#but I wanted to draw the dress from the first volume cover

[bigbrainbiology]

It's my party and I'll cry if I want to

[nimpnawakproduction]

The ultimate reference sheets for all of Vash's outfits in Trigun maximum (with commentaries)

IT IS DONE. I'M FREE. Now I can forget all about Trimax and draw Trigun stampede designs only hahaha (just kidding I have things for Trimax on the stove).

Trigun bookclub was an awesome initiative, I loved the manga with my all heart and wanted to honor Nightow's designs ;w; I also wanted to help my fellow artists with references for Vash's clothes because DEAR GOD it's difficult to understand how the hell he dresses himself in the morning. I have a lot of fun dressing and undressing him like a barbie doll. My hyperfixation is completely healthy.

I put a "read more" section to avoid spoilers :) !

The July coat

The very first coat in Trigun chronology and the one he wores during the destruction of July ! There is not a lot of panels to take references but I tried to stay as close as possible to the manga. I don't know what number of prosthesis he had before but let name this one Prosthesis 1.

Scars map

Next, nakey Vash ! There's A LOT of changes between one panel to another. Scars changes places and forms panel to panel and the design evolved from the first chapters of Trigun, the time we see him naked as Eriks and his undressed state while he was a prisoner on the Ark. I drew the scars that appeared more than once or were in clean view in a panel (but really you can do like Nightow and draw as many scars as you want without thinking about consistency, this boy has been in a meat grinder)

After July underclothes

Or the jumpsuit that gave me grey hair. His suit does not make ANY sense, I don't know how the hell he dresses himself in the morning with this. My solution is that it's very long gloves and chaps strapped to a belt. The position and shapes of the belts changes IN EVERY PANEL. Same for his knee guards, sometimes they're here, sometime they cover his shins, sometimes they are tiny..... I gave up in the end and draw them as we see them in the very last panel he wears this suit. But damn he looks good in it.

Also in all of the 13 volumes, there is not a single panel with a clear view of his holster (I checked...) so here is my interpretation.

This is prosthesis n°2, the design is a little different from the first one so I guess Prosthesis 1 got destroyed (this happens a lot).

After July coat

The very first Trigun coat he wears in the manga ! Very simple, very basic, it gives him impossibly wide shoulders but Vash deserves it. The first one is worn Post July until Vash's confrontation against Brilliant Dynamite Neon. The second one is the state of his coat after the sandsteamer incident. He loses his prothesis after his fight against Monev the gale. He meets Wolfwood with only one arm and stays that way while he fights Knives for the first time.

Eriks

I took liberties with colors because there's no colored panels with Vash as Eriks. Yes I drew him without suspenders because he has them for like 5 panels and then Nightow drew him without them for the rest of Eriks arc so I made choices ;w;

I love the fact that Vash choose to wear tight jeans even in his casual outfits, this boy will not let his skin breath. This is now Prosthesis 3 ! It's way less advanced than the ones he wore in the rest of the manga, the other ones seem to replicate skin.

After his years as Eriks

And now the first Maximum coat, he wears it until the famous Yuri hospital arc! Finally an undersuit that makes sense, I love it, too bad Nightow-san decided that I had to suffer and changed it again to add BELTS EVERYWHERE. We only see his legs in this part of the manga so I gave him the same top because I can.

The tubes he has on his waist are filled with bullets, he can connect them to his prosthesis to have a mini machine gun.

We are now at Prosthesis 4 !

Hospitalization on the Home ship

The famous Yuri hospital phase! Vash definitely shared his wardrobe with Wolfwood, you can't tell me otherwise.

The first outfit still shows Prothesis 4 but he keeps it for like 5 minutes and lost it again against Nine-lives. I don't really know if the prothesis comes with the integrated glove or if there's synthetic skin under it but why would he keep the glove on if it's not intergrated?

The second pictures is the different outfits he wears during his convalescence. I took liberties with the colors, I drew this in like 10 minutes, everything seems easy when you don't have to draw BELTS. We are now on Prothesis 5 ! Nightow drew it as a regular arm so I guess Vash wears gloves on top of it??????

Back on the road in pursuit of Knives

He wears this one after his stay at Home, throughout the Dragon's nest ark and until his 2nd fight against Knives.

I liked the design of his jumpsuit until I looked closer at the panels and saw that the design change ON EVERY ONE OF THEM. Knee guard on only one knee? No kneeguards? Two??? WHO KNOWS ??? I tried to make it work but really go wild with this one, even the author does not know how his pant looks.

Still prosthesis 5, BUT UNTIL WHEN?

Prisoner on the Ark

THEY MASSACRED MY BOY. Did they even feed him at least in 7 months? Those pictures are the definition of the drenched kitty cat left under the rain. Give this man a blanket and a therapist.

Bye bye Prothesis 5 ! And see what I mean when I say that his outfit does not make sense????? It comes out in parts????

After his imprisonment on the Ark

The last suit in the manga! He keeps this coat until the end of the story. From this point, only his hair changes (or the color of his coat).

I adore the little angel wing symbol on his left arm, such a cute addition. Too bad it appears in one of the most traumatic event of his life.

Speaking of his jumpsuit...The return of belts.... But at least this outfit stays relatively coherent except for his kneeguards who appear and disappear panel from panel but most of the time he doesn't have any, so no kneeguard it is. Prosthesis 6 hello !

Final battle and end of the story

It hurted to drew those outfits ;w; And working on the design of his coat when he fights Legato made me realize where Orange studio took inspiration to chose the colors for Vash's coat in the final episode of Stampede ! Great job ! I tried to color the same effects as one of the illustrations showing dark Vash but I'm not really good with colors..... He actually radiates energy but with some purple undertones, I took some liberties because those are my drawings I do what I want.

I'm not sure at 100% that he has a tuft of blond hair left when his outfit turns black but his hair is all black at the end of the fight. His prosthesis is destroyed at the end of the fight. He got another one in the final chapter. So 7 prosthesis throughout the story!

[ikroah]

I pushed my soul in a deep dark hole, and then I followed it in, I watched myself crawling out as I was a-crawling in. I got up so tight, I couldn't unwind, I saw so much, I broke my mind… —“Just Dropped In (to See What Condition My Condition Was In),” The First Edition (1968)

It Keeps Right On A-Hurtin’ #28 - Ring-a-Ding-Ding VII

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Notes / Original Pencils / Transcript:

Notes

Do you have any idea how long I've wanted to type those words? "End of Volume 2?" We have been on Volume 2 for just over three years. Obviously it's unfair to compare it to the breakneck pace of Volume 1, because... I got burned out (I got better), I got divorced (I got better), and most importantly, I've spent all three of these years overhauling my approach to art, which is to say, I got better. My canvas size doubled because my initial naive approach of "smaller pages means less art, which means faster art" was holding me back: I wanted more art, and the subjects of too many panels had gotten flubbed due to what was basically a pathetically low rendering distance. I revamped my approach to coloring entirely, leaning into a vibrant, saturated, and faux-comic halftone style that I vastly prefer to my more grounded, gradient-driven work beforehand. I changed IKROAH's font (Unmasked!), I changed Agnes's appearance slightly (she's far less gaunt, which was an early design choice I've thrown away, plus I think I'm much better at drawing her consistently now), and so much more. Comics are a time-consuming artform and while a lot of what made this volume take so long was out of my control, and well worth not pushing myself through, the total reinvention of how I actually make comics was the single best thing to come out of Volume 2.

It's a lot of lessons and groundwork that I'm very eager to take into Volume 3, which I have spent every single one of these years viciously impatient for. Now, it's finally here. See you at the cover reveal.

Original Pencils

Something that I have been working a lot harder on with my art lately is inking: actual inking, not merely "outlining" and figuring out the rest by the seat of my pants digitally. I've come to realize that the fewer steps of my production process that I try to do digitally, the more fun it is to make art as a whole, and inking was something that I was very intimidated by for the longest time. What happens if I mess up! It's permanent marker, after all! But after all the practice that I've done, I'm really happy with how bold and confident the shadows are on this issue, and they're perfect for how moody and dramatically lit the whole thing is. You can compare the pencils to the inks to the final products and really see how I planned out the overall composition.

Transcript

INT. LUCKY 38 PRESIDENTIAL SUITE, VERY LATE AT NIGHT. The lights are all off in this luxurious, distinctly pre-war abode. It is almost empty.

RADIO: Welcome back to the program, folks. This is Mr. New Vegas—and I hope I'm not coming on too strong. We've got some news for you, coming right up.

The only real light in the suite comes from the glowing screen of the Securitron VICTOR, standing in front of the private elevator.

RADIO: Tops Hotel owner Benny has been killed by an unidentified assailant. According to his fellow Chairmen, shots were heard in his private suite, and his body was found inside. They are urging all visitors to please keep an eye out for suspicious individuals and behavior on the New Vegas Strip. The new head of the Chairmen, Benny's former right-hand man Swank, consoled mourners: "If I know my pal Benny, he's swinging with the Big Cat Upstairs as we speak. Or he's chasing some angel broad with cans as big as her halo!"

RADIO: In other news—

In a guest bedroom off to the side, ROSE OF SHARON CASSIDY is sound asleep. Her belongings are neatly folded on the dresser, except for the cocktail dress that she was wearing, which has been thrown onto the ground.

RADIO: —refugees at Bitter Springs are giving startling accounts of the legate known as Lanius, who is said to be Caesar's top field commander. One refugee told us the legate took over an underperforming squad of troops by beating its commander to death in full viw of everyone. The legate then ordered a tenth of his own force be killed by the other nine tenths. And you thought your boss was a pain!

RADIO: You know, I think all news, whether it's good or bad, brings us closer together. Don't you?

Directly across from the elevator, across from VICTOR, are the shut doors to the master bedroom.

RADIO: These headlines, brought to you by Vault 21...Vault 21! Everything is better when you experience it...in a vault.

Inside the master bedroom, AGNES SANDS sits on the edge of the bed, wide awake. The RADIO plays from her PIP-BOY, which provides a slight amount of light in the dark room.

RADIO: Gonna play a song for you right now—it's about that special someone, that you can only find once...in a "Blue Moon."

"Blue Moon" begins to play from the radio. AGNES's head remains lowered in rumination.

Suddenly, the radio broadcast cuts out.

SFX: KZZRRRSSHHTTZ

RADIO: Has your life taken a turn?

A NEW VOICE speaks on the radio. It's dreamy, seductive.

RADIO: Do troubles beset you? Has fortune left you behind?

AGNES remains in thought.

But then: she lifts her head.

And she looks over at the radio.

RADIO: If so, then the Sierra Madre Casino,

The PIP-BOY displays: 11.09.81, 4:13. <<Signal Unknown>>

RADIO: in all its glory, invites you

AGNES listens.

RADIO: to begin again.

AGNES is now somewhere else.

EXT. MOJAVE DESERT. At sunrise, AGNES SANDS is perched atop a ridge somewhere in the desert. Her overcoat billows behind her, and her shoulder-mounted flashlight beams straight ahead. She looks manic. In one hand, she clutches her duffel bag, full of every belonging she has. Her other hand is wearing her PIP-BOY, and the radio broadcast continues:

RADIO: Come to a place where wealth, excitement, and intrigue await around every corner. Stroll along the winding streets of our beautiful resort. Make new friends...or rekindle old flames. Let your eyes take in the luxurious expanse of the open desert, under clear starlit skies. Gaze straight on into the sunset from our scenic Villa rooftops. Countless diversions await. Gamble in our casino, take in the theater, or stay in one of our exclusive executive suites that will shelter you...and cater to your every whim.

Below the ridge is a pile-up of wrecked shipping containers. One of them opens up toward the surface like a gaping throat of metal. It leads somewhere, deeper into the earth.

RADIO: So if life's worries have weighed you down—if you need an escape from your troubles—or if you just need an opportunity to begin again—

The source of the broadcast signal is coming from INSIDE.

RADIO: —then join us.

AGNES descends into the container, revealing a makeshift staircase of sheet metal that leads into darkness.

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

The signal from inside the tunnel is now audible. It overlaps with AGNES's PIP-BOY...

RADIO: Join us, let go, and leave the world behind...

Until she sees it.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

A pre-war, art deco type radio, sitting on a metal pedestal. It speaks to her.

RADIO: ...at the Sierra Madre Grand Opening.

