#Color Louvers

[kfrikly]

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[ketan31]

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[sgsjelfs]

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[eternalthrills]

Wood Exterior Ideas for a mid-sized transitional gray split-level exterior home remodel with wood clapboards and a shingle roof

[tundereforce]

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[raajrajasharma]

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[psychoslave]

3/4 Bath - Bathroom

[violet-eng]

Fem!reader married to a Neuvillette who loves not her but someone else | NSFW 🔞 + 😢

In this one I'm going out on a limb, because I presume without any argument other than my own intuition, that Neuvillette and Focalors had a platonic relationship with feelings never confessed out of fear or genuine ignorance of them (like Violet Evergarden, yes). But you are Neuvillette's wife and so you will fall victim to his coldness when Focalors dies.

Includes NSFW with the reader and angst. Never mistreatment because Neuvi is a gentleman. NOTHING BETWEEN FOCALORS/FURINA AND NEUVI NONONO

⚠️ Warnings: established relationship between Neuvillette and reader, implied cheating, unloving and unprotected sex, pregnancy, sex during pregnancy, mentions of masturbation. Mentions of death. More sex between spouses bc yes.

mndi, if you feel unconfortable reading this then don't. Your mental health is first.

6k words, not edited.

💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️🔹️💧💧💧💧💧💙💙💙💙🔹️🔹️🔹️

You had seen him crestfallen the last few weeks, after the flood, self-conscious in his own thoughts, drowning in his remorse and cowardice.

Neuvillette does not understand human feelings, not at all, though love is supposed to be a passion that transcends the natural laws of evolution. Focalors had been his friend, his companion, in the bruised body of a puppet that felt so real that its strings seemed invisible.

There was no denying the deep affection that had grown between the two, Neuvillette and Focalors, two wandering souls, roaming the world with ancestral antiquity, companions destined to the sound of agony and separation, haunted by the solemn ignorance of innocent creatures.

Love… what was it but a word in a spoken contract.

Neuvillette had married you months ago, a happy and superficially authentic marriage. You had captured his attention, and his knowledge of humans, as the Great Chief Justice, could be satiated by knowing you, a faithful human companion, devoted wife, and sublime lover.

The bed was the only moment where you two connected, where, to the rhythm of the waves, Neuvillette penetrated his marital responsibility towards your depths, that which he considered appropriate towards his so-called wife, who, in a frenzy of pleasure, crushed his pale back with her nails, set to music by the melodious moans he tore from your sweaty breast… There was no connection beyond the sexual, for as a dragon, despite the years, it is very difficult for him to connect with humans.

Focalors was an oceanid, and he was a dragon sovereign. Both turned human. Nothing more to add, two rulers abandoned by the world they were supposed to protect, what would grow between them but pure trust and admiration that would obviously develop into love?

Neuvillette didn't understand. Not until that moment. He had been deaf to his innocent heart pounding anxiously every time Focalors entered his office in her unruly human form, rampant in color and expression. He had been unaware of the flame of satisfaction in his chest that burned hot when she spoke to him in the privacy of their conversations in the theater…he did not understand, not until he understood that he would eventually lose her.

He cried, for the first time he let someone see him cry in his human form. Focalor's words, so exquisite before him, ethereal in her ornate louvered dress, echoed in his head…and in his heart… ….

"Hydrodragon, Hydrodragon… don't cry," she whispered… and he, very reluctant to leave her, wished with all his might to leap upon her, wrap her in his arms and never let her go. He would flee with her on his lap, in his draconic form, leaving Fontaine and everyone else to their fate.

No… a Sovereign would not do that… he would not do that… for to abandon his oath would deserve the most dastardly punishment of all. And maybe, just for thinking that, he deserved what happened next.

"Farewell, Neuvillette," her words, pure in his human form. His companion, his friend, his mentor… his soul mate, tossed away like the foam on the shore of a beach.

Death was a human concept, without transcendence over evolution… love, however, was another story.

He came home like a soldier after the war, he came back without a part of himself… he came back to his boring life married to a woman he doesn't even love, at least not the way you really deserve him.

"Darling," you offer him a glass of fresh spring water from Quiaoying Village, because you know he doesn't like anything else, especially in dark times like these, a glass of the freshest, coldest water suits him wonderfully.

He drinks from the glass, almost as stoic as ever, though his face is stiffer than usual. Routine is becoming overwhelming for both of you, and Neuvillette is suspiciously distant from you, more so than usual. You stroke his cheek while he sleeps to help him fall asleep, you make him breakfast in the mornings and serve him dinner when he comes home, all without so much as a hello.

You suspect the worst, because your friends have planted the idea in your head that Neuvillette has a mistress, and not far from the truth, his heart belongs to another.

After the flood, many had left Fontaine, and perhaps your husband's mistress was among them, or so you thought. How painful it had been for you to see him break for another woman, to see him crack at his most human for a heart that was not yours.

