#masked musings

[primalvessel]

A blood-soaked package - the haori of a member of the Bokairo Inn staff, a bloody warding scale, and a slip of parchment listing a location, a time, and a price - not an exorbitant amount, but enough to raise eyebrows.

Delivered to Maru by courier bird.

It was entirely unexpected and caught him completely by surprise but that surprise was overridden immediately by a surge of fear when he opened the package.

He recognised both personal items and even if he didn't, the owner's scent lingered on them beneath the metallic stink of blood.

They'd ripped it out of him...

Maru's hand clenched around the parchment, crinkling it. There was no way to tell who'd sent it, even if they were watching when he cast his gaze about.

It was inevitable, he'd known it all along, that someone would target the ones he was close to but it still stung. He fought to hold onto anger at their audacity rather than sink into guilt and crumpled the parchment as he took a slow, deep breath.

He would be present and he would bring the gil, but as soon as Ban was returned to him, whoever was blackmailing him wasn't going to live to do it a second time.

Pocketing the scale, he stalked away to store the haori and prepare; location, time and price burned into his mind.

[veilantares]

Dark at the End of the Tunnel

Sink into an Anglers grasp in a dream, like the undersea the Night cradles screams

Been inspired by anglerfish recently, so I'm going to try to do at few of these dark background ones back to back and see if I stumble into something new. I noticed I tend to draw characters / mechs / robots in these oneshot illustrations extremely lanky, but I wonder if I made a comic, whether I'd keep these exaggerated proportions - I'm often indecisive about how much mech vs character is in these biomechs, so I usually just don't think about it and draw what feels interesting in the moment.

This gives me a chance to lay down a meandering anecdote - many years ago as a dumb teenager, I'd stay awake every Friday evening / saturday morning till 4 am, hoping to catch my favourite developer, Digital Extremes' weekly devstream. I vividly remember during closed beta in 2012 people would introduce the game as being about futuristic space pirates zipping through corridors - the games fidelity back then was really quite different, one of the early warframes, Ember, even had her whole model redone at one point. Around 2013-2014 ish when I was most excited for these streams, I noticed the games tagline was "ninja's play free", nothing at all to do with pirates - but it was catchy, and you'd see all over in the advertising because of the parkour moves you could pull off in the game were genuinely sick.

Incidentally, both the Defiance MMO (rip) and Destiny 1 (rip) were what warframe tended to be compared to at the time, both released a little after warframes closed beta, neither of which were piratey or ninja-ey , I think probably 80% of the reason for that was that they all had both guns and abilites ... I guess they were also all live services, I don't know if they were called that back then.

Compared to Defiance and Destiny, I was puzzled at what it was about warframes identity that made the aesthetic feel "itself" - and I got my answer on one of those devstreams - the art lead at the time brought out what they called a "faction pitch bible" a one pager showing all the factions they had in the game at the time, each of them with a few lines of flavour text.

What struck me from that faction pitch was that the Tenno / warframes "cyber knight" description was nothing at all to do with pirates or ninjas, it was a third, wholly other thing, and yet by virtue of being first, it might as well have been the "true" description.

But there was another original, even more original than the "true", Warframes predecessor game, Dark Sector, was a spy thriller with biomechanical aesthetics, or perhaps a powered suit superhero series. Would this original, more original than even the initial, not be what it truly was?

I think what my takeaway was from all of these, is that first an foremost, the aesthetic is "itself" rather than any arbitrary descriptors - I enjoy this about my own pieces, that they mostly still feel like they were made by me even if I can't quite categorise them or explain myself. Perhaps I'm happy if the takeaway is "cool mech", "weird robot" or "wacky character" because maybe it's all of those things and even more!

