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rjalker · 4 months ago

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Random parts from my dream:

Part.....2?

The mom: Oh, yeah, I've known who your soulmate was since you were 13, lol, you just didn't notice the message written in the clouds.

[the person who's just met their soulmate for the first time paraphrasded in the ether: and you didn't bother to tell me???]

The husband, cheerfully: Yeah, I think he'll have something to tell you that I forgot.

[the person who just met their soulmate paraphrased in the ether: Why aren't you upset about this????]

[the husband paraphrased in the ether: because we chose to get married and I know we actually love eachother. a soulmate bond can't even try to compete with that.]

It was a world where soulmates were a thing and forever ago before written history people had figured out that you could easily break a soulmate bond by just. aborting the baby it produced. and then the Magic Eugenics God™ would go ewwwwwwwwww you had a misscariage you're unfit to be in my breeding program get outta here!!!

and then in the future they invented medicine you could just take to simulate an abortion/miscarriage so no one actually had to get pregnant. If you found your soulmate you could just take the meds and instantly break the bond before any bullshit happened.

___

then there was stuff about Flatland I mostly forget...I think A Sphere and A Square went on a picnic...

___

Part...1?

there were 3 rings that were used to create portals to three other worlds. One was called White As Death and had a symbol of a bone. It opened a portal to The Death Zone. Another one was...okay I just forgot what it was called but it was red and had a symbol of a cloud. It went to The Twilight Realm. The last one I didn't learn the name, but it was green and had a symbol of a snake that looked like the number 2. I have no clue where it went.

The Death Zone was where ghosts and other souls of the living went after death. The Twilight Realm was I think an endless dungeon thing. if you ever found the sky it was always pink and purple and cloudy which is where it got its name.

To open a portal, you had to have all three rings, worn by three different people, and you had to use them to trace the same shape in the air that would become the portal. Whichever ring you used last would determine your destination.

The portal making thing wasn't going well because the people were failing to communicate properly and the first time thy made the portal too small for anyone to actually fit through. Then they got in a tent and made the portal by tracing along the doorway. Then they all grabbed the tent and ran through the portal, which flipped it inside out and....successfully closed the portal behind them???

very weird.

___

And then there was this guy, Riowolf, or to his friends, Rioruff. A trans man who was kidnapped by the government and experimented on in a secret evil lab into a partially-transformed werecatwolf (the government wanted 'the best traits of cats and wolves combined with Human Intellect™') before they tossed him back out onto the street. A common problem in this setting, with varying results. The government has not suceeded in making a full werecatwolf (or werecat, or werewolf) yet but they don't care how many people they have to torture to make one.

being bitten by one does not let you become one. yet.

His ear normally stands fully upright but I made the canvas too short. this is supposed to be expressionless since it's just a character reference.

[ID: A simple digital drawing of an original character. In the center top of the image is his face, in the lower left and right are a very simply drawn version of his full body, flipped to show his front and back. The left half of his face (which is on his right) is light pink, with darker red-pink burn marks on his forehead, over his eye, and his mouth, with this eye closed, drooping to the left. His mouth also droops to the left. The other half of his face is covered in black fur, with a tall pointed ear, a grey nose, and whiskers. His eye on this side has dark sclera, a large round pupil, and a red iris. The black fur continues down half of his body and includes a long tail, with a red double-spike at the end. On his wrists and ankles are grey, red, and grey stripes. He wears no clothes,and the human half of his body is simple pink blobs in the shape of an arm and leg. On the werecatwolf side, he has a digitigrade leg and a paw, both with sharp claws. End ID.]

with extra text and also his clothes

[ID: The same drawing above, but now Riowolf is wearing a red short-sleeved shirt under a denim jacket with tattered edges, and grey jeans with ripped edges. On the werecatwolf side, the jeans have been cut at the knee. The front of the jacket is covered in many small black pins, with text reading, "assorted other pins", "he/him pronoun pin (trans man). On the back is a black symbold of scratches left by claws. An arrow points at his closed eye, labeling it, "blind in this eye". Smaller text above his angled ear on the face closeup reads, "not mad the canvas is just too short". In the upper left corner, text reads, "July 22 2024, public domain, Riowolf or to friends Rioruff". End ID.]

He's a punk anarchist. He lives in a time when there's either nuclear winter, or just on a completely separate planet where there's constant cloud cover making it "permenant night". Cities are enclosed and kept heated by some sort of thing with wind. certain parts of the city would always have lights on for visitors from other cities, others would switch on and off to simulate day and night cycles.

Here's what the end of his tail looks like. Not really sure what you call this shape.

[ID: an MS Paint scribble of Riowolf's tail, which is solid black except for the end, where there is a large red double-spike, like a flattened bolt of lightning, or the letter N mirrored onto itself. End ID.]

I think they were transforming people by dunking them into giant chemical vats. It wasn't very clear though.

You can see the speedpaint of me drawing him, as long as the HD versions of the art above to download here on the Internet Archive:

#long post #Rjalker has weird dreams #dream art #public domain #public domain characters #Rjalker's Dream OCs #Rjalker's OCs #open characters #Riowolf the werecatwolf #public domain trans characters #public domain disabled characters #werecatwolf #werecatwolves

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quibbs126 · 1 year ago

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So I’ve been trying to do this darkrasp kid for ages, but I swear, I just cannot draw them

And it’s not so much from lack of ideas (I mean, I don’t have many ideas for them but I do have a few, though mostly for design), it’s just that I cannot will myself to. I think it’s because I’ve tried and failed to draw them twice already. It’s like when you’re trying to draw something, and it just doesn’t look right, so you erase and redraw the same thing over and over again, and by the end the paper’s gotten ruined from the constant erasing and drawing

I first tried to draw them way back in I believe March (which was…Christ like 4 months ago now), around when I drew Raspberry Cheesecake, as I was doing them both at the time. Hell I even mentioned the darkrasp kid in that post, and that they both existed in the same universe as second cousins, since I imagined that they would be finished next. And at that time I think I was doing well, I had an idea of where I was going

But the problem came in the form of their sword. See, Raspberry has a fencing sword (I believe a rapier), and Dark Choco has what I believe to be a greatsword. So I wanted to try and come up with something in the middle for this kid, something that still looked like a blade like Dark Choco’s, but not nearly as wide. Then I discovered basket hilt swords and decided that was the perfect solution

I was able to come up with the blade just fine, but then the problem came in the form of the hilt, because I just could not make a hilt that looked right for the blade. It looked like I stuck two completely different swords together, and the hilt always looked too small for the blade

I don’t have any pictures of the hilt, but I can show you the blade and how far I got in the original drawing

I really liked the blade and how it looks, but I could not get the hilt to look right, so eventually I just gave up and decided that I’d simply come back to them another day. However unfortunately, I didn’t, probably because I knew I still had no solution for the sword, and so they remained, currently being one of the two oldest requests I have, right next to velvetgatto (which I also mean literally, as the canvases are right next to each other)

(Also I should mention, the blade would have gone under the arms. Which now that I’m thinking about it, may have just covered up the hilt entirely, but also for the type of hilt I was going for, it probably would have still shown)

Anyways, so then, when we were flying over to England, I decided I’d take another stab at it, seeing as how I’d drawn Ficelle and he’d ended up pretty good, so I was on a roll it seemed

I was trying to just draw the character, and I got farther than last time, but on the plane ride, I couldn’t really focus and get much done, possibly because the plane was shaking a bit as we lifted off, and I can’t really focus on drawing in a moving vehicle. I also believed perhaps I was a little burnt out, like how I felt when I talked about Vanilly some time ago, so I thought I should just leave it for now and resume again later

But then, I never did, partially because I just couldn’t figure out where to go next, and this was all I had

I tried again earlier today, but I end up just staring at the screen. So then I thought “maybe I should just start over once more, start again with a clean slate”. But then I’m looking at the empty canvas, and I have no clue what to do

I think at this point the canvas might just be so tainted with the past failings that I can’t bring myself to think of anything. Like I’ve created this stigma against them, and now this one has been in a deficit and just mindset of “I’ll work on it later” that I just can’t think of anything

And it’s not so much a Zuccotto situation where I don’t do anything because I have no clue what to do for the character. I have some ideas, like they’re a swordsman and wear white (bc both Dark Choco and Raspberry have Costumes where they wear white), and that their hair has black and pink, with both streaks and a gradient that goes into the same pink (though I’m also considering the idea of changing the black to a very dark pink, in part because of a new name for them), but I just can’t draw them

I feel like I need to just start from the ground up; like I don’t have many ideas about their actual character, other than they’re a swordsman, and they seem to be a more nervous and/or cautious individual, possibly due to the legacies of both their lineages, but that’s not much to work with. Plus I’m realizing that sounds a bit too much like Choco Madeleine. But then what should I do?

Oh also, something I was gonna mention but didn’t know where, I’m also thinking of changing their name. Originally it was Black Forest Cookie, since I couldn’t find any big thing with dark chocolate and raspberries, so just change raspberries with cherries, but now I’ve got two new ideas in the form of Black/Dark Raspberry Cookie (bc black raspberries), or Raspberry Jam Cookie (bc of my recent headcanon that Dark Choco and his dad have some jam in their dough flavor, and here it would end up being raspberry jam)

Honestly, at this point maybe I should just delete the original canvas and just make a new one, because the original has just been tainted at this point

#sorry I don’t know if there was much point to this I just wanted to complain #also don’t know I give them sad eyes #in the second I was just emulating the original #but yeah might as well take some suggestions if you want to give some #I just want to finish them #cookie run #cookie run oc #fankid #fanchild #darkrasp #dark choco cookie #raspberry cookie #random stuff #wip

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luminull · 2 years ago

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[Image ID: Two images, identical other than the fact that one is done in greyscale, while the other is in rainbow colors on the same grey background. It depicts a script that meanders about the canvas, flow guided by simplistic messy line drawings that reflect the text. The images start with a person and their speechbubble within a thoughtbubble, transitioning through comicbook-like pages, a spotlight, a river of blank papers, and a large dividing vertical pillar through the center of the image. Atop that pillar is the same person's silhouette, tiny and calling out, before the flow continues to an hourglass, a brain, a battery, and a collection of various shapes surrounded by the word "AND" repeatedly. At the end are two more silhouettes: the first is standing and looking upward at a large nearby "AND", with a capital "I" to their right, almost like a measuring marker; the second silhouette is sitting hunched over their knees, another smaller "I" to their left, and positioned in a similar way as to imply further-diminished measurement. /. End ID]

Transcript:

I've always WANTED to make COMICS But I kept Looking [Hoping] [Stalling] [Waiting] FOR SOMETHING to justify TRYING ... and failing... A LOT to make things WORK Because it's all so... MASSIVELY DAUNTING It takes a lot of TIME AND FOCUS AND ENERGY to figure out... [begin 12 "AND"s filling the space] Panel SIZE Story Drafting Polish Negative SPACE ... FLOW... SHAPE AND I... I

(Very long and numerous) thoughts under the cut!

I made this almost a year ago now, and I kept telling myself I would clean it up and post it one day I might still clean it up eventually, but I'm done waiting to post it

I can't begin to describe how proud I am of this, I keep reading it over and over and finding little surprises I left for myself:

The way the orange arrow makes a nice circle with the bottom lump of the thought cloud The way the tail circles of the thought bubble curve to make an arc to that circle with "COMICS" bridging the gap, moving into an image of a comic being drawn

The way the blank papers not only represent the paper I used to burn through, but when colored in all those shades of green, they remind me of the money that's gone into all of the projects I've ever attempted The way it starts with a trickle and quickly becomes chaotic, costing more and more

The way "MASSIVELY DAUNTING" lists to the side, threatening to fall over The way it's pushed from the side of Everything Art Requires towards the flow of "money", and looks about ready to squash "TRYING" and "WORK" The way it somehow furthers yet intensely interrupts the flow of everything

The way that the river of papers has three potential origin points: The taper in the middle of the arrangement under "TRYING", the drafts and attempts that happened The comic panels from the left, the theoretical comics I would have made, flowing through "TRYING" The pages and the panels from the right side of the canvas- and arguably the battery of "ENERGY" driving the flow- pushing through the practical aspects and hitting the wall of "MASSIVELY DAUNTING" before returning in a small trickle that has to pick itself back up

The way the first comic pages seem like an extension of the speechbubble, or new speechbubbles ordering themselves like stacked pages The way the comic panels on the orange page match the illuminating yellow of the spotlight, match the phrase "But I kept Looking" and getting so close to "FOR SOMETHING to justify TRYING" The way "... and failing" is green as the pages/money

They way I personally identify with cool colors, yet in all of this, the character that represents me is painted in pinks and struggling The way the "I"s look like they're measurements, with the taller one almost seeming to prop up some of the "AND"s while the smaller one seems to be weighed down heavily by the "..." above it

The way "Polish" seems to absolutely dominate the space as just a single word, which is fitting since it's probably the step I get hung up on the most The way all the things that go into a comic seem all over the place, both flowing and a disjointed jumble

Augh there's just always more to find, and I'm the one who made it!

