#So the reason why it’s been so long is

[juvellianbombus]

In celebration of making the valley team, here’s an update to my comic!

It’s been uhhh,

(checks watch)

13 months!

please kill me

(I basically just traced over the old lineart so it looks a little wonky. My composition definitely wasn’t the greatest)

[hinamie]

oversaturate

[puppyeared]

act 4 :(

@chipper-smol and i came to a realization

[inkskinned]

you have to be sexy but you have to be sexy in a way that's kind of bloody. you learn this early because you are wearing a ruffled skirt and the snow around your ankles kicks little sand particles against your calves. baby's first catcall. welcome to sexiness! welcome to the eyesore of your own body!

you have to be sexy like high heels. like sculpted eyebrows. like lean stomach and highly treated hair. you have to be sexy like youth is sexy, which means you have to be sexy like boxtox and plastic. a 30 year old can be sexy but she's not going to be bloody, and they like the bloodiness of it. a 30 year old is sexy when she is a whiskey glass and a wooden desk.

but you need to be sexy like an open mouth. you need to be sexy like a bitten apple. like plucked skin and white-knuckling the waxing kit.

so sex is a performance, not an enjoyment. for a while, you just assumed everyone else was also in on the joke - nobody actually likes sex that much, right? like, some men probably do, but why would you? it is like a gender - your gender is sexy. your gender is the performance of sex. you are thigh highs and garter belts. which, to be fair, do make you feel sexy.

part of what does make sex good is that you can tell that other people want you, which means the performance of sexiness is both bloody and wanted, which is good, which means you are winning at having a body. being wanted is the prize. being wanted is the thing you are searching for, not hope. you think you are looking for a soft grave in easy loam, but that is bloody but not sexy. to be sexy you must be bloody like a red open sign. bloody like a handprint. this will make you wanted.

any wanted or unwanted body is subject to supply and demand, which is to say that the more demand, the better you are valued. you must be highly demanded to be valued. this is stated in matter-of-fact by some men. sometimes it is a priest that says it, and sometimes it is a podcaster, and sometimes it is the 45th president of the united states of america.

(if you do not have any experience with being told your value, i want you to grab the nearest bird to you and i want you to crush it into a thin paste in your hand. spit into the center, and then hold your fingers closed tight around it for days and days, long after the rot has set in. feel bones itch inside of your fist. this is only a fraction of what it actually feels like, but it will suffice for a moment.)

good sex feels like you have earned their desperation. you have earned your own value. for a while you operated under the understanding that everyone knew about the power structure, even him. that their desire to take you - the violence of it - means that you must desire to be caught. little prince, guardian fox - you would rather have cut your own arm off. you liked the secret, cunning little voice you keep tucked into a box. you think you are fucking me. i am not even here right now. you are fucking what i conned you into perceiving. this is a painting, not a person. dominion over the body before all things.

so you bend your body like a wheat shaft and learn the steps so perfectly that it almost seems graceful. (if you do not have experience faking your own connection to your body and sexuality, cut each of your articles of clothing just a little bit incorrectly. pour fishbones into each of your meals. this way, you will experience the average noon on a tuesday.)

you have to be sexy like light spilled over a desk, but not desperate. not a noose. you can't be sexy like an electric guitar, you are the acoustic. you have to be on top of the bull but you can't have control over the animal.

okay, okay. the little rabbit of your heart went to sleep so long ago that winter has ravaged your concept of the human soul. there's something very-bad inside you, something that has taken over, a little fetid and rabid animal, angry and hurting and willing to bite first.

oh but even that's a pain that's sexy. open your mouth. be careful not to let the canines show.

[phoenixcatch7]

Okay but it's super interesting how

Din = Power = Ganondorf

Naryu = Wisdom = Zelda

Farore = Courage = Link.

Because Din, in the hylian creation myth, created the physical world. Naryu then created the laws - gravity, time, etc. And Farore finally created life - plants and people.

Din created the body, naryu the mind, Farore the soul.

And the triforce and its wielders so perfectly reflect that.

Ganon is physical power, he is big and intimidating and he breaks things. He is cunning and determined, but that's not what he focuses on. He is might makes right.

Zelda is wisdom and cleverness. She is stall tactics and information and team work. She is a powerful mage with a spine of steel, but that's not how she'll win. She is the pen being mightier than the sword.

Link is courage and persistence. He is the wild card sneaking behind enemy ranks, always moving, plunging into terrifying situations head first. He's a phenomenal fighter with a keen wit, but that's not what will get him through his challenges. He is bravery not being the absence of fear but the triumph over it.

