel will be upset?” Miles next words cause Y/n to blurt out. “I don’t give a damn what he thinks.”

Not knowing the Miguel was hiding behind the pillars, listening into the two.

“But, I’m an anomaly. I could destroy my own universe!”

“Or you can change it.” Y/n’s words catch him by surprise while the adult sighs deeply. “Not everything has to go according to plan and not everything can go the way it needs to be.”

“But, there’s a universe out there without a Spider-Man—!”

“They don’t need to be bitten by a spider to be Spider-Man.” Y/n’s voice grows stern with the kid. “Yes, that universe is in need of a hero but it doesn’t have to be a spider. Before Spider-Man they were once a smart kid and the universe will always find a way to fix things on its own. They may not have super strength or webs, but they damn sure know how to create something new.” He reached up to lift his goggles and mask, slipping it over his head as he smiles faintly at the kid.

“I’m still an anomaly…” Miles mutters.

“Then so am I.”

Miles stares at him confused. “What do you mean?”

Y/n’s fingers tracing over the tinted goggles, sighing deeply. “Ever Black cat is the same. They betray people, use them, greedy, a good thief.” He laughs. “But most importantly they always use Spider-Man in their own little mind games.”

Miguel shifts in place, leaning his head back against the pillar.

“I’m nowhere near that.” Y/n shakes his head. “I became a thief because I was struggling, later I found Miguel and his daughter and put my second life on hold to focus on my relationship only to get married and have a family I always wanted. A happy family.”

Miles listens intently.

“Even after I lost my daughter…and then Miguel I still remained loyal to both him and Spider-Man. Yeah, we have our quarrels here and there, but I never stopped loving him. Never used him like others would, never moved on because of how wrong it felt and whenever I got to close to him again I wanted to run away, to stop our future from getting bad again. I grew afraid until now.” He explains to Miles, eyes focused on his gloved hands. “I changed my own fate and so far it’s been going well.”

Miles sighs softly after listening to Y/n’s explanation knowing that everyone’s fates changes, weather its good or bad the universe always finds a way to fix it. “You think my universe will be fine?”

“Your universe will be fine, Miles.”

Both Y/n and Miles whip their head over their shoulder to see Miguel standing before the two, hands on his hips, wearing his spider suit as his mask dissolves away, showing his face to the two. “Your universe won’t suffer.” Said Miguel again, giving Y/n a soft kick on the thigh, indicating for him to move while Y/n glared at him playfully and moves aside, giving him space to sit between the two. Clearly the cat already knew that he would get caught by his husband but didn’t think that he would react in such a calm manner.

Miguel grunts, siting down between the two and sighing deeply. “Y/n’s is right, not everyone’s universe is perfect. Yes, you are an anomaly, but that doesn’t mean that your fate can change and their isn’t anything I can do to fix it. So, all we can do is sit back and watch as the universe decides for you.”

Miles nervously picks on his sweatpants, picking on a small lose string as he pulls on it gently a nervous tactic that he picked up along the way. “I guess my universe wanted you both to be in it, right?”

Both Miguel and Y/n look at Miles with content smiles while Y/n looked at Miles proudly. The kid had gone through a lot as his first few days as the cities hero, losing his uncle along the way as the poor kid suffered on his own, unable to tell anyone that he was their when his uncle died without revealing too much of his true identity until he met Y/n the talent thief that was also Miguels husband. The thief couldn’t have been happier to have met Miles, cherishing the kid and taking him under his wing and treating him like his own son too.

“Guess they really did.” Y/n is the first to speak up, standing up from his spot and rounding Miguel to tussle Miles hair before standing near the edge of the clock tower. “Now, I think its time for Spiderman to make an appearance, don’t you think?” He questions as he slips his goggles on, giving them a knowing smirk as he held out his grappling hook.

“Meet you both at the bank!” He shouts, jumping off the building with a laugh as Miles watched Y/n swing away, turning to Miguel with a confused look on his face while the other sighs deeply. “He’s just giving you a reason to make a good entrance.”

To show the city that their hero has returned while Miles slowly smiles at the idea of Y/n using himself as bait in order to “lure” Spider-Man out, knowing damn well that he was speaking to him not too long ago. “Want to help me?” Miles asks Miguel as the older hero raises a brow in surprise before his lips twitch into a grin. “He won’t go easy on us.”

“How about a bet?” Miles stands from his spot. “Whoever catches him first gets my moms special empanadas.”

