#kusu

[mahiru-no-yami]

[universe2snumber1fan]

He tried to get recruitment numbers up, but all it ended up in was way too many rose petals on the ground

[tisthekarmyn]

I'm sure the eyes (like cat pupils) and halo of angels are very disturbing and intimidating glowing in the darkness

Or they could be used as flashlights, trying to find something in the dark lol

Very horrifying, imagine seeing this at the dead of night. They probably can change their night-vision so LOL

[hozonkai1]

[rajaie]

another dragon ball super fanart.

Just like in the anime, Universe 10 did a video on godtube.

[destinestuff]

Alien slug squad 🛸

They are all members of a fictional species I’ve created.

[dharmafox]

Finally a decent quality clip of this scene (that I had to make my freakin' self).

[nacch-an]

oshikatsu kusuriuri (he wears this to karakasa premiere)

[ilikeflowersandstuff]

I adore Mononoke so so much!!! I love the art-style, I love the direction, I love Kusu being his bitchy self, I love the design of the characters (though often off-putting), I love how weird it is, I love having to pick every single "oh?" Kusu say apart to get at least SOME sense of who he is, I love how "show don't tell" is taken to the n-th degree, I love the overall mood of the series and I love how women and their stories play such a big role in it.

I totally recognize that this show is not for everyone but it definitely is for me and after rewatching it over the last few days I cannot stop thinking about it.

[dirtycomputeremotionpicture]

so do you think the other 63 medicine sellers + shingi have a union or

[mahiru-no-yami]

Be careful you guys they might be enjoying it

[beansterpie]

totally random mononoke thoughts, and.... potentially unpopular opinion? but however the two sequel mononoke movies go, what I really don't want above anything else is like, a kusuriuri backstory. or things explaining in depth how kusu (and that whole system, because I guess there was a lore dump semi-recently, but I personally don't like the gist of it so I've been ignoring it lol) and his powers work. for me, kusuriuri is such a compelling character because we know nothing about him, and yet he continues to exist, just like many enigmatic forces of nature in that world.

I wouldn't mind there being little hints or implications, but any sort of definitive backstory or lore explanation would genuinely disappoint me lol. I don't wanna know!

[theblindhakune]

I'm so bad at doing character designs but I really wanna make my own Medicine Seller, one of the weaker 56. At least there's a clear template to them now that we have 2 reference points

[eligobrrrrr]

Hêng Kusuriuri, once again

Some thoughts and same thing but untextured under the cut

When deciding to draw him and his Shingi/Hyper next to each other I ended up changing a bit of his design oops- But I think I like it a bit more, specially now that I have them together. and specially now that I did want to lean more into the eye clothing pattern

Tbh I have so many thoughts about their design jkdsfhskd

[ruiniel]

tried another short animation on this movie!Kusu

[illumiera]

a new moon rises

or: there is a loom upon which the fate of every mortal is woven, and she who works it is Azura's blessed and cursed all at once. pre-i fear no fate (for you are my fate), 801 words

Near a small island somewhere off the coast of Akavir, the sea glows as though brimming with a galaxy of drowned stars. Stepping onto its shores feels like stepping beyond time entirely, like yesterday and today have fallen away in favour of a breathless, everlasting tomorrow. It feels like a crossing-over, like a journey from death-touched to deathless, and Ilmarenya—Ilmarenya cannot be certain if the salt-haired woman climbing out of the little boat is still Ilmarenya, but she knows that she must try to be nonetheless.

Nerevar—silent now, but he will come if she calls, whether as sound or as a shadow—has never required it of her. Nor has fate, which cares nothing for the name or face she wears as long as she treads the path it unfurls before her.

But her son and his father can have no other, and so Ilmarenya she must remain.

Azura stands at the base of the island’s single mountain. All the art, the statues, the carvings Ilmarenya’s fingers have traced at every shrine—they depict her as the star-touched night with a string of constellations for her girdle, but the Prince of the In-Between is never quite the same. Sometimes, she comes as midnight given body, or the wine-dark of gloaming, or flame-streaked sundown, or the golden hour moving through the air like a dream. Now, at the end—or the beginning—of all things, she is as beautiful and terrible as the dawn, and her skin is lit from within beneath a gauzy gown dyed the precise pink of early summer roses.

“Are you ready, my Moon-and-Star?” Azura asks, and her voice is uncharacteristically soft.

Ilmarenya draws herself to her full height and meets the unblinking burning dusk-dawn of the goddess’ eyes. What passes between them is nothing short of a challenge: Remember our bargain, my lady. I will give you—give Morrowind—my whole body if I must, but never that which I formed within it, never my son. Only when Ilmarenya is satisfied does she at last permit herself a single nod.

“Then come, Ilmarenya Ara’dayn.”

The goddess’ hands are warm, soft, and yet fetter-firm as they close around her own. When the Daedric Prince of Dusk and Dawn leans in and presses her mouth to hers, so too are her lips.

—past—

—present—

—future—

—past-present-future-past-present-future-past-present-future-past—

It beats in her heart, in her head, in her soul like a doom-drum, Il-ma-ren-ya to the thundering of her pulse, and with the taste of roses and crystal sugar on her tongue, Ilmarenya sees.

Sees the spinning of the Wheel, the never-ending weaving of the loom her own hands must guide. Sees the sevenfold stories carved out by the strides of the Brass Tower, the breaking of the dragon, the wandering of the Soulless One, the making and dying of saints and soldiers alike. Sees the many paths of the world, of the worlds, of Ilmarenyas whose disparate choices tangle like caught threads, of Nerevarines who bear another name and face and fate, and sees—

Lliryn.

The image of her son is a beacon, a lodestar amidst it all. Lliryn growing—and she will not be there—into a lanky-legged young man with her nose and his father’s crow-feather curls. Lliryn the wizard’s apprentice, a scion of House Telvanni through and through, and a ghost to a father who sees only her when he looks into his face. Lliryn leaving to find her, and Lliryn collared and chained and seared from the inside out of everything that was hers, and then the fire and the wrath of their ancestors and the wrath of Nerevar come again, and Lliryn in the heart of the blaze with his chin tilted up to the moons-and-stars in prayer, in thanks, and then—

—and then she sees the First with his crown of storms, or the thrice-blessed Last with a healer’s bloody hands, or perhaps both at once, and either way, she cannot see her son, cannot see past the mess of thread that a Hero leaves in their wake. Dead, alive, a thrall of another kind—she can see everything, but not the most precious thing, not the one thing she needs to see.

Ilmarenya does not break. Boethiah’s children know that they must break the world that seeks to break them, and she—she has always been the rock upon which the waves break. Still, she remains on her hands and knees at the shoreline until any mortal’s bones would ache, and the tears that spill to the starlit sand are a bright, liquid gold.

What rises in the end is the Nerevarine, but Ilmarenya Ara’dayn, but something altogether other. Ilmarenya’s eyes, burning with all sundown’s fire, lift to the summit and the loom that waits atop it, and she begins to ascend.