They sit in perfect parallels to each other.

And ganon is reborn through his body - his resurrection is immortality. No matter how low he is cast, as long as he has a body he can claw his way back. He can cling to his power, build it ever higher.

Zelda is reborn through the magic of her bloodline. It's the accumulated knowledge handed down for generations, the unique power she must master, the skills she must develop to survive and get her kingdom out the other side intact. Even her name, the knowledge of herself, is handed down from all the way from the very first. Her ancestors knowledge of her future presence, her stability, is what gives her the edge.

Link is reborn in spirit. He is not bound by flesh or blood. Just like his wanderlust soul he can reappear in any time or place. His variation, his unpredictability, is exactly how he fights. It's what makes him so hard to pin down.

Ganons need to build strength means he can't chase after link. Links impulsiveness means zelda can outwit him. Zeldas stationary predictability means she's an easy target for ganon.

But the other direction?

Fire melts ice, ice redirects lightning, lightning burns fire.

And that's the very essence of the triforce.

[little-pondhead]

[this is kind of a messy ramble, sorry about that]

Demon Twins AU, except Danny is loyal to the League.

The League of Assassins is a “cult” for a reason. They know what they’re doing. Ra’s has been around for a very long time; he’s seen every trick in the book and then some.

So when his daughter Talia gave him two, near-identical twin grandsons, he had already planned out their lives by the time the sun had set on their first day living. He knew the plans weren’t perfect. Nothing ever went exactly how he wanted it to. But that was the joy of being absolutely fucking ancient. Ra’s adapted better than anyone. If something went wrong, Ra’s will simply work around the issue and live to see another day.

So the boys were raised as he wished. Ruthless, with sharp blades and even sharper wit. They matched each other in every way, blow for blow. Neither won more than the other, and Ra’s encouraged the competition between the twins. Eventually, the battle for title of Heir came, and Damian won that particular match.

Danny was fine with this. Thrilled, even, for his brother to earn the title of Heir. The boys were very close, and worked well to take down targets twice their size. Ra’s approved this, and granted Danny title of Shadow. He was to be Damian’s eternal shadow, a guard. Both Talia and the boys were pleased with this.

But then came the time for the boys to learn how to live without each other. They’d gotten too used to someone guarding their back. Too complacent and too confident in their roles. Ra’s knew it would happen, and so sent Danny off at a very young age to live with some sleeper agents in America.

The Fentons.

Damian would stay here, with Talia, to learn how to be the perfect Heir. He needed to learn how to fight without the assistance of his brother.

Danny would go to Amity Park, and be fostered by the Fentons. He needed to put his skills to practical use and learn how to live without constant orders.

This was their Test.

Damian did quite well, for a while. Until Talia sent him off to his birth father, The Bat. Reports on his behavior declined in quality after that, and Ra’s couldn’t help but feel dissatisfaction with how the Heir had been corrupted.

Danny’s reports were always immaculate, however. His mask never slipped, and he’d worked himself into the hearts of the townspeople. The sleeper agents, Jack and Maddie, had a daughter who was quite enthusiastic about the properties of the mind, and accept Ra’s instructions to teach Danny with ease. It was the ideal situation.

In Ra’s eyes, Danny was thriving. Damian was not.

And then Ra’s died. The League was in shambles. Damian was at peace with his family, away from the cult he grew up in. He assumed Danny had defected years ago, since their mother stopped giving him reports about his twin.

Then Danny showed up at the Wayne’s doorstep, decked out in full League attire, angry and hostile.

“Tell me, dear brother,” he spat. “Why did you not inform me that Grandfather had died? I had to find out through his spirit when it came to visit from the afterlife!”

Damian didn’t know what to say.

[buqbite]

part 1 (on VA and being better than humans)

part 2 (on welt and being just a human)

[varpusvaras]

Dick had many soulmarks.

Not as many as someone would've thought, probably, with the amount of friends that he had, but still many. They adorned his forearm like jewelry, circling around his skin in intricate patterns. Every single one of them just as beautiful as the other, just like the people they belonged to. Dick thought every single one of them as a blessing.

He had done so especially after the first two had faded away.

They were still there, of course. Nothing could ever truly erase a mark on someone's soul, after all. Not even death. Dick would've been even more devastated if the marks would've disappeared with his parents, even if sometimes looking at the now liveless marks hurt.

They had hurt, physically, when it had happened. When the bodies had hit the ground and Dick's heart had been ripped into pieces, the marks had burned, searing hot white pain latching onto him, pulling at his skin the same as his heart.