AGNES stares at the radio, bewildered.

She barely notices the HULKING FIGURE about to grab her from behind.

RADIO: We'll be waiting.

END OF VOLUME 2

[90shetfield]

Stealing their shirts to sleep in..

What happens if you were to steal their shirt…?

                      Ft. Metallica

Dedicated to @boundbyeclipse ty for the req sis I hope you like it </3

1988

JASON NEWSTED

A couple of days ago you stole his shirt to wear out without him noticing. You wore it out for a day of errands loving how it felt on your body. When you got home today you realized you still have the Metallica shirt in your drawer. The sounds of an amplified bass come into your ears hearing the beautiful melody he's playing in his office/studio. This gives you a great time to put the Metallica shirt back on,you’d like to see his reaction, curious.

He always made sure you were cared for well. Touching you right, caring and making you feel at home, that also means sharing closets.  He would wait eagerly in bed for you leaving a clear spot for him to  open his arms and bring you close for a warm embrace. After he got done playing the bass. Your boyfriend got into bed. When Jason saw you in his shirt practically a dress on you he would get the biggest smile in the whole world looking at you with so much adoration. You could see all the love in his eyes.

“How do I look, Jase?” you asked, giving him a little twirl. 

He got up from the bed walking over to you tucking a piece of hair behind your ear giving you a small kiss on the forehead. His hand landed on your jawline caressing it. He never looks away from your eyes; it warms your heart knowing how much he really cares for you. He takes your arm twirling you around again making you land in his arms, bending you down then raising you up again leading you to the bed. Jason makes sure you're comfortable first, tucking you under all the layers on your bed. Once he knows you're satisfied he climbs in right next to you. Like you expected he wraps his arms around you holding you close tightly like a teddy bear. The room would usually be quiet, both of you just sitting there enjoying eachothers company but that never lasted. Tugging on your shirt he’d whisper in your ear.

“You're so pretty in my shirt Y/N please never take it off,” he nudged his head in the nape of your shoulder pecking it multiple times. Being this close to him, makes you feel so alive. He worships you, like your some goddess that he prays too. Taking the blanket and covering himself, letting out a breath onto your shoulder.

“I won't Jase don't worry” You smile looking off into the window hearing the small patter of rain hit the window.  

“Thank you, for been here for me Y/N”

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else Jason”

“Love you baby good night” you whisper he hummed, shutting the light off inching even closer to you, like you guys were one just how he likes it, harmony and peace.

“I love you too Y/N sleep well”

LARS ULRICH

Lets just say evenings with Lars are always so hectic and loud,  it's something you got used to though.  Lars is a talker he would talk all about his day expecting you to listen to every single second of it, you did of course. Even though he was talking erratically and out of pace it still calms you down. He lets out all of his day out to share with you and the fact that Lars Ulrich is sharing this much with you, that he freaking trusts you? It's amazing in every way. 

Once he would finally stop blabbering on and on he would leave the room taking a shower, you hear him sing Mercyful Fate loud in the shower causing a giggle to escape your lips at your boyfriends goofiness. Yes, lars can be immature at times but he treats you with respect and loves going home to see you watching tv on the couch.

Running into your bedroom you snatch one of his King Diamond shirts, swapping it with the one you previously had on beforehand. You walk out of the bedroom like nothing happened sitting back down on the couch yawning in the process upping the tv’s volume drawing his obnoxious singing out. (you still loved his voice though)

The sound of the shower stopping and the doors of it open are loud enough for you to hear from the tv. You turn it down seeing him walk out with a towel over his hair with a plain shirt and shorts. You have your back turned to him so he can't see the front of the shirt just yet.

He sits down taking the towel off draping it on the side of the couch shaking his wet hair. He turns to look at you but stops at the realization.

“Y-you have my shirt on?” he asks with a mixture of shock and surprise on his face. Batting his lashes  with his mouth agape he  never felt so different than right now

“Yeah, is there anything wrong with me doing it? Do you like it Lars?” you respond amused, the bright red blush flushes his cheeks he hides his cheeks behind his hands quickly placing them there.

“W-what! No i dont! You can't just take my stuff like that Y/N!!” He exclaims, still hiding partial parts of his face. You laugh so hard you might die, why can't he just show his emotions or show the fact he actually likes it?

“What's so funny huh!?”  he shouted, throwing his arms in the air like a little baby would. It only makes your laughing worse. Barely being able to compose yourself.

“Lars it's okay to be honest with me you don't have to hide behind your hands” You slowly lower his hands seeing the vibrant color on his cheek along with his smile and amused eyes. He held onto your hands rubbing your knuckle with his thumb.

“I'm sorry Honey you just look so cute” he says with a sigh letting all of it out. He jumps on you cuddling you on the couch sitting on top of you resting his head on your chest curling up. God, he really is a baby,  but he's your baby. Despite the loud remarks, and getting worked up really easily he always calms down cuddling with you anywhere in the house.

“I'm glad you like it lars I'll have to do it way more often..”

KIRK HAMMETT

You and Kirk would always bond over old school horror or comic books, said stuff was scattered throughout your house, some of it on display while others were just out for you guys to touch and interact with it. This stuff you bought together shows the strength and bonding in your relationship that makes it so perfect. Having discussions before bed was a must, talking on and on about a new issue of a comic or a new rendition of an old classic came out. There was never a dull moment in your house. The softness in his voice along with his mannerisms makes you feel so welcomed.

Kirk tried to be tidy when he could but our room could be messy sometimes. He usually forgets that he has clothes on the floor or a book or even a bottle of black nail polish he’d been trying to find for a month there. Of course you didnt care you were happy picking up his laundry loving the same things he has on his shirts.

One day you didn't have anything to wear for PJs so you dug through the freshly washed pile of kirks remnants knowing he wont mind. You find a White Zombie shirt putting it on, storing the rest of the clothes away for use another time. 

The feeling of his shirt gives you such a powerful cheerful moodlet strutting into your big and gothic-ish bedroom. There the man of the hour is sitting with his reading glasses and an open book in his hand. His long curly untamed hair slicked back with a ponytail.  A goofy smile on his lips. He hears you walk in and greets you with a wave, opening his eyes he sees you in his shirt.

“Aww is that my shirt, love?” He’d ask closing the book and putting it on his  bedside table. You nodded seeing all the scattered things on the bed, a black flying-v with multiple books and papers with rifts and small portions of lyrics on it he's always too shy to share with James or lars. You think his lyrical ability is great and that he needs to share it out but for right now he prefers showing you them asking for approval.

“Yeah I hope you don't mind kirk? I had nothing to wear” your replied. Helping him clean up your bed, you put the guitar back on its stand while putting the rest of the books and papers on his bedside table.

“Of course i don't mind, you look stunning, better than me even, do you want to keep the shirt?” he asks, patting the side next to him in bed. You sit down next to him, he rests his hand on your thigh tightly holding it.

“I can keep it?” you answered a mixture of shock on your face?  This was one of his favorite shirts ever he would wear around the house almost everyday raving about it to you.

“Yes you can keep it my love, my favorite shirt on my favorite person that makes me feel so happy” he said with his smile, the crooked teeth greeting you with pride. He's so sweet you actually can't take it. 

“Thank you kirk, i'll wear it everyday for you” he pulls you into a deep, meaningful kiss as you play with his big poof on top of his head. Your fingers tapping around his hair twirling it.

“Don't mention it Y/N you deserve it, you deserve everything, now do you wanna watch White Zombie in celebration!?” the happy and eager tones in his voice come out. You can't help but say yes loving the face he makes when watching movies like this

“Yeah, lets watch it, turn it on Kirk” you give one last peck on his cheek before leaning in resting your head on his shoulder as the opening of the movie plays to both of your amusement.

JAMES HETFIELD

James was a weird case, there were certain days where he would keep to himself strumming his guitar sitting on the couch next to you, quiet and reserved. Focusing on the melody he saw in his head earlier in the day. The music gave him a chance to cool down from a long day of studio sessions. Having anger problems hurt him a lot, often confiding in you for help when he got out of hand. You would get a call to go down to the studio someday to calm him down making sure he was the best version of himself for the album.

The other days he would always ask for your input, telling you if this was the right thing to do in the song's complex nature. Singing along to the rift he would shy away not really liking if you heard his voice. Everybody thought he was a big bad mean person, yes at times he was. His anger completely changes the way he thinks. But deep down you knew how kind he was. He could be insecure venting to you about his struggles while being open hearing about yours. You guys are like best friends sharing everything.

Him and you both liked the same artists like Moterhead, or Judas priest putting the record on at low volume nodding your heads. He had many shirts with their logos plastered on them along with a few shirts with his own band on it. You catched a glimpse of his motorhead shirt he wears often, you loved the design on it, swapping it with your own shirt. You looked in the mirror and gasped at how cool it looked on you. Excited was an understatement you wanted to show him immediately  running out of the room you approach James, white explorer in hand fingerpicking the notes gently singing the lyrics he came up with.

“That sounds really nice James, how far have you gotten on it?” you kiss the top of his head sitting back down on the leather couch. His cowboy hat he recently bought on the side of you. The cute whiskers of his beard he's growing in gives him more of a sense of masculinity.

“Not that far damn the inspiration just isn't flowing right now” taking a sip of his beer he locks eyes on you. His eyes trail down to the shirt as his lips contorts into a devilish smile. He puts the beer down on the floor raising his eyebrows at your ‘’new shirt’’.

“Oh wow man, I really like your shirt. Where did you get it from Y/N?” He picks a note on the high e string with a slight hint of flush on his cheeks.

“Nowhere and thank you, it's one of my favorites too” you add onto the joke matching his look. James tries to joke a lot. He manages to get  a big cackle out of you when he makes the stupid jokes, sometimes even dad jokes because that's normal for a twenty-five year old man to do.

“I don't know, I think I saw that somewhere like oh in my closet! That's my shirt!” he points his index finger right in your fakes making you blurt out in laughter. His nostrils flared and bright blue eyes wide and open making such a funny face.

“No it is not!” you say firmly in between your laughs. He's cracking up now too. Placing his guitar on the side not wanting to damage it.

“I only know one person who would wear such stylish and handsome clothing and that's me princess!” he says confidently trying to hide his giant smile in the process.

“God you're such a dork” you roll your eyes  taking his hand into yours. 

“Yeah i know, but you love it”

“You're damn right I do!”

Sorry if there are any mistakes!! I'm still trying to get used to writing again -Max

[sloppysequinz]

Mona and Lacy’s Sunday Morning

Sequel to this story. Return of the girlfriends!

Mona blinked blearily as the sunlight hit her eyes. Was it morning? Her head spun. She was definitely still drunk, at least. The last thing she remembered was….flashing the bartender for shots? Was that before or after the bouncer had offered her pills for head?

She heard a groan next to her. Looking over, she saw her girlfriend Lacy, pretty blonde hair a rats nest, raccoon eyed from last nights makeup. Mona smiled. At least they had ended up together. She hated when men thought they could bring Lacy home without her.

But, glancing around, she saw they were in their own bedroom. They were both naked, sprawled on their king-sized bed. They hadn’t bothered to get under the covers—probably too drunk or too busy fucking each other to sleep. Mona could feel last nights mascara caking up her eyelashes. Their dresses and heels were piled by the door. There was a half-empty handle of vodka on the dresser. All things considered, a pretty tame Sunday for the two of them.

Lacy moaned again, nuzzling into Mona’s tits. Mona rolled over to let her girlfriend snuggle into her, petting her pretty blonde hair and trying to gently work out some of the mess.

“How are you, baby?” Mona asked gently.

“Uhmmm…fugged up, mommy.” Lacy responded weakly. “I sink I’m drunk.”

“I think you’re more than drunk.” Mona chuckled, pinching Lacy’s cheek. “The boys were generous with you last night.”

“Yeahhhhh….” Lacy grinned up at her proudly. Mona sat up and manhandled Lacy on to her stomach. Lacy giggled and flipped bonelessly around. Mona eventually gained her prize, her pretty girlfriend’s ass, presented for inspection. She slid her fingers between the artificially rounded cheeks, exposing Lacy’s hole. It was red and inflamed and dried cum was splashed onto the cheeks on either side. Lacy moaned as Mona slid a finger inside. Cum dripped out as she fingered it, an enormous volume of cum—more than even Mona would have expected. She stopped her inspection, ignoring Lacy’s protesting whine.

