#This is such a luxurious illustration honestly

[s3thwrit3sstuff]

❝ you make me feel like I am clean again ❞

yandere!mob leaders x gn!reader | how you met | not proofread

warnings: graphic description of violence, guns, power imbalance (r! is part of the gang but they are a low-ranking member), yandere tendencies, mentions of drug dealings, very brief mention of r! getting felt up by someone in JH's section

masterlist ;

authors note: doing some oc writing feels lowkey daunting but I hope you guys enjoy it, I wasn't exactly sure how to format this aaaa but! I hope it isn't too confusing. I wanted to go more into depth but I suppose this serves as an introductory post to them??? IDK, I've never written this kinda thing before. * here is the better-quality post of the illustration * song on repeat: Love Song by Mariee Sioux

Kim Seo-Yun —

Seo-Yun would be unimpressed the first time she laid her eyes on you. It wouldn't be due to your looks, mannerisms, voice; she's just been hardwired that way.

Wants and needs are hard to convey when you're running one of the most dangerous businesses one could run. Drugs, gambling, skin, weapons — Seo-Yun's a busy woman.

Over time, however, she'll let her gaze linger on you.

Have you always looked so good in that colour? It really does bring out the shine in your eyes, and the suppleness of your lips. Seo-Yun's gaze is intimidating but seeing you squirm is all a part of your charm.

That's right. You're only dressing and acting this way to grab her attention, correct? Why else would she find it so hard to rip her sights from you?

Honestly, she shouldn't be making such frequent trips to the lower ring of her gang. This warehouse was meant to weed out the weakest of her guard dogs. It reeked of sweat and blood and cigarettes and cheap booze. The constant sounds of wrapped knuckles beating down on sandbags and bodies falling on thin mats gave her a headache.

Yet. She stands here on the second floor, gazing down at the sweaty men, a handful of women, and most importantly; you.

Favoritism comes slower than her interests. Seo-Yun will shove her feelings down until it bursts like a fucking volcano. All of a sudden, it's as if she's a hound that's caught the scent of their kill.

"What?" The man before you is wearing an expensive suit, luxury adorning him from the shimmering cuffs to the stitching that holds it together. "Madam Kim is requesting your transfer," he says curtly.

The transfer promotes you from doing grunt work near a polluted harbor to one of Seoul's most expensive penthouses in Gangnam.

It's jarring. She does not give you time to adjust. One moment you're setting down your duffel bag of things and the next you're in the back of a luxury car driving through Seoul's wealthiest district.

The guards (who are double your size and proudly show off their facial scars) push you toward the door of a seamstress. The very air you breathe smells like money.

When you see Seo-Yun, your eyes widen and you kneel to bow.

She muffles her amusement with a slow drag of her cigarette.

"They're very pretty, Madam Seo-Yun," a kindly old lady says from behind her. Her hands were bony and delicate, and the pin cushion she wore around her wrist looked heavy. Everything about her seemed deliberate and put together.

Despite that, despite the glamorous patterns she had on her and the jewelry hanging from her ears; Seo-Yun called for eyes on her with no more than a simple wave of her hand, flicking the ashes away from the cigarette.

"Aren't they? Such a gem."

Seo-Yun orders you to be a part of her security team. Dresses you in custom-made suits to blend in with the rest of the capable men and women. She gives you new weapons and arranges for you to have an apartment near hers. New fake IDs in store, local beat cops turning their gaze away as you smoke in alleyways with an obvious bulk under your jacket.

A gem she called you. And like a gem, she cannot keep her eyes off you.

Stares at you as if you were put on display. Relishes in the way you keep your gaze down, squaring your shoulders, straightening your posture — squirming under her gaze.

"Come inside," you freeze at her words. The other security guards stand stoically in the private entryway of her penthouse and she stands on the threshold of that obscenely large and heavy door.

"Madam?" you squeak out. She narrows her upturned eyes, like a goddess with no mood to be asked twice.

This is a nightly occurrence. It becomes a routine.

She invites you into her home, leaving the door open for you to close on your way in. She sits on the tufted leather sofa, and her grin is expectant.

You kneel. Then, you bring your palms to the floor and crawl towards her. Only stopping when your chin is on her knee and you bring your eyes to meet hers.

"Sweet thing," she'll coo. Her palm is soft and cared for, but there is the slightest bit of callousness here and there. That roughness that comes with holding a gun to someone's head.

The first time she had told you to kneel, you'd been so confused you stood there like a statue. Seo-Yun gives you a minute to let it click, and she tilts her head as you jerkily kneel on her expensive floors.

"Crawl to me."

"Sweet darling," she continues. Your eyes flutter close as she traces your cheekbones with her thumb. "So good for me, so obedient, aren't you?"

How could you not be?

In the weeks you'd been with her, your life took such a drastic turn. Well-fed, well-cared for, and pampered in little but big ways. You were the runt of the litter, a stray, she told you.

She had seen you, she said. She had seen your potential, your drive, your passion.

"I was...I just, I just needed the money, Madam," you sheepishly admit that first night, balancing your chin on her knee.

Who would choose to become the grunt of a dangerous gang? Miniscule soldiers with dreams of dying a movie-worthy death, of brotherly bonds between hardened criminals — Please. You were at the end of your rope, this was the only option before the noose.

"Money is life," Seo-Yun strokes over your cheeks. "You fought to live, climbed through the muddy filth of the pier, and here you are. In my lap."

"I see you, (Y/N)."

"Are you tired?" the shake of your head earns a firm squeeze on your jaw. Your eyes flutter open so she grins sweetly.

"Bathe with me." She lifts your chin and you stand, taking her into your arms as she tugs on the shoulder gun strap you wore, leading you along like a leash. A security guard's job does not include such tasks. You're aware. But how could you say no to the most powerful woman in Seoul?

Your relationship starts off with a clear dynamic. You belong to Seo-Yun, no ifs or buts. No matter how dubious your feelings towards her are, you cannot deny there is such a lovely prospect of being a powerful person's beloved.

Or gem. Or pet. Or...whatever it is Seo-Yun considers you as.

All you know is you are hers and she expects nothing but loyalty and excellence from you. She dresses you in the best, feeds you the best foods, your mattress is hers and therefore it is fit for a Queen.

How spoiled are you, (Y/N)?

So spoiled you do not even realise the pretty cage she's put around you. Don't realise that those pearly white gates are her own teeth as she closes her jaws; too distracted by the gifts, the love, she showers you in.

Exactly how she wants you to be. Pliant, demure, and hers.

So what if your old friends suddenly never contact you again? Or your financial dependence has suddenly been transferred to her? If you never hold a gun in your hands ever again.

"Crawl to me, baby."

And you do. And she grins as she holds your face.

"Good pet."

Kim Jeong-Hyun —

Jeong-Hyun is a peculiar man. Some would argue he's barely a man; others would chime that he's barely human. The sight of the deep scars on his body; the mutilated side of his face. His left ear was chewed off, his left eye cloudy, and a good chunk of his lips ripped off to reveal gums and teeth.

Even if he wasn't a monster; he looked it. That was enough to set people on edge. Seemingly unaware of how he plants the fear of God within people, Jeong-Hyun stares at everyone with a dark gaze that could make the devil shiver.

Unlike his older sister, who hides her emotions until they spill over the edge, he makes his interest known from the beginning.

His good eye, lighter than any brown you've ever seen; a molten hazel that flashes gold in sunlight, devours you as he stands before you.

Although Madam Seo-Yun attends the funerals of her fallen men, she does not linger for the drinking and eating. Jeong-Hyun does.

You'd excused yourself from your circle, the drinks making your body warm enough to endure the cold night air as you light up a cigarette.

The clicking of nails on the brick ground forces you to look at the whimpering dog. Mangy, fur matted, and with its stubby legs like rubber as it paws at your shoe. It was someone's pet, left on the streets. Judging from the overgrown fur, it's been a while since someone's given it any kindness.

Jeong-Hyun had just walked out for a breather (he enjoys spending time with his men, but the noises and the scent of booze could get overwhelming), a bag of meat in hand as he set his sights on feeding the local strays.

But then he sees you crouched by an alleyway, pouring some cheap kibble you bought from a nearby convenience store onto some newspaper. Jeong-Hyun's footsteps are ghostlike, you don't even notice he's there until you feel his breath whisper along your ear and when you spin he's statue-like.

"B — Boss!" He's not the boss — he's just her brother. He still outranked you (by a whole league) so, he doesn't correct you as you bow your head so far down it's between your knees.

He looks silly crouched down in his two-piece suit. You're dressed formally, though the two of you were in different financial brackets. Jeong-Hyun does not speak. The pinkish scar that runs across his neck peeks from the collar of his button-up. It has your toes curling just imagining what had caused it.

He nudges the plastic bag your way, and you cautiously take it from him. To your surprise, he squishes his eyes into crescent moons, and despite his scarred cheek lifting from behind the black surgical mask he wore he looked so...innocent.

The rounded shape of his eyes, the deep crease of his eyelid, and his brows - it all makes him look boyish.

You turn your attention to the strips of expensive beef he had gotten, feeding the poor puppy in silence.

Jeong-Hyun's interest begins with him accompanying your crew as you were tasked to make a show of a traitor. He shoves the blade your way, hilt tilted your way as he connects his gaze with you.

The leader of your crew informs him you are new. He does not even pretend to hear him.

You took the blade, the forged metal heavier than you expected it to be but not impossibly so. It seemed as though it was his favorite, a little longer than a dagger but still small enough to hide under your clothes. Weighing it on your palm, you test the balance of it before gripping it tightly and Jeong-Hyun is entranced by the casual dominance you have over it.

The man before you, on his knees with his cut lip hanging heavily and his eyes so bruised you wonder how he can still see you enough to squeak in fear; he shivers and bows desperately.

"How do you want him, boss?" You glance at him, the grip on the blade strong and confident. He narrows his eyes then closes his eyes, jerking his chin forward.

' However you see fit. '

Jeong-Hyun falls in love with your violence.

Asking for you, always. Giving you food to bring back, giving you new knives and even transferring you to his personal squad of men and women. He'd even invited you into his home. Which, apparently, was not unusual but no one had ever had the pleasure of being able to see the pack of dogs he had.

He starts hanging around you more. His favoritism is hard to mask and it causes you more issues than you'd like to admit.

"You're his little bitch now, huh?" or "His cock tastes good, (Y/N)?"

But who can say no when their boss tells them they want you to follow him around, be his shadow, do nothing more than observe boring meetings and itching for the usual vulgarity of mobsters while you're stood by the wall or behind him?

