arctikan

[arctikan]

aight, here’s the 411 folks.  say some gangsta is dissin’ your fly girl. just *leaves tumblr*

i’m not leaving tumblr (my art and personal posts blog is once again @izillus​ and i’ll probably set my portfolio as a sideblog there). but... i’ve decided i’ve tried tumblr rp far too many times for it to flop like this, every time, and be worth it. and honestly, yeah, i have a  lot  more to do if i want to look like an visual artist with the drive and potential i hope to have. but this all flopped harder, definitely, than my other attempts if just because:

(y’all don’t know/talk to nate.) this was 6/09. i have kept quiet for more than a month, and i think i let that get to my head harder than the act itself.

and i’m not here to instigate, or change anything. i’ve left tumblr plenty alone and have moved on, there are other outlets, and i’m not coming back  any time soon. i’m not motivated in spite, nor is this the main reason why i’m leaving. i want a canvas work done by september and i have a lot more plans for getting into art school, and i can write fanfictions if i want to write that bad. i have no motive in posting this besides the fact that:

1. it’s necessary to see this, and it’s been long enough that i can leave and be over it - so if someone wants to talk to me about it, that’s fine, but i dont need ‘retribution’ or a reason to come back. i am leaving to give myself the space to take care and discipline myself in pursuit of art.

2. that being said! it’s absurd - ASININE,  that i, who honestly could have came to these conclusions about doing tumblr rp again much sooner, found this pierce what little insecure joints are left in my right finger to let this fester for so long, and go “well i dont want to burn any bridges”! bridges that shouldn’t exist with my insecurities in plain sight.

my off-handness that people may have occasionally experienced is my bad. but i tried, and balancing this was just way too damn hard. i can make it up to you in art or a good conversation away from rp. if i try this again in close time, it’ll take up far too much of my time and my paranoia will just drive me up the wall. just in case i come back after all, i’ll keep this blog open as an archive. but it’s unlikely. 

here’s other places to find me:

my art twitter ! 

@izillus , tumblr dot comm

my personal twitter (warning. i am Loud)

discord, still leathercore#3259 !

i’m really sorry to bum out after such a short time... i was really excited for a while but realized that now, i’m graduated and preparing to move out. i can’t just spend this summer as i would if i were to return to school this fall, you know? i had fun though, and the headcanons and writing y’all have inspired me to do will continue throughout projects, be if fanfiction or art. and that means a lot to me. please keep in touch of you want! <3

[arctikan]

kuai liang & tomas.

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Stranger in a room

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pxlariis.

Open it, open it, open it!

This excitement fulfills her heart with joy, needed to see what came for her, is that what she thinks it is? Frost is so eager to have the ticket in her fingers. Sapphire eyes reflect those emotions without having her opening her mouth, there is a curved line forming instead.

Takes the ticket, yes, it is! Can’t contain her happiness, the whole temple gets to hear a scream of joy and euphoria.

“Are you gonna take me? Please, please, is in one of those places that look like garbage from outside, I have no problem in going by myself, but I need to show you some culture.”

the instances of her being this openly enthused run  few to none,  &  no preparation or shared joy braces him for the pace  &  volume of her excitement.  he blinks, glancing to the details of a nearby structure of carved stone -  processing her use of ‘ culture ’

he does not claim to be worldly or savvy in many spots of reality besides the pocket of the lin kuei. if he was to say it, frost could see the untruths spill through his teeth.

❛ i . . . ❜   his fingers mesh behind his back.    ❛  i didn’t plan being invited to come along. perhaps i could find someone to supervise the temple.  ❜   he feigns  stillness,   thumbs brushing & tapping against each other in aimless fidgeting.  ❛  but i can’t guarantee that.  ❜  

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Victory!

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cagepoint‌.

❛   I know you have no sense of humor  ,  but damn Subby  ,  CHILL out  .   ❜

❛ i don’t find the  endearment  of names  not  agreed upon.  SUBBY   included. ❜

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kuai liang: bi-han said if i dont pass this exam on cryomancy i wont get my tetanus shot

tomas: that's. weird .. what are you going to do

kuai liang: fucking study, i guess

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Meret Oppenheim Sun, Moon, Stars 1942

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Portraits by Miguel Laino

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kathexismania.

