#anyway im sorry for not posting in a month

[ask-the-forsaked]

What happened.

I was gone for almost a month..

I don't know what to say or do cause, Im really fucking happy but I didn't planned anything.

Im so sorry for the lack of posts too :'[

I won't promise I will be able to post soon, or atleast this month, I have commissions and trades up my ass currently. But Im thinking I could come back next month (May) and start answering asks again!! Hopefully I won't struggle with designs either.

Anyways end of my yap, Thank you a lot again everyone!!!

[remxedmoon]

yeah i don’t really know how we got here either.

hey uh. something occurred???? so yesterday i decided to try and resprite ralsei for funsies and i got really carried away. there’s 16 of these now. my friends are actively on their way to grab and shake me like orange juice. i have no self control.

this was partially a style test? i’ve got to get to the isat redraw sprites at some point (i promise i haven’t completely dropped the project) and i didn’t really like how Derivative the old mockups were? i wanted to figure out my pixel art style! and i think these helped! so that’s a win in my books. anyways go my sprites. there’s two because i didn’t have room for chara.

[teenytraveler]

just another lazy Sunday afternoon

[funkle420]

no talk me i angy cant stop thinking about my girlfriend who's been kidnapped by a crazy powerful ancient magician

[batsyheere]

Phantom doesn't trust the Justice League as far as he could throw them- which was a weird statement to make considering, so he might as well say he did not trust them.

First there had been the attempt to exorcise him. That had been done with some very obviously coerced members of Dark, who had eventually been stopped by a panicked Constantine who Phantom now had weekly tea with. (Because Danny needed more ways to defend himself outside of his ghostly abilities, and especially with the attention of the JL now focused on him. Constantine had not put up much of a fight, especially after that incident.)

Following that had been the JL's attempt at peacemaking and finally handling the Anti-Ecto Acts- which had simply sped up the work that Team Phantom had been working on since the majority of their group hit 17 and the threats were more human than ghost. Taking credit for the years of activism and appeal Team Phantom had already made efforts in had soured whatever they wished to gain.

Offering him a place within the teams of Young Justice or the Titans had been another layer of insult when they tried to pressure him into some sort of mentorship- Phantom very much was insulted by the implications that he needed any such help after the years of being left to fend for himself. And the implications that they thought they could control and observe him now.

The final straw was their invitation to join the Justice League itself.

"I don't know about you," Phantom drawls, tone almost apathetic as his head leans against his fist. He was hovering in the air, sat back in a pose his little sister often called his "I'm dealing with idiots and politics" posture. "But if I've repeatedly rejected and ignored an individual who asked for help, then ignored their requests to leave them be... well, I wouldn't assume they would wish to join your club and be pleased by it."

"King Phantom," Wonder Woman begins, one of the few who actually had any sense. She looks exhausted.

Another member, one of the Green Lanterns whose names Danny couldn't be bothered with after some rather volatile debates with the dead of Oa, cuts her off.

"Look, kid, you're being offered something most other heroes only dream of being offered-"

"Most other people have to be recommended or apply to join the League, or otherwise be ignored and left to handle situations such as a chunk of the Midwest sinking into the Infinite Realms through the directions of a tyrannical conqueror seeking to gain access to the mortal world."

Silence. There were a few winces, as well as a few heroes who were glancing nervously towards Superman who was frowning.

"Look, we've obviously made mistakes-" the man in blue begins. Phantom cuts him short as well.

"A mistake is dismissing a call about ghosts as a prank," he states. "A mistake is making assumptions based off the research of science and believing it to be true."

He sat up, crown flaring above his head with frost as the temperature in the room dropped.

"What you have done is blatantly allow a government to persecute and prepare acts of genocide, while ignoring the evidence and pleas of the people you swear to protect. You then proceed to ignore the word of those who have stood the line of defence and resolve the matter without any representation of the voices that fought long enough to be heard."

"What would you have us do."

It was Batman who spoke up. While not his favorite member of the League, Phantom could appreciate the fact that the man had been left out of most of the formal decision making on these matters- even Amity Park had heard of the strange mass outbreak of Arkham residents spilling into Gotham- something that had not happened in quite a while. It had kept Batman and his associate busy enough to keep away from League business, in an effort to keep the chaos contained to Gotham's borders.

But Batman had many issues and Phantom had very little care for them.