Overwhelmed, you write him a letter with the idea of leaving him and traveling to Sumeru with one of your friends in search of a new life, but everything is cut short when your symptoms begin. Pregnancy was imminent, after all the nights the Iudex had taken you into your bed, it was to be expected.

You receive Neuvillette that night, frustrated by your own doubts, debating between informing him of your condition or simply fleeing to new horizons with your child. It is so difficult to decide when your husband is the Iudex of Fontaine… and when you care about his reputation because you love him sincerely.

There is no need to search for words when your husband is a dragon with keen senses, for as soon as he set foot in the house, he sensed the scent of his brood stirring within you. The Iudex's interest, however, lay in whether or not you would confess to him.

"A package arrived for you this afternoon," Neuvillette comments as he sips the tea you prepared for him, pointing to a bag on the front table.

"Ah, yes," you say half-heartedly, taking the bag in your hands, emotions spilling from your chest as you crumple the paper between your fingers.

You sigh deeply, thinking that maybe this gift is your way of saying goodbye to him, of silently making amends and apologizing for something that is absolutely not your fault other than falling in love with the wrong man.

You take out of the bag an encyclopedia, a thick book with thick paste and yellow pages, brought from Sumeru, recommended by the very scribe of the Academya, a book of human anthropology for your dear strange husband, who seems to have a real interest in human behavior. Neuvillette looks at it as if it were a revelation, as incredulous as he is moved, touched by your gift and your attention to his interests. You try to say something, to tell him that you are pregnant, but you stop when you hear him speak.

"I know you're expecting my child," Neuvillette says, without going into the details of how he found out, touching the rim of the teacup, a wedding gift. "Whatever you need, tell me, health, food, you know I will cover all expenses."

"I want to go to Sumeru," you confess in an almost whispered tone, your words seeming to be carried away by the wind rushing through the window.

"That wouldn't be good," for a Hydro Dragon hatchling, of course it wouldn't. "You're too young to venture into a new nation, especially one with new leaders like Sumeru, not to mention the dry climate."

You don't argue, knowing he's right, and decide to simply retreat to your room and wallow in your defeat.

Neuvillette, however, with what little empathy he has generated, caresses the book with his fingertips, gliding over the fine markings carved into the cover.

A gift, he had never given you a gift before, but you had given him a gift by taking the initiative.

The months passed quickly. The precariousness of your relationship, increasingly dry on your part, provokes something in Neuvillette.

He looks at you from his side of the bed, the way you sleep peacefully with a swollen belly, carrying his little dragon without knowing it, without trying to get rid of it, loving it from the first moment. Neuvillette has seen you singing lullabies to your child these past few months, reading him stories while caressing your belly, telling him how much you want him to be born strong and healthy.

He's grateful for the deep affection you have for your child, so much so that he has tried to show it. Maybe what he read in the book worked, or maybe it is just a product of his new feelings for his wife, who is about to become a mother. He would do anything for your son to be born healthy and with a healthy mother.

He buys you fritters on the way home, from the store he found out you like best, courtesy of some Melusine, and sits next to you at the dinner table, trying to take an interest in your day and tell you about his, always aiming for your peace, a healthy heart would bring a healthy child.

His devotion is to the birth of your child, because that's what he tells himself. It's not that he was interested in you, of course not… it's not like he was surprised when you told him your clothes were too tight and you hated your new body, not when he likes to see your new figure when you lie next to him at night, with enlarged breasts and a round belly. He bought you new clothes, yes, by the boatload, but because that's what any husband would do.

He only appreciates you for being the mother of his child, it's not like his heart fluttered when he saw you helping some melusines with their problems, or coddling some baby of your friends, thinking what a wonderful mother you will soon be. It's not like h chest filled with pride when he saw you in the stores looking for maternity books and baby clothes, worrying about the weather and your child's health.

And it's definitely not like he's masturbating in his office, remembering the image of you undressing that morning to get into the tub, cutting the skin of your arms and breasts, moaning at the contact of the warm water against your body, and letting out a sigh of deep satisfaction.

That night, he comes home with the usual everyday gift, this time a box of macaroons, because he noticed that you were looking at them in the display case with great eagerness during the afternoon. And he sits down at the table with you, pours you a cup of tea and starts the conversation, even though he notices that you are much more tired than usual.

He carries you into the bedroom and helps you into your nightgown, taking the opportunity to caress your waist and back as he helps the fabric slide over your curves. And then he strokes your head to help you fall asleep, and without realizing it, he smiles as he sees you fast asleep next to him.

The birth is approaching and the strong pains make you desperate, confined to your room and reluctant to go out even to sunbathe. It was the midwife who unscrupulously suggested to Neuvillette that a little sexual activity would help you get through the contractions. And he, as devoted to his wife's health as any good husband, agrees.

