#and I've gotten it from her

[sachermorte]

HELP HELP I'VE BEEN PUT IN CHARGE OF SOMETHING CALL FOR BACKUP

[bunnyboy-juice]

NO MORE ASSOCIATING THINGS WITH FEMMES ONLY BECAUSE THEY ARE PINK!HYPERFEM FEMMES ARE GREAT AND I LOVE YOU CAMPY FEMMES WHO EMBODY PINK BUT ALSO JESUS CHRIST CAN YOU GUYS NOT GO MORE THAN ONE DAY W/O TRYING TO SHOEHORN FEMMES INTO BEING ONLY PINK UWU BABIES. I AM FEMME AS IN GRASS AS IN DIRT AS IN TREE BARK AS IN WEEDS SPROUTING THROUGH THE SIDEWALK CEMENT. FEMME AS IN GENDER NONCONFORMITY AS IN FUCK YOU MY FEMININITY IS WHAT *I* SAY IT IS. FEMME AS IN DEPTH AND DARKNESS AND WARMTH AND TERROR. FEMME AS IN CAVES. FEMME AS IN LIGHTNING. FEMME AS IN AN AMALGAMATION OF TRAITS THAT I HAVE DECIDED ARE FEMININE REGARDLESS OF WHAT SOCIETY SAYS. FUCK IS IT THAT HARD TO UNDERSTAND?!???

[front-facing-pokemon]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

I saw @qourmet's young madam lan art, and knew what I had to do.

[bixels]

OUGGHHHH UR RARIJACK IS SO (explodes intio confetti with joy )

have uou considered: them trying on outfits they picked for each other?

or or or

Rarity washing and braiding AJs hair

or

Them celebrating the others birthday, trying to figure out what to get them and surprising them n all that

or them baking together and wgatever Ensues out of that

ANYWAYS KEEP DOIN YO THANG THEY R SO CUTE ❤️❤️❤️

Oh, I have lots of ideas for them.

Because I'm drawing them pre/early-relationship, I have a lot of stuff I haven't gotten to yet. I think, despite Rarity falling in love first, AJ is the most outwardly and obviously in love. Like, girl is in LOVE with her wife. The type to take off her jacket and put it over a puddle so her wife can cross. The type to walk around with hearts popping over her head.

Something I definitely wanna get around to drawing is how they were when Rarity first moved to Ponyville, because they would've hated each other, lol. AJ going from, "I can't stand her fake ass. 😒" to, "Yes Miss Rarity. Anything you want, Miss Rarity. 🥴" Or Rarity going from, "What a big, dirty brute. 😡" to "What a big, dirty brute. 🥵"

Anyways, later one comic idea I had for when they eventually get married is Rarity comes home to catch AJ trying to surprise her with a dinner. But things are going awry because AJ is so stressed and nervous about making everything perfect, and she even burns her apple pie. She has a bit of a breakdown because she feels she can't do anything right like she's supposed to anymore, and Rarity comforts her and tells her, why don't they bake the pie together? The comic ends with the two kneading dough together.

[a-drama-addict]

arl eamons worst nightmare

[cowcowwow]

COW COW DO YOU ADORE BUG NOIRE TOO?!?!?

[arseniy-arsenicum33]

Have you guys ever heard about this game "Slay The Princess"?

I sure have... It's been constantly spinning in my mind for a couple of months...

So I've tried to make something in Hero Forge about it... Here are my attempts at slaying modeling Chapter 2 Princesses...

Bonus: Hero Forge doesn't allow more than two figures on one base, so there is no way I could model The Stranger... So here is five of her fragments:

And also Tower lifting the chin of a raven that was used to determine Her hand position... He was so charming to me, I've decided to show you... Not Long, but a Little Quiet...

All models are free to use in your DnD campaigns, and will be available through links in my Google Doc... Once I finish compiling it... I also need to acknowledge, that I'm not the first person doing this... That honor, as far as I'm aware, goes to @imafuckingnerdineveryway and their two sets of models: Long Quiet and Shifting Mound Adversary and Damsel Which were partial inspiration for starting this project... Check them out! More people should engage with Hero Forge as an art program!

[heartvisor]

a last request

[mollysunder]

We don't really talk about how on Jinx's artbook she's crossed out Vi, Sevika, and Ekko's eyes out like they're dead.

First we've got Vi. We can tell it's Vi because of the bangs and "Fat Hands" moniker right below. The ponytail threw me off at first, but now it's been confirmed that Vi will grow out her hair throughout s2 so it falls together.

Then we've got Sevika looking like an "ogre", as Jinx would call her. You can even make out Sevika's new bob cut, it's around the eyes, and darkened at the left side and top. (Why does Jinx always have to take a shot at Sevika? *sigh*)

Finally there's Ekko, which doesn't need justification thankfully. Ekko looks kind of angry (a little offended) in a funny way, the context is probably not not going to be funny at all.

