#scribbles writes

[scribbles97]

Listen

Whelp... after one hell of a haitus Scribbs is back writing for the Thunderbirds Are Go fandom again! It's been a while and what I've produced is only short, but it felt good to get back to my comfort characters again. Thank you @gumnut-logic for the hugs and support that you continue to give me <3

Virgil had known as soon as Gordon had sunk into the co-pilot seat on Two. 

A run of back-to-back rescues was the final nail in the coffin on a week that had seen them reach six out of eight continents, and more ocean than he dared to count. He wasn’t sure when he had last seen Scott, their paths crossing less frequently than normal with the financial year end meaning the board were demanding more of his older brother’s attention when he himself wasn’t out on a rescue. Grandma had caught them each time they had returned to the Island, hot food cooked by MAX readily available for them to wolf down as the ships refuelled. 

John had assured them as the retrieval mechanism had wound Four back into the module that there wasn’t anything else to demand their immediate attention. Their space-bound brother confident that they could all take a much needed break - world ending disasters notwithstanding. 

The way Gordon had paused as he had sat down and not immediately stretched his legs forwards as he always did on their way home was enough of a tell. 

Virgil had been piloting with the aquanaut at his side for years, and had known his brother for nearly two decades before that. They had seen the swimmer through rehabilitation after two life-altering accidents that had left him scarred and fragile - but not as broken as doctors would have anyone believe. 

Yet, he knew better than to comment. 

It wouldn’t be received well. 

Not when Gordon was still well enough to climb out of Four and make it back to the cock-pit of Two. There was clearly a niggle, something somewhere apparently sitting just not quite right, but that must have been all. 

Virgil hoped that a hot bath and some yoga once they got home would see his younger brother right. Gordon hated the bad days, the worst ones when his back locked up and the tension in the same muscles that provided much-needed support left him crippled. 

Virgil hated those days too. 

Hated that there was little any of them could do to help. 

It was the same reason Gordon was always so prickly when his back did decide to play up, knowing full well that painkillers and patience were the only real options when it came to riding out the ache. 

That he was quiet most of the ride home, save for the occasional sigh, simply served to assure Virgil he was right in his diagnosis. 

Gordon had two extremes when he was bothered by something - full throttle chatter, or deadly silence. Not that he’d ever admit it, and not that Virgil would call him out on it in the moment. 

Still, it was a big brother’s prerogative to at least ask. 

“You good?”

Gordon’s sigh was heavy next to him, answer enough in itself.

“Ready to be home.” 

Which was code for tired. 

Which was code for hurting. 

Because, for all Gordon was prickly when it came to his back, he wasn’t stupid. He was perhaps the most aware of them all as to how close he had come and how far he had to drag himself back. The rest of them had merely been spectating supporters, very much aware of the problem and its implications, but with no real idea of what it was like. 

None of them had a spine that was a third artificial. 

Gordon knew his limits - even if he did sometimes push them too far - and knew when to ask for help. An athlete at heart, he knew when to listen to his body and how to look after himself. He knew when enough was enough, and what was needed to reset himself to best function. 

He knew when to ask for help. 

Scott would have heard the coded response and immediately had any of them down to the med-bay. Big brother, ever protective over his brood, would have needed a full explanation and a med-scan before he had been convinced that it was just an ache that their little fish had been feeling. 

He meant well, but sometimes their oldest brother was blinkered by his need to keep younger brothers safe and well. Not that Virgil blamed him, Gordon had given them all enough grey hairs to warrant wrapping him in cotton wool for the rest of his life. 

Virgil knew he himself could be guilty of just the same, but he’d been working on it over the years. He’d taken the time to figure out the more subtle signs and listened to what Gordon was really telling him. 

Ready to be home, was an answer. 

It wasn’t stubborn silence - I’m hurt but I don’t want you to find out. 

It wasn’t inane chatter - I’m really hurt and you’re going to take me to hospital whether I like it or not. 

And it wasn’t an outright admission - I’m hurt but I already patched myself up so it’s fine. 

“Want a heat pack?” He offered, glancing across to gauge how well the question would be taken. 

Gordon’s grimace said enough, “I’ll get it - probably best to keep moving.” 

