#flesh tone

[soldsoulglenx]

Scream by Kelis from the album Flesh Tone.

[lexyblip]

flesh tone by kelis is one of the best albums ever made and needs more love!!!

[hinamie]

domain expansion

[moonsidesong]

quick scribble of 14-crush's original color schemes vs how i color them now for funsies. i feel like ive gotten. a little less?? afraid??? of saturating my colors???? four and ahato... you two used to look so pale and sickly... im so sorry LOLLLL

[ashipiko]

—ATLAN TREIN

All information on Atlan Trein ATM! Will most likely be updated ☆

—MORE UNDER CUT

BASIC INFORMATION:

Class: 2-A

Birthday: February 12th

Height: 179cm

Dominant Hand: Right

From: Land of Pyroxene / Shaftlands

Club: None

Favorite Subject: Music

Best Subject: History of Magic

Likes: Making friends

Dislikes: Being called “Mommy’s Boy”

Favorite Food: Bread

Least Favorite Food: Pumpkin

Speciality: Getting people interested in drama

GALLERY:

VOICE CLAIM:

CALLING HOME…

— Pomefiore Dorms - Atlan’s Room —

[VOICEMAIL BEGIN]

…Moooom, I know it’s kind of late, so I’m sending in a voicemail, but— You can listen to this in the morning while you get ready, right?

I know it’s only the first day of this school year but please, can you just give me permission to go home or something?!

I don’t wanna be here anymore! Just take me back home! I’m not learning anything new at this school. Sure, the drama and gossip is kind of interesting, but, ugh, it gets old really fast.

—N-Not that I’m the one spreading it around. Of course not! You could never expect that from your beloved son.

Uncle is already starting to freak me out, though. I swear whenever I looked up from my desk during history, either he or Lucius would be staring straight at me. He didn’t call you before me, right? Don’t tell me he did! I promise, I haven’t done anything—!

Ugh, not to mention, it’s just as hard to provide for myself as last year… I honestly think the lack of roommates is more of a con than anything. It makes it even harder to talk to people, tch.

…Like, I get that you want me to learn how to survive on my own, but seriously…? I don’t think being surrounded by all of these… what’s a word that’s not pleb but similar… Ah. Idiotic peers, is the right way to go about it.

Oh! I almost forgot the most important part about today. At the welcoming ceremony, there was a huge and giant fiasco. Apparently some person not from here crashed the ceremony. And no, not not from here as in Sage’s Island, I mean Twisted Wonderland! Isn’t that crazy? It would be funny if it was through time travel, hahaha!

They seemed quite out of it. Lost for words and confused. I think they even got caught on fire. I couldn’t help but laugh a little. I think I even heard house warden Vil critique them!

Ah— Sorry if that was a lot. You take a long while to apply your makeup anyways, right? It’s just that I don’t really have anyone here to talk to about this, and I’m quite bad at small talk, so…

You know.

…Well then. I love you. I hope I see you soon. And consider my request—!

Goodnight.

[VOICEMAIL END]

.

.

.

TRIVIA:

Atlan is twisted off of Anastasia from Cinderella!

Despite this, he isn’t Trein’s son. He’s his nephew. I figured it would be a little funnier this way.

Atlan isn’t exactly liked at NRC. To say the least, his entire personality is that he talks about other people. That’s it. Not in a praising way either— He’ll talk about whatever things he’s heard around. Hence, his ear for gossip.

His tie to Yuu would most likely stem from Yuu hearing that someone had been talking about them in a gossipy way, and therefore finding out who it was (because Yuu protection squad is a very real and scary thing). Either that or tracking him down because they think he might have information.

Atlan’s reasoning behind all his talk being rumors and topics about other people is because he’s not very good at socializing himself. He grew up a little sheltered with a bratty older sister who he’d always fight with. Lots of screaming and the such. Both of the siblings ended up being a little spoiled, and with some unbearable personalities, resulting in people not really wanting to become their friends.

The rest of his family didn’t seem to mind the fact that they weren’t as liked as others, but Atlan always sort of wanted to find out a way to reach out. To have friends and see what the normal person’s life would be. However, due to the lack of support, every time he attempted to reach for his goal, it would end up in failure. Nobody to correct his behavior, and nobody who would try to help him understand himself.

His mother, noticing this behavior of his, decided that the best course of action would to be to send him off by himself to a school filled to the brim with other people his age, who he could learn to interact with— Night Raven College.

But you would guess, something like that doesn’t go well for a boy who depended on his mother and her money for comfort.

Like a fish on land, Atlan tries his best to be open and talk to people, but upon becoming independent, he realizes that he doesn’t really have much going for him. And as people got to know him, he felt as if they were right— He’s nothing but a person who trash talks people and brags about his money.

He cracks under pressure easily when the atmosphere is awkward, and has no idea how to go about small talk. Atlan isn’t the best person to tell your secrets to, as he’ll probably end up using it as a conversation starter.

