#art block has been obliterating me

[platinum-roulette]

RIP Mr House you would've loved working late at the office and cheating on your wife

[craacked-splatters]

Her champions :))

[unfinished work lol hehe]

[artsekey]

I really hate how ads have taken over the internet. On one hand, I know that hosting a website costs money, right? And ad revenue is one of the simplest ways for free-to-use websites to cover their operating costs.

My question is-- and I would genuinely love an answer-- is this ever going to stop? Tumblr ran for a long time without ads. So did Youtube. I know that the cost of hosting so much media has gone up, but there are a lot of users on these websites that make the content that drives people to use the service that don't see any of the money generated by this revenue. On Youtube, there's at least a way for creators to make some money from what they do. For most, it isn't much, but the opportunity is there. On Tumblr, well... the ability to convert the visibility of my blog into any financial gain practically nonexistent, though they did at one point promise that users would be able to make money from ads run on their blogs (whatever happened to that, Staff?).

"You can pay to avoid seeing ads!" Tumblr says, as if the views on my main blog alone over the past few years have not generated more than enough ad revenue to cover the price they're asking me to pay, the person who is actively making content that brings eyes to their ads.

I'm not mad at Tumblr for hosting ads. I get that it has to happen because it's the easiest way to keep the site free, and honestly, I imagine Tumblr's staunch opposition to monetization has been a real obstacle for the team building Tumblr. But at the same time, it feels like yet another small concession in the usability of the site. I'm tired of ads that auto-play with blaring audio while I'm scrolling. I'm tired of adds that, if I touch them while trying to scroll past them, take me to an external site. Outside of tumblr, I'm tired of looking for information online only to get a webpage that's 95% ads and otherwise illegible. Hell, I recently got an ad on Discord. Was it unobtrusive? Maybe. But it was there, for the first time, and I know that won't be the end.

I know the first reply I'm going to get on this is "use adblock", and yes, that's a solution, but think about how much the landscape for media has changed in just ten years.

Popular forums are basically gone outside of reddit.

Youtube, without Red, is ad hell. You can't watch more than 3-4 minutes of video without getting sent to marketing hell.

Instagram, Tumblr, Twitter-- it's terrible. I firmly believe they've manufactured a worse experience through the implementation of ads to convince you to buy into their premium services.

Just Check out this video of Penguinz0 trying to watch a video on a third-party site.

There's discussion of putting ads into video games.

Remember when games didn't include micro-transactions? Blizzard is charging $70 for one mythic skin. You could almost buy Overwatch 1 twice-over at that price-point.

Influencers make a living by making their lives into advertisements.

Youtube has retaliated against users using ad-block on non-chrome browsers by artificially inflating the load times of it's videos.

What can we do about this? I imagine companies see it as an infinite money hack; users can't stop companies from hosting ads, and the action they could take to voice their displeasure-- leaving the site, using other competitive services-- has been all but obliterated thanks to the homogeneity of popular social media outlets. If someone is truly so incensed about ads, well-- it isn't like they have to engage with them, right? They can enroll in a cheap, auto-renewing service to get rid of ads entirely. Well, wait, the price of premium might just have to go up. Don't worry, it's auto-renewing! You won't even notice it. Oh, no, it's got to go up again, you won't even notice it.

There's no incentive for them to cap this behavior, and no way for us as users to pressure them to do so. We create these spaces; we fill them with color, art, activism, community, and the companies that ride on the tailcoat of the spaces we create tell us to give them more. What comes next?

[wifelinkmtg]

man i'm not gonna figure out which of these beatrix potter animals fuck

I'm predicting I will get less and less interested in reviewing new magic releases as time goes on, but 1) there's still a lot of older stuff I haven't even touched, and 2) you never know, maybe they'll do something to recapture my interest down the road, like bringing Kaja Foglio back, or taking any creative risks whatsoever. Or, you know, there's other games!

BY 2029 THIS BLOG WILL EXCLUSIVELY REVIEW THE MOST FUCKABLE ANDROID: NETRUNNER ICE

Meanwhile, original Theros block!

Kiora, the Crashing Wave (Scott M. Fischer)

I don't have that much interest in Kiora as a character but I cannot deny that this is a fine piece of pin-up art. Big Hokusai wave, pearlescent light off her thighs, the cheesecake pose, feet - and the gentle way her hand rests on that tentacle. The connection to the other Hokusai piece everyone knows is surely not accidentacle.

JACKIN OFF? BUDDY LET ME TELL YOU ABOUT KRAKEN OFF

Ashiok, Nightmare Weaver (Karla Ortiz)

There's so many good feet in Magic that you never get to see because Wizards crops them out of the final card, because they're cowards. I, however, am not. You're welcome.

Anyway yeah Ashiok's hot, we all know this already.

Forgeborn Oreads (Ryan Yee)

The starry infusion of Nyx here mixes with the fires of Purphoros to create a look I'm calling Julie Mao if the protomolecule had been red. It's a good look.

Spirit of the Labyrinth (Jason Chan)

Stupid little airhead can't even solve Mommy's brutalist maze, can she?

IS THIS NOT THE PLOT OF REMEDY ENTERTAINMENT'S HIT 2019 ACTION-ADVENTURE GAME CONTROL

Dunno, never played it! If anyone has, let me know if that joke was funny or not!

Reaper of the Wilds (Karl Kopinski)

I guess I do kind of want a woman who can turn me to stone and also crush my petrified ass into powder with her powerful feral serpent body.

Hythonia the Cruel (Chris Rahn)

Goddamn, did Elesh Norn really not have an original thought in her life? "Throne of petrified victims" makes so much more sense for a gorgon tyrant than a cyborg cult priestess, too. Anyway this ain't about her, this is about Hythonia turning me to stone and then sitting on me. Look how her snake-hair entwines her victims bodies. It would be like sleep paralysis, but sexy and forever!

Pharika, God of Affliction (Peter Mohrbacher)

O, for the limb-loosening fever, the delirium of the god-touched! O, for the venom-rite and the sharp ecstasy of the serpent-kiss! O, to be obliterated by a rolling wall of scale and snakeflesh! O O O for Pharika, She of bitter remedy and sweetest poison!

MAN JUST READ SWINBURNE ABOUT IT ALREADY

Ooh, yeah, good idea.

O lips full of lust and of laughter, Curled snakes that are fed from my breast, Bite hard, lest remembrance come after, And—

I WAS OBVIOUSLY KIDDING, DON'T DO THAT SHIT

Aspect of Gorgon (Willian Murai)

The flavor text for this one reads, "My adopted children are loved no less." —Pharika, God of Affliction, so in addition to being an extremely pretty woman with curly black hair-which-is-also-snakes (already a great start), there's a trans metaphor going on here. Which is to say, one can by the grace of Pharika transition to gorgon, and then presumably have a whole lot of T4T gorgon sex. And if I can do all that and also call Pharika "Mommy" then I do think I'm living my best life at that point.

PHARIKA ISN'T RUNNING A SEX CULT

Pharika isn't running a sex cult yet.

[theslvttysimp]

Satan's Ragdoll

NSFW

18+ ONLY

MINORS DNI. DO NOT READ

MINORS WILL BE BLOCKED

~ Reader is female and goes by she/her pronouns.~

TW: Slapping, hair pulling, use of the word "girl", choking, gagging, throwing person, objects being broken, glass shattering, cursing.

((NOT MY ART!! FOUND ON PINTEREST. ARTIST IS @RIKKUCHAN ON INSTAGRAM AND TWITTER! SHOW THEM SOME LOVE!!))

You're chilling in your room doing your potion making schoolwork when you hear glass breaking from the common room. Annoyed, you let out huff as you get up from your bed and make way down the hall. What mess did the brothers get into now? You make your way to the source of the noise and see Satan absolutely obliterating the common room. Vases are flying, couches are flipped over, bricks ripped from the walls, and Mammon, Asmo, and Levi are huddle in a corner in fear. "SATAN!" Lucifer bellows from behind you, body glowing with his purple demon fog. "Shut the fuck up, you scum!" Satan spits as he throws a vase in Lucifer's direction. For the next 20 minuets, Lucifer and Satan are in a screaming match about God knows what as the brothers disperse from the corner and leave silently. You keep your distance near the entry way and wait until the dispute is finished. Satan throws the coffee table across the room and curses Lucifer on his way out. " Satan, are you oka-" you try to ask, reaching a hand to place on his shoulder. Satan cuts you off and turns around, eyes glowing an emerald flame. " Don't even try to follow me, human. Leave me be." He turns and storms to his room.

You slouch slightly at the sudden rejection and turn to Lucifer. " Let him be an emotional wreck on his own. He's not worth your time." Lucifer says disgusted as he picks up the pictures that were knock off the wall.