As for the process behind all this, it was actually totally freeform: I sat down with the urge to make a comic, or at least vent about making comics, and I just... Started drawing The flow of the picture really follows what got made in what order- and in fact, I originally was just going to leave it as a single chunk once I wrote "WORK"

But it felt unfinished, so I added a little more: I added "Because it's all so..." And I sat on it for a bit, before deciding on "MASSIVELY DAUNTING" It filled up the space well enough, and it was accurate, but... Again, I had to figure out What Else I needed to add

I decided I was going to do a vertical arrangement- which, you may notice, didn't pan out Everything after the Leaning Tower Of Doubt was supposed to be made off to the side where I could see it when my canvas was zoomed to fit my screen, but in a way where I could easily move it into place later where it was supposed to go

And then I got attached to the horizontal spread Whoops It worked well on so many levels, so I couldn't really bring myself to rearrange it afterwards But you might notice that the left side is very rounded and full of stuff flinging off to fill space, and the right side just has a relatively flat wall

That's right, I decided I was going to do a third section: this one was going to be the Optimistic Conclusion, the cool nifty message for myself and others that if you give things a go anyways, you can succeed eventually, or maybe learn something in the process- I dunno I had ambition not thoughts

Clearly, I Ran Out Of Time, Focus, And Energy

So it's "finished" on a rather dreary note, that side shut down above a retreating shutdown But it still brings me a lot of pride, even though it's messy and unfinished It's redefined my standards when it comes to making comics- or "comics", depending on your own definition

And not only that, but it looks an awful lot like how my thoughts feel, especially with color That's something I have always longed to be able to show

#sketchdump #comic #rambles #has id

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gay-trash-shipping-trash · 2 years ago

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I’ve decided to continue talking about my “Shadow’s Kid Army” shit cause I couldn’t fit all the drawings I had in the first post soooooo

Part 2!!!!

I’m gonna start of with the image that started it all

THIS ONE!!! ⬆️ ⬆️ ⬆️

As you can see, 4 of them didn’t have names. Them now being Lydia, Jules, Belle, and Rowan. Also Rowan’s base sketch looked like Yugi from Yugio! At least in my opinion so that was their place-holder name until I came up with a better one lol

You also finally get to see my design for Shadow! Him and his third eye. That whole canvas actually started with that Shadow drawing too! I just wanted to draw an angy Shadow for practice and it evolved into that whole thing.

Kirra also wasn’t a thing until maybe a week later?

Same goes for the little family tree thing I had made. She just didn’t exist yet, plus they had 9 kids at the time and didn’t think it would be right to add a 10th but she’s here now and they aren’t getting any more! (At least I hope…)

I just realized that Shadow has 7 kids that are biologically his… Wow he actually does have an army…

This is when I decided to add a 10th kid. My friend had given me the idea of Metal and Amy just walking in and asking him to make them a robot kid 😆 Just to continue their “army”! This is still one of my most favorite things I made that’s just fuckin random as hell.

Multiple drawings of just Metal Sonic, plus one where he realizes that Jules kinda looks like an organic version of him.

I really just wanted to practice expressions on him. Mostly cause of an unfinished comic where he just drowns due to a fish.

Not the best quality but I spent like 30 minutes looking for a better up to date version cause I’m too lazy to get out of bed and charge my iPad to get a screenshot so this will have to do!

The concept is-

The whole family is on a camping trip by a lake somewhere.

All the tens have been set up, most of the kids are chilling and doing there own thing. Shadow is taking Jules and Kirra to get fire wood n shit, Alis and Eric are chilling by the water, Maria is watching Sam fail at hiding something behind his back to Amy, Lydia is also chilling by the water somewhere, and Silver is already in the lake relaxing. Sol wasn’t there and was with his mom.

Sonic and Metal are chattin’. Just havin a conversation about whatever, but then Sonic asks Metal if he’d want to race across the Lake. Ya’know just being rivals n shit. Metal agrees and they get ready. In the background we see Amy chasing Sam.

They count down “3-2-1” and they’re off! Sonic running across the waters surface while Metal is just flying over.

Silver literally has no clue about what’s happening. He had actually fallen asleep for a minute and doesn’t know that he’s in their direct pathway. Sonic and Metal also don’t realize cause they’re too focused on beating the other.

As Sonic and Metal get closer, a few of the kids realize that Silver is gonna ran-over essentially. So Lydia is yelling at Silver to swim faster while Alis is trying to tell Sonic and Metal to stop. Which doesn’t happen and Silver ends up being splashed and pushed under the water. He loses he cool shades and is upset after they pass over him.

As Sonic and Metal get to the center of the lake, a fish ends up jumping out of the water. At a pretty bad time too cause it’s directly in Metal’s way and lined up with his engine.

(Now we’re at the parts that aren’t drawn)

The fish ends up inside Metal’s torso, causing him to abruptly stop. Since he can’t speak Sonic just keeps on going until he’s back on land.

At this point everyone has been looking at their race and has noticed that Metal is fucking drowning and the only one closest to him is Sonic. They start yelling and getting his attention. When Sonic realizes this he quickly makes his way to Metal(albeit kinda scared cause he’s in the water now and not just over it). But he manages to get Metal out and back to land where he isn’t responding.

At this point Sonic, Amy, Shadow, and a few of the kids are there trying to get him to boot back up to no avail. Realizing that he had taken on too much water Sonic decides to take him to Eggman to get him fixed immediately. The rest of the family decides to pack up their shit and try again another day while Sonic running Metal to Eggman.

Sonic busts through Eggman’s door and says something along the lines of

“Yo your son kinda fuckin drowned, don’t know how but you need to fix him otherwise Amy will be pissed byeeeee~” as he justs sets Metal down and runs out.

Then it would just cut to Eggman pulling a charred wet fish out of Metal and being hella confused

Just gonna end this post with this random drawing lol

#art #digital art #metal sonic #sonic the hedgehog #amy the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #silver the hedgehog #nextgens #water #fish #Eggman #camping by a lake #downing by a fish #drawings

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poppysnowflakes · 1 year ago

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Learning to draw in 30 days? - Day 1

Hi again!

I think I found how to make "yesterday's" post appear as if I actually posted it yesterday? I'm not sure how that works or if it even worked in the first place, I can't for the life of me find where the date of a post is supposed to appear.

As I said, I only created this blog today, so...

================================================

Anyway, back to the drawing board!

Here's what I've drawn today.

It might not seem like a lot, but it actually took me 30 minutes to do all of this. I wanted to have something I'm at least a bit satisfied with, so I had to redraw a lot of it.

================================================

I started by writing a little bit of japanese, not to flex or anything (ok fine, a little bit) but I was actually trying to write every character on the same line, and at the same size. I think it turned out okay? They actually seem to become smaller and smaller, but it's such a small difference I only noticed it now while writing the post, not on the fullscreen app.

Next, I tried these wave-looking things on both sides of the japanese characters. I found out it was really easy and even kinda "pleasant" to draw when they curve on the right.

But on the other side? Ugh... I tried these like five times and gave up. Now I understand why Krita has a "mirror canvas" button.

The "eeeeeeeeeeee" was me trying to draw a line while applying the same pressure all the way, another failure.

I always heard basic shapes is the go-to first exercise for beginners, so I did that. Circle, Square, Triangle, Pentagon, Hexagon. And then I feeled confident and tried the third dimension. The cube is kinda ok, even though I don't know why I did it so small, but the thing I'm particularly proud about is the pyramid. It feels like something straight out of a graphing calculator. So I then tried to draw the same one, but actually solid. It's a little bit crooked, but I guess that's good enough for now.

The XYZ-axis thing was supposed to help me for the pyramid, but I actually had my hand over it so I couldn't look at it. (yes, I'm stupid)

Writing actual letters with a tablet feels really weird. I feel like the cursor lags behind the pen, and that the stroke size is too big compared to the "font" size. But hey, at least that little guy is happy, it says it right here. I named him Drew, for obvious reasons.

And to finish, I wanted to have a sort of "frame" around it. I tried to make it the same width everywhere, but after failing for 10 litteral minutes, I gave up on that idea, and went with the weird-looking one.

================================================

Today's conclusion:

Drawing straight lines is definitely the thing I had the most trouble with, it would always curve, or I would overshoot it, either drawing too much or at the wrong angle.

Coloring feels nice somehow? I don't know how to explain it but I found myself coloring the 2D shapes and the pyramid without realizing it, and then I felt a little bit disappointed when I had no other shapes to color.

Tomorrow I'll probably start trying to draw humans, or at least a face, I'll see how it goes.

See you tomorrow! (for real this time)

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bslack12 · 1 year ago

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Art, Art, Art, and Sports

The past two days have been probably been the most art I have consumed in that short of a period in my lifetime. Yet, despite my existence currently inhabiting Paris, this segment of time does not feature the Louvre or the Musée d'Orsay. It also does not only include happy stories and enjoyment.

Upon my first viewing of the itinerary, I knew that the class components of this stretch would be my least favorite of the trip, and it was not even close. Not only were the plans going against my preferred taste in art, but it included my participation in making said art, an anxiety inducing trigger in me that takes on of the top spots on that list. I have never been good at art and have always been told that, so I have always steered away from that field. I do not like to do things in which I know will fail, as the aversion to anything but success is what guides my life. Furthermore, I feel like there is a block in my brain when it comes to creative things; it truly feels like there is nothing clicking, a feeling which I never get anywhere else and is quite scary as much as it is annoying.

Nevertheless, when in Paris, right?

I actually consider myself quite lucky to have found a program in my favorite city and country in the world that is so geared towards my interest that I am all in for 90% of the course. So, I sucked it up and was going to make the best out of this stretch. Sunday morning started with a trip over to Saint Sulpice to take in my first mass, which happened to be in French. It was an amazing building and a beautiful service. I was able to pick up bits and pieces and connected the leftovers that did not get scratched during the reformation to what I experience back home in the United Methodist Church. It was also cool to complete another part of my unofficial Da Vinci Code hunt, finding what I assume was the inspiration for the "Rose Line" in the church. (I added another stop this morning, finding one of the Paris Meridian markers at the Louvre.)

It was then time to head over to the Atelier des Lumières for the immersive art exhibit. While I enjoyed the shows for a little bit, I was not captivated in the same way that I have been in other places. First of all, the exhibits were a little to modern for my taste in art that centers in Baroque, Classical and Romantic periods. I also just felt that, if I am viewing art in Paris, it should be firsthand, not a light projection of a painting somewhere else. However, it was much better than I thought when I first read the itinerary and the way that we were immersed in the art was way more my speed than when I though I was going to have to make something.

To continue the theme, though, we headed over to the Petit Palais to view the works housed there. This wasn't initially on my big to-do, but it was something I just stumbled on during the Bastille Day all nighter, as I saw that their collection was free admission and was connected with Beaux-Arts. I would have to say that my favorite spot there was Dutch/Flemish painters and their Baroque landscapes/still life, as I had not really seen much from this time in the other places that we went. I really enjoy how this type of art manipulates the light by darkening things out and drawing the viewer the the subject of the painting. I was also really drawn to a David piece, The Death of Seneca. The was it was positioned in the gallery was such that the painting was almost divided into two, with the glare cancelling out the other half of the frame. It added another dimension in the division between the men and the women, who were already separated by the emotions they were exuding as well as the meridian of the canvas.

The day ended with an interruption to the theme of art, although I would argue that the purity of sport and the grace in which athletes perform can be its own category of art. The Para Athletics World Championships have been in town all week and as it is the only live event of note happening in the city during my stay, it felt my duty to attend for a night. It it quite impressive to watch the para athletes perform, as they push past physical, mental, and financial boundaries to pursue competition at the highest level. It was also nice to see the event treated as any other sporting event would, not being othered because the athletes are handicapped. My favorite event had to be the universal relay, where runners from four different classes come together to run a lap.

Moving over to today, I had another early start. After waking at 7 and immediately getting ready, I headed down to the Louvre to complete my aforementioned Da Vinci Code stop, grab a quick croissant and tea, and stroll through the Tuileries before reaching the objective of the morning, La Musée de l'Orangerie. Since hearing about it on our first day in Paris, I was determined to make it here and see Monet's Water Lillies. So, I rose early and arrived at the museum when it opened. I did not realize it was so important to pre-book here, but it was not a problem as I did not have to queue for more than 5 minutes. Once I was inside the room designed specifically for the masterpiece, I was stunned by how massive they were. For some reason, I had not realized how grand the canvases were. It strikes you immediately and does not allow for any view of the room, or a singular painting, to be the same. I really enjoyed just sitting and strolling through, working my way around the 8 panels and enjoying their beauty, from close and afar. I was probably down there for over 45 minutes and it was wonderful. I made my way through the other halls of the museum, but there was not much else that was in my area of enjoyment and it was close to time to leave for Bercy anyways.

This was where my own personal hell would come to life. I would enjoy and learn about the arts all day, every day, but I usually draw a firm line on doing it myself. My mind is moving too fast to slow down and translate anything from my head into existence. Yet, I still had to sit down and do it so I gritted my teeth and tried my best. The act of spray painting itself was somewhat enjoyable but it was very frustrating not having the physical ability to replicate the quality of the examples and the work of my peers. I was very much on edge during this, especially when I had to contribute to something that I knew everyone else cared a lot more about than me. I tried my best to slow down and not rage out, but I was mentally exhausted by the end of it.

