#okay that’s enough original posts for the day

[inkformyblood]

punctual delays (MoShang, SVSSS)

If Shang Qinghua would rewrite the world again, he wouldn’t bother including An Ding Peak. It felt necessary the first time around, an easy way to silence the literary course critic on his shoulder who squeaked through the early chapter doubts about the logistics of things, where did the peaks get their food, general safeguarding practices around flying swords, a generic catch-all for all the mundane day-to-day workings, an overworked and underappreciated department. Jokes on him.

“—and that’s not even factoring in the claim made by Qiang Xia  about the state of her stock. If she decides to stop trading with us and renegotiate then we can expect an increase of forty percent.” Zhì Huì makes another lap of Shang Qinghua’s office, steps over the same pile of reports that she had originally walked around, and returns to her haunt at his other shoulder. “What do you think?”

Shang Qinghua is on his third day of a headache, his fourth day of sleeping at his desk, and his second favourite threat to his past self for spending hours slouched over a keyboard. He doesn’t answer her immediately, pressing his hands behind his hips and leaning back until something catches and releases, a set of guttural cracks echoing from his spine. Zhì Huì flinches, scowling as she adjusts her grip on the report to better use it as a potential weapon. Clearly been spending too much time around Shen Qingqiu.

“If Qiang Xia wants to fuck around, then she can find out.” Shang Qinghua straightens, turning to meet Zhì Huì’s gaze. She’s one of his better disciples, exactingly blunt with a press of her thumb on the scales and one of the few he can spare to chase Bai Zhan disciples around the peak to try and get them to explain what ‘mission-critical requests’ meant to them and why three packs of fresh rose petals wasn’t it. His curses get a blink and another tally added onto a chart in the disciple quarters, their own personal version of a doomsday clock. Shang Qinghua stands, a wash of static skittering down his leg and he braces one hand on his desk as he turns toward the window. It’s shuttered, a thin band of light slowly creeping across the ceiling towards a dark mark etched into the wood.

Fuck.

Shit.

Okay, it’s fine.

…Fuck.

Shang Qinghua claps his hands together, ignoring the debris tipping off the side of his desk, the uneasy swirl just behind his eyes. He’s spent longer than this crouched in front of his computer screen, bleeding out onto a blank word document for the sake of scraps thrown his way, worse somehow than hopping into a bin to search for his next meal because he is witnessed because of it. 

He has so much to do. Dying hadn’t alleviated the weight of his to-do, only altered it slightly. 

Another glance at his ceiling, sunlight wavering closer to the mark. 

“We have some contracts with the Huang family. It’s not quite the same prospects as Xia, but if we also reach out to Pan’s trading post out on the outskirts—” He wrote this shit, it isn’t insider trading if he created the marketplace in the first place “—as they’ve been wanting to get a foothold.” 

Zhì Huì’s stylus scrawled across the wax tablet at her waist, her tongue clamped between her teeth. She’s barely breathing in case it disturbs the ideas condensing in the air like a storm cloud, a few strands of hair coming loose from the tie at the nape of her neck and sticking to her cheek. 

Another glance at the ceiling. Shang Qinghua is running out of time. He’s worked himself to the bone, balancing the reports cascading over his desk from An Ding peak and every petty power struggle that the merchants want to engage in with the tower of assassination plots and other general dick-measuring that the demons want to try with their king’s, with Shang Qinghua’s king’s, human spy. He’s sick, he’s done. He wants air conditioning and enough caffeine to nuke his stomach and make him regret the life choices he hasn’t even made yet. “Okay. I’m done for the next few hours.” 

Zhì Huì nods once, her gaze flickering between Shang Qinghua and her tablet. He can’t even guess at what she sees as she looks at him; an imposter wearing a stolen shape of his own fucking creation, like seriously, Shang Qinghua, of all his characters, fucking why? 

“Get some sleep, Shizun.” She bows once and leaves the room, shutting the door firmly behind her. 