You head back to your room and try to focus back on your schoolwork. You try will all your might to finish your task but can't get Satan out of your thoughts. He is worth your time, if someone just went and actually tried talking to him, maybe he would be able to express his emotions properly. He needs someone to talk to. He's the only one who has never been graced with an angelic past, he was birthed with the punishment of his sin. Punished just for being born. You close your textbook and slide out your door, hoping you don't catch Lucifer on the way to Satan's room.

You reach Satan's door and politely knock, " Satan? It's MC, may I come in?". Instead of a voice responding, you hear a big crash from behind the door. You take it upon yourself to enter, worried that Satan as now begun to trash his room. You click the door behind you and stay against the wall, watching Satan confirm your suspicion. Book pages are torn all over the floor, towers of books now scattered on the floor, closet door shredded to splinters, and an angry Satan failing to notice the human watching near the doorway. "S-Satan..." you say, trying to get his attention. His head snaps in your direction, causing you to choke on your own breath.

With your back pressed to the wall, Satan strides towards you. His emerald eyes burn with fury, if looks could kill you would have been long gone. He takes his hand and grabs your face, causing your cheeks to smoosh together from the force of his grip. He holds you against the wall with his left hand on your shoulder and his knee in between your legs, closing the space between you two. He leans in closer to your face, through his clenched teeth he shouts, " Didn't I tell you not to follow me?!". You get nervous and try to free your face from the grip of his right hand, just for him to hold your face tighter to make you look at him.

Satan's outbursts made you nervous at times, but you were never truly afraid of him. Even at his worst, you never failed to see the beauty in this misunderstood demon. Even in his wrathful grip, you notice how his golden locks perfectly frame his face, his beautiful deep green eyes and how they shimmer in the dimmest of lights. Though never being an angel, his angelic features make you swoon at the sight of them. With him this close to you, feel a warmth grow in between your legs and a flurry of butterflies in your stomach. "S-Satan, please. You need to calm down." you whisper between your smooshed cheeks.

Thanks to Satan's demon powers, he can smell the arousal pouring off of you. " You find this attractive!? You find this irate, spiteful, heinous demon amusing?!" he shouts as his horns sprout through his hair, transforming into his demon form. He grabs you by your torso and throws you across the room on to his bed, knocking whatever books were left on the sheets on to the floor. You gasp at the landing, arms and legs splayed out on his bed; eyes widen with shock. He lunges on top of you, propping himself up with his hands and knees at the sides of your body and looks down on you. " You foolish human, you need to learn how to listen. When The Avatar of Wrath commands you not to follow, you obey his commands." he says as he caresses your cheek with the back of his hand, contrasting the angry look in his eyes. You lean into his touch, completely captivated by his beauty and gentle stroke. He moves his soft hand from your cheek the suddenly shoots his hand down to your top, ripping your shirt and bra off your body in one go. " You make me so angry at times, you know that MC?" he says in a calm voice as he trails a single finger down between your breast, gliding down your torso to the hem of your pants. You shiver at his touch, biting your lip and breathing deeper. You press your thighs together in suspense. " Sometimes... you make me.... very angry....". He grips the waistband of both your underwear and pants and again, rips the clothing off your body to shreds.

He grabs your throat and squeezes just enough to constrict your breathing. With his other hand, he plants a hard smack across your cheek. Your eyes well up as you fight for air, spreading your legs and getting your slick on his sheets beneath you. With him gripping your throat with his left hand, he takes his right hand between your legs and rams three fingers inside of you, causing you to let out a constricted moan. " You like making me angry, don't you?" he taunts as he begins drilling your pussy with his slender fingers. He drills his fingers inside of you, pressing down on your g spot. You cry out as you squirm in the overstimulating pleasure. Your head becomes dizzy and your vision is faded from your tears.

He lets go of your throat to move his other hand down to your heat, slapping your clit with force as he continues to fuck you with his fingers. You throw your head back and let out an ear-piercing moan, spreading your legs apart and arching your back, pathetically begging for more without saying a single word. The room fills with your pleasured screeches and the wet slapping of your clip against his palm. When satisfied on how abused your pussy looks, he stands up and takes off his clothes. With you laying on your back, he grabs a fistful of your hair and pulls your head to the edge of the bed he's standing next to. With your face turned to his throbbing cock, he slides it down your throat and fucks your face. He bobs your head back and forth by your hair, ignoring your slurpy gags and tears running down your cheeks. Your face is turned to its side so all you can do it looks up at him with glassy eyes and drool dripping out of your mouth, allowing him to use your throat as his personal pocket pussy.

He shoves your face into his pelvis, releasing his hot seed down your throat with a grunt between his teeth. He pulls his dick out of your mouth and pulls you off of his bed by your hair, making you stand up properly. He walks over to his bookshelf that stands about 4 feet tall and pushes all his books off onto the floor. He then gets behind you and with one hard shove, you land on the bookshelf on your stomach and ass in the air. He grabs a fistful of your hair again and with his dick pressed in between your ass cheeks, he leans over and whispers "Why must I abuse you to teach you not to provoke the embodiment of Wrath?". He bites down on your earlobe as he rams his dick into your heat. You gasp as you grip on to the lip of the bookshelf. You hang your head down as your knuckles turn white from gripping the aged wood. His dick is so deep in your guts, you feel it practically punching your lungs. He pulls on to your hair causing your neck to bend backwards as far as it can physically go. Your throat is now exposed, and your eyes are fixed on to Satan behind you. He begins fucking you on the bookshelf with all his force, shoving two fingers down your throat. He presses down on the back of your tongue, enjoying the view of you gaging and drooling while watching your crying eyes lock into his gaze. Despite the force coming from behind you, as well as sensation of being gagged, you arch your back and take all of his dick, enjoying the abuse. " What a good girl you are" he purrs in a breathy groan as he runs his fingers across your tongue. He lets go of your hair, and with both hands, he hooks his fingers inside of your mouth and pulls you closer into his thrusts by the inside of your cheeks. With your mouth forced open, there is no concealing the whimpery moans coming from you. You become weak in the knees and you reach your peak, eyes rolling to the back of your head as drool drips from your mouth and on to his hands. Once you've finished, he pulls out of you as you lay limp on his bookshelf. Satan has returned back to his human form, the fiery glow of wrath now gone from his eyes. He picks you up like a rag doll and carries you to his bed. Now that Satan as successfully released his pent of anger on to your abused pussy, he spends the rest of the night reading to you the soppiest of love stories. Despite his roughness, he's thankful you aren't very good at following commands. He'll remember that next time he tells you not to follow.

[erazonpo3]

I'm a little late to the #webcomicday party but I still thought it'd be fun to break down my process a little bit using the latest Way Out chapter as an example!

So I have a rough outline for the whole comic but I don't go into too much detail planning each story arc until I'm about to get stuck into it. The rough outline is for jotting down ideas as they come along, acting as a skeleton for what will eventually happen, while the more detailed arc outlines are for plotting and pacing the story beats.

Planning each chapter out like this means that each one feels like its own mini-story, and more importantly, stays on track and achieves something to further the story or character progression. You'll notice that the chapter notes are still pretty barebones, which leaves me room to fine tune the smaller beats within the script.

Then, it's scripting time! I'll only have a script for the chapter I'm working on and a script for the next chapter, so as I'm currently working on Chapter 66 I have a script for chapter 66 & 67 but not 68. This is ideal for me in keeping the story flexible, allowing me to take a chapter in a bit of a different direction without feeling tied to a whole arc's worth of scripts that I'll need to rework otherwise.

Around 20 panels is the sweet spot for a chapter of Way Out; there are some with fewer and some with more, but shooting for that number makes me think about whether a scene ought to be extended or cut down in order to meet that goal. If I only plan out 18 panels then I can probably squeeze something extra in, while if I plan out 23 panels, I have a look and see if there isn't anything that can't be condensed.

The scripts themselves are pretty sparse, mostly just dialogue with basic action notes that I highlight as I finish. I'm usually pretty good with visualising things in my mind so the notes are more of a reminder to self about angles & expressions more than anything- if this were a collaborative project I'd probably put more effort into making it descriptive, but it's not.

I've never been one for thumbnailing, which is bad comic practice, I know. But once I have my script I just want to get stuck straight into drawing and don't like slowing down to jot down what is already pretty vivid in my head when I can just. draw the thing.

(a large part of why I started my first webcomic in the vertical format is because you don't need to consider variety in panelling and page flow, which is something thumbnails are very important for).

And so the sketching begins! My sketches are rarely pretty with little focus on anatomy and shape and more focus on blocking and size. I use Procreate to draw the panels and its resizing tool has a tendency to obliterate the quality, which I can sharpen in small amounts but it saves a lot of pain if I plan it all out in the ugly stage.

In some ways I often prefer the sketches to the clean lineart, but that's mostly the stylistic scratchy-ness of it that I have to do away with in favour of clean lines. I'm not always super proud of the art in the end but not every panel needs to be a masterpiece and it's all practice. I think a quantity over quality approach is kind of necessary if you want to make a comic and not lose your mind.