Virgil simply nodded, returning focus to keeping the flight of his ship as smooth as possible. They’d get home eventually, little brother would get his bath, some painkillers, and with any luck a few days off of rescues to recover fully. 

Whilst he did, Virgil would do what he did best, and listen.

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #thunderbirds fanfic #scribbles writes

[skizabaa]

"It's a lovely night in Freddy Fazbear's Mega Pizza-Plex, and you are a horrible goose."

One of the most unique, silly and joyful fics ive read, it's been an instant favorite! Fanart of the lovely Untitled Goose Fic by the wonderful @eyndr-stories!

#skizabaa scribbles #fnaf security breach #moondrop #sundrop #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf sb #Untitled Goose Fic #Goose #fnaf dca #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #fnaf y/n #ive reread this fic so many times!! raa!! its so delightful!! #these sketches were done back in i believe may? finally got around to coloring them aaaa!! i love this fic sm!! eyndr your writing is so AA

[anatomical-puppet]

my source is that i am autistic about horror

#this took longer than i thought it would but i needed to. for my own sanity. #also sorry if the ids are bad i dont have a ton of experience writing them and wasn't sure how to format smth this text-heavy lol #horror #horror movies #body horror #gore #saw #<- mostly tagging for organizational purposes and also bc people calling saw body horror is the main reason i felt the need to make this #puppet scribbles

[confessedlyfannish]

Writing Prompt #12

Bruce is reading the paper when the pour of Tim's coffee goes abruptly quiet. It would be hard to pinpoint why this is disturbing if it wasn't for the way the soft, tinny sound the vent system in the manor makes cuts out for the first time since being updated in the 90s. The pour, Bruce realizes, has not slowed to a trickle before stopping. It has simply stopped. And there is no overeager clack of a the mug against the marble counter or the uncouth first slurp (nor muttered apology at Alfred's scolding look) immediately following the end of the pour.

Bruce fights the instinct to use all of his senses to investigate, and instead keeps his eyes on the byline of the article detailing the latest set of microearthquakes to hit the midwest in the last week. Microearthquakes aren't an unusual occurrence and aren't noticeable by human standards, which is why this article is regulated to page seven, but from several hundred a day worldwide to several hundred a day solely in the East North Central States, seismologists are baffled.

Bruce had been considering sending Superman to investigate under the guise of a Daily Planet article requested by Bruce Wayne (Wayne Industries does have an offshoot factory in the area) when everything had stopped twenty seconds ago. That is what he assumes has happened (having not moved a muscle to confirm) in the amount of time he assumes has passed. His million dollar Rolex does not quite audibly tick but in the absolute silence it should be heard, which confirms the silence to be exactly that—absolute.

While Bruce can hold his breath with the best of the Olympian swimmers, he has never accounted for a need to remain without blinking without being able to move one's eyes. Rotating the eyeballs will maintain lubrication such that one could go without blinking for up to ten minutes. But staring at the byline fixedly, he estimates another twenty seconds before tears start to form.

These are the thoughts Bruce distracts himself with, because he doesn't dare consider how Tim and Alfred haven't made a (living) sound in the past forty-five seconds. About Damian, packing his bag upstairs for school after a morning walk with Titus that was "just pushing it, Master Damian".

There is a knife to his right, if memory serves (it does). In the next five seconds—

"Your wards and guardian are fine, Mr. Wayne," the deepest voice Bruce has ever heard intones. For a dizzying moment, it is hard to pinpoint the location of the voice, for it comes from everywhere—like the chiming of a clocktower whilst inside the tower, so overpowering he is cocooned in its volume.

But it is not spoken loudly, just calmly, and when he puts the paper down, folds it, and looks to his right, a blue man sits in Dick's chair.

He wears a three piece suit made entirely of hues of violet, tie included. He has a black brooch in the shape of a cogwheel pinned to his chest pocket, a simple chain clipped to his lapel. Black leather gloves delicately thumb Bruce's watch (no longer on his wrist, somewhere between second 45 and 46 it has stopped being on his wrist), admiring it.

"You'll forgive me," the man says with surety. "Clocks are rather my thing, and this is an impressive piece." He turns it over and reveals the 'M. Brando' roughly scratched into the silver back. He frowns.

"What a shame," he says, placing it face side up on the table.

