I think I’m past due to send another Commission Post out into the void! So here we go; *ahem, ahem*
Capitalism is a Curse; Support a Small Artist; Commission Me!
If you don’t see what you’re looking for here, or have any questions, check my Commission Google Doc for more options, and/or just shoot me a message! You can email me at [email protected]
If you can’t commission me, it would still mean a lot if you could spread the word! I also have a Ko-fi where you can support me, if you like what I do! Check out my instagram here or the art tag on my blog for more examples of my art!
the amount of times i have found myself explaining to kids that the reason they are experiencing burnout is because they are trying to self-teach themselves how to draw by skipping fundamentals and going straight into trying to force a "style", getting frustrated when they don't understand the techniques in which the style is grounded, and refusing to engage in workshops or other settings in which they can receive peer feedback is unreal.
it's like they're trying to bake a cake based on photos of cakes and don't understand why guessing the measurements isn't producing a cake that looks like one baked by someone who used a cookbook. and then saying they're burnt out from cooking. no shit. open a cookbook.
Listen, I HAD to draw this scene from @astellus Day 16 fic. I HAD TO, IT WAS SO FUNNY! I just love the way they write Elliott sooo much it's so good and so in character 😘👌
I don't know what I was thinking when I wrote this, only when I opened it to edit last night, I had myself a good laugh.
Read this random bit of silly below the cut here, or on my A03.
It was one of those perfect lazy summer evenings where Elliott felt content. He was still new to Pelican Town. Barely settled into his cabin, but the people were kind and he was starting to make friends.
On nights like this, he chose to spend some of that time with his newly acquired friend, Willy. Normally he could find the older fisherman smoking his pipe and watching the sunset from the bench outside his shop, but today he seemed more excited than normal.
“Greetings my good mariner! What has your thoughts so preoccupied this evening?”
It’s not until Elliott sits and Willy feels the slats of the wooden bench shift beneath him, does he realize someone else has arrived.
“Oh lad, it’s you. Forgive an old sea dog his manners. Head’s wrapped around the new bait I be concocting. Wanted to lure some lovely ladies into the crab pots, but they ain’t bitin’. That’s gonna change after tonight.” He gives Elliott a wink, holding up a mysteriously pungent bucket like the greatest of pirate treasures. He pats it gently and places it back down.
“Ye might want to ensure your windows are sealed this evenin’, lad. There’s magic in the air. I can feel it.”
The two men enjoy each other’s company, as the sun sets, but it’s clear to Elliott that Willy’s mind is elsewhere. Chalking up his odd behaviour to a delightful display of passion for the art of fishing, he bids his friend a good night, deciding to call it in early himself.
More and more often as of late, Elliott has been spending his nights writing until the thin hours of the morning stretch before him. Tonight, he decides, he will allow himself the luxury of recharging and set about to the task of his writing tomorrow, fresh and completely rejuvenated.
He's not sure the hour when the rain starts. Only that the patter and soft tink tink of droplets on his roof is soothing. Elliott has the window cracked a smidge, assuming Willy’s earlier cautionary warning was in jest, and is relishing in the lap of waves and smell of salt air as he begins to drift off to sleep.
Soon enough, he’s dreaming about the downpour. Standing in it. Running in it. Closing his eyes and turning his face up to the heavens as it rains down upon him. He can practically feel the droplets crawling along his skin.
It’s so realistic, in fact, that it pulls him from his dream. Pulls him to that confused place between sleep and waking where he’s not sure if it is rain… or something else.
Elliott cracks an eyelid and peeks down at his torso with a laugh; because surely this must be a dream. There are crabs everywhere. Three on his chest, several more on his legs and blanket, even an industrious one sidestepping through the cascade of hair across his pillow.
He laughs, at least, until he realizes the dream isn’t actually a dream. That the warm, cocooned safety of his imagination bubble has popped as he hears the creak of his window and realizes it’s because crustaceans of all sizes are crawling in, pushing the pane open even further with each scuttle of their tiny legs.
Elliott flings himself from the bed, blankets pooling on the floor, and lets out a scream. It’s not quite terror, it’s not quite disgust, but the sound that he emits from his lungs is a confused kind of incredulity that only comes from a brain still frazzled by sleep.