You feel Neuvillette's cock thrust deep into you, deep into your velvety walls, soft and slow, not unlike what you've felt before. His hands rest on the sides of your head, his gaze fixed on his cock disappearing inside you, while you curl your legs at the delicious sensation of his thick appendage inside your pussy. He moves cautiously, sharply, trying not to hurt you, and as he pumps inside you, his gaze is lost on your breasts, bouncing to the rhythm of his gentle thrusts.

"Perfect," he whispers through his teeth, because in his eyes you are the perfect reservoir for his brood, yes, just that… he insists that you are simply his good companion, and pretends that he hasn't wanted to have you like this for weeks, under him, a mess between moans pinned to him as you cling to his arms.

"Monsieur~" you whimper, bringing a hand to your face to cover your expression, though he takes your wrist and looks at your face as if you were a treasure just discovered by a hungry, ambitious man.

When you reach your orgasm, he kisses you, for the first time during sex, Neuvillette kisses you, and even he surprises himself with his own actions. He washes your body and dresses you before you rest, now much calmer than before, sinking into your husband's chest as you fall asleep, ignoring the feelings that surface between the two of you.

When the child is born, Neuvillette is surprised to continue his affection for you. He did not fall into the same materialism as before, because now he recognized in the shared work of the novices how difficult it was to take care of a baby. It is he who washes the child because, to your surprise, he knows the strange need for fresh water that your baby requires at least twice a day. Neuvillette enjoys the laughter that you get from your child, and the way that he lifts his arms so that you can hold him and show him how well you are feeding him, he looks strong and healthy.

One day, as he was leaving the Opera Epiclese, he was distracted by the statue of the Focalors, but his attention was immediately drawn to the babbling exclamations of his son, who was waving in your arms near the fountain. How gratifying is that moment when his heart leaps with joy as he sees you holding his child.

The days have been sunny in Fontaine since your son was born, and to Neuvillette's relief, the bitter memories of his separation from the Focalors are just that, memories… past images that he does not cherish, as he knows humans do, not now that his being is entirely devoted to his mate and his brood. What kind of elixir have you become for him, that he can forget all his sorrows and his past loves?

Neuvillette spends hours in his office poring over the pages of the book you gave him months ago, highlighting this thing called melancholy, the longing for past situations and desires, and feeling sorry for those who feel it, because if it were a disease, he would call himself cured of this melancholy.

He finds it curious how you managed to get rid of all the gloomy feelings that plagued him, and even wonders if you are not some kind of sorceress… No, not you, not when you so devotedly cleanse your child and offer him a carefully prepared dinner, and practically put your heart and soul into every act of domesticity.

Focalors… her name and image sail through the ancient memories of Neuvillette's tattered mind, the smile of a woman he loved, now replaced by that of the one who lies beside him, coddling a bright-eyed, rosy-cheeked child. Funny how in such a short time he had acquired such human habits as feeling part of a family he hadn't even planned to have.

Your relationship with Neuvillette, full of respect and admiration, help and companionship, seems to evolve into something more. You become his confidant, his mentor when he has doubts about human children or about the customs between parents and children. Involuntarily, he comes to you when he has questions, not to a library, for despite your young mortal age, you know much more than books could ever give him.

You are patient with his ignorance and loving when he is wrong. Mutual and pure respect, absolute devotion and admiration. Neuvillette doesn't believe you are human, how can you be human with so many virtues… his curiosity grows and changes, so much so that he counts the hours in court to come home and chat with you while you nurse his child.

He returns home that night with new doubts, because he has seen strange devices for children without understanding their usefulness, called fun. Can they have fun by themselves? Aren't they too young for that?…oh, and he brings a storybook, because he understands that made-up stories are interesting for babies, even if they don't understand much of the language.

He goes to the baby's room with an enthusiasm he doesn't know he has, and stops at the door when he hears you soothing your baby's cry with sweet words.

"Hydro-Dragon, Hydro-Dragon, don't cry," you murmur as you caress your child's cheek and try to feed him.

Your child is frantically breastfeeding, his tears fading as he closes his bright purple eyes, his little hands clenched into fists and his nose twitching. Neuvillette watches the whole scene from the doorway, his heart in his throat and his feelings on his skin. Those words that broke his soul so long ago now seem to put the pieces of his shattered existence back together.

He smiles, a melancholy, self-satisfied smile. And he looks at you, he looks at you with devotion, because you have finally made him understand what he feels and has felt for so many months. His devoted wife, as patient as she is charming… seems wiser and more skillful than any scholar.

Leaving your child in its cradle, you straighten your neck and turn to Neuvillette, who has entered the room.

"What a beautiful book," you murmur, picking it up, "the baby will love it.

Neuvillette watches you with one hand on the crib that protects his baby, then watches his son sleep, wrinkling his nose the way you do when you sleep.

"You must be exhausted," he whispers, stroking your arm and leading you out of the baby's room.

"Not at all," you smile, "the child fills me with vitality."

"So… Hydro Dragon," Neuvillette recalls the words you said to his baby.