The madam is not impressed by you. Whenever she speaks to her brother, she will cast a glance filled with nothing more than mild bemusement and disgust.

"Hey, boss," he tilts his head in your direction. You're sat in a barbeque restaurant, and he's watching you intently as you flip the meat, licking his exposed teeth with an almost canine-like attribute.

"...Can I ask you a question?" Jeong-Hyun nods, tearing his eyes away to now look at you. They're almost golden, you think to yourself, the colour of his eyes is so bright.

"Why do you favour me?"

Jeong-Hyung, you come to find out, does not speak. The scar you see peeking from his high collars was apparently a wound that had gone so deep, it took the ability for him to speak comfortably. So Jeong-Hyun signs; "What does that mean?"

"Favour?" You ask and he nods.

"Well, it means, why do you...like me...?"

Jeong-Hyung blinks for a few seconds then tells you to flip the meat. The conversation seemingly ends. That is until you find yourself in his home and he has invited you to his basement.

The dogs bark from behind the doggy gate, a hallway away feeling like a stretch of land as their noises echo. In the basement, you find yourself surrounded by crusted blood and metal. He lifts a dagger and shows it to you. It takes a moment for you to recognize it, it's been weeks since you've held it, but then your brows furrow.

"You kill good. Like me, I like that. I like you," he signs while you hold the dagger. "You like me?" He nods, pulling his black mask away from his face, and grins. It's surreal to see, not exactly grotesque but an unusual sight.

"I like you," he signs.

When his enthusiasm is met with confusion, Jeong-Hyun's face contorts into worry.

He takes the dagger from your hand, places it down, then holds your hands in his. He's tall, towering easily over you as he brings your knuckles to his lips.

He has essentially muted himself. Focusing his strength on keeping your hands hostage as he walks forward until your back meets the smoothed limewash walls of his basement.

"Boss? I'm flattered, but this is a lot to take in....!"

His cloudy eye is in a perpetual squint, healed scars tugging on the skin so it looks almost uncomfortable stretched. They have so much sadness that you feel guilt sprout in you.

'Love me,' they say, 'Love me, love me, lovemelovemelovemelovemelovemeloveme'

Your relationship is dubious. The jeers from your comrades make you feel more flustered than before and Jeong-Hyun is not shy about his affections.

He holds your hands in meetings and traces the shapes of your fingers and joints.

When a snake requires a beheading, Jeong-Hyun takes off your jacket for you and hands you a weapon of his choice. The men who snicker at the sight? Jeong-Hyun is not fond of guns but he so does love it when his sister presses her Beretta to the back of their necks and makes them gasp and sputter.

Madam Seo-Yun may not like you but you matter too much to her little brother for her to allow their insubordinate to make fun of you.

Jeong-Hyun is like a touch-starved puppy. Despite his towering size, he crumbles under your touch, your gaze.

"My brother, he is naive to relationships," Seo-Yun informs you during a lunch meeting. "I noticed, Madam," you shrink under her gaze. How is it she has the same shade of eyes and hers are so, so, so cold?

"But he likes you, favours you I think is the word he used. He has never liked someone before. Not as strongly as this. I suppose I should advise you to take some caution."

"My brother's love comes with a storm of violence. It runs in the family, I'm afraid. Please, don't be frightened by his displays."

You didn't quite understand what she meant.

He'd never been violent to you. You had witnessed him kill before, torture, maim — it was not an unusual sight in your line of work.

You didn't understand until you saw it.

Another funeral, more drinks, more meat. Jeong-Hyun has you beside him, eagerly awaiting your metal chopsticks to place more grilled beef onto his plate.

No one laughs at the sight anymore, they treat you as an extension of Jeong-Hyun which, considering how he monopolies your time, you might as well be. It's rare to see you without him.

But as you got up to wash your hands — someone had spilled their drinks and your hand became sticky — an inebriated man had pressed himself against you.

"You must be a good lay if *hic* Jeong-Hyun-ssi keeps you around, riiight? C'mon, just a quickie, c'mon," "Fuck! Get away from me!"

Jeong-Hyun's hand grabs the back of the man's head, rears it backward, and slams it right into the sink. It shatters, the man yells, people around you scream; but Jeong-Hyun tightens his grip, rears his hand back, and slams him down again.

By the end of that public fiasco, the man's head was obliterated so badly, his face was no longer there. Just shredded skin, muscle, and shattered bone and brain matter.

Madam Seo-Yun's gaze on you is heavy in the car. Jeong-Hyun lumbers in, his hand covered with tissues and you immediately pull the bloody fist to your lap. Approval shines in her eyes as you apply pressure and ask if it hurts.

Well, you couldn't say she didn't warn you now, could you?

[enlitment]

What’s the beef between Voltaire and Rousseau? I follow this person who pretends they’re Rousseau and they shit on Voltaire every other day…I’m so curious what is the lore 👀👀

Hi, first of all thanks for the ask! There's a lot going on, but I think it's quite entertaining, so if you have some time to spare to learn about a beef between two colourful characters from centuries ago, strap in!

(Also just decided I'll make two posts because there's so much to get into. Sincerely sorry, brevity has never been my strong suit.)

The genius leads Voltaire and Rousseau to the Temple of Fame and Immortality (from French Revolution period)

PHILOSOPHICAL DIFFERENCES (aka let's get the basics out of the way first)

I know that a lot of people (myself certainly included!) are mostly there to discuss the juicier stuff, but I think an overview of their general outlook on life is still important, if only to better understand the drama that went down between them.

This will of course be a gross oversimplification of quite complex philosophical problems. (I can almost sense my lecturers shaking their heads as I'm typing this.) Nonetheless -

The simplest way to describe their differences of opinion is that Voltaire championed reason and logic while Rousseau’s philosophy focused much more on feelings. (His personal life was like that as well. JJ prided himself in being in touch with his feelings, which I’m all here for, but sometimes it does really feel like he’s crying in the woods on literally every other page). Another key difference in their general worldview would be Rousseau’s optimism contrasted with Voltaire’s pessimism (probably best exemplified in Candide).

Voltaire essentially believed that human Reason, along with all the rapid advances in sciences and arts overseen by the 18th century would lead to a better life and a better society. Rousseau, on the other hand, in his famous essay First Discourse on Arts and Sciences that skyrocketed his career as a philosopher basically argues that people were originally good in their 'natural state' and it is the artifice of society that corrupted them and rendered them unhappy.

2. PERSONAL AND LIFESTYLE DIFFERENCES

This then very much ties into the differences between the two philosophers as people.

From Paris. Shout out to my friends who waited for me for five minutes before I got a decent angle.

Rousseau saw himself as a champion of the simple, humble life. In a personal letter to Voltaire, he claimed that the fact V spends his life surrounded by opulence, luxury, and insincere manners of the upper-classes is the precise cause of his misery. V in turn though that both Rousseau’s views and he as a person are a bit ridiculous. (Honestly? Fair. Lot of people did, especially among the upper-classes and 'men of letters' - a lot of which were former Rousseau's friends as well before he decided to go full cottagecore).

3. THE BEEF PART 1: THE (MOSTLY) GOOD

Voltaire contacted Rousseau after he read his famous essay The Discourse on the Origin of Inequality among Men in 1755. The letter itself is far from just patting Rousseau on the back. Voltaire does defend the arts, the sciences, and the human progress in general against Rousseau's criticism. I'm including this quote from it since it illustrates the typical banter of V that nonetheless has teeth:

as well as this quote (mostly because I think it's a banger line):

Letters support, refine, and comfort the soul: they are serving you, sir, at the very moment you decry them: you are like Achilles declaiming against fame (...)

Nonetheless, the tone of the letter is overall quite amiable. To me, it reads as playful criticism - critical, sure, but no open hostility at this point. He even invites Rousseau to come visit him at the end:

M. Chappus tells me your health is very unsatisfactory: you must come and recover here in your native place, enjoy its freedom, drink (with me) the milk of its cows, and browse on its grass.

[1/2] to be continued...

[doppel-doodles]

I've been actively posting on social media for roughly a year now or so and honestly it was probably one of the best decisions I ever made for my art journey.

I just met and discovered so many amazing artists that I got to study and learn from, I really got to figure out what I think defines my style and what about it makes me love drawing so much.

It's a luxury that I'll get to experience over and over again as just like I'll change in the future as a person, so will my style.

Incase a young artist is reading this: hang in there bud, it does get easier before this I've been drawing for literal years with little to no big leaps in improvement and trust me there is so much left to learn. As long as you love the process of creating art you'll have nothing to worry about, learn at your own pace.

As a little bonus one of my oldest illustrations on this blog vs one of my most recent for a little side by side comparison, honestly the improvement is still kinda insane to me-

Back then I seriously believed this was the best I can do now look at me go.

Anyway sappy time over time to go back to silly.

[reimenaashelyee]

Clean version here

Not a bingo but a jenga. My responses below the cut

Somehow I have half of this image filled out. I wish I could cash it in for points to redeem.

Jenga:

First comic is a magnum opus: There had been a string of graphic novel adaptations of books I wanted do when I as a young teenager, but The World in Deeper Inspection was my first, substantial, original behemoth of an idea. It was the only one with the power and the potential to stay and push me to become a comics creator. Everything I am and have as an artist and writer is because of TWIDI.

Fan art more popular than OCs: This was going to be inevitable because I hardly ever post about them online. But I suppose if you count my one-off character design illustrations that go viral or my published graphic novels, this box wouldn’t be true… (The God of Arepo is my most popular fan work)

I binged your life’s work in 2 hours: I am glad you like my work enough to be this engrossed in it – but honestly please please reread it again and SLOWLY so you can appreciate the visual storytelling – not just the words and the main action!! You’ll have a fuller experience if you take the time to luxuriate!!

This isn’t even my day job: It both is and isn’t. I do enough from comics that I can survive out of it near full time (thanks to my usual speed; very grateful), but I get financial stability from the monthly paycheck from the actual day job. Relying on my speed to produce near-constant output for money is something I am losing interest in as my ideas become more ambitious and niche.

Subscribe to my Patreon: Somehow I am able to hawk my free-to-read platforms with a certain amount of success but never can get a big dent on my Ko-fi.

Received unsolicited critique on a free comic: Unavoidable reality. Though I hadn’t had something egregious in a long time (and it better stay that way).