Because there is a mob of crabs currently overtaking his cabin.
~*~
It’s a long, arduous morning when Willy finally sends for Gus, realizing he might have bitten off more than he could chew.
His shack is full of crabs.
Crabs crawling on counters, feasting in the tubs of bait he kept up front, and even somehow finding their way into his favourite pair of work boots. They’re splashing in his wash basin, bobbing in the boathouse out back and are almost everywhere underfoot by the time the two men tackle cleanup.
Gus appears immensely pleased, holding a full basket of wriggling crabs as Willy laughs with a sheepish grin.
“What can I say? Guess the old girls ‘ran wild’ last night… heh…”
Gus looks like he’s about to say something in response when a knock at the door interrupts them.
“Wonder who that could be so early,” Willy muses, pulling back the latch with a shocked gasp.
Elliott is standing there in flannel pajama pants and a terrycloth robe. It’s hanging open, askew. Actually, in retrospect, his entire person seems to be misaligned. Clothes rumpled, hair a monumental tangle of red illuminated by the sunrise behind him, and a crazed, exhausted look in his eye that would suggest he had been on an all-night writing bender.
“Were you aware, my friend,” he begins “That your crab bait was so potent, that the simple act of keeping you company on the docks last night transferred its pungency to me?”
Willy notes how he can see the whites of Elliott’s eyes, and the soft tick of incredulity in the set of his jaw. He tries dearly to suppress a laugh when a crab pokes its head out of the pocket of his robe.
“No lad, I wasn’t. I promise ye,” he chokes out, not daring to look at Gus who’s shoulders he notes, are shaking out of the corner of his eye. “I’ve been experimentin’ and this was me first batch. Guess I’ll dial back the potency for me next one.”
Elliott straightens his back like he’s the most dignified gentleman at a party and tugs on the lapels of his housecoat. “Yes, well. Please keep that in mind, William.” He nods to his friend, giving a formal little bow of acknowledgement to Gus, but as he tips his head, a crab falls from his hair and lands with a soft thunk to the docks below.
A long, suffering sigh can be heard from Elliott as he shakes his head in defeat.
“Gus, please call me the moment you have crab cakes on the menu. I find I have a surprising taste for vengeance,” he says before turning on his heels and walking away with his head held high.
The funny thing about crabs on your person though, is that they tend to attract seagulls, and it’s not long before Gus and Willy a gasping with laughter as Elliott runs for the cover of his cabin, a flock of roving gulls hot on his heels and a string of curse words falling from his lips. “At least the lad will have a new experience to write about,” he mutters remorsefully as Gus once again, doubles over in laughter.
Created by myself and fellow enthusiast @mongoosingisme, Quilluary is a month of prompts for our favorite beach-dwelling Stardew bachelor, Elliott. It takes place in February and is open to any and all who love that goofy little poet. Write! Draw! Sculpt! Sing! Bake! Do an interpretive dance! Tag what you've made with #quilluary26.
If you're an ao3 enthusiast, consider adding to the Quilluary collection here:
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
If you have any questions, feel free to drop me a line or reach out to Mongoose. Have fun - we can't wait to see what you make!
Britttttt are you gonna participate in Quilluary? Please say yes I need more of your Elliott art 🥺
When I tell you I did not even know about it until Right Up On the First Day 😳🫣 Maybe I'll pick a few days to do! I do need to draw my man my man my man again 🤩🤩🤩
I've always headcannoned that the reason why Elliott loves pomegrantes so much is because his grandparents had an Pomegranate orchard in the country, and he'd visit during summers, so I based this prompt on that!
Oh stars, it's finally happening. The first Quilluary prompt.
I was inspired to write this little story after some absolutely amazing art from @oldowlshollow that can be found here.
You should absolutely check it out there and tell him how much you love it, because I've been so excited for people to see it now for WEEKS.
https://archiveofourown.org/works/78689926
You don't think you'll ever forget the first time Elliott lit up at the sight of a pomegranate.
It was still early days in your relationship. The two of you were embarking on what you hoped was a very date-like stroll through the Cindersap forest with an objective: a mini adventure to the travelling merchant's cart.
