#I might change his look the more I draw him

[naviiq]

the ultimate disaster in designer shades!

meet satoru gojo. 28, ridiculously handsome, and too cool for his own good. people say he’s a psychic— well, he says he’s a psychic— which makes people believe he is but— whatever, you catch my drift. he just knows. it’s almost like he can see straight through you, and he absolutely loves it. whether it’s a hunch, a gut feeling, or pure charm, when he speaks, people listen. and trust, he knows how to make it all look effortless.

his reputation? unshakable. in fact, it’s probably one of the reasons his name’s been popping up on so many case files around town. like you could catch him walk into a crime scene, take a look around, and before you can blink, he’s already figured out who did it, why, and how. and literally no one knows how.

they might not know how he does it, but they know he’s never wrong. ever.

and don’t let those pretty eyes fool you— he’s more than just a 'psychic' detective. he’s got his own world, and to him, everyone else is just watching.

he’s had his share of distractions, but that’s all in the past now. or at least, he likes to think it is. every once in a while, when he catches you looking at him, he wonders if things have changed. maybe it has. maybe it hasn’t.

—oh! but the way he acts around you? it’s almost like he’s playing a game, but never letting you in on the rules. he doesn’t try too hard— in fact, he makes it look like he could care less about anything! annoying, i know. but when he wants something? when it’s you he’s looking at, there’s no mistaking it. he’ll make sure you feel like the only person in the room, even if he’s surrounded by a crowd. it’s like he’s got this secret way of drawing you in, making you think he’s really paying attention. ..not so annoying, I KNOW.

take this information however you want. hope you can deal with him..

[skitchune]

#01 G8 Draw-in-your-style Challenge!

I believe that this is an old challenge, but I decided that there’s no better way to dust off the old gear than seeing the boys in my style. Really liked playing around the filters. I liked given them this old, Sunday Morning Comics style. The grain is just beautiful.

I guess…I should give a little explanation?

Basically, in how I write Hetalia, there was ONE major event that changed the course of their timeline during WW2. Though the world mythos in itself is very different, suffice to say that it was that ONE event that changed the course of their world moving forward. Currently, the Nation Folks assemble as their own private entity to develop livelihood and development projects for underserved communities across the globe, instead of other global matters. Still, many retain a degree of political connection, Nation Folks, in general, all agree that they will always put first the good of humanity over the gain of any singular country. That being said…

🍝 Feliciano Vargas - more actively sexual and flirtatious, pretty much a ladies man, has a problem keeping his dick out of places it shouldn’t be but he’s a lovable tramp regardless and knows that he can get away with a lot. He has a good heart and a good head, but maybe a little bit of too much casual machismo that makes his comeuppance so fun to watch.

📋Ludwig Beilschmidt - still pretty much stiff and serious, efficient but also too much of a stickler, is the youngest of the bunch and always has something to prove, Gilbert helps him here and there but he doesn’t want Gil to meddle, it may frustrate him that everyone treats him like a kid, but he also knows that it sometimes works in his favor being the ‘spoiled’ baby brother to many.

🐉 Seiryuu Honda - to keep things short, Seiryuu is and always has been this universe’s Nation Folk for Japan but Kiku does/did exist for some time for [story reasons] Sei is calm, level-headed but can come off as rather aloof and dazed, he can act a little too familiar with new people and is quite affectionate to friends. He’s a bit of a Casanova and likes the game of courtship like a round of Shogi. In many ways he might not be stereotypical, but in many ways he comes off as traditional and anachronistic.

🤠Alfred Jones - Heroism runs deep in this hot-blooded cowpoke, not the flashy guns or the prestige, but the hard work of running down the pavement for change. He’s charming, mature, headstrong, and value honest and just work. He’s the singular cause of the ONE event, becoming a catalyst to multiple OTHER notable events during WW2. Unfortunately, this has caused him excommunicated from the US government, which suits him fine as he can more actively participate in projects.

🎸Arthur Kirkland - No one fucks around with the ruling class more than Art, who has historically been a thorn in many administrations throughout the colorful history of his homeland. He is a rebel with a cause down to his core, sticking it up anyone’s arse if it means fighting for what’s right. Boston Tea Party? He was also pissing on the cartons before throwing them overboard? The IRA? Girl, he was a damn recruiter. Has he been beaten, threatened, and killed because of his insolence? Sure, but no one is gonna look good as him doing it.

⛱️Francis Bonnefoy - (P.S. I meant to draw him removing his shirt because someone accidentally spilled wine on him) Residing far away from the bustle of Paris, Franc lives the coastal orchard life along the south of France. He’s a country boy at heart who likes living the simple life. He is very introspective, usually keeps to himself, but isn’t really afraid to voice out his measured opinions. Some might say he is a tad but wistful, but many friends know he’s just daydreaming of being back in his orchard surrounded by good company and a glass of the finest wine.

💅Ivan Braginsky - No one can take this MATERIAL GWORL. Daddy Russia is a Mama Bear who claps back at heartless Capitalism and works tirelessly as the acting Chairman of the Union to increase wages and living conditions across the social classes. He is tongue-in-cheek, no nonsense, and fabulous, but above all, a big and caring figure who thinks much for others more than himself sometimes and is just grateful to come home and be wrapped around by a certain Lithuanian’s strong arms—Big Mama deserves some honey after a long day’s work.

