#focsle

[ganymedian]

YAAY GOING TO WEATHER IS BACK

Read it here if you like whaling stories! Boys on haunted boats!!!

[creatrixanimi]

Here’s a commission for @focsle of the Captain Barzillai Waite from their webcomic Going to Weather! Def check it out if you like historical dramas and ghost stories!! Thank you so much for commissioning me!! commission info here

[ourinquisitorialness]

Tfw u see a lil post that makes u think of a friend and u send it to em and they LIKE IT and ur brain goes “yessss I’m gonna get such a good grade in Friend, something that is both realistic to want and possible to achieve.”

ft. @focsle lol

[pentecostwaite]

Saw a red pickup drive by and one side was covered in black whale-shaped stamps like whalers used to use in their logbooks to mark when they’d taken a whale and I’m so confused

[maniacal-butterfly]

Happy birthday in advance @focsle ! All my best wishes! Here is a drawing of your Sunshine Girl! :D (ref used is the post here )

[helen-richardson]

@focsle replied to your post “PLEASE just be friends with helen. PLEASE”

I REALLY NEED THE JON MARTIN HELEN TERROR-ROADTRIP.

ME TOO! martin was down for it! jon PLEASE just accept her. sure sometimes she runs off to go eat people, but then everyone has their foibles

[juanjoltaire]

Going back to the 100 Heads Challenge. No idea if I’ll get through it eventually but it at least it’s helping me draw something when I don’t know what to do with myself. So here’s 11-20. I would like to specifically point out a couple friends pictured here, 11 is the handsome and Grantaire-ish FallOutStarBoy on twitter, and 12 is the very dapper @focsle who is one of my fave online artist friendos and who I had the pleasure of meeting in real life as well.

You can see more in the tag.

Which (ones) do you like best?

[windsweptlassie]

I just read @focsle‘s Ghost Story wip and loved it, and I’m going to say I got tagged by them for wip-sharing, cause I’m back on my bullshit (writing Ailbe-verse!)

October 17, 1920

Lorna shifted little Ailbe against her breast and unlocked the door to the rented room. It swung open with a soft creak. 

Her room, for the time being. Her key. Her life, now.

Ailbe pressed his head sleepily into her shoulder. By her reckoning, he was nearly seven months old now. Seven months of a journey to somewhere beyond what she’d ever imagined before. She felt her eyes well up with tears. It had been highly infrequent in those seven months that she’d stopped to think, but she was realizing now what she was doing. 

She wanted to give her son a better life. She wanted to give herself a better life. And here she was, stepping blinking into the sun, doing just that.

She hummed softly and unwrapped the sling that Ailbe rested in, gently laying him on the freshly made bed He wiggled and yawned, then blinked at her with his bright honey-colored eyes. God, how she loved him.

Clean autumn light slanted through the little garret window, glinting a little on the tiny mirror that had been hung on a peg over the wash basin.She crossed the room to where the mirror hung and peered into it.

Her face was the same as it had always been, albeit a little thinner, a little more careworn. Her cheeks were flushed, as always, and strands of hair fell into her face from a day out in the wind of the city. The majority of her hair still held in a thick braid that she’d pinned against the nape of her neck. 

Her hair. It was heavy, and it reminded her of Before. Before Ailbe, before- 

Well.

.

.

.

and here’s another bit!

August 19, 1939

 “Christ, kid, they’re going to send you to war with a skill like that.”

Ailbe was silent for a long while. The breeze had slowed and the tarmac was suddenly quiet in the evening heat. 

“I know,” he said simply, his voice almost a whisper. He put his hand against Alf’s forearm. His fingers were extremely cold.

“I didn’t start to fly to go to war, you know,” he said, after another heavy pause. 

“I figured.” Alf replied.

“It’s alright, Alfie.” Ailbe said, with his face turned towards the sky. 

Alf took Ailbe’s cold hand in his own warm one. Ailbe silently laced his fingers with Alf, not taking his eyes from the sky. He was looking at a clean sky, an open sky, bright with the fading sun, not yet streaked with smoke and bombs and bright fuselage.

He closed his eyes.