I can't say for sure that all the crossed out eyes really means that Vi, Ekko, and Sevika will die, it's just that the only characters depicted from Jinx's perspective with eyes like that are either dead, inanimate, or both.

The crossed out eyes could mean that Jinx gets to a point with all these characters where instead of hearing them she's projected her own inner voice onto them, permanently coloring her perspective on their relationships. Or maybe they're just dead to her, metaphorically speaking. There's a lot of options.

[blablabla798]

(Relevant posts: [1] [2])

Ok at this point I think something might have bugged

[tazmiilly]

woke up from a disturbing nightmare before immediately passing back out and having another dream about this friend I have only in my dreams. she showed me her awesome kid icarus arcade machine. it was super cool

[koka-mi]

Oh my gosh whyyyy am I so obsessed with numbers I don't like it at all this is driving me INSANEEEE😭😭IT'S GETTING WORSE AND WORSE AS THE DAYS GO BY AAAA

[msburgundy]

i must talk to the guy who offered me the part time bookkeeper job again (wasn't 100% sure i was qualified for it when he first brought it up lol) and depending on what the pay is, i may survive after all

[nullcanary]

What's the backstory behind those cool OCs?

Thank you so much for asking about them! There's quite a bit of backstory to them, but I'd love to try and paint a decent picture, especially for Kultober. Mérie and Luc are my original characters from a ttrpg called Kult: Divinity Lost. Their story spans over 30 years, so there is what was and what is. 

CW: violence, blood and injury, mentions of suicide, cults, death

30 years ago, Mérie was an undergraduate when she met Luc. They found instant companionship within one another, intrigued by each other's ideas on the strange, the grotesque, the taboo, and the undercurrent of those themes within art. What defined and defied the boundaries of *art*. How the evocative power contained within such works, extends beyond the lifetime of the artist, bringing the creator triumph over death, through visceral reaction of the viewer. They found them fascinating concepts in their youth, when loss was still a distant, faceless motif. 

They fell in love, romantically and intellectually, and eventually eloped. They had a saying between one another, their own form of ‘I love you’. Je respire pour toi = I breathe for you. The lungs a symbol of their love, instead of the heart. Animus: the soul, the intelligence, the inner self in touch with the unconscious, rooted from the word anima, “to breathe”. This is what it meant to breathe for one another. It was to share the deepest parts of their being with each other, through conversation, through passion, through dilemma. They could always listen to the other breath, watch the rise and fall of their chest, and find themselves in tune with the motion. 

They moved in with each other as Mérie continued into her graduate program. She decided to base her thesis off of the late Gui Vacquelin, an artist known for his progressively darker and nihilistic works -- his final pieces, a triptych, being completed only moments before he violently gouged his own eyes out with the brush, effectively taking his own life. Mérie was fascinated with the concepts he applied into his work and the effective immortality he granted himself in history through his final act. 

Luc was involved with a peculiar group of individuals, which he eventually introduced Mérie into. They were eccentric, lavish, hedonistic, and debaucherous. This society could pluck the strings only the wealthiest had hands for. They shared the common interest in the dark and disturbed, and often hosted opulent, yet secretive parties centered around such themes, with exclusive access to rare collections and performances for the eve. And there was apparently a deeper layer to unpeel, more powerful secrets. Mérie was allowed on the fringes of this odd group and in time, managed to prove herself of similar enough ilk that she was invited to be initiated as a full member of the society. And as a highlight, Gui Vacquelin’s famed final triptych was to be the evening's display. 

Mérie was ecstatic at the prospect, the access to the works, the connections, the secrets. It was thrilling to be in the presence of the works, to see them in the flesh. Her initiation would involve receiving a dagger, having it choose her. The excitement of the evening quickly turned to horror, as Mérie and Luc were descended upon by the members of the society, revealed in actuality to be a cult. A multitude of familiar faces turned cruel. The initiation was a ruse for a ritual to Togarini, the god of dark art. In truth, Vacquelin had been a servant of the wretched god, his paintings being used as conduits to summon Togarini. The pair were torn from one another, subjected to witness as the cult attempted to transform Mérie into a herald of Togarini.

What followed would only be stored in fragments within Mérie’s mind, a series of sounds and images in a broken frame rate. She would remember pain, flashes of her own carnage, the secrets of her flesh exposed, the distant sound of screams. But due to unknown circumstances, the ritual “didn’t take” onto Mérie. The cult instead turned upon Luc, to perfect him where she had failed. The sound of his voice breaking broke her as she tried to drag herself to where he was.