[tinystepsforward]

[aotearoa] if you're over 30 and haven't gotten the xbb1.5 booster try to do it THIS MONTH

our piece of shit fascist moneylover government is likely cutting funding to covid vaccines for the great majority of people on july 1.

someone who has access to te whatu ora emails posted this on twitter — it hasn't hit the news yet, but others working in healthcare appear to be confirming it's quite likely, so keep that in mind. we knew a month ago that they were revisiting changes to funding as of the new budget. they're also fucking changing the way sick leave works so that part-time workers will get a hell of a lot less. this winter.

if you're under 30 like me, go ask your pharmacist anyway! mine gave it to me and my wife, and i know there are others around the country who will. ask around until you find someone who will give it to you.

we're entering the biggest covid wave since dec 2022, this government is generally destroying the ministry of health and disability funding, you deserve to do what you can to secure any modicum of protection now. it's worth a shot, pun not intended.

[fly-sky-high-bug-games]

You have an ex assassin, a (overly curious) doctor and a warrior/executioner in the same room, what do you think will happen?

(Willow joins the party! She's also a doctor! And funny enough Hitch loves to read about medicine thanks to Willow!)

[ksclaw]

The competition required for one to wear a mask. Among the hunters was one announced as "The Barnowl."

The mask was carved from wood, the eye holes covered in a form of black glass. In this contest between Immortals and Spirits, it could only be enchanted, so that the wearer could see in the dark through those lenses.

The only thing revealing the hunter as a woman, were the curves revealed by parts of the outfit. She didn't speak to anyone, except those managing the contest, and even then that was done in private, out of hearing range of others.

Her chosen weapon revealed her to be an archer. A recurve bow, short, but with an assortment of arrows. Meant to kill, or at least paralyze, depending on the target.

May the best hunter win.

-

Friend was telling me about an RP they're doing, where I'm allowing to borrow my OC Ebony as a background character, and I couldn't resist designing their outfit for the "hunt." Pose is inspired by @adorkastock

[soleminisanction]

If I were put in charge of making a true-to-the-comic adaptation of the original Young Justice, I do think there's one change I'd make:

I'd ditch the "Batman has a rule against revealing secret identities" angle and instead root that subplot entirely in Tim's personal need to keep his superhero and civilian lives separate through compartmentalization. That'd make Tim's personal arc more strongly about finding a place among his friends where he feels truly comfortable being himself, gradually realizing that "Robin" and "Tim Drake" are both masks, one he wears for Bruce and the other he wears for Jack.

Initially with the rest of YJ he puts on another mask, "Rob," the leader, the responsible one, the stick-in-the-mud but the one everyone can rely on, basically his best attempt at play-acting the role he thinks Dick took in the Teen Titans. But over time he sees the others growing into themselves and becoming more genuine with each other, and he wants that, but he struggles to let himself have it because it goes against everything that kept him safe as a child, that helped him earn Robin's wings, that got him on the team in the first place.

I just think that'd fit his arc in the story a little better.

[rosstrytobe]

HAPPY HALLOWEEN RYLIVER/BUDDIE NATIONS 🥳❤️

[stud-lover]

Studs who mask are the sexiest kinds of studs btw

[primalvessel]

Anonymous said: [ Moved from the ask so as not to blast the dash with degeneracy. ]

The mask over his eyes is perfect - warm and silky, covering enough of his features that nobody will recognise him, and with draped cloth over the eye holes to act as a blindfold. The bonds holding his arms to the bedhead are soft and gentle but quite unbreakable, even as a mouth works up and down on his length. The sharp teeth scrape along his length as what should by rights be one tongue but is instead a writhing mass of tendrils lavishes his aching phallus.

As the low music fills the room, the heady smell of pipesmoke reaching his nostrils, the sound of a voice meets his ear - and makes his whole body react as if electrified.

"I must say, that is quite a specimen," a mellifluous voice says, sounding like a well-spoken Elezen of Maru's acquaintance.

"Indeed!" laughs a less refined voice, "and he seems somewhat familiar - squirming and writhing like that."

Both voices laugh, and it becomes completely clear - Aymeric and Thancred are at the very front of the audience, even as one of the tongue-tentacles snakes its way into the slit of the Miqo'te's aching length.