Atlan has an oresama air to him, but he really just wants to be part of the crowd rather than someone alienated for something he doesn’t know how to navigate. Maybe one day he’ll find the right crowd to surround himself with. A helping hand to guide him. But for now, he’s stuck, enrolled in NRC under his mother’s word.

More to be added!

[aspennntree]

soup

i saw someone else do this and it’s very inspired but i forgot their url i’ll look for it

[tadpole-apocalypse]

random bits from sketch pages on my ipad. I'll have to link the full illustration for the bottom pic later, it keeps getting caught by the naughty filter and won't post

[gummmy]

JACK, JERRY, AND BEN

[lineffability]

"I set up a suggestion box."

"You what?"

"I, I set up a suggestion box. In Heaven. For me, I mean, not for God, that would be-- uh. Well."

"That would be what?" Say it, angel.

"That... that would fall on deaf ears, I think." I still can't; it's sacrilege.

"Why did you do that?"

"The, the box?"

"Yeah."

"Do you not remember..? Well, I suppose you might not..."

"I do. I think I do."

"Then why do you ask?"

"Because... well, angel, I don't think you need one. Do you?"

"I'm just... trying, Crowley."

"And how's that working out for you? Any suggestions so far?"

"Yeah. Yeah, uh, one."

"What's it say?"

"It said: Resign, Archiraphale."

"Archiraphale, huh?"

"Yeah."

"I have a suggestion."

"You do?"

"Get rid of the suggestion box."

"..."

"You're the best suggestion they have, just by being up there. If they can't see that, see you, which of course they don't, then no suggestion they make will be worth a damn."

"Crowley..."

"Just. Be careful up there, Aziraphale. Pl-- Okay?"

"Yes. I am. Of course. Crowley, I... I miss you."

"Yeah." I miss you too. Angel, you have no idea...

"Is it okay-- Would it be too much to-- Can I contact you? Somehow?"

"...maybe. Yeah. I guess I could-- you could leave a note. I could set up a suggestion box."

"I don't want to make any suggestions. I just want to-- talk. And uh. Apologize. I want to apologize."

"Don't need a suggestion box for that. Just need an... er, an apology box."

"I'm sorry, Crowley. Look at me, please. I am so sorry. Let me explain?"

"I'm sorry, too. Okay. Okay, okay, okay. Don't make me regret this. You can leave a letter. Mailbox."

"Thank you. I will. I... need to go back, now."

"Sure. Archiraphale... wow, I can't believe they developed a sense of humor. Wait, take this."

"A note?"

"Mhm. For the suggestion box."

Insultors will be smitten. -- AZIraphale

"Thank you, Crowley. I don't think 'insultor'... thank you." Protecting me makes him so happy. Still?

"Sure." Always.

[leorimon]

how do we feel about sonic-ified andalites

[serpentface]

Fuck we are under attack (Janeys armor reference image)

The Imperial Wardi military has no standardized weapons or armor (except for a few small, elite and specialized groups of soldiers). The vast majority of soldiers have to supply their own, and one's armor is only as good as they can afford. Janeys can afford very, very good armor, though this set opts more for comfort, visual appeal, and basic coverage of vital organs than truly comprehensive protection.

This set consists of a lacquered and finely scaled iron lamellar covering the torso, shoulders, and wrists, and two layers of thick padded skirts protecting the upper legs and groin, all worn over a standard skirt and a light undershirt. The veil draping from the helmet is externally decorated with fabric and conceals an internal set of chainmail (the rest of the mail that would complete the set has been neglected). While this armor is not as fully protective as would be ideal, it is designed to allow for an adequate degree of protection while maintaining freedom of movement to engage with versatile duties (riding, fighting with a sword or spear, archery, shooting a musket, verbally abusing your soldiers to cope with stress, etc).

This armor is substantially more decorated than is typical, while not outright being fully ornamental/ceremonial. The padded components and belt are trimmed with consecrated white lionsmane (a material typically reserved for Odonii and their kin, used to increase prowess in battle), and the helmet has a purely unnecessary skimmer gull plume flopping around on it (for good luck).

There is a great variety of armor produced in Imperial Wardin, but it tends to fall into the categories of lamellar (usually iron or leather) and chainmail, and/or thickly padded linen armors. The latter is of increasing importance in the contemporary, as it is the only armor that offers SOME degree of protection against musketfire. Padded armor certainly cannot withstand a direct hit, but it can sometimes absorb distant or glancing hits from ammunition.

[hinamie]

@philosophiums and i have been nursing the beginnings of an atla au so have some preliminary designs while we cook :>

[spookygibberish]

Made a faintly insane list of of every animated movie I have good enough memories of to feel confident ranking, although some of them I would probably move around if I saw them more recently....