Had to explain what a webcomic even is to someone IRL: Nearly all the people I surround myself with are ‘normies’ (people who aren’t so online and/or don’t read online media), so this comes up often – and it will become more frequent as I pursue institutional pathways like residencies and grants. Even if they knew what webcomics were, it would be under the name of webtoons.

I can’t wait to draw this scene in 4 years: lol @ Alexander Comic and TWIDI

Multi-year hiatus: TWIDI’s eternal curse, until I figure out how to build enough stability in my career/life to return to it – full-time and for real.

Financially supported by someone else: My dayjob, mainly, but previously my parents.

Is somehow mutuals with favourite artist: That’s what it’s like as your career progresses and matures! It’s always nice to become peers with those you admire – especially the ones you grow to love only after knowing them.

Characters get gayer over time: Growing up and being able to witness the various ways of living can and will change how one approaches their characters.

Successfully fulfilled a Kickstarter: Not on my own, but I had a few for my books that published smoothly.

Empty space:

ADHD diagnosis: I have ADHD-esque behaviours that I have managed to overcome with ADHD-specific hacks, but whether I actually have the thing itself is a question mark. I lean towards not really having it since I am able to execute and complete tasks regularly.

Works in animation or went to school for it: I used to want to study and work in animation before I discovered the potential of comics as a storytelling medium. I don’t have a desire to break into that industry, even without all the employment and late-capitalism instability that it’s going through right now. I am not averse to trying if asked, however.

Had an art teacher who hated anime: Never went to art school.

Yes I’ve had burnout but what about second burnout: Currently going through a fallow period, but I really don’t think it’s Burnout Burnout. Touch wood, I continue to maintain my love, interest and desire to make comics and stay in my artistic career.

Forgot how to draw main character’s face: Characters are so seared into my brain, it’s not easy to forget. Helps that they each have particular quirks that belong to their design.

This comic gave me my hand/wrist injury: Still out here WITHOUT any of those. I hope I can keep it that way until whenever I retire.

Emergency commissions: Hopefully I will never have to resort to do this. (Very grateful, yes)

Sleep… “schedule”? my 7-8 hours of sleep is essential and non-negotiable.

If it’s not 3 hours long is it even worth adding to the work playlist: This is is referring to video essays I guess? I rarely ever encounter essays of over 3 hours that I am interested enough to watch. (Also I can’t really watch something while drawing; I lose speed/concentration)

Embarrassed to look at early pages: Not embarrassed – I was younger and less-skilled then, that’s just how it is. There were a lot of things younger me did that I could still learn from.

Regrets costume choices: I pride myself in being able to style myself and my characters, and so far I have never regretted the clothes I give my characters – the TWIDI characters all have base outfits from when I was 15!

[ariniekat]

More Coven broommates, this time it's the "always late to the cookout" squad. In a more casual setting, i like to think of them as roomies and the Coven leader hosts a cookout or barbeque every week for their meetups. They are never on time. Usually because Necromancer is trying to make jinx take a bath. They all take 5 hours to have a bath. And yes Refrigerators exist in this nondescript vaguely Victorian time period of a little town of magic, first working one was invented in 1834 (but the methods seem to date back even to the 1740s, so yippee for me, home ones were in 1913, but shh, we're not here to be entirely historically accurate.) The only one of these lil guys I'm entirely certain on the name on is Necromancer. Haha. I actually have lore for him, but the other's have fun facts too. ~~~ Neil Morgans - Necromancer

He's an aristocrat, his family had been part of the royal court for a few generations and he even inherited the part of joining the council and served as an advisor to the king, along with being a court physician. He's very knowledgeable in a medical field, though some people find some of his methods go beyond what other's would consider... sane. During the Reign of the Mad king, he was exiled from the council along with two of the other magical advisors, (one of which was executed and the other was left unknown), they moved to the town shortly after as their reputation was surely dampened. Despite the fact Neil rather enjoys the high life of luxury and expenses, avoids talking to people they deem low class outside of work and prefers to have other people do tasks like housekeeping for them, they don't slack when it comes to work and have became respected as a physician in the town. The fun fact is his main ghoul is named frank, there is not reason for this but frank is best ghoul, does the maid and butler work for him, it's far cheaper to employ the dead anyway.

Jinx - Jinx Honestly, I guess Tabby could work? haha but why not, name as her role. This little mischief gets up to all sorts of trouble, she mostly leeches of Neil in his manor and despite a few instances (her waking him up at 3am by biting his ass to get breakfast.) they get along pretty well, they have some common interests in their fascination of the dead and she tends to bring home her kills to show off and Neil undoubtedly does praise her for it. (no one else seems to enjoy having a bleeding bodyguard thrown onto their bed at 1am though.) Kleptomaniac who has a variety of little cat-toys on her belt. The towns iffy on magic, thanks to the mad kings reign, so she often doesn't go to the town square and shops often or at least not while people can see her. She can disguise herself quite well but she prefers not to. She cannot write and can hardly read, despite others (mostly Neil) trying to teach her. Enn - Enchanter

Not sure for her full name, Enn is selective mute, she often communicates through the art of her work, her origami and writing, or in sign, i like to think her clothes are almost paperlike and flowy so she can bend them like origami too for her words, a graceful swan dance if you will. She is talented at calligraphy and can copy the handwriting of anyone to near perfection. Enn owns a lot of scented candles and always lines the bath with them and petals before she draws it. She and Neil often do facials and long skin care routines together. She also sometimes does illustrations for Ritualist. She is typically the one cleaning up after the other two stowaway dead bodies. :P More silly blorbos.

[fairuzfan]

i try to tag posts that reference violence on palestinians with a content warning saying at much so that if a palestinian wants to mute tags about their families' murders they are able to do so. if a palestinian wants to come on tumblr and just see shitposts and pretend their homeland and their families and their culture are not in imminent danger for just 15 minutes just to maintain their sanity, i do not want to be the reason that they can't.

i know my intentions are in the right place but i've also seen many people (understandably) saying that adding content warnings is invalidating (not sure if that's the best word but whatever) because it illustrates the fact that non palestinians have luxury in the ability to look away from all this while palestinian do not. and because people "taking breaks" from it all is actively harmful to palestinians because aside from being a complicit bystander it also means the voices of palestinians can't reach as far because they aren't amplified.

do you think it's appropriate to be adding these content warnings or am i simply enabling the people who want to pretend stepping away isn't just supporting genocide by default?

You know, I've honestly been thinking about this a lot too as I see more conversation around... I think it's admirable that you're thinking of your Palestinian followers! But I think, personally, I wouldn't content warn the posts for them.

Most Palestinians, at least from experience, are already refreshing their feeds, trying to see 5 million different news sources, so a lot of what I personally see regarding news here isn't.... news to me, and I know for a lot of other Palestinians that's true also.

While I'm grateful that people are wanting to help protect Palestinians, it does irk me a little when I see "cw:"/"tw:" tags mostly because it feels like its more for nonPalestinians rather than Palestinians. Most of my posts, at least, aren't so much for other Palestinians as they are for educating nonPalestinians, so when I see something tagged as "tw: genocide," I'm thinking "who is blocking this tag right now and for why?"

In all honesty, even for Palestinians, I do think its important to not tag these posts with content warnings because Gazans are asking us to bear witness to what's happening to them. I've seen some grizzly photos and videos, and if there's something I *really* can't handle, I click away. But it's all of our responsibility not to ignore them as they plead for someone to keep looking.

For Palestinians that do want to take some breaks — which I think is totally necessary since, well, we're human — I don't think they'll be looking to social media because they'll naturally be checking the news. I get off my phone and talk to someone when I'm overwhelmed. A lot of the time, its about Palestine, yeah, but at least I'm not by myself.

Right now, the biggest solace for a lot of Palestinians is that they see that other people who are not Palestinian are talking about this nonstop. So personally, I'd advise against content warnings for Palestine posts. Though others may have a different opinion.

Thanks for the question!!

[seraphtrevs]

hey, i hope i found the right account

i read the inevitable on ao3 and i was wondering if you’re still updating it? i absolutely don’t mean to rush you or anything, i simply fell in love with the storyline and honestly your work in general. btw you got me researching quantum mechanics and oh my god thank you for that, shit’s interesting as fuck

This is the right account! Yes, I do plan on updating - I was sick for a while and took a lot of brain foggy medicines, but I'm back! I have about half of the next chapter of The Inevitable written, so hopefully I'll finish the rest by next week.

Thanks so much for reaching out! I always feel despondent when I haven't updated because I'm sure everyone will have forgotten about it by now so it's nice to hear that people are still reading! (And I'm glad I sent you on a quantum quest lol - it is really interesting!)

Here's a little preview:

Nacho was not sure what to do with himself. The luxury was fun, but he was getting bored. He returned to the kitchen to make some lunch. When he opened the door to the pantry, it turned out not to be a pantry after all. Instead, a staircase led downward to a door.

An ominous feeling crept over him—but why? It was just a basement. He was being ridiculous.

To prove to himself that he wasn’t ridiculous, he descended the stairs to the door, which was a dark, dull red, and the paint was peeling in places. In a house that was otherwise immaculate, the disrepair stood out. He put his hand on the tarnished doorknob and turned. At first, it stuck—Nacho felt a mix of relief and disappointment. But then there was a click, and the door creaked open.

It was pitch dark inside and cold enough to give him goosebumps. Nacho felt for a light switch and found one. He sucked in a breath as he flicked it on—and then let it out in a relieved puff when he saw the contents of the room. Racks of wine stood along one wall—a wine cellar, of course. But on the other wall were several bookcases. There had been many bookshelves throughout the house—Tony was either a big reader or wanted to be seen as one. But these books were different—they were bound in leather and looked very old. Probably valuable—didn’t old books need to be kept in dark, cool places? It all made sense. He couldn’t believe he’d been scared of a basement, as if he were a little kid.

A desk sat in the corner, and on the desk was an open book on a stand, several pieces of paper, an assortment of ink wells, and an old-fashioned fountain pen. The papers were covered in practice calligraphy—must be a hobby of Tony’s. That would explain the fancy note he left. The book was opened to a page that was clearly a work in progress. On the left was an illustration of a naked man in a garden. A snake was wrapped around one arm; in his hand, he held an apple. The drawing was finished, but it was only partially colored. Was Tony an artist too?

The opposite page contained a poem written in calligraphy. It looked like something out of a medieval manuscript. He sat down so that he could read it.

Adam lay ibounden,

     Bounden in a bond;

Four thousand winter

     Thoght he not too long;

And all was for an appil,

     An appil that he tok,

As clerkes finden

     Wreten in here book.