Part of the reason you had fallen so hard for Elliott was his natural ability to inject a sense of wonder into even the most ordinary moments. He always had a kind word, a softer way of viewing things, and an ease about him that just felt like coming home, right from the get-go. You had somehow known even back then, that he would always be a safe place to land.
"One always feels a small thrill at the thought of what they might find. Isn't that right, my muse?" He had been waxing poetic; arms clasped respectfully behind his back, voice resonating with the warmth of the day, wrapped up around you like a cozy blanket.
Leaning in, you affectionately nudged his shoulder, the two of you stepping up to the cart to browse her wares. When his eyes lit on the pomegranate, he reached out with utmost care, picking up the fruit with a gasp of joy spilling from his lips.
Elliott held it aloft, dappled in the early morning light, as he turned the deep red over with eager fingers, excited to share his joy with you.
“Do you know,” Elliott chirped, “how long it’s been since I’ve even seen a pomegranate, let alone held one?” he sighed, smiling wistfully before handing it back to the merchant.
“Just that small taste was a feast for my senses. Thank you for inviting me out for this spontaneous moment of joy."
This wouldn't stand. Not when such a simple thing brought him so much delight.
Mind made up, you turned back to the merchant, sliding over some gold in exchange for the treat, much to Elliott’s alarm.
“Please, I don’t want you to feel obligated. Truly, you don’t have to—”
You silenced his worries with a kiss, hand coming up to rest gently against his cheek. Elliott's whole body seemed to relax under your touch, any further protests dying on his lips.
“I know I don’t have to," you murmured, "I want to, my bard."
“Besides,” you'd said, whispering with a sly grin, “I’ve never actually tried a pomegranate before. I was hoping you could show me the best way to peel and enjoy it without making too much of a mess.”
"Oh, so it's instruction you seek?" he'd said, murmuring so close to your lips that you could feel the heat of his breath. "Then I shall endeavour to impress you with my skills," he murmured, clearly happy he would be able to return this favour in some small way and not be chided for wanting; for letting himself be taken care of.
Because even back then, you had lived for the little moments where it clicked; watching for that smile return fully to his face, transforming it into something softer, happier. It was in the way comprehension bloomed over time where uncertainty once resided. It was in how he began to carry the easy confidence of knowing he was wanted. How it finally overshadowed the voices in his head that had told him his whole life he wasn't worth the time or attention.
And with that one simple act, it was so much more than just a rekindled love of pomegranates that took hold that day. It was one of the first bricks laid in a future you were starting to build together.
☆☆☆
Those early days had felt like pure magic; back when your love for him had first taken root and blossomed.
Back when the farm had still been a complete disaster. Echoes of what once was, pebbled across the property like promises of what could be.
So, when it came time to tackle the orchard, there was never any doubt in your mind.
Pomegranate saplings as fresh and new as your affection at the time entered the earth, as if to say "I choose you. I want you. The life I am building now, wants you in it always."
Because he was already choosing you back then too, in a million different ways.
In the way his perfectly constructed persona would crack in your presence. Careful curation giving way to a lopsided grin meant only for you.
In the way you started appearing in his writing. Pieces of you scattered across the page like moondust. Moments he never wanted to forget. His love captured in ink and parchment.
When your inkling turned to love, turned to forever, it was hard to explain just how right married life felt to others. How things just clicked into place; a missing piece finally reunited with the bigger picture. The changing of the seasons were somehow easier now - softer - with him by your side.
After Elliott moved in, the two of you fell into an easy rhythm. He'd wake up early just to press a freshly brewed cup of coffee into your hands and a kiss to your lips.
You'd gather eggs for breakfast, while he took it upon himself to water the crops.
He'd never realized how you'd been making room for him all this time. Long before his arrival was set in stone. Your love for him seen in flowers blooming in brilliant shades of red; the star shaped blossoms concealing their secret in plain sight.
It was laughably easy to keep the orchard's mystery tucked away for the right moment. When he had moved in at the end of last fall, the fruit had already come down from the trees. It had been a small yield - a promise of greater things to come - that you had promptly captured and transformed into jam.
On early winter mornings, you'd watch, delighted, as he indulged; generously scooping red jewelled sweetness onto fresh bread. Licking sticky fingers and even sticker kisses from lips creased in a permanent smile these days.