Shang Qinghua abandons his desk, his one constant in this shitstorm, and staggers the few steps to his bed, kicking a loose pile of papers out of his way. His king should be arriving soon, his arrival marked on the ceiling after one too many close calls with other disciples or Peak Lords now that he has forced his way through the ranks. It is a sequence they plot their lives around, a singular constant like the moon hanging heavy in the sky, a more constant companion for Shang Qinghua than the sun these days. He’ll sit and wait for his king. Close his eyes for a few minutes.

Just a few. 

There’s a hand in his hair, carefully skirting around the shell of his ear as the person, the man, thigh solid beneath his cheek, woodsmoke clinging to his clothes, carefully works through the tangles he finds. Shang Qinghua shifts, grumbling some nondescript complaint at the slight sting in his scalp, and the man stops. 

Wait.

What?

“My king!” Shang Qinghua yelps, throwing himself upright. It’s a scramble, limbs deadened by his impromptu nap, the desire to just stay where he is like he’s napping beneath blankets with the air conditioning going just because he fucking could, but he’ll never recover from it if he does.

Mobei-Jun watches him carefully. “This king was delayed,” he says, his voice tight. “He apologises for making Qinghua wait.”

The sun slants across the ceiling, several feet from the dark mark. Shang Qinghua doesn’t know how long he’s slept for, he can’t remember the last time he slept that well. “My king, this servant begs your forgiveness for missing the start of our meeting! He never intended to make you wait—“ Shang Qinghua apologises on reflex, his mouth moving and words spilling forth as he studies his king beneath lowered lashes.

There’s a faint flush on Mobei-Jun’s face, anger beneath the surface or the warmth of the Peak, if he had to guess. Shang Qinghua lowers his face to the bedsheets. He’s going to have to change them if he ever wants to sleep again, dammit. 

Still, it was the best sleep he’s had since he woke up in this world, and it’s all because of his king. 

[serpentface]

WRESTLING POST:

Brakul approximately .5 seconds before tapping out in an impromptu chamenikoma match with compatriot Khattaliba Odebi.

There are two distinct forms of sport wrestling practiced here (not counting wrestling involving animals), called kagnomatso and chamenikoma. Both could be classed as submission wrestling, with victory in a match depending primarily upon forcing the opponent to concede defeat via pain/fear/exhaustion inflicted in joint locks and chokes, and secondarily (if at all) upon point scoring. Neither style fully originated here, and similar/connected forms of wrestling can be found around the eastern inner seaway.

Chamenikoma is squarely a combat sport, and its techniques are derived from (and still used in) actual life-or-death battles. Its name literally means 'naked combat', with 'naked' in this context having the implications of being unarmed/potentially unarmored. It developed in part as means for unarmed combatants to disable or kill armed/armored foes, though is also practiced as a form of training and sport. It mixes elements of kickboxing with grappling, and the Wardi variant of the broader tradition particularly emphasizes kicking strikes and leg holds. While a heavier combatant will usually be at an advantage, sufficient technical skill can overcome a fair deal of weight difference, especially given much of the technique in initially grounding an opponent revolves around using their momentum/weight against them.

Young boys who receive combat training as a part of their formal education will almost always be taught at least basics of chamenikoma, and the sport is a standard facet of training and upkeep among warrior orders. There are two sub-forms, 'armored' chamenikoma (self-explanatory, performed wearing full armor) and 'naked' chamenikoma (in this case meaning unarmored but usually clothed, actual nude matches are rare). Variants used in pure sport usually fall into the latter category, while forms used for intensive combat training or martial displays fall into the former.

Most chamenikoma tournaments are hosted by and within state warrior orders, and require membership to participate. Forms open to athletes from the general public are one of many sports in the annual triple games (a ten day sun worship + martial holiday based sporting event, hosted alternatively by year in Wardin, Ephennos, and Erubinnos), and some other towns/cities/villages put on their own tournaments opportunistically or as part of holidays.

Sport variants usually involve rules that Reduce the potential for fatalities, though there are few prohibitions against injurious behaviors and serious injuries/deaths are not unknown. Eye-gouging and opportunistic use of weapons (rocks sticks etc) are the only maneuvers that are forbidden in every possible context. Biting is considered a legitimate method of breaking holds, but is a foul if used to force submission, and bites to any part of the head/neck is usually forbidden. Hair pulling is not prohibited and considered a legitimate technique, to the point that some 'naked' tournaments will forbid participation if a combatant's hair isn't long enough for a topknot. Grappling at an opponent’s clothing/armor is also permissible, as is intentional grasping to the genitals. More restrictive rules are often set ahead of time in casual fights or those used exclusively for training.