"Most would consider that the watch's most valuable characteristic." Bruce says, voice steady, hands neatly folded before him. Two inches from the knife. To his left, there is an open doorway to the kitchen. If he turns his head, he might be able to get a glance of Tim or Alfred.

He doesn't look away from the man.

"It is the arrogance of man," the man says, raising red eyes (sclera and all) to Bruce, "to think they can make their mark on time."

"...Is that supposed to be considered so literally?" Bruce asks, with a light smile he does not mean.

The man smiles lightly back, eyes crinkling at the corners. He looks to be in his mid thirties, clean-shaven. His skin is a dull blue, his hair a shock of white, and a jagged scar runs through one eye and curving down the side of his cheek, an even darker, rawer shade of blue-purple.

The man turns the watch back over and taps at the engraving. "Let me ask you this," he says. "When we deface a work of art, does it become part of the art? Does it add to its intrinsic meaning?"

Bruce forces his shoulders to shrug. "It's arbitrary," he says. "A teenager inscribes his name on the wall of an Ancient Egyptian temple and his parents are forced to publicly apologize. But runic inscriptions are found on the Hagia Sophia that equate to an errant Viking guard having inscribed 'Halfdan was here' and we consider it an artifact of a time in which the Byzantine Empire had established an alliance with the Norse and converted vikings to Christianity."

"The vikings were as errant as the teenager," the man says, "in my experience." He leans back in his chair. "I suppose you could say the difference is time. When time passes, we start to think of things as artistic, or historical. We find the beauty in even the rubble, or at least we find necessity in the destruction..."

He offers Bruce the watch. After a moment, Bruce takes it.

"The problem, Mr. Wayne, is that time does not pass for me. I see it all as it was, as it is, as it ever will be, at all times. There is no refuge from the horror or comfort in that one day..." he closes his hand, the leather squeaking. And then his face smooths out, the brief severity gone. He regards Bruce calmly.

"You can look left, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks left. Framed by the doorway, Tim looks like a photograph caught in time. A stream of coffee escapes the spout of the stainless steel pot he prefers over the Breville in the name of expediency, frozen as it makes its way to the thermos proclaiming BITCH I MIGHTWING. Tim regards his task with a face of mindless concentration, mouth slack, lashes in dark relief against his pale skin as he looks down at the mug. Behind him, Bruce can see Alfred's hand outstretched towards the refrigerator handle, equally and terrifyingly still.

"My name is Clockwork," the man says. "I have other names, ones you undoubtedly know, but this one will be bestowed upon me from the mouth of a child I cherish, and so I favor it above all else. I am the Keeper of Time."

"What do you want from me?" Bruce asks, shedding Wayne for Batman in the time it takes to meet Clockwork's eyes. The man acknowledges the change with a greeting nod.

"In a few days time, you will send Superman to the Midwest to investigate the unusual seismic activity. By then, it will be too late, the activity will be gone. They will have already muzzled him."

"Him."

"There is a boy with the power to rule the realm I come from. Your government has been watching him. The day he turned 18, they took him from his family and hid him away. I want you to retrieve him. I want you to do it today."

"Why me?"

"His parents do not have the resources you do, both as Batman and Bruce Wayne. You will dismantle the organization that is keen on keeping him imprisoned, and you will offer him a scholarship to the local University. You and yours will keep him safe within Gotham until he is able to take his place as my King."

This is a lot of information to take in, even for Bruce. The idea that there could be a boy powerful enough to rule over this (god, his mind whispers) entity and that somehow, he has slipped under all of their radars is as frustrating as it is overwhelming. But although Clockwork has seemed willing to converse, he doesn't know how many more questions he will get.

"You have the power to stop time," he decides on, "why don't you rescue him? Would he not be better suited with you and your people?"

"Within every monarchy, there is a court," Clockwork. "Mine will be unhappy with the choice I have made," he looks at Bruce's watch, head cocked. "In different worlds, they call you the Dark Knight. This will be your chance to serve before a True King."

Bruce bristles. "I bow to no one."

"You'll all serve him, one day," Clockwork says, patiently. "He is the ruler of realms where all souls go, new and old. When you finally take refuge, he will be your sanctuary." He frowns. "But your government rejects the idea of gods. All they know is he is other. Not human. Not meta. A weapon."

