I know someone who posted dsmp fanfic while they were in a school shooting. The fic is now on anon because they accidentally doxeed themselves but the fic is still updating

The authors notes have not disappointed

Bug type trainer Miku from Project Voltage

Postmaster Pearl!!

drew pearls base from memory so it is very inaccurate

my little pony

Starter-Home

recently i haven't been doing great. I havent really done a lot creatively, if nothing at all. to cheer myself up i looked through my folders to look at stuff I have drawn and I found this picture I havent uploaded at all!

originally it was drawn for huevember but i only ever drew this one piece.

anyways have some singleplayer fWhip

friendshup is magic .guys did u know guys Guys

click 4 better quality + other vers in undercut

no bg vers + flats as a treat

Did you know? Tumblr DOES have a post length limit. Strangely, though, it's based on how many blocks of text you have. Supposedly this implies that you can have any length post so long as it's one block of text? Very strange, will have to investigate further.

haven’t drawn him in so long…

It hit so suddenly, and without warning, an infection that ravaged the minds of people; Turning them into twisted versions of themselves. They will not listen, they only want to hurt, and with all morals gone the players of the server have split between the infected looking to cause as much harm as possible and the survivors attempting to locate a cure. It is unknown how the infection started, only that it's here now, and the small group of survivors up in Stratos attempt to figure out some sort of cure with their limited communication with an equally infected Hermitcraft. ---- Woowww! okay these took a while!! Been discussing with @gearstorm an infection au for Empires and Hermitcraft; This infection mostly effects the mind, making the infected incredibly hostile and aggressive, looking to hurt anyone just for the fun of it. This is the Empires team! Led by Joel and continuing to survive as they communicate with the survivors of Hermitcraft in hopes of finding a cure for all of their friends. (And just to say anything over 2.5 level infection is too late to turn back, everyone is technically infected in their code already, but it only becomes dangerous after level 2. :D )

his presence is haunting

love this guy . the scar. if you saw this before i edited it no you didnt .

Gem’s day, believe it or not, was shit before she drowned.

Maybe the fact that she was sitting at this bakery table should make it less shit? Her fingers are covered in powdered sugar and she’s comfortably warm and her lungs are decidedly empty of water. Yay.

They aren’t far from the beach and the lighthouse. Gem can see the water from the bakery storefront window. The beach is dotted with tourists who aren’t wearing enough sunscreen and definitely don’t know that Gem went for a solo dive (it wasn’t supposed to be solo) before dawn and that Gem found a (dead-no-not-dead) man locked in a rotting metal coffin and they don’t know that when she snapped the lock he flailed and knocked her regulator off and she couldn’t get to the surface and she drowned. Then. Then she was back on land drawing in a knife-sharp gulp of air and the dead-not-dead-man was next to her murmuring something archaic and blinking way too green eyes pooled with sympathy.

He’s with her now, making happy noises as he sips on the mug of hot chocolate Gem pressed into his hands. He’s in an eclectic mix of clothes Gem dug out of her attic, because she wasn’t going to just leave him. They’re dead-not-dead besties. Obviously. Apparent language barrier notwithstanding.

“So,” Gem says. “Names.” Then she’s too busy laughing, because he blinks at her, surfacing from the mug he’s got cupped between his palms, and there’s a fabulous whip cream mustache on his upper lip. Her laughter cuts off, the air too cold and too much, but she’s smiling still, sliding him a napkin across the table.

Gem tries again. “Gem.” She points at her chest.

He taps his chest, says a word she doesn’t understand. (Gem had flicked through as many translator apps as she could while he picked through the clothes pile and had no luck.)

He must catch something from her expression, because he moved on quickly. “Gem,” he enunciates carefully, pointing at her.

She nods. He nods back, then lifts his hand to his face, tracing the long, nasty looking scar bisecting it. He taps it, then taps his chest.

Gem feels her eyebrows furrow. She holds out her hand, where an old scar from a bit of rusty wire twisted across her palm.

His eyes flash, and he nods again. He taps her palm, right on top of the scar, then points towards his chest again.

There’s—there’s no way, right? “Scar?”

His Scar’s grin is blindingly happy. Gem doesn’t know she’s grinning back until her cheeks ache in protest.

“Gem,” he says.

“Scar,” Gem says back.

He holds out his empty mug, unleashing the best puppy dog eyes she’s ever seen.

“Fine.” Gem pretends to grumble. She pushes back from the table to go order another cup and some blueberry strudel.

She died. He’s been dead. (Or—was he alive?Waiting? Is that worse?) They can have as many treats as they want.

The return of cube pearl

Smol Scale