To try and work myself down, I went over to the Hôtel de Ville to finally see the Olympic Rings before a leisurly walk along around L'Île de la Cité, beside the quais of the Seine, and down Boulevard Saint Michel to Maison des Mines, where I was feeling more of myself upon my return.

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sunnelliot · 1 year ago

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How would the other sticks react? Also, where'd the tail come from? Does Failed have any abilities like tsc? Would they know about those abilities? Also I think tsc would definitely have some reactions to learning that a failed clone of them was hiding in the pc files.

you are really making me ponder the orb rn /pos a few of the sticks would definitely remember making failedclone with the glitch, so theyll definitely be shocked and a few maybe a bit nervous, considering how its been a while since they made him with the glitch one or two of the sticks MIGHT have forgotten, but thats something easy as hell to remember, so similar reactions to the rest. failed does have abilities like tsc, though theyre the same second-life type thing. also, theyre alot more unstable and glitched out, considering how he is practically a walking glitch. they don't know of these abilities, just like second. he also has some of second's natural talents, like drawing failed's tail was drawn on by themself. they snuck into the canvas one day and decided to draw on something just to make them feel a little more distinct from second. so, thats where the hat and the tail came from. he drew them himself.

tsc would definitely be more surprised than the rest, probably asking questions such as how long he's been in there and what he's been doing in the computer. definitely a ton of suspicion for a while, considering none of them know what hes like even though they made him. i think itd be pretty easy to be suspicious and awkward around someone who was intended to be a clone of you. this is the end of my tedtalk, thank you for the ask

#ava oc #ava #avm oc #avm #ask box #this was a very long answer LMAO #kaipancaketalks

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Text

Moments of Despair #2 [Genshin Impact/Albedo x Reader]

Synopsis: "The alchemist who relished in his gifts only to fall from grace."

(A series of works where the boys deal with the passing of their beloved).

Diluc’s despair

Warnings: angst, tragedy, major character death and psychological horror (correct me if otherwise)

(A/n): I decided to take a slightly different approach this time. Regardless, it’s still killing my heart TwT.

---------------------------------------------------

Out of the many wonders of Teyvat, one thing Albedo loved most was how you were so different from him.

Difference ties to the unknown, one that must be discovered. He was drawn to you the first time he had laid his eyes upon your form standing at the heights of Mondstadt's cathedral. The Sisters scolded you from below, but all you did was reply with a wink amidst their chaos before soaring into the skies and letting the wind carry your glider. Reckless they said. For him, your recklessness was intriguing.

As the sun's light blinded his vision, everything he saw seemed like a glass barrier. For the ground was where he thrived and chalk was his core, it became the basis of Albedo's very existence. Even the geo Archon granted him a Vision of the same element to affirm his identity. The earth will forever be attached to his feet as he will keep on his stride until every last truth of Teyvat have all been realized. You, on the other hand, hailed from a place where he couldn't quite reach. What lies beyond this glass ceiling? Albedo found himself gradually holding onto a string of curiosities, a string he could touch but was not able to feel.

'Interesting,' he thought quietly, while the breeze slip between the fingers of his outstretched hand.

He was a character of logic, possessing sharp eyes that could pierce through the depths of the most complex formulas and a mind to predict their outcomes- as long as alchemy was still related. All impossibilities thrown in his way only paved a path for him to become the well known genius he was now. Whether it was alchemy or investigations with the Knights of Favonius, Albedo never failed to deliver the answers. But despite it all, he always found himself endlessly contemplating over things that were considered intangible. He wonders why you smile when there was nothing to laugh about. How could you tell between the complexities of the human heart? Albedo can't seem to put a finger on it.

'Why? What drives you? What are you thinking?'

The Chief Alchemist couldn't resist being fascinated by your unpredictability. It reels him in similar to a fish being baited out of the waters. However, unlike those creatures, Albedo only tightened his grip on the strings as if they were a lifeline, determined to find out what they truly felt like to the touch.

"I can't really say it's much of an answer," you hummed, clasping both hands behind your back before declaring with a grin, "To put it simply, you just gotta follow your heart."

'Follow your heart...' What does it mean to follow your heart?

"I'm afraid I still don't understand," he replied in a thoughtful manner. The statement never really resonated with him and it certainly weren't the words his Master taught when he was in the early stages of being created, "But it does suit you very much."

"Really? But still bring your head with you," a playful laugh escapes and you add while pointing a finger, "At least, it's what everyone tells me these days."

"Hm," Albedo then affirms with a nod, "I can definitely see why they would tell you that."

"Hey! What's that supposed to mean?"

The days go by and his repetitious march towards the truth remains the same. However, there was never a dull moment when you were at his side. Perhaps that was the reason why Albedo became so attracted to your aura. The way you'd follow around his experiments, eyes so full of enthusiasm at every step of the activity. Sometimes the events can get a little too out of hand in which he needs to step in and save you from getting stuck in slime condensates...constantly. Albedo grew fond of your childlike excitement even when you weren't entirely sure what was going on. He normally distanced himself from socializing as it never sparked his interest. Frankly, he was too much of a genius for mundane conversations. Your presence was rather refreshing in this case. You were an oddball, just like him, and for once the alchemist felt like he didn't need to place that glass barrier between the two worlds.

"You seem to be in a very good mood today Mister Albedo."

He was a man of subtle expressions yet anyone could notice the small gleam in his eyes whenever he saw you walking in the hallway. Sucrose often remarked with a giggle after she noticed her teacher holding his documents upside down. But who could blame him? Joy, fun, laughter. He was able to experience those emotions all because of you; his beloved. You were the colour to his canvas and the meaning to his flower. You were a force of nature. Like a warm breeze gracing upon the terrestrial lands, you move him.

Thump- thump- thump-

Strings around his world began to weave one whole picture while they also tugged inside his chest. God had finally blown the breath of life into mankind's body, it was only a matter of time before Albedo came to follow his heart too.

--------

"Alright, just one more detail aaaaand done!"

You gave a small tap using the tip of your pencil and leaned back to examine your artwork.

Masterpiece!

On days when Katheryne had no commissions assigned to the guild, Albedo would accompany you to the Whispering Woods and conduct his sketches there instead. He was aware of the discomfort Dragonspine brought as the temperature wasn't ideal for anyone except for him. You eventually learned that your lover was not only intelligently different from the rest but physically too. Albedo, aside from the Cavalry Captain, was mysterious in his own way. He was hard to read yet never came off as intimidating, no one knew of his origins nor they knew how he came to Mondstadt. You wondered why someone like him would have wanted to get involved with your shenanigans. Rosaria often gave warnings regarding the alchemist's 'hidden intentions' in which you'd roll your eyes in response. The Albedo you knew was far from that. He was a big brother to Klee, a man passionate about his work, he was the one golden star among the many silvers in your sky. He was your lover.

My Albedo.

Brushing a hand upon the drawing you made of him, you glided down the lines of his cheek before resting your finger on the mark by his neck. You gazed at it with fondness. Truly a masterpiece indeed.

"You do realize I'm still here?"

The paper nearly flies out of your grasp and you snatched it back to your chest, "HUH A-ALBEDO, WHEN DID YOU APPEAR???"

"I was with you the whole time," he states. The corner of his lip tug upward ever so slightly, "You said you wanted to sketch me."

"A-Ahahaha, so I did," you reply while scratching your head bashfully. 'I thought I was looking at a sculpture!!' You rushed to cover your face with the sheet. It wasn't that you forgot he was there, rather, you forgot he was still a living and breathing specimen who just witnessed your little serenade. As Lisa had once said, Albedo was easy on the eyes. His graceful features made him seem almost like an oil painting that could only be found in halls of the most prestigious households. You made sure to capture everything, every detail, every curve just like he had done with your portraits. Only now you noticed the sun already began its descent below the lakeside, dusting the landscape with hints of bright orange as it marked the day's end. If only time could slow down. But duty calls upon your next journey and there was no telling when you'd return. At the very least, a simple portrait would suffice to fill in the temporary gap of his absence.

"Can I see it?"

You glanced his direction while keeping the drawing close to your nose, "Are you sure about that? It might not be up to your expectations."

"I'm sure," Albedo affirms with a straight countenance, "I can already tell you've put a great amount of effort, otherwise you wouldn't have taken this long."

"Yeeaahh I kinda lost track of time. I guess it's only fair that you get to see the finished product," you say and shoved the drawing in front of him, "Tada! I present to you, my masterpiece!"

Albedo takes it out of your grasp and you watched the way his eyes expanded upon sight.

"Well? Whaddya think?"

Words could not describe the mixture of emotions that erupted within him. Was it distinguishable or abstract? Albedo spent his time pondering between the two answers as he examined the drawing closely. Despite the lines being slightly jagged and the unevenness in the placement of his eyes, he managed to make the shape of the entire image you were trying to convey. Perhaps it was all thanks to his well trained artistic vision which gave him the ability to do so. Or maybe he was simply biased. But there wasn't a shred of doubt that this was indeed your craftsmanship.

"You even added flowers in the background," he pointed out with amusement.

"It's the thing you make when using your elemental burst, I couldn't fit your hand in the picture so I decided to put it somewhere empty," you informed, "Out of everything, that one took me the longest."

"And the rabbits?"

"They resemble Klee's bombs!"

He lets out a chuckle, "I see."

Albedo kept his attention downward until he was mindlessly staring at the paper in hand. This was a memory made to be carried as you moved on to your next journey and it saddens him that he could not accompany you. If only time slowed down. Albedo wanted to hold onto the memory forever, because he knew once he gave it back, he wouldn't be able to see you for an uncertain amount of time.

"Do you really have to go?"

His voice was barely above a whisper. Guilt crept into your heart and you gingerly layed your fingers on his gloved ones, bringing down the paper that blocked his face. A pair of teal orbs held a reflection of your image as the sun's rays casted from the side. You returned it with a reassuring grin, hoping to soothe his worries somehow, "I just need to pay a visit to my father since he's been very sick lately. I'll be fine, so don't worry too much okay?"

Albedo turns over his palm and gave your hand a squeeze, "How long will it take?"

"I'm not sure but it will be a while. Snezhnaya is pretty far so..." you trailed off, "But my time in Mondstadt, with Klee and with you, I will never forget! I won't even if I tried."

When you were met with no answer, a breeze came in to fill the melancholic silence. He too will not forget and he would ensure that it was the same for you. Slowly, Albedo brought your hand up, past the center of his heart all the way to cupping his cheek. He allowed himself to indulge in your warmth, tangling the strands of his hair with your fingers while closing his eyes. Sweet flowers. You always carried the smell of sweet flowers.

"Albedo?" You gawked, "What's the matter?"

"...There are certain aspects where drawings can't imitate," he says, grip tightening ever so slightly, "How I feel against your skin, the shape of my jaw, your warmth radiating with my own. These are the things I want you to remember."

Breath leaves your slightly parted mouth. It was unfair how straightforward Albedo could be when showing his affection. Doing as he pleases without anyone's approval to the point it would even catch you off guard since he often absorbed himself in the arts of alchemy. But during times when Albedo did choose to express his feelings, you knew they came from a place of pure genuinity. The thought made it hard for you to tear away from him, "Did you ever find out what the strings felt like then?"

Albedo returns his gaze, long golden lashes hovering them as he smiles softly, "...I have."

As he began to reveal his stories, the dusk sky continued to flare across the landscape with colours of passion. Red, it was the thread that had led him to you, the same string that weaved him together as a whole. Albedo lays a kiss atop of your pinky, there was a reason why Mondstadtians called him the Chalk Prince. You didn't know the intention behind his sudden affection but he knew. It was a promise, one to ensure that the thread would also have you return safely back into his arms.

Oh how he hated the colour red.

"Al...bedo..."

With speed he never knew he had, Albedo scoops you into his embrace and held you close. How did everything happen so fast? He curses his mind as it proceeds to scan your injuries, drawing a conclusion where he wished to be wrong for once:

You were beyond help.

"Ah..haha..." you managed to laugh through bitter tears, "You don't have to say it. I know."

His breath hitches, trying to make sense of the feeling that was slowly tearing him apart from the inside. It's not real. Of course it wasn't, it couldn't be. What other possible answer was there to explain the numbness stinging his fingers? The reason for his shaking? Everything felt so cold. Your body hardly registered to his to touch, you were losing so much blood. You were losing. He was going to lose you.

"No," Albedo shakes his head, "We still have time. I'll go find help."

Please, hold on.

He forced himself to think. The ruin hunter ran off shortly after it had ambushed you, by now the Knights would eventually noticed and apprehended it on sight. They couldn't be too far. All he needed was to carry you back to safety and everyone can go home. Albedo darted his eyes all over the place, breaths becoming shallower with each passing second. Where? Where to go? Which route was best to not overexert your wounds? Think. Think. Think. Why couldn't he think?

"A..." You watched him in your helpless state. Every part of you throbbed with pain but it pains you even more to see the renowned genius who stood atop the pedestal of elegance and grace so utterly, undoubtedly lost. This was not the goodbye you wanted, though death already had you tight in their grasps. Not yet. Using the last particle of your strength, you tried to stay alive as long as possible. Just a little bit more time.

