NAN

Making a Tumblr comeback after 10 years but have no idea how to use it anymore/25yo/eng, chn, jpn

[nanwaking]

Creating another new account cuz I haven’t been on Tumblr for forever!! (Also posting this so to have some content on my blog, as I try to figure out how everything works

Currently obsession SHCO and TA, might post artworks/writings here in the future when I feel more comfortable, but will def start reposting

You can call me Nan :)

I use any pronouns

I’m comfortable interacting in ENG/中文/日本語

[soleeryx]

я - жертва погасаючого світу 👁

[nanwaking]

Late to the party but here’s my submission for @shco-shta-fanzine!! It’s been so wonderful participating in the fanzine and witnessing its making - the immense love for the games and the support from the community have made my first fanzine experience absolutely amazing. Please check out the full zine and everyone’s great work!!

[shco-shta-fanzine]

FANZINE IS OFFICIALLY RELEASED! 🥳

Download PDF

Some tips for better browzing below 👇

Since the zine contains several double-page spreads, we recommend viewing it in a PDF reader that allows you to display the cover separately from the rest of the pages. This ensures that all spreads are aligned correctly and can be viewed as intended.

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[shco-shta-fanzine]

art by @nanwaking

[nanwaking]

Had a lot of fun with this one! Excited for the zine (with so many amazing works) 🥺🙌🙌

[raclajo]

Animatic from The Adventure of Charles Augustus Milverton

[nanwaking]

My attempt to return to drawing…Also still trying to figure out how my style fits with S so lots of trials, errors, and struggles in this one, but I love the concept a lot so gonna post anyway :p

[very-sincerely-yours-zine]

The Very Sincerely Yours Kickstarter is now live!🎉

Very Sincerely Yours is an anthology dedicated to Sherlock Holmes, Dr. John Watson, and the idea of home. It is over 150 pages of illustrations, comics, and fiction from a team of 46 creators around the world, and it's now ready to become yours!

The anthology will be printed as an 8.5 x 11 softcover, perfect bound book, with full colour artwork, comics, and illustrated stories. The stories—written specially for our anthology—explore themes of home, belonging, and family. 🏡

Our merchandise bundle will include 6 vinyl stickers, 3 postcards prints, 2 sticker sheets, 1 bookmark, and a sticky notepad! We're offering 2 additional pieces of merchandise as add-ons: a cotton tote-bag, and a hinged wooden charm.

Our Kickstarter will only be running until December 21st, 11:59PM EST, so please help us spread the word and buy your own copy while you have the time! 📢💕

Link to our Kickstarter: https://www.kickstarter.com/projects/haedraulics/very-sincerely-yours

[panshan125]

ok... Call of Wild

[panshan125]

🐱🐱

[jjian1002]

Bunch of Bug&Boo from twitter

[waterla0226]

mememememememe.mememe aoli meme.

爽画。

[lostintransist]

Butterflies in Blood

AO3 | Part 1

You didn’t get a chance to turn in those transfer papers.

Laswell waited for you in your room, finger tracing each line of your form as if confirming the damn thing had been filled out correctly.

“You won’t be needing this,” she tapped her finger twice before looking at you.

Today had already been too much, and you hadn’t even had lunch.

“All undue respect, ma’am, things have gotten so bad I either turn in that fucking paperwork or I am getting shipped home in a box.” Her brow lifted at your harsh tone, which was an opportunity to backstep, to try again. But you’re done.

The silence between you rang in your ears.

Laswell hummed. Turning back to the request, she lifted the pages and folded them before slipping them into a pocket.

“Then I have one final job for you as a member of Task Force 141.”

Giving in to the curiosity biting at your tongue means losing. You’ve already lost too much. You keep silent.

The huff and smirk combo had probably gotten Kate Laswell far in her career. Nothing but nepotism would you any further.

“Pack your bags, sergeant. You’re going solo.”