🍜Yao Wang - Wang is a funny characters to me. He can come across as uncouth and overfamiliar, but he just doesn’t take life as seriously as the others. It’s been a long ride and there’s too much more ground to cover than he wishes to put the effort into. He likes to complain about the silliest things, but damn, if he isn’t telling the truth every time he opens his mouth.

Alternate gradient map styles under the cut

[himluv]

Something You Should Know

Here's the next chapter in my Rookanis fic, Say My Name (Say it Twice), in which Lucanis and Rook have a heart-to-heart after experiencing one of Solas's memories in the Crossroads.

Drawing a line between himself and Rook had been easy. Unpleasant, but easy. 

Feel nothing.

Maintaining that line was much, much harder, especially when she insisted on bringing him on every outing. Not that it was unreasonable to do so – he and Rook had found their own rhythm in combat that made them a formidable team. It also frequently left him breathless. 

Lucanis had partnered with other Crows over the years – mostly Illario and Viago – but they all had distinct, individual styles. Illario was the seducer, charming his way close to the mark so they never saw his blade coming. Viago preferred his poisons, carefully studying his targets so he could choose the right concoction for the job. His targets were often dead before they even knew there was a contract on their life. 

Lucanis was more physical. He had his blades – at least seven for any job – and his stealth. But, by the time he reached his mark, they knew death had come for them. He ensured it. And if he could guarantee the kill was quick and bloodless, he would. Snapping a neck was much more efficient than slicing a throat. 

Rook wasn’t an assassin, and her lack of training showed in her form. Her dagger work lacked finesse, but she made up for it with a startling relentlessness. She relied heavily on her spells and orb, her lightning overwhelming enemies to leave them vulnerable to his blades. And mierda, she was fast, running in close to finish off dazed opponents and blinking away in a crackle of electricity. 

That said, they needed to work on her parrying.

“Snipers!” He shouted as an undead mage raised its staff. A ball of light careened at Rook, who raised her blade too late. The missile hit her square in the chest, launching her backwards.

“Rook’s hit!” Lucanis leapt into the air and Spite’s wings carried him to dive at the undead mage. But, before he could finish it off, Rook was there, slashing her dagger in a wide arc to send the undead flying. 

“I think that’s all of them,” Bellara said. 

Rook nodded, panting with hands on her hips. 

“Everyone still alive?” He asked. 

Rook chuckled and winced. She rubbed at her chest before knocking back a potion.

Rook. Hurt?

She met his gaze and shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. 

He frowned. “I didn’t say you weren’t.”

She rolled her eyes. “You didn’t have to.”

Lucanis didn’t know what she meant by that. Was his concern that obvious? Did Bellara notice it too? Or was Rook just being her usual, observant self?

“That was a hard hit, Rook,” Bellara said. “Maybe we should–”

“I’m fine, you guys.” She started off further down the trail, toward another shimmering gate. “Let’s see what the Dread Wolf’s hiding in this memory.”

Lucanis and Bellara shared a worried glance, then set off after her. 

Inside the memory, they saw not only Solas, but his general, too. And immediately Rook’s body language changed. She was stiff, spine rigid and shoulders high. Tense. Her eyes never left the general and the more Lucanis looked between them, the more he saw the resemblance.

Rook was paler, her hair lighter, but the slant of their noses and the planes of their cheeks were very similar. Lucanis knew next to nothing about elven vallaslin, but he’d wager good coin that the general’s face bore Mythal’s mark. 

But the most obvious, most convincing detail was the man’s violet eyes. The exact same shade that bordered Rook’s grey-blue irises. 

The vision of Solas and the man who might be her father dissolved and Rook wordlessly turned to continue their mission. Lucanis reached for her, but did not put his hand on her arm. 

“Rook?”

She shook her head. “I’m fine, Lucanis.”

Doesn’t SOUND fine, Spite said. 

The demon was right. Rook sounded upset, shaken. Like she needed to be anywhere but there. But once they were inside a memory, the only way out was through.

“Let’s just get through this,” she said. 

He watched her for a moment, but she refused to meet his gaze. Finally, he nodded. “All right.”

She sighed, then set off at a jog for their next task in the Dread Wolf’s memory. He followed, but gave Rook plenty of space. Bellara walked beside him. 

“Is everything okay?” She asked, voice low. “With Rook, I mean.”

No! Spite said, then took a deep breath, scenting the air. Rook is scared! And angryyyyy.

Lucanis kept his eyes on Rook. “She’s fine,” he said. 

“But–”

“Bellara.” Lucanis gave her a sharp look. 

She frowned at him. “She’s my friend, too.”

Friend? Spite hissed. NO. Rook is more!

Lucanis sighed. “I know,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

Bellara scowled at him. “You know something, don’t you?”

He shrugged. “I know a lot of things.”

“Lucanis.”

He stopped and turned to face the elf. “Right now, Rook needs us to focus,” he said. “You can ask her about it afterward.”