Albedo freezes when a trembling hand extends itself to cup around his cheek. Every single thought he had in mind vanished and was replaced by a loud ring resonating in his ears. Dreadfully, mechanically, he turns his attention to where you lay.

"Don't cry," you whisper, "I love you, don't cry- okay?"

Albedo grimaces, shutting his eyes closed as he allows the pent up sadness to flow out of him completely, "I can't," he said in a shaky voice, "Please. Stay."

"I'm sorry," Your vision blurs and he hugs you even more. Drawing your final breath, you relay your most cherished words through a broken smile, "But no matter w-where I go...I won't for..ge.."

The moment your hand fell, Albedo finally understood the difference between death and loss.

It was...suffocating. Having the air trapped in his throat, begging to release yet it hurts to speak. The never ending stabs that pulsed within his veins rushed forth like the scraping blizzard of Dragonspine until his whole body lost all its senses. The world was shattering. He could no longer feel your weight. He could no longer feel.

(Y/n).

Albedo glances at his blood stained fingers where the thread had been severed, wide eyes drowning in sorrow. What a horrible feeling. Was this a warning sent by the gods? For stepping into the boundaries of knowing too much? Ah the curse of knowledge man must bear when eating the temptatious fruit. It was the result of choosing to love you. With life, death is inevitable and with love, it will eventually bring pain. Everything had a price to pay and as an alchemist, Albedo knew that better than anyone.

"...Meaningless..."

But he refused to accept it.

Cradling your corpse, he leans in and places a kiss on your forehead, lips quivering as they lingered for a second too long before gathering the strength to stand back on his feet. Nothing will stop the alchemist from reuniting with you. If the laws wished to take you away from him then he will use everything in his power to fight against those laws.

"This is not goodbye..." Albedo said to the sleeping girl, "And it will never be."

When the sun sinks below the plains and the stars lose their light, the sky had been replaced with a palette of darkness. It was time to go home.

------

"Have you all heard about the rumours?"

A group of knights gather in the corner as they whisper about. Sucrose stops on her tracks and hides behind a wall, clutching the book close to her chest in an attempt to stay hidden.

"Another criminal disappeared from the dungeons? Crazy..."

"More like creepy. I was told that place might be haunted by some dead prisoner's ghost. Even the Church is hopping onto this case."

"Well I hope it doesn't get any worse. So many of us started going on night patrols..."

Their voices faded out of range as the anemo user backtracks her steps carefully. Several months passed since the news of mysterious kidnappings have been announced to the public. Rumours of their whereabouts swirled around the city and much to her discomfort, Sucrose happened to catch every single one of them. There couldn't possibly be evil spirits lurking in the Favonious Headquarters right? She silently shrieks at the thought, shaking her head furiously to stop her mind from going too deep. No, I have to find him. Without wasting another minute, the anemo user sprinted towards the stairs all the way up to the second floor before stopping directly in front of her teacher's office. Despite the adrenaline that occured at the same time, she made sure to knock.

No answer.

"Strange, he told me he would be here today..." Sucrose muttered to herself. But suddenly she heard the sound of objects shifting from the otherside, signaling that there was indeed someone occupying the room. Without realizing, she held her breath out of anticipation.

"Come in."

The door creaks as she opens them, giving her enough space to slip between the gap, "Mister Albedo?"

"You're early today," The Chief Alchemist noted from his desk, "Is there something the matter?"

"Y-You mean you don't know? There was just another case about a person disappearing from the dungeons," Her tone became more frantic as she rambled to herself, "The kidnapper never leaves a trace and no one knows how they were able to get out. Even when we ask the guards what happened, they can't seem to remember as if...as if someone casted a spell on them!"

"A spell?" He inquires, "I suppose that could be a possibility."

"I think so too. I-It's the only explanation that makes sense! I mean...ghosts don't exist after all," Sucrose nervously looks down at her shoes while giving her book a squeeze, "But why? Who could be capable of such advanced techniques? No matter how hard I try, I can't seem to understand their intentions."

"...Yes. It is a very strange occurrence indeed."

Noticing her teacher's withdrawn attitude, Sucrose couldn't help but feel flustered at her own behaviour, "Ah my apologies Mister Albedo, I didn't mean to go off track. Have there been any progress on the investigations so far?"

Albedo briefly glanced at the various documents splayed across his table. His reputation as an incredibly intelligent individual had reached far and wide through Mondstadt. This led to the authorities requesting his assistance regarding the recent matters, despite him specializing in the alchemical field, he was also the Captain of their Investigation Team. Although, Albedo detested partaking in things he deemed irrelevant to his research;

"I'm afraid I would need more evidence to draw a conclusion."

"Eh? You still need more?"

He could not deny that the given authoritative position had provided much benefits to his own accord.

"My expertise lies in the subject of alchemy," Albedo reasoned and proceeds to intertwine his fingers in front of his mouth, "Humans on the other hand, are very unpredictable in nature. Even the essence of their existence is hard to obtain."

"Essence of their existence?" Sucrose repeated softly. She wanted to ask what he meant but the blank expression was evident enough to signal his impatience. At least, that was what she thought, "Nevermind! I have something that might help," taking out a slip from her textbook, she handed it to him, "It's the report Captain Kaeya gave me. He said that the culprit might be a traitor coming from the Knights of Favonius."

He narrows his eyes.

"I-I think he might be right! Just think about it, we haven't found anything at all for the past few months but when we do, I sometimes feel like we're just running in circles...oh what if it's becau-"

"Sucrose."

"Y-Yes?!"

Albedo calmly looks at the flustered girl, not realizing how sharp his tone was, "You're overthinking again. Perhaps it's best that you take this day off."

"But I came here to help," she insisted, "I know it hurts to lose someone you love! Don't you understand that we're all worried about you? And Klee, she..."

"..."

"Please Mister Albedo, if there's anything I could do-"

"No need," he cuts her off once again, "Your stress levels are too high. We can't go any further if you continue to act like this."

"Oh," her ruby eyes casted to the side, "I understand..."

"Good. Now, if you would excuse me," Albedo bid her farewell and watched as the door clicked behind her, observing every detail until he was sure that the absolute silence had returned. He picks up Kaeya's document. Such remarkable handwriting. But of course, appearances are only meant to be displayed on the surface for the Captain was a sly man, wearing a mask to shield what lies underneath. Just like his letter, they were full of innuendos and condensed meanings, orchestrated together until the truth spoke loudly to Albedo himself.

"So, that's what he thinks."

Perhaps the alchemist should have been a little more discreet.

--------

There was a certain place in Dragonspine that no one dared to enter. But those who have, they never return.

"Hm, no response. Now as for the next step..."

And he was the reason why.

Taking the sword out of the transmutation circle, Albedo turned to the snowy hill nearby and activated his alchemy. A small portion of it dissipates, revealing a trench that went so deep underground that even warmth couldn't outplay the sheer cold. It was the perfect hiding place for the evidence to lay out of sight and an environment where only he could handle. The alchemist tossed the leftover along with the others before exiting quietly, summoning back the ice to bury his victims once again. Another day, another experiment, another stain goes to his title. The path he walked upon was one littered with corpses and the sins he committed. But despite the bones crunching beneath his feet and the weight of the dead hanging on his shoulders, the alchemist was numb to it all. Like an entity floating in space with nothing to hold, he became unable to feel.

"I'm back," When reaching the center of Starglow Cavern, Albedo puts his hand on the icicle and caressed it's hard cold surface, "Did you sleep well?"

The girl did not respond. Her eyes were closed and her skin was as young as ever. She was frozen in time.

"You must have."

Albedo felt the sword beginning to shake in his grasp as it resonated with his energy. Dust particles emitted from the hilt and slowly made their climb to the side of his arm. Still, Albedo's attention did not waver, "To this day, I've been thinking about what you told me the first time we met."

"..."

"Follow your heart. I couldn't understand it at first but after being around your presence, I believe I can finally recognize what that term means."

He closes his eyes as he envisioned your lively form running across the landscape. Albedo, Albedo! The sound of his name was mixed with your laughter while Klee came into the scene and caught the dandelions with you. A content smile formed on his countenance as he watched from afar, even if it was just a memory, "It's everything. The breakfast we ate together, to the nights spent camping outside, and the silly moments we shared, they bring all these colours that I never knew existed."

"..."

Albedo curls his fingers against the ice as he continues to lament, "Perhaps that's why I began noticing the strings around me. The closer I was to answer, the more I felt it was necessary to discover what they are. All this time, you were the answer I was searching for," Moist begins to build up in his eyes but they freeze up once reaching the corners. How cruel. Despite what he went through, he wasn't even granted the liberty to cry, "Because with you, I'm able to feel them."

He wonders what you would think if you saw him right now. Albedo peers at his reflection casted on the crystalline surface, the frame of his face had been decorated with streaks of purple and red, spreading out like tree branches as they both fought for dominance. The teal coloured orbs you once adored were beginning to transform to a colour that reminded him of his darkest days. This was Albedo's true nature- a monster, a being that wasn't human, the essence in which you never had the chance to see.

"I know I may not be the same as I was before," he added, "But if that is what it takes to follow your heart, will you let me feel the strings again?"

Would you still love me the same?

"..."

"If so, then please understand my actions," Albedo takes a step back as he held out the sword in front of him. At last, the preparations have finally been completed. He plunges the blade to the ground with full force and the surrounding area begins to shake under the power accumulated through many, intentional sacrifices. To revive the dead was a forbidden art as it came with heavy consequences. If it weren't for Albedo's talent and quick wit, the process would have consumed him long before executing the last stage. He winces, the pain was excruciating. It was hard for him to ignore the sound of his skin cracking below his ears and all the way to his nose as they fall off in the shape of small rock-like chunks. Everything hurt so much that even death sounded like a sweet dream but Albedo couldn't afford to give up. He had already come this far, his hands completely washed with sin and his reputation already broken beyond repair, Albedo had nowhere else to go. This was his last destination.

"Soon-" he pants between choked breaths. Soon your eyes will open. He could drown in your embrace, one that was warm and not cold. Soon he will be able revive those cherished memories from a frozen past. It was all he could think of right now. Your existence was the reason why a part of him felt whole and your death made him realize how painful it was to tear away those pieces. Albedo refused to let go of those pieces, they had already become a part of him. And if this path ended up tearing him even more, then so be it.

"I should have stopped you the moment you were born."

The intruder snapped him awake and he swung around to where they stood. But before Albedo could make out who it was, they lunged past him with incredible speed, kicking the sword off the ground while severing his two arms once and for all. They flew to the side, blood dyed purple trickling from the edges of his joint as he struggled to stay upright.

"Dains...leif..."

Dainsleif watched the alchemist fall onto his back as the light around him slowly faded away. He turned his gaze to where the objective was and noticed a girl encased within the ice. The man sighs out of relief when she shows no signs of life, he came just in time, "So this is how it ends."

Albedo weakly stared at the blonde man. He attempted to say something but the blood caught in his mouth prevented him from that.

"Save your breath, you won't be having any," Dainsleif remarks in a cold manner and glared at his bloodied form, "The renowned Chief Alchemist of Mondstadt and an important member of Ordo Favonious. Hmph, what an interesting turn of events. Out of everyone, I never thought you were the type to act so foolish."

Foolish...what a foreign name to be called as. He never heard anyone tell him he was foolish.

"Truly a pity," With a flick of a wrist, Dainsleif brought his sword to Albedo's neck. It was unbelievable how he had the endurance to go through all that pain while still breathing at this point but what is there to be expected from a monster? "Remember that all actions have consequences."

The alchemist watched as his life flashed before him, the weight of his sins had finally caught up. He had always seen the world as a platform for his objectives and results were merely a natural cause after attempting many experiments. But death as a consequences was an unbearble realization upon his final moments. He abandoned his title, his pupil and his dearest sister. In the end, he was still unable to fulfill his duty.

"I just..." Albedo mumbled, his words slurring together, "wanted..."

As the ashes turn to ashes and dust becomes dust, chalk returns to the earth, forever yearning a place that can never be reached.

#genshin impact #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact scenarios #albedo #albedo x reader #genshin albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin headcanons #genshin imagines #genshin impact imagines #nya-writes #dainsleif #genshin impact dainsleif #sucrose

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hourglassstationacademy · 3 years ago

Text

Myths and Rumors of HSA

School myths:

-you can hear weird 8-bit and distorted noises from Shadmans office

-the club rooms at night usually are watched by security but there is a lot off odd occurances

-the literature club sometimes has a poem left on the desk that none of the members wrote

-the art and photoclub has sometimes creepy drawings that are left on a canvas

-there is every Friday when the movie club members enter the club room the same movie, a horror movie, left running

-there is supposedly forbidden spells in the sorcery club locked away, rumors from none club members

-Greg snuck into the cooking club at night and now it's also sealed for him

-The Kendo club has supposedly a cursed sword as decoration

-The Yellow flower in the green house supposedly has a face when you look at it outside the green house and also has some voice coming from it

-sometimes when student roam around at night they see a blond man with a sword but when they get close he is gone

Polisionalle Myths:

-At night when you stay at the stage alone you will sometimes hear some eerie singing from the piano. Nobody could explain it yet.

-The dorm has a underground river with a small boat which Flynn sometimes uses to get out undetected.