The remedy is worse than disease. For it’s as if he’s standing in between moments, from the time he had been clutching his side from spilling forth, that exemplary moment of his valiance and utter stubbornness, despite his guarded souls plucked into countless strands, only to be pulverized and become naught beneath the pervading strands of hellfire, rendering him hollow and hopeless. How he had been contained within an empty shell of his glorious self as the world documented if he couldn’t even be able to put a finger around the things that seemed to fall beneath him with naturality. As life had separated its unknown force upon him and in that day, Hanzo was supposed to die. Yet, his usually predatory, unnatural irises glinting with fierce consumption, both for intimidation and letting the opposition know how unquenchable bloodlust takes over his aura. As life stood still, observing over him, so did he. 

As hellbound and volatile as he was, Hanzo would continue to resist in this endless quarrel between darkness and light, as he listens to the hymns of the tide and delight in his pristine liberation, with regained humanity and heart of gold, yet the floating enigma of his mind becomes a mere distorted, mindless shape of twisted nothing - two separate entities of the self - as he sees flashes of his life before the saturated milk of his unnatural glower. 

When Scorpion’s persona takes over with the subliminal message of decimated flesh, brittle bones and fragmented skulls, no palatable substitute of his reality never becomes palpable. And through the extreme of his savagery and absence of remorse, such sadness-wrenching throat, pummeling sadness drowns him as the lightning fire containing exploding hell balls clench deep within his core, threatening to bind him in familiar hunger, resonating deep from his guilt and remorse. Through gritted teeth, he cries out; a wounded beast bellowing out in agony as his chin dips, along with his curling fists, quivering, shaking, filled with profound surge of conflagration.

The minute tremble of his torso became the spreading wildfire and through rare, yet dictating little faith he had that he would persevere, he would crawl back to the reverie of his unspoken truth. The spiralling whirlpool of his hellfire oscillates, and Hanzo’s own swirling gaze traces the pendulum of life through Kuai Liang’s reflected concern. The orbit wobbles, and his fingers curl around the sharply polished kunai, beneath the molding plates of his armguard, below the pauldron which encase his broad shoulders. The self-sustaining cycle of his hellfire surrounding, lifting, molding and holding; supporting his homeostasis neither in an ‘upward’ nor a ‘downward’ spiral. At least not in the literal sense anyways as the surrounding mist of Sub-Zero’s power slowly begins to subdue and cool him down. 

Hanzo’s vehement form bends over, as devouring flames, threatening and soaring, gradually diminishes as it leaves his body absolutely wrecked in heaving breaths. His hands extend, stretching out seeking solace at the onset of his gradual anchoring back to the reality as the semblance of the cryomancer clarifies, as does his natural dark chocolate pupils. Through Hanzo’s strained dawning, he simply stares, as if looking into the abysmal void, then lets a semblance of an apologetic smile show through the tightly-stretched mask he wears. “Apologies, for you’d had to witness that. You would have been obliterated in an oblivion of pure feeling. That was not me you were witnessing.” 

reality curls between them,  murmuring a myriad of tales kuai liang cannot disentangle the morals to. as hanzo’s form tears from  &  into hellfire, a searing dance of skin & flame, kuai liang must ask  the difference  between man  &  the beasts he leash,  tied tightly against his remorse  ——    are they truly ever gone, or simply sit   dormant,   bracing the day they once more  devour  through the viscera of their vessel? there’s a contract for great power, they both know it to be true. it tires them, their acquiescence used in a time of grave vulnerability ;  hanzo through his vengeance,  kuai liang through the falsehoods that compromised his world.  emotions play the fools,  entrapping the  once sensible   into a cycle of their own anguish.

traces of ice melt & materialize once more,  idle against the  carbonized  atmosphere    (  thawed  /  reforming  ,  thawed  /  reforming  ) , a shield once arisen against the heat has taken to shattering & dissipating, traces of  thaumaturgy-bred  vapor  shimmer within the space  &  melting beads give kuai liang the illusion of perspiration. he witnesses the zenith of hellfire enough to know that,  while this can be kept under the wraps of hanzo’s adamant  restoration, he challenges a vast pyre in their encounters. he’d be a naive fool to be undaunted from hanzo’s words, & a  liar  to then tell hanzo he is undaunted.  no,  he remains vigilant lest he become his brother more than in title,  he knows what the path to hanzo’s hell feels like. so he takes to being honest . . . the best thing to do for both of them,  the disclosure a good warrior deserves. 