“Very generous indeed~” she teased. She let Lacy clean the cum off her fingers, eager and greedy tongue lapping it up. Lacy looked at her adoringly as she swallowed the mix of strangers cum, drugged and drunk pupils blown wide even under the morning sun. Mona resumed stroking her hair and Lacy snuggled into her lap.

“It’s a shame you can’t get pregnant, puppy.” Mona mused. “You’d be such a pretty whore mother to some stranger’s baby.”

Lacy giggled. “Would be a puppy’s puppy.” She slurred. Mona giggled back.

“You’re right, puppy. So smart.” Mona praised her. Lacy wiggled her butt as though wagging her tail. Mona leaned down to give her a kiss. “Do you wanna sober up, baby?” She asked gently.

“Noooooo” Lacy replied. “I feel good, mommy.”

“Ok, honey.” Mona replied. She wiggled across the comforter to rummage through the bedside table drawer, pausing only to take a pull from the vodka bottle. She pulled out a bag of edible gummies and returned to her beloved dog. “Here,” she said to Lacy. “Puppy treats.”

“For bein’ good?” Lacy asked sweetly.

“For being good.” Mona affirmed. Lacy obediently opened her mouth and Mona began feeding her gummies, following each one with a kiss. Lacy chewed and swallowed, trusting Mona to take her where she wanted to be. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5….that should be enough for now.

Mona ruffled Lacy’s hair as she swallowed the last one. “Get some more sleep.” She ordered. “You’ll feel even better when you wake up.” Lacy obediently snuggled into the soft bed. Mona ate a couple of the gummies herself, then grabbed the vodka and staggered into the bathroom.

First, a shower for her. Then, a big breakfast—the edibles were gonna hit both their stomachs hard after yesterday’s liquor dinner. Then, drawing a bath to wash her dumb slut inebriated puppy girlfriend in.

Mona took another pull of vodka and stretched languidly, foreseeing a lazy day ahead of her. The world started to tilt and she smiled.

Sobriety could wait until tomorrow.

[rangosmango7]

started maybe writing a drarry fic but it’s just a culmination of a bunch of fluffy, sad ideas at the moment, but here’s a cute little scene

Draco and Teddy feels:

Wedged in between an abandoned ice cream parlor and a post office was a small brick storefront, framed by climbing roses and showcasing various mis-matched, antique objects through the front windows.

All Draco saw was a warm light and a shield from the oncoming storm– then all he saw was Teddy Lupin, peeking up from behind that old wooden countertop and surrounded by millions of antiques covered in years of dust.

It took a second, of course, for Draco to fully register the fact that those gray-blue eyes were an exact replica of his own, and he blinked a few times when, for hardly a millisecond, the curls on the top of that small head flashed platinum before returning to their natural turquoise hue.

Draco finally steps inside after a moment, his brow furrowing as he hesitantly watches the small boy scramble off of whatever stool he had currently been perched upon. His eyes widen slowly as Teddy, quite determinedly, walks right up to him.

He’s dressed in a blue and green striped sweater with denim overalls; there’s a bright blue pin on the front pocket that says “Assistant Manager” and mismatched socks peeking from the top of the worn muggle sneakers on his small feet.

The boy gestures to their right, drawing Draco’s attention to a shelf full of antique decanters in a myriad of different colors, “These a-are new— Haz says they’re hand-ade,” Teddy says informatively, staring up at Draco with bright eyes, and if Draco weren’t overwhelmed by the sheer volume of things in this enclosed space and the presence of his estranged cousin in a muggle resale shop, he’d find Teddy’s breathless stutter dreadfully endearing.

“Ah— handmade, you say?” Draco asks after a few awkward moments, finding himself at a loss and just barely stopping himself from running right back out the door.

The second he’d laid eyes on the boy, the first feeling to wash over him was pure shock— the second was pure shame.

His mother spoke of her sister, Andromeda, often. Never in front of his grandparents or Lucius, but when they were by the fire, just the two of them, late at night. His mother would stare off into the fire and he would ask— he always asks what’s wrong.

She would smile, so, so sadly, and tell him stories about Andromeda. Once, with a wave of her hand, she conjured the night sky, moving her hand over the Andromeda Galaxy with reverence. How bright, how damned beautiful was her sister? So encompassing and lovely, was her sister.

He’d never met Andromeda, nor her daughter, but he had met Remus Lupin. He’d met Remus Lupin and he’d said horrible things about the werewolf; about Teddy’s father. Teddy Lupin, his own blood, left without parents because they died so that he and the rest of the world could continue on.

Teddy’s parents who would undoubtedly hate Draco, who wouldn’t want any part of his life touching Teddy’s, because Draco Malfoy was— is— an entitled, bigoted Death Eater, and hadn’t spared a thought for Andromeda nor her orphaned grandson after the war.

The shame soaked through him deeper than the downpour did, but he found himself stuck in place.

He’s learned something new, today; it’s quite difficult to turn down the conversation of a bright, happy Teddy Lupin while he beams up at you, straightening his spine and puffing out his chest pridefully at the opportunity to inform you about antique muggle decanters.

Teddy nods enthusiastically, grinning wide, “Yes! Haz says they’re from the eight-teeth century, and not to touch them because when I touch glass things the-ey break, so I don’t touch them— but I think he would let you! I don’t think you break things yo-ou touch.”

And, wow, wasn’t that just a punch to the gut he wasn’t expecting this morning.

“I’m afraid we have the same habit of breaking things,” Draco says dejectedly, flashing Teddy a small smile before actually getting a good look at his surroundings.

The store, while seeming rather small from the outside, is full to the brim with all sorts of objects. The walls are lined with bookcases, chipped wardrobes and various posters, signs and paintings. There are shelves sticking out from the walls and the odd piece of furniture, creating a haphazard maze, of sorts, that seems to extend so far back that Draco isn’t sure exactly where it ends— if it ends. He suspects some sort of (illegal) extension charm and his brows furrow further.

There are tea sets and glass lamps and VHS tapes and muggle cameras and clothes. Draco isn’t exactly sure how anyone could ever manage to navigate this mess— it doesn’t matter, though, because he isn’t planning on staying long, really; only until the rain stops it’s assault on London.

Teddy seems to be able to navigate the mess just fine as he takes Draco’s hand, leading him further and further into the maze.

They stop in front of what Draco gathers is one of those muggle record players— Granger has one in her small cottage, and Draco had gotten several lectures on how delicate the black discs are, having been on the receiving end of many “don’t touch the needle!”s and “you’re as bad as a toddler!”s every time he attempted to use the damned thing.

Teddy picks up a record from one of the surrounding crates and holds it up to Draco with a grin.

“Two fo-or one sale!” He says brightly, and Draco hesitantly takes the object from the boy, straightening up to give it a good once over.

While every other record seemed to be covered in dust and packed tightly away, this one was smooth to the touch as Draco ran his fingers over the image on the cover. A man, standing in front of a brick building at night. There was a sign above his head reading “K. West”, and in the upper-left corner it read: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars.

“I’m not sure I understand…”

Draco’s squinting, rereading the words in the hopes that they’d change into a sentence he was able to even begin to understand.

Teddy snatches it from his hands, walking over to the record player with a little hop in his step, smiling excitedly over at Draco before he removes the black disc from its sheath with an impressive amount of care for a toddler.

“This was daddy’s fa-avorite, Haz says,” Teddy tells him softly, and Draco’s heart seizes and stutters and the least he can do is stand there like a dolt and listen to Ziggy Stardust.

He watches with barely suppressed intrigue as Teddy gently eases the needle onto the disc.

He steps back as a calm piano plays through the cluttered store, filling up the space with an easy tune, a strong voice and a steady beat.

He’d never heard music quite like this before, not even at Granger’s, and there’s something overwhelming tugging at him as he looks over at Teddy, watching him drum his little fingers against his overalls. He can’t help but smile a little when Teddy lifts his gaze, grinning up at Draco and bobbing his head encouragingly.

“And he was alright,

The band was all together

Yes, he was alright

The song went on forever”

Draco concedes to the boy's silent encouragement, bobbing his head along with Teddy, prompting a sudden giggle out of his small cousin.

Teddy starts mouthing the words around his grin.

“And he was awful nice

Really quite paradise

And he sang all night,

All night long

Oh, how I sighed,

When they asked if I knew his name,”

“Teddy!”

They both jumped at the distant call, and Teddy quickly scrambled to stop the record before whoever called for him rounded the corner.

“I’m no-ot supposed to play the records when Harry’s not here,” Teddy whispers, shooting a wide eyed, guilty look Draco’s way— as if they were both in trouble.

haven’t attempted really writing a drarry fic because good god the amount of feelings jam packed into these things is crazy and i’m gonna have to do my best to sort through it all 🫡

[elfen-alcibiade]

How I use my digital halftones!

As promised, here is the explanation of how I used my halftones brushes for my manga and other stuff I make <3

First things first, you can get the halftones here, it's an open pricing and apparently it works for Procreate and Photoshop (Thank you very much Victoria Douglas / Halftone Hospital for all these tools!).

I know that there must be maaaany other ways to use these tools, and maybe there are much more practical ways to use it than what I'm about to explain; this post is just meant to share what I learned so far by testing stuff and trying to make my pictures look pretty (>'-'<)

Here is what the brushes look like in procreate ( I circled the ones I use myself ) :

First, I determine what part will be in which tone; the lighter one can overlay other tones, but if you make the dark and the medium ones overlay for example, it will look rather strange:

I usually do all the volume work and overall shadows with the lightest tone only, in order to keep a sense of unity in the picture. Other tones are applied much more flatly over big areas in order to make the picture more readable; for example, the dress, the desk, the frames behind and other details are darker.

So I always start with the light tone and make all the shadows, and I end with the darkest tone that I don't use much (I tend to leave most of the dark areas in full black). Please note that the halftones brushes can't be used as pencils, because the strokes overlay and become darker, and it will just look messy; also, if you change the size of the brush, it doesn't change the size of the tone patterns themselves, but only the area covered. Which is super practical.

As a result, the best way to use it is to do pretty much what you do with a real halftone, haha. You just have to select the part you want to cover with the tone, and then apply the brush un a single stroke over the selected area (I usually set the halftone brushes as big as I can so that the stroke looks homogenous for sure). Here is what it looks like:

Because I'm extremely lazy (but also because it gives a feeling of unity to the picture!) I usually try to make the whole halftone in one piece / selection. Since the drawing is big and a bit complicated here, I decided to do more parts than that, but you get the idea. As you can see here, I also do smaller parts here and there, like the nose. Because the shadows can look a bit sharp and I wanted the light that comes from the left side of the picture to be smoother, I used a tone scraper that it given with the brush pack that I use as an eraser. Here is what it looks like now:

And now, you just have to make different layers of halftones with the other ones. It's much easier now, because I just have to retrace plain areas that already exist in my lineart, in order to make details pop here and there. Here is what the other layers look like if you take them separately. I also erase some parts of it, but I try to keep it as plain as possible in order to make the picture as readable as I can:

As you can see, I always try to use these tones as a mean to distinguish different parts of the picture that could be hard to read or lack some detail.

Here is the result! I hope that my explanations were clear and that it will help some people. If you have any questions please don't hesitate to ask them and I'll do my best to answer! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Lettuce-In-Law

Fandom: The Artful Dodger Pairing: Jack/Belle Rating: T Word Count: 2166

Summary: The first marriage proposal of the evening might be ill-conceived, but the second is quite sensible.

There is something in the manner of the man—the bank man, the man under whose nose their father allegedly thrust a shovelful of dirt—as he descends to one knee that conjures in Belle’s mind some sort of toy with springs. As if he might pop up from his propositioner’s crouch with unsettling and mechanical speed. But he is not a toy, and this is not a game, despite the party invitations and the pretty foursome of Foxes in evening attire. The scrape of chairs as they all turn to look scratches a rough match of pain down her sternum. It’s starting, but it’s damn inconvenient timing, so as Fanny’s premature “Yes” leaps from her tongue, Belle employs equal haste to rise from her chair, trying to stand up straight so she will be taken seriously, trying to fill her lungs that she might have breath to scream over the unfairness of women dressed like dolls so men with childlike expressions might be overcome over dinner and fall at their feet.