"I said it when I was a girl, like everyone else in Fontaine, it was an idea that came to me suddenly," you answer, and he smiles at your expression, thinking that maybe he heard you when you were a girl, maybe you were one of the many children who recited the same words when it rained in Fontaine.

"I have to tell you something," Neuvillette says, his voice lacking authority, more like a prayer. You watch him from the kitchen.

"'Tell me.

Focalors, Neuvillette, Furina, Fontaine's hydrodragon, the flood, his never-confessed love… he tells you everything because he understands that you deserve the truth, and that he doesn't deserve you because you're too understanding of his confession. It is as if this conversation has cleared up all your doubts, and you have finally seen the real Neuvillette, who fully trusts you to know what to do with this information.

Neuvillette believes that you will ask him for a divorce and leave him alone with his son, but he is surprised to find you preparing breakfast the next morning with your child tied to your leg while you both laugh.

He does not deserve you, definitely not, for he is perhaps the most despicable man in Fontaine and all of Teyvat. To think of another while he is married, to take his wife with him in a grief that is not hers, to bind her to him forever by impregnating her… how mean he must have been, and how understanding you become as his selfishness grows.

He hugs you from behind, buries his face in your neck, inhales your scent and clings to your waist. He begs for forgiveness countless times, and you feel that he may have already shed a few tears on your shoulder, because the sky suddenly begins to cloud over.

"There's nothing to forgive," you whisper, stroking his head, "we can't choose who we fall in love with."

He looks at you in disbelief, wondering in what book he would find such an accurate statement. You had fallen in love with him, and he finally understands, for you are both victims of the disorderly course of love, so messy in its actions, indifferent to those it hurts.

He thinks about your words as he sits in his office, as he looks at the framed photograph he has of you holding his son, and wonders when he fell into the trap of the reckless love that humans call it.

The name of the Focalors does not mean anything to him anymore, even less when he sees Lady Furina in boutiques or restaurants… surely a memory has finally become just that, a memory. His heart is now the prey of another person, his wife, the mother of his son.

Neuvillette understands that there is a difference between soul mates, first love, and true love. The connection with Focalors had been imminent years ago, as both were unaware of the actions of the society in which they had become intruders, but they were nothing more than that, accomplices in a game of masks and power, the first experience of mutual affection and trust. Focalors was his soulmate, yes, because she understood firsthand everything he experienced, but being a living part of her theater did not feel authentic.

With you, however, Neuvillette had learned to be a part of his people, whether as a human or a dragon, as Chief Justice or as the father of an infant. He was no longer an intruder or a stranger ignorant of human ways, not after you. At your side, Neuvillette had known a new range of sensations, of experiences and learning based on mistakes, all very human on his part, and as expected, he had learned to fall in love again, because it was inevitable, after several problems and misunderstandings between the two of you, after the birth of his son and the new horizons that fatherhood brought. His affection for you had been disguised as admiration and redemption, his ignorance had once again avoided love, a mistake he wanted to make up for.

Sitting in your living room while he reads a book and you braid his hair and hum a lullaby, Neuvillette lets the waves of your voice carry him away, wondering what kind of marital experiences he had missed with you.

"What kind of things do husbands do?" He asks suddenly, looking up at you from the carpeted floor, surprising you with his curious question.

"Well…" you think, it's not like when he asks you why kids suck their thumbs or why people give each other presents on non-holidays. It's not a question about trivial human behavior, not this time.

"I've seen couples go out to dinner, but you told me that friends also go out to dinner," he continues, elaborating on his puzzle. "Wriothesley and I have had tea together, what would be the difference between having tea with him and with you?"

"Well…" you continue to think about your answer. "Perhaps the most obvious is living together, planning the week together, household and food expenses, child care, and confidentiality between the two. When you and I have tea, we talk about things that you probably don't mention to Wriothesley".

" Certainly," he says with a hand on his chin, "you and I do all those things, but how is that different from students who share a house? They also plan expenses and discuss confidences."

"Then I guess the biggest difference is in starting a family. Normally, people get married because they want to have a family with the person they choose, the person they love, or the person their parents impose on them."

"So sex is what differentiates married people," he says, and you remain static at his words, stopping to braid his hair, "of course… the physical and emotional affection shown by both parties in marriage…" Neuvillette rambles on, his own conclusion as he sits on the couch next to you, thinking about how he hasn't shown his affection the way he should.

He looks at you out of the corner of his eye, you are distracted by the details of your skirt, picking out rebellious threads, and then he thinks about the last time he kissed you and wonders what it would be like to kiss someone with marital affection.

"Can I kiss you?" The question is thrown out with innocence, causing surprise in you.

"You've kissed me before, Neuvillette," you say, smiling and getting up to go into the kitchen, "we even have a son, I don't think there's anything new to try."

"Indeed," he says, getting up and walking toward you, your back against one of the walls, "but the variable that makes this situation different from the others is that I didn't feel that way about you."