Ne hadde the appil take ben,

     The appil taken ben,

Ne hadde never our lady

     A ben hevene quene.

Blessed be the time

     That appil take was.

Therefore we moun singen

     "Deo gracias."

As he puzzled over the meaning, his gaze drifted to another door. He hadn’t noticed it before—it was so gray it blended in with the wall.  

He approached the door and put his hand on the knob. It wouldn’t open. In all of his exploration, this was the only lock he’d encountered. What could be in there that was more valuable than jewelry, luxury vehicles, stereos, wine, and antique books? He remembered the key around Tony’s neck—what had he said? It’s the key to my heart. Something personal, maybe? Or maybe cash. Nacho hadn’t encountered any safes yet, and Tony seemed to like to keep cash on hand.

He rattled the doorknob to see if it would unstick. Not that he would steal from him, probably. He was already walking out of this deal with $11K—it would be stupid to get even greedier. But he was curious, and the rest of the house had been so open.

No luck. That was when he noticed a smell—faint but foul, like a mixture of rotten meat and fruit. The ominous feeling he’d had before returned, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end, but he quashed it. He wasn’t a little kid. Basements smelled weird sometimes. Maybe there was a meat freezer in there that was malfunctioning.

Still, he found himself suddenly eager to leave. He ascended the stairs and shut the door firmly behind him.

[kittydog]

*Remembering* well honestly Romac was kind of crazy. I think it posited some really interesting ideas specifically surrounding the I guess "manifest destiny" attitude held by tech bros and their ilk. The unfortunately topical kinds of ideas we are seeing picked apart and elaborated on in real life courtesy of cryptocurrency/NFTs/AI art/ChatGPT/Elon Musk's general existence.

Or maybe it would be more accurate to say that it had little seeds that could conceivably grow into those ideas. And then those seeds immediately impaled themselves and grew into stunted consumerism is bad seedlings a la the Lorax specifically Illumination's The Lorax which is having a luxurious resurgence among Russian teenagers on Tiktok. And those stumpy seedlings grew humongous breasts via billboard virus and were abducted by a stray wormhole (alive) and forgotten forever and also Snippy and that one girl are making out and everyone had a big ? above their heads before peacefully returning to their lives. <-the previous paragraph reads as bitter but i pinky promise this is all lighthearted fun. My fault. 😁

I think it's fine to want more from this comic especially as it took itself more and more seriously...but also it is a webcomic that came from the same era as like Ctrl-Alt-Delete and then was orbital-lasered into oblivion with edits and now it's kind of dazed and confused and has dementia and I'm like "what's your stance on the opioid crisis." Which isn't to say that it's therefore absolved from all criticism...just that there is a reason as to why it is the way that it is....that way being...that it doesn't know what it is...I tried to make that last sentence more legible by cutting it up with my elipses powers let me know if it worked.

Hello Joe...well un/fortunately I am no longer interested in rewriting Romac. If I were though, I think that I would have to take a look at the parts I would actually want to revive...those being the fun misadventures of Captain & Co. or those ideas I made such a big stink about earlier (AKA........."themes.")

I'm sure you could theoretically juggle both, but effectively I think I would have to prioritize one...comedy w/ dramatic elements/subtext (think like iasip(?)) or drama w/ comedic elements (think like succession or breaking bad or something I know these are not great examples *flays myself alive*) The current framework isn't serviceable to the latter especially. You would need to trim so much fat and bend so much bone that I think it would be well worth asking: why Romac...why not my own thing.

For the former you still kind of need to forge your own path but there's more of a purpose to "re"-writing instead of "writing"...it's already like a return to form instead of an upheaval.

The main takeaway that you should have from this whole thing is that Vitaly could have imprisoned Elon Musk in Romac's tomb but instead he was allowed to roam free and for this we must make strange looney-toons-esque threats against his life.

Anyways check this out this is my song

Nothing on the top but a bucket and a mop and and illustrated book about birrrrrrrrds see a lot up there but don't be scared who needs action when you got werrrrds. That was the Nirvana cover as indicated by the "r"s. Thank you kurtis.cobain.

[shredsandpatches]

Most of the time my work with manuscripts involves digitizing them from microfilm, but I do get to break out the real ones from time to time and this week I'm preparing for an instructional session on Books of Hours -- for various practical reasons the students will work mostly with high-quality facsimile editions, but we do have one complete book (from 15th-c. Italy, pictured in the first three images) and I think that getting to see a real example will help them connect with the subject more strongly. Plus the fact that it's a teeny tiny book with a reasonable amount of wear and tear will illustrate the fact that these were functional items as well as luxury objects (even that little book up there has gold illumination, though no pictures, just decorative initials, and it's not as elaborate as the kind of thing that gets facsimiles made of it).

And if anyone screeches at me about not having gloves on in the pictures, I will punch them. It's actually best practices not to wear gloves -- honestly imagining handling that little book with gloves on is kind of upsetting. They reduce tactile sensitivity a lot and spread dirt and catch on little snags in the materials and it's just bad all around. Anyway, parchment is one of the most durable storage materials on earth. (So is microfilm, actually, but I actually do wear gloves when handling the negatives we scan from, which is so I won't get fingerprints on them)

[2n2n]

miss 2n2n... ! ! can you list your absolute favorite outfits for Tsukasa? Across canon, AUs, or even one-time illustrations? (Maybe... Amane also? If you wouldn't mind! 🙏)

YOSH! HERE WE GO! I'll do my best ... to remember them all!!

I'll put it under a cut because it will be so damn long

TSUKASA!!! first!

Honestly, #1 best most favorite outfit is... his stock-standard kimono+hakama+western shirt set-up. You know in many series, you really are chomping at the bit for an outfit change, not SO for Jibaku Shounen!!!!