Referees may intervene on some of these behaviors at their discretion, especially if they deem the intent purely to injure or humiliate rather than to induce submission (ie: tugging at the hair to induce pain or maintain bodily control is okay, but ripping at an already locked opponents hair is not). Referees for formal chemenikoma tournaments are almost always former wrestlers themselves (and/or high ranking warriors), and their calls are final and indisputable within any given match (though not always uncontroversial).

Matches begin upright and usually end on the ground. Fighters will start off in a readied stance and will generally attempt to kick/sweep the opponent to the ground, at which point they can be grappled into submission. Fighting will be paused if the combatants leave the designated arena space, though this does not incur any penalties. A match is won when one wrestler yields (either verbally or by tapping out, signaled by thumping the ground/their own body twice with a hand or foot), or else when one is unconscious/otherwise unresponsive. Downing an opponent and then taking a 'finishing' stance (standing with one foot placed on their neck) is also an automatic win regardless of if a yield has been declared, which is symbolically a statement of 'you would be dead if this was real warfare'.

Though these matches can get fairly nasty in physical content, chemenikoma wrestlers are expected to maintain overall respectful compartment towards their foes. A match begins with both performing a bow to one another, and insulting/mocking/spitting at a foe is socially unacceptable and can occasionally lead to disqualification. Losers are strongly expected to remain stoic and avoid signalling excessive frustration (submission is part of the sport and doesn't lead to a loss of social status as it does in actual duels, but submitting and then being notably pissy about it sometimes does). This sport has high social esteem as a demonstration of martial skill, and most participants will take it very seriously, going out of their way to compliment a worthy but defeated opponent.

---

Kagnomatso (essentially '(great/strong) dance') is purely sport-wrestling, and less physically dangerous than chamenikoma. It has little connection to any combat traditions and is intended as a test and showcase of raw strength, revolving entirely around grappling with striking being strictly prohibited. The goal is to knock an opponent to the ground through grappling and throws, and to subsequently force submission through chokes and locks. Being a heavier weight class always puts you at a considerable advantage over a lighter opponent, and technical skill only goes so far to overcome this. Tournaments (and most Wardi sporting events in general) also don't separate size or age classes, so if you've got a lightweight stature you're probably out of luck. Specialized athletes will generally be on the larger end of the size range, and access to a high calorie diet to gain + maintain weight is often a necessity for success in any formalized competitions.

Kagnomatso fighting has less of a skill barrier than proper chamenikoma, and small-scale tournaments are very often organized at village scales during holidays. Bigger tournaments are organized by cities, and also feature into the triple games. Formal bouts are generally held in small, circular rings, over grass or dirt that has been raked free of stones. Competitors wipe down their skin with olive oil soaked rags prior to a bout, rendering them more difficult to grasp but not outright sodden. They will generally compete in loincloths, though some community-organized tournaments involve fighting nude to wholly prevent grappling with clothing (which is considered cheating).

Kagnomatso tournament matches usually include point systems, which have some functions in keeping these time limitless matches from going on excessively long (though bouts between evenly matched competitors are still known to sometimes last hours). Points are scored by forcing the opponent out of the ring or pinning/holding an opponent in a prone position (chest and hips both touching the ground) for three counts. A match is automatically won if one wrestler hits ten points.

The primary goal is still to force the opponent to yield rather than to score points, as this is a more surefire way of achieving victory (and tends to be more entertaining). Matches are also sometimes called by referee on the basis of one wrestler approaching unconsciousness or otherwise being clearly incapable of continuing, even if he hasn’t yielded.

Intentional striking, eye gouging, twisting the fingers, intentional targeting/grasping of the genitals, biting, grappling with clothing, and pulling of hair is prohibited, and can mean an automatic loss at the referee's discretion. Other behaviors may be called by referees, particularly if a wrestler is judged to be attempting to break or dislocate an opponents limbs. Referees in formal tournaments generally carry a khaittail flyswatter (has a leather pad and functions as a whip) to break apart combatants when need be.