“Your mothers empanadas are good, better than Y/n’s.”

Miles laughs. “Don’t let him know that you said that or he will kill you!” He shouted as he too jumps off the clock tower, using his hoodie to hide his face as he swung back home to pick up his spider suit that he left lying in his bedroom, stepping inside the room as he quickly changed into the suit with Miguel waiting outside for him.

“Come on kid, we don’t have much time if we wish to catch Noir.” Said Miguel, sticking his head in the window with his mask still off while waiting for Miles who struggled with putting his suit on. “Yeah just give me a second!” He grunts while trying to slip on his suit while Miguel watched the teen struggle with putting it on, reminding him why he changed his own suit design to nanotechnology, making it easier to use.

“Miles—“

“Done!”

“What the fuck?!”

Both Miles and Miguels eyes widen as they turn towards Miles bedroom door that was thrown open. “Hello, Mrs. Morales.”

[hunterxmilo]

Turnabout Pokemon Reunion: 11

Finally getting back into my Ace Attorney Pokemon story and starting back from where we left off, Victini is given a reminder from Phoenix that he's mentioned his childhood friend before! Suddenly memories of hearing this stranger's name before returns the small pokemon's mind and they're quite sure Edgeworth's name was mentioned quite a few times more!

(Thank you all for your patience as I got side tracked with other projects before returning to this (what was supposed to be short) comic but slowly and surely I'm making decent progress to getting the rest of this story finished and drawn! I'll probably only post a page (or two if they're simple) a week since I have many pages left to finish and I can work on other drawings in between!)

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To support me and see early releases of drawings/sketches you can check out my Patreon! First 3 pages are already posted!

[k-0re]

that one scene in chp 8 of tptm

this was supposed to be a simple sketch- i dont even know what happened or what possessed me to make this 🧍

i just blacked out and somehow got a fully rendered comic page

[elliesmainhoe]

Happy Mothers Day!!

HBO!Ellie Williams X MotherFigure!Reader

THIS CHARACTER IS UNDER 18 SO THIS FIC IS STRICTLY PLATONIC!!!!!!!

Summary: The first mothers day Ellie has ever celebrated and she's going to make sure that it's amazing.

Contents: tooth rotting fluff, happiness, extreme cuteness

Pancakes were supposed to be simple. Key word supposed.

Ellie woke up at the ass crack of dawn that morning, she had set her alarm clock for 6m and had switched yours off- discreetly forcing you into sleeping over time. She'd gathered all the ingredients the recipe had told her. Said recipe having been ripped out of the book they were originally in and found laying near a library a little outside of Jackson.

Ellie had squeezed fresh apple juice as she waited for the first pancake to cook through. A bad habit of Ellie's was losing track of time, she got carried away, squeezing the apple juice lead to her finding cutlery which lead to her cleaning said cutlery which lead to finding the right tray to put the silverware on. Ending up with the smell of burning flooding the kitchen.

She slammed the kitchens door, attempting to stop the smoke from wafting through the house alerting you of her antics and waking you up. She opened the window, the chilly air ventilating out the smell of smoke before she turned off the stove.

To say the pancake was a little crisp would be a bit of an understatement.

Shit. She only had enough for two, one for you, one for her. Oh well... She'll have the burnt one, today's about you anyways.

Take two was a little more successful a bit crisp on the edges but it'll do. She flopped them onto the two blue and white china plates- covering yours in fruit and hers in chocolate, balancing them on a wooden tray with the two glasses of juice before she took to the stairs.

She nudged open the door with her foot as she walked into the dark room, curtains closed and blocking out the ever insistent sunrise from seeping into your bedroom.

Cautiously, she placed the tray on your bedside table quietly before tiptoeing over to you window and drawing the curtains apart- the warm glow of the morning lightening the space.

Ellie watched as your eyes fluttered open. "Fuck kiddo. What time is it?" You grunted rolling over to look at your alarm clock 7:45am. 1 hour and 30 minutes late for patrol. Before you opened your mouth the soft voice of your daughter interrupted you.

"Don't worry Mom... I talked to Maria and she cancelled your patrol today" her hand gestured towards the tray of overlooked pancakes, before she whispered a shy "Happy mothers day mama..."

"Oh sweet girl come here" you opened your eyes as a blur of brown hair launched itself at you, her arms wrapping around you and giggling when you pecked her forehead lovingly.