every detail is so entrancing. and so fitting for Tsukasa. The dark black silk with a shimmering texture, very oversized and slouched over his shoulders, nearly falling off, carelessly slack. It conveys his demeanor perfectly ... a kind of sloppiness that actually is naturally graceful and feminine? The kimono bowing outwards creates an amazing 'frame' for his chest, and the slit at the center, creating some sort of, truly intoxicating Zone. The shirt lacks prominent visible buttons, more sleek than Hanako.....

~~~~ zone of pure luxury~~~~~~~

The hakama meanwhile with its front-bow, just continues the party, attention drawn there for shots when Aida wants you to be forced to gaze at his crotch uncontrollably. The many straps also pulling everything in about the waist, pinching, remind you that he's really tiny under there, under all the extra kimono fabric. I really like how utterly microscopic he feels beneath it all. The hakama really billows and floats and lifts up with twirls and air like a pleated skirt, so scenes of him showing off are breathtaking. But the shoes+socks that match Hanako ALMOST lend this, bizarre, crossdressing vibe to the whole feminine allure, I have no idea how to put it. But I love that the red finally comes into play there, and his top and bottom mirror his brother to call back to their twinhood.

I love that the inner fabric is often colored a blood red, it's just again so lurid and entrancing.

so hard to really order the rest! it'll get looser.

TANABATA MATCHING YUKATA BOYS!!!! ACK ACK ACK

The reveal of these yukata hit me like a truck at the time I saw them. Amane in the dark, moon-themed yukata, while Tsukasa wears the light, sun-themed attire; for both boys, this is one of the top outfits for them. GORGEOUS, HEARTBREAKING, MAKES ME EMOTIONAL. I LOVE that they are TRADING their usual symbolic imagery, adorned in one another's imagery .. some lovely symbol of, connection, adoration? I LOVE THE BIG BOW OBI!!!! I love that Amane's is a rich, vibrant color to contrast his, while Tsukasa's is dark! MATCHING DINOSAUR MASKS!!! This-- image is everything, it's like, eviscerating me every time. I wish they could figure out kissing at this day,,, like this. Beautiful utterly agonizing outfits.

I really love Ghost Hotel boy!!!

the night-time blouse is just so cute and... thematic? Scary, haha? It implies so much so quickly, so narratively effective, it's a perfect pairing for the overtly sinister vampire Amane. I love, love the pillow and blanket, further alluding that he was killed in BED, and, the little frills and flounces on it. He feels so simple and humble, and yet, the long trailing tail also makes it feel like a dress or night-gown, right? White is always nice on an innocent Tsukasa!

now we get into more ah, random boys?

fucking dinosaur kigu boys top tier amazing

incredible. I dunno I love that Tsukasa's is red and purple. Amane's is this green and red (green feels so basic in a way...). I love that Tsukasa has the really cool and exotic toys of mosasaur (?) and plesiosaur (?) while Amane has more basic triceratops and trex. He really is 'normal'. I love that they have, on their, white tops under the kigu??? Why lol? Their respective different collars are seen. Why did this image happen? I don't know, but, it's fantastic, and, I love to see it.... please have fun boys....

a boy of jimmy jams....

from a random Picture Perfect era image. Little dinosaur in his pocket... holding his halo in his hand... long looong shirt, like dress, cute bow on chest.... his top looks longer and more dress-ish than Amane's, which has a trim more similar to his gakuran. Tsukasa looks nice in white as always! I wish he was always this comfy looking.

overall, I love Tsukasa in more frilly, fanciful, ornate clothing. these petal-like sleeves... evoking flowers or feathers... he is Amane's protected treasure, isn't he?

a delicate flower, your otouto you killed. Wonderful! I guess in this kind of garb, it feels like taking what the hakama+kimono provides, and, just increases the volume, this, graceful and pretty quality of Tsukasa's, something Amane lacks.

overall, I love traditional clothing for Tsukasa, so I loved this boy, too.

in particular I REALLY like the striped bow cinching it, and the placement of the bow more askew, all irregularly off to the side and slack, it's very 'Tsukasa'! It has so much going on with its patterns.... and with this emerald butterfly fan, again that, wonderful feminine grace is happening, right? Love it.

the. grim reaper

the Tsukasa from the 'Ace King' or whatever cardset AU. This Tsukasa's Amane is implied to have taken his fucking eyes out? And now he appears to live beneath Amane's DERANGED EVIL CORPSE ARMY KINGDOM OF ASH AND BONE castle. Amane is so overtly VILLAINOUS in that AU, and the Tsukasa to match him is this-- CLOWNISH, SILLY, FUNNY LITTLE GRIM REAPER THING???? WHAT ARE WE DOING IN THIS AU??? Will we EVER know more???? But like the look is wonderful, I love the jester collar drooping around his neck, I love the striped pants, I love the scythe, gloves. I think about him. Would love to know you.

this guy....

now this 'sort of' outfit isn't typically my thing but it has a lot of details that make me go, "hi?" like, seemingly Tsukasa wearing the world's shortest shorts under his ...... skirt? hakama? I cannot tell where the shirt/top ends and the 'hakama' begins so it has a weird dress vibe, but a dress with the big hakama slits in the side, making it some sortof slutty outfit. I could stare at this for a long time and still not UNDERSTAND what his clothes are doing. He really feels like he forgot to wear pants.

AND NOW.... AMANE TIME!!!!

well, honestly, it's all the same as before: his standard outfit is, phenomenal. Change nothing about it. I LOVE the gakuran, and I LOVE the mods AidaIro have made to the standard gakuran to customize it to Amane.

He feels like a labor of love, as he didn't ALWAYS have the red trim along the edges of his jacket .. it was added in after the pilot. It really creates this lewd picture frame, and like Tsukasa's hakama bow, it makes you zero in on his crotch in some images. All this... shocking red, right at his waist, in a perfect ^. Ugh... what deranged madman came up with that trim? As a result of it, his red motif carried from hat, to trim, to socks-- HIS SOCKS, WHICH ALSO, DID NOT USED TO SHOW ALL THE TIME!!! In early volumes, Amane's pants are long enough to basically always cover his ankles, save for certain poses! BUT AIDA BECOMES.. OBSESSED WITH EXPOSING HIS RED KNITTED SOCKS! And... I don't blame her!! They are the PERFECT little flirtation of color, but at this point, his school slacks are like capris, lol. It's so unique, then.

The material of his jacket is so... vividly thick, but tight, it always wraps around his ribcage tightly. I love how viscerally it 'shelfs' on top of his thick, leather belt; you can always make out the shape of his belt beneath the jacket. It 'rests' on top of the belt. The belt, which almost always peeks its buckle just through the ^ of the gakuran's petals, which so resemble the roof of the red house in their shapes-- ALSO A DETAIL AIDA DID NOT START THIS MANGA DOING, but gradually became addicted to depicting..... perfected.... the belt.....

His ever-deeply-tucked-in shirt often baaaaarely teased as the jacket rides up, ugh, this flash of white, I live for it, it feels tantalizing.

Meanwhile, the high collar feels tight, enclosed, so the moment even 1 button of the gakuran is wrestled open by shenanigans, it feels like a great loosening of Amane's strictures. The softer, wrinklier fabric of his undershirt feels delicate beneath, but is so clustered. His neck is such an incredibly busy zone, shots that detail it are very captivating to me. The double-collar is decadent.

His buttons are so cartoonishly big they make him look like a gingerbread man, he has 1 fewer than the typical gakuran, for some reason, so there are too few of them to be spaced sanely at a normal size, so they have to increase in size to spread over the area it seems. They are like huge gumdrops. I want to eat them off. Homf. The sakura detail beveled on the buttons is pretty normal for a gakuran of certain era, very ornate and beautiful detail though on an otherwise sleek boy. A touch of something delicate for flower-boy....

The gakuran has shoulder pads, which make these pointed tips out of Amane's slim weedy shoulders, giving him a more traditionally masculine appearance. It's imposing and impressive and boyish, I dunno...

Amane feels like a sleek sports car, he's so tastefully tricked out in key zones, but mostly a smooth silhouette ... and then his tsueshiro adds that little flavor of, what at first comes across as heroic and mystical, but carries a kinda, Villain In A Cape vibe as the manga goes on.

He feels.. incredibly 'held in place'-- everything is TIGHT, MULTILAYERED, KEPT IN LINE. When merely his HAT comes off or is pulled askew, it feels like Amane is falling apart!! If I think about him just finally taking off the jacket, I'll faint.... its the perfect outfit, it makes you want to peel him apart, beg him to let go of, something, let loose, untie-- perfect contrast to Tsukasa's loose, draping, pleating, billowing, floating fabrics, falling off his shoulders, pulling from his chest....

DELUXE VERSION DINOSAUR ACCESSORIES SPECIAL BOY!!!

THE DRIP!!!!! HE HAS IT ALL.... HANDSOMENESS OF GHOST, CHARM OF NORMAL BOY WHO LOVE DINOSAUR, IT'S THE POWER OF AMANE--!!!!

as for other Amane......... I love TURTLENECK BOY. who is FREQUENT

in random images, in AUs, whenever wherever possible, Amane's gakuran is replaced by an equally stylish and captivating black turtleneck.... fucking sexy!!!!! fucking elegant!!!!!!!! hot!!!!!!!! I have nothing else to say, it just looks soooo good!!!! PLEASE, 100 MORE IMAGES OF TURTLENECK AMANE...!!! High collars are just suited to him through and through... in any world!!!

if I had to pick a fav here though it'd be the ice skating boy, I really love the slack jacket over top the turtleneck... and he feels so small, beneath everything, its nice to see him wearing less. All the other boys have multiple layers as Amane typically does, a jacket over top of the turtleneck.... but that one at least has it shrugged down, which makes him feel so small..... ♥

As much as I like Tsukasa in beautiful traditional clothing, I love Amane in it, too! But it's rarer for him to wear it (and often he wears his ENTIRE GAKURAN underneath it, which honestly ruins it, come on!!!)

this gold color is utterly irresistible on him, matching his eyes.... I love when Amane gets put in gold, overall, but its rarely an outfit I really like... I feel so lucky he has gold in this! Rare illustration! the white shirt more exposed is gorgeous.... its so rewarding to see Amane in an outfit like Tsukasa's... he can be beautiful too sometimes maybeee~~ heehee~~

on a similar wavelength, I really like the shroud he dons to save Yashiro from the village people in Sumire's boundary .... despite that he's wearing his whole damn outfit under it,

the veil being a golden-orange is just so beautiful on him, his eyes brought out... the white fabric otherwise, quite rare on the sinful Amane, its very lovely...

next up... I love when Amane looks so Normal.

when he is just a normal boy in normal clothes, extremely... simple... plain... I don't know... he feels so 'Amane'.... this feels like the ... earnest... real.... boy. The boy, Amane... its like. He is my boyfriend suddenly. My normal, normal boyfriend. In his shirt and pants and sneakers. We will ride the bus home. I would love to go on a date with him *touches screen* ah.... so nice to see like this... I want 100 very normal Amane images..... he likes to, read books. He likes rocket ship and dinosaur. Normal normal normal boy

speaking of normal boys,

urrgghhh normal boy ... bandaids on his knees... all over his hands....... it's AMAZING to see AMANE in such, utterly mundane, modern day clothes, this dressed down, this casual, it's like WHAT???? red sweater. He is so cuuuuuute argh. Going to take care of his hamster,, and rat, Nene and Tsukasa. Godbless, what a wonderful caretaker I'm sure he is. I'm sure they have no hope of ever escaping him. And who would want to...? This is a once in a lifetime boy....

Speaking of normal boys,

I like Amane in pajamas too.... ♥ ah so simple and charming and cute and sweet.... its so nice to see him in something comfortable and easygoing, loose. A simpler time, right? Not so preened and conditioned, not held in place.... rolling around with his brother... sigh!!

Those are the ultimate favorites for Amane, but there are more wildcards of 'images I sure do think about a lot or look at a lot'.................................

I think about this Amane a lot. He's dressed like some sort of, 1950s, dad, what the fuck ... the plaid pants, its like, christmas morning and he's come down to sit on his special leather chair with his, wife, Nene. He's wearing like. a smoking jacket or something. The textures on it are absolutely tantalizing though, I'm pretty weak to this era of robes actually ... and Amane in such casual slack flannel pants, urgh. What an inexplicable look. It's somehow still pretty 'Amane' .... why is he in a tie if hes otherwise in such "just chilling around the house" wear? I'll never know ... he's pretty nice with it though. I would like to blow him...... ?