"Like what?" you ask, as he moves closer to you, almost cornering you against the wall.

"I like thinking about you, being with you, hearing you talk," he says, his tone low, as if he were ashamed to confess everything to you. "I thought it was a simple instinct to care for you as the mother of my child… but now I know it's something deeper than that."

You look at him in surprise, now it is you who has unknowns that only he can answer. The silence between you is cold and almost tactile.

"What about her? Of the Archon," you whisper, your breath depending on the question, Neuvillette's forehead inches from yours.

"It's not the same. There is no excitement or desire. I never longed for her or desired her like you. She didn't provoke me the way you did, it's almost annoying."

"Am I annoying? "Is that what she's telling me, Judge?" You smile as you touch the tip of his nose, trying to take some of the seriousness out of the conversation.

"You are adorably hypnotic, I must say. More than you should be. You have taken everything from me without me even realizing it, subtly and carefully taking over my mind and my heart," Neuvillette's hands caress your cheek, high above your skin, avoiding friction as if his touch would bruise your flawless complexion.

"Let me show you these human feelings that have taken over me, please," he whispers, his thumb sliding over your lower lip. He says it almost like a complaint, his bursting emotions becoming painful, trapped in his chest, longing for you to give him comfort and permission to act.

"I'll let you… only if you promise me something," you say, taking his hand, avoiding the marks of his fingers on you. "You will never push me aside for another woman again…"

His oath needs no words, not when he has you leaning against the kitchen table, his cock pushing behind you to your cervix. Your muffled moans as he adjusts your skirt over your waist and spreads your legs further to give him free access to your pussy, which sucks him contemptuously.

Neuvillette feels like a fantasy, thrusting relentlessly into you, touching the bulge that has formed in your belly from the penetration of his cock, pushing with his hand so you can feel it better, eliciting a high-pitched moan from you. . He kisses your cheek and you hear his muffled moans against your ear as he utters words of worship.

You grip the marble edge of the table, moaning at the burning building in your belly, your eyes glassy and spit falling from your mouth. It's as if your legs were lifeless, as if you were prey to Neuvillette and the way he drives his love for you so deep that it seems to stir your womb.

That afternoon he takes you in the kitchen, and the next morning he doesn't let you get out of bed, one hand on the headboard and the other around your waist, Neuvillette has you with your ass up like a dog in heat, hitting your slippery with his length. The strength that his support gives you is hard to bear, your breasts trembling strongly as your ass bounces to his rhythm, your skin moving like waves in the sea with each vibration that Neuvillette's relentless interference causes.

His hand slides down your body, caressing your breasts and down to your clit, your face buried in the pillows, almost crying at how good his fingers feel on your nervous lump. He fills you with his seed when he reaches orgasm, because he is dying to see you again with your belly swollen for his offspring. And he kisses you again, he kisses your forehead while you catch your breath, while you cover your body that has been bruised by his fingers, defining the lustful path of his digits over your body.

In his office, he remembers the past hours with fanciful lust and longs to return home to enjoy this new activity that you have made him experience, this new addiction that your body represents against his. He longs for your company and your warmth, your voice moaning with pleasure and the way your nails dig into his back. He adores everything about you, not only because you are the mother of his child, but because he finally understands, after several months of reading and reflection, that he has truly fallen in love with you, his precious human wife.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1977 Pontiac Grand Am

The 1977 Can Am was an appearance option on a 1977 LeMans. The styling of the Can Am was inspired by the red/white/blue 1974 Pontiac Grand Am All-American show car. Ordering a Can Am required the dealer to order an F37 LeMans Sport Coupe (louvered rear quarter windows) in Cameo White. The dealer wrote code WW3 (Can Am) on the back side of the order form, and a LeMans Sport Coupe would be built with the following equipment;

T/A 6.6 Pontiac 400 engine (Oldsmobile 403 6.6 Litre was used in high altitude areas and California), power front disc brakes, power steering, Turbo Hydra-matic trans, Rally RTS Handling Package, Grand Prix instrument cluster, GR70x15 radials, white Rally II wheels, body colored outside mirrors, and blacked out grilles. All Can Ams were built at the home plant in Pontiac, MI. Completed cars would be shipped over to Motortown Corporation for conversion into a Can Am. Once there the hood was modified to accept a shaker hood scoop, a rear spoiler was added, multi-colored stripes and black lower body tape were applied along with Can Am decals. The process took approximately 72 hours. Completed Can Ams were then shipped from Motortown back to the Pontiac assembly plant and inserted into the regular distribution system for delivery.

Only 1,377 1977 Can Ams were produced.