-There is a certain fully blue elevator as well that you sometimes see a silhouette in but when you go in, there is nobody there.

-There is one costume in the dorm nobody dares to touch since you could hear a scream when you wear it no one else could

-There are some secret passages not even the dorm leader found

Evolnation Myths:

-some of the small ducks in the pond near the Cafe look like the dorm members

-supposedly some people spread the rumor that Gregory eats so much he could in doubt eat whole cars

-there is not much myths but more rumors about the idols in itself of the dorm, some mean, some cute some weird

Relinookton myths:

-Some speculate choosing a fabric for your first creation that suits your personality is the best way it impress the dorm leader as fresh man. False judgement and overconfidence don't go well with him

-There was once a fabric than can make you near invisible to others in the dorm

-The haunted house in the amusement park is linked to rumors about Rachel being linked to evil spirits

-Rachel in itself has the most rumors about her

Falciette myths:

- there is said to he some dragon statues who are said to be relatives of Gabrielle and Tesa who came to stay at the dorm to support them. That is mainly just rumor though

-There is the sword and shield the dorm founder had but also, there was supposed to be a sword called mysteltainn hidden in the dormitory

-The castle in itself has many unexplored rooms with lots fo war and kingdom history

Talerenea myths:

-At full moon you sometimes hear a wolf howling outside, it's mainly rumored but Media knows its actually Aiden who can't stand full moon cause it changes him a little

-Supposedly there is a sea with huge healing capabilities

-There is a creature called Katz that hides away in the trees and is very hard to catch. It's called that cause it looks like a cat

-there is some badly drawn wanted posters of some of the hunted animals who are hard to catch at the trees

Syncrean Myths:

-many secret areas are off limits to freshman but there seems to be a area in the jungle not even the dorm leader can access. People speculate what is in there

-there is some speculations the volcano on the dorm is just decoration.

-Many of the former Syncrean members wanted to become heroes but not many stayed heroes

Magixella Myths:

-Despite their ability to tame animals well, there were some attempts that failed with monsters which made a rumored chamber where they are banished

-some students who got lost in the woods lost one precious memory of them, which is why people usually avoid going in alone

-there is a secret archive about magical creatures and dark magic hidden in the dorm

-as well as small shrines channeling elemental energy

Tetravania myths:

-has many hidden rooms and things that are not explored cause abandoned

-there is Easter eggs in form of magical artifacts and toys

-There is very rare arcade games which have hi-scores from many former dorm leaders and even the founders

-supposedly some doors bring you into games even.

#twisted wonderland oc #twst oc #twisted wonderland #hourglassstationacademy #twisted wonderland ocs #twst #twst ocs #twisted wonderland fanschool #twst fanschool #disney twst #hour glass station academy #hourglass station academy

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brella-boi · 3 years ago

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Recently I have been thinking again about my art and style and where do I want to take it, how do I want it to look, as I worked on my zine piece- which I like. I like the outcome. I like how it looks. But I told myself I would try to make it more chibi, less labour intensive. And as I moved to the shading stage I realised how much I. Dont want to be doing that.

Sure it looks pretty. Sure Im using new techniques to add depth and a 3D feel, and setting the atmosphere. But Im... Not enjoying it. It feels hollow almost. I hate it when my art feels hollow. Raw emotions and feelings is I think the heart of what I draw and I feel like I cant connect.

Not with just this, but with majority of the things Ive drawn recently.

Im having a hard time identifying what I can push, and exaggarate. And i wonder why must I follow the rules? The same way of drawing and imagery and 'how things should look' for years and years and this is a leaf and this is a rock its always been like this always been like this

Familiarity

Why must it be so hard to break out of the mold? Stopped by the fear of the unfamiliar, breaking that is like letting yourself step into invulnerability. Exposing yourself and all your faults and shortcomings and crying out "i dont know how to see things differently than what ive always seen them as!!"

Is restarting all over again possible? Real life studies have only enforced this. This idea of realism and its perfect state of self

Realism

Why must the end goal always be realism? Can it not not be something else? Something more? Something wild and different and thoughtful and playful? No. That is for children. For teens and youngster and edgelords who are Going Through It.

Is it the shame? The peer pressure? I watch my closest friend group drop. Less reactions less smiling. They dont say it directly. Not to me. Not to my face. But when speaking of others. A slip of the tongue. Words of cringe, and edgelord, and 'im glad i grew out of that' and pointing and sneering and laughing at what. Essentially. My art is. Fallen behind by non-realistic paintings. Not. Taken. Seriously.

Its funny. And sad. My hands do have the ability for it. Place a paintbrush and a canvas in front of me. Three primary colours and a photo. Give me a week of free time. Ill return a photo realistic painting of it. At what cost. What cost. Soullessness. A replica. A painting. I could attempt to mimic digitally- always to fail. "I can teach you I can show you!" Its not what I want. Its not what I want.

Watching great heroes, great painters, illustrators, concept artists. Grow from a teen to adult in my eyes. 10 years. 11 years. Stepped on a pedestal of moral high ground. Cringe. Edgelord. Grow up.

I dont see it the way you do. Its an artform. Its a style. And yet I hear. "I dont like it." Are you afraid? Regretful? You once drew that way too. For some reason you placed your growth into painting. As a way of saying you came of age?

Is it then, that you do not see my journey as equal? Do I not, deserve the same respect? For I dont paint?

All I ever wanted is fun. And yet Im haunted by the thought of my peers, thinking Im dragging behind, dragging them behind.

Perhaps its just that Im not in your view. On the same foothold. Or perhaps you just see it that way. Purposefully.

I have stopped showing what ive done. For I know you dont like it. And each day I echo what Ive heard. The pressure. The expectations. The raw dislike.

Is what im pursuing right? Will it ever be enough? To satisfy?

#i went off the charts with this one #just midnight thoughts #and struggles with a style and making art #sometimes when tge closest people reject you it feels like the biggest betrayal of them all #a silent rejection #not to your face kind #ramble

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corpsentry · 4 years ago

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january: an art retrospective

i did some stuff last month (but it’s a lot of stuff and there’s a photodump + some Serious Fucking Reflection, so it’s all below the cut)

so ok, let’s start with this. here are some heads. each head has a red arrow. that red arrow is what i call the red line of the devil. it’s the slope of the face from the side of the eye to the cheekbone and then down towards the chin. up until like 2 weeks ago, i couldn’t draw it. i couldn’t fucking draw it. i would edit over that part of the face over and over again until i was frustrated and tired and i had a raging homosexual headache and it still never looked right. notice that each head is different. notice that each head looks wrong.

at the start of 2021 i finally admitted to myself, as per the image above, that i was deeply, deeply unhappy with my art. what was the problem? i dunno. but i decided i was going to fix it and i was going to do so via another one scribble a day event wherein for every day of january i would find a photo of a human head, and i would draw it.

january 1st, 2021. i was embarrassed to tweet this even on my private account where like 5 friends and a rock would see it. in retrospect, you can also see all of my bad habits emerging like dicks from a hole in the ground. it’s disproportionate. the brows look flat. the eyes are slanting upwards. the entire drawing looks flat, like this isn’t a 3d person but a caricature of one.

january 2nd, 3rd, 4th:

on the 2nd i decided to start a separate thread for doodles and applied learning. here’s the first set of tests

the rest of the week is kind of uneventful so we’re going to skip those. fast forward to january 11th

this one is especially bad. i am acutely aware, suddenly, that i am not changing anything at all. i’m stressed and miserable about it because i’m still trying to see people as people and trying to draw people that look attractive and proportionate and hot. my friend, leny, reminds me that i need to think about faces in terms of planes. i have a moment. my other friend masha sends me some links to anatomy tutorials. i have another moment.

january 11th. applied sketch

january 13th is when i start the troubleshooting process. the link above drives me mad because i’m pretty happy with the face but then i realize that there’s something very fucking wrong with the shape of the head LOL and then i realize that i’ve never had any idea what the proportion of the face to the rest of the skull is so i grit my teeth and i open a new canvas and i

bald studies. it seemed like the right thing to do. can’t draw heads? ok draw some heads. look at some photographs. i traced each photo but tried to stick to straight lines so that i could replicate the shapes more easily. i broke each face down into shapes. i thought about airplanes

i got really excited. i started doing studies, then applied studies, then stylized studies.

sketches. i’m not sure what’s going on (as always) and it’s very rough, but they look different from the sketches i did on january 2nd. that’s a start

january 16th’s daily study. looks more like a person now. juuuuuust a bit

more applied studies

on the 18th i take a break and go stare at some lips because i don’t understand how the fuck they work. again, i focus on shapes, on volume, on the fact that these things exist in 3d. holy fuck lips exist in 3d. holy fuck we are real

january 19th. i’m working on it.

january 22nd. some sketches + a daily study. it has finally occurred to me that heads can tilt up and down and that things look different accordingly. yes i was not aware of this before. yes i have been drawing for over a decade.

january 23rd. by this point after doing my daily sketch i almost always go back and do an applied study which is basically to say i drew a lot of fucking links. this one looks kind of okay. i’m kind of proud

january 25th. links. trying to make sense of everything i’ve learned

26th, 27th, 28th. daily studies

january 1st. january 31st

The End Of The Photo Dump (dab)

ok NOW i get to talk about what i discovered while studying the shit out of human beings

FIRST OF ALL, there is something precious and magical about drawing shit without the explicit knowledge that you’re going to tweet that shit out to 45 people later. it takes the burden of perception off your shoulders and that does something to you, or at least that’s my theory. i told myself i wouldn’t post any of this stuff until the end of the month (if i wanted to post it at all) and kept everything off my public social media accounts and that meant i could draw ugly as hell without worrying about who would point and laugh, which i absolutely fucking did. a lot of these are fucking trainwrecks. most of these are fucking trainwrecks. why do they look like that?? why??? this doesn’t look like the work of someone who’s allegedly been drawing since they were in kindergarten, does it?????

here’s why: because that person took a huge motherfucking swing at everything they’d ever known about art and spent a month building something new in its place. the abstract explanation is that i grew up on shoujo and weird old anime and my understanding of anatomy was unironically kamichama karin and while i love kamichama karin, when kamichama karin is your rule even if you try to break it, you’re going to end up going nowhere. “you have to know the rules to break them”, yeah? well i didn’t know shit. the abstract explanation is i’ve been miserable about my art for a few years now because i saw other people doing things effortlessly which i couldn’t and instead of going back to the basics, i tried to do what they did (not plagiarism, mind you, i mean i literally tried to copy the red line of the devil i mentioned above because i couldn’t even make that happen) and then i fucking failed.

the simple explanation is this. i had to unlearn everything, and relearn it again (like some kind of new renaissance clown, what the fuck is this?)

take this for example. all my life i’ve drawn faces in the order: eyes, nose, mouth, face shape, head. this works for some people, im aware, but it was something central to how i had always drawn, so i decentralized it. i said fuck you to the old me and changed the order up. now i start with the nose, then the eyes, mouth, the chin line, and the sides of the face. now i force myself to think about the human head as a series of parts interacting with each other instead of a bunch of disparate features which i want to look pretty.

or let’s use this zelda from last year. something about this looked wrong last october, the way something about all of my drawings looked wrong, but i couldn’t pinpoint it for hell the way i couldn’t articulate Any of my feelings about the visual arts. now, looking back, here’s what i see. that nose is sticking out far too much given how she’s not really facing very far away from the camera. that ear at the back shouldn’t be there. her forehead is too big. she doesn’t have a forehead. what the fuck is up with the shape of her head?

so apparently reject modernity embrace tradition has its roots in alt-right terminology and i’m not very horny for the alt-right (you understand), but the spirit survives here. you know sometimes you have to admit that you have no idea what the fuck you’re doing and draw people for 31 days. i’ve spent my whole life drawing stylized people and while again there are artists who have no issue with this, i veered off the track of the Good and the Holy and couldn’t get back on. i had no point of reference because i’d never thought about what an actual human being looks like, so i had no way to fix what i knew in my gut looked wrong but wouldn’t come out better.

this was hard. this was like oikawa tooru swallowing his worthless pride and admitting that ushijima wakatoshi had gotten the best of him for the last time in his high school career, but in haikyuu!! by furudate haruichi oikawa tooru fucks off to argentina and then joins the argentinean national team, and you know what, i think i’ve made it to argentina (not the team just the country). as per the golden rule of dont fucking move until you’re at least two thirds of the way through the month, i only started trying to draw Shit shit on like the 22nd or something, but i was happy with that i created. i am happy with what i’ve done. i’ve posted like 2 things this month that involve people with what i now call ~applied Knowledge~~ and they’re, like, not perfect obviously (perfection is an unattainable ideal), but i’m fucking proud of them. i didn’t spend 5 hours hunched over my laptop adjusting the red line of the devil because it’s not a devil’s line anymore. because i finally sorta get how people work. because i sat down and i said ‘we are not going to fuck with this misery shit anymore’ and then i did that. it’s just a line now.

here are 2 collages tracking my painstakingly carved out progress from january 2nd to february 2nd because i’m a slut for collages

and here’s what i’ve done to my art! the same person drew these but also Not Really! you know! for the first time in a year i don’t immediately hate what i’ve drawn. you know what guys? art is fucking fun. zelda’s forehead doesn’t scare me anymore because i know how foreheads fucking work now, and i don’t know everything, and i’m going to keep troubleshooting stuff as i go (i want to draw a skeleton. like a. i want to draw a goddamn skeleton guys) but i’m honestly and genuinely proud of what i’ve done in the span of a month, and i’m also in disbelief. i started this month-long challenge out as a last ditch effort to make peace with my art because i’ve been tired for a long time and i was ready to kick the bucket on drawing people altogether. i didn’t think anything would happen. nothing’s happened for years. i’ve been miserable for years.

this was the caption for january 1st, 2021. i was super, super fucking embarrassed and it looks like super fucking shit, but you know what, i think i did in fact triumph over the bullshit. surprisingly enough, when you put in consistent effort into something, You Will See Results. didn’t see that coming, did you? i know i didn’t.

this isn’t a success story. it’s a happiness story. i never gave a shit damn about the institute of art or whatever, i was just mad at myself because what i saw in my head didn’t match up with what was on the canvas. and now it’s getting better. now i’m calibrating the compass. now drawing not just backgrounds but also people is exciting to me, and i can stick my links in your face and tell you ‘they hot’. i’m going to keep doing that. i’m going to keep going until i drop off the side of the earth and then spiral towards mars like some kind of fairy, and then i’m going to create something beautiful.

thanks for reading. here’s a pr department link for sticking around until the end

#my stuff

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fairfowl · 3 years ago

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Lie There and Breathe pt 4: Awake

A horde clone oc story (part one here, part two here, part three here)

tw: gore, ableism, eye trauma, pneumonia, suicidal implications, mentioned disordered eating, horde typical cult mentality (it's only a little sad I'm just being cautious)

Time seemed to stretch out like the empty space between stars. The chaos of the healing tent continued to ebb and flow but the clone did not move from his cot.