In the spring, you'd take walks through the orchard when the blossoms were in their full majesty, Elliott remaining blissfully unaware of their fast approaching metamorphosis. He would stop and linger by the delicate petals as you stifled a laugh, marvelling at the flowers he'd dubbed his little crimson stardrops. One sunny morning he even leaned in, breathed deeply, and declared that they reminded him of good memories and love in full bloom.
☆☆☆
As the months passed, you'd decided, almost serendipitous, to save the reveal for his birthday. The soft yellow orange of the fruit had been fully ripening to its signature crimson red; the branches beginning to bow under the weight of their bounty.
Greeting him that morning with a gentle nudge of your nose against his cheek, you listened as the deep steady rhythm of sleep gave way to a long, happy sigh. He took his time, stretching languidly. Each movement slow and deliberate, waiting until you dropped your guard before he pounced.
Arms wrapped around you as Elliott peppered your face with a barrage of kisses, your laughter breaking the silence of the room as you squeaked in delight.
"Did you know," he said, tone low and gravelly, still clinging to sleep, "that this is my first birthday as a married man?"
"I hear that's the rumour going around, yes," you replied between giggles.
"In my estimate, that already makes this my favourite birthday ever." Emotion catches in his throat, his voice cracking as he attempts to maintain an already crumbling composure.
So you kiss him. Again and again until those almost tears turn to laughter. Your only goal today is to keep that smile on his face.
"Oh no!" you joke, "What if I've wasted all the good surprises on this year? No future birthdays will ever live up to the expectations I'm about to set!" The back of your hand tips to your forehead, as you feign woe, collapsing on to your pillow with Elliott following close behind.
"You have… surprises for me?" He asks innocently, and curse him, he knows that sweet, unassuming look in his eyes is your absolute weakness.
Nodding, the two of you climb out of bed, slowly getting dressed. You don your jeans and plaid shirt, while Elliott slips into his red jacket and green trousers, looking every bit the long line of elegance that captured your heart on that very first morning you meet.
He's about to set the coffee to boil, when you stop him with a hand to his forearm.
"Walk with me first?" you beckon, suddenly shy. You’re somehow worried that once he figured out you created this for him so long ago, he might think it a bit outlandish, or perhaps even foolish? Fruit trees weren't exactly a conventional gift, after all.
But then you look at him, his curious smile, his soft eyes and know. Nerves evaporating like mist in the sun.
Elliott nods and sets down the kettle, helps bundle you into your jacket with care. A smile clings to your lips, as he adjusts the collar, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. His trust is unshakable. If you had told him you were taking him swimming, he'd have packed a swimsuit without question, regardless of the chill in the air.
The sun is just breaching the horizon over the mountain as you crest the little hill to the orchard. On your way, the two of you pass through the familiar peach and nectarine trees, having already offered up their bounty earlier this year. The apples come next. Crisp and clinging to morning dew as Elliott closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.
"This was such a lovely idea, my muse," he says, jovial lilt to his voice. "I don't think I've been up to the orchard since peach season ended," he admits.
You're well aware, feigning ignorance as you pretend to think it over with him. "You know, my heart. I think you're right! Autumn has always been more your season anyways," you chuckle, giving his hand a squeeze, trying to occupy his attention as best you can as you round the final row of apple trees to the now ripe pomegranates along the edge of the orchard.
You feel a slight tug on your hand and realize he's stopped in his tracks, simply staring at the trees in front of him.
He lets out a little "oh," carried on the breeze, barely above a whisper, before stepping forward with a confused happy expression at the abundance before him.
"I didn't… were you aware—" he trails off, the smile spreading across his face is so wide that it sets off a fluster of joy in your belly as you watch him reach out and pluck a pomegranate from the tree.
"Happy birthday, Elliott," you whisper, coming up behind him to wrap your arms around his waist, leaning your head on his shoulder.
He leans against you, sinking into your arms from behind, shoulders bobbing up and down in what you assume is laughter, but quickly discover are tears.
"Oh, love, Ell, are you ok?" you ask as he turns to face you.
In way of answer, you get swept into his arms. Kissed so deeply and so thoroughly, you think for a brief moment that he might have to carry you back to your home with how your legs have turned to jelly. You feel the smile on his hot lips pressed to yours; taste the salt of his tears, the noise that breaks against your mouth is equal parts joy and disbelief.