She gave him a stubborn look that promised she would. “Fine,” she said. “But we’re also going to talk about this.”

Lucanis grunted his assent. If questioning him would get Bellara to give Rook some space, that was fine with him. 

They jogged to catch up with Rook, just as another wave of Elgar’nan’s recruits materialized. The memories were easy to dispatch, almost surprisingly so. He wondered if the Dread Wolf’s spirits had really wreaked such havoc, or if that was merely how Solas remembered it. 

Chaos. Disruption. Over and over and over and over. Spite growled. Used them.

Lucanis did not like the sound of that. But, if Rook had any suspicions about the Dread Wolf’s motives, she kept them to herself. 

She was a flurry of blade and lightning, cutting through the memories with such focus that Lucanis knew something was wrong. Rook was usually chatty in combat, commenting to her companions as she bounded around the battlefield. But, since seeing Fen’Harel’s general, Rook had thrown herself into each fight as if they weren’t there. As if she was all alone.

Angry, Spite said. No talk. Doesn’t want. To talk. He growled. Wants. To. Stab!

Well, Lucanis could definitely relate to that. If that’s where Rook was at, he would meet her there. He kept his silence, only calling out when Rook or Bellara were in harm’s way, and made sure to cover Rook even more than he usually did.

Rook. Needs. Help?

He would never describe Rook’s fighting style as efficient, but in her rage she was much more likely to wear down quickly. If she should falter, Lucanis would be there to take up the slack. 

And so they fought through wave after wave, across the bridge and to Elgar’nan’s front door. Only then did Solas’s plan become clear – they'd been the distraction. 

All around them, the memory bled away to the present, color and sound returning to their usual vibrancy. Beside him, Rook trembled, her blade held tight in her fist. 

“He used them,” she said, her voice low and shaking. “He sent those spirits to their deaths.”

“He thought the cost was worth it,” Lucanis said.

She spun on him, fury on her face. “That’s bullshit!”

Lucanis didn’t flinch as she shouted. Didn’t raise his hands or try to soothe her. She’d vibrated with rage through that entire memory – if this was how she needed to release it, Lucanis would gladly take the brunt of her fury.

“You can’t just use people like that,” she said. “I won’t–” she stopped as her voice broke. 

Bellara stepped up to stand on Lucanis’s other side. “Rook?” She said, her voice soft with concern. “What’s going on?”

Rook covered her face with both hands and took several deep, steadying breaths. Then she shook her head. “Nothing,” she said. “Just… something Solas said makes a lot of sense now.” Rook opened her eyes, and the pain and confusion there made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry, Lucanis,” she said. “You didn’t deserve that.”

“Think nothing of it,” he said. He tried to inject some warmth into his voice, to convince her he was fine, but his concern for her made it fall flat.

“Rook…” Bellara said. 

She held up a hand to her friend. “I’m fine, Bellara. Really.”

Lying, Spite hissed. 

Lucanis thought that was pretty apparent to everyone present. “Let’s get back to the Lighthouse,” he said. 

Rook stooped to pick up the wolf statuette they’d recovered. “Great idea,” she said and headed back toward their eluvian. “Can’t wait to see what other terrible things he’s keeping from us.”

He’d expected to have to wait for Rook to seek him out after the others had gone to sleep. He’d even planned to call on her in her quarters if she avoided him for too long. She would need to talk about all that had happened today, whether she liked it or not. If it’d been his emotional outburst, he would do almost anything to pretend it never happened, so he was surprised when Rook joined him in the kitchen after dinner. 

She gave him a hesitant smile. “Want some help?”

Bellara had cooked, which meant Lucanis would clean up. “If you like,” he said. “There’s not much.”

She cast a glance around the kitchen, noting several pans, two cutting boards, and at least three different knives in need of washing, not including their plates and silverware still on the table. 

“Seems like a lot to me,” she said. 

He shrugged. “It keeps me busy.”

“You mean, it keeps you awake.”

Lucanis smirked at her. “That, too.”

“In that case,” she said, moving to stack their plates. “Will you make some fresh coffee?”

He chuckled at that. “I was going to do that anyway.”

“Of course you were.”

The fondness in her voice hit him like a shot of good Antivan brandy. He felt wam down to his toes. 

Flirting? Spite asked. 

At this point, Lucanis wasn’t sure the distinction mattered. After all they’d been through, he and Rook had reached a level of understanding that he could only think of as family. Whether her words were intended romantically or not, he found comfort in them all the same. 

There was quiet in the dining hall as Lucanis brewed coffee and Rook prepped the basin for washing. It was another of the Lighthouse’s oddities. Once they’d started cooking regularly, a basin with a fire rune engraved in the bottom appeared in the corner of the kitchen. It wasn’t as large or ornate as the one in Villa Dellamorte’s kitchen, but it did the job.

He poured the coffee, one for each of them in their matching cups, then joined her at the basin. “Here,” he said, handing her the cup. 

She took a sip and hummed. “I don’t understand how it’s so much better when you make it!”

Lucanis looked down at his coffee to hide his blush. “It just takes patience,” he said. “And practice.”

She snorted. “Neither of which I’m particularly good at.”

