Me And My 20 Followers Will Witness Your Greatness - Tumblr Posts
CHECK OUT MY FRIEND! HE'S DOPE!
THEY WROTE THIS TO TORMENT ME ABOUT OUR SHARED AU (Semi-Feral Polaroids) AND IT JUST BROKE ME
(This specific text isn't canon to our shared au that he writes snippets about, but as an alternate possibility it sure was nice :,] )
Have nice day
Maybe he sees an older yokai back then. Fifteen, twenty years on him, maybe? Hard to tell these days, with the war making everyone old before their time. Still pretty, though. Still vivacious. But starting to show his age just a little. Maybe he wonders what this little yokai was like… before. Before time and war wore him down and dulled his feathers, muted his smile. Maybe he wonders what it would be like to see the pretty yokai dancing for himself, for the sheer joy of it, and not just trying to distract and entertain the little ones from the hell they live in, wearing a smile that never quite reaches his eyes. Years later, but also years before, maybe he sees a pretty, vivacious yokai dancing for the sheer joy of it near the fountain in the Hidden City. Dancing like nobody's watching. Dancing like he doesn't care if they are. Their eyes meet across the square, and Leonardo knows those eyes, even if they don't yet know him.
We all know I'm never going to actually write this fic, but the concept is living rent-free in my head now.
Look at this
LOOK AT THIS
THIS IS MY SIBLING RIGHT HERE?? WITH THEIR FUNKY ART??
BEAUTIFUL. GORGEOUS. CHECK THEM OUT!
THEY MAKE THE BEST RELATABLE POSTS, TOO
Hi friends!! ^-^
I haven't posted any art for a little while, and that simply won't do!
Just because I haven't made any new funky art, doesn't mean I can't show you some of my old funky art :]
So here is a little compilation of some doodles, art I've made and put on my wall, and the occasional sketchbook spread! ^-^
It's pretty obvious that I don't stick to any specific art style, huh?
It completely depends on whatever feels best in the moment lol :]
Doodles, corvids and fall-themed precious bois aside, I hope you have a wonderful rest of your day! 🧡
Yours truly, Stickbug 🪲
THIS
THIS RIGHT HERE??
THIS IS PURE SKILL, AND I JUST HAVE TO SHARE IT
What's Your Favorite Flower?
A little thing I wrote after considering what Eshra's answer would be. Takes place during the Bad Future™.
Rating: G
It’s such a minuscule thing, really, and in a normal world, a sane world, he never would have noticed it. Why would he? But the world isn’t normal, and it isn’t sane, and it hasn’t been for years, and so in this hellscape of shattered shades of gray all overlaid with a hellish red sky, the tiny splash of yellow catches his eye.
On feet as quiet as a cat’s paws, the yokai dips and darts across the torn up, rubble-strewn asphalt of… Bleecker Street, he thinks, near 11th, his dancer’s steps carrying him towards that incongruous dot of color. Every sense is in overdrive, like they have been since the invasion, but nothing trips his internal alarm, and he allows himself this brief moment of curiosity.
It’s a dandelion, he realizes after a frankly embarrassing number of seconds. Miraculously, the little yellow blossom is still clinging to life in this broken world, stubbornly reaching for the demonic sky and spreading its leaves to catch what little true sunlight might still filter through the red haze.
Eshra’s breath catches in his throat, an unexpected upsurge of emotion he has to swallow down hard, lest he risk making a noise and giving away his position. He reaches out almost without realizing it, his fingers stopping a hair’s breadth from the sunny petals. Somehow, even here, at the epicenter of the apocalypse, life endures. It persists, in spite of death, in spite of ruin, in spite of the krang.
The urge to protect the tiny flower, to uproot it and carry it somewhere safe, out of the reach of careless hound claws and crushing droid feet, is almost overwhelming. The fear of some mindless krang zombie shambling across this particular patch of broken concrete and heedlessly snuffing out this tiny spark of life has Eshra reaching for the dandelion again, for a moment intent on digging it up and spiriting it to safety. He nearly has his claws in the dirt before he stops himself, something that might be his conscience nipping at the edge of his mind. What right has he to impose his will on this precious, stubborn little thing? Why does he think he knows better? He draws his hand back, clutching it against his chest and instead simply taking a few cherished moments to just… look. Look and breathe and have just a minute’s worth of peace.
He goes back every day after that, each time terrified he won’t remember where the dandelion is, or worse, that something has happened to it while he’s been away. Each time, though, his fears are unfounded, and he finds his flower right where he left it, still as bright as the sun they can no longer see and still as insistent that it is going to live.
The day he spots a puff of white instead of the usual splash of yellow, Eshra’s heart jumps in his chest. Almost without care he hurries the last few dozen yards and crouches down next to the dandelion, which has turned from a sunburst blossom to a tiny cloud, and he's smiling a smile he’s forgotten he has. The yokai cups his hands around the seeded flower, a scrap of cloth in his fingers as a shield between the dandelion and the rest of the world. Then carefully, so very carefully, he blows on the puff, which shivers and quivers and at last releases its grip on its scores of minuscule seeds, allowing them to float safely into Eshra’s makeshift net.
After folding the cloth into a secure little sachet and tucking it into one of his supply pouches, Eshra finally lets himself touch his flower, a single delicate fingertip resting on the now bare seed head.
“Thank you,” he whispers, soft as the dandelion’s seeds, “for reminding me.”