While he was much more comfortable now that his head was no longer swathed in gore-soaked bandages, he was still more drained than he could ever remember being. He felt dizzy and tired, and his covered left eye throbbed unceasingly. Sometimes it hurt so much that the clone found himself wishing that it had been simply ripped out rather than left in it's socket to ache.

In the long hours he saw other patients come and go, wheeled in and out on gurneys by teal robed apprentices. The sickest and most injured were removed, while patients with grisly hastily-treated wounds were brought in. The clone assumed that the new ones were being pulled straight off of the battlefield or from emergency camps. It must have been some time since the battle had ended but the clone knew that all cleanups took time.

He was relieved to find that clones and Etherians were both being brought in, and that his brothers seemed to be treated fairly so far.

The clone wondered what his brothers were doing, spread throughout Etheria, cut off from the hivemind. He wondered how many thousands were now wandering the planet, maybe they were seeking each other out in the same way that he had sought The Breather.

Far into space ships filled with countless brothers must have been traveling without direction, lost and purposeless. The clone hoped that they were responding to the crisis better than he was, he hoped that they were able to communicate effectively even without the comforting network of the hivemind, that they felt a similar need to survive and preserve the lives of their brothers.

He hoped that if they felt the same will to live as him they were less helpless to act upon it.

The clone rolled over with a sigh, facing towards the canvas wall of the tent when he could no longer bear to look upon the injured and their healers.

Everything had become overwhelming.

The voices of the injured, the sound of the wind on the walls of the tent, even the continuous rasping of The Breather seemed cacophonous and the noises rang sharply inside his aching head. His left eye throbbed in its socket and the ever looming tide of panic once more rose within him.

Since the fall of Prime the clone had been hanging onto his composure as though it were a lifeline, knowing that if he gave in to fear then he risked losing what little control that he had over his own fate, but now the truth set in. He had no control. He was stuck, too weak to even sit up from the cot where he lay.

He had no way of knowing how long it had been since he’d awoken in the tent, but the clone did know that aside from the water earlier he’d had no sustenance. Oral ingestion was not the clones’ usual method of sustaining themselves, but it was utilized on ground campaigns with some frequency and the clone had eaten before although he was not fond of the sensation. Now as his body felt as though it were crying out he wondered if he could even tolerate solid food if it was offered.

For all that Prime had gifted them with sharp canines and strong molars their systems needed time to acclimate to solids, and even on ground campaigns it was standard practice to process food before consumption. Very few of them had ever ingested anything that they would have needed to chew.

Maybe he, The Breather, and all of their brothers were going to starve to death here on Etheria.

Maybe that's what Prime would have wanted.

The clone tried to curl in on himself but his limbs would not cooperate. He was dimly aware of his breaths growing shorter and his shoulders starting to shake, but it was if the sensations belonged to someone else. It was as if he was feeling an echo through the hivemind.

But the hivemind was dead.

All of them were dead.

He was crying again, short choked sobs rocked his frame as tears once again wet the bandages on his face. This time he could see, and the tears were not of relief.

The clone could see carnage and pain and chaos, he could see his brothers torn apart, but he could not feel them. He was weak and disfigured and alone, and he could hardly breathe from crying.

