FINISHED WOOOO

I'm going to live laugh love even if I have to set 500 alarm!!!!

It's that time of year again, and I continue my tradition of making little pendants for each Art Fight team! These ones were really fun to color, I love the palette for the teams this year.

As always, these are free to use wherever you desire, though crediting me here would be nice! I go by baubleBee on Art Fight as well, either works.

And optionally if you really enjoy seeing these every year, maybe take a peek at my KoFi and drop a tip! Your support really means a lot to me, but really I just love seeing you guys having fun with my banners every year. ^^

I'm making hotpot on saturday!

I'll make a little post with how it went :)

I'm sick of internet negativity, so let's combat it: reblog this and saying something nice/pay a compliment to the prev in the tags.

i think im getting better! :) [another event occurs]

F r u i t f r i e n d s

Memory of a Soup

In my kitchen bubbles a soup.

Simmering around a bundle of scraps

are pieces of a meal left to remain.

Sitting in a bag for months at a time,

Meals that I shared with people,

Ones that aren't here now.

It sits alone now,

with me, like my soup,

in a room with no other people.

Sitting in tinting water are the scraps,

steeping liquid with the essence of time.

There is a deep gold as remain.

Golden memories remain,

And they are made liquid now.

A pot containing fragmented time.

Is soup really about soup?

Is it about the scraps,

or perhaps about the people?

I think about the people,

as I strain the golden remain

from the old, useless scraps.

They are a piece of it now,

a droplet of warm memory in soup.

A way to contain months of time.

The golden stock burbles over time.

Still, there come no people,

and I am alone with my soup.

Within its quiet flavor, I remain,

tasting pieces of memory in the now.

But all I feel like is discarded scraps.

I put new scraps

in a bag to freeze time.

The soup boils now,

and yet there are no people.

A pile of ingredients remain

alone in a pot of unshared soup.

There's no memory in these new scraps

because there are no people.

It boils away for hours at a time,

until theres only ingredients that remain.

I eat alone and quiet now

as the warmth of love leaves my soup.

-------

ZIM ON MY DASH!! IN 2025!! HOORAY!!!!

Greeting Dib

Uh huh, typically yeah

Have any of you watched that newest episode of Yellowjackets? Unrelated follow up, is anyone having vivid fantasies of being pinned down and forced to eat their own flesh by a woman covered in blood?

Does peeslosh solo

Peeslosh SOLOS!!!!!!