The pain has a rhythm like a hundred thousand soldiers stamping the earth, like the roiling sea that tosses the great ship constructed in hubris, threatening to reduce it back into the splinters of the boards of the wood from which it was made. The pain is the Army and the Navy at once, and Belle is withstanding their onslaught while the man—Oliver Twist—proposes marriage to her sister.

“—a brief but significant acquaintance—” Twist is calling it as Belle marches down the length of the table opposite the lovers’ tableau.

“—knew from the very instant—” he is claiming when she grips the corner of the table, feeling Jack’s eyes on her, pushing off and fighting her body’s impulse to double over.

“—and the security I could provide you thanks to my comfortable position, my generous salary, and my valued friendships must not be weighed against the simple pleasure I shall feel each time I am graced with your radiant smile, though of course they are factors which you are welcome to consider. So, in conclusion…” Twist says, very much sounding as though there is a great deal more he intends to say.

“No,” says Belle. It’s so easy, actually, to get straight to the point.

Twist looks up at her with disbelieving eyes as she sidesteps him and stares hard at her sister, who is utterly aflutter and barely restraining the second assent that will probably come at a startling volume and pitch.

She yearns to tell Fanny more than she knows she has time to say, with pain sharpening its knives on her very bones: that a brief acquaintance is not enough to judge whether this is a man to whom she will want to show her drawings, that a lifetime of security is insufficiently fantastical for someone who practices kissing on bananas, that they weren’t little girls for this, for this, no matter what society would have them take on faith.

“Fanny,” she groans from between her teeth.

Her sister’s wide eyes are on her.

“Belle,” she replies.

Belle takes another step and staggers, sinks, slams the heel of her hand to her chest like a seawall against the hot swell of pain, looks up to see…

…Jack on his feet next to her sister. With Belle on her knees, closer to his chair than Fanny’s after the collapse, and holding her hand in such a way that it could easily be mistaken for an emotional gesture, a tender covering of her heart, she can feel what this looks like even before she registers the reactions of those assembled.

“I knew you really liked him!” Fanny exclaims, clapping her hands together and expressing at least as much joy over this horrible, accidental proposal as her own (which is more proof Belle is too winded to wield towards discouraging the rushed match).

“My daughter is so full of modern ideas!” their father chortles, acting to hide his discomfited uncertainty and recast his child’s erratic behaviour in front of the important guests. “Imagine the woman doing it instead of the man! Quite entertaining! Good fun!”

Belle’s gaze swings to Sneed, trying to smile, ignoring what his medical training must be urging him to see in favour of humouring Governor Fox, agreeing in order to stay in his favour. Coward.

She looks again to Jack, who would and will not ignore her pain, but her glare repels him. He stands while she kneels, and it is another humiliation at his hand, that hand that cuts so quick. After the way he spoke to her, she would never ask him to be her husband. With her eyes, she tells him, but she can feel other eyes too, eyes in the heads of people who are waiting, and she doesn’t want those people to think she’s weak. The invalid or the charade? The pity or the forced congratulations from everyone but Fanny (whose congratulations would be genuine) and their mother (who would abstain altogether)?

“Your radiant smile,” Belle says, a deadness in her eyes as the pain storms inside her, turning her nerves to lightning strikes. She lifts a hand to Jack, offering it to him.

“The security of your comfortable position,” he responds, sliding his fingers across her palm to take hold.

She would howl with laughter over the bad-mannered boldness of using the words to declare that he’s taking her for her money—possibly her parents’ greatest fear—if she had the faculty. And if she didn’t despise him.

When Jack pulls her to her feet, his eyes, all concern, do a rapid dance with hers. Then, he smiles tightly around at the people applauding with what is likely more confusion than delight.

“Get me to my bedroom,” she quietly begs.

“Allow us a few moments to collect ourselves,” Jack tells rather than requests of the room, giving his and Belle’s respectful goodbyes with a sharp nod.

He guides her out, supporting her weight, apparently before her parents can decide what to do or how to stop them.

“May I continue now?” Belle hears Twist inquire, and sighs in relief when Fanny says, “Maybe you’d better not.”

—

Jack exhales in frustration, pacing. Belle’s hands flail behind her back as she attempts to unfasten her dress on her own.

“Just let me help,” he says. Again.

“I will do it myself. You are not my servant. I’m not some sort of princess.”

“Unfortunate choice with the crown then, wasn’t it?” he questions snidely, pointing at the tiara tucked into her styled hair.

Belle groans in annoyance, then pain, her hands flying to cradle her front as her breathing grows rapid and shallow. Jack lunges towards her, attempting to straighten her posture in order to ease the passage of air into her lungs. It’s exponentially more worrying when she doesn’t bark at him to keep back or slap his fingers from her neck as he seeks her pulse.

“Take a seat,” he entreats softly. “Please.”

She allows him to steer her to the edge of her bed. Without waiting—why make Belle waste precious breaths on manners?—Jack sits down too, shifting backwards until he can use both hands to open the back of her dress. The action exposes a white chemise and, over top, a corset he’s morally loose enough to know how to slacken with a few artful tugs.

“Deeper breaths now,” he urges, rubbing firmly alongside her spine with the heel of his hand.

“The trouble isn’t my ability to inhale,” she wheezes, undermining her words, “it’s the pain.” At least she’s finally speaking to him about what’s going on. Jack’s sure that a dialogue, formed around mutual respect, is crucial to— “You nitwit.”

“Well. I’ve never had to undress someone who hates me before. Stand,” Jack requests.

Belle does, and Jack moves quickly to unfasten the rest of her black gown. It slips partway down on its own, but he gets off the bed to work it past the large skirt she wears beneath.

“I don’t hate you,” she argues while he struggles with the fabric. “I just don’t care about you at all.”

“Oh, then I’m sure we’ll be very happy together. Big happy family: you, me, Lady Fanny, and the Lettuce.”

“The Lettuce?”

“Just a special term of endearment Fagin and I have for our dear Mr. Twist.”

Jack huffs, dress successfully around Belle’s feet, and glances up to realize he now occupies a pose identical to the one Belle did earlier. He is the future Mr. Belle Fox, twice over. It’s hard to say whether she notices, hands on her waist and jaw clenched as she seemingly attempts to master another surge of pain. He’s always believed he would do whatever possible to heal the misfortunates who landed on the operating table, but he looks at Belle and wants to do more than what’s possible to heal the ache in her, even when she prods at the ache she’s put in him. He pushes to his feet and removes her loosened corset, the avowal that she doesn’t care squeezing his heart as he sets her free.

“I didn’t mean to propose,” Belle asserts, holding his gaze firmly in hers. “To make that perfectly clear.”

“I’m not actually sure that you did—though, admittedly, I was rather swept up in the romance of the moment: the most despised acquaintance of my former life producing a deeply off-putting display of emotion, succeeded by you crumpling to the ground in obvious pain.” A sarcastic smirk pinches the corner of his mouth as he reanimates the horrible scene. “I nearly swooned.”

“Yes. Well. Good.” Jack’s eyebrows twitch upward. “Good that you understood,” Belle clarifies crossly.

“Thoroughly. The glorified butcher has gotten it through his thick skull.”

“‘Glorified butcher’? I would never—”

“No, but your mother would.”

“My mother…?”

“It doesn’t matter,” he insists with a sigh. His arms go around her to feel for the ties of her underskirt. Neither of them comment on how she sags a bit in his hold, how his fingers slow when her hands run up his arms. But she’s only using him to hold herself up.

The underskirt, heavy like a raincloud, falls.

“Lie down,” Jack says. “I’ll examine you.”

“My mother,” Belle repeats, maneuvering herself onto the pillows he readies for her head. “She doesn’t speak for me, whatever she said to you.”

“Seeing as you don’t know what she said, how can you be so sure you disagree with her?”

“I know two words of what she said, and I know that they hurt you.” She grips his wrist and he feels compelled to meet her eye.

Jack can’t say it aloud—that he was hurt, twice, first by Lady Fox’s blunt, belittling language, and then by her daughter’s easy rejection of him (triggered, of course, by his preceding rejection of her). And Belle can’t apologize, apparently, not properly, though her expression steps in when the words don’t come. They speak better with their hands though, don’t they? Surgeon’s hazard. Jack swallows and rotates his hand to clasp hers. They share a gentle smile, and then he shifts his focus to the tiara she still wears.

“Lady Belle,” he says with a teasing smile, and, gingerly, lifts the ornament from her hair. Belle settles more comfortably into the pillows.

“Is the pain more or less acute when you’re lying down?” Jack asks as he walks over to her array of medical instruments, lightly twirling the tiara, trying not to think about how easily he could conceal it inside his vest pocket, trying not to wonder whether the stones are obsidian, onyx, or—when they catch the candlelight and give off a cutting gleam—black diamonds.

“Less, just now, but that could be because you’re here.”

He looks back at her over his shoulder.

“Really?”

“No,” she says with a wincing grin, “though there is some relief in not having to pretend my condition is milder than it is to ensure your pride isn’t wounded when you realize you can’t save me.”

Jack stares at her following the rush of words, in the silence that seems to ring. Into the stillness bursts the crack and fizzle of fireworks. He doesn’t care. The heart in his chest thu-thumps.

“Save you?”

She says his name and he almost returns to her side instantly, but his training takes over. He turns back to the table, casting his softening, distorting gaze over the scattered instruments. How can he choose when he can’t see?

“They’re useless,” Belle says, and something in her voice ruptures. “Just come back.”

Steady, Jack tells himself. He draws a long inhalation through his nose and reminds himself that he’s always steady, a cornerstone of his profession. Sure grip on the handle of a saw, tight pinch of his fingers on a needle.

He reaches out with quaking hands and takes up the stethoscope, leaving the tiara there to shine.

[illarian-rambling]

For the ask game:

🧡- what's your character's worst irrational fear?

💚- What does your character like to wear? Why do they wear the clothes they do?

🖤- What kind of music would your character listen to?

💕- What's your character's fatal flaw?

❤️‍🔥- Would you character go to heaven or hell? Where do they think they'd go?

Oh my, thank you! These are a lot (not a complaint) so I'll just answer for the original Mortal God cast

🧡- What's your character's worst irrational fear?

Astra's worst irrational fear is losing her ability to do magic somehow. This is irrational because book magic isn't intrinsic like sorcery. It'd be like being worried about forgetting how to read.

Mashal is dead terrified of bugs. This might seem strange for a (basically) robot, but it's not the biting or stinging that gives him the heebie jeebies. It's the idea of bugs getting into his chassis and him not noticing until they've laid a bunch of eggs in there. He's always paranoid during the fall about june bugs, because those suckers get into everything.

Ivander is scared of the dark. This might seem kind of childish, but Ivander is a son of the city. Before the events of the story, he'd never even left Unity, a city famous for its street lamps. The idea of true, croaking, country darkness unnerves him.

💚- What does your character like to wear? Why do they wear the clothes they do?

Astra is probably the only one of my characters with a signature look. She is always wearing a long coat of plum silk, with fanciful gold embroidery and slashed sleeves with crimson fabric beneath, many bows and bits of lace poking out at various places. The lining is plastered with hundreds of multicolored ribbons, each stitched with a specific rune. She can pull these rune ribbons from her cuffs or hem to throw at people, producing some magical effect or another. She does this because embroidering her runes beforehand makes it so she doesn't have to spend the first half of every fight painstakingly drawing a single fire rune. Also, cloth and thread can survive the elements a bit better than paper and ink. Astra is very proud of her gaudy coat, as it sets her apart from the licensed book magic she despises.

Mashal goes for baggier clothes, as anything too tight will get caught in his metal joints and rip. He wears a bandana tied over his scalp because he's sad he has no hair. In general, he covers up as much of his bronze plating as he can. He doesn't want it getting scuffed or scratched.

Ivander, the pompous lordling he is, wears a three piece suit to every occasion. And I mean every occasion. The man robbed a grave in a cravat once. He prefers satin, as it irritates his skin less, and he's gotten it down to a science which colors flatter his blue-tinged skin. He always wears his silver, onyx-headed tie pin, which carries his illusion. He grew up being forced to dress finely and never really lost the habit. He does legitimately also just like dressing like a fop.

🖤- What kind of music would your character listen to?