this is one classic boy.

very captivated by his knitted undershirt's thick texture, its tightness, and his legwarmers or thick socks... his red, tights...?? His short jacket is VERY alluring, just covering his shoulders like a tiny cape.... ornate around his wrists, big button in the center, he's simply incredibly handsome ....

ohhh the valentine's boy ....

This sort of outfit is honestly more 'busy' than I typically like (I'm not really the sort of shotacon who likes victorian aesthetics ... I'm no Ciel stan, you know?) ... but I'll be damned if Aida doesn't make me, like it, with the crazy details. I cannot believe Amane is in a CORSET? CORSET? REALLY? Ugh its cinching so appealingly around his waist, accentuating his ribcage JUST like his gakuran does. Feels so small as a result Pinched. The .. METAL COLLAR???? ???? his, married jewelery. His big feathered wings .... this Amane feels like he is, wearing, fetish gear, appalling that he can just look like this. I think the corset combined with the shoulder pads, giving him the same broader shoulders as the gakuran lends, is such a crazy look. I hope some day we get a really nice full-color full-detail illustration of this boy fullbody....

he's. funny

crab boy. from the, era of time where Iro kept going on crab-buffet binges every time the manga got a reprint ordered by the company as it sold out, and went insane only ever sending Aida crab emojis and constantly talking about crab. So you have this Crab Shirt Amane. He looks insane, on the beach in his full fucking black slacks and vintage shoes and knitted socks and an UNDERSHIRT under his CHILL SHIRT because he CANNOT BE IN ANY LESS LAYERS TYPICALLY. He's like, the epitome of Amane's, bizarre, broke ass clothing rules that cannot be broken in canon (unless its as extreme as PP), I don't know, as a result he's quite charming to me .... I look at Crab Boy a lot. I guess as well, Iro used to be so trembling and sobbing and whining and scared of the manga's success, begging it to do well, hoping people liked it, that the Crab Buffet era Iro feels so powerful and like, the energy of this charm is in the beach boy, lovingly so, I would love to go to the beach with him.

here's one very random boy I think of.... stained glass demon lad...

stained glass themeing is so, intriguing, beautiful really. Wonderful colorscheme. He has THIGH HIGH BOOTS and, GREEN, leggings/tights? Very weirdly lewd and eccentric. I like how long his jacket is, I like the colorful shimmering buttons. I like that the stained glass motif is carrying all the way to his hat, unusual. I LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE his red, red gloves, and sharp nails. Mmm... who is he? We will probably never know a single thing about this aesthetic illustration. Oh yeah, and this Amane has the typical sortof military aesthetic to him.

the white rabbit. pervert . demon haunting me periodically

this is one of those illustrations I typically shrug off as "not exactly 'my thing', I'm not really the Alice in Wonderland AU type, nor am I big on like, almost uh, RPG style crazy weird outfits with like zippers and trenchcoats. BUT. This Amane is like lock-and-key themed. And. it feels. perverse? the. shape of the key ... Nene's decorations being these. red circles. this guy is so . creepy and awful looking and I hate his penis key. I hate his weird GIANT ZIPPER. That he is somehow both lock and key and zipper themed is like, jesus christ, what the hell is going on . I like, hate him, it's such a weird, image, he looks all creepy and gross, HIS WEIRD GLOVED HANDS WITH NAILS ON THEM ........ but it, is also, sortof, sexy, all of this, this, demon of, unzip and unlock. I've just spent so long wrestling with this image, this Amane. But at the end of the day, he can have me. Sigh.

[whimsyandbooks]

Caught in the Tempest of A Monsoon Rising

A Monsoon Rising by Thea Guanzon is the second book in the fantasy series The Hurricane Wars. It is scheduled for publication on December 10, 2024. The writing is intensely luxuriant and illustrative. If you think purple prose is a bad thing, well, then that’s on you. I've been swept away by the tempest of Guanzon's words. I did have to refresh my memory on who a bunch of the little side characters are, and I honestly didn’t realize until like a third of the way through the book that sometimes a person is referred to by their title, and sometimes by their name. I ended up confusing several characters, thinking they were actually two. I think a little glossary/political hierarchy chart/character bios refresher in the book, or even on Thea’s website, would be so helpful. The pacing was much faster and easier to follow than the first book because the romance was very much at the forefront of the book. The Enemies-to-Lovers vibe remains intense in this book, and the slow burn has started to heavily consume Talasyn and Alaric! Our idiots are absolutely still denying they’re in love, and very much grappling with the fact they are planning to betray each other. With the romance at the forefront, the political intrigue is more subtle this time around. Kesath and Nenavar are solely keeping the peace until our idiots in love deal with the Moonless Dark. And whew, that cliffhanger! I am so eager to read the third installment, I can’t wait to add the hardcover to my shelf when it comes out. Thank you to NetGalley, and Avon and Harper Voyager for providing me with this Advanced Reader Copy.

"Just him and me and the monsoon."

Swoon.

[pinkprincesscouture]

My Heart Belongs to You Chapter 1

Note: This is honestly my first time writing so any constructive criticism is welcome! Since I'm heavily inspired by manhwa, manga, anime, and light novels I hope to incorporate illustrations in future chapters! Thank you and happy reading! (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

*There’s this aching void in the middle of my chest. The more people I’m surrounded by, the deeper it gets, the more it aches. I want to reach out and grab someone, anyone. I want them to look at me but sometimes it’s just easier to sit and let the void grow bigger. I’m scared if the void disappears, If the aching disappears, I may really be left with nothing. I may really be alone.*

Despite being surrounded by servants who waited on her hand and foot, Rhoan still felt alone. She should be happy; after all she’s now living the life every girl dreams of. Anything she needed; she could get at the snap of her fingers. She had the finest clothes designed by the most sought-after designers in the entire capital, she had the most luxurious and expensive jewels and perfumes. What more could she want? She was no longer worrying about making enough money for rent. She was no longer a poor commoner; she was now the Crown Prince’s wife.

She had her own room, double the size of a small greenhouse. The walls were the color of a soft dull rosewood accented with pale gold roses. The long, heavy drapes that covered the big double-doored windows matched her walls; so much so that they almost blended into each other. Against the wall was a stunning white vanity with gold handles. In the middle of the room was a desk, on that desk was a vase filled with yellow Alstroemeria and yellow Roses. Every morning the maids would come in and replace them with fresh ones. Rhoan wasn’t particularly fond of those flowers, she had previously asked the maids to replace them with pink roses but to no avail. They continued to bring the yellow roses and yellow Alstroemerias for they were the previous Crown Princess’ favorite. Rhoan grew to hate the flowers, to her they only served as a reminder that this room wasn’t really hers.

Though Rhoan was grateful for her new life, nothing in this palace she now called home belonged to her. She came here with nothing, everything given to her here was owned by the previous Crown Princess. From the clothing, jewelry, shoes, perfumes and even the way her hair was styled, they were all inherited from the previous Princess. As daylight penetrated the gaps between the thick drapes, Rhoan slowly sat up, taking in the beauty and luxury that surrounded her. Though it’d been a while since she’d gotten to the palace, she was still in awe. She rolled around in bed, placing the pillow tightly on her face so no one could hear her frantic giggles. Suddenly there was a knock at the door.

“Princess Rhoan, it’s time to get ready for breakfast,” said the soft yet firm voice that came from the other side of the door. Before the door could open, Rhoan leaped out of bed, frantically brushing her hands through her hair, and brushing the wrinkles out of her nightgown. The door gently opened and Rhoan greeted the head maid, Margret with a large smile. The middle-aged maid looked at the young woman with furrowed brows and a frown. Rhoan tried her best to ignore the clear disdain on the woman’s face.

“Hurry, get in the bath, I will pick out your clothes.”

Rhoan softly nodded. With her head down and her long black hair covering her face, Rhoan made her way to the bathroom. While drawing her bath, Rhoan carefully looked through the fragrances neatly organized on the counter. She leaned over examining and smelling each fragrance. As she hummed and ran her fingers over the top of the fragrances Rhoan thought, “This is nice, this kind of thing should be my biggest worry, nothing else”.

While trying to decide on the scent she’d wear, she wondered if she’d finally see him today. Would he like the one that smelled of lilac, or maybe the one that smelled of roses?

“I wish I could use them all,” she said jubilantly.

As she exited the bathroom, Rhoan again greeted Margret as she motioned her to the vanity. This was the part of the morning routine Rhoan dreaded the most. “sit” said Margret. Margret began brushing Rhoan’s hair. Each time the brush passed through, Marget became more and more aggressive. It was as if Margret was trying to rip Rhoan’s hair straight from her scalp. With each fierce motion, Rhoan flinched. Tears began to well in her eyes; however, she couldn’t let Marget see her break. She swallowed her pain. She thought this won’t last long—I’m used to it, this much I can bear. It was over, Rhoan let out a sigh of relief. Glaring at Margret through the mirror, Rhoan smiled and thanked her. Rhoan walked over to her bed to see the dress that had been picked out for her. It was Gorgeous. It was a long dress with a hollowed-out piece on the chest. The long sleeves puffed out at the end and tightened around the wrist. On the wrists were golden embroidery that matched the turtleneck and the window on the chest. It was a tad bit flashy for her taste, but she wouldn’t dare complain, not that she particularly wanted to. A large grin came around her face, as she raised her left hand to hide it from Margret, she used her other to feel the fabric of the dress. It was soft, so soft that she felt as though it’d melt from the warmth of her hand.

The two women made their way down to the dining room, stepping through the palace corridor many maids were seen doing the daily cleaning. The maids paid Rhoan no mind, as usual. The Palace corridor was bathed in radiant light. The large windows that lined the halls served as a look into the magnificent garden. Every single color you could imagine was in that garden. Tall Cypress trees lined both sides, animal shaped hedges surrounded the glorious fountain that decorated the middle of the place. There was one part of the garden that many considered to be the most beautiful, it was the most recent addition filled with the yellow Alstroemeria and yellow Roses. They were planted in dedication to her. The maids and butlers of the palace took great care of that particular section of the garden. Every single day, no matter the weather, they made sure those flowers were properly looked after, made sure their beauty matched those of their beloved late Princess. The late Empress loved those flowers, they were her absolute favorite. They suited her well, everyone in the Capital could see that. She was radiant, her smile was as bright as a thousand suns. Her ivory skin and her long flowing blonde hair were truly a sight to behold. She was the embodiment of perfection, even he couldn’t help falling for her. Being the exact opposite, Rhoan felt inferior. Her hair black as coal, eyes the color of dark roast coffee, her sepia skin accompanied by an angelic childlike face haggard with worry and stress. A series of heavy footsteps echoed through the corridor, his were the loudest and strongest of all. Every one of his swift clops on the porcelain floor were attentive and controlled. His militaristic posture made anyone in his path shake. Rhoan’s heart began beating rapidly. With each beat they got louder and faster, so loud that Rhoan felt as though her ears would burst from the sound of the thumping. Rhoan held her breath hoping it’d settle her heart. There he was leading his court. His blonde hair glistened where the sunlight touched, his blue eyes drew you in like a whirlpool. His beauty was that of an earth-bound Adonis. Contradicting his angelic beauty was his cold and stoic gaze, a gaze that would send shivers down the spines of those in its way. Prince Cillian Chalhart was the treasure and pride of the empire, never had it had such a fearsome leader. He’d fought countless battles and led our empire to victory during the brutal Bastilian war. His beauty did not take away from his brutality, he’d crush anyone who threatened his beloved empire.