Lucanis laughed. “No,” he said. “You’re more of a wing-it type.”

She smiled at that. “It’s gotten us this far!”

“It has,” he ceded. He took another sip of his coffee, then set the cup on the shelf above the basin. “Come,” he said. “I’ll wash, you dry.”

She didn’t argue and they set to the task with surprising ease. Only a handful of dishes in, Rook began to hum. Lucanis didn’t stop washing, didn’t freeze or turn to look at for fear she might stop. So, he kept his head down, his hands busy, and just listened.

It only took a few notes to recognize one of the songs that the minstrels often played in Café Pietra. Lucanis was no musician, but he thought she sounded good. Her tone was full and clear, and he wondered if it would carry over into her voice. 

Spite perched on the counter nearest Rook, each dry plate phasing through him as she set them down. 

Rook sings? The demon asked. 

Lucanis said nothing. He would not interrupt this moment for anything. He was standing nearly shoulder-to-shoulder with Rook while they cleaned up after dinner. There was fresh coffee and she was humming a song from one of his favorite places back home. 

It was the most peaceful moment of Lucanis’s life.

“Lucanis?” She asked as he handed her another plate. 

“Hmm?”

“You haven’t asked about what happened today.”

He shrugged. “I knew you’d talk when you were ready.”

“Oh,” she said. She dried the plate with her towel, then stacked it with the others. 

Spite inhaled as she momentarily faced him. Angry, he hissed. And sad.

“It was him,” she said. 

“You’re sure?”

“You saw him.” She shook her head. “A mage with Mythal’s vallaslin.”

Lucanis nodded, but kept his eyes on the water as he set to scrubbing one of the pans. “There was a resemblance.”

She spun to face him. “You think?” In that moment, her face shone with so much hope that Lucanis thought his heart might burst. 

“Yes,” he said. He stopped scrubbing and took the towel from her to dry his hands. He willed them to be steady as he continued. “Your cheekbones and noses are the same.”

She watched him with wide shimmering eyes as he raised one hand over her face, his index finger tracing a line across her cheeks and then down her nose. He did not touch her, but the electricity between her skin and his was almost as good as if he had. 

“But more than anything,” he continued, “it was the eyes that gave it away.” He looked her in the eye and let all the weeks of confusion and want, of fear and hope, well up inside him. “You inherited some of his color, I think.” His voice was low, barely more than a whisper. 

Rook’s gaze darted around his face, shimmering and hopeful, her pupils blown wide. Then her gaze dropped down to his mouth and she licked her lips. 

The sight jolted Lucanis, his body reacting so viscerally he blinked with shock. 

Waaaaaaant. 

What was he thinking? Hadn’t he just resolved to draw a line between them? To keep things professional? She needed an assassin, perhaps a friend. Not… whatever this was. 

He turned back to the dishes, cursing himself for being so weak once again. 

“Lucanis?” Her voice was small, as if she were afraid she might upset him. 

“You were right,” he said. “About the notes and being Fen’Harel’s general.”

There was silence for a moment, stillness too as Rook watched him. Then she sighed and got back to drying the pan he handed her. 

“Yeah,” she said, eventually. “But I still don’t know what happened to him.”

He frowned. “If he’s in Solas’s memories, in his regrets…” he winced. 

Rook sighed again. “Then probably nothing good.”

“I’m sorry, Rook,” he said. 

She shook her head. “No, I’m sorry, Lucanis.”

He frowned at her. “For what?”

“For today. How I reacted.” She looked very pointedly at the knife she was drying. “You didn’t deserve that.”

Lucanis snorted. “I’ve dealt with worse,” he said. 

“I know,” she said. Her voice was so fragile it stopped him mid-scrub. She waited for him to look at her before she continued speaking. “I know,” she repeated. “And I never want to add to your pain.”

The conviction in her voice rooted him in place. He could not look away from her, could not move as she reached out and put her hand on his arm. Mierda, she was so warm! He wanted her to envelop him in that warmth, to hold him close and promise him nothing but soft, sweet things. 

But what he wanted for himself and what he wanted for her were two very different things. She deserved more than what he could give. So, he took a step back and returned to washing the last of the dishes. 

“Thank you, Rook,” he said. “I can finish the rest.”

NO! Spite howled. No! Hurt Rook? Hurt. US!

For a long moment, she didn’t move, didn’t speak. Then she sighed and started putting away the dishes. They worked in not-quite-easy silence until the kitchen was pristine. Until both their cups were empty, washed, and hanging from their rack above the percolator. 

Lucanis watched Rook hang her damp towel over the edge of the now-empty wash basin. He leaned against the stove, arms and ankles crossed, and waited for whatever she was about to say. He expected her to be angry – how many mixed signals could he send before she just gave up? – but when she spoke her voice was calm and sure. 

“There’s something you should know about me, Lucanis.”

Something in her tone made his pulse race, that increasingly familiar, delicious heat rolling through him. “And what’s that, Rook?”

She turned to face him and pinned him with the intensity of her gaze. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

Not that long ago, Lucanis might have thought she was simply talking about the dishes, but he’d learned a lot about Rook in the last couple of months. Enough to know she wasn’t talking about the household chores. 