I'll just include some examples :)

Astra: You Make Me Sick! by Ashnikko, Monstarr by Ennaria, Depression by Hillbilly Moon Explosion , and Garbageman by The Cramps

Basically, just anything she could tinker to while listening at egregious volumes to keep her energy up. She'd definitely dance around a bit too, while working on stuff. It's canon that Astra loves music, she just lives in a time where jazz is only now being introduced. This is what she'd listen to with all of our modern music at her fingertips.

Mashal: Call Me, Call Me by Steve Conte, Space Age Love Song by Flock of Seagulls, Chain of Fools by Aretha Franklin, and Out of Touch by Daryl Hall and John Oates

The man likes love songs, what can I say. His taste is a lot chiller than Astra's, and played at a much quieter volume. He definitely would stay up late, all in his feels while listening to music. I would peg him as a Swiftie, but I don't listen to enough Taylor Swift to know.

Ivander: Far More Blue by The Dave Brubeck Quartet, Misty by Erroll Garner, Glad to be Unhappy by Paul Desmond, and Lullaby by Ray Bryant

He's a jazz snob, no two ways about it. Unlike some jazz snobs, he does legitimately enjoy the music, but he also very much enjoys flaunting his 'refined taste.' I think he'd play Watermelon Man by Herbie Hancock, and Mashal would legitimately lose his mind.

💕- What is your character's fatal flaw?

Astra's fatal flaws are two-fold. Her lack of self-confidence translates into pride as an overcompensation. That pride gets her into serious trouble when she's too stubborn to let it go and show the uncertainty beneath.

Mashal's fatal flaw, I would say, is his habit of making decisions for other people. Yes, there's his drive for revenge at all costs, but that has kept him alive through many a tight spot. When he decides he knows what's best and chooses something for someone that they might not want is when things get messy.

Ivander’s fatal flaw is his unwillingness to ask for help. He thinks he has to do everything by himself because that's how the world has treated him for the most part. However, he'll learn that if he crumbles under the weight of a burden he insisted on bearing alone, he might just take some other people along with him.

❤️‍🔥- Would your character go to heaven or hell? Where do you think they'd go?

Astra prays, when she bother to pray, to Erani, the Illarian goddess of ambition. This is a good fit, and Astra would hope she'd end up in the goddess's heaven. She will, as she ends up fulfilling her ambition, which is all Erani cares about.

Mashal is an adherent to Loqang, the god of loyalty - a common path of worship for Illarian soldiers. He worries about going to hell, since after his incident, he doesn't remember the oath he swore when he became a knight of Sulu'Oku. However, Loqang is a cool guy, and he respects loyalty to one's friends just as much as loyalty to an institution or code, so Mashal is getting into heaven.

Ivander has long been promised to Timaz, the god of greed, and since he's very aware that he's gotten on the god's bad side, he lives with the knowledge that he's condemned to hell. There's not a lot he can do about that. From my perspective, he's made friends with a halawemavish spirit of secrets, so maybe she can pull some strings.

Hope you all enjoyed this one!

[miminmimikyu]

Every time with PPPPPP I keep thinking "am I reading too much into this" (-> probably -> who knows! -> no way to confirm now!). Today, I'm really impressed with how much the volume extras of volume 7 & 8 pack a punch despite them being really really simple. So I'm going to read (too much) into it again x_x

Volume 7 covers the end of the 4v4 piano battle, Chocho's death and its direct aftermath (ch 53 - 61).

After each chapter there's an extra page that's blank save for a stave with a single note like this, similar to the rings the sextuplets wear/wore:

(excuse the crappy phone quality, this twitter thread by @/ppppppupdates has the extras from all the volumes pulled from the digital versions which are much clearer. I've linked to a few of them here and there).

The first note is C (Do) and the note moves up the C major scale with each chapter. To me, this came off as "very ominous countdown". You reach the end of the chapter, turn a page and BAM, the note's crept up again. It took me out of it for a second while still building suspense and still maintaining the flow of the story. The last note is B (ti/shi). This happens after chapter 59, which is when Chocho dies. So the scale was counting down (ok, up) to Chocho's death, where the chapter ends on a "pi-----"/"beeeeep" sound effect.

I know the fact that the scale doesn't end on C probably has more to do with there only being 7 siblings + only 7 chapters preceding this moment, but I also like how the scale remains unfinished. Since the last note (B/ti) is the very unstable 7th degree in the scale my brain automatically wants the melody to resolve to C but it's cut short like Chocho's life is

(There are still two chapters in the volume after that but the extras are more like the previous volumes: Most of it is Sadame-centric, like the cover (little graphs depicting his ability, the acknowledgment page is a warped version of the electronics shop where Sadame and Meloli and the inside back cover is of Meloli and Sadame). Also, there's a conductor's baton for Furusu and the results of the popularity contest)

Volume 8 already immediately sucker punched me by having no one on this page. Then, in a break from the small drawings between chapters from previous volumes, each of those pages has a full-page portait of each sibling, starting with Reijiro, Mimin, Fanta (all smiling), then Sorachika, Don and Shikato and finally, after the final chapter-- a smiling Brilliant (?) Lucky dressed in the clothes he's wearing on the cover of volume 8.

The final extra pages are small items representing members of the Otogami family

Rejiro and Mimin

Fanta + the three pairs of polyhedron earrings might refer to Sorachika, on an Shitako?

Sorachika (scarf), Shikato (apple) and Don (score)

Gakuon, though I think it also could be referring to Brilliant Lucky as he's also associated with the necklace and his portrait has him wearing it while Gakuon/Sorachika(?)'s hand reaches for it

Lastly, there's a melancholic acknowledgments page (a room almost completely empty except for a piano) and the back inside cover (depicting the end of a measure, quite a definitive "the end" imo)

Interestingly, none of the extras depict or refer to Mediocre Lucky (unless the final portrait is what would have been Lucky's final form after, idk, he and Brilliant Lucky accept each other). Maybe this is fitting because his only appearances in volume 8 are 1) passed out in the cemetery in chapter 64 and 2) in that rigid, almost caricature-like form in chapter 70 where he's banished to the darkness by Brilliant Lucky.

All in all I think these extras make the volume end on an even sadder note than chapter 70 did on its own. A lot of them just remind me of stuff that we won't get to see: A happy Brilliant Lucky never appears in the actual story-- the story ends with Brilliant Lucky lashing out in anger and rejecting Mediocre Lucky. And if that final portait is (Mediocre) Lucky himself, then it's also a version of Lucky that we never got to see-- Lucky didn't get this good ending. Even the personal items on the extra pages are split between "siblings Lucky has saved" and "siblings Lucky has not saved" (& Fanta): Arcs that we got vs. arcs that we never will get.

[moonlightheretic]

Venom of the Gods- Chapter 1-Snippet (Rough draft)

“Venetori? What in the void are they doing in these parts?”

“Maybe they fancy sight-seeing…” Elle remarked sarcastically before she tempered her tone when realization took center stage. “…or they were after the artefact too.” Their stone bodies draped over each other as they swarmed the ground beneath the harmonious artefact. Curled over like deceased spiders, their legs and arms rigid but still conveying a frantic motion halted in time. “They didn’t succeed.” Elle cocked her head and dribbled her foot, “Sorta odd how they are assembled, looks like they died all at once…they were trying to flee from something. Caught from behind like that.” She glanced back at the slain professor and his entourage. “Looks like Venetori got to them first though. “We aren’t the first to travel here, that is for sure.”

“You don’t think whatever came for them…isn’t still here?” Athan inquired with curiosity, a little too chipper for her liking. He was such a peculiar fellow.

“I think we would have confronted it by now. However, that doesn’t mean this place isn’t trapped.” Elle thrusted her fists into her hips and sighed, “I am going to investigate a way to free it without getting us skewered or something worse.”

“I’ll be over by the mural.” Athan jabbed his thumb in the direction of the previous room, already with his dagger in his hand.

Elle followed him out and wandered over to the remains of the archaeologists, there could be a clue here…these people wouldn’t let one stone go un-turned, surely, they would have documented any devices for hiding traps, right?

She rummaged through their equipment, their packs and their pockets but found nothing of use. Her eyes fell on a well-dressed human male, his chest slumped into his knees, his arm folded in between. She crouched down and with her hands on his shoulders, she pried him apart. Looped inside the crook of his arm was a heavily bloodstained journal. ‘He protected his work until the end.’ She observed with a grimace. “I am sorry.” Elle couldn’t help feeling guilty, using his work to profit her own, but there was no other option.

 Inscribed on the leather journal:

‘The Art History of the Elvhen Empire Volume Six’

‘Notes of Prof. Perrick Montague’

‘The University of Orlais’

She whistled low in genuine amazement, “Fancy, fancy.”

“Find something?” Messere Athan hollered from the other end of the room, chipping away at the mural.

“Perhaps!”  

 She flipped through the pages of the blood-stained journal with sincere interest, the professor’s notes were fluid and well scripted, a word or rather a name was repeated, Ghilan’nain. She squinted at the name, attempting to make sense of it. She turned another page, this time to a detailed rendition, a sketched figure with an upside-down crescent crowned her head. Above her head was written, Ghilan’nain. She rose to stand when her legs started to tingle, pulling the page close to her face. It looked familiar. She swiveled on her heel slowly,the rest was smeared with dried blood from her shoulders’ down, but bloody fingerprints accentuated the adjacent page, and with caution she willed her fingers to peel it back. Sloppy and broad, this bloody message was written in evident haste covering more sketches of this Ghilan’nain, now facing the mural Athan plucked jewels out of.

‘SEVEN EYES.’

Elle gulped nervously and felt her heart plummet to her stomach. Not sure why those words overwhelmed her with dread, and she wasn’t so sure she wanted to figure that out.

‘A strange thing to write as your last words.’ But who was she to judge? She reasoned with herself, achieving very little success.

Her eyes left the page to compare the drawings to the sight before her. She wasn’t here to frighten herself. Business, Elle. Don’t get distracted. She allowed the memory of her father’s admonishment playout.  But her vision swelled with the figure who had his back turned to her and something felt wrong.

Messere Athan swirled a blue vile as he gazed up at the mural, his back straight and shoulders relaxed, he rested all his weight on his backfoot. His body language continued to befuddle her; he acted like he was enjoying the artwork at some haughty soiree.

She pinned the Lyrium vile with her eyes, lowering the journal in her hands, as the man drew it to his lips and downed it in one large gulp.

“It is rather unlucky for you that I am a Templar of the Southern Chantry. Unlike those neutered dogs in Tevinter.” Messere Athan allowed the vile to shatter on the floor as he twisted on that backfoot, hand on his sword. “Magister Alexina sends her regards.”

[uhlatcha]

BEGINNING OF END - ATEEZ DREAM CATCHER AU - CHAPTER ONE: MINJI'S DREAM

AO3 | WATTPAD | MASTERLIST | VIDEO TEASER | PLAYLIST

STORY SUMMARY: A group of teenager boys found confort in each other and in the dreams they share, but what they don't know is that a group of girls in a boarding school not far from their city, who hide a powerful secret can change completely their lives, puting not only their dreams in danger, but also the destiny of the world.

FANDOMS: DREAMCATCHER AND ATEEZ

WORD COUNT: 2352

GENRE: FANFIC, SCIFI, FANTASY, MISTERY.

DISCLAIMER:

This is a work of fiction influenced by Ateez and Dreamcatcher respective lores. I used a lot of references and canon stuff, but also made some changes so both worlds can work together.

NOTES: ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE, ANY FEEDBACKAS ARE WELCOME.

CHAPTER ONE: MINJI'S DREAM.

The dream was always the same. A younger version of Minji was sitting in a large room in what appears to be an abandoned warehouse. The place was completely dark, except for the light coming in from a skylight in the ceiling.

She is sitting at the table in the center of the room, on which there is a book. The blue leather-bound volume had a curious symbol engraved on the cover, an hourglass in the center of a circle very similar to a globe.

"The universe is divided into many dimensions." It's the phrase on the first page of the book, and when she turns the page, she finds once again the drawing of an hourglass, this time, hand painted on the page covered with characters that she didn't have time to read, because her attention was attracted by the sound of footsteps echoing through the warehouse.

As she looks towards the sound of steps, she sees a silhouette emerging from the shadows, walking towards her. Her heart tightens, it's as if suddenly she can't move. As she gets closer, she realizes that the silhouette belongs to a boy. He would look very normal if it wasn't for his blue hair.