"I've never… when did you find the time to… how?"
You giggle, breathing in his astonishment a moment longer before telling him. Relieved to finally be able to let the secret out after all this time. It turns from mystery to awe in the span of a few murmured sentences. You see the way his mind works, the timeline of your love that he draws on, going over and over in his head just how long you knew you've wanted him in your life.
"Even back then?" he says in pure shock.
"Yes, my bard. Even back then."
No question. No hesitation. Just that same sense of rightness you've felt in his presence since the very beginning.
Elliott can't stop holding you. Can't stop kissing you as he rocks you in his arms and marvels at the gift.
"It's so much more than a tree, my muse," he murmurs into your hair as you let the man you love find his words.
"It's everything you've ever said to me about love made real. Every time I doubted. Every time I felt myself lacking in some way, you already held me in your heart. Every worry," he says, gulping back tears that threaten to spill again, "every time I fretted. Tormented myself wondering if I would ever be enough, you were already claiming me, planting my roots in this land like I was already a part of it."
He trails off again, the full realization of what you've done for him finally settling on his features, and then he throws his head back and laughs long and loud, full of sparkling, wonderous joy.
"Do you know," he beings with a twinkle in his eyes, "that you might have been on to something."
You tilt your head curiously at him, recognizing the hint of a joke buried under all that elation.
"Yeah? In what way, my love?"
"No future birthdays may ever live up to this gift. I fear I have been utterly, irredeemably, spoiled."
You gasp, coming in to tackle him playfully, but he's ready and waiting, scooping you up and spinning you around. You have no choice but to cling, your arms flying around his neck as you hold on with a surprise laugh.
When he finally puts you down, you're both breathless, giggling like a pair of fools in love: because you are.
"Every birthday moving forward will automatically be better than the last," he says, wiping a tear of laughter from the corner of his eye, "made true by the simple fact that I get to spend them with you."
You eventually make it back to the house, hands full of pomegranates, hearts full of love.
I think I’m past due to send another Commission Post out into the void! So here we go; *ahem, ahem*
Capitalism is a Curse; Support a Small Artist; Commission Me!
If you don’t see what you’re looking for here, or have any questions, check my Commission Google Doc for more options, and/or just shoot me a message! You can email me at [email protected]
If you can’t commission me, it would still mean a lot if you could spread the word! I also have a Ko-fi where you can support me, if you like what I do! Check out my instagram here or the art tag on my blog for more examples of my art!
I think I’m past due to send another Commission Post out into the void! So here we go; *ahem, ahem*
Capitalism is a Curse; Support a Small Artist; Commission Me!
If you don’t see what you’re looking for here, or have any questions, check my Commission Google Doc for more options, and/or just shoot me a message! You can email me at [email protected]
If you can’t commission me, it would still mean a lot if you could spread the word! I also have a Ko-fi where you can support me, if you like what I do! Check out my instagram here or the art tag on my blog for more examples of my art!
I think I’m past due to send another Commission Post out into the void! So here we go; *ahem, ahem*
Capitalism is a Curse; Support a Small Artist; Commission Me!
If you don’t see what you’re looking for here, or have any questions, check my Commission Google Doc for more options, and/or just shoot me a message! You can email me at [email protected]
If you can’t commission me, it would still mean a lot if you could spread the word! I also have a Ko-fi where you can support me, if you like what I do! Check out my instagram here or the art tag on my blog for more examples of my art!
I've really been wanting to revive Kaibara's Instagram account for a long time but insta and xitter are The Bad Places...so imagine my delight when a friend directed me towards this cute lil app where people post on social media as OCs and canon characters 🥺 it's been a lot of fun so far, and it's gotten me back into drawing the social media styled posts like I wanted to!! I haven't been active in a roleplay community in a long time either, so this was a nice way to ease myself back into it.
I've really been wanting to revive Kaibara's Instagram account for a long time but insta and xitter are The Bad Places...so imagine my delight when a friend directed me towards this cute lil app where people post on social media as OCs and canon characters 🥺 it's been a lot of fun so far, and it's gotten me back into drawing the social media styled posts like I wanted to!! I haven't been active in a roleplay community in a long time either, so this was a nice way to ease myself back into it.