He held her gaze, awash in her determination and her certainty. It buoyed him to know someone as breathtaking as her could look at him like that. “Well, then,” he said. “We have that in common.” 

It was a stupid thing to say. Bold and confident when he felt neither. It sounded like something from one of his romance novels – completely ridiculous. 

But it was true.

He stood up and nodded once at her. “Goodnight, Rook.”

She watched him, her face flushed and brow furrowed. “Goodnight, Lucanis.”

Then he turned his back to her and returned to the safety of the pantry. It was going to be a long, torturous night of replaying the evening over and over again in his mind. A long, wonderfully torturous night. 

[roryacker]

WereGhost part 4

writing is under the cut as usual <3 couldn't force the art out, for some reason my brain won't let art on my phone happen, I've been trying for days it just ain't workin, and I have gifts to finish working on so PC is a no-go. Still! Writing!!

I do oddly feel more confident about posting things if there's art with it? Like I faked myself out trying to post this one 3 times and kept adding more thanks to that because I was like "wait no not good :("

Maybe because art's like. My thing. But screw it, if I'm getting over my anxiety I'm hitting all the weird triggers, it's a silly werewolf AU I don't think people care if one part has art or not

Simon doesn't like how Johnny smells. He was fine before, but since that morning the older man left with him in such a hurry he's smelled different. To a normal person that wouldn't matter, but werewolves aren't exactly normal folk, and smell is a very important part of their routine, Simon's especially.

Simon was familiar with Johnny's scent before- warm and herbal, a comfortable smell that Simon wasn't afraid to admit was soothing. It's probably part of why he's stuck around. Since he got back, since the anxiety and stress faded out, he's smelled different. It changed. It was faint, but there- something odd and flowery. Simon knew he didn't like it, but he wasn't entirely sure why. Maybe it's the fact it changed at all, maybe it's what it might signals, to hell if Simon knows.

Johnny, from there, starts going out more often, for longer, starting at earlier times, and the scent only gets stronger. It mixes with his original one, shifting and changing, and Simon hates it.

He especially hates it when Johnny comes home in the middle of the day, just once, and immediately gets to shoving Simon under the bed, blankets and all, muttering out something about not being prepared and needing Simon to sit still and be quiet for a while- Simon growls and snaps at his feet, though his teeth never connect, but begrudgingly does as told, ignoring the way his heart thuds in his chest and ears flatten to his skull. After a bit, cleaning up and trying to make the place look nice, it seems, sweeping fur off of the bed and floor, Johnny leaves, and Simon is left alone, confused and quite frankly tired, watching the door shut from the little space under the blanket hanging off the bed.

By the time a few minutes pass, he hears the front door open, and another voice starts up. It's not the older man, it's not Johnny, it's new and unfamiliar, soft and feminine, and Simon can feel the fur on his neck raise at the sound. Oddly, he feels threatened. He doesn't like the new voice, doesn't like the scent that follows, doesn't like how it's the scent that's been drowning out Johnny's for weeks now. But he sits there, tense and uncomfortable, listening to them talk in the sitting room. He doesn't like it, but he does it, if only so Johnny doesn't change his mind about all of this and kick Simon out after all.

It lasts for a few hours, Simon unable to fall back asleep, until he hears the door open and shut again. He thinks Johnny might have left too, but no- footsteps come up to the door, and he steps inside the bedroom, crouching down with a sigh.

"Think she likes me, Ghost. Might be the one, aye? Just have to see what to do about you, then..."

His heart sinks at the words, but doesn't reply- just growls lowly and shifts his weight, curling up further to avoid looking at the man.

"Aye, I know. Yer feelin' grumpy. Sorry."

Johnny tries to drag him out from under the bed, gripping the blankets tight, but Simon fights, of course. He can't go one day without being stubborn, especially not when he feels so personally wronged.

"Jesus, fine. Stay under there. Don't make a mess."

It continued on like that for a few days. Long, uncomfortable, grueling days, where Simon slowly began to set up a little den under the bed. It was nice and dark, so at that point it was really just instinct drawing him into it, pushing and arranging the blankets into a cozy little spot for himself. Eventually he manages to fall asleep even when Johnny has his bird over, as much as he might not like it- Johnny slides a plate of food under the bed to try and keep him from getting snappy, not that it ever works, and it becomes another routine.

Simon as tired of it the moment it began, but he tolerates it anyways, just to avoid being thrown out. His leg's mostly healed, and he knows he needs to leave, get out into the forest again, get back to his normal life.

But he doesn't want to.

He gets cooked food, he gets the warmth and comfort of soft blankets that smell pleasant- they're the only thing that don't have that new scent on them, at this point- he gets to sleep in peace without having to worry about wolfhounds scenting him out or humans coming across him, doesn't have to worry about any other predators trying to get a meal out of him, there's no hiding, there's no running, no wasted energy... but he can tell Johnny knows he's healing. He leaves the bandages on longer and comments on the progress he's made, and at this point Simon knows that if he doesn't leave on his own Johnny might just toss him out anyways.