Not that Dick had really noticed it, then. He had been hurting too much otherwise to really care about it in the moment.

He had latched onto every new mark with all of his heart afterwards. It had hurt, when Bruce's had appeared, as it made the white, faded color of his parents' marks stand out even more, but the joy had been enough to chase the hurt away. Alfred's had not hurt nearly as much, and with his friends, he had simply been happy.

Dick would've never said it out loud, but he did have favorites. His parents', even faded. He didn't think anyone would blame him for that one. Bruce's, in a sense, as it had been the first live one he had gained.

His absolute favorite, though?

Jason's.

Jason was...different. He wasn't his parents, nor was he his caretaker. He had no obligations to Dick, even if obligations did not really affect the formation of the marks. He wasn't Dick's friend, either, not the same way anyone in the team was.

He was Dick's little brother.

And Dick would've given him the world.

Jason had been ecstatic when the marks had appeared, and, to be perfectly honest, so had Dick. They were such beautiful marks too, the lines twisting around themselves to form images of wings in flight, shining when light hit them just right, every new angle bringing out a new detail.

"Birds of a feather, right?" Dick had said, grinning wildly. "That's what we are, Little Wing, and the marks know it."

He had ruffled Jason's hair, and Jason had grinned back at him, and for that moment, Dick had been able to forget everything else. No argument or hurt had mattered even in the slightest.

It had just been Dick and Jason, in their own world, one that was only for them.

---

Dick was exhausted.

In a good way, for once. If there was a good way to be exhausted. Maybe saying that he was exhausted in a better way was more correct. No one was hurt too badly, and the day had been more or less a success. All things considered, at the very least.

He missed home. It was maybe a stupid thing to say, Dick knew that so many people back home would've given everything to go to space, but Dick was tired. He was tired of being the leader, tired of seeing his friends get hurt, tired of failing in some way every single day.

He missed home. Even if things with Bruce were not perfect, everything was still much simpler back at the Manor, at least compared to this. Alfred would be there, with his gentle yet firm words and reassurances, and Bruce, even when Dick wanted to mostly scream at him, was still a familiar presence in a familiar space.

Jason would be there, too, talking Dick's ear off, making the house lived in, making it feel like an actual home.

Dick just wanted this whole thing to be over already, if he was being completely honest. Today had been a good day, all things considered, and all Dick wanted to do was to faceplant on his bed and sleep without too many worried for once. Sleep and hope that it would bring him closer to getting back home.

Of course, he couldn't do that, not just yet. Even if no one was hurt too badly, he needed to make sure that everything was in order, make sure that they had all they needed, make sure-

One moment he was thinking about all the things he needed to still do, and the next he was on the ground on his hands and knees, being torn to pieces and burned alive.

There were voices around him. Someone was touching him, hands warm on his skin, tilting his face up, but Dick couldn't see who it was. His heart was beating erratically, like it was trying to tear itself to shreds and out of its place. It burned, searing hot, white pain, that had turned him into a human torch.

Distantly, Dick knew that he already knew this pain.

He got a breath in to his burning lungs. Then another one. He was still on fire, but he could see again.

Kory was right in front of him, holding his head. Dick was mostly on the ground, now, laying on his side, only barely holding himself on his elbows.

He had no idea when he had gotten there.

Kory seemed to notice that he had come back to himself. Her face relaxed ever so slightly as his eyes met hers.

"Dick?" She asked. Her voice was low, and she was clearly trying to keep it soft, but it was still pinched with worry, just like her eyes. "Are you alright?"

Dick didn't know what to say to her.

He knew he wasn't injured, not badly at least. He knew that, but he didn't feel alright, not in the slightest.

The pain was still there, curling around the edges of him, his skin feeling like embers that were still smoldering, even though the fire had gone away. He couldn't feel his arm properly, and Dick wondered if something had-

Suddenly he felt cold.

He pushed himself up, ignoring how shaky he felt. He almost fell down again, and Kory tried to put her hands on him, maybe to push him back down or to help him up. Dick didn't know, and he didn't have the time to stop and figure it out.

His suit was on the way. Dick tugged at it, then dug his teeth on the sleeve and ripped the seam open with force he hadn't known he possessed in his jaws, and he dug his fingers in it again and continued ripping the sleeve off of his skin.

There were voices around him again, someone's hands on his shoulders, but Dick didn't pay any attention to any of it. He needed to get it off, he needed to get it off, so he could see, he needed to get it off so he could see-

Jason's mark was gone.