[seased]

behind every hyperfixation there is a secret second hyperfixation

dont ask me about baldurs gate because all im gonna tell you is how desperately im awaiting season 9 episode 1 of ER, where chauvinist dickweed dr romano gets his arm cut off by the tail rotors of a helicopter. and then dies a season later when a helicopter falls on him. why did they make it all helicopters its almost a joke

[lovely-menza]

I went to pink floyd's their mortal remains in buenos aires last tuesday so I feel like sharing some pics I took there (bc I took a lot) :D

[thecrowsart]

He likes cats, after all.

[riddlerosehearts]

floyd/riddle valentine's day headcanons 💙❤️

(okay, this post is more overly detailed than i originally planned because i ended up writing a whole scenario about what their first valentine's day after they start dating could be like. but i still want to share it, so here it is.)

riddle is somewhat conflicted about valentine's day. on the one hand, he was always a bit of a romantic, and as a kid there were times when he dreamed that someday he'd have a special someone to spend this holiday with. but he's changed since he was a kid, and regardless of how he might or might not feel, this year he happens to have an exam coming up in a few days and thinks that studying for it would be a more practical use of his time.

besides, floyd will also be busy working at the mostro lounge that evening. each year they hold a special valentine's event with discounts for couples, and floyd seems to be very focused on helping jade and azul plan for it. what makes valentine's day so important, anyway, when the one you love should be special to you every day? they can just go on a date whenever they like.

he still wants to try and respect the rules of the holiday, though. he knows from books he's read that it would be wrong of him not to get his boyfriend a gift, and he also knows that it's a popular tradition to make handmade chocolates for your partner on valentine's day.

so he buys some chocolate-making supplies and molds--the molds are shaped like hearts and roses, so they're sure to make floyd think of riddle when he eats them. and he does the best he can, knowing floyd will still love them even if they're not perfectly made.

he also buys a card with a simple yet elegant red and gold design, and makes sure it's blank inside rather than having a cheesy prewritten message, so that he can write his own message thanking floyd for bringing so much excitement and joy into his life.

the card he picks probably looks something like this:

he plans to take the chocolate and the card, along with one white rose and one red rose from heartslabyul's gardens, to floyd in the morning and see if they can plan to spend a day together after the exam.

while on his way there, he starts to feel a little embarrassed and wonder if the roses are too much. he doesn't really care about the holiday (or so he claims, but he sure did spend a lot of time preparing for it) and surely floyd doesn't care beyond exploiting it for business purposes, so this is a bit silly, isn't it?

wrong! for floyd's part, they don't have valentine's day in the coral sea, so he's actually been pretty excited for it--which riddle had guessed, since for the last few days he's been constantly asking riddle for advice on decorations and menu items for mostro lounge's event as well as spending quite a lot of his spare time there, presumably helping prepare things.

what riddle fails to realize is that floyd's excitement is about far more than just making money at the lounge.

so, riddle is standing outside floyd's door and about to knock when floyd suddenly comes rushing out and absolutely lights up upon seeing riddle there.

he doesn't even give riddle a chance to get a word in before tearing the gifts from his hands, popping a rose-shaped chocolate in his mouth, and doing a goofy little laugh as he tells riddle he loves him. riddle hopes floyd doesn't see the blush on his face.

"goldfishieee!" he exclaims. "i got you something too, and i just know you'll love it!!"

he runs back into his dorm room and comes out holding a small, very messily-wrapped box of store-bought white chocolate truffles, a plushie of a pink hedgehog holding a heart, and an envelope containing one of those fancy pop-out valentine's cards--specifically, one with a goofy pun on it. i'm picturing something like these:

riddle opens the card and rolls his eyes at the pun while trying to pretend that he's not smiling fondly at it.

he's about to ask about their plans when floyd leans over and drapes his arms around riddle's shoulders, and then says that he absolutely has to come to the lounge tonight for a very special surprise.

riddle is genuinely shocked at this, but he agrees, somewhat reluctantly because he's supposed to be studying--but also secretly excited at the thought of floyd having planned something just for him. he has to enlist cater's help to find something decent to wear.