[kfrikly]

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[ketan31]

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[inanisomnia]

ೃ⁀➷the apricity of your touch / chishiya x gn!reader

summary: who knew that a single touch brings back strings of emotions and memories?

warning/s: mentions of blood, implications of sex, slighty ooc, s2 spoilers, profanities, and slightly ungrammatical

word count: 1663

okay but damn this got me researching about things that are medically related - basically me trying to sound proficient and knowledgeable in the medical field... and ngl i enjoyed writing this i hope you do find this read enjoyable as well TOT

oh and btw my writing style here is inspired by @archieimagines ' antidote (a chishiya ff as well) bc damn we were having a quiz in physics and it randomly pops up in my head making me all giggly. idk if i did chishiya justice here tho, i tried istg tot

++ reqs are closed; will finish my remaining works first before i open it again ^^

if you enjoyed reading this, lemme know by liking and reblogging it would mean a lot - only do it if its okay with you. <33 enjoy !!

"i'm sorry. we did the best that we can do." a glum voice spoke out that was soon drowned out by a series of wails, and pained cries of desperation coming from the woman with a frail body, her body shaking from the pain of it all. this is a sound that has been a little too familiar to the ash-blonde-haired man that stood a few blocks away from the scene for he was a former messenger of unpleasant updates. he took a deep breath and tore his gaze away from the weeping woman, and walked away.

his footsteps reverberated throughout the bland and empty hallways; the shiny, vinyl composite flooring – all covered in a pale color. sullen walls painted in white, glass walls separating each room, and compartments, decorated with nothing but a single table, and pair of chairs planted in front, and ivory curtains that hid the examination bed from behind the doctor's table. there was a bit of greenery found inside each room – a small pot of succulents and snake plants, a forlorn attempt at making the area look somewhat lively and comforting. louver lights flickering and blinking - illuminating the dust littered particularly in the air. empty hallways filled with the ghosts of past mistakes and hope delicately revived.

everything about the premise is melancholic and a reminder of how futile and vulnerable humans can be once a part of them starts to fluctuate and fail.

"shuntaro, you have a patient at the consulting room, i think they're here for a brief check-up." a silvery voice chimed in from behind the reception lobby, her hair tied in a sleek ponytail, with a clean make-up look.

the man named chishiya nodded in response and immediately head towards the elevator. Its been 3 months and a half since the meteor struck their city - thousands of people died brutally, and multitudinous casualties.

for quite some time, after chishiya woke up in the same dreary bed located in the lackluster rooms in the hospital, he had a few realizations - actually, lots of realizations to be honest, as if something inside him cleared. if you died for a minute, for sure after you woke up you would look at life in a different light - that’s what chishiya thought.

aside from this, he also has this gnawing feeling in the pits of his stomach, that hefty void in his heart he can’t explain at all, as if he was missing something or he was meant to do something but he forgot about it - and god, this was frustrating as hell for the platinum-haired man.

the elevator dinged signifying that he reached the floor he needed to go to, abruptly disrupting the enigmatic trance chishiya was in. his slender, veined careful hands turned the cold knob of the consulting room, and there, he saw a dainty figure, hunched over - hands placed on their knees, delicate fingertips drumming in anticipation.

you seemed to be lost in your own reverie because you didn’t lift your head up when chishiya entered the room - you were biting the insides of your cheek, and your hair stubbornly falling on your face despite being tucked behind your ear.

“good afternoon,” chishiya greeted you, his voice husky yet silvery at the same time, caught your attention as you instantly whipped your head towards the man who spoke in front of you. his hands were both inside his pockets, a single black pen clipped in his lab coat’s chest pocket.

you stood and greeted him back - the man briefly smiled and quietly walked towards the consulting table. his hair was gracefully tied up in a ponytail. the air conditioner in the room blew a gentle, wintry breeze, and the moment chishiya entered the room, it seemed like his woody, and musk scent delicately mixed into the whole ambiance.

the man wearing the medical coat then initiated the check-up - he asked a series of questions and listened to your concerns and as your words stretch into hazy sentences, something about you feels oddly familiar to him who intently stared at you as you talk, nods every now and then and he tried to analyze, not what you're trying to say, but your features. god, you look so familiar, but he can't even remember when and where he saw or met you. was it at that coffee shop downtown? or on the thrifting book event that was hosted 4 months ago that he accidentally stumbled upon? he sighed and looked down.

“i’m really sorry for the inconvenience, i -” you apologized, apparently, you were here for a monthly check-up but dr. kobayashi wasn’t around, but it didn’t bother chishiya at all - he was intrigued by you.

“It’s fine, no worries.” chishiya replied, shaking his head as he smiled and waved off your statement. he mentioned you to go to the examination bed located near the window, a few blocks away on the left side of the table.

there was tranquility laced in the atmosphere, a comfortable silence, between the two of you - chishiya followed you close behind, after grabbing his stethoscope from the drawer.