[prestonmonterey]

um um

my therian masks

why not :)

ok m going in chronolgoical order so

1.

its ugly as hell 0/10

not even my theriotype TwT (dilute calico) it just matches my tail

made it in a couple hours on my floor

i guess its alright for a first try? but its like. pretty bad

2.

kinda cute 4/10

i was outta felt so this ones just foam :P

its alright, i like the cheek floofs but the general vibe is kinda off

3.

LOOK AT THIS MAJOR IMPROVEMENT GUYS 8/10

based on ambrose bassford he/him classics (honestly see him more as a lion but im not gonna make a whole ass main for a mask im never gonna wear haha so wolf it is :P)

closeup on the charm

guys i spent so long on those spikes and ITS SO PRETTY i love this mask with all my heart

4.

made this one today 9/10 its v cool :3

im. slightly obsessed with it but i also feel like the earrings and shit could be cooler? idk

closeup on the charm (which you absolutely cannot see in the last pic TwT)

slightly less proud of this one but i think wire earrings are really cool regardless so :P

anyways im planning on maybe making a fox mask based on vincent soon, if i have time next week :) we'll see how long the hyperfixation lasts haha

(for the record my theriotype is a longhair dilute calico and i havent made a mask for that just cuz i dont have proper faux fur and i just. dont find the patterning as interesting as other animals :P)

[deadlygamemaster]

❝ welcome welcome, ladies and gentlemen. put your mask on and get ready, because tonight we are faceless. you can’t trust anybody, including your own senses. A scavenger hunt-ish competition, while diving into the mysterious world of the circue de minuit. Still not convinced you should take part? Well, the prize money is high and the goal is easy. Try to get the King of Spades, by using the cards you'll find on your way and completing the challenges. Sign your name, get your mask and throw yourself into a world of pure madness. Like the cheshire cat to Alice said: we're all mad here.

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ✘ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀Dante Spades • »⠀ ⠀⠀ the face behind the mask.

⠀·⠀ secretly known as ‟ the game-master ” of the Cirque de Minuit Games.

⠀·⠀ sometimes undercover as a contestant by the name of ‟ cillian” to enjoy more of ⠀⠀the chaos caused by his own murderous games.

⠀·⠀ english or german. smalltalk or novel styled play ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ wire: @deadlygamemaster

⠀·⠀ for the whole story around Dante, the cirque de minuit and the game, ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ▽ read below

 

Dante comes from a family deeply rooted in the performing arts. His parents, siblings, and relatives all embraced roles as playwrights, acrobats, and artists. However, unlike his kin, Dante grappled with a lack of interest and arguably lacked talent when it came to the customary tasks within the Cirque de Minuit. Despite being known for his smug charisma and being hailed as "beautiful as an angel," he found himself stuck selling popcorn at one of the dining areas within the expansive circus.

However, his life took a transformative turn when he conceived an idea that would alter his fate at the circus. A game — a scavenger hunt — a challenge for those, like him, who grew weary of conventional circus spectacles. What originated as a simple game gradually burgeoned into something far more significant. The rules were easy: "Find as many cards as possible throughout the circus premises, complete the task written on the back of the card, and receive a clue in return, that brings you closer to finding the king of spades card and winning the prize fund."

As the success of the scavenger hunt unfolded, not only did the prize fund escalate, but Dante also marveled at the dedication and energy participants invested in the game. Surprised by their willingness to finish the challenges he devised on the cards, he gradually increased the difficulty, eccentricity, and even danger. Astonishingly, rather than questioning the challenges, the allure of his game extended even to the circus employes. Some were eager to assist, while others were keen to place bets on the contestants.. and since the circus was always moving around, there were no consequences if some of the contestants got hurt.

For a while, this provided enough tension and entertainment. Yet, as months passed, Dante found himself plagued by a growing sense of uninspiration. He craved for more—desiring to immerse himself in the game, to be an active participant, and share in the enjoyment firsthand.