Dressed in black and carrying the curious object portrayed in the book, the blue-haired boy calmly approaches Minji, a faint smile on his lips, as if to transpose her.

She feels like she should run, that's what she wants to do, but her body simply won't move, so she continues sitting, just staring at the boy, who just reaches the light, extends his hand, nodding his head so that the girl takes the golden hourglass he carries.

Minji reaches out and takes the artifact. The boy smiles at her and nods. He doesn't say anything, but something seems to click when the girl picks up the artifact, as if the object should be with her. The boy takes a step back and a bluish light begins to emanate from the hourglass and Minji wakes up, sweating and panting, sitting up in bed in a sudden movement.

"Are you okay?" Siyeon, who was sitting on the bed on the other side of the room with a book resting on her knees and a small flashlight in her hands, asked.

Minji nodded. She didn't remember the first time she had that dream, but it had been with her for years. And the feeling she had when she woke up was always the same. That she couldn't escape, that even in the real world, when she was awake, he would find her. The blue haired-boy.

Which was ridiculous, since Minji had never seen anyone even remotely similar to the blue-haired boy in her dreams. How could someone who didn't exist pursue her? Persecution didn't seem like the most logical word to describe the situation, but that was exactly how she felt.

Siyeon was still staring at her, more curious than worried, she pointed the flashlight at her roommate, who squinted her eyes.

"Had a nightmare?" She asked.

"Kinda." Minji answered, with a confused expression.

"How can you kinda have a nightmare?" Siyeon asked and Minji just shrugged, trying to find a more comfortable position on the bed.

She signaled to her friend that she was going to go back to sleep, or at least try, and instructed her to do the same. Siyeon agreed that she should,since the light might bother Minji and their new roommate, the girl who arrived at the mansion that week, and still didn't exchange a word with any of the girls from the school.

But it still took her a while to abandon the book in her lap, she had to finish it, since it would be discussed the next day at the book club, a book that she should have already finished, but wasn't even halfway through, what made her worried that Sua would get mad at her for not finishing the reading in time.

What she didn't know was that Sua hadn't finished the book either, and was very busy at that exact moment, in another corner of the mansion, with other books and a not-so-benevolent purpose.

****

"Maybe she can't speak, just like Minji?" Gahyeon suggested.

"Gahyeon!" Handong scolded the girl, poking her with the elbow. "You shouldn't say things like this."

The girls were at their usual table at the mansion cafeteria, and Minji was sitting right in front of Gahyeon, drinking a cup of tea, beside her, Yoohyeon, Minji's best friend, was looking with an annoyed face at Gahyeon.

"I'm not mocking her or being mean." Gahyeon protested "Is it wrong to say the truth now?"

Handong couldn't believe the youngest. She just turned to Mnji, saying that she was sorry for her friend's behavior. Minji just brushes it away. Gahyeon wasn't trying to hurt her, they were friends, she was just a little unconsciously mean from time to time, a lot of the richest girls were sometimes, but it wasn't the case at that moment. And it wasn't like she said something wrong, MInji couldn't talk, she was mute. But assuming the new girl was mute too just cause she didn't approach anyone, was kind of wrong.

"Maybe she's just really shy, or nervous." Siyeon suggested "It's normal not to feel so comfortable around new people."

They were talking about the new girl, the one who was sharing the room with Minji and Siyeon. She arrived at the beginning of the week, and all the girls knew about her was her name: Dami.

The girl was attending all classes since she arrived, but never talked to anyone, even to the teachers, she just ignored everyone and kept walking alone through the school.

"I heard she came from a mental hospital." Gahyeon whispered.

"Okay, I had enough of you for today." Yoohyeon said, getting up.

"What? I'm just saying what I heard." Gahyeon protested.

"You shouldn't spread everything you heard from your rich mean friends." Yoohyeon scolded her.Then she turned to Minji. "I see you in class."

"Are you coming to the book club meeting later?" Siyeon asked as the girl walked away. "Sua will get mad if you don't."

"I'll be there." She answered without turning around.

Siyeon sighed, less worried.

"Where is she, by the way?" Minji asked, not obtaining an answer. The one who could give an answer was the one who just left: Yoohyeon, who was Sua's roommate.

"She's probably in the library, or in the photography club room." Handong pointed. "She's spending a lot of time there lately working on a project."

"I don't understand how she stands to stay in that dark room for so long. I find that room suffocating." Gahyeon commented.

"I have to agree with you on that." Siyeon said. She was still with the book in hand, now a lot more close to the end. She would have finished it by the evening before dinner when the book club meeting was scheduled.

The bell announcing the end of the breakfast and beginning of classes rang, interrupting the girl's conversation. The girls started to get up with their trails.

"Are we going to the corner shop tonight?" Gahyeon whispered to Minji after they left the cafeteria. "I'm running out of snacks."

"I don't think it is a good idea." Minji pointed out.

"But it has been more than two weeks since the designated break! We always go to the corner shop after the book club meetings!" Gahyeon sulked.

"I think Minji is right." Handong pointed out "We can't go out and break the curfew when there is someone else we don't know well enough sleeping in their room.What if the new girl snitches us?"

"WAIT?" Gahyeon said. making the other three girls stop in the hallway. "So you having a new roommate we don't trust means we are never going to sneak out of the academy again? UNTIL WE GRADUATE?"

"I hadn't thought about it." Minji pointed out, seeming worried about that possibility.

"We need a solution, really quick." Siyeon said, as the girls headed to their respective classes.

****

"So hum... Dami, how were your first days?" The counselor asked.

Dami was sitting in his fancy office, the room filled with bookshelves would be very cozy and inviting if the circumstances were different. The counselor seemed like a decent guy. Hair well cut and neat, clothes clean and ironed. He wore a placid expression as he watched, waiting for an answer that didn't come.

It didn't matter that he seemed like a nice person, she had already learned not to trust anyone. Dami didn't want to talk about how her first week had been. In fact, she didn't want to talk about anything.

And yet, everyone around her continued to direct questions at her.

What is your name? Where are you from? Why are you here? Do you want to sit with us? Almost everyone at the academy seemed so friendly, always kind and curious, willing to help her with whatever she needed. Of course there were also some people talking shit on her back. She heard some girls in the bathroom speculating about her and the circumstances that led her there. But they were a minority, as far as she knew.

She didn't expect that when she found out she was going to a boarding school. She expected spoiled rich girls, hateful teachers and a horrible place.But the academy was a pleasant place, an old house but very well maintained and cared for.

Many of the girls who lived and studied there were very rich indeed, but there were also girls like Dami, who were lucky enough to end up there after not very fortunate circumstances.And they all recognized how lucky they were to be there, being well cared for and receiving a good education.

Everything there seemed perfect, and that was what bothered Dami the most. How could a place like that exist?

Coming from where she came from, after what she'd been through, all the perfection of that place seemed elusive. The real world wasn't like that, was it?

"I know new beginnings can be difficult" the man who seemed to realize he wouldn't get an answer began "But I hope you start to feel at home here soon."

Home... Dami didn't understand the meaning of that word.

"I'm sure the girls are excited to meet you." he guaranteed. "Your roommates..."

"About that" Dami spoke for the first time, causing the man's eyes to light up.

"Can I have a room of my own?"

The glint in the counselor's eyes disappeared.

"The girls weren't nice to you?" he wanted to know.

"Quite the opposite" She had to admit it "They are very kind and polite."

The counselor smiled, proud of his choice to her roommates. But soon his smile faded in confusion.

"But if they are so nice, why do you want a room of your own?" he wanted to know.

"I still don't feel comfortable sharing a room after... You know." she didn't finished the sentence, she didn't had to, he knew what she was talking about. "I'm not sleeping well yet, and when I fall asleep... Sleepwalking starts again."

"Are you still having sleepwalking episodes?" he asked, worried, taking notes on his notepad.

"Yes." Dami lied. She hadn't had any sleepwalking episodes since arriving at the academy, at least she hadn't had any signs of it when she woke up, but she didn't want to share a room, so she needed a convincing excuse.

"It could be dangerous to the girls, I don't want to hurt anyone" she added.The counselor pondered for a moment.

"Having roommates is important for your socialization." He commented "But if sleepwalking worries you I can see if we can get you a private room. On one condition.

Of course, everything was going too well as she'd planned.

"You need to socialize in other ways... Join a club, maybe?" he suggested.

Dami didn't want to socialize, she wanted to stay as far away from everyone as possible, until she could think of a way to escape that place.

"I can try," she agreed, just to try to reel the man in.

"That's great" the counselor said, opening one of the drawers in his desk and taking out a sheet which he handed to the girl. "You can choose and fill out the form." he said, handing her the list of clubs and sports teams. He really wasn't willing to be tricked, but Dami wasn't about to give up a room of her own, so she skimmed through the list, analyzing the available options. Dancing, music, volleyball, photography... Everything seemed to require a lot of effort, until her eyes found the right words.

"Reading Club". she announced, and the man smiled, satisfied, handing her a form to fill out.

"That's great" he said "I'll ask Siyeon, your roommate, to accompany you to your first club meeting, she's one of the founders of the club, she'll be very happy to welcome you as a new member."

Dami didn't answer. She wasn't the least bit interested in the club, she just thought it would be the easiest to deal with on the list.

"Actually, I think they have a meeting tonight before dinner." the counselor announced, making her even more disappointed with her decision. "You will love it, the girls are very smart and always choose amazing books."

She wasn't really interest in all of that, bit she would have to pretend for a while if she wanted to be free. And God, how she wanted it.

****

Sua caressed the black leather cover of the book she was holding. It was a really old and rare exhibit. She had been taking care of the book for a while but soon it would be in someone's else hands.

It was almost time.That was all Sua could think about. She had been working on that for so long...

She was stuck in her own world when the bell announcing the beginning of classes rang. She had to go to class, so she protected the book, putting it on a velvet bag and hide it in one of the drawers of the studio table, locking it with a key.

If anyone entered the photography club room, they wouldn't find the book. Not that anyone wanted to be in that room recently, or that anyone could do something with the book.

She left the room and ran to her class. She still had a lot to do for her project, but it had to wait. Soon everything would be ready as she planned.

[kulay-ng-banaag]

Glazing my art means I have to re-reblog them for this sideblog (sorry, but I'm not taking chances on weirdos using my works to train AI).

As a bonus, I wrote a little more than what I initially had!

(footnotes under cut)

Real ones would notice the changes from the original version. 😂

I originally used the precolonial Philippines design by tloraxin. The tattoos were also all Visayan batuk. It was only later on that I really wanted to reflect what shaped his experiences at the time. Part of that desire is also out of spite for popular fanon.

I've talked about his tattoos before. When I have the time again (haha), I will talk about how and why I dressed him up the way I did.

☼ ☼ ☼

The 2nd panel was also supposed to be a bloodier scene. Specifically, Piri was lying dead in a battlefield, surrounded by arms of fallen warriors and their very bodies. He also should have been bruised and concealing a fatal wound through his chest with his hand. Then he is abruptly stirred up by the giant tortoise to cross the rainbow bridge.

I decided to vaguely place him in the afterlife (however that looks), if only because I already depicted him in the midst of war and violence. Not that it's bad to do it again, but I felt like that was enough visual angst from me! 😂💦

Does the comic, in any way, hint that precolonial Philippines died? I dunno, we have a long way to go before I even bother covering that arc. 🤷🏽‍♀️

I intended for Indo to hold his hand out in that one panel. I hated drawing hands back then (me with feet now). Believe me when I say making pose references and observing where parts go will level up your skill.

☼ ☼ ☼

The last line is so cheesy, even for me, as I look back on it. But it's also an allusion to the challenges in both researching and writing about queer histories.

When I think about that, I cannot help but wonder how people expressed love? How did people define love in the first place? WHAT IS LOVE? BABY DON'T HURT ME!

What more for same-sex love — and by extent, understandings of sexuality, gender, etc.? How were all of these constructed/deconstructed? Transformed/destroyed?

Anyway, I just wanted to draw two queer, brown Southeast Asian men kiss kiss fall in love!

☼ ☼ ☼

This was the original Twitter thread that served as my inspiration. I also attached the respective sources below (in order of the tweets from L to R, top to bottom).