I sharpen up and clean any spots up as I go, but once they're all done I glue all the panels together on my desktop so that I can adjust the spacing between them, then I cut them back up again into smaller slices for posting! And that's the whole chapter process!

I also have a quick (and by quick I mean 4 minute) rough timelapse of chapter 65's coloured panel I can post, if anyone would be interested in seeing that, but it'll probably need to be its own post bc it'll crash this one.

[grandhotelabyss]

What are the benefits of using substack compared to other blogging/social media sites? Just the possibility of monetization or something else too like the potential audience or the feeling of it being more "propper and official"?

I don't want to be crass, but the possibility of monetization Substack offers is considerable compared to everything except maybe OnlyFans (I wouldn't know!). I wrote on Wordpress for a decade and by the end was making about $100 per year from ads and the (very) occasional PayPal donation. I've been on Substack for two years, and it's now covering over a third of my annual rent. This the first time in my life I've ever made anything like real money from writing. Do you know how hard it is to make real money from writing in America?

Speaking of Wordpress, I think the changes they made a few years ago to their interface is an under-discussed factor in the rise of Substack. They switched over to something called "block editing," which has proved in my experience to be very non-intuitive and distracting. I ended up having to write all my posts in HTML. Substack's interface is much smoother: essentially what you see in the drafting process is exactly what you get in the final post. They also make it easy to add media, from audio to visuals to pdfs, and I think they do video now too.

The built-in audience is definitely attractive. I will admit it can also be a trap. I like the political heterogeneity, now that everybody is on there, from Roxane Gay to Slavoj Žižek to Curtis Yarvin, but the center of gravity still feels kind of "centrist" and, for lack of a better term, "middle-aged," as in, "people who outgrew their youthful folly and became moderate liberals." (Maybe I'm just in denial that this is also what's happened to me.) Still, if you let this kind of moderation seep too much into literary writing it creates a complacency and self-congratulation that is the enemy of art's necessary vigor.

My own Substack audience appears to be ideologically mixed in the extreme. (I can tell because I see what people who subscribe to me also subscribe to.) This is a proof of my own theory that art and literature can unite the polis when politics cannot. But it's also unsettling, since it sometimes causes me to have to battle the left, the right, and the center all at once in my head when I'm trying to write something.

Aside from the money, the ease of composition, and the post-woke politics, though, what Substack really offers, especially to writers of a certain age, is a paradisal restoration of the pre-social-media internet, the circa-2005 internet of blogging, a kind of neo-Enlightenment coffee-house culture of the digital, when it seemed like this medium of communication was going to augment and extend serious literacy rather than obliterating it in a haze of 30-second ephemera.

I don't know if that answers your question, but those are my thoughts on Substack!

[jasmineway]

Providence // 6-20-2023

This is my favorite restaurant in LA, and quite possibly my favorite restaurant to revisit. As such, I will spare you the prose, and leave with you the visual story, indulged as part two of an unbelievably thoughtful present commemorating my graduation.

Ambiance:

Providence is an understated, yet richly luxurious dining experience. You will not find mahogany. The space is a modern LA bungalow, easily missed if not for a subtle entryway around the block from valet. While the team will be dressed Formal you can expect diners ranging from elegance to leisurewear, yet no ones experience is dampened in the slightest as the service gives the space and ease to match the diners' energy.

They recently reopened after a refresh that just as much gives "modern art aquarium" as it does "Incredibles-Metal-Balloon-Escape-Sequence," and yet it incredibly works, and avoids the easily overtly-brutalist concrete box feeling.

Teal velvet cradles the diners back with a marine respite from the minimalist tones. The lighting is not the easiest on people's faces for photography, but absolutely perfect for filtering the room.

Supplements:

They have wine pairings, A5, and truffle options.

We opted to skip the truffle, mainly due to a personal sense that truffle is frankly overused in fine dining. I should say, it has been over-represented to my palette. Certainly, this is because if you like truffle, you Like truffle—and want to indulge.

My feelings on it is that truffles are very much like Thor — he works best as a character that is sprinkled into his movies, timed right for maximum impact (Ragnarok was certainly a Hela movie). Too much, and it becomes overwhelming. I want movies featuring Thor, and dishes featuring truffle.

All too often you get All Truffle and then it overpowers the dish it is showcased in. I have had one too many Truffle-featuring pastas that obliterated the other flavors.

Pre-Seating Mocktail: my favorite, cranberry mint bubbly

Amuse Bouche: miscellaneous delicious things

I'm going to defer to my post on Jeune et Jolie // 3-30-2024 for my thoughts on fine dining's obsession withthe casual-snack-but-gourmet opener, but 'cheez it' aside the meal kicked off with art at no less a standard that I've come to know and love. The honeycombing, the perfect petals, and the unironically-delivered spritz of flavor a la vintage perfume bottle are all you need to see to know what kind of evening you are in for.

Course 1: One Potato, Two Potato

"golden kaluga caviar, garden herbs"

Resisting harping on the eternal Alina callback, this was respite; we were permitted to enjoy however we liked, and it was delicious.

Course 2: Shima Aji*

"armenian cucumber, basil from our garden"

My dining companion reports this was delicious. I however, was not in the mood to flirt with mortal peril, and thus was met mysteriously by a large pan of crystals that would soon be revealed to be incredibly hot salt in which fresh prawns were currently being cooked (though I pray, not alive).

While I don't love eating a thing while its face looks up at me (a commonality, I suspect, with my pescatarian colleague), I accept this meta commentary of my role in the food chain as a small price for the wild luxury of having a man in suit prepare a special dish tableside.

Course 3: Uni

"white asparagus, salted egg yolk"

I hate uni. It always feels like a human tongue. I liked this uni.

Course 3.5: Bread Course

Ah, red fife sourdough. Where would we be without a mission-driven carbohydrate resurrected through love and investment in local grains.

Course 4: Halibut

"clam bouillon, grilled fava bean"

Providence is known for their seafood and not one plate let us down. I particularly loved the diningware, which thankfully was heavy in the use of Actual Plates and also came with utensil holders that tickled our table. I love the design choices here - rather than Pollack with sauces, the food is served clean, while decorative elements baked into stone look painted with the ocean itself.

Course 5: Santa Barbara Vermilion Rockfish

"morel, sorrel, miner's lettuce"

Crisp. Light. No notes.

Course 6: A5 Wagyu

"charred eggplant, spring garlic confit, jus de boeuf"

I stand by the controversial opinion that the best* wagyu I have ever had was at Providence, a seafood restaurant of all places. This remains true even with 2023. Unlike many places who make wagyu a hyperbole, mixed into ground meats or flavored into nothing, the chefs here take care to allow the standout sear to remain the star, served with merely accents in a constellation of flavors. My far my favorite part of the meal despite not a single poor serving preceding it.

*best tied with the larger portion I ordered at Cut Beverly Hills, where my server, coincidentally a former Providence host, informed me that they curate the same cut of beef from the exact same supplier

Course 7: Desserts

peach, almond, shiso was served with house-made hawaiian dark chocolate (coconut, indonesian long pepper) and I'd elected for a light tea as we made our way through the additional plate of petit-fours. The artistry in the chocolate course was magnificent, and I counted at least five preparations in that one plate alone.

Overall Impression:

I have no hesitation; this is my favorite LA restaurant. I come anytime I can. I suggest you do too, even if you are not at heart a seafood lover.

I cannot be grateful enough for the magical evenings I have been blessed to enjoy.

[shinrakotls]

#SAKAMOTODAYS150leaks

"Bully"

{This week we got THREE double-spread pgs!! Thank you Suzuki!}

{I thought we're on break this week so I didn't know leaks are still coming. Sorry I'm late.}

Pg.1

News Anchorman: A huge explosion occurred moments ago at the front of Okutabi Art Museum. It is believed to be a helicopter crash and investigations are still ongoing. According to officials, all access to the building have been restriced since 2:00 PM... Shin: What was that sound?! Sakamoto (thinking): Could it be..? Officials: UOOHHHH!!!! KILL THEM! KILL THEM!! SHOOT THEM DEAD!!!! *Kumanomi raises up her right hand <- the one with replacement cyborg hand*

Pg.2

*Kumanomi uses her magnetic powers to attract & crush the pipes in the ceilings & slam them down onto the security officials*

Pg.3

*Haruma kicks a security official in the face, sending him flying into several others in the back, obliterating some of them in half! T.T* Haruma: Alright!

Pg.4 & 5 (double spread)

*Carolina Reaper inhales deeply and exhales a huge fire out of his lungs!!* {Dragon breath, I see..*} Officials, panicking: Tch!! They're all monsters!!!

Pg.6

Haruma: According to Muto-san, the Chairman is over at the Special Collection warehouse right now. Kumanomi: So he's in the basement..? I'm worried Gaku might end up getting lost. Carolina: FUCK! I burned my mouth!! *Carolina gulps down water* *Suddenly a hand just punched through the wall and grabbed Haruma in a choke-hold* Haruma, surprised: Hm?!