floyd grabs riddle by the arm and drags him over to a table within seconds of him getting to the lounge. jade takes their order, they talk and tease each other and laugh together like they always do, and they also have fun chatting with some of their other friends who are sitting nearby with their own dates.

riddle almost forgets that floyd was supposed to have some kind of surprise for him, until floyd suddenly excuses himself and then shows back up a few minutes later with a small heart-shaped cake, covered in strawberries and other elaborate decorations.

it turned out that floyd had baked and decorated this cake for him. riddle felt guilty because he'd already eaten more than he meant to for the day, and especially because this must have taken much more work than the chocolates and roses he'd given floyd.

he tells him as much but then floyd tells him he's being silly before snatching the fork from his hand and going "if you're not going to eat it then i guess i'll have to!"

riddle feels a flash of anger because floyd can't just try to take his food, there are rules against such a thing. he takes the fork back and tries a bite of the cake, reasoning that it would be rude not to. it's strawberry flavored and possibly the best thing he's ever tasted.

when they leave the lounge that evening, they end up going back to heartslabyul together and for some reason floyd all of a sudden decides that they're playing tag and makes riddle have to chase him into the rose garden.

floyd didn't have any extra surprise for him, he just wanted riddle to keep having fun with him for a little while longer.

at the end of the day, riddle finds that he doesn't regret having lost a bit of study time for this, and he makes sure to tell floyd how grateful he is. he has to admit to himself that maybe there is something special about valentine's day after all.

[thetwilightroadtonightfall]

so I’ve been trying to think of the best way to talk about Skuld’s fate for a while now and I think I’ve finally got it. My feelings about how she could be handled are a bit complicated (maybe even controversial? lol) but I hope I can make myself clear. This is essentially gonna be the post I point to whenever and if ever I need it later in the future. Thanks in advance if you read this!

If for whatever reason it’s confirmed that Skuld isn’t Subject χ and she gets together with Ephemer in canon (which I don’t believe will actually happen, but who knows), I do genuinely think there’d be something incredibly poetic about both of them leaving behind a legacy together.

Skuld as Subject χ is a super intriguing concept that I want to see get played out in canon, and even outside of that possibility, I would really love to just see her go on her own journey, have her own story where she can grapple with the events of khux in her own ways. But as someone who also happens to love her and Eph’s dynamic, I like to indulge in the possibility of them founding Scala together too.

Believe me when I say that I’m very skeptical of Skuld getting the credit and spotlight she deserves given the track record of how female characters are treated in this series. It would break my heart if Skuld got turned into an accessory or got shafted or worst case scenario, is used only to kickstart the Ephy lineage and nothing more outside of that. She deserves good, solid writing no matter what her fate is, I’m sure we can all agree on that at least.

And then there’s also the question of whether or not Nomura would ever establish a canon romantic relationship, and if he even should do that in the first place. I think it would be great, as long as it’s written in such a way that it doesn’t impede on the other types of relationships he’s already established. It could delve into some interesting new territory that can highlight the themes of kh, and make them even stronger and more profound. But you don’t absolutely need romance in order for that to be accomplished, ya feel?

Do I love Skuld and Eph together? Yes. Do I think they should be together (romantically) in canon? Not necessarily. You can both enjoy a ship AND recognize the nuances involved.

But anyway anywaaaaay, long disclaimers aside, these two characters have been through so much together…they witnessed two apocalypses. They’ve suffered the loss of a dear friend at their hands, along with their other friends as a result of horrible circumstances they had no control over. They stayed side by side as their home collapsed around and on them. But they also laughed together. They looked out for each other, stood up for each other. Encouraged and comforted and teased each other so they would smile.

From the very beginning, to the very end, they had each other over and over again. Clinging to hope with incredible resilience. From party members, to friends, to leaders. They’re both wonderful characters who I have no doubt would support each other throughout the rest of their lives, just as they always have.

I’ll be fine if a romance between them doesn’t become canon, in fact I’ll probably be pretty relieved. But I can’t deny that the idea of the two of them being entwined forever, bonded by the tragedies they’ve been through, yet also by all of their happy times and shared memories, is a beautiful thought to me.