"A weapon you want me to bring to my city."

"I believe you call one of your weapons 'Clark', do you not?" Clockwork asks idly. "But you misunderstand me. They seek to weaponize him. He is not restrained for your safety, but for their gain."

"And if I don't take him?" Bruce asks, because a) Clockwork has implied he will be at the very least impeded, at worst destroyed over this, and b) he never did quite learn not to poke the bear. "You won't be around if I decide he's better off with the government."

"You will," Clockwork says, with the same certainty he's wielded this entire conversation. "Not because he is a child, though he is, nor because you are good, though you are, nor even because it is better power be close at hand than afar.

"I have told you my court will be unhappy with me. In truth, there are others who also defend the King. Together we will destroy the access to our world not long after this conversation. The court will be unable to touch him, but neither will we as we face the repercussions for our actions. I am telling you this, because in a timeline where I do not, you think I will be there to protect him. And so when he is in danger, even subconsciously, you choose to save him last, or not at all. And that is the wrong choice.

"So cement it in your head, Bruce Wayne," the man says, "You will go to him because I tell you to. And you will keep him safe until he is ready to return to us. He will find no safety net in me. So you will make the right choice, no matter the cost."

"Or, when our worlds connect again, and they will," his voice now echoes in triplicate with the voices of the many, the young, the old, Tim, Bruce's mother, Barry Allen, Bruce's own voice, "I will not be the only one who comes for you."

"Now," he says, producing a Wayne Industries branded BIC pen. "I will tell you the location the boy is being kept, and then I would like my medallion back, please. In that order."

Bruce glances down and sees a golden talisman, attached to a black ribbon that is draped haphazardly around the neck of his bathrobe, so light (too light, he still should have—) he has not felt its weight until this moment.

Bruce flips the paper over, takes the pen, and jots down the coordinates the being rattles off over the face of a senator. By his calculation, they do correspond with a location in the midwest.

"You will find him on B6. Take a left down the hallway and he will be in the third room down, the one with a reinforced steel door. Take Mr. Kent and Mr. Grayson with you, and when you leave take the staircase at the end of the hallway, not the elevator."

The man gets up, dusts off his impeccably clean pants, and offers him a hand to shake.

"We will not meet again for some time, Mr. Wayne."

Bruce looks at the creature, stands, and shakes his hand. It feels like nothing. The Keeper of Time sighs, although nothing has been said.

"Ask your question, Mr. Wayne."

"I have more than one."

"You do," Clockwork says. "But I have heard them all, and so they are one. Please ask, or I will not be inclined to answer it."

"What does this boy mean for the future, that you are willing to sacrifice yourself for him?"

There is a pause.

"So that is the one," Clockwork says, after a time. "Yes. I see. I should resolve this, I suppose."

"Resolve what?"

"It is not his future I mean to protect," the man says. "It is his present."

"You want to keep him safe now..." Bruce says, but he's not sure what the being is trying to say.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork repeats, stops. His expression turns solemn, red eyes widening. In their reflection, Bruce can see something. A rush of movement too quick to make heads or tails of, like playing fast forward on a videotape. "Superman reports no signs of unusual seismic activity. With nothing further to look into, you let it go in favor of other investigative pursuits. You do not find him, as you are not meant to. He stays there. His family, his friends, they cannot find him. His captors tell him they have moved on. He does not believe them, until he does. He stays there. He stays there until he is strong enough to save himself."

Clockwork speaks stiffly, rattling off the chain of events as if reading a Justice League debrief. "He is King. He will always be King. He is strong, and good, and compassionate, and he is great for my people because yours have betrayed his trust beyond repair. He throws himself into being the best to ever Be, because there is nothing Left for him otherwise. We love him. We love him. We love him. My King. Forevermore."

The red film in his eyes stall out, and Bruce is forced to look away from how bright the image is, barely making out a silhouette before they dull back to their regular red.

"I am not inclined," Clockwork says slowly, "To this future."

"Because of what it means in the present," Bruce finishes for him. "They're not just imprisoning him, are they."

"They will have already muzzled him."

Clockworks is right in front of him faster than he can process, fist gripping the medallion at his neck so tight he now feels the ribbon digging into his skin.