Pg.7

*It's revealed to be Shishiba inside the adjacent room! Beast! T.T* *Shishiba dragged Haruma through the broken wall as Kumanomi stood watching!*

Pg.8

*Shishiba is pinning down Haruma & he's about to swing down his hammer when Kumanomi activates her power and pulled the hammer to her* Shishiba: ! *Small panel shows Shishiba has a slight smirk on his face*

Pg.9

Haruma: Kumanomi, that one's a fake! Kumanomi: Tch. Shishiba: Why would you even blindly pull in (attract) anything you see? This is why weapons are better if they're just simple.

Pg.10

Shishiba: Huh? *Haruma suddenly grabs Shishiba by his shirt and threw him off. All that while sitting down T.T* Shishiba: !! Shishiba (thinking): That big fellow is as strong as Hyo. Shishiba: Don't touch me with your dirty hands. This suit ain't cheap, unlike what you're wearing. Haruma: All these people lack manners. The first thing to do before you fight and kill someone is to give proper introductions. Kumanomi: So the Order members are just a bunch of bullies after all, huh.

Pg.11

Nagumo: Hey... Isn't Slur coming? Gaku (thinking): Huh..? It's not that old gramps... Gaku: ........ Nagumo: Why do you look so disappointed? Nagumo (small text): How mean! Nagumo: It seems like we're not each other's target. So why not we say that you and I never saw each other here? Gaku: Sounds good. *Both Nagumo and Gaku turn around to walk away from each other* Nagumo: Later~

Pg.12 & 13 (double spread)

*Both of them suddenly attack each other. Gaku uses his weapon while Nagumo blocks his attack with his weapon case.* Nagumo: You're such a liar. Gaku: Look who's talking. *Gaku starts firing up his weapon*

Pg.14 & 15 (double spread)

*Nagumo jumps backward as Gaku fires off his weapon. Then as Nagumo is sliding back, Gaku suddenly sneaks behind him ready to swing his weapon* Nagumo: ! *Gaku swings and slams Nagumo into the wall thru the other side of the room. Nagumo hits another wall at the end of that room.*

Pg.16

*As Gaku approaches Nagumo, suddenly his shoulder gets sliced by a spinning blade or something.. But bro seems unfazed at all!* Gaku: ! *Nagumo stands with two blades and it looks like he has suffered a bit of damage. Just a bit though.* Nagumo: Say.. Between you and Slur, who's stronger?

Pg.17

*Both charge in to attack each other* Gaku (monologue): This guy... Strength-wise, I got the upper hand.. But we're pretty even in terms of speed. Still, I ain't got time to dawdle here.

Pg.18

*Nagumo suddenly charge in fast & attack Gaku* Gaku (thinking): He's really kicked up a notch! Whatever, I can still keep up. I can clearly follow through his attac- *Nagumo suddenly throws his dice and Gaku saw that* Gaku: Crap...

Pg.19

*But too late, Nagumo already slashed Gaku!* Nagumo: Huh? Did you see something..? *Close-up panel of Gaku's eyes just staring, annoyed, at Nagumo*

[satans-codpiece]

EEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeEeee I'm happ you like it👉👈As for me not posting publicly it's... complicated??? It's not that I think I'm godawful at art, I'm admittedly embarrassed when it comes to posting smut but not THAT much, it's more like.... poor experiences? This isn't my first rodeo in the OW fandom, and last time I was here... I felt so... judged I guess? I really didn't like this one thing fandom at large was doing (deleting their entire personality, essentially), and thus felt... out of place. I didn't admit my "unpopular opinion" but still felt subtle shade from other creators, despite making A LOT of art at the time. It ended in such a dumpster fire I straight up HATE the hero I was obsessed with AAAAND all the art I've made of them. It's been 5 years, I've learned to... at least tolerate that character, but still hate my own produce. I'm not the type to despise my old works no matter how bad they are on a technical level (yay look how much I've grown!) but I cannot bring myself to open that FUCKING 2018 folder.

So I'm kind of in this awkward limbo when I want to create for Ram's fandom but not really? I don't want that fiasco to repeat again... Combine that with me not posting anything for over half a year because art block, kinda getting... out of the loop of posting. Yeaaaaah I'm a mess. ANYWAY EXCUSE MY WEIRD EMOTIONAL DUMPING-

ASDFGHJKL I'M SORRY FOR SCARING YOU WITH A POTENTIAL VIRUS-

ALSO LMAO- Now I'm EXTRA looking forward to Eleven Years... like you, I too n e e d to obliterate his wires LOL

NO I TOTALLY UNDERSTAND THAT!! I've had a lot of shitty experiences with fandom- Overwatch's fanbase was second only to Star Wars in Shittiness of the fandom- and I think that's because I was actively posting for SW and more existing in OVW spaces :/

It really hasn't gotten better, just the worst of the nonsense has moved to twitter (imo). There's still weirdos on tumblr but I block Aggressively <3

And don't get your hopes up too much ;v; There's not a lot of wireplay, it's more that Reader attempts to reciprocate something nice... but is interrupted for Reasons :3c

[a-samwich]

Hope you don’t mind @ninjasmudge but I got some writing inspiration from your insanely cool art of Bone King’s Kaiju and wanted to share it!

Something had gone horribly, terribly wrong. Dropping the mountain on top of the Bone King should have worked- it had worked on so many other powerful demons that it should have been no different this time in order to restrain their frankly extremely overpowered opponent. They were proven wrong a moment later when a roar of fury rose from beneath the mountain right before everything exploded. 

A groan of pain left MK as he pushed himself up into a sitting position, the ground torn up to literal pieces around him from where he had been violently thrown through the air from a literal mountain exploding right in front of him. And now, looking around, it wasn’t just the mountain that had been destroyed. The entire mountain range was obliterated, the surrounding area torn apart so horribly that you could barely tell what the countryside used to look like. And besides MK, the whole place was devoid of life. 

A rumble of thunder rolled through the sky, followed by a flash of lightning as MK forced himself to his feet, one arm wrapped uneasily around his side as rain began to fall from the sky onto the ruined scenery. Trying to ignore the sudden chill as the rain soaked into his clothes, MK squinted against the droplets as he looked around in hopes that he could spot at least one of his friends that he had been separated from in the explosion. 

Seeing as they were nowhere in sight, MK took a step forward, opening his mouth to call out for them when another crack of thunder and lightning flashed over the sky- and with it, the shadow that loomed over the destroyed valley. Anything that MK had planned to yell dying right at that very moment.

Growing still as horror started to crawl up his throat, MK realized that the chill he felt wasn’t from the rain at all, but rather the mist that had started to creep unknowingly against the ground, curling around his ankles and twisting up his legs. Slowly turning, MK gaze went up and up at the most terrifying thing he has ever seen in his life. 

What could only be the kaiju version of Bone King stood over the valley like something out of a nightmare, claws digging into the ruined remains of a mountain as they stared ahead with bright red, sunken-in eyes as their entire form seemed to be wreathed in fog that clung to the skeletal armor they wore. 

MK remained where he was, staring with wide, horrified eyes as the Bone King opened their mouth, blue magic cascading from their fangs like a liquid fire and mixing into the rain as the kaiju rumbled, “C̶̩͊o̵̯̚m̸̤̈́e̶͆ͅ ̵̘̌o̵̒͜u̶̜͠t̴̜͝ ̴̙̂o̵͖̚r̴͆ͅ ̸̱̑I̵̟̔ ̸̘̌w̸̘̽i̸͚̎l̷̥͒l̶͙͝ ̵̺̃h̸̼̃a̴̧̕v̸̟̍ẹ̶̏ ̴̦͝t̶̪͝o̵͚͝ ̶̉ͅf̸̱͒i̶̱͝n̴̬̕d̵̳̓ ̴̫̕ỷ̵̫o̴̼͛u̸̜͠.”

MK took a wobbly step back, his bones practically rattling from the sound of the other’s voice, wondering who on earth Bone King could be looking for-

“Q̴̫͝Ì̶̬ ̷͇̒Q̷̛̗I̵̬̚Ä̵̜́O̸͓̚T̵͉͊Ą̶̒I̶̖͗Ṋ̵̌.”

Oh, MK thought faintly, they’re looking for me. 

Stumbling back with new found fear of what would happen if Bone King spotted him, MK barely had time to scurry behind one of the few standing trees as the red, furious gaze of the kaiju turned towards where he had been standing just moments ago, eyes lingering briefly as blue magic dripped from their sockets before turning in a different direction, once again demanding for MK to reveal himself. 

Letting out a shaky breath, MK moved to take a step back to start running, when his heel stepped harshly down on a stick, the piece of wood snapping sharply from the sudden pressure. 