The thought makes him uncomfortably bitter, a sour feeling that wells up in his chest and leaves him feeling nothing short of sick.

He tolerates it all for a few more days, making the most of it, and then watches intently as Johnny leaves, one morning slipping out from under the bed to watch him from the doorway as he leaves, locking the front door behind him. He loafs around for an hour or so, then shifts, standing on unsteady legs and adjusting to the feeling of being human for a bit- as close as he can get, anyways. Simon finds himself staring at a window for a long while, facing the woods.

With a sigh, he steps closer and pushes it open, and crawls out, shutting the window behind him and shifting back so he can break off into a run. He regrets it the moment he's outside, the air frigid and uncomfortable against his fur, feeling like needles against his skin, but he doesn't have much of a choice at this point. He does it himself or Johnny will do it for him, maybe throw him outside in his sleep or something. He's careful not to leave any prints, stepping lightly and never lingering in one spot too long. The beartrap that got him into this mess serves as a marker, telling him where to go, and from there it's just a matter of following old paths, and by the time night starts to fall he's found it again. His scent has faded from months of inactivity, but it's his territory all the same.

Suddenly it doesn't feel like home at all, but he reasons that it won't be come a few weeks, anyways, when the wolfhunts start again the second the town's dogs start to catch his scent, and he'll have to leave all over again. He curls up in a familiar hollow, surrounded on all sides but one so he can't be reached or found quite as easily, and falls asleep with the lingering thoughts of fleeting warmth and soft fabrics on his mind.

[puddingforg]

Can... can I maybe beg for info dumping about Owen and Hubter's original designs/story?

OFCCC!! I LOVE talking about my ocs so if you have any questions from what I’m about to tell please ask, now brace yourself this is a long one,

Ok lore, where do I start, imma give some world-building context first: Thousands of years ago there were these dudes each from a different species whose sole purpose was to protect their nation. Nobody really knows how they appeared but they had been protecting their nations for generations. As more Nations appeared and more wars started happening, lesser and lesser of them started appearing, first, it skipped a generation, then two, then three and so on until nobody knew what had happened to the fearless warriors that once fought for their nations, in some cultures they were forgotten, in others, they were treated as a myth and in others, they were treated as a curse who would come and cause chaos and destruction. There are 5 of them, they are an elf, a dragon, a vampire, a mermaid/man and a faun. Here are some Sketches as to how their designs might look but I’m probs gonna change them

forgot to mention but the world is kinda in a medieval era¿, it's like a DnD campaign of some sort lol

Ok so- Hunter and Owen being part of the main cast obviously are these previously mentioned “warriors” - Kinda… let me explain, I’ll start with Owen cuz’ his backstory is simpler, you have your stereotypical perfect mermaid, however, these mermaids are a pretty discriminatory species, if someone doesn't follow their very strict beauty standards, which ofc is being a cutesy little fish-tail mermaid, they are categorised as a sea monster. Sea monsters live in separate places from the mermaids. Mermaids have the most territory residing in a huge and radiant city, like Atlantis, where everything and everyone is perfect living a perfect life. Then we have sea monsters, that, despite being way more, are left to live in a small, not very fit-to-live territory with little access to food and resources. Now, there is a deeper reason as to why that is. The normal mermaids have no idea of this but within the royal family there is this prophecy, which is engraved in a rock that they keep hidden, that someday a shark-tail mermaid ( like Owen, who just so happens to be who is meant to protect the people ) will appear and take the throne from those who aren’t meant to have it ( the mermaids ) The royal family for generation has kept the sea monsters oppressed in hopes that they don’t rebel and take the throne. So, Owen lives with his mother in a little house on the sea monsters side, he’s pretty liked and well-known bc he is one of the few ppl, like members of the revolutionary army, that dares to go to the mermaids side for food, ( little parenthesis, the revolutionary army has asked him multiple to join but he refuses each time bcs “he doesn’t like conflict” )  he’s pretty cocky with his abilities so for him it's no issue to go to that side bcs he is sure that he’ll never get caught (he has, he just escapes rlly easily ) it was actually in one of these occasions that he met Hunter, and finally I have a drawing of that! 

here’s the full page, it also comes with their designs and size difference 

I’ll explain how the hell Hunter is underwater and his reason to do so later btw. To summarise what happens next, they break out of prison, Hunter realizes Owen might be the one Caly is looking for (I’ll explain who she is later) Hunter asks him to go with him to the surface, Owen agrees, they go, adventure commences! ( for anyone wondering, yes Owen does end up making a rebellion and taking the throne but much, much, much  later) 

Now to Hunter, 

He’s a shadow-shifter, which essentially means that he is just a shadow w/o any real physical form so he can shift into whatever he wants, however, while he can make small alterations to his body like growing an extra pair of arms, grow wings or grow a couple of feet, to make big changes like increase his size exponentially for example, he needs a huge calorie intake that he can transform into mass/shadow that he can shape. Now I just said that shadowshifters don't have physical forms, that’s not the full truth, due to evolution they have developed a “base form” that resembles humans except that they are slightly taller ( around 7 feet ) and have black with purple eyes, like in this drawing here. 