Barton, Roy F., Segundo Aligmayo, Miguel Bacoco, Joseph Biteng, Angel Ayogat, Reynaldo Abad, James Bawayan, et al. “A COLLECTION OF IGOROT LEGENDS: Sagada Social Studies No. 6 (December 1955).” Philippine Sociological Review 22, no. 1/4 (1974): 91–116. https://www.jstor.org/stable/23892245.

Abrigo, Emilia N. "Oriental Mindoro Folktales, An Analysis." Master's thesis, Philippine Women's University, 1971. Quoted in Damiana L. Eugenio, ed. Philippine Folk Literature. Vol. 2, The Myths. Quezon City, Philippines: The University of the Philippines Press, 2018.

Scott, William Henry. Barangay: Sixteenth-Century Philippine Culture and Society. Quezon City, Philippines: Ateneo de Manila University Press, 1994.

de Loarca, Miguel. "Relacion de las Yslas Filipinas," in The Philippine Islands, 1493-1803, Volume V., 1582-1583, ed. Emma Helen Blair. Project Gutenberg, 2005. https://www.gutenberg.org/files/16501/16501-h/16501-h.htm.

Garvan, John M. The Manóbos of Mindanáo: Memoirs of the National Academy of Sciences, Volume XXIII, First Memoir. Washington, 1931; Project Gutenberg, 2006. https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/18607.

Disclaimer: These myths were sourced from distinct ethnolinguistic groups that do not necessarily share the same pantheon/s, even if deities and the like have similar names and/or attributes. I combined some of them purely for visual choices.

But also, when you're a lot of things, the afterlife may or may not be as much a funky amalgamation as you are.

PURI v. - to praise n. - to hold pride for

IndoPhil comic I (re)drew for Pride Month 🏳️‍🌈 I used some rainbow myth stories from across the Philippine archipelago 🇵🇭 as inspiration for this short comic!

[venerable-sun]

Star-Crossed Lovers (Aaravos x Reader)

Trigger Warning: Angst, a brief allusion to sex if you squint but nothing at all explicit. Potential grammatical errors that come from writing after drinking half a bottle of sangria.

Summary: Thousands of years in the past, you find love between stacks of old magic books. Unfortunately, the world doesn't want you and Aaravos together.

2.3k~ words

Before Aaravos, your days are spent surrounded by books. 

The daughter of a widowed mother, you are nothing but thankful for your apprenticeship at Elarian’s royal library. The kingdom outside suffers with famine and disease, so you keep your head down and count your blessings for the small wage you earn that you are able to send to your mother. 

Not that you don’t love the books, of course. They provide a comforting hug between their covers, and on especially bad days where the despair seems too much to bear, you often imagine yourself taking a nap in them, pulling the pages up beneath your chin like a blanket. 

It is in the library that you first met him. 

You murmur to yourself underneath your breath, mentally counting the shelves as you put away returned books. Turning to survey the cart you pull behind you, you’re too late to stop yourself from running into the tall man in your path. 

You both tumble to the ground, books raining down around you as the cart is knocked over in your fall. 

You mumble an apology, head down as you scramble to pick up the fallen volumes. A speckled hand stops you by grabbing your wrist, and you look up to its source in shock. As you gaze into the purple face of the elf before you, you realize two things: first, that who you ran into was not a man at all, and second, that he was the most beautiful being you had ever laid eyes upon in your life.

“Not to fret,” he stands languidly, drawing a curious shape in the air. The books fly back to their places on the shelves as if they had been there all along. He stoops down and offers you a hand, a small smile on his face. “No harm done, see?” 

The deep baritone of his voice has left you speechless, and you can only stare at his hand held expectantly out in front of you. You grab it with a shaking grip, relishing in the way it tightens against your own as he pulls you up. 

You don’t know what to say as you stand before him, significantly shorter than he and much more insignificant. Elves aren’t common in Elarion; in fact, this is the first time you’ve ever seen one with your own two eyes. But they have always fascinated you, especially the tales of their wonder and magic that you’ve read about in your books. You’ve always longed for the chance to meet one. 

So of course, not that you’re standing less than two feet away from one, the first thing out of your mouth is, “What are you doing here?” 

To your great chagrin and relief, the elf tips his head back and laughs, a joyous sound that you makes you want to both listen to it for the rest of your life and slap your hand over his mouth so your boss won’t come stamping down the aisles to see what all the commotion is about. 

“You humans do have such a way with words, don’t you?” He contemplates with a certain gleam in his eye, the twisted smile never fully leaving his face. His gaze flicks to the now empty cart behind you and back. “I’m looking for a very specific book, perhaps you can help me find it?” 

And so you lead him through the shelves to a book on ancient Draconic runes, so old that its spine is cracked and the pages yellow. The elf flips through it gingerly, humming in approval. 

“Excellent. When must I return it?” 

“Keep it for as long as you need it,” you find yourself saying, even though the library’s policy is only a week for such. “It’s a great book, you can’t possibly learn everything from just one read-through.” 

The elf raises a single white eyebrow. “Oh? You’ve read it?”

You flush under his curious gaze, averting your eyes back to the floor. “Magic intrigues me,” you say, fiddling with the sash of your dress. It dawns on you then how you must look to him: poor, dirty, a wanna-be scholar in patched robes when compared to his elegance. “T’is nothing but a flight of fancy.” 

A slender lilac finger lifts your chin to meet his gaze once more. He moves close to you, the sudden proximity making s blush spread across your cheeks despite yourself. “Thirsting for knowledge is not something to ever be ashamed of.” His golden eyes peer into yours with such sincerity that you can’t look away despite how such closeness would appear to an onlooker. 

Just as quickly as it came, it was over as the elf took a step back from you just as the head librarian turned the corner. “There you are! There’s more books to be shelved up front, come on!” 

He grabs your wrist and pulls you away before you can protest. You look over your shoulder at the elf, who watches you with that damned smile until you pass out of his sight. 

    ~~~

You’re shocked the second time you meet him, standing beside the small desk in the furthest corner of the library you’ve been granted. You never thought that you’d see him again, nor that he would seek you out personally. His face brightens when he sees you approach, the shimmer on his cheeks seeming to shine with more vigor. 

“I find myself in need of more references,” he produces a rolled piece of parchment from the inside of his robes and hands it to you. “Perhaps you can help me?” 

You read over the list of titles and meet his expectant gaze. “I th-think the head librarian might be more help than I.” You curse yourself internally for stuttering, but there’s just something about this charismatic elf that leaves you flustered. 

The elf chuckles and grabs a lock of hair that had fallen into your face, tucking it behind your ear. You freeze as his fingers graze your reddened cheek, afraid that any movement will acknowledge just how dazed he leaves by his presence alone. “I do not want the head librarian to help me, I want you, (Y/n).”

You attempt to gulp back the shivers that race up your spine at hearing him say your name. “Th-that’s not fair. You know my name and I don’t know yours.”

The elf trails his fingers down your arm, his fingers twining your own for such a small fraction of a second you’d wonder if it had really happened if not for the way jerked his arm back at the touch. He seems to compose himself for a moment before letting his usual coy smile spread across his face. He presses his right hand to his breast, inclining his head down to you. “Aaravos, at your service, my lady.”

This time, you do nothing to fight the blush that blooms across your cheeks. 

~~~

He returns every day after that. Now, your days are not only spent with books, but with Aaravos. 

    Hours pass by with you sitting next to him, your heads bent conspiratorially over books as you debate their topics. You try to ignore the way his gaze lingers on your form as your job eventually pulls you away from your secluded corner of the library, or the accidental feather-light touches over your shoulders as he reaches for a tome over your head. You tell yourself that these actions have no hidden meaning, that Aaravos has lived for millenia and could never be interested in such a poor human.

You are but a blip in his incredibly long life span, and your feelings of infatuation will fade when he inevitably moves on to something much more interesting. But the way your steps quicken as you walk to the library every day, the way your day brightens at the sight of him is no lie. You’ve fallen head over heels in love with the elf. 

“I want to show you something.” Aaravos says suddenly. You put down the book you’d been in the middle of shelving to look at him. “Can you meet me on the roof here, at midnight?” 

As if you could ever say no to him.

And so that is how you find yourself huddled on the roof of the library, the full moon casting a cool glow over the rooftops of Elarion as you wait for him. You shiver slightly as a cool breeze sweeps by, only to be enveloped by warmth a moment later. 

Aaravos clasps his cloak around you, chuckling to himself at the way it pools at your feet. You burrow into it, releasing in the warmth and scent of him. His white hair gleams pale in the moonlight as he spreads out a blanket for you to sit on. You resist the urge to run your fingers through it, instead turning your attention to the brilliant smattering of stars above your head. 

“They’re beautiful,” you breathe, eyes alight with wonder. 

“Indeed you are.” You’re hyper-aware of how close Aravos is to you, only a hair's-width away. Your motions bubble up underneath your skin, and you can’t stop the words that pour out of your mouth. “I wish you wouldn’t tease me so.” 

The elf looks absolutely anguished, and guilt curls in your stomach at causing him pain. “I truly do believe you beautiful, my starlight.” You force yourself not to get distracted by the endearment, looking him square in the eye with what you conveys your seriousness. “I don’t understand, Aaravos. You are an elf- powerful, strong, magical. Everything I’m not. How can you possibly find me beautiful? Why do you keep coming back?” 

A fond smile pulls at his lips, and you can’t stop yourself from leaning into his hand as it cups your cheek. The stars on his skin twinkle brighter than those above you as he moves in close. “You are so much stronger than you think. Not to mention funny, witty, and so intelligent. You are unlike anyone I have ever met in all my years, human, elf, or otherwise.” He wipes away the tears that have begun to overflow down your face. “How could I not fall in love with you?” 

That last part is no louder than a whisper, his lips brushing yours before he finally pulls you into a searing kiss. He groans into you, a deep, guttural sound that has you quaking to your core. The kiss grows more fervent as you press yourself to his chest, your fingers tracing the pinpricks of light that litter his skin. He lays you back onto the blanket, and that night shows you just how much he truly loves you so that you will never need to question it again. 

~~~

“I call it dark magic.” 

In one hand Aaravos holds flickering flame painted black. In the other, he holds a withering phoenix feather. 

You can barely contain your curiosity as you examine the black fire he holds further. “How does it work?” 

With a wave of his hand, the fire is extinguished, and he replaces it with your hand as he pulls you close to him. “I’ll explain everything to you later, just know that I have found a way to keep us together, forever.” 

You hum contentedly into his chest as his arms wind themselves around you. Whom else could boast that someone loves them to the point of creation?

~~~

Elarian is on fire. 

You can only watch in horror as your beloved library is burned to the ground, going up in flames as fast as a forest in drought. A roar sounds in the distance, and through the smoke on a nearby hilltop you can see the outline of a monstrous dragon. In front of him, a flash of white hair that you could identify even in your sleep. 

With burning lungs, you fight your way through the crowd of confused townspeople fleeing from the dragon. You stumble up the hill, clothes singed and covered in soot. 

“You have violated the sacred order of our magic.” The dragon rumbles, his light blue scales a stark contrast to the burning red around you. 

“I have violated nothing!” Aaravos shouts, shoulders shaking in a rage you have never seen from him. “I work to unite elves and humans together!” 

It is then that he notices you. You reach for him, and he catches you just before you collapse to the ground. He brushes the soot off your face as best he can, doing his best to comfort you despite the fear shining in his eyes. “I’ll get us out of this, my love. I promise.” 

The dragon watches the two of you in stony silence. He raises his claw, drawing a rune in the air. 

A flash of white light blinds you, and the last thing you comprehend is Aaravos’s howl of fury. 

~~~

Time passes differently here, in the replica of the library where you’d once worked. You spend your days, or what you think are days, at least, reading and putting away books. Just as you’d always done before Aaravos came into your life and turned it into something wonderful. 

You’ve long figured out that this is not your actual library, merely an illusion built to keep you complacent. Imprisoned. Anger churns in you. Imprisoned for what? Loving one whom the world deemed you not meant to love. Loving one who would go so far as to invent a magic just for you, so that you may wield it as your own and never grow old by his side? 

You are anything but complacent in your prison disguised as your paradise. Aaravos will come for you, you’re sure of it. And when he does, the both of you will get your revenge on all those that had conspired to keep you apart. 

And so you sit patiently and wait, for nothing can keep two star-crossed lovers apart for long. 

Don't forget to like and reblog! Requests are open, check my pinned post for more details!