The sound shouldn’t have made a difference, the roar of the storm and the thunderous movements of the Bone King should have blocked it, but the moment MK had stepped down on the stick, the kaiju’s eyes instantly snapped towards the noise, connecting with MK’s own shocked ones. 

At the sight of MK, Bone King opened their mouth and roared, jolting MK out of his frozen state of terror and sending him booking it as far away as he could from the furious kaiju that had once possibly been his mentor. Feet slipping against the damp and torn up ground, MK ran as hard as he could, muscles already burning from the abuse of having been caught in an explosion and now being used to run for his life. The ground shook beneath him, and MK glanced briefly behind him, and instantly paled at the sight.

The massive size of the Bone King’s kaiju size did nothing to deter their movements, the slow pace easily eliminated simply by the fact that any distance MK got by running, Bone King could easily make the same distance by taking a single step. And they were getting closer every step they took.

Letting out a gasp of alarm as the Bone King suddenly swiped a hand down at MK- intent to either swat or grab at the other- MK scrambled out of the way, almost falling flat on his face at the force of the winds caused by the motion, and spun around a large outcrop of rocks in an aborted attempt to hide-

-only for a yelp to leave him as shadows erupted underneath his feet, causing MK to sink through them with no time to react. He was spat out a moment later, stumbling a bit as he landed back on solid ground as a hand grabbed onto his shoulder and stabilized him. Startling in surprise at the sudden contact, MK’s head whipped up to see the very last person he expected to see. 

“Macaq-” MK’s exclamation was cut off by a hand pressed quickly over his mouth, the hand on his shoulder moving as Macaque placed a finger over his mouth in a ‘hush’ gesture, alarm flashing momentarily in his eyes. MK didn’t need to be told twice as thundering footsteps sounded nearby. 

At the noise that sounded right outside of the small indention in one of the mountains that the two were currently in, Macaque practically pushed MK to the very back before moving himself in front of the human, arm held out protectively over him as mist began to crawl towards them like an incoming plague of doom intent to choke the life out of them. The two held their breath as the movements outside grew louder, stopping just as the form of the Bone King slid into view. 

From where MK was standing, tucked behind Macaque, he could just barely see what appeared to be the kaiju’s shoulder and the lower end of their jawbone. They stared in mute terror as the Bone King’s jaw lowered in a heavy breath, even more mist and magic billowing out and tugging at the other two’s clothing. 

“Ỹ̷̻o̷̼͠ü̵̮ ̴̜́c̴̜͠a̸̮͌n̴̉͜'̷̟̋t̷͕̅ ̴̠̔r̸̹̓û̵̲n̴̙̄ ̶̤͘f̷͂ͅo̴̩͛r̷̝̓e̸̮͆v̴̺̾ȇ̴̱r̷̢̾,” they warned with a snarl, sending goosebumps up MK’s skin as he ducked his head and squeezed his eyes tight, hand darting out and grabbing a hold of the back of Macaque’s scarf in an attempt at some sort of comfort in the situation.

Another beat passed, the Bone King looking around again with piercing eyes, before they moved onward, taking the chilling mist with them. Still, Macaque remained unmoving from his position in front of MK for several seconds, worried that any sound or movement would have the kaiju turning right back towards them and dooming any chance of Macaque hiding the fact that he was assisting MK with escaping. 

Once it seemed unlikely, a small sigh left Macaque as he dropped his arm and turned around to face MK, who still looked shaken at the near miss with the Bone King, but not quiet shaken enough as he was able to turn his focus to Macaque with a confused frown. 

Macaque met the frown with a tense smile, leaning back as casually as he could as he greeted his possibly one and only hope at getting rid of the Bone King and freeing himself. 

“Hey kid, it’s been a while.”

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

This is the Beat of My Heart

happy very early birthday to @jaskierswolf​! have some soulmates.

new soulmate mechanic: you can hear your beloved’s heartbeat whenever you feel frightened

art by the always-talented @mawbwehownets​

tw: mentions of the Trials, canon typical violence but it’s just the cave scene from Posada/Four Marks, minor emotional Geralt whump (self loathing witcher feelings), hurt/comfort with a very fluffy ending

---

Geralt’s fingers curl painfully into the tops of his legs. He’s trying to hold himself down against the rough-hewn seat of the tavern bench with all his mighty strength; there’s an irritating sound filling the small room that has activated his fight or flight response, and he can’t do either without drawing suspicion from the already antsy villagers. The haunting rhythm echoes through him, a soft but insistent thud thud thud that floods his senses and soothes his aching head. The sound is more familiar to the witcher than his own gruff voice. More familiar than his brothers’ voices, or Vesemir’s. This staccato beat has marked out every terrifying moment in the witcher’s long life.

The sound that pounds against Geralt’s ears is his soulmate’s heartbeat.

The poor, ignorant fool he’s meant to match in every way is wandering around this shit-hole tavern in Posada, totally unaware of the sad, unsavory fate that Destiny has bestowed upon them. Geralt never thought this day would come, really. Being bound to a witcher was bad enough but being in the same room with one, feeling the subtle pull of forces far beyond your control meddling with your life… drawing you towards danger and death...

It will be better for both of us if I leave as soon as possible, Geralt thinks to himself. He takes a quick inventory of his purse and swords and finds them all accounted for. At least I can spare them the tragic end they’d no doubt meet at a witcher’s side. They would likely hate me if I ever sought them out.

They must be terrified of him, whichever one of these people Destiny has saddled with the other half of Geralt’s soul. They’ve heard his heartbeat, too, in their moments of fear. As well as Geralt knows his soulmate’s giddy, fluttering pulse pattern, they have lived with his slow mutant heartbeat in return. Were they even more frightened when they heard how slow it was? Did the connection serve its purpose, calming them down and reassuring them of his presence, or had it made things worse, elevated their level of terror? How cruel it was for Destiny to chain this person to a living firebrand, to create them to be the perfect other half for someone who’s no more than a monster.

That heartbeat, vibrant and steadfast, is what had kept Geralt alive and fighting for survival during the worst of his Trials. When the poisons and tinctures and potions had crawled through his veins, turning them from black to red to black again and twisting his body into something other, that glorious beating had been there for him. The sound of his soulmate’s fragile mortal heart had measured out the seconds, giving him something to cling onto. That heartbeat had given Geralt something to love. To hope for in his worst moments. When they had dragged him back into those dark, musty rooms, seventeen and screaming with what little was left of his voice, all Geralt could do was pray for his future soulmate’s heartbeat to return to him. To comfort him.

In the relentless pain and terror of those added experiments, Geralt had kept that sound buried deep within his very being, like a candle in the center of a pitch-black room. Even when they said the Trials would take his emotions from him, that the additional testing would obliterate his humanity entirely, the sound of a stranger’s heartbeat never failed to stir the strongest feelings of love and safety he’d ever known.

Can ever know, perhaps.

Regardless of what might have been in another lifetime, Geralt keeps his fingers clenched and his muscles taut. He focuses all his energy on keeping himself sitting. He would have been content to stay there in the corner, his eyes trained on the grain of the worn wooden table before him, ignoring Destiny’s desires entirely… except…

Except for the damned bard. The novice bard swans his way over to the witcher’s corner table, lashes fluttering and face flushed. Geralt catches a faint whiff of arousal and writes it off as a boyish reaction to the rush of performing. The young brunette opens his mouth and the sweetest voice Geralt has ever heard playfully says: “I love the way you just… sit in the corner and brood.”

“I’m here to drink alone,” the witcher grunts. He can practically feel his fingernails biting through the leather of his gloves. The heartbeat is louder now, closer, and it’s driving Geralt mad.

“Good,” the bard nods, still leaning against a support beam. “Yeah, good. Nobody else hesitated to comment on the quality of my performance except-” he takes a slow step forward “-for you.”

The bard is probably barely old enough to order his own vodka, and the bright, sparkling blue of his eyes makes the deeper blue of his doublet look incredibly washed out. Geralt tries to keep his face impassive, rolling his eyes and remaining silent. He’s still thinking about his soulmate… trying to block out the rapid thrumming of their all-too-human heart.

“C’mon,” the brunette urges. “You don’t want to keep a man with… bread in his pants waiting. You must have some review for me; three words or less!”

Geralt hears his soulmate’s heartbeat growing louder, more irregular and more excited, regardless of his efforts to ignore the hurried drumming. The scent of happiness grows thick and hazy in the air as the bard continues to grin and Geralt realizes, with a tiny jolt of horror, that the origin of the life-altering sound is sitting directly across from him. Geralt matches the rabbit-quick jumps at the junctures of the bard’s wrists to the soft rhythm thumping at the back of his head and finds them to be a perfect match.

It’s you, the witcher thinks, eyes widening slightly against his will. He takes a moment to tamp down his more obvious emotions, trying desperately keeping his expression neutral and under control. The bard is the one whose heartbeat kept me breathing in my very worst moments. Kept me fighting. Kept me…

Geralt suddenly remembers that he needs to answer a question: “They don’t exist.”