Shadowshifters are still, well shadows they just look human to sort of blend, but Hunter for example when faced with very strong emotions loses control of himself and turns into a shapeless shadow. 

Onto Hunter's backstory, shadowshifters were a nomad nation, never really given their own land to call home, so they just wandered in caravans around all the lands. They were a hated species being seen as less by almost everyone because they didn't have a physical form. ( the real reason is that they were afraid of what they could actually do if they wanted to attack a nation, bc shapeshifting is a very broken ability 🙂‍↕️) They were so hated that other species began to hunt them, the fact that they were taller and had black eyes made them an easy target as they were easy to identify. One day the shadowshifters were crossing through the woods that sat in between the border of humans and fawns. They were playing music, the children were playing and an overall happy aura was taking over. As Hunter was playing with the other kids he ran over to his mother to ask her for her necklace so he could use it in the game they were playing, his mother happily handed it over. (This is important) Suddenly they heard a big crash followed by screaming. A huge group of not only humans but dragons and hybrids as well had attacked them. Then, the fire started, the dragons began burning everything as the humans and hybrids hunted them down. Hunter's mom grabbed him by the hand and started running away, Hunters mom knew that they wouldn't be able to outrun them, so she hugged Hunter tight saying her goodbyes and instructing him to run away as fast as he could, and to not look back for any reason. Hunter ran nonstop into the fauns territory until his body gave out and he fainted. He got woken up by a kid faun, close to his age, who was slightly shaking him and asking if he was okay. The kid looked at him confused, asking again if he was okay and reassuring him that he was safe. He said that his name was Kamal. Here’s how he looks like as a young adult

Kamal took Hunter to his village where Hunter would tell Kamal’s mom what happened; Fauns being a very docile species did not have any hate towars shadowshifters btw; Kamal’s mom decided to take Hunter in and raise him, the people of the village where also very kind and accepted Hunter. He lived a fairly happy life, until he was around 17. See the one who was supposed to protect the fauns was Kamal, and both he and Hunter decided that the best way to do that was to become bounty hunters and roam the borders of the fauns territory to make sure no one dangerous came in, they started doing this when they were around 13 so by the time they were 17 they were pretty good at it, however, as most teenagers, they believed themselves to be invincible, or at least Hunter did. ( This part is still in development so it's not gonna be that well-written jsjs ) One day, as they were doing their jobs and patrolling the borders, Hunter noticed a group of fairly known criminals entering the forest, so being as reckless as he was, he just started running w/o thinking, Kamal being more cautious decided to check the wanted posters he carried with him, he saw that the leader of the group had a danger level of 4 and a torch stamp ( Wanted posters rank criminals with danger levels ranging from 1 to 5 and if they have a torch stamp means that they have magic ) Kamal rushed to stop Hunter from doing something stupid but when he got there he had already started a fight, Kamal joined knowing there was no way Hunter could win on his own, While they were fighting one of the criminals launched at Hunter’s back with a sword while he fought someone else, Kamal saw this and rushed to push Hunter out of the way getting himself stabbed. Kamal's powers began going haywire, the ground shaking, plants and trees growing fastly everywhere, this scared the criminals away but the damage was already done. Hunter just stood there holding his brothers body, as the last bit of air left Kamal's body Hunter's necklace began glowing and something green started coming out of where Kamal's heart was, and the crystal on the necklace started absorbing it. When it stopped, the crystal was glowing green and the realisation of what just happened dawned on Hunter and he started screaming and crashing out, this caused him to lose his physical form and become a huge shadow that moved frantically everywhere, until he eventually passed out. When he woke up he was in his house, but not in his room, he was in Kamal's room, and his (adoptive) mom was hugging him asking him if he was okay and where Hunter was, he just stood there trying to make sense of everything, then he heard it. His mother called him Kamal. He rushed to the bathroom and saw himself in the mirror, there in the reflection stood Kamal. 

And that’s it ✨✨ there is soooo much more I have to say abt their stories but to do so it was very important to have hunters backstory clear so parts of the actual story are clear, I left a ton of things un explained so please ask if y’all wanna know something, I might take some time but I assure you that l WILL respond so dw. Gosh, I didn’t even touched the reasonings behind their designs, not only that but a bunch of other stuff happens in the actual story that’ll love to tell but I feel like this post is long enough so maybe I’ll post that another day.

[dont-offend-the-bees]

Hi, it's Quill! For the fic writer asks, can you please answer 40, 56 and 65? 😘❤️

HELLO MY FRIEND THANK YOU 💛💛💛

40. If someone were to make fanart of your work, what fic or scene would you hope to see?

Ooooooh, now THAT'S a toughie. And and all art of my fic would be recived with literal tears of joy, but let's narrow it down lmao. Discounting my horny ass just wanting aaaallll the art of my smutty side account fic (and tbh more horny art of the Cat King in general), I think it would be lovely to see art of Lonely Bones, considering how much time and feeling has gone into it and considering I think you could have a lot of fun with moody compositions. Somewhere Beyond the Sea is only on it's first chapter but especially from chapter two onwards it's gonna have so many fun and whimsical things/characters to draw! I'd also be an absolute GLUTTON for more of mine and L and H's 1920s poly boys as seen in Keep Me Warm, Love Me Long, Be My Sunlight, but that's a bit more niche!