❛ i know what i witness. & the  risks  of what i face. i also see you have returned. ❜

the apology relaxes his shoulders, soothes his stance, but  nothing  quite tells him to stand down ( it’s over, HE PROMISES )  than the reflection returning to hanzo’s pupils   /   a deep, earthen brown that meet the clouded, dark seas of a somber grey within kuai liang’s. a hand  extends,  still cold from his cryomancy but retiring its chill with each given second.

but the reach does not wait for hanzo’s own appendage, to be an anchor for he to stand. there’s a moment, where sub-zero’s hand pauses as though in a spasm. he steps to lean forward, the slightest, inflicting a gentle  tap  to the gamboge fabric covering hanzo from the bridge of his nose, down to the neck.

❛  may i see then, ❜  kuai liang cocks his head, wearing a subtle grin that depicts his relief, his respect, his refusal towards  /  from pity.  to know the progress should be as noticed, as VISIBLE, as the setbacks. to prove to hanzo the elements  forgiveness & hope are stronger than the agony.  ❛ the you i’ve come to know? ❜

[arctikan]

shirai-ryu-dog‌.

×  The Grandmaster of the once long forgotten clan turns to look over his shoulder and towards the guest who’s soon to be unwelcomed back.  ❝ I beg your pardon? ❞ His brows squint, the natural bitter look scrunching up in perplexity. Hilariously ignoring the two other cats that trotted up to him and nuzzled their faces lovingly against his ankles and feet, he spoke in a puzzled tone.  ❝ Why would I have need for a litter box? ❞

   ❛ why  would  you, indeed? ❜   he folds his arms, the tapping he commences on a bicep is   ICE ON ICE.  a hollow ,  gentle tink plays, one finger at a time. a deep sigh’s let out as he glances to see a calico brushing up against his feet.  ❛  maybe, for the horde of cats that seem magnetized to the gardens.  to  you. don’t  say you don’t feed them. ❜

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skarredlet‌.

There’s pain that lingers through clothed arm, albeit it’s mixed with the cold oozing out of the spikes themselves. The blood mage’s mind screams at her to move, her body begs her to rip her hand but she’s never been one to listen to primal instinct. She wouldn’t be here if she had, in the first place. Ruby lips curl into a smirk underneath matching mask as she takes a deep breath before speaking. 

“How can I erase you from my mind,” she begins, voice low and sultry, “when you, Grandmaster, are all that is on it?” A pause follows suit, rusty gaze moving up. “All the time, day and night. I just cannot help myself.” 

his grip tightens. yes, this seems about enough. she barely finishes before he steps to her side, closer to her back, his other hand joining to twist the arm in his hold. he waits a moment  before he continues to strain the angle of the limb. he pulls to urge the feeling of discomfort, to let it become   a promise.

 it’s almost a threat to the absurdity of this situation, that no about of blood could replace an arm.  ❛ you have one final warning. i think nothing of you,   be it your mind or body.  ❜  another snarl of a predator, an APEX in a place of foreign discomfort.  cornered,  &  he can only blame of the pits of outworld for damning he into the sights & ambition of this blood sage.

    ❛ ripping you to shreds will be no skin off my back. ❜

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shirai-ryu-dog‌.

The beauty of the Fire Garden only grew with the morning’s sun kissed rays caressing each warm colored leaf, the bark of the trees, every petal of the native flowers. Stars still twinkle in the sky despite the early morning’s attempts to hide the sparkles, the sight being on of Grandmaster Hasashi’s favorites to see.  ❝ Good morning, Sub-Zero. ❞ The man need not to turn around to see the cryomancer. He could feel the cold air tickling down his spine. A soft mrrrow! was heard by his feet, and Hanzo sighed.  ❝ No, ❞ He grunted at the grey kitten who nuzzled and purred against his ankles. Damn strays.  ❝ Are you prepared to commence joint training? ❞

kuai liang’s pride can be put aside in these spare moments, watching the gold shine through each crevice of the flora, the gardens well-tended  &  the activity emerging past the fog of an early morning. he trekked from night to day, dry ice garment his forearms in a signal of alert, a promise of defense.