“What don’t exist?” the bard asks, eyebrows furrowing. The expression is halfway between a pout and an offended grimace, which infuriatingly verges on being adorable. Geralt’s heart lurches traitorously in his chest. He has never known such horrible yearning in all his many decades on the Path.

“The creatures in your song.”

“Why would you know?” the bard scoffs. Geralt prepares to stand, finally releasing his death-grip on his own legs. His fingers and palms are cramped and tight from holding himself still for so long; the bard is really testing his patience. The witcher is less than two seconds away from revealing the big secret and ruining both of their lives when the young man continues, eyes shining, “Ooooh, fun! White hair, big old loner, two very very scary looking swords…”

Geralt stands from the table and collects his purse.

The bard glances up at him, blue eyes wondrously wide and cheeks flushed pink.

“I know who you are,” he practically breathes. He stands, following Geralt halfway out the door. “You’re the Witcher, Geralt of Rivia!”

Geralt’s fists clench again. The retraction of his muscles keeps him from grabbing the foolish human by the collar and dragging him from the room for a proper chat about manners and soulmates. Thankfully. As the disoriented witcher hurries from the tavern’s main room, he hears the bard shouting after him: “Called it!”

---

Geralt snaps back into consciousness with a grunt. As frustration and fear weave themselves into a web of anxiety at the center of his chest, that soft thud thud thudding fills his ears. It soothes him and helps him focus; he is in a cave, it is midday or a little past, and the bard, Jaskier apparently, has been bound against him, back-to-back. He tugs at the ropes that bind their wrists again but it does no good. Behind him, the bard says quietly: “This is the part where we escape.”

Geralt fears for his soulmate’s wellbeing more than his own. He’s technically responsible for this stupid, fragile person who refused to stay behind despite his warnings. He lowers his voice, “This is the part where they kill us.”

“Unfortunate,” the bard sighs. The witcher listens, confused and a bit shocked, as Jaskier slowly starts to even out his breathing by matching his inhales and exhales to Geralt’s slow, methodical heartbeat.

“How can you hear it?” he asks without thinking.

“Hear what?” Jaskier replies, whispering.

“Your breathing,” Geralt says, as if it’s obvious. “You’re matching it to my… to my heartbeat. You don’t have a witcher’s enhanced hearing so how are you matching the rhythm so perfectly?”

“I was matching it to-”

Their conversation ends abruptly as an angry elven woman storms into the cave. She kicks at them furiously, spitting in the Elder tongue, “Beast!”

“Quick, Geralt!” the bard urges, “Do your witchering!”

“Shut up!”

“No!”

The woman doles out more swift kicks to the chest. One for Geralt and one for Jaskier. More muttering in Elder, insults that even the bard manages to understand and toss around. Geralt grimaces as he’s beaten by Toruviel and hears the thudding even louder than before. The witcher smiles when he notices that he can feel Jaskier’s heartbeat against his back, pulsing through the thin material of the bard’s light woolen doublet. It’s so much more intense, close up like this.

“Leave off! He’s just a bard.”

He’s so much more than that, Geralt’s own thoughts remind him. He’s everything to you.

A wave of urgent protectiveness swells within him and Geralt diverts the attention of the Elf King away from the foolish human, whose mouth has run away with him. Eventually Filavandrel tires of their chatter and pulls his short blade. The Silvan rushes forward, arms outstretched to stop his sovereign, “Wait!”

“Torque! Stand aside!”

“The witcher could have killed me,” Torque rushes to explain. “But he didn’t. He’s different, like us!”

Geralt watches with mild trepidation as the battle-hardened King pushes his subject aside, fury blazing in his clear blue eyes. He understands that this may be his final day alive. He wishes that Jaskier would have listened before and stayed at the tavern below. He wishes, with what may be his final moments alive, that Jaskier were safe and not bound to him this way. Literally and figuratively.

“If you must kill me, I am ready,” Geralt intones. “But the Sylvan is right… don’t call me human.”

The witcher tilts his head back, eyes open but unseeing, his entire being focused on the feeling of Jaskier’s racing heartbeat thudding against the back of his leather armor. The killing blow never comes. Instead, Filavandrel cuts the ropes that bind their wrists; Geralt ignores his initial instinct to check Jaskier for injuries and instead ushers the bard onto his feet and towards the mouth of the cave. “Wait!”

The witcher freezes in his tracks and glances back over his shoulder. Filavandrel holds out a gorgeously crafted lute with a beautiful gold design painted across the front. “My apologies for the loss of your instrument.”

“Your Majesty,” Jaskier gasps. “I couldn’t. You’ve already lost so much.”

“Then promise me to do right by him,” the elf nods at Geralt. “And consider it payment.”

“I swear it,” Jaskier nods, tone serious and face grim. Filavandrel lets his eyes flicker between the two unlikely companions and Geralt prays that the Elf won’t say anything out loud, if he indeed understands the bond between them.

“Be on your way, then, before I change my mind.”

Filavandrel winks conspiratorially and disappears back into the shadow of the caves. Jaskier pulls the lute strap over his shoulder and beckons for Geralt to follow him. “Your horse is probably worried.”

---

It takes nearly six months for Geralt to break down and tell Jaskier the truth about their seemingly uncanny partnership. If it weren’t for the rapid approach of harsher winter weather, he probably never would have said anything at all.

But on one particularly frosty evening, two weeks after Samhain, the witcher sits Jaskier down beside their fire and tries to remember how to speak from his heart. The bard is patient, warming his hands over the flames and waiting for Geralt to gather his words. Jaskier has never rushed him, and for that Geralt is eternally grateful. Taking a hint from his companion’s hunched shoulders, Jaskier speaks first. “What’s on your mind, my dearest White Wolf?”

“I… I have to tell you something and I don’t want you to be angry.”

“Did you spill ink on my new doublet?” Jaskier teases. “Because if you have, I promise to be very cross with you.”

“Hmm,” Geralt half-smiles. He’s terrified, and he can hear Jaskier’s heartbeat surrounding him from all sides. “No, I’m afraid it’s more complicated than replacing a doublet.”

“Oh, is this about us being soulmates?”

Geralt’s eyes snap up to meet Jaskier’s and his mouth drops open. “Wha-? When did you- When di-”

“You said it in your sleep maybe two weeks after we first met,” Jaskier explains quietly, like he’s the one who’s been holding back a secret all this time. He blushes furiously as he tries to apologize and extrapolate all at once, “I thought you were just muttering to yourself, really, or I would have woken you up! I swear! You were just…”

Now it’s Geralt’s turn to wait as Jaskier fumbles to speak.

“You hadn’t been resting well and I didn’t want to wake you up. You looked so happy and content that night, with your hair all loose and the moon so bright…” he shakes his head and giggles nervously, “Anyway, not important. You rolled over and reached for me. You chuckled a little between snores and said A bard for a soulmate, how lovely. It sounded happy, when you said it like that.”

“Was that… the only time?”

“No,” Jaskier smiles. He pulls his knees against his chest and rests his chin atop them, “You reach for me all the time in your dreams. Sometimes you say my name or call me soulmate or beloved. It’s rather sweet and I-” tears brim in his eyes and Geralt’s heart skips a beat “-I know that witchers don’t feel things the same way humans do. I didn’t want to get my hopes up and then-”

“I love you,” Geralt says. He takes Jaskier by the hands before he can stop himself and pulls the pale knuckles against his lips for a soft kiss. “You… You have saved my life so many times.”

“Geralt!”

“I mean it,” the witcher nods. “I know that the Path is treacherous, and I wouldn’t ask you to join me on it and risk your life, but I do love you and care about you. Ever since I was young I have marked my steps by the beat of your heart. I would be happy continuing to do so, whether or not you accept me in return.”

“Oh, Geralt,” Jaskier sob-laughs, flinging himself into the witcher’s embrace. Geralt falls backward, shocked, his arms full of emotional bard. His face is peppered with kisses between hurried words: “I love you, too! I thought you didn’t want me that way. I thought it was just… a witcher mutation thing.”

“Come with me to Kaer Morhen for the winter, Julek. You can learn more about my kind; you can meet my brothers and the old swordmaster for the Wolf School, my adopted father of sorts. We’ll protect you and I-” Geralt clears his throat. “I will hold you every night in my arms, if you so desire.”

“I would like it very much if you were to hold me,” Jaskier grins. “And of course I'll come with you to your witchery keep for the cold months, dear heart. I’ll never part from your side again.”

Geralt presses a firm kiss to Jaskier's forehead, their heartbeats echoing faintly in the witcher's trained ears. Something in his chest settles into place, contented at last. He presses another, even gentler kiss to the bard's chapped lips and feels his heart swell when Jaskier smiles into it. He breathes out his promise as they pull apart, "Never."