The clone did not wail, he did not scream or curse, but he wept. He wept and could not stop.

~~~

He did not know how long he lay there, lost within himself, a slave to his own fear, but by the time that a hand met his back and jostled the clone out of his misery it seemed that it had been an eternity. The clone stilled.

His tears had dried up but he felt yet more exhausted than before. The clone found that he was furious with himself. He had given in. He had lost control. Something soured deep within his chest at the thought that he had curled up and cried, and in his negligence failed to keep watch over his friend beside him. His self-appointed task was the one thing that he had been able to do since his injury and now his attention had lapsed. How could he be so selfish?

He ignored the hand on his shoulder for a moment longer to listen for The Breather. He listened and listened, but the steady rasp failed to make itself known.

The space beside him yielded only silence.

As quickly as he could the clone rolled himself over, the ensuing pain from his sudden movement lost in a spike of terror that overrode all else.

As he turned the clone was met by the concerned face of The Breather; awake and reaching towards the clone across the void. The familiar face was drawn but alert, his green eyes open as he propped himself up on his elbow.

"Oh!" The clone half choked as he tried to speak. He felt his heart stutter along with his voice as terror turned to shock. The Breather said nothing but his eyes were wide, surprised by the clone's sudden movement. They both held their breath as they took each other in.

"You're awake."

His friend nodded, continuing to stare silently at the clone from his own cot.

"Yes," The Breather eventually croaked, his eyes never leaving the other clone's. "Was I unconscious for long?"

The clone sniffed and quickly wiped his face, wincing as his clumsy hand made contact with the pulverized flesh beneath his bandages. He took a long breath and tried not to look pathetic.

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly. As he pulled himself together he felt once again like a dutiful agent of Horde Prime; one who was communicating pertinent mission details to a fellow soldier. The feeling was comforting but fleeting.

His friend was wheezing again.

"I have been awake intermittently for at least a day and a half" He continued, not letting his eye leave The Breather's face. "In that time you have slept beside me without waking."

For a moment The Breather seemed to draw into himself, his eyes grew distant. The clone waited, his friend had been silent for so long that it seemed no struggle to wait now. Even if he never spoke again the clone felt that he would be content to know that The Breather was alive and awake.

Eventually the other clone bowed his head, before pulling himself into a curled position on the cot. He was still in the propped half-sitting position but he lay facing the clone, he looked as drained as the clone felt.

"The hivemind is gone." He said eventually, a dull finality to his tone. "If we are cut off from the hivemind, why are we still alive?"

"I don't know." The clone answered honestly.

"It's so quiet!" His friend whispered, looking anguished as his hands rubbed roughly against his ears. The clone felt his own twitch in response and found himself pushing aside a shock of pain as his cut left ear pulled against its stitches.

“It is, it is.” The clone agreed. He kept his tone even, afraid to startle his friend. “But we are alive.”

“Why are we alive?”

“I don’t know.” It was strange to listen to his friend after he had been silent for so long, and stranger still to hear his own thoughts reflected back to him. Those thoughts did not hum through the hivemind, but were carried by the rasping voice of his new friend. “But we are. We are alive and if we want to remain so then we must be calm and not alarm the Etherians.”

“The Etherians!” His friend scoffed. “Why should we care what the Etherians think? Why should we care if they kill us, if Prime is not here why should we remain?”

A wave of frustration overtook the clone as he watched his companion lose his composure. He did not know if the fury stemmed from the behavior of his friend or his own thoughts and he didn’t find that he cared enough to dwell on it. If this emotional outburst continued it would surely draw attention to both of them, and after worrying so much about keeping The Breather alive it was unthinkable to imagine him throwing both of their lives away for nothing.

Prime was dead.

Why should he care what Prime wanted? Prime couldn’t control him from beyond the grave, couldn’t help or guide him. Horde Prime was useless to him now.

“We are still here.” The clone said gravely, feeling his brow crease sternly although the expression was obscured by the white bandages that bound his head. “Even if Prime is gone we are still here. I have decided to keep myself alive, and if I can I’d like to keep you alive as well.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to.” And it was as simple as that.

His friend looked as though he was going to continue to argue but as he inhaled the breath seemed to get stuck in his throat, pulling the other clone into a fit of sharp forceful coughs. His shoulders shook as he wrapped his arms around his bandaged chest clutching at some unseen wound.

Startled, the clone reached out, running his fingers across his companion’s heaving shoulder. He hadn't expected this. This intensity of emotion.

Really he hadn't expected anything. He'd been living moment to moment when not wallowing in despair, and the idea of what would happen once The Breather awoke had barely crossed his mind. He'd wondered if his companion would be disgusted by him, but he hadn't stopped to consider anything else. Now his new friend was before him, awake, upset, and in the midst of a coughing fit that seemed as though it was going to go on forever, and the clone had no idea what to do.

It hurt—the not knowing, the helplessness—in a way that he had never felt before. The sharp ache in his chest was entirely new. His whole life had always followed a set path, he had always followed orders and obeyed the word of Horde Prime, and where had it gotten him?

His companion's coughing eventually weakened, quieting to painful sounding gasps. The clone watched on, unable to do more than stroke his arm in long slow movements. He hoped that it was calming. He hoped that it meant something.

A moment of inspiration struck him as the gasps turned to wheezing. The clone reached for the half-full cup of water that he had abandoned on the small folding table that Dawn had left behind after re-wrapping his bandages. He didn't give himself time to hesitate before grabbing the cup and offering it to his companion. He pressed the cool ceramic against his shoulder and waited until his friend’s attention turned.

"Wet your throat." The clone said, when his friend finally looked at him. "Slowly. It will help.”

He was still dizzy, still exhausted, but the clone needed to comfort the other however he could. Although he could not feel the echoes of his companion’s terror through the hivemind he could see it on his face and hear it in his voice, and like a phantom pain it hurt to watch.

With slow hesitant movements his friend reached for the cup, and he guided it into his hands, mindful of the bandaged fingers. Reaching his arm as far as he could stretch the clone supported the vessel, providing stability to his companion’s shaky hands. And his friend drank, slowly.

As he sipped on the water his breathing slowed. While his breaths were still short and pained, the terror in his eyes cleared bit by bit. The clone watched as his friend took in their surroundings, his bright green eyes flitting from palace to place, from the patients on their cots to the healers in their white and teal robes. His gaze lingered on the sunlight glittering through the curtained door of the healing tent, and the clone glanced after him, only looking away as his head throbbed from the light. His bad eye was pulsing with his heartbeat and though the clone did his best to ignore it the ever constant discomfort followed him.

Eventually his friend lowered the cup and looked at him gravely.

“You said that you wanted to keep me alive. Why?”

“Because you were here.” The clone said.

It had all seemed so simple before, but now his clumsy words could not give justice to his motives. The feelings were so bright and pure, his desire to survive hummed through his core the way that the Words of Horde Prime should have. It was like distilled light, like hunger. Simple and organic and so suddenly obvious, despite the fact that mere days ago he would have gladly sacrificed himself for Prime and watched his brothers die in droves.

“I couldn’t be alone, and you were here.”

His friend’s hands tightened on the ceramic cup, and he looked down. He didn’t understand.The clone felt his heart sink.

But then something in his friend’s posture shifted. He seemed softer, somehow.

“Thank you.” He said. While his friend still wouldn’t look at him, the clone felt his heart lighten at his friend’s words. He hadn’t done anything for acknowledgement—praise was more alien to him than the Etherian Healers that surrounded them—but it was a relief to hear something positive.

His arm was getting sore, stretched out to support the cup, and he nudged it upwards, encouraging his companion to take another sip. His friend obliged, carefully. The clone suspected that the ease with which he took the water was due to the fact that he had eaten and drank orally before, he wondered if the other clone was a ground soldier like he was.

Earlier—While he lay blind on the cot— he had heard the sounds of other brothers choking and coughing, likely a response to their need for hydration and nutrients coming in conflict with a lack of amniotic fluid within the healers’ tent. The clone supposed that it was lucky that he and his friend were more practiced at swallowing than some. His first few times had taken some perseverance.

His friend finished the water, and passed the cup back to him, and the clone pondered over what they would need to do next.

So far his strategy had been to lay as quietly as possible and not draw attention to themselves, but that plan could only be viable for so long. The clone could tell already that he needed nutrients, as well as further medical care. From what he had observed from Dawn and Mendus the bandages that stretched across his face covered carnage that was far from healed.

At some point while he had been unconscious someone had tended to his friend, but the clone had no idea what kind of injuries hid beneath The Breather’s bandages. Something was hurt inside of him, that much the clone could tell. His breaths wheezed with each inhale and they were short as though the very act of breathing pained his friend. There were also bandages wrapped around the other clone’s foot and hand.

He placed the cup back onto Dawn’s table.

Dawn.

She and Mendus had been kind to him despite the fact that he was their captive, they had changed his bandages and treated his wounds. If he wanted to have his injuries seen to, and to ensure the health of his friend, then they would be helpful allies. He was hopeful that they would at least.

Laying back he let out a long breath. His arm dangled over the side of the cot as he closed his eye and let his head rest against the cot. He would need to make contact with Dawn again, she would be their best chance at moving forward. If he managed to get more information about their fates from her then the clone would be able to plan properly. He wondered what they were going to do now.

He had always been a soldier, maybe he would conquer in the name of Etheria. While the clone had no loyalty to them if it meant his continued survival he thought he could do it. The very thought felt like a sin, as though he were being disloyal to Horde Prime, but Horde Prime was dead. If he planned on being loyal to the dead then he might as well have died along with him.

Maybe he would be afforded some leniency if he volunteered his service. The clone was not sure how useful he would be now—his left eye was almost certainly permanently damaged if not entirely ruined—but once he regained his strength his limbs would be as strong as ever. If the clone proved that he was useful he might be able to protect his companion in some way. Perhaps they would receive better nutrition or shelter than those who resisted.

“I wish I could tell what you were thinking.” His friend murmured. “Without the hivemind I might as well try to feel the mind of a stone.”

“I was just… just wondering.” The clone replied, unsure of how to voice his thoughts.

“Wondering?”

“Wondering how to keep us safe.” It felt silly. Just days ago he would have been understood entirely. Silently. It was the sort of thing that they had known about one another intuitively; and they had all been so similar, so devoted to Horde Prime, that they were as many extensions of one person. One Little Brother.

Now he was one. Himself. The clone wasn’t sure if he liked that, but he decided that now wasn’t the time to be upset about such things. It wasn’t as though any of them had any choice. Now if he was to make himself understood then he would have to explain his thoughts.

A hand reached over to brush against his fingers, instinctively he caught it and held.

For a moment they lay in silence their hands clasped together in the voice between their cots, contemplative but trapped within their own minds.

“I am going to keep us safe.” He vowed, his one good eye staring intently at the canvas ceiling of the tent. “I don’t know how yet, but I will. We will find a way to survive this.”

“Okay.”

*****

I cry when I'm hungry too lol

“companion’s” etymology breaks down into “one with whom you break bread” I like that a lot

I’m adding the “disordered eating” tag because the way that the clones have learned to consume nutrients is inherently disordered. They had no choices and have only experienced eating as we know it (orally) due to necessity, although I do believe that sipping water was practiced amongst the Horde if only due to its practicality. This story is not about Hordak, but I do headcanon that in his case this cultural disorder segued into a more traditional eating disorder

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mammons-tax-returns · 4 years ago

Note

How would the brothers react to a very punk goth Mc like platforms and all black and just the whole shebang he’s very nice but also will throw hands (there’s not enough male Mc your doing the good work my dude)

BROTHERS REACTING TO A GOTH/PUNK MC

Perfect way to start off the new blog !! Thank you for requesting, hope this is what you had in mind <3 (and that it’s not too apparent that i’m not super well versed in punk or goth culture ACK)

I hope that you guys don’t mind some being shorter than others, I’m still getting a hang of personalities!

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Lucifer is probably one of the ones that’s into the style from the very beginning.

As soon as he sees MC, his interest is clearly shown on his face.

Sometimes, he’ll drop compliments on his fashion. Depending on his reponses, he’ll start getting more apparent with just how much he enjoys seeing his outfit everyday.

GIFTS!! He’s not mammon level of stacks upon stacks of gift wrapped boxes, but he’ll certainly stop by your room every once in a while with a new accessory he saw while shopping.

MC will probably notice that he is especially keen on chokers :).

Stares discreetly, but consistently. When Lucifer invites him to listen to music in his room, he waits until MC is occupied with something like a book or the music. Then sneaks glances at him to see how his clothing moves every time he reaches over for something, or how the necklace he bought the other day glints in the light radiating off of the fireplace.

He knows that MC is nice, and grows increasingly more and more worried for his sake because of that. The exchange program is important, but his treasure perpetually adorned in black garbs is significantly more prominent in his concerns.

So when he sees MC readily defending himself against some low level demon with no hesitation? Holy fuck. He starts to panic, but there’s nothing surpressing his respect for him, as it only grows stronger.

Although, it becomes very apparent that he’d have to do something about all of his brothers’ staring at MC.

Mammon is so into it. Like... So into it.

We all know and love that our tsundere boy has a problem with getting embarrassed, but how could he NOT get flustered everytime he’s face to face with an alternative KING

At first, he actually tries to tell MC how much he appreciates his aesthetic, but fails every time. Stuttering is a difficult thing to overcome when you can barely breathe out of embarrassment.

When he finally brings himself to actually get a compliment out, it’s accompanied with his signature bashful look. Downcast gaze and shifting posture and everything.

Upon recieving a positive response to his words, he takes it as a sign that he should start doing it more often. And so... That’s exactly what he does!

Compliments upon compliments, expensive outfits and accessories finding their way into his room, MC gets it all.

He ADORES the nice personality. So really. This MC is one of the people that Mammon can’t help but get along with. Nice, can throw hands, AND IS FASHIONABLE? Now you’re speaking his language.

They definitely get called a model power couple, even if MC isn’t a model.

Will definitely mention the idea of MC doing a photoshoot with him for work, but won’t press further if he says he’s not comfortable with it.

Levi geeks out so badly

So yeah, his initial interest in MC is kickstarted by his fashion reminding him of a badass video game character, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate him for who he is!!

He actually doesn’t know whether to be sad that he doesn’t have the same amount of fashion sense or to be happy that he has MC as his best friend that does.

But after a bit of positive affirmation from MC, he’ll surely settle with the latter. (and also hope for them to become more than best friends :). )

He finds himself subconsciously posting about MC in his socials. Normally it’s filled with “Lucifer just did (blank)” but now, it’s ALL about MC. Nothing else. MC fan account.

We know that Levi draws, and so I have no doubts that he would be drawing every outfit he sees MC in.

At first, he’s only drawing faceless figures in the clothes, probably adding his own personal flair. But as time progresses and Levi gets closer to him, he starts subconsciously conpleting the figure’s appearance (hair, face, stature, etc). And before he knows it, half of his pages are filled with doodles of MC.

But if he were to ever find out that MC saw his art, RIP Leviathan 2020

And who’s to say he’s not drawing him in... Risqué outfits.

But if MC says that he doesn’t mind getting drawn, then Levi will activate cute fanboy mode again.

He’ll ask him to model outfits for him as he draws, sometimes in cosplay.

MC would just be chillin’ with him in his room, and when Levi finally looks up from his tv after finishing an anime, he’ll sometimes gasp and immediately say, “Stay right there, I HAVE to draw this!”

Although drawing wasn’t and will likely never be his favorite thing to do in comparison to video games/anime, it gives him an excuse to stare at his best friend with minimal blushing.

Satan is good at hiding his appreciation for MC’s outfits. At least, he’s good at it to everyone BUT MC.

If anyone asks, he’s indifferent about MC and his dashing looks and fashion.

But as soon as MC confronts him... Oh boy.

Red-faced, he’ll compliment his clothing on occasion, then wave it off as “something everyone does”. Which is true, but we know that it’s more than just that.

Similarly to Lucifer, he finds himself staring at him secretly. Except, I like to think that he’s less careful about it. Often MC will look up to meet his eyes, before he ducks his head back into his book, acting nonchalant.

Not a single person can convince me that he hasn’t found a stray black cat and discreetly named it after MC.

He wouldn’t hide the fact, but instead would actually bring it up at the right time. Ex: Right before some dramantic moment like before proclaiming how much MC means to him. Both as the cat and human.

The cat’s collars are decorated similarly to the clothing that MC wears! Satan is a diligent worker (especially when putting lucifer through immense stress) and a lover of arts, so he’s pays attention to little details like that.

This is Asmo we’re talking about.

He ADORES the aesthetic.

It’s not something that he himself would wear, but damn is it appealing to the eye.

Once you get him started on all the things he’d do if given the chance to dress MC up in whatever he wanted, you’ll never hear the end of it.

(^ especially when he starts talking about the undressing)

He loves a monochromatic color pallet, but every once in a while he’ll push for a pop of color in MC’s outfit for the day.

If MC wears minimal/no makeup, Asmo will constantly ask if he can use his face as a canvas for makeup experimentation while he rants about his nail tech.

Asmo’s favorite activity is going through MC’s closet. He gets to not only try things on, but he also gets to know what he has to work with when choosing MC’s outfits for their days out together.

Knows the perfect boutiques to bring him to

“You know, the color black really accentuates your figure... And if you look this good with it on, I wonder how great you look with it off~”