16 Months Prior

Roach, Bugs as you had started to call him, appeared more often than not at your rooftop hideaway. Sometimes he would seem lost in his own head, even the air moving from his lungs silent. Other times, though?

“I’ve never seen Price’s hair stand on end like that. His damn boonie hat flew so damn far it took two of us to find it.”

You are clenching your stomach from laughter, voice cracking, and tears streaming as you imagine the scenario that would leave the acclaimed Captain Price flat on his ass due to an electric fence.

Bugs grinned at you like making you laugh this hard could be shined and could be shown off like brass candy on his uniform. That might be why you fell for him. He treated you like you were real, like you mattered. He had to know about you, about the medication you took daily to help keep you functioning like you should. The past followed you like a miasma, clinging to the molecules around your head. If someone stared hard enough at your aura, they would see the trauma that was labeled by others as ‘weird’ or ‘you’re just confused’ or ‘that’s not a real thing,’ attempting to suffocate you. A lot of people would be happier if you died and stopped disturbing their worldview with your existence.

Fuck them.

Bugs didn’t ever go out of his way to seek you out. You knew he didn’t like you the way you liked him. It had happened enough times that the stinging pain of perceived rejection felt as good as the ennui and the limerence. Sitting next to him at meals or at meetings was your preference, and not just because you liked to siphon off his presence to fuel your internal desires, but he made a point to include you, to listen to you. It helped. The task force felt less repressive when more than Maria cared.

He didn’t outright defend you from bullshit on base, but he called it out.

“Where is Chuckles?”

Hearing your call sign as you were still far enough from the common room to hide from sight.

“Bitch is probably off whining to the base commander again,” came the reply from a voice you didn’t recognize.

“Now why the hell would an SAS-level soldier complain to the base commander unless there was a problem they couldn’t fix without killing someone?”

Bugs asked the question like the other party was a damn idiot. Though to be fair, they could have been. The sound of someone choking on their words followed you as you about-faced and headed for the roof.

You ran drills twice as hard as the rest of the task force, could outshoot Soap and nearly outshoot Ghost, and could almost match distance with Gaz in running. None of it mattered. Morning after a celebratory visit to a bar close to base, found you sliding into an open spot between Maria and Price in the mess. Bugs sat across from you at mess, eyes blinking heavily at his oatmeal. The man had a hard time waking up when not on missions.

“Hey,” Maria turned to you, her sleek dark brows pulled together. “Where did you go last night? No one saw you make it back to base.”

Soap’s mutter to Ghost shouldn’t have reached you, but due to your poor luck or his, the volume dropped away, so his snark sank into your neck like a guillotine.

“Probably went home with someone.”

You hadn’t. Turned around and everyone was gone. Bugs hadn’t been there that time, but the comment had him glancing from his friend to you. The brown of his eyes reminded you of the dried blood that clung to your collar as your head rolled away from the stump of what you had been. Instead of replying, you scoop up your untouched tray and deliver it to the men working the kitchen. You kept protein drinks and snacks in your room for a reason.

Bugs kept a keener eye on you from then on. You didn’t notice—Maria did.

“Have you seen how Roach watches you? What’s going on between you two?” Maria curled her question down at you from the top bunk. The vine would trap you, sticky as a Sundew.

“Don’t know what you mean. Nothing is up with us, other than the fact he treats me like a human being. But if that’s the qualifier for something going on, the bar must be in hell,” you reply without lifting your eyes from the novel you were reading.

Her disbelieving sound falls on deaf ears; your mind already pulled back to the far-flung stars where what you were had no bearing on what you could be.

Part 5

Masterlist | Taglist

@maraschino-bullet @listen-to-navi @MindsofJade @Infectious_Art @happyfacelol @thelolmomentz @somewhatfantasticalreality @danielle143 @yunchen898 @alli-xsq @nommingonfood @idleviewer @cc-is-here @detectivesparrow @infectious-art

[laswells-ashtray]

Ghost doesn't cutesy talk cats, he talks to them like other adult men and it's hilarious.