"At this time? Move on. The situation is handled, and those who have not screwed up diplomatic matters are informed and may keep contact. We want no further ties to the Justice League or it's members at this time."

[bittasol]

smile, iruma! | hey ive been here before

[lucabyte]

Olive Branch

Wrong Move

[geezmarty]

we all know that wyllstarion goes crazy as hell but you really have to think about it from Wyll’s perspective. You’re the most fairy tale brained man on earth whose life is a continued sequence of romantic and heroic ideals set up to fail. You want to be a heroic duke and save your city but wind up making a pact with a devil. You want to use that pact for good and are almost (or straight up) tricked into killing an innocent. You go on the most princely quest of all to ask a dragon for his help and we all know how that ends. And then in comes Astarion jangling like the most weaselly evil court advisor, a vampire no less and you’re like actually fuck it this slippery eel is where it’s AT. and this time you actually do get a happy ending with it. it goes crrrrazyyyy

[fairycosmos]

being on your period is the closet any human can ever get to turning into a werewolf

[crowkip]

wips and doodles bc i dont feel like finishing anything atm lol

[hyolks]

hey wanna join my band

[medicalunprofessional]

never change, man !

[peonypyxels]

maggie & rei🌟

[m1d-45]

doctor's orders

summary: a mild cold in the hands of one used to life or death illnesses... he really worries too much.

word count: 1k

-> warnings: you're like.. very mildly sick.. +take one (1) pill for like .5 of one second. nothin serious

-> gn reader (you/yours)

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yuus3n || @esthelily || @turningfrogsgay || @cupandtea24 || @genshin-impacts-me || @chaoticfivesworld || @raaawwwr || @ryuryuryuyurboat || @undrxtxd || @rainswept || @wanderersqt || @rozz-eokkk

< masterlist >

“i don’t know why you’re taking this so seriously.”

“i don’t kow why you aren’t.”

you sniffle again, wiping at your nose with a napkin he’d insisted you take. “it’s not like i’ll die, baizhu.”

“dont joke about that.” he sat at his desk, counting qingxin petals as he plucked them off. “you’ll be perfectly fine, so long as you take your medicine.”

you wanted to roll your eyes, to push off his worry and deny the pills. yes, you were sick, but with barely a cold—more an annoyance than anything—that you didn’t think was worth even half the trouble.

but if nothing else, this was for his benefit. part of the curse of being a doctor, you supposed: knowing even the most severe of illnesses started with a cough. or, in your case, congestion.

“and you’re certain that’s it? no aches or pains?”

for his sake, you checked again. nothing out of the ordinary, just as it was five minutes ago, the last time he asked you.

“i’m fine, just as i have been and just as i will be. even if i wanted to hide something, you’d be able to tell.”

he’d known you were sick before you did. you went out with qiqi yesterday, returning to the pharmacy with a basket propped on your waist. you exchanged your greetings with gui, lingering to watch qiqi set herself up in her chair, carefully prying seeds out of lotus heads. you were sat beside her sorting the horsetail from the violet grass when he came out of the back door, eyes lingering on you strangely.

“are you feeling well?”

you looked up, hands stalling. “yeah, i feel fine. why, is something wrong?”

gui smiled like he knew something you didn’t, but you didn’t focus on that. baizhu came to you, taking your hands in his, inspecting your palms like you’d miraculously developed an allergy to horsetail overnight. “…are you sure?”

“positive.”

“no new aches, not unusually hot or short of breath, nothing stiff or-”

“baizhu.” you turned your hands to hold his instead, his gloves cool under your fingers. “i’m fine. you worry too much.”

but, of course, your karma swung around and you woke up with a headache and a pressure in your sinus. the light off the stone paths felt too bright, your predicament obvious from the moment you opened your mouth to say hello. just like that, you’d been whisked away to a back room, changsheng curling around your shoulders as he tried to find any and every reason to worry.

it was cute. or, would have been, if you didn’t know he was worried beneath the fuss. if you didn’t know any better, it would seem like he was finding any and all excuses to touch you. a loose grip on your wrist to check if your heart was irregular, the back of his hand against your cheek to see if you had a fever, worrying and worrying like you weren’t stuck with the common cold and he wasn’t the best doctor this side of inazuma.

“you worry too much.”