[meruz]

Hey I can't find this in your FAQ so sorry if it's been asked before! Your traditional art is so stunning and vibrant, would you happen to have any brand recommendations for people trying to get into painting? Maybe specific gouche paint, brushes, papers etc. Thank you so much and have a nice day!

no one has ever asked me this before because this is like the first time ive started putting traditional art on my blog! LOL umm to be honest I’m very far from pro on this front, most of my knowledge comes from a handful of classes I didn’t pay a lot of attention to and lots of youtube videos but here’s my recommendations:

Paint

A lot of my paints are winsor newton designer’s gouache because this is what my teachers made me buy when I was a freshman at art school LOL. it’s definitely kind of pricey, I think it’s like $10.99 for a tube which I was NOT a fan of as a college student and is still not my favorite thing now. But they’re overall worth the price if you really want solid, high quality opaque paints. Though I’ve heard their student grade winton paints are decent as well?

I’ve heard less good things about brands like reeves and artist loft... but I think turner is alright? m.graham is supposedly great.

I also bought a set of holbein acryla gouache when it was discounted on amazon a while ago and have found it very solid. One thing you have to know about acryla gouache is that it uses a binder more like acrylic paint (hence the name acryla). Paints are made out of pigment + binder and most gouache is essentially watercolor but with extra pigment/chalk to make it opaque - the binder is water soluble so these paints can be reactivated with water. Acryla gouache is NOT water soluble when dry and it dries pretty fast so it’s overall less flexible. But other than that you can pretty much treat it like any other gouache and I find they keep a little better too, less likely to get gunky or stiff.

All paint brands have a handful of starter packs which are slightly discounted but if you want to build your own starting palette I’d say get a warm and cool tint of all the primaries, get a lot of white (working with gouache somehow involves a lot of mixing with white lol), and get a brown, maybe like burnt sienna or raw umber for underpaintings. No need to get a black, mixing darks builds character, looks better, and having one out of the tube can become a crutch. If you find a white watercolor paint tube that’s cheaper you can buy that instead of a gouache white. Again, they have pretty much the same make-up. And white paints are generally opaque enough that the composition between gouache/watercolor shouldn’t matter too much.

I’ve never used a block tray of gouache. Like those paints that come in little blocks in a tray? I know there's a bunch out there but I’ve never used them and I don’t know anyone else who does so I have no opinion on them.

Brushes

I’ve been kind of exploring this myself. I recently bought a cheap set of flat brushes off amazon LOL and I like them a lot?

Theyre probably not The Best or anything but I found flat brushes suit gouache plein air painting really well because its suits the kind of color blocking shapes I want to make. Also these had the right handle length to fit in my painting bag. That’s like the main reason I chose them tbh.

Honestly a lot of my art supplies philosophy is “give it a whirl with whatever you have lying around and when it feels like you're missing something specific keep an eye out for when that stuff goes on sale”

Paper

GOTTA BE HONEST I’m using cheapo paper. Because I’m making these paintings half for study and half to give my parents something to hang in the living room.

You can actually see some of them curling in on themselves here lol. If you’ve seen the sketchbook I’m holding in any of my pics of paintings it’s one of the canson mixed media books.

and its FINE... I wouldn’t necessarily recommend it lol.. I like that the texture is very fine but it doesn’t hold a lot of water and definitely distorts. Also I keep ripping off the surface with painters tape but that might just be on me. Oh buy artist tape. Just because its so satisfying to have clean edges.

I’m using painters tape instead of artist tape because I found it in the basement but if youre buying supplies buy artist tape because it’ll be kinder to your paper. 

SPEAKING OF PAPER.

I guess anything heavyweight for watercolor/mixed media will be fine? some people like a lot of texture but if you’re painting small you might want to avoid it and pick hot press over cold press. Honestly I feel like a lot of this is going to depend on what your specific needs are.. how big do you want the paper to be.. do you want a sketchbook or would you rather carry around loose paper... etc. Maybe go to an art store and touch all their paper. I feel like its easier to understand sizes and texture when you’re seeing it physically.

When I go on a trip, I normally bring a softcover heavyweight stillman & birn sketchbook because I tend to obliterate metal spiral books in my bag LOL. Also I don’t rip any pages out of my travel sketchbooks so I don’t need perforation or anything. Also they go on sale a lot in the art store I go to haha. I havent used gouache extensively in it but it takes inkwash/maker pretty well.

On the higher end, I personally haven’t used it that much but my friends who do traditional illustration professionally swear by arches watercolor paper. It comes in lots of different sizes.

Whatever you use, if you really want it to lie flat you’re gonna want to soak and stretch it on a board but I don’t bother with that because I am lazy.

Palette

You didn’t ask about palette but I’m taking the opportunity to be a shill because I personally use a sta-wet palette and I LOVE it.

One of the biggest frustrations about gouache for me was how quickly it dries after it leaves the tube. And even if you can reawaken it with water its not quite the same? and consistency is SO important when it comes to applying gouache so I don’t want to be over-watering my paint.. ugh. Anyways, I don’t have to worry about that with the sta-wet palette and really its been a game changer for me. sta-wet is a brand name but there are a bunch of other wet palettes not by masterson that I’m sure are just as good. I mean, it’s just a box with a sponge basically, that can’t be hard to replicate.

The only thing - and I personally have not had this issue but I have friends who have - is that if you leave it wet for too long it could grow mold? or a mouldy smell? Just wash your palette with soap and don’t leave it for weeks on end and it should be fine.

If you’re not feeling a palette that’s always moist, the best palette I used in school was a simple glass palette. you can buy one I guess but it’s so easy to DIY, I think the way we did it in school is getting a piece of glass and mdf from the hardware store cut the same size and then duct taped them together on the sides so it wouldn’t be sharp.

costs like nothing.

what else...get a palette knife if you like to mix paints? and like to save paints... mixing with the brush means you lose paint in your brush in the mixing process so a knife is a good way to maximize that process. I don’t use it much but sometime if I have to mix a lot of one color I’ll pull it out of my bag.

I don’t know anything about easels, I sit on the dirty ground like a gremlin when I paint.

Ok yeah that’s all the supplies tips I have. hope some of it was helpful! always try to save money with art supplies, I think. Especially if you’re just starting out - it’s less stressful to use cheap supplies too lol. Good luck! Happy painting!

[easyrevenge]

shinkami drabble

word count : 1.6k

ship: shinsou hitoshi / kaminari denki 

rated: t

summary: denki has a crush on shinsou who works across the street at the second-hand music shop.

(ive never written shinkami before & i’ve been having writers block so i wrote this based on true events for warm-up.)

Kaminari is pretty sure he might die. 

“You’re being so dramatic,” Mina tells him. And yeah, he is, but that hardly changes the fact that he’s starving. Not to death but it’s significant. He forgot to eat breakfast and wasn’t even on the schedule to work today. He’s just a good employee, and friend, or whatever. Denki thinks Mina could at least be a little more--”But, someone did leave their Café Luna bag behind about an hour ago. See what’s in it.”

Denki loves her. “Café Luna? That place is expensive!” And delicious, so he’s heard. The restaurant opened a few weeks ago down the block and since then the line has been wrapped around the corner. 

He hurries to the back of their shop and rummages through the mini-refrigerator that definitely should have been cleaned out at least three weeks ago. Past some questionable yogurt cups, he finds what he’s looking for.

Denki only spends a solid five seconds debating the morality of the situation--is it rude to eat someone’s untouched food? What if they come back for it? But it’s a short-lived consideration, especially once he sees what’s inside; a small clear container with what a fancy as fuck sandwich—“It’s been an hour, surely they would have come back by now…” he reasons. Most importantly, as well as the deciding factor, “Oh hell yes!” A huge, insanely thick double chocolate chip cookie. “Sorry not sorry, loser.” Who the hell could leave any of this behind?

The sandwich is obliterated within minutes. Then Denki, because he is a good friend and model employee, brings the cookie back out to the front and offers some to Mina. 

“You’re sweet, Denks,” she says, patting his shoulder. Then she laughs, “But it looks like you might cry if I say yes and you're forced to actually share.”

Denki really, really loves her. 

He’s half-way through the cookie, propped up on the counter and munching away while Mina does all the clean up tasks that he’s excused from today for coming in. This is their usual slow hour anyway, not a customer in sight. Easy money. 

“So, I forgot to tell you that your walking wet-dream came by earlier.” 

Denki almost chokes on his cookie. “What! When? What was he wearing?” 

Mina smiles as she wipes the counters down. “I was swamped so I didn’t get a good look. He was in and out pretty quick.”

Denki leans back against the wall, closing his eyes for a moment to revel in a quick day dream. One where he’s smooth and clever, manages to get his number, then maybe a date, a blow job, a boyfriend, a decent, regularly scheduled lay. He’d take that in any order, really. 