ೃ⁀➷ i don't wanna live forever ; zayn malik and taylor swift

the distance between the two of you was closed the moment chishiya carefully placed his stethoscope two intercostals beneath your left collarbone - “take a few deep breaths,” he requested, voice low and hoarse, but incredibly honeyed. the cold metal of the stethoscope’s bell seeped through the fabric of your clothing, making you heave your breath deeper.

chishiya’s eyes lose focus every now and then, torn whether to look in your eyes or anywhere else as he listens to your hushed heartbeats. your body was tense and stiff - so was your gaze. “nicely done, just a few more and we're done.” he mused, because somehow, he can’t breathe as well - there was this electrifying aura that engulfed the two of you; he switched his instrument and placed it the same exact distance beneath your clavicle, this time on the right side.

“Where the fuck were you? I was so worried.”

maybe two or three harsh flashes of vivid images popped up in his head, an array of disorganized thoughts and memories he doesn’t know where and when happened - he gulped. what the hell is happening?

down. he placed his stethoscope on the 4th intercostal space of your ribs, between your chest- “breathe,” he repeated, this time, with emphasis.

perched at the second floor’s railings, you were staring down at the people partying their lives away, their hands either full with glasses of cocktails and whiskey paired with intoxicating lit cigarette sticks, dim embers falling gracefully on the ground, contrasting the scintillating array of led lights that surround the premise, there you were, directly proportional to him, eyes full of genuine adoration and fleeting lust.

ೃ⁀➷everything has changed ; taylor swift and ed sheeran

down, again. beneath your chest, located in the middle of your 5th intercostal space - “come find me after we get out of here, okay? i’ll wait for you.” your ragged, and sweet voice croaked out before you fell to the ground. chishiya watched as you bathe in your own pool of blood, body covered in stab wounds, bruises, and fractured bones that you acquired after your fight with the king of spades.

ah. yes. you - the one who pulled him back to the halo of hopes amidst the hell that most of you players call, borderland. his saving grace, the only thin thread of humanity and sanity that keeps him in check every now and then. you, who he shared most of his nights with, souls and bodies entangled under the sheets, finding solace and pleasure in each other. you who would join him in his insanity on starless night skies boring each other's insecurities and deepest regrets to each other.

you, who he considered as his serendipity of kindness that he found in the discord of hostility - the person he never knew he would fall for, and give his all to see back again, after the hellish nightmare both of you shared.

“all done.” the taller one smiled, as he helped you get off the examination bed - he held your hands to assist you and your skin felt warm against his freezing ones, soft against his calloused touch, your gaze calm contrasting his frenzied eyes, masked by a half smile, and curt bows.

seconds stretched into entangled minutes - and chishiya was contemplating whether to ask you about what he suddenly remembered upon relishing in your serene presence.

“thank you. have a nice day ahead.” you bowed as you bid your goodbye to him.

fuck.

he thought, the uneasiness crawling under his skin violently the moment you were gone from his sight - should he take this chance? or was he just hallucinating? would it be weird if approaches you and ask you that question? he doesn’t want you to feel uncomfortable or anxious around him.

but damn, those memories that popped up in his head are as real as he could feel in his heart, mind, and body. he sighed and ran outside. he won't overthink this one anymore.

hasty and desperate footsteps echoed on each hallway and floor that he strided in a hurry - upon reaching the lobby, he whipped his head to search for your figure only to find you almost outside. he heaved a deep breath and called your name that halted your pace towards the main door.

“i’m really sorry to ask you this question and it might be unprofessional of me, but i’m sure we’ve met before.” he breathed, his bangs covering half of his confused face.

you chuckled. “i thought you forgot.”

relieved, he smiled back. “almost.”

“would you like to have lunch with me, dr. shuntaro?” you quipped, and offered your feeble warm hands.

“it would be an honor.” and placed his hand on yours - the apricity of your touch reminded him of what comfort and cloud 9 felt like.

<33

[momoko-sugoi]

CLH X Blue Archive collab

DOLPH LAZERHAWK STRIKER MIDDLE SONIC SPECIAL ARMOR limited 3 star collab student Hello everyone, This is the first artwork I've posted here since like 2021 or 2022, and as you can see, it is basically a little collaboration thing I cooked up with a game called Blue Archive, which, if you don't know dw, you can watch this video about it (its only 7 minutes long and yes this is the short version)

The downside is that the fanbase is really fucking weird; I would suggest staying the fuck away from it if you were to get into the game cause the game is good, just that the people around it are suspicious, or at least watch the anime. After all, the anime so far is decent. Why is the slanted stuff in the halo

So for dolphs design, what I did since there was no fundamental motif for him, unlike the others, which we will get into in a bit, I decided I would just make it look like one of those old 80s cars, you know, where the windows instead of having tinting it would be slanted plastic, in the back yeah those, Apparently, they were called louvers and it was meant to make the car cooler inside while making the car more stable to drive, neat why the eye in the middle of the halo

The reason why I gave the eye in the middle for his halo is that he was being used by Eden as a military operative, so who to say when he got transported to Kivotos that Eden wasn't secretly gathering details about that place and planning on raiding soon to grab their tech, and also grabbing some kivotos students as test subjects for their military testing.

bullfrog striker front penetration light

limited 2 star collab character

finding his halo design

Oh boy, I had another hard time making his Halo design, too, since, let's just say that most of the game's designs are unique to the character's personality. All I could think of is Assassin's Creed and the Apple of Eden, that's apparently a weapon skin in Brawlhalla; god damn you, orb skins/lighthearted.

so what i did instead was just look at the plushie that Netflix made very intensely til I found what I was looking for

this fucking thing here, his belt, I could easily use it as a base for the halo, and I could get on with colors, and that's what I did. I used the brotherhood logo in the middle, colored it light green, and made it layered with the inner circle layer upon by the eyes with the brotherhood logo on top of it and the outer circle covering the outer rim.