“you worry too little. drink your tea.”

you did, bearing the bitter taste as changsheng slipped from your shoulders to his. honestly, with the way he was treating you, one could easily think you were at death’s door.

you weren’t, though. you traced the rim of the ceramic mug, watching him fuss with your medicine, carefully crushing and mixing a variety of strong-smelling ingredients you couldn’t hope to identify off sight alone, characteristics lost in the mortar and pestle.

“so,” you start, his eyes flicking to you but not losing focus. “you come here often?”

he rolled his eyes, adding an ambiguously labeled syrup. whatever shorthand he and gui had mastered was a mystery to you no matter how hard you tried to decipher it. “this is serious.”

“it’s the flu.”

“you don’t know that.”

“you’re biased.”

“and you’re not getting out of taking your medicine. have you finished your tea?”

he took the empty mug, checking the stray leaves at the bottom like they would give him whatever answers he was looking for. it’s not like you’d lied to him—not like you could, either. between he and changsheng, it was impossible to so much as bring him flowers.

with the help of a few bits of hyperspecific equipment (that looked far too dangerous to just be for a doctor), a single pill was tucked into your palm, a muted green sphere with flecks of white dispersed across its surface. another cup of medicinal tea was poured and drank, a bitter aftertaste left in your mouth as expected. but you were rewarded for your troubles with a quiet sigh of relief, all of his nerves apparently washing away with that single action. he pushed his glasses up on his nose, eyes softening from ‘stern doctor’ to ‘worried partner.’

“…and you’re certain-”

“i’m fine.” you downed the rest of the tea, lip curling at the taste as you set it down, not missing how he checked to see if you’d drank it all. “i’m not in pain. i’m not hurt. i’ve taken my medicine and you have personally seen me do it. please, relax.”

another sigh, this one tired and well-worn. “you know i can’t. it’s not that easy.”

“it was worth a shot,” you shrug.

he does all of the work that he can in your room that day, strictly confining you to the bed, but letting you sit with him in the lobby once noon passes and there’s less people bustling through. you politely ignore the subtle glow to his fingertips whenever he walks by you, just like you pretend not to notice his repeated, worried glances.

it was almost sweet, that he worried so much. and besides, who were you to tell him what to do with his time? a day spent with your doctor was a day well worth every second.

[horrorshowcliche]

trying to get back into digital art

[lovesickeros]

☆ even the gods bleed

{☆} characters furina, neuvillette {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, multi-chapter, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, injury, light angst {☆} word count 2.3k

What was justice?

Focalors had asked herself that question many times during the long nights she spends awake pouring over the prophecy of a dead God, words replaying in her mind like a broken record until the sun rose like a blooming flower.

She was the God of Justice, an Archon, yet she herself lacked the answer to such a simple and yet so very complex question.

How does one define what is just and what is not? How does she know that what she believes to be just is right? Is it justice if one being alone may sway the scales of justice on a whim? What justice is there to be found in the cold, watery grave that awaits her nation?

She does not know.

Perhaps she may never know.

What she does know, at least, is that this is not justice.

It is a mockery of it.

She stands before the bloodied, broken body like the judge, her sword held so tightly in her hand her fingers feel stiff, a dull ache adding to the weight of what she's seen. For a long, horrible moment she almost thinks they are dead – something she would have reveled in, only a day prior – before she sees the subtle rise and fall of their chest. Breathing, but barely.

The rain felt heavier upon her shoulders at the realization – she was not sure if it was in relief or horror.

Her nails dig into her palm, mind stuck somewhere between that abject horror and confusion so palpable she swore she could hear the gears in her head turning.

For a long, silent moment as she stares upon the body beneath the heavy rain..she wonders if this is how it all ends instead. If the world itself will simply crumple in on itself and cease – without its heart, it will wither, after all – long before the waters ever swallow her nation whole.

Because, try as she might to rationalize it, for every drop of rain that hits her like pins and needles, soaking her down to the bone..the body of the imposter is completely dry. Even the water pooling along the stones dares not to leave so much as a splotch against their ragged, torn clothes.

She remembers the meeting so very clearly, and she thinks she is a fool to not have noticed sooner – the Creator upon their gilded throne, finger pointed in accusation at the visage far too similar to their own. The imposter. She remembers the lilt of their voice as they called for their death as easily as one would speak of the weather – and to no one other then herself would she admit the spark of fear it had ignited within her. Because beneath the divine charade there was a sick enjoyment in the way they looked upon the imposter – like a bug beneath their shoe.