"Unlike you, Mr. Wayne," and for the first time, the god is angry, and the image of it will haunt Bruce for the rest of his life, "I do not believe in building a better future on the back of a broken child."

"Find him," the deity orders, and yanks the necklace so hard the ribbon rips—

Clack!

"sluuuuurp!"

"Master Timothy, honestly!"

"Sorry Alfred!"

#i feel like I'm going to reread this and want to add other stuff #but I also just want to post it and get it out there #fun fact i scribbled a bunch of lines down at 2am bc i didn't want to forget them #im bad at multiple drafts #my writing #dp x dc #dp x dc au #dp x dc prompt #dp x dc crossover #danny phantom #batman #i live to make everybody dramatic #but also i subscribe to a world where clockwork doesn't know how NOT to be dramatic #lol he's a ghost from all of time he doesn't know how to speak to humans and tailor it to the century let alone the decade #and his favorite little girl who calls him clocky loves how he speaks so #he doesn't need to change for nobody #nor feels inclined to #also I feel like as god he's way more inclined to threaten to get what he wants than like...be vulnerable #jazz: let's unpack that #clockwork: we never do #jazz: are you saying that because it's true or because that's what you want to be true? #clockwork: ... #also I cannot take credit for BITCH I MIGHTWING #wish i could #that is cash money right there #shoutout to 11thsense

[bluerosefox]

Drake Siblings

Have I read this prompt somewhere or was this a fever dream from my bored mind.

What if, now hear me out.

What if we bring up Dana Winters-Drake (whose confirmed to at least be alive in the DC verse but no one knows where she actually is)

What if instead of when she had a mental breakdown and getting committed to an Bludhaven clinc she wandered away before anyone noticed and by the time Tim or anyone did notice a lot of stuff started happening at once in both Gotham and Bludhaven (Steph dying, The Bludhaven crisis, etc etc)

Tim still tries to find her though but even with best resources it was like she just disappeared into the wilderness and the stress of trying to handle more and more problems get worse.

So when out of the blue, a couple of years later, he gets a call from an unknown number. On his private, only for friends and family, phone and when he answers he meet with a young girls voice on the other end.

A very young, maybe six or seven, girl who informs him about his apparently half-brother Danny Drake-Fenton. And how she loves Danny so, so, so much but knows her home is dangerous for him to be in.

Tim is stunned and before he could question her, she says Danny is Dana and Jack's baby and that her parents had adopted him years ago and put Dana's stuff that the hospital had away for him to look at when he was older but she just had to fight off their lunch from eating her brother and she knows he needs a better place to live and so she snooped around and found Dana's diary and that she had to unscramble the nonsense Dana wrote and found Tim's number with the words 'tell him about his brother Danny' hidden in it. And-

But before she could keep rambling she hears Danny screaming "JAZZY THE MILK WENT BAD AGAIN AND HISSED AT ME!"

Tim is left with silence after hearing Jazz yell to Danny to lock the fridge and step out of the kitchen as she gets the bat.

#danny phantom #danny fenton #crossover #dp x dc #blue rambles #danny phantom dc #writing ideas #random idea #dpxdc #jazz fenton #tim drake #danny and tim are half brothers #dana Winters-Drake was pregnant when she disappeared #she was out of her mind until she found out and tried her best to regain control but it was hard #she had in and out episodes #she wanted to contact Tim but knew he was still in Gotham and she just coulnt due to episodes of her mental health failing #she was found months later in labor and rushed to a hospital and Danny somehow came out healthy #small but healthy #Dana however lasted a few more hours before passing away from the birth #weeks laters Danny is adopted or fostered out #Dana wrote in diary but scramble and scribbled during her episodes #Jazz finds it and being the smarty she is starts figuring it out #it also set her on her path to understand the human mind #Tim gets to be a big brother #not just for Danny though #hes gonna take Jazz in too after he finds out about how bad the home life is #will Danny still become Phantom though? #maybe #maybe Tim gets there and Jack and Maddie finished the portal way earlier than canon and Danny being curious goes to see #and comes down the stairs to see his baby brother die and then come back

[marlynnofmany]

A friend of mine had this idea, and I’d love to see it in an urban fantasy: magic is real and it stays secret because it looks like bad CGI. The fakest thing ever.