[unironicallycringe]

dying trying not to share wips but I'm excited to finally be tackling the Demise mural/manuscript thing again that I just like, Stopped doing last year

it's uh, for the whole origin mythos of Ikana Kingdom in a style similar to the opening scroll of WW, so I'll smack that on the TMM page when it's all done whee

[missriyochuchi]

Our love is here to stay

Summary: The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer take a walk along the Seine, skipping stones before entertaining the late-night crowd with an intimate dance number from a classical Hollywood musical.

Word count: 1.9k

Warnings: FLUFF. Implied sexual content. Established relationship. References to An American in Paris (1951).

Notes: I didn't intend to write another fic for these two, but this scene from An American in Paris (1951) has been haunting me since the Opening Ceremony. I couldn’t figure out how to write them dancing until I remembered the song that accompanied the scene, and then I couldn't stop writing! The lyrics fit them perfectly! This follows The Torchbearer and the Flagbearer. I strongly recommend reading it first, but if not (it's your time), only a few details carry over: the two exist only during the Olympic Games, so they die and are reborn every two years; interaction between them and humans is strictly limited; and the Flagbearer's horse is named Zeus. As with the aforementioned fic, I use gendered pronouns only to distinguish between the two; physical descriptions are not gendered. For now, I have no plans to write another fic for them, but the Olympics are just beginning, and who knows if the Muses will blow in my direction again lol

Read on AO3

Darkness floats above the Seine like mist, its shroud kept at bay by the namesake luminescence of the City of Lights. Boats bobbing on the river and open restaurants on the bank animate the otherwise dreary waterway. Beneath bulbs of varying hues, businesses bustle with the chorus of tinkling tableware, multilingual conversations, and idle music of Paris past and present. 

Sunrise approaches in an hour, but beneath one of the city’s many bridges, the Torchbearer and the Flagbearer find a sliver of solitude. 

Splash, splash, splash, splash.

“See?” The Torchbearer spins on his heel at the river’s edge, a few flat stones left in hand, to face the Flagbearer leaning against the wall. “There is nothing to it.” He extends an upturned palm in her direction, but she shakes her head.

“I do not possess the skill,” she announces to her echoes.

He cocks his head to the side and closes the distance between them. “Skills can be taught, ma chère.” He takes her hand and pulls her to the riverside, her cape billowing lightly in the breeze. He places a stone in her glove and positions her index finger along its jagged edge. “You must give it a little spin so that it does not sink upon impact on the surface of the water.”

The Torchbearer turns to face his rippling reflection. He flicks his wrist and sends a stone skipping once, twice, three, four times across the river before sinking below the surface with a light plop.

The Flagbearer mimics his motions, swinging her arm and sending her stone on a long arc to a wide splash into the water’s darkness. The Torchbearer stifles a giggle.

She shakes her head and grumbles, “Oh! I do not understand why you find this activity so amusing.”

He releases his chuckles and grabs her wrist before she can walk away with a huff. “Practice makes perfect, non? Give it one more try.”

The Flagbearer runs her hands along her partner’s biceps and strokes his ego. “You are the one gifted with physical prowess,” she says fondly, “a lightness of touch and dexterity.” She steps closer to ghost her breath over his. “If ever I need to raise an army of stone throwers, you shall be my first in command.”

The Torchbearer tilts his head back and sends his laughs to the underside of the bridge. His voice reverberates across the masonry. “Your flattery will not excuse you from this lesson, général.”

“Then I shall receive a failing grade, professeur,” she teases. “Or do you have some other, more favored form of punishment?” She sneaks a knee between his legs and presses up.

He groans and chuckles low at the contact. “Have I not satisfied your appetite for tonight, my love? I am sure the few players who heard us at the Olympic Village would—”

She silences him with a swift squeeze of his buttocks. Her gloved hands slip slowly up to the back of his waist. “Several lifetimes of nights could never quell my hunger for you and your prowess.” She presses her front to his and guides them away from the river’s edge and into the shadows.

The stones in the Torchbearer’s hand land on the pavement, their echoes filling the underpass. His hands smooth over the cool expanse of the Flagbearer’s backplate underneath her cape. “Not here, my sweet,” he whispers into the darkness beneath her hood.