"I tried to make you breakfast. It's not the best but-"

"It looks amazing kiddo. Thank you so much_ you smiled into her hair, before scooching up the bed- your back meeting the headboard as you move the tray onto your lap.

You took a bite of the fruit covered pancake, and honestly you couldn't tell whether or not Ellie was a culinary genius or you were just a smitten mother. Because fuck it tasted good.

Ellie's doe eyes looked up at you expectantly and with worry and anticipation. "Well done Ellie. This tastes so so so so good. You gotta cook for me more often now kid." You hummed, she seemed content with your answer.

"oh wait I got you something else" the girl said darting off your bed and out of the room before swiftly returning with what looked like... A sketch book? "I uh didn't really know what to get you and I thought you would enjoy something personal... So..." She shoved the sketch book into your hands "here."

You set your food aside, opting to open up the leather bound pad of paper instead. The first page read.

To Mom.

I know how much you like my drawings so I decided to put something together for you. Happy Mothers day.

Love Ellie.

You flipped to the next page and there was a beautiful sketch of you, sitting a the barstool of your kitchen island, glasses resting on the bridge of your nose as you read a new recipe

The next one was of you and Ellie. She had sketched out and traced the photo you both took in the malls arcade.

The next one was of a cartoon giraffe wearing a space suit on the moon.

It went on and on and on for 80 pages, sketches of you, her favourite things, her favourite hobbies, her favourite people it was so so so beautiful.

A single tear dripped down your cheek, "come over here baby" you sniffles hugging your girl tightly "my baby's so talented..." You hummed hands playing with her hair as she smiled joyfully.

"Thank you so much kiddo.."

---------------

I actually celebrated mothers day 2 months ago! But I have baby fever rn so here I am again, healing Ellie Williams mommy issues.

Taglist:@aunslie @lonelyfooryouonly @eywaskisses @daryldixonh0e @kittynnie @lovelyyevelyn @randomhoex @moonlightdivine @haerinwho @mufflaa @mial1l @sarahsmileslikesarahd0esntcare @moonlighting87 @escaping-reality8 @magicalfreakcowboylawyer @hejdevkdbdjsd @dergy @half-of-a-gay @ellieismami @cyberlainn @gollumsmygel @sseorii @kyleeservopoulos @taloulalila @ellieluhme @kiiyoooo @delusionalvioleht @joelscharm @hi2647 @gumdropkoo @coffeeandbookskeepmealive @womaniza @namgification @kimiisims-blog @tayyyystan @abigaillovestoread @whoreshores @kylieeluvstlou @knowitsforthebetterr @endureher @erikaar @lanasluverr @sayah13 @ilovebufflesbians @srryhoneyy @222fine444u

NOT PROOFREAD

[lil-fungus]

Happy pride month yippee

I didn’t mean to be so late, I just got caught up in drawing for Artfight 😔 please forgive me, I’m but a simple bi

I didn’t mean for this to look like a comic page either but I suppose it works lmaoo makes it funnier

My fave is the bottom left 😎 I had my snake out at the time and it gave me inspiration

Might end up doing some more sketches later yahoo

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

How would you design a winged humanoid with pterosaur wings? Would it be similar to bat wings? And could they launch themselves or gallop like pterosaurs can?

I'm answering this with the assumption it's about a winged humanoid who still has "normal" arms alongside the wings. If you go with typical pterosaur wing anatomy, the membrane would go down to the knees and also include another membrane between the legs and tail, which is not ideal for humanoid character design, especially if they're supposed to wear clothes lol. So for the sake of character design, I'll suggest what I did with bat wing humanoids and say the wing membrane ought to attach to the tail instead of the legs.

(image description: two digital sketch pages of simple humanoid figures with pterosaur wings. on the first page, there is also a simple outline sketch of a pterosaur in flight, displaying the shape of the wing arms and long torso. around it, humanoids in standing, crouching, and flying positions share the pterosaur's anatomy with the wing membrane attached to the thigh. in the second image, the humanoid has been redrawn with the wing membrane attached to a tail, and their human arms have been redrawn quite small, further forward and lower down on the torso. their thighs are also much shorter than their lower leg.)

folding the wing, they should be able to bend that long "finger" inward to cross their wingtips behind their legs. it's also good to note that pterosaur wings have a unique shape! the longer bones that really carry most of the membrane are actually very long hand bones and a singular extra long finger, while the other fingers are shorter and poke out funny. this is very different from bats and birds, who tend to have longer forearm bones and very small "hand" bones. also bats have several very long fingers and one extended thumb, usually.

you could make a pterosaur winged person walk on their wings, if you just shorten their legs and give them more of a forward slope in their torso, but it's not necessary. They can still do the cool pterosaur launch though! I'm picturing, like, they run forward and sort of throw themself toward the ground and then launch upward with their wings and legs simultaneously.