“Hello, your highness”, both Margret and Rhoan bowed. With her head lowered, eyes closed, Rhoan held her skirt and placed her hand on her chest. She couldn’t bear to meet his eyes, not that it mattered. The Prince swiftly passed the two, not even bothering to spare the two women a glace. Still, she was happy to see the Prince, even if it was just for a second. She believed he’d only gotten even more handsome since their wedding day. Just as swiftly as he had appeared, he disappeared. The maids in the corridor began to snicker.

“Poor girl, he didn’t even bother to acknowledge her. How cruel,” said one maid.

“How embarrassing, can she really be considered his wife?” said another.

Rhoan could hear their comments and see their condescending looks through her peripheral vision. In an effort to control the tears that began to well in her eyes, Rhoan tightly bit her lip and made her way to the dining room. She sat down at one end of the long table. The entire room was empty aside from the presence of Rhoan and head maid Margret. In front of Rhoan sat a plate of two slightly burnt eggs and sausages. On the side, there were two pieces of toast, that were surprisingly well toasted. Rhoan turned her head to Margret and asked her to send her thanks to the kitchen staff. It seemed the staff had decided to start preparing her food with a bit more care after the slight tantrum she threw last time. With Margret gone Rhoan felt comfortable enough to eat. As she took a bite of the dry bread, Rhoan looked around the large dining room. She began humming and softly kicking her feet. The only times she had the pleasure of being alone were during her meals, the rest of her day was spent with Margret, other maids, and various tutors. Each part of her day is meticulously mapped out. At times this both bored and caged her; however, sometimes she enjoyed the structure and routine. It took away her need to think.

In the evenings she’d have her English lessons in the palace library. Her tutor Julian was a young man in his early twenties. Tall, with short dark hair. His body was muscular yet lean. As he rolled up the sleeves of his blue collared shirt, Rhoan noticed his scars. Some were flat and pale, others were raised. His eyes were the most striking, being the color that’d find themselves camouflaged in leaves found in the Amazon. Despite their cool color, anyone who looked into them would be filled with warmth.

He didn’t seem like a man who’d take on tutoring as a profession. To Rhoan, he seemed better suited for the battlefield. Rhoan thought perhaps he’d pilot a Goliath for the imperial army, ah he’d really look good in their uniforms. During their time together, Rhoan would often find herself being unable to focus. His beauty was too distracting. Though of course, his looks couldn’t compare to that of her husband’s, he was beautiful, nonetheless. He was very friendly, something unfamiliar to Rhoan inside of this place. For Rhoan it was a pleasure whenever he was around, though he was her teacher, Rhoan viewed him more as a friend. The only one she had in this palace. She could speak comfortably with him, and she didn’t have to worry about him seeing the flaws she exhibited that were unbecoming of an Empress.

“Rhoan, did you manage to get through the book I gave you yesterday?” asked Julian.

“Yes! I really liked it!”

“It’s getting a lot easier to get through these books, I think I am ready to read the secondary school level books” exclaimed Rhoan as she held the thin book up to her chest.

Growing up outside of the capital Rhoan didn’t have much of an opportunity to go to school. Often times her mother was working two jobs, one in the morning and one in the afternoon. There was no time left in the day for her mother to take her to school. In her area there was only one school, it wasn’t small; however, it wasn’t too big either. Due to the lack of access to transportation, many children would have to walk to school. That wasn’t really an option for Rhoan given how far she lived, it was much easier for her to stay home and wait for her mother. Rhoan was a bit resentful at this lack of opportunity, as before moving to Asteria she was receiving decent schooling at a small school inside of the capital.

Putting his hand on top of her head Julian said, “I’m very proud of you Rhoan, you’ve improved greatly these past couple of weeks.” Rhoan’s eyes sparkled with happiness, she enjoyed the praise. Julian’s words were the only things that built her confidence and self-esteem.

“I told you I’d get it in no time” she gloated.

Even though they were only children’s books, Rhoan was still very proud of herself, and Julian made sure to reinforce that feeling. A part of Rhoan longed to share her progress with Emperor Cillian. Is an accomplishment, not something a wife would want to share with her husband. Though they did not share such an intimate relationship, she still wanted someone other than Julian to be a witness to her growth. With the thought of this desire, her eyebrows and eyelids lowered, and her shoulders began to shrink as she tightened her grip on the book and held it closer to her chest.

“If I shared this with him, would he acknowledge me, would I finally be worth his time?”

[lgbtq-history-museum-cfl-intern]

This week was crunch time!

I have a due date of October 30th (this coming Monday – 3 DAYS!) for a draft of the exhibit layout, and I’ve finally started messing around with design programs this week.

 I’m trying not to feel the pressure too heavily but it’s also inevitable because I’m also learning how to use these design tools, specifically, Adobe InDesign which I haven’t used since Intro to Journalism in 9th grade! That was, like, 14 years ago!

Luckily, it hasn’t changed much and it’s surprisingly intuitive to navigate, at least for the basics of creating text boxes, formatting fonts and paragraphs, and importing images.

I’m also still very new to Canva, which I’ve been using to design visuals like charts, graphs, and infographics.

I know I’ve aged myself now, but honestly, it’s a nod to the fact that I’m reaching an age – or maybe already have -  where I don’t feel as confident dabbling with unfamiliar forms of technology and I have to go out of my way to expose myself to them (even with social media where the stakes are so low, I have no clue how to “stitch” videos or make images that I want to point at as my background.)

So, I’m very proud of myself for overcoming those fears and allowing myself to learn something new!

I was able to complete a rough draft of the first exhibit panel (out of 2) and I’m looking forward to some feedback later today (Friday the 27th).

At this point, I can’t tell if I’m making good time on this or if it makes sense as an exhibit, so the feedback is super important to me.

For visuals, I have been clipping open-access digitized newspapers and having to choose which ones are the most relevant and go best with the exhibit.

So, on top of designing, I have also been curating this week! (A skill I hadn’t considered I was developing until maybe yesterday)

I’ve been having a great time, but I can’t deny that I’m struggling, especially since, as I mentioned above, I don’t know if I’m making good time on this.

Admittedly, I’ve been investing most of my energy into this one project this semester, putting my capstone class in the back seat.

I’m very lucky and grateful for the professor I have for that class, who doesn’t take points off for lateness. This gives me the luxury to put those assignments aside to focus on the exhibit, and I haven’t had to turn anything in late yet.

But this may finally be the week.

However, let me clarify that the workload demand is not actually unmanageable.

This year and this semester have just been personally challenging with trying to balance my health needs and my current mental health journey.

Since this is the last post, I’ll be publishing on ADHD Awareness Month, I want to acknowledge how that has affected me throughout this process (I wouldn’t want future interns to think this is an excessively demanding position!)

One of the things that was made evident to me is that I have a slow processing time which makes learning new things and synthesizing them a bit harder for me.

Even though I underwent testing and was told my results weeks ago, the process of writing out the report can take a few weeks. Then I have to give that report to my psychiatrist to review and then set up an appointment to go over it and discuss treatment plans.

I would need that report for specialized counseling programs that treat adults with a combination of ADHD and Autism spectrum.

So, for now, I am relying on medical studies and articles to educate myself on these things. However, I’m still not undergoing treatment, so the struggles persist. (And even more so with the anticipation weighing me down! Like salvation is so close but won’t seem to arrive on time.)

Regardless, I am working to the best of my capacities and keeping an optimistic outlook and I know I have the support from my mentors, supervisors, and peers to stay motivated and get through this!

Now, here are some clippings that won't be making it to the exhibit1:

Image 1: Davis Reflex Journal, 02/22/1945, pg. 2 - An illustration used to accompany an editorial urging women to prepare for soldiers' return from World War II with financial competence and stability.

Image 2: Fort Worth Star Telegram, 10/20/1950, pg. 26 - Comic portraying a "ditsy" woman waiting for her husband who's leaving for the war. Probably refirring to the Korean War.

Image 3: Fort Worth Star Telegram, 10/20/1950, pg. 26 - A PSA for parents to prioritize their children's needs over routine.

You can find all these on Newspapers.com :)

[aweshii]

last post for the year is dedicated to the editorial illustration i made last year, thank you to danni for guiding me throughout the process!

i remember feeling so burnt out back then, i honestly didn’t think i’d be able to finish it but despite all the stress i got from school at the time, i somehow managed to push myself and just forget about my perfectionist silly little thoughts about every single detail in the illustration. keeping that in mind, it really helped me throughout the challenges i’ve faced in 2022. if there’s one thing i’ve learned this year is that i’m not alone!! so i want to thank the people who supported me and the people i closely worked with for always believing in me even on my bad days, i’ll continue to do better in 2023! 🥹🫶🏼

this illustration is for The Benildean’s “Langit at Lupa” in the Redacted issue 😶

— TLDR the story is set during the peak of the pandemic and i wanted to show a still-life of a food spread that most elites like to splurge on during parties, weddings, and vacations, (food spreads that marie antoinetter would’ve probably thrown back then jk) and show the class struggle as well. there’s so much layers to this and that while they’re enjoying all of this luxury given their privilege, there’s another side wherein some experience the complete opposite.

feel free to check it out at bit.ly/thebenildeanredacted 👀

[revenantghost]

A special illustration of Ninym in for episode 9 by the illustrator of the light novel series, Fal Maro!

[kirammama]

Growing Up Kiramman

Seven-year-old Caitlyn Kiramman’s world has been turned completely upside down. Her mother, Cassandra, is the newest member of the Piltover Council, and between long work days and a seemingly endless list of official duties, she’s away from home a lot more often. And while Caitlyn does love all the extra one-on-one time she’s getting with her father, Tobias, things are just not the same without her mother around. Life in the Kiramman Mansion is changing fast, and only one thing’s for certain: this new normal is definitely going to take some getting used to.

Chapter One: Caitlyn

(you are precisely my cup of tea)

Caitlyn Kiramman should not be awake right now.

The deep, elegant chime of the grandfather clock at the end of the corridor tells her that it’s now an hour past her bedtime. Her parents would certainly not be happy with her if they knew she was still up. When her father tucked her into bed earlier that evening, he reminded her to go to sleep straight away so she would be well-rested and ready for the busy morning ahead of them.

And she tried, honestly she did. Caitlyn went through every trick she knows to help herself fall asleep faster. A tiny drop of lavender oil on each of her wrists, just like her mother showed her. Canopy drapes pulled shut on all sides of the bed. Favorite baby doll nestled snugly beside her. Deep belly breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. Caitlyn tried counting all the way to one hundred as slowly as she could, and then, when even that didn’t work, she did it again backwards.

Linens of the most luxurious Ionian silk and soft, feather-light comforter that, on any other night, would have kept the youngest Kiramman cozy and sound asleep through the night lie unkempt on the mattress, crumpled and bunched from her tossing and turning. Caitlyn burrows deeper into her bedsheets, doing her absolute best to resist the temptation to make her way to the comfort of her parents’ room. She is not a baby who needs to be held and rocked into slumber. She is nearly eight, and she is more than capable of putting herself to bed and staying there until morning.

