#maybe for special occasions idk

[sunny1927]

Sometimes I forget I own an Oswald charm and bracelet

( I bought it last year cause it was still the whole 100 years thing, was expensive but worth it)

[clownsterzz]

Hello :]] I made more sketches hihi

I SAW SOME COOL CLOTHES ON PINTET3ST AND HAD TO DRAW HOME IN IT (or like a humanoid home?? Whatever skejsk)

Silly Wally 🤭

[cupiidzbow]

bites my thumb I know I already talked abt nicknames they’d call me but I thought about it again and got sick to my stomach (good way ) 💔💔

[lighthouseas]

chapter 22 and chapter 23 of the strawberries are dying, the final chapters of my byler 1930s au, are now up.

enjoy the finale, everyone. it's been a wonderful 5 months with all of you :)

[wipeawaythosetearsofbloodagain]

After last night I decided that I need to stop drinking alcohol as well.. not sure how this one will go

[guacamoleravioli]

I think I’d have a much easier time making new friends if it didn’t feel like a constant uphill battle to maintain the friendships I do have.

[tryingtimi]

Old Times

Inspired by Disappearance of the Girl by PHILDEL while failing my poll dears. It’s at least still a Darmon piece, even if not the promised one. I’m on it tho. Also, first try of figuring out their dynamic, so no context.

BOOK I EXPLORATION | CHARACTER EXPLORATION | DYNAMIC EXPLORATION | WC: 1,640

The Crystal Palace always showed its true magnificence at dawn.

Thick, sparkling blanket of snow covered the infertile soil outside as if its freezing white wouldn’t have hidden rough blackness underneath. Flakes rarely fell so deep in the belly of the circling mountain range, and yet the snow never seemed to dwindle.

Darmon turned from the groove they used as a window. The dining room showered in the red-orange light that seeped into the space, the palace’s crystal walls reflecting and multiplying its brilliance. They couldn’t see the auroras this far from Atarq, still, their colors reached them at every dawn.

“Its power to chain you to the window could not die away with the years. I dare say it never will,” Zheva called from the end of the refectory table.

The Nordic shines of the sun bathed her sitting figure in its slowly disappearing light. Since the day she put her armor down, she preferred to wear shadow-colored long tunics made of warm and strong textile, embroidery decorating its full length in rich shades of red and gold. Such as it did today as well. Her midnight tunic had sewed-in golden leaves scattering around in a somehow organized way, broad red hems on the sleeves and neckline adding to the harmony of colors, while a same shaded wide belt tightly wrapped around her waist.

Darmon nodded, then hesitated for a second.

His mind has been plagued with that old prisoner’s words. Words of suspicion and secrets. He found himself growing somehow careful around her. A disturbingly foolish act on his part.

Darmon joined the servants bringing in their many servings feast as they walked to the table. One of them leaned over to pull out his seat, but he stopped them with a soft gesture of a hand. The servant bowed their head, then placed four plates before Darmon as he seated himself.

“Is there a special occasion I‘m not aware of?”

Various roasted meats and vegetables ruffled up his hunger, the scent of melted butter, rosemary, and thyme twirling into his nostrils. Beside them, beautifully shaped glass bottles contained the translucent alcohol beverage made of anise, its curving form ornamenting the deeply shaded grape and pistachio bowls secured with lemon-mint tarts.

All Darmon’s favorites.

Zheva smiled a little.

“Can’t an old woman be lonely at times?” She earned a glance from Darmon.

Zheva’s face had been painted with curious tenderness today. Her features bore age, and maturity, something Darmon had grown accustomed to through the years. Her sharp, narrow eyes carried authority and wiseness while they let some visible wrinkles build a nest beside them.

Yet, Darmon wouldn’t ever call her as simple as old.

“I just find it unusual, that is all,” he added eventually. There were times when he – shamefully – craved to dine with her, but they never did. Only during lunch, they shared their meals and company truly.

Zheva took a bite from vibrant pink meat, the crystals orienting the last rays of dawn at her as a reflector. Her focus never left her meal.

“You are right, there is an occasion you might not be aware of. Two, perhaps.” She cut another slice, something almost like blood glistening on her chopsticks. “Have I ever told you about my son?”

A piece of carrot stuck in Darmon’s mouth as he stopped chewing. Only for a second, but he did.

“No, I didn’t know you had children.”

“Child,” again, she smiled a little, “only him. Especially after I left his father… or he left us, I am not certain anymore. It doesn’t really matter, I barely remember him and my son didn’t need him to outgrow him. He was a rascal since his birth, but he’d also been loyal and valiant. One could always rely on him in times of need. Qiang, that was his name.”

The biting sensation of the anise liquor did not ease the dryness of Darmon’s throat. All the food tasted delicious, yet somehow still felt as if he was eating sand.