Beel isn’t interested in fashion or anything related to it. He isn’t picky about the presentation of things (namely; food.)

So he wouldn’t be immediately enticed upon first meeting MC.

But that is not to say that he doesn’t find him VERY pleasing to the eye.

Our sweet boy is not afraid to express his love for those boots!! For the destressed fabrics!! He hangs around him often just so he can sit and ogle at how cool MC looks!! All the damn time!!

Asks MC to come with him to work out just so he could have some motivation by seeing him. And his GAMES. He’s gonna love to see him cheering him on in the stands.

Beel would admit that he himself couldn’t bring himself to care so much about his clothes or ‘aesthetic’ , and couldn’t imagine having such a consistent style.

^ And because of that! He’s dying to see what he looks like in other styles. Of course, if he doesn’t want to change out of the usual attire, just seeing him wearing beel’s huge ass jacket is enough.

Wouldn’t care to buy clothing items for him, but will most certainly stop by devildom’s no. 1 bakery, grab some sweets with that signature gothic devildom appearance and bring it back to the House of Lamentation for him. (Given that he didn’t already eat them.)

In comparison to his personality, MC’s closet isn’t very important.

Beel loves his kind nature! But he will always be there to defend him in any sort of risky situation, especially when any low level demons would like to try and take advantage of MC’s niceness.

Belphie is taken aback the first time he sees him. In the best way possible.

It’s like he just knows that he’s going to be interesting to be with just by seeing his clothing style

He actually probably assumed that MC would be very different from what he’s really like. (Like how people will assume that everyone who wears dark colors often are always sad)

But both to his surprise and not, MC is nothing but kind to him! And he’s kinda like 😳. Damn. Alright. I can get down to this.

Fashion isn’t his expertise, so he isn’t as forward with compliments. It’s mostly, “As long as I’m comfortable when I lay on you, the clothes are fine. Right?”

“I had a dream about you last night... It was like you were some prince clad in black chain mail armor... I suppose we couldn’t make that a reality though, huh? You can be my prince in band tees and ripped jeans.”

The only reason he starts dressing similarly to MC is because of how many times he’ll fall asleep beside him. He knows MC will probably offer one of his jackets or extra shirts, and that he’ll likely get to keep it. (He gives it back eventually, it’s just nice sentiment.)

It’s also kind of entertaining to see some of his brothers go ballistic in response to seeing him adorned in MC’s signature clothes.

#obey me reactions #obey me imagines #obey me male reader #obey me x male reader #obey me beelzebub #obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me belphegor

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nestable · 4 years ago

Text

BRING IT ON HOME NESSIAN ONESHOT

Bring it on Home to me by Sam Cooke is on of my favorite songs in the word and I highly recommend you go have a listen if you havent heard it, I promise you wont regret it. I was listening to it the other day and instantly thought of how these lyrics resonated with nessian, cassian more especially and couldn't resist writing this fic. Just a little soft, SFW, domestic Nessian. 🥺😭

"Nes." Cassian groaned as he rolled closer to her side of the bed. "Nesta?"

After being met with stark silence, Cassian outstretched his hand only for it to collapse onto cold sheets.

No Nesta, he realized with a start.

Though he and his Nesta have been mated for some months now, all of which have been without an incident, he can't help but worry.

Each night he reassures himself with the knowledge of their bond, the heat of her body pressed against his own, the words of love and loyalty she ensures he hears everyday, that she is safe and finally happy.

Not miserable and balancing on the cusp of oblivion where he found her last year. Juggling between drowning her sorrows and indulging in sub-par sex just to feel something, just to deny the connection they share because she felt that she wasnt worthy of him. No, that was all over now, but he can't help when the memories resurface.

The memory of Nesta writhing and arched in her bed as silver flames wreathed her body like a shroud. The screams of pain and anguish that left her lips only to be swallowed by starless night and Deaths flames. How the very mountain trembled beneath their feet, bracing itself for the potential explotion that Cassian could sense building up. Somehow he knew that Velaris would've been crumpled to dust that night and become a fond memory. He felt it in his gut. Just the same way he felt her night terrors take hold of her for her powers to bask in centre stage. And in the same breath, he also felt that he could stop it. Whether that was pure male arrogance or the suspicion of the bond that lay between them, that was yet to be found. And it was...the moment her powers seized in intensity when he said her name. Once, twice, just enough for Rhys to gain control and save them all.

No, he would never forget that and he'd be damned if it were to happen again and catch him in a helpless position as the first time he witnessed the extent of her power. A power that mostly returned back to the Cauldron, only to be replaced by 3 Dread troves and the Mothers favour. A different sort of threat perhaps. One sweeter, kinder, even benign from what he's witnessed.

Nesta barely speaks about the power the same way she did with her Cauldron gifts. She reassures him that these were different, these she understands and smiled every time he enquired about her connection with the Mother. He wishes to know more, his body yearns for it, but his mate has always loved surprises.

Cassian threw on a pair of his undershorts before leaving his and Nestas new room. Though the House of Wind has become their shared abode, its ill advised to walk around naked with the possibility of Azriel becoming an unwilling spectator with his prowling around the halls in the dead of night like he's been doing for the past year.

Cassian loves his brother, sometimes more than kin normally do, he believes sometimes, but he'll never forgive him for that night he ruined his birthday night when he walked in on Nesta modelling her new negligee in the library. He's never jumped from one intense emotion to another so quickly. Blinded by the red lace of her silk garments only to see red of a different kind when the blue of Azriels siphon opened the door.

The territorial male part of him nearly took over that night and he was inclined to let it ride him had Nesta not winnowed them to their room and pushed him onto the bed. The anger, the curiosity he had as to how Nesta was able to winnow around the House when no one else could were obscured then turned insignificant by the view of Nesta sitting astride on his thighs.

Cassian followed the music swimming through the hall which brought him to a new lounge area that didn't present itself in the centuries that he's been living here until Nesta inherited the place.

Many new things have made their presence known and sprung to life since Nestas made the House her home. Hidden rooms have materialized, troves have opened and a gorgeous garden has flourished on the top of the mountain. As if in preparation of someone, or little someone's who might need it.

Cassian isn't blind to the fact that the House makes things available according to Nestas hopes, dreams and wishes. All of which make Cassian excited for the future and a forever with his mate even more.

Nesta was leaning against the cream white wall that she and Cassian painted just last night, holding an A2 canvas painting in both hands. He couldn't decipher her facial expression or read some of the wild thoughts that were evidently bouncing around her head as Nesta was inclined to raising her mental walls to him when she was stressed. He'd once asked why and she told him that she didnt want to plague him with her problems. Didnt want to bother him. Little did she know that Cassian was built for her, problems and all. Nothing about Nesta could bother him. Not even the parts that bothered her.

"Hi." He whispered which startled Nesta before she composed herself. For her to be so drawn into her thoughts that she didnt notice him approaching, instantly put him on edge him.

"Hi." She said, plastering a lazy smile onto her face.

Cassian took that as an invitation to enter. His eyes swept across the room, taking in the organized clutter. From the closed boxes filling the lounge, the half hung snow white gossamer curtains blowing in from the open balcony, to the slightly dusty white marble tiles that were installed just last week.

Cassian was a bit skeptical when Nesta told him of her plans to decorate this room in all white. White cushions, white couches, white walls, white flower arrangements, white chandeliers and white fur carpets felt like a fever dream to Cassian, but now that it's all coming to life, he can see the vision of beauty that Nesta had in mind. A vision not only limited to this lounge but the entire House of Wind that Nesta will decorate herself with the input of the House itself to revitalize the place. All of which will be paid for by Rhys.

How the Cauldron matched him to such a female, not mere female but god, he'll never know. All he can do is be grateful and work to be worthy and deserve the gift to draw breath in her presence.

Now that Nestas accepted her Human emissary role and is the courts newly appointed courtier, she's recieving the same fat salary like the rest of the IC, but Cassian doubts that Rhysand will ever let Nesta access her funds because he insists on paying for everything for her. Which goes to show that Rhys' gratitude for Nesta runs very far. Or guilt, or both.

What Nesta did for Feyre, Nyx and Rhys was something that couldnt be described with words. She saved their lives and in doing so the entire court. Rhys failed to tell his family about him and Feyres decision and never left a plan of action to follow after his death. Had he died, the role of High Lord could've fallen to anyone. Probably Keir or one of Mors detestable brothers because they are Rhys closest male blood relatives. What they would've done to Velaris, done to the entire court....Cassian seldom contemplates that. Nestas sacrifice and mercy saved them all and in doing so, opened herself to a higher form of being that is yet to be seen.

"What are you doing up so late?"

"I had a lot on my mind. I couldn't sleep so I decided to come and get this room in order." She explained, flipping her golden brown hair over her shoulder.

"What's been on your mind?" Cassian asked casually, taking a step closer.

He'd have embraced her and held her against his chest if it weren't for the massive painting in her hands. A painting that he can feel is the source of all her trepidation.

Nesta bit her lip before turning the canvas toward him and placing it in his hands. "Feyre finally finished that and it was delivered yesterday afternoon. I was too afraid to open it then- but I figured that I wouldn't be able to sleep until I saw it."

At first glance, anyone would assume that the muse was Nesta. From the steel eyes to the clear skin and poise in the pose. But upon further inspection, the age of the woman, the beauty spot beneath her right eye and slight darker tresses reveals the truth.

"This is your mother..." Cassian said lowly. The weight of the image, not the canvas itself but the obvious memories, pain and loss the painting held settled on him.

"Was." She uttered a bit sharply. Her throat bobbing up and down.

Cassians eyes darted between Nesta and the painting. Surprise and admiration pouring into him in droves. Her sisters did mention more than once that Nesta is their mothers spitting image, but this...it was as though the same person had been born twice.

"You stole her whole face." He chuckled, bringing a sweet curve to Nestas lip.

"I know...I know." She shrugged.

Cassian lay the painting carefully against the wall then wrapped his arms around his mates shoulders. Her own found their home around his waist as she rested her chin atop his chest so that their eyes could meet.

If it were a few months ago, a year, she would've furiously blinked away the tears that have settled in her eyes, or rejected their proximity entirely. Only to retain a semblance of control that shes strived so hard to maintain. But now shes opened herself to him entirely. Made him a part of both her happiness and pain, loss and gain, victories and failure. Just as their mating vows ordered.

"Talk to me." He whispered, dragging his fingers through her hair.

"I- I just...I know that my mother was not the best of mothers, nor did she love us in the ways that a mother should but....but that doesn't make me love her any less. She might've trained me instead of raised me, saw me as a ticket to wealth and leisure or lived vicariously through me but she was still my mother." Her tears fell down her cheeks as if a damn had been broken. "There were good moments as well as bad and I'm not going to pretend that she was never loving or good to me. Elain and Feyre might've forgotten her, but I can't... I wont."

Cassian lowered his head to press soft kisses to her cheeks where her tears left stains. "I know." He murmured. "You dont share the same memories as Elain and Feyre, it's only natural that you saw her much differently and remember her in a better light than they do." He rubbed feather light circles on the back of her neck in an attempt to assuage her from her pain.

"It broke my heart when I walked through Feyres house that day and didn't see a piece of myself or her. It felt like I was being erased, forgotten. Now I've found my place in that hall but she hasn't. I couldn't allow that to happen. I couldn't let her be erased just like that."

"And she wont be, not if you will it. I'll remember her with you." Cassians lips found Nestas and before they knew it, the couple found themselves descending into a deep kiss that only a mating bond could conjure.

"You know that's one of the reasons I love you?" He stated, to which Nesta replied with a raised brow. "Your compassion, your massive heart, your loyalty... these are all qualities that you motivate me to pursue everyday. You've kept your soft side hidden for a long time and now we're starting to see it." She smiled. By far the most beautiful sight he's ever seen. "That sweet love. Just bring it on home to me."

A giggle was shared between them as soon as the words left his mouth. The lyrics of a song, their song, that came on the day of their mating ceremony that they had on repeat for 2 hours straight. Cassian had never heard a song that spoke to him and his experience with love the way that one did. One that Nesta knew would speak to his very marrow and chose not to warn him in advance, only to see his reaction.

"You're insufferable." She said, only to hug him tighter and lay her head on his chest.

"Well then you're going to have to get used to it, Nes. We only have forever left together."

Just when Cassian expected Nesta to respond, the soft melody of a piano begun in the corner of the room from Nesta symphoniam, followed by the ever true lyrics that might've been written for them, that might as well have been their wedding and mating vows.

If you ever change your mind

About leaving, leaving me behind

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Nesta begun the dance. Cassian followed with no hesitation. Though it was a far cry from the pulsating waltz they'd done in Hewn city or other court events thereafter. It was far more intimate, passionate. Just a sway of the hips and foot movements that reforged and strengthened the golden bond that surged through them on Winter Solstice and polished it to a shimmer. Their bond was not a mere tether, not a chain. It was a rainbow. Shimmering through storms and sunny days. It didnt only make its presence known or surge when they were in the throes of passion, it became more sentient when they were upset with each other. It was the musical and colourful road that led mate back to mate. Self back to self.

I know I laughed when you left

But now I know I only hurt myself

Baby, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

His heart cracked at the words and the truth they carry. The memories when they were so at odds with each other that they could barely be in the same room longer than necessary. The nights when he thought the immense sadness and grief at the prospect of losing her entirely would drown him and suffocate him. When he wished that he could rip his heart out of his chest only to get a reprieve from his anguish. Anguish he attempted to expunge with throwing himself into work and training only to realize that the further they moved from one another, the further they moved from themselves.

As if Nesta could hear and feel those memories, she held onto him tighter. This female, his tether to reality, his anchor, the tree that was able to weather a thunderstorm that left the land decimated only to come back and continue to grow with fruits and flowers on display for all to see.

I'll give you jewellery and money, too

That ain't all, that ain't all I'll do for you

Oh, if you bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian knew that from the moment he met Nesta, there was nothing in the world that he wouldn't do for her. Nothing too out of reach that if she should request, he would give. He was already hers in mind, body and soul. Their bond might've snapped into being after she emerged from the cauldeon, but the draw he felt toward her was infinite. Like their souls were made from the same essence but placed on earth in different time periods so that they know life without the other, to appreciate being together more.

You know I'll always be your slave

'Til I'm buried, buried in my grave

Oh honey, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian held up Nestas hand so that he may look upon the wedding and mating band. She requested that she have both and went to the best jeweler in Velaris to fuse both choices so that they sit as one on her finger. Both were made of rose gold, the slimmer wedding ring was imbued with three tanzanite diamonds and the larger mating band sports just one giant diamond that would need it's own security team. Cassian knew his mate loved nice things and made him pay a pretty penny to get it. He'd do again if only to see the stars that twinkled in her eyes when they chose the bands at the jeweler.

He looked at his own jeweled finger. A simple silver band that stood out more than he expected it to. He wanted to get black carbon fiber but Nesta threatened not to speak to him again if he had. Now he can't stop looking at it. He loves how it makes an appearance even though he's bedecked in full illyrian armour. He'll never forget the swell of pride he felt when his soldiers eyes zoned in on the piece of metal that could've easily been obscured by the red siphon that rests atop his hand, but chose to stand out and make its presence known. A symbol of his immature bachelorhood dead and gone, giving life to a new stage in his life. A stage he's waited for longer than he cares to admit.

He remembers using the word 'shackled' when describing his mating bond with Nesta when he was upset with her, but now that word seems appropriate. If the pieces of metal sitting on their matching fingers are the shackles of which he spoke, then he'd wear his shackles with pride.

One more thing

I tried to treat you right

But you stayed out, stayed out at night

But I forgive you, bring it to me

Bring your sweet loving

Bring it on home to me

Yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah) yeah (yeah)

Cassian rarely thinks about the time they spent apart. When resentment, self punishment and grief pulled them apart only because those memories are nothing in comparison to the centuries he spent without her.

Living life believing the words of the ignorant and seeing oneself as a inferior and undeserving of the love that he relishes in now. The love that has somehow wiped away centuries of self hate and lack of self awareness. He figures that the reason why he used to be the first to throw himself into deadly missions were all desperate plea to prove himself, to put it into stone that he isn't a mere worthless bastard but is someone worthy of respect. But now his outlook has completely shifted. He is no longer living only for himself, but for another. He remembers the blind terror he felt when he thought that Nesta was swallowed by the black water in the Bog, or how she screamed when she thought that she lost him on Mount Ramiel.

He doesnt want either of them to go through that again. To be without the other. To feel that their very heart was ripped out of their chest, when both had taken permanent residence in the other.

He saw how Feyre reacted when Rhys died, and heard when Rhys screamed when Feyre was on deaths doorstop. The mere thought of Nesta experiencing that pain or him has softened his daring heart.

He will live, he will love and he will do it with Nesta in his arms.

As the song drew to a close, Nesta shifted from her position on his chest, too look upon him again. She brought her slim fingers to his cheeks and smiled. "Forever."

He could offer nothing but the same. A truth that had been both a promise and a prayer from the moment they met, "Forever."

Tag: @bakingandbooks3 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @arinbelle @silvernesta @darklobe @haepaw @carlieg20 @illyrianshadowhunter

#acsf spoiler #nessian oneshot #nessian #bring it on home to me

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