If I had to pick one singular scene, I think I'd melt like butter if someone drew Charles in subspace getting therapeutically, nonsexually dommed by Edwin with silly cat's cradle games in ’Cause You Cut Through All the Noise. I'm so fond of that fic you have no idea.

56. What’s something about your writing that you pride yourself on?

Character voices!! I need to rewatch DBDA again soon to refresh my memory lest I drift into made-up voices but generally speaking I think my dialogue characterisation is pretty fun and believable!

65. Tell us about what you’re most looking forward to writing – in your current project, or a future project

I am looking forward to each and every aspect of the 1920s AU I'm working on with @dear-monday and @tw0-ravens, but especially the Thomas dialogue/arc/letters. I'm also huuuugely looking forward to writing my Edge Chronicles AU, but mostly for the world, vibes and character backstories especially pertaining to Edwin -- I'm currently struggling a bit with finding the actual plot, though! I'm also SO excited for the rest of Somewhere Beyond the Sea, there's going to be so much fun and whimsy and fantasy and sweetness, I'm really excited for the bits I've added as well as the bits I'm adapting from the source material!

Get to know your fic writer!

(And because you asked me to talk about WIPs, here we go, a very short, rough snippet of the Edge Chronicles AU from my notes app -- flashback to Charles and Edwin's first meeting!)

It was freezing cold in the prowlgrin roost. Maybe not up in the nests and the roosting poles, where the big old beasts dozed by the light of the burning braziers, the lucky sods. But down in the straw and the muck the winter chill was biting, creeping through every crack in the ancient slats. Charles was huddling down pathetically, dragging the ratty old prowlgrin tarp tighter round his shoulders, when he heard a creak. Louder than the wind through the slats, slower. The door. He froze, holding his breath. The air had... changed. It was crackling with something, making Charles' hair stand on end. And then, footsteps.  Charles shrank back, tried to make himself small. But the shape that stepped into the roost wasn't any boy that he knew — anyone who might be looking to finish what they'd started. It was... strange. It was like looking at those old barkscroll woodcuts from way back; those odd, early academic knights with the leather armour, all tooled and riveted. Like something out of a fairytale. It looked at him, right at him, and pulled off its leather helmet and underneath was just… a boy. Not like any boy he'd seen, though. Pale, worryingly so, and gaunt, eyes the most piercing blue he'd ever seen; unearthly, iridescent. Like open, uncharted sky. "I was looking for the library," said the boy, softly, hoarsely, like he hadn't used his voice in a good long while. "It used to be here, did it not?" Charles frowned, for a moment too confused to be scared. Of all the things to be looking for! "Not anymore, mate. Moved it 'cuz of the rot, didn't they? That was what, thirty years back or summit." "Thirty years..." he hummed like a rumbling storm. "Right. If you might point me in the right direction — I have some very important reading to do.” Charles was starting to think the dunk in the lake had frozen his brain. "It's three in the morning,” he said, baffled. The boy knelt before him, and raised his hand. Charles watched, horrorstruck, as his long, slender fingers lost their shape and stretched, vaporous, into elongated strands of crystalline cirrus. "It is rather pressing," said the boy, deadpan.

And some of my tests of the art style so far 😊 this AU's gonna take me a WHILE with the illustrations as well as the writing lmao

[chloesimaginationthings]

Mike and Vanessa learn about FNAF sister location

[jyedthrry6]

[willowkenshin1234]

HEAVY TF2 TUMMY !! !! !!

Poor scout need help rn-

[lady-quen]

Maelmordha my grumpy scoundrel of a Commander. Casts plague signet casts plague signet casts pla

[funkbun]

i remember i made these designs for snorpy n floofty's parents like 2 years ago, the og post is somewhere on my main blog i dont fuckin know lol, but i felt like redesigning them slightly

[moeblob]

Rey, who is in my very biased opinion, one of the funniest "girls" I have because she's just a guy, truly. Like Rey is just short for Reynold because he was recruited by a a goddess to help the hero she selected and the hero is conveniently Reynold's younger brother. So he agrees to help under the condition that the goddess gives him a female body for the other world. She's like "really odd flex but whatever" and gives him a female form and he's like "you know. I can't really blame anyone but myself for not specifying 'please don't turn me into a Lisa Frank personification'."

[cozylittleartblog]

The way you draw deltarune characters is so charming! Have you ever drawn King?

like twice lol

[artvm1s]

One Piece Warriors AU: Ussop, Robin, and Franky

Ussop cat naming progression: Eaglekit -> Eaglepaw -> Eaglecatcher

(Seal mink cat with long curled (rex) hair)

Robin cat naming progression: Sunday (loner) -> Lotuspool

(Blue bicolorpoint with unusual white-spotting)

Franky cat naming progression: Rubblekit -> Rubblepaw -> Rubblebelly

(Blue-ginger ticked tabby with no tail (natural))

[perenlop]

what if i gave castor the same eye scar that bruno has. what then

[jamiethebeeart]

:D (I ramble in my tags about this)