In the blink of a moment, all was silent. Time was no longer in fragments. Mérie was standing in the middle of a street, alone in the cool night air, holding onto a dagger. She was utterly disheveled – clothes torn, hair drenched, every muscle aching, covered in dirt and blood and … without any apparent wounds on her body. Luc was nowhere to be seen. Blade in hand, she considered the worst. Something terrible. Something… unspeakable. She would never….hurt him? Confused, terrified, obviously in shock, she returned to their flat to try and gather herself. Returning home was no refuge from the horror. He wasn’t there. But neither were any fragments of him. Any notion of his former presence only formed an absence. Papers were missing, clothing, cigarettes, even coffee mugs. Empty spaces on the walls where pictures should be. Money had not been touched, nothing stolen. None of Mérie’s belongings had been tampered with, though she noted a weight lifted from her left finger. Nothing legally binding could be located and all her identifications were painted with the shadow of her maiden name. Luc wasn’t just missing, he had been erased from the world as a whole.

She would not see any members of the society again. Friends would never question about Luc. Therapy would declare that Mérie had suffered an episode of stress induced psychosis, due to some trauma her mind had chosen to block and that she had created the figment of a man as some representation of comfort and potentially betrayal. She refused to believe the packaged explanation and feigned acceptance, choosing to pick up the fragments left of her former life, and continue on with her life, always holding her breath that some true answers would arrive. Time continued to pass. A month, a year, five, twenty five years. Eventually, she untensed and allowed the past to be a dream. Save for the dagger which she kept, close and secret. It was real and by some sense, made Luc real, though time made it more and more difficult to hold his appearance in her mind, a ghost that would haunt only her.

Until the events of an evening nearly thirty years later. Mérie was working as a curator for the Cecil Thorne Art Centre. Wealthy patrons had chosen to put together a charity event in the form of a midnight showing titled, The Atrocity Exhibition, which for the first time would bring together the complete collection of Gui Vacquelin’s works. Apprehension? Terror? Anger? It would be difficult to describe what Mérie felt when her director announced the project, but she was in no position to express these notions. However, the evening descended into even worse than what she had feared. The museum became a literal hell and Mérie would find herself lost within some of the deepest reaches of that.

But amidst it all, through chaos and fog and fire, a hand grabbed her and ripped Mérie forward through a war torn hellscape. The hand, the figure, the face. All that of Luc. Though his hair and beard had grown long, no age had touched his visage as time has brought to her own,  She considered the possibility that she was dead to the world, if he was there. The chemical bursts of death come to bring penance or consequence. She allowed her composure to crack. After years of confusion, years of longing, years of surviving alone, she rushed to his arms, to his lips once they stopped running, in desperation to ground herself to them moment, to feel some sense of warmth, to solidify his existence after so long. As the glow of the reunion waned she recognizes two things: that she was still alive and that this man was not her husband, but an imposter, wearing his skin, twisting her with his voice, employing the couple’s phrase as they shared a cigarette. To what end? How would he know…?  An event came to expose this truth, leaving Mérie with a choice: confrontation or continuation of the illusion. A tense pause exchanged between their eyes… and she decided to choose the latter.

Because the option was somehow less painful. Because she spent so long not even knowing if this person existed at all. That this man still represented some proof, trickery aside. And to give it all up again so soon? To deny herself what she had ached for? Rebuild stone walls that had only just crumbled? If this reflektor was to destroy her, kill her… she resigned herself to the idea. If it’s him, his face, perhaps there would be closure. Comfort in the end of this sorry story. Yet she overlooked that the price didn’t have to be her life. It ends up being other people’s lives that are the toll for the imposter’s freedom. People she had a duty to protect. And she carries that loss moving forward. Knowing she brought this weapon into a space that was supposed to be safe because she let herself want too much. And that “it took”. She builds her walls higher than ever after the events.  And yet and YET, if he returned to her again... she's not all sure she wouldn't crumble all over again. She wants to refuse that opportunity should it come.

Through the toil of erecting composure, she will stare at the ceiling every night and sees a familiar face, turned cruel. In her dreams, she sees the full events of what actually occurred the night she lost Luc. And again and again and again, she has to watch as she kills him. It’s the only way to wake up. Bitterness replaces yearning. Defensiveness replaces trust. Paranoia closes around her throat. Even the memory of him bastardized by the swing between the charade and the truth.

What's to come of their story? That's for my DM to decide in our next campaign....  

Lokorum’s piece is a representation of Mérie’s loss. Consistently revisiting the space where she last knew him. He’s been gone now for more years than she was alive when she met him. Half her life, defined by before the loss. Another half defined by its aftermath. She’ll come back here again and again trying to piece together what happened. Until she finally learns the truth and can never leave. If only she could forget after one last dance…

Ptr-sqloint’s piece is a representation of the weight of shame that Mérie carries. The mirror offers back a reflection of a reflection. She is confined in its frame. The imposter, a reflection of Mérie’s desires, vices, weakness. He exposes them, points them out, makes her bare witness to them, the secrets that are not physical, twisting love into a vice. What is it that she breathes for? Be honest now, Mérie.

[bittsandpieces]

Who do you want to fuck bad these days

I'm not gonna tag them because that'd be fucking embarrassing but. several of my mutuals (they should know who they are)