She understands, now.

She had thought that perhaps finally – finally – she could do right by her people, by her Creator, if she rid Teyvat of this..intrusion.

Now she sees herself as what it all really is – blind lambs following the herder.

Perhaps she would be considered a heretic under the eyes of the law – beneath the weight of justice, heavy as the heart that bears its sins. Perhaps this is a mistake, one she would come to regret.

But for now, she sheathes her blade with unsteady hands, the sound making her ears ring – for what she had almost done, what she had already done – as she stumbles like a newborn lamb towards the broken body of..

..What, exactly? Human? Divine? She is not so sure what to call them. Creator? No. The name is bitter upon her tongue, now, burning like liquid flame down her throat.

Where once she had spoken it in reverence and admiration, it felt hollow and empty, now.

Her vision wavers as she kneels down against the rain soaked stones, the rain upon her back growing heavier as she reaches a shaky hand forth – and for a moment, however brief, she feels the weight of expectation, of a title she fears she may never live up to, wash away with the waters that fall from the heavens.

The bruises and blood smeared across their skin are like strokes of a paintbrush, their body the canvas from which such horrid art is created. It makes her ill.

Doubt wavers her composure briefly – her position is already unsteady. She has never been seen as an equal to many of the other Archons. Her own people do not see her as their Archon, but an actor in a grand play that they shall simply toss aside and replace like a broken doll the moment she bores them.

What does she have left to lose?

She reaches out again, her hand settling onto their shoulder and turning them onto their back. She..isn't sure what to do, actually. She's never been particularly physically capable – she tended to avoid fights, even if she oft provoked them – and she was certainly no healer.

Yet what choice does she have but to march on anyway? She is in the heart of the city, it is far more dangerous here then anywhere else..she had little time to make her move.

Fontaine was, after all, a nation founded on the principle of justice. To know an injustice has been made against the most Divine..the entire nation was in a frenzy.

Her eyes dart around nervously, hands clasped tight on their shoulders and her lips drawn into a taut line – someone would notice her absence. One of the Archons would point out her absence in the coordination of the search.

Her options were just as limited as her time – she couldn't just take them out of the city. Security was tight, and as much as she fancied herself an escape artist – Neuvillette could hardly keep her in one place for too long – she doubted she could do the same with the limp body of the imposter in tow.

..The Palais Mermonia it was, then.

Her room had a secret entrance that few knew about, and even fewer would dare to traverse. She just..had to hide them there for a bit and hope Neuvillette wouldn't notice anything different.

Probably.

Still, there was the problem of actually..transporting the body. As grim as it sounded. Her only solace was the fact she didn't have to worry about them catching a cold, at least, and their breaths were still audible, if only barely. So she had to resort to some..unexpected methods.

Seeing the limp form of, well, the imposter – she'd really have to ask for something else to call them when they woke up – stuck in a bubble of hydro wasn't exactly on her bucket list.

Then again, neither was treason.

Well, first time for everything, right?

It wasn't breaking the law if no one else knew about it.

..Neuvillette didn't have to know about it, really. It was fine.

She could, of course, technically try to talk some sense into Neuvillette – he'd listen to her, right? She thought she was pretty close with him..but he was also the one person more obsessed with justice then she was. Such a stickler for the law..so maybe she's breaking a few, it's fine.

But he was also pretty devout, as much as he tried to keep his worship private – with Focalors around, nothing was really secret. Maybe she could get him to settle down long enough to prove it.

..How was she going to prove it?

An exaggerated groan escaped her lips as she led the bubbled imposter – she really wished she didn't have to resort to that, it would be a lot a more awkward to explain then dragging the body around – through the winding streets of Fontaine. She's just glad she's already memorized the entire city like the back of her hand..and a little dramatics went a long way. People listened when the Hydro Archon spoke, and she was suddenly very, very glad for that fact, even if they treated her more like a mascot then a God.

And partially because she, maybe, just a little..stole a few documents detailing the layout and a little personal exploration of her own – but what Neuvillette didn't know couldn't hurt him!

After what felt like hours, though was really no more then half an hour at best, she'd managed to drag herself – soaked to the bone with rain – and the conveniently bubbled imposter up through the secret entrance and into her room.