Tonight, however, she doesn’t want to fall asleep. Sleep only makes tomorrow come faster. And Caitlyn has felt the dread and the worry all week – an uncomfortable knot deep in the pit of her tummy – just thinking about the day that’s now only mere hours away.

A hot, prickling sensation tickles the corners of her eyes, but Caitlyn blinks it away. She rolls onto her side and curls up slightly, hugging her arms around her doll. The sensible thing to do would be to stop thinking about tomorrow altogether, because the longer she dwells on it the worse she feels. Besides, her mother will only be gone for five days… which is really only four nights. And, of course, Papa will be home with her the entire time. They have already talked about all the fun things they’re going to do while Mama is away. There simply won’t be any time to miss her.

Young Caitlyn considers herself to be somewhat of a seasoned traveler. Her parents have brought her on holidays to lovely places all over Valoran for as long as she can remember. Every spring, they take a trip to Ionia to visit relatives and celebrate the Spirit Blossom Festival together. Caitlyn loves playing with her cousins… even though they always like to tell her that she “talks funny.” And her uncle always sends them home with a crate full of yummy sun apples fresh from the family orchard!

Caitlyn has never been to Demacia before, but she’s seen the most exquisite paintings of the palace gardens and the snowy hinterlands at the museum. Her father’s copy of Encyclopedia Valorannica has an entire volume dedicated to the kingdom, and it’s full of illustrations. Just the other night, Caitlyn had been talking to her mother about her upcoming trip and learned that she was going to stay in a hotel located right at the heart of the Great City.

“Maybe Papa and I could go with you,” Caitlyn had suggested, resting her chin atop crossed arms against the desk in the family study, where her mother sat filling out some paperwork. “We could stay in our own room at the hotel and tour the city whilst you work.”

But her mother’s only response had been a soft chuckle and a smile, as though Caitlyn’s itinerary was merely a whimsical wish, and then she is quick to redirect their conversation. “Don’t lean like that, darling. It’s unbecoming.”

It isn’t fair, Caitlyn thinks to herself. She had been entirely serious about her plan, but her mother brushed it off like it was nothing. The frustration from that night returns and Caitlyn scowls, pressing her face into the back of her doll’s bonnet. Perhaps she should just give up on sleep. At this rate, she’s going to be awake all night.  

Caitlyn is a half a millisecond away from surrendering to her insomnia when, all of a sudden, the answer hits her, causing her to bolt upright in bed with a tiny gasp. Her mother’s tea! Back a couple of months ago, Caitlyn had her very first violin recital at the performing arts theater in Mainspring Crescent. She had been so excited in the weeks leading up to it, eager to stand on that stage and show everyone the results of months and months of practice. But then, on the night before her big day, Caitlyn came down with a serious and utterly unexpected case of the jitters that kept her from falling asleep.

Her mother brought her downstairs, made them both a cup of chamomile tea, and sat with her in the armchair by the fireplace. It tasted like flowers and springtime, but in a pleasant sort of way, and warmed her from the inside out. The most curious part, though, is how everything that happened after that is a blur, almost as if somebody smudged the ink on that page of her memories before it had time to dry. The next thing she knew, her father had been in her room waking her up for breakfast. Caitlyn doesn’t remember exchanging goodnights with her mother, nor is she sure how she even got back to bed, for that matter. She could ask her mother for some more of that tea! If it worked once, surely it would work again. Just one teensy cup should do the trick, and then she can go to sleep.  

And that’s how Caitlyn finds herself standing outside her parents’ bedroom.

With a deep breath, Caitlyn turns the knob of the rightmost door and slowly pushes it open, trying not to make a sound. The room is dim, the only source of light coming from the lamp on the nightstand on her mother’s side of the bed. Her mother sits upright, propped up with pillows against the headboard, a small book in her lap. Even from across the room, Caitlyn recognizes it as the collection of poems she often reads to wind down before bed. The other half of the bed is empty, but the distant sound of running water and the glowing strip of light beneath the closed bathroom door tells her of her father’s whereabouts.

Caitlyn’s arms wrap more tightly around her doll. “Mama?”

“Caitlyn?” Her mother lifts her head, turning to look her way. She watches her with narrowed eyes for a moment, lips giving a slight twitch while she tries to figure out what to say next. “It’s late, darling. You should be in bed.”

“Yes, I know, but…” The seven-year-old’s voice comes out significantly smaller than she intended. “I… I couldn’t sleep.” Could you please make me some tea? Caitlyn opens her mouth to ask her question, but the words don’t come out. She can feel them stuck behind the lump forming in her throat. Quite frankly, she doesn’t think she could drink anything right now anyway. She feels a little sick to her stomach. Caitlyn hopes with all her might that her mother doesn’t get cross with her or send her away to her room.

But her mother doesn’t scold her, nor does she tell her to go back to bed. Instead, she wordlessly closes her book and takes off her reading glasses, setting both on the bedside table. And then, much to the young girl’s relief, she beckons Caitlyn over with a wave of her hand, patting the space on the mattress beside her. “Come sit with me.”

The invitation has Caitlyn scurrying across the marble floors almost instantly. As she comes farther into the room, the two large trunks sitting near her mother’s wardrobe catch her eye. Both are fastened shut and lined up neatly next to a pair of fur-lined, high-heeled boots, presumably the ones her mother will be wearing tomorrow. The sight – a somber reminder – sends a pang through the girl’s heart. Mama truly is going away tomorrow.  

Caitlyn climbs up the foot of the mattress and crawls over to her mother, doll slipping from her grasp and falling onto the duvet somewhere along the way. Her nose starts to feel a tad bit sniffly, and before she knows it she’s crying. By the time she reaches her mother, poor Caitlyn is a mess. Tears stream down her cheeks, gathering underneath her chin in large droplets that drip onto her nightgown. There’s a terrible ache in her throat from trying to hold back sobs.

With a low tut, her mother reaches out to hold the sides of her face. She makes soft shushing noises as she thumbs away Caitlyn’s tears. “There, there… Hush, darling, it’s all right.”

But Caitlyn lets out a strangled sob and begins to cry harder, all of her pent up feelings about her mother leaving finally spilling out. “I don’t want you to go…!”

“I won’t be gone long,” her mother reminds her, stroking her cheeks. Both her tone and her touch are gentle, and it does comfort Caitlyn a little. “Your father will be here with you every day until then. You won’t be alone. There’s no need to fret.”

“Please, Mama…” Caitlyn cries. “Please stay.”

Her mother sighs softly, then leans in closer until their foreheads are nearly touching. Blue meets blue as their gazes align. Caitlyn can see her reflection in her mother’s eyes and briefly wonders if her mother sees her, too. When she speaks again, her voice is much quieter, nearly a whisper. “Caitlyn, darling, will you listen to me for a moment? I need you to listen very carefully.”

There is no way Caitlyn would be able to hear her mother while in such a state. Taking a deep, trembling breath, she tries to calm herself down. Slowly but surely her cries begin to slow, sobs turning into shudders and hiccups that eventually taper off into a silent stream of tears. Keeping her lips closed in a tight pout, Caitlyn gives her mother her full attention and waits for her to continue.

“That’s my good girl…” Her mother gives her a fond smile. “Believe me, I would love nothing more than to stay here with you and your father. But, darling, I’m a councilor now, and I have responsibilities – many responsibilities – and it is my duty to take care of them. There’s some business I must attend to in Demacia this week, and that’s why I need to leave for a short while. You understand, don’t you?”  

That’s the thing. Caitlyn does understand. But understanding doesn’t make saying goodbye any easier. Before her mother joined the council, she was usually only a room or a corridor away. Even when she had to go into town on errands she would always be home in time for dinner or, at the very least, before bedtime. On many occasions, her mother would bring her along anyway. It’s what Caitlyn’s used to. It’s all she’s ever known. Imagining her daily routine without her mother makes her uneasy and… honestly, a little scared. Caitlyn understands that her mother won’t be gone forever. That’s not what she’s afraid of. What frightens her is the thought of suddenly missing her mother – needing her – but being an ocean and a day away.  

But the answer to her mother’s question is yes, so Caitlyn nods, albeit reluctantly.

The movement causes two final tears to trail down her cheeks, but her mother is quick to wipe them away.

"Shh, darling, no more tears. You’ll be a good girl for me whilst I’m away, won’t you?”

“Yes, Mama.”

“Of course you will,” her mother says. She takes Caitlyn’s hands and gives them a comforting squeeze, lightly rubbing her thumbs over her knuckles. “I actually have a favor to ask of you, and it’s very important. Will you promise me something?”

Curious, Caitlyn’s head tilts slightly to one side. “What is it?”

Her mother sneaks a glance at the bathroom door before lowering her voice and leaning in, as though she’s about to tell a secret. “I need you to take care of your father for me until I return. Will you keep him company so he doesn’t feel lonesome, and remember to give him lots of kisses and cuddles?”

“I will,” Caitlyn promises, nodding earnestly to show that she’s mature enough to handle the job and that her mother can count on her. She will take good care of Papa, and she will do such a good job that Mama will be so proud!

“Thank you, darling.” Her mother takes one of the many extra pillows near the headboard, fluffs it a few times, then sets it on the mattress beside her own. “Come now, lie down. It’s time to sleep.”

Already feeling a bit better now that she’s getting to sleep in her parents’ bed tonight, Caitlyn allows her mother to tuck her in. Shortly thereafter, there’s a click as the bathroom door opens and her father comes into the room, fully clad in his favorite pair of embroidered satin pajamas. Upon noticing Caitlyn, he raises an eyebrow in puzzled surprise and then looks over at her mother. Caitlyn doesn’t look to see what sort of expression she gives him, but whatever it is appears to be enough to answer his question. He comes over to sit on the bed and places a hand on her head, ruffling her hair slightly.

“Hi Caity. Joining us tonight?”

Caitlyn nods in response.

After draping her robe over the back of the nearby vanity chair, her mother switches off the lamp and climbs into bed. Caitlyn immediately snuggles closer, nuzzling her forehead into the woman’s side. Her parents spend a couple of minutes going over some last-minute details about tomorrow’s agenda – Caitlyn doesn’t pay much attention to what they’re saying – and once they’re finished, they share their goodnights.

“Sweet dreams, Caity-bird,” says her father. There’s movement on the mattress as he leans over to kiss the top of Caitlyn’s head. Her mother follows suit, bidding her goodnight as well, but then the bedroom falls into quiet stillness as the family prepares for slumber.

It’s been a long night.

As the youngest Kiramman lies there in her parents’ bed, safe and sound between her mother and father, a wave of calmness washes over her at last. The duvet rustles lightly as she shifts into a more comfortable position, hugging an arm around her mother’s middle. Caitlyn’s eyelids grow heavy as a fuzzy drowsiness starts to spread through her body, along with something… something else. Something cozy and familiar. Something warm. Her brows furrow as she tries to recall exactly what it is. It’s there somewhere in her brain, she’s positively certain, and she squeezes her eyes shut in an attempt to find it.

And then–

There it is!

A memory of a steaming cup of chamomile.

No, Caitlyn may not have had any of her mother’s tea tonight, but the warmth is the same. It puts her heart at ease, even if only for tonight. When the sun comes back up, signaling the arrival of the day she and her mother have to part, so will her sadness. But, right here, right now , her mother is still here. Closing her eyes again, Caitlyn inhales deeply and lets herself get lost in the feeling, wanting to soak up every last drop. Perhaps it was never the tea to begin with, and it was her mother – just her mother – all this time. Her mother’s touch, soothing and soft… and her voice, gentle like a lullaby.

That’s the last thought that crosses Caitlyn’s mind before she falls asleep.