“I know.”

Giggles from an approaching group of tourists break the moment. The lovers’ hands fall to each other’s elbows, their gazes fixed downward. The group grows silent as they pass the hooded figures. A woman bringing up the rear stops to turn around and hold up a smartphone.

“Excuse me, can we— oh!”

A man grabs her elbow and roughly turns her back around towards their group. “Je suis désolé,” he offers quickly. “Elle ne savait pas.” He bows low at the hip in consternation.

The Torchbearer nods in his direction. He watches and waits for the group’s footsteps to fade before turning back to the Flagbearer. Flush with embarrassment beneath her metallic hood, she looks up and crashes her chest to his, tightening her arms around his shoulders for a long embrace. His hands find the opposite sides of her waist, and his chin rests on her tiered spaulder. For a moment, the movement of their chests with every inhalation and exhalation is one and the same.

Displays of affection are not uncommon on the streets of the City of Love, and neither the gods nor any event organizers in the past expressly forbade their affair, but for the Olympic guardians damned to the global spotlight every two years, privacy is a luxury they steal at every opportunity. To be caught alone in each other’s arms felt like an insult to the few precious moments they shared outside their eternal duties.

“Come,” the Flagbearer says softly as she pushes her palms against the Torchbearer’s biceps for enough breathing room to speak. “I do not wish to spend the remainder of the night adding debris to the Seine.” She curls her hand beneath his upper arm and guides him along the riverbank.

The low sounds of whispers and camera shutters accompany the two as they gain distance from their secluded underpass. They keep their gaze forward, accustomed to the attention after years of technological advancements in photography. The few who begin to approach the hooded figures are quickly pulled back by fellow onlookers.

“Why not?”

“They’ll just ignore you and won’t say a word.”

“They were fine during the Opening Ceremony.”

“It’s forbidden.”

The crowd grows in size and sound. They congregate parallel to the riverbank, giving the mysterious duo a wide berth. Over the rising cacophony, the Torchbearer catches a familiar tune floating from somewhere above the embankment. He slows their walk and listens for the words. 

It’s very clear, our love is here to stay

Not for a year, but ever and a day

“They are playing our song, chérie.”

“Darling, not now. Daylight approaches. We must be on our way.”

The Torchbearer stops their progress and presses his palm to the Flagbearer’s fingers nestled lightly in the crook of his arm. “When was the last time we danced?” He takes her hands in both of his and swings her in a circle before positioning her left hand on his right shoulder and her right hand in his left. Their hips and foreheads meet as they start a slow circle on the open pathway.

In time, the Rockies may crumble, Gibraltar may tumble

They’re only made of clay

But our love is here to stay

“Do you remember the film?” The Torchbearer keeps his voice low enough for only the Flagbearer to hear.

She follows suit, though her breath is clipped. “I know exactly which you speak.”

“Shall we give them a show?” He squeezes her hand and quickens their turns.

“Only if you remember the steps as well as I.”

He huffs, mildly offended. “Do you doubt your partner?”

She smiles and giggles. “Never.”

They drop their arms and sway to the music, mirroring each other’s movements as they widen the space between them. The crowd on the riverbank backs away towards the wall and opens a space large enough for the two to continue. The closest onlookers move to accommodate the Flagbearer’s cape as it soars and intermittently kisses the border between performer and audience.

The dance is both timid and intimate. Their touches are perfunctory, punctuating passing sweeps across the pavement. Yet they lean their hands and heads on the other without hesitation, as if years of muscle memory and not conscious decisions dictate their proximity. Their movements tell the story of two lovers beginning to blossom in a romance they know will last for “ever and a day.” Slow and distanced steps give way to increasingly closer encounters.

“Despite this cumbersome armor, my dove,” the Torchbearer whispers during a moment when they resume the closed position and their faces are centimeters apart, “you dance beautifully. You have not lost your touch.”

“Nor you, my sweetest.”