[erazonpo3]

an idea I've always liked but haven't had the motivation to draw is Kalos League Movie Night where Diantha picks out movies she thinks the others will like (The Menu was a big hit with Siebold) but occasionally she'll pick a horror movie because she likes to infodump about the various practical effects.

Wikstrom will bail in the first ten minutes, Siebold will make more of an effort to stick around but he's screaming and hiding behind his hands the entire time, Malva will do her best to look unbothered but her terrified grip is clawing straight through the upholstery while Drasna watches with a straight face but makes a disapproving 'hm' noise every now and then

[kayawolfhorse]

Day 8 — A Hazy Temptation

—☾—

Someone is attacking the desert.

The foundations of their base shutter between each thunderous boom, and ever-growing cracks clung along the seam of every wall.

There’s shouting, screaming, and Scar’s sword is in his hand and its grip is wrong against his palm and his mind roars but he can’t get his bare feet to unstick from the sandstone beneath him—

Scar wakes in a single heaving gasp.

Sleep’s syrupy pull tugs at his heavy limbs and seeps into every pore, and it’s burning; suffocating. The thunderous rumbling falls heavy against his ears and it won’t stop.

He forces a breath through his smoke-clogged throat, then another. Belatedly, he realizes the sound is his own pounding heart rattling within his own chest.

In, out. The sturdy beams above him support an intact ceiling. In, out. The desert is quiet around him, and the light of the nearly-full moon spills in through the slim window on the opposing wall, a pretty contrast to the faint embers still crackling in the furnaces. In, out. Grian slumbers on by his side, warm, trusting, vulnerable.

The thought nearly chokes Scar as he scrambles against it, desperate to keep his clear lungs. Beneath his gray skin, something red-hot and razor-edged buzzes like a swarm of locusts, eager to consume; eager to destroy. Bloodlust is a stranger beside him no longer, but its lingering presence will never be something Scar regards as a friend.

Checking on Grian is as much of a comfort as it is a distraction. He’s in his sweater and bundled beneath the blanket cast over them both, the desert nights too cold for—if he’s honest with himself—the lack of clothing Scar insists upon. His face is relaxed and his left arm hangs partially off the bed.

He doesn’t want to hurt him. He’s scared that he might.

Scar scooches back until he’s as far away from his partner as he can manage without falling off the narrow bed. He mourns the line of brisk air wedged between them and begs his brain to come up with something, anything else to think about. The thoughts are sluggish to break through the haze that seems to circle his head, and Scar holds each one he can get a grip on tightly. Slowly, in fits and starts, he recounts to himself a familiar tale.

It starts with an ingenious scheme and enough silver-tongued sweet talking to fill a barrel or few. It starts with a prank gone wrong and a promise of devotion laid at his feet. It starts with a sunset over newly claimed land and a partner on the llama at the end of Scar’s lead.

Alliances rise and fall; enemies are made and plotted against. Tensions grow as the number of lives dwindle. Grian, a green life who shouldn’t yet know the taste of blood, kills three and breathlessly declares it in Scar’s name and Scar can’t do this.

With trembling fingers, Scar moves the blanket aside as gingerly as he can and holds his breath as he lifts himself off the mattress. With one leg swung over the side of the bed, he starts to get up—

A hand gently, clumsily wraps around his wrist.

“Scar?” Grian’s voice is sleep-heavy and rough around the edges. Scar freezes. “What are you doing up?”

Scar collapses back into bed at Grian’s light tug, and his heart starts its nervous drum once more. Grian’s facing him now, and he’s hardly awake but his eyes are crinkled with concern.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Scar replies after a beat too long.

Grian hums slightly. “Insomnia loves a friend, doesn’t it? Stay with me; I’ll keep you company.”

Scar could cry. Wordlessly, he nods, and tries his best to get comfortable. Grian’s hand finds his own beneath the blanket and he interlocks their fingers, warmth pulsing softly between their palms. The tightness wound around Scar’s body slowly starts to thaw.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Scar says quietly, after the silence has stretched on long enough that he’s sure Grian has fallen back asleep, and saying it out loud brings a sort of hesitant relief that cuts through his quiet suffering. The bloodlust isn’t him. It can’t be.

“You won’t,” Grian says, and his voice startles Scar. He shapes the words like something absolute, like he’s not in bed with a red life and the world around him isn’t one ruled by death.

Scar believes him.

He believes him even more when Grian unlaces their hands so he can throw his arm over Scar’s hip, pulling them closer together until his head rests lightly against Scar’s collarbone. Scar rests his own arm against Grian’s back and squeezes him lightly; Grian responds by snuggling further into him.

The story that dances behind Scar’s eyes stops and starts spinning again like a disk set upon a jukebox; violent throes melt away into the golden light cast against the kitchen floor the first time he and Grian baked together. Aching pins and needles soften to the sensation of running his hands along Pizza’s shaggy coat, and shared laughter drowns out the calls for blood.

Scar couldn’t hurt him. He wouldn’t.

He won’t.