They're at a safehouse, and Ghost is listening to the radio, Price hears him talking to someone, and he's confused because both of his sergeants are conked out asleep.

So, he walks around the corner and finds Ghost sitting on a step with the radio playing and a stray kitten biting his laces while he talks to her. "I don't believe shoelaces constitute part of a balanced diet."

John just sits down on the step next to him and ignores how his knees click. "What's her name?"

"She's yet to disclose name or rank, but given that she's clearly smarter than those two through there, I'd say she's a lieutenant." He responds so dryly that John can't help but snort.

"Ah, I see. Making her way through the ranks at her young age, impressive." He leans forward to pet the kitten, flattening down the tuft of fur sticking up on her head.

"She's a hard worker, look at those paws. Grubby, she's been busy."

The kitten offers them a mewl in response, and he nods accordingly.

"She's stern, reminds me of Laswell."

That makes Ghost laugh.

[grimmroach]

every building soap destroys without clearance, ghost gets 1+ paperwork and 3+ hours of migraines

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Nik's flying Simon and Price over some leafy green European countryside, and Simon spots some cows, his legs dangling out the open door of the Black Hawk, rifle across his lap. His low, deadpan tone crackles through the intercom. "Ya know, they call these summer cows."

Price cottons on immediately. The look he gives the back of Simon's head is fond; blue eyes crinkled, smile crooked. He can sense a Simon tier dad joke from a mile off.

"Really?" Nik asks, peering out the side window.

"Yeah, sum'er black, sum'er white and sum'er brown."

Price snorts. There's a brief pause as Nik parses the joke through several layers of translation, and then, "Ha! Because some are... very good, very good."

Price can hear Nik's broad grin through the Comms and he watches Simon shimmy a little, shoulders squaring. Proud of himself.

[cod-bin]

obsessively domestic simon headcanons

-he sleeps better when you’re touching. doesn’t matter how—your ankle resting on his, your fingers tangled, your whole body draped over him like a blanket—if you’re not touching, he won’t sleep. just lies there, blinking into the dark.

-he never says “i love you” the same way twice. sometimes it’s “text me when you get home.” sometimes it’s “eat something.” sometimes it’s him holding your wrist a little too tight before he lets you walk away.

-every time you wear his hoodie, he watches you like it’s the first time. like he forgot how good it looks on you. he doesn’t say anything. just tilts his head a little. maybe bites the inside of his cheek.

-he always smells like smoke, metal, and your shampoo. he uses it when you’re not looking. swears he doesn’t. but his side of the pillow always smells like you. it’s better than that shitty 7-in-1 anyways.

-he’s terrifyingly quiet when he’s angry. except with you. with you, he talks. not loud. but honest. “that scared the hell out of me.” “don’t do that again.” “i can’t lose you.”

-he doesn’t take pictures, but he has so many of you. little ones. secret ones. blurry and off-center. your hand on his thigh. your silhouette in the kitchen. your laugh mid-bite. he looks at them when he misses home.

-sometimes he just stares at you mid—conversation, like he forgot everything you were saying because your face is doing something soft. like smiling, or existing.

-when you’re sick, he’s unbearable. no one else can take care of you right. he brings you water, meds, hot tea, his hoodie, five blankets, a knife, and a death glare for anyone who even breathes near you.

-he gets shy after sex. not during—he’s dangerous during—but after, when you’re in his arms and breathing hard, he gets quiet. almost sweet. brushing hair from your face like he can’t believe you’re real.

-he doesn’t say “forever.” but when he fixes the cabinet in your bathroom without asking? when he memorizes your coffee order? when he adds your birthdate to every form he fills out? that’s him saying it.

I LOVE WRITING THESE

☆taglist☆

@little-mini-me-world @eremika104 @trixilove257 @just-lost-inbetween-worlds @lostintransist @avgdestitute @h0lydrag0ns @poshestpigeon @fertilise-me

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