The perceived safety, as flimsy as it was, was..comforting. Until she heard the rustle of fabric, the clearing of a throat and the pop of a bubble as she, in her surprise, popped it – and then the thud of the imposter hitting the floor.

She felt a bit of regret about that part, at least, wincing.

"Lady Furina." His voice was as sharp and cool as she remembered it always being – like fresh spring water, she'd heard it described. Soothing. It did not feeling very soothing right about now.

She turned sharply on her heel, a forced smile tugging at her lips on reflex, every muscle in her body tensed – she probably looked like a wet cat right about now, soaked with rain, but that was the last thing on her mind.

"Do you mind explaining what, exactly, you did?" Not what you're doing, she notes – what she did. He was mad. Oh, she was really in for a scolding now. She twiddled her thumbs, laughing weakly, though it quickly dies out at the awkward, tense silence.

"Well, you see – it's rather complicated! I can– I can explain." Her attempts to diffuse are met with a raised brow and the sharp tap of his cane. Every single thought is plagued with the urge to run, but the unsteady breathes of the 'imposter' keep her rooted in place. "Well?"

She was sweating bullets, her nails digging into her palm as she scrambled for any excuse that could warrant her not getting hauled off and scolded thoroughly at best – she was coming up empty. How was she supposed to prove that the 'imposter' was very much not what the 'Creator' said they were? Their unconscious body was doing no one any favors, certainly.

"The Creator is lying," She blurts out, immediately regretting her impulsiveness when she feels the sudden weight of his stare – the piercing hues of his eyes that remind her just who is the strongest between them. It is not her, she knows. It never has been. "You can see for yourself! Don't you trust me, Neuvillette–?"

Her voice is cut off by the sharp click of his cane as he strides across the room in only a few steps, his height making her feel like a child about to scolded. She hated it, but she grit her teeth through the exchange. She reminded herself that this was for the sake of the 'imposter' and any affront to her ego was..tolerable.

To her credit, too, she didn't immediately lash out when she saw him poke at their body with his cane, turning them onto their back – she wanted too, though. She considered it, but the thought was quickly shot down when his stare turned back upon her, and she felt frozen in place again, her tongue a heavy weight in her mouth.

Yet she couldn't shake the sudden tenseness to his shoulders, his brows furrowed and a distant look to his eyes. It was..haunting, in a way.

She knows it well, she realizes. The realization and acceptance, the crumbling of every solid foundation you've ever known – leaving you to flounder in the waves, alone and afraid.

The gentleness in which he picks up the limp body surprises her though, his cane set aside. The rain howls like a horrid storm outside, but she cannot focus on anything but the furrow of their brows, the soft noise that escapes their lips.

"I trust that you know that this must stay between us," His voice is soft, like the gentle lap of waves against the shore, as he sets their body down against the bed, his hand lingering against their cheek with something almost like reverence – and if her eyes do not deceive her, affection. "Lady Furina."

She does not hesitate to agree.

"Well– well of course!" She huffs, crossing her arms over her chest and frowning at the feeling of her wet clothes clinging to her skin, a heavy weight that feels like it's dragging her down. "Just what do you take me for?"

He doesn't deign to respond.

It only makes her fume more.

Not that he seems to notice, unbuttoning his heavy outerwear and tossing it on the bed, rolling up his sleeves and focusing on the injured– er..yeah, she really needed a new name for them. Calling them imposter felt wrong.

"So long as you understand, then we will have no problems." She huffs again, pouting and puffing up her cheeks, sitting down on the other end of the bed with only an occasional glance towards him as he worked at peeling away the ragged clothes and examining the injuries marring their skin.

She suddenly felt out of place.

..What was she supposed to be doing?

As if noticing her sudden quietness, Neuvillette sighed, his back turned to her though his attention very much falling upon her. She really hated the feeling like she was being dissected whenever he looked at her. It was unnerving. She doesn't know how anyone else handles it..

"If you are so eager to do something, Lady Furina, then please have something brought up for when our..guest awakens. They will need to recover their strength."

Finally! Something she can do. She perks up, her heels clicking on the floorboards as she darts out like a bullet, unable to stay still for so much as a moment.

Neuvillette, for his part..

Feels an odd sense of serenity as he stares upon the troubled features of the..guest. A peace that lessens the burdens upon his shoulders, the weight of a nation upon his back.

He cannot hear the rain, anymore.

..It must have stopped.