He never heard such affection in Zheva’s voice before, not once. He couldn’t even recall if he ever heard her talk about her past. A legendary warrior of the ages and a believer left with a crumbled faith. There was not a seed of questioning in Darmon for why she never mentioned any of it before. Still, he couldn’t deny his surprise. And something else; a stirring, unsettling shred of thought.

The seed of how little he knew about her truly.

“Sounds as if you two were close.” Why continuing the topic felt like dragging a limp leg, Darmon couldn’t say. His plate almost emptied, his stomach nearly full, but he picked up another, large meat slice nevertheless.

“Hardly. We shared a lot, but his innermost thoughts remained his in the end. I knew only a version of him, one he felt comfortable sharing with me.” Zheva gestured with her hand, and the chandeliers brightened above them. A moderately dim, purplish light conquered the hall. “Raising a child does not equal that you’ll know them best.”

A strange sensation scraped Darmon’s throat; a scoff. He didn’t felt this reaction since… well, a long time ago.

He packed another bite in his already full stomach.

“You two are very akin to never asking questions. Unlike him, however, your nature is curious, Darmon. That much, I know. So, why don’t you ask?”

Traveling rays of light fell under the horizon, and the end of dawn brought darkness to the mountain range and everything slumbering within. As the hall turned completely amethyst from the only remaining source of light, Darmon found himself frozen. He cut the meat in half on his plate, his chopsticks abandoned beside it. He stared at the food, then with slow realization in his chest, he turned to Zheva.

“I never expect to receive an answer, hence why bother.”

Deepening crow’s feet, gentle, dark eyes, and a pause of silence. Then, Zheva put a comforting hand on Darmon’s, and all the cold of the world evaporated into nothing.

“You are free to ask, and with that, you shall earn answers.”

It’s been such a long time. More than a thousand decades, perhaps, since he saw the difference between Zheva and his family. Darmon couldn’t even recall when was the last time he just thought of them, yet their impact still reached him. However, with them, the reason why he joined her in the first palace was reborn as well.

“Why telling me about him now?”

She did not pull her hand back.

“Because today is the day he left me. You see, he did not share my view on how things should be. He loathed the cause I represented, and therefore, he loathed me. Some thousand years before, on this very day, he abandoned his mother. On this very day, I lost my son.” She sounded utterly mournful as she looked into Darmon’s eyes. For the longest time, he even caught a glimpse of some kind of exhaustion and age in that dark gaze. Then, ever so lightly, Zheva squeezed his hand. “Then, on this same day, you joined me.”

Crystals sang under the wind that sneaked inside the place. It reached Darmon, crawling under his padded tunic, yet it could not make him cold. He glanced at the table again, drinking in the view of the delicately prepared food. Meats, spices, alcohol, and tarts. Favorites, with just enough sweetness. Thoughtfulness to please one.

Darmon realized there was a tradition he completely forgot through the years.

And with that, the words unspoken made his eyes sting. Those words Zheva didn’t need to speak aloud. She lost someone today, and still, he was the one she celebrated. When he joined her, when he was reborn. Today, they weren’t celebrating something mundane, but the birthday of her son.

Darmon reluctantly put his hand on hers.

“I could say so many things, I don’t know which to actually say,” he said quietly.

“There’s no need for such formalities. I am grateful you’re beside me. I know what we do is hard, and it is delightful to have someone around, especially when one has a tender heart. Speaking of, I’ve heard you frequently visited the chambers recently.”

Darmon froze upon hearing this. Of course, she would know about it, he wasn’t trying to sneak around. Yet, it still made him tense under her motherly touch.

“It’s admirable how you manage those creatures, I was certain you’ll be the best to take upon this task.”

However appealing the words sounded, he knew it wasn’t exclusively a compliment. Oh no, it wasn’t. Darmon did not break the eye contact, letting those dark irises devour his soul as they stared into them. He would almost say that they spread the darkness around them as the night deepened.

“You can trust me,” he uttered. Why that was the first thing that tiptoed onto his tongue, was a mystery to him as well. He could have thanked her, he could have said he had a plan. But he didn’t. He knew she would be aware of his lies if they were actually those.

Was he worrying about lying without knowing it?

He wasn’t sure anymore. Not when he stood trial under those unwavering eyes and that oh-so-longed motherly touch. Darmon felt shame washing over him as in his shuddering heart he found the tiniest speck of desperate alarm.

Zheva did not smile anymore, yet she leaned closer and breathed a kiss upon Darmon’s forehead.

“I know,” she whispered. “I do.”