(image description: four simplified sketches showing the process described above, of a pterosaur winged person running forward, dropping down, and jumping upward with a push of their wings and legs. in the final sketch they are flying with fully spread wings. the wings have been colored red for visual clarity. end description.)

sorry for the very long delay in clearing out my inbox! holidays had me distracted.

[the-100-days-of-junkan]

THE 100 DAYS OF JUNKAN

Hello everybody! I’m Carbonated-Jem! 

I sincerely hope you’re having a good day as this post finds you.

You’re probably wondering what this is. Well this my good compatriot is the result of a very ill advised task I put upon myself at the beginning of this year. There’ll be a TL;DR at the bottom for those who don’t want my full ramblings (sorry about that btw, not very good at this), but I do appreciate anyone who’ll give a silly person like me the time of day.

You see, I am a fan of Danganronpa, and as a result I like to read a lot of gay fanfic (and if I’m feeling daring I’ll even look at fan art, shocking). This series for all its ups and downs is quite important to me and becoming who I am today. Tokomaru especially helped me through a period of a lot of stress and depression, among other things. 

But as you can tell by the name this isn’t a Blog Dedicated to Tokomaru, it’s a blog dedicated to Junkan. Which might be very surprising to anyone who I haven’t divulged this info to personally. 

I try to make it a habit to not delve too deep into fandoms for the sake of my mental health, I look up fanart, read some appreciation posts on tumblr, read fics, and depending on the series make art for others to enjoy. However one thing I tend to become vaguely aware of regardless of whether I want to or not is what ships are and are not controversial. So I am very aware of the fact that saying I ship Junko and Mikan is bare minimum getting some weird looks from a lot of the people reading this.

Before I give a reason why I’m doing this let me just make clear what this is in the first place.

This is the 100 Days of Junkan, a project I undertook (Kind of as a joke) at the beginning of the year. I have made 100 Pieces to post across the next 100 Days. Some are finished art, some are sketches, some are sketches I added color to later, some are multiple images grouped into one day, comics, and far more. I’ve learned a lot through this project artistically, and some of the surprises I have in store will hopefully be worth the effort. I don’t know 100% for sure what day this post will be on, however the event itself will begin October 1st, and if I did the math right will continue all the way till January 9th. 

Why would I put this much time and energy into this ship, knowing that there are a lot of people who downright hate it? Simple, I just like the ship a lot, and wanted to make more art for it.

And I should further note, there are plenty of fans of this ship as well, however they may be disappointed to hear that unless you’re very much like me, you probably won’t enjoy what I’ve made with these two. In canon (much to my chagrin, because I’m not partial to the direction it took in DR3) this is a very abusive relationship. This is not really my thing, anyone who has seen the ship art I’ve done on my main page will know that I much prefer to draw soft, fluffy shipping art. I try to make art which will leave a positive vibe on people for the most part.

That said I understand why there are people who like this ship for how it is represented in canon. Shipping Junkan has taught me to stop being judgy of people for what they ship (I used to really hate Togami x Toko for example, and while it’s still not my thing I can totally understand why people are into it now). Everyone has their own reasons for shipping something, whether it’s an interesting dynamic, they just like seeing the characters kiss, as a coping mechanism, and plenty of other reasons. I have my boundaries of course, but at this point I try to be open minded towards peoples proclivities.

So if I’m not drawing a Canon Compliant Depiction of this ship, what am I actually doing here?

Well I’ve decided that I’m going to draw niche art for an already very niche ship. I like Junkan on the softer side, where regardless of where it's supposed to be in canon or an AU they just actually love eachother, I've seen and have been inspired by a decent amount of Fanfics depicting this exact thing. It's the dynamic that I find the most interesting personally, as I like the directions you can take it with the characters.

So that’s the deal, for 100 Days starting from October 1st you can expect this blog to post a constant flow of soft Junko x Mikan art. If that’s your thing, I sincerely hope you like all this! It’s been my number one goal to give some art to the people who share a similar desire for softer depictions of this Ship, along with all the people who have already made amazing pieces of writing and artwork depicting the same. If this isn’t your thing, I hope you’ll at least stick around to give it a chance, and if I can’t sell you on it like I have with some of my friends, I hope you can at least walk away from this with a shrug.