It had been between Bruce's and Alfred's, golden and warm and brilliant, wings in flight, and it was gone.

Dick tilted his arm, tried to catch it in light, like he had done before, to make it shine like it always had, and-

It was there.

It was still there.

Faded.

White.

Dead.

Just like his parents.

The fire burned again where his heart should've been, freezing cold, hollowing him out from the inside.

The world disappeared from around him as Dick screamed.

[carnivalcarriondiscarded]

most of you will not understand the agony of this outfit. but hey here's fantasy au Howdy!

rambles:

yes. i know. he looks like a gunslinger. but I think it'd be funny if Howdy shows up and he minorly tweaks the genre simply by Existing! plus, he has to make himself useful beyond being a traveling salesman - he doesn't have a scrap of magic in him! so! alchemist gunslinger!

due to much of this "final" outfit design being Miguel's (@indigopoptart <3 thanks for your help homeslice <3) influence, i have less to say than usual! i'll talk about the things i Kept from the first terrible, terrible draft!

i wanted him to have full-coverage gloves because One, gloves fuck, & Two, shooting gloves! plus, he regularly works with dangerous materials! gotta keep his hands as safe as possible! speaking of his guns, they were a Ton of fun to draw. i wanted to make them ornate... Howdy seems like he'd enjoy nice things? fancy stuff perhaps? anyway the guns have his tavern "logo" on them!

the "second safety" mentioned triggers a magic-oriented mechanism that allows him to piece the guns together! they "unfold" into a big ol clusterfuck of a powerhouse weapon! unfortunately, using this immediately breaks the guns and they have to be repaired, so it's a "break glass in case of emergency" ace up the Neighborhood's sleeve!

i like to imagine that his bandolier, while cool, stresses everyone out a little bit. each bullet is full of pressurized weaponized magic. If they break while on the bandolier, well! Howdy would probably be very much Royally Fucked! i also drew the bullets too large here, so imagine that there's a lot more than shown and they're a lot smaller. I didn't realize this mistake until right now! oopsies!

i want to keep elements of the canon outfits in these fantasy ones. hence why his vest is striped and blue, he's still got the reddish brown pants, and! why his cloak clasp is shaped like a tie! and why the inside of his cloak resembles his apron!

i like to think that Howdy got his magic pack by swindling some poor soul out of it! when the buckles are undone, it unfolds into a vendor stand that looks Much different than the tiny scribble provided! said scribble is there to ah... what's the word. Demonstrate? get the point across? it's actually quite a nice stall! he has space to sell, and a workbench to tinker on! the pockets on the bag actually do function as pockets, though.

[dracanboys-m]

sticker of shame on top of my head that says "i turn everything i love into a monster hunter au". some boys that bite just dropped

[jeongjinman]

Lee Dong Wook as Seo Moon Jo | Strangers From Hell (2019) Episode 3

[chasingthewesternsun]

I haven’t been liking how I draw thrawn lately so I wanted to do some comic redraws to practice. Feral Thrawn is so funny to me?? Like why is his hair so long?😭 bruh was only supposed to be out there for like a few months—not years

I also find heavily shadowed forms hard so I wanted to practice that too

[wisted-twonderland]

aware

[ganondoodle]

(Original art) Xaror, any pronouns, species (?), age (?)

short summary about them; they act as both an antagonist and an ally since they are only really interested in what they want or whats fun to them, they are immortal and call themselves 'death itself' since they have a special connection to souls (being the only one able to communicate with them) and the ability to seperate souls from their bodies in such a way that nothing can harm the soul afterwards their main goal is to .. bother and disturb the 'celestials'*, which they hate, as much as they can, breaking into their palace, freeing prisoners, destroying research, destroying the place, and most importantly, making as many souls unusable to them as possible-

they dont want to destroy the celestials though, they cant fight them anyway and this game of doing 'good' only with the goal of annoying them is their most treasured activity, so Xaror doesnt intend to stop them from killing or hurting anyone, only from harvesting what they are actually after (though Xaror doesnt actually care as little as they think they do about people, and has a soft spot for demons)

most of their appearance is later into the story; Zaphira (the empress) had been in coma and the medical facility she was treated in was destroyed by Shargon (orange eyed demon who acts as her bodyguard for the first part) in an attempt to save her from her estranged relatives taking over her country after they heard of her decline in health, she is believed dead but washes up on the shore of the mountain Xaror resides at years later (it has a reason, too much to write here) and they slowly nurse her back to health, the reason they give for it is that they found their first encounter very fun, thats all (is it?)