Surviving to see the other side and building everything from the ground up again together, and seeing the legacy that follows their love, is a story worth telling, in my opinion. In the end, if that’s a story left to us fans to tell, that’s more than enough for me. We have so much to work with. Regardless of what Nomura and/or the rest of the writing team choose to do, I don’t need them to be a canon couple to enjoy the profound love and care they have for each other.

TL;DR - Whatever happens with Skuld, I’m down for the ride. As long as she’s present, period, I’m here for it. Just…please for the love of god, let her be written well. I miss her so much and I need all these years of loving her character to pay off

[xskyll]

Page 15, for the second time! Apologies to those that saw the version I posted last night with the typo. My days lately have been busy, so sometimes I feel a bit brain foggy. A couple of people left comments on either here or Twitter and it killed me to delete everything. ;_;

Prev / Next

First

[ghost-proofbaby]

wishing death upon someone for having a kink you don't like is a bit odd i'll admit. a bit whack.

[tropicalcontinental]

Siblings, wonder how they're doing now

[sleepy-stitches]

my brain is so evil. why do i have no energy to clean my room. why does it all go to writing weird fucked up yuri. like why am i sitting here enraptured heart and soul by a piece of writing that was meant to be a fragment at best but i am discovering has three entire parts to it. why is that where we are at. i need to clean my fucking room

[whumpy-wyrms]

Have you ever hear of the webtoon Silent Screams? It's full of whump and it honestly reminds me of some of your work. Highly recommend

YES!!!! i love silent screams!! i was actually just reading the recently updated episode earlier. it’s sooo good, i definitely recommend it to anyone who likes lab whump! also thanks for thinking of my stuff too that’s so cool :)

when i started reading it in like october, it made me wanna make a tllr webcomic soooo bad but i just don’t have the time for that lol. maybe some day (definitely Some day because a tllr webcomic would go so fucking hard)

also whump in the form of comics/web comics/graphic novels is like my favorite way of consuming whump so if anyone has any recommendations feel free to let me know! :)

[scamera-writes]

Her. An Essay.

The spring air lies heavy in your lungs as you breathe in deeply, the bright smells assault your nose and waves of nostalgia roll off the hills. You know this is her favorite season so you’ve dressed prepared for the chill in the air.

It's a long walk to the meadow with a shovel in hand and wheelbarrow pushed in front of you, but you do it. When you get there, a girl smiles up at you from where she is playing in the grass.

You know her age, but do not say it. You know her name, but do not say it. You know her, but do not say it.

She says hello in that sweet mellow tone that sounds so foreign yet so similar and tastes like syrup on your tongue. Her eyes are wide and shining, but blissfully not tear stained- like your own- and her cheeks are round with a warm flush as her smile softens.

You do not meet her eyes, those same beautifully colored eyes that match yours, searching for a hint as to what you’re doing here. You gaze across the meadow instead but still catch a glimpse of her blue denim overalls and green shirt.

They match your own in a way.

You finally say hi back and take the shovel to the dirt under a beautifully perfect sycamore tree that arches into the sky; it rises before the two of you, right in the middle of the meadow. The dirt stains your clothes as you drop to your knees, using your hands more than the shovel to dig at the layered earth.

You hear soft footsteps behind you but don’t look up from your work. To your side you see the girl walk up to you again and she places a small flower behind your ear before grinning and moving to lay in the sun near you.

You pluck the flower out from behind your ear to examine it. A white petunia. A wistful familiarity to the flower washes over you and you tuck it back behind your ear before moving back to the freshly unearthed dirt.

You can feel her watching as you dig this pit, you hate the feeling of dirt under your fingernails. The mud cakes on your hands and crackles with every movement; it makes your skin crawl but you don’t give up now. After a small hole is dug, you grab the large stone and tools brought in the wheelbarrow and begin to carve. She sits next to you now, her smaller hands grip a rock in her own palms and she plays with it gently.

You carve a name you didn’t think you’d ever write again into the rock and place it at the top of the pit. She recognizes the name, tips her head smiling gently, and in an understanding manner she stands up.