This is the best example I can give of what he would've looked like halo-wise now, let's talk about why I gave him that design Why did you give him the design that you did?

The reason is that it mostly calmed down in this universe. There's no violence; if there is, they are immune to it to some extent. (they won't get hurt by bullets, but if they get hurt really bad [i.e., life-threatening injuries], they can die), because of the halos they wear, they are immune to some extent, but since some factions want to take out the students altogether (i.e., Gematria, Kaiser corp), they do have to be on guard, though it is mostly the general student counsels, the three big school student counsels, and senseis, besides no one really hates each other (well besides gehenna, and trinity) It's not as bad as Eden is, so the clothing choices reflect that chill but on guard.

bullfrogs halo design Even though Bullfrogs Halo shows the Brotherhood logo, most just write it off as some sort of band logo he likes. Bullfrog still has memories of his old world, still remembers Eden, and the day he met that old TV man, but no one would believe him, not even his fellow prisoners who were with him when they were transported to Kivotos. I hope you like this post, I'll get on the Genshin collab drawing as soon as I get rested up see ya

[duckyfruitbat]

Lost, Found, and Rebuilt (The Thief and the Cobbler)

Back in high school I found myself on the lost media side of the internet. It's no secret that there is a lot of lost media out there, some was released then forgotten, others were abandoned. Then there are some examples that were technically released, but are more just a version of the original. This was the first example of lost media I've ever come across, the Thief and the Cobbler.

This is an interesting story. Back in 1964 Richard Williams began work on a film that he planned to be his magnum opus based on a book series from a friend. Seeing the animation in even just the version that was released shows great attention to detail, beautiful animation, and amazing designs. The film was intended to take full advantage of animation. Even the movement of characters is a marvel to look at. You can take nearly any frame and put it up in the louver, it is just a joy to look at.

Here's where the fun part begins, the version of the film that was released to the public came out in 1993, 29 years after production began. What the heck happened? Well a lot of things, time management, lack of funds, complete rewrites, and the original author of the books pulling out due to a fallout. The timeline is also littered with big budget animation films he worked on, like Who Framed Roger Rabbit, smaller movies like Raggedy Anne, and TV ads to pay the bills. Keep in mind that this was largely done by Williams and a team he hired without any studio supervision. Turns out there are some benefits to having a contract, like money.

Eventually Williams did find a publisher in Warner Brothers to fund his project, but he continued to miss deadlines and was booted off of the project. It was then decided to just get the movie out the door to put something out there. The version that the public saw was full of pop culture references, unnecessary narration, musical numbers despite the film not being a musical, and odd gags.

Williams defeated gave up on his masterpiece, but that was not the end of the story. In 2006 the greatest fan project began called the Recobbled Cut. This is a project with the aim to bring back the film in Williams original vision. With connections in the animation industry, this community managed to gather art, clips from DVD's, film, and scripts from studios and people who worked on it. One story says that there was film found in a trash can of all places.

Since 2006 this project has been steadily rebuilding The Thief and the Cobbler from the ground up. Completing scenes that never saw the light of day, restoring old film, and making the colors more vibrant, all of which breathing in new life in this film. The restoration project is currently on its fourth version, available on this YouTube channel, which also has some more works from Richard Williams.

Richard Williams did not talk about the Recobbled Cut, but some people say it had his approval. Williams passed away in 2019 never seeing the film completed, but this film has possibly become one of the greatest things on the internet, despite still being a work in progress.

Quick note:

I got the details for this post from this article, which incidentally directed me to the current version of the Recobbled Cut.

[mtaartsdesign]

Diana Cooper’s permanent mosaic and metal artwork “Double Take” (2023) is now installed at the Roosevelt Island Ventilation Facility, located directly across from the F train station. Cooper’s designs consider the geometric forms found in the ventilation building, the Queensboro Bridge, and other surrounding structures while reflecting the natural setting and the grand backdrop of the East River. The mosaic wall designs marry the abstract geometric shapes with organic forms, based on photographs she has taken of the river, as well as hand drawn imagery of fluid forms with greenish colors that evoke the grass and trees the visitor will soon be surrounded by. The metal gate design playfully refers to the building’s louvers. Photos: Paul Takeuchi