People who witness magic in person can always have their minds clouded, as they have been for most of human history, but all this newfangled technology has to be handled a different way. A video camera records exactly what it sees.

So, what it sees is … something that looks laughably fake. For any time period. The various secret magicians of the world make a point to keep their spells up to date with the current mundane trends — some of them even have running contests for who can make the most fake-looking spell.

I imagine they have a great time doing it. I sure would.

#writing prompts #magic #urban fantasy #secret magic #magic in the mundane world #somebody write this #it would be amazing #possibly a challenge to describe #but put a good narrating character in there and you should be set #‘it looked like somebody scribbled with MSPaint across the room’ #‘then the dude was suddenly on the floor’ #‘with stink lines or something coming off him?’ #‘then there was this new scribble that looked like a toothy face’ #‘and that’s when I bolted down the alley’ #‘if I’m gonna lose touch with reality I’ll do it from the safety of my own home’ #‘hiding behind the door. with a baseball bat.’

[swordheld]

do the silly thing. if you do not do the silly thing time will pass and it will not be the same silly thing it could have been. it will still be silly, and it will still be yours, but it will not be the same. this is both a blessing and a curse, but so is living; and if you do not do it now when will you? who will? it has to be you, it was always meant for you, waiting for you.

#this is about writing for me but could be about anything (that is not hurtful to urself or others. very important) #that's why it is silly (affectionate) or cringey (affectionate) like u gotta just let yourself go sometimes. you have to do the thing. #even if it is terrible horrible (not what you want) bc at least then it EXISTS. at least it holds space in the universe and it lives outsid #you can let it sit and rot and gather dust but at least then you can go back to it. even if it's horrible there is at LEAST at least - #one kernel of it that you can bring into the next piece. at least one shining pearl of something. #even if it needs work or months in those lil funky rock tumblers for geodes and gemstones and all. even if needs SO much work. #at least it is there!!! and it is yours!!! #it's your call to action if it's something u want w/ all your heart. #or even a piece of it. if it's something you want? well - it's already yours. it always has been. #you just have to take the first step / the first breath / and begin. #scribbles.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

fantasy au buddies bein affectionate

#ft. Protective Barnaby bc yeah <3 #poor guys pulled an eddie and fell in a lake... a very cold lake... #i think ive already posted the ponytail one but! #you will see it again i guess! #did not realize until i was writing these tags! #scribble salad #wh fantasy au

[bamsara]

I offer you some lambs for now until I can get all my art properly queued up and sorted :P

#i need to make more fully rendered stuff #because most of what i do are scribbled storyboards and doodles to help articulate my thoughts for writing scenes #tw blood #some narinder x lamb if you squint #doodles

[deus-lapidis]

Imagine

After hundreds of years, since you've died, Zhongli's wedding ring breaks.

He has taken great care of it, but time thinned it out, for he has worn it every day since you two have pledged yourself to each other. He's heartbroken, his voice wavering, every time he looks at the imprint it left on his ring finger. The band was well worn, worn with pride and solemn, but now nothing more than a mark and reminder of your wedding.

And once again, he's lost a small bit of you, that he misses so dearly.

#I FOUND IT #I FOUND ONE OF MY MOST FAVOURITE THINGS IVE WRITTEN #so I’ve been scavenging my mutuals blogs to copy/paste/repost my writing here again #i don’t want to gatekeep a concept but just for this one please don’t make works without asking and crediting me #this one is rather special to me and I also think it does well enough on its own #zhongli fluff #zhongli angst #zhongli x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact angst #genshin x reader #genshin angst #illunis’ scribbles

[scribbles97]

WIP Wednesday

I have a day off and for once have something new to share! From the Left Behind AU

The sun had been low in the sky when Virgil and Gordon had finally returned, the older grinning as he ruffled the blonde’s hair. 

“You like her.”

“Gerroff!” Gordon protested, ducking out from Virgil’s reach, “I do not.”

Lucy wondered if the two boys noticed Val closing her magazine and sitting straighter. 

Setting her own stylus down she rested her chin on her hand, “What’s this?”

“Gordon’s got a crush.” Virgil chuckled, nudging his brother again. 