And walks away. Around the back of the sycamore tree she disappears and then reappears.

She plucks a sycamore leaf off the ground when she��s visible again and looks up as you smile at her. She drops the leaf into the hole you've dug, then helps you repack the layers of sediment that you both know you’ll unearth again, in the future, to be intertwined together in the end.

But not now. Now, the earth is resealed and she smiles sweetly, laying a makeshift bouquet of petunias and poppies with a gentle hand.

You get up and hold a hand out for her, she doesn't look away from the earth you've both just moved and instead runs her hands over the top of the rocks again before sighing with a big smile. She gets up and grabs your hand, it's so much smaller and softer than yours yet you can still feel the dirt on both of your hands.

She grips your hand a little tighter, following your lead as you walk towards home, flower still tucked behind your ear you notice a matching flower behind her own. And you smile.

When you get closer to the house, her eyes are wide with soft recognition, a place so familiar to the both of you yet it feels cold and empty at the same time. You invite her inside again, it's been so long for you both, still the house is like an old friend, in a way. You hold open the door and she steps through.

She walks over to the dinner table and sits down at the far side, gesturing for you to sit on the other but you shake your head politely.

You aren't ready yet.

You ask if she’d like a drink, and she nods. You already know what she would like so you don’t have to wait for her to tell you. Passing over the tall glass with ice clinking in it feels like a ritual. You don't want to let go. You do. You sit down across from her.

You know what's coming next and it's hard. You know you have to accept it. Losing her again won't be easy but you know it's not permanent this time.

She takes small sips of her drink, smiling over to you but neither of you attempt to make small talk anymore, you both know how the interaction will end.

And it's not bittersweet. Neither of you are upset. She is content in a way you don’t think you quite understand yet. But you think you feel complete, whole and peaceful for possibly the first time in your life.

It's enjoyable to watch her glowing eyes look at you with respect and admiration, to be able to grow into what you did makes her heart beat with something adjacent to love.

And as you leave the house, knowing you will be reunited in the end, to be buried in love & hate, happiness & anger, and warmth & heartache. You know it's love. It's always been love.

For her.

-Her. An Essay. (By me)

Happy trans visibility day. This is an ode to the girl I was. We will be buried together in the end. I love you, take care.

[vriskabot]

i think about restarting dailyvriskas like 3x a week but man. MAN. if i really were to run it by myself (because having other mods has literally never worked out) i would REALLY have to learn how to actually enjoy drawing. or lower my standards. probably both.

[thedevotionaltour]

[click for better quality]

pages are ink on bristol with all lettering done digitally

my final comic for a professional practice class i had this previous semester! it was for a pitch packet project, and these were my three sample pages.

the story i created for my pitch was titled class 2, where the summary reads:

Class 2 is a psychological thriller graphic novel following the story of public defender Johnathan Parker, who must take on the case of accused necrophile-murderer Lindsey Cunnighan. As he figures out how to build the defense and understand his client as a person, Jonathan’s personal life and work life begin to dangerously intertwine. The more he shares about the case, the more his wife Lorraine becomes obsessed with death and all it brings. Their relationship takes a dark turn when Lorraine is unable to separate her newfound fascination with death from Johnathan. Meanwhile, Lindsey’s case becomes increasingly difficult to handle after she unexpectedly pleads not guilty.

this scene is johnathan coming home and having dinner with his wife lorraine. it's not the opener, but it's pretty early on.

these pages aren't my best work, but they're not too shabby for a comic pencilled, inked, and lettered in basically one day :') and it's still one of the comic finals i feel better about, so you all get to see it! i would love to come back to it eventually and majorly clean it up. especially those backgrounds... i should've used my ruler more...

[doomdoomofdoom]

Yesterday I went on a wikipedia excursion about horror movies from the 80s for reasons that arent relevant and while I was reading through the summary of Firestarter, I wondered why it didn't horrify me whatsoever.

There's some joke here about how that's just every preteens edgy OC backstory, but upon reflection I realized it's because the real world CIA has done much more horrifying things than try to kill one family with supernatural powers.

So for my next horror fix, I'll be reading the page for 'Unethical human experimentation in the United States'.