They continue with their hands folded behind their lower backs, stepping like disparate planets inextricably circling the same center of gravity, and finish with an approximation of a kiss. They lean forward over an arm’s length of distance and bring the shadows beneath their hoods to meet for a breath of eternity. Their shoulders turn to bring an arm each around the other’s waist. They walk intertwined in their original direction as the orchestral music from above the embankment gives way to silence.

Applause and cheers chase after the duo. After a few steps, they turn around and bow to the crowd silhouetted by the embankments’ lights. They resume their promenade hand in hand.

When the murmur of surprise and adoration disappears and the Flagbearer spies no nosy onlookers within earshot, she brings the Torchbearer’s hand to her lips and kisses his knuckles. “Thank you, my love,” she breathes softly into his rough skin. She brushes the corners of her mouth across the backs of his exposed fingertips.

He turns his hand to rub her chin and catches her smile. “For what am I owed your gratitude, mon ange?”

“This world has weighed heavy on my mind since we were summoned,” she folds his hand in both of hers, “and I have forgotten what it means to remain light in such dark times. Thank you for reminding me of the power of simple pleasures.”

The Torchbearer hums to convey his contentment and, for a moment, ponders the gods’ plans in pairing them together. They had discovered, very early in their tenure, the opposing duality of their natures. He carried the torch, and she carried the flag, symbols of an event meant to unite humanity in friendly competition. While the object of his guardianship is most visible during the night, hers is most visible during the day. Together, they provide and protect constant reminders of the Olympic Spirit. Now, he realizes that such duties benefit not just the players and the spectators, but each other. He is her light, and she is his standard. He keeps them afloat, and she keeps them rooted to the Earth.

From the shadows of the bridge fast approaching their path, Zeus appears, both his coat and hoofbeat as light as snow. He advances towards his rider and nudges her cuirass with his muzzle.

The Flagbearer sighs and glides a gloved hand along the horse’s nose. “These nights pass far too quickly.”

The Torchbearer finds his opening to remain true to his duty and nature. “Tempus fugit when you are having fun — is that not what the humans say?” He takes her free hand and bows deeply, bringing his head to the level of her hips and swinging his other arm out to the side. “A testament to the quality of your company. I thank you for the compliment.” He straightens back up and presses her palm to the center of his chest, her gentle warmth meeting his steady heartbeat — his version of a kiss.

She shakes her head and laughs low in her chest, careful not to attract more attention as she hears hushed voices lingering on the embankment above them. He releases her hand and shares a knowing nod. He helps her mount Zeus, his hand trailing after the lower edge of her cape.

“Until tonight,” the Flagbearer whispers as she reaches for one more squeeze of her eternal flame’s hand.

The Torchbearer cradles her hand in both of his and tightens his grasp on her being. “Until tonight.”

Footnotes:

Translations: ma chère/chérie - my dear général - general professer - professor Je suis désolé. Elle ne savait pas. - I am sorry. She did not know. mon ange - my angel Tempus fugit (Latin) - Time flies

Is it corny af to have them reenact a scene from a movie? Sure. But are they not performers? Would they not perform to a love song in the City of Love? We've seen the Torchbearer sort of dance on that drag show catwalk - would they not be an amazing dancer!? And do the distances in the choreography not reflect the distances the two need to keep in the performance of their duties? Are you not entertained!? lolol

[michdoodles]

Not me googling chipmunks so I can figure out a proper design for peaceful au Sally and finding out there are Mexican chipmunks… like don’t tempt me to make her Latina

[jennycalendar]

i wanna get back to normal socialization but i am realizing i literally never learned how to talk to people in a way that isn’t 1) multiple paragraphs about the things i am thinking about, unending or 2) desperately trying to match the other person’s energy, convinced that on some level every conversation is a puzzle game with a secret right response to every statement tossed my way, and i am repeatedly losing

[konohagakurekakashi]

You're late! This report was supposed to be handed in weeks ago!

Ah. Whoops.

Seems like old habits die hard after all. I'll be more mindful of the road of life in future.