[abigail]

cant decide on an outfit for the ethel cain show later this month…… too many options I feel insane

[thesinglesock]

I'm curious about this in general but also about how much this is a cultural thing or not, so if you vote please reblog with your answer and where you're from in the tags

[ancientrimer]

you know what. I may be wearing a full tie and men’s shirt. but the part of my outfit that’s making me feel the manliest are actually my christmas socks that I made myself.

[bijoumikhawal]

I could draw that old man in lolita. I can draw all those men in lolita.

[evandore]

SHES EVEN PRETTIER WHEN SHES FREE !!! AND SHES GOT ACTUAL BRAIDS !!!!! ive never seen a porcelain doll that wasnt a custom that has like braids all around the hair omg...i might redo it to make them smaller but omggggg im keeping that for real.

and the stand comes with her name thats so cute.

the little certificate she comes with is just as helpful as most porcelain doll certificates which means basically not at all. at least i know shes 20 years old ! oh and the makers mark on her neck says specifically 'ayana 2004' and googling that gets pictures of her! so i guess she was an exclusive sort of character doll. very pretty. at least i dont feel as bad when i make her carmilla instead lol i will try to incorporate some of her current outfit tho...anyway very happy with this find !!!

[usedtobemygirl]

ok apparently im seeing charli xcx in two weeks with my sister. but I thought she was taking her friend instead of me so im confused !! it’s also not ideal bc im a 365 sober girl

[mortifying-macaroni]

Finished one taxing but also very fun drawing. Noooow I'm off to finish up CQM before I start working on the next thing

[shoutyourporpoise]

Just had sort of a brainwave about my own transness and how it relates to my depression which I am going to note here in a jumble.

So every winter my SAD-induced depression smashes into my head with a goddamn mallet and every single time it is world-ending, lie-in-bed, lose-your-passions, no-longer-a-person devastating.

And every spring I get better and am just the kind of depressed where it sucks to exist for a few days a week. Every summer, it decreases to a bout every fortnight or so and by then the last winter is such a distant memory that I go "oh wow maybe I'm better for good maybe I get to be someone who used to have REALLY BAD depression and that period of my life will be a distant memory." Winter comes, mallet to head, lather, rinse, repeat.

What this means is I'm like. Not medicated. I am either so depressed I can't do anything or I'm so much better that doing anything to address it seems pointless. And yet, I am still quite comfortable describing myself as someone who experiences depression even in summer when it's just a passing issue.

...

So. I have self-described as some type of nonbinary since my very early twenties, but refused to claim transness for myself until around 2020, because it felt like I was trivializing other trans folks' experiences by grouping myself in despite my milder issues. And even now, I told myself "yeah I'm trans but I'm not like...trans trans like it would be absurd for me to expect other people to see me as anything other than an ally given how cis I come off." And it, like just occurred to me how fucking weird that is especially given how I interface with my own depression.

Like oh yeah it's fine IT'S FINE!! It's just that whenever I get my period, I feel such an overwhelming crush of dysphoria over my chest that I start earnestly looking into how to establish that it gives me a poor quality of life so I can get insurance to cover a breast reduction. Yeah, yeah, I've had the page for aesthetic flat closures bookmarked for a minute I uh. Like looking at the options. When I was a child I dreamed of being told I was at risk for breast cancer so I'd have to have a preventative double mastectomy to save my life. When I picture myself in my 40s I have top surgery scars and am shaped like an egg and I'm loving it.

...but it only gets like. THAT BAD once a menstrual cycle. The rest of the time I'm "just" nonbinary and feel extremely angry when someone only refers to me as a woman. I haven't actually pulled the trigger on any possible breast reduction options. So I've been telling myself that this cannot be a trans experience because I apparently don't want it badly enough. Like I'm lucky, I have the savings to cover this type of surgery if I want to and while it'll be a significant dent in my savings I wouldn't actually go into debt over it.

But there are always things that money could go towards. A house. A wedding. An egg to sit on in case there's a rainy day/month/year and we need funds to keep the home afloat. Surgery is scary and I just had one last year and while I recovered well I still get the occasional ache that reminds me of the injury and do I want that in my chest forever? What if getting top surgery messes up my cool trans sternum tat? What if I hate it?

What if people ask me why I did it and I can't hide behind this weird fairytale that I've constructed since I was a child wherein I had breast cancer and they had to get rid of my breasts to save my life and I'll instead have to tell them the truth -- that once a month or so my breasts gave me such anguish...that they had to get rid of them to save my life?

Excuses, excuses. I always have them, for why I can't do this thing that I have dreamed about on some level since I was 9. And it's possible that won't change, but in the meantime is it fair for me to continue to deny that what I am experiencing is transness? That a profound desire to be regarded by all as a genderfluid creature coupled with an equally fluid desire to modify my body to match isn't just like. A trans experience?