Apologizing in advance to all those who peruse the Mikan and Junko tag, because this is gonna be flooding those for awhile I imagine. I fully understand if you wanna block me for this, hope you have a lovely day after that! 

Now dear viewer, please watch this long road unwind and behold such sights as: Me slowly memorizing these two to the point that I can draw them almost entirely without reference at this point, inconsistent colors schemes,  inconsistent heights, so much goddamn blushing, AU’s galore, and the unspeakable things I learned how to do for this project! (And by unspeakable I mean I don’t wanna spoil the surprise!) 

Oh! And as an extra bonus to all this, go check out my AO3 account. I have a singular Junkan Fic on there right now, however as a little bonus for this event (and sure, thematic for Halloween) I’m going to be posting a Vampire AU Junkan Fic periodically throughout October. Partially inspired by the fact that Day 30 depicts a scene I came up with way before the actual fic, and I really want to have it written out and available to read before that post comes out.

The other reason is that if I say i’m going to post it here, that means I am required to actually do it by the law of my brain. Which will likely outweigh my complete lack of self confidence in my ability to write anything making me too paranoid to actually let it go public~

Here’s the link!

And if you stumbled upon this post through the Junkan Tag and not my main account, here’s a link to it!

You’ll find plenty of other Danganronpa Art, including Junko and Mikan on their own. I do other stuff but I imagine that’d be the most immediately interesting, but hey you never know. So hopefully if this blog doesn’t provide anything you’d be into, my normal works will catch your attention! 

I’ve also opened an Ask Box for this blog, why? I dunno. I’ll be real it just seemed like the thing to do. But feel free to ask questions and I'll try to respond best I can!

And finally here is the TL,DR for those who didn't wanna read through my mind numbing rambling.

I like Danganronpa, I like drawing Soft Junkan art for a lot of reasons. I’m posting 100 Pieces for 100 Days of this ship, and hopefully ya’ll will enjoy it. If not, that’s okay! I hope you have a great day! 

Reblogs Appreciated!~ Stay hydrated Everyone!~

[cnidocyst]

this show is about pirates right

[ID: One Piece fan art compilation. Image 1: Two sketches of Law as a woman. One where she's wearing a tank top and one where she's wearing an open jacket, exposing her inner boobs and happy trail. She looks annoyed in both. Image 2: Franky and Robin both dressed as man, looking at each other surprised. Robin says "Hey, so I just realized that when you said we should be Batman and Robin that you meant I was supposed to be Robin and that was the joke." Image 3: A doodle page mostly dedicated to Luffy called: "Your experience is limited and your world view is small". Including drawings such as: Luffy being knocked into a wall that crumbles from the impact. Luffy lays bleeding on the ground but he smiles defiantly. Some simple doodles where he's smiling nervously, one where he's picking his nose while wearing a Beavis and Butthead shirt, and two where he's fat. "Fuck it we ball" is written next to one of him. Two sock puppet Luffys, one where he's using "gum gum, I threw up" onto Rob Lucci while a laughing rage comic face says: "Sucker! Way the go Luffy!". Another where sock Luffy is simply smiling. There's a sequence where Nami brings Sanji to Chopper in a cat cage and asks Chopper if he can "fucking neuter this thing forever". Followup drawing shows Sanji sitting on the ground, naked, with a big x shaped bandage over his crotch while he wears a neck cone. There's also a doodle of Sanji as a rabbit with his right ear drooping over one of his eyes to cover it. Image 4: A post Marineford drawing where Luffy cries on the ground while Buggy unenthusiastically offers Luffy a balloon animal. Jinbe is also there and his kimono has text acronyms such as TTYL and BRB written all over it. Image 5: Buggy pointing behind himself to Luffy saying "He made fun of me for being deformed." Luffy is sitting inside of a thumbnail for a mock youtube video called: "The nefarious truth of Monkey the Luffy" that's 5 hours long, and Luffy is looking at Buggy, shocked. Image 6: Usopp and Robin lounge in beach chairs side by side. Robin, worried, says: "Usopp, this experience you're describing sounds like a PTSD symptom, are you sure you don't want to-" Usopp cuts her off saying: "PTS-Deez nuts." His eyes are unfocused and is trying to stay relaxed. /END ID]