(more lore under the cut bc this is already so long .. im trying to keep it short q-q ......... this is stuff i have been working on since i was a kid so uh, some things might be cheesy but i cant change them anymore ..)

just to get some basics out of the way; theres three worlds, the celestials palace, human world and demon world, each are their own planet connected via different gateways

*celestials (possibly not final name, loosely based on angels) are the last remaining "survivors" of their planets demise, when their world died the most powerful among them cannibalized the weaker to sustain themselves until there were only less than 10 left, who each turned into different beings from it and dont resemble their own people much anymore, they built a palace from what was left on their world that protects them from space as its atmosphere collapsed shortly after- however they still needed something to live off; they discover the human world and are delighted to find rather short lived people with powerful souls, the best kind of sustenance for them (now), they aim to herd them like cattle, but a problem arose when it turned out another world has long been in contact with the human world; demons

demons are semi immortal creatures that act as protectors for their world, protection they extended, more or less secretely, to the human world ensuring them a long and secure life- the celestials need them to die at their whim though (demons are few in numbers, hard to kill and rarely have offspring, not an ideal target); as they worked out a plan on how to get rid of demons one of the celestials, Xanthriel (time) grew somewhat fond of people as they spent alot of time in the human world to observe and research them; in the end turning on their own completely, but losing the fight against Uriel (knowledge)

Xanthriel was supposed to be executed for their betrayal, but it doesnt work, instead they are splintered into many parts after a lot of struggle, most body, memory and most strength is one part (ending up as motionless forever bleeding corpse kept locked up in the palace), the rest is some time later gathered together and reforms as a seperate, weak mockery of them, they embody Xanthriels emotion- Xaror, without memory, strangely cut to pieces (hence all the missing limbs and broken halo) but driven by an unstoppable desire to disturb the celestials (they live seperate long enough to each become their own person, at some point Xaror discovers Xanthriels body after all and they merge back together, though as they are now two, Xanthriel only takes over once directly after merging, stays silent for a long time and lets Xaror be themselves, only later revealing that they are there at all .. hiding perhaps- i rarely have specific ideas for voices, but Xanthriels is like, like coarse rocks being violently rubbed against each other, less voice more noise)

(also, the celestials use Xanthriels blood from the day of their execution to create a plague that nearly wipes out all demons, only the youngest of them survived, effectively robbing them of everything, culture, history, knowledge etc- as demons rarely have children, like a complete restart of their society, they disappeared from the human world, and over time being largely forgotten as actually existing- the celestials wanted them all gone however, so they kept kidnapping them to try and find somethign that would work similarly against the young ones too (and then in general, bc the only usable blood of Xanthriel was from the day of their fall, and that has long since been used up) one of the young ones was Shargon, he was the only one still alive from his group

(also, the celestials use Xanthriels blood from the day of their execution to create a plague that nearly wipes out all demons, only the youngest of them survived, effectively robbing them of everything, culture, history, knowledge etc- as demons rarely have children, like a complete restart of their society, they disappeared from the human world, and over time being largely forgotten as actually existing- the celestials wanted them all gone however, so they kept kidnapping them to try and find somethign that would work similarly against the young ones too (and then in general, bc the only usable blood of Xanthriel was from the day of their fall, and that has long since been used up) one of the young ones was Shargon, he was the only one still alive from his group (he wasnt the strongest or special, he was jsut the last in the row and always got the lowest dosage) when Xaror found them in yet another break in into the palace and got him back to the demon world .. where he was promptly blamed for the others that were taken and treated like a pretender/fake/spy bc what he got put through changed his eye color (something that demons cannot change in any form) to one that does not exist among 'real' demons (orange ... notice the inner color of Xarors broken halo? :) ), some even suggesting killing him, but none of them were brave enough to do it (they were all kids still) .. except Eadrya (the big blue-ish one, largely regarded as the strongest demon alive) but Shargon managed to escape, and since then lived largely in isolation- this is part of why he is so hated, and why he starts to spend so much time in the human world after rediscovering the pathway there)

[baconplasm]

Long time no KH art

(semi-redraw of this)

[mrs-gauche]

IT'S OCTOBER!!!!

I have no idea what's happening out there, I'm living in this isolated semi offline bubble to avoid spoilers and it's killing me, but WE'LL BE PLAYING THE NEXT DRAGON AGE *THIS* MONTH. AFTER TEN. WHOLE. YEARS. HOW FUCKING CRAZY IS THAT. IT STILL DOESN'T FEEL REEEAL.