[bl00dgutsgl0ry]

Let Me Feel You For a While

Pairing - Zhongli x Fem!Reader

Warnings - 18+ NSFW SMUT DO NOT INTERACT IF YOU ARE A MINOR PLEASE!!! Breeding kink (im sorry), slight blood, marking/biting, accidental voyeurism? THIGH RIDING YES PLEASE, AND SHARP TEETH MAKE ME DROOL. Oh btw spoilers for the Farewell Archaic Lord I think? General spoiler warning for genshin.

Word Count - 1.7k.

 Other Comments - You guys have NO IDEA how much I love Zhongli oh my god I love him. I slept on him at first but ever since my eyes were opened I realized how wrong I was for that. Anyway enjoy!!

@sadpsychologist @barbqtos​

      Zhongli had money, he was just dumb and never brought it with him; too used to the routine of just making more Mora if he ever needed to buy anything while he was an Archon. This being said, that also meant he had one of the most elaborate bedrooms you’d ever laid eyes on. The room was filled with rich browns and shimmering golds, his bed sheets made from the finest silks. Archons never really slept, which meant the Zhongli had made this room as ethereal as possible just for you. 

     You were laying across the cold white gold sheets, hair clinging to your forehead from the sweat. Your fingers were dancing around your clit, rubbing harshly at times before dipping into your wet cunt and pumping them in and out roughly. You were so horny it was uncomfortable, and since you had gotten accustomed to your lover's large member, your fingers were doing much for you. You needed something better. You shakily stood from the bed, before kneeling down and pulling out the box and you guys only got into when the two of you were really in the mood. You quickly found what you were looking for, as it was the largest thing in the box. You pulled the dildo out of the box before quickly shoving the box back under your bed.

     Zhongli didn’t really like when you took matters into your own hands, as he wanted to always be the one thing that made you melt. He wanted to pleasure you in ways that you never would have imagined. At this point you were quickly pumping the dildo in and out of yourself, lost in the pleasure as you moaned out loudly. You weren’t worried about anyone hearing since you were alone in the house and Zhongli wasn’t going to be home for a while. You can imagine your shock and horror when you opened your eyes to see Zhongli standing in the doorway, dick already straining hard against the large man’s dress pants.

     “Ah you finally noticed my presence.” Your face was even redder when those words left his lips. How long had he been standing there watching you fuck yourself roughly with the large silicone tool. You let out a low whimper, beginning to pump the object in and out of yourself again, too worked up to be embarrassed. You heard Zhongli chuckle lightly before the loud sounds of his dress shoes against the hardwood floor could be heard. You felt Zhongli’s gloved hands halt your movements before brushing your hand away and pulling the dildo out, setting it aside for cleaning at a later time. Soft desperate whimpers falling from your mouth as your chest heaved up and down. Zhongli pressed soft kisses to your face, his gloved hands running up and down your naked body, brushing against your nipples causing you to jolt.

     “You’re so sensitive my dear.” Your hands were looking for purchase on any part of his body, finally landing on his strong biceps. You squeezed his arms hard, wiggling around and continuing to whimper.

     “Nothing feels as good as you Zhongli, please… please help me. Fill me Zhongli, stuff me.” Your voice was barely above a whisper, your lips swollen from chewing on them.

     “Well it looked like you were having a good time with the dildo sweetheart.” Warm embarrassment bloomed in your chest and you desperately tried to pull Zhongli down by his collar. Zhongli’s lips attacked your, passionately biting at yours, Zhongli’s sharp canines drawing blood before he swiped it away with a quick flick of his tongue.

     He continued this assault on your flesh as he went lower. He made sure to mark you anywhere that was visible, it made his pride swell when he saw you walking around Liyue trying and failing to cover up bitemarks and deep purple hickies. Zhongli pulled back to admire his work, before propping himself up on the edge of the bed. Strong arms manhandled you, forcing you to straddle his thigh. You blushed profusely when you realized what Zhongli wanted you to do.

     “But- but your pants Zhongli, I don’t want to ruin them…” A small smile and eyes filled with pure admiration poured into yours. He carded his fingers through your hair, pushing back any strays behind your ear in the process.

     “My dearest, you have always been so considerate, but for tonight don’t worry about anything, just do what comes natural to you. My clothes can be cleaned, and if not I will buy another pair.” Zhongli’s hands gripped your hips tightly, starting to move you back and forth on his thigh. You clit was ecstatic to finally be getting some friction, moans already being ripped from your throat. The ex archons dick was uncomfortably hard, outline clear as day from how hard it was straining against his slacks. Once you finally got yourself into a rhythm he let one of his hands fall from your hips, giving in and palming himself through the thick fabric.

     You moans began increasing in volume and frequency as you got closer and closer to the edge. You gripped onto Zhongli’s broad shoulders, your body quickly becoming tired. The man in front of you noticed this, letting his hand return to your hip as he helped steady your rhythm once again. Tears were threatening to fall from how good you felt, everything starting to become light and fuzzy as you continued to get closer to your climax.

     With a couple more rough thrust against his leg, the coil deep in your gut snapped, sending waves of please surging through your body. Your back arched hard before slumping into Zhongli’s chest. He kept your hips moving, letting your ride out your orgasm on his now soiled pants.

     “My love, do you still want me to fill you up?” Zhongli’s voice brought you back to reality, where you realized how hard he was. The thought of Zhongli filling you to the brim reignited the fire that was just extinguished in you. You nodded reverently before rolling off his thigh and onto your back, presenting yourself to him. A low groan sounded from Zhongli’s throat as you spread your leg wide, the site of you littered with markings making his brain go fuzzy; his only focus now on making you both feel good. You’ve never seen Zhongli rip off his close at such a speed before, until he was stark naked and crawling on top of you; caging your head with his arms.

      Once again Zhongli began to attack your neck, except not as rough, not wanting to cause more pain than pleasure. Without warning, he slammed his dick into you, since you had already worked yourself open for him. Despite this, your walls still clung tightly to him, his large cock dragging deliciously against your walls as he hit all the right places. Both of your were on cloud nine, as he ruthlessly pounded into your.

     Normally when the two of you had sex, right before Zhongli came he would pull out and cum onto your stomach which he of course would clean up later. Not for any particular reason as to why since you were on birth control, it had just become a habit. This time however you wanted to do things a little different. You were getting close, and you could tell he was as well, as his breathing became more uneven and more low pitched noises started coming from him. Your walls fluttered around his cock, causing him to shutter and let out a low grunt. Before it was too late, you tightly wrapped your arms around the ex Archons next, and pulled him down closer so your lips were mere centimeters away from his ear.

     “Cum in me Zhongli, stuff me with your cum. I want every drop of it please I wanna feel you inside me even after you pull out. Archons please please Zhongli let me feel you cum. Breed me.” Zhongli’s eyes widened, those words causing something to snap in him as he was hit with another wave of pleasure, his thrust still maintaining their power but becoming more erratic. You could feel Zhongli’s calloused fingers rubbing quickly against your clit, sending new waves of pleasure through you. The moans coming from the two of you were matched perfectly, as the two of you got closer and closer. With a couple of final thrusts, Zhongli sheathed himself in you as deep as he could go, cumming shooting deep into you. The feeling of his cum filling you up is what sent you over the edge, cumming for the second time; your mouth falling open to form a silent scream. You could feel Zhongli beginning to ooze out of you as he pulled out, which made you shiver.

     “Let’s get you cleaned up shall we darling?” Zhongli was still a little out of breath as he stood from his position on top of you, holding his hand out to you. You grabbed a hold of him, before catching him off guard and pulling him back down.

     “Let me stay full for a little while longer.” Sleep was slowly starting to take over, as your eyelids couldn’t stay open. Your words went straight to Zhongli’s dick, but that was an issue he would take care of himself. For right now, he just pulled you into his chest, allowing you to drift off into blissful slumber.

[love-is-a-dagger]

Could you write a Druig imagine where he finds the reader up late painting cause she can’t sleep?

Late night loving

Omg I love this idea. Also the whole concept of grump boyfriend and a sweet girlfriend is just 💕🌸🥰

Masterlist

Being in love with a heavy sleep had many ups and downs, but when your loved one automatically knows when you’re not there, it has a little few more downs.

For example, the position you’re in right now. As you couldn’t sleep, you decided being up and about would be a perfect way to try and get tired.

Now the problem, Druig also knows when you leave the bed, with his arms wrapped around you like a snake catching its prey.

So it takes a skilled warrior to do this, which you are sadly not, so only your best can do.

So gently grabbing his arm, you pull him off you, checking every so often to make sure his breathing hasn’t changed.

Slowly, you push one arm off, being slow and steady you take his other arm off you. With haste, you replace your absence with your pillow.

You watch with a smile as he nuzzles into the pillow, a sweet little grin on his face, his adorable eyes being squished slightly, adding to how cute he looks in his sleep.

Tiptoeing out the room, you’re sure not to make any noise, despite the eternal being a deep sleeper, you don’t want to take any chances of him waking.

With everything that happened, Ajak’s and Gilgamesh’s death, ikaris’ betray, the almost  emergence and of course, the blip in which many people, including yourself, were gone for five years, he’s been sure to keep any eye on you, scared that something could happen to his sweet little mortal.

***

With a jump, Druig awakes, sweat on his forehead. His hand instantly goes to his side where you- where you were not laying. With a jolt of his head, he sees your spot empty.

He takes a few seconds, feeling where you were supposed to by laying, moving the pillow you placed in his arms. You’ve done this a few times, the first time he all but shouted, thinking someone took you, only for you to be in the next room, running in with a book in your hand.

Gulping, he tries not to over think. Knowing you’re in the home, with the pillow being slightly warm still.

He strips the blanket off him, taking a moment to get used to the cold of the room. When his feet reaches the hardwood floor, he’s quick to subtract them.

He remembers how you’re able to get out of bed on cold mornings so easily; wearing socks, he could never scoop that low.

He shudders of the thought of going to bed with socks on, his toes need to be free.

Without a second thought, he places his feet in the floor. He ignores the coldness and decides to deal with it. Because the desire to make sure you’re okay rather then worry about his feet being cold-although, cold floors are a very serious issue.

Walking out the room, he hears soft music playing, low enough to almost be invisible to his ears, the volume you’d play music at when you want to zone out.

He followed the music, walking down the hallway to the room you do most your mischief in, ranging from drawing and painting to sculptures, he even saw part of a handmade dress on the table once.

With each step he takes, he remembers the first time he walked in on you painting, you ran up to him and covered his eyes. He still to this day can’t help but smile whenever he remembers that, you were so embarrassed, your cheeks blushed a deep scarlet.

When he finally reaches the door, he faintly hears humming, bringing a grin to his face. He slowly opens it, hoping it doesn’t squeak, to reveal you, parading around in your pyjamas, which proudly wore l self-inserted embroidering of his armour, or his ‘super hero costume’ which you so politely called when you first saw it.

He watches you, your back to him, take a step back to have a proper look at the painting. The soft colours on the canvas looking like a Picasso, which Druig remembers telling you that he once met.

His heart flutters as you tilt your head, seeing it from a different angle. He knows you’ve had a hard time since coming back from the blip, the overwhelming feeling of missing something, but he couldn’t be happier, being able to hold you again, after a long five years without you.

“It’s beautiful, me beloved” his rich accented voice calls out, making you jump in fright.

You spin around as he smirks at your blushed cheeks, getting embarrassed that he found you painting at such a obscene time.

He opens his arms as you rush to him, hiding your head in his neck as his arms wrap around you, swinging you a bit.

“It really is beautiful” he confesses, making you try and hide your head further in his neck, “a piece the man himself would love” he continues his rant, earning his torso to be squeezed by you.

“Druig” you can’t help but smile, taking a step back to look at him, holding his face in the palms of your hands.

“Y/n” he mimics you, voice is filled with adoration, eyes watches you with love, and an accent that makes you weak at the knees.

“I love you, old man” you smirk as he gasps, gently pushing you off him, placing a hand on his heart.

“I cannot believe this!” He declares, arching his eyebrows, faking disbelief.

“I’m sorry” you try to fake a pout, only to fail.

He sends you a smile, holding your elbows, keeping you at arms distance.

“I know you’re not sorry” he gently butts his head to yours, smiling as he closes his eyes, loving being in your presents.