She couldn’t help her grin as the tips of Gordon’s ears coloured red. His face showed anger but there was a brightness in his eyes that betrayed him. If anything it only confirmed what Lucy had assumed earlier. 

“Shut up.” The younger pouted, “I do not.”

“Virgil, don’t wind your brother up.” Lucy scolded gently. 

Val snorted, “I’m sure we’ll all get to see how much he likes her at his Passing Out next month.”

Lucy straightened, looking to Gordon, “Speaking of which,”

He stilled instantly, straightening with wide worried eyes. The jovial smile was gone, fallen to a slight frown as he watched her. Passing Out meant everything to Gordon, for years the swimmer had been trying to catch up to his older brothers and prove his capabilities in the field. It was the same drive that had seen him to the Olympics. College had never been the thing for him, written exams the bane of his life. It was why she had talked the Board into bringing in the less academic route into IR. 

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #scribbles writes #Lucille Tracy #Left Behind AU #wip wednesday

[tomiyeee]

scheming in progress...

#sonic boom #dr eggman #sonic #sonic art #my art #phone scribbles #doodles #sorry im so unfunny. i just wanted to write yeast infection bot

[buddyhollyscurls]

Trying to sleep and was looking at books and that eventually led me to think of Pride and Prejudice and yk what moment we need to appreciate more?

That scene where Caroline is doing her pick me shit and joking with Darcy about Elizabeth's pretty eyes and she's like when you guys get your marriage portrait done do you think any painter could do her eyes justice?

And our boy Fitzy doesn't even HESITATE he's like I think a painter would do a great job at getting her eyelashes and the way they look in the sunlight and it's just like

MY GUY HAD U ALREADY BEEN THINKING ABOUT THAT??? U HAD THE ANSWER LOCKED AND LOADED WERE U ON YE OLDE GOOGLE LOOKING UP WEDDING PORTRAIT ARTISTS NEAR ME??? DID U HAVE A REGENCY ERA PINTERST BOARD OF UR DREAM WEDDING TO LIZZY ALREADY MADE UP????

#its even funnier bc this is the stage where hes like i don't LOVE Elizabeth Bennet i just think she's attractive #meanwhile he has wedding planner and caterer contacts scribbled and kept on a piece of paper in his pocket #he also writes mr. Elizabeth Bennet in his journal a thousand times before bed #pride and prejudice #caroline bingley #fitzwilliam darcy #elizabeth bennet #jane austen

[roseyjustice]

Baal was cradling the Lamb's bell between their paws, moving it back and forth to hear it's soft ting ting. The kits studied the lamb with twin stares brimming with curiosity.

Narinder felt his breath catch in his chest. 

“I found them in Anura,'' The Lamb explained, a worry furrow to their brows. Narinder felt their nervousness. Saw it in the way they shifted their arms, hiking Aym higher on their back and pulling Baal closer to their chest. 

He placed a calming paw on their back, noting the protective tension running along their spine. They felt as if they were attempting to shield the twins away from everything with just their body. 

I had a fic idea and immediately needed to doodle it + do a quick excerpt.

I miiight finish it eventually but rn I am holding Aym and Baal very close ;;

#self ship #romantic self ship #self ship community #self shipping community #queer self ship #selfship #self ship art #cult of the lamb #lambsona #narilamb #cotl aym #cotl baal #cotl lamb #cotl narinder #doodles #s/i: lambzuli 🐏😈 #jescove scribbles (art) #🖋️ pen to paper 🖋️ (writing)

[skizabaa]

Magma Doodles of Ghost in the Machine! AU by the wonderful @venomous-qwille <3

#skizabaa scribbles #gitm au #fnaf daycare attendant #ghost in the machine au #ruin eclipse #eclipse fnaf #sundrop #others ocs #friends ocs #im not entirely sure what to tag for these haha! but go read qwilles amazing fic <3 so many lovely characters and excellent writing #qwille puts so much work into this au! its so inspiring to see!! #dca fandom #fnaf sun #sunspot mk1

[neptunianka]

ocelots i doodled to comfort myself

#metal gear solid #mgs3 #mgsv #art #bosselot #big boss #revolver ocelot #adamska is the type to mindlessly write john's name among other scribbles while being on the phone with him #like he's totally not OBSESSED