sub-zero not dare freeze or stumble to break the  heavy  rhythm of his step, not even when another feline walks to his path & nearly  trips  him.  ❛ i  am . . .  unless you have litter-box duty. ❜

[arctikan]

@lordryujiin : He handed him a lady's mantle flower and a morning glory flower, smiling. "They reminded me of you."

he looks at the flowers,  &  they remind him of a playful, hesitant compliment that trips over its own message. something sanguine,  genuine . . . not too far from the shy upward tug at the corner of his lips. for him, it does not speak a guarantee, very well a symptom of lonely years & a ravaged soul. he looks at the leaves of the mantle once again, the gradient of purple working through the conjoined petals of the morning glory.

he closes his eyes.  a barrier’s been broken  -  a sound of affirmation in his throat that resembles a brief chuckle.   ❛  i see. well, never feel unwelcome by my side.  ❜ 

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[arctikan]

Classic Novelist Aesthetics. ( Bold for definitely ; Italicized for partially )

JOHN KEATS. the lavender in sunsets, flowers in the rain, sunlight slipping through clouds, lazy summer afternoons, the heavy scent of musk, flickering candlelight reflecting off the gold titles of books, fireflies on a cool summer night, being wrapped in fresh bed sheets, the ache of wanting what you can never have, dripping sunlight like gold, loving someone so exquisite, soft lips and soft whispers, fingers through hair, names of lovers carved in trees, broken glass, the insistence of being perpetually dreamy.

F. SCOTT FITZGERALD. crisp winter skies with cold bright stars, mahogany wood, the solitude of an early autumn morning wrapped in fog, empty bottles on stacks and stacks of books haphazardly placed in a messy room, bruised arms reaching out into the darkness, cigarette smoke just barely hiding the scent of alcohol, a wall of books all poetry and old and weathered, the way tragedy strikes in your heart but ends up stopping your breathing for a moment, your favorite sweater, parties spilling into four a.m. with the stars above spinning and dancing, the contrast of blood against snow, a purple split lip oozing blood, black eyes fading to blue to pale skin, the butterflies of falling in love for the first time, the statues falling apart over time in cemeteries, the romanticization of self-destruction.

FRANZ KAFKA. the weight of dread that sits heavily in your stomach when thinking about the future, decrepit houses cloaked in mystery from children telling stories of people who died there, the way not even light can escape a black hole, the rich smell of old books, delicate veins in the wrist, ghosts filling lungs, shattered bones, raindrops on the tongue, rusting metal, nostalgia that aches, the way hope feels like a plastic bag over your head.

H.P. LOVECRAFT.  the anxiety felt when staring into an unknown cave, pouring rain and mud, a child’s fear of the dark, thinking so many questions about your existence as you stare at the vast expanse of never-ending ocean, the silence of three a.m., ouija boards and urban legends.

JACK KEROUAC. the brisk pine air of being on a mountain, travels without a destination, those nights where you’re missing three hours of memory, screaming to a lifeless desert about how you’re so alive, coffee shops late at night, car rides at night spent speeding and laughing in the dark, naps spent in the sun, novels highlighted and underlined with notes and epiphanies in the margins, the way uncertainty sits on the shoulders, ignoring flaws and loving life, wind through hair, depression as fog in the brain, impossible ideals, a quiet sunrise, walks alone, when you think about trying to discover all the secrets to the universe, dazzling people, open lands stretching out into infinity, falling in love with being alive.

EDGAR ALLAN POE. the ocean’s horizon inseparable from fog, hollow bones, a preserved heart held in hands, twinkling stars above an old graveyard, the way everything turns to dust, silent black birds with eyes full of wisdom, self-inflicted flames, perfection depicted as a rotting corpse, death as bricks in the heart, lips barely brushing against each other, glassy glazed eyes, biting into a lemon, heart-shaped bruises, rotting flowers on a grave, dried blood and spilled liquor, the hush of dusk when it begins raining, the intimacy of a secret.

Tagged by; @kathexismania

Tagging: @seidanguard / @traidere / @scaeld / just steal it