Denki’s never actually talked to the guy but he does know his name is Shinsou thanks to a very tactful phone call by Mina. He works at the secondhand music store across the street and one morning while opening shop they made eye contact across the asphalt. Denki had been sweeping while the other was writing a music lesson schedule on a chalkboard menu. It was anticlimactic, lasting no more than three seconds, but Denki never stops thinking about it. 

Shinsou is intimidating in the way that most pretty people are. He looks mean, disinterested. It pulls Denki in unquestionably, especially because he always smiles (full teeth) whenever he spots Shinsou through the window and rarely gets anything back except the highly coveted lifted eyebrow. Denki’s favorite thing about him is his eyes, dark and liquidy.

Denki also cares a lot about fashion and Shinsou’s clothes are the brand of cool that is obviously effortless, all black. His messy purple hair is usually pushed back with one of those cheap, zigzag plastic hair combs that were popular in the 90s.

Shinsou is aggressively hot, it’s almost offensive. Denki isn’t sure if he has a league but Shinsou is out of everyone’s.

“I can’t believe he actually came in. What did he order?”

Mina shrugs, “He just bought bottled water but he did spend a minute staring at your freaky art.”

“Oh my god,” Denki flushes pink with excitement and disbelief. He doesn’t exactly call himself an artist but he does fuck around a lot in his small studio and paint weird, neon colored, warped looking Pokémon-monster hybrids. Mina let’s him display them around her fruit shop because she’s a good friend. 

A customer comes in and Denki continues to lounge on the counter, still daydreaming of purple hues and picking at the cookie while Mina makes a smoothie that has far too many vegetables. 

“Hey Denks,” Mina says after the customer has left with their inevitable bowel movement in a cup. She sounds weird. He looks over and she’s smiling like the Cheshire Cat. He knows he’s fucked. “We’re best friends and I’m your boss, so you’re obligated to forgive me.”

Denki’s heart is squeezing tight and he stares wide eyed. “What did you do?”

Mina turns to look out through the front windows where Shinsou is currently looking left, then right, before doing a half-jog across the street. She hurriedly looks back at Denki, “I forgot to tell you the Café Luna bag was Shinsou’s and now it looks like he’s coming back for it and I’m going to go on my break now, bye.” She says the last part in one breath while the door opens and the little bell on top rings. 

Shinsou walks in and all the air is pulled from Denki’s lungs.

Denki doesn’t have time to think, just react. He practically throws himself off the counter and—again, not thinking because who has time for that when someone that good-looking is walking your way—does the only thing he can think of to dispose of the evidence. 

He shoves the rest of the cookie into his mouth. It’s a big fucking cookie, even with only half of it left. 

He never should have come into work today. 

The chime of the door tinkers again when it closes and Denki knows he has about 3.5 seconds before Shinsou reaches the front counter. He chews vigorously, practically suffocating on cookie crumbs and chocolate chips, but it’s all just turned to paste in his mouth and there’s no hope. 

Then, he starts to choke. 

“Should I call emergency services or just let you die.” It hardly sounds like a question and if it is, Shinsou is asking himself.

Denki sputters, standing up from his half-crouch in an attempt to hold on to an ounce of his dignity. But it’s all lost when they make eye contact and Denki knows there’s nothing he can do, so he just holds up a finger to say hold on before spinning around and grabbing the small trash bin under the sink. 

He spits the cookie mush into the bin, eyes watering while he coughs the dust out of his lungs, and prays that death comes swiftly in the next few seconds. 

Denki hates Mina. So, so much. 

Catching his breath, Denki leans forward over the sink and runs the water. He wonders if he should fill it up and drown himself but opts for rinsing his face instead. The eyes boring holes into his back are unrelenting and vicious. He turns around and regrets being born. 

Shinsou is way too goddamn pretty. His eyes drink Denki in, full of judgement and unabashed intensity before blinking back into nonchalance. “He lives.”

Denki can’t help it, he laughs. It’s loud and a bit wet because he hasn’t wiped off his face. What a mess. “Unfortunately.”

Shinsou doesn’t allow for any awkward silences though, just moves the conversation forward with ease. Denki barely has time to feel embarrassed but he knows he’s blushing deeper with every millisecond that ticks by. 

“I left my lunch here earlier, I think. A bag from Café Luna.” 

Denki considers lying because surely that would be the easiest route. He attempts to wipe his face off with the inner elbow of his sweater, nervous. “Oh—uh, I don’t…”

Shinsou holds up a long, slender finger.  Denki wonders what instruments he plays. Maybe he should sign up for one of his lessons, give himself a second-chance to make a good impression. Erase this one from existence. 

He shakes his head, explaining, “You have chocolate smeared on your chin.” An obvious accusation. Denki is so fucked. 

He sighs. “The cookie looked way too good, dude.” It feels good to confess, at least. “I’m sorry,” Denki apologizes, eyes downcast as he pulls at the hem of his sweater. 

“Are you,” Shinsou replies and Denki wants to run out the door but then something happens. Shinsou laughs. It’s a quiet sound, breathy and warm and deep. Denki looks up and smiles brightly because wow, that sounds like music. “I don’t think you are.”

Denki catches something like a smile on the corner of Shinsou’s mouth and it gives him some of his confidence back. Just enough. “Yeaaaah,” he breathes, grinning sheepishly. “It was really tasty so maybe not that sorry.”

“Sorry you got caught.”

“Definitely.”

“A true criminal.” Shinsou nods, something like approval. Then he pulls out his phone to check the time. Denki is already disappointed this interaction is ever going to end, despite his embarrassment. 

“I’ll have the sandwich back at least, I only have ten minutes left of my lunch break. I’m starving.”

No, yeah, Denki is going to fucking murder Mina. He’ll be an actual criminal. 

Denki knows his silence is telling but there’s no cool way to talk himself out of this. Instead he puts on his best pouty smile and apologetic eyes. Shinsou looks so unimpressed until he doesn’t, just annoyed.

He clicks his tongue, sucking air through his teeth like a disappointed parent. “I’m off in three hours.”

Denki pulls a face.  “Oh-kay.” 

Shinsou looks like he wants to roll his eyes. Denki feels hot all over, degraded even though he hasn’t been called any names or chastised. 

The silence makes Denki itchy so he breaks it with a fountain of apologies and offers to pay him back. “Do you have Venmo? Just charge me the cost! My username is 69Pika—”

“Please, stop.”

“Okay.”

Shinsou knocks his knuckles on the counter, looking him over once more before taking a few steps back. Another customer comes in and the bell tinkers twice, open, then close. 

They watch each other for a moment.

“If you’re off in time, you’re buying dinner after my shift. I’ll meet you outside the shop.” Then Shinsou turns and leaves and Denki just smiles because what the fuck else was he supposed to do. 

God, he loves Mina. 

[coolspacequips]

Seeing a popular kl artist go "fuck off w this anti sentiment" truly just revitalized me lmao

I've been increasingly worn down by all of the content I see from antis, including ppl that have been campaigning against ao3 this donation season, being shared around by ppl that will say this anti shit is harmful but quietly share everything a popular artist makes, anyway

Like I see them advocating for blocking and ignoring antis bc it's descended into bullying and suicide baiting, or sharing info about how pushing to censor the internet and delete ao3 just opens the door to the govt controlling content to be what THEY want...

But then surround me w content made by ppl loudly advocating for those things??

And I don't mean ppl that just have strong opinions on things or who set their boundaries and let them be known frequently, I don't mean people that express their dislike of or discomfort w uncomfortable things, I mean the shitty black and white fandom cult shit, the kind of ppl that put petty awful shit in their description that is actively insulting the person that I'm seeing has reblogged their post, about how ppl they know nothing about and refuse to see any nuance in are disgusting freaks that should hurt themselves

And it wears me down bc like... I've survived some things. And seeing antis all the time constantly makes me think of what happened to me every day, because they've turned serious accusations into a shitty little gotcha online that I'm sure will ruin so many kids lives, but they don't actually care about the kids getting hurt or the ppl that they will grow up to be, who are still hurt.

Being accused of being like the people that hurt me constantly sucks and for one minute ppl made a pretense of no longer rewarding that behavior, to going "well what can you do" and sharing their accusations all over the internet bc they make good art or whatever.

Especially when it comes to kl, a lot of popular creators won't take a stance bc they don't want to be completely obliterated by the overwhelming amount of aggressive antis in that fanbase, and that's their right to not open themselves up to attack but like. That's something we have to worry about, saying the wrong thing and getting doxxed and excommunicated, so it's just like. Nice to see someone say something as mild as "don't come at me w that lol"

[carnwennhau]

art block has been obliterating me but here’s an entry for @takethisjunglebuff‘s izanami redesign contest. which. i honestly cannot draw horror stuff (and i couldn’t get any of the ideas i had to work) so i settled for just unsexying izanami instead lol. kept the core idea of her design, but changed some stuff and roughed her up a bit to make her look more like a dead woman (+gave her some burns and